The Whole Works of William Browne of Tavistock ... Now first collected and edited, with a memoir of the poet, and notes, by W. Carew Hazlitt, of the Inner Temple |
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
111
And Sorrow Philocels. Where he espies,
What he did onely feare, the beautious Maid,
His wofull Cælia whom (ere night araid
Last time the world in suit of mournfull blacke,
More darke then vse, as to bemone their wracke)
He at his cottage left in sleepes soft armes
By powre of simples and the force of charmes:
Which time had now dissolu'd, and made her know
For what intent her Loue had left her so.
She staid not to awake her mate in sleepe,
Nor to bemone her Fate. She scorn'd to weepe,
Or haue the passion that within her lyes
So distant from her heart as in her eyes.
But rending of her haire, her throbbing brest
Beating with ruthlesse strokes, she onward prest
As an inraged furious Lionesse,
Through vncouth treadings of the wildernesse,
In hot pursuit of her late missed brood.
The name of Philocel speakes euery wood,
And she begins to still and still her pace:
Her face deckt anger, anger deckt her face.
So ran distracted Hecuba along
The streets of Troy. So did the people throng
With helplesse hands and heauy hearts to see
Their wofull ruine in her progenie.
And harmlesse flocks of sheepe that neerely fed
Vpon the open plaines wide scattered,
Ran all afront, and gaz'd with earnest eye
(Not without teares) while thus she passed by.
Springs that long time before had held no drop,
Now welled forth and ouer-went the top:
Birds left to pay the Spring their wonted vowes,
And all forlorne sate drooping on the boughes:
Sheep, Springs and Birds, nay trees' vnwonted grones
Bewail'd her chance, and forc'd it from the stones.
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