And syghing fore her haunds fhe wronge and folde,
Tare al her haire that ruth was to beholde.
Her body small, forwithered and forespent,
As is the stalke that fommers drought oppreft;
Her wealked face with wofull teares befprent,
Her colour pale, and, as it seemed her best,
In woe and playnt repofed was her reft:
And as the stone that droppes of water weares,
So dented were her cheekes with fall of teares.-
I ftoode agaft, beholding all her plight,
Tween dread and dolour fo diftreynd in hart,
That while my heares upftarted with the fight,
The teares outstreamde for forowe of her smart.
But when I fawe no ende, that could aparte
The deadly dole which she so fore dyd make,
With dolefull voyce then thus to her I fpake.
Unwrap thy woes, whatever wight thou be!
And stint betime to fpill thyfelfe with playnt.
Tell what thou art, and whence, for well I fee
Thou canst not dure with forowe thus attaynt.
And with that worde, of forrowe all forfaynt,
She looked up, and proftrate as she laye,
With piteous founde, lo! thus fhe gan to saye.
Alas, I wretche, whom thus thou seest distrayned,
With wafting woes, that never shall aflake,
SORROWE I am, in endeles tormentes payned,
Among the Furies in the infernall lake;
Where Pluto god of hell fo grieflie blake
Doth holde his throne, and Lethes deadly taste
Doth reive remembrance of eche thyng forepast.
Whence come I am, the drery destinie,
And luckles lot, for to bemone of those,
Whom Fortune in this maze of miserie,
Of wretched chaunce, moft wofull myrrours chose:
That when thou feeft how lightly they did lose
Theyr pompe, theyr power, and that they thought most sure,
Thou mayeft foon deeme no earthlye joye may dure.
SORROW then conducts the poet to the claffical hell, to the place of torments and the place of happiness.
I shall thee guyde first to the griefly lake,
And thence unto the blissfull place of rest:
Where thou shalt fee and heare the playnt they make,
That whilom here bare fwinge among the best.
This shalt thou fee. But great is the unrest
That thou muft byde, before thou canst attayne
Unto the dreadfull place where those remayne.
And with these wordes as I upraysed stood
And gan to folowe her that straight forth paste,
Ere I was ware, into a defert wood
We nowe were come: where hand in hand embraced,
She led the way, and through the thicke fo traced
As, but I had beene guyded by her might,
It was no waye for any mortal wight.
But loe! while thus amid the defert darke
We paffed on, with steppes and pace unmeete,
A rumbling roar confufde, with howle and barke
Of dogs, fhooke all the grounde under our feete,
And ftrooke the din within our eares fo deepe,
As half diftraught unto the ground I fell,
Befought returne, and not to vifit hell.
An hydeous hole al vast, withouten shape,
Of endles depth, orewhelmde with ragged stone,
With oughly mouth and griefly jawes doth gape,
And to our fight confounds itself in one.
Here entred we, and yeding forth, anone
An horrible lothly lake we might difcerne,
As black as pitche, that cleped is Averne.
A deadly gulfe where nought but rubbish growes,
With fowle blake swelth in thickened lumpes that lyes,
Which upp in th' ayre such stinking vapour throwes,
That over there may flye no fowle, but dyes
Choakt with the noyfom vapours that aryse.
Hither we come, whence forth we ftill did pace,
In dreadfull feare amid the dreadfull place.
Our author appears to have felt and to have conceived with true taste, that very romantic part of Virgil's Eneid which he has here happily copied and heightened. The imaginary beings which fate within the porch of hell, are all his own. I muft not omit a fingle figure of this dreadful groupe, nor one compartment of the portraitures which are feigned to be fculptured or painted on the SHIELD of WAR, indented with gashes deepe and wide.
And, first, within the porch and jaws of hell
Sat deep REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE, all besprent
With tears; and to herself oft would fhe tell
Her wretchednefs, and, curfing, never stent
To fob and figh, but ever thus lament
With thoughtful care; as fhe that, all in vain,
Would wear and wafte continually in pain :
Her eyes unftedfast, rolling here and there,
Whirl'd on each place, as place that vengeance brought,
So was her mind continually in fear,
Toft and tormented with the tedious thought
Of those detefted crimes which she had wrought;
With dreadful cheer, and looks thrown to the sky,
Wishing for death, and yet fhe could not die.
Next, faw we DREAD, all trembling how he fhook,
With foot uncertain, profer'd here and there, ;
Benumb'd with speech; and, with a gaftly look,
Search'd every place, all pale and dead for fear,
His cap born up with with staring of his hair
'Stoin'd and amazed at his own fhade for dread,
And fearing greater dangers than was need.
And, next, within the entry of this lake,
Sat fell REVENGE, gnashing her teeth for ire;
Devifing means how the may vengeance take;
Never in rest, 'till fhe have her defire;
But frets within so far forth with the fire
Of wreaking flames, that now determines the.
To die by death, or 'veng'd by death to be.
When fell REVENGE, with bloody foul pretence,
Had fhow'd herself, as next in order fet,
With trembling limbs we foftly parted thence,
'Till in our eyes another fight we met;
When fro my heart a figh forthwith I fet,
Ruing, alas, upon the woeful plight
Of MISERY, that next appear'd in fight:
His face was lean, and fome-deal pin'd away,
And eke his hands confumed to the bone;
But, what his body was, I cannot fay,
For on his carkafs rayment had he none,
Save clouts and patches pieced one by one;
With staff in hand, and fcrip on fhoulders caft,
His chief defence against the winter's blast:
His food, for moft, was wild fruits of the tree,
Unless fometime fome crums fell to his fhare,
Which in his wallet long, God wot, kept he,
As on the which full daint❜ly would he fare
His drink, the running stream, his cup, the bare
Of his palm closed; his bed, the hard cold ground :
To this poor life was MISERY ybound.
Whose wretched state when we had well beheld,
With tender ruth on him, and on his feers,
In thoughtful cares forth then our pace we held
And, by and by, another shape appears
Of greedy CARE, ftill brushing up
the breers ;
His knuckles knob'd, his flesh deep dinted in,
With tawed hands, and hard ytanned skin :
The morrow grey no fooner hath begun
To spread his light, e'en peeping in our eyes,
But he is up, and to his work yrun;
But let the night's black misty mantles rise,
And with foul dark never fo much disguise
The fair bright day, yet ceaseth he no while,
But hath his candles to prolong his toil.
By him lay heavy SLEEP, the coufin of Death,
Flat on the ground, and still as any stone,
A very corpfe, fave yielding forth a breath;
Small keep took he, whom fortune frowned on,
Or whom she lifted up into the throne
Of high renown, but, as a living death,
So, dead alive, of life he drew the breath:
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