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KOSMOBREVIA[Greek], or the infancy of the world

With an Appendix of Gods resting day, Edon Garden; Mans Happiness before, Misery after, his Fall. Whereunto is added, The Praise of Nothing; Divine Ejaculations; The four Ages of the world; The Birth of Christ; Also a Century of Historical Applications; With a Taste of Poetical fictions. Written some years since by N. B.[i.e. Nicholas Billingsley] ... And now published at the request of his Friends

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Sect. 1.

The Argument.

God begins the Worlds Creation,
Light from out of darkness brings.
Giving wondrous Operation,
To Wells, Rivers, Fountains, Springs.
God, when besides himself there nothing was,
But a rude Chaos, a confused Mass,
Of things disordered; all together hurl'd,
Did by his providence ordaine the world.
And first his, power, and cœlestial might,
Cleare light extracted, from the shades of night.
Then did he spread a glorious Curtain out,
Spangled with Starrs, and glory round about,
Embost with pearl, embroydered with gold,
With Chrysolits, and Carbuncles enrould.

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O work to be admir'd; what pen? what story!
Can point can blazon the Almighties glory.
I wanting Eagles eyes, am over-daz'd,
With too great light and winking stand amaz'd,
Thus, thus, heav'ns Architect by's word of power,
Edificated the ætherial Tower,
The Mass he dissipating, drew from thence,
The Center of the vast Circumference,
The solid substance altogether clung,
And by g'ometrical proportion hung,
In figure of a Sphær; this naked globe
He circumvested in a sea greene robe,
The Elements, Earth, Water, Ayer, and Fire,
Took each their station, Vulcan did aspire
To the sublimest Orb, Jove next in power
Predominates: next him, the watry Bower,
Of curl'd hair Neptune stands and last of all
Doth drossie Vesta to the bottome fall:
Vesta's inthron'd, Vesta that doth adorne,
Her breasts with flowers, and her lap with corne,
Vesta sinks down beneath her brothers sway
Being of more solidity then they.
The dry, and humid, heavy, and the light,
Soft, hard, b'ing opposites doe disunite.
Wet things with wet, cold things cōmix with cold,
Hot things with hot, do correspondence hold.

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From the Seas raging Tyranny, the Land
Is kept (Oh pow'r) with slipp'ry walls of sand.
Had the Sea leave to rage beyond its bound
Earth's Fabrick would (undoubtedly) be drown'd;
But the Almighties force of arms asswage
Th'impetuous threats of her imperious rage:
The Sea (now mild) engirds the earth about,
And like a Snake goes wriggling in and out:
The Marine Empress lib'rally bestows
Her store, and into divers Channels flows.
A River in the late world brought to light
Runs all the day, and resteth all the night.
Conspicuous silver-waved Euphrates,
Payes tribute to the domineering seas,
The streams of Tanais, transparent Po
And clear Erid'nus, from the Ocean go.
The river Erax, and the swift Meander,
Whose winding Mazes in and out doe wander,
(Much like the Lab'rinth of faire Rosamond
Or that Dædalian frame which did abscond
The monstrous Minotaur, in former dayes
So intricate for their retorted wayes)
Niphates bringing Tigers up and Phæsis
Fall on and Court with amorous embraces
The fair Queen Glauce; nimble-footed Rhene
Whose earth-dividing course both run between

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The Belgians, and the Germans, hath its motion
From Phorbas, Phorbas Kingling of the Ocean.
The Amazonian Thermodontin brooks,
And Oax also to the Ocean looks.
The river Jordan is a stream compounded
Of Jor and Dan, by curs'd Asphaltis bounded.
Gold-sanded Tagus, and the bow-string Tybur,
Yellow Pactolus, and Cantabrian Iber,
Take from the Seas their rise, the flowing Ganges,
With wandring current through the orient ranges
Septemfluous Nilus, and Armenian Tigris,
Libanian Jordan, Aquitanian Ligris,
Arcadian Ladon, and the Thuscian Arne,
The Thracian Stroymon, the Campanian Sarne,
Rhone, Incest, Lifter, and the Marsyan tydes,
Flow from, and to, the swelling Oceans sides:
Caucasian Indus, which receiveth plenty
Of pleasant rivers wanting one of twenty.
And what doth Simois? and what Matrona,
But waite and tend upon the Queen Diona?
All rivers in the world, or smal or mighty
Derive their lineage, from great Amphitrite,
Hence comes our British Severn, Wye, Lugg, Umber
And thousands too innumerous for number.
But stay my Muse thou hadst almost forgot
The Kentish Medway one of greatest note

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Next to that famous navigable Thames
Whose breasts are silv'red with compounded streams
Which bear up floating houses, what a train
Of lusty watermen doth Thames maintaine?
Who though with rapid force they'r backwards hurl'd
Yet are they often forwards in the world.
Great London is the Bow, the Thames the string
The Boats are arrows which about do spring
The Streams Sabbatical do rest and stay.
In observation of the Sabbath day.
Add here the German Savenire Pouhont,
And med'cinable Spa in great account
For its effecting strange unheard of things,
Unparalel'd by none unless the springs
Of Tunbridg famous in our Kentish county,
For casting up their subterraneous bounty,
Which relishing of Iron, and sulph'ry veines
Cures well nigh all infirmities and paines,
Nay lengthens life causing the fates t'unspin
Lifes drawn out thred, hath any got the spleen?
The dropsie? the vertigo? or the stone?
These waters will yield remedy alone.
Suppose th'art Lunatick, or Planet struck,
Hear's that will help thee, if thou hast the luck
To come and take it, is it thine endeavour
To be rid of the Collick or the feavour,

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Or the Obstructions of the Mesentery,
Reines, Melt, and liver? wouldest thou fain be merry
And freed from Melancholy? if you please
To use these waters, doubtless, you'l have ease;
Gouts Ischyatica's, the French-mans pox,
And what flows from Pandora's opened box
These Springs resist, and for your comfort here
Green sickness, Maids, a remedy is neere.
And you, disheartned Sarahs, do but come
And drink, and you'l have an enlarged wombe.
In brief, to cure all maladies, there dwells
A Soveraign vertue in these Tunbridge Wells.
Nor must I leave those Bristoll Baths which are
For their effects so wonderful, so rare.
All Aches Cramps, Convulsions (and what not?)
Dy in those waters naturaly hot.
Well, I cou'd wish those Authors of disorders
Too much encreased in those B istoll borders
I mean that frantick self-afflicting crew
Of trembling Quakers, with their Captain too
Tongue-bored Nailor, branded in the forehead
With B for blasphemy, were in those torrid
And scalding Currents forc'd to stand awhile
My Genius tells me they'd at last recoyle
Their fond conceits, and soon be a forsaking
Their censuring others; and give over Quaking.

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The ub'rous fountains and each conduit brings
Its store of water from their bubbling springs,
Of Neptune's stock Acidalus came down,
Yielding her store, to the Bæotian Town.
So Aganippe is a sacred fountaine,
Us'd by the Ladies of the by-fork'd mountaine,
And Arethusa, whose mellifluous wombe
Is sweet, nay sweeter then the hony-combe.
What should I speak of th'Hippocrenian Well?
And what shall I of the Clitorian tell?
The first wherof the Muses haunt a brook
The hoofe of winged Pegasus hath strook
The other Fount, (it seems to me divine,)
Can make men sober when ore took with wine,
The Well Telpissa, is so cold so chill
That it Tyresia, (as they say) did kill,
Th'Ammonian Fount, is cold and hot by turns
Cold in the day, and in the night it burns.
'Tis said the sportfull Eleusinian spring,
Will dance when shepherds are disposed to sing,
Clarean a Well (for it there needs no strife,)
Doth lengthen eloquence, but shortens life,
Sweet Helicon's a consecrated Well,
To th'Muses, in it do the Muses dwell.
Phineus, a Well, is wholsome in the day
To drink, but hurtful in the night (men say)

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The fount Cabura yields a fragrant smell,
The well Halcyon, danceth very well,
Cilician Cydnus, cures the gout the spring
Leucoges eye sight to the blinde doth bring,
Cyzices quencheth hot Idalian fire,
A draught of Lycus causeth life t'expire.
All things doe in the gulf of Sylla sink.
The Stream Anyger, casts a loathsom stink:
Azanium is a Well which doth incline,
Bacchus his Genial Friends to loath all wine.
Athamas water setteth wood on fire
Making the kindled flames for to aspire.
There are a number more which he that looks
Shall find set down in Learned Authors Books,
My Muse hath touch'd the chiefest she hath read,
And tir'd with search, discretion calls to bed.