He hath them left, and for to moppe and mowe, but not to speake.Aenaeas having past this Ile, and on his ryght hand left The towne of Naples, and the tumb of Mysen on his left,Toogither with the fenny grounds: at Cumye landed, andWent unto longlyvde Sybills house, with whom he went in handThat he to see his fathers ghoste myght go by Averne deepe.Shee long uppon the earth in stownd her eyes did fixed keepe, And at the length as soone as that the spryght of prophesyeWas entred her, shee raysing them did thus ageine reply:O most renowmed wyght, of whom the godlynesse by fyreAnd valeantnesse is tryde by swoord, great things thou doost requyre.But feare not, Trojane: for thou shalt bee lord of thy desyre. To see the reverend image of thy deerebeeloved syre,Among the fayre Elysian feeldes where godly folke abyde,And all the lowest kingdoomes of the world I will thee guyde.No way to vertue is restreynd. This spoken, shee did showeA golden bowgh that in the wood of Proserpine did growe, And willed him to pull it from the tree. He did obey:And sawe the powre of dreadfull hell, and where his graundsyres layAnd eeke the aged Ghost of stowt Anchises. FurthermoreHe lernd the customes of the land arryvd at late before,And what adventures should by warre betyde him in that place. From thence retyring up ageine a slow and weery pace,He did asswage the tediousnesse by talking with his guyde.For as he in the twylyght dim this dreadfui way did ryde,He sayed: Whither present thou thyself a Goddesse bee,Or such a one as God dooth love most dearly, I will thee For ever as a Goddesse take, and will acknowledge meeThy servant, for saufguyding mee the place of death to see,And for thou from the place of death hast brought me sauf and free.For which desert, what tyme I shall atteyne to open ayre,I will a temple to thee buyld ryght sumptuous, large, and fayre, And honour thee with frankincence. The prophetisse did castHer eye uppon Aenaeas backe, and syghing sayd at last:I am no Goddesse. Neyther think thou canst with conscience ryght,With holy incence honour give to any mortall wyght.But to th'entent through ignorance thou erre not, I had beene Eternall and of worldly lyfe I should none end have seene,If that I would my maydenhod on Phebus have bestowde.Howbeeit whyle he stood in hope to have the same, and trowdeTo overcome mee with his gifts: Thou mayd of Cumes (quoth he)Choose what thou wilt, and of thy wish the owner thou shalt bee.I taking full my hand of dust, and shewing it him there,Desyred like a foole to live as many yeeres as wereSmall graynes of cinder in that heape. I quight forgot to craveImmediately, the race of all those yeeres in youth to have.Yit did he graunt mee also that, uppon condicion I Would let him have my maydenhod, which thing I did denye.And so rejecting Phebus gift a single lyfe I led.But now the blessefull tyme of youth is altogither fled,And irksome age with trembling pace is stolne uppon my head,Which long I must endure. For now already as you see Seven hundred yeares are come and gone and that the number beeFull matched of the granes of dust, three hundred harvestes mo,I must three hundred vintages see more before I go.The day will come that length of tyme shall make my body small,And little of my withered limbes shall leave or naught at all.And none shall think that ever God was tane in love with mee.Even out of Phebus knowledge then perchaunce I growen shall bee,Or at the least that ever he mee lovde he shall denye,So sore I shall be altered. And then shall no mannes eyeDiscerne mee. Only by my voyce I shall bee knowen. For why The fates shall leave mee still my voyce for folke to know mee by.

As Sybill in the vaulted way such talk as this did frame,The Trojane knyght Aenaeas up at Cumes fro Limbo came.And having doone the sacrifyse accustomd for the same,He tooke his journey to the coast which had not yit the nameReceyved of his nurce. In this same place he found a mateOf wyse Ulysses, Macare of Neritus, whoo lateBefore, had after all his long and tediouse toyles, there stayd.He spying Achemenides (whom late ago afraydThey had among mount Aetnas Cliffs abandond when they fled From Polypheme): and woondring for to see he was not dead,Sayd thus: O Achemenides, what chaunce, or rather whatGood God hathe savde the lyfe of thee? What is the reason thatA barbrous shippe beares thee a Greeke? Or whither saylest thou?To him thus, Achemenides, his owne man freely now And not forgrowen as one forlorne, nor clad in bristled hyde,Made answer: Yit ageine I would I should in perrill bydeOf Polypheme, and that I myght those chappes of his beholdBeesmeared with the blood of men, but if that I doo holdThis shippe more deere than all the Realme of wyse Ulysses, orIf lesser of Aenaeas I doo make account than forMy father, neyther (though I did as much as doone myght bee,)I could ynough bee thankfull for his goodnesse towards mee.That I still speake and breathe, that I the Sun and heaven doo see,Is his gift. Can I thanklesse then or myndlesse of him bee, That downe the round eyed gyants throte this soule of myne went not?And that from hencefoorth when to dye it ever be my lotI may be layd in grave, or sure not in the Gyants mawe?What hart had I that tyme (at least if feare did not withdraweBoth hart and sence) when left behynd, you taking shippe I sawe? I would have called after you but that I was afraydBy making outcrye to my fo myself to have beewrayd.For even the noyse that you did make did put Ulysses shippeIn daunger. I did see him from a cragged mountaine strippeA myghty rocke, and into sea it throwe midway and more. Ageine I sawe his giants pawe throwe huge big stones great storeAs if it were a sling. And sore I feared lest your shippeShould drowned by the water bee that from the stones did skippe,Or by the stones themselves, as if my self had beene therin.But when that flyght had saved you from death, he did begin On Aetna syghing up and downe to walke: and with his pawesWent groping of the trees among the woodes. And forbycauseHe could not see, he knockt his shinnes ageinst the rocks eche where.And stretching out his grisly armes (which all beegrymed wereWith baken blood) to seaward, he the Greekish nation band, And sayd: O if that sum good chaunce myght bring unto my handUlysses or sum mate of his, on whom to wreake myne ire,Uppon whose bowells with my teeth I like a Hawke myght tyre:Whose living members myght with theis my talants teared beene:Whoose blood myght bubble down my throte: whose flesh myght pant between My jawes: how lyght or none at all this losing of myne eyeWould seeme. Theis woordes and many mo the cruell feend did cry.A shuddring horror perced mee to see his smudged face,And cruell handes, and in his frunt the fowle round eyelesse place,And monstrous members, and his beard beslowbered with the blood Of man. Before myne eyes then death the smallest sorrow stood.I loked every minute to bee seased in his pawe.I looked ever when he should have cramd mee in his mawe.And in my mynd I of that tyme mee thought the image saweWhen having dingd a doozen of our fellowes to the ground And lying lyke a Lyon feerce or hunger sterved howndUppon them, very eagerly he downe his greedy gutTheyr bowwels and theyr limbes yit more than half alive did put,And with theyr flesh toogither crasht the bones and maree whyght.I trembling like an aspen leaf stood sad and bloodlesse quyght. And in beholding how he fed and belked up againeHis bloody vittells at his mouth, and uttred out amayneThe clottred gobbets mixt with wyne, I thus surmysde: Like lotHangs over my head now, and I must also go to pot.And hyding mee for many dayes, and quaking horribly At every noyse, and dreading death, and wisshing for to dye,Appeasing hunger with the leaves of trees, and herbes and mast,Alone, and poore, and footelesse, and to death and pennance cast,A long tyme after I espyde this shippe afarre at last,And ronning downeward to the sea by signes did succour seeke. Where fynding grace, this Trojane shippe receyved mee, a Greeke.But now I prey thee, gentle freend, declare thou unto meeThy Capteines and thy fellowes lucke that tooke the sea with thee.

He told him how that Aeolus, the sonne of Hippot, heThat keepes the wyndes in pryson cloce did reigne in Tuskane sea. And how Ulysses having at his hand a noble gift,The wynd enclosde in leather bagges, did sayle with prosperous driftNyne dayes toogither: insomuch they came within the syghtOf home: but on the tenth day when the morning gan give lyght,His fellowes being somewhat toucht with covetousenesse and spyght, Supposing that it had beene gold, did let the wyndes out quyght.The which returning whence they came, did drive them backe amayneThat in the Realme of Aeolus they went aland agayne.From thence (quoth he) we came unto the auncient Lamyes towneOf which the feerce Antiphates that season ware the crowne. A cowple of my mates and I were sent unto him: andA mate of myne and I could scarce by flyght escape his hand.The third of us did with his blood embrew the wicked faceOf leawd Antiphate, whoo with swoord us flying thence did chace,And following after with a rowt threw stones and loggs which drownd Both men and shippes. Howbeeit one by chaunce escaped sound,Which bare Ulysses and my self. So having lost most partOf all our deare companions, we with sad and sory hartAnd much complayning, did arryve at yoonder coast which yowMay ken farre hence. A great way hence (I say) wee see it now But trust mee truly over neere I saw it once. And thowAenaeas, Goddesse Venus sonne, the justest knight of allThe Trojane race (for sith the warre is doone, I can not callThee fo) I warne thee get thee farre from Circes dwelling place.For when our shippes arryved there, remembring eft the cace Of cruell king Antiphates, and of that hellish wyghtThe round eyed gyant Polypheme, wee had so small delyghtTo visit uncowth places, that wee sayd wee would not go.Then cast we lotts. The lot fell out uppon myself as tho,And Polyte, and Eurylocus, and on Elpenor who Delyghted too too much in wyne, and eyghteene other mo.All wee did go to Circes houses. As soone as wee came thither,And in the portall of the Hall had set our feete toogither,A thousand Lyons, wolves and beares did put us in a feareBy meeting us. But none of them was to bee feared there. For none of them could doo us harme: but with a gentle lookeAnd following us with fawning feete theyr wanton tayles they shooke.Anon did Damzells welcome us and led us through the hall(The which was made of marble stone, floore, arches, roof, and wall)To Circe. Shee sate underneathe a traverse in a chayre Aloft ryght rich and stately, in a chamber large and fayre.Shee ware a goodly longtreynd gowne: and all her rest attyreWas every whit of goldsmithes woork. There sate mee also by herThe Sea nymphes and her Ladyes whoose fyne fingers never knewWhat toozing wooll did meene, nor threede from whorled spindle drew. They sorted herbes, and picking out the flowers that were mixt,Did put them into mawnds, and with indifferent space betwixtDid lay the leaves and stalks on heapes according to theyr hew,And shee herself the woork of them did oversee and vew.The vertue and the use of them ryght perfectly shee knew, And in what leaf it lay, and which in mixture would agree.And so perusing every herb by good advysement, sheeDid wey them out. Assoone as shee us entring in did see,And greeting had bothe given and tane, shee looked cheerefully,And graunting all that we desyrde, commaunded by and by A certeine potion to bee made of barly parched dryeAnd wyne and hony mixt with cheese. And with the same shee slyeHad meynt the jewce of certeine herbes which unespyde did lyeBy reason of the sweetenesse of the drink. Wee tooke the cupDelivered by her wicked hand, and quaft it cleerely up With thirstye throtes. Which doone, and that the cursed witch had smitOur highest heare tippes with her wand, (it is a shame, but yitI will declare the truth) I wext all rough with bristled heare,And could not make complaint with woordes. In stead of speech I thereDid make a rawghtish grunting, and with groveling face gan beare My visage downeward to the ground. I felt a hooked groyneTo wexen hard uppon my mouth, and brawned neck to joyneMy head and shoulders. And the handes with which I late agoHad taken up the charmed cup, were turnd to feete as tho.Such force there is in Sorcerie. In fyne wyth other mo That tasted of the selfsame sawce, they shet mee in a Stye.From this missehappe Eurilochus alonly scapte. For whyHe only would not taste the cup, which had he not fled fro,He should have beene a bristled beast as well as we. And soShould none have borne Ulysses woorde of our mischaunce, nor hee Have come to Circe to revenge our harmes and set us free.The peaceprocurer Mercurie had given to him a whyghtFayre flowre whoose roote is black, and of the Goddes it Moly hyghtAssurde by this and heavenly hestes, he entred Circes bowre.And beeing bidden for to drink the cup of baleful powre, As Circe was about to stroke her wand uppon his heare,He thrust her backe, and put her with his naked swoord in feare.Then fell they to agreement streyght, and fayth in hand was plyght.And beeing made her bedfellowe, he claymed as in ryghtOf dowrye, for to have his men ageine in perfect plyght. Shee sprincled us with better jewce of uncowth herbes, and strakeThe awk end of her charmed rod uppon our heades, and spakeWoordes to the former contrarie. The more shee charmd, the moreArose wee upward from the ground on which wee daarde before.Our bristles fell away, the clift our cloven clees forsooke. Our shoulders did returne agein: and next our elbowes tookeOur armes and handes theyr former place. Then weeping wee enbraceOur Lord, and hing about his necke whoo also wept apace.And not a woord wee rather spake than such as myght appeereFrom harts most thankfull to proceede. Wee taryed theyr a yeere. I in that whyle sawe many things, and many things did heere.I marked also this one thing with store of other geereWhich one of Circes fowre cheef maydes (whoose office was alwayUppon such hallowes to attend) did secretly bewrayTo mee. For in the whyle my Lord with Circe kept alone, This mayd a yoongmannes image sheawd of fayre whyght marble stoneWithin a Chauncell. On the head therof were garlonds storeAnd eeke a woodspecke. And as I demaunded her wherforeAnd whoo it was they honord so in holy Church, and whyHe bare that bird uppon his head: shee answeering by and by Sayd: Lerne hereby, sir Macare, to understand the powreMy lady hathe, and marke thou well what I shall say this howre.

There reignd erewhyle in Italy one Picus, Saturnes sonne,Whoo loved warlike horse and had delyght to see them ronne.He was of feature as yee see. And by this image heere The verry beawtye of the man dooth lyvelely appeere.His courage matcht his personage. And scarcely had he wellSeene twentye yeeres. His countnance did allure the nymphes that dwellAmong the Latian hilles. The nymphes of fountaines and of brookes,As those that haunted Albula were ravisht with his lookes And so were they that Numicke beares, and Anio too, and AlmeThat ronneth short, and heady Nar, and Farfar coole and calme.And all the nymphes that usde to haunt Dianas shadye poole,Or any lakes or meeres neere hand, or other waters coole.But he disdeyning all the rest did set his love uppon A lady whom Venilia bare (so fame reporteth) onThe stately mountayne Palatine by Janus that dooth beareThe dowble face. Assoone as that her yeeres for maryage wereThought able, shee preferring him before all other men,Was wedded to this Picus whoo was king of Lawrents then. Shee was in beawtve excellent, but yit in singing, muchMore excellent: and theruppon they naamd her Singer. SuchThe sweetenesse of her musicke was, that shee therwith delyghtsThe savage beastes, and caused birdes to cease theyr wandring flyghts,And moved stones and trees, and made the ronning streames to stay. Now whyle that shee in womans tune recordes her pleasant layAt home, her husband rode abrode uppon a lustye horseTo hunt the Boare, and bare in hand twoo hunting staves of force.His cloke was crymzen butned with a golden button fast.Into the selfsame forest eeke was Phebus daughter past From those same feeldes that of herself the name of Circe beare,To gather uncowth herbes among the fruteful hillocks there.As soone as lurking in the shrubbes shee did the king espye,Shee was astrawght. Downe fell her herbes to ground. And by and byThrough all her bones the flame of love the maree gan to frye. And when shee from this forced heate had cald her witts agen,Shee purposde to bewray her mynd. But unto him as thenShee could not come for swiftnesse of his horse and for his menThat garded him on every syde. Yit shalt thou not (quoth shee)So shift thee fro my handes although the wynd should carrye thee, If I doo knowe myself, if all the strength of herbes fayle not,Or if I have not quyght and cleene my charmes and spelles forgotte.In saying theis same wordes, shee made the likenesse of a BoareWithout a body, causing it to swiftly passe beforeKing Picus eyes, and for to seeme to get him to the woode, Where for the thickenesse of the trees a horse myght do no good.Immediatly the king unwares a hote pursute did makeUppon the shadowe of his pray, and quikly did forsakeHis foming horses sweating backe: and following vayne wan hope,Did runne afoote among the woodes, and through the bushes crope. Then Circe fell a mumbling spelles, and praying like a witchDid honour straunge and uncowth Goddes with uncowth charmes, by whichShee usde to make the moone looke dark, and wrappe her fathers headIn watry clowdes. And then likewyse the heaven was overspredWith darknesse, and a foggye mist steamd upward from the ground. And nere a man about the king to gard him could bee found,But every man in blynd bywayes ran scattring in the chace,Through her inchauntments. At the length shee getting tyme and place,Sayd: By those lyghtsum eyes of thyne which late have ravisht myne,And by that goodly personage and lovely face of thyne, The which compelleth mee that am a Goddesse to enclyneTo make this humble sute to thee that art a mortall wyght,Asswage my flame, and make this sonne (whoo by his heavenly syghtForesees all things) thy fathrinlawe: and hardly hold not scorneOf Circe whoo by long discent of Titans stocke am borne. Thus much sayd Circe. He ryght feerce rejecting her request,And her, sayd: Whooso ere thou art, go set thy hart at rest.I am not thyne, nor will not bee. Another holdes my hart:And long God graunt shee may it hold, that I may never startTo leawdnesse of a forreigne lust from bond of lawfull bed, As long as Janus daughter, my sweete Singer, is not dead.Dame Circe having oft renewd her sute in vayne beefore,Sayd: Dearely shalt thou bye thy scorne. For never shalt thou moreReturne to Singer. Thou shalt lerne by proof what one can dooThat is provoked, and in love, yea and a woman too.But Circe is bothe stird to wrath, and also tane in love,Yea and a woman. Twyce her face to westward she did move,And twyce to Eastward. Thryce shee layd her rod uppon his head.And therwithall three charmes shee cast. Away king Picus fled.And woondring that he fled more swift than earst he had beene woont, He saw the fethers on his skin, and at the sodein bruntBecame a bird that haunts the wooddes. Wherat he taking spyght,With angrye bill did job uppon hard Okes with all his myght,And in his moode made hollowe holes uppon theyr boughes. The hewOf Crimzen which was in his cloke, uppon his fethers grew. The gold that was a clasp and did his cloke toogither hold,Is fethers, and about his necke goes circlewyse like gold.His servants luring in that whyle oft over all the groundIn vayne, and fynding no where of theyr kyng no inkling, foundDame Circe. (For by that tyme shee had made the ayer sheere, And suffred both the sonne and wyndes the mistye steames to cleere)And charging her with matter trew, demaunded for theyr kyng,And offring force, began theyr darts and Javelings for to fling.Shee sprincling noysom venim streyght and jewce of poysoning myght,Did call togither Eribus and Chaos, and the nyght, And all the feendes of darknesse, and with howling out alongMade prayers unto Hecate. Scarce ended was her song,But that (a woondrous thing to tell) the woodes lept from theyr place.The ground did grone: the trees neere hand lookt pale in all the chace:The grasse besprent with droppes of blood lookt red: the stones did seem To roare and bellow horce: and doggs to howle and raze extreeme:And all the ground to crawle with snakes blacke scaalde: and gastly spryghtsFly whisking up and downe. The folke were flayghted at theis syghts.And as they woondring stood amaazd, shee strokte her witching wandUppon theyr faces. At the touche wherof, there out of hand Came woondrous shapes of savage beastes uppon them all. Not oneReteyned still his native shape. The setting sonne was goneBeyond the utmost coast of Spaine, and Singer longd in vayneTo see her husband. Bothe her folke and people ran agayneThrough all the woodes. And ever as they went, they sent theyr eyes Before them for to fynd him out, but no man him espyes.Then Singer thought it not ynough to weepe and teare her heare,And beat herself (all which shee did). Shee gate abrode, and thereRaundgd over all the broade wyld feelds like one besyds her witts.Six nyghts and full as many dayes (as fortune led by fitts) She strayd mee over hilles and dales, and never tasted rest,Nor meate, nor drink of all the whyle. The seventh day, sore opprestAnd tyred bothe with travell and with sorrowe, downe shee sateUppon cold Tybers bank, and there with teares in moorning rateShee warbling on her greef in tune not shirle nor over hye, Did make her moane, as dooth the swan: whoo ready for to dyeDooth sing his buriall song before. Her maree molt at lastWith moorning, and shee pynde away: and finally shee pastTo lither ayre. But yit her fame remayned in the place.For why the auncient husbandmen according to the cace, Did name it Singer of the nymph that dyed in the same.Of such as these are, many things that yeere by fortune cameBothe to my heering and my sight. Wee wexing resty thenAnd sluggs by discontinuance, were commaunded yit agenTo go aboord and hoyse up sayles. And Circe told us all That long and dowtfull passage and rowgh seas should us befall.I promis thee those woordes of hers mee throughly made afrayd:And therfore hither I mee gate, and heere I have mee stayd.

This was the end of Macars tale. And ere long tyme was gone,Aenaeas Nurce was buryed in a tumb of marble stone, And this short verse was set theron: In this same verry placeMy Nurcechyld whom the world dooth know to bee a chyld of graceDelivering mee, Caieta, quicke from burning by the Grayes,Hathe burnt mee dead with such a fyre as justly winnes him prayse.Theyr Cables from the grassye strond were loosde, and by and by From Circes slaunderous house and from her treasons farre they fly.And making to the thickgrowen groves where through the yellow dustThe shady Tyber into sea his gusshing streame dooth thrust,Aenaeas got the Realme of king Latinus, Fawnus sonne,And eeke his daughter, whom in feyght by force of armes he wonne. He enterprysed warre ageinst a Nation feerce and strong.And Turne was wrothe for holding of his wyfe away by wrong.Ageinst the Shyre of Latium met all Tyrrhene, and longWith busye care hawlt victorie by force of armes was sought.Eche partie to augment theyr force by forreine succour wrought. And many sent the Rutills help, and many came to aydThe Trojanes: neyther was the good Aenaeas ill apaydOf going to Evanders towne. But Venulus in vayneTo outcast Diomeds citie went his succour to obteine.This Diomed under Dawnus, king of Calabrye, did found A myghtye towne, and with his wyfe in dowrye hild the ground.Now when from Turnus, Venulus his message had declaard,Desyring help: th'Aetolian knyght sayd none could well bee spaard.And in excuce, he told him how he neyther durst be boldTo prest his fathers folk to warre of whom he had no hold, Nor any of his countrymen had left as then alyveTo arme. And lest yee think (quoth hee) I doo a shift contryve,Although by uppening of the thing my bitter greef revyveI will abyde to make a new rehersall. After thatThe Greekes had burned Troy and on the ground had layd it flat, And that the Prince of Narix by his ravishing the maydIn Pallas temple, on us all the pennance had displaydWhich he himself deservd alone: then scattred heere and thereAnd harryed over all the seas, wee Greekes were fayne to beareNyght, thunder, tempest, wrath of heaven and sea, and last of all Sore shipwrecke at mount Capharey to mend our harmes withall.And lest that mee to make too long a processe yee myght deemeIn setting forth our heavy happes, the Greekes myght that tyme seemeRyght rewfull even to Priamus. Howbee't Minerva, sheeThat weareth armour, tooke mee from the waves and saved mee. But from my fathers Realme ageine by violence I was driven.For Venus bearing still in mynd the wound I had her givenLong tyme before, did woork revendge. By meanes wherof such toyleDid tosse mee on the sea, and on the land I found such broyleBy warres, that in my hart I thought them blist of God whom erst The violence of the raging sea and hideous wynds had perst,And whom the wrathfull Capharey by shipwrecke did confound:Oft wisshing also I had there among the rest beene drownd.My company now having felt the woorst that sea or warreCould woorke, did faynt, and wisht an end of straying out so farre. But Agmon hot of nature and too feerce through slaughters madeSayd: What remayneth, sirs, through which our pacience cannot wade?What further spyght hath Venus yit to woork ageinst us more?When woorse misfortunes may be feard than have beene felt before,Then prayer may advauntadge men, and vowwing may then boote. But when the woorst is past of things, then feare is under foote.And when that bale is hyghest growne, then boote must next ensew.Although shee heere mee, and doo hate us all (which thing is trew)That serve heere under Diomed: Yit set wee lyght her hate.And deerely it should stand us on to purchase hygh estate. With such stowt woordes did Agmon stirre dame Venus unto ireAnd raysd ageine her settled grudge. Not many had desyreTo heere him talk thus out of square. The moste of us that areHis freendes rebukte him for his woordes. And as he did prepareTo answere, bothe his voyce and throte by which his voyce should go, Were small: his heare to feathers turnd: his necke was clad as thoWith feathers: so was brist and backe. The greater fethers stackeUppon his armes: and into wings his elbowes bowwed backe.The greatest portion of his feete was turned into toes.A hardened bill of horne did growe uppon his mouth and noze, And sharpened at the neather end. His fellowes, Lycus, Ide,Rethenor, Nyct, and Abas all stood woondring by his syde.And as they woondred, they receyvd the selfsame shape and hew.And finally the greater part of all my band up flew,And clapping with theyr newmade wings, about the ores did gird. And if yee doo demaund the shape of this same dowtfull bird,Even as they bee not verry Swannnes: so drawe they verry neereThe shape of Cygnets whyght. With much adoo I settled heere,And with a little remnant of my people doo obteyneThe dry grownds of my fathrinlaw, king Dawnus, whoo did reigne In Calabry. Thus much the sonne of Oenye sayd. AnonSir Venulus returning from the king of Calydon,Forsooke the coast of Puteoll and the feeldes of Messapie,In which hee saw a darksome denne forgrowne with busshes hye,And watred with a little spring. The halfegoate Pan that howre Possessed it: but heertofore it was the fayryes bowre.A shepeherd of Appulia from that countrye scaard them furst.But afterward recovering hart and hardynesse they durstDespyse him when he chaced them, and with theyr nimble feeteContinewed on theyr dawncing still in tyme and measure meete. The shepeherd fownd mee fault with them: and with his lowtlike leapesDid counterfette theyr minyon dawnce, and rapped out by heapesA rabble of unsavery taunts even like a country cloyne,To which, most leawd and filthy termes of purpose he did joyne.And after he had once begon, he could not hold his toong, Untill that in the timber of a tree his throte was cloong.For now he is a tree, and by his jewce discerne yee mayHis manners. For the Olyf wyld dooth sensibly bewrayBy berryes full of bitternesse his rayling toong. For ayThe harshnesse of his bitter woordes the berryes beare away.