University of Virginia Library

Thrice had the golden Sun his hot Steeds washt
In the West Maine, and thrice them smartly lasht
Out of the Baulmy East, since the sweet Maid
Had in that dismall Caue beene sadly laid.
Where hunger pinch'd her so, she need not stand
In feare of murdring by a second hand:
For through her tender sides such darts might passe
Gainst which strong wals of stone, thick gates of brasse

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Deny no entrance, nor the Campes of Kings,
Since soonest there they bend their flaggy wings.