The Lordes and Capteynes being set toogither with the King,And all the souldiers standing round about them in a ring,The owner of the sevenfold sheeld, to theis did Ajax ryse.And (as he could not brydle wrath) he cast his frowning eyesUppon the shore and on the fleete that there at Anchor lyes And throwing up his handes: God and must wee plead (quoth hee)Our case before our shippes? and must Ulysses stand with mee?But like a wretch he ran his way when Hector came with fyre,Which I defending from theis shippes did force him to retyre.It easyer is therefore with woordes in print to maynteine stryfe, Than for to fyght it out with fists. But neyther I am ryfeIn woordes, nor hee in deedes. For looke how farre I him excellIn battell and in feates of armes: so farre beares hee the bellFrom mee in talking. Neyther think I requisite to tellMy actes among you. You your selves have seene them verry well. But let Ulysses tell you his doone all in hudther mudther,And wherunto the only nyght is privy and none other.The pryse is great (I doo confesse) for which wee stryve. But yitIt is dishonour unto mee, for that in clayming itSo bace a persone standeth in contention for the same. To think it myne already, ought to counted bee no shameNor pryde in mee: although the thing of ryght great valew beeOf which Ulysses standes in hope. For now alreadye heeHath wonne the honour of this pryse, in that when he shall sitBesydes the cuishon, he may brag he strave with mee for it. And though I wanted valiantnesse, yit should nobiliteeMake with mee. I of Telamon am knowne the sonne to beeWho under valeant Hercules the walles of Troy did scale,And in the shippe of Pagasa to Colchos land did sayle.His father was that Aeacus whoo executeth ryght Among the ghostes where Sisyphus heaves up with all his myghtThe massye stone ay tumbling downe. The hyghest Jove of allAcknowledgeth this Aeacus, and dooth his sonne him call.Thus am I Ajax third from Jove. Yit let this Pedegree,O Achyves, in this case of myne avaylable not bee, Onlesse I proove it fully with Achylles to agree.He was my brother, and I clayme that was my brothers. WhyShouldst thou that art of Sisyphs blood, and for to filch and lyeExpressest him in every poynt, by foorged pedegreeAly thee to the Aeacyds, as though we did not see Thee to the house of Aeacus a straunger for to bee?And is it reason that you should this armour mee denyeBycause I former was in armes, and needed not a spyeTo fetch mee foorth? Or think you him more woorthye it to have,That came to warrefare hindermost, and feynd himself to rave, Bycause he would have shund the warre? untill a suttler headAnd more unprofitable for himself, sir Palamed,Escryde the crafty fetches of his fearefull hart, and drewHim foorth a warfare which he sought so cowardly to eschew?Must he now needes enjoy the best and richest armour, whoo Would none at all have worne onlesse he forced were thertoo?And I with shame bee put besyde my cousin germanes giftsBycause to shun the formest brunt of warres I sought no shifts?Would God this mischeef mayster had in verrye deede beene mad,Or else beleeved so to bee: and that wee never had Brought such a panion unto Troy. Then should not Paeans sonneIn Lemnos like an outlawe to the shame of all us wonne.Who lurking now (as men report) in woodes and caves, dooth moveThe verry flints with syghes and grones, and prayers to God aboveTo send Ulysses his desert. Which prayer (if there bee A God) must one day take effect. And now beehold how heeBy othe a Souldier of our Camp, yea and as well as weeA Capteine too, alas, (who was by Hercules assigndeTo have the keeping of his shafts,) with payne and hungar pynde,Is clad and fed with fowles, and dribs his arrowes up and downe At birds, which were by destinye preparde to stroy Troy towne.Yit liveth hee bycause hee is not still in companieWith sly Ulysses. Palamed that wretched knyght perdie,Would eeke he had abandond beene. For then should still the sameHave beene alyve: or at the least have dyde without our shame. But this companion bearing (ah) too well in wicked myndHis madnesse which sir Palamed by wisdome out did fynd,Appeached him of treason that he practysde to betrayThe Greekish hoste. And for to vouch the fact, he shewd streyght wayA masse of goold that he himself had hidden in his tent, And forged Letters which he feynd from Priam to bee sent.Thus eyther by his murthring men or else by banishmentAbateth hee the Greekish strength. This is Ulysses fyght.This is the feare he puttes men in. But though he had more mightThan Nestor hath, in eloquence he shal not compasse mee To think his leawd abandoning of Nestor for to beeNo fault: who beeing cast behynd by wounding of his horse,And slowe with age, with calling on Ulysses waxing hoarce,Was nerethelesse betrayd by him. Sir Diomed knowes this crymeIs unsurmysde. For he himselfe did at that present tymeRebuke him oftentymes by name, and feercely him upbraydWith flying from his fellowe so who stood in neede of ayd.With ryghtfull eyes dooth God behold the deedes of mortall men.Lo, he that helped not his freend wants help himself agen.And as he did forsake his freend in tyme of neede: so hee Did in the selfsame perrill fall forsaken for to bee.He made a rod to beat himself. He calld and cryed outUppon his fellowes. Streight I came: and there I saw the loutBothe quake and shake for feare of death, and looke as pale as clout.I set my sheeld betweene him and his foes, and him bestrid: And savde the dastards lyfe. Small prayse redoundes of that I did.But if thou wilt contend with mee, lets to the selfesame placeAgein: bee wounded as thou wart: and in the foresayd caseOf feare, beset about with foes: cowch underneath my sheeld:And then contend thou with mee there amid the open feeld. Howbee't, I had no sooner rid this champion of his foes,But where for woundes he scarce before could totter on his toes,He ran away apace, as though he nought at all did ayle.Anon commes Hector to the feeld and bringeth at his tayleThe Goddes. Not only thy hart there (Ulysses) did thee fayle, But even the stowtest courages and stomacks gan to quayle.So great a terrour brought he in. Yit in the midds of allHis bloody ruffe, I coapt with him, and with a foyling fallDid overthrowe him to the ground. Another tyme, when heeDid make a chalendge, you my Lordes by lot did choose out mee, And I did match him hand to hand. Your wisshes were not vayne.For if you aske mee what successe our combate did obteine,I came away unvanquished. Behold the men of TroyBrought fyre and swoord, and all the feendes our navye to destroy.And where was slye Ulysses then with all his talk so smooth? This brest of myne was fayne to fence your thousand shippes forsooth,The hope of your returning home. For saving that same daySo many shippes, this armour give. But (if that I shall sayThe truth) the greater honour now this armour beares away.And our renownes togither link. For (as of reason ought) An Ajax for this armour, not an armour now is soughtFor Ajax.

Let Dulychius match with theis, the horses whyghtOf Rhesus, dastard Dolon, and the coward carpetknyghtKing Priams Helen, and the stelth of Palladye by nyght.Of all theis things was nothing doone by day nor nothing wrought Without the helpe of Diomed. And therefore if yee thoughtTo give them to so small deserts, devyde the same, and letSir Diomed have the greater part. But what should Ithacus getAnd if he had them, who dooth all his matters in the dark,Who never weareth armour, who shootes ay at his owne mark To trappe his fo by stelth unwares? The very headpeece mayWith brightnesse of the glistring gold his privie feates bewrayAnd shew him lurking. Neyther well of force Dulychius wereThe weyght of great Achilles helme uppon his pate to weare.It cannot but a burthen bee (and that ryght great) to beare (With those same shrimpish armes of his) Achilles myghty speare.Agen his target graven with the whole huge world theronAgrees not with a fearefull hand, and cheefly such a oneAs taketh filching even by kynd. Thou Lozell, thou doost seekeA gift that will but weaken thee, which if the folk of Greeke Shall give thee through theyr oversyght, it will be unto theeOccasion, of thyne emnyes spoyld not feared for to bee,And flyght (wherein thou, coward, thou all others mayst outbrag)Will hindred bee when after thee such masses thou shalt drag.Moreover this thy sheeld that feeles so seeld the force of fyght Is sound. But myne is gasht and hakt and stricken thurrough quyghtA thousand tymes, with bearing blowes. And therfore myne must walkAnd put another in his stead. But what needes all this talk?Lets now bee seene another whyle what eche of us can doo.The thickest of our armed foes this armour throwe into, And bid us fetch the same fro thence. And which of us dooth fetchThe same away, reward yee him therewith. Thus farre did stretchThe woordes of Ajax. At the ende whereof there did ensewA muttring of the souldiers, till Laertis sonne the prewStood up, and raysed soberly his eyliddes from the ground (On which he had a little whyle them pitched in a stound)And looking on the noblemen who longd his woordes to heereHe thus began with comly grace and sober pleasant cheere:My Lordes, if my desyre and yours myght erst have taken place,It should not at this present tyme have beene a dowtfull cace, What person hath most ryght to this great pryse for which wee stryve.Achilles should his armour have, and wee still him alyve.Whom sith that cruell destinie to both of us denyes,(With that same woord as though he wept, he wypte his watry eyes)What wyght of reason rather ought to bee Achilles heyre,Than he through whom to this your camp Achilles did repayre?Alonly let it not avayle sir Ajax heere, that heeIs such a dolt and grossehead, as he shewes himself to beeNe let my wit (which ay hath done you good, O Greekes) hurt mee.But suffer this mine eloquence (such as it is) which now Dooth for his mayster speake, and oft ere this hath spoke for yow,Bee undisdeynd. Let none refuse his owne good gifts he brings.For as for stocke and auncetors, and other such like thingsWherof our selves no fownders are, I scarcely dare them grauntTo bee our owne. But forasmuch as Ajax makes his vaunt To bee the fowrth from Jove: even Jove the founder is alsoOf my house: and than fowre descents I am from him no mo.Laertes is my father, and Arcesius his, and heeBegotten was of Jupiter. And in this pedegreeIs neyther any damned soule, nor outlaw as yee see. Moreover by my moothers syde I come of Mercuree,Another honor to my house. Thus both by fathers sydeAnd moothers (as you may perceyve) I am to Goddes alyde.But neyther for bycause I am a better gentlemanThen Ajax by the moothers syde, nor that my father can Avouch himself ungiltye of his brothers blood, doo IThis armour clayme. Wey you the case by merits uprightly,Provyded no prerogatyve of birthryght Ajax beare,For that his father Telamon, and Peleus brothers were.Let only prowesse in this pryse the honour beare away. Or if the case on kinrid or on birthryght seeme to stay,His father Peleus is alive, and Pyrrhus eeke his sonne.What tytle then can Ajax make? This geere of ryght should wooneTo Phthya, or to Scyros Ile. And Tewcer is as wellAchilles uncle as is hee. Yit dooth not Tewcer mell. And if he did, should hee obteyne? Well, sith the cace dooth restOn tryall which of us can prove his dooings to bee best,I needes must say my deedes are mo than well I can expresse:Yit will I shew them orderly as neere as I can gesse.Foreknowing that her sonne should dye, the Lady Thetis hid Achilles in a maydes attyre. By which fyne slyght shee didAll men deceyve, and Ajax too. This armour in a packeWith other womens tryflyng toyes I caryed on my backe,A bayte to treyne a manly hart. Appareld like a maydAchilles tooke the speare and sheeld in hand, and with them playd. Then sayd I: O thou Goddesse sonne, why shouldst thou bee afraydTo raze great Troy, whoose overthrowe for thee is onely stayd?And laying hand uppon him I did send him (as you see)To valeant dooings meete for such a valeant man as hee.And therfore all the deedes of him are my deedes. I did wound King Teleph with his speare, and when he lay uppon the ground,I was intreated with the speare to heale him safe and sound.That Thebe lyeth overthrowne, is my deede. You must thinkI made the folk of Tenedos and Lesbos for to shrink.Both Chryse and Cillas, Phebus townes, and Scyros I did take. And my ryght hand Lyrnessus walles to ground did levell make.I gave you him that should confound (besydes a number mo)The valeant Hector. Hector, that our most renowmed fo,Is slayne by mee. This armour heere I sue agein to haveThis armour by the which I found Achilles. I it gave Achilles whyle he was alive: and now that he is goneI clayme it as myne owne agein. What tyme the greefe of oneHad perst the harts of all the Greekes, and that our thousand sayleAt Awlis by Ewboya stayd, bycause the wyndes did fayle,Continewing eyther none at all or cleene ageinst us long, And that our Agamemnon was by destnyes overstrongCommaunded for to sacrifyse his giltlesse daughter toDiana, which her father then refusing for to dooWas angry with the Godds themselves, and though he were a kingContinued also fatherlyke: by reason, I did bring His gentle nature to relent for publike profits sake.I must confesse (whereat his grace shall no displeasure take)Before a parciall judge I undertooke a ryght hard cace.Howbeeit for his brothers sake, and for the royall maceCommitted, and his peoples weale, at length he was content To purchace prayse wyth blood. Then was I to the moother sent,Who not perswaded was to bee, but compast with sum guyle.Had Ajax on this errand gone, our shippes had all this whyleLyne still there yit for want of wynd. Moreover I was sentTo Ilion as ambassadour. I boldly thither went, And entred and behilld the Court, wherin there was as thenGreat store of princes, Dukes, Lords, knyghts, and other valeant men.And yit I boldly nerethelesse my message did at largeThe which the whole estate of Greece had given mee erst in charge.I made complaint of Paris, and accusde him to his head. Demaunding restitution of Queene Helen that same stedAnd of the bootye with her tane. Both Priamus the kingAnd eeke Antenor his alye the woordes of mee did sting.And Paris and his brothers, and the resdew of his trayneThat under him had made the spoyle, could hard and scarce refrayne There wicked hands. You, Menelay, doo know I doo not feyne.And that day was the first in which wee joyntly gan susteyneA tast of perrills, store whereof did then behind remayne.

It would bee overlong to tell eche profitable thingThat during this long lasting warre I well to passe did bring, By force as well as pollycie. For after that the furstEncounter once was overpast, our emnyes never durstGive battell in the open feeld, but hild themselves withinTheyr walles and bulwarks till the tyme the tenth yeere did begin,Now what didst thou of all that whyle, that canst doo nought but streeke? Or to what purpose servedst thou? For if thou my deedes seeke,I practysd sundry pollycies to trappe our foes unware:I fortifyde our Camp with trench which heretofore lay bare:I hartned our companions with a quiet mynd to beareThe longnesse of the weery warre: I taught us how wee were Bothe to bee fed and furnished: and to and fro I wentTo places where the Counsell thought most meete I should bee sent.Behold the king deceyved in his dreame by false pretenceOf Joves commaundement, bade us rayse our seedge and get us hence.The author of his dooing so may well bee his defence. Now Ajax should have letted this, and calld them backe ageineTo sacke the towne of Troy. He should have fought with myght and maine.Why did he not restreyne them when they ready were to go?Why tooke he not his swoord in hand? why gave he not as thoSum counsell for the fleeting folk to follow at the brunt? In fayth it had a tryfle beene to him that ay is woontSuch vaunting in his mouth to have. But he himself did flyAs well as others. I did see, and was ashamed, I,To see thee when thou fledst, and didst prepare so cowardlyTo sayle away. And thereuppon I thus aloud did cry: What meene yee, sirs? what madnesse dooth you move to go to shippeAnd suffer Troy as good as tane, thus out of hand to slippe?What else this tenth yeere beare yee home than shame? with such like woordAnd other, (which the eloquence of sorrowe did avoord,)I brought them from theyr flying shippes. Then Agamemnon calld Toogither all the capteines who with feare were yit appalld.But Ajax durst not then once creake. Yit durst Thersites beeSo bold as rayle uppon the kings, and he was payd by meeFor playing so the sawcye Jacke. Then stood I on my toesAnd to my fearefull countrymen gave hart ageinst theyr foes. And shed new courage in theyr mynds through talk that fro mee goes.From that tyme foorth what ever thing hath valeantly atcheevedBy this good fellow beene, is myne, whoo him from flyght repreeved.And now to touche thee: which of all the Greekes commendeth thee?Or seeketh thee? But Diomed communicates with mee His dooings, and alloweth mee, and thinkes him well apaydTo have Ulysses ever as companion at the brayd.And sumwhat woorth you will it graunt (I trow) alone for meeOut of so many thousand Greekes by Diomed pikt to bee.No lot compelled mee to go, and yit I setting lyght As well the perrill of my foes as daunger of the nyght,Killd Dolon who about the selfsame feate that nyght did stray,That wee went out for. But I first compelld him to bewrayAll things concerning faythlesse Troy, and what it went about.When all was learnd, and nothing left behynd to harken out, I myght have then come home with prayse. I was not so content.Proceeding further to the Camp of Rhesus streyght I went,And killed bothe himself and all his men about his tent.And taking bothe his chariot and his horses which were whyght,Returned home in tryumph like a conquerour from fyght. Denye you mee the armour of the man whoose steedes the foRequyred for his playing of the spye a nyght, and soMay Ajax bee more kynd to mee than you are. What should IDeclare unto you how my sword did waste ryght valeantlySarpedons hoste of Lycia? I by force did overthrowe Alastor, Crome, and Ceranos, and Haly on a rowe.Alcander, and Noemon too, and Prytanis besyde,And Thoon and Theridamas, and Charops also dydeBy mee, and so did Ewnomos enforst by cruell fate.And many mo in syght of Troy I slew of bacer state. There also are (O countrymen) about mee woundings, whichThe place of them make beawtyfull. See heere (his hand did twichHis shirt asyde) and credit not vayne woordes. Lo heere the bristThat alwayes to bee one in your affayres hath never mist.And yit of all this whyle no droppe of blood hath Ajax spent Uppon his fellowes. Woundlesse is his body and unrent.But what skills that, as long as he is able for to vauntHe fought against bothe Troy and Jove to save our fleete? I grauntHe did so. For I am not of such nature as of spyghtWell dooings to deface: so that he chalendge not the ryght Of all men to himself alone, and that he yeeld to meeSum share, whoo of the honour looke a partener for to bee.Patroclus also having on Achilles armour, sentThe Trojans and theyr leader hence, to burne our navye bent.And yit thinks hee that none durst meete with Hector saving hee, Forgetting bothe the king, and eeke his brother, yea and mee.Where hee himself was but the nyneth, appoynted by the king,And by the fortune of his lot preferd to doo the thing.But now for all your valeantnesse, what Issue had I prayYour combate? Shall I tell? Forsoothe, that Hector went his way And had no harme. Now wo is mee how greeveth it my hartTo think uppon that season when the bulwark of our partAchilles dyde. When neyther teares, nor greef, nor feare could makeMee for to stay, but that uppon theis shoulders I did take,I say uppon theis shoulders I Achilles body tooke, And this same armour claspt theron, which now to weare I looke.Sufficient strength I have to beare as great a weyght as this,And eeke a hart wherein regard of honour rooted is.Think you that Thetis for her sonne so instantly besoughtSir Vulcane this same heavenly gift to give her, which is wrought With such exceeding cunning, to th'entent a souldier thatHath neyther wit nor knowledge should it weare? He knowes not whatThe things ingraven on the sheeld doo meene. Of Ocean se,Of land, of heaven, and of the starres no skill at all hath he.The Beare that never dyves in sea he dooth not understand, The Pleyads, nor the Hyads, nor the cities that doo standUppon the earth, nor yit the swoord that Orion holdes in hand.He seekes to have an armour of the which he hath no skill.And yit in fynding fault with mee bycause I had no willTo follow this same paynfull warre and sought to shonne the same, And made it sumwhat longer tyme before I thither came,He sees not how hee speakes reproch to stout Achilles name.For if to have dissembled in this case, yee count a cryme,Wee both offenders bee. Or if protracting of the tymeYee count blame woorthye, yit was I the tymelyer of us twayne. Achilles loving moother him, my wyfe did mee deteyne.The former tyme was given to them, the rest was given to yow.And therefore doo I little passe although I could not nowDefend my fault, sith such a man of prowesse, birth and fameAs was Achilles, was with mee offender in the same. But yit was he espyed by Ulysses wit, but natUlysses by sir Ajax wit. And lest yee woonder atThe rayling of this foolish dolt at mee, hee dooth objectReproche to you. For if that I offended to detectSir Palamed of forged fault, could you without your shame Arreyne him, and condemne him eeke to suffer for the same?But neyther could sir Palamed excuse him of the crymeSo heynous and so manifest: and you your selves that tymeNot onely his indytement heard, but also did beholdHis deed avowched to his face by bringing in the gold.

And as for Philoctetes, that he is in Lemnos, IDeserve not to bee toucht therwith. Defend your cryme: for whyYou all consented therunto. Yit doo I not denye,But that I gave the counsell to convey him out of wayFrom toyle of warre and travell that by rest he myght assay To ease the greatnesse of his peynes. He did thereto obeyAnd by so dooing is alyve. Not only faythfull wasThis counsell that I gave the man, but also happye, asThe good successe hath shewed since. Whom sith the destnyes dooRequyre in overthrowing Troy, appoynt not mee thertoo: But let sir Ajax rather go. For he with eloquenceOr by some suttle pollycie, shall bring the man fro thenceAnd pacyfie him raging through disease, and wrathfull ire.Nay, first the river Simois shall to his spring retyre,And mountaine Ida shall theron have stonding never a tree, Yea and the faythlesse towne of Troy by Greekes shall reskewd bee,Before that Ajax blockish wit shall aught at all avayle,When my attempts and practyses in your affayres doo fayle.For though thou, Philoctetes, with the king offended bee,And with thy fellowes everychone, and most of all with mee, Although thou cursse and ban mee to the hellish pit for ay,And wisshest in thy payne that I by chaunce myght crosse thy way,Of purpose for to draw my blood: yit will I give assayTo fetch thee hither once ageine. And (if that fortune sayAmen,) I will as well have thee and eeke thyne arrowes, as I have the Trojane prophet whoo by mee surprysed was,Or as I did the Oracles and Trojane fates disclose,Or as I from her chappell through the thickest of her foesThe Phrygian Pallads image fetcht: and yit dooth Ajax stillCompare himself with mee. Yee knowe it was the destinyes will That Troy should never taken bee by any force, untillThis Image first were got. And where was then our valeant knightSir Ajax? Where the stately woordes of such a hardy wyght?Why feareth hee? Why dares Ulysses ventring through the watchCommit his persone to the nyght his buysnesse to dispatch? And through the pykes not only for to passe the garded wallBut also for to enter to the strongest towre of allAnd for to take the Idoll from her Chappell and her shryneAnd beare her thence amid his foes? For had this deede of myneBeene left undoone, in vayne his sheeld of Oxen hydes seven fold Should yit the Sonne of Telamon have in his left hand hold.That nyght subdewed I Troy towne. That nyght did I it win,And opened it for you likewyse with ease to enter in.Cease to upbrayd mee by theis lookes and mumbling woordes of thyneWith Diomed: his prayse is in this fact as well as myne. And thou thy selfe when for our shippes thou diddest in reskew stand,Wart not alone: the multitude were helping thee at hand.I had but only one with mee. Whoo (if he had not thoughtA wyseman better than a strong, and that preferment oughtNot alway followe force of hand) would now himself have sought This Armour. So would toother Ajax better stayed doo,And feerce Ewrypyle, and the sonne of hault Andremon too.No lesse myght eeke Idominey, and eeke Meriones,His countryman, and Menelay. For every one of theseAre valeant men of hand, and not inferior unto thee In martiall feates. And yit they are contented rulde to beeBy myne advyce. Thou hast a hand that serveth well in fyght.Thou hast a wit that stands in neede of my direction ryght.Thy force is witlesse. I have care of that that may ensew.Thou well canst fyght: the king dooth choose the tymes for fyghting dew By myne advyce. Thou only with thy body canst avayle.But I with bodye and with mynd to profite doo not fayle,And looke how much the mayster dooth excell the gally slave,Or looke how much preheminence the Capteine ought to haveAbove his souldyer: even so much excell I also thee.A wit farre passing strength of hand inclosed is in mee.In wit rests cheefly all my force. My Lordes, I pray bestoweThis gift on him who ay hath beene your watchman as yee knowe.And for my tenne yeeres cark and care endured for your sakeFull recompence for my deserts with this same honour make. Our labour draweth to an end, all lets are now by meeDispatched. And by bringing Troy in cace to taken beeI have already taken it. Now by the hope that yeeConceyve, within a whyle of Troy the mine for to see,And by the Goddes of whom alate our emnyes I bereft, And as by wisedome to bee doone yit any thing is left,If any bold aventrous deede, or any perlous thing,That asketh hazard both of lyfe and limb to passe to bring,Or if yee think of Trojane fates there yit dooth ought remayne,Remember mee. Or if from mee this armour you restrayne,Bestowe it on this same. With that he shewed with his handMinervas fatall image, which hard by in syght did stand.The Lords were moved with his woordes, and then appeared playneThe force that is in eloquence. The lerned man did gayneThe armour of the valeant. He that did so oft susteine Alone both fyre, and swoord, and Jove, and Hector could not bydeOne brunt of wrath. And whom no force could vanquish ere that tyde,Now only anguish overcommes. He drawes his swoord and sayes:Well: this is myne yit. Unto this no clayme Ulysses layes.This must I use ageinst myself: this blade that heretofore Hath bathed beene in Trojane blood, must now his mayster goreThat none may Ajax overcome save Ajax. With that woordInto his brest (not wounded erst) he thrust his deathfull swoord.His hand to pull it out ageine unable was. The bloodDid spout it out. Anon the ground bestayned where he stood, Did breede the pretye purple flowre uppon a clowre of greene,Which of the wound of Hyacinth had erst engendred beene.The selfsame letters eeke that for the chyld were written than,Were now againe amid the flowre new written for the man.The former tyme complaynt, the last a name did represent.

Ulysses, having wonne the pryse, within a whyle was sentTo Thoants and Hysiphiles realme, the land defamde of oldFor murthering all the men therin by women over bold.At length attayning land and lucke according to his mynd,To carry Hercles arrowes backe he set his sayles to wynd. Which when he with the lord of them among the Greekes had brought,And of the cruell warre at length the utmost feate had wrought,At once both Troy and Priam fell. And Priams wretched wifeLost (after all) her womans shape, and barked all her lyfeIn forreine countrye. In the place that bringeth to a streight The long spred sea of Hellespont, did Ilion burne in height.The kindled fyre with blazing flame continewed unalayd,And Priam with his aged blood Joves Altar had berayd.And Phebus preestesse casting up her handes to heaven on hye,Was dragd and haled by the heare. The Grayes most spyghtfully (As eche of them had prisoners tane in meede of victorye)Did drawe the Trojane wyves away, who lingring whyle they moughtAmong the burning temples of theyr Goddes, did hang aboutTheyr sacred shrynes and images. Astyanax downe was castFrom that same turret from the which his moother in tyme past Had shewed him his father stand oft fyghting to defendHimself and that same famous realme of Troy that did descendFrom many noble auncetors. And now the northerne wyndWith prosperous blasts, to get them thence did put the Greekes in mynd.The shipmen went aboord, and hoyst up sayles, and made fro thence. Adeew deere Troy (the women cryde), wee haled are from hence.And therwithall they kist the ground, and left yit smoking stillTheyr native houses. Last of all tooke shippe ageinst her willQueene Hecub: who (a piteous cace to see) was found amidThe tumbes in which her sonnes were layd. And there as Hecub did Embrace theyr chists and kisse theyr bones, Ulysses voyd of careDid pull her thence. Yit raught shee up, and in her boosom bareAway a crum of Hectors dust, and left on Hectors graveHer hory heares and teares, which for poore offrings shee him gave.Ageinst the place where Ilion was, there is another land Manured by the Biston men. In this same Realme did standKing Polemnestors palace riche, to whom king Priam sentHis little infant Polydore to foster, to th'ententHe might bee out of daunger from the warres: wherin he mentRyght wysely, had he not with him great riches sent, a bayt To stirre a wicked covetous mynd to treason and deceyt.For when the state of Troy decayd, the wicked king of ThraceDid cut his nurcechylds weazant, and (as though the sinfull caceToogither with the body could have quyght beene put away)He threw him also in the sea. It happened by the way, That Agamemnon was compeld with all his fleete to stayUppon the coast of Thrace, untill the sea were wexen calme,And till the hideous stormes did cease, and furious wynds were falne.Heere rysing gastly from the ground which farre about him brake,Achilles with a threatning looke did like resemblance make As when at Agamemnon he his wrongfull swoord did shake,And sayd: Unmyndfull part yee hence of mee, O Greekes, and mustMy merits thanklesse thus with mee be buryed in the dust?Nay, doo not so. But to th'entent my death dew honour have,Let Polyxene in sacrifyse bee slayne uppon my grave.Thus much he sayd: and shortly his companions dooing asBy vision of his cruell ghost commaundment given them was,Did fetch her from her mothers lappe, whom at that tyme, well neere,In that most great adversitie alonly shee did cheere.The haultye and unhappye mayd, and rather to bee thought A man than woman, to the tumb with cruell hands was brought,To make a cursed sacrifyse. Whoo mynding constantlyHer honour, when shee standing at the Altar prest to dye,Perceyvd the savage ceremonies in making ready, andThe cruell Neoptolemus with naked swoord in hand Stand staring with ungentle eyes uppon her gentle face,She sayd: Now use thou when thou wilt my gentle blood. The caceRequyres no more delay. Bestow thy weapon in my chest,Or in my throte: (in saying so shee proferred bare her brest,And eeke her throte). Assure your selves it never shalbee seene, That any wyght shall (by my will) have slave of Polyxeene.Howbee't with such a sacrifyse no God yee can delyght.I would desyre no more but that my wretched moother myghtBee ignorant of this my death. My moother hindreth mee,And makes the pleasure of my death much lesser for to bee. Howbeeit not the death of mee should justly greeve her hart:But her owne lyfe. Now to th'entent I freely may departTo Limbo, stand yee men aloof: and sith I aske but ryghtForebeare to touch mee. So my blood unsteyned in his syghtShall farre more acceptable been what ever wyght he bee Whom you prepare to pacifye by sacrifysing mee.Yit (if that these last woordes of myne may purchace any grace),I, daughter of king Priam erst, and now in prisoners cace,Beeseeche you all unraunsomed to render to my mootherMy bodye: and for buriall of the same to take none other Reward than teares: for whyle shee could shee did redeeme with gold.This sayd: the teares that shee forbare the people could not hold.And even the verry preest himself full sore ageinst his willAnd weeping, thrust her through the brest which she hild stoutly still.Shee sinking softly to the ground with faynting legges, did beare Even to the verry latter gasp a countnance voyd of feare.And when shee fell, shee had a care such parts of her to hyde,As womanhod and chastitie forbiddeth to be spyde.The Trojane women tooke her up, and moorning reckenedKing Priams children, and what blood that house alone had shed. They syghde for fayer Polyxeene: they syghed eeke for theeWho late wart Priams wyfe, whoo late wart counted for to beeThe flowre of Asia in his flowre, and Queene of moothers all:But now the bootye of the fo as evill lot did fall,And such a bootye as the sly Ulysses did not passeUppon her, saving that erewhyle shee Hectors moother was.So hardly for his moother could a mayster Hector fynd.Embracing in her aged armes the bodye of the myndThat was so stout, shee powrd theron with sobbing syghes unsoftThe teares that for her husband and her children had so oft And for her countrye sheaded beene. Shee weeped in her woundAnd kist her pretye mouth, and made her brist with shrekes to sound,According to her woonted guyse, and in the jellyed bloodBeerayed all her grisild heare, and in a sorrowfull moodSayd theis and many other woordes with brest bescratcht and rent:

O daughter myne, the last for whom thy moother may lament,(For what remaynes?) O daughter, thou art dead and gone. I seeThy wound which at the verry hart strikes mee as well as thee.And lest that any one of myne unwounded should depart,Thou also gotten hast a wound. Howbee't bycause thou wart A woman, I beleeved thee from weapon to bee free.But notwithstanding that thou art a woman, I doo seeThee slayne by swoord. Even he that kild thy brothers killeth thee,Achilles, the decay of Troy and maker bare of mee.What tyme that he of Paris shaft by Phebus meanes was slayne, I sayd of feerce Achilles now no feare dooth more remayne.But then, even then he most of all was feared for to bee.The asshes of him rageth still ageinst our race I see.Wee feele an emny of him dead and buryed in his grave.To feede Achilles furie, I a frutefull issue gave. Great Troy lyes under foote, and with a ryght great greevous fallThe mischeeves of the common weale are fully ended all.But though to others Troy be gone, yit standes it still to mee:My sorrowes ronne as fresh a race as ever and as free.I late ago a sovereine state, advaunced with such storeOf daughters, sonnes, and sonneinlawes, and husband over moreAnd daughtrinlawes, am caryed like an outlawe bare and poore,By force and violence haled from my childrens tumbes, to beePresented to Penelope a gift, who shewing meeIn spinning my appoynted taske, shall say: This same is shee That was sumtyme king Priams wyfe, this was the famous mootherOf Hector. And now after losse of such a sort of other,Thou (whoo alonly in my greefe my comfort didst remayne,)To pacifye our emnyes wrath uppon his tumb art slayne.Thus bare I deathgyfts for my foes. To what intent am I Most wretched wyght remayning still? Why doo I linger? WhyDooth hurtfull age preserve mee still alive? To what intent,Yee cruell Goddes, reserve yee mee that hath already spentToo manye yeeres, onlesse it bee new buryalls for to see?And whoo would think that Priamus myght happy counted bee Sith Troy is razed? Happy man is hee in being dead.His lyfe and kingdoome he forwent toogither: and this steadHe sees not thee, his daughter, slaine. But peradventure thouShall like the daughter of a king have sumptuous buryall now,And with thy noble auncetors thy bodye layd shall bee. Our linage hath not so good lucke. The most that shall to theeBee yeelded are thy moothers teares, and in this forreine landTo hyde thy murthered corce withall a little heape of sand.For all is lost. Nay yit remaynes (for whome I well can fyndIn hart to live a little whyle) an imp unto my mynd Most deere, now only left alone, sumtyme of many moThe yoongest, little Polydore, delivered late agoTo Polemnestor, king of Thrace, whoo dwelles within theis bounds.But wherefore doo I stay so long in wasshing of her wounds,And face berayd with gory blood? In saying thus, shee went To seaward with an aged pace and hory heare beerent.And (wretched woman) as shee calld for pitchers for to draweUp water, shee of Polydore on shore the carkesse sawe,And eeke the myghty wounds at which the Tyrants swoord went thurrow.The Trojane Ladyes shreeked out. But shee was dumb for sorrow. The anguish of her hart forclosde as well her speech as eekeHer teares devowring them within. Shee stood astonyed leekeAs if shee had beene stone. One whyle the ground shee staard uppon.Another whyle a gastly looke shee kest to heaven. AnonShee looked on the face of him that lay before her killd. Sumtymes his woundes, (his woundes I say) shee specially behilld.And therwithall shee armd her selfe and furnisht her with ire:Wherethrough as soone as that her hart was fully set on fyre,As though shee still had beene a Queene, to vengeance shee her bentEnforcing all her witts to fynd some kynd of ponnishment. And as a Lyon robbed of her whelpes becommeth wood,And taking on the footing of her emnye where hee stood,Purseweth him though out of syght: even so Queene Hecubee(Now having meynt her teares with wrath) forgetting quyght that sheeWas old, but not her princely hart, to Polemnestor went The cursed murtherer, and desyrde his presence to th'ententTo shew to him a masse of gold (so made shee her pretence)Which for her lyttle Polydore was hid not farre from thence.The Thracian king beleeving her, as eager of the pray,Went with her to a secret place. And as they there did stay, With flattring and deceytfull toong he thus to her did say:Make speede I prey thee, Hecuba, and give thy sonne this gold.I sweare by God it shall bee his, as well that I doo holdAlready, as that thou shalt give. Uppon him speaking so,And swearing and forswearing too, shee looked sternely tho, And beeing sore inflaamd with wrath, caught hold uppon him, andStreyght calling out for succor to the wyves of Troy at handDid in the traytors face bestowe her nayles, and scratched outHis eyes, her anger gave her hart and made her strong and stout.Shee thrust her fingars in as farre as could bee, and did bore Not now his eyes (for why his eyes were pulled out before)But bothe the places of the eyes berayd with wicked blood.The Thracians at theyr Tyrannes harme for anger wexing wood,Began to scare the Trojane wyves with darts and stones. AnonQueene Hecub ronning at a stone, with gnarring seazd theron, And wirryed it beetweene her teeth. And as shee opte her chappeTo speake, in stead of speeche shee barkt. The place of this missehappeRemayneth still, and of the thing there done beares yit the name.Long myndfull of her former illes, shee sadly for the sameWent howling in the feeldes of Thrace. Her fortune moved not Her Trojans only, but the Greekes her foes to ruthe: her lotDid move even all the Goddes to ruthe: and so effectually,That Hecub to deserve such end even Juno did denye.

Although the Morning of the selfsame warres had favorer beene:Shee had no leysure to lament the fortune of the Queene, Nor on the slaughters and the fall of Ilion for to think.A household care more neerer home did in her stomacke sink,For Memnon her beloved sonne, whom dying shee behildUppon the feerce Achilles speare amid the Phrygian feeld.She saw it, and her ruddy hew with which shee woonted was To dye the breaking of the day, did into palenesse passe:And all the skye was hid with clowdes. But when his corce was goneTo burningward, shee could not fynd in hart to looke theron:But with her heare about her eares shee kneeled downe beforeThe myghtye Jove, and thus gan speake unto him weeping sore: Of al that have theyr dwelling place uppon the golden skyeThe lowest (for through all the world the feawest shrynes have I)But yit a Goddesse, I doo come, not that thou shouldst decreeThat Altars, shrynes, and holydayes bee made to honour mee.Yit if thou marke how much that I a woman doo for thee, In keeping nyght within her boundes, by bringing in the light,Thou well mayst thinke mee worthy sum reward to clayme of ryght.But neyther now is that the thing the Morning cares to have,Ne yit her state is such as now dew honour for to crave.Bereft of my deere Memnon who in fyghting valeantly To help his uncle, (so it was your will, O Goddes) did dyeOf stout Achilles sturdye speare even in his flowring pryme,I sue to thee, O king of Goddes, to doo him at this tymeSum honour as a comfort of his death, and ease this hartOf myne which greatly greeved is with wound of percing smart. No sooner Jove hadgraunted dame Aurora her desyreBut that the flame of Memnons corce that burned in the fyreDid fall: and flaky rolles of smoke did dark the day, as whenA foggy mist steames upward from a River or a fen,And suffreth not the Sonne to shyne within it. Blacke as cole The cinder rose: and into one round lump assembling wholeGrew grosse, and tooke bothe shape and hew. The fyre did lyfe it send,The lyghtnesse of the substance self did wings unto it lend.And at the first it flittred like a bird: and by and byIt flew a fethered bird in deede. And with that one gan fly Innumerable mo of selfsame brood: whoo once or twyceDid sore about the fyre, and made a piteous shreeking thryce.The fowrth tyme in theyr flying round, themselves they all withdrewIn battells twayne, and feercely foorth of eyther syde one flewTo fyght a combate. With theyr billes and hooked talants keene And with theyr wings couragiously they wreakt theyr wrathfull teene.And myndfull of the valeant man of whom they issued beene,They never ceased jobbing eche uppon the others brest,Untill they falling both downe dead with fyghting overprest,Had offred up theyr bodyes as a woorthy sacrifyse Unto theyr cousin Memnon who to Asshes burned lyes.Theis soodeine birds were named of the founder of theyr stocke:For men doo call them Memnons birds. And every yeere a flockeRepayre to Memnons tumb, where twoo doo in the foresayd wyseIn manner of a yeeremynd slea themselves in sacrifyse. Thus where as others did lament that Dymants daughter barkt,Auroras owne greef busyed her, that smally shee it marktWhich thing shee to this present tyme with piteous teares dooth shewe:For through the universall world shee sheadeth moysting deawe.

Yit suffred not the destinyes all hope to perrish quyght Togither with the towne of Troy. That good and godly knyghtThe sonne of Venus bare away by nyght uppon his backeHis aged father and his Goddes, an honorable packe.Of all the riches of the towne that only pray he chose,So godly was his mynd: and like a bannisht man he goes By water with his owne yoong sonne Ascanius from the IleAntandros, and he shonnes the shore of Thracia which ere whyleThe wicked Tyrants treason did with Polydores blood defyle.And having wynd and tyde at will, he saufly wyth his trayneArryved at Apollos towne where Anius then did reigne.Whoo being both Apollos preest and of that place the king,Did enterteyne him in his house and unto church him bring,And shewd him bothe the Citie and the temples knowen of old,And eeke the sacred trees by which Latona once tooke holdWhen shee of chyldbirth travailed. As soone as sacrifyse Was doone with Oxens inwards burnt according to the guyse,And casting incence in the fyre, and sheading wyne thereon,They joyfull to the court returnd, and there they took anonRepaste of meate and drink. Then sayd the good Anchyses this:O Phebus, sovereine preest, onlesse I take my markes amisse, (As I remember) when I first of all this towne did see,Fowre daughters and a sonne of thyne thou haddest heere with thee.King Anius shooke his head wheron he ware a myter whyght,And answerd thus: O noble prince, in fayth thou gessest ryght.Of children fyve a father then, thou diddest mee behold, Whoo now (with such unconstancie are mortall matters rolld)Am in a manner chyldlesse quyght. For what avayles my sonneWho in the Ile of Anderland a great way hence dooth wonne?Which country takes his name of him, and in the selfsayd place,In stead of father, like a king he holdes the royall mace.Apollo gave his lot to him: and Bacchus for to showeHis love, a greater gift uppon his susters did bestoweThen could bee wisht or credited. For whatsoever theyDid towche, was turned into come, and wyne, and oyle streyghtway.And so theyr was riche use in them. As soone as that the fame Hereof to Agamemnons eares, the scourge of Trojans, came,Lest you myght tast your stormes alone and wee not feele the sameIn part, an hoste he hither sent, and whither I would or noDid take them from mee, forcing them among the Greekes to goTo feede the Greekish army with theyr heavenly gift. But they Escapde whither they could by flyght. A couple tooke theyr wayTo Ile Ewboya: tother two to Anderland did fly,Theyr brothers Realme. An host of men pursewd them by and by,And threatened warre onlesse they were deliverde. Force of feareSubdewing nature, did constreyne the brother (men must beare With fearfulnesse) to render up his susters to theyr fo.For neyther was Aenaeas there, nor valeant Hector (whoDid make your warre last ten yeeres long) the countrye to defend.Now when they should like prisoners have beene fettred, in the endThey casting up theyr handes (which yit were free) to heaven, did cry To Bacchus for to succour them, who helpt them by and by,At leastwyse if it may bee termd a help, in woondrous wyseTo alter folke. For never could I lerne ne can surmyseThe manner how they lost theyr shape. The thing it selfe is knowen.With fethered wings as whyght as snow they quyght away are flowen Transformed into doovehouse dooves, thy wyfe dame Venus burdes.When that the time of meate was spent with theis and such like woordes,The table was removed streyght, and then they went to sleepe.Next morrow rysing up as soone as day began to peepe,They went to Phebus Oracle, which willed them to go Unto theyr moother countrey and the coastes theyr stocke came fro.King Anius bare them companie. And when away they shoold,He gave them gifts. Anchises had a scepter all of goold.Ascanius had a quiver and a Cloke right brave and trim.Aenaeas had a standing Cup presented unto him. The Thebane Therses whoo had been king Anius guest erewhyleDid send it out of Thessaly: but Alcon one of MyleDid make the cuppe. And hee theron a story portrayd out.It was a Citie with seven gates in circuit round about,Which men myght easly all discerne. The gates did represent The Cities name, and showed playne what towne thereby was ment.Without the towne were funeralls a dooing for the dead,With herces, tapers, fyres, and tumbes. The wyves with ruffled headAnd stomacks bare pretended greef. The nymphes seemd teares to shead,And wayle the drying of theyr welles. The leavelesse trees did seare. And licking on the parched stones Goats romed heere and there.Behold amid this Thebane towne was lyvely portrayd outEchions daughters twayne, of which the one with courage stoutDid prefer bothe her naked throte and stomacke to the knyfe:And tother with a manly hart did also spend her lyfe, For saufgard of her countryfolk: and how that therupponThey both were caryed solemly on herces, and anonWere burned in the cheefest place of all the Thebane towne.Then (least theyr linage should decay whoo dyde with such renowne,)Out of the Asshes of the maydes there issued twoo yong men, And they unto theyr moothers dust did obsequies agen.Thus much was graved curiously in auncient precious brasse,And on the brim a trayle of flowres of bearbrich gilded was.The Trojans also gave to him as costly giftes agen.Bycause he was Apollos preest they gave to him as then A Chist to keepe in frankincence. They gave him furthermoreA Crowne of gold wherin were set of precious stones great store.

Then calling to remembrance that the Trojans issued wereOf Tewcers blood, they sayld to Crete. But long they could not thereAbyde th'infection of the aire: and so they did forsake The hundred Cities, and with speede to Itayleward did make.The winter wexed hard and rough, and tost them verry sore.And when theyr shippes arrived were uppon the perlous shoreAmong the Strophad Iles, the bird Aello did them feare.The costes of Dulich, Ithaca, and Same they passed were, And eeke the Court of Neritus where wyse Ulysses reignd,And came to Ambrace for the which the Gods strong stryfe maynteind.There sawe they turned into stone the judge whoose image yitAt Actium in Appollos Church in signe therof dooth sit.They vewed also Dodon grove where Okes spake: and the coast Of Chaon where the sonnes of king Molossus scapt a mostUngracious fyre by taking wings. From thence they coasted byThe countrye of the Pheaks fraught with frute abundantly.Then tooke they land in Epyre, and to Buthrotos they wentWheras the Trojane prophet dwelt, whoose reigne did represent An image of theyr auncient Troy. There being certifydeOf things to come by Helen (whoo whyle there they did abydeInformed them ryght faythfully of all that should betyde)They passed into Sicilie. With corners three this landShootes out into the Sea: of which Pachinnus front dooth stand Ageinst the southcoast: Lilibye dooth face the gentle west,And Pelore unto Charlsis wayne dooth northward beare his brest.The Trojanes under Pelore gat with ores and prosprous tydesAnd in the even by Zanclye shore theyr fleete at anchor rydes.Uppon the left syde restlessely Charybdis ay dooth beate them, And swalloweth shippes and spewes them up as fast as it dooth eate them.And Scylla beateth on theyr ryght: which from the navell downeIs patched up with cruell curres: and upward to the crowneDooth keepe the countnance of a mayd, and (if that all bee trewThat Poets fayne) shee was sumtyme a mayd ryght fayre of hew. To her made many wooers sute: all which shee did eschew.And going to the salt Sea nymphes (to whom shee was ryght deere)She vaunted, to how many men shee gave the slippe that yeere.To whom the Lady Galate in kembing of her heareSayd thus with syghes: But they that sought to thee (O Lady) were None other than of humane kynd, to whom without all feareOf harme, thou myghtest (as thou doost) give nay. But as for meeAlthough that I of Nereus and gray Doris daughter bee,And of my susters have with mee continually a gard,I could not scape the Cyclops love, but to my greef full hard. (With that her teares did stoppe her speeche.) As soone as that the maydHad dryde them with her marble thomb, and moande the nymph, she sayd:Deere Goddesse, tell mee all your greef, and hyde it not from mee:For trust mee, I will unto you bothe true and secret bee.Then unto Cratyes daughter thus the nymph her playnt did frame:

Of Fawne and nymph Simethis borne was Acis, whoo becameA joy to bothe his parents, but to mee the greater joy.For being but a sixteene yeeres of age, this fayre sweete boyDid take mee to his love, what tyme about his chyldish chinThe tender heare like mossy downe to sprowt did first begin.I loved him beyond all Goddes forbod, and likewyse meeThe Giant Cyclops. Neyther (if demaunded it should bee)I well were able for to tell you whither that the loveOf Acis, or the Cyclops hate did more my stomacke move.There was no oddes betweene them. Oh deere Goddesse Venus, whatA powre haste thou? Behold how even this owgly Giant thatNo sparke of meekenesse in him hath, whoo is a terrour toThe verrye woodes, whom never guest nor straunger came untoWithout displeasure, whoo the heavens and all the Goddes despyseth,Dooth feele what thing is love. The love of mee him so surpryseth, That Polypheme regarding not his sheepe and hollowe Cave,And having care to please dooth go about to make him brave.His sturre stiffe heare he kembeth nowe with strong and sturdy rakes,And with a sythe dooth marcussotte his bristled berd: and takesDelyght to looke uppon himself in waters, and to frame His countnance. Of his murtherous hart the wyldnesse wexeth tame.His unastaunched thyrst of blood is quenched: shippes may passeAnd repasse saufly. In the whyle that he in love thus was,One Telemus, Ewrymeds sonne, a man of passing skillIn birdflyght, taking land that tyme in Sicill, went untill The orped Gyant Polypheme, and sayd: This one round eyeThat now amid thy forehead stands shall one day ere thou dyeBy sly Ulysses blinded bee. The Gyant laught therat,And sayd: O foolish soothsayre, thou deceyved art in that.For why another (even a wench) already hathe it blynded. Thus skorning him that told him truthe bycause he was hygh mynded,He eyther made the ground to shake in walking on the shore,Or rowzd him in his shadye Cave. With wedged poynt beforeThere shoots a hill into the Sea: whereof the sea dooth beateOn eyther syde. The one eyd feend came up and made his seate Theron, and after came his sheepe undriven. As soone as heeHad at his foote layd downe his staffe which was a whole Pyne treeWell able for to bee a maast to any shippe, he takesHis pype compact of fyvescore reedes, and therwithall he makesSo loud a noyse that all the hilles and waters therabout Myght easly heere the shirlnesse of the shepeherds whistling out.I lying underneathe the rocke, and leaning in the lappeOf Acis markt theis woordes of his which farre I heard by happe:More whyght thou art then Primrose leaf, my Lady Galatee.More fresh than meade, more tall and streyght than lofty Aldertree. More bright than glasse, more wanton than the tender kid forsooth.Than Cockleshelles continually with water worne, more smoothe.More cheerefull than the winters Sun, or Sommers shadowe cold,More seemely and more comly than the Planetree to behold,Of valew more than Apples bee although they were of gold. More cleere than frozen yce, more sweete than Grape through rype ywis,More soft than butter newly made, or downe of Cygnet is.And much more fayre and beawtyfull than gardein to myne eye,But that thou from my companye continually doost flye.And thou the selfsame Galate art more tettish for to frame Than Oxen of the wildernesse whom never wyght did tame.More fleeting than the waves, more hard than warryed Oke to twyne,More tough than willow twiggs, more lyth than is the wyld whyght vyne.More than this rocke unmovable, more violent than a streame.More prowd than Peacocke praysd, more feerce than fyre and more extreeme. More rough than Breers, more cruell than the new delivered Beare,More mercilesse than troden snake, than sea more deafe of eare.And which (and if it lay in mee I cheefly would restrayne)Not only swifter paced than the stag in chace on playne,But also swifter than the wynd and flyghtfull ayre. But if Thou knew me well, it would thee irke to flye and bee a greefTo tarrye from mee. Yea thou wouldst endeavour all thy powreTo keepe mee wholly to thy self. The Quarry is my bowreHeawen out of whole mayne stone. No Sun in sommer there can swelt.No nipping cold in wintertyme within the same is felt. Gay Apples weying downe the boughes have I, and Grapes like gold,And purple Grapes on spreaded Vynes as many as can hold.Bothe which I doo reserve for thee. Thyself shalt with thy handThe soft sweete strawbryes gather, which in wooddy shadowe stand.The Cornell berryes also from the tree thy self shall pull: And pleasant plommes, sum yellow lyke new wax, sum blew, sum fullOf ruddy jewce. Of Chestnutts eeke (if my wyfe thou wilt bee)Thou shalt have store: and frutes all sortes: all trees shall serve for thee.This Cattell heere is all myne owne. And many mo besydeDoo eyther in the bottoms feede, or in the woodes them hyde, And many standing at theyr stalles doo in my Cave abyde.The number of them (if a man should ask) I cannot showe.Tush, beggars of theyr Cattell use the number for to knowe.And for the goodnesse of the same, no whit beleeve thou mee.But come thyself (and if thou wilt) the truth therof to see. See how theyr udders full doo make them straddle. Lesser wareShet up at home in cloce warme peends, are Lambes. There also areIn other pinfolds Kidds of selfsame yeaning tyme. Thus haveI alwayes mylke as whyte as snow. Wherof I sum doo saveTo drink, and of the rest is made good cheese. And furthermore Not only stale and common gifts and pleasures wherof storeIs to bee had at eche mannes hand, (as Leverets, Kidds, and Does,A payre of pigeons, or a nest of birds new found, or Roes,)Shall unto thee presented bee. I found this tother dayA payre of Bearewhelpes, eche so lyke the other as they lay Uppon a hill, that scarce yee eche discerne from other may.And when that I did fynd them I did take them up, and sayTheis will I for my Lady keepe for her therwith to play.Now put thou up thy fayre bryght head, good Galat, I thee pray,Above the greenish waves: now come my Galat, come away. And of my present take no scorne. I know my selfe to beeA jollye fellow. For even now I did behold and seeMyne image in the water sheere, and sure mee thought I tookeDelyght to see my goodly shape, and favor in the brooke.Behold how big I am: not Jove in heaven (for so you men Report one Jove to reigne, of whom I passe not for to ken)Is huger than this doughty corce of myne. A bush of heareDooth overdreepe my visage grim, and shadowes as it wereA grove uppon my shoulders twayne. And think it not to beeA shame for that with bristled heare my body rough yee see. A fowle ilfavored syght it is to see a leavelesse tree.A lothely thing it is, a horse without a mane to keepe.As fethers doo become the birdes, and wooll becommeth sheepe,Even so a beard and bristled skin becommeth also men.I have but one eye, which dooth stand amid my frunt. What then?This one round eye of myne is lyke a myghty target. Why?Vewes not the Sun all things from heaven? Yit but one only eyeHath hee. Moreover in your Seas my father beares the sway.Him will I make thy fathrinlaw. Have mercy I thee pray,And harken to myne humble sute. For only unto theeYeeld I. Even I of whom bothe heaven and Jove despysed beeAnd eeke the percing thunderbolt, doo stand in awe and feareOf thee, O Nerye. Thyne ill will is greevouser to beareThan is the deadly Thunderclappe. Yit could I better fyndIn hart to suffer this contempt of thyne with pacient myndIf thou didst shonne all other folk as well as mee. But whyRejecting Cyclops doost thou love dwarf Acis? Why say IPreferst thou Acis unto mee? Well, let him liked beeBoth of himself, and also (which I would be lothe) of thee.And if I catch him he shall feele that in my body is The force that should bee. I shall paunch him quicke. Those limbes of hisI will in peeces teare, and strew them in the feeldes, and inThy waters, if he doo thee haunt. For I doo swelt within.And being chaafte the flame dooth burne more feerce to my unrest.Mee thinks mount Aetna with his force is closed in my brest. And yit it nothing moveth thee. As soone as he had talktThus much in vayne, (I sawe well all) he rose: and fuming stalktAmong his woodes and woonted Lawndes, as dooth a Bulchin, whenThe Cow is from him tane. He could him no where rest as then.Anon the feend espyed mee and Acis where wee lay, Before wee wist or feared it: and crying out gan say:I see yee. And confounded myght I bee with endlesse shame,But if I make this day the last agreement of your game.Theis woordes were spoke with such a reere as verry well becameAn angry Giant. Aetna shooke with lowdnesse of the same.I scaard therwith dopt underneathe the water, and the knyghtSimethus turning streyght his backe, did give himself to flyght,And cryed: Help mee Galate, help parents I you pray,And in your kingdome mee receyve whoo perrish must streyghtway.The roundeyd devill made pursewt: and rending up a fleece Of Aetna Rocke, threw after him: of which a little peeceDid Acis overtake. And yit as little as it was,It overwhelmed Acis whole. I wretched wyght (alas)Did that which destnyes would permit. Foorthwith I brought to passeThat Acis should receyve the force his father had before. His scarlet blood did issue from the lump, and more and moreWithin a whyle the rednesse gan to vannish: and the hewResembled at the first a brooke with rayne distroubled new,Which wexeth cleere by length of tyme. Anon the lump did clyve,And from the hollow cliffe therof hygh reedes sprang up alyve. And at the hollow issue of the stone the bubling waterCame trickling out. And by and by (which is a woondrous matter)The stripling with a wreath of reede about his horned headAvaunst his body to the waste. Whoo (save he was that steadMuch biggar than he erst had beene, and altogither gray) Was Acis still. And being turnd to water, at this dayIn shape of river still he beares his former name away.