Maggots or, Poems on Several Subjects, Never before Handled. By a Schollar [i.e. Samuel Wesley] |
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Out of Lucian's true History, Part the First.
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'Tis paraphrastically done; tho I dare undertake, the Original is followed (at least) as close by the Transverser, as Truth by the Author.
Out of Lucian's true History, Part the First.
'Tis paraphrastically done; tho I dare undertake, the Original is followed (at least) as close by the Transverser, as Truth by the Author.
Lucian and the Ships Crew had taken a Voyage to the Land i'the Moon, (without the help either of Domingo's feathery, or others Christal or Brazen Chariot, or so much as the French Smith's Wings;) and after many strange Adventures met with (you need not question) in so strange a place, is now just bound for Earth and Sea agen.
Our Ship launch'd off, and gently left the Moon.
So stoops the Sun to kiss his watry Fair,
And with bright Foot-steps paints the ambient Air.
Boreas had lockt his Bullys in their Cave,
These are a kind of Creatures the Poets have had the happiness to discover, as Harpys, Chymæra's, &c. when all the other less inquisitive, or less lucky part of the World know nothing of 'em. They are said to brood on the Sea at a set time in the year; and Neptune while they are hatching, is so complaisant to give 'em all fair weather. If any would see any more of 'em let 'em enquire at Lucian's true History, Second Part, and they shall know farther.
But ah! how treacherous are the smiles of Fate!
How slippery treads the blest and fortunate!
Twice the kind Sun had warm'd the chearful Skys,
Nor does less bright the third black day arise.
All dreadful bright it rose, the Air was spread
Far, far around with ominous gloomy Red.
Sad hollow Voices by the Pilot past,
And one pale Light glar'd o're the trembling Mast.
We vow'd a Bull on Neptune's oozy Shrine:
Tho' Fate was cross, yet he so far did hear,
We were no longer rackt with doubtful fear.
For fee!
Whole Heards of Whales make the white Ocean roar,
New Seas they spout, and drive new Seas before.
The Tide they brought had washt us far away,
But one Leviathan's Charibdis made us stay.
He, like some Tyrant-Gudgeon, floated by
Amidst the little Minews trembling Fry:
Like Lacquys by with finny feet they ran,
Lean Poets all the rest, he some fat Alderman.
And when the vast Abyss around him curl'd,
They seem'd but Mountains, he alone a World:
We took his Latitude when sailing in,
Full fifteen hundred Leagues from Fin to Fin:
His dreadful Jaws, for our destruction bent,
Had Teeth, each larger than the Monument,
And sharp as Needles near in Crooked-Lane,
Set on some Diamond Island of the Main:
And now there's not so much as room for Pray'r,
The last sad refuge of the Mariner.
Then all shake hands, and drink, and bid Good-b'w'y'!
Here, had we been with such Provision stor'd,
We should have thrown some Hogs-heads over-board:
But here tho' we had robb'd the Moon and Sun,
An hundred Delos's had hardly done:
The Monster gapes, unfinisht shrieks begin;
We sink, we sink, his Whirl-pool rolls us in!
Oceans are after Oceans on us hurl'd,
We shoot the Gulph, and down we sail to view the under World.
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