Ales Phasiacis petita Colchis &c.
TH
'He bird, that's fetch't from Phasis floud, Or choicest hennes of Africk-brood; These please our palates. & why these? 'Cause they can but seldome please. Whil'st the goose soe goodly white, And the drake yeeld noe delight, Though his wings conceited hewe Paint each feather, as if new. These for vulgar stomacks be, And rellish not of rarity. But the dainty Scarus, sought In farthest clime; what e're is bought With shipwracks toile, oh, that is sweet, 'Cause the quicksands hanselld it. The pretious Barbill, now groune rife, Is cloying meat. How stale is Wife? Deare wife hath ne're a handsome letter, Sweet mistris sounds a great deale better. Rose quakes at name of Cinnamon. Unlesse't be rare, what's thought upon?
Horatius.
Ille & ne fasto te posuit die &c.
S
Hame of thy mother soyle! ill-nurtur'd tree! Sett to the mischeife, of posteritie! That hand, (what e're it wer) that was thy nurse, Was sacrilegious, (sure) or somewhat worse. Black, as the day was dismall, in whose sight Thy rising topp first staind the bashfull light. That man (I thinke) wrested the feeble life From his old father. that mans barbarous knife Conspird with darknes 'gainst the strangers throate; (Whereof the blushing walles tooke bloody note) Huge high-floune poysons, ev'n of Colchos breed, And whatsoe're wild sinnes black thoughts doe feed, His hands have padled in; his hands, that found Thy traiterous root a dwelling in my ground. Perfidious totterer! longing for the staines Of thy kind Master's well-deserving braines. Mans daintiest care, & caution cannot spy The subtile point of his coy destiny,
Wch way it threats. with feare the merchant's mind
Is plough'd as deepe, as is the sea with wind,
(Rowz'd in an angry tempest), Oh the sea!
Oh that's his feare; there flotes his destiny:
While from another (unseene) corner blowes
The storme of fate, to wch his life he owes.
By Parthians bow the soldier lookes to die,
(Whose hands are fighting, while their feet doe flie.)
The Parthian starts at Rome's imperiall name,
Fledg'd with her eagles wing; the very chaine
Of his captivity rings in his eares.
Thus, ô thus fondly doe wee pitch our feares
Farre distant from our fates. our fates, that mocke
Our giddy feares with an unlook't for shocke.
A little more, & I had surely seene
Thy greisly Majesty, Hell's blackest Queene;
And Eacus on his Tribunall too,
Sifting the soules of guilt; & you, (oh you!)
You ever-blushing meads, where doe the Blest
Farre from darke horrors home appeale to rest.
There amorous Sappho plaines upon her Lute
Her loves crosse fortune, that the sad dispute
Runnes murmuring on the strings. Alcæus there
In high-built numbers wakes his golden lyre,
To tell the world, how hard the matter went,
How hard by sea, by warre, by banishment.
There these brave soules deale to each wondring eare,
Such words, soe precious, as they may not weare
Without religious silence; above all
Warres ratling tumults, or some tyrants fall.
The thronging clotted multitude doth feast.
What wonder? when the hundred-headed beast
Hangs his black lugges, stroakt with those heavenly
lines;
The Furies curl'd snakes meet in gentle twines,
And stretch their cold limbes in a pleasing fire.
Prometheus selfe, & Pelops sterved sire
Are cheated of their paines; Orion thinkes
Of Lions now noe more, or spotted Linx.
On ye Gunpowder-Treason.
I
Sing Impiety beyond a name:
Who stiles it any thinge, knowes not the same. Dull, sluggish Ile! what more than lethargy Gripes thy cold limbes soe fast, thou canst not fly, And start from of[f] thy center? hath heaven's love Stuft thee soe full with blisse, thou can'st not move? If soe, oh Neptune, may she farre be throwne By thy kind armes to a kind world unknowne : Lett her survive this day, once mock her fate, And shee's an Island truely fortunate.
Lett not my suppliant breath raise a rude storme
To wrack my suite. oh keepe pitty warme
In thy cold breast, & yearely on this day
Mine eyes a tributary streame shall pay.
Do'st thou not see an exhalation
Belch'd from the sulph'ry lungs of Phlegeton?
A living Comet, whose pestiferous breath
Adulterates the Virgin aire? with death
It labours. stif'led nature's in a swound,
Ready to dropp into a chaos, round
About horror's displai'd; It doth portend,
That earth a shoure of stones to heaven shall send,
And crack the Christall globe; the milky streame
Shall in a silver rain runne out, whose creame
Shall choake the gaping earth, wch then shall fry
In flames, & of a burning fever dy.
That wonders may in fashion be, not rare,
A winter's thunder with a groane shall scare,
And rouze the sleepy ashes of the dead,
Making them skip out of their dusty bed.
Those twinckling eyes of heaven, wch ev'n now shin'd,
Shall with one flash of lightning be struck blind.
The sea shall change his youthfull greene, & slide
Along the shore in a grave purple tide.
It does præsage, that a great Prince shall climbe,
And gett a starry throne before his time.
To usher in this shoale of Prodigies,
Thy infants, Æolus, will not suffice.
Noe, noe, a giant wind, that will not spare
To tosse poore men like dust into the aire;
Justle downe mountaines: Kings courts shall be sent,
Like bandied balles, into the firmament.
Atlas shall be tript upp, Jove's gate shall feele
The weighty rudenes of his boysterous heele.
All this it threats, & more: Horro', that flies
To th' Empyræum of all miseries.
Most tall Hyperbole's cannot descry it;
Mischeife, that scornes expression should come nigh it.
All this it only threats. the Meteor ly'd;
It was exhal'd, a while it hung, & dy'd.
Heaven kickt the Monster downe. downe it was throwne,
The fall of all things it præsag'd, its owne
It quite forgott. the fearfull earth gave way,
And durst not touch it, heere it made noe stay.
At last it stopt at Pluto's gloomy porch;
He streightway lighted upp his pitchy torch.
Now to those toiling soules it gives its light,
Wch had the happines to worke i'th' night.
They banne the blaze, & curse its curtesy,
For lighting them unto their misery.
Till now hell was imperfect; it did need
Some rare choice torture; now 'tis hell indeed.
Then glutt thy dire lampe with the warmest blood,
That runnes in violett pipes: none other food
It can digest. then watch the wildfire well,
Least it breake forth, & burne thy sooty cell.
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