_Cari._ No sooner had God Phœbus' brightsome beams Begun to dive within the western seas, And darksome Nox had spread about the earth Her blackish mantle, but a drowsy sleep Did take possession of Carinus' sense, And Morpheus show'd me strange disguisèd shapes. Methought I saw Alphonsus, my dear son, Plac'd in a throne all glittering clear with gold, Bedeck'd with diamonds, pearls, and precious stones, Which shin'd so clear, and glitter'd all so bright, Hyperion's coach that well be term'd it might. Above his head a canopy was set, Not deck'd with plumes, as other princes use, But all beset with heads of conquer'd kings, Enstall'd with crowns, which made a gallant show, And struck a terror to the viewers' hearts. Under his feet lay grovelling on the ground Thousands of princes, which he in his wars By martial might did conquer and bring low: Some lay as dead as either stock or stone, Some other tumbled, wounded to the death; But most of them, as to their sovereign king, Did offer duly homage unto him. As thus I stood beholding of this pomp, Methought Alphonsus did espy me out, And, at a trice, he leaving throne alone, Came to embrace me in his blessèd arms. Then noise of drums and sound of trumpets shrill Did wake Carinus from this pleasant dream. Something, I know, is now foreshown by this: The gods forfend that aught should hap amiss! [CARINUS _walks up and down._ _Enter the_ DUKE OF MILAN _in pilgrim's apparel._ _Duke of M._ This is the chance of fickle Fortune's wheel; A prince at morn, a pilgrim ere't be night; I, which erewhile did dain for to possess The proudest palace of the western world, Would now be glad a cottage for to find, To hide my head; so Fortune hath assign'd. Thrice Hesperus with pomp and peerless pride Hath heav'd his head forth of the eastern seas, Thrice Cynthia, with Phœbus' borrow'd beams, Hath shown her beauty through the darkish clouds, Since that I, wretched duke, have tasted aught, Or drunk a drop of any kind of drink. Instead of beds set forth with ebony, The greenish grass hath been my resting-place, And for my pillow stuff'd with down, The hardish hillocks have suffic'd my turn. Thus I, which erst had all things at my will, A life more hard then death do follow still. _Cari._ [_aside_]. Methinks I hear, not very far from hence, Some woful wight lamenting his mischance: I'll go and see if that I can espy Him where he sits, or overhear his talk. _Duke of M._ O Milan, Milan, little dost thou think, How that thy duke is now in such distress! For if thou didst, I soon should be releas'd Forth of this greedy gulf of misery.