Page:The Countesse of Pembrokes Arcadia (IA b30323241).pdf/110

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IN theſe paſtorall paſtimes a great number of dayes were ſent to follow their flying predeceſſours, while the cup of poyſon (which was deeplie taſted of this noble companie) had left no ſinew of theirs without mortallie ſearching into it; yet neuer manifeſting his venimous worke, till once, that the night (parting away angrie, that ſhe could diſtill no more ſleepe into the eyes of Louers) had no ſooner giuen place to the breaking out of the morning light, and the Sunne beſtowed his beames vpon the toppes of the mountaines, but that the wofull Gynecia (to whom reſt was no eaſe) had left her lothed lodging, and gotten her ſelfe into the ſolitarie places thoſe deſerts were full of, going vp and downe with ſuch vnquiet motions, as a grieued and hopeleſſe minde is wont to bring forth. There appeared vnto the eyes of her iudgement the euils ſhee was like to runne into, with vglie infamie waiting vpon them: ſhe felt the terrours of her owne conſcience: ſhe was guiltie of a long exerciſed vertue, which made this vice the fuller of deformitie. The vttermoſt of the good ſhe could aſpire vnto, was a mortall wound to her vexed ſpirits: and laſtlie, no ſmall part of her euils was, that ſhe was wiſe to ſee her euils. In ſo much, that hauing a great while throwne her countenance ghaſtlie about her (as if ſhe had called all the powers of the world to be witneſſe of her wretched eſtate) at length caſting vp her waterie eyes to heauen; O Sunne (ſaid ſhe) whoſe vnſpotted light directs the ſteps of mortall mankind, art thou not aſhamed to impart the clareneſſe of thy preſence to ſuch a duſt-creeping worme as I am? O you heauens (which continuallie keepe the courſe allotted vnto you) can none of your influences preuaile ſo much vpon the miſerable Gynecia, as to make her preſerue a courſe ſo long imbraced by her? O deſerts, deſerts, how fit a gueſt am I for you, ſince my heart can people you with wild rauenous beaſts, which in you are wanting? O Vertue, where doeſt thou hide thy ſelfe? What hideous thing is this which doth eclipſe thee? Or is it true that thou wert neuer but a vaine name, and no eſſentiall thing, which haſt thus left thy profeſſed ſeruant, when ſhe had moſt need of thy louely preſence? O imperfect proportion of reaſon, which can too much foreſee, and too little preuent! Alas, alas (ſaid ſhe) if there were but one hope for all my paines, or but one excuſefor