Thus ended his advertisment: and yet the wilfull LadWithstood his counsell urging still the promisse that he had, Desiring for to have the chare as if he had been mad.His father having made delay as long as he could shift,Did lead him where his Chariot stood, which was of Vulcans gift.The Axeltree was massie golde, the Bucke was massie golde,The utmost fellies of the wheeles, and where the tree was rolde. The spokes were all of sylver bright, the Chrysolites and GemmesThat stood uppon the Collars, Trace, and hounces in their hemmesDid cast a sheere and glimmering light, as Phoebus shone thereon.Now while the lustie Phaeton stood gazing here upon,And wondered at the workemanship of everie thing: beeholde The earely morning in the East beegan mee to unfoldeHir purple Gates, and shewde hir house bedeckt with Roses red.The twinckling starres withdrew which by the morning star are led:Who as the Captaine of that Host that hath no peere nor match,Dooth leave his standing last of all within that heavenly watch. Now when his Father sawe the worlde thus glister red and trim,And that his waning sisters hornes began to waxen dim,He had the fetherfooted howres go harnesse in his horse.The Goddesses with might and mayne themselves thereto enforce.His fierifoming Steedes full fed with juice of Ambrosie They take from Maunger trimly dight: and to their heades doe tieStrong reyned bits: and to the Charyot doe them well appoint.Then Phoebus did with heavenly salve his Phaetons heade annoint,That scorching fire coulde nothing hurt: which done, upon his haireHe put the fresh and golden rayes himselfe was wont to weare. And then as one whose heart misgave the sorrowes drawing fast,With sorie sighes he thus bespake his retchlesse sonne at last:(And if thou canst) at least yet this thy fathers lore obay:Sonne, spare the whip, and reyne them hard, they run so swift awayAs that thou shalt have much adoe their fleeing course to stay. Directly through the Zones all five beware thou doe not ride,A brode byway cut out askew that bendeth on the sideContaynde within the bondes of three the midmost Zones doth lie:Which from the grisely Northren beare, and Southren Pole doth flie.Keepe on this way: my Charyot rakes thou plainely shalt espie And to th'intent that heaven and earth may well the heate endure,Drive neyther over high nor yet too lowe. For be thou sure,And if thou mount above thy boundes, the starres thou burnest cleane.Againe beneath thou burnst the Earth: most safetie is the meane.And least perchaunce thou overmuch the right hand way should take, And so misfortune should thee drive upon the writhen Snake,Or else by taking overmuche upon the lefter handUnto the Aultar thou be driven that doth against it stand:Indifferently betweene them both I wish thee for to ride.The rest I put to fortunes will, who be thy friendly guide, And better for thee than thy selfe as in this case provide.Whiles that I prattle here with thee, behold the dankish nightBeyond all Spaine hir utmost bound is passed out of sight.We may no lenger tariance make: my wonted light is cald,The Morning with hir countnance cleare the darknesse hath appald. Take raine in hand, or if thy minde by counsell altred bee,Refuse to meddle with my Wayne: and while thou yet art free,And doste at ease within my house in safegarde well remaine,Of this thine unadvised wish not feeling yet the paine,Let me alone with giving still the world his wonted light, And thou thereof as heretofore enjoy the harmelesse sight.Thus much in vaine: for Phaeton both yong in yeares and wit,Into the Chariot lightly lept, and vauncing him in itWas not a little proud that he the brydle gotten had.He thankt his father whom it grievde to see his childe so mad. While Phebus and his rechelesse sonne were entertalking this,Aeous, Aethon, Phlegon, and the firie Pyrois,The restlesse horses of the Sunne, began to ney so hieWyth flaming breath, that all the heaven might heare them perfectly.And with their hoves they mainly beate upon the lattisde grate. The which when Tethis (knowing nought of this hir cousins fate)Had put aside, and given the steedes the free and open scopeOf all the compasse of the Skie within the heavenly Cope:They girded forth, and cutting through the Cloudes that let their race,With splayed wings they overflew the Easterne winde apace. The burthen was so lyght as that the Genets felt it not.The wonted weight was from the Waine, the which they well did wot.For like as ships amids the Seas that scant of ballace have,Doe reele and totter with the wynde, and yeeld to every wave:Even so the Waine for want of weight it erst was wont to beare, Did hoyse aloft and scayle and reele, as though it empty were.Which when the Cartware did perceyve, they left the beaten wayAnd taking bridle in the teeth began to run astray.The rider was so sore agast, he knew no use of Rayne,Nor yet his way: and though he had, yet had it ben in vayne, Because he wanted powre to rule the horses and the Wayne.Then first did sweat cold Charles his Wain through force of Phebus rayesAnd in the Sea forbidden him, to dive in vaine assayes.The Serpent at the frozen Pole both colde and slow by kinde,Through heat waxt wroth, and stird about a cooler place to finde. And thou Bootes though thou be but slow of footemanship,Yet wert thou faine (as Fame reports) about thy Waine to skip.Now when unhappy Phaeton from top of all the SkieBehelde the Earth that underneath a great way off did lie,He waxed pale for sodaine feare, his joynts and sinewes quooke, The greatnesse of the glistring light his eyesight from him tooke.Now wisht he that he never had his fathers horses see:It yrkt him that he thus had sought to learne his piedegre.It grievde him that he had prevailde in gaining his request.To have bene counted Merops sonne he thought it now the best. Thus thinking was he headlong driven, as when a ship is borneBy blustring windes, hir saileclothes rent, hir sterne in pieces torne,And tacling brust, the which the Pilote trusting all to prayreAbandons wholy to the Sea and fortune of the ayre.What should he doe? much of the heaven he passed had behinde And more he saw before: both whiche he measurde in his minde,Eft looking forward to the West which to approch as thenMight not betide, and to the East eft looking backe agen.He wist not what was best to doe, his wittes were ravisht so.For neither could he hold the Reynes, nor yet durst let them go. And of his horses names was none that he remembred tho.Straunge uncoth Monsters did he see dispersed here and thereAnd dreadfull shapes of ugly beasts that in the Welkin were.
There is a certaine place in which the hidious Scorpion throwesHis armes in compasse far abrode, much like a couple of bowes, With writhen tayle and clasping cles, whose poyson limmes doe stretchOn every side, that of two signes they full the roume doe retch,Whome when the Lad beheld all moyst with blacke and lothly swet,With sharpe and nedlepointed sting as though he seemde to thret,He was so sore astraught for feare, he let the bridels slacke, Which when the horses felt lie lose upon their sweating backe,At rovers straight throughout the Ayre by wayes unknowne they ranWhereas they never came before since that the worlde began.For looke what way their lawlesse rage by chaunce and fortune drueWithout controlment or restraint that way they freely flue Among the starres that fixed are within the firmamentThey snatcht the Chariot here and there. One while they coursing wentUpon the top of all the skie: anon againe full roundThey troll me downe to lower wayes and nearer to the ground,So that the Moone was in a Maze to see hir brothers Waine Run under hirs: the singed cloudes began to smoke amaine.Eche ground the higher that it was and nearer to the SkieThe sooner was it set on fire, and made therewith so drieThat every where it gan to chinke. The Medes and Pastures greeneDid seare away: and with the leaves, the trees were burned cleene. The parched corne did yeelde wherewith to worke his owne decaie.Tushe, these are trifles. Mightie townes did perish that same daie.Whose countries with their folke were burnt: and forests ful of woodWere turnde to ashes with the rocks and mountains where they stood.Then Athe, Cilician, Taure and Tmole and Oeta flamed hie, And Ide erst full of flowing springs was then made utter drie.The learned virgins daily haunt, the sacred Helicon,And Thracian Hemus (not as yet surnamde Oeagrion,)Did smoke both twaine: and Aetna hote of nature aye before,Encreast by force of Phebus flame now raged ten times more.The forkt Parnasus, Eryx, Cynth, and Othrys then did sweltAnd all the snow of Rhodope did at that present melt.The like outrage Mount Dindymus, and Mime and Micale felt.Cytheron borne to sacred use with Osse, and Pindus hieAnd Olymp greater than them both did burne excessively. The passing colde that Scithie had defended not the sameBut that the barren Caucasus was partner of this flame.And so were eke the Airie Alpes and Appennyne beside,For all the Cloudes continually their snowie tops doe hide.Then wheresoever Phaeton did chaunce to cast his vew, The world was all on flaming fire. The breath the which he drew,Came smoking from his scalding mouth as from a seething pot.His Chariot also under him began to waxe red hot.He could no lenger dure the sparkes and cinder flyeng out,Againe the culme and smouldring smoke did wrap him round about, The pitchie darkenesse of the which so wholy had him hentAs that he wist not where he was nor yet which way he went.The winged horses forcibly did draw him where they wolde.The Aethiopians at that time (as men for truth upholde)(The bloud by force of that same heate drawne to the outer part And there adust from that time forth) became so blacke and swart.The moysture was so dried up in Lybie land that timeThat altogither drie and scorcht continueth yet that Clyme.The Nymphes with haire about their eares bewayld their springs and lakes.Beotia for hir Dyrces losse great lamentation makes. For Amimone Argos wept, and Corinth for the springPyrene, at whose sacred streame the Muses usde to sing.The Rivers further from the place were not in better case,For Tanais in his deepest streame did boyle and steme apace,Old Penew and Caycus of the countrie Teuthranie, And swift Ismenos in their bankes by like misfortune frie.Then burnde the Psophian Erymanth: and (which should burne ageine)The Trojan Xanthus and Lycormas with his yellow veine,Meander playing in his bankes aye winding to and fro,Migdonian Melas with his waves as blacke as any slo.Eurotas running by the foote of Tenare boyled tho.Then sod Euphrates cutting through the middes of Babilon.Then sod Orontes, and the Scithian swift Thermodoon.Then Ganges, Colchian Phasis, and the noble IstreAlpheus and Sperchius bankes with flaming fire did glistre. The golde that Tagus streame did beare did in the chanell melt.Amid Cayster of this fire the raging heat was feltAmong the quieres of singing Swannes that with their pleasant layAlong the bankes of Lidian brakes from place to place did stray.And Nyle for feare did run away into the furthest Clyme Of all the world, and hid his heade, which to this present tymeIs yet unfound: his mouthes all seven cleane voyde of water beene,Like seven great valleys where (save dust) could nothing else be seene.By like misfortune Hebrus dride and Strymon, both of Thrace.The Westerne Rivers Rhine and Rhone and Po were in like case: And Tyber unto whome the Goddes a faithfull promise gaveOf all the world the Monarchie and soveraigne state to have.The ground did cranie everie where and light did pierce to hellAnd made afraide the King and Queene that in that Realme doe dwell.The Sea did shrinke and where as waves did late before remaine, Became a Champion field of dust and even a sandy plaine.The hilles erst hid farre under waves like Ilelandes did appeareSo that the scattred Cyclades for the time augmented were.The fishes drew them to the deepes: the Dolphines durst not playAbove the water as before, the Seales and Porkpis lay With bellies upward on the waves starke dead: and fame doth goThat Nereus with his wife and daughters all were faine as thoTo dive within the scalding waves. Thrise Neptune did advaunceHis armes above the scalding Sea with sturdy countenaunce:And thrise for hotenesse of the Ayre, was faine himselfe to hide. But yet the Earth the Nurce of things enclosde on every side(Betweene the waters of the Sea and Springs that now had hiddenThemselves within their Mothers wombe) for all the paine abidden,Up to the necke put forth hir head and casting up hir hand,Betweene hir forehead and the sunne as panting she did stand With dreadfull quaking, all that was she fearfully did shake,And shrinking somewhat lower downe with sacred voyce thus spake:O king of Gods and if this be thy will and my desart,Why doste thou stay with deadly dint thy thunder downe to dart?And if that needes I perish must through force of firie flame, Let thy celestiall fire O God I pray thee doe the same.A comfort shall it be to have thee Author of my death.I scarce have powre to speak these words (the smoke had stopt hir breath).Behold my singed haire: behold my dim and bleared eye,See how about my scorched face the scalding embers flie. Is this the guerdon wherewithall ye quite my fruitfulnesse?Is this the honor that ye gave me for my plenteousnesseAnd dutie done with true intent? for suffring of the ploughTo draw deepe woundes upon my backe and rakes to rend me through?For that I over all the yeare continually am wrought? For giving foder to the beasts and cattell all for nought?For yeelding corne and other foode wherewith to keepe mankinde?And that to honor you withall sweete frankinsence I finde?But put the case that my desert destruction duely crave,What hath thy brother? what the Seas deserved for to have? Why doe the Seas, his lotted part, thus ebbe and fall so low,Withdrawing from thy Skie to which it ought most neare to grow?But if thou neyther doste regarde thy brother, neyther mee,At least have mercy on thy heaven, looke round about and seeHow both the Poles begin to smoke which if the fire appall To utter ruine (be thou sure) thy pallace needes must fall.Behold how Atlas ginnes to faint. His shoulders though full strong,Unneth are able to uphold the sparkling Extree long.If Sea and Land doe go to wrecke, and heaven it selfe doe burneTo olde confused Chaos then of force we must returne. Put to thy helping hand therfore to save the little leftIf ought remaine before that all be quite and cleane bereft.
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.
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.
The Centaure Chyron in the while was glad of Phebus boy,And as the burthen brought some care the honor brought him joy.Upon a time with golden lockes about hir shoulders spread,A daughter of the Centaurs (whome a certaine Nymph had bredAbout the brooke Caycus bankes) that hight Ocyroe Came thither. This same fayre yong Nymph could not contented beTo learne the craft of Surgerie as perfect as hir Sire,But that to learne the secret doomes of Fate she must aspire.And therfore when the furious rage of frenzie had hir cought,And that the spright of Prophecie enflamed had hir thought, She lookt upon the childe and saide: Sweete babe the Gods thee makeA man. For all the world shall fare the better for thy sake.All sores and sicknesse shalt thou cure: thy powre shall eke be syche,To make the dead alive again. For doing of the whicheAgainst the pleasure of the Gods, thy Graundsire shall thee strike So with his fire, that never more thou shalt performe the like.And of a God a bludlesse corse, and of a corse (full straunge)Thou shalt become a God againe, and twice thy nature chaunge.And thou my father liefe and deare, who now by destinie,Art borne to live for evermore and never for to die, Shalt suffer such outragious paine throughout thy members all,By wounding of a venimde dart that on thy foote shall fall,That oft thou shalt desire to die, and in the latter endThe fatall dames shall breake thy threede and thy desire thee send.There was yet more behinde to tell, when sodenly she fet A sore deepe sigh, and downe hir cheekes the teares did trickle wet.Mine owne misfortune (quoth she) now hath overtake me sure.I cannot utter any more, for words waxe out of ure.My cunning was not worth so much as that it should procureThe wrath of God. I feele by proufe far better had it bene: If that the chaunce of things to come I never had foreseene.For now my native shape withdrawes. Me thinkes I have delightTo feede on grasse and fling in fieldes: I feele my selfe so light.I am transformed to a Mare like other of my kinne.But wherfore should this brutish shape all over wholy winne? Considering that although both horse and man my father bee:Yet is his better part a man as plainly is to see.The latter ende of this complaint was fumbled in such wise,As what she meant the standers by could scarcely well devise.Anon she neyther semde to speake nor fully for to ney, But like to one that counterfeites in sport the Mare to play.Within a while she neyed plaine, and downe hir armes were pightUpon the ground all clad with haire, and bare hir bodie right.Hir fingers joyned all in one, at ende wherof did growIn stede of nayles a round tough hoofe of welked horne bylow. Hir head and necke shot forth in length, hir kirtle trayne becameA faire long taile. Hir flaring haire was made a hanging Mane.And as hir native shape and voyce most monstrously did passe,So by the uncoth name of Mare she after termed was.