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Then sighing sore," Daphne thou knew'st,” quoth

II. “ She now is dead;" ne more endar'd to say, [he, “ What hart so stonie hard but that would weepe, But fell to ground for great extremitie;

And poure forth fountaines of incessant teares? That I, beholding it, with deepe dismay

What Timon but would let compassion creepe Was much apald; and, lightly him uprearing, Into his breast, and pierce his frosen eares ? Revoked life, that would have fled away,

In stead of teares, whose brackish bitter well All were my selfe, through grief, in deadly drearing. I wasted have, my heart bloud dropping weares,

To think to ground how that faire blossome fello Then gan I him to comfort all my best, And with milde counsaile strore to mitigate “ Yet fell she not as one enforst to dye, The stormie passion of his troubled brest,

Ne dyde with dread and grudging discontent, But he thereby was more empassionate ;

But as one toyld with travell downe doth lye, As stubborne steed, that is with curb restrained, So lay she downe, as if to sleepe she went, Becomes more fierce and fervent iu bis gate; And closde her eyes with carelesse quietnesse; And breaking foorth at last, tbus dearnely plained: The whiles soft Death away her spirit hent,

And soule assoyld from sinfull fleshlinesse. 1.

Yet ere that life her lodging did forsake, « What man henceforth that breatheth vitall aire She, all resolv'd, and readie to remove, Will honour Hearen, or heavenly powers adore, Calling to me (ay me!) this wise bespake; Which so uniustly doth their judgements share • Alcyon! ah, my first and latest love! Mongst earthly wights, as to amict so sore Ah ! 'why does my Alcyon weepe and mourne, The innocent, as those wbich do transgresse, And grieve my ghost, that ill mote him behove, And doe not spare the best or fairest, more As if to me had chaunst some evill tourne ! Than worst or foulest, but doe both oppresse?

«« I, since the messenger is come for mee, “ If this be right, why did they then create That summons soules upto the bridale feast The world so faire, sith faimesse is neglected? Of his great Lord, must needs depart from thee, Or why be they themselves immaculate,

And straight obay his soveraine beheast; If purest things be not by them respected ? Why should Alcyon then so sore lament She faire, she pure, most faire, most pure she was, That I from miserie shall be releast, Yet was by them as thing impure reiected; And freed from wretched long imprisonment! Yet she in purenesse Heaven itselfe did pas.

". Our daies are full of dolour and disease, “ In purenesse and in all celestiall grace,

Our life asicted with incessant paine, That men admire in goodly womankind,

That nought on Earth may lessen or appease; She did excell, and seem'd of angels race,

Why then should I desire here to remaine ! Living on Earth like angell new divinde,

Or why should he, that loves me, sorrie bée Adornde with wisedome and with chastitie, For my deliverance, or at all complaine And all the dowries of a noble mind,

My good to heare, and toward ioyes to see!
Which did her beautie much more beautifie.

«« I goe, and long desired have to goe;
“ No age hath bred (since faire Astræa left I goe with gladnesse to my wished rest,
The sinfull world) more vertne in a wight; Whereas no worlds sad care vor wasting woe
And, when she parted hence, with her she reft May come, their happie quiet to molest;
Great hope, and robd her race of bounty quight. But saints and angels in celestiall thrones
Well may the shepheard lasses now lament; Eternally him praise that hath them blest;
For doubble losse hy her hath on them light, There shall I be amongst those blessed ones.
To loose both her and bounties ornament.

" " Yet, ere I goe, a pledge I leave with thee “ Ne let Elisa, royall shepheardesse,

Of the late love the which betwixt us past, The praises of my parted love envy,

My young Ambrosia ; in lieu of mee, For she bath praises in all plenteousnesse

Love her; so shail our love for ever last. Powr'd upon her, like showers of Castaly,

Thus, dcare! adieu, whom I expect ere long.' By her owne shepheard, Colin, her own shepheard, So having said, away she softly past : That her with heavenly hymnes doth deifie, Weepe, shepheard! weepe, to make mine undersong Of rusticke Muse full hardly to be betterd. “ She is the rose, the glory of the day,

“ So oft as I record those piercing words, And mine the primrose in the lowly shade : Which yet are deepe engraven in my brest, Mine, ah! not mine; amisse I mine did say: And those last deadly accents, which like swords Not mine, but his, which mine awhile her made ; Did wound my heart, and rend my bleeding chest Mine to be bis, with him to live for ay.

With those sweet sugred speeches doe compare, O that so faire a flowre so soon should fade, The which my soul first conquerd and possest, And through untiinely tempest fall away! The first beginners of my endlessé care: " She fell away in her first ages spring,

“ And when those pallid cheekes and ashe hew, Whilst yet her leafe was greene, and fresh her rinde, in which sad Death bis pourtraiture had writ, And whilst her braunch faire blossomes foorth did And when those hollow eyes and deadly view, She fell away against all course of kinde. [bring, On which the cloud of ghastiy night did sit, For age to die is right, but youth is wrong ; I match with that sweete smile and chearful brow, She fell away like fruit blowne down with winde. Which all the world subdued unto it, Weepe, shepheard ! weepe, to make my under-song. How happie was I then, and wretched now !

III.

“ How happie was I when I saw her leade « Por I will walke this wandring pilgrimage,
The shepheards daughters dauncing in a rownd ! Throughout the world from one to other end,
How trimly would she trace and softly tread And in affliction waste my better age :
The tender grasse, with rosye garland crownd! My bread shall be the anguish of my mynd,
And, when she list, advaunce her heavenly voyce, My drink the teares which fro mine eyes do raine,
Both nymphes and Muses nigh she made astownd, My bed the ground that hardest I may fynd;
And flocks and shepbeards caused to reioyce. So will I wilfully increase my paine.
“ But now, ye shepheard lasses ! who shall lead “ And she, my love that was, my saint that is,
Your wandring troupes, or sing your virelayes? When she bebolds from her celestiall tbrone
Or who shall dight your bowres, sith she is dead (In which shee ioyeth in eternall blis)
That was the lady of your holy dayes?

My bitter penance, will my case bemone,
Let now your blisse be turned into bale,

And pittie me that living thus doo die; And into plaints convert your ioyous playes, For heavenly spirits bave compassion And with the same fill every bill and dale.

On mortall men, and rue their miserie. " Let bagpipe never more be heard to shrill,

“ So when I have with sorrow satisfyde That may allure the senses to delight,

Th' importune Fates, which vengeance on me seeke, Ne ever shepheard sound his oaten quill

And th' Heavens with lung languor pacifyde, Unto the manie that provoke them might She, for pure pitie of my sufferance meeke, To idle pleasance; but let ghastlinesse

Will send for me; for which I daily long ; And drearie horror dim the chearfull light, And will till thea my painfull penance eeke. To make the image of true heavinesse :

Weepe, shepheard ! weepe, to make my undersong, « Let birds be silent on the naked spray,

v. And shady woods resound with dreadfull yells; “ Hencefoorth I hate what ever Nature made, Let streaming floods their hastie courses stay,

And in her workmanship no pleasure finde, And parching drouth drie up the cristall wells;

For they be all but vaine, and quickly fade; Let th’ Earth be barren, and bring foorth no flowres, So soone as on them blowes the northern winde, And th' ayre be fild with noyse of dolefull knells,

They tarrie not, but fit and fall away, And wandring spirits walke untimely howres.

Leaving behind them nought but griefe of minde, “ And Nature, nurse of every living thing,

And mocking such as thinke they long will stay. Let rest her selfe from her long wearinesse,

“ I hate the Heaven, because it doth withhould And cease henceforth things kindly forth to bring,

Me from my love, and eke my love from me; But hideous monsters full of uglinesse;

I hate the earth, because it is the mould
For she it is that hath me done this wrong,

Of fleshly slime and fraile mortalitie;
No nurse, but stepdame, cruell, mercilesse.
Weepe, shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong. I hate the ayre, because sighes of it be;

I hate the fire, because to nought it iyes ;
IV.

I hate the sea, because it teares supplyes.
“ My litle flock, whom earst I lov'd so well, “ I hate the day, because it lendeth light
And wont to feed with finest grasse that grew, To see all things, and not my love to see;
Feede ye hencefoorth on bitter astrofell,

I hate the darknesse and the dreary night,
Aud stinking smallage, and unsaverie rew; Because they breed sad balefulnesse in mee;
And, when your mawes are with those weeds cor- I hate all times, because, all times dou fly
Be ye the pray of wolves ; ne will I rew (rupted, So fast away, and may not stayed bee,
That with your carkasses wild beasts be glutted. But as a speedie post that passeth by.
“ Ne worse to you, my sillie sheepe! I pray, “ I hate to speake, my voyce is spent with erying;
Ne sorer vengeance wish on you to fall

I hate to heare, lowd plaints have duld mine eares;
Than to my selfe, for whose confusde decay I hate to tast, for food withholds my dying;
To carelesse Heavens I doo daylie call;

I hate to see, mine eyes are dimd with teares;
But Heavens refuse to heare a wretches cry; I hate to smell, no sweet on Earth is left;
And cruell Death doth scorne to come at call, I hate to feele, my flesh is pumbd with feares :
Or graunt his boone that most desires to dye. So all my senses from me are bereft.
" The good and righteous he away doth take, “ I hate all men, and shun all womankinde;
To plague th' unrighteous which alive remaine ; The one, because as I they wretched are;
But the ungodly ones he doth forsake,

The other, for because I doo not finde
By living long to multiplie their paine :

My love with them, that wont to be their starre :
Else surely death should be no punishment, And life I hate, because it will not last;
As the great iudge at first did it ordaine,

And death I hate, because it life doth marre ;
But rather riddance from long languishment.

And all I hate that is to come or past “ Therefore, my Daphne they have tane away; “ So all the world, and all in it I hate, For worthie of a better place was she :

Because it changeth ever to and fro, But me unworthie willed here to stay,

And never standeth in one certaine state, That with her lacke I might tormented be. But, still unstedfast, round about doth goe Sith then they so have ordred, I will pay

Like a mill-wheele in midst of miserie, Penance to her, according their decree,

Driven with streames of wretcheduesse and woe, And to her ghost doe service day by day.

That dying lives, and living still does dye.

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• So doo I live, so doo I daylie die,

“ And ye, fond men ! on Fortunes wheele that ride, And pine away in selfe-consuming paine ! Or in ought under Heaven repose assurance, Sith shc that did my vitall powres supplie, Be it riches, beautie, or honours pride, And feeble spirits in their force maintaine, Be sure that they shall have no long endurance, Is fetcht fro me, why seeke I to prolong

But ere ye be aware will flit away; My wearie daies in dolour and disdaine !

Por nought of them is yours, but th' only usance Weepe, shepheard ! weepe, to make my undersong. Of a small time, which none ascertaine may. VI.

“And ye, true lovers! whom desastrous chaunce “ Why doo I longer live in lifes despight,

Hath farre exiled from your ladies grace,
And doo not dye then in despight of death; To mourne in sorrow and sad sufferaunce,
Why doo I longer see this loathsome light

When ye doe heare me in that desert place
And doo in darknesse not abridge my breath, Lamenting loud my Daphnes elegie,
Sith all my sorrow should have end thereby, Helpe me to waile my miserable case,
And cares finde quiet! Is it so uneath

And when life parts vouchsafe to close mine eye. To leave this life, or dolorous to dye?

“ And ye, more happie lovers ! which enioy “ To live I finde it deadly dolorous,

The presence of your dearest loves delight, For life drawes care, and care continnall woe; When ye doe heare my sorrowfull annoy, Therefore to dye must needes be ioyeous,

Yet pittie me in your empassiond spright, And wishfull thing this sad life to forgoe:

And thinke that such mishap, as chaunst to me, But I must stay; I may it not amend,

May happen unto the most happiest wight; My Daphne hence departing bad me so;

For all mens states alike unstedfast be. She bad me stay, till she for me did send.

“ And ye, my fellow shepbeards! which do feed “ Yet, whilest I in this wretched vale doo stay,

Your carelesse flocks on hils and open plaines, My wearie feete shall ever wandring be,

With better fortune than did me succeed, That still I may be readie on my way

Remember yet my undeserved paines; When as her messenger doth come for me;

And, when ye heare, that I am dead or slaine, Ne will I rest my feete for feeblenesse,

Lament my lot, and tell your fellow swaines Ne will I rest my limmes for frailtie,

That sad Alcyon dyde in lifes disdaine. Ne will I rest mine eyes for heavinesse. “ But, as the mother of the gods, that sought

“ And, ye faire damsels! shepheards deare delights, For faire Euridyce, her daughter dere,

That with your loves do their rude hearts possesse, Throughout the world, with wofull heavie thought; When as my hearse shall happen to your sightes, So will I travell whilest I tarrie heere,

Vouchsafe to deck the same with cyparesse; Ne will I lodge, ne will I ever lio,

And ever sprinckle brackish teares among, Ne, when as drouping Titan draweth nere

In pitie of my undeserv'd distresse, To loose his teeme, will I take up my inne.

The which, I, wretch, endured have thus long.' “ Ne sleepe (the barbenger of wearie wights) And ye poore pilgrims ! that with restless toyle Shall ever lodge upon mine eye-lids more ; Wearie yourselves in wandring desart wayes, Ne shall with rest refresh my fainting sprights, Till that you come where ye your vowes assoyle, Nor failing force to former strength restore : When passing by ye reade these wofull layes But I will wake and sorrow all the night

On my grave written, rue my Daphnes wrong, With Philumene, my fortune to deplore;

And mourne for me that languish out my dayes. With Philumené, the partner of my plight. Cease, shepheard ! cease, and end thy undersong." “ And ever as I see the starre to fall,

Thus when he ended had his heavie plaint, And under ground to goe to give them light The heaviest plaint that ever I heard sound, Which dwell in darknesse, I to mind will call

His cheekes wext pale, and sprights began to faint, How my fair starre (that shind on me so bright)

As if again he would have fallen to ground; Fell sodainly and faded under ground;

Which when I saw, I, stepping to him light, Since whose departure, day is turnd to night,

Amooved him out of his stonie swound, And night without a Venus starre is found.

And gan him to recomfort as I might. “ But soon as day doth shew his deawie face, And cals foorth men unto their toylsome trade,

But he no waie recomforted would be, I will withdraw me to some darkesome place,

Nor suffer solace to approach him nie, Or some dere cave, or solitarie shade;

But casting up a sdeinfull eie at me, There will I sigh, and sorrow all day long,

That in his traunce I would not let him lie, And the huge burden of my cares unlade. Did rend his haire, and beat his blubbrod face, Weepe, shepheard ! weepe, to make my undersong.

As one disposed wilfullie to die,

That I sore griev'd to see his wretched case.
VII.
“ Henceforth mine eyes shall never more behold Tho when the pang was somewhat overpast,
Paire thing on Earth, ne feed on false delight And the outragious passion nigh appeased,
Of ought that framed is of mortall mould,

I him desyrde sith daie was overcast,
Sith that my fairest flowre is faded quight; And darke night fast approched, to be pleased
For all I see is vaine and transitorie,

To turne aside unto my cabinet, Ne will be held in any stedfast plight,

And stay with me, till he were better eased But in a moment loose their grace and glorie. Of that strong stownd which him so sore beset.

OP CORNWALL.

But by no meanes I could him win thereto,

“ Colin, my liefe, my life, how great a losse Ne longer him intreat with me to staie,

Had all the shepbeards nation by thy lacke! But without taking leave he foorth did goe And I, poore swaine, of many, greatest crosse ! With staggring pace and disınall looks dismay, That, sith thy Muse first since thy turning backe As if that Death he in the face had seene,

Was heard to sound as she was wont on hye, Or bellish hags had met upon the way;

Hast made as all so blessed and so blythe.
But what of him became I cannot weene.

Whilest thou wast hence, all dead in dole did lie:
The woods were heard to waile full many a sythe,
And all their birds with silence to complaine:
The fields with faded fowers did seem to mourne,

And all their flocks from feeding to refraine:
COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE.

The running waters wept for thy returne,

And all their fish with languoar did lament:
1595.

But now both woods and fields and foods revive,
Sith thou art come, their cause of meriment,
That us, late dead, hast made againe alive:

But were it not too painefull to repeat
TO THE RIGHT WORTHY AND NOBLE KNIGHT

The passed fortunes, which to thee befell
SIR WALTER RALEIGH,

In thy late voyage, we thee would entreat,

Now at thy leisure them to us to tell." CAPTAINE OF HER MAJESTIES GUARD, LORD WARDE IN OF To whom the shepheard gently answered thus; TIIE STANNERIES, AND LIEUTENANT OF THE COUNTIE “ Hobbin, thou temptest me to that I covet:

For of good passed newly to discus,

By dubbie usurie doth twise renew it. SIR,

And since I saw that angels blessed eie,

Her worlds bright Sun, her Heavens fairest light, That you may see that I am not alwaies ydle My mind, full of my thoughts satietie, as yee thinke, though not greatly well occupied, Doth feed on sweet contentment of that sight: nor altoyitler undutifull, though not precisely Since that same day in nought I take delight, officious, I make you present of this simple pas- But in remembrance of that glorious bright,

Ne feeling have in any earthly pleasure, torall, unworthie of your higher conceipt for the My lifes sole blisse, my hearts eternall threasure. meanesse of the stile, but agreeing with the truth Wake then, my pipe; my sleepie Muse, awake ; in circumstance and matter. The which I Till have told her praises lasting long :

Hobbin desires, thou maist it not forsake ;humbly beseech you to accept in part of paiment Harke then, ye jolly shepheards, to my song." of the infinite debt, in which I acknowledge my With that they all gan throng about him

neare, selfe bounden unto you for your singular favours, With hungrie eares to heare his harmonie : and sundrie good turnes, shewed to me at my Did round about them feed at libertie.

The wbiles their flocks, devoyd of dangers feare, late being in England; and with your good coun- “ One day” (quoth he) “ I sat, (as was my tenance protect against the malice of evill mouthes,

trade) wbich are alwaies wide open to carpe at and Under the foote of Mole, that mountaine hore, misconstrue my simple meaning. I pray conti- of the greene alders by the Mullaes shore:

Keeping my sheepe amongst the cooly shade pually for your happinesse. From my house of There å straunge shepheard chaunst to find me Kilcolman, the 27. of December.

out,

Whether allured with my pipes delight,
1591. [rather perhaps 1595.)

Whose pleasing sound yshrilled far about,
Yours ever humbly,

Or thither led by chaunce, I know not right:
Whom when I asked from wbat place he came,
And how he hight, bimselfe he did ycleepe
The Shepheard of the Ocean by name,
And said he came far from the main-sea deepe.

He, sitting me beside in that same shade,
The shepheards boy (best knowen by that name) Provoked me to plaje some pleasant fit;
That after Tityrus first sung bis lay,

And, when he heard the musicke which I made, Laies of sweet love, without rebuke or blame, He found himselfe full greatly pleasd at it: Sate (as his custome was) upon a day,

Yet, æmuling my pipe, he tooke in hond Charming his oaten pipe unto his peres,

My pipe, before that æmuled of many, The shepheard swaines that did about him play: And plaid thereon; (for well that skill he cond;) Who all the while, with greedie listfull eares, Himselfe as skilfull in that art as any. Did stand astonisht at his curious skill,

He pip'd, I sung; and, when he sung, I piped; Like hartlesse deare, dismayd with thunders sound. By change of turnes, each making other mery; At last, when as he piped had his fill,

Neither envying other, nor envied, He rested him: and, sitting then around,

So piped we, untill we both were weary." One of these groomes (a jolly groome was he, There interrupting him, a bonie swaine, As ever piped on an oatea reed,

That Cuddy hight, him thus atweene bespake : And lov'd this shepheard dearest in degree, “ And, should it not thy readie course restraine, Hight Hobbinol ;) gan thus to him areed.

I would request thee, Colin, for my sake,

ED. SP

To tell what thou didst sing, when he did plaie; So of a river, which he was of old,
For well I weene it worth recounting was,

He none was made, but scattred all to nought;
Whether it were some hymne, or morall laie, And, lost emong those rocks into him rold,
Or carol made to praise thy loved lasse.”

Did lose his name : so deare his love he bought." “ Nor of my love, nor of my lasse," quoth he, Which having said, him Thestylis bespake; “ I then did sing, as then occasion fell:

“ Now by my life this was a mery lay, For love had me forlorne, forlorne of me,

Worthie of Colin selfe, that did it make. That made me in that desart choose to dwell. But read now eke, of friendship I thee pray, But of my river Bregogs love I soong,

What dittie did that other sbepheard sing: Which to the shiny Mulla he did beare,

For I do covet most the same to heare, And yet doth beare, and ever will, so long

As men use most to covet forreine thing." As water doth within his bancks appeare."

* That shall I eke," quoth he, “ to you declare: “ Of fellowship,” said then that bony boy, His song was all a lainentable lay ~ Record to us that lovely lay againe :

Of great unkindnesse, and of usage hard,
The staje whereof shall nought these eares annoy, Of Cynthia the ladie of the sea,
Who all that Colin makes do covet faine."

Which from her presence faultlesse him debard. “ Heare then," quoth he, “the tenor of my And ever and anon, with singulfs rife, tale,

He cryed out, to make his undersong; In sort as I it to that shepheard told:

"Ah! my loves queene, and goddesse of my life, No leasing new, nor grandams fable stale,

Who shall me pittie, when thou doest me wrong? » But auncient truth coufirm'd with credence old. Then gan a gentle bonylasse to speake, « Old father Mole, (Mole hight that mountain That Marin hight ; " Right well he sure did plaine, gray

That could great Cynthiaes sore displeasure breake, That walls the northside of Armulla dale)

And move to take him to her grace againe. He had a daughter fresh as floure of May, But tell on further, Colin, as befell. Which gave that name unto that pleasant vale; Twist him and thee, that thee did hence dissuade.” Mulla, the daughter of old Mole, so hight " When thus our pipes we both had wearied well,” The nimph, which of that water course has charge, Quoth he, " and each an end of singing made, That, springing out of Mole, doth run downe right He gan to cast great lyking to my lore, To Butterant, where, spreading forth at large, And great dislyking to my lucklesse lot, It giveth name unto that auncient cittie,

That banisht had my selfe, like wight forlore, Which Kilnemullah clepped is of old ;

Into that waste, where I was quite forgot. Whose ragged ruines breed great ruth and pittie The which to leave, thenceforth he counseld mee, To travailers, which it from far behold.

Unmeet for man, in whom was ought regardfull, Full faine she lor'd, and was belov'd full faine And wend with him his Cynthia to see; Of her owne brother river, Bregog hight,

Whose grace was great and bounty most rewardfull. So hight because of this deceitfull traine,

Besides her peerlesse skill in making well, Which he with Mulla wrought to win delight. And all the ornaments of wondrous wit, But her old sire more carefull of her good, Such as all womankynd did far excell; And meaning her much better to preferre,

Such as the world admyr'd, and praised it: Did thinke to match her with the neighbour flood, So what with hope of good, and hate of ill, Which Allo hight, Broad-water called farre; He me perswaded forth with bim to fare. And wrought so well with his continuall paine, Nought tooke 1 with me, but mine oaten quill : That he that river for his daughter wonne: Small needments else need shepheard to prepare. The dowre agreed, the day assigned plaine, So to the sea we came; the sea, that is The place appointed where it should be doone. A world of waters heaped up on hie, Nath'lesse the nymph her former liking held; Rolling like mountaines in wide wildernesse, For love will not be drawne, but must be ledde; Horrible, hideous, roaring with hoarse crie.” And Bregog did so well her fancie weld,

And is the sea," quoth Coridon, “so fearfull?" That her good will he got first to wedde.

Fearful much more," quoth he, “then hart can But for her father, sitting still on hie,

fear: Did warily still watch which way she went, Thousand wyld beasts with deep mcuthes gaping And eke from far observ'd, with jealous eie,

direfull Which way his course the wanton Bregog bent ; Therin stil wait poore passengers to teare. Him to deceive, for all his watchfull ward, Who life doth loath, and Jongs death to behold, The wily lover did devise this slight:

Before he die, alreadie dead with feare, First into many parts his streame he shar'd, Aud yet would live with heart halfe stonie cold, That, whilest the one was watcht, the other might Let him to sea, and he shall see it there. Passe unespide to meete her by the way;

And yet as ghastly dreadfull, as it seemes, And then, besides, those little streames so broken Bold men, presuming life for gaine to sell, He under ground so closely did convay,

Dare tempt that gulf, and in those wandring stremes That of their passage doth appeare no token, Seek waies unknowne, waies leading down to Hell. Till they into the Mullacs water slide.

For, as we stood there waiting on the strond, So secretly did he his love enioy :

Behold, an huge great vessell to us came, Yet not so secret, but it was descride,

Dauncing upon the waters back to lond, And told her fathér by a shepheards boy.

As if it scornd the daunger of the same; Who, wondrous wroth for that so foule despight, Yet was it but a wooden frame and fraile, In great avenge did roll downe from his hill Glewed togither with some subtile matter. Huge mightie stones, the which encomber might Yet had it armes and wings, and head and taile, His passage, and his water-courses spill.

And life to more itselfe opon the water.

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