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The engines - Porch her threatful pikes afore,

Therein two deadly weapons fixt ħe boré,
Strongly outlanced towards either side,
Like two sharp spears, his enemies to gore:
Like as a warlike brigandine applide


in them sad death do hide; So did this Fly outstretch his fearful horns, Yet so as him their terrour more adorns, Lastly, his shiny wings, as silver bright, Painted with thousand colours, passing far All painters' skill, he did about him dight: Not half so many sundry colours are In Iris' bow, ne heaven doth shine so bright, Distinguished with many a twinkling star, Nor Juno's bird, in her eye-spotted train, So many goodly colours doth contain. Ne (may it be withouten peril spoken) The archer god the son of Cytheree, That joys on wretched lovers to be wroken, And heaped spoils of bleeding hearts to see, Bears in his wings so many a changeful token. Ah! my liege Lord, forgive it unto me, If ougfit against thine honour I llave told ; Yet sure those wings were fairer manifold. Pull many a lady fair, in court full oft Beholding them, him secretly envide, And wisht that two such fans, so silken soft, And golden fair, her love would her provide ; Or that when them the gorgeous Fly had doft, Some one that would with grace be gratifide, From him would steal them privily away, and bring to her so precious a prey. Report is that Dame Venus, on a day In spring, when flowres do cloath the fruitful ground, Walking abroad with all her nymphs to play, Bade ber fạir damsels focking bes around,

To gather flowres, her forehead to array ;
Emongst the rest a gentle nymph was found,
Hight Astery, excelling all the crew
In courteous usage and unstained hue;
Who being nimbler-jointed than the rest,
And more industrious, gathered more store
Of the field's honour than the others best,
Which they in secret hearts envying sore,
Told Venus, when her as the worthiest
She prais'd, that Cupid (as they heard before)
Did lend her secret aid in gathering
Into her lap the children of the Spring,
Whereof the goddess gatheriug jealous fear,
Not yet unmindful how not long ago
Her son to Psyche secret love did bear,
And long it close conceal'd, till mickle wo
Thereof arose, and many a rueful tear,
Reason with sudden rage did overgo,
And giving hasty credit to th' accuser,
Was led away of them that did abuse her.
Eftsoons that damsel by her heavenly might
She turn'd into a winged Butterfly,
In the wide air to make her wandering flight;
And all those flowres with which so plenteously
Her lap she filled had, that bred her spight,
She placed in her wings, for memory
Of her pretended crime, though crime none were;
Since which that Fly them in her wings doth bear.

Thus the fresh Clarion being ready dight,
Unto his journey did himself address,
And with good speed began to take his flight:
Over the fields in his frank lustiness,
And all the champain o'er he soared light,
And all the country wide he did possess,
Feeding upon their pleasures bounteously,
That none gainsaid, nor zone did him envy.

The woods, the rivers, and the meadows green,
With his air-cutting wings he measured wide,
Ne did he leave the mountains bare unseen,
Nor the rank grassie fens' delights untride:
Bat none of these, however sweet they been,
Mote please his fancy, nor him cause t' abide :
His choiceful sense with every change doth flit;
No common things may please a wavering wit.
To the gay gardens his unstaid desire
Him wholly carried, to refresh his sprights;
There lavish Nature, in her best attire,
Pours forth sweet odors and alluring sights;
And Art, with her contending, doth aspire
T excel the natural with made delights ;
And all that fair or pleasant may be found
In riotous excess doth there abound.
There he arriving, round about doth fly
From bed to bed, from one to other border,
And takes survey, with curious busie eye,
Of every flower and herb there set in order;
Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly,
Yet none of them he rudely doth disorder,
Ne with his feet their silken leaves deface,
But pastures on the pleasures of each place.
And evermore, with most variety,
And change of sweetness (for all change is sweet)
He casts his gluttop sense to satisfie,
Now sucking of the sap of herbs most meet,
Or of the dev which yet on them does lie,
Now in the same bathing his tender feet ;
And then he pearcheth on some branch thereby,
To weather him, and his moist wings to dry.
And then again he turneth to his play,
To spoil the pleasures of that paradise :
The wholesom sage, and lavender still gray,
Rank-smelling rue, and cummin, good for eyes,

The rosės reigning in the pride of May,
Sharp isop, good for green swounds remedies,
Fair marigolds, and bees alluring thime, *25)-
Sweet marjoram, and daisies decking primes i
Cool violets, and orpine growing still,
Embathed balm, and cheerful galingale,
Fresh costmary, and breathful camomil,
Dull popy, and drink-quickning setuale,
Vein-healing verven, and headspurging dill,
Sound savory, and bazil, harty-hale, iset
Fat colworts, and comforting perseline,
Cold lettice, and refreshing rosmarine;
And whatso else of vertue good or ill
Grew in this garden, fetch'd from far away,
Of every one he takes, and tastes at will,
And on their pleasures greedily doth prey ;
Then when he hath both plaid and fed his fill,
In the warm sun he doth himself embay,
And there him rests in riotous suffisance
Of all his gladfulness and kingly joyance.

What more felicity can fall to creature
Than to enjoy delight with liberty,
And to be lord of all the works of Nature,
To reign in th' air from earth to highest sky ;
To feed on flowres, and weeds of glorious feature,
To take whatever thing doth please the eye?
Who rests not pleased with such happiness,
Well worthy he to taste of wretchedaess.
But what on earth can long abide in state?
Or who can him assure of happy day?"
Sith morning fair may bring foul evening late,
And least mishap the most bless alter may ?
For thousand perils lie in close await
About us daily, to work our decay,
That none, except a god, or God him guide,
May them avoid, or remedy provide.

His hearts wicked work his hated fo,

And whatso heaveas in their secret doom
Ordained have, bow can frail fleshly wight
Fore-cast, but it must needs to issue come?
The sea, the air, the fire, the day, the night,
And th' armies of their creatures all and some
Do serve to them, and with importune might
War against us, the vassals of thieir will :
Who then can save what they dispose to spill?
Not thou, O Clarion ! though fairest thou
Of all thy kind, unhappy, happy Fly!
Whose cruel fate is woven even now
Of Jove's own hand, to work thy misery;
Ne may thee help the many a hearty vow
Which thy old sire with sacred piety
Hath poured forth for thee, and th' altars sprent;
Nought may thee save from heaven's avengement,
It fortuned (as Heavens had behight)
That in this garden where young Clarion
Was wont to solace him, a wicked wight,
The foe of fair things, th' author of confusion,
The shame of Nature, the bondslave of Spight,
Had lately built his hateful mansion,
And lurking closely, in await now lay,
How he might any in his trap betray.
But when he spide the joyous Butterfly
In this fair plot dispacing to and fro,"
Fearless of foes and hidden jeopardy,
Lord! how he'gan for to bestir him tho,
And to his

each part apply!

And bowels so with rankling poison swellid,
That scarce the skin the strong contagion held.
The cause why he this Fly so maliced
Was (as in stories it is written found)
For that his mother which him bore and bred,
The most fine fingred workwoman on ground,

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