THULE, Or virtues History.  
To the Honourable and virtuous Mistress AMY AUDELY. By F. R.  
At London Printed by Felix Kingston, for Humphrey Lownes. 1598.   

To the Reader.  

NOr lift I crave the gentle Readers praise,  
Nor make base prayers to the Critic ears,  
Nor humbly beg for undeserved bays,  
My bolder Muse no cruel censure fears:  
Let starveling Poets and that base sort,  
To wrested favour witless heads exhort.   

Nor do I fear those Scylla's dogged heads,  
Which still are barking at the passengers;  
And sat their thirsty jaws on worthier deeds,  
Scorning the bones of threedbare carrion verse:  
My Muse shall fly those Basilisks aspect,  
Which with their poisoned rays all things infect.   

The sixteenth spring had with her flowery vail  
Wrapped all the earth, warmed with th'approaching Sun,  
And did 'gainst winter's ragged force prevail;  
Who straight to cold cocytus' streams did run:  
Where in congealed frost for deep disgrace,  
He wilful hides his blushing hoary face.   

When I too young do drive this chariot,  
Ploughed up the furrows of my fruitless wit,  
And in this spring this timely child begot,  
And to men's favours now adventure it:  
Where let it hazard for more lucky chance,  
And with his worth his humble name advance.   

Where infant fly the lowering brows of age,  
Avoid the wrinkles of his furrowed face,  
Thy state fits not their graver carriage,  
But to the younger sort direct thy pace:  
Where while thou sit'st thy loved peers among,  
Bid them or not correct or mend thy song.   

And fly the earthly poets servile soul,  
That sells the Muses for each peasant's brass;  
Those mercenaries faults thou mayst control,  
Whose deeds fair Helicons sweet streams debase:  
And thou more glorying in immunity,  
Fly far the name of prentise-poetrie.   

Next scorn the scorner of a Poet's pen,  
That counts it base in tuned lines to sing,  
And leaves it for the poor and needy men,  
That hope to gain by rhymed flattering:  
Tell him not all Parnassus yet is sold,  
But yet one head the lovely Muses hold.   

Which heavenly Sidney living did adorn,  
And Scottish james bedecked with princely writ,  
Whose names black envy and death's force do scorn,  
Eternised with the glory of their wit:  
Whose hallowed steps not to be trodden more,  
Following a far full humbly I adore.    

The Prologue unto the first Book.  

THese have I careless writ with running hand,  
Whom art not shadoweth, but as clearest light,  
Wanting none Oedipus all open stand,  
Fit for the dimmer eyes and weaker sight.   

But they whose Eagle-eyes can dare the Sun,  
And love high soaring from the lowly ground,  
Let them not blame what I have wilful done,  
Some better like the Oaten rural sound.   

And let those curious eyes a while await,  
Until the second service shall begin,  
Where we will seek for some more dainty meat,  
And stranger fruits then on this table been:  
Where if they list they may their thirst appease,  
Which songs my Muse to higher tunes shall raise.    

The Argument.  

OF that same I'll which darkness long hath chained  
In gloomy prison of obscurity;  
Islandia I mean, so long retained  
From human view by times impiety;  
Old stories newly shall be entertained.  
Freed from the silent graves impurity,  
To tell the virtuous though their days do end,  
Yet on their fall their glory doth ascend.   


Ariost. cant. 32.  Islandia that Artick-seated I'll,  
Of which th' Italian swan sung long ago,  
Whose Queen the loathed wcoers did beguile,  
And caused them for a shield to Paris go,  
And for her sake to suffer loves exile,  
Exagitate by dangers to and fro:  
From thence my pen must fetch her foreign tasks,  
And thence transport my hidden stories masks.   

Only (sweet you) to whom this show shall come,  
hearken attentive to the stranger's tale  
Summoned thus lately from oblivions tomb,  
Expecting for your favours gentle gale:  
Else shall he wish that he had still been dumb,  
Nor raised his pitch from out that lowly vale:  
Where love enjoind him for a while to dwell,  
To paint the torments of that burning hell.    
virtues History.  

CANT. I.  
Aged Sobrinus and his wife  
Are ta'en a sleep, their daughter flies:  
The Captain rids his mates of life,  
Because they quarrels do devise.  
At last the stately fort they burnt;  
And with Erona thence he turned.  

Down in a valley lies a bushy wood,  
Of mighty trees in order fair composed,  
Within whose centre stately buildings stood,  
In this aire-climing Siluan wall enclosed,  
And seemed their equal tops each other wooed,  
That Art to Nature all her strength opposed:  
And Nature scorning at her servants pride,  
With a dim shadow did her beauty hide.   

Within this Castle dwelled an aged Sire,  
Who with his years had learned experience,  
And though he wanted youths now-quenched fire,  
Yet had a holy flame, sweet residence,  
And kindled in his heart a pure desire,  
To do good works and far from all offence:  
Sobrinus was his name, his nature such,  
He thought his alms too few, his wealth too much.   

And yet he gave to poor continual plenty,  
Filling the bellies which were long unsed;  
And quickly made his treasure coffers empty,  
Sparing himself to give the needy bread;  
Such was his goodness, such his liberal bounty,  
As still he paid though still he borrowed;  
Their port was small he and his wife alone,  
A daughter and a maid but servants none.   

Thus had they spent the tenor of their days  
In mirth, with reason, and in joy with mean;  
He never felt sad sickness sharp disease,  
And she from any grief was ever clean,  
Both post the troubles of life's weary ways,  
And scap't those dangers which do others pain,  
Sleeping securely each in others breast,  
No fear their careless minds had ere oppressed.   

Until when Night the counsellor of ill,  
Had lift her cloudy head from pitchy deeps,  
And did with darkness all th'Horizon fill,  
Mischief the hellish witch that never sleeps,  
When every thing beside is calm and still,  
From out her snaky cabin ugly creeps;  
And took with her a box of devilish drugs,  
Which issue from her venom▪ nourished dugs.   

Sister she is of hell begotten Night,  
Her eyes by day are dim, and still she lies  
Within her cell, removed from the light:  
But when the tired Sun to bedward hies,  
Then doth she bristle up her wings for flight,  
As soon as she her sister once espies:  
And going thence she flies with double haste,  
And comes back mourning that her joy doth waste.   

And now this hag of Hell, foul loathsome sprite,  
Crawling from out her gore-bedewed nest;  
And having set her scaly pinions right,  
Travails when other things from labour ceased,  
And to a grove adjoining takes her flight,  
Where after boles of wine and riotous feast,  
Buried in sleep the thieves and robbers lay,  
Forgetting that the night had brought their day.   

She having entered to this cell of sin,  
Herself more sinful than sins loathsome cell,  
To sprinkle all their bodies doth begin,  
And charm them with this soule-peruerting spell:  
Which done she lifts her on her double sin,  
And slowly flies unto her vices Hell:  
Which done she weeps upon her pitchy door,  
That she should in ere she had mischiefed more.   

The while that rout of mischief-tainted thieves,  
Rousing each other from their cabinets,  
One pulls the other by their venomed sleeves,  
And with more poison all his hand be wets,  
Which with more stings his egged conscience grieves,  
That this their stay should interpose more lets:  
At last all waked, all into counsel fall,  
And which hurteth most, that pleaseth all.   

At length their Captain Bonavallant height,  
Riseth from out their hellish counsel-house,  
And takes a golden cup with pearls bedight,  
And drinking to his mates a full carouse,  
Tells them, let never danger you affright,  
Nor let your hearts great hills bring forth a mouse;  
But follow me that still have happy been,  
(The worse hap for some such hap was seen.)   

Then all arising like the studious Bees,  
That for the golden honey follow fast:  
Each hopes to gain his serious labours fees,  
And every one doth scorn to follow last,  
Lest he his hoped fruits perhaps might lose,  
Therefore each strives to make more speedy haste:  
At length they come unto this stately fort,  
And each to mischief doth his friend exhort.   

Even as when good Aeneas crossed the seas,  
And Aeolus sent his whirling servants out;  
Neptune awaked from his nightly ease,  
Called all his Tritons and his guard about,  
And counselled all the tumults to appease,  
And be revenged on that unruly rout:  
So do these rau'n-tongd birds of Pluto's quire,  
Complot to spoil that holy sleeping sire.   

At last with violence and open force,  
They broke the posterns of the Castle gate,  
And entered spoiling all without remorse,  
Nor could old Sobrin now resist his fate,  
But stiff with fear even like a senseless corpse,  
Whom grisly terror doth so much amate,  
He lies supine upon his fatal bed,  
Expecting every minute to be dead.   

While as Devota his religious wife,  
Sent prayers the sweet ambassadors to God,  
The heralds to prepare a better life:  
For now approacheth deaths devasting rod,  
Sharper than sharpest edge of keenest knife,  
That with his stroke denies life's long abode:  
Which now is settled in these butcher's hands,  
That bound in chains of sin pass conscience bands.   

Up rushing now unto the lodge they run,  
Striving who first should work this cruel deed:  
Nor could their prayers stay what was begun,  
But still they prosecute with greater speed,  
And long it seemed before their fact was done,  
So much did blood their hellish hunger feed,  
That to invent some kind of cruel death,  
They added loathed respite to their breath.   

At last one bellowed from his wolvish throat,  
This bloody doom the brat of savage mind,  
Quoth he, Then let this old gray-haired goat  
Be set in grave alive, and there be pined,  
And to this varlet, which for age doth dote,  
To be beheaded only is assigned:  
So is he buried ere his corpse be dead,  
And she with cruel blow parts from her head.   

So have I seen the chaste and purest dove,  
Stricken by cruel fowlers shivering shot,  
Disseverd from her nere-forsaken love,  
Fall on the ground ere she herself had wots,  
And with one sprawl for sweetest living strove,  
But all her piteous struggling helped her not:  
So have I seen that purest bird to die,  
As here doth this sweet carcase mangled lie.   

Now whiles this wicked pageant thus is played,  
Viceina daughter to this reverend man,  
Viewing these facts and of the like afraid,  
As fast as tender thighs transport her can,  
Flies comfortless, and poor forsaken maid,  
Her look with former terror pale and wan:  
But her mis-haps when these black deeds are told,  
In sequent lines more fit I will unfold.   

The house all ransacked, and the coffers torn,  
They found Sobrinus maid Erona called,  
Whom Bonavallant thence would straight have borne,  
For she was fair and then with fear appalled,  
She added doule grace to that before,  
Which with sharp stings his burning stomach galled,  
That with this overscorching passion fired,  
To carry her closely thence he straight conspired.   

But they whose eyes soul lawless lust had taught,  
Moved with envy at so fair a prey,  
Told him that he false treachery had wrought,  
In seeking thus to steal the prize away,  
Since it was common, and in common caught,  
He should unto the common laws obey.  
Which is, that what so ere by force was gained,  
Should to their common use still be retained.   

But he whom beauty, and these words commoved,  
Drew out his often-blood-embrewed sword,  
And cries; here take the sport so much ye loved;  
This lass shall kisses to your lips afford,  
And with that speech his mighty valour proved;  
And clove once skull like to a riven board:  
The second laying down the ware he found,  
Left ware, and crazed head upon theground.   

Their fellows seeing this their mates mishap,  
Left all their treasure, and their gains behind,  
And fearing some ensuing thunderclap,  
In coward swiftness do their safety find,  
While he triumphing in this lucky hap,  
Taught by the maid two coursers doth unbind,  
Which in a room with mighty cords were tied,  
And long had there lain still unoccupied.   

Then doth he set much sewell all about,  
Encompassing the walls of all the towers:  
And that no flame might quench the fire out,  
He lightens all the wood-ingraved bowers,  
Which joined to the wall full fair and stout,  
And perished quickly built in many hours;  
While he and she in dawning of the day,  
Mounted aloft and parted thence away.   

The fuming vapours mount unto the sky,  
Where turned into teare-distilling rain,  
They mourn their masters helpless misery,  
Returning to the former seat again:  
But viewing there the spoils of injury,  
In trickling streams they mourn his torturing pain,  
While raging Phoebus wrapped in dusky clouds,  
Angry with fates his mantled visage shrouds.    

CANT. 2.  
Viceina wanders all forlorn,  
In midst darkness of the night:  
But at the rising of the morn,  
She meets the wicked lustful knight;  
Whom once well known she defies,  
Hating those sensual vanities.  

THus reigns deep sacrilege and wicked arms,  
Yspent in persecuting virtuous souls:  
The fire is quenched, which with his vigour warms  
Distressed hearts, now truth doth hide in holes,  
Afraid of falsehoods terrifying alarms,  
Whose envious force her sweetest rest controls:  
justice from out the gored earth is flown,  
And left her virtues offspring all alone.   

From which poor stock this sweet Viceina bred,  
Wanders unhappy virgin all forlorn,  
Fowl cares do deadly wrack that blessed head,  
Whose brain in streaming tears is much forworn,  
For pity that her steps are so misled  
In blackest night, and cannot see the morn:  
Yet still she hopes on that sweet Sun of light,  
Which leads her soul in all this earthly night.   

At length the Morning's chariot climbed aloft,  
Bringing sweet comfort to this pilgrim maid,  
The grateful light which she so long had sought,  
To guide her errant footsteps far astrayd,  
When viewing whither now her feet were brought,  
Her sighing heart was drerily dismayed,  
And sorrow surrowed her sweet countenance,  
With black remembrance of her sad mischance.   

Yet still she moves in unaccustomed pace,  
And means to try fatal misfortunes worst,  
Plunged in various thoughts distorting case,  
And tortured thus by envy most accursed,  
At last she spied a Deer that fled apace,  
Whose bleeding side a piercing dart had burst,  
And fled and ran, and as he ran and fled,  
Moved with grief down trickling tears he shed.   

When follows on a lusty courser set,  
A goodly knight (as seemed) and fair of look,  
That strives in swiftest course his game to get:  
But quickly all his game and course forsook,  
When once he saw, then dear a dearer let,  
And to this Pilgrim back his journey took,  
And from his horse dismounted to the ground,  
Comforts her with his words alluring sound.   

And then her state he curious doth inquire,  
Ask the cause of her distressed plight,  
When she Sir knight replied, let me desire,  
Not to torment an over-tired wight,  
With new memorial of her fates so dire,  
Rubbing my soul with a fresh tragic sight,  
Only (fair sir) help this my poor estate,  
And I your service ever will await.   

Moved with pity much, but more with lust,  
He dared not countermand her sad demands,  
But from his heart with pleasures flames combust,  
Volleyed these words scarce shut in virtues bands:  
Come (fair) and to my gentle mercy trust,  
And yield thy body to my embracing hands,  
I'll lead thee where in pleasure thou shalt dwell,  
Removed from black melancholies hell.   

Viceina whose most pure milk-washed heart  
Never supposed what fraud before did plot,  
Told him to ease her souls tormenting smart,  
And that she thought such look maintained not  
Fowl knighthood's shame, to work her sorrows part,  
Agreed to take her offered fortunes lot:  
Then hand in hand conjoined they forward went,  
And in sweet talk their tedious ways they spent.   

Fowl evil on his cursed heart alight,  
For thus seducing thence the virgin's feet,  
For this same knight Philedonus is height,  
And he to pleasure given for men unmeet:  
Yet fair he seemeth at the sudden sight,  
Yet soul he is at last when men him weet;  
Under a pleasing hue and civil hood,  
He carries poisoned baits and venomed food.   

With which sly crafts and flatteries deceived,  
Unto his castle she agrees to go;  
Where coming they full fairly were received  
Of one Makerus, who down binding low,  
Told her that happily she was arrived,  
And many grateful speeches did bestow:  
At last unto a stately hall he brought her,  
Glad that within his limits he had caught her.   

Fowl wight he was that at his master's gate,  
Which open stood upon a beaten way,  
All comers passage careful did await,  
And when he spied them like a cock at day,  
He lifting up his ugly carrion pate,  
To trap them with sweet music doth assay:  
For he an Eunuch is, and sweetly sings,  
And to their ears deep ravishment he brings.   

But hoping now that this new guest is sure,  
Prepares no prologue for his Comedy,  
And as already taught to know the lure,  
He leads her to a lodging by and by:  
But as they passed, sights did her eyes allure,  
Her eyes, but not her heart to vanity:  
For she full wary was what ere she did,  
Resisting still to what delight did bid.   

But this that now her careless eyes did view,  
Was how within the spacious builded hall,  
She saw fair youths and maidens in a rew,  
Treading sweet measures at the musics call,  
And then anon as fetching forces new,  
Into each others arms they kissing fall:  
Where quenching pleasures thirst with beauty's dew,  
Their wont dancing they again renew.   

But turning quickly thence her loathing eyes,  
She follows where her wicked captain guides,  
Who nimbly moved with hellish pleasure flies,  
And at the last into a lodging slides,  
Whose fairer richest art cannot devise,  
Nor ever can be found in earth beside:  
Where placed for a while Makerus left her,  
While joyful thoughts by sorrow be bearest her.   

And she detesting this unseemly place,  
Wisheth that rather she had died abroad,  
Then ever seen this knights deceiving face,  
And thinks how she might shorten her abode:  
But here of force she must abide a space,  
So quickly she can never rid her load;  
Which keeps her blessed heart in languor pined,  
Because no way to scape her soul can find.   

And in that fit the night approaching nigh,  
Unto her bed which there was fair prepared,  
As wanting rest she presently doth high,  
But following cares her sweetest rest debarred,  
That she in these great woes was near to die:  
And certes like it was she ill had fared,  
Had not the heavens foreseen and sent their aid,  
To comfort weakened heart well-nigh dismayed.   

For when her father's house in pleasure stood,  
And in the pleasant fields adjoined she went,  
There came a holy Hermit from the wood,  
That all his time in godly precepts spent,  
Who as he told of words and doings good,  
His chain of beads about his arm unbent,  
And said; this stone doth cares and grief expel,  
And gave it to her and then bad farewell.   

This stone is Elpine called, whose virtue is,  
To drive away great grieving and despair:  
Or whatsoever doth lead the heart amiss,  
With sweetest influence it doth repair,  
Which now applied reduc'th her former bliss,  
And much diminisheth her cruel care:  
Blessed be the heavens which did thus provide,  
To ease those tortures which she did abide.   

Thus somewhat freed from these tormenting woes,  
To sleep her senses all she doth address,  
But ere her wearied members took repose,  
She was disturbed from her quietness:  
For to her chamber up a consort goes,  
That thought to comfort her all comfortless,  
And rather to enchant then to delight,  
They thought, but now they want their wont might.   

And yet well near these fiends had lulled asleep,  
With charming Music that divinest wight,  
But that strong virtue still sure watch did keep,  
And put fond pleasures yielding thoughts to flight:  
For she still marking how delight did creep,  
And by allurements, not by force did fight,  
Stopped with her fingers her imprisoned ears,  
And with stout courage all temptations bears.   

At length these Crocodiles their harping ended,  
And she is left to prosecute her grief:  
For rest is banished thence by thoughts offended,  
Which do accuse her for this night's relief,  
And cruciate themselves that condescended,  
To feigned words without some further proof;  
That twixt her thoughts and guilts fierce perturbation,  
Her soul is cast into a restless passion.   

That little sleep she took, but when she slept,  
Dreams of her fault and feigned fantasies,  
Into the closet of her sweet soul crept:  
And thus the night deludes her watching eyes,  
Care all the gates of troubled senses kept,  
Which made her think it long ere day did rise:  
So vice and virtue strive together met,  
They cannot rest within one cabinet.   

At length though long this length the morning star,  
Told that the night was fled from out the air,  
When she more glad than travailers that far.  
Spying some to were their fainting course repair,  
Thinking that there their longed dwellings are:  
But when they nearer come again despair,  
And seeing they mistook that happy place,  
Stumble again in their fore-wonted pace.   

So was she caught with hopes disguised attire,  
When black despair went masking all within:  
For now she saw no hope of her desire,  
Nor could she free herself once closed in:  
So many eyes hath lust, so hot the fire,  
Which kindles burning flames in scorched skin:  
Though Argus hundred eyes in watch doth keep,  
Yet lust at length will lull them all asleep.   

So is she watched with never resting eyes;  
The former hope of liberty is gone,  
And now Philedonus doth all devise,  
For to entangle her thus left alone;  
Fowl lust within his breast 'gins to arise,  
And from his heart fair blushing shame is flown:  
And he gins with words sole-tempting sound,  
To cast her chastity unto the ground.   

But by the happy fortune which befell,  
At last her soul was set at liberty:  
But how it chanced yet I may not tell,  
Though I am loath so long to let thee lie,  
(Sweet maid) within the torments of this hell:  
But that same thief so fast away doth fly,  
That I shall never see Erona more,  
Unless I go and fetch her back before.    

CANT. 3.  
Erona and her new found love,  
Come to the bower of fond delight:  
But thence by warning they remove.  
And in a Castle spent the night:  
In morn she feigns dissembled pain,  
He leaves her and goes back again.  

WHat ere thou be that to a woman's care,  
Commitst affairs or matters of import,  
Too rashly to adventure do not dare,  
Unless upon some certain truth's report;  
For constancy in most is found but rare,  
And they will change their thoughts for wanton sport:  
But some there be (blest he that some can find)  
To whom fair grace's virtue hath assigned.   

Amongst which thou rare virgin of these days,  
(Whom only this my wandering muse hath found)  
Merit'st eternal volumes of thy praise,  
For loving Muses and their sweetest found,  
Accepting kindly rude mistuned lays,  
Which else had lain long buried under ground:  
Be not (kind) angry at this maids disgrace,  
That Muse thy gifts shall praise, that doth her faults deface.   

For she is worthy of perpetual blame,  
For condescending to this thieves request:  
For now she curseth still her master's name,  
Swearing she never could obtain her rest,  
Until this happy news unto her came:  
And now she says she'll follow his behest,  
Go where he will, and stay where he commands,  
And lay her opened soul before his hands.   

And he seduced by her flattery,  
And blinded quite with lust and lewd desire,  
His love is bounded by no mean degree,  
He swears through freezing cold and burning fire,  
To be her champion for her beauties see,  
She says she ready is when he will try her:  
Thus in fond pleasure they consume their days,  
And after sport still walk their wont ways.   

But as they climbed the hills ascending side,  
The scorching Sun sent down fire-darting rays,  
That they uneath this seruence could abide,  
Therefore they seek some cooler shadow wed ways:  
At last down in the vale a lake they spied,  
By which there was a bower of thorn and bays,  
A bower whose ground was set with Camomile,  
Whose banks the sweetest rose and flowers did fill.   

Where entered there they see a graven stone,  
In which a history was fairly writ:  
The picture of a Lady was upon,  
And verses which were written under it."  
Here lies the fairest Lady of the isle,"  
Whom from sweet rest fond pleasure did exile,"  
To warn the rest, who yet are kept unstained,"  
To fly that plague, which keeps the soul enchained."   

The these enamoured on that lovely hue,  
Which niggard arts weak force had much defaced,  
Would needs the substance of that shadow view,  
And would the curious tombstone have displaced:  
But from this deed a noise his fancy drew,  
And rushing of the lake as with a blast:  
Where looking there they saw the fairest face,  
Whose lovely feature did the swans disgrace.   

But by the pictures likeness straight they knew,  
This was the Ghost of that entombed maid,  
When she: O cause not wretch more grief to rue,  
And trouble not the bones for rest up laid,  
But fly this place lest it procure to you,  
For which my soul dear punishment hath paid.  
When seemed her head to droop as in a sown,  
And with new racking grief to sink adown.   

But straight he cried: O tell (sweet Lady) tell,  
What danger doth attend this fearful place,  
And how to thee this wicked hap befell,  
And how thou cam'st into this woeful case?  
Then she: as long as messengers of hell,  
Which still attending stand before my face,  
Shall suffer me to stay with you above,  
I'll show you what with grief myself did prove.   

Hear by this river is a gaping pit,  
Which leads unto the floods of Acheron:  
And on the mouth thereof a witch doth sit,  
That dwelleth in a room there built upon;  
Getica she is called, who by her wit,  
Hath damned to restless dolours many one:  
And she (before Persephone was Queen)  
Had Pluto's Concubine long season been.   

But now to her this dwelling is assigned,  
Where she hath leave to charm each truest heart,  
And in eternal torturing to bind,  
The souls she hath entrapped by her art;  
And she enraged, that men sweet joy should find,  
Not bearing any of her torments part,  
Assays by all the means she can invent,  
To make them fellows in her punishment.   

And every year once she a feast doth make,  
Within that bower, where you now do lie:  
Wither full many a knight his way doth take,  
And many a Lady thitherward doth high:  
When she her loathed house doth soon forsake,  
Attired in robes and portly majesty,  
And to the banquet house doth solemn come,  
welcoming all with voice, and kissing some.   

And after meat a service all of wine,  
Is brought before the guests, when thus she says;  
My wish (sweet friends) is you should better dine,  
And have some cheer that were more worthy praise:  
But this I hope shall rest as loves sure sign,  
The rest shall be supplied in other ways:  
Only the while take this in gentle part,  
From one desiring to get more desert.   

Hear are as many cups as you are here,  
Filled with some liquor of so forcive might,  
That whatsoever you love or hold most dear,  
As beauty, magic, riches, pleasing sight,  
Or lengthened youth, until full forty year,  
Wither it good shall be, or things unright,  
It shall be given you without delay,  
Ere second night drive hence the darkened day.   

On this condition that when all the date,  
(Which is the space of forty years o'er past)  
Shall be expired, then shall you pay the rate  
Of all th'accounts, which I this while shall cast;  
Nor may ye then resist the common fate,  
For joy long may endure, not ever last:  
This said, all those that wish for any good,  
Drink up that Philter poisoning all their blood,   

Amongst those birds was I caught in the net,  
Laid to entrap the frayiltie of youth,  
And at a little price my soul did set,  
Now all bedewed into late coming ruth,  
And I admonish you unchaind as yet,  
To credit what my soul doth find for truth:  
Make speedy haste to get yourselves away,  
Tomorrow comes that hellish banquet day.   

This said, she sunk into the drowning waves,  
Drowned almost with flowing tears before,  
Like Phaetusa, while she madly raves,  
plaining that she could see the boy no more:  
And while his sweetest company she craves,  
A spreading root her feeble feet upbore,  
A surrowed rind encompassed all her skin,  
A tree she was without, a maid within.   

So doth she seem to melt in liquid tears,  
For where before that fairest substance stood,  
Nothing but bubbling water now appears:  
And while they look upon the billowing flood,  
Wonder their eyes possess'th, their hearts deep fears,  
That in their face appears no livelihood:  
At last each plucking by the others arm,  
Give warning both of that ensuing harm.   

And mounted thence, they assay to climb the hill,  
Whose bended steepness caused them take much pain,  
And though they mainly strive with labour still,  
Yet in much striving they do little gain;  
The nature of the place resists their will:  
For so it is where pleasure doth remain,  
That with a current in his arms we fall,  
But back full few can creep, or none at all.   

Nor can these now attain their minds desire,  
But forced they turn their palfrey's heads aside,  
And sorry they can climb the hill no higher,  
Upon the convex, all along they ride,  
At last by smoky sparkles of a fire,  
A chimney top far off they have espied:  
And now the Sun was driving to the west,  
And they were glad they found some hope of rest.   

Forward they pricked, and shortly there they came,  
For all the way was plain as eye might see,  
And lighting down he and his wanton dame,  
Go in to know if they might lodged be,  
And he no sooner had descried his name,  
But all the knights salute him by degree:  
For all the house with knights and dames was fraught,  
Which meant to travel for their morning's draft.   

Rejoicing thus that they so fit were met,  
And striving who should show most courtesy,  
They spend the time till on the board was set,  
The daintiest feast that ever curious eye  
Can view, or wealth, or all the isle could get,  
Such was this feast of filthy luxury,  
And they as prompt to take as that to bring,  
Sat down: some eat, some drink, some play, some sing.   

Their heads persuaded by the suming wine,  
After the empty dishes all were sacked,  
Do condescend their places to resign,  
And yield to sleep, which as it seemed they lacked;  
For so the sum their eyelids doth combine,  
That they uneath can keep themselves awaked,  
And still the ground as prosring them a bed,  
With a kind knocking kiss salutes their head.   

At last some by the little remnant of their fight,  
And some by others help to bed are got,  
Where drowned in sleep they spend the sliding night,  
And had almost in morn their care forgot:  
But wickedness that ever-haunting sprite,  
Rung in their ears and warned them of their lot:  
And they afraid their happy chance to lose,  
shook sluggard sleep away and strait arose.   

But false Erona fearing of her mate,  
That if he should unto the banquet go,  
He would forsake his choice, and change his fate,  
And leave her quite, and so procure her woe,  
feigneth that a sudden grief doth her amate,  
Wounded with piercing sickness Ebon bow,  
And says she cannot move from out her bed,  
And prays him not to leave her almost dead.   

Sweet love (quoth she) whom in my tender arms,  
So oft I have embraced and ever loved,  
O leave me not alone to following harms,  
But if that ere thy mind fair Many moved,  
Or yielded to delights, or fancies charms,  
Or if my soul doth love thee ever proved,  
Then do: and with that word so deeply sighed,  
As though death on her brokenheart did light.   

He thinking that her griefs extremity  
Did interrupt the office of her tongue,  
And moved with her words did seem to pity,  
When falling down upon her neck he hung,  
And says, if my delaying could acquit ye  
From this sharp grievance, that your heart hath stung,  
I would not leave you for the world's wealth,  
Nor work disparagement unto your health.   

But this delay can work you no redress,  
But hurt me with the sight of this your pain,  
And all the other knights themselves address,  
To go unto the feast where I would fain  
Accompany them, as my oath express  
Doth bind me, but I will return again,  
Before the sun remove his fiery wheels,  
Turning unto our view his panting palfrey's heels.   

This said, he went from out her burning sight,  
Stopping his ears unto her plaining cries,  
And she still prays to pity woeful wight,  
But like the faithless Trojan Knight he flies,  
Leaving sweet Dido swelling in despite,  
Who pouring raging plaints self-wounded dies.  
So is this Knight from out her hearing gone,  
And she can only hope he comes anon.   

But how he sped, and she was left alone,  
The sequence of the story shall declare,  
But sweet Viceina doth so deeply groan,  
Burdened with overpressing load of care,  
That sure my heart relents to hear her moan,  
And I'll assay to cause her better fare,  
For what hard heart would not all service do,  
To help a fair, a chaste, a woman too?    

CANT. 4.  
A stranger knight the maid doth free,  
Which long had lain in pleasures bands:  
While she her foeman's death doth see,  
Loosed by good fate from cursed hands,  
And with that knight her way doth take,  
Glad that foul prison to forsake.  

THough deep distress still threaten heavy fall,  
And stormy clouds thy fortune's wrack presage,  
Let not white-livered fear thy thoughts appall,  
A power there is that can all storms assuage,  
That makes the thunder bellow at his call,  
And parbreak sulphur vapours in his rage:  
This power is present still to aid the just,  
Though hemmed in hosts they be of hellish lust.   

So is the virgin here preserved from shame,  
Which like a blood hound haunts her hallowed feet,  
For since unto this shameless knight she came;  
She cannot turn but still he doth her meet,  
Tempting her soul to yield to foulest shame,  
With fairest words that Pander's art did weet;  
But still she keeps her bulwark of defence,  
Hoping some happy day will rid her hence.   

But long she watched to see that happy day,  
Before misfortune left her tyranny,  
The sliding glass of time doth spend away,  
And there with all her wasting hope doth fly,  
But he that in just weights doth all things way;  
Viewing the poor oppressed with cruelty,  
Sent means whose thought despairing thoughts did pass,  
To help that dying Saint: And thus it was.   

Sobrinus fame through all the isle was blown,  
(For he was borne of royal pedigree)  
And his fair daughter's name to all was known,  
That holy were and hated vanity,  
Amongst the rest her virtuous praise was flown,  
Unto a Lady of no mean degree,  
Whose spotless heart was pureness purest pure,  
Whose soul no sensual thoughts could ere allure.   

Aguria was this holy widows name,  
For she had laid her husband in the grave,  
And since like Anchors, or a Vestal dame,  
To heavenly thoughts her mind she wholly gave:  
But her sweet son a jolly knight became,  
Great thoughts to try his valiance him drove,  
And he was meek to those that hated ill,  
But to the wicked he was fearful still.   

This knight was moved by this damsels fame,  
And with his mothers leave departed thence,  
Vowing by heavens-makers fearful name,  
As long as life should stay, or lively sense,  
Not ever to return from whence he came,  
Before (as sign of his benevolence)  
He shall salute this Lady face to face,  
And with his arms that Saintlike Nymph embrace.   

Thus purposed forth he goes, as errant knight,  
In glistering arms clad and mighty lance,  
While under him in trappings gorgeous dight,  
A sturdy courser all the way doth dance,  
And as compacted of a lively sprite,  
His trampling hooves aloft he doth advance,  
And for adventures armed in warlike wise,  
He pricks his palsreys' sides and forward tries.   

But what great dangers in his weary way,  
Or what he saw or did, my Muse must pass,  
For they would much my stories course delay:  
Besides they are engraved in during brass,  
By one who doth antiquity bewray,  
Writing what ever in that Island was:  
Let this suffice that he now journeys nigh,  
Unto that place whereas this Dame doth lie.   

But Night had spread her gloomy wings abroad,  
Which forced thoughts of ease into his breast:  
Therefore with swifter pace he faster road,  
Hoping to get some place of gentle rest:  
But while an easy gale unto him blowed,  
The sweetest sound that ever ear possessed,  
Which made him turn his horse toward the noise,  
At last he came where he had heard the voice.   

And asked if lodging for a Knight there were,  
Quoth he that sung, strait leaping from his seat,  
None can approach (fair Sir) more welcome here,  
Then those that errant are, whom knightly hear  
Enforc'th to seek adventures far and near:  
And with this filled speech did work deceit,  
The Knight full glad he had a harbour found,  
Dismounted strait and lighted to the ground.   

But little did he think that fairest maid,  
Was prisoner in this cell of riotise:  
For this same castle where he now is stayed,  
Is that where poor Viceina captive lies,  
And sure they thought to have this Knight betrayed,  
But his sweet thought did frustrate their surmise:  
Yet in this foolish hope up was he led,  
Into a chamber fairly Arrased.   

Where after delicates and curious feast,  
Full weary of his way and toilsome watch,  
To pleasing sleep his body he addressed,  
Lest during labour should him overmatch:  
When he no sooner settled him to rest,  
But slumber in his senses seat did hatch,  
Partly by toil wherewith he now was sore,  
Partly by Music sounding at his door.   

Thus half her light fair Cynthia had spent,  
And he in sleep had spent half Cynthia's light,  
Until a cry unto his ear was sent,  
Which did his tumbling senses all affright,  
It seemed to come from heart in peecesrent,  
The woeful offspring of a wretched wight:  
But thus the plaint was formed in doleful sort,  
Carrying unto his ears a sad report.   

Hapless Viceina, whom thy father lost,  
Enough tormented not, though dearly loved,  
Nor sad remembrance of thy mother's ghost,  
Though she to tears mine eyes hath often moved,  
Nor thine own harm which grieveth others most,  
Enough thy hearts great patience hath proved:  
But here despoiled of sweet virginity,  
Thy spotted soul in ugly sin shall die.   

But rather let the consort of dread Night,  
(Which sing sad notes before her chariot,  
When she in progress rides to chase the light)  
Fear me before I take Sins filthy blot,  
The scriching Owl race out my loathed sight,  
Before it see that sight of wretched lot;  
The ravens of darkness take my corpse for pray,  
That they may hide it from the blushing day.   

And to those ghastly shades which haunt my soul,  
And to the Night consenting to this ill,  
My latest testament I will unroule,  
The dreary sum of my death-graven will,  
They shall my servants be my bell to toll,  
To ring the doleful accents of my knell,  
Death be the head, and Shame shall be the next,  
Then Night, and Gild which holds my heart perplexed.   

These on their damned backs shall bear my corpse,  
Unto the funeral which is prepared,  
My soul provide thyself against remorse,  
From hope of better death thou art debarred;  
For Sin still threatens his ungentle force,  
To wound thee deeply which had else been spared:  
But till death come take solace in the Night,  
For darkened soul there fits no better light.   

This said, a bitter sigh euapoured out  
The sad conclusion of a sadder tale,  
When 'gan the Knight his thoughts to stir about,  
Pondering what wight thus lay in sorry bale:  
But while he wavered in uncertain doubt,  
He soon unto his troubled mind did call,  
How that maid had herself Viceina height,  
Wherewith he 'gan to burst with raging spite.   

As Tereus in the banquet of his son,  
When he a while his hungry womb had fed,  
Knowing the bloody mischief that was done,  
And that he ate him whom before he bred,  
Into a headlong rage along did run,  
And curs'th the living execrates the dead,  
In such a fury was this knight distraught,  
With thoughts of blood and vengeance fully fraught.   

But well he could his raging senses tame,  
And thought this time was not so fit to get  
The freedom of this soule-diseased dame;  
The night and sudden noise his deed would let,  
Therefore he rested till the morning came,  
When to this act himself he ready set,  
And watched to see the Lady of his love,  
That from this fear he might her soul remove.   

But he not long had sought the Lady fair,  
Ere he had spied where as that lozel mate  
Walked with her in the garden for the air;  
And he of lust and filthy sin did prate,  
The Knight went strait unto that loving pair,  
Not able longer to refrain his hate,  
When she strait blushed to see herself alone,  
Except this villain companied of none.   

Then lightened with revenge thus 'gan the Knight;  
Thou foulest shame of all that breath this air,  
How darest thou to abuse this sacred wight,  
Enclosing her in den of black despair?  
Either defend thy deed in martial fight,  
Or else here die, my mind can like no prayer:  
Her champion I, and Aidon is my name,  
Thou or thy kind that dare defend the same.   

But straight he quailing sunk unto the ground,  
For he of war before had never heard,  
The name of death strait cast him in a swoon,  
His heart did pant, he was so much afeard,  
The while Sir Aidon gave a deadly wound  
Unto his heart, that all the ground besmeared  
With filthy blood, his foulest pleasures price,  
The nourishment of his ungodly vice.   

His soul sunk down gnashing for furious mad,  
That she should lose the pleasures of her bower,  
Repining at the cursed fate she had,  
Thus to be banished in unlooked for hour:  
This while the Knight unto that Lady sad,  
Told why and whence he came, who thanked that power,  
Whose providence prevented her mishap,  
Sheelding her soul from deaths fierce thunderclap.   

But thence departing to the hall they went,  
Where mingled wanton troops of either kind,  
Dallied together in their merriment,  
He that most filthy is, he seems most kind:  
The Knight could not refrain his discontent,  
But drawing forth his sword, doth bid them find  
Some fit kind of mirth, or fit place:  
When all affrighted forth they fled apace.   

All fled, he sets on fire those walls of lust,  
Whose air infected was with filthy sent,  
Down fall the walls consumed to fruitless dust,  
With eating flames of fiery force yspent,  
While Venus wept to see her fort combust,  
And those foundations from the bottom rend:  
But that fair virgin with the errant Knight,  
Left those foul dwellings, glad they met so right.   

But look the Captain now had changed his face,  
And out of knowledge he will shortly grow,  
If that I do not follow him apace,  
A gown he now hath got full hanging low:  
But wonder not at this his changed case,  
The hap which did befall, you strait shall know:  
But let me breathe a while, it needs no haste,  
For yet I pant with chase him so fast.    

CANT. 5.  
Th'enchanter on a plain doth lie,  
And while he looketh all abroad,  
He sees a Lady passing by,  
To whom enforced with lust he r●de,  
Fidamours love and Philarets' charge,  
Phucerus cruelty is told at large.  

Dear soul, what ever wanderest here below,  
Chained in the sinful bodies sensual bands,  
Yield not thyself to what doth fairest show,  
Nor walking in these worldly Nilus sands,  
Give listening to the tunes that sweet do blow:  
'tis easy falling into pleasures hands,  
But at dear rate he selleth all his ware,  
The entrance pleaseth, but the end is care.   

This hast thou found thou everdamned ghost,  
And payest dearly for thy merchandise,  
Gnashing thy teeth in that infernal coast,  
Rolling to banished heaven thy glowing eyes:  
Now doth he curse what once did please him most,  
Seeing his accounts to such a fumme to rise,  
And in deep horror from his bowels cries,  
To learn justice, nor the Gods despise.   

But all too late he moans his wicked deed,  
Now was it time all evil to prevent,  
Before foul sin had hatched his cursed seed,  
Better he had his guts in famine spent,  
Then with this feast his poisoned flesh to feed,  
But what to do himself did not repent,  
Shall not much grieve my warned mind to tell,  
Better to hear then do what is not well.   

After his faithless heart had her forsook,  
That still ingeminates his hated name,  
With th'other knights he forth his journey took,  
And to Geticas bower at length they came,  
Where they inscribed their names in cursed book,  
Incorporated in the city of defame,  
The city which foul shame on earth hath built,  
To trap men's souls in sins accusing guilt.   

And every one his sundry choice had gained,  
As each man's liking doth him most direct,  
But wicked B●nanallant hath obtained,  
To be of Hecate's accursed sect,  
Taught now to bold grim Di● and Spirits chained,  
And plague the furies for his words neglect,  
And foul Meg●●● at his kindled breast,  
Will rack men's tortured souls in sad unrest.   

No sooner doth he move his charmed wan,  
But hell eructs foul Spirits which attend,  
To work the will of this accursed man,  
He can with deadly charms earth's belly rend,  
And with swift wings the sliding eyes fan,  
Making stern Pluto at his words to bend,  
One hour this Pole shall see his charmed wings,  
And in the same he to th'antarctic: flings.   

But now upon a fair plain he doth lie,  
Harboured within his charme-enchaunted wall,  
Where on a tower he sees who passeth by,  
Hoping at length some purchase will befall,  
On whom to work his cursed witchery,  
To which a sudden sight his sense doth call,  
For a far off he sees a Lady bright,  
That armed was and all arrayed for fight.   

Her face like Phoebus at the sudden rise,  
Gave such a glister in her beauty's morn,  
As made him hope some unaccustomed price,  
And richer treasure than he saw before,  
Therefore his cursed art he now applies,  
Hoping he should this game away have borne;  
And armed with infernal spirits might,  
Thus he assayed to close this blessed wight.   

Out from his cell he flies with greatest haste,  
Like stormy Notus on his dewy plumes,  
And from his castles sight he quite is past,  
Where hid in charmed fogs and chanted fumes,  
Like to a Snake his skin he off doth cast,  
And feigned shape and form he now assumes,  
Upon a hackney he is fairly set,  
Whose sides his feet not stirropt staggering beat.   

His hoary beard down snowing on his breast,  
And swanny locks the chronicles of age,  
Witness that elder years have him oppressed,  
But that his sword doth tell that youthful rage,  
Within his haughty heart is not deceased:  
Thus doth he go as in a pilgrimage,  
Even like Silenus now he doth appear,  
But he a tankard▪ this a sword doth bear.   

Thus doth he march toward that fairest d●me,  
His horse scarce moving his untoward feet,  
When as the Sun unto his lodging came,  
And did no 'zounds his fair Thetis greet,  
But this Tithonus settled for his gain,  
Did fairer far than fair Aurora meet,  
And careless seemed he to pass aside,  
But though his horse goeth forth, his heart doth back abide.   

When she back turning her celestial spheres,  
(In one of which sweet Venus darts her rays,  
In th'other Mars and warlike love appears)  
Father (quoth she) know you how far aways  
Is fair Doledra, where Phucerus bears  
The Diadem in these unhappy days?  
Well do I know (quoth he) but 'tis so far,  
You cannot there come by the light of star.   

Then pointing to this witches charmed place,  
(Quoth she) what Knight dwells in those goodly walls,  
Or will he offer Lady this one grace▪  
(Because the night me so untimely calls)  
To entertain me for this little space?  
And if at any time the like befalls,  
Which may requite his gentle courtesy,  
I'll try to quite his great humanity.   

Even like to jupiter when once he brought,  
That fair Europa on his back did sit,  
Danced through the flowery fields, glad he had caught  
His game, applauding his successive wit:  
So doth this carl at this good news, he sought,  
And to the Lady thus his speech doth fit:  
Well may you go, none are more welcome there,  
Then those that for true cause do armour bear.   

And to assure you here myself will lead,  
Unworthy lodestar of so fair a Sun,  
Unto that castle where I sure aread,  
Not common kindness to you will be done:  
She hearkening to his speech the path doth tread,  
Which to this labyrinth of shame doth run,  
Where pleasing doub●●●th lead her to the centre,  
But these soul 〈◊〉 will her encounter.   

But least long wonder might your thoughts possess,  
Who was this Lady, and from whence she came,  
And why here she her journey did address,  
I will unfold the story of this Dame;  
Strong love her bounden heart doth much oppress,  
Which any thought of danger overcame:  
Not many fights and perils do her move,  
She counts them all but pleasures for her love.   

Upon Eumorphos plains a castle stands,  
Where dwelled an ancient and a comely Knight,  
Which all the country bordering commands:  
But that which greatest raised his glories hight,  
Was not his treasure, nor far stretched lands:  
But three fair daughters, lights most brightest light,  
Whose wondrous beauty lookers did amaze,  
That in one heaven so many Suns did blaze.   

Amongst these lookers, one there did surprise  
An uncouth heat of undermining love,  
Who knowing that stopped fire more hotly fries,  
And with his own light doth his cloak remove,  
Made known the Comet which withdrew his eyes,  
And to his Lady did his passions prove:  
She Philaret was called, the eldest maid,  
The Knight Sir Fidamour thus ill apaid.   

With earnest suit an answer he hath gained,  
The golden shaft shot forth from Cupid's bow,  
That if the victory he have obtained,  
In that adventure which this maid shall show,  
His gentle proffers shall be entertained,  
And happy match between these loves shall grow▪  
But if he do not, than all former band  
Came back as free into the maker's hand.  
Down in the western coast there dwelled a king,  
Phucerus he is height, his goodly seat,  
Is called Doledra, whose high towers do sing  
Soft murmuring tunes, when winds then gently beat,  
And loftio turrets mighty tops do bring,  
Unto the sky which never saw so great,  
That dared to look upon the starry sky,  
And lift their masses in the air so high.   

Within this town a prophesy did pass,  
That from Eumorphos should a maiden come,  
Whose hand should change the kingdom whence it was,  
Which made the king in private charge to some,  
That whosoe'er could bring that country's lass,  
Unto th'appointed Eumorphean tomb,  
He should be recompensed with liberal see,  
Beside the grace in which he still should be.   

Thus had he slain and entombed in bloody pit,  
Many that guiltless came with no pretence,  
And Philaret glad to be revenged of it,  
Enjoind the knight these deeds to recompense,  
And to provoke them more he should him fit,  
Woman's apparel which breeds more offence.  
And thus with spear and targe he forth should go,  
To be revenged on his wicked foe.   

Forth is he gone (the gods him prosper fair)  
And to this castle is this journey spent,  
Where I must leave him to his fortunes far,  
But still imagine that he forward went,  
For strongest love imprints a deepest care,  
That nothing can withdraw his heart's intent;  
But let him go as fast as love him drives,  
I'll overtake him ere he home ariue●.    

CANT. 6.  
Eronaes craft and filled tongue,  
And pleasing look and flattering face,  
Deogines his heart hath stung;  
Aidon doth find in woeful case,  
His mother kept in bondage chain,  
In whose defence himself is slain.  

THou sacred Muse which with thy silver spring,  
A little sprinklest my scarse-moystned brow,  
Help me in ampler field my verse to bring,  
These deeds do grow to larger number now,  
Nor can this little pipe them fully sing,  
Therefore my limits with my song must grow:  
The divers webs are now so divers spun,  
They cannot end so near as they begun.   

Whither defiled souls thus run ye mad?  
Wallowing in filthy shames sink most obscene:  
What? see you not how Adrastéa sad,  
With iron whips inflicting hellish pain,  
Still hovereth over, marking what is bad,  
And like Celaeno clasps her wings unclean,  
For joy that she a subject fit hath found,  
On whom revengement deeply may rebound.   

This is Erona had considered than,  
When she first yielded her to sins delight,  
And drawn her feet again when she began,  
This sorrow had not vexed her troubled sprite,  
Now desolate left off that cursed man:  
But since none other way is found in sight,  
Unto her wont art she runs again,  
And modesty in poisoned heart doth feign.   

After the castle was left desolate,  
And all betook them to that wicked way,  
Feign would she after go but 'tis too late,  
So shall her sleights appear as bright as day,  
Therefore she doth invent all desperate,  
This path or none for helping to assay,  
All clad in black like mourning for the dead,  
Or Pilgrim that is all disquieted.   

A hood of black upon her head she wore,  
Which fought against the Sun her form to shield,  
And on her back a mourning gown she bore,  
Which loosely flagging swept the verdant field,  
And at her breast a book there hung before,  
Whose back nor painting clad nor gold did gild;  
But black it was without and so within,  
Only the letters white in all were seen.   

Thus is the Anchors gone to seek her fate,  
Clad in the clouds of sorrow and despair,  
Which to eclipse these rays which shined of late;  
Yet in this battle of her beauties fair,  
Opposed to black this white supports more state,  
Which little teary dimples do repair;  
So that or now, or never so divine,  
Doth this fair Cynthia at her fullest shine.   

So long she had the plains and valleys traced,  
That Phoebus galloped down the western hill,  
Seeing his fiery torches so to waste,  
And she then hoping for no lesser ill,  
Then in some outcast harbour far displaced,  
To lie, while night keeps all in silent still;  
Goes forward seeking for some shady place,  
To hide her from the view of men's disgrace.   

But see an aged man this way doth ride,  
Upon a lusty Palfrey fairly set,  
Who though his hairs in age's grain are died,  
Proves that his heart the mastery doth get,  
And that some heat within his breast doth bide,  
Not full removed from out his wont seat,  
Even to this damsel is he come at last  
Whence fiery darts into his eyes are cast.   

Sometimes he looks, yet strait looks back again,  
Sorry his heart should be captived with love,  
Sometimes he views yet not to view doth feign,  
He fix'th his eyes, yet straight he doth remove,  
His thoughts be gone, yet thoughts he would restrain,  
Which battle in his flaming breast doth prove:  
That though he fight and strive with his desire,  
Dry sticks must needs consume once put to fire.   

Feign would he pass, but burning love denies,  
And makes him see he strives against his heart,  
Therefore this medicine he now applies,  
And hopes to win his love by loves desert,  
He doth inquire which way her journey lies,  
And if her business binds not to departed:  
Even near (quoth he) my castle fair doth stand,  
Which shall be ready at thy sweet command.   

She than replies a pilgrim maid I am,  
And fins deep spot far buried in my breast,  
Tells me I never can clean purge the same,  
Except I banish quite the body's rest,  
Which still provokes the soul to endless shame,  
But for this proffer and your kind request,  
One night with you fair friend I may remain,  
So in the morn I shall return again.   

Even as the baited hook in Thamis waves,  
floateth along and swimmeth fast away,  
As if no gainful hindrance he craves,  
And when the fish his guileful course doth stay,  
Playing a while his tangled life he saves,  
But at the last he takes him for a pray:  
So doth this maid seem careless for her gain,  
But he shall feel her craft to greater pain.   

This Knight now widowed had a comely wife,  
Whose fairness with his fierceness badly met,  
The chastest Vestal lived no chaster life  
Than did this Lady, yet he still did fret,  
A strangers look would set them both at strife,  
He thinks she doth her vowed love forget,  
Which made her weary of her prisoned breath,  
And with a sword her soul unburdeneth.   

Her ghost imbrued in that crimson gore,  
Still plains to Rhadamant with ceaseless cry,  
For fierce revenge to make him once deplore,  
That wrought her that accursed misery,  
Who deeply moved, willed her weep no more,  
And bad revenge unto the earth to fly:  
Where he should get him still desired food,  
Of cruel torments and new issuing blood.   

Now hath he got this feigned penitent,  
To play the pageant of his plotted ill,  
Who though she seemeth inly to repent,  
Yet sins abyssus there remaineth still,  
The filthy dregs of shame whose noisome sent,  
With poisoned humours shall her lover fill:  
But since his heart a wooing needs must go,  
I'll leave him to his wooing and his woe.   

Now change thy Myrtle for a Cypress bow,  
Put on thy mourning weeds, come mourn my Muse,  
With Ebon die veiling thy smiling brow,  
Loth would I tell it, yet I cannot choose,  
And 'tis too late to help thy losses now,  
Floods of my tears cannot thy joy reduce:  
Ah good Sir Aidon whose untimely fate,  
Makes me to mourn even fast by pleasures gate.   

After this Knight returned with victory,  
Into the country where he first was borne,  
It chanced as he did arrive full nigh  
His castle, day was fled, and double horn  
Of Cynthia 'gan advance their tops full high,  
When weariness their limbs had much for worn,  
And the suns scorching (now ore-passed heat)  
With labour made their panting hearts to beat.   

But now a Crystal well they have espied,  
In whose clear streams beauties fair looking glass,  
Phoebe, when in her circuit she did ride,  
Would joy to see the glory of her face,  
Where they alight, and by the fountain side  
Do lay them down upon the pleasant grass:  
And while they hark how Zephir soft doth sing,  
A murmur to their ears these words doth bring.   

You goodly boughs of youth which proudly bear  
Your climbing tops unto the smiling air,  
Think how fierce winter shall your garments tear,  
And with his storms o'ershadow all your fair,  
The goodliest vesture which you ere shall wear,  
Time's aged feathers basely shall impair,  
Your joy the morning's smile, but sable night  
Shall drown in sorrows floods your most delight.   

The world's great pride shall have a greater fall,  
Uncertain men have no possession sure,  
He that is nearest death is best of all,  
The lesser troubles hath he to endure,  
He that doth sit attired in princely pall,  
Cannot the purchase of one day procure;  
When our joys Sun from Tethis waves doth wade,  
'tis sign there was, and shall again be shade.   

Therefore thou body which dost pine away,  
Which age hath furrowed with his iron plough,  
Rejoice that thou shalt see that glorious day,  
Whose bright suns Chariot shall not downward bow,  
But lighten beams which black night doth obey,  
So chained she never can from darkness glow;  
And while thou drawest this thy fainting breath,  
Weep for to wash thy sins, not for thy death.   

This mournful voice with hoarse and hollow sound,  
Sailed full gently to their listening ears,  
Whose noise that did from out the cave rebound,  
Brought to their stonied hearts affrighting fears,  
At last by earnest thought the Knight hath found,  
What wracked wight this doleful music bears;  
And knew that this his mother dear had been,  
Grieving her woe, and not herself is seen.   

Distracted quite about the place he goes,  
Like Bacchus' priests whom holy Thyrse had reached,  
But now the sound with crying he doth lose,  
And with the sound the place so much he sought,  
But then he thinks some wicked foreign foes,  
His castle have and her both captive caught:  
Therefore unto the Castle he doth fly,  
As one intranced in an ecstasy.   

He fiercely knocks against the castle gate,  
He knocks again as fury doth him drive,  
At last one comes, and cries who dares thus late  
With troubling noise hither to arrive:  
No sooner saw he him, but urged with hate,  
(With which his passions do all vainly strive)  
He with a mighty blow stroke at his head,  
Thinking even then t'have sent his soul to bed.   

The other voiding drew his fiery blade,  
And here (quoth he) go to thy mother's ghost,  
His mother's loved name such entry made,  
As he for thought thereof 'gan faint almost,  
In which deep trance he doth the Knight invade,  
And struck him deeply to the utmost cost:  
Down falls the Knight as if he dead had been,  
The other left him so and entered in.   

After Viceina softly followeth,  
At last she comes, where she doth weeping view  
The mournful picture of ungentle death:  
Nor doth she look upon his plight to rue,  
But with a linen closely covereth  
The wound, and doth a little life renew;  
Where helped by the stopping of his blood,  
He went with her unto a joining wood.   

Yet knows he not how this ungentle deed  
Was wrought, nor who abused his mother's right;  
It was a bloody man that did exceed  
In furious wrath, each word would make him fight:  
Yet mighty was he, and his happy speed  
Caused him of any foes to make but light:  
And still his jaws like smoky Orcus' cave,  
Would reek forth oaths when he did curse and rave.   

This furious Ajax when the drowsy night  
Had covered all things with her pitchy vail,  
Comes to this castle where he doth alight,  
And cries for entry, but his cry doth fail:  
Then swelling deep with rage and great despite,  
The gates with violence he doth assail:  
Which broken down, he takes the sleeping Nun,  
And shuts her in a cave, and rolls a stone upon.   

But now good Aidon like the dying swan,  
Knew that the time of death approached near:  
Therefore to sing sweet tunes he now began,  
The tunes which please the great Creator's ear,  
The cruel fates have burnt the lively bran,  
With whose consuming breath and life doth wear  
Cruel Althaea, death rest of unrest,  
Leaving the earth-worms carrying hence the best.   

But as his eyes had almost rolled the last,  
To him his mother's shadow doth appear,  
Quoth she; rejoice thou soul world's woe is past,  
This burden now no longer shalt thou bear,  
Our lives account in heavens book is cast,  
Throw hence earth's cloak, and follow me my dear:  
This heard, he fix'th his standing eyes on high,  
His winged ghost to heavens bower doth fly.   

As fair Creusa in consumed Troy,  
Fled from Aeneas lifted in the air,  
Ravished with heavens over-pleasing joy,  
And left him crying in his loves despair,  
Freed from these troubles and the world's annoy,  
So hath this ghost now set in starry chair,  
Left her that with the shrillness of her cry,  
Pierced resisting air and stroke the sky.   

The greatest woe that heart did ever bear,  
With grisly talons gripeth on her soul,  
Sorrow her inward parts doth fiercely tear,  
And in griefs cover doth her heart enroll,  
And when the least relenting doth appear,  
Then doth death's physiognomy her peace control:  
The Sun of love hath set her heart on fire,  
The smoke is sighs, the flame is her desire.   

As when in open field a mounting flame,  
Halfe-quenched with the clouds distilling rain,  
Doubles anon his height, and with the same  
Yields forth fresh vapours to the clouds again,  
Till they o'erburdened send them whence they came,  
Rebating so th'aspiring fire amain:  
So sighs and tears run still this weeping source,  
And end themselves, but never end their course.   

Strike rocky soul (quoth she) a teary shower,  
From out the hollow of my stony breast,  
And all thy moisture into rivers power,  
For him that did procure thy sweetest rest,  
And melt in tears until thy latest hour,  
Because thy dearest dear is now deceased:  
Then to a Cypress tree thy shadow turn, 
Alluding to Cyparrisus.   
And on his tomb show that thou still dost mourn.   

While thou thrice-blessed soul in happy peace,  
Shalt sing sweet accents ravishing consent,  
In tunes whose harmony shall never cease,  
But still endure with thy still-during seat,  
While nothing shall my heart from grief release,  
Till with my woe my life shall be explete:  
Fair days shall tell me of thy fairest hue,  
And cloudy gloom shall bid me ever rue.   

This said, a shade encompassed all the wood,  
Her darkened sight abroad can nothing see:  
So by Lyrcaean grove fair Io stood,  
Enuelloped with a shady Canopee,  
While she thus masked in this pitchy hood,  
Was forced the great gods concubine to be:  
But at the last at once this cloudy night  
Is chased by the suns new rising light.   

But where before that Sainted Temple lay,  
Nothing appears and where the blood did stain,  
The died grass, there now fair Roses stay,  
The damask coloured in a ruddy grain,  
That blusheth at the rising of the day,  
To see her beauty naked all remain:  
And purple violets ne'er growing right,  
But seek to hide their form from common sight,   

Thus is the Mother and her holy Son,  
The truest types of chastity and shame,  
Dead ere new offspring from their loins begun,  
To propagate fair virtues sacred name:  
Which is the reason that th'all-seeing Sun,  
Seldom hath seen a chaste and spotless Dame:  
Except Eliza that celestial wight,  
And you whose tapers burn pure virgin-light.   

But fair Viceina now doth walk alone,  
Feign would I bring thee to some lodging place,  
For courtesy denies to hear thee moan,  
And thus to leave thee in this woeful case,  
Forsaken and accompanied of none:  
But take it not I pray thee for disgrace,  
I see some riding here with might and main,  
I'll but examine them and come again.    

CANT. 7.  
Adonia goes t'avenge her Knight,  
After her charming nought prevails:  
Deogin seeing Erona light,  
Amidst the waves his chance bewails:  
Erona on the sea doth float,  
Changed by a charm into a boat.  

WHen in th' Aegaeum of thy wandering days,  
Fortune full softly fills thy swelling sail,  
Let no Circaeas hinder quite thy ways,  
Nor let her cups against thy heart prevail,  
Then virtue of thy spotted soul decays,  
Blinded in worldly pleasures cloudy vail:  
This pleasing draft shall so bewitch thy will,  
Well mayst thou see the good, but do the ill.   

Which doth appear in this most wretched wight,  
Who after Aidon had their Captain slain,  
Returneth to the dregs of fond delight,  
Hoping t'have found their carpet knight again,  
And bring her ancient customs new to light:  
But as she sought him with incessant pain,  
At last a mangled carcase she had spied,  
With scarlet blood and filthy gore bedide.   

As Peleus' daughters, when they saw their sire  
Vanished from earth into a ghastly shade,  
Their raging thoughts rapt up in furies gyre,  
Cursed heaven and earth, and that life-loosing blade,  
Damning that ugly witch to Orcus' fire, 
Medea.   
And then themselves which first the motion made:  
So doth this furnace burning hellish flame,  
Breath curses 'gainst great heavens fate-ruling name.   

Fowl fiends (quoth she) which gnash your fretting jaws,  
Envying at men's dying felicity,  
Go, here's a subject for your rending claws,  
Ascend to heaven and raze his hateful eye,  
That bloody Sun which with his influence draws  
The tossed ship of life to misery:  
With sulphur smoke darken each quenched star,  
Which could behold this bloody act so far.   

And on your Dragon backs lift Neptune high,  
Into the heavens with his watery train,  
That down perpetual showers still may fly,  
The fates ungentle power to complain:  
Let earth decay, let all things earthly die,  
Till with their moans my love return again:  
Invest thee here ayr-overspreading Night,  
Now he is dead, all is none other light.   

And take you vestures which black Stixes wave,  
Seven times hath died in his sable flood,  
And let each star a pitchy garment have,  
And let these suits attire all heavens brood,  
Where in a progress they shall mourning crave,  
The dear renewing of this blessed blood,  
And break the distaff of death-guiding fate,  
Losing the souls from out hell prison gate.   

But look, the Sun sends down his smiling rays,  
Laughing to scorn the sorrow of my heart,  
Words cannot bring him to his sweetest days,  
No power pities my tormenting smart:  
Therefore I'll try some soule-inchanting ways,  
Whose might shall make the fates their doom revart:  
And since they move not with my mourning tears,  
With deadly charms I'll pierce their glowing ears.   

Seven days she mourned about her dearest love,  
The seventh night she wandered far away,  
And all the sorts of lively herbs did prove,  
Gathering the dew from leaves of springing bay,  
And all the spices which might calour move,  
And Serpent's skin which summer last did lay:  
Only she could not get a Deeres warm heart,  
Whose want confounded all her charming art.   

Now back she goes, when as the wakened Sun  
Gathered his horses from the Western plain,  
And softly up the Eastern mount did run,  
When she unto her Knight returned again,  
Where, when in order all her charm was done,  
She loos'th about her head her tressie train:  
And laying in his mouth, and in his wound,  
Her charm she runneth seven times around.   

Then seven times these words she doth repeat,  
By the great secrets which in Memphis lie,  
And by the bloody waves which Pharus beat,  
By three-formd Hecate's great Deity,  
By pitchy Stixes' heaven-feared seat,  
And by the labours of thy Lunacy:  
Phoebe recured by Temesaean brass,  
I charge this soul to come where first it was.   

This said, a Crystal glass she forth doth take,  
Holding it right against the shining Sun,  
That beams contracted might a fire make,  
Whose smoke into a lively soul might run:  
The charm is kindled and he seems to wake,  
But wanting force the charm is strait undone:  
She did but trouble his affrighted ghost,  
Lacking the thing which help Medea most.   

Now sits she down, all help and hope is gone,  
Revenge can only now his soul acquit:  
Therefore on vengeance she doth think alone,  
To be revenged on that holy Knight:  
And as she plots she spies an armed one,  
Ready prepared as seemed for bloody fight;  
His lofty spear he doth advance on high,  
As though he menaced war unto the sky.   

This peacock irond thus of every side,  
A coward is unfit of manly spear,  
Never in ought he hath his valour tried,  
But is so faint and humble slave to fear,  
That when the shadow of his lance he spied,  
His fainting carcase downward 'gan to bear:  
And if death's thought had not him roused away,  
No doubt for famine he should there decay.   

And now he went into this filthy land,  
Where Knights but seldom used their prowess try,  
And now the maid of him doth this demand,  
That sharp revenge might quite this injury:  
Then lifting out his vow confirming hand,  
Lady (if this same caitiff hidden lie  
Under the compass of this empty air)  
This hand thy losses fully shall repair.   

Out in Tartary when a mighty host  
Encompassed me: but then bespoke the maid,  
No further of thy deeds I pray thee boast,  
Well do I trust thee for thy gentle aid,  
Though he had never been in any coast,  
Which in a new Meridian is laid:  
But traversing the Island up and down,  
Never did worthy deed in field nor town.   

The maid up mounted led him in the way,  
Which to Sir Aidons' fort directly brought:  
Where come by breaking of the blushing day,  
He bid the maid stay back till he had fought,  
The battle which her foes in dust should lay:  
Which done, he very studious bethought,  
How he the battle any way might fly,  
Or if he fought, some place of flight espy.   

Thus musing strait he sees the portal shut,  
And hoping none were remanent within,  
With spear he gave the gates a mighty butt,  
And cries, what are you fled for fear your sin,  
Revenged with death my hungry spear should glut?  
Or of my coming have forewarned been?  
Then forth Tigranes comes that furious Knight,  
And cries, what peasant troubles my delight.   

No harm (quoth he) forsooth an humble friend,  
Come to congratulate your victory,  
And here this captive maid a pledge do send,  
Yielding her to you with humility:  
Let not I pray my boldness you offend,  
But take this maid a pledge of fealty.  
The Knight appeased, them gently entertained,  
And they a place of rest have now obtained.   

Now had Viceina past this bloody seat,  
And wandered thorough wayless woods and dales,  
When in a vale a cottage she hath met,  
Wherein a Hermit still in prayer calls,  
To cleanse his soul and wickedness forget,  
Whose thought the thoughts of his sweet conscience galls:  
Thus did he spend the day and watch the night,  
Still listing up for grace his troubled sprite.   

Who seeing such a modest Lady by,  
Told her if cottage might not be disdained,  
Nor herbal fare which in his house doth ly,  
Of him she gladly should be entertained:  
Who finding comfort of extremity,  
Told him she gladly hath his lodging gained:  
Where we will leave them to their hearty prayer,  
And old minds griefs with joy new to repair.   

But see how fair Erona chang'th her coat,  
And taught the signior with a clearer breast,  
To sing his tunes unto a higher note:  
She that but one night in his house would rest,  
Least wicked sin her holy soul should blot,  
She thinks to tarry here is far the best:  
And Deogin enamoured on her face,  
With many sports hath made her like the place.   

But he is come unto his wont rate,  
His eyes are ever glistering with fire,  
He ever thinks she hath another mate,  
And other loves do kindle her desire,  
Which often causeth strife and great debate,  
But she will gently quite her jealous sire:  
And since he stumbles thus without a stone,  
She means to give him rocks to fall one.   

Even by this Castle Neptune once in love  
Of a wood Nymph, did follow fast his game:  
But she to fly his kisses mainly strove,  
And to her woods of harbour flying came:  
Neptune enraged, his trident mace uphove,  
And mainly stroke the harbour of the Dame:  
The earth 'gan melt, and trees consumed away,  
Neptune rushed in and caught the swimming jay.   

So now a lake it is, once firmest land,  
And Knights much used to cross this watery way:  
But once arrived a Knight unto the strand,  
About the darkening of the conquered day,  
And at this castle lodging did demand:  
The carl was loath, but threatenings did affray,  
That in he goes into that burning gate,  
The tragic actor of the churls fate.   

When supper comes all do themselves address,  
To satiate with food their nature's need:  
But this grim sir doth sit all supperless,  
And on his gnawed guts apace doth feed,  
And when he eats, he mindeth nothing less:  
For on the Knight his eyes kept careful heed,  
That sometimes when his meat he should divide,  
The knife awry into his flesh doth slide.   

Thus passeth forth the prologue of his woe,  
But the next morn brings forth his tragedy:  
For that same Knight his wife had handled so,  
That in a chamber now they both do lie:  
But still Deogines goes to and fro,  
To see if he his loving mates can spy:  
At last he sees the flame whose fiery dart  
Kindles the sulphur of his fueld heart.   

About he runs and cries I burn I burn,  
And in black famine all his bones doth spend:  
At last unto the river he doth turn,  
Thinking to give this flame a watery end:  
But he so light is grown, each wave doth spurn,  
And any way his sliding course doth bend:  
At last fair sailing with a Northern blast,  
This barebond fiend on Britain's sands was cast.   

But now Erona will her course betake,  
As she was wont to lust and filthy shame;  
A whirty on that river she doth make,  
And she herself the passenger became,  
Ferrying each knight upon that gulfie lake,  
That condescends unto her damned game:  
The rest by cunning of her jointed boat,  
She lays in waves and makes o'er board to float.   

For in two parts her boat she doth divide,  
She in the first doth row, and that behind  
With a sleight vice unto the first is tide,  
Which with a pin she can both lose and bind:  
Now while upon the waves they rowing slide,  
If any Knight resist her filthy mind,  
Then doth she lose her pin, he falleth down,  
And drenching waves his hapless carcase drown.   

If he unto her dalliance do yield,  
Then doth she pass him safely to the land,  
And gently sets him on the other field:  
And thus her days consumed like dusty sand,  
Which Boreas to and fro with blasts doth wield,  
And is not seen where it before did stand:  
So doth her body so her soul consume,  
Died ugly black in sins still-reaking fume.   

Nor doth her guilt escape unpunished quite;  
For as it fell this way her Captain came,  
Old Bonavallant, once her dear delight,  
But now new-changed in another frame:  
Who when she ferried, and with pleasing sight  
Wooed to agree to deeds of black defame:  
He hearkened not to her untamed desire,  
Which kindled in her breast revenges fire.   

But he had spied how she with turning vice  
Was losing down the deadfall of her hate,  
And with a charm did cross her first device,  
Giving her punished soul a newfound fate;  
Into a boat her breast, her legs, her thighs  
Are changed, and bound by charm for endless date:  
That since she had delighted still to carry,  
Here in eternal carriage she should tarry.   

Her arms the oars do cut the fleeting sea,  
And pass each traveler to the furthered side:  
Her face in which sweet beauty once did play,  
The ploughed waves in furrows doth divide:  
So the Propaetides that common lay.  
And passers violence did still abide,  
Because their face no ruddy shame could print,  
Were turned to a never blushing flint.   

But let me quickly to Doledra fly,  
Unless I thither make the greater haste,  
Fidamour homeward doth so hasty high,  
That all the marriage will be overpast,  
The feast and triumphs of his victory,  
And tilts unto their latest day will waste:  
But I will after on my thoughts swift wing,  
And in triumphing tunes his trophies sing.    

CANT. 8.  
Fidamour from th'enchanter fled,  
With fair doledra's King doth fight:  
She victor doth her foe behead,  
And to Eumorphos takes her flight,  
Where at the marriage suddenly,  
Th'enchanter down to bell doth fly.  

AS when Ioues lightning on a tower doth fall,  
No humour can allay his fiery might,  
But with his hungry jaws consumeth all,  
On which his rending talons can alight:  
So doth this filthy flame unnatural,  
Burn in this witch's heart in heart's despite:  
His thoughts like water in Pyracm●ns forge,  
Make his fire-breathing throat more flames disgorge.   

When in the castle all the night was spent,  
In morn they hasted to departed away,  
Which deeply wrought th'enchanters discontent,  
And by these means doth seek their course delay:  
He takes a potion from Cocytus sent,  
Whose force in weakened heart deep love will lay:  
This had he mingled in some fatal wine,  
Hoping to make her heart in fury pine.   

But Epimel her careful watching page,  
(Which still about his mistress did attend)  
Had spied the witches faithless carriage,  
And quickly bade her on her steed ascend:  
She kindled with disdain and mighty rage,  
Unto Doledra now her course doth bend:  
Where come, without in suburbs she doth stay,  
And to Phucerus thence sends mortal fray.   

The king that never thought in open fight,  
He and his kingdom should be overthrown:  
But that some maid would by her subtle slight,  
Or other policy undermine his throne,  
Went forth full fraught with rage and high despite:  
And though his loves about him still did moan,  
And courtesans about him ever cry,  
The sad event of woeful flight to fly.   

Yet he respected not their vain request,  
But marched forth to meet this warlike Dame:  
And at his sight she kindling in her breast,  
The Pyramid of an ascending flame,  
Strait open enmity to him professed,  
And with well couched lance toward her came:  
Their flashing spears that from their breasts rebound,  
Made echo tell the horror of the sound.   

The flinty flakes drop from the riven plate,  
And make the hollow earth from deep to groan,  
Whose noise the trembling spirits did amate,  
Fearing their covering would have fallen upon:  
So angry jove inflamed with ruthless hate,  
Darts from the heavens a mighty thunder-stone,  
And in his rage from out a cloud doth roar,  
That Atlas' limbs do quake which heaven upbore.   

But at the first encounter deeply fell  
On Fidamours left side a heavy blow,  
Which woeful news unto her heart did tell:  
But at the next she him requited so,  
His soul was wasted half the way to hell,  
And made his conquered corpse her valour know:  
Whom from his palfrey fairly she upheaved,  
And of the greeting earth a kiss received.   

The feeble soul from out his breast was fled,  
wandering through gloomy ways of hellish shade,  
While with her sword she martyreth his head:  
The ensign which her victory displayed,  
And with her loving page she homewards sped.  
But what great joy this overthrow hath made,  
Let them declare who do their love obtain,  
This pleasure in my heart did near remain.   

Go whistling winds with easy murmuring bring  
This happy Lady to her hearts desire,  
And all the way let sweetest music sing,  
Melodious consent in love-carols by her,  
And go my thoughts thorough sliding air fling,  
And view the heat of her deep printed fire:  
Burn not yourselves, nor come the flame too nigh,  
Icarus once drowned can teach you how to fly.   

Thus in triumphing to Eumorphos brought,  
All do applaud the fortune of his fight:  
The ransom which they still before had sought,  
To free them from Phucorus foul despite:  
But sudden joy so much his Lady reached,  
Her heart drew exhalations of delight,  
Which kindled by her love enkindled flame  
Unto her Knight, as darted Sunbeams came.   

She gives him kisses, pledges of her heart,  
Sweeter than jove receives of Ganymed,  
While them between sweet Nectar down doth move,  
The honey dew with which fair love is fed:  
Such is the billing of the Cyprian dove,  
Their mouths in others mouth imprisoned:  
But she with talk losing that roseal bind,  
Drew back her lips, but left her heart behind.   

Now all things for the Marriage are prepared,  
As when great Perseus married Andromede,  
No cost nor any ornament is spared,  
With which the marriage may be beautified:  
No Knight nor comer is from hence debarred,  
To see the band which shall these lovers wed:  
Shine bright sweet Sun, now comes that happy day,  
That in the port these gladfull loves shall lay.   

Now for that holy Hermit have they sent,  
With whom Viceina all this while hath stayed,  
Who both invited to Eumorphos went,  
Where stands the Knight and that divinest maid,  
Ready to be conjoined with one consent:  
The Hermit many holy prayers said,  
While fair Viceina by the pair doth stand,  
And holds a torch in her ambrosial hand.   

But Bonavallant, whom nigh forty years  
With foul Geticas date had near oppressed,  
Thought ere he went to hurt these faithful pheares,  
And with his charms to trouble holy rest:  
But when this hermits godly speech he hears,  
His charms are frustrate and enchanting ceased,  
Thus in despite of envies stormy wrath,  
These loves are settled in their quiets path.   

Now all things for the tilting ready are,  
And many Knights are gathered from about,  
And fierce Tigranes hitherward doth fare:  
But poor Anander wraps a filthy clout  
About his hand, and says this cloth he ware,  
Because a wound hath peareed his hand throughout:  
But he received no wound in field nor fight,  
This is his cowardice accustomed slight.   

He with Tigranes comes unto the feast,  
But says he cannot run for grievous pain:  
Tigranes doth believe the coward's jest,  
And with him comes unto the tilting plain,  
Where stood two Knights with ready spears in rest  
To try who could most valours glory gain:  
They run and fairly break each others spear,  
And thoroughly pass as if no let there were.   

After run many whose part youthful heat,  
Drew to express the fire of their heart:  
Others whom love taught in this warlike feat,  
To prove before their Ladies loves desert:  
As if in telling how their love was great,  
They begged some easing of impatient smart,  
Which with emprezaes they do fairly show,  
Fitting their outward to their inward hue.   

One hath a Salamander in the fire,  
The word upon fair beauty is the flame:  
The next a Linnet in a cage of wire,  
The mot my prisond thoughts still sing the same,  
To show the firmness of his chaste desire:  
The third, small birds that to the fire came,  
The saying there conjoined: my light my night,  
To show he pines consumed with beauty's light.   

Thus most had tried their valour and their might,  
And to Anander all are come anon,  
Desiring him to do the Marriage right,  
And that his fame and credit stood thereon,  
To prove himself a stout and valiant knight,  
And not in looking let the time be gone:  
For they perceived not yet his cowardice,  
Thoughts are not known certain by the eyes.   

Anander thus beset as bird of night,  
Compassed with smaller foul in time of day,  
Began to rub his pulse and pluck his sprite,  
And closely pulls his winding cloth away,  
(Quoth he) I stay not for I fear their fight,  
For thousands by this right hand conquered lay.  
But with my valiance to conclude the just,  
A thing not ending well, is laid in dust.   

Now is he on a gallant Palfrey placed,  
And ready to encounter with his foe:  
The other Knight (good Knight too much debast  
With coward braggart to encounter so)  
Spurring with spear in rest toward him past,  
But forth he empty to the end doth go,  
For good Anander meaneth harm to none,  
But forth another way in haste is gone.   

When first the Courser 'gan to lift his feet,  
He shuts his locked eyes with all his might;  
And with his spurs a main the horse doth greet:  
The Palfrey blindly driven and unright,  
Makes him unwares, with spear a wall to meet,  
With whose rebut stands up the horse on height,  
Down on the earth his carcase doth rebound,  
And laid his craven comb along the ground.   

The Knight enraged with his soul disgrace,  
Told to Tigranes 'twas no knightly part,  
To bring such cowards and the justs deface;  
Who rending open earths disseverd heart,  
Catching pale Styx by her infected face,  
(Quoth he) by Erebs wife no Knight thou art,  
That dost impute his cowardice to me,  
Which ne'er before few days his face did see.   

Then drawing out his not returning blade,  
He thought at first his heart to dearly pay:  
But well defended it no entry made;  
The other with like load on him doth lay,  
That each began to reel as ill apaid,  
And each again doth strait renew the fray:  
Their sword true scholars in this martial fight,  
Answer each others arguments aright.   

As Vulcan's servants in the Lemnian cave,  
With restless blows do frame a thunderbolt,  
Or hammering for jove an iron clave,  
With mighty terror shake their groaning holt,  
So these fierce Knights, one at another drove,  
Nor from their kindled fury will revolt:  
But thundering each upon the others crests,  
Writ with their swords the raging of their breasts.   

But lo a trumpet roars with hollow sound,  
And deadly skreeches breath from out below:  
Which do their cooled souls with fear astownd  
To hear such dampish notes so ghastly blow:  
But now the cause thereof they trembling sound,  
'tTwere winged spirits which from Orcus' flow,  
Sent by the king of hell to apprehend  
That charming thief, and cite him to his end.   

Full forty years are past, while here he looks,  
And careless views these warriors martial deeds,  
But Pluto sees his name within his books,  
And to the fiends his doom and judgement reeds,  
Who breaking from the cloudy smoking nooks,  
Whose breath the soul with during torment feeds,  
Cease on his back, and gripe him with their claws,  
And tears him with their iron-rancked jaws.   

Out breathes he curses 'gainst the starry sky,  
Tearing high jove with his still-gnashing teeth,  
And execrates all men's felicity:  
Hating the light, and cursing all he seethe:  
Thus banning in this furious ecstasy,  
Unto the seat of damned souls he fleeth:  
The wounded earth hells entrails doth unshroude,  
Down sinks his soul, masked in a smoky cloud.   
The end of the first Book.   

THULE, Or virtues History.  
To the Honourable and virtuous Mistress AMY AUDELY. By F. R.  
The second Book.  
At London Printed by Felix Kingston, for Humphrey Lownes. 1598.   

The Prologue unto the second Book.  

THus far my lowly Muse in course array,  
shows the least riches of her treasury;  
And in the plainer terms she doth assay,  
To please the ears of popularity.   

Now shall she tread one little step above,  
For those whose itching ears are never filled:  
But with the thunder of almighty jove,  
And tales how Giants daring arms did wield.   

Yet not so high, though higher than the rest,  
Contents me in the Sea bear lowly sail,  
With little bark, lest canvas fittest best,  
That can with lesser might 'gainst tide prevail.  
But when to greater seats she shall aspire;  
Then may she boldly sing great phlegra's fire.    
virtues History.  

CANT. I.  
The tyrant Aimaran oppres'th the just,  
Whose miseries revenge doth soon acquit,  
That basely lays his honour in the dust:  
And curtains up his names obscured light,  
While bdella's walls down to the earth are borne,  
Whose haughty tops did kiss the sky beforue.  

OF bloody gusts, and those vermilion sword,  
Which died themselves in Brother's broken hearts,  
How swimming blood in streets made flowing fords,  
And ruthful turmoils rose in divers parts  
I mean to sing: That fury which affords  
Sighs to the sad, and pearc'th with Ebon darts:  
Come with thy snaky head engorde in blood,  
Which while these things were done spectator stood:   

Lift up black Nemesis thy glowing eyes,  
With Orcus' vapours overspread the light,  
Let not the Sun from out his couch arise:  
But let me write in dark these deeds of night,  
Only that burning torch shall here suffice,  
Whose wax is thickened blood around bedight:  
About the sinew of a conquered foe,  
This gloomy light about my eyes shall gloe.   

And roar thou from thy earth appaling jaw,  
Put me in mind of dread and desolations,  
Let uncouth sights keep down my thoughts in awe:  
As burning blood in fiery exhalations,  
And Ravens which a dying carcase draw,  
While deadly screeches help to paint their passions,  
While Harpies, Owls, and Night-crows all around,  
Flutting about me breath a ghastly sound.   

And thou death-boding Muse whose Tragic quill  
Painteth each ruthful strata gem aright,  
My pen with that same dreary water fill,  
Whose dropping letters readers do affright,  
Wither from Stixes' streams it doth distill,  
Or Mare Rubrums floods orevaylde with night:  
That this my Chronicle of woe and death,  
May seem a dying souls last powered breath.   

And thou Sedition still thyself present,  
That every member right I may display,  
And whisper words of woe and dreerement,  
Sad notes of ruin and of black decay,  
Help hatreds praise, and envies to invent,  
And far expel the thought of love away,  
While cruel discord thundering in mine ears,  
Deep drowns my heart in high-astounding fears.   

Towards the North a goodly City lies,  
Whose stately bowers wrought by Daedale hand:  
Lay forth their curious riches to the eyes,  
And make the passers to admire the land,  
Arts chiefest beauty hence doth fair arise,  
And once both fair and happy was this strand.  
But now the renting earthquakes of debate,  
Shake Atlas' pillars which uphold the state.   

This City Bdella called, and he that rains,  
Is Aimaran, the cruelest wight alive,  
His soul doth leap to view his subjects pains:  
And when his Taxers do great heaps contrive,  
Of subjects riches, and extorted gains,  
Then doth his soul into his port arrive,  
Like ravens that on carcases do feed,  
And glut their corpse full glad while others bleed.   

But furious hate had with his egging sting,  
commoved them to the feeling of their woe,  
And strait the Commons fall a counseling,  
How they their heavy yoke might from them throw,  
And in some bounds this bloody deluge bring,  
Lest it should shortly make an overflow,  
And drive this Wasp from out their hony-nest,  
Before his tyranny consume the rest.   

These murmuring convents came to Midas ears,  
(For what from Kings and Potentates are hid?)  
But dismal horror in his heart appears,  
An hundred guardians he about doth bid,  
And parasites whose troup the State down tears,  
Fowl worms which never yet a crown could rid;  
While he at rushing of each moved straw,  
Thinks he an host of armed foemen saw.   

The guilt of conscience doth his thoughts torment,  
Fear is immured in his rent skin,  
It seems here doth a ghost itself present,  
And hovering ask where all his kinsfolks been,  
There one who cries out blood and dreariment,  
And Tisiphone to plague him for his sin;  
While horror in his ears deaths knell doth toll,  
And deadly trembling graspeth on his soul.   

It chanced this time that Phoebus wending down,  
And breathless driving to his loved west,  
Saw where in Thetis breasts softs-softest down,  
Neptune was taking his unlawful rest:  
Phoebus thereat was wroth and 'gan to frown,  
And strait forswore his loves now loathed west,  
Vowing with Tellus now should be his seat,  
And she should feel the comfort of his heat.   

Phoebus then timely rose, and did embrace  
Fair Tellus with the vigour of his rays,  
Who strait begun to spring and grow apace;  
And hence it came that in these later days  
We have our spring, when Phoebus' glorious face  
Gins to lengthen his protracted ways:  
And still this time remembering her offence,  
He makes on earth his greater residence.   

These days were come, and Phoebus with his shine  
Doth make the solaced earth her fruits to bring,  
Whose sight refresheth men's foredaunted eyen,  
While tuning birds their sweetest carols sing,  
And naked trees their vestures do refine,  
Moved with this sight goes forth a solacing;  
The lusty youth, and to his bonibell,  
Each doth a lesson of the Summer tell.   

Amongst the rest walks forth a forlorn wight,  
Even like Heraclitus, from whose moist eyes,  
Still-flowing tears notes of a grieved sprite,  
As welling fountains fruitfully arise,  
His head as scorning heavens most delight,  
Looking still downward on his shoulder lies,  
As though his heart and troubled spirits have,  
His joy intumulated in the grave.   

Sometimes to heaven he looks, and then he weeps  
For her sweet soul that to her rest is fled;  
Upon the air, and then his eyes he steeps  
In flowing Oceans which by grief are bred;  
Upon the earth, then in a trance he sleeps,  
And slumbering sinketh down as carcase dead:  
But then some sense doth him recall again,  
In life to die and live in deadly pain.   

But now a groan doth beat his hearkening ear,  
And many tumblings issuing from below,  
When strait he cries, O death thrice-welcome hear,  
My years are ripe, come, down them gently mow,  
Give end unto the woe my heart doth tear,  
And sweetest ease upon my soul bestow:  
With that he falls unto the loved ground,  
While joys his drowned heart do deep astounded.   

But then the ghost replies, awake dear love,  
No death, thy life and dearest wife I am,  
Whom tyrant's hand from thee did once remove,  
Now do I come for to revenge the same,  
Strike up thy senses (dear) thy valour prove:  
And when to him the Lady nearer came,  
She gave him armour which Achilles wore,  
When Hector's side with hideous stroke he tore.   

And says, here be the ransoms of my life,  
That shall plead vengeance of the tyrant's soul:  
He at the name of his beloved wife,  
Thrice 'ssayd within his arms her to enroll,  
But thrice her flying ghost doth end the strife,  
And doth his warring senses straight control:  
far flies her soul escaping human sight,  
Like louring Falcon in her airy flight.   

This was his loved spouse, whom Aimaran,  
Not yielding to his lust, caused to be slain,  
Dicaa was her name, whom wicked man  
In sepulchre too timely doth detain,  
When first her woeful husband hopeless ran  
Into despair, not daring to complain:  
And still lamenting all his days outweares,  
Upon her grave green growing with his tears.   

As one whom raving Hecuba hath bit,  
Whose blood corrupted with her venomed tongue,  
Confounds his senses and amaz'th his wit,  
And uncouth noise that in his ear still-rung,  
Casteth him down in some outrageous fit,  
With such a fury was this mourner stung:  
Despair still howleth in his flagging ear,  
Haunting his heart like over-hungry bear.   

But now hath hope that sweet physician,  
Lifted the spirits which were far depressed,  
Infusing in a cordial potion,  
Solacing drops which work eternal rest,  
And driving thence this mourning passion,  
Inthroniz'th thoughts of Ire within his breast:  
Whose sulphur kindled with a mounting fire,  
Blow vengeance in his hearts contorted gyre.   

Forth doth he march to the seditious camp,  
Who only did expect some worthy head,  
That might conduct them as their lights bright lamp,  
Amidst wars darkness which are menaced:  
Who when they saw him, like a cloudy damp  
That doth the veiled fields all overspread:  
So do their troops concur from every part,  
As venial blood unto the lively heart.   

They have agreed of placing every wing,  
Themistos is the General of the field:  
They pitch their tents with joy and reveling,  
And warlike bowers now apace they build,  
And now black night her rusty coach doth bring,  
Furthering with silence all events they willed:  
All things for battle ready are prepared,  
The townsmen sleep as they that nothing cared.  
The morn no sooner oped her ruddy gate,  
But strait a peal of Trumpeters do sound,  
To stir their hearts with thoughts of high debate,  
Whose hate against their king might deep rebound,  
As Mandrakes cry a passer doth amate,  
Striking his soul with irrecured wound:  
So doth this noise affright great Bdella●s peers,  
To hear such music rattle in their ears.   

Hark Aimaran how death with ghastly cry,  
Doth sound the knell of thy deserved fate:  
Hear how the trumpet of thy destiny,  
Loseth the bands of blood ennurtured hate,  
That tingles in thine ears and bids thee die:  
Yet stops deaths doors and shuts that loved gate,  
Bellona howling from her bellowing cave,  
Bids thee torment thyself and curse and rave.   

Where shall thy haunted soul find place of rest?  
The heavens are darkened with the bloody smoke  
Of harmless Saints, whose lives thy hands oppressed,  
Hell vapours ready are thy soul to choke:  
In earth the shrieks of ghosts thy thoughts molest,  
And furies which the doors of bondage broke,  
Come up to banquet on thy powered blood,  
And make their damned selves this damned food.   

As Athamas whom fury doth inflame,  
Tears poor Learchus with his bloody hands,  
And madly runs whom no restraint can tame,  
But furious wanders through unknown lands:  
So doth this tyrant burn in quenchless flames,  
Breaking with violence all nature's bands,  
Like one that drunk the Aethiopian lake,  
Into whose soul thousands of furies broke.   

But now in counsel house they do all fit,  
To try if policy can better fight,  
And make their battles with the arms of wit:  
But troubled senses cannot judge aright,  
And they rapt in the trance of sudden fit,  
With staring gazes each their mates affright,  
That now they are but like a flock of owls,  
Wondering to see themselves such shapeless fowls.   

At last a Nestor bolder doth arise,  
And tells no time it was thus staring sit,  
But send some Legate to the enemies,  
To tell if their requests with reason fit,  
They should be granted all in ample wise:  
Another as reproving former wit,  
Thinks it is best with fierce and open war,  
To drive these rebels thence removed far.   

But now stands up Ulysses: certes (quoth he)  
All that you say is but consumed wind:  
But rather let our King's great majesty,  
Himself with solemn oath in letters bind,  
That whatsoever rebels armed be,  
If they return they shall great favour find,  
And have rewarded them incontinent,  
What wrong soever caused their discontent.   

But when they come well shall we then provide,  
To quite their courtesy with cutting fare,  
The sword of vengeance shall the cause decide,  
Each rebel that tumultuous armour bare,  
Shall his rebellion with great smart abide:  
And for the people's voice let no man care,  
The Lion roaring in his princely den,  
Shall with his noise astonish lesser men.   

Fowl serpent-head within whose poisoned brain,  
A thousand devils keep a cabinet,  
Which mighty jove hath damned to during pain,  
When for this deed thou shalt for anguish fret,  
Thy cankered soul who shall no rest obtain,  
But feed thy womb with woe and deep regret,  
Millions of furies yawning with their jaws,  
Shall comb thy carcase with their renting claws.   

Horror within thy soul shall thee affright,  
Which makest of nought the truth despising good,  
Damnation doth awayr: But O dread fight!  
Lo many I do see in raging mood,  
Which bid me silent be, and in despite  
Bid me leave preaching, or they'll have my blood:  
Well I recant this counsler was not bad,  
But worst, and what degree Ill greater had.   

Now while this mate was telling on his text,  
In breaks Themist●s with a mighty host,  
The gates are broken and the town perplexed,  
It happed this counsel which they counted most,  
Hath lost his end▪ come come devise the next,  
Or worse than this, and then thy haunted ghost  
With the next fury that to Orcus went,  
May for a token to great Dis be sent.   

But 'tis too late, look where the winter's frost  
Falls, that shall kill thy boughs with pinching cold:  
Look A●maran, see thy heaps which now are lost,  
Those heaps which thou from subjects didst withhold,  
See how thy soldiers dying ban thy ghost,  
And ding it down to hell a thousand fold:  
Go curse and die, accompany their souls,  
Carouse with Pluto black cocytus' boles.   

Behind thee doth a hag await thy end.  
To carry hence that blood-defiled mass:  
At hell do all the ghosts in ranks attend,  
For to salute thee when thou forth dost pass:  
Yonder thy deathsman stands, whose hand shall send  
Thy spirit to his well deserved place,  
While infants wallowing in their mother's gore,  
Shall pass thee downward with a ghastly roar.   

Look how thy subjects lie all martyred;  
There sits a matron dying on her child;  
Their mangled carcases but tortured,  
By never dying pain from death beguiled;  
The rebell-sonnes run where their fathers bled,  
And in unhuman blood their feet defiled;  
The heaps of corpses like a Phar●s lie,  
And bloody rivers like the red-sea by.   

Nothing but scarlet doth invest the street,  
Which like a judge doth frown upon the sky,  
A great Aegaeum all along doth fleet,  
In which dead heaps of men o'erwhelmed lie;  
Here a big rock of armour you shall meet,  
There a great I'll of men you shall pass by,  
While sanguine object with his strong reflex,  
staineth heavens fair face with purple scattered strekes.   

howl foul Megara from thy gulfie throat,  
And ring thy knell for Aim●ranes ghost;  
Charon provide thy never empty boat,  
He means anon to travel yonder coast;  
Allecto now put on thy crimson coat,  
Lest he in bloody fairness thee out-boast;  
Comb down thy snaky locks, dress right thy head,  
He loving means with thee to take his bed.   

Like Margiates in West indies land,  
When loves great thunder bellows in their ears,  
Quavering and shaking they affrighted stand,  
To hear that heaven a base so hollow bears,  
So doth this monster at his foeman's band,  
Faint fear up lifts his bloody clotted hears,  
For fear (which doth his heart subdued take)  
His paralitike members still do quake.   

When comes Themistos and with gliding sword,  
No sooner pierceth his disseverd skin,  
But thousand Devils on his corpse do board,  
And greedy thrust their bloody muzzles in.  
After they heave him to the Stygian ford,  
Where for the guilt of deep enured sin,  
With wiry whips he suffers grisly wounds,  
And with his raving, hell's vast vault rebounds.   

But where that wicked counsellor was gone,  
Each man doth doubt, some say that down to hell  
Alive he was distraught, and many a one  
That by the swords well worthy edge he fell;  
But how soever let him lie alone,  
No man shall grudge the chance that him befell:  
The heaven shall melt, the Sun shall bait in South,  
Before he shall escape hell's yawning mouth.    

CANT. 2.  
Themistos with Encrata takes his way,  
Astonished with a hideous yelling cry:  
And Erophel is flying fast away  
From her sweet love that for her wrong will die;  
Who now affrighted with a rarest chance,  
Against his life his own hand doth advance.  

THe comet fumes which from the earth ascend,  
Unto great Cinthia's concave circulation,  
May long defer their doome-denouncing end,  
Before they be compact in conglobation,  
But at the last their fury they protend,  
Kindled with some celestial inflammation,  
No cloud their eating flames with moisture stops,  
But down they pour their ruddy-burning drops.   

So may the smoky sighs of innocents,  
Which by great love still make their sad complaint,  
Long volley forth, before revenge assents,  
The guilty damned souls for to attaint,  
But when deep vengeance once her claws indents,  
The comet of their plague shall never faint,  
But with new brimstone freshly still relieved,  
Shall keep them in still-during torments grieved.   

Which bdella's towers, wel-worthy towers have seen,  
And felt the stroke which long hath been deferred,  
justice long hoverd heaven and them between,  
And with repining ears their follies heard,  
At last inflamed with wrath and rageful teen,  
Masked in a bloody fire she straight appeerd,  
Whose flaky flame pitching on Bdella walls,  
With them in everlasting ruin falls.   

So is it left all desolate foregone,  
No call of Music nor of man doth sound,  
The shady Owl in deadly notes doth groan,  
And luckless Weasels nestle in the ground,  
While gory blood besprinkled all upon,  
Reflecteth in the air a circle round,  
Whose gloomy sight until these latest day,  
Drives fearful passengers another way.   

Sometimes the ghosts walk in those paths of woe,  
And with their skreeching fright the neighbour land,  
Sometime a fire doth seem alone to go,  
A thousand torches as in battle band,  
And brandish in the darkness to and fro,  
At which the inhabitants appalled stand,  
It seems black hell hath ripped her prison womb,  
And means in mask unto the earth to come.   

Now hath Themistos left this fearful place,  
And he alone is gone to seek his chance,  
Minded not ever back to turn his face,  
But armed with that sword of piercing Lance,  
Which slew great Aimaran, he forth doth pass,  
And 'gainst each foe his weapon doth advance:  
Now hath he croft full many a wood and hill,  
To virtue no way ever happens ill.   

This time it chanced that Ereb had debate,  
Wrath with his wife, rapt forth a fire brand,  
Who loathing light, and kindled strait with hate,  
Lifts up from sable hell her pitchy band,  
And with her gloomy troop at Phoebus' gate,  
To keep the light from earth enraged did stand:  
So was Themistos ere he was aware,  
Left in black shadow and to nightly care.   

But on the plain he spies a mighty tree,  
Whose green attire did shield the falling rain,  
And oft in under Flora's Nymphs with glee,  
Would dancing lead their fair Napean train,  
That with soft down his roots invested be,  
Where Faunus with this Nymph hath often lain▪  
Here doth he mean to pass the silent night,  
Till with his eyes he shall salute the light.   

The Stars all ready at their watch do lie,  
And silent murmur whistles through the green,  
Which rocks his senses with a Lullaby,  
That in deep slumber now they buried been,  
Delighted with this dampish harmony:  
But now fair Phoebe half her way hath seen,  
And his deep dreaming is so violent,  
It cannot longer time be permanent.   

Morpheus hath left his black pavilion,  
And hath unlocked the portals of his eyes,  
When straight he looks the continent upon,  
Wither the Morning's chariot yet did rise,  
But she with Tithon kept her mansion,  
And in his cold embraces chained lies:  
This while the Knight doth smile upon the air,  
To see it shining such a dusky fair.   

But as he views, the most celestial face,  
That ever nature made to show her power,  
Sends to his eyes the beams of such a grace,  
As beauty's fairest rays they forth did power,  
Naked she was, and spotless from deface,  
Beauty she seemed itself, or beauty's bower:  
That if fair heaven on earth did ever dwell,  
Then this was heaven, on whom all graces fell.   

Her skin the linen where with cunning start,  
Beauty had wrought the sum of all her skill,  
While with her needle here and there apart,  
With azure work her sampler she doth fill,  
And turning to the breastplate of her heart,  
She worketh fairly there a double hill,  
Where on her double ruddy stewards do stand,  
Which keep the harvest of fair beauty's land.   

These lightning darts his heart had almost brent,  
Though not in lust but in divinest love,  
Therefore his eyes as messengers he sent,  
Unto that maid her courtesy to prove,  
Who with these words her treasure doors unbent,  
Let not the thought of me your passions move,  
For from the heavens I come to guide your feet,  
In purest paths from deeds and ways unmeet.   

He gently proffered her a Nectar-kisse,  
She met him yet did blush as half with shame:  
He now is hers, and she is wholly his,  
But not as loser wantoness them do name,  
This thoughts divine harmoniall consort is,  
far from the deeds of night those worthy blame,  
Whose noisome poison cankering within,  
Consumes the flesh with pain, the soul with sin.   

But while within their souls this melody  
Sounds pleasing tunes all ravishing the heart,  
They are affrayghted with a hideous cry,  
Like to an host conjoined in bloody Mart:  
And bellow forth a note when down they die,  
Which doth persuade these lovers to departed:  
Where let them take the chance to them assigned,  
Ere long time pass, I shall their journey find.   

This noise which tumbled in such fearful wise,  
Came from two brethren twixt whom deadly hate,  
Still causes of new discord doth devise,  
For when the watery Queen fair Thetis late,  
In Lemnos walk, Vulcan did her surprise;  
And on that Lady these two sons begat;  
Who of two disagreeing Natures brought,  
In passions disagreeing eversought.   

But Vulcan wrought them armour with a charm,  
And mighty swords which incantation bound,  
That never could they work each others harem,  
But in their foes would dint a griefly wound,  
After he did his Sons thus strongly arm,  
He set them in a ship, when first this ground  
Received these warriors, that each little hour,  
Their blades into each others breasts they pour.   

This Diaphon that Pyrhydor is height.  
Who since they came into this little I'll,  
Have overcome in doughty strokes of fight,  
All Knights within the space of forty mile;  
But she on which these brethren now alight,  
A Lady is that did herself exile:  
From those which love her as their dear delight,  
And doth bewail this her ungentle flight.   

Whom seeing strait they ran to captivate,  
First Diaphon, than Pyrhydor doth fly,  
But cruel Pyrhydor inflamed with hate,  
That he before him to the game should high,  
With a huge blow down clove his riven pate,  
The other fairly quites his surquedry,  
The Lady flying, piteously doth cry,  
On ground they wounded, bellowing do lie.   

Where lie they may this dame I'll follow fast,  
And by inquest search out her cause of flight,  
She was a virtuous (but that time is passed)  
A virtuous Lady loved of each man's sight,  
But now her faithless deeds have quite defaced,  
And darkened all her glories shining light:  
Black clouds of sin, and never blushing shame,  
Do wrap those silver wings of former fame.   

As when the blossoms of a springing tree,  
Promise the owner harvests chiefest pride,  
And Ver clad in gorgeous jollity,  
Though Flora's kingdom in her pomp doth ride,  
Great hope there is that there great store will be:  
But when the lightning from the heaven doth slide,  
Then are they choked in the sweetest prime,  
And all forget it was so good a time.   

So did the bloom of her fair springing youth,  
Clad in the robes of snowwhite chastity,  
Persuade the world a fruitful time ensueth,  
And largest rivers of fertility,  
But all this hope is turned into ruth,  
When filthy flame of infidelity,  
Scorcheth the wings on which pure faith doth fly,  
And makes her in her verdant blooming die.   

She Erofel is called, whom long there loved,  
Good Erophil well tried at sword and spear,  
And to her match, her still her parents moved,  
While she great kindness in her front did wear,  
And seemed to love him as it her behooved,  
But in went masking heart of cruel bear;  
Which Love doth hate, and takes his deepest joy,  
With treacherous words to work her loves annoy.   

mischiefs foul venom bloweth up her womb,  
Worse than Calipso's toxicating draft:  
Her wicked heart is his funereall tomb,  
From whence the source of his sad death he reached,  
Hence do his soul's corrosue drenches come,  
Which in deep sorrow his dear soul indraught;  
While the like juno at her husband's thunder,  
Laugheth to see fair Semele torn asunder.   

For when in gentle sort she seemed to quite  
Fair glances to his everdarting eyes,  
He would in marriage bands confirm delight,  
What ere he asks, she seeming not denies;  
And doth avow to do her Virgin-right,  
The day is come whereon his hope relies:  
They are conjoined in a holy band,  
He with his heart, she only with her hand.   

Now doth he pray the Sun to fly apace,  
And lash great Pirois on his lightning side,  
Then Cynthia he desires to show her face,  
And bids her nightly chariot upward slide,  
Then doth he pray the clouds for to disgrace  
The darkened night, and with their veils to hide  
The loathed beams of Phoebus' lingering light,  
And make the Sun arise of his delight.   

O foolish man how are thy wits yblent,  
Why dost thou run into thy latest path,  
Stay yet sweet Knight before thou do repent,  
To late then will it be to heal thy scathe,  
And quench the fire when as thy bones are brent,  
But so dire fate our deeds directed hath,  
That like blind Moles into our bane we go,  
But then she gives us eyes to see our woe.   

Night up doth rise the mark of all his thought,  
But sure his dart will miss the prick anon:  
For Erofel hath an Aethiop hath sought,  
Whom with rewards and money she hath won,  
That to the genial bed this hag is brought:  
For Erofel to bed would go alone,  
Refusing offered help, but she hath set  
Another Pigeon in her cabinet.   

And as the custom was she set a vail,  
Which hide the worse face, and showed the fair:  
Thus doth she set her rotten ship to sail,  
And to a private chamber doth repair:  
But Erophil his hour doth not fail,  
At her due time he means all debts to pay her:  
He off doth cast the clouds, whose evious dark  
Hinders his sailing to the goodly bark.   

The torches quenched he is left to rest,  
And sets on foot upon his fatal bed:  
O foot step back before thou be unblessed,  
And be not guided with so rash a head:  
O head seduced with so foul a guest,  
With such alluring bait O be not fed:  
And O sweet Knight before thou grief do reap,  
Fall not so soon, but look before thou leap.   

But all in vain, down he his bones doth lay;  
O hapless bones that never thence shall rise,  
He hopes to drive the chariot of the day,  
Whose beams did daze a while his staring eyes:  
But Erofel doth give his wishes nay;  
Strait to her breast embraces he applies,  
Then sugred-bitter kisses, and anon:  
But shame and grief now bid me to be gone.   

The Moon down wept a dewy dropping rain,  
Wailing the fate of sweetest Erophill,  
And seemed to fair Tellus to complain,  
That 'twas great grief that love such soul should kill,  
Her darksome steeds she would have settled feign,  
And made black night above remaining still,  
That day might never bring that sunny ray,  
Whose sight might bring this woeful Knight's decay.   

But Phoebus rose, forbidding longer night,  
And feign the Aethiop would betime departed:  
O no (quoth he) my chiefest loved light,  
Then shalt thou take away my dearest heart,  
And with eclipsing this thy clearest bright,  
Thou shalt eclipse my souls essential part:  
And then with an embrace he caught her head,  
Therewith her beauty was uncovered.   

Out leaps a face like to the Lician men,  
That suddenly were turned into frogs:  
Or when that Cerberus raised from his den,  
Ghastly presents three ugly barking dogs:  
Or to the pitchy Queen of darkness then,  
When she goes masking all in dampish fogs,  
Fearing to put her beauty's vail away,  
Lest to the wind she should her form display.   

The Knight astounded, rapt his mighty sword,  
And present die thou Incubus (quoth he)  
Which with a fiend hast wrought these deeds abhorred:  
Farewell thou falsed love where ere thou be,  
This edge shall end to grief and life afford:  
With that his troubled ghost he soon doth free,  
Who to those myrtle groves doth piercing fly,  
Where he with Dido mourns his misery.   

Now Erofell is gone in triumph fled,  
And laugheth at her Tragick-plotting wit;  
Where still with feat be thou disquieted,  
Let ghastly thoughts thy gnawed conscience bite;  
And let those worms within thy soul be bred,  
That never may surcease tormenting it:  
While with all plots of mischief that I may,  
I'll compass thee, not resting night or day.    

CANT. 3.  
Themistos hears a woeful wight complain,  
And fights against the fearful Giants twins,  
While Erofel doth hear Pitinoes' pain,  
And to torment him freshly she gins:  
Still he repeats his love and loves desire,  
Still she doth scorch him in a greater fire.  

THough fortune feed thee with her delicates,  
And stars do seem t'aspire unto thy bliss,  
Trust not the fickle reeling of the fates,  
Nor in fond pleasures lap do lie remiss,  
Hell still in opening her black rusty gates,  
And sends forth fiends that tempt us to amiss:  
Therefore about thy soul keep surest watch,  
Lest that temptation should thee overmatch.   

Though good Themistos had from heaven sent  
A blessed guardian to direct his feet,  
Yet clear he was not, for incontinent  
A wicked Lady doth his journey meet,  
And armed she was as one for justice bend:  
But she was wanton and for pleasure meet:  
At her birthday fierce warriors angry king,  
With the fair Queen of love was reveling.   

And Cipribel her name, who now in love  
With good Themistos, still did tempt to shame,  
And with vain questions did his fancy move:  
But fair Encrata would her sharply blame,  
And with some holy tale her talk remove,  
That she enraged with this Angel dame,  
Swelleth with wrath that never can be quenched,  
So deep in poisoned heart it is indrencht.   

She would have racked her limbs ten thousand ways,  
And spread her like the dust upon the ground:  
But love enforcing, she much other says,  
When soon Themistos had her purpose found,  
And seems to yield to her: but with delays,  
Lest he should quite enforce a cureless wound:  
And still he seeks to turn her path awry,  
Into some other journey lying by.   

Now while they pass, lo yond they see a wight,  
Beating his breast with huge and ruthless blows:  
Sometimes he staring looks on heavens light,  
And straight himself upon the earth he throws:  
Then on his hair his fingers do alight,  
And flies as if he were pursued with foes,  
And then as burden of his deadly song,  
He scricheth that the woods resound along.   

His face so pale and skin transparent was,  
It seemed Death's ghastly looking glass to be,  
And then he cries, lo yond he comes alas!  
The Giant! O now whither shall I fly?  
But soon toward him doth Thomistos pass,  
And bids him cheer his woeful heart: but he  
Refuseth any spark of least delight,  
And with his soul 'gainst comfort strong doth fight.   

O what have you to do in dead men's graves?  
(Quoth he) why trouble you what longs to death?  
And hinder my repast, as curses, raves,  
And sighs and tears, which feed my lingering breath,  
Sorrow within my breast round-vaulted caves  
Sings tunes, which most my ears sweet ravisheth:  
Go foundlings to your hapless wanton end,  
I will on Grief and blessed Death attend.   

Then with a griping gnash he ends his tale,  
As though an earthquake all his bow'ls did tear:  
But him the Knight bespoke to tell his bale,  
And who the authors of his sorrow were.  
But he: so shall I cause thee to bewail,  
And I grow worse: for cursed hope may near  
Take me from out my loved sorrows bands,  
For all my soul I yield into thy hands.   

But since thou needs wilt draw my cursed chance,  
I Algiger am called, that happy of yore,  
Till fortune frowned with crabbed countenance,  
But now ill luck down all my triumphs bore:  
Yonder two monsters did their strength advance  
Against my house, which fearful ruin tore,  
My friends are slain, and I am left alone  
To be: and there he breathed a deadly groan.   

Feign would the Knight more of his tale express,  
But he to any earthly joy was dead;  
His soul entombed in deep heaviness,  
Into a pleasing senseless dream was led.  
The Knight full greatly moved with his distress,  
Awaked him from his cares most uncouth bed:  
But for no treasure that on earth doth lie,  
Would he this Knight in way accompany.   

Where leaving him, the Knight doth forward go,  
Seeking by any means the way to find:  
But soon he found it, for all passers know,  
With sad experience all that monstrous kind,  
For still they work the country scathe and woe,  
Leaving each where sad notes of ruth behind:  
And now the Knight arrives unto the place,  
Where his great valour shall their force deface.   

He knocks against the posterns of the gate,  
When straight forth steps a beldame dry with age,  
When she the Knight espies, then plunged in hate,  
Unto her sons she runs, who all in rage  
Come forth imbrued with the spoil, which late  
They made, for safely pass no carriage:  
This find hath Policlopon to his name,  
That Pantarpazon children of one dame.   

Huge mighty corpse they have, which like a tree  
March to and fro full ghastly to behold:  
Their heads with rau'nish jaws foul wolvish be:  
Some say a devil did their dame enfold,  
Other that with a wolf lay ugly she:  
But howe'er, all filthy is her mould,  
Harpyia she, well worthy such a brood,  
At whose birth-time some hag as midwife stood.   

Now with the Knight the elder boy doth fight,  
Yawning like Orcus' jaws and gaping wide:  
But at the first down in his throat there pight  
The spears sharp point which doth full deeply slide,  
When straight he parbreakes forth (O loathsome sight)  
Great filthy gobbets which do upward glide,  
And rawish meat and flesh that yet did bleed,  
The nourishment on which his vice did feed.   

But then Harpya soul doth curse amain,  
When as she sees him groveling on the ground,  
And howls and raves, and bids his brother gain  
The full revengement of that deadly wound:  
He thought with meeting blow at first t'have slain,  
The Knight avoiding, down it doth rebound:  
The hideous beam wherewith this monster fought,  
Into the groaning earth full deep is wrought.   

When nimbly he divides his conduit-pipe,  
Through which the Lerna of his sin did flow,  
It seemed for Pluto now his soul was ripe,  
With such a trice off doth his forehead go:  
The whining dame doth with her apron wipe  
His brother's throat, thinking his life to slow:  
But all the furies of infernal hell,  
Long since within his damned corpse do dwell.   

They thus captived, he takes that foggy fiend,  
And strips her naked from her antic hue,  
And to a spreader both her feet doth bind,  
That she might never him nor his pursue,  
And with a cord doth tie her hands behind:  
Thus is this haggard placed in her mew,  
And to the scorching Sun her face doth turn,  
Who with his beams doth her most fervent burn.   

She with her curses gripes heavens highest seat,  
Accusing them of her deserved pain,  
And execrates the Sun for sending heat,  
Bidding him drench his steeds within the main,  
Then 'gainst the fearful throne she foul doth bleat:  
But all her plaints and curses are in vain,  
Her tortured soul to bloomy Ereb fell,  
While on her carcase crows and ravens dwell.   

Here to his spoils we'll leave this worthy Knight,  
And follow Erofel that flies amain,  
Whom those two brethren did but now affright,  
She to her former tricks returns again,  
Seeking to work fair love her foul despite;  
And that she sooner might her end attain,  
In man's apparel she is fairly clad,  
While woman's skin and wolvish heart she had.   

Thus forth she marched in her way alone,  
But that consorted with deceit and guile,  
And she in many Suns hath painful gone,  
But none she meets whom may her art beguile:  
Further she travails still, but now anon  
A voice she heard that fits her plotted wile,  
And thus it faintly beats the yielding air,  
Issuing from pangs of woe and deep despair.   

Heart leave to pine, since pining cannot save,  
Soul love not her, that doth not love thy love,  
Mind be no longer to that force a slave,  
That can deep passions, but no mercy move,  
You clouds of sorrow no more issue have,  
This tree for all your watering will not prove:  
For that fair plant 'bout which your waters flow,  
In midst of them all barren will not grow.   

O she is sick with unrecured disease,  
That serpent foul disdain her sharp doth sting,  
And to the cure I proved many ways;  
Of my heartblood I did a plaster bring,  
And kept it warm with sighs, and strove to please,  
And washed it with the wells of sorrowing:  
My souls dear garden-plots I did reveal,  
Yet by the chiefest herbs she will not heal.   

But no, I am diseased, here lies the wound;  
For when her beauty had the hearts in chase,  
Which in the pale of love were servants bound,  
Then I not able to withdraw my pace,  
Myself by those her arrows gored found,  
Which fly from that fair bow of her sweet face:  
Yet though I feel the arrow in my heart,  
It doth deny me leave to break the dart.   

Therefore thus festering deep in venomed skin,  
Since my lives Surgeon doth her help deny,  
And all my sinews are consumed within,  
No hope remains on which I may rely,  
After this death my soul no life shall win,  
But in a second grief shall ending die:  
So shall her cruel heart be fully pleased,  
My wounds embalmed, and my passions eased.   

These and more mournful words still sighing deep,  
He breathed vainly to the senseless sky,  
Which might have brought a stony heart asleep:  
But Erofel armed with black cruelty,  
Shutteth the gates which pity used to keep,  
And barring forth the plaints of misery:  
Thus doth she board the Knight with words of guile,  
Which craft and feigned sorrow did compile.   

O do not cloud the heaven of your face,  
With misty vapours which black woe doth spread,  
Nor those bright lineaments so much disgrace,  
That in their chiefest spring they should be dead:  
Sorrow with swiftest wings still flies apace,  
And joy goes flagging on the plumes of lead:  
Drive that away which of itself will fly,  
You need not open gates to misery.   

What is it love? I know that poison strong,  
Yet to resist against his powers assay:  
If then you be too weak to daunt his wrong,  
Open (if safely) all your story lay:  
And if my help you will accept among,  
And to my precepts will eftsoons obey,  
My greatest aid to you I will avow,  
Within this breast hath love been cured ere now.   

O never may (quoth he) my wound feel ease,  
I turn with Sisyphus a restless stone:  
The flames of hell the furies may appease,  
But these heartburning coals will near be gone:  
Gods may Prometheus from his chains release,  
This vulture ever feeds my heart upon:  
These everlasting pangs and weary breath,  
Unto my woes give life, to life a death.   

But since her name thus sounded by my words,  
Doth so much ravish my even-sleeping soul,  
And then Disdain like many thousand swords,  
Rips up the closed wound which erst was whole,  
And nearer end to fainting thought affords,  
This Tragic story here I will unrole,  
The Chronicle of many a woeful thing,  
Which in those days were done when love was king.   

Within a stately palace happy dwells  
A mighty Lord, whose now-extolled height,  
By fortunes aid the state by much excels,  
Of any neighbour Prince or foreign Knight  
Blest now he is, but not so blessed else,  
Had not fair Nature lent those torches light,  
Which guide the fortune of each mighty peer,  
Without whose help their fame will near be clear.   

The fairest offspring from his loins proceed,  
That ever heavens conjured should ravish eye,  
Whose very thought my dying soul doth feed,  
With fainting sight of such felicity:  
Sure some divine she is, no earthly seed,  
No man can sound so sweet a harmony,  
Fairest of fairs, burning bright beauties flame,  
Heavenly her nature, Bellamy her name.   

O let me see the morn's fair blushing rise,  
Or let the dove set forth her fairest white;  
Let heaven unclose his treasure to the eyes,  
And fairest gems present them to my sight,  
Or pleasantest show that in each colour lies,  
With which feigned beauty often shineth bright:  
These all united in one goodly frame,  
Can scarce describe the picture of my dame.   

Sure jove was framing a new starry light,  
And seeing heaven full, here made her place:  
Heart-plunging thoughts do ravish with delight,  
When I but once do seem to view her face;  
Methinks my spirit near should see the night,  
Rapt deeply with the image of her grace:  
In vain I have her fame and praises sung,  
My tongue disgraceth her, she grac'th my tongue.   

Now doth she flourish in her chiefest spring,  
(O heavenly spring, though winter to my days)  
And thirty Knights there lie a reveling,  
Seeking by valiant acts and sundry ways,  
Who to her thoughts may sweetest pleasure bring,  
And who may win the sunshine of her rays:  
O rays which through my heart as thinnest glass,  
With piercing light and brightest edge do pass.   

One time in justs a spectacle they made,  
When as my eyes the sad spectators were,  
Still with my growing sight my hope did fade,  
And still my love did grow though hope did wear.  
Thus pressed with despairs most heavy lad,  
Her sight all hopeless, heartless I forbear:  
For when so many wooed one only dame,  
I thought too late my fancies suing came.   

Therefore exposed to sorrow and despair,  
Here will I sing the Dirges of my death:  
Sometimes the Nightingale doth here repair,  
Consorting with me in a plaining breath:  
Sometimes the turtle rob of her pair,  
In groaning noise my tune accompanieth,  
While pleasant death sweet singing in mine ear,  
A part in this my plaining song doth bear.   

Thus far this Swan sung forth his mournful plaint,  
And much I rue the pain which him doth hold:  
For well I know the plague which doth attaint,  
This woeful man doth him most heavy fold.  
Now Erofel with words which joy did paint,  
Seemed to have his sorrow much controlled:  
But what she spoke occasion doth deny  
To tell, till better time shall bid reply.   

Now some will think that I am much unkind,  
To let this woeful wight thus plungedly:  
But little do they know what I do find,  
That yet remains more infelicity,  
And she as women wont will have her mind,  
Though for his ease I many ways do try:  
And though in his defence I strongly stand,  
These women needs will have the upper hand.    

CANT. 4.  
Diaphon and Pirthydor in endless blows  
Batter the castles of their furious hearts,  
Brethren by birth, by deeds most cruel foes,  
That bloody still torment each others parts,  
While Algiger all mortified in soul,  
The world's short pleasures deeply doth control.  

AS when a fiery brand that fiercely burns,  
Taken from Vulcan's ever-breathing flame,  
And in the water laid, each other turns  
Their force, their angry enemy to tame,  
And while that either others might doth spurn,  
From twixt them both a mighty rattling came:  
At last when neither gets the upper side,  
The force of both in might away doth slide.   

Such is the flame which Discord doth incense,  
That still it fights, and still it wastes away,  
Still suffering loss, without a recompense,  
With her own subject still she doth decay:  
Still on her face she doth presume defence,  
When still she means to get a spoiled pray,  
The filthy rust that in our soul doth creep,  
And with her griping teeth still gnaweth deep.   

Thus do these brethren wast each others might,  
Hewing their armour with down-thundring blows:  
The burning fire never wanteth light,  
Which discord with her envious bellows blows;  
Her bellows to her servants likened right,  
Whereof one swells when down his mate he throws:  
Such is the state of any envious mind,  
That by another's fall his seat doth find.   

But now the mightiest fit that ever moved  
A warring soul to fury and to rage,  
Their concord with new quarrels hath reproved,  
Whose force no hope there is ere to assuage:  
If ever least degree they feigning loved,  
Their love shall never see that infant-age,  
Madness hath blown up their swelling hearts,  
Whose tumour never from his seat departs.   

For while they travailed on a pleasant plain,  
They saw a little mount, that with his head  
A prospect made upon the smiling main:  
No bushy tree his beauty shadowed,  
But open his fair flowery top hath lain:  
And to this hill a path directly led,  
Wither these warring brethren take their way,  
Willing to see what novelties there lay.   

Straight to their ears the sweetest harmony  
Doth blow, that ever sweet to ear can blow,  
Whose force like fire could melt black cruelty,  
And make it quickly gentle mercy know:  
From out that little hill it soft doth fly,  
As if Apollo all his art would show:  
A little death it is, which up doth send  
Our souls to heaven, before we make our end.   

O cease those murdering strokes what ere thou be,  
My soul will fly from hence unto thy cell,  
And all in love with this will banish me;  
Sweet honey issuing from a silver well,  
Which giv'st a surfeit, not satiety:  
O do no more such pleasing murmurs tell,  
But leave my virgin-thoughts without annoy,  
Which thou wilt ravish with too great a joy.   

When this enchanting noise their ears doth kiss,  
They hating all what harmony doth make,  
With madness almost burst, all turned is  
To egging ire, and forth their swords they take,  
And like mad bedlams when their wit's amiss,  
Into an open fight most fierce they broke,  
Where we will leave them there to learn some wit,  
No other school then this can be more fit.   

But now perchance this seemeth truth to pass,  
That from the earth such heavenly tunes ascend:  
But thus the Chronicles report it was,  
That long ago within this land did wend  
A Mathematic, that did work with brass,  
And other things which to his art did tend,  
So skilful that no sound on earth devised  
Hath been, but he hath highly equalizde.   

And here within the earth he built a cell,  
Where he will try the utmost of his art,  
And hath by labour now conjoined well,  
Each moving member and each sounding part,  
When with a running stream that thither fell,  
To each he doth a motion impart:  
Which all conjoined do frame a Music sound,  
Whose forcive might can stony hearts confound.   

Now Death his servant Sickness forth hath sent,  
Who with his dooming mace doth him arrest,  
And well he knows his bow so long ly'ne bend,  
For ever in his vigour may not lest:  
Therefore unto this vaulted cell he went,  
Where minding to set up his latest rest,  
He closely shuts the caves fast ceiled door,  
Which entrance may forbid to any more.   

And now his engines he in work doth set,  
Which sent forth dulcet tunes to chant the ear,  
While he to Nature pays his common debt,  
And to the world did never more appear:  
Therefore some thought that in this cabinet,  
Immortal he all ages did out wear:  
Some superstitious thought he was divine,  
And offered sacrifice unto his shrine.   

But he is dead (woe that such worth should die)  
And darkness triumphs over his rotten mass:  
But his bright fame shall on her pinions fly,  
As long as light from Eos doors shall pass:  
Nor ever may that base obscurity,  
Blot from men's thoughts that such an Artist was:  
Oblivion all thy teeth may near devour,  
His famousde names still overliving power.   

But here the music and these fight mates  
I now must leave, where with unwieldy blows  
And mighty thunderclaps each other bats:  
So angry Neptune forth the surges throws,  
When Aeolus hath loosed his windy gates,  
And so against a rock the billow goes,  
As do the lightnings of black envies heat,  
With slicing dints their rocky armour beat.   

But let me see where Algiger is gone,  
That erst was wounded deep in cureless heart;  
Look yond I see him where he walks alone,  
Still yelling with the horror of my smart:  
Sometimes to heaven he darts a heavy groan,  
Then to the earth he doth a sigh impart,  
While with the tears down rolling on his skin,  
He wash'th his face without, not woe within.   

Not long he travailed till a mournful sound,  
Sadly doth beat his sadder seated ear,  
When o he cries, and is there on the ground,  
That can with me such part of sorrow bear,  
Thrice happy I that such a mate have found,  
Whose soul woes mourning gown alike doth wear,  
Sweet sorrow which my fainting breast dost feed,  
And with new cause of grief new joy doth breed.   

Further he comes, when soon he sees a cell,  
A little cloudy cell scarce taking light,  
In which one only woeful wight did dwell,  
That in the mortal world did not delight,  
But still with tears unto his prayers fell,  
Mourning full deeply what he did not right,  
And still persuades his care-encompast mind,  
That on the earth it could no pleasure find.   

True, true (quoth Algig●r) no joy there is,  
That may delight the burdened soul of man:  
Sorrow doth straightest lead the mind to bliss,  
Whence perfect joy and happiness began.  
Wherhfore good Sire (and if I speak not miss)  
Since I so rightly have this fortune wan,  
Let us together here unknown go,  
Telling each other of uncured woe.   

Let us persuade the wandering passenger  
With moral precepts mortifying the mind,  
In sunder all his former joys to tear,  
And bid him mourn for that his soul hath sinned,  
Telling him never can his faults be clear,  
Unless his former thread he do un wind,  
Which leads unto the labyrinth of hell,  
Where near returning ghosts down damned fell.   

Agreed (quoth he) and these clouds of mine eyes  
Shall from their vaults in fertile showers fall,  
To fructuate the earth that barren lies,  
Those earthly souls I mean, to grace to call,  
That life is fullest far of miseries,  
Whom sharpest misery doth never gall:  
For pleasure seems some solace forth to bring.  
But deadly it doth pierce with Scorpion sting.   

Thus they conjoined begin to ambulate,  
And when they meet a wandering pilgrim-wight,  
Then do they tell man's miserable state,  
How pleasures light is but a blackest night,  
How nothing that we do can quench the hate,  
Which heavenly powers do bear, but in despite  
Of earth and what the chained hurt may draw,  
Make to our lawless hearts a newfound law.   

Plunge deep in tears to wash thy spotted skin,  
In Iordans waters seven times thee cleanse,  
To purge the leprosy that lies within:  
Let sighs still offer up a sweet incense,  
And where with foul contagion of sin,  
Those filthy fumes have wrought the soul's offence:  
There let that heavenly sacrifice repair,  
And make the rinced soul twice brighter fair.   

Contemn the world, where nought but grief is found,  
Where sighs the air, and sorrow is the food,  
Eternal tears the drink, and howls the sound,  
Whose ghastly notes we hear, while dropping blood  
Makes seas of woe within our heart abound,  
And discontent the fire, ourselves the wood:  
From whose great flames black vapours do arise,  
Which turned to clouds do rain down from our eyes.   

But lie below where never tempest blows,  
Seek out some narrow place where thou mayst weep,  
Where solitariness invested goes:  
On day remember grief, in silent sleep  
Dream of thy faults, and those deserved woes,  
Which in a prison do thy sad thoughts keep:  
No thunder may thy cottage overturn,  
Nor thus bedewed with tears can lightning burn.   

While mighty Cedars feel the tempests wrack,  
Each little shame as winter's timeless frost,  
Makes them all bare, and doth unclothe their back,  
While they below smile at their garments lost,  
Each of their faults and each unlawful act  
Is seen to all, and they are learned most,  
Which in these great men's crimes a lesson reed,  
And tell their fellows any lawless deed.   

While we in silence pass our silent days,  
No ill on earth nor sorrow after death,  
We fear not envious tongues, nor black dispraise,  
While they (though soothed in this lively breath)  
After their time are punished many ways,  
Each swelling heart his hate unburdeneth,  
And wisheth that the earth may heavy lie,  
And press them deeply with her gravity.   

Thus passing forth a rueful sight they view,  
Where many hung upon a crossing tree:  
O these (quoth they) no more earth's woe shall rue,  
Thrice happy eased of mortal misery:  
We have a mighty Ocean yet anew,  
Through which our tossed ships to port must fly,  
Brought to the sum of great felicity.   

Further they go when comes a downcast wight,  
Whose face the Sun had died with sunny black:  
O friends (quoth he) and can you take delight  
On earth, while heavens great pleasures you do lack?  
Come, come each man breath up his ending sprite,  
Before foul sin it drive to deadly wrack:  
Send up to heaven a soul, ere sin it get,  
Entangled in his nere-dissolued net.   

O cease (quoth they) to make an overflow  
Over the bounds of our ny-drowned minds:  
This world's uncertainty we well do know,  
Who so seeks aught, nought but despair he finds,  
And these our earthly bodies sinking low,  
In mancipate of shame our souls do bind:  
Our Sun with clouds is darkened in the rise,  
The noon is black, but brightest when he dies.   

Since then the fates our meeting thus ordained,  
Let us not seek to teach what each doth see:  
But let him happiest be most souls that gained,  
Franchising them to immortality:  
Here will we tell how that the soul is pain,  
Laden with earthly things, not ever free,  
Before the body's service they reject,  
And here we'll counsel them to that effect.   

Agreed, they framed full many a wooden cross,  
And digged up pools and many other ways,  
When they persuade them to this gaining loss,  
The world's loss gain, which gain our soul imbayes  
In happy rest where never tempests toss:  
But sweet content our souls in quiet lays,  
Where Aeol dares not forth his servants send,  
Where ending woe, woes heir doth never end.    

CANT. 5.  
The Hermit tells Asotus Tragedy,  
His wicked deeds and filthy luparie:  
And Cipribel there learns felicity,  
But Erofel still plagues with cruelty  
Pirinoes' souls, whose craft when they had found,  
They stripped her clothes, and to the steed her bound.  

Hapless that wight within whose bowels lie  
The deep-drencht poisons of uncured vice,  
Not any Antidote can help apply,  
To whose souls cure no leach-art will suffice,  
But tossed in the waves from any eye,  
Pays desperate his souls unmatched price:  
But happy they awake from sleep of night,  
To see the blessed days thought-chearing light.   

Which seld seen bliss new-changed Cipribel,  
Hath by her gentle-smiling fortune gained:  
So they that in a parfumed house do dwell,  
The parfumed odour afterlong retained;  
And wicked chained with those that use do well,  
Have from their wicked customs soon refraind:  
The horse whose back the tamer oft bestrides,  
At length with easy pace full gently rides.   

After the Giant-fight when down he threw,  
The filthy sons which Alo●us bare,  
And those same monsters great Themistos flew,  
Spoiling those wolves which all the passers tore,  
From their black mansions he his feet withdrew,  
And with the Ladies in his way doth far:  
Freeing each wretch from his unworthy pain.  
Restoring them unto their rest again.   

At length they passed where they all wondering spied  
A little rocky form, whence did arise  
A fruitful issuing stream, that still did slide  
From out the hollow stone in ample wise:  
Fast by a little cabinet they eyed,  
Wither desirous of some novelties,  
They go inquiring what these things mought be,  
Which they so strange and never-heard did see.   

When by a cranny there they silent view,  
An old age-worne-out father that with beads  
Praying full deeply, seemed some gift to sue  
Of the great king, when still he earnest reads,  
And letting down his beads says prayer new:  
Thus he his life's cold Autumne-yeares doth lead,  
Nor caring for the world nor worldly wealth,  
But his beloved souls beloved health.   

When straight Themistos; Sir, without offence,  
If tell you may, pray tell the mystery  
Of yonder stone, and if oft recompense  
Can quite, I pray my kindness prove and try:  
Sir, your request (quoth he) doth grieve my sense,  
With new memorial of this history:  
Yet though each word do bring with him a tear,  
You shall my story and sad fortune hear.   

Weeping and speaking thus the mourner says:  
Where now vast rudeness shows her rugged face,  
Here on these plains shone in the former days,  
The stateliest walls that ere with glories grace,  
Send to the world their fair prospective rays,  
The place to them gave worth, they to the place,  
That twixt both worths far worthiest they were seen:  
O that as once they were they now had been.   

Here dwelled (unworthy far here for to dwell)  
My brother (why should I him brother call?)  
Asotus height, that nere-recured, fell  
Into the snares of vice (O hapless fall!)  
Nothing but luxury did please him well,  
Drinking and feasting and consuming all:  
His belly was the ship whereto he set  
All merchandise that he could ever get.   

Like to the yawning mouth of ugly Di●,  
That ever gapes still hungry for his prey,  
Where sinking down into the black Abyss,  
The pained souls their sins dear tribute pay:  
Such was the never-satiat gulf of his,  
Wherein still souls of beasts he fresh did lay:  
When to extinguish his thirsts raging fire,  
Whole harvests he of prest-grapes doth require.   

Once when the Sun began for to release  
His teams, all weary with their daily pain,  
Came by a godly father, whom he prays  
His castles lodging for a night to deign,  
Though loath he were so much to yield to ease,  
Yet by requests here now he will remain:  
In is he gone to take his nightly rest,  
Meaning to lodge within this Pythoes nest.   

Hunger the vulture that on every maw  
Bites with her meager teeth her womb to fill,  
Bids them to yield to common nature's law,  
And satisfy her not resisted will:  
The father who before then never saw  
The dish where rawish blood down did distill,  
But Pythagorean like with gardens fed,  
Wonders to see so many creatures dead.   

Fie shame (quoth he) to kill the harmless beast,  
That with his fleece maintains our vestiment,  
And with this bloody meat to make a feast,  
Which nature made for a more good intent:  
What hath the ox deserved, that still oppressed  
With heavy yoke in pain his years hath spent?  
Or what the sheep, the sheep that innocent,  
Which never cries for slaughter up ypent?   

Saving your tale (quoth he) and taking wine,  
Asotus in a full carouse doth swill:  
But he whose grieved heart doth much repine,  
To see him with those bloody meats to fill  
His ravening paunch, goes forward to divine;  
Telling that for his soul this feast was ill,  
Who in deep hell for penance long shall fast,  
Guilty to think upon his pleasure past.   

Thus long he spoke when down Asotus lies,  
Whom deep-fetched draughts had over-nie oppressed,  
When straight the Sire from out the castles flies:  
Whence fled, he falls upon his humbled breast,  
And zealous to the king of heaven cries,  
Turning his face unto the darkened East,  
Praying to show some judgement on his sin,  
Before more souls this wicked vice might win.   

No sooner hath he prayed, but vanished quite  
The old foundations of the ruined walls,  
Like to a bird that flieth from the fight,  
And in some far removed valley falls,  
Nothing appears, but this ungodly wight,  
Who while for help all cursing deeply calls,  
Into this stone was changed, whence still arise  
New issuing streams of superfluities.   

And here stay I, that to the rising Sun,  
For that his soul full many prayers say;  
Beginning still, nor ever will have done,  
Until to rest his soul transport I may:  
This said; down rivulets of tears do run,  
And straight all vehement gins to pray:  
A ruthful sight it was, for deepest smart  
Was sure engraven in his grieved heart.   

But now is Cipribel quite shaped a new,  
Sorrow within her heart doth tyrannize,  
Her former pleasure she doth deeply rue;  
And be their Gods which see our vanities,  
Quoth she; rewarding men their sins great due,  
Or is there any heavenly paradise,  
Where everlasting harvest shall repay  
The fruits of good which here on earth we lay?   

This said, she doth the aged Sire request  
To tell the blessed news she near did hear:  
Who all the rites that holy men professed,  
And who unhappy, and who blessed were,  
Which was the way to eviternall rest,  
Where was the place of horror and of fear:  
To her in largest told where we will leave  
This new made Saint her lessons to receive.   

Now good Pyrino must I tell thy woe,  
The mighty wrack, thy weary bark sustains,  
Whom Erofel thus tumbleth to and fro,  
With boisterous winds of her infected brains;  
Needs must thou to thy hapless fortune go,  
When desperate rider holds thy guiding rains:  
Loss of a love, in love is greatest death,  
But mocking of his loss twice burdeneth.   

After he had sung forth the history,  
Wherein his Tragedies he did reveal:  
Erofel seems some comfort to apply,  
And where she poison lays, she seems to heal,  
Like the Hinna, that will sorriestcrie,  
When she in cruelest manner means to deal:  
The Adder in his seeming kiss doth sting,  
And mischief lies within most flattering.   

Now she persuades to lift his wearied feet,  
And to his Lady turn his doleful course;  
Perchance (quoth she) some streams of hope do fleet,  
Which may quench out the flame, ere growing worse;  
Who never ventures, prize shall never meet,  
And he his own unwillingness will curse:  
That while occasion turns her hairy face,  
Stays nor her never-back returning pace.   

Now when the darkened evening calls to rest,  
When Stars all ready in their watch do stand,  
When he doth of his love remember least;  
Then comes she in and questions doth demand,  
To overcharge the wight so deep oppressed,  
To make him dream of things like furies brand,  
In the infernal nooks of gaping hell,  
Torturing the souls which down condemned fell.   

So lankish famine gnawing on her breast,  
Tires Erisicton with a restless drought,  
And makes him ever hungering sore a feast;  
When yet that swallowed feast but grieves his thought,  
That his luxurious end so soon hath ceased,  
Even such love famine hath this Tiger brought:  
To this o'er burning youth, within whose soul  
A thousand Sisyphus their restless burdens roll.   

Sometimes in woman's clothes she would appear,  
In mighty shadows to affright him more,  
And Bellamy's divinest image bear,  
And play an Antic by his chamber door:  
When strait the lover thinks that she was there,  
And in pursuit out from his bed he tore:  
She flies, he now remains of all bereft,  
Like one whom Fairies company hath left.   

One night she came to play her wont game,  
When he all desperate in a mighty rage  
Drew forth his blade, and brandishing the same,  
Betwixt them made an uncouth marriage,  
And made her arm give to her head the blame,  
That framed such plays upon so strange a stage:  
For he deep stroke unto the center-bone,  
O hapless stroke it had no further gone.   

Like Cadmus' Dragon in the Theban cave,  
When with his spear he pierced his writhed tail,  
Gins within his den to rage and rave,  
And swelling deeply means then to prevail,  
When with united force at him he drove,  
Such rancour doth her cankered heart assail:  
As loves great Eagle lesser foul doth rend,  
To massacre him so, her heart is bend.   

But now the fates thy whiter thread have spun,  
Fowl Erofel, now hath thy shady loom,  
All died in pitch her griefly birth begun,  
Masking misfortunes shade and hapless bloom:  
Now hath thy night veiled thy most orient sun,  
Black chance to worse fortune doth thee doom:  
Cast down loves Sceptre, tyrannize no more,  
The wings are scorched which once thy flight upbore.   

When cheating Phoebus' bad his fiery steeds  
Breath forth bright lightning in the rising morn:  
Pirino on whose heart grim sorrow feeds,  
Left his sad couch in which no rest is borne,  
Now easier fate his happier chance areedes,  
Love doth not prick him as it want before:  
Whose presage drieth up the ice of smart,  
And makes a verdant spring within his heart.   

Upon his foaming Palfrey doth he mount,  
When strait his fury hath his heart in chase:  
But let the cottages make great account,  
When Boreas turns his cloud-in-wrapped face,  
This Castle now all storms wrath doth surmount,  
It scorns to stooping now his height debase:  
Go Erofel those jaws in sunder tear,  
Whose poison to no worth their edge doth rear.   

Forward they travel in appointed way,  
Driving the tediousness of shortened miles,  
She still is egged to the Knight's decay;  
And with new stinging tales his cares defiles,  
While nothing can her words his mind afray:  
But now a sudden noise doth end her wiles,  
Like to the humming of great swarms of Bees,  
Which in this sort unto their hearing flees.   

Go Aspic go, which with thy venomed sting  
Defil'st the purity which nature gave,  
Within thy head a thousand fiends do ring,  
And whispering counsel do thy thoughts deprave,  
Let mischief thee unto thy burial bring,  
Or robbers lay thee in some uncouth cave:  
Where thou entombed in eternal night,  
Mayst not defile the toxicated light.   

While thou my soul whom spots of sin do stain,  
Vanish from this thy worldly pilgrimage,  
And to the highest powers of heaven complain,  
Thou didst unwilling spoil thy heritage,  
While as the sun who knows my inward pain,  
Viewing the woeful offspring of my rage:  
Shall witness to black Radamant that I,  
A penitential sinner fainting die.   

While thou fell hag, whose foul corrupted mind  
Doth glut his thought with sight of others grief,  
Mayst wander hapless never help mayst find,  
But driven from thy haven of relief,  
Toss up and down with some uncertain wind,  
Not ever trusted never get belief:  
And I appointed to a fatal end,  
Will die that life, whose death is lives dear friend.   

Following the sound unto a bush they came,  
Whom when he saw: and dost thou live (quoth he)  
And took his sword and would have pierced the dame:  
But strait Pirino; pray Sir patiented be,  
What ever your offended thoughts can blame,  
I deeply vow shall be redressed by me:  
Only bewray the reason of your wrath,  
And who the author is of all your scathe.   

O Sir (quoth he) this is a woman borne,  
Though falsely hid in feeming man's disguise,  
Whose beauty as his badge my heart hath worn:  
Woe to the time I heard her flatteries,  
For since that time my soul was still forlorn,  
Of th' Angel hue of my fair infancies:  
I touched the pitch which in her corpse do lie,  
By which the vestals of my heart do die.   

For this was she whose once beloved face  
Wrought deep affections in my yielding mind;  
And over ruled me with her pleasing grace,  
While in this love, her tractable I find,  
And all my words doth seem glad to embrace,  
Which doth in double bands my duty bind:  
Her did I worship, I doll of my heart,  
And my most dearest souls more dearer part.   

Now are we joined each in giving troth,  
And have appointed certain time to bride,  
One was the mind, one was the thought of both,  
When I was sad, than she her light would hide,  
And seem as if to joy her soul was loath,  
Both in uniting of their loves abide:  
But this so high a sea of rising love,  
Soon to a lowest ebb then ere did prove.   

She seemed like Phae●●n in her desire,  
And needs would drive the chariot of Sun,  
Carrying her Suns to overcharging fire,  
When thus to me her doleful speech began:  
O love whose heart the seat where I aspire,  
Hath with so deep a love my loving won:  
O be not hard which Nature soft hath made,  
Nor let the spring of kindness scarce borne fade,   

Here is my heart whom thy suns love doth melt,  
But it like wax more melting more doth hang,  
Which loves comburing zonefull deep hath felt,  
This heart which in my breasts fair temple rang,  
Unto thy service still; and still hath dealt  
Faithful in love, though through many a pang:  
Ease it and me from such a sweltering zone,  
Where thirsty still; still water we have none.   

This heart all bloodless let it be thy white,  
And shoot there with thy arrows piercing steel;  
Or if in his confusion thou delight,  
Then torture it upon a racking wheel,  
Or let thy sword sharp edge thine ire acquit,  
And let it any torment/ plagued feel:  
Only first pierce it with a dart of love,  
Then all the instruments of anger prove.   

Sweet love, one only Nectar-drop I crave,  
Do not deny me one: one is not much,  
Though to thy love thus I am bound a slave,  
Yet little meat to feed me do not grudge,  
And with one morsel me from dying save,  
O cruelest death of all, whose death is such:  
O didst thou see my heart, how it doth beat  
And pant for hunger, sure it should have meat.   

Perchance the people's voice thou much dost fear,  
That's like a wind which never man can see,  
Whose idle tumour many things doth bear  
Which are untrue, she every where doth flee,  
The best do often her worst colours wear,  
And on her sable pinsons lifted be:  
Beside our marriage, to be made ere long,  
Will strengthen all the breach, & make it twice as strong.   

Now in my heart Reason and Love did fight,  
Reason with ensign red, loves ensign pale,  
My face the field where they do wreak their spite,  
Sometimes loves ensign vanquished, down would fall  
Then Reason's colour played most in fight,  
And in a blushing red enuelloped all:  
Strait Love recovering his former sprite,  
Kept Reason down, and claimed the place for right.   

Then said I to my soul, how dost thou kill  
The only child I have sweet Chastity,  
The judge for murder damn to torments will,  
Thy wicked thoughts? O whither dost thou fly?  
O do not leave thy goodly fort, until  
With these thy holy goods thou needs must die:  
But then my soul that scorned a woman stay,  
Opened the Castle door and made her way.   

Now am I robbing from my spoiled Saint,  
Those milk white robes wherewith she was arrayed,  
And with this sacrilege my soul do taint,  
My goddess in her shrine no longer staid:  
When as she saw her servants faith to faint,  
And on her turtle wings herself she laid:  
When to my thoughts she gave her latest will,  
That still hereafter shame her seat should fill.   

Now is my garden naked of his flower,  
Whom I before with care did till and dress,  
And gave it to her for my chiefest dower,  
The utmost toll of all that I possess:  
But then her wanton looks began to lower,  
And filthy figure of ingratefulness:  
Leaving my bower unto the world she fled,  
Since when with horror all my days I led.   

And here a Pilgrim have I spent my life,  
My life grown old with care and guilty shame;  
Where now black melancholy is my wife,  
harbouring my thoughts when they for succour came,  
Scorning the world, whose sorrows are so rife,  
Where one hours joy doth bring one ages blame:  
While musing thoughts which on my wife I bred,  
Do find me meat on which I still have fed.   

Thus hath he said, while guilty Erofell  
Did oftentimes assay from thence to fly:  
But good Pirino that her guiles did smell,  
Made her the listening of the tale abye:  
Which when he ended, both upon her fell,  
And stripped the clothes of her hypocrisy:  
When by the fresh appearance of the wound,  
Pirino all her craft and guile had found.   

Then bond they fast her naked arms behind,  
And to the horse her feet they strongly tied,  
And let her go where she shall never find  
Rest nor relief, but still in horror ride:  
Like to the Africa Mares that on the wind  
Engender, and their kind have multiplied:  
So doth this fury on the empty air  
Breed guilty shame, and stinging deep despair.   

She scours like Auster on the sandy plains,  
And when a far she vieweth any man,  
She turns her course and flieth thence amain,  
While as the Sun with his still scorching bran,  
Dies her acquaint face in a far blacker grain,  
And her deformed hair down still doth fan,  
While on her heart sharp hunger still doth feed,  
Quenching her thirst with tears that ever bleed.   

Now do Pirino and this Knight consent,  
To wander through the isle as errant Knights,  
And swear to keep their martial thoughts unbent  
From Lady's service, or those loves delights,  
Though I still bade them from their vow relent,  
Telling the worth of all those female wights,  
When they fro me all raging spurred amain,  
Swearing that woman's love I near should gain.    

CANT. 6.  
Fair Cypribel doth proud Orguillo meet,  
And wins his helmet by her martial might,  
Who lay low conquered humbly at her feet,  
And with a Tiger fiercely she doth fight,  
And her loves tomb and death she now doth see,  
Themistos doth a Knight from bondage free.  

AS doth the Elixir with his secret power,  
Turn base metals into purest gold:  
Or as the comfort of a moistening shower,  
Revives the flowers which down their heads did hold,  
Whose parched roots barren drought did devour:  
So doth the speech which he to her hath told,  
Cleansing the dross from her defiled mind,  
As misty fogs with a North scouring wind.   

And now Themistos will departed away,  
Sundering their divers ways unlike events:  
And Cypribel, whose soul in new array,  
Goes forth to help the poor and innocents,  
Is marching early by the blush of day,  
With speate in rest and shield sit for defence:  
Meaning to teach the worse what she doth learn,  
Or with her sword to make them dearly earn.   

Forth gone, she meets upon a mountains head  
A stately Knight that proud upbore his crest,  
His foot-cloth all with stars bespangled,  
And on his shield all azurde was impressed  
An Eagle, or, above a Sun was laid,  
Whereon his fastened eybeames still did rest:  
Sic oculos his word, the world to tell,  
That so on high his haughty mind did dwell.   

Behind him on a lingering ass there road  
A sober man, down by whose belt was tied  
An inkhorn pendant, from his neck there yode  
A thinnest rob not cut of any side,  
Whereon his poesy patchingly was sowed,  
A bird that picked a Serpent's jaws all wide:  
Dura necessitas the word, to show,  
Hunger and want did make them both do so.   

This was a poet whom this lofty Knight,  
Maintained to write his verse ennobled gests:  
For he to ground full many foes had dight,  
Vpheaving them from out their saddle rests,  
All which in lofty verse this hand did write,  
And sure I story was that Muse's hests,  
Should thus be prentices to servile deed,  
But rocks cannot resist sharp piercing need.   

Now are they met, when quoth that lofty mate,  
Give me thy sword, lest this my breath confound  
Thy blasted soul, if once I wreak my hate:  
When nay, replied she, things so hardly found,  
May not be given to each that big will prate:  
But fight for it, and first we will compound,  
That who o'ercomes shall this for reward bear,  
He shall the helmet have his foe did wear.   

He is agreed: now are they set for race,  
And fiercely run each against th' others breast:  
So have I seen when Neptune with his mace,  
Hath made the raging floods with storms oppressed,  
Two huge Argoes with most tumbling pace,  
Too much with tossing tempest overpress,  
Thunder against his fellows bellowing side,  
While in the gulf down swallowed both they slide.   

Both tumbled down, they do renew with hand  
The fight, which on their palfrays not prevails,  
Each on the other lays his steely brand,  
And where they see defence most surest fails,  
There straight their cleaning weapon fixed doth stand:  
At last Orgillo on her helmet nails  
With mighty force his plate-intrenching blade,  
And on her head a skarring wound he made.   

She moved with the rigour of the blow,  
Plucks in one stroke the force of all her might,  
And on his shoulder down her blade doth throw,  
Which sliding thence his arm doth sharply bite:  
Which wounded, doth his fencing targe let go,  
While she doth claim her victories due right:  
He willing, but not able to resist,  
Doth suffer her to do what ere she list.   

Down doth she take his helmet from his head,  
Whole lofty plume upon the highest set,  
Told that his proud heart would to heaven have fled,  
But that the dross of his soul corpse did let:  
And straight her helmet she uncovered,  
When from her crown the curled coronet,  
In which she pleated had her tangled hair,  
Fell from her head down playing with the air.   

Orguillo shaming now to see a maid  
That got the conquest o'er his quailed might,  
Himself upon his palfrey strait he laid,  
And spurring mainly vanished out of sight,  
His penny poet hasty after made,  
But never was he since seen by the light:  
Yet often hath his poet since been known,  
Nor yet from out the earth his name is flown.  
Now Cypribel still followeth on her way,  
Led by a beaten path upon a plain,  
When straight she sees, as far as see she may,  
A Tiger, hunting seemed for bloody gain,  
Who thinking that she hath espied a prey,  
With yawning jaws runs hoping to attain:  
And with the Lady ramping she doth meet,  
Who with her sword her grisly foe doth greet.   

Such in the Namean forest was the fight,  
When AElcid with the hideous Lion strove:  
Such was the battle when in furious spite,  
jason the fiery breathing monsters drove  
Unto their end, by Colchis magic's might:  
And such was Theseus when in writhed cave,  
With puissant force and deeply graved dint,  
His wrath on Minotaur he did imprint.   

The Tiger bites, she cuts, but now at last  
With griping teeth he hath unloosed a plate:  
Where when his jaws he meant next time to cast,  
Drawing her bodies sent, he doth abate  
The dreadful fury which is overpast,  
And fawning seemed that was so fierce of late:  
When strait he back returns his wont way,  
And seemed to follow did the Lady pray.   

For when he softly went, he turns his eyes  
Back to the dame, whom nothing fear dismayed,  
But straight she follows him, that humble wise  
Lead to a Sepulchre this errant maid:  
A Sepulchre it is that covered lies  
With helmets and with shields all over laid,  
Which from the passing Knights this Tiger tore,  
And for a covering to his master bore.   

This is a Knight whose thoughts like to the sky,  
Were turned about this Lady's beauty's pole,  
A virtuous Knight he was, whom wantonly  
This Lady in her fond youth did control:  
But now his loss she mourneth inwardly,  
That she hath sent away so sweet a soul:  
But when to cindats all consumed are,  
Too late then fall the watery tears of care.   

This Knight, when Cypribel was fled away,  
Wandered through many a dale and weary hill,  
Seeking his wretched sight on her to lay;  
But she whom deep disdain too much did fill,  
Flies from his sight, and seeks an uncouth way:  
When he his labour never left, until  
All in despair he came unto this plain,  
Which by a forest nearly doth remain.   

Here when he came, he heard a hollow groan,  
Which from some cave did seem to volley out:  
When following the sound, he now is gone  
Unto the wood, where searching all about,  
He saw a door which placed was upon,  
To trap the wild beasts by some rustic lout:  
Which when he opened forth a Tiger came,  
That to a flattering look his face did frame.   

Nor ever would he leave his dearest Lord,  
Who meant ere long to leave himself and all:  
But serves him faithfully at bed and board,  
Watching by night, by day abroad he stolen  
Such forest pray as did the wood afford,  
Or he could get in great Syluanas hall:  
But nothing could his former joy reduce,  
Whose only cates are on her form to muse.   

He powers forth tears when down the Tiger lies,  
And with a wrinched face doth seem to weep:  
Sometimes in hope to flatter fantasies,  
He with his eyes doth woe sweet banished sleep,  
When softly wrapped, the beast doth close his eyes,  
Yet not full closed, a watch he still doth keep,  
That rocky heart he hath, whom could not move  
This Tigers and this man's so fruitless love.   

But now he sees where death with greedy spade,  
Means up to dig the minerals of his heart,  
And his soul's treasure dearly to invade:  
When ready and prepared to departed,  
He took a stone, on which he graving made  
The woeful ditty of his pinching smart,  
And wrote his stony love on marble stone,  
That to the graver seemed for pity moan.   

Receive thou stone the issues of my woe,  
Of which blood-issue now my heart must die:  
And you black words shall forth testators go,  
Of this my will to her that hence doth fly:  
And if you see her, for me tell her so,  
That in you all my testament doth lie:  
Tell that on you I have engraved by art,  
That art and nature could not on her heart.   

Tell her how still I loved her till my night,  
And then I wrote to you, you should her love:  
Tell how that tears my eyes did ever fright  
Till now, and then I bade you springs to move:  
Tell how I moved you with my pencils might,  
When her mies pensive heart in vain did prove:  
How on my grave I graved these things to her,  
Myself the gravesman and myself the bear.   

These things he writing died, and dying wrote,  
And left that story tombstone for his hearse:  
When he no sooner passed black Stixes' boat,  
But straight the Tiger with his claws did pierce  
The trenched earth as deep as ere he moat,  
Wherein he put the corpse and heavy verse,  
And from the Knights their helmets still would tear,  
Which for a covering he would thither bear.   

Now when the Lady came unto the grave,  
She rolled thence the arms that on him lay:  
Whom when she saw, from out her eyes she drove  
A gushing flood that did his face imbay  
In silver streams, which dying he did crave,  
Yet could not gain it in his dying day:  
But now his face all sprinkled with her dew,  
Seems looking fresh again and living new.   

Sweet Nectar tears Electrus precious drops,  
Wound salving balm, whose sweet infusion  
The bloody festering or an issue stops,  
Caelestis-aqua, whose sweet potion  
Makes winter boughs renew their naked tops:  
Aeson Medea's incantation,  
Which powered life into the wrinkled eld,  
And plants the tree Death's woodman down had field.   

Then takes she up the graven marblestone,  
And through her watery spectacles she reeds,  
Which makes the letters three which erst were one:  
O then (quoth she) of you there is no needs,  
Unless three hearts I had for all to moon,  
My heart for one enough already bleeds:  
O cruel heart that in so sweet a chase,  
Couldst deny to turn thy flying face.   

This fiercest Tiger seems to rue his case,  
Thou wroughtst this misery whom he doth rue:  
He with the earth hath covered his face,  
Thou didst unclasp his heart, and there imbrue  
Thy tyrant-thoughts that had too little grace:  
These arms for shelter he about him true,  
When I denied my arms about him wreath,  
Which might over come the surquedry of death.   

But now she leaveth this funereall song,  
And causeth on his grave a stone be set,  
While in the forest by, the trees among,  
There she hath framed a fyluan cabinet,  
Vowing to make the Knights that pass along,  
To pay their shields to quit her sorrows det:  
But vain, thy beauty's shield would once have done,  
More than the heap of shields thou now hast won.   

Where leave we her to penance for her love,  
And turn our driving sails another way,  
Searching Themistos forth, that now doth rove  
Towards the maiden town, where straight a fray  
He hath begun, and with his falchion drove  
The quailed citizens to their decay,  
Hewing and slicing with his glistering blade,  
Such spoil with lambs have ravening Lions made.   

This is a town whither a wanton dame,  
That fled an exile through the loathed land,  
And to these parts with her attendants came,  
Where straight this goodly town they took in hand,  
And in a little space upraisde this frame,  
Where that same Lady Queen did still command,  
And many laws she made, whose greater part  
Art quite extinguished, not without desert.   

And this was one, that every Lady might  
Two husbands have, and he that did refuse  
To have a partner in his loves delight,  
Should bear that pain that women's heads should choose.  
One time it chanced when darkened was the light,  
The Sun down sinking low from mortal views,  
When to this town arrived a valiant Knight,  
Where with his Lady will he spend the night.   

There had he past that night and many a day,  
Blinded with pleasure of so fair a place,  
And meant a longer time to make delay▪  
But while a citizen that saw the face  
Of that fair dame, where beauties beams do play,  
So ravishing and with so pleasing grace,  
That his burnt heart was scorched with too much heat,  
Feeling no moisture where the flame was great.   

And seeing no good salve to heal his sore,  
Where chastity the Surgeon should be,  
Upon the women's law he trusted more,  
And unto that his only hope doth flee:  
Wherewith he warns the Knight, who not forbore  
His lightning wrath, but quickly makes them see  
How ill a cause they had, and with his sword  
Hundreds of souls on Charon's boat doth board.   

But multitudes his valour much oppressed,  
And took him prisoner: so a Lioness  
Whom from his young a ranger hath suppressed,  
Caught in the subtle gins of crastinesse,  
Bound in an iron grate doth quiet rest,  
Helpless despairing and all comfortless:  
But when his liberty he once doth find,  
He deeply shows the fury of his mind.   

Now is this Knight captiude, and straight they call  
A jury all of women, that must sit  
To judge this captive gotten in their thrall:  
Some hags that meat in ten years did not bite,  
Scarce able from their rusty couch to crawl:  
Some whose down sinking nose their chin did hit,  
And some deep furrowed fogs with hollow eyes,  
On whom who looks ten months he sooner dies.   

These nod their heads like to a flock of geese,  
Consulting what must in this cause be done:  
When forth there steps an old unlusty piece,  
That twenty years hath never seen the Sun,  
On whose furred chin did hang a budgie fleece,  
With filthy moss and dross all overrun,  
Whose gums the palsy so to odds did set,  
That they their loosed teeth did all out spit.   

Quoth she, even strip the youth that is so nice,  
And let him naked there before them stand,  
Bound to a post, that shall this once suffice:  
No sooner she this judgement did command,  
But all about him run like to the mice,  
Whose troops conjoined in an endless band,  
About the Bishop of great Mentz did run,  
And on his corpse an uncouth conquest won.   

Now is he led unto an open place,  
Where shameless creatures will his shame disclose:  
But by the way a Knight there comes a pace,  
Wondering a far to see such troops as those,  
And doth inquire why this so great disgrace  
Is offered him, and why he chained goes:  
They straight the manner of his story tell,  
Who to their words replied they did not well.   

Then straight on him they rush, and left alone  
The prisoner, only one attending stays:  
Whom down he throwing drew his falchion,  
And on his master's throat it freely lays:  
This while the other Knight so much hath done,  
That many saw the latest of their days:  
And sinking down to Pluto's smoky fort▪  
Told him they could not stay to see the sport.   

So Perseus of the centaurs havoc made,  
Cleaving their hoofie legs with steely dint,  
And Stixes banks with damned souls doth lad,  
As do their Knights whose wrath will never stint,  
Until the edge of ever-hungrie blade,  
Shall with his bloody seal each foman print,  
And make his passport currant down to hell,  
Not hindered by the ghosts below that dwell.   

The captive now is freed, while down they fall  
Like to untimely fruit, whom blustering wind,  
Breaking from out his iron-prison wall,  
Struck from the tree, and made new place to find  
In lowest-ground, that ●rst on boughs so tall,  
All loftily his proudest stem did bind:  
Dying into the dust he down doth slide,  
Never to see his summer beauty's pride.    

CANT. 7.  
The brethren still renew their sharp debate,  
Pirino views a fair distressed dame,  
Whom cruel Knight had brought to woeful state:  
With whom unto a castle soon he came,  
After he had revenged the bloody deed,  
quitting the bloody man with bloody meed.  

WHen as the earth's great palsy doth her move,  
Shaking her bowels with an airy rent,  
It shivers down the Citadels above,  
And her great burdens all in pieces rend:  
But not so much as discord doth remove,  
Whose quartan shaking in his continent,  
Feeds on the entrails of the stinging hearts,  
And tears his bowels in tormented parts.   

Which mighty earthquake now these brethren shook,  
That with their swords each others limbs do hue,  
And makes them like the ruddy morning look,  
imbrued in sanguine and in purple hue:  
No time doth slide but one the other struck,  
Dying the stained earth with gory dew:  
The music still in harmony doth sing,  
While still their swords to others sides they fling.   

Thus do they hack and spoil with grisly wounds,  
The vital fountains of their welling blood:  
Like to the Boar whom Meleager's hounds  
In Calidons forwasted fields withstood,  
Whose iron tusk with renting edge confounds  
The springs fair fruits and summers growing food,  
Tearing the vine and Bacchus' ensign down,  
And in his paunch that sacred juice doth drown.   

Thus do they cruelly their forces waste,  
Until two princes came unto the place,  
Two princes that with love each one embraced,  
joined in strongest league and mighty grace,  
That in a loving heart could ere be placed,  
No envy could their plighted loved face:  
But like two doves that in the woods do fly,  
Starve out themselves when as his mate doth die.   

They pitying to see that spiteful hate,  
Should thus distract the souls of tortured wights,  
Went straight to part them from that sharp debate:  
But they now swelling with unbounded sprights,  
No whit the more their fury did abate,  
But exercising still their hateful sprights,  
Upon each other wreak their mighty wrath,  
And in each others gore their sword's imbath.   

Like mighty bulls that in a female ●●ock,  
Strive who should be the droves promoted head,  
With horny engines do their frontiers knock,  
That from their brows a purple stream down bled,  
While drumming still with mighty blows they struck,  
And with their fellows hurt their ire they fed,  
When ramping-fiercely on each others skull,  
Down to the earth their carcases they pull.   

But now at length they have dissevered  
These fight brethren, and their swords up lay,  
And every prince with him one brother led,  
And parted thence unto a divers way:  
When home this burden soon they carried,  
Whose teeth yet gnash that this their bloody fray  
Was not full tried, and with venom swell  
'Gainst those that parted them, though doing well.   

And still do egg these sworn friends to fight,  
Stirring so long to strife their burning minds,  
That though no cause they had of their despite,  
Yet envy still some secret reason finds:  
And they send challenges to try by might  
Their strife, no longer league their friendship binds:  
But like two bears that from a keeper scape,  
Do waste the fields with massacre and rape.   

Where we will leave to desolation,  
Those whom fell discord doth so much increase:  
And to Pirino will again be gone,  
Who marched forward still in great pretence,  
That Lady's service he would near have done:  
But he his former's sin shall recompense,  
And ere I leave him (so I love your kind)  
His heart and hands another way shall find.   

After the shameless Erofels defeat,  
When with the pilgrim Knight he joined his way,  
They for adventures strangest paths do beat,  
Searching out works of valour every day,  
Whose haughty minds think nothing is so great,  
But with their puissance they'll overway:  
About whose boldest hearts encircled was,  
Strong mighty oak and thrice enfolded brass.   

Not long they forreind, till on plain they spied  
A woeful sight as ever eye beheld,  
A Lady that on ground all wounded lied,  
Fairer than her the Sun hath viewed seld,  
And more mishap did never dame betide:  
For she to ground with ruthless blow was field,  
Like to the sweetest rose in harvest time,  
Is mown down in youths most lusty prime.   

They rested not until they to her came,  
Upon whose eyes death seemeth to arrest:  
And turning up their Alabaster frame,  
Made death in love with them that loved death best:  
But now those Knights did ransom fair the dame,  
Barring her soul from such a heavy rest,  
And up did bind the life dissolving wound,  
Who wept in blood, that it on her was found.   

But now Pirino quite his oath forgot,  
And moved much with pity, more with love,  
Down from his horse as light as wind he gate,  
And from the ground her quickly doth remove,  
Cursing the sword, the hand, and cursed fate,  
That on this Lady cruelty did prove:  
O who can tell what virtue hidden lies,  
Within the charming of a Lady's eyes.   

Now doth he wish that he the sword had been,  
For to have kissed that Lady's downy breast:  
Or he were Balsamum to power between  
The lips of that broad wound: where sweetest rest  
In beauty's harvest yet looks ever green,  
And would from stony hearts have tears expressed,  
To see so fair a Lady foully used,  
And that same beauty which such wrong abused.   

Forth do they go to find some resting place,  
Where they her deep entrenched wound may dress,  
While still Pirino musing on her face,  
Studieth the astronomy of happiness,  
Whose stars do lead unto the port of grace,  
Where is invested perfect blessedness:  
The stars of her sweet eyes where beauty plains,  
That wrongful prison her in bonds detains.   

Forth do they carry her their purposed way,  
While still she lieth dumb, no word doth flow:  
From out the Oracle where Beauty lay,  
Silence in darkness all within doth go,  
To keep her whom sharp pain holds for a pray,  
Subdued to pinching grief and grisly woe:  
That filthy dragon keeps the garden gate,  
Where heavenly Roses flourished of late.   

Now have they spied a castle from a far,  
Whether with all their speed they forward make,  
Meaning to make that heaven of this star,  
That makes all heaven where her bright beams do flake,  
But ere unto the fort they arrived are,  
A new adventure doth them overtake:  
Four Knights do meet them with their drawn swords,  
Whose edges on their annes act Tragic words.   

Now on a bank the Lady down they set,  
And to the battle do themselves address,  
Where with outrageous blows each other beat,  
And on their foemen do Revenge impress:  
At last one brustling in a furious heat,  
Ran through his mate, whom he his foe did guess:  
The other quitting him, they downward fell,  
Their bodies to the earth, their souls to hell.   

Where we will leave the other to their fight,  
And of this Ladies woeful story tell:  
And what misfortune brought her to this plight,  
How to this gulf of misery she fell:  
But think the while that to the pilgrim Knight,  
Pirino still his fight continues well:  
And pray that he the victory may win  
Here in this fray which they a fresh begin.   

This Lady hath long time both lived and loved,  
With a good Knight whose years were tender young,  
Nor ever from his bosom she removed,  
But like the ivy still embracing long,  
Who with like care his careful love approved,  
And in the consort of her music song:  
Clasping her with the twine of compassed arms,  
While with his kisses he her fancy charms.   

chaste and most strong his love did still remain,  
And in her breast his flowering years he spent,  
No time nor strife his spotless love could stain,  
But still was pleased when she was content,  
And would begin to mourn when she did plain,  
Grieving on woe, joying on merriment:  
One breath betwixt their kissing lips doth pass,  
One only soul in two faite body's was.   

The sight of them could envies force abate,  
And make her Icy hardness to relent,  
Such love their interchanged thoughts begat,  
As still to mutual joy their hearts were bend,  
Within their breasts Love in his kingdom sat,  
Minding to fill them with deep ravishment:  
My thoughts scarce view, my words their love disgrace,  
That for such heavenly things are far too base.   

Thus each delighted with the others sight,  
Would needs a solacing in progress ride,  
Sometimes for fainting heat they would alight,  
And gentle rest fast by a rivers side,  
There cooled with the shade, while they delight  
Their pleased eyes, when in the streams they spied  
The silver river to reflect again  
Each others look, and make their loves seem twain.   

Sometimes down in a grove they would descend,  
And print the grass with beauty's brightest seal,  
And with the bows a round fair garlands bend:  
Mingling in posies which their love reveal,  
While to their ears the birds love-carrolls sent,  
And still among the dove with groaning peal,  
Doth seem to sound a farewell to his love,  
Which fowlers hand did cruelly remove.   

Thus do they spend the summer of their days,  
Studying how each might work them most delight,  
Until they came to these unlucky ways,  
Where let black darkness stand and pitchy night,  
And fearful Earthquake up huge mountains raise,  
Renting the place that wrought these loves despite:  
Let still fierce winter choke the dying spring,  
And none but night-crow's groaning scriches sing.   

For hither when they came, a Knight they met,  
That without challenge or a cause of hate,  
Upon her Knight down blows full spiteful let,  
And with his sword infringed the precious gate  
Which keeps the entrance to his senses seat,  
Freeing his soul with this untimely fate:  
Down on the luckless earth his bones do fall,  
While Saints his soul in heaven do install.   

Which when his Lady saw twixt rage and woe,  
His sword she takes from out his loved hand;  
And to her ruthless enemy doth go,  
Offering with force that tyrant to withstand,  
But to her strong heart, weak arms answer no,  
Telling they cannot such a weight command:  
This while that cursed man with cruel blade,  
Into her tender breast a deep wound made.   

O heart so stony as the rocky mount,  
On which fair Rhodope doth buried lie,  
Which doth th' Hyrcanian Tigers far surmount  
In blood and tirranizing cruelty:  
That of sweet beauty makest so small account,  
And couldst with that accursed flaming eye,  
Behold a Lady thus most lovely fair,  
Driven to mighty woe and deep despair.   

But O: he hears me not, for he is fled,  
And with him carried her loving Knight,  
While she twixt woe and grief is almost dead,  
The fairest and the far most grieved wight  
That ever heavenly beauty coloured,  
In whom terrestrial shone divinest light:  
Her wound doth pierce unto her gored heart,  
Yet then that wound she feels more wounding smart.   

This cruel Knight was one that still did live  
By rapine, and did rob each passenger:  
Who, as he once with valiant Knight did strive,  
Lost his left hand, when he did deeply swear,  
That all the Knights he could to worse drive,  
Should so be martyred, thus he up doth rear  
Within his fort a heap of jointed hands,  
That like a wall now raised lofty stands.   

And this is he that with Pirino fought,  
Thinking such victory of him to win:  
But so the providence of heaven wrought,  
That to repent his deeds he doth begin,  
For now to conquest he is shameful brought,  
And he that hath so proudly cruel been,  
Lies at the mercy of the victor's hands,  
Who lead him prisoner in unknown bands.   

After this battle to the fort they go,  
While still Pirino solaceth the Dame,  
Hoping to dry the Ocean of her woe,  
But now too late all comforts sunshine came,  
Grief more resisted still the more doth grow,  
And joy too slow goes ever halting-lame:  
The clouds which dark the glory of her light,  
Presage there still shall be black sorrows night.   

Now to their lodging are they come at last,  
Which was the castle where this tyrant dwelled:  
When strait his bloody triumphs forth they cast,  
And now Pirino hath so careful dealt  
That she is cured, but her sorrow past,  
Can ne'er be past which she so deeply felt:  
While in a tomb she lays her loved Knight,  
Whose view might banish thence all joys delight.    

CANT. 8.  
Pirino with the Lady do address,  
To see fair Bellamyes sad funeral,  
Her love is told, and how all comfortless,  
For Amians sake in woe her heart doth fall:  
Where black eclipsing of his radiant light,  
Masked her sweet soul in sorrows dreary night.  

O Who could give me Eagle soaring wings,  
Or plumes of vapours to ascend on high:  
Which Sol exhaled to the heaven brings,  
That I might see the true divinity,  
Or view the Angel-thoughts, whose music sings  
Unto heavens maker sweetest harmony:  
There only could my thoughts the thought approve  
Of thought-surpassing and divinest love.   

Which like Arion in the floating waves,  
Can chant the Dolphins with his charming sounds,  
And binds all base affections as slaves,  
Which with celestial beauty it confounds,  
Sweet-saluing balm which wounds despaired saves,  
Whose kingdom cannot suffer earthly bounds:  
The cinosure of all our joys it is,  
Which leads us through a world of haply bliss.   

Which this fair Lady fully doth possess,  
Reached with the thought of her deceased Knight,  
And ever keeps her soul in heaviness:  
Like to the Moon that must obscure her light,  
When as the Sun his beauty doth repress,  
Of whom she borrows beams of all delight:  
Which buried in the sad sepulchral ground,  
Down to the earth her captive thoughts hath bound.   

Which when Pirino saw (whose words of joy  
Still wooed sorrow to forsake her breast)  
Knowing her Knights dear sight wrought this annoy,  
Did counsel her to leave this idle rest,  
Which still with musing thoughts did her accloy,  
And travel forth where never should molest  
Her quiet thoughts the spectacle of death,  
Whose saddest sight the soul disquieteth.   

She loath to leave that where her treasure lay,  
Where she had buried thoughts of all delight,  
Determines never to departed away:  
But so Pirino sues by day and night,  
That now she'll wander till a certain day,  
Though sorry to remove from out his sight:  
Whose tomb contained with him her dearest heart,  
With whom in grave she left her better part.   

The Sun appeareth in his bright array,  
Of fiery beams and golden-wreathed gown,  
Meaning to cheer her with so fair a day,  
Now having banished misty vapours down,  
When forth they ride now settled in their way,  
Flying the place whence all her woe was grown:  
But though unto the farthest Indeses thou fly,  
Swifter than wind will sorrow after high.   

They had not gone as far as Scythian bow  
Darts forth an arrow with his bended string.  
Before they see where an old man doth go  
As fast as dried bones his feet can bring:  
Who overtaking him whom age made slow,  
inquired whither he was travailing:  
But deepest cares that reigned in his thought,  
Had silence and black melancholy brought.   

At last they rouzd him from his musing dream,  
When of a Lady's death he 'gan a tale,  
While down his cheeks doth rain a pearling stream,  
From out the clouds of wrack and weary bale:  
And this is Algiger that doth exclaim  
Against our life, that still in woe doth fall:  
Who like the luckless owl these many years,  
Never but at some funeral appears.   

And Bellamy was she whom ugly death  
Hath covered with the graves untimely shade,  
Her now in dusky bloom he manteleth,  
That with her beams the world astonished made,  
And on her corpse his colours he displayeth,  
Whose colours in too soon a harvest fade:  
The weeds do grow and worse things survive,  
While as the good are thought too long alive.   

Pirino like to Dadals' winged son,  
That from great heaven fell to the lowest flood,  
To sink in sorrows dreary gulf begun,  
And in his face doth care depaint in blood,  
The victory he over him hath won,  
Senseless with too much sense of grief he stood:  
Until thus broke the clouds into a shower,  
Which forth with dreary tears he thus did power.   

O cursed earth go mask thee from the light,  
Whose light is quenched that did make the day,  
And let the spring no more with green bedight,  
Adorned be with birds or Music lay,  
For she in whose sweet face spring still did write  
Her chiefest glory, now in sad decay,  
Hideth the heavenly lamp of lovely grace,  
And shadoweth from the earth her starry face.   

Her tresses like the flaky beams of morn,  
Sheveld along upon her snowy back,  
That did the golden Tagus' colour scorn,  
And dangling made behind a goodly track,  
Those which have many hearts in triumph borne,  
And in loves sea have driven them to wrack:  
These lie embraced of the basest ground,  
Whose curly trains have many lovers bound.   

Thus forth he drives his passion with his plaint,  
When they agree to see her funeral,  
Where we will leave them wearied and faint:  
Pricking toward her woeful burial,  
While I full deeply grieved will strive to paint,  
The story of this ladies woeful fall,  
And when my tears shall stop their weeping spring,  
I will plain forth the tale I cannot sing.   

When at the Duke's long time those thirty Knights,  
Lay for to try who could obtain the prize,  
Where with continual shows and pleasant sights,  
They wooed the dear attention of her eyes:  
One Knight there was whom she above all wights  
Most dearly loved, whose image deeply lies,  
Sealed below upon her softened heart,  
From which his pressure never can departed.   

Within the blessed heaven of her thought,  
His comely face, the only star doth shine,  
Whose beauty to her soul amazement brought,  
That then herself a wight was more divine,  
Like Cynthia when on Latmus' top she spied  
The sleeping shepherd lately dreaming ly'ne:  
She is amazed at so great a grace,  
And with sweet Meldewes doth anoint her face.   

No wind but Amian her ship doth blow,  
Filling with pleasing breath fair beauties sails,  
In which to happy Isles she means to go;  
He bears the rule, and he so much prevails,  
That now she doth not stick to let him know,  
How his most grateful suit with her avails:  
Who though with those sweet words in love he was,  
Yet scarce for kisses could he let them pass.   

She grants the garden where delight doth lie,  
Which with chaste marriage they will seal anon:  
And now she brings him roses by and by,  
From which he wished never to have gone,  
So sweet an air unto his smell doth fly,  
That would with pleasure quite have overflown,  
Drenching old aged bones in youthful dew,  
And make the hoary man his days renew.   

Like Hibla fields, where though Bees still do suck  
The honey of delight and ravishing,  
Yet in this fertile field remain to pluck  
Heavenly posies, deeply solacing  
Distressed minds which sharp misfortune struck,  
And in thoughts winter doth uprear the spring,  
Whose verdant head shall never languish down,  
But stand adorned with a flowery crown.   

Which when the loathed wooers quickly found,  
They did envy the happy chance he gate,  
And ten of them in mighty challenge bound  
His valiant heart to answer their debate,  
Who now thus settled on so sure a ground,  
Scorned the easy shafts of fruitless hate,  
And sent them answer that next rising day,  
He would control what envy durst to say.   

But still fair Bellamy doth him entreat,  
To shun the dangers of the bloody fight,  
And doth his breast with sighs and groanings beat,  
Enchasing with fair pearl her clouded sight,  
Which drooping down her richest eyes beget,  
And to his loving bosom take their flight,  
When watering the plants that love doth sow,  
They quickly made sweet lowly pity grow.   

But he that had his vowed promise past,  
With kisses still her opened lips doth stay:  
She opneth still, he still his lets doth cast,  
Sweet lets, which let him in where beauty lay,  
That doubt it was whether she spoke so fast,  
Because more kisses of him gain she may:  
Or kisses seeming for to stop the door,  
Still kissed, because they would have kisses more.   

Thus in this golden chain of purest love  
They passed the evening, when with rusty coach  
The Raven-hud night her dusky train uphove,  
And grifly darkness doth on earth encroach,  
The weary Sun his waggon doth remove,  
Seeing the ugly night so near approach,  
That from the furnace of her sooty throat,  
Forth foggy vapours and black smoke upshote.   

Still Bellamy unlucky chance doth fear,  
Warned with fatal noise of nightly foul:  
Now doth she seem sweet Amians voice to hear,  
Yielding the lowly present of his soul  
Unto his maker, when her heart doth rear  
A swelling sigh his fortune to condole,  
The mournful presage of some evil hap,  
As lightning flames before a thunderclap.   

Thus in sad thought the silent night is spent,  
When Phoebus 'gan uprear his fiery crest,  
And had the eastern heaven with flames ybrent,  
When straight doth Amian leave his quiet rest,  
And armed to the place appointed went,  
Where nine strong Knights that enmity professed,  
He with his spear dismounted to the ground,  
Where with disgrace an humble seat they found.   

Like to a lofty rank of Cedar trees,  
When Aeolus is kindled deep with rage,  
And with a whirlwing up from earth he frees  
Their riven roots, now laid in equipage  
With base shrubs, while to the heaven flees  
The roaring noise, ypent in iron cage  
Of tumbling vapours that do scour the air,  
Invested highly in a cloudy chair.   

Now Bellamy's good heart for joy doth dance,  
Driving forth storms of sorrow and of care,  
When the tenth Knight his spear did high advance,  
That over all his armour Cypress ware,  
Shadowing with clouds of grief his countenance,  
Who now towards the Knight his palfrey bare:  
Where meeting with a hideous shivering stroke,  
Their yielding spears in sprinkled dust they broke.   

On foot they try what thus on horse doth fail,  
Each other driving with a deadly blow,  
And with their weapons kiss the split mail,  
Which riven, gushing blood in streams doth throw,  
While now or never meaning to prevail,  
Sir Amian drove unto his rival foe,  
And with his sword his entrails doth unclose,  
Whose soul up fled his earthly bowels doth lose.   

Viewing the sword wherewith his rival fought,  
That on it written had his father's name,  
Whom with a charm from unknown land he brought,  
He cuest himself with much unworthy blame,  
That he this woeful Tragedy had wrought:  
For well he knew his brother was the fame,  
Whom with his wretched might he thus had slain,  
To whom his father gave that hurtful gain.   

Now horror ringeth in his grieved soul,  
And guilt of thought that he his brother flew,  
Where fearful fight his rest doth deep control:  
Wherefore unto his palfrey he withdrew,  
And doth to none his inward grief unrole,  
But to the woods all solitary flew,  
Banishing any thought of pleasing mirth,  
Or any joy which lighteth on the earth.   

In levy shadows and in bushy brakes,  
He with the wooddove groans for pinching woe:  
Sometimes in hand his cursed sword he takes,  
But straight his sword he from his hand doth throw,  
Now in a bush a hollow nest he makes,  
From whence he swears his feet shall never go:  
Each little glimpse of light his soul doth shun,  
And in despair to headlong death doth run.   

But how fair Bellamy doth rue his case,  
Plaining and seeking him that her forgot,  
Is deeply graven in her parched face,  
Which doth not lighten as it did of late,  
Earth-brightning beams of never-matched grace:  
But frowning with the force of angry fate,  
Down drooping doth she close her folded eyes,  
Drowning themselves in their own Nectaries.   

And every where to seek him out she sends,  
Whom never shall again her eyes behold:  
Wherefore despairing now her thoughts she bends,  
Fixed on th'ldea of his heavenly mould,  
And to her mind that only food she lends,  
While from her body rest she doth withhold,  
And still her beauty doth consuming pine,  
Wasting those torches which are so divine.   

Like as the sweetest Chorister of Night,  
When ravening fowl bearest her of her young,  
While Phoebe sends from high her cloudy light,  
Unto the Moon in chanting tunes she sung,  
That ravishing the travailer with delight,  
Made him bewail the birds disproferd wrong:  
So doth each eye lament this woeful plaint,  
Which beauty makes while she in woe doth faint.   

But O my pen transform thy swanny face,  
And in eternal streams my ink shall weep:  
Drive madly down thy coach in tumbly pace,  
O thou which heavens mighty lights dost keep,  
That never beams may brighten any place,  
Since she in never-ending dream doth sleep:  
O Bellamy that now untimely dies,  
And in sad tomb deaths cruel triumph lies.   

The fearful thought of her dear loved Knight,  
Eats on her heart consuming vital heat,  
That taking in the world not lest delight,  
She with her hands that softest breast doth beat,  
And vexeth still with grief her woeful sprite,  
Who weary of so much uneasy seat,  
To heaven on her snowy pinions fled,  
Wherein Ioues breast she lays her quiet head.   

Now came the Knights that dwelled removed far,  
To see the burial of this Angel wight:  
The Sun arose with his low drooping car,  
To see (though grieved to see) that woeful sight:  
And Pirin with the dame arrived are,  
And Cypribel her tomb forsaketh quite,  
Prepared all to do honour to her grave,  
The latest honour now her corpse could have.   

Where with such rites as love and wit devise,  
Which might renew a story to express,  
She was entombed in most glorious wise,  
Accompanied with number numberless,  
While fountains overflow the Duke's sad eyes,  
That now for lack of tears to weep do cease:  
Feign would he in her arms his deathbed see,  
That in two heavens he and his soul might be.   

But envious fates resist his loving will,  
Who do command his soul here to remain,  
Where with lamenting noise she plaineth still,  
Yet never can her plaints bring back again  
That soul, which mounted on Olympus hill,  
In sacred spirits and the Muse's train,  
Singing soule-pleasing tunes her days doth spend,  
Whose music and whose days have never end.   

And now ye heavens, if ever Music strain  
Issued from a concord-moving sphere,  
Then in a doleful language help to plain,  
And mourning part in sorrows consort bear:  
For never shall you have like cause again,  
For never may the like on earth appear:  
And for her death ring out a doleful knell,  
While dewy tears at every stroke distill.   

And ye fair Ladies in a pilgrimage,  
Attiring blushing white in mourning black,  
Until the world shall end his endless age,  
Go to her tomb, and plain her beauty's wrack,  
Reached from the earth by deaths unsatiate rage:  
And though your tears can never bring her back,  
Kissing her tomb, to Libitina pray  
The earth may easy on her bosom lay.   

Where with the parbreak of unclowded hell,  
Night wraps in ruggy black the airs dark face,  
Still vomiting fro her defiled Cell,  
The shadowy fumes that mought the light disgrace,  
While scriching Owls their fearful stories tell,  
Hoarsly complaining in that gloomy place,  
Groaning with hollow notes their dismal song,  
While trembling tunes to guilty hearts they rung.   

The wolves about that hapless place do cry,  
And howling weep for her that lieth slain:  
Sometimes in hollow fearful harmony  
The Harpies do a dampish consort strain:  
Sometimes it seems they see some passing by,  
That on a beer a carcase do sustain,  
While meager Death with hell's unchained hags,  
Upon her grave display their pitchy flags.    

The Conclusion of all.  

THese have I sent unto the Muse's hearse,  
Whose days of honour now have found an end,  
To spread therewith this my latest verse,  
Whom the unworthy world too much offend.   

Nor yet because some change-affecting brain  
Debas'th the Muses and their sacred hill:  
Fault I myself as having writ in vain,  
Know he I only love the Music skill.   

But whether he delight in feats of arms,  
Or prouder vaunt the glory of his race,  
Know he I fear not Martial alarms,  
Nor yield a step his friendship to embrace,  
Though now in shade I whisper to the wind,  
And plain the Muses can no harbour find.   
FINIS.