By sweet Clonmell, adornes rich Waterford;
The next, the stubborne Newre, whose waters gray
By faire Kilkenny and Rosseponte boord,
The third, the goodly Barow, which doth hoord
Great heapes of Salmons in his deepe bosome:
All which long sundred, doe at last accord
To ioyne in one, ere to the sea they come,
So flowing all from one, all one at last become.
44 There also was the wide embayed Mayre,
The pleasaunt Bandon crownd with many a wood,
The spreading Lee, that like an Island fayre
Encloseth Corke with his deuided flood;
And balefull Oure, late staind with English blood:
With many more, whose names no tongue can tell.
All which that day in order seemly good
Did on the Thamis attend, and waited well
To doe their duefull seruice, as to them befell.
45 Then came the Bride, the louely Medua came,
Clad in a vesture of vnknowen geare,
And vncouth fashion, yet her well became;
That seem’d like siluer, sprinckled here and theare
With glittering spangs, that did Uke starres appeare,
And wau’d vpon, Uke water Chamelot,
To hide the metall, which yet euery where
Bewrayd it selfe, to let men plainely wot,
It was no mortall worke, that seem’d and yet was not.
46 Her goodly lockes adowne her backe did flow
Vnto her waste, with flowres bescattered,
The which ambrosiall odours forth did throw
To all about, and all her shoulders spied
As a new spring; and likewise on her hed
A Chapelet of sundry flowers she wore,
From vnder which the deawy humour shed,
Did tride downe her haire, Uke to the hore
Congealed litle drops, which doe the morne adore.
47 On her two pretty handmaides did attend,
One cald the Theise, the other cald the Crane;
Which on her waited, things amisse to mend,
And both behind vpheld her spredding traine;
Vnder the which, her feet appeared plaine,
Her siluer feet, faire washt against this day:
And her before there paced Pages twaine,
Both clad in colours Uke, and Uke array,
The Doune & eke the Frith, both which prepard her way.
48 And after these the Sea Nymphs marched all,
All goodly damzels, deckt with long greene haire,
Whom of their sire Nereides men call,
All which the Oceans daughter to him bare
The gray eyde Doris: all which fifty are;
All which she there on her attending had.
Swift Proto, milde Eucrate, Thetis faire,
Soft Spio, sweete Eudore, Sao sad,
Light Doto, wanton Glauce, and Galene glad.
49 White hand Eunica, proud Dynamene,
Ioyous Thalia, goodly Amphitrite,
Louely Pasithee, kinde Eulimene,
Light foote Cymoihoe, and sweete Melite,
Fairest Pherusa, Phao lilly white,
Wondred Agaue, Poris, and Neseea,
With Erato that doth in loue delite,
And Pamopœ, and wise Protomedœa,
And snowy neckd Doris, and milkewhite Galathœa.
50 Speedy Hippothoe, and chaste Actea,
Large Lisianassa, and Pronœa sage,
Euagore, and light Pontoporea,
And she, that with her least word can asswage
The surging seas, when they do sorest rage,
Cymodoce, and stout Autonoe,
And Neso, and Eione well in age,
And seeming still to smile, Glauconome,
And she that hight of many heastes Polynome.
51 Fresh Alimeda, deckt with girlond greene;
Hyponeo, with salt bedewed wrests:
Laomedia, like the christall sheene;
Liagore, much praisd for wise behests;
And Psamathe, for her brode snowy brests;
Cymo, Eupompe, and Themiste iust;
And she that vertue loues and vice detests
Euarna, and Menippe true in trust,
And Nemertea learned well to rule her lust
52 All these the daughters of old Nereus were,
Which haue the sea in charge to them assinde,
To rule his tides, and surges to vprere,
To bring forth stormes, or fast them to vpbinde,
And sailers saue from wreckes of wrathfull winde.
And yet besides three thousand more there were
Of th’Oceans seede, but Ioues and Phœbus kinde;
The which in floods and fountaines doe appere,
And all mankinde do nourish with their waters clere.
53 The which, more eath it were for mortall wight,
To tell the sands, or count the starres on hye,
Or ought more hard, then thinke to reckon right.
But well I wote, that these which I descry,
Were present at this great solemnity:
And there amongst the rest, the mother was
Of luckelesse Marinell Cymodoce,
Which, for my Muse her selfe now tyred has,
Vnto an other Canto I will ouerpas.
CANTO XII
Marin for hue of Florimell,
In languor wastes his life:
The Nymph his mother getteth her,
And giues to him for wife.
1 O what an endlesse worke haue I in hand,
To count the seas abundant progeny,
Whose fruitfull seede farre passeth those in land,
And also those which wonne in th’azure sky?
For much more eath to tell the starres on hy,
Albe they endlesse seeme in estimation,
Then to recount the Seas posterity:
So fertile be the flouds in generation,
So huge their numbers, and so numberlesse their nation.
2 Therefore the antique wisards well inuented,
That Venus of the fomy sea was bred;
For that the seas by her are most augmented.
Witnesse th’exceeding fry, which there are fed,
And wondrous sholes, which may of none be red.
Then blame me not, if I haue err’d in count
Of Gods, of Nymphs, of riuers yet vnred:
For though their numbers do much more surmount,
Yet all those same were there, which erst I did recount.
3 All those were there, and many other more,
Whose names and nations were too long to tell,
That Proteus house they fild euen to the dore;
Yet were they all in order, as befell,
According their degrees disposed well.
Amongst the rest, was faire Cymodoce,
The mother of vnlucky Marinell,
Who thither with her came, to learne and see
The manner of the Gods when they at banquet be.
4 But for he was halfe mortall, being bred
Of mortall sire, though of immortall wombe,
He might not with immortall food be fed,
Ne with th’eternall Gods to bancket come;
But walkt abrode, and round about did rome,
To view the building of that vncouth place,
That seem’d vnlike vnto his earthly home:
Where, as he to and fro by chaunce did trace,
There vnto him betid a disauentrous case.
5 Vnder the hanging of an hideous clieffe,
He heard the lamentable voice of one,
That piteously complaind her carefull grieffe,
Which neuer she before disclosd to none,
But to her selfe her sorrow did bemone.
So feelingly her case she did complaine,
That ruth it moued in the rocky stone,
And ma
de it seeme to feele her grieuous paine,
And oft to grone with billowes beating from the maine.
6 Though vaine I see my sorrowes to vnfold,
And count my cares, when none is nigh to heare,
Yet hoping griefe may lessen being told,
I will them tell though vnto no man neare:
For heauen that vnto all lends equall eare,
Is farre from hearing of my heauy plight;
And lowest hell, to which I lie most neare,
Cares not what euils hap to wretched wight;
And greedy seas doe in the spoile of life delight.
7 Yet loe the seas I see by often beating,
Doe pearce the rockes, and hardest marble weares;
But his hard rocky hart for no entreating
Will yeeld, but when my piteous plaints he heares,
Is hardned more with my aboundant teares.
Yet though he neuer list to me relent,
But let me waste in woe my wretched yeares,
Yet will I neuer of my loue repent,
But ioy that for his sake I suffer prisonment.
8 And when my weary ghost with griefe outworne,
By timely death shall winne her wished rest,
Let then this plaint vnto his eares be borne,
That blame it is to him, that armes profest,
To let her die, whom he might haue redrest.
There did she pause, inforced to giue place,
Vnto the passion, that her heart opprest,
And after she had wept and wail’d a space,
She gan afresh thus to renew her wretched case.
9 Ye Gods of seas, if any Gods at all
Haue care of right, or ruth of wretches wrong,
By one or other way me woefull thrall,
Deliuer hence out of this dungeon strong,
In which I daily dying am too long.
And if ye deeme me death for lotting one,
That loues not me, then doe it not prolong,
But let me die and end my daies attone,
And let him Hue vnlou’d, or loue him selfe alone.
10 But if that life ye vnto me decree,
Then let mee liue, as louers ought to do,
And of my lifes deare loue beloued be:
And if he shall through pride your doome vndo,
Do you by duresse him compell thereto,
And in this prison put him here with me:
One prison fittest is to hold vs two:
So had I rather to be thrall, then free;
Such thraldome or such freedome let it surely be.
11 But ô vaine iudgement, and conditions vaine,
The which the prisoner points vnto the free,
The whiles I him condemne, and deeme his paine,
He where he list goes loose, and laughes at me.
So euer loose, so euer happy be.
But where so loose or happy that thou art,
Know Marinell that all this is for thee.
With that she wept and wail’d, as if her hart
Would quite haue burst through great abundance of her smart.
12 All which complaint when Marinell had heard,
And vnderstood the cause of all her care
To come of him, for vsing her so hard,
His stubborne heart, that neuer felt misfare
Was toucht with soft remorse and pitty rare;
That euen for griefe of minde he oft did grone,
And inly wish, that in bis powre it weare
Her to redresse: but since he meanes found none
He could no more but her great misery bemone.
13 Thus whilst his stony heart with tender ruth
Was toucht, and mighty courage mollifide,
Dame Venus sonne that tameth stubborne youth
With iron bit, and maketh him abide,
Till like a victor on his backe he ride,
Into his mouth his maystring bridle threw,
That made him stoupe, till he did him bestride:
Then gan he make him tread his steps anew,
And leame to loue, by learning louers paines to rew.
14 Now gan he in his grieued minde deuise,
How from that dungeon he might her enlarge;
Some while he thought, by faire and humble wise
To Proteus selfe to sue for her discharge:
But then he fear’d his mothers former charge
Gainst womens loue, long giuen him in vaine.
Then gan he thinke, perforce with sword and targe
Her forth to fetch, and Proteus to constraine:
But soone he gan such folly to forthinke againe.
15 Then did he cast to steale her thence away,
And with him beare, where none of her might know.
But all in vaine: for why he found no way
To enter in, or issue forth below:
For all about that rocke the sea did flow.
And though vnto his will she giuen were,
Yet without ship or bote her thence to row,
He wist not how her thence away to bere;
And daunger well he wist long to continue there.
16 At last when as no meanes he could inuent,
Backe to him selfe, he gan returne the blame,
That was the author of her punishment;
And with vile curses, and reprochtull shame
To damne him selfe by euery euill name;
And deeme vnworthy or of loue or life,
That had despisde so chast and faire a dame,
Which him had sought through trouble & long strife;
Yet had refusde a God that her had sought to wife.
17 In this sad plight he walked here and there,
And romed round about the rocke in vaine,
As he had lost him selfe, he wist not where;
Oft listening if he mote her heare againe;
And still bemoning her vnworthy paine.
Like as an Hynde whose calfe is falne vnwares
Into some pit, where she him heares complaine,
An hundred times about the pit side fares,
Right sorrowfully mourning her bereaued cares.
18 And now by this the feast was throughly ended,
And euery one gan homeward to resort.
Which seeing, Marinell was sore offended,
That his departure thence should be so short,
And leaue his loue in that sea-walled fort
Yet durst he not his mother disobay,
But her attending in full seemly sort,
Did march amongst the many all the way:
And all the way did inly mourne, like one astray.
19 Being returned to his mothers bowre,
In solitary silence far from wight,
He gan record the lamentable stowre,
In which his wretched loue lay day and night,
For his deare sake, that ill deseru’d that plight:
The thought whereof empierst his hart so deepe,
That of no worldly thing he tooke delight;
Ne dayly food did take, ne nightly sleepe,
But pyn’d, & mourn’d, & languisht, and alone did weepe.
20 That in short space his wonted chearefull hew
Gan fade, and liuely spirits deaded quight:
His cheeke bones raw, and eie-pits hollow grew,
And brawney armes had lost their knowen might,
That nothing like himselfe he seem’d in sight.
Ere long so weake of limbe, and sicke of loue
He woxe, that lenger he note stand vpright,
But to his bed was brought, and layd aboue,
Like ruefull ghost, vnable once to stirre or moue.
21 Which when his mother saw, she in her mind
Was troubled sore, ne wist well what to weene,
Ne could by search nor any meanes out find
The secret cause and nature of his teene,
Whereby she might apply some medicine;
And mourn’d to see her losse before her eyne,
Which grieu’d her more, that she it could not mend:
To see an helpelesse euill, double griefe doth lend.
22 Nought could she read the roote of his disease,
Ne weene what mister maladie it is,
Whereby to seeke some meanes it to appease.
Most did she thinke, but most she thought amis,
That that same former fatall wound of his
Whyleare by Tryphon was not throughly healed,
But closely rankled vnder th’orifis:
Least did she thinke, that which he most concealed,
That loue it was, which in his hart lay vnreuealed.
23 Therefore to Tryphon she againe doth hast,
And him doth chyde as false and fraudulent,
That fayld the trust, which she in him had plast,
To cure her sonne, as he his faith had lent:
Who now was falne into new languishment
Of his old hurt, which was not throughly cured.
So backe he came vnto her patient,
Where searching euery part, her well assured,
That it was no old sore, which his new paine procured.
24 But that it was some other maladie,
Or griefe vnknowne, which he could not discerne:
So left he her withouten remedie.
Then gan her heart to faint, and quake, and earne,
And inly troubled was, the truth to learne.
Vnto himselfe she came, and him besought,
Now with faire speches, now with threatnings sterne,
If ought lay hidden in his grieued thought,
It to reueale: who still her answered, there was nought
25 Nathlesse she rested not so satisfide,
But leaning watry gods, as booting nought,
Vnto the shinie heauen in haste she hide,
And thence Apollo King of Leaches brought
Apollo came; who soone as he had sought
Through his disease, did by and by out find,
That he did languish of some inward thought,
The which afflicted his engrieued mind;
Which loue he red to be, that leads each liuing kind.
26 Which when he had vnto his mother told,
She gan thereat to fret, and greatly grieue.
And comming to her sonne, gan first to scold,
And chyde at him, that made her misbelieue:
But afterwards she gan him soft to shrieue,
And wooe with faire intreatie, to disclose,
Which of the Nymphes his heart so sore did mieue.
For sure she weend it was some one of those,
Which he had lately seene, that for his loue he chose.
27 Now lesse she feared that same fatall read,
That warned him of womens loue beware:
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