Читать книгу Arcadia - Sir Philip Sidney - Страница 37
ОглавлениеThyrsis and Dorus
Thyrsis:34
Come, Dorus, come, let songs your sorrows signify,
and if for want of use thy mind ashamèd is,
that very shame with love’s high title dignify.
No style is held for base where love well namèd is.
Each ear sucks up the words a true love scattereth,
and plain speech oft than quaint phrase better framèd is.
Dorus:
Nightingales seldom sing; the pie still35 chattereth.
The wood cries most before it throughly kindled be.
Deadly wounds inward bleed, each slight sore mattereth.
Hardly they herd, which by good hunters singled36 be.
Shallow brooks murmur most, deep silent slide away,
nor true-love loves his loves with others mingled be.37
Thyrsis:
If you will not be seen, go hide your face away.38
Be none of us, or else maintain our fashion.39
Who frowns at others’ feasts doth better bide away,
but if you have a love, in that love’s passion
I challenge you by show of her perfection
which of us two deserves the most compassion.
Dorus:
Your challenge great, but greater my protection.
Sing then, and see (for now you have inflamèd me)
your health too mean a match for my infection.
No, though the heavens for high attempts have blamèd me,
yet high is my attempt. O muse, historify
her praise, whose praise to learn your skill hath framèd me.
Thyrsis:
Muse, hold your peace. But you, my god Pan, glorify
my Kala’s gifts, who with all good gifts fillèd is.
Your pipe, ô Pan, shall help, though I sing sorrily.
A heap of sweets she is, where nothing spillèd is,
who, though she be no bee, yet full of honey is—
a lily field with plow of rose which tilled is,
mild as a lamb, more dainty than a cony is.
Her eyes my eyesight is. Her conversation
more glad to me than to a miser money is.
What coy account she makes of estimation,
how nice to touch, how all her speeches peizèd40 be.
A nymph thus turned, but mended in translation.
Dorus:
Such Kala is, but ah, my fancies raisèd be
in one whose name to name were high presumption,
since virtues all, to make her title, pleasèd be.
O happy gods, which by inward assumption
enjoy her soul, in body’s fair possession,
and keep it joined, fearing your feat’s consumption.
How oft with rain of tears skies make confession.
Their dwellers, rapt with sight of her perfection,
from heavenly throne to her-heaven use digression.
Of best things, then, what world can yield confection
to liken her? Deck yours with your comparison:
She is herself, of best things the collection.
Thyrsis:
How oft my doleful sire cried to me, “Tarry, son!”
when first he spied my love. How oft he said to me,
“You are no soldier fit for Cupid’s garrison.
My son, keep this, that my long toil has laid to me:
Love well your own; methinks wool’s whiteness passes all.
I never found long love such wealth has paid to me.”
This wind he spent, but when my Kala glasses all
my sight in her fair limbs, I then assure myself
not rotten sheep, but high crowns she surpasses all.
Can I be poor that her gold hair procure myself?
Want I white wool, whose eyes her white skin garnishèd?
Till I get her, shall I to sheep enure41 myself?
Dorus:
How oft, when reason saw love of her harnessèd
with armor of my heart, he cried, “O vanity,
to set a pearl in steel so meanly varnishèd.
Look to yourself. Reach not beyond humanity.
Her mind, beams, state, far from your weak wings banishèd,
and love which lover hurts is inhumanity.”
This reason said, but she came, reason vanishèd,
her eyes so mastering me that such objection
seemed but to spoil the food of thoughts long famishèd.
Her peerless height my mind to high erection
draws up, and if, hope failing, end life’s pleasure,42
of fairer death how can I make election?
Thyrsis:43
Once my well-waiting eyes espied my treasure—
with sleeves turned up, loose hair, and breast enlarged44—
her father’s corn (moving her fair limbs) measure.45
“O,” cried I, “of so mean work be discharged:
Measure my case—how by your beauty’s filling
with seed of woes my heart brim full is charged.
Your father bids you save and chides for spilling.
Save then my soul. Spill not my thoughts well heaped.
No lovely praise was ever got by killing.”
These bold words she did hear. This fruit I reaped,
that she—whose look alone might make me blessed—
did smile on me, and then away she leaped.
Dorus:
Once—ô sweet once!—I saw (with dread oppressed)
her whom I dread so that, with prostrate lying,
her length the earth in love’s chief clothing dressed.46
I saw that richness fall, and fell a crying:
“Let not dead earth enjoy so dear a cover,
but deck therewith my soul, for your sake dying.
“Lay all your fear upon your fearful lover.
Shine eyes on me, that both our lives be guarded;
so I your sight, you shall yourself recover.”
I cried, and was with open rays47 rewarded.
But straight they fled, summoned by cruel honor—
honor, the cause desert is not regarded.
Thyrsis:
This maid, thus made for joys—O Pan, bemoan her,
that without love she spends her years of love.48
So fair a field would well become an owner,
and if enchantment can a hard heart move,
teach me what circle may acquaint her sprite
affection’s charms in my behalf to prove.
The circle is my round-about-her sight.
The power I will invoke dwells in her eyes.
My charm should be, she haunt me day and night.
Dorus:
Far other case, ô muse, my sorrow tries,
bent to such one in whom, myself must say,
nothing can mend one point that in her lies.
What circle then in so rare force bears sway
whose spirit all spirits can foil, raise, damn or save?
No charm holds her, but well possess she may.
Possess she does, and makes my soul her slave—
my eyes the bands, my thoughts the fatal knot.
No thralls like those that inward bondage have.
Thyrsis:49
Kala, at length conclude my lingering lot.
Disdain me not, although I be not fair.
Who is an heir of many hundred sheep
does beauties keep, which never sun can burn,
nor storms do turn. Fairness serves oft to wealth,
yet all my health I place in your good will,
which if you will (ô do!) bestow on me,
such as you see, such still you shall me find—
constant and kind. My sheep your food shall breed,
their wool your weed. I will you music yield
in flowery field, and as the day begins
with twenty gins we will the small birds take
and pastimes make, as nature things has made.
But when in shade we meet of mirtle boughs,
then love allows our pleasures to enrich
the thought of which does pass all wordly pelf.
Dorus:
Lady, yourself (whom neither name I dare)50
(and titles are but spots to such a worth),
hear plaints come forth from dungeon of my mind.
The noblest kind rejects not other’s woes.
I have no shows of wealth; my wealth is you.
My beauty’s hue—your beams; my health—your deeds.
My mind for weeds your virtue’s livery wears;
my food is tears, my tunes wamenting51 yield.
Despair my field; the flowers?—spirits’ wares.
My day?—new cares. My gins?—my daily sight
in which do light small birds of thoughts o’er thrown.
My pastimes? None; time passes on my fall.
Nature made all—but me? Of dolors made.
I find no shade but where my sun does burn,
no place to turn without it fries,
nor help by life or death—who living, dies.
Thyrsis:
But if my Kala thus my suit denies,52
which so much reason bears,
let crows pick out my eyes which too much saw.
If she still hate love’s law,
my earthly mold doth melt in watery tears.
Dorus:
My earthly mold doth melt in watery tears,
and they again resolve
to air of sighs. Sighs to the heart’s fire turn,
which doth to ashes burn.
Thus does my life within itself dissolve.
Thyrsis.
Thus doth my life within itself dissolve,
that I grow like the beast
which bears the bit a weaker force doth guide—
yet patience must abide:
Such weight it hath, which once is full possessed.
Dorus:
Such weight it hath, which once is full possessed,
that I become a vision,
which hath in others held his only being
and lives in fancy, seeing.
O wretchèd state of man in self division!
Thyrsis:
O wretched state of man in self division.
O well thou sayest! A feeling declaration
thy tongue hath made of Cupid’s deep incision.
But now hoarse voice doth fail this occupation,
and others long to tell their love’s condition.
Of singing thou hast got the reputation.
Dorus did so well in answering Thyrsis that everyone desired to hear him sing something alone. Seeing therefore a lute lying under the princess Pamela’s feet and glad to have such an errand to approach her, he came, but came with a dismayed grace, for all his blood stirred between fear and desire. And playing upon the lute with such sweetness that everybody wondered to see such skill in a shepherd, in a sorrowing voice he sang these elegiac verses:53
Dorus:
Fortune, Nature, Love, long have contended about me
which should most miseries cast on a worm that I am.
Fortune thus gan say, “Misery and misfortune is all one.
And of misfortune only Fortune has the gift.
With strong foes on land, on seas with contrary tempests
still do I cross this wretch, whatso he takes in hand.”
“Tush, tush,” said Nature. “This is all but a trifle. A man’s self
gives haps or mishaps, even as he orders his heart.
But I so frame his humor, in a mold of choler adusted,54
that the delights of life shall be to him dolorous.”
Love smiled and thus said, “Want joined to desire is unhappy,
but if he55 nought do desire, what can Heraclitus ail?
None but I works by desire. By desire have I kindled in his soul
infernal agonies unto a beauty divine
where you, poor Nature, left all your due glory. To Fortune
her56 virtue is sovereign—Fortune a vassal of hers.”
Nature, abashed, went back. Fortune blushed, yet she replied thus:
“And even in that love shall I reserve him a spite.”57
Thus, thus (alas!), woeful by Nature, unhappy by Fortune,
but most wretchèd I am, now Love awakes my desire.
When Dorus had sung this, having had all the while a free beholding of the fair Pamela (who could well have well spared such honor, but defended the assault he gave unto her face by bringing a fair stain of shamefastness58 to it), he let fall his arms and remained fastened in his thoughts, as if Pamela had grafted him there to grow in continual imagination. But Zelmane watched him and fearing he should forget himself too much, she took the lute out of his hand and sang these Sapphics,59 speaking (as it were) to her own hope, while laying fast hold of Philoclea’s face with her eyes:
Zelmane:
If my eyes can speak to do hearty errand,
or my eyes’ language she60 do hap to judge of,
so that eyes’ message be of her receivèd,
hope, we61 do live yet.
But if eyes fail then when I most do need them,
or if eyes’ language be not unto her known,
so the eyes’ message does return rejected,
hope, we do both die.
Yet, dying and dead, do we sing her honor.
So become our tombs monuments of her praise.
So becomes our loss the triumph of her gain:
Hers be the glory.
If the senseless spheres do yet hold a music;
if the swan’s sweet voice be not heard but at death;
if the mute timber, when it has lost its life,
yieldeth a lute’s tune,
are then human lives privileged so meanly
as that hateful death can abridge them of power
with the vow of truth to record to all worlds
that we are her spoils?
Thus not ending, ends the due praise of her praise.
Fleshly vale62 consumes, but a soul has its life,
which is held in love. Love it is that has joined
life to this our soul.
But if eyes can speak to hearty errand,
or my eyes’ language she does hap to judge of
so that eyes’ message be of her received—
Hope, we do yet live.
Great was the pleasure of Basilius. And Gynecia’s would have been greater, except she found too well that the song was intended for her daughter. As for Philoclea, she was sweetly ravished.
Then Dorus (desiring in a secret manner to speak of their cases, as perchance the parties intended might take some light of it), making low reverence to Zelmane, began this provoking song in hexameter verse. Zelmane soon found where his words were directed, both in tune and verse, and answered as follows:
Dorus. Zelmane.63
Dorus:
Lady64 reserved by the heavens to do pastors' company honor,
joining your sweet voice to the rural muse of a desert,
here you fully do find the strange operation of love—
how love runs to the woods, as well as rides to the palace.65
Neither he bears reverence to a prince nor pity to beggar,
but (like a point in midst of a circle) is still of a nearness,
all to a lesson he draws, neither hills nor caves can avoid him.
Zelmane:
Worthy shepherd, by my song to myself all favor is happened
that to the sacred muse66 my annoys somewhat be revealed—
sacred muse, who in one contains what nine do in all of them.
But ô so happy be you, who safe from fiery reflection
of Phoebus’ violence in shade of sweet Cyparissus67
or pleasant myrtle may teach the unfortunate Echo
in these wood to resound the renowned name of a goddess.
Happy are you who may to the saint—your only Idea68—
although simply attired, utter your manly69 affection.
Happy be those mishaps, which justly proportion holding,
give right sound unto the ears, and enter aright to the judgment.
But wretchèd be souls who’re veiled in a contrary subject.
How much the more we love, so much our loves are less beloved.
What skill can cure a sore—an infirmity—wrongly judged?
What can justice avail to a man who tells not his own case?
You, though fears do abash, in you still possible hopes be.
We do seem to rebel against nature, but are fools in a vain suit.
And so—unheard, condemned, kept from where we do seek to abide,
self-lost in wand’ring, banished from where we do come from—
what means is there, alas, we can hope our loss to recover?
What place is there left, we may hope our woes to recomfort?
Unto the heavens? Our wings be too short. Earth thinks us a burden.
Air we do still with sighs increase. To the fire? We do want none.
And yet its outward heat our tears would quench, but an inward
fire no liquor can cool. Neptune’s realm would not avail us.
Happy shepherd, with thanks to the gods, still think to be thankful
that to thy advancement their wisdoms have thee abased.
Dorus:
Unto the gods with a thankful heart all thanks I do render
that to my advancement their wisdoms have me abased.
But yet, alas! O but yet alas! Our haps be but hard haps
which must frame contempt to the fittest purchase of honor.
Well may a shepherd complain, but his plaints are not esteemed.
Silly shepherd’s poor pipe, when its harsh sound testifies anguish.
Into the fair looker-on, pas-time (not pass-i-on) enters.
And those who make such dreary recital to the woods or brooks—
what be the pangs they bear, and whence are those pangs derived?
Pleased by rebounding answer to receive that name of echo,
they may hope thereby to ease their inward horrible anguish,
when trees dance to the pipe, and swift streams pause from the music,
or when, unmoved, an echo begins to sing them a love song.
Say then, what vantage do we get by the trade of a pastor?
Since no estates be so base, but love vouchsafeth his arrow,
since no refuge doth serve from wounds we do carry about us,
since outward pleasures be but halting helps to decayed souls,
far more happy be you whose greatness gets a free access,
whose fair bodily gifts are framed most lovely to each eye.
Virtue you have, of virtue you have left proof to the whole world,
and virtue is grateful with beauty and richness adorned.
Neither doubt you a whit, time will your passion utter.
Hardly remains fire hid, where skill is bent to the hiding,
but in a mind that would his flames should not be repressed,
nature worketh enough with a small help for the revealing.
Give therefore to the muse great praise in whose very likeness
you do approach to the fruit your only desires be to gather.
Zelmane:
First shall fertile grounds not yield increase of a good seed,
first the rivers shall cease to repay their floods to the ocean,
first may a trusty greyhound transform himself to a tiger,
first shall virtue be vice, and beauty be counted a blemish,
ere that with song of praise I cease her praise to solemnize—
her praise, whence to the world all praise has its only beginning.
But yet well I do find each man most wise in his own case.
None can speak of a wound with skill, if he have not a wound felt.
To you my state seems great. By my judgment, your state is blessed.
And yet, neither of us, great or blessed, has regard for himself,
because—weigh this, alas!—great is not great to the greater.70
What, judge you, does a hillock show by the lofty Olympus?
Such my minute greatness does seem, compared to the greatest.
When cedars to the ground fall down by the weight of an emmet,71
or when a rich ruby’s just price is the worth of a walnut,
or to the sun small sparks of a candle seem wonders,
then by my high cedar, rich ruby, and only shining sun,
virtue, riches, beauties of mine shall great be reputed.
Oh, no, no. Worthy shepherd, worth can never enter a title
where proofs justly do teach such worth, thus matched, to be nought worth.
Let not a puppet72 abuse thy sprite. Kings’ crowns do not help them
from the cruel headache, nor do shoes of gold heal the gout,
and precious couches full oft are shaked by a fever.
If then a bodily evil by a bodily gloze73 is not hidden,
shall such morning dews be an ease to the heat of a love’s fire?
Dorus:
O glittering miseries of man, if this is the fortune
of those fortune lulls, then small rest rests in a kingdom.
What marvel that a prince transform himself to a pastor,
come from marble bowers (many times the gay harbor of anguish)
unto a silly cabin, though weak, yet stronger against woes.
Now by your words, I begin, most famous lady, to gather
comfort into my soul (I do find). I do find what a blessing
is chanced to my life, that from such muddy abundance
of carking74 agonies to states which still be adherent,75
destiny keeps me aloof. For if all this state—to your virtue
joined, by your beauty adorned—be no means to abolish these griefs,
nor if by that help you can climb up to your fancy
(nor yet fancy so dressed do receive a more plausible hearing),
then do I think, indeed, that it is better to be private
in sorrow’s torments than be tied to the pomps of a palace.
Nurse inward maladies which have not scope to be breathed out
and perforce76 digest all bitter joys of horror
in silence, from a man’s own self with company robbed.
Better yet do I live, that though by my thoughts I am plunged
into my life’s bondage, yet may I disburden a passion
(oppressed by ruinous conceits) by the help of an out-cry,
not limited to a whispering note, the lament of a courtier,
but sometimes to the woods, sometimes to the heavens, do decipher
with bold clamor, unheard, unmarked, what I seek, what I suffer.
And when I meet these trees, in the earth’s fair livery clothed,
ease do I feel (such ease as falls to one wholly diseased)
for that I find in them part of my state represented.
Laurel shows what I seek. By the myrrh is shown how I seek it.
Olive paints me the peace that I must aspire to by conquest.
Myrtle makes my request. My request is crowned with a willow?
Cypress promises help, but a help where comes no recomfort.
Sweet juniper says this, “Though I burn, yet I burn in a sweet fire.”
Yew does make me think what kind of bow the boy77 holds,
which shoots strongly without any noise, and deadly without smart.
Fir trees great and green, fixed on a high hill (but a barren),
are like to my noble thoughts, still new, well placed, to me fruitless.
Fig, which yields most pleasant fruits—its shadow is hurtful.78
Thus are her gifts most sweet, thus more danger to be near her!
Now, when I mark in a palm how it does rise under a burden,
then may I not (and I say) get up, although griefs be so weighty?
Pine is a mast to a ship. To my ship shall hope for a mast serve?
Pine is high (hope is as high), sharp leaved—sharp yet be my hope’s buds.
Elm embraced by a vine? Embracing fancy revives.
Poplar changes its hue from a raising sun to a setting—
thus to my sun do I yield, such looks her beams do afford me.
Old aged oak cut down, of new works serves to the building—
so my desires by my fear, cut down, be the frames of her honor.
Ash makes spears that pierce through shields; her force no repulse takes.
Palms do rejoice to be joined by the match of a male to a female—
and shall sensitive things be so senseless as to resist sense?
Thus be my thoughts dispersed; thus thinking nurses a thinking;
thus both trees and each thing else are the books of my fancy.
But to the cedar, queen of woods, when I lift my tearful eyes,
then do I shape to myself that form which reigns so within me,
and think, there she dwells, and hears what sorrows I utter.
When that noble top nods, I believe she salutes me;
when by the wind it makes a noise, I do think she answers.
Then, kneeling to the ground, often do I speak to that image:
“Only jewel, ô only jewel, which only deserves
that men’s hearts be your seat, and endless fame be your servant,
ô descend for a while from this great height to behold me.
But naught else do behold (else is not worth the beholding)
save what a work by yourself is wrought. And since I am altered
thus by your work, disdain not that which is done by yourself.
In mean caves oft treasure abides. To an hostry79 a king comes,
and so, behind foul clouds full oft fair stars do lie hidden.
Zelmane:
Hardy shepherd, such as you merit, such may be her insight,
justly to grant you reward. Such envy I bear to your fortune.
But to myself, what wish can I make for a salve to my sorrows,
whom both nature seems to debar from means to be helped
and, if a means were found, fortune’s whole course of it hinders?
Thus plagued, how can I frame to my sore any hope of amendment?
Whence may I show to my mind any light of possible escape?
Bound, and bound by so noble bands as loath to be unbound,
tailor I am to myself, prison and prisoner to my own self.
Yet are my hopes thus placed. Here fixed lives all my comfort,
that that dear diamond, where wisdom holdeth a sure seat—
whose force had such force so to transform (nay, to reform) me—
will at length perceive these flames by her beams to be kindled
and will pity the wound festered so strangely within me.
O be it so! Grant such an event, ô gods. That event give,
and for a sure sacrifice I will daily oblation offer
of my own heart, where thoughts are the temple, sight is an altar.
But cease, worthy shepherd, now cease we to weary the hearers
with moanful melodies, for enough are our griefs revealed,
if, by the parties meant, our meanings rightly are marked,
and sorrows do require some respite unto the senses.
What exclaiming praises Basilius gave to this eclogue, any man may guess, who knows love is better than a pair of spectacles to make everything seem greater which is seen through it, and then is never tongue-tied where fit commendation (which women so desire) is offered unto it. But before anyone else came to supply the place, Zelmane, having by chance heard some of the shepherds name Strephon and Claius and therefore supposing they were present, desired to hear them for the fame of their friendly love and to acknowledge their kindness towards her best-loved friend. Much grieved was Basilius that any desire of his mistress should be unsatisfied, and therefore to represent them unto her as well as in their absence it might be, he commanded one Lamon, who had at large set down their country pastimes and first love to Urania, to sing the whole discourse, which he did in this manner:
Lamon’s Song
A shepherd’s tale no height of style80 desires
to raise in words what in effect is low.
A plaining81 song plain-singing voice requires,
for warbling notes from inward cheering flow.
I, then, whose burdened breast but thus aspires
of shepherds two the lowly case to show,
need not the stately muses help invoke
for creeping rhymes, which often sighings choke.
But you, ô you, who think not tears too dear
to shed for harms, although they touch you not,
and deign to deem your neighbor’s mischief near,
although they are of meaner parents got,
you I invite with easy ears to hear
the poor-clad truth of love’s wrong-ordered lot.
Who may be glad, be glad you be not such:
Who share in woe, weigh others have as much.
There was (ô seldom blessèd word of “was”!)
a pair of friends, or rather one called two,
trained in the life which on short-bitten grass
in shine or storm must set the clouted82 shoe.
He that the other in some years did pass,
and in those gifts that years distribute do,
was Claius called (ah, Claius, woeful wight!);
the later born, yet too soon, Strephon hight.
Epirus high was honest Claius’ nest,
to Strephon, Æoles’ land first breathing lent,83
but east and west were joined by friendship’s hest.
As Strephon’s ear and heart to Claius bent,
so Claius’ soul did in his Strephon rest.
Still both their flocks flocking together went,
as if they would of owners’ humor be,
as eke their pipes did well as friends agree.
Claius for skill of herbs and shepherd’s art
among the wisest was accounted wise,
yet not so wise as of unstainèd heart.
Strephon was young, yet marked with humble eyes
how elder ruled their flocks and cured their smart,
so that the grave did not his words despise.
Both free of mind, both did clear-dealing love,
and both had skill in verse their voice to move.
Their cheerful minds, till poisoned was their cheer,
the honest sports of earthly lodging prove.
Now for a clod-like hare in form they peer.
Now bolt84 and cudgel squirrel’s leap do move.
Now the ambitious lark with mirror clear
they catch, while he (fool!) to himself makes love.
And now at keels85 they try a harmless chance.
And now their cur they teach to fetch and dance.
When merry May first early calls the morn
with merry maids a-maying they do go.
Then do they pull from sharp and niggard thorn
the plenteous sweets. Can sweets so sharply grow?
Then some green gowns are by the lasses worn
in chastest plays, till home they walk a-row
while dance about the may-pole is begun,
when, if need were, they could at quintain run.
While thus they ran a low but leveled race,
while thus they lived (this was indeed a life)
with nature pleased, content with present case,
free of proud fears, brave beggary, smiling strife
of climb-fall court, the envy hatching place,
while in great men those restless longings rise
that such low folks to visit much disdain,
this while, though poor, they in themselves did reign.
One day (ô day, that shined to make them dark!)
while they did ward sun-beams with shady bay,
and Claius, taking for his younglings cark86
(lest greedy eyes to them might challenge lay)
busy with ocher did their shoulders mark
(his mark a pillar was, devoid of stay,
as bragging that, free of all passions’ moan,
well might he others bear, but lean to none),
Strephon with leafy twigs of laurel tree
a garland made on temples for to wear,
for he then chosen was the dignity
of village lord, that Whitsuntide, to bear,
and full poor fool, of boyish bravery,
with triumph’s shows would show he nought did fear.
But fore-accounting oft makes builders miss.
They found, they felt, they had no lease of87 bliss.
For ere that either had his purpose done,
behold (beholding well it doth deserve),
they saw a maid,88 who thitherward did run
to catch her sparrow, which from her did swerve,
as she a black-silk cap on him begun
to set, for foil of his milk-white to serve.
She chirping ran, he peeping flew away,
till hard by them, both he and she did stay.
Well for to see, they kept themselves unseen
and saw this fairest maid of fairer mind,
by fortune mean, in nature born a queen,
how well content she was her bird to find,
how tenderly her tender hands between
in ivory cage she did the micher bind;
how rosy moistened lips about his beak
moving, she seemed at once to kiss and speak.
Chastened but thus, and thus his lesson taught,
the happy wretch she put within her breast,
which to their eyes the bowls of Venus brought,
for they seemed made ev’n of sky-metal best,
and that the bias by her blood was wrought.
Between them two the peeper took his nest,
where snuggling well, he well appeared content,
so to have done amiss, so to be shent.
This done, but done with captive-killing grace,
each motion seeming shot from beauty’s bow,
her length laid down, she decked the lovely place.
Proud grew the grass that under her did grow.
The trees spread out their arms to shade her face.
But she on elbow leaned, with sighs did show
no grass, no trees, nor yet her sparrow, might
to long-perplexèd mind breed long delight.
She troubled was (alas, what it might be!)
with tedious brawlings of her parents dear,
who would have her in will and word agree
to wed Antáxius, their neighbor near.
A herdman rich, of much account, was he
in whom no ill did reign, nor good appear.
In some such one she liked not his desire—
fain would be free, but dreadeth parents’ ire.
Kindly,89 sweet soul, she did unkindness take
that baggèd baggage of a miser’s mud
should price of her, as in a market, make.
But gold can guild a rotten piece of wood.
To yield she found her noble heart did ache;
to strive she feared how it with virtue stood.
These doubting clouds o’er-casting heav’nly brain,
at length in rows of kiss-cheek tears they rain.
Cupid, the wag, that lately conquered had
wise counselors, stout captains, puissant kings,
and tied them fast to lead his triumph bad,
glutted with them, now played with meanest things.
So oft in feasts with costly changes clad
to crammèd maws a sprat new stomach brings.90
So lords with sport of stag and heron full,
some times we see small birds from nests do pull.
So now for prey these shepherds two he took,
whose metal stiff he knew he could not bend
with hear-say, pictures, or a window look,
with one good dance, or letter finely penn’d
that were in court a well-proportioned hook
where piercing wits do quickly apprehend.
Their senses rude plain objects only move,
and so must see great cause before they love.
Therefore Love, arm’d in her, now takes the field,
making her beams his bravery and might.
Her hands, which pierced the soul’s seven-double shield,
were now his darts, leaving his wonted fight.
Brave crest to him her scorn-gold hair did yield,
his complete harness was her purest white.
But fearing lest all white might seem too good,
in cheeks and lips the tyrant threatens blood.
Besides this force within her eyes he kept
a fire to burn the prisoners he gains,
whose boiling heart increasèd as she wept,
for ev’n in forge cold water fire maintains.
Thus proud and fierce unto the hearts he stepped
of them (poor souls), and cutting reason’s reins,
made them his own before they had it wished.
But if they had, could sheep hooks this resist?
Claius straight felt and groanèd at the blow,
and called, now wounded, purpose to his aid.
Strephon (fond91 boy), delighted, did not know
that it was love that shined in shining maid,
but lickrous,92 poisoned, fain to her would go,
if him new-learnèd manners had not stayed,
for then Urania homeward did arise,
leaving in pain their well-fed, hungry eyes.
She went, they stayed, or rightly for to say,
she stayed in them, they went in thought with her.
Claius indeed would fain have pulled away
this mote from out his eye, this inward burr,
and now, proud rebel, gan for to gainsay
the lesson which but late he learned too far,
meaning with absence to refresh the thought
to which her presence such a fever brought.
Strephon did leap with joy and jollity
thinking it just more therein to delight
than in good dog, fair field, or shading tree.
So have I seen trim books, in velvet dight
with golden leaves and painted babery93
of silly boys, please unacquainted sight,
but when the rod began to play its part,
fain would, but could not, fly from golden smart.
He quickly learned Urania was her name,
and straight for failing graved it in his heart.
He knew her haunt and haunted in the same
and taught his sheep her sheep in food to thwart,
which soon as it did bateful94 question frame,
he might on knees confess his faulty part
and yield himself unto her punishment,
while nought but game the self-hurt wanton meant.
Nay even to her home he oft would go,
where, bold and hurtless, many plays he tries—
her parents liking well it should be so,
for simple goodness shinèd in his eyes.
There did he make her laugh in spite of woe,
so as good thoughts of him in all arise,
while into none doubt of his love did sink,
for not himself to be in love did think.95
But glad desire, his late embosomed guest,
yet but a babe, with milk of sight he nursed.
Desire, the more he sucked, more sought the breast,
as dropsy folk still drink and are athirst,
till one fair evening, an hour ere sun did rest
(who then in lion’s cave did enter first)96,
by neighbors praised she went abroad thereby,
at Barley-Break97 her sweet swift foot to try.
Never the earth on his round shoulders bare
a maid trained up from high or low degree
that in her doings better could compare
mirth with respect, few words with courtesy,
a careless comeliness with comely care,
self-guard with mildness, sport with majesty—
which made her yield to deck this shepherd’s band,
and still, believe me, Strephon was at hand.
A-field they go, where many lookers be,
and you, seek-sorrow Claius, them among.
Indeed you said it was your friend to see—
Strephon, whose absence seemed unto thee long.
While most with her, he less did keep with thee.
No, no, it was in spite of wisdom’s song,
which absence wished. Love played a victor’s part:
The heaven-love lodestone drew thy iron heart.
The Rules and Moral of Barley-Break
Then couples three be straight allotted there;
they of both ends the middle two do fly.
The two that in mid place (“hell” callèd were)
must strive with waiting foot and watching eye
to catch of them, and them to hell to bear
that they, as well as they, hell may supply,
like some which seek to salve their blotted name
with others’ blot, till all do taste of shame.
There may you see, soon as the middle two
do (coupled) towards either couple make,
the false and fearful do their hands undo,
brother his brother, friend doth his friend forsake,
heeding himself—cares not how fellow do,
but of a stranger mutual help doth take,
as perjured cowards in adversity
with sight of fear from friends to fremd98 do fly.
First Round
Geron & Cosma Nous & Pas Urania & Strephon
These sports shephérds devised such faults to show.
Geron, though old, yet gamesome kept one end
with Cosma, for whose love Pas passed in woe.
Fair Nous with Pas the lot to hell did send.
Pas thought it hell, while he was Cosma fro.99
At other end, Urán did Strephon lend
her happy-making hand, of whom one look
from Nous and Cosma all their beauty took.
The play began: Pas dared not Cosma chase,
but did intend next bout with her to meet,
so he with Nous to Geron turned their race,
with whom to join fast ran Urania sweet.100
But light-legged Pas had got the middle space.
Geron strove hard, but agèd were his feet,
and therefore, finding force now faint to be,
he thought grey hairs afforded subtlety.
And so when Pas hand-reachèd him to take,
the fox on knees and elbows tumbled down.
Pas could not stay, but over him did rake
and crowned the earth with his first-touching crown.
His heels grown proud did seem at heaven to shake,
but Nous, who slipped from Pas, did catch the clown.101
So laughing all, yet Pas to ease some dell,
Geron and Uran were condemned to hell.
Second Round
Cosma & Strephon Geron & Urania Pas & Nous
Cosma this while to Strephon safely came,
and all to second Barley-Break are bent.
The two in hell did toward Cosma frame,
who should to Pas, but they would her prevent.
Pas, mad with fall, and madder with the shame,
most mad from beams that he thought Cosma sent,
with such mad haste he did to Cosma go,
that to her breast he gave a noisome blow.
She, quick and proud, and who did Pas despise,
up with her fist, and took him on the face.
Another time, quoth she, become more wise.
Thus Pas did kiss her hand with little grace,
and each way luckless, yet in humble guise,
did hold her fast for fear of more disgrace,
while Strephon might with pretty Nous have met,
but all this while another course he set.102
For as Urania after Cosma ran,
he, ravishèd with sight how gracefully
she moved her limbs and drew the agèd man,
left Nous, to coast the lovèd beauty nigh.
Nous cried and chased, but he no other can
till Uran, seeing Pas to Cosma fly,
and Strephon single, turnèd after him.
Strephon, so chased, did seem in milk to swim.
He ran, but ran with eye o’er shoulder cast,
more marking her than how himself did go,
like Numid lions by the hunters chased—
though they do fly, yet backwardly they glow103
with proud aspect, disdaining greatest haste:
What rage in them, that love in him did show.
But God gives them instinct the man to shun,
and he by law of Barley-Break must run.
But as his heat with running did augment,
much more his sight increased his hot desire.
So is in her the best of nature spent;
the air her sweet race moved doth blow the fire.
Her feet be pursuivants104 from Cupid sent
with whose fine steps all loves and joys conspire.
The hidden beauties seemed in wait to lie
to down proud hearts that would not willing die.
Thus fast he fled from her he followed sore,
still shunning Nous to lengthen pleasing race,
till that he spied old Geron could no more.
Then did he slack his love-instructed pace
so that Urán, whose arm old Geron bore,
laid hold on him with most lay-holding grace.
So caught, him seemed he caught of joys the bell
and thought it heaven so to be drawn to hell.
Third Round
Pas & Cosma Strephon & Nous Geron & Urania
To hell he goes, and Nous with him must dwell.
Nous swore it was not right—for his default
who would be caught—that she should go to hell.
But so she must. And now the third assault
of Barley-Break among the six befell.
Pas Cosma matched, yet angry with his fault.
The other end Geron with Uran guard.
I think you think Strephon bent thitherward.
Nous counseled Strephon Geron to pursue,
for he was old and easy would be caught.
But he drew her as love his fancy drew,
and so to take the gem Urania sought,
while Geron old came safe to Cosma true,
though him to meet at all she stirrèd nought.
For Pas, whether it were for fear or love,
moved not himself, nor suffered her to move.
So they three did together idly stay,
while dear Urán, whose course was Pas to meet,
(he staying thus) was fain abroad to stray
with larger round, to shun the following feet.
Strephon, whose eyes on her back-parts did play,
with love drawn on, so fast with pace unmeet
drew dainty Nous, that she, not able so
to run, broke from his hands, and let him go.105
He single thus, hoped soon with her to be,
who nothing earthly, but of fire and air,
though with soft legs, did run as fast as he.
He thrice reached, thrice deceived, when her to bear
he hopes, with dainty turns she does him flee.
So on the downs we see, near Wilton fair,
a hastened hare from greedy greyhound go,
and past all hope his chaps to frustrate so.
But this strange race more strange conceits did yield:
Who victor seemed was to his ruin brought.106
Who seemed o’er thrown was mistress of the field.
She fled, and took. He followed, and was caught.
So have I heard, to pierce pursuing shield,
by parents trained, the Tartars wild are taught
with shafts shot out from their back-turnèd bow.
But, ah! her darts107 did far more deeply go.
As Venus’ bird, the white, swift, lovely dove
(ô happy doves that are compared to her!)
does on her wings her utmost swiftness prove,
finding the grip of falcon fierce not far,
so did Urán, the nearer108 the swifter move
(yet beauty still as fast as she did stir)
till with long race, dear she was breathless brought,
and then the Phoenix fearèd to be caught.
Among the rest that there did take delight
to see the sports of double-shining day,
and did the tribute of their wondering sight
to nature’s heir, the fair Urania, pay,
I told you Claius was the hapless wight
who earnest found what they accounted play.
He did not there do homage of his eyes,
but on his eyes his heart did sacrifice.
With gazing looks, short sights, unsettled feet,
he stood, but turned, as girasol109 to sun.
His fancies still did her in half-way meet.
His soul did fly as she was seen to run.
In sum, proud Boreas110 never rulèd fleet
(who Neptune’s web on danger’s distaff spun)
with greater power than she did make them wend
each way, as she (that ages praise) did bend—
till, spying well she well nigh weary was,
and surely taught by his love-open eye—
his eye, that ev'n did mark her trodden grass
that she would fain the catch of Strephon fly,
giving his reason passport for to pass
wither it would, so it would let him die—
he that before shunned her to shun such harms
now runs and takes her in his clipping111 arms.
For with pretense from Strephon her to guard
he met her full, but full of warefulness,
with inbowed bosom well for her prepared,
when Strephon, cursing his own backwardness,
came to her back—and so with double ward
imprison her, who both them did possess
as heart-bound slaves: and happy then embrace
virtue’s proof, fortune’s victor, beauty’s place.
Her race did not her beauty’s beams augment,
for they were ever in the best degree,
but yet a setting forth it some way lent,
as rubies luster when they rubbèd be.
The dainty dew on face and body went
as on sweet flowers when morning’s drops we see.
Her breath, then short, seemed loath from home to pass.
The more it moved, the more it sweeter was.
Happy, ô happy! if they so might bide,
to see her eyes. With how true humbleness
they lookèd down to triumph over pride.
With how sweet sauce she blamed their sauciness
to feel the panting heart which through her side
did beat their hands, which dared so near to press,
to see, to feel, to hear, to taste, to know
more than (besides her) all the earth could show.
But never did Medea’s golden weed
on Creon’s child its poison sooner throw
than those delights through all their sinews breed
a creeping serpentlike of mortal woe,
till she broke from their arms (although, indeed,
going from them, from them she could not go)
and fare-welling the flock did homeward wend.
And so that eve, the Barley-Break did end.
It ended, but the other woe began—
began at least to be conceived as woe.
For then wise Claius found no absence can
help him, who can no more her sight forgo.
He found man’s virtue is but part of man,
and part must follow where whole man doth go.
He found that reason’s self now reasons found
to fasten knots, which fancy first had bound.
So does he yield, so takes he on his yoke,
not knowing who did draw with him therein.
Strephon, poor youth, because he saw no smoke,
did not conceive what fire he had within.
But after this to greater rage it broke,
till of his life it did full conquest win,
first killing mirth, then banishing all rest,
filling his eyes with tears, with sighs his breast.
Then sports grew pains, all talking tedious.
On thoughts he feeds. His looks their figure change.
The day seems long, but night is odious.
No sleeps but dreams; no dreams, but visions strange,
till finding still his ill increasing thus,
one day he with his flock abroad did range:
and coming where he hoped to be alone,
thus on a hillock set, he made his moan:
“Alas, what weights are there that load my heart!
I am as dull as winter-starvèd sheep,
tired as a jade in over-loaden cart,
yet thoughts do fly, though I can hardly creep.
All visions seem, at every bush I start.
Drowsy am I, and yet can rarely sleep.
Sure I bewítchèd am. It is even that:
late near a cross I met an ugly cat.
“For but by charms, how fall these things on me,
that from those eyes, where heavenly apples been,
those eyes, which nothing like themselves can see,
of fair Urania, fairer than a green
proudly bedecked in April’s livery,
a shot unheard gave me a wound unseen?
He was invisible that hurt me so,
and none invisible, but spirits, can go.
“When I see her, my sinews shake for fear,
and yet, dear soul, I know she hurteth none.
Amid my flock with woe my voice I hear,
and, but bewitched, who to his flock would moan?
Her cherry lips, milk hands, and golden hair
I still do see, though I be still alone.
Now make me think that there is not a fiend
who, hid in angel’s shape, my life would end.
“The sports wherein I wanted to do well,
come she, and sweet the air with open breast,
then so I fail, when most I would do well,
that at me so amazed my fellows jest.
Sometimes to her news of myself to tell
I go about, but then is all my best
wry words and stamm’ring, or else doltish dumb.
Say then, can this but of enchantment come?
“Nay, each thing is bewitched to know my case.
The nightingales for woe their songs refrain.
In river, as I looked, my pining face—
as pined a face as mine—I saw again.
The courteous mountains, grieved at my disgrace,
their snowy hair tear off in melting pain.
And now the dropping trees do weep for me,
and now fair evenings blush my shame to see.
“But you, my pipe, whilom my chief delight,
till strange delight delight to nothing ware;
and you, my flock, care of my careful sight
while I was I, and so had cause to care;
and you, my dog, whose truth and valiant might
made wolves (not inward wolves) my ewes to spare,
go you not from your master in his woe.
Let it suffice that he himself forego.
“For though like wax this magic makes me waste,
or like a lamb, whose dam away is fet,112
stol’n from her young by thief’s unchoosing haste—
he treble baas113 for help, but none can get—
though thus, and worse, though now I am at last
of all the games that here ere now I met,
do you remember still, you once were mine,
till my eyes had their curse from blessèd eyne.114
“Be you with me while I unheard do cry,
while I do score my losses on the wind,
while I in heart my will write ere I die,
in which by will my will and wits I bind
still to be hers—about her aye115 to fly
as this same sprite about my fancies blind
doth daily haunt, but so that mine becomes
as much more loving as less cumbersome.
“Alas! a cloud has overcast my eyes,
and yet I see her shine amidst the cloud.
Alas! of ghosts I hear the ghastly cries,
yet there, me seems, I hear her singing loud.
This song she sings in most commanding wise:
‘Come, shepherd’s boy, let now thy heart be bowed,
to make itself to my least look a slave.
Leave sleep, leave all, I will no piecing116 have.’
“I will, I will, alas! alas! I will:
Wilt thou have more? More have, if more I be.
Away ragg'd rams! Care I what murrain117 kill?
Out shrieking pipe, made of some witchèd tree!
Go, bawling cur, thy hungry maw go fill
on yond foul flock belonging not to me.”
With that his dog he henced.118 His flock, he cursed.
With that, his pipe (yet kissèd first) he burst.
This said, this done, he rose (even tired with rest)
with heart as careful as with careless grace,
with shrinking legs but with a swelling breast,
with eyes which threatened they would drown his face.
Fearing the worst, not knowing what were best,
and giving to his sight a wondering race,
he saw behind a bush where Claius sate119—
his well known friend, but yet his unknown mate,
Claius the wretch, who lately yielden was
to bear the bonds which time nor wit could break,
with blushing soul at sight of judgment’s glass
while guilty thoughts accused his reason weak,
this morn alone to lovely walk did pass
within himself of her dear self to speak,
till Strephon’s plaining voice him nearer drew,
where by his words his self-like case he knew.
For hearing him so oft with words of woe
Urania name, whose force he knew so well,
he quickly knew what witchcraft gave the blow
which made his Strephon think himself in hell,
which, when he did in perfect image show
to his own wit, thought upon thought did swell,
breeding huge storms within his inward part,
which thus breathed out with earth-quake of his heart.
As Lamon would have proceeded, Basilius—knowing by the wasting of the torches that the night also was far wasted, and remembering Zelmane’s hurt—asked Zelmane whether she thought it not better to reserve the complaint of Claius till another day, which she, though much delighted with what was spoken, willingly agreed to, perceiving the song had already worn out much time and not knowing when Lamon would end (being even now stepping over to a new matter). And so of all sides they went to recommend themselves to the elder brother of death.
Thyrsis] The name of a shepherd in Virgil’s seventh eclogue, but also a wand twined with ivy and twigs, which followers of Bacchus use for incitement, just as Thyrsis provokes Musidorus to admit his passion.
the pie still] the magpie continually.
singled] singled out. Good hunters can detect a deer different from the common herd. Musidorus deliberately riddles about whether he or Pamela or both are lost in a herd (of common shepherds).
mingled be] Nor does a true lover want his lover made common.
Having urged Dorus to sing, but not “perceiving the ingenuity of his refusal, which consists entirely of proverbs feigning ‘plaine speech’ but artfully grouped together,” Thyrsis then “issues a direct challenge which Dorus accepts” (Ringler 385).
fashion] fásh-i-on, pás-si-on, per-féc-ti-on, etc.
“and if the failing of hope should end the pleasure of life” (Ringler 386).
Thyrsis “begins in terza rima with three-syllable rhyme, but is not able to keep up the pace and descends to feminine and then to masculine rhyme” (Ringler 385-86).
measure] Thyrsis saw his treasure (Kala) measure out quantities of corn (grain).
Her body, which is for Dorus the outward apparel of love, clothed the earth—referring to the episode when Pamela swooned in fear of the bear at 1.19. Musidorus took her in his arms, but when she recovered, she pushed him away.
rays] beams of light from her eyes.
love] Thyrsis shifts to masculine (one-syllable) rhyme.
“In an effort to outdistance Dorus, who has easily followed him, [Thyrsis] shifts to an intricate system of medial rhyme in which the final syllable of one line is made to rhyme with the fourth syllable of the following line” (Ringler 386).
dare] I dare not mention your real name.
“[I]n a final desperate effort [Thyrsis] changes to an intricate five-line stanza rhyming a5b3c5c3b5 … but Dorus surpasses him by beginning his reply with the last line of [Thyrsis’] stanza and then repeating the same form. The roles are now reverse, for [Thyrsis] is forced to reply to Dorus by beginning with his last line. He manages to do so for one stanza, but when Dorus again successfully caps his effort, he returns to the terza rima with which he had begun and acknowledges defeat" (Ringler 386).
elegiac verses] Sidney regarded quantitative verse as noble and courtly (Ringler 393); in the 1593 Arcadia only Pyrocles and Musidorus use this Greek and Latin versification form based on long and short syllables rather than stresses. Elegiac couplets are common in quantitative verse; for example, in Ovid’s Heroides and Ars Amatoria and much medieval Latin poetry:
— — / — — / — ∪ ∪ / — ∪ ∪/ — ∪ ∪ / —
— — / — ∪ ∪ / — // — ∪ ∪ / — ∪ ∪ / —
A long syllable may substitute for two shorts except in the penultimate foot. The first two lines of Musidorus’ poem are scanned:
— — / — — / — — / — — / — ∪ ∪ / — —
For-tune, / Na-ture, / Love, long / have con- / tend-ed a- / bout me
— — / — ∪ ∪ / — // — ∪ ∪ / — ∪ ∪ / —
which should / most mi - se- / ries , // cast on a / worm that I / am.
adusted] “[W]hen choler (one of the four humours of the body) becomes adusted (loses its moisture through heat), melancholy results” (Ringler 393).
her] the “beauty divine” (Pamela).
spite] Pamela still disdains Dorus.
shamefastness] modesty. (She blushes.)
Sapphics] A verse form used by the Latin love poet Catullus (11 and 51) in imitation of the Greek female poet Sappho, and therefore well suited for Zelmane:
— ∪ — — — ∪ ∪ — ∪ — —
If my eyes can speak to do heart-y er-rand,
— ∪ — — — ∪ ∪ — ∪ — —
or my eyes’ lan-guage she do hap to judge of
— ∪ — — — ∪ ∪ — ∪ — —
so that eyes’ mes-sage be of her re-ceiv-ed
— ∪ ∪ — —
hope, we do both die.
vale] “the world as a place of sorrow and tears” (OED).
“The disguised Musidorus and Pyrocles together sing of their loves ‘in a secret manner,’ hoping that the ‘parties intended’ (Pamela and Philoclea) will understand their meaning; but they are no more successful than Shakespeare’s Viola was when she addressed Orsino in similar fashion” (Ringler 394).
Lady] Zelmane (Pyrocles in disguise).
Both princes use the same hexameter verse form:
— ∪ ∪ / — ∪ ∪ / — ∪ ∪ / — ∪ ∪ / — ∪∪ / — —.
Thus the first four lines read:
La-dy re- / served by the / heav’ns to do / pas-tor’s / com-pa-ny / ho-nor,
join-ing / your sweet / voice to the / ru-ral / muse of a / de-sert,
here you / ful-ly do / find the / strange o-per- / a-ti-on / of love—
how to the / woods love / runs, as / well as / rides to the / pa-lace.
Cyparissus] Pyrocles envies Musidorus because he can cool his passions, hot as the sun (Phoebus), in the guise (shade) of an unassuming heterosexual male (Cyparissus, as in Spenser’s Faerie Queene 1.6.17) lodged near the woman he loves (pleasant myrtle, the shrubbery of Venus, goddess of love).
Idea] “the Platonic … Ideal, the ‘fore conceit’ of an arist’s work … but Musidorus’ … is a real woman, Pamela” (Ringler 394).
manly] “The required elision throws the emphasis on ‘man’—Musidorus, even though disguised, appears as a man and can express his love for a woman; Pyrocles, disguised as a woman, cannot” (Ringler 394). Professor Ringler concludes that it is possible to scan Sidney’s quantitative lines so that the eye perceives how the syllables fit the Latin meter; nonetheless “when read aloud many of his lines do not sound like verse to English ears.” He adds that “it must be remembered that all . . . the measured poems are described as being sung, … so that by the tune of the music the poet or listener ‘should straight know how every word should be measured’” (392-393). The editors have more freely than usual modernized this poem from here on.
greater] Pamela and Philoclea.
puppet] impersonator, an inferior actor.
to estates which still be adherent] “which always accompany high position” (Ringler 395).
The laurel or bay leaf is a sign of renown; myrrh is an aromatic gum, a balm of sweetness; the evergreen leaf of the myrtle is a sign of love; the willow of unrequited love; and the cypress of mourning. The boy is Cupid, god of love.
fig … hurtful] Secret murderers were said to use poisoned figs.
style] “The pastoral traditionally requires the low style” (Ringler 494).
clouted] patched. The 1593 edition reads “doubted.”
Epirus lies north-west of the Peloponnesus and south of Macedonia, while the island of Aeolus (Aeles’ land) is further west, between Sicily and Sardinia (Ringler 495).
keels or “kayles, a game similar to ninepins”; green “was the color of lovers, and May games were decried for the acts of immorality that often accompanied them”; quintain refers to “tilting at a post, formerly an exclusively knightly exercise, had by Elizabethan times become a village game” (Ringler 495).
lease of] contract that gave them rights to.
maid refers to Urania; a micher is a truant; the bias is the nipple, an image drawn from bowling balls, which were give an irregularity “that they might move in a particular curve”; and peeper means “chirper and looker” (Ringler 495).
a sprat new stomach brings] a small sea-fish renews one’s appetite.
think] No one, including himself, suspected he loved Urania.
“The sun enters the zodiacal sign of Leo about 21 July, so about two months have passed since Strephon first saw Urania” (Ringler 495).
Barley-Break] a game, like tag, for mixed couples. “In the country game of barley-break the two couples at either end of the field attempt to change partners without being caught by the couple in the middle (called hell). The couple in the middle must hold hands while chasing the others, and if they catch any one member of an opposing couple before they meet as partners, that pair must take their place in hell” (Ringler 495).
fremd] stranger. Each of the three men and women hold hands at first. The moral suggests that most couples part in order to reach their future partner, but they might do better remaining with their friends.
Here by the luck of the draw (lot) Geron (old man) is paired with Cosma (ornament). Nous (mind or heart) is paired with Pas (the whole, or “all men” in New Testament Greek), who is more interested in Cosma but believes he can only win her by capturing old Geron first. Strephon is at first happily matched with Urania, before she is obliged by the game to pursue old Geron and he to pursue worldly Cosma. Although Sidney’s Astrophil denounces “allegory’s curious frame,” Sidney often animated personifications (one definition of allegory) and knew how to hint at the supernatural (the function of another kind of allegory).
“In the first game Pas and Nous catch old Geron as he attempts to reach Urania, but tumble over him in the process” (Ringler 496).
“In the second game Geron and Urania take their place in hell and Strephon is supposed to run to Nous; but instead he follows Urania and is caught [by her], and Nous [whom he should have chased] has to go to hell with him” (Ringler 496).
pursuivants] “official messengers” (Ringler 496).
“Strephon breaks away from Nous, which is, of course, against the rules, and runs after Urania by himself. At the same time Claius, who is only a spectator, also runs after Urania. The two friends catch her, and completely disrupt the game” (Ringler 496).
Strephon would have been “victor” had he caught Geron.
darts] beams from Urania’s backcast eyes.
nearer] Strephon’s approach moves Urania to speed, enhancing her beauty, as the Phoenix is reborn brighter than before, making the day shine doubly, attracting Claius, who also pursues her.
Boreas] the stormy north wind.
treble baas] says “baa” three times.
