 | Miscellany Poems |  |
On an Indian Tomineios, the Least of Birds.
I
Im'e made in sport by Nature, whenShee's tir'd with the stupendious weight
Of forming Elephants and Beasts of State;
Rhinocerots, that love the Fen;
The Elkes, that scale the hills of Snow,
And Lions couching in their awfull Den:
These do work Nature hard, and then
7
What she can for her own Diversion doe.
II
Man is a little World ('tis said)And I in Miniature am drawn,
A Perfect Creature, but in Short-hand shown.
The Ruck, in Madagascar bred,
(If new Discoveries Truth do speak)
Whom greatest Beasts and armed Horsemen dread,
Both Him and Me one Artist made:
Nature in this Delight doth take,
That can so Great and Little Monsters make.
III
The Indians me a Sunbeam name,And I may be the Child of one:
So small I am, my Kind is hardly known.
To some a sportive Bird I seem,
And some believe me but a Fly;
Thô me a Feather'd Fowl the Best esteem:
What er'e I am, I'me Nature's Gemm;
And, like a Sunbeam from the Sky,
I can't be follow'd by the quickest Eye.
IV
I'me the true Bird of Paradise,And heavenly Dew's my only Meat:
My Mouth so small, 'twill nothing else admit.
No Scales know how my weight to poise,
So Light, I seem condensed Air;
And did at th' End of the Creation rise,
When Nature wanted more Supplies,
When she could little Matter spare,
But in Return did make the work more Rare.
| Miscellany Poems | |