knight-marshals sonne, My funerals and obsequies were done. Then was the fariman of hell content To passe me ouer to the slimie strond That leades to fell Auernus ougly waues. There, pleasing Cerberus with honied speech, I past the perils of the formost porch. Not farre from hence, amidst ten thousand soules, Sate Minos, Eacus and Rhadamant; To whome no sooner gan I make approach, To craue a pasport for my wandring ghost, But Minos in grauen leaues of lotterie Drew forth the manner of my life and death.     "This knight," quoth he, "both liu'd and died in loue; And for his loue tried fortune of the warres; And by warres fortune lost both loue and life."     "Why then," said Eacus, "convey him hence To walke with lovers in our field of loue And the course of euerlasting time Vnder greene mirtle-trees and cipresse shades."     "No, no!" said Rhadamant, "it were not well With louing soules to place a martialist. He died in warre, and must to martiall fields, Where wounded Hector liues in lasting paine, And Achilles Mermedons do scoure the plaine."     Then Minos, mildest censor of the three, Made this deuice, to end the difference:     "Send him," quoth he, "to our infernall king, To dome him as best seemes his Maiestie."     To this effect my pasport straight was drawne. In keeping on my way to Plutos court Through dreadfull shades of euer-glooming night, I saw more sights than thousand tongues can tell Or pennes can write or mortall harts can think. Three waies there were: that on the right hand side Was ready way vnto the foresaid fields Where louers liue and bloudie martialists, But either sort containd within his bounds; The left hand path, declining fearfuly, Was ready downfall to the deepest hell, Where bloudie Furies shakes their whips of steele, And poore Ixion turnes an endles wheele, Where vsurers are choakt with melting golde, And wantons are imbraste with ougly snakes, And murderers groane with neuer-killing wounds, And periured wights scalded in boiling lead, And all foule sinnes with torments ouerwhelmd; Twixt these two waies I trod the middle path, Which brought me to the faire Elizian greene, In midst whereof there standes a stately towre, The walles of brasse, the gates of adamant. Heere finding Pluto with his Proserpine, I shewed my pasport, humbled on my knee. Whereat faire Proserpine began to smile, And begd that onely she might giue me doome. Pluto was pleasd, and sealde it with a kisse. Forthwith, Reuenge, she rounded thee in th' eare, And bad thee lead me though the gates of horn, Where dreames haue passage in the silent night.   

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