The smoking mountains melt like wax away,
Else sink for feare (O more than fearfull things!)
They which the fields with rivers did array,
As if to quench their heat, drink up their springs;
Like faded flowers, their drouping tops decay,
Which (crown'd with clouds) stretch'd through the
aire their wings,

As did the raine, whil'st fire doth seize all bounds,
What last the first, the last at first confounds.

Then of that birth hills shall delivered be,
Which big by Nature they so long have borne,
Though it fond mortals (slaves by being free)
To make abortives have their bellies torne:
Gold (as when Midas wish, O just decree!)
Shall flow superfluous avarice to scom.
What of all else did measure once the worth,
Shall then lye loath'd by th’aguous Earth spu'd forth.
The godly king's wise sonne from Ophir brought,
With ethnicks joyn'd (all welcome are for gaines)
What Spanyards now in other worlds have sought,
That golden fleece still wonne, and worne with paines:
And yet at last what all this trouble wrought,
From molten mountains shall ore-flow the plains.
Ah, ah curst gold, what mak'st thou men not do,
Since sought over all the Earth, and in it too?

Fond curiousnesse made our first parents fall,
And since the same hath still held downe their race;
Whose judgments were to senselesse things made

thrall,

Which God most low, and they most high do place;
Nought in themselves, to us by us made all,
The which we first, and then they all things grace;
But (straight dissolv'd) they shall to Hell repaire,
To brave a multitude, by them drawne there.

At Heaven (when hence) if certaine to arrive,
Then these barbarians what could much annoy,
Who naked walke, eate hearbes, for nothing strive,
But scorne our toyls, whose treasure is their toy?
As Adam first (when innocent) they live,
And goldlesse thus the golden age enjoy ;
We barbarous are in deeds, and they in show,
Too little they, and ah, too much we know.
What huge deluge of flames enflames my minde,
Whil'st inward ardour that without endeeres?
A light (ore-flowing light) doth make me blinde,
The sea a lanterne, th' earth a lampe appeares:
That cristall covering burn'd which it confin'de,
The way to ruin fatall lightning cleares.
Dust equals all that unto it return:

All creatures now one funerall fire doth burne.

[dyes,

With starres (as if to brave the starry spheares)
Then seemes at once to walk, to flie, to saile,
His flesh (which to corrupt so long forbeares)
Against destruction shall not now prevaile.
Those painted fowls shall then be baits for fire,
As painted fools be now for endlesse ire.
The Indian griphon, terrour of all eyes,
That flying giant, Nimrod of the ayre,
The scalie dragon which in ambush lyes
To watch his enemy with a martiall care,
Though breathing flames, touch'd by a flame straight
And all wing'd monsters made (since hurtfull) rare:
"Types of strong tyrants which the weake oppresse,
Those ravenous great ones pray upon the lesse."
Their nimble feathers then shall nought import,
Which with their wings both levell sea and land,
The falcon fierce, and all that active sort,
Which by their burden grace a prince's hand:
And (they for pray, their bearers bent for sport)
Do thrall great monarchs which even men command:
Ere falne on earth their ashes quenched be,
Whom soar'd of late aloft men scarce could see.

Those birds (but turn'd to dust) again shall raine,
Which mutinous Israel with a curse receiv'd;
And those for sport so prodigally slaine,
For which (what shame) some belly-monsters crav'd,
Long necks (like cranes) their tastes to entertaine,
From which the phenix hardly can be sav'd.
"In bodies base whose bellies still are full, [dull."
The souls are made (choak'd with grosse vapours)

The feather'd flocks which by a notion strange,
(I know not how inspir'd, or what they see)
Or if their inward following outward change,
As true astrologues gathering stormes forsee,
In quaking clouds their murmuring troups which

But yet where ere they be, they then shall fall,
God's armie, yea, his arme doth stretch ore all.

Those which themselves in civill warres do match,
Whose sound triumphall lyons puts to flight,
The morning ushers, urging sleeps dispatch,
Whose wings applaud their voice saluting light,
The labourer's horologe, ordinary watch,
Whose course, by Nature rul'd, goes alwayes right.
Those trumpetters dissolving many dreame,
May then not see the day which they proclaime.

So suddenly all shall with ruine meet,

That even the fowl which still doth streames pursue,
As if to wash, or hide, her loath'd black feet,
Then swimmes in state proud of her snowie hue:
Who us'd with tragick notes (though sad, yet sweet)
To make Meander's nymphs her dying rue.
She then surpris'd, not dreaming of her death,
Shall not have time to tune her plaintive breath.

The winged squadrons which by feeling finde
A body (though invisible) of aire,
Both solid, vaste, clos'd, open, free, confin'de,
Whil'st weight by lightnesse, stays by moving there;
As swimmers waves, those flyers beat the winde,
Borne by their burdens, miracles if rare.
The feathers fir'd whil'st stretched armes do shrink,
Though thus made lighter, they more heavy sink.

That sort which diving deep, and soaring high,
(Like some too subtle trusting double wayes)
Which swimme with fishes, and with fowls do flie;
While still their course the present fortune sways.
At last in vaine their liquid fortresse trie,
Of wrath the weapons nought save ruine stayes.
To flie the ayre downe in the deeps they bend,
For want of ayre down in the deeps they end.
Wing'd alchymists that quintessence the flowers,
As oft-times drown'd before, now burn'd shall be,
Then measuring artists by their numbrous powers:
Whose works' proportions better do agree,
Which do by colonies uncharge their bowres,
Kill idle ones, sting foes, what needs foresee:
Men talk of vertue, bees do practise it,
Even justice, temperance, fortitude, and wit.

What agony doth thus my soul invest?

I think I see Heaven burne, Hell's gulphs all gape,

My panting heart doth beat upon my breast,

As urging passage that it thence may scape,
Reft from my self, yet no where else, I rest,
Of what I was, reserving but the shape.

My haires are bended up, swolne are mines eyes,
My tongue in silence mind's amazement tyes.
Who can but dreame what furies plague thy soule,
Poore sinfull wretch who then art toss'd with breath?
Whil'st desp'rate anguish no way can controule
The raging torrent of consuming wrath,
In every corner where thy eyes can roule,
Their sweetest shows more bitter are than death.
Who can expresse thy feelings, or thy feares,
Which even repentance cannot help with teares?

To look aloft if thou dar'st raise thy sight,
Weigh'd downe (as damn'd by guilty actions gone)
What horrour, terrour, errour, all affright
Thee; trembling thee, who out of time do'st grone?
Oft shalt thou wish that thee falne mountains might
Hide from his face who sits upon the throne.

The halting Lemnian highly shall revenge
The ancient scorne of other equall powers: [strange)
Both strong and swift, though lame, (what wonder
He then (turn'd furious) all the rest devoures,
Whose fiercenesse first his mother toils to change,
But (having him embrac'd) she likewise foures,
And with her sonne doth furiously conspire,
Straight from pure ayre, then all transform'd in fire.

This heat with horrour may congeale all hearts,
Life's bellows toss'd by breath which still do move;
That faune which doth refresh the inward parts,
Even it shall make the breast a fornace prove.
That signe of life which oft arrives and parts,
Boils all within, else burnes it selfe above.
At that dread day denouncing endlesse night,
All smoke, not breath, whil'st flames give onely light.

That stormie tyrant which usurpes the ayre,
Whil'st wooll (rain'd down from Heaven) doth him
A liquid pillar hanging at each haire, [enfold;
Sneez'd fiercely forth when shaking all for cold:
He clad with flames a fierie leader there,
Makes feeble Vulcan by his aid more bold;
Whose bellows, fostred by the other's blast,
May soone forge ruine, instruments to waste.

The land's great creature, nurceling of the east,
Which loves extremely, and with zeale adores,
In sprite and nature both above a beast, [roares:
Whil'st charg'd with men he through the battell
And his arm'd match (of monsters not the least)
Whose scales defensive, horne invasive goares,
Whil'st foming flames, (as other to provoke)
Straight joyn'd in dust, their battell ends in smoke.

The craftie fox, which numbers do deceive,
To get, not be, a prey, shall be a prey;
The embrion's enemy, women's that conceive,
As who might give him death, their birth to stay:
That ravenous woolfe which bloud would always
All then a thought more quickly shall decay. [have,
No strength then stands, such weaknesse went before,

And subtill tricks can then deceive no more.

VOL. V.

But pretious things the owners' harmes oft breed,
The fleeces' flames the bodies' doe succeed.

The flocks for profit us'd in every part,
Though them to serve they make their masters bow,
And are the idols of a greedy heart,
Which (like old Egypt) doth adore a cow,
Like Hannibal's, which Fabius mock'd by art,
As walking torches, all runne madding now:
By Phebus tickled they to startle us'd,
But Vulcan ruder makes them rage confus'd.

Their martiall chieftan mastive's rage to stay,
[stray,
(Pasiphae's lover, Venus' daily slave,)
With brandish'd hornes (as mustering) first doth
Then throwes them down in guard a match to crave;
Straight (like the Colchian buls, ere Iason's prey)
He flames (not fain'd) doth breath, but not to brave;
Like that of Phalaris, whom one did fill,
He tortur'd (bellowing) doth lye bullering still.

Of all the beasts by men domesticke made,
The most obsequious, and obedient still,
The fawning dog, which where we list we leade,
And wants but words to doe all that we will,
Which loves his lord extremely, even when dead,
And on his tombe, for griefe, bimselfe doth kill,
He doth with tongue stretch'd forth, to pant begin,
Which straight when fir'd drawn back, burns all
within.

The generous horse, the gallant's greatest friend,
In peace for ease, and in effect for warre,
Which to his lord (when weary) legges doth lend,
To flye, or chase, in sport, or earnest farre,
A Pegasus he through the ayre would bend,
Till that his course (turn'd Centaure) man doth

marre;

His waving treasures fir'd, to flye from death,
He first the winde out-runnes, and then his breath.

This squadrons' king that doth for fight prepare,
(As threatning all the world) doth raging goe,
His foot doth beat the earth, his tayle the ayre,
Mad to be hurt, and yet not finde a foe,
Death doth to rest, arrest his rowling eyes;
But soone his shoulders rough the fire makes bare,
And melts his strength which was admired so:
Loe, in a little dust the lyon lyes.

Those poys'nous troupes in Africk's fields which stray,

In death all fertile, as the first began,
By looke, by touch, by wound, and every way,
True serpent's heires in hatred unto man,
Which God (still good) in deserts makes to stay,
To waste the world, though doing what they can :
But whil'st they houle, scritch, barke, bray, hurle,
hisse, spout,

Their inward fire soon meets with that without.

The beast (though haunting deeps) not there con-
fin'd,
[head,
Whose haires as pretious decke each great man's
Before like eagles', like a swan's behinde,
Whose feet (as oares) to manage streames are made,
To waste the liquid wayes not needing winde,
Whose tayle his course doth as a rudder leade,
A sparke (falne from a tree) may then confound,
Him with his teeth that now strikes trees to ground.

The otter black where finne-wing'd troups repaire,
Fresh rivers' robber, which his prey doth chuse,
And all that kinde, nor fish, nor flesh that are,
But do two elements (amphibions) use,
Not able to touch th' earth, nor to draw th' aire
In waters they their kindled skinnes infuse:
But yet can refuge finde in neither soile,

They burne on the earth, and in the deeps do boile.
Flouds seeme to groane which beasts' incursion

maymes,

All altered then which look't of late like glasse,
And murmur at the stayning of their streames,
By carkasses flot-flotting in a masse,

A moving bridge whil'st every channell frames,
When as there are no passengers to passe.
With beasts all buried waters are press'd downe,
Whil'st both at once their burdens burn, and drowne.

The crystals quicke which slowly us'd to go,
And others' heat by coldnesse did allay,
(As if then griev'd to be polluted so)
Growne red with rage, boil'd up, pop-popling stay,
And tread in triumph on their breathlesse foe,
Whose ashes with their sauds they levell lay.
But Vulcan now a victor in each place,
By violence doth all these nymphs embrace.
The dwellers of the deeps not harm'd in ought,
When first vice all, aud next the waters drown'd,
So since by some more sacred still are thought,
As whom sinne's scourge did onely not confound,
The elements not pure to purge now brought,
Are likewise ruin'd by this generall wound.
The fishes then are boil'd in every flood,
Yet finde no eater that can relish food.

All which corruption onely serves to feed,
When it doth end, doth end, so Heaven designes:
Nought save the soule which doth from God proceed,
Over death triumphs, and still is pleas'd, else pynes,
Death not man's essence, but his sinne did breed,
And it with it, the end of time confines.
Then death and life shall never meet againe,
The state then taken always doth remaine.

Salt seas, fresh streames, the fish which loves to change,

(The rivers' prince esteem'd by dainty tastes)
Which through the ocean though at large he range,
The bounds him bred to see yet yearly hastes;
Ah, man oft wants (O monster more then strange)
This kinde affection common even to beasts.
That salmond fresh for which so many strive,
May then be had, boil'd where it liv'd alive.

The trout, the eele, and all that watrie brood,
Which without feet or wings can make much way,
Then leape aloft, forc'd by the raging flood,
Not as they us'd before, for sport, or prey: [stood,
That which (once freez'd) their glasse to gaze in
Now (turn'd to flames) makes what it bred decay.

Those which to take men did all snares allow,
All without baits, or nets, are taken now.

These flouds which first did fields with streames array,

The rivers foure by sacred writ made knowne, Which (since farre sundry) make their wits to stray,

WhoParadise drawne by their dreames have showne,
As turn'd from it, or it from them away;
In all the earth their strength shall be ore-throwne.
Whom first high pleasures, horrours huge last bound,
(As if for griefe) they vanish from the ground.

The great which change before they end their race,
Salt flouds, fresh seas, by mutual bands as past,
Which th'ocean charge, and though repuls'd a space,
Yet make a breach and enter at the last,
Which from the earth (that strives them to embrace)
Now haste with speed, and straight a compasse cast:
They then for helpe to Neptune seeke in vaine,
By Vulcan ravish'd ere his waves they gaine.

The raging rampire which doth alwaies move,
Whose floting waves entrench the solid round,
And (whil'st by Titan's kisse drawne up above)
From Heaven's alembicke dropt upon the ground,
Of fruits and plants, the vitall bloud doe prove,
And foster all that on the Earth are found:
It likewise yeelds to the Eternal's ire,
Loe, all the sea not serves to quench this fire.

Yet did the sea presage this threatned ill,
With ugly roarings ere that it arriv'd,
As if contending all Hell's fires to kill,
By violence to burst, whil'st through it driv'd,
Which must make monstrous sounds jar-jaring still,
As heate with cold, with moisture drynesse striv'd:
Whil'st love-like thundring, Pluto doth grow proud,
Even as when fires force passage through a cloud.

O what strange sight, not to be borne with eyes!
That tennis-court where oft the windes too bold,
What still rebounded toss'd unto the skies,
And to the ground from thence have head-longs rol'd,
Doth now in raging rounds, not furrowes rise,
Then hosts of heate, as us'd to be of cold:
All government the liquid state neglects,
Whil'st Vulcan's hammer, Neptune's trident breks.

When this huge vessell doth to boyle begin,
What can it fill with matter fit to purge?
The Earth as else without, if throwne within,
With all her creatures kept but for a scourge,
To wash away the foulenesse of that sinne,
Which on fraile flesh, strong nature oft doth urge:
But ah, my thoughts are vaine, this cannot be,
Seas cleanse not sinne, sinne doth defile the sea.

O foule contagion, spreading still to death,
What pest most odious can with thee compare?
Which first by thoughts conceiv'd, then born with
breath,

Doth straight infect the sea, the earth, the ayre,
Which, damn'd in justice, and chastis'd in wrath,
Doth show that God no creature's spots will spare:
All scourges must be scourg'd, and even the fire,
As but impure, must feele th' effects of ire.

That restlesse element which never sleepes,
But by it selfe, when by nought else, is wrought,
Which joynes all lands, yet them asunder keepes,
It (ruine's rocke) for refuge last is sought,
For troupes doe throw themselves amidst the deeps,
As if death reft, then given, lesse griefe were thought:
"Thus is despaire hot sonne of father cold,
Rash without hope, and without courage bold."

The loving alcion, trusty to her mate,
The which (save this) no other storme could catch,
Whose arke not erres amid'st the going gate,
Though none in it with art the waves doth watch,
To many monsters, as expos'd a bait,
Which moving sits, and in the deepes doth hatch: