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Her eyes unsteadfast, rolling here and there, Whirled on each place, as place that vengeance brought,

So was her mind continually in fear, Tossed and tormented with the tedious thought

Of those detested crimes which she had wrought;

With dreadful cheer and looks thrown to the sky, 230 Wishing for death, and yet she could not die.

Next saw we Dread, all trembling how he shook,

With foot uncertain proffered here and there; Benumbed of speech, and with a ghastly look Searched every place all pale and dead for fear,

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When fell Revenge with bloody foul pretence
Had shown herself as next in order set,
With trembling limbs we softly parted thence,
Till in our eyes another sight we met:
When from my heart a sigh forthwith I fet,4
Rueing, alas! upon the woeful plight
Of Misery, that next appeared in sight. 252

His face was lean, and somedeal pined away,
And eke his hands consumed to the bone,
And what his body was I cannot say,
For on his carcass raiment had he none
Save clouts and patches, piecèd one by one.
With staff in hand, and scrip on shoulders cast,
His chief defence against the winter's blast.259

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But let the night's black misty mantles rise, And with foul dark never so much disguise The fair bright day, yet ceaseth he no while, But hath his candles to prolong his toil. 280

By him lay heavy Sleep, the cousin of Death
Flat on the ground, and still as any stone,
A very corpse, save yielding forth a breath.
Small keep took he whom Fortune frowned

on

Or whom she lifted up into the throne
Of high renown; but as a living death,
So dead alive, of life he drew the breath. 287

The body's rest, the quiet of the heart,
The travail's ease, the still night's fear was he,
And of our life in earth the better part,
Reaver of sight, and yet in whom we see
Things oft that tide,2 and oft that never be.
Without respect esteeming equally
King Cresus' pomp, and Irus' poverty. 294

And next in order sad Old Age we found,
His beard all hoar, his eyes hollow and blind,
With drooping cheer still poring on the ground,
As on the place where nature him assigned
To rest, when that the Sisters 3 had untwined
His vital thread, and ended with their knife
The fleeting course of fast declining life. 301

There heard we him with broken and hollow plaint

Rue with himself his end approaching fast, And all for nought his wretched mind torment With sweet remembrance of his pleasures past, And fresh delights of lusty youth forwast. Recounting which, how would he sob and shriek,

And to be young again of Jove beseek! 5 308

But and the cruel fates so fixed be
That time forepast 7 cannot return again,
This one request of Jove yet prayèd he:
That in such withered plight, and wretched
pain

As Eld, accompanied with his lothsome train,
Had brought on him, all were it woe and grief,
He might a while yet linger forth his life, 315

And not so soon descend into the pit, Where Death, when he the mortal corps hath slain,

1 heed 2 happen 3 the Fates 4 wasted away 5 beseech if 7 passed by

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THE RENAISSANCE

EDMUND SPENSER (1552?-1599) FROM THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER

FEBRUARIE

EGLOGA SECUNDA

Cuddie Thenot

CUDDIE. Ah for pittie, wil rancke Winters rage

These bitter blasts never ginne tasswage? The kene cold blowes through my beaten hyde,

All as I were through the body gryde.1
My ragged rontes 2 all shiver and shake,
As doen high Towers in an earthquake:
They wont in the wind wagge their wrigle
tailes,

Perke as Peacock; but nowe it avales.4

THE. Lewdly 5 complainest thou, laesie ladde,

Of Winters wracke for making thee sadde. 10 Must not the world wend in his commun course,

From good to badd, and from badde to worse,
From worse unto that is worst of all,
And then returne to his former fall 6?
Who will not suffer the stormy time,
Where will he live tyll the lusty prime?
Selfe have I worne out thrise threttie yeares,
Some in much ioy, many in many teares,
Yet never complained of cold nor heate,
Of Sommers flame, nor of Winters threat: 20
Ne ever was to Fortune foeman,
But gently tooke, that ungently came;
And ever my flocke was my chiefe care,
Winter or Sommer they mought well fare.
CUD. No marveile, Thenot, if thou can
beare

Cherefully the Winters wrathfull cheare;
For Age and Winter accord full nie,

This chill, that cold, this crooked, that wrye;

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And as the lowring Wether lookes downe,
So semest thou like good fryday to frowne, 30
But my flowring youth is foe to frost,
My shippe unwont in stormes to be tost.

THE. The Soveraigne of seas he blames in vaine,

That, once sea-beate, will to sea againe.
So loytring live you little heardgroomes,
Keeping your beasts in the budded broomes:
And when the shining sunne laugheth once,
You deemen, the Spring is come attonce;
Tho gynne1 you, fond flyes, the cold to scorne,
And crowing in pypes made of greene corne, 40
You thinken to be Lords of the yeare;

But eft,2 when ye count you freed from feare, Comes the breme 3 winter with chamfred 1 browes

Full of wrinckles and frostie furrowes:
Drerily shooting his stormy darte,
Which cruddles the blood, and pricks the
harte.

Then is your carelesse corage accoied,
Your carefull heards with colde bene annoied.
Then paye you the price of your surquedrie,7
With weeping, and wayling, and misery.

50

CUD. Ah foolish old man, I scorne thy skill, That wouldest me, my springing youngth to spil:

I deeme thy braine emperished bee
Through rusty elde, that hath rotted thee:
Or sicker thy head veray tottie is,

So on thy corbe 10 shoulder it leanes amisse.
Now thy selfe hast lost both lopp and topp,
Als u
my budding braunch thou wouldest
cropp:

But were thy yeares greene, as now bene

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CUD. Seest howe brag 2 yond Bullocke
beares,

So smirke, so smoothe, his prickèd eares?
His hornes bene as broade as Rainebowe bent,
His dewelap as lythe as lasse of Kent,
See howe he venteth 3 into the wynd.
Weenest of love is not his mynd?
Seemeth thy flocke thy counsell can,1
So lustlesse bene they, so weake, so wan,
Clothed with cold, and hoary wyth frost,
Thy flocks father his corage hath lost :
80
Thy Ewes, that wont to have blowen bags,
Like wailefull widdowes hangen their crags 7:
The rather lambes bene starved with cold,
All for their Maister is lustlesse and old.

6

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91

But shall I tel thee a tale of truth,
Which I cond" of Tityrus in my youth,
Keeping his sheepe on the hils of Kent?
CUD. To nought more, Thenot, my mind
is bent,

Then to heare novells of his devise:
They bene so well thewed, and so wise,
What ever that good old man bespake.

THE. Many meete tales of youth did he
make,

And some of love, and some of chevalrie:
But none fitter than this to applie.
Now listen a while, and hearken the end.

100

There grewe an aged Tree on the greene, A goodly Oake sometime had it bene, With armes full strong and largely displayd, But of their leaves they were disarayde: The bodie bigge, and mightely pight,12

1 fool 2 brisk 3 puffs 4 know 5 without desire 6 full 7 necks 8 earlier knowest 10 inn 11 learned 12 firmly set

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Throughly rooted, and of wonderous hight:
Whilome had bene the King of the field,
And mochell mast to the husband did yielde,
And with his nuts larded 2 many swine.
But now the gray mosse marred his rine,3
His bared boughes were beaten with stormes,
His toppe was bald, and wasted with wormes,
His honor decayed, his braunches sere.

Hard by his side grewe a bragging Brere,
Which prowdly thrust into Thelement,
And seemed to threat the Firmament.
Yt was embellisht with blossomes fayre,
And thereto aye wonned to repayre
The shepheards daughters to gather flowres,
To peinct their girlonds with his colowres. 121
And in his small bushes used to shrowde
The sweete Nightingale singing so lowde:
Which made this foolish Brere wexe so bold,
That on a time he cast him 5 to scold

And snebbe the good Oake, for he was old. 'Why standst there (quoth he), thou brutish blocke?

130

'Nor for fruict nor for shadowe serves thy
stocke.
'Seest how fresh my flowers bene spredde,
'Dyed in Lilly white and Cremsin redde,
'With Leaves engrained in lusty greene,
'Colours meete to clothe a mayden Queene?
"Thy wast bignes7 but combers the grownd,
'And dirks the beauty of my blossoms rownd.
'The mouldie mosse, which thee accloieth,
'My Sinamon smell too much annoieth.
'Wherefore soone, I rede 10 thee, hence remove,
'Least thou the price of my displeasure prove.'
So spake this bold brere with great disdaine:
Little him answered the Oake againe,
But yielded, with shame and greefe adawed,"
That of a weede he was ouerawed.

Yt chaunced after vpon a day,
The Hus-bandman selfe to come that way,
Of custome for to survewe 12 his grownd,
And his trees of state in compasse rownd.
Him when the spitefull brere had espyed,
Causlesse complained, and lowdly cryed
Unto his Lord, stirring up sterne strife:

140

'O my liege Lord! the God of my life, 150 'Pleaseth you ponder your Suppliants plaint, 'Caused of wrong, and cruell constraint, 'Which I your poore vassall dayly endure: 'And but your goodnes the same recure,13

1

7

13

2 fattened 3 rind many acorns 4 were accustomed planned reprove vast bigness 8 darkens encumbers 10 advise 11 daunted 12 look over

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