LITMIR.BIZ

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in his chapel vile the image laid,

       On which the enchanter charms and witchcraft said.

      VIII

       When Phoebus next unclosed his wakeful eye,

       Up rose the sexton of that place profane,

       And missed the image, where it used to lie,

       Each where he sough in grief, in fear, in vain;

       Then to the king his loss he gan descry,

       Who sore enraged killed him for his pain;

       And straight conceived in his malicious wit,

       Some Christian bade this great offence commit.

      IX

       But whether this were act of mortal hand,

       Or else the Prince of Heaven's eternal pleasure,

       That of his mercy would this wretch withstand,

       Nor let so vile a chest hold such a treasure,

       As yet conjecture hath not fully scanned;

       By godliness let us this action measure,

       And truth of purest faith will fitly prove

       That this rare grace came down from Heaven above.

      X

       With busy search the tyrant gan to invade

       Each house, each hold, each temple and each tent

       To them the fault or faulty one bewrayed

       Or hid, he promised gifts or punishment,

       His idle charms the false enchanter said,

       But in this maze still wandered and miswent,

       For Heaven decreed to conceal the same,

       To make the miscreant more to feel his shame.

      XI

       But when the angry king discovered not

       What guilty hand this sacrilege had wrought,

       His ireful courage boiled in vengeance hot

       Against the Christians, whom he faulters thought;

       All ruth, compassion, mercy he forgot,

       A staff to beat that dog he long had sought,

       "Let them all die," quoth he, "kill great and small,

       So shall the offender perish sure withal.

      XII

       "To spill the wine with poison mixed with spares?

       Slay then the righteous with the faulty one,

       Destroy this field that yieldeth naught but tares,

       With thorns this vineyard all is over-gone,

       Among these wretches is not one, that cares

       For us, our laws, or our religion;

       Up, up, dear subjects, fire and weapon take,

       Burn, murder, kill these traitors for my sake."

      XIII

       This Herod thus would Bethlem's infants kill,

       The Christians soon this direful news receave,

       The trump of death sounds in their hearing shrill,

       Their weapon, faith; their fortress, was the grave;

       They had no courage, time, device, or will,

       To fight, to fly, excuse, or pardon crave,

       But stood prepared to die, yet help they find,

       Whence least they hope, such knots can Heaven unbind.

      XIV

       Among them dwelt, her parents' joy and pleasure,

       A maid, whose fruit was ripe, not over-yeared,

       Her beauty was her not esteemed treasure;

       The field of love with plough of virtue eared,

       Her labor goodness; godliness her leisure;

       Her house the heaven by this full moon aye cleared,

       For there, from lovers' eyes withdrawn, alone

       With virgin beams this spotless Cynthia shone.

      XV

       But what availed her resolution chaste,

       Whose soberest looks were whetstones to desire?

       Nor love consents that beauty's field lie waste,

       Her visage set Olindo's heart on fire,

       O subtle love, a thousand wiles thou hast,

       By humble suit, by service, or by hire,

       To win a maiden's hold, a thing soon done,

       For nature framed all women to be won.

      XVI

       Sophronia she, Olindo hight the youth,

       Both or one town, both in one faith were taught,

       She fair, he full of bashfulness and truth,

       Loved much, hoped little, and desired nought,

       He durst not speak by suit to purchase ruth,

       She saw not, marked not, wist not what he sought,

       Thus loved, thus served he long, but not regarded,

       Unseen, unmarked, unpitied, unrewarded.

      XVII

       To her came message of the murderment,

       Wherein her guiltless friends should hopeless starve,

       She that was noble, wise, as fair and gent,

       Cast how she might their harmless lives preserve,

       Zeal was the spring whence flowed her hardiment,

       From maiden shame yet was she loth to swerve:

       Yet had her courage ta'en so sure a hold,

       That boldness, shamefaced; shame had made her bold.

      XVIII

       And forth she went, a shop for merchandise

       Full of rich stuff, but none for sale exposed,

       A veil obscured the sunshine of her eyes,

       The rose within herself her sweetness closed,

       Each ornament about her seemly lies,

       By curious chance, or careless art, composed;

       For what the most neglects, most curious prove,

       So Beauty's helped by Nature, Heaven, and Love.

      XIX

       Admired of all, on went this noble maid,

       Until the presence of the king she gained,

       Nor for he swelled with ire was she afraid,

       But his fierce wrath with fearless grace sustained,

       "I come," quoth she, "but be thine anger stayed,

       And causeless rage 'gainst faultless souls restrained—

       I come to show thee, and to bring thee both,

       The wight whose fact hath made thy heart so wroth."

      XX

       Her molest boldness, and that lightning ray

       Which her sweet beauty streamed on his face,

       Had struck the prince with wonder and dismay,

       Changed his cheer, and cleared his moody grace,

       That had her eyes disposed their looks to play,

       The king had snared been in love's strong lace;

       But wayward beauty doth not fancy move,

       A frown forbids, a smile engendereth love.

      XXI

      

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