ARCADIA BOOK VI (continued 2)

“Meantime Aurora, weary of aged Titan’s bed, began to warn Phoebe of her brother’s approach, when Erona who had set down in her settled judgment, a death worthy the greatness of her birth, now first giving ear to the cries of the citizens, and misdoubting the same false measure they expected, and not long after, hearing a man armed coming up the stairs to her lodging, she took a poisoned cup, long before for that end prepared, and making haste lest she should be made a present to the proud conqueror the wicked Plexirtus, she drank more than half, when her eyes met with the eyes of Plangus, who, unfortunate gentleman! desirous to be the messenger to Erona of Erona’s freedom, had made this haste. The sight of Plangus stayed her full draught a while; but, unable to satisfy herself how he might come thither, she began to imagine that it was the force of the poison which dimmed her eyes, and placed the character of Plangus (ever present to her mind) upon each object. With this thought she was ready to begin again, when Plangus, falling at her feet, let her know the event of so many dangers undergone for her: whereat Erona being much astonished, lifting him up from the ground, thus said: ‘Prince Plangus, you come in a fit time to receive a hearty welcome, and as hearty a farewell. What I mean by this leave-taking, alas! you will too soon know: Now suffer me, only at such a time when the end will assure you I did not flatter, speak a few words I would have you believe; yet I am sorry, for your sake, I have practised such a mean to work a belief in you: True it is, most excellent Plangus (nor let that truth accuse me of inconstancy) that since the death of Antiphilus, whose memory even at this time is dear to me, though at first the excess of sorrow had closed up my mind from the thought of a second choice; yet, enforced by your desert, and to reward mine own love in rewarding your desires, I was resolved to satisfy you, and make myself happy; but my envious fate, finding the times fit to cause me to despair, hath made yourself the instrument to bar our hopes for ever.’ ‘Dear Erona,’ replied the Prince, ‘what may there now be that the most partial judgment can equal to the excess of content Plangus enjoys in the welfare of his free and loving Erona? for this I have paid the merciful heavens the tribute of my vows and tears: to this harbour, through the sea of grief (having embarked my careful love in the ship of my desire) I have always bent my course; and shall I now, when my wishes be at anchor in so secure a haven, fear fortune? No, no, most dear lady, you are the life and being of what I only esteem happy.’ ‘Alas! Plangus,’ said the sweet Erona, ‘the testimonies of your love have been so many that I fear (and only fear) they who have heard your undeserved affection, and are not present at this my dying protestation, will for ever record, together with my want of judgment, my injury to your virtues.’ ‘Your dying protestation!’ said Plangus, ‘affright not my soul with such heavy news. Long may you live; the Fates must be indulgent to your youth and beauty.’ ‘And perhaps,’ said she, ‘so they might, had not myself hastened Clotho to cut in two the half-spun thread of my life.’ And then she let him know how (to prevent the tortures and disgraces Artaxia’s indignation had prepared for her, seeing the city brought to that desperate state in which he found it, and thinking himself to have been an officer sent by Plexirtus to bring her before him) she had poisoned herself. Plangus at these last words, with a fixed look upon Erona, as if his eyes would for ever dwell there, indenting his hands, and suffering them to fall down, or rather not able to stay them, sinks to the ground, and was a while happy in this excess of sorrow that made him senseless of all sorrow. Erona would have forced herself to help him, but this sight (joined with the inward working of the poison) constrained her to bear him company in his happy forgetfulness of his misfortunes. But when, by the help of her women, her senses were restored, and that my endeavours wrought the same effect on Plangus, as if this had been but grief’s dumb show: ‘Alas! excellent Prince,’ said she, ‘what unexpected effects hath the speech of my death brought forth; and yet though I were silent, I believe the deadly signs in mine eyes, this trembling in my full-swollen veins, and the often set and rise of the blood in my cheeks, would express it. But, my Plangus, should you, whom the world is proud of, take it so to heart? Erona loves you; why so may a more deserving lady: Yet, Plangus, remember me, and it will be the best part of my soul’s life to live in your memory.’ Then, taking his hand, and placing it on her heart, that now proudly began to beat the loud alarm of death, ‘Feel here,’ said she, ‘the battery is begun, and this fort is abandoned of all the powers of life, only my desire to be with you, desperately a while keeps the breach. But, O my Plangus!——’ and at that word death closed up in eternal silence her tongue, that yet still moved as loth to leave her speech imperfect.

“It was a desperate grief, and wild passion, that seized upon the heart of the poor Plangus. ‘Accursed earth!’ did he say, ‘how darest thou support the burden of these many mischiefs cast by the spiteful heavens into this sink of misery? ’Twas I, Erona, brought an untimely set to thy sun-shine of goodness; and do the heavens mean I should breathe that have so much wronged them? What do they do? Will they hear me speak that killed Erona? But they would have me live, to torture me with the memory of my guilt. No, no, I will prevent their project; that were a punishment fit for an ill-meant offence, not an unfortunate.’ And with these words, drawing his sword, and lifting up his bases, he would have run himself through the belly, but I stayed his hand from so unmanly, as I then alleged it, a violence, forcing (with the remembrance of our friendship, and my much prevailing tears) the sword, but not his resolution from him. Then did I begin to allege all that I thought in reason might remove him from this purpose; for well I might see in the unappalled stayedness of his countenance, the greatness of some determination. To all my objections, for a time, his eyes gave a more heedful attention than did his ears; but when I came to call his valour in question, whose unspotted memory hitherto, I said, this last inconsiderate act would accuse of a little firm constancy in bearing the changes of fortune; ‘Alas!’ said he, ‘and will you, my friend, be cruel to me? Is it certain, Amphialus, that it well becomes that courage you would have in your friend, to bear an equal temper both in the frowns and smiles of fortune? And is it not as certain that when the malice of heaven hath joined with fortune in producing a monstrous effect, there cannot be left in man so infinite a power of suffering which he dare oppose to such unlimited works? No, I will not, giant-like, bandy against the gods; such is their will; I must die.’ Then leading me softly over to Erona, as if he would persuade me the violence of passion had not been his guide to this resolution: ‘See Amphialus,’ said he, ‘this is she whom you would have me to live after; what can mine eyes, now she is gone, desire to look on! Erona, a woman, could die for Plangus, and would you have me wrong mankind with a greater fear of death, or my love with a less desire to die?’ This said (but with a countenance that promised no suddenness in the execution, especially to me who was master of his sword, his only offensive weapon) behold! with a downcast look, which sorrow excused, though deceit had then, I am sure, put it on for further mischief, and such a pace as used slowness to the same end, he approached the window, where the remains of Erona’s intercepted draught, appointed by the destinies to be fatal to them both, stood in a gilt cup: This he hastily takes, and as hastily drinks off. I, all confused, pale and trembling, as if the poison had wrought its effect in me, made, alas! too slow speed to him. But Plangus (now first presenting an unfeigned cheerfulness in his looks, as if this draught had given him life) kneeling near Erona: ‘Divine soul,’ said he, ‘if confidence in thy Plangus’s constancy makes thee hover near this sacred mansion of thine to see the end of his sufferings, O stay awhile, and bear me with thee; thy presence, when I appear before Radamanth, will be a countenance to my cause.’ Then turning himself to me, ‘Amphialus, revenge, Amphialus, Erona’s death upon the wicked Plexirtus; his blood will be the best sacrifice to my ghost. Lead the army to Byzantium and restore the Amasian hostage.’ Then putting his trembling lips to the pale lips of Erona, he coldly kissed away his life.

“What my sorrow was, to be a looker on these tragedies, these tears, even at the remembrance of that time, may testify; yet leaving the bodies to be embalmed with the nobleman, who, in her life-time, had been faithful to Erona, dissembling the death of Plangus, lest it should work an innovation among the soldiers, with some choice troops of light horsemen, I followed Plexirtus, who, posting to court, had received advertisement from thence, how Arguto (the admirable engine by whom he wrought much mischief) being lately fallen from the faith vowed to his practices, had revealed to Artaxia the purpose his master had to dispatch her out of his way, since now he had a son by her to whom he might be guardian, esteeming it more content to be great alone than to share the royalties of her own kingdom with Artaxia. These news made his flight as dangerous as would be his stay; but when he understood (for the heavens had made this the rendezvous where his misfortunes should meet) that the Princes of Thessaly and Macedon, of whom his treacheries were to expect their just reward, did live, and should be happy in the addition of Arcadia to their greatness; that Leonatus had seized upon his seigniories in Trebizond for his treason to Pyrocles and Musidorus, of which not long before he had gloriously boasted; that there was no new form of dissimulation left, to which, in this extremity, he might have recourse: O then the ugliness of his guilty conscience, that until this time had made peace with his wickedness, presented before him the progress of his ill-spent days, drawn to life in the colours of despair: now his father, now his friends, Tydeus and Telenor were summoned by his soul to make party against him. In this fright he continued all that day, which scarce was time sufficient for him to read over his misdeeds, and when the silent night, drawn in her ebon chariot, had spread her curtains to hide her brother’s face, Plexirtus, glad to see her flatter his mind in this likeness of darkness, resolved, by despair, that the gods wanted mercy for his faults, and well-assured men had less, he secretly went into a garden, to which a back-door from his chamber led him; where, loathing as much to die, as wishing he were dead, he spent some time in execrations on himself. At length, tying a cord (newly taken out of his bed) to the stump of an elder tree that stood with such convenience as if it would invite him to that exercise, he slipped into his death, easing the earth until morning of the burden of so detestable a wretch.

“But when the day appeared, and made known his death, the magistrates of the town, striving who could be best-sighted in the discovery of the murder, hoping to have the reward of their diligence from the Queen Artaxia, soon found out, as a man to be most suspected, the messenger come from court, whom Plexirtus had, till late in the night, kept in his chamber, to know of him the particulars of Arguto’s revolt. This fellow, because none more likely in the wild form of their popular justice, was to die a thousand manner of deaths; but he making just protestations of his innocency, being questioned what occasion he had so long to stay the last night with the king if not for that end, he plainly let them know what Arguto discovered, which he then reported to Plexirtus. The many-headed multitude called not the truth much in question of what they heard, but with the same violence as before, everyone, in this also thinking to gratify the queen, ran to as uncertain a form of execution on the dead as they did before to a judgment of the living; first they stripped the body naked, then dragged it through the streets; now they open his belly and suffer his guts to mark forth his progress, doing many more indignities to him who had deserved many more. I much rejoiced to hear Plexirtus had been so just to himself; yet I determined to join Erona’s revenge on Artaxia to Plexirtus’s judgment on himself; but her an untimely death had freed from my revenge, for taking to the heart Plexirtus’s treacheries, and her brother Tyridates’s unrevenged death, she calmly gave herself over to a life-oppressing grief, leaving her kingdom and young son to the care of Salindor, whom she appointed protector during the minority.

“Returning, therefore, somewhat grieved that both Plangus and Erona’s death without my help had been revenged, I conveyed the bodies to Lycia, where the sumptuousness of their tombs shows their estates, and their everlasting fame their ever-living virtues. From hence I would have parted private, but remembering Plangus’s last will, I passed through Amasia, restoring his son to the Duke, and coming to Byzantium, I gave up my charge into the hands of Lisantus a Macedonian, leaving the soldiers full of hearty sorrow for the death of Plangus their general.

“Soon after, hearing of your death, and resolved to sacrifice my blood to your memory, to disengage myself of some part of my faultiness, leaving Fidutio in Thrace, lest by him I should be discovered, disguising myself in an armour, fitly, as I thought, presenting the massacre of my naked heart; passing the court of Elis and Argos, and, lastly, coming hither, I met (what should I more say?) with thee my Helen, reserved to be a blessing beyond what most I could desire.”

And so, with a sincere servency, kissing her hand, they both walked towards the palace, where, having ended supper, where Basilius and Euarchus, with the rest, expected a mask prepared for them; the Queen of Corinth let them know what she had heard of Plangus and Erona, together with Plexirtus’s deserved end, and the death of Artaxia. The audience greatly pitied their fortunes, especially Pyrocles, who much grieved to hear of Plangus’s death, for the love he bore his virtues, and was no less troubled at Plexirtus’s mischance, for his dear servant Zelmane’s sake. But the entry of the maskers caused him to put over those thoughts to more solitariness, his eye being fed with dainty variety of representations, and his ears with most harmonious well-agreeing music, to which the footing kept so good time, that doubtful it was whether the music conformed itself to the life of their motion, or the masters their motion to the music’s liveliness. But night (masked in these sports) crept on undiscovered; and though Pyrocles and Musidorus at other times would dispense with the length of the sports, yet now, in respect of the armfuls of joy they were to expect in bed, they thought them tedious; which once perceived, their dances were sooner at an end than was intended.

Thus days and nights passed over, as if they had no other sphere than delight to move in; and the appointed time for Amphialus’s marriage was at hand, to which Basilius invited the shepherds, both to change their daily pleasures, as also to show Euarchus that though a greater cause had moved him to the solitary course of life by him embraced, yet the wits of Arcadia, and the pleasantness of their harmless life, might have drawn him to that retiredness.

THE ECLOGUES

Kalodulus now minded to marry his daughter, and uncertain whether he should bestow her on the contended young Arcadian Menalcas, or the much having, much wanting Thessalian Corydon, who both were then present, hearing of this summons; puts over their cause to be determined by Basilius; and Strephon and Claius, no less desirous to bring Urania’s name to court, joined themselves to the rest. Nor was Agelastus wanting, who, not for a mistress, but, Heraclitus-like, thinking man was made to mourn, and repining at the vanity of greatness, had maintained a religious sorrow. No sooner was the company set, and that their silence began to proclaim their expectation, but Strephon, who, before his coming, had prepared an Epithalamium, began thus to sing.

STREPHON

Sweet link of hearts, joy’s surest anchor-hold,

Love’s peaceful crown, the harbour of desires,

Hymen, approach, but think not Pan too bold,

If to invoke thy name our love aspires.

Dwell here for ever, that this couple may

Renew the blessings of their marriage-day.

Firm be their root of love, and cause a bliss,

From forth this royal happy stock to spring;

That all the world may justly say, he is

Worthy to be, and to succeed a king.

But shorten not their days; for ’tis decreed,

The best can be but worthy to succeed.

Amphialus thanked Strephon for his hearty wishes; but he had scarce ended, when Claius, looking upon him with as sour a countenance as their friendship could allow, thus said:

CLAIUS

I pray thee, Strephon, if these glorious shows

Of court’s admired greatness, do not close

Thy mind from former thoughts, where can thy lays

Find other subject than Urania’s praise?

Or, dost thou fondly think, thou wert to blame

To breathe among these lords Urania’s name?

Or, is it certain that her flames in thee

Are quench’d, that lately doubled were in me?

STREPHON

Nor so, nor thus; that verse I last day made,

As with my flock I sat in Hestar’s shade:

I studied it, yet all my study was,

I vow, to strive to let Urania pass.

For ’twas the only name my pen would write,

My thoughts imagine, or my lips indite.

Am I not bold when night’s vast stage is set,

And all the stars and heavenly audience met,

To speak my mind, while their bright twinkling flame

Seems to rejoice to hear Urania’s name?

And shall I fear that what the heaven’s approv’d,

By men (though great men) should be disallow’d?

But where you think that I have check’d mine eye,

And freed your Strephon from their treachery:

O no, mine is the giant Titius’s maw,

That doth increase to feel a vulture’s paw.

CLAIUS

No day runs over, but my love’s deep sore

Renews his pain, and festers more and more:

Alas! where’s pity then? belike it flies

The place we come to, frighted with our cries.

STREPHON

Pity! why friend, ’tis certain that their eyes,

Who know they can o’ercome, learn to despise:

Yet, Claius, why should we repine? our saint

Is pleas’d sometime to hear our love’s complaint.

And if mine eyes, to ease my inward pain,

Become not flatterers, she doth not disdain.

CLAIUS

Disdain! that were a bliss, so great a weight

Might lift our sorrows to their utmost height;

And then, perhaps, our own despair would mend

Our ling’ring hopes, that must or break, or bend.

O no, ours is a worse calamity,

A heedless care, and careless courtesy.

Then Claius pausing a while, with crossed arms and a downcast look, began again these following verses to Strephon, whom he spoke to as representing the person of sorrow.

CLAIUS

Foul Sorrow, wilt thou alway build thy nest

In the wild mountains of thy care-swollen breast?

STREPHON

O yes, I find it happy for my breed,

And near your heart, whereon I use to feed.

CLAIUS

But, gentle grief, if not for pity, spare

Me for Urania’s sake: she hath a share

In these my wounds, and she must feel the smart,

Whose image’s carv’d so lively in my heart.

STREPHON

O no, she shares no pain, from whose fair eyes

The wound did first, and now the cure must rise.

CLAIUS

Why, gentle grief, thou’rt witness of my love;

Then always sigh my plaints, until you move.

STREPHON

O no, there’s too much rigor in such laws,

They bind a man to speak against his cause.

Suppose I move, this is my recompense;

Joy must succeed, and I am banish’d hence.

CLAIUS

Then must I die unpitied, no help’s found,

Since you, my spokesman, do conceal my wound.

STREPHON

O no, let not that make us to despair:

She knows we love her, but she knows she’s fair.

When they ended, Musidorus (in whose memory their courtesy to him, had engraven a beholdingness) forgot not to approve what they had said. But the audience had little time to determine whether they deserved what the Prince thought them worthy of, when Corydon, who longed to hear the debate between him and Menalcas, for Kalodulus’s daughter, ended, clapping him on the shoulder, thus said:

CORYDON

Fond beardless boy! now shall the chastisement

(Fit for thy rash youth’s unweigh’d attempt)

Fall heavy on thee; but you may relent,

I’ll not be cruel if you do repent.

O no, you will not, you’ll be always blind,

That graceless smile betrays thy scornful mind.

Sing then, and show these goodly dotes in thee,

With which thy brainless youth can equal me.

MENALCAS

Grey-bearded frenzy, what canst thou allege,

To shun my blows, but thy age’s privilege?

Thy tongue may safely snarl, while his offence

Is still protected by that reverence.

The dotes, old dotard, I can bring to prove

Myself deserves that choice, are only love.

A priceless treasure, not to be express’d,

A guest too great for thy cough-breeding breast.

CORYDON

Young man, thou speak’st as if thy brains were wood;

Who can determine of that inward good?

I say, I love, and will Menalcas grieve

That all the world should Corydon believe?

But, that’s not it, these flames will soon decay,

If they be not maintain’d some other way.

A thousand sheep I have, whose snow-white fleece,

Do add a lustre to these parts of Greece:

On whom as many lambs do wait hard by,

That wear their dams white curled livery.

O! what a joy will’t be to her I love;

Each morn, and even, to see her sheep remove

From field to fold, while she may freely say,

That lamb is fat, that lamb I’ll eat to-day?

MENALCAS

Blind fortune, I’ll confess, hath given you more:

Yet I am richer, my content’s my store.

A thousand sheep thou hast, ’tis very like,

But thy diseases want Arithmetic.

Nature between our years a marriage made,

We bloom together, and at once may fade.

But your old age is gone too far before,

Time beats you on, and you’ll return no more.

CORYDON

Hasty young man, do not despise the end

To which yourself, as to a centre, bend.

What, if I want your body’s active toys,

My settled mind a greater good enjoys.

MENALCAS

Old man, thou speak’st, as if thy brains were wood;

Who can determine of that inward good?

Think’st thou, will that sweet beauty take delight

To hear thee cough a proverb in the night?

O no, there are some other joys in bed,

She must partake whom you desire to wed.

Corydon, inwardly out of countenance to hear his own words bite so sore upon him, would have shrunk away, but hoping he had found a judge whom the cause concerned stood a while to attend what Basilius would have said. But the King put it over to Musidorus, who (glad to find an occasion to pleasure Menalcas, his first master in the practice of a shepherd’s life) thus ended it.

“Corydon,” said he, “could I as well lop away some of your over-grown years, to make your match with Kalodulus’s daughter equal, as I can add to Menalcas’s state, I would, for a time, suspend my judgment: for readily I know not whether of you two deserves best: but in the one, my power seconds my will; as in the other, my will over-goes my power. Kalodulus’s daughter I therefore adjudge to Menalcas, and I will make him worthy of her, the rather, that I know his rash youth would impatiently bear a repulse, where your experience (when it reflects upon itself), with more discretion may consider she was but a woman.” Glad was Menalcas to speed so well: nor was Corydon displeased, because the Prince, as he conceived, had entertained a good opinion of his wisdom. Thus, when they ended, Pyrocles, who marked Agelastus’s silent pensiveness, desired to hear him disburden his mind of the thoughts that brought him to so deep a study: thinking that Agelastus stood fixed, with the eye of his mind cast upon the beauty of some fair mistress: but he, who thought of nothing less, thus answered his expectation.

AGELASTUS

Nor fate, nor fortune, whose enforcing power,

Man still complains upon his state to lower,

Do work these changes: man himself’s the cause;

They be but wheels that keep their mover’s laws:

Yet alway, when he sees his fault too late,

He turns it over upon chance, or fate.

Each man is born a king, his passions be

The practice of his sovereignty:

Who, though they still their sovereign’s good pretend,

Conspire his ruin for their private end.

The love of skin-thick beauty draws his eye

To yield to love, his reason’s majesty.

His fear throws bugbears in his way; his state

Is still infested by revengeful hate.

His idle grief, for what he might prevent,

Or might not, doth usurp his government.

Thus he, whom God ordain’d a king to be,

Obeys his subjects, and is never free.

Besides, whose state’s so firm, into whose way

The world flings not his joy’s injurious stay?

The surges of the deep, whose joys devour

The merchant’s far-fetch’d hopes, the skies that pour

A second deluge on the ploughman’s corn,

When now his fields are ready to be shorn:

The soldiers long remote, the doubtful chance

Of bloody war, the new-found ordinance;

The city-horns, the court’s brave flattery,

Do force content to dwell with poverty.

Then looking round upon the princes, as if by their survey he were again enabled to speak, he thus said:

Honour, thou spongy idol of man’s mind,

That soak’st content away, thou hast confin’d.

Ambitious man, and not his destiny,

Within the bounds of form and ceremony.

Oh! happy life of shepherds, whose content

Rests in a soul that’s free and innocent;

They stay their lodging, and remove their roof,

Not for their own, but for their flock’s behoof.

While some (to fill the blanks of their mean story)

Do travel in their cares, to gain vain-glory,

They never leave the plains, unless, sometime,

To look about them, they the mountains climb:

But dwell not there; for ev’n this change doth show

What choicer sweets they do enjoy below:

Here the rough winds do buzz about their ears,

The rocky steepness adds unto their fears:

Here they are ready to be torn asunder,

By malice’s hateful blasts, and envy’s thunder:

From hence they may descend; but, greatness, stay,

If you come down, it must be th’ other way:

For ’tis a bliss, on which your honour shares,

That though you would, you cannot leave your cares.

When Agelastus ended, the company might see a man who seemed to be misfortune’s herald, with a rope about his neck, make towards the Queen of Corinth, and cast himself at her feet. They, thinking it had been some shepherdish invention, expected awhile the conceit of it: but approaching, after a time, nearer to him, they might discern it was Tenarus the usurper of Corinth, who, hearing of the Queen’s welfare, and her happy marriage to Amphialus (finding in his own practice for the crown the Corinthians aptness to embrace change, and considering the powerfulness of his enemies) had come thither, in the basest form of humbleness to set a belief upon his submission. Him the Queen (because he was a suitor on her marriage-day) pardoned, and restored to his possessions, forfeited by his treason to the crown; only she caused his liberty to be restrained until her going to Corinth, whither, after she had taken leave of Basilius, and the rest of the royal company, she took her journey; making Amphialus, within a year after her departure, a happy father of a much-promising son, whom they named Heleamphialus. Euarchus also, soon after, with his son Pyrocles and Philoclea, and his nephew Musidorus, together with Pamela (who was desirous both to accompany her sister, and to see her mother of Thessaly) parted from Mantinea; leaving Basilius and Gynecia, when they had accompanied them to the frontiers of Arcadia, to the happy quiet of their after-life.

Tu longe sequere & vestigia semper adoro,

Sidnei——

Statius.

FINIS.