But, maiden, see the day is waxen olde,
And gins to shut in with the marigold:
The neat-heard's kine do bellow in the yard;
And dairy maidens for the milke prepar'd,
Are drawing at the udder, long ere now

The plow-man hath unyoak'd his teame from plow:
My transformation to a fearefull hinde
Shall to unfold a fitter season finde;

Over the stately wood survay the cops,
Promis'th (if sought) a wished place of rest,
Till Sol our hemisphere have repossest."

Now must my Muse afford a straine to Riot,
Who, almost kil'd with his luxurious diet,
Lay eating grasse (as dogges) within a wood,
So to disgorge the undisgested food:
By whom faire Aletheia past along
With Fida, queene of every shepheard's song,
By them unseene, (for he securely lay
Under the thicke of many a leaved spray)
And through the level'd meadowes gently threw
Their neatest feet, washt with refreshing dew,
Where he durst not approach, but on the edge
Of th' hilly wood, in covert of a hedge,
Went onward with them, trode with them in paces,
And farre off much admir'd their formes and graces.
Into the plaines at last he headlong venter'd:
But they the hill had got and pallace enter'd.
When, like a valiant well resolved man
Seeking new paths i' th' pathlesse ocean,
Unto the shores of monster-breeding Nyle;
Or through the north to the unpeopled Thyle,
Where from the equinoctiall of the spring,
To that of autumne, Titan's golden ring
Is never off; and till the spring againe
In gloomy darknesse all the shoares remaine.
Or if he furrow up the brynie sea,
To cast his anchors in the frozen bay
Of woody Norway; (who hath ever fed
Her people more with scaly fish than bread)
Tho' ratling mounts of ice thrust at his beline,
And by their fall still threaten to o'erwhelme
His little vessell: and though winter throw

A paire of pincers held; wherewith her heart
Was hardly grasped, while the pailed stones
Re-eccoed to her lamentable grones.

Here at this gate the custome long bad bin,
When any sought to be admitted in,
Remorce thus us'd them ere they had the keye,
And all, these torments felt, pass'd on their way.

When Riot came, the ladie's paines nigh done,
She past the gate; and then Remorce begunne
To fetter Riot in strong iron chaines;
And doubting much his patience in the paines,
As when a smith and's man (lame Vulcan's fellowes)
Call'd from the anvile or the puffing bellowes,
To clappe a well-wrought shoe (for more than pay)
Upon a stubborne nagge of Galloway;
Or unback'd jennet, or a Flanders mare,
That at the forge stand snuffing of the ayre;
The swarthy smith spits in his buckehorne fist,
And bids his men bring out the five-fold twist,
His shackles, shacklockes, hampers, gives, and
chaines,

His linked bolts; and with no little paines These make him fast: and lest all these should faulter,

Unto a poste with some sixe doubled halter
He bindes his head; yet all are of the least
To curbe the fury of the head-strong beast:
When if a carrier's jade be brought unto him,
His man can hold his foote whilst he can shoe him:
Remorce was so inforc'd to binde him stronger,
Because his faults requir'd infliction longer,
Than any sinne-prest wight, which many a day
Since Judas hung himselfe had past that way.
When all the cruell torments he had borne,

snow,

Strives to congeale his bloud; he cares not for't, But, arm'd in minde, gets his intended port:

So Riot, though full many doubts arise, Whose unknowne ends might graspe his enterprise, Climbes towardes the palace, and with gate de

mure,

With hanging head, a voyce as faining pure,
With torne and ragged coate, his hairy legs
Bloudy, as scratch'd with bryers, he ent'rance begs.
Remembrance sate as portresse of this gate:
A lady alwayes musing as she sate,
Except when sometime suddainely she rose,
And with a backe bent eye, at length, she throwes
Her hand to Heaven: and in a wond'ring guize,
Star'd on each object with her fixed eyes:
As some way-faring man passing a wood,
(Whose waving top hath long a sea-marke stood)
Goes jogging on, and in his minde nought hath,
But how the primrose finely strew the path,
Or sweetest violets lay downe their heads
At some tree's roote on mossie feather-beds,
Until his heele receives an adder's sting,
Whereat he starts, and backe his head doth fling.
She never mark'd the sute he did preferre,
But (carelesse) let him pass along by her.

Pinching with glowing pincers his owne heart,
All lame and restlesse, full of wounds and smart,
He to the posterne creepes, so inward hyes,
And from the gate a two-fold path descryes:
One leading up a hill, Repentance' way;
And (as more worthy) on the right-hand lay:
The other head-long, steepe, and lik'ned well
Unto the path which tendeth downe to Hell:
All steps that thither went shew'd no returning,
The port to paines, and to eternall mourning.
Where certaine Death liv'd; in an ebon chaire
The soule's blacke homicide, meager Despaire",
Had his abode: there 'gainst the craggy rockes
Some dasht their braines out with relentlesse

knockes;

Others on trees (O most accursed elves!)
Are fastening knots, so to undoe themselves.
Here one in sinne not daring to appeare
At Mercie's seate with one repentant teare,
Within his breast was launcing of an eye,
That unto God it might for vengeance cry:
There from a rocke a wretch but newly fell,
All torne in pieces, to goe whole to Hell.

11 See Spenser's Fairie Queene, b. 1. c. 9. s. 33, &c. Fletcher's Purple Island, c. 12. s. 32, &c.

"Power? but of whence? under the greene-wood Or liv'st in Heav'n? say."

[spray,

ECCNO. In Heaven's aye. "In Heaven's aye! tell, may I it obtaine By almes, by fasting, prayer by paine?" ECCHO. By paine. "Shew me the paine, it shall be undergone : I to mine end will still go on."

ECCHO. Go on. "But whither? On! Shew me the place, the time: What if the mountaine I do climbe?"

ECCHо. Do climbe. "Is that the way to joyes which still endure ? O bid my soule of it be sure!"

Eccuo. Be sure. "Then, thus assured, doe I climbe the hill, Heaven be my guide in this thy will.”

ECCHO. I will. As when a maide, taught from her mother's wing To tune her voyce unto a silver string, When she should run, she rests; rests, when should And ends her lesson, having now begun : [run, Now misseth she her stop, then in her song, And, doing of her best, she still is wrong: Begins againe, and yet againe strikes false, Then in a chafe 'orsakes her virginals; And yet within an hour she tries a-new, That with her dayly paines (art's chiefest due) She gaines that charming skill: and can no lesse Tame the fierce walkers of the wildernesse, Than that agrian harpist ", for whose lay Tigers with hunger pinde and left their pray. So Riot, when he gan to climbe the hill, Here maketh haste, and there long standeth still, Now getteth up a step, then falls againe, Yet not despairing, all his nerves doth straine To clamber up a-new, then slide his feet, And downe he comes; but gives not over yet, For (with the maide) be hopes, a time will be When merit shall be linckt with industre.

Now as an angler melancholy standing, Upon a greene bancke yeelding roome for landing, A wrigling yealow worme thrust on his hooke, Now in the midst he throwes, then in a nooke: Here pulls his line, there throws it in againe, Mending his croke and baite, but all in vaine, He long stands viewing of the curled streame; At last a hungry pike, or well-growne breame, Snatch at the worme, and hasting fast away He, knowing it a fish of stubborne sway, Puls up his rod, but soft; (as having skill) Wherewith the hooke fast holds the fishe's gill. Then all his line be freely yeeldeth him ̧ Whilst furiously all up and downe doth swimme Th' insnared fish, here on the toppe doth scud, There underneath the banckes, then in the mud And with his franticke fits so scares the shole, That each one takes his hyde or starting hole: By this the pike, cleane wearied, underneath A willow lyes, and pants (if fishes breathe); Wherewith the angler gently puls him to him, And, leaste his haste might happen to undoe him, Layes downe his rod, then takes his line in hand, And by degrees getting the fish to land,

i

Walkes to another poole: at length is winner
Of such a dish as serves him for his dinner:
So when the climber halfe the way had got,
Musing he stood, and busily gan plot,
How (since the mount did always steeper tend)
He might with steps secure his journey end.
At last (as wand'ring boyes to gather nuts)
A hooked pole he from a basell cuts ;
Now throwes it here, then there, to take some
But bootlesse and in vaine, the rocky molde
Admits no cranny, where his hasell hooke
Might promise him a step, till in a nooke
Somewhat above his reach he hath espide
A little oake, and having often tride

To catch a bough with standing on his toe,
Or leaping up, yet not prevailing so;
He rois a stone towards the little tree,
Then gets upon it, fastens warily

[hold,

His pole unto a bough, and at his drawing
The early rising crow with clam'rous kawing,
Leaving the greene bough flyes about the rocke,
Whilst twentie twentie couples to him flocke:
And now within his reach the thinne leaves wave,
With one hand onely then he holds his stave,
And with the other grasping first the leaves,
A pretty bough he in his fist receives;
Then to his girdle making fast the hooke,
His other hand another bough hath tooke;
His first, a third, and that, another gives,
To bring him to the place where his roote lives.
Then, as a nimble squirrill from the wood,
Ranging the hedges for his filberd-food,
Sits partly on a bough his browne nuts cracking,
And from the shell the sweet white kernell taking,
Till (with their crookes and bags) a sort of boyes
(To share with him) come with so great a noyse,
That he is forc'd to leave a nut nigh broke,
And for his life leape to a neighbour oake;
Thence to a beech, thence to a row of ashes;
Whilst thro' the quagmires and red water plashes,
The boyes runne dabling thro' thicke and thin,
One teares his hose, another breakes his shin;
This, torne and tatter'd, hath with much adoe
Got by the bryers; and that hath lost his shooe:
This drops his band; that head-long fals for haste;
Another cryes behinde for being last: [hollow,
With stickes and stones, and many a sounding
The little foole, with no small sport, they follow,
Whilst he, from tree to tree, from spray to spray,
Gets to the wood, and hides him in his dray:
Such shift made Riot, ere he could get up,
And so from bough to bough he wonne the toppe,
Though hind'rances, from ever comming there,
Were often thrust upon him by Despaire.

Now at his feete the stately mountaine lay,
And with a gladsome eye he gan survay
What perils he had trode on since the time
His weary feete and arines assayde to climbe.
When with a humble voyce (withouten feare,
Tho' he look'd wilde and over-growne with haire)
A gentle nymph, in russet course array,
Comes and directs him onward in his way.
First, brings she him into a goodly hall,
Faire, yet not beautified with minerall;
But in a carelesse art, and artlesse care,
Made loose Neglect, more lovely farre than rare.
Upon the floore (ypav'd with marble slate,
With sack-cloath cloth'd) many in ashes sate:
And round about the wals, for many yeares,
Hang christall vyals of repentance' teares;

And bookes of vows, and many a heavenly deede,
Lay ready open for each one to reade.
Some were immured up in little sheads,
There to contemplate Heaven, and bid their beads.
Others with garments thinne of cammel's haire,
With head, and arms, and legs, and feete all bare,
Were singing hymnes to the eternall Sage,
For safe returning from their pilgrimage:
Some with a whip their pamper'd bodyes beate,
Others in fasting live, and seldome eate:
But, as those trees which doe in India grow,
And call'd of elder swaines, full long agoe,
The Sunne and Moone's faire trees, (full goodly
deight,
[height]
And tenne times tenne feete challenging their
Having no belpe (to over-looke brave towers)
From coole refreshing dew, or drisling showers;
When as the Earth (as often times is seene)
Is interpos'd 'twixt Sol and night's pale queene;
Or when the Moone ecclipseth Titan's light,
The trees, (all comfortlesse) rob'd of their sight,
Weepe liqued drops, which plentifully shoote
Along the outward barke downe to the roote,
And by their owne shed teares they ever flourish;
So their owne sorrowes their owne joyes do nourish:
And so within this place full many a wight
Did make his teares his food, both day and night.
And had it granted, (from th' Almighty great)
Swimme thorough them unto his mercy-seate.

Faire Metanoia in a chayre of earth,

With count'nance sad, yet sadnesse promis'd mirth, Sate vail'd in coursest weedes of cammel's hayre, Inriching poverty; yet never fayre

[scate,

| Was like to her, nor since the world begun
A lovelyer lady kist the glorious Sun.
For her the god of thunder, mighty, great,
Whose foote-stoole is the Earth, and Heaven his
Unto a man, who from his crying birth
Went on still shunning what he carryed, earth:
When he could walke no further for his grave,
Nor could step over, but be there must have
A seate to rest, when he would faine go on;
But age in every nerve, in every bone,
Forbad his passage: for her sake hath Heaven
Fill'd up the grave, and made his path so eaven,
That fifteene courses had the bright steedes run,
(And he was weary) ere his course was done,
For scorning her, the courts of kings, which throw
A proud rais'd pinnacle to rest the crow;
And on a plaine out-brave a neighbour rocke
In stout resistance of a tempter's shocke.
For her contempt Heaven (reyning his disasters)
Hath made those towers but piles to burne their

T

By Metanoia's hand from Heaven, began
Receive their sentence of divorce from man.

And as a lovely maiden, pure and chaste,
With naked iv'rie necke, and gowne unlac'd,
Within her chamber, when the day is fled,
Makes poore her garments to enrich her bed :
First, puts she off her lilly-silken gowne,
That shrikes for sorrow as she layes it downe;
And with her armes graceth a wast-coate fine,
Imbracing her as it would ne'er untwine.
Her flexen haire, insuaring all beholders,
She next permits to wave about her shoulders;
And though she cast it backe, the silken slips
Still forward steale, and hang upon her lips:
Whereat she, sweetly angry, with her laces
Binds up the wanton lockes in curious traces,
Whilst (twisting with her joynts) each haire long
lingers,

As loath to be inchain'd, but with her fingers.
Then on her head a dressing like a crowne;
Her breasts all bare, her kirtle slipping downe,
And all things off, (which rightly ever be
Call'd the foule-faire markes of our miserie)
Except her last, which enviously doth seize her,
Least any eye partake with it in pleasure,
Prepares for sweetest rest, while silvans greete her,
And (longingly) the downe-bed swels to meet her:
So by degrees his shape, all brutish wilde,

Fell from him, (as loose skin from some young childe)

In lieu whereof a man-like shape appeares,
And gallant youth scarce skill'd in twenty yeares,
So faire, so fresh, so young, so admirable
In every part, that since I am not able

In words to shew his picture, gentle swaines,
Recall the prayses in my former straines;
And know if they have graced any limme,
I onely lent it those, but stole 't from him.

Had that chaste Romane dame " beheld his face,
Ere the proud king possest her husband's place,
Her thoughts had beene adulterate, and this staine
Had wonne her greater fame, had she beene slaine.
The larke that many mornes herselfe makes merry
With the shrill chanting of her teery-larry,
(Before he was transform'd) would leave the skyes,
And hover o'er him to behold his eyes.
Upon an oaten pipe well could he play,
For when he fed his flocke upon the leye,
Maidens to heare him from the plaines came trip.
ping,
[ping;

Then to a garden set with rarest flowres,
With pleasant fountaines stor'd, and shady bowres,
She leads him by the hand; and in the groves,
Where thousand pretty birds sung to their loves,
And thousand thousand blossomes (from their
stalkes)

Milde Zephyrus threw downe to paint the walkes,
Where yet the wilde boare never durst appeare:
Here Fida (ever to kinde Raymond deare)
Met them, and shew'd where Aletheia lay,
(The fairest maide that ever blest the day.)
Sweetly she lay, and cool'd her lilly hands
Within a spring that threw up golden sands:
As if it would intice her to persever

In living there, and grace the banckes forever.
To her Amintas (Riot now no more)
Came, and saluted: never man before
More blest, nor like this kisse hath beene another,
But when two dangling cherries kist each other:
Nor ever beauties, like, met at such closes,
But in the kisses of two damaske-roses.
O, how the flowres (prest with their treadings on
them)

Strove to cast up their heads to looke upon them!
How jealously the buds, that so had seene them,
Sent forth the sweetest smels to step betweene

them,

As fearing the perfume lodg'd in their powers, Once knowne of them, they might neglect the flowres.

How often wisht Amintas, with his heart,
His ruddy lips from hers might never part: [ing,
And that the Heavens this gift were them bequeath-
To feed on nothing but each other's breathing!
A truer love the Muses never sung,
Nor happyer names ere grac'd a golden tongue :
O! they are better fitting his sweet stripe,
Who 15 on the bankes of Ancor tun'd his pype:
Or rather for that learned swaine 16, whose layes
Divinest Homer crown'd with deathlesse bayes:
Or any one sent from the sacred well
Inheriting the soule of Astrophel 17:
These, these in golden lines might write this story,
And make these loves their owne eternall glory:
Whilst I, a swaine, as weake in yeares as skill,
Should in the valley heare them on the hill.
Yet (when my sheepe have at the cesternes beene,
And I have brought them backe to sneare_the
greene)

To misse an idle houre, and not for meede,
Whose choisest relish shall mine oaten reede
Record their worths: and though in accents rare
I misse the glory of a charming ayre,
My Muse may one day make the courtly swaines
Enamour'd on the musicke of the plaines,
And as upon a hill she bravely sings,

Teach humble dales to weepe in christall springs.