Page:Metamorphoses (Ovid, 1567).djvu/380

So shift thee fro my handes although the wynd should carrye thee,
If I doo knowe myself, if all the strength of herbes fayle not,
Or if I have not quyght and cleene my charmes and spelles forgotte.
In saying theis same wordes, shee made the likenesse of a Boare
Without a body, causing it to swiftly passe before
King Picus eyes, and for to seeme to get him to the woode,
Where for the thickenesse of the trees a horse myght do no good.
Immediatly the king unwares a hote pursute did make
Uppon the shadowe of his pray, and quikly did forsake
His foming horses sweating backe: and following vayne wan hope,
Did runne afoote among the woodes, and through the bushes crope.
Then Circe fell a mumbling spelles, and praying like a witch
Did honour straunge and uncowth Goddes with uncowth charmes, by which
Shee usde to make the moone looke dark, and wrappe her fathers head
In watry clowdes. And then likewyse the heaven was overspred
With darknesse, and a foggye mist steamd upward from the ground.
And nere a man about the king to gard him could bee found,
But every man in blynd bywayes ran scattring in the chace,
Through her inchauntments. At the length shee getting tyme and place,
Sayd: By those lyghtsum eyes of thyne which late have ravisht myne,
And by that goodly personage and lovely face of thyne,
The which compelleth mee that am a Goddesse to enclyne
To make this humble sute to thee that art a mortall wyght,
Asswage my flame, and make this sonne (whoo by his heavenly syght
Foresees all things) thy fathrinlawe: and hardly hold not scorne
Of Circe whoo by long discent of Titans stocke am borne.
Thus much sayd Circe. He ryght feerce rejecting her request,
And her, sayd: Whooso ere thou art, go set thy hart at rest.
I am not thyne, nor will not bee. Another holdes my hart:
And long God graunt shee may it hold, that I may never start
To leawdnesse of a forreigne lust from bond of lawfull bed,
As long as Janus daughter, my sweete Singer, is not dead.
Dame Circe having oft renewd her sute in vayne beefore,
Sayd: Dearely shalt thou bye thy scorne. For never shalt thou more
Returne to Singer. Thou shalt lerne by proof what one can doo
That is provoked, and in love, yea and a woman too.
But Circe is bothe stird to wrath, and also tane in love,