DESCRIPTION OF THE KINGS OF THRACE AND INDIA. There mightst thou see, coming with Palamon, The great Lycurgus, sovrein king of Thrace: Black was his beard, and manly was his face; The restless glancing of his eyen bright, Shone with a glowing and a fearful light, And like a griffon looked he about. * * * * His limbs were great, his sinews hard and strong, With Arcite came Emetrius, king of Inde, Covered with pearls, white, round, and great; Yellow, and bright, and shining as the sun; About him ran and played their wilful game SPENCER. THE CAVE OF DESPAIR ERE long they come, where that same wicked wight His dwelling has, low in a hollow cave, Far underneath a craggy cliff ypight, Dark, doleful, dreary, like a greedy grave, That still for carrion carcases doth crave: On top whereof ay dwelt the ghastly owl, Shrieking his baleful note, which ever drave Far from that haunt all other cheerful fowl; And all about it wandering ghosts did wail and howl. And all about old stocks and stubs of trees, Whereon nor fruit nor leaf was ever seen. Did hang upon the ragged, rocky knees; On which had many wretches hanged been, Whose carcases were scattered on the green, And thrown about the cliffs. Arrived there, That bare-head Knight, for dread and doleful teene, Would fain have fled, ne durst approachen near; But the other forced him stay, and comforted in fear That darksome cave they enter, where they find His grisly locks, long growen and unbound, His raw-bone cheeks, through penury and pine, His garment, nought but many ragged clouts, And made an open passage for the gushing flood. Which piteous spectacle approving true What justice can but judge against thee right, With thine own blood to price his blood, here shed in sight?" "What frantic fit," quoth he," hath thus distraught Thee, foolish man, so rash a doom to give? What justice ever other judgment taught, But he should die who merits not to live? None else to death this man despairing drove, But his own guilty mind deserving death. Is't then unjust to each his due to give? Or let him die that loatheth living breath? Or let him die at ease, that liveth here uneath? "Who travels by the weary wandering way, To come unto his wished home in haste, And meets a flood, that doth his passage stay, Is't not great grace to help him over past, Or free his feet, that in the mire stick fast? Most envious man, that grieves at neighbours' good, And fond, that joyest in the wo thou hast ; Why wilt not let him pass, that long hath stood Upon the bank, yet wilt thyself not pass the flood? "He there does now enjoy eternal rest And happy ease, which thou doest want and crave, And further from it daily wanderest; What if some little pain the passage have, That make frail flesh to fear the bitter wave ? Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas, Ease after war, death after life, doth greatly please.” |