Classic Poem

And now, Eurynome had bath'd the King;
Smooth'd him with Oyles; and he himselfe attir'd
In vestures royall. Her part then inspir'd
The Goddesse Pallas ; deck't his head and face
With infinite beauties: gave a goodly grace
Of stature to him: a much plumper plight
Through all his body breath'd; Curles soft, and bright
Adorn'd his head withall, and made it show,
As if the flowry Hyacinth did grow
In all his pride there: In the generall trim
Of every locke, and every curious lim.
Looke how a skilfull Artizan, well seene
In all Arts Metalline; as having beene
Taught by Minerva , and the God of fire,
Doth Gold, with Silver mix so; that entire
They keepe their selfe distinction; and yet so,
That to the Silver, from the Gold, doth flow
A much more artificiall luster then his owne;
And thereby to the Gold it selfe is growne
A greater glory, then if wrought alone;
Both being stuck off, by either's mixtion:
So did Minerva , hers and his combine;
He more in Her, She more in Him did shine.
Like an Immortall from the Bath, he rose:
And to his wife did all his grace dispose,
Encountring this her strangenesse: Cruell Dame
Of all that breathe; the Gods past steele and flame
Have made thee ruthlesse: Life retaines not one
Of all Dames else, that beares so over-growne
A minde with abstinence; as twenty yeares
To misse her husband, drown'd in woes, and teares;
And at his comming, keepe aloofe; and fare
As of his so long absence, and his care,
No sense had seisd her. Go Nurse, make a bed,
That I alone may sleepe; her heart is dead
To all reflection. To him, thus replied
The wise Penelope : Man, halfe deified;
'Tis not my fashion to be taken streight
With bravest men: Nor poorest, use to sleight.
Your meane apparance made not me retire;
Nor this your rich shew makes me now admire,
Nor moves at all: For what is all to me,
If not my husband? All his certainty
I knew at parting; but (so long apart)
The outward likenesse holds no full desart
For me to trust to. Go Nurse, see addrest
A soft bed for him; and the single rest
Himselfe affects so. Let it be the bed,
That stands within our Bridal Chamber-sted,
Which he himself made: Bring it forth from thence,
And see it furnisht with magnificence.
This said she, to assay him; and did stir
Even his establisht patience; and to hir.
Whom thus he answerd: Woman! your words prove
My patience strangely: Who is it can move
My Bed out of his place? It shall oppresse
Earths greatest under-stander; and unlesse
Even God himselfe come, that can easely grace
Men in their most skils, it shall hold his place.
For Man: he lives not, that (as not most skill'd,
So not most yong) shall easely make it yield.
If (building on the strength in which he flowes)
He addes both Levers to, and Iron Crowes.
For, in the fixure of the Bed is showne
A Maister-peece; a wonder: and 'twas done
By me, and none but me: and thus was wrought;
There was an Olive tree, that had his grought
Amidst a hedge; and was of shadow, proud;
Fresh, and the prime age of his verdure show'd.
His leaves and armes so thicke, that to the eye
It shew'd a columne for solidity.
To this, had I a comprehension
To build my Bridall Bowre; which all of stone,
Thicke as the Tree of leaves, I raisde; and cast
A Roofe about it, nothing meanly grac'st;
Put glew'd doores to it, that op't Art enough.
Then, from the Olive every broad-leav'd bough
I lopt away: then fell'd the Tree, and then
Went over it, both with my Axe, and Plaine:
Both govern'd by my Line. And then, I hew'd
My curious Bed-sted out; in which, I shew'd
Worke of no commune hand. All this, begon,
I could not leave, till to perfection
My paines had brought it. Tooke my Wimble; bor'd
The holes, as fitted: and did last afford
The varied Ornament; which shew'd no want
Of Silver, Gold, and polisht Elephant.
An Oxe-hide Dide in purple then I threw
Above the cords. And thus, to curious view
I hope I have objected honest signe,
To prove, I author nought that is not mine:
But, if my bed stand unremov'd, or no,
O woman, passeth humane wit to know.
This sunk her knees and heart, to heare so true
The signes she urg'd; and first, did teares ensue
Her rapt assurance: Then she ran, and spread
Her armes about his necke; kist oft his head;
And thus the curious stay she made, excusde:
Ulysses ! Be not angry, that I usde
Such strange delays to this; since heretofore
Your suffering wisedome hath the Gyrland wore
From all that breath: and 'tis the Gods that thus
With mutuall misse, so long afflicting us,
Have causd my coynesse: To our youths, envied
That wisht society, that should have tied
Our youths and yeares together: and since now
Judgement and Duty should our age allow
As full joyes therein, as in youth and blood:
See all yong anger, and reproofe withstood,
For not at first sight giving up my armes:
My heart still trembling, lest the false alarmes
That words oft strike up, should ridiculize me.
Had Argive Hellen knowne credulity
Would bring such plagues with it; and her againe
(As aucthresse of them all) with that foule staine
To her, and to her country; she had staid
Her love and mixture from a strangers bed.
But God impell'd her to a shamelesse deede,
Because she had not in her selfe decreed
Before th'attempt; That such acts still were shent,
As simply in themselves, as in th'event.
By which, not onely she her selfe sustaines,
But we, for her fault, have paid mutuall paines.
Yet now; since these signes of our certaine bed
You have discover'd, and distinguished
From all earths others: No one man but you,
Yet ever getting of it th'onely show;
Nor one, of all Dames, but my selfe, and she
My Father gave; old Actors progenie:
(Who ever guarded to our selves the dore
Of that thick-shaded chamber) I no more
Will crosse your cleere perswasion: though, till now,
I stood too doubtfull, and austere to you.
These words of hers, so justifying her stay,
Did more desire of joyfull mone convay
To his glad minde; then if at instant sight,
She had allow'd him all his wishes right.
He wept for joy, t'enjoy a wife so fit
For his grave minde, that knew his depth of wit;
And held chaste vertue at a price so high.
And as sad men at Sea, when shore is nigh,
Which long their hearts have wisht (their ship quite lost
By Neptunes rigor; and they vext, and tost
Twixt winds and black waves, swimming for their lives;
A few escap't; and that few that survives
All drencht in fome, and brine) craule up to Land,
With joy as much as they did worlds command;
So deare, to this wife, was her husband's sight; [. . .]