Book 14
Now had th'Ewboyan fisherman (whoo lately was becomme
1
A God of sea to dwell in sea for ay,) alreadye swomme
Past Aetna which uppon the face of Giant Typho lyes,
Toogither with the pasture of the Cyclops which defyes
Both Plough and harrowe, and by teemes of Oxen sets no store:
And Zancle, and crackt Rhegion which stands a tother shore:
And eeke the rough and shipwrecke sea which being hemmed in
With two mayne landes on eyther syde, is as a bound betwin
The frutefull Realmes of Italy and Sicill. From that place
He cutting through the Tyrrhene sea with both his armes apace,
Arryved at the grassye hilles and at the Palace hye
Of Circe, Phoebus imp, which full of sundry beastes did lye.
When Glaucus in her presence came, and had her greeted, and
Receyved freendly welcomming and greeting at her hand,
He sayd: O Goddesse, pitie mee a God, I thee desyre.
Thou only (if at least thou think mee woorthy so great hyre)
Canst ease this love of myne. No wyght dooth better know than I
The powre of herbes, whoo late ago transformed was therby.
And now to open unto thee of this my greef the ground,
Uppon th'Italyan shore ageinst Messene walls I found
Fayre Scylla. Shame it is to tell how scornfull shee did take
The gentle woordes and promises and sute that I did make.
But if that any powre at all consist in charmes, then let
That sacret mouth of thyne cast charmes: or if more force bee set
In herbes to compasse things withall, then use the herbes that have
Most strength in woorking. Neyther think, I hither come to crave
A medcine for to heale myself and cure my wounded hart:
I force no end. I would have her bee partener of my smart.
But Circe (for no natures are more lyghtly set on fyre
Than such as shee is) (whither that the cause of this desyre
Were only in herself, or that Dame Venus bearing ay
In mynd her fathers deede in once disclosing of her play,
Did stirre her heereunto) sayd thus: It were a better way
For thee to fancye such a one whoose will and whole desyre
Is bent to thine, and whoo is sindgd with selfsame kynd of fyre.
Thou woorthye art of sute to thee. And (credit mee) thou shouldst
Bee woode in deede, if any hope of speeding give thou wouldst.
And therefore dowt not. Only of thy beawtye lyking have.
Lo, I whoo am a Goddesse and the imp of Phoebus brave,
Whoo can so much by charmes, whoo can so much by herbes, doo vow
