A strife betwene
Appeles and Pigmalion.
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WHen that Appelles lived in Grece,
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Pigmalion also raigned than:
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These two did strive to frame a pece,
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Which should amaze the sight of man.
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Whereby they might win such a name,
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As should deserve immortall fame.
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Appelles then strayed everiewhere,
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To marke and viewe ech courtlie Dame:
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And when he heard where any were,
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Did well deserve the prayse and fame:
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He thither rode with willyng harte,
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Of her to take the cumliest parte.
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And when he had with travaile great,
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A thousand wights knit up in one:
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He found therewith to wurke his feat,
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A paterne such, as earst was none.
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And then with joye retourned backe,
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For to those limmes, but lyfe did lacke.
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Pigmalion eke, to shew his arte,
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Did then conclude, in Ivorie white
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To forme and frame in everie parte,
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A woman fayre to his delighte.
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Wherein was everie limme so coucht,
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As not a vayne he lefte untoucht.
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When their two cunnings joyned were,
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A worlde it was to see their wurke:
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But yet it may greve everie eare,
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To heare the chaunce did therein lurke.
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For through the pece they framed had,
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For love, Pigmalion did run mad.
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Which seene, Appelles shut his booke,
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And durst no longer viewe that sight:
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For why? her comelie limmes and looke,
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In one did passe ech other wight.
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And while Appelles wiped his eye,
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The pece did mount unto the Skye.
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Whereas dame Nature toke it straight,
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And wrapt it up in linnen folde:
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Esteeming it more, then the waight
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Had ten times ben of glistryng golde.
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Shee lockt it up fast in a chest,
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To pleasure him that shee loved best.
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Appelles then dismayed much,
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Did throw his booke into the fire:
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He feared lest the Gods did grutch,
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That wurkemen should so high aspire.
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Yet once agayne he travailed Grece,
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With lesse effect, and made a pece.
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Which long time did hold great renowne
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For Venus all men did it call:
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Tyll in our dayes gan Nature frowne,
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And gave the workemannes worke a fall.
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For, from her chest t'avoyde all stryfe,
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Shee tooke the pece, and gave it lyfe.
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And for a token gave the same,
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Unto the highest man of state:
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And said: since thou art crownd by Fame,
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Take to thee here, this worthie mate.
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The same which kyld the carvers strife,
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Before that Nature gave it life.
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Lorde, yf Appelles now did know,
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Or yf Pigmalion once should heare:
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Of this their worke the worthie show,
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Since Nature gave it life to beare.
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No doubt at all, her worthie prayse,
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Those selie Grekes from death wold rayse.
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Then those that daylie see her grace,
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Whose vertue passeth everie wight:
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Her comelie corps, her christall face,
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They ought to pray both day and night.
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That God may graunt most happie state,
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Unto that Princesse and her mate.
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