Kitap 14
If lesser of Aenaeas I doo make account than for
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My father, neyther (though I did as much as doone myght bee,)
I could ynough bee thankfull for his goodnesse towards mee.
That I still speake and breathe, that I the Sun and heaven doo see,
Is his gift. Can I thanklesse then or myndlesse of him bee,
That downe the round eyed gyants throte this soule of myne went not?
And that from hencefoorth when to dye it ever be my lot
I may be layd in grave, or sure not in the Gyants mawe?
What hart had I that tyme (at least if feare did not withdrawe
Both hart and sence) when left behynd, you taking shippe I sawe?
I would have called after you but that I was afrayd
By making outcrye to my fo myself to have beewrayd.
For even the noyse that you did make did put Ulysses shippe
In daunger. I did see him from a cragged mountaine strippe
A myghty rocke, and into sea it throwe midway and more.
Ageine I sawe his giants pawe throwe huge big stones great store
As if it were a sling. And sore I feared lest your shippe
Should drowned by the water bee that from the stones did skippe,
Or by the stones themselves, as if my self had beene therin.
But when that flyght had saved you from death, he did begin
On Aetna syghing up and downe to walke: and with his pawes
Went groping of the trees among the woodes. And forbycause
He could not see, he knockt his shinnes ageinst the rocks eche where.
And stretching out his grisly armes (which all beegrymed were
With baken blood) to seaward, he the Greekish nation band,
And sayd: O if that sum good chaunce myght bring unto my hand
Ulysses or sum mate of his, on whom to wreake myne ire,
Uppon whose bowells with my teeth I like a Hawke myght tyre:
Whose living members myght with theis my talants teared beene:
Whoose blood myght bubble down my throte: whose flesh myght pant between
My jawes: how lyght or none at all this losing of myne eye
Would seeme. Theis woordes and many mo the cruell feend did cry.
A shuddring horror perced mee to see his smudged face,
And cruell handes, and in his frunt the fowle round eyelesse place,
And monstrous members, and his beard beslowbered with the blood
Of man. Before myne eyes then death the smallest sorrow stood.
I loked every minute to bee seased in his pawe.
I looked ever when he should have cramd mee in his mawe.
And in my mynd I of that tyme mee thought the image sawe
When having dingd a doozen of our fellowes to the ground
