Thou great and powerful Muse, then, pardon mee, That I presume thy Mayden-cheeke to stayne,
In dedicating such a worke to thee,
Sprung from the issue of an idle brayne.
I vse thee as a woman ought to bee:
I consecrate my idle howres to thee.
In laudem Authoris.
Like to the weake estate of a poore friend,
To whom sweet fortune hath bene euer slow,
Which dayly doth that happy howre attend,
When his poore state may his affection show;
So fares my loue, not able as the rest,
To chaunt thy prayses in a lofty vayne,
Yet my poor Muse doth vow to doe her best,
And, wanting wings, shee'le tread an humble strayne.
I thought at first her homely steps to rayse,
And for some blazing Epithites to looke;
But then I feared, that by such wondrous prayse
Some men would grow suspicious of thy booke :
For hee that doth thy due deserts reherse,
Depriues that glory from thy worthy verse.
W. B.
Eyther the goddesse drawes her troupe of loues
From Paphos, where she erst was held diuine,
And doth vnyoke her tender-necked Doues,
Placing her seat in this small papry shrine;
Or the sweet Graces through th' Idalian groue
Led the blest Author in their daunced rings,
Or wanton Nymphs in watry bowres haue woue,
With fine Mylesian threds, the verse he sings;
Or curious Pallas once againe doth striue,
With prowd Arachne for illustrious glory,
And once againe doth loues of gods reuiue,
Spinning in silken twists a lasting story:
If none of these, then Venus chose his sight,
To leade the steps of her blind sonne aright.
The matchlesse Lustre of faire poesie,
Which erst was bury'd in old Romes decayes,
Now 'gins with height of rising maiesty
Her dust-wrapt head from rotton tombes to rayse,
And with fresh splendor gilds her toplesse crest,
Rearing her palace in our Poets brest.
The wanton Ouid, whose inticing rimes Haue with attractiue wonder forc't attention, No more shall be admired at; for these times Produce a Poet, whose more mouing passion Will teare the loue-sick mirtle from his browes, T'adorne his Temple with deserued bowes.
The strongest marble feares the smallest rayne, The rusting canker eates the purest gold, Honours best dye dreads enuies blackest stayne, The crimson badge of beautie must waxe old; But this faire issue of thy fruitfull brayne, Nor dreads age, enuie, cankring rust, or rayne. A. F.
The Author to the Reader.
I sing the fortunes of a lucklesse payre,
Whose spotlesse soules now in one body be;
For beauty still is Prodromus to care,
Crost by the sad starres of natiuitie;
And of the strange enchauntment of a well,
Gi'n by the gods, my sportiue Muse doth write,
Which sweet-lipt Ouid long agoe did tell,
Wherein who bathes strait turnes Hermaphrodite.
I hope my Poeme is so liuely writ,
That thou wilt turne halfe-mayd with reading it.
SALMACIS AND HERMAPHRODITUS.
My wanton lines doe treate of amorous loue,
Such as would bow the hearts of gods aboue:
Then Venus, thou great Citherian Queene,
That hourely tripst on the Idalian greene,
Thou laughing Erycina, daygne to see
The verses wholly consecrate to thee;
Temper them so within thy Paphian shrine,
That euery louers eye may melt a line:
Commaund the god of Loue, that little King,
To giue each verse a sleight touch with his wing,
That as I write, one line may draw the tother,
And euery word skip nimbly o're another.
There was a louely boy the Nymphs had kept,
That on the Idane mountaines oft had slept,
Begot and borne by powers that dwelt aboue
By learned Mercury of the Queene of loue:
A face he had that shew'd his parents fame,
And from them both conioynd, he drew his name.
So wondrous fayre he was that (as they say)
Diana being hunting on a day,
Shee saw the boy vpon a greene banke lay him,
And there the virgin-huntresse meant to slay him,
Because no Nymphes did now pursue the chase,
For all were strooke blind with the wantons face.
But when that beauteous face Diana saw,
Her armes were nummed, and she could not draw;
Yet did she striue to shoot, but all in vaine,
Shee bent her bow, and loos'd it streight againe :
Then she began to chide her wanton eye,
And fayne would shoot, but durst not see him die.
She turn'd and shot, and did of purpose misse him,
She turnd againe, and did of purpose kisse him.
Then the boy ran; for (some say) had he stayd,
Diana had no longer bene a mayd.
Phoebus so doted on this rosiat face,
That he hath oft stole closely from his place,
When he did lie by fayre Leucothoes side,
To dally with him in the vales of Ide;
And euer since this louely boy did die,
Phoebus each day about the world doth flie
And on the earth he seekes him all the day,
And euery night he seekes him in the sea.
His cheeke was sanguine, and his lip as red
As are the blushing leaues of the Rose spred;
And I haue heard that, till this boy was borne,
Roses
grew white vpon the virgin thorne,
Till one day walking to a pleasant spring,
To heare how cunningly the birds could sing,
Laying him downe vpon a flowry bed,
The Roses blush'd, and turnd themselves to red.
The Rose that blush'd not, for his great offence
The gods did punish, and for impudence,
They gave this doome, that was agreed by all;
The smell of the white Rose should be but small.
His haire was bushie, but it was not long:
The Nymphs had done his tresses mighty wrong,
For, as it grew, they puld away his haire,
And made abilliments of gold to weare.
His eyes were Cupids; for, vntill his birth,
Cupid had eyes, and liu'd vpon the earth,
Till on a day, when the great Queene of loue
Was by her white doues drawn frō heauen aboue
Vnto the top of the Idalian hill,
To see how well the Nymphs their charge fulfill,
And whether they had done the goddesse right,
In nursing of her sweet Hermaphrodite ;
Whom when she saw, although complete and full,
Yet she complayned, his eyes were somewhat dull,
And, therefore, more the wanton boy to grace,
She puld the sparkling eyes from Cupid's face,
Fayning a cause to take away his sight,
Because the Ape would sometimes shoot for spight.
But Venus set those eyes in such a place,
As grac't those cleare eyes with a clearer face.
For his white hand each goddesse did him woo,
For it was whiter then the driuen snow:
His legge was straighter then the thigh of Joue,
And he farre fairer then the god of loue.
When first this wel-shapt boy, beauties chiefe king, Had seene the labour of the fifteenth spring,
How curiously it paynted all the earth,
He 'gan to trauaile from his place of birth,
Leauing the stately hils where he was nurst,
And where the Nymphs had brough him vp at first:
He loued to trauaile to the coasts vnknowne,
To see the regions farre beyond his owne,
Seeking cleare watry springs to bathe him in,
(For he did loue to wash his iuory skinne.)
The louely Nymphes haue oft times seene him swimme,
And closely stole his clothes from off the brim,
Because the wanton wenches would so fayne
See him come nak'd, to aske his clothes againe.
He lou'd besides to see the Lycian grounds,
And know the wealthy Carians vtmost bounds.
Vsing to trauaile thus, one day he found
A cristall brooke that tril'd along the ground,
A brooke, that in reflection did surpasse
The cleare reflection of the clearest glasse.
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