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Marin for love of Florimell
In lunguor wastes his life:
The Nymph, his mother, getteth her
And gives to him for wife.

! WHAT an endlesse worke have I in hand, To count the seas abundant progeny, [land, Whose fruitfull seede farre passeth those in And also those which wonne in th' azure sky: For much more eath to tell the starres on hy, Albe they endlesse seeme in estimation, Then to recount the Seas posterity:

So fertile be the flouds in generation,

So huge their numbers, and so numberlesse their nation.

Therefore the antique wisards well invented
That Venus of the fomy sea was bred,

For that the seas by her are most augmented:
Witnesse th' exceeding fry which there are fed,
And wondrous sholes which may of none be red.
Then, blame me not if I have err'd in count
Of Gods, of Nymphs, of rivers, yet unred;
For though their numbers do much more surmount,
Yet all those same were there which erst I did recount.

All those were there, and many other more,

Whose names and nations were too long to tell,
That Proteus house they fild even to the dore;
Yet were they all in order, as befell,
According their degrees disposed well.
Amongst the rest was faire Cymodoce,
The mother of unlucky Marinell,

Who thither with her came, to learne and see The manner of the Gods when they at banquet be.


But for he was halfe mortall, being bred

Of mortall sire, though of immortall wombe,
He might not with immortall food be fed,
Ne with th' eternall Gods to bancket come;
But walkt abrode, and round about did rome
To view the building of that uncouth place,
That seem'd unlike unto his earthly home:
Where, as he to and fro by chaunce did trace,
There unto him betid a disaventrous case.

Under the hanging of an hideous clieffe
He heard the lamentable voice of one,
That piteously complaind her carefull grieffe,
Which never she before disclosd to none,
But to her selfe her sorrow did bemone:
So feelingly her case she did complaine,
That ruth it moved in the rocky stone,

And made it seeme to feele her grievous paine,


And oft to grone with billowes beating from the maine.


Though vaine, I see, my sorrowes to unfold,

And count my cares when none is nigh to heare,
Yet hoping griefe may lessen being told,

I will them tell though unto no man neare:
For heaven, that unto all lends equall eare,
Is farre from hearing of my heavy plight;
And lowest hell, to which I lie most neare,
Cares not what evils hap to wretched wight;
And greedy seas doe in the spoile of life delight.

"Yet loe! the seas, I see, by often beating


Doe pearce the rockes, and hardest marble weares;
But his hard rocky hart for no entreating
Will yeeld, but when my piteous plaints he heares,
Is hardned more with my aboundant teares:

Yet though he never list to me relent,

But let me waste in woe my wretched yeares,
Yet will I never of my love repent,

But joy that for his sake I suffer prisonment.

"And when my weary ghost, with griefe outworne, 8
By timely death shall winne her wished rest,
Let then this plaint unto his eares be borne,
That blame it is to him, that armes profest,
To let her die whom he might have redrest."
There did she pause, inforced to give place
Unto the passion that her heart opprest;
And, after she had wept and wail'd a space,
gan afresh thus to renew her wretched case.
"Ye Gods of seas, if any Gods at all

Have care of right, or ruth of wretches wrong,
By one or other way me, woefull thrall,
Deliver hence out of this dungeon strong,
In which I daily dying am too long:
And if ye deeme me death for loving one
That loves not me, then doe it not prolong,
But let me die and end my daies attone,
And let him live unlov'd, or love him selfe alone.

"But if that life ye unto me decree,

Then let mee live as lovers ought to do,
And of my lifes deare love beloved be:


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And if he should through pride your doome undo,
Do you by duresse him compell thereto,
And in this prison put him here with me;
One prison fittest is to hold us two.

So had I rather to be thrall then free:

Such thraldome or such freedome let it surely be.
"But O! vaine judgment, and conditions vaine, II
The which the prisoner points unto the free!
The whiles I him condemne, and deeme his paine,
He where he list goes loose, and laughes at me.
So ever loose, so ever happy be!

But whereso loose or happy that thou art,
Know, Marinell, that all this is for thee."

With that she wept and wail'd, as if her hart

Would quite have burst through great abundance of her smart.


All which complaint when Marinell had heard,
And understood the cause of all her care
To come of him for using her so hard,
His stubborne heart, that never felt misfare,
Was toucht with soft remorse and pitty rare;
That even for griefe of minde he oft did grone,
And inly wish that in his powre it weare
Her to redresse: but since he meanes found none,
He could no more but her great misery bemone.


Thus whilst his stony heart with tender ruth
Was toucht, and mighty courage mollifide,
Dame Venus sonne, that tameth stubborne youth
With iron bit, and maketh him abide
Till like a victor on his backe he ride,
Into his mouth his maystring bridle threw,
That made him stoupe, till he did him bestride:
Then gan he make him tread his steps anew,
And learne to love by learning lovers paines to rew.

Now gan he in his grieved minde devise,


How from that dungeon he might her enlarge. Some while he thought, by faire and humble wise To Proteus selfe to sue for her discharge; But then he fear'd his mothers former charge Gainst womens love, long given him in vaine : Then gan he thinke, perforce with sword and targe Her forth to fetch, and Proteus to constraine; But soone he gan such folly to forthinke againe. Then did he cast to steale her thence away,


And with him beare where none of her might know. But all in vaine; for why he found no way

To enter in, or issue forth below;

For all about that rocke the sea did flow:
And though unto his will she given were,
Yet without ship or bote her thence to row,
He wist not how her thence away to bere;
And daunger well he wist long to continue there.

At last, when as no meanes he could invent,

Backe to him selfe he gan returne the blame,
That was the author of her punishment;
And with vile curses and reprochfull shame
To damne him selfe by every evil name,
And deeme unworthy or of love or life,


That had despisde so chast and faire a dame, Which him had sought through trouble and long


Yet had refusde a God that her had sought to wife.

In this sad plight he walked here and there,
And romed round about the rocke in vaine,
As he had lost him selfe he wist not where ;
Oft listening if he mote her heare againe,
And still bemoning her unworthy paine.
Like as an Hynde, whose calfe is falne unwares
Into some pit, where she him heares complaine,
An hundred times about the pit side fares,
Right sorrowfully mourning her bereaved cares.
And now by this the feast was throughly ended,
And every one gan homeward to resort:
Which seeing, Marinell was sore offended
That his departure thence should be so short,
And leave his love in that sea-walled fort:
Yet durst he not his mother disobay;
But her attending in full seemly sort,
Did march amongst the many all the way,
And all the way did inly mourne, like one astray.
Being returned to his mothers bowre,

In solitary silence, far from wight,


gan record the lamentable stowre,

In which his wretched love lay day and night For his deare sake, that ill deserv'd that plight: The thought whereof empierst his hart so deepe, That of no worldly thing he tooke delight;




Ne dayly food did take, ne nightly sleepe, [weepe. But pyn'd, and mourn'd, and languisht, and alone did

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