Page:Metamorphoses (Ovid, 1567).djvu/255

 A likenesse of the salt sea shore. Uppon the brim doo grow All round about it Mirtletrees. My suster thither goes Unwares what was her destinie, and (which you may suppose Was more to bee disdeyned at) the cause of comming there Was to the fayries of the Lake fresh garlonds for to beare. And in her armes a babye her sweete burthen shee did hold. Who sucking on her brest was yit not full a twelvemoonth old. Not farre from this same pond did grow a Lote tree florisht gay With purple flowres and beries sweete, and leaves as greene as Bay. Of theis same flowres to please her boy my suster gathered sum, And I had thought to doo so too, for I was thither cum. I saw how from the slivered flowres red drops of blood did fall, And how that shuddring horribly the braunches quaakt withall. You must perceyve that (as too late the Countryfolk declare) A Nymph cald Lotos flying from fowle Pryaps filthy ware, Was turned into this same tree reserving still her name. My suster did not know so much, who when shee backward came Afrayd at that that shee had seene, and having sadly prayd The Nymphes of pardon, to have gone her way agen assayd: Her feete were fastned downe with rootes. Shee stryved all she myght To plucke them up, but they so sure within the earth were pyght, That nothing save her upper partes shee could that present move. A tender barke growes from beneath up leysurly above, And softly overspreddes her loynes, which when shee saw, shee went About to teare her heare, and full of leaves her hand shee hent. Her head was overgrowen with leaves. And little Amphise (so Had Eurytus his Graundsyre naamd her sonne not long ago) Did feele his mothers dugges wex hard. And as he still them drew In sucking, not a whit of milke nor moysture did ensew. I standing by thee did behold thy cruell chaunce: but nought I could releeve thee, suster myne. Yit to my powre I wrought To stay the growing of thy trunk and of thy braunches by Embracing thee. Yea I protest I would ryght willingly Have in the selfesame barke with thee bene closed up. Behold, Her husband, good Andraemon, and her wretched father, old Sir Eurytus came thither and enquyrd for Dryopee. And as they askt for Dryopee, I shewd them Lote the tree.