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(And with a christall ring did seeme to marry No way to it but one, steepe and obscure,
Themselves, to this small ile sad-solitarie:) The staires of rugged stone, seldome in ure,
I'pop whose brist (which trembled as it raove) All over-growne with mosse, as Nature sate
Rode the faire downie-silver-coated swan :

To entertaine Griefe with a cloth of state.
And on the banckes each cypresse bow'd his head, “ Hardly unto the toppe I had ascended,
To heare the swan sing her owne epiced'.

But that the trees (siding the steps) befriended As when the gallant youth which live upon My weary limbes, w bo bowing downe their armes, The westerne downes of lovely Albion,

Gare bold unto my hands to scape from barmes : Metting, some festivall to solemnize,

Which everinore are ready, still present Choose out two, skil'd in wrastling exercise, Our feete, in climbiog places eminent. Who strongly at the wrist or coller cling,

Before the doorç (to birder Phæbus' view) Wbilst arme in arme the people make a ring, A shady boxe-tree grasped with an yewgh, So did the water round this ile inclincke,

As in the place behalfe they menac'd warre And so the trees grew on the water's briocke : Against the radyance of each sparkling starre. Waters their streames about the iland scatter; And on their barkes (wbich time had nigh depravd) And trees perform’d as much unto the water: These lines (it seem'd) had beene of old engrav'd: Under whose shade the nightingale would bring * This place was fram'd of yore, to be pussest Hler chirping voung, and reach them how to sing. By one which sometime hath berne happiest.' The woods' most sad masitians hither hye,

“ Lovely Ida', the most beautious As it had beene the silvian's castaly,

Of all the darlings of Oceanus,
And warbled forth such elegyacke straines, Hesperia's envy and the westerne pride,
That stroke the windes dumbe; and the motly Whose party.coloured garment Nature dy'd
plaines

lo more eye-pleasing hewes, with richer graine, Were fill'd with envy, that such shady places Thau Iris' bow attending Aprill's raine. Held all the world's delights in their imbraces. Wbosc lilly-white, inshaded with the rose,

“O how (me thinkes) the impes of Mneme bring Had that wan' seene, who surg th' Æneidos, Dewes of invention from their sacred spring!

Dišlo had in oblivion slept, and she Here could I spend that spring of poesie,

Had given his Muse her best eternitie. Which not twice ten sunnes have bestow'd on me; Had brave Atrides (who did erst imploy And tell the world, the Muse's lore appeares

His force to mixe his dead with those of Troy) In nonag'd youth, as in the length of yeeres.

Beene proffered for a truce ber fained peece, But cre my Muse erected have the frame, [name, Helen bad staid, and that had gone to Greece : Wherein enshrine an unknowne shepheard's

The Phrygian soile had not bin drunk with bloud, She many a grore and other woods must treade, Achilles longer breath'd, and Troy yet stood : More bils, more dales, more founts, must be dis- The prince of poets * had not sung his story, plaid,

My friend' had lost his ever-living glory. More ineadowes, rockes, and from them all elect "But as a snowy swan, wlio many a day Matter befitting such an architect.

Onthamar's swelling breasts hath had his play, “ As children on a play-day leare the schooles, For further pleasure doeth assay to swimine And gladly runne onto the swimming pooles, My native Tavy, or the sandy Plim. Or in the thickets, all with prottles stung,

And on the panting billowes bravely rides, Rush to dispoile some sweet thrush of ber young ; Whilst country-lasses, walking on the sides, Or with their hats (for fish) lacle in a brooke Ailmire her beauty, and, with clapping hands, Withouten paine: but when the morne doth looke Would force her leave the streaine, and tread the Out of the easterne gates, a snayle would faster

sands, Glide to the schooles, than they unto their master: When she regardlesse şwims to th’ other edge, So when before I sung the songs of birds,

Unuil an envious bryer, or tangling scdge, (Whilst every moment sweet'ned lines affords) Dispoyles her plumes; or else a sharpened beame I pip'd devoid of paine ; but now I come

Pierceth her breast, and on the bloudy streame l'nto my taske, my Muse is stricken dumbe. She pants for life : so whilome rode tbis maide My blubb'ring pen her sable teares lets fall, On streames of worldly blisse, more rich array'd In characters right hyrogliphicall,

With Earth's delight, than thought could put in And mixing with my teares, are ready turning

To glut the sences of an epicore.

[ure, My late white paper to a weede of mourning; Whilst neigh'bring kings upon their frontiers stood; Or incke and paper strive how to impart

And offer'd for ber dowre huge seas of bloud: My words, the weedes they wore, within my hart : And perjur'd Gerion', to win her, rent Or else the blots unwilling are my rimes

The Indian rockes for gold, and bootlesse spent And their sad cause should live till after-tiines; Alinost his patrimony for ber sake, Fearing, if inen their subject should descry, Yet nothing like respected as the Drake ?, 'They forthwith would dissolve in teares, and die. That skowr'ıl her channels, and destroy'd the weede, Upon the island's craggy rising bill

Which spoyl'd ber sister's nets, and fishes' breede. A quadrant ranne, wherein, by artlesse skill, At last her truest love she threw upon At every corner Nature did erect

A royall youth®, whose like, whose paragon, 4 coluinne rude, yet voyde of all defect : Whereon a marble lay. The thick-growne bryer, ? Britannia. 3 Virgil. * Homer. And prickled hawthornc, (woven all entyre) Together clung, and barr'd the gladsome light

> G. Chapman, who was in that age famous for

his translation of Homer's works. From any enterance, fitting onely night.

6 K. Philip of Spain. : Sir Francis. ? A funerall song before the corps be interred.

• Prince Henry

Heaven never lent the Farth: 80 great a spirit Yet shonld we hardly be enforc'd to wonder, 'The world could not containe, nor kingdores merit; Our foriner griefes would so exceed their last : And therefore Jove did with the saintes inthrone Time cannot make our sorrowes aught comhinn,

pleater;

(zreater. And left his lady nought but tcares to moane bim. Nor adde one griefe to make our mourning

“ Within this place (as wofull as my verse) She with her christall founts bedew'd his herse, * England was ne'er ingirt with waves till now; Invailed with a sable weede she sate,

Till now it held part with the continent : Singing this song, which stones dissolved at. Aye me! some one in pitty shew me, how

I might in dolefull numbers so lament, • Weat time the world, clad in a morning robe,

That any one which lov'd him, hated me, A stage made for a wofull tragedie,

Might dearely love me, for lamenting hiin. When showers of teares from the cælestiall globe

Alas! my plaint Bewaild the fate of sea-lov'd Britanie;

In such constraint

(swimme, When sighs as frequent were as various sights,

Breakes forth in rage, that though my passions When Hope lay bed-rid, and all pleasures dying,

Yet are they drowned ete they landed be:
When Eavy wept,

Imperfect lines ! O happy! were I hurld
And Comfort slept ;

And cut from life, as England from the world. When Crueltie itself sate almost crying, Nought being heard but what the minde affrights,

O happier had we bene! if we had beene When Autumne had disrob'd the Summer's pride, Never made happy by enjoying thee! Then England's honour, Europe's wonder, dy'd! Wtere hath the glorious eye of Heaven seene

A spectacle of greater misery?

(spring ; . saddest straine that c'er Muses sung!

Time, torne thy course, and bring againe the A text of woe for griefe to comment on ;

Breake Nature's lawes ; search the records of old, Teares, sighes, and sobs, give passage to my tongue,

If ought befell Or I shall spend you till the last is gone.

Might paralell Which done, iny heart in fames of burning love Sad Brittaine's case : weepe, roekes, and Heaven (Wanting his moisture) shall to cynders turne : What seas of sorrow she is plunged in. (behold, But first, by me

Where stormes of woe so mainely have beset her; Bequeathed be

'She hath no place for worse, nor hope for better. To strew the place wherein his sacred urne Shall be inclos'd, this might in many move

Brittaine was whilom known (by more than fame) The like effect: (who would not do it?) when

To be one of the ilands fortunate; No grave befits him but the hearts of men.

What franticke man would give her now that name,

Lying so ruefull and disconsolate? • That man, whose masse of sorrow hath bene such,

Hath not her watery zone, in murmuring, That by their waight, laid on each severall part, fill'd every shore with echoes of her crie? His fountaines are so dry, he but as much

Yes, Thetis raves,
As one poore drop hath left to ease his heart;

And bids her waves
Why should he keepe it? since the time doth call, Bring all the nymphs within her emperie
That he ne'er better can bestow it in:

To be assistant in her sorrowing:
If so he feares

See where they sadly sit on Isis' shore,
That others' teares

And rend their hayres as they would joy no more.
In greater number, greatest prizes winne;
Know none gives inore than he which giveth all. • Isis, the glory of the western world,

Then he which hath but one poore teare in store, When our heroe (honour'd Essex) Jy'd,
O let him spend that drop, and weepe no more. Strucken with wonder, backe againe she hurld,

And fill'd her banckes with an unwoonted tyde: ! Why flowes not Helicon beyond her strands ?

As if she stood in doubt, if it were so, Is Henrie dead, and do the Muses sleepe?

And for the certaintie had turn'd her way. Alas! I see each one amazed stands,

Why doe not now • Shallow foords mutter, silent are the deepe :'

Her waves reflow? Faine would they tell their griefes, but know not Poore nymph, her sorrowes will not let her stay; where;

Or Ayes to tell the world her countrie's woe: All are so full, nought can augment their store :

Or cares not to come backe, perhaps, as showing Then how should they

Our teares should make the flood, not her ree Their griefes display

flowing. To men, so cloyde, they faine would heare no more? Though blaring those whose plaiuts they cannot

Sometimes a tyrant helde the reynes of Rome, heare:

Wyshing to all the citie but one head, And with this wish, their passions I allow,

That all at once might undergoe hís doome, May that Muse never speake that's silent now!

And by one blow from life be severed. ' Is Henrie dead? Alas! and do I live

Fate wisht the like on England, and 'twas given : To sing a scrich-owle's noate that he is dead? (O miserable men, enthrald to Fate !) If any one a fitter theame can givé,

Whose beavy hapd,

That never scand
Come, give it now, or never to be read.
But let him see it doe of horrour taste,

The misery of kingdomes, rujnates,
Anguish, destruction : could it read in sunder Minding to leave her of all joyes bereaven,
With feareful grones

With one sad blow (alas ! can worser fall!) The senselesse stones,

Hath given this little ile her funerall.

! ( come, ye blessed impes of memorie,

“Now silence lock'd the organs of that royce, Erect a newe Parnassus on his grave!

Whereat each merry Silvan wont rejoyce ; There ture your voyces to an elegie,

When with a bended knee to her I came, The saddest nuate that ere Apollo gave.

And did impart my griefe and hated naine : Let every accent. make the stander by

But first a pardon begg'd, if that my cause Keepe time unto yonr song with dropping teares, So much constraiu'd me as to breake the lawes Til drops that fell

Of her wish'd sequestration, or ask'd bread
Have made a well

(To save a life) from her, whose life was dead : To swallow him which still unmoved heares ! But lawlesse famine, selfe-consuming hanger, And though myselfe prove sencelesse of your cry, Alas! compelld me: had I stayed longer,

Yet gladly should my light of life grow dim, My weakened limmes had beene my wants' forc'd To be intomb'd in teares are wept for bim.

meede,

And I had fed, on that I could not feede. • When last he sick'neil, then we first began To tread the labyrinth of woe about;

When she (compassionate) to my sad mone

Did lend a sigh, and stole it from her owne; And by degrees we further inward ran,

And (wofull lady, wrackt on haplesse shelfe) Having his thread of life to guide us out.

Yeelded me comfort, yet had none herselfe : But Destinie no sooner saw us enter

Tolu how she knew me well since I had beene, Sad Sorrow's maze, immured up in night,

As chi-fest consort of the faiery queene;
Where nothing dwells

O happy queene 18 ! for ever, ever praise
But cryes and yels,
Throwne from the hearts of men depriv'd of light;

Dwell on thy tombe ! the period of all dayes When we were almost come into the center,

Onely seale up thy fame; and as thy birth

Inrich'd thy temples on the fading earth,
Fate (cruelly) to barre our joyes returning,
Cut off our thread, and left us all in mourning.'

So have thiy vertues crown'd thy blessed soule,

Where the first Mover with his word's controule ; If you have scene, at foote of some brave hill, Gathers into his fist the nimble windes ;

As with a girdle the huge ocean bindes; Two springs arise, and delicately trill,

Stops the bright courser in bis hot careere; In gentle chidings, through an humble dale,

Commands the Moone twelve courses in a yeere : (Where tufty Jaizies nod at every gale) And on the bankes a swaine (with lawrell crown'd) Admire all virtues in admiring thee.

Live thon with him in endlesse blisse; while we Marrying his sweet noates with their silver sound :

“ Thou, thou, the fautresse of the learned well; When as the spongy clouds, swolne bigge with

Thou nursing mother of God's Israel ; water,

Thou, for whose loving truth, the Heaven raines Throw their conception on the world's theater :

Sweet Mel and manna on our flow'ry plaines : Downe from the hils the rained waters roare,

Thou, by whose band the sacred Trine did briag Whilst every leafe drops to augment their store:

Us out of bonds, from bloudy Bonnering.
Grumbling the stones fall o'er each other's backe,

Ye suckling babes, for ever blesse that name
Rending the greene turfes with their cataract,
And through the meadows runne in such a noyse,

Releas'd your burning in your mother's flame! That, taking from the swaine the fountaine's voyce, Free libertic to taste the foode of Heaven.

Thrice blessed maiden, by whose hand was given Inforce him leave their margent, and alone

Never forget her, (Albion's lovely daughters) Couple his base pipe with their baser tone.

Which led you to the springs of living waters ! Know (shepheardesse) that so I lent an eare

And if my Muse her glory faile to sing, To those sad wights whose plaints I told whileare :

May to my mouth my tongue for ever cling! But when this goodly lady gan addresse

" Herewith (at haud) taking her horne of plentie, Her heavenly voyce to sweeten heavinesse, It drown'd the rest, as torrents little springs ;

Fillid with the choyse of every orchard's daintie, And, strucken mute at her great sorrowings,

As peares, plums, apples, the sweet raspis-berry, Lay still and wonder'd at her pitious mone,

The quince, the apricoke, the blushing cherry; Wept at her griefes, and did forget their owne,

The mulberry, (his blacke from Thisbe taking)

The cluster'd filberd, grapes oft merry-making. Whilst I attentive sate, and did impart

(This fruitfull horne th’iminortall ladies fill'd Teares, when they wanted drops, and from a hart As hie in sorrow as e'er creature wore,

With all the pleasures that rough forrests yeeld, Lent thrilling groanes to such as had no more.

And gave Idya, with a further blessing, “ Had wise Ulysses' (who regardlesse flung

That thence, (as from a garden) without dressing,

She these should ever have; and never want Along the occan when the Syrens sung)

Store, from an orchard without tree or plant.) Pass'd by and seene her on the sia-torne cleeves Waile her lost love, (while Neptune's watry theeves

With a right willing hand she gave me hence, Durst not approach for rockes) to see her face

The stomacke's comforter, the pleasing quince ;

And for the chiefest cherisher she lent
He would have hazarded his Grecian race,
Thrust head-long to the shoare, and to her eyes

The royall thistle's milkie nourishment.

“ Here staid I Jong: but when to see Aurora Offer'd his vessel as a sacrifice.

Kisse the perfuined cheekes of dainty Flora,
Or had the Syrens, on a neighbour shore,
Heard in what raping noates she did deplore

Without the vale I trode one lovely morne,

With true intention of a quicke returne, Jer buried glory, they had left their shelves,

An unexpected chance strove to deferre And, to come neere her, would have drown'd themselves.

My going backe, and all the love of her.

! See Homer's Odyssey, b. 19.

10 Elizabeth.

But, maiden, see the day is waxen olde,

So on he went into a spatious court, And gins to shut in with the marigold :

All trodden bare with multitudes' resort : The neat-beard's kine do bellow in the yard ; At th' end whereof a second game appeares, And dairy maidens for the milke prepar'd, The fabricke shewd full many thousand years : Are drawing at the udder, long ere now

Whose posterne-key that time a lady kept, The plow-man hath unyoak’d his teame from plow: Her eyes all swolne, as if she seldome slept ; My transformation to a fearefull hinde

And would by fits her golden tresses teare, Shall to unfold a fitter season finde ;

And strive to stop her breath with her owne haire : Weane while yond pallace, whose brave turrets' tops Her lilly hand (not to be lik'd by art) Over the stately wood surray the cops,

A paire of pincers held ; wherewith her heart Promis'th (if sought) a wished place of rest, Was hardly grasped, while the pailed stones Till Sol our hemisphere have repossest."

Re-eccoed to her lamentable grones. Now must my Muse afford a straine to Riot, Here at this gate the custome long bad bin, Who, almost kil'd with his luxurions diet,

When any sought to be admitted in, Lay eating grasse (as dogges) within a wood, Remorce thus us'd them ere they had the keye, So to disgorge the undisgested food :

And all, these torments felt, pass'd on their way. By whom faire Aletheia past along

When Riot came, the ladie's paines pigb done, With Fida, queene of every shepheard's song, . She past the gate; and then Remorce begunne By them unseene, (for he securely lay

To fetter Riot in strong iron chaines; Under the thicke of many a leaved spray)

And doubting much bis patience in the paines, And through the level'd meadowes gently threw As when a smith and's man(lame Vulcan's fellowes) Their neatest feet, washt with refre:hing dew, Callid from the anvjle or the puffing bellowes, Where he darst not approach, but on the edge To clappe a well-wrought shoe (for more than pay) Of th’ hilly wood, in covert of a hedge,

Upon a stubborne nagge of Galloway; Went onward with them, trode with them in paces, Or unback'd jennet, or a Flanders mare, And farre off much admir'd their formes and graces. That at the forge stand snuffing of the ayre; loto the plaines at last he headlong veuter'd : The swarthy smith spits in his buckehorne fist, But they the hill had got and pallace enter d. And bids his men bring out the five-fold twist,

When, like a valiant well resolved man His shackles, shacklockes, hampers, gives, and Seeking new paths i'th' pathlesse ocean,

chaines, Unto the shores of monster-breeding Nyle; His linked bolts; and with no tittle paines Or through the north to the unpeopled Thyle, These make him fast: and lest all these should Where from the equinoctiall of the spring,

faulter, To that of autumne, Titan's golden ring

Unto a poste with some sixe doubled halter Is never off; and till the spring againe

He bindes his head; yet all are of the least In gloomy darknesse all the shoares remaine. To curbe the fury of the head-strong beast : Or if he furrow up the brynie sea,

When if a carrier's jade be brought unto him, To cast bis anchors in the frozen bay

His man can hold bis foote whilst he can shoe him : Of woody Norway; (who hath ever fed

Remorce was so inforc'd to binde him stronger, Her people more with scaly fish than bread) Because his faults requird infliction longer, Tho' ratling mounts of ice thrust at bis heline, Than any sinne-prest wight, which many a day And by their fall still threaten to o'erwhelme Since Judas hung himselfe had past that way. His little vessell : and though winter throw

When all the cruell torments he had borne, (What age should) on their heads white caps of Galled with chaines, and on the racke nigh torne, snow,

Pinching with glowing pincers his owne heart, Strives to congeale his bloud; he cares not fort, All lame and restlesse, full of wounds and smart, But, arm'd in minde, gets his intended port: He to the posterne creepes, so inward hyes,

So Riot, though full many doubts arise, And from the gate a two-fold path descryes : Whose unknowne ends might graspe his enterprise, One leading up a hill, Repentance' way ; Climbes towardes the palace, and with gate de And (as more worthy) on the right-hand lay: mure,

The other head-long, steepe, and lik’ned well With hanging head, a voyce as faining pure, Unto the path which tendeth downe to Hell : With torne and ragged coate, his hairy legs All steps that thither went shew'd no returning, Bloudy, as scratch'd with bryers, he ent'rance begs. The port to paines, and to eternall mourning.

Remembrance sate as portresse of this gate: Where certaine Death liv'd; in an ebon chaire A lady alwayes musing as she sate,

The soule's blacke homicide, meager Despaire", Except when sometime suddainely she rose, Had his abode: there 'gainst the craggy rockes And with a backe bent eye, at length, she throwes Some dasht their braines out with relentlesse Her hand to Heaven : anil in a wond'ring guizc,

knuckes ; Star'd on each object with her fixed eyes :

Others on trees (O most accursed elves!) is some way-faring man passing a wood,

Are fastening knots, so to undoe themselves. (Whose waving top hath long a sea-marke stood) Here one in sinne not daring to appeare Goes jogging on, and in bis minde nought hath, At Mercie's seate with one repentant teare, But how the primrose finely strew the path,

Within his breast was launcing of an eye, Or sweetest violets lay downe their heads

That unto God it might for vengeance cry : At some tree's roote on mossie feather-beds, There from a rocke a wretch but newly fell, l'ntil his heele receives an adder's sting,

All torne in pieces, to goe whole to Hell.
Whereat he starts, and backe his head doth fling.
She never mark'd the sute be did preferre,

" See Spenser's Fairie Queene, b. 1. c. 9. s. 33, But (carelesse) let bim pass along by ber, &c. Fletcher's Purple Island, c. 12. s. 32, &c.

Here with a sleepie potion one thinkes fit “ Power? hnt of whence under the greetre-vood To graspe with death, but would not known of it: Or liv'st in Heav'n? say."

(spray, There in a poole two men their lives expire,

ECCHO. In Heaten's aye. And die in water to revive in fire.

“ In Heaven's aye! tell, may I it ohtaine Here hangs the bloud upon the guiltlesse stones ; By almes, by fasting, prayer bg paine ?" There wormes consume the desh of humane bones,

ECCHO. By paipe. Here lyes an arme; a legge there; here a head, “ Shew me the paine, it shall be undergone : With other limmes of men unburied,

I to mine end will still go on." Scatt'ring the ground, and as regardlesse hurl'd,

ECCHO. Go on. As they at vertue spurned in the world.

“ But whither? On! Shew me the place, the time: Fye, haplesse wretch! O thou ! whose graces What if the mountaine I do climbe?” sterving,

ECCHO. Do climbe.
Measur'st God's mercy by thine owne deserving; “ Is that the way to joyes which still endure ?
Which cry'st, (distrustfull of the power of Heaven) O bid my soule of it be sure !"
“ My sinnes are greater than can be forgiven :"

ECCIO. Be sure.
Which still aft ready to “ corse God and die,” “ Then, thus assured, doe I climbe the hill,
At every stripe of worldly miserie;

Heaven be my guide in this thy will." learne, (thou in whose brests the dragon lurkes)

ECCHO. I will. God's mercy (ever) is o'er all his workes :

As when a maide, taught from her mother's wing Know he is pittifull, apt to forgive;

To tune hes voyce unto a silver string, Would not a sinner's death, but that he live. When she should run, she rests; rests, when should O ever, ever rest upon that word,

And ends her lesson, having now began : [run, Which doth assure thee, tho' his two-edg'd sword Now misseth she ber stop, then in her song, Be drawne in justice 'gainst thy sinfull soule, And, doing of her best, she still is wrong: To separate the rotten from the whole ;

Begins againe, and yet againe strikes false, Yet if a sacrifice of prayer be sent him,

Then in a chafe 'orsakes her virginals; He will not strike; or, if he strucke, repent him. And yet within an hour she tries a-new, Let none despaire ; for cursed Judas' sinne That with her dayly paines (art's chiefest dae) Was not so much in yeelding up the King She gaines that charming skill: and can no lesse Of Life to death, as when he thereupon

Tame the fierce walkers of the wildernesse,
Wholy despair'd of God's remission.

Than that (Eagrian harpist's, for whose lay
Riot long doubting stood which way were best Tigers with hunger pinde and left their pray.
To leade his steps : at last, preferring rest So Riot, when he gan to climbe the hill,
(As foolishly he thought) before the paine

Here maketh haste, and there long standeth still, Was to be past ere he could well attaine

Now getteth up a step, then falls againe, The high-built palace; gan adventure on

Yet not despairing, all his nerves doth straine That path, which led to all confusion,

To clamber up a-new, then slide his feet, When sodainly a voyce, as sweet as cleare, And downe he comes; but gives not over yet, With words disine began entice his eare:

For (with the maide) be hopes, a time will be Whereat, as in a rapture, on the ground

When merit shall be linckt with industre. He prost rate lay, and all his senses found

Now as an angler melancholy standing, A time of rest; onely that facultie

Upon a greene bancke yeelding roome for landing, Which never can be seene, nor ever dye,

Awrigling yealow worme thrust on his hooke, That in the essence of an endlesse nature

Now in the midst he throwes, then in a nooke : Doth sympathize with the all-good Creator, Here polls his line, there throws it in againe, That onely wak'd which cannot be interr'd, Mending his croke and baite, but all in caine, And from a beavenly quire this ditty heard : He long stands viewing of the curled streame; " Vain man, doe not mistrust

At last a hungry pike, or well-growne breame, Of Heaven winning;

Snatch at the worme, and hasțing fast away Nor (though the most unjust)

He, knowing it a fish of stubborne sway,

Puls up his rod, but soft; (as having skill)
Despaire for sinning:

Wherewith the hooke fast holds the fishe's gill.
God will be seene his sentence changing,
If he behold thee wicked wayes estranging.

Then all his line he freely yeeldeth him,

Whilst furiously all up and downe doth swimme “ Climbe up where pleasures dwell

Th' insnared fish, here on the toppe doth scud, In fow'ry allies :

There underneath the banckes, then in the mud ; And taste the living well

And with his franticke fits so scares the shole, That decks the vallies.

That each one takes his hyde or starting hole: Taire Melanoia? ja arending

(ending."

By this the pike, cleane wearied, underneath To crua de lluesiti thiuse joyes which know no A willow lyes, and pants (if fishes breathe);

Wherewith the angler gently puls luim to him, Herewith on leaden wings slcepe from himn flew, And, leaste his haste might happen to undoe him, When on his arme be rose, and sadly threw Layes downe his rod, then takes his line in hand, Shrill acclamations; while an hollow cave, And by degrees getting the fish to land, Or hanging hill, or Heaven, an answer gave.

O sacred Essence, light'ning me this houre ! How may I lightly stile thy great power?"

Orpheus, the son of Eagrus and Calliope,

according to Plato, in Conv. Apollon. Argonaut. ECCHO. Power.

1. 1. and himself, if the Argonautics be his : of

Apollo and Calliope, by some; of others, by 11 Moravoue, Repentance.

others,

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