But neyther will I strive in care to lengthen still my lyfe,
Nor (wretched wyght) abandon thee: but like a faythfull wyfe
At leastwyse now will come as thy companion. And the herse
Shall joyne us, though not in the selfsame coffin: yit in verse.
Although in tumb the bones of us togither may not couch,
Yit in a graven Epitaph my name thy name shall touch.
Her sorrow would not suffer her to utter any more.
Shee sobd and syghde at every woord, untill her hart was sore.
The morning came, and out shee went ryght pensif to the shore
To that same place in which shee tooke her leave of him before.
Whyle there shee musing stood, and sayd: He kissed mee even heere,
Heere weyed hee his Anchors up, heere loosd he from the peere.
And whyle shee calld to mynd the things there marked with her eyes:
In looking on the open sea, a great way off shee spyes
A certaine thing much like a corse come hovering on the wave.
At first shee dowted what it was. As tyde it neerer drave,
Although it were a good way off, yit did it plainely showe
To bee a corce. And though that whose it was shee did not knowe,
Yit forbycause it seemd a wrecke, her hart therat did ryse:
And as it had sum straunger beene, with water in her eyes
She sayd: Alas poore wretch who ere thou art, alas for her
That is thy wyfe, if any bee. And as the waves did stirre,
The body floted neerer land: the which the more that shee
Behilld, the lesse began in her of stayed wit to bee.
Anon it did arrive on shore. Then plainely shee did see
And know it, that it was her feere. Shee shreeked, It is hee.
And therewithall her face, her heare, and garments shee did teare,
And unto Ceyx stretching out her trembling handes with feare,
Sayd: cumst thou home in such a plyght to mee, O husband deere?
Returnst in such a wretched plyght? There was a certeine peere
That buylded was by hand, of waves the first assaults to breake,
And at the havons mouth to cause the tyde to enter weake.
Shee lept thereon. (A wonder sure it was shee could doo so)
Shee flew, and with her newgrowen winges did beate the ayre as tho.
And on the waves a wretched bird shee whisked to and fro.
And with her crocking neb then growen to slender bill and round,
Like one that wayld and moorned still shee made a moaning sound.
Page:Metamorphoses (Ovid, 1567).djvu/316
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