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CONSTANTIA AND PHILETUS, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: I sing two constant lovers' various fate
Last Line: That I should toyle too much, the reader's eare.


I Sing two constant Lovers' various fate,
The hopes, and feares which equally attend
Their loves: Their rival's envie, Parents' hate:
I sing their sorrowfull life, and tragicke end.
Assist me, this sad story to rehearse
You Gods, and be propitious to my verse.

In Florence, for her stately buildings fam'd,
And lofty roofes that emulate the skie;
There dwelt a lovely Mayd, CONSTANTIA nam'd,
Renown'd (as mirror of all Italie),
Her, lavish nature did at first adorne,
With PALLAS' soule, in CYTHEREA'S forme.

And framing her attractive eyes so bright,
Spent all her wit in study, that they might
Keepe th' earth from Chaos, and eternal night;
But envious Death destroyed their glorious light.
Expect not beauty then, since she did part;
For in her, Nature wasted all her Art.

Her hayre was brighter then the beames which are
A Crowne to PHOEBUS, and her breath so sweet,
It did transcend Arabian odours farre,
Or th' smelling Flowers, wherewith the Spring doth greet
Approaching Summer; teeth like falling snow
For white, were placed in a double row.

Her wit excell'd all praise, all admiration,
Her speach was so attractive, it might be
A meanes to cause great PALLAS' indignation,
And raise an envie from that Deity.
The mayden Lillyes at her lovely sight
Waxt pale with envie, and from thence grew white.

Shee was in birth and Parentage as high
As in her fortune great, or beauty rare,
And to her vertuous minde's nobility
The guifts of Fate and Nature doubled were;
That in her spotlesse Soule, and lovely Face
Thou mightst have seene each Deity and grace.

The scornefull Boy ADONIS viewing her
Would VENUS still despise, yet her desire;
Each who but saw, was a Competitor
And rivall, scorcht alike with CUPID'S fire.
The glorious beames of her fayre Eyes did move,
And light beholders on their way to Love.

Among her many Sutors a young Knight
'Bove others wounded with the Majesty
Of her faire presence, presseth most in sight;
Yet seldome his desire can satisfie
With that blest object, or her rareness see;
For Beautie's guard, is watchfull Iealousie.

Oft-times that hee might see his Dearest-fayre,
Vpon his stately Jennet he in the way
Rides by her house, who neighes as if he were
Proud to be view'd by bright CONSTANTIA.
But his poore Master though to see her, moue
His joy, dares show no looke betraying Loue.

Soone as the morne peep'd from her rosie bed,
And all Heauen's smaller lights expulsed were;
She by her friends and neere acquaintance led
Like other Maids, oft walkt to take the ayre;
AVRORA blusht at such a sight vnknowne,
To behold cheekes were redder then her owne.

Th' obsequious Louer alwayes followes them,
And where they goe, that way his journey feines;
Should they turne backe, he would turne backe againe
For with his Loue, his businesse there remaines.
Nor is it strange hee should be loath to part
From her, since shee had stolne away his heart.

PHILETVS hee was call'd, sprung from a race
Of Noble ancestors; But greedy Time
And envious Fate had laboured to deface
The glory which in his great Stocke did shine;
His state but small, so Fortune did decree,
But Love being blind hee this could neuer see.
Yet hee by chance had hit his heart aright,
And on Constantia's eye his Arrow whet,
Had blowne the fire, that would destroy him quite,
Vnlesse such flames might like in her beget.
But yet he feares, because he blinded is,
Though he have shot him right, her heart hee'l misse.

Vnto Love's Altar therefore hee repayres,
And offers there a pleasing Sacrifice;
Intreating CVPID with inducing Prayers,
To looke vpon, and ease his Miseries:
Where having wept, recovering breath againe,
Thus to immortal Love he did complaine:

Oh CVPID! thou whose all-commanding sway,
Hath oft-times rul'd th' Olympian Thunderer,
Whom all Coelestial Deities obey,
Whom Men and Gods both reverence and feare!
Oh force CONSTANTIA'S heart to yeeld to Love,
Of all thy Workes the Master-piece 'twill prove.

And let me not Affection vainely spend,
But kindle flames in her like those in mee;
Yet if that guift my Fortune doth transcend,
Grant that her charming Beauty I may see.
And view those Eyes, who with their ravishing light
Doe onely give contentment to my sight.

Those who contemne thy sacred Deity,
And mocke thy Power, let them thine anger know,
I faultlesse am; nor can't an honour be
To wound your slaue alone, and spare your Foe.
Here teares and sighes speake his imperfect mone.
In language far more dolorous then his owne.

Home he retyr'd, his Soule he brought not home,
Just like a Ship whil'st every mounting wave
Tost by enraged BOREAS vp and downe,
Threatens the Mariner with a gaping graue;
Such did his case, such did his state appeare,
Alike distracted, betweene hope and feare.

Thinking her love he never shall obtayne,
One morne he goes to the Woods, and doth complaine
Of his vnhappie Fate, but all in vayne,
And thus fond Eccho, answers him againe.
So that it seemes AVRORA wept to heare,
For the verdant grasse was dew'd with many a teare.

THE ECCHO.
OH! what hath caus'd my killing miseries?
Eyes (Eccho said): what hath detayned my ease?
Ease; straight the reasonable Nimph replyes,
That nothing can my troubled mind appease:
Peace, Eccho answers. What, is any nye?
(Quoth he): at which, she quickly vtters, I.

Is't Eccho answeres? tell me then thy will:
I will, shee said. What shall I get (quoth hee)
By loving still? to which shee answers, Ill,
Ill: shall I voyd of wisht for pleasure dye?
I; shall not I who toyle in ceaselesse paine
Some pleasure know? no, shee replies againe.

False and inconstant Nimph, thou lyest (quoth hee)
Thou lyest (shee said), and I deserved her hate,
If I should thee beleeve; beleeve, (saith shee)
For why thy idle words are of no weight.
Waight it (she replyes) I therefore will depart:
To which, resounding Eccho answers, part.

Then from the Woods with sorrowfull heart he goes,
Filling with flowing thoughts his grieued minde,
He seeks to ease his soule-oppressing woes,
But no refreshing comfort can he find;
He weeps to quench the fires that burne in him,
But teares doe fall to the earth, flames are within.

No morning banisht darknesse, nor blacke night
By her alternate course expuls'd the day,
Bin with PHILETVS by a constant rite
At CVPID'S Altars did not weepe and pray;
And yet had reaped nought for all his paine
But Care and Sorrow, that was all his gaine.

But now at last the pitying God, o'recome
By his constant votes and teares, fixt in her heart
A golden shaft, and shee is now become
A suppliant to Love, that with like Dart
Hee'd wound PHILETVS, and doth now implore
With teares ayd from that power she scorn'd before.

Little she thinkes she kept PHILETVS' heart
In her scorcht breast, because her owne shee gaue
To him. But either suffers equal smart,
And alike measure in their torments haue:
His soule, his griefe, his fiers, now hers are growne;
His heart, her mind, her loue, is his alone.

Whilst wandring thoughts thus guide her troubled
Brain
Seeing a Lute (being farre from any eares)
Shee tun'd this song, whose musicke did transcend
The pleasant harmony of the rowling spheares;
Which rauishing Notes, if when her loue was slayne,
She had sung; from Styx t' had cald him back againe.

The SONG.

TO whom shall I my Sorrowes show?
Not to Love, for he is blind.
And my PHILETVS doth not know
The inward sorrow of my mind.
And all the sencelesse walls which are
Now round about me cannot heare.

For if they could, they sure would weepe,
And with my griefes relent.
Vnlesse their willing teares they keepe,
Till I from the earth am sent,
Then I beleeve they'l all deplore
My fate, since I them taught before.
I willingly would weepe my store,
If the floud would land thy Loful Language, I
should make you weepe
Like her, a floud, and so not see to write,
Such lines as I desire that they may keepe
Mee from sterne death, or then I leave my rime,
They in my death's revenge, may conquer time.

By this tyme, chance and his owne industry
Had helpt PHILETVS forward, that he grew
Acquainted with her Brother, so that he
Might, by this meanes, his bright CONSTANTIA view;
And as tyme seru'd, shew her his miserie;
And this was the first act in 's Tragedie.

Thus to himselfe sooth'd by his flattering state,
He said; How shall I thanke thee for this gaine,
O CVPID, or reward my helping Fate,
Who sweetens all my sorrowes, all my payne?
What Husband-man would any sweat refuse,
To reape at last such fruit, his labours use?

But waying straight his doubtful state aright,
Seeing his griefes link't like an endlesse chayne,
To following woes, he could despaire delight,
Quench his hot flames, and the fondling Loue disdaine.
But CVPID, when his heart was set on fire,
Had burnt his wings, who could not then retire.

The wounded youth, and kinde PHILOCRATES
(So was her Brother call'd) grew soone so deare
So true, and constant, in theyr Amities,
And in that league, so strictly ioyned were;
That death it selurs use?

But waying straight his doubtful state aright,
Seeing his griefes link't like an endlesse chayne,
To following woes, he could despaire delight,
Quench his hot flames, and the fondling Loue disdaine.
But CVPID, when his heart was set on fire,
Had burnt his wings, who could not then retire.

The wounded youth, and kinde PHILOCRATES
(So was her Brother call'd) grew soone so deare
So true, and constant, in theyr Amities,
And in that league, so strictly ioyned were;
That death it selfe could not theyr friendship sever,
But as they liu'd in loue, they dyed together.

If one be malancholy, the other's sad;
If one be sicke, the other hee is ill,
And if PHILETVS any sorrow had,
PHILOCRATES was partner in it still:
As th' soule of PYLADES and ORESTES was
In these, may we beleeue PITHAGORAS.

Oft in the Woods PHILETVS walkes, and there
Exclaimes against his fate, as too vnkind
With speaking teares his griefes he doth declare,
And with sad sighes teareth the angry wind,
To sigh; and though it nere so cruell were,
It roar'd to heare PHILETVS tell his care.

The Christall Brookes which gently runne betweene
The shadowing Trees, and as they through them passe
Water the Earth, and keepe the Meadowes greene
Giving a colour to the verdant grasse:
Hearing PHILETVS tell his wofull state,
In shew of griefe runne murmuring at his Fate.

PHILOMEL answeres him againe and shewes
In her best language, her sad Historie,
And in a mournfull sweetnesse tels her woes,
As if shee strove to shew her miseries
Were greater farre then his, and sweetly sings
To out-reach his Sorrowes, by her sufferings.

His sadnesse cannot from PHILOCRATES
Be hid, who seekes all meanes his griefe to know,
Seeing all mirth PHILETVS doth displease
And Passion still pursues his conquered Foe:
Hee therefore of his griefe did oft enquire,
But Love with covering wings had hid the fire.

But when his noble Friend perceived that hee
Yeelds to vsurping Passion more and more,
Desirous to partake his mallady,
Hee watches him in hope to cure his sore
By counsaile, and recall the poysonous Dart,
When it, alas, was fixed in his heart.

When in the Woods, places best fit for care,
Hee to himselfe did his past griefes recite;
Th' obsequious friend straight followes him, and there
Doth hide himselfe from sad PHILETVS' sight.
Who thus exclaimes; for a swolne hart would breake
If it for vent of sorrow might not speake.

Oh! I am lost, not in this desert Wood,
But in loue's pathlesse Laborinth, there I
My health, each ioy and pleasure counted good
Haue lost, and which is more, my liberty,
And now am forc't to let him sacrifice
My heart, for rash beleeving of my eyes.

Long haue I stayed, but yet haue no reliefe,
Long haue I lov'd, yet haue no favour showne
Because shee knowes not of my killing griefe,
And I have fear'd, to make my sorrowes known;
For why alas, if shee should once but dart
At me disdaine, 'twould kill my subject heart.

But how should shee, ere I impart my Loue,
Reward my ardent flame with like desire?
But when I speake, if shee should angry proue,
Laugh at my flowing teares, and scorne my fire?
Why, hee who hath all sorrowes borne before,
Needeth not feare to be opprest with more.

PHILOCRATES no longer can forbeare,
But running to his lou'd friend; Oh! (sayd hee)
My deare PHILETVS be thy selfe, and sweare
To rule that Passion which now masters Thee
And all thy faculties; but if 't may not be,
Give to thy Love but eyes that it may see.

Amazement strikes him dumbe, what shall he doe?
Should hee reveale his Love, he feares 'twould proue,
A hinderance, which should hee deny to show,
It might perhaps his deare friend's anger move:
These doubts like SCYLLA and CARIBDIS stand,
Whilst CVPID a blind Pilot doth command.

At last resolv'd, how shall I seeke, sayd hee,
To excuse my selfe, dearest PHILOCRATES;
That I from thee have hid this secrecie?
Yet censure not, give me first leave to ease
My case with words, my griefe you should have
known
E're this, if that my heart had bin my owne.

I am all Love, my heart was burnt with fire
From two bright Sunnes which doe all light disclose;
First kindling in my brest the flame Desire,
But like the rare Arabian Bird, there rose
From my heart's ashes, never-quenched Love,
Which now this torment in my soule doth move.

Oh! let not then my Passion cause your hate,
Nor let thy choise offend you, or detayne
Your antient Friendship; 'tis alas too late
To call my firme affection backe againe:
No Physicke can recure my weak'ned state,
The wound is growne too great, too desperate.

But Counsell sayd his Friend, a remedy
Which never fayles the Patient, may at least
If not quite heale your minde's infirmity,
Asswage your torment, and procure some rest.
But there is no Physitian can apply
A Medicine ere he know the Malady.

Then heare me, sayd PHILETVS; but why? Stay,
I will not toyle thee with my history.
For to remember Sorrowes past away,
Is to renue an old Calamity.
Hee who acquainteth others with his moane,
Addes to his friend's grief, but not cures his owne.

But sayd PHILOCRATES, 'tis best in woe,
To have a faithfull partner of their care;
That burthen may be vndergone by two,
Which is perhaps too great for one to beare.
I should mistrust your love, to hide from me
Your thoughts, and taxe you of Inconstancie.

What shall hee doe? Or with what language frame
Excuse? He must resolue not to deny,
But open his close thoughts, and inward flame;
With that, as prologue to his Tragedy,
He sight, as if they'd coole his torment's ire,
When they alas, did blow the raging fire.

When yeares first styl'd me Twenty, I began
To sport with catching snare that Loue had set,
Like Birds that flutter 'bout the gyn, till tane,
Or the poore Fly caught in Arachne's net:
Euen so I sported with her Beautye's light,
Till I at last grew blind with too much sight.

First it came stealing on me, whilst I thought,
'Twas easye to expulse it; but as fire,
Though but a sparke, soone into flames is brought,
So mine grew great, and quickly mounted higher;
Which so haue scorcht my loue-struck soule, that I
Still liue in torment, though each minute dye.

Who is it, sayd PHILOCRATES, can moue
With charming eyes such deepe affection?
I may perhaps assist you in your loue;
Two can effect more then your selfe alone.
My councell this thy error may reclayme,
Or my salt teares quench thy annoying flame.

Nay, sayd PHILETVS, oft my eyes doe flow
Like Egypt-covering Nilus nor yet can
Asswage my heate, which still doth greater grow,
As if my teares did but augment my flame.
Like to the waters of th' Dodonean spring,
That light a torch the which is put therein.

But being you desire to know her, she
Is call'd (with that his eyes let fall a shower
As if they faine would drowne the memory
Of his life-keeper's name) CONSTANTIA; more
Griefe would not let him vtter; Teares the best
Expressers of true sorrow, spoke the rest.

To which his noble friend did thus reply:
And was this all? What ere your griefe would ease
Though a farre greater taske, beleeue't for thee
It should be soone done by PHILOCRATES;
Thinke all you wish perform'd; but see, the day
Tyr'd with its heate is hasting now away.

Home from the silent Woods, night bids them goe,
But sad PHILETVS can no comfort find,
What in the day he feares of future woe,
At night in dreames, like truth, afright his mind.
Why doest thou vex him, loue: Had'st eyes (I say)
Thou wouldst thy selfe haue lou'd CONSTANTIA.

PHILOCRATES pittying his dolefull mone,
And wounded with the Sorrowes of his friend,
Brings him to fayre CONSTANTIA; where alone
He might impart his love, and eyther end
His fruitlesse hopes, cropt by her coy disdaine,
Or by her liking, his wish't loyes attaine.

Fairest (quoth he) whom the bright Heavens do cover
Do not these teares, these speaking teares, despise:
And dolorous sighes of a submissive Lover,
Thus strucke to the earth by your all-dazeling Eyes.
And do not you contemne that ardent flame.
Which from your selfe Your owne fair Beauty came.

Trust me, I long have hid my love, but now
Am forc't to shew't, such is my inward smart
And you alone (sweet faire) the meanes doe know
To heale the wound of my consuming heart.
Then since it onely in your power doth lie
To kill, or save, Oh helpe! or else I die.

His gently cruel Love did thus reply;
I for your paine am grieved, and would doe
Without impeachment to Chastity
And honour, any thing might pleasure you.
But if beyond those limits you demand,
I must not answer, (Sir) nor understand.

Beleeue me vertuous maiden, my desire
Is chast and pious, as thy Virgin thought,
No flash of lust; 'tis no dishonest fire
Which goes as soone as it is quickly brought:
But as thy beauty pure, which let not bee
Eclipsed by disdaine or cruelty.

Oh! how shall I reply (quoth she) thou 'ast won
My soule, and therefore take thy victory:
Thy eyes and speaches haue my heart o'recome,
And if I should deny thee loue, then I
My selfe should feele his torment, for that fire
Which is kept close doth burne with greatest ire.

Yet doe not count my yeelding, lightnesse in me,
Impute it rather to my ardent loue;
Thy pleasing carriage long ago did win me,
And pleading beauty did my liking moue.
Thy eyes which draw like loadstones with their might
The hardest hearts, won mine to leaue me quite.

Oh! I am rapt aboue the reach, said hee,
Of thought, my soule already feeles the blisse
Of heauen; when (sweete) my thoughts once tax but thee
With any crime, may I lose all happinesse
Is wisht for: but your favour here, and dead,
May the just Gods pour Vengance on my head.

Whilst he was speaking this: behold theyr fate,
CONSTANTIA'S Father entered the roome,
When glad PHILETVS ignorant of his state,
Kisses her cheekes, more red then the setting Sun,
Or else, the morne blushing through clouds of water
To see ascending Sol congratulate her.

Iust as the guilty prisoner feareful stands
Reading his fatal Theta in the browes
Of him, who both his life and death commands,
Ere from his mouth he the sad sentence knowes;
Such was his state to see her father come,
Nor wisht for, nor expected, to the roome.

The inrag'd old man bids him no more to dare
Such bold intrudance in that house, nor be
At any tyme with his lou'd daughter there,
Till he had giuen him such authoritie,
But to depart, since she her loue did shew him
Was liuing death, with ling'ring torments to him.

This being knowne to kinde PHILOCRATES,
He chearing his friend, bidding him banish feare,
And by some letter his grieu'd minde appease,
And shew her that which to her friendly eare
Tyme gaue no leaue to tell, and thus his quill
Declares to her, her absent louer's will.

The LETTER.

PHILETVS to CONSTANTIA.

I Trust (deare soule) my absence cannot move
You to forget, or doubt my ardent love;
For were there any meanes to see you, I
Would runne through Death and all the miserie
Fate could inflict, that so the world might say,
In Life and Death I lov'd CONSTANTIA.
Then let not (dearest sweet) our absence sever
Our loves, let them ioyn'd closely still together,
Give warmth to one another, till there rise
From all our labours, and our industries
The long-expected fruits; have patience (Sweet)
There's no man whom the Summer pleasures greet
Before he tast the Winter; none can say,
Ere Night was gone, he saw the rising Day.
So when wee once have wasted Sorrowe's night,
The sunne of Comfort then, shall give us light.
PHILETVS.

This when CONSTANTIA read, shee thought her state
Most happie by PHILETVS' Constancie,
And perfect Love: she thankes her flattering Fate,
And never missing Cvpid 'cause that hee
Had pierc't her heart; and thus shee writes agen,
Vnfeyn'd affection guiding of her Pen.

CONSTANTIA to PHILETVS.

Y Our absence (Sir) though it be long, yet I
Neither forget, nor doubt your Constancie.
Nor, need you feare, that I should yeeld vnto
Another, what to your true Love is due.
My heart is yours, it is not in my claime,
Nor have I power to give it away againe.
There's nought but Death can part our soules, no time
Or angry Friends, shall make my Love decline:
But for the harvest of our hopes I'le stay,
Vnlesse Death cut it, ere't be ripe, away.
CONSTANTIA.

Oh! how this Letter did exalt his pride!
More proud was hee of this then PHAETON
When PHOEBUS' flaming Chariot he did guide,
Before he knew the danger was to come.
Or else then IASON, when from COLCHOS hee
Returned, with the Fleece's victorie.

But ere the Autumne, which faire CERES crown'd,
Had payd the swetting Plowman's greediest prayer;
And by the Fall disrob'd the gawdy ground
Of all her Summer ornaments, they were
By kind PHILOCRATES together brought,
Where they this meanes t' enioy theyr freedome
wrought,

Sweete Mistresse, sayd PHILETVS, since the time
Propitious to our votes, now gives vs leave
To enioy our loves, let vs not deare resigne
This long'd for favour, nor our selves bereave
Of opportunity, lest it flye agen,
Further then Love hath wings to follow him.

For when your Father, as his custome is,
For pleasure, doth pursue the timerous Hare,
If you 'l resort but thither, I 'le not misse
To be in those Woods ready for you, where
Wee may depart in safety, and no more
With dreames of pleasure onely, heale our sore.

This both the [happy] Lovers agreed vpon,
But ere they parted hee desires that shee
Would blesse his greedy hearing with a Song
From her harmonious voyce; shee doth agree
To his request, and doth this Ditty sing,
Whose ravishing Notes new fires to 's old doth bring.

The SONG.

TIme flye with greater speed away,
Adde feathers to thy wings,
Till thy hast in flying brings
That wisht for and expected Day.
Comfort's sunne wee then shall see
Though at first it dark'ned bee
With dangers, yet those Clouds but gon
Our Day will put his lustre on.

Then though Death's sad night doe come,
And wee in silence sleepe,
Lasting day agen will greete
Our ravisht Soules, and then there's none
Can part vs more; no Death, nor Friends,
Being dead, their power o'er vs ends.
Thus there's nothing can dissever,
Hearts which Love hath ioyned together.

Feare of being seene, PHILETVS homeward droue,
But ere they part she willingly doth giue
As faithful pledges of her constant loue,
Many a kisse, and then each other leaue,
In griefe, though rapt with ioy that they have found
A way to heale the torment of their wound.

But ere the Sun through many dayes had run,
CONSTANTIA'S charming beauty had o'recome
GUISCARDO'S heart, and's scorn'd affection won;
Her eyes, that conquer'd all they shone vpon,
Shot through his glutton eyes such hot desire,
As nothing but her loue could quench the fire.

In roofes, which Gold and Parian stone adorne
Proud as the Landlord's minde, he did abound.
In fields so fertile for theyr yearly corne,
As might contend with scorcht Calabria's ground;
But in his soule that should be the best store
Of surest riches, he was base and poore.

Him was CONSTANTIA vrg'd continually
By her friends to loue: sometimes they did intreate
With gentle speeches, and milde courtesie,
Which, when they see despis'd by her, they threat,
But loue too deepe was seated in her heart,
To be worne out with thought of any smart.

Her father shortly went into the Wood
To hunt, his friend GVISCARDO being there
With others, who by friendship and by bloud
Vnto CONSTANTIA'S aged father were
Alyed nere; there likewise were with these
His beauteous daughter, and PHILOCRATES.

Being entred in the pathlesse woods, while they
Pursue their game, PHILETVS being late
Hid in a thicket, carries straight away
His loue, and hastens his owne hasty fate.
That come to[o] soone vpon him, and his Sunne
Eclipsed was before it fully shone.

For when CONSTANTIA'S missed, in a maze,
Each takes a seuerall course, and by curst fate
GVISCARDO runs, with a loue-carried pace
Towards them, who little knew their sorrowfull state:
So hee like bold Icarus, soaring hye,
To Honor, fell to the depth of misery.

For when GUISCARDO sees his Riuall there,
Swelling with poysonous envy comes behind
PHILETVS, who such fortune did not feare,
And with his flaming sword a way doth find
To his heart, who ere that death possest him quite,
In these few words gaspt out his flying sprite.

O see CONSTANTIA, my short race is runne,
See how my bloud the thirstie ground doth die,
But liue thou happier then thy Love hath done,
And when I'me dead, thinke sometime upon me.
More my short tyme permits me not to tell,
For now death seaseth me, Oh my deare farwell.

As soone as he had spoke these words, life fled
From's wounded body, whilst CONSTANTIA, she
Kisses his cheekes that loose their liuely red,
And become pale, and wan, and now each eye
Which was so bright (is like) when life was done
A fallen starre, or an eclipsed Sunne.

Thither PHILOCRATES by's fate being droue
To accompany PHILETVS Tragedy,
Seeing his friend was dead and sorrowfull loue
Sate weeping o're his bleeding body, I
Will now revenge your death said hee
Or in your murther beare you company.

I am by Iove sent to revenge this fate,
Nay, stay GUISCARDO, thinke not heauen in jest,
'Tis vaine to hope flight can secure thy state.
Then thrusting's sword into the Villaine's brest,
Here, said PHILOCRATES, thy life I send
A sacrifice, t' appease my slaughter'd friend.

But as he falls, here take reward, said hee
For this thy victory: with that he flung
His darted rapier at his enemy,
Which hit his head, and in his braine-pan hung.
With that he falles, but lifting vp his eyes,
Farewell CONSTANTIA: that word said, hee dies.

What shall shee doe? she to her Brother runnes,
And's cold, and lifelesse body doth imbrace;
She calls to him, hee cannot heare her moanes,
And with her kisses warmes his clammie face.
My deare PHILOCRATES, shee weeping cryes,
Speake to thy Sister: but no voyce replyes.

Then running to her Loue, with many a teare,
Thus her mind's fervent passion shee exprest,
O stay (blest Soul) stay but a little here,
And we will both hast to a lasting rest.
Then to Elisium's Mansions both together
Wee'le journey, and be married there for ever.

But when she saw they both were dead, quoth she,
Oh my PHILETVS, for thy sake will I
Make vp a full and perfect Tragedie,
Since 't was for me (Deare Loue) that thou didst dye;
I 'le follow thee, and not thy losse deplore,
These eyes that saw thee kill'd, shall see no more.

It shall not sure be sayd that you did dye,
And thy CONSTANTIA live since thou wast slayne:
No, no, deare Soule, I will not stay from thee,
But constant been in act, as well as Name.
Then piercing her sad brest, I come, shee cryes,
And Death for ever clos'd her weeping eyes.

Her Soule being fled to it's Eternall rest,
Her father comes, who seeing this, hee falls
To th' earth, with griefe too great to be exprest:
Whose dolefull words my tyred Muse me calls
T' o'repasse, which I might gladly doe, for feare
That I should toyle too much, the Reader's eare.





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