XIX.
O flocks, O faunes, and O ye pleasaunt springs
Of Tempe, where the countrey nymphs are rife,
Through whose not costly care each shepheard sings,
As merrie notes upon his rusticke fife,
As that Ascræan bard, whose fame now rings
Through the wide world, and leads as ioyfull life;
Free from all troubles and from worldly toyle,
In which fond men doe all their dayes turmoyle.
XX.
In such delights whilst thus his carelesse time
This shepheard drives, upleaning on his batt,
And on shrill reedes chaunting his rustick rime;
Hyperion, throwing foorth his beames full hott,
Into the highest top of heaven gan clime,
And, the world parting by an equall lott,
Did shed his whirling flames on either side,
As the great Ocean doth himselfe divide.
XXI.
Then gan the shepheard gather into one
His stragling goates, and drave them to a foord,
Whose cærule streame, rombling in pible stone,
Crept under mosse as greene as any goord.
Now had the sun halfe heaven overgone,
When he his heard back from that water foord
Drave, from the force of Phœbus boyling ray,
Into thick shadowes, there themselves to lay.
XXII.
Soone as he them plac’d in thy sacred wood
(O Delian goddesse) saw, to which of yore
Came the bad daughter of old Cadmus brood,
Cruell Agavè, flying vengeance sore
Of king Nictileus for the guiltie blood,
Which she with cursed hands had shed before;
There she halfe frantick, having slaine her sonne,
Did shrowd her selfe like punishment to shonne.
XXIII.
Here also playing on the grassy greene,
Woodgods, and satyres, and swift dryades,
With many fairies oft were dauncing seene.
Not so much did Dan Orpheus represse
The streames of Hebrus with his songs, I weene,
As that faire troupe of woodie goddesses
Staied thee, O Peneus, powring foorth to thee,
From cheereful lookes, great mirth and gladsome glee.
XXIV.
The verie nature of the place, resounding
With gentle murmure of the breathing ayre,
A pleasant bowre with all delight abounding
In the fresh shadowe did for them prepayre,
To rest their limbs with wearines redounding.
For first the high palme-trees with braunches faire,
Out of the lowly vallies did arise,
And high shoote up their heads into the skyes.
XXV.
And them amongst the wicked Lotos grew,
Wicked for holding guilefully away
Ulysses men, whom rapt with sweetenes new,
Taking to hoste, it quite from him did stay;
And eke those trees, in whose transformed hew
The Sunnes sad daughters waylde the rash decay
Of Phaëton, whose limbs with lightening rent
They gathering up, with sweete teares did lament.
XXVI.
And that same tree, in which Demophoon,
By his disloyalty lamented sore
Eternall hurte left unto many one:
Whom als accompanied the oke, of yore
Through fatall charmes transformd to such an one:
The oke, whose acornes were our foode, befo
That Ceres seede of mortall men were known
Which first Triptoleme taught how to be sowne.
XXVII.
Here also grew the rougher-rinded pine,
The great Argoan ships brave ornament,
Whom golden fleece did make an heavenly signe;
Which coveting, with his high tops extent,
To make the mountaines touch the starres divine,
Decks all the forrest with embellishment;
And the blacke holme that loves the watrie vale;
And the sweete cypresse, signe of deadly bale.
XXVIII.
Emongst the rest the clambring yvie grew,
Knitting his wanton armes with grasping hold,
Least that the poplar happely should rew
Her brothers strokes, whose boughes she doth enfold
With her lythe twigs, till they the top survew,
And paint with pallid greene her buds of gold.
Next did the myrtle tree to her approach,
Not yet uninindfull of her olde reproach.
XXIX.
But the small birds, in their wide boughs embowring
Chaunted their sundrie tunes with sweete consent:
And under them a silver spring, forth powring
His trickling streames, a gentle murmure sent;
Thereto the frogs, bred in the slimie scowring
Of the moist moores, their iarring voyces bent;
And shrill grasshoppers chirped them around:
All which the ayrie echo did resound.
XXX.
In this so pleasant place the shepheards flocke
Lay everie where, their wearie limbs to rest,
On everie bush, and everie hollow rocke,
Where breathe on them the whistling wind mote best;
The whiles the shepheard self, tending his stocke,
Sate by the fountaine side, in shade to rest,
Where gentle slumbring sleep oppressed him
Displaid on ground, and seized everie lim.
XXXI.
Of trecherie or traines nought tooke he keep,
But looslie on the grassie greene dispredd,
His dearest life did trust to careles sleep;
Which, weighing down his drouping drowsie hedd,
In quiet rest his molten heart did steep,
Devoid of care, and feare of all falshedd:
Had not inconstant fortune, bent to ill,
Bid strange mischance his quietnes to spill.
XXXII.
For at his wonted time in that same place
An huge great serpent, all with speckles pide,
To drench himselfe in moorish slime did trace;
There from the boyling heate himselfe to hide:
He, passing by with rolling wreathed pace,
With brandisht tongue the emptie aire did gride,
And wrapt his scalie boughts with fell despight,
That all things seem’d appalled at his sight.
