Page:Metamorphoses (Ovid, 1567).djvu/100

His lively hue of white and red, his cheerefulnesse and strength
And all the things that lyked him did wanze away at length.
So that in fine remayned not the bodie which of late
The wretched Echo loved so. Who when she sawe his state,
Although in heart she angrie were, and mindefull of his pride,
Yet ruing his unhappie case, as often as he cride
Alas, she cride, Alas likewise with shirle redoubled sound.
And when he beate his breast, or strake his feete against the ground,
She made like noyse of clapping too. These are the woordes that last
Out of his lippes beholding still his woonted ymage past:
Alas sweete boy belovde in vaine, farewell. And by and by
With sighing sound the selfesame wordes the Echo did reply.
With that he layde his wearie head against the grassie place
And death did doze his gazing eyes that woondred at the grace
And beautie which did late adorne their Masters heavenly face.
And afterward when into Hell receyved was his spright
He goes me to the Well of Styx, and there both day and night
Standes tooting on his shadow still as fondely as before.
The water Nymphes, his sisters, wept and wayled for him sore
And on his bodie strowde their haire clipt off and shorne therefore.
The Wood nymphes also did lament. And Echo did rebound
To every sorrowfull noyse of theirs with like lamenting sound.
The fire was made to burne the corse, and waxen Tapers light.
A Herce to lay the bodie on with solemne pompe was dight.
But as for bodie none remaind: in stead thereof they found
A yellow floure with milke white leaves new sprong upon the ground.
This matter all Achaia through did spreade the Prophets fame:
That every where of just desert renowned was his name.
But Penthey, olde Echions sonne (who proudely did disdaine
Both God and man) did laughe to scorne the Prophets words as vaine,
Upbrading him most spitefully with loosing of his sight,
And with the fact for which he lost fruition of this light.
The good olde father (for these wordes his pacience much did move)
Saide: how happie shouldest thou be and blessed from above,
If thou wert blinde as well as I, so that thou might not see
The sacred rytes of Bacchus band. For sure the time will bee,