Requiem For The Misbegotten #0001

[August Highland]

Requiem For The Misbegotten #0001

  He passed forth and new aduenture sought/As one that inly mournd so
was she sad/Add faith vnto your force and be not faint/Whose sences all
were straight benumbd and starke/And said Ah Sir my liege Lord and my
loue/She was in life and euery vertuous lore/Thus ill bestedd and
fearefull more of shame/With gentle blandishment and louely looke/And
vnto Morpheus comes whom drowned deepe/His dwelling is there Tethys his
wet bed/Now when that ydle dreame was to him brought/He taught to
imitate that Lady trew/But full of fire and greedy hardiment/His holy
things each morne and euentyde.

  Did poure into his Lemans lap so fast/And homebred euill ye desire to
heare/And said Ah Sir my liege Lord and my loue/All suddenly about his
body wound/Fly to your faith for succour and sure ayde/And often knockt
his brest as one that did repent/For all so deare as life is to my
hart/The Aspine good for staues the Cypresse funerall/What frayes ye
that were wont to comfort me affrayd.

  Her swollen hart her speach seemd to bereaue/Be well aware quoth then
that Ladie milde/Ah Ladie said he shame were to reuoke/At length they
chaunst to meet vpon the way/Thus ill bestedd and fearefull more of
shame/So pure and innocent as that same lambe/Had made a Lady of that
other Spright/Of such as drunke her life the which them nurst.

  And lifting vp his lompish head with blame/Her doubtfull words made
that redoubted knight/A cloud of combrous gnattes do him molest/And
fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes/As Lyon fierce vpon the flying
pray/Till that some end they finde or in or out/Of sundry shapes yet all
ill fauored.

  A fit false dreame that can delude the sleepers sent/His gall did
grate for griefe and high disdaine/A Gentle Knight was pricking on the
plaine/Whose loftie trees yclad with sommers pride/Armed to point sought
backe to turne againe/By them the Sprite doth passe in quietly/What
frayes ye that were wont to comfort me affrayd/God helpe the man so
wrapt in Errours endlesse traine/The fearefull Dwarfe this is no place
for liuing men/The caruer Holme the Maple seeldom inward sound/Of
ancient kings and queenes that had of yore/She lookt about and seeing
one in mayle.

  Vnder a vele that wimpled was full low/Ah my deare Sonne quoth he how
should alas/And Poets sage the Firre that weepeth still/Sucking vpon her
poisonous dugs each one/Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe/That
wasteth all this countrey farre and neare/Did spred so broad that
heauens light did hide/That weaker sence it could haue rauisht
quight/But forth vnto the darksome hole he went/Where cause is none but
to your rest depart.

  A fit false dreame that can delude the sleepers sent/So slyding softly
forth she turnd as to her ease/Her filthy parbreake all the place
defiled has/Then of the certaine perill he stood in/Wherein the Hermite
dewly wont to say/Quoth then that aged man the way to win.

  With timely pride aboue the Aegyptian vale/So with that godly father
to his home they went/And proou'd your strength on a strong enimie/Yet
armes till that time did he neuer wield/Vpon his foe a Dragon horrible
and stearne/The caruer Holme the Maple seeldom inward sound/And made him
dreame of loues and lustfull play/To aide his friends or fray his
enimies/The one of them he gaue a message too/Yea but quoth she the
perill of this place/Amid the thickest woods The Champion stout.

  Deuoure their dam on whom while so he gazd/That when he heard in great
perplexitie/Were stretcht now forth at length without entraile/There was
an holy chappell edifyde/Now needeth him no lenger labour spend/And
often knockt his brest as one that did repent/But hasty heat tempring
with sufferance wise.

  Who nought aghast his mightie hand enhaunst/The builder Oake sole king
of forrests all/Yet thus perforce he bids me do or die/Thus ill bestedd
and fearefull more of shame/And angry Ioue an hideous storme of
raine/And homebred euill ye desire to heare/Which when the valiant Elfe
perceiu'd he lept/Of ancient Kings and Queenes that had of yore/Vnder
blake stole hyding her bayted hooke/So slyding softly forth she turnd as
to her ease/Her mournefull plaintes beguiled of her art/And like to lead
the labyrinth about.




august highland

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