RODOMONTHS INFERNALL, OR The Diuell conquered. ARIASTOS Conclusions. Of the Marriage of Rogero with Bradamanth his Loue, & the fell sought Battell betweene Rogero and Rodomonth the neuer-conquered Pagan.

Written in French by Phillip de Portes, and Paraphrastically translated by G. M.

AT LONDON Printed by V. S. for Nicholas Ling. 1607.

TO THE RIGHT Honorable his very singular good Lord, the Lord Mount-eagle, all that can be wisht in his owne best wishes.

THere is nothing more vsually com­mon in this last part of this worst age (most Honorable, and vertuous­ly Honorable Lord) then the publi­cation of Bookes, how-euer their genealogies spring euen from the lightest vanities: amongst whom, (to saue the World and Bitternesse a labour) I condemne my selfe, as an Author and Abettor of that customary error, onely with this halfe-part excuse, that albe in my writings I haue neither Feminine honie, nor Masculine gall, yet I either doe, or desire to retaine a tast­full rellish of a little saltnesse; which, may it ca­rie but the least imagined season in your No­ble sence, I shall slieghtly respect the curiositie of any other, how-euer his stomacke be estee­med for best iudgement. The Noble French­man Mounsieur Portes, who was the first Author of this worke, was a man of great wit, famous learning, and Noble place; each of which cur­rie [Page] in them, defence sufficient to shield him from imputation: so that questionlesse, the bo­dy of the worke must needs be faire, and onely the deformitie in his English apparell: and no wonder, for I protest the Translation was fi­nisht, and forth of my hands aboue a dozen yeares agone, a time wherein bumbasted bree­ches, and straite whale-bon'd dublets had nei­ther vse nor estimation. How-euer, all mine es­capes, both boldnesse in daring to your pre­sence, rudenesse in the worke, & wants in mine Arts perfection, must flie vnder the couert of your Noble Patronage; a defence, that giuing my Muse an immortall life, shall binde my loue and seruice to you, and your Honorable house for euer.

Your Honors humbly deuoted, G. M.

TO READERS OF both kinds.

TO find as many excuses, as curious sences can faults, were to begin a new Legend Auri, or a second part of the Booke of Martyrs: a paire of gates, through which, this little Poem would not be seene to steale: wherefore, briefly, to helpe what I know is weake, this Paraphrase was first intended for one priuat mans repast, and not for a wedding table; the time when Poesie was lesse, but more belo­ued: Poets fewer, but not so bitter: and Readers in generall, by much, much better affected. Now, since time, impudencie, and other powers, plucks the blush from my cheekes, and that perforce I am prostituted to the racke of your imaginations, stretch me not be­yond my strength, the rather for my confession sake: but considering the daies of this poore Poems crea­tion, take pittie that he was too soone borne: and out of that clemency, it may be, he wil bring you as much delight, as some other children of his owne yeare: and my selfe shall extoll that in you, which is seldome or neuer found in a multitude: some Iustice.

Farewell. G. M.


ROdomonth King of Argier and Sarza, beeing a man of most extreame pride and courage, comming into Fraunce with King Agramant, who to re­uenge the death of Trai [...] ­ [...]o his father, slaine by Pipin King of Fraunce, had conducted thither a most puissant armie a­gainst Charlimaine, the sonne of Pipin: after the warres were almost fi­nished, and both Agramant, Mandricard, Gradasso, and diuers o­ther Kings slaine, this Rodomonth vnderstanding that Rogero, a Prince of excellent vertue and prowesse, who also was a confe­derate and assistant vnto Agramant, was not onely conuerted and becomed a Christian, but also should take to wife Brada­mant, the daughter of Duke Aimon, one of the twelue Peeres of Fraunce; beeing mightily inraged thereat, vpon the wedding day, he commeth and challengeth Rogero the combate, in which fight Rodomonth is slaine: whose soule, after his death (retaining the violence, furie, and madnesse, which he possest in his life) descending into hell, maketh open warres against Pluto the god of hell, and euen conquereth and turmoileth all the diuels therein: till hauing ouer-heated himselfe, and seeking for water to quench his thirst, he happeneth vpon Lethe, the riuer of For­getfulnesse; [Page] on which, when he had drunke, hee instantly forgat all that was past (except Loue) and so returneth backe to the earth: where he wandred, till he found the Castle of Isabella, the daughter of the King of Spaine; whom albe he had former­ly loued most entirely, yet he had slaine vnluckily: and about that Castle, he is bound by the Destinies to wander for an hun­dred yeares, because his body wanted buriall.

Rodomonths Infernall.

I Sing of him and his eternall ire,
Whose wraths high tempest neuer calme could boot,
That in his life shak't heauēs immortal fire,
And made the earth to tremble at his foote:
That first made aire weep teares of wrong'd desire,
Of Furies tree both bodie, head, and roote:
The high contemner of all deitie,
Afflictions master and the wracke of Pittie.
Of him I sing that washt all Fraunce in blood,
Great man, great might, but angers greatest great,
Whose soule when Roger sent to Charons flood,
Blacke Plutoes Mariner did faire intreat,
Shaking like reed that in some marrish stood,
And all hell skard, his rigorous armes await:
Palenes (forsworne) then seazd on Ditis face,
And Proserpine to new-felt feares gaue place.
Then were the furies with his viewe affright,
And shrunke to hide their waue-like snakie haires,
Whilst he thrugh girt with mad outragious might,
Thunders his bedlam wrath in dead mens eares:
And like an hoste drags forth the sole-sad Night,
To slay the beautie Heauens fore-head beares.
God of my Muse and me grace of my song,
Sweeten my harsh lines with thy musicke tong.
WHat time braue Leon had to Paris brought,
The soule of Virtu, Roger Prince of arms,
(Whom Charlemaine and all his Peeres had sought)
And in the view of France ceasd those alarms,
Which old Mount Albans gouernors had wrought
Gainst him the deare controller of his harmes:
Now to make sweete his life so loathsome led,
Roger vnto his Bradamante is wed.
To Bradamante, the joy of Aimons age,
Bradamant was Ai­mons daughter, and si­ster to Ri­naldo.
The martiall Conqueresse of all the world,
Gainst whom, durst none but he strōg battel gage,
For all Knights els by her were ouer-hurld,
Onely his eies launce did her power asswage,
And in her haires twine were his sences curld:
That striuing who the battels glory wonne,
Neither were conquered, both were ouercome.
This nuptiall wedding, this conjunct of hearts,
Charles for Charly­maine.
Charles seekes to deifie with all renowne
Fraunce could affoard, or hidden Magycke arts
Could dignifie with nights bright starrie crowne:
Two daies in neuer-equald joyes departs,
Whilst Heauens fore-head neuer lent a frowne.
And in all Tilting, Tourney, and all fight,
The praise and prize on Rogers fortunes light.
Who of the glorious Architect would learne,
The rare pauilion, the inchanted tower,
Or who would Troyes rich miracle discerne,
Wrought by diuine hands in a holy bower:
Where humane arte from heauenly artes did earne
Perfections title in a blessed hower,
Ariosto can. 46.
Let him to Ariostoes Legend runne,
Great light of Poesie, and Poets sunne.
But when the third dayes curtine was o're-spred,
Giuing the worlds eie leaue to cheare the earth:
And Charlymaine emperiously was led
With drums, with trumpets, vialls, flutes, & mirth,
Such as no Age hath knowne, or Time hath read,
Vnto Melissaes tent calld Wonders birth;
Melissa a famous in­chauntresse.
Where all the heauenly reuells were contain'd
Whilst meaner objects, meaner eies disdain'd.
Then whē the Peeres sate round about their king,
The 12. Signes.
Like Natures twins, through which the Sun doth ride,
And monthly keepes a seuerall progressing;
And euery Baron sate by others side,
Taking what place Birth or Desert could winne,
Lending aboundance to aboundant pride:
Cloyd with accates, yet still desiring more,
Digest with talke what they had tane before.
Confusedly like ouerflowing streames,
Ranne the disturbed eccho of their speech:
Or like tumultuous muttring heard in dreames,
Which through our troubled sence makes sensles brech:
Or like the clamors in the Suns pure beams,
Made by the busie Bees (which labour teach)
Such tingling musick from their lips did break,
Till the faire Bride fairely began to speake.
With golden Oratorie guilding thought,
And sweetening eares with pleasant honie words,
Shee tels the fearefull combates shee had fought
Gainst Pagan Knights, Princes, & mightie Lords,
And most of all, the glorie shee had bought,
In foyling Rodomonth, whom fame affoards
More hie renowne for martiall chiualrie,
Than Homer lent Achilles deitie.
Vnto her words her Auditors assume
The style of immortalitie and praise,
And that the times-wast richly might consume
Ioynd vnto hers, they paint moe bloodie daies,
Adding to battels past, a present plume,
Which warlike dangers hie to heauen might raise;
Whilst others told the sackings of great townes,
Where infants cries, the mothers shriekings drownes.
Thus deepely wading in their bloody theame,
Historifying mortall immortall deedes,
Charles like Apollo set in his golden teame,
Cheering with lookes both plants and soueraigne weeds
Now plac't between the two vnited beams,
The Bride & Bridegrom, (on whom beuty feeds:)
He saw a mighty man clad all in blacke,
Mounted vpon a mighty coursers backe.
Who with a slow-foote maiestie did pace
Towards them all, with a disdainfull eie,
Sending contempt, the curtaine of his face,
To plead the hate that in his heart did lie:
Reuerence he scornd, nor did he yield one grace
To Charles, the ladies, or to any by,
Till all in muse what his amaze would make,
Thus vnto Roger and the rest he spake.
Roger, I am great Rodomount the King,
Of fruitfull Argier on the Affricke bounds,
Whome Virtue and Renowne doth hither bring,
To chalenge thee false traitor, whose name sounds
In heathen eares like Iews trumps when they ring,
And will approoue, that in thy heart abounds,
Falshood vnto thy chieftaine, and thy faith,
Which from thy birth thou shouldst preserue til death.
And therewithall auerre, that no true Knight,
Ought to dispute of thee, or of thy fame,
Thogh (brasen facde) thou shunnest not the light,
Which of thy monstrous perjuries exclaime:
All which to justifie in single fight,
Beholde my hand made ready for the same,
A mighty engin made by Natures skill,
To scourge thy damned execrable ill.
Yet if thy cowards heart pine with remorse,
And certaine knowledge make thee faint in sinne:
Chuse for thine ayde, to double thy dead force,
Some of these Knights that hemme thy courage in,
Foure, five, or if full twenty, nere the worse,
The more they mount, the more my fame shal win,
Whilst I immortaliz'd by this great deede,
Wil triumph when thy trēbling heart shal bleed
Here pawsde the Pagan, yet with staring eie,
Bright as a fiery Metyor in the darke,
Casting on all th'assembly lookes awry,
Stroke in them wonder that his words did marke:
Yet hauing leaue, Roger did thus reply:
Sterne king of Sarza, vnto mine answer harke:
Pure as the Sunne mine honor I respect,
And false thou liest that falsly doost detect.
Vnto my King I euer haue bin true,
Linking Eternitie vnto my loue,
Euen from the first age, to this last, none knew
Spot in my faith, which euermore did moue
Stainlesse, vnblemisht, whilst affection drew
My constant thoughts the highest heauens aboue:
And here (false Pagan) shall my life maintaine,
That yet my life did neuer suffer staine.
And for these multitudes to ayde my wrong,
My single selfe, single shall thee suffice,
Well shalt thou find me bold enough and strong
To quell the stormes that from thy furies rise,
And in my soule, I hope ere it be long,
Thou shalt confesse (with anguish from thine eies)
That one alone contending in the right,
Is both too many, and of too great might.
This said; the two faire sonnes of Oliuer,
Sanson, Orlando, Renald, and the rest,
Stroue who should first Roger from wrong deliuer,
Kindling a greedie ardor in their breast,
Alleadging that his spowsals should disceuer
Him from this conflict, and to them addrest
This quarrels groūd; whilst Bradamāt did swear,
Marfyza Rogers sister.
And faire Marfyza, they apart would beare.
But Roger fiercer, mad with their desire;
Breeding new Aetnas in his boyling heart,
Swore their excuse should not make him retire,
For sole to him belong'd that dreadfull part:
Here-with he takes his armour (bright as fire)
Made by inchantment, and by Magycke arte;
And scarce would stay (so earnest was his flame)
Had not those states helpt to put on the same.
Marfyza and faire Bradamant his bride,
Begyrt his curats on his manly backe,
Charles coucht his trustie sword vnto his side,
His spurres Orlando buckles; nor doth lacke
His helme, which on his head Astolpho ti'de,
Dudon his stirrop holds, and in this wracke,
Namus about the field takes speciall charge,
To martiall it, and make it cleare and large.
Rinaldo held his courser by the raine,
Whose hollow hoofe beating the humble ground,
(As basest element) in high disdaine
Spurn'd it, and gaue it many a drierie wound:
And chiding his controlling bit in vaine,
A milke-white foamy mantle bout it is wound;
Thē neying lowd, charging his wel prickt eares,
He shews his ioyes in warlike acts appeares.
Like Danaes sonne on the Pegasian steed,
So mounted Roger on this princely beast,
Whilst Oliuer gaue to their further speed,
Speares of one length & strength; neither increas't,
But gaue to equall chance their equall deed:
Then like two Buls with fierie rage opprest,
Leauing the Heard, retiring to their course,
So parted they, to meet with greater force.
The halfe-dead liuing Ladies looking on,
Trembled poore soules, as doth the sillie Doues,
Who in the mild aire playing the sands vpon,
By stormes are drinen to shrowd in houses roues,
Whilst vnder cloudes the Sunne to rest is gone,
And all the heauēs with mourning vizage moues:
Euen so the pittying Ladies wept no lesse,
When they beheld the Pagans mightinesse.
The Pagan that euen then spurrd forth his horse,
whose windlike fury flying more swift then thoght
Made the amazed ground quake thrugh his course
As if great Ioue some new reuengement wrought.
On th'other side, Roger with Princely force
Ran with such puissance, that his horse hoofs taght
The sullen earth (created dumb and lame)
To sing, to cry, to eccho and exclame.
Or like a flood, that falling downe a rocke,
Reuerberats huge clamors through the stones,
So sounds his noise, till meeting in the shocke,
That cracke of thunder drowns the lesser ones;
Brauely they meet, and in their meetings broke
Their shiu'red staues (wherat their palfries groās)
With such pure might, that as if splints would fly
Beyond all sight, they mounted in the skie.
Yet were their blowes in nature different:
For why, the Pagan lighting on his shield,
Which Vulcan well had temperd, to preuent
A greater force than mortall man could yield,
With little hazard all in peeces rent:
But Roger (taught how mighty acts to wield)
With vnknowne puissaunce through his target stricke,
Albe it was of steele six inches thicke.
And had his speare sustain'd his manly power,
And not like feathered plumes flowne in the aire,
The combate had tane end in that same hower:
For why no armour able was to beare
The huge incounter of that stormie shower,
Whose lightning through his heart had made re­paire:
Yet break it did, & with a breach so soūd,
That both the horses buttocks kist the ground.
With helpe of bit and blame of angrie spurre,
Their skilfull riders rais'd them vp againe,
Who in their saddles rock-like did not sturre,
But like to Imps of Sagittarius straine,
All of one matter with their steedes concurre,
And manag'd mightie actions vnto paine:
And now with swords threatening the losse of breath
Began the wounded Proem vnto death.
Hote was th'assault, implacable the blowes,
Eager the wishes, either for others end,
Each frō his steeled coat maine lightning throwes,
Which downward to the parched groūd descend,
Whose sun-burnt face sweat to indure their woes,
That euen to wonders did new wonders lend:
And in this fury both did seeke a good,
To make the earth drunke with their worthy blood.
Like wanton Goates winding vpon a plaine,
Turning and tossing in their nimble salts,
Now on the right, then on the left againe;
So did these knights, whom memorie exalts,
Handle their horses, seeking to regaine
Mightie aduātage, either by others falts:
And whilst their thoughts their furies ouer­whelms,
Their swords kept time vpon their sounding helmes.
The Pagan which had lost his Serpents hyde,
That aged Time for Nemirod had made,
His first great Grandsire, Lord of Babels pride,
And left forlorne, his memorable blade,
Albe he now had gyrt vnto his side,
Another which for strēgth might heauen inuade:
Yet neither this, nor that, was found so hard,
As to withstand the edge of Balysard.
Of Balysard Rogeroes trustie sword,
Which through the Pagās steele had beat his way,
For neither charme, nor temper could affoard
A suertie vnto his skinne that day:
Rebatelesse edge, hard stars, and might accord,
The fatall scene of bloody death to play:
Whilst Roger of the Pagans blood had made
A skarlet mantle to impale his blade.
But Rodomonth that felt his sword rebound,
Like to a tennis ball within a court,
As oft as it on Rogers helme did sound,
And found with-all an infinit resort
Of painefull thoughts, purchast by many a wound,
Albe he cloaks maine griefes (his madde consort:)
Yet when he saw the conduits of his blood,
He grew impatient, mad, and raging wood.
Euen like a Boare chast in the wildernesse,
Enuyous of himselfe, wanting a meane
To be aueng'd of venging mightinesse,
Gnashing his teeth, wrapt in a foamy straine:
Or like the seas distempered ouglinesse,
Hurld by the winter wind with might & maine;
Euen so forsakes his shield, and doth intend,
With both his hands to giue the combate end.
Yet e're he heau'd his hands, he curst the skie,
And slandred shamefully the god of warre,
Then with such might as stormes in spring do flie,
He lift them vp, and fetching force from farre,
Stroake that the earth betweene the poles did crie:
Or like an oake in a tempestuous jarre,
Rent by the roots, with vnknown terror braues,
The broad vast desarts, and the hollowe caues.
So fell on Rogers helme this hatefull blowe,
Which had it not by Magycke art beene wrought,
His fame, no fame had liu'd to ouergoe:
Yet so the puissance had his sence bestraught,
That gainst the saddle pommell twise in shoe,
He knockt his head, robd of recouering thought:
The Pagan now exalted in his pride,
Stroke with like strength another on his side.
The golden raines, guid of Rogeroes steed,
Fell from his hand, ope flewe his holding thies,
And senslesse with each motion mou'd like reed,
Whilst weeping Honor in her waining cries:
The Pagan hopefull, greedie in this deed,
Doubles maine strokes on stroks, and gods defies:
Till in the end with multitudes of blowes,
He broke his sword, the terror of his foes.
Amaz'd at this, hauing but hilt in hand,
With a small remnant of the broken blade,
As if that heauen his will did countermand,
Against the heauens blacke protestations made,
Blasphemously the God of gods he band,
And Mahomet with sternie threats doth lade:
And vowes, in spight of heauen, and heauenly power,
Rogero shal not liue to breath an hower.
At this, the help-forsaken Knight he takes,
And from his saddle lifts him vp by force,
Thence to the earth he throwes him, whilst earth makes
A silent sorrow for his murdred coarse:
Which seene, the Pagan smiles, and then forsakes
Thought of ensuing harme, and with his horse
Trots in disdaine about Rogeroes head,
Saying, his worke was done, his foe was dead.
But as the Libique sea wrong'd with the winde,
Recouers mightier forces in his foile,
So Roger by his fall new strength doth finde,
And as awak't, makes all his sence recoile:
And to augment his foes amazed minde,
Nimbly rose vp, whilst blushing rage did boile
Fresh in his cheekes, for as his eies did mooue,
The first he spi'd was Bradamant his loue.
Euē Bradamant, whose pale, wan, troubled thought,
Had almost wed her princely life to death,
Which seene, with venging shame halfe captiue brought,
Vowes a requital, or to loose his breath:
At which, the Pagans bridle raine he caught,
And on his thies maine deadly woundings lai'th:
All which he felt so vehement and sore,
That Rodomonth grew madder than before.
The bedlam Turke, with whom their did remaine
Part of the blade that was in peeces flowne,
With it smote so on Rogers helme againe,
That once more almost he was ouerthrowne:
But the milde Prince seeing there did remaine
A great aduantage, vntill then vnknowne,
By the left hand doth take the Turke by force,
And spight of spight puls him besides his horse.
Now whether t'were his strength, fine ssieght, or chance,
I cannot gesse, but on his feete he fell,
No vantage was betweene them, more or lesse;
Saue in the swords, which Roger vs'd so well,
That when the Pagan ouer-neare did presse,
With point he kept him out, though nere so fell:
For he did deeme in dangerous and ill,
To close with one of such huge strength & skil
Againe he saw the Pagan bleed so sore,
That lingring time would giue the conflict end,
For strength flew forth at his vaines opened dore:
Which Rodomonth perceiuing, thought to lend
Despaire a desperate hazard, lesse or more;
And therefore with a diuellish force did send
The hilt and pommell of the broken steele
To Rogers head, which made him soundly reele.
It strake him twixt the shoulder and the head,
And gaue to him a blow so firme and sound,
That good Rogero there-with staggered,
And hardly stood from falling on the ground;
Rodomonth to close with him then hastened,
But loe, his foot fail'd with his former wound:
So that his too much haste (as oft we see)
Hurt him, and made him fall vpon his knee.
Roger accepting Times aduantage lent,
Wounded the Turke on head, on breast, and face,
But he got vp againe incontinent,
And made starke mad, with this most vile disgrace,
Ranne vpon Roger, and in's armes him pent,
Folding him with a most vnkind imbrace;
And then they striue, heaue, shoue, thrust to and fro,
And either seekes the others ouerthrow.
With force they striue, with arte, and with agilitie,
Whether shall sooner fall vnto the ground;
The Pagans strength was weakned by extremity,
By means of many a deepe receiued wound:
Rogers arte was great, great his abilitie,
Much vs'd to wrastle, and he quickly found
Th'aduantage, which he did not ouer-slip,
But on the weakest side, his foe did trip.
Downe like a tower to the ground he went,
Or like a rocke throwne headlong in the sea,
Whereby his blood in great aboundance spent
Freshly began to spring; making that day
The earth (in skarlet clad) much to lament:
Downe is he held, to rise he finds no way;
The while Rogero set his daggers point
Vnto his throat, and to his chiefest joynt.
And with sharp words (th'imbassadors of death)
Told him, except to mercie he submit,
Nothing should saue his life, or lend him breath,
Such firme resolue within his heart did sit;
But Rodomonth, whose hie couragious faith,
Rather then yeild, a thousand deaths thought fit,
Spake not a word, but stroue himselfe to sunder
From him; or if he could, to get him vnder.
Looke how a Martin in a Mastiues fang,
Foames at the mouth, fights with his ouerthrow,
Whilst from his red eies beames of fire flang:
And at the end, impatient of his woe,
Grinning, lifts vp his lips, where slauers hang,
And his vaine vnreuenging teeth doth shoe:
So doth the cruell Pagan striue and threat,
But all he can cannot his death defeat.
Yet with long striuing, and with wondrous paines
He freed his better arme, and void of awe,
His ponniard, which in his right hand remaines,
That in this latter conflict he did draw,
He seekes to stab into Rogeroes raines;
But when the valiant youth the perill saw,
Then for his safeties sake he was constrained
To kill the cruell Turke, that grace disdained.
And lifting his victorious hand on hie,
In the Turkes face he stabd his dagger twice
Vp to the hilts, and quickly made him die,
Ridding himselfe of trouble in a trice;
Downe to the lake where damned ghosts doe lie
Sunke his disdainfull soule, now cold as yee:
Blaspheming (as it were) and cursing lowd,
That was on earth so loftie and so prowd.
The eie-beholders wondring at this deed,
In showtes and cries to heauen bore Rogers fame,
In gazing on him, Eies and Eares doe feed,
And from all mouthes his all great praises came;
From age to sucking babes his acts succeed,
And infants sonet on his sacred name;
And al the Peers of France kindly imbrac't him,
And Charlimaine within his armes inlac't him.
He kist him kindly, and orecome with joy,
Dissolu'd faire pearle, and siluer on his checke,
Kinde thoughts, more kinder thoughts sought to destroy;
Eternal their abode, the King doth seeke,
As much Marfyza did, and would enioy
Perpetuall comfort from his lookes so meeke:
Orlandos loue, nor yet Rinaldos lacke,
Aquitan and Grif­fin.
Neither the warlike brothers, white and blacke.
Last, but not least, for shee exceeded all,
Came Bradamant his bride, his loue, his Queene,
Thought-guiding goddesse, warlike principall,
Within whose eies, are thousand Cupids seene,
Shee on his hands kisses and teares lets fall,
(So boundlesse her immortall pleasures beene)
And frō his face wipes with her cheeks so bright
The sweat and dust that hindred had his sight.
How many deaths, alas how many paines,
How many slaine hopes, what abundant feares
Ran vncontrolled through this Ladies veines:
How many idle wishes, what dispaires,
Felt shee forlorne; the while the fight retaines,
A doubtfull issue, who the triumph beares:
Trembling for her Roger, her purest heart,
Her god, her life, her loue, and euery part.
How many times succeslesse did shee wish
Her selfe well arm'd, plac'd in her louers stead,
Not that shee fear'd his starres would run amisse,
But for the Pagans puissance made her dread;
Who lent no minutes respite to her blisse,
But with each stroke seemd to awake the dead:
And more thē with the blows the Pagā strooke,
He pierc't her soule and life with euery looke.
Now contrary, rauisht with her delight,
Shee winds her armes like vines about his necke,
Calls him her loue, her joy, and her liues spright,
Her better selfe, all that her comforts decke;
Now doth shee chide the day for too slow flight,
And euening for her lazie pace doth checke,
Making her praiers to Night, her welcom guest
Whose silence must to waking loue yield rest.
During this joy, numberlesse people flow
About the body of the Pagan King,
Whose monstrous greatnesse seemd to ouer-goe
The Aetnean Cyclops, or some greater thing:
Some at his beard in admiration grow,
Some of his countenāce, some of his shape do ring;
In briefe, ther's none beleeues that he is dead,
Or that one man, such might could captiue lead
Till Charlimaine both to cut off amaze,
As also to make Rogers deeds diuine,
Caus'd to disarme the Turk (on whom they gaze,)
And on faire pillars wrought of stately pine,
(Trophees that time nor ruine should down raze)
Within that place, most rich in Paris eine,
Hung vp his head-peece, curats, and the rest,
With all that his great body did inuest.
The masse of flesh, by force of horse and man,
(For like a mountaine it lay on the plaine)
Was dragd into the Voyrie, and than
Left as a prey for Rauens to remaine;
Who hiely feasted, in their croking gan
Triumph vpon his carrion, and grow faine,
Singing in base songs, that Frēch babes to beare
Might wonder when of Rogers acts they heare.
And now by this th'outragious bedlam soule
Of euer-angrie Rodomonth was got
Down through the earths sad corners, to the fowle
Blacke streame of Acheron, which first doth float
About the bounds of hell; on whose bāks knowle
Millions of sprights he sees with clamors trot:
Crying on Charon, who transported then
His Bardge downe laden with a world of men.
But he contemptuously hating to stay
The lazie pleasure of the old mans sloath,
Into the lake leaps head-long, and makes way
With his deuided armes; yet as he goeth,
With spightfull threatnings euer did inuay
Against the Bardge-man, who was likewise wroth,
And for he knew his Fare he had not paid,
With Oare in hand, his landing passage staid.
Th'ambitious Pagan staring in his face,
First smil'd, then said, alas poore silly man,
Thinkst thou, whom age hath linckt to weake dis­grace,
Against immortall Rodomounth to stan;
If all the diuels in hell be in thy case,
All shall be slaues to me, that all things can:
Say thus said Rodomount the god of hell,
Whose wil's a law, whose law dare none repell.
Packe hence then crooked lozzell, hide thy head,
A better man, a brauer boat Ile haue,
The boat-swaine, who such words nere heard nor read,
Thinking to drown him in the inkie waue,
Taking a stretcher, at the spirit laid:
Which seene, the nimble Turk, with corage braue,
Into the boat leapes, that with force it reeles,
And therewithal strikes vp the old mans heeles
Then on his snowie beard he claps his hold,
Giuing him buffets more then two or three,
The silly wretch singled with courage cold,
Yet to auoid him wants abilitie;
Both were impatient, both their strengths vnfold,
Till they, the boat and all, orewhelmed be:
With such a noise, as hels vast vaults resounded,
And Charon cri'd for Plutoes aide, confounded.
The soule of Rodomont from Kings descended,
Swame downe the riuer easily at his will,
And drags along with him madly offended
The boat and boat-man, whether he will or nill:
These as sad Trophees on his rage depended,
Whom he torments with worse then worst of ill:
Anon he lands them, and doth then begin,
To looke how he might hels great Palace win.
Pluto, that from hels tower looked downe,
Sweats and torments himselfe to see this wrath,
Scarce can he tell how to preserue his crowne,
All that by doome of destenie he hath;
Now he begins to fret, to scold, and frowne,
Vowing iniustice manageth his scath:
And then he feares hie Ioue is down descended,
To take from him the right he long defended.
The starre of Sicill, Proserpin the faire,
Lanthorne of hell, the paramour to Dis,
Felt selfe-like pangs, and twice so great despaire,
By which her plaints grew more extream thē his;
With heauie eies, wan cheekes, and carelesse haire,
Round about hell shee runnes madly amisse:
And all the damned soules calles to her aide,
With flattering words, thus in sweet liquor laid.
You soules (shee said) you spirits miserable,
That burne in yce, and frieze in scorching fire,
And you that nere to feele Loues darts were able,
To whom no golden touch of thoughts aspire;
Though pittie here by course is detestable,
Yet pittie me, pittie my whole desire,
And with that pittie, keepe and hold my right,
For which, this prowd imperious foe doth fight
See how his rage claimes this vast Emperie,
Needs will he rule this damned fatall place,
My crowne he claimes, my scepters dignitie,
My husbands birth-right, al black Nights imbrace:
Downe falls my rule, vnlesse your chiualrie,
Vnto my eager hopes bid happy base:
Which if you doe, and I thereby repaire
My ruin'd thoghts, mark what I vow & sweare.
By sacred Styx, by that obscure aspect,
By the dread spindle of the fatall three
Twinnes got by Erebus, and Nights defect;
And by the rocke on which the world doth lie,
I vowe my thoughts no labour shall neglect,
Vntill those dames brands of your miserie,
Come to this place, and either ease your smarts,
Or feele due paine for such stiffe steeled hearts.
But as for you, that Loues flames haue not tasted,
But liue in hell for other hainous sinnes,
If through your aide my woes away be wasted,
And my ioyes Legend in your fame begins,
Then neuer more hence-forth shal you be blasted
With tortures, woes, or ought that sorrow brings:
And if in hell sweet solace may be had,
I grant it them that make my sighings glad.
When faire Eurydice had spoken thus,
The shadows which in blacke Auernus lay,
Thundring came vp, and of her words discusse,
Glad of her promise, and this holy day.
All promise aide, no threats were burdenous,
And Agrican himselfe did first display,
Then Agramant, then Mandricard, then more,
Each striuing which should goe the rest before.
All with imperious eagernesse contend,
Which first shall triumph ore the Pagan King,
At which debate, heauēs frame with griefe did bēd
Bowing his breast, to peace them summoning:
But seeing that their rage did more extend,
From this his vault did stormy lightening fling;
Thunder and tempest flew from heauens dore,
Such stormes till then was neuer seene before.
Euen from the highest round that mooueth all,
To the low center,
Hell by some wri­ters is said to be in the center of the earth
where we hell repute,
The noise was heard, which did all eares appale,
And from the same consuming fire did shute,
Which like well armed warriours in a brawle,
Seemd wirh reuenge each other to rebuke:
Whose broken speares like fierie arrowes fell,
And hung from heauen vnto the lowest hell.
Th'opposed earth at these extreames admired,
Seeing hell quake, and heauen thus inflamed
Stroke dumbe and blinde, mercie for sins desired;
Such prodigies fore times had neuer framed:
Earth thinkes the day of Doome is full expired,
For all in all, and all things are ashamed:
Onely the Pagans soule from earth deuided,
Stood dreadlesse, & these hellish sights derided.
Th'imperiall seat of heauenly loue he threats,
Bans aire, and earth, and elementall powers,
Vowing by his owne rage, which all things beats,
That if he meete, or finde deaths hatefull bowers,
The life hee tooke from him with mild intreats,
Hee shall restore againe in teary showers:
And he in spight of Plutoes deitie,
Will there in hell erect his Emperie.
Where ere he went, the Furies fled before him,
The whilst his pride augmented by their flight,
All things without hell gates ran to adore him;
This bridg is fained to be kept by Cerberus the three headed dogge.
And now the draw-bridge stands within his sight,
On it he prowdly leaps, that quaking bore him,
And vaunts himselfe therof Lord, king, & knight:
For why th'Ecchiddnian curre for feare was fled,
And in the burning lake did hide his head.
And now he pulls the Eban bridge in sunder,
And hauing Charon this while by the heeles,
Like to a maull makes his old pate to thunder,
Beating the bridge, whose rented pillars reeles,
Whilst Pluto (who at all these acts did wonder)
More woes than hell includes, with terror feeles:
His austere looke, black, swarthie, angry redde,
Now grew exchang'd pale, wan, drie, and dead.
Like haplesse Pelops in an iuorie mount,
Vnnaturally, so the blacke god stood,
Of woes the huge infinitiue account,
With stearne impatience makes him growe starke wood:
This hard disasterous chance he doth recount,
Boyling his heart in this distempered blood:
Now this, now that, are grounds of this strange war,
Now neither this, nor that, th'occasiōs are.
One while he thinkes the bastard sonne of loue,
Great Hercules is come from heauen againe,
Hercules brought Proserpina from hell when Plu­to had stollen her from her mother Ceres.
Led by a second fire, a greater loue,
More fell than that of which the Poets faine:
He dreads that he his bed-right will remoue,
Which very thought puts him to mightie paine:
Aie me he cries, Proserpina thy face,
From thence this furious warre begins his race.
Scarce was that thought well setled in his thought,
But a new humour dispossest it straight,
New broyles, old warres vnto confusion brought,
Conceit torments conceit; and then the weight
Of vnknowne sorrowes madly him distraught,
Now woes in words flew far beyond woes height;
Vntill the anguish of his soules tormenting,
Showers forth black teares, to bath his heart re­lenting.
Then from those teares his sighs and sorrows flie,
And to the caues imparts his heauy groanes,
From whose vast wombs impatient ecchoes crie,
Yet neither know nor vnderstand his moanes:
The damned soules in Phlegeton that lie,
Daunc't to his sorrow in their fierie thrones:
But he that saw his losse grow greater great,
Implores their aides with this sad sweet intreat.
You airie ghosts and citizens of hell,
You sad abortiue monsters of the darke,
All you that in perpetuall torments dwell,
Behold my woes, all my afflictions marke:
Come number my distempered thoughts, then tel
The fraught of feares borne in my bodies barke:
And though remorse did neuer you importune,
Yet for your selues and me, ease my misfortune.
I sweare that he, what euer be his happe,
That gainst this man, this monster, or this deuill,
Brauely will beare himselfe, and can intrap
Th'vnconquered strong, ridding vs of his euill,
Shall as my sonne sit on my sacred lappe,
And in our burning Palace brauely reuell:
All paines from him I'le banish and exclude,
And call him hels new champion, Fortitude.
Nere shall he hence-forth bath in frosty fire,
Or feele the iron torrents, hearts despight,
Which from the doome of Minos doe aspire,
And on the poore condemned spirits light:
But as my selfe sit in a seat much hier,
As if from him I held my soueraigne right:
And this he spake with such a feeling passion,
As moued in all the ghosts a milde compassion.
Like Crowes about a carrion newly slaine,
Or like small flies about a candles flame,
So millions of the subiects vnto paine,
Condemned soules about blacke Pluto came:
First they whose liues the whole world did distain,
Kindling mischieuous brands with enuies blame;
Whose hie ambitions wed to Pollicie,
Stird ciuill warres to murder Pietie.
Vp came the tyrants gorgd with bloodie goare,
And misers, whose insatiate greedy thirst,
Ouerthrew nobilitie, and slew the poore:
Then came the murderers, with blood halfe burst,
Whose hands the guiltlesse hearts in peeces tore:
The traitours came, vp came the worst of worst,
The mutenous, the strife-ingendring flame,
The enuious, and inconstant louers came.
Vp rize the soules, that had by fauours hold,
Taken the poore mans right to make him great;
And with them those, which had for treasure sold
Their countries freedome, to a forraine seat:
Vp came the slanderous wise, the desperate bold,
The wilfull periur'd, on whom shames awaite:
And these began aloft to eleuate
Their strengths and prowesses for Plutoes sake.
But when the king of Death had heard their vant,
He sent them backe, and thus their prides represt;
Retire weake soules, vaine, feeble, and inconstant,
T'is not on you my hopes or safeties rest,
For he that must giue cure vnto my want,
Confirme my peace, and make mee happy blest:
Must be a valiant Chieftaine full of might,
A famous warriour, and approued knight.
Euen he whose fame is planted on the seas,
In heauen, in earth, and here with vs in hell;
Who hath transported armies through all these,
Whose blade hath conquered men & monsters fell:
He that in chains of gold leads thrugh dark waies
Inthralled kings, with whom all honors dwell:
This is the soule must shine in armes for me,
And venge my cause, and set mine Empire free.
The soule of king Gradasso hearing this,
Mounted aloft, and thus made his reply.
Leaue to complaine (thou god of diuels blisse,)
For if on Fame or Knighthood thou relie,
Or on the Prince that nere led man amisse;
Whose troups haue scal'd those moūts which losse the skie:
Then is it onely I must set thee free,
Though gods conspire to cope in armes with me.
A thousand wreaths of conquering Lawrel binds
My holy temples, with faire tresses curld,
The rumor of my name spread in the winds,
Hath dar'd the Champions of the Western world,
Spaine haue I sackt, my sword all Belgia blinds,
And Fraunce by me was topsie turuie turnd:
Two vowes I made, and brought to passe with pain,
The like, the world shall neuer see again.
And these they were; In spring time of my yeares,
Flying from Wealth, and Pleasure two fell foes,
That often thrals and conquers mighty Peeres,
Deuote to Valure, vow'd despight of nose
To giue Orlando combate, and sans feares,
To trie in fight what force from Reinald flowes:
Which done, Orlandos horse I got as gaine,
And wan the sword of Reinald for my paine.
This said, and seeking more his praise to say,
The soule of Mandricard which aie disdaind
Such base false bruits should beare the prize away;
Full fraught with furie, madly himselfe demeand,
And rushing forth, lowd as the Lyons bray,
Thunderd this answer, hardly well restraind
From handy blowes; yet casting about his eie,
Lookt on Gradasso most despightfully.
Harke (quoth he) how this terror, scourge of flies,
Warmd with the blood that boyleth on his heart,
Boasteth his manhood in a thousand lies:
I saw the day, when spight of all his arte,
He Spanniel-like for mercie to me cries;
I and I saw Astolpho, on whose part
Honor, nor any valiant acte depended,
On whom the name of Knight neuer attended.
Euen him I saw with a weake golden launce,
(A weapon farre vnfitting for the warre)
Orethrow this mightie one, and in a traunce
Left him disgraced, like a falling starre;
And yet himselfe boue vs he doth aduance,
Threatneth bright heauen, which can wel declare
That his contempt is false, his praise a shade,
And onely our deeds are immortall made.
These orethwart words made prowd Gradasso mad
(Madnes is euer silent for a space)
At length his fury burst from humor sad,
And like a flame did all his soule imbrace;
For aduocate, strokes and not words he had,
Yet as he gaue the lie, (words worst disgrace,)
The mightie ghost of Agramant vpraised,
Bade them be still vntill he were appaised.
Then with a voice huge as a Northerne gale,
Doing to Pluto solemne reuerence,
He thus proceeded in his hawty tale;
What fire is this, what winged violence,
What hie desire doth these great Peeres exhale,
And like false starres draw them vnto offence,
Like old men that forget decaying might,
Making them graspe at what is mine by right.
For if the pride of armes this honour winne,
Iustice must plead me worthiest of the three,
For thirtie two annoynted Kings haue bin
Vassals to me, and my huge dignitie;
T'account my men, no number could begin,
For why, they were more then the world could see,
Exceeding all the sparkling starry light,
Which in cleere Phebes hall doe polish Night.
Hills with the hollow downes I leuell made,
Floods haue I couerd with mine armed hoste,
Men on parcht plaines in bloody seas did wade,
And hnnger-starued death through me did boast
An Empire, that no time should make to fade,
By me he got what ere fore times had lost:
For day and night I held him at a baie,
And still increast his kingdome and his sway.
Pluto thou knowest, and hell will witnesse beare,
(For in thine Eban booke my fame is writ)
And from hels gates no Fate shall euer weare
My rumor out; or shall Obliuion sit,
And my liues Chronicle in peeces teare:
Thou knowest right well, that to this damned pit,
Millions of millions, weeping are descended
Of slaughtered soules, that my right-hand con­demned.
Call Charon forth, let him for me protest,
Whose armes in work did nere waxe feeble weak,
Saue with my powers, who numberlesse opprest,
And almost made his withered sinewes breake.
Againe, that these Kings soules may liue at rest,
And vaine hopes made no further vants to speak,
Fetch forth thy bedrolls, paper-books & notes,
Thy Chronicles, in which all soules thou coates.
Fetch forth the Antiquares of all those shades,
Sent from the earth by Nature, Murder, Fight,
Then shall they know I haue inricht these glades
More in the circuit of a winters night,
Then they in all their liues, with all their blades,
Hell beeing peopled onely by my might:
Thus did these three, with hauty tearms cōtend,
And each to other hatefull speeches lend.
Pluto agrieu'd to see this ciuill brawle,
Practizd to knit them in continuing peace,
To him new arguments this broyle did call,
Now doth he sweat to make their wraths surcease,
And rage inrag'd, with rage he doth forestall,
Their warre doth Rodomonts great warre increase:
Who all this while vpon the bridge did stand,
Tearing the yron barres vp with his hand.
But more he speakes, the more their angers rise,
Like stormes that make disturbed waues growe mad,
Anon the god with falling fierie eies,
Thus to beseech with mildest tearmes was glad:
Cease conquering Kings, these ciuil armes despise,
A iuster cause may here with praise be had:
These thre were the Iudges of Hell.
As for your strife, best time shall it discusse,
Fore Minos, Radamanth, and Eachus.
Thus to his grand tormentor hauing spoke,
He with disdainfull semblance turnd about,
And as like lightning from a darke clowd broak,
Lookt on Gradas, and Agramant the stout,
And said, return poore fooles, prides foolish yoke,
Vnto the earth, and there anewe finde out
Your leaden fames, which for a paltry sword,
To one of you, such hie praise did affoard.
Agramant was the sonne of Traiano, who was slaine by Pipin king of Fraunce.
But as for thee Traianos youthful heire,
Led by yong thoughts (inamorites to will)
In venging hate thy prowesse doth appeare,
Where I haue scornd any by hate to ill;
For all my acts Cupids light wings doe beare
Vp to faire Cytheron his mothers hill:
And he that offers Loue his conquering sword,
Is truely valiant both in deed and word.
Yet gratious Pluto, first disgrace this flame,
And find a balme to cure Loues hatefull griefe,
Murder this fire, extinguish Cupids name;
Then will I fight, and purchase thee reliefe:
To this desire, thus Dis doth answere frame,
Ha Mandricard, controll that vaine beliefe,
Which in Loues ease doth any helpe assure,
Loue is alone impossible to cure.
The God of gods, and I my selfe am thrald,
No Fate the bane of Venus baite escheweth,
Cupids keene shafts the Fiends in hell haue gald,
And whilst his ceaslesse rigor me pursueth,
By whom is Deitie alone forestald,
I find no meane nor man that on me rueth:
But look how fast my wretched flight pretēdeth
So fast he flies, and on my sorrow tendeth.
Earnest to follow on his tale begunne,
A suddaine storme of teares fell from his eies,
And from his talke so great controlement wonne,
That sound of words, strange sounding sighs sup­plies,
Sighes that in feruor did exceed the Sun,
Making hot flames on watry billowes rise;
Whilst Rodomonth exlaimd on Dis from farre,
And cals the fiends to combate, if they dare.
Now Mandricard the sonne of Agrican,
By this was chosen champion for the darke,
And armd in clowds, that Night from Nature wan,
Came marching forth, whilst euery souie did mark
The comely puisance of the mightie man,
And to his courage euery eare did harke:
Which he with hollow words brauely did cheer,
Swearing a second death shall slay their feare.
But when the Pagan saw him thus prepar'd,
Dissembling warlike Equipage in hell,
Fast by the foote takes Charon ouerdar'd,
And bout his head swings him, & makes him yell,
Thence throwes him at the head of Mandricard,
Who with such violence vpon him fell,
That spight his heart he made him reele & fall,
As when a Cannon beats a citie wall.
Poore Charon thus the pellet of his might,
Hauing orethrowne the Tartar, tumbled by,
And through mischance, on Plutoes foot did light,
And with cold feare orecome began to crie,
And like a coward king, fit Lord for Night,
Let from his fist his yron scepter flie,
Which with a bought at each end seemd to be
Great as the heauens great seeming Appletree.
Which massie barre the Pagan soone surprizd,
And like a tennis tost it in his hand,
Swearing no diuell, nor diuels damme suffiz'd
To quench his hates eternall burning brand,
New immortalitie (quoth he) disguiz'd
Armes me to win this neuer conquered land;
Nor dare huge infinites my will resist,
Whilst I possesse this weapon in my fist.
Thus mad with pride, prowd that he was so mad,
He with this engin scald the gates of hell,
A second death by death the Furies had,
For ne're a blow that from his crotcher fel,
But made the shaking pit with terror sad,
That all the soules in which dead slumbers dwell,
Hied to their tombes by old confusion torne,
And there with teares wept that they were for­lorne.
But this the braue Tartarians soule reuiued,
Like to a dreaming traueller from sleepe,
And blushing to behold what Rage atchieued,
With pensiue looks seemd, thogh vnseen to weep,
Whose dying shame (for shame is nere long liued)
Cast downe his eies much lower then the deepe,
And lifting them againe, whilst wrath repines,
Displaies a knot of fierie Serpentines.
Their backes and breasts were speckled blew and green,
Their eies & nostrils spuing flames of fire,
Whose noysome smoaks palpable felt and seene,
Poyson'd the aire, and what than aire was hier,
With liquid venime, and resistles tiene,
Which dropping from their scalie fins retire:
These Mandricard threw fiercely at his foe,
In hope to quittance his receiued woe.
But Rodomount whom nothing could apale,
Smild at reuenge, weakened for want of breath,
And jesting at them, boldly gripes them all,
Squeezing the damned monsters to the death,
The sight whereof, broke the Tartarians gall,
When scorne by scorn made scorn of valures faith;
And with that thought, flies at the Pagans face,
And force perforce, justles him from the place.
Vnwares assaild, downe falls the Turkish king,
Into the damned poole of dead-mens bones;
The op'ning billowes greedily suckt him in,
And yet agast to heare his angrie groanes,
Mounted him vp againe, lest wrath should bring
Vnto their source confused endlesse moanes:
And as he shakt himselfe, the drops fell downe,
With pitteous grieuance to behold his frowne.
Mad with disgrace (madnesse from enuie growes)
The Pagan swimming, gaind the shore againe,
Setting the lake on fire, where-ere he goes,
Throwes forth hie mountaines of admir'd disdain,
The while his body like a furnace glowes,
Lending new torments to vndying paine;
And foaming like a stormy beaten flood,
Belcht riuers forth, that no restraint withstood.
When Pluto saw him diuing in this brooke,
(The altar on which all the gods doe sweare)
Vnto his soule exalted ioyes he tooke,
And thus his fainting armie newe doth cheare;
Friends (said he) fellow mates, glosse of my looke,
My agents, euen my selfe, my best compeere,
Mount you vpon these walls, and then retort
This damned diuell from a landing port.
Which, who effects by vnimagind might,
To him a wealthy coronet of Yew,
A wreath of Cypresse, and a clowd of Night,
I doe bequeath, whom all soules shall reuiewe:
But Mandricard, now iealeous of his right,
Seeing hel mooued, cried, Pluto, is this true?
Wilt thou dishonour me, shall any say,
He seconded the Tartar in his fray?
False god, rebate thine idle promise past,
And keepe thy damned soules in yron chaines,
For if dishonor on my crest be plac't,
This power of mine, that all great power sustains,
I'le turne vpon thy head, and for disgrac't,
Drown thee and him within these muddy streams:
Whilst this was speking, spight of might or main,
Once more the Turke came to the shore againe.
And all his body mantled in filthy mire,
Like a stearne Boare soild in the Summer time,
Yet in his count'nance flam'd eternall fire
Much hier then infernall eies could clime,
Like lightning Salmicis wing'd with desire,
Flies on the Tartar all besmeard with slime,
And with his airie armes gripes aire so sore,
That Mandricard fell down, and could no more.
Hence doth victorious Rodomont pursue
His all-wonne conquest to the gates of hell,
And Pluto swore, Destenie was vntrue;
Yet trying all, what euer could repell,
From his neere bosome fatall inchantment drew,
I meane Despaire, Griefe, and Amazement fell,
Which in a viall he had closely plac't,
And these at Rodomont with rage he cast.
But these were made to wound the Louers breast,
They had no motion in a flintie minde,
Of which the Pagan made an idle jeast,
Spilt it vpon the ground, said, foolish blind,
Poore god of hell, keepe in thy rusty chest
These Pedlars trinckets, for some weaker kind,
For louing asses, and for wanton boies,
Slaine and orecome with sillie childrens toies.
For me, I feare no frost, no foyle, no flame,
No monster, filth, nor hellish excrement:
To dread thy priuie rage, were dastard shame,
Nothing mooues me vnder the firmament,
All things are held in awe by my great name;
And I as little feare thy worst intent,
As stubborn Northern blasts, or Summers haile,
Feare to encounter an vnfolded Snaile.
Thus did he say (by rage taught what to say)
And saying what he said, burnt with his ire
Felt a strong drought make thrugh his body way,
Setting his soule and aierie parts on fire;
All which, his labours, passions, and paines obey,
Adding huge violence to his desire;
For beeing with his drinesse almost burst,
He leaues them all, & seeks to quench his thirst.
Like Hercules for Hyla, he runs madde,
Crying and seeking for some cooling streame,
Anon he finds one out, and then was glad;
Lethe he findes, Lethe which Poets dreame,
That all Forgetfulnesse from it is had,
(Memory takes from that still pond his maime:)
The sight of which, when the prowd Pagan
He laies him downe, & takes a mighty (caught, draught.
Sooner he had not toucht the fatall spring,
But all old memory and thought was gone,
His former warre, his rage, his combating,
And euery acte before that present done:
Hell he forgat, Fiends, Furies, and their King,
(All which in consultation were alone,)
And had decreed, and taken Plutoes crowne,
To make him King, and put old Ditis downe.
But like a man that knowes no former age,
Or infants that forget their mothers wombe,
Meeke as a Doue, that Lyon-like did rage,
He finds the way through which he first did come,
Passes ore Styx like a conuerted sage,
And so ascending vp by fatall doome,
Once more the aire, and earthly mansions won,
Cheering his dead eies with the liuing sonne.
Restlesse he passed like a windie gale,
Through all the crooked corners of this round,
Till he found out againe that bloody vale,
That euer to be memorized ground
On which he tooke his death, and there his pale
Dead mangled carkasse, rent and torne he found;
With broken skull, and flesh delacerate,
About the which, a thousand Rauens sate.
Wrath at this sight waken'd his sleepy brands,
And on the featherd tyrants spits his gall,
Railes, but his raylings nothing vnderstands,
Ore mounts he chases them, ore rockes, ore dale,
Ore floods, and seas, beating the beaten strands,
Making the woods resound his hydeous tale:
Stil folowing on, where ere they took their flight,
Threatening the silly birds to proue his might.
Led thus by conduct of his winged foes,
Not apprehending what, or where he was,
Stareth about, and then records his woes,
For well he knew the heauens adored place,
Within this Paradice his Trophees shoes,
Here all his thoughts, his cares, and wonder was:
A tower he saw out-braue the element,
Which was faire Isabellaes monument.
Faire Isabella, flower of virgin maides,
Whose fame is registred on heauens face,
In whose last end eternall vertue reades,
Faiths perpetuitie, and chast thoughts grace;
Whose neuer-mooued soule to ages pleads,
Life, that no life or death shall counterface:
Whose Angel loue to Angel sences bared,
Her too vntimely end too well declared.
This mightie Tower, the Pagans teares agniz'd,
He knew the gates, the bridge, the swans, the flood,
And all those knightly shields, by honor priz'd,
Which he had wonne in seas of purple blood;
For though that Lethe euery thought surpriz'd,
Yet Loue it could not, Loue all charms withstood:
And he that had forgot all other deedes,
Records his Loue, Loue that perpetuall bleeds.
Like Centaures gazing on the Gorgon shield,
So on this castle stone-like look't this king,
And to it thousand orizons did yield,
Deare tombe of Chastitie, O glorious thing.
And now since fates, that al the world doth wield,
About whose work the frame of heauen doth hing,
Haue doomd vnburied soules (though gods by birth)
An hundred yeres to trauel on the earth.
Therefore the Destinies this Pagan bound,
So long to erre about this holy shrine,
Constant and joyfull in his Loue-sicke wound,
Shewing himselfe fearefull to mortall eine,
With cries & clamors shaking the trobled groūd,
At whose huge noise, both gods and men repine;
Which seemes to call, O pulchra clara stella,
Rodomount, Rodomount, Isabella, Isabella.

AT LONDON Printed by V. S. for Nicholas Ling. 1607.

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