As halfe diftraught unto the ground I fell,
Befought retourne, and not to visite hell.

But the forthwith uplifting me apace

Removed my dread, and with a ftedfaft minde 170
Bad me come on, for here was now the place,
The place where we our travayle ende should finde.
Wherewith I arofe, and to the place affynde
Aftoynde I ftalke, when ftrayt we approched nere
The dredfull place, that you wil dread to here, 175

An hydeous hole al vafte, withouten shape,
Of endles depth, orewhelmde with ragged ftone,
Wyth ougly mouth, and grifly jawes doth gape,
And to our fight confounds it felfe in one.
Here entred we, and yeding forth, anone
An horrible lothly lake we might difcerne,
As blacke as pitche, that cleped is Averne.

180

A deadly gulfe where nought but rubbishe growes, With fowle blacke fwelth in thickned lumpes that

lyes,

Which up in the ayer fuch ftinking vapors throwes
That over there may flye no fowle but dyes,
Choakt with the peftilent favours that aryse.
Hither we cum, whence forth we ftyll dyd pace,
In dreadful feare amid the dreadfull place.

And first within the portche and jawes of Hell 190
Sate diepe Remorfe of conscience, al besprent
With teares; and to her felfe oft would fhe tell
Her wretchednes, and curfing never stent
To fob and figh; but ever thus lament

With thoughtful care, as fhe that all in vayne 195
Would weare and wafte continually in payne.

Her iyes unftedfaft, rolling here and there, Whurld on eche place, as place that vengeauns brought,

So was her minde continually in feare,

Toffed and tormented with the tedious thought 200 Of thofe detefted crymes which she had wrought: Wyth dreadful cheare and lookes throwen to the fkye,

Wyfhing for death, and yet she could not dye,

Next fawe we Dread, al tremblyng how he fhooke,
With foote uncertayne profered here and there;
Benumde of fpeache, and, with a gaftly looke,
Searcht every place, al pale and dead for feare,
His cap borne up with ftaring of his heare,
Stoynde and amaz de at his owne fhade for dreed,
And fearing greater daungers than was nede. 210

And next within the entry of this lake

Sate fell Revenge, gnashing her teeth for yre,

Devifing meanes howe fhe may vengeaunce take,
Never in reft tyll fhe have her defire;
But frets within fo farforth with the fyer
Of wreaking flames, that nowe determines she
To dye by death, or vengde by death to be.

215

When fell Revenge with bloudy foule pretence,
Had fhowed her felfe as next in order fet,
With trembling limmes we foftly parted thence,
Tyll in our iyes another fight we met:
When fro my hart a figh forthwith I fet,
Rewing, alas! upon the wofull plight.
Of Miserie, that next appered in fight.

His face was leane, and fumdeale pyned away, 235
And eke his handes confumed to :he bone;

But what his body was I can not fay,

For on his carkas rayment had he none,

Save cloutes and patches pieced one by one.
With ftaffe in hand, and skrip on shoulders caft,
His chiefe defence agaynst the winters blast.

His foode, for moft, was wylde fruytes of the tree,
Unles fumtime fum crummes fell to his fhare;
Which in his wallet long, god wote, kept he,
As on the which full dayntlye woulde he fare. 235
His drinke the running streame, his cup the bare

Of his palme clofed, his bed the hard colde grounde To this poore life was Miserie ybound.

Whofe wretched ftate when we had well behelde, With tender ruth on him and on his feres,

249

In thoughtfull cares, furth then our pace we helde, And by and by an 'other' shape apperes

Of greedy Care, ftil brushing up the breres,

His knuckles knobd, his fleshe deepe dented in, With tawed handes, and hard ytanned skyn. 245

The morrowe graye no fooner hath begunne
To fpreade his light even peping in our iyes,
When he is up and to his worke yrunne;
But let the nightes blacke mistye mantels rise,
And with fowle darke never fo much disguyse 250
The fayre bright day, yet ceaffeth he no whyle,
But hath his candels to prolong his toyle.

By him lay heavy Slepe, the cofin of Death,
Flat on the ground, and stil as any stone,

A very corps, fave yelding forth a breath.

255

Small kepe tooke he whom Fortune frowned on

Or whom the lifted up into the trone

Of high renowne, but as a living death,
So dead alyve, of lyef he drewe the breath.

.242. phter.

The bodyes reft, the quyete of the hart,

260

The travayles ease, the still nightes feer was he; And of our life in earth the better parte,

Rever of fight, and yet in whom we fee

Thinges oft that tide, and ofte that never bee:

Without refpect efteming equally

265

Kyng Crefus pompe, and Irus povertie.

And next in order fad olde Age we found,
His beard al hoare, his iyes hollow and blynde,
With drouping chere ftill poring on the ground,
As on the place where nature him affinde
To rest, when that the fifters had untwynde
His vitall threde, and ended with theyr knyfe
The fleeting course of fast declining life.

270

There heard we him with broken and hollow playnt Rewe with himselfe his ende approching fast, 275 And all for nought his wretched minde torment, With fwete remembraunce of his pleasures paft, And freshe delites of lufty youth forwaste; Recounting which how would he fob and fhrike, And to be yong againe of Jove befeke!

But, and the cruell fates fo fixed be

That time forepast can not retourne agayne,
This one request of Jove yet prayed he,

280