268: Homely.
269:
So cruel prison how could betide, alas!
As proud Windsor? where I, in lust and joy,
With a king's son, my childish years did pass,
In greater feast than Priam's son of Troy:
Where each sweet place returns a taste full sour!
The large green courts where we were wont to hove,
With eyes cast up into the Maiden Tower,
And easy sighs such as folk draw in love.
The stately seats, the ladies bright of hue;
The dances short, long tales of great delight,
With words and looks that tigers could but rue,
Where each of us did plead the other's right.
The palm-play, where, despoiled for the game;
With dazzled eyes oft we by gleams of love,
Have missed the ball and got sight of our dame,
To bait her eyes, which kept the leads above.
The secret thoughts imparted with such trust,
The wanton talk, the divers change of play,
The friendship sworn, each promise kept so just;
Wherewith we passed the winter night away.
And with this thought, the blood forsakes the face,
The tears berain my cheeks of deadly hue,
The which, as soon as sobbing sighs, alas,
Upsupped have, thus I my plaint renew:
O place of bliss! renewer of my woes,
Give me accounts, where is my noble fere;
Whom in thy walls thou dost each night enclose;
To other leef, but unto me most dear:
Echo, alas! that doth my sorrow rue,
Returns thereto a hollow sound of plaint.
270:
For all things having life, sometime hath quiet rest;
The bearing ass, the drawing ox, and every other beast;
The peasant and the post, that serves at all assays,
The ship-boy, and the galley-slave, have time to take their ease,
Save I alas! whom care, of force doth so constrain,
To wail the day, and wake the night, continually in pain,
From pensiveness to plaint, from plaint to bitter tears,
From tears to painful plaint again; and thus my life it wears.
271:
The soote season that bud and bloom forth brings
With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale.
The nightingale with feathers new she sings,
The turtle to her mate hath told her tale.
Summer is come, for every spray now springs
The hart has hung his old head on the pale.
The buck in brake his winter coat he slings;
The fishe flete with new repaired scale
The adder all slough away she flings,
The swift swallow persueth the flies smalle,
The busy bee her honey now she mings.
Winter is worn that was the flower's bale.
And thus I see among these pleasent things,
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs!
272:
Yet rather die a thousand times than once to false my faith;
And if my feeble corpse, through weight of woful smart,
Do fail or faint, my will it is that still she keep my heart.
And when this carcass here to earth shall be refar'd,
I do bequeath my wearied ghost to serve her afterward.
273:
I assure thee, even by oath,
And thereon take my hand and troth,
That she is one the worthiest,
The truest and the faithfullest,
The gentlest and meekest of mind,
That here on earth a man may find;
And if that love and truth were gone,
In her it might be found alone.
For in her mind no thought there is,
But how she may be true, I wis;
And tenders thee and all thy heal,
And wisheth both thy health and weal;
And loves thee even as far-forth than
As any woman may a man;
And is thy own and so she says;
And cares for thee ten thousand ways;
On thee she speaks, on thee she thinks.
With thee she eats, with thee she drinks;
With thee she talks, with thee she moans,
With thee she sighs, with thee she groans,
With thee she says: «Farewell, mine own!»
When thou, God knows, full far art gone.
And, even to tell thee all aright,
To thee she says full oft: «Good night.»
And names thee oft her own most dear,
Her comfort, weal, and all her cheer;
And tells her pillow all the tale
How thou hast done her woe and bale;
And how she longs and plains for thee,
And says: «Why art thou so from me?
Am I not she that loves thee best?
Do I not wish thine ease and rest?
Seek I not how I may thee please?
Why art thou then so from thy ease?
If I be she for whom thou carest,
For whom in torments so thou farest,
Alas! thou knowest to find me here,
Where I remain thine own most dear,
Thine own most true, thine own most just,
Thine own that loves thee still and must;
Thine own that cares alone for thee,
As thou, I think, dost care for me;
And even the woman, she alone,
That is full bent to be thine own.
274: Dans une autre pièce, Complaint on the absence of her lover being upon the sea, il parle en propres termes presque aussi tendrement de sa femme.
275: Greene, Beaumont et Flechter, Webster, Shakspeare, Ford, Otway, Richardson, de Foë, Fielding, Byron, Dickens, Thackeray, etc.
276: The frailty and hurtfulness of beauty.
277: Description of spring. A vow to love faithfully.
278: Complaint of the lover disdained.
279: Surrey, édition Nott. Remarques du docteur Nott.
280: Discours du speaker au roi Charles II à sa restauration. Comparer aux discours de M. de Fontanes sous l'Empire. Dans les deux cas, c'est un âge littéraire qui finit.—Lisez comme spécimen le discours prononcé devant l'Université d'Oxford. Athenæ oxonienses, I, 193.
281: Son second ouvrage, Euphues and his England, parut l'an suivant, 1581.
282: Voir les jeunes gens dans Shakspeare, surtout Mercutio.
283: The Maid's metamorphosis.
Adorned with the presence of my love,
The woods, I fear, such secret power shall prove,
As they'll shut up each path, hide every way,
Because thy still would have her go astray.
284: Therefore, mourne boldly, my inke. For, while she looks upon you, your blackness will shine; cry out boldly my lamentations; for while she reads you, your cries will be musicke.
(Éd. in-fol. 1605, p. 118.)
285: They impoverished their clothes to enrich their bed, which might well for that night scorn the shrine of Venus, and there cherishing one another with deare though chaste embracements, with sweet though cold kisses, it might seem that Love was come to play him there without darts, or that, weary of his own fires, he was there to refresh himself between their sweet-breathing lippes..... Some horses lay dead under their dead masters, whom unknightly wounds had unjustly punished for a faithfull duty. Some lay upon their lords by like accidents, and in death had the honour to be borne by them, whom in life they had borne.
286: In the time that the morning did strew roses and violets in the heavenly floore against the coming of the sun, the nightingales (striving one with the other which could in most dainty varietie recount their wronge-caused sorrow) made them put off their sleep.
287: Page 494.
288: I dare undertake Orlando Furioso or honest king Arthur will never displease a soldier. But the quidditie of Ens and prima materia will hardly agree with a corcelet.
Voyez p. 497, la personnification très-railleuse et très-spirituelle de l'Histoire et de la Philosophie. Il y a là un vrai talent.
289: I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas, that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet. And yet it is sung but by some blind crowder, with no rougher voice than rude style; which being so evil apparelled in the dust and cobweb of that uncivil age, what would it work, trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindar?
290: Nay, he doth as if your journey should lie through a faire vineyard, at the very first give you a cluster of grapes, that, full of that taste, you may long to pass further. He beginneth not with obscure definitions which must blurre the margent with interpretations, and load the memory with doutfullness; but he cometh to you with words set in delightfull proportions, either accompanied with or prepared for the well-enchaunting skill of musick, and, forsooth he cometh unto you with a tale, which holdth the children from play and old men from the chimney-corner.
291: Is it the bitter, but wholesome Iambic, who rubbes the galled mind, in making shame the trumpet of villany, with bold and open crying out against naughtiness?
292: So that since the excellency of poetry may be so easely and so justly confirmed, and the low-creeping objections so soon trodden down, it not being an arte of lies, but of true doctrine; not of effeminateness, but of notable stirring of courage; not of abusing man's witt, but of strengthening man's witt; not banished, but honoured by Plato; let us rather plant more laurels for to ingarland the poets' heads, than suffer the ill favoured breath of such wrong speakers once to blow up on the cleare streams of poesie.
Voyez encore çà et là des vers qui éclatent comme ceux-ci:
Or Pindare's apes, flamet they in phrases fine,
Enam'ling with pied flowers their thoughts of gold.
293:
And Joy which is inseparate from those eyes,
Stella, now learnes (strange case) to weepe in thee.
(101e sonnet.)
294:
In a grove most riche of shade,
Where birds wanton musike made,
May, then young, his pide weeds showing,
New perfumed with flowers fresh growing,
Astrophel, with Stella sweet,
Did for mutual comfort meet,
Both within themselves oppressed,
But each in the other blessed.
Their ears hungry of each word
Which the dere tongue would afford,
But their tongues restrained from walking
Till their harts had ended talking.
But when their tongues could not speake,
Love itself did silence breake,
Love did set his lips asunder,
Thus to spake in love and wonder....
(8e chanson.)
This small wind which so sweet is,
See how it the leaves doth kisse,
Each tree in his best attyring,
Sense of love to love inspiring.
295:
Stella, soveraigne of my joy....
Stella, starre, of heavenly fier,
Stella, loadstar of desier,
Stella, in whose shining eyes,
Are the light of Cupids skies....
Stella, whose voice when it speakes
Senses all asunder breakes,
Stella whose voice when it singeth,
Angels to acquaintance bringeth....
(8e chanson.)
And my young soul flutters to thee his nest.
(108e sonnet.)
296:
Think of that most gratefull time,
When my leaping heart will clime
In my lips to have his biding,
There those roses for to kisse
Which do breath a sugred blisse,
Opening rubies, pearles deviding.
(10e chanson.)
O joy, too high for my low style to show:
O blisse fit for a nobler state than me:
Envy, put out their eyes, least thou do see
What oceans of delight in me do flow.
My friend, who oft saw through all maskes my woe,
Come, come, and let me pour myself on thee;
Gone is the winter of my misery,
My spring appeares, O see what here doth grow.
For Stella hath in words where faith doth shine
Of her high heart given me the monarchie.
I, I, o I may say, that she is mine.
297:
Where be those Roses gone, which sweetned so our eyes?
Where those red cheeks, which oft with faire encrease did frame
The height of honor in the kingly badge of shame?
Who hath the crimson weeds stolne from my morning skies?
(102e sonnet.)
My life melts with too much thinking.
(10e chanson.)
298:
Prometheus when first from heaven hye
He brought downe fire, ere then on earth not seene,
Fond of delight, a satyre standing by
Gave it a kisse, as it like sweete hat beene.
Feeling forthwith the other burning power,
Wood with the smart, with shouts and shrieking shrill,
He sought ease in river, field, and bower,
But for the time, his grief went with him still.
299:
Faire eyes, sweete lips, deare heart, that foolish I
Could hope by Cupids helpe on you to pray;
Since to himself he doth your gifts apply,
As his main force, choice sport, and easefull stray.
For when he will see who dare him gainsay,
Then with those eyes he lookes; by and by
Each soule doth at Loves feet his weapon lay,
Glad if for her he give them leave to die.
When he will play, then in her lips he is,
Where blushing red, that Love selfe them doth love,
With either lip he doth the other kisse.
But when he will for quiet sake remove
From all the world, her heart is then his rome,
Where well he knowes, no man to him can come.
(3e sonnet.)
300:
My youth doth waste, my knowledge brings forth toys,
My witt doth strive those passions to defend,
Which for reward spoile it with vaine annoies;
I see my course to lose myself doth bend:
I see and yet no greater sorrow take,
Than that I lose no more for Stella's sake.
301: Dernier sonnet, page 490.
302:
Leave me, o Love, which reachest but to dust,
And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things.
Grow rich in that which never taketh rust;
Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings....
O take fast hold, let that light be thy guide,
In this small course which birth draws out to death.
303: Nathan Drake, 310 Shakspeare and his Times. On ne compte pas, dans ces deux cent trente-trois poëtes, les auteurs de pièces isolées, mais ceux qui ont publié et recueilli leurs œuvres.
304: Tous ces mots sont pris dans Jonson, Spenser, Drayton, Shakspeare et Greene.
305:
When Phœbus lifts his head out of the winter's wave,
No sooner doth the earth her flowery bosom brave,
At such time as the year brings on the pleasant spring,
But hunts-up to the morn the feath'red sylvans sing:
And in the lower grove, as on the rising knole,
Upon the highest spray of every mounting pole,
Those quiristers are perch't, with many a speckled breast;
Then from her burnisht gate the goodly glitt'ring east
Gilds every lofty top, which late the homorous night
Bespangled had with pearl, to please the morning's sight;
On which the mirthful quires, with their clear open throats,
Unto the joyful morn so strain their warbling notes,
That hills and vallies ring, and even the echoing air
Seems all composed of sounds, about them everywhere....
They sing away the morn, until the mounting sun,
Through thick exhaled fogs his golden head hath run,
And through the twisted tops of our close covert creeps
To kiss the gentle shade, this while that sweetly sleeps.
(Drayton, Polyolbion.)
306:
Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats and pease,
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
And flat meads, thatch'd with stover them to keep,
Thy banks with peonied and lilied brims
Which spongy April at thy hest betrims
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns....
Hail many-colour'd messenger,
Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers
Diffuseth honey-drops, refreshing showers,
And with each end of thy blue bow, doth crown
My bosky acres and my unshrubbed down.
(Shakspeare, Tempest, IV, 1.)
As Zephyrs blowing below the violet,
Not wagging his sweet head.
(Shakspeare, Cymbeline, IV, 2.)
307:
When Flora proud in pomp of all her flovers
Sat bright and gay,
And gloried in the dew of Iris' showers,
And did display
Her mantle chequer'd all with gaudy green.
(Greene, Never too late.)
How oft have I descending Titan seen
His burning locks couch in the sea-green lap
And beautous Thetys his red body wrap
In watery robes, as he her lord had been!
(Id.)
The joyous day gan early to appeare,
And fayre Aurora from the deawy bed
Of aged Tithone gan herself to reare
With rosy cheekes, for shame as blushing red;
Her golden looks, for hast, were loosely shed
About her eares, when Una her did marke
Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers spred,
From heaven high to chase the chearelesse darke;
With merry note her lowd salutes the mounting larke.
(Spenser, Fairy Queen, liv. I, ch. II, strop. 1.)
308: Celebration of Charis.
309:
See the chariot at hand here of Love,
Wherein my lady rideth!
Each that draws is a swan or a dove,
And well the car Love guideth.
As she goes, all hearts do duty
Unto her beauty;
And enamour'd do wish, so they might
But enjoy such a sight,
That they still were to run by her side
Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.
Do but look on her eyes, they do light
All that love's world compriseth!
Do but look on her, she is bright
As love's star when it riseth!....
Have you seen but a bright lily grow,
Before rude hands have touch'd it?
Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow,
Before the soil hath smutch'd it?
Have you felt the wool of the beaver,
Or swan's down ever?
Or have smell'd of the bud o' the brier?
Or the nard in the fire?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!
310:
Her golden hair o'erspred her face,
Her careless armes abroad were cast,
Her quiver had her pillows place,
Her breast lay bare to every blast.
(Cupid's Pastime, auteur inconnu vers 1621.)
311:
Though mountains meet not, lovers may.
What other lovers do, did they.
The God of Love sat on a tree,
And laught that pleasant sight to see.
(Id.)
312: Rosalind's madrigal.
Love in my bosom like a bee
Doth suck his sweet.
Now with his wings he plays with me
Now with his feet.
Within my eyes he makes his rest,
His bed amid my tender breast,
My kisses are his daily feast.
And yet he robs me of my rest.
Ah! wanton, will ye!
313: Greene (From Menaphon).
Her eyes, fair eyes, like to the purest lights
That animate the sun or cheer the day,
In whom the shining sun-beams brightly play,
Whiles fancy doth on them divine delight.
Her cheeks like ripen'd lilies steep'd in wine,
Or fair pomegranate kernels washed in milk,
Or snow-white threads in nets of crimson silk,
Or gorgeous clouds upon the sun's decline.
Her lips are roses over-washed with dew,
Or like the purple of Narcissus' flower...
Her cristal chin like to the purest mould
Enchas'd with dainty daisies soft and white,
Where Fancy's fair pavilion once is pight,
Whereas embrac'd his beauties he doth hold.
Her neck like to an ivory shining tower,
Where through with azure veins sweet nectar runs,
Or like the down of swans where Senesse woons,
Or like delight that doth itself devour.
Her paps like fair apples in the prime,
As round as orient pearls, as soft as down.
They never vail their fair through winter's frown,
But from their sweets Love suck'd his summer time.
Greene (Melicertus' eglogue).
What need compare when sweet exceed compare?
Who draws his thought of love from senseless things.
Their pomp and greatest glories doth impair,
And mount love's heaven with overladen wings.
314: As you like it.
315: The Sad Shepherd. Voyez aussi Flechter and Beaumont: the Faithful Shepherdess.
316:
Come, live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That vallies, groves, and hills and fields,
Woods or steepy mountains yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers and a kirtle,
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle:
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold:
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come, live with me, and be my love.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing,
For thy delight, each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move
Then live with me, and be my love.
317: William Warner.
318: Michel Drayton.
319:
With that she bent her snow-white knee,
Down by the shepherd kneel'd she,
And him she sweetly kist.
With that the shepherd whoop'd for joy;
Quoth he: "There's never shepherd boy
That ever was so blist."
(Michel Drayton.)
320: He died for want of bread in King street. (Ben Jonson, cité par Drummond.)
321: Hymnes à l'amour et à la beauté,—à l'amour et à la beauté célestes.
322:
For that same goodly hew of white and red,
With which the cheeks are sprinkled, shall decay,
And those sweete rosy leaves, so fairly spred
Upon the lips, shall fade and fall away
To that they were, even to corrupted clay;
That golden wyre, those sparckling stars so bright,
Shall turne to dust, and lose their goodly light.
But that fair lampe, from whose celestial rays
That light proceedes which kindleth lovers fire,
Shall never be extinguisht nor decay;
But when the vitall spirits doe expyre,
Upon her native planet shall retyre;
For it is heavenly borne and cannot die,
Being a parcell of the purest skye.
323:
For Love is lord of Truth and Loialtie,
Lifting himself out of the lowly dust,
On golden plumes, up to the purest skye,
Above the reach of loathly sinfull lust.
Whose base affect, through cowardly distrust
Of his weake wings, dare not to heaven fly.
But, like a moldwarpe in the earth doth ly.
324:
As an aged tree
High growing on the top of rocky clift,
Whose hart-strings with keene steele nigh hewen be,
The mightie trunck half rent with ragged rift
Doth roll adowne the rocks, and fall with fearefull drift.
Or as a castle, reared high and round,
By subtile engins and malitious slight,
Is undermined from the lowest ground,
And her foundation forst and feebled quight,
At last downe falles; and with her heaped hight
Her hastie ruine does more heavie make,
And yields itselfe unto the victours might.
Such was this gyaunt's fall, that seemed to shake
The stedfast globe of earth, as it for feare did quake.
(Fairie Queene, liv. I, ch. VIII, 42, 43.)
325: The Shepheard's Calendar, Amoretti, Sonnets, Prothalamion, Epithalamion, Muiopotmos, Virgil's Gnat, the Ruins of time, the Tears of the Muses, etc.
326: Publié en 1589; dédié à Philipp Sidney.
327:
There in a meadow, by the river's side,
A flock of nymphes I chaunced to espy,
All lovely daughters of the Flood thereby,
With goodly greenish locks, all loose untyde,
As each had bene a bryde.
And each one had a little wicker basket,
Made of fine twigs, entrayled curiously,
In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket,
And with fine fingers cropt full featously
The tender stalkes on hye.
Of every sort which in that meadow grew
They gathered some: the violet pallid blew,
The little dazie that at evening closes,
The virgin lilie, and the primrose trew,
With store of vermeil roses,
To deck their bridegroomes posies
Against the brydale-day, which was not long,
Sweet Themmes, runne softly till I end my song!
With that I saw two swannes of goodly hewe
Come softly swimming down along the lee.
Two fairer birds I yet did never see;
The snow which doth the top of Pindus strew
Did never whiter shew....
So purely white they were,
That even the gentle stream, the which them bare,
Seem'd foul to them, and bad his billowes spare
To wet their silken feathers, least they might
Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so fayre,
And marre their beauties bright,
That shone as heavens light,
Against their brydale day, which was not long.
Sweet Themmes! runne softly till I end my song.
(Prothalamion.)
328:
The gods, which all things see, this same beheld,
And pittying this paire of lovers trew,
Transformed them there lying on the field,
Into one flower that is both red and blew.
It first growes red, and then to blew doth fade,
Like Astrophel, which there into was made.
And in the midst thereof a star appeares,
As fairly formed as any star in skyes;
Ressembling Stella in her freshest yeares,
Forth darting beames of beautie from her eyes;
And all the day it standeth full of deow,
Which is the teares that from her eyes did flow.
(Astrophel.)
329: C'est Lodowick Bryskett (Discourse of civil life, 1606) qui lui attribue ces paroles.
330: Surtout dans le Calendrier du Berger.
331:
Her face so faire, as flesh it seemed not,
But hevenly pourtraict of bright angels hew,
Cleare as the skye, withouten blame or blot,
Through goodly mixture of complexions dew;
And in her cheekes the vermeill red did shew;
Like roses in a bed of lillies shed,
The which ambrosiall odours from them threw,
And gazers sence with double pleasure fed,
Hable to heale the sick and to revive the ded.
In her faire eyes two living lamps did flame,
Kindled above at th' heavenly Maker's light,
And darted fyrie beames out of the same,
So passing persant, and so wondrous bright,
That quite bereav'd the rash beholders sight:
In them the blinded god his lustfull fyre
To kindle oft assayd, but had no might;
For, with dredd majestie and awfull yre,
She broke his wanton darts, and quenched base desyre.
Her yvorie forhead, full of bountie brave,
Like a broad table did itselfe dispred,
For Love his loftie triumphes to engrave,
And write the battailes of his great godhed:
All good and honour might therein be red;
For there their dwelling was; and, when she spake,
Sweete wordes, like dropping honey, she did shed;
And 'twixt the perles and rubins softly brake
A silver sound, that, heavenly musicke seemd to make.
Upon her eyelids many Graces sate,
Under the shadow of her even browes,
Working belgardes and amorous retrate;
And everie one her with a grace endowes,
And everie one with meekenesse to her bowes:
So glorious mirrhour of celestiall grace,
And soveraine moniment of mortall vowes,
How shall frayle pen descrive her heavenly face,
For feare, through want of skill, her beauty to disgrace.
So faire, and thousand thousand time more faire,
She seemd, when she presented was to sight;
And was yclad, for heat of scorching aire,
All in a silken Camus lily white,
Purfled upon with many a folded plight,
Which all above besprinkled was throughout,
With golden aygulets, that glistred bright;
Like twinkling starres: and all the skirt about
Was hemed with golden fringe.
Below her ham her weed did somewhat trayne,
And her streight legs most bravely were embayld
In gilden buskins of costly cordwayne,
All bard with golden bendes, which were entayld
With curious antickes, and full fayre anmayld.
Before, they fastned were under her knee
In a rich jewell, and therein entrayld
The ends of all the knots, that none might see
How they within their fouldings close enwrapped be.
Like two faire marble pillours they were seene,
Which doe the temple of the gods support,
Whom all the people decke with garlands greene,
And honour in their festivall resort.
These same with stately grace and princely port
She taught to tread, when she herself would grace;
But with the woody nymphes when she did play,
Or when the flying libbard she did chace,
She could them nimbly move, and after fly apace.
And in her hand a sharpe bore-speare she held,
And at ther backe a bow, and quiver gay
Stuft with steel-headed dartes, wherewith she queld
The salvage beastes in her victorious play,
Knit with a golden bauldricke which forelay
Athwart her snowy brest, and did divide
Her daintie paps; which, like young fruit in May,
Now little gan to swell, and being tide
Through her thin weed their places only signifide.
Her yellow lockes, crisped like golden wyre,
About her shoulders weren loosely shed,
And, when the winde emongst them did inspyre,
They waved like a penon wyde despred,
And low behinde her backe were scattered:
And, whether art it were or heedlesse hap,
As through the flouring forrest rash she fled,
In her rude heares sweet flowres themselves did lap,
And flourishing fresh leaves and blossomes did enwrap.
The daintie rose, the daughter of her morne,
More dear than life she tendered, whose flowre
The girlond of her honour did adorne:
Ne suffred she the middayes scorching powre,
Ne the sharp northerne wind thereon to showre;
But lapped up her silken leaves most chayre,
Whenso the froward sky began to lowre;
But, soon as calmed was the cristall ayre,
She did it fayre dispred and let to florish faire.
(Liv. III, ch. V, str. 51, et liv. II, chant 3.)
332:
Sweet love, that doth his golden wings embay
In blessed nectar and pure pleasures well.
(Liv. III, ch. II, st. 2.)
333:
It was upon a sommers shiny day,
When Titan faire his beames did display,
In a fresh fountaine, far from all mens vew,
She bath'd her brest the boyling heat t'alley;
She bath'd with roses red and violets blew
And all the sweetest flowers that in the forrest grew.
Till faint through yrkesome wearines adowne
Upon the grassy ground herself she layd
To sleep, the whiles a gentle slombring swowne
Upon her fell all naked bare displayd....
(Liv. III, chant VI.)
334:
Shortly into the wastefull woods she came,
Whereas she found the goddesse with her crew,
After late chase of their embrewed game,
Sitting beside a fountaine in a rew;
Some of them washing with the liquid dew
From off their dainty limbs the dusty sweat
And soyle, which did deforme their lively hew;
Others lay shaded from the scorching heat;
The rest upon her person gave attendance great.
She, having hong upon a bough on high
Her bow and painted quiver, had unlaste
Her silver buskins from her nimble thigh,
And her lank loynes ungirt, and brests unbraste,
After the heat the breathing cold to taste;
Her golden lockes, that late in tresses bright
Embreaded were for hindring of her haste,
Now loose about her shoulders hong undight,
And were with swet ambrosia all besprinkled light.
(Liv. III. chant vi.)
335:
With that, her glistring helmet she unlaced;
Which doft, her golden lockes, that were up bound
Still in a knot, unto her heeles down traced,
And like a silken veile in compasse round
About her back and all her bodie wound;
Like as the shining skie in summers night,
What times the dayes with scorching heat abound,
Is creasted all with lines of firie light,
That it prodigious seemes in common people sight.
(Liv. IV, ch. I, str. 13.)
Her golden locks, that were in tramells gay
Up bounden, did themselves adowne display
And raught unto her heeles; like sunny beames
That in a cloud their light did long time stay,
Their vapour vaded, shewe their golden gleames,
And through the azure aire shooke forth their persant streames.
(Liv. III, ch. IX, 20.)
336:
A teme of Dolphins raunged in aray
Drew the smooth charett of sad Cymoent.
They were all taught by Triton to obay
To the long raynes at her commaundement.
As swift as swallows on the waves they went.
That their broad flaggy finnes no fome did reare,
Ne bubbling rowndell they behinde them sent;
The rest of other fishes drawen weare
Which with their finny oars the swelling sea did sheare.
(Liv. III, ch. IV, 33.)
337: