Pocula Castalia :: :: University of Virginia Library

“This is the Time, the Lamp whose light
“Brought thee hither, thy Star I hight.
“Whilst here thou dwel'st with Adeling,
“Th'art Cottager as well as King.
“You left, and took again, this Night
“Your Bed, being seiz'd and rid of fright.

“Know then, Great, and as good, King,
“Aplote daughter of Adeling
“This night has borne a smiling Boy,
“The Gransires hope, the Mothers joy,
“The Heire by his Nativity
“To Natures wealth, Fates Poverty.
“But Fortune meanes in him to show
“How great she can from meannesse grow.
“Architects low foundations lie,
“When they intend the building high.

“See! how the spangles of the Night
“Doe sparkle with unusuall light,
“Heaven puts his cloudy tresses by,
“And smiles on him with open skie,
“Whilst all the Planets seem to throw
“Their Golden radience at his brow,
“Which by reflection Divine
“Shall thence upon his Subjects shine.
“Th'Imperiall Thunderer, with her
“That Crownes ad placitum confer,
“Have sworn by the salt Stygian Floods,
“That glide through the darke Midnight Woods,
“That Hee, and his redoubted race,
“(Whose Acts shall break Fames wind to blaze)
“Shall wear (thee dead) thy Diadem,
“And adde more Lustre to the Jem.
“Seek not to cross Fate, lest (wave like)
“You break upon the Rock you strike.
“Strive not against the stream. Alas!
“Who spits at Heaven, spits in's own face.

46

The Genius vanished, Thereutus laid,
In a mixt Passion betwixt feare and hate.
No sleep he saw with's prickling eyes, which straid
On objects of his fall, his Heiers state.
Soft sleep requires of thoughts a vacancy,
Shee dwels in Tityrvs's not Tiberivs eye.

47

By this the Quiristers o'th' Wood did shake
Their wings, and sing to the bright Suns uprise,
Whose new embroaderie did gild and make
Rich houses tops, and leaves of whistlings Trees.
Modest morn blush'd 'cause Sol saw'r rise from Bed,
As Lieer had her cheekes with Claret spred.

48

The King descending said. “Come Envie, come,
“Here will be subject for thy pin'd snakes; hurle
“About this Brats neck evry loving worm
“In clinging foulds, till I bid them uncurle
“And break their knots, and shoot at length, and hide
“Their keen trifork't stings in his malic'd side.

49

Then with a smoothed Front he bad good Day,
And happy Omens to old Adeling,
Asking, “What noise was that chas'd sleep away,
“Sounding like cries of women travelling?
Quoth th'Hind, “I hope in good time my desire
“This night has crown'd and made me a Grandsire.

50

May thy joyes grow with's yeares, said the great Guest,
And ask'd the Swain on's hopes young pledge to look;
In swadling bands the Babe he brought forth drest,
Whom in his Royall armes the Monarch took,
So flattering Juno hugg'd poor Semele
I'th' likenesse of her Nurse old Beroe.

51

Whilst here (with Sinon-like imbrace) he hold
The tender Child, the Cottage black Cat ran
Betwixt his legs, and mew'd, whereat (hee fil'd
With deep sense of the Prodigie) waxt wan,
Knowing such was an Omen of the fall
Of great SEIANUS Fortvnes Tennis-Ball.

52

But thinking his state 'bove chance, as his sp'rit
He call'd home Man, and did himself regain,
“And ask'd his Host if he knew who that night
“Had been his Guest? A friend, I hope, (quoth th'Swain)
“Whom I desire what use you here do find,
“To measure not by 'ts own worth, but my mind.

53

“How much are we a Captive to thy Love?
“(The Prince repli'd,) which we with wealth and style
“Will guerdon. Know who did thy kindnesse prove
“Is the Imperiall Monarch of this Isle,
“Therevtvs, who thy humble Shed will raise
To greatnes crown'd with wreaths of Oak and Bayes.

54

“Nay use thy legs, (the wight die kneel and shake,)
“Since we thy Guest were when this Bird broke forth
“The shell (his first Cage) tis our will to take
“Him to our Court (the forge of States and worth)
“There (if vice checks not) will we him advance
“'Bove Envies sting, or griping reach of chance.

55

“Baptize him Tvchesphaira, but this make
“Thy Province, with maternall Love and Fear
“To foster him, our selfe will send and take
“Him to the tutele of our Royall care,
“Ere twice Times measurer, the Nimble Sun,
“Hath made the Toure of Heaven, and his race run.

56

Lest Fairies should put him among their rapes,
He mark'd him with his signet on the front,
So pliable's the Virgin wax of Babes
To take what figure you please stamp upon't.
Here's a poor Sheep for th'shambles mark'd, and hate;
Thus doth man purpose, but dispose doth Fate.

57

A Troop of Courtiers shining bright and gay,
Broad-ey'd in quest of the last-night-lost King
(By diligent scrutiny being led this way)
Here found him, mingling breath with Adeling.
He mounted (guarded so) with Jove-like port,
His course for to direct to his longing Court.

58

But making to an Elme of cleanly growth,
Whereon he (lest thereby betraid should be
To his Hosts knowledge his great state and worth)
Had hung his Crown, slifted from the chast Tree;
Which (like a Charm) 'gainst Thunder fenc'd his head,
He found one half of't withered and dead.

59

A Prodigie able to have seiz'd the sense,
And routed all powers of a mortall breast.
But he (of Passions, well as men, a Prince)
Soon gather'd up himself, and them supprest.
And since game's Heleborum, he once more,
To chase sad thoughts away, would chase the Boar.

60

The jolly Horn did chafe the blunt Beasts ears,
And with loud accents lent the Woods a voice.
He, whose tough brawny sides were proofe 'gainst spears,
Eccho'd the jangling pack with as great noise.
The game is rouz'd, the Fiend from's Cabin springs,
Pursuit like lightning puts on Eagles wings.

61

The Swine unto a Bay was soon brought, since
The last daies labour being stiffe and soar,
The Hounds beleager'd him, and the brave Prince
With's Javelins point his churlish breast did gore.
He, wounded, howles, The Huntsmen fill the skies
With's many holla's, as the brute with cries.

62

Even as a ravenous red-bearded Pack
Of Serjants, hale (with taunts) a poor Bankrouter,
Some drawing on, some thrusting at his back,
To one 'oth'City Pounds, the killing Compter:
The Dogs seiz'd so, behind some, some before,
Wounded and drag'd along the gasping Boar.

63

See of a Tyrans death an Emblem fair!
The grim Swines head (even dreadfull although kil'd)
Fixt on a Pole was carried in the air.
Thousands whose smiling mouths glad Peans fil'd,
To meet the Conquerer, came out the Citty,
His Paths with boughs they fil'd, his eares with Ditty.