THE COMPLAINT OF THE FORSAKEN WIFE OF
SAINT ALEXIS
I, late the Roman youth's lov'd praise and pride, Whom long none could obtain, though thousands tried;
Lo, here am left (alas!) for my lost mate
'T embrace my tears, and kiss an unkind fate.
Sure in my early woes stars were at strife,
And tried to make a widow ere a wife.
Nor can I tell (and this new tears doth breed)
In what strange path my lord's fair footsteps bleed.
O knew I where he wander'd, I should see
Some solace in my sorrow's certainty:
I'd send my woes in words should weep for me. (Who knows how powerful well-writ prayers would
Sending's too slow a word; myself would fly.
Who knows my own heart's woes so well as I?
But how shall I steal hence? Alexis, thou,
Ah, thou thyself, alas! hast taught me how.
Love too, that leads the [way,] would lend the wings
To bear me harmless through the hardest things.
And where Love lends the wing, and leads the way,
What dangers can there be dare say me nay?
If I be shipwreck'd, Love shall teach to swim;
If drown'd, sweet is the death endured for him;
The noted sea shall change his name with me;
I 'mongst the blest stars a new name shall be;
And sure where lovers make their wat'ry graves,
The weeping mariner will augment the waves.
For who so hard, but passing by that way
Will take acquaintance of my woes, and say,
"Here 't was the Roman maid found a hard fate,
While through the World she sought her wand'ring
Here perish'd she, poor heart; Heavens, be my vows
As true to me as she was to her spouse.
O live, so rare a love! live! and in thee
The too frail life of female constancy.
Farewell; and shine, fair soul, shine there above, 35
Firm in thy crown, as here fast in thy love.
There thy lost fugitive th' hast found at last:
Be happy; and forever hold him fast."
Though all the joys I had fled hence with thee,
Unkind! yet are my tears still true to me:
I'm wedded o'er again since thou art gone,
Nor couldst thou, cruel, leave me quite alone.
Alexis' widow now is Sorrow's wife;
With him shall I weep out my weary life.
Welcome, my sad-sweet mate! Now have I got
At last a constant Love, that leaves me not:
Firm he, as thou art false; nor need my cries
Thus vex the Earth and tear the [beauteous] skies. 10
For him, alas ne'er shall I need to be
Troublesome to the world, thus, as for thee:
For thee I talk to trees; with silent groves
Expostulate my woes and much wrong'd loves;
Hills and relentless rocks, or if there be
Things that in hardness more allude to thee,
To these I talk in tears, and tell my pain,
And answer too for them in tears again.
How oft have I wept out the weary sun!
My wat'ry hour-glass hath old Time outrun.
O I am learned grown: poor Love and I
Have studied over all Astrology;
I'm perfect in Heaven's state, with every star
My skilful grief is grown familiar
Rise, fairest of those fires; whate'er thou be
Whose rosy beam shall point my sun to me,
Such as the sacred light that erst did bring
The Eastern princes to their infant King.
O rise, pure lamp, and lend thy golden ray,
That weary Love at last may find his way.
Rich, churlish Land, that hid'st so long in thee
My treasures; rich, alas, by robbing me.
Needs must my miseries owe that man a spite,
Who'er he be, was the first wand'ring knight,
O had he ne'er been at that cruel cost
Nature's virginity had ne'er been lost;
Seas had not been rebuked by saucy oars,
But lain lock'd up safe in their sacred shores;
Men had not spurn'd at mountains; nor made wars With rocks, nor bold hands struck the World's strong
Nor lost in too large bounds, our little Rome
Full sweetly with itself had dwelt at home.
My poor Alexis then, in peaceful life,
Had under some low roof loved his plain wife;
But now, ah me! from where he has no foes
He flies, and into wilful exile goes.
Cruel, return, or tell the reason why
Thy dearest parents have deserved to die.
And I, what is my crime I cannot tell,
Unless it be a crime t' have loved too well.
If heats of holier love and high desire
Make big thy fair breast with immortal fire,
What needs my virgin lord fly thus from me,
Who only wish his virgin wife to be?
Witness, chaste Heavens! no happier vows I know 25
Than to a virgin grave untouch'd to go.
Love's truest knot by Venus is not tied;
Nor do embraces only make a bride.
The queen of angels (and men chaste as you)
Was maiden-wife, and maiden-mother too.
Cecilia, glory of her name and blood,
With happy gain her maiden vows made good.
The lusty bridegroom made approach-" Young man,
Take heed" (said she) "take heed, Valerian!
My bosom's guard, a spirit great and strong,
Stands arm'd to shield me from all wanton wrong.
My chastity is sacred; and my Sleep
Wakeful, her dear vows undefiled to keep.
Pallas bears arms, forsooth; and should there be
No fortress built for true Virginity?
No gaping Gorgon this: none like the rest
Of your learn'd lies. Here you'll find no such jest. I'm yours: O were my God, my Christ so too,
I'd know no name of Love on Earth but you."
He yields, and straight baptized, obtains the grace 45
To gaze on the fair soldier's glorious face.
Both mix'd at last their blood in one rich bed
Of rosy martyrdom, twice married.
O burn our Hymen bright in such high flame,
Thy torch, terrestrial Love, has here no name.
How sweet the mutual yoke of man and wife,
When holy fires maintain Love's heavenly life!
But I (so help me Heaven my hopes to see),
When thousands sought my love, loved none but thee.
Still, as their vain tears my firm vows did try,
"Alexis, he alone is mine" (said I).
Half true, alas! half false, proves that poor line,
Alexis is alone; but is not mine.
DESCRIPTION OF A RELIGIOUS
HOUSE AND CONDITION OF LIFE
No roofs of gold o'er riotous tables shining,
Whole days and suns devour'd with endless dining;
No sails of Tyrian silk proud pavements sweeping,
Nor ivory couches costlier slumbers keeping;
False lights of flaring gems; tumultuous joys;
Halls full of flattering men and frisking boys;
Whate'er false shows of short and slippery good
Mix the mad sons of men in mutual blood.
But walks and unshorn woods; and souls, just so
Unforced and genuine; but not shady though.
Our lodgings hard and homely as our fare,
That chaste and cheap, as the few clothes we wear;
Those, coarse and negligent, as the natural locks
Of these loose groves; rough as th' unpolished rocks.
A hasty portion of prescribed sleep;
Obedient slumbers, that can wake and weep,
And sing, and sigh, and work, and sleep again;
Still rolling a round sphere of still-returning pain.
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