e more deare and precious
Was than mine owne, so long as it did last?
I now, in lieu of paines so gracious,
Am tost in th'ayre with everie windie blast:
Thou, safe delivered from sad decay, 335
Thy careles limbs in loose sleep dost display.

"So livest thou; but my poore wretched ghost
Is forst to ferrie over Lethes river,
And spoyld of Charon too and fro am tost.
Seest thou not how all places quake and quiver, 340
Lightned with deadly lamps on everie post?
Tisiphone each where doth shake and shiver
Her flaming fire-brond, encountring me,
Whose lockes uncombed cruell adders be.

"And Cerberus, whose many mouthes doo bay, 345
And barke out flames, as if on fire he fed,
Adowne whose necke, in terrible array,
Ten thousand snakes, cralling about his hed,
Doo hang in heapes, that horribly affray,
And bloodie eyes doo glister firie red, 350
He oftentimes me dreadfullie doth threaten
With painfull torments to be sorely beaten.

"Ay me! that thankes so much should faile of meed,
For that I thee restor'd to life againe,
Even from the doore of death and deadlie dreed. 355
Where then is now the guerdon of my paine?
Where the reward of my so piteous deed?
The praise of pitie vanisht is in vaine,
And th'antique faith of iustice long agone
Out of the land is fled away and gone. 360

"I saw anothers fate approaching fast,
And left mine owne his safetie to tender;
Into the same mishap I now am cast,
And shun'd destruction doth destruction render:
Not unto him that never hath trespast, 365
But punishment is due to the offender:
Yet let destruction be the punishment,
So long as thankfull will may it relent.

"I carried am into waste wildernesse,
Waste wildernes, amongst Cymerian shades, 370
Where endles paines and hideous heavinesse
Is round about me heapt in darksome glades.
For there huge Othos sits in sad distresse,
Fast bound with serpents that him oft invades,
Far of beholding Ephialtes tide, 375
Which once assai'd to burne this world so wide.

"And there is mournfull Tityus, mindefull yet
Of thy displeasure, O Latona faire;
Displeasure too implacable was it,
That made him meat for wild foules of the ayre: 380
Much do I feare among such fiends to