The Works of Michael Drayton :: :: University of Virginia Library

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, EDWARD Earle of DORSET, Knight of the Noble Order of the Garter, of his Majesties Privie Counsaile, and Lord Chamberlayne to her Majesty.

248

THE DESCRIPTION OF ELIZIUM.

A paradice on earth is found,
Though farre from vulgar sight,
Which with those pleasures doth abound
That it Elizium hight.

Where, in Delights that never fade,
The Muses lulled be,
And sit at pleasure in the shade
Of many a stately tree,

Which no rough Tempest makes to reele
Nor their straight bodies bowes,
Their lofty tops doe never feele
The weight of winters snowes;

In Groves that evermore are greene,
No falling leafe is there,
But Philomel (of birds the Queene)
In Musicke spends the yeare.

The Merle upon her mertle Perch,
There to the Mavis sings,
Who from the top of some curld Berch
Those notes redoubled rings;

There Daysyes damaske every place
Nor once their beauties lose,
That when proud Phœbus hides his face
Themselves they scorne to close.

The Pansy and the Violet here,
As seeming to descend,
Both from one Root, a very payre,
For sweetnesse yet contend,

249

And pointing to a Pinke to tell
Which beares it, it is loath,
To judge it; but replyes, for smell
That it excels them both,

Wherewith displeasde they hang their heads
So angry soone they grow
And from their odoriferous beds
Their sweets at it they throw.

The winter here a Summer is,
No waste is made by time,
Nor doth the Autumne ever misse
The blossomes of the Prime.

The flower that July forth doth bring
In Aprill here is seene,
The Primrose that puts on the Spring
In July decks each Greene.

The sweets for soveraignty contend
And so abundant be,
That to the very Earth they lend
And Barke of every Tree:

Rills rising out of every Banck,
In wilde Meanders strayne,
And playing many a wanton pranck
Upon the speckled plaine,

In Gambols and lascivious Gyres
Their time they still bestow
Nor to their Fountaines none retyres,
Nor on their course will goe

Those Brooks with Lillies bravely deckt,
So proud and wanton made,
That they their courses quite neglect:
And seeme as though they stayde,

250

Faire Flora in her state to viewe
Which through those Lillies looks,
Or as those Lillies leand to shew
Their beauties to the brooks.

That Phœbus in his lofty race,
Oft layes aside his beames
And comes to coole his glowing face
In these delicious streames;

Oft spreading Vines clime up the Cleeves,
Whose ripned clusters there,
Their liquid purple drop, which drives
A Vintage through the yeere.

Those Cleeves whose craggy sides are clad
With Trees of sundry sutes,
Which make continuall summer glad,
Even bending with their fruits,

Some ripening, ready some to fall,
Some blossom'd, some to bloome,
Like gorgeous hangings on the wall
Of some rich princely Roome:

Pomegranates, Lymons, Cytrons, so
Their laded branches bow,
Their leaves in number that outgoe
Nor roomth will them alow.

There in perpetuall Summers shade,
Apolloes Prophets sit
Among the flowres that never fade,
But flowrish like their wit;

To whom the Nimphes upon their Lyres,
Tune many a curious lay,
And with their most melodious Quires
Make short the longest day.

251

The thrice three Virgins heavenly Cleere,
Their trembling Timbrels sound,
Whilst the three comely Graces there
Dance many a dainty Round,

Decay nor Age there nothing knowes,
There is continuall Youth,
As Time on plant or creatures growes,
So still their strength renewth.

The Poets Paradice this is,
To which but few can come;
The Muses onely bower of blisse
Their Deare Elizium.

Here happy soules, (their blessed bowers,
Free from the rude resort
Of beastly people) spend the houres,
In harmelesse mirth and sport,

Then on to the Elizian plaines
Apollo doth invite you
Where he provides with pastorall straines,
In Nimphals to delight you.

252

THE FIRST NIMPHALL.

Rodope and Dorida:

This Nimphall of delights doth treat,
Choice beauties, and proportions neat,
Of curious shapes, and dainty features
Describd in two most perfect creatures.

When Phœbus with a face of mirth,
Had flong abroad his beames,
To blanch the bosome of the earth,
And glaze the gliding streames.
Within a goodly Mertle grove,
Upon that hallowed day
The Nimphes to the bright Queene of love
Their vowes were usde to pay.
Faire Rodope and Dorida
Met in those sacred shades,
Then whom the Sunne in all his way,
Nere saw two daintier Maids.
And through the thickets thrild his fires,
Supposing to have seene
The soveraigne Goddesse of desires,
Or Joves Emperious Queene:
Both of so wondrous beauties were,
In shape both so excell,
That to be paraleld elsewhere,
No judging eye could tell.
And their affections so surpasse,
As well it might be deemd,
That th'one of them the other was,
And but themselves they seem'd.
And whilst the Nimphes that neare this place,
Disposed were to play

253

At Barly-breake and Prison-base,
Doe passe the time away:
This peerlesse payre together set,
The other at their sport,
None neare their free discourse to let,
Each other thus they court,

Dorida.
My sweet, my soveraigne Rodope,
My deare delight, my love,
That Locke of hayre thou sentst to me,
I to this Bracelet wove;
Which brighter every day doth grow
The longer it is worne,
As its delicious fellowes doe,
Thy Temples that adorne.

Rodope.
Nay had I thine my Dorida,
I would them so bestow,
As that the winde upon my way,
Might backward make them flow,
So should it in its greatst excesse
Turne to becalmed ayre,
And quite forget all boistrousnesse
To play with every hayre.

Dorida.
To me like thine had nature given,
A Brow, so Archt, so cleere,
A Front, wherein so much of heaven
Doth to each eye appeare,
The world should see, I would strike dead
The Milky way that's now,
And say that Nectar Hebe shed
Fell all upon my Brow.

Rodope.
O had I eyes like Doridaes,
I would inchant the day,
And make the Sunne to stand at gaze,
Till he forgot his way:
And cause his Sister Queene of Streames,
When so I list by night;

254

By her much blushing at my Beames
T'eclipse her borrowed light.

Dorida.
Had I a Cheeke like Rodopes,
In midst of which doth stand,
A Grove of Roses, such as these,
In such a snowy land:
I would make the Lilly which we now
So much for whitenesse name,
As drooping downe the head to bow,
And die for very shame.

Rodope.
Had I a bosome like to thine,
When it I pleas'd to show,
T'what part o'th'Skie I would incline
I would make th'Etheriall bowe;
My swannish Breast brancht all with blew,
In bravery like the spring:
In Winter to the generall view
Full Summer forth should bring.

Dorida.
Had I a body like my deare,
Were I so straight so tall,
O, if so broad my shoulders were,
Had I a waste so small;
I would challenge the proud Queene of love
To yeeld to me for shape,
And I should feare that Mars or Jove
Would venter for my rape.

Rodope.
Had I a hand like thee my Gerle,
(This hand O let me kisse)
These Ivory Arrowes pyl'd with pearle,
Had I a hand like this;
I would not doubt at all to make,
Each finger of my hand
To taske swift Mercury to take
With his inchanting wand.

255

Dorida.
Had I a Theigh like Rodopes;
Which twas my chance to veiwe,
When lying on yon banck at ease
The wind thy skirt up blew,
I would say it were a columne wrought
To some intent Divine,
And for our chaste Diana sought,
A pillar for her shryne.

Rodope.
Had I a Leg but like to thine
That were so neat, so cleane,
A swelling Calfe, a Small so fine,
An Ankle, round and leane,
I would tell nature she doth misse
Her old skill; and maintaine,
She shewd her master peece in this,
Not to be done againe.

Dorida.
Had I that Foot hid in those shoos,
(Proportion'd to my height)
Short Heele, thin Instep, even Toes,
A Sole so wondrous straight,
The Forresters and Nimphes at this
Amazed all should stand,
And kneeling downe, should meekely kisse
The Print left in the sand.

By this the Nimphes came from their sport,
All pleased wondrous well,
And to these Maydens make report
What lately them befell:
One said the dainty Lelipa
Did all the rest out-goe,
Another would a wager lay
Shee would outstrip a Roe;

256

Sayes one, how like yee Florimel
There is your dainty face:
A fourth replide, she lik't that well,
Yet better lik't her grace,
She's counted, I confesse, quoth she,
To be our onely Pearle,
Yet have I heard her oft to be
A melancholly Gerle.
Another said she quite mistoke,
That onely was her art,
When melancholly had her looke
Then mirth was in her heart;
And hath she then that pretty trick
Another doth reply,
I thought no Nimph could have bin sick
Of that disease but I;
I know you can dissemble well
Quoth one to give you due,
But here be some (who Ile not tell)
Can do't as well as you,
Who thus replies, I know that too,
We have it from our Mother,
Yet there be some this thing can doe
More cunningly then other:
If Maydens but dissemble can
Their sorrow and their joy,
Their pore dissimulation than,
Is but a very toy.

257

THE SECOND NIMPHALL.

Lalus Cleon and Lirope.

The Muse new Courtship doth devise,
By Natures strange Varieties,
Whose Rarieties she here relates,
And gives you Pastorall Delicates.

Lalus a Jolly youthfull Lad,
With Cleon, no lesse crown'd
With vertues; both their beings had
On the Elizian ground.
Both having parts so excellent,
That it a question was,
Which should be the most eminent,
Or did in ought surpasse.
This Cleon was a Mountaineer,
And of the wilder kinde,
And from his birth had many a yeere
Bin nurst up by a Hinde:
And as the sequell well did show,
It very well might be;
For never Hart, nor Hare, nor Roe,
Were halfe so swift as he.
But Lalus in the Vale was bred,
Amongst the Sheepe and Neate,
And by those Nimphes there choicly fed,
With Hony, Milke, and Wheate;
Of Stature goodly, faire of speech,
And of behaviour mylde,
Like those there in the Valley rich,
That bred him of a chyld.
Of Falconry they had the skill,
Their Halkes to feed and flye,
No better Hunters ere clome Hill,

258

Nor hollowed to a Cry:
In Dingles deepe, and Mountains hore,
Oft with the bearded Speare
They cumbated the tusky Boare,
And slew the angry Beare.
In Musicke they were wondrous quaint,
Fine Aers they could devise;
They very curiously could Paint,
And neatly Poetize;
That wagers many time were laid
On Questions that arose,
Which Song the witty Lalus made,
Which Cleon should compose.
The stately Steed they manag'd well,
Of Fence the art they knew,
For Dansing they did all excell
The Gerles that to them drew;
To throw the Sledge, to pitch the Barre,
To wrestle and to Run,
They all the Youth exceld so farre,
That still the Prize they wonne.
These sprightly Gallants lov'd a Lasse,
Cald Lirope the bright,
In the whole world there scarcely was
So delicate a Wight,
There was no Beauty so divine
That ever Nimph did grace,
But it beyond it selfe did shine
In her more hevenly face:
What forme she pleasd each thing would take
That ere she did behold,
Of Pebbles she could Diamonds make,
Grosse Iron turne to Gold:
Such power there with her presence came
Sterne Tempests she alayd,
The cruell Tigar she could tame,
She raging Torrents staid,
She chid, she cherisht, she gave life,

259

Againe she made to dye,
She raisd a warre, apeasd a Strife,
With turning of her eye.
Some said a God did her beget,
But much deceiv'd were they,
Her Father was a Rivelet,
Her Mother was a Fay.
Her Lineaments so fine that were,
She from the Fayrie tooke,
Her Beauties and Complection cleere,
By nature from the Brooke.
These Ryvalls wayting for the houre
(The weather calme and faire)
When as she us'd to leave her Bower
To take the pleasant ayre,
Acosting her; their complement
To her their Goddesse done;
By gifts they tempt her to consent,
When Lalus thus begun.

Lalus.
Sweet Lirope I have a Lambe
Newly wayned from the Damme,
Of the right kinde, it is

Without hornes.

notted,
Naturally with purple spotted,
Into laughter it will put you,
To see how prettily 'twill But you;
When on sporting it is set,
It will beate you a Corvet,
And at every nimble bound
Turne it selfe above the ground;
When tis hungry it will bleate,
From your hand to have its meate,
And when it hath fully fed,
It will fetch Jumpes above your head,
As innocently to expresse
Its silly sheepish thankfullnesse,
When you bid it, it will play,
Be it either night or day,

260

This Lirope I have for thee,
So thou alone wilt live with me.

Cleon.
From him O turne thine eare away,
Andheare me my lov'd Lirope,
I have a Kid as white as milke,
His skin as soft as Naples silke,
His hornes in length are wondrous even,
And curiously by nature writhen;
It is of th'Arcadian kinde,
Ther's not the like twixt either Inde;
If you walke, 'twill walke you by,
If you sit downe, it downe will lye,
It with gesture will you wooe,
And counterfeit those things you doe;
Ore each Hillock it will vault,
And nimbly doe the Summer-sault,
Upon the hinder Legs 'twill goe,
And follow you a furlong so,
And if by chance a Tune you roate,
'Twill foote it finely to your note,
Seeke the world and you may misse
To finde out such a thing as this;
This my love I have for thee
So thou'lt leave him and goe with me.

Lirope.
Beleeve me Youths your gifts are rare,
And you offer wondrous faire;
Lalus for Lambe, Cleon for Kyd,
'Tis hard to judge which most doth bid,
And have you two such things in store,
And I n'er knew of them before?
Well yet I dare a Wager lay
That Brag my litle Dog shall play,
As dainty tricks when I shall bid,
As Lalus Lambe, or Cleons Kid.
But t'may fall out that I may need them
Till when yee may doe well to feed them;

261

Your Goate and Mutton pretty be
But Youths these are noe bayts for me,
Alasse good men, in vaine ye wooe,
'Tis not your Lambe nor Kid will doe.

Lalus.
I have two Sparrowes white as Snow,
Whose pretty eyes like sparkes doe show;
In her Bosome Venus hatcht them
Where her little Cupid watcht them,
Till they too fledge their Nests forsooke
Themselves and to the Fields betooke,
Where by chance a Fowler caught them
Of whom I full dearely bought them;
They'll fetch you Conserve from the

The redde fruit of the smooth Bramble.

Hip,
And lay it softly on your Lip,
Through their nibling bills they'll Chirup
And flutering feed you with the Sirup,
And if thence you put them by
They to your white necke will flye,
And if you expulse them there
They'll hang upon your braded Hayre;
You so long shall see them prattle
Till at length they'll fall to battle,
And when they have fought their fill,
You will smile to see them bill.
These Birds my Lirope's shall be
So thou'llt leave him and goe with me.

Cleon.
His Sparrowes are not worth a rush
I'le finde as good in every bush,
Of Doves I have a dainty paire
Which when you please to take the Aier,
About your head shall gently hover
Your Cleere browe from the Sunne to cover,
And with their nimble wings shall fan you,
That neither Cold nor Heate shall tan you,
And like Umbrellas with their feathers
Sheeld you in all sorts of weathers:

262

They be most dainty Coloured things,
They have Damask backs and Chequerd wings,
Their neckes more Various Cullours showe
Then there be mixed in the Bowe;
Venus saw the lesser Dove
And therewith was farre in Love,
Offering for't her goulden Ball
For her Sonne to play withall;
These my Liropes shall be
So shee'll leave him and goe with me.

Lirope.
Then for Sparrowes, and for Doves
I am fitted twixt my Loves,
But Lalus, I take noe delight
In Sparowes, for they'll scratch and bite
And though joynd, they are ever wooing
Alwayes billing if not doeing,
Twixt Venus breasts if they have lyen
I much feare they'll infect myne;
Cleon your Doves are very dainty,
Tame Pidgeons else you knowe are plenty,
These may winne some of your Marrowes
I am not caught with Doves, nor Sparrowes,
I thanke ye kindly for your Coste,
Yet your labour is but loste.

Lalus.
With full-leav'd Lillies I will stick
Thy braded hayre all o'r so thick,
That from it a Light shall throw
Like the Sunnes upon the Snow.
Thy Mantle shall be Violet Leaves,
With the fin'st the Silkeworme weaves
As finly Woven; whose rich smell
The Ayre about thee so shall swell
That it shall have no power to moove.
A Ruffe of Pinkes thy Robe above
About thy necke so neatly set
That Art it cannot counterfet,

263

Which still shall looke so Fresh and new,
As if upon their Roots they grew:
And for thy head Ile have a Tyer
Of netting, made of Strawbery wyer,
And in each knot that doth compose
A Mesh, shall stick a halfe blowne Rose,
Red, damaske, white, in order set
About the sides, shall run a Fret
Of Primroses, the Tyer throughout
With Thrift and Daysyes frindgd about;
All this faire Nimph Ile doe for thee,
So thou'lt leave him and goe with me.

Cleon.
These be but weeds and Trash he brings,
Ile give thee solid, costly things,
His will whither and be gone
Before thou well canst put them on;
With Currall I will have thee Crown'd,
Whose Branches intricatly wound
Shall girt thy Temples every way;
And on the top of every Spray
Shall stick a Pearle orient and great,
Which so the wandring Birds shall cheat,
That some shall stoope to looke for Cheries,
As other for tralucent Berries.
And wondring, caught e'r they be ware
In the curld Tramels of thy hayre:
And for thy necke a Christall Chaine
Whose lincks shapt like to drops of Raine,
Upon thy panting Breast depending,
Shall seeme as they were still descending,
And as thy breath doth come and goe,
So seeming still to ebbe and flow:
With Amber Bracelets cut like Bees,
Whose strange transparancy who sees,
With Silke small as the Spiders Twist
Doubled so oft about thy Wrist,
Would surely thinke alive they were,

264

From Lillies gathering hony there.
Thy Buskins Ivory, carv'd like Shels
Of Scallope, which as little Bels
Made hollow, with the Ayre shall Chime,
And to thy steps shall keepe the time:
Leave Lalus, Lirope for me
And these shall thy rich dowry be.

Lirope.
Lalus for Flowers Cleon for Jemmes,
For Garlands and for Diadems,
I shall be sped, why this is brave,
What Nimph can choicer Presents have,
With dressing, brading, frowncing, flowring,
All your Jewels on me powring,
In this bravery being drest,
To the ground I shall be prest,
That I doubt the Nimphes will feare me,
Nor will venture to come neare me;
Never Lady of the May,
To this houre was halfe so gay;
All in flowers, all so sweet,
From the Crowne, beneath the Feet,
Amber, Currall, Ivory, Pearle,
If this cannot winne a Gerle,
Thers nothing can, and this ye wooe me,
Give me your hands and trust ye to me,
(Yet to tell ye I am loth)
That I'le have neither of you both.

Lalus.
When thou shalt please to stem the flood,
(As thou art of the watry brood)
I'le have twelve Swannes more white then Snow,
Yokd for the purpose two and two,
To drawe thy Barge wrought of fine Reed
So well that it nought else shall need,
The Traces by which they shall hayle
Thy Barge; shall be the winding trayle
Of woodbynd; whose brave Tasseld Flowers
(The Sweetnesse of the Woodnimphs Bowres)

265

Shall be the Trappings to adorne,
The Swannes, by which thy Barge is borne,
Of flowred Flags I'le rob the banke
Of water-Cans and King-cups ranck
To be the Covering of thy Boate,
And on the Streame as thou do'st Floate,
The Naiades that haunt the deepe,
Themselves about thy Barge shall keepe,
Recording most delightfull Layes,
By Sea Gods written in thy prayse.
And in what place thou hapst to land,
There the gentle Silvery sand,
Shall soften, curled with the Aier
As sensible of thy repayre:
This my deare love I'le doe for thee,
So Thou'lt leave him and goe with me:

Cleon.
Tush Nimphe his Swannes will prove but Geese,
His Barge drinke water like a Fleece;
A Boat is base, I'le thee provide,
A Chariot, wherein Jove may ride;
In which when bravely thou art borne,
Thou shalt looke like the gloryous morne
Ushering the Sunne, and such a one
As to this day was never none,
Of the Rarest Indian Gummes,
More pretious then your Balsamummes
Which I by Art have made so hard,
That they with Tooles may well be Carv'd
To make a Coach of: which shall be
Materyalls of this one for thee,
And of thy Chariot each small peece
Shall inlayd be with Amber Greece,
And guilded with the Yellow ore
Produc'd from Tagus wealthy shore;
In which along the pleasant Lawne,
With twelve white Stags thou shalt be drawne,
Whose brancht palmes of a stately height,

266

With severall nosegayes shall be dight;
And as thou ryd'st, thy Coach about,
For thy strong guard shall runne a Rout,
Of Estriges; whose Curled plumes,
Sen'sd with thy Chariots rich perfumes,
The scent into the Aier shall throw;
Whose naked Thyes shall grace the show;
Whilst the Woodnimphs and those bred
Upon the mountayns, o'r thy head
Shall beare a Canopy of flowers,
Tinseld with drops of Aprill showers,
Which shall make more glorious showes
Then spangles, or your silver Oas;
This bright nimph I'le doe for thee
So thou'lt leave him and goe with me.

Lirope.
Vie and revie, like Chapmen profer'd,
Would't be receaved what you have offer'd;
Ye greater honour cannot doe me,
If not building Altars to me:
Both by Water and by Land,
Bardge and Chariot at command;
Swans upon the Streame to tawe me,
Stags upon the Land to draw me,
In all this Pompe should I be seene,
What a pore thing were a Queene:
All delights in such excesse,
As but yee, who can expresse:
Thus mounted should the Nimphes me see,
All the troope would follow me,
Thinking by this state that I
Would asume a Deitie.
There be some in love have bin,
And I may commit that sinne,
And if e'r I be in love,
With one of you I feare twill prove,
But with which I cannot tell,
So my gallant Youths farewell.

267

THE THIRD NIMPHALL.

Doron Dorilus Naiis Cloe Cloris Mertilla Claia Florimel With Nimphes and Forresters.
Poetick Raptures, sacred fires,
With which, Apollo his inspires,
This Nimphall gives you; and withall
Observes the Muses Festivall.
Amongst th'Elizians many mirthfull Feasts,
At which the Muses are the certaine guests,
Th'observe one Day with most Emperiall state,
To wise Apollo which they dedicate,
The Poets God, and to his Alters bring
Th'enaml'd Bravery of the beauteous spring,
And strew their Bowers with every precious sweet,
Which still wax fresh, most trod on with their feet;
With most choice flowers each Nimph doth brade her hayre,
And not the mean'st but bauldrick wise doth weare
Some goodly Garland, and the most renown'd
With curious Roseat Anadems are crown'd.
These being come into the place where they
Yearely observe the Orgies to that day,
The Muses from their Heliconian spring
Their brimfull Mazers to the feasting bring:
When with deepe Draughts out of those plenteous Bowles,
The jocond Youth have swild their thirsty soules,
They fall enraged with a sacred heat,
And when their braines doe once begin to sweat
They into brave and Stately numbers breake,
And not a word that any one doth speake
But tis Prophetick, and so strangely farre
In their high fury they transported are,
As there's not one, on any thing can straine,
But by another answred is againe

268

In the same Rapture, which all sit to heare;
When as two Youths that soundly liquord were,
Dorilus and Doron, two as noble swayns
As ever kept on the Elizian playns,
First by their signes attention having woonne,
Thus they the Revels frolikly begunne:
Doron.
Come Dorilus, let us be brave,
In lofty numbers let us rave,
With Rymes I will inrich thee.

Dorilus.
Content say I, then bid the base,
Our wits shall runne the Wildgoose chase,
Spurre up, or I will swich thee.

Doron.
The Sunne out of the East doth peepe,
And now the day begins to creepe,
Upon the world at leasure.

Dorilus.
The Ayre enamor'd of the Greaves,
The West winde stroaks the velvit leaves
And kisses them at pleasure.

Doron.
The Spinners webs twixt spray and spray,
The top of every bush make gay,
By filmy coards there dangling.

Dorilus.
For now the last dayes evening dew
Even to the full it selfe doth shew,
Each bough with Pearle bespangling.

Doron.
O Boy how thy abundant vaine
Even like a Flood breaks from thy braine,
Nor can thy Muse be gaged.

Dorilus.
Why nature forth did never bring
A man that like to me can sing,
If once I be enraged.

Doron.
Why Dorilus I in my skill
Can make the swiftest Streame stand still,
Nay beare back to his springing.

269

Dorilus.
And I into a Trance most deepe
Can cast the Birds that they shall sleepe
When fain'st they would be singing.

Doron.
Why Dorilus thou mak'st me mad,
And now my wits begin to gad,
But sure I know not whither.

Dorilus.
O Doron let me hug thee then,
There never was two madder men,
Then let us on together.

Doron.
Hermes the winged Horse bestrid,
And thorow thick and thin he rid,
And floundred throw the Fountaine.

Dorilus.
He spurd the Tit untill he bled,
So that at last he ran his head
Against the forked Mountaine,

Doron.
How sayst thou, but pyde Iris got,
Into great Junos Chariot,
I spake with one that saw her.

Dorilus.
And there the pert and sawcy Elfe
Behav'd her as twere Juno's selfe,
And made the Peacoks draw her.

Doron.
Ile borrow Phœbus fiery Jades,
With which about the world he trades,
And put them in my Plow.

Dorilus.
O thou most perfect frantique man,
Yet let thy rage be what it can,
Ile be as mad as thou.

Doron.
Ile to great Jove, hap good, hap ill,
Though he with Thunder threat to kill,
And beg of him a boone.

Dorilus.
To swerve up one of Cynthias beames,
And there to bath thee in the streames,
Discoverd in the Moone.

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Doron.
Come frolick Youth and follow me,
My frantique boy, and Ile show thee
The Countrey of the Fayries.

Dorilus.
The fleshy Mandrake where't doth grow
In noonshade of the Mistletow,
And where the Phœnix Aryes.

Doron.
Nay more, the Swallowes winter bed,
The Caverns where the Winds are bred,
Since thus thou talkst of showing.

Dorilus.
And to those Indraughts Ile thee bring,
That wondrous and eternall spring
Whence th'Ocean hath its flowing.

Doron.
We'll downe to the darke house of sleepe,
Where snoring Morpheus doth keepe,
And wake the drowsy Groome.

Dorilus.
Downe shall the Dores and Windowes goe,
The Stooles upon the Floare we'll throw,
And roare about the Roome.

The Muses here commanded them to stay,
Commending much the caridge of their Lay
As greatly pleasd at this their madding Bout,
To heare how bravely they had borne it out
From first to the last, of which they were right glad,
By this they found that Helicon still had
That vertue it did anciently retaine
When Orpheus, Lynus and th'Ascrean Swaine
Tooke lusty Rowses, which hath made their Rimes,
To last so long to all succeeding times.
And now amongst this beauteous Beavie here,
Two wanton Nimphes, though dainty ones they were,
Naiis and Cloe in their female fits
Longing to show the sharpnesse of their wits,
Of the nine Sisters speciall leave doe crave
That the next Bout they two might freely have,
Who having got the suffrages of all,
Thus to their Rimeing instantly they fall.

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Naiis.
Amongst you all let us see
Who ist opposes mee,
Come on the proudest she
To answere my dittye.

Cloe.
Why Naiis, that am I,
Who dares thy pride defie?
And that we soone shall try
Though thou be witty.

Naiis.
Cloe I scorne my Rime
Should observe feet or time,
Now I fall, then I clime,
What is't I dare not.

Cloe.
Give thy Invention wing,
And let her flert and fling,
Till downe the Rocks she ding,
For that I care not.

Naiis.
This presence delights me,
My freedome invites me,
The Season excytes me,
In Rime to be merry.

Cloe.
And I beyond measure,
Am ravisht with pleasure,
To answer each Ceasure,
Untill thou beist weary.

Naiis.
Behold the Rosye Dawne,
Rises in Tinfild Lawne,
And smiling seemes to fawne,
Upon the mountaines.

Cloe.
Awaked from her Dreames
Shooting foorth goulden Beames
Dansing upon the Streames
Courting the Fountaines.

272

Naiis.
These more then sweet Showrets,
Intice up these Flowrets,
To trim up our Bowrets,
Perfuming our Coats.

Cloe.
Whilst the Birds billing
Each one with his Dilling
The thickets still filling
With Amorous Noets.

Naiis.
The Bees up in hony rould,
More then their thighes can hould,
Lapt in their liquid gould,
Their Treasure us bringing.

Cloe.
To these Rillets purling
Upon the stones Curling,
And oft about wherling,
Dance tow'ard their springing.

Naiis.
The Wood-Nimphes sit singing,
Each Grove with notes ringing
Whilst fresh Ver is flinging,
Her Bounties abroad.

Cloe.
So much as the Turtle,
Upon the low Mertle,
To the meads fertle,
Her Cares doth unload.

Naiis.
Nay 'tis a world to see,
In every bush and Tree,
The Birds with mirth and glee,
Woo'd as they woe.

Cloe.
The Robin and the Wren,
Every Cocke with his Hen,
Why should not we and men,
Doe as they doe.

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Naiis.
The Fairies are hopping,
The small Flowers cropping,
And with dew dropping,
Skip thorow the Greaves.

Cloe.
At Barly-breake they play
Merrily all the day,
At night themselves they lay
Upon the soft leaves.

Naiis.
The gentle winds sally
Upon every Valley,
And many times dally
And wantonly sport.

Cloe.
About the fields tracing,
Each other in chasing,
And often imbracing,
In amorous sort.

Naiis.
And Eccho oft doth tell
Wondrous things from her Cell,
As her what chance befell,
Learning to prattle.

Cloe.
And now she sits and mocks
The Shepherds and their flocks,
And the Heards from the Rocks
Keeping their Cattle.

When to these Maids the Muses silence cry,
For twas th'opinion of the Company,
That were not these two taken of, that they
Would in their Conflict wholly spend the day.
When as the Turne to Florimel next came,
A Nimph for Beauty of especiall name,
Yet was she not so Jolly as the rest:
And though she were by her companions prest,

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Yet she by no intreaty would be wrought
To sing, as by th'Elizian Lawes she ought:
When two bright Nimphes that her companions were,
And of all other onely held her deare,
Mild Cloris and Mertilla, with faire speech
Their most beloved Florimel beseech,
T'observe the Muses, and the more to wooe her,
They take their turnes, and thus they sing unto her.
Cloris.
Sing Florimel, O sing, and wee
Our whole wealth will give to thee,
We'll rob the brim of every Fountaine,
Strip the sweets from every Mountaine,
We will sweepe the curled valleys,
Brush the bancks that mound our allyes,
We will muster natures dainties
When she wallowes in her plentyes,
The lushyous smell of every flower
New washt by an Aprill shower,
The Mistresse of her store we'll make thee
That she for her selfe shall take thee;
Can there be a dainty thing,
That's not thine if thou wilt sing.

Mertilla.
When the dew in May distilleth,
And the Earths rich bosome filleth,
And with Pearle embrouds each Meadow,
We will make them like a widow,
And in all their Beauties dresse thee,
And of all their spoiles possesse thee,
With all the bounties Zephyre brings,
Breathing on the yearely springs,
The gaudy bloomes of every Tree
In their most Beauty when they be,
What is here that may delight thee,
Or to pleasure may excite thee,
Can there be a dainty thing
That's not thine if thou wilt sing.

275

But Florimel still sullenly replyes
I will not sing at all, let that suffice:
When as a Nimph one of the merry ging
Seeing she no way could be wonne to sing;
Come, come, quoth she, ye utterly undoe her
With your intreaties, and your reverence to her;
For praise nor prayers, she careth not a pin;
They that our froward Florimel would winne,
Must worke another way, let me come to her,
Either Ile make her sing, or Ile undoe her.
Claia.
Florimel I thus conjure thee,
Since their gifts cannot alure thee;
By stampt Garlick, that doth stink
Worse then common Sewer, or Sink,
By Henbane, Dogsbane, Woolfsbane, sweet
As any Clownes or Carriers feet,
By stinging Nettles, pricking Teasels
Raysing blisters like the measels,
By the rough Burbreeding docks,
Rancker then the oldest Fox,
By filthy Hemblock, poysning more
Then any ulcer or old sore,
By the Cockle in the corne
That smels farre worse then doth burnt horne,
By Hempe in water that hath layne,
By whose stench the Fish are slayne,
By Toadflax which your Nose may tast,
If you have a minde to cast,
May all filthy stinking Weeds
That e'r bore leafe, or e'r had seeds,
Florimel be given to thee,
If thou'lt not sing as well as wee.

At which the Nimphs to open laughter fell,
Amongst the rest the beauteous Florimel,
(Pleasd with the spell from Claia that came,
A mirthfull Gerle and given to sport and game)
As gamesome growes as any of them all,
And to this ditty instantly doth fall.

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Florimel.
How in my thoughts should I contrive
The Image I am framing,
Which is so farre superlative,
As tis beyond all naming;
I would Jove of my counsell make,
And have his judgement in it,
But that I doubt he would mistake
How rightly to begin it:
It must be builded in the Ayre,
And tis my thoughts must doe it,
And onely they must be the stayre
From earth to mount me to it,
For of my Sex I frame my Lay,
Each houre, our selves forsaking,
How should I then finde out the way
To this my undertaking,
When our weake Fancies working still,
Yet changing every minnit,
Will show that it requires some skill,
Such difficulty's in it.
We would things, yet we know not what,
And let our will be granted,
Yet instantly we finde in that
Something unthought of wanted:
Our joyes and hopes such shadowes are,
As with our motions varry,
Which when we oft have fetcht from farre,
With us they never tarry:
Some worldly crosse doth still attend,
What long we have bin spinning,
And e'r we fully get the end
We lose of our beginning.
Our pollicies so peevish are,
That with themselves they wrangle,
And many times become the snare
That soonest us intangle;
For that the Love we beare our Friends
Though nere so strongly grounded,

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Hath in it certaine oblique ends,
If to the bottome sounded:
Our owne well wishing making it,
A pardonable Treason;
For that it is derivd from witt,
And underpropt with reason.
For our Deare selves beloved sake
(Even in the depth of passion)
Our Center though our selves we make,
Yet is not that our station;
For whilst our Browes ambitious be
And youth at hand awayts us,
It is a pretty thing to see
How finely Beautie cheats us
And whylst with tyme we tryfling stand
To practise Antique graces
Age with a pale and witherd hand
Drawes Furowes in our faces.

When they which so desirous were before
To hear her sing; desirous are far more
To have her cease; and call to have her stayd
For she to much alredy had bewray'd.
And as the thrice three Sisters thus had grac'd
Their Celebration, and themselves had plac'd
Upon a Violet banck, in order all
Where they at will might view the Festifall
The Nimphs and all the lusty youth that were
At this brave Nimphall, by them honored there,
To Gratifie the heavenly Gerles againe
Lastly prepare in state to entertaine
Those sacred Sisters, fairely and confer,
On each of them, their prayse particular;
And thus the Nimphes to the nine Muses sung,
When as the Youth and Forresters among
That well prepared for this businesse were,
Become the Chorus, and thus sung they there.

278

Nimphes.
Clio thou first of those Celestiall nine
That daily offer to the sacred shryne,
Of wise Apollo; Queene of Stories,
Thou that vindicat'st the glories
Of passed ages, and renewst
Their acts which every day thou viewst,
And from a lethargy dost keepe
Old nodding time, else prone to sleepe.

Chorus.
Clio O crave of Phœbus to inspire
Us, for his Altars with his holiest fire,
And let his glorious ever-shining Rayes
Give life and growth to our Elizian Bayes.

Nimphes.
Melpomine thou melancholly Maid
Next, to wise Phœbus we invoke thy ayd,
In Buskins that dost stride the Stage,
And in thy deepe distracted rage,
In blood-shed that dost take delight,
Thy object the most fearfull sight,
That lovest the sighes, the shreekes, and sounds
Of horrors, that arise from wounds.

Chorus.
Sad Muse, O crave of Phœbus to inspire
Us for his Altars, with his holiest fire,
And let his glorious ever-shining Rayes
Give life and growth to our Elizian Bayes.

Nimphes.
Comick Thalia then we come to thee,
Thou mirthfull Mayden, onely that in glee
And in loves deceits, thy pleasure tak'st,
Of which thy varying Scene thou mak'st
And in thy nimble Sock do'st stirre
Loude laughter through the Theater,
That with the Peasant mak'st thee sport,
As well as with the better sort.

Chorus.
Thalia crave of Phebus to inspire,
Us for his Alters with his holyest fier;
And let his glorious ever-shining Rayes
Give life, and growth to our Elizian Bayes.

279

Nimphes.
Euterpe next to thee we will proceed,
That first found'st out the Musick on the Reed,
With breath and fingers giving life,
To the shrill Cornet and the Fyfe,
Teaching every stop and kaye,
To those upon the Pipe that playe,
Those which Wind-Instruments we call
Or soft, or lowd, or greate, or small.

Chorus.
Euterpe aske of Phebus to inspire,
Us for his Alters with his holyest fire
And let his glorious ever-shining Rayes
Give life and growth to our Elizian Bayes.

Nimphes.
Terpsichore thou of the Lute and Lyre,
And Instruments that sound with Cords and Wyere,
That art the Mistres, to commaund
The touch of the most Curious hand,
When every Quaver doth Imbrace
His like, in a true Diapase,
And every string his sound doth fill
Toucht with the Finger or the Quill.

Chorus.
Terpsichore, crave Phebus to inspire
Us for his Alters with his holyest fier
And let his glorious ever-shining Rayes
Give life and growth to our Elizian Bayes.

Nimphes.
Then Erato wise muse on thee we call
In Lynes to us that do'st demonstrate all,
Which neatly, with thy Staffe and Bowe,
Do'st measure, and proportion showe;
Motion and Gesture that dost teach
That every height and depth canst reach,
And do'st demonstrate by thy Art
What nature else would not Impart.

Chorus.
Deare Erato crave Phebus to inspire
Us for his Alters with his holyest fire,
And let his glorious ever-shining Rayes,
Give life and growth to our Elizian Bayes.

280

Nimphes.
To thee then brave Caliope we come
Thou that maintain'st, the Trumpet, and the Drum;
The neighing Steed that lovest to heare,
Clashing of Armes doth please thine eare,
In lofty Lines that do'st rehearse
Things worthy of a thundring verse,
And at no tyme art heard to straine,
On ought, that suits a Common vayne.

Chorus.
Caliope, crave Phebus to inspire,
Us for his Alters, with his holyest fier,
And let his glorious ever-shining Rayes,
Give life and growth to our Elizian Bayes.

Nimphes.
Then Polyhymnia most delicious Mayd,
In Rhetoricks Flowers that art arayd,
In Tropes and Figures, richly drest,
The Fyled Phrase that lovest best,
That art all Elocution, and
The first that gav'st to understand
The force of wordes in order plac'd
And with a sweet delivery grac'd.

Chorus.
Sweet Muse perswade our Phœbus to inspire
Us for his Altars, with his holiest fire,
And let his glorious ever-shining Rayes
Give life and growth to our Elizian Bayes.

Nimphes.
Lofty Urania then we call to thee,
To whom the Heavens for ever opened be,
Thou th'Asterismes by name dost call,
And shewst when they doe rise and fall,
Each Planets force, and dost divine
His working, seated in his Signe,
And how the starry Frame still roules
Betwixt the fixed stedfast Poles.

Chorus.
Urania aske of Phœbus to inspire
Us for his Altars with his holiest fire,
And let his glorious ever-shining Rayes
Give life and growth to our Elizian Bayes.

281

THE FOURTH NIMPHALL.

Cloris and Mertilla.

Chaste Cloris doth disclose the shames
Of the Felician frantique Dames,
Mertilla strives t'apease her woe,
To golden wishes then they goe.

Mertilla.
Why how now Cloris, what, thy head
Bound with forsaken Willow?
Is the cold ground become thy bed?
The grasse become thy pillow?
O let not those life-lightning eyes
In this sad vayle be shrowded,
Which into mourning puts the Skyes,
To see them over clowded.

Cloris.
O my Mertilla doe not praise
These Lampes so dimly burning,
Such sad and sullen lights as these
Were onely made for mourning:
Their objects are the barren Rocks
With aged Mosse o'r shaded;
Now whilst the Spring layes forth her Locks
With blossomes bravely braded.

Mertilla.
O Cloris, Can there be a Spring,
O my deare Nimph, there may not,
Wanting thine eyes it forth to bring,
Without which Nature cannot:
Say what it is that troubleth thee
Encreast by thy concealing,
Speake; sorrowes many times we see
Are lesned by revealing.

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Cloris.
Being of late too vainely bent
And but at too much leasure;
Not with our Groves and Downes content,
But surfetting in pleasure;
Felicia's Fields I would goe see,
Where fame to me reported,
The choyce Nimphes of the world to be
From meaner beauties sorted;
Hoping that I from them might draw
Some graces to delight me,
But there such monstrous shapes I saw,
That to this houre affright me.
Throw the thick Hayre, that thatch'd their Browes
Their eyes upon me stared,
Like to those raging frantique Froes
For Bacchus Feasts prepared:
Their Bodies, although straight by kinde,
Yet they so monstrous make them,
That for huge Bags blowne up with wind,
You very well may take them.
Their Bowels in their Elbowes are,
Whereon depend their Panches,
And their deformed Armes by farre
Made larger then their Hanches:
For their behaviour and their grace,
Which likewise should have priz'd them,
Their manners were as beastly base
As th'rags that so disguisd them;
All Anticks, all so impudent,
So fashon'd out of fashion,
As blacke Cocytus up had sent
Her Fry into this nation,
Whose monstrousnesse doth so perplex,
Of Reason and deprives me,
That for their sakes I loath my sex,
Which to this sadnesse drives me.

283

Mertilla.
O my deare Cloris be not sad,
Nor with these Furies danted,
But let these female fooles be mad,
With Hellish pride inchanted;
Let not thy noble thoughts descend
So low as their affections;
Whom neither counsell can amend,
Nor yet the Gods corrections:
Such mad folks ne'r let us bemoane,
But rather scorne their folly,
And since we two are here alone,
To banish melancholly,
Leave we this lowly creeping vayne
Not worthy admiration,
And in a brave and lofty strayne,
Lets exercise our passion,
With wishes of each others good,
From our abundant treasures,
And in this jocond sprightly mood
Thus alter we our measures.

Mertilla.
O I could wish this place were strewd with Roses,
And that this Banck were thickly thrumd with Grasse
As soft as Sleave, or Sarcenet ever was,
Whereon my Cloris her sweet selfe reposes.

Cloris.
O that these Dewes Rosewater were for thee,
These Mists Perfumes that hang upon these thicks,
And that the Winds were All Aromaticks,
Which if my wish could make them, they should bee.

Mertilla.
O that my Bottle one whole Diamond were,
So fild with Nectar that a Flye might sup,
And at one draught that thou mightst drinke it up,
Yet a Carouse not good enough I feare.

Cloris.
That all the Pearle, the Seas, or Indias have
Were well dissolv'd, and thereof made a Lake,
Thou there in bathing, and I by to take
Pleasure to see thee cleerer then the Wave.

284

Mertilla.
O that the hornes of all the Heards we see
Were of fine gold, or else that every horne
Were like to that one of the Unicorne,
And of all these, not one but were thy Fee.

Cloris.
O that their Hooves were Ivory, or some thing,
Then the pur'st Ivory farre more Christalline,
Fild with the food wherewith the Gods doe dine,
To keepe thy Youth in a continuall Spring.

Mertilla.
O that the sweets of all the Flowers that grow,
The labouring ayre would gather into one,
In Gardens, Fields, nor Meadowes leaving none,
And all their Sweetnesse upon thee would throw.

Cloris.
Nay that those sweet harmonious straines we heare,
Amongst the lively Birds melodious Layes,
As they recording sit upon the Sprayes,
Were hovering still for Musick at thine eare.

Mertilla.
O that thy name were carv'd on every Tree,
That as these plants, still great, and greater grow,
Thy name deare Nimph might be enlarged so,
That every Grove and Coppis might speake thee.

Cloris.
Nay would thy name upon their Rynds were set,
And by the Nimphes so oft and lowdly spoken,
As that the Ecchoes to that language broken
Thy happy name might hourely counterfet.

Mertilla.
O let the Spring still put sterne winter by,
And in rich Damaske let her Revell still,
As it should doe if I might have my will,
That thou mightst still walke on her Tapistry;
And thus since Fate no longer time alowes
Under this broad and shady Sicamore,
Where now we sit, as we have oft before,
Those yet unborne shall offer up their Vowes.

285

THE FIFT NIMPHALL.

Claia Lelipa Clarinax a Hermit.

Of Garlands, Anadems, and Wreathes
This Nimphall nought but sweetnesse breathes,
Presents you with delicious Posies,
And with powerfull Simples closes.

Claia.
See where old Clarinax is set,
His sundry Simples sorting,
From whose experience we may get
What worthy is reporting.
Then Lelipa let us draw neere,
Whilst he his weeds is weathering,
I see some powerfull Simples there
That he hath late bin gathering.
Haile gentle Hermit, Jove thee speed,
And have thee in his keeping,
And ever helpe thee at thy need,
Be thou awake or sleeping.

Clarinax.
Ye payre of most Celestiall lights,
O Beauties three times burnisht,
Who could expect such heavenly wights
With Angels features furnisht;
What God doth guide you to this place,
To blesse my homely Bower?
It cannot be but this high grace
Proceeds from some high power;
The houres like hand maids still attend,
Disposed at your pleasure,
Ordayned to noe other end
But to awaite your leasure;
The Deawes drawne up into the Aer,

286

And by your breathes perfumed,
In little Clouds doe hover there
As loath to be consumed:
The Aer moves not but as you please,
So much sweet Nimphes it owes you,
The winds doe cast them to their ease,
And amorously inclose you.

Lelipa.
Be not too lavish of thy praise,
Thou good Elizian Hermit,
Lest some to heare such words as these,
Perhaps may flattery tearme it;
But of your Simples something say,
Which may discourse affoord us,
We know your knowledge lyes that way,
With subjects you have stor'd us.

Claia.
We know for Physick yours you get,
Which thus you heere are sorting,
And upon Garlands we are set,
With Wreathes and Posyes sporting:
Each Garden great abundance yeelds,
Whose Flowers invite us thither;
But you abroad in Groves and Fields
Your Medc'nall Simples gather.

Lelipa.
The Chaplet and the Anadem,
The curled Tresses crowning,
We looser Nimphes delight in them,
Not in your Wreathes renowning.

Clarinax.
The Garland long agoe was worne,
As Time pleasd to bestow it,
The Lawrell onely to adorne
The Conquerer and the Poet.
The Palme his due, who uncontrould,
On danger looking gravely,
When Fate had done the worst it could,

287

Who bore his Fortunes bravely.
Most worthy of the Oken Wreath
The Ancients him esteemed,
Who in a Battle had from death
Some man of worth redeemed.
About his Temples Grasse they tye,
Himselfe that so behaved
In some strong Seedge by th'Enemy,
A City that hath saved.
A Wreath of Vervaine Herhauts weare,
Amongst our Garlands named,
Being sent that dreadfull newes to beare,
Offensive warre proclaimed.
The Signe of Peace who first displayes,
The Olive Wreath possesses:
The Lover with the Myrtle Sprayes
Adornes his crisped Tresses.
In Love the sad forsaken wight
The Willow Garland weareth:
The Funerall man befitting night,
The balefull Cipresse beareth.
To Pan we dedicate the Pine,
Whose slips the Shepherd graceth:
Againe the Ivie and the Vine
On his, swolne Bacchus placeth.

Claia.
The Boughes and Sprayes, of which you tell,
By you are rightly named,
But we with those of pretious smell
And colours, are enflamed;
The noble Ancients to excite
Men to doe things worth crowning,
Not unperformed left a Rite,
To heighten their renowning:
But they that those rewards devis'd,
And those brave wights that wore them
By these base times, though poorely priz'd,
Yet Hermit we adore them.

288

The store of every fruitfull Field
We Nimphes at will possessing,
From that variety they yeeld
Get Flowers for every dressing:
Of Which a Garland Ile compose,
Then busily attend me,
These Flowers I for that purpose chose,
But where I misse amend me.

Clarinax.
Well Claia on with your intent,
Lets see how you will weave it,
Which done, here for a monument
I hope with me, you'll leave it.

Claia.
Here Damaske Roses, white and red,
Out of my lap first take I,
Which still shall runne along the thred,
My chiefest Flower this make I:
Amongst these Roses in a row,
Next place I Pinks in plenty,
These double Daysyes then for show,
And will not this be dainty.
The pretty Pansy then Ile tye
Like Stones some chaine inchasing,
And next to them their neere Alye,
The purple Violet placing.
The curious choyce, Clove July-flower
Whose kinds height the Carnation
For sweetnesse of most soveraine power
Shall helpe my Wreath to fashion.
Whose sundry cullers of one kinde
First from one Root derived,
Them in their severall sutes Ile binde,
My Garland so contrived;
A course of Cowslips then Ile stick,
And here and there though sparely
The pleasant Primrose downe Ile prick
Like Pearles, which will show rarely:

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Then with these Marygolds Ile make
My Garland somewhat swelling,
These Honysuckles then Ile take,
Whose sweets shall helpe their smelling:
The Lilly and the Flower-delice,
For colour much contenting,
For that, I them doe onely prize,
They are but pore in senting:
The Daffadill most dainty is
To match with these in meetnesse;
The Columbyne compar'd to this,
All much alike for sweetnesse.
These in their natures onely are
Fit to embosse the border,
Therefore Ile take especiall care
To place them in their order:
Sweet-Williams, Campions, Sops-in-wine
One by another neatly:
Thus have I made this Wreath of mine,
And finished it featly.

Lelipa.
Your Garland thus you finisht have,
Then as we have attended
Your leasure, likewise let me crave
I may the like be friended.
Those gaudy garish Flowers you chuse,
In which our Nimphes are flaunting,
Which they at Feasts and Brydals use,
The sight and smell inchanting:
A Chaplet me of Hearbs Ile make,
Then which though yours be braver,
Yet this of myne I'le undertake
Shall not be short in savour.
With Basill then I will begin,
Whose scent is wondrous pleasing,
This Eglantine I'le next put in,
The sense with sweetnes seasing.
Then in my Lavender I'le lay,

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Muscado put among it,
And here and there a leafe of Bay,
Which still shall runne along it.
Germander, Marjeram, and Tyme
Which used for strewing,
With Hisop as an hearbe most pryme
Here in my wreath bestowing.
Then Balme and Mynt helps to make up
My Chaplet, and for Tryall,
Costmary that so likes the Cup,
And next it Penieryall.
Then Burnet shall beare up with this
Whose leafe I greatly fansy,
Some Camomile doth not amisse
With Savory and some Tansy,
Then heere and there I'le put a sprig
Of Rosemary into it.
Thus not too little nor too big
Tis done if I can doe it.

Clarinax.
Claia your Garland is most gaye,
Compos'd of curious Flowers,
And so most lovely Lelipa,
This Chaplet is of yours,
In goodly Gardens yours you get
Where you your laps have laded;
My symples are by Nature set,
In Groves and Fields untraded.
Your Flowers most curiously you twyne,
Each one his place supplying,
But these rough harsher Hearbs of mine,
About me rudely lying,
Of which some dwarfish Weeds there be,
Some of a larger stature,
Some by experience as we see,
Whose names expresse their nature,
Heere is my Moly of much fame,
In Magicks often used,

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Mugwort and Night-shade for the same,
But not by me abused;
Here Henbane, Popy, Hemblock here,
Procuring Deadly sleeping,
Which I doe minister with Feare,
Not fit for each mans keeping.
Heere holy Vervayne, and heere Dill,
Against witchcraft much availing,
Here Horhound gainst the Mad dogs ill
By biting, never failing.
Here Mandrake that procureth love,
In poysning Philters mixed,
And makes the Barren fruitfull prove,
The Root about them fixed,
Inchaunting Lunary here lyes
In Sorceries excelling,
And this is Dictam, which we prize
Shot shafts and Darts expelling,
Here Saxifrage against the stone
That Powerfull is approved,
Here Dodder by whose help alone,
Ould Agues are removed;
Here Mercury, here Helibore,
Ould Ulcers mundifying,
And Shepheards-purse the Flux most sore,
That helpes by the applying;
Here wholsome Plantane, that the payne
Of Eyes and Eares appeases;
Here cooling Sorrell that againe
We use in hot diseases:
The medcinable Mallow here,
Asswaging sudaine Tumors,
The jagged Polypodium there,
To purge ould rotten humors,
Next these here Egremony is,
That helpes the Serpents byting,
The blessed Betony by this,
Whose cures deserven writing:

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This All-heale, and so nam'd of right,
New wounds so quickly healing,
A thousand more I could recyte,
Most worthy of Revealing,
But that I hindred am by Fate,
And busnesse doth prevent me,
To cure a mad man, which of late
Is from Felicia sent me.

Claia.
Nay then thou hast inough to doe,
We pity thy enduring,
For they are there infected soe,
That they are past thy curing.

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THE SIXT NIMPHALL.

Silvius Halcius. Melanthus.

A Woodman, Fisher, and a Swaine
This Nimphall through with mirth maintaine,
Whose pleadings so the Nimphes doe please,
That presently they give them Bayes.

Cleere had the day bin from the dawne,
All chequerd was the Skye,
Thin Clouds like Scarfs of Cobweb Lawne
Vayld Heaven's most glorious eye.
The Winde had no more strength then this,
That leasurely it blew,
To make one leafe the next to kisse,
That closly by it grew.
The Rils that on the Pebbles playd,
Might now be heard at will;
This world they onely Musick made,
Else every thing was still.
The Flowers like brave embraudred Gerles,
Lookt as they much desired,
To see whose head with orient Pearles,
Most curiously was tyred;
And to it selfe the subtle Ayre,
Such soverainty assumes,
That it receiv'd too large a share
From natures rich perfumes.
When the Elizian Youth were met,
That were of most account,
And to disport themselves were set
Upon an easy Mount:

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Neare which, of stately Firre and Pine
There grew abundant store,
The Tree that weepeth Turpentine,
And shady Sicamore.
Amongst this merry youthfull trayne
A Forrester they had,
A Fisher, and a Shepheards swayne
A lively Countrey Lad:
Betwixt which three a question grew,
Who should the worthiest be,
Which violently they pursue,
Nor stickled would they be.
That it the Company doth please
This civill strife to stay,
Freely to heare what each of these
For his brave selfe could say:
When first this Forrester (of all)
That Silvius had to name,
To whom the Lot being cast doth fall,
Doth thus begin the Game,

Silvius.
For my profession then, and for the life I lead
All others to excell, thus for my selfe I plead;
I am the Prince of sports, the Forrest is my Fee,
He's not upon the Earth for pleasure lives like me;
The Morne no sooner puts her Rosye Mantle on,
But from my quyet Lodge I instantly am gone,
When the melodious Birds from every Bush and Bryer
Of the wilde spacious Wasts, make a continuall quire;
The motlied Meadowes then, new vernisht with the Sunne
Shute up their spicy sweets upon the winds that runne,
In easly ambling Gales, and softly seeme to pace,
That it the longer might their lushiousnesse imbrace:
I am clad in youthfull Greene, I other colours scorne,
My silken Bauldrick beares my Beugle, or my Horne,
Which setting to my Lips, I winde so lowd and shrill,
As makes the Ecchoes showte from every neighbouring Hill:

295

My Doghooke at my Belt, to which my Lyam's tyde,
My Sheafe of Arrowes by, my Woodknife at my Syde,
My Crosse-bow in my Hand, my Gaffle or my Rack
To bend it when I please, or it I list to slack,
My Hound then in my Lyam, I by the Woodmans art
Forecast, where I may lodge the goodly Hie-palm'd Hart,
To viewe the grazing Heards, so sundry times I use,
Where by the loftiest Head I know my Deare to chuse,
And to unheard him then, I gallop o'r the ground
Upon my wel-breath'd Nag, to cheere my earning Hound.
Sometime I pitch my Toyles the Deare alive to take,
Sometime I like the Cry, the deepe-mouth'd Kennell make,
Then underneath my Horse, I staulke my game to strike,
And with a single Dog to hunt him hurt, I like.
The Silvians are to me true subjects, I their King,
The stately Hart, his Hind doth to my presence bring,
The Buck his loved Doe, the Roe his tripping Mate,
Before me to my Bower, whereas I sit in State.
The Dryads, Hamadryads, the Satyres and the Fawnes
Oft play at Hyde and Seeke before me on the Lawnes,
The frisking Fayry oft when horned Cinthia shines
Before me as I walke dance wanton Matachynes,
The numerous feathered flocks that the wild Forrests haunt
Their Silvan songs to me, in cheerefull dittyes chaunte,
The shades like ample Sheelds, defend me from the Sunne,
Through which me to refresh the gentle Rivelets runne,
No little bubling Brook from any Spring that falls
But on the Pebbles playes me pretty Madrigals.
I'th'morne I clime the Hills, where wholsome winds do blow,
At Noone-tyde to the Vales, and shady Groves below,
T'wards Evening I againe the Chrystall Floods frequent,
In pleasure thus my life continually is spent.
As Princes and great Lords have Pallaces, so I
Have in the Forrests here, my Hall and Gallery
The tall and stately Woods; which underneath are Plaine,
The Groves my Gardens are, the Heath and Downes againe
My wide and spacious walkes, then say all what ye can,
The Forester is still your only gallant man.

296

He of his speech scarce made an end,
But him they load with prayse,
The Nimphes most highly him commend,
And vow to give him Bayes:
He's now cryde up of every one,
And who but onely he,
The Forrester's the man alone,
The worthyest of the three.
When some then th'other farre more stayd,
Wil'd them a while to pause,
For there was more yet to be sayd,
That might deserve applause,
When Halcius his turne next plyes,
And silence having wonne,
Roome for the fisher man he cryes,
And thus his Plea begunne.

Halcius.
No Forrester, it so must not be borne away,
But heare what for himselfe the Fisher first can say,
The Chrystall current Streames continually I keepe,
Where every Pearle-pav'd Foard, and every Blew-eyd deepe
With me familiar are; when in my Boate being set,
My Oare I take in hand, my Angle and my Net
About me; like a Prince my selfe in state I steer,
Now up, now downe the Streame, now am I here, now ther,
The Pilot and the Fraught my selfe; and at my ease
Can land me when I list, or in what place I please,
The Silver-scaled Sholes, about me in the Streames,
As thick as ye discerne the Atoms in the Beames,
Neare to the shady Banck where slender Sallowes grow,
And Willows their shag'd tops downe t'wards the waters bow,
I shove in with my Boat to sheeld me from the heat,
Where chusing from my Bag, some prov'd especiall bayt,
The goodly well growne Trout I with my Angle strike,
And with my bearded Wyer I take the ravenous Pike,

297

Of whom when I have hould, he seldome breakes away
Though at my Lynes full length, soe long I let him play
Till by my hand I finde he well-nere wearyed be,
When softly by degrees I drawe him up to me.
The lusty Samon to, I oft with Angling take,
Which me above the rest most Lordly sport doth make,
Who feeling he is caught, such Frisks and bounds doth fetch,
And by his very strength my Line soe farre doth stretch,
As drawes my floating Corcke downe to the very ground,
And wresting of my Rod, doth make my Boat turne round.
I never idle am, some tyme I bayt my Weeles,
With which by night I take the dainty silver Eeles,
And with my Draughtnet then, I sweepe the streaming Flood,
And to my Tramell next, and Cast-net from the Mud,
I beate the Scaly brood, noe hower I idely spend,
But wearied with my worke I bring the day to end:
The Naiides and Nymphes that in the Rivers keepe,
Which take into their care, the store of every deepe,
Amongst the Flowery flags, the Bullrushes and Reed,
That of the Spawne have charge (abundantly to breed)
Well mounted upon Swans, their naked bodys lend
To my discerning eye, and on my Boate attend,
And dance upon the Waves, before me (for my sake)
To th'Musick the soft wynd upon the Reeds doth make.
And for my pleasure more, the rougher Gods of Seas
From Neptunes Court send in the blew Neriades,
Which from his bracky Realme upon the Billowes ride
And beare the Rivers backe with every streaming Tyde,
Those Billowes gainst my Boate, borne with delightfull Gales
Oft seeming as I rowe to tell me pretty tales,
Whilst Ropes of liquid Pearle still load my laboring Oares,
As streacht upon the Streame they stryke me to the Shores:
The silent medowes seeme delighted with my Layes,
As sitting in my Boate I sing my Lasses praise,
Then let them that like, the Forrester up cry,
Your noble Fisher is your only man say I.

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This Speech of Halcius turn'd the Tyde,
And brought it so about,
That all upon the Fisher cryde,
That he would beare it out;
Him for the speech he made, to clap
Who lent him not a hand,
And said t'would be the Waters hap,
Quite to put downe the Land.
This while Melanthus silent sits,
(For so the Shepheard hight)
And having heard these dainty wits,
Each pleading for his right;
To heare them honor'd in this wise,
His patience doth provoke,
When for a Shepheard roome he cryes,
And for himselfe thus spoke.

Melanthus.
Well Fisher you have done, & Forrester for you
Your Tale is neatly tould, s'are both, to give you due,
And now my turne comes next, then heare a Shepherd speak:
My watchfulnesse and care gives day scarce leave to break,
But to the Fields I haste, my folded flock to see,
Where when I finde, nor Woolfe, nor Fox, hath injur'd me,
I to my Bottle straight, and soundly baste my Throat,
Which done, some Country Song or Roundelay I roate
So merrily; that to the musick that I make,
I Force the Larke to sing ere she be well awake;
Then Baull my cut-tayld Curre and I begin to play,
He o'r my Shephooke leapes, now th'one, now th'other way,
Then on his hinder feet he doth himselfe advance,
I tune, and to my note, my lively Dog doth dance,
Then whistle in my Fist, my fellow Swaynes to call,
Downe goe our Hooks and Scrips, and we to Nine-holes fall,
At Dust-point, or at Quoyts, else are we at it hard,
All false and cheating Games, we Shepheards are debard;

299

Survaying of my sheepe if Ewe or Wether looke
As though it were amisse, or with my Curre, or Crooke
I take it, and when once I finde what it doth ayle,
It hardly hath that hurt, but that my skill can heale;
And when my carefull eye, I cast upon my sheepe
I sort them in my Pens, and sorted soe I keepe:
Those that are bigst of Boane, I still reserve for breed,
My Cullings I put off, or for the Chapman feed.
When the Evening doth approach I to my Bagpipe take,
And to my Grazing flocks such Musick then I make,
That they forbeare to feed; then me a King you see,
I playing goe before, my Subjects followe me,
My Bell-weather most brave, before the rest doth stalke,
The Father of the flocke, and after him doth walke
My writhen-headed Ram, with Posyes crownd in pride
Fast to his crooked hornes with Rybands neatly ty'd.
And at our Shepheards Board that's cut out of the ground,
My fellow Swaynes and I together at it round,
With Greencheese, clouted Cream, with Flawns, & Custards, stord,
Whig, Sider, and with Whey, I domineer a Lord,
When shering time is come I to the River drive,
My goodly well-fleec'd Flocks: (by pleasure thus I thrive)
Which being washt at will; upon the shering day,
My wooll I foorth in Loaks, fit for the wynder lay,
Which upon lusty heapes into my Coate I heave,
That in the Handling feeles as soft as any Sleave,
When every Ewe two Lambes, that yeaned hath that yeare,
About her new shorne neck a Chaplet then doth weare;
My Tarboxe, and my Scrip, my Bagpipe, at my back,
My sheephooke in my hand, what can I say I lacke;
He that a Scepter swayd, a sheephooke in his hand,
Hath not disdaind to have; for Shepheards then I stand;
Then Forester and you my Fisher cease your strife;
I say your Shepheard leads your onely merry life.

300

They had not cryd the Forester,
And Fisher up before,
So much: but now the Nimphes preferre,
The Shephard ten tymes more,
And all the Ging goes on his side,
Their Minion him they make,
To him themselves they all apply,
And all his partie take;
Till some in their discretion cast,
Since first the strife begunne
In all that from them there had past
None absolutly wonne;
That equall honour they should share;
And their deserts to showe,
For each a Garland they prepare,
Which they on them bestowe,
Of all the choisest flowers that weare,
Which purposly they gather,
With which they Crowne them, parting there,
As they came first together.

301

THE SEVENTH NIMPHALL.

Florimel Lelipa Naiis Codrus a Feriman.

The Nimphes, the Queene of love pursue,
Which oft doth hide her from their view:
But lastly from th'Elizian Nation,
She banisht is by Proclamation.

Florimel.
Deare Lelipa, where hast thou bin so long,
Was't not enough for thee to doe me wrong;
To rob me of thy selfe, but with more spight
To take my Naiis from me, my delight?
Yee lazie Girles, your heads where have ye layd,
Whil'st Venus here her anticke prankes hath playd?

Lelipa.
Nay Florimel, we should of you enquire,
The onely Mayden, whom we all admire
For Beauty, Wit, and Chastity, that you
Amongst the rest of all our Virgin crue,
In quest of her, that you so slacke should be,
And leave the charge to Naiis and to me.

Florimel.
Y'are much mistaken Lelipa, 'twas I,
Of all the Nimphes, that first did her descry,
At our great Hunting, when as in the Chase
Amongst the rest, me thought I saw one face
So exceeding faire, and curious, yet unknowne
That I that face not possibly could owne.
And in the course, so Goddesse like a gate,
Each step so full of majesty and state;
That with my selfe, I thus resolv'd that she
Lesse then a Goddesse (surely) could not be:
Thus as Idalia, stedfastly I ey'd,

302

A little Nimphe that kept close by her side
I noted, as unknowne as was the other,
Which Cupid was disguis'd so by his mother.
The little purblinde Rogue, if you had seene,
You would have thought he verily had beene
One of Diana's Votaries, so clad,
He every thing so like a Huntresse had:
And she had put false eyes into his head,
That very well he might us all have sped.
And still they kept together in the Reare,
But as the Boy should have shot at the Deare,
He shot amongst the Nimphes, which when I saw,
Closer up to them I began to draw;
And fell to hearken, when they naught suspecting,
Because I seem'd them utterly neglecting,
I heard her say, my little Cupid too't,
Now Boy or never, at the Bevie shoot.
Have at them Venus, quoth the Boy anon,
I'le pierce the proud'st, had she a heart of stone:
With that I cryde out, Treason, Treason, when
The Nimphes that were before, turning agen
To understand the meaning of this cry,
They out of sight were vanish't presently.
Thus but for me, the Mother and the Sonne,
Here in Elizium, had us all undone.

Naiis.
Beleeve me gentle Maide, 'twas very well,
But now heare me my beauteous Florimel.
Great Mars his Lemman being cryde out here,
She to Felicia goes, still to be neare
Th'Elizian Nimphes, for at us is her ayme,
The fond Felicians are her common game.
I upon pleasure idly wandring thither,
Something worth laughter from those fooles to gather,
Found her, who thus had lately beene surpriz'd;
Fearing the like, had her faire selfe disguis'd
Like an old Witch, and gave out to have skill
In telling Fortunes either good or ill;

303

And that more neatly she with them might close,
She cut the Cornes, of dainty Ladies Toes:
She gave them Phisicke, either to coole or moove them,
And powders too to make their sweet Hearts love them.
And her sonne Cupid, as her Zany went,
Carrying her boxes, whom she often sent
To know of her faire Patients how they slept.
By which meanes she, and the blinde Archer crept
Into their favours, who would often Toy,
And tooke delight in sporting with the Boy;
Which many times amongst his waggish tricks,
These wanton Wenches in the bosome pricks;
That they before which had some franticke fits,
Were by his Witchcraft quite out of their wits.
Watching this Wisard, my minde gave me still
She some Impostor was, and that this skill
Was counterfeit, and had some other end.
For which discovery, as I did attend,
Her wrinckled vizard being very thin,
My piercing eye perceiv'd her cleerer skin
Through the thicke Rivels perfectly to shine;
When I perceiv'd a beauty so divine,
As that so clouded, I began to pry
A little nearer, when I chanc't to spye
That pretty Mole upon her Cheeke, which when
I saw; survaying every part agen,
Upon her left hand, I perceiv'd the skarre
Which she received in the Trojan warre;
Which when I found, I could not chuse but smile,
She, who againe had noted me the while,
And by my carriage, found I had descry'd her,
Slipt out of sight, and presently doth hide her.

Lelipa.
Nay then my dainty Girles, I make no doubt
But I my selfe as strangely found her out
As either of you both; in Field and Towne,
When like a Pedlar she went up and downe:
For she had got a pretty handsome Packe,

304

Which she had fardled neatly at her backe:
And opening it, she had the perfect cry,
Come my faire Girles, let's see, what will you buy?
Here be fine night Maskes, plastred well within,
To supple wrinckles, and to smooth the skin:
Heer's Christall, Corall, Bugle, Jet, in Beads,
Cornelian Bracelets, for my dainty Maids:
Then Periwigs and Searcloth-Gloves doth show,
To make their hands as white as Swan or Snow:
Then takes she forth a curious gilded boxe,
Which was not opened but by double locks;
Takes them aside, and doth a Paper spred,
In which was painting both for white and red:
And next a piece of Silke, wherein there lyes
For the decay'd, false Breasts, false Teeth, false Eyes:
And all the while shee's opening of her Packe,
Cupid with's wings bound close downe to his backe:
Playing the Tumbler on a Table gets,
And shewes the Ladies many pretty feats.
I seeing behinde him that he had such things,
For well I knew no boy but he had wings,
I view'd his Mothers beauty, which to me
Lesse then a Goddesse said, she could not be:
With that quoth I to her, this other day,
As you doe now, so one that came this way,
Shew'd me a neate piece, with the needle wrought,
How Mars and Venus were together caught
By polt-foot Vulcan in an Iron net;
It griev'd me after that I chanc't to let,
It to goe from me: whereat waxing red,
Into her Hamper she hung downe her head,
As she had stoup't some noveltie to seeke,
But 'twas indeed to hide her blushing Cheeke:
When she her Trinkets trusseth up anon,
E'r we were 'ware, and instantly was gone.

Florimel.
But hearke you Nimphes, amongst our idle prate,
Tis current newes through the Elizian State,

305

That Venus and her Sonne were lately seene
Here in Elizium, whence they oft have beene
Banisht by our Edict, and yet still merry,
Were here in publique row'd o'r at the Ferry,
Where as 'tis said, the Ferryman and she
Had much discourse, she was so full of glee,
Codrus much wondring at the blind Boyes Bow.

Naiis.
And what it was, that easly you may know,
Codrus himselfe comes rowing here at hand.

Lelipa.
Codrus Come hither, let your Whirry stand,
I hope upon you, ye will take no state
Because two Gods have grac't your Boat of late;
Good Ferry-man I pray thee let us heare
What talke ye had, aboard thee whilst they were.

Codrus.
Why thus faire Nimphes.
As I a Fare had lately past,
And thought that side to ply,
I heard one as it were in haste;
A Boate, a Boate, to cry,
Which as I was about to bring,
And came to view my Fraught,
Thought I, what more then heavenly thing,
Hath fortune hither brought.
She seeing mine eyes still on her were,
Soone, smilingly, quoth she;
Sirra, looke to your Roother there,
Why lookst thou thus at me?
And nimbly stept into my Boat,
With her a little Lad
Naked and blind, yet did I note,
That Bow and Shafts he had,
And two Wings to his Shoulders fixt,
Which stood like little Sayles,
With farre more various colours mixt,
Then be your Peacocks Tayles;

306

I seeing this little dapper Elfe,
Such Armes as these to beare,
Quoth I thus softly to my selfe,
What strange thing have we here,
I never saw the like thought I:
Tis more then strange to me,
To have a child have wings to fly,
And yet want eyes to see;
Sure this is some devised toy,
Or it transform'd hath bin,
For such a thing, halfe Bird, halfe Boy,
I thinke was never seene;
And in my Boat I turnd about,
And wistly viewd the Lad,
And cleerely saw his eyes were out,
Though Bow and Shafts he had.
As wistly she did me behold,
How likst thou him quoth she,
Why well, quoth I; and better should,
Had he but eyes to see.
How sayst thou honest friend, quoth she,
Wilt thou a Prentice take,
I thinke in time, though blind he be,
A Ferry-man hee'll make;
To guide my passage Boat quoth I,
His fine hands were not made,
He hath beene bred too wantonly
To undertake my trade;
Why helpe him to a Master then,
Quoth she, such Youths be scant,
It cannot be but there be men
That such a Boy do want.
Quoth I, when you your best have done,
No better way you'll finde,
Then to a Harper binde your Sonne,
Since most of them are blind.
The lovely Mother and the Boy,
Laught heartily thereat,

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As at some nimble jest or toy,
To heare my homely Chat.
Quoth I, I pray you let me know,
Came he thus first to light,
Or by some sicknesse, hurt, or blow,
Depryved of his sight;
Nay sure, quoth she, he thus was borne,
Tis strange borne blind, quoth I,
I feare you put this as a scorne
On my simplicity;
Quoth she, thus blind I did him beare,
Quoth I, if't be no lye,
Then he's the first blind man Ile sweare,
Ere practisd Archery;
A man, quoth she, nay there you misse,
He's still a Boy as now,
Nor to be elder then he is,
The Gods will him alow;
To be no elder then he is,
Then sure he is some sprite
I straight replide, againe at this,
The Goddesse laught out right;
It is a mystery to me,
An Archer and yet blinde;
Quoth I againe, how can it be,
That he his marke should finde;
The Gods, quoth she, whose will it was
That he should want his sight,
That he in something should surpasse,
To recompence their spight,
Gave him this gift, though at his Game
He still shot in the darke,
That he should have so certaine ayme,
As not to misse his marke.
By this time we were come a shore,
When me my Fare she payd,
But not a word she uttered more,
Nor had I her bewrayd,

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Of Venus nor of Cupid I
Before did never heare,
But that a Fisher comming by
Then, told me who they were.

Florimel.
Well: against them then proceed
As before we have decreed,
That the Goddesse and her Child,
Be for ever hence exild,
Which Lelipa you shall proclaime
In our wise Apollo's name.

Lelipa.
To all th'Elizian Nimphish Nation,
Thus we make our Proclamation,
Against Venus and her Sonne
For the mischeefe they have done,
After the next last of May,
The fixt and peremtory day,
If she or Cupid shall be found
Upon our Elizian ground,
Our Edict, meere Rogues shall make them,
And as such, who ere shall take them,
Them shall into prison put,
Cupids wings shall then be cut,
His Bow broken, and his Arrowes
Given to Boyes to shoot at Sparrowes,
And this Vagabund be sent,
Having had due punishment
To mount Cytheron, which first fed him:
Where his wanton Mother bred him,
And there out of her protection
Dayly to receive correction;
Then her Pasport shall be made,
And to Cyprus Isle convayd,
And at Paphos in her Shryne,
Where she hath beene held divine,
For her offences found contrite,
There to live an Anchorite.

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THE EIGHT NIMPHALL.

Mertilla Claia Cloris.

A Nimph is marryed to a Fay,
Great preparations for the Day,
All Rites of Nuptials they recite you
To the Brydall and invite you.

Mertilla.
But will our Tita wed this Fay?

Claia.
Yea, and to morrow is the day.

Mertilla.
But why should she bestow her selfe
Upon this dwarfish Fayry Elfe?

Claia.
Why by her smalnesse you may finde,
That she is of the Fayry kinde,
And therefore apt to chuse her make
Whence she did her begining take:
Besides he's deft and wondrous Ayrye,
And of the noblest of the Fayry,
Chiefe of the Crickets of much fame,
In Fayry a most ancient name.
But to be briefe, 'tis cleerely done,
The pretty wench is woo'd and wonne.

Cloris.
If this be so, let us provide
The Ornaments to fit our Bryde,
For they knowing she doth come
From us in Elizium,
Queene Mab will looke she should be drest
In those attyres we thinke our best,
Therefore some curious things lets give her,
E'r to her Spouse we her deliver.

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Mertilla.
Ile have a Jewell for her eare,
(Which for my sake Ile have her weare)
'T shall be a Dewdrop, and therein
Of Cupids I will have a twinne,
Which strugling, with their wings shall break
The Bubble, out of which shall leak
So sweet a liquor as shall move
Each thing that smels, to be in love.

Claia.
Beleeve me Gerle, this will be fine,
And to this Pendant, then take mine;
A Cup in fashion of a Fly,
Of the Linxes piercing eye,
Wherein there sticks a Sunny Ray
Shot in through the cleerest day,
Whose brightnesse Venus selfe did move,
Therein to put her drinke of Love,
Which for more strength she did distill,
The Limbeck was a Phœnix quill,
At this Cups delicious brinke,
A Fly approaching but to drinke,
Like Amber or some precious Gumme
It transparant doth become.

Cloris.
For Jewels for her eares she's sped,
But for a dressing for her head
I thinke for her I have a Tyer,
That all Fayryes shall admyre,
The yellowes in the full-blowne Rose,
Which in the Top it doth inclose
Like drops of gold Oare shall be hung,
Upon her Tresses, and among
Those scattered seeds (the eye to please)
The wings of the Cantharides:
With some o'th'Raine-bow that doth raile
Those Moons in, in the Peacocks taile:
Whose dainty colours being mixt
With th'other beauties, and so fixt,

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Her lovely Tresses shall appeare,
As though upon a flame they were.
And to be sure she shall be gay,
Wee'll take those feathers from the Jay;
About her eyes in Circlets set,
To be our Tita's Coronet.

Mertilla.
Then dainty Girles I make no doubt,
But we shall neatly send her out:
But let's amongst our selves agree,
Of what her wedding Gowne shall be.

Claia.
Of Pansie, Pincke, and Primrose leaves,
Most curiously laid on in Threaves:
And all embroydery to supply,
Powthred with flowers of Rosemary:
A trayle about the skirt shall runne,
The Silke-wormes finest, newly spunne;
And every Seame the Nimphs shall sew
With th'smallest of the Spinners Clue:
And having done their worke, againe
These to the Church shall beare her Traine:
Which for our Tita we will make
Of the cast slough of a Snake,
Which quivering as the winde doth blow,
The Sunne shall it like Tinsell shew.

Cloris.
And being led to meet her mate,
To make sure that she want no state,
Moones from the Peacockes tayle wee'll shred,
With feathers from the Pheasants head:
Mixd with the plume of (so high price,)
The precious bird of Paradice.
Which to make up, our Nimphes shall ply
Into a curious Canopy,
Borne o're her head (by our enquiry)
By Elfes, the fittest of the Faery.

Mertilla.
But all this while we have forgot
Her Buskins, neighbours, have we not?

312

Claia.
We had, for those I'le fit her now,
They shall be of the Lady-Cow:
The dainty shell upon her backe
Of Crimson strew'd with spots of blacke;
Which as she holds a stately pace,
Her Leg will wonderfully grace.

Cloris.
But then for musicke of the best,
This must be thought on for the Feast.

Mertilla.
The Nightingale of birds most choyce,
To doe her best shall straine her voyce;
And to this bird to make a Set,
The Mavis, Merle, and Robinet;
The Larke, the Lennet, and the Thrush,
That make a Quier of every Bush.
But for still musicke, we will keepe
The Wren, and Titmouse, which to sleepe
Shall sing the Bride, when shee's alone
The rest into their chambers gone.
And like those upon Ropes that walke
On Gossimer, from staulke to staulke,
The tripping Fayry tricks shall play
The evening of the wedding day.

Claia.
But for the Bride-bed, what were fit,
That hath not beene talk'd of yet.

Cloris.
Of leaves of Roses white and red,
Shall be the Covering of her bed:
The Curtaines, Valence, Tester, all,
Shall be the flower Imperiall,
And for the Fringe, it all along
With azure Harebels shall be hung:
Of Lillies shall the Pillowes be,
With downe stuft of the Butterflee.

Mertilla.
Thus farre we handsomely have gone,
Now for our Prothalamion

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Or Marriage song of all the rest,
A thing that much must grace our feast.
Let us practise then to sing it,
Ere we before th'assembly bring it:
We in Dialogues must doe it,
Then my dainty Girles set to it.

Claia.
This day must Tita marryed be,
Come Nimphs this nuptiall let us see.

Mertilla.
But is it certaine that ye say,
Will she wed the noble Faye?

Cloris.
Sprinckle the dainty flowers with dewes,
Such as the Gods at Banquets use:
Let Hearbs and Weeds turne all to Roses,
And make proud the posts with posies:
Shute your sweets into the ayre,
Charge the morning to be fayre.

Claia. Mertilla.
For our Tita is this day,
To be married to a Faye.

Claia.
By whom then shall our Bride be led
To the Temple to be wed.

Mertilla.
Onely by your selfe and I,
Who that roomth should else supply?

Cloris.
Come bright Girles, come altogether,
And bring all your offrings hither,
Ye most brave and Buxome Bevye,
All your goodly graces Levye,
Come in Majestie and state
Our Brydall here to celebrate.

Mertilla. Claia.
For our Tita is this day,
Married to a noble Faye.

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Claia.
Whose lot wilt be the way to strow,
On which to Church our Bride must goe?

Mertilla.
That I thinke as fit'st of all,
To lively Lelipa will fall.

Cloris.
Summon all the sweets that are,
To this nuptiall to repayre;
Till with their throngs themselves they smother,
Strongly styfling one another;
And at last they all consume,
And vanish in one rich perfume.

Mertilla. Claia.
For our Tita is this day,
Married to a noble Faye.

Mertilla.
By whom must Tita married be,
'Tis fit we all to that should see?

Claia.
The Priest he purposely doth come,
Th'Arch Flamyne of Elizium.

Cloris.
With Tapers let the Temples shine,
Sing to Himen, Hymnes divine:
Load the Altars till there rise
Clouds from the burnt sacrifice;
With your Sensors sling aloofe
Their smels, till they ascend the Roofe.

Mertilla. Claia.
For our Tita is this day,
Married to a noble Fay.

Mertilla.
But comming backe when she is wed,
Who breakes the Cake above her head.

Claia.
That shall Mertilla, for shee's tallest,
And our Tita is the smallest.

315

Cloris
Violins, strike up aloud,
Ply the Gitterne, scowre the Crowd,
Let the nimble hand belabour
The whisteling Pipe, and drumbling Taber:
To the full the Bagpipe racke,
Till the swelling leather cracke.

Mertilla. Claia.
For our Tita is this day,
Married to a noble Fay.

Claia.
But when to dyne she takes her seate
What shall be our Tita's meate?

Mertilla.
The Gods this Feast, as to begin,
Have sent of their Ambrosia in.

Cloris.
Then serve we up the strawes rich berry,
The Respas, and Elizian Cherry:
The virgin honey from the flowers
In Hibla, wrought in Flora's Bowers:
Full Bowles of Nectar, and no Girle
Carouse but in dissolved Pearle.

Mertilla. Claia.
For our Tita is this day,
Married to a noble Fay.

Claia.
But when night comes, and she must goe
To Bed, deare Nimphes what must we doe?

Mertilla.
In the Posset must be brought,
And Poynts be from the Bridegroome caught.

Cloris.
In Maskes, in Dances, and delight,
And reare Banquets spend the night:
Then about the Roome we ramble,
Scatter Nuts, and for them scamble:
Over Stooles, and Tables tumble,
Never thinke of noyse nor rumble.

Mertilla. Claia.
For our Tita is this day,
Married to a noble Fay.

316

THE NINTH NIMPHALL.

Muses and Nimphs.

The Muses spend their lofty layes,
Upon Apollo and his prayse;
The Nimphs with Gems his Alter build,
This Nimphall is with Phœbus fild.

A Temple of exceeding state,
The Nimphes and Muses rearing,
Which they to Phœbus dedicate,
Elizium ever cheering:
These Muses, and those Nimphes contend
This Phane to Phœbus offring,
Which side the other should transcend,
These praise, those prizes proffering,
And at this long appointed day,
Each one their largesse bringing,
Those nine faire Sisters led the way
Thus to Apollo singing.

The Muses.
Thou youthfull God that guid'st the howres,
The Muses thus implore thee,
By all those Names, due to thy powers,
By which we still adore thee.
Sol, Tytan, Delius, Cynthius, styles,
Much reverence that have wonne thee,
Deriv'd from Mountaines as from Iles
Where worship first was done thee.
Rich Delos brought thee forth divine,
Thy Mother thither driven,
At Delphos thy most sacred shrine,
Thy Oracles were given.
In thy swift course from East to West,
They minutes misse to finde thee,

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That bear'st the morning on thy breast,
And leav'st the night behinde thee.
Up to Olimpus top so steepe,
Thy startling Coursers currying;
Thence downe to Neptunes vasty deepe,
Thy flaming Charriot hurrying.

The horses drawing the Chariot of the Sunne.

Eos, Ethon, Phlegon, Pirois, proud,
Their lightning Maynes advancing:
Breathing forth fire on every cloud
Upon their Journey prancing.
Whose sparkling hoofes, with gold for speed
Are shod, to scape all dangers,
Where they upon Ambrosia feed,
In their celestiall Mangers.
Bright Colatina, that of hils
Is Goddesse, and hath keeping
Her Nimphes, the cleere Oreades wils
T'attend thee from thy sleeping.

The Mountaines first saluting the Sunne at his rising.

Great

Supposed the God of earth. One of the Judges of hell.

Demogorgon feeles thy might,
His Mynes about him heating:
Who through his bosome dart'st thy light,
Within the Center sweating.
If thou but touch thy golden Lyre,
Thou Minos mov'st to heare thee:
The Rockes feele in themselves afire,
And rise up to come neere thee.
'Tis thou that Physicke didst devise
Hearbs by their natures calling:
Of which some opening at thy Rise,
And closing at thy falling.
Fayre Hyacinth thy most lov'd Lad,
That with the sledge thou sluest;
Hath in a flower the life he had,
Whose root thou still renewest,
Thy Daphne thy beloved Tree,

A Nimph lov'd of Apollo, and by him changed into a flower.

That scornes thy Fathers Thunder,
And thy deare Clitia yet we see,
Not time from thee can sunder;

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From thy bright Bow that Arrow flew
(Snatcht from thy golden Quiver)
Which that fell Serpent Python slew,

Playes or Games in honor of Apollo.

Renowning thee for ever.
The Actian and the Pythian Games
Devised were to praise thee,
With all th'Apolinary names
That th'Ancients thought could raise thee.
A Shryne upon this Mountaine hie,
To thee we'll have erected,
Which thou the God of Poesie
Must care to have protected:
With thy lov'd Cinthus that shall share,
With all his shady Bowers,
Nor Licia's Cragus shall compare
With this, for thee, of ours.

Thus having sung, the Nimphish Crue
Thrust in amongst them thronging,
Desiring they might have the due
That was to them belonging.
Quoth they, ye Muses, as divine,
Are in his glories graced,
But it is we must build the Shryne
Wherein they must be placed;
Which of those precious Gemmes we'll make
That Nature can affoord us,
Which from that plenty we will take,
Wherewith we here have stor'd us:
O glorious Phœbus most divine,
Thine Altars then we hallow:
And with those stones we build a Shryne
To thee our wise Apollo.

The Nimphes.
No Gem, from Rocks, Seas, running streames,
(Their numbers let us muster)
But hath from thy most powerfull beames
The Vertue and the Lustre;

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The Diamond, the king of Gemmes,
The first is to be placed,
That glory is of Diadems,
Them gracing, by them graced:
In whom thy power the most is seene,
The raging fire refelling:
The Emerauld then, most deepely greene,
For beauty most excelling,
Resisting poyson often prov'd
By those about that beare it.
The cheerfull Ruby then, much lov'd,
That doth revive the spirit,
Whose kinde to large extensure growne
The colour so enflamed,
Is that admired mighty stone
The Carbunckle that's named,
Which from it such a flaming light
And radiency ejecteth,
That in the very dark'st of night
The eye to it directeth.
The yellow Jacynth, strengthning Sense,
Of which who hath the keeping,
No Thunder hurts nor Pestilence,
And much provoketh sleeping:
The Chrisolite, that doth resist
Thirst, proved, never failing,
The purple colored Amatist,
'Gainst strength of wine prevailing;
The verdant gay greene Smaragdus,
Most soveraine over passion:
The Sardonix, approv'd by us
To master Incantation.
Then that celestiall colored stone
The Saphyre, heavenly wholly,
Which worne, there wearinesse is none,
And cureth melancholly:
The Lazulus, whose pleasant blew
With golden vaines is graced;

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The Jaspis, of so various hew,
Amongst our other placed;
The Onix, from the Ancients brought,
Of wondrous Estimation,
Shall in amongst the rest be wrought
Our sacred Shryne to fashion;
The Topas, we'll stick here and there,
And sea-greene colored Berill,
And Turkesse, which who haps to beare
Is often kept from perill.
The Selenite, of Cynthia's light,
So nam'd, with her still ranging,
Which as she wanes or waxeth bright
Its colours so are changing.
With Opalls, more then any one,
We'll deck thine Altar fuller,
For that of every precious stone,
It doth reteine some colour:
With bunches of Pearle Paragon
Thine Altar underpropping,
Whose base is the Cornelian,
Strong bleeding often stopping:
With th'Agot, very oft that is
Cut strangely in the Quarry,
As Nature ment to show in this,
How she her selfe can varry:
With worlds of Gems from Mines and Seas
Elizium well might store us,
But we content our selves with these
That readiest lye before us:
And thus O Phœbus most divine
Thine Altars still we hallow,
And to thy Godhead reare this Shryne,
Our onely wise Apollo.

321

THE TENTH NIMPHALL.

Naiis Claia Corbilus Satyre.
A Satyre on Elizium lights,
Whose ugly shape the Nimphes affrights,
Yet when they heare his just complaint,
They make him an Elizian Saint.
Corbilus.
What; breathles Nimphs? bright Virgins let me know
What suddaine cause constraines ye to this haste?
What have ye seene that should affright ye so?
What might it be from which ye flye so fast?
I see your faces full of pallid feare,
As though some perill followed on your flight;
Take breath a while, and quickly let me heare
Into what danger ye have lately light.

Naiis.

Never were poore distressed Gerles so glad,
As when kinde, loved Corbilus we saw,
When our much haste us so much weakned had,
That scarcely we our wearied breathes could draw.

In this next Grove under an aged Tree,
So fell a monster lying there we found,
As till this day, our eyes did never see,
Nor ever came on the Elizian ground.
Halfe man, halfe Goat, he seem'd to us in show,
His upper parts our humane shape doth beare,
But he's a very perfect Goat below,
His crooked Cambrils arm'd with hoofe and hayre.

Claia.
Through his leane Chops a chattering he doth make
Which stirres his staring beastly driveld Beard,
And his sharpe hornes he seem'd at us to shake,
Canst thou then blame us though we were afeard.

322

Corbilus.
Surely it seemes some Satyre this should be,
Come and goe back and guide me to the place,
Be not affraid, ye are safe enough with me,
Silly and harmelesse be their Silvan Race.

Claia.
How Corbilus; a Satyre doe you say?
How should he over high Parnassus hit?
Since to these Fields ther's none can finde the way,
But onely those the Muses will permit.

Corbilus.
Tis true; but oft, the sacred Sisters grace
The silly Satyre, by whose plainesse, they
Are taught the worlds enormities to trace,
By beastly mens abhominable way;
Besyde he may be banisht his owne home
By this base time, or be so much distrest,
That he the craggy by-clift Hill hath clome
To finde out these more pleasant Fields of rest.

Naiis.
Yonder he sits, and seemes himselfe to bow
At our approch, what doth our presence awe him?
Me thinks he seemes not halfe so ugly now,
As at the first, when I and Claia saw him.

Corbilus.
Tis an old Satyre, Nimph, I now discerne,
Sadly he sits, as he were sick or lame,
His lookes would say, that we may easly learne
How, and from whence, he to Elizium came.
Satyre, these Fields, how cam'st thou first to finde?
What Fate first show'd thee this most happy shore?
When never any of thy Silvan kinde
Set foot on the Elizian earth before?

Satyre.
O never aske, how I came to this place,
What cannot strong necessity finde out?
Rather bemoane my miserable case,
Constrain'd to wander the wide world about.
With wild Silvanus and his woody crue,
In Forrests I, at liberty and free,
Liv'd in such pleasure as the world ne'r knew,

323

Nor any rightly can conceive but we.
This jocond life we many a day enjoy'd,
Till this last age, those beastly men forth brought,
That all those great and goodly Woods destroy'd,
Whose growth their Grandsyres, with such sufferance sought,
That faire Felicia which was but of late,
Earth's Paradice, that never had her Peere,
Stands now in that most lamentable state,
That not a Silvan will inhabit there;
Where in the soft and most delicious shade,
In heat of Summer we were wont to play,
When the long day too short for us we made,
The slyding houres so slyly stole away;
By Cynthia's light, and on the pleasant Lawne,
The wanton Fayry we were wont to chase,
Which to the nimble cloven-footed Fawne,
Upon the plaine durst boldly bid the base.
The sportive Nimphes, with shouts and laughter shooke
The Hils and Valleyes in their wanton play,
Waking the Ecchoes, their last words that tooke,
Till at the last, they lowder were then they.
The lofty hie Wood, and the lower spring,
Sheltring the Deare, in many a suddaine shower;
Where Quires of Birds, oft wonted were to sing,
The flaming Furnace wholly doth devoure;
Once faire Felicia, but now quite defac'd,
Those Braveries gone wherein she did abound,
With dainty Groves, when she was highly grac'd
With goodly Oake, Ashe, Elme, and Beeches croun'd:
But that from heaven their judgement blinded is,
In humane Reason it could never be,
But that they might have cleerly seene by this,
Those plagues their next posterity shall see.
The little Infant on the mothers Lap
For want of fire shall be so sore distrest,
That whilst it drawes the lanke and empty Pap,
The tender lips shall freese unto the breast;
The quaking Cattle which their Warmstall want,

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And with bleake winters Northerne winde opprest,
Their Browse and Stover waxing thin and scant,
The hungry Crowes shall with their Caryon feast.
Men wanting Timber wherewith they should build,
And not a Forrest in Felicia found,
Shall be enforc'd upon the open Field,
To dig them Caves for houses in the ground:
The Land thus rob'd, of all her rich Attyre,
Naked and bare her selfe to heaven doth show,
Begging from thence that Jove would dart his fire
Upon those wretches that disrob'd her so;
This beastly Brood by no meanes may abide
The name of their brave Ancestors to heare,
By whom their sordid slavery is descry'd,
So unlike them as though not theirs they were,
Nor yet they sense, nor understanding have,
Of those brave Muses that their Country song,
But with false Lips ignobly doe deprave
The right and honour that to them belong;
This cruell kinde thus Viper-like devoure
That fruitfull soyle which them too fully fed;
The earth doth curse the Age, and every houre
Againe, that it these viprous monsters bred.
I seeing the plagues that shortly are to come
Upon this people cleerely them forsooke:
And thus am light into Elizium,
To whose straite search I wholly me betooke.

Naiis.
Poore silly creature, come along with us,
Thou shalt be free of the Elizian fields:
Be not dismaid, nor inly grieved thus,
This place content in all abundance yeelds.
We to the cheerefull presence will thee bring,
Of Joves deare Daughters, where in shades they sit,
Where thou shalt heare those sacred Sisters sing,
Most heavenly Hymnes, the strength and life of wit.

325

Claia.
Where to the Delphian God upon their Lyres
His Priests seeme ravisht in his height of praise:
Whilst he is crowning his harmonious Quiers,
With circling Garlands of immortall Bayes.

Corbilus.
Here live in blisse, till thou shalt see those slaves,
Who thus set vertue and desert at nought:
Some sacrific'd upon their Grandsires graves,
And some like beasts in markets sold and bought.
Of fooles and madmen leave thou then the care,
That have no understanding of their state:
For whom high heaven doth so just plagues prepare,
That they to pitty shall convert thy hate.
And to Elizium be thou welcome then,
Untill those base Felicians thou shalt heare,
By that vile nation captived againe,
That many a glorious age their captives were.

327

NOAHS FLOUD.

To the Right Noble, Religious, and truely vertuous Lady, Mary, Countesse of Dorset; worthy of all Titles and Attributes, that were ever given to the most Renowned of her Sexe: and of me most deservedly to be honoured. To her Fame and Memory I consecrate these my divine Poems, with all the wishes of a gratefull heart; for the preservation of her, and her Children, the Succeeding Hopes of the Ancient and Noble Family of the Sackviles.

Her Servant, Michael Drayton.

Eternall and all-working God, which wast
Before the world, whose frame by thee was cast,
And beautifi'd with beamefull lampes above,
By thy great wisedome set how they should move
To guide the seasons, equally to all,
Which come and goe as they doe rise and fall.

My mighty Maker, O doe thou infuse
Such life and spirit into my labouring Muse,
That I may sing (what but from Noah thou hid'st)
The greatest thing that ever yet thou didst
Since the Creation; that the world may see
The Muse is heavenly, and deriv'd from thee.

A Jove Musa.

O let thy glorious Angell which since kept
That gorgeous Eden, where once Adam slept;
When tempting Eve was taken from his side,
Let him great God not onely be my guide,
But with his fiery Faucheon still be nie,
To keepe affliction farre from me, that I
With a free soule thy wondrous workes may show,
Then like that Deluge shall my numbers flow,
Telling the state wherein the earth then stood,
The Gyant race, the universall floud.

The fruitfull earth being lusty then and strong,
Like to a Woman, fit for love, and young,
Brought forth her creatures mighty, not a thing
Issu'd from her, but a continuall spring
Had to increase it, and to make it flourish,
For in her selfe she had that power to nourish
Her Procreation, that her children then
Were at the instant of their birth, halfe men.
Men then begot so soone, and got so long,
That scarcely one a thousand men among,
But he ten thousand in his time might see,
That from his loynes deriv'd their Pedegree.
The full-womb'd Women, very hardly went
Out their nine months, abundant nature lent

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Their fruit such thriving, as that once waxt quicke,
The large-limb'd mother, neither faint nor sicke,
Hasted her houre by her abundant health,
Nature so plaid the unthrift with her wealth,
So prodigally lavishing her store
Upon the teeming earth, then wasting more

The fruitfulnesse and bravery of the earth before the Floud.

Then it had need of: not the smallest weed
Knowne in that first age, but the naturall seed
Made it a Plant, to these now since the Floud,
So that each Garden look'd then like a Wood:
Beside, in Med'cen, simples had that power,
That none need then the Planetary houre
To helpe their working, they so juycefull were.
The Winter and the Spring time of the yeare
Seem'd all one season: that most stately tree
Of Libanus, which many times we see
Mention'd for talenesse in the holy Writ,
Whose tops the clouds oft in their wandring hit,
Were shrubs to those then on the earth that grew;
Nor the most sturdy storme that ever blew
Their big-growne bodies, to the earth ere shooke,
Their mighty Rootes, so certaine fastening tooke;
Cover'd with grasse, more soft then any silke,
The Trees dropt honey, & the Springs gusht milke:
The Flower-fleec't Meadow, & the gorgeous grove,
Which should smell sweetest in their bravery, strove;
No little shrub, but it some Gum let fall,
To make the cleere Ayre aromaticall:
Whilst to the little Birds melodious straines,
The trembling Rivers tript along the Plaines.
Shades serv'd for houses, neither Heate nor Cold
Troubl'd the yong, nor yet annoy'd the old:
The batning earth all plenty did afford,
And without tilling (of her owne accord)
That living idly without taking paine
(Like to the first) made every man a Caine.
Seaven hundred yeeres, a mans age scarcely then,
Of mighty size so were these long-liv'd men:

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The flesh of Lyons, and of Buls they tore,
Whose skins those Gyants for their garments wore.
Yet not tearm'd Gyants onely, for that they
Excel'd men since, in bignesse every way:
Nor that they were so puissant of their hand,
But that the Race wherewith the earth was man'd,
So wrathfull, proud, and tyranous were then,
Not dreading God, nor yet respecting men;

Josephus.

For they knew neither Magistrate, nor law,
Nor could conceive ought that their wils could awe;
For which waxt proud, & haughty in their thought,
They set th'eternall living God at naught:
Mankinde increasing greatly every day,
Their sinnes increase in numbers more then they;
Seaven Ages had past Adam, when men prone
To tyranny, and no man knew his owne:
His sensuall will then followed, and his lust,
His onely law, in those times to be just
Was to be wicked; God so quite forgot,
As what was damn'd, that in that age was not.
With one anothers flesh themselves they fil'd,
And drunke the bloud of those whom they had kil'd.
They dar'd to doe, what none should dare to name,
They never heard of such a thing as shame.

Berosus cited by Pirerius.

Man mixt with man, and Daughter, Sister, Mother,
Were to these wicked men as any other.
To rip their womens wombes, they would not stick,
When they perceiv'd once they were waxed quicke.
Feeding on that, from their own loynes that sprong,
Such wickednesse these Monsters was among:
That they us'd Beasts, digressing from all kinde:
That the Almighty pondring in his minde
Their beastlinesse, (from his intent) began
T'repent himselfe that he created man.
Their sinnes ascending the Almighties seate,
Th'eternall Throane with horror seeme to threat.
Still daring God, a warre with them to make,
And of his power, no knowledge seem'd to take.

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So that he vow'd, the world he would destroy,
Which he revealed onely to just Noy.
For but that man, none worthy was to know,
Nor he the manner to none else would show.
For since with starres, he first high heaven enchast,
And Adam first in Paradice had plac't,
Amongst all those inhabiting the ground,
He not a man so just as Noe had found.
For which he gave him charge an Arke to build,
And by those workemen which were deepliest skild
In Architecture, to begin the frame,
And thus th'Almighty taught just Noe the same.

The structure of the Arke.

Three hundred cubits the full length to be,
Fifty the bredth, the height (least of the three)
Full thirty cubits: onely with one light,
A cubit broad, and just so much in hight:
And in three Stories bad him to divide
The inner Roome, and in the Vessels side
To place a doore; commanding Noe to take
Great care thereof: and this his Arke to make
Of Gopher wood, which some will needsly have
To be the Pine-tree, and commandment gave
That the large plancks whereof it was compos'd,
When they by art should curiously be clos'd;
Should with Bitumen both within and out
Be deepely pitcht, the Vessell round about,
So strong a Glue as could not off be worne,
The rage of Winds, and Waters that doth scorne;
Like to a Chest or Coffer it was fram'd,
For which an Arke most fitly it was nam'd;
Not like a Ship, for that a Ship below,
Is ridg'd and narrow, upward but doth grow
Wider and wider: but this mighty Barque,
Built by just Noah, this universall Arke,
Held one true breadth i'th'bottome as above,
That when this Frame upon the Flood should move,
On the falne waters it should float secure,
As it did first the falling shower endure;

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And close above, so to beare out the weather
For forty dayes when it should raine togeather.

A hundred yeares the Arke in building was,
So long the time ere he could bring to passe
This worke intended; all which time just Noy
Cry'd, that th'Almighty would the world destroy,
And as this good man used many a day
To walke abroad, his building to survay,
These cruell Giants comming in to see,
(In their thoughts wondring what this worke should be)
He with erected hands to them doth cry,
Either repent ye, or ye all must dye,

Noah thretning Gods vengeance upon the world: with his sermon of repentance.

Your blasphemies, your beastlinesse, your wrongs,
Are heard to heaven, and with a thousand tongues
Showt in the eares of the Almighty Lord;
So that your sinnes no leasure him affoord
To thinke on mercy, they so thickly throng,
That when he would your punishment prolong,
Their horror hales him on, that from remorce
In his owne nature, you doe him inforce,
Nay, wrest plagues from him, upon humane kinde
Who else to mercy, wholly is inclinde.
From Seth which God to Eva gave in lew
Of her sonne Abel whom his brother slue,
That cursed Cain, how hath th'Almighty blest,
The seed of Adam though he so transgrest,
In Enos by whose godlinesse men came,
At first to call on the Almighties name,
And Enoch, whose integritie was such,
In whom the Lord delighted was so much,
As in his yeers he suffered no decay,
But God to Heaven tooke bodyly away;
With long life blessing all that goodly Stem,
From the first man downe to Mathusalem,
Now from the loynes of Lamech sendeth me,
(Unworthy his Ambassadour to be)
To tell ye yet, if ye at last repent,
He will lay by his wrathfull punishment,

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That God who was so mercifull before,
To our forfathers, likewise hath in store,
Mercy for us their Nephues, if we fall
With teares before him, and he will recall,
His wrath sent out already, therefore flye
To him for mercy, yet the threatning Skie
Pauses, ere it be the Deluge downe will poure,
For every teare you shed, he'll stop a shower;
Yet of th'Almighty mercy you may winne,
He'll leave to punish, if you leave to sinne;
That God eternall, which old Adam cast
Out of the earthly heaven, where he had plac't,
That first-made man, for his forbidden deed,
From thence for ever banishing his seed,
For us his sinfull children doth provide,
And with abundance hath us still supplyd,
And can his blessings who respects you thus,
Make you most wicked, most rebellious:
Still is your stubborne obstinacy such?
Have ye no mercy, and your God so much?
Your God, said I, O wherefore said I so?
Your words deny him, and your works say no;
O see the day, doth but too fast approch,
Wherein heavens maker meanes to set abroach
That world of water, which shall over-flow
Those mighty Mountaines whereon now you goe,
The Dropsied Clouds, see, your destruction threat,
The Sunne and Moone both in their course are set
To warre by water, and doe all they can
To bring destruction upon sinfull man,
And every thing shall suffer for your sake,
For the whole earth shall be but one whole Lake;
Oh cry for mercy, leave your wicked wayes,
And God from time shall separate those dayes
Of vengeance comming, and he shall disperse
These Clouds now threatning the whole universe,
And save the world, which else he will destroy.

But this good man, this terror-preaching Noy,

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The Beares, and Tigers, might have taught aswell,
They laught to heare this godly man to tell
That God would drowne the world, they thought him mad,
For their great maker they forgotten had,
They knew none such, th'Almighty God say they,
What might he be? and when shall be the day
Thou talk'st of to us? canst thou thinke that we
Can but suppose that such a thing can be?
What can he doe that we cannot defeate?
Whose Brawny Fists, to very dust can beate
The solid'st Rock, and with our breasts can beare
The strong'st Streame backward, dost thou thinke to feare
Us with these Dreames of Deluges? to make
Us our owne wayes and courses to forsake?
Let us but see that God that dares to stand
To what thou speak'st, that with his furious hand,
Dare say he'll drowne us, and we will defye
Him to his teeth: and if he keepe the Skye,
We'll dare him thence, and if he then come downe,
And challenge us that he the world will drowne,
We'll follow him untill his threats he stints,
Or we will batter his blew house with flynts.

The Arke is finisht, and the Lord is wrath,
To ayd just Noah, and he provided hath
His blessed Angells, bidding them to bring,
The Male and Female, of each living thing
Into the Arke, by whom he had decreed
T'renue the world, and by their fruitfull seed
To fill it as before, and is precise
For food for men, and for his sacrifice,
That seaven just payres, of Birds, and Beasts that were
Made cleane by him, should happily repayre
To the great Arke, the other made uncleane,
Of male and female onely should come twaine:
Which by the Angels every where were sought,
And thither by their ministry were brought.
When Noah sets ope the Arke and doth begin
To take his Fraught, his mighty Lading in

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And now the Beasts are walking from the wood,
Aswell of Ravine, as that chew the Cud,
The King of Beasts his fury doth suppresse,
And to the Arke leads downe the Lionesse,
The Bull for his beloved mate doth low,
And to the Arke brings on the faire ey'd Cow;
The stately Courser for his Mare doth nay,
And t'wards the new Arke guideth her the way;
The wreath'd-horn'd Ram his safety doth pursue,
And to the Arke ushers his gentle Ewe;
The brisly Boare, who with his snowte up plow'd
The spacious Plaines, and with his grunting lowd,
Rais'd ratling Ecchoes all the Woods about,
Leaves his dark Den, and having sented out
Noah's new-built Arke, in with his Sow doth come,
And stye themselves up in a little roome:
The Hart with his deare Hind, the Buck and Doe,
Leaving their wildnesse, bring the tripping Roe
Along with them: and from the Mountaine steepe,
The clambring Goat, and Cony, us'd to keepe
Amongst the Cleeves, together get, and they
To this great Arke finde out the ready way;
Th'unweildy Elke, whose skin is of much proofe,
Throngs with the rest t'attaine this wooden roofe;
The Unicorne leaves off his pride, and closse
There sets him downe by the Rhinoceros:
The Elephant there comming to imbarque,
And as he softly getteth up the Ark,
Feeling by his great waight, his body sunck,
Holds by his huge Tooth, and his nervy Trunck;
The croock-backt Camel climing to the deck,
Drawes up himselfe with his long sinewy neck;
The spotted Panther whose delicious scent,
Oft causeth beasts his harbor to frequent,
But having got them once into his power,
Sucketh their blood, and doth their flesh devoure,
His cruelty hath quickly cast aside,
And waxing courteous, doth become their guide,

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And brings into this universall Shop
The Ounce, the Tigar, and the Antilop,
By the grim Woolfe, the poore Sheepe safely lay,
And was his care, which lately was his pray;
The Asse upon the Lyon leant his head,
And to the Cat the Mouse for succour fled;
The silly Hare doth cast aside her feare,
And formes her selfe fast by the ugly Beare,
At whom the watchfull Dog did never barke,
When he espyde him clambring up the Arke:
The Fox got in, his subtilties hath left,
And as ashamed of his former theft,
Sadly sits there, as though he did repent,
And in the Arke became an innocent:
The fine-furd Ermin, Martern, and the Cat
That voydeth Civet, there together sat
By the shrewd Muncky, Babian, and the Ape,
With the Hienna, much their like in shape,
Which by their kinde, are ever doing ill,
Yet in the Arke, sit civilly and still;
The skipping Squerrill of the Forrest free,
That leapt so nimbly betwixt tree and tree,
It selfe into the Arke then nimbly cast,
As 'twere a Ship-boy come to clime the Mast.
The Porcupine into the Arke doth make,
Nor his sharpe quils though angry once doth shake;
The sharpe-fang'd Beaver, whose wyde gaping Jaw
Cutteth downe Plants at it were with a Saw,
Whose body poysed, wayeth such a masse,
As though his Bowels were of Lead or Brasse,
His cruell Chaps though breathlesse he doth close,
As with the rest into the Arke he goes.
Th'uneven-leg'd Badger (whose eye-pleasing skin,
The Case to many a curious thing hath bin,
Since that great flood) his fortresses forsakes
Wrought in the earth, and though but halting, makes
Up to the Arke; the Otter then that keepes
In the wild Rivers, in their Bancks and Sleeps,

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And feeds on Fish, which under water still,
He with his keld feet, and keene teeth doth kill;
The other two into the Arke doth follow,
Though his ill shape doth cause him but to wallow;
The Tortoyse and the Hedghog both so slow,
As in their motion scarse discern'd to goe,
Good footmen growne, contrary to their kinde,
Lest from the rest they should be left behinde;
The rooting Mole as to foretell the flood,
Comes out of th'earth, and clambers up the wood;
The little Dormouse leaves her leaden sleepe,
And with the Mole up to the Arke doth creepe,
With many other, which were common then,
Their kinde decayd, but now unknowne to men,
For there was none, that Adam ere did name,
But to the Arke from every quarter came;
By two and two the male and female beast,
From th'swiftst to th'slowest, from greatest to the least,
And as within the strong pale of a Parke,
So were they altogether in the Arke.

And as our God the Beasts had given in charge
To take the Arke, themselves so to imbardge,
He bids the Fowle, the Eagle in his flight,
Cleaving the thin Ayre, on the deck doth light;
Nor are his eyes so piercing to controule
His lowly subjects the farre lesser Fowle,
But the Almighty who all Creatures fram'd,
And them by Adam in the Garden nam'd,
Had given courage, fast by him to sit,
Nor at his sharpe sight are amaz'd one whit;
The Swanne by his great maker taught this good,
T'avoyd the fury of the falling flood,
His Boat-like breast, his wings rais'd for his sayle,
And Ore-like feet, him nothing to avayle
Against the Raine which likely was to fall,
Each drop so great, that like a ponderous Mall,
Might sinke him under water, and might drowne
Him in the Deluge, with the Crane comes downe,

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Whose voyce the Trumpet is, that throw the Ayre
Doth summon all the other to repayre
To the new Arke: when with his mooned traine,
The strutting Peacock yawling 'gainst the raine,
Flutters into the Arke, by his shrill cry,
Telling the rest the Tempest to be ny;
The Iron-eating Estridge, whose bare Thyes
Resembling mans, fearing the lowring Skyes,
Walkes to the great Boat; when the crowned Cock,
That to the Village lately was the Clock,
Comes to rooste by him, with his Hen, foreshewing
The shower should quickly fall, that then was brewing;
The swift-wing'd Swallow feeding as it flyes,
With the fleet Martlet thrilling throw the Skyes,
As at their pastime sportivly they were,
Feeling th'unusuall moisture of the Aer,
Their feathers flag, into the Arke they come,
As to some Rock or building, their owne home;
The ayry Larke his Haleluiah sung,
Finding a slacknesse seaze upon his tong,
By the much moisture, and the Welkin darke,
Drops with his female downe into the Arke;
The soaring Kyte there scantled his large wings,
And to the Arke the hovering Castrill brings;
The Raven comes, and croking, in doth call
The caryon Crow, and she againe doth brall,
Foretelling raine; by these there likewise sat

The Storke used to build upon houses, leaveth ever one behinde him for the owner.

The carefull Storke, since Adam wondred at
For thankfulnesse, to those where he doth breed,
That his ag'd Parents naturally doth feed,
In filiall duty as instructing man:
By them there sate the loving Pellican,
Whose yong ones poysned by the Serpents sting,
With her owne blood to life againe doth bring:
The constant Turtle up her lodging tooke
By these good Birds; and in a little nooke
The Nightingale with her melodious tongue
Sadly there sits, as she had never sung;

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The Merle and Mavis on the highest spray,
Who with their musick, wak't the early day,
From the proud Cedars, to the Arke come downe,
As though forewarn'd, that God the world would drowne;
The prating Parret comes to them aboard,
And is not heard to counterfeit a word;
The Falcon and the Dove sit there together,
And th'one of them doth prune the others feather;
The Goshalke and the Feasant there doe twin,
And in the Arke are pearcht upon one pin,
The Partridge on the Sparhalk there doth tend,
Who entertaines her as a loving friend;
The ravenous Vulture feeles the small Birds sit
Upon his back, and is not mov'd a whit;
Amongst the thickest of these severall fowle
With open eyes still sate the broad-fac'd Owle;
And not a small bird as they wonted were,
Either pursude or wondred at her there.
No waylesse desart, Heath, nor Fen, nor More,
But in by couples, sent some of their store;
The Ospray, and the Cormorant forbeare
To fish, and thither with the rest repayre:
The Hearon leaves watching at the Rivers brim,
And brings the Snyte and Plover in with him.
There came the Halcyon, whom the Sea obeyes,
When she her nest upon the water layes:
The Goose which doth for watchfulnesse excell,
Came for the rest, to be the Sentinell.
The charitable Robinet in came,
Whose nature taught the others to be tame:
All feathered things yet ever knowne to men,

The mighty Indian Bird.

From the huge Rucke, unto the little Wren;
From Forrests, Fields, from Rivers, and from Pons,
All that have webs, or cloven-footed ones;
To the Grand Arke, together friendly came,
Whose severall species were too long to name

The Beasts and Birds thus by the Angels brought,
Noe found his Arke not fully yet was fraught,

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To shut it up for as he did begin,
He still saw Serpents, and their like come in;

Creeping things in the sixt of Gen: the 20. vers.

The Salamander to the Arke retyers,
To flye the Floud, it doth forsake the fiers:
The strange Camelion, comes t'augment the crue,
Yet in the Arke doth never change her hue:
To these poore silly few of harmelesse things,
So were there Serpents, with their teeth and stings
Hurtfull to man, yet will th'Almighty have,
That Noe their seed upon the earth should save:
The watchfull Dragon comes the Arke to keepe,
But lul'd with murmure, gently fals to sleepe:
The cruell Scorpion comes to clime the pyle,
And meeting with the greedy Crocodyle,
Into the Arke together meekely goe,
And like kinde mates themselves they there bestow:
The Dart and Dipsas, to the Arke com'n in,
Infold each other as they were a twinne.
The Cockatrice there kils not with his sight,

The Aspick hath a kell of skin which covereth his teeth untill it be angry.

But in his object joyes, and in the Light;
The deadly killing Aspicke when he seeth,
This world of creatures, sheaths his poysoned teeth,
And with the Adder, and the speckled Snake,
Them to a corner harmlesly betake.
The Lisard shuts up his sharpe-sighted eyes,
Amongst these Serpents, and there sadly lyes.
The small-ey'd slowe-worme held of many blinde,
Yet this great Arke it quickly out could finde,
And as the Arke it was about to clime,
Out of its teeth shutes the invenom'd slime.
These viler Creatures on the earth that creepe,
And with their bellies the cold dewes doe sweepe,
All these base groveling, and ground-licking sute,
From the large

A Serpent of an incredible bignesse.

Boas, to the little Neute;
As well as Birds, or the foure-footed beasts,
Came to the Arke their Hostry as Noes guests.

Thus fully furnisht, Noe need not to carke
For stowidge, for provision for the Arke:

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For that wise God, who first direction gave,
How he the structure of the Arke would have:
And for his servant could provide this fraught,
Which thither he miraculously brought:
And did the food for every thing purvaye,
Taught him on lofts it orderly to laye:
On flesh some feed, as others fish doe eate,
Various the kinde, so various was the meate:
Some on fine grasse, as some on grosser weeds,
As some on fruits, so other some on seeds,
To serve for food for one whole yeare for all,
Untill the Floud, which presently should fall
On the whole world, his hand againe should drayne,
Which under water should that while remaine.
Th'Almighty measur'd the proportion such,
As should not be too little, nor too much:
For he that breath to every thing did give,
Could not that God them likewise make to live,
But with a little; and therewith to thrive,
Who at his pleasure all things can contrive.

Now some there be, too curious at this day,
That from their reason dare not sticke to say,
The Floud a thing fictitious is, and vaine,
Nor that the Arke could possibly containe
Those sundry creatures, from whose being came
All living things man possibly could name.
I say it was not, and I thus oppose
Them by my reason, strong enough for those,
My instance is a mighty Argosie,
That in it beares, beside th'Artillery,
Of fourescore pieces of a mighty Boare,
A thousand souldiers (many times and more)
Besides the sayles, and armes for every one,
Cordage, and Anchors, and provision:
The large-spred Sayles, the Masts both big and tall,
Of all which Noahs Arke had no need at all:
Within the same eight persons onely were,
If such a ship, can such a burthen beare:

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What might the Arke doe, which doth so excell
That Ship, as that ship doth a Cockle shell;
Being so capacious for this mighty load,
So long, so high, and every where so broad;
Beside three lofts just of one perfect strength,
And bearing out proportionably in length:
So fitly built, that being thus imploy'd,
There was not one ynch in the Arke was voyd,
Beside I'le charge their reason to allow
The Cubits doubled to what they are now,
We are but Pigmeyes, (even our tallest men)
To the huge Gyants that were living then:
For but th'Almighty, which (to this intent,)
Ordain'd the Arke, knew it sufficient,
He in his wisedome (had he thought it meet)
Could have bid Noah to have built a Fleet,
And many Creatures on the earth since growne
Before the floud that were to Noah unknowne:
For though the Mule begotten on the Mare,
By the dull Asse (is said) doth never payre;
Yet sundry others, naturally have mixt,

The opinions of the best naturalists that have written.

And those that have beene gotten them betwixt
Others begot, on others from their kinde.
In sundry Clymats, sundry beasts we finde,
That what they were, are nothing now the same,
From one selfe straine, though at the first they came;
But by the soyle they often altred be,
In shape and colour as we daily see.

Now Noahs three sonnes all busie that had bin
To place these creatures as they still came in:
Sem, Ham, and Japheth, with their

The names of the women were Tita, Pandora, Noella and Noegla: as some of the most ancient write, but Epiphanius will have Noes Wifes name to be Barthenon.

Wifes assign'd,
To be the Parents of all humane kinde:
Seeing the Arke thus plentifully stor'd:
The wondrous worke of the Almighty Lord,
Behold their father looking every houre,
For this all-drowning earth-destroying showre,
When Noe their faith thus lastly to awake,
To his lov'd Wife, and their sixe children spake.

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The mighty hand of God doe you not see,
In these his creatures, that so well agree:
Which were they not, thus mastred by his power,
Us silly eight would greedily devoure:
And with their hoofes and pawes, to splinters rend
This onely Arke, in which God doth intend
We from the Floud that remnant shall remaine,
T'restore the world, in aged Adams straine:
Yee seaven, with sad astonishment then see
The wondrous things the Lord hath wrought for me.
What have I done, so gracious in his sight,
Fraile wretched man, but that I justly might
Have with the earths abhominable brood,
Bin over-whelm'd, and buried in the Floud:
But in his judgement, that he hath decreed,
That from my loynes by your successefull seed,
The earth shall be replenished agen,
And the Almighty be at peace with men.
A hundred yeares are past (as well you know)
Since the Almighty God, his power to show
Taught me the Modell of this mighty frame,
And it the Arke commanded me to name.
Be strong in faith, for now the time is nye,
That from the conducts of the lofty skie,
The Floud shall fall, that in short time shall beare
This Arke we are in up into the ayre,
Where it shall floate, and further in the end,
Shall fifteene cubits the high'st hils transcend.
Then bid the goodly fruitfull earth adue,
For the next time it shall be seene of you,
It with an ill complexion shall appeare,
The weight of waters shall have chang'd her cheere.
Be not affrighted, when ye heare the rore
Of the wide Waters when they charge the shore,
Nor be dismaid at all, when you shall feele
Th'unweeldy Arke from wave to wave to reele:
Nor at the shreekes of those that swimming by
On Trees and Rafters, shall for succour cry,

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O ye most lov'd of God, O take us in,
For we are guilty, and confesse our sinne.

Thus whilst he spake, the skyes grew thicke and darke,
And a blacke cloud hung hovering o're the Arke.
Venus and Mars, God puts this worke upon:

God makes the Starres his instruments to punish the wicked.

Jupiter and Saturne in conjunction
I'th tayle of Cancer, inundations thret.
Luna disposed generally to wet,
The Hiades and Pliades put too
Their helpes; Orion doth what he can doe.
No starre so small, but some one drop let downe,
And all conspire the wicked world to drowne:
On the wide heaven there was not any signe,
To watry Pisces but it doth incline.

Now some will aske, when th'Almighty God, (but Noy
And his) by waters did the world destroy;
Whether those seaven then in Arke were good,
And just as he, (reserved from the Floud)
Or that th'Almighty for his onely sake,
Did on the other such compassion take:
'Tis doubtlesse Noe, being one so cleerely just,
That God did with his secret judgements trust
From the whole world; one that so long had knowne
That living Lord, would likewise teach his owne
To know him too, who by this meane might be,
As well within the Covenant as he.

By this the Sunne had suckt up the vaste deepe,
And in grosse clouds like Cesternes did it keepe:
The Starres and signes by Gods great wisedome set,

A description of the Tempest, at the falling of the Deluge.

By their conjunctions waters to beget,
Had wrought their utmost, and even now began
Th'Almighties justice upon sinfull man:
From every severall quarter of the skye,
The Thunder rores, and the fierce Lightnings flye
One at another, and together dash,
Volue on volue, flash comes after flash:
Heavens lights looke sad, as they would melt away,
The night is com'n i'th morning of the day:

344

The Card'nall Windes he makes at once to blow,
Whose blasts to buffets with such fury goe,
That they themselves into the Center shot
Into the bowels of the earth and got,
Being condens'd and strongly stifned there,

Water is but ayre condens'd.

In such strange manner multiply'd the ayre,
Which turn'd to water, and increast the springs
To that abundance, that the earth forth brings
Water to drowne her selfe, should heaven deny,
With one small drop the Deluge to supply,
That through her pores, the soft and spungy earth,
As in a dropsie, or unkindely birth,
A Woman, swolne, sends from her fluxive wombe
Her woosie springs, that there was scarcely roome
For the waste waters which came in so fast,
As though the earth her entrailes up would cast.
But these seem'd yet, but easily let goe,
And from some Sluce came softly in, and slow,
Till Gods great hand so squees'd the boysterous clouds,
That from the spouts of heavens embatteld shrouds,
Even like a Floud-gate pluckt up by the height,
Came the wilde raine, with such a pondrous weight,
As that the fiercenesse of the hurrying floud,
Remov'd huge Rockes, and ram'd them into mud:
Pressing the ground, with that impetuous power,
As that the first shocke of this drowning shower,
Furrow'd the earths late plumpe and cheerefull face
Like an old Woman, that in little space
With ryveld cheekes, and with bleard blubberd eyes,
She wistly look'd upon the troubled skyes.
Up to some Mountaine as the people make,
Driving their Cattell till the shower should slake;
The Floud oretakes them, and away doth sweepe
Great heards of Neate, and mighty flockes of Sheepe.
Downe through a valley as one streame doth come,
Whose roaring strikes the neighbouring Eccho dumbe:
Another meetes it, and whilst there they strive,
Which of them two the other backe should drive;

345

Their dreadfull currents they together dash,
So that their waves like furious Tydes doe wash
The head of some neere hill, which falleth downe
For very feare, as it, it selfe would drowne.
Some backe their Beasts, so hoping to swimme out,
But by the Floud, incompassed about
Are overwhelm'd, some clamber up to Towers,
But these and them, the deluge soone devoures:
Some to the top of Pynes and Cedars get,
Thinking themselves they safely there should set:
But the rude Floud that over all doth sway,
Quickly comes up, and carrieth them away.
The Roes much swiftnesse, doth no more availe,

The Roe Deere the swiftest Beast knowne.

Nor helpe him now, then if he were a Snayle:
The swift-wing'd Swallow, and the slow-wing'd Owle,
The fleetest Bird, and the most flagging Fowle,
Are at one passe, the Floud so high hath gone,
There was no ground to set a foot upon:
Those Fowle that followed moystnesse, now it flye,
And leave the wet Land, to finde out the dry:
But by the mighty tempest beaten downe,
On the blancke water they doe lye and drowne:
The strong-built Tower is quickly overborne,
The o're-growne Oake out of the earth is torne:
The subtile shower the earth hath softned so,
And with the waves, the trees tost to and fro;
That the rootes loosen, and the tops downe sway,
So that whole Forrests quickly swimme away.
Th'offended heaven had shut up all her lights,
The Sunne nor Moone make neither daies nor nights:
The waters so exceedingly abound
That in short time the Sea it selfe is drownd.
That by the freshnesse of the falling raine,
Neptune no more his saltnesse doth retaine:
So that those scaly creatures us'd to keepe,
The mighty wasts of the immeasured deepe:
Finding the generall and their naturall bracke,
The taste and colour every were to lacke;

346

Forsake those Seas wherein they swamme before,
Strangely oppressed with their watry store.
The crooked Dolphin on those Mountaines playes,
Whereas before that time, not many daies
The Goate was grazing; and the mighty Whale,
Upon a Rocke out of his way doth fall:
From whence before one eas'ly might have seene,
The wandring clouds farre under to have beene.
The Grampus, and the Whirlpoole, as they rove,
Lighting by chance upon a lofty Grove
Under this world of waters, are so much
Pleas'd with their wombes each tender branch to touch,
That they leave slyme upon the curled Sprayes,
On which the Birds sung their harmonious Layes.
As huge as Hills still waves are wallowing in,
Which from the world so wondrously doe winne,
That the tall Mountaines which on tipto stood,
As though they scorn'd the force of any flood,
No eye of heaven of their proud tops could see
One foot, from this great inundation free.

A simily of the grosnesse of the Deluge

As in the Chaos ere the frame was fix'd
The Ayre and water were so strongly mix'd,
And such a Bulke of Grosenesse doe compose,
As in those thick Clouds which the Globe inclose,
Th'all-working Spirit were yet againe to wade,
And heaven and earth againe were to be made.
Meane while this great and universall Arke,
Like one by night were groping in the darke,
Now by one Billow, then another rockt,
Within whose boards all living things were lockt;
Yet Noah his safety not at all doth feare,
For still the Angels his blest Barge doe steere:
But now the Shower continued had so long,
The inundation waxt so wondrous strong,
That fifteene Cubits caus'd the Arke to move
The highest part of any Hill above:
And the grosse earth so violently binds,
That in their Coasts it had inclos'd the winds;

347

So that the whole wide surface of the flood,
As in the full height of the tyde it stood,
Was then as sleeke and even as the Seas
In the most still and calmest Halcyon dayes:
The Birds, the Beasts and Serpents safe on board,
With admiration looke upon thir Lord,
The righteous Noah: and with submissive feare,
Tremble his grave and awfull voyce to heare,
When to his Houshould (during their aboad)
He preacht the power of the Almighty God.

Deare wife and children, quoth this godly Noy,

Noah preaching faith to his family.

Since the Almighty vow'd he would destroy
The wicked world, a hundred yeares are past,
And see, he hath performed it at last;
In us poore few, the world consists alone,
And besides us, there not remaineth one,
But from our seed, the emptied earth agen,
Must be repeopled with the race of men;
Then since thus farre his covenant is true
Build ye your faith, on that which shall ensue:
Such is our God, who thus did us imbarque
(As his select) to save us by the Arke,
And only he whose Angels guard our Boat,
Knowes over what strange Region now we float,
Or we from hence that very place can sound,
From which the Arke was lifted first from ground:
He that can span the world, and with a grip,
Out of the bowels of the clouds could rip
This masse of waters, whose abundant birth,
Almost to heaven thus drowneth up the earth;
He can remove this Round if he shall please,
And with these waters can sup up the Seas,
Can cause the Starres out of their Sphears to fall,
And on the winds can tosse this earthy Ball,
He can wrest drops from the Sunnes radient beames,
And can force fire from the most liquid streames,
He curles the waves with whirlwinds, and doth make
The solid Center fearfully to shake,

348

He can stirre up the Elements to warres,
And at his pleasure can compose their Jarres,
The Sands serve not his wondrous workes to count,
Yet doth his mercy all his workes surmount,
His Rule and Power eternally endures,
He was your Fathers God, he's mine, he's yours,
In him deare wife and children put your trust,
He onely is Almighty, onely just.

But on the earth the waters were so strong,
And now the flood continued had so long,
That the let yeare foreslow'd about to bring
The Summer, Autumne, Winter, and the Spring,

The revolution of the yeare by a short Periphrasis.

The Gyring Planets with their starry traine,
Downe to the South had sunck, and rose againe
Up towards the North, whilst the terrestriall Globe
Had bin involved in this watry Robe,
During which season every twinckling light
In their still motion, at this monstrous sight,
By their complection a distraction show'd,
Looking like Embers that through ashes glow'd.
When righteous Noah remembreth at the last,
The time prefix'd to be approaching fast,
After a hundred fifty dayes were gone,
Which to their period then were drawing on,
The flood should somewhat slack, God promist so,
On which relying, the just godly Noe,
To try if then but one poore foot of ground,
Free from the flood might any where be found,
Lets forth a Raven, which straight cuts the Skye,
And wondrous proud his restyed wings to try,
In a large circle girdeth in the Ayre,
First to the East, then to the South, doth beare,
Followes the Sunne, then towards his going forth,
And then runnes up into the rysing North,
Thence climes the clouds to prove if his sharpe eye
From that proud pitch could possibly descry
Of some tall Rock-crown'd Mountaine, a small stone
A minuts space to set his foot upon,

349

But finding his long labour but in vaine,
Returneth wearied to the Arke againe,
By which Noah knew he longer yet must stay,
For the whole earth still under water lay.

Seaven dayes he rests, but yet he would not cease,
(For that he knew the flood must needs decrease)
But as the Raven late, he next sends out
The damaske coloured Dove, his nimble Scout,
Which thrils the thin Ayre, and his pyneons plyes,
That like to lightning, glyding through the Skyes,
His sundry coloured feathers by the Sunne,
As his swift shadow on the Lake doth runne,
Causeth a twinckling both at hand and farre,
Like that we call the shooting of a Starre;
But finding yet that labour lost had bin,
Comes back to Noah, who gently takes him in.

Noah rests awhile, but meaning still to prove
A second search, againe sends out the Dove,
After other seaven, some better newes to bring,
Which by the strength of his unwearied wing
Findes out at last, a place for his aboad,
When the glad Bird stayes all the day abroad,
And wondrous proud that he a place had found,
Who of a long time had not toucht the ground,
Drawes in his head, and thrusteth out his breast,
Spreadeth his tayle, and swelleth up his crest,
And turning round and round with Cuttry cooe,
As when the female Pigeon and he wooe;
Bathing himselfe, which long he had not done,
And dryes his feathers in the welcome Sunne,
Pruning his plumage, clensing every quill,
And going back, he beareth in his bill
An Olive leafe, by which Noah understood
The great decrease and waning of the flood:
For that on Mountaines Olives seldome grow,
But in flat Valleys, and in places low;
Never such comfort came to mortall man,
Never such joy was since the world began,

350

As in the Arke, when Noah and his behold
The Olive leafe, which certainly them told,
The flood decreas'd, and they such comfort take,
That with their mirth, the Birds and Beasts they make
Sportive, which send forth such a hollow noyse
As said they were partakers of their joyes.
The Lion roares, but quickly doth forbeare,
Lest he thereby the lesser Beasts should feare,
The Bull doth bellow, and the Horse doth nay,
The Stag, the Buck, and shaghayrd Goat doe bray,
The Boare doth grunt, the Woolfe doth howle, the Ram
Doth bleate, which yet so faintly from him came,
As though for very joy he seem'd to weepe,
The Ape and Muncky such a chattering keepe
With their thin lips, which they so well exprest,
As they would say, we hope to be releast;
The silly Asse set open such a throat,
That all the Arke resounded with the note;
The watchfull Dog doth play, and skip, and barke,
And leaps upon his Masters in the Arke,
The Raven crokes, the caryon Crow doth squall,
The Pye doth chatter, and the Partridge call,
The jocund Cock crowes as he claps his wings,
The Merle doth whistle, and the Mavis sings,
The Nightingale straines her melodious throat,
Which of the small Birds being heard to roat,
They soone set to her, each a part doth take,
As by their musick up a Quire to make,
The Parrat lately sad, then talks and jeeres,
And counterfeiteth every sound he heares,
The purblind Owle which heareth all this doo,
T'expresse her gladnesse, cryes Too whit too whoo.
No Beast nor Bird was in the Arke with Noy,
But in their kinde exprest some signe of joy;
When that just man who did himselfe apply
Still, to his deare and godly family,
Thus to them spake (and with erected hands
The like obedience from the rest demands)

351

The worlds foundation is not halfe so sure
As is Gods promise, nor is heaven so pure
As is his word, to me most sinfull man;
To take the Arke who when I first began
Sayd on the hundred and the fiftieth day,
I should perceive the Deluge to decay,
And 'tis most certaine, as you well may know
Which this poore Pidgeon by this leafe doth show.
He that so long could make the waters stand
Above the earth, see how his powerfull hand
Thrusts them before it, and so fast doth drive
The Big swolne Billowes, that they seeme to strive
Which shall fly fastest on that secret path,
Whence first they came, to execute his wrath,
The Sunne which melted every Cloud to Raine,
He makes it now to sup it up againe:
The wind by which he brought it on before
In their declining drives it o'r and o'r,
The tongs of Angells serve not to expresse,
Neither his mercy, nor his mightinesse,
Be joyfull then in our greate God (sayth he)
For we the Parents of Mankind shall be:
From us poore few, (his pleasure that attend)
Shall all the Nations of the earth descend;

When righteous Noy desirous still to heare,
In what estate th'unweeldy waters were,
Sends foorth the Dove as he had done before,
But it found drie land and came backe no more,
Whereby this man precisely understood,
The greate decrease of this world-drowning floud:
Thus as the Arke is floating on the mayne,
As when the floud rose, in the fall againe,
With Currents still encountred every where
Forward and backeward which it still doe beare,
As the streame straytneth, by the rising Cleeves

Mountains of a wondrous height, either within, or bordering upon Armenia.

Of the tall Mountaines, 'twixt which oft it drives,
Untill at length by Gods Almighty hand,
It on the hills of Ararat doth land.

352

When those within it felt the Arke to strike,
On the firme ground, was ever comfort like
To theirs, which felt it fixed there to stay,
And found the waters went so fast away;
That Noah set up the covering of the Arke,
That those which long had sitten in the darke,
Might be saluted with the cheerfull light,
(O since the world, was ever such a sight!)
That creeping things aswell as Bird or Beast,
Their severall comforts sundry wayes exprest?
His wife and children then ascend to see
What place it was so happy that should be
For th'Arke to rest on, where they saw a Plaine,
A Mountaines top which seemed to containe,
On which they might discerne within their ken,
The carkasses of Birds, of Beasts, and men,
Choak'd by the Deluge, when Noah spake them thus,

Behold th'Almighties mercy shew'd to us,
That thorow the waves our way not onely wrought,
But to these Mountaines safely hath us brought,
Whose daynty tops all earthly pleasures crowne
And one the Greene-sward sets us safely downe.
Had our most gratious God not beene our guide
The Arke had fallne upon some Mountaine-side,
And with a Rush removing of our fraight
Might well have turnd it backward with the waight
Or by these Billows lastly over borne
Or on some Rocke her ribbs might have bin torne.
But see except these heere, each living thing
That crept, or went, or kept the Aire with wing,
Lye heere before us to manure the Land,
Such is the power of Gods all workeing hand.

In the sixhundred yeere of that just man

In May according to the Expositors.

The second month, the seventeenth day began,
That horrid Deluge when Heavens windows were
At once all opened, then did first appeare
Th'Allmightys wrath, when for full forty days
There raynd from Heaven not showers but mighty seas,

353

A hundred fifty dayes that so prevayld,
Above the Mountaines till the great Arke sayld,
In the seaventh moneth, upon the seaventeenth day,

Part of September and part of October.

Like a Ship falne into a quyet Bay,
It on the Hils of Ararat doth light:
But Noah deny'd yet to discharge the Fraight,
For that the Mountaines cleerely were not seene,
Till the first day of the tenth mon'th, when Greene
Smyld on the blew Skyes, when the earth began
To looke up cheerly, yet the waters ran
Still throw the Valleyes, till the mon'th againe

In the same moneth the flood began, it ceast: which made up the yeare.

In which before it first began to rayne;
Of which, the seaven and twentieth day expyr'd,
Quite from the earth the waters were retyr'd:
When the almighty God bad Noah to set
Open the Arke, at liberty to let
The Beasts, the Birds, and creeping things, which came
Like as when first they went into the same,
Each male comes downe, his female by his side,
As 'twere the Bridgroome bringing out his Bride,
Till th'Arke was emptied, and that mighty load,
For a whole yeare that there had bin bestow'd,
(Since first that forty-dayes still-falling raine
That drown'd the world, was then dry'd up againe)
Which with much gladnesse doe salute the ground,
The lighter sort some caper, and some bound,
The heavier creatures tumble them, as glad
That they such ease by their enlargement had,
The creeping things together fall to play,
Joy'd beyond measure, for this happy day,
The Birds let from this Cage, doe mount the Skye,
To shew, they yet had not forgot to flye,
And sporting them upon the ayry plaine,
Yet to their master Noah they stoope againe,
To leave his presence, and doe still forbeare,
Till they from him of their release might heare,
The Beasts each other wooe, the Birds they bill,
As they would say to Noe, they ment to fill

354

The roomthy earth, then altogether voyd;
And make, what late the deluge had destroyd.
When Righteous Noye, who ever had regard
To serve his God, immediately prepar'd
To sacrifice, and of the cleanest Beasts
That in the Arke this while had bin his guests,
He seaseth, (yet obedient to his will)
And of them, he for sacrifice doth kill:
Which he and his religiously attend,
And with the smoake their vowes and thankes ascend,
Which pleas'd th'Almighty, that he promis'd then,
Never by floud to drowne the world agen.
And that mankinde his covenant might know,
He in the clouds left the celestiall Bow.

When to these living things quoth righteous Noe,
Now take you all free liberty to goe,
And every way doe you your selves disperse,
Till you have fild this globy universe
With your increase, let every soyle be yours,
He that hath sav'd yee, faithfully assures
Your propagation: and deare wife quoth he,
And you my children, let your trust still be
In your preserver, and on him relye,
Whose promise is that we shall multiply,
Till in our dayes, of nations we shall heare
From us poore few in th'Arke that lately were.
To make a new world, thus works every one,
The Deluge ceaseth, and the old is gone.

355

TO THIS POEM

[Moses His Birth and Miracles].

See how ingrate forgetfulnesse
Circles us round with dangers,
That all the Saints whom God doth highly blesse,
To us are strangers:
Now Heav'n into our soules inspires
No true cœlestiall motions:
Lusts ardent flame hath dimm'd the holy fires
Of our devotions.
While 'gainst blasphemers gen'rall spight
Our painefull Author striveth,
And happy spirits which live in heavenly light
On earth reviveth.
Thou Patriarke great, who with milde lookes
His lab'ring Muse beholdest:
Reach him those leaves where thou in sacred bookes
All truth unfoldest:
And guide (like Israel) Poets hands
From Aegypt, from vaine Stories,
Onely to sing of the faire promis'd lands,
And all their glories.

John Beaumont.

356

TO M. MICHAEL DRAYTON.

Thy noble Muse already hath beene spred
Through Europe and the Sun-scorch'd Southerne climes,
That Ile where Saturnes royall Sonne was bred,
Hath beene enricht with thy immortall rimes:
Even to the burnt line have thy poems flowne,
And gain'd high fame in the declining West,
And o're that cold Sea shall thy name be blowne,
That Icie mountaines rowleth on her brest:
Her soaring hence so farre made me admire,
Whether at length thy worthy Muse would flie,
Borne through the tender ayre with wings of fire,
Able to lift her to the starrie skie:
This work resolv'd my doubts, when th'earths repleate
With her faire fruit, in Heav'n shee'le take her seate.

Thomas Andrewe.

Ex arduis æternitas.

357

MOSES HIS BIRTH AND MIRACLES.

THE FIRST BOOKE.

The Argument.

This Canto our attracted Muse
The Prophets glorious birth pursues,
The various changes of his fate,
From humblenesse to high estate,
His beautie, more than mortall shape,
From Egypt how he doth escape,
By his faire bearing in his flight,
Obtaines the lovely Midianite,
Where God unto the Hebrew spake,
Appearing from the burning brake,
And backe doth him to Egypt send,
That mighty things doth there intend.

Girt in bright flames, rapt from celestiall fire,
That our unwearied faculties refine,
By zeale transported boldly we aspire
To sing a subject gloriously divine:
Him that of mortals onely had the grace,
(On whom the Spirit did in such power descend)
To talke with God face opposite to face,
Even as a man with his familiar friend.

Muse I invoke the utmost of thy might,
That with an armed and auspitious wing,
Thou be obsequious in his doubtlesse right
'Gainst the vile Atheists vituperious sting:
Where thou that gate industriously mai'st flie,
Which Nature strives but fainedly to goe,
Borne by a power so eminent and hie,
As in his course leaves reason farre below,
To shew how Poesie (simplie hath her praise)
That from full Jove takes her celestiall birth,
And quicke as fire, her glorious selfe can raise
Above this base abhominable earth.

358

O if that Time have happily reservd,
(Besides that sacred and canonicke writ,
What once in Slates and Barkes of trees was kerv'd)
Things that our Muses gravitie may fit,
Unclaspe the worlds great Register to mee,
That smoakie rust hath very neere defac'd,
That I in those dim Characters may see,
From common eyes that hath aside beene cast,
And thou Translator of that faithfull Muse
This Alls creation that divinely song,
From Courtly French (no travaile do'st refuse)
To make him Master of thy Genuin tong,
Salust to thee and Silvester thy friend,
Comes my high Poem peaceably and chaste,
Your hallow'd labours humbly to attend
That wrackfull Time shall not have power to waste.

A gallant Hebrew (in the height of life)
Amram a Levit honourably bred,
Of the same off-spring wan a beauteous wife,
And no lesse vertuous, goodly Jacobed:
So fitly pair'd that (without all ostent)
Even of the wise it hardly could be sayd
Which of the two was most preheminent,
Or he more honour'd, or she more obayd,
In both was found that liveliehood and meetnes,
By which affection any way was mov'd:
In him that shape, in her there was that sweetnes,
Might make him lik'd or her to be belov'd:
As this commixtion, so their maried mind
Their good corrected, or their ill releev'd,
As truly loving as discreetly kinde,
Mutuallie joy'd, as mutuallie greev'd:
Their nuptiall bed by abstinence maintain'd,
Yet still gave fewell to Loves sacred fire,
And when fruition plentifulli'st gain'd,
Yet were they chaste in fulnes of desire.

Now grieved Israel many a wofull day,
That at their vile servilitie repin'd,

359

Press'd with the burdens of rude boist'rous clay,
By sterne Egyptian tyrannie assign'd:
Yet still the more the Hebrewes are opprest
Like to Frim seed they fructifie the more
That by th'eternall providence fore-blest,
Goshen gives roomth but scantly to their store.
And the wise Midwives in their naturall neede,
That the faire males immediatlie should kill,
Hating s'abhord, and Hethenish a deede,
Check his harsh brutenes and rebellious will.
That small effect perceiving by the same,
Bids the men-children (greatelie that abound)
After that day into the world that came,
Upon their birth should instantly be drownd:
And now the time came had bin long foretold,
He should be borne unto the Hebrewes joy,
Whose puissant hand such fatall power should hold,
As in short time all Egipt should destroy.
The execution which more strongly forc'd,
And every where so generally done,
As in small time unnaturally divorc'd,
Many a deare Mother, and as deare a Sonne.
Though her chast bosome that faire Altar were,
Where Loves pure vowes he dutifully pay'd,
His Armes to her a Sanctuary deare,
Yet they so much his tyranny obay'd,
By free consent to separate their bed,
Better at all no Children yet to have,
Then their deare love should procreate the dead,
Untimely issue for a timelesse grave.
When in a vision whilst he slept by night,
God bids him so not Jacobed to leave,
The man that Egypt did so much affright,
Her pregnant wombe should happily conceave.

Joseph.

Soone after finding that she was with child,
The same conceales by all the meanes she can,
Lest by th'apparance she might be beguild,
If in the birth it prov'd to be a man.

360

The time she goes till her accompt was nie,
Her swelling belly no conception showes,
Nor at the time of her delivery,
As other women panged in her throwes.
When lo the faire fruit of that prospering wombe
Wounds the kinde parents in their prime of joy,
Whose birth pronounceth his too timelesse doombe
Accus'd by Nature, forming it a boy:
Yet tis so sweet, so amiably faire,
That their pleas'd eies with rapture it behold,
The glad-sad parents full of joy and care
Faine would reserve their Infant if they could,
And still they tempt the sundrie varying howers,
Hopes and despaires together strangely mixt,
Distasting sweets with many cordiall sowers,
Opposed interchangeably betwixt.
If ought it ayl'd or hapleslie it cride,
Unheard of any that she might it keepe,
With one short breath she did intreat and chide,
And in a moment she did sing and weepe.
Three lab'ring months them flatterer-like beguilde,
And danger still redoubling as it lasts,
Suspecting most the safety of the Childe,
Thus the kinde Mother carefully forecasts:
(For at three moneths a scrutinie was held,
And searchers then sent every where about,
That in that time if any were conceal'd,
They should make proofe and straitly bring them out:)
To Pharoes will she awfully must bow,
And therefore hastens to abridge these feares,
And to the flood determines it shall goe,
Yet ere it went shee'll drowne it with her teares.
This afternoone Love bids a little stay,
And yet these pauses doe but lengthen sorrow,
But for one night although she make delay,
She vowes to goe unto his death to morrow.
The morning comes, it is too early yet,
The day so fast not hast'ning on his date,

361

The gloomy Evening murther best doth fit,
The Evening come, and then it is too late.
Her pretty Infant lying on her lap
With his sweet eyes her threatning rage beguiles,
For yet he playes, and dallyes with his pap,
To mock her sorrowes with his am'rous smiles,
And laugh'd, and chuck'd: and spred the pretty hands,
When her full heart was at the point to breake,
(This little Creature yet not understands
The wofull language mothers teares did speake.)
Wherewith surpriz'd, and with a parents love,
From his faire eyes she doth fresh courage take,
And Natures lawes allowing, doth reprove
The fraile Edicts that mortall Princes make.
It shall not die, she'll keepe her child unknowne,
And come the worst in spight of Pharoes rage,
As it is hers, she will dispose her owne,
And if't must die, it'st die at riper age.
And thus revolving of her frailties care,
A thousand strange thoughts throng her troubled minde,
Sounding the dangers deepely what they are,
Betwixt the lawes of cruelty and kinde.
But it must die, and better yet to part,
Since preordain'd to this disast'rous fate,
His want will sit the neerer to the heart
In riper and more flourishing estate.
The perfect husband whose impressive soule,
Tooke true proportion of each pensive throw,
Yet had such power his passion to controule,
As not the same immediately to show.
With carriage full of comelinesse and grace,
As griefe not felt nor sorrow seem'd to lacke,
Courage and feare so temp'red in his face,
Thus his beloved Jacobed bespake.
Deare heart be patient, stay these timelesse teares,
Death of thy Son shall never quite bereave thee,
My soule with thine, that equall burthen beares,
As what he takes, my Love againe shall give thee:

362

For Israels sinne if Israels seed must suffer,
And we of meere necessity must leave him,
Please yet to grace me with this gentle offer,
Give him to me by whom thou didst conceyve him.
So though thou with so deare a jewell part,
This yet remayneth lastly to releeve thee,
Thou hast impos'd this hindrance on my heart,
Anothers losse shall need the lesse to grieve thee,
Nor are we Hebrewes abject by our name,
Though thus in Egypt hatefully despised,
That we that blessing fruitlesly should clayme
Once in that holy Covenant comprised,
It is not fit Mortality should know
What his eternall providence decreed,
That unto Abraham ratifi'd the vowe
In happy Sara and her hallowed seed.
Nor shall the wrong to godly Joseph done
In his remembrance ever be enrould,
By Jacobs sighes for his lost little sonne
A Captiv'd slave to the Egyptians sould:
Reason sets limmets to the longest griefe,
Sorrow scarse past when comfort is returning,
He sends affliction that can lend releefe,
Best that is pleas'd with measure in our mourning.

Lost in her selfe, her spirits are so distracted,
All hopes dissolv'd might fortifie her further,
Her minde seemes now of misery compacted,
That must consent unto so deere a murther.
Of slime and twigs she makes a simple shread
(The poore last duty to her child she owes
This pretty martyr, this yet living dead)
Wherein she doth his little corps enclose:
And meanes to beare it presently away,
And in some water secretly bestow it,
But yet a while bethinkes her selfe to stay,
Some little kindnesse she doeth further owe it:
Nor will she in this cruelty persever,
That by her meanes his timelesse blood be spilt,

363

If of her owne she doth her selfe deliver,
Let others hands be nocent of the guilt:
Yet if she keepe it from the ruthlesse flood
That is by Pharo's tyranny assign'd it,
What bootes that wretched miserable good,
If so dispos'd where none doe come to finde it,
For better yet the Homicide should kill it,
Or by some beast in peeces to be rent,
Than lingring famine cruelly should spill it,
That it endure a double languishment:
And neighbouring neere to the Egyptian Court,
She knowes a place that neere the river side
Was oft frequented by the worthier sort,
For now the spring was newly in her pride.
Thither she hastes but with a paynefull speed
The neerest way she possibly could get,
And by the cleere brimme mongst the flags and reede,
Her little Coffin carefully she set:
Her little Girle (the Mother following neere)
As of her Brother that her leave would take,
Which the sad woman unexpecting there,
Yet it to helpe her kindely thus bespake:
(Quoth she) sweet Miriam secretly attend,
And for his death see who approacheth hether,
That once for all assured of his end,
His dayes and mine be consummate together,
It is some comfort to a wretch to die
(If there be comfort in the way of death)
To have some friend or kinde alliance by,
To be officious at the parting breath:
Thus she departs, oft stayes, oft turneth backe,
Looking about lest any one espi'd her,
Faine would she leave, that leaving she doth lacke,
That in this sort so strangely doth divide her.
Unto what Dame (participating kinde)
My verse her sad perplexitie shall showe,
That in a softned and relenting minde
Findes not a true touch of that Mothers woe.

364

Yet all this while full quietly it slept,
(Poore little Brat incapable of care)
Which by that powerfull providence is kept,
Who doth this childe for better daies prepare.
See here an abject utterly forlorne,
Left to destruction as a violent prey,
Whom man might judge accursed to be borne,
To darke oblivion moulded up in clay,
That man of might in after times should bee
(The bounds of fraile mortality that brake)
Which that Almighty gloriously should see,
When he in thunder on mount Sinai spake.

Now Pharaoh's Daughter Termuth young & faire,
With such choyce Maydens as she favour'd most,
Needes would abroad to take the gentle ayre,
Whilst the rich yeere his braveries seem'd to boast:
Softly she walkes downe to the secret flood,
Through the calme shades most peaceable & quiet,
In the coole streames to check the pampred blood,
Stir'd with strong youth and their delicious diet;
Such as the Princesse, such the day addressed,
As though provided equally to paire her,
Either in other fortunately blessed
She by the day, the day by her made fairer,
Both in the height and fulnesse of their pleasure,
As to them both some future good divining,
Holding a steadie and accomplish'd measure,
This in her perfect clearenesse, that in shining.
The very ayre to emulate her meekenesse,
Strove to be bright and peaceable as she,
That it grew jealous of that sodaine sleekenesse,
Fearing it after otherwise might be:
And if the fleet winde by some rigorous gale
Seem'd to be mov'd, and patiently to chide her,
It was as angry with her lawnie vaile,
That from his sight it enviously should hide her:
And now approching to the flow'rie meade
Where the rich Summer curiously had dight her,

365

Which seem'd in all her jollitie arayde,
With Natures cost and pleasures to delight her:
See this most blessed, this unusuall hap,
She the small basket sooner should espie,
That the Childe wak'd, and missing of his pap,
As for her succour instantly did cry;
Forth of the flagges she caus'd it to be taken,
Calling her Maids this Orphanet to see,
Much did she joy an Innocent forsaken
By her from perill priviledg'd might be:
This most sweet Princesse pittifull and milde,
Soone on her knee unswathes it as her owne,
Found for a man, so beautifull a Childe,
Might for an Hebrew easily be knowne:
Noting the care in dressing it bestow'd,
Each thing that fitted gentlenesse to weare,
Judg'd the sad parents this lost Infant ow'd,
Were as invulgar as their fruit was faire,
(Saith she) my minde not any way suggests
An unchaste wombe these lineaments hath bred,
For thy faire brow apparently contests
The currant stampe of a cleane nuptiall bed:
She nam'd it Moyses, which in time might tell
(For names doe many mysteries expound)
When it was young the chance that it befell,
How by the water strangely it was found,
Calling Melch-women that Egyptians were,
Once to the teat his lips he would not lay,
As though offended with their sullied leare,
Seeming as still to turne his head away.

The little Girle that neere at hand did lurke,
(Thinking this while she tarried but too long)
Finding these things so happily to worke,
Kindely being crafty, wise as she was yong,
Madame (saith she) wilt please you I provide
A Nurse to breed the Infant you did finde,
There is an Hebrew dwelling here beside,
I know can doe it fitly to your minde:

366

For a right Hebrew if the Infant be,
(As well produce you instances I can,
And by this Childe as partly you may see,)
It will not sucke of an Egyptian.
The courteous Princesse offered now so faire,
That which before she earnestly desir'd,
That of her foundling had a speciall care,
The Girle to fetch her instantly requir'd:
Away the Girle goes, doth her Mother tell
What favor God had to her brother showne,
And what else in this accident befell,
That she might now be Nurse unto her owne.
Little it bootes to bid the Wench to ply her,
Nor the kinde Mother hearken to her sonne,
Nor to provoke her to the place to hie her,
Which seem'd not now on earthly feete to runne:
Slow to her selfe yet hasting as she flew,
(So fast affection forward did her beare)
As though forewafted with the breath she drew,
Borne by the force of nature and of feare,
Little the time, and little is the way,
And for her businesse eithers speede doth crave,
Yet in her haste bethinkes her what to say,
And how her selfe in presence to behave,
Slack shee'l not seeme lest to anothers trust
Her hopefull charge were happily directed,
Nor yet too forward shew her selfe she must,
Lest her sweet fraud thereby might be suspected;
Com'n she doth bow her humbly to the ground,
And every joynt incessantly doth tremble,
Gladnesse and feare each other so confound,
So hard a thing for Mothers to dissemble.
Saith this sweet Termuth, well I like thy beautie,
Nurse me this Childe (if it thy state behoove)
Although a Prince ile not enforce thy dutie,
But pay thy labour, and reward thy love:
Though even as Gods is Pharaohs high command,
And as strong Nature so precise and strict,

367

There rests that power yet in a Princesse hand,
To free one Hebrew from this strong edict:
That shall in rich abilliments be dight,
Deck'd in the Jems that admirabl'st shine,
Wearing our owne roabe gracious in our sight,
Free in our Court, and nourished for mine:
Love him deare Hebrew as he were thine owne,
Good Nurse be carefull of my little Boy,
In this to us thy kindenesse may be showne,
Some Mothers griefe, is now a Maydens joy.

This while all mute, the poore astonish'd Mother,
With admiration as transpearced stood,
One bursting joy doth so confound another,
Passion so powerfull in her ravish'd blood.
Whisp'ring some soft words which delivered were,
As rather seem'd her silence to impart,
And being inforc'd from bashfulnesse and feare,
Came as true tokens of a gracefull heart.
Thus she departs her husband to content,
With this deare present backe to him she brought,
Making the time short, telling each event,
In all shapes joy presented to her thought.
Yet still his manly modesty was such
(That his affections strongly so controlde,)
As if joy seem'd his manly heart to touch,
It was her joy and gladnesse to behold:
When all rejoyc'd unmov'd thereat the whiles,
In his grave face such constancie appeares,
As now scarse shewing comfort in his smiles,
Nor then revealing sorrow in his teares:
Yet oft beheld it with that stedfast eye,
Which though it sdain'd the pleasdnesse to confesse,
More in his lookes in fulnesse there did lie,
Than all their words could any way expresse.

In time the Princesse playing with the Childe,
In whom she seem'd her chiefe delight to take,

Josephus. Pet. Comestor.

With whom she oft the wearie time beguil'd,
That as her owne did of this Hebrew make:

368

It so fell out as Pharaoh was in place,
Seeing his daughter in the Childe to joy,
To please the Princesse, and to doe it grace,
Himselfe vouchsafes to entertaine the Boy:
Whose shape and beautie when he did behold
With much content his Princely eye that fed,
Giving to please it, any thing it would,
Set his rich Crowne upon the Infants head,
Which this weake Childe regarding not at all
(As such a Babie carelesly is meete)
Unto the ground the Diadem let fall
Spurning it from him with neglectfull feete.
Which as the Priests beheld this ominous thing
(That else had past unnoted as a toy)
As from their skill report unto the King,
This was the man that Egypt should destroy.
Tolde by the Magi that were learn'd and wise,
Which might full well the jealous King enflame,
Said by th'Egyptian ancient prophecies
That might give credite easlier to the same.
She as discreete as she was chaste and faire,
With Princely gesture and with count'nance milde
By things that hurtfull and most dangerous were
Showes to the King the weakenesse of the Childe:
Hot burning coales doth to his mouth present,
Which he to handle simply doth not sticke,
This little foole, this retchlesse Innocent
The burning gleed with his soft tongue doth licke:
Which though in Pharaoh her desire it wrought,
His babish imbecilitie to see,
To the Childes speech impediment it brought,
From which he after never could be free.

The Childe grew up, when in his manly face
Beautie was seene in an unusuall cheere,
Such mixtures sweet of comelinesse and grace
Likely apparell'd in complexion cleere.
The part of earth contends with that of heaven,
Both in their proper puritie excelling,

369

To whether more preheminence was given,
Which should excell the dweller or the dwelling.
Mens usuall stature he did farre exceede,
And every part proportioned so well,
The more the eye upon his shape did feede,
The more it long'd upon the same to dwell:
Each joynt such perfect Harmonie did beare,
That curious judgement taking any lim
Searching might misse to match it any where,
Nature so fail'd in parallelling him:
His haire bright yellow, on an arched brow
Sate all the beauties kinde could ever frame,
And did them there so orderly bestow,
As such a seate of majestie became.
As time made perfect each exteriour part,
So still his honour with his yeeres encreas'd,
That he sate Lord in many a tender heart,
With such high favours his faire youth was bless'd.

So fell it out that Æthiop warre began,
Invading Egypt with their armed powers,
And taking spoiles, the Country over-ran
To where as Memphis vaunts her climing Towers.
Wherefore they with their Oracles conferre
About th'event, which doe this answere make,
That if they would transport this civill warre,
They to their Captaine must an Hebrew take.
And for faire Moyses happily was growne
Of so great towardnesse and especiall hope,
Him they doe choose as absolutest knowne
To leade their power against the Æthiope.
Which they of Termuth hardly can obtaine,
Though on their Altars by their Gods they vowe
Him to deliver safe to her againe,
(Once the warre ended) safe as he was now.
Who for the way the Armie was to passe,
That by th'Egyptians onely was intended,
Most part by water, more prolixious was
Than present perill any whit commended:

370

To intercept the Æthiopians wrought
A way farre nearer who their Legions led,
Which till that time impassible was thought,
Such store of Serpents in that place was bred:
Devis'd by Birds this danger to eschew,
Whereof in Egypt he exceeding store,
The Storke, and Ibis, which he wisely knew,
All kindes of Serpents naturally abhore.
Which he in Baskets of Ægyptian reede,
Borne with his caridge easely doth convay,
And where incampeth sets them forth to feede,
Which drive the Serpents presently away.
Thus them preventing by this subtill course,
That all their succour sodainly bereft,
When Æthiop flies before th'Egyptian force,
Shut up in Saba their last refuge left.
Which whilst with strait siedge they beleagred long,
The Kings faire Daughter haps him to behold,
And became fettered with affection strong,

Comester.

Which in short time could hardly be controlde.
Tarbis that kindled this rebellious rage,
That they to Egypt tributorie were,
When the olde King decrepit now with age,
She in his stead the soveraigntie did beare.
Up to his Tower where she the Camp might see,
To looke her new Love every day she went,
And when he hap'ned from the field to be,
She thought her blest beholding but his Tent,
And oftentimes doth modestly invay
'Gainst him the Citie walled first about,
That the strong site should churlishly denay
Him to come in, or her for passing out,
Had the gates beene but softned as her breast
(That to behold her loved enemie stands)
He had ere this of Saba beene possest,
And therein planted the Egyptian bands:
Oft from a place as secretly she might
(That from her Pallace look'd unto his Tent)

371

When he came forth appearing in his sight,
Shewing by signes the love to him she ment.
For in what armes it pleas'd him to be dight,
After the Hebrew or th'Egyptian guise:
He was the bravest, the most goodly wight
That ever graced Æthiop with his eyes.
And finding meanes to parley from a place,
By night, her passion doth to him discover,
To yeeld the Citie if he would embrace
Her a true Princesse, as a faithfull Lover.
The feature of so delicate a Dame,
Motives sufficient to his youth had beene,
But to be Lord of Kingdomes by the same,
And of so great and absolute a Queene,
Soone gently stole him from himselfe away,
That doth to him such rarities partake,
Off'ring so rich, so excellent a prey,
Loving the treason for the Traytors sake.

But whilst he lived in this glorious vaine,
Israel his conscience oftentimes doth move,
That all this while in Egypt did remaine
Vertue and grace o'recomming youth and love.
And though God knowes unwilling to depart,
From so high Empire wherein now he stood,
And her that sate so neere unto his heart,
Such power hath Israel in his happie blood,
By skill to quit him forcibly he wrought,
As he was learn'd and traded in the starres,
Both by the Hebrewes, and th'Egyptians taught,
That were the first, the best Astronomers,
Two sundry figures makes, whereof the one
Cause them that weare it all things past forget,
As th'other of all accidents foregone

Comester ex Vet. Script.

The memory as eagerly doth whet.
Which he insculped in two likely stones,
For rarenesse of invaluable price,
And cunningly contriv'd them for the nones
In likely rings of excellent devise:

372

That of oblivion giving to his Queene,
Which soone made show the violent effect
Forgot him straight as he had never beene,
And did her former kindenesses neglect.
The other (that doth memorie assist)
Him with the love of Israel doth enflame,
Departing thence not how the Princesse wist,
In peace he leaves her as in warre he came.
But all the pleasures of th'Egyptian Court,
Had not such power upon his springing yeeres,
As had the sad and tragicall report
Of the rude burdens captiv'd Israel beares,
Nor what regards he to be grac'd of Kings?
Or flatred greatnes idely to awaite?
Or what respects he the negotiating
Matters comporting Emperie and State?
The bondage and servilitie that lay
On buried Israel (sunke in ordurous slime)
His greeved spirit downe heavily doth way,
That to leane care oft leant the prosperous time.
A wreched Hebrew hap'ned to behold
Brus'd with sad burdens without all remorse
By an Egyptian barb'rously controlde,
Spurning his pin'd and miserable corse
Which he beholding vexed as he stood,
His faire veines swelling with impatient fire,
Pittie and rage so wrestled in his blood
To get free passage to conceaved ire,
Rescuing the man th'Egyptian doth resist:
(Which from his vile hands forcibly he tooke)
And by a strong blowe with his valiant fist,
His hatefull breath out of his nostrils strooke,
Which though his courage boldly dare averre,
In the proud power of his Emperious hand,
Yet from high honour deigneth to interre,
The wretched carkasse in the smouldring sand.
Which then supposd in secret to be wrought,
Yet still hath Envie such a jealous eye,

373

As foorth the same incontinent it sought,
And to the King delivered by and by,
Which soone gave vent to Pharo's covered wrath,
Which till this instant reason did confine,
Opening a strait way, and apparant path
Unto that greate and terrible designe:
Most for his safety forcing his retreate
When now affliction every day did breed,
And when revengfull tyrannie did threate
The greatest horrour to the Hebrew seed.
To Midian now his Pilgrimage he tooke,
Midian earthes onely Paradice for pleasures,
Where many a soft Rill, many a sliding Brooke,
Through the sweet vallies trip in wanton measures,
Whereas the curl'd Groves and the flowrie fields,
To his free soule so peaceable and quiet
More true delight and choise contentment yeelds,
Than Egipts braveries and luxurious diet:
And wandring long he hap'ned on a Well,
Which he by pathes frequented might espie,
Bordred with trees where pleasure seem'd to dwell,
Where to repose him, eas'ly downe doth lie:
Where the soft windes did mutually embrace,
In the coole Arbours Nature there had made,
Fanning their sweet breath gently in his face
Through the calme cincture of the am'rous shade.
Till now it nigh'd the noone-stead of the day,
When scorching heat the gadding Heards do grieve,
When Shepheards now and Heardsmen every way,
Their thirsting Cattell to the Fountaine drive:
Amongst the rest seven Shepheardesses went
Along the way for watring of their Sheepe,
Whose eyes him seemed such reflection sent,
As made the Flocks even white that they did keepe:
Girles that so goodly and delightfull were,
The fields were fresh and fragrant in their viewe,
Winter was as the Spring time of the yeere,
The grasse so proud that in their footsteps grewe:

374

Daughters they were unto a holy man,
(And worthy too of such a Sire to be)
Jethro the Priest of fertile Midian,
Few found so just, so righteous men as he.
But see the rude Swaine, the untutour'd slave,
Without respect or rev'rence to their kinde,
Away their faire flocks from the water drave,
Such is the nature of the barb'rous Hinde.
The Maides (perceaving where a stranger sat)
Of whom those Clownes so basely did esteeme,
Were in his presence discontent thereat,
Whom hee perhaps improvident might deeme.
Which he perceaving kindely doth entreate,
Reproves the Rusticks for that off'red wrong,
Averring it an injurie too great,
To such (of right) all kindenesse did belong.
But finding well his Oratorie faile,
His fists about him frankly he bestowes,
That where perswasion could not late prevaile,
He yet compelleth quickly by his blowes.
Entreates the Dam'sels their aboade to make,
(With Courtly semblance and a manly grace,)
At their faire pleasures quietly to take,
What might be had by freedome of the place.
Whose beautie, shape, and courage they admire,
Exceeding these, the honour of his minde,
For what in mortall could their hearts desire,
That in this man they did not richly finde?
Returning sooner then their usuall hower,
All that had hapned to their Father tould,
That such a man reliev'd them by his power,
As one all civill curtesie that could:
Who full of bountie hospitably meeke
Of his behaviour greatly pleas'd to heare,
Forthwith commands his servants him to seeke,
To honour him by whom his honour'd were:
Gently receives him to his goodly seat,
Feasts him his friends and families among,

375

And him with all those offices entreat,
That to his place and vertues might belong:
Whilst in the beauty of those goodly Dames,
Wherein wise Nature her owne skill admires,
He feeds those secret and impiercing flames,
Nurs'd in fresh youth, and gotten in desires:
Wonne with this man this princely Priest to dwell,
For greater hire then bounty could devise,
For her whose prayse makes prayse it selfe excell,
Fairer then fairenesse, and as wisedome wise.
In her, her Sisters severally were seene,
Of every one she was the rarest part,
Who in her presence any time had beene,
Her Angell eye transpierced not his heart?
For Zipora a Shepheards life he leads,
And in her sight deceives the subtill howres,
And for her sake oft robs the flowrie meades,
With those sweet spoiles t'enrich her rurall bowres.
Up to mount Horeb with his flocke he tooke,
The flocke wise Jethro willed him to keepe,
Which well he garded with his Shepheards crooke,
Goodly the Shepheard, goodly were the Sheepe:
To feede and folde full warily he knew,
From Fox and Wolfe his wandring flockes to free,
The goodli'st flowers that in the meadowes grew
Were not more fresh and beautifull than hee.
Gently his fayre flockes lessow'd he along,
Through the Frim pastures freely at his leasure,
Now on the hills, the vallies then among,
Which seeme themselves to offer to his pleasure.
Whilst featherd Silvans from each blooming spray,
With murm'ring waters wistly as they creepe,
Make him such musicke (to abridge the way,)
As fits a Shepheard company to keepe.
When loe that great and fearefull God of might
To that faire Hebrew strangely doth appeare,
In a bush burning visible and bright
Yet unconsuming as no fire there were:

376

With hayre erected and upturned eyes,
Whilst he with great astonishment admires,
Loe that eternall Rector of the skies,
Thus breathes to Moyses from those quickning fires,
Shake off thy Sandals (saith the thund'ring God)
With humbled feet my wondrous power to see.
For that the soyle where thou hast boldly trod,
Is most select and hallowed unto me:
The righteous Abraham for his God me knew,
Isaac and Jacob trusted in mine Name,
And did beleeve my Covenant was true,
Which to their seed shall propagate the same:
My folke that long in Egypt had beene bard,
Whose cries have entred heavens eternall gate,
Our zealous mercy openly hath heard,
Kneeling in teares at our eternall State.
And am come downe, them in the Land to see,
Where streames of milke through batfull Valleys flow,
And lushious hony dropping from the tree,
Load the full flow'rs that in the shadowes grow:
By thee my power am purposed to trie,
That from rough bondage shalt the Hebrewes bring,
Bearing that great and fearfull Embassie
To that Monarchall and Emperious King.
And on this Mountaine (standing in thy sight,)
When thou returnest from that conquered Land,
Thou hallow'd Altars unto me shalt light,
This for a token certainly shall stand.

O who am I? this wondring man replies,
A wretched mortall that I should be sent,
And stand so cleere in thine eternall eyes,
To doe a worke of such astonishment:
And trembling now with a transfixed heart,
Humbling himselfe before the Lord (quoth hee)
Who shall I tell the Hebrewes that thou art,
That giv'st this large commission unto me?
Say (quoth the Spirit from that impetuous flame)
Unto the Hebrewes asking thee of this,

377

That 'twas, I Am: which onely is my Name,
God of their Fathers, so my Title is:
Divert thy course to Goshen then againe,
And to divulge it constantly be bold,
And their glad eares attractively retaine,
With what at Sinay Abrahams God hath told:
And tell great Pharo, that the Hebrewes God
Commands from Egypt that he set you free,
Three journies thence in Desarts farre abroad,
To offer hallow'd sacrifice to mee.
But he refusing to dismisse you so,
On that proud King Ile execute such force
As never yet came from the Sling, the Bow,
The keen-edg'd Curt'lax, or the puisant Horse;
But if th'afflicted miserable sort
To idle incredulity inclin'd,
Shall not (quoth Moyses) credit my report,
That thou to me hast so great power assign'd.
Cast downe (saith God) thy Wand unto the ground,
Which hee obaying fearefully, beholde
The same a Serpent sodainly was found,
It selfe contorting into many a folde.
With such amazement Moyses doth surprise
With colde convulsions shrinking every vaine,
That his affrighted and uplifted eyes
Even shot with horrour, sinke into his braine.
But being encourag'd by the Lord to take
The ugly taile into his trembling hand,
As from a dreame he sudainely doth wake,
When at the instant it became a wand.
By the same hand into his bosome shut,
Whose eyes his withered leprosie abhor'd,
When forth he drewe it secondly be'ng put,
Unto the former puritie restor'd.
These signes he gives this sad admiring man,
Which he the weake incredulous should showe,
When this fraile mortall freshly now began
To forge new causes, why unfit to goe?

378

Egypt accusing to have done him wrong,
Scantling that bountie Nature had bestow'd,
Which had welnere depriv'd him of his tong,
Which to this office chiefely had beene ow'd:
When he whose wisdome Nature must obey,
In whose resistance reason weakely failes,
To whom all humane instances give way,
Gainst whom not subtill Argument prevailes
Thus doth reprove this idle vaine excuse,
Who made the mouth? who th'eie? or who the eare?
Or who deprives those organs of their use?
That thou thy imbecillitie should'st feare?
Thy brother Aaron commeth unto thee,
Which as thy Speaker purposely I bring,
To whom thy selfe even as a God shalt bee,
And he interpret to th'Egyptian King.
That when he at thy miracles shall wonder,
And wan with feare shall tremble at thy rod,
To feele his power that swayes the dreadfull thunder,
That is a jealous and a fearefull God.
Then shall mine owne selfe purchase me renowne,
And win me honour by my glorious deede
On all the Pharo's on th'Egyptian throne,
That this proud mortall ever shall succeede.

379

THE SECOND BOOKE.

The Argument.

Moyses doth his message bring,
Acts miracles before the King,
With him the Magi doe contend,
Which he doth conquer in the end,
When by the extensure of the wand,
He brings ten plagues upon the Land,
And in despight of Pharo's pride,
From Goshen doth the Hebrewes guide.

When now from Midian Moses forward set,
With whom his wife & faire retinew went,
Where on his way him happily hath met
His brother Aron to the Lords intent,
And to the Hebrewes in th'impatient hand,
Of mighty Egypt all his power implies,
And as the Lord expresly did command,
Acteth his wonders in their pleased eyes.
Those myracles mortality beholds
With an astonish'd and distracted looke,
The minde that so amazedly enfolds,
That every sense the faculty forsooke.
The little Infant with abundant joy,
To mans estate immediatly is sprung,
And though the old man could not back turne boy,
Casts halfe his yeeres so much becomming yong,
Whilst mirth in fulnesse measureth every eye,
Each breast is heap'd up with excesse of pleasure,
Rearing their spred hands to the glorious Skie,
Gladly imbracing the Almighties leasure.
These Hebrewes entring the Egyptian Court,
Their great Commission publiquely proclaime,
Which there repulsed as a slight report,
Doth soone denounce defiance to the same.
Where now these men their miracles commend,
By which their power precisely might be tride,

380

And Pharo for his Sorcerers doth send,
By them the Hebrewes only to deride.
Where Heaven must now apparantly transcend
Th'infernall powers Emperiously to thwart,
And the bright perfect Deitie contend
With abstruse Magicke and fallacious Art.
Never was so miraculous a strife
Where admiration ever so abounded,
Where wonders were so prodigally rife,
That to behold it Nature stood confounded.
Casting his rod a Serpent that became,
Which he suppos'd with marvaile them might strike,
When every Priest assaying in the same,
By his black skill did instantly the like:
Which Pharo's breast with arrogance doth fill,
Above the high Gods to exalt his power,
When by his might (t'amate their weaker skill)
The Hebrewes rod doth all the rods devoure:
Which deed of wonder slightly he rejects,
His froward Spirit insatiatly elate,
Which after caus'd those violent effects
That sate on Egypt with the power of Fate.
When he whose wisdome ere the world did fare,
From whom not counsell can her secrets hide,
Forewarneth Moses early to prepare
T'accost the proud King by the rivers side.

What heavenly rapture doth enrich my braine,
And through my blood extravagantly flowes,
That doth transport me to that endlesse maine,
Whereas th'Almighty his high glories showes?
That holy heat into my Spirit infuse,
Wherewith thou wont'st thy Prophets to inspire,
And lend that power to our delightfull Muse,
As dwelt in sounds of that sweet Hebruack Lyre.
A taske unusuall I must now assay,
Striving through perill to support this masse,
No former foot did ever tract a way,
Where I propose unto my selfe to passe.

381

When Moses meeting the Egyptian King,
Urgeth a fresh the Israelites depart,
And him by Aaron stoutly menacing,
To try the temper of his stubborne heart.
When loe the Torrent the fleet hurrying flood

The 1. Plague.

So cleere and perfect Christalline at hand,
As a black lake or setled marish stood
At th'extensure of the Hebrewes wand.
Where Segs, ranck Bulrush, and the sharpned Reed
That with the fluxure of the wave is fed,
Might be discern'd unnaturally to bleed,
Dying their fresh greene to a sullied red:
Like issuing ulcers every little Spring,
That being ripened voyd the filthy core,
Their lothsome slime and matter vomiting
Into the Rivers they enrich'd before:
What in her banks hath batning Nilus bred,
Serpent, or Fish, or strange deformed thing
That on her bosome she not beareth dead,
Where they were borne them lastly burying?
That Bird and Beast incontinently fly
From the detested and contagious stinke,
And rather choose by cruell thirst to dye,
Then once to taste of this contaminate drinke,
And usefull Cisternes delicatly fild,
With which rich Egypt wondrously abounds,
Looking as Bowles receiving what was spild
From mortall and immedicable wounds.
That the faint earth even poys'ned now remaines,
In her owne selfe so grievously dejected,
Horrid pollution travailing her vaines,
Desp'rate of cure so dangerously infected
The spungy soyle, that digging deepe and long
To soke cleere liquor from her plenteous pores,
This bloody issue breaketh out among,
As sickly menstrues or inveterate sores:
Seven dayes continuing in this flux of blood,
Sadly sits Egypt a full weeke of woe,

382

Shame taints the brow of every stew and flood,
Blushing, the world her filthinesse to show.
Yet sdaines proud Pharo Israel thus to free,
Nor this dire plague his hardned heart can tame,
Which he suppos'd but fallaces to bee,
When his Magitians likewise did the same.

When he againe that glorious Rod extends
'Gainst him that Heaven denieth thus to dare,
On Egypt soone a second plague that sends,
Which he till now seem'd partially to spare.
The soyle, that late the owner did enrich
Him his faire Heards and goodly flocks to feed,
Lies now a leystall or a common ditch,
Where in their Todder loathly Paddocks breed.
Where as the up-land montanous and hie
To them that sadly doe behold it showes,
As though in labour with this filthy frie,
Stirring with paine in the parturious throwes:
People from windowes looking to the ground,
At this stupendious spectacle amazed,
See but their sorrow every where abound,
That most abhorring whereon most they gazed.
Their Troughes and Ovens Toadstooles now become,
That Huswifes wont so carefully to keepe,
These loathsome creatures taking up the roome,
And croking, there continually doe creepe.
And as great Pharo on his Throne is set,
From thence affrighted with this odious thing,
Which crawling up into the same doth get,
And him deposing sitteth as a King.
The wearied man his spirits that to refresh
Gets to his bed to free him from his feare,
Scarce laid but feeles them at his naked flesh,
So small the succour that remaineth there.
No Court so close to which the speckled Toad
By some small cranny creepes not by and by,
No Tower so strong nor naturall aboad,
To which for safety any one might fly:

383

Egypt now hates the world her so should call,
Of her owne selfe so grievously asham'd,
And so contemned in the eyes of all,
As but in scorne she scarcely once is nam'd.
When this prophane King with a wounded heart
(His Magi though these miracles could doe)
Sees in his soule one greater then their Art,
Above all power, that put a hand thereto:
But as these plagues and sad afflictions ceas'd
At the just prayer of this milde godlike man,
So Pharoes pride and stubbornesse encreas'd,
And his lewd course this head-strong Mortall ran.
Which might have surelier setled in his minde,
(At his request which Moses quickly slew,
Leaving a stench so pestilent behinde)
As might preserve old sorrowes freshly new.
But stay my Muse in height of all this speed,
Somewhat plucks back to quench this sacred heat,
And many perils doth to us areed
In that whereof we seriously entreat.
Lest too concise injuriously we wrong
Things that such state and fearfulnesse impart,
Or led by zeale irregularly long,
Infringe the curious liberties of Art,
We that calumnious Critick may eschew,
That blasteth all things with his poys'ned breath,
Detracting what laboriously we doe,
Onely with that which he but idely saith.
O be our guide whose glories now we preach,
That above Bookes must steere us in our Fate,
For never Ethnick to this day did teach,
(In this) whose method we might imitate.
When now these men of miracle proceed,
And by extending of that wondrous wand,
As that resistlesse providence decreed,
Thereby brings Lyce on the distemp'red Land:
All struck with Lyce so numberlesse they lie,

The 3 Plague.

The dust growne quick in every place doth creepe,

384

The sands their want doe secondly supply,
As they at length would suffocate the Deepe:
That th'atomi that in the beames appeare,
As they the Sunne through cranies shining see,
The forme of those detested things doe beare,
So miserable the Egyptians bee:
Who rak'd the brands the passed Evening burn'd,
(As is the use the Mornings fire to keepe)
To these foule vermine findes the ashes turn'd,
Covering the Harth, so thick thereon they creepe:
Now Prince and pesant equally are drest,
The costliest silkes and coursest rags alike,
The worst goes now companion with the best,
The hand of God so generally doth strike.
The Kings Pavillion and the Captives pad
Are now in choice indifferent unto either,
Great, small, faire, foule, rich, poore, the good and bad
Doe suffer in this pestilence together,
In vaine to cleanse, in vaine to purge, and pick,
When every Moath that with the breath doth rise,
Forthwith appeareth venemously quick,
Although so small scarce taken by the eyes.
By which his wisdome strongly doth prevaile,
When this selfe-wise, this overweening man,
Even in the least, the slightest thing doth faile,
The very beggar absolutely can,
When now these Wizards with transfixed hearts
To make his glory by the same the more,
Confesse a Godhead shining through their Arts,
Which by their Magicks they deni'd before.
Yet this proud Pharo as oppugning fate,
Still doth resist that Majestie so hie,
And to himselfe doth yet appropriate
A supreame power his Godhead to deny.
When from his wilfull stubbornesse doth grow
That great amazement to all eares and eyes,
When now the Lord by Aarons Rod will show
His mighty power even in the wretched'st Flies,

385

Varying his vengeance in as many kindes,
As Pharo doth his obstinacies vary,
Suting his plagues so fitly with their mindes,
As though their sinne his punishments did cary.
In Summer time as in an Evening faire,
The Gnats are heard in a tumultuous sound
On tops of hils, so troubled is the ayre
To the disturbance of the wondring ground.
The skies are darkned as they yet doe hover
In so grosse clouds congested in their flight,
That the whole Land with multitudes they cover,
Stopping the streames as generally the light.
O cruell Land, might these not yet thee move?
Art thou alone so destitute of feare?
Or dost thou meane thy utmost to approve
How many plagues thou able art to beare?
Three have forethreatned thy destruction sure,
And now the fourth is following on as fast,
Dost thou suppose thy pride can still endure?
Or that his vengeance longer cannot last?
These are as weake and worthlesse as the rest,
Thou much infeebled, and his strength is more,
Fitly prepar'd thee sadly to infest
Thy sinnes so many, by their equall store.
This wretched creature man might well suppose
To be the least that he had need to feare,
Amongst the rest is terrifi'd with those
With which before none ever troubled were.
As we behold a swarming cast of Bees
In a swolne cluster to some branch to cleave:
Thus doe they hang in bunches on the trees,
Pressing each plant, and loading ev'ry greave.
The houses covered with these must'ring Flies,
And the faire windowes that for light were made,
Eclips'd with horror, seeming to their eyes
Like the dimme twilight, or some ominous shade.
For humane food what Egypt had in store,
The creatures feed on, till they bursting die,

386

And what in this unhappy Land was more,
Their loathsome bodies lastly putrifie.

O goodly Goshen where the Hebrewes rest,
How deare thy children in th'Almighties sight,
That for their sakes thou onely should'st be blest,
When all these plagues on the Egyptians light?
What promis'd people rested thee within,
To whom no perill ever might aspire,
For whose deare sake some watchfull Cherubin
Stood to defend thee arm'd in glorious fire?
Thou art that holy Sanctuary made,
Where all th'afflicted cast aside their feare,
Whose priviledges ever to invade,
The Heavens command their horrors to forbeare.
But since mans pride and insolence is such,
Nor by these plagues his will to passe could bring,
Now with a sharpe and wounding hand will touch
The dearer body of each living thing:
To other ends his courses to direct,
By all great meanes his glory to advance,
Altreth the cause by altring the effect,
To worke by wonder their deliverance.

As Aaron grasping ashes in his hand,
Which scarcely cast into the open aire,
But brings a murraine over all the Land,

The 5. Plague.

With scabs and botches such as never were.
What chewes the cud, or hoofe or horne alotted,
Wild in the fields, or tamed by the yoke,
With this contagious pestilence is rotted,
So universall's the Almighties stroke.
The goodly Horse of hot and fiery straine
In his high courage hardly brook'd his food,
That Ditch or Mound not lately could containe,
On the firme ground so scornfully that stood,
Crest-falne hangs downe his hardly manag'd head,
Lies where but late disdainfully he trod,
His quick eye fixed heavily and dead,
Stirres not when prick'd with the impulsive goad.

387

The Swine which Nature secretly doth teach,
Onely by fasting sicknesses to cure,
Now but in vaine is to it selfe a Leech,
Whose suddaine end infallibly is sure.
Where frugall Shepheards reckoning wooll and lambe,
Or who by Heards hop'd happily to winne,
Now sees the young-one perish with the damme,
Nor dare his hard hand touch the poys'ned skinne.
Those fertile pastures quickly over-spread
With their dead Cattell, where the birds of prey
Gorg'd on the garbidge (wofully bestead)
Pois'ned fall downe as they would fly away.
And hungry dogs the tainted flesh refrain'd,
Whereon their Master gormondiz'd of late,
What Nature for mans appetite ordain'd,
The creature that's most ravenous doth hate.
Thus all that breathes and kindly hath encrease,
Suffer for him that proudly did offend,
Yet in this manner here it shall not cease,

The 6 Plague.

In Beasts begun, in wretched man to end.
To whom it further violently can,
Not by th'Almighty limited to slake,
As Beast is plagued for rebellious man,
Man in some measure must his paine partake.
Those dainty breasts that open'd lately were,
Which with rich vaines so curiously did flow,
With Biles and Blaines most loathsome doe appeare,
Which now the Dam'zell not desires to show.
Features disfigur'd onely now the faire,
(All are deformed) most ill-favour'd be,
Where beautie was most exquisite and rare,
There the least blemish easili'st you might see.
For costly garments fashion'd with device
To forme each choise part curious eyes to please,
The sicke mans Gowne is onely now in price
To give their bloch'd and blistred bodies ease,
It is in vaine the Surgeons hand to prove,
Or helpe of Physicke to asswage the smart,

388

For why the power that ruleth from above
Crosseth all meanes of industrie and Art.
Egypt is now an Hospitall forlorne,
Where onely Cripples and diseased are,
How many Children to the world are borne,
So many Lazers thither still repaire.
When those proud Magi as oppos'd to Fate,
That durst high Heav'n in ev'ry thing to dare,
Now in most vile and miserable state
As the mean'st Caitive equally doe fare.
Thus stands that man so eminent alone,
Arm'd with his power that governeth the skie,
Now when the Wizards lastly overthrowne,
Groveling in sores before his feete doe lie.
Not one is found unpunished escapes
So much to doe his hungry wrath to feede,
Which still appeareth in as many shapes
As Pharaoh doth in tyrannies proceede.
Even as some grave wise Magistrate to finde
Out some vile treason, or some odious crime

A similie of Gods justice.

That beareth every circumstance in minde,
Of place, of manner, instance, and of time:
That the suspected strongly doth arest,
And by all meanes invention can devise
By hopes or torture out of him to wrest
The ground, the purpose, and confederacies,
Now slacks his paine, now doth the same augment,
Yet in his strait hand doth containe him still,
Proportioning his allotted punishment
As hee's remoov'd or pliant to his will.
But yet hath Egypt somewhat left to vaunt,
What's now remaining, may her pride repaire,
But lest she should perhaps be arrogant,
Till she be humbled he will never spare.
These plagues seeme yet but nourished beneath,
And even with man terrestrially to move,
Now Heaven his furie violently shall breath,
Rebellious Egypt scourging from above.

389

Winter let loose in his robustious kinde

The 7. Plague.

Wildly runnes raving through the airie plaines,
As though his time of liberty assign'd
Roughly now shakes off his impris'ning chaines.
The windes spet fire in one anothers face,
And mingled flames fight furiously together,
Through the mild Heaven that one the other chace,
Now flying thence and then returning thether.
No light but lightning ceaselesly to burne
Swifter than thought from place to place to passe,
And being gone doth sodainly returne
Ere you could say precisely that it was.
In one selfe moment darkenesse and the light
Instantly borne, as instantly they die,
And every minute is a day and night
That breakes and sets in twinkling of an eye.
Mountaine and valley suffer one selfe ire,
The stately Tower and lowlie coate alike,
The shrub and Cedar this impartiall fire
In one like order generally doth strike,
On flesh and plant this subtill lightning praies,
As through the pores it passage fitly findes,
In the full wombe the tender burthen slaies,
Piercing the stiffe trunke through the spungie rindes.
Throughout this great and universall Ball
The wrath of Heaven outragiously is throwne,
As the lights quickning and Celestiall,
Had put themselves together into one.
This yet continuing the big-bellied clouds,
With heate and moisture in their fulnesse brake,
And the sterne Thunder from the ayrie shrouds
To the sad world in feare and horrour spake.
The blacke storme bellowes and the yerning vault,
Full charg'd with furie as some signall given,
Preparing their artillirie t'assault,
Shoot their sterne vollies in the face of Heaven.
The bolts new wing'd with fork'd Æthereall fire,
Through the vast Region every where doe rove,

390

Goring the earth in their impetuous ire,
Pierce the proud'st building, rend the thickest Grove.
When the breeme Haile as rising in degrees
Like ruffled arrowes through the aire doth sing,
Beating the leaves and branches from the trees,
Forcing an Autumne earlier than the Spring.
The Birds late shrouded in their safe repaire,
Where they were wont from Winters wrath to rest,
Left by the tempest to the open aire
Shot with cold bullets through the trembling brest:
Whilst cattell grasing on the batfull ground,
Finding no shelter from the showre to hide
In ponds and ditches willingly are drownd,
That this sharpe storme no longer can abide:
Windowes are shivered to forgotten dust,
The slates fall shatt'red from the roofe above,
Where any thing findes harbour from this gust,
Now even as death it feareth to remove.
The rude and most impenitrable rocke
Since the foundation of the world was laid,
Never before stir'd with tempestuous shocke,
Melts with this storme as sensibly afraid.
Never yet with so violent a hand,
A brow contracted and so full of feare,
God scourg'd the pride of a rebellious Land,
Since into Kingdomes Nations gathered were.
But he what Mortall was there ever knowne,
So many strange afflictions did abide
On whom so many miseries were throwne,
Whom Heaven so oft and angerly did chide?
Who but relenting Moyses doth relieve?
Taking off that which oft on him doth light,
Whom God so oft doth punish and forgive,
Thereby to prove his mercy and his might.
So that eternall providence could frame
The meane whereby his glory should be tride,
That as he please, miraculously can tame
Mans sensuall wayes, his transitorie pride.

391

But Pharaoh bent to his rebellious will,
His hate to Israel instantly renues,
Continuing Author of his proper ill,
When now the plague of Grashoppers ensues.

Long ere they fell, on 'th face of Heaven they hong,
In so vast clouds as covered all the skies,

The 8. Plague.

Colouring the Sun-beames piercing through their throng,
With strange distraction to beholding eyes.
This idle creature that is said to sing
In wanton Sommer, and in Winter poore,
Praising the Emmets painefull labouring,
Now eates the labourer and the heaped store.
No blade of grasse remaineth to be seene,
Weed, hearb, nor flower, to which the Spring gives birth,
Yet ev'ry path even barren hills are greene,
With those that eate the greenenesse from the earth.
What is most sweet, what most extreamely sowre,
The loathsome Hemlock as the verdurous Rose,
These filthy Locusts equally devoure,
So doe the Heavens of every thing dispose.
The trees all barcklesse nakedly are left
Like people stript of things that they did weare,
By the enforcement of disastrous theft,
Standing as frighted with erected haire.
Thus doth the Lord her nakednesse discover,
Thereby to prove her stoutnesse to reclaime,
That when nor feare, nor punishment could move her,
She might at length be tempred with her shame.
Disrob'd of all her ornament she stands,
Wherein rich Nature whilome did her dight,
That the sad verges of the neighbouring lands
Seeme with much sorrow wondring at the sight.
But Egypt is so impudent and vile,
No blush is seene that pittie might compell,
That from all eyes to cover her awhile,
The Lord in darkenesse leaveth her to dwell.

Over the great and universall face

The 9. Plague.

Are drawne the Curtaines of the horrid night,

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As it would be continually in place,
That from the world had banished the light.
As to the sight, so likewise to the tuch
Th'appropriate object equally is dealt,
Darkenesse is now so palpable and much,
That as 'tis seene, as easily is felt.
Who now it hap'd to travell by the way,
Or in the field did chance abroad to rome,
Loosing himselfe then wandred as a stray,
Nor findes his hostrie, nor returneth home.
The Cocke the Country horologe that rings,
The cheerefull warning to the Sunnes awake,
Missing the dawning scantles in his wings,
And to his Roost doth sadly him betake.
One to his neighbour in the darke doth call,
When the thicke vapour so the aire doth smother,
Making the voyce so hideous there withall,
That one's afeard to goe unto the other.
The little Infant for the Mother shreekes,
Then lyes it downe astonished with feare,
Who for her Childe whilst in the darke she seekes,
Treads on the Babe that she doth holde so deare.
Darkenesse so long upon the Land doth dwell,
Whilst men amaz'd, the houres are stolne away,
Erring in time that now there's none can tell,
Which should be night, and which should be the day.
Three doubled nights the proud Egyptian lyes
With hunger, thirst, and wearinesse opprest,
Onely relieved by his miseries,
By feare enforced to forget the rest.
Those lights and fires they laboured to defend
With the foule dampe that over all doth flowe
Such an eclipsed sullidnesse doth send,
That darkenesse farre more terrible doth show:
When this perplexed and astonish'd King
'Twixt rage and feare distracted in his minde,
Israel to passe now freely limiting,
Onely their cattell to be staid behinde.

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Commanding Moyses to depart his sight,
And from that time to see his face no more,
Which this milde man doth willingly aquite
That he well knew would come to passe before.
That for the Droves the Israelites should leave,
Forbid by Pharaoh to be borne away:
Israel shall Egypt of her store bereave,
To beare it with her as a violent prey:
So wrought her God in the Egyptians thought,
As he is onely provident and wise,
That he to passe for his choise people brought,
More than mans wisedome ever might devise.
Touching their soft breasts with a wounding love
Of those who yet they enviously admir'd,
Which doth the happy Jacobites behove,
To compasse what they instantly requir'd,
That every Hebrew borrowed of a friend,
Some speciall Jewell fainedly to use,
Every Egyptian willing is to lend,
Nor being ask'd can possibly refuse.
Now Closets, Chests, and Cabinets are sought
For the rich Jem, the raritie, or thing,
And they the happiest of the rest are thought,
That the high'st priz'd officiously could bring.
Rings, chaines, and bracelets, jewels for the eare,
The perfect glorious, and most lustrous stone,
The Carcanet so much requested there,
The Pearle most orient, and a Paragon.
What thing so choice that curious Art could frame,
Luxurious Egypt had not for her pride?
And what so rare an Israelite could name,
That he but asking was thereof denide?

When God doth now the Passeover command,
Whose name that sacred mysterie doth tell,
That he pass'd o'r them with a sparefull hand,
When all the first-borne of th'Egyptians fell,
Which should to their posteritie be taught,
That might for ever memorize this deede,

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The fearefull wonders he in Egypt wrought,
For Abrahams off-spring Sarahs promis'd seede.
A Lambe unblemish'd, or a spotlesse Kid,
That from the dam had wained out a yeere,
Which he without deformitie did bid,
Held to himselfe a sacrifice so deere.
Rosted and eaten with unleav'ned bread,
And with sowre hearbs such viands as became,
Meate for the Ev'ning, that prohibited
The Morne ensuing partner of the same.
Girding their loynes, shooes fastned to their feete,
Staves in their hands, and passing it to take,
In manner as to travailers is meete,
A voyage forth immediately to make.
Whose bloud being put upon the utmost posts,
Whereby his chosen Israelites he knew,
That night so dreadfull, when the Lord of Hosts
All the first borne of the Egyptians slew.

The 10. Plague.

Darkenesse invades the world, when now forth went
The spoiling Angell as the Lord did will,
And where the dore with bloud was not besprent,
There the first borne he cruelly did kill.
Night never saw so tragicall a deed,
Thing so repleate with heavinesse and sorrow,
Nor shall the day hereafter ever reade,
Such a blacke time as the insuing morrow.
The dawne now breaking, and with open sight
When every lab'ring and affrighted eye
Beholds the slaughter of the passed night,
The parting plague protracted miserie.
One to his neighbour hasts his heedlesse feete,
To bring him home his heavie chance to see,
And him he goes to by the way doth meete,
As grieved and as miserable as he.
Who out of dore now hastily doth come,
Thinking to howle and bellow forth his woe,
Is for his purpose destitute of roome,
Each place with sorrow doth so overflow.

395

People awaked with this sodaine fright,
Runne forth their dores as naked as they be,
Forget the day, and bearing candle light
To helpe the Sunne their miseries to see.
Who lost his first borne ere this plague begun,
Is now most happy in this time of woe,
Who mourn'd his eld'st a daughter or a sonne,
Is now exempt from what the rest must doe.
To one that faines poore comfort to his friend,
His Childe was young and neede the lesse be car'd,
Replies if his had liv'd the others end,
Withall his heart he could him well have spar'd.
No eye can lend a mourning friend one teare,
So busie is the gen'rall heart of moane,
So strange confusion sits in every eare,
As wanteth power to entertaine his owne.
Imparted woe (the heavie hearts reliefe)
When it hath done the utmost that it may,
Outright is murth'red with a second griefe,
To see one mute tell more than it can say:
The greatest blessing that the heart could give,
The joy of Children in the married state,
To see his curse the parent now doth live,
And none be happy but th'infortunate.
Whilst some for buriall of their Children stay,
Others passe by with theirs upon the Beere,
Which from the Church meet Mourners by the way,
Others they finde that yet are burying there.
Afflicted London, in sixe hundred three,
When God thy sinne so grievously did strike,
And from th'infection that did spring from thee,
The spacious Ile was patient of the like.
That sickly season, when I undertooke
This composition faintly to supply,
When thy affliction serv'd me for a booke,
Whereby to modell Egypts miserie,
When pallid horrour did possesse thy streete,
Nor knew thy Children refuge where to have,

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Death them so soone in every place did meete,
Unpeopling houses to possesse the grave.

When wofull Egypt with a wounded heart
So many plagues that suffered for their stay,
Now on their knees entreate them to depart,
And even impatient of their long delay.
Sixe hundred thousand Israelites depart,
Besides the Nations that they thence releas'd,
And Hebrew Babes the joy of many a heart,
That Sarahs happie promises had bless'd.
After foure hundred thirtie yeeres expir'd,
(Measuring by minutes many a wofull houre)
That day they came they thence againe depart,
By his eternall providence and power.
With all the jewels Egypt could afford
With them away that wisely they did beare,
Th'Egyptians aske not to have backe restor'd,
All then so busie at their burials were:

Comester in Exod.

And Josephs bones precisely thence convay,
Whose Tombe by Nyl's oft Inundations drown'd,
(Yet the deceased straitlie to obay)
By Moyses was miraculously found.

Tetragrammaton.

Who did in gold that powerfull word ingrave,
By which th'Almighty fully is exprest,
Which bare the mettall floting on the wave,
Till o'r his Coffin lastly it did rest.
As by a sheepe that shew'd them to the same,
To make them mindfull of the reverent dead,
Which Beast thence-forth they called by Josephs name,
And when they went from Egypt with them led.
But that he thus did finde his burying place,
As we tradition wisely may suspect,
We onely this as Historie embrace,
But else in faith as fabulous neglect.

397

THE THIRD BOOKE.

The Argument.

God drownes th'Egyptians in his ire,
Doth march before his host in fire,
From the hard rocks strikes gushing springs,
Raines Quailes and Manna, conquers Kings,
And fearefull plagues on them doth trie,
For murm'ring and idolatrie:
Unto the promis'd Land them brought,
When it they fortie yeeres had sought;
Balaam to blesse them he doth send,
Their good successe, milde Moyses end.

Those which at home scorn'd Pharaoh and his force,
And whose departure he did humbly pray,
He now pursues with his Egyptian horse
And warlike foote to spoile them on the way.
Where his choice people strongly to protect,
The onely God of Emperie and might,
Before his host his standard doth erect,
A glorious pillar in a field of light,
Which he by day in sable doth unfolde,
To dare the Sonne his Ardour to forbeare,
By night converts it into flaming golde,
Away the coldnesse of the same to feare.
Not by Philistia he his force will leade,
Though the farre nearer and the happier way,
His men of warre a glorious march shall tread
On the vast bowels of the bloudie Sea,
And sends the windes as Currers forth before
To make them way from Pharaohs power to flie,
And to convay them to a safer shore,
Such is his might that can make Oceans drie.
Which by the stroke of that commanding wand,
Shouldred the rough seas forcibly together,
Raised as Rampiers by that glorious hand,
(Twixt which they march) that did conduct them thither.

398

The surly waves their Rulers will obay'd
By him made up in this confused masse,
Like as an Ambush secretly were laid,
To set on Pharaoh as his power should passe,
Which soone with wombes insatiably wide,
Loos'd from their late bounds by th'Almighties power,
Come raging in, enclosing every side,
And the Egyptians instantly devoure.
The Sling, the stiffe Bow, and the sharpned Launce,
Floting confus'dly on the waters rude,
They which these weapons lately did advance,
Perish in sight of them that they pursude.
Clashing of Armours, and the rumorous sound
Of the sterne billowes in contention stood,
Which to the shores doe every way rebound,
As doth affright the Monsters of the flood.
Death is discern'd triumphantly in Armes
On the rough Seas his slaughtery to keepe,
And his colde selfe in breath of mortals warmes,
Upon the dimpled bosome of the deepe.
There might you see a Checkquer'd Ensigne swim
About the bodie of the envi'd dead,
Serve for a hearse or coverture to him,
Ere while did waft it proudly 'bout his head:
The warlike Chariot turn'd upon the backe
With the dead horses in their traces tide,
Drags their fat carkasse through the fomie bracke
That drew it late undauntedly in pride.
There floats the bard Steed with his Rider drownd,
Whose foot in his caparison is cast,
Who late with sharpe spurs did his Courser wound,
Himselfe now ridden with his strangled beast.
The waters conquer (without helpe of hand)
For them to take for which they never toile,
And like a Quarrie cast them on the land,
As those they slew they left to them to spoile.
In eightie eight at Dover that had beene,
To view that Navie (like a mighty wood)

399

Whose sailes swept Heaven, might eas'lie there have seene,
How puissant Pharaoh perish'd in the floud.
What for a conquest strictly they did keepe,
Into the channell presently was pour'd,
Castilian riches scattered on the deepe,
That Spaines long hopes had sodainly devour'd.
Th'afflicted English rang'd along the Strand
To waite what would this threatning power betide,
Now when the Lord with a victorious hand
In his high justice scourg'd th'Iberian pride.
Hence three dayes march to Mara leades them on,
Where Surs wilde Desarts as the Armie past
Seemed as from their presence to have flowne,
The mountaines stood so miserably agast.
Where for with drought they hardly are bested,
And the foule waters bitter as the gall,
That they should through this wildernesse be led
To thanklesse murm'ring presently they fall.
God pointeth Moyses to a precious tree,
Whose medc'nall branches cast into the lake,
Of that rare vertue he approv'd to be,
The waters sweet and delicate to make.
Not that his hand stands any way in neede
Of mediate meanes his purposes to bring,
But that in state his wisedome will proceede
To shew his power in every little thing.
Nor Metaphysickes fully him confine,
All measuring so immeasurably great,
That doth in Nature every cause combine,
This All in him so amply hath receate.
Which might have learn'd them in this helpelesse case,
With tribulations willingly to meete,
When men with patience troubles doe embrace,
How oftentimes it makes affliction sweete.
And his free bountie fully now they found,
As they from Mara for mount Sina made,
Pitching in Elim in that plenteous ground
Of pleasant fountaines and delicious shade.

400

But as at Sur, so they againe at Sin,
Before of thirst, of hunger now complaine,
Wishing they might in Egypt still have bin,
Where never famine all their time did raigne.

When clouds of Quailes from the Arabian shore
Upon the Campe immediately are sent,
Which came so long and in such marv'lous store,
That with their flight they smother'd every Tent:
This glads the Ev'ning, each unto his rest,
With soules even sated with these dainty Cates,
And the great goodnesse of the Lord confest,
That in like measure each participates.
The morne strewes Manna all about the host
(The meate of Angels) mortals to refresh,
Candying the fresh grasse, as the Winters frost,
Never such bread unto so dainty flesh.
O Israel pampred with this heavenly food,
Which else to Nations earthly he denies,
To raise thy spirits, to rectifie thy blood
With these so rare celestiall purities.
Then the fat flesh-pots they so much desire,
Whereon in Egypt gluttoning they fed,
When they came hungry home from carrying mire,
Which onely dulnesse, and grosse humours bred.
Yet in the sweetnesse and th'abundant store,
His power not so conclusively exprest,
But who tooke most not capable of more
Then in his Gomer he that gathered least.
By night corrupting, each day gath'ring new,
But for the Sabbath what they did provide,
That day descended not that heavenly dewe,
That as that day was onely sanctifide.
Thence through those Desarts desolate and drie,
They reach to Reph'dem where as they should passe,
There was not found a fountaine farre nor nie,
Such want of water every where there was.
Thither the Lord by Moyses did them bring,
His force the faithlesse Israelites might know,

401

For even in the impossiblest thing,
He most delights his wondrous might to show.
Farre worse than Mara is this fruitlesse soile,
For there were waters (bitter though they were)
But here are none, though sought with ne're such toile,
That they from murm'ring longer not forbeare.
Commanding Moyses he should take the Rod,
Wherewith in Egypt he such wonders wrought,
For that most wise, that secret-seeing God
Saw there were some thus reasoned in their thought.
The misterie of that miraculous wand
He did to plagues and fearefull things imply,
That Aaron yet ne're tooke it in his hand,
When worke of mercy was atchiev'd thereby.
Therefore bids Moyses to this high intent,
The same to use, they visibly might see,
That this which erst had beene the instrument
Of justice, so of clemencie to be.
Which with a blow, the Cleeves in sunder crackt,
As with an earthquake violently rent,
Whence came so strong and rough a Cataract,
That in the stones wore gutters as it went.
The Springs spout forth such plenty, that withall
Downe the slope sides it violently swept,
So divers wayes, so various in the fall,
Through every cranny the cleare water crept.
In Pailes, Kits, Dishes, Basons, Pinboukes, Bowles,
Their scorched bosomes merrily they baste,
Untill this very howre their thirstie soules
Never touch'd water of so sweet a taste.
Scarcelie suffic'd but in the very neck
Of this, 'tis bruted by the watchfull post,
That the neere-bordring envious Amaleck,
Was marching towards them with a mighty host,
When he forth Josua from the rest doth draw,
A man selected, of couragious spirit,
Which Moyses with propheticke eye foresaw,
Should be the man, his roome that should inherit.

402

Commanding him to muster out of hand,
And draw his forces presently to head,
Against that proud Amalakite to stand,
Which in the field a puissant Armie led.
Whilst on rocke Horeb, with erected hand,
Bearing the Rod up to the glorious skie,
'Twixt Hur and Aaron, Amrams sonne doth stand,
Whilst both the hosts for victorie doe trie.
When blades are brandish'd and the fight begun,
Warres thundring horror trumpets doe proclaime,
With the reflection of the radiant Sunne,
Seemes to beholders as a generall flame.
Much courage and dexteritie that day
On either part sufficiently is showne,
And on the earth full many a Souldier lay,
Thrusting through danger to make good his owne.
Here men might see how many a strenuous guide
Striveth to make his enemie to bleede,
Now the fierce vaward, then the rereward plide,
As he perceiveth the Battalians neede.
They fight the full day, he the Rod upheld,
But when his strength by long continuing failes,
Where as before the Israelites had queld,
The adverse proud Amalakite prevailes.
Whilst the two Hebrewes provident of harmes,
Setting grave Moses downe upon a stone,
And by their force support his wearied armes,
Untill the foe was lastly overthrowne.

Jethro the just to whom report had told,
Th'atchievement wrought by his renowned sonne,
That all the world did tributary hold,
By deeds in Egypt God by him had done:
This good old man to consummate their joyes
In happy houre his sonne is come to see,
Bringing his wife and his two little Boyes,
Moses sent back in Midian safe to bee:
Which by this time two proper Youthes are growne,
Bred by their Grandsire with exceeding care,

403

In all the host there hardly could be showne,
That with those Boyes for beauty could compare.
Such mirth and feasting as for them was seene,
For this grave Father and this goodly Dame,
Unto this day in Israel had not beene,
Since to kinde Joseph righteous Jacob came.
The day mild Moses scarcely can suffice,
To tell this man the troubles they had past,
The wonders God had acted in their eyes,
Since they in Midian kindly parted last.
Jethro that mark'd the paines that Moses tooke
In rising early, and in resting late,
That did himselfe into all causes looke,
And in his person censure each debate:
This Princely Priest a man exceeding wise,
And long experienc'd in this great affaire,
(For at that time few States or Monarchies
Whose government he could not well declare)
Reproves good Moses in this zealous deed:
(Quoth he) me thinks thou dost not well in this,
The course wherein I see thou dost proceed
Trouble to thee and to the people is.
Appoint out Judges, and inferiour Courts,
Twixt the Plebeians and thy selfe to bee,
From them receive those matters by report,
Speake thou to God, and let them speake to thee,
In things important be thou still in place,
In lesser causes leaving them to deale,
So may you both your quietnes embrace
By an exact and perfect Common-weale.

Now when to Sina they approched neare,
God calls up Moyses to the mount above,
And all the rest commaundeth to forbeare,
Nor from the bounds assign'd them to remove.
For who those limits loosely did exceede,
(Which were by Moses mark'd them out beneath)
The Lord had irrevocably decreed
With darts or stones should surely die the death:

404

Where as the people in a wondrous fright
(With hearts transfixed even with frosen blood)
Beheld their Leader openly in sight
Passe to the Lord, where he in glory stood.
Thunder and Lightning led him downe the ayre,
Trumpets celestiall sounding as he came,
Which struck the people with astounding feare,
Himselfe invested in a splendorous flame.
Sina before him fearfully doth shake,
Covered all over in a smouldring smoake,
As ready the foundation to forsake,
On the dread presence of the Lord to looke.
Erect your spirits and lend attentive eare
To marke at Sina what to you is said,
Weake Moses now you shall not simply heare,
The sonne of Amram and of Jacobed.
But he that Adam did imparadise,
And lent him comfort in his proper blood,
And saved Noah, that did the Arke devise,
When the old world else perish'd in the flood,
To righteous Abraham, Canaan franckly lent,
And brought forth Isaak so extreamly late,
Jacob so faire and many children sent,
And rais'd chast Joseph to so high estate.
He whose just hand plagu'd Egypt for your sake,
That Pharaohs power so scornefully did mock,
Way for his people through the Sea did make,
Gave food from Heaven, and water from the Rock.
Whilst Moses now in this cloud-covered hill,
Full forty dayes his pure aboade did make,
Whilst that great God in his almighty will,
With him of all his Ordinances brake.
The Decalogue from which Religion tooke
The being: sinne and righteousnesse began
The different knowledge: and the certaine booke
Of testimony betwixt God and man.
The Ceremoniall as Judicious lawes,
From his high wisdome that receiv'd their ground,

405

Not to be altred in the smallest clause,
But as their Maker wondrously profound.
The composition of that sacred Phane,
Which as a Symbol curiously did shew,
What all his six dayes workmanship containe,
Whose perfect modell his owne finger drew.
Whose absence thence gave leasure to their lust,
Oppugning Aaron, Idols them to frame,
And by their power still strengthen this disgust,
In him denouncing the Almighties name.
A gold-made God how durst you ever name,
For him so long had led you from the Skie,
In sight of Sina crowned with a flame,
His glory thence residing in your eye?
Such things might melt mortality to see,
That even the very Elements did fright,
He that in Egypt had perform'd for thee,
What made the world amazed at his might.
Thy soule transpierced ne'r before thou felt'st,
But like a Quarry 't even clave thy breast,
Comming from Sina when as thou beheld'st
Th'elected Israel kneeling to a Beast.
Him sence forsooke, his sinewes strengthlesse are,
He came so much amazed there-withall,
The stony Tables slip'd him unaware,
That with their owne weight brake them in the fall.
Downe this proud lump ambitiously he flung
Into base dust dissolving it with fire,
That since they for variety did long,
They should thereby even surfet their desire.
And sent the minerall through their hatefull throats,
Whence late those horrid blasphemies did flie
On bestiall figures when they fell to doate
In prostitution to idolatrie.
Now when this potion that they lately tooke,
This Chymick medicine (their deserved fare)
Upon their beards, and on their bosome stooke,
He doth their slaughter presently prepare.

406

What's he himselfe to Levie could allie
Before this Calfe not sinfully did fall,
Girds not his broad blade to his sinewie thie,
When he heares Moyses unto Armes to call?
Killing not him appointed he should slay,
Though they had slep'd in eythers armes before,
Though in one wombe they at one burthen lay,
Yea when this dead, though that could be no more?
You whom not Egypts tyranie could wound,
Nor Seas, nor Rockes could any thing denie,
That till this day no terrour might astound
On the sharpe points of your owne swords to die?

When Moyses now those Tables to renew
Of that essentiall Deitie doth merit,
(Which from his hands he dissolutely threw
In the deepe anguish of his greeved spirit.
When forty dayes without all nat'rall food)
He on mount Sina fixed his abode,
Retayning strength and fervour in his blood,
Rap'd with the presence of that glorious God.
Who in his high estate whilst he passed by
In the cleft rocke that holy man did hide,
Lest he should perish by his radiant eye,
When Moyses seeing but his glorious side
Celestiall brightnesse ceazed on his face,
That did the wondring Israelites amaze,
When he returned from that sovereigne place,
His browes encircled with splendidious rayes.
That their weake sight beholding of the same,
He after cover'd from the common eyes,
Lest when for answer unto him they came,
The lusting people should idolatrize.

Might we those mustred Israelites admire
From plaines of Sina mighty Moyses led,
Or else to view that opulence desire,
To that rich Arke so freely offered.
The mervailous modell of that rarest peece
Th'ingravings, carvings, and embroderies tell,

407

The cunning worke and excellent device
Of neat Aholiab, and Bezaliell.
But we our Moyses seriously pursue,
And our strong nerves to his high praise applie,
That through this maze shall guide us as a Clue,
And may his vertues absolutely trie.
Whose charge being weary of their mighty Armes,
And much offended they had march'd so long,
As oft disturbed with their sterne Alarmes,
Suppose by Moyses to have suffered wrong.
When with the luggage such as lagd behinde,
And that were set the Cariages to keepe,
Gainst God and Moyses greevously repinde,
Wanting a little sustinance and sleepe.
Who with their murm'ring moved in his ire,
That they so soone his providence mistrust,
Downe from his full hand flung that forcefull fire,
Which in a moment brus'd their bones to dust.
Other the mutt'ring Israelites among
When now to Pharan having come so farre
For flesh, fish, sallads, and for fruites doe long,
Manna (they say) is not for men of warre.
Their glut'nous stomackes loath that heav'nly bread,
Who with full Chargers hunger heere releeves,
As by the belly when they strongly fed
On harty Garlicke and the flesh of Beeves?
Milde man, what fearefull agony thee vex'd,
When thou thy God unkindly didst upbrayd?
How greevously thy suffring soule perplex'd,
When thou repin'st the charge on thee was layd?
With God to reason why he should dispose
On thee that burthen heavy to sustaine,
As though he did his purposes enclose
Within the limits of mans shallow brayne.
To judge so many marching every day,
That all the flesh of Forrest and of flood,
(When the wilde Desarts scarcely yeeld them way)
Should them suffice for competence of food.

408

That thou shouldst wish that hand so full of dread,
Thy lingring breath should sodainly expire,
Then that the clamorous multitude should spread,
Those wicked slanders to incite his ire.
That God to punish whom he still did love,
And in compassion of thy frailties feare,
The spirit he gave thee lastly should remove
To those thy burthen that should after beare.
O wondrous man! who parallel'd thee ever?
How large a portion diddest thou inherit?
That unto seventie he should it dissever,
Yet all be Prophets only with thy Spirit?
When loe a Cloud comes sailing with the winde
Unto these Rebels terrible to see,
That when they now some fearefull thing divin'd,
A flight of Quailes perceived it to be.
A full dayes journey round about the host,
Two Cubits thicknes over all they flowe,
That when by Israel he was tempted most,
His glory then most notably to show.
The greedy people with the very sight
Are fill'd before they come thereof to taste,
That with such surfet gluts their appetite
Their queasie stomacks ready are to cast.
Those that for Beefe in Gluttonie did call
Those the high'st God his powerfulnes to trie,
Cloyes with the fowle that from the Heavens doe fall,
Untill they stuffe their stomackes by the eye.
But whilst the flesh betwixt their teeth they chew,
And sucke the fat so delicately sweet,
(With too much plenty that even fulsome grew
That lies so common troden with their feet.)
That God impartiall and so rightly just,
When he had given them more then they desire,
Dulie to punish their insatiate lust,
Powres downe his plagues consuming as his fire.
And with a strong hand violently strake
Their blood, distempred with luxurious diet,

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That soone the sores in groynes and arme-pits brake,
Thus could the Lord scourge their rebellious riot.
Aron and Miriam, all too much it were
For griefe when Moyses ready is to die;
But you whom one wombe happily did beare
Gainst your milde Brother needs must mutinie.
O unkinde Aaron when thou fondly fram'dst
That Beast-like Idoll bowing Israels knee,
He then thee beg'd, that thou so basely blam'dst,
And did divert the judgement due to thee.
Immodest Miriam when the hand of might
Left thee with lothsome leprosie defil'd,
Contemn'd and abject in the vilest sight,
From the great host perpetually exil'd:
When thou hadst spet the utmost of thy spight,
And for thy sinne this plague on thee was throwne,
He not forsooke thee but in heavie plight
Kneeling to God obtain'd thee for his owne.
His wondrous patience ever was applide
To those on him that causelesly complaine,
Who did with comely carelesnesse deride
What happy men should evermore disdaine.

When now the Spials for the promis'd soyle,
For the twelve Tribes that twelve in number went,
Having discovered forty dayes with toyle,
Safely return'd as happily they went:
Bringing the Figs, Pomgranates, and the Grapes,
Whose verdurous clusters that with moisture swell,
Seeme by the taste and strangenesse of the shapes,
The place that bare them faithfully to tell.
That well express'd the nature of the earth,
So full of liquor and so wondrous great,
That from such wished fruitfulnesse in birth,
Suck'd the sweet marrow of a plenteous teat.
But whilst they stand attentively to heare
The sundry soyles wherein they late had beene,
Telling what Giants did inhabit there,
What Townes of warre that walled they had seene.

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Of Anacks of-spring when they come to tell,
And their huge stature when they let them see,
And of their shapes so terrible and fell,
Which were suppos'd the Titanois to bee.
Their hearts sunck downe, and though the fruits they saw
By their rare beauty might allure their eyes,
Yet this report their coward soules did awe,
And so much daunt the forward enterprise,
That they their God doe utterly refuse,
Against just Moses openly exclame,
And were in hand a Captaine them to chuse
To guide them back to Goshen whence they came.
Not all the dread of the Egyptian dayes,
What by milde Moses he to passe had brought,
Nor seene by him done at the purple Seas,
On their vile minds a higher temper wrought.
Whom when of God he beg'd with bloody eyes,
And against Heaven did obstinatly strive,
Obtain'd so hardly their immunities,
Whose sinne seem'd greater then he could forgive.
Caleb and Josua you couragious men,
When bats and stones against your breasts were laid,
Oppose your selves against the other ten,
That expedition basely that disswade.

Quoth they to conquer as he did before
No more than men, what praise his puisance yeelds,
But he whose force the very Rocks did gore,
Can with the same hand cleave their brazen sheelds.
He that foresawe that this should be our seate,
And onely knew the goodnes of the same,
Possess'd the place with those that were so greate
For us to keepe it safely till we came.
For which the Lord did vowe that not a man
At Sina mustred where such numbers were,
Should live to come to fruitfull Canaan,
Onely those two so well themselves that beare.
And for the basenes of those recreant Spies
Whose melting minds this impious slaunder bred,

411

And the vile peoples incredulities,
In that their God so strongly promised.
For fortie dayes discovrie of the Land,
They fortie yeeres in wildernes shall wast,
Consum'd with plagues from his impetuous hand,
Untill that age be absolutely past.
Which scarsly spoke, but quickly tooke effect,
For those so colde, and cowardly before,
Hearing the censure of their base neglect,
To make his vengeance and their sinne the more.
Entring the Land which Moyses them denies,
Their desp'rate will no better can afford,
Offering those lives they did so lightly prize
Unto the vengance of the Heath'nish sword.
And in the host new factions daylie grewe,
When Chores, Dathan, and Abiram rise,
Two hundred men of speciall note that drew,
Whose strength gave power to their confed'racies.
But the vast earth incontinently clave,
And on the sodaine hurried them to hell
With the shrill screame the shrieking people gave,
The fainting Hoast into a feaver fell:
The rest of the Conspirators were left
(From the first's fall enforcing their retire,
Of all the succours of the host bereft)
Consum'd to ashes with Heavens violent fire:
And those th'abettors of this vile attempt
That did milde Moyses cruelly pursue,
From th'others sinne that could not be exempt,
Them with the dreadfull pestilence he slew.
That had not Aaron when all hope was fled
With holy Incense their atonement wrought,
Thrusting himselfe twixt th'living and the dead,
All had to ruine utterly beene brought.
Where fourteene thousand and seven hundred sanke
Under the burden of their odious sinne,
Which now was wax'd s'insufferably ranke,
It was high time his vengeance should begin.

412

When after this so terrible a thing,
Now that triumphant and miraculous wand,
Brings forth ripe Almonds, strongly witnessing
In Levies Tribe the Priesthood still to stand.
With leaves and blossomes bravely it doth flourish,
Some budding, some as instantly but blowne,
As when the same the naturall rynd did nourish,
For Moyses sake such Miracles were showne.
Forward to Cadesh they their journey cast,
Where the good Miriam makes her latest houre,
Miriam the faire, the excellent, the chast,
Miriam that was of womanhood the flowre,
Here bids her Brothers lovingly adue,
Who at her parting kisse her closing eyes,
Whose wondrous losse sufficiently to rue,
More is the griefe that teares cannot suffice.
Moyst are their eyes, their lips are shrunk with heat,
Their griefe within, as outward it appeares,
Their want of water in that place as great,
As it to them is plentifull of teares.
They at one instant mutinie and mourne,
Sorrowes creepe forth confusedly together,
The teares for her incontinent they turne
To words gainst Moyses that did guide them thither:
Who from the rocke strooke water with the wand,
That man and beast might plenteously maintaine,
But he from rocks that fountaines can command,
Cannot yet stay the fountaines of his braine.
Much woe for Miriam these good men did make,
Whilst there were two, that might bewaile this one,
But two departing for their mutuall sake,
Moyses remaines to mourne himselfe alone.
Aaron the ancient'st of the Hebrew line,
Repleate with naturall comelinesse and grace,
(God-like so farre as man might be divine)
Endeth his dayes in this predest'ned place.
Which being forewarned to awaite his end,
And here the fate foretelling him to die,

413

That the good houre doth onely now attend,
Will'd to ascend the mountaine (being nie.)
With Eleazer his deare Childe he goes,
Led by milde Moyses as the Lord decreed,
To his lov'd Sonne his garments to dispose,
Him in the Priesthood pointed to succeed.
When turning backe to bid them all adue,
Who look'd as fast to bid this Lord farewell,
Fountaines of late so fast from rockes ne'r flewe,
As the salt drops downe their sad bosomes fell.
Not the obdurat'st, not the stoniest hearts,
That in deepe sorrow melting here forbeares,
Those to whom Nature not those drops imparts,
Spent what in sighes, the other did in teares.
Sated with sobs, but hungry with his sight,
Their watry eyes him earnestly pursue,
When to discerne him they no longer might
Where their sight ends, their sorrowes doe renue.
Com'n to the top, to the appointed place,
His Sonne in all his ornaments invested,
Which the good Aaron meekely doth embrace,
And unto him his offices bequested.
When they the time no longer could adjourne,
After embraces and a floud of woes,
(Which when one ceas'd the other tooke his turne)
From eithers eyes that on the other flowes.
Now at the last point, at the gaspe of death,
He whom the whole world hath but such another,
Gives up his latest, his most blessed breath,
In the deare armes of his beloved Brother.
So wisely worketh that eternall Being
By the still changes of their varying state,
(As to the end through the beginning seeing)
To build the frame of unavoyded Fate.
When those given up to their lascivious wils,
Themselves in Midian wantonnesse that waste,
Whose fleshly knowledge sip'd those sugred ills,
Twenty foure thousand slaughtered at the last.

414

Of all those that in Sina numbred are,
I'th plaines of Moab mustered then againe,
Wasted by time, fire, pestilence, and warre,
Those promis'd two and Moyses did remaine.

The time expir'd that they for Aaron mourn'd,
New conquest now, new comfort them doth bring,
Their former hope successively return'd,
That seem'd before so sadly languishing.
When they the glorious victorie obtaine
The Plaines of Horma scattered all with shields,
Where Arad and his Cananites are slaine,
Not the least fight of many glorious fields.
With Sebon's slaughter seconded againe,
And Ogs great fall of a Giganticke strength,
Whose bed of iron fash'on'd to containe
In breadth foure Cubits, doubling it in length:
The living remnant of the mighty race,
Of big-bon'd Anack terrible and dred,
Which long time batning in that fertile place,
Grew like the fat soile wherein they were bred.
Not Poets fictions of the Phlægrian fields,
Whereas the Giants up to Heaven would clime,
Heaping on mountaines not such wonder yeelds,
As did the men that lived in that time.
And five proud Kings fell in their recreant flight,
Before arm'd Israel on the Midian plaine,
Zur, Hur, and Evi, men of wondrous might,
Reba and Rekem valiantly slaine.
And as his strength crush'd mighty Kings to dust,
And cleft the helmes that thunder proofe were thought,
That hand that help'd them, scourg'd their impious lust,
When his high judgement to pervert they sought.
And sent those Serpents (with their fiery stings,)
With inflammations that their flesh did swell,
Sharpely to scourge their trustlesse murmurings,
That still in infidelity did dwell.
Rare in this creature was his wondrous might,
That should effect the nature of the fire,

415

Yet to recure the sorance by the sight,
Sicknesse might seeme the remedie t'admire.
Onely by mettall miracles to worke,
That Serpents shape, the Serpents hurt should heale,
To shew in him the mysteries that lurke,
And being so strange, as strangely doth reveale.
That the forg'd figure of so vile a thing
Should the disease so presently remove,
Onely by th'eye a remedy to bring,
Deepe searching Magicke leaveth to approve,
As Balaams beast did Balacks hast delay,
And the full purpose of the Prophet brake,
When he beheld the Angell by the way,
Burst out from beast, and to his Master spake:
Whose execration able to astound
The sunne, when he his Sommers height did boast,
And with a word could instantly confound
The world, were it a congregated host.
He whose wise lips could Oracles compile,
And judgements irrevocable did passe,
Should be confounded by the thing most vile,
By that base creature, the dull worthlesse Asse,
Ruling his mouth as with a Riders bit,
Bidden by Balaack to denounce their fall:
Doth all his dreadfull Minaces acquit,
Sounding their blessing and their enemies fall.

When this milde man that onely did remaine,
Of those from Egipt that the Lord did bring,
Which he in Justice sundry wayes had slaine,
For their false worship and their murmuring.
Since he remisse at Meriba was prov'd,
And there his zeale not ardently exprest,
The Lord did sweare (though him he dearely lov'd)
He should not come to Canaan as the rest.
And now approaching Abaris (the place)
From whence he might that promis'd Country see,
(So much the Lord good Moyses pleas'd to grace)
But there his dayes must consummated be.

416

When this great Prophet zealously had bless'd,
Each sev'rall Tribe with a particular good,
Whose parting, them with sorrow so oppress'd,
That shedding teares, their eyes shed drops of blood.
To Nebo seated admirably hie,
(The Spirit prepares him safely to retire)
Which thrusts his head into the cloudie skie,
Pisga so proudly thither dare aspire.
Pisga the height of Abaris, and this
The height of Pisga over all doth stand,
That as the eye of mighty Abaris
Survayeth the imparallelled Land.
Where goodly Gilead unto him he showes
As farre as ever he could looke to Dan,
The length and breadth how every way it goes,
Till her brow kisse the calme Mediteran.
Where the sweet South layes forth her swelling brest,
With a pleas'd eye he silently survay'd,
To that faire Citie whose high Towers doe rest
Under the Palme trees most delicious shade.
When this meeke man approaching to his death,
In death ev'n pleas'd faire Canaan to behold,
Whilst he had use of his expiring breath,
Thus his last farewell mildly doth enfolde.
Israel (quoth he) deare Israel, now adue,
Moyses no more is, that your Leader was,
Josua and Caleb none but onely you,
Of the last age must over Jordan passe.
Th'Egyptian horrours yet 'twas I did see,
And through those strange calamities did wade,
And Israels charge imposed was on mee,
When they (but then) had scarcely learn'd to dade.
Forty two journeyes have I straitly past
Since first this glorious Pilgrimage begun,
In wrath or mercy where as first or last,
Some wondrous thing hath happily beene done.
M'immortall Maker that so oft have seene
(That God of wonder:) these complaints not boot,

417

In yonder fields so delicate and greene,
That may not set my miserable foot.
Thus leaning backe against the rising Clieve,
Raising his faint hands to the hopefull skies,
Meeke as the morning never seene to strive,
Great'st of the Prophets the good Moyses dies.
An hundred twenty hardly passed yeares,
His naturall vigour no whit did asswage,
His eye as bright, his body then appeares,
As in the height and Summer of his age.
Who being dissolv'd the Angels did interre
Neere to Bethpeor in the vallied ground,
But yet so secret kept his Sepulcher
That it by mortall never should be found.
Lest that his people (if the place were knowne)
(Seeing by him the miracles were done,
That ever to Idolatrie were prone,)
Unto his bones a worshipping should runne.
One that God grac'd so many sundry wayes,
No former age hath mentioned to bee,
Arived at the period of his dayes
The future time in Israel shall not see.

418

DAVID AND GOLIAH.

Our sacred Muse, of Israels Singer sings,
That heavenly Harper, whose harmonious Strings
Expeld that evill Spirit which Saul possest,
And of his torments often him releast;
That Princely Prophet David, whose high Layes,
Immortall God, are Trumpets of thy praise,
Thou Lord of hosts be helping then to me,
To sing of him who hath so sung of thee.

What time great Saul after so bloody fights,
Return'd a victor of th'Amalakites,
(Two hundred and ten thousand men at armes
Under his conduct) had reveng'd the harmes
Done to Gods chosen people, when as they
Came back from Egypt, troubled on their way:
Saul with their blood had now manur'd the Plaines,
Leading King Agag (as a slave) in chaines:
But for that Saul this Agags blood had spar'd,
And 'gainst the will of the Almighty dar'd
To save that man he should have put to sword,
For disobeying the Almighties word,
Their larded Fatlings keeping for a prey,
Which he commanded to be made away:
For which the living God displeased, swore
To holy Samuel, Saul should raigne no more;
Samuel Gods Prophet, by whose holy hand
The Oyle was pour'd (by his divine command)
Upon the head of comely Saul when he
Was chosen over Israel to be:
But for that place another God had pointed,
Which should by Samuel likewise be anointed:
And this was David his most deare delight,
The sonne of Ishay the just Bethlemite.
Meane while this Youth like a poore Shepheard clad,
(Of whom such care the God of Israel had)
His fathers flock was following day by day
Upon a Desart neare at hand that lay;

419

Whose wealthy fleeces and fat bodies he
From ravenous vermine hourely us'd to free,
His onely armes, his Sling and Sheephooke were,
Other then those he had not us'd to beare,
With these a Woolfe oft comming from the wood,
Or subtill Fox, that forrag'd for his food,
He quickly slew; or if a Beare opprest
With cruell hunger, hapned to molest
His feeding flocks, he with such bangs him plyde,
That with the prey even in his teeth he dyde;
Or if a Lion as his faire flock graz'd,
Hapt to assayle it, he no whit amaz'd
At his sterne roaring, when his clutches caught
At this brave Sheepheard, but such blowes him raught
Till by the beard that kingly beast he shooke,
And from his jawes the trembling Wether tooke;
And if it chanc't that sometime from the ayre
An Eagle stoop'd a Lambe away to beare,
He with a stone that from his Sling he threw,
Downe from the clouds would fetch her as she flew.

His curled Tresses on his shoulders hung,
To which the dewes at Morne and Eve so clung,
To the beholders that they did appeare
As nature threded Pearle with every hayre:
The Bees, and Waspes, in wildernesses wilde
Have with his beauties often bin beguild,
Roses and Lillies thinking they had seene,
But finding there they have deceived beene,
Play with his eyes, which them that comfort bring,
That those two Sunnes would shortly get a spring;
His Lippes in their pure Corrall liveries mock
A row of Pales cut from a Christall Rock,
Which stood within them, all of equall height.
From top to toe each limbe so cleane and straight,
By every joynt of his that one might try,
Or give true lawes to perfect Symmetry;
The vermine (oft) his Sheepe that would surprize
Became so charm'd with th'splendor of his eyes,

420

That they forgot their ravine, and have layne
Downe by his flocks, as they would glad and faine
Keepe them from others, that on them would prey,
Or tend upon them, that they should not stray.
Whether in Cotes he had his flock in hould,
Or for the Fallowes kept them in the fould,
He was not idle, though not taking paines,
Celestiall Lyricks singing to the Swaines,
And often sitting in the silent shade,
When his faire flock to rest themselves were layde,
On his Lyre tuned such harmonious Layes,
That the Birds pearcht upon the tender sprayes,
Mad at his musick, straine themselves so much
To imitate th'unimitable tuch,
Breaking their hearts, that they have dropt to ground,
And dy'd for griefe in malicing the sound.
Sometimes a Stag he with his Sling would slay,
Or with his Sheephooke kill a Boare at bay,
Or runne a Roe so long (he was so fleet)
Till it lay trembling, breathlesse, at his feet,
Sometimes againe, he practised a fight,
That from the Desart, should a Dragon light
Upon his Sheepe, the Serpent to assayle,
How by cleere skill through courage to prevaile.
Then with a small stone throwne out of his Sling
To hit a swallow on her height of wing,
And home at night when they their Sheepe should drive,
The sluggish Sheepheards lastly to revive,
He tooke his Harpe so excellently strung,
In a broad Bauldrick at his back that hung,
And on the same stroke such mellodious straines,
That from the Coverts as the neighboring Plaines,
The Ecchoes wakt with sweetnesse of his notes,
Which each to other diligently rotes;
And thus his time the Lords beloved past;
Till God to Samuel calling at the last;

Samuel saith he, to Bethlem take thy way,
To Ishays house, and to that old man say,

421

Out of his loynes that I will chuse a King,
And when his Sonnes before thee he shall bring,
Chuse out that man that I shall thee appoint,
With sacred Oyle and see thou him anoint,
For of them all, he's knowne to me right well
The first to guide my people Israel.

Samuel replyes, my God, if Saul shall know
Upon what businesse I to Bethlem goe,
Except my blood him nothing will suffice.
Take thou a Heyfer, God againe replies,
And give it out thou purposely dost goe
To sacrifice; as God doth counsell, so
The holy Prophet acts, and comming thither,
The noblest of people get together,
Doubting the Lord had angry with them bin,
And had sent Samuel to reprove their sinne;
But peace to all the holy Prophet cries,
And then preparing to the sacrifice.
The Rites perform'd, he bids old Ishay bring
His Sonnes before him whilst the offering
Smoak'd on the Altars (and the Elders there
Stood round about with reverence and feare)
For in his houshold he a King must chuse.
Ishay who might not Gods command refuse,
Cals Eliab out for Samuel to see,
Who at the first thought surely this was he,
Till God to Samuel said, doe not deceive
Thy selfe (weake man) but thy election leave,
Thou canst not see the soule of man, as I
Who search the heart, and every thought can try.
His second sonne Abniadab then came,
But this not he that Samuel must name;
Then cals he Shamna his third sonne, but yet
This was not he th'Almighties turne must fit,
He cals for more till he had counted seaven,
To none of these yet must the Oyle be given:
Before the Prophet brother stood by brother,
A twelvemonths growth one just before another;

422

Like seaven brave blossom'd Plants, that in the spring
Nature prepar'd forth goodly fruit to bring:
So comely all, that none in them could read
Which one of them should any one exceed,
If he exceld for lovelinesse of face,
Another for his person and his grace
Match'd him at full, as nature meant to show
Her equall bounties how she could bestow.
There he beholds one brother tall and straight,
Another that was wanting of his height,
For his complection and his curious shape,
Well neare out went him, nature let not scape
Ought she could doe, in them each limbe to fit
To grace the other that was next to it.
When Samuel askes if these were all he had,
Ishay replyes, onely his yongest Lad
That in the Desart on his flocks doth tend,
Samuel commands away for him to send,
For till he came he vow'd he would not sit,
Out of the place nor would he stirre a whit.

Before grave Samuel David soone is brought,
Upon the Prophet which most strongly wrought
When he beheld him beautifull and tall,
Of goodly presence, and well shap'd withall,
His cheeke a mixture of such red and white,
As well with wonder might attract the sight,
A sprightfull aspect, and so cleere an eye,
As shot a lightning at the standers by,
His every gesture seene it in to bring
The majesty that might befit a King;
All those rare parts that in his brothers were
Epitomiz'd, at large in him appeare;
And (in his eare) God doth the Prophet tell,
This David shall be King of Israel.
Whom with the sacred Oyle (instead of Saul)
Samuel anointed there before them all:
Which having done, to Rama takes his way,
Lest Saul for him the country should forelay:

423

When Kingly David of his owne accord,
Though he were then th'anointed of the Lord,
And though his Sheephooke might his Scepter be,
This holy Youth so humble is, that he
Will back to th'fields his fathers flock to keepe,
And make his subjects, (for a while) his Sheepe.

The powerfull spirit of God, redoubled grew
Dayly in David, and his fame now flew
O'r all the Region, how he was belov'd
Of Gods high Prophet, and by him approv'd;
Field, Towne, and City, with his name doe ring,
The tender Virgins to their Timbrels sing
Dittys of him, and in their rurall playes,
The homely Sheepheards in their Roundelayes
Record his acts, and build him shady Bowers,
The Maydens make him Anadems of flowers,
And to what sport himselfe he doth apply,
Let's follow David, all the people cry.

An evill spirit then sent by God possest
Enraged Saul, so greevously opprest,
With melancholly, that it craz'd his wits,
And falling then into outragious fits,
With cramps, with stitches and convulsions rackt,
That in his pangs he oft was like to act
His rage upon himselfe, so raving mad,
And soone againe disconsolate and sad;
Then with the throbs of his impatient heart,
His eyes were like out of his head to start,
Fomes at the mouth, and often in his paine
O'r all his Court is heard to roare againe;
As the strong spirit doth punish or doth spare,
Even so his fits or great, or lesser are,
That Israel now doth generally lament
Upon their King Gods greevous punishment.
When some which saw this spirit possessing Saul,
Amongst themselves a counsell quickly call,
To search if there might remedy be found
For this possession, each man doth propound

424

His thought of curing, as by Physick some,
Each man speakes what into his minde doth come,
But some whose soules were ravished more hie,
Whose composition was all harmony,
Of th'Angels nature and did more partake,
By which as Seers prophetickly they spake;
(With holy Magick for some spirits inspir'd,
Which by a cleere Divinity are fier'd,
And sharpned so, each depth and hight to try,
That from their reach and visibility
Nature no secrets shuts, and heaven reveales
Those things which else from reason it conceales)
Those men conclude the spirit that thus had harm'd
Their soveraigne Saul, with Musick must be charm'd.

And having heard of Israels deare delight,
Beloved David the brave Bethlemite,
What wondrous things by Musick he had done,
How he fierce Tigars to his hand had wonne,
Had layd the Lion, and the Beare to sleepe,
And put such spirit into his silly sheepe
By his high straines, as that they durst oppose
The Woolfe and Fox, their most inveterate foes:
Of this Musitian they informe the King,
And all assure him, there was no such thing
For him as Musick, and this man was he
That his Physitian in this kinde must be.

When Saul dispatcht his messengers away
To aged Ishay, that without delay,
His yong'st sonne David should to Court be sent:
The speedy Post relating the intent
To the old man: which in his heart was glad,
For at the first he great suspition had,
That angry Saul might else have bin acquainted,
By Samuels hand his sonne had bin anointed,
And therefore caused David to be sought,
As of his death he direly had forethought.

The good old man o'r joy'd with this good newes,
Cals home his darling from his teeming Ewes,

425

And to the care of Israels God commends
His loved boy, and kindly by him sends
Of Bread and Wine a present to the King.
They him no sooner to Sauls presence bring,
But Davids beauty so extreamly tooke
The doting King, that in each glance or looke,
He thought he saw high valour mixt with truth,
And neare his person takes the lovely Youth,
And who but David then with mighty Saul
His only favorite is, his all in all?

Not long it is e'r Saul the spirit doth feele
To stirre within him, and begins to reele,
And suddainly into a Trance he fals,
And with his hands lyes grasping at the wals,
When David takes his well-tun'd Harpe in hand,
By which the spirit he meaneth to command;
His quavering fingers he doth now advance
Above the trembling strings, which gin to dance
At his most cleere tuch, and the winged sound
About the spacious Roome began to bound,
The Aers flew high, and every dainty straine
Betters the former, which doth so detaine,
The eares of those stood by, that they heare not
Sauls sad complaints, and suddainly forgot
To lift or stirre him, and the standers by,
Were so intransed with the melody,
That to a holy madnesse some it brought,
Others againe to Prophecy it wrought.
The Wyery cords now shake so wondrous cleere,
As one might thinke an Angels voyce to heare
From every quaver, or some spirit had pent
It selfe of purpose in the Instrument;
The harmony of the untuned'st string
Torments the spirit which so torments the King,
Who as he faintly, or he strongly groanes,
This brave Musitian altreth so his tones,
With sounds so soft, as like themselves to smother,
Then like lowd Ecchoes answering one the other:

426

Then makes the spirit to shift from place to place,
Still following him with a full Diapase:
Thus day by day as th'evill spirit opprest
Diseased Saul, David himselfe addrest,
T'awayte the houres, before the King to play,
Untill he made th'unruly fiend obay
The force of Musick, more then that to feare
But the least sound of Davids Harpe to heare.

When now the King by Davids cunning cur'd,
Old Ishais Sonne who thought he had indur'd
Restraint too long, gets leave of Saul to goe
To Bethlem back (Gods holy will was so)
He rather chose to view his well-shorne Sheepe,
His yeaning Ewes, and late-falne Lambes to keepe,
Then on a Bed of silke himselfe repose,
And the delights of the fresh fields to lose.

When now Philistia horribly enragd,
With Gods owne people had it selfe engag'd,
With a revengefull deadly hand to smite
The still-preserv'd oft-troubled Israelite,
Who had in Battaile many times before
Upon the earth spilt her unhallowed gore.
Grim-visag'd warre, more sternely doth awake,
Then it was wont, and furiously doth shake
Her lightning sword, intruding with the force
Of men of warre both skilfull foot and horse.
Two mighty nations are now up in armes,
And to both sides the Souldiers come in swarmes:
The fields with Ensignes, as t'were flowers are deckt
Which their refulgence every way reflect
Upon the Mountaines and the vallies nie
And with their splendor seeme to court the skie.
Two mighty Armyes on the playne appeare,
These Isralites, and those Philistians were;
Their great Commanders, proved men of warre:
Their long experience, who had fetcht from farre,
To order fights as they occasion found
T'offend the foe, by fitting with the ground,

427

Which chosen Israels infantry doth call,
In this defensive warre to follow Saul.
And aged Isha faithfully to show
The love to Saul, and Israel he doth owe,
His eldest three into the Army sent,
That to the field, as well appointed went,
As on their bravery they that bare them most,
Nor was there, in the Israelitish hoste
Three goodlier men, especially when they
Were in their Armes, the most unclouded day
That ever shone, tooke not with such delight
The glad beholders, as the wondring sight
Of these brave Youths, still as they marched by.

Now in the fields the mighty Armies lye
On the wide champaine, each in others sight;
But as the Trumpets showte them out to fight,
From the Philistians hoste a Gyant came,
Whose splendrous Armes shone like a mighty flame
Against the sunne; Goliah nam'd of Gath;
The onely Champion that Philistia hath:
This huge Colossus, then sixe Cubits height
More by a handfull: and his ponderous weight,
Wheresoe're he made but any little stay,
Shew'd that his bredth, it answered every way:
Never such might in mortall man there was,
From head to foot at all poynts arm'd with brasse,
Five thousand sheckles his prov'd Curats way'd,
Upon whose temper, wondrous cost was layd:
His Shield and Harnesse well might load a Teame,
His Lance as big as any Weavers beame;
Whose very Pyle upon the poyse contain'd
A hundred sheckles, he a lesse disdain'd:
His Browes like two steepe Penthouses hung downe
Over his eye-lids, and his angry frowne
Was like a cloud, when it like Pitch appeares,
And some sterne tempest in its bosome beares:
His voyce was hoarse, and hollow, yet so strong,
As when you heare the murmuring of a throng

428

In some vaste arched Hall, or like as when
A Lordly Lyon angred in his den,
Grumbles within the earth, such his resembled,
That when he spake, th'affrighted hearers trembled:
His Squire before him marching to the field,
Who for this Champion bare a second shield.

Upon two easie hils the Armies laye
A valley 'twixt them in the middle way:
Into the midst of which, Goliah came,
And thus doth to the Israelites proclaime,
If there be found in all your host quoth he
A man so valiant, that dare fight with me,
If I shall fall under his mighty sword,
Israel shall then be the Philistians Lord:
But if I by my puissance shall prevaile
Over your Champion (that shall me assaile)
Then as our slaves, of you we will dispose;
And use at pleasure, as our conquered foes,
For he that's God of the Philistians, boasts
Himselfe more powerfull then your Lord of hosts.
Which challenge thus, not onely troubled Saul,
But bred amazement through the host in all.
For forty dayes thus us'd he forth to goe,
Offring by combate to decide it so.

Old Ishay now desiring much to heare,
Of his three Sonnes (in what estate they were)
Doubting lest they some needfull things might want,
As in the Army, victuals might grow scant;
Wherefore he cals yong David from his sheepe,
And to another gives his charge to keepe.
My Boy quoth he, haste to the Campe and see
In what estate my Sonnes your Brothers be:
Beare them parcht corne, and cakes, though homely food,
Yet simple cates may doe poore Souldiers good:
And to the Generall, ten fine Cheeses beare,
Such in the Campe are not found every where.
And if for need t'have pawn'd ought of esteeme,
Take money with you, and their Pledge redeeme.

429

David, make haste, for I desire to know
'Twixt the two puissant hosts, how businesse goe.

No marvaile David in his heart were glad,
That he such cause to view the Armies had:
From his brave thoughts, and to himselfe he told,
The wondrous things that he should there behold.
The rare Devices by great Captaines worne,
The five-fald Plumes their Helmets that adorne.
Armours with stones, and curious studs enricht,
And in what state they their Pavilions pitcht,
There should he see their marshalling a warre,
The iron-bound Chariot, and the armed Carre:
As where consisted either armies force,
Which had advantage by their foot or horse:
The severall weapons either nation beare,
The long Sword, Bow, the Polax and the Speare:
There the Philistian gallantry, and then
His Israels bravery answering them agen:
And heare them tell th'adventures had bin done,
As what brave man had greatest honour wonne.

David bestirres him presently, and packes
Up his provision, puts it into sackes,
And by his Servant on his Mule doth laye,
Then towards Sauls Army takes the ready way.
And his no tedious journey so contrives,
That in short time he at the Campe arives:
And at his comming, instantly bestowes
His needfull provant, to the charge of those
That tend the Carriage, and of them doth learne
(As neere as he could make them to discerne
By his description) Ishas Sonnes, who led,
And in the Army where they quartered:
By whose direction he his Brothers sought,
And told them what provision he had brought:
And to all three, their Fathers pleasure show'd,
And how the Cheeses he would have bestow'd.
As they were talking, suddainly a noyse
Ran through the Army, and the generall voyce,

430

Was the Philistian, the Philistian see,
Goliah comes, ordain'd our scourge to be.
Who as his used manner was, defies
The host of Israel, and thus loudly cryes,
Bring downe your Champion, that with me dares fight,
And this our warre shall be decided streight:
But Israels God, for feare drawes backe his hand,
Nor is there one against me that dare stand.

Which David hearing, his yong bloud doth rise,
And fire was seene to sparkle from his eyes:
His spirits begin to startle, and his rage
Admits no reason that may it asswage:
No nerve of his, but to it selfe doth take
A double strength, as though his arme could shake
The Iron Lance that great Goliah beares:
And beate his brazen Shield about his eares.
His strugling thoughts now being set a worke,
Awake that flame, which lately seem'd to lurke
In his meeke breast, which into passion breakes,
And to himselfe thus Princely David speakes.

Despised nation, Israel quoth he,
Where be those valiant men that liv'd in thee,
What are our soules in lesser moulds now cast,
Then at the first, with time or doe they waste?
What slaved people, but we can stand by,
And heare this base Philistian Dogge defie
God and his people, must he stand to boast
His strength and valour, and in all the hoast
No man dare undertake him; might I prove
My Manhood on him, I should soone remove
The worlds opinion, and both hosts should know
Hee's but a Dogge, on us that raileth so:
And to one standing neere him, thus he spake,
Of this huge Beast, what wonder doe ye make:
What shall be done to that one man that shall
Fight with this Gyant, and before ye all,
His pride and horrid blasphemies shall quell,
And take this shame away from Israel?

431

When one that heard him, quickly thus replyes,
He by whose hand this huge Goliah dyes,
For Wife to him, Sauls Daughter shall be given,
One of the goodliest Creatures under heaven;
And yet this further, his reward shall be
His Fathers house in Israel shall goe free.

With this yet David closeth not his eare,
But of some other likewise doth enquire
For his reward, the Gyant that should slay,
The formers words, which like a lesson say,
None of them thinking, this yet scarcely man,
Should strike to death the proud Philistian.

His Brother Eliab, now which over-heard,
Young Davids questions, and was much afeard
His over-daring spirit might draw him on,
To worke their shame, and his confusion:
Thinkes with himselfe, it greatly him behooves,
To checke his boldnesse, and him thus reprooves.
Fond Boy, quoth he, why stand'st thou to enquire
After these things, thy businesse lyes not here:
I would not (sure) but you the Campe should view,
A Sheepe-Coate Sir, would better sute with you:
Who have you left, after your Flocke to looke,
Your Scrip (no question) or your shepheards Crooke.
Sirra, my Father sent you not to us,
About the Army to lye loytering thus:
I thinke 'tis time to get you on your way,
Our Father thinkes that we inforce your stay.

At Eliabs speeches, David somewhat mov'd
To heare himselfe thus scornefully reprov'd:
Brother quoth he, few words might have suffic'd,
Had you but knowne how lightly they are priz'd
Of me, these speeches you would have forborne,
Upon some other and have spent your scorne.
I come to view the Campe, you say, 'tis so,
And I will view it better ere I goe.
Why may not I, as well as other men,
I'le goe when I shall please, and not till then?

432

When time may me more liberty alow,
I may beare Armes perhaps as you doe now:
Looke to your warfare, and what is your owne,
Good Brother Eliab, and let me alone:
For of my selfe I know how to dispose,
And thus away resolved David goes.
And as he went, still as he heares the cry
After Goliah, still more hie and hie,
His spirit is mounted, and his oft demand,
What his reward should be, whose valiant hand
Should kill Goliah, through the Army went,
And was the common talke in every Tent,
(But in the most bred sundry doubts and feares,
When as they way'd his tendernesse of yeares)
Untill his Fame, by going, getting strength
In Sauls Pavilion is cry'd up at length:
Who with much speed, sent out to have him sought,
And to his presence caus'd him to be brought.
Who with a constant and delightfull cheere,
Comes to the King, and doth to him appeare
With such a sprightfull, and majesticke grace,
As victory were written in his face:
And being by Saul, demanded if 'twere he,
That Israels Champion undertooke to be;
He with a meeke smile, boldly doth reply,
I am the man my Soveraigne, 'tis even I:
My Leege quoth he, be not at all dismaid,
Nor let Gods chosen Israel be afraid.
This mighty Monster in the peoples sight,
So terrible, whose shape doth so affright
The multitude, I doe no more esteeme,
Then if a Dwarfe, nor he to me doth seeme
But such a thing, my onely envy's this,
That he is not much greater then he is:
The more his strength, the more his fall will be,
And Israels God more glorifi'd in me.

Quoth Saul againe, thou art of tender age,
And in respect of him a very Page;

433

Beside, the other Armes that he doth beare,
Thou art not able to lift halfe his Speare:
If he strike at thee, and thy body misse,
Yet on his side, there this advantage is,
The winde of his huge weapon hath the force
To drive the breath out of thy slender Coarse:
And this vaste man, beside his wondrous might,
No man as he, so skilfull is in fight;
Expert in all, to Duels that belong,
Train'd up in Armes whilst yet he was but yong.

The better, answered David, if his skill
Equall his strength, for what is it to kill
A common man? a common thing it were,
Which hapneth every day, and every where;
But for a Giant such a one as he,
Upon the Field to be subdu'd by me,
This to all Nations shall be thought a thing
Worthy of Israels God, and Israels King.
I have slaine a Lion and Beare, quoth he,
And what is this uncircumcis'd to me
More then a Beast. That onely God of might
By whose great power I conquered these in fight,
In spight of humane strength and greatnesse, can
Give to my hands this proud Philistian.

When Saul thus sees that there was in his soule
That courage which no danger could controule,
A valour so invincible and hie,
As naturally enabled him to flye
Above all thought of perill, and to beare
Him quite away beyond the bounds of feare;
He caus'd an Armour for him to be brought,
But first of all a garment richly wrought
He puts upon the brave youth and then bad
That in those goodly Armes he should be clad.
Which put upon him as to stirre he strives,
He thinkes him selfe in Manakles, and Gives,
Their ponderousnesse him to the earth doth presse:
These Armes doe make his Activenesse fare lesse,

434

For he before had not bin us'd to these,
Nor him at all their boistrousnesse can please,
His Gorget gauld his Neck, his Chinne beneath,
And most extreamly hindred him to breath,
His Curats sit too close upon his side,
He in no hand his Helmet can abide,
It is so heavy, and his Temples wrings,
His Pouldrons pinch him, and be cumbrous things,
His Gaunlets clumsie, and doe wring his Wrists,
And be so stiffe he cannot clutch his Fists;
His Guyses they so strong and stubborne be,
That for his life he cannot bend his knee;
He knew not how to beare his brazen Shield,
Such weapons Sheepheards were not us'd to weeld,
Their weight and their unwildinesse was such,
And they restraind his nimblenesse so much,
That he prayd Saul of these he might be freed,
It is not Armour that must doe the deed,
Let me alone, saith he, and Ile provide
My selfe of Armes, this quarrell to decide.

When forth he goes, shot for his Sling to looke,
And neare the Campe he finds a perling Brooke,
Whose shallow sides with Pebbles did abound,
Where seeking such as massy were and round,
He picks out five, away with him to bring,
Such as he knew would fit his trusty Sling,
And in his Scrip them closely doth bestow,
By which he vowes Goliahs overthrow.

When swift report throughout the Army runnes,
That youthfull David one of Ishaes sonnes,
A very stripling, and the yong'st of eight,
With the Philistian was that day to fight;
That great Goliah which so oft had brav'd
Dejected Israel, and the combat crav'd
With any one she to the field could bring,
Now for it was so pertinent a thing,
As that their freedome or subjection lay
On the successe of this unequall Fray,

435

Th'event thereof struck every one with feare,
But his sad brethren most perplexed were,
And to themselves thus say they: O that we
So long should draw our lothed breath, to see
That by the pride of this accursed Boy,
Despised Israel should no more enjoy
Her ancient glories, but be made a slave
To proud Philistia; and our fathers grave
Slandred by him; his Family and Name
Branded by David with perpetuall shame.
Curst be the time that he was hither sent,
Curst be the time he came into our Tent.
And now and then they purposed to fly,
Nor would they stay to see their brother dye,
But at the very point to take their way,
Bethinke themselves, it better were to stay,
To seeke his scattered limbes to peeces hew'd,
And see them in some obscure earth bestow'd.

In this sad manner whilst they murm'ring were,
David is busied listning still to heare
Of great Goliah: scarce can he refraine
From calling for him; now in every vaine
His blood is dancing, and a sprightly fire
Takes up his bosome, which doth him inspire
With more then humane courage, nor he can
Conceive a terror to proceed from man,
His nerves and sinewes to that vigor grow,
As that his strength assures him he can throw
Through thicker Armes, then mortall yet could weeld.
Upon the suddaine, when through all the field
The word was heard, Goliah now appeares,
Which Davids heart in such strange manner cheeres,
As that he feeles it caper in his breast.
When soone that huge uncircumcised beast,
As he was wont, betweene the hosts doth come,
And with his harsh voyce, like an unbrac'd Drum,
Cals to the host of Israel, where's your man
You cowardly Nation, where's your Champian

436

To undertake me, bring him to the field,
Or to Philistia your subjection yeeld.
It was full Summer, and the day so cleere,
As not a little cloud did once appeare;
In view of either Army, the free Sunne
That t'wards the noonsted halfe his course had runne,
On the Philistian darting his cleere rayes,
His bright refulgent Armes so sundry wayes
Reflects the beames, as that he seemes to all
Like that in painting we a Glory call,
And from his Helmet sharpning like a Spyre,
He lookt like to a Piramid on fire.

And now before yong David should come in,
The host of Israel somewhat doth begin
To rouze it selfe; some climbe the nearest Tree,
And some the tops of Tents, whence they might see
How this unarmed Youth himselfe would beare
Against th'all-armed Giant (which they feare)
Some get up to the fronts of easie hills;
That by their motion a vast murmure fills
The neighbouring Valleys, that th'enemy thought
Something would by the Israelites be wrought
They had not heard of, and they long'd to see
What strange or warlike stratagem 't should be.

When soone they saw a goodly Youth descend
Himselfe alone, none after to attend,
That at his need with armes might him supply,
As meerely carelesse of his enemy.
His head uncovered, and his locks of hayre
As he came on being play'd with by the ayre
Tost to and fro, did with such pleasure move,
As they had beene provocatives for love:
His sleeves stript up above his elbowes were,
And in his hand a stiffe short staffe did beare,
Which by the leather to it, and the string,
They easily might discerne to be a Sling;
Suting to these he wore a Sheepheards Scrip,
Which from his side hung downe upon his Hip.

437

Those for a Champion that did him disdaine,
Cast with themselves what such a thing should meane,
Some seeing him so wonderously faire,
(As in their eyes he stood beyond compare)
Their verdict gave that they had sent him sure
As a choice bayte their Champion to alure;
Others againe, of judgement more precise,
Said they had sent him for a sacrifice.
And though he seem'd thus to be very yong,
Yet was he well proportioned and strong,
And with a comely and undaunted grace,
Holding a steady and most even pace,
This way, nor that way, never stood to gaze,
But like a man that death could not amaze,
Came close up to Goliah, and so neare
As he might easily reach him with his Speare.

Which when Goliah saw, why Boy quoth he,
Thou desperate Youth, thou tak'st me sure to be
Some Dog (I thinke) and under thy command,
That thus art come to beat me with a wand:
The Kites and Ravens are not farre away,
Nor Beasts of ravin that shall make a prey
Of a poore corpse, which they from me shall have,
And their foule bowels shall be all thy grave.

Uncircumcised slave quoth David then,
That for thy shape, the monster art of men:
Thou thus in brasse com'st arm'd into the field,
And thy huge Speare of brasse, of brasse thy Shield:
I in the name of Israels God alone,
That more then mighty, that eternall one,
Am come to meet thee, who bids not to feare,
Nor once respect the Armes that thou dost beare.
Slave, marke the earth whereon thou now dost stand,
I'le make thy length to measure so much land,
As thou lyest groveling, and within this houre
The Birds and Beasts thy carkasse shall devoure.

In meane time David looking in his face,
Betweene his temples, saw how large a space

438

He was to hit, steps backe a yard or two,
The Gyant wondring what the Youth would doe,
Whose nimble hand, out of his Scrip doth bring
A pebble stone, and puts it in his Sling,
At which the Gyant openly doth jeere,
And as in scorne, stands leaning on his Speare,
Which gives yong David much content to see,
And to himselfe thus secretly saith he,
Stand but one minute still, stand but so fast,
And have at all Philistia at a cast.
When with such slight the shot away he sent,
That from his Sling as 't had beene Lightning went;
And him so full upon the forehead smit,
Which gave a cracke, when his thicke scalpe it hit,
As t'had bin throwne against some Rocke or Post,
That the shrill clap was heard through either host.
Staggering a while upon his Speare he leant,
Till on a sodaine, he began to faint;
When downe he came, like an old o'regrowne Oake,
His huge Roote hewne up by the Labourers stroke,
That with his very weight, he shooke the ground,
His brazen armour gave a jarring sound
Like a crackt Bell, or vessell chanc't to fall
From some high place, which did like death apall
The proud Philistians, (hopelesse that remaine)
To see their Champion great Goliah slaine:
When such a shout the host of Israel gave,
As cleft the clouds, and like to men that rave,
(O'rcome with comfort) crye, the Boy, the Boy,
O the brave David, Israels onely joy:
Gods chosen Champion, O most wondrous thing,
The great Goliah slaine with a poore Sling:
Themselves in compasse nor can they containe,
Now are they silent, then they shoute againe.
Of which no notice, David seemes to take,
But towards the Body of the dead doth make;
With a faire comely gate, nor doth he runne,
As though he gloried in what he had done.

439

But treading on th'uncircumcised dead,
With his foot, strikes the Helmet from his head;
Which with the sword, ta'n from the Gyants side,
He from the body quickly doth divide.

Now the Philistians at this fearefull sight,
Leaving their Armes, betake themselves to flight;
Quitting their Tents, nor dare a minute stay,
Time wants to carry any thing away,
Being strongly rowted with a generall feare;
Yet in pursute, Sauls Army strikes their Reare,
To Ekron walles, and slew them as they fled,
That Sharams plaines lay covered with the dead:
And having put the Philistines to foyle,
Backe to the Tents retire, and take the spoyle
Of what they left, and ransacking they cry,
A David, David, and the victory.

When straight waies Saul, his Generall Abner sent
For valiant David, that incontinent
He should repaire to Court, at whose command
He comes along, and beareth in his hand
The Gyants head, by th'long hayre of his crowne,
Which by his active knee, hung dangling downe.
And through the Army as he comes along,
To gaze upon him, the glad Souldiers throng:
Some doe instile him Israels onely light,
And other some the valiant Bethlemite.
With Conjayes all salute him as he past,
And upon him their gracious glances cast.
He was thought base of him that did not boast,
Nothing but David, David, through the host.
The Virgins to their Timbrels frame their layes,
Of him: till Saul grew jealous of his praise:
But for his meed doth to his Wife receive
Sauls lovely Daughter, where 'tis time I leave.

FINIS.