When ended was this piteous plaint, the Earth did hold hir peace.She could no lenger dure the heate but was compelde to cease.Into hir bosome by and by she shrunke hir cinged heade More nearer to the Stygian caves, and ghostes of persones deade.The Sire of Heaven protesting all the Gods and him alsoThat lent the Chariot to his child, that all of force must goTo havocke if he helped not, went to the highest partAnd top of all the Heaven from whence his custome was to dart His thunder and his lightning downe. But neyther did remaineA Cloude wherewith to shade the Earth, nor yet a showre of raine.Then with a dreadfull thunderclap up to his eare he bentHis fist, and at the Wagoner a flash of lightning sent,Which strake his bodie from the life and threw it over wheeleAnd so with fire he quenched fire. The Steedes did also reeleUpon their knees, and starting up sprang violently, one here,And there another, that they brast in pieces all their gere.They threw the Collars from their neckes, and breaking quite asunderThe Trace and Harnesse flang away: here lay the bridles: yonder The Extree plucked from the Naves: and in another placeThe shevered spokes of broken wheeles: and so at every paceThe pieces of the Chariot torne lay strowed here and there.But Phaeton (fire yet blasing stil among his yellow haire)Shot headlong downe, and glid along the Region of the Ayre Like to a starre in Winter nights (the wether cleare and fayre)Which though it doe not fall in deede, yet falleth to our sight,Whome almost in another world and from his countrie quiteThe River Padus did receyve, and quencht his burning head.The water Nymphes of Italie did take his carkasse dead And buried it yet smoking still, with Joves threeforked flame,And wrate this Epitaph in the stone that lay upon the same:Here lies the lusty Phaeton which tooke in hand to guideHis fathers Chariot, from the which although he chaunst to slide:Yet that he gave a proud attempt it cannot be denide. Wyth ruthfull cheere and heavie heart his father made great moneAnd would not shew himselfe abrode, but mournd at home alone.And if it be to be beleved, as bruited is by fameA day did passe without the Sunne. The brightnesse of the flameGave light: and so unto some kinde of use that mischiefe came. But Clymen having spoke, as much as mothers usuallyAre wonted in such wretched case, discomfortablely,And halfe beside hir selfe for wo, with torne and scratched brest,Sercht through the universall world, from East to furthest West,First seeking for hir sonnes dead coarse, and after for his bones. She found them by a forren streame, entumbled under stones.There fell she groveling on his grave, and reading there his name,Shed teares thereon, and layd hir breast all bare upon the same.The daughters also of the Sunne no lesse than did their mother,Bewaild in vaine with flouds of teares, the fortune of their brother: And beating piteously their breasts, incessantly did callThe buried Phaeton day and night, who heard them not at all,About whose tumbe they prostrate lay. Foure times the Moone had fildeThe Circle of hir joyned hornes, and yet the sisters hildeTheir custome of lamenting still: (for now continuall use Had made it custome.) Of the which the eldest, Phaetuse,About to kneele upon the ground, complaynde hir feete were nom.To whome as fayre Lampetie was rising for to com,Hir feete were held with sodaine rootes. The third about to teareHir ruffled lockes, filde both hir handes with leaves in steade of heare. One wept to see hir legges made wood: another did repineTo see hir armes become long boughes. And shortly to define,While thus they wondred at themselves, a tender barke beganTo grow about their thighes and loynes, which shortly overranTheir bellies, brestes, and shoulders eke, and hands successively, That nothing (save their mouthes) remainde, aye calling piteouslyUpon the wofull mothers helpe. What could the mother doeBut runne now here now there, as force of nature drue hir toAnd deale hir kisses while she might? She was not so content:But tare their tender braunches downe: and from the slivers went Red drops of bloud as from a wound. The daughter that was rentCride: Spare us mother spare I pray, for in the shape of treeThe bodies and the flesh of us your daughters wounded bee.And now farewell. That word once said, the barke grew over all.Now from these trees flow gummy teares that Amber men doe call, Which hardened with the heate of sunne as from the boughs they falThe trickling River doth receyve, and sendes as things of priceTo decke the daintie Dames of Rome and make them fine and nice.Now present at this monstruous hap was Cygnus, Stenels son,Who being by the mothers side akinne to Phaeton Was in condicion more akinne. He leaving up his charge(For in the land of Ligurie his Kingdome stretched large)Went mourning all along the bankes and pleasant streame of PoAmong the trees encreased by the sisters late ago.Annon his voyce became more small and shrill than for a man. Gray fethers muffled in his face: his necke in length beganFar from his shoulders for to stretche: and furthermore there goesA fine red string acrosse the joyntes in knitting of his toes:With fethers closed are his sides: and on his mouth there grewA brode blunt byll: and finally was Cygnus made a new And uncoth fowle that hight a Swan, who neither to the winde,The Ayre, nor Jove betakes himselfe, as one that bare in mindeThe wrongfull fire sent late against his cousin Phaeton.In Lakes and Rivers is his joy: the fire he aye doth shon,And chooseth him the contrary continually to won. Forlorne and altogether voyde of that same bodie sheneWas Phaetons father in that while which erst had in him bene,Like as he looketh in Th'eclypse. He hates the yrkesome light,He hates him selfe, he hates the day, and settes his whole delightIn making sorrow for his sonne, and in his griefe doth storme -And chaufe denying to the worlde his dutie to performe.My lot (quoth he) hath had inough of this unquiet stateFrom first beginning of the worlde. It yrkes me (though too late)Of restlesse toyles and thankelesse paines. Let who so will for meGo drive the Chariot in the which the light should caried be. If none dare take the charge in hand, and all the Gods persistAs insufficient, he himselfe go drive it if he list,That at the least by venturing our bridles for to guideHis lightning making childlesse Sires he once may lay aside.By that time that he hath assayde the unappalled force That doth remaine and rest within my firiefooted horse,I trow he shall by tried proufe be able for to tellHow that he did not merit death that could not rule them well.The Goddes stoode all about the Sunne thus storming in his rageBeseching him in humble wise his sorrow to asswage. And that he would not on the world continuall darkenesse bring,Jove eke excusde him of the fire the which he chaunst to sling,And with entreatance mingled threates as did become a King.Then Phebus gathered up his steedes that yet for feare did runLike flaighted fiendes, and in his moode without respect begunTo beate his whipstocke on their pates and lash them on the sides.It was no neede to bid him chaufe; for ever as he ridesHe still upbraides them with his sonne, and layes them on the hides.

And Jove almighty went about the walles of heaven to trieIf ought were perisht with the fire, which when he did espie Continuing in their former state, all strong and safe and sound,He went to vew the workes of men, and things upon the ground.Yet for his land of Arcadie he tooke most care and charge.The Springs and streames that durst not run he set againe at large.He clad the earth with grasse, the trees with leaves both fresh and greene Commaunding woods to spring againe that erst had burned bene.Now as he often went and came it was his chaunce to lightUpon a Nymph of Nonacris whose forme and beautie brightDid set his heart on flaming fire. She used not to spinneNor yet to curle hir frisled haire with bodkin or with pinne.A garment with a buckled belt fast girded did she weareAnd in a white and slender Call slight trussed was hir heare.Sometimes a dart sometime a bow she used for to beare.She was a knight of Phebes troope. There came not at the mountOf Menalus of whome Diana made so great account. But favor never lasteth long. The Sunne had gone that dayA good way past the poynt of Noone: when werie of hir wayShe drue to shadowe in a wood that never had bene cut.Here off hir shoulder by and by hir quiver did she put,And hung hir bow unbent aside, and coucht hir on the ground, Hir quiver underneth hir head. Whom when that Jove had foundAlone and wearie: Sure (he said) my wife shall never knowOf this escape, and if she do, I know the worst I trow.She can but chide, shall feare of chiding make me to forslow?He counterfeiteth Phebe streight in countnance and aray. And says: O virgine of my troope, where didst thou hunt to day?The Damsell started from the ground and said: Hayle Goddesse deare,Of greater worth than Jove (I thinke) though Jove himselfe did heare.Jove heard hir well and smylde thereat, it made his heart rejoyceTo heare the Nymph preferre him thus before himselfe in choyce. He fell to kissing: which was such as out of square might seeme,And in such sort as that a mayde coulde nothing lesse beseeme.And as she would have told what woods she ranged had for game,He tooke hir fast betweene his armes, and not without his shame,Bewrayed plainly what he was and wherefore that he came. The wench against him strove as much as any woman could:I would that Juno had it seene. For then I know thou wouldNot take the deede so heynously: with all hir might she strove.But what poore wench or who alive could vanquish mighty Jove?Jove having sped flue straight to heaven. She hateth in hir hart The guiltlesse fields and wood where Jove had playd that naughty part,Alwaye she goes in such a griefe as that she had welnieForgot hir quiver with hir shaftes and bow that hanged by.Dictynna, garded with hir traine and proude of killing Deere,In raunging over Menalus, espying, cald hir neere. The Damsell hearing Phebe call did run away amaine,She feared lest in Phebes shape that Jove had come againe,But when she saw the troope of Nymphes that garded hir about,She thought there was no more deceyt, and came among the rout.Oh Lord how hard a matter ist for guiltie hearts to shift And kepe their countnance? from the ground hir eyes scarce durst she lift.She prankes not by hir mistresse side, she preases not to beeThe foremost of the companie, as when she erst was free.She standeth muet: and by chaunging of hir colour ayThe treading of hir shooe awrie she plainely doth bewray, Diana might have founde the fault but that she was a May.A thousand tokens did appeare apparant to the eye,By which the Nymphes themselves (they say) hir fault did well espie.Nine times the Moone full to the worlde had shewde hir horned faceWhen fainting through hir brothers flames and hunting in the chace. She found a coole and shadie lawnde through midst whereof she spideA shallow brooke with trickling streame on gravell bottom glide.And liking well the pleasant place, upon the upper brimShe dipt hir foote, and finding there the water coole and trim,Away (she sayd) with standers by: and let us bath us here. Then Parrhasis cast downe hir head with sad and bashfull chere.The rest did strip them to their skinnes. She only sought delay,Untill that would or would she not hir clothes were pluckt away.Then with hir naked body straight hir crime was brought to light.Which yll ashamde as with hir hands she would have hid from sight, Fie beast (quoth Cynthia) get thee hence, thou shalt not here defileThis sacred Spring, and from hir traine she did hir quite exile.