Classic Poem

PLANGUS .

Alas, how long this pilgrimage doth last!
What greater ills haue now the heauens in store,
To couple comming harmes with sorowes past!
Long since my voice is hoarce and throte is sore
With cries to skies and curses to the ground;
But more I plaine, I feele my woes the more.
Ah, where was first that cruell cunning found,
To frame of earth a vessell of the minde,
Where it should be to selfe-destruction bound?
What needed so high sprites such mansions blind?
Or, wrapt in flesh, what doe they here obtaine
But glorious name of wretched humaine-kinde?
Balles to the starres, and thralles to Fortune's raign,
Turnd from themselues, infected with their cage,
Where death is feard, and life is held with paine.
Like Players, pla'st to fill a filthy stage,
Where change of thoughts one foole to other shewes,
And all but iests, saue onely Sorrowe's rage
The child feeles that, the man that feeling knowes,
Which cries first borne, — the presage of his life,
Where wit but serues to haue true taste of woes,
A shop of shame, a booke where blots be rife,
This bodie is; this bodie so compos'd,
As in it selfe to nourish mortall strife:
So diuers be the elements dispos'd
In this weake worke, that it can neuer bee
Made vniforme to any state repos'd.
Griefe onely makes his wretched state to see
(Euen like a toppe, which nought but whipping moues)
This man, this talking beast, this walking tree
Griefe is the stone which finest iudgement proues;
For who grieues not hath but a blockish braine,
Since cause of griefe no cause from life remoues.

BASILIUS .

How long wilt thou with mournefull musicke staine
The cheerefull notes these pleasant places yeeld,
Where all good haps a perfect state maintaine?

PLANGUS .

Curst be good haps, and curst be they that build
Their hopes on haps, and do not make despaire
For all these certaine blowes the surest shield
Shall I, that saw Eronae's shining haire
Torne with her hands, and those same hands of snow
With losse of purest bloud themselues to teare?
Shall I, that saw those brests where beauties flow,
Swelling with sighes, made pale with minde's disease,
And saw those eyes (those sunnes) such showers to show?
Shall I, whose eares her mournefull words did seaze, —
Her words in syrup laid of sweetest breath, —
Relent those thoughts which then did so displease?
No, no; Despaire my daily lesson saith,
And saith, although I seeke my life to flie,
Plangus must liue to see Eronae's death.
Plangus must liue some helpe for her to trie.
(Though in despaire), for loue so forceth me.
Plangus doth liue, — and shall Erona die?
Erona dy! O heauen (if heauen there be),
Hath all thy whirling course so small effect?
Serue all thy starrie eyes this shame to see?
Let dolts, in haste, some altars faire erect
To those high powers which idly sit aboue,
And vertue doe in greatest need neglect.

BASILUS .

O man, take heed how thou the Gods doe moue
To cause-full wrath, which thou canst not resist:
Blasphemous words the speaker vaine do proue.
Alas, while we are wrapt in foggie mist
Of our selfe-loue (so passions do deceiue),
We thinke they hurt, when most they doe assist
To harme vs wormes, should that high Iustice leaue
His nature, nay, Himselfe? for so it is:
What glory from our losse can He receaue?
But still our dazeled eyes their way do misse,
While that we do at His sweete scourge repine, —
The kindly way to beate vs on to blisse.
If she must dye, then hath she past the line
Of lothsome dayes, whose losse how canst thou mone,
That dost so well their miseries define?
But such we are, with inward tempest blowne
Of windes quite contrarie, in waues of will;
We mone that lost, which had, we did bemone.

PLANGUS .

And shall she dye? shall cruell fier spill
Those beames that set so many harts on fire?
Hath she not force euen Death with loue to kill?
Nay, euen cold Death, enflam'd with hot desire
Her to enioy where ioy it selfe is thrall,
Will spoyle the earth of his most rich attire.
Thus Death becomes a riuall to vs all,
And hopes with foule embracements her to get,
In whose decay Vertue's faire shrine must fall.
O Vertue weake, shall Death his triumph set
Vpon thy spoiles, which neuer should lye waste?
Let Death first dy; be thou his worthy let.
By what eclipse shall that sunne be defaste?
What mine hath erst thrown down so faire a tower?
What sacriledge hath such a saint disgraste?
The world the garden is, she is the flower
That sweetens all the place; she is the guest
Of rarest price, both heauen and earth her bower
And shall (O me!) all this in ashes rest?
Alas, if you a phaenix new will haue
Burnt by the sunne, she first must build her nest:
But well you know the gentle sunne would saue
Such beames so like his owne, which might haue might
In him the thoughts of Phaeton's damme to graue.
Therefore, alas, you vse vile Vulcan's spight,
Which nothing spares, to melt that virgin-waxe,
Which while it is, it is all Asia's light.
O Mars, for what doth serue thy armed axe,
To let that witold beast consume in flames
Thy Venus' childe, whose beautie Venus lacks?
O Venus (if her praise no enuy frames
In thy high minde), get her thy husband's grace;
Sweet speaking oft a currish heart reclaimes.
O eyes of mine, where once she saw her face, —
Her face which was more liuely in my hart;
O braine, where thought of her hath onely place;
O hand, which toucht her hand when we did part;
O lips, that kist that hand with my teares sprent;
O toung, then dumbe, not daring tell my smart;
O soule, whose loue in her is onely spent,
What ere you see, think, touch, kisse, speake, or loue,
Let all for her and vnto her be bent.

BASILIUS .

Thy wailing words do much my spirits moue;
They vttered are in such a feeling fashion,
That Sorrowe's worke against my will I proue.
Me-thinkes I am partaker of thy passion,
And in thy case do glasse mine owne debilitie;
Selfe-guiltie folke most prone to feele compassion.
Yet reason saith, Reason should haue abilitie
To hold these worldly things in such proportion
As let them come or go with euen facilitie:
But our desires' tyrannicall extortion
Doth force vs there to set our chiefe delightfulnesse
Where but a baiting-place is all our portion.
But still, although we faile of perfect rightfulnes,
Seeke we to tame these childish superfluities:
Let vs not winke though voide of purest sightfulnesse.
For what can breed more peeuish incongruities,
Then man to yeeld to female lamentations?
Let us some grammar learne of more congruities.

PLANGUS .

If through mine eares pierce any consolation[s]
By wise discourse, sweet tunes, or poets' fiction;
If ought I cease these hideous exclamations,
While that my soule, she, she liues in affliction;
Then let my life long time on earth maintained be,
To wretched me the last worse malediction.
Can I, that knew her sacred parts, restrained be
From any ioy? know Fortune's vile displacing her? —
In morall rules let raging woes contained be!
Can I forget, when they in prison placing her,
With swelling heart in spite and due disdainfulnesse.
She lay for dead, till I helpt with vnlacing her:
Can I forget from how much mourning plainfulnesse
With diamond in window-glasse she graued, —
" Erona dye! and end this ougly painefulnesse"?
Can I forget in how strange phrase she craued
That quickly they would her burne, drowne, or smother,
As if by death she onely might be saued?
Then let me eke forget one hand from other;
Let me forget that Plangus I am called;
Let me forget I am sonne to my mother:
But if my memory must thus be thralled
To that strange stroke which conquer'd all my senses,
Can thoughts still thinking, so rest vnappalled?

BASILIUS .

Who still doth seeke against himselfe offences,
What pardon can auaile? or who imployes him
To hurt himselfe, what shields can be defences?
Woe to poore man: each outward thing annoyes him
In diuers kinds, yet as he were not filled,
He heapes in outward griefe, that most destroyes him.
Thus is our thought with paine for thistles tilled;
Thus be our noblest parts dryed vp with sorrow;
Thus is our minde with too much minding spilled
One day layes vp stuffe of griefe for the morrow,
And whose good haps do leaue him vnprouided,
Condoling cause of friendship he will borrow:
Betwixt the good and shade of good diuided,
We pittie deeme that which but weakenes is;
So are we from our high creation slided.
But, Plangus, lest I may your sicknesse misse,
Or rubbing hurt the sore, I here doe end:
The asse did hurt when he did thinke to kisse.