 | Parthenophil and Parthenophe |  |
ELEGIE XII.
Oh neuer can I see that sunnie light,That bright contriuer of my fierie rage,
Those precious golden apples shinning bright,
But out alas, me thinckes some fearefull sight
Should battell with the deare beholders wage.
I feare such pretious thinges should haue some force
Them to preserue, lest some beholders might
Procure those precious apples by their slight:
Then cruell Atlas banisht from remorse
Enters my thoughtes, and how be fear'de away.
The poore inhabitantes which dwelt about
(Least some af his rich fruite should make a pray)
Although the Orchard, circummur'de throughout
With walles of steele was, and a vigil stoute
Of watchfull Dragons guarded euery where,
Which bold attemptors vext with hot pursuite,
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Thus (Atlas-like) thine hart hath Dragons set
Tyrannous hatred, and a proud disdaine,
Which in that Orchard cruellie did raine,
And with much rigour rule thy louely eyes,
Immur'd in steelie walles of chaste desier,
Which entrance to poore passengers denyes,
And deathes high daunger to them that requier:
And euen as Atlas (through fierce crueltie
And breache to lawes of hospitalitie
When lodging to a straunger he denied)
Was turned to a stonie mountaine straight,
Which on his shoulders now support's heauens waight,
A iust reuenge for crueltie and pride:
Euen so, thine hart (for inhumanitie,
And wrath to those that thine eyes apples loue,
And that it will not lodge a louely guest)
Is turn'd to rocke, and doth the burthen beare
Of thousand zealous louers deare complaintes:
Whom thou with thy fierce crueltie diost teare,
An huge hard rocke, which none can euer moue
And of whose fruite, no man can be possest:
Thy golden smiles make none attemp'ts to deare,
But when attempted once those apples bee,
The vayne attemptour, after feeles the smart:
Who by thy Dragons, hatred, and disdaine
Are torne in sonder, with extremitie:
For hauing entred, no man can get forth
(So those inchaunting apples hinder thee)
Of such deare prize, be things of such rare worth.
But euen as Perseus, Ioues thrise valiant sonne
(Begot of Danae in a golden shower)
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Then kill'd the Dragons with his matchlesse power,
At length the bewteous golden apples wonne:
So right is he borne in a golden hower,
(And for his fortune may from Ioue discend)
Who first thine hart an Atlas hath subdue'd,
Next, hatred, and disdaine brought to their end
Fierce Dragons, which attemptours all purseu'de,
And which before, none euer haue eschew'de:
At length, who shall these golden apples gaine,
He shall alone, be Perseus for his paine.
| Parthenophil and Parthenophe | |