His mother swowned thrise, and the third time xxxv Could scarce recouered be out of her paine; Had she not bene deuoyd of mortall slime, She should not then haue bene reliu’d againe, But soone as life recouered had the raine, She made so piteous mone and deare wayment, That the hard rocks could scarse from teares refraine, And all her sister Nymphes with one consent Supplide her sobbing breaches with sad complement. Deare image of my selfe (she said) that is, xxxvi The wretched sonne of wretched mother borne, Is this thine high aduauncement, O is this Th’immortall name, with which thee yet vnborne Thy Gransire _Nereus_ promist to adorne? Now lyest thou of life and honor reft; Now lyest thou a lumpe of earth forlorne, Ne of thy late life memory is left, Ne can thy irreuocable destiny be weft? Fond _Proteus_, father of false prophecis, xxxvii And they more fond, that credit to thee giue, Not this the worke of womans hand ywis, That so deepe wound through these deare members driue. I feared loue: but they that loue do liue, But they that die, doe neither loue nor hate. Nath’lesse to thee thy folly I forgiue, And to my selfe, and to accursed fate The guilt I doe ascribe: deare wisedome bought too late. O what auailes it of immortall seed xxxviii To beene ybred and neuer borne to die? Farre better I it deeme to die with speed, Then waste in woe and wailefull miserie. Who dyes the vtmost dolour doth abye, But who that liues, is left to waile his losse: So life is losse, and death felicitie. Sad life worse then glad death: and greater crosse To see friends graue, then dead the graue selfe to engrosse. But if the heauens did his dayes enuie, xxxix And my short blisse maligne, yet mote they well Thus much afford me, ere that he did die That the dim eyes of my deare _Marinell_ I mote haue closed, and him bed[951] farewell, Sith other offices for mother meet They would not graunt. Yet maulgre them farewell, my sweetest sweet; Farewell my sweetest sonne, sith we no more shall meet[952]. Thus when they all had sorrowed their fill, xl They softly gan to search his griesly wound: And that they might him handle more at will, They him disarm’d, and spredding on the ground Their watchet mantles frindgd with siluer round, They softly wipt away the gelly blood From th’orifice; which hauing well vpbound, They pourd in soueraine balme, and Nectar good, Good both for earthly med’cine, and for heauenly food.