There was a hyll, and on the hyll a verie levell plot,Fayre greene with grasse. But as for shade or covert was there not.As soone as that this Poet borne of Goddes, in that same place Sate downe and toucht his tuned strings, a shadow came apace.There wanted neyther Chaons tree, nor yit the trees to whichFresh Phaetons susters turned were, nor Beeche, nor Holme, nor Wich,Nor gentle Asp, nor wyvelesse Bay, nor lofty Chestnuttree.Nor Hazle spalt, nor Ash wherof the shafts of speares made bee.Nor knotlesse Firre, nor cheerfull Plane, nor Maple flecked grayne.Nor Lote, nor Sallow which delights by waters to remayne.Nor slender twigged Tamarisk, nor Box ay greene of hew.Nor Figtrees loden with theyr frute of colours browne and blew.Nor double colourd Myrtletrees. Moreover thither came The wrything Ivye, and the Vyne that runnes uppon a frame,Elmes clad with Vynes, and Ashes wyld and Pitchtrees blacke as cole,And full of trees with goodly frute red stryped, Ortyards whole.And Palmetrees lythe which in reward of conquest men doo beare,And Pynapple with tufted top and harsh and prickling heare,The tree to Cybele, mother of the Goddes, most deere. For why?Her minion Atys putting off the shape of man, did dye,And hardened into this same tree. Among this companeeWas present with a pyked top the Cypresse, now a tree,Sumtime a boay beloved of the God that with a stringDooth arme his bow, and with a string in tune his Violl bring.For hallowed to the Nymphes that in the feeldes of Carthye wereThere was a goodly myghty Stag whose homes such bredth did beare,As that they shadowed all his head. His homes of gold did shyne,And downe his brest hung from his necke, a cheyne with jewels fyne. Amid his frunt with prettie strings a tablet beeing tyde,Did waver as he went: and from his eares on eyther sydeHung perles of all one growth about his hollow temples bryght.This goodly Spitter beeing voyd of dread, as having quyghtForgot his native fearefulnesse, did haunt mens houses, and Would suffer folk (yea though unknowen) to coy him with theyr hand.But more than unto all folke else he deerer was to theeO Cyparisse, the fayrest Wyght that ever man did seeIn Coea. Thou to pastures, thou to water springs him led,Thou wreathedst sundry flowres betweene his homes uppon his hed. Sumtyme a horsman thou his backe for pleasure didst bestryde,And haltring him with silken bit from place to place didst ryde.In summer tyme about hygh noone when Titan with his heateDid make the hollow crabbed cleas of Cancer for to sweate,Unweeting Cyparissus with a Dart did strike this Hart Quyght through. And when that of the wound he saw he must depart,He purposd for to die himself. What woords of comfort spakeNot Phoebus to him? willing him the matter lyght to takeAnd not more sorrow for it than was requisite to make.But still the Lad did sygh and sob, and as his last request Desyred God he myght thenceforth from moorning never rest.Anon through weeping overmuch his blood was drayned quyght:His limbes wext greene: his heare which hung upon his forehead whyghtBegan to bee a bristled bush: and taking by and byA stiffnesse, with a sharpened top did face the starrie skye. The God did sigh, and sadly sayd: Myselfe shall moorne for thee,And thou for others: and ay one in moorning thou shalt bee.

Such wood as this had Orphye drawen about him as amongThe herdes of beasts, and flocks of Birds he sate amyds the throng.And when his thumbe sufficiently had tryed every string, And found that though they severally in sundry sounds did ring,Yit made they all one Harmonie, he thus began to sing:O Muse my mother, frame my song of Jove, for every thingIs subject unto royall Jove. Of Jove the heavenly KingI oft have shewed the glorious power. I erst in graver verse The Gyants slayne in Phlaegra feeldes with thunder, did reherse.But now I neede a meelder style to tell of prettie boyesThat were the derlings of the Gods: and of unlawfull joyesThat burned in the brests of Girles, who for theyr wicked lustAccording as they did deserve, receyved penance just. The King of Goddes did burne erewhyle in love of GanymedThe Phrygian and the thing was found which Jupiter that stedHad rather bee than that he was. Yit could he not beteemeThe shape of any other Bird than Aegle for to seemeAnd so he soring in the ayre with borrowed wings trust up The Trojane boay who still in heaven even yit dooth beare his cup,And brings him Nectar though against Dame Junos will it bee.And thou Amyclys sonne (had not thy heavy destineeAbridged thee before thy tyme) hadst also placed beeneBy Phoebus in the firmament. How bee it (as is seene) Thou art eternall so farre forth as may bee. For as oftAs watrie Piscis giveth place to Aries that the softAnd gentle springtyde dooth succeede the winter sharp and stowre:So often thou renewest thyself, and on the fayre greene clowreDoost shoote out flowres. My father bare a speciall love to thee Above all others. So that whyle the God went oft to seeEurotas and unwalled Spart, he left his noble towneOf Delphos (which amid the world is situate in renowne)Without a sovereigne. Neyther Harp nor Bow regarded were.Unmyndfull of his Godhead he refused not to beare The nets, nor for to hold the hounds, nor as a peynfull mateTo travell over cragged hilles, through which continuall gateHis flames augmented more and more. And now the sunne did standWell neere midway beetweene the nyghts last past and next at hand.They stript themselves and noynted them with oyle of Olyfe fat. And fell to throwing of a Sledge that was ryght huge and flat.Fyrst Phoebus peysing it did throw it from him with such strength,As that the weyght drave downe the clouds in flying. And at lengthIt fell upon substantiall ground, where plainly it did showAs well the cunning as the force of him that did it throw.Immediatly upon desyre himself the sport to trie,The Spartane lad made haste to take up unadvisedlyThe Sledge before it still did lye. But as he was in handTo catch it, it rebounding up ageinst the hardened land,Did hit him full upon the face. The God himselfe did looke As pale as did the lad, and up his swounding body tooke.Now culles he him, now wypes he from the wound the blood away,Anotherwhyle his fading lyfe he stryves with herbes to stay.Nought booted Leechcraft. Helplesse was the wound. And like as oneBroosd violet stalkes or Poppie stalkes or Lillies growing on Browne spindles, streight they withering droope with heavy heads and areNot able for to hold them up, but with their tops doo stareUppon the ground, so Hyacinth in yeelding of his breathChopt downe his head. His necke bereft of strength by meanes of deathWas even a burthen to itself, and downe did loosely wrythe On both his shoulders, now a t'one and now a toother lythe.Thou faadst away, my Hyacinth, defrauded of the prymeOf youth (quoth Phoebus) and I see thy wound my heynous cryme.Thou art my sorrow and my fault: this hand of myne hath wroughtThy death: I like a murtherer have to thy grave thee brought. But what have I offended thow? onlesse that to have playd,Or if that to have loved, an offence it may be sayd.Would God I render myght my lyfe with and instead of thee.To which syth fatall destinee denyeth to agree,Both in my mynd and in my mouth thou evermore shalt bee. My Violl striken with my hand, my songs shall sound of thee,And in a newmade flowre thou shalt with letters representOur syghings. And the tyme shall come ere many yeeres bee spent,That in thy flowre a valeant Prince shall joyne himself with thee,And leave his name uppon the leaves for men to reede and see. Whyle Phoebus thus did prophesie, behold the blood of himWhich dyde the grasse, ceast blood to bee, and up there sprang a trimAnd goodly flowre, more orient than the Purple cloth ingrayne,In shape a Lillye, were it not that Lillyes doo remayneOf sylver colour, whereas theis of purple hew are seene. Although that Phoebus had the cause of this greate honor beene,Yit thought he not the same ynough. And therfore did he wryghtHis syghes uppon the leaves thereof: and so in colour bryghtThe flowre hath a writ theron, which letters are of greef.So small the Spartanes thought the birth of Hyacinth repreef Unto them, that they woorship him from that day unto this.And as their fathers did before, so they doe never misseWith solemne pomp to celebrate his feast from yeere to yeere.

But if perchaunce that Amathus the rich in mettals, weereDemaunded if it would have bred the Propets it would sweare, Yea even as gladly as the folke whose brewes sumtyme did beareA payre of welked homes: whereof they Cerastes named are.Before theyr doore an Altar stood of Jove that takes the careOf alyents and of travellers, which lothsome was to see,For lewdnesse wrought theron. If one that had a straunger bee Had lookt thereon, he would have thought there had on it beene killdSum sucking calves or lambes. The blood of straungers there was spilld.Dame Venus sore offended at this wicked sacrifyse,To leave her Cities and the land of Cyprus did devyse.But then bethinking her, shee sayd: What hath my pleasant ground, What have my Cities trespassed? what fault in them is found?Nay rather let this wicked race by exyle punnisht beene,Or death, or by sum other thing that is a meane betweeneBoth death and exyle. What is that? save only for to chaungeTheyr shape. In musing with herself what figure were most straunge, Shee cast her eye uppon a home. And therewithall shee thoughtThe same to bee a shape ryght meete uppon them to bee brought:And so shee from theyr myghty limbes theyr native figure tooke,And turnd them into boystous Bulles with grim and cruell looke.Yit durst the filthy Propets stand in stiffe opinion that Dame Venus was no Goddesse till shee beeing wroth thereat,To make theyr bodies common first compelld them everychoneAnd after chaungd theyr former kynd. For when that shame was gone,And that they wexed brazen faast, shee turned them to stone,In which betweene their former shape was diffrence small or none.

Whom forbycause Pygmalion saw to leade theyr lyfe in sinOffended with the vice whereof greate store is packt withinThe nature of the womankynd, he led a single lyfe.And long it was ere he could fynd in hart to take a wyfe.Now in the whyle by wondrous Art an image he did grave Of such proportion, shape, and grace as nature never gaveNor can to any woman give. In this his worke he tookeA certaine love. The looke of it was ryght a Maydens looke,And such a one as that yee would beleeve had lyfe, and thatWould moved bee, if womanhod and reverence letted not: So artificiall was the work. He woondreth at his ArtAnd of his counterfetted corse conceyveth love in hart.He often toucht it, feeling if the woork that he had madeWere verie flesh or Ivorye still. Yit could he not perswadeHimself to think it Ivory, for he oftentymes it kist And thought it kissed him ageine. He hild it by the fist,And talked to it. He beleeved his fingars made a dintUppon her flesh, and feared lest sum blacke or broosed printShould come by touching over hard. Sumtyme with pleasant boordsAnd wanton toyes he dalyingly dooth cast foorth amorous woords. Sumtime (the giftes wherein yong Maydes are wonted to delyght)He brought her owches, fyne round stones, and Lillyes fayre and whyght,And pretie singing birds, and flowres of thousand sorts and hew,In gorgeous garments furthermore he did her also decke, And peynted balles, and Amber from the tree distilled new.And on her fingars put me rings, and cheynes about her necke.Riche perles were hanging at her eares, and tablets at her brest.All kynd of things became her well. And when she was undrest,She seemed not lesse beawtifull. He layd her in a bedThe which with scarlet dyde in Tyre was richly overspred, And terming her his bedfellow, he couched downe hir headUppon a pillow soft, as though shee could have felt the same.The feast of Venus hallowed through the Ile of Cyprus, cameAnd Bullocks whyght with gilden homes were slayne for sacrifyse,And up to heaven of frankincence the smoky fume did ryse. When as Pygmalion having doone his dutye that same day,Before the altar standing, thus with fearefull hart did say:If that you Goddes can all things give, then let my wife (I pray)(He durst not say bee yoon same wench of Ivory, but) bee leekeMy wench of Ivory. Venus (who was nought at all to seeke What such a wish as that did meene) then present at her feast,For handsell of her freendly helpe did cause three tymes at leastThe fyre to kindle and to spyre thryse upward in the ayre.As soone as he came home, streyghtway Pygmalion did repayreUnto the Image of his wench, and leaning on the bed, Did kisse hir. In her body streyght a warmenesse seemd to spred.He put his mouth againe to hers, and on her brest did layHis hand. The Ivory wexed soft: and putting quyght awayAll hardnesse, yeelded underneathe his fingars, as wee seeA peece of wax made soft ageinst the Sunne, or drawen to bee In divers shapes by chaufing it betweene ones handes, and soTo serve to uses. He amazde stood wavering to and froTweene joy, and feare to be beeguyld, ageine he burnt in love,Ageine with feeling he began his wished hope to prove.He felt it verrye flesh in deede. By laying on his thumb, He felt her pulses beating. Then he stood no longer dumbBut thanked Venus with his hart, and at the length he laydHis mouth to hers who was as then become a perfect mayd.Shee felt the kisse, and blusht therat: and lifting fearefullyHir eyelidds up, hir Lover and the light at once did spye. The mariage that her selfe had made the Goddesse blessed so,That when the Moone with fulsum lyght nyne tymes her course had go,This Ladye was delivered of a Sun that Paphus hyght,Of whom the Iland takes that name.

Of him was borne a knyghtCalld Cinyras who (had he had none issue) surely myght Of all men underneathe the sun beene thought the happyest wyght.Of wicked and most cursed things to speake I now commence.Yee daughters and yee parents all go get yee farre from hence.Or if yee mynded bee to heere my tale, beleeve mee noughtIn this beehalfe: ne think that such a thing was ever wrought. Or if yee will beeleeve the deede, beleeve the vengeance tooWhich lyghted on the partye that the wicked act did doo.But if that it be possible that any wyght so muchFrom nature should degenerate, as for to fall to suchA heynous cryme as this is, I am glad for Thracia, I Am glad for this same world of ours, yea glad exceedinglyI am for this my native soyle, for that there is such spaceBetweene it and the land that bred a chyld so voyd of grace.I would the land Panchaya should of Amomie be rich,And Cinnamom, and Costus sweete, and Incence also which Dooth issue largely out of trees, and other flowers straunge,As long as that it beareth Myrrhe: not woorth it was the chaunge,Newe trees to have of such a pryce. The God of love denyesHis weapons to have hurted thee, O Myrrha, and he tryesHimselfe ungiltie by thy fault. One of the Furies three With poysonde Snakes and hellish brands hath rather blasted thee.To hate ones father is a cryme as heynous as may bee,But yit more wicked is this love of thine than any hate.The youthfull Lordes of all the East and Peeres of cheef estateDesyre to have thee to their wyfe, and earnest sute doo make. Of all (excepting onely one) thy choyce, O Myrrha, take.Shee feeles her filthye love, and stryves ageinst it, and withinHerself sayd: Whither roonnes my mynd? what thinke I to begin?Yee Gods (I pray) and godlynesse, yee holy rites and aweOf parents, from this heynous cryme my vicious mynd withdrawe, And disappoynt my wickednesse. At leastwyse if it beeA wickednesse that I intend. As farre as I can see,This love infrindgeth not the bondes of godlynesse a whit.For every other living wyght dame nature dooth permitTo match without offence of sin. The Heifer thinkes no shame To beare her father on her backe: the horse bestrydes the sameOf whom he is the syre: the Gote dooth bucke the kid that heeHimself begate: and birdes doo tread the selfsame birdes wee seeOf whom they hatched were before. In happye cace they areThat may doo so without offence. But mans malicious care Hath made a brydle for it self, and spyghtfull lawes restreyneThe things that nature setteth free. Yit are their Realmes (men sayne)In which the moother with the sonne, and daughter with the fatherDoo match, wherethrough of godlynesse the bond augments the ratherWith doubled love. Now wo is mee it had not beene my lot In that same countrie to bee borne. And that this lucklesse plotShould hinder mee. Why thinke I thus? Avaunt, unlawfull love.I ought to love him, I confesse: but so as dooth behoveHis daughter: were not Cinyras my father than, IwisI myght obtaine to lye with him. But now bycause he is Myne owne, he cannot bee myne owne. The neerenesse of our kinDooth hurt me. Were I further off perchaunce I more myght win.And if I wist that I therby this wickednesse myght shunne,I would forsake my native soyle and farre from Cyprus runne.This evill heate dooth hold mee backe, that beeing present still I may but talke with Cinyras and looke on him my fill,And touch, and kisse him, if no more may further graunted bee.Why wicked wench, and canst thou hope for further? doost not seeHow by thy fault thou doost confound the ryghts of name and kin?And wilt thou make thy mother bee a Cucqueane by thy sin? Wilt thou thy fathers leman bee? wilt thou bee both the mootherAnd suster of thy chyld? shall he bee both thy sonne and brother?And standst thou not in feare at all of those same susters threeWhose heads with crawling snakes in stead of heare bematted bee?Which pushing with theyr cruell bronds folks eyes and mouthes, doo see Theyr sinfull harts? but thou now whyle thy body yit is free,Let never such a wickednesse once enter in thy mynd.Defyle not myghtye natures hest by lust ageinst thy kynd.What though thy will were fully bent? yit even the very thingIs such as will not suffer thee the same to end to bring. For why he beeing well disposde and godly, myndeth aySo much his dewtye that from ryght and truth he will not stray.Would Godlyke furie were in him as is in mee this day.This sayd, her father Cinyras (who dowted what to dooBy reason of the worthy store of suters which did woo His daughter,) bringing all theyr names did will her for to showOn which of them shee had herself most fancie to bestow.At first shee hild her peace a whyle, and looking wistly onHer fathers face, did boyle within: and scalding teares anonRan downe her visage. Cyniras, (who thought them to proceede Of tender harted shamefastnesse) did say there was no needeOf teares, and dryed her cheekes, and kist her. Myrrha tooke of itExceeding pleasure in her selfe: and when that he did witWhat husband shee did wish to have, shee sayd: One like to yow.He undertanding not hir thought, did well her woordes allow, And sayd: In this thy godly mynd continew. At the nameOf godlynesse, shee cast mee downe her looke for very shame.For why her giltie hart did knowe shee well deserved blame.Hygh mydnight came, and sleepe bothe care and carkesses opprest.But Myrrha lying brode awake could neyther sleepe nor rest. Shee fryes in Cupids flames, and woorkes continewally upponHer furious love. One while shee sinkes in deepe despayre. AnonShee fully myndes to give attempt, but shame doth hold her in.Shee wishes and shee wotes not what to doo, nor how to gin.And like as when a mightye tree with axes heawed rownd, Now redy with a strype or twaine to lye uppon the grownd,Uncerteine is which way to fall and tottreth every way:Even so her mynd with dowtfull wound effeebled then did strayNow heere now there uncerteinely, and tooke of bothe encreace.No measure of her love was found, no rest, nor yit releace, Save only death. Death likes her best. Shee ryseth, full in myndTo hang herself. About a post her girdle she doth bynd,And sayd: Farewell deere Cinyras, and understand the causeOf this my death. And with that woord about her necke shee drawesThe nooze. Her trustye nurce that in another Chamber lay By fortune heard the whispring sound of theis her woordes (folk say).The aged woman rysing up unboltes the doore. And whanShee saw her in that plyght of death, shee shreeking out beganTo smyght her self, and scratcht her brest, and quickly to her ranAnd rent the girdle from her necke. Then weeping bitterly And holding her betweene her armes, shee askt the question whyShee went about to hang her self so unadvisedly.The Lady hilld her peace as dumb, and looking on the groundUnmovably, was sorye in her hart for beeing foundBefore shee had dispatcht herself. Her nurce still at her lay, And shewing her her emptie dugges and naked head all gray,Besought her for the paynes shee tooke with her both night and dayIn rocking and in feeding her, shee would vouchsafe to sayWhat ere it were that greeved her. The Ladye turnd awayDispleasde and fetcht a sygh. The nurce was fully bent in mynd To bowlt the matter out: for which not onely shee did byndHer fayth, in secret things to keepe: but also sayd, put meeIn truth to fynd a remedye. I am not (thou shalt see)Yit altogither dulld by age. If furiousenesse it bee,I have bothe charmes and chaunted herbes to help. If any wyght Bewitcheth thee, by witchcraft I will purge and set thee quyght.Or if it bee the wrath of God, we shall with sacrifyseAppease the wrath of God right well. What may I more surmyse?No theeves have broken in uppon this house and spoyld the welth.Thy mother and thy father bothe are living and in helth. When Myrrha heard her father naamd, a greevous sygh she fetEven from the bottom of her hart. Howbee't the nurce as yetMisdeemd not any wickednesse. But nerethelesse shee gestThere was some love: and standing in one purpose made requestTo breake her mynd unto her, and shee set her tenderly Uppon her lappe. The Ladye wept and sobbed bitterly.Then culling her in feeble armes, shee sayd: I well espyeThou art in love. My diligence in this behalf I sweareShall servisable to thee bee. Thou shalt not neede to feareThat ere thy father shall it knowe. At that same woord shee lept From nurces lappe like one that had beene past her witts, and steptWith fury to her bed. At which shee leaning downe hir faceSayd: Hence I pray thee: force mee not to shewe my shamefull cace.And when the nurce did urge her still, shee answered eyther: GetThee hence, or ceace to aske mee why myself I thus doo fret. The thing that thou desyrste to knowe is wickednesse. The oldPoore nurce gan quake, and trembling both for age and feare did holdHer handes to her. And kneeling downe right humbly at her feete,One whyle shee fayre intreated her with gentle woordes and sweete.Another whyle (onlesse shee made her privie of her sorrow) Shee threatned her, and put her in a feare shee would next morrowBewray her how shee went about to hang herself. But ifShee told her, shee did plyght her fayth and help to her releef.Shee lifted up her head, and then with teares fast gushing outBeesloobered all her nurces brest: and going oft about To speake, shee often stayd: and with her garments hid her faceFor shame, and lastly sayd: O happye is my moothers caceThat such a husband hath. With that a greevous sygh shee gave,And hilld her peace. Theis woordes of hers a trembling chilnesse draveIn nurcis limbes, which perst her bones: (for now shee understoodThe cace) and all her horye heare up stiffly staring stoodAnd many things she talkt to put away her cursed love,If that it had beene possible the madnesse to remove.The Mayd herself to be full trew the councell dooth espye:Yit if shee may not have her love shee fully myndes to dye. Live still (quoth nurce) thou shalt obteine (shee durst not say thy father,But stayd at that). And forbycause that Myrrha should the ratherBeleeve her, shee confirmd her woordes by othe. The yeerely feastOf gentle Ceres came, in which the wyves bothe moste and leastAppareld all in whyght are woont the firstlings of the feeld, Fyne garlonds made of eares of come, to Ceres for to yeeld.And for the space of thryce three nyghts they counted it a sinTo have the use of any man, or once to towche his skin.Among theis women did the Queene freequent the secret rites.Now whyle that of his lawfull wyfe his bed was voyd a nightes, The nurce was dooble diligent: and fynding CinyrasWell washt with wyne, shee did surmyse there was a pretye lasseIn love with him. And hyghly shee her beawty setteth out.And beeing asked of her yeeres, she sayd shee was aboutThe age of Myrrha. Well (quoth he) then bring her to my bed. Returning home she sayd: bee glad my nurcechilde: we have sped.Not all so wholly in her hart was wretched Myrrha glad,But that her fore misgiving mynd did also make her sad.Howbee't shee also did rejoyce as in a certaine kynd,Such discord of affections was within her combred mynd. It was the tyme that all things rest. And now Bootes bryght,The driver of the Oxen seven, about the northpole pyghtHad sumwhat turnd his wayne asyde, when wicked Myrrha spedAbout her buysnesse. Out of heaven the golden Phoebee fled.With clowds more black than any pitch the starres did hyde their hed. The nyght beecommeth utter voyd of all her woonted lyght.And first before all other hid their faces out of syghtGood Icar and Erigonee, his daughter, who for loveMost vertuous to her fatherward, was taken up aboveAnd made a starre in heaven. Three tymes had Myrrha warning given By stumbling, to retyre. Three tymes the deathfull Owle that eevenWith doolefull noyse prognosticates unhappie lucke. Yet cameShee forward still: the darknesse of the nyght abated shame.Her left hand held her nurce, her right the darke blynd way did grope.Anon shee to the chamber came: anon the doore was ope: Anon she entred in. With that her foltring hammes did quake:Her colour dyde: her blood and hart did cleerly her forsake.The neerer shee approched to her wickednesse, the moreShe trembled: of her enterpryse it irked her full sore:And fayne shee would shee might unknowen have turned back. Nurce led Her pawsing forward by the hand: and putting her to bed,Heere, take this Damzell, Cinyras, shee is thine owne, shee sed.And so shee layd them brest to brest. The wicked father takesHis bowelles into filthy bed, and there with wordes asslakesThe maydens feare, and cheeres her up. And lest this cryme of theyres Myght want the ryghtfull termes, by chaunce as in respect of yeeresHe daughter did hir call, and shee him father. Beeing spedWith cursed seede in wicked womb, shee left her fathers bed,Of which soone after shee became greate bagged with her shame.Next night the lewdnesse doubled. And no end was of the same, Untill at length that Cinyras desyrous for to knoweHis lover that so many nyghts uppon him did bestowe,Did fetch a light: by which he sawe his owne most heynous cryme,And eeke his daughter. Nathelesse, his sorrow at that timeReprest his speeche. Then hanging by he drew a Rapier bryght. Away ran Myrrha, and by meanes of darknesse of the nyghtShee was delivered from the death: and straying in the broadeDatebearing feeldes of Arabye, shee through Panchaya yode,And wandring full nyne moonethes at length shee rested beeing tyrdeIn Saba land. And when the tyme was neere at hand expyrde, And that uneath the burthen of her womb shee well could beare,Not knowing what she might desyre, distrest betweene the feareOf death, and tediousnesse of lyfe, this prayer shee did make:O Goddes, if of repentant folk you any mercye take,Sharpe vengeance I confesse I have deserved, and content I am to take it paciently. How bee it to th'ententThat neyther with my lyfe the quick, nor with my death the deadAnoyed bee, from both of them exempt mee this same sted,And altring mee, deny to mee both lyfe and death. We seeTo such as doo confesse theyr faults sum mercy shewd to bee. The Goddes did graunt her this request, the last that she should make.The ground did overgrow hir feete, and ancles as she spake.And from her bursten toes went rootes, which wrything heere and thereDid fasten so the trunk within the ground shee could not steare.Her bones did into timber turne, whereof the marie was The pith, and into watrish sappe the blood of her did passe.Her armes were turnd to greater boughes, her fingars into twig,Her skin was hardned into bark. And now her belly bigThe eatching tree had overgrowen, and overtane her brest,And hasted for to win her neck, and hyde it with the rest. Shee made no taryence nor delay, but met the comming tree,And shroonk her face within the barke therof. Although that sheeTogither with her former shape her senses all did loose,Yit weepeth shee, and from her tree warme droppes doo softly woose.The which her teares are had in pryce and honour. And the Myrrhe That issueth from her gummy bark dooth beare the name of her,And shall doo whyle the world dooth last. The misbegotten chyldGrew still within the tree, and from his mothers womb defyldSought meanes to bee delyvered. Her burthende womb did swellAmid the tree, and stretcht her out. But woordes wherwith to tell And utter foorth her greef did want. She had no use of speechWith which Lucina in her throwes shee might of help beseech.Yit like a woman labring was the tree, and bowwing downeGave often sighes, and shed foorth teares as though shee there should drowne.Lucina to this wofull tree came gently downe, and layd Her hand theron, and speaking woordes of ease the midwife playd.The tree did cranye, and the barke deviding made away,And yeelded out the chyld alyve, which cryde and wayld streyght way.The waternymphes uppon the soft sweete hearbes the chyld did lay,And bathde him with his mothers teares. His face was such as spyght Must needes have praysd. For such he was in all condicions right,As are the naked Cupids that in tables picturde bee.But to th'entent he may with them in every poynt agree,Let eyther him bee furnisshed with wings and quiver light,Or from the Cupids take theyr wings and bowes and arrowes quight.