Era si pieno il cor di maraviglie.

      My heart was fill’d with wonder and amaze,
    As one struck dumb, in silence stands at gaze
    Expecting counsel, when my friend drew near,
    And said:  “What do you look? why stay you here? 
    What mean you? know you not that I am one
    Of these, and must attend? pray, let’s be gone.” 
    “Dear friend,” said I, “consider what desire
    To learn the rest hath set my heart on fire;
    My own haste stops me.”  “I believe ’t,” said he,
    “And I will help; ’tis not forbidden me. 
    This noble man, on whom the others wait
    (You see) is Pompey, justly call’d The Great: 
    Cornelia followeth, weeping his hard fate,
    And Ptolemy’s unworthy causeless hate. 
    You see far off the Grecian general;
    His base wife, with AEgisthus wrought his fall: 
    Behold them there, and judge if Love be blind. 
    But here are lovers of another kind,
    And other faith they kept.  Lynceus was saved
    By Hypermnestra:  Pyramus bereaved
    Himself of life, thinking his mistress slain: 
    Thisbe’s like end shorten’d her mourning pain. 
    Leander, swimming often, drown’d at last;
    Hero her fair self from her window cast. 
    Courteous Ulysses his long stay doth mourn;
    His chaste wife prayeth for his safe return;
    While Circe’s amorous charms her prayers control,
    And rather vex than please his virtuous soul. 
    Hamilcar’s son, who made great Rome afraid,
    By a mean wench of Spain is captive led. 
    This Hypsicratea is, the virtuous fair,
    Who for her husband’s dear love cut her hair,
    And served in all his wars:  this is the wife
    Of Brutus, Portia, constant in her life
    And death:  this Julia is, who seems to moan,
    That Pompey loved best, when she was gone. 
    Look here and see the Patriarch much abused
    Who twice seven years for his fair Rachel choosed
    To serve:  O powerful love increased by woe! 
    His father this:  now see his grandsire go
    With Sarah from his home.  This cruel Love
    O’ercame good David; so it had power to move
    His righteous heart to that abhorred crime,
    For which he sorrow’d all his following time;
    Just such like error soil’d his wise son’s fame,
    For whose idolatry God’s anger came: 
    Here’s he who in one hour could love and hate: 
    Here Tamar, full of anguish, wails her state;
    Her brother Absalom attempts t’ appease
    Her grieved soul.  Samson takes care to please
    His fancy; and appears more strong than wise,
    Who in a traitress’ bosom sleeping lies. 
    Amongst those pikes and spears which guard the place,
    Love, wine, and sleep, a beauteous widow’s face
    And pleasing art hath Holophernes ta’en;
    She back again retires, who hath him slain,