Such as dame Pallas, such as Envie pale,

That all good things with venemous tooth devowres,
Could not accuse. Then gan the goddesse bright
Her selfe likewise unto her work to dight.

She made the storie of the olde debate,
Which she with Neptune did for Athens trie:
Twelve gods doo sit around in royall state,
And love in midst with awfull maiestie,
To iudge the strife betweene them stirred late:
Each of the gods, by his like visnomie
Eathe to be knowne; but love above them all,
By his greate lookes and power imperiall.

Before them stands the god of Seas in place,
Clayming that sea-coast Citie as his right,
And strikes the rockes with his three-forked mace;
Whenceforth issues a warlike steed in sight,
The signe by which he chalengeth the place;
That all the gods, which saw his wondrous might
Did surely deeme the victorie his due :
But seldome seene, foreiudgement proveth true.

Then to herselfe she gives her Aegide shield,
And steel-hed speare, and morion on her hedd,
Such as she oft is seene in warlike field :

Then sets she forth, how with her weapon dredd

She smote the ground, the which streight foorth did yield
A fruitfull Olyve tree, with berries spredd,

That all the Gods admir'd; then all the storie
She compast with a wreathe of Olyves hoarie.

Emongst these leaves she made a Butterflie,
With excellent device and wondrous slight,
Fluttring among the Olives wantonly,

That seem'd to live, so like it was in sight:
The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie,
The silken downe with which his backe is dight,
His broad outstretched hornes, his hayrie thies,
His glorious colours, and his glistering eies.

Which when Arachne saw, as overlaid,
And mastered with workmanship so rare,
She stood astonied long, ne ought gainesaid;
And with fast fixed eyes on her did stare,

And by her silence, signe of one dismaid,
The victorie did yeeld her as her share;
Yet did she inly fret and felly burne,
And all her blood to poysonous rancor turne :

That shortly from the shape of womanhed,
Such as she was when Pallas she attempted,
She grew to hideous shape of dryrihed,
Pined with griefe of folly late repented:
Eftsoones her white streight legs were altered
To crooked crawling shankes, of marrowe empted;
And her faire face to foule and loathsome hewe,
And her fine corpes to a bag of venim grewe.

This cursed creature, mindfull of that olde
Enfested grudge, the which his mother felt,
So soon as Clarion he did beholde,

His heart with vengefull malice inly swelt;
And weaving straight a net with manie a fold
About the cave, in which he lurking dwelt,
With fine small cords about it stretched wide,
So finely sponne, that scarce they could be spide.

Not anie damzell, which her vaunteth most
In skilfull knitting of soft silken twyne:
Nor anie weaver, which his worke doth boast
In diaper, in damaske, or in lyne;
Nor anie skil'd in workmanship embost;
Nor anie skil'd in loupes of fingring fine;
Might in their divers cunning ever dare
With this so curious networke to compare.

This same he did applie

For to entrap the careles Clarion,

That rang'd each where without suspition.

Suspition of friend, nor feare of foe,
That hazarded his health, had he at all.
But walkt at will, and wandred to and fro,
In the pride of his freedome principall :
Little wist he his fatall future woe,
But was secure; the liker he to fall.
He likest is to fall into mischaunce,
That is regardles of his governaunce.

Yet still Aragnoll (so his foe was hight)
Lay lurking covertly him to surprise;
And all his gins, that him entangle might,
Drest in good order as he could devise.
At length, the foolish Flie without foresight,
As he that did all daunger quite despise,
Toward those parts came flying carelesselie,
Where hidden was his hatefull enemie.

Who, seeing him, with secret ioy therefore
Did tickle inwardly in everie vaine;

And his false hart, fraught with all treasons store,
Was fill'd with hope his purpose to obtaine:
Himselfe he close upgathered more and more

Into his den, that his deceitfull traine

By his there being might not be bewraid,
Ne anie noyse, ne anie motion made.

Like as a wily foxe, that, having spide
Where on a sunnie banke the lambes doo play,
Full closely creeping by the hinder side,
Lyes in ambúshment of his hoped pray,
Ne stirreth limbe; till, seeing readie tide,
He rusheth forth, and snatcheth quite away
One of the litle yonglings unawares:
So to his worke Aragnoll him prepares.

Who now shall give unto my heavie eyes
A well of teares, that all may overflow?
Or where shall I find lamentable cryes,

And mournfull tunes, enough my griefe to show?
Helpe, O thou Tragick Muse, me to devise
Notes sad enough, t' expresse this bitter throw:
For loe, the drerie stownd is now arrived,
That of all happines hath us deprived.

The luckles Clarion, whether cruell Fate
Or wicked Fortune faultles him misled,
Or some ungracious blast out of the gate
Of Aeoles raine perforce him drove on hed,
Was (O sad hap and howre unfortunate!)
With violent swift flight forth caried
Into the cursed cobweb, which his foe
Had framed for his finall overthroe.

There the fond Flie, entangled, strugled long,
Himselfe to free thereout; but all in vaine.
For, striving more, the more in laces strong
Himselfe he tide, and wrapt his wingës twaine
In lymie snares the subtill loupes among ;
That in the ende he breathlesse did remaine,
And, all his yongthly forces idly spent,
Him to the mercie of th' avenger lent.

Which when the greisly tyrant did espie,
Like a grimme lyon rushing with fierce might
Out of his den, he seized greedelie

On the resistles pray; and, with fell spight,
Under the left wing strooke his weapon slie
Into his heart, that his deepe groning spright
In bloodie streams forth fled into the aire,
His bodie left the spectacle of care.

GLOSSARY.-Tyne, affliction; yongth, youth; stie, mount; stownd, blow; burganet, helmet; wroken, avenged; doft, taken off; hight, called; mickle, much; eftsoones, immediately; embay, bathe; suffisaunce, excess; sprent, sprinkled; earne, yearn; spring, springal, youth; teade, torch; eathe, ease; dryrihed, drearyhead; lyne, linen; drerie stownd, dismal hour.

EDMUND SPENSER, 1553-1598.

ON A LOCUST.

FROM THE GREEK OF MNASALCUs.

Oh, never more, sweet locust,

Shalt thou with shrilly wing,
Along the fertile furrows sit

And thy gladsome carols sing;
Oh. never more thy nimble wings
Shall cheer this heart of mine,
With sweetest melody, while I
Beneath the trees recline.

Translation of W. HAY.

TO THE CICADA.

FROM THE GREEK OF MELEAGER, 100 B. C.

Oh, shrill-voiced insect, that, with dew-drops sweet
Inebriate, dost in desert woodlands sing;
Perch'd on the spray-top with indented feet,
Thy dusky body's echoings, harp-like ring.

Come, dear Cicada! chirp to all the grove,

The nymphs, and Pan, a new responsive strain; That I, in noonday sleep, may steal from love, Reclined beneath this dark o'erspreading plane.

Translation of SIR C. A. ELTON.

FROM THE GREEK OF ANACREON, 600 B. C.

Happy insect, what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine!
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill;

Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread,
Nature self's thy Ganymede.

Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing,

Happier than the happiest king!
All the fields which thou dost see,
All the plants belong to thee;
All that summer hours produce,
Fertile made with early juice.
Man for thee does sow and plow;
Farmer he, and landlord thou!
Thou dost innocently enjoy;
Nor does thy luxury destroy.

The shepherd gladly heareth thee,
More harmonious than he.

Thee country hinds with gladness hear,

Prophet of the ripen'd year!

Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire;

Phoebus is himself thy sire.

To thee, of all things upon earth,

Life is no longer than thy mirth.

Happy insect! happy thou,

Dost neither age nor winter know.

But when thou'st drunk, and danc'd, and sung

Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,

(Voluptuous and wise withal,

Epicurean animal!)

Satiated with thy summer feast,

Thou retir'st to endless rest.

Translation of ABRAHAM COWLEY, 1618-1657.