THE TRAGEDY OF ALCESTE and ELIZA. As it is found in Italian, in La Croce racquistata. Collected, and translated into English, in the same verse, and number, By Fr. Br. Gent. At the request of the right virtuous Lady the Lady ANNE WINGFIELD Wife unto that noble Knight, Sir Anthony Wingfield Baronet his Majesty's High Sheriff for the County of Suffolk. LONDON, Printed by Th. Harper for john Waterson, and are to be sold at his shop in Paul's Churchyard at the sign of the Crown 1638. My Book. THinkst thou to scape, when no book escapes, that passes The Press, but it is pressed to under-go The censure, both of wisemen and of asses, That can, and cannot judge of what we do? No, look not for't: an Eagles eye will spy Spots in the Sun, no other bird can see; And yet the Owl that hath the weakest eye Will see by owl-light, twice as much as she. Why then prevent them both, and first confess Thy fault, and mine that sent thee to the Press. Reader. IF I were by thee when thou readest my Book, I should observe thy courtesy and skill. And happily conjecture by thy look How I might mend some faults that 'scaped my quill: For I must tell thee, I was never yet Ashamed to borrow of a better wit. But if I should perceive thee wink or scowl At any trifle, with thy purblind eyes, I should account thee but an idle Owl, That (so unlike an Eagle) catchest flies. For though my stock of wit be ne'er so little, I scorn to have it said, I rob the spital. For the better understanding of this History, you may observe, That COsdras (or as some call him Cosroes) King of Persia, at such time as he took jerusalem from the Christians, amongst other spoils carried away the remainder of the Cross which Constantine had left. And it was fourteen years before the Emperor Heraclius could recover it out of the Pagan's hands. The occasion, progress, and issue of this war, is the Argument of this Book, entitled La Croceracquistata: out which this tale is taken. Wherein the Author had a large field: for all the great Princes and Captains of the world were in these two Armies. Alceste and Eliza were two of them, which were in the Christian army. Whose story on●y I have picked out, as I find it in several places of ●he Italian Book. Every abruption in my Author is observed with a digression of mine own, whereby you are directed to the very leaf and line. That they that list to compare the translation with the original may see, that I have observed not only the sense, but the length and number of his staves. Prince Theodor (who begins this Narration) was the Emperor Heraclius Nephew, and appointed by him to entertain the Pope's Nuncio, Artemio, being sent unto the army from his Holiness, to appease certain differences happened amongst the Princes there. The rest is easy to be understood. Wherein if there be more Poetical liberty than the precise rule of truth will warrant; or less regard to avoid superstition then there ought to be amongst us; let the fault be his, that I have too precisely followed. The Tragedy of Alceste and Eliza. When Theodor had made a short relation To Artemio of the present jar, And named each Knight, their nature & their nation That served Heraclio in that holy war, Against the Persian King, and come thus far, He paused a while; and then began again: As you may see, if you'll but take the pain. LIB. 3. Pag. 49. 28. BEhold (quoth he) that hindmost couple there, Whose colours & devise are white and red; A pair for gentleness without compare, Whom love hath linked in a lawful bed. Alceste and Eliza those two are With hearts conjoined, and souls unsevered. She (thanks to Love) for him's grown bold in war. And he in peace makes amorous war with her. 29. Wounded with grief and love, the maid was brought Well near the period of her loathed life: Though now for patience and affection thought, The only pattern of a constant wife. Her Lover's absence, such despair had wrought, That full four years together, in that strife, She kept the woods, and hard adventures sought: Her love unknown, her clothing rude and nought. 30. She is the only Woman in the Camp, And her th'Emperor suffers though a Woman: But such her virtues are that they instamp Her valour equal to the manliest Man. Her arrows fly as if with joves' bright lamp They were directed to the mark: she can With shafts from out her golden quiver there Kill beasts that run, and fowls that fly i'th' air. 31. Her Bow doth promise, we the promise take, Of greater matters, from her female hand, And I the sad and true report could make Of all her griefs, and let you understand How she became an Archer, for whose sake; But that I fear your patience to offend. And here he paused; as if he stood in doubt He should but trouble him, to tell it out. 32. Th' Ambassador, perceiving what desire, Prince Theodoro had to tell his tale Of those two Lovers, that in endless fire Of grief and Love were sacrificed for all, Turning about to hear a case so dire, (Though accidents of Love be full of gall) Commands himself (as courtesy doth still In such light things) to please an others will. 33. And answered thus, I shall be glad to hear, Since happily you are not loath to tell, The sharp events of honest Lovers, where In length of time, they end their troubles well. This said, he held his peace. When Theodor, With voice distinct and clear, of what befell (Untold before) a fresh report did make, And turning to the Nuncio thus he spoke. 34. In the Laconic sea Citera lies, As fair an Island as the Sun can see In this our Horizon, and one likewise Surrounded with the sea as pleasantly; There were these Lovers borne, and that implies Their tender age was spent as merrily, In laughning, sporting, playing still together, When neither place nor age denied it either. 35. There did a Love that knew not what Love was Knit on their hearts a knot they never knew; They'd sigh sometimes, but when they sighed, alas They understood not whence that sighing grew: For as for fear or hope, no cause there was; (Though hope and fear increased their love, 'tis true) Thus, silly things, some space before they know What 'tis to Love, do perfect Lovers grow. 36. Their age increased, and their desires as fast, Which afterwards they often quench and light With, marriage bed; till envious Fortune cast To spoil their pleasures, and to part them quite. Cosdra girt Carthagen about the waste, And we were summoned to defend our right. The Army marcheth, then to sea it hails, And covers all the Ocean with their sails. 37. Thus hard necessity (which choice denies) Compelled the Knight to leave his dearest wife; His leave he took with water in his eyes And looked as pale as if he left his life. At last they part, and he the sail unties, Which Boreas sighs and his do drive astrife. Away he goes, but goes without a heart, For fair Eliza will not let that part. 38. His eyes full-fraught with tears, his breast with woes, This poor distressed husband onward drives, And sadly through the watery Forest rows, To succour Carthage, or to spend their lives. But 'twas too late, the town was lost, and those Which took it gone, before his fleet arrives. He stayed awhile to put his ships in frame And then returned the fleet from whence it came. 39 Now in this interim there was a Knight, Newly arrived on the Africa side, To lend poor Carthage (as he thought he might) Some little help in this their greatest need: Who after supper (when men's hearts are light, And take least heed of what they say) espied Th' enamoured Alcestis, stand with downcast eyes, Observed him sad, and doth the cause surmise. 40. Fie Sir (quoth he) banish this melancholy, Which clouds your brow, and corrosives your heart: Thought (you do know) is but a wiseman's folly, And does nought else but duplifie our smart. If it be Love possesseth you so wholly, (As many youths it doth that lack the art) Why pluck it up betimes; there's no such ill, As to be subject to a woman's will. 41. Nor can there be a woman that's not base, That wretched sex, hath neither love nor faith, It is not valour, wit, or comely grace, But gold, 'tis only gold their fancy fwa'ith. I have tried a thousand, yet not one whose case Differeth in this: I loath them all he saith. And reckons up a number so embraced By him for money; and describes the last. 42. Upon Citera shore that doth behold Asopoes' back, a stately house is set Built partly on a rock, as if it would Behold itself i'th' sea that closeth it. There had I one, (but as the rest for gold) Eliza called, a rare and dainty bit And if one's looks could have persuaded me That any had been honest, 't'had been she. 43. Some what retired, and in black garments clad, A niggard of her hair, and modest look Demure in gate, and rather slow then sad, Reserv'dly wise in all she undertook, A downcast eye, from whence her beauties had Fixed at her foot the rays they from it took, Seemed thus to say. I look not, view not me, For I regard no others misery. 44. But as love's wealth the more it is concealed Appears the more, and moves the more desire, And love burns hottest till it be revealed, (Denial serving but to blow the fire) So I Eliza much the fairer held, In those mean clothes, and longed the more to try her: But so her Nurse to ease my love had wrought That to conclusion now the match was brought. 45. This woman lean with age, and meager grown, Feigns religion, counterfeits devotion, Goes muttering on her beads in such a tone, As you would think her matines never done: You often see her kiss the holy ground, And knock her hollow breast until it sound, she's mistress of deceit, and with her art Can turn the key of every others heart. 46. This aged Beldame silently by night, Conveyed me to the place mine Idol lay: An unfrequented passage out of sight, She privately had opened towards the sea. Her chamber and her bed this wand'ring Knight Described at full, and all he could bewray; Lavish of speech at such a lavish table, Where wine of Crect had made his tongue more able. 47. Whereby the husband being made too sure Of that affront which he had done him, cried, How dar'st thou (villain) think thyself secure Whilst thus thou gloriest in so foul a deed? Shall I my wife's shame and mine own endure? Heaven sent thee hither to receive thy meed: At my hand take't; when drawing out his sword, He furiously assailed him at the board. 48. Th' Adulterer confounded and surprised, Had scarce his drunken hand upon his sword, When ill defended, as he was advised, He wounded fell, to die the earth in blood. His fortune with his folly had devised, To end his supper at a sadder board. Amongst the pots and platters on the ground His carcase lay: his soul in wine was drowned. 49. Alceste lingers not, but hastes to sea With one small Pinnace, leaving all the rest; The Southwind swelled his sails, and he made way Through deepest waves, with deeper thoughts oppressed. A deadly paleness on his face there lay, A sadness worse than death possessed his breast, He found no rest or place, sometimes he broke Out into sighs, but ne'er a word he spoke. 50. The fourth day that this desperate lover quit The Africa shore, he might discern in sight, (The flatness of the sea permitting it) Fair Citerea's Isle, though nothing nigh it: He altered then his course, at last he light Upon the coast of Mallea, when 'twas night. From thence a servant to his wife he sent, With this commission, and to this intent. 51. Go thou (quoth he) and get my wife aboard, And when thou hast her far enough from shore, That no man can perceive, or hear a word, Then murder her: I need not tell thee more, Which if thy sword refuse, why let thy sword Be spared from blood, so thou wilt cast her o'er. Be sure to make her sure, and lend no ear To any excuse she makes, or any prayer. 52. Away he goes, resolved to do the deed; Comes to Citera, in Alcestes name Salutes Eliza, who was soon agreed To meet her husband, since he willed the same. And (lest his tale might some suspicion breed) He told her where he left him, whence he came; And that he should be forced to stay a while Before he could return into the Isle. 53. The loving wife that knew the messenger Easly believed the message which he brought. And joyful of the news, suspects no danger But sets her heedless feet into his boat. The Rascal leaves the shore, and in his anger, When time and place was fitting (as he thought) Moore raging than the sea whereon he went, Flies on the Woman, gives his fury vent. 54. And on her gentle face (that might appease The Lion's fury, and the Adder's sting, And was of force to mollify with ease The hardest Oaks that in the deserts spring) When he had fixed his stern and staring eyes, In act as desperate as spite could bring, He wrapped his lefthand in her tender hair, And with his right he did his sword upreare. 55. And with abusive speech (disjoyntly placed With horror of the fact) dispatch saith he, Eliza thou must die, this is thy last, Thy time is come, thou may'st no longer be: Wilt thou have sword or sea? she wretch in haste (Put to so hard a choice as here you see) With lips as pale as earth, and trembling breath, Required at least the reason of her death. 56. The reason is (quoth he) to tell thee plain Thy husband's will, for he commands it so; This said, he tugged her by the hair again And moved his sword to give the fatal blow. At that, (like Phoebus in a shower of rain) Her beauties through her watery glasses show Come on (quoth she) obey my Lord, and thine, If such his pleasure be, even such is mine. 57 For him, not for myself, my life was sweet, For him I loath it that doth it despise, Love made it his at first, and his 't's yet, On him it rests, for him it lives and dies. And though my death with some displeasure meet, Because it parts me from the thing I prise, Yet his contentmet is so dear to me, 'Twill sweeten every torment thou shalt see. 58. But, one thing rests, which I must entreat, As the last service thou canst do for me, That when thou seest my Lord, thou wilt repeat These words, which dying hardly uttered be, Thy late Eliz whose faithful love as yet Hath never wronged thee, dyes as true to thee. And here she turned to God; then did expose Her fair breast, naked to his cruel blows. 59 But he that was before so armed with rage, That neither tears nor prayers had prevailed, The greatness of ones hart, ones constant carriage Prisoner and bound (who would believe it) quailed, His sword was up to lop her tender age, Put pity had so charmed him, that it failed, Unable now to strike or fetch a blow, His arm grew weak, his hand his sword let go. 60. Which made him leave the work, and turning to her More mildly than before, these words he spoke. I would thy death were not within my power, Or that I could remit it for thy sake; But thou art wife unto that Lord of our, I but his servant that this undertake: Yet if thou wilt accept of what I'll give, Instead of death, thou shalt in exile live. 61. If thou wilt promise on thy faith before, To get thee gone, and never return again, I'll set thee yonder on that rustic shore, And say I drowned thee in the Ocean: From whence thou may'st by travel more and more Absent thyself, and these our coasts refrain. But swore thou wilt not stay in any place, Where news may come of his Eliza's case. 62. She answered, Friend dispatch, strike through this breast▪ Why wouldst thou have me live, since I forgo That cruel one? who (such) yet I protest Is my Lives Life. Let fall that deadly blow, Let fall that hand, that hand to death addressed, Let me not live against his will to go: For such a life would be a death to me, And any death for him will pleasing be. 63. Thus she entreats for that life parting blow, To show the duty of a loving wife. But now he'll not consent it should be so That heretofore would have denied her life. A strange dissension here is seen to grow, Betwixt these parties, and a noble strife, An innocent young Woman begs to die, Which he that was to kill her, doth deny. 64. But after that Eliza had somewhile Begged death, of that her murderer in vain, And by entreating in an unuised style, Had showed a noble courage to remain, (In hope her innocence to reconcile, At better leisure, if she were not slain) Commands herself at last to be content, And to a loathed life doth give consent. 56. And both her cheeks bedewed with her tears, (Like untouched Roses in a morning's frost) To lead her bani'sht feet to him she swears Amongst strange people, in a foreign cost. Her veil she leaves, and cuts her golden hairs, And all that may disguise her beauties most. She sadly throws her purple robe aside, And in a servile habit doth abide. 66. He lends it her: and on a desert place He leaves her weeping; steals himself from thence. She o'er the mountains all-alone doth trace, Tastes little food but what her sorrow vents. Studies to seem uncivile rude and base, As if she had been bred to give offence, Like those rude people that she met with ever; Yet doth her study and her art deceive her. 67. In vain she strives to hide the gentle air Of her aspect, her fashion, or her gate; Her courtlike carriage will not rude appear, Nor yet her eyes their loveliness abate. Her fair hands show too white, her skin too fair In all she does they mark too great a state. As when a cloud doth overspread the sun, With her black curtains, yet the dai's not done. 68 Now when sh'had wandered up and down 10. moons, A forlorn stranger, in an unknown land: And with her scalding sights, and inward groans Had made the woods resound that were athand; A courteous Shepherd that had heard her moans Received her home into his household band: Where (taken for a Boy) she's set to keep Sometimes great cattle, sometimes flocks of sheep. 69. And with a sheephook, and a Shepherd's accents, (Accents too sweet for such a mean profession) She drives her flocks unto the hills ascents, To feed or fold them, as she sees dicretion. The woods attentive to her sad laments, She makes compassionate, beyond expression. The rivers and the groves by turns condole The lamentations of her vexed soul. 70. Where standing sadly (on a time) she spied A mountaine-goat, come, running towards the wood She kept her close, and striking at his side The steel devoured his life, and sucked his blood. His one horn to the other than she tied, And made thereof a Bow both strong and good. Wherewith she quickly such an Archer grew, As Parthia or Persia never knew. 71. With this she scoured the woods, and when 'twas night Came richly laden home wards with her pray, And where the thickest trees most hindered light, There all alone she spent the weary day, Breathing those passions out, which still invite The usual tribute, which her eyes did pay. And after all her weeping, all her pain, The air in sighs, the grass in tears remain. 72. Long she continued in this bitter plight, Which had the blossom of her beauty blasted; Her glad sad April would afford no light, For in obscurity it ever lasted. Until by chance, a certain venturous Knight Most deadly wounded, towards this Cottage hasted, Where shortly after he his life forsook, Whose horse and armour this Virago took. 73. With these she meant, and presently assayed To prove herself a Knight amongst the best. She thought her death was long-enogh delayed, Or that her sorrow lived too long (at least) And though the hard, and sturdy armour laid Too sore a burden, on her tender breast, Yet still she bore it: and I know not whether The steel grew softer, or her body harder. 74. Mean while, the servant (unto whose great care Her death was left) returned unto his Lord, And told him, how he dragged her by the hair, And having killed her, cast her overbord. Well, then (quoth he) take thou that money there, But get thee gone; he now so much abhorred The act, and feared the name of homicide, He could no more the actors sight abide. 75. Away he goes. But now more doubts than one The credulous husband hammers in his heart. He doubts th' occasion may be small or none; And now reputes him of so rash a part. Comes to Citera, takes the Nurse alone, (He fiercely looks, she as she would depart) At last he questions her (too late grown wise) With sword in hand, and fire in both his eyes. 76. Comeon thou Quean (quoth he) For I will know The truth of all, who was it that thou brought'st To wrong my wife and me? dispatch and show (For thou art she that my dishonour wroughtst) The aged devil at such a fearful blow Fell trembling down, her heart was wholly lost. And craving pardon, told in what degree Herself was guilty, but Eliza free. 77. O'ercome my Lord with gold, I must confess I hearkened to a loving fools desire, Who came well stored with lust, with wit the less, To crave my help, his heart was so on fire But I that knew 'twas time but lost to press Your chaste Eliza, never once would try her. My wits I tried, and by another moine Contented him with fraud, myself with coin. 78. Terea I persuaded to receive The foolish Lover in Eliza's room: For Terea's age and stature would deceive (They are so like your wives) a wiser groom. The ass overjoyed with what he did conceive I brought unto your very marriage room. For I had made your ignorant wife, by art, Remove that night into an other part. 79. I left the gallant there awhile; who stayed Full of desire, expecting my return: At last I came, and brought with me the maid, Wrapped in my Mistress gown, to fit his turn. A light (scarce giving light in that dark shade) I suddenly putout, it should not burn: And in your chamber, and your very bed They took their pleasures, and their pleasures fed. 80. And I, before the light from-out the east Should show itself, or what he might would hide, Importuned him to leave his restless rest, And steal away before he were descried. And he whose hot desire (as then he guessed Was satisfied at full) went out unspide. And here the Beldame stayed. Alceste stood Unmoved at first: then rage inflamed his blood. 81. Thou damned wretch (quoth he) through thee have I Then slain my loving, chaste, and loyal wife, (Or rather life) and that too wrongfully. Thy fault shall never pass without thy life. He was about to strike, when suddenly The baseness of the object stayed his knife. He runs from her to Terea to know Whether the quean had told him true or no. 82. He finds it so: and 'twas no easy wound That arrow made, for through his heart it wrought. An extreme sorrow had his wits so drowned That to revenge it on himself he thought; And sure his soul had quickly been unbound To follow hers, (a naked ghost now brought) But that his Friends the resolution spy, And teach him soon a better way to die. 83. Persuaded by them not to make his death The dire occasion of his endless woe, he's come to Asia, where he undergoeth The greatest dangers that a man can know: But howsoe'er he seeks to spend his breath, Venturing a thousand ways to end it so, His fate reserves him for a better story, And where he seeks his death, he finds his glory. 84. When this distressed Knight had full four years Continued constant in this mournful plight, (Acknowledging his error with his tears, And never finding comfort or delight.) A wand'ring Knight before the trench appears, And calls Alceste to a single fight. His name unknown, he still maintained the place, And kept his beaver down to hide his head. 85. The strange defiance which this stranger made, Came quickly to Alcestes ears by many; He armed with speed, and on his Courser stayed The opening of the gate, than took the valley. His visage and his carriage well bewrayed He was of courage to have answered any. He takes his Lance, and fits himself to run, But first unto the Knight he thus begun. 86. I am the same Alceste, you have sought To fight withal, yet give no reason why; Thought that be reasonless, me thinks you might Reveal your name, before we battle try. Thou seest I am a Knight, if that be aught, Take that (quoth he) and make no more reply. I bear thee no ill will, yet am this day The greatest foe thou hast, 'tis all I le say. 87. And here their horses spurred, together went, The stranger stooped his lance, as well 'twas seen He did it warily: Alceste lent A blow upon his shield, it split again: And yet it fell far better than he meant, For now his Lance (more kind than he had been) Flying in pieces, made no other wound, But left the adverse party on the ground. 88 Alceste lights, and runs unto his foe, To seize his arms, when taking off his crest, Affrighted starts, to see Eliza so: The face was hers he knew, that he loved best, His gentle wife he thought dead long ago, Only maintained alive within his breast. He stands amazed, and unremoved, like one Deprived of life, sense, speech, and motion. 89. And there had died (his wand'ring soul forsook And fled for sudden joy so from his heart) But that it was depressed, with grief he took For his past error, in his nobler part. From whence in floods of death, his life and look Now went, now came; yet life would not depart. Sorrow or joy might each have wrought their will, But both conjoined, could not Alceste kill. 90. His living wife looked on him steadfastly, And seeing him forbear to use his brand, She sent a silent speech from out her eye, Which he that loves, or none, can understand. Cruel (quoth she) thine anger satisfy; Who rescues me? who saves me from thy hand? Eliza's come into thy hands, that she Obeying them, may only die by thee. 91. I know too well Alceste, 'tis thy will (Not to offend thee with the name of husband) I should not be thy wife, or living still: Eliza will not live, lest she offend, I mean to die; but o do thou distil The blood out of these veins, and there's an end. Why stayest ' thou? do it: glut thy sefe at last; Only believe, I never was unchaste. 92. If through thy servants pity unto me, Some four years since, I was not slaughtered, Repent it not: for though I living be, The shady woods have held me buried. Now to be killed again I come to thee, That so our wills may not be severed: For I by thee a double death shall die, And thou by that a double pleasure try. 93. Alceste at these speeches fell a shaking, Like to a reed that on the sea-bank grows A flood of tears his sorrows overtaking Shows his repentance, and from whence it flows. Overcome with kindness, and his foul mistaking he's often dumb, and by his silence shows All that his tongue locks up, and more reveals One look of his, then want of speech conceals. 94. But after he his fault had fully shown, And seasoned his requests with bitter moan, Bitter to him, but his repentance known, More sweet to her then Hybla's nectar grown, The loving Spouse (forgetting faults foregone) Beheld him with a calmer look, like one That sent a faithful message from her heart Which promised pardon, proffered peace in part. Here endeth the relation which Prince Theodore made to the Pope's Nuntio the rest of the story followeth, as I find it reported by the Author, in other places. 2 Digression. And here my Author leaves this loving pare, To tell what other accidents befell In both the Armies which I must forbear, As not belonging to the tale I tell. Yet lest the Reader stray too far about, I'll lend him this short thread to help him out. HEraclio was besieged by Cosdras host, Within his trenches, which the Emperor Defended bravely to the Pagans' cost, Till one Gersan (a cunning Engineer) Devised a concaved glass, convect, embossed, And in the fashion of an hemisphere, Which taking the sun beams within its centre, Returned in fire, what but in light did enter. This in a chariot closely he conveyed, As near the Christians camp as well he might. The Pagans (armed for all advantage) stayed To see what strange effect this Engine wrought. It was no sooner to the Sun displayed, But death and terror to the camp it brought, And had consumed them all, but for these twain, As you may read in this ensuing Scene. I find in the Imperial history, that this glass was devised before the wars betwixt Cosdras and Heraclius, to set certain ships on fire in a haven; the truth I aver not, my Author I follow. This tale is discontinued from the 3. to the 23. book, as appears. Lib. 23. p. 407. 1 BOth camps had line encamped on several hills, The one against the other diverse days, And neither of them both had any wills To leave the mountains for the plainer ways. Until old Gersan (sire of arts and skills) Though broken now with years, yet other ways Of sounder judgement, and profounder skill, Offered himself to be at Cosdra's will. 2. This man was noted from his very cradle, To be of high conceit, and deep foresight; That could outwatch the Moon, and was as able To make it break of day before 'twas light, Hang stones i'th' air, as if the air were stable, Turn rivers backwards to their fountains right, Count the Sun's st●ps, and measure heaven in parts, For sense and study help him in his arts. 3. When Gersan was conducted to the King, He found him musing in no little fret: He meant to give th' assault; but then the thing Which stayed him, was, th' Emperor hindered it. If you my Lord (says he) forbear to bring Your standard forward, never conquered yet, Because you see Heraclio guards the place, Or that you think it in too strong a case. 4. I'll promise you, by noon to burn as far Within your enemy's trenches, as a bow Will shoot a shaft, or engine used in war Can cast a stone, I speak but what I know. Courage, an easy passage needs no spur; A fo● unarmed will never hurt his foe, And I with fire from heaven will make you see The place you think too strong, too weak for me. 5. Thus far he went: and Cosdra lending ear, Made little doubt of what he heard him speak. The camp arose before the day was clear, And marched away as soon as 'twas daybreak, Descending down the hill a full career, Approached the Roman Camp, which was not weak, The Pagan King had then so huge an host, It filled the plains, and covered all the coast. 6. The Sun was risen, and from both the camps The shadows through his golden rays showed bright. The armours, kindled by celestial lamps, Were reinflamed by a greater light. The moving steel seemed fields of corn, whose clamps A southern wind had breathed upon in spite. Helmets, targets, cuirasses, and the rest Were but as straw, or ears of corn, at best. 7. The vanguard fierce Rubeno managed, The rearward Cosdra; and the maine was led By stern Armallo, on a Thracian steed, Pied white and black, and richly furnished, Moving undauntedly his lofty head Above each squadron; for it might be said There was no meaner man that with his crest Could reach his shoulder, or above his breast. 8. This Leader marched in haste, and with him led The ample Army which he did command, As whole, as Ganges when she leaves her bed, And fills the Ocean with her Asian sand. Or that proud River which doth overspread The sunburnt Africa, when it flows the land, And heaven's defect with her full veins supplies, And makes the sea with her seven horns to rise. 9 The watchful Sentinels mean while descried The Persian Army which approached them nigh, And first the dust and then the men they spied, That in the cloud came marching silently, With this important news they run and ride. Heraclio slept not when he heard the cry. Th' alarm given, the warlike trumpets sound, And through th' entrails of the camp resound, 10. The Emperor all armed save his head, Disposed quickly of his men at arms; Causing ●●oops of them to be assembled Within the trench, to answer all alarms. The right wing by himself was governed, The ●eft he left to Theodors' commands. 〈…〉 with signs, and there with voice did show What might be helpful, what might hurtful grow. 11. The Cavalry upon the rampire stood So fitly placed, that with signs they might Make show to them without, their hearts were good, And courage served them to a present fight: What vantage death, what damage lies in blood, What glory arms, what honour wounds requite. They shake their shields, and flourish with their swords, To show the field is not a stage for words. 12. But now behold (consuming all the plain) Th' assailant Army makes a close approach, And they that on the fenced sconce remain, Discern the Ensigns that so near encroach: From hence the Pagan, thence the Roman train With fierce aspects, and visage of reproach, Before their swords or darts can come to light, Do shoot at one another scorn and spite. 13. Mean while Rubeno brought his men by art Up to the Romans trench, without prevention; And Gersan carried on a four-wheeled Cart Amongst the soldiers, this his new invention, So bound about, and covered every part, That humane light was blind to his intention. Four gentle horses black as pitch of hue This fiery chariot (soft and easily) drew. 14. But when that engine was conveyed so nyed, That now the Roman camp in danger lay, Gersan stayed his horses, to untie it: The native light outshined the lightsome day; H● turned it then against the Sun, to try it, When in that light a fire was seen to play, So kindled by the sun's united beams, As one great river made of many streams. 15. The work is made of one great hollow glass, Well leaded over on the outer side, Into whose concave when the Sun doth pass, His beams are fixed, and in one point abide, Where all reflections meet from every place, And back again reflect, with greater pride. The r●yes it gathers out again it flings; Like one main River from a thousand springs. 16. This deadly glass, the Sun's united rays Sends back again, with such an ardent ire, That it inflames the air, dries up the ways, Consumes the woods, and sets the fields on fire. Now what can soldiers do in such a case? O● who can free them when they help require? Weapons cannot, defence serves not the turn, The fire flies always out, and all doth burn. 17. The lightnings which the cruel glass sends out, striketh on the Romans as they lie in hold: And where it strikes, no Grecian is so stout, Or yet Italian, but his heart grows cold: The flames spare no man, so dispersed about; The trenches are grown empty to behold; The valley is so wasted with the stroke, That part in flames, and part remains in smoke. 18. Caesar his tired soldiers doth persuade To stop the currant of that raging fire: Which quenched in one place, doth the rest invade, As Gersan turns the glass, or his desire; Sometimes the men themselves his mark are made, Sometimes the hand which brings the water nigher, The very vessels (as each other thing) Return with fire, though they the water bring. 19 The Emperor like a Mariner of skill, That guides a naked and distressed ship Through stormy seas, and winds that whistle shrill, With broken ribs, and in a dropsy fit, Yet stands it out, 'gainst winds and billows still, And in a case of death shrinks not a whit, Or howsoe'er with waves and crosse-winds tossed, Will never yield till life and all be lost. 20. So he to animate his weary men Boldly through the thickest flames doth wade, And makes the several breaches up again, Which in the rampiers side, the fire had made. His soldiers (through suspicion) look as when A man is desperate or clean dismayed. Both hope and fear have given their hearts one blow, But this they cannot, that they will not know. 21. Eliza sees the flames, and looking pale, Creeps silently to her dear husband's side: As in a sudden shower of rain or hail, The loving Turtle useth to abide. She clings to him, that death itself might fail To part her life from his, or them divide. The fire grows near her, and from her fair breast She sends a sigh, and calls up on Alcestis. 22. My dear, the fatal hour is come (says she) Of our lives date: it troubles me the less Since heaven is pleased I should dye with thee, Or rather in thy bosom, as I guess; I know our souls can never severed be, And though our bodies suffer this distress, I hope that heat which kept them living, will Preserve them after death united still. 23. And reason 'tis (since heaven hath preordained That we should meet in this extremity) That they whose lives Loves-fire hath still maintained, Should dye by fire conjoined as lovingly. And happy we if this for us remained When we are dead. I hope it verily, That some sweet air will on our ashes blow, And mingling them in one, unite them so. 24. The loving husband fain would have replied, But sorrow stopped his breath, he could not speak: He forced himself, but inward grief denied All but a sigh, the rest was all too weak. At last his face grew clear, his tongue untied, (As lightning on a cloud is seen to break) And turning to his fair and lovely Bride, He kindly looked, and thus to her replied. 25. Lend me thy bow, for I will thither go, Whence that old Sire consumes and burns so fast; And taking equal distance for my blow, Will with an arrow break that fatal glass, I hope I shall return as quickly too; But say I dye, whose life can better pass? Who more contented? who with greater gain? When I may save thy life, by being slain? 26. The Dam'sell answered him without delays, In gesture loving, mixed with some disdain. When was my life so dear to me? she says, What sign thereof hath hitherto been ta'en? That thou shouldst thus desire to change thy days, For mine so vile, and so unworthy gain. Eliza is not, no, her heart can tell Like other women, if thou mark'st her well. 27. I speak it not to brag, but if't be true That I have felt a thousand deaths for thee, In four years' space, when (far without thy view) In desert woods I sought my misery: How can I now endure thou shouldst pursue An action of such danger, without me? And shall not I, that (loathed) have challenged thee, (Spurred on by Love) now bear thee company? 28. Is this thy mind? and cannot all the proves Given heretofore, when lest I could affuie, Persuade thee that Eliza's one that loves, But she must stay, and thou must go and dye? Alceste, this my only glory proves, That in the chains which our affections tie The link wherein I am, is not so weak, But first the knot of this my life will break. 29. But why delay we time? my bow and I Will go with thee: this expert hand doth know A nearer way to ' th' mark, than thine can spy, Strikes farther of, and gives a greater blow. And well thou knowst, if Love have made me die The field in blood, if warlike yea or no; To show how much she dares, how little fears That in her bosom amorous fire bears. 30. This said, she stayed, and when Alceste had In vain persuaded her to change her mind, They both agreed: and (soon in armour clad) The knight related what they had designed. The Emperor to hear it was right glad, His royal arms about their necks he twined, And said; Go then, and let your fortunes be Such as your virtues are, well known to me. 31. And if reward may any vantage bring To that desire which virtue doth incense, (Virtue which seems to ask no other thing, But takes itself alone for recompense) Leave this enclosed ground, not tarrying To hinder that, which gives us such offence: For I will not be wanting unto you, Either in honour or reward, I vow. 32. They undertake the charge, and take their leaves, With constant minds, and well-assured faces: Whereat the Emperor good hope conceives, And comforts them with Fatherly embraces. Their wide attempt a narrow passage craves, (Delays be dangerous in desperate cases.) But now these venturous wights their horses take, And (mounted) straight the burning Sconce forsake. 33. Upon two coursers never litter were Bred of the races in Arabia; That fire within them, snow without them bear, Wings at their heels whereon the wind doth play, They issue forth; and short thin garments wear, To shun the fury of that glasses ray. Praised and lamented of a thousand Knights, Depart this generous pair of loving wights. 34. Cleantus stays to guard a secret way, Whereby they may find safe retreat at need, If adverse Fortune do not say them nay, Or that their bold attempt should well succeed. Their horses run as in a cloudy day, A flash of lightning flies, such is their speed; Anon so nigh the cruel glass they grow, Eliza tries to draw her horned bow. 35. The string let-go resounds, and sound sent The winged shaft flies through the open air, The arrow singing all the way it went, The cord still trembling, as it were for fear. When lo, right as the skilful Archerment The arrow lights, and breaks the glassy spear: And as a torch that is in water drenched The light extinguished, and the fire was quenched. 36. The glass thus broken, all the pieces fly About the field, and strew the dusty plain. Whereby the flames that did so damnify Became but idle practices and vain. This when the Christian soldiers saw that lie Entrenched within the circle of the flame, Their hopes revive, and they new courage take, Defend themselves, and brave resistance make. 37. The Pagan-hoast (enraged with this disgrace) Flies to revenge, and sets upon these twain; But fair Eliza quickly turns her face, To find her dear Alceste out again. Together towards their Camp they spur apace; And happily they had not run in vain, But that Eliza's horse amidst his race, Stumbled and fell, through roughness of the place. 38. With that she crid, O stay not, husband fly, O stay not, fly; what meanest thou thus to stay; If thou escap'st, the death is sweet I die: I am but lost, what good does this delay? What folly is this? wilt thou thy valour try Against a hundred troops? art mad I say? O fly: there is no more to think upon; Let one suffice for both: O fly, be gone. 39 But he (not used to yield to such invites) Makes haste to get betwixt them and his wife. His horse he gallops, and his sword he gripes, Resolved to die except he saved her life. He thought himself against a thousand Knights Of force sufficient, in so just a strife. Thus armed and charmed with love, he scorned to fly From her he loved, and leave her there to die. 40. So he withstood a Camp, opposed them all, (By desperation over hardy made) But over-laid at last was driven to fall: Three mortal wounds he in his breast received. But first his sword had made Armene sprawl, And Altomar upon the ground had laid, Wounded Tarpantes arm, Anfrisos breast, And broke Falsirons helmet o'er his Crest. 41. Meanwhile Eliza's horse got up again, And she to find her husband sought about, At last she spied him, wounded, wan, and fain, Bleeding amongst a thousand spears a foot, She thither flings, with frenzy in her brain. And he that saw her up, did what he might To repossess his horse, and rise again, Now weak with loss of blood, and full of pain. 42. The loving wife forbears not to expose Her naked breast, against the piercing steel, She thwarts the troops and weapons of her foes, And makes them know her strength, by what they feel. But woman's breast against such cruel blows Is found too slender and too weak a shield She held it out, till one cross blow by chance Lit on her side, which opened to the Lance. 43. Th' enamoured Eliza falls not yet, But keeps her stirrups firm whereon she stood, Her new device with gold and jewels set Was now enamelled with a stream of blood. Her presence in Alceste did beget Strength to remount, and make his passage good. They now together better hopes conceive To scape by flight, then e●st they thought to have. 44. But from the lefthand wing to stop the way, Which towards the bridge they took with all their might, Artasso brought his troops in good array, And got betwixt their Rampire and their flight. The wretched Lovers durst no longer stay, But made away, with all the speed they might: In flying yet there was some hope, though small, In staying there was less, or none at all. 45. From plain to hill, from hill to dale again, This loving couple up and down do fling Staining the ground with blood wherever they strain, And still pursued at heels by ' th' Pagan King: At last a hard and crooked path they gain, That leads unto a wood, or desert spring, So thick with trees, and bushes overgrown, That there they lost them, how was never known. He comes to this tale again in the next book, as you may see by turning over this leaf. 3 Digression. My Author, like a Keeper, walks his round, And hath the world (as he his park) at will, Views every nook and corner of his ground, Sees which are rascal, which are fit to kill: And I, that serve but as his dryfoot Hound, Must not exceed my leame, but draw on still, To find a brace of Deere-ones broken out, That Death the blood-hownd hurries all about. THe Persian King beheld the glass putout, Which had anoyed the Christian Camp so sore, And saw the Christians (thereupon grown stout) Defend themselves more bravely than before, With all his Host enclosing them about (Rage and revenge could not have acted more) Makes-fierce Armallo first assault their Wall, An unexpected sally frustrates all. Lib. 24. pag. 485. 1. Meanwhile Eliza and her dear Alcestis Gallop their horses up and down the woods, Exceeding weak, and faint for lack of rest, Bedewing all their passage with their bloods, And with their wounds still more and more oppressed, (Although Eliza's were the lesser floods) Oppressed indeed for now the weary Knight Began to languish, and to die outright. 2. And spent and weak, his face like frozen snow, With trembling voice, and sounding somewhat low He reigns his horse, to make him go more slow, And cries, stay wife, I can no farther go, My pain to such extremity doth grow, I feel myself consume with bleeding so; Thus languishing and tired at length he tried To light, and rest his ill affected side. 3. And underneath a shrub he sits him down, And leans his armed head upon a stone, His shield (an idle burden) from him thrown, His arm too weak to bear it now is grown; The woman that had slacked her pace, eftsoon, (Struck to the heart to hear his dying tone) Leaps from her horse, and runs to him ama●ne, More senseless of her own, then of his pain. 4. The wound she had upon her tender side, Which troubled her till then, she feels no more Such strange effects in love are often tried, As fire within and marble frozen o'er. 'Twas not her own (for that she qualified) They were her husband's wounds she felt so sore Rather for him she felt the greater anguish, That he in body, she in soul did languish. 5. Th' afflicted came whereas her dear Lord lay, And when she law him dying, and his eyes Already veiled, his spirits all decay And nothing left him but a case of Ice, She knew not what to do, or what to say: She invocates the earth, to heaven she cries, She neither hides her grief, nor it bewrays, She weeps, forbears, curses, complains, and prays. 6. She runs to call some help, she knows not whom, Herdsman or Shepherd, but she knows not where, Returns the way she went, and all-alone (Like one distract) she wanders here and there. The woods alone, that hear her make her moan Can lend no comfort, though they lend an ear: Their boughs are silent, silent are their leaves, The air no answer to her sorrow gives. 7. At last she back returns, and doth unclasp The sturdy Helmet from his frozen head, And lays it gently in her hollow lap, Upon a pillow of her garments spread: Then stooped to kiss it, when it was her hap To kiss those lips that were already dead; And now she's fain to take a kiss by stealth, Which he was wont to give her of himself. 8. With that her cheeks beperled with her tears, (Like damask Roses with a morning's Ice) She leaves him lying, to disgorge her cares (Fixing meanwhile her fair eyes on the skies) Alas, (quoth she) and were not all their spears Able to pierce this breast that naked lies? Can nothing kill me, that unarmed go? And must Alceste die, that's armed so? 9 Base steel, it was thy treason lost Alcestis, What strokes are those that use to harden thee, If (when with blows thy temper should prove best) Thou changest nature, and becomest free? Alas, this single garment saved my breast, That sturdy armour would not safeguard thee: For thee I shall account all steel as glass, And he that trusts in armour, but an ass. 10. Betrayed by it, from me thou dost depart, And where alas, where (cruel leav'st thou me?) Distressed, alone, in such an uncouth part, As nought but trees, and stones there are to see. Or what avails that freed from fire thou wert, Since to thy death thou ranst as speedily? And carrying death along with thee for hire, Met'st with the sword, where thou escap'st the fire. 11. Ay-mee, thou diest; hath then Eliza's fate Kept her alive to see this misery? Why was her life preserved at sea o'late; Was that too fair a death for her to die? And must her husband in this doleful state, First die within her arms, sans remedy? And she that neither fire nor sword can kill, Must she live griefs mortal monster still? 12. It shall not be. And in that desperate plight Unto her dear Alcestes sword she flies, She sets the point against her left side right, Where to the heart the readiest passage lies. But now it chanced, the pale discoulered Knight (Before his wife fell on his sword) revives: He strives to speak, at last brings out her name, And prays her (dying) to forbear the same. 13. Whether it were, that as a candle shows A little blaze, before it go quite out, His light now ready to extinguish rose To some more show, then formerly it might; Or that of wonders, this is one of those That Love alone (as sovereign) brings about, And he that can do all, and none does more, Thus made his last words heard, not heard before. 14. Eliza live, and love me still (quoth he) In thy fair bosom now our loves must dwell; Remember thou hast often said to me Thy heart was mine; for my sake use it well. And I (if heaven permit it so to be) And that those powers do not my suit repel Do promise (for thy comfort) to love thee, As much as (after death) thou canst do me. 15. But first I look, that thou shouldst living show The like to me, that so I may depart The more content. And here (as wind doth blow A candle out) a chillness seized each part: His hand and arm (lift up) so feeble grow They fall like lead, upon his fainting heart. Eliza sees it: and with drowned eyes In floods of tears, to him she thus replies. 16. Thou bidst me live. I must not disobey, (If he forbid it not that is of power) I then of Fortune and of Love will stay To be the fatal mark, now grief no more. And whilst she weeping stood, and thus did say, He looked more cheerful, than he did before. But heaving up his heavy eyes towards heaven, His soul forsook him, and the stroke was given. 17. Now when she saw him perfect earth appear (Because on earth she ne'er should see him more) She rend her face, and tore her golden hair, Her guiltless eyes the badge of fury bore. And so excessive was her grief and fear, Her heart could not contain it as before; Her soul burst out, and left her so awhile, To show how death can any pain beguile. 18. The Sun meanwhile into the sea was got, And silent night had darkened all the cost, Yet still her swooning held, and left her not, Thus had Eliza all her senses lost. When lo, an ugly, old, ill-favoured Trot, With ghastly looks, and locks about her tossed, Came flying thither on a winged Goat: The air (divided) gave a fearful note. 19 This Beldame chief at every wanton match, Gad's Moon by moon, at dreadful time of night, And is preferred at each lascivious watch, For doing that wherein the worst delight. And when fate shall the loathsome life dispatch Of that proud tyrant, prone to all despite, She hopes, with thousand other witches fell, To make herself (one day) the Queen of hell. 20. Altea she is called, who with foul jaws, Comes from Avernus to disturb our rest. Each minister of hell's infernal laws Not only answers, but obeys her hest. This woman bore Armene, on the waves Of Thessaly, & nursed him at her breast, He whom Alceste killed, as he did pass In so much haste, to break the fatal glass. 21. In which respect, inflamed with deep disdain, The angry mother nightly runs about To be revenged on him that had him slain, And gall and woormwood from her eyes doth shoot: And now she comes to seek him, but in vain, She finds him dead before her spite breaks out. And like a Kite that thinks he spies his prey, Returns unfed, and cries, such is her stay. 22. And thus unto herself. Though death forbid That I should wreck me where I most desire, It shall not hinder me, that in his stead This woman feel the rigour of mine ire: And my designs shall so far forth proceed, To interrupt his peace in heavens high choir, Whilst from above, with anguish he shall see Her that he loves so dearly, plagued by me. 23. This said, Altea with dishevelled hair In hideous manner scattered to the wind, First shakes her rod, wherewith she keeps in fear, The furies that have heads with Adders twinned, Then strikes the ground, and by their names doth rear Th'infernal spirits up, to harm inclined. When lo, at iteration of her devilish charm, The unclean squadron quickly thither swarm. 24. Th' implacable Megaera hasts to tell What she would have them do at her request: Nay, she commands the damned crew of hell To take possession of Eliza's breast: And as within their own Tartarian cell, This wicked rabble there take up their nest. Committing (like unhospitable guess) On her fair body, outrage and excess. 25. This done, th'inhabitants of dark Avernus Cry out, exclaim, and threaten all at once. She with her cudgel conjured up the stern And lazy hellhounds from their restless rest, Till all the kennel were driven out, and yern To domineer within her tender breast. And then she mounted on her Goat again, Swifter than any of the winged train. 26. When she departed thence, the night did mourn In blackest hours, farthest from the day, Equally distant to the lights return, As to the time wherein it went away. And now the Damsel underneath the thorn (That in a swoon by her lost-lover lay) Revives; but not as erst, for now she bid More pain and woe, than ever woman did. 27. She feels a silent horror overflow Her breast, yet knows not what the cause should be. She little thinks her alterations grow From devils, which torture her so cruelly; Mean while those spirits all their poison blow Into her organs: and they make her see (Or rather think she sees, such are her fears) Both Lions, Panthers, Tigers, Wolveses, and Bears. 28. 'Twas midnight then, and heaven as dark as pitch, No Moon appeared, nor could one see or hear Aught in that desert place to stir or quitch, So mute the world was, and so dark the sphere: And yet the power was such of that damned Witch, (What with transparent poison and such gear) That this poor damsel did both hear and see, And when 'twas midnight, thought it noon to be. 29. She turned about, and saw a sudden fire Rise in a meadow out of broken stones: And by that kindling, (which was soon grown higher) A wind to rise from out their flinty bones: It blew amain, and that breath did inspire A flame, which up to heaven did climb at once; And in that flame deceased mortals cast, By those infernal ghosts, we spoke of last. 30. And when those devils had gathered up as fast The ashes of their burned flesh again, They sprinkled them with tears, and made a paste, Wherewith they shaped anew the bodies slain; Which reincarnate and patched up in haste, Consume afresh in never dying pain. The flames do bellow, and the horrid sound Of Ghosts tormented endlessly resound. 31. Now whilst Eliza this strange torment eyed, A cold ran to her heart through every vein, A crew of hellhounds ready there she spied, To drag her husband to that scorching flame; The wretched knight exclaimed, complained and cried Upon Eliza, and her Love did blame, But she that saw him thus, (in spite of hell) Would not abandon him she loved so well. 32. Till fear at last so much possessed her brain, That (cold and trembling like a leaf i'th' wind) She was no longer able to refrain Her fearful foot, but more affrighted mind. She runs away, and hears Alceste plain, Speaking, and groaning, at her back behind. He calls upon her, and entreats her back, And makes her challenge that she loves him not. 33. And thereupon she stays, affrighted sore, And feels her heart still stricken with the sound, She hardly breathes; yet running more and more, Flies from that sad report, which now she found More feared in death, then dear in life before: The noise afflicts her still with fierce resound, And still she runs to find a safer place, Through thickest woods, that rend her hair and face. 34. O'er highest mountains, and the broken horns Of steepest rocks, and craggy cliffs she strays, And where 'tis overgrown with bush and thorns, There finds she out impenetrable ways: And yet the fearful noise where ere she turns, Pursues her still at heels, and never stays. She looks with eyes distorted, ghastly fierce, Neither in colour nor in shape as erst. 35. She speaks in diverse tongues, and doth at full Pronounce each Country's accents though remote, Neighs like a Horse, and bellowes like a Bull, Bleats like a Sheep, and stammers like a Goat, Of many sounds makes one confused and dull, The Adders hissing, and the Panther's note, The wolves hoarse howling, and the whistling sound Of hollow vaults and crannies underground. 36. The poor soul flies, and strikes her weary breast, Her ivory palms she beats and wrings for woe, She tears her hair; and gives her cheeks no rest, That to a paleness turn their untouched snow, A thick deep panting shakes her sides, oppressed With violence of her heart, that strikes them so. Now whilst this torment lasts, the liquid night Gives way unto the day's succeeding light. 37. And she her sad lights turning towards the East, And viewing there the new approaching Sun, Supposed a fire to rise from out the dust, Which burning every mortal thing did run: With that she ran more eagerly than erst, And called with her each thing, the fire to shun. Away ye groves (she cries) ye fields away, The fire will catch you if you longer stay. 38. And at an instant with her tender hands (O wondrous force of power demoniac!) She plucked up ancient trees, like little wands, Stripped off their boughs, and made their bodies crack, The wood gives way on heaps, and quaking stands, Where that infernal fury drives it back. An angry eastern wind did never blow To waste a Forest, or consume it so. 39 But when those loathsome fiends themselves withdrew, And gave a little respite to her flight; And that her eyes had lost their bloody hue, Her hair grown smooth that stood before upright, She rightly found from whence her error grew, She sees but Firres and myrtles in her sight; there's no Alceste now; she hears no cries; The fire is quenched; and Phoebus mounts the skies. 40. Whereby (poor thing) she well perceived at last That she with unclean spirits was possessed. And that their fury carried her so fast O re hills and dales, without one minutes rest. Frozen and dumb, amazed, and aghast, She mused a while; and then with grief oppressed, Fixing on heaven her sad and watery eyes, She calls on God in this most humble wise. 41. O God if for her sins Eliza still Must be tormented with such cruelty, That neither wounds nor grief will serve to kill, (Because no death should end her misery) Defend her yet, (if't be thy blessed will) That she may show therein her constancy▪ And that no power infernal may prevail, To tyrannize her soul, though weak and frail. 13. 'Tis true my soul hath erred; for so great love Should not be placed in sensuality. And so it erred, that foolishly it strove To leave its native seat, as desperately. But who can moderate, much less remove The fire that in a Lover's heart doth lie? O let thy mercies, and my slender faith Purchase forgiveness at thy hands, she saith. 43. And then proceeds, tears running down her face. O what a mischief am I brought unto By cruel fate? that (though it be my case By death and love to be afflicted so) When Land and Sea lacks torment and disgrace, Sorrow and loss, for me to undergo, (The world being weary of tormenting me) Hell should rise up to work my misery. 44. With saying this, her one and other star Declining towards the ground, and weeping too, Are now made fairer by her sorrows far, And sorrow lovely by her weeping so. And I would say heavens rebels ceased their war For this short time, more than they use to do, In pity of those tears: but that I know Hell hath no mercy, devils no pity show. 45. But those fell spirits and unjust, mean while Deny the comfort of their short delay, And now return to give her new turmoil, Leaving her rest but little time of stay: Her voice is changed, her colour doth recoil; She howls and bawls, like any dog at bay; And here and there she runs, with fury pressed; Cries madly out; and strikes her guiltless breast. 46. 'Tis strange I tell you: sometimes she will rise Above the earth; and as some fowls are found Of swifter wing than others, so she flies, And to the tops of highest trees doth bound; And sometimes like a wriggling snake she lies Trailing her breast alongst the mossy ground, This way and that way, up and down she strays, And comes and goes the very selfsame ways. 47. At length returned from wand'ring to and fro, Where late before she left Alceste dead, It seems to her (the infernal furies so Abuse her senses, and her sight misled) A monstrous Boar, with bristles fierce in show, Too nearly lodged, she thought too dear fed. And she that never laid her bow aside, Now thought it long, until her skill were tried. 48. And all her arrows she had quickly sent To wait upon her metamorphosed Lord: Which (as before his death, her aim was bend Still at his heart) flew thither from the cord. Happy Alceste that he did prevent This sight, by dying on another's sword: At least to see that he had 'scaped the hell, To have her murder him, he loved so well. 49. Now whilst this folly rambled in her brains, Certain old Shepherds chanced to come that way, (Driving their flocks to pasture on the plains) Who spied her madness, where her husband lay, And (with their horns assembling other Swains) Sought all they could her frantic course to stay: They held her fast, and then with tender twigs First bound her hands, and after that her legs. 50. And causing her together with her knight To be conveyed for burial to their cote, Performing every part of humane right, And not omitting any thing of note. They laid his body under marble white, Though not so rich and smooth, yet cleanly wrought: And o'er his tomb a noble trophy dight, Of Arms hanged up unto that warlike wight. He comes to this tale again in the 28 book as you may see in the following leaf. 4 Digression. And here again my Author breaks his thread, To wove some other stuff upon his loom. To say the truth, 'tis time, when one is dead, The other buried in a living tomb, To leave them to their rest: but I am led By stricter task, to show what is become Of poor Eliza, whom at last I find (As you may read) distracted still in mind. Lib. 28. p. 567. 1 THe honest shepherds that in marble pure Had caused Alceste to be buried, Now taking care of fair Eliza's cure, (Still with foul spirits vexed and wearied) That her disease (which was not very sure By mortal hand) might be recovered: Unto the Isle of Saro brought her bound, Where they the holy man Niceto found. 2. The mournful widow being thither led, Full of intestine smart, and hellish rage, Pale, afflicted, and all over spread, With stains and badges of hell's vassalage, Whilst Satan seemed a little quieted, And spared a while her body to outrage, Her bitter sorrow drew from her fair eyes Streams of complaint, and thus to him she cries. 3. Behold here poor Eliza at thy feet, Who had the title both of faith and love, And durst in combat with her husband meet That so her death might her affection prove, Behold in what a miserable plight she's now brought to thee, let her sight thee move; Behold her made (by this impetuous storm) Of love and fortune now the very scorn. 4. To thee I come, beseeching thee (if ever Mortals sorrow moved thee to compassion) To cure my soul of this intestine fever Of extreme torment, and infernal passion. Or show at least how I by death may sever My life and grief, in any honest fashion: For better 'twere, at once, to feel death's power, Then thus to dye a thousand times an hour. 5. And here the fair and comfortless lets fall Her tears in greater plenty from her eyes; Which seem as fountains overflowing all, So fast they gush, so full their streams arise. Her extreme weeping doth Niceto call To take compassion of her miseries. He comforts her: and (to prepare her faith For heavenly graces) thus unto her saith. 6. Superfluous love (my daughter) is a fault, And dotage our Creator much offends, Because the creature enters by default On that which is his due, and it mispends. No marvel then if (in this lower vault) We feel his hand, when his just wrath descends, Whilst we in earth, love any mortal thing, With that high love, belongs to heavens high King. 7. And thou that hadst the bloody mind to kill Thyself with thine own hands, so desperately, (Because thy husband died against thy will, And that thou lov'dst him so immoderately) Deservest no favour, but that all this ill For penance of thy fault, should light on thee. The knife and fire (thou knowst) must then be used, When juice of herbs and liquors are refused. 8. The guilty widow heard (with humble show) All that he said, and listened unto it, And falling down before the Hermit low Confessed, and sorrowed for her lovesick fit. Renounced the pleasures that bewitched her so, And cursed the fancies that bereft her wit. Each error she so sorrowed, and lamented, As never any sorrowed or repent. 9 Niceto lifting up his sacred hands, Untyde her soul, and that (unbound) addressed (More lovely fair then ever 'twas in bands) To God, that he would grant her sad request. But now again began those hellish brands To move afresh, and muster in her breast. She changes gesture, colour, shape, and speech, Distorts her eyes, and gnasheth with her teeth. 10. Whereat God's servant (after he had sent His winged prayers to the King of heaven) His pity on the woman wholly bend, That hell to such extremity had driven. And calling on the name omnipotent, Which makes each Ghost to tremble in Avernus, He breathes clear light, and utters purest fire, In thundering notes his conjuring words aspire. 11. By that great God that governs heaven, and reigns; By that great love that nailed him to the Cross; By that great pain wherewith he healed the pains Of those lost sheep, that else had suffered loss; By that great power which measures and restrains Each living thing to the Tartarian Foss; By that great Lord, whose all-supernall might Lays chains on hell, and governs heaven aright. 12. By him I charge you, unclean spirits hear, Hear wicked angels what I say to you, Depart I say from out those members fair, And get you to your loathsome vaulted stow. Come out you unclean beasts, that place forbear, Come out (I say) you harmful monsters now. jesus, sweet jesus, jesus rich in power, Command this cursed legion out this hour. 13. These heavenly words no sooner passage found, But fair Eliza fell, as falls a Corpse That liveless strikes upon the senseless ground, Her fall revived our hopes, awaked remorse: Her heart left beating, all her veins were drowned, A violent oppilation stopped their source, Whereby her life now out now in did enter And made the circle move from out it's centre. 14. And at that fall, (as boisterous winds still do When from their empty and resounding jail, The high-Commander, lets his bridle go, Which stays the fury of their blustering gale, Rush headlong out, and whistle where they blow, The East, the West, the North, and South, none fail, And in a fierce and fearful skirmish make The earth to totter, and the heaven to shake) 15. Even so those spirits (made perforce to pack) Left poor Eliza in a deadly slumber: The Island trembled, and the air grew black, The clouds were broken with unwholesome thunder; They light upon an old obdurate oak, And at an instant tear it all asunder: The boughs and branches in such shivers fly, They strew the ground, and darken all the sky. 16. At last the earthquake ends; and round about The clouds disperse; and with them all our care; The sky grows clear; and all that beastly rout Are loose and gone; no longer groans the air; And now the poor young Woman looking out Recovers life, she breathes and sighs for fear. Her soul returns unto its wont cure, It gathers strength, but yet is scarce secure. He comes to this again, in the 583. pag. of the same book, as you may see hear following. 5 Digression. Here where my Author doth but change his pen, I in a fury cast mine quite away: Because I cannot sing of Arms and Men, Or make a verse of all I mean to say. And yet I'll take it ap again, to tell How fair Eliza beautifies her Cell. Lib. 28. p. 583. 66. When good Niceto had Eliza blessed, And given due thanks for that exceeding grace, He left the Isle. But first he thought it best To settel her in some convenient place, Where she might live hereafter more at rest, And sing his praises that had heard her case: At whose great name, she saw good reason now, That every knee in Heaven and Earth should bow. 67. He might have studied long, and travelled far, To find her out a fitter place of rest. The aptness of the Isle wherein they were Made him believe that place to be best; It was not troubled with the noise of war, Nor yet with any powerful hand oppressed: The quietness and safety of this Isle, Made him resolve, to leave her there awhile. 68 Not far from thence a Monastery stood, Built on the rising of a little hill, Which overlooked a stream, whose Crystal flood Ran ever from it, yet was with it still, The building not so curious, as good, Rich in the Meadows, and the land not ill. A neat-built Chapel, and a spacious Hall, Were all the rooms of note, the rest were small. 69. A more retired place for contemplation, Plenty, or ease, was no where to be found. Yet wanted it no honest recreation, As Orchards set with trees, and allied round, A Garden, both for use, and delectation, More like an Eden, than a common ground. A Dormitory, placed so well by art, That every Sister had her Cell apart. 70. Thither the man-of-God conveyed his guest, Who of a Soldier now a Nun would prove, (Craving the sacred veil amongst the rest) By vow a Recluse never to remove. Where long time after, she herself expressed Handmaid to God, as she had been to Love. Till of her mortal veil by death bereaun She re-enjoyed her faithful Love in Heaven. FINIS. By this time, I suppose the Reader's glad As well as I, this Tale is at an end: A Tragedy well told will make one sad; Then, how much more when 'tis so poorly penned? The lines be true, although the rhymes be bad, Let that suffice thee, as thou art my Friend. 'tis one thing to go bound, another free; Try it thyself, and thou wilt bear with me. LAconia. Peloponnesi Regio: nunc Morea. Cythera. Insula contra Cretam, nunc Candiam. 5. millibus a Maleae prom: distans, veneris numini Dedicata. Cosdras vel Cosraes, Persarum Rex: Anno salutis 534. Hic Tyrannus nonaginta millia Christianorum interfecit; ac partem crucis dominicae secum asportavit. Pius 2. Pontif. Heraclius. Romanorum Imperator: qui contra Cosroem bell●m per quatuor decim annos continue gerebat. Carthago. urbs Aphicae totius celeberima, Romaniquae Imperii aliquando aemula à Didone condita. Asopis. Regiuncula Peloponnensi, in tractu Acaiae ab Asopo fluvio cui iac et. Asopus. Fluvius Poloponnensi, in Chronio monte nascens in sinum Corinthiacum influens. Malea. Promontorium Liconiae. a Maleo Argivorum Rege dicta; qui in ea Templum construxit, quod Maleaticum appellavit. Partha. Asiae regio: huius incolae Parthi dicuntur. hì arcu plurimum valuerunt, quo vel fugentes hosti detrimentum afferebant. Persia. Regio orientalis in Asia: cuius Imperium uti olim celebr. sic etiam hodie maxime clarum est: amplissimasque regiones Comprehendit; a Sophis Persiae Regibus possidetur. Arabia. Regio Asiae majoris inter Indaeam & Aegyptum. Thessalia. Regio Greciae: ad mare inter Peneum amnem & montem Thermopylas extensa. Tartara. Locus profundissimus inferorum, in quo sontes plectuntur. Avernus. Lacus Campaniae, prope Baias, quem Plutonì dicatum & inferorum limen esserudis vetustas credidit. Capitur plerunque pro ipso inferorum loco, vel propter faetorem vel propter necromanciam quae ibi exercebatur. Asia, una ex quatuor partibus orbis terrarum. Divisa hodie in quinque partes, secundum ejus Imperia. Aphrica vel Africa. Tertia pars orbis quae freto Herculeo a Nilo caeterisque orbis partibus deducitur. ab Aphro dicta, uno ex posteris Abrahae. Libya & Hesperia à Graecis dicta. Thracia. Latissima Europae Regio, Macedoniae ad occasum proxima. ita dicta à Thrace, Martis filio; aut à Regionis asperitate. Ganges. Indicae fluvius maximus, qui universam secat judiam, secum aureas arenas trahens. a Gange Aethiopun● Rege dictus. Eden. Orientalis regio. Isa. 37. 4 Reg. 19 Lat. voluptas, sive deliciae. FINIS. Imprimatur. SA. BAKER. Feb. 18. 1638.