THE NIGHTINGALE WARBLING forth her owne disaster; OR The rape of Philomela.
Newly written in English verse, By MARTIN PARKER,
LONDON, Printed by G.P. for William Cooke, and are to be sold at his shop neere Furnevals Iune gate in Holbourne. 1632,
TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE Henry Parker, Lord Morley and Mount Eagle, Baron of Ric, &c.
My Lord:
YOu may (I confesse) accuse me of petulancy and exceeding presumption, in that I farre unworthy and altogether unknowne to your honour, [Page] should thus dare to attempt the Dedication of this my unpolisht piece to one so eminent in judgment as your excellent Selfe, yet when I contemplate your vertues (whereof humility is chiefe) I am imboldned (in hope of your Honorable pardon) to present this Embrion of my weake braine to your iudicious view: desiring your Lordship to shew your selfe (as you hitherto have bin) the Patterne and Patron of curtesie in accepting and remitting my booke and my boldnes: the antient Philosophers did decipher a true Noble man by foure excellent qualities which are these: First, A hauty courage in time of Martiall exercise. Secondly, A [Page] heart to iudge. Thirdly, A hand to [...]eward: and Fourthly, Clemency to p [...]rdon. I knowing your noble mind to be amply replete with all these v [...]rtuous indowments, what wonder i [...] it that I have thus adventured the Poem, for the excellency of the history (I confesse) did deserve a more skillfull penman, being a Tragedy so unparaleld, that I wonder why none of our temporary Laureats have undertaken it before: but as I doe reioyce to be advanced to the first place in this worke, so doe I more abundantly exult in that it finds so honorable a Patron My Nightingale fearing the hissing Serpents of this envious age desires your powerfull wings [Page] to shelter her. And in lieu of your generous approbation of her song, my Muse (by you her noble Mecaenas a [...]imated) shall endevour heereaf [...]er with a Posie of a sweeter odour [...]o kisse the hand of your Honour. In t [...] interim 'I remaine both in heart tongue and pen,
The devout adorer of your Lordships vertues. MARTIN PARKER
To the Iudicious Reader, health.
I Am not ignorant (courteous Reader) of the old adage; He that seeks to please all men, shall never finish his task; for there is no piec so accurately done, but some (either through ignorance or envie) will espie conceited faults in it; let [...] pelles draw his picture with never so much art and iudgement the Cobler will find a hole in his coate; let an Author write as learnedly as Homer, were it possible, he shall be subiect to the cavilling censure of Zoilus; no marvell [Page] then if I the most unperfect vassall of the Muses be scoft for my endeuour, when the best deservings Artist is not free: but my hope is that though I be condemned by the ignorant Momus, or envious Critick, I shall be bayld by the learned and iudicious, to whom I only send my Booke: for the rest, as they cannot be bar'd from reading, so I will not hinder them from their owne opinions: which when they have, their gaine is litle, and my losse is lesse. If my Nightingales song please the honest and intellectuall man, she hath her wish, for she sings not to please knaves and fooles: nor can they hurt her much: unlesse they shoote her dead with the arrowes of aspersion; but I thinke none is so inhumane to hurt (much lesse to kill) a Nightingale, [Page] therefore she is confident of her safety, and dares adventure into the world to warble forth her owne disaster. In her story you shall finde such woefull, wonderfull and tragicall discourse, that a heart of Adamant way find its invaliditie, like unto Goates blood which hath the vertue to dissolve it, when to all other meanes it is impenetrable. I have endeavored (as her Secretary) to pen her song, with as much skill as my little learning can produce, wherin if I have pleased the fancy of the understanding Reader, I have hit the white, and gaind the fruition of my hopes; if not, all my Poetry is quite kild in the egge. Therefore, good Reader, for the love thou bearest to the Muses, iudge charitably now that I may be animated to proceede to thy [Page] future profit and pleasure. Which hoping thou wilt, doe I commit thee to the tuition of thy Maker, and rest,
Thine, if now, ever hereafter, MARTIN PARKER.
The Author to his Booke, and it to him in manner of a Dialogue.
POore harmelesse bird, how darst thou undertake
To leave the desart woods and flye abroad,
Mongst those that of thy song a scoffe will make,
And poyson execrate like to a toade
What ever paines thy Penman hath bestowd?
One he mislikes the phrase, another will
Say this word fits not well, that verse runs ill.
What though one overweening foole may finde
Some faults produced from his fond conceite?
For him I shall a thousand meete more kind
That will commend my song and give compleat
Encomious to thee for thy travell great,
For thou (though no great Clerke, yet) hast so pen'd it,
That twenty may find fault ere one can mend it.
To my friend Martin Parker on his mournefull ditty, The rape of Philomel.
ITs now in fashion, he who hath brought forth
With's pen an issue of his braines best worth,
Before toth' larger stage he venture it,
Will cloth't with begg'd or borrow'd rags of wit:
Thy Nightingale needs none; yet she shall have
These fragant branches, which the Muses gave
Her from their bower, to shrowd her self among,
From hissing Serpents that would spoyle her song.
These will to her be a delight of choyce,
But give no diapazon to her voyce,
To please the moderne fry of wit and fame:
That bribe their Iudgments with the Authors name,
And in the title-page conclude it ill,
Because it sprung from thy obscurer quill.
On these set easie thoughts, her voyce shee'l raise
To sing this unjust rape; and thy just prayse.
An Encomium on the Author and his worke.
IS there lesse paines or merit in translation,
Then of a Poem in his new creation?
Or doth be lesse the Laurell branch deserve,
That will the subiect of another serve?
No sure: the weapon by this Author us'd
May by another easily be abus'd.
He knew his owne invention, matter, end,
His proper scope, whether his Muse to tend
His liberty was choyse to runne, his field
Was large, that he cach way himselfe might weild.
But thou in narrow bounds art now included,
Thy Muse being from her liberty secluded;
Captive to thy Authors humour and thy quill
Subiect to his subiect, method, and his will.
Carpe not then
Momus at anothers paines,
On
Naso's Poem; since he sufficient gaines
Hath got already, eternizing his name,
And memorie still ecchoing forth his fame,
For his invention of this mournefull song,
Sadly tun'd forth by
Philomela's tongue.
His was the plaine song of this direfull ditty.
[Page]The descant thine, moving each heart to pitty
Sweet
Philomela's rape, henceforth so long
As incest, murders, cruelty and wrong,
Revenge, and sad
Eryinnys here shall dwell,
So long this story forth thy praise shall tell.
To his ingenious friend M.P. Author of this Poem.
I Often have admir'd thy fluent veine,
Composing things of an inferiour straine;
But neither I nor any man could looke,
For such a piece from thee, as this thy booke.
Wert thou a scholler then 'twere no rare newes,
But being none can any Reader chuse
But wonder at thy smooth and haughty stile?
Were I not sure thou didst this worke compile,
I'd not beleev't; tush, common sense doth show it,
Tis wit not learning, that can make a Poet.
Proceed with boldnesse then, and let men see,
The Aganippean well doth spring in thee.
The Argument of this Poem or History.
PAndion Prince of Athens (as the Roman Poet Ovid writes) had two daughters, the eldest cald Progne, and the youngest Philomela; which Progne, being espoused to Tereus, the young King of Thrace; lived in great tranquillity and happinesse for the space of five yeeres; in which time Progne (more fond than wise) desired to see her sister Philomela, and with hourely importunity filled the eares of her husband Tereus, so that he gave his consent to fetch Philomela, and having gotten the forced consent of her father (partly by her owne desire to see her sister) he carried her away, and in the ship began to attempt the conquest of her virginity; whom she resists, and strives to reclaime with forcible arguments: but landing, he tooke her to a Graunge house that stood in his owne Country, and there perforce both ravisht and cut out her tongue lest she should bewray his impiety; so goes home, and tells his Queene, that her sister Philomela was dead: she grieves; but he with assimulation pacifier her, little mistrusting any such inhumane action as hee had done. But Philomela by her selfe (inclosed) wrought [Page] her mind in an handkerchiefe, which by a Gentleman that came that way by chance, she sent to the Queene her sister, who conceald her spleene, till she found fit time of vindication: which occasion soone offered in this manner: Jt was an annuall custome in Thrace for women to goe strangely disguisd about the country, to celebrate the feasts of Bacchus; in this manner went Progne to the Graunge, and fetcht out her sister Philomela, whom having brought to the Court privatly, she afterwards invited her husband to a banquet, kild her young sonne Itis, who was about three yeeres of age, and dressing him for meat set it before her husband Tereus; who having eaten it, and the impious deed detected, the Poet will have them (as unworthy of humane shape) to be Metamorphosed into birds. Philomel into a Nightingale, Progne to a Swallow, and Tereus to a Lapwing.
Note the morall and let the fiction passe as it is.
THE RAPE OF PHILOMELA.
VVHen
Tellus old by
Hyems late opprest,
Was pittied and rescued by
Ver,
And in her gorgeous mantle was new drest
Which
Flora kindly had bestow'd on her;
I that did health before all wealth prefer
Walkt forth to take the benefit of th'ayre,
Wherewith
Ambrosia might not then compare.
2
And chancing to passe by a curious grove,
Which Nature artificially had made,
Excelling that wherein the
Queene of love
Her wanton toyes with her coy lover playd,
Therein I stept my selfe a while to shade
From
Titans force, which then full South was got,
Reflecting rayes that were exceeding hot.
3
There as I lay reposed on the ground,
Delighted with its odoriferous smell,
The heavenly Quiristers about me round,
Made musicke which did please my senses well:
Especially the lovely
Philomel.
Vpon a hawthorne bough did warbling sit,
You that will heare her song attend to it.
4
For by the figure cal'd
Prosopopeie,
Ile tell het tale as though her selfe did speake,
You'l pardon give, if not so well as shee
I paint her story, for my braine's too weake,
For such a taske, yet I the ice will breake
That others of more learning may indevour
Further to wade in this deepe spatious river.
5
Then let your mindes suppose that you doe heart
A virgin ravisht and depriv'd of tongue,
For so the Nightingale that sings so cleare,
Was once, as
Ovid long agoe hath sung;
You maydens, wives, and men that heare her song
Regard it well for it concernes you all,
Tis wofull, wonderfull and tragicall.
6
I was, saith she, the daughter of a Prince
Who rul'd the flourishing Athenian state,
I had a sister that before nor since
For shape and beauty hardly had a mate:
Our father had no sonne, so't pleased fate,
Wee his two daughters did support his age,
Whom he maintain'd in princely equipage.
7
But see the mutability o'th world
And worldly things; how apt wee are to fall
From bisse to bale; we to and fro are hurl'd
From joy to woe, from liberty to thrall;
Most know their birth, but none know how they sha
[...]
Depart from hence? or where, or when, or how,
No time is ours but that which we have now.
8
My sisters beauty was by blab-tongued fame
Divulged and dispersed farre and neere,
The youthfull King of Thrace,
Tereus by name,
Though farre remote did of this
Phoenix heare,
And quickly left his realme and subjects deare,
To come and see whether fame ly'd, or no,
But seeing her, he said, 'twas certaine so.
9
He wooed hard to have her for his mate,
And got at last her (and our fathers) love;
The nuptiall rites in princely pomp and state
Were solemniz'd, and like it was to prove
A happie match: for either party strove,
Each other in affection to excell;
Terens lov'd
Progne, she lov'd him as well.
10
In a short time after the wedding day
The Thracian King (having a care on's land)
With his faire Bride from Athens sayld away,
And soone arrived where he did command:
His dutious subjects on the shore did stand
To welcome home their King, and far fetcht Queen
With all magnificence that ere was seene.
11
Five yeeres these Princes (as they ought to doe)
Did live and loue with mindes reciprocall,
And then faire
Progne (O why did she so!)
Desir'd a thing which caused my downefall;
Yet 'twas her love then blame not her at all.
She did intreat her husband to fetch mee,
Whom shee desired ardently to see.
12
He willing to fulfill her fond desire
Hoyst sayles for Athens to fetch
Philomel,
Whom for my beauty all men did admire,
Coequall with my sisters truth to tell;
But young when
Tereus first in liking fell
With her: when he came on faire Athens shore
And told his tale, my Father mourned sore.
13
Alas, alas, deare sonne in law, quoth hee,
What you propound will surely be my death,
For if you take my
Philomel from mee,
Twill not be long ere I resigne my breath,
For there is nothing that is underneath
The heavens, that I doe valew worth my Childe;
O let mee not be of her sight beguild!
14
The pearled drops fell from his aged eyes
Like rivolets, that his pale cheekes bedewd;
O
Tereus marke how old
Pandion cryes,
This sorrow did presage what woe insewd;
Yet
Tereus his petition still renewd;
Quoth he; I will as carefull of her be,
As heaven I wish should have respect to me.
15
Her will I cherish like my owne deare Child.
And I was overwilling to goe see
My sister
Progue, then the old man smild,
Sweet Girle, if thou desires to goe (quoth he)
It something mitigates my griefe for thee;
Farewell my joy, but till thy safe returne
My hourely exercise shall be to mourne.
16
Here take her
Terens, and my blessing with her,
Be carefull of her if thou wish mee life.
Thus went the Wolfe and silly Lambe together:
I towards my sister, he towards his wife.
O now alas, my senses are at strife,
Whether I should relate his monstrous blame,
Or hold my peace; and so save manhoods shame.
17
But fith I thus have undertooke the taske,
I must proceed and tell the story right,
Wherein such horrid deedes I will unmaske
As may the Auditors with woe affright:
O monstrous caitiffe, arm'd with hellish spight!
No time before nor after ere could tell
Of any deed that thine may paralell.
18
Lucretia that Roman Lady had
Great cause of woe; yet not so great as I,
For
Tarquin though his fact was worse than bad
In ravishing the flower of chastity;
He was no kin to her: but
Tereus, thy
Vnnaturall deed, can no way be excus'd
For thou thy wives owne sister hast abus'd.
19
When in his ship the Fox had got the Kid,
Poore innocent, I dreading no such ill,
Against the lawes of gods and men he did
Begin to tempt me to his lawlesse will;
But I, by vertue alwaies tutor'd, still
Defi'd him and his impious desire,
And us'd these words to quench his lust-bred fire.
20
Ah brother
Tereus, spring these words from jest
To try my constitution? if they doe,
I pardon them: but if your foule request
Be fram'd in earnest; then I let you know,
You are not as you seeme i'th outward show;
A man I thought you were by forme and statute,
But your interior parts shame humane nature.
21
Hast thou me ravish'd from my fathers sight,
Pretending that my sister for me sent?
And seek'st thou thus to rob her of her right,
Whom once thou thoughtst Natures chiefe ornament?
Dost thinke the gods would not thy will prevent?
To wrong thy wife if thou in lust dost burne,
Can none but her owne sister serve thy turne?
22
For shame leave off thy brutish enterprize,
And let not future times speake such a thing,
Even for thine honours sake I thee advise,
Stayne not the sacred title of a King:
Thinke what a scandall it to thee would bring▪
Kings like the gods should practise actions just
Methinks this thoght should quēch thy bestial lust
23
These arguments (and many more as good)
To him (past sense) I did in vaine produce,
My tongue more than my face inflam'd his lust,
All pious thoughts with him were out of use:
No teares, no prayers, no reason, no excuse
Could pierce his bosome (made obdure with sin;)
Hee's now more fierce than when he did begin.
24
Yet in the ship his will he could not have
Because of those which were within the same,
Whereby (poore wretch) I had good hope to save
That Iewell which he did unjustly claime:
But more and more this hellish fire did flame
Therefore another course he tooke in hand;
Being deny'd at Sea, he try'd on land.
25
Charging his men upon his native soyle
To land both him and mee: O, is't not strange,
That men should worke so many waies to spoyle
Their soules, when thus from vertues path they range?
Now to be briefe, he brought me to a Graunge
That stood remote from any towne or place,
And there (perforce) he did my corps imbrace.
26
Which having done, I tore my amber tresses,
Rayling against the Panther truculent,
And by my furious spleene the Tyrant ghesses,
Of his foule fact what would be the event;
Therefore he thought his mischiefe to prevent.
And cause to none I should bewray my wrong,
He drew his knife and quite cut out my tongue.
27
Thus rape was seconded by cruelty,
One vice another alwaies doth succeede
When Satan hath mans heart in custodie;
By heavens ordinance it is decreed
The reprobate cannot from bonds be freed,
Till the full measure of his sinne runnes o'r:
Vice unrepented still increaseth more.
28
So this fell miscreant, shame of his kind,
Having by force stolne my virginity,
Was loth to leave that instrument behind
Which to the world might blaze his villanie:
O monstrous rape, perfidious treachery!
What words shall I or any use t'expresse
This mans (nay rather monsters) wickednesse?
29
Or unto whom may I him well compare?
To th'Emperour
Nero surely and no other,
Who in this sacrilegious kind did dare
Incestuously to ravish his owne mother,
And after kild her: thou mayst be his brother,
For he that his wives sister will deflower
Would use his mother so were she in's power.
30
Now what becomes of me poore
Philomel,
Being left spoyld and mangled in this manner,
I by my selfe (alone) am left to dwell,
Where none mee knowes or heares of my dishonour.
Tereus goes to his Queene, and fawnes upon her,
Patiently praying her his newes to brooke,
For death her sister
Philomel had tooke.
31
She shriekes and cries with
lachrimable meane,
And by no meanes can pacified bee,
Sister, saith shee, alas, and art thou gone?
I'le not be long before I follow thee.
Deere love, set boundes unto thy griefe, quoth he,
Thou shalt in me finde husband, father, sister:
With that, as
Iudas did his Lord, he kist her.
32
With these his subtle words of adulation,
And many fained teares to force beliefe,
The Queene at last left off her lamentation,
Or at the least gave limits to her griefe;
Little mistrusting him her bosome thiefe:
O how hypocrisie can for a while
Cover mens sinnes, and Iudgments wit beguile!
33
But such foule crimes though in darke corners done
When heaven doth see fit time, shall be reveal'd
And open laid in the sight of the Sun,
Even when the Author thinks it's most conceal'd:
So I having to the just gods appeal'd
For justice and revenge at last did finde
A meanes to fit the monster in his kinde.
34
I with my needle show'd my curious skill,
A handkerchiefe with letters plaine I wrought,
Which being finisht (by
Ioves sacred will)
Did publish what I in my bosome thought;
A Gentleman by chance that way was brought,
He having lost his way i'th dead of night
Found out this lodge, afarre off seeing light.
35
Thither he rode, and at the window cal'd
I prisoner like look't out, but could not tell
With words my mind, yet how I came in thrall.
And how abus'd, with signes I show'd him well;
He pittying me (wretched
Philomel)
The handkerchiefe wherein my mind was seene
I threw to him to carry to the Queene.
36
He faithfully delivered his charge
As did befit one whom he seem'd to bee;
The Queene by this did understand (at large)
My woe wrought by her husbands villanie;
Yet what she knew she covered secretly,
Vntill she found a time revenge to worke;
O marke what plots in womens minds do lurke.
37
For such revenge (at length) she wrought indeed
As staynes her sex (as foule as be did his.)
O that I might now from my taske be freed;
I mourne for all the story; chiefely this;
I coadjutor was in her amisse:
Ah now, methinkes, I heare some bashfull dame
Say,
Philomel, fye, hold thy peace for shame.
38
To this I answere Twere a deed unjust,
Seeing I haue so lavish bin to tell
Each circumstance of
Terous lawlesse lust,
And barbarous cruelty, both sprung from hell,
To hide my sisters fault no
Philomel,
Proceed aright the second part to sing
Of thy sad song without dissembling,
39
And tell thine owne blame too, as well as hers
So shalt thou not of falshood be accus'd;
Be bold for he or she that truth prefers,
(And loth to be by flattery abus'd
If thou tell true) will hold thee more excus'd:
Come briefly to't, or else thy long digression
Will lengthen out the list of thy transgression.
40
Then this it is; when
Progne (as I sayd)
Well understood where I her sister was,
She studying how to have me thence convay'd;
Marke what the Destinies soone brought to passe;
It was a custome through the realme of Thrace
For women (like mad Bedlams forth to range
About the country clad in garments strange.
41
In celebration of mad
Bacchus feasts
(A gesture proper to his Deity,
Whose power doth metamorphose men to beasts,
When w
[...] of them hath got the masterie)
Among these
Bachanalian
[...]ides went shee,
I meane, my sister; through which prete
[...]
She came to visit me with woe perple
[...].
42
She tooke me from that place (disconsolate)
And brought me with her privately to th' Court;
Tereus (mistrusting no such divelish hate,
Nor that he was detected in such sort)
Did entertaine his Queene with Princely sport,
And she for him a sumptuous feast did make:
To tell what Cares she got, my heart doth ake▪
43
Her owne deare Sonne) by
Tereus on her got)
Vnnaturally she kil'd: Oh bloody beast,
Nay, worse than any beast! for they will not
Suffer their yong of harme to taste the least,
This Banquet did excell
Lycaons feast;
For here a Mother of her Sonne made meat,
Which his owne Father greedily did eat.
44
Oh flinty-hearted
Progne! what although
Tereus offended thee beyond compare,
Could nothing serve but to requite him so?
Hadst thou not in thy child the greatest share,
Which in thy body thou nine moneths didst beare?
Yet blaming thee, I must my selfe condemne,
For I consented to the death of him.
45
The pretty Infant seeing her to sit
So pensively (as one depriv'd of joy)
He runs to her (according to his wit)
And askes the cause of her so sad annoy:
Mother (saith he) am I not your best boy?
Come kisse me then; and Ile goe call my Dad,
To come and play with you, and make you glad.
46
But she (not like a Woman, but a Tyger)
Did cast him from her in disdainefull wise,
Then did she take him (Oh unheard-of rigour!)
And cut his head off: this could not suffice,
But of his little limbs she made mine'd pies,
Which at the banquet was the chiefest dish:
Thus cursed
Tereus fed on his owne flesh.
47
This barbarous action gives the world good cause
To enter into consultation just,
For surely none can tell, without great pause,
Which fact was worst: or
Tereus beastly lust,
Or
Pragnes monstrous murther. Sure I must
Censure her deed oth' two to be the worst,
To kill her infant whom she bare and nurst.
48
He that upon his foe would vengeance take
And in most wrathfull manner wreak his spleene)
Let him a woman of his counsell make,
Their hearts most cruell are, as may be seene
By the relation of this furious Queene.
Fye,
Philomel, thou wilt thy selfe abuse,
If for her sake thou all her sex accuse.
49
Tush, why should I be partiall in this case,
I'l tell the truth; and yet I doe not say,
Though this one woman did her sex disgrace,
That others imitate her wicked way;
And yet, alas, too many goe astray
In these last times; for Infants every yeere,
Are by their mothers murthered (as I heare.)
50
Which makes me to take up a just complaint
Against the female sex for cruelty,
And as my owne disaster I doe paint,
Procured by my brothers luxurie
[...]en so I have, (and tis but equitie)
Demonstrated, or will ere I have done,
Progne's foule crime in killing her owne sonne.
51
Tereus having well fed, calls for young
Jtis,
Deere Queene, where is my little boy, quoth he,
In whom next thee my temporall delight is?
I thinke he's neere enough to you, quoth shee,
Neerer than he is now he cannot be:
Much good may't doe you Sir, for you have eate,
I tell you true, no ordinary meate.
52
With that I
Philomel that stood unseene,
Behind a cloath of arras, with the head
O'th infant, given me by my sister Queene,
Step'd forth, and hearing what before she said,
Of the event I nought at all did dread,
That
Tereus more might see his wretched case
I threw the head of
Jtis in his face.
53
Looke how a Lion, roused from his sleepe,
Runnes furiously 'gainst those did him wake;
So
Tereus to the heart was struck so deepe,
That more than terror made his joynts to quakes
O wife, quoth he, what vengeance didst thou take?
'Twas I offended, why didst not kill mee?
As for young
Jtis what offence did hee?
54
Was he not thine owne flesh aswell as mine?
How hadst thou then the heart to see him bleed?
My fault (I doe confesse) was great, but thine
As far and more from nature doth exceed,
No woman ever did so vile a deed:
Oh how am I accurst of all that be,
I have devour'd what was begot by me.
55
But I his guiltlesse death will vindicate,
On both your bodies, (monsters that you are.)
This said, he did no time procrastinate,
But drew his sword, and both our deaths did sweare,
Because in the childs death we both had share.
Mine was the wrong at first, yet I confesse,
I must plead guilty, though my fault was lesse.
56
We fled his fury, he with sword in hand,
Pursu'd us, armed with revenge and steele;
But heavenly powers, that had my wrongs well scan'd
(Though we were worthy) would not let us feele
The stroke of death: all three from head to heele
Transformed were (if you'l trust
Ovids words)
From humane Creatures unto senselesse Birds.
57
I
Philomel (turn'd to a Nightingale)
Fled to the woods, and 'gainst a bryer or thorne,
I sit and warble out my mournfull tale:
To sleepe I alwaies have with heed forborne,
But sweetly sing at euening, noone, and morne.
No time yeelds rest unto my dulcide throat,
But still I ply my lachrimable note.
58
My sister
Progne metamorphos'd was
Into a Swallow (as the Poet sayes:)
Both of us all the Winter time doe passe
Vnseene of any, till
Hyperious rayes
Increase in hot influence, and the dayes
Are drawne in length by Natures annuall course,
The Swallow is a signe of Summers force.
59
Vpon her breast her marke of guilt she beares,
Her back, head, wings and traine doe mourne in fable,
No pleasant note she sings, as any heares,
But sounds forth accents fad and untunable,
Her flesh unfit to furnish any table,
And if in any's hand she chance to dye,
'Tis counted ominous I know not why.
60
In signe of her unnaturall cookery,
Within a smokie Chimney still she builds,
While I (with other Birds) abrod doe flye,
In pleasant woods, forrests, and fragrant fields:
My tune a comfort unto mankind yeelds.
When April comes, then Country milkmaids long
And strive to heare the Nightingales sweet song.
61
Yet still alone I love to sit and sing,
Delighted best in melancholy shade:
My Harmony doth make the woods to ring:
And by some learned Clerkes it hath been said,
That if a snake (whereof I am afraid)
Should me devoure, a Scorpions forme shee'l take
Which to prevent, I keepe my selfe awake.
62
Tereus was made a Lapwing, he doth cry
For his sonne
Jtis, as aloft he flyes,
Which words being reverst, doe signifie
'Tis I; who by one horrid enterprise,
Did cause such floods of mischiefe to arise:
My wife, her sister, and my owne deare child,
I have quite overthrone, oh monster vild!
63
Vpon his head a tuft of feathers grow,
A signe of Regall state, which he did wrong▪
And if you marke his nature, it doth shew
His sordid deeds, for he delights in dung:
He hath a bill exceeding sharp and long,
A figure of that knife (it seemes to be)
Wherewith he did cut out the tongue of me.
64
Thus all of us were rest of humane shape,
A just reward for our inhumane deeds:
All this was first occasion'd by the rape
Of
Philomel: Rape further mischiefe breeds,
The nature of these birds who-ever reads,
Shall finde so correspondent to my words,
That no vaine syllable my song affords.
65
When old
Pandion heard this tragicke newer,
You will not marvell if I say he wept,
All transitory joyes he did refuse,
And spent those houres wherein he should have slept,
In sobs and grones, which him awake still kept;
Ah miserable man, methinks I see
The character of
Priam now in thee.
66
Alas, saith he, you gods why are you so
Vnkind, to let me live against my will?
Why am I kept more misery to know?
More, said I: no, that cannot be; yes still,
To beare the burden of ones former ill
Addes every houre more horror to the heart,
Nothing but death can case my carefull smart.
67
I that within few yeeres was so inrich'd,
As no Prince could be more with daughters twaine,
Which at an instant both away are twitch'd
With Son in law, and grandchild; none remaine:
Why then doth time procrastinate my paine?
Ah
Philomel, thou and the little boy;
Above the rest procure my sad annoy.
68
VVretch that I was, why did I suffer thee
To goe with that capritious ravisher?
Had I at home detain'd thee still with mee,
Thou mightest have bin now safe; could I preferre
The sly perswasions of a flatterer
Before my care paternall over thee:
The world may say the greatest fault's in me.
69
No father, ile excuse thee: for no harme
Thou meant'st to mee, nor would'st have let me goe,
But I (as well as
Tereus) did thee charme,
VVith oyly words: lov'd my sister so,
And that fond love was cause of this my woe:
VVho would have thoght her husband could have bin
So impious to attempt that horrid sinne.
70
The aged Prince having with languishment
A little while inforcedly drawne breath,
His gray haires were to th'earth with sorrowes sent,
Never went man more willing to his death;
His living vertues wonne a Cypresse wreath:
And his true loving subjects with salt teares
VVatred his Sepulcher for many yeares.
71
The reason why the Poet sayes wee three,
I, and my sister, with her husband were,
Transformed into birds, was cause that we
Were all unworthy humane shapes to beare,
As by our deedes prodigious doth appeare:
The morall of the story is the chiefe,
As for the changing formes 'tis past beliefe.
72
Yet there's no doubt but I poore
Philomel,
Have nothing sung but what you may believe;
Birds seldome use any untruthes to tell,
If you'l not take my warrant I shall grieve;
Whether you doe or no let me perceive
That you all shun the vices mention'd in't,
Then ile rejoyce because my song's in print.
FINIS.