LEOLINE AND SYNDANIS; A ROMANCE OF AMOROUS ADVENTURES OF PRINCES by FRANCIS KYNASTON

STANZA I

FORTUNES of kings, enamour'd Princes' loves,
Who erst from Royal ancestors did spring,
Is the high subject that incites and moves
My lowly voice in lofty notes to sing
Of Leoline, son to a mighty King,
And of a Princess, Sydanis the fair,
Who were the world's incomparable pair.

II

You learned Sisters of the Thespian well,
That sweetly sing to young Apollo's lyre,
That on Parnassus' forked top do dwell,
And Poets with prophetic rage inspire;
Accept my humble Muse into your Quire,
My labouring breast with noble raptures fill,
And on my lines Castalian drops distill.

III

Your aid I need in this great enterprise,
Be you my guides, and give direction,
For all too weak are my abilities
To bring this Poem to perfection;
let each Muse of her part then make election,
And while of Love Clio sings loud and clear,
Melpomene the tragic base must bear.

IV

And be not absent thou, all-puissant Love,
Thy favour I implore above the rest,
Thou wilt my best enthusiasms prove,
If with thy flames thou warm my trembling breast;
And though among thy servants I am least,
Yet thy high raptures may sublime my fame,
And blow my spark up to a glorious flame.

V

For without thee impossible it is,
Of lovers' joys, or passions to endite:
He needs of feats of arms must speak amiss,
That ne'er saw battle, nor knew how to fight,
Then how may I of lovers say aright,
Or feelingly discourse of them, unless
Myself had known some joy, and some distress.

VI

Therefore since I for each true lover's sake,
And for the advancement of true love's affairs,
Am ready prest this task to undertake;
Assist me, all Love's servants, with your prayers,
That neither cold old age, with snowy hairs,
May cool or quench that pure aethereal fire.
With which youth's heat did once my soul inspire.

VII

And since, for every purpose under Sun,
There is a time and opportunity,
Pray that this work of mine may be begun
When as there be aspects of unity
'Twixt Mars and Venus, and a clear immunity
From frosty Saturn's dismal dire aspect,
And every Planet in his course direct.

VIII

When Mercury, Lord of the hour and day,
Shall in his house diurnal potent be,
Not slow, nor yet combust: then also pray
He may be in a fortunate degree,
And in no dark void Azimen, that he,
Conjoined with Sol, in the tenth house, may thence
Infuse invention, wit and eloquence.

IX

That so each love-sick heart, and amorous mind,
That shall this Romance read, remarking it,
May remedy, or some such passage find
As him, or her, in the right vein may hit.
And now having thus pray'd, I think it fit,
That you no longer should the story miss,
Of Leoline and beauteous Sydanis.

X

BEFORE proud Rome's victorious legions knew
The Britains, by blue Neptune's arm divided
From the whole world, before they did subdue
The Island Albion, when as Consuls guided
Their Commonwealth, by whom it was decided
What tribute was impos'd on every State,
Tradition and old Annals thus relate.

XI

On the Virgivian Ocean's foaming shore,
Down at the mountain Snowdon's rocky foot,
Whose cloud-bound head with mists is ever hoar,
So high, the sight can scarcely reach unto't,
Against whose brows the forked lightning shoot,
A stately Castle stood, whilome the seat
Of th'old Britains' King, Arvon the great.

XII

This King upon Beumaris, his fair Queen,
Begot a Prince, whose name was Leoline,
In whom so many graceful parts were seen,
As if the Heavens and Nature did combine
To make a face and personage divine,
For Jove and Venus I imagine were
Conjoined in his horoscope yfere.

XIII

By whose benign and powerful influence,
Which governs our affections here below,
And in Love's actions hath pre-eminence,
Prince Leoline incited was to go
(His Fortune and the gods would have it so)
To a fair city, in those days much fam'd,
Which from Duke Leon, Carleon was nam'd.

XIV

This city was not only celebrated
For riches brought by sea from all the West,
But for a Temple (as shall be related)
To Venus, unto whom a solemn feast
Was yearly made, to which the worthiest best
Of Knights and Ladies came, and who did come,
If not before, from it went Lovers home.

XV

And so unto this Prince it did befall,
Who viewing of those Ladies did repair
As votaries to this great festival;
He was aware of Sydanis the fair,
Duke Leon's only daughter, and his heir,
Who off'ring sacrifice at Venus' shrine,
Did seem the goddess to Prince Leoline.

XVI

More lovely fair she was than can be told,
So glorious and resplendent her array,
Her tresses flow'd like waves of liquid gold,
Burnisht by rising Titan's morning ray,
From her eyes broke the early dawning day:
A coral portal plac'd above her chin,
Inclos'd a bed of orient pearl within.

XVII

A carquenet her neck encircled round
Of ballast rubies, cut in form of hearts,
Which were with true-love knots together bound,
Of gold enamel'd, pierct with Cupid's darts,
From which small pendants by the workman's arts
Were made, which on her naked skin did show
Like drops of blood new fallen upon the snow.

XVIII

More of her beauties will I not relate,
Of which the young Prince was enamoured,
It was the Gods' decree, and will of Fate,
Prince Leoline fair Sydanis should wed,
And both be joined in one nuptial bed:
Nor speak I of their marriage royalties,
Which were as great as man's wit could devise.

XIX

The tiltings, jousts, and tournaments by day,
The masques and revels on the wedding night,
The songs to which prophetic Bards did play,
With many other objects of delight,
(All which this History embellish might,)
I will omit, since eachwhere of that kind
You may in books frequent descriptions find.

XX

For in this match the Fates seem'd to portend
Millions of joys, myriads of happy hours,
That on their heads and beds there might descend
All blessings that come down from heavenly powers,
No Star malignant on their nuptials lowers,
For Hymen all his virgin torches lighted,
When first these princely lovers' troths were plighted.

XXI

But O false world! O wretched state unstable
Of mortal men! O frail condition!
O bliss more vain than any dream, or fable!
O brittle joy, even lost in the fruition!
O doubtful truth! O certain true suspicion!
O bitter-sweetest love, that let'st us know,
That first or last thou never wantest woe!

XXII

For if there be no lets in the obtaining
Of a man's honour'd mistress, and her love,
Yet still there are crosses enough remaining,
Which neither force nor foresight can remove,
That to his joys a sad allay will prove,
And make him know it is a truth confest,
That no one thing on every side is blest.

XXIII

But to the matter shortly now to go,
That day the Prince did wed his beauteous bride,
As then the custom was, he did bestow
Rich scarfs, and points, and many things beside,
Which in fine curious knots were knit and tied;
And as his royal favours, worn by those
Whom he to grace his princely nuptials chose.

XXIV

Favours are oft, unhappily, by chance
Bestow'd: for 'mongst those courtiers that did wear
The Prince's points, a Marquess was of France,
Who for some heinous fact he had done there,
Hang'd in effigie, fled from France for fear,
And so for refuge to Carleon came,
@3Monsieur Marquis Jean Foutre@1 was his name.

XXV

Who though he had a farinee face,
Thereto a bedstaff leg, and a splay foot,
By angry nature made in man's disgrace,
Which no long slop, nor any ruffled boot
Could mend, or hide, for why, they could not do't,
Though his mouth were a wide world without end,
His shape so ugly, as no art could mend --

XXVI

Although his weatherwise autumnal joints,
As if they wanted Nature's ligaments,
Did hang together, as if tied by points,
Though most deformed were his lineaments;
Yet fouler was his mind, and base intents,
His matchless impudence, which appear'd in this,
That he made love to beauteous Sydanis.

XXVII

So by the canker-worm the fragrant rose
Is tainted: so the serene wholesome air
By black contagion, pestilential grows,
As she by this base wretch, who thought to impair
The chastity of one so matchless fair;
But his foul base intents being once detected,
Were with all scorn and just disdain rejected.

XXVIII

In dire revenge thereof, that day the bands
Were made between Prince Leoline and his bride;
As the Arch-flamen joined had their hands,
And made them one, which no man ought divide,
Upon the Prince's point this caitiff tied
A magic knot, and muttered a spell,
Which had an energetic force from hell.

XXIX

For by it was he maleficiated,
And quite depriv'd of all ability
To use a woman, as shall be related,
For Nature felt an imbecility,
Extinguishing in him virility:
The sad events whereof to set before ye,
Is as the dire Praeludium to our story.

XXX

Now at that instant the Prince felt no change,
When as the charm was spoke, nor alteration
Within his mind or body; for so strange
Was the effect of the said incantation,
As that it wrought in him no perturbation.
But woe is me! the damned hellish spite
Was first discern'd upon the wedding night.

XXXI

For then this princely couple being laid
Together in their hymenaeal bed,
And prayers to all the nuptial gods being said,
To Domiduca, that her home had led:
To Virginalis, that her maidenhead
Might without pain be lost, and suddenly,
To Subiga, that she might quiet lie.

XXXII

And lastly, that Pertunda by her power
The Princess would endue with fruitfulness,
That she would still make fortunate the hour
Of her conception, and her labour bless,
Preventing all abortion, barrenness.
And now, all these devotions being said,
The Bride no longer was to be a Maid.

XXXIII

But though the Prince enjoy'd all sweets of sense,
Her rosy lips, which with sweet dew did melt,
And suckt her breath, sweet as their quintessence,
Which like to aromatic incense smelt,
Though he her dainty virgin beauties felt,
Embracing of soft ivory and warm snow,
Arriv'd at her Hesperides below:

XXXIV

Though Venus in Love's wars hath domination,
Sworn enemy to every maidenhead,
And sovereign of the acts of generation,
Whose skirmishes are fought in the field-bed,
Although her son a troop of Cupids led;
Yet thus much had the dismal charm effected,
As Venus' standard might not be erected.

XXXV

For when no dalliance nor provocation
That weak opiniator part could raise;
Which Fancy and a strong imagination,
Rather than a man's will or reason sways,
Which rebel-like it ever disobeys;
The Prince's heart with shame and rage was fill'd,
That willingly himself he could have kill'd.

XXXVI

For on a sudden he left off to'embrace
And kiss his lovely, and yet maiden bride;
And with a sigh he turn'd away his face
From her, and lying on the other side,
Under the sheet his face did eftsoons hide.
At which the princely Lady, much dismay'd,
After a while, with tears thus to him said:

XXXVII

'Dear Lord, if that a maid, whose innocence
Is such and so great, as she doth not know
How to commit a fault, or give offence
Towards you, to whom her best love she doth owe;
Nor yet the cause why you are alter'd so,
That on the sudden thus you do restrain
Your favours, turning love into disdain --

XXXVIII

You made me to believe, when you did woo,
That I was fair, and had some loveliness:
But ah, my beauties were too mean for you,
Or your esteem of them, I must confess;
Yet in a moment they could not grow less.
But woe is me, for now I plainly see,
That the world and my glass have flatter'd me.

XXXIX

For with the pleasures that you have enjoy'd,
As the chaste pledges of my nuptial bed,
Your appetite had not so soon been cloy'd,
Nor you on them so soon had surfeited,
Which have (it seems) a loathing in you bred:
By which I find, that human fond desire
Is like the lightning, at once cloud and fire.

XL

I cannot think, but that I do molest
Your Highness, who are us'd to lie alone,
I must not be the cause of your unrest,
And therefore crave your leave I may be gone,
And leave the bed wholly to be your own:
Only vouchsafe this case unto my sorrow,
That I may sit by you, until to-morrow.

XLI

For I will watch, and to the gods will pray,
And to your Angel tutelar, to keep
Your person, and from you to drive away
All thoughts and dreams of me, whenas you sleep.'
And with that word she bitterly did weep:
Who, as she was arising from his side,
Holding her down, thus Leoline replied:

XLII

'Most divine Princely Sweetness, do not waste
That precious odoriferous breath of yours
In vain, nor fruitlessly away it cast,
Whose scent excels all essences of flowers:
For could you sin against the heavenly powers,
Or could you do a thing that might displease them,
The incense of your breath would soon appease them.

XLIII

O be not of a breath then so profuse,
Can purify the air from all infection:
Nor yet profane it so, as to accuse
Yourself, of all rare beauties the perfection;
Of whom the gods themselves have made election,
To print their forms on, to let mortals see
What their Angel-like shapes and beauties be.

XLIV

Yet, dearest Lady, do not think it strange,
That though you are a paradise of bliss,
You are the cause of this my sudden change;
For why, some god of you enamour'd is,
And makes of me a metamorphosis:
For vent'ring to enjoy what is his own,
I find myself already turning stone.

XLV

Or you a goddess are, whose Deity
Till now I knew not; as Diana chaste,
Whose sacred heavenly sweets, without impiety,
By no man can be wantonly embrac't;
And therefore a just punishment is cast
On my presumption, which was so much more,
To touch you, whom I rather should adore.

XLVI

And therefore by your bed, as by a shrine,
I'll kneel, as penitent for my offence,
In my affecting of a thing divine,
Since you an object are, whose excellence
Is so exalted above human sense,
As like the Sun, it rather doth destroy
Sensation, than permit me to enjoy.

XLVII

Which though I do not, yet you still shall find,
There is no want of love in me, no more
Than want of beauty in your heavenly mind,
Which I religiously shall still adore:
And though I as a husband lov'd before,
I'll turn Platonic lover, and admire
Your virtue's height, to which none can aspire.'

XLVIII

With sighs, and such-like words, these Princes spent
The wearisome and tedious night away;
Prince Leoline by this his compliment,
T' excuse his want of manhood did assay:
Thus sorrowing one by the other lay,
Till Lucifer the morning did disclose,
Which when they saw, they from their bed arose,

XLIX

And drest themselves before that any one
Knew of it, or their rising was descried.
Away went Leoline, and left alone
The comfortless and lovely maiden bride:
Now towards the hour of eight it did betide,
An ancient matron to their chamber came,
The Lady's Nurse, Merioneth was her name.

L

Who for the bridegroom had a cullis brought,
And of sweet richest Candian wine a quart,
To cheer his spirits up: for why, she thought
Prince Leoline might over-act his part,
In too much using Cupid's wanton dart;
But seeing the blear eyes of Sydanis,
Her heart misgave her, something was amiss.

LI

And by the Princess, as she trembling stands,
'Madam,' quoth she, 'what causes your unrest,
That you sit weeping thus, wringing your hands?
Doth Hymen thus begin your marriage feast?
Is this the love your bridegroom hath exprest?
To rise so early, leaving you alone,
With tears and sighs his absence to bemoan.'

LII

Hereat the Princess, raining from her eyes
A shower of orient pearl, richer than gold
Jove pour'd on Danae, to her thus replies,
'Dear Nurse' (quoth she), 'my grief cannot be told,
Words are too weak my sorrows to unfold;
Nor do I know a reason that might move
My Lord to leave me, unless want of love.

LIII

Our feast of love (if any) was soon done;
So soon all worldly joys away do fleet,
Which oft are ended as soon as begun;
Each earthly pleasure being a bitter sweet.
Ah, Nurse, my Lord and I must never meet:
Yet pray him that he would not her despise,
Who from his side did a pure virgin rise.'

LIV

Hearing these words, Merioneth straight fell down,
Opprest with grief unspeakable, and woe,
For fear she well near fell into a swoune:
For the experienc't matron did well know
Much mischief would ensue, if it were so,
Or were a truth that Sydanis had said;
That lying with the Prince, she rose a maid.

LV

For that the ancient Britons then did use,
When any bridegroom did a maiden wed,
(A custom they received from the Jews,)
To bring some linens of the bridal bed,
To witness she had lost her maidenhead,
Without which testimony there was none
Believ'd to be a virgin, although one.

LVI

The wedding smock, or linens of the Bride,
The married couple's parents were to see;
Whereon, if any drops of blood they spied,
Rejoicing, they persuaded were, that she
Had not till then lost her virginity.
If on the linens nothing did appear,
The bride and bridegroom straight divorced were,

LVII

And she with shame unto her father sent,
As one, whose chastity had been defil'd,
And of her body was incontinent,
Or else in secret had a bastard child;
And so for ever was to be exil'd
From all pure virgins' company, whose name
No tongue of slander justly could defame.

LVIII

Now what to do in this hard doubtful case
The poor perplexed matron did not know;
To tell the truth, would Leoline disgrace:
And since of force the linen she must show,
If it were best to counterfeit or no,
(To hinder the divorce) a mark or spot,
In sign the Prince her maidenhead had got.

LIX

Yet this imposture, if it were disclos'd,
It might beget both danger and disdain:
For why, Merioneth wisely presuppos'd,
Although to others she a thing might feign,
Yet to Prince Leoline it was but vain;
Who knowing his own frozen impotence,
Would soon suspect the Lady's innocence.

LX

Nor was there hope the thing could be conceal'd,
Since to King Arvon and Duke Leon's eyes
The truth of all things was to be reveal'd,
This being one of the solemnities.
Which show'd how much our ancestors did prize
A virgin's chastity; which approbation,
What maid declin'd, was lost in reputation.

LXI

Yet thus the Nurse resolv'd in this distress,
Since Sydanis for three days was t'abide
Within her chamber's close retiredness,
As was the custom then for every Bride,
Till they were past, nothing should be descried
In the meanwhile it was her resolution,
To try some powerful magical conclusion.

LXII

Which was, to give a philtre or love-potion,
That should not only cure frigidity,
But to that secret part give strength and motion,
Imparting heat unto it, and humidity.
Both this and many another quiddity
These credulous old women do believe,
And to effect such purposes do give.

LXIII

Amongst high horrid rocks, whose rugged brows
Do threaten surly Neptune with their frown,
When he at them his foaming trident throws,
Beating his high-grown surging billows down;
An aged learned Druid liv'd, far known
For magic's skill, who in a lonely cell
As hermit, or an anchorite did dwell.

LXIV

Merioneth posting to this Druid's cave,
When of her coming she the cause had told,
The aged sire unto the matron gave
A liquor far more precious than gold,
Of which the secret virtue to unfold,
It would not only cause a strong erection,
But working on the mind, procure affection.

LXV

Believing this with joy, she back returns,
And privately to Sydanis she went,
Who in her chamber like a turtle mourns:
She fully told to her all her intent,
And that successful would be the event,
That Leoline those pleasures should enjoy,
The want of which had caused her annoy.

LXVI

Although affection, which Art doth create,
Is nothing worth, and of true love no part,
But lust, which, satisfied, doth end in hate,
Yet Sydanis to palliate the smart,
Rather than cure the wound of her sad heart,
Since of two evils she the least might choose,
Her Nurse's counsel she will not refuse.

LXVII

Heaven's glorious lamp of light, that all day burn'd,
Was now extinguisht in the western seas;
To dens the beasts, to nests the birds return'd,
And night arising from th' Antipodes,
Summon'd men from their labours to take ease,
And drowsy sleep so soon as they repose
With her soft velvet hands their eyes doth close --

LXVIII

Whenas the Prince the second night did lie
By lovely Sydanis as yet a maid,
Again in Venus' wars such force to try.
But when that he with her in bed was laid,
And had (but all in vain) all means essay'd,
Finding that his virility was gone,
He grievously began to sigh and groan.

LXIX

The Princess hearing, mildly pray'd him tell
His cause of grief, that she might bear her part.
'Madam' (quoth Leoline), 'I am not well,
I feel a deadly pain about my heart:
Oh might it please the gods, Death's ebon dart
(Ere the approach of the next rising morrow)
Might free me from this world, and you from sorrow.

LXX

For while I live you'll be unfortunate,
And in sad discontentment will grow old,
For (oh my stars) such is my wretched fate,
I like a miser keep a heap of gold,
For no use else, but only to behold;
Possessing an unvalu'd treasure, which
Being put to use, the whole world would enrich.

LXXI

But now of ladies you most excellent,
Be pleas'd to hear and pardon what I say:
In wars to seek a death is my intent,
For ere the beams of the next morning's ray,
I from your dearest self must part away,
And when that I am dead you shall see clearly,
That (though I leave you) yet I lov'd you dearly.'

LXXII

What tongue can tell the grief of Sydanis,
When as Prince Leoline, without remorse,
Had given her his last sad parting kiss,
And death must them eternally divorce,
So that unless the magic potion's force,
The Prince's resolution did prevent,
She thought nought else could alter his intent.

LXXIII

Therefore with broken sighs and many a tear,
She as the Prince was ready for to rise,
To speak to him once more could not forbear,
Though to her words, grief utterance denies,
She show'ring down a deluge from her eyes
Which down her cheeks in silver rivers ran,
With no less modesty than grief began:

LXXIV

'My Lord' (quoth she), 'your will is a command,
And shall by me most humbly be obey'd;
Which, though I could, I ought not to withstand.
But yet be pleas'd to think, that you have laid
Upon the frailty of a silly maid
So insupportable a weight of woe,
As our weak sex it cannot undergo.

LXXV

Whate'er is writ of Grissel's patience,
Or Roman Martia's, when she lost her son,
(Whose grief was lessened by the eloquence
Of Seneca) by me would be outdone.
Nay, all those ladies that such fame have won
For manly fortitude, I should outvie,
Could I endure my sorrow and not die.

LXXVI

But that's impossible, it cannot be;
Since you, who are my soul's soul, who instead
Of longer animating it or me,
Will straight depart, leaving me doubly dead,
You from my soul, it from me being fled:
By which you shall a demonstration see,
Proving a human soul's mortality.

LXXVII

Now when, like dear departing friends, the soul
And body from each other are to part,
The learn'd physician seeming to control
Th' approach of death, some cordial gives by's art,
That for a while revives the dying part:
Here is a drink, which if you please to taste
And drink to me, your pledge shall be my last.'

LXXVIII

Prince Leoline, with sighs and sorrow dry,
Only to quench his thirst with it did think:
But having drunk it, he immediately
(Such was the force of the enchanted drink)
As one stark dead into his bed did sink;
Where senseless without motion he did lie,
As one new fallen into an ecstasy.

LXXIX

Th' amazed Princess thinking he was dead,
Opprest with grief, she suddenly fell down,
The spectacle such horror in her bred,
That with a shriek she fell into a swoune:
Which her Nurse hearing, and the cause unknown,
Unto the Prince's bedside ran in haste,
Being ignorant as yet of what had past:

LXXX

And finding how these princes speechless lay,
It was no time nor boot for to complain.
To bring them back to life she doth assay,
And first with Sydanis she taketh pain,
Who after much ado reverts again.
Which being done, they both together join
Their labours, to revive Prince Leoline.

LXXXI

But all in vain; for after that they two,
For his recovery all means had tried,
And finding at the last nothing would do,
They thought it would be death there to abide,
And therefore some disguise they would provide,
That friended by the darkness of the night,
They might the more securely take their flight.

LXXXII

A woman's wit, which in extremities
Is present, and upon the sudden best,
For Sydanis, a proper neat disguise
To her old Nurse's thoughts doth straight suggest,
Who forthwith went and opened a chest,
In an out-room near where the pages lay,
One of whose suits she eftsoons brought away.

LXXXIII

In this neat, fit, and handsome page's suit,
No sooner was fair Sydanis array'd,
But as she more advisedly did view 't,
Upon the sudden she was much dismayed,
And of herself began to be afraid,
When on the hose before (a fashion then)
She saw a thing was only worn by men.

LXXXIV

A shape undecent made by tailor's art,
Of secrecies, which Nature bids us hide,
Which as a case seem'd of that privy part,
Great Julius Caesar cover'd when he died:
To look upon it she could not abide,
It did so much her modesty perplex,
As now she wish'd to change both clothes and sex.

LXXXV

And needs she would undress herself again,
Of that immodest habit to be rid;
But her old Nurse her purpose did restrain;
Besides, the present danger did forbid
That act, since no way else she could be hid:
The doing of it therefore she forbears,
Which vex'd her mind, more than secur'd her fears.

LXXXVI

Accoutred thus, and ready to be gone,
The Princess only for her Nurse doth stay:
Who without scruple instantly put on
The clothes Prince Leoline on's wedding day
Had worn, and drest herself without delay:
Nor were the breech or codpiece to her view
Unpleasing, who so well the linings knew.

LXXXVII

And now as they were ready for to go,
The reverend Nurse by reason of her age,
Had counsell'd, and had ordered things so,
She should be Lord, and Sydanis her Page.
Thus like two birds new got out of a cage,
To fly away with all speed they intend,
And to the Druid's cave their course to bend.

LXXXVIII

Yet before that the woful Sydanis
Could part away, she could it not forbear
On Leoline's cold lips to print a kiss,
And wash his face with many a briny tear:
By all the gods she solemnly did swear,
(For her excuse) she never once did think
That she had given to him a deadly drink.

LXXXIX

To clear herself, the poor officious Nurse
Strong argument and many reasons brought,
But what was bad before, is now much worse.
She of the magic potion takes a draught,
Which on her vital powers so strangely wrought,
That all the spirits from her heart were fled,
And she upon the floor fell down as dead.

XC

Th' affrighted Princess, that before might think
Her Lord might on an apoplexy die,
Or some apostume, now is sure, the drink
Was th' only cause of this mortality:
Griev'd for her Nurse's fond credulity,
Who drinking it, had made her griefs far more,
Doubling the sorrows that she had before.

XCI

No tongue of rhetorician can express
Her patience, which such mischiefs could abide:
Her perturbations only one may guess
Who in perpetual fear to be descried
Must without any company or guide,
Through solitude and darkness of the night,
Unto a place uncertain take her flight.

XCII

But she must go: for fear now bids her fly,
And to the Druid's Cave to post in haste,
And so to put her life in jeopardy,
Rather than to be sure to die at last.
Through desert rocks, and byways having past,
Her Genius not permitting her to stray,
She there arrived ere the break of day.

XCIII

Ent'ring with trembling feet the horrid cave,
Morrogh the Druid to her did appear,
Like a ghost sitting in a dead man's grave
Or darksome vault: who did no sooner see her,
But beck'ning to the Princess to come near,
The awful silence of his cell he brake,
And in few words to Sydanis thus spake.

XCIV

'Thou lovely-seeming youth, who in disguise
Art come, and art not what thou seem'st in show,
As if thou couldst deceive my aged eyes,
Who both thee and thy cause of coming know;
Oh let no fond belief delude thee so,
As make thee think thou canst not be descried,
Or that from me thy secrets thou canst hide.

XCV

Thou art a hapless lady, lately wed
Unto Prince Leoline, whose wretched state
(Wanting the pleasures of thy marriage bed)
I could relieve, and would commiserate,
Wer't not for the inveterate just hate
I bear King Arvon, who me here confin'd
To live a wretch exil'd from all mankind.

XCVI

Therefore to be reveng'd upon his son,
For his unjust and cruel father's sake,
Know, Sydanis, that I the deed have done:
I did the deadly poisonous potion make
Which thou didst cause Prince Leoline to take;
For whose dire murder thou wilt be detected,
Since no one else but thee can be suspected.

XCVII

Nor is thy nurse, that came unto my cell
(Whose death as well as Leoline's doth grieve thee)
As now alive, the truth of things to tell:
There is but one way left now to relieve thee,
And therefore take the counsel that I give thee,
Fly straight beyond seas, for before sunrise,
Men will be here thy person to surprise.'

XCVIII

The Druid's words, like the death-boding notes
Of the night raven, or the ominous owl,
Sent from their dismal hollow-sounding throats;
Or like the noise of dogs by night, that howl
At the departing of a sick man's soul:
Such terror into Sydanis did strike,
As never tender lady felt the like.

XCIX

What she should do, or whither she should go,
The poor distressed Sydanis not knew,
If undescried she could take ship or no,
And thereupon what dangers might ensue;
Therefore with visage deadly pale of hue,
'O Druid, let me die at once,' she says;
'And not so often, and so many ways.

C

And here I'll die; thy cell shall be my grave:
Before thee all my misery shall end.
So as if any come into thy cave
And find me here, they may thee apprehend
And with wild horses thee in pieces rend:
Inflicting several deaths on thy each limb,
For murdering a Prince, and me in him.'

CI

As Sydanis these passionate words spake,
All ready was her nimble flickering ghost
Her body's beauteous mansion to forsake,
And towards the blest Elysian fields to post;
All sense of this world's miseries were lost:
Yet this her sad departure seem'd most sweet,
That there again she Leoline should meet.

CII

But now the Druid, who unto the height
Had wrought her grief, resolv'd to hold his hand,
And suddenly to alleviate that weight
Of woe opprest her, takes a frozen wand,
With which, and magic spells, he could command
The Furies, Fates, Nymphs, Furies, and what else
In the Sea's deeps, or Earth's dark bosom dwells.

@3Explicit pars prima.@1

CIII

BRIGHT beauty's goddess, Aphrodite styl'd,
From whitest froth of the sea billows sprung,
O Jove's most lovely, best-beloved child,
Who evermore continuest fresh and young,
Assistant be to that which here is sung,
And guide my Muse, which now the land forsakes,
And to the stormy seas herself betakes.

CIV

Sweet-singing Sirens, you who so enchant
The pilot and the list'ning mariner,
As the one's head, the other's hand doth want
Abilities the rudder for to steer,
Receive a beauty to you without peer,
That puts to sea, whose orient teeth and lips
Doth shed your coral, and your pearl eclipse.

CV

For now the Druid took her in his arms,
Which never yet so sweet a burthen bore,
Waving his rod with strange and hideous charms,
Whilest near the water he stood on the shore,
A spectacle appear'd ne'er seen before:
For Amphitrite, the great Queen of Seas,
Appear'd with twelve Sea-Nymphs, Nereides.

CVI

Here I should tell you how this glorious Queen
Sate in a chariot, no man's eye e'er saw
So rare a one; her robes were of sea-green,
Her coach four Hippopotami did draw,
Who fear'd no gust, nor tempests' angry flaw.
But to describe things now I cannot stand,
I haste to finish what I have in hand.

CVII

Three steps into the sea the Druid wading,
The sleeping Princess to the coach he heaves,
Who proud to be enricht with such a lading,
Her Amphitrite joyfully receives,
With whom old Morrogh such directions leaves
As needful were, whither, and in what sort
She should the beauteous Sydanis transport.

CVIII

Leaving the firth whereas black Durdwye's streams,
Swifter than shafts shot from the Russ's bow,
Do enter and invade King Neptune's reams,
Justling the surly waves when as they flow,
Under Hilbree's high craggy cliffs doth row,
The sea's fair Queen, whom Tritons do attend,
While towards the main sea she her course doth bend.

CIX

The sea-bred steeds so swiftly cut the main,
As that the sight of every land was lost,
But a glass being turn'd, they see again
The island Mona's solitary coast,
Who of her learned Bards may justly boast
In music, and in prophecies deep skill'd,
Who with sweet Englens all the world had fill'd.

CX

And as the sun arose, they did descry
The lofty cliffs of the high head of Hoth,
A rocky promontory, which doth lie
Near Erinland, white with sea-billows' froth.
Here Amphitrite (though exceeding loath)
Was by the Druid Morrogh's strict command,
Her dearest lovely charge to set on land.

CXI

But yet before such time she would do so,
She sends three Sea-Nymphs down into the deep,
To bring her up such treasures from below,
As under rocks the wealthy Sea-gods keep.
Now all this while was Sydanis asleep,
And dream't that she was in some tempest tost,
And ship-wrack't, she and all her goods were lost.

CXII

But dreams fall out by contraries; for why?
The Sea-Nymphs with more speed than can be told,
Returning, brought from Neptune's treasury
A large heap of a wrecked Merchant's gold,
More than a page's pockets well could hold.
The second coral brought: the third, a piece
Of the sea's richest treasure, Ambergris.

CXIII

Last, the sea's Empress, for to testify
How much her love and bounty did abound,
A rope of orient pearl did straight untie,
Which thrice her ivory neck encircled round,
Such as in deepest southern seas are found,
These pearls she knit on Sydanis her wrist,
And having done, a thousand times her kist.

CXIV

Then raining tears upon her curled head,
Which was on Amphitrite's bosom laid,
She wept o'er Sydanis as she were dead:
So much sleep (death's resemblance) her dismayed,
As that a man that saw them would have said,
That once more there was really again
Venus, and in her lap Adonis slain.

CXV

The sad Nereides with mournful cheer,
Taking their leaves, do kiss her whitest hand,
Grieving to leave her, whom they held so dear.
And now as they approached near the strand,
Within some dozen steps of the dry land,
Down div'd the Hippopotami: the Queen,
Her chariot, horses, Nymphs, no more were seen.

CXVI

Fair Sydanis now left to swim or sink,
Ashore the surges of the billows threw;
Who therewith waking, verily did think,
That what she dream't had really bin true;
The manner of her coming she not knew,
But howsoever, although cold and wet,
She was right glad she was on dry land set.

CXVII

There not full half an hour she did abide,
Wond'ring how she such gold and pearl had got,
But by a fisherman she was espied,
Who saw her page's cloak and bonnet float
Upon the waves, and towards her with his boat
(Taking them up) all possible speed he makes,
And Sydanis into his skiff he takes.

CXVIII

Two leagues thence distant was a famous port
Of a great city, that Eplana hight,
Where Dermot King of Erin held his court,
Attended on by many a Lord and Knight:
To whom the fisherman told in what plight
He on the shore a shipwreckt youth had found,
And how the rest o' th' passengers were drown'd.

CXIX

When as King Dermot Sydanis beheld,
It doubtful was whether his admiration
Of her rare face, which others all excell'd,
Was greater, or his tender sad compassion
Of her mishap, which gave to him occasion
His royal bounty tow'rds her to express,
And to relieve her wants in this distress.

CXX

Desiring therefore first to have her name,
She told him that her name Amanthis was,
Page to a British Prince, who as he came
For Erinland (such was his woful case)
Was drown'd, as he those stormy seas did pass,
And that except her page's only suit,
She was of means and all things destitute.

CXXI

The royal Dermot forthwith gave command,
She should have anything that he could grant.
And now because the King did understand,
His only princely daughter Mellefant,
Of such a page at that time stood in want,
He to her chamber did Amanthis send,
The high-born lovely Princess to attend.

CXXII

The fair attendant by King Dermot sent,
The noble Princess kindly doth receive,
Whose page-like and discreet deportement,
Was such as no one did her sex perceive.
Now as a page Amanthis we must leave,
With the fair Princess Mellefant to dwell,
And you shall hear what Leoline befell.

CXXIII

Dionea early rising in the dark,
Sets open wide the opal ports of day,
In night's black tinder putting out each spark,
That twinkling shone with a faint flaring ray,
And now Nyctimene was flown away,
To the dark covert of a hollow tree,
Unwilling Phoebus' brightest beams to see.

CXXIV

The glorious rays of the next morning's light,
Which from the eastern ocean arose,
The dismal deeds of the preceding night
To the world's view were ready to disclose:
And Night unable longer to oppose
Bright Phoebus, or such things in secret keep,
Down sinking div'd into the western deep.

CXXV

The sun's swift coursers upwards making haste,
From his first house in the east horizon,
Had now two more supernal mansions past,
And to the entrance of the third were gone,
Ere any of these things in Court had known.
But when nor Prince, nor Princess did appear,
Each one admir'd why they not stirring were.

CXXVI

King Arvon and Duke Leon gave command,
A page should to the Prince's chamber go,
And instantly should let them understand,
If that Prince Leoline were well or no:
And why his rising he deferred so.
The page he went, and finding the door lockt,
Softly at first, then louder call'd and knockt.

CXXVII

But when within, no answer he could hear,
Nor voice of any one that to him spoke;
The page unto the King relates his fear,
Who straight commands that with a mighty stroke
Of iron bars the door should down be broke.
Which having done, and broken down the door,
A dismal sight lay on the chamber floor.

CXXVIII

For there the aged Nurse along was laid,
Cold and stretcht out, as one that were stark dead,
In all Prince Leoline's best clothes array'd.
Which sight not only fear, but wonder bred.
The King and Duke straight went unto the bed,
And opening the curtains, there alone
The Prince lay dead, but Princess there was none.

CXXIX

Tearing their hairs with lamentable groans,
These two sad parents' eyes with tears abound:
The King his son; Duke Leon he bemoans
His daughter's loss, who nowhere could be found.
Men search for her above and under ground,
But all in vain: for she (you heard) was gone
The night before to Erinland, unknown.

CXXX

The ports are stop't: they search each boat and bark,
Thinking that in some ship they might her find:
But that unlikely was, when as they mark
How that contrary blew the north-west wind,
Yet this her absence to King Arvon's mind
Was evidence enough it could not be,
That any one had kill'd the Prince but she.

CXXXI

Now as before a storm, the clouded sky
Blackens and darkens, sullenly it lowers,
Ere that the dreadful thunderer from on high
Roars in the clouds, and on the earth down pours
Another dismal cataclysm of showers,
Even so King Arvon's countenance did betoken
A storm of words, which afterwards were spoken.

CXXXII

For in the word of an enraged King,
(Whose fatal anger is assured death)
He vow'd he would upon Duke Leon bring
Confusion; for his sword he would unsheathe,
Which ne'er should be put up whil'st he had breath,
Until that he a just revenge should take,
For Sydanis his murderous daughter's sake.

CXXXIII

You must imagine more than shall be said,
Touching Duke Leon's grief and his reply,
Unto whose charge a Prince's death was laid,
Against all laws of hospitality:
He told King Arvon that he did defy
His threats, and being free from all offence,
He knew Heaven would protect his innocence.

CXXXIV

Leaving Carleon, back the King return'd
Unto Carnarvon castle, with intent,
That since that he and all his Court now mourn'd,
The Prince's body thither should be sent.
To lay him by his ancestors he meant,
Whose funeral should not be long deferr'd,
But he with all solemnity interr'd.

CXXXV

Among these troubles and distractions,
That 'twixt King Arvon and Duke Leon fell,
The caitiff Marquis Foutre, all whose actions
Were form'd by some infernal fiend in hell,
Had learn'd, there was a Druid that could tell
Men's fortunes, and whate'er they did demand,
Could give a resolution out of hand.

CXXXVI

To Morrogh went this Foutre for to know
The place to which fair Sydanis was fled,
And whether that she living was or no:
If not, and that she certainly was dead,
He needs would know where she was buried.
To whom the Druid with a countenance grave,
Waving his wand, this sudden answer gave:

CXXXVII

'Know, Frenchman, if to satisfy thy lust
Of that fair Lady, whom thou dost pursue,
Thou do intend, to Erinland thou must:
There thou may'st find her, and thy suit renew.'
But seeing that the wind contrary blew,
Foutre demanded, 'Hast thou not a kind
Of trick in magic for to sell a wind?'

CXXXVIII

'Yea,' quoth the Druid, 'ere thou hence depart,
That I am my Art's master thou shalt know,
And am no ignorant in magic art;
For knots that on thy handkercher I'll throw,
Untied shall cause that any wind shall blow,
Or strong or gently; and as thou dost please,
Shall waft thy ship or bark along the seas.'

CXXXIX

On Foutre's handkercher three knots he knits,
Which when he was at sea should be untied:
This done, forthwith the Druid's cell he quits,
And to the haven of Carleon hied,
Himself there of such shipping to provide,
As at that time the haven did afford,
where having got a ship he went aboard.

CXL

Untying the first knot, the wind, whose blast
Was contrary unto his going out,
And blew ahead, now blew abaft as fast,
And was upon the sudden come about:
Which caused all the mariners to doubt
That they had got a passenger, whose art
Had no relation to the seaman's chart.

CXLI

The second knot unknit the merry gales,
The vessel's linen wings her sails did spread,
Which having past the dangerous coast of Wales,
Was sailing now athwart the Holy-head.
The skippers, without sinking of their lead,
Upon a sudden now are come so nigh
To Erinland, that they it do descry.

CXLII

Here Foutre was the third knot to untie,
Who thought he had the winds at his dispose.
But having loos'd that knot, immediately
So hideous a storm at sea arose,
As if each several wind that fiercely blows
From two and thirty points at sea, had met,
Contending who the sovereignty should get.

CXLIII

The mariners observing that the storm
From any natural cause proceeded not,
Noting withal the superstitious form
And manner of untying of the knot,
Which now this raging tempest had begot,
Ready to sink with every stormy blast,
Marquis Jean Foutre overboard they cast.

CXLIV

No sooner was the miscreant thrown in,
And in the bottom drown'd, but straight the seas
Were calm again, as if the wretch had bin
A sacrifice, their anger to appease,
So that it did the Fatal Sisters please
That he that tied one knot, in the conclusion,
Should by another come unto confusion.

CXLV

The mariners now with a prosperous blast,
Their sea-toss'd vessel towards Carleon guide,
Which there I leave, all dangers being past,
At anchor in the harbour safe to ride:
For I must tell what fortune did betide
Unto Prince Leoline, whose various fate
Makes the strange story that I shall relate.

CXLVI

Twice had pale Phoebe in her silver wain,
Drawn with fell dragons, rode her nightly round,
Since that the prince with his face bare had lain,
Within an open coffin yet unwound
In's winding sheet, his hands and feet not bound,
That when a prince was dead all men might see
And know for certainty, that it was he.

CXLVII

Now the third night, which was the night before
The Prince's body was to be convey'd
Unto Carnarvon, there were half a score
Of knights and squires in mourning black array'd,
That watching by the Prince's body stay'd,
Who being fore-wak't they could no longer keep
Their eyelids open, but fell all asleep.

CXLVIII

Just at the hour of night the Prince did take
The potion which the Druid did compose,
Out of dead sleep did Leoline awake,
And like a ghost out of the coffin rose,
Which erst his princely body did enclose:
For now the potion had no more a force
To make a living prince a seeming corse.

CXLIX

For it was but a soporiferous potion,
Made of cold nightshade's, gladials', poppies' juice,
Which for a while supprest all sense and motion,
And of his members took away the use,
By a narcotic power it did infuse,
Which could no longer work on Leoline
But till the Moon pass'd to another sign.

CL

Nor ought this to seem strange, since as we read,
Inhabitants of the cold frozen zone,
Call'd Leucomori, for six months seem dead;
For as for sense or motion they have none,
And so remain till Phoebus having gone
Through the six southern signs, salutes the Twins,
At which time yearly their new life begins.

CLI

But pass we this: The Prince in dead of night,
Finding that those that should have watcht him slept,
Took up the morter, by whose small dim light
He silently unto the chamber stept
Of an esquire, who all his wardrobe kept,
Whom he in all important things employ'd,
And most relied upon: his name was @3Ffloyd@1.

CLII

Coming now near, and waking the esquire,
Whose hair for fear began upright to stand,
Thinking he saw a ghost, but coming nigher,
The Prince upon him gently laid his hand,
And beck'ned as he silence would command;
Then putting on a suit he lately wore,
They both at midnight went to the sea shore.

CLIII

Who being now informed by the way
Of all the accidents that had fallen out,
He durst no longer in Carleon stay;
Duke Leon's faithfulness he did misdoubt,
Who (as he did conceive) had gone about
To poison him, and would some plot contrive,
That might of life him utterly deprive.

CLIV

No sooner were they come, but there they found
(Even as they wisht) then ready to hoise sail
A vessel that for Erinland was bound,
They so far with the mariners prevail,
To take them in; of which they did not fail:
And now the wind so large was, that ere day,
The ship quite out of sight was flown away.

CLV

Prince Leoline being loath it should be known,
What either he, or his associate were,
Desir'd the skippers, that they two alone,
On the next coast or creek that did appear,
Row'd in their cock-boat, might be landed there.
The mariners accordingly it did,
And the meantime the ship at anchor rid.

CLVI

As they were ready for to set their feet
Upon dry land, and so to take their way,
Upon the shore a ghastly sight they meet,
For there Jean Foutre's drowned body lay,
In the same clothes, and in the same array,
He on the Prince's wedding day had worn,
Whose face and hands fishes had eat and torn.

CLVII

The Prince approaching nearer for to view
The sea-drown'd carcass, which he had descried;
That it was Foutre, instantly he knew;
For on his breast his bridal point he spied,
Which Leoline forthwith took and untied,
Unwilling that the mariners should have
A thing he as his wedding favour gave.

CLVIII

The magic knot undone by fortune strange,
And by this sad and yet glad accident,
In Leoline did work a sudden change:
For though it was undone with no intent,
But such as hath bin said; yet the event
Was such, and did so happily succeed,
He from th' enchanted ligature was freed.

CLIX

The jewels, gold, and silver that he found,
Among the seamen he distributed;
Who making of a poor hole in the ground,
Such as is made for felons being dead,
(Who by the highway-side are buried)
Jean Foutre's body they stark naked strip,
Which done they back do row unto their ship.

CLX

Prince Leoline and his esquire Ffloyd
In Erinland being safely set on shore,
The better all suspicion to avoid,
Would not unto Eblana come, before
They had conceal'd themselves a week or more:
In the meantime they purpose to devise
A way how they might pass in some disguise.

CLXI

Which while they are contriving, you shall hear
King Arvon and Duke Leon's sad estate,
Who equally in grief engaged were,
And equally did one another hate:
With swords they mean the business to debate,
And thereupon make preparation,
One for defence, the other for invasion.

CLXII

For when the servants that King Arvon sent,
Missing the body, all about had sought,
And could by no means find which way it went,
Returning to the King they nothing brought
But only this conjecture, that they thought
Duke Leon (on whom all the blame they lay)
Whilest they did sleep, had stolen the corpse away,

CLXIII

And buried it obscurely in some place,
Where never any one should find his grave.
Th' enraged King resenting this disgrace,
And now perceiving that he might not have
His son alive, nor dead, he straightway gave
Commissions forth an army to assemble,
Should make Carleon's city walls to tremble.

CLXIV

'Tis hard to say, whether was greater grown,
King Arvon's anger, or Duke Leon's grief;
On whom those black aspersions were thrown,
First of a murderer, and then a thief:
His patience yet (exceeding all belief)
And fortitude, were greater than his wrongs,
Or the foul malice of all slanderous tongues.

CLXV

So now it hap't as Leon went alone
To Venus' temple, and at midnight pray'd,
Down in that very vault he heard one groan,
Wherein two nights before the Nurse was laid:
Then afterwards he heard a voice, which said,
'Oh when will it be day? When will the light
Disperse the darkness of this endless night?'

CLXVI

The duke at first amazed, recollects
His fear-dispersed spirits, and before
That he would speak, he earnestly expects
To hear what the sad ghost would utter more:
Whom he perceived wept, and sighed sore:
Which made him on it such compassion take,
As that forthwith the vault he open brake.

CLXVII

And bowing down into the grot, he said,
'If thou a soul leaving th' Elysian rest,
Art back return'd, whereas thy corpse is laid,
To bring some comfort to a Prince distrest,
And with all manner injuries opprest;
Then in the dead more mercy doth abound,
Than here among the living can be found.

CLXVIII

For thou wilt tell me whether bale or bliss
Be now the sad condition or glad state
Of my late dear deceased Sydanis,
And where and how she yielded to her fate:
All which, I pray thee, gentle ghost, relate,
And ease my heavy heart, opprest with grief,
Which among mortals can find no relief.'

CLXIX

Grief hath few words. Th' amazed Nurse that heard
Duke Leon's words, and knew it was his voice;
Of the vault's darkness being much afear'd,
And the dead silence where there was no noise;
Not knowing if she wak't, or dream't, the choice
That she did make, was rather to conceal
Herself awhile, than anything reveal.

CLXX

And therefore that opinion to maintain,
And fancy in Duke Leon, of a ghost
From the Elysian shades return'd again,
And had now twice the Stygian ferry crost,
To seek that body it before had lost;
She in a piteous voice Duke Leon told,
As yet she might not anything unfold.

CLXXI

For Minos, Eacus, and Rhadamant,
The three grim Judges of th' infernal Court,
Would not unto the ghosts a licence grant,
The secrets of the dark world to report;
But to their tombs they nightly must resort,
Till seven nights were past, and there must stay
Till the cock's crow before the break of day.

CLXXII

But if that he on the eighth night would come
About the hour of twelve, when ghosts appear,
And call upon her at the silent tomb,
Of all things he the certainty should hear
Where Leoline and his fair daughter were,
And be inform'd of everything he crav'd,
And what the Fates on leaves of steel had grav'd.

CLXXIII

The Duke expecting at that time no more,
Up from the vault he silently arose,
Forgetting now to shut the temple door,
Unto his palace back again he goes;
And now the Nurse ere that the first cock crows,
Stole from the vault, and in her winding sheet,
Went to a beldam's house in a by-street.

CLXXIV

Who being a lone woman, was most fit
To keep her close, and what she had design'd;
Unto whose trust herself she doth commit,
And told to the old beldam all her mind;
Intending that as soon as she could find
An opportunity, she would go thence
To Morrogh, to get more intelligence.

CLXXV

Through darkness of the third ensuing night,
To the learn'd Druid Morrogh's cell she went,
Clad like a soldier, in a buff coat dight,
With hat, sword, gorget. This habiliment
Her hostess the old beldam to her lent,
Whose husband being a soldier long before,
Under Duke Leon, in his lifetime wore.

CLXXVI

Attired thus in habit of a man,
When she before the reverend Druid came,
To counterfeit men's gesture she began:
And to appear that she was not the same
She was, she altered her voice and name,
Thinking that Morrogh knew not who she was,
But that she for a soldier well might pass.

CLXXVII

But he well knowing she did counterfeit,
And to delude his cunning had a mind,
Resolved her finenesses should be met,
And quitted back to her in their own kind:
'Soldier,' quoth he, 'I by my skill do find,
Prince Leoline and Sydanis are fled,
And Merioneth, her old nurse, is dead.

CLXXVIII

More of the Princes I cannot unfold;
But by my art I certainly do know,
That ere three days be past, thou shalt behold
Carleon city walls beleagured so,
That out of it alive there none shall go;
By famine brought to that extremity,
As that the Duke himself thereof would die.

CLXXIX

But such a horrid death I must prevent,
And for thou seem'st one of Duke Leon's guard,
Tell him that I to him by thee have sent
An amulet by chymic art prepar'd,
Whose virtue told, will purchase thy reward,
For if that one but touch his lips with it,
'Twill satisfy the hungry appetite.'

CLXXX

The skilful Druid gave no more direction,
Nor of the secret properties more spake,
Of the Epimenidial confection.
The seeming-soldier doth the present take,
And towards Carleon all post-haste doth make,
Intending that if possible she may,
She would be back before the break of day.

CLXXXI

But ere 'twas day, King Arvon's legions were
So far advanc'd, as that he sent a scout
To make discovery if the foe were near,
Or that there were any ambushment without.
Now as the swift vaunt-couriers rode about
As sentinel perdu, the Nurse they caught,
And to King Arvon instantly her brought.

CLXXXII

Who forthwith gave command she should be sent
Unto Carnarvon, and there should be cast
Into the deepest dungeon, to th' intent
That she in links of iron fettered fast,
Being hunger-starv'd to death, should breathe her last.
His angry doom is straight accomplished,
And to Carnarvon is Merioneth led;

CLXXXIII

Of all poor creatures most unfortunate:
For while that in the dungeon she did lie,
She with herself did oftentimes debate,
Whether was better, hunger-starv'd to die,
Or for to take the Druid's remedy,
'Twould but prolong her misery to use it,
And it was present death for to refuse it.

CLXXXIV

But here I leave her and King Arvon's host
Carleon city walls besieging round.
My tale must follow them, who having crost
The British seas, for Erinland were bound,
Where Leoline fair Sydanis hath found,
But so transform'd, as (though he did her see)
He little did suspect that it was she.

@3Explicit pars secunda.@1

CLXXXV

LATONA'S twins, bright Cynthia, and her brother,
Resplendent Phoebus, with his glorious rays
Had seven times given place to one another,
And fully had accomplisht seven days
Ere Leoline, through devious woods and ways,
Accompanied by Ffloyd as his consort,
Came to Eblana to King Dermot's court.

CLXXXVI

On the eighth day, sacred to Venus' name,
It fortuned at court there was a feast
To welcome an Embassador that came
From Albion, which they two (among the rest)
Coming to see, like two French monsieurs drest,
They, noted to be strangers, were so grac't,
As next to the King's table to be plac't.

CLXXXVII

At midst whereof under a cloth of state,
To which one must by three degrees ascend,
In a rich chair the royal Dermot sate,
Th' Embassador and Princess at each end;
On Mellefant, Amanthis doth attend,
As cup-bearer, the while that she did dine,
And when she pleas'd to call, did bring her wine.

CLXXXVIII

Whenas six several courses serv'd had bin,
The royal dinner drawing towards an end,
A rich and sumptuous banquet was brought in,
Which did such kinds of sweetmeats comprehend,
As might with fruits of Paradise contend.
Of which the choicest and most excellent
The Princess to the seeming Frenchmen sent,

CLXXXIX

Giving her page Amanthis a command
To let them know, that if they did desire,
They should be brought to kiss King Dermot's hand.
Prince Leoline and Ffloyd, his faithful Squire,
These unexpected courtesies admire:
Which taking, they a low obeisance make,
Admiring the pure French Amanthis spake.

CXC

To whom Prince Leoline in French replied,
And told her, such an unexpected grace,
Their duties and affections so tied,
As that they all occasions would embrace,
To testify their service; and in case
They might receive such honour, that it would
Oblige them more than any favour could.

CXCI

The table taken from before the King,
And all the royal ceremonies ended,
Amanthis eftsoones did the strangers bring,
And told him that two French Lords there attended,
By Mellefant the Princess recommended,
To have the honour for to kiss his hands,
And to receive his Majesty's commands.

CXCII

King Dermot, full of royal courtesy,
Not only gave his hand, but more to grace'em
Descended so below his Majesty,
As that he did in friendly wise embrace'em,
Commanding his Lord Chamberlain to place'em
In his own lodgings, that they might not want
Conveniency to wait on Mellefant.

CXCII

Whose hands they kissing with all reverence
The Princess doth them kindly entertain:
Now while the King had private conference
With the Embassador, the Prince did gain
An opportunity for to detain
The Princess in discourse: 'twixt him and her
Amanthis was the sweet interpreter.

CXCIV

Prince Leoline's discourses pleas'd so well
The Princess, that she oftentimes did send
To have him come, fine romances to tell,
To which she would so sweet attention lend,
As Dido-like she seemed to depend
Upon his lip, and such delights did take,
She wisht to speak French only for his sake.

CXCV

But whatsoever by the Prince was said
Of love, or of adventures of that kind,
Must by Amanthis be interpreted,
Whose eyes the Prince's language could not blind,
For he was known, and how he stood inclin'd,
Nor was discreet Amanthis ignorant
That Leoline made love to Mellefant.

CXCVI

But to what end she could not yet discover:
For if to marry her was his intent,
It seem'd most strange that he should be a lover,
Who in love's actions was so impotent;
And if he were not so, then that content
Should Mellefant enjoy, and that delight
In Hymen's sports, which was Amanthis' right.

CXCVII

But ere a month was past, it fortun'd so,
The Princess Mellefant Amanthis sent
To the Prince Leoline, to let him know
And carry him this courtly compliment,
That if he pleas'd to ride abroad, she meant
(Since that the weather was so calm and fair)
To ride into the fields to take the air.

CXCVIII

Amanthis with this message being gone,
Prince Leoline was in his chamber found
Sitting upon his bedside all alone:
His countenance sad, his eyes fixt on the ground,
As if he did with careful thoughts abound:
But seeing of Amanthis, he acquir'd
A happiness that he had long desir'd.

CXCIX

For he now got an opportunity,
His mind unto Amanthis to disclose:
Whose message being told, immediately
The Prince began and said, 'Fair youth, suppose
I told a secret, might I not repose
So much in thee as never to reveal it,
But in thy faithful bosom to conceal it?'

CC

To whom Amanthis straight replied, 'You may
A privacy unto my trust commit,
Which if it touch the Princess any way,
Or King, to hide it were nor safe nor fit;
For in my duty I must utter it:
But if so be that it touch none of these,
You may securely tell me what you please.'

CCI

Quoth Leoline, 'That which I have to say
Concerns the Princess, but in such a kind,
As if that thou my counsel should'st bewray,
After that I have utter'd all my mind,
It may be I with thee no fault should find:
For say I should desire thee to prove,
Whether the Princess Mellefant could love.

CCII

My fortunes and my birth perchance may be
Greater than yet they seem; 'tis often seen,
Mean clothes do hide high-born nobility.
And though she be a Princess, nay a Queen,
Great Princesses have oft enamour'd been
Of gentlemen; so fortune did advance
Medor above the Paladins of France.

CCIII

And so Queen Clytemnestra, as we read,
Before King Agamemnon did prefer
And took into her royal nuptial bed
Aegisthus, her sweet-fac'd adulterer,
In birth and fortunes far unworthy her,
And so fair Helen did young Paris make
Her choice, and Menelaus did forsake.

CCIV

But these, thou'lt say, were precedents of lust,
And such as virtuous ladies should detest:
But what I seek is honourably just;
Which since I have committed to thy breast,
If thou, fair lovely youth, wilt do thy best
My suit to thy sweet Princess to commend,
Be sure that thou hast gain'd a thankful friend.'

CCV

To which Amanthis answered, 'You are
(My Lord) a stranger and as yet unknown,
You must upon your honour then declare
Whether you have a lady of your own
Living; and if that she from you be gone,
Or you from her; if either should be true,
None knows the inconvenience would ensue.'

CCVI

These speeches startled Leoline, whose heart
Being conscious, made him answer, ''Tis a truth
I had a lady once, to whom thou art
So like in feature, personage, beauty, youth,
And every lineament, as if she doth
Yet live, I should my state and life engage,
That thou wert she in habit of a page.

CCVII

For woe is me, away from me she fled,
Being ignorant of what the cause might be,
And left me lying fast asleep in bed;
And now for aught I know thou mayst be she;
For her true image I behold in thee:
But to believ't were fondness.' Here he stopt,
And from his eyes some crystal tears there dropt.

CCVIII

Amanthis weeping for to see him weep,
'My Lord,' quoth she, 'if you a lady had
That parted from you when you were asleep,
(Though loath) I shall unto your sorrows add
Such a relation shall make you more sad,
For if your lady can nowhere be found,
It is too true, I fear, that she is drown'd.

CCIX

For now it is some twenty days and more
Since mariners arriv'd here, who do say
How that they found sailing along the shore
The body of a Frenchman cast away,
On whom were letters found that did bewray
That he had stol'n a lady, who together
Perisht with him, as they were coming hither.

CCX

And if one may believe the common fame
That 'mongst the people hath divulged this,
The lady was of quality, her name,
If I remember right, was Sydanis.
Now if that this were she that did amiss,
And so much wrong'd your love, I must confess
Your sorrow for her ought to be the less.'

CCXI

Prince Leoline hearing this sad relation,
Like serpents to him were Amanthis' words,
Stirring both jealousy and indignation,
And pierc't his heart like to so many swords,
His grief this only utterance affords,
'Ah, Sydanis was she, whom I deplore,
Who seem'd a saint, but ah me! died a whore.'

CCXII

'Well,' quoth Amanthis, 'if I may amend
What is amiss, or may your woe relieve,
You may be sure I shall my furtherance lend,
And to your suit my best assistance give:
For Sydanis no longer shall you grieve,
For being free to marry whom you please,
I shall endeavour to procure your ease.'

CCXIII

This said, Amanthis Leoline did leave,
And back return'd to act that was design'd.
Now here a man may easily conceive
What perturbations vext the Prince's mind,
Who knowing he Jean Foutre dead did find,
And that part of the story he well knew,
He might well think, that all the rest was true.

CCXIV

Perplext with doubts, whether his impotence
Was the sole cause made Sydanis to fly
Before that he could have intelligence
Of such unfeigned marks as might descry
The truth, or loss of her virginity,
For though she as a virgin was reputed,
Yet by Jean Foutre he might be cornuted.

CCXV

On th' other side one probably may guess
The trouble that perplex Amanthis thought,
Since Leoline must Mellefant possess,
Who might deny him nothing that he sought:
And all this by Amanthis must be wrought,
Who by a kind unkind, and courteous wooing,
Must be the author of her own undoing.

CCXVI

But since Amanthis had a promise made
To further his love-suit in all she might:
It must be done, therefore she did persuade
Prince Leoline, in the French tongue to write
To Mellefant; for what he did indite,
She said the Princess would show none but her,
Who was betwixt them both interpreter.

CCXVII

And thereby she should find occasion
Fitly to speak of Leoline's true love,
And by a gentle amorous persuasion
She might all lets (if any were) remove.
Prince Leoline her counsel doth approve,
And writes, who by Amanthis was assur'd
An answer to his lines should be procur'd.

CCXVIII

Now after courtship and kind compliment,
And many courteous visits of respect,
Amanthis came, as if she had bin sent
To Leoline, to tell him the effect
Of her proceedings (which he did expect)
And brought a letter with her, which she feign'd
She had from Princess Mellefant obtain'd.

CCXIX

Th' effect whereof was this: she first desir'd
It might not seem a lightness in a maid,
To yield so soon to that which was requir'd
For Cupid, whose commands must be obeyed,
Had by her eyes into her heart conveyed
His lovely shape, his worth and every grace,
Where never man but he had yet a place.

CCXX

But now her amorous bosom was a shrine,
Devoted wholly to the god of Love,
In which the saint was lovely Leoline.
She writ, That in affection she would prove
More constant than the truest Turtle-dove.
What more for modesty might not be told,
She left it to Amanthis to unfold.

CCXXI

In fine, Amanthis did the Prince persuade
So powerfully, that if he pleas'd, he might
The maiden fort of Mellefant invade,
And enter in that fortress of delight:
For she, Corinna-like, the following night
Would come unto Prince Leoline his bed,
And offer there her princely maidenhead.

CCXXII

Provided always, when that she did come,
A promise must be made, might not be broken,
That they in their embraces should be dumb,
And that between them no word should be spoken.
For on the morrow, by a private token,
He should be sure, so that he would not vaunt,
He had enjoy'd the Princess Mellefant.

CCXXIII

The Prince, that heard with joy and admiration
Amanthis' words, impatient of delay,
On the Sun's horses lays an imputation,
That they were lame, or else had gone astray,
And Sol in malice had prolong'd the day,
That drove so slowly down Olympus' hill,
And winged Time he chid for standing still.

CCXXIV

But at the last the long'd-for hour grew near,
The evening sets, and the steeds of the Sun
Were posted to the other hemisphere,
On this side having their last stage y-run,
Bright things beginning to wax dim and dun,
And night uprising from dark Acheron,
O'er all the sky a pitchy veil had thrown.

CCXXV

About the hour of twelve, when all was still,
And Morpheus sealed had all mortal eyes,
Amanthis, who was ready to fulfil
Her promise, softly from her bed doth rise,
And in her smock and a furr'd mantle hies
To Leoline's bedchamber, where in stead
Of Mellefant, she goes to him to bed.

CCXXVI

No sooner did they touch each other's skin,
And she was in his fragrant bosom laid,
But that the Prince love's onset did begin,
And in his wars the valiant champion play'd:
What faint resistance a young silly maid
Could make, unto his force, did quickly yield;
Some blood was lost, although he won the field.

CCXXVII

For no hot Frenchman, nor high Tuscan blood,
Whose panting veins do swell with lively heat,
In Venus' breach more stoutly ever stood,
Or on her drum did more alarums beat,
But Cupid at the last sounds a retreat:
Amanthis at his mercy now doth lie,
Thinking what kind of death she was to die.

CCXXVIII

But she must now endure no other death,
For standing mute, but either must be prest,
Or smothering kisses so should stop her breath,
As that Love's flames enclos'd within her breast,
Should burn the more, the more they were supprest.
And so she as Love's Martyr should expire,
Or Phoenix-like, consume in her own fire.

CCXXIX

These pleasant kind of deaths Amanthis oft
And willingly did suffer ere 'twas day,
Nine times the lusty Prince did come aloft:
But now Amanthis could no longer stay;
For while 'twas dark she needs must go away:
On her, Prince Leoline bestow'd a ring,
Man's eye did ne'er behold so rare a thing.

CCXXX

For in it was an admirable stone,
Whose colour (like the carbuncle) was red,
By day, it with its native lustre shone,
And like the sun-bright beams abroad did spread.
But that which greatest admiration bred,
It had a quality ne'er seen before,
First to keep light, then after to restore.

CCXXXI

For if one to the sunbeams did expose it,
And hold it in them but a little space,
And in a box would afterwards enclose it,
Then after go into some darksome place
Whereas one could not see one's hand, nor face,
Opening the box, a beam of light would come,
Pyramid-like, would lighten all the room.

CCXXXII

But she was gladder of the consequence,
Than of the precious stone she did receive.
For now, without suspicion or offence,
She knew how she might Leoline deceive,
Whom she at parting from his bed did leave,
Recounting with himself, how by that deed
He might as King of Erinland succeed.

CCXXXIII

Amanthis being come to her own bed,
Lay down, but sleep she could not: Jealousies
Concerning Leoline disturb'd her head;
For having now tried his abilities,
She thought the Prince her sweetness did despise,
But that he no virility did want,
To enjoy his princely mistress Mellefant.

CCXXXIV

Oh Jealousy in love, who art a vice
More opposite in every quality,
Than is penurious sordid avarice,
To the extreme of prodigality.
[@3Line missing.@1]
Besides, thou sufferest no man to enjoy
What he possesses, without some annoy.

CCXXXV

So many cares, so many doubts and fears
Upon thee do continually attend,
As the two portals of the soul, the ears,
Which to all rumours do attention lend,
Dire perturbations to the heart do send,
Procuring such unquiet and unrest,
As should not harbour in a lover's breast.

CCXXXVI

And to that pass Amanthis thou hast brought,
With fear of losing that delight and pleasure
Which she hath tasted, as her troubled thought
And perturbations one may rightly measure
By a rich miser, who hath found a treasure,
Who is solicitous, and vext with care,
Lest any one of it should have a share.

CCXXXVII

Further she thought, if Mellefant but knew
Prince Leoline to be King Arvon's son,
He needed not his love-suit to pursue,
For he already had the conquest won.
Such cogitations in her head did run,
And with such thoughts she entertain'd the time,
Till Sol began Night's starry arch to climb.

CCXXXVIII

But when the feather'd herald of the light,
Stout Chantecleer the Cock, with trumpet shrill
Had now proclaim'd darkness was put to flight,
And Phoebus driving up the eastern hill,
With glorious golden beams the world did fill;
From 'twixt her sheets, as 'twixt two Groneland snows,
Amanthis like a new-sprung lily rose.

CCXXXIX

And in her page's habit neatly fine,
Her beauteous self she curiously did dight,
As if she had not lain with Leoline,
Nor had not lost her maidenhead that night:
Venus and Cupid pleas'd were with the sight;
And how she did Prince Leoline beguile,
Even made the old austere Saturnus smile.

CCXL

For Jupiter in lovers' witty sleights,
Which they contrive and cunningly devise,
(Himself having bin one) so much delights,
As that he oftentimes with them complies,
And doth but laugh at lovers' perjuries:
For now Amanthis was a part to act,
Which to perform, she no invention lackt.

CCXLI

For the next morn about the hour of ten,
To Princess Mellefant she had access,
Who seeing her, demanded of her, When
That the French Lord such courtship would express,
As unto her a visit to address?
To whom Amanthis said, 'I am to blame,
That I no sooner to your highness came,

CCXLII

To tell you that it is the Lord's intent,
(If so it please your Highness and the King)
This night a Masquerado to present,
Where you shall see him dance, and hear him sing.
Your answer I again to him must bring,
Who hopes your Highness graciously will take,
A service only done for your dear sake.

CCXLIII

He further hopes you'll honour him thus much,
As to receive this ring, and so to grace it,
As that it may your princely finger touch,
On which he humbly prays that you would place it:
This fair occasion, if you please t' embrace it,
And cherish it, may the beginning prove
Of a most happy honourable love.

CCXLIV

For, Madam, his brave parts and excellence,
Which other men's perfections far outgoes,
His valour, learning, wit, and eloquence,
Which like a flood of nectar from him flows,
That he is some great Prince most plainly shows:
And let one presuppose that he were none,
Yet your most honour'd service makes him one.'

CCXLV

Fair Mellefant, whose breast th' Idalian fire
Had gently warm'd, unto her thus replied:
'Amanthis,' quoth she, 'I do much admire
How that a stranger can so soon have spied
An advocate, that cannot be denied;
Those in their suits of eloquence have need,
That seek unjust things, and so fear to speed.

CCXLVI

But thou who art a young and lovely youth,
Might'st well have spared that which thou hast said,
For to converse with thee (such is thy truth)
A Vestal Virgin would not be afraid:
Thy looks are Rhetoric to persuade a maid;
And be assur'd, I willingly shall grant
Whatever thou shalt ask of Mellefant.

CCXLVII

Therefore to him who (as thou sayst) doth seem
A noble Prince, this message thou shalt bear:
Tell him his love we highly do esteem,
And for his honour'd sake the ring I'll wear,
Which next himself shall be to me most dear.'
Having thus said, straight to the King she went,
And for that time broke off her compliment.

CCXLVIII

Now some will say, 'twas too much forwardness
In Mellefant, that with so small ado,
She did her love unto the Prince express:
For bashful maids do let their suitors woo,
And that same thing they have most mind unto,
Lest men their maiden coyness should suspect,
They seem to shun, at leastwise to neglect.

CCXLIX

But since great Virgil writes, That Dido lov'd
At the first sight the wand'ring Knight of Troy,
Whose story much more her affections mov'd,
Than could the torch of Venus' wanton Boy:
Let Mellefant, in that she was not coy,
Be blameless, since we by experience find
Those women are not fair, that are not kind.

CCL

For Heaven itself, that is a thing most fair,
While it is gently calm, serene and clear,
While Zephyrus perfumes the curled air,
With gladness it the heart of man doth cheer:
But if it gloomy, dark, and sad appear,
It never on us mortals showers a storm,
But blackness doth heaven's beauteous face deform.

CCLI

Nor do I say she lov'd but as a friend,
Giving the Prince a courteous sweet regard,
Which had not yet so far as love extend,
Though more for him than other men she car'd,
Her gracious looks were only his reward:
For why, as yet she only did incline,
And not resolve, to love Prince Leoline.

CCLII

But time and opportunity of place,
Which clerks assign for all things that are done,
Did consummate within a little space
That part of love was happily begun.
The evening now approach't, and that day's Sun
Himself below the horizon had set,
And had in western waves his chariot wet:

CCLIII

Whenas those high supernal Deities
That all men's actions do foresee and know,
And do preside at all solemnities,
Assembled were to look on things below,
A Masque before King Dermot, which doth show,
That 'tis a part of their celestial mirth,
To see how men do personate them on earth.

CCLIV

In Heaven's tenth house, bright Honour's highest throne,
On starry studded arches builded round,
Great Jupiter the Thunderer bright shone,
His brows with beams of radiant lightning crown'd:
Just opposite to him, low under ground
His melancholy sire Saturnus old
Did sit, who never pastimes would behold.

CCLV

Next Jove sate Mars, the fiery god of war,
In arms of burnisht steel completely dight:
By him Apollo, who had left his car,
And for a while laid by his robes of light:
Next him sate Venus, goddess of delight,
Whose golden hair in curious knots was tied:
Then Mercury, and Luna by his side.

CCLVI

With these assembled were those Heroes,
Whose fixed lights the eighth Sphere do adorn,
Stormy Orion, and great Hercules,
With skin from the Nemean Lion torn,
August's bright Virgin with her ear of corn.
Near Berenice combing of her hair,
Sate Cassiopaea in her starry chair.

CCLVII

As these spectators sitting in the skies
Made Jove's high place glorious; even so
As they cast on King Dermot's court their eyes,
Another heaven they beheld below:
Such art and cost did Leoline bestow
Upon the masquing scenes, as no expense
Could add more beauty or magnificence.

CCLVIII

For to a high and spacious stately room
Prepar'd for presentations of delight,
King Dermot in his royal robes being come,
Attended on by many a Lord and Knight,
With his fair daughter Mellefant the bright,
Where under a rich pearl-embroider'd state,
She like a glorious constellation sate.

CCLIX

The ladies hid with jewels, who had seen
On arras-covered scaffolds sitting there,
He would have thought that he so high had been,
As he at once saw either hemisphere,
So like a starry firmament they were,
And all that space that was below, between
The hemisphere, lookt like the earth in green.

CCLX

For all the floor, whereon the masquers' feet
Their stately steps in figures were to tread,
And gracefully to sunder, and to meet,
A carpet of green cloth did overspread;
Which seem'd an even flow'ry vale, or mead,
On which the hyacinth and narcissus blue
So naturally were stain'd, as if they grew:

CCLXI

The violet, cowslip, and the daffodill,
The tulip, the primrose, and with them
The daisy sprung from the green camomill,
The flow'ry orchis with its tender stem,
The goddess Flora's crown, the meadows' gem,
Which seem'd the masquers' dancing did commend,
Who trod so light they did not make them bend.

CCLXII

More might be said, but let thus much suffice,
For to say more of flow'rs but needless were.
The King being set, and all spectators' eyes
Fixt on the scene, the first thing did appear
Were clouds, some dusky blue, and some were clear,
As if it seem'd a sky were overcast,
Which all did vanish, with Favonie's blast.

CCLXIII

These clouds disperst, down dropping the May dew,
Aurora rose, crown'd with the morning star,
Four snow-white swans her purple chariot drew,
And gently mounted up her rosy car.
Next that in perspective was seen from far
The rolling Ocean, and as there had bin
Waves of a flowing spring-tide coming in --

CCLXIV

Which as they rolled nearer on the sand,
Upon the tumbling billows was descried
Arion with a golden harp in's hand,
Who a huge crooked dolphin did bestride,
And on the dancing waves did bravely ride.
Before him Tritons, who in shells did blow,
And were as the loud music to the show.

CCLXV

Sea-monsters, who up from the deep were come,
Presented a delightful antic dance,
Who on the waters' surface nimbly swome,
Making odd murgeons with their looks askance,
Sometimes they dive, sometimes they did advance,
Sometimes they over one another leapt,
And to the music time exactly kept.

CCLXVI

Between each dance Arion with his lyre,
That with sweet silver sounding chords was strung,
Sitting in midst of a melodious quire
Of sixteen sirens, so divinely sung,
That all the room with varied echoes rung.
Arion's part was acted by the squire,
Whose singing all that heard him did admire.

CCLXVII

The music ended, to delight the eye,
Another scene and spectacle begun,
For there aloft in a clear azure sky
Was seen a bright and glorious shining sun,
Who to his great meridian had run,
O'er whom the asterisme was represented
Of Leo, whose hot breath his flames augmented.

CCLXVIII

Under his beams, as flying o'er the seas,
Did Daedalus and Icarus appear;
The sire in the mid-way did soar at ease,
But Icarus his son mounting too near,
His wax-composed wings unfeathered were:
So headlong to the sea he tumbled down,
Whose billows the foolhardy youth did drown.

CCLXIX

Now the sea going out, which erst had flow'd,
Did leave a bare and golden yellow sand,
Whereon rare shells, and orient pearls were strow'd,
Which gathered by twelve Sea-Nymphs out of hand,
In scallop-shells, were brought unto the land
Unto the King, and Mellefant, as sent
From him that did Arion represent.

CCLXX

The first scene vanishing, and being past,
And all things gone, as if they had not been;
The second scene, whereon their eyes they cast,
Was the Hesperides, with trees all green,
On which both gold and silver fruits were seen.
Apollo there amidst the Muses nine
Sate, personated by Prince Leoline.

CCLXXI

Who playing on a rare theorbo lute,
The strings his fingers did not only touch,
But sung so sweet and deep a base unto't,
As never mortal ear heard any such:
The Muses did alternately as much,
To sound of several instruments, in fine,
They in one chorus all together join.

CCLXXII

Besides them, there was sitting in a grove
The shepherds' god Pan, with his pipe of reed,
Who for the mast'ry with Apollo strove,
Whether in Music's practice did exceed.
Between them both, King Midas, who decreed
That Pan in skill Apollo did surpass,
Had for his meed two long ears of an ass.

CCLXXIII

These with ten Satyrs danc'd an antic round
With voltas, and a saraband: which ended,
They suddenly all sunk into the ground,
And with Apollo they no more contended.
Thus done, he and his Muses down descended
From their sweet rosy arbours, which did twin
The honey-suckle and sweet jessamin.

CCLXXIV

The stately Grand-Ballet Apollo led,
Wherein most curious figures were exprest,
Upon the flow'ry carpet as they tread,
The Muses in fine antique habit drest,
Unto their nimble feet do give no rest,
But in neat figures they the letters frame
Of Mellefant's, and of King Dermot's name.

CCLXXV

This done, the Muses like nine ladies clad
(For so they did appear unto the eye)
Their antique habits chang'd, and as they had
Bin metamorphosed, they suddenly
Their neat disguise of women did put by,
And like to nine young gallants did appear,
The comeliest youths that in Eblana were.

CCLXXVI

The prince, too, putting off his masquing suit,
Apollo representing now no more,
His habit gave, his vizor, ivory lute
To pages, that sweet cedar torches bore,
Appearing now a Prince as heretofore,
Who with the nine young gallants went about
New dances, and to take the ladies out.

CCLXXVII

Now as the Prince did gracefully present
Himself to Mellefant, it did betide
As he did kiss her hand in compliment,
Upon her finger he the ring espied
He gave in bed, which to her wrist was tied
With a black ribbon, as if she did fear
To lose a jewel she did prize so dear.

CCLXXVIII

Prince Leoline assur'd was by that ring,
That he with Princess Mellefant had lain,
Whereas indeed there ne'er was such a thing;
Such was his courage he could not refrain
To court the Princess in an amorous strain:
For while he danc't with her, his eyes exprest
Those flames of love that burnt within his breast.

CCLXXIX

But now it growing late, and night far spent,
The Bransles being danc't, the revels ended,
The Prince's Masque did give all eyes content,
Who by King Dermot highly was commended,
On whom both he and masquers all attended,
Who to a stately room were forthwith guided,
Whereas a sumptuous banquet was provided.

CCLXXX

Which being finisht, the late hour of night
Requir'd, that all the company should part,
Prince leoline adjourn must his delight
Until next day, for now his amorous heart
Was quite shot through with Cupid's golden dart:
Nor could he pleasure or contentment want
Who thought he enjoy'd the beauteous Mellefant.

@3Explicit pars tertia.@1

CCLXXXI

THE crescent-crowned empress of the flood
Had veiled thrice her face from mortals' sight,
And having thrice in opposition stood
Unto her brother, borrow'd thrice his light
Since that auspicious happy pleasant night,
That beautiful Amanthis first had bin
A bedfellow unto Prince Leoline.

CCLXXXII

But well away! for like a man that stands
With unsure footing on the slippery ice,
Or one that builds a house upon the sands,
Such is this world's joy: Fortune in a trice
Can alter so the chances of the dice,
Our clearest day of mirth ere it be past,
With clouds of sorrow oft is overcast.

CCLXXXIII

And now, alas! quite alter'd is the scene
From joy to sadness, and from weal to woe;
The purblind goddess Fortune knows no mean,
For either she must raise or overthrow:
Our joy no sooner to the height doth grow,
But either it is taken quite away,
Or like a withering flow'r it doth decay.

CCLXXXIV

Oh you sad daughters of dark Night and Hell,
You Furies three, that shunning of the light,
Among the buried world's pale people dwell,
And guilty consciences with ghosts affright,
Assistants be to that I now must write!
Alecto, with thy dim blue-burning brand,
Lend fatal light to guide my trembling hand:

CCLXXXV

For cheerful daylight will not lend a beam,
My tear-down-dropping dreary quill to guide,
By which that may be read, which now's my theme,
In dusky clouds the Sun his face will hide,
And to behold these lines will not abide,
For they will make the rosy blushing morrow
Look deadly pale, to see Amanthis sorrow.

CCLXXXVI

For why, it fortun'd so, that the next day
After the masque and revels all were done,
That Leoline as fresh as flowers in May,
To prosecute that victory he had won,
And finish that was happily begun,
Unto the Princess Mellefant he went,
His love and humble service to present.

CCLXXXVII

Whom happily he found (his luck was such
Through his kind favouring star) sitting alone
Upon an imbrocated tissue couch,
Enricht with pearl and many a precious stone:
As then attendants near her there was none
Save only fair Amanthis, who had bin
Discoursing to her of Prince Leoline.

CCLXXXVIII

Who seeing him, rose whence that she was set,
And he with low obeisance kist her hand:
'My Lord,' quoth Mellefant, 'since we are met
If 'twere my happiness to understand
The French, that I might know what you command,
And that we two together might confer,
Without Amanthis our interpreter.'

CCLXXXIX

The Prince upon the couch set by her side,
Making his face more lovely with a smile,
In her own language to her thus replied:
'Madam,' quoth he, ''twere pity to beguile
You any longer, for though all this while
I seem'd a Frenchman; yet truth shall evince,
That I your faithful servant am a Prince.'

CCXC

Fair Mellefant with sudden joy surpris'd,
A rosy blush her dainty cheeks did stain.
'My Lord,' quoth she, 'although you liv'd disguis'd,
How is it, that so soon you did obtain
Our British tongue?' He answered her again,
'Madam,' quoth he, 'causes must not be sought
Of miracles by your rare beauty wrought.

CCXCI

But wonder not, for though King Dermot's throne
Is sever'd by green Nereus' briny main
From the firm British continent, yet one
Are both the laws and language those retain,
O'er whom the King of Erinland doth reign,
And those, who great King Arvon do obey,
Who doth the old Symerian sceptre sway.

CCXCII

Whose kingdom all those provinces contains
Between swift Deva's streams upon the east,
Who tumbling from the hills frets through the plains,
And great Saint George's Channel on the west,
Where the fierce Ordovices and the rest
Of the ne'er conquer'd warlike Britons bold,
In hills and caves their habitations hold.

CCXCIII

Nor hath his spacious kingdom there an end,
But from the stormy northern Ocean's shore,
Unto the fall of Dovy doth extend,
Whose springs from highest mountains falling o'er
Steep rocks, like Nile's loud catadups do roar,
Whose crystal streams along the river's brink
The stout Dimetae, and Silures drink.

CCXCIV

Whose ancestors after Deucalion's flood,
First peopled Erinland long time agone,
Whose offspring is deriv'd from Britons' blood,
And is thereof but an extraction:
Now both these nations may again be one;
And since they are deriv'd from one stem,
They may be joined in one diadem.

CCXCV

If you, most fair of Princesses, shall deign
A kind alliance with the British crown,
And in your bed and bosom entertain
A lover that shall add to your renown:
For such a noble match will make it known
For an undoubted truth, that Princes' hands
Do not alone join hearts, but unite lands.'

CCXCVI

To this the beauteous Mellefant replied,
And said, 'Fair Prince, were the election mine,
Your noble motion should not be denied:
For little rhetoric would suffice t' incline
A lady to affect Prince Leoline.
Few words persuade a heart already bent
To amorous thoughts, to give a fit consent.

CCXCVII

But my choice is not totally my own,
Wherein we Princes are unfortunate:
Fit suitors to us there are few or none
We must be rul'd by reasons of the state,
Which must our lives and actions regulate:
The country maids are happier than we,
To whom the choice of many swains is free.

CCXCVIII

But we must woo by picture, and believe,
For all the inward beauties of the mind,
Such lineaments the painter's colours give:
We ought be physiognomers, to find
Whether the soul be well or ill inclin'd:
Besides, when kingdoms do ally as friends,
They know no love, nor kindred, but for ends.

CCXCIX

Yet I have had the happiness to see
And to converse with you, wherein I am
More fortunate than other Princes be,
Seeing your person e'er I knew your name:
And now your virtues, greater than your fame,
Needs not the treaties of Embassadors,
To make the heart of Mellefant all yours.

CCC

Only my father's leave must be obtain'd,
Ere we our nuptial rites do celebrate,
Whose liking and consent when you have gain'd,
(Wherein I with you may be fortunate)
You are his kingdom's heir, and this whole state
Shall do you homage, and the race that springs
From us shall reign in Erinland as Kings,

CCCI

And rule those ancient Septs, which heretofore
Had sovereign power, and petit Princes were,
The great O'Neale, O'Dannel and O'More,
O'Rocke, O'Hanlon, and the fierce Macquere,
MacMahon erst begotten of a bear,
Among those woods not pierc't by summer's sun,
Where the swift Shenan, and clear Leffy run.

CCCII

Under those shades the tall grown kerne, content
With shamrocks and such cates the woods afford,
Seeks neither after meat, nor condiment,
To store his smoky coshery, or board,
But clad in trouses, mantle, with a sword
Hang'd in a weyth, his feltred glib sustains
Without a hat, the weather, when it rains.

CCCIII

The lordly Tanist with his skene and dirk,
Who placeth all felicity in ease,
And hardly gets his lazy churls to work,
Who rather chose to live as savages,
Than with their garrons to break up the lease
Of fertile fields, but do their ploughshares tie
To horses' tails, a barbarous husbandry.

CCCIV

But as it is foretold in prophecies,
Who writ on barks of trees, a maiden Queen
Hereafter Erinland shall civilize,
And quite suppress those savage rites have been
Amongst us, as they never had been seen:
This Queen must of the British blood descend,
Whose fame unto the world's poles shall extend.

CCCV

Who reigning long, her sex's brightest glory,
All after ages ever shall admire:
True virtue's everlasting type and story,
Who than her, when it can ascend no higher,
She like a virgin Phoenix shall expire.
And if old wizards' ancient saws be true,
This royal Princess must ascend from you.'

CCCVI

Who hath observ'd the gentle western wind,
And seen the fragrant budding damask rose,
How that it spreads and opens, he will find
When Zephyrus' calm breath upon it blows,
Even so the Prince's heart one may suppose
Dilated was with joy within his breast,
Hearing the speeches Mellefant exprest.

CCCVII

To whom with looks and countenance debonaire,
He only made this short, but sweet reply:
'Madam,' quoth he, 'were not you the most fair,
That ever hath bin fam'd in history,
Or shall be seen by late posterity,
There might remain a hope, that there might be
An age hereafter happier than we.

CCCVIII

But since that you are Nature's paragon
Not by herself e'er to be parallell'd,
Since Heaven's the ring, and you the precious stone,
Yet never equall'd, therefore not excell'd,
Those happy eyes that have your form beheld,
Must close themselves in darkness, and despair
Of ever seeing one so heavenly fair.

CCCIX

For when to liberal Nature she had spent
The quintessence of all her precious store,
To make one glorious Phoenix, her intent
Perchance was to have formed two, or more;
But wanting of materials she forbore:
So is she now enforc'd not to make two
Such as yourself, but by dissolving you.

CCCX

Therefore that glorious Queen of all perfection,
That is foretold in after times to reign,
Will be but of yourself a recollection:
Who Aeson-like, will be reviv'd again;
For your divinest parts will still remain
Unmixt, and the uniting of your frame
Will alter nothing of you, but your name.

CCCXI

For as a sovereign Prince doth honour give
To's presence-chamber, though he be not there;
So you, though for a while you do not live
On earth, but in some bright celestial Sphere,
Yet is your presence-chamber everywhere.
For that it is the whole world here below,
To which your servants do obeisance owe.'

CCCXII

This interchange of courtship 'twixt these lovers
Continued till the day was well near spent,
And Venus setting in the west, discovers
The path and track where Phoebus' chariot went.
To get King Dermot's fatherly consent,
Was now the only business to be done,
To consummate those joys that were begun.

CCCXIII

But O you weird stern fatal Sisters three,
O Lachesis, that mortals' threads dost twine!
O influence of stars, that causes be,
Though not compulsive, yet our wills incline:
You yet disclose not to Prince Leoline,
Of this his forward love the sad event,
Nor of his match the strong impediment.

CCCXIV

For now Amanthis either must oppose
His marriage, for by her it must be crost,
And consequently must herself disclose,
Or she is utterly undone, and lost.
Thus like a ship 'twixt wind and tide sore tost,
Not knowing how to tack about or veer,
She wanted skill to wield the stern or steer.

CCCXV

For first she thought such was the Prince's truth,
As that he would rejoice that he had found
Amanthis retransformed from a youth
To Sydanis, whom he believ'd was drown'd,
With double joys their hearts should now be crown'd,
For all the bitterness they both did taste,
Should with contentment sug'red be at last.

CCCXVI

And though we be no better for delight
That's done and gone, nor yet the worse for pain,
When it is past, no more than is the sight,
For glorious species, which it did retain:
Or ear for hearing some harsh music strain,
The present being that, which we enjoy,
Whether it be of pleasure, or annoy --

CCCXVII

Yet as in dreams the memory suggests
Unto the fantasy things that have been,
But are no more, so a remembrance rests
In her, of all her anguish and her teen;
And of those sorrowful days that she had seen,
Which like a fearful dream once passed o'er
That 'twas not true makes her rejoice the more.

CCCXVIII

For she not knowing of the fascination
Was practis'd on the Prince in's marriage bed,
Might think an over-strong imagination,
Sending venereal spirits to the head,
Had left the part of generation dead,
Too much desire in love being oft a let
And makes that fall, which men upright would set.

CCCXIX

But passing that, the Princess having tried
With Leoline, whom she so oft beguil'd,
Completely all the pleasures of a bride,
And by him being young conceiv'd with child,
She thought she should be fully reconcil'd
Unto King Arvon, when it did appear
That Leoline and she both living were:

CCCXX

And that the war King Arvon had begun,
(Of which she had but lately heard) should cease,
She bringing to him a young Prince, a son,
And all should be concluded with a peace,
Before their two old parents did decease.
These pleasant thoughts, like shapes seen in a glass
Set in a street, through her clear soul did pass.

CCCXXI

But as in March the sun then shining fair,
Is often by the south wind's stormy blast,
Chasing the clouds, and troubling the air,
With black and gloomy curtains overcast,
Which longer than serenity doth last,
So some sad thoughts o'erspread Amanthis' soul,
Which all her thoughts of pleasure did control.

CCCXXII

For to declare herself, she was afraid,
To be the consort of the Prince's bed,
Since she should cross herself, who had averr'd
To Leoline, that Sydanis was dead,
And so for lying should be censured,
Or should as an impostor be accus'd,
Who with false shows had all the Court abus'd.

CCCXXIII

Besides, this circumstance augments her fear,
If she should say she from Carleon fled,
She must discover what had hap'ned there;
She knew no other but her Nurse was dead,
For whom her life might well be questioned,
And therefore in this case it her behov'd,
To say something that might not be disprov'd.

CCCXXIV

But she not knew nor ship, nor Prince's name
Pretended to be shipwreckt, nor could give
Account how she unto Eblana came,
So probably that men might her believe:
This exigent her very soul did grieve,
That she must say it with a serious brow,
That she was come, and yet could not tell how.

CCCXXV

Besides, she did imagine if she said
She was Duke Leon's daughter, none did know
Her to be such, and being now no maid,
Though formerly the Prince had left her so,
When from her bridal bed he meant to go,
Though she assumed Sydanis her name,
The Prince might think her like, yet not the same.

CCCXXVI

Or presuppose Prince Leoline did know
That she was Sydanis, yet having set
His love on Mellefant, he might not show
That he did know her, and so she might get
The reputation of a counterfeit:
Besides, she coming closely to his bed,
She could not prove he got her maidenhead.

CCCXXVII

Moreover, if all truths should be disclos'd,
And things known really which she did feign,
That all this while Prince Leoline suppos'd
That he with Princess Mellefant had lain:
For such a foul aspersion, and a stain
Cast on her honour, (although not intended)
Fair Mellefant might justly be offended.

CCXXXVIII

And so on every side perplext and grieved,
She of all liars should have the reward,
As when they speak truth not to be believ'd,
She could not easily mend what she had marr'd.
Thus with the woful Sydanis it far'd,
Who trusting overmuch to her disguise,
Falls by it into these calamities.

CCCXXIX

O aged father Time's fair daughter, Truth,
Of all divine intelligences best,
What Sages erst have said of thee is sooth,
Thou hast a window made in thy white breast,
And art most lovely when thou art undrest.
Thou seek'st no corners thy bright self to hide,
Nor blushest though thou naked art espied.

CCCXXX

Thou needst not a @3fucus@1 or disguise,
To cover thee thou putt'st on no new fashion,
Nor with false semblance dost delude men's eyes,
Like thy base zany, damn'd Equivocation,
Thou want'st no comment, nor interpretation,
And for maintaining thee, though men be blam'd
And suffer for a while, yet ne'er art sham'd.

CCCXXXI

Yet what thou art must not always be told,
For 'tis convenient thou thyself should'st hide,
Till thy old Sire thy beauties do unfold:
Then as pure gold upon the touchstone tried,
That finer's hottest furnace doth abide,
Or like a palm-tree thou dost flourish best,
When thou hast bin by ignorance supprest.

CCCXXXII

And so although necessity requir'd
That truth of things should now be brought to light,
That period of time was not expir'd,
Wherein this Lady Sydanis the bright
Should show herself, for which she often sight.
Who now with showers of tears her eyes had made,
As if two suns in watery clouds did wade.

CCCXXXIII

But as the lily whenas Bartholomew,
Summer's last Saint, hath ushered in the frost,
Wet, with the long night's cold, and chilly dew,
Her lustre and her verdure both are lost,
And seems to us as she were dead almost:
So grief and sorrow quickly did impair
The lovely face of Sydanis the fair,

CCCXXXIV

Who weeps away her eyes in pearly showers,
Rais'd by her sighs, as by a southern wind.
She prays to Venus and the heavenly powers,
That they in their high providence would find
Some means to ease her sad and troubled mind:
And though despair unto the height was grown,
She might enjoy that yet, which was her own.

CCCXXXV

Her prayers are heard, for the next dawning day
Prince Leoline and Mellefant both went
(True love not brooking any long delay)
Unto King Dermot, with a full intent
To ask and get his fatherly consent.
These Princes' loves on wings of hope did fly,
That the King neither could, or would deny.

CCCXXXVI

But their design they brought to no effect,
Being commenc't in an unlucky hour,
No planet being in his course direct,
And Saturn who his children doth devour
From his north-east dark adamantine tower
Beheld the waning moon and retrograde,
A time unfit for such affairs had made.

CCCXXXVII

They should have made election of a day
Was fortunate, and fit to speak with Kings,
When the King's planet, Sol's propitious ray,
Who great affairs to a wisht period brings,
And is predominant in all such things;
When Jupiter aspecting with the trine,
His daughter Venus did benignly shine.

CCCXXXVIII

This was the cause proceeding from above,
Which clerks do call inevitable fate:
That was the hindrance of these Princes' love,
And made them in their suit unfortunate:
But yet there was another cause of state,
Which was so main an obstacle and let,
That they the King's consent could never get.

CCCXXXIX

For that Embassador which lieger lay,
Sent to Eblana in King Albion's name,
Who as you heard was feasted that same day
That to the court Prince Leoline first came,
And Mellefant conceiv'd her amorous flame,
A treaty of a marriage had begun
For her, with Prince Androgios, Albion's son;

CCCXL

And had so far advanc't it, that the King
With all his privy council's approbation,
Had condescended unto everything
That might concern the weal of either nation:
For this alliance would lay a foundation
Of a firm future peace, and would put down
That enmity was erst 'twixt either crown.

CCCXLI

And now the time prefixt was come so near
Th' Embassador had got intelligence,
Within ten days Androgios would be there
In person, his own love-suit to commence,
And consummate with all magnificence
His marriage, and perform those nuptial rites
Wherein bright Cytherea so delights.

CCCXLII

This weigh'd, King Dermot could not condescend,
Nor give way to Prince Leoline's affection,
Unless he should Androgios offend,
Who now of his alliance made election,
The breach whereof might cause an insurrection
Among his people, if that they should see
Him break a King's word, which should sacred be.

CCCXLIII

And now although Prince Leoline repented
He ever love to Mellefant profest,
Yet because no man should go discontented
From a great King, he as a Princely guest
Was us'd with all the noblest, fairest, best
Respects of courtesy, and entertain'd
While that he in King Dermot's court remain'd.

CCCXLIV

But like to one that's into prison cast,
Though he enjoy both of the eye and ear
All choicest objects, and although he taste
ambrosial cates; yet while that he is there
Wanting his liberty, which is most dear,
He nothing relishes, for nothing cares,
Even so now with Prince Leoline it fares.

CCCXLV

Who now disconsolate, and being barr'd
All hopes of marrying Mellefant the fair,
Missing that aim he nothing did regard,
And since he must not be King Dermot's heir,
He thought that nought that damage could repair,
Himself as one he captivated deem'd,
And Dermot's court to him a prison seem'd.

CCCXLVI

Now as a tempest from the sea doth rise,
Within his mind arose this stormy thought,
How that the Princess justly might despise
His cowardice, who by all means had sought
To win her love, if he not having sought
A combat with Androgios, he should go
Or steal away from her that lov'd him so.

CCCXLVII

Although to fight, no valour he did want,
Nor wisht a nobler way his life to end,
If vanquisht he should lose both Mellefant
And he King Dermot highly should offend,
Who all this while had bin his royal friend,
Love well begun should have a bad conclusion,
And kindness find an unkind retribution.

CCCXLVIII

But more, if he should secretly attempt
By means to take King Dermot's life away,
Nothing his guilty conscience would exempt
From terror that so foully would betray,
Fowls of the air such treason would bewray:
For ravens by their croking would disclose
(Pecking the earth) such horrid acts as those.

CCCXLIX

If he with Mellefant away should steal,
And carry her where they might not be found,
Yet time at last such secrets would reveal:
For by that act he should her honour wound.
Who for her modesty had bin renown'd,
And he than Paris should no better speed,
Of whose sad end you may in Dares read.

CCCL

One while in him these noble thoughts had place,
Which did reflect on honourable fame:
Another while he thought how that in case
He stole away, men could not him more blame,
Then erst Aeneas, who had done the same
To Dido, and that very course had taken,
Leaving the lovely Carthage Queen forsaken.

CCCLI

Injurious Story, which not only serv'st
To keep the names of heroes from rust,
But in thy brazen register preserv'st
The memories, and acts of men unjust,
Which otherwise had bin buried with their dust,
But for thy black dark soul there no man had
Examples to avoid for what is bad.

CCCLII

For had it not in annals bin recorded,
That Theseus from the Minotaur was freed
By Ariadne, time had not afforded
A precedent for such a horrid deed,
For when King Minos' daughter had agreed
To steal away with him, his beauteous theft,
Asleep on Naxos desert's rocks he left.

CCCLIII

An act deserving hell's black imprecation
So cruel, that it cannot be exprest,
To leave a princely lady in such fashion,
That had receiv'd him to her bed and breast,
All after ages should this fact detest:
For this his treason render'd him all o'er
A greater monster than the Minotaur.

CCCLIV

Returning home to Greece he had not taught
Demophon, by fair Phaedra his false son,
When he had King Lycurgus' daughter brought
Unto his bowe, and her affection won,
Perfidiously away from her to run,
Leaving fair Phillis, and so caus'd that she
Did hang herself upon an almond tree.

CCCLV

Yet these examples scarce mov'd Leoline,
And scarce his resolution chang'd at all
For Mellefant, for he could not divine,
If she by tasting sorrow's bitter'st gall,
Upon the sharp point of a sword should fall:
Or Phillis-like, impatient of delay,
Would with a halter make herself away.

CCCLVI

It may be she like Ariadne might
(Though she her virgin bloom had Theseus given)
Marry god Bacchus, and her tresses bright
Be afterward exalted up to heaven,
There for to shine among the planets seven:
For justice is not so severe and strict
As death on all offenders to inflict.

CCCLVII

Besides he did remember, should he look
On authors, he should many women find,
That had their loves, and paramours forsook,
And prov'd to them unconstant, and unkind.
'Mongst other stories he did call to mind
That of the fairy Creseid, who instead
Of faithful Troilus lov'd false Diomed.

CCCLVIII

And if there were as many women found
As men, in love unconstant, and untrue,
He thought, that he in conscience was not bound
To render love for love, but while 'twas due,
And so might leave an old love for a new;
Besides he thought Androgios might be
A braver, and a comelier man than he.

CCCLIX

And being higher both in birth and place
Then he, and heir to a more ancient crown,
He thought that Mellefant in such a case
Will do like women, all prefer their own
Pre-eminence, precedence, and renown,
And so she in a short time would forget
All that affection she on him had set.

CCCLX

And as for Prince Androgios, though he could
Have wisht he had not Mellefant defil'd,
With whom he thought that he had bin too bold:
Yet if 'twere so, that she was not with child,
The Prince as other men might be beguil'd,
As surf'ting water, or such art might hide
Secrets by midwives not to be descried.

CCCLXI

And therefore he resolved not to fight,
Unless Androgios challeng'd him, for so
Such privacies he thought might come to light,
That were unfit for any man to know.
He therefore did determine he would go
Unto Carnarvon, and there would abide,
Till fortune show'd what after should betide.

CCCLXII

Our purposes, and things which we intend,
Have not subsistence of themselves alone,
For on the heavenly powers they do depend,
As the earth gives birth to every seed is sown,
Which after to maturity is grown:
For stars not only form all our intents,
But shape the means to further the events.

CCCLXIII

For now to further this his resolution,
Those stars, which at his birth benignly shone
In his first house, by annual revolution,
Unto his mirth, the House of Dreams was gone,
Of journeys and peregrination
Significator, and the Moon now new,
To Phoebus' bosom her dark self withdrew.

CCCLXIV

All this conspir'd to further a design
Which Sydanis resolv'd to put in act,
For understanding by Prince Leoline
That there had never bin any contract
'Twixt him and Mellefant, she nothing lackt
But some fine neat device, whereof the doing
Should be the cause of Leoline's speedy going.

CCCLXV

For he once being from Eblana gone,
It was her resolution and intent
(In claim of that which justly was her own)
To follow him wherever that he went,
All thoughts of future marriage to prevent;
For rather than endure such storms as those
She had abid, herself she would disclose.

CCCLXVI

And thus it hap't, when from the frozen North
Night and her consort dull dew-dropping Sleep
Arose, and drowsy Morpheus had let forth
Fantastic dreams which he in caves doth keep,
When mortals all their cares in Lethe steep,
And darkness with Cimmerian foggy damp,
Extinguisht for a while heaven's glorious lamp.

CCCLXVII

What time the silent hours their wheels had driven
Over the sable clouds of dusky night,
And were arriv'd as high as the mid-heaven,
Dividing from the hemisphere of light,
The other half in robes of darkness dight:
As Leoline lay sleeping in his bed,
A pleasant vision did possess his head.

CCCLXVIII

He dreamt he saw Duke Leon's palace, where
There was all pomp and bravery exprest,
All objects might delight the eye or ear
With preparation for a sumptuous feast,
Which unto Coelum's honour was addrest.
For in a temple, that was high and wide,
He thought he first Duke Leon had descried.

CCCLXIX

Kneeling he seem'd by the high altar's side
With eyes upcast, and hands to heaven upspread,
All which the Duke devoutly having ey'd,
High in the clouds appeared overhead
Jove's mighty eagle carrying Ganymede,
Who gently down descending from above,
Did seem as sent unto the Duke from Jove.

CCCLXX

Lighting upon the ground the Eagle set
Her lovely load, in presence of the Duke,
Which eftsoons did a wonder strange beget,
For while he steadfastly did on it look,
The person that for Ganymede he took,
Was Sydanis his daughter, and so seem'd
Unto the sleeping Prince, who of her dream'd.

CCCLXXI

From whom as now the Eagle was to part,
And touring to return up to the skies,
She suddenly seiz'd on Sydanis her heart,
And having rent it out away she flies:
This sight with such a horror did surprise
The sleeping Prince, that every member quakes,
And in a cold sweat Leoline awakes.

CCCLXXII

Awak't with fear Prince Leoline beheld
A stranger and a far more ominous sight,
Which all his dream and fantasies expell'd,
For by his bedside in a glimmering light
Stood Sydanis in fairy habit dight,
To whom she did a low obeisance make,
And afterwards to this effect she spake.

CCCLXXIII

'Illustrious Prince,' quoth she, 'whom various Fate,
Guiding the helm of thy affairs in love,
Did first make happy, then unfortunate,
Yet at the last to thee will constant prove,
And will eftsoons those errors all remove,
Which heretofore have been, or else may be,
Impediments to thy felicity.

CCCLXXIV

Fate wills not that thou longer shouldst remain
In false belief, thy Sydanis is dead,
Or that thou with fair Mellefant hast lain,
Or hast enjoy'd her virgin maidenhead.
'Twas I by night came to thee in her stead,
Who am a Fairy, an inhabitant
Of another world, for 'twas not Mellefant.

CCCLXXV

For 'twixt the centre and circumference
Of this great globe of earth, Prince, thou shalt know
There is another fairy world, from whence
We through the earth, as men through air, do go
Without resistance passing to and fro,
Having nor sun, nor moon, but a blue light,
Which makes no difference 'twixt our day and night.

CCCLXXVI

In this our world there is not a thing here,
Upon this globe of earth, man, woman, tree,
Plant, herb, or flower, but just the same is there,
So like it hardly can distinguisht be,
Either in colour, or in shape, for we
Are all aerial phantoms, and are fram'd,
As pictures of you, and are Fairies nam'd.

CCCLXXVII

And as you mortals we participate
Of all the like affections of the mind.
We joy, we grieve, we fear, we love, we hate,
And many times forsaken our own kind,
We are in league with mortals so combin'd,
As that in dreams we lie with them by night,
Begetting children, which do Changelings hight.

CCCLXXVIII

To those we love, and in whom we take pleasure,
From diamantine chests we use to bring
Gold, jewels, and whole heaps of fairy treasure,
Sums that may be the ransom of a king;
On those we hate, we many times do fling
Blindness, and lameness, that unhallow'd go
To crop of fairy branch, the mistletoe.

CCCLXXIX

Amongst us is thy Sydanis, of whom
I am the Genius, for erst so it chanc't,
As flying from Carleon, she did come,
And too near our fairy rounds advanc't,
Whereas at midnight we the Fairies danc't;
King Oberon straight seiz'd her as his prey,
As Pluto erst took Proserpine away:

CCCLXXX

And carrying her down to Fairy-land,
Hath on a downy couch laid her to sleep,
With orange blossoms strow'd, with a command,
Queen Mab, and all her Elves should safe her keep,
Till thou repassing o'er the briny deep,
Shalt to King Arvon thy old sire return,
Whom causeless thou so long hast made to mourn.

CCCLXXXI

Which if you do not instantly perform,
Black elves shall pinch thee, goblins shall affright
Thy restless soul; at sea an hideous storm,
With death's black darkness, shall thy days benight.'
Having thus said, that borrow'd beam of light,
Which as you heard did from the stone arise,
Vanisht, and hid her from the Prince s eyes.

CCCLXXXII

Who now believing he had seen an Elf,
A messenger by Oberon employ'd,
He forthwith rose, and eftsoons drest himself
(The better all suspicion to avoid)
In a black habit of his Squire Ffloyd,
And ere the sun toucht the east horizon,
Putting to sea, he out of ken was gone.

@3Explicit pars quarta.@1

CCCLXXXIII

AND now old Saturn, whom clerks Chronos call,
Of nature cold and dry, of motion slow,
Author of all misfortunes that befall
To men and their affairs, malignant so,
Was shortly from his Apogee to go,
To his exile, and Jove was to ascend,
And so these lovers' troubles all should end.

CCCLXXXIV

Benign bright King of stars, who hast forsook
Juno, the stately consort of thy bed,
And down-descending to the earth, hast took
Strange shapes, of mortals be'ng enamoured,
Who were not only metamorphosed
By thee, but taken up into the skies,
And shining, sit amongst the Deities;

CCCLXXXV

Hasten thy rising to thy glorious throne,
And sitting on thy sapphir'd arch in state,
Look on those princes that have undergone
The dire effects of thy stern father's hate,
Which, as thou art a King, commiserate,
And when that thou hast ended everything,
My Muse unto this story's period bring.

CCCLXXXVI

For yet the storm is not quite overpast,
Nor suddenly will all these troubles end:
With Saturn's frowns the heaven is overcast,
And clouds of sorrow, show'rs of tears portend:
For while that Leoline his course doth bend,
And is arrived at Carnarvon's port,
The scene of woe lies in King Dermot's court.

CCCLXXXVII

For now no sooner did the rosy morn
(Which summons drowsy mortals from their rest)
Her dewy locks in Thetis' glass adorn,
And Phoebus' steeds in flaming trappings drest,
From the low North, ascended up the East,
But it through all the court was forthwith known,
How that Prince Leoline away was gone.

CCCLXXXVIII

Of which a messenger did tidings bring
To Sydanis, and Princess Mellefant:
Who forthwith did relate them to the King:
Who of his going's cause being ignorant,
Affirm'd, that he civility did want,
Who did so many courtesies receive,
And went away without taking his leave.

CCCLXXXIX

Wonder possest King Dermot's royal heart
With much regret, the Prince should leave him so:
But Mellefant, she acts another part,
Of doubtful sorrow in this scene of woe,
For after him she was resolv'd to go:
And under the black veil of the next night
She did determine for to take her flight.

CCCXC

The very same fair Sydanis intends,
Who in Eblana would no longer stay:
Having on Leoline now had her ends,
Glad that her princely lord was gone away,
Too long and wearisome she thought the day:
And blamed as slow the russins of the Sun,
That tow'rds the West they did no faster run.

CCCXCI

But at the last, Night with a sable robe,
Rising from Taenarus her dark abode,
O'erspread this half of th' universal globe,
Making the wolf, bat, scritch-owl, and the toad,
(The haters of the light) to come abroad,
When, wearied with his work the day before,
The heavy ploughman doth at midnight snore.

CCCXCII

Now Mellefant and Sydanis, who had
To fly away that night the same intent;
That like a page, this like a ship-boy clad,
The better all suspicion to prevent,
As they were wont unto their beds they went:
Whenas a gentle sleep did soon surprise
Fair Sydanis, and clos'd her dove-like eyes.

CCCXCIII

But Mellefant, whose eyes and heart receiv'd
No dull impressions of the night, nor rest,
To Sydanis' bedside stole unperceiv'd,
And got away the page's suit; so drest,
Therein she fled away, for that she guest,
That for the Prince's page she should be taken,
That had of late King Dermot's court forsaken.

CCCXCIV

Passing the @3corps de gard@1 the watch did keep,
And place where Master Constable still sate,
(For they were all most cordially asleep)
She forthwith came unto the city gate,
And by the porter was let out thereat,
Passing unquestion'd, for whenas she said
She was the Prince's page, she was not stayed.

CCCXCV

Come to the key, where ships at anchor ride,
An unexpected spectacle befalls,
For on the shrouds of a tall ship she spied
Two lights, that seem'd like two round fiery balls,
Aereal twins, the which the seaman calls
Castor and Pollux, who being seen together,
Portend a happy voyage, and fair weather.

CCCXCVI

But if that only one of them appears
Upon the hallyards of the ship, or masts,
It is an ominous osse the seaman fears,
If not of shipwreck, yet of gusts and blasts:
While she beheld, one of the balls down-casts
Itself from the mainyard upon the shore,
And as a walking fire went on before.

CCCXCVII

This apparition somewhat terrified
The Princess, who had now no power to go
Elsewhere, but follow her fantastic guide,
And thus as they had wandered to and fro,
About the time that the first cock did crow,
They came unto a woody hill, so high,
The top did seem to gore the starry sky.

CCCXCVIII

For like Olympus he did lift his head
Above the middle region of the air,
Where thunders, hail, and meteors are bred:
For there the weather evermore was fair:
Unto the top hereof this wand'ring pair
Being arriv'd, by many a passage steep,
The wearied Princess was cast in a sleep.

CCCXCIX

On strowings laid, of never-fading flowers,
Which on this hill's serenest top had grown,
She in sweet dreams did pass the silent hours;
Upon her a light coverlet was thrown,
Made of the peach's soft and gentle down:
Whom there I leave in no less great a bliss
Than was the sorrow of fair Sydanis.

CD

Who having overslept herself, did wake
But half an hour before the break of day;
To dress herself she all the speed did make,
Herself in skipper's habit to array,
And tow'rds the port she forthwith takes her way:
But night and darkness her no longer hide,
For ere she got aboard she was descried.

CDI

Night's cloud upon the eastern horoscope,
Which like a sleeping eyelid hid the sky,
Uplifted seem'd to wake, and set wide ope,
Disclos'd unto the world Heaven's glorious eye:
The watch her apprehends immediately,
Conceiving her no skipper's boy to be,
Whose face and habit did so disagree.

CDII

Whether it were the then near dawning day,
Or else a native lustre of her own,
Which through her clothes her beauty did bewray,
Which like a carbuncle in darkness shone,
It is uncertain; but she yet unknown,
About the hour King Dermot us'd to rise,
Was brought unto the court in this disguise.

CDIII

O envious Light, betrayer of each plot,
Lovers in darkness silently contrive!
Disturb not their affairs, they need thee not,
Nor do not them of wished joys deprive,
Who to avoid thy piercing eye do strive:
Converse with gravers, who cut seals in bone,
Or threescore faces on a cherry-stone.

CDIV

What hath this innocent beauty done to thee,
That thou her life to danger should'st expose?
But Light, we know it is thy property
To conceal nothing, but all things disclose:
For now about the time King Dermot rose,
First a suspicion, after, a report
Was spread, that Mellefant was fled from court.

CDV

What miseries can Fate together twist,
When she to ruin mortals doth intend!
For now no sooner Mellefant was mist,
Whose loss King Dermot highly did offend,
Who messengers to seek her straight doth send,
And while that they for the fair Princess sought,
Poor Sydanis is to King Dermot brought.

CDVI

Who seeing her in ship-boy's clothes disguis'd,
Was more enraged than he was before:
For now King Dermot instantly surmis'd,
By that concealing habit which she wore,
She was confederate, and therefore swore,
Unless she told where Mellefant was fled,
Upon a scaffold she should lose her head.

CDVII

After dire threats, and strict examination,
Sweet Sydanis (as was the truth) denying,
She neither knew the time, nor the occasion,
Nor manner of Princess Mellefant her flying,
Grown desperate, she cares not now for dying,
Nor any other kind of torment, since
She may not go to her beloved Prince.

CDVIII

For Sydanis is into prison thrown,
In durance, and in fetters to remain,
Till where the Princess were it should be known,
Or that she to the court should come again.
Her keeper doth her kindly entertain
In his best lodgings, whereas her restraint
Gave birth and vent to many a thousand plaint.

CDIX

Which here should be related, but you may
Conjecture what a wight in such a case,
Hopeless of comfort and relief, would say,
Confin'd unto a solitary place,
In her life's danger and the King's disgrace:
Unless through grief she speechless were become:
Small sorrows speak, the greatest still are dumb.

CDX

But as a woodman shooting with his bow,
And afterwards pursuing with his hound
An innocent and silly harmless doe,
Doth kill her not so soon, as if astound
He suffer her to grieve upon her wound,
And tapisht in a brake, to see the flood,
And scent the crimson torrent of her blood.

CDXI

So Sydanis, sad and disconsolate,
Hath now an opportunity to grieve
The dire affects of her malignant fate,
Which nought but death could possibly relieve:
Time only seems to her a sad reprieve:
To speak of her we for a while shall cease,
Till some good hap procure her glad release.

CDXII

For now from women's passions and slight woe,
After the drums' and clarions' haughty sound,
To speak the rage of Kings marching we go,
Who roaring like to lions being bound
With horrid grumblings do our ears confound:
Blue-eyed Bellona, thou who plumed art,
The soldiers' warlike mistress, act this part.

CDXIII

And thou, stern Mars, whose hands wet and imbru'd
With raw fresh bleeding slaughters thou hast made
Of foes, whom thou victorious hast subdu'd,
Whirling about thy casque thy conquering blade,
Help me out of this lake of blood to wade,
And smooth the furrows of thy frowning brow,
As when thou erst didst lovely Venus woo.

CDXIV

King Dermot, highly enraged for the loss
Of Princess Mellefant, his kingdom's heir,
Resolv'd, that with an army he would cross
The British seas, and straight his course would steer
Unto besieg'd Carleon city, where
He would assist the Duke against his foe,
King Arvon, and his son that wrong'd him so.

CDXV

For now he thought he might be well assur'd,
His daughter with Prince Leoline combin'd,
Since his consent no ways could be procur'd
For marrying her, he did a season find
To steal away, and with a favouring wind,
He to his royal sire's, King Arvon's court,
His prize like beauteous Helen would transport.

CDXVI

Therefore to be reveng'd was all his care,
And for that purpose he a fleet would man,
Greater then Menelaus did prepare,
When he the bloody Trojan war began,
And after ten years' siege the city wan,
Putting to sea from Aulis' port in Greece,
Or Jason's fleet that fetcht the golden fleece.

CDXVII

Upon the beating of King Dermot's drum,
From Ulster's shrubby hills and quagmires foul,
Of slight-arm'd kerne forthwith a troop doth come,
Who in the furthest North do hear the owl
And wolves about their cabins nightly howl,
Which to all hardness have inured bin,
Eating raw beef, half boil'd in the cow's skin.

CDXVIII

Ere these were civiliz'd, they had no corn,
Nor us'd no tillage that might get them food,
But to their children's mouths were newly born,
They put upon a spear's point dipt in blood
Raw flesh, that so it might be understood,
That children grown-up men should never feed,
But when that they had done some bloody deed.

CDXIX

These savages whilst they did erst possess
Like Tartars, or the roving Scythian nation,
Coleraine's, or Monaghan's wide wilderness,
Having no towns or any habitation,
They and their cattle still took up their station
In grassy plains, and there a while abide,
Where the deep Eagh and fishfull Dergh do slide.

CDXX

More forces from the borders of Lough Erne
Do come, which in small islands doth abound,
In whose clear bottom men may yet discern
Houses and towers under the water drown'd,
Which divine justice sunk into the ground,
For sodomy, and such abomination,
Men using beasts in carnal copulation.

CDXXI

From Conagh's pleasant and more civil parts,
Where arbute trees do grow upon the coast,
Horsemen well arm'd with glaves and with their darts,
Unto the army of King Dermot post,
Making complete the number of his host:
Who like old Romans on their pads do ride,
And hobbies without stirrups do bestride.

CDXXII

What counties, or what towns Munster contains,
Through whose fair champian the smooth Boyne doth pass,
Send forces from their well-manured plains,
Arm'd with the halbert, and the gally-glass.
The county that great Desmond's country was,
With that of the most ancient peer Kildare,
Join'd with MacArte, for this war prepare.

CDXXIII

To them the province Leinster doth unite
Her trained bands and warlike regiment,
Who use the pike and partisan in fight,
And who are from those towns and counties sent,
Whose fields the Barrow, Nore, and Shore indent:
Three sister rivers, whose clear source begins
In the high woody mountains of the Glins.

CDXXIV

Unto these forces rais'd in Erinland,
Are join'd the Highland redshank and fierce Scot,
Of whom there comes a stout and numerous band,
Which up steep hills, as on plain ground do trot,
As for steel armour they regard it not;
Their barbed arrows clos'd in a calf's skin,
To their yew bows the quivers still have bin.

CDXXV

The army being shipt, the winds that blow
Over the vast Atlantic Ocean,
Bred in high hills westward of Mexico,
Who with their waving wings do cool and fan
The sunburnt Moor and naked Floridan,
Sending forth constantly their favouring gales,
Waft Dermot's ships unto the coast of Wales.

CDXXVI

For now Mars occidental in the West,
Meridional descending from the Line,
Of the Moon's mansion Cancer was possest,
And sliding down into an airy sign,
Rais'd winds, that furrow'd up the western brine.
Corus and Thracius blowing still abaft,
King Dermot's ships do to Carleon waft.

CDXXVII

But yet those blasts that were so prosperous,
And Dermot in Carleon's harbour set,
Contrary were to Prince Androgios,
And did his much desired voyage let:
His ships out of the harbour could not get,
But in it for full six weeks' space they stay'd,
Waiting a wind, and never anchor weigh'd.

CDXXVIII

To pass for Erinland was his intent,
With all the gallantry coin could provide,
And there to consummate his high content,
In making beauteous Mellefant his bride:
But Aeolus his passage hath deny'd,
And unexpected, with succours unsought,
King Dermot to Carleon's walls hath brought.

CDXXIX

Whose coming was no sooner told the Duke
And Prince Androgios, but both went to meet
King Dermot at the port, whereas they took
In arms each other, and do kindly greet:
Then through a long and well-built spacious street,
They to a stately castle do ascend,
Where for that night their compliments they end.

CDXXX

Next morrow from the castle's lofty towers,
Whose mighty ruins are remaining yet,
The Princes did behold King Arvon's powers,
Which had Carleon city round beset:
To whom Duke Leon, full of just regret,
And sorrow for his daughter, doth relate
His wrongs and cause of his distressed state.

CDXXXI

King Dermot, swol'n with ire and indignation,
And being no less sensible of grief,
Of his unheard-of injuries makes relation,
Telling that he was come to the relief
Of Leon, to be wrecked on a thief,
Who albeit that he were a King's son,
A base and injurious fact had done.

CDXXXII

The noble Prince Androgios now resenting
His sufferings in the loss of Mellefant,
Whose marriage (as he thought) was past preventing,
With high-born courage which no fear could daunt,
Besought the King and Duke, that they would grant
To him a boon, which was this, That he might
Challenge Prince Leoline to single fight.

CDXXXIII

For by this time fame all abroad had spread,
Prince Leoline was back return'd again,
Whom erst King Arvon did believe was dead,
And in Carnarvon Castle did remain,
So now there nothing was that did restrain
The noble Prince Androgios, to demand
A single combat with him hand to hand.

CDXXXIV

And to that end an Herald straight was sent
To Leoline, who in his right hand wore
A blood-red banner, as the argument
Of the defiance-message that he bore;
Behind upon his taberd, and before,
A lion rampant, and a dragon red,
On crimson velvet were embroidered.

CDXXXV

The Herald, whose approach none might debar,
Doth with a trumpet through the army ride,
Who bravely sounded all the points of war,
Until he came to the pavilion side,
Whereas Prince Leoline did then abide,
And then the trumpeter eftsoons doth fall
In lower warlike notes to sound a call.

CDXXXVI

The which no sooner Leoline had heard,
But bravely mounted on a barbed steed,
He like a princely gallant straight appear'd,
To whom the Herald doth the challenge read:
Which having done, he afterward with speed,
(As is the form when challenges are past)
Androgios' gauntlet on the ground he cast.

CDXXXVII

Prince Leoline commanding of his page
To take the gauntlet up, briefly replied,
'Herald! I do accept Androgios' gage:
Tell him the sword the quarrel shall decide,
Of him, whom he unjustly hath defied:
For three days hence in both our armies' sight,
We will a noble single combat fight.'

CDXXXVIII

The Herald back return'd unto the Kind,
Related how his message he had done,
And to Androgios doth the answer bring
Of Leoline: King Albion's princely son
Hath for his forward valour honour won:
Of whose resolves, and warlike preparation,
Till the third day I respite the relation.

CDXXXIX

Meantime the Druid Morrogh, who hath bin
Thus long unmentioned, now chief actor was;
Who though that he were absent, yet had seen
All that in Erinland had come to pass,
By means of a most wond'rous magic glass,
Which to his eye would represent and show
All that the wizard did desire to know.

CDXL

Which glass was made according to the opinion
Of chymists, of seven metals purified,
Together melted under the dominion
Of those seven planets do their natures guide:
Then if it polisht be on either side,
And made in form of circle, one shall see
Things that are past as well as those that be.

CDXLI

In this said glass he saw the sad estate
Of Sydanis, who was in prison kept,
Who weeping in her silent chamber sate,
And Mellefant, who on the mountain slept,
Whose pass the wand'ring fire did intercept:
And now this story must not end, before
The Druid both these ladies do restore.

CDXLII

For they be those must put a happy end
To discords, and bring all to a conclusion,
And all that is amiss they must amend,
And put in order things are in confusion:
They of much blood must hinder the effusion:
Such virtues ladies have, who are the bliss,
Which here in this world among mortals is.

CDXLIII

Thrice ten degrees of the Ecliptic line,
Phoebus ascending up had overpast,
And now had ent'red in another sign,
From Gemini, whereas he harbour'd last,
Since Mellefant into a trance was cast,
And thirty journeys through night's silent shade
O'er her nocturnal arch the Moon had made.

CDXLIV

Who nightly riding o'er the mountain's top,
Where Mellefant the sleeping Princess lay,
Her silver chariot there she still did stop,
And by the sleeping body us'd to stay,
Kissing, caressing, till near break of day,
Of her rare beauties now enamour'd more
Than of her lov'd Endymion heretofore.

CDXLV

No longer could the Queen of Night refrain
From kissing of her sweet and ruby lips:
Her kisses ended, she begins again,
With gentle arms her ivory neck she clips:
Her hands sometimes tow'rds parts more private slips,
Curious-inquisitive for to know the truth,
If one so rarely fair could be a youth.

CDXLVI

But as a thief, that doth assurance lack
At his first pilfering from a heap of gold,
Doth oft put forth his hand, oft pulls it back,
Then puts it forth again, then doth withhold;
So at the first Cynthia was not so bold
To let her hand assure her by a touch,
Of that which she to know desir'd so much.

CDXLVII

Yet at the last fortune did things disclose,
And gave contentment to her longing mind,
For in the pocket of the page's hose
Putting her hand, she did a letter find,
Which all the clue of error did unwind,
Written by Mellefant to Leoline,
In case that she should fail of her design.

CDXLVIII

The letter specified her sex and name,
And whole scope of her amorous intent,
Laying on Leoline a gentle blame,
That he unkindly from Eblana went:
It specified to follow him she meant,
And to Carnarvon castle she would go,
To meet with Leoline, her dear-lov'd foe.

CDXLIX

The Empress of the wat'ry wilderness
Reading the lines, was straight with pity mov'd,
Compassionating Mellefant's distress,
The rather for that she herself had lov'd.
Now the third day since Mellefant behov'd
To be in Britain, a way was prepar'd
For her transport, which then shall be declar'd.

CDL

For we must speak of Sydanis her wrongs,
Of her sad prison, and her glad release,
Which to the Druid Morrogh's part belongs,
Who to attend her fortunes ne'er did cease,
But after troubles would procure her ease,
Of which the manner briefly to relate,
Much wonder in the hearers will create.

CDLI

There's nothing truer than that sapience
Of wise and knowing men prevails o'er fate,
Ruling the stars, and each intelligence,
O'er which their wisdom do predominate;
They can advance good fortune, ill abate:
And if that in the heavens they can do so,
They can do much more here on earth below.

CDLII

As soon as Phoebus had behind him shut
The ruby leaves of Heaven's great western gate,
And to that day an evening period put,
And now began it to be dark and late,
As Morrogh in his lonely cabin sate,
He put in act a course, that should be sure
Fair Sydanis enlargement to procure.

CDLIII

For by his learning understanding all
The languages that fowls and ravens speak,
He to him did an ancient raven call,
Commanding her, that she her flight should take,
And to Carleon's walls all speed should make,
Unto the limbs of one late quartered,
On which the day before the bird had fed.

CDLIV

Adding withal this strict injunction,
That instantly, ere any man it wist,
She should bring back to him a dead man's bone,
The which that she should pick out of his wrist.
The raven of her message nothing mist,
But suddenly she fled, and unsuspected,
The great magician's will she straight effected.

CDLV

Thieves say, that he that shall about him bear
This bone, and means by night men's goods to take,
All that are sleeping (the while he is there
Stealing and breaking the house) shall not wake,
For any noise that ever he shall make:
But shall so soundly sleep, as that he may
Securely rob, and unknown pass away.

CDLVI

Unto this bone the Druid he did add
A shining grass, that grows among the rocks,
Which a strange kind of secret virtue had,
For it would straight undo all bolts and locks:
The blacksmith's skill in shoeing it so mocks,
That if a horse but touch it with his shoes,
Though ne'er so well set on, he doth them loose.

CDLVII

Strange tales there are which history affords,
Of bones, and stones, of herbs, and minerals,
The knowledge of whom hath bin found by birds,
Beasts, insects, and by other animals:
Witness the stone Albertus Magnus calls
Aldorius, the virtues of which stone,
But for the eggs of crows had not been known.

CDLVIII

For if one take crows' eggs out of the nest,
And boil them in hot water till they be
Stone hard, the old crow never will take rest,
Until the stone Aldorius she see,
Which she brings back with her unto the tree
Where her nest was, which a while having lain
Upon the eggs, it turns them reare again.

CDLIX

Rare secrets are in nature, which we'll pass,
As to this matter little pertinent:
The dead-man's wrist-bone, and the shining grass,
From Morrogh to fair Sydanis were sent,
And of their natures an advertisement,
Which on a beech's rind, as on a note,
With a sharp-pointed steel the Druid wrote;

CDLX

Advising her, that she without delay,
Through the dark shade of that approaching night,
From her confinement straight would hie away,
And come to him before the morrow's light,
And that she should not fear for any sight
She should behold, nor should not be dismay'd,
For she to him should safely be convey'd.

CDLXI

Having enclos'd within the beech's bark
The bone, and grass, he in the raven's ear
Whisper'd some words, who flying through the dark,
With wings that blacker than night's darkness were,
Ere threescore minutes past she was come there,
Where Sydanis (though it were very late)
Lamenting, in her chamber window sate.

CDLXII

Where suddenly the window being ope,
The raven ent'red in without control,
And into Sydanis her lap did drop
The things enclos'd within the beechen scroll:
Thus she, who still was held an ominous fowl,
And fatal her presage in everything,
Yet news of joy to Sydanis doth bring.

CDLXIII

Who having read the writing, out she goes,
Intending to take shipping at the kay:
But fate of her did otherwise dispose,
For she must be convey'd another way:
For at the gate Night's sable coach did stay,
Which by the Druid had directed bin,
As she came out of doors to take her in.

CDLXIV

This chariot by four black steeds was drawn,
First Nicteus burn'd with Pluto's pitchy mark;
Then black Alastor with his snaky mane,
With Metheos, Phobos, who do love the dark:
Which four at singing of the early lark,
Vanish away, and underground are gone,
Drenching their sooty heads in Acheron.

CDLXV

Thus Sydanis in Night's black coach being set,
Before Fortuna Major did arise,
Show'd like Love's Queen upon a throne of jet,
Who suddenly was hurried through the skies,
And all the residue of that night lies
In Morrogh's cave, until the dawning East
Disclosed fair Aurora's rosy breast.

CDLXVI

Who risen from her saffron-colour'd bed,
Perfum'd with Indian spices where she lay,
And Phoebus lifting up his golden head,
Light's universal banner did display;
In glorious robes himself he doth array,
And every cloud he far away doth chase
From the bright front of heaven's clear shining face.

CDLXVII

For now as he the mountain tops did gild
With burnisht ore of heaven's celestial mine,
The Kings' two armies came into the field,
Led by Androgios and by Leoline;
Who like the star of Gemini did shine:
Brave twins of Honour, for who them beheld,
Could not affirm which of the two excell'd.

CDLXVIII

In midst of their main battles the two Kings,
As in their safest fortresses, were plac't:
Great Dukes and Colonels did lead the wings,
Who with their several commands were grac't:
Now as the Princes did to combat haste,
A wondrous thing appear'd to all the host,
Which all their warlike resolution crost;

CDLXIX

For high in skies there instantly appears
A chariot, which eight white swans as they flew,
Yoked in golden chains and silken gears,
Soaring an easy pace after them drew:
But who was in the chariot no man knew,
For that an airy and bright shining cloud
The party carried, from their sight did shroud.

CDLXX

By flow'ry colours which the swans did bear
About their necks, where emonies were blended
With myrtles, and with pinks entwined were:
Some thought that Venus was again descended,
As when her son Aeneas she defended
From furious Turnus, and as then she did,
Androgios in a cloud should so be hid.

CDLXXI

But it was otherwise, this clouded coach
Was sent by the fair Princess of the Night,
With a command, that when it did approach
The place where the two Princes were to fight,
The swans upon the ground should down alight.
The winged team accordingly did do 't,
And set the coach at Prince Androgios' foot.

CDLXXII

The cloud then vanishing away that kept
The fair and long'd-for object from the eye,
Bright Mellefant appear'd, who long had slept,
As in a trance now wak't immediately,
Whose beauty when Androgios did descry,
He gave command, that till that he had fought,
She unto royal Dermot should be brought.

CDLXXIII

All this did brave Prince Leoline behold,
And all the army (it was done so nigh)
Who eftsoons to his sire King Arvon told,
That there was come an enchantress from the sky:
But all enchantments he did then defy,
As things ridiculous, which he did not fear,
And forthwith he prepar'd to couch his spear.

CDLXXIV

Now as these valiant Princes had begun
To couch their lances, and put them in rest,
And each at other fiercely for to run,
Aiming the points at one another's breast,
Prince Leoline's courageous noble beast
Began to tremble, and to snort, and prance,
But one foot forward he would not advance.

CDLXXV

The Prince enrag'd with anger and disdain,
Did strike into his sides his spur of steel,
And still he urg'd him on, but all in vain,
For that for all the strokes that he did feel
From the brave noble Prince's sprightly heel,
He went not on, but rather backward made,
As if that he had bin a restive jade.

CDLXXVI

Which now did make Prince Leoline conceive,
He had indeed with some enchantment met:
Morrogh the Druid he did not perceive,
Nor Sydanis, who both their hands had set
Upon the bridle, and the horse did let,
For fern-seed got upon St. John his night,
Made them invisible to all men's sight.

CDLXXVII

But when the fern-seed they had cast away,
And Leoline his Sydanis did see,
He from his steed alights without delay,
And with such joy as may not utter'd be,
Embracing, kisses her soft lips, and she
That had no other magic, but love's charms,
Circled his neck with her soft ivory arms.

CDLXXVIII

With Leoline she to King Arvon goes,
Whose almost infinite astonishment
May not be told; now Sydanis he knows,
Far greater is his joy, and his content.
The Druid is recall'd from banishment,
That he unto the King and Prince might tell
The history of all things that befell.

CDLXXIX

It being known how all things came about,
And how that both the Princesses were found,
Both armies rais'd a universal shout:
The trumpets, clarions flourishes do sound,
All. hearts are now with high contentment crown'd,
The heralds with white flags of peace are seen,
And civic garlands of oak's leafy green.

CDLXXX

For by this time the brave Androgios knew
His princely mistress Mellefant the fair,
For joy whereof his arms away he threw,
And with deportement most debonair
Saluteth old King Dermot's beauteous heir:
Intending at Carleon with all state,
His hymeneal rites to celebrate.

CDLXXXI

Whereas two Kings, two Princes, and their Brides,
And old Duke Leon, had an interview:
There now was full contentment on all sides,
Which fortune seemed daily to renew,
And by the Druid's telling greater grew:
Of all the great adventures that had past,
And Merioneth in the dungeon cast.

CDLXXXII

Who albeit that she long dead was thought,
And in the dungeon starv'd for want of food,
Yet to Duke Leon she again was brought,
From whom he divers stories understood,
And now in fine all sorted unto good:
Whose wonderful relations serve in Wales
To pass away long nights in winter's tales.

CDLXXXIII

And lastly for to consummate all joy,
Ere Phoebe nine times had renew'd her light,
Fair Sydanis brought forth a Prince, a boy,
Heaven's choicest darling, and mankind's delight:
Of whose exploits some happier pen may write,
And may relate strange things to be admir'd:
For here my fainting pen is well near tir'd.

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