Classic Poem

Strephon and Klaius

Strephon . Ye goat-herd gods, that love the grassy mountains,
Ye nymphs, which haunt the springs in pleasant valleys,
Ye satyrs, joyed with free and quiet forests,
Vouchsafe your silent ears to plaining music
Which to my woes gives still an early morning,
And draws the dolour on till weary evening.

Klaius . O Mercury , foregoer to the evening,
O heav'nly huntress of the savage mountains,
O lovely star, entitled of the morning,
While that my voice doth fill these woeful valleys,
Vouchsafe your silent ears to plaining music,
Which oft hath Echo tired in secret forests.

Strephon . I that was once free burgess of the forests,
Where shade from sun, and sport I sought in evening,
I that was once esteemed for pleasant music,
Am banished now among the monstrous mountains
Of huge despair, and foul affliction's valleys,
Am grown a screech-owl to myself each morning.

Klaius . I that was once delighted every morning,
Hunting the wild inhabiters of forests,
I that was once the music of these valleys,
So darkened am that all my day is evening,
Heart-broken so, that molehills seem high mountains,
And fill the vales with cries instead of music.

Strephon . Long since, alas, my deadly swannish music
Hath made itself a crier of the morning,
And hath with wailing strength climbed highest mountains;
Long since my thoughts more desert be than forests;
Long since I see my joys come to their evening,
And state thrown down to over-trodden valleys.

Klaius . Long since the happy dwellers of these valleys
Have prayed me leave my strange exclaiming music,
Which troubles their day's work, and joys of evening;
Long since I hate the night, more hate the morning;
Long since my thoughts chase me like beasts in forests,
And make me wish myself laid under mountains.

Strephon . Meseems I see the high and stately mountains
Transform themselves to low dejected valleys;
Meseems I hear in these ill-changed forests
The nightingales do learn of owls their music;
Meseems I feel the comfort of the morning
Turned to the mortal serene of an evening.

Klaius . Meseems I see a filthy cloudy evening
As soon as sun begins to climb the mountains;
Meseems I feel a noisome scent the morning
When I do smell the flowers of these valleys;
Meseems I hear (when I do hear sweet music)
The dreadful cries of murdered men in forests.

Strephon . I wish to fire the trees of all these forests;
I give the sun a last farewell each evening;
I curse the fiddling finders-out of music;
With envy I do hate the lofty mountains,
And with despite despise the humble valleys;
I do detest night, evening, day, and morning.

Klaius . Curse to myself my prayer is, the morning;
My fire is more than can be made with forests;
My state more base than are the basest valleys;
I wish no evenings more to see, each evening;
Shamed, I hate myself in sight of mountains,
And stop mine ears lest I grow mad with music.

Strephon . For she, whose parts maintained a perfect music,
Whose beauties shined more than the blushing morning,
Who much did pass in state the stately mountains,
In straightness passed the cedars of the forests,
Hath cast me, wretch, into eternal evening,
By taking her two suns from these dark valleys.

Klaius . For she, with whom compared the Alps are valleys,
She, whose least word brings from the spheres their music,
At whose approach the sun rase in the evening,
Who, where she went, bare in her forehead morning,
Is gone, is gone from these our spoiled forests,
Turning to deserts our best pastured mountains.

Strephon . These mountains witness shall, so shall these valleys,

Klaius . These forests eke, made wretched by our music,
Our morning hymn this is, and song at evening.

Strephon and Klaius

Strephon . I joy in grief, and do detest all joys;
Despise delight, am tired with thought of ease.
I turn my mind to all forms of annoys,
And with the change of them my fancy please.
I study that which most may me displease,
And in despite of that displeasure's might
Embrace that most that most my soul destroys;
Blinded with beams, fell darkness is my sight;
Dwell in my ruins, feed with sucking smart,
I think from me, not from my woes, to part,

Klaius . I think from me, not from my woes, to part,
And loathe this time called life, nay think that life
Nature to me for torment did impart;
Think my hard haps have blunted death's sharp knife,
Not sparing me in whom his works be rife;
And thinking this, think Nature, life, and death
Place sorrow's triumph on my conquered heart;
Whereto I yield, and seek no other breath
But from the scent of some infectious grave;
Nor of my fortune aught but mischief crave.

Strephon . Nor of my fortune aught but mischief crave,
And seek to nourish that which now contains
All what I am. If I myself will save,
Then must I save what in me chiefly reigns,
Which is the hateful web of sorrow's pains
Sorrow then cherish me, for I am sorrow;
No being now but sorrow I can have;
Then deck me as thine own; thy help I borrow,
Since thou my riches art, and that thou hast
Enough to make a fertile mind lie waste.

Klaius . Enough to make a fertile mind lie waste
Is that huge storm which pours itself on me:
Hailstones of tears, of sighs a monstrous blast,
Thunders of cries; lightnings my wild looks be,
The darkened heav'n my soul which naught can see;
The flying sprites which trees by roots up tear
Be those despairs which have my hopes quite waste.
The difference is: all folks those storms forbear,
But I cannot; who then myself should fly,
So close unto myself my wracks do lie

Strephon . So close unto myself my wracks do lie;
Both cause, effect, beginning, and the end
Are all in me: what help then can I try?
My ship, myself, whose course to love doth bend,
Sore beaten doth her mast of comfort spend;
Her cable, reason, breaks from anchor, hope;
Fancy, her tackling, torn away doth fly;
Ruin, the wind, hath blown her from her scope;
Bruised with waves of care, but broken is
On rock, despair, the burial of my bliss.

Klaius . On rock, despair, the burial of my bliss,
I long do plough with plough of deep desire;
The seed fast-meaning is, no truth to miss;
I harrow it with thoughts, which all conspire
Favour to make my chief and only hire.
But, woe is me, the year is gone about,
And now I fain would reap, I reap but this,
Hate fully grown, absence new sprongen out;
So that I see, although my sight impair,
Vain is their pain who labour in despair.

Strephon . Vain is their pain who labour in despair,
For so did I when with my angle, will,
I sought to catch the fish torpedo fair.
E'en then despair did hope already kill;
Yet fancy would perforce employ his skill,
And this hath got: the catcher now is caught,
Lamed with the angle which itself did bear,
And unto death, quite drowned in dolours, brought
To death, as then disguised in her fair face.
Thus, thus alas, I had my loss in chase.

Klaius . Thus, thus alas, I had my loss in chase
When first that crowned basilisk I knew,
Whose footsteps I with kisses oft did trace,
Till by such hap as I must ever rue
Mine eyes did light upon her shining hue,
And hers on me, astonished with that sight.
Since then my heart did lose his wonted place,
Infected so with her sweet poison's might
That, leaving me for dead, to her it went
But ah, her flight hath my dead relics spent.

Strephon . But ah, her flight hath my dead relics spent,
Her flight from me, from me, though dead to me,
Yet living still in her, while her beams lent
Such vital spark that her mine eyes might see
But now those living lights absented be,
Full dead before, I now to dust should fall,
But that eternal pains my soul have hent,
And keep it still within this body thrall;
That thus I must, while in this death I dwell,
In earthly fetters feel a lasting hell.

Klaius . In earthly fetters feel a lasting hell
Alas I do; from which to find release
I would the earth, I would the heavens sell.
But vain it is to think those pains should cease,
Where life is death, and death cannot breed peace.
O fair, O only fair, from thee, alas,
These foul, most foul, disasters to me fell;
Since thou from me (O me) O sun didst pass.
Therefore esteeming all good blessings toys,
I joy in grief, and do detest all joys.

Strephon . I joy in grief, and do detest all joys.
But now an end, O Klaius , now an end,
For e'en the herbs our hateful music 'stroys,
And from our burning breath the trees do bend.

Philisides

Now was our heav'nly vault deprived of the light,
With sun's depart; and now the darkness of the night
Did light those beamy stars which greater light did dark;
Now each thing which enjoyed that fiery quick'ning spark
(Which life is called) were moved their spirits to repose,
And wanting use of eyes, their eyes began to close.
A silence sweet each where with one concent embraced
(A music sweet to one in careful musing placed);
And mother earth, now clad in mourning weeds, did breathe
A dull desire to kiss the image of our death;
When I, disgraced wretch, not wretched then, did give
My senses such release as they which quiet live,
Whose brains boil not in woes, nor breasts with beatings ache,
With Nature's praise are wont in safest home to take.
Far from my thoughts was aught whereto their minds aspire
Who under courtly pomps do hatch a base desire.
Free all my powers were from those captiving snares
Which heav'nly purest gifts defile in muddy cares.
Ne could my soul itself accuse of such a fault
As tender conscience might with furious pangs assault.
But like the feeble flow'r (whose stalk cannot sustain
His weighty top) his top doth downward drooping lean;
Or as the silly bird in well-acquainted nest
Doth hide his head with cares but only how to rest;
So I in simple course, and unentangled mind,
Did suffer drowsy lids mine eyes, then clear, to blind;
And laying down my head, did Nature's rule observe,
Which senses up doth shut the senses to preserve.
They first their use forgot; then fancies lost their force,
Till deadly sleep at length possessed my living corse.
A living corse I lay; but ah, my wakeful mind
(Which, made of heav'nly stuff, no mortal change doth bind)
Flew up with freer wings, of fleshly bondage free;
And having placed my thoughts, my thoughts thus placed me:
Methought, nay sure I was, I was in fairest wood
Of Samothea land; a land which whilom stood
An honour to the world, while honour was their end,
And while their line of years they did in virtue spend.
But there I was, and there my calmy thoughts I fed
On Nature's sweet repast, as healthful senses led.
Her gifts my study was; her beauties were my sport;
My work her works to know; her dwelling my resort.
Those lamps of heav'nly fire to fixed motion bound,
The ever-turning spheres, the never-moving ground;
What essence dest'ny hath; if fortune be or no;
Whence our immortal souls to mortal earth do flow;
What life it is, and how that all these lives do gather
With outward maker's force, or like an inward father:
Such thoughts, methought, I thought, and strained my single mind,
Then void of nearer cares, the depth of things to find
When lo, with hugest noise (such noise a tower makes
When it blown up with mine a fall of ruin takes;
Or such a noise it was as highest thunders send,
Or cannons, thunder-like, all shot together lend),
The moon asunder rent (O gods, O pardon me,
That forced with grief reveals what grieved eyes did see),
The moon asunder rent; whereat with sudden fall
(More swift than falcon's stoop to feeding falconer's call)
There came a chariot fair by doves and sparrows guided,
Whose storm-like course stayed not till hard by me it bided.
I, wretch, astonished was, and thought the deathful doom
Of heav'n, of earth, of hell, of time and place was come.
But straight there issued forth two ladies (ladies sure
They seemed to me) on whom did wait a virgin pure.
Strange were the ladies' weeds, yet more unfit than strange:
The first with clothes tucked up, as nymphs in woods do range,
Tucked up e'en with the knees, with bow and arrows prest;
Her right arm naked was, discovered was her breast;
But heavy was her pace, and such a meagre cheer
As little hunting mind (God knows) did there appear.
The other had with art (more than our women know,
As stuff meant for the sale set out to glaring show)
A wanton woman's face, and with curled knots had twined
Her hair which, by the help of painter's cunning, shined.
When I such guests did see come out of such a house,
The mountains great with child I thought brought forth a mouse
But walking forth, the first thus to the second said,
" Venus , come on." Said she, " Diane , you are obeyed."
Those names abashed me much, when those great names I heard;
Although their fame (meseemed) from truth had greatly jarred.
As I thus musing stood, Diana called to her
Her waiting nymph, a nymph that did excel as far
All things that erst I saw, as orient pearls exceed
That which their mother hight, or else their silly seed;
Indeed a perfect hue, indeed a sweet concent
Of all those graces' gifts the heav'ns have ever lent.
And so she was attired, as one that did not prize
Too much her peerless parts, nor yet could them despise.
But called, she came apace; a pace wherein did move
The band of beauties all, the little world of love;
And bending humbled eyes (O eyes, the sun of sight)
She waited mistress' will, who thus disclosed her sprite:
" Sweet Mira mine," quoth she, " the pleasure of my mind,
In whom of all my rules the perfect proof I find,
To only thee thou seest we grant this special grace
Us to attend, in this most private time and place
Be silent therefore now, and so be silent still.
Of what thou seest; close up in secret knot thy will."
She answered was with look, and well-performed behest;
And Mira I admired; her shape sank in my breast
But thus with ireful eyes, and face that shook with spite,
Diana did begin: " What moved me to invite
Your presence, sister dear, first to my moony sphere,
And hither now, vouchsafe to take with willing ear.
I know full well you know what discord long hath reigned
Betwixt us two; how much that discord foul hath stained
Both our estates, while each the other did deprave;
Proof speaks too much to us, that feeling trial have.
Our names are quite forgot, our temples are defaced,
Our off'rings spoiled, our priests from priesthood are displaced.
Is this thy fruit, O strife? Those thousand churches high,
Those thousand altars fair, now in the dust to lie?
In mortal minds our minds but planets' names preserve;
No knee once bowed, forsooth, for them they say we serve
Are we their servants grown? No doubt a noble stay:
Celestial pow'rs to worms, Jove 's children serve to clay.
But such they say we be: this praise our discord bred,
While we for mutual spite a striving passion fed
But let us wiser be; and what foul discord brake,
So much more strong again let fastest concord make
Our years do it require; you see we both do feel
The weak'ning work of time's for ever whirling wheel.
Although we be divine, our grandsire Saturn is
With age's force decayed, yet once the heav'n was his.
And now, before we seek by wise Apollo 's skill
Our young years to renew (for so he saith he will),
Let us a perfect peace betwixt us two resolve;
Which, lest the ruinous want of government dissolve,
Let one the princess be, to her the other yield;
For vain equality is but contention's field
And let her have the gifts that should in both remain:
In her let beauty both and chasteness fully reign;
So as, if I prevail, you give your gifts to me;
If you, on you I lay what in my office be
Now resteth only this: which of us two is she
To whom precedence shall of both accorded be?
For that (so that you like) hereby doth lie a youth,"
(She beckoned unto me), " as yet of spotless truth,
Who may this doubt discern; for better wit than lot
Becometh us; in us fortune determines not.
This crown of amber fair," (an amber crown she held),
" To worthiest let him give when both he hath beheld,
And be it as he saith." Venus was glad to hear
Such proffer made, which she well showed with smiling cheer,
As though she were the same as when, by Paris ' doom,
She had chief goddesses in beauty overcome,
And smirkly thus gan say: " I never sought debate,
Diana dear; my mind to love and not to hate
Was ever apt; but you my pastimes did despise
I never spited you, but thought you over-wise.
Now kindness proffered is, none kinder is than I;
And so most ready am this mean of peace to try
And let him be our judge: the lad doth please me well."
Thus both did come to me, and both began to tell
(For both together spake, each loath to be behind)
That they by solemn oath their deities would bind
To stand unto my will; their will they made me know
I, that was first aghast when first I saw their show,
Now bolder waxed, waxed proud that I such sway might bear;
For near acquaintance doth diminish reverent fear.
And having bound them fast by Styx they should obey
To all what I decreed, did thus my verdict say:
" How ill both you can rule, well hath your discord taught;
Ne yet, for what I see, your beauties merit aught
To yonder nymph, therefore," (to Mira I did point),
" The crown above you both for ever I appoint."
I would have spoken out, but out they both did cry:
" Fie, fie, what have we done? Ungodly rebel, fie!
But now we must needs yield to what our oaths require."
" Yet thou shalt not go free," quoth Venus ; " such a fire
Her beauty kindle shall within thy foolish mind
That thou full oft shalt wish thy judging eyes were blind."
" Nay then," Diana said, " the chasteness I will give
In ashes of despair, though burnt, shall make thee live."
" Nay thou," said both, " shalt see such beams shine in her face
That thou shalt never dare seek help of wretched case."
And with that cursed curse away to heav'n they fled,
First having all their gifts upon fair Mira spread.
The rest I cannot tell, for therewithal I waked
And found with deadly fear that all my sinews shaked.
Was it a dream? O dream, how hast thou wrought in me
That I things erst unseen should first in dreaming see?
And thou, O traitor sleep, made for to be our rest,
How hast thou framed the pain wherewith I am oppressed?
O coward Cupid , thus dost thou thy honour keep,
Unarmed, alas unwarned, to take a man asleep?

Philisides

Unto the caitiff wretch whom long affliction holdeth,
and now fully believes help to be quite perished,
Grant yet, grant yet a look, to the last monument of his anguish,
O you (alas so I find) cause of his only ruin.
Dread not a whit (O goodly cruel) that pity may enter
into thy heart by the sight of this epistle I send;
And so refuse to behold of these strange wounds the recital,
lest it might thee allure home to thyself to return
(Unto thyself I do mean, those graces dwell so within thee,
gratefulness, sweetness, holy love, hearty regard)
Such thing cannot I seek (despair hath giv'n me my answer,
despair most tragical clause to a deadly request);
Such thing cannot he hope that knows thy determinate hardness;
hard like a rich marble; hard, but a fair diamond.
Can those eyes, that of eyes drowned in most hearty flowing tears
(tears, and tears of a man) had no return to remorse;
Can those eyes now yield to the kind conceit of a sorrow,
which ink only relates, but ne laments ne replies?
Ah, that, that do I not conceive, though that to me lief were
more than Nestor 's years, more than a king's diadem.
Ah, that, that do I not conceive; to the heaven when a mouse climbs
then may I hope t'achieve grace of a heavenly tiger.
But, but alas, like a man condemned doth crave to be heard speak,
not that he hopes for amends of the disaster he feels,
But finding th' approach of death with an inly relenting,
gives an adieu to the world, as to his only delight;
Right so my boiling heart, inflamed with fire of a fair eye,
bubbling out doth breathe signs of his hugy dolours,
Now that he finds to what end his life and love be reserved,
and that he thence must part where to live only I lived.
O fair, O fairest, are such the triumphs to thy fairness?
Can death beauty become? Must I be such a monument?
Must I be only the mark shall prove that virtue is angry?
Shall prove that fierceness can with a white dove abide?
Shall to the world appear that faith and love be rewarded
with mortal disdain, bent to unendly revenge?
Unto revenge? O sweet, on a wretch wilt thou be revenged?
Shall such high planets tend to the loss of a worm?
And to revenge who do bend would in that kind be revenged
as th'offence was done, and go beyond if he can
All my offence was love; with love then must I be chastened,
and with more, by the laws that to revenge do belong.
If that love be a fault, more fault in you to be lovely;
love never had me oppressed, but that I saw to be loved.
You be the cause that I love; what reason blameth a shadow
that with a body't goes, since by a body it is?
If the love hate you did, you should your beauty have hidden;
you should those fair eyes have with a veil covered
But fool, fool that I am, those eyes would shine from a dark cave;
what veils then do prevail, but to a more miracle?
Or those golden locks (those locks which lock me to bondage)
torn you should disperse unto the blasts of a wind.
But fool, fool that I am, though I had but a hair of her head found,
e'en as I am, so I should unto that hair be a thrall.
Or with a fair hand's nails (O hand which nails me to this death)
you should have your face (since love is ill) blemished.
O wretch, what do I say? Should that fair face be defaced?
Should my too much sight cause so true a sun to be lost?
First let Cimmerian darkness be my onl'habitation,
first be mine eyes pulled out, first be my brain perished,
Ere that I should consent to do such excessive a damage
unto the earth by the hurt of this her heavenly jewel.
O not but such love you say you could have afforded,
as might learn temp'rance void of a rage's events.
O sweet simplicity, from whence should love be so learned?
Unto Cupid , that boy, shall a pedant be found?
Well, but faulty I was; reason to my passion yielded,
passion unto my rage, rage to a hasty revenge.
But what's this for a fault, for which such faith be abolished,
such faith, so stainless, inviolate, violent?
Shall I not? O may I not thus yet refresh the remembrance
what sweet joys I had once, and what a place I did hold?
Shall I not once object that you, you granted a favour
unto the man whom now such miseries you award?
Bend your thoughts to the dear sweet words which then to me giv'n were;
think what a world is now, think who hath altered her heart.
What? Was I then worthy such good, now worthy so much ill?
Now fled, then cherished? Then so nigh, now so remote?
Did not a rosed breath, from lips more rosy proceeding,
say that I well should find in what a care I was had?
With much more: now what do I find but care to abhor me,
care that I sink in grief, care that I live banished?
And banished do I live, nor now will seek a recov'ry,
since so she will, whose will is to me more than a law.
If then a man in most ill case may give you a farewell:
farewell, long farewell, all my woe, all my delight.