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The engines - Porch her threatful pikes afore,
Therein two deadly weapons fixt ħe boré,
in them sad death do hide; So did this Fly outstretch his fearful horns, Yet so as him their terrour more adorns, Lastly, his shiny wings, as silver bright, Painted with thousand colours, passing far All painters' skill, he did about him dight: Not half so many sundry colours are In Iris' bow, ne heaven doth shine so bright, Distinguished with many a twinkling star, Nor Juno's bird, in her eye-spotted train, So many goodly colours doth contain. Ne (may it be withouten peril spoken) The archer god the son of Cytheree, That joys on wretched lovers to be wroken, And heaped spoils of bleeding hearts to see, Bears in his wings so many a changeful token. Ah! my liege Lord, forgive it unto me, If ougfit against thine honour I llave told ; Yet sure those wings were fairer manifold. Pull many a lady fair, in court full oft Beholding them, him secretly envide, And wisht that two such fans, so silken soft, And golden fair, her love would her provide ; Or that when them the gorgeous Fly had doft, Some one that would with grace be gratifide, From him would steal them privily away, and bring to her so precious a prey. Report is that Dame Venus, on a day In spring, when flowres do cloath the fruitful ground, Walking abroad with all her nymphs to play, Bade ber fạir damsels focking bes around,
To gather flowres, her forehead to array: Emongst the rest a gentle nymph was found, Hight Astery, excelling all the crew In courteous usage and unstained hue; Who being nimbler-jointed than the rest, And more industrious, gathered more store Of the field's honour than the others best, Which they in secret hearts envying sore, Told Venus, when her as the worthiest She prais'd, that Cupid (as they heard before) Did lend her secret aid in gathering Into her lap the children of the Spring. Whereof the goddess gatheriug jealous fear, Not yet unmindful how not long ago Her son to Psyche secret love did bear, And long it close conceal'd, till mickle wo Thereof arose, and many a rueful tear, Reason with sudden rage did overgo, And giving hasty credit to th' accuser, Was led away of them that did abuse her. Eftsoons that damsel by her heavenly might She turn'd into a winged Butterfly, In the wide air to make her wandering flight; And all those flowres with which so plenteously Her lap she filled had, that bred her spight, She placed in her wings, for memory Of her pretended crime, though crime none were; Since which that Fly them in her wings doth bear. Thus the fresh Clarion being ready dight, Unto his journey did himself address, And with good speed began to take his flight : Over the fields in his frank lustiness, And all the champain o'er he soared light, And all the country wide he did possess, Feeding upon their pleasures bounteously, That none gainsaid, nor none did him envy.
The woods, the rivers, and the meadows green, With his air-cutting wings he measured wide, Ne did he leave the mountains bare unseen, Nor the rank grassie fens' delights untride: But none of these, however sweet they been, Mote please his fancy, nor him cause t' abide : His choiceful sense with every change doth flit; No common things may please a wavering wit. To the gay gardens his unstaid desire Him wholly carried, to refresh his sprights; There lavish Nature, in her best attire, Pours forth sweet odors and alluring sights; And Art, with her contending, doth aspire T excel the natural with made delights; And all that fair or pleasant may be found In riotous excess doth there abound. There he arriving, round about doth fly From bed to bed, from one to other border, And takes survey, with curious busie eye, Of every flower and herb there set in order; Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly, Yet none of them he rudely doth disorder, Ne with his feet their silken leaves deface, But pastures on the pleasures of each place. And evermore, with most variety, And change of sweetness (for all change is sweet) He casts his glutton sense to satisfie, Now sucking of the sap of herbs most meet, Or of the dew which yet on them does lie, Now in the same bathing his tender feet; And then he pearcheth on some branch thereby, To weather him, and his moist wings to dry. And then again he turneth to his play, To spoil the pleasures of that paradise : The wholesom sage, and lavender still gray, Rank-smelling rue, and cummin, good for eyes, .
The rosės reigning in the pride of May,
His hearts wicked work his hated fo,
And whatso heaveas in their secret doom
each part apply!