Epig. 36. The basenesse of the present age.
1
O that (if Fate so pleased (I now were one
The Palfray, that same chaste and wonderous wight
Bestrod, and cleft the Ayre, BELLEROPHON,
Or in Medeas Charriot took my flight
2
To some strange Country not inhabited
With humans, but a wilde and barren waste,
Whereas the LOTOS Tree,
his boughs doth spread,
Whose fruit I'de prize 'bove all by men embrac'd.
3
For that rare fruit, my most ingratefull soile,
Would make me soon forget, and I ne're more
Should back return 'mongst Furies for to toile,
Who (with fond Mydas) with for golden oare:
4
And nothing else esteem, for should they heare
Apollo strike his strings, (unto their sence)
Even Rustick Pan the Lawrell wreath should weare,
And before Sol have the preheminence:
I grovell on the ground, and fooles do stride
Over my bulke, and on my back do ride.
