Pocula Castalia The Authors Motto. Fortunes Tennis-Ball. Eliza. Poems. Epigrams. &c. By R. B. [i.e Robert Baron] |
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Song.
1
Clubfisted Hero, no more thine owne Trump be,To tell how you tamed th'Arcadian Boar:
Her terrible pawes so rudely did thump thee
As even yet thy broad back and bones are full sore.
Therevtvs doth claim all our praise as his due,
Alas! we have none at all left us for you.
2
Archer of Heaven, sure-handed Apollo,Vaunt you no more of the huge Pythons slaughter,
But whistle to Cut, and still thy Cart follow,
Founder not thy Team to tickle us with laughter.
Therevtvs doth claime all our praise as his due,
Alas! we have none neither left us for you.
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3
Bright Youth that wert got in a showre of GoldBy Heavens Cuckold-maker, never more warble
Thy victory over Medusa of old
That turn'd all that look'd upon her to Marble.
Therevtvs of all our Praise hath bereft us,
For any other we have no more left us.
| Pocula Castalia | |