Book 11
And (wicked wights) they murthred him, who never till that howre
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Did utter woordes in vaine, nor sing without effectuall powre.
And through that mouth of his (oh lord) which even the stones had heard,
And unto which the witlesse beastes had often given regard,
His ghost then breathing into aire, departed. Even the fowles
Were sad for Orphye, and the beast with sorye syghing howles:
The rugged stones did moorne for him, the woods which many a tyme
Had followed him to heere him sing, bewayled this same cryme.
Yea even the trees lamenting him did cast theyr leavy heare.
The rivers also with theyr teares (men say) encreased were.
Yea and the Nymphes of brookes and woods uppon theyr streames did sayle
With scattred heare about theyr eares, in boats with sable sayle.
His members lay in sundrie steds. His head and harp both cam
To Hebrus, and (a woondrous thing) as downe the streame they swam,
His Harp did yeeld a moorning sound: his livelesse toong did make
A certeine lamentable noyse as though it still yit spake,
And bothe the banks in moorning wyse made answer to the same.
At length adowne theyr country streame to open sea they came,
And lyghted on Methymnye shore in Lesbos land. And there
No sooner on the forreine coast now cast aland they were,
But that a cruell naturde Snake did streyght uppon them fly,
And licking on his ruffled heare the which was dropping drye,
Did gape to tyre uppon those lippes that had beene woont to sing
Most heavenly hymnes. But Phebus streyght preventing that same thins,
Dispoynts the Serpent of his bit, and turnes him into stone
With gaping chappes. Already was the Ghost of Orphye gone
To Plutos realme, and there he all the places eft beehild
The which he heretofore had seene. And as he sought the feeld
Of fayre Elysion (where the soules of godly folk doo woonne,)
He found his wyfe Eurydicee, to whom he streyght did roonne,
And hilld her in imbracing armes. There now he one while walks
Togither with hir cheeke by cheeke: another while he stalks
Before her, and another whyle he followeth her. And now
Without all kinde of forfeyture he saufly myght avow
His looking backward at his wyfe. But Bacchus greeved at
The murther of the Chapleine of his Orgies, suffred not
The mischeef unrevengd to bee. For by and by he bound
The Thracian women by the feete with writhen roote in ground,
As many as consenting to this wicked act were found.
And looke how much that eche of them the prophet did pursew,
