The Matrone of the thundring Jove had inckling of the fact,Delaying till convenient time the punishment to exact.There is no cause of further stay. To spight hir heart withall, Hir husbands Leman bare a boy that Arcas men did call.On whome she casting lowring looke with fell and cruell mindeSaide: Was there, arrant strumpet thou, none other shift to findeBut that thou needes must be with barne? that all the world must seeMy husbandes open shame and thine in doing wrong to mee? But neyther unto heaven nor hell this trespasse shalt thou beare.I will bereve thee of thy shape through pride whereof thou wereSo hardy to entyce my Feere. Immediatly with thatShe raught hir by the foretop fast and fiercely threw hir flatAgainst the grounde. The wretched wench hir armes up mekely cast, Hir armes began with griesly haire to waxe all rugged fast.Hir handes gan warpe and into pawes ylfavordly to grow,And for to serve in stede of feete. The lippes that late agoDid like the mightie Jove so well, with side and flaring flapsBecame a wide deformed mouth. And further lest perhaps Hir prayers and hir humble wordes might cause hir to relent:She did bereve hir of hir speach. In steade whereof there wentAn yreful, horce, and dreadfull voyce out from a threatning throte:But yet the selfesame minde that was before she turnde hir cote,Was in hir still in shape of Beare. The griefe whereof she showes By thrusting forth continuall sighes, and up she gastly throwesSuch kinde of handes as then remainde unto the starrie Skie.And forbicause she could not speake she thought Jove inwardlyTo be unthankfull. Oh how oft she daring not abideAlone among the desert woods, full many a time and tideWould stalke before hir house in grounds that were hir owne erewhile?How oft oh did she in the hilles the barking houndes beguileAnd in the lawndes where she hir selfe had chased erst hir game,Now flie hirselfe to save hir life when hunters sought the same?Full oft at sight of other beastes she hid hir head for feare, Forgetting what she was hir selfe. For though she were a Beare,Yet when she spied other Beares she quooke for verie paine:And feared Wolves although hir Sire among them did remaine.Beholde Lycaons daughters sonne that Archas had to nameAbout the age of fiftene yeares within the forrest came Of Erymanth, not knowing ought of this his mothers case.There after pitching of his toyles, as he the stagges did chase,Upon his mother sodenly it was his chaunce to light,Who for desire to see hir sonne did stay hirselfe from flight.And wistly on him cast hir looke as one that did him know. But he not knowing what she was began his heeles to show.And when he saw hir still persist in staring on his face,He was afrayde, and from hir sight withdrew himselfe apace,But when he coulde not so be rid, he tooke an armed pike,In full intent hir through the heart with deadly wound to strike. But God almighty held his hand, and lifting both awayDid disapoint the wicked Act. For straight he did convayThem through the Ayre with whirling windes to top of all the skie,And there did make them neighbour starres about the Pole on hie.When Juno shining in the heaven hir husbands minion found, She swelde for spight: and downe she comes to watry Tethys roundAnd unto olde Oceanus, whome even the Gods aloftDid reverence for their just deserts full many a time and oft,To whome demaunding hir the cause: And aske ye (quoth she) whyThat I which am the Queene of Goddes come hither from the sky? Good cause there is I warrant you. Another holdes my roome.For never trust me while I live, if when the night is coome,And overcasteth all the world with shadie darknesse whole,Ye see not in the heigth of heaven hard by the Northren PoleWhereas the utmost circle runnes about the Axeltree In shortest circuit, gloriously enstalled for to beeIn shape of starres the stinging woundes that make me yll apayde.Now is there (trow ye) any cause why folke should be afraydeTo do to Juno what they list, or dread hir wrathfull mood,Which only by my working harme doe turne my foes to good? O what a mightie act is done? How passing is my powre!I have bereft hir womans shape, and at this present howreShe is become a Goddesse. Loe this is the scourge so sowreWherewith I strike mine enimies. Loe here is all the spightThat I can doe: this is the ende of all my wondrous might, No force. I would he should (for me) hir native shape restore,And take away hir brutish shape, like as he hath beforeDone by his other Paramour, that fine and proper pieceOf Argos whom he made a Cow, I meane Phononeus Niece.Why makes he not a full devorce from me, and in my stead Straight take his Sweetheart to his wife, and coll hir in my bed?He can not doe a better deede (I thinke) than for to takeLycaon to his fatherinlaw. But if that you doe makeAccompt of me your foster childe, then graunt that for my sake,The Oxen and the wicked Waine of starres in number seven,For whoredome sake but late ago receyved into heaven,May never dive within your waves. Ne let that strumpet vyleBy bathing of hir filthie limmes your waters pure defile.

The Gods did graunt hir hir request: and straight to heaven she flue,In handsome Chariot through the Ayre, which painted peacocks drue As well beset with blasing eyes late tane from Argus hed,As thou thou prating Raven white by nature being bred,Hadst on thy fethers justly late a coly colour spred.For this same birde in auncient time had fethers faire and whightAs ever was the driven snow, or silver cleare and bright. He might have well comparde himself in beautie with the DovesThat have no blemish, or the Swan that running water loves:Or with the Geese that afterward should with their gagling outPreserve the Romaine Capitoll beset with foes about.His tongue was cause of all his harme, his tatling tongue did make His colour which before was white, become so foule and blake.Coronis of Larissa was the fairest maide of face,In all the land of Thessalie. Shee stoode in Phebus graceAs long as that she kept hir chast, or at the least as longAs that she scaped unespide in doing Phebus wrong. But at the last Apollos birde hir privie packing spide,Whome no entreatance could persuade but that he swiftly hideHim to his maister, to bewray the doings of his love.Now as he flue, the pratling Crow hir wings apace did move:And overtaking fell in talke and was inquisitive For what intent and to what place he did so swiftly drive.And when she heard the cause thereof, she said: Now trust me sure,This message on the whiche thou goste no goodnesse will procure.And therefore hearken what I say: disdaine thou not at all,To take some warning by thy friende in things that may befall. Consider what I erst have bene and what thou seest me now:And what hath bene the ground hereof. I boldly dare avow,That thou shalt finde my faithfulnesse imputed for a crime.For Pallas in a wicker chest had hid upon a timeA childe calde Ericthonius, whome never woman bare, And tooke it unto Maidens three that Cecrops daughters were,Not telling them what was within, but gave them charge to keepeThe Casket shut, and for no cause within the same to peepe.I standing close among the leaves upon an Elme on hie,Did marke their doings and their wordes, and there I did espie How Pandrosos and Herse kept their promise faithfully.Aglauros calles them Cowardes both, and makes no more adoe,But takes the Casket in hir hand and doth the knots undooe.And there they saw a childe whose partes beneath were like a snake.Straight to the Goddesse of this deede a just report I make. For which she gave me this reward that never might I moreAccompt hir for my Lady and my Mistresse as before.And in my roume she put the fowle that flies not but by night,A warning unto other birdes my lucke should be of rightTo holde their tongues for being shent. But you will say perchaunce I came unsentfor of my selfe, she did me not advaunce.I dare well say though Pallas now my heavie Mistresse standYet if perhaps ye should demaund the question at hir hand,As sore displeased as she is, she would not this denie:But that she chose me first hir selfe to beare hir companie. For (well I know) my father was a Prince of noble fame,Of Phocis King by long discent, Coronew was his name:I was his darling and his joy, and many a welthie Piere(I would not have you thinke disdaine) did seeke me for their Fere.My forme and beautie did me hurt. For as I leysurely Went jetting up and downe the shore upon the gravell drie,As yet I customably doe, the God that rules the SeasEspying me fell straight in love. And when he saw none easeIn sute, but losse of wordes and time, he offred violence,And after me he runnes apace. I skudde as fast fro thence, From sand to shore from shore to sand, still playing Foxe to hole,Untill I was so tirde that he had almost got the gole.Then cald I out on God and man. But (as it did appeare)There was no man so neare at hand that could my crying heare.A Virgin Goddesse pitied me bicause I was a mayde: And at the utter plunge and pinche did send me present ayde.I cast mine armes to heaven, mine armes waxt light with fethers black,I went about to cast in hast my garments from my back,And all was fethers. In my skinne the rooted fethers stack.I was about with violent hand to strike my naked breast, But nether had I hand nor breast that naked more did reast.I ran, but of my feete as erst remained not the print.Me thought I glided on the ground. Anon with sodaine dint,I rose and hovered in the Ayre. And from that instant timeDid wait on Pallas faithfully without offence or crime. But what availes all this to me, and if that in my placeThe wicked wretch Nyctyminee (who late for lacke of graceWas turned to an odious birde) to honor called bee?I pray thee didst thou never heare how false Nyctyminee(A thing all over Lesbos knowne) defilde hir fathers couch? The beast is now become a birde, whose lewdnesse doth so touchAnd pricke hir guiltie conscience that she dares not come in sight,Nor shewe hirselfe abrode a dayes, but fleeteth in the nightFor shame lest folke should see hir fault: and every other birdeDoth in the Ayre and Ivie toddes with wondring at hir girde. A mischiefe take thy tatling tongue, the Raven answerde tho.Thy vaine forspeaking moves me not. And so he forth did goAnd tels his Lorde Apollo how he saw Coronis lieWyth Isthyis, a Gentleman that dwelt in Thessalie.When Phebus heard his lovers fault, he fiersly gan to frowne, And cast his garlond from his head, and threw his violl downe.His colour chaungde, his face lookt pale, and as the rage of yreThat boyled in his belking breast had set his heart on fyre,He caught me up his wonted tooles, and bent his golden bowAnd by and by with deadly stripe of unavoyded blow Strake through the breast the which his owne had toucht so oft afore.She wounded gave a piteous shrike, and (drawing from the soreThe deadly Dart the which the bloud pursuing after fastUpon hir white and tender limmes a scarlet colour cast)Saide: Phebus, well, thou might have wreakt this trespasse on my head And yet forborne me till the time I had bene brought abed.Now in one body by thy meanes a couple shall be dead.Thus muche she saide: and with the bloud hir life did fade away.The bodie being voyde of soule became as colde as clay.Than all too late, alas too late gan Phebus to repent That of his lover he had tane so cruell punishment.He blames himselfe for giving eare so unadvisedly.He blames himselfe in that he tooke it so outragiously.He hates and bannes his faithfull birde bicause he did enformeHim of his lovers naughtinesse that made him so to storme. He hates his bow, he hates his shaft that rashly from it went:And eke he hates his hasty hands by whom the bow was bent.He takes hir up betweene his armes endevoring all too lateBy plaister made of precious herbes to stay hir helplesse fate.But when he saw there was no shift: but that she needes must burne, And that the solemne sacred fire was prest to serve the turne,Then from the bottome of his heart full sorie sighes he fet,(For heavenly powres with watrie teares their cheekes may never wet)In case as when a Cow beholdes the cruell butcher standWith launching Axe embrewd with bloud and lifting up his hand Aloft to snatch hir sucking Calfe that hangeth by the heelesAnd of the Axe the deadly dint upon his forehead feeles.Howbeit after sweete perfumes bestowde upon hir corseAnd much embracing, having sore bewailde hir wrong divorse,He followed to the place assignde hir bodie for to burne.There coulde he not abide to see his seede to ashes turne.But tooke the baby from hir wombe and from the firie flame,And unto double Chyrons den conveyed straight the same.The Raven hoping for his truth to be rewarded well,He maketh blacke, forbidding him with whiter birdes to dwell.