CAP. XXVII. OF THE MARVEYLOUS ARGUMENT BETWENE MARS AND FORTUNE.

Besyde this toure of olde foundacion There was a temple strongly edefyed; To the high honoure and reputacyon Of the mighty Mars it was so fortefyed: And for to know what it signifyed I entred in, and sawe of golde so pure Of worthy Mars the mervaylous pycture.

There was depaynted all about the wall The grete destruccion of the cite of Troye; And the noble actes do reygne memoryall Of the worthy Hector that was all theyr joye. His dolorus death was herde to occoye; And so whan Hector was cast all downe, The hardy Troylus was moost hyghe of renowne.

And as I cast my syght so asyde, Beholdynge Mars how wonderly he stode, On a whele top with a lady of pryde Haunced aboute, I thought nothing but good, But that she had two faces in one hode; Yet I kneled adowne and made mine oryson, To doughty Mars, wyth grete devocyon.

Sayenge: O Mars! O god of the warre! The gentyll lodesterre of an hardy herte, Dystyll adowne thy grace from so farre To cause all fere from me to astert: That in the felde I may ryght well subverte The hedyus monsters, and winne the victory Of the sturdy giauntes with famous chyvalry.

O prynce of honour and of worthy fame! O noble knightes of olde antiquite! O redouted courage, the cause of theyr name, Whose worthy actes fame caused to be In bokes wrytten, as ye maye well se! So gyve me grace ryght well to secure The power of fame that shall long endure.

I thought me past al chyldly ygnoraunce, The xxxi. yere of my yonge flourynge aege; I thought that Venus might nothyng avaunce Her strength against me with her lusty courage; My wytte I thought had suche avauntage, That it should rule both Venus and Cupyde: But, alas for wo! for all my sodayne pryde!

Whan that Phebus entred was in Gemine, Toward the Crab takynge ascencyon, At the tyme of the great solempnite From heven above of Goddes descencyon; In a grete temple with hole entencyon As I went walkyng my selfe to and fro, Full sodaynly Venus wrought me such wo.

For as I cast than my syght all alofte, I sawe Venus in beaute so clere, Which caused Cupide wyth his darte so softe, To wounde my herte wyth fervent love so dere; Her lovynge countenaunce so hyghe dyd appere, That it me ravyshed wyth a sodayne thought, Alas for wo! it vayled me ryght nought.

To gyve audyence unto the melody Of waytes and organs that were at the fest, Love had me wounded so sore inwardly, What was to do I knewe not the best. Replete wyth sorowe and devoyde of rest, Sythen the tyme that she my hert soo wounded, My joy and pryde she hath full lowe confounded.