Whether 'twas his Clarinda, yea or no,
But he bethought him of his herb, and so
The shadow vanish'd-many a weary step,
It led the prince, that pace with it still kept,
Until it brought him by a hellish power
Unto the entrance of Orandra's bower,
Where underneath an elder tree he spied
His man Pandevius, pale and hollow ey'd ;
Inquiring of the cunning witch what fate
Betid his master; they were newly sate
When his approach disturb'd them; up she
And tow'rd Anaxus (envious hag) she goes;
Pandevius she had charm'd into a maze,
And struck him mute, all he could do was gaze.
He call'd him by his name, but all in vain,
Echo returns Pandevius back again;

rose,

Which made him wonder, when a sudden fear
Shook all his joints: she, cunning hag, drew near,
And smelling to his herb, he recollects
His wandering spirits, and with anger checks
His coward fears; resolved now to outdare
The worst of dangers, whatsoe'er they were;
He ey'd her o'er and o'er, and still his eye
Found some addition to deformity.
An old decrepit hag she was, grown white
With frosty age, and wither'd with despight,
And self-consuming hate; in furs yclad,
And on her head a thrummy cap she had.
Her knotty locks, like to Alecto's snakes,
Hang down about her shoulders, which she shakes
Into disorder; on her furrow'd brow

One might perceive Time had been long at plough.
Her eyes like candle-snuffs by age sunk quite
Into their sockets, yet like cats'-eyes bright:
And in the darkest night like fire they shin'd,
The ever open windows of her mind.

Her swarthy cheeks, Time, that all things consumes,
Had hollowed flat unto her toothless gums.

Her hairy brows did meet above her nose,
That like an eagle's beak so crooked grows,
It well nigh kiss'd her chin; thick bristled hair
Grew on the upper lip, and here and there
A rugged wart with grisly hairs behung;
Her breasts shrunk up, her nails and fingers long,

Her left leant on a staff, in her right hand
She always carried her enchanting wand.
Splay-footed, beyond nature, every part
So patternless deform'd, 'twould puzzle Art
To make her counterfeit; only her tongue,
Nature had that most exquisitely strung,
Her oily language came so smoothly from her,
And her quaint action did so well become her,
Her winning rhetoric met with no trips,
But chain'd the dull'st attention to her lips.
With greediness he heard, and though he strove
To shake her off, the more her words did move.
She woo'd him to her cell, call'd him her son,
And with fair promises she quickly won
Him to her beck; or rather he, to try.
What she could do, did willingly comply
With her request ;-

*

Her cell was hewn out of the marble rock,
By more than human art, she need not knock,
The door stood always open, large and wide,
Grown o'er with woolly moss on either side,
And interwove with ivy's flattering twines,
Through which the carbuncle and diamond shines.
Not set by Art, but there by Nature sown
At the world's birth, so star-like bright they shone.
They serv'd instead of tapers to give light
To the dark entry, where perpetual night,
Friend to black deeds, and sire of ignorance,
Shuts out all knowledge; lest her eye by chance
Might bring to light her follies: in they went,

The ground was strew'd with flowers, whose sweet scent,
Mix'd with the choice perfumes from India brought,
Intoxicates his brain, and quickly caught

His credulous sense; the walls were gilt, and set
With precious stones, and all the roof was fret
With a gold vine, whose straggling branches, spread
All o'er the arch; the swelling grapes were red;
This, Art had made of rubies, cluster'd so,
To the quick'st eye they more than seem'd to grow;
About the walls lascivious pictures hung,
Such as were of loose Ovid sometimes sung.
On either side a crew of dwarfish elves
Held waxen tapers, taller than themselves:
Yet so well shap'd unto their little stature,
So angel-like in face, so sweet in feature;

Their rich attire so diff'ring; yet so well

Becoming her that wore it, none could tell

Which was the fairest, which the handsomest deck't,
Or which of them desire would soon'st affect.
After a low salute they all 'gan sing,
And circle in the stranger in a ring.

Orandra to her charms was stepp'd aside,
Leaving her guest half won and wanton-ey'd.
He had forgot his herb: cunning delight
Had so bewitch'd his ears, and blear❜d his sight,
And captivated all his senses so,

That he was not himself: nor did he know
What place he was in, or how he came there,
But greedily he feeds his eye and ear

With what would ruin him ;—

*

Next unto his view

She represents a banquet, usher'd in
By such a shape, as she was sure would win
His appetite to taste; so like she was
To his Clarinda, both in shape and face.
So voic'd, so habited, of the same gait
And comely gesture; on her brow in state
Sate such a princely majesty, as he
Had noted in Clarinda; save that she
Had a more wanton eye, that here and there
Roll'd up and down, not settling any where.
Down on the ground she falls his hands to kiss,
And with her tears bedews it; cold as ice
He felt her lips, that yet inflam'd him so,
That he was all on fire the truth to know,
Whether she was the same she did appear,
Or whether some fantastic form it were,
Fashion'd in his imagination

By his still working thoughts; so fix'd upon
His lov'd Clarinda, that his fancy strove,
Even with her shadow, to express his love."

The virtues of the herb, however, resist all the enchantments of Orandra, and he leaves the cave in safety, taking Pandevius with him.

They came into the plain, where a small brook
Did snake-like creep with many a winding nook,

And by it, here and there, a shepherd's cot
Was lowly built."

They are received with hospitable welcome in this retreat by Eubolus, a man

courtly educated, wise, and sage,

Able to teach, yet willing to enrich

His knowledge with discourses, smooth in speech
Yet not of many words."

Alexis, having secured possession of the throne, sinks into a lethargy of grief, from which he is at length roused by the increasing danger which threatened Arcadia, from the piratical incursions of some of the desperate adherents of the late king, who had established themselves in a small island near the Arcadian coast. Alexis collects his forces, and, by his conduct and valour, speedily overcomes and exterminates the rebels. Returning in triumph to his capital, he is struck by the beauty of Florimel, who, among others, attends to strew his way with flowers in honour of his victory; but his advances are coldly repulsed by " Diana's votaress."

"That night perforce

They all were glad within the open plain

To pitch their tents, where many a shepherd swain
Upon their pipes troll'd out their evening lays

In various accents, emulous of praise.

It was a dainty pleasure for to hear

How the sweet nightingales their throats did tear,
Envying their skill, or taken with delight,

As I think rather, that the still-born night
Afforded such co-partners of their woes.

1

And at a close from the pure stream that flows

Out of the rocky caverns, not far off,

Echo replied aloud, and seem'd to scoff
At their sweet-sounding airs."

The king rises next morning with heavy cheer to renew his march. In his way he meets Memnon, and recognizing him as the father of Florimel, receives him graciously, and orders him to attend him at court. Memnon, haunted with the idea that Alexis was his long-lost son, determines to accept his invitation, and orders his daughter, much against her inclination, to prepare to accompany him. Anaxus, meanwhile, obtaining from Eubolus an account of Florimel and Memnon, suspects that they are his mistress and her father, "the banished Codrus,"

whom he had been long seeking. He sets out to visit a sort of convent, where Florimel resided along with Diana's nymphs, and, after some difficulty, obtains access to her.

With all her train, who, as along she pass'd
Through the inward court, did make a lane,
Opening their ranks, and closing them again
As she went forward, with obsequious gesture,
Doing their reverence. Her upward vesture
Was of blue silk, glistering with stars of gold,
Girt to her waist by serpents, that enfold
And wrap themselves together, so well wrought
And fashion'd to the life, one would have thought
They had been real. Underneath she wore
A coat of silver tinsel, short before,

And fring'd about with gold: white buskins hide
The naked of her leg, they were loose tied
With azure ribands, on whose knots were seen
Most costly gems, fit only for a queen.
Her hair bound up like to a coronet,
With diamonds, rubies, and rich sapphires set;
And on the top a silver crescent plac'd,
And all the lustre by such beauty grac'd,

As her reflection made them seem more fair;
One would have thought Diana's self were there,
For in her hand a silver bow she held,

And at her back there hung a quiver fill'd

With turtle-feather'd arrows.'

After an interview of hesitation and doubt, they are satisfied of each other's identity, and give a loose to joy. They are soon obliged, by the rules of the convent, to separate, and Anaxus returns to the house of his friend Eubolus, to deliberate on the means of escaping with Clarinda. Cleon and Rhotus arriving at court, find the king conferring with Sylvanus, whom he had sent for to expound a strange dream which troubled his fancy.

"One might perceive such changes in the king,
As hath th' inconstant welkin in the spring;
Now a fair day, anon a dropsie cloud

Puts out the sun, and in a sable shroud

The day seems buried; when the clouds are o'er,
The glorious sun shines brighter than before:

But long it lasts not."

VOL. IV. PART II.