Of Arlo-hill (Who knowes not Arlo-hill?)
That is the highest head (in all mens sights)
Of my old father Mole, whom Shepheards quill
Renowmed hath with hymnes fit for a rurall skill.
And, were it not ill fitting for this file
To sing of hilles and woods mongst warres and Knights,
I would abate the sternenesse of my stile,
Mongst these sterne stounds to mingle soft delights;
And tell how Arlo, through Dianaes spights,
(Beeing of old the best and fairest Hill
That was in all this holy Islands hights)
Was made the most unpleasant and most ill:
Meane-while, O Clio! lend Calliope thy quill.
Whylome when Ireland florished in fame
Of wealths and goodnesse, far above the rest
Of all that beare the British Islands name,
The gods then us’d (for pleasure and for rest)
Oft to resort thereto, when seem’d them best;
But none of all therein more pleasure found
Then Cynthia, that is soveraine Queene profest
Of woods and forrests which therein abound,
Sprinkled with wholsom waters more then most on ground:
But mongst them all, as fittest for her game,
Eyther for chace of beasts with hound or boawe,
Or for to shrowde in shade from Phœbus flame,
Or bathe in fountaines that do freshly flowe
Or from high hilles or from the dales belowe,
She chose this Arlo; where she did resort
With all her Nymphes enranged on a rowe,
With whom the woody Gods did oft consort,
For with the Nymphes the Satyres love to play and sport.
Amongst the which there was a Nymph that hight
Molanna; daughter of old Father Mole,
And sister unto Mulla faire and bright,
Unto whose bed false Bregog whylome stole,
That Shepheard Colin dearely did condole,
And made her lucklesse loves well knowne to be:
But this Molanna, were she not so shole,
Were no lesse faire and beautifull then shee;
Yet, as she is, a fayrer flood may no man see.
For, first, she springs out of two marble Rocks,
On which a grove of Oakes high-mounted growes,
That as a girlond seemes to deck the locks
Of som faire Bride, brought forth with pompous showes
Out of her bowre, that many flowers strowes:
So through the flowry Dales she tumbling downe
Through many woods and shady coverts flowes,
(That on each side her silver channell crowne)
Till to the Plaine she come, whose Valleyes she doth drowne.
In her sweet streames Diana used oft
(After her sweaty chace and toylesome play)
To bathe her selfe; and, after, on the soft
And downy grasse her dainty limbes to lay
In covert shade, where none behold her may;
For much she hated sight of living eye.
Foolish god Faunus, though full many a day
He saw her clad, yet longed foolishly
To see her naked mongst her Nymphes in privity.
No way he found to compasse his desire,
But to corrupt Molanna, this her maid,
Her to discover for some secret hire:
So her with flattering words he first assaid;
And after, pleasing gifts for her purvaid,
Queene-apples, and red Cherries from the tree,
With which he her allured, and betrayd
To tell what time he might her Lady see
When she her selfe did bathe, that he might secret bee.
Thereto he promist, if shee would him pleasure
With this small boone, to quit her with a better;
To weet, that whereas shee had out of measure
Long lov’d the Fanchin, who by nought did set her,
That he would undertake for this to get her
To be his Love, and of him liked well:
Besides all which, he vow’d to be her debter
For many moe good turnes then he would tell,
The least of which this little pleasure should excell.
The simple mayd did yield to him anone;
And eft him placed where he close might view
That never any saw, save onely one,
Who, for his hire to so foolehardy dew,
Was of his hounds devour’d in Hunters hew.
Tho, as her manner was on sunny day,
Diana, with her Nymphes about her, drew
To this sweet spring; where, doffing her array,
She bath’d her lovely limbes, for Jove a likely pray.
There Faunus saw that pleased much his eye,
And made his hart to tickle in his brest,
That, for great joy of somewhat he did spy,
He could him not containe in silent rest;
But, breaking forth in laughter, loud profest
His foolish thought: A foolish Faune indeed,
That couldst not hold thy selfe so hidden blest,
But wouldest needs thine owne conceit areed!
Babblers unworthy been of so divine a meed.
The Goddesse, all abashed with that noise,
In haste forth started from the guilty brooke;
And, running straight whereas she heard his voice,
Enclos’d the bush about, and there him tooke,
Like darred Larke, not daring up to looke
On her whose sight before so much he sought.
Thence forth they drew him by the hornes, and shooke
Nigh all to peeces, that they left him nought;
And then into the open light they forth him brought.
Like as an huswife, that with busie care
Thinks of her Dairy to make wondrous gaine,
Finding whereas some wicked beast unware
That breakes into her Dayr’ house, there doth draine
Her creaming pannes, and frustrate all her paine,
Hath, in some snare or gin set close behind,
Entrapped him, and caught into her traine;
Then thinkes what punishment were best assign’d,
And thousand deathes deviseth in her vengefull mind.
So did Diana and her maydens all
Use silly Faunus, now within their baile:
They mocke and scorne him, and him foule miscall;
Some by the nose him pluckt, some by the taile,
And by his goatish beard some did him haile:
Yet he (poore soule!) with patience all did beare;
For nought against their wils might countervaile:
Ne ought he said, what ever he did heare,
But, hanging downe his head, did like a Mome appeare.
At length, when they had flouted him their fill,
They gan to cast what penaunce him to give.
Some would have gelt him; but that same would spill
