Love's Accusation at the Judgement Seat
of Reason; wherein the Author's whole
success in his love is covertly
deciphered.

[Compare this, with Gascoigne's poem, Vol. I. p. 63.]

I
N Reason's Court, myself being Plaintiff there,
Love was, by process, summoned to appear.
That so the wrongs, which he had done to me,
Might be made known; and all the world might see:
And seeing, rue what to my cost I proved;
While faithful, but unfortunate I loved.
 
 
After I had obtainèd audience;
I thus began to give in evidence.
[The Author's Evidence against Love.]
"Most sacred Queen! and Sovereign of man's heart!
Which of the mind dost rule the better part!
First bred in heaven, and from thence, hither sent
To guide men's actions by thy regiment!
Vouchsafe a while to hear the sad complaint
Of him that Love hath long kept in restraint;
And, as to you it properly belongs,
Grant justice of my undeservèd wrongs!
It's now two years, as I remember well,
Since first this wretch, (sent from the nether hell,
To plague the world with new-found cruelties),
Under the shadow of two crystal Eyes,
Betrayed my Sense; and, as I slumbering lay,
Feloniously conveyed my heart away;
Which most unjustly he detained from me,
And exercised thereon strange tyranny.
Sometime his manner was, in sport and game,
With briars and thorns, to raze and prick the same;
Sometime with nettles of Desire to sting it;
Sometime with pincons[11] of Despair to wring it;
Sometime again, he would anoint the sore,
And heal the place that he had hurt before:
But hurtful helps! and ministered in vain!
Which servèd only to renew my pain.
For, after that, more wounds he added still,
Which piercèd deep, but had no power to kill.
Unhappy medicine! which, instead of cure,
Gives strength to make the patient more endure!
But that which was most strange of all the rest
(Myself being thus 'twixt life and death distrest),
Ofttimes, when as my pain exceeded measure,
He would persuade me that the same was pleasure;
My solemn sadness, but contentment meet;
My travail, rest; and all my sour, sweet;
My wounds, but gentle strokes: whereat he smiled,
And by these slights, my careless youth beguiled.
Thus did I fare, as one that living died,
(For greater pains, I think, hath no man tried)
Disquiet thoughts, like furies in my breast
Nourished the poison that my spirits possesst.
Now Grief, then Joy; now War, then Peace unstable,
Nought sure I had, but to be miserable.
I cannot utter all, I must confess.
Men may conceive more than they can express!
But (to be short), which cannot be excused,
With vain illusions, Love, my hope abused;
Persuading me I stood upon firm ground
When, unawares, myself on sands I found.
This is the point which most I do enforce!
That Love, without all pity or remorse,
Did suffer me to languish still in grief
Void of contentment, succour, or relief:
And when I looked my pains should be rewarded,
I did perceive, that they were nought regarded.
For why? Alas, these hapless eyes did see
Alcilia loved another more than me!
So in the end, when I expected most;
My hope, my love, and fortune thus were crost."
Proceeding further, Reason bad me stay
For the Defendant had some thing to say.
Then to the Judge, for justice, loud I cried!
And so I pausèd: and Love thus replied.
[Love's Reply to the Author.]
"Since Reason ought to lend indifferent ears
Unto both parties, and judge as truth appears;
Most gracious Lady! give me leave to speak,
And answer his Complaint, that seeks to wreak
His spite and malice on me, without cause;
In charging me to have transgressed thy laws!
Of all his follies, he imputes the blame
To me, poor Love! that nought deserves the same.
Himself it is, that hath abusèd me!
As by mine answer, shall well proved be.
Fond youth! thou knowest what I for thee effected!
Though, now, I find it little be respected.
I purged thy wit, which was before but gross.
The metal pure, I severed from the dross,
And did inspire thee with my sweetest fire
That kindled in thee Courage and Desire:
Not like unto those servile Passions
Which cumber men's imaginations
With Avarice, Ambition, and Vainglory;
Desire of things fleeting and transitory.
No base conceit, but such as Powers above
Have known and felt, I mean, th' Instinct of Love;
Which making men, all earthly things despise,
Transports them to a heavenly paradise.
Where thou complain'st of sorrows in thy heart,
Who lives on earth but therein hath his part?
Are these thy fruits? Are these thy best rewards
For all the pleasing glances, sly regards,
The sweet stol'n kisses, amorous conceits,
So many smiles, so many fair intreats,
Such kindness as Alcilia did bestow
All for my sake! as well thyself dost know?
That Love should thus be used, it is hateful!
But 'all is lost, that's done for one ungrateful.'
Where he allegeth that he was abusèd
In that he truly loving, was refusèd:
That's most untrue! and plainly may be tried.
Who never asked, could never be denied!
But he affected rather single life,
Than yoke of marriage, matching with a wife.
And most men, now, make love to none but heires[ses]
Poor love! GOD wot! that poverty empairs.
Worldly respects, Love little doth regard.
'Who loves, hath only love for his reward!'
The description of a foolhardy Lover.
He merits a lover's name, indeed!
That casts no doubts, which vain suspicion breed:
But desperately at hazard, throws the dice,
Neglecting due regard of friends' advice;
That wrestles with his fortune and his fate,
Which had ordained to better his estate;
That hath no care of wealth, no fear of lack,
But ventures forward, though he see his wrack;
That with Hope's wings, like Icarus doth fly,
Though for his rashness, he like fortune try;
That, to his fame, the world of him may tell
How, while he soared aloft, adown he fell.
And so True Love awarded him his doom
In scaling heaven, to have made the sea his tomb;
That making shipwreck of his dearest fame,
Betrays himself to poverty and shame;
That hath no sense of sorrow, or repent,
No dread of perils far or imminent;
But doth prefer before all pomp or pelf,
The sweet of love as dearer than himself.
Who, were his passage stopped by sword and fire,
Would make way through, to compass his Desire.
For which he would (though heaven and earth forbad it)
Hazard to lose a kingdom, if he had it.
These be the things wherein I glory most,
Whereof, this my Accuser cannot boast:
Who was indifferent to his loss or gain;
And better pleased to fail, than to obtain.
All qualified affections, Love doth hate!
And likes him best that's most intemperate.
But hence, proceeds his malice and despite;
While he himself bars of his own delight.
For when as he, Alcilia first affected,
(Like one in show, that love little respected)
He masqued, disguised, and entertained his thought
With hope of that, which he in secret sought;
And still forbare to utter his desire,
Till his delay receive her worthy hire.
And well we know, what maids themselves would have,
Men must sue for, and by petition crave.
But he regarding more his Wealth, than Will;
Hath little care his Fancy to fulfil.
Yet when he saw Alcilia loved another;
The secret fire, which in his breast did smother,
Began to smoke, and soon had proved a flame:
If Temperance had not allayed the same.
Which, afterward, so quenched he did not find
But that some sparks remainèd still behind.
Thus, when time served, he did refuse to crave it;
And yet envied another man should have it!
As though, fair maids should wait, at young men's pleasure,
Whilst they, 'twixt sport and earnest, love at leisure.
Nay, at the first! when it is kindly proffered!
Maids must accept; least twice, it be not offered!
Else though their beauty seem their good t'importune,
Yet may they lose the better of their fortune.
Thus, as this Fondling coldly went about it;
So in the end, he clearly went without it.
For while he, doubtful, seemed to make a stay,
A Mongrel stole the maiden's heart away;
For which, though he lamented much in shew,
Yet was he, inward, glad it fell out so.
Now, Reason! you may plainly judge by this,
Not I, but he, the false dissembler is:
Who, while fond hope his lukewarm love did feed,
Made sign of more than he sustained indeed:
And filled his rhymes with fables and with lies,
Which, without Passion, he did oft devise;
So to delude the ignorance of such
That pitied him, thinking he loved too much.
And with conceit, rather to shew his Wit,
Than manifest his faithful Love by it.
Much more than this, could I lay to his charge;
But time would fail to open all at large.
Let this suffice to prove his bad intent,
And prove that Love is clear and innocent."
Thus, at the length, though late, he made an end,
And both of us did earnestly, attend
The final judgement, Reason should award:
When thus she 'gan to speak. "With due regard,
The matter hath been heard, on either side.
For judgement, you must longer time abide!
The cause is weighty, and of great import."
And so she, smiling, did adjourn the Court.
Little availed it, then, to argue more;
So I returned in worse case than before.

Love Deciphered.

L
Ove and I are now divided,
Conceit, by Error, was misguided.
Alcilia hath my love despised!
"No man loves, that is advised."
"Time at length, hath Truth detected."
Love hath missed what he expected.
Yet missing that, which long he sought;
I have found that, I little thought.
"Errors, in time, may be redrest,"
"The shortest follies are the best."
Love and Youth are now asunder;
Reason's glory, Nature's wonder.
My thoughts, long bound, are now enlarged;
My Folly's penance is discharged:
Thus Time hath altered my estate.
"Repentance never comes too late."
Ah, well I find that Love is nought
But folly, and an idle thought.
The difference is 'twixt Love and me,
That he is blind, and I can see.
Love is honey mixed with gall!
A thraldom free, a freedom thrall!
A bitter sweet, a pleasant sour!
Got in a year, lost in an hour!
A peaceful war, a warlike peace!
Whose wealth brings want; whose want, increase!
Full long pursuit, and little gain!
Uncertain pleasure, certain pain!
Regard of neither right nor wrong!
For short delights, repentance long!
Love is the sickness of the thought!
Conceit of pleasure, dearly bought!
A restless Passion of the mind!
A labyrinth of errors blind!
A sugared poison! fair deceit!
A bait for fools! a furious heat!
A chilling cold! a wondrous passion
Exceeding man's imagination!
Which none can tell in whole, or part,
But only he that feels the smart.
Love is sorrow mixt with gladness!
Fear, with hope! and hope, with madness!
Long did I love, but all in vain;
I loving, was not loved again:
For which my heart sustained much woe.
It fits not maids to use men so!
Just deserts are not regarded,
Never love so ill rewarded!
But "all is lost that is not sought!"
"Oft wit proves best, that's dearest bought!
Women were made for men's relief;
To comfort, not to cause their grief.
Where most I merit, least I find:
No marvel! since that love is blind.
Had She been kind, as She was fair,
My case had been more strange and rare.
But women love not by desert!
Reason in them hath weakest part!
Then, henceforth, let them love that list,
I will beware of "Had I wist!"
These faults had better been concealed,
Than to my shame abroad revealed.
Yet though my youth did thus miscarry,
My harms may make others more wary.
Love is but a youthful fit,
And some men say "It's sign of wit!"
But he that loves as I have done;
To pass the day, and see no sun:
Must change his note, and sing Erravi!
Or else may chance to cry Peccavi!
The longest day must have his night,
Reason triumphs in Love's despite.
I follow now Discretion's lore;
"Henceforth to like; but love no more!"
Then gently pardon what is past!
For Love draws onwards to his last.
"He walks," they say, "with wary eye;
Whose footsteps never tread awry!"
My Muse a better work intends:
And here my Loving Folly ends.
After long storms and tempests past,
I see the haven at the last;
Where I must rest my weary bark,
And there unlade my care and cark.
My pains and travails long endured,
And all my wounds must there be cured.
Joys, out of date, shall be renewed;
To think of perils past eschewed.
When I shall sit full blithe and jolly,
And talk of lovers and their folly.
Then Love and Folly, both adieu!
Long have I been misled by you.
Folly may new adventures try!
But Reason says that "Love must die!"
Yea, die indeed, although grieve him;
For my cold heart cannot relieve him!
Yet for her sake, whom once I loved,
(Though all in vain, as time hath proved)
I'll take the pain, if She consent!
To write his Will and Testament.

Love's last Will and Testament.

M
Y spirit, I bequeath unto the air!
My Body shall unto the earth repair!
My Burning Brand, unto the Prince of Hell;
T'increase men's pains that there in darkness dwell!
For well I ween, above nor under ground,
A greater pain than that, may not be found.
My sweet Conceits of Pleasure and Delight,
To Erebus! and to Eternal Night!
My Sighs, my Tears, my Passions, and Laments,
Distrust, Despair; all these my hourly rents,
With other plagues that lovers' minds enthral:
Unto Oblivion, I bequeath them all!
My broken Bow, and Shafts, I give to Reason!
My Cruelties, my Slights, and forged Treason,
To Womankind! and to their seed, for aye!
To wreak their spite, and work poor men's decay.
Reserving only for Alcilia's part,
Small kindness, and less care of lovers' smart.
For She is from the vulgar sort excepted;
And had She, Philoparthen's love respected,
Requiting it with like affection,
She might have had the praise of all perfection.
This done; if I have any Faith and Troth;
To Philoparthen, I assign them both!
For unto him, of right, they do belong
Who loving truly, suffered too much wrong.
Time shall be sole Executor of my will;
Who may these things, in order due fulfil,
To warrant this my Testament for good;
I have subscribed it, with my dying blood."
And so he died, that all this bale had bred.
And yet my heart misdoubts he is not dead:
For, sure, I fear, should I Alcilia spy;
She might, eftsoons, revive him with her eye!
Such power divine remaineth in her sight;
To make him live again, in Death's despite.

The Sonnets following were written by the Author,
after he began to decline from his Passionate
Affection;  and in them,  he seemeth to
please himself with describing the
Vanity of Love,  the Frailty
of  Beauty, and the
sour  fruits of
Repentance.
I.
N
Ow have I spun the web of my own woes,
And laboured long to purchase my own loss.
Too late I see, I was beguiled with shows.
And that which once seemed gold, now
proves but dross.
Thus am I, both of help and hope bereaved.
"He never tried that never was deceived.
Chi non si fida, non vient ingannato.
II.
Once did I love, but more than once repent;
When vintage came, my grapes were sour, or rotten.
Long time in grief and pensive thoughts I spent;
And all for that, which Time hath made forgotten.
O strange effects of time! which, once being lost,
Make men secure of that they loved most.
III.
Thus have I long in th'air of Error hovered,
And run my ship upon Repentance's shelf.
Truth hath the veil of Ignorance uncovered,
And made me see; and seeing, know myself.
Of former follies, now, I must repent,
And count this work, part of my time ill spent.
IV.
What thing is Love? "A tyrant of the Mind!"
"Begot by heat of Youth; brought forth by Sloth;
Nursed with vain Thoughts, and changing as the wind!"
"A deep Dissembler, void of faith and troth!"
"Fraught with fond errors, doubts, despite, disdain,
And all the plagues that earth and hell contain!"
V.
Like to a man that wanders all the day
Through ways unknown, to seek a thing of worth,
And, at the night, sees he hath gone astray;
As near his end, as when he first set forth:
Such is my case, whose hope untimely crost,
After long errors, proves my labour lost.
VI.
Failed of that hap, whereto my hope aspired,
Deprived of that which might have been mine own:
Another, now, must have what I desired;
And things too late, by their events are known.
Thus do we wish for that cannot be got;
And when it may, then we regard it not.
VII.
Ingrateful Love! since thou hast played thy part!
(Enthralling him, whom Time hath since made free)
It rests with me, to use both Wit and Art,
That of my wrongs I may revenged be:
And in those eyes, where first thou took'st thy fire!
Thyself shalt perish, through my cold desire.
VIII.
"Grieve not thyself, for that cannot be had!
And things, once cureless, let them cureless rest!"
"Blame not thy fortune, though thou deem it bad!
What's past and gone will never be redrest."
"The only help, for that cannot be gained,
Is to forget it might have been obtained."
IX.
How happy, once, did I myself esteem!
While Love with Hope, my fond Desire did cherish:
My state as blissful as a King's did seem,
Had I been sure my joys should never perish.
"The thoughts of men are fed with expectation."
"Pleasures themselves are but imagination."
X.
Why should we hope for that which is to come,
Where the event is doubtful, and unknown?
Such fond presumptions soon receive their doom,
When things expected we count as our own;
Whose issue, ofttimes, in the end proves nought
But hope! a shadow, and an idle thought.
XI.
In vain do we complain our life is short,
(Which well disposed, great matters might effect)
While we ourselves, in toys and idle sport,
Consume the better part without respect.
And careless (as though time should never end it)
'Twixt sleep, and waking, prodigally spend it.
XII.
Youthful Desire is like the summer season
That lasts not long; for winter must succeed:
And so our Passions must give place to Reason;
And riper years, more ripe effects must breed.
Of all the seed, Youth sowed in vain desires,
I reaped nought, but thistles, thorns, and briars.
XIII.
"To err and do amiss, is given to men by Kind."
"Who walks so sure, but sometimes treads awry?"
But to continue still in errors blind,
Chi non fa, non falla; chi falla, l'amenda.
A bad and bestial nature doth descry.
"Who proves not; fails not; and brings nought to end:
Who proves and fails, may, afterward, amend."
XIV.
There was but One, and doubtless She the best!
Whom I did more than all the world esteem:
She having failed, I disavow the rest;
For, now, I find "things are not as they seem."
"Default of that, wherein our will is crost,
Ofttimes, unto our good availeth most."
XV.
I fare like him who, now his land-hope spent,
By unknown seas, sails to the Indian shore;
Chi va, e ritorna, fa buon viaggio.
Returning thence no richer than he went,
Yet cannot much his fortune blame therefore.
Since "Whoso ventures forth upon the Main,
Makes a good mart, if he return again."
XVI.
Lovers' Conceits are like a flatt'ring Glass,
That makes the lookers fairer than they are;
Who, pleased in their deceit, contented pass.
Such once was mine, who thought there was none fair,
None witty, modest, virtuous but She;
Yet now I find the Glass abusèd me.
XVII.
Adieu, fond Love! the Mother of all Error!
Replete with hope and fear, with joy and pain.
False fire of Fancy! full of care and terror.
Shadow of pleasures fleeting, short, and vain!
Die, loathèd Love! Receive thy latest doom!
"Night be thy grave! and Oblivion be thy tomb!"
XVIII.
Who would be rapt up into the third heaven
To see a world of strange imaginations?
Who, careless, would leave all at six and seven,
Nihil agenda male agere discimus.
To wander in a labyrinth of Passions?
Who would, at once, all kinds of folly prove;
When he hath nought to do, then let him love!
XIX.
What thing is Beauty? "Nature's dearest Minion!"
"The Snare of Youth! like the inconstant moon
Waxing and waning!" "Error of Opinion!"
"A Morning's Flower, that withereth ere noon!"
"A swelling Fruit! no sooner ripe, than rotten!"
"Which sickness makes forlorn, and time forgotten!"
XX.
The Spring of Youth, which now is in his prime;
Winter of Age, with hoary frosts shall nip!
Beauty shall then be made the prey of Time!
And sour Remorse, deceitful Pleasures whip!
Then, henceforth, let Discretion rule Desire!
And Reason quench the flame of Cupid's fire!
XXI.
O what a life was that sometime I led!
When Love with Passions did my peace encumber;
While, like a man neither alive nor dead,
I was rapt from myself, as one in slumber:
Whose idle senses, charmed with fond illusion,
Did nourish that which bred their own confusion.
XXII.
The child, for ever after, dreads the fire;
That once therewith by chance his finger burned.
Water of Time distilled doth cool Desire.
"And far he ran," they say, "that never turned."
After long storms, I see the port at last.
Farewell, Folly! For now my love is past!
XXIII.
Base servile thoughts of men, too much dejected,
That seek, and crouch, and kneel for women's grace!
Of whom, your pain and service is neglected;
Yourselves, despised; rivals, before your face!
The more you sue, the less you shall obtain!
The less you win, the more shall be your gain!
XXIV.
In looking back unto my follies past;
While I the present, with times past compare,
And think how many hours I then did waste
Painting on clouds, and building in the air:
I sigh within myself, and say in sadness,
"This thing which fools call Love, is nought but Madness!"
XXV.
"The things we have, we most of all neglect;
And that we have not, greedily we crave.
The things we may have, little we respect;
And still we covet, that we cannot have.
Yet, howsoe'er, in our conceit, we prize them;
No sooner gotten, but we straight despise them."
XXVI.
Who seats his love upon a woman's will,
And thinks thereon to build a happy state;
Shall be deceived, when least he thinks of ill,
And rue his folly when it is too late.
He ploughs on sand, and sows upon the wind,
That hopes for constant love in Womankind.
XXVII.
I will no longer spend my time in toys!
Seeing Love is Error, Folly, and Offence;
An idle fit for fond and reckless boys,
Or else for men deprived of common sense.
'Twixt Lunacy and Love, these odds appear;
Th' one makes fools, monthly; th' other, all the year.
XXVIII.
While season served to sow, my plough stood still;
My graffs unset, when other's trees did bloom.
I spent the Spring in sloth, and slept my fill;
But never thought of Winter's cold to come;
Till Spring was past, the Summer well nigh gone;
When I awaked, and saw my harvest none.
XXIX.
Now Love sits all alone, in black attire;
His broken bow, and arrows lying by him;
His fire extinct, that whilom fed Desire;
Himself the scorn of lovers that pass by him:
Who, this day, freely may disport and play;
For it is Philoparthen's Holiday.
XXX.
Nay, think not Love! with all thy cunning slight,
To catch me once again! Thou com'st too late!
Stern Industry puts Idleness to flight:
Otia si tellas periere Cupidinis arcus.
And Time hath changed both my name and state.
Then seek elsewhere for mates, that may befriend thee!
For I am busy, and cannot attend thee!
XXXI.
Loose Idleness! the Nurse of fond Desire!
Root of all ills that do our youth betide;
That, whilom, didst, through love, my wrack conspire:
I banish thee! and rather wish t'abide
All austere hardness, and continual pain;
Than to revoke thee! or to love again!
XXXII.
The time will come when, looking in a glass,
Thy rivelled face, with sorrow thou shalt see!
And sighing, say, "It is not as it was!
These cheeks were wont more fresh and fair to be!
But now, what once made me so much admired
Is least regarded, and of none desired!"
XXXIII.
Though thou be fair, think Beauty but a blast!
A morning's dew! a shadow quickly gone!
A painted flower, whose colour will not last!
Temporis soltus honesta est avaritia.
Time steals away, when least we think thereon.
Most precious time! too wastefully expended;
Of which alone, the sparing is commended.
XXXIV.
How vain is Youth that, crossed in his Desire,
Doth fret and fume, and inwardly repine;
As though 'gainst heaven itself, he would conspire;
And with his fraility, 'gainst his fate combine,
Who of itself continues constant still;
And doth us good, ofttimes against our will.
XXXV.
In prime of Youth, when years and Wit were ripe,
Unhappy Will, to ruin led the way.
Wit danced about, when Folly 'gan to pipe;
And Will and he together went astray.
Nought then but Pleasure, was the good they sought!
Which now Repentance proves too dearly bought.
XXXVI.
He that in matters of delight and pleasure,
Can bridle his outrageous affection;
Est virtus placitis abstinuisse bonis.
And temper it in some indifferent measure,
Doth prove himself a man of good direction.
In conquering Will, true courage most is shown;
And sweet temptations makes men's virtues known.
XXXVII.
Each natural thing, by course of Kind, we see,
Invidia fatorum series summisque negatum staro diu.
In his perfection long continueth not.
Fruits once full ripe, will then fall from the tree;
Or in due time not gathered, soon will rot.
It is decreed, by doom of Powers Divine,
Things at their height, must thence again decline.
XXXVIII.
Thy large smooth forehead, wrinkled shall appear!
Vermillion hue, to pale and wan shall turn!
Time shall deface what Youth has held most dear!
Yea, these clear Eyes (which once my heart did burn)
Shall, in their hollow circles, lodge the night;
And yield more cause of terror, than delight!
XXXIX.
Lo here, the Record of my follies past,
The fruits of Wit unstaid, and hours misspent!
Quanto piace al mondo, e breue sogno.
Full wise is he that perils can forecast,
And so, by others' harms, his own prevent.
All Worldly Pleasure that delights the Sense,
Is but a short Sleep, and Time's vain expense!
XL.
The sun hath twice his annual course performed,
Since first unhappy I, began to love;
Whose errors now, by Reason's rule reformed,
Conceits of Love but smoke and shadows prove.
Who, of his folly, seeks more praise to win;
Where I have made an end, let him begin!
J. C.

FINIS.

Daiphantus or The Passions of Love

DAIPHANTUS,
OR
The Passions of Love.

Comical to read,

But Tragical to act:
As full of Wit, as Experience.

By An. Sc. Gentleman.

Fœlix quem faciunt aliena pericula cautum.

Whereunto is added,

The Passionate Man's Pilgrimage.

LONDON:
Printed by T. C. for William Cotton: and are
to be sold at his shop, near Ludgate. 1604.

The Argument.

DAiphantus, a younger brother, very honourably descended, brought up but not born in Venice; naturally subject to Courting, but not to Love; reputed a man rather full of compliment, than of true courtesy; more desirous to be thought honest, than so to be wordish beyond discretion; promising more to all, than friendship could challenge; mutable in all his actions, but his affections aiming indeed to gain opinion rather than goodwill; challenging love from greatness, not from merit; studious to abuse his own wit, by the common sale of his infirmities; lastly, under the colour of his natural affection (which indeed was very pleasant and delightful) coveted to disgrace every other to his own discontent: a scourge to Beauty, a traitor to Women, and an infidel to Love.

This He, this creature, at length, falls in love with two at one instant; yea, two of his nearest allies: and so indifferently [equally] yet outrageously, as what was commendable in the one, was admirable in the other. By which means, as not despised, not regarded! if not deceived, not pitied! They esteemed him as he was in deed, not words. He protested, they jested! He swore he loved in sadness; they in sooth believed, but seemed to give no credence to him: thinking him so humorous as no resolution could be long good; and holding this his attestation to them of affection in that kind, [no] more than his contesting against it before time.

Thus overcome of that he seemed to conquer, he became a slave to his own fortunes. Laden with much misery, utter mischief seized upon him. He fell in love with another, a wedded Lady. Then with a fourth, named Vitullia. And so far was he imparadised in her beauty (She not recomforting him) that he fell from Love to Passion, so to Distraction, then to Admiration [wonderment] and Contemplation, lastly to Madness. Thus did he act the Tragical scenes, who only penned the Comical: became, if not as brutish as Actæon, as furious as Orlando. Of whose Humours and Passions, I had rather you should read them, than I act them!

In the end, by one, or rather by all, he was recovered. A Voice did mad him; and a Song did recure him! Four in one sent him out of this world; and one with four redeemed him to the world. To whose unusual strains in Music, and emphatical emphasis in Love; I will leave you to turn over a new leaf!

This only I will end with: