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But he himselfe with night for darknesse strove.
His blacke uncombed locks dishevell'd fell
About his face; through which, as brands of Hell,
Sunk in his skull, his staring eyes did glowe,

That made him deadly looke, their glimpse did showe
Like cockatrice's eyes, that sparks of poison throwe.

His clothes wear ragged clouts, with thornes pin'd fast;
And as he musing lay, to stonie fright

A thousand wilde chimeras would him cast:
As when a fearefull dreame in midst of night,
Skips to the braine, and phansies to the sight
Some winged furie, strait the hasty foot,
Eger to flie, cannot plucke up his root:

The voyce dies in the tongue, and mouth gapes without boot.

The garden like a ladie faire was cut,
That lay as if shee slumber'd in delight,
And to the open skies her eyes did shut;

The azure fields of Heav'n wear 'sembled right
In a large round, set with the flow'rs of light:

The flow'rs-de-luce, and the round sparks of dew,
That hung upon their azure leaves, did shew
Like twinkling starrs, that sparkle in the evening blew.

Upon a hillie banke her head shee cast,

On which the bowre of Vaine-delight was built.
White and red roses for her face wear plac't,
And for her tresses marigolds wear spilt:
Them broadly shee displaied, like flaming guilt,
Till in the ocean the glad day wear drown'd:
Then up againe her yellow locks she wound,
And with greene fillets in their prettie calls them bound.

What should I here depeint her lillie hand,
Her veines of violets, her ermine brest,
Which there in orient colours living stand:
Or how her gowne with silken leaves is drest,
Or how her watchman, arm'd with boughie crest,
A wall of prim hid in his bushes bears,
Shaking at every winde their leavie spears,
While she supinely sleeps ne to be waked fears?

X

Over the hedge depends the graping elme,
Whose greener head, empurpuled in wine,
Seemed to wonder at his bloodie helme,
And halfe suspect the bunches of the vine,
Least they, perhaps, his wit should undermine,
For well he knewe such fruit he never bore:
But her weake armes embraced him the more,
And her with ruby grapes laugh'd at her paramour.

Under the shadowe of these drunken elmes
A fountaine rose, where Pangloretta uses
(When her some flood of fancie overwhelms,
And one of all her favourites she chuses)
To bathe herselfe, whom she in lust abuses,

And from his wanton body sucks his soule,
Which, drown'd in pleasure in that shally bowle,
And swimming in delight, doth amorously rowle.

The font of silver was, and so his showrs
In silver fell, onely the gilded bowles
(Like to a fornace, that the min'rall powres)
Seemed to have moul't it in their shining holes :
And on the water, like to burning coles,
On liquid silver leaves of roses lay:

But when Panglorie here did list to play,
Rose-water then it ranne, and milke it rain'd, they say.

The roofe thicke cloudes did paint, from which three boyes
Three gaping mermaides with their eawrs did feede,
Whose brests let fall the streame, with sleepie noise,
To lions' mouths, from whence it leapt with speede,
And in the rosie laver seem'd to bleed;

The naked boyes unto the water's fall,

Their stonie nightingales had taught to call, When Zephyr breath'd into their watery interall.

And all about, embayed in soft sleepe,

A heard of charmed beasts a-ground wear spread,
Which the faire witch in goulden chaines did keepe,
And them in willing bondage fettered:

Once men they liv'd, but now the men were dead,
And turn'd to beasts; so fabled Homer old,
That Circe with her potion, charm'd in gold,
Us'd manly soules in beastly bodies to immould.

Through this false Eden, to his leman's bowre,
(Whome thousand soules devoutly idolize)
Our first destroyer led our Saviour;

Thear in the lower roome, in solemne wise,
They daunc'd a round, and powr'd their sacrifice
To plumpe Lyæus, and among the rest,
The jolly priest, in yvie garlands drest,
Chaunted wild orgialls, in honour of the feast.

Others within their arbours swilling sat,
(For all the roome about was arboured)
With laughing Bacchus, that was growne so fat,
That stand he could not, but was carried,
And every evening freshly watered,

To quench his fierie cheeks, and all about

Small cocks broke through the wall, and sallied out Flaggons of wine, to set on fire that spueing rout.

This their inhumed soules esteem'd their wealths,
To crowne the bousing kan from day to night,
And sicke to drinke themselves with drinking healths,
Some vomiting, all drunken with delight.
Hence to a loft, carv'd all in yvorie white,

They came, whear whiter ladies naked went,
Melted in pleasure and soft languishment,
And sunke in beds of roses, amorous glaunces sent.

High over all, Panglorie's blazing throne,
In her bright turret, all of christall wrought,
Like Phoebus' lampe, in midst of Heaven, shone:
Whose starry top, with pride infernall fraught,
Selfe-arching columns to uphold wear taught:
In which her image still reflected was

By the smooth crystall, that, most like her glasse, In beauty and in frailtie did all others passe.

A silver wand the sorceresse did sway,

And, for a crowne of gold, her haire she wore;
Onely a garland of rose-buds did play

About her locks, and in her hand she bore
A hollowe globe of glasse, that long before
She full of emptinesse had bladdered,
And all the world therein depictured:

Whose colours, like the rainebowe, ever vanished.

Such wat'ry orbicles young boyes doe blowe
Out from their sopy shells, and much admire
The swimming world, which tenderly they rowe
With easie breath till it be waved higher:
But if they chaunce but roughly once aspire,
The painted bubble instantly doth fall.

Here when she came, she 'gan for musique call, And sung this wooing song, to welcome him withall:

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"Love is the blossome where thear blowes

Every thing that lives or growes:

Love doth make the Heav'ns to move,

And the Sun doth burne in love:

Love the strong and weake doth yoke,
And makes the yvie climbe the oke;
Under whose shadowes lions wilde,
Soften'd by love, growe tame and mild:
Love no med'cine can appease,

He burnes the fishes in the seas;
Not all the skill his wounds can stench,
Not all the sea his fire can quench:
Love did make the bloody spear
Once a levie coat to wear,

While in his leaves thear shrouded lay
Sweete birds, for love that sing and play :
And of all love's joyfull flame,

I the bud and blossome am.

Onely bend thy knee to me,

Thy wooeing shall thy winning be.

"See, see the flowers that belowe,

Now as fresh as morning blowe,

And of all, the virgin rose,
That as bright Aurora showes:
How they all unleaved die,
Losing their virginitie;

Like unto a summer-shade,

But now borne, and now they fade.

Every thing doth passe away,

Thear is danger in delay:

Come, come, gather then the rose,

Gather it, or it you lose.

All the sande of Tagus' shore

Into my bosome casts his ore:

All the valleys' swimming corne
To my house is yerely borne:
Every grape of every vine

Is gladly bruis'd to make me wine;
While ten thousand kings, as proud,
To carry up my traine have bow'd,
And a world of ladies send me
In my chambers to attend me.
All the starres in Heav'n that shine,
And ten thousand more, are mine:
Onely bend thy knee to mee,

Thy wooing shall thy winning bee."

Thus sought the dire enchauntress in his minde
Her guileful bayt to have embosomed:
But he her charmes dispersed into winde,
And her of insolence admonished,

And all her optique glasses shattered.

So with her syre to Hell shee tooke her flight,
(The starting ayre flew from the damned spright)

Whear deeply both aggriev'd, plunged themselves in night.

But to their Lord, now musing in his thought,

A heavenly volie of light angels flew,

And from his Father him a banquet brought,
Through the fine element; for well they knew,
After his Lenten fast, he hungrie grew:

And as he fed, the holy quires combine
To sing a hymne of the celestiall Trine;

All thought to passe, and each was past all thought divine.

The birds' sweet notes, to sonnet out their joyes,
Attemper'd to the layes angelicall;

And to the birds the winds attune their noyse;
And to the winds the waters hoarcely call,

And eccho back againe revoyced all;

That the whole valley rung with victorie.

But now our Lord to rest doth homewards flie:

See how the night comes stealing from the mountains high.

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