 | Divine poems
|  |
|
Eleg. 4.
Disturbed Lyons are appeas'd with blood,
And ravenous Beares are milde, not wanting food,
But heaven (ah heaven!) will not implored be:
Lyons, and Beares are not so fierce as Hee:
His direfull vengeance (which no meane confines)
Hath crost the thriving of my best designes;
His hand hath spoild me, that erewhile advanc't me
Brought in my foes, possest my friends against me;
His Bow is bent, his forked Rovers flie
Like darted haile-stones from the darkned skie,
Shot from a hand that cannot erre, they be
Transfixed in no other marke, but me.
| Divine poems
| |
|
