Now, as a Goddesse, is she had in honour everie whereAmong the folke that dwell by Nyle yclad in linnen weede. Of her in tyme came Epaphus begotten of the seedeOf myghtie Jove. This noble ympe nowe joyntly with his mother,Through all the Cities of that lande have temples t'one with toother.There was his match in heart and yeares, the lustie Phaeton,A stalworth stripling strong and stout, the golden Phoebus sonne.Whome making proude and stately vauntes of his so noble race,And unto him in that respect in nothing giving place,The sonne of Io coulde not beare: but sayde unto him thus:No marvell though thou be so proude and full of wordes ywus.For everie fonde and trifling tale the which thy mother makes, Thy gyddie wit and hairebrainde heade forthwith for gospell takes.Well, vaunt thy selfe of Phoebus still, for when the truth is seene,Thou shalt perceyve that fathers name a forged thing to beene.At this reproch did Phaeton wax as red as any fire:Howbeit for the present tyme did shame represse his ire. Unto his mother Clymen straight he goeth to detectThe spitefull wordes that Epaphus against him did object.Yes mother (quoth he) and which ought your greater griefe to bee,I who at other tymes of talke was wont to be so freeAnd stoute, had neere a worde to say, I was ashamde to take So fowle a foyle: the more because I could none answere make.But if I be of heavenly race exacted as ye say,Then shewe some token of that highe and noble byrth I pray.And vouche me for to be of heaven. With that he gently castHis armes about his mothers necke, and clasping hir full fast, Besought hir as she lovde his life, and as she lovde the lyfeOf Merops, and had kept hir selfe as undefiled wyfe,And as she wished welthily his sisters to bestowe,She would some token give whereby his rightfull Sire to knowe.It is a doubtful matter whither Clymen moved more With this hir Phaetons earnest sute, exacting it so sore,Or with the slaunder of the bruit layde to hir charge before,Did holde up both hir handes to heaven, and looking on the Sunne,My right deare childe I safely sweare (quoth she to Phaeton)That of this starre the which so bright doth glister in thine eye:Of this same Sunne that cheares the world with light indifferentlyWert thou begot: and if I fayne, then with my heart I pray,That never may I see him more unto my dying day.But if thou have so great desire thy father for to knowe,Thou shalt not neede in that behalfe much labour to bestowe. The place from whence he doth arise adjoyneth to our lande.And if thou thinke thy heart will serve, then go and understandeThe truth of him. When Phaeton heard his mother saying so,He gan to leape and skip for joye. He fed his fansie tho,Upon the Heaven and heavenly things: and so with willing minde, From Aethiop first his native home, and afterwarde through IndeSet underneath the morning starre he went so long, till asHe founde me where his fathers house and dayly rising was.

The Princely Pallace of the Sunne stood gorgeous to beholdeOn stately Pillars builded high of yellow burnisht golde,Beset with sparckling Carbuncles that like to fire did shine.The roofe was framed curiously of Ivorie pure and fine.The two doore leaves of silver cleare a radiant light did cast: But yet the cunning workemanship of things therein farre pastThe stuffe wherof the doores were made. For there a perfect platHad Vulcane drawne of all the worlde: Both of the sourges thatEmbrace the earth with winding waves, and of the stedfast ground,And of the heaven it selfe also that both encloseth round. And first and formest in the Sea the Gods thereof did stande:Loude sounding Tryton with his shirle and writhen Trumpe in hande:Unstable Protew chaunging aye his figure and his hue,From shape to shape a thousande sithes as list him to renue:Aegeon leaning boystrously on backes of mightie Whales And Doris with hir daughters all: of which some cut the walesWith splaied armes, some sate on rockes and dride their goodly haire,And some did ryde uppon the backes of fishes here and theare.Not one in all poyntes fully lyke an other coulde ye see,Nor verie farre unlike, but such as sisters ought to bee. The Earth had townes, men, beasts and Woods with sundrie trees and rods,And running Ryvers with their Nymphes and other countrie Gods.Directly over all these same the plat of heaven was pight,Upon the two doore leaves, the signes of all the Zodiak bright,Indifferently six on the left and six upon the right. When Clymens sonne had climbed up at length with weerie pace,And set his foote within his doubted fathers dwelling place,Immediately he preaced forth to put him selfe in sight,And stoode aloofe. For neere at hande he could not bide the light.In purple Robe and royall Throne of Emeraudes freshe and greene Did Phoebus sitte, and on eche hande stoode wayting well beseene,Dayes, Monthes, yeares, ages, seasons, times, and eke the equall houres.There stoode the springtime with a crowne of fresh and fragrant floures.There wayted Sommer naked starke all save a wheaten Hat:And Autumne smerde with treading grapes late at the pressing Vat. And lastly quaking for the colde, stood Winter all forlorne,With rugged heade as white as Dove, and garments all to torne,Forladen with the Isycles that dangled up and downeUppon his gray and hoarie bearde and snowie frozen crowne.The Sunne thus sitting in the middes did cast his piercing eye, (With which full lightly when he list he all thinges doth espye)Upon his childe that stood aloofe, agast and trembling soreAt sight of such unwonted things, and thus bespake him thore:O noble ympe, O Phaeton which art not such (I see)Of whome thy father should have cause ashamed for to bee: Why hast thou traveld to my court? what is thy will with mee?Then answerde he: Of all the worlde O onely perfect light,O Father Phoebus, (if I may usurpe that name of right,And that my mother for to save hir selfe from worldely shame,Hyde not hir fault with false pretence and colour of thy name) Some signe apparant graunt whereby I may be knowne thy Sonne,And let mee hang no more in doubt. He had no sooner donne,But that his father putting off the bright and fierie beamesThat glistred rounde about his heade like cleare and golden streames,Commaunded him to draw him neere, and him embracing sayde: To take mee for thy rightfull Sire thou neede not be afrayde.Thy mother Clymen of a truth from falshood standeth free.And for to put thee out of doubt aske what thou wilt of mee,And I will give thee thy desire, the Lake whereby of oldeWe Gods do sweare (the which mine eyes did never yet beeholde) Beare witnesse with thee of my graunt. He scarce this tale had tolde,But that the foolish Phaeton straight for a day did craveThe guyding of his winged Steedes, and Chariot for to have.Then did his Father by and by forethinke him of his oth.And shaking twentie tymes his heade, as one that was full wroth, Bespake him thus: Thy wordes have made me rashly to consentTo that which shortly both of us (I feare mee) shall repent.Oh that I might retract my graunt, my sonne I doe protestI would denie thee nothing else save this thy fond request.I may disswade, there lyes herein more perill than thou weene: The things the which thou doest desire of great importance beene:More than thy weakenesse well can wielde, a charge (as well appeares)Of greater weight, than may agree with these thy tender yeares.Thy state is mortall, weake and frayle, the thing thou doest desireIs such, whereto no mortall man is able to aspire. Yea, foolish boy, thou doest desire (and all for want of wit)A greater charge than any God coulde ever have as yet.For were there any of them all so overseene and blinde,To take upon him this my charge, full quickly should he findeThat none but I could sit upon the fierie Axeltree. No not even he that rules this wast and endlesse space we see,Not he that darts with dreadfull hande the thunder from the Skie,Shall drive this chare. And yet what thing in all the world perdieIs able to compare with Jove? Now first the morning wayLyes steepe upright, so that the steedes in coolest of the day And beeing fresh have much adoe to climbe against the Hyll.Amiddes the heaven the gastly heigth augmenteth terror still.My heart doth waxe as colde as yse full many a tyme and oftFor feare to see the Sea and land from that same place aloft.The Evening way doth fall plump downe requiring strength to guide, That Tethis who doth harbrowgh mee within hir sourges wideDoth stand in feare lest from the heaven I headlong down should slide.Besides all this the Heaven aye swimmes and wheeles about full swiftAnd with his rolling dryves the starres their proper course to shift.Yet doe I keepe my native course against this brunt so stout, Not giving place as others doe: but boldely bearing outThe force and swiftnesse of that heaven that whyrleth so about.Admit thou had my winged Steedes and Chariot in thine hande:What couldste thou doe? dost thinke thy selfe well able to withstandeThe swiftnesse of the whyrled Poles, but that their brunt and sway (Yea doe the best and worst thou can) shall beare thee quite away?Perchaunce thou dost imagine there some townes of Gods to finde,With groves and Temples richt with giftes as is among mankinde.Thou art deceyved utterly: thou shalt not finde it so.By blinde bywayes and ugly shapes of monsters must thou go. And though thou knewe the way so well as that thou could not stray,Betweene the dreadful bulles sharp hornes yet must thou make thy way.Agaynst the cruell Bowe the which the Aemonian archer drawes:Against the ramping Lyon armde with greedie teeth and pawes:Against the Scorpion stretching farre his fell and venymd clawes: And eke the Crab that casteth forth his crooked clees awrieNot in such sort as th'other doth, and yet as dreadfully.Againe thou neyther hast the powre nor yet the skill I knoweMy lustie coursers for to guide that from their nostrilles throweAnd from their mouthes the fierie breath that breedeth in their brest. For scarcely will they suffer mee who knowes their nature bestWhen that their cruell courages begin to catch a heate,That hardely should I deale with them, but that I know the feate.But lest my gift should to thy griefe and utter perill tendMy Sonne beware and (whyle thou mayst) thy fonde request amend. Bycause thou woulde be knowne to bee my childe thou seemst to craveA certaine signe: what surer signe I pray thee canst thou haveThan this my feare so fatherly the which I have of theeWhich proveth me most certainly thy father for to bee?Beholde and marke my countenaunce. would to God thy sightCould pierce within my wofull brest, to see the heavie plight,And heapes of cares within my heart. Looke through the worlde so roundOf all the wealth and goodes therein: if ought there may be foundIn Heaven or Earth or in the Sea, aske what thou lykest best,And sure it shall not be denide. This onely one request That thou hast made I heartely beseech thee to relent,Which for to tearme the thing aright is even a punishment,And not an honour as thou thinkest: my Phaeton thou dost craveIn stead of honour even a scourge and punishment for to have.Thou fondling thou, what dost thou meane with fawning armes about My necke thus flattringly to hang? Thou needest not to dout.I have alreadie sworne by Styx, aske what thou wilt of meeAnd thou shalt have. Yet let thy next wish somewhat wiser bee

Thus ended his advertisment: and yet the wilfull LadWithstood his counsell urging still the promisse that he had, Desiring for to have the chare as if he had been mad.His father having made delay as long as he could shift,Did lead him where his Chariot stood, which was of Vulcans gift.The Axeltree was massie golde, the Bucke was massie golde,The utmost fellies of the wheeles, and where the tree was rolde. The spokes were all of sylver bright, the Chrysolites and GemmesThat stood uppon the Collars, Trace, and hounces in their hemmesDid cast a sheere and glimmering light, as Phoebus shone thereon.Now while the lustie Phaeton stood gazing here upon,And wondered at the workemanship of everie thing: beeholde The earely morning in the East beegan mee to unfoldeHir purple Gates, and shewde hir house bedeckt with Roses red.The twinckling starres withdrew which by the morning star are led:Who as the Captaine of that Host that hath no peere nor match,Dooth leave his standing last of all within that heavenly watch. Now when his Father sawe the worlde thus glister red and trim,And that his waning sisters hornes began to waxen dim,He had the fetherfooted howres go harnesse in his horse.The Goddesses with might and mayne themselves thereto enforce.His fierifoming Steedes full fed with juice of Ambrosie They take from Maunger trimly dight: and to their heades doe tieStrong reyned bits: and to the Charyot doe them well appoint.Then Phoebus did with heavenly salve his Phaetons heade annoint,That scorching fire coulde nothing hurt: which done, upon his haireHe put the fresh and golden rayes himselfe was wont to weare. And then as one whose heart misgave the sorrowes drawing fast,With sorie sighes he thus bespake his retchlesse sonne at last:(And if thou canst) at least yet this thy fathers lore obay:Sonne, spare the whip, and reyne them hard, they run so swift awayAs that thou shalt have much adoe their fleeing course to stay. Directly through the Zones all five beware thou doe not ride,A brode byway cut out askew that bendeth on the sideContaynde within the bondes of three the midmost Zones doth lie:Which from the grisely Northren beare, and Southren Pole doth flie.Keepe on this way: my Charyot rakes thou plainely shalt espie And to th'intent that heaven and earth may well the heate endure,Drive neyther over high nor yet too lowe. For be thou sure,And if thou mount above thy boundes, the starres thou burnest cleane.Againe beneath thou burnst the Earth: most safetie is the meane.And least perchaunce thou overmuch the right hand way should take, And so misfortune should thee drive upon the writhen Snake,Or else by taking overmuche upon the lefter handUnto the Aultar thou be driven that doth against it stand:Indifferently betweene them both I wish thee for to ride.The rest I put to fortunes will, who be thy friendly guide, And better for thee than thy selfe as in this case provide.Whiles that I prattle here with thee, behold the dankish nightBeyond all Spaine hir utmost bound is passed out of sight.We may no lenger tariance make: my wonted light is cald,The Morning with hir countnance cleare the darknesse hath appald. Take raine in hand, or if thy minde by counsell altred bee,Refuse to meddle with my Wayne: and while thou yet art free,And doste at ease within my house in safegarde well remaine,Of this thine unadvised wish not feeling yet the paine,Let me alone with giving still the world his wonted light, And thou thereof as heretofore enjoy the harmelesse sight.Thus much in vaine: for Phaeton both yong in yeares and wit,Into the Chariot lightly lept, and vauncing him in itWas not a little proud that he the brydle gotten had.He thankt his father whom it grievde to see his childe so mad. While Phebus and his rechelesse sonne were entertalking this,Aeous, Aethon, Phlegon, and the firie Pyrois,The restlesse horses of the Sunne, began to ney so hieWyth flaming breath, that all the heaven might heare them perfectly.And with their hoves they mainly beate upon the lattisde grate. The which when Tethis (knowing nought of this hir cousins fate)Had put aside, and given the steedes the free and open scopeOf all the compasse of the Skie within the heavenly Cope:They girded forth, and cutting through the Cloudes that let their race,With splayed wings they overflew the Easterne winde apace. The burthen was so lyght as that the Genets felt it not.The wonted weight was from the Waine, the which they well did wot.For like as ships amids the Seas that scant of ballace have,Doe reele and totter with the wynde, and yeeld to every wave:Even so the Waine for want of weight it erst was wont to beare, Did hoyse aloft and scayle and reele, as though it empty were.Which when the Cartware did perceyve, they left the beaten wayAnd taking bridle in the teeth began to run astray.The rider was so sore agast, he knew no use of Rayne,Nor yet his way: and though he had, yet had it ben in vayne, Because he wanted powre to rule the horses and the Wayne.Then first did sweat cold Charles his Wain through force of Phebus rayesAnd in the Sea forbidden him, to dive in vaine assayes.The Serpent at the frozen Pole both colde and slow by kinde,Through heat waxt wroth, and stird about a cooler place to finde. And thou Bootes though thou be but slow of footemanship,Yet wert thou faine (as Fame reports) about thy Waine to skip.Now when unhappy Phaeton from top of all the SkieBehelde the Earth that underneath a great way off did lie,He waxed pale for sodaine feare, his joynts and sinewes quooke, The greatnesse of the glistring light his eyesight from him tooke.Now wisht he that he never had his fathers horses see:It yrkt him that he thus had sought to learne his piedegre.It grievde him that he had prevailde in gaining his request.To have bene counted Merops sonne he thought it now the best. Thus thinking was he headlong driven, as when a ship is borneBy blustring windes, hir saileclothes rent, hir sterne in pieces torne,And tacling brust, the which the Pilote trusting all to prayreAbandons wholy to the Sea and fortune of the ayre.What should he doe? much of the heaven he passed had behinde And more he saw before: both whiche he measurde in his minde,Eft looking forward to the West which to approch as thenMight not betide, and to the East eft looking backe agen.He wist not what was best to doe, his wittes were ravisht so.For neither could he hold the Reynes, nor yet durst let them go. And of his horses names was none that he remembred tho.Straunge uncoth Monsters did he see dispersed here and thereAnd dreadfull shapes of ugly beasts that in the Welkin were.

There is a certaine place in which the hidious Scorpion throwesHis armes in compasse far abrode, much like a couple of bowes, With writhen tayle and clasping cles, whose poyson limmes doe stretchOn every side, that of two signes they full the roume doe retch,Whome when the Lad beheld all moyst with blacke and lothly swet,With sharpe and nedlepointed sting as though he seemde to thret,He was so sore astraught for feare, he let the bridels slacke, Which when the horses felt lie lose upon their sweating backe,At rovers straight throughout the Ayre by wayes unknowne they ranWhereas they never came before since that the worlde began.For looke what way their lawlesse rage by chaunce and fortune drueWithout controlment or restraint that way they freely flue Among the starres that fixed are within the firmamentThey snatcht the Chariot here and there. One while they coursing wentUpon the top of all the skie: anon againe full roundThey troll me downe to lower wayes and nearer to the ground,So that the Moone was in a Maze to see hir brothers Waine Run under hirs: the singed cloudes began to smoke amaine.Eche ground the higher that it was and nearer to the SkieThe sooner was it set on fire, and made therewith so drieThat every where it gan to chinke. The Medes and Pastures greeneDid seare away: and with the leaves, the trees were burned cleene. The parched corne did yeelde wherewith to worke his owne decaie.Tushe, these are trifles. Mightie townes did perish that same daie.Whose countries with their folke were burnt: and forests ful of woodWere turnde to ashes with the rocks and mountains where they stood.Then Athe, Cilician, Taure and Tmole and Oeta flamed hie, And Ide erst full of flowing springs was then made utter drie.The learned virgins daily haunt, the sacred Helicon,And Thracian Hemus (not as yet surnamde Oeagrion,)Did smoke both twaine: and Aetna hote of nature aye before,Encreast by force of Phebus flame now raged ten times more.The forkt Parnasus, Eryx, Cynth, and Othrys then did sweltAnd all the snow of Rhodope did at that present melt.The like outrage Mount Dindymus, and Mime and Micale felt.Cytheron borne to sacred use with Osse, and Pindus hieAnd Olymp greater than them both did burne excessively. The passing colde that Scithie had defended not the sameBut that the barren Caucasus was partner of this flame.And so were eke the Airie Alpes and Appennyne beside,For all the Cloudes continually their snowie tops doe hide.Then wheresoever Phaeton did chaunce to cast his vew, The world was all on flaming fire. The breath the which he drew,Came smoking from his scalding mouth as from a seething pot.His Chariot also under him began to waxe red hot.He could no lenger dure the sparkes and cinder flyeng out,Againe the culme and smouldring smoke did wrap him round about, The pitchie darkenesse of the which so wholy had him hentAs that he wist not where he was nor yet which way he went.The winged horses forcibly did draw him where they wolde.The Aethiopians at that time (as men for truth upholde)(The bloud by force of that same heate drawne to the outer part And there adust from that time forth) became so blacke and swart.The moysture was so dried up in Lybie land that timeThat altogither drie and scorcht continueth yet that Clyme.The Nymphes with haire about their eares bewayld their springs and lakes.Beotia for hir Dyrces losse great lamentation makes. For Amimone Argos wept, and Corinth for the springPyrene, at whose sacred streame the Muses usde to sing.The Rivers further from the place were not in better case,For Tanais in his deepest streame did boyle and steme apace,Old Penew and Caycus of the countrie Teuthranie, And swift Ismenos in their bankes by like misfortune frie.Then burnde the Psophian Erymanth: and (which should burne ageine)The Trojan Xanthus and Lycormas with his yellow veine,Meander playing in his bankes aye winding to and fro,Migdonian Melas with his waves as blacke as any slo.Eurotas running by the foote of Tenare boyled tho.Then sod Euphrates cutting through the middes of Babilon.Then sod Orontes, and the Scithian swift Thermodoon.Then Ganges, Colchian Phasis, and the noble IstreAlpheus and Sperchius bankes with flaming fire did glistre. The golde that Tagus streame did beare did in the chanell melt.Amid Cayster of this fire the raging heat was feltAmong the quieres of singing Swannes that with their pleasant layAlong the bankes of Lidian brakes from place to place did stray.And Nyle for feare did run away into the furthest Clyme Of all the world, and hid his heade, which to this present tymeIs yet unfound: his mouthes all seven cleane voyde of water beene,Like seven great valleys where (save dust) could nothing else be seene.By like misfortune Hebrus dride and Strymon, both of Thrace.The Westerne Rivers Rhine and Rhone and Po were in like case: And Tyber unto whome the Goddes a faithfull promise gaveOf all the world the Monarchie and soveraigne state to have.The ground did cranie everie where and light did pierce to hellAnd made afraide the King and Queene that in that Realme doe dwell.The Sea did shrinke and where as waves did late before remaine, Became a Champion field of dust and even a sandy plaine.The hilles erst hid farre under waves like Ilelandes did appeareSo that the scattred Cyclades for the time augmented were.The fishes drew them to the deepes: the Dolphines durst not playAbove the water as before, the Seales and Porkpis lay With bellies upward on the waves starke dead: and fame doth goThat Nereus with his wife and daughters all were faine as thoTo dive within the scalding waves. Thrise Neptune did advaunceHis armes above the scalding Sea with sturdy countenaunce:And thrise for hotenesse of the Ayre, was faine himselfe to hide. But yet the Earth the Nurce of things enclosde on every side(Betweene the waters of the Sea and Springs that now had hiddenThemselves within their Mothers wombe) for all the paine abidden,Up to the necke put forth hir head and casting up hir hand,Betweene hir forehead and the sunne as panting she did stand With dreadfull quaking, all that was she fearfully did shake,And shrinking somewhat lower downe with sacred voyce thus spake:O king of Gods and if this be thy will and my desart,Why doste thou stay with deadly dint thy thunder downe to dart?And if that needes I perish must through force of firie flame, Let thy celestiall fire O God I pray thee doe the same.A comfort shall it be to have thee Author of my death.I scarce have powre to speak these words (the smoke had stopt hir breath).Behold my singed haire: behold my dim and bleared eye,See how about my scorched face the scalding embers flie. Is this the guerdon wherewithall ye quite my fruitfulnesse?Is this the honor that ye gave me for my plenteousnesseAnd dutie done with true intent? for suffring of the ploughTo draw deepe woundes upon my backe and rakes to rend me through?For that I over all the yeare continually am wrought? For giving foder to the beasts and cattell all for nought?For yeelding corne and other foode wherewith to keepe mankinde?And that to honor you withall sweete frankinsence I finde?But put the case that my desert destruction duely crave,What hath thy brother? what the Seas deserved for to have? Why doe the Seas, his lotted part, thus ebbe and fall so low,Withdrawing from thy Skie to which it ought most neare to grow?But if thou neyther doste regarde thy brother, neyther mee,At least have mercy on thy heaven, looke round about and seeHow both the Poles begin to smoke which if the fire appall To utter ruine (be thou sure) thy pallace needes must fall.Behold how Atlas ginnes to faint. His shoulders though full strong,Unneth are able to uphold the sparkling Extree long.If Sea and Land doe go to wrecke, and heaven it selfe doe burneTo olde confused Chaos then of force we must returne. Put to thy helping hand therfore to save the little leftIf ought remaine before that all be quite and cleane bereft.