University of Virginia Library



To the right Worshipfull, sir Christopher Heydon, C. T. wisheth æternall fruition of all felicitie.

Thou , thou that art the Muses Adonie,
Their Pyramis, adorner of their mount,
Thou Christalizer of their Castalie,
Thou Lillian-rose, sprung from the horse-foote fount,
To thee, Artes Patron, Champion to the highest,
That giuest the Sunne a fairer radiance,
To thee Musophilus, that still appliest
Thy sacred soule, to be Trueths esperance.
To thee (this Epinyctall register,
Rasde out by Eos rayes) I write to thee.
To thee (this hoarie Hiems, kill'd by Ver:)
To thee (this metamorphosde Tragœdie)
To thee, I write my Apotheosie:
Mœcenas, strengthen my Tyrocinie.
Your Worships euer, Cyrill Turner.


The Author to his Booke.

O were thy margents, cliffes of itching lust;
Or quotes to chalke out men the way to sinne;
Then were there hope, that multitudes wold thrust
To buy thee: but sith that thou dost beginne
To pull the curtaines backe, that closde vice in;
Expect but flowts: for t'is the haire of crime,
To shunne the breath that doth discloude it sinne.
What? (will he say) a recluse from the time?
Nor canst thou hope that thy weake ioynted rime
Shall please the more, because it shrowdes it selfe
Vnder his shade, whose mighty armes do clime,
Eu'n to the highest hoau'n; disdaining pelfe:
For heau'nly mindes, the brightlier they do shine:
The more the world doth seeke to worke their tine:
This onely be thy hope; to please the best:
And to be safe from malice of the rest.


To the Reader.

It may be (Reader) I may gall those men,
Whose golden thoughts think no man dare them touch;
It may be (too) my fearelesse ayre-plume-pen,
May rouse that sluggish watch, whose tongues are such,
As are controll'd by feare or gold too much:
Yet were Apelles heere, he could not paint
Forth perfectly the worlds deformities;
For as the troubled mind, whose sad complaint
Still tumbles forth, halfe breathed accenties,
Th' Idea doth confuse and chaoize:
So will the Chaos of vp-heaped sinne
Confound his braine, that takes in hand to lay
A platforme plainly forth, of all (that in
This Pluto-visag'd-world) hell doth bewray,
When death or hell, doth worke it liues decay:
So perfect is our imperfectionesse,
For imperfection is sinnes perfectnesse.


Yet seeke I not to touch as he that seekes,
The publike defamation of some one;
Nor haue I spent my voide houres in three weeks,
To shew that I am vnto hatred prone;
For in particular I point at none:
Nay, I am forc'd my lines to limit in
Within the pale of generalitie;
For should I seeke by vnites to begin,
To point at all that in their sinne do lie;
And hunt for wickednesse aduisedly:
As well I (then) might go about to tell,
The perfect number of the ocean sands,
Or by Arithmetike goe downe to hell,
And number them that lie in horrors bands:
(Ne're to be ransom'd from the diuells hands.)
Who finds him touch't, may blame himself, not me:
And he will thanke me, doth himselfe know free.
Thine as I see thy affection. Cyrill Turner.


The Prologue

O who perswades my willing errorie,
Into this blacke Cymerianized night?
Who leades me into this concauitie,
This huge cancauitie, defect of light,
To feele the smart of Phlegetontike fight?
O who, I say, perswades mine infant eie,
To gaze vpon my youths obscuritie?
What ashie ghost, what dead Cadauerie,
What Geomantike iaw howles in mine eares,
The ecchoized sounds of horrorie?
What chaoizd conceit doth forme my feares?
What obiect is't that thus my quiet teares?
Who puts a flaming torch into my hand,
And bids me charily see where I stand?
Who fills my nosthrills with thicke foggy sents?
Who feedes my taste with hony-smacking gall?
What pallid spirit tells of strange euents?
Of euiternal night? of Phœbus fall?
Where is that Symphonie harmonicall,
Wherewith my heart was wont to tune sweet laies,
And teach my tongue to sing th' Æternall's praise?


O who, O who hath metamorphosed
My sence? and plutoniz'd my heau'nly shape?
What martyred Diana is't doth reade
The tragicke story of Lucretia's rape?
O who affrights me with blacke horrors gape?
Who tells me that the azure-colour'd skie,
Is now transformd to hel's enuironrie.
Are not the lights that Iupiter appoynted
To grace the heau'ns, and to direct the sight,
Still in that function, which them first annoynted?
Is not the world directed by their light?
And is not rest, the exercise of night?
Why is the skie so pitchie then at noone,
As though the day were gouern'd by the Moone?
Looke on my sight you lycophosed eies,
And tell me whether it be blear'd or no:
Daz'led with objects contrarieties,
With opposites of sad confused woe,
Or els transpiercing:ayre-cleare brightnes, loe:
My eies, whether they be, or dimm'd or cleare,
Clearely discerne a Transformation neare.


The Transformed Metamorphosis.

O whence comes this? awake sad Mercurie;
And Pegase-winged pace the milkie way:
Awake heau'ns harbenger; awake and flie
To high Iehouah: O awake I say;
Why sluggish Mercury, arte made of clay?
O where can life celestiall inherit,
If it remaines not in a heau'nly spirit?
Awake O heau'n; for (loe) the heau'ns conspire:
The siluer-feather'd Moone, and both the Beares,
Are poasted downe for Phlegetonticke fire:
Loe, now they are vpon the azure spheares,
(My soule is vex'd with sense-confounding feares)
Now are they mounted into Carol's waine,
With all the starres like to an armed traine.


I, euen those starres, which for their sacred mindes,
(They once terrestriall) were stellified,
With all the force of Æol's saile-swell'd windes
And fearefull thunder, vailer of earth's pride,
Vpon the loftie firmament do ride:
All with infernall concord do agree,
To shake the strength of heauens axeltree.
Eue'n from the artique to the antartique pole,
All in a rowe in ranke proportionate;
Subiect vnto th' vnstedfast mooues controle,
Do stand the lights that should truth animate;
And by their shine her woe extenuate.
With Phlegetonticke flame these tapers fed,
Celestiall light haue quite extinguished.


O see how dampy shewes yond' torches flame,
Earth stop thy sent, for their infernall smell,
(O let me speake, lest I incurre heau'ns blame)
Will all thy arterizing strength expell;
And make thy heart an agonizing hell.
See how their sulphur gathers to a cloud;
And like blacke Orcus vault the earth doth shrowde.
What Morpheus rockes the sence of heau'n asleepe?
Why heau'n awake; though long Endimionie
Hath pierc'd the clearenes of thy sight so deep,
Thou canst not see them prowdly mounted high;
Yet maist thou heare them plot their treacherie.
Their treason's plotted, they with fiery shot,
Are driuing Phœbus from his chariot.


Loe, loe, the skie whose hue was azurie,
Is cloath'd with moorie Vesperugoe's coate,
The formed Chaos of this Cosmosie,
Is now transform'd to tawny Charon's boate;
And on the Acheronticke maine doth floate.
Th' olimpique Globe is now a hollow ball:
The huge concauitie blacke Plutoe's hall.
Where shall I stand, that I may freely view,
Earths stage compleate with tragick sceans of wo?
No meade, no groue, whose comfortizing hew
Might make sad Terror my sad minde forgoe?
No sun-grac'd mount soule-frighting horrors foe?
No sun-grac'd mount? how can the sun mounts grace
When mountaines seeke his countnance to deface?


See, see, that mount that was the worldes admire,
The stately Pyramis of glorious price;
Whose seau'n hill'd head did ouer all aspire,
Is now transform'd to Hydra-headed vice:
Her hellish braine pan of each enterprice.
On sinnes full number (loe) she is erect;
For why? Great Pluto was her Architect.
Blacke Auarice, makes sale of Holines,
And steeming luxurie doth broach her lust;
Red-tyrannizing wrath doth soules oppresse,
And cankred Enuie falsifies all trust,
T'enrich her coffers with soule-choaking dust;
On slouth and gluttonie they build their blisse,
Whereon they raise Ambitions Pyramis.


The frame's too slender for continuance,
Too earthly high for soules to builde vpon;
And of her strength my only esperance,
Is for to see her sad confusion;
Whose vapours are the worldes infection.
Her high esteeme, is of high heau'n despisde;
O see ere long her Babel Babelliz'd.
Where shall I finde a safe all-peacefull seat,
To whose prospect the worldes circumference
Presents it selfe? high Ioue I thee intreate,
Let Dodon's groue be lauish in expence;
And scaffoldize her oakes for my defence.
Forgiue me God, for help doth not consist:
In Dodon's groue, nor a Dodonian fist.


Where shall I stand? O heau'n conduct me now,
Ioue Israellize my tongue, and let my voyce
Preuayle with thee; shew me the manner how
To free me from this change: O soule reioyce,
For heau'n hath free'd me from black hels annoies.
O see, O see, Ioue sets me free from thrall,
Such is his loue to them that on him call.
Loe where I stand vpon a stedfast rocke,
Whose peerelesse trust is free from all compare:
See how it brookes the Phlegetonticke shocke,
And bides what foemen to each other share:
The raging sea, on this side doth it dare,
On that side flames; such is the earthly state,
Of those from earth seeke them to alienate.


Now eies prepare, and be your sight as cleare,
As is the Skie, when none but Phaetons sire
Inhabites it: for O (alas) I feare
They will be dazled with smoake and fier,
That with repulse of heau'n doth downe retire,
Heart, teach my tongue directed by mine eie,
To be the Chorus to this tragedie.
Marke, you spectators of this tragicke act,
(If any rest vnmetamorphosed)
O you whose soules with hel are not contract,
Whose sacred light is not extinguished;
Whose intellectual tapers are not fed
With Hells flame: marke the transformation,
Wrought by the charmes of this rebellion.


That sacred female (which appear'd to him,
Who was inspir'd with heau'ns intelligence;
Who was the last that drunke vpon the brim,
Of deepe diuining sacred influence)
That heau'nly one, of glorious eminence.
She, whom Apollo clothed with his robe:
And plac'd hir feet vpon th' inconstant globe.
So cloath'd, his mantle might her shelter be,
To shrowde her safe from Acheronticke mistes:
So plac'd, hir ground might feede hir egencie,
Farre as it on necessitie consistes;
And not t'exceede the bound of heau'nly listes;
So cloath'd, she might to heau'n her minde applie:
So plac'd, to vse it in necessitie.


But (marke O woe) her high rebellious starres,
(Their minds ambitioniz'd) do seeke her fall,
And hauing dim'd the Sun with smoaky warres,
Haue found his dearest one how to appall;
And mixe her honny with the bitterst gall.
See, how her eies are fixed on the globe:
Which, which (Owo) hath quite trāsformd her robe.
Her robe, that like the Sun did clearly shine,
Is now transform'd vnto an earthy coate,
Of massiue gold: because she did combine
Affection with the Moon; and did remote
Her heart from heau'ns book where her name was wrote.
The globe takes head, that was her footstoole set:
And from her head doth pull her coronet.


Her twelue starr'd glorious coronet, (which Ioue
Did make her temples rich enuironrie:
And for the more to manifest his loue,
Encircled them with faire imbrodetie,
Of sacred lights in ayre-cleare azurie.)
She is depriued off: and doth begin,
To be the couerture of læthall sin.
The vines Ædonides; dead Murcianie;
Smooth Philoxenus; murders ground;
Disquiet Eriphila; hel's Syrenie;
Philocrematos; the soules deepe wound;
And whatso els in Hydra's head is found;
Do maske themselues within her pleasing smile:
And so with deadly sinne the world beguile.


What dreadfull sight (O) do mine eies behold?
See, frosty age, that should direct aright,
The grassie braine (that is in vice so bold)
With heedie doctrine and celestiall light;
Hath bin conuersing with hells taper, night,
Whose diuelish charmes, like Circés sorcerie,
Haue metamorphosde Eos Eonie.
Apolloe's herauld, that was wont to cheare,
Night-wounded soules with bright celest'all raies:
Faire Phosphorus (whose looke was wont to feare
Infernall hagges, that haunt frequented wayes,
To drawe the soule to hell that wandring strayes;
Is metamorphosde to a torch of hell:
And makes his mansi'on-house blacke horrors cell.


Whose deepe foundation's raisde from Phlegeton,
The fi'rie riuer of blacke Orcus hall:
Whence pillers rise, which do themselues vpon
Quadrangle wise, vphold Erebus wall:
Worldes trustlesse trust, soules vnmistrusted fall.
Birds, vines and floures, and eu'ry sundry fruite
Do compasse it; for best that place they sute.
For since the spirit the bodies prisner,
Of heau'nly substance wholy is compact:
And since the flesh the soules imprisoner,
Of excrementall earth is wholy fact:
Since this with that it selfe cannot contract,
Needes must the soule (the earthly prison doubled:
For all earths pleasures slime) be smothered.


From out the lake a bridge ascends thereto,
Whereon in female shape a serpent stands,
Who eies her eie, or views her blew vain'd brow,
With sence-bereauing gloses she inchaunts,
And when she sees a worldling blind that haunts
The pleasure that doth seeme there to be found:
She soothes with Leucrocutanized sound.
Thence leades an entrie to a shining hal,
Bedeckt with flowers of the fairest hew,
The Thrush, the Lark, and nights-ioy nightingale,
There minutize their pleasing laies anew,
This welcome to the bitter bed of rue;
This little roome, will scarce two wights containe,
T'enioy their ioy, and there in pleasure raigne.


But next thereto adioynes a spacious roome,
More fairely farre adorned then the other:
(O woe to him at sinne-awhaping doome,
That to these shadowes hath his mind giu'n ouer:
For (O) he neuer shall his soule recouer:
If this sweet sinne still feedes him with her smacke:
And his repentant hand him hales not backe.
The fraudfull floore of this deceitfull place,
Is all of quagmires, to intrap the wight
That treades thereon: yet couer'd o're with grasse
Of youthful hew, al pleasing to earth's sight,
For so doth satan worke his diu'lish spight.
This roome will centuries of worlds containe,
How small mirths place, how large the place of paine!


Who ere's deceiu'd by this illusion,
Must surely fall into this deepe abisse,
Downe to the horror of deepe Phlegeton,
Whose fi'ry flames like vultures gnaw on flesh;
Yet iote of it neuer consumed is.
O let no wight trust to this worldly sheene:
For such ioyes hate, of God best loued beene.
Erinnis purueyor, young elth I meane,
Teares vp our mothers wombe to finde hir slime:
And doth ysearch her bowells all vncleane,
For noysome filth; the poyson of our time,
(Base dunghill slaue) for meanes for his to clime;
So may he well, for now earths baddest good,
Makes eu'ry peasant seeme of gentle blood.


Yet certs, if the naked truth I say,
Nor from the golden mine comes gentry true,
Nor can this age, the next, and so for ay,
Ech his succeeding age with it indue:
For it's no heritage to heires t'ensue,
But shines in them to heau'n their minde that giue:
Then who doth so, in him doth gentrie liue.
O, that old age (that kept the treasuries
Of great Apollo once,) whose faltring tongue,
Intreates old earth performe his obsequies,
Should now by hell be metamorphosde yong,
And with desire of soule-infecting dong,
Seeke vnto vice, weake infancie to winne,
And make his heart, Epithesis of sinne.


The oldest man, saith ech day, one day more,
One day? nay sure a twelue-months time t'will be,
Ere seriant death will call me at my doore;
Craz'd drooping age, why can thine eies not see
Pale death arresting tender infancie?
O that his memory thee still would tell,
Now out of me might death my breath expell.
Where are the centinels? the armed watch,
Who draw their breath from Phœbus treasurie?
Somnus, awake; vnlocke the rustie latch,
That leades into the caues somniferie,
Rowze vp the watch, lull'd with worlds Syrenie,
Somnus, awake: pull off their golden maske,
And bid them strait finderesize their taske.
Somnus, awake: hell and the world conspire:
Pan is transform'd, and al his flocke neere drownd;
Pan that from heau'n receiu'd his due paid hyre,
He that was wont, vpon the fertile ground
Of Arcadie to feed, wherein was found,
No golden India that might preuent,
That high estate of poore, meane, rich content.
Pan, that was wont to make his quiet life,
Th' exordium of ech soule-sweet argument:
Pan, that was wont to make his voide of strife,
The period of ech sentence of Content;
Temper'd with surrop of heau'ns document,
Pan, that was once a cleere Epitimie:
Is now transform'd to hot Epithymie.


O, where are they, Apollo did appoint,
To guard Arcadia's sea-enuiron'd banckes?
The oceans monarch, whom Ioue did annoint,
The great controller of the whaly ranckes
Is landed on Arcadia's tender flankes.
Enuies protector, Pan, with gold hath fed:
And Pan with gold is metamorphosed.
Wealth's shipwracke; India's minerie;
The pearly pibble which the Ocean keepes;
The Treasure-house of Neptunes Thetisie;
The faire sweete poison of th' infernall deepes,
Hell's twinckling instrument that neuer sleepes;
Is that great gift Tridentifer presents,
To make faire passage for his foule intents.


O see that head that once was couered,
With fleecy wooll, that hung on earth-low brakes,
Is scarce contented now, it selfe to wed,
With what Eriphila from India takes,
Now Pan of gold, himselfe a Cor'net makes.
His eies that 'fore were clearely cophosie,
Now cannot see but in a minery.
His hand, to pawes, his sheep-hooke to a mace,
Are metamorphosed; his heart (whose height
Did ne're before o're-peere Arcadia's face,)
With cloud-high thoughts aspiring high is fraight,
And chaoiz'd Idea's of conceit,
Doth make his gesture seem a troubled skie:
And fills his count'nance with sad meteorie.


Awake O heau'n, and all thy pow'rs awake,
For Pan hath sold his flocke to Thetis pheer:
O how the center of my soule doth quake,
That barb'rous India should ouer-peer
Fruitful Arcadia, the worlds great Peere!
Hot fiery dust, with trickling teares ec'n weeps,
To see Arcadia's flockes drown'd in the deeps.
O how vnworthie's he a heard to be,
That leaues his flocke for ech temptation!
As, into magistrates ech man may see,
When by the means of vice th' are call'd vpon,
To execute their duteous function;
O eu'n as they are knowne, when vap'rous vice,
Breathes forth a mist of blacke iniquities;


Eu'n so a shepheard tells where to hee's bent,
When mighty Ioue after long summers ioy,
(Of high celestiall kindnes to vs lent)
Doth please vs trie with winters sharp annoy;
Or tempt his heart with earthly seeming ioy,
Which time, if he with care his flock doth feed,
Shewes loue to's flock, and hate to's earthly meed.
But though I speake 'gainst this hypocrisie,
This hellish ill o'remask'd with holinesse,
Na'th lesse I neither can, nor wil deny,
That if thereby we reaue no wight of blisse,
We may preuent our earthly wretchednesse.
For lawfull tis our owne harme to preuent,
If not by ill we compasle our intent.


Is't possible the world should yet affoord,
More cause of woe, then yet mine eies haue seene?
Can Pluto in his horrors caue yet hoord,
More woe then in this tragicke sceane hath beene?
Is't true I see? Or do I ouerweene?
O, O, I see more then I can expresse,
Amaz'd with sence-confounding wretchednesse.
In Delta that's enuiron'd with the sea,
The hills and dales with heards are peopled,
That tend their tender flockes vpon the lea,
And tune sweet laies vnto their pipes of reed,
Meane while their flockes vpon the hillockes feed;
And sometime nibble on the buskie root,
That did his tender bud, but lately shoote.


Long while the heards enioy'd this sweet content,
Not fearing wolues that might their flocks molest:
(For nothing harbor'd neare that harm thē meant)
And this content long might they haue possest,
Had not a beast spoil'd this their sweetned rest.
Whether the soile him bred, or foes him brought,
I doubt; seemes, some that Deltaes damage sought.
Among the shrubbes had set him priuily,
To spoyle the lambes that sometime did estray;
Nor onely thus deuour'd them theeuishly;
But oft allured them from out their way.
With such chaung'd voice, no mortal wight could say,
But that the notes were voice of man he sung:
O what deceit is lodged in the tongue?


This dayly spoyle through ech mans eare did runne,
At length Mauortio, a gallant Knight,
The meane whereby his Country honor wonne,
Heard of the harme wrought by Hyenn'as spight:
Scarce heard he of the spoyle, but that his sp'rite
Æthereall (not hable to endure,
His heart should knowledge of such harme immure
An houre, and th' wrong rest vnirrooted out)
Him draue as sail-swel'd barks are droue by wind,
And strait he armd him (moūting's prancer stout)
He forward pricks, spurr'd by a noble mind,
Awaited on by Truth his Page full kind,
And by a'squire that artfull strength was call'd:
Seem'd, Hercules him could not haue appalld:


Thus (pricking on the plaine) at last he ey'd
The grisly beast as in her den she lay,
Tearing a lamb with iawes farre stretch'd awide,
A seely lambkin which she made her pray,
Straight with a courage bold began assay,
How he could buckle with the monsters force:
Not meaning once to harbor mild remorce.
Downe he alighted, from his milk-white steed,
And gaue him Veramount to walk o'th plaine:
Then stept to'th monster with a wise-bold heed,
Thou monstrous fiend (quoth he) thy pray refrain,
For with my sword Ile work thy mortall paine:
The beast gan looke as one that were adrad,
Fearing her future hap would proue full bad.


At length, as one that from a traunce awakes,
She stretched foorth her selfe vpon the ground;
And to her cursed tongue herselfe betakes,
Hoping hir speech wold yield best aid that stound.
Faire Sir (quoth she) t'is said this soile hath found,
That I haue brought this Countries good to spoyle:
But (knight) beleeue me, I haue t'ane much toile.
To feare the wolues with changed voyce of tong,
When they haue e'en beene ready to assaile
The ewes that haue beene suckling their yong:
Then hath my speech their purpose causde to faile:
My very heart doth bleede; O how I waile
To thinke vpon the spoyle the wolues would make:
Did not my Care them force their prey forsake?


To her Syrenian song, the Knight gaue eare,
And noted in her speech how subtill Arte,
Her gesture framde to eu'ry word so neare,
That (had he beene a man of massiue hart,
He would haue melted at her Mermaides part:
But he being a Knight of noble spirit:
Her tongue could not him of his heart dis'nherit.
But spurr'd him to reuenge the spoyle she made;
(Commixt with poyson of hypocrisie)
He strait vnsheathes his trusty steeled blade,
And (silent) doth demonstrate presently,
The bottome of his minde effectually.
Soone as she feeles the smart, she startes abacke,
And (for defence) with poyson hellie blacke.


Forth hurled from her wide stretcht foaming throat,
She thinkes t'infect the vninfected Knight:
But stowt Mauortio wore a steeled coate,
So iunctly ioynted, that in all their fight,
Hir hellish poyson, neuer enter might;
(All were it natur'd still to search for way:)
To saue hir life by hir foes liues decay.
Short had the fight bin, had she onely beene,
(And great his honour by hir only death)
But eu'ry drop of bloud his sword all keene,
Causde issue from hir noysome steeming breath,
Transformed were to monsters on the heath.
All with their poyson like a rounding ring:
The good encombred Knight encompassing.


So that the more that she enhoped him,
(By deadly gaspes) the conquest soone would end;
The more his labour sprung: and seem'd to dim
Eftsoones (alas) the hope his toile did send.
Yet he of all was victor in the end.
And for this act vntill the end his fame,
Wil through the world high raise Mauortio's name.
The Knight (about to sheath) chaunc'd turne his eie,
And spies the multitude that him enround:
Nay (then quoth he) no time approacheth nie,
To take our leaues of this thiefe-harb'ring ground
Before Apollo Thetis lap hath found,
They all shall die; if heau'n doth smiling stand:
Viewing the heart of his Mauortio's hand.


His 'squire with artfull courage aides his knight:
Both vsde their blades vnto so good auaile,
That who had ei'd this bloudy fi'rie fight,
Might here see maimed wights low creeping traile
Their owne hew'd limbes, there gasping iawes that waile
To see their limbs lopt from their bodies lie,
On hugie heapes, like vnto mountaines high.
And twixt thē streams of steaming blod swift running
With bloudles trunks, lop'd heads, legs, thighs, and armes,
Vpon the riuer like dead fishes swimming;
Ere Sol with Neptune sleeped, slept their harmes;
All beeing shooke with deaths all deadly charmes.
O happy houre! that so Mauortio ioy'd:
To see the monsters by his arme destroy'd.


This noble conquest made him famouzed,
By all the heards throughout the Deltan soile,
Who vow'd his name should be æternized,
(Despight of Fortune and her trustlesse foyle)
In memorizing lines, which worldly broyle,
Nor Enuies canker, neuer should deface,
Long as the world retaine's her worldly face.
O peerelesse worth! O worth Mauortian!
Heau'n vpholding Atlas; warres melodie;
Knight of the lilly; heauens champion;
Artes patron; Muses dearest Adonie;
Vrania's soule refreshing Castalie;
Worthy the world; the world not worthy thee:
That art deem'd worthy of the deitie.


Of heauen it selfe, that but eu'n now lamented
The sun-fall of thy selfe, whom heau'n (disdained)
Whom heau'ns high trinary was not contented,
That in the world thy spirit be contained,
But there shuld dwel where Ioue himself remained;
For that on earth, thy spirit earth directed,
Heau'n hath thy spirit for high heau'n elected.
While heau'n did daigne the world should him inioy,
The nine-fold Sorory themselues exiled,
Euen from their natiue home to arts annoy,
From twin-topt mount, vnto a place defiled,
(Where pined writ and starued art compiled)
Their harm they knew, & harm with heart imbraced,
To nurse their deare heart by their cheap art graced.


Graced by nurses (arts nurse highly grac'd him)
Who fed him with pure marrow of the Muses;
And when he list, with moisture to refresh him,
He drunke cleare Helicon: cleare from abuses,
He bent his mind to pure Vranian vses,
Vranianie, him did to heau'n vpreare:
And made to man, him demi-god appeare.
Since wisedome then vpreares a man to heau'n,
Since wisedome then (that doth high God adore)
When he of all that earth yeelds is bereau'n,
When all els failes, doth God-like him decore,
O world erect thy blisse on wisedomes lore.
The greatest man decores not wisedomes horne:
But wisedome doth the meanest wight adorne.


Pieria's darling; cleare-streaming Helicon;
Bœotia's pearle; the nine voic'd harmony;
Heart crystalline; tongue pure Castalion;
Delta's Adamant; Elizium's melody;
Vrania's selfe, that sung cœlestially;
Was then for Mars apt, by the Muses nurs'd,
For Mars his knights, are 'squires to'th muses first.
Downe to the world descended Mars at length,
When the Pierides had knit the veines,
That from his heart did giue his body strength,
With soule-sweet Manna, marrow of the reines:
Downe he descended, and no whit disdaines
To liue on earth, leauing the sacred skies,
Only the muses deare to Martialize.


But (O) when Delta's hope, the muses wonder,
Foes feare, feares foe, Ioues martialist,
On Thetis gan like to a fearefull thunder
Make Hydra shake with a Dodonian fist;
When Delta deem'd her selfe in him thus blest,
Then Delta of her hope was quite bereaued:
See how the world is by the world deceiued!
The Phœbus of his soile, scarce shevvd his sheen,
And fac'd the West with smiling Aurory,
When fatall Neptune with his trident keene,
(Behind him) hal'd him to his Thetisie,
But Ioue downe sent swift-winged Mercurie,
And charged him to lay him's wings vpon,
And be the conuoy of his champion.


When Mercurie approch'd the seat of Ioue,
With Mauors spirit on his winged arme;
Ioue daign'd descend downe from his seat aboue,
And him imbraced with all heau'nly charme.
Aboue the lofty skies, deuoid of harme
Sits Mauors spirit, as a demi-god:
Instead of Mars, swaying his warlike rod.
While Mars himselfe goes wandring vp and downe,
Associated with the sacred brood,
That hand in hand (like an enchaining rowne)
Encompasse him: eu'n dead with want of food;
(If want may heauen hurt with deadly bood)
Much teen they bide in search for such an one:
Whom they may make their nurs'ries paragon.


A pitchie night en curtained with clowdes
(That kept from it heau'ns star-bright comforture)
Is the sole Theater that them enshrowdes;
Fogs, damps, trees, stones, their sole encompassure,
To whom they mone, black todes giue responsure:
Their woe is like vnto that wretches paine,
Whom (s'parents dead) no man will entertaine.
Before that death by life had stellified
Great Mauors spirit in the loftie skie:
Before his spirit in heau'n was deified,
Mars and the Muses had their dignity,
The sacred sisters did him aptifie
For Mars: he kindly fed his parents want,
And made that plenty which before was scant.


But now (O woe) they long may go vnfed.
Ayde (mighty Ioue) for Nilus Crocodiles
Are bathing in the pure Castalian head.
Pure horse-foot Helicon, their filth defiles,
Art, like Ægyptian dogs, must scape their wiles.
O dreary woe! the Muses did but sup,
And are infected with that pois'nous cup.
How like blacke Orcus lookes this dampy caue,
This obscure dungeon of Cimmerian sin,
This hugy hell! my spirit gins to raue,
To see blacke Pluto banquetting within
The once-form'd world with his faire Proserpin.
O see the world, all is by heau'n reiected,
Now that the sacred Muses are infected.


See, where Vrania, onelie's seated on
The twin-top'd hill, the steepie craggy mount,
That ouer-peeres, (once) cristall Helicon:
There bides she eu'ry storme, that once was wont
To bathe her selfe in the Castalian fount.
Yet this me gladdes, though she of ioy be reau'n,
Yet is she now come neerer vnto heau'n.
O where's Mauortio? may the Muses say:
And haue the heau'ns bereaued vs of blisse?
O heau'ns! nay O sweet heau'n fed Muses stay.
Exclaime not on the sacred heau'ns for this:
But as a mother (that her childe doth misse)
Lament: and be your heart from despaire wonne:
Your wombe may bring forth such another sonne.


And as thy Sunne not still could face the north,
But by his falling reaued thee of day;
(Because the day light's by the night put forth)
Nor can thy nights blacke hew endure alway:
Then hope sweet Delta hope, from murmure stay,
Thy Phœbus slumbreth but in Thetis lap:
Hee'l rise before thou thinkst of such a hap.
See that same rocke, the rocke of my defence,
Is metamorphosde to an Vnicorne:
Whose shining eies of glorious eminence,
Doth all the world with brightnes cleare adorne,
And with Ioues strength, hir life-preseruing horne,
Hath purified the cristallized fount,
That streames along the valley of Artes mount.


Her streaming rayes haue pierc'd the cloudie skies,
And made heau'ns traitors blush to see their shame;
Cleared the world of her blacke vironries,
And with pale feare doth all their treason tame.
Delta's Bellonian, (name of peerelesse fame)
Hath free'd Apollo from their treacherie,
And plac'd him in his former dignitie.
Come, come, you wights that are transformed quite,
Eliza will you retransforme againe;
Come star-crown'd female and receiue thy sight,
Let all the world wash in her boundlesse maine,
And for their paine receiue a double gaine.
My very soule with heau'nly pleasure's fed,
To see th' transform'd remetamorphosed.


Vrania sits amid Pernassus vale,
O're shelterd with an aire-cleare Canopie:
O senses nurse! soule-sweet refreshing dale,
Gods nectar; heau'ns sweet ambrosianie;
Conuert each riuer to pure Castalie.
That India it selfe, may sweetly raise,
Her well tun'd notes in high Iehouah's praise.
FINIS.


The Epilogue.

Now are the pitchie Curtains (that enclosde
The heau'nly radiance of Apollo's shine)
Drawne backe; and all that in hels caue reposd,
Are dauncing chearely in a siluer twine,
With heau'ns Vrania, shaming Proserpine.
Hell's Phlegetontike torches are put forth:
And now the Sunne doth face the frosty north.
Sacred Apollo, cheeres the lightsome day,
And swan-plum'd Phœbe gards the star-faire night,
Lest Pluto's forester, should cause estray,
Darke Cosmos Pilgrim's wandring without light;
Heau'ns star-embroderie doth shine full bright,
Heau'ns sacred lights agree in one consent,
To driue the cloudes from foorth the firmament.


Now is the Moone not blemisht with a cloud,
Nor any lampe (that should illuminate
And lighten eu'ry thing that heau'n doth shrowd)
Darkned; or else my sight gin's to abate,
And s'reaued of it intellectuate.
Each obscure caue is lightned by the day:
Or else mine eyes are forced to estray.
But when my heart was vrged forth to breath,
Fell accents of soule-terrifying paine;
My subiect was a heau'nly tapers death;
Night was my lampe; my inke, hell's pitchy maine:
Then blame me not, if my wittes light did waine,
Since but with night, I could with none conferre
In this my Epinyctall register.
FINIS.