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I graunt thee leave, quoth Guye, goe drink thy last,

Go pledge the dragon, and the salvage bore 2: Succeed the tragedyes that they have past,

But never thinke to taste cold water more: Drinke deepe to Death and unto him carouse: Bid him receive thee in his earthen house.

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Soe to the spring he goes, and slakes his thirst:

Takeing the water in extremely like
Some wracked shipp that on a rocke is burst,

Whose forced hulke against the stones does stryke;
Scooping it in soe fast with both his hands,
That Guy admiring to behold it stands.

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Come on, quoth Guy, let us to worke againe,

Thou stayest about thy liquor overlong; The fish, which in the river doe remaine,

Will want thereby: thy drinking doth them wrong: 70 But I will see their satisfaction made, With gyants blood they must, and shall be payd.

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Villaine, quoth Amarant, Ile crush thee streight;

Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence:
This clubb, which is about some hundred weight,

Is deathes commission to dispatch thee hence:
Dresse thee for ravens dyett I must needes;
And breake thy bones, as they were made of reedes.
Incensed much by these bold pagan bostes,

Which worthye Guy cold ill endure to heare,
He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes,

Which like two pillars did his body beare: Amarant for those wounds in choller growes And desperatelye att Guy his clubb he throwes:

80 85

Ver. 64, bulke. MS. and P.cc.

2 Which Guy had slain before.

Which did directly on his body light,

Soe violent, and weighty there-withall,
That downe to ground on sudden came the knight;

And, ere he cold recover from the fall,
The gyant gott his clubb againe in fist,
And aimd a stroke that wonderfullye mist.

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Traytor, quoth Guy, thy falshood Ile repay,

This coward act to intercept my bloode. Sayes Amarant, Ile murther any way,

With enemyes all vantages are good: O could I poyson in thy nostrills blowe, Besure of it I wold dispatch thee soe.

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Its well, said Guy, thy honest thoughts appeare,

Within that beastlye bulke where devills dwell; Which are thy tenants while thou livest heare,

But will be landlords when thou comest in hell: Vile miscreant, prepare thee for their den, Inhumane monster, hatefull unto men.

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But breathe thy selfe a time, while I goe drinke,

For flameing Phoebus with his fyerye eye
Torments me soe with burning heat, I thinke

My thirst wolde serve to drinke an ocean drye:
Forbear a litle, as I delt with thee.
Quoth Amarant, Thou hast noe foole of mee.

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Noe, sillye wretch, my father taught more witt,

How I shold use such enemyes as thou;
By all my gods I doe rejoice at itt,

To understand that thirst constraines thee now:
For all the treasure, that the world containes,
One drop of water shall not coole thy vaines.

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Releeve

my foe! why, 'twere a madmans part: Refresh an adversarye to my wrong!

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If thou imagine this, a child thou art:

Noe, fellow, I have known the world too long
To be soe simple: now I know thy want,
A minutes space of breathing I'll not grant.
And with these words heaving aloft his clubb

Into the ayre, he swings the same about:
Then shakes his lockes, and doth his temples rubb,

And, like the Cyclops, in his pride doth strout:
Sirra, says hee, I have you at a lift,
Now you are come unto your latest shift.
Perish forever: with this stroke I send thee

A medicine, that will doe thy thirst much good:
Take noe more care for drinke before I end thee,

And then wee'll have carouses of thy blood: Here's at thee with a butcher's downright blow, To please my furye with thine overthrow. Infernall, false, obdurate feend, said Guy,

That seemst a lumpe of crueltye from hell;
Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny

The thing to mee wherin I used thee well:
With more revenge, than ere my sword did make,
On thy accursed head revenge Ile take.
Thy gyants longitude shall shorter shrinke,

Except thy sun-scorcht skin be weapon proof:
Farewell my thirst; I doe disdaine to drinke;

Streames keepe your waters to your owne behoof;
Or let wild beasts be welcome thereunto;
With those pearle drops I will not have to do.
Here, tyrant, take a taste of my good-will,

For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout:
You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill;

It is not that same clubb will beare you out;
And take this payment on thy shaggye crowne
A blowe that brought him with a vengeance downe.

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Then Guy sett foot upon the monsters brest,

And from his shoulders did his head divide;
Which with a yawninge mouth did gape, unblest;

Noe dragons jawes were ever seene soe wide
To open and to shut, till life was spent.
Then Guy tooke keyes, and to the castle went,

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Where manye woefull captives he did find,

Which had beene tyred with extremityes; Whom he in freindly manner did unbind,

And reasoned with them of their miseryes: Eche told a tale with teares, and sighes, and

cryes, All weeping to him with complaining eyes.

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There tender ladyes in darke dungeons lay,

That were surprised in the desart wood, And had noe other dyett everye day,

But flesh of humane creatures for their food: Some with their lovers bodyes had beene fed, And in their wombes their husbands buryed.

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Now he bethinkes him of his being there,

To enlarge the wronged brethren from their woes: And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours heare,

By which sad sound's direction on he goes, Untill he findes a darksome obscure gate, Arm'd strongly ouer all with iron plate.

That he unlockes, and enters, where appeares

175 The strangest object that he ever saw; Men that with famishment of many years,

Were like deathes picture, which the painters draw! Divers of them were hanged by eche thombe; Others head-downward: by the middle some.

180

With diligence he takes them from the walle,

With lybertye their thraldome to acquaint:

Then the perplexed knight their father calls,

And sayes, Receive thy sonnes though poore and faint: I promisd you their lives, accept of that;

185 But did not warrant you they shold be fat. The castle I doe give thee, heere's the keyes,

Where tyranye for many yeeres did dwell:
Procure the gentle tender ladyes ease,
For pittyes sake, use wronged women well:

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Men easilye revenge the wrongs men do;
But poore weake women have not strength thereto.
The good old man, even overjoyed with this,

Fell on the ground, and wold have kist Guys feete: Father, quoth he, refraine soe base a kiss,

195 For age to honor youth I hold unmeete: Ambitious pryde hath hurt mee all it can, I goe to mortifie a sinfull man.

*** The foregoing poem on Guy and Amarant has been discovered to be a fragment of “The famous historie of Guy earle of Warwicke, by Samuel Rowlands, London, printed by J. Bell, 1649,” 4to, in xii. cantos, beginning thus:

“When dreadful Mars in armour every day. Whether the edition in 1649 was the first, is not known, but the author, Sam. Rowlands, was one of the minor poets who lived in the reigns of Queen Elizabeth and James I., and perhaps later. His other poems are chiefly of the religious kind, which makes it probable that the history of Guy was one of his earliest performances. There are extant of his, (1) “The betraying of Christ, Judas in dispaire, the seven words of our Saviour on the crosse, with other poems on the passion, &c. 1598,” 4to. (Ames Typ. p. 428.) (2.) “A Theatre of delightful Recreation, Lond. printed for A. Johnson, 1605,” 4to. (Penes editor.) This is a book of poems on subjects chiefly taken from the Old Testament. (3.) “Me

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