Earely, the morrow next, before that Day
His ioyous face did to the world revele,
They both
and tooke their ready way
Unto the church, their praiers to appele,
With great devotion, and with litle zele:
For the faire Damzell from the holy herse
Her love-sicke hart to other thoughts did steale;
And that old Dame said many an idle verse,
Out of her daughters hart fond fancies to reverse.
Retourned home, the royall Infant fell
Into her former fitt; for why? no powre
Nor guidaunce of herselfe in her did dwell.
But th' aged nourse, her calling to her bowre,
Had gathered rew, and savine, and the flowre
Of camphora, and calamint, and dill;
All which she in a earthen pot did poure,
And to the brim with coltwood did it fill,
And many drops of milk and blood through it did spill.
Then, taking thrise three heares from off her head,
Them trebly breaded in a threefold lace,
And round about the pots mouth bound the thread; And, after having whispered a space
Certein sad words with hollow voice and bace,
Shee to the Virgin sayd, thrise sayd she itt; "Come, daughter, come; come, spit upon my face; Spitt thrise upon me, thrise upon me spitt; Th' uneven nomber for this busines is most fitt."
That sayd, her rownd about she from her turnd,
She turned her contráry to the sunne;
Thrise she her turnd contráry, and returnd
All cóntrary; for she the right did shunne;
And ever what she did was streight undonne.
So thought she to undoe her daughter's love:
But love, that is in gentle brest begonne,
No ydle charmes so lightly may remove;
That well can witnesse, who by tryall it does prove.
Ne ought it mote the noble Mayd avayle,
Ne slake the fury of her cruell flame,
But that shee still did waste, and still did wayle,
That, through long languour and hart-burning brame,
She shortly like a pyned ghost became
Which long hath waited by the Stygian strond:
That when old Glaucè saw, for feare least blame
Of her miscarriage should in her be fond,
She wist not how t' amend, nor how it to withstond.
Merlin bewrayes to Britomart
The state of Arthegall :
And shewes the famous progeny,
Which from them springen shall.
Most sacred fyre, that burnest mightily
In living brests, ykindled first above
Emongst th' eternall spheres and lamping sky,
And thence pourd into men, which men call Love;
Not that same, which doth base affections move
In brutish mindes, and filthy lust inflame;
But that sweete fit that doth true beautie love,
And choseth Vertue for his dearest dame,
Whence spring all noble deedes and never-dying fame:
Well did Antiquity a god thee deeme,
That over mortall mindes hast so great might,
To order them as best to thee doth seeme,
And all their actions to direct aright:
The fatall purpose of divine foresight
Thou doest effect in destined descents,
Through deepe impression of thy secret might,
And stirredst up th' heroës high intents,
Which the late world admyres for wondrous moniments.
But thy dredd dartes in none doe triumph more,
Ne braver proofe in any of thy powre
Shewd'st thou, then in this royall Maid of yore,
Making her seeke an unknowne Paramoure,
From the worlds end, through many a bitter stowre:
From whose two loynes thou afterwardes did rayse
Most famous fruites of matrimoniall bowre, [prayse,
Which through the earth have spredd their living
That fame in tromp of gold eternally displayes.
Begin then, O my dearest sacred Dame,
Daughter of Phoebus and of Memorye,
That doest ennoble with immortall name
The warlike worthies, from antiquitye,
In thy great volume of Eternitye;
Begin, O Clio, and recount from hence
My glorious Soveraines goodly Auncestrye,
Till that by dew degrees, and long protense,
Thou have it lastly brought unto her Excellence.
Full many waye's within her troubled mind
Old Glaucè cast to cure this Ladies griefe;
Full
many wayes she sought, but none could find, Nor herbes, nor charmes, nor counsel that is chiefe And choicest med'cine for sick harts reliefe:
Forthy great care she tooke, and greater feare,
Least that it should her turne to fowle repriefe
And sore reproch, whenso her father deare
Should of his dearest daughters hard misfortune heare.
At last she her avisde, that he which made
That Mirrhour, wherein the sicke Damosell
So straungely vewed her straunge lovers shade,
To weet, the learned Merlin, well could tell
Under what coast of heaven the Man did dwell,
And by what means his love might best be wrought:
For, though beyond the Africk Ismaël
Or th' Indian Peru he were, she thought
Him forth through infinite endevour to have sought.
Forthwith themselves disguising both in straunge
And base attyre, that none might them bewray,
To Maridunum, that is now by chaunge
Of name Cayr-Merdin cald, they tooke their way:
There the wise Merlin whylome wont (they say)
To make his wonne, low underneath the ground,
In a deepe delve, farre from the vew of day,
That of no living wight he mote be found,
Whenso he counseld with his sprights encompast round.
And, if thou ever happen that same way
To traveill, go to see that dreadful place:
It is an hideous hollow cave (they say)
Under a rock that lyes a litle space
From the swift Barry, tombling downe apace
Emongst the woody hilles of Dyneuowre:
But dare thou not, I charge, in any cace
To enter into that same balefull bowre,
For feare the cruell feendes should thee unwares devowre:
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