Page:Metamorphoses (Ovid, 1567).djvu/180

Rh And never turnde away hir face. Inough had bene that wound Alone to bring him to his ende. The tother sister slit His throte. And while some life and soule was in his members yit, In gobbits they them rent: whereof were some in Pipkins boyld, And other some on hissing spits against the fire were broyld, And with the gellied bloud of him was all the chamber foyld. To this same banquet Progne bade hir husband knowing nought Nor nought mistrusting of the harme and lewdnesse she had wrought. And feyning a solemnitie according to the guise Of Athens, at the which there might be none in any wise Besides hir husband and hir selfe, she banisht from the same Hir householde folke and sojourners, and such as guestwise came. King Tereus sitting in the throne of his forefathers, fed And swallowed downe the selfesame flesh that of his bowels bred. And he (so blinded was his heart) Fetch Itys hither, sed. No lenger hir most cruell joy dissemble could the Queene. But of hir murther coveting the messenger to beene, She said: The thing thou askest for, thou hast within. About He looked round, and asked where? To put him out of dout, As he was yet demaunding where, and calling for him: out Lept Philomele with scattred haire aflaight like one that fled Had from some fray where slaughter was, and threw the bloudy head Of Itys in his fathers face. And never more was shee Desirous to have had hir speache, that able she might be Hir inward joy with worthie wordes to witnesse franke and free. The tyrant with a hideous noyse away the table shoves: And reeres the fiends from Hell. One while with yawning mouth he proves To perbrake up his meate againe, and cast his bowels out. Another while with wringing handes he weeping goes about. And of his sonne he termes himselfe the wretched grave. Anon With naked sword and furious heart he followeth fierce upon Pandions daughters. He that had bene present would have deemde Their bodies to have hovered up with fethers. As they seemde, So hovered they with wings in deede. Of whome the one away To woodward flies, the other still about the house doth stay. And of their murther from their brestes not yet the token goth, For even still yet are stainde with bloud the fethers of them both.