Chaucer's ghoast Or, A Piece of antiquity. Containing twelve pleasant Fables of Ovid penn'd after the ancient manner of writing in England. Which makes them prove Mock-Poems to the present Poetry. With the History of Prince Corniger, and his Champion Sir Crucifrag, that run a tilt likewise at the present Historiographers |
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| I. |
| II. | [------alienæ cornua fronti] |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
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| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
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| XII. |
 | Chaucer's ghoast |  |
5
[------alienæ cornua fronti]
Argument II.
How Diana turned Acteon into a Hart, and how he was devoured by his own Dogs.
------alienæ cornua fronti
Addita, vosq; canes satiati sanguine herili.
Ovid. l. 3.
Addita, vosq; canes satiati sanguine herili.
Ovid. l. 3.
Ovid in his book he spakes
examples touchen bad mistakes,
and saith, how whilome there was one
a worthy Lord, which Acteon
was call'd, and he was Cousin nigh
to him that Thebes first on high
up set. Acteon 'bove all chear
had used it from year to year,
with Hounds and with great Horns
amongst the Woods and the Thorns,
to make his Hunting and his Chace,
where he best thought in every place,
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there rode he for to hunt and play.
So him befell upon a tide,
on his hunting as he did ride,
in a Forest alone he was,
and saw there upon the green grass
the fair flowers fresh to spring,
he heard amongst the leafs to sing
the Throstel with the Nightingale.
Thus (e're he wyst) into a Dale
he came, and in a Plain he lit
all round about which was beset
with bushes green, and cedars high,
and there within he cast his eye;
amidst the Plain he saw a Well
so fair, that there may no man tell.
In which Diana naked stood
to bathe and play her in the Floud,
with many Nymphs which there her served:
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from her that was naked and tall;
but she was wondrous wrath withall,
and him (as she which was Goddess)
for's hope, anon gave him likeness
of Beasts, and made him be a Hart,
which was before his Dogs to start.
Then ran he busily about
with many a horn, and many a rout,
that made moche noise and piteous cry;
and at the last unhappily
this Hart his own Hounds grimly slew,
and to pieces mischievously him drew.
Lo now my Son, what it is
a man to cast his eye amiss.
| Chaucer's ghoast | |