Whom forbycause Pygmalion saw to leade theyr lyfe in sinOffended with the vice whereof greate store is packt withinThe nature of the womankynd, he led a single lyfe.And long it was ere he could fynd in hart to take a wyfe.Now in the whyle by wondrous Art an image he did grave Of such proportion, shape, and grace as nature never gaveNor can to any woman give. In this his worke he tookeA certaine love. The looke of it was ryght a Maydens looke,And such a one as that yee would beleeve had lyfe, and thatWould moved bee, if womanhod and reverence letted not: So artificiall was the work. He woondreth at his ArtAnd of his counterfetted corse conceyveth love in hart.He often toucht it, feeling if the woork that he had madeWere verie flesh or Ivorye still. Yit could he not perswadeHimself to think it Ivory, for he oftentymes it kist And thought it kissed him ageine. He hild it by the fist,And talked to it. He beleeved his fingars made a dintUppon her flesh, and feared lest sum blacke or broosed printShould come by touching over hard. Sumtyme with pleasant boordsAnd wanton toyes he dalyingly dooth cast foorth amorous woords. Sumtime (the giftes wherein yong Maydes are wonted to delyght)He brought her owches, fyne round stones, and Lillyes fayre and whyght,And pretie singing birds, and flowres of thousand sorts and hew,In gorgeous garments furthermore he did her also decke, And peynted balles, and Amber from the tree distilled new.And on her fingars put me rings, and cheynes about her necke.Riche perles were hanging at her eares, and tablets at her brest.All kynd of things became her well. And when she was undrest,She seemed not lesse beawtifull. He layd her in a bedThe which with scarlet dyde in Tyre was richly overspred, And terming her his bedfellow, he couched downe hir headUppon a pillow soft, as though shee could have felt the same.The feast of Venus hallowed through the Ile of Cyprus, cameAnd Bullocks whyght with gilden homes were slayne for sacrifyse,And up to heaven of frankincence the smoky fume did ryse. When as Pygmalion having doone his dutye that same day,Before the altar standing, thus with fearefull hart did say:If that you Goddes can all things give, then let my wife (I pray)(He durst not say bee yoon same wench of Ivory, but) bee leekeMy wench of Ivory. Venus (who was nought at all to seeke What such a wish as that did meene) then present at her feast,For handsell of her freendly helpe did cause three tymes at leastThe fyre to kindle and to spyre thryse upward in the ayre.As soone as he came home, streyghtway Pygmalion did repayreUnto the Image of his wench, and leaning on the bed, Did kisse hir. In her body streyght a warmenesse seemd to spred.He put his mouth againe to hers, and on her brest did layHis hand. The Ivory wexed soft: and putting quyght awayAll hardnesse, yeelded underneathe his fingars, as wee seeA peece of wax made soft ageinst the Sunne, or drawen to bee In divers shapes by chaufing it betweene ones handes, and soTo serve to uses. He amazde stood wavering to and froTweene joy, and feare to be beeguyld, ageine he burnt in love,Ageine with feeling he began his wished hope to prove.He felt it verrye flesh in deede. By laying on his thumb, He felt her pulses beating. Then he stood no longer dumbBut thanked Venus with his hart, and at the length he laydHis mouth to hers who was as then become a perfect mayd.Shee felt the kisse, and blusht therat: and lifting fearefullyHir eyelidds up, hir Lover and the light at once did spye. The mariage that her selfe had made the Goddesse blessed so,That when the Moone with fulsum lyght nyne tymes her course had go,This Ladye was delivered of a Sun that Paphus hyght,Of whom the Iland takes that name.

Of him was borne a knyghtCalld Cinyras who (had he had none issue) surely myght Of all men underneathe the sun beene thought the happyest wyght.Of wicked and most cursed things to speake I now commence.Yee daughters and yee parents all go get yee farre from hence.Or if yee mynded bee to heere my tale, beleeve mee noughtIn this beehalfe: ne think that such a thing was ever wrought. Or if yee will beeleeve the deede, beleeve the vengeance tooWhich lyghted on the partye that the wicked act did doo.But if that it be possible that any wyght so muchFrom nature should degenerate, as for to fall to suchA heynous cryme as this is, I am glad for Thracia, I Am glad for this same world of ours, yea glad exceedinglyI am for this my native soyle, for that there is such spaceBetweene it and the land that bred a chyld so voyd of grace.I would the land Panchaya should of Amomie be rich,And Cinnamom, and Costus sweete, and Incence also which Dooth issue largely out of trees, and other flowers straunge,As long as that it beareth Myrrhe: not woorth it was the chaunge,Newe trees to have of such a pryce. The God of love denyesHis weapons to have hurted thee, O Myrrha, and he tryesHimselfe ungiltie by thy fault. One of the Furies three With poysonde Snakes and hellish brands hath rather blasted thee.To hate ones father is a cryme as heynous as may bee,But yit more wicked is this love of thine than any hate.The youthfull Lordes of all the East and Peeres of cheef estateDesyre to have thee to their wyfe, and earnest sute doo make. Of all (excepting onely one) thy choyce, O Myrrha, take.Shee feeles her filthye love, and stryves ageinst it, and withinHerself sayd: Whither roonnes my mynd? what thinke I to begin?Yee Gods (I pray) and godlynesse, yee holy rites and aweOf parents, from this heynous cryme my vicious mynd withdrawe, And disappoynt my wickednesse. At leastwyse if it beeA wickednesse that I intend. As farre as I can see,This love infrindgeth not the bondes of godlynesse a whit.For every other living wyght dame nature dooth permitTo match without offence of sin. The Heifer thinkes no shame To beare her father on her backe: the horse bestrydes the sameOf whom he is the syre: the Gote dooth bucke the kid that heeHimself begate: and birdes doo tread the selfsame birdes wee seeOf whom they hatched were before. In happye cace they areThat may doo so without offence. But mans malicious care Hath made a brydle for it self, and spyghtfull lawes restreyneThe things that nature setteth free. Yit are their Realmes (men sayne)In which the moother with the sonne, and daughter with the fatherDoo match, wherethrough of godlynesse the bond augments the ratherWith doubled love. Now wo is mee it had not beene my lot In that same countrie to bee borne. And that this lucklesse plotShould hinder mee. Why thinke I thus? Avaunt, unlawfull love.I ought to love him, I confesse: but so as dooth behoveHis daughter: were not Cinyras my father than, IwisI myght obtaine to lye with him. But now bycause he is Myne owne, he cannot bee myne owne. The neerenesse of our kinDooth hurt me. Were I further off perchaunce I more myght win.And if I wist that I therby this wickednesse myght shunne,I would forsake my native soyle and farre from Cyprus runne.This evill heate dooth hold mee backe, that beeing present still I may but talke with Cinyras and looke on him my fill,And touch, and kisse him, if no more may further graunted bee.Why wicked wench, and canst thou hope for further? doost not seeHow by thy fault thou doost confound the ryghts of name and kin?And wilt thou make thy mother bee a Cucqueane by thy sin? Wilt thou thy fathers leman bee? wilt thou bee both the mootherAnd suster of thy chyld? shall he bee both thy sonne and brother?And standst thou not in feare at all of those same susters threeWhose heads with crawling snakes in stead of heare bematted bee?Which pushing with theyr cruell bronds folks eyes and mouthes, doo see Theyr sinfull harts? but thou now whyle thy body yit is free,Let never such a wickednesse once enter in thy mynd.Defyle not myghtye natures hest by lust ageinst thy kynd.What though thy will were fully bent? yit even the very thingIs such as will not suffer thee the same to end to bring. For why he beeing well disposde and godly, myndeth aySo much his dewtye that from ryght and truth he will not stray.Would Godlyke furie were in him as is in mee this day.This sayd, her father Cinyras (who dowted what to dooBy reason of the worthy store of suters which did woo His daughter,) bringing all theyr names did will her for to showOn which of them shee had herself most fancie to bestow.At first shee hild her peace a whyle, and looking wistly onHer fathers face, did boyle within: and scalding teares anonRan downe her visage. Cyniras, (who thought them to proceede Of tender harted shamefastnesse) did say there was no needeOf teares, and dryed her cheekes, and kist her. Myrrha tooke of itExceeding pleasure in her selfe: and when that he did witWhat husband shee did wish to have, shee sayd: One like to yow.He undertanding not hir thought, did well her woordes allow, And sayd: In this thy godly mynd continew. At the nameOf godlynesse, shee cast mee downe her looke for very shame.For why her giltie hart did knowe shee well deserved blame.Hygh mydnight came, and sleepe bothe care and carkesses opprest.But Myrrha lying brode awake could neyther sleepe nor rest. Shee fryes in Cupids flames, and woorkes continewally upponHer furious love. One while shee sinkes in deepe despayre. AnonShee fully myndes to give attempt, but shame doth hold her in.Shee wishes and shee wotes not what to doo, nor how to gin.And like as when a mightye tree with axes heawed rownd, Now redy with a strype or twaine to lye uppon the grownd,Uncerteine is which way to fall and tottreth every way:Even so her mynd with dowtfull wound effeebled then did strayNow heere now there uncerteinely, and tooke of bothe encreace.No measure of her love was found, no rest, nor yit releace, Save only death. Death likes her best. Shee ryseth, full in myndTo hang herself. About a post her girdle she doth bynd,And sayd: Farewell deere Cinyras, and understand the causeOf this my death. And with that woord about her necke shee drawesThe nooze. Her trustye nurce that in another Chamber lay By fortune heard the whispring sound of theis her woordes (folk say).The aged woman rysing up unboltes the doore. And whanShee saw her in that plyght of death, shee shreeking out beganTo smyght her self, and scratcht her brest, and quickly to her ranAnd rent the girdle from her necke. Then weeping bitterly And holding her betweene her armes, shee askt the question whyShee went about to hang her self so unadvisedly.The Lady hilld her peace as dumb, and looking on the groundUnmovably, was sorye in her hart for beeing foundBefore shee had dispatcht herself. Her nurce still at her lay, And shewing her her emptie dugges and naked head all gray,Besought her for the paynes shee tooke with her both night and dayIn rocking and in feeding her, shee would vouchsafe to sayWhat ere it were that greeved her. The Ladye turnd awayDispleasde and fetcht a sygh. The nurce was fully bent in mynd To bowlt the matter out: for which not onely shee did byndHer fayth, in secret things to keepe: but also sayd, put meeIn truth to fynd a remedye. I am not (thou shalt see)Yit altogither dulld by age. If furiousenesse it bee,I have bothe charmes and chaunted herbes to help. If any wyght Bewitcheth thee, by witchcraft I will purge and set thee quyght.Or if it bee the wrath of God, we shall with sacrifyseAppease the wrath of God right well. What may I more surmyse?No theeves have broken in uppon this house and spoyld the welth.Thy mother and thy father bothe are living and in helth. When Myrrha heard her father naamd, a greevous sygh she fetEven from the bottom of her hart. Howbee't the nurce as yetMisdeemd not any wickednesse. But nerethelesse shee gestThere was some love: and standing in one purpose made requestTo breake her mynd unto her, and shee set her tenderly Uppon her lappe. The Ladye wept and sobbed bitterly.Then culling her in feeble armes, shee sayd: I well espyeThou art in love. My diligence in this behalf I sweareShall servisable to thee bee. Thou shalt not neede to feareThat ere thy father shall it knowe. At that same woord shee lept From nurces lappe like one that had beene past her witts, and steptWith fury to her bed. At which shee leaning downe hir faceSayd: Hence I pray thee: force mee not to shewe my shamefull cace.And when the nurce did urge her still, shee answered eyther: GetThee hence, or ceace to aske mee why myself I thus doo fret. The thing that thou desyrste to knowe is wickednesse. The oldPoore nurce gan quake, and trembling both for age and feare did holdHer handes to her. And kneeling downe right humbly at her feete,One whyle shee fayre intreated her with gentle woordes and sweete.Another whyle (onlesse shee made her privie of her sorrow) Shee threatned her, and put her in a feare shee would next morrowBewray her how shee went about to hang herself. But ifShee told her, shee did plyght her fayth and help to her releef.Shee lifted up her head, and then with teares fast gushing outBeesloobered all her nurces brest: and going oft about To speake, shee often stayd: and with her garments hid her faceFor shame, and lastly sayd: O happye is my moothers caceThat such a husband hath. With that a greevous sygh shee gave,And hilld her peace. Theis woordes of hers a trembling chilnesse draveIn nurcis limbes, which perst her bones: (for now shee understoodThe cace) and all her horye heare up stiffly staring stoodAnd many things she talkt to put away her cursed love,If that it had beene possible the madnesse to remove.The Mayd herself to be full trew the councell dooth espye:Yit if shee may not have her love shee fully myndes to dye. Live still (quoth nurce) thou shalt obteine (shee durst not say thy father,But stayd at that). And forbycause that Myrrha should the ratherBeleeve her, shee confirmd her woordes by othe. The yeerely feastOf gentle Ceres came, in which the wyves bothe moste and leastAppareld all in whyght are woont the firstlings of the feeld, Fyne garlonds made of eares of come, to Ceres for to yeeld.And for the space of thryce three nyghts they counted it a sinTo have the use of any man, or once to towche his skin.Among theis women did the Queene freequent the secret rites.Now whyle that of his lawfull wyfe his bed was voyd a nightes, The nurce was dooble diligent: and fynding CinyrasWell washt with wyne, shee did surmyse there was a pretye lasseIn love with him. And hyghly shee her beawty setteth out.And beeing asked of her yeeres, she sayd shee was aboutThe age of Myrrha. Well (quoth he) then bring her to my bed. Returning home she sayd: bee glad my nurcechilde: we have sped.Not all so wholly in her hart was wretched Myrrha glad,But that her fore misgiving mynd did also make her sad.Howbee't shee also did rejoyce as in a certaine kynd,Such discord of affections was within her combred mynd. It was the tyme that all things rest. And now Bootes bryght,The driver of the Oxen seven, about the northpole pyghtHad sumwhat turnd his wayne asyde, when wicked Myrrha spedAbout her buysnesse. Out of heaven the golden Phoebee fled.With clowds more black than any pitch the starres did hyde their hed. The nyght beecommeth utter voyd of all her woonted lyght.And first before all other hid their faces out of syghtGood Icar and Erigonee, his daughter, who for loveMost vertuous to her fatherward, was taken up aboveAnd made a starre in heaven. Three tymes had Myrrha warning given By stumbling, to retyre. Three tymes the deathfull Owle that eevenWith doolefull noyse prognosticates unhappie lucke. Yet cameShee forward still: the darknesse of the nyght abated shame.Her left hand held her nurce, her right the darke blynd way did grope.Anon shee to the chamber came: anon the doore was ope: Anon she entred in. With that her foltring hammes did quake:Her colour dyde: her blood and hart did cleerly her forsake.The neerer shee approched to her wickednesse, the moreShe trembled: of her enterpryse it irked her full sore:And fayne shee would shee might unknowen have turned back. Nurce led Her pawsing forward by the hand: and putting her to bed,Heere, take this Damzell, Cinyras, shee is thine owne, shee sed.And so shee layd them brest to brest. The wicked father takesHis bowelles into filthy bed, and there with wordes asslakesThe maydens feare, and cheeres her up. And lest this cryme of theyres Myght want the ryghtfull termes, by chaunce as in respect of yeeresHe daughter did hir call, and shee him father. Beeing spedWith cursed seede in wicked womb, shee left her fathers bed,Of which soone after shee became greate bagged with her shame.Next night the lewdnesse doubled. And no end was of the same, Untill at length that Cinyras desyrous for to knoweHis lover that so many nyghts uppon him did bestowe,Did fetch a light: by which he sawe his owne most heynous cryme,And eeke his daughter. Nathelesse, his sorrow at that timeReprest his speeche. Then hanging by he drew a Rapier bryght. Away ran Myrrha, and by meanes of darknesse of the nyghtShee was delivered from the death: and straying in the broadeDatebearing feeldes of Arabye, shee through Panchaya yode,And wandring full nyne moonethes at length shee rested beeing tyrdeIn Saba land. And when the tyme was neere at hand expyrde, And that uneath the burthen of her womb shee well could beare,Not knowing what she might desyre, distrest betweene the feareOf death, and tediousnesse of lyfe, this prayer shee did make:O Goddes, if of repentant folk you any mercye take,Sharpe vengeance I confesse I have deserved, and content I am to take it paciently. How bee it to th'ententThat neyther with my lyfe the quick, nor with my death the deadAnoyed bee, from both of them exempt mee this same sted,And altring mee, deny to mee both lyfe and death. We seeTo such as doo confesse theyr faults sum mercy shewd to bee. The Goddes did graunt her this request, the last that she should make.The ground did overgrow hir feete, and ancles as she spake.And from her bursten toes went rootes, which wrything heere and thereDid fasten so the trunk within the ground shee could not steare.Her bones did into timber turne, whereof the marie was The pith, and into watrish sappe the blood of her did passe.Her armes were turnd to greater boughes, her fingars into twig,Her skin was hardned into bark. And now her belly bigThe eatching tree had overgrowen, and overtane her brest,And hasted for to win her neck, and hyde it with the rest. Shee made no taryence nor delay, but met the comming tree,And shroonk her face within the barke therof. Although that sheeTogither with her former shape her senses all did loose,Yit weepeth shee, and from her tree warme droppes doo softly woose.The which her teares are had in pryce and honour. And the Myrrhe That issueth from her gummy bark dooth beare the name of her,And shall doo whyle the world dooth last. The misbegotten chyldGrew still within the tree, and from his mothers womb defyldSought meanes to bee delyvered. Her burthende womb did swellAmid the tree, and stretcht her out. But woordes wherwith to tell And utter foorth her greef did want. She had no use of speechWith which Lucina in her throwes shee might of help beseech.Yit like a woman labring was the tree, and bowwing downeGave often sighes, and shed foorth teares as though shee there should drowne.Lucina to this wofull tree came gently downe, and layd Her hand theron, and speaking woordes of ease the midwife playd.The tree did cranye, and the barke deviding made away,And yeelded out the chyld alyve, which cryde and wayld streyght way.The waternymphes uppon the soft sweete hearbes the chyld did lay,And bathde him with his mothers teares. His face was such as spyght Must needes have praysd. For such he was in all condicions right,As are the naked Cupids that in tables picturde bee.But to th'entent he may with them in every poynt agree,Let eyther him bee furnisshed with wings and quiver light,Or from the Cupids take theyr wings and bowes and arrowes quight.

Away slippes fleeting tyme unspyde and mocks us to our face,And nothing may compare with yeares in swiftnesse of theyr pace.That wretched imp whom wickedly his graundfather begate,And whom his cursed suster bare, who hidden was alateWithin the tree, and lately borne, became immediatly The beawtyfullyst babe on whom man ever set his eye.Anon a stripling hee became, and by and by a man,And every day more beawtifull than other he becam,That in the end Dame Venus fell in love with him: wherbyHe did revenge the outrage of his mothers villanye. For as the armed Cupid kist Dame Venus, unbewareAn arrow sticking out did raze hir brest uppon the bare.The Goddesse being wounded, thrust away her sonne. The woundAppeered not to bee so deepe as afterward was found.It did deceyve her at the first. The beawty of the lad Nor unto Paphos where the sea beats round about the shore,Inflaamd her. To Cythera Ile no mynd at all shee had.Nor fisshy Gnyde, nor Amathus that hath of metalls store.Yea even from heaven shee did absteyne. Shee lovd Adonis moreThan heaven. To him shee clinged ay, and bare him companye. And in the shadowe woont shee was to rest continually,And for to set her beawtye out most seemely to the eyeBy trimly decking of her self. Through bushy grounds and groves,And over Hills and Dales, and Lawnds and stony rocks shee roves,Bare kneed with garment tucked up according to the woont Of Phebe, and shee cheerd the hounds with hallowing like a hunt,Pursewing game of hurtlesse sort, as Hares made lowe before,Or stagges with loftye heades, or bucks. But with the sturdy BoareAnd ravening woolf, and Bearewhelpes armd with ugly pawes, and eekeThe cruell Lyons which delyght in blood, and slaughter seeke, Shee meddled not. And of theis same shee warned also thee,Adonis, for to shoonne them, if thou wooldst have warned bee.Bee bold on cowards (Venus sayd) for whoso dooth advaunceHimselfe against the bold, may hap to meete with sum mischaunce.Wherfore I pray thee, my sweete boy, forbeare too bold to bee. For feare thy rashnesse hurt thy self and woork the wo of meEncounter not the kynd of beastes whom nature armed hath,For dowt thou buy thy prayse too deere procuring thee sum scath.Thy tender youth, thy beawty bryght, thy countnance fayre and braveAlthough they had the force to win the hart of Venus, have No powre ageinst the Lyons, nor ageinst the bristled swyne.The eyes and harts of savage beasts doo nought to theis inclyne.The cruell Boares beare thunder in theyr hooked tushes, andExceeding force and feercenesse is in Lyons to withstand.And sure I hate them at my hart. To him demaunding why, A monstrous chaunce (quoth Venus) I will tell thee by and by,That hapned for a fault. But now unwoonted toyle hath madeMee weerye: and beholde, in tyme this Poplar with his shadeAllureth, and the ground for cowch dooth serve to rest uppon.I prey thee let us rest us here. They sate them downe anon. And lying upward with her head uppon his lappe along,Shee thus began, and in her tale shee bussed him among:

Perchaunce thou hast or this tyme heard of one that overcameThe swiftest men in footemanshippe. No fable was that fame.She overcame them out of dowt. And hard it is to tell Thee whither she did in footemanshippe or beawty more excell.Uppon a season as she askt of Phebus, what he wasThat should her husband bee, he sayd: For husband doo not passe,O Atalanta, thou at all of husband hast no neede.Shonne husbanding. But yit thou canst not shonne it, I thee reede. Alyve thou shalt not be thy self. Shee being sore afraydOf this Apollos Oracle, did keepe herself a mayd,And lived in the shady woodes. When wooers to her came,And were of her importunate, shee drave away the sameWith boystous woordes, and with the sore condition of the game. I am not to be had (quoth shee) onlesse yee able beeIn ronning for to vanquish mee. Yee must contend with meeIn footemanshippe. And who so winnes the wager, I agreeTo bee his wife. But if that he bee found too slowe, then heeShall lose his head. This of your game the verrye law shall bee. Shee was in deede unmercifull. But such is beawties powre,That though the sayd condition were extreme and over sowre,Yit many suters were so rash to undertake the same.Hippomenes as a looker on of this uncurteous game,Sate by, and sayd: Is any man so mad to seeke a wyfe With such apparant perill and the hazard of his lyfe?And utterly he did condemne the yongmens love. But whenHe saw her face and bodye bare, (for why the Lady thenDid strippe her to her naked skin) the which was like to myne,Or rather (if that thou wert made a woman) like to thyne: He was amazde. And holding up his hands to heaven, he sayth:Forgive mee you with whom I found such fault even now: in faythI did not know the wager that yee ran for. As hee praysethThe beawty of her, in himselfe the fyre of love he rayseth.And through an envy fearing lest shee should away be woonne, He wisht that nere a one of them so swift as shee might roonne.And wherfore (quoth hee) put not I myself in preace to tryeThe fortune of this wager? God himself continuallyDooth help the bold and hardye sort. Now whyle HippomenesDebates theis things within himselfe and other like to these, The Damzell ronnes as if her feete were wings. And though that sheeDid fly as swift as arrow from a Turkye bowe: yit heeMore woondred at her beawtye than at swiftnesse of her pace.Her ronning greatly did augment her beawtye and her grace.The wynd ay whisking from her feete the labells of her socks Uppon her back as whyght as snowe did tosse her golden locks,And eeke th'embroydred garters that were tyde beneathe her ham.A rednesse mixt with whyght uppon her tender bodye cam,As when a scarlet curtaine streynd ageinst a playstred wallDooth cast like shadowe, making it seeme ruddye therwithall. Now whyle he straunger noted this, the race was fully ronne,And Atalant (as shee that had the wager cleerely wonne)Was crowned with a garlond brave. The vanquisht sighing sore,Did lose theyr lyves according to agreement made before.Howbeeit nought at all dismayd with theis mennes lucklesse cace He stepped foorth, and looking full uppon the maydens face,Sayd: Wherfore doost thou seeke renowne in vanquisshing of suchAs were but dastards? Cope with mee. If fortune bee so muchMy freend to give mee victorie, thou needest not hold scorneTo yeeld to such a noble man as I am. I am borne The sonne of noble Megaree, Onchestyes sonne, and heeWas sonne to Neptune. Thus am I great graundchyld by degreeIn ryght descent, of him that rules the waters. Neyther dooI out of kynd degenerate from vertue meete therto,Or if my fortune bee so hard as vanquisht for to bee, Thou shalt obteine a famous name by overcomming mee.In saying thus, Atlanta cast a gentle looke on him:And dowting whither shee rather had to lose the day or win,Sayd thus: What God, an enmy to the beawtyfull, is bentTo bring this person to his end, and therefore hath him sent To seeke a wyfe with hazard of his lyfe? If I should beeMyselfe the judge in this behalfe, there is not sure in meeThat dooth deserve so deerely to bee earned. Neyther doothHis beawty moove my hart at all. Yit is it such in soothAs well might moove mee. But bycause as yit a chyld he is, His person mooves mee not so much as dooth his age Iwis.Beesydes that manhod is in him, and mynd unfrayd of death:Beesydes that of the watrye race from Neptune as he sethHe is the fowrth: beesydes that he dooth love mee, and dooth makeSo great accompt to win mee to his wyfe, that for my sake He is contented for to dye, if fortune bee so soreAgeinst him to denye him mee. Thou straunger hence therfore.Away, I say, now whyle thou mayst, and shonne my bloody bed.My mariage cruell is, and craves the losing of thy hed.There is no wench but that would such a husband gladly catch. And shee that wyse were myght desyre to meete with such a match.But why now after heading of so many, doo I careFor thee? Looke thou to that. For sith so many men as areAlreadye put to slawghter can not warne thee to beeware,But that thou wilt bee weerye of thy lyfe, dye: doo not spare. And shall he perrish then bycause he sought to live with mee?And for his love unwoorthely wvith death rewarded bee?All men of such a victory will speake too foule a shame.But all the world can testifye that I am not to blame.Would God thou wouldst desist. Or else bycause thou are so mad, I would to God a little more thy feete of swiftnesse had.Ah what a maydens countenance is in this chyldish face.Ah, foolish boy Hippomenes, how wretched is thy cace.I would thou never hadst mee seene. Thou woorthy art of lyfe.And if so bee I happy were, and that to bee a wyfe The cruell destnyes had not mee forbidden, sure thou artThe onely wyght with whom I would bee matcht with all my hart.This spoken: shee yit rawe and but new striken with the dartOf Cupid, beeing ignorant, did love and knew it nat.Anon her father and the folk assembled, willed that They should begin theyr woonted race. Then Neptunes issue praydWith carefull hart and voyce to mee, and thus devoutly sayd:O Venus, favour myne attempt, and send mee downe thyne aydTo compasse my desyred love which thou hast on mee layd.His prayer movd mee (I confesse,) and long I not delayd Before I helpt him. Now there is a certaine feeld the whichThe Cyprian folk call Damasene, most fertile and most richOf all the Cyprian feelds: the same was consecrate to meeIn auncient tyme, and of my Church the glebland woont to bee.Amid this feeld, with golden leaves there growes a goodly tree The crackling boughes whereof are all of yellew gold. I cameAnd gathered golden Apples three: and bearing thence the sameWithin my hand, immediatly to Hippomen I gatInvisible to all wyghts else save him and taught him whatTo doo with them.

The Trumpets blew: and girding forward, both Set foorth, and on the hovering dust with nimble feete eche goth.A man would think they able were uppon the Sea to goAnd never wet theyr feete, and on the ayles of come alsoThat still is growing in the feeld, and never downe them tread.The man tooke courage at the showt and woordes of them that sed: Now, now is tyme, Hippomenes, to ply it, hye apace:Enforce thyself with all thy strength: lag not in any cace:Thou shalt obteine. It is a thing ryght dowtfull whither heeAt theis well willing woordes of theyrs rejoysed more, or shee.For old religion, not unlike a cave: wher priests of yoreBestowed had of Images of wooden Goddes good store.Hippomenes entring herinto defyld the holy place,With his unlawfull lust: from which the Idolls turnd theyr face. And Cybell with the towred toppes disdeyning, dowted whitherShee in the lake of Styx might drowne the wicked folk togither.The pennance seemed over lyght. And therefore shee did cawseThinne yellow manes to growe uppon theyr necks: and hooked pawesIn stead of fingars to succeede. Theyr shoulders were the same They were before: with woondrous force deepe brested they became.Theyr looke beecame feerce, cruell, grim, and sowre: a tufted tayleStretcht out in length farre after them upon the ground dooth trayle.In stead of speech they rore: in stead of bed they haunt the wood:And dreadful unto others they for all theyr cruell moode With tamed teeth chank Cybells bitts in shape of Lyons. ShonneTheis beastes deere hart: and not from theis alonely see thou ronne,But also from eche other beast that turnes not backe to flightBut offreth with his boystows brest to try the chaunce of fyght:Lest that thyne overhardinesse bee hurtfull to us both. This warning given, with yoked swannes away through aire she goth.But manhod by admonishment restreyned could not bee.By chaunce his hounds in following of the tracke, a Boare did see,And rowsed him. And as the swyne was comming from the wood,Adonis hit him with a dart askew, and drew the blood. The Boare streyght with his hooked groyne the hunting staffe out drewBestayned with his blood, and on Adonis did pursew.Who trembling and retyring back, to place of refuge drew.And hyding in his codds his tuskes as farre as he could thrustHe layd him all along for dead uppon the yellow dust. Dame Venus in her chariot drawen with swannes was scarce arrivedAt Cyprus, when shee knew afarre the sygh of him depryvedOf lyfe. Shee turnd her Cygnets backe and when shee from the skyeBeehilld him dead, and in his blood beweltred for to lye:Shee leaped downe, and tare at once hir garments from her brist, And rent her heare, and beate upon her stomack with her fist,And blaming sore the destnyes, sayd: Yit shall they not obteineTheir will in all things. Of my greefe remembrance shall remayne(Adonis) whyle the world doth last. From yeere to yeere shall groweA thing that of my heavinesse and of thy death shall showe The lively likenesse. In a flowre thy blood I will bestowe.Hadst thou the powre, Persephonee, rank sented Mints to makeOf womens limbes? and may not I lyke powre upon mee takeWithout disdeine and spyght, to turne Adonis to a flowre?This sed, shee sprinckled Nectar on the blood, which through the powre Therof did swell like bubbles sheere that ryse in weather cleereOn water. And before that full an howre expyred weere,Of all one colour with the blood a flowre she there did fyndEven like the flowre of that same tree whose frute in tender ryndeHave pleasant graynes inclosde. Howbee't the use of them is short. For why the leaves do hang so looce through lightnesse in such sort,As that the windes that all things perce, with every little blastDoo shake them off and shed them so as that they cannot last.

Now whyle the Thracian Poet with this song delyghts the myndsOf savage beastes, and drawes both stones and trees ageynst their kynds,Behold the wyves of Ciconie with red deer skinnes aboutTheir furious brists as in the feeld they gadded on a rout,Espyde him from a hillocks toppe still singing to his harp. Of whom one shooke her head at him, and thus began to carp:Behold (sayes shee) behold yoon same is he that doth disdeineUs women. And with that same woord shee sent her lawnce amayneAt Orphyes singing mouth. The Lawnce armd round about with leaves,Did hit him, and without a wound a marke behynd it leaves. ' Another threw a stone at him, which vanquisht with his sweeteAnd most melodius harmonye, fell humbly at his feeteAs sorye for the furious act it purposed. But rashAnd heady ryot out of frame all reason now did dash,And frantik outrage reigned. Yit had the sweetenesse of his song Appeasd all weapons, saving that the noyse now growing strongWith blowing shalmes, and beating drummes, and bedlem howling out,And clapping hands on every syde by Bacchus drunken rout,Did drowne the sownd of Orphyes harp. Then first of all stones wereMade ruddy with the prophets blood, and could not give him eare. And first the flocke of Bacchus froes by violence brake the ringOf Serpents, birds, and savage beastes that for to heere him singSate gazing round about him there. And then with bluddy handsThey ran uppon the prophet who among them singing stands.They flockt about him like as when a sort of birds have found An Owle a daytymes in a tod: and hem him in full round,As when a Stag by hungrye hownds is in a morning found,The which forestall him round about and pull him to the ground.Even so the prophet they assayle, and throwe their Thyrses greeneAt him, which for another use than that invented beene. Sum cast mee clods, sum boughes of trees, and sum threw stones. And lestThat weapons wherwithall to wreake theyr woodnesse which increastShould want, it chaunst that Oxen by were tilling of the groundAnd labring men with brawned armes not farre fro thence were foundA digging of the hardned earth, and earning of theyr food, With sweating browes. They seeing this same rout, no longer stood,But ran away and left theyr tooles behynd them. Every whereThrough all the feeld theyr mattocks, rakes, and shovells scattred were.Which when the cruell feends had caught, and had asunder rentThe horned Oxen, backe ageine to Orphy ward they went, And (wicked wights) they murthred him, who never till that howreDid utter woordes in vaine, nor sing without effectuall powre.And through that mouth of his (oh lord) which even the stones had heard,And unto which the witlesse beastes had often given regard,His ghost then breathing into aire, departed. Even the fowles Were sad for Orphye, and the beast with sorye syghing howles:The rugged stones did moorne for him, the woods which many a tymeHad followed him to heere him sing, bewayled this same cryme.Yea even the trees lamenting him did cast theyr leavy heare.The rivers also with theyr teares (men say) encreased were. Yea and the Nymphes of brookes and woods uppon theyr streames did sayleWith scattred heare about theyr eares, in boats with sable sayle.His members lay in sundrie steds. His head and harp both camTo Hebrus, and (a woondrous thing) as downe the streame they swam,His Harp did yeeld a moorning sound: his livelesse toong did make A certeine lamentable noyse as though it still yit spake,And bothe the banks in moorning wyse made answer to the same.At length adowne theyr country streame to open sea they came,And lyghted on Methymnye shore in Lesbos land. And thereNo sooner on the forreine coast now cast aland they were, But that a cruell naturde Snake did streyght uppon them fly,And licking on his ruffled heare the which was dropping drye,Did gape to tyre uppon those lippes that had beene woont to singMost heavenly hymnes. But Phebus streyght preventing that same thins,Dispoynts the Serpent of his bit, and turnes him into stoneWith gaping chappes. Already was the Ghost of Orphye goneTo Plutos realme, and there he all the places eft beehildThe which he heretofore had seene. And as he sought the feeldOf fayre Elysion (where the soules of godly folk doo woonne,)He found his wyfe Eurydicee, to whom he streyght did roonne,And hilld her in imbracing armes. There now he one while walksTogither with hir cheeke by cheeke: another while he stalksBefore her, and another whyle he followeth her. And nowWithout all kinde of forfeyture he saufly myght avowHis looking backward at his wyfe. But Bacchus greeved atThe murther of the Chapleine of his Orgies, suffred notThe mischeef unrevengd to bee. For by and by he boundThe Thracian women by the feete with writhen roote in ground,As many as consenting to this wicked act were found.And looke how much that eche of them the prophet did pursew,So much he sharpening of their toes, within the ground them drew.And as the bird that fynds her legs besnarled in the netThe which the fowlers suttletye hathe clocely for her set,And feeles shee cannot get away, stands flickering with her wings,And with her fearefull leaping up drawes clocer still the strings:So eche of theis when in the ground they fastned were, assaydAflayghted for to fly away. But every one was staydWith winding roote which hilld her downe. Her frisking could not boote.And whyle she lookte what was become of Toe, of nayle, and foote,Shee sawe her leggs growe round in one, and turning into woode.And as her thyghes with violent hand shee sadly striking stoode,Shee felt them tree: her brest was tree: her shoulders eeke were tree.Her armes long boughes yee myght have thought, and not deceyved bee.

But Bacchus was not so content: he quyght forsooke their land:And with a better companye removed out of hand Unto the Vyneyarde of his owne mount Tmolus, and the riverPactolus though as yit no streames of gold it did deliver,Ne spyghted was for precious sands. His olde accustomd routOf woodwards and of franticke froes envyrond him about.But old Silenus was away. The Phrygian ploughmen found Him reeling bothe for droonkennesse and age, and brought him boundWith garlands unto Midas, king of Phrygia, unto whomThe Thracian Orphye and the preest Eumolphus comming fromThe towne of Athens erst had taught the Orgies. When he knewHis fellowe and companion of the selfesame badge and crew, Uppon the comming of this guest, he kept a feast the spaceOf twyce fyve dayes and twyce fyve nyghts togither in that place.And now th'eleventh tyme Lucifer had mustred in the skyThe heavenly host, when Midas commes to Lydia jocundlyAnd yeeldes the old Silenus to his fosterchyld. He, glad That he his fosterfather had eftsoones recovered, badKing Midas ask him what he would. Right glad of that was hee,But not a whit at latter end the better should he bee.He minding to misuse his giftes, sayd: Graunt that all and someThe which my body towcheth bare may yellow gold become. God Bacchus graunting his request, his hurtfull gift performd,And that he had not better wisht he in his stomacke stormd.Rejoycing in his harme away full merye goes the king:And for to try his promis true he towcheth every thing.Scarce giving credit to himself, he pulled yoong greene twiggs From off an Holmetree: by and by all golden were the spriggs.He tooke a flintstone from the ground, the stone likewyse becamePure gold. He towched next a clod of earth, and streight the sameBy force of towching did become a wedge of yellow gold.He gathered eares of rypened come: immediatly beholde The come was gold. An Apple then he pulled from a tree:Yee would have thought the Hesperids had given it him. If heeOn Pillars high his fingars layd, they glistred like the sonne.The water where he washt his hands did from his hands so ronne,As Danae might have beene therwith beguyld. He scarce could hold His passing joyes within his harr, for making all things gold.Whyle he thus joyd, his officers did spred the boord anon,And set downe sundry sorts of meate and mancheate theruppon.Then whither his hand did towch the bread, the bread was massy gold:Or whither he chawde with hungry teeth his meate, yee might behold The peece of meate betweene his jawes a plat of gold to bee.In drinking wine and water mixt, yee myght discerne and seeThe liquid gold ronne downe his throte. Amazed at the straungeMischaunce, and being both a wretch and rich, he wisht to chaungeHis riches for his former state, and now he did abhorre The thing which even but late before he cheefly longed for.No meate his hunger slakes: his throte is shrunken up with thurst:And justly dooth his hatefull gold torment him as accurst.Then lifting up his sory armes and handes to heaven, he cryde:O father Bacchus, pardon mee. My sinne I will not hyde. Have mercy, I beseech thee, and vouchsauf to rid mee quyghtFrom this same harme that seemes so good and glorious unto syght.The gentle Bacchus streight uppon confession of his crymeRestored Midas to the state hee had in former tyme.And having made performance of his promis, hee beereft him The gift that he had graunted him. And lest he should have left himBeedawbed with the dregges of that same gold which wickedlyHee wished had, he willed him to get him by and byTo that great ryver which dooth ronne by Sardis towne, and thereAlong the chanell up the streame his open armes to beare Untill he commeth to the spring: and then his head to putFull underneathe the foming spowt where greatest was the gut,And so in washing of his limbes to wash away his cryme.The king (as was commaunded him) ageinst the streame did clyme.And streyght the powre of making gold departing quyght from him, Infects the ryver, making it with golden streame to swim.The force whereof the bankes about so soked in theyr veynes,That even as yit the yellow gold uppon the cloddes remaynes.

Then Midas, hating riches, haunts the pasturegrounds and groves,And up and down with Pan among the Lawnds and mountaines roves. But still a head more fat than wyse, and doltish wit he hath,The which as erst, yit once againe must woork theyr mayster scath.The mountayne Tmole from loftye toppe to seaward looketh downe,And spreading farre his boorely sydes, extendeth to the towneOf Sardis with the t'one syde and to Hypep with the tother. There Pan among the fayrye elves that dawnced round togitherIn setting of his conning out for singing and for playUppon his pype of reedes and wax, presuming for to sayApollos musick was not like to his, did take in handA farre unequall match, wherof the Tmole for judge should stand. The auncient judge sitts downe uppon his hill, and ridds his earesFrom trees, and onely on his head an Oken garlond weares,Wherof the Acornes dangled downe about his hollow brow.And looking on the God of neate he sayd: Yee neede not nowTo tarry longer for your judge. Then Pan blew lowd and strong His country pype of reedes, and with his rude and homely songDelighted Midas eares, for he by chaunce was in the throng.When Pan had doone, the sacred Tmole to Phebus turnd his looke,And with the turning of his head his busshye heare he shooke.Then Phebus with a crowne of Bay uppon his golden heare Did sweepe the ground with scarlet robe. In left hand he did beareHis viol made of precious stones and Ivorye intermixt.And in his right hand for to strike, his bowe was redy fixt.He was the verrye paterne of a good Musician ryghtAnon he gan with conning hand the tuned strings to smyght. The sweetenesse of the which did so the judge of them delyght,That Pan was willed for to put his Reedepype in his cace,And not to fiddle nor to sing where viols were in place.The judgement of the holy hill was lyked well of all,Save Midas, who found fault therwith and wrongfull did it call. 'Apollo could not suffer well his foolish eares to keepeTheyr humaine shape, but drew them wyde, and made them long and deepe.And filld them full of whytish heares, and made them downe to sag,And through too much unstablenesse continually to wag.His body keeping in the rest his manly figure still, Was ponnisht in the part that did offend for want of skill.And so a slowe paaste Asses eares his heade did after beare.This shame endevereth he to hyde. And therefore he did weareA purple nyghtcappe ever since. But yit his Barber whoWas woont to notte him spyed it: and beeing eager to Disclose it, when he neyther durst to utter it, nor couldIt keepe in secret still, he went and digged up the mowld,And whispring softly in the pit, declaard what eares hee spydeHis mayster have, and turning downe the clowre ageine, did hydeHis blabbed woordes within the ground, and closing up the pit Departed thence and never made mo woordes at all of it.Soone after, there began a tuft of quivering reedes to groweWhich beeing rype bewrayd theyr seede and him that did them sowe.For when the gentle sowtherne wynd did lyghtly on them blowe,They uttred foorth the woordes that had beene buried in the ground And so reprovde the Asses eares of Midas with theyr sound.