It vertue had to shew in perfect sight
Whatever thing was in the world contaynd,
Betwixt the lowest Earth and Hevens hight,
So that it to the looker appertaynd:
Whatever foe had wrought, or frend had faynd,
Therein discovered was, ne ought mote pas,
Ne ought in secret from the same remaynd;
Forthy it round and hollow shaped was,

Like to the world itselfe, and seemd a world of glas.

Who wonders not, that reades so wonderous worke?
But who does wonder, that has red the towre
Wherein th' Aegyptian Phao long did lurke
From all mens vew, that none might her discoure,
Yet she might ali men vew out of her bowre?
Great Ptolomæe it for his lemans sake
Ybuilded all of glasse, by magicke powre,
And also it impregnable did make;

Yet, when his love was false, he with a peazc it brake.

Such was the glassy globe that Merlin made,
And gave unto king Ryence for his gard,
That never foes his kingdome might invade,
But he it knew at home before he hard
Tydings thereof, and so them still debar'd:
It was a famous present for a prince,
And worthy worke of infinite reward,
That treasons could bewray, and foes convince:
Happy this realme, had it remayned ever since!

One day it fortuned fayre Britomart
Into her fathers closet to repayre;
For nothing he from her reserv'd apart,
Being his onely daughter and his hayre;
Where when she had espyde that mirrour fayre,
Herselfe awhile therein she vewd in vaine:
Tho, her avizing of the vertues rare
Which thereof spoken were, she gan againe
Her to bethinke of that mote to herselfe pertaine.

The damzell well did vew his personage,

And liked well; ne further fastned not,
But went her way; ne her unguilty age
Did weene, unwares, that her unlucky lot
Lay hidden in the bottome of the pot :
Of hurt unwist most daunger doth redound:
But the false archer, which that arrow shot
So slyly that she did not feele the wound, [stound.
Did smyle full smoothly at her weetlesse wofull

Thenceforth the fether in her lofty crest,
Rufied of Love, gan lowly to availe;

And her prowd portaunce and her princely gest,
With which she earst tryúmphed, now did quaile :
Sad, solemne, sowre, and full of fancies fraile,
She woxe; yet wist she nether how, nor why;
She wist not, silly mayd, what she did aile,
Yet wist she was not well at ease perdy;"
Yet thought it was not love, but some melancholy.

So soone as Night had with her pallid hew
Defaste the beautie of the shyning skye,
And refte from men the worldes desired vew,
She with her nourse adowne to sleepe did lye;
But sleepe full far away from her did fly :
Instead thereof sad sigbes and sorrowes deepe
Kept watch and ward about her warily;
That nought she did but wayle, and often steepe
Her dainty couch with teares which closely she did
weepe.

And if that any drop of slombring rest
Did chaunce to still into her weary spright,
When feeble nature felt herselfe opprest,
Streightway with dreames, and with fantasticke sight
Of dreadfull things, the same was put to flight;
That oft out of her bed she did astart,
As one with vew of ghastly feends affright:
Tho gan she to renew her former smart,
And thinke of that fayre visage written in her hart.

One night, when she was tost with such unrest,
Her aged nourse, whose name was Glaucè hight,
Feeling her leape out of her loathed nest,
Betwixt her feeble armes her quickly keight,
And downe againe in her warme bed her dight:
"Ah! my deare daughter, ah! my dearest dread,
What uncouth fit," sayd she, "what evill plight
Hath thee opprest, and with sad drearyhead [dead?
Chaunged thy lively cheare, and living made thee
"For not of nought these suddein ghastly feares
All night afflict thy naturall repose;
And all the day, whenas thine equall peares
Their fit disports with faire delight doe chose,
Thou in dull corners doest thyselfe inclose;
Ne tastest princes pleasures, ne doest spred
Abroad thy fresh youths fayrest flowre, but lose
Both leafe and fruite, both too untimely shed,
As one in wilfull bale for ever buried.

"The time that mortall men their weary cares
Do lay away, and all wilde beastes do rest,
And every river eke his course forbeares,
Then doth this wicked evill thee infest,
And rive with thousand throbs thy thrilled brest:
Like an huge Aetn' of deepe engulfed gryefe,
Sorrow is heaped in thy hollow chest,
Whence fourth it breakes in sighes and anguish rife,
As smoke and sulphure mingled with confused

stryfe.

"Ay me! how much I feare least love it bee!
But if that love it be, as sure I read

By knowen signes and passions which I see,
Be it worthy of thy race and royall sead,
Then I avow, by this most sacred head
Of my dear foster childe, to ease thy griefe
And win thy will: therefore away doe dread;
For death nor daunger from thy dew reliefe
Shall me debarre: tell me therefore, my liefest liefe!"

So having sayd, her twixt her armës twaine
Shee streightly straynd, and colled tenderly;
And every trembling ioynt and every vaine
Shee softly felt, and rubbed busily,
To doe the frosen cold away to fly;
And her faire deawy eies with kisses deare
Shee ofte did bathe, and ofte againe did dry;
And ever her impórtund not to feare

To let the secret of her hart to her appeare.

The damzell pauzd; and then thus fearfully;
"Ah! nurse, what needeth thee to eke my payne?
Is not enough that I alone doe dye,

But it must doubled bee with death of twaine?
For nought for me but death there doth remaine!"
"O daughter deare," said she, " despeire no whit;
For never sore but might a salve obtaine:

That blinded god, which hath ye blindly smit,
Another arrow hath your lovers hart to hit."

"But mine is not," quoth she, "like other wownd;
For which no reason can finde remedy."
"Was never such, but mote the like be fownd,"
Said she;" and though no reason may apply
Salve to your sore, yet Love can higher stye
Then Reasons reach, and oft hath wonders donne."
"But neither god of love nor god of skye
Can doe," said she, "that which cannot be donne."
"Things oft impossible," quoth she, "seeme ere
begonne."

"These idle wordes," said she, "doe nought aswage My stubborne smart, but more annoiaunce breed:

For no, no usuall fire, no usuall rage
Yt is, O nourse, which on my life doth feed,
And sucks the blood which from my hart doth bleed.
But since thy faithfull zele lets me not hyde
My crime, (if crime it be) I will it reed.
Nor prince nor pere it is, whose love hath gryde
My feeble brest of late, and launched this wound
wyde:

"Nor man it is, nor other living wight;

For then some hope I might unto me draw;
But th' only shade and semblant of a knight,
Whose shape or person yet I never saw,
Hath me subiected to Loves cruell law:
The same one day, as me misfortune led,
I in my fathers wondrous mirrhour saw,
And, pleased with that seeming goodlyhed,
Unwares the hidden hooke with baite I swallowed:

"Sithens it hath infixed faster hold
Within my bleeding bowells, and so sore
Now ranckleth in this same fraile fleshly mould)
That all mine entrailes flow with poisnous gore,
And th' ulcer groweth daily more and more;
Ne can my ronning sore finde remedee,
Other than my hard fortune to deplore,
And languish as the leafe faln from the tree,
Till death make one end of my daies and miseree!"

Daughter,'
," said she, "what need ye be dismayd?
Or why make ye such monster of your minde?
Of much more uncouth thing I was affrayd;
Of filthy lust, contráry unto kinde:
But this affection nothing straunge I finde;
For who with reason can you aye reprove
To love the semblaunt pleasing most your minde,
And yield your heart whence ye cannot remove?
No guilt in you, but in the tyranny of Love.

"Not so th' Arabian Myrrhe did sett her mynd;
Nor so did Biblis spend her pining hart;
But lov'd their native flesh against al kynd,
And to their purpose used wicked art;
Yet playd Pasiphaë a more monstrous part,
That lov'd a bull, and learnd a beast to bee:
Such shamefull lustes who loaths not, which depart
From course of nature and of modestee? [panee.
Swete Love such lewdnes bands from his faire com-

"But thine, my deare, (welfare thy heart, my deare!)
Though straunge beginning had, yet fixed is
On one that worthy may perhaps appeare;
And certes seemes bestowed not amis:
loy thereof have thou and eternall blis !”
With that, upleaning on her elbow weake,
Her alablaster brest she soft did kis,

Which all that while shee felt to pant and quake,
As it an earth-quake were: at last she thus bespake;
« Beldame, your words doe worke me litle ease;
For though my love be not so lewdly bent
As those ye blame, yet may it nought appease
My raging smart, ne ought my flame relent,
But rather doth my helpelesse griefe augment.
For they, however shamefull and unkinde,
Yet did possesse their horrible intent:
Short end of sorrowes they therby did finde;
So was their fortune good, though wicked were their
minde.

Can have no end nor hope of my desire,
"But wicked fortune mine, though minde be good,

But feed on shadowes whiles I die for food,
And like a shadow wexe, whiles with entire
Affection I doe languish and expire.
I, fonder then Cephisus foolish chyld,
Who, having vewed in a fountaine shere
His face, was with the love thereof beguyld;
I, fonder, love a shade, the body far exyld."

"Nought like,"quoth shee; "for that same wretch-
Was of himselfe the ydle paramoure, [ed boy
Both love and lover, without hope of ioy;
For which he faded to a watry flowre.
But better fortune thine, and better howre,
Which lov'st the shadow of a warlike knight;
No shadow, but a body hath in powre:
That body, wheresoever that it light,
May learned be by cyphers, or by magicke might.

"But if thou may with reason yet represse
The growing evill, ere it strength have gott,
And thee abandond wholy do possesse;
Against it strongly strive, and yield thee nott
Til thou in open fielde adowne be smott:
But if the passion mayster thy fraile might,
So that needs love or death must be thy lott,
Then I avow to thee, by wrong or right
To compas thy desire, and find that loved knight.”

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, far from the vew of day,
That of no living wight he mote be found, [round.
Whenso he counseld with his sprights encompast

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, [vowre:
For fear the cruell feendes should thee unwares de-

But standing high aloft low lay thine eare,
And there such ghastly noyse of yron chaines
And brasen caudrons thou shalt rombling heare,
Which thousand sprights with long enduring paines
Doe tosse, that it will stonn thy feeble braines;
And oftentimes great grones, and grievous stownds,
When too huge toile and labour them constraines;
And oftentimes loud strokes and ringing sowndes
From under that deepe rock most horriblyrebowndes.

The cause, some say, is this: a litle whyle
Before that Merlin dyde, he did intend
A brasen wall in compas to compyle
About Cairmardin, and did it commend
Unto these sprights to bring to perfect end:
During which worke the Lady of the Lake,
Whom long he lov'd, for him in hast did send;
Who, thereby forst his workemen to forsake, [slake.
Them bownd, till his retourne, their labour not to

In the meane time through that false ladies traine
He was surprisd, and buried under beare,
Ne ever to his worke returnd againe :
Nath'lesse those feends may not their work forbeare,
So greatly his commandement they feare,
But there doe toyle and traveile day and night,
Untill that brasen wall they up doe reare:
For Merlin had in magick more insight
Then ever him before or after living wight:

For he by wordes could call out of the sky Both Sunne and Moone, and make them him obay; - The land to sea, and sea to maineland dry, And darksom night he eke could turne to day; Huge hostes of men he could alone dismay, And hostes of men of meanest thinges could frame, Whenso him list his enimies to fray:

That to this day, for terror of his fame,

He bad tell on: and then she thus began; [light
"Now have three Moones with borrowd bruthers
Thrise shined faire, and thrise seemd dim and wan,
Sith a sore evill, which this virgin bright
Tormenteth and doth plonge in dolefull plight,
First rooting tooke; but what thing it mote bee,
Or whence it sprong, I cannot read aright:
But this I read, that, but if remedee
Thou her afford, full shortly I her dead shall see."

Therewith th' enchaunter softly gan to smyle
At her smooth speeches, weeting inly well
That she to him dissembled womanish guyle,
And to her said; "Beldame, by that ye tell
More neede of leach-crafte hath your damozell,
Then of my skill: who helpe may have elsewhere,
In vaine seekes wonders out of magick spell."
Th'old woman wox halfblanck those wordes to heare;
And yet was loth to let her purpose plaine appeare;

And to him said; "Yf any leaches skill,
Or other learned meanes, could have redrest
This my deare daughters deepe-engraffed ill,
Certes I should be loth thee to molest:
But this sad evill, which doth her infest,
Doth course of naturall cause farre exceed,
And housed is within her hollow brest,
That either seemes some cursed witches deed,
Or evill spright, that in her doth such torment breed."

The wisard could no lenger beare her bord,
But, bursting forth in laughter, to her sayd;
"Glaucè, what needes this colourable word
To cloke the cause that hath itselfe bewrayd?
Ne ye, fayre Britomartis, thus arayd,
More hidden are then Sunne in cloudy vele;
Whom thy good fortune, having fate obayd,

name.

And, sooth, men say that he was not the sonne
Of mortall syre or other living wight,
But wondrously begotten, and begonne
By false illusion of a guilefull spright
On a faire lady Nonne, that whilome hight
Matilda, daughter to Pubidius,

Who was the lord of Mathtraval by right,
And coosen unto king Ambrosius;

Whence he indued was with skill so marvelous.

The which the powres to thee are pleased to revele.”

The doubtfull mayd, seeing herselfe descryde,
Was all abasht, and her pure yvory

Into a cleare carnation suddein dyde;

As fayre Aurora, rysing hastily,

Doth by her blushing tell that she did lye
All night in old Tithonus frozen bed,
Whereof she seemes ashamed inwardly:
But her olde nourse was nought dishartened,
But vauntage made of that which Merlin had ared;

And sayd; "Sith then thou knowest all our griefe,
(For what doest not thou know?) of grace I pray,
Pitty our playnt, and yield us meet reliefe!"
With that the prophet still awhile did stay,
And then his spirite thus gan foorth display;
"Most noble virgin, that by fatall lore
Hast learn'd to love, let no whit the dismay
The hard beginne that meetes thee in the dore,
And with sharpe fits thy tender hart oppresseth sore:

"For so must all things excellent begin;
And eke enrooted deepe must be that tree,
Whose big embodied braunches shall not lin
Till they to Hevens hight forth stretched bee.
For from thy wombe a famous progenee
Shall spring out of the auncient Trojan blood,
Which shall revive the sleeping memoree
Of those same antique peres, the Hevens brood,
Which Greeke and Asian rivers stayned with their
blood.

"Renowmed kings, and sacred emperours,
Thy fruitfull offspring, shall from thee descend;
Brave captaines, and most mighty warriors,
That shall their conquests through all lands extend,
And their decayed kingdomes shall amend:
The feeble Britons, broken with long warre,
They shall upreare, and mightily defend
Against their forren foe that commes from farre,
Till universall peace compound all civill iarre.

"It was not, Britomart, thy wandring eye
Glauncing unwares in charming looking-glas,
But the streight course of hevenly destiny,
Led with Eternall Providence, that has
Guyded thy glaunce, to bring his will to pas:
Ne is thy fate, ne is thy fortune ill,
To love the prowest knight that ever was:
Therefore submit thy wayes unto his will,
And doe, by all dew meanes, thy destiny fulfill."

" But read," saide Glaucè, "thou magitian,
What meanes shall she out-seeke, or what waies take?
How shall she know, how shall she finde the man?
Or what needes her to toyle, sith fates can make
Way for themselves their purpose to pertake?"
Then Merlin thus; "Indeede the fates are firme,
And may not shrinck, though all the world do shake:
Yet ought mens good endevours them confirme,
And guyde the heavenly causes to their constant

terme.

"The man, whom Heavens have ordaynd to bee
The spouse of Britomart, is Arthegall:
He wonneth in the land of Fayëree,
Yet is no Fary borne, ne sib at all
To Elfes, but sprong of seed terrestriall,
And whylome by false Faries stolne away,
Whyles yet in infant cradle he did crall;
Ne other to himselfe is knowne this day,
But that he by an Elfe was gotten of a Fay.
"But sooth he is the sonne of Gorloïs,
And brother unto Cador, Cornish king;
And for his warlike feates renowned is,
From where the day out of the sea doth spring,
Untill the closure of the evening:
From thence him, firmely bound with faithfull band,
To this his native soyle thou backe shalt bring,
Strongly to ayde his countrey to withstand [land.
The powre of forreine Paynims which invade thy

"Great ayd thereto his mighty puissaunce
And dreaded name shall give in that sad day;
Where also proofe of thy prow valiaunce
Thou then shait make, t' increase thy lover's pray:
Long time ye both in armes shall bear e great sway,
Till thy wombes burden thee from them do call,
And his last fate him from thee take away;
Too rathe cut off by practise criminall
Of secrete foes, that him shall make in mischiefe

fall.

"With thee yet shall he leave, for memory
Of his late puissaunce, his ymage dead,
That living him in all activity

To thee shall represent: he, from the head
Of his coosen Constantius, without dread
Shall take the crowne that was his fathers right,
And therewith crowne himselfe in th' others stead;
Then shall he issew forth with dreadfull might
Against his Saxon foes in bloody field to fight.

"Like as a lyon that in drowsie cave
Hath long time slept, himselfe so shall he shake;
And, comming forth, shall spred his banner brave
Over the troubled south, that it shall make
The warlike Mertians for feare to quake:
Thrise shall he fight with them, and twise shall win:
But the third time shall fayre accordaunce make:
And, if he then with victorie can lin,
[in.

He shall his dayes with peace bring to his earthly

"His sonne, hight Vortipore, shall him succeede In kingdome, but not in felicity:

Yet shall he long time warre with happy speed,
And with great honour many batteills try;
But at the last to th' importunity

of froward fortune shall be forst to yield:
But his sonne Malgo shall full mightily
Avenge his fathers losse with speare and shield,
And his proud foes discomfit in victorious field.

"Behold the man! and tell me, Britomart,
If ay more goodly creature thou didst see?
How like a gyaunt in each manly part
Beares he himselfe with portly maiestee,
That one of th' old heroës seemes to bee!

He the six islands, comprovinciall

In auncient times unto great Britainee,
Shall to the same reduce, and to him call
Their sondry kings to do their homage severall.

"All which his sonne Careticus awhile
Shall well defend, and Saxons powre suppresse;
Untill a straunger king, from unknowne soyle
Arriving, him with multitude oppresse;
Great Gormond, having with huge mightinesse
Ireland subdewd, and therein fixt his throne,
Like a swift otter, fell through emptinesse,
Shall overswim the sea with many one
Of his Norveyses, to assist the Britons fone.

"He in his furie shall over-ronne,
And holy church with faithlesse handes deface,
That thy sad people, utterly fordonne,
Shall to the utmost mountaines fly apace:
Was never so great waste in any place,
Nor so fowle outrage doen by living men;
For all thy citties they shall sacke and race,
And the greene grasse that groweth they shall bren,
That even the wilde beast shall dy in starved den.