AMBITION SCOURGE.  
DESCRIBED IN THE MORALE FICTION OF IXYON, BY Sands Penuen.  Qui desiderium suum c●ausit, cum●oue de felicitate contendit. Senec. 
LONDON, Printed for john Helm, and are to be sold at his shop, in S. Dunston● Church-yard in Fleetstrecte. 1611.   

TO THE RIGHT vorshipfull, Sir Michael Sands, of Throughley in Kent, Knight.  

IF what is truly Moral, serious, grave,  
May (clad in Rhymes) but gracious favour have:  
From your Right worthy self, then am I crowned,  
As if with Laurel, for in you abound  
All that make man complete; it is you therefore  
That my Muse for her Patron doth implore:  
'Twas by your means that I was first instructed  
In Grammar learning, since which time inducted  
To some more knowledge, I most humbly pray  
You, to accept this Tributary pay,  
From him (who though his Muse) be yet unnoted,  
Vows all her studies are to you devoted.  
Nor should it be a blemish to your Fame,  
To have these Pages wait upon your Name.   
Your worships to command, Sa: Penuen.   

The Author to the Press. Epigram.  

THe Press for Print, is worse than that for Death;  
For that stops ill, and this vent's stinking breath.   
Sa. P.   

To his Friend, Sa: Penuen, on his Ixyon.  

IT seems Apollo leads thee to the spring,  
Where thou mayst hear the learned Sisters sing:  
For by thy lively wits Invention,  
Thou show'st Ixyons lewd intention.  
He hath his merit, punishment and shame,  
Take thou thy merit, 'tis a living Fame.   
C. R. Gent.   

R. D. Esquire, to his respected Friend, Sands Penuen.  

IF only he might read, that knew to write,  
Whose Censure void of Ignorance as spite:  
Might cherish free, or check: not he whose brain  
Is lighter than his feather, whose chief strain  
Of wit, consists in's neat composure, fraught  
With nothing but ill face, can me●e, cry nought.  
(As best comporting with him) than thy Muse  
Might something hope, but midst these times abuse,  
To publish aught (of good) were to suppose,  
Gallant might something mind (save their spruce clothes  
Which were enough to damn thee, wherefore friend,  
Henceforth, or leave to write, or hope, or send  
Thy Papers to the Counter, in whose Treasure  
(Reserved) our Bravers with more wit, more leisure  
Hereafter may peruse them, and extract  
This Moral from thy work, that as the act  
Of vain Ixyon Centaurs got of Clouds,  
So vapour infaire show, foul Monsters shrouds.   
Sanabimur si separemur à Coetu. R. D. Esq   

Ixyon.  

RAre's the Conjunction, the concordance sweet  
When with endeavour, wit and Art do meet:  
When true Promethean fire doth warm the brain  
Then Industry lifts up her high sung strain,  
Still soars, still mounts (regardless of base things)  
As high as Fame doth on her golden Wings:  
But out alas, Learning and Art refuse  
To shed their influence on my ruder Muse.  
Nor could she ever sweetly move her wing,  
Only as Carters whistle, so I sing.  
They (to delight themselves) do rudely chant,  
And that I please myself, I only vaunt.  
For in all actions, man's delight him draws,  
And Appetite is senseless of all Laws.  
Then mount low verse, to sing Ixion's Fate,  
And to thy help, the Muses invocate.  
Ye sacred Deities, you I implore,  
Whom sage Memoria bred, and nursed of yore:  
Lend your assistance to my feeble skull,  
With your Pierean vigour make me full.  
Ye glorious Sisters of Parnassus hill,  
Your holy fury into me distill.  
You, the Pegasian Fount that daily haunt,  
And on the brim do most divinely chant:  
Now send your Influence, and me inspire,  
Highly to sing the justice of your Sire.  
Ixyon, (sometime) the Thessalian King,  
Whose high Ambition flew on horrid wing:  
And checked each virtuous motion that did rise,  
To intercept (his bloody enterprise)  
Soon after he his marriage rites had done,  
And quite dissolved his wives white virgin Zone.  
Thinks with himself, that well it might agree,  
To keep the fruit, and yet to burn the Tree:  
The sapless trunk bore on his withered top,  
A sparkling diadem, a golden crop.  
Which to possess, Ixyon strange plots lays,  
(Longing to gild his brows with borrowed rays)  
The Crown he aims at (senseless of remorse,)  
Not by the Ladders help, but axe's force.  
Nor will he by Succession hope to climb,  
Nor rest content the fruits maturing time.  
But cease it straight (regardless of all right)  
Will is pure justice when it speak from might.  
Eyoneus (that as a bar did stand,  
T' Ixion's hopes) must by some politic hand  
Be snatched away, Ixyon plots the means,  
His thoughts are actors in most tragic Scenes  
And now his Genius prompteth him to war,  
On some forged cause to move a public jar.  
To enter King Eyoneus fertile Land  
With warlike troops, and with an armed band.  
With horse's hooves to furrow up the plain,  
And sow the field with blood, in steed of Graine.  
On this waits danger, his close hope replies:  
So this plot quickly borne, as quickly dies.  
And (like the flower of flax that fades i'th' womb)  
This projects birth is now become its tomb.  
Because (quoth he) his daughter is my wife,  
'Twould blast my Fame, if I should seek his life  
By open Arms, therefore (however I work)  
This is no course, my hate must closely lurk.  
And 'twere preposterous to waste his land,  
Whose person now is (dreadless) in my hand.  
Besides, I think this Axiom not vain,  
" They that get much by blood, but little gain.  
These thoughts (intruding thus) do yet want might  
For to extinguish his still growing spite:  
But new inventions from his brain do flow,  
As fast as ivy sprouts, or Mushromps grow.  
Restless Ambition, whether dost thou tend,  
Thy still fresh Labours? to what horrid end dread?  
Fraught'st thou Ixyons ever-working head,  
With nought but thoughts of horror, blood, and  
he's now thy Slave, obeys thee at each nod,  
And thou (foul fiend) art now become his God.  
Led on blessed Saint (saith he) and still direct me,  
While thus with richest Epithets I deck thee.  
Then as some Rymesters of these latter days,  
Bedaub black Dowdes with brightest Angels praise  
Swearing the Graces dwell within their cie,  
And that each part is some pure Deity:  
So 'gins Ixyon to extol his Saint,  
And with rich colours this black piece to paint.  
Thou art (quoth he) th'inciter to great deeds,  
For by thy only breath our honour breeds.  
Thou only dost distinguish man from beast  
And lift'st whom thou possessed 'bove the rest:  
Thou tak'st from us that Elemental earth  
Nature with th'other three mixed ere our Birth  
And in that room fresh air thou dost infuse  
Which makes us mount above the sprightly Muse  
Thou art indeed that self-same loving fire,  
Whose stealth infused in the Gods such Ire  
Against Promethius: burn clear bright flame,  
To add another title to my Name:  
A single sceptre cannot poise my hand,  
But I'll join Thrace unto my native Land.  
Then warm my brain with thy celestial fire,  
For till my stars eclipse me I'll aspire,  
Usher mine actions, still make good my hate,  
Eyoneus grave mounts me to best of fate.  
By this the Sun (eclipsed with dust and sweat,  
B'gan in the Sea to quench his thirsty heat.  
By this Apollo with descending beams,  
Began to pierce the silver sliding streams:  
And (though half tired with travail) sprightly ran,  
To drench his tresses in the Ocean.  
Now that the fiery Planet, God of Light,  
Had taken his beams hence, and given place to Night  
Night with broad sable wings did fan the Sea,  
Taking her rice from off the watery Lea.  
And in her pitchy mantle sits on high,  
Nailed with a thousand Stars upon the sky.  
Now shine Oryon and the Pleyades,  
While Phoebus' rays do gild th' Antipodes,  
And Cynthia in long disheveled hair,  
With silver Cressent doth adorn her Sphere:  
Now toile-dissoluing Night with silent charms  
Welcome's Ixyon in her sable arms.  
Dull Icelon hangs on their eyes like Lead,  
And summons all the family to bed.  
Where all enjoy sweet, pleasant downy rest,  
Except Ixyon whose still-troubled breast,  
Cannot admit of wit-refreshing sleep,  
But with his murderous thoughts strict watch doth keep.  
Yet (not forgetting Hymenaeal rights, harm,  
He hugs his wife with feigned appetite. warm:  
She gentle Queen, pure, dreadless of all  
With her soft twines his hate child blood doth  
And feasts him with rare junkets and such sweets  
In whose fruition all delights do meet. case,  
Ixyon soon, her, and himself doth please,  
Which done, she sleeps, Delights o'retane by  
Me thinks the fruit yielding such pleasant taste  
Such lively sweets that yet unperish't last,  
Might well extinguish that same blood-fed flame,  
That i'th' trees dust inter's the fellers' fame.  
But nought prevails, Eyoneus needs must fall,  
" No sweets can sweeten a corrupted Gall.  
For now I hear Ixyon thank his Fate,  
For means how to produce th'effects of Hate  
Which Night (well suiting with his blacker (thought)  
Into his mind hath firm, yet quickly brought:  
And now he spends the remnant of the Night  
Only in wishing for th'approaching Light:  
Yet he with horror means to cloud the day,  
Thirsty ambition cannot brook delay.  
And now Aurora with flow stately pace  
distills her pearly drops on every place.  
Which Phoebus seeing (ushered by that Star,  
That still conducts him to his burning Car)  
Comes forth in state, to take from earth again  
What his Love gave, t'enrich each fertile plain.  
Ixyon riseth, and with quickest speed,  
Sends to Ericthoe, whose damned help he needs,  
Strictly commanding, that she strait purvey  
Some Hell-charmed fog to canopy the d 〈…〉:  
And by her a Sorcery storm to rear,  
Whose noise might make both men and Gods to fear:  
Ericthoe in a Cave of Thessaly,  
That underpinned a lofty promontory  
Had her abiding, there no spark of Light,  
Did ever peep, 'twas there eternal Night.  
Save only that some sparkles did arise,  
From her half buried, ever-fiery eyes.  
Her hayreles scalp was like a statues head,  
Each side with a huge elselocke furnished:  
Of colour like a blacke-roane horses tail,  
All which a kercher of Bats wings doth vail:  
Her facelike Mars, his front wrinkled with ire  
Or parchment leaves, late scorched by the fire:  
She once had teeth and lips, but truth to say,  
Time now hath worn, both teeth and lips away.  
She, scarnell backed, and hollow is her breast,  
Her legs are crooked, and deformed the rest:  
All parts with one another angry Bee,  
Only her nose and chin do still agree,  
And (lovingly) do always kiss each other,  
Which her breath envying with horrid smother  
Seeks to disjoin them, but yet (wanting might)  
Doth only blast both, with her cruel spite,  
And makes them look of such a swarthy red,  
As doth corrupted flesh by Art made dead:  
Thus lives Ericthoe, and by Sorcery  
Doth clog the soul, with damned impiety.  
Hold gentle Muse, do not thus loosely stray,  
But with high wing trace thy proposed way:  
Now draw the Curtains, and unmask a deed  
May wonder-strike the world, and human seed.  
Ixyon (having to Ericthoe sent)  
Salutes Eyoneus with fair complement,  
And him invites, (the Morn yet being clear)  
To hunt the savage Boar, or timorous Deer:  
And after that, be pleased to accept  
A customary thing the Ancients kept:  
Which was, that every Son in Law did give  
Gifts to his wives Sire, and that use did live  
Religiously observed through many ages,  
Reverenced of all, confirmed by learned Sages:  
Those gifts (when as their sport is ended quite,  
And exercise hath sharpened Appetite)  
He saith he would present him at a Feast,  
Where only he should be his Princely Guest:  
He condescends, so ride they to their sport,  
And for Field-game, change the delights of Court.  
Scarce had the Dear been roused by their hounds  
(Whose noise with Echoes made the hills rebound)  
When black Ericthoe by her Sorcery,  
Had much distempered the day-guiding Sky:  
It seemed that love, (moved with some noise on earth  
To confound that, had given his Thunder breath.  
For now it spoke loud (mixed with hail and rain)  
And Pallid Lightning blasts the hopeful grain:  
segesta's son (bound by Erichtho's charm)  
Now cannot keep the winds from doing harm,  
Nor yet confine them in their low-built Cave,  
But that for passage boy strously they rave,  
Forcing their freedom, with as awful power,  
As if they meant to tear their marble Tower:  
And as swift Currents, long restrained from vent,  
Grow rougher through their forced imprisonment.  
And with the clamorous roaring that they make,  
Do force the Herds, the fertile Banks forsake:  
Even so the winds (rushing from forth their den)  
Bring sudden terror, on amazed men:  
Here Turrets tremble, there huge Steeples shake,  
Some (storm-torne) tumble, most their place forsake  
Strange, strong effects of a bad mixed potion,  
To give things senseless, such quick sudden motion?  
Cost on fair buildings laid, was laid amiss,  
For what but now had form, a Chaos is:  
The Conjured Tempest, makes the Thickets nod, storm  
(Such hellish power dwells in Erichtho's rod)  
Trees, whose strength could not but oppose this  
By opposition lose both life and form:  
And they that bore their tops most high,  
Are now the meanest underneath the Sky.  
Nothing but Shrubs are safe, who low in State,  
Are not yet ripe for such preposterous Fate.  
But yet Eyoneus, like a Laurel bough  
(Untouched, save with the horror of this show)  
Did cheerfully advance his reverent head,  
Which in Ixyon most amazement bred:  
For on this Storm which took this ample scope,  
Stood the firm Bases of his bloody hope.  
Whereon like a Colossus he might stand,  
(By Murder propped) and govern either Land:  
Murder he thinks no Sin, knowing few frown  
On deeds (though near so black, whom th'events crown,  
And had Eyoneus here endured the worst,  
'Twould have seemed accidental that forced,  
And had this Tempest ruined him and all,  
What was inhuman, had seemed natural.  
This Tempest (missing this intended wrack)  
Somewhat of her late force began to slack,  
And in far calmer terms her rage to spend,  
For now Erichtho's Charm took solemn end.  
And as a rout of rude untutored Hinds,  
Whose best bade senses, causeless Fury blinds,  
In mad confused manner move some jar,  
(Making Trade-engines instruments of War)  
One bears an Axe, th'other a Hammer brings,  
" Fury can make weapons of any thing:  
And (weakly armed with swords) but strong in Ire,  
Consume the Neighbour villages with Fire:  
Knowing theyare Traitors, nought can them assuage  
But on all things, they execute their rage:  
Their lives being forfeit, aim at things most fair  
" He that for nought can hope, should nought despair:  
Yet from the Prince, if some grave man be sent,  
To promise pardon, if they be content  
To cease their mutiny, and to submit  
To him that wears the awful Coronet:  
At first, a busy murmurs only heard,  
As if some unknown Stratagem they feared,  
But (soon resolved) their Arms they cast away,  
And in most grateful terms proclaim their joy.  
Even so the winds (freed from erictho's Charm)  
Seem to repent their lately rash done harm,  
And quietly (being manacled beneath)  
Doth only Fan the World, with mildest breath:  
The Thunder hushed, and Ioues late fiery fumes  
Their proper Element do reassume.  
The rayne's appeased, and juno's Nuntius  
Is to the world seen as propitious,  
And in her several colours richly dight,  
(Arching the Sky) doth promise purer Light.  
Ixyon feigns himself with joy o'ercome,  
To see Eyoneus had escaped the storm,  
And presently conducts him, as to take  
These Spowfall gifts, where he must all forsake,  
T'a Lodge, (for murder acted) thither goes,  
" A feigned friend's worse than ten open Foes.  
There come, and seated, Ceremonious rites  
Promise fair Welcome, seasoned with delights:  
When in deep silence, full of expectation,  
Noting Ixyons formal Celebration,  
And seeming duteous zeal, Eyoneus Chair,  
Gins to sink with him, to some lower stair:  
He (dreadless) sits, and presently doth slip,  
Through some few sticks, into a fiery pit:  
Whose low, close, servant heat, and dismal fume,  
Did in an instant, his lives strength consume.  
Slaves take him up, but ere with him they rise,  
His Soul (being better winged) was 'bove the Skies.  
Thou most unworthy, both of name & being,  
How couldst thou act this thy unjust decreeing,  
And under show of Love (composed of dirt)  
Kill, whom a hellish storm thought Sin to hurt?  
What breach of holy Hospitality,  
Of open kindness, and Friends loyalty,  
Hast thou herein committed? Oh these ills  
Would put rough teeth, into the smoothest quills:  
Hadst thou given notice of thy hate's condition,  
Or had it been in Hostile opposition,  
Less had thy scandal been, but with fair face  
To shroud such deeds, is as abhorred, as base.  
Dissimulation! Oh, there's nothing worse,  
'tis Treason's mother, of all ills the Nurse.  
A false glass to the Soul, that still presents  
Things in fair forms, near crowned with good events:  
The fire that burns gives warning by his flame  
T'avoid the ill his pointed angles frame,  
But that in ashes rak't, unfeared, unseen,  
Is the most dangerous minister of spleen:  
The Sea whom Aeolus doth move to anger,  
Doth by some sign foretell the flowing danger:  
And all things that bided peril unto man,  
Have tokens that pregoe the hurt they can;  
The Sun (declining) tells us 'twill be dark,  
And though some cur do bite before he bark  
Yet in the spacious world was never found  
A dog that (fawning) ere was known to wound;  
But man that should be best, is Lord of all,  
As goods, so vices to his share do fall:  
For this (in knowing creatures) hath been ever  
To see the best, yet in the worst persever.  
Vain men that Deified themselves, do deem  
When Titles timpanize them, than they seem  
Like bladders puffed, or like a strutting Player  
(He daubed with kingly form, they stuffed with air,)  
And (severed from the multitude by name)  
Think they are blest with never dying Fame.  
Yet Fame (though near so worthily achieved)  
We see is or abortive, or short lived,  
And unto no man any comforts brings,  
But flies above us with inconstant wings.  
Oh why did not the Heavens by grave foresight  
Ad to the winds strength their revenging might  
To cease Ixyon? but they are content  
By sparing to increase his punishment:  
And scourge him when he is in greatest state,  
" Vengeance is full grown, falls in height of Fate.  
Ixyon (stained with the rich blood he spilled)  
Untouched in every place, save with his guilt,  
Wisheth his Senses had not muffled been,  
To lead him blindfold to so foul a sin:  
And that Eyoneus death had been prevented,  
Which as 'twas quickly done, was soon repent:  
Curseth his Fate, and in repentant sort  
Conveys Eyoneus breathless corpses to Court:  
Where when he came, the care-bethronged Queen  
Soon as her father lifeless she had seen,  
Asked whose black deed that was, Ixyon straight  
(Weeping) acknowledged 'twas his deceit,  
And what he closely acted, did reveal,  
" (murder's a Sin no Conscience can conceal)  
Which very words extinguished her lives fire,  
For at the sound thereof she did expire.  
Time, that with sharpest , and purple wings  
In his swift race to Dissolution brings  
The great'st and worthiest monuments on earth,  
Whose end is dateless, like his unknown birth,  
Hath now with Fate so leagueally agreed,  
As in Ixyon discontent to breed,  
His Conscience is his scourge, he feels thereby  
A smarting fence of his impiety:  
The funeral tapers that adorned their hearse  
Shall give safe conduct to my mournful verse,  
Which (not extinct with sighs) did clearly burn  
Over their twofold, timeless, filled Urn,  
Until the latest obsequies were done,  
And they both laid under one marble stone.  
Ixion's clearer judgement than exhalde  
Those mists of horror which his Senses veiled:  
And gave him leave to look into his Soul,  
Which (charged with great accounts) did straight control  
All his delights on earth, they being fled,  
Hop keeps him living, Passion strikes him dead:  
And both together with their several darts,  
Wound and torment all his interior parts:  
Hope bids him live, and cancel care at length,  
But in mean time his Care consumes his strength  
Vnmarroweth his bones, unsappes his veins,  
And keeps him full of disagreeing pains:  
And thus he lives in deepest passions drowned,  
His present griefs all future joys confound:  
All men abhor him for his ill urged gall,  
" He is most wretched, none lament at all.  
And thus (accompanied by none but grief)  
He leaves his kingdom like a midnight thief,  
And like a wanderer strays about the earth,  
Cursing his Fate, exclaiming on his birth:  
Wishing that day wherein he first drew breath  
Had by his funeral proclaimed his death,  
That when he crept out of his mother's womb  
H'had (wailed) gone into his latest Tomb,  
And then a sullen silence in him breeds  
He only with his tears his sorrow feeds:  
Still they distill apace yet are not done,  
His eyes are springs that never cease to run:  
One drop, another's room doth straight supply,  
Yet near exhaust's the current of his eye:  
At last his grief with care his breast o're-fraughts,  
Then (tired with thinking thus, he vents his thoughts:  
Furrow my cheeks salt tears, blow up your way,  
You are a tribute that mine eyes must pay:  
In time the dew of Heaven doth pierce the flint,  
And you should run till you have made a dint  
On either cheek, nor then should take your rest  
But with moist offerings keep them still possessed:  
You did direct me in my cruelty,  
Therefore I'll drown you both until you die:  
Which since my tears (your natural rheum) refuse  
Deep sighs I'll make tempestuous to that use,  
The which shall never cease till you they wrack,  
But move rough billows on my tears smooth back:  
But whence proceeds this childish idle flood?  
Whence? from lasting crime of shedding blood:  
Which to wipe off, I strive with as vain hope  
As they that hourly wash an Aethiope:  
Nor all the Scas i'th' world (though on me spilled)  
Yet could not cleanse me of his leapours guilt:  
Then why do these slight drops fall from mine eye?  
To feed my griefs Lamps that would else be dry:  
Oh that contrition, offerings, or these tears  
(Self conquering trophies which my sorrow bears)  
Or all that is, or may devised be,  
To make a guilty Soul with peace agree,  
Can but redeem the Glory I have lost,  
How would my Soul (though ever weeping) boast?  
But none of these can e'er inter my shame,  
(Now King) of nothing but a large defame  
Which will live ever, and wax huger still,  
" Report doth (going) grow of good or ill:)  
Nor set me in my pristine Innocence,  
" There is no sting like that of Conscience:  
Yet these (though bootless) here I vow to spend,  
Till Time conspire with Fate to work mine end.  
These and the like from a vast Sea of woes  
That in Ixion's guilty breast still flows  
He still repeats, and carelessly doth stray,  
" He that is poor, is ne'er out of his way:  
At last with weary limbs, and bared sealpe  
He in's progression mounts the frozen Alps,  
And (by despair) almost to madness droven  
His long neglected hands he rears to Heaven,  
And (wanting means for other sacrifice)  
Thus on his knees bespoke the Deities:  
Ye still-agreeing powers, empty of jars,  
That in your daily motion tread on Stars,  
You that o'er look this our terrestrial Ball,  
Whose influence gives form and life to all,  
You that in Characters, subscrib'de by Fate,  
Record the world's vast frame, and utmost date,  
Oh let a mortals prayers, and tears entreat  
Safe pass for some few words, to Ioues high seat,  
And when (clad all in air) they mount on high,  
Be pleased dread powers, to let them pierce the sky  
Great son of Saturn, everliving jove,  
By whose permission every thing doth move,  
Eternal essence that with awful mace  
Dost rule all things in Heaven, and human race,  
Whose only smile can save, or frown can spoil,  
Whose very breath doth make the Ocean boil,  
Whose every action fills the world with wonder  
Whose eyes dart Lightning, & whose voice is Th●●●,  
Whose glorious Throne the Zodiac underbaries  
that out-shin'st all, clad in thy robe of Starr●s.  
Oh if a man, whose guilt speaks in his face,  
Whose Sins exclude from all good hope of grace  
May dare attempt, with blood-polluted hands  
To touch thy Pedestell, whereon there stands  
Wrought by divine Art, such a world of Glory,  
As to all worlds shall be an ample story:  
Then et Ixyon (rich in nought but shame,  
And all the adjuncts to a vast defame)  
With tears petitionary thee desire,  
To purge his Sins with thine immortal fire,  
Cleanse what's corrupt, make pure what is most fowl  
And of my speckled, make a glorious Soul:  
The more my Sin, the greater is thy Fame,  
If thou do purge it with thy hallowed flame:  
Will not you crystal stellified gate  
, and with mild aspect adorn my Fate?  
Hear me dread jove, or if thou wilt not hear,  
Yet take some notice of these penitent tears,  
Can my tongue speak as loud as doth my Sin  
With my shrill prayers ere now, thou'dst roused been:  
Yet still i'll pray, and with my dismal cries,  
Fan open thy Glories Curtain, the blue Skies,  
And till my sins with mercy be commixed,  
A kneeling living Statue here be fixed.  
At this th'appeased Heavens began to smile,  
And this great Deity that had all this while  
With an attentive care observed the prayers  
Ixyon spent, his penitence and tears:  
(Prompted by pity) doth resolve once more  
To make Ixyon happier than before:  
And for his kingdoms loss, he means to give  
A place of residence, where he shall live.  
Mating himself (above i'th' arched Sky,  
There sporting with the Gods eternally:)  
To this great work, he summons instantly  
His Son, and Herald (winged Mercury)  
With his gold plumes through th'air to make quick flight,  
And be a welcome Nuntius to this wight:  
enjoining Hermes on the Alps t'appear,  
(From whence Ixyons prayer pierced his care)  
And whom he found there (weeping in Despair)  
To Usher him through the yielding air:  
What needed more to him of wit that's God?  
Toth' wise one word's enough, to him Ioues nod:  
Hermes with speed quicker than thought of mind  
Lights on the Alps, as was by jove assigned,  
And there (with hands upreard) Ixyon found  
Kneeling, his knees even grown unto the ground:  
Whom (when he sees) he with his rod him charms,  
Bids him be dreadless of all future harms,  
And fro the cold earth (moistened with his tears)  
To rise and follow him empty of fears:  
(Which said) through th'air his silver Rod he moves,  
And executed so the will of jove  
Ixyon now above in Heaven is placed,  
Welcomed by jupiter, and by him graced,  
And now Ixyon would my Muse might leave thee,  
But of that hope, thy worst Fate doth bereave me:  
Hadst been contented when thou wert so blessed  
thou'dst still been happy, and my Muse ta'en rest:  
But thy Ambition caused thy so great fall,  
And that of all ills is original.  
But why tax I thee for such loss of glory,  
That dare with so young Muse attempt thy story?  
I should have left it to some learned Pen  
That had been deeply steeped in Hippochrenes:  
As thou in thy attempt, I must fall too,  
Though my fall cannot be so great, and low:  
Yet were my ruin just as near as thine,  
'tis honour t'have attempted things divine:  
Then on my Muse in this thy forward race,  
Usher thy servant with thy best of grace  
To end this little work, and here I swear  
Some worthy Trophy to thy name I'll rear.  
Ixyon (seated thus by Ioues consent)  
Saw those most envy were most eminent,  
For his great height did in some Gods infuse  
A kind of hate, which yet they durst not use:  
First Icelon, cause from him he extorted  
Much time, which he with so black thoughts consorted,  
Next Aeolus, for by a Witches rod  
H'had made him seem a Tyrant and no God:  
Hymen was also swollen with much despite,  
Because his holy Laws he so did slight:  
Rhamnusia inly vexed, and much did rue,  
Because her punishment, which was his due  
Was not (as yet) inflicted on his head,  
That was by Vice into such horror led:  
In others (too) much spleen which known to jove  
He with his frown doth check, and so remove.  
Thus by the Gods, finding this sweet relief,  
Purged of his Crime, as also of the grief  
His Crime brought on him, he gins to swell,  
Man's highest rice is nearest step to Hell:  
For now Ixyon doth retain no sense  
Of his late guilt, or sting of Conscience:  
But as a Lecher in the surgeons cure,  
Vows (if once well) to be no more impure,  
And swears he'll never clip his Whore again,  
(And means so too, as long as he feels pain)  
Yet is no sooner cured of his harms,  
But he straight leaps into his Harlot, arms:  
Even so Ixyon (purged from this sin)  
To attempt a greater far doth thus begin:  
Ioues wife and Sister, whether by her eye  
Or by the power of Cupid's Deity,  
I'll not distinguish, struck him so in love,  
As to heavens Queen, his Lust-suite he durst move:  
And (warmed with much more than Promethean fire)  
juno he courts to sat his lewd desire:  
Oh the unbounded Lust, and pride of Man,  
That in their blood's height no one reason scan,  
But abuse favours that have them rewarded,  
Nor p●ritie of States is then regarded,  
Princes neglected, nay the Gods profaned  
To get a pleasure lost, e'er fully gained:  
For Reason's light, clear as the lamp of day,  
Shines in each Room of this our house of clay,  
Save those that serve our lust, and they are left,  
Of all but sensual appetite bereft:  
No light shines there, and Poets works importune,  
Our Lust makes us more blind than they feign fortune  
Ixyons' heat keeps him from being mute,  
And prompts him thus to move his loathed suit:  
Immortal greatness, Deity most pure,  
Whose name, and glory ever shall endure:  
Vouchsafe to what I here present in fear,  
To lend a willing, and a gracious care:  
Nor let my boldness any anger move,  
Since faults are no faults, that are done by Love:  
From style of all presumption, that doth free  
My great attempt, my suit, my name and me:  
The Gods have laid aside their great estate,  
To court fair Shepherdesses, Love and Fate  
Are above all, Love reigns in every part,  
Mars (clad in arms) was wounded by his dart:  
And as his power can take from Gods, even so  
It can add worth to us that are below:  
Then by this rule I'm worthy of thy Love,  
Made great by that which hath abased jove:  
Which let me but possess (perfections Queen)  
And I'll be dreadless of your husband's spleen:  
Nor shall his Cyclops in me possions move,  
" The flames of Aetna match not those of Love:  
And never shame with me to act loves deed,  
Since Gods have often mixed with human seed.  
At this th'incensed Queen, whose silver brow,  
Beauty and Dread (in several forms) did show:  
In an amazed majesty thought good,  
To cure with Vengeance this disease a'th' blood:  
Yet knowing in Ioues thoughts he sat so high,  
Omitt's revenge, and makes this sharp reply:  
And is this then the tribute that you pay,  
To him breathed Heavenly fire in earthly clay?  
Are these the offerings due unto his shrine,  
That did thy clew of misery untwine,  
And when Despair sat heavy on thy breast  
Removed thy torments, gave thy sorrows rest▪  
Hath then great jove, (my dreaded Lord and brother  
In pardoning one sin, thus produced another?  
This than I see for truth shall still endure,  
‛ Pity in Gods makes men to sin secure:  
I'll answer thee as once Latena did,  
Her nightly wandering daughter, that unhid  
Doth with her virgin body lamp dark night,  
Once grieved to be so seen to human sight,  
She of her mother presently requested  
To be with some rich proper robe invested,  
Which she might ever wear to hide her shame,  
Preserve her modesty, and secure her fame:  
Latona wisely answered again,  
That thy request is idle, fond and vain;  
For sometime thou'rt so big, no rob can hide thee,  
Sometime so little, we can scarce espy thee:  
Then since thou art so subject unto change,  
Thou 'bout the Zodiac still shalt naked range:  
And that's the cause Luna abhors the light,  
And ne'er is seen to us but in the Night:)  
Thou (more than she her form) dost change thy mind,  
Thy vast desires are in no bounds cozened:  
Sometime thy thoughts are humble as the earth  
Which thou wert made of, and which gave thee birth,  
Sometime (as now) thou dost as vainly swell,  
As he that for his pride was cast to Hell:  
Then what one thing can fit thy disposition,  
That's of so strange and various a condition?  
From thy abhorred Lust I will be free,  
As she her daughter, so I'll answer thee:  
Which is immovable, cease to dispute,  
Luna could get no gown, nor thou thy suit.  
Yet (saith Ixyon) hear me e'er you go,  
Let not cold chastity benumb you so:  
As to contemn my love, be my loves mate,  
Though not to crown my love, to quite your hate:  
‛ le not desist for this your first reply,  
Who (faintly) craves, instructeth to deny:  
Know mighty Queen, jove doth you so much wrong,  
As y'are not just, if you Revenge prolong:  
Changing himself into a golden shower  
He did force  Acrisius brazen tower  
To enjoy Danae, and on her begot,  
One that by's valour did race out the blot  
His bastard birth brought on him, like a Bull,  
He with Europa made his pleasure full:  
In a Swans shape, on Leda he begot  
Two, twofold eggs, in one of which were shut  
The fatal sparks that set the brand on fire,  
Which in Troy's rains did toth' clouds aspire:  
These are the meanest of his lustful Scapes,  
Made monstrous by the many several Rapes  
He hath beside committed, and can you then  
Be less vindictive than we silly men?  
Our blood mixed with our gall, doth inly boil,  
To act revenge we do refuse no toil:  
But to all dangers do our lives expose,  
Of private Treasons, and of public foes:  
Delight shall usher yours (renowned Queen)  
Pleasure shall crown Revenge, and sweeten spleen:  
That with yourself you shall dispute at leisure,  
Whether were sweetest, your revenge, or pleasure.  
Know selfe-abusing man (juno replies)  
Thou art too base to mix with Deities:  
Yet wert thou each way worthy of my Love,  
Or could there be a greater power than jove?  
With notes more sweet than music of the Spheres,  
To charm my Senses, or delight mine ears:  
All should not move me, loyal I'll remain,  
" Unlawful pleasure, brings a lawful pain:  
Thou that dost sugar poison, and dost say,  
Revenge is pleasant, there will come a day  
When with bedewed cheeks thyself shalt tell,  
" Revenge on earth, buys a Revenge in Hell:  
From Ioues dread will, my thoughts shall never start,  
" Revenge is treason in a subjects heart:  
I am his Subject, so more Honour lies  
In bearings wrongs, then quitting injuries.  
Which said, with stately speed from him she moves,  
To tell Ixion's Lust and Pride to jove,  
Which he already knew, and was inventing,  
To plague Ixyon with some strange tormenting.  
That might into his very Soul intrude,  
And wound him deep for his Ingratitude,  
And now the more Ixyon to annoy,  
he'll first delude, and afterward destroy:  
An empty cloud he fashions like his wife  
enduing it with beauty, form, and life,  
So like as he himself for once did miss,  
And did the cloud in steed of juno kiss:  
With this same seeming, juno he presents,  
Lust-fraught Ixyon, who with an intent  
Not to it the least accent to afford,  
(Knowing they'll do the deed, deny the word)  
Silent he hastes unto this borrowed shape,  
As did the Birds t' Apelles painted grapes;  
But with more appetite, and bold intrusion,  
They did scarce, touch, he tastes of this delusion,  
And joyfully he doth himself beguile,  
Since the true frown was now a feigned smile:  
In utmost height of Lust, and amorous twines,  
He clips this seeming juno, that now shines  
Bright in his thoughts, as t'us the eye of Day,  
When (clad in flames) Bee trots the milky way:  
For in this act of Lust he much doth toil,  
But self-consuming Lamps, that want their oil  
Must leave their wished light," sated Desire  
" Is like the Glow-worms uneffectual fire:  
But yet Ixyon on this seeming Fair,  
(Which was indeed nought but delusive air)  
Begot the Centaurs, that rebelled 'gainst jove:  
The mixture monstrous, so th'effect did prove:  
But of Ixion's issue, writ who will,  
Monsters in mind (not Nature) move my quill,  
This act of lust and Horror ended thus,  
jove (brooking ill a man so vicious  
As was Ixyon should in Heaven remain,  
In justice fixed him on the earth again:  
Thus he that (purged) among the Gods did live,  
May now on earth such loss of Glory grieve,  
And ever mourn to bear so great a cross  
" We truly near taste joy, but by the loss,  
Which yet he cannot relish, his dull taste  
Is like one's forced to feed that feeds his last,  
And can no whit distinguish (wanting power)  
But thinks what's bitter sweet, & what sweet sour:  
He having clipped this shape of eminence,  
Applauds the act in his deluded sense,  
And (swollen with glory of so great a deed)  
Proclaims Heavens-queene a whore, to human seed,  
Vowing to jupiter he was unjust,  
And that her breasts were pillows to his Lust,  
That he in heat had clipped that world of wonder  
In spite of jove, and his threeforked Thunder:  
Which to revenge, jove with his Lightning struck,  
This birth-curst monster to Hell's lowest nook,  
And makes him there this heavy torment feel,  
Ever to turn a never-resting Wheel:  
Which to his Obliqne sense, his crime doth show  
In Serpents Charractered unto his view,  
Which as he turns, he reads, and ever turns,  
And round about the poisonous Sulphur burns:  
thou'rt in a place where thou must ever be,  
Fron whence no Time or Fate can ever rescue thee:  
For when on earth no man shall have a brother,  
And th' Elements shall one deface each other.