 | Divine Poems |  |
The 5. Met. of the second book.
The former age, but too much blestWith fruitful fields, content did rest
Not with dul luxury, yet lost
Their hunger, staid with little cost;
A slender Chessnut them suffil'd,
They had not yet the way devis'd
To mix live hony with their wine,
Nor were they grown so proudly fine
In their apparel, as to staine
White fleeces in a purple graine.
On Sallets sup'd, sweet sleep they took,
And drink had from the running brook;
The lofty Pine was then their shade,
Not yet through deep seas did they wade;
Strange coasts the Merchant had not sought
For wares far fetch'd and deerly bought;
Then the shril trumpets did not sound,
Nor bitter hatreds then were found
To die their horrid arms with blood;
For how could fury think it good,
116
Nothing but deadly wounds to be
The pay of blood-shed? O that now
Our much corrupted times knew how
From their ill customes to return
To th' ancient manners; but they burn
With love of gain, which is so great
It puts down Ætna's fires for heat.
Alas, who was't that first made bold
To dig those precious Perils, Gold
And richer Jewels, which would fain
Concealed from our sight have layne?
| Divine Poems | |