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Ne do I think that that same subtile gin The which the Lemnian god fram'd craftily, Mars sleeping with his wife to compass in, That all the gods, with common mockery, Might laugh at them, and scorn their shameful sin, Was like to this : this same he did apply For to entrap the careless Clarion, That rang'd each where without suspicion. Saspicion of friend, nor fear of foe, That bazarded his health, had he at all, But walk'd at will and wandred to and fro, In the pride of his freedom principal: Little wist he his fatal future woe, Bat was secure; the liker he to fall! He likest is to fall into mischance That is regardless of bis governance. Yet still Aragnol (so his foe was hight) Lay lurking covertly him to surprise, And all his gins that him entangle might, Dress'd in good order as he could devisò. At length the foolish Fly, without foresight, As he that danger quite despise, Towards those parts came flying carelessly, Where hidden was his fatal enemy. Who seeing hin, with secret joy therefore Did tickle inwardly in every vein, And his false heart, fraught with all treason's store, Was fill'd with hope his purpose to obtain : Himself he close upgathered more and more Into his den, that his deceitful train By his there being might not be bewraid, Ne any noise, ne any motion, made. Like as a wily fox, that having spide Where on a sunny bank the lambs do play, Pull closely creeping by the hinder side, Lies in ambushment of his hoped prey,

Ne stirreth limb, till seeing ready tide
He rusheth forth, and snatcheth quite away
One of the little younglings unawares ;
So to his work Aragnol him prepares.
Who now shall give unto my heavy eyes
A well of tears, that all may overflow?
Or where shall I find lamentable cryes
And mournful tunes enough my grief to show?
Help, O thou tragick Muse! me to devise,
Notes sad enough t express this bitter throw,
For loe! the drery stownd is now arrived,
That of all happiness hath us deprived.
The luckless Clarion, whether cruel Fate
Or wicked Fortune faultless him misled,
Or some ungracious blast out of the gate
Of Æole's reign perforce him drove on hed,
Was (0 sad hap, and hour unfortunate!)
With violent swift flight forth carried
Into the cursed cobweb which his foe
Had framed for his final overthrow.

There the fond Fly entangled, struggled long,
Himself to free thereout; but all in vain ;
For striving more, the more in laces strong
Himself he tide, and wrapt his winges twain
In limy snares the subtil loops among,
That in the end he breathless did remain,
And all his youthly forces idly spent,
Him to the mercy of th' avenger lent.
Which when the griesly tyrant did espy,
Like a grim lion rushing with fierce might
Out of his den, he seized greedily
On the resistless prey, and with fell spight,
Under the left wing strook' his weapon 'sly
Into his heart, that his deep-groaning spright
In bloody streams forth fled into the air,
His body left the spectacle of care.

EPITHALAMION.

Y learned Sisters which have oftentimes

, others Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful rimes, That ev'n the greatest did not greatly scorn To hear their names sung in your simple layes, But joyed in their praise ; And when ye list your own mishap to mourn, Which death, or love, or fortune's wreck, did raise, Your string could soon to sadder tenour turn, And teach the woods and waters to lament Your doleful dreriment; Now lay those sorrowful complaints aside, And having all your heads with girlands crown'd, Help me mine own love's praises to resound, Ne let the same of any be envide: So Orpheus did for his owu bride; So I unto my self alone will sing, The woods shall to me answer, and my eccho ring. Early before the world's light-giving lamp His golden beam upon the hills doth spred, Haring disperst the night's unchearful damp, Do ye awake, and with fresh lustihed, Go to the bowre of my beloved love, My truest turtle-dove, Bid her awake, for Hymen is awake, And long since ready forth his mask to move, With his bright tead that flames with many a flake, And many a batchelor to wait on him, In their fresh garments trim; Bid her awake, therefore, and soon her dight, For loe, the wished day is come at last, That shall for all the pains and sorrows past Pay to her usury of long delight; And whilst she doth her dight, Do ye to her of joy and solace sing, That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

Bring with you all the nymphs that you can hear,
Both of the rivers and the forests green,
And of the sea that neighbours to her near,
All with gay girlands goodly well beseen ;
And let them also with them bring in hand
Another gay girland,
For my fair love, of lillies and of roses,
Bound true-love wise with a blue silk riband;
And let them make great store of bridal posies,
And let them eke bring store of other flowers
To deck the bridal bowers;
And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread,
For fear the stones her tender foot should wrong,
Be strew'd with fragrant flowers all along,
And diapred like the discoloured meed :
Which done, do at her chamber-door await,
For she will waken strait;
The whiles do ye this song unto her sing,
The woods shall to you answer, and your eccho ring.

“ Ye Nymphs of Mulla, which with careful heed
The silver scaly trouts do tend full well,
And greedy pikes which use therein to feed,
(Those trouts and pikes all others do excel)
And ye likewise, which keep the rushie lake,
Where none do fishes take,
Bind up the locks the which hang scatterd light,
And in his waters, which your mirror make,
Behold your faces as the crystal bright,
That when you come whereas my love doth lie,
No blemish she may spie.
And eke, ye lightfoot Maids! which keep the door,
That on the hoary mountain use to towre,
And the wild wolves which seek them to devour,
Which your steel darts do chace from coming near,
Be also present here
To help to deck her, and to help to sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your eccboring.

Wake now, my Love! awake, for it is time; The rosie Morn long since left Tithon's bed, All ready to her silver coach to clime, And Phæbus 'gins to shew his glorious head. Hark! how the chearful birds do chaunt their layes, And carrol of Love's praise. The merry lark her mattins sings aloft, The thrush replies, the mavis descant plays, The ouzel shrills, the ruddock warbles soft; So goodly all agree, with sweet consent, To this day's merriment. Ah! my dear Love! why do ye sleep thus long, When meeter were that ye should now awake, T await the coming of your joyous make, And hearken to the bird's love-learned-song, The dewie leaves among? For they of joy and pleasance to you sing, That all the woods them answer, and their ecchoring. “My love is now awake out of her dreams, And her fair eyes, like stars that dimmed were With darksome cloud, now shew their goodly beams, More bright than Hesperus bis head doth rere. Come now, ye Damsels ! daughters of Delight, Help quickly her to dight; But first come, ye fair Houres! which were begot In Jove's sweet paradise of day and night, 2 Which do the seasons of the year allot, And all that ever in this world is fair Do make and still repair: And ye three Handmaids of the Cyprian queen, The wbich do still adorn her beauty's pride, Help te adorn my beautifullest bride, And as ye her array, still throw between Some graces to be seen; And as ye use to Venus, to her sing, The whiles the woods shall answer, and your eccho 1, ring. *** Coret

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