Licenced, Decemb. 3. 1686. RO. L'ESTRANGE SYPHILIS: OR, A POETICAL HISTORY OF THE French Disease. Written In Latin by FRACASTORIUS. And now Attempted in English by N. TATE. LONDON, Printed for jacob Tonson, at the Judge's- Head in Chancery-lane near Fleetstreet. 1686. THE TRANSLATOR TO Mr. HOBBS, Surgeon to His MAJESTY. ACcept, great Son of Art, this faint effect Of a most active, and unfeigned Respect: Numbers that yield (Alas!) too just survey Of Physic's growth and Poetry's decay. That show a generous Muse impaired by Me, As much as th' Author's skills outdone by Thee. This Indian Conqu'rer's fatal March he sung, To the same Lyre his own Apollo strung; Whose Notes yet failed the Monster to assuage, Revenging Here, invading Spaniard's Rage. Dear was the Conquest of a new found World, Whose Plague e'er since through all the Old is hurled. Had Fracastorius, who in Numbers told (Numbers more rich than those new Lands of Gold) This great Destroyer's Progress, seen this Age And thy Success against the Tyrant's Rage, Bembus, had then been no immortal Name, Thou and thy Art had challenged all his Flame! Thou driv'st th' Usurper to his last Retreats, Repairing as Thou go'st the ruin'd Seats: Thus while the Foe is by thy Art removed, The Holds are strengthened, and the Soil improved. Thy happy Conquest does at once Expel Th' Invader's force, and inbred Factions quell. Thy Patients and Augusta's fate's the same, To rise more fair and lasting for the Flame: While meaner Artists this bold Task essay, I'th' little World of Man they lose their way. Thou knowst the secret Passes to each Part, And, skilled in Nature, canst not fail in Art. THE LIFE OF Fracastorius. FRacastorius was descended from the Fracastorian Family of great Antiquity in Verona. He seemed not only to rival the Fame of Catullus and Pliny, who had long before made that City renowned, but to have very far exceeded all his Contemporaries, for Learning and Poetry. His Parents were Paulo-Philippus Fracastorius and Camilla Mascarellia, both of great Reputation. He was so well educated by his Father that he gave early proofs of a great Genius, so that in his childhood all men conceived hopes of an extraordinary Man. Nor was Providence wanting to give him a signal Testimony, forasmuch as when he was an Infant in the Arms of his Mother, a sudden Tempest arising, in which the Mother was struck dead by Lightning, the Child received no harm. He was sent for literature while very young to Milan, where even in that age with indefatigable labour, he opened his way to that height of glory which he afterwards attained: After the initiatory Arts he applied himself to the secrets of distinct Sciences, but infinitely delighted with the Mathematics, in all, assisted by a Memory equal to his Ingenuity. After several years spent in Philosophical studies under the Tutorship of Peter Pomponatius of Mantua; he devoted himself by the dictates of his Genius to Physic with such resolution and success, that in the School disputations, not only his fellow Students but most experienced Doctors were sensible that he was designed by Providence for great Undertake. Accordingly they then gave him the honour of the Pulpit, which had never before been permitted to any person till they had perfected their studies, and were arrived to the years of Manhood. This School being dissolved by the breaking out of the War, while he had thoughts of returning to his Country (his Father being then dead) he was on honourable conditions invited by Livianus, General of the Venetian Forces, and a noble Patron of Wit, to the College Forojuliensis, etc.— and lodged in the same apartment of Andrea Naugerus and johannes Cottac, two excellent Poets. He had not long resided here before he published Verses on every extraordinary Occasion that happened, which were received with such general applause throughout Italy, that their fame has to this day stifled the performances of his Companions. Having after wards accompanied Livianus through many wars, the General being at last overthrown and taken Prisoner by the French at Abdua; he returned late into his native country, where in the general devastation he found his Patrimony almost utterly destroyed. He married, but was soon unhappy in the loss of two Sons whose untimely death he bewailed in a most passionate Elegy. He was low of Stature but of good bulk, his Shoulders broad, his Hair black and long, his Face round, his Eyes black, his Nose short and turning upwards by his continual contemplation of the Stars, a lively air was spread over his Countenance that displayed the Serenity and Ingenuity of his Mind. He affected a quiet and private life, as being a man free from ambitious desires; contenting himself with a moderate fortune, and placing his happiness in improvement of his knowledge. He was cheerful though frugal at his Table, having a constant regard to his health; his wit being always the best part of his Banquet. He was notwithstanding sparing in his Speech, and affecting no vanity in his Dress: He was never censorious of other men's performances, but always glad of an occasion to commend; for which he was deservedly celebrated by johannes Baptista in a noble Epigram. He spent his time in curing the diseased, a divine Power seeming always to attend his endeavours, above the sordid desire of gain, and thought himself best rewarded in the health of his Patient. By these means he contracted many friendships, and had (deservedly) no Enemy. He was not only esteemed for his skill in his own country, but was sought to by foreign Princes in desperate sickness, for which though vast rewards were offered, he brought nothing home beside their Friendship. In his leisure he diverted himself with reading History, at which time Polybius, or Plutarch were never out of his hands. He sometimes relieved his studies with Mathematics and Music, and made no small performances in Cosmography. He was much alone, yet always employed; and though by reason of his backwardness to discourse, he seemed of a Saturnine Temper, yet none were more cheerful and pleasant when entered into Conversation. He performed wonders by his exact knowledge of Herbs and Simples, by searching the best Books of the Ancients. That most excellent Antidote called Diascordium, was of his preparing; we are likewise beholding to his judgement for specifying many useful Herbs of which the Ancients had left uncertain description. The Age in which he lived saw nothing equal to his Learning, but his honesty. In his retreat from the City, while the Pestilence raged, he found leisure to compose the following Poem, a work of such elegance, that Sanazarius freely acknowledged it to excel his own, De partu Virgins, that had cost him above twenty years' labour and correction. His Treatises in Prose and efforts of Poetry are too numerous to be recited on this occasion. In all which he affected so little vanity that he never preserved a Copy; and we are beholding for what are extant, to the industry of his Friends that collected them after his death. He was above 70 years old when he died, which was by an Apoplexy that seized him while he was at Dinner at his Country seat. He was sensible of his malady, though speechless, often putting his Hand upon the top of his Head, by which sign he would have had his Servants administer a Cupping-Glass to the part affected, by which he had formerly cured a Nun in Verona, labouring under the same Distemper. But his Domestics not conceiving his meaning applied first one thing and then another, till in the Evening he gently Expired. He was Interred at Verona: his Statue together with that of Andrea Naugerus, delicately cast in Brass, was erected in the School of Milan by johannes Baptista Rhamnusius. His fellow Citizens of Verona, not to be behind Rhamnusius in respect (two years after the erecting the brazen Statue in Milan) set up his Image in marble at Verona, in imitation of their Ancestors who had performed the same honour to their Catullus and Pliny; with Laurel round their Heads. TO His Friend, The Writer of the ENSUING TRANSLATION. WEll has thy Fate directed Thee to choose An Author, worthy of the noblest Muse: His learned Pen has, what was long unknown, In Roman language, like a Roman shown. And thine as sweet, in British numbers taught The Labours of his vast Poetic thought. Of Earth, of Seas, of putrid air He sung, To search from whence that dire Contagion sprung, Which now does worse than fellest Plagues deface The beauteous Form of God's resembling Race. From the Malignant influence of the Skies, 'Tis sure the Seeds of most Diseases rise. But if this merciless, consuming Flame, From Vapours, or infectious Planets came; Why raged it not much more in ancient Times, From Exhalations of impurer Climes? Besides; no settled Consequence can spring From whatsoe'er contingent Causes bring. The raging Pestilence, that long lays waste The spotted Prey, devours itself at last. And sure had this been ne'er so strong entailed, The vile succession must e'er now have failed. Blame not the Stars; 'tis plain it neither fell From the distempered heavens, nor rose from Hell. Nor need we to the distant Indies room; The cursed Originals are nearer home. Whence should that foul infectious Torment flow, But from the baneful source of all our woe? That wheedling, charming Sex, that draws us in To every punishment and every sin. While Man, by heavens command, and nature led, Through this vast Globe his Maker's Image spread; The Godlike Figure formed in every womb Prolific stems, for Ages yet to come. Uncurst, because he did not vainly toil, On barren Mountains, or impregnant soil; Healthful and vigorous, He, o'er the face Of the wide Earth, dispersed the Sacred race. But now, that Tribe, who all our Rights invade, Pervert the wise Decrees which Nature made. Prompt to all ill, Insatiately they fire At every pampered Brutes untamed desire: And while they prostitute themselves to more Than Eastern Kings had Concubines before; The foul Promiscuous Coition breeds, Like jarring Elements, those poisonous seeds, Which all the dreadful host of Symptoms bring; And with one cursed Disease a Legion spring. Were the decayed, degenerate race of Man, Untainted now, as when it first began; And there were no such torturing Plague on Earth, The first inconstant Wretch would give it birth. eat her, as you would fly from splitting Rocks; Not Wolves so fatal are to tender Flocks: Though round the world the dire Contagion flew, She'll poison more, than e'er Pandora slew. A POETICAL HISTORY OF THE FRENCH DISEASE. THrough what adventures this unknown Disease So lately did astonished Europe seize, Through Asian Coasts and Libyan Cities ran, And from what Seeds the Malady began, Our Song shall tell: To Naples first it came From France, and justly took from France his Name, Companion of the War— The Methods next of Cure we shall express, The wondrous Wit of Mortals in distress: But when their Skill too faint Resistance made, We'll show the Gods descending to their aid. To reach the secret Causes we must rise Above the Clouds, and travel o'er the Skies. The daring Subject let us then pursue, Transported with an Argument so new, While springing Groves and tuneful Birds invite, And Muses that in wondrous Themes delight. O Bembus, Ornament of Italy, If yet from Cares of State thou canst be free, If Leo's Councils yet can spare thy skill, And let the Business of the World stand still; O steal a visit to those cool retreats, The Muse's dearest most frequented Seats; And, gentle Bembus, do not there disdain A Member of the Esculapian Train, Attempting Physics practice to rehearse, And clothing low Experiments in Verse. A God instructs, these mysteries of old By great Apollo's self in equal strains were told. The smallest objects oft attract our Eyes, But here, beneath a small appearance, lies A Source, that greatest wonder will create, Of Nature much and very much of Fate. But thou, Urania, who alone canst trace First Causes, measure out the Starry space; That knowst the Planet's number, force and use, And what Effects the varied Orbs produce: So may the Spheres thy Heavenly Course admire, The Stars with envy at thy Beams retire; As thou a while shalt Condescend to dwell, With me on Earth, and make this Grove thy Cell; While Zephyrus, can my head, with Myrtle bound, And imitating Rocks my Song resound. Say, Goddess, to what Cause we shall at last Assign this Plague, unknown to Ages past; If from the Western Climes 'twas wasted o'er, When daring Spaniards left their Native shore; Resolved beyond th' Atlantic to descry, Conjectured Worlds, or in the search to die. For Fame Reports this Grief perpetual there, From Skies infected and polluted Air: From whence 'tis grown so Epidemical, Whole Cities Victims to its Fury fall; Few escape, for what relief where vital Breath, The Gate of Life, is made the Road of death? If then by Traffic thence this Plague was brought, How Dear Dear was that Traffic bought! This Prodigy of sickness, weak at first, (Like Infant Tyrants and in secret Nursed) When once confirmed, with sudden rage breaks forth And scatters desolation through the Earth. So while the Shepherd travelling through the dark Strikes his dim Torch, some unsuspected Spark Falls in the Stubble, where it smothers long But by degrees becomes at last so strong, That now it spreads o'er all the Neighbouring soil, Devours at once the Ploughman's hope and Toil; The sacred Grove next Sacrifice must be, Nor jove can save his dedicated Tree; The Grove Foments its Rage from whence it flies In curling flames and seems to fire the Skies. Yet observation rightly taken draws This new Distemper from some newer Cause; Nor Reason can allow that this Disease, Came first by Commerce from beyond the Seas; Since instances in divers Lands are shown, To whom all Indian Traffic is unknown: Nor could th' Infection from the Western Clime Seize distant Nations at the self same time; And in Remoter parts begin its Reign, As fierce and early as it did in Spain. What slaughter in our Italy was made Where Tiber's Tribute to the Oceans paid; Where Poe does through a hundred Cities glide, And pours as many Streams into the Tide. All at one Season, all without relief, Received and languished with the common grief. Nor can th' Infection first be charged on Spain, That fought new Worlds beyond the Western Main. Since from Pyrene's foot, to Italy, It shed its Bane on France, while Spain was free. As soon the fertile Rhine its fury found, And Regions with eternal Winter bound: Nor yet did Southern Climes its vengeance shun, But felt a flame more scorching than the Sun. The Palms of Ida now neglected stood, And Egypt languished while her Nile overflowed; From whence 'tis plain this Pest must be assigned To some more powerful Cause and hard to find. In all productions of wise Nature's hand, Whether Conceived in Air on Sea or Land; No constant method does direct her way, But various Being's various Laws obey; Such things as from few Principles arise, In every place and season meet our eyes; But what are framed of Principles abstruse, Such places only and such times produce. Effects of yet a more stupendious Birth, And such as Nature must with pangs bring forth, Where violent and various Seeds unite, Break slowly from the Bosom of the Night; Long in the Womb of Fate the Embryo's worn, Whole Ages pass before the Monster's born. Diseases thus which various Seeds compound, As various in their Birth and date are found. Some always seen, some long in darkness hurled, That break their chains at last to scourge the World. To which black List this Plague must be assigned, Night's foulest Birth and Terror of Mankind. Nor must we yet think this escape the first, Since former Ages with the like were cursed. Long since he scattered his Infernal flame, And always Being had, though not a Name, At lest what Name it bore is now unfound: Both Names and things in times Abyss lie drowned. How vainly then do we project to keep Our Names remembered when our Bodies sleep? Since late Succession searching their descent, Shall neither find our dust nor Monument. Yet where the Western Ocean finds its bound (The World so lately by the Spaniards found) Beneath this Pest the wretched Natives groan In every Nation there and always known, Such dire Effects depend upon a Clime, On varying Skies and long Revolving time: The temper of their Air this Plague brought forth, The Soil itself disposed for such a Birth. All things conspired to raise the Tyrant there, But time alone could fix his Conquest here. If therefore more distinctly we would know Each Source from whence this deadly Bane did flow, His Progress in the Earth we must survey How many City's groan beneath his sway. And when his great Advancement we have traced, We must allow his Principles as vast. That Earth nor Sea th' Ingredients could prepare And wholly must ascribe it to the Air, The Tyrant's seat, his Magazine is there. The Air that does both Earth and Sea surround, As easily can Earth and Sea confound; What Fence for Bodies when at every poor The soft Invader has an open door? What fence, where poison's's drawn with vital Breath, And Father Air the Author proves of Death? Of subtle substance that with ease receives Infection, which as easily it gives. Now by what means this dire Contagion first, Was formed aloft, by what Ingredients nursed, Our Song shall tell; and in this wondrous Course, Revolving times and varying Planets force. First then the Sun with all his train of Stars, Amongst our Elements raise endless Wars; And when the Planets from their Stations Range, Our Orb is influenced, and feels the Change. The chiefest instance is the Sun's retreat, No sooner he withdraws his vital heat, But fruitless Fields with Snow are covered over, The pretty Fountains run and talk no more. Yet when his Chariot to the Crab returns, The Air, the Earth, the very Ocean burns. The Queen of Night can boast no less a sway, At least all humid things her power obey. Malignant Saturn's Star as much can claim, With friendly Jove's, bright Mars, and Venus' flame, And all the host of Lights without a Name. Our Elements beneath their influence lie, Slaves to the very Rabble of the Sky. But most when many meet in one abode, Or when some Planet enters a new road, Far distant from the Course he used to run, Some mighty work of Fate is to be done. Long tracts of time indeed must first be spent, Before completion of the vast event; But when the Revolution once is made What mischiefs Earth and Sea at once Invade! Poor Mortals then shall all extremes sustain While Heaven dissolves in Deluges of Rain; Which from the mountains with impetuous course, And headlong Rage, Trees, Rocks and Towns shall force, O'er swelling Ganges then shall sweep the Plain, And peaceful Poe outroar the Stormy Main. In other parts the Springs as low shall lie, And Nymphs with Tears, exhausted streams supply. Where neither Drought nor Deluges destroy, The winds their utmost fury shall employ; Whlie Hurricans whole Cities shall overthrow, Or Earthquakes Gorge them in the depths below. Perhaps the Season shall arrive (if Fate And Nature once agree upon the date) When this most cultivated Earth shall be Unpeopled quite, or drenched beneath the Sea; When even the Sun another Course shall steer, And other Seasons constitute the year: The wondering North shall see the springing Vine, And Moors admire at Snow beneath the Line. New Species then of Creatures shall arise A new Creation Nature's self surprise. Then Youth shall lend fresh vigour to the Earth, And give a second breed of Giant's birth. By whom a new assault shall be performed, Hills heaped on Hills, and Heaven once more be stormed. Since Nature's then so liable to change, Why should we think this late Contagion strange; Or that the Planets where such mischiefs grow, Should shed their poison on the Earth below? Two hundred rolling years are passed away, Since Mars and Saturn in Conjunction lay. When through the East an unknown Fever Raged, Of strange Effects and by no Arts Assuaged; From suffocated Lungs with pain they drew Their breath, and blood for spittle did ensue; Four days the wretches with this Plague were grieved, (Oh dismal sight) and then by death relieved. From thence to Persia the Contagion came, Of whom th' Assyrians catched the spreading flame. Euphrates next and Tigris did complain, Arabia too styled happy now in vain; Then Phrygia mourned, from whence it crossed the Sea (Too small to quench its flame) to Italy. Then from this lower Orb with me remove To view the Starry Palaces above, Through all the Roads of wand'ring Planets rove. To search in what position they have stood, And what Conjectures were from them made good. To find what Signs did former times direct, And what the present Age is to expect: From hence perhaps we shall with ease descry The Source of this stupendious Malady. Behold how Cancer with portentous harms Before heavens Gate unfolds his threatening Arms; Prodigious ills must needs from thence ensue, In which one House we may distinctly view A numerous Cabal of Stars conspire, To hurl at once on Air their bainfull fire. All this the Reverend Artist did descry Who nightly watched the Motions of the Sky, Ye Gods (he cried) what does your rage prepare, What unknown Plague engenders in the Air? Besides, I see dire Wars on Europe shed, Ausonian Fields with Native Gore overspread. Thus Sung the Sage, and to prevent d●●ate, In writing left the Story of our Fate. When any certain Course of years is run E'er the next Revolution be begun, Heaven's Method is, for jove in all his State, To weigh Events and to determine Fate; To search the Book of destiny and show What change shall rise in Heaven or Earth below. Behold him then in awful Robes arrayed, And calling his known Counsel to his aid; Saturn and Mars the Thundering Summons call, The Crab's portentous Arms unlock the Hall, Mark with what various mien the God's repair, First Mars with sparkling Eyes and flaming Hair, So furious and addicted to Alarms, He dreams of Battles, though in Venus' Arms. But see with what august and peaceful brow (Of Gold his Chariot if the Fates allow) Great jove appears, who does to all extend Impartial Justice, Heaven and Nature's friend. Old Saturn last with heavy pace comes on, Loath to obey the Summons of his Son; Oft going stopped, oft pondered in his mind Heaven's Empire lost, oft to return inclined; Thus, much distracted, and arriving late, Sits grudging down beside the Chair of State. jove now unfolds what Fate's dark laws contain, Which jove alone has Wisdom to Explain: Sees ripening Mischiefs ready to be hurled, And much Condoles the Sufferings of the World: Unfolded views deaths Adamantine Gates, War, Slaughters, Factions and subverted States. But most astonished at a new Disease, That must forthwith on helpless Mortals seize, These secrets he unfolds, and shakes the Skies: The Gods Condole and from the Council rise. Hell's Agent thus no sooner quits his Cage, But on the starting Spheres he hurls his rage: The purer Orbs disdain th' Infernal foe, And shake the Taint upon the Air below. The grosser Air receives the baneful Seeds, Converting to the Poison which it feeds: Whether the Sun from Earth this Vapour drew, In late Conjunction with his fiery Crew; Or from Fermenting Seas by Neptune sent In Envy to the higher Element, Is hard to say; or if more Powers combined, Sent forth this Prodigy to fright Mankind. The Offices of Nature to define, And to each Cause a true effect assign, Must be a Task both hard and doubtful too, Since various consequences oft ensue: Nor Nature always to herself is true. Some Principles shall on the Instant work, Whilst others shall for tedious Ages lurk: Besides the Power of Chance shall oft prevail, On Nature's force, and cause Events to fail. Nor is the influence of Maladies Less various than the Seeds from whence they rise. Sometimes th' infected Air hurts Trees alone, To grass and tender flowers pernicious known. The blast sometimes destroys the furrowed soil, With mildewed Ears not worth the Reaper's toil. Or if some Dale with Grain seems more enriched, It moulds and rots before the sheaves are pitched. When Earth yields store, yet oft some strange Disease Shall fall and only on poor cattle seize. Here it shall sweep the Stock, while there it sheds Its fury only on devoted Heads. My own Remembrance to this hour retains, An Autumn drowned with never ceasing Rains: Yet this Malignant Luxury the breed Of Goats alone did rue, the rest were freed. See how at break of day their number's told, See how the Keeper drives them from the Fold: Behold him next beneath a hanging Rock, And cheering with his Reed the browzing Flock, While them he charms nor is himself less pleased, With a sharp sudden Cough some darling Kid is seized The Cough his Knell, for with a giddy round He whirls, and straight falls dead upon the ground. This fever thus to Goats and Kids severe While Autumn held, confined his Vengeance there; Next Spring, both lowing Herd and Bleating Flock At once it seized, spared none but swept the Stock: With such uncertainty from tainted Skies In Bodies placed on Earth effects arise. Since then by dear experiment we find Diseases various in their Rise and Kind: Of this Contagion let us take a view, More terrible for being Strange and new, That with the proudest Son of Slaughter vies, And claims no lower kindred than the Skies; And as he did aloft conceive his Flame, The proud Destroyer seeks no common Game, He scorns the well finned Sporters of the Flood, He scorns the well plumed Singers of the wood; Disdains the wanton Browzers of the Rock, Disdains the lowing Herd and bleating Flock; With Wolf or Bear, despizes to engage, Nor can the generous Horse provoke his rage: The Lords of Nature only he annoys, And humane frame, heavens Images, destroys. The blood's black viscous parts he seizes first, By whose malignant Aliments he's nursed; And e'er he can the fierce Assault begin, Factions of humours take his part within; The strongest Holds of nature thus he gains, Quar'tring his cruel Troops throughout the veins, While some more noble Seat the Tyrant's Throne contains. Such principles brought this Distemper forth, Such Aliments maintained the dreadful Birth. His certain signs and symptoms to rehearse, Is the next task of our instructing Verse. O, may it prove of such a lasting date, To conquer Time, and Triumph over Fate. Apollo's self inspires the useful Song, And all that to Apollo does belong, Like him, should ever, live and be for ever young. How shall Posterity admire our skill, Taught by our Muse to know the lurking ill, And when his dreadful Visage they behold, Cry, this is the Disease whose Signs of old Th' inspired Physician in bright numbers told. For though th' infernal Pest should quit the Earth, Absconding in the Hell, that gave it Birth; Yet after lazy Revolutions past The unsuspected Prodigy at last, Shall from the womb of Night once more be hurled, T' infect the Skies, and to amaze the World. What therefore seems most wondrous in his course Is that he should so long conceal his Force; For when the Foe his secret way has made, And in our Entrails strong detachments laid; Yet oft the Moon four monthly rounds shall steer Before convincing Symptoms shall appear; So long the Malady shall lurk within, And grow confirmed before the danger's seen; Yet with Disturbance to the wretch diseased, Who with unwonted heaviness is seized, With drooping Spirits, his affairs pursues, And all his Limbs their offices refuse, The cheerful glories of his Eyes decay, And from his Cheeks the Roses fade away, A leaden hue o'er all his Face is spread, And greater weights depress his drooping Head; Till by degrees the Secret parts shall show, By open proofs the undermining Foe; Who now his dreadful ensigns shall display, Devour, and harass in the sight of day. Again, when cheerful Light has left the Skies, And Night's ungrateful shades and Vapours rise; When Nature to our Spirits sounds retreat, And to the Vitals calls Her straggling Heat; When th' out works are no more of warmth possessed, Bloudless, and with a load of humours pressed; When every kind Relief's retired within, 'Tis then the Execrable Pains begin; Arms, Shoulders, Legs, with restless Aches vexed, And with Convulsions every Nerve perplexed; For when through all our Veins th' Infection's spread, And by what e'er should feed the Body fed; When Nature strives the Vitals to defend, And all destructive humours outward send: These being viscous, gross and loath to start, In its dull March shall torture every Part; Whence to the Bloudless Nerves dire Pains ensue, At once contracted, and extended too; The thinner Parts will yet not stick so fast, But to the Surface of the Skin are cast, Which in foul Botches o'er the Body spread, Profane the Bosom, and deform the Head: Here Puscles in the form of Achorns swelled, In form alone, for these with Stench are filled, Whose Ripeness is Corruption, that in time, Disdain confinement, and discharge the slime; Yet oft the Foe would turn his Forces back, The Brawn and inmost Muscles to attack, And pierce so deep, that the bare Bones have been Betwixt the dreadful fleshy Breaches seen; When on the vocal parts his Rage was spent, Imperfect sounds, for tuneful Speech was sent. As on a springing Plant, you have beheld The juice that through the tender Bark has swelled, That from the Sap's more viscous part did come, Till by the Sun condensed into a Gumm: So when this Bane is once received within, With such Eruptions he shall force the Skin; And when the Humour for a time has flowed, Grow fixed at last, and harden to a Node. Hence some young Swain, as on the Rocks he stood, To view his Picture in the crystal Flood, And finding there his lovely Cheeks deformed, Against the Stars, against the Gods he stormed: Mean while the Sable Wings of Night are spread, And balmy Sleep on every creature shed. These wretches only no Repose could take, By this tormenting Fiend still kept Awake; Impatient till the Morn restored the Light, Then cursed her Beams, and wished again for Night. Ceres in vain her blessings did afford, In vain the flowing Goblet crowned the Board; No comfort they in large Possessions had, Of Farms, or Towns, but even in Banquets sad: In vain the Streams, and Meads they did frequent, The dismal Thought pursued wheree'er they went; And when for Prospect they would climb the Hill, The dire Remembrance Hagged their Fancy still: In vain the Gods themselves they did invoke, Adorned their Shrines, and made their Altar's smoke: They Bribed and Prayed, yet still reliefless lay, Their offered Gums consumed less fast than they. Shall I relate what I myself beheld, Where Ollius stream with gentle plenty swelled? In those fair Meads where Ollius cuts his way, A Youth of Godlike form I did survey, By all the World besides unparallelled, And even in Italy by none excelled; First Signs of Manhood on his Cheeks were shown, A tender Harvest, and but thinly sown, Besides those charms that did his Person grace, Descended from a rich and noble Race: What transport in Spectators did he breed, Mounted, and managing the fiery Steed, What Joy at once, and Terror did we feel, When he prepared for Field, and shone in Steel? Of equal Strength and Skill for Exercise, All conflicts tried, but never lost a Prize; Oft in the Chase his Courser he'd forgo, Trust his own Feet, and turn the swiftest Roe. For him each Nymph, for him each Goddess strove, Of Hill, of Plain, of Meadow, Stream and Grove: Nor can we doubt that in this numerous Train, Some One (neglected) did to Heaven complain Who though in vain She loved, yet did not Curse in vain; For whilst the Youth did to his Strength confide, And Nerves in every Task of hardship tried. This finished Piece, this celebrated Frame, The Mansion of a loathed Disease became: But of such baneful, and malignant Kind, As Ages passed ne'er knew, and future ne'er shall find. Now might you see his Spring of Youth decay, The Verdure die, the Blossoms fall away; The foul Infection o'er his Body spread, Profanes his Bosom, and deforms his Head; His wretched Limbs with filth and stench o'er flow, While Flesh divides, and shows the Bones below. Dire Ulcers (can the Gods permit them) prey On his fair Eyeballs, and devour their Day, Whilst the neat Pyramid below, falls Mouldering quite away. Him neighbouring Alps bewailed with constant Dew, Ollius; no more his wont Passage knew Hills, Valleys, Rocks, Streams, Groves, his Fate Bemoaned, Sebinus Lake from deepest Caverns groaned. From hence malicious Saturn's Force is known, From whose malignant Orb this Plague was thrown, To whom more cruel Mars assistence lent, And clubbed his Influence to the dire Event: Nor could the malice of the Stars suffice, To make such execrable Mischief rise; For certainly e'er this Disease began, Through Hell's dark Courts the cursing Furies ran, Where to astonished Ghosts they did relate, In dreadful Songs, the Burden of our Fate; The Stygian Pool did to the bottom rake, And from its Dregs the cursed Ingredients take, Which scattered since through Europe wide and far, Bred Pestilence, and more consuming War. Ye Deities who once our Guardians were, Who made th' Ausonian fields your special Care, And thou O Saturn, Father of our Breed, From whence does this unwonted Rage proceed Against thy ancient Seats? Has Fate's dark Store a Plague yet left, which we Have not sustained even to Extremity? First let Parthenope her griefs declare, Her Kings destroyed her Temples sacked in War. Who can the Slaughter of that Day recite, When hand to hand we joined the Gauls in fight, When Tarrus Brook was so o'er-swelled with Blood Men, Horses, Arms, rolled down th' impetuous Flood? Eridanus in wand'ring Banks receives The purple Stream, and for our Fate with Brother Tarrus grieves. To what estate, O wretched Italy Has civil Strife reduced, and mouldered Thee! Where now are all thy ancient Glories hurled? Where is thy boasted Empire of the World? What nook in Thee from barbarous Rage is freed, And has not seen her captive Children bleed? That was not first to savage Arms a Prey, And does not yet more savage Laws obey? Answer ye Hills where peaceful Clusters grew, And never till this hour disturbance knew, Calm as the Flood which at your Feet ye View; Calm as Erethenus who on each side, Beholds your Vines, and ravished with their Pride, Moves slowly with his Tribute to the Tide. O Italy, our Ancient happy Seat, Glory of Nations, and the God's Retreat, Whose fruitful Fields for peopled Towns provide, Where Athesis, and smooth Benacus glide, What words have force, thy Sufferings to relate, Thy servile Yoke, and ignominious Fate. Now dive, Benacus, thy famed course give over And lead thy Streams through Laurel-Banks no more. Yet, when our miseries thus were at their height, As if our Sorrows still had wanted weight, As if our former Plagues had been too small, We saw our Hope, Minerva's Darling fall, Thy Funeral, Marcus, we did then survey Snatched from the Muse's Arms before thy day, Benacus Banks at thy Interment groaned, And neighbouring Athesis thy Fate bemoaned; Where by the Moon's pale Beams, Catullus came, And nightly still was heard to sound thy Name, His Songs once more his native Seats inspire, The Groves were charmed, and knew their Master's Lyre. 'Twas now the Galls began their fierce Alarms, And crushed Liguria with victorious Arms, While other Provinces as fast expire By Coesar's Sword, and more destructive Fire; No Latian Seat was free from Slaughter found, But all alike with Tears and Blood were drowned. Now for our second Task, and what Relief Our Age has found against this raging Grief, The Methods now of Cure we will express, The wondrous Wit of Mortals in distress. Astonished long they lay, no Remedy At first they knew, nor Courage had to try, But learned by slow Experience to appease, To check, and last to vanquish the Disease. Yet after all our Study we must own Some Secrets were by Revelation known: For though the Stars in dark Cabals combined, And for our Ruin with the Furies joined, Yet were we not to last Destruction left, Nor of the God's Protection quite bereavest. If strange and dreadful Maladies have reigned, If Wars, dire Massacres we have sustained, If Flames have laid our Fields and Cities waste, Our Temples too in common Rubbish cast; If swelling Streams no more in Banks were kept, But Men, Herds, Houses with the Flood were swept; If few survived these Plagues, and Famine slew, The greater Part of that surviving Few. Yet of such great Adventures we are proud, As Fate had to no former Age allowed. For, what no Mortals ever dared before, We have the Ocean stemmed from sight of Shore; Nor was't enough, by Atlas' farthest bound, That we the fair Hesperian Gardens found, That we t' Arabia a new Passage sought, While Ships for Camels the rich Lading brought: To th' outmost East, we since a Voyage made, And in the rising Sun our Sails displayed, Beyond the Ind large tracts of Land did find, And left the World's reputed bounds behind, To pass the World's reputed bounds was small Performances, of greater Glory call Our famed Adventures on the western Shore, Discovering Stars, and Worlds unknown before; But waving these, our Age has yet beheld An inspired Poet, and by none excelled, Parthenope extolled the Songs he made, Sebethe's God, and Virgil's sacred Shade, From Gardens to the Stars his Muse would rise, And made the Earth acquainted with the Skies. His Name might well the Age's pride sustain, But many more exalted Souls remain; Who, when Expired, and Envy with them dead To equal the best Ancients shall be said: But, Bembus, while this List we do unfold, In which heavens blessings on the Age are told, Leo, the most illustrious place does claim, The great Restorer of the Roman Name; By whose mild Aspects, and auspicious Fire, Malignant Planets to their Cells retire. Jove's friendly Star once more is seen to rise And scatters healing Lustre through the Skies, He, only He, our Losses could repair, And call the Muses to their native Air, Restore the ancient Laws of Right and Just, Polish Religion, from Barbarian Rust. For Heaven, and Rome engaged in fierce Alarms, With pious Vengeance, and with sacred Arms, Whose terror to Euphrates Banks was spread, While Nile retired t' his undiscovered Head, And frighted Doris dived into his oozy Bed. While some more able Muse shall sing his Name, In Numbers equal to his Deeds and Fame. While Bembus thou shalt this great Theme rehearse, And wove his Praises in eternal Verse, Let me, in what I have proposed, proceed With Subject suited to my slender Reed. First, than your Patient's Constitution learn, And well the Temper of his Blood discern, If that be pure, with so much greater ease You will engage, and vanquish the Disease, Whose venom, where black Choler chokes the Veins, Takes firmer hold, and will exact more Pains More violent Assaults you there must make, And on the battered Frame no pity take. Who e'er can soon discern the lurking Grief, With far less labour may expect Relief; But when the Foe has deeper inroads made, And gained the factious humours to his Aid, What Toil, what Conflicts must be first sustained Before he's dispossessed, and Health regained; Therefore with Care his first approaches find, And hoard these useful Precepts, in thy Mind. From noxious Winds preserve yourself with care; And such are all that from the South repair Of Fens and Lakes, avoid th' unwholesome Air. To open fields and sunny Mountains fly Where Zephyr fans, and Boreas sweeps the Sky: Nor must you there indulge Repose, but stray, And in continued actions spend the Day; With every Beast of Prey loud War proclaim, And make the grizly Boar your constant Game, Nor yet amongst these great Attempts disdain, To rouse the Stag, and force him to the Plain. Some I have known to th' Chase so much inclined, That in the Woods they left their Grief behind, Nor yet think scorn the sordid Blow to guide, Or with the ponderous Rake the Clods divide, With heavy Axe, and many weary blow, The towering Pine, and spreading Oak overthrow; The very House yields Exercise, the Hall Has room for Fencing, and the bounding Ball. Rouse, rouse, shake off your fond desire of Ease, For Sleep foments and feeds the foul Disease, 'Tis then th'Invader does the Vitals seize. But chiefly from thy Thoughts all sorrows drive, Nor with Minerva's knotty Precepts strive, With lighter Labours of the Muse's sport, And seek the Plains where Swains and Nymphs resort. Abstain however from the Act of Love, For nothing can so much destructive prove: Bright Venus hates polluted Mysteries, And every Nymph from foul Embraces flies. Dire practice! Poison with Delight to bring, And with the Lovers Dart, the Serpent's sting. A proper Diet you must next prepare, Than which there's nothing more requires your care; All Food that from the Fens is brought refuse, Whate'er the standing Lakes or Seas produce, Nor must long Custom pass for an Excuse; Therefore from Fish in general I dissuade, All these are of a washy Substance made, Which though the luscious Palate they content, Convert to Humours more than Nourishment; Even Giltheads, though most tempting to the sight, And sharp-fined Perch that in the Rocks delight. All sorts of Fowl that on the Water prey, By the same Rule I'd have removed away, Forbear the Drake, and leave Rome's ancient Friend The Capitol and City to Defend. No less the Bustard's luscious Flesh decline, Forbear the Back and Entrails of the Swine, Nor with the hunted Boar thy Hunger stay, Enjoy the Sport, but still forbear the Prey. I hold nor Cucumber nor Mushrooms good, And Artichoke is too salacious Food: Nor yet the use of Milk would I enjoin, Much less of Vinegar or eager Wine, Such as from Rhaetia comes, and from the Rhine; The Sabine Vintage is of safer Use, Which mellow and Well-watered fields produce: But if your Banquets with the Gods you'd make Of Herbs and Roots the unbought Dainties take; Be sure that Mint and Endive still abound, And Sowthistle, with leaves in Winter crowned, And Sian by clear Fountains always found; To these add Calamint, and Savery Borage and Balm, whose mingled sweets agree, Rochet and Sorrel I as much approve: The climbing Hop grows wild in every Grove, Take thence the infant Buds, and with them join The curling tendrils of the springing Vine, Whose Arms have yet no friendly shade allowed, Nor with the weight of juicy Clusters bowed. Particulars were endless to rehearse, And weightier Subjects now demand our Verse. We'll draw the Muses from Aonian Hills, To Nature's Garden, Groves and humble Rills, Where if no Laurels spring, or if I find That those are all for Conquerors designed; With Oaken Leaves at least I'll bind my Brow, For millions saved you must that Grace allow. At first approach of Spring, I would advise, Or even in Autumn months if strength suffice, To bleed your Patient in the regal Vein, And by degrees th' infected Current drain: But in all Seasons fail not to expel, And purge the noxious Humours from their Cell; But fit Ingredients you must first collect, And then their different Qualities respect, Make firm the Liquid and the Gross dissect. Take, therefore, care to gather, in their prime, The sweet Corycian and Pamphilian Time, These you must boil, together with the Rest In this ensuing Catalogue expressed: Fennell and Hop that close Embraces weaves, Parsley and Fumitory's bitter Leaves; Wild Fern on every Down and Heath you'll meet With Leaves resembling Polypus' shagged feet, And Mayden-hair, of virtue strange, but true For dipped in Fountains, it reteins no Dew: Hart's-tongue and Citarch must be added too. The greater Part, and with success more sure, By Mercury perform the happy Cure; A wondrous virtue in that Mineral lies, Whether by force of various Qualities Of Cold and Heat, it flies into the Veins, And with a fiercer Fire their Flame restrains, Conquering the raging Humours in their Seat, As glowing Steel exceeds the Forge's heat, Or whether his keen Particles (combined With strange connexion) when th' are once disjoined, Disperse, all Quarters of the Foe to seize, And burn the very Seeds of the Disease; Or whether 'tis with some more hidden force Endowed by Nature to perform its Course, Is hard to say, but though the Gods conceal The virtual Cause, they did its use reveal. Now by what mean 'twas found our Song shall show, Nor may we let heavens Gifts in Silence go. In Syrian Vales where Groves of Osier grow, And where Callirrhoes' sacred Fountains flow. Ilceus the Huntsman, who with Zeal adored The rural Gods, with Gifts their Altars stored; Was yet afflicted with this restless Grief, And, if Tradition may obtain belief, As he was watering there each spicy Bed, Thus to entreat the Sylvan Powers, is said. You Deities by me adored, and Thou, Callirrhoe, who dost Relief allow Against all Diseases, as I slew for Thee The Stag, and fixed his Head upon a Tree; A Tree that does with lesser Branches spread, Than those that join to that most horrid Head: You sacred Powers if you'll remove away This plague that Racks my Frame all Night and Day, I, all the mingled glories of the Spring, Lilies and Violets to your Seats will bring, With Daffodils first budding Roses wove, And on your Shrines the fragrant Garland leave. He said, and down upon the Herbage lay, Tired with the raging Pain, and raging Day. Callirrhoe (bathing in the neighbouring Well, With Musk that grew in Plenty round the Cell) Herd the Youth's prayer and straight in soft repose, Th' indulgent Nymph his heavy Eyes did close, Then to his Fancy, from her sacred Streams, Appeared and charmed him with prophetic Dreams. Ilceus (said she) my Servant, and my Care, The Gods at last have harkened to thy Prayer; Yet, on the Earth, as far as Sol can spy, For thy Disease remains no Remedy. Cynthia and Phoebus too at her Request, Into thy tortured Veins have sent this Pest, The Stag to her was sacred which you slew, And this the Punishment that did ensue, For which the Earth, as far as Sol can see, The spacious Earth, affords no Remedy: Then since her Surface no relief can lend, To her dark Entrails for thy Cure descend; A Cave there is its self an awful shade, But by Jove's spreading Tree more dreadful made, Where mingling Cedars wanton with the Air, Thither at first approach of Day repair; A jet-black Ram before the Entrance slay, And cry, these Rites great Ops to Thee I pay. The lesser Powers, pale Ghosts and Nymphs of Night, The Smoke of Yew and Cypress shall invite; These Nymphs shall at the outmost Entrance stay, And through the dark Retreats conduct thy way. Rise, rise, nor think all this an idle Dream, For know I am the Goddess of this Stream. This for thy pious Homage to my Cell— So spoke the Nymph, and dived into the Well. The Youth starts up astonished, but restored, With grateful prayers th' obliging Nymph adored Thy Voice, bright Goddess, I'll with speed O●ey, O still assist and bless me on my Way. With the next Dawn the sacred Cave he found, With spreading Oaks and towering Cedars crowned; A jet-black Ram did at the Entrance slay, And cried these Rites, great Ops, to thee I pay: The lesser Powers, pale Ghosts and Nymphs of Night, The Smoke of Yew and Cypress did invite. His Voice resounding through the hollow Seats, Disturbed the Nymphs within their deep Retreats. Those Nymphs that toil in Metals underground, Gave o'er their Work at th' unexpected Sound; Some Quicksilver and Sulphur others brought, From which calcined, the golden Oar was wrought; Of pure AEtherial Light a hundred beams, Of Subterranean fire a hundred Streams, Wi●h various seeds of Earth and Sea they joined, For humane Eyes too subtle and refined. But Lipare who forms the richer Oar, And to the Furnace brings the Sulphurous store, To Ilceus through the dark Recesses broke, And in these words the trembling Youth bespoke: Ilceus (for I have heard your Name and Grief) Callirrhoe sends you hither for relief; Nor has the Goddess counselled you in vain, These Cells afford a Medicine for your Pain; Take courage therefore, and the Charge obey, She said, and through the Cavern leads the way. He follows wondering at the dark abodes, The spacious Voids and Subterranean Roads; Astonished there to see those Rivers move, Which he observed to lose themselves above: Each Cave, cried Lipare, some Power contains, I'th' lowest Mansion Proserpina remains; The middle Regions Pluto's Treasure hold, And Nymphs that work in Silver, Brass and Gold, Of which rich Train am I, whose Veins extend, And to Callirrhoe's Stream the smoking Sulphur send. Thus through the Realms of Night they took their way, And heard from far the Forge and Furnace play. These (said the Nymph) the Beds of Metals are, That give you wretched Mortals so much Care. By thousand Nymphs of Earth and Night enjoyed, Who yet in various Tasks are all employed. Some turn the Current, some the Seeds dissect Of Earth and Sea, which some again collect, That, mixed with Lightning, make the golden Oar, While others quench in Streams the shining store. Not far from hence the Cyclops Cave is found, See how it glows, hark how their Anvils sound. But here turn off, and take the right-hand way, This Path does to that sacred Stream convey, In which thy only Hope remains: She said, And under golden Roofs her Patient led, Hard by, the Lakes of liquid Silver flowed, Which to the wondering Youth the Goddess showed; Thrice washed in these (said she) thy Pains shall end, And all the Stench into the Stream descend. Thrice with her Virgin hands the Goddess threw On all his suffering Limbs the healing Dew: He, at the falling Filth admiring stood, And scarce believed for joy, the virtue of the Flood. When therefore you return to open Day, With Sacrifice Diana's Rage allay, And Homage to the Fountain's Goddess pay. Thus spoke the Nymph, and through the Realms of Night, Restored the grateful Youth to open Light. This strange Invention soon obtained belief, And flying Fame divulged the sure Relief. But first Experiments did only join, And for a Vehicle use lard of Swine: Larch-gum and Turpentine were added next, That wrought more safe and less the Patient vexed; Horse-grease and Bears with them they did compound, Bdellium and Gum of Cedar useful found; Then Myrrh, and Frankincense were used by some, With living Sulphur and Arabian Gum; But if black hellebore be added too, With Rainbow Flowers your Method I allow; Benzoin and Galbanum I next require, Lint-Oil, and Sulphur's ever it feels the Fire. With these Ingredients mixed, you must not fear Your suffering Limbs and Body to besmear, Nor let the foulness of the Course displease, Obscene indeed, but less than your Disease: Yet when you do anoint, take special care That both your Head and tender Breast you spare, This done, wrapped close and swathed, repair to Bed, And there let such thick coverings be o'e-rspred, Till streams of Sweat from every poor you force: For twice five Days you must repeat this Course; Severe indeed but you your Fate must bear, And signs of coming Health will straight appear. The Mass of Humours now dissolved within, To purge themselves by spital shall begin, Till you with wonder at your feet shall see, A tide of Filth, and bless the Remedy. For Ulcers that shall then the Mouth offend, Boil Flowers that Privet and Pomgranets send. Now, only now, I would forbid the Use Of generous Wine that noble Soils produce; All sorts without distinction you must fly, The sparkling Bowl with all its Charms deny. Rise, now victorious, Health is now at hand, One labour more is all I shall command, Easie and pleasant; you must last prepare Your Bath, with Rosemary and Lavender, Vervain and Yarrow too must both be there; Amongst these your sleeping Body you must lay, To cheer you, and to wash all dregs away. But now the verdant Blessings that belong To new discovered Worlds demand our Song. Beyond Herculean bounds the Ocean roars With loud applause to those far distant Shores. The sacred Tree must next our Muse employ, That only could this raging Plague destroy; Just Praise (Urania) to this Plant allow, And with its happy Leaves upon thy Brow, Through all our Latian Cities take thy way, And to admiring Crowd the healing Boughs display; Even I myself shall prise my Strains the more, For Blessings never Seen nor Sung before. Perhaps some more exalted Poet (warmed, For Martial Strains) with this new subject Charmed Shall quit the noble business of the Field, Bequeath to Rust the Sword and polished Shield, Leave wrangling Heroes that overcome or Dye, Both shrouded in the same obscurity; Pass over the harast Soil and bloody Stream, To prosecute this more delightful Theme; To tell how first auspicious Navies made More bold attempts, and th'Ocean's bounds essayed; To sing vast Tracts of Land beyond the Main, By former Ages guessed, and wished in Vain, Strange Regions, Floods and Cities to rehearse, And with true Prodigies adorn their Verse; New Lands, new Seas, and still new Lands to spy, Another Heaven, and other Stars descry. When this is done resume their Martial Strain, And crown our Conquests in each savage Plain, That even from Vanquishment advantage draws, Enriched with European Arts and Laws, Shall sing (what future Ages will confound) How Earth and Sea one Vessel did Surround. Thrice happy to Bard whom indulgent Heaven, A Soul capacious of this Work has given. My weaker Muse shall think her Office done, Of all these wonders to record but one: One single Plant which these glad Lands produce To specify and show its sovereign Use, By what adventures found, and wafted over From unknown Worlds to Europe's wondering shore. Far Westward hence where th'Ocean seems to boil Beneath fierce Cancer, lies a spacious Isle, Descried by Spaniard's roving on the Main, And justly honoured with the Name of Spain. Fertile in Gold but far more blest to be, The Garden of this consecrated Tree: Its Trunk erect, but on his Top is seen, A spreading Grove with Branches ever Green; Upon his Boughs a little Nut is found, But poignant and with Leaves encompassed round; The stubborn Substance toothless makes the Saw, And scarcely from the Axe receives a flaw; Dissected, various Colours meet your view, The outward Bark is of the Laurel hue; The next like Box, the parts more inwards set, Of dusky grain but not so dark as Jet; If to these mixtures you will add the Red, All colours of the gaudy Bow are spread. This Plant the Natives conscious of its use Adore, and with religious Care produce; On every Hill, in every Vale 'tis found, And held the greatest Blessing of the ground Against this Pest that always Rages there, From Skies infected and polluted Air: The outward Bark as useless they refuse, But with their utmost force the Timber bruise, Or break in Splinters, which they steep a while In fountains, and when soaked, in Vessels boil, Regardless how too fierce a fire may make The juice run over, whose healing Froth they take, With which they Bathe their Limbs where Pustles breed, And heal the Breaches where dire Ulcers feed. Half boiled away the Remnant they retain, And adding Hony boil the Chips again: To use no other Liquor when they Dine, Their Country's Law, and greater Priest enjoin: The first Decoction with the rising Light They drink, and once again at fall of Night; This course they strictly hold when once begun, Till Cynthia has her monthly Progress run, Housed all the while where no offensive Wind, Nor the least breath of Air can entrance find. But who will yield us credit to proceed, And tell how wondrous slenderly they Feed; Just so much Food as can bare Life preserve, And to its joint connect each feeble Nerve: Yet let not this strange Abstinence deter, And make you think the Method too severe. This Drink itself will wasted Strength repair, For Nectar and Ambrosia too are there; All offices of Nature it maintains, The Heart refreshes, and recruits the Veins. When the Draught 's ta'en, for two hours and no more The Patient on his Couch is covered over; For by this means the Liquor with more ease, Expels in streams of Sweat the foul Disease. All Parts (O prodigy!) grow sound within, Nor any Filth remains upon the Skin; Fresh youth in every Limb, fresh vigours found, And now the Moon has run her monthly Round. What God did first the wondrous use display, Of this blessed Plant, what chance did first convey Our European Fleet to that rich shore, That for their Toil so rich a Traffic bore, Our Song shall now unfold; a Navy bound For no known Port nor yet discovered Ground, Resolved the secrets of the Main to find, And now they leave their Native shore behind, Clap on more Sail and skudd before the Wind. Thus on the spreading Ocean they did stray, For many Weeks uncertain of their way: The thronging Sea-Nymphs wondering at the Pride, Of each tall Ship appear above the Tide, And with proportioned speed around them glide, Charmed with each painted Stern and golden Prow, With each gay Streamer, striving as they go To catch their Pictures in the Flood below. 'Twas night, but Cynthia did such beams display, So strong as more than half restored the Day. When the bold Leader of this roving Train, (The bravest Youth that ever stemmed the Main;) As on the Decks he lay with anxious care, And watchful o'er his charge, conceived this Prayer; Bright Goddess of the night (said he) whose sway, All humid Things and these vast Seas obey; Twice have we seen thy infant Crescents spring, And twice united in a glorious Ring, Since first this Fleet commenced her restless toil, Nor yet have gained the Sight of any Soil. O Virgin Star, of nightly Planets chief. Vouchsafe your weary Wanderers relief; Let some fair Continent at last arise, Or some less distant Isle salute our Eyes: At least some Rock with one small Rill and Port, For these o'er-laboured Boats and Youths support. The Goddess heard not this Address in Vain, But leaves to her nocturnal Steeds the Rein, And like a Sea-Nymph sloats upon the Main: So well disguised That Clotho's self might be Deceived, and take her for Cymothoe; With such a mien she cut the yielding Tide, And in these words bespoke the wand'ring Guide; Take courage, for the next approaching Day, Shall see these Ships safe riding in the Bay; But stay not long where first your Anchors fall, The Fates to yet more distant Regions call; Find Ophyre high-seated in the Main; Those Seats for you the Destinies ordain. She said, and pushed the Keel; a brisker Gale Forthwith descends and pregnates every Sail: Now from the East the Sun invites their Eyes, As fast they westward see the Mountains rise Like clouds at first, but as they nearer drew, Rocks, Groves and Springs were opened to their View; High on the Decks the joyful Sailors stand, And thrice with Shouts salute th' expected Land. Then safely Anchored in the promised Bay, First to the Gods their just Devotion pay. Four days, no more, are spent upon this Soil, To fit their shattered Ships for farther Toil, Each hand once more is to his Charge assigned, All take advantage of the friendly Wind; A swift and steady course they now maintain, And leave Anthylia floating on the Main: With Hagia's coast, and tall Ammeria's Isle, The Cannibals most execrable Soil, O'er all the Deep they now see Turrets rise, And Islands without number meet their Eyes; Amongst these they singled one from whence they heard Streams fall, while spreading Groves aloft appeared, Charmed with these Objects there they put to shore, Where first the Islands Genius they adore, Then spread their Banquet on the verdant ground, Whilst Bowls of sparkling Wine go nimbly round; Refreshed, they separate, some to descry The country, others more o'erjoyed to spy Beneath the Flood pure Gold lie mixed with Sand, And seize the shining Oar with greedy hand. At length a Flock of painted Birds they view, With azure Plumes and Beaks of Coral-hue, Which fearless through the Glades did seem to rove, And perched securely in their native Grove; The Youths to tempered Engines have recourse That imitate the Thunder's dreadful Force, Vulcan's invention while with wondrous Art, He did to Men the Arms of jove impart; Each takes his Stand and singles out his Mark, The dire Ingredients with a sudden Spark Inflamed, discharge with rage the whizzing Ball, The unsuspecting Birds by hundreds fall; The Air with Smoak and Fire is covered round, The Groves and Rocks astonished with the sound, And shaking Sands beneath the Seas rebound. The Remnant of the Flock with terror fly To Rocks whose Turrets seemed to pierce the Sky; From whence with humane Voice (O dire Portent!) One of this feathered Tribe these Numbers sent. You who have Sacrilegiously assayed, The Sun's loved Birds, and impious slaughter made, Hear what th' enraged avenging God prepares, And in prophetic Sounds by me declares. Know, you at last have reached your promised soil, For this is Ophyre's long expected Isle, But destined Empire shall not yet obtain Of Provinces beyond the western Main, The Natives of long Liberty deprive, Found Cities, and a new Religion give, Till Toils by Earth and Sea are undergone, And many dreadful Battles lost and won; For, most shall leave your Trunks on foreign Land, Few shattered Ships shall reach your native Sand; In vain shall some Sail back again to find, Their wretched Comrades whom they left behind; Whose Bones of flesh devested shall be found, For Cyclops too in these dire Coasts abound: Your Foes overcome, your Fleet in Civil Rage Shall disagree, and Ship with Ship engage. Nor end your sufferings here, a strange Disease, And most obscene shall on your Bodies seize; In this distress your Error you shall mourn, And to these injured Groves for Cure return; This dreadful Doom the feathered Prophet spoke, And sculkt within the Covert of the Rock. Astonished with the unexpected sound, Th' offending Men fell prostrate on the ground; Forgiveness from the sacred Flock to gain, But chiefly Phoebus Pardon to obtain. The Guardians of the Grove to reconcile, And once more hail the fair Ophyrian Isle. These Rites performed, returning on their way, A race with humane Shape they did survey, But black as Jet, who sallied from the Wood, And made the Vale more dark in which they stood; No Garment o'er their Breasts or Shoulders spread, And wreaths of peaceful Olive on their Head; Unarmed, yet more with wonder struck than fear, They viewed the Strangers, and approached more near; Astonished at their glittering Arms, but more At each proud Vessel lodged upon the Shore, The Flags and Streamers sporting with the Wind, And thought their Owners more than humane kind, Some Gods or Heroes to the Gods allied, And more than Mortal reverence applied; But to our Chief their first Respect they paid, And cheap, but yet most royal Presents made, Rich golden Oar, of use and worth unknown, And only prized by them because it shone, With which the blessings of their Fields were born, Ripe blushing Fruits and ponderous Ears of Corn; Unpolisht but capacious Vessels filled With Honey from each fragrant Tree distilled, Which did from Heaven in nightly Dew arrive, Without the tedious labours of the Hive. With them our Garments like Reception found, And now the Tribes sat mingled on the Ground, With Indian Food and Spanish Vintage crowned: Who can express the Savages delight, As if the Gods some Mortal should invite To heavenly Courts, and with the Nectar-bowl Into a Deity exalt his ravished Soul. By chance the solemn Day was drawing near, The greatest Festival of all the Year; And to the Sun their greatest God belonged, To which from every part the Natives thronged, With whom their Neighbours of Hesperia met; And now within the sacred Vale were set Each Sex, and all degrees of Age were seen, But placed without distinction on the Green; Yet from the Infant to the grizzled Head, A cloud of Grief o'er every Face was spread, All languished with the same obscene Disease, And years, not Strength distinguished the Degrees; Dire flames upon their Vitals fed within, While Sores and crusted Filth profaned their Skin. At last the Priest in snowy Robes arrayed, The Boughs of healing Guiacum displayed, Which (dipped in living Streams) he shook around To purge, for holy Rites the tainted Ground. An Heifer then before the Altar slew, A Swain stood near on whom the Blood he threw; Then to the Sun began his mystic Song, And straight was seconded by all the Throng. Both Swine and Heifers now by thousands bleed, And Natives on their roasted Entrails feed. Our Train with wonder saw these Rites, but more Astonished at the Plague unseen before: Mean while our Leader in his careful breast, Formed sad Conjectures of this dreadful Pest, This, this said he (the Gods avert our Fate) Is that dire Curse which Phoebus did relate; The Birds prodigious Song I now recall, The strange Disease that on our Troops should fall. As therefore from the Altar they retired, Our Gen'ral of the Native Prince enquired, To what dread Power these Offerings did belong? What meant that languishing infected Throng? And why the Shepherd by the Altar stood? And wherefore Sprinkled with the gushing blood? To which the Island Monarch, noble Guest, With annual Zeal these Offerings are addressed, To Phoebus enraged Deity assigned, And by our Ancestors of old enjoined; But if a foreign Nations toils to learn, And less refined be worth your least concern, If you have any Sense of Stranger's fate, From its first source the Story I'll relate: Perhaps you may have heard of Atlas' name, From whom in long descent great Nations came; From him we sprang, and once a happy Race, Beloved of Heaven while Piety had place, While to the Gods our Ancestors did Pray, And grateful Offerings on their Altars lay. But when the Powers to be despised began, When to lewd Luxury our Nation ran; Who can express the miseries that ensued, And Plagues with each returning Day renewed? Then fair Atlantia once an Isle of fame, (That from the mighty Atlas took its Name, Who there had governed long with upright Sway) Was gorged entire, and swallowed by the Sea. With which our Flocks and Herds were wholly drowned, Not one preserved or ever after found. Since when outlandish Cattle here are slain, And Bulls of foreign Breed our Altars slain; In that dire Season this Disease was bred, That thus o'er all our tortured Limbs is spread: Most universal from it Birth it grew, And none have since escaped or very few; Sent from above to scourge that vicious Age, And chiefly by incensed Apollo's Rage, For which these annual Rites were first ordained, Whereof this firm Tradition is retained. A Shepherd once (distrust not ancient Fame) Possessed these Downs, and Syphilus his Name. A thousand Heifers in these Vales he fed, A thousand Ewes to those fair Rivers led: For King Alcithous he raised this Stock, And shaded in the Covert of a Rock, For now 'twas Solstice, and the Syrian Star Increased the Heat and shot his Beams afar; The Fields were burnt to ashes, and the Swain Repaired for shade to thickest Woods in vain, No Wind to fan the scorching Air was found, No nightly Dew refreshed the thirsty Ground: This Drought our Syphilus beheld with pain, Nor could the sufferings of his Flock sustain, But to the Noonday Sun with upcast Eyes, In rage threw these reproaching Blasphemies, Is it for this O Sol, that thou art styled Our God and Parent? how are we beguiled Dull Bigots to pay Homage to thy Name? And with rich Spices feed thy Altar's flame: Why do we yearly Rites for thee prepare, Who tak'st of our affairs so little Care? At least thou mightst between the Rabble Kine Distinguish, and these royal Herds of Mine. These to the great Alcithous belong, Nor ought to perish with the Vulgar throng. Or shall I rather think your Deity With envious Eyes our thriving Stock did see? I grant you had sufficient cause indeed, A thousand Heifers of the snowy Breed, A thousand Ewes of mine these Downs did feed; Whilst one Etherial Bull was all your stock, One Ram, and to preserve this mighty Flock, You must forsooth your Syrian Dog maintain, Why do I worship then a Power so Vain? Henceforth I to Alcithous will bring My Offerings and Adore my greater King, Who does such spacious Tracts of Land possess, And whose vast Power the conquered Seas confess. Him I'll invoke my Sufferings to redress. he'll straight command the cooling Winds to blow, Refreshing Showers on Trees and Herbs bestow, Nor suffer Thirst, both Flock and Swain to kill: He said, and forthwith on a neighbouring Hill Erects an Altar to his Monarch's name, The Swains from far bring Incense to the Flame; At length to greater Victims they proceed, Till Swine and Heifers too by hundreds Bleed, On whose half roasted Flesh the impious Wretches feed. All quarters soon were filled with the Report, That ceased not till it reached the Monarch's Court; Th' aspiring Prince with Godlike Rites o'er joyed, Commands all Altars else to be destroyed, Proclaims Himself in Earth's low sphere to be The only and sufficient Deity; That Heavenly Powers lived too remote and high, And had enough to do to Rule the Sky. Th' all-seeing Sun no longer could sustain These practices, but with enraged Disdain Darts forth such pestilent malignant Beams, As shed Infection on Air, Earth and Streams; From whence this Malady its birth received, And first th' offending Syphilus was grieved, Who raised forbidden Altars on the Hill, And Victims blood with impious Hands did spill; He first wore Buboes dreadful to the sight, First felt strange Pains and sleepless past the Night; From him the Malady received its name, The neighbouring Shepherds catcht the spreading Flame: At last in City and in Court 'twas known, And seized th' ambitious Monarch on his Throne; In this distress the wretched Tribes repair To Ammerice the God's Interpreter, Chief Priestess of the consecrated Wood, In whose Retreats the awful Tripod stood, From whence the God's responsal she expressed; The Crowd inquire what Cause produced this Pest, What God enraged? and how to be appeased, And last what Cure remained for the Diseased? To whom the Nymph replied— the Sun incensed, With just revenge these Torments has commenced. What man can with immortal Powers compare? Fly, wretches, fly, his Altars soon repair, Load them with Incense, Him with Prayers invade, His Anger will not easily be laid; Your Doom is past, black Styx has heard him swear, This Plague should never be extinguished here, Since than your Soil must ne'er be wholly free, Beg Heaven at least to yield some Remedy: A milk-white Cow on Juno's Altar lay, To Mother Earth a jet-black Heifer slay; One from above the happy Seeds shall shed, The other rear the Grove and make it spread, That only for your Grief a Cure shall yield. She said: the Crowd returned to th' opened Field, Raised Altars to the Sun without delay, To Mother Earth, and juno Victims slay. 'Twill seem most strange what now I shall declare, But by our Gods and Ancestors I swear, 'Tis sacred Truth— These Groves that spread so wide and look so green Within this Isle, till then, were never seen, But now before their Eyes the Plants were found To spring, and in an instant Shade the ground, The Priest forthwith bids Sacrifice be done, And Justice paid to the offended Sun; Some destined Head t'atone the Crimes of all, On Syphilus the dreadful Lot did fall, Who now was placed before the Altar bound, His head with sacrificial Garlands crowned, His Throat laid open to the lifted Knife, But interceding juno spared his Life, Commands them in his stead a Heifer slay, For Phoebus' Rage was now removed away. This made our grateful Ancestors enjoin, When first these annual Rites they did assign, That to the Altar bound a Swine each time Should stand, to witness Syphilus his Crime. All this infected Throng whom you behold, Smart for their Ancestors Offence of old: To heal their Plague this Sacrifice is done, And reconcile them to th' offended Sun. The Rites performed, the hallowed Boughs they seize, The speedy certain Cure for their Disease. With such discourse the Chiefs their Cares deceive, Whose Tribes of different Worlds united live, Till now the Ships sent back to Europe's shore, Return and bring prodigious Tidings over. That this Disease did now through Europe rage, Nor any Medicine found that could assuage, That in their Ships no slender Number mourned, With Boils without and inward Ulcers burned. Then called to mind the Bird's prophetic sound, That in those Groves Relief was to be found. Then each with solemn Vows the Sun entreats, And gentle Nymphs the Guardians of those Seats. With lusty Strokes the Grove they next invade, Whose weighty Boughs are on their Shoulders laid, Which with the Natives methods they prepare, And with the healing Draughts their Health repair, But not forgetful of their Country's good, They fraight their largest Ships with this rich Wood, To try if in our Climate it would be Of equal use, for the same Malady: The years mild Season seconds their desire, And western Winds their willing Sails inspire. Iberian Coasts you first were happy made With this rich Plant, and wondered at its Aid; Known now to France and neighbouring Germany Cold Scythian Coasts and temperate Italy, To Europe's Bounds all bless the vital Tree. Hail heaven-born Plant whose Rival ne'er was seen, Whose Virtues like thy Leaves are ever green; Hope of Mankind and Comfort of their Eyes, Of new discovered Worlds the richest Prize. Too happy would Indulgent Gods allow, Thy Groves in Europe's nobler Clime to grow: Yet if my Strains have any force, thy Name Shall flourish here, and Europe sing thy Fame. If not remoter Lands with Winter bound, Eternal Snow, nor Libya's scorching Ground; Yet Latium and Benacus cool Retreats, Shall thee resound, with Athesis fair Seats. Too, blest if Bembus live thy Growth to see, And on the Banks of Tiber gather thee, If he thy matchless Virtues once rehearse, And crown thy Praises with eternal Verse. FINIS. ERRATA. Page 5. line 12 for newer reed never, p. 35. l. 3. for wand'ring r. wondering, p. 58 l. 5. for, to Bard r. Bard to.