 | Hercules Furens, Thyestes, Troas |  |
14
Your Aulters touch yee humbylly,
The fat fayre Sacrifices slay.
Maydes myxte with men in cumpany
Let them in solempne Flockes goe royle:
And nowe wyth yoake layde downe let cease
The Tillers of the fertile Soyle.
Made is wyth hande of Hercles peace
Betweene the morne and Hespers Glade,
And where Sonne holding myddle seate,
Doth make the Bodyes caste no Shade.
What euer grounde is ouerweate
Wyth compasse longe of Seas abought,
Alcydes laboure taemde full well.
Hee ouer Foordes of Tartare brought
Returnde appeased beeinge Hell.
There is remayning nowe no feare,
Nought lyes beyonde the Hell to see.
O Priest thy staring Lockes of heare
Wrappe in wyth loued Poplar tree.
| Hercules Furens, Thyestes, Troas | |