He, armd with blindnesse and with boldnes stout, 265
(For blind is bold,) hath our fayre light defaced;
And, gathering unto him a ragged rout
Of Faunes and Satyres, hath our dwellings raced*,
And our chast bowers, in which all vertue rained,
With brutishnesse and beastlie filth hath stained. 270
[* _Raced_, razed.]

The sacred springs of horsefoot Helicon,
So oft bedeawed with our learned layes,
And speaking streames of pure Castalion,
The famous witnesse of our wonted praise,
They trampled have with their fowle footings trade*,
And like to troubled puddles have them made. 276
[* _Trade_, tread.]

Our pleasant groves, which planted were with paines,
That with our musick wont so oft to ring,
And arbors sweet, in which the shepheards swaines
Were wont so oft their pastoralls to sing, 280
They have cut downe, and all their pleasaunce mard,
That now no pastorall is to bee hard.

In stead of them, fowle goblins and shriek-owles
With fearfull howling do all places fill,
And feeble eccho now laments and howles, 285
The dreadfull accents of their outcries shrill.
So all is turned into wildernesse,
Whilest Ignorance the Muses doth oppresse.