All suddenly dismay'd, and heartless quight,
He fled aback, and catching hasty hold
Of a young alder hard beside him pight,
It rent, and streight about him 'gan behold
What god or fortune would assist his might:
But whether God or Fortune made him bold
It's hard to read; yet hardy will be had
To overcome, that made him less adrad.
The scalie back of that most hideous snake,
Enwrapped round, oft faining to retire,
And oft him to assail, he fiercely strake,
Whereas his temples did his creast-front tyre;
And for he was but slow, did sloth off shake,
And gazing ghastly on (for ear and ire
Had blent so much his sense that less he fear'd)
Yet when he saw him slain himself he chear'd.
By this the Night forth from the darksome bowre
Of Herebus her teemed steeds 'gan call,
And lazie Vesper in his timely howre,
From golden Oeta 'gan proceed withall;
Whenas the shepherd, after this sharp stowre,
Seeing the doubled shadows low to fall,
Gathering his straying flock, does homeward fare,
And unto rest his weary joynts prepare.
Into whose sense so soon as lighter sleep
Was entred, and now loosing every lim,
Sweet slumbring dew in carelesness did steep,
The image of that Gnat appear'd to him,
And in sad terms 'gan sorrowfully weep,
With grisly countenance and visage grim,
Wailing the wrong which he had done of late,
In steed of good, hastning his cruel fate.
Said he, "What have I, Wretch ! deserv'd, that thus Into this bitter bale I am out-cast,
Whilst that thy life more dear and precious
Was than mine own, so long as it did last ?
I now, in lieu of pains so gracious,
Am tost in th' air with every windy blast;
Thou, safe delivered from sad decay,
Thy careless limbs in loose sleep doost display.
So livest thou; but my poor wretched ghost
Is forc'd to ferry over Lethe's river,
And, spoil'd of Charon, to and fro am tost.
Seest thou not how all places quake and quiver,
Lightned with deadly lamps on every post?
Tisiphone each where doth shake and shiver
Her flaming fire-brond encountering me,
Whose locks uncombed cruel adders be.
And Cerberus, whose many mouths do bay
And bark out flames, as if on fire he fed,
Adown whose neck, in terrible array,
Ten thousand snakes cralling about his hed
Do hang in heaps, that horribly affray,
And bloody eyes do glister fiery red,
He oftentimes me dreadfully doth threaten
With painful torments to be sorely beaten.
Ay me! that thanks so much should fail of meed,
For that I thee restor'd to life again,
Even from the door of death and deadly dreed.
Where then is now the guerdon of my pain?
Where the reward of my so piteous deed?
The praise of pity vanish'd is in vain,
And th' antique faith of justice long agone
Out of the land is fled away and gone.
I saw another's fate approaching fast,
And left mine own his safety to tender;
Into the same mishap I now am cast,
And shun'd destruction doth destruction render:
Not unto him that never hath trespast,
But punishment is due to the offender:
Yet let destruction be the punishment,
So long as thankful will may it relent.
I carried am into waste wilderness,
Waste wilderness, amongst Cymmerian shades,
Where endless pains and hideous heaviness
Is round about me heapt in darksom glades;
For there huge Othos sits in sad distress,
Fast bound with serpents that him oft invades,
Far off beholding Ephialtes' tide,
Which once assail'd to burn this world so wide.
And there is mournfull Tityus, mindful yet
Of thy displeasure, O Latona fair!-
Displeasure too implacable was it
That made him meat for wild fowls of the air;
Much do I fear among such fiends to sit,
Much do I fear back to them to repair,
To the black shadows of the Stygian shore,
Where wretched ghosts sit wailing ever-more.
There next the utmost brink doth he abide,
That did the banquets of the gods be
Whose throat through thirst to nown tost
His sense to seek for ease turns every way:
And he that in avengement of his pride,
For scorning to the sacred gods to pray,
Against a mountain rolls a mighty stone,
Calling in vain for rest, and can have none.
Go ye
with them, go, cursed Damosells!
Whose bridal torches foul Erynnis tynd,
And Hymen at your spousals sad fortells
Tydings of death and massacre unkind;
With them that cruel Colchid mother dwells,
The which conceiv'd in her revengeful mind
With bitter wounds her own dear babes to slay,
And murdred troups upon great heaps to lay.
There also those two Pandionian maids
Calling on Itis, Itis evermore,
Whom (wretched boy!) they slew with guilty blades,
For whom the Thracian king lamenting sore,
Turn'd to a lapwing, foulie them upbraids,
And fluttering round about them still does soare:
There now they all eternally complain
Of others wrong, and suffer endless pain.
Rthe two brethren, born of Cadmus' blood,
And lett m es for the sovereignty contend,
Blind through ambition, and with vengeance wood,
Each doth against the other's body bend
His cursed steel, of neither well withstood,
And with wide wounds their carcases doth rend,
That yet they both do mortall foes remain,
Sith each with brother's bloodie hand was slain.
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