And fast beside, there trickled softly downe xxx A gentle streame, whose murmuring waue did play Emongst the pumy stones, and made a sowne, To lull him soft a sleepe, that by it lay; The wearie Traueiler, wandring that way, Therein did often quench his thristy heat, And then by it his wearie limbes display, Whiles creeping slomber made him to forget His former paine, and wypt away his toylsom sweat. And on the other side a pleasaunt groue xxxi Was shot vp high, full of the stately tree, That dedicated is t’_Olympicke Ioue_, And to his sonne _Alcides_, whenas hee Gaynd in _Nemea_[607] goodly victoree; Therein the mery birds of euery sort Chaunted alowd their chearefull harmonie: And made emongst them selues a sweet consort, That quickned the dull spright with musicall comfort. There he him found all carelesly displayd, xxxii In secret shadow from the sunny ray, On a sweet bed of lillies softly layd, Amidst a flocke of Damzels fresh and gay, That round about him dissolute did play Their wanton follies, and light meriment; Euery of which did loosely disaray Her vpper parts of meet habiliments, And shewd them naked, deckt with many ornaments. And euery of them stroue, with most delights, xxxiii Him to aggrate, and greatest pleasures shew; Some framd faire lookes, glancing like euening lights,[608] Others sweet words, dropping like honny dew; Some bathed kisses, and did soft embrew The sugred licour through his melting lips: One boastes her beautie, and does yeeld to vew Her daintie limbes aboue her tender hips; Another her out boastes, and all for tryall strips. He, like an Adder, lurking in the weeds, xxxiv His wandring thought in deepe desire does steepe, And his fraile eye with spoyle of beautie feedes; Sometimes he falsely faines himselfe to sleepe, Whiles through their lids his wanton eies do peepe, To steale a snatch of amorous conceipt[609], Whereby close fire into his heart does creepe: So, them[610] deceiues, deceiu’d in his deceipt, Made drunke with drugs of deare voluptuous receipt. _Atin_ arriuing there, when him he spide, xxxv Thus in still waues of deepe delight to wade, Fiercely approching, to him lowdly cride, _Cymochles_; oh no, but _Cymochles_ shade, In which that manly person late did fade, What is become of great _Acrates_ sonne? Or where hath he hong vp his mortall blade, That hath so many haughtie conquests wonne? Is all his force forlorne, and all his glory donne?