Woman, Lady, Princess, Nymph, or Goddess, For more you are not, and you seem no less; Stay, and attempt not passage through this port, Here the pale Lord of Sadness keep[s] his court, Rough-visag'd Saturn, on whose bloodless cheeks, Dull Melancholy sits, who straightly seeks To seize on all that enter through this gate. Grant gracious listening, and I shall relate The means, the manner, and of all the sense, Whilst your fair eye enforceth eloquence. There was a time (and since that time the sun Hath not yet through nine signs of heaven run) When the high Sylvan, that commands these woods, And his bright Nymph, fairer than Queen of Floods, With most impatient longings hoped to view Her face to whom their hearts' dear'st zeal was due. Youth's joys to love, sweet light unto the blind, Beauty to virgins, or what wit can find Most dearly wished, was not so much desired As she to them; O my dull soul is fired To tell their longings, but it is a piece That would o'erload the famous tongues of Greece. Yet long they hop'd, till Rumour struck Hope dead, And showed their wishes were but flatterèd; For scarce her chariot cut the easy earth, And journeyed on, when Winter with cold breath Crosseth her way, her borrowed hair doth shine With glittering icicles all crystalline; Her brows were periwigg'd with softer snow, Her russet mantle, fringed with ice below, Sat[610] stiffly on her back; she thus came forth, Ushered with tempest of the frosty North; And seeing her, she thought she sure had seen The sweet-breath'd Flora, the bright Summer's Queen. So full of cheerful grace she did appear, That Winter feared her face recalled the year, And forced untimely springs to seize her right, Whereat with anger and malicious spite She vows revenge; straight with tempestuous wings, From Taurus, Alps, and Scythian rocks she flings Their covering off, and here their thick fur spread, That patient earth was almost smotherèd. Up Boreas mounts, and doth so strongly blow Athwart her way huge drifts of blinding snow, That mountain-like, at length heaps rose so high, Man's sight might doubt whether Heaven or Earth were sky. Hereat she turnèd back, and left her way (Necessity all mortals must obey); Which was no sooner voiced and hither flown, It sads me but to think what grief was shown; Which to augment (mishap ne'er single falls), The God of Sadness and of Funerals, Of heavy pensiveness and discontent, Cold and dull Saturn hither straight was sent. Myself, Merimna, who still wait upon Pale Melancholy and Desolation, Usher'd him in, when straight we strongly seize All this sad house, and vowed no means should ease These heavy bands which pensive Saturn tied, Till with wish'd grace this house was beautified. Pace then no further, for vouchsafe to know, Till her approach here can no comfort grow; 'Tis only one can their sad bondage break,