







 
   
     
       
         Ouidius Naso his Remedie of love. Translated and intituled to the youth of England
         Remedia amoris. English
         Ovid, 43 B.C.-17 or 18 A.D.
      
       
         
           1600
        
      
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             Ouidius Naso his Remedie of love. Translated and intituled to the youth of England
             Remedia amoris. English
             Ovid, 43 B.C.-17 or 18 A.D.
             F. L., fl. 1600.
          
           [62] p.
           
             Printed by T. C[reede] for Iohn Browne, and are to be sold at his shop in Fleetstreet, at the signe of the Bible,
             London :
             1600.
          
           
             A translation of: Remedia amoris.
             In verse.
             Printer's name from STC.
             Translator's dedication signed: F.L.
             Signatures: A-H⁴ (-H4).
             Reproduction of the original in the Bodleian Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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           Love poetry, Latin -- Translations into English -- Early works to 1800.
        
      
    
     
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           Ouidius
           Naso
           HIS
           REMEDIE
           OF
           LOVE
           .
           Translated
           and
           Intituled
           to
           the
           Youth
           of
           England
           .
        
         
           Plautus
           in
           Trinummo
           .
        
         
           
             —
             Mille
             modis
             Amor
          
           
             Ignorandu'st
             ,
             procul
             adhibendus
             est
             ,
             atque
             abstinendus
             .
          
           
             Nam
             qui
             in
             Amore
             precipitauit
             ,
             peius
             perit
             ,
             quàm
             si
             saxe
             saliat
             .
          
        
         
           
             VIR
             EST
             SIT
             VULNERE
             VERITAS
          
        
         
           LONDON
           Printed
           by
           
             T.
             C.
          
           for
           
             Iohn
             Browne
          
           ,
           and
           are
           to
           be
           sold
           at
           his
           shop
           in
           Fleetstreet
           ,
           at
           the
           signe
           of
           the
           Bible
           .
           1600.
           
        
      
       
         
         
         
           TO
           HIS
           SOMEtimes
           Tutor
           ,
           at
           all
           times
           deerest
           friend
           ,
           M.
           I.
           better
           reward
           for
           his
           deserts
           .
           &c.
           
        
         
           I
           Haue
           liued
           to
           be
           the
           cause
           of
           thy
           wrong
           ;
           I
           may
           liue
           to
           doe
           thee
           right
           ;
           the
           first
           by
           casualtie
           ,
           contrary
           to
           my
           desire
           ,
           the
           latter
           voluntarily
           ,
           according
           to
           thy
           desert
           .
           Accept
           therefore
           these
           few
           lynes
           ,
           whatsoeuer
           they
           are
           ,
           and
           howsoeuer
           attirde
           ,
           yet
           as
           true
           witnesses
           of
           my
           euerlasting
           loue
           .
           If
           they
           seeme
           vnpollisht
           (
           as
           I
           feare
           )
           hide
           them
           ,
           for
           thou
           gauest
           them
           their
           beginning
           :
           If
           possessing
           any
           thing
           of
           worth
           or
           pleasure
           ,
           (
           as
           yet
           I
           hope
           )
           ioy
           in
           it
           ,
           and
           enioy
           it
           ,
           for
           thou
           wert
           the
           first
           moouer
           of
           my
           Muses
           circular
           conceits
           ,
           which
           had
           neuer
           beginning
           but
           by
           thee
           ,
           and
           neuer
           shall
           ende
           ,
           but
           in
           thee
           :
           and
           whatsoeuer
           they
           doe
           ,
           all
           shall
           be
           for
           thee
           .
           Farewell
           .
        
         
           
             Times
             truest
             child
             .
             F.
             L.
             
          
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
         
           The
           first
           booke
           of
           Ouidius
           Naso
           ,
           intituled
           The
           Remedie
           of
           Loue.
           
        
         
           
             1
          
           
             WHen
             Loue
             first
             read
             the
             title
             os
             this
             booke
             ,
          
           
             Wars
             ,
             wars
             ,
             against
             me
             now
             are
             wag'd
             (
             que
             he
             )
          
           
             O
             dayne
             thy
             Poet
             of
             a
             milder
             looke
             ,
          
           
             Condemne
             him
             not
             ,
             that
             from
             offence
             is
             free
             .
          
           
             VVho
             euer
             was
             Loues
             vowed
             Ancient
             ,
          
           
             Bearing
             his
             cullers
             with
             a
             true
             intent
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
          
           
             Not
             I
             Tydides
             ,
             by
             whose
             cruel
             speare
          
           
             Thy
             mother
             wounded
             ,
             on
             Mars
             foming
             steeds
          
           
             Fled
             into
             heauen
             ,
             full
             of
             carefull
             feare
             ,
          
           
             Others
             sometime
             ,
             in
             bitter
             fancy
             bleeds
             .
          
           
             
               But
               I
               still
               burne
            
             :
             If
             thou
             the
             question
             moue
          
           
             What
             now
             I
             do
             ?
             I
             answere
             also
             Loue.
             
          
        
         
           
             3
          
           
             Yea
             ,
             I
             haue
             taught
             how
             thou
             mightst
             be
             obtaind
             ,
          
           
             So
             learning
             reason
             ,
             how
             to
             bridle
             force
             :
          
           
             Yet
             not
             to
             thee
             ,
             nor
             to
             mine
             Arts
             ,
             containd
          
           
             In
             papers
             ,
             proue
             I
             foe
             without
             remorce
             .
          
           
             Ne
             yet
             my
             Muse
             doth
             labour
             to
             vntwist
             ,
          
           
             Her
             old
             spun
             webbe
             ,
             that
             doth
             of
             Loue
             consist
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             4
          
           
             He
             that
             hath
             built
             his
             fancie
             to
             his
             minde
             ,
          
           
             He
             happie
             loues
             ,
             and
             happie
             liue
             he
             still
             ;
          
           
             Still
             fill
             thy
             sayles
             with
             that
             thrice
             prosperous
             wind
             ;
          
           
             But
             if
             thou
             be
             subiected
             to
             the
             will
          
           
             Of
             any
             tyrant
             ,
             or
             vnworthy
             mayd
             ,
          
           
             Least
             that
             thou
             perish
             ,
             search
             our
             Arts
             for
             ayd
             .
          
        
         
           
             5
          
           
             VVhy
             ,
             why
             should
             any
             basely
             hang
             and
             die
             ?
          
           
             To
             giue
             an
             instance
             of
             their
             desperate
             loue
             :
          
           
             Or
             ,
             why
             should
             any
             with
             such
             crueltie
             ,
          
           
             By
             selfe-inflicted
             wounds
             their
             soules
             remoue
             ?
          
           
             So
             thou
             that
             onely
             doest
             in
             peace
             delight
             ,
          
           
             Shalt
             gayne
             suspition
             of
             a
             murtherous
             wight
             .
          
        
         
           
             6
          
           
             If
             then
             he
             be
             ,
             who
             least
             he
             scapes
             the
             snare
             ;
          
           
             And
             leaues
             to
             loue
             ,
             must
             also
             leaue
             to
             liue
             ;
          
           
             O
             let
             him
             in
             due
             time
             thereof
             beware
             ,
          
           
             O
             let
             him
             leaue
             to
             loue
             ,
             and
             leaue
             him
             giue
             .
          
           
             Thus
             loue
             shall
             be
             esteem'd
             liues
             deerest
             friend
             ,
          
           
             Not
             cursed
             author
             of
             a
             desperate
             end
             .
          
        
         
           
             7
          
           
             Thou
             art
             a
             child
             ,
             nor
             ought
             childhood
             fits
             ,
          
           
             But
             games
             ,
             sports
             ,
             playes
             ,
             then
             game
             ,
             sport
             ,
             play
             ;
          
           
             Such
             gentler
             rule
             ,
             becomes
             such
             childish
             wits
             :
          
           
             Thy
             childish
             wit
             ,
             that
             no
             high
             things
             must
             way
             .
          
           
             Thou
             in
             thy
             wars
             maist
             naked
             arrowes
             vse
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             such
             as
             shall
             no
             deadly
             wounds
             infuse
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             8.
             
          
           
             Let
             old
             Stepfathers
             war
             with
             sword
             and
             speare
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             a
             Sea
             of
             blood
             win
             victorie
             :
          
           
             Vse
             thou
             thy
             mothers
             fight
             ,
             that
             yeelds
             no
             feare
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             for
             the
             sonnes
             losse
             makes
             the
             parent
             crie
             .
          
           
             Let
             doores
             be
             broken
             in
             thy
             nocturne
             Iarres
             ,
          
           
             And
             be
             adornd
             with
             garlands
             midst
             those
             warres
             .
          
        
         
           
             9.
             
          
           
             Let
             men
             and
             maidens
             take
             their
             sports
             by
             stealth
             ,
          
           
             Let
             maidens
             vse
             their
             words
             with
             cunning
             art
             :
          
           
             Now
             let
             them
             kindly
             send
             their
             Louers
             health
             ,
          
           
             And
             suddenly
             with
             chiding
             wound
             their
             hart
             .
          
           
             And
             barring
             fast
             the
             doores
             ,
             shut
             out
             their
             loue
             ,
          
           
             VVhere
             let
             them
             waile
             ,
             and
             yet
             no
             pitie
             moue
             .
          
        
         
           
             10.
             
          
           
             These
             warres
             shall
             please
             thy
             gentle
             humor
             best
             ,
          
           
             In
             these
             teares
             shalt
             thou
             sport
             ,
             not
             causd
             by
             death
             ;
          
           
             Death
             shall
             not
             see
             thy
             Torches
             at
             her
             feast
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             morning
             funerals
             thy
             fiers
             breath
             .
          
           
             Thus
             hauing
             said
             ,
             Loue
             shooke
             his
             golden
             wings
             ,
          
           
             And
             bid
             me
             end
             the
             worke
             my
             pen
             begins
             .
          
        
         
           
             11.
             
          
           
             Come
             then
             sick
             youth
             vnto
             my
             sacred
             skill
             ,
          
           
             VVhose
             loue
             hath
             fallen
             crosse
             vnto
             your
             minde
             :
          
           
             Learne
             how
             to
             remedie
             that
             pleasing
             ill
             ,
          
           
             Of
             him
             that
             taught
             you
             your
             owne
             harmes
             to
             finde
             .
          
           
             For
             in
             that
             selfesame
             hand
             your
             helpe
             is
             found
             ,
          
           
             VVhence
             first
             ye
             did
             receiue
             your
             careful
             wound
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             12
          
           
             So
             th'
             earth
             which
             yeelds
             vs
             herbs
             of
             souerain
             grace
          
           
             Doth
             nourish
             weeds
             ,
             of
             vertue
             pestilent
             ;
          
           
             The
             burning
             nettle
             chuseth
             oft
             her
             place
             ,
          
           
             Next
             to
             the
             Rose
             ,
             that
             yeelds
             so
             sweete
             a
             sent
             .
          
           
             Achilles
             Speare
             ,
             that
             wounded
             his
             sterne
             foe
             ,
          
           
             Restord
             him
             health
             ,
             &
             curde
             the
             greeuous
             blow
             .
          
        
         
           
             13.
             
          
           
             Now
             what
             prescriptions
             we
             do
             giue
             to
             men
             ,
          
           
             Maides
             thinke
             them
             spoken
             vnto
             you
             likewise
             :
          
           
             To
             both
             parts
             we
             giue
             weapons
             ,
             vse
             them
             then
          
           
             With
             secret
             Art
             ,
             and
             with
             discretion
             wise
             .
          
           
             Of
             which
             if
             ought
             you
             finde
             that
             seemes
             not
             fit
             ,
          
           
             Know
             in
             examples
             many
             things
             are
             writ
             .
          
        
         
           
             14
          
           
             And
             profitable
             is
             our
             Argument
             ,
          
           
             To
             quench
             that
             secret
             and
             consuming
             flame
             :
          
           
             To
             free
             thy
             minde
             from
             sin
             and
             ill
             intent
             ,
          
           
             To
             loose
             those
             bands
             that
             drew
             thee
             into
             shame
             .
          
           
             Phillis
             had
             liu'd
             had
             I
             her
             Tutor
             been
             ,
          
           
             That
             three
             times
             thice
             walkt
             path
             she
             oft
             had
             seen
             .
          
        
         
           
             15.
             
          
           
             Nor
             Dido
             dying
             from
             her
             stately
             Tower
             ,
          
           
             Should
             haue
             beheld
             the
             Troians
             thence
             to
             flye
             :
          
           
             Sorrow
             should
             not
             haue
             had
             so
             strong
             a
             power
             ,
          
           
             To
             cause
             the
             mother
             do
             her
             owne
             to
             dye
             .
          
           
             Tereus
             though
             Philomela
             might
             him
             please
             ,
          
           
             Should
             not
             through
             sin
             a
             graundsiers
             title
             seaze
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             16.
             
          
           
             Giue
             me
             Pasiphae
             ,
             she
             shall
             cease
             to
             Loue
          
           
             The
             filthy
             shape
             of
             that
             straunge
             monstrous
             beast
             ,
          
           
             Bring
             Phaedra
             forth
             ,
             and
             I
             will
             soone
             remoue
          
           
             Her
             deepe
             incestuous
             lust
             ,
             that
             neuer
             ceast
             .
          
           
             Liude
             
               Paris
               ,
               Hellen
            
             he
             should
             not
             desire
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             shuld
             the
             Greekes
             waste
             Pergamus
             with
             fire
             .
          
        
         
           
             17.
             
          
           
             Had
             wicked
             Scylla
             read
             our
             argument
             ,
          
           
             Nisus
             should
             not
             haue
             lost
             his
             fatall
             haire
             ;
          
           
             I
             le
             teach
             you
             to
             asswage
             the
             greedy
             bent
          
           
             Of
             burning
             lust
             ,
             and
             make
             the
             weather
             faire
             :
          
           
             I
             le
             steare
             your
             Ship
             aright
             in
             seas
             of
             loue
             ,
          
           
             And
             from
             each
             rock
             I
             will
             you
             safely
             moue
             .
          
        
         
           
             18.
             
          
           
             Ouid
             was
             to
             be
             read
             with
             studious
             care
             ,
          
           
             When
             first
             your
             loue
             began
             with
             fruite
             to
             growe
             ,
          
           
             Ouid
             is
             to
             be
             read
             ,
             in
             your
             ill
             fare
             ,
          
           
             When
             first
             your
             loue
             with
             deep
             disdain
             shal
             flowe
             .
          
           
             I
             do
             professe
             to
             gaine
             your
             libertie
             ,
          
           
             Then
             follow
             me
             ,
             reuenge
             your
             miserie
             .
          
        
         
           
             19.
             
          
           
             Be
             present
             ô
             thou
             Prophet
             ,
             
             Poets
             praise
             ,
          
           
             Phisicks
             first
             finder
             out
             ,
             and
             nurse
             alone
             ;
          
           
             Crowne
             me
             professing
             both
             ,
             with
             lasting
             bayes
             ,
          
           
             For
             both
             are
             vnder
             thy
             protection
             .
          
           
             Raine
             siluer
             shewers
             of
             skill
             into
             my
             brest
             ,
          
           
             That
             I
             may
             shewe
             each
             wretch
             the
             way
             to
             rest
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             20.
             
          
           
             Whiles
             well
             thou
             maist
             ,
             and
             ere
             that
             secret
             warre
          
           
             Be
             throughly
             kindled
             in
             thy
             troubled
             minde
             ,
          
           
             If
             thou
             repent
             ,
             ô
             run
             not
             on
             too
             far
             ,
          
           
             Retire
             ,
             ere
             greater
             cause
             of
             griefe
             thou
             finde
             .
          
           
             Tread
             down
             the
             starting
             seeds
             of
             springing
             wo
             ,
          
           
             And
             turne
             thy
             Steed
             ,
             ere
             he
             vntamed
             grow
             .
          
        
         
           
             21.
             
          
           
             Delay
             giues
             strēgth
             ,
             time
             ripes
             the
             greenest
             grape
             ,
          
           
             And
             makes
             corn
             stiff
             ,
             that
             was
             a
             weak
             spring-weed
             :
          
           
             The
             greatest
             tree
             that
             farthest
             spreads
             his
             sape
             ,
          
           
             Was
             first
             a
             wand
             ,
             or
             but
             a
             litle
             seed
             .
          
           
             Then
             mought
             it
             be
             thrown
             down
             ,
             drawne
             vp
             ,
             soone
             broke
             ,
          
           
             Now
             stands
             it
             stiffe
             ,
             &
             conquers
             euery
             stroke
             .
          
        
         
           
             22.
             
          
           
             Consider
             first
             ,
             where
             thou
             dost
             thrall
             thy
             hart
             ,
          
           
             To
             whom
             thou
             vowest
             thy
             seruice
             and
             thy
             loue
             ,
          
           
             And
             if
             the
             burthen
             cause
             thine
             inward
             smart
          
           
             From
             out
             the
             yoke
             with
             speed
             thy
             neck
             remoue
             :
          
           
             Stop
             the
             beginning
             ,
             for
             Phisick
             comes
             too
             late
             ,
          
           
             When
             time
             hath
             drawn
             the
             wound
             to
             desperate
             state
             .
          
        
         
           
             23.
             
          
           
             Defer
             not
             therefore
             to
             the
             comming
             hower
             ,
          
           
             For
             he
             that
             at
             the
             present
             is
             vnapt
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             finde
             delay
             diminish
             still
             his
             power
             ,
          
           
             Vntill
             at
             length
             he
             wholly
             be
             intrapt
             .
          
           
             Louers
             excuses
             seeke
             of
             long
             delay
             ,
          
           
             And
             euer
             fittest
             deemes
             the
             following
             day
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             24.
             
          
           
             But
             each
             small
             minute
             giues
             occasion
          
           
             Of
             deeper
             thraldome
             ,
             Fancy
             ties
             by
             slight
             :
          
           
             See
             how
             by
             many
             streames
             collection
             ,
          
           
             There
             doth
             arise
             a
             flood
             of
             wondrous
             might
             .
          
           
             Drops
             multiplied
             do
             grow
             to
             running
             springs
             ,
          
           
             And
             springs
             vnited
             forth
             a
             Riuer
             brings
             .
          
        
         
           
             25.
             
          
           
             If
             that
             thou
             hadst
             foreseene
             how
             great
             a
             sinne
             ,
          
           
             Myrrha
             ,
             thy
             wicked
             lust
             did
             powre
             on
             thee
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             neuer
             shouldst
             haue
             hid
             thy
             shamefull
             chin
          
           
             Within
             the
             barke
             of
             that
             still
             weeping
             tree
             .
          
           
             Oft
             haue
             I
             seene
             an
             easie
             soone
             curde
             ill
          
           
             By
             times
             processe
             ,
             surpasse
             the
             Leachmans
             skill
             .
          
        
         
           
             26.
             
          
           
             But
             for
             we
             still
             delight
             to
             taste
             the
             fruites
          
           
             Of
             melting
             pleasure
             ,
             and
             bewitching
             Loue
             ,
          
           
             We
             wooe
             our selues
             with
             long
             protracting
             suites
             ,
          
           
             And
             daily
             promise
             from
             it
             to
             remoue
             :
          
           
             Meane
             while
             the
             flame
             we
             feed
             within
             vs
             still
             ,
          
           
             For
             deeper
             rootes
             the
             weed
             and
             tree
             of
             ill
             .
          
        
         
           
             27.
             
          
           
             But
             if
             the
             time
             of
             this
             first
             cure
             be
             past
             ,
          
           
             And
             long-fed
             loue
             doth
             lode
             thy
             fainting
             hart
             ,
          
           
             A
             worke
             of
             greater
             moment
             now
             is
             cast
             ,
          
           
             Vpon
             my
             promise
             ,
             and
             of
             deeper
             Art.
          
           
             Yet
             will
             I
             not
             cast
             off
             the
             sicke
             decaide
             ,
          
           
             Though
             late
             it
             be
             ere
             he
             implores
             my
             aide
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             28.
             
          
           
             Paeantius
             sonne
             should
             haue
             redeemd
             his
             health
             ,
          
           
             By
             cutting
             off
             that
             first
             corrupted
             part
             ,
          
           
             Though
             after
             many
             yeares
             times
             gon
             by
             stealth
             ,
          
           
             He
             ending
             warfare
             was
             recurde
             by
             Art.
          
           
             I
             that
             but
             now
             did
             launce
             the
             wound
             in
             haste
             ,
          
           
             Now
             wish
             thou
             slowly
             slying
             time
             to
             waste
             .
          
        
         
           
             29.
             
          
           
             Yet
             seeke
             to
             quench
             those
             flames
             ,
             that
             newly
             burn
             ,
          
           
             With
             those
             ,
             whose
             furie
             past
             do
             now
             decline
             :
          
           
             Giue
             Raynes
             to
             running
             rage
             ,
             and
             do
             not
             turne
          
           
             Her
             race
             ,
             and
             she
             will
             kill
             her selfe
             with
             time
             .
          
           
             Each
             violence
             at
             first
             is
             wondrons
             strong
             ,
          
           
             And
             hardly
             yeeldeth
             passage
             vnto
             wrong
             .
          
        
         
           
             30.
             
          
           
             He
             is
             a
             foole
             that
             may
             the
             Riuer
             passe
          
           
             By
             small
             declining
             vnto
             either
             side
             :
          
           
             And
             yet
             will
             striue
             against
             the
             streame
             ,
             alas
             ,
          
           
             And
             euer
             be
             far
             from
             his
             purpose
             wide
             .
          
           
             Me
             thinks
             I
             see
             a
             minde
             impatient
             ,
          
           
             That
             neuer
             subiect
             was
             to
             Arts
             true
             bent
             .
          
        
         
           
             31.
             
          
           
             Contemne
             this
             Counsell
             as
             of
             slender
             skill
             ,
          
           
             And
             scorne
             th'
             admonisher
             as
             fond
             and
             vaine
             :
          
           
             But
             then
             will
             I
             apply
             me
             to
             his
             will
             ,
          
           
             And
             vndertake
             my
             promisde
             taske
             againe
             .
          
           
             When
             as
             his
             wounds
             wil
             beare
             a
             touch
             ,
             a
             straine
             ,
          
           
             And
             eke
             himselfe
             beliue
             I
             do
             not
             faine
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             32.
             
          
           
             Who
             would
             forbid
             the
             mother
             for
             to
             weepe
          
           
             Vpon
             the
             dead
             hearse
             of
             her
             dearest
             sonne
             :
          
           
             This
             is
             no
             time
             that
             she
             should
             patience
             keepe
             ,
          
           
             This
             is
             no
             place
             to
             say
             she
             must
             haue
             done
             :
          
           
             When
             with
             her
             teares
             her
             mind
             is
             satisfied
             ,
          
           
             By
             words
             her
             griefe
             may
             best
             be
             mollified
             .
          
        
         
           
             33.
             
          
           
             By
             time
             must
             medicines
             be
             measur'd
             forth
             ,
          
           
             For
             in
             fit
             time
             wines
             profit
             and
             delight
             :
          
           
             But
             out
             of
             season
             they
             are
             little
             worth
             ,
          
           
             And
             brings
             the
             body
             to
             eternal
             night
             .
          
           
             Moreouer
             ,
             vnto
             flax
             thou
             addest
             fire
             ,
          
           
             Forbidding
             vice
             ,
             contraring
             his
             desire
             .
          
        
         
           
             34.
             
          
           
             In
             vnfit
             times
             ,
             by
             ill
             meanes
             ,
             or
             straunge
             place
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             euer
             shalt
             thou
             so
             thy
             Patient
             cure
             :
          
           
             When
             then
             thou
             seest
             thy selfe
             in
             better
             case
             ,
          
           
             Able
             or
             hard
             prescriptions
             to
             endure
             ,
          
           
             See
             first
             thou
             fly
             from
             sloathful
             Idlenesse
             ,
          
           
             And
             still
             be
             doing
             somewhat
             more
             or
             lesse
             .
          
        
         
           
             35.
             
          
           
             Sloath
             drawes
             thee
             on
             ,
             and
             leads
             thee
             vnto
             Loue
             ,
          
           
             Sloath
             the
             chiefe
             cause
             ,
             and
             foode
             of
             pleasing
             ill
             :
          
           
             Shake
             off
             but
             Sloath
             ,
             and
             idle
             ease
             remoue
             ,
          
           
             Blinde
             Cupid
             shall
             his
             arrowes
             vainely
             spill
             :
          
           
             His
             bowe
             shall
             breake
             ,
             and
             to
             the
             ground
             shall
             fall
             ,
          
           
             Yea
             and
             his
             firy
             brands
             extinguish
             all
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             36.
             
          
           
             Euen
             as
             the
             Palme-tree
             loues
             the
             Riuers
             sight
             ,
          
           
             And
             as
             the
             Alder
             ioyes
             the
             Waters
             side
             ,
          
           
             As
             Reeds
             in
             slymie
             Marishes
             delight
             ,
          
           
             So
             Loue
             doth
             euermore
             with
             sloath
             abide
             .
          
           
             Loue
             hates
             all
             busie
             braines
             as
             deadly
             ill
             :
          
           
             If
             then
             thou
             wilt
             not
             loue
             ,
             be
             busie
             still
             .
          
        
         
           
             37.
             
          
           
             Languor
             ,
             and
             Feeblenesse
             ,
             and
             sloathful
             play
             ,
          
           
             Time
             drownd
             in
             Wine
             ,
             and
             lost
             in
             drowsie
             sleepe
             ,
          
           
             Steales
             from
             the
             mind
             her
             wonted
             strength
             &
             stay
             ,
          
           
             Whiles
             all
             her
             spirits
             dead
             ,
             no
             watch
             do
             keepe
             :
          
           
             Then
             in
             slips
             Traitor
             Loue
             her
             enemie
             ,
          
           
             And
             doth
             depriue
             her
             of
             her
             libertie
             .
          
        
         
           
             38.
             
          
           
             Loue
             euermore
             a
             shadow
             is
             to
             Sloath
             ,
          
           
             Attending
             on
             her
             alwaies
             as
             her
             Page
             ,
          
           
             To
             be
             imployde
             with
             businesse
             its
             loath
             :
          
           
             It
             hates
             all
             care
             ,
             at
             trouble
             stil
             doth
             rage
             .
          
           
             Adde
             then
             vnto
             thy
             minde
             some
             chiefe
             affaire
             ,
          
           
             Stil
             to
             preserue
             from
             Loues
             infectious
             ayre
             .
          
        
         
           
             39.
             
          
           
             There
             are
             the
             seates
             of
             Iudgements
             Iustice
             see
             :
          
           
             There
             are
             the
             Lawes
             go
             learn
             to
             plead
             for
             truth
             ;
          
           
             Thou
             hast
             some
             friend
             in
             trouble
             ,
             set
             him
             free
             :
          
           
             Thus
             shalt
             thou
             euer
             fly
             fond
             Fancies
             ruth
             .
          
           
             Or
             clad
             thy selfe
             in
             steele
             and
             shining
             armes
             ,
          
           
             Pleasure
             shal
             fly
             ,
             and
             neuer
             worke
             thy
             harmes
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             40.
             
          
           
             Behold
             the
             Parthian
             ,
             who
             slying
             fights
             ,
          
           
             Now
             Captiuate
             the
             cause
             of
             our
             new
             ioyes
             ,
          
           
             Conquer
             thou
             Cupids
             sensual
             delights
             :
          
           
             As
             then
             the
             Parthian
             hast
             to
             his
             annoy
             ;
          
           
             So
             in
             thy
             double
             conquest
             mayst
             thou
             weare
          
           
             Two
             Trophies
             ,
             and
             vnto
             thy
             Gods
             them
             beare
             .
          
        
         
           
             41.
             
          
           
             As
             soone
             as
             Venus
             from
             th'
             Aeolian
             Speare
          
           
             Receiude
             her
             wound
             ,
             she
             left
             the
             bloodie
             field
             ,
          
           
             She
             left
             the
             care
             of
             that
             vnconstant
             feare
          
           
             Vnto
             her
             Louer
             ,
             by
             his
             strength
             to
             wield
             :
          
           
             Some
             aske
             why
             fraile
             Aegistus
             burnd
             in
             sinne
             ?
          
           
             The
             cause
             is
             plaine
             ,
             Sloath
             did
             his
             vertue
             winne
             .
          
        
         
           
             42.
             
          
           
             Diuers
             were
             slack
             ,
             and
             many
             proued
             slowe
             ,
          
           
             Some
             came
             but
             late
             ,
             before
             proud
             Troyes
             wall
             ,
          
           
             To
             which
             the
             youth
             of
             Greece
             did
             daily
             goe
             ,
          
           
             Concluding
             their
             long
             toyle
             with
             Illions
             fall
             .
          
           
             Would
             he
             the
             exercise
             of
             rough
             warres
             daine
             ,
          
           
             His
             nature
             could
             not
             suffer
             any
             paine
             .
          
        
         
           
             43.
             
          
           
             Would
             he
             haue
             spent
             his
             speech
             to
             plead
             for
             right
             ,
          
           
             Greece
             wanted
             matter
             for
             his
             vehement
             tongue
             ,
          
           
             All
             that
             he
             could
             ,
             he
             did
             euen
             to
             his
             might
             ,
          
           
             Least
             nought
             he
             should
             to
             Loue
             he
             tun'd
             his
             song
             :
          
           
             So
             came
             that
             childe
             to
             vndertake
             some
             paine
             ,
          
           
             So
             stil
             he
             doth
             a
             childish
             boy
             remaine
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             44.
             
          
           
             The
             Countrey
             also
             doth
             delight
             the
             minde
             ,
          
           
             With
             pleasant
             studies
             of
             sweet
             husbandry
             :
          
           
             This
             care
             the
             greeuoust
             cares
             &
             griefes
             doth
             binde
             ,
          
           
             Quickly
             forgets
             and
             makes
             all
             sorrow
             flye
             .
          
           
             Yoke
             then
             thy
             Oxen
             well
             taught
             to
             obay
             ,
          
           
             And
             furrow
             vp
             the
             earth
             in
             good
             aray
             .
          
        
         
           
             45.
             
          
           
             Bury
             therein
             thy
             quicke
             and
             liuely
             seede
             ,
          
           
             Which
             thy
             fat
             fields
             in
             time
             shall
             multiply
          
           
             Yeelding
             thee
             treble
             gaines
             with
             happie
             speede
             ,
          
           
             Behold
             the
             Apple
             bough
             how
             it
             doth
             ply
             .
          
           
             And
             stoope
             with
             store
             of
             fruit
             that
             doth
             abound
             ,
          
           
             Scarce
             able
             to
             sustaine
             them
             from
             the
             ground
             .
          
        
         
           
             46.
             
          
           
             Marke
             well
             the
             gentle
             musicke
             of
             each
             spring
             ,
          
           
             Whiles
             through
             the
             Peebles
             it
             doth
             make
             her
             way
             :
          
           
             See
             how
             thy
             Lambes
             with
             tender
             teeth
             do
             wring
             ,
          
           
             And
             choysely
             crop
             the
             sweetest
             herbes
             away
             .
          
           
             The
             gentle
             Lambes
             that
             alwaies
             heard
             togither
             ,
          
           
             Louers
             of
             companie
             ,
             louing
             one
             another
             .
          
        
         
           
             47.
             
          
           
             Loe
             how
             the
             Goates
             vnto
             the
             Rocks
             do
             speede
             ,
          
           
             Their
             empty
             dugs
             for
             their
             young
             kids
             to
             fill
             :
          
           
             Attend
             the
             musick
             of
             the
             Shepheards
             Reede
             ,
          
           
             How
             his
             true
             Curre
             awaites
             to
             do
             his
             will.
          
           
             O
             how
             the
             woods
             resound
             on
             euery
             part
             ,
          
           
             Of
             kyne
             that
             still
             bewaile
             their
             Calues
             depart
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             48.
             
          
           
             How
             swarmes
             of
             Bees
             from
             bitter
             smoke
             do
             fly
             ,
          
           
             Easing
             the
             crooked
             Pillers
             of
             their
             neast
             :
          
           
             How
             Autumne
             yeeldeth
             fruites
             aboundantly
             ,
          
           
             And
             Sommer
             welcomes
             Ceres
             to
             his
             feast
             .
          
           
             The
             Spring
             with
             flowers
             guilds
             the
             pleasant
             field
             ,
          
           
             And
             Winters
             Frost
             with
             fier
             we
             beguilde
             .
          
        
         
           
             49.
             
          
           
             The
             Husbandman
             in
             time
             conuenient
             ,
          
           
             Gathers
             his
             Grape
             ,
             &
             thence
             draws
             pleasant
             Wine
             .
          
           
             The
             Gardner
             hath
             his
             slips
             in
             order
             bent
             ,
          
           
             Refines
             the
             earth
             ,
             and
             plots
             it
             with
             his
             line
             .
          
           
             Euen
             thou
             maist
             plant
             ,
             and
             graffe
             ,
             and
             set
             ,
             &
             sowe
             ,
          
           
             Cause
             water
             many
             miles
             through
             pipes
             to
             flowe
             ,
          
        
         
           
             50.
             
          
           
             Is
             it
             fit
             time
             to
             graffe
             ?
             make
             then
             one
             Tree
             ,
          
           
             Adopt
             an
             other
             ,
             and
             preserue
             his
             life
             ,
          
           
             There
             let
             him
             stand
             still
             couered
             and
             still
             free
             ,
          
           
             From
             th'
             iniuries
             of
             time
             ,
             and
             weathers
             strife
             :
          
           
             Thy
             minde
             thus
             busied
             with
             this
             pleasant
             care
             ,
          
           
             Loue
             disappointed
             from
             thee
             flyeth
             faire
             .
          
        
         
           
             51.
             
          
           
             Or
             giue
             thy
             minde
             to
             Huntings
             sweet
             delight
             ,
          
           
             For
             stately
             Dian
             that
             pursues
             in
             chase
             ,
          
           
             And
             conquers
             each
             vntamed
             beast
             in
             fight
             ,
          
           
             Giues
             Venus
             still
             foule
             ouer
             throwes
             and
             base
             .
          
           
             Follow
             the
             fearefull
             hart
             with
             skilfull
             hound
             ,
          
           
             Or
             with
             thy
             net
             encompasse
             him
             around
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             52.
             
          
           
             Adde
             diuers
             terrors
             to
             the
             flying
             hart
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             thy
             Speare
             transfixe
             the
             cruell
             Bore
             ,
          
           
             So
             thou
             all
             wearie
             at
             the
             dayes
             depart
             ,
          
           
             Shalt
             soundly
             sleepe
             till
             Sun
             the
             day
             restore
             .
          
           
             No
             idle
             thoughts
             shall
             rule
             thy
             fantasie
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             pleasing
             dreame
             thy
             weaker
             sense
             shall
             trie
             .
          
        
         
           
             53.
             
          
           
             More
             gentle
             is
             that
             pleasant
             exercise
             ,
          
           
             To
             fowle
             with
             shaft
             ,
             or
             closely
             hidden
             Net
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             do
             these
             sports
             of
             lesse
             reward
             dispise
             ,
          
           
             For
             also
             they
             do
             Cupids
             treason
             let
             :
          
           
             Or
             hide
             thy
             compast
             Hooke
             with
             pleasing
             baite
             ,
          
           
             Deceiuing
             Fish
             that
             do
             for
             foode
             awaite
             .
          
        
         
           
             54.
             
          
           
             With
             these
             ,
             and
             other
             such
             ,
             still
             feed
             thy
             minde
             ,
          
           
             For
             by
             thy selfe
             thy
             selfe
             must
             be
             deceiu'd
             ,
          
           
             Till
             thoughts
             of
             loue
             quite
             vanquished
             thou
             finde
             ;
          
           
             Thou
             onely
             (
             let
             me
             herein
             be
             beliud
             )
          
           
             Though
             deerest
             loue
             implore
             thee
             still
             to
             stay
             ,
          
           
             Absent
             thy selfe
             by
             iorneyes
             euery
             day
             .
          
        
         
           
             55.
             
          
           
             I
             know
             the
             sweet
             remembrance
             of
             thy
             loue
             ,
          
           
             (
             Which
             newly
             thou
             forsak'st
             wil
             cause
             thee
             weepe
             ,
             )
          
           
             And
             stay
             thy
             foote
             that
             it
             no
             step
             remoue
             ,
          
           
             Altring
             the
             purpose
             ,
             which
             thou
             mindst
             to
             keepe
             .
          
           
             But
             by
             how
             much
             thou
             shalt
             desire
             to
             stay
             ,
          
           
             So
             much
             the
             faster
             see
             thou
             spurre
             away
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             56.
             
          
           
             Be
             patient
             ,
             and
             learne
             by
             dayly
             vse
             ,
          
           
             To
             suffer
             these
             afflictions
             of
             sicke
             mindes
             .
          
           
             Wish
             not
             for
             rayne
             ,
             fit
             matter
             of
             excuse
             ,
          
           
             Or
             Sabboths
             that
             from
             iorneyes
             doe
             vs
             binde
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             Allium
             ,
             that
             most
             vnlucky
             thing
             ,
          
           
             Which
             euermore
             with
             it
             mischance
             doth
             bring
             .
          
        
         
           
             57.
             
          
           
             Thinke
             not
             how
             many
             thousands
             thou
             hast
             past
             ,
          
           
             But
             looke
             how
             many
             miles
             do
             yet
             remaine
             :
          
           
             Nor
             with
             delay
             study
             the
             time
             to
             waste
             ,
          
           
             To
             stay
             neere
             home
             do
             no
             occasion
             finde
             :
          
           
             Number
             thou
             not
             the
             dayes
             ,
             the
             weekes
             the
             houres
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             look
             thou
             back
             vnto
             thine
             home-bred
             bowers
             .
          
        
         
           
             58.
             
          
           
             But
             fly
             forth
             still
             and
             with
             the
             Parthian
             fight
             ,
          
           
             Who
             findes
             best
             safety
             in
             retyring
             still
             ,
          
           
             Some
             one
             will
             call
             my
             precepts
             hard
             ,
             and
             right
             ,
          
           
             He
             sayes
             ,
             yea
             I
             subscribe
             vnto
             his
             will.
          
           
             But
             for
             to
             keepe
             our
             health
             in
             perfect
             state
             ,
          
           
             Much
             must
             we
             suffer
             of
             a
             desperate
             fate
             .
          
        
         
           
             59.
             
          
           
             Oft
             haue
             I
             tasted
             Sirups
             of
             sharpe
             touch
             ,
          
           
             Against
             my
             will
             ,
             to
             cure
             my
             maladie
             :
          
           
             But
             when
             my
             appetite
             desired
             much
             ,
          
           
             All
             sorts
             of
             meates
             they
             did
             to
             me
             deny
             .
          
           
             To
             free
             thy
             body
             from
             disease
             and
             paine
             ,
          
           
             Both
             sword
             ,
             and
             fire
             ,
             &
             what
             not
             wilt
             thou
             daine
             ?
          
        
         
           
           
             60.
             
          
           
             If
             that
             in
             greatest
             thirst
             and
             moistures
             lacke
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             must
             not
             touch
             one
             drop
             of
             shewring
             raine
             ,
          
           
             Then
             to
             redeeme
             thy
             minde
             from
             sorrowes
             wracke
             :
          
           
             Wilt
             thou
             refuse
             to
             suffer
             any
             paine
             ?
          
           
             Sith
             it
             so
             far
             exceeds
             this
             humane
             mold
          
           
             Of
             base
             borne
             flesh
             vnto
             corruption
             sold
             .
          
        
         
           
             61.
             
          
           
             But
             yet
             the
             hardest
             entrance
             of
             our
             Art
             ,
          
           
             And
             greatest
             labour
             that
             furmounts
             the
             rest
             ,
          
           
             Is
             to
             endure
             ,
             and
             beare
             the
             first
             times
             smart
             :
          
           
             Behold
             how
             hard
             it
             is
             ,
             to
             make
             th'young
             beast
             ,
          
           
             First
             brooke
             the
             yoke
             ,
             or
             back
             an
             vntam'd
             lade
             ,
          
           
             And
             yet
             in
             time
             they
             are
             most
             gentle
             made
             .
          
        
         
           
             62.
             
          
           
             But
             thou
             art
             loath
             to
             leaue
             thy
             Countries
             bound
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             fathers
             cottage
             ,
             and
             his
             dwelling
             place
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             shalt
             thou
             go
             beyond
             thy
             natiue
             ground
             ,
          
           
             Though
             to
             returne
             thou
             turnest
             still
             thy
             face
             :
          
           
             Thou
             faignest
             faire
             excuse
             ,
             not
             Countries
             lack
             ,
          
           
             But
             thy
             faire
             Mistresse
             Loue
             doth
             call
             thee
             back
             .
          
        
         
           
             63.
             
          
           
             Well
             being
             past
             great
             comfort
             to
             thy
             minde
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             iourney
             ,
             fellowes
             ,
             and
             strange
             fields
             will
             bring
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             thinke
             not
             this
             sufficient
             ,
             but
             beware
             ,
          
           
             Least
             thou
             returne
             ,
             ere
             Loue
             hath
             tane
             her
             wing
             ,
          
           
             Still
             absent
             be
             ,
             and
             still
             vnknowne
             paths
             tread
             ,
          
           
             Till
             euery
             sparke
             of
             Loue
             lie
             cold
             and
             dead
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             64.
             
          
           
             For
             if
             thou
             do
             returne
             cur'd
             but
             in
             part
             ,
          
           
             Loue
             will
             againe
             renew
             his
             ciuill
             warre
             ,
          
           
             And
             euery
             day
             will
             still
             augment
             thy
             smart
             ,
          
           
             Sith
             thou
             returnest
             to
             thy
             griefe
             from
             farre
             .
          
           
             But
             let
             him
             eate
             the
             hearbs
             of
             Thessalie
             ,
          
           
             That
             Magicke
             thinkes
             will
             cure
             his
             Maladie
             .
          
        
         
           
             65.
             
          
           
             Yet
             auncient
             is
             that
             damned
             Socerie
             :
          
           
             But
             wise
             Appollo
             ,
             Poets
             chiefest
             guide
             ,
          
           
             Doth
             point
             vs
             out
             for
             better
             meanes
             to
             trie
             :
          
           
             And
             certaine
             helpes
             ,
             on
             which
             we
             must
             abide
             .
          
           
             Then
             by
             my
             will
             no
             Magicke
             shal
             be
             vsde
             ,
          
           
             No
             charming
             verse
             which
             many
             haue
             abusde
             .
          
        
         
           
             66.
             
          
           
             No
             ghost
             shal
             be
             commaunded
             to
             arise
          
           
             Out
             of
             the
             graue
             ,
             where
             it
             should
             sleepe
             in
             rest
             :
          
           
             No
             witch
             ,
             whose
             lims
             by
             age
             growen
             weatherwise
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             cause
             the
             earth
             rend
             open
             her
             wide
             brest
             .
          
           
             Corne
             shall
             not
             shift
             from
             field
             to
             field
             at
             all
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             shall
             the
             Sun
             growe
             dim
             ,
             or
             wax
             ●●d
             pall
             .
          
        
         
           
             67.
             
          
           
             As
             erst
             it
             did
             ,
             shall
             Romes
             faire
             Riuer
             pay
             ,
          
           
             He
             wonted
             tribute
             to
             the
             
               Midland
               Sea
               ▪
            
          
           
             And
             stil
             shall
             Phoebe
             course
             her
             wonted
             way
             ,
          
           
             Drawne
             by
             her
             milkwhite
             steeds
             ,
             that
             swiftest
             be
             .
          
           
             No
             Wisard
             reading
             backward
             shall
             vncharme
             ,
          
           
             Or
             liuing
             Sulphure
             driue
             away
             Loues
             harme
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             68.
             
          
           
             What
             remedy
             did
             Phasis
             flowers
             yeeld
          
           
             Circe
             ,
             when
             thou
             wouldst
             not
             from
             Cholcos
             god
             ▪
          
           
             What
             helpt
             the
             weedes
             of
             all
             the
             Persian
             field
          
           
             When
             as
             the
             windes
             Vlisses
             sayles
             did
             blow
             .
          
           
             Each
             guile
             thou
             did'st
             attempt
             to
             make
             him
             stay
             ,
          
           
             A
             blast
             of
             winde
             yet
             wasted
             him
             away
             .
          
        
         
           
             69.
             
          
           
             Yea
             thou
             did'st
             practise
             through
             thy
             deepest
             arte
             ,
          
           
             To
             quench
             those
             flames
             that
             did
             molest
             thy
             minde
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             did
             they
             euermore
             procure
             thy
             smart
             ,
          
           
             And
             vnto
             deeper
             sorow
             did
             thee
             binde
             .
          
           
             Thou
             that
             could'st
             change
             men
             into
             diuers
             kinde
          
           
             Could'st
             not
             reuerse
             the
             passions
             of
             thy
             minde
             .
          
        
         
           
             70.
             
          
           
             And
             when
             he
             would
             depart
             ,
             thou
             thought'st
             to
             stay
          
           
             Him
             with
             sweet
             wordes
             ,
             with
             which
             thou
             fild'st
             his
             eare
             ,
          
           
             I
             cannot
             hope
             ,
             thou
             said'st
             ,
             but
             humbly
             pray
             ,
          
           
             To
             make
             me
             your
             sole
             spouse
             ,
             which
             much
             I
             feare
             :
          
           
             Yet
             am
             I
             worthy
             it
             ,
             though
             that
             thou
             skorne
             ,
          
           
             Daughter
             to
             Phoebus
             of
             a
             goddesse
             borne
             .
          
        
         
           
             71.
             
          
           
             O
             yet
             delay
             thy
             iorney
             some
             small
             space
             ,
          
           
             Short
             stay
             for
             great
             requitall
             I
             require
             ,
          
           
             With
             fauour
             may
             I
             aske
             a
             smaller
             grace
             :
          
           
             See
             how
             the
             Sea
             contraries
             thy
             desire
             ,
          
           
             With
             troubled
             Billowes
             ,
             which
             should
             cause
             thee
             feare
             :
          
           
             Stay
             then
             for
             winde
             that
             will
             thee
             safely
             beare
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             72.
             
          
           
             What
             cause
             hast
             thou
             to
             hasten
             thus
             thy
             flight
             ?
          
           
             Here
             stands
             no
             aduerse
             Troy
             to
             trouble
             thee
             :
          
           
             No
             foe
             to
             call
             thee
             forth
             to
             bloody
             fight
             ,
          
           
             But
             loue
             and
             peace
             dwels
             here
             ,
             from
             danger
             free
             .
          
           
             Yet
             onely
             I
             from
             them
             haue
             tane
             this
             wound
             ,
          
           
             Which
             vnto
             thee
             subiected
             hath
             this
             ground
             .
          
        
         
           
             73.
             
          
           
             This
             and
             much
             more
             in
             vaine
             her
             tongue
             did
             say
             ,
          
           
             But
             wise
             Vlisses
             alwayes
             stopt
             his
             eare
             ;
          
           
             And
             hoysing
             his
             braue
             sayles
             ,
             fled
             fast
             away
             ,
          
           
             The
             winde
             her
             loue
             ,
             and
             words
             away
             doth
             beare
             .
          
           
             Yet
             still
             her
             torments
             did
             the
             more
             increase
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             stil
             of
             cursed
             spels
             she
             seeketh
             ease
             .
          
        
         
           
             74.
             
          
           
             But
             all
             her
             magicke
             ,
             and
             spright
             binding
             arte
             ,
          
           
             Diminisht
             nothing
             of
             her
             furious
             loue
             ,
          
           
             Ne
             ought
             did
             take
             from
             her
             consuming
             smart
             ,
          
           
             Ne
             ought
             her
             helish
             torments
             did
             remoue
             ;
          
           
             Ye
             then
             that
             fondly
             loue
             ,
             and
             faigne
             would
             leaue
             ,
          
           
             In
             magicke
             spels
             doe
             not
             at
             all
             beleeue
             .
          
        
         
           
             75.
             
          
           
             But
             if
             great
             cause
             of
             businesse
             thee
             retaine
          
           
             Within
             the
             Citie
             ,
             where
             thy
             mistris
             dwels
             ,
          
           
             Follow
             my
             counsaile
             freedome
             to
             regaine
             ,
          
           
             Which
             for
             the
             Cities
             presence
             I
             will
             tell
             .
          
           
             He
             woonne
             his
             freedome
             and
             did
             quite
             him
             wel
             ,
          
           
             That
             once
             escapte
             vnworthy
             loues
             lowe
             Hell.
             
          
        
         
           
           
             76.
             
          
           
             This
             thou
             desirest
             him
             ,
             I
             wonder
             at
             ,
          
           
             And
             of
             my
             medicines
             he
             shall
             not
             need
             :
          
           
             To
             thee
             alone
             my
             Rules
             I
             will
             relate
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             inward
             wounds
             do
             neuer
             cease
             to
             bleed
             ,
          
           
             Who
             louest
             ,
             &
             wouldst
             faigne
             that
             knot
             vnbinde
             ,
          
           
             And
             know'st
             not
             how
             ,
             &
             seekst
             the
             way
             to
             finde
             .
          
        
         
           
             77.
             
          
           
             Recount
             vnto
             thy selfe
             each
             suttle
             Art
             ,
          
           
             Each
             wicked
             Act
             of
             thine
             vnworthy
             Loue
             :
          
           
             Vnfold
             before
             thine
             eyes
             each
             losse
             ,
             each
             smart
             ,
          
           
             Which
             by
             her
             meanes
             and
             for
             her
             thou
             dost
             proue
             :
          
           
             This
             hath
             she
             stolne
             ,
             &
             that
             thus
             must
             you
             say
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             this
             or
             that
             will
             not
             her
             stealing
             stay
             .
          
        
         
           
             78.
             
          
           
             But
             euen
             houshold
             goods
             ,
             and
             gods
             and
             all
             ,
          
           
             She
             quite
             hath
             fold
             with
             couetous
             desire
             :
          
           
             Lo
             thus
             protesting
             she
             doth
             Record
             call
          
           
             Her
             faith
             ,
             yee
             falsifies
             it
             ,
             O
             the
             stoute
             lyer
             ,
          
           
             How
             often
             hath
             she
             shut
             me
             out
             her
             gate
             ?
          
           
             There
             suffering
             me
             my
             sorrowes
             to
             relate
             .
          
        
         
           
             79.
             
          
           
             Yea
             she
             applies
             her selfe
             to
             straungers
             last
             ,
          
           
             And
             scorne
             my
             loue
             ,
             ô
             most
             vnhappie
             I
             ,
          
           
             Vnto
             her
             base
             apprentise
             she
             doth
             trust
             ,
          
           
             Those
             secrets
             which
             to
             me
             she
             doth
             denie
             :
          
           
             The
             oft
             remembrance
             of
             such
             cruell
             wrong
             ▪
          
           
             Wil
             root
             thy
             fancie
             vp
             though
             grounded
             strong
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             80.
             
          
           
             Present
             them
             often
             then
             to
             thy
             sick
             minde
             ,
          
           
             For
             hence
             the
             spring
             shall
             rise
             of
             happy
             hate
             ,
          
           
             O
             would
             thou
             couldst
             seeme
             eloquent
             ,
             to
             binde
          
           
             More
             strong
             perswasions
             to
             thy
             sickly
             state
             .
          
        
         
           
             81.
             
          
           
             Lately
             I
             set
             my
             fancy
             on
             a
             maide
             ,
          
           
             That
             fully
             answerd
             not
             to
             my
             desier
             ,
          
           
             And
             therefore
             striu'd
             my
             fancy
             to
             haue
             staide
             ,
          
           
             A
             poore
             Phisition
             to
             so
             great
             a
             fyer
             :
          
           
             Yet
             the
             remembrance
             of
             her
             vilder
             parts
             ,
          
           
             Releast
             the
             furie
             of
             tormenting
             smarts
             .
          
        
         
           
             82.
             
          
           
             How
             ill
             and
             excellent
             vnshapt
             her
             thigh
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             to
             confesse
             the
             truth
             ,
             it
             was
             not
             so
             :
          
           
             How
             foule
             her
             armes
             ,
             thus
             would
             I
             say
             and
             sigh
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             if
             they
             were
             not
             thus
             ,
             I
             well
             did
             know
             :
          
           
             How
             short
             of
             stature
             ,
             yet
             her
             stature
             tall
             ;
          
           
             Thus
             enuie
             loathsomnesse
             to
             me
             did
             call
             .
          
        
         
           
             83.
             
          
           
             Good
             things
             do
             neighbour
             bad
             ,
             and
             sit
             them
             by
             ,
          
           
             Oft
             vertue
             thus
             of
             vice
             doth
             beare
             that
             blame
             ,
          
           
             Faigne
             to
             thy selfe
             ,
             and
             tell
             thy selfe
             a
             ly
             ,
          
           
             And
             cloath
             her
             vertues
             with
             foule
             vices
             shame
             .
          
           
             Thus
             shalt
             thou
             change
             thy
             mind
             with
             subtill
             art
             ,
          
           
             And
             weare
             away
             thy
             still
             encombring
             smart
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             84.
             
          
           
             If
             shee
             be
             fat
             ,
             that
             shee
             is
             swollen
             say
             :
          
           
             If
             browne
             ,
             then
             tawny
             like
             the
             Affricke
             Moore
             :
          
           
             If
             slender
             ,
             leane
             ,
             meger
             ,
             and
             worne
             away
             ,
          
           
             If
             courtly
             ,
             wanton
             ,
             worst
             of
             worst
             before
             :
          
           
             If
             modest
             ,
             strange
             ,
             as
             fitteth
             woman-head
             ,
          
           
             Say
             she
             is
             rusticke
             ,
             clownish
             ,
             and
             ill
             bred
             .
          
        
         
           
             85.
             
          
           
             Yea
             whatsoeuer
             gift
             ,
             (
             for
             none
             hath
             all
             )
          
           
             Thy
             mistris
             wants
             ,
             intreat
             her
             still
             to
             vse
             :
          
           
             If
             that
             her
             voyce
             be
             ill
             ,
             or
             cunning
             small
             ,
          
           
             Importune
             her
             to
             sing
             ,
             nee'r
             let
             her
             chuse
             :
          
           
             If
             that
             she
             cannot
             moue
             her
             feete
             in
             measure
             ,
          
           
             To
             see
             her
             daunce
             ,
             still
             let
             it
             be
             thy
             pleasure
             .
          
        
         
           
             86.
             
          
           
             Is
             shee
             of
             small
             discourse
             ,
             and
             slender
             wit
             ?
          
           
             Conuerse
             with
             her
             ,
             that
             she
             may
             wound
             thine
             eare
             ,
          
           
             To
             instruments
             hath
             shee
             not
             learn'd
             to
             fit
          
           
             Her
             fingers
             ?
             then
             desire
             a
             Lute
             to
             heare
             .
          
           
             Hath
             she
             an
             ill
             vncomely
             and
             strange
             gate
             ?
          
           
             Cause
             her
             to
             walke
             both
             earely
             forth
             and
             late
             .
          
        
         
           
             87.
             
          
           
             Hath
             shee
             a
             swelling
             ,
             and
             downe
             hanging
             breast
             ?
          
           
             Desire
             thou
             still
             to
             see
             her
             faire
             white
             skinne
             ;
          
           
             Are
             her
             teeth
             blacke
             or
             wants
             shee
             of
             the
             best
             ?
          
           
             Relate
             some
             merry
             iest
             that
             shee
             may
             grinne
             :
          
           
             Is
             shee
             compassionate
             ?
             tell
             then
             some
             woful
             case
             ,
          
           
             So
             shall
             she
             shew
             thee
             Anticks
             in
             her
             face
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             88.
             
          
           
             Earely
             desire
             to
             steale
             of
             her
             a
             sight
             ,
          
           
             Ere
             shee
             hath
             cloath'd
             her
             with
             her
             best
             attire
             :
          
           
             We
             are
             seduced
             by
             vaine
             errors
             might
             ,
          
           
             And
             gay
             apparell
             kindles
             our
             desire
             .
          
           
             Then
             is
             shee
             shrowded
             all
             in
             stone
             and
             golde
             ,
          
           
             And
             of
             her selfe
             ,
             least
             part
             her selfe
             doth
             holde
             .
          
        
         
           
             89.
             
          
           
             Oft
             seeke
             for
             whom
             thou
             lou'st
             in
             company
             ,
          
           
             And
             great
             resort
             of
             other
             goodly
             dames
             :
          
           
             By
             this
             deuice
             new
             loues
             beguiles
             thine
             eye
             ,
          
           
             And
             drawes
             thy
             first
             desire
             to
             farther
             blame
             :
          
           
             Come
             all
             vnthought
             of
             sudden
             in
             the
             place
             ,
          
           
             So
             shall
             she
             be
             vnarm'd
             in
             weaker
             case
             .
          
        
         
           
             90.
             
          
           
             So
             shalt
             thou
             disappoint
             her
             in
             her
             guile
             ,
          
           
             See
             her
             defects
             ,
             and
             coole
             thy
             burning
             loue
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             trust
             not
             to
             this
             rule
             ,
             which
             other
             while
          
           
             Fallacious
             and
             dangerous
             doth
             proue
             :
          
           
             For
             carelesse
             hauiour
             that
             doth
             banish
             art
             ,
          
           
             Hath
             mighty
             force
             ,
             to
             hold
             a
             wounded
             hart
             .
          
        
         
           
             91.
             
          
           
             Yet
             whiles
             with
             curious
             skill
             shee
             paintes
             her
             face
             ,
          
           
             Be
             not
             asham'd
             ,
             but
             presse
             thou
             to
             her
             sight
             :
          
           
             Then
             shalt
             thou
             finde
             her
             boxes
             in
             the
             place
             ,
          
           
             Wherein
             her
             beauty
             lyes
             ,
             and
             borrowed
             light
             .
          
           
             Then
             shalt
             thou
             see
             her
             body
             all
             begreas'd
          
           
             With
             ointments
             that
             hath
             thee
             so
             greatly
             pleas'd
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             92.
             
          
           
             Of
             sauour
             worse
             then
             Phineûs
             tables
             were
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             filthinesse
             a
             plague
             to
             him
             was
             sent
             ,
          
           
             With
             these
             my
             stomack
             could
             not
             often
             beare
             ,
          
           
             But
             euermore
             to
             ease
             it selfe
             was
             bent
             ;
          
           
             But
             now
             euen
             what
             we
             vse
             in
             midst
             of
             Loue
             ,
          
           
             I
             will
             thee
             teach
             that
             passion
             to
             remoue
             .
          
        
         
           
             93.
             
          
           
             For
             by
             all
             meanes
             we
             must
             this
             fier
             expell
             ;
          
           
             But
             I
             do
             shame
             euen
             needfull
             things
             to
             showe
             :
          
           
             Yet
             thou
             by
             those
             which
             I
             to
             thee
             shall
             tell
             ,
          
           
             Mayst
             well
             conceiue
             the
             rest
             ,
             and
             easie
             knowe
             .
          
           
             For
             some
             dispraise
             my
             rimes
             to
             enuie
             bent
             ,
          
           
             And
             say
             my
             Muse
             is
             shamelesse
             impudent
             .
          
        
         
           
             94.
             
          
           
             Yet
             since
             I
             see
             so
             many
             that
             I
             please
             ,
          
           
             That
             all
             the
             world
             my
             sporting
             lines
             receaue
             ,
          
           
             Let
             this
             ,
             or
             that
             man
             enuie
             at
             my
             ease
             ,
          
           
             Dispraise
             my
             pen
             ,
             and
             me
             of
             praise
             bereaue
             :
          
           
             Detracting
             enuie
             Homers
             writ
             hath
             blam'd
          
           
             Who
             ere
             thou
             be
             ,
             he
             Zoilus
             hath
             nam'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             95.
             
          
           
             Yea
             sacriligious
             tongues
             hath
             torne
             thy
             verse
             ,
          
           
             By
             whose
             good
             guide
             the
             Troyans
             gaind
             this
             land
             :
          
           
             The
             loftiest
             things
             Ioues
             thunderbolts
             do
             perse
             ;
          
           
             And
             winds
             encounter
             what
             doth
             highest
             stand
             .
          
           
             So
             enuie
             euer
             aymeth
             at
             the
             best
             ,
          
           
             And
             will
             not
             giue
             them
             any
             time
             to
             rest
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             96
          
           
             But
             thou
             ,
             who
             ere
             thou
             be
             ,
             that
             thus
             my
             Muse
          
           
             So
             much
             offendes
             through
             looser
             libertie
             ,
          
           
             If
             in
             thy
             wrath
             discretion
             thou
             canst
             vse
             ,
          
           
             Then
             to
             each
             subiect
             ,
             his
             apt
             verse
             applie
             :
          
           
             Stout
             warres
             deserue
             a
             Homer
             to
             display
          
           
             Their
             battailes
             ,
             conflicts
             ,
             and
             their
             good
             array
             .
          
        
         
           
             97
          
           
             What
             place
             may
             there
             be
             found
             for
             sweet
             delight
             ,
          
           
             For
             Reuels
             ,
             Triumphs
             ,
             Loues
             and
             merriment
             ;
          
           
             Matters
             of
             State
             ,
             Tragedians
             do
             report
             ,
          
           
             For
             loftie
             Stiles
             becomes
             such
             drirement
             .
          
           
             No
             humble
             muse
             must
             there
             sound
             his
             stil
             horne
             ,
          
           
             There
             buskins
             ,
             but
             no
             base
             shoes
             must
             be
             worne
             .
          
        
         
           
             98
          
           
             The
             Iambicke
             freely
             taunts
             his
             enemie
             ,
          
           
             Whether
             his
             last
             foote
             slow
             ,
             or
             swift
             doth
             proue
             ,
          
           
             The
             legicke
             sings
             of
             loue
             ,
             and
             archerie
             ,
          
           
             With
             shafts
             ,
             such
             as
             from
             louers
             eyes
             do
             roue
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             her
             louer
             wantonly
             doth
             play
             ,
          
           
             And
             sweetly
             speake
             ,
             and
             plead
             ,
             implore
             and
             pray
             .
          
        
         
           
             99
          
           
             Achilles
             honor
             shines
             not
             in
             the
             verse
          
           
             Of
             Cyrens
             Muse
             ,
             where
             sports
             do
             better
             proue
             ,
          
           
             And
             stately
             Homer
             ,
             thou
             must
             not
             reherse
             ,
          
           
             Cydippe
             ,
             young
             Acontius
             deerest
             loue
             :
          
           
             Who
             can
             endure
             Andromache
             should
             play
             ,
          
           
             The
             sports
             of
             Thais
             ,
             and
             her
             wanton
             lay
             ?
          
        
         
           
           
             100.
             
          
           
             Who
             acteth
             Thais
             ,
             wrongs
             Andromache
             ,
          
           
             One
             person
             cannot
             fit
             him
             to
             both
             parts
             :
          
           
             But
             I
             will
             play
             that
             part
             ,
             and
             Thais
             be
             ,
          
           
             Our
             sports
             are
             libertines
             ,
             free
             are
             our
             hearts
             :
          
           
             Sith
             then
             all
             shame
             we
             banish
             from
             our
             verse
             ,
          
           
             Thais
             is
             mine
             ,
             I
             will
             her
             part
             rehearse
             .
          
        
         
           
             101.
             
          
           
             If
             then
             my
             lines
             do
             fit
             a
             wantons
             lay
             ,
          
           
             Gnawe
             thine
             owne
             gall
             ,
             fonde
             enuy
             hold
             thy
             peace
             ,
          
           
             For
             we
             haue
             wonne
             the
             lasting
             crowne
             of
             bay
             ,
          
           
             And
             cleerd
             the
             blame
             wherein
             we
             did
             displease
             :
          
           
             Breake
             enuie
             ,
             breake
             in
             thine
             owne
             foule
             despite
             ,
          
           
             For
             we
             haue
             got
             renowne
             ,
             and
             glory
             bright
             .
          
        
         
           
             102.
             
          
           
             For
             still
             with
             honour
             ,
             fames
             desire
             doth
             grow
             ;
          
           
             But
             at
             the
             foote
             of
             this
             high
             climing
             hill
             ,
          
           
             My
             weary
             Steeds
             do
             pant
             and
             faintly
             goe
             ;
          
           
             As
             much
             to
             vs
             by
             their
             according
             will
             :
          
           
             Our
             Elegies
             confesse
             to
             vs
             they
             owe
             ,
          
           
             As
             from
             his
             worke
             to
             Virgill
             praise
             doth
             flowe
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           ¶
           An
           exposition
           of
           the
           Poeticall
           examples
           ,
           mentioned
           in
           this
           first
           Booke
           of
           the
           Remedie
           of
           Loue.
           
        
         
           TYDIDES
           ,
           That
           is
           Diomedes
           ,
           the
           son
           of
           Tydeus
           &
           Deiphiles
           ,
           he
           was
           the
           most
           strong
           &
           valiant
           of
           all
           the
           Greekes
           ,
           except
           Achilles
           &
           Aiax
           :
           he
           wounded
           Venus
           in
           the
           right
           hād
           ;
           whiles
           shee
           defended
           Aeneas
           ,
           yea
           ,
           &
           also
           Mars
           ,
           the
           God
           of
           warre
           ,
           her
           Paramour
           .
        
         
           Achilles
           ,
           in
           a
           conflict
           woūded
           Telephus
           king
           of
           Missia
           ,
           who
           denyed
           passage
           to
           the
           Grecians
           through
           his
           kingdome
           ,
           bound
           for
           the
           siege
           of
           Troy
           ,
           of
           which
           when
           no
           remedie
           could
           be
           found
           ,
           he
           receiued
           from
           an
           Oracle
           ,
           that
           hee
           could
           not
           otherwise
           be
           healed
           ,
           but
           by
           the
           same
           Speare
           wherwith
           he
           was
           woūded
           :
           Afterwards
           therfore
           being
           reconciled
           to
           Achillis
           ,
           he
           obtained
           that
           he
           might
           make
           an
           emplaster
           of
           the
           rust
           thereof
           ,
           and
           so
           was
           restored
           to
           his
           perfect
           health
           .
        
         
           
             Phillis
             ,
             Lycurgus
          
           daughter
           ,
           who
           entertained
           Demophoön
           ,
           returning
           from
           the
           Troian
           warre
           ,
           admitted
           him
           to
           her
           bed
           :
           with
           cōdition
           ,
           that
           assoone
           as
           he
           had
           ordered
           his
           home-affayres
           ,
           he
           should
           returne
           againe
           and
           marry
           her
           .
           But
           he
           being
           detained
           by
           vrgent
           occasions
           ,
           and
           staying
           longer
           then
           the
           appointed
           time
           ,
           shee
           hanged
           her selfe
           ,
           and
           gaue
           an
           ende
           to
           her
           loue
           and
           life
           ,
           in
           one
           instant
           .
        
         
           Dido
           .
           How
           she
           after
           Aeneas
           departed
           frō
           her
           ,
           fayning
           a
           sacrifice
           ,
           burned
           her selfe
           ,
           it
           is
           too
           vulgar
           to
           be
           repeated
           .
        
         
           Troians
           .
           
             A
             people
             of
          
           Asia
           .
        
         
           Medea
           .
           The
           daughter
           of
           Aeta
           king
           of
           Cholcos
           ,
           she
           entertayned
           Iason
           in
           his
           expeditiō
           for
           the
           
             Goldē
             fleece
          
           ,
           
           which
           she
           taught
           him
           how
           to
           win
           ,
           and
           after
           sled
           away
           with
           him
           ,
           married
           him
           ,
           and
           bare
           vnto
           him
           two
           sonnes
           .
           Afterwards
           she
           was
           forsaken
           by
           him
           ,
           who
           tooke
           vnto
           his
           second
           wife
           ,
           Creusa
           the
           daughter
           of
           Creon
           ,
           King
           of
           Corinth
           ,
           which
           Medea
           tooke
           so
           greeuously
           ,
           that
           artificially
           enclosing
           fire
           in
           a
           Forcet
           ,
           sent
           it
           vnto
           her
           for
           a
           token
           :
           with
           which
           ,
           shee
           and
           the
           Pallace
           before
           day
           was
           burnt
           vp
           .
           Herewith
           Iason
           being
           enflamed
           ,
           ran
           forth
           to
           be
           reuenged
           on
           her
           ,
           but
           she
           seeing
           him
           comming
           ,
           tooke
           vp
           her
           two
           sonnes
           which
           he
           begate
           on
           her
           ,
           and
           in
           their
           fathers
           sight
           murthered
           them
           ,
           by
           cutting
           their
           throates
           ,
           and
           then
           through
           her
           witchcraft
           she
           was
           taken
           vp
           into
           the
           Clowdes
           ,
           and
           so
           went
           vnto
           Athens
           .
        
         
           
             
               
                 Tereus
                 .
              
               
                 Philomela
                 .
              
            
             Tereus
          
           hauing
           rauished
           Philomela
           ,
           (
           who
           went
           to
           see
           her
           sister
           Progne
           whom
           he
           had
           married
           )
           that
           his
           sinne
           might
           not
           be
           disclosed
           he
           cut
           off
           her
           tongue
           ,
           and
           imprisoned
           her
           ,
           but
           being
           a
           cunning
           work
           woman
           ,
           she
           wrote
           the
           whole
           processe
           of
           her
           iniury
           in
           an
           handkercheffe
           ,
           and
           sent
           it
           to
           her
           sister
           :
           who
           in
           reuenge
           thereof
           ,
           killed
           her
           owne
           sonne
           Itys
           ,
           and
           gaue
           his
           flesh
           boyled
           &
           rosted
           vnto
           her
           husband
           to
           eate
           :
           vnto
           whom
           ,
           after
           he
           had
           wel
           fed
           thereon
           ,
           she
           presented
           the
           childes
           head
           :
           wherat
           he
           being
           angry
           ,
           followed
           his
           wife
           to
           haue
           slaine
           her
           ,
           but
           she
           was
           turned
           into
           a
           Nightingale
           ,
           &
           he
           into
           that
           bird
           which
           the
           Latines
           cal
           Vpupa
           ,
           and
           some
           falsly
           translate
           ,
           a
           Lapwing
           .
        
         
           Pasiphae
           ,
           The
           wife
           of
           Mirios
           ,
           who
           being
           in
           loue
           with
           a
           Bull
           ,
           by
           the
           helpe
           of
           Dedalus
           her
           Bawde
           ,
           found
           out
           a
           way
           how
           she
           might
           lie
           with
           him
           :
           yea
           she
           cōceiued
           &
           brought
           out
           a
           Minotaure
           ,
           which
           was
           half
           a
           maā
           &
           half
           a
           Bull
           :
           which
           being
           enclosed
           in
           the
           Labyrinth
           ,
           was
           after
           slain
           by
           
             Theseus
             .
             Phaedra
          
           ,
           Wife
           to
           Theseus
           ,
           who
           falsly
           accused
           Hippolitꝰ
           
           his
           sonne
           of
           whoredome
           ,
           because
           hee
           would
           not
           satisfie
           her
           lust
           ,
           in
           lying
           with
           her
           ,
           and
           so
           wrought
           his
           death
           .
        
         
           Hee
           is
           not
           I
           thinke
           ,
           that
           hath
           not
           heard
           how
           Paris
           king
           Priamus
           his
           sonne
           of
           Troy
           ,
           stole
           Hellen
           from
           Greece
           ,
           how
           the
           Graecians
           ,
           which
           are
           a
           people
           of
           Europe
           ,
           in
           reuenge
           ,
           after
           10.
           yeeres
           siege
           ,
           destroyed
           Troy
           ,
           called
           also
           by
           the
           name
           of
           Pergamus
           :
           wherefore
           we
           will
           ease
           our
           margeant
           of
           this
           tedious
           note
           .
        
         
           Scylla
           ,
           daughter
           to
           Nisus
           ,
           who
           falling
           in
           loue
           with
           Minos
           her
           fahers
           enemie
           ,
           cut
           off
           his
           goldē
           hayre
           ,
           and
           presented
           him
           therewith
           ,
           thinking
           by
           this
           great
           argument
           of
           her
           loue
           ,
           to
           win
           his
           grace
           :
           but
           he
           ,
           though
           by
           her
           meanes
           he
           ouercame
           her
           father
           ,
           hated
           so
           much
           her
           impietie
           ,
           that
           hee
           vtterly
           refused
           her
           ,
           and
           she
           ,
           throwing
           her selfe
           into
           the
           sea
           ,
           at
           his
           departure
           ,
           to
           swimme
           after
           him
           ,
           was
           turned
           into
           the
           bird
           Ciris
           ,
           a
           Larke
           .
           Ouid.
           
        
         
           Prophet
           ,
           that
           is
           Apollo
           ,
           whom
           Poets
           doe
           make
           their
           God
           :
           hence
           are
           they
           crowned
           with
           Lawrell
           ,
           which
           tree
           is
           consecrated
           to
           him
           :
           hee
           also
           for
           his
           skill
           in
           the
           natures
           of
           hearbes
           ,
           is
           recorded
           for
           the
           inuenter
           or
           finder
           out
           of
           that
           most
           necessary
           Art
           of
           Physicke
           .
        
         
           Myrrha
           ,
           the
           daughter
           of
           Cinarus
           king
           of
           Cyprus
           ,
           who
           desiring
           her
           fathers
           companie
           ,
           by
           the
           deuice
           of
           her
           Nurse
           ,
           enioyed
           her
           filthie
           lust
           :
           and
           was
           deliuered
           of
           Adonis
           :
           which
           when
           her
           father
           knew
           ,
           he
           would
           haue
           slayne
           her
           ,
           but
           she
           flying
           from
           his
           fury
           ,
           was
           turned
           into
           a
           tree
           of
           that
           name
           ,
           which
           euermore
           weepeth
           as
           it
           were
           ,
           and
           lamenteth
           her
           impietie
           .
        
         
           Paeantius
           sonne
           ,
           that
           is
           Philoctetes
           ,
           the
           companiō
           of
           Hercules
           ,
           who
           after
           his
           death
           enioyed
           his
           arrowes
           ,
           and
           being
           drawne
           to
           the
           Troian
           warre
           ,
           by
           the
           fall
           of
           one
           of
           them
           was
           wounded
           in
           his
           foote
           ,
           which
           grew
           to
           be
           almost
           incureable
           :
           
           for
           which
           cause
           he
           was
           left
           behind
           in
           the
           I
           le
           of
           Lemnos
           ,
           &
           after
           by
           Vlisses
           was
           fetcht
           vnto
           Troy
           ,
           which
           being
           sackt
           ,
           he
           went
           into
           Calabria
           ,
           where
           Machaon
           restored
           him
           to
           health
           .
        
         
           Cupid
           ,
           the
           sonne
           of
           Venus
           ,
           Loues
           archer
           .
           &c.
           
        
         
           Parthian
           ,
           
             a
             people
             of
          
           Asia
           ,
           
             in
             auncient
             times
             the
             most
             earnest
             enemies
             of
             the
          
           Romans
           ,
           
             they
             excelled
             in
             shooting
             ,
             which
             they
             so
             vesd
             in
             flight
             ,
             that
             they
             more
             endamaged
             their
             foes
             thereby
             ,
             then
             by
             any
             handy
             conflict
             ,
             and
             yet
             defended
             themselues
             also
             .
             Of
             which
          
           Iustine
           lib.
           41.
           
           Fugam
           sepe
           simulant
           ,
           vt
           incautiores
           aduersus
           vulnera
           insequentes
           habeant
           .
           
             &
             paulo
             post
          
           .
           Plerumque
           in
           ipso
           ardore
           certamini
           praelia
           deserunt
           ,
           &
           paulo
           post
           pugnam
           &
           fugam
           repetunt
           ,
           &
           cum
           maximè
           vicisse
           te
           putes
           tunc
           tibi
           discrimen
           subeundum
           est
           .
        
         
           Aeolion
           speare
           ,
           Diomedes
           speare
           ,
           looke
           this
           before
           .
        
         
           Aegistus
           ,
           the
           sonne
           of
           Thiestis
           by
           Pelopeia
           ,
           he
           murthered
           Agamemnon
           ,
           being
           ayded
           by
           his
           wicked
           wife
           Clytemnestia
           ,
           whom
           he
           vsed
           in
           whoredome
           and
           beastly
           lust
           ,
           and
           was
           after
           slaine
           himselfe
           by
           
             Orestes
             ,
             Agamemnons
          
           sonne
           .
        
         
           Ceres
           ,
           the
           Inuentrix
           of
           plowing
           and
           tilling
           ,
           sowing
           corne
           ,
           and
           making
           bread
           .
        
         
           Diana
           ,
           daughter
           to
           Iupiter
           &
           Latona
           ,
           and
           brother
           to
           Apollo
           by
           the
           same
           birth
           ,
           she
           ,
           for
           the
           loue
           of
           virginitie
           ,
           fled
           the
           company
           of
           men
           ,
           and
           inhabited
           the
           woods
           ,
           dedelighting
           her selfe
           with
           hunting
           ,
           whence
           she
           is
           named
           :
           
             The
             Lady
             and
             goddesse
             of
             Hunters
             .
          
        
         
           Allium
           ,
           by
           this
           hearbe
           which
           we
           call
           garlicke
           ,
           antiquitie
           hath
           noted
           hieroglifically
           euill
           lucke
           .
        
         
           Thessalie
           ,
           a
           countrey
           in
           Greece
           ,
           first
           named
           Aemonia
           ;
           whither
           Medea
           fled
           with
           Iason
           ,
           after
           that
           by
           her
           helpe
           he
           had
           ouercome
           the
           Dragon
           :
           in
           it
           there
           were
           great
           
           store
           of
           witches
           ,
           and
           it
           aboundeth
           with
           hearbes
           ,
           which
           they
           thinke
           most
           needfull
           for
           their
           mischieuous
           practises
           .
        
         
           Romes
           fayre
           riuer
           Tiber
           ,
           so
           named
           from
           Tiberius
           ,
           king
           of
           Albania
           ,
           who
           was
           drowned
           therein
           ,
           as
           Liuie
           our
           Poet
           ,
           fast
           .
           2.
           recordeth
           .
           These
           wonders
           which
           Ouid
           here
           reciteth
           ,
           are
           but
           the
           effects
           of
           coniuration
           ,
           the
           sense
           of
           all
           is
           but
           this
           :
           as
           if
           he
           had
           sayd
           :
           
             Seeke
             not
             to
             expell
             loue
             by
             spelles
             ,
             coniuration
             or
             witchcraft
             ,
             because
             they
             haue
             no
             force
             to
             remoue
             it
             .
          
        
         
           That
           part
           of
           the
           Ocean
           which
           entereth
           at
           
             Hercules
             Pillars
          
           &
           Midland
           sea
           ,
           goeth
           East
           to
           Tripolis
           ,
           &
           then
           North
           to
           Constantinople
           .
           And
           the
           Ocean
           is
           all
           that
           sea
           which
           compasseth
           the
           now
           4.
           and
           according
           to
           some
           ,
           the
           6.
           knowne
           continents
           or
           parts
           of
           the
           earth
           .
        
         
           Phoebe
           ,
           the
           same
           whom
           they
           call
           
             Diana
             ,
             Cynthia
          
           &
           Luna
           ,
           of
           vs
           ,
           the
           Moone
           ,
           sister
           to
           Phoebus
           the
           Sunne
           ,
           from
           whom
           she
           hath
           her
           name
           :
           some
           faigne
           that
           her
           chariot
           is
           drawne
           with
           white
           horses
           ,
           some
           with
           fishes
           .
        
         
           Phasis
           ,
           whiles
           Vlisses
           in
           his
           wanderings
           through
           the
           Midland
           seas
           eschewed
           the
           rough
           waters
           Lestrigoniae
           ,
           he
           was
           by
           tempest
           driuen
           vnto
           Colchos
           ,
           where
           Circe
           inhabited
           ,
           a
           great
           and
           skilfull
           Sorceresse
           ,
           who
           being
           in
           loue
           with
           him
           ,
           restored
           his
           companions
           into
           their
           former
           shapes
           of
           men
           ,
           being
           now
           transformed
           into
           Hogges
           .
           But
           when
           notwithstanding
           he
           would
           needs
           depart
           and
           leaue
           her
           ,
           she
           did
           what
           she
           could
           by
           charmes
           &
           incantations
           to
           stay
           him
           ,
           but
           they
           proued
           all
           vayne
           ,
           and
           she
           vtterly
           forsaken
           .
           Phasis
           is
           a
           great
           riuer
           in
           that
           countrey
           and
           Towne
           also
           ,
           scituate
           on
           that
           riuer
           in
           Colchos
           a
           countrey
           of
           Asia
           ,
           full
           of
           hearbes
           which
           they
           vse
           in
           their
           witchcraftes
           :
           as
           
             Hor.
             Car.
             l.
          
           2.
           od
           .
           witnesseth
           .
           
             Ille
             &
             venena
             Colchica
             &
             quicquid
             vsquam
             concipitur
             nefas
             tractauit
             .
          
        
         
         
           In
           this
           countrey
           ,
           Circe
           &
           Medea
           two
           notable
           witches
           inhabited
           ,
        
         
           Daughter
           to
           Phaebus
           of
           a
           goddesse
           borne
           .
           For
           Circe
           was
           daughter
           to
           the
           Sonne
           ,
           by
           the
           Nymph
           Perses
           .
        
         
           Affricke
           ,
           one
           of
           the
           4.
           partes
           of
           the
           world
           .
           &c.
           
        
         
           Phineus
           ,
           the
           sonne
           of
           Agenor
           king
           of
           Arcadia
           ,
           according
           to
           some
           ,
           he
           married
           Sthenobea
           ,
           on
           whome
           he
           begate
           Orythrus
           and
           Crambus
           ,
           whom
           by
           the
           perswasion
           of
           their
           mother
           in
           Law
           Harpalicae
           his
           second
           wife
           ,
           he
           caused
           to
           be
           made
           blind
           :
           for
           which
           impietie
           ,
           himselfe
           first
           lost
           his
           sight
           ,
           then
           was
           vexed
           by
           the
           filthie
           birds
           or
           monsters
           called
           Harpeiae
           :
           and
           lastly
           was
           slayne
           by
           Hercules
           .
           After
           hee
           found
           his
           vnfortunate
           sonnes
           wandering
           on
           the
           desolate
           mountaines
           ,
           and
           vnderstood
           their
           miseries
           .
        
         
           Homer
           ,
           whose
           diuine
           poesie
           is
           admired
           of
           all
           men
           ,
           but
           Zoilus
           a
           Sophister
           ,
           who
           liued
           in
           the
           time
           of
           Ptolomie
           ,
           to
           whom
           he
           dedicated
           his
           worke
           ,
           wrote
           against
           him
           ,
           and
           expected
           some
           great
           reward
           for
           his
           labour
           .
           But
           in
           long
           and
           vayne
           expectation
           he
           grew
           very
           penurious
           ,
           insomuch
           that
           hee
           procured
           one
           to
           begge
           somewhat
           of
           the
           king
           for
           his
           reliefe
           :
           to
           whom
           Ptol.
           answered
           ,
           
             That
             he
             wondred
             ,
             that
             whereas
          
           Homer
           
             had
             sustained
             the
             liues
             of
             so
             many
             thousands
             ,
             so
             long
             before
             dead
             ,
             he
             being
             more
             learned
             then
          
           Homer
           ,
           
             should
             be
             so
             beggerly
             ,
             as
             not
             able
             to
             maintaine
             himselfe
             .
          
           From
           him
           all
           other
           Detractors
           are
           commonly
           called
           Zoili
           .
        
         
           Ioues
           thunderbolt
           ,
           
             the
             lightning
             ,
             &c.
          
           
        
         
           Iambicke
           ,
           a
           most
           rayling
           and
           bitter
           kind
           of
           verse
           ,
           &c.
           
        
         
           Elegies
           ,
           another
           sorte
           of
           verse
           ,
           and
           vsed
           in
           an
           other
           fashion
           ,
           for
           being
           most
           mild
           and
           pleasant
           ,
           is
           vsed
           in
           the
           
             Cantoes
             ,
             Sonnets
             ,
             &
             complaints
             of
             louers
             and
             disports
             .
          
        
         
         
           Cyrens
           muse
           ,
           Chalimachus
           borne
           in
           Cyrene
           ,
           the
           most
           excellent
           writer
           of
           Elegies
           amongst
           the
           Grecians
           :
           he
           wrote
           a
           notable
           worke
           of
           the
           beginnings
           &
           first
           institution
           of
           sacrifices
           and
           holy
           dayes
           ,
           not
           vnlike
           vnto
           our
           Poets
           bookes
           
             De
             fastis
          
           ,
           but
           he
           intituled
           his
           Aetia
           .
        
         
           Acontius
           &
           Cydippe
           ,
           a
           pleasant
           Comicke
           fiction
           .
           Acontius
           a
           young
           man
           of
           Coa
           ,
           who
           going
           vnto
           Delos
           ,
           to
           the
           sacrifice
           of
           Diana
           ,
           fell
           in
           loue
           with
           Cydippe
           ,
           but
           despayring
           thereof
           ,
           because
           he
           neither
           equalled
           her
           in
           birth
           or
           riches
           ,
           he
           wrote
           on
           an
           apple
           ,
           at
           the
           least
           to
           testifie
           his
           loue
           ,
           these
           two
           verses
           .
        
         
           Iuro
           tibi
           sacrae
           per
           mystica
           sacra
           Dianae
        
         
           Me
           tibi
           venturum
           comitem
           ,
           sponsumque
           futurum
           .
        
         
           Which
           she
           finding
           and
           reading
           ,
           vnwitting
           who
           it
           was
           that
           wrote
           it
           ,
           rashly
           swore
           to
           marry
           him
           :
           And
           afterwards
           as
           often
           as
           she
           should
           haue
           bin
           married
           to
           any
           other
           ,
           she
           fell
           into
           some
           grieuous
           sicknesse
           ,
           so
           that
           the
           matter
           being
           opened
           to
           her
           parents
           ,
           they
           were
           contented
           in
           the
           end
           to
           make
           this
           marriage
           .
        
         
           Andromache
           ,
           the
           wife
           of
           Hector
           ,
           whom
           after
           Pyrrhus
           carried
           into
           Greece
           ,
           and
           married
           to
           Hellen
           ,
           another
           of
           Priams
           children
           .
        
         
           Thais
           ,
           a
           notable
           strumpet
           ,
           borne
           in
           Alexandria
           ,
           that
           to
           encrease
           her
           gaynes
           ,
           went
           vnto
           Athens
           ,
           whose
           name
           the
           comicke
           Poet
           Maenander
           ,
           celebrated
           in
           his
           verse
           .
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           To
           the
           Reader
           .
        
         
           I
           Thought
           it
           not
           amisse
           (
           courteous
           Reader
           )
           to
           adioyne
           vnto
           this
           small
           labour
           of
           mine
           ,
           these
           two
           following
           Epistles
           ,
           of
           which
           one
           is
           translated
           out
           of
           Ouid
           ,
           the
           other
           is
           an
           answeare
           therevnto
           .
           Which
           chiefly
           I
           did
           ,
           least
           the
           sweete
           exercises
           of
           that
           honorable
           and
           thrise
           renowned
           Sapho
           of
           our
           times
           ,
           should
           euen
           the
           least
           of
           them
           ,
           be
           lost
           in
           the
           obscure
           night
           of
           sad
           silence
           ,
           and
           Obliuion
           :
           and
           then
           ,
           especially
           the
           subiect
           ,
           and
           the
           matter
           so
           fitly
           agreeing
           and
           participating
           with
           the
           former
           ,
           I
           could
           not
           but
           couple
           them
           together
           in
           all
           points
           else
           ,
           a
           most
           vnequall
           match
           .
           Wherein
           I
           hope
           the
           greatest
           fault
           that
           I
           haue
           committed
           ,
           is
           ,
           but
           that
           it
           hath
           not
           the
           first
           place
           .
           Yet
           take
           this
           old
           Prouerbe
           with
           a
           right
           application
           for
           my
           iust
           excuse
           .
        
         
           All
           is
           well
           that
           endeth
           well
           .
           
             And
             so
             end
             I.
          
           
           
             Reader
             farewell
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           Dido
           to
           Aeneas
           .
        
         
           
             Aeneas
             would
             from
             Dido
             part
             ,
          
           
             But
             Dido
             not
             content
             ,
          
           
             She
             mou'd
             him
             first
             with
             words
             ,
          
           
             And
             then
             this
             Letter
             sent
             .
          
        
         
           SO
           at
           Meanders
           streames
           ,
        
         
           when
           fates
           bids
           life
           be
           gone
           :
        
         
           The
           snowe
           white
           Swan
           on
           mossie
           grasse
           ,
        
         
           out-stretched
           tunes
           his
           mone
           .
        
         
           Not
           hoping
           thee
           to
           moue
           ,
        
         
           this
           suite
           I
           vndertake
           ,
        
         
           The
           heauens
           at
           the
           motion
           fround
        
         
           when
           first
           we
           did
           it
           make
           :
        
         
           But
           fame
           of
           due
           desert
           ,
        
         
           my
           body
           and
           my
           minde
        
         
           So
           lewdly
           lost
           ;
           the
           losse
           is
           light
           ,
        
         
           to
           loose
           these
           words
           of
           winde
           .
        
         
           Resolu'd
           thou
           art
           to
           go
           ,
        
         
           and
           wofull
           Dido
           leaue
           :
        
         
           Those
           windes
           shall
           blowe
           thy
           faith
           away
        
         
           that
           shall
           thy
           sailes
           vpheaue
           .
        
         
           Resolu'd
           thy
           ships
           at
           once
           ,
        
         
           and
           promise
           to
           vntie
           ,
        
         
           To
           seeke
           Italian
           Realmes
           ,
           which
           yet
        
         
           thou
           knowst
           not
           where
           they
           lie
           .
        
         
           Nought
           mou'd
           ,
           with
           Carthage
           new
           ,
        
         
           nor
           walles
           that
           growing
           be
           ,
        
         
         
           Nor
           that
           there
           was
           committed
           all
        
         
           the
           soueraigntie
           to
           thee
           .
        
         
           Thou
           leauest
           things
           full
           made
           ,
        
         
           thou
           seekest
           new
           to
           make
           ,
        
         
           To
           search
           about
           for
           Lands
           vnfound
           ,
        
         
           Land
           found
           thou
           doest
           forsake
           .
        
         
           But
           graunt
           the
           land
           thou
           finde
           ,
        
         
           to
           thee
           who
           will
           it
           giue
           ?
        
         
           Why
           will
           the
           soyle
           to
           straungers
           yeeld
           ,
        
         
           whereon
           themselues
           do
           liue
           ?
        
         
           Thou
           must
           an
           other
           Loue
           ,
        
         
           An
           other
           Dido
           finde
           :
        
         
           And
           which
           againe
           thou
           maist
           vndo
           ,
        
         
           An
           other
           promise
           binde
           .
        
         
           When
           wilt
           thou
           into
           forme
        
         
           a
           Towne
           like
           Carthage
           bring
           :
        
         
           And
           from
           thy
           Pallace
           top
           behold
           ,
        
         
           thy
           subiects
           as
           their
           King
           ?
        
         
           If
           all
           things
           else
           succeed
           ,
        
         
           and
           nothing
           crosse
           thy
           minde
           :
        
         
           What
           place
           will
           euer
           yeeld
           to
           thee
        
         
           a
           wife
           to
           thee
           so
           kinde
           ?
        
         
           For
           I
           like
           waxen
           torch
        
         
           in
           Sulphur
           rold
           do
           burne
           :
        
         
           Each
           day
           ,
           each
           night
           Aeneas
           makes
        
         
           vnto
           my
           thoughts
           returne
           .
        
         
           Vnthankfull
           he
           indeed
           ,
        
         
           And
           deafe
           to
           what
           I
           giue
           :
        
         
           And
           such
           ,
           as
           were
           I
           not
           a
           foole
           ,
        
         
           I
           would
           without
           him
           liue
           .
        
         
           Yet
           though
           his
           thoughts
           be
           ill
           ,
        
         
           I
           hate
           him
           not
           therefore
           :
        
         
         
           Complaine
           I
           do
           of
           his
           vntroath
           ,
        
         
           complaining
           Loue
           therefore
           .
        
         
           Thy
           daughter
           Venus
           spare
           ,
        
         
           thy
           brother
           hard
           embrace
           :
        
         
           O
           brother
           Loue
           ,
           within
           thy
           Campe
           ,
        
         
           point
           him
           a
           Souldiers
           place
           .
        
         
           Or
           me
           ,
           who
           first
           began
           ,
        
         
           for
           Loue
           I
           not
           disdaine
           ,
        
         
           Let
           him
           but
           onely
           subiect
           yeeld
           ,
        
         
           to
           this
           my
           carefull
           paine
           .
        
         
           But
           ah
           I
           am
           beguilde
           ,
        
         
           his
           bostes
           are
           bosted
           lyes
           :
        
         
           Of
           mothers
           line
           :
           from
           mothers
           kinde
           ,
        
         
           in
           all
           his
           course
           he
           flyes
           .
        
         
           Thee
           some
           vnwieldie
           stone
           ,
        
         
           or
           Rockey
           Mountaines
           bred
           :
        
         
           Or
           oakes
           which
           on
           high
           rocks
           do
           grow
           ,
        
         
           or
           beasts
           by
           Rauen
           fed
           .
        
         
           Or
           Sea
           with
           windes
           turmoild
           ,
        
         
           as
           now
           thou
           seest
           it
           sho
           :
        
         
           Yet
           thitherward
           art
           ready
           bent
           ,
        
         
           in
           spight
           of
           waues
           to
           go
           .
        
         
           What
           mean'st
           thou
           ?
           winter
           le
           ts
           ,
        
         
           let
           winters
           suite
           preuaile
           :
        
         
           See
           with
           what
           force
           the
           Easterne
           blasts
        
         
           the
           rolling
           waues
           assaile
           .
        
         
           Since
           windes
           and
           waters
           do
           ,
        
         
           then
           thou
           more
           iustice
           showe
           ,
        
         
           Let
           me
           ,
           what
           more
           to
           thee
           I
           would
           ,
        
         
           to
           winde
           and
           waters
           owe.
        
         
           I
           am
           not
           so
           much
           worth
           ,
        
         
           which
           sure
           thou
           dost
           not
           thinke
           .
        
         
         
           That
           while
           on
           Seas
           from
           me
           thou
           flyest
           ,
        
         
           thy selfe
           in
           Seas
           shouldst
           shrinke
           .
        
         
           Thou
           precious
           hatred
           bear'st
           ,
        
         
           and
           pearst
           exceeding
           hie
           :
        
         
           If
           so
           thou
           mayst
           of
           me
           be
           rid
           ,
        
         
           thou
           count
           it
           cheape
           to
           die
           .
        
         
           The
           windes
           their
           windie
           force
        
         
           anon
           will
           lay
           aside
           :
        
         
           And
           Triton
           will
           with
           Azure
           steeds
        
         
           On
           leueld
           waters
           glide
           .
        
         
           Now
           (
           would
           the
           gods
           )
           as
           they
        
         
           so
           thou
           couldst
           chaunged
           be
           :
        
         
           Thou
           wilt
           vnles
           thy
           hardnesse
           do
        
         
           far
           passe
           the
           hardest
           tree
           .
        
         
           What
           if
           of
           furious
           Seas
        
         
           the
           force
           thou
           didst
           not
           know
           ?
        
         
           Which
           tride
           so
           oft
           and
           found
           so
           ill
           ,
        
         
           yet
           still
           to
           sea
           wilt
           go
           .
        
         
           And
           though
           they
           serue
           at
           will
           ,
        
         
           when
           thou
           dost
           Anchors
           way
           :
        
         
           Yet
           in
           so
           long
           a
           voyage
           ,
           chaunce
        
         
           no
           fewe
           mischaunces
           may
           .
        
         
           And
           sure
           to
           crosse
           the
           Seas
           ,
        
         
           small
           fruite
           faith-breakers
           gaine
           :
        
         
           That
           place
           on
           false
           deceiuers
           doth
        
         
           inflict
           their
           falshoods
           paine
           .
        
         
           But
           most
           when
           Loue
           is
           wrongd
           ,
        
         
           for
           why
           ?
           of
           Loue
           the
           Dame
           ,
        
         
           First
           naked
           out
           of
           watrie
           waues
           ,
        
         
           about
           Cythera
           came
           .
        
         
           Least
           hurt
           who
           hurteth
           me
        
         
           vndone
           ,
           vndo
           I
           shall
           ,
        
         
         
           I
           feare
           ,
           and
           least
           by
           wrack
           on
           seas
           ,
        
         
           In
           seas
           my
           foes
           shall
           fall
           .
        
         
           Liue
           :
           so
           I
           better
           shall
        
         
           then
           thee
           by
           death
           destroy
           :
        
         
           Thou
           of
           my
           death
           ,
           not
           I
           of
           thine
           ,
        
         
           the
           Title
           shall
           enioy
           .
        
         
           Suppose
           a
           whirlwinde
           swift
           ,
        
         
           God
           make
           these
           words
           but
           winde
        
         
           Catch
           thee
           vnwares
           ,
           what
           courage
           thē
           ,
        
         
           what
           thoughts
           will
           passe
           thy
           minde
           ?
        
         
           Loe
           ,
           straight
           with
           falshood
           fraught
           ,
        
         
           thy
           periur'd
           tongue
           appeares
           :
        
         
           And
           Dido
           driuen
           by
           Troians
           guile
           ,
        
         
           of
           life
           to
           short
           her
           yeares
           .
        
         
           Of
           thy
           betraied
           wife
           ,
        
         
           will
           stand
           before
           thy
           sight
           :
        
         
           The
           Image
           sad
           ;
           disheneiled
           ,
        
         
           with
           bleeding
           wounds
           bedight
           .
        
         
           Let
           come
           (
           then
           wilt
           thou
           say
           )
        
         
           I
           haue
           deseru'd
           this
           all
           :
        
         
           And
           bent
           at
           thee
           thou
           wilt
           suppose
           ,
        
         
           what
           euer
           lightnings
           fall
           .
        
         
           Both
           seas
           and
           thou
           do
           rage
           ,
           ,
        
         
           let
           both
           and
           breathing
           take
           :
        
         
           This
           small
           delay
           (
           no
           small
           reward
           )
        
         
           thy
           Iourney
           safe
           shall
           make
           .
        
         
           For
           thee
           my
           care
           is
           least
           ,
        
         
           thy
           childe
           let
           spared
           be
           :
        
         
           Thou
           hast
           the
           glory
           of
           my
           death
           ,
        
         
           sufficient
           that
           for
           thee
           .
        
         
           What
           hath
           thy
           little
           sonne
           ?
        
         
           what
           hath
           thy
           gods
           deseru'd
           ?
        
         
         
           That
           them
           the
           waters
           swallow
           should
        
         
           from
           fyers
           force
           preseru'd
           .
        
         
           But
           false
           thou
           hast
           no
           such
           ,
        
         
           as
           me
           thy
           brags
           haue
           told
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           euer
           didst
           on
           shoulders
           lift
           ,
        
         
           thy
           gods
           and
           father
           old
           .
        
         
           Thou
           lyest
           in
           this
           and
           all
           ,
        
         
           thy
           tongue
           his
           guilefull
           part
        
         
           Begins
           not
           first
           on
           me
           to
           play
           ,
        
         
           nor
           I
           first
           feele
           the
           smart
           .
        
         
           Aske
           where
           the
           mother
           is
           ,
        
         
           of
           faire
           Iulus
           gone
           :
        
         
           Her
           stonie
           husband
           her
           forsooke
           ,
        
         
           and
           so
           she
           died
           alone
           .
        
         
           It
           pittied
           me
           to
           heare
           ,
        
         
           which
           iust
           recompence
           :
        
         
           For
           me
           had
           bene
           ,
           but
           that
           such
           paine
        
         
           is
           lesse
           then
           mine
           offence
           .
        
         
           That
           thee
           thy
           gods
           condemne
           ,
        
         
           my
           heart
           doth
           me
           assure
           :
        
         
           Who
           seuen
           yeares
           now
           on
           land
           on
           seas
        
         
           such
           tossing
           doest
           endure
           .
        
         
           I
           thee
           by
           wrack
           vpthrow'n
        
         
           in
           harbour
           sure
           did
           saue
           ,
        
         
           And
           scarcely
           hauing
           heard
           thy
           name
           ,
        
         
           to
           thee
           my
           Kingdome
           gaue
           .
        
         
           O
           would
           with
           these
           good
           turnes
        
         
           I
           me
           content
           had
           found
           :
        
         
           And
           that
           in
           famous
           fame
           of
           mine
        
         
           were
           buried
           deepe
           in
           ground
           .
        
         
           That
           day
           my
           woe
           was
           wrought
           ,
        
         
           when
           vnder
           stooping
           bower
        
         
         
           Of
           mossie
           denne
           we
           met
           alone
           ,
        
         
           compeld
           by
           sodaine
           shower
           .
        
         
           Some
           howling
           sounds
           I
           heard
           ,
        
         
           the
           Nymphs
           I
           thought
           did
           so
           ,
        
         
           They
           Furyes
           were
           ,
           who
           in
           that
           sort
        
         
           foretold
           my
           fatall
           woe
           .
        
         
           Chast
           Law
           of
           shamefast
           Loue
           ,
        
         
           reuenge
           on
           me
           this
           blame
           :
        
         
           Ill
           to
           Sicheus
           kept
           ,
           to
           whom
        
         
           aye
           me
           I
           go
           with
           shame
           .
        
         
           Whose
           sacred
           Image
           I
        
         
           in
           marble
           Chappell
           keepe
           ,
        
         
           With
           leauie
           branches
           hid
           from
           sight
           ,
        
         
           and
           wooll
           of
           whitest
           sheepe
           .
        
         
           Hence
           thrice
           I
           heard
           me
           cald
           ,
        
         
           I
           knew
           his
           well
           knowne
           voyce
           ,
        
         
           Himselfe
           thrice
           sayd
           :
           
             Come
             Dido
             ,
             Come
          
           :
        
         
           with
           softly
           wispring
           noyse
           .
        
         
           I
           come
           without
           delay
           ,
        
         
           which
           once
           was
           onely
           thine
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           me
           the
           more
           to
           linger
           makes
           ,
        
         
           this
           shamefull
           fact
           of
           mine
           .
        
         
           But
           pardon
           thou
           my
           fault
           ,
        
         
           whose
           deed
           might
           well
           deceaue
           ,
        
         
           To
           others
           he
           in
           mine
           offence
           ,
        
         
           the
           lesse
           offence
           doth
           leaue
           .
        
         
           His
           mother
           heauens
           Impe
           ,
        
         
           his
           sire
           a
           godly
           lode
           ,
        
         
           Vnto
           his
           sonne
           by
           reason
           bred
        
         
           sure
           hope
           of
           his
           abode
           .
        
         
           If
           needs
           I
           must
           haue
           er'd
        
         
           mine
           error
           had
           good
           ground
           ,
        
         
         
           Put
           faith
           in
           him
           ,
           he
           no
           way
           els
        
         
           vnworthy
           shall
           be
           found
           .
        
         
           My
           faults
           to
           end
           persist
           ,
        
         
           as
           they
           at
           first
           begun
           :
        
         
           And
           their
           vnluckie
           spindels
           still
        
         
           in
           one
           like
           tenor
           run
           .
        
         
           My
           husband
           fell
           to
           ground
        
         
           before
           the
           Altars
           slaine
           ,
        
         
           My
           brother
           of
           that
           wicked
           act
        
         
           doth
           reape
           the
           wicked
           gaine
           .
        
         
           My selfe
           exild
           ,
           his
           graue
        
         
           and
           countrey
           both
           forsake
           :
        
         
           And
           forced
           am
           ,
           by
           foe
           pursude
        
         
           vneasie
           wayes
           to
           take
           .
        
         
           I
           land
           on
           land
           vnknowne
        
         
           escapt
           from
           foe
           and
           waue
           :
        
         
           And
           bought
           the
           shore
           which
           freely
           yet
        
         
           to
           thee
           false
           wretch
           I
           gaue
           .
        
         
           A
           Towne
           I
           built
           ,
           whose
           wals
        
         
           far
           out
           extended
           lie
           :
        
         
           Prouoking
           places
           neere
           about
        
         
           maligning
           to
           enuie
           .
        
         
           Wars
           grow
           ,
           poore
           stranger
           I
           ,
        
         
           and
           woman
           vext
           with
           warres
           :
        
         
           Scarse
           know
           how
           armour
           to
           prouide
        
         
           and
           strength
           my
           gate
           with
           barres
           .
        
         
           When
           thousands
           to
           me
           su'de
           :
        
         
           now
           all
           against
           me
           come
           :
        
         
           Grieu'd
           that
           before
           their
           beds
           ,
           I
           haue
        
         
           preferd
           I
           know
           not
           whom
           .
        
         
           Why
           stick'st
           to
           yeeld
           me
           bownd
        
         
           into
           Hiarbas
           hands
           ,
        
         
         
           I
           will
           not
           sticke
           to
           yeeld
           mine
           armes
        
         
           to
           bide
           thy
           wicked
           bands
           .
        
         
           A
           brother
           eke
           I
           haue
           ,
        
         
           who
           wicked
           hands
           anew
           ,
        
         
           Imbrewed
           first
           in
           husbands
           blood
           ,
        
         
           would
           faine
           in
           mine
           imbrew
           .
        
         
           Lay
           downe
           thy
           sacred
           Gods
           ,
        
         
           whom
           touching
           dost
           pollute
           ,
        
         
           Vnseemly
           with
           vngodly
           hands
        
         
           doth
           godly
           worship
           sute
           .
        
         
           If
           they
           from
           fire
           escapt
           ,
        
         
           that
           thou
           mightst
           them
           adore
           :
        
         
           That
           euer
           they
           escapt
           from
           fire
        
         
           thy
           Gods
           repent
           them
           sore
           .
        
         
           And
           what
           ,
           ô
           wicked
           man
           ,
        
         
           with
           child
           if
           Dido
           be
           :
        
         
           And
           of
           thy selfe
           some
           part
           of
           thee
        
         
           there
           lies
           inclosde
           in
           me
           ?
        
         
           The
           Dame
           and
           ruthfull
           babe
        
         
           at
           once
           shall
           be
           forlorne
           :
        
         
           And
           by
           thy
           meanes
           to
           death
           be
           broght
        
         
           who
           yet
           was
           neuer
           borne
           .
        
         
           So
           with
           his
           parent
           shall
        
         
           Iulus
           brother
           die
           :
        
         
           One
           death
           at
           once
           shall
           two
           dispatch
           ,
        
         
           whose
           liues
           in
           one
           doth
           lie
           .
        
         
           But
           God
           bids
           thee
           to
           go
           ,
        
         
           would
           God
           he
           had
           forbid
        
         
           To
           come
           ;
           that
           of
           thy
           Troian
           troupes
        
         
           my
           Carthage
           had
           bin
           rid
           .
        
         
           This
           God
           no
           doubt
           your
           guide
           ,
        
         
           doth
           you
           those
           tempests
           rayse
           :
        
         
         
           And
           makes
           you
           on
           those
           flowing
           floods
        
         
           so
           long
           to
           spend
           your
           dayes
           .
        
         
           To
           Troy
           backe
           to
           turne
           ,
        
         
           it
           scarse
           were
           worth
           thy
           payne
           :
        
         
           If
           as
           whiles
           Hector
           liu'd
           it
           was
           ,
        
         
           so
           now
           it
           were
           againe
           .
        
         
           Not
           to
           Seamander
           you
           ,
        
         
           but
           Tibers
           streames
           doe
           goe
           ,
        
         
           Where
           graunt
           ariu'd
           ,
           what
           are
           you
           els
           ,
        
         
           but
           such
           as
           no
           man
           know
           ?
        
         
           But
           as
           that
           land
           is
           hid
           ,
        
         
           and
           from
           thy
           fleet
           doth
           make
           ,
        
         
           It
           seemes
           old
           age
           will
           sooner
           thee
           ,
        
         
           then
           thou
           it
           ouertake
           .
        
         
           Yet
           rather
           as
           my
           dower
           ,
        
         
           this
           Realme
           of
           mine
           receaue
           ,
        
         
           With
           all
           Pigmalions
           wealth
           I
           brought
           ,
        
         
           and
           farther
           wandering
           leaue
           .
        
         
           
             And
             into
          
           Carthage
           Troy
        
         
           with
           better
           hap
           translate
           ,
        
         
           Where
           thou
           shalt
           sacred
           Scepter
           beare
           ,
        
         
           enthron'd
           in
           royall
           state
           .
        
         
           If
           thou
           do
           wars
           affect
           ,
        
         
           or
           if
           thy
           sonnes
           desire
           ,
        
         
           Of
           triumph
           matter
           to
           procure
        
         
           by
           martiall
           meanes
           aspire
           :
        
         
           That
           nought
           may
           wanting
           be
           ,
        
         
           such
           foes
           we
           will
           him
           yeild
           ,
        
         
           This
           place
           for
           lawes
           of
           peace
           is
           apt
           ,
        
         
           apt
           is
           for
           speare
           and
           sheeld
           .
        
         
           Now
           by
           thy
           mother
           thou
        
         
           thy
           brother
           quiuer'd
           boy
           ,
        
         
         
           By
           the
           companions
           of
           thy
           ●light
        
         
           thy
           gods
           ,
           the
           gods
           of
           Troy.
        
         
           So
           may
           thy
           remnant
           left
           ,
        
         
           in
           field
           all
           conquest
           win
           ,
        
         
           As
           Troian
           warre
           of
           all
           thy
           losse
           ,
        
         
           the
           finall
           end
           haue
           bin
           .
        
         
           Ascanius
           liue
           his
           yeeres
           ,
        
         
           with
           all
           good
           fortune
           blest
           :
        
         
           And
           softly
           may
           the
           buried
           bones
        
         
           of
           old
           Anchises
           rest
           .
        
         
           Spare
           now
           ,
           ô
           spare
           thine
           house
           ,
        
         
           which
           giues
           it selfe
           to
           thee
           :
        
         
           But
           that
           indeed
           I
           haue
           thee
           lou'd
           ,
        
         
           what
           fault
           canst
           find
           in
           me
           ?
        
         
           Of
           Pythia
           I
           am
           not
           ,
        
         
           nor
           great
           Mycenae
           borne
           ,
        
         
           My
           husband
           nor
           my
           father
           hath
        
         
           against
           thee
           armour
           worne
           .
        
         
           Of
           wife
           if
           thou
           thinke
           skorne
           ,
        
         
           not
           wife
           ,
           cut
           hostesse
           call
           :
        
         
           So
           thine
           she
           be
           ,
           what
           Dido
           be
           ,
        
         
           she
           nought
           regards
           at
           all
           .
        
         
           The
           seas
           to
           me
           are
           knowne
           ,
        
         
           on
           Affricke
           coast
           that
           lie
           :
        
         
           At
           times
           they
           do
           free
           passage
           graunt
           ,
        
         
           at
           times
           they
           do
           denie
           .
        
         
           When
           weather
           will
           permit
           ,
        
         
           hoyse
           sayle
           and
           set
           from
           land
           :
        
         
           For
           now
           the
           lauuching
           of
           thy
           shippes
        
         
           the
           flowing
           weedes
           withstand
           .
        
         
           Charge
           me
           to
           wait
           the
           time
        
         
           thou
           shalt
           go
           sure
           away
           :
        
         
         
           Not
           then
           ,
           no
           though
           thy selfe
           desire
           ,
        
         
           my selfe
           will
           let
           thee
           stay
           .
        
         
           Thy
           mates
           some
           rest
           require
           ,
        
         
           thy
           Fleet
           sore
           rent
           with
           waues
           :
        
         
           And
           scarsely
           yet
           halfe
           rigd
           anew
           ,
        
         
           for
           some
           small
           respite
           craues
           .
        
         
           For
           what
           haue
           I
           deseru'd
           ?
        
         
           what
           owe
           to
           thee
           I
           may
        
         
           Henceforth
           ,
           for
           all
           my
           marriage
           hopes
           ,
        
         
           I
           craue
           but
           small
           delay
           .
        
         
           Whiles
           stormie
           seas
           grow
           calme
           ,
        
         
           while
           custome
           tempers
           loue
           :
        
         
           How
           patiently
           mishaps
           to
           beare
           ,
        
         
           I
           shall
           the
           practise
           proue
           .
        
         
           If
           not
           ,
           my
           life
           to
           spill
        
         
           with
           full
           intent
           I
           mind
           :
        
         
           Of
           crueltie
           thou
           canst
           not
           long
        
         
           in
           me
           a
           subiect
           find
           .
        
         
           Would
           God
           thou
           didst
           but
           see
        
         
           mine
           Image
           as
           I
           wright
           :
        
         
           I
           wright
           ,
           and
           full
           against
           my
           breast
        
         
           thy
           naked
           sword
           is
           pight
           .
        
         
           And
           downe
           my
           cheeks
           along
        
         
           the
           teares
           do
           trickling
           fall
           :
        
         
           Which
           by
           and
           by
           in
           stead
           of
           teares
           ,
        
         
           ingrayne
           in
           blood
           I
           shall
           .
        
         
           How
           well
           with
           this
           my
           fate
           ,
        
         
           these
           gifts
           of
           thine
           agree
           ,
        
         
           To
           furnish
           our
           my
           funerall
           ,
        
         
           the
           cost
           will
           slender
           be
           .
        
         
           My
           breast
           shall
           not
           be
           now
        
         
           first
           pierced
           with
           this
           blade
           ,
        
         
         
           For
           why
           ?
           there
           is
           a
           former
           wound
           ,
        
         
           which
           cruell
           Loue
           hath
           made
           .
        
         
           Anne
           sister
           ,
           sister
           Anne
           ,
        
         
           ill
           priuie
           to
           my
           falt
           ,
        
         
           Performe
           thy
           last
           obsequious
           loue
           ,
        
         
           vnto
           my
           bones
           thou
           shalt
           .
        
         
           When
           flames
           haue
           me
           consum'd
           ,
        
         
           write
           not
           on
           marble
           graue
           :
        
         
           Here
           Dido
           lies
           ,
           Sicheus
           wife
           .
        
         
           but
           this
           verse
           let
           me
           haue
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           ,
           Dido
           gaue
        
         
           
             both
             cause
             and
             sword
             of
             death
             :
          
        
         
           
             And
             Dido
             vsing
             her
             owne
             hand
             ,
          
        
         
           
             depriu'd
             her selfe
             of
             breath
          
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           Aeneas
           to
           Dido
           .
        
         
           
             Aeneas
             read
             what
             Dido
             wrote
             ,
          
           
             And
             sent
             her
             this
             replie
             ;
          
           
             And
             sought
             to
             cure
             the
             curelesse
             wound
             ,
          
           
             Which
             Dido
             made
             to
             die
             .
          
        
         
           
             WHen
             my
             deare
             Countrey
             once
             most
             stately
             Troy
          
           
             Of
             Asie
             Queene
             of
             gods
             the
             handy
             worke
             ,
          
           
             Mine
             eyes
             beheld
             the
             furious
             flames
             destroy
             ,
          
           
             Which
             hidden
             erst
             in
             wodden
             horse
             did
             lurke
             .
          
           
             I
             deemd
             me
             drownd
             in
             deepest
             gulfe
             of
             wo
             ,
          
           
             Deeper
             then
             which
             ,
             no
             griefe
             could
             make
             me
             go
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             when
             my
             fortune
             guided
             me
             to
             see
          
           
             Poore
             old
             Prince
             Priam
             at
             the
             Altar
             slaine
             ,
          
           
             More
             deepe
             then
             deepest
             fell
             I
             one
             degree
             ,
          
           
             And
             felt
             increast
             my
             past
             increasing
             paine
             .
          
           
             And
             cryed
             enrag'd
             :
             
               Conspire
               now
               heauens
               all
            
             ,
          
           
             
               I
               am
               at
               worst
               ,
               no
               worse
               can
               me
               befall
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Yet
             since
             Creusa
             my
             most
             louing
             wife
             ,
          
           
             Of
             noblest
             birth
             ,
             and
             no
             lesse
             noble
             mind
             :
          
           
             My
             deare
             Creusa
             loued
             more
             then
             life
             ,
          
           
             In
             haplesse
             haste
             I
             flying
             left
             behind
             :
          
           
             Where
             weary
             she
             ,
             or
             missing
             of
             her
             way
             ,
          
           
             To
             bloody
             Greekes
             ,
             a
             bloody
             death
             did
             pay
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             And
             since
             my
             father
             comfort
             of
             my
             care
             ,
          
           
             I
             lost
             likewise
             ,
             by
             death
             from
             me
             bereft
             ,
          
           
             My
             faithfull
             friends
             by
             shipwrack
             swallowed
             are
             :
          
           
             And
             is
             there
             yet
             some
             further
             sorrow
             left
             ?
          
           
             Some
             further
             wrack
             to
             make
             me
             more
             accurst
             ?
          
           
             Since
             fier
             ,
             sword
             ,
             seas
             ,
             &
             death
             haue
             done
             their
             worst
             ?
          
        
         
           
             In
             vaine
             alas
             I
             doubt
             of
             what
             I
             know
             ,
          
           
             And
             seeke
             at
             thee
             what
             in
             my selfe
             I
             finde
             ,
          
           
             I
             muse
             :
             Liue
             I
             and
             know
             this
             ?
             thee
             forgoe
             ,
          
           
             To
             whom
             so
             many
             ,
             such
             deserts
             me
             binde
             .
          
           
             What
             words
             can
             serue
             this
             anguish
             to
             display
             ,
          
           
             Where
             waight
             of
             woe
             ,
             doth
             reason
             ouerway
             ?
          
        
         
           
             Yet
             since
             thy selfe
             hast
             made
             thy
             pen
             descry
          
           
             Thy
             griefes
             to
             me
             ,
             which
             I
             with
             griefe
             haue
             red
             :
          
           
             Vouchsafe
             (
             sweet
             Queene
             )
             to
             lend
             these
             lines
             thine
             eye
             ,
          
           
             And
             daine
             to
             know
             what
             reasons
             haue
             me
             led
             .
          
           
             And
             as
             thou
             knowst
             them
             ,
             take
             them
             to
             be
             true
             ,
          
           
             The
             truer
             they
             ,
             the
             more
             their
             truth
             I
             rue
             .
          
        
         
           
             And
             first
             (
             O
             Queene
             )
             I
             neuer
             will
             denie
             ,
          
           
             On
             me
             bestow'd
             more
             fauours
             can
             be
             told
             ,
          
           
             By
             any
             words
             ;
             nor
             euer
             greeue
             shall
             I
             ,
          
           
             Elisas
             name
             in
             memorie
             to
             hold
             :
          
           
             Whiles
             of
             my selfe
             ,
             my selfe
             shall
             mindfull
             bide
             ,
          
           
             Whiles
             liuely
             breath
             ,
             these
             lims
             of
             mine
             shal
             gide
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             But
             for
             the
             rest
             ,
             in
             briefe
             I
             neuer
             ment
             ,
          
           
             (
             Deeme
             not
             amisse
             )
             by
             stealth
             my
             flight
             to
             take
             :
          
           
             Nor
             neuer
             yet
             pretended
             such
             intent
          
           
             To
             any
             wife
             ,
             an
             husband
             me
             to
             make
             .
          
           
             I
             sought
             it
             not
             ,
             I
             came
             for
             no
             such
             band
             ,
          
           
             When
             tost
             by
             seas
             ,
             I
             lighted
             on
             this
             Land.
             
          
        
         
           
             If
             friendly
             Fates
             such
             grace
             to
             me
             would
             yeeld
             ,
          
           
             As
             there
             to
             rest
             ,
             where
             I
             to
             rest
             would
             choose
             :
          
           
             Sweete
             Troy
             that
             now
             liest
             equall
             with
             the
             feeld
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             shouldst
             at
             least
             ,
             not
             all
             thy
             bewties
             loose
             .
          
           
             In
             thee
             rebuilt
             againe
             I
             would
             replace
             ,
          
           
             The
             vanquisht
             remnant
             of
             the
             Troian
             race
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             now
             Appollo
             bids
             to
             Italie
             ,
          
           
             To
             Italie
             the
             Lycian
             gods
             commaund
             :
          
           
             Here
             must
             our
             home
             ,
             our
             rest
             ,
             our
             countrey
             bee
             :
          
           
             To
             this
             our
             Loue
             ,
             to
             this
             our
             life
             is
             paund
             .
          
           
             If
             thou
             a
             stranger
             ,
             countries
             strange
             mightst
             seeke
             ,
          
           
             What
             in
             like
             case
             ,
             le
             ts
             vs
             to
             do
             the
             leeke
             .
          
        
         
           
             I
             neuer
             do
             recline
             my
             head
             to
             rest
             ,
          
           
             When
             night
             the
             Earth
             in
             moystie
             shade
             bewraps
             :
          
           
             But
             fancie
             straight
             with
             fearefull
             sights
             opprest
             ,
          
           
             Presents
             my
             father
             in
             sleepe-waking
             naps
             .
          
           
             This
             place
             with
             terror
             bidding
             me
             to
             leaue
             ,
          
           
             And
             not
             my
             sonne
             of
             fatall
             Lands
             bereaue
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             And
             now
             of
             Gods
             the
             fatall
             Messenger
          
           
             From
             Ioue
             himselfe
             (
             they
             both
             my
             witnesse
             be
             )
          
           
             Hath
             message
             brought
             ,
             I
             saw
             the
             god
             most
             cleere
             :
          
           
             I
             plainely
             heard
             what
             words
             he
             spake
             to
             me
             .
          
           
             Leaue
             then
             with
             plaints
             to
             set
             vs
             both
             on
             fier
             ,
          
           
             Constraind
             I
             go
             ,
             not
             with
             wine
             owne
             desier
             .
          
        
         
           
             And
             what
             wight
             can
             necessitie
             resist
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Iron
             bands
             ,
             both
             men
             and
             gods
             enchaine
             ?
          
           
             What
             she
             hath
             spun
             ,
             who
             striueth
             to
             vntwist
             ,
          
           
             Or
             sencelesse
             is
             ,
             or
             pleasure
             takes
             in
             paine
             ?
          
           
             The
             sturdie
             tree
             holds
             not
             his
             foote
             so
             fast
             ,
          
           
             As
             lythie
             Reed
             ,
             that
             bends
             to
             euery
             blast
             .
          
        
         
           
             Who
             euer
             saw
             those
             ,
             which
             of
             Neptunes
             land
          
           
             The
             waued
             soyle
             with
             yoked
             Ores
             to
             plow
             :
          
           
             With
             top
             and
             top
             against
             the
             storme
             to
             stand
             ,
          
           
             Which
             Aol's
             youth
             with
             blustring
             breath
             doth
             blow
          
           
             They
             rather
             yeeld
             vnto
             his
             windie
             will
             ,
          
           
             Then
             choose
             their
             liues
             in
             bootlesse
             strife
             to
             spill
             .
          
        
         
           
             And
             is
             it
             then
             my
             life
             I
             hold
             so
             deare
             ,
          
           
             That
             life
             to
             hold
             ,
             I
             Dido
             would
             forgoe
             ?
          
           
             Or
             is
             it
             death
             that
             I
             so
             much
             do
             feare
             ,
          
           
             That
             death
             to
             flye
             I
             would
             procure
             her
             woe
             ?
          
           
             Then
             Gods
             me
             graunt
             a
             liuing
             death
             to
             leade
          
           
             In
             greefe
             ,
             in
             shame
             ,
             still
             dying
             neuer
             dead
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             But
             care
             of
             my
             succeeding
             progenie
             ,
          
           
             To
             whom
             by
             fates
             forepointed
             is
             their
             place
             :
          
           
             To
             whom
             by
             heauens
             of
             earthly
             Monarchie
             ,
          
           
             The
             crowne
             to
             weare
             foregraunted
             is
             the
             grace
             :
          
           
             This
             care
             I
             say
             ▪
             with
             care
             for
             to
             fulfill
             ,
          
           
             The
             gods
             behest
             reuersed
             hath
             my
             will.
             
          
        
         
           
             And
             honors
             selfe
             ,
             (
             which
             long
             a
             sleepe
             hath
             laine
             ,
          
           
             Rockt
             in
             Loues
             cradle
             )
             now
             awaked
             new
             ,
          
           
             Cries
             on
             vs
             both
             :
             and
             shall
             he
             crie
             in
             vaine
             :
          
           
             To
             leaue
             him
             quite
             ,
             or
             yeeld
             him
             seruice
             dew
             ?
          
           
             You
             hitherto
             haue
             euer
             famous
             beene
             ,
          
           
             Forget
             not
             now
             ,
             what
             fame
             becomes
             a
             Queene
             .
          
        
         
           
             And
             me
             whom
             men
             (
             perhaps
             vnworthy
             )
             call
             ,
          
           
             The
             godly
             wight
             and
             second
             vnto
             none
             :
          
           
             In
             Pietie
             ,
             from
             pietie
             to
             fall
             ,
          
           
             Were
             fouler
             blot
             ,
             then
             any
             other
             one
             .
          
           
             Admit
             (
             O
             Queene
             )
             that
             I
             by
             thee
             be
             staid
             ,
          
           
             By
             wandring
             Fame
             ,
             what
             will
             of
             both
             be
             said
             .
          
        
         
           
             Loe
             here
             the
             man
             that
             out
             of
             Troy
             burn'd
             ,
          
           
             Preseru'd
             his
             gods
             ,
             now
             quite
             by
             him
             contemn'd
             :
          
           
             Lo
             here
             whose
             chaste
             affection
             cleane
             is
             turn'd
          
           
             To
             lawlesse
             lust
             ,
             late
             by
             her selfe
             condemn'd
             .
          
           
             He
             leaud
             ,
             she
             light
             ,
             he
             wicked
             ,
             she
             vnwise
             ,
          
           
             This
             fame
             to
             earth
             ,
             this
             earth
             will
             blaze
             to
             skies
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             You
             know
             that
             Monsters
             many
             eyes
             and
             eares
             ,
          
           
             Listning
             and
             prying
             still
             to
             heare
             and
             see
             ,
          
           
             Her
             tongues
             and
             wings
             which
             infinite
             she
             beares
             ,
          
           
             As
             lying
             oft
             ,
             so
             flying
             alwayes
             be
             .
          
           
             Of
             Peeres
             and
             Princes
             euer
             speaking
             worst
             ,
          
           
             It
             is
             her
             kind
             ,
             she
             was
             by
             enuie
             nurst
             .
          
        
         
           
             You
             thoughtlesse
             sit
             within
             your
             Princely
             bower
             ,
          
           
             Or
             minding
             only
             loue
             or
             liues
             delight
             :
          
           
             Your
             fame
             meanetime
             ,
             like
             tender
             springtide
             flower
          
           
             The
             busie
             blasts
             of
             bitter
             tongues
             do
             bite
             .
          
           
             Each
             deed
             ,
             each
             word
             ,
             yea
             countenance
             and
             thought
          
           
             Of
             simplest
             sort
             ,
             are
             vnder
             censure
             brought
             .
          
        
         
           
             It
             is
             our
             fate
             ,
             if
             not
             our
             fault
             it
             be
             ,
          
           
             Which
             highest
             mounted
             ,
             set
             on
             Fortunes
             wheele
             ,
          
           
             With
             our
             owne
             sense
             we
             neither
             heare
             nor
             see
             ,
          
           
             Which
             makes
             vs
             pinched
             long
             before
             we
             feele
             .
          
           
             For
             foes
             are
             pleas'd
             and
             would
             it
             not
             amend
             ,
          
           
             And
             friends
             are
             grieu'd
             ,
             yet
             dare
             not
             vs
             offend
             .
          
        
         
           
             Go
             then
             Aeneas
             ,
             honor
             bids
             thee
             goe
             ,
          
           
             Honour
             vnto
             whose
             yoke
             the
             freest
             necks
             are
             thrall
             :
          
           
             For
             her
             sake
             fly
             ,
             if
             wilt
             not
             for
             thine
             owne
             :
          
           
             Though
             what
             herein
             befals
             ,
             to
             both
             befall
             .
          
           
             Protesting
             still
             that
             no
             mislike
             or
             hate
             ,
          
           
             Mou'd
             thee
             to
             go
             ,
             but
             force
             of
             cruell
             fate
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             For
             were
             but
             Dido
             halfe
             so
             finely
             formd
             ,
          
           
             VVere
             Didos
             eyes
             but
             halfe
             so
             beamie
             Ieate
             :
          
           
             VVere
             Didos
             face
             ,
             but
             such
             as
             might
             be
             scornd
             ,
          
           
             Her
             Country
             poore
             ,
             her
             Towne
             a
             simple
             seate
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             hauing
             there
             such
             louing
             kindnesse
             found
             ,
          
           
             VVhat
             flinty
             breast
             to
             loue
             would
             not
             be
             bound
             .
          
        
         
           
             Much
             more
             in
             me
             ,
             kind
             hearted
             Venus
             child
             :
          
           
             Not
             by
             the
             lame
             Smith
             ,
             but
             her
             lustie
             Loue
             :
          
           
             My
             blinded
             brother
             might
             his
             bower
             ▪
             build
             ,
          
           
             VVhere
             so
             great
             helps
             encourage
             him
             to
             proue
             .
          
           
             Her
             forme
             ,
             her
             face
             ,
             her
             eyes
             ,
             her
             seate
             ,
             her
             soyle
             ,
          
           
             Disdaining
             match
             ,
             so
             farre
             from
             taking
             foyle
             .
          
        
         
           
             I
             both
             Oenone
             and
             the
             Spartan
             Queene
             ▪
          
           
             I
             courtly
             Dames
             ,
             and
             Nymphs
             of
             woods
             and
             wels
             :
          
           
             I
             haue
             Chryseis
             &
             Bryseis
             seene
             ,
          
           
             Yea
             ,
             Venus
             selfe
             ,
             in
             whom
             perfection
             dwels
             .
          
           
             But
             if
             some
             god
             to
             chuse
             would
             me
             assigne
             ,
          
           
             I
             all
             would
             prayse
             ,
             but
             Dido
             should
             be
             mine
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             hard
             's
             my
             choise
             ,
             when
             there
             the
             thundering
          
           
             (
             Iove
             ,
             destruction
             threatens
             if
             I
             disobay
             :
          
           
             And
             here
             my
             friendly
             foe
             ,
             heart-pursuing
             Loue
             ,
          
           
             By
             all
             his
             powers
             ,
             coniures
             my
             mind
             to
             stay
             .
          
           
             Alas
             ,
             ye
             gods
             ▪
             your
             discord
             lay
             aside
             ,
          
           
             I
             am
             but
             one
             ,
             and
             cannot
             go
             and
             bide
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             Or
             Ioue
             frame
             thou
             my
             destinies
             anew
             ,
          
           
             Allot
             to
             others
             fertile
             〈◊〉
             ,
          
           
             Or
             rather
             Loue
             at
             once
             bid
             both
             adew
             ,
          
           
             And
             both
             restore
             to
             former
             libertie
             .
          
           
             By
             reasons
             rule
             ,
             the
             younger
             and
             the
             child
             ,
          
           
             Should
             to
             the
             elder
             and
             the
             father
             yeild
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             thou
             madde
             dogge
             ,
             whose
             reason
             lies
             in
             rage
             :
          
           
             Who
             no
             rule
             els
             ,
             but
             retchlesnes
             doth
             know
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             reuerence
             bearest
             to
             thy
             fathers
             age
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             from
             thy
             brother
             canst
             abstaine
             thy
             blow
             .
          
           
             And
             least
             for
             that
             fault
             might
             with
             thee
             be
             found
          
           
             By
             onely
             vs
             ,
             thou
             didst
             thy
             mother
             wound
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             not
             to
             loue
             ,
             nor
             any
             els
             that
             dwell
          
           
             In
             starrie
             house
             ,
             I
             for
             my selfe
             would
             speake
             ,
          
           
             Let
             gods
             ,
             let
             men
             ,
             let
             ghosts
             of
             gastly
             hell
             ,
          
           
             Their
             wrath
             on
             me
             ,
             with
             all
             their
             mallice
             wreake
             :
          
           
             Let
             me
             be
             tost
             as
             erst
             ,
             with
             wracke
             on
             seas
             ,
          
           
             With
             warre
             on
             land
             ,
             nor
             here
             nor
             there
             in
             ease
             .
          
        
         
           
             Let
             all
             that
             els
             can
             mind
             or
             body
             grieue
             ▪
          
           
             Grieue
             without
             meane
             ,
             my
             body
             and
             my
             mind
             :
          
           
             Only
             to
             thee
             ,
             that
             only
             didst
             relieue
          
           
             My
             woes
             and
             wants
             ,
             let
             me
             not
             proue
             vnkind
             .
          
           
             But
             thankfull
             still
             ,
             that
             fame
             may
             so
             relate
          
           
             Me
             thankful
             still
             ,
             but
             stil
             ●fortunate
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             For
             where
             the
             Seas
             before
             mine
             eyes
             thou
             set
             ,
          
           
             With
             other
             daungers
             likely
             to
             ensue
             :
          
           
             And
             how
             I
             will
             an
             other
             Dido
             get
             ,
          
           
             Alas
             I
             meane
             no
             getting
             of
             a
             new
             .
          
           
             My
             head
             is
             busied
             more
             a
             thousand
             fold
             ,
          
           
             How
             since
             I
             must
             ,
             I
             may
             forgo
             the
             old
             .
          
        
         
           
             And
             who
             hath
             past
             as
             I
             ,
             the
             stormes
             of
             fire
             ,
          
           
             Which
             crazie
             towers
             threw
             topsie
             turuie
             downe
             :
          
           
             Will
             litle
             care
             ,
             though
             winters
             stormie
             Ire
          
           
             With
             swelling
             face
             ,
             makes
             Tethis
             face
             to
             frowne
             .
          
           
             In
             sum
             ,
             I
             can
             all
             paine
             with
             patience
             take
             ,
          
           
             But
             not
             (
             ô
             Queene
             )
             with
             patience
             thee
             forsake
             .
          
        
         
           
             Not
             that
             I
             doubt
             least
             proud
             Hyarbas
             power
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             able
             be
             ,
             to
             make
             my
             Dido
             thrall
             :
          
           
             Carthage
             is
             strong
             with
             many
             a
             mightie
             tower
             ,
          
           
             With
             broad
             deepe
             ditch
             ,
             vauntgarding
             stately
             wall
             .
          
           
             This
             may
             and
             will
             thee
             from
             the
             Tyrant
             rid
             ,
          
           
             Thee
             from
             thy selfe
             ,
             ô
             Gods
             the
             luck
             forbid
             .
          
        
         
           
             Where
             Loue
             with
             losse
             ,
             Impatient
             meetes
             with
             Ire
             ,
          
           
             Shame
             calls
             in
             sorrow
             ,
             hatred
             brings
             disdaine
             ;
          
           
             And
             all
             in
             one
             ,
             do
             oftentimes
             conspire
             ,
          
           
             To
             kill
             the
             Patient
             ,
             so
             to
             cure
             the
             paine
             .
          
           
             Which
             done
             ,
             for
             shame
             away
             each
             other
             slides
             ,
          
           
             But
             shame
             ,
             as
             shamelesse
             euermore
             abides
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             Far
             better
             read
             sometimes
             a
             Wizard
             old
             ,
          
           
             How
             of
             lost
             Loue
             to
             ease
             the
             curelesse
             wound
             :
          
           
             When
             Paris
             left
             her
             to
             honour
             told
             ,
          
           
             Wherein
             she
             said
             ,
             she
             greatest
             comfort
             found
             .
          
           
             Her
             hearbs
             and
             charmes
             eased
             not
             so
             her
             hart
             ,
          
           
             As
             these
             plaine
             precepts
             of
             his
             homely
             Art.
             
          
        
         
           
             He
             bad
             her
             banish
             both
             from
             sight
             and
             minde
             ,
          
           
             All
             Monuments
             ,
             but
             chiefly
             from
             her
             sight
             :
          
           
             VVhich
             he
             departing
             thence
             ,
             did
             leaue
             behinde
             ,
          
           
             As
             pictures
             ,
             garments
             ,
             armes
             ,
             and
             all
             that
             might
          
           
             His
             absent
             person
             to
             remembrance
             bring
             :
          
           
             For
             loue
             of
             sight
             ,
             sight
             doth
             from
             obiect
             spring
             .
          
        
         
           
             Refraine
             (
             qd
             .
             he
             )
             from
             comming
             in
             the
             place
             ,
          
           
             VVhich
             hath
             bene
             priuie
             to
             your
             sweetest
             ioyes
             :
          
           
             Neuer
             record
             ,
             or
             euer
             with
             disgrace
          
           
             His
             words
             and
             deeds
             ,
             but
             cause
             of
             your
             annoyes
             .
          
           
             Deem
             him
             &
             them
             ,
             and
             when
             you
             think
             him
             on
             ,
          
           
             Thinke
             what
             cause
             had
             the
             Traitor
             to
             be
             gon
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             yet
             at
             first
             in
             no
             sort
             seeke
             to
             swage
             ,
          
           
             These
             eager
             torments
             of
             heart-breaking
             griefe
             :
          
           
             But
             whiles
             Rage
             runneth
             ,
             yeeld
             to
             running
             rage
             ,
          
           
             Till
             time
             takes
             truce
             ,
             and
             respit
             brings
             reliefe
             .
          
           
             For
             mightie
             beasts
             ,
             and
             mightie
             passions
             both
             ,
          
           
             By
             following
             tam'd
             ,
             by
             stop
             are
             made
             more
             worth
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             Obserue
             thou
             must
             as
             diet
             to
             this
             cure
             ,
          
           
             That
             Idlenesse
             and
             loanlinesse
             thou
             flie
             :
          
           
             That
             vertuous
             accounts
             still
             thou
             haue
             in
             vre
             ,
          
           
             And
             sort
             your selfe
             with
             fitting
             companie
             ▪
          
           
             For
             Loue
             erects
             in
             idle
             breasts
             his
             throne
             ,
          
           
             And
             like
             a
             Monach
             loues
             to
             sit
             alone
             .
          
        
         
           
             Thus
             much
             and
             more
             the
             good
             old
             man
             did
             teach
             ,
          
           
             That
             
               Ida
               Nymph
            
             ,
             in
             that
             forsaken
             state
             ,
          
           
             As
             he
             was
             hers
             ,
             so
             let
             him
             be
             your
             leach
             ,
          
           
             Since
             vnto
             me
             all
             praiers
             comes
             too
             late
             .
          
           
             Religion
             ,
             Honour
             ,
             Destinies
             decree
             ,
          
           
             Three
             by
             poore
             one
             ,
             how
             can
             resisted
             bee
             ?
          
        
         
           Tout
           Seule
           .
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         Notes, typically marginal, from the original text
         
           Notes for div A08667-e200
           
             Appollinem
             medecine
             &
             Poëse●s
             Deus
             invocat
             .
          
        
      
    
  

