To beare such twinnes, and of two Goddes in favour to have sit?
And that shee to her father had a stowt and valeant knight,
Or that her graundsyre was the sonne of Jove that God of might?
Dooth glorie hurt to any folk? It surely hurted her.
For standing in her owne conceyt shee did herself prefer
Before Diana, and dispraysd her face, who there with all
Inflaamd with wrath, sayd: Well, with deedes we better please her shall.
Immediatly shee bent her bowe, and let an arrow go,
Which strake her through the toong, whose spight deserved
wounding so.
Her toong wext dumb, her speech gan fayle that erst was over ryfe,
And as shee stryved for to speake, away went blood and lyfe.
How wretched was I then, O God? how strake it to my hart?
What woordes of comfort did I speake to ease my brothers smart?
To which he gave his eare as much as dooth the stony rocke
To hideous roring of the waves that doo against it knocke.
There was no measure nor none ende in making of his mone,
Nor in bewayling comfortlesse his daughter that was gone.
But when he sawe her bodye burne, fowre tymes with all his myght
He russhed foorth to thrust himself amid the fyre in spyght.
Fowre tymes hee beeing thence repulst, did put himself to flyght.
And ran mee wheras was no way, as dooth a Bullocke when
A hornet stings him in the necke. Mee thought hee was as then
More wyghter farre than any man. Yee would have thought his feete
Had had sum wings. So fled he quyght from all, and being fleete
Through eagernesse to dye, he gat to mount Parnasos knappe
And there Apollo pitying him and rewing his missehappe,
When as Daedalion from the cliffe himself had headlong floong,
Transformd him to a bird, and on the soodaine as hee hung
Did give him wings, and bowwing beake, and hooked talants keene,
And eeke a courage full as feerce as ever it had beene.
And furthermore a greater strength he lent him therwithall,
Than one would thinke conveyd myght bee within a roome so small.
And now in shape of Gossehawke hee to none indifferent is,
But wreakes his teene on all birds. And bycause him selfe ere this
Did feele the force of sorrowes sting within his wounded hart,
Hee maketh others oftentymes to sorrow and to smart.
As Caeyx of his brothers chaunce this wondrous story seth,
Page:Metamorphoses (Ovid, 1567).djvu/304
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