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Arachne, by his meanes was vanquished

Of Pallas, and in her owne skill confound,
When she with her for excellence contended,
That wrought her shame, and sorrow never ended.

For the Tritonian goddesse having hard

Her blazed fame, which all the world had fild,
Came downe to prove the truth, and due reward
For her praise-worthie workmanship to yield :
But the presumptuous Damzell rashly dar'd
The goddesse selfe to chalenge to the field,
And to compare with her in curious skill

Of workes with loome, with needle, and with quill.

Minerva did the chalenge not refuse,

But deign'd with her the paragon to make:
So to their worke they sit, and each doth chuse
What storie she will for her tapet take.
Arachne figur'd how love did abuse
Europa like a Bull, and on his backe

Her through the Sea did beare; so lively seene,
That it true Sea, and true Bull, ye would weene.

Shee seem'd still backe unto the land to looke,
And her play-fellowes ayde to call, and feare
The dashing of the waves, that up she tooke
Her daintie feet, and garments gathered neare:
But (Lord!) how she in everie member shooke,
When as the land she saw no more appeare,
But a wilde wildernes of waters deepe :
Then gan she greatly to lament and weepe.

Before the Bull she pictur'd winged Love,
With his yong brother Sport, light fluttering
Upon the waves, as each had been a Dove;
The one his bowe and shafts, the other Spring
A burning teade about his head did move,
As in their syres new love both triumphing :
And manie Nymphes about them flocking round,
And many Tritons which their hornes did sound.

And, round about, her worke she did empale
With a faire border wrought of sundrie flowres,
Enwoven with an yvie-winding trayle:

A goodly worke, full fit for kingly bowres;

Such as dame Pallas, such as Envie pale,

That all good things with venemous tooth devowres,
Could not accuse. Then gan the goddesse bright
Her selfe likewise unto her work to dight.

She made the storie of the olde debate,
Which she with Neptune did for Athens trie:
Twelve gods doo sit around in royall state,
And love in midst with awfull maiestie,
To iudge the strife betweene them stirred late:
Each of the gods, by his like visnomie
Eathe to be knowne; but Iove above them all,
By his greate lookes and power imperiall.

Before them stands the god of Seas in place,
Clayming that sea-coast Citie as his right,
And strikes the rockes with his three-forked mace;
Whenceforth issues a warlike steed in sight,
The signe by which he chalengeth the place;
That all the gods, which saw his wondrous might
Did surely deeme the victorie his due :
But seldome seene, foreiudgement proveth true.

Then to herselfe she gives her Aegide shield,
And steel-hed speare, and morion on her hedd,
Such as she oft is seene in warlike field:

Then sets she forth, how with her weapon dredd

She smote the ground, the which streight foorth did yield
A fruitfull Olyve tree, with berries spredd,

That all the Gods admir'd; then all the storie
She compast with a wreathe of Olyves hoarie.

Emongst these leaves she made a Butterflie,
With excellent device and wondrous slight,
Fluttring among the Olives wantonly,

That seem'd to live, so like it was in sight:
The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie,
The silken downe with which his backe is dight,
His broad outstretched hornes, his hayrie thies,
His glorious colours, and his glistering eies.

Which when Arachne saw, as overlaid,
And mastered with workmanship so rare,
She stood astonied long, ne ought gainesaid;
And with fast fixed eyes on her did stare,

And by her silence, signe of one dismaid,
The victorie did yeeld her as her share;
Yet did she inly fret and felly burne,
And all her blood to poysonous rancor turne:

That shortly from the shape of womanhed,
Such as she was when Pallas she attempted,
She grew to hideous shape of dryrihed,
Pined with griefe of folly late repented:

Eftsoones her white streight legs were altered
To crooked crawling shankes, of marrowe empted;
And her faire face to foule and loathsome hewe,
And her fine corpes to a bag of venim grewe.

This cursed creature, mindfull of that olde
Enfested grudge, the which his mother felt,
So soon as Clarion he did beholde,

His heart with vengefull malice inly swelt;
And weaving straight a net with manie a fold
About the cave, in which he lurking dwelt,
With fine small cords about it stretched wide,
So finely sponne, that scarce they could be spide.

Not anie damzell, which her vaunteth most
In skilfull knitting of soft silken twyne :
Nor anie weaver, which his worke doth boast
In diaper, in damaske, or in lyne;

Nor anie skil❜d in workmanship embost;
Nor anie skil'd in loupes of fingring fine;
Might in their divers cunning ever dare
With this so curious networke to compare.

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Yet still Aragnoll (so his foe was hight)
Lay lurking covertly him to surprise;
And all his gins, that him entangle might,
Drest in good order as he could devise.
At length, the foolish Flie without foresight,
As he that did all daunger quite despise,
Toward those parts came flying carelesselie,
Where hidden was his hatefull enemie.

Who, seeing him, with secret ioy therefore

Did tickle inwardly in everie vaine;

And his false hart, fraught with all treasons store,
Was fill'd with hope his purpose to obtaine :
Himselfe he close upgathered more and more
Into his den, that his deceitfull traine
By his there being might not be bewraid,
Ne anie noyse, ne anie motion made.

Like as a wily foxe, that, having spide
Where on a sunnie banke the lambes doo play,
Full closely creeping by the hinder side,
Lyes in ambúshment of his hoped pray,
Ne stirreth limbe; till, seeing readie tide,
He rusheth forth, and snatcheth quite away
One of the litle yonglings unawares:
So to his worke Aragnoll him prepares.

Who now shall give unto my heavie eyes
A well of teares, that all may overflow?
Or where shall I find lamentable cryes,

And mournfull tunes, enough my griefe to show?
Helpe, O thou Tragick Muse, me to devise
Notes sad enough, t' expresse this bitter throw:
For loe, the drerie stownd is now arrived,
That of all happines hath us deprived.

The luckles Clarion, whether cruell Fate
Or wicked Fortune faultles him misled,
Or some ungracious blast out of the gate
Of Aeoles raine perforce him drove on hed,
Was (O sad hap and howre unfortunate!)
With violent swift flight forth caried
Into the cursed cobweb, which his foe
Had framed for his finall overthroe.

There the fond Flie, entangled, strugled long,
Himselfe to free thereout; but all in vaine.
For, striving more, the more in laces strong
Himselfe he tide, and wrapt his wingës twaine
In lymie snares the subtill loupes among;
That in the ende he breathlesse did remaine,
And, all his yongthly forces idly spent,
Him to the mercie of th' avenger lent.

Which when the greisly tyrant did espie,
Like a grimme lyon rushing with fierce might
Out of his den, he seized greedelie

On the resistles pray; and, with fell spight,
Under the left wing strooke his weapon slie
Into his heart, that his deepe groning spright
In bloodie streams forth fled into the aire,
His bodie left the spectacle of care.

GLOSSARY.-Tyne, affliction; yongth, youth; stie, mount; stownd, blow; burganet, helmet; wroken, avenged; doft, taken off; hight, called; mickle, much; eftsoones, immediately; embay, bathe; suffisaunce, excess; sprent, sprinkled; earne, yearn; spring, springal, youth; teade, torch; eathe, ease; dryrihed, drearyhead, lyne, linen; drerie stownd, dismal hour.

EDMUND SPENSER, 1553-1598.

ON A LOCUST.

FROM THE GREEK OF MNASALCUS.

Oh, never more, sweet locust,

Shalt thou with shrilly wing,
Along the fertile furrows sit

And thy gladsome carols sing;
Oh, never more thy nimble wings
Shall cheer this heart of mine,
With sweetest melody, while I
Beneath the trees recline.

Translation of W. HAY.

TO THE CICADA.

FROM THE GREEK OF MELEAGER, 100 B. C.

Oh, shrill-voiced insect, that, with dew-drops sweet
Inebriate, dost in desert woodlands sing;
Perch'd on the spray-top with indented feet,
Thy dusky body's echoings, harp-like ring.

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