Now while these things were done on earth, and that by fatal doomeThe twice borne Bacchus had a tyme to mannes estate to come,They say that Jove disposde to myrth as he and Juno sateA drinking Nectar after meate in sport and pleasant rate, Did fall a jeasting with his wife, and saide: A greater pleasureIn Venus games ye women have than men beyonde all measure.She answerde no. To trie the truth, they both of them agreeThe wise Tyresias in this case indifferent Judge to bee,Who both the man and womans joyes by tryall understood. For finding once two mightie Snakes engendring in a Wood,He strake them overthwart the backs, by meanes whereof beholde(As straunge a thing to be of truth as ever yet was tolde)He being made a woman straight, seven winter lived so.The eight he finding them againe did say unto them tho: And if to strike ye have such powre as for to turne their shapeThat are the givers of the stripe, before you hence escape,One stripe now will I lende you more. He strake them as beforneAnd straight returnd his former shape in which he first was borne.Tyresias therefore being tane to judge this jesting strife, Gave sentence on the side of Jove. The which the Queene his wifeDid take a great deale more to heart than needed, and in spightTo wreake hir teene upon hir Judge, bereft him of his sight.But Jove (for to the Gods it is unleefull to undoeThe things which other of the Gods by any meanes have doe) Did give him sight in things to come for losse of sight of eye,And so his grievous punishment with honour did supplie.
By meanes whereof within a while in Citie, fielde, and towneThrough all the coast of Aony was bruited his renowne.And folke to have their fortunes read that dayly did resorte Were aunswerde so as none of them could give him misreporte.The first that of his soothfast wordes had proufe in all the RealmeWas freckled Lyriop, whom sometime surprised in his streameThe floud Cephisus did enforce. This Lady bare a sonneWhose beautie at his verie birth might justly love have wonne. -Narcissus did she call his name. Of whome the Prophet sage,-Demaunded if the childe should live to many yeares of age,Made aunswere: Yea full long, so that him selfe he doe not know.The Soothsayers wordes seemde long but vaine, untill the end did showHis saying to be true in deede by straungenesse of the rage, And straungenesse of the kinde of death that did abridge his age.For when yeares three times five and one he fully lyved had,So that he seemde to stande beetwene the state of man and Lad,The hearts of dyvers trim yong men his beautie gan to moveAnd many a Ladie fresh and faire was taken in his love. But in that grace of Natures gift such passing pride did raigne,That to be toucht of man or Mayde he wholy did disdaine.A babling Nymph that Echo hight, who hearing others talke,By no meanes can restraine hir tongue but that it needes must walke,Nor of hir selfe hath powre to ginne to speake to any wight, Espyde him dryving into toyles the fearefull stagges of flight.This Echo was a body then and not an onely voyce.Yet of hir speach she had that time no more than now the choyce,That is to say, of many wordes the latter to repeate.The cause thereof was Junos wrath. For when that with the feate She might have often taken Jove in daliance with his Dames,And that by stealth and unbewares in middes of all his games,This elfe would with hir tatling talke deteine hir by the way,Untill that Jove had wrought his will and they were fled away.The which when Juno did perceyve, she said with wrathfull mood: This tongue that hath deluded me shall doe thee little good,For of thy speach but simple use hereafter shalt thou have.The deede it selfe did straight confirme the threatnings that she gave.Yet Echo of the former talke doth double oft the endeAnd backe againe with just report the wordes earst spoken sende. Now when she sawe Narcissus stray about the Forrest wyde,She waxed warme and step for step fast after him she hyde.The more she followed after him and neerer that she came,The hoter ever did she waxe as neerer to hir flame.Lyke as the lively Brimstone doth which dipt about a match, And put but softly to the fire, the flame doth lightly catch.O Lord how often woulde she faine (if nature would have let)Entreated him with gentle wordes some favour for to get?But nature would not suffer hir nor give hir leave to ginne.Yet (so farre forth as she by graunt at natures hande could winne) As readie with attentive eare she harkens for some sounde,Whereto she might replie hir wordes, from which she is not bounde.By chaunce the stripling being strayde from all his companie,Sayde: Is there any body nie? Straight Echo answerde: I.Amazde he castes his eye aside, and looketh round about, And Come (that all the Forrest roong) aloud he calleth out.And Come (sayth she:) he looketh backe, and seeing no man followe,Why fliste, he cryeth once againe: and she the same doth hallowe.He still persistes and wondring much what kinde of thing it wasFrom which that answering voyce by turne so duely seemde to passe, Said: Let us joyne. She (by hir will desirous to have saidIn fayth with none more willingly at any time or stead)Said: Let us joyne. And standing somewhat in hir owne conceit,Upon these wordes she left the Wood, and forth she yeedeth streit,To coll the lovely necke for which she longed had so much, He runnes his way and will not be imbraced of no such,And sayth: I first will die ere thou shalt take of me thy pleasure.She aunswerde nothing else thereto, but Take of me thy pleasure.Now when she saw hir selfe thus mockt, she gate hir to the Woods,And hid hir head for verie shame among the leaves and buddes. And ever sence she lyves alone in dennes and hollow Caves,Yet stacke hir love still to hir heart, through which she dayly ravesThe more for sorrowe of repulse. Through restlesse carke and careHir bodie pynes to skinne and bone, and waxeth wonderous bare.The bloud doth vanish into ayre from out of all hir veynes, And nought is left but voyce and bones: the voyce yet still remaynes:Hir bones they say were turnde to stones. From thence she lurking stillIn Woods, will never shewe hir head in field nor yet on hill.Yet is she heard of every man: it is hir onely sound,And nothing else that doth remayne alive above the ground. Thus had he mockt this wretched Nymph and many mo beside,That in the waters, Woods and groves, or Mountaynes did abyde.Thus had he mocked many men. Of which one miscontentTo see himselfe deluded so, his handes to Heaven up bent,And sayd: I pray to God he may once feele fierce Cupids fire As I doe now, and yet not joy the things he doth desire.The Goddesse Ramnuse (who doth wreake on wicked people take)Assented to his just request for ruth and pities sake.There was a spring withouten mudde as silver cleare and still,Which neyther sheepeheirds, nor the Goates that fed upon the hill, Nor other cattell troubled had, nor savage beast had styrd,Nor braunch nor sticke, nor leafe of tree, nor any soule nor byrd.The moysture fed and kept aye fresh the grasse that grew about,And with their leaves the trees did keepe the heate of Phoebus out.The stripling wearie with the heate and hunting in the chace, And much delighted with the spring and coolenesse of the place,Did lay him downe upon the brim: and as he stooped loweTo staunche his thurst, another thurst of worse effect did growe.For as he dranke, he chaunst to spie the Image of his face,The which he did immediately with fervent love embrace. He feedes a hope without cause why. For like a foolishe noddieHe thinkes the shadow that he sees, to be a lively boddie.Astraughted like an ymage made of Marble stone he lyes,There gazing on his shadowe still with fixed staring eyes.Stretcht all along upon the ground, it doth him good to see His ardant eyes which like two starres full bright and shyning bee,And eke his fingars, fingars such as Bacchus might beseeme,And haire that one might worthely Apollos haire it deeme,His beardlesse chinne and yvorie necke, and eke the perfect graceOf white and red indifferently bepainted in his face. All these he woondreth to beholde, for which (as I doe gather)Himselfe was to be woondred at, or to be pitied rather.He is enamored of himselfe for want of taking heede,And where he lykes another thing, he lykes himselfe in deede.He is the partie whome he wooes, and suter that doth wooe, He is the flame that settes on fire, and thing that burneth tooe.O Lord how often did he kisse that false deceitfull thing?How often did he thrust his armes midway into the springTo have embraste the necke he saw and could not catch himselfe?He knowes not what it was he sawe. And yet the foolish elfe Doth burne in ardent love thereof. The verie selfsame thingThat doth bewitch and blinde his eyes, encreaseth all his sting.Thou fondling thou, why doest thou raught the fickle image so?The thing thou seekest is not there. And if aside thou go,The thing thou lovest straight is gone. It is none other matter That thou doest see, than of thy selfe the shadow in the water.The thing is nothing of it selfe: with thee it doth abide,With thee it would departe if thou withdrew thy selfe aside.
No care of meate could draw him thence, nor yet desire of rest.But lying flat against the ground, and leaning on his brest, With greedie eyes he gazeth still uppon the falced face,And through his sight is wrought his bane. Yet for a little spaceHe turnes and settes himselfe upright, and holding up his handsWith piteous voyce unto the wood that round about him stands,Cryes out and ses: Alas ye Woods, and was there ever any That loovde so cruelly as I? you know: for unto manyA place of harbrough have you beene, and fort of refuge strong.Can you remember any one in all your tyme so longThat hath so pinde away as I? I see and am full faine,Howbeit that I like and see I can not yet attaine: So great a blindnesse in my heart through doting love doth raigne.And for to spight me more withall, it is no journey farre,No drenching Sea, no Mountaine hie, no wall, no locke, no barre,It is but even a little droppe that keepes us two asunder.He would be had. For looke how oft I kisse the water under, So oft againe with upwarde mouth he riseth towarde mee.A man would thinke to touch at least I should yet able bee.It is a trifle in respect that lettes us of our love.What wight soever that thou art come hither up above.O pierlesse piece, why dost thou mee thy lover thus delude? Or whither fliste thou of thy friende thus earnestly pursude?Iwis I neyther am so fowle nor yet so growne in yearesThat in this wise thou shouldst me shoon. To have me to their Feeres,The Nymphes themselves have sude ere this. And yet (as should appeere)Thou dost pretende some kinde of hope of friendship by thy cheere. For when I stretch mine armes to thee, thou stretchest thine likewise.And if I smile thou smilest too: and when that from mine eyesThe teares doe drop, I well perceyve the water stands in thine.Like gesture also dost thou make to everie becke of mine.And as by moving of thy sweete and lovely lippes I weene, Thou speakest words although mine eares conceive not what they beene,It is my selfe I well perceyve, it is mine Image sure,That in this sort deluding me, this furie doth procure.I am inamored of my selfe, I doe both set on fire,And am the same that swelteth too, through impotent desire. What shall I doe? be woode or woo? whome shall I woo therefore?The thing I seeke is in my selfe, my plentie makes me poore.I would to God I for a while might from my bodie part.This wish is straunge to heare, a Lover wrapped all in smartTo wish away the thing the which he loveth as his heart. My sorrowe takes away my strength. I have not long to live,But in the floure of youth must die. To die it doth not grieve.For that by death shall come the ende of all my griefe and paineI would this yongling whome I love might lenger life obtaine:For in one soule shall now decay we stedfast Lovers twaine. This saide in rage he turnes againe unto the forsaide shade,And rores the water with the teares and sloubring that he made,That through his troubling of the Well his ymage gan to fade.Which when he sawe to vanish so: Oh whither dost thou flie?Abide I pray thee heartely, aloud he gan to crie. Forsake me not so cruelly that loveth thee so deere,But give me leave a little while my dazled eyes to cheereWith sight of that which for to touch is utterly denide,Thereby to feede my wretched rage and furie for a tide.As in this wise he made his mone, he stripped off his cote And with his fist outragiously his naked stomacke smote.A ruddie colour where he smote rose on his stomacke sheere,Lyke Apples which doe partly white and striped red appeere,Or as the clusters ere the grapes to ripenesse fully come:An Orient purple here and there beginnes to grow on some. Which things as soon as in the spring he did beholde againe,He could no longer beare it out. But fainting straight for paine,As lith and supple waxe doth melt against the burning flame,Or morning dewe against the Sunne that glareth on the same:Even so by piecemale being spent and wasted through desire, Did he consume and melt away with Cupids secret fire.His lively hue of white and red, his cheerefulnesse and strengthAnd all the things that lyked him did wanze away at length.So that in fine remayned not the bodie which of lateThe wretched Echo loved so. Who when she sawe his state, Although in heart she angrie were, and mindefull of his pride,Yet ruing his unhappie case, as often as he crideAlas, she cride, Alas likewise with shirle redoubled sound.And when he beate his breast, or strake his feete against the ground,She made like noyse of clapping too. These are the woordes that last Out of his lippes beholding still his woonted ymage past:Alas sweete boy belovde in vaine, farewell. And by and byWith sighing sound the selfesame wordes the Echo did reply.With that he layde his wearie head against the grassie placeAnd death did doze his gazing eyes that woondred at the grace And beautie which did late adorne their Masters heavenly face.And afterward when into Hell receyved was his sprightHe goes me to the Well of Styx, and there both day and nightStandes tooting on his shadow still as fondely as before.The water Nymphes, his sisters, wept and wayled for him sore And on his bodie strowde their haire clipt off and shorne therefore.The Wood nymphes also did lament. And Echo did reboundTo every sorrowfull noyse of theirs with like lamenting sound.The fire was made to burne the corse, and waxen Tapers light.A Herce to lay the bodie on with solemne pompe was dight. But as for bodie none remaind: in stead thereof they foundA yellow floure with milke white leaves new sprong upon the ground.
This matter all Achaia through did spreade the Prophets fame:That every where of just desert renowned was his name.But Penthey, olde Echions sonne (who proudely did disdaine Both God and man) did laughe to scorne the Prophets words as vaine,Upbrading him most spitefully with loosing of his sight,And with the fact for which he lost fruition of this light.The good olde father (for these wordes his pacience much did move)Saide: how happie shouldest thou be and blessed from above,If thou wert blinde as well as I, so that thou might not seeThe sacred rytes of Bacchus band. For sure the time will bee,And that full shortely (as I gesse) that hither shall resortAnother Bacchus, Semelles sonne, whome if thou not supportWith pompe and honour like a God, thy carcasse shall be tattred, And in a thousand places eke about the Woods be scattred.And for to reade thee what they are that shall perfourme the deede,It is thy mother and thine Auntes that thus shall make thee bleede.I know it shall so come to passe, for why thou shalt disdaine,To honour Bacchus as a God: and then thou shalt with paine Feele how that blinded as I am I sawe for thee too much.As olde Tiresias did pronounce these wordes and other such,Echions sonne did trouble him. His wordes prove true in deede,For as the Prophet did forespeake so fell it out with speede.Anon this newefound Bacchus commes: the woods and fieldes rebound With noyse of shouts and howling out, and such confused sound.The folke runne flocking out by heapes, men, Mayds and wives togitherThe noble men and rascall sorte ran gadding also thither,The Orgies of this unknowne God full fondely to performe,The which when Penthey did perceyve, he gan to rage and storme. And sayde unto them: O ye ympes of Mars his snake by kindeWhat ayleth you? what fiend of hell doth thus enrage your minde?Hath tinking sound of pottes and pannes, hath noyse of crooked home,Have fonde illusions such a force that them whome heretoforneNo arming sworde, no bloudie trumpe, no men in battail ray Could cause to shrinke, no sheepish shriekes of simple women fray,And dronken woodnesse wrought by wine and roughts of filthie freakesAnd sound of toying timpanes dauntes, and quite their courage breakes?Shall I at you, yee auncient men which from the towne of TyreTo bring your housholde Gods by Sea, in safetie did aspyre, And setled*hem within this place the which ye nowe doe yeeldeIn bondage quite without all force and fighting in the fielde,Or woonder at you yonger sorte approching unto meeMore neare in courage and in yeares? whome meete it were to seeWith speare and not with thirse in hande, with glittring helme on hed, And not with leaves. Now call to minde of whome ye all are bred,And take the stomackes of that Snake, which being one alone,Right stoutly in his owne defence confounded many one.He for his harbrough and his spring his lyfe did nobly spend.Doe you no more but take a heart your Countrie to defende. He put to death right valeant knightes. Your battaile is with suchAs are but Meicocks in effect: and yet ye doe so muchIn conquering them, that by the deede the olde renowne ye save,Which from your fathers by discent this present time ye have.If fatall destnies doe forbid that Thebae long shall stande, Would God that men with Canon shot might raze it out of hande.Would God the noyse of fire and sworde did in our hearing sound.For then in this our wretchednesse there could no fault be found.Then might we justly waile our case that all the world might seeWe should not neede of sheading teares ashamed for to bee. But now our towne is taken by a naked beardelesse boy,Who doth not in the feates of armes nor horse nor armour joy,But for to moyste his haire with Mirrhe, and put on garlands gay,And in soft Purple silke and golde his bodie to aray.But put to you your helping hand and straight without delay I will compell him poynt by poynt his lewdnesse to bewray,Both in usurping Joves high name in making him his sonneAnd forging of these Ceremonies lately now begonne.Hath King Atrisius heart inough this fondling for to hateThat makes himselfe to be a God? and for to shut the gate Of Argus at his comming there? and shall this rover makeKing Penthey and the noble towne of Thebae thus to quake?Go quickly sirs (these wordes he spake unto his servaunts) goAnd bring the Captaine hither bound with speede. Why stay ye so?His Grandsire Cadmus, Athamas and others of his kinne Reproved him by gentle meanes but nothing could they winne:The more intreatance that they made the fiercer was he still:The more his friendes did go about to breake him of his will,The more they did provoke his wrath, and set his rage on fire:They made him worse in that they sought to bridle his desire. So have I seene a brooke ere this, where nothing let the streame,Runne smooth with little noyse or none, but where as any beameOr cragged stones did let his course, and make him for to stay:It went more fiercely from the stoppe with fomie wroth away.Beholde all bloudie come his men, and straight he them demaunded Where Bacchus was, and why they had not done as he commaunded.Sir (aunswerde they) we saw him not, but this same fellow heereA chiefe companion in his traine and worker in this geere,Wee tooke by force: and therewithall presented to their LordA certaine man of Tirrhene lande, his handes fast bound with cord, Whome they, frequenting Bacchus rites had found but late before.A grim and cruell looke which yre did make to seeme more sore,Did Penthey cast upon the man. And though he scarcely staydFrom putting him to tormentes strait, O wretched man (he sayde)Who by thy worthie death shalt be a sample unto other, Declare to me the names of thee, thy father and thy mother,And in what Countrie thou wert borne, and what hath caused thee,Of these straunge rites and sacrifice, a follower for to bee.