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And then it cries, and then on either looks :
Which she perceiving, ; “ blessed child,” (said she)
Although thou canst not speak, yet dost thou cry
“ Unto thy mother for me. Hear thy child,
“ Dear mother, it's for me it cries,
“ It's all the speech it hath. Accept those cries,
“ Save me at his request from being defild:
“ Let pity move thee, that thus moves the child.”
The woman, tho' by birth and custom rude,
Yet having veins of nature, could not be
But pierceable, did feel at length the point
Of pity enter so, as out gush'd tears,
(Not usual to stern eyes) and she besought
Her husband to bestow on her that prize,
With safeguard of her body at her will.
The captain seeing his wife, the child the nymph,
All crying to him in this piteous sort,
Felt his rough nature shaken too, and grants
His wife's request, and seals his grant with tears ;
And so they wept all four for company :
And some beholders stood not with dry eyes ;
Such passion wrought the passion of their prize.
Never was there pardon, that did take
Condemned from the block more joyful than
This grant to her. For all her misery
Seem'd nothing to the comfort she receivid,
By being thus saved from impurity :
And from the woman's feet she would not part,
Nor trust her hand to be without some hold
Of her, or of the child, so long as she remain’d
Within the ship, which in few days arrives
At Alexandria, whence these pirates were ;
And there this woeful maid for two years space
Did serve, and truly serve this captain's wife,
(Who would not lose the benefit of her
Attendance, for her profit otherwise)
But daring not in such a place as that
To trust herself in woman's habit, crav'd
That she might be apparel'd like a boy;
And so she was, and as a boy she served.
At two years end her mistress sends her forth
Unto the port for some commodities,
Which whilst she sought for, going up and down,
She heard some merchantmen of Corinth talk,
Who spake that language the Arcadians did,
And were next neighbours of one continent.
To them, all rapt with passion, down she kneels,
Tells them she was a poor distressed boy,
Born in Arcadia, and by pirates took,
And made a slave in Egypt; and besought
Them, as they fathers were of children, or
Did hold their native country dear, they would
Take pity on her, and relieve her youth
From that sad servitude wherein she liv'd:
For which she hop'd that she had friends alive
Would thank them one day, and reward them too;
If not, yet that she knew the heav'ns would do.
The merchants moved with pity of her case,
Being ready to depart, took her with them,
And landed her upon her country coast :
Where when she found herself, she prostrate falls,
Kisses the ground, thanks gives unto the gods,
Thanks them who had been her deliverers,
And on she trudges through the desart woods,
Climbs over craggy rocks, and mountains steep,
Wades thorough rivers, struggles thorough bogs,
Sustained only by the force of love;
Until she came unto the native plains,
Unto the fields where first she drew her breath.
There she lifts up her eyes, salutes the air,
Salutes the trees, the bushes, flow'rs and all :
And, “ Oh, dear Sirthis, here I am,” said she,
“ Here, notwithstanding all my miseries,
“ I am the same I was to thee; a pure,
“ A chaste, and spotless maid."
ALAHAM: A TRAGEDY. BY FULKE GREVILLE,
Alaham, second Son to the King of Ormus, deposes his Father :
whose Eyes, and the Eyes of his elder Brother Zophi, (acting upon a maxim of Oriental Policy), he causes to be put out. They, blind, and fearing for their Lives, wander about. In this Extremity they are separately met by the King's Daughter Calica, who conducts them to places of Refuge ; hiding her Father amid the Vaults of a Temple, and guiding her Brother to take Sanctuary at the Altar.
King. Cælica ; thou only child, whom I repent
Not yet to have begot, thy work is vain :
Thou run'st against my destiny's intent.
Fear not my fall; the steep is fairest plain ;
And error safest guide unto his end,
Who nothing but mischance can have to friend,
We parents are but nature's nursery;
When our succession springs, then ripe to fall.
Privation unto age is natural.
Age there is also in a prince's state,
Which is contempt, grown of misgovernment;
Where love of change begetteth princes' hate :
For hopes must wither, or grow violent,
If fortune bind desires to one estate.
Then mark ! Blind, as a man : scorn'd, as a king ;
A father's kindness loath'd, and desolate:
Life without joy, or light : what can it bring,
But inward horror unto outward hate ?
O safety! thou art then a hateful thing,
When children's death assures the father's state.
No, safe I am not, though my son were slain,
My frailty would beget such sons again.
Besides, if fatal be the heavens' will,
Repining adds more force to destiny;
Whose iron wheels stay not on fleshly wit,
But headlong run down steep necessity.
And as in danger, we do catch at it
That comes to help; and unadvisedly
Oft do our friends to our misfortune knit :
So with the harm of those who would us good
Is destiny impossibly withstood.
Cælica, then cease ; importune me no more :
My son, my age, the state where things are now,
Require my death. Who would consent to live
Where love cannot revenge, nor truth forgive ?
Cælica. Though fear see nothing but extremity,
Yet danger is no deep sea, but a ford,
Where they that yield can only drowned be.
In wrongs, and wounds, Sir, you are too remiss.
To thrones a passive nature fatal is.
King. Occasion to my son hath turn’d her face;
My inward wants all outward strengths betray ;
And so make that impossible I may.
Calica. Yet live : Live for the state.
King. Whose ruins glasses are, Wherein see errors of myself I must, And hold my life of danger, shame, and care. Cælica. When fear propounds, with loss men ever
King. Nothing is left me but myself to lose.
Cælica. And is it nothing then to lose the state ?
King. Where chance is ripe, there counsel comes too
Calica, by all thou ow'st the gods and me,
I do conjure thee, leave me to my chance.
What's past was error's way; the truth it is,
Wherein I wretch can only go amiss.
If nature saw no cause of sudden ends,
She, that but one way made to draw our breath,
Would not have left so many doors to death.
Cælica. Yet, Sir, if weakness be not such a sand
As neither wrong nor counsel can manure;
Chuse and resolve what death you will endure.
King. This sword, thy hands, may offer up my breath, And plague my life's remissness in my death.
Cælica. Unto that duty if these hands be born, .
I must think God, and truth, were names of scorn.
Again, this justice were if life were loved,
Now merely grace ; since death doth but forgive
A life to you, which is a death to live.
Pain must displease that satisfies offence.
King. Chance hath left death no more to spoil but
Celica. Then sword, do justice office thorough me: I offer more than that he hates to thee.
(Offers to kill herself.) King. Ah ! stay thy hand. My state no equal hath, And much more matchless my strange vices be: One kind of death becomes not thee and me. Kings' plagues by chance or destiny should fall; Headlong he perish must that ruins all.
Cælica. No cliff or rock is so precipitate, But down it eyes can lead the blind away ; Without me live, or with me die you may.