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Muiopotmos Or The Fate Of The Butterflie
by [?]

With fruitfull hope his aged breast he fed 25
Of future good, which his yong toward yeares,
Full of brave courage and bold hardyhed
Above th’ensample of his equall peares,
Did largely promise, and to him fore-red,
(Whilst oft his heart did melt in tender teares,) 30
That he in time would sure prove such an one,
As should be worthie of his fathers throne.

The fresh yong flie, in whom the kindly fire
Of lustfull yongth* began to kindle fast,
Did much disdaine to subiect his desire 35
To loathsome sloth, or houres in ease to wast;
But ioy’d to range abroad in fresh attire
Through the wide compas of the ayrie coast,
And with unwearied wings each part t’inquire
Of the wide rule of his renownned sire. 40
[* Yongth, youth.]

For he so swift and nimble was of flight,
That from this lower tract he dar’d to stie*
Up to the clowdes, and thence with pineons light
To mount aloft unto the christall skie,
To vew the workmanship of heavens hight 45
Whence down descending he along would flie
Upon the streaming rivers, sport to finde,
And oft would dare to tempt the troublous winde.
[* Stie, mount.]

So on a summers day, when season milde
With gentle calme the world had quieted, 50
And high in heaven Hyperions fierie childe
Ascending did his beames abroad dispred,
Whiles all the heavens on lower creatures smilde,
Yong Clarion, with vauntfull lustiehead;
After his guize did cast abroad to fare, 55
And theretoo gan his furnitures prepare.

His breastplate first, that was of substance pure,
Before his noble heart he firmely bound,
That mought his life from yron death assure,
And ward his gentle corpes from cruell wound: 60
For it by arte was framed to endure
The bit* of balefull steele and bitter stownd**,
No lesse than that which Vulcane made to sheild
Achilles life from fate of Troyan field.
[* Bit, bite.]
[** Stownd, hour.]

And then about his shoulders broad he threw 65
An hairie hide of some wilde beast, whom hee
In salvage forrest by adventure slew,
And reft the spoyle his ornament to bee;
Which, spredding all his backe with dreadfull vew,
Made all that him so horrible did see 70
Thinke him Alcides with the lyons skin,
When the Naemean conquest he did win.

Upon his head, his glistering burganet*,
The which was wrought by wonderous device
And curiously engraven, he did set: 75
The mettall was of rare and passing price;
Not Bilbo** steele, nor brasse from Corinth fet,
Nor costly oricalche from strange Phoenice;
But such as could both Phoebus arrowes ward,
And th’hayling darts of heaven beating hard. 80
[* Burganet, helmet.]
[** Bilbo, Bilboa.]