Nathelesse(So hard it is of perfect joy to find so great excesse,But that some sorrow therewithall is medled more or lesse),Aegeus had not in his sonnes recoverie such delight,But that there followed in the necke a piece of fortunes spight. King Minos was preparing war, who though he had great storeOf ships and souldiers yet the wrath the which he had beforeConceyved in his fathers brest for murthring of his sonneAndrogeus made him farre more strong and fiercer for to ronneTo rightfull battell to revenge the great displeasure donne. Howbeit he thought it best ere he his warfare did beginTo finde the meanes of forreine aides some friendship for to win.And thereupon with flying fleete where passage did permitHe went to visit all the Iles that in those seas doe sit.Anon the Iles Astypaley and Anaphey both twaine The first constreynde for feare of war, the last in hope of gaine,Tooke part with him. Low Myconey did also with him holdSo did the chalkie Cymoley, and Syphney which of oldeWas verie riche with veynes of golde, and Scyros full of boldeAnd valiant men, and Seryphey the smooth or rather fell, And Parey which for Marblestone doth beare away the bell.And Sythney which a wicked wench callde Arne did betrayFor mony: who upon receit thereof without delayWas turned to a birde which yet of golde is gripple still,And is as blacke as any cole, both fethers, feete and bill. A Cadowe is the name of hir. But yet Olyarey,And Didymey, and Andrey eke, and Tene, and Gyarey,And Pepareth where Olive trees most plenteously doe grow,In no wise would agree their helpe on Minos to bestow.Then Minos turning lefthandwise did sayle to Oenope Where reignde that time King Aeacus. This Ile had called beOf old by name of Oenope: but Aeacus turnde the nameAnd after of his mothers name Aegina callde the same.The common folke ran out by heapes desirous for to seeA man of such renowne as Minos bruited was to bee. The Kings three sonnes Duke Telamon, Duke Peley, and the yongDuke Phocus went to meete with him. Old Aeacus also clungWith age, came after leysurely, and asked him the causeOf his repaire. The ruler of the hundred Shires gan pause:And musing on the inward griefe that nipt him at the hart, Did shape him aunswere thus: O Prince vouchsafe to take my partIn this same godly warre of mine: assist me in the justRevengement of my murthred sonne that sleepeth in the dust.I crave your comfort for his death. Aeginas sonne replide:Thy suite is vaine: and of my Realme perforce must be denide. For unto Athens is no lande more sure than this alide:Such leagues betweene us are which shall infringde for me abide.Away went Minos sad: and said: full dearly shalt thou bieThy leagues. He thought it for to be a better pollicieTo threaten war than war to make, and there to spend his store And strength which in his other needes might much availe him more.As yet might from Oenopia walles the Cretish fleete be kend.When thitherward with puffed sayles and wind at will did tendA ship from Athens, which anon arriving at the strandSet Cephal with Ambassade from his Countrimen aland. The Kings three sonnes though long it were since last they had him seene,Yet knew they him. And after olde acquaintance eft had beeneRenewde by shaking hands, to Court they did him streight convay.This Prince which did allure the eyes of all men by the way,As in whose stately person still remained to be seene The markes of beautie which in flowre of former yeares had beene,Went holding out an Olife braunch that grew in Atticke landeAnd for the reverence of his age there went on eyther handA Nobleman of yonger yeares. Sir Clytus on the rightAnd Butes on the left, the sonnes of one that Pallas hight. When greeting first had past betweene these Nobles and the King,Then Cephal setting streight abroche the message he did bring,Desired aide: and shewde what leagues stoode then in force betweeneHis countrie and the Aeginites, and also what had beeneDecreed betwixt their aunceters, concluding in the ende That under colour of this war which Minos did pretendeTo only Athens, he in deede the conquest did intendeOf all Achaia. When he thus by helpe of learned skillHis countrie message furthred had, King Aeacus leaning stillHis left hand on his scepter, saide: My Lordes, I would not have Your state of Athens seeme so straunge as succor here to crave.I pray commaund. For be ye sure that what this Ile can makeIs yours. Yea all that ere I have shall hazard for your sake.I want no strength. I have such store of souldiers, that I mayBoth vex my foes and also keepe my Realme in quiet stay. And now I thinke me blest of God that time doth serve to showeWithout excuse the great good will that I to Athens owe.God holde it sir (quoth Cephalus) God make the number growOf people in this towne of yours: it did me good alateWhen such a goodly sort of youth of all one age and rate Did meete me in the streete. But yet me thinkes that many misseWhich at my former being here I have beheld ere this.At that the King did sigh, and thus with plaintfull voice did say:A sad beginning afterward in better lucke did stay.I would I plainly could the same before your faces lay. Howbeit I will disorderly repeate it as I may.And lest I seeme to wearie you with overlong delay,The men that you so mindefully enquire for lie in groundAnd nought of them save bones and dust remayneth to be found.But as it hapt what losse thereby did unto me redound? A cruell plague through Junos wrath who dreadfully did hateThis Land that of hir husbands Love did take the name alate,Upon my people fell: as long as that the maladieNone other seemde than such as haunts mans nature usually,And of so great mortalitie the hurtfull cause was hid, We strove by Phisicke of the same the Pacients for to rid.The mischief overmaistred Art: yea Phisick was to seekeTo doe it selfe good. First the Aire with foggie stinking reekeDid daily overdreepe the earth: and close culme Clouds did makeThe wether faint: and while the Moone foure times hir light did take And fillde hir emptie homes therewith, and did as often slake:The warme South windes with deadly heate continually did blow.Infected were the Springs, and Ponds, and streames that ebbe and flow.And swarmes of Serpents crawld about the fieldes that lay untilldeWhich with their poison even the brookes and running water fillde. In sodaine dropping downe of Dogs, of Horses, Sheepe and Kine,Of Birds and Beasts both wild and tame as Oxen, Wolves, and Swine,The mischiefe of this secret sore first outwardly appeeres.The wretched Plowman was amazde to see his sturdie SteeresAmid the furrow sinking downe ere halfe his worke was donne. Whole flocks of sheepe did faintly bleate, and therewithall begonneTheir fleeces for to fall away and leave the naked skin,And all their bodies with the rot attainted were within.The lustie Horse that erst was fierce in field renowne to winAgainst his kinde grew cowardly: and now forgetting quight The auncient honor which he preast so oft to get in fight,Stoode sighing sadly at the Racke as wayting for to yeeldeHis wearie life without renowne of combat in the fielde.The Boare to chafe, the Hinde to runne, the cruell Beare to fallUpon the herdes of Rother beastes had now no lust at all. A languishing was falne on all. In wayes, in woods, in plaines,The filthie carions lay, whose stinche, the Ayre it selfe distaines.(A wondrous thing to tell) not Dogges, not ravening Foules, nor yitHorecoted Wolves would once attempt to tast of them a bit.Looke, where they fell, there rotted they: and with their savor bred More harme, and further still abrode the foule infection spred.
With losse that touched yet more nere, on Husbandmen it crept,And ragingly within the walles of this great Citie stept.It tooke men first with swelting heate that scalt their guts within:The signes whereof were steaming breath and firie colourde skin. The tongue was harsh and swolne, the mouth through drought of burning veinesLay gaping up to hale in breath, and as the pacient streinesTo draw it in, he suckes therewith corrupted Aire beside.No bed, no clothes though nere so thinne the pacients could abide.But laide their hardened stomackes flat against the bare colde ground Yet no abatement of the heate therein their bodies found:But het the earth, and as for Leache was none that helpe could hight.The Surgians and Phisitions too were in the selfesame plight.Their curelesse cunning hurt themselves. The nerer any manApprocheth his diseased friend, and doth the best he canTo succor him most faithfully, the sooner did he catchHis bane. All hope of health was gone. No easment nor dispatchOf this disease except in death and buriall did they finde.Looke, whereunto that eche mans minde and fancie was enclinde,That followed he. He never past what was for his behoofe. For why? that nought could doe them good was felt too much by proofe.In everie place without respect of shame or honestieAt Wels, at brookes, at ponds, at pits, by swarmes they thronging lie:But sooner might they quench their life than staunch their thirst thereby.And therewithall so heavie and unwieldie they become, That wanting power to rise againe, they died there. Yet someThe selfesame waters guzled still without regard of feare,So weary of their lothsome beds the wretched people were,That out they lept: or if to stand their feeble force denide,They wallowed downe and out of doores immediatly them hide: It was a death to every man his owne house to abide.And for they did not know the cause whereof the sicknesse came,The place (bicause they did it know) was blamed for the same.Ye should have seene some halfe fordead go plundring here and thereBy highways sides while that their legges were able them to beare. And some lie weeping on the ground or rolling piteouslyTheir wearie eyes which afterwards should never see the Skie:Or stretching out their limmes to Heaven that overhangs on hie,Some here, some there, and yonder some, in what so ever costeDeath finding them enforced them to yeelde their fainting Ghoste. What heart had I, suppose you, then, or ought I then to have?In faith I might have lothde my life, and wisht me in my graveAs other of my people were. I could not cast mine eieIn any place, but that dead folke there strowed I did spieEven like as from a shaken twig when rotten Apples drop, Or Mast from Beches, Holmes or Okes when Poales doe scare their top.Yon stately Church with greeces long against our Court you see:It is the shrine of Jupiter. What Wight was he or sheeThat on those Altars burned not their frankincense in vaine?How oft, yet even with Frankincense that partly did remaine Still unconsumed in their hands, did die both man and wife,As ech of them with mutuall care did pray for others life?How often dyde the mother there in suing for hir sonne,Unheard upon the Altarstone, hir prayer scarce begonne?How often at the Temple doore even while the Priest did bid His Beades, and poure pure wine betwene their homes, at sodaine slidThe Oxen downe without stroke given? Yea once when I had thoughtMy selfe by offring sacrifice Joves favor to have sought,For me, my Realme, and these three ymps, the Oxe with grievous groneUpon the sodaine sunke me downe: and little bloud or none Did issue scarce to staine the knife with which they slit his throte.The sickly inwardes eke had lost the signes whereby we noteWhat things the Gods for certaintie would warne us of before:For even the verie bowels were attainted with the sore.Before the holie Temple doores, and (that the death might bee The more dispitefull) even before the Altars did I seeThe stinking corses scattred. Some with haltars stopt their winde,By death expulsing feare of death: and of a wilfull mindeDid haste their ende, which of it selfe was coming on apace.The bodies which the plague had slaine were (O most wretched case) Not caried forth to buriall now. For why such store there wasThat scarce the gates were wyde inough for Coffins forth to passe.So eyther lothly on the ground unburied did they lie,Or else without solemnitie were burnt in bonfires hie.No reverence nor regard was had. Men fell togither by The eares for firing. In the fire that was prepared for oneAnother straungers corse was burnt. And lastly few or noneWere left to mourne. The sillie soules of Mothers with their smallAnd tender babes, and age with youth as Fortune did befallWent wandring gastly up and downe unmourned for at all. In fine so farre outrageously this helpelesse Murren raves,There was not wood inough for fire, nor ground inough for graves.Astonied at the stourenesse of so stout a storme of illsI said: O father Jupiter whose mightie power fulfillsBoth Heaven and Earth, if flying fame report thee not amisse In vouching that thou didst embrace in way of Love ere thisThe River Asops daughter, faire Aegina even by name,And that to take me for thy sonne thou count it not a shame:Restore thou me my folke againe, or kill thou me likewise.He gave a signe by sodaine flash of lightning from the Skies, And double peale of Thundercracks. I take this same (quoth I)And as I take it for a true and certaine signe wherebyThou doest confirme me for thy sonne: so also let it beA hansell of some happie lucke thou mindest unto me.Hard by us as it hapt that time, there was an Oken tree With spreaded armes as bare of boughes as lightly one shall see.This tree (as all the rest of Okes) was sacred unto JoveAnd sprouted of an Acorne which was fet from Dodon grove.Here markt we how the pretie Ants, the gatherers up of graine,One following other all along in order of a traine, Great burthens in their little mouthes did painfully sustaine:And nimbly up the rugged barke their beaten path maintaine.As wondring at the swarme I stoode, I said: O father deereAs many people give thou me, as Ants are creeping heere.And fill mine empty walles againe. Anon the Oke did quake, And unconstreynde of any blast, his loftie braunches shake,The which did yeeld a certaine sound. With that for dreadfull feareA shuddring through my bodie strake and up stoode stiffe my heare.But yet I kissed reverently the ground and eke the tree.Howbeit I durst not be so bolde of hope acknowne to bee. Yet hoped I: and in my heart did shroude my secret hope.
Anon came night: and sleepe upon my carefull carcasse crope.Me thought I saw the selfesame Oke with all his boughes and twigs,And all the Pismeres creeping still upon his tawnts and sprigs,Which trembling with a sodaine brayd these Harvest folke off threw And shed them on the ground about, who on the sodaine grewIn bignesse more and more, and from the earth themselves did lift:And stoode upright against the tree: and therewithall did shiftTheir maygernesse, and coleblacke hue, and number of their feete:And clad their limmes with shape of man. Away my sleepe did fleete. And when I wooke, misliking of my dreame I made my moneThat in the Gods I did perceive but slender helpe or none.But straight much trampling up and downe and shuffling did I heare,And (which to me that present time did verie straunge appeare)Of people talking in my house me thought I heard the reare. Now while I musing on the same supposde it to have beenSome fancie of the foolish dreame which lately I had seen,Behold, in comes me Telamon in hast, and thrusting opeMy Chamber doore, said: Sir, a sight of things surmounting hopeAnd credit shall you have: come forth. Forth came I by and by And even such men for all the world there standing did I spieAs in my sleepe I dreamed of, and knew them for the same.They comming to me greeted me, their sovereigne Lord, by name.And I (my vowes to Jove performde) my Citie did devideAmong my new inhabiters: and gave them land beside Which by decease of such as were late owners of the sameLay wast. And in remembrance of the race whereof they came,The name of Emets I them gave. Their persons you have seen:Their disposition is the same that erst in them hath been.They are a sparing kinde of folke, on labor wholy set, A gatherer, and a hoorder up of such as they doe get.These fellowes being like in yeares and courage of the minde,Shall go a warfare ny as soone as that the Easterne windeWhich brought you hither luckely, (the Easterne winde was itThat brought them thither) turning, to the Southerne coast doe flit.
With this and other such like talke they brought the day to ende.The Even in feasting, and the night in sleeping they did spende.The Sunne next Morrow in the heaven with golden beames did burne,And still the Easterne winde did blow and hold them from returne.Sir Pallas sonnes to Cephal came (for he their elder was) And he and they to Aeacus Court togither forth did passe.The King as yet was fast asleepe. Duke Phocus at the gateDid meete them, and receyved them according to their state.For Telamon and Peleus alreadie forth were gone,To muster Souldiers for the warres. So Phocus all alone Did leade them to an inner roume, where goodly Parlours were,And caused them to sit them downe. As he was also thereNow sitting with them, he beheld a Dart in Cephals handWith golden head, the stele whereof he well might understandWas of some straunge and unknowne tree. When certain talke had past A while of other matters there, I am (quoth he) at lastA man that hath delight in woods and loves to follow gameAnd yet I am not able sure by any meanes to ameWhat wood your Javeling stele is of. Of Ash it can not bee.For then the colour should be browne. And if of Cornell tree, It would be full of knubbed knots. I know not what it is:But sure mine eies did never see a fairer Dart than this.The one of those same brethren twaine replying to him said:Nay then the speciall propertie will make you more dismaid,Than doth the beautie of this Dart. It hitteth whatsoever He throwes it at. The stroke thereof by Chaunce is ruled never.For having done his feate, it flies all bloudie backe agenWithout the helpe of any hand. The Prince was earnest thenTo know the truth of all: as whence so riche a present came,Who gave it him, and whereupon the partie gave the same. Duke Cephal answerde his demaund in all points (one except)The which (as knowne apparantly) for shame he overlept:His beautie namely, for the which he did receive the Dart.And for the losse of his deare wife right pensive at the hart,He thus began with weeping eies: This Dart, O Goddesse sonne, (Ye ill would thinke it) makes me yirne, and long shall make me donne,If long the Gods doe give me life. This weapon hath undonneMy deare beloved wife and me. O would to God this sameHad never unto me bene given. There was a noble DameThat Procris hight (but you perchaunce have oftner heard the name Of great Orythia whose renowne was bruited so by fame,That blustring Boreas ravisht hir.) To this Orythia sheeWas sister. If a bodie should compare in ech degreeThe face and natures of them both, he could none other deemeBut Procris worthier of the twaine of ravishment should seeme. Hir father and our mutuall love did make us man and wife.Men said I had (and so I had in deede) a happie life.Howbeit Gods will was otherwise, for had it pleased himOf all this while, and even still yet in pleasure should I swim.The second Month that she and I by band of lawfull bed Had joynde togither bene, as I my masking Toyles did spred,To overthrow the horned Stags, the early Morning grayThen newly having chased night and gun to breake the day,From Mount Hymettus highest tops that freshly flourish ay,Espide me, and against my will conveyde me quight away. I trust the Goddesse will not be offended that I sayThe troth of hir. Although it would delight one to beholdeHir ruddie cheekes: although of day and night the bounds she holde:Although on juice of Ambrosie continually she feede:Yet Procris was the only Wight that I did love in deede. On Procris only was my heart: none other word had IBut Procris only in my mouth: still Procris did I crie.I upned what a holy thing was wedlocke: and how lateIt was ago since she and I were coupled in that state.Which band (and specially so soone) it were a shame to breake. The Goddesse being moved at the words that I did speake,Said: Cease thy plaint, thou Carle, and keepe thy Procris still for me.But (if my minde deceyve me not) the time will shortly beThat wish thou wilt thou had hir not. And so in anger sheTo Procris sent me backe againe. In going homeward as Upon the Goddesse sayings with my selfe I musing was,I gan to dreade bad measures lest my wife had made some scape.Hir youthfull yeares begarnished with beautie, grace and shape,In maner made me to beleve the deede already done.Againe hir maners did forbid mistrusting over soone. But I had bene away: but even the same from whom I cameA shrewde example gave how lightly wives doe run in blame:But we poore Lovers are afraide of all things. HereuponI thought to practise feates: which thing repented me anon:And shall repent me while I live. The purpose of my drifts Was for t'assault hir honestie with great rewards and gifts.The Morning fooding this my feare, to further my device,My shape (which thing me thought I felt) had altered with a trice.By meanes whereof anon unknowne to Pallas towne I came,And entred so my house: the house was clearely voide of blame: And shewed signes of chastitie in mourning ever sithTheir maister had bene rapt away. A thousand meanes wherewithTo come to Procris speach had I devisde: and scarce at lastObteinde I it. As soone as I mine eie upon hir cast,My wits were ravisht in such wise that nigh I had forgot The purposde triall of hir troth. Right much adoe God wotI had to holde mine owne that I the truth bewrayed not.To keepe my selfe from kissing hir full much adoe I hadAs reason was I should have done. She looked verie sad.And yet as sadly as she lookte, no Wight alive can show A better countenance than did she. Hir heart did inward glowIn longing for hir absent spouse. How beautifull a faceThinke you, Sir Phocus, was in hir whome sorrow so did grace?What should I make report how oft hir chast behaviour straveAnd overcame most constantly the great assaults I gave? Or tell how oft she shet me up with these same words? To one(Where ere he is) I keepe my selfe, and none but he aloneShall sure enjoy the use of me. What creature having hisWits perfect would not be content with such a proofe as thisOf hir most stedfast chastitie? I could not be content: But still to purchase to my selfe more wo I further went.At last by profering endlesse welth, and heaping gifts on gifts,In overlading hir with wordes I drave hir to hir shifts.Then cride I out: Thine evill heart my selfe I tardie take.Where of a straunge advouterer the countenance I did make, I am in deede thy husband. O unfaithfull woman thou,Even I my selfe can testifie thy lewde behavior now.She made none answere to my words, but being stricken dumAnd with the sorrow of hir heart alonly overcum,Forsaketh hir entangling house, and naughtie husband quight: And hating all the sort of men by reason of the spightThat I had wrought hir, straide abrode among the Mountaines hie,And exercisde Dianas feates. Then kindled by and byA fiercer fire within my bones than ever was before,When she had thus forsaken me by whome I set such store. I prayde hir she woulde pardon me, and did confesse my fault.Affirming that my selfe likewise with such a great assaultOf richesse might right well have bene enforst to yeelde to blame,The rather if performance had ensewed of the same.When I had this submission made, and she sufficiently Revengde hir wronged chastitie, she then immediatlyWas reconcilde: and afterward we lived many a yeareIn joy and never any jarre betweene us did appeare.Besides all this (as though hir love had bene too small a gift)She gave me eke a goodly Grewnd which was of foote so swift, That when Diana gave him hir, she said he should outgoAll others, and with this same Grewnd she gave this Dart alsoThe which you see I hold in hand. Perchaunce ye faine would knowWhat fortune to the Grewnd befell. I will unto you showA wondrous case. The straungenesse of the matter will you move.
The krinkes of certaine Prophesies surmounting farre aboveThe reach of auncient wits to read, the Brookenymphes did expound:And mindlesse of hir owne darke doubts Dame Themis being found,Was as a rechelesse Prophetisse throwne flat against the ground.For which presumptuous deede of theirs she tooke just punishment. To Thebes in Baeotia streight a cruell beast she sent,Which wrought the bane of many a Wight. The countryfolk did feedHim with their cattell and themselves, untill (as was agreed)That all we youthfull Gentlemen that dwelled there aboutAssembling pitcht our corded toyles the champion fields throughout. But Net ne toyle was none so hie that could his wightnesse stop,He mounted over at his ease the highest of the top.Then everie man let slip their Grewnds, but he them all outstriptAnd even as nimbly as a birde in daliance from them whipt.Then all the field desired me to let my Laelaps go:(The Grewnd that Procris unto me did give was named so)Who strugling for to wrest his necke already from the bandDid stretch his collar. Scarsly had we let him off of handBut that where Laelaps was become we could not understand.The print remained of his feete upon the parched sand,But he was clearly out of sight. Was never Dart I trow,Nor Pellet from enforced Sling, nor shaft from Cretish bow,That flew more swift than he did runne. There was not farre fro thenceAbout the middle of the Laund a rising ground, from whenceA man might overlooke the fieldes. I gate me to the knapOf this same hill, and there beheld of this straunge course the hapIn which the beast seemes one while caught, and ere a man would think,Doth quickly give the Grewnd the slip, and from his bighting shrink:And like a wilie Foxe he runnes not forth directly out,Nor makes a windlasse over all the champion fieldes about, But doubling and indenting still avoydes his enmies lips,And turning short, as swift about as spinning wheele he whips,To disapoint the snatch. The Grewnd pursuing at an inchDoth cote him, never losing ground: but likely still to pinchIs at the sodaine shifted off. Continually he snatches In vaine: for nothing in his mouth save only Aire he latches.Then thought I for to trie what helpe my Dart at neede could show.Which as I charged in my hand by levell aime to throw,And set my fingars to the thongs, I lifting from bylowMine eies, did looke right forth againe, and straight amids the field (A wondrous thing) two Images of Marble I beheld:Of which ye would have thought the t'one had fled on still apaceAnd that with open barking mouth the tother did him chase.In faith it was the will of God (at least if any GoddesHad care of them) that in their pace there should be found none oddes. Thus farre: and then he held his peace. But tell us ere we part(Quoth Phocus) what offence or fault committed hath your Dart?His Darts offence he thus declarde: My Lorde, the ground of allMy grief was joy. Those joyes of mine remember first I shall.It doth me good even yet to thinke upon that blissfull time ( meane the fresh and lustie yeares of pleasant youthfull Prime)When I a happie man enjoyde so faire and good a wife,And she with such a loving make did lead a happie life.The care was like of both of us, the mutuall love all one.She would not to have line with Jove my presence have forgone. Ne was there any Wight that could of me have wonne the love,No though Dame Venus had hir selfe descended from above.The glowing brands of love did burne in both our brests alike.Such time as first with crased beames the Sunne is wont to strikeThe tops of Towres and mountaines high, according to the wont Of youthfull men, in woodie Parkes I went abrode to hunt.But neither horse nor Hounds to make pursuit upon the scent.Nor Servingman, nor knottie toyle before or after went,For I was safe with this same Dart. When wearie waxt mine armeWith striking Deere, and that the day did make me somewhat warme, Withdrawing for to coole my selfe I sought among the shadesFor Aire that from the valleyes colde came breathing in at glades.The more excessive was my heate the more for Aire I sought.I waited for the gentle Aire: the Aire was that that broughtRefreshing to my wearie limmes. And (well I bear't in thought) Come Aire I wonted was to sing, come ease the paine of meWithin my bosom lodge thy selfe most welcome unto me,And as thou heretofore art wont abate my burning heate.By chaunce (such was my destinie) proceeding to repeateMo words of daliance like to these, I used for to say Great pleasure doe I take in thee: for thou from day to dayDoste both refresh and nourish me. Thou makest me delightIn woods and solitarie grounds. Now would to God I mightReceive continuall at my mouth this pleasant breath of thine.Some man (I wote not who) did heare these doubtfull words of mine, And taking them amisse supposde that this same name of AireThe which I callde so oft upon, had bene some Ladie faire:He thought that I had lovde some Nymph. And thereupon streight wayHe runnes me like a Harebrainde blab to Procris, to bewrayThis fault as he surmised it: and there with lavish tung Reported all the wanton words that he had heard me sung.A thing of light beliefe is love. She (as I since have harde)For sodeine sorrow swounded downe: and when long afterwardeShe came againe unto hir selfe, she said she was accurstAnd borne to cruell destinie: and me she blamed wurst For breaking faith: and freating at a vaine surmised shameShe dreaded that which nothing was: she fearde a headlesse name.She wist not what to say or thinke. The wretch did greatly feareDeceit: yet could she not beleve the tales that talked were.Onlesse she saw hir husbands fault apparant to hir eie, She thought she would not him condemne of any villanie.Next day as soone as Morning light had driven the night away,I went abrode to hunt againe: and speeding, as I layUpon the grasse, I said: Come, Aire, and ease my painfull heate.And on the sodaine as I spake there seemed for to beate A certaine sighing in mine eares of what I could not gesse.But ceasing not for that I still proceeded nathelesse:And said, O come, most pleasant Aire. With that I heard a soundOf russling softly in the leaves that lay upon the ground.And thinking it had bene some beast I threw my flying Dart.It was my wife. Who being now sore wounded at the hart,Cride out, Alas. As soone as I perceyved by the shriekeIt was my faithfull spouse, I ran me to the voiceward liekeA madman that had lost his wits. There found I hir halfe dead,Hir scattred garments staining in the bloud that she had bled, And (wretched creature as I am) yet drawing from the woundThe gift that she hir selfe had given. Then softly from the groundI lifted up that bodie of hirs of which I was more chareThan of mine owne, and from hir brest hir clothes in hast I tare.And binding up hir cruell wound I strived for to stay The bloud, and prayd she would not thus by passing so awayForsake me as a murtherer: she waxing weake at lengthAnd drawing to hir death apace, enforced all hir strengthTo utter these few wordes at last: I pray thee humbly byOur bond of wedlocke, by the Gods as well above the Skie As those to whome I now must passe, as ever I have oughtDeserved well by thee, and by the Love which having broughtMe to my death doth even in death unfaded still remaine,To nestle in thy bed and mine let never Aire obtaine.This sed, she held hir peace, and I perceyved by the sameAnd tolde hir also how she was beguiled in the name.But what avayled telling then? she quoathde: and with hir bloudHir little strength did fade. Howbeit as long as that she coudSee ought, she stared in my face and gasping still on meEven in my mouth she breathed forth hir wretched ghost. But sheDid seeme with better cheare to die for that hir conscience wasDischarged quight and cleare of doubtes. Now in conclusion asDuke Cephal weeping told this tale to Phocus and the restWhose eyes were also moyst with teares to heare the pitious gest,Behold King Aeacus and with him his eldest sonnes both twaineDid enter in and after them there followed in a traineOf well appointed men of warre new levied: which the KingDelivered unto Cephalus to Athens towne to bring.