Nor caring what became of her, so he by her might thrive.

At last his resolution was some peasant should her wive.

And (which was working to his wish) he did observe with joy

How Curan, whom he thought a drudge, scaped many an amorous toy.

The king, perceiving such his vein, promotes his vassal still,

Lest that the baseness of the man should let, perhaps, his will.

Assured therefore of his love, but not suspecting who

The lover was, the king himself in his behalf did

And therefore shifting out of doors, departed thence by stealth,

Preferring poverty before a dangerous life in wealth.

When Curan heard of her escape, the anguish in his heart

Was more than much, and after her from court he did depart:

Forgetful of himself, his hearth, his country, friends, and all,

And only minding (whom he missed) the foundress .of his thrall.

Nor means he after to frequent or court or stately towns,

But solitarily to live amongst the country grounds. A brace of years he lived thus, well pleased so to live,

50

And shepherd-like to feed a flock himself did wholly give.

So wasting, love, by work and want, grew almost to the wane;

But then began a second love, the worser of the twain.

A country wench, a neatherd's maid, where Curan kept his sheep,

Did feed her drove: and now on her was all the shepherd's keep.

He borrowed on the working days his holy russets oft;

And of the bacon's fat, to make his startops black and soft;

And lest his tarbox should offend he left it at the fold;

Sweet growte, or whig, his bottle had as much as it might hold;

A sheave of bread as brown as nut, and cheese as white as snow; 60

And wildings or the season's fruit he did in scrip bestow.

And whilst his pie-bald cur did sleep, and sheephook lay him by,

On hollow quills of oaten straw he piped melody; But when he spied her, his saint, he wiped his greasy shoes,

And clear'd the drivel from his beard and thus the shepherd woos:

"I have, sweet wench, a piece of cheese, as good as tooth may chaw,

And bread and wildings souling well

"Well know I, sooth they say that say, 'More quiet nights and days

The shepherd sleeps and wakes than he whose cattle he doth graze.'

Believe me, lass, a king is but a man, and so am I;

Content is worth a monarchy, and mischiefs hit the high;

As late it did a king and his, not dwelling far from hence,

Who left a daughter, (save thyself) for fair a matchless wench."

Here did he pause, as if his tongue had done his heart offence.

The Neatress, longing for the rest, did egg him on to tell

How fair she was, and who she was. "She bore," quoth he, "the bell

100

For beauty. Though I clownish am, I know what beauty is;

Or did I not, yet seeing thee, I senseless were to miss.

Suppose her beauty Helen's-like, or Helen's somewhat less,

Where equal mixture did not want of mild and stately grace.

Her smiles were sober, and her looks were cheerful unto all;

And such as neither wanton seem, nor wayward, mell, nor gall.

A quiet mind, a patient mood, and not disdaining any;

Not gibing, gadding, gaudy, and her faculties were many.

A nymph, no tongue, no heart, no eye, might praise, might wish, might see

For life, for love, for form, more good, more worth, more fair than she.

Yea such a one, as such was none, save only she was such. 130

Of Argentile to say the most, were to be silent much."

"I knew the lady very well, but worthless of such praise,"

The Neatress said; "and muse I do, a shepherd thus should blaze The coat of beauty. betrays

Credit me, thy latter speech

fore dost thou weep?"

At Kirkland is my father's court, and Curan is my name,

In Edel's court sometimes in pomp, till love controlled the same;

But now- What now? Dear heart, how now? What ailest thou to weep?"

The damsel wept, and he was woe, and both did silence keep.

"I grant," quoth she, "it was too much, that you did love so much;

But whom your former could not move, your second love doth touch.

Thy twice beloved Argentile submitteth her to thee;

And for thy double love presents herself, a single fee;

In passion, not in person chang'd, and I, my lord, am she."

They sweetly surfeiting in joy, and silent for a

His sisters, or his brothers' wives; or whether she should be

At temple with the other dames, t' implore Minerva's ruth.

Her woman answer'd; since he ask'd, and urged so much the truth,

The truth was she was neither gone, to see his brothers' wives,

His sisters, nor t' implore the ruth of Pallas on their lives;

But she (advertised of the bane Troy suffer'd, and how vast

Conquest had made herself for Greece) like one distraught, made haste

To ample Ilion with her son, and nurse, and all

All the great city pass'd, and came where, seeing how blood was spilt,

Andromache might see him come; who made as he would pass

The ports without saluting her, not knowing where she was.

She, with his sight, made breathless haste, to meet him; she, whose grace

Brought him withal so great a dower; she that of all the race

Of king Aëtion only lived; Aëtion whose house stood

Beneath the mountain Placius, environ'd with the wood

Of Theban Hypoplace, being court to the Cilician land. 430 She ran to Hector, and with her, tender of heart and hand,

Her son, borne in his nurse's arms; when, like a heavenly sign,

Compact of many golden stars, the princely child did shine,

Whom Hector call'd Scamandrius; but whom the town did name

Astyanax, because his sire did only prop the

He left of him, th' Oreades (that are the high descent

Of Ægis-bearing Jupiter) another of their own Did add to it, and set it round with elms; by

which is shown,

In theirs, the barrenness of death; yet might it serve beside

To shelter the sad monument from all the ruffinous

pride

Of storms and tempests, used to hurt things of that noble kind.

The short life yet my mother lived he saved, and served his mind

With all the riches of the realm; which not enough esteem'd,

He kept her prisoner; whom small time, but much more wealth, redeem'd;

And she, in sylvan Hypoplace, Cilicia ruled again, But soon was overruled by death; Diana's chaste disdain

461 Gave her a lance, and took her life. Yet, all these gone from me,

Thou amply render'st all; thy life makes still my father be,

My mother, brothers; and besides thou art my husband too,

Most loved, most worthy. Pity then, dear love, and do not go,

For thou gone, all these go again; pity our common joy,

Lest, of a father's patronage, the bulwark of all Troy,

Thou leav'st him a poor widow's charge: stay, stay then, in this tower,

And call up to the wild fig-tree all thy retired power;

For there the wall is easiest scal'd, and fittest for surprise, 470

And there, th' Ajaces, Idomen, th' Atrides, Diomed, thrice

Have both survey'd and made attempt; I know not if induced

By some wise augur, or the fact was naturally infused

Into their wits, or courages." To this great Hector said:

"Be well assur'd, wife, all these things in my kind cares are weigh'd,

But what a shame and fear it is to think how Troy would scorn

(Both in her husbands, and her wives, whom longtrain'd gowns adorn)

That I should cowardly fly off! The spirit I first did breathe

Did never teach me that; much less, since the contempt of death

But spin the Greek wives' webs of task, and their fetch-water be

To Argos, from Messeïdes, or clear Hyperia's spring;

Which howsoever thou abhorr'st, Fate's such a shrewish thing

She will be mistress; whose cursed hands, when they shall crush out cries

From thy oppressions (being beheld by other enemies)

Thus they will nourish thy extremes: 'This dame was Hector's wife,

A man that, at the wars of Troy, did breathe the worthiest life

Of all their army.' This again will rub thy fruitful wounds,

500

To miss the man that to thy bands could give such narrow bounds.

But that day shall not wound mine eyes; the solid heap of night

Shall interpose, and stop mine ears against thy plaints, and plight."

This said, he reach'd to take his son; who, of his arms afraid,

And then the horse-hair plume, with which he was so overlaid,

Nodded so horribly, he cling'd back to his nurse, and cried.

Laughter affected his great sire, who doff'd, and laid aside