In one of the first full-blown imitations of the Faerie Queene, Cyril Tourneur pursues the political project associated with Sidney and Spenser in an apocalyptic celebration of the Earl of Essex. The first half of the poem, rather in the manner of Spenser's Visions, describes the corruption of the world in a vision of Hell that seems to have supplied Milton with some hints for Paradise Lost. The second half describes the reforming efforts of Mavortio — the Earl of Essex — beginning with a passage modeled on the Cave of Error episode in the first book of the Faerie Queene.
Samuel Austin Allibone: "Cyril Tourneur, a dramatic author, temp. James I., of whom a contemporary writes, 'His fame unto that pitch was rais'd, | As not to be despis'd nor over-prais'd'" Critical Dictionary of English Literature (1858-71; 1882) 3:2437.
John Churton Collins: "The probability that Mavortio means Essex, Delta Ireland, and the Unicorn James VI., is strengthened moreover by the fact that most of the poem is obviously directed against the corrupt Papal Church, and the political mischief it was doing — that Essex was regarded as the protector of Protestantism, that the troubles in Ireland were regarded as being occasioned by Rome in her desire to help Spain ... and that James VI. was looked upon as the strenuous patron of Protestantism and opponent of Spain" Plays and Poems (1878) 2:183-84.
Edmund Gosse: "In 1600 he published a crude and affected poem in rime royal, called The Transformed Metamorphosis, which is as nearly worthless as possible" The Jacobean Poets (1894) 162.
George Saintsbury: "The fine flower of the whole [satirical] school is perhaps to be found in the miraculous Transformed Metamorphosis, attributed to the powerful but extravagant dramatist, Cyril Tourneur.... We could hardly end with anything farther removed from the clear philosophy and the serene loveliness of The Faerie Queene" History of Elizabethan Literature (1887; 1909) 155-56.
W. J. Courthope: "Of his life absolutely nothing seems to be known; but he began to seek a literary reputation as early as 1600, when he published a poem called The Transformed Metamorphosis, which belongs to the school of pedantic satire, exemplified in Marston's Scourge for Villanie and Middleton's Micro-cynicon. The author claims credit for virtue by affecting a cynical hatred of the villainies of the age, and for genius by adopting a style which may compare with the most sublime nonsense of Barnabe Barnes. A few lines from the address of 'The Author to his Booke' will show the reader that I am not exaggerating: — 'O were thy margents cliffes of itching lust, | Or quotes to chalke out men the way to sinne [. . .]' Of the intention thus announced, it is sufficient to say that the reader of the poem will peruse it from beginning to end without discovering what metamorphosis is spoken of, or in what way the writer means to draw back the curtains from vice: it is, in fact, merely one of the impudent attempts, which are constantly being made in literature by men without original ideas, to obtain notoriety by means of obscurity of expression" History of English Poetry (1895-1910) 4:253-54.
C. E. Vaughan: "Of his poems, it is not necessary to speak. None of them has any merit; and the most elaborate of them, The Metamorphosis, is written in that uncouth jargon which had been brought into fashion by Marston in his satires (1598), and which is assailed by Jonson in Poetaster. It is, moreover, an involved allegory, the key to which is lost, but which Churton Collins ingeniously interpreted as a cryptic reference to the fortunes of Essex" Cambridge History of English Literature (1910) 6:188.
C. S. Lewis: "He may have coined his hard words in order to inspissate the darkness, but their literary effect is very like that of aureation. These characteristics, combined with rhyme royal, give us the feeling of returning to the Middle Ages. The poem deals (certainly) with popery, and (probably) with Essex and King James" Oxford History of English Literature (1954) 476.
Dorothy E. Mason finds a "general correspondence between the efforts of Mavortio to destroy the beast Hyenna and those of Calidore to exterminate the Blatant Beast, F.Q. 6" Wells, Spenser Allusions (1972) 81.
Shohachi Fukuda: "The Spenserian allusions in the poem, the emphasis on Mavortio as 'warres melodie' (457), and the fact that the poem appeared a year after Spenser's death, suggest that the poem may be a disguised elegy to Spenser" Spenser Encyclopedia (1990) 697.
O who perswades my willing errorie,
Into this blacke Cymerianized night?
Who leades me into this concavitie,
This huge cancavitie, defect of light,
To feele the smart of Phlegetontike fight?
O who, I say, perswades mine infant eie,
To gaze upon my youths obscuritie?
What ashie ghost, what dead Cadaverie,
What Geomantike jaw howles in mine eares,
The ecchoized sounds of horrorie?
What chaoizd conceit doth forme my feares?
What object is't that thus my quiet teares?
Who puts a flaming torch into my hand,
And bids me charily see where I stand?
Who fills my nosthrills with thicke foggy sents?
Who feedes my taste with hony-smacking gall?
What pallid spirit tells of strange events?
Of eviternal night? of Phoebus fall?
Where is that Symphonie harmonicall,
Wherewith my heart was wont to tune sweet laies,
And teach my tongue to sing th' Aeternall's praise?
O who, O who hath metamorphosed
My sence? and plutoniz'd my heav'nly shape?
What martyred Diana is't doth reade
The tragicke story of Lucretia's rape?
O who affrights me with blacke horrors gape?
Who tells me that the azure-colour'd skie,
Is now transformd to hel's environrie.
Are not the lights that Jupiter appoynted
To grace the heav'ns, and to direct the sight,
Still in that function, which them first annoynted?
Is not the world directed by their light?
And is not rest, the exercise of night?
Why is the skie so pitchie then at noone,
As though the day were govern'd by the Moone?
Looke on my sight you lycophosed eies,
And tell me whether it be blear'd or no:
Daz'led with objects contrarieties,
With opposites of sad confused woe,
Or els transpiercing:ayre-cleare brightnes, loe:
My eies, whether they be, or dimm'd or cleare,
Clearely discerne a Transformation neare.
THE TRANSFORMED METAMORPHOSIS.
O whence comes this? awake sad Mercurie;
And Pegase-winged pace the milkie way:
Awake heav'ns harbenger; awake and flie
To high Jehovah: O awake I say;
Why sluggish Mercury, arte made of clay?
O where can life celestiall inherit,
If it remaines not in a heav'nly spirit?
Awake O heav'n; for (loe) the heav'ns conspire:
The silver-feather'd Moone, and both the Beares,
Are poasted downe for Phlegetonticke fire:
Loe, now they are upon the azure spheares,
(My soule is vex'd with sense-confounding feares)
Now are they mounted into Carol's waine,
With all the starres like to an armed traine.
I, even those starres, which for their sacred mindes,
(They once terrestriall) were stellified,
With all the force of Aeol's saile-swell'd windes
And fearefull thunder, vailer of earth's pride,
Upon the loftie firmament do ride:
All with infernall concord do agree,
To shake the strength of heavens axeltree.
Eve'n from the artique to the antartique pole,
All in a rowe in ranke proportionate;
Subject unto th' unstedfast moones controle,
Do stand the lights that should truth animate;
And by their shine her woe extenuate.
With Phlegetonticke flame these tapers fed,
Celestiall light have quite extinguished.
O see how dampy shewes yond' torches flame,
Earth stop thy sent, for their infernall smell,
(O let me speake, lest I incurre heav'ns blame)
Will all thy arterizing strength expell;
And make thy heart an agonizing hell.
See how their sulphur gathers to a cloud;
And like blacke Orcus vault the earth doth shrowde.
What Morpheus rockes the sence of heav'n asleepe?
Why heav'n awake; though long Endimionie
Hath pierc'd the clearenes of thy sight so deep,
Thou canst not see them prowdly mounted high;
Yet maist thou heare them plot their treacherie.
Their treason's plotted, they with fiery shot,
Are driving Phoebus from his chariot.
Loe, loe, the skie whose hue was azurie,
Is cloath'd with moorie Vesperugoe's coate,
The formed Chaos of this Cosmosie,
Is now transform'd to tawny Charon's boate;
And on the Acheronticke maine doth floate.
Th' Olimpique Globe is now a hollow ball:
The huge concavitie blacke Plutoe's hall.
Where shall I stand, that I may freely view,
Earths stage compleate with tragick sceans of wo?
No meade, no grove, whose comfortizing hew
Might make sad Terror my sad minde forgoe?
No sun-grac'd mount soule-frighting horrors foe?
No sun-grac'd mount? how can the sun mounts grace
When mountaines seeke his countnance to deface?
See, see, that mount that was the worldes admire,
The stately Pyramis of glorious price;
Whose seav'n hill'd head did over all aspire,
Is now transform'd to Hydra-headed vice:
Her hellish braine pan of each enterprice.
On sinnes full number (loe) she is erect;
For why? Great Pluto was her Architect.
Blacke Avarice, makes sale of Holines,
And steeming luxurie doth broach her lust;
Red-tyrannizing wrath doth soules oppresse,
And cankred Envie falsifies all trust,
T' enrich her coffers with soule-choaking dust;
On slouth and gluttonie they build their blisse,
Whereon they raise Ambitions Pyramis.
The frame's too slender for continuance,
Too earthly high for soules to builde upon;
And of her strength my only esperance,
Is for to see her sad confusion;
Whose vapours are the worldes infection.
Her high esteeme, is of high heav'n despisde;
O see ere long her Babel Babelliz'd.
Where shall I finde a safe all-peacefull seat,
To whose prospect the worldes circumference
Presents it selfe? high Jove I thee intreate,
Let Dodon's grove be lavish in expence;
And scaffoldize her oakes for my defence.
Forgive me God, for help doth not consist:
In Dodon's grove, nor a Dodonian fist.
Where shall I stand? O heav'n conduct me now,
Jove Israellize my tongue, and let my voyce
Prevayle with thee; shew me the manner how
To free me from this change: O soule rejoyce,
For heav'n hath free'd me from black hels annoies.
O see, O see, Jove sets me free from thrall,
Such is his love to them that on him call.
Loe where I stand upon a stedfast rocke,
Whose peerelesse trust is free from all compare:
See how it brookes the Phlegetonticke shocke,
And bides what foemen to each other share:
The raging sea, on this side doth it dare,
On that side flames; such is the earthly state,
Of those from earth seeke them to alienate.
Now eies prepare, and be your sight as cleare,
As is the Skie, when none but Phaetons sire
Inhabites it: for O (alas) I feare
They will be dazled with smoake and fier,
That with repulse of heav'n doth downe retire,
Heart, teach my tongue directed by mine eie,
To be the Chorus to this tragedie.
Marke, you spectators of this tragicke act,
(If any rest unmetamorphosed)
O you whose soules with hel are not contract,
Whose sacred light is not extinguished;
Whose intellectual tapers are not fed
With Hells flame: marke the transformation,
Wrought by the charmes of this rebellion.
That sacred female (which appear'd to him,
Who was inspir'd with heav'ns intelligence;
Who was the last that drunke upon the brim,
Of deepe divining sacred influence)
That heav'nly one, of glorious eminence.
She, whom Apollo clothed with his robe:
And plac'd hir feet upon th' inconstant globe.
So cloath'd, his mantle might her shelter be,
To shrowde her safe from Acheronticke mistes:
So plac'd, hir ground might feede hir egencie,
Farre as it on necessitie consistes;
And not t' exceede the bound of heav'nly listes;
So cloath'd, she might to heav'n her minde applie:
So plac'd, to use it in necessitie.
But (marke O woe) her high rebellious starres,
(Their minds ambitioniz'd) do seeke her fall,
And having dim'd the Sun with smoaky warres,
Have found his dearest one how to appall;
And mixe her honny with the bitterst gall.
See, how her eies are fixed on the globe:
Which, which (O wo) hath quite transformd her robe.
Her robe, that like the Sun did clearly shine,
Is now transform'd unto an earthy coate,
Of massive gold: because she did combine
Affection with the Moon; and did remote
Her heart from heav'ns book where her name was wrote.
The globe takes head, that was her footstoole set:
And from her head doth pull her coronet.
Her twelve starr'd glorious coronet, (which Jove
Did make her temples rich environrie:
And for the more to manifest his love,
Encircled them with faire imbroderie,
Of sacred lights in ayre-cleare azurie.)
She is deprived off: and doth begin,
To be the coverture of laethall sin.
The vines Aedonides; dead Murcianie;
Smooth Philoxenus; murders ground;
Disquiet Eriphila; hel's Syrenie;
Philocrematos; the soules deepe wound;
And whatso els in Hydra's head is found;
Do maske themselves within her pleasing smile:
And so with deadly sinne the world beguile.
What dreadfull sight (O) do mine eies behold?
See, frosty age, that should direct aright,
The grassie braine (that is in vice so bold)
With heedie doctrine and celestiall light;
Hath bin conversing with hells taper, night,
Whose divelish charmes, like Circes sorcerie,
Have metamorphosde Eos Eonie.
Apolloe's herauld, that was wont to cheare,
Night-wounded soules with bright celest'all raies:
Faire Phosphorus (whose looke was wont to feare
Infernall hagges, that haunt frequented wayes,
To drawe the soule to hell that wandring strayes;
Is metamorphosde to a torch of hell:
And makes his mansion-house blacke horrors cell.
Whose deepe foundation's raisde from Phlegeton,
The fi'rie river of blacke Orcus hall:
Whence pillers rise, which do themselves upon
Quadrangle wise, uphold Erebus wall:
Worldes trustlesse trust, soules unmistrusted fall.
Birds, vines and floures, and ev'ry sundry fruite
Do compasse it; for best that place they sute.
For since the spirit the bodies prisner,
Of heav'nly substance wholy is compact:
And since the flesh the soules imprisoner,
Of excrementall earth is wholy fact:
Since this with that it selfe cannot contract,
Needes must the soule (the earthly prison doubled:
For all earths pleasures slime) be smothered.
From out the lake a bridge ascends thereto,
Whereon in female shape a serpent stands,
Who eies her eie, or views her blew vain'd brow,
With sence-bereaving gloses she inchaunts,
And when she sees a worldling blind that haunts
The pleasure that doth seeme there to be found:
She soothes with Leucrocutanized sound.
Thence leades an entrie to a shining hal,
Bedeckt with flowers of the fairest hew,
The Thrush, the Lark, and nights-joy nightingale,
There minutize their pleasing laies anew,
This welcome to the bitter bed of rue;
This little roome, will scarce two wights containe,
T' enjoy their joy, and there in pleasure raigne.
But next thereto adjoynes a spacious roome,
More fairely farre adorned then the other:
(O woe to him at sinne-awhaping doome,
That to these shadowes hath his mind giv'n over:
For (O) he never shall his soule recover:
If this sweet sinne still feedes him with her smacke:
And his repentant hand him hales not backe.
The fraudfull floore of this deceitfull place,
Is all of quagmires, to intrap the wight
That treades thereon: yet cover'd o're with grasse
Of youthful hew, al pleasing to earth's sight,
For so doth satan worke his div'lish spight.
This roome will centuries of worlds containe,
How small mirths place, how large the place of paine!
Who ere's deceiv'd by this illusion,
Must surely fall into this deepe abisse,
Downe to the horror of deepe Phlegeton,
Whose fi'ry flames like vultures gnaw on flesh;
Yet jote of it never consumed is.
O let no wight trust to this worldly sheene:
For such joyes hate, of God best loved beene.
Erinnis purveyor, young elth I meane,
Teares up our mothers wombe to finde hir slime:
And doth ysearch her bowells all uncleane,
For noysome filth; the poyson of our time,
(Base dunghill slave) for meanes for his to clime;
So may he well, for now earths baddest good,
Makes ev'ry peasant seeme of gentle blood.
Yet certs, if the naked truth I say,
Nor from the golden mine comes gentry true,
Nor can this age, the next, and so for ay,
Ech his succeeding age with it indue:
For it's no heritage to heires t' ensue,
But shines in them to heav'n their minde that give:
Then who doth so, in him doth gentrie live.
O, that old age (that kept the treasuries
Of great Apollo once,) whose faltring tongue,
Intreates old earth performe his obsequies,
Should now by hell be metamorphosde yong,
And with desire of soule-infecting dong,
Seeke unto vice, weake infancie to winne,
And make his heart, Epithesis of sinne.
The oldest man, saith ech day, one day more,
One day? nay sure a twelve-months time t' will be,
Ere seriant death will call me at my doore;
Craz'd drooping age, why can thine eies not see
Pale death arresting tender infancie?
O that his memory thee still would tell,
Now out of me might death my breath expell.
Where are the centinels? the armed watch,
Who draw their breath from Phoebus treasurie?
Somnus, awake; unlocke the rustie latch,
That leades into the caves somniferie,
Rowze up the watch, lull'd with worlds Syrenie,
Somnus, awake: pull off their golden maske,
And bid them strait finderesize their taske.
Somnus, awake: hell and the world conspire:
Pan is transform'd, and al his flocke neere drownd;
Pan that from heav'n receiv'd his due paid hyre,
He that was wont, upon the fertile ground
Of Arcadie to feed, wherein was found,
No golden India that might prevent,
That high estate of poore, meane, rich content.
Pan, that was wont to make his quiet life,
Th' exordium of ech soule-sweet argument:
Pan, that was wont to make his voide of strife,
The period of ech sentence of Content;
Temper'd with surrop of heav'ns document,
Pan, that was once a cleere Epitimie:
Is now transform'd to hot Epithymie.
O, where are they, Apollo did appoint,
To guard Arcadia's sea-environ'd banckes?
The oceans monarch, whom Jove did annoint,
The great controller of the whaly ranckes
Is landed on Arcadia's tender flankes.
Envies protector, Pan, with gold hath fed:
And Pan with gold is metamorphosed.
Wealth's shipwracke; India's minerie;
The pearly pibble which the Ocean keepes;
The Treasure-house of Neptunes Thetisie;
The faire sweete poison of th' infernall deepes,
Hell's twinckling instrument that never sleepes;
Is that great gift Tridentifer presents,
To make faire passage for his foule intents.
O see that head that once was covered,
With fleecy wooll, that hung on earth-low brakes,
Is scarce contented now, it selfe to wed,
With what Eriphila from India takes,
Now Pan of gold, himselfe a Cor'net makes.
His eies that 'fore were cleare lycophosie,
Now cannot see but in a minery.
His hand, to pawes, his sheep-hooke to a mace,
Are metamorphosed; his heart (whose height
Did ne're before o're-peere Arcadia's face,)
With cloud-high thoughts aspiring high is fraight,
And chaoiz'd Idea's of conceit,
Doth make his gesture seem a troubled skie:
And fills his count'nance with sad meteorie.
Awake O heav'n, and all thy pow'rs awake,
For Pan hath sold his flocke to Thetis pheer:
O how the center of my soule doth quake,
That barb'rous India should over-peer
Fruitful Arcadia, the worlds great Peere!
Hot fiery dust, with trickling teares ee'n weeps,
To see Arcadia's flockes drown'd in the deeps.
O how unworthie's he a heard to be,
That leaves his flocke for ech temptation!
As, into magistrates ech man may see,
When by the means of vice th' are call'd upon,
To execute their duteous function;
O ev'n as they are knowne, when vap'rous vice,
Breathes forth a mist of blacke iniquities;
Ev'n so a shepheard tells where to hee's bent,
When mighty Jove after long summers joy,
(Of high celestiall kindnes to us lent)
Doth please us trie with winters sharp annoy;
Or tempt his heart with earthly seeming joy,
Which time, if he with care his flock doth feed,
Shewes love to's flock, and hate to's earthly meed.
But though I speake 'gainst this hypocrisie,
This hellish ill o'remask'd with holinesse,
Na'thlesse I neither can, nor wil deny,
That if thereby we reave no wight of blisse,
We may prevent our earthly wretchednesse.
For lawfull tis our owne harme to prevent,
If not by ill we compasse our intent.
Is't possible the world should yet affoord,
More cause of woe, then yet mine eies have seene?
Can Pluto in his horrors cave yet hoord,
More woe then in this tragicke sceane hath beene?
Is't true I see? Or do I overweene?
O, O, I see more then I can expresse,
Amaz'd with sence-confounding wretchednesse.
In Delta that's environ'd with the sea,
The hills and dales with heards are peopled,
That tend their tender flockes upon the lea,
And tune sweet laies unto their pipes of reed,
Meane while their flockes upon the hillockes feed;
And sometime nibble on the buskie root,
That did his tender bud, but lately shoote.
Long while the heards enjoy'd this sweet content,
Not fearing wolves that might their flocks molest:
(For nothing harbor'd neare that harm the meant)
And this content long might they have possest,
Had not a beast spoil'd this their sweetned rest.
Whether the soile him bred, or foes him brought,
I doubt; seemes, some that Deltaes damage sought.
Among the shrubbes had set him privily,
To spoyle the lambes that sometime did estray;
Nor onely thus devour'd them theevishly;
But oft allured them from out their way.
With such chaung'd voice, no mortal wight could say,
But that the notes were voice of man he sung:
O what deceit is lodged in the tongue?
This dayly spoyle through ech mans eare did runne,
At length Mavortio, a gallant Knight,
The meane whereby his Country honor wonne,
Heard of the harme wrought by Hyenn'as spight:
Scarce heard he of the spoyle, but that his sp'rite
Aethereall (not hable to endure,
His heart should knowledge of such harme immure
An houre, and th' wrong rest unirrooted out)
Him drave as sail-swel'd barks are drove by wind,
And strait he armd him (mounting's prancer stout)
He forward pricks, spurr'd by a noble mind,
Awaited on by Truth his Page full kind,
And by a 'squire that artfull strength was call'd:
Seem'd, Hercules him could not have appalld:
Thus (pricking on the plaine) at last he ey'd
The grisly beast as in her den she lay,
Tearing a lamb with jawes farre stretch'd awide,
A seely lambkin which she made her pray,
Straight with a courage bold began assay,
How he could buckle with the monsters force:
Not meaning once to harbor mild remorce.
Downe he alighted, from his milk-white steed,
And gave him Veramount to walk o' th plaine:
Then stept to'th monster with a wise-bold heed,
Thou monstrous fiend (quoth he) thy pray refrain,
For with my sword Ile work thy mortall paine:
The beast gan looke as one that were adrad,
Fearing her future hap would prove full bad.
At length, as one that from a traunce awakes,
She stretched foorth her selfe upon the ground;
And to her cursed tongue herselfe betakes,
Hoping hir speech wold yield best aid that stound.
Faire Sir (quoth she) t'is said this soile hath found,
That I have brought this Countries good to spoyle:
But (knight) beleeve me, I have t'ane much toile.
To feare the wolves with changed voyce of tong,
When they have e'en beene ready to assaile
The ewes that have beene suckling their yong:
Then hath my speech their purpose causde to faile:
My very heart doth bleede; O how I waile
To thinke upon the spoyle the wolves would make:
Did not my Care them force their prey forsake?
To her Syrenian song, the Knight gave eare,
And noted in her speech how subtill Arte,
Her gesture framde to ev'ry word so neare,
That (had he beene a man of massive hart,
He would have melted at her Mermaides part:
But he being a Knight of noble spirit:
Her tongue could not him of his heart dis'nherit.
But spurr'd him to revenge the spoyle she made;
(Commixt with poyson of hypocrisie)
He strait unsheathes his trusty steeled blade,
And (silent) doth demonstrate presently,
The bottome of his minde effectually.
Soone as she feeles the smart, she startes abacke,
And (for defence) with poyson hellie blacke.
Forth hurled from her wide stretcht foaming throat,
She thinkes t' infect the uninfected Knight:
But stowt Mavortio wore a steeled coate,
So junctly joynted, that in all their fight,
Hir hellish poyson, never enter might;
(All were it natur'd still to search for way:)
To save hir life by hir foes lives decay.
Short had the fight bin, had she onely beene,
(And great his honour by hir only death)
But ev'ry drop of bloud his sword all keene,
Causde issue from hir noysome steeming breath,
Transformed were to monsters on the heath.
All with their poyson like a rounding ring:
The good encombred Knight encompassing.
So that the more that she enhoped him,
(By deadly gaspes) the conquest soone would end;
The more his labour sprung: and seem'd to dim
Eftsoones (alas) the hope his toile did send.
Yet he of all was victor in the end.
And for this act untill the end his fame,
Wil through the world high raise Mavortio's name.
The Knight (about to sheath) chaunc'd turne his eie,
And spies the multitude that him enround:
Nay (then quoth he) no time approacheth nie,
To take our leaves of this thiefe-harb'ring ground
Before Apollo Thetis lap hath found,
They all shall die; if heav'n doth smiling stand:
Viewing the heart of his Mavortio's hand.
His 'squire with artfull courage aides his knight:
Both usde their blades unto so good availe,
That who had ei'd this bloudy fi'rie fight,
Might here see maimed wights low creeping traile
Their owne hew'd limbes, there gasping iawes that waile
To see their limbs lopt from their bodies lie,
On hugie heapes, like unto mountaines high.
And twixt the streams of steaming blod swift running
With bloudles trunks, lop'd heads, legs, thighs, and armes,
Upon the river like dead fishes swimming;
Ere Sol with Neptune sleeped, slept their harmes;
All beeing shooke with deaths all deadly charmes.
O happy houre! that so Mavortio joy'd:
To see the monsters by his arme destroy'd.
This noble conquest made him famouzed,
By all the heards throughout the Deltan soile,
Who vow'd his name should be aeternized,
(Despight of Fortune and her trustlesse foyle)
In memorizing lines, which worldly broyle,
Nor Envies canker, never should deface,
Long as the world retaine's her worldly face.
O peerelesse worth! O worth Mavortian!
Heav'n upholding Atlas; warres melodie;
Knight of the lilly; heavens champion;
Artes patron; Muses dearest Adonie;
Urania's soule refreshing Castalie;
Worthy the world; the world not worthy thee:
That art deem'd worthy of the deitie.
Of heaven it selfe, that but ev'n now lamented
The sun-fall of thy selfe, whom heav'n (disdained)
Whom heav'ns high trinary was not contented,
That in the world thy spirit be contained,
But there shuld dwel where Jove himself remained;
For that on earth, thy spirit earth directed,
Heav'n hath thy spirit for high heav'n elected.
While heav'n did daigne the world should him injoy,
The nine-fold Sorory themselves exiled,
Even from their native home to arts annoy,
From twin-topt mount, unto a place defiled,
(Where pined writ and starved art compiled)
Their harm they knew, and harm with heart imbraced,
To nurse their deare heart by their cheap art graced.
Graced by nurses (arts nurse highly grac'd him)
Who fed him with pure marrow of the Muses;
And when he list, with moisture to refresh him,
He drunke cleare Helicon: cleare from abuses,
He bent his mind to pure Uranian uses,
Uranianie, him did to heav'n upreare:
And made to man, him demi-god appeare.
Since wisedome then upreares a man to heav'n,
Since wisedome then (that doth high God adore)
When he of all that earth yeelds is bereav'n,
When all els failes, doth God-like him decore,
O world erect thy blisse on wisedomes lore.
The greatest man decores not wisedomes horne:
But wisedome doth the meanest wight adorne.
Pieria's darling; cleare-streaming Helicon;
Boeotia's pearle; the nine voic'd harmony;
Heart crystalline; tongue pure Castalion;
Delta's Adamant; Elizium's melody;
Urania's selfe, that sung coelestially;
Was then for Mars apt, by the Muses nurs'd,
For Mars his knights, are 'squires to'th muses first.
Downe to the world descended Mars at length,
When the Pierides had knit the veines,
That from his heart did give his body strength,
With soule-sweet Manna, marrow of the reines:
Downe he descended, and no whit disdaines
To live on earth, leaving the sacred skies,
Only the muses deare to Martialize.
But (O) when Delta's hope, the muses wonder,
Foes feare, feares foe, Joves martialist,
On Thetis gan like to a fearefull thunder
Make Hydra shake with a Dodonian fist;
When Delta deem'd her selfe in him thus blest,
Then Delta of her hope was quite bereaved:
See how the world is by the world deceived!
The Phoebus of his soile, scarce shewd his sheen,
And fac'd the West with smiling Aurory,
When fatall Neptune with his trident keene,
(Behind him) hal'd him to his Thetisie,
But Jove downe sent swift-winged Mercurie,
And charged him to lay him's wings upon,
And be the convoy of his champion.
When Mercurie approch'd the seat of Jove,
With Mavors spirit on his winged arme;
Jove daign'd descend downe from his seat above,
And him imbraced with all heav'nly charme.
Above the lofty skies, devoid of harme
Sits Mavors spirit, as a demi-god:
Instead of Mars, swaying his warlike rod.
While Mars himselfe goes wandring up and downe,
Associated with the sacred brood,
That hand in hand (like an enchaining rowne)
Encompasse him: ev'n dead with want of food;
(If want may heaven hurt with deadly bood)
Much teen they bide in search for such an one:
Whom they may make their nurs'ries paragon.
A pitchie night en curtained with clowdes
(That kept from it heav'ns star-bright comforture)
Is the sole Theater that them enshrowdes;
Fogs, damps, trees, stones, their sole encompassure,
To whom they mone, black todes give responsure:
Their woe is like unto that wretches paine,
Whom (s'parents dead) no man will entertaine.
Before that death by life had stellified
Great Mavors spirit in the loftie skie:
Before his spirit in heav'n was deified,
Mars and the Muses had their dignity,
The sacred sisters did him aptifie
For Mars: he kindly fed his parents want,
And made that plenty which before was scant.
But now (O woe) they long may go unfed.
Ayde (mighty Jove) for Nilus Crocodiles
Are bathing in the pure Castalian head.
Pure horse-foot Helicon, their filth defiles,
Art, like Aegyptian dogs, must scape their wiles.
O dreary woe! the Muses did but sup,
And are infected with that pois'nous cup.
How like blacke Orcus lookes this dampy cave,
This obscure dungeon of Cimmerian sin,
This hugy hell! my spirit gins to rave,
To see blacke Pluto banquetting within
The once-form'd world with his faire Proserpin.
O see the world, all is by heav'n rejected,
Now that the sacred Muses are infected.
See, where Urania, onelie's seated on
The twin-top'd hill, the steepie craggy mount,
That over-peeres, (once) cristall Helicon:
There bides she ev'ry storme, that once was wont
To bathe her selfe in the Castalian fount.
Yet this me gladdes, though she of joy be reav'n,
Yet is she now come neerer unto heav'n.
O where's Mavortio? may the Muses say:
And have the heav'ns bereaved us of blisse?
O heav'ns! nay O sweet heav'n fed Muses stay.
Exclaime not on the sacred heav'ns for this:
But as a mother (that her childe doth misse)
Lament: and be your heart from despaire wonne:
Your wombe may bring forth such another sonne.
And as thy Sunne not still could face the north,
But by his falling reaved thee of day;
(Because the day light's by the night put forth)
Nor can thy nights blacke hew endure alway:
Then hope sweet Delta hope, from murmure stay,
Thy Phoebus slumbreth but in Thetis lap:
Hee'l rise before thou thinkst of such a hap.
See that same rocke, the rocke of my defence,
Is metamorphosde to an Unicorne:
Whose shining eies of glorious eminence,
Doth all the world with brightnes cleare adorne,
And with Joves strength, hir life-preserving horne,
Hath purified the cristallized fount,
That streames along the valley of Artes mount.
Her streaming rayes have pierc'd the cloudie skies,
And made heav'ns traitors blush to see their shame;
Cleared the world of her blacke vironries,
And with pale feare doth all their treason tame.
Delta's Bellonian, (name of peerelesse fame)
Hath free'd Apollo from their treacherie,
And plac'd him in his former dignitie.
Come, come, you wights that are transformed quite,
Eliza will you retransforme againe;
Come star-crown'd female and receive thy sight,
Let all the world wash in her boundlesse maine,
And for their paine receive a double gaine.
My very soule with heav'nly pleasure's fed,
To see th' transform'd remetamorphosed.
Urania sits amid Pernassus vale,
O're shelterd with an aire-cleare Canopie:
O senses nurse! soule-sweet refreshing dale,
Gods nectar; heav'ns sweet ambrosianie;
Convert each river to pure Castalie.
That India it selfe, may sweetly raise,
Her well tun'd notes in high Jehovah's praise.
Now are the pitchie Curtains (that enclosde
The heav'nly radiance of Apollo's shine)
Drawne backe; and all that in hels cave reposd,
Are dauncing chearely in a silver twine,
With heav'ns Urania, shaming Proserpine.
Hell's Phlegetontike torches are put forth:
And now the Sunne doth face the frosty north.
Sacred Apollo, cheeres the lightsome day,
And swan-plum'd Phoebe gards the star-faire night,
Lest Pluto's forester, should cause estray,
Darke Cosmos Pilgrim's wandring without light;
Heav'ns star-embroderie doth shine full bright,
Heav'ns sacred lights agree in one consent,
To drive the cloudes from foorth the firmament.
Now is the Moone not blemisht with a cloud,
Nor any lampe (that should illuminate
And lighten ev'ry thing that heav'n doth shrowd)
Darkned; or else my sight gin's to abate,
And s'reaved of it intellectuate.
Each obscure cave is lightned by the day:
Or else mine eyes are forced to estray.
But when my heart was urged forth to breath,
Fell accents of soule-terrifying paine;
My subject was a heav'nly tapers death;
Night was my lampe; my inke, hell's pitchy maine:
Then blame me not, if my wittes light did waine,
Since but with night, I could with none conferre
In this my Epinyctall register.