Maggots :: :: University of Virginia Library

Charming Destroyer! whither wilt thou roll,
The tumbling Soul?
When Sylvia smiles with all her Sexes Arts,
And Angles for loose wandring Hearts;
Sweet lovely Poyson from her Lips she breaths,
Soft subtle Darts,
And dear bewitching Deaths;
Smiling Plagues she throws,
Golden Granado's sowes,
And into Air the tortur'd Soul with Loves white-powder blows,
Presents with painted Vipers gay, and crownd,
And scatters Heavenly Hells around.

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2.

A Kiss! there's Magick in the Name,
What Amulet against its force can Arm;
The willing Letters of themselves forbidden sounds compose,
And leap into a charm,
And plunge the Hearer in blew Waves of Flame,

At the Eruptions of that famous Sicilian Volcano, the melted Minerals broke down all opposition, and ran for many Miles a continual stream of Fire; when it came to any Houses, it burst all down tho' never so strong, and buryed the very Walls in heaps of Pumice Stones, and such kind of matter.

Such sulph'rous liquid flame as flows,
From Ætna's everlasting Womb:
Which oft e're now over proud Towns weak Walls arose,

And brought to Cities, and to men, both Death and Tomb;
Where Christal Lakes for long long Ages stood,

Among many other learned mens, 'tis the immortal Cowleys opinion, that under, or in the middle of the Earth, there is a Fund of Concreated water (as well as Fire) call'd—[The Fountains of the great deep.]

Supplyd from the Abyss with an eternal flood,
For long unnumbred Ages past,
Scarce Ice more cold, or chast;
There, over all the mouldring Banks red Surges pour;
There do's hot Vulcan ravish all, and all devour,

Vitrification is the last degree of Heat, in plain English turning into Glass.

And even vitrifies the Mud.
With much ado, to their great Fund some stragling drops retire,
Close at the Heels pursu'd by swift prepost'rous Waves of Fire.

3.

A Lip's the Devils Tinderbox,
Whence by soft repeated stroaks

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Lusts lurking Lightning flyes,
And blasts the unhappy Soul that pryes,
With rash unwary Eyes.
A downy Pillow where the firmest Heart is broke,
(Be't Heart of Flint, or Heart of Oak!)
With a sly never-smarting stroke:
A Kiss that Traytor in an Angels dress,
From bad Good-offices will never cease,
But ever seems to bring fair Overtures of Peace,
When its Commission speaks of nothing less.
At the Mouths tot'tring Gate it parlys Sin
Slides thro' a strong reserve,
To invested Lust, which else must quickly starve,
And gives Intelligence to every Enemy within.

4.

'Tis Death, 'tis Poyson all!
Slow, sure Italian poyson, 'twill

Some of the Italians are reported so skilful at the hellish Art of Poysoning (well reckon'd together, if not sometimes the same, with Witchcraft) that they'll kill ye a man to any precise time, as certainly as a Clock; and temper the potion so devilishly exquisite, it shall till such a time suspend its operation.

To a Year, an Hour, a Minute kill;
Dead without Hope the infected Wretches fall:
One Kiss will raise

The Tarantula is a Spider found in Apulia in Italy, whose Poyson is so peculiar, that the Person bitten by it falls incessantly a Dancing, nor is to be cured but by ------

More Frenzies than a score Tarantula's.
The tickling Venom thro' each secret path will run,
Till its mortal Errand's done,
The pungent Atoms search the Body o're,
Infect each drop of putred Gone,

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And chase the quivring Soul thro' every winding Pore:
And see the curst Enchantress smiling by,
Glares with a sharp unlucky eye,
Hind'ring the very wish of Remedy.

Which dissipates the Venom, and makes 'em, (I can't tell how) sweat it out again.

Musick the common countercharm,
Can only here increase the Immedicable Harm:
And raise ten thousand Devils more,
To all the unumber'd Legions revel'd there before.