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That in short space his wonted chearefull hew
Gan fade, and lively spirits deaded quight:
His cheeke bones raw, and eie-pits hollow grew,
And brawney armes had lost their knowen might,
That nothing like himselfe he seem'd in sight.
Ere long so weake of limbe, and sicke of love
He woxe, that lenger he note stand upright,
But to his bed was brought, and layd above,
Like ruefull ghost, unable once to stirre or move.
Which when his mother saw, she in her mind
Was troubled sore, ne wist well what to weene;
Ne could by search nor any meanes out find
The secret cause and nature of his teene,
Whereby she might apply some medicine;
But weeping day and night did him attend,
And mourn'd to see her losse before her eyne,
Which griev'd her more that she it could not mend:
To see an helplesse evill double griefe doth lend.


Nought could she read the roote of his disease, 22 Ne weene what mister maladie it is,

Whereby to seeke some meanes it to appease. Most did she thinke, but most she thought amis, That that same former fatall wound of his Whyleare by Tryphon was not throughly healed, But closely rankled under th' orifis:

Least did she thinke, that which he most concealed, That love it was, which in his hart lay unrevealed.

Therefore to Tryphon she againe doth hast,

And him doth chyde as false and fraudulent,
That fayld the trust which she in him had plast,
To cure her sonne, as he his faith had lent,
Who now was falne into new languishment
Of his old hurt, which was not throughly cured.
So backe he came unto her patient;


Where searching every part, her well assured That it was no old sore which his new paine procured;

But that it was some other maladie,


Or grief unknowne, which he could not discerne : So left he her withouten remedie.

Then gan

her heart to faint, and quake, and earne, And inly troubled was the truth to learne.

Unto himselfe she came, and him besought,
Now with faire speeches, now with threatnings sterne,
If ought lay hidden in his grieved thought,

It to reveale: who still her answered, there was nought.

Nathlesse she rested not so satisfide;


But leaving watry gods, as booting nought, Unto the shinie heaven in haste she hide, And thence Apollo, King of Leaches, brought. Apollo came; who, soone as he had sought Through his disease, did by and by out find That he did languish of some inward thought, The which afflicted his engrieved mind; Which love he red to be, that leads each living kind.

Which when he had unto his mother told,


She gan thereat to fret and greatly grieve; And, comming to her sonne, gan first to scold And chyde at him that made her misbelieve: But afterwards she gan him soft to shrieve, And wooe with fair intreatie, to disclose Which of the Nymphes his heart so sore did mieve; For sure she weend it was some one of those, Which he had lately seene, that for his love he chose


Now lesse she feared that same fatall read,
That warned him of womens love beware,
Which being ment of mortall creatures sead,
For love of Nymphes she thought she need not care,
But promist him, what ever wight she weare,
That she her love to him would shortly gaine.
So he her told; but soone as she did heare
That Florimell it was which wrought his paine,
She gan afresh to chafe, and grieve in every vaine.

Yet since she saw the streight extremitie,
In which his life unluckily was layd,
It was no time to scan the prophecie,
Whether old Proteus true or false had sayd,
That his decay should happen by a mayd:
It's late in death of daunger to advize,
Or love forbid him, that is life denayd;
But rather gan in troubled mind devize
How she that Ladies libertie might enterprize.

To Proteus selfe to sew she thought it vaine,
Who was the root and worker of her woe,
Nor unto any meaner to complaine;

But unto great king Neptune selfe did goe,
And on her knee before him falling lowe,
Made humble suit unto his Majestie

To graunt to her her sonnes life, which his foe,
A cruell Tyrant, had presumpteouslie



By wicked doome condemn'd a wretched death to die.

To whom God Neptune, softly smyling, thus:


"Daughter, me seemes of double wrong ye plaine,
Gainst one that hath both wronged you and us;
For death t'adward I ween'd did appertaine
To none but to the seas sole Soveraine.

Read therefore who it is which this hath wrought, And for what cause: the truth discover plaine, For never wight so evill did or thought, [nought." But would some rightfull cause pretend, though rightly

To whom she answer'd: "Then, it is by name
Proteus, that hath ordayn'd my sonne to die;
For that a waift, the which by fortune came
Upon your seas, he claym'd as propertie:
And yet nor his, nor his in equitie,
But yours the waift by high prerogative.
Therefore I humbly crave your Majestie
It to replevie, and my sonne reprive.
So shall you by one gift save all us three alive."


He graunted it; and streight his warrant made, 32 Under the Sea-god's seale autenticall, Commaunding Proteus straight t' enlarge the mayd, Which wandring on his seas imperiall

He lately tooke, and sithence kept as thrall. Which she receiving with meete thankefulnesse, Departed straight to Proteus therewithall; Who, reading it with inward loathfulnesse, Was grieved to restore the pledge he did possesse.

Yet durst he not the warrant to withstand,

But unto her delivered Florimell:

Whom she receiving by the lilly hand,

Admyr'd her beautie much, as she mote well,
For she all living creatures did excell;
And was right joyous that she gotten had
So faire a wife for her sonne Marinell.
So home with her she streight the virgin lad,
And shewed her to him, then being sore bestad.

Who soone as he beheld that angels face

Adorn'd with all divine perfection,



His cheared heart eftsoones away gan chace
Sad death, revived with her sweet inspection,
And feeble spirit inly felt refection:
As withered weed through cruell winters tine,
That feeles the warmth of sunny beames reflection,
Liftes up his head that did before decline,

And gins to spread his leafe before the faire sunshine.

Right so himselfe did Marinell upreare,

When he in place his dearest love did spy: And though his limbs could not his bodie beare, Ne former strength returne so suddenly, Yet chearefull signes he shewed outwardly. Ne lesse was she in secret hart affected, But that she masked it with modestie, For feare she should of lightnesse be detected: Which to another place I leave to be perfected.







O oft as I with state of present time
The image of the antique world compare,
When as mans age was in his freshest


And the first blossome of faire vertue bare; Such oddes I finde twixt those, and these which are, As that, through long continuance of his course, Me seemes the world is runne quite out of square From the first point of his appointed sourse; And being once amisse growes daily wourse and wourse:


For from the golden age, that first was named,
It's now at earst become a stonie one;
And men themselves, the which at first were framed
Of earthly mould, and form'd of flesh and bone,
Are now transformed into hardest stone;
Such as behind their backs (so backward bred)
Were throwne by Pyrrha and Deucalione:
And if then those may any worse be red,
They into that ere long will be degendered.

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