THE Victory of Cupid OVERDO THE GOD'S AND GODDESSES: DISPLAYED IN SEVERAL Poetical Stories.  
By R. PHILLIPS.  
Qui Pugnas & Rostra petit praesingitur Auro,  
Vilis Adulator Picto jacet Ebrius Ostro;  
Sola pruinosis horret Facundia pannis,  Petr. 
LONDON, Printed for Tho. Simmons at the Sign of the Prince's Arms in Ludgate-Street near Ludgate: 1683.   

TO HER GRACE The Duchess OF SOMERSET.  
MADAM,  
WHEN I Consider the meanness of this Offering, that comes to Prostrate itself before your Feet, and Consider your Greatness, born with Goodness, Pure, and White, as the Lily of the Valley; it makes me blush at my own Ambition. Your Excellencies fill the whole World with Admiration, and your Virtues are as Beauteous as the Purple of Kings, as the Royal Purple, which we see Distended like a Mantle, all about the Resplendent Stars that Ennamel, and Guild, the, Spacious Sky, more Beauteous than Prosperity, that is Embroidered with Jewels by the Fingers of Fortune. These have Darts so Sharp, and Flaming, that like the Stone Ceraunia, they Dazzle all Eyes; They are Mountains of Perfume, they are Suns, that are wholly Radiant, that bring Light, and Life, and imprint Perfections more Curious than Figures, more Curious than the Colours of the Rainbow; and are all as Natural, as Flight to Birds, or Beauty, to Flowers. He that would equal this Worth, should, he draw from Minerals the Riches that the Earth hideth in its Veins, would rather find Insufficiency in his Purpose, than want of Merit in his Subject.  
Then who is he that can Enchase your Fame?  
Behind your Glories we must lag with Shame,  
As if the Numerous-feets of Verse were Lame.  
Thus do you seem to be formed by Hands of Angels, unfit therefore to be displayed by the unable Pencil of  
Madam, your most Humble, Most Obedient, and most Devoted Servant, R. PHILLIPS.   

THE PREFACE TO THE READER  
Courteous Reader,  
WHEN Jupiter's Daughters were Married to the Gods (the Muses alone) were left solitary. Helicon, that was the Principal Fountain, and Stream, from whence flowed Rivers of Wit, and Eloquence, was forsaken of all her Suitors, the reason was, because they were not Fortunes.  
Calliope longum Caelebs tur vixit in evum?  
Nempe nihil Dotis quod numeraret, erat.  
Why did Calliope live long a Maid?  
Because she had no Portion to be paid.  
Many came to see Psyche the Glory of her Time, they all did commend, and admire her, (but not otherwise then as some Curious Picture) none would Marry her, Psyche was Fair, (exceeding Fair,) but not Rich; (so kindly is Beauty and Wit, treated by the obliging World.)  
In all Ages there have been Complaints of the ill success that Writers have had, (to evence the Truth of which) I could bring in such a Recruit, such a Regiment of Mouldy Authors, that were sufficient to scare, and frighten us; Authors that have not seen the Comfortable-Light, since Norman-Spiders came in with the Conqueror, but will you hear what Cowley says?  
— To me alone  
One of old Gideon's Miracles was shown.  
For every Tree, and every Herb, around  
With Pearly-Dew, is sometimes Crowned,  
And upon all the Quickning-Ground  
The Fruitful-Seed of Heaven did Brooding lie,  
And nothing but the Muses-Fleece was dry.  
Cleanthes pulled of his Philosopher's Gown, and put on a Miller 's Coat; he thought (it seems) any course of Life better than to follow Philosophy, and Study, that had such little Encouragement, and such mighty Labour, for  
Ardua via est, & quae vix mane recentes  
Enituntur equi, Pirois, Eois, & Aethon.  
Invitatus ad hec aliquis de Ponte negabit.  
The meanest Vassal, if he knew the inconveniency, had cause to refuse it.  
Notwithstanding, since we have entered upon Poetry, it is convenient that there be something spoken in the praise of it, which I shall do very briefly. Poetry is of most excellent use, 'tis a great Refiner of Language, and a great help to Wit, where Fancy, like the Sunshine, plays upon the Waters: it is a Garden of Pleasant Flowers, and Flourishing-Fruit. And  
Who that has Reason, and his Smell,  
Would not with Roses, and with Tulips dwell?  
It is as Powerful as an Alchemist, 'tis able to Turn the Dullest-Earthy Prose into Glittering Gold.  
An Ingenious Painter, that Portrayed Medea Killing her own Child (made very strangely) two contrary Affections appear in her Face, for in the one side, he expressed extream-Fury, which bid her Kill, and on the other side, Motherly-Love, Kindness, and Pity, which bid her not Kill; In like manner, two such contrary Affections, can by this Art be Painted forth.  
But Poets like Silkworms, must Spin their thoughts (with Toil, and Care) into the finest Threads, (that they may please all) before they venture to take Wings, and soar abroad: like Causin's Smith, they must Sweat, and Labour, and be tried in the Fire of the Schools, before their Plates (their Works) can Shine on the Cupboard of the Prince. Now  Quid tantum insanis juvat impallescere Chartis? To what end is this? 
Dat Gallenes Opens, that Justinianus Honours,  
Sed Genus, & species cogitur ire pedes.  
The Rich physician's, Honour'd-Lawyers Ride,  
While the Poor Scholar feet it by their side.  
When Learning was young (while she lay yet in her Cradle) they brought her Presents from all parts of the Earth, but after she grew Ripe, and they had her Beauties in possession, and rifled her of all her Precious Jewels, they were soon satisfied with her Love; But now they are so much Cloyed, and Glutted, they begin to find fault, and complain, that her Face (like Amphitrites) appears full of Wrinkles.— Thus did the foolish Soldiers of Rome, they Rebelled against their Emperor Otho, because he was old.  
The Truth is, there are so many Paper Bullets of the Brain, that continually Fly, and whize, about the Ears of Authors, that the Wiser sort of Men lock up their Conceits in the Closets of their own Noddles, and will not venture them abroad, for fear of (Bellua multorum Capitum) the many headed Monster, for fear of a Ho-bub, and for fear they should walk (like Sir Actaeon the Cuckold) with Ringwood at their Heels, and for fear of Sejanus his Fate, whom that very Day the Senate conducted with Honour, the People tore in pieces with Fury; and he, whom the Gods and Men had once, loaded with as many Honours, as possibly could be heaped on him, had not a Mammock left for the Hangman to fasten bis Hook in.  
Farewell   

Pluto & Proserpina.  
THE ARGUMENT,  
Proserpina the Daughter of Jupiter; and Ceres was stole away by Pluto, as she was gathering Flowers; Ceres (her Mother) sought for her, and hearing she was in Hell, went thither, got her Daughter released, and obtained of Jupiter, that she might have her six months, and the other six she was to remain with Pluto.  
THERE is a Grove clothed in eternal green,  
Where all the Glories of the Spring are seen.  
Where the Ground smiles with Starry-flowers, and where  
The fairest Scions flourish all the year.  
Where Nightingales upon the bending Sprays,  
To solitary Lovers chaint their Lays.  
At break of Day in a Melodious Song,  
They teach the Gamut to their tender Young,  
And warbling out their Lesson (turn by turn,)  
Sweetly they Sing, and Court the modest Morn.  
Their Divine Notes in a Respondence meet,  
Like to the fall of Waters, soft and sweet.  
When they in murmurs to the Wind do Call,  
The gentle Wind in Whispers answering all.  
Here Longing Beauties blushing Fruit may reach,  
The Downy-Quince, Gilt-Orange, Velvet-Peach.  
Here grew the Purple, kind Embracing Vine,  
Courting the Eye to taste its luscious Wine,  
Whose tender Boughs unto the Hand incline,  
Some like the Ruby, laughing sweetly Red.  
Some like the Emerald not yet Ripened.  
And some in lovely shining Colours dressed,  
Like Burnished Gold to beautify the rest.  
Here Mulburies', and Musky-Apples hung,  
There Cinnamon, and other Spices sprung.  
Here weeps the Balsam, there the Tree, from whence  
Arabians fetched Perfuming frankincense.  
Here Spikenard, Myrrh, there Myrtle we behold,  
Here Cullumbine, and there the S.  
Here the pale Lily, Lady of the Field,  
There Jessamine refreshing Sweets doth yield.  
Here the Carnations, and the Roses grew,  
There blue-eyed Violets (of a Heavenly hue.)  
With all the Ornaments of Flora's Pride  
Appearing like some stately Pompious Bride.  
That does in spite of Niggard-natures' scorn,  
Most Lavishly her lovely Limbs adorn.  
And in the midst of all a Fountain stood  
So pure and shiny, that the Silver Flood  
Enticed the Sunburnt Pilgrim to his seat,  
Whose cooling Streams refreshed his thirsty heat.  
While creeping Slumbers made him forget  
All his past weariness, and toilsome sweat.  
Here was a work of admirable Wit,  
The Antic Story of Medea writ  
Her Magic Charms, her furious loving Fit.  
About her Twining-Ivy Irid to Creep,  
Dipping its Leaves in the fair Silver-Deep,  
Whose Drops did seem for wantonness to weep.  
The fair Proserpina came here to see  
The Gaudy Spring in all its Bravery.  
In yonder Bank sweet Eglantine she pulls,  
And here and there Enameled Tulips culls.  
This Beauty was in every part Divine,  
In her bright Eyes, two living Lamps did shine.  
But from those Lamps consuming flames did pass,  
As Radiant Beams pierce through a Burning-glass.  
Her Ivory Forehead like a Tower, stood high,  
And bore a sweet, yet lofty Majesty.  
Between her even Brows, Great Cupid sat  
Working Belgards, and making a Retreat.  
Her soft white Bosom as with Curtains drawn,  
Was covered with transparent Cobweb- Lawn.  
Her Robe Sky-coloured Silk, with a Rich Cawl  
Of Golden-twist, like Network over All.  
When she appeared, the Flowers looked strangely pale,  
Her Beauty made the Beauteous Morning Scale.  
She looked like some bright Angel, when our Eyes  
Fall back to gaze, while he ascends the Skies.  
While the Wing'd-Messenger (the Heavenly fair)  
Bestrides the Clouds, and Sails upon the Air.  
Pluto this Beauty in his Arms doth take,  
And hurries with her to the Stigian-Lake.  
The Bird that knows not the false Fowler's Call,  
Into his Net unhappily may Fall.  
Near to the Grove his Chariot ready stood,  
With Coalblack Steeds, Born of a Hellish Brood.  
Who proudly shake their Mains, yerk out their Heels,  
But at the Wind, and beat the humble Fields.  
These to the Gulf of deep Avernus' pace,  
Where Smoke and Sulphur cover all the place.  
So if some fair new Vessel show her Pride,  
Her Flags and Streamers to the swelling Tide.  
She that was for some Admiral designed,  
Some Noble Hero, Youthful, Fair and Kind,  
Is snatched and ruffled by the Strumpet Wind.  
Sees her beloved Man of War no more,  
Nor any Haven, nor the Green-watchet Shoar,  
But carried where the dismal Waters Roar,  
Must all her Honour, and her Beauties lose,  
And lie with the old wrinkled Treacherous Ooze.  
Instead of pleasant Fountains, Flowers, and Trees,  
Nothing but howling Fiends, and Ghosts, she sees.  
Chattering their Iron Teeth, and staring wide,  
Making sad Groans, Echo on every side.  
The Direful Distaff here was placed by Fate,  
To measure out to each his outmost Date.  
The Fatal Sisters sitting round about,  
With their unwearied Fingers drawing out  
The Lines of Life, and by their Magic Spell,  
Taking a Prospect of Man's Citadel.  
The Sacred Thread which doth the Soul detain,  
By grisly Lachesis is spun in pain,  
Sad Clotho holds the Rock, while the keen Knife  
Of Atropos, cutteth the Twist of Life.  
Here all about the dismal gloomy Place,  
Limned to die Life, was Disobedience Face.  
With Ragged Monuments of Time forepast,  
Here were rend Robes, and broken Sceptres placed,  
Altars defiled, and Holy Things defaced.  
Large Pillars all bedecked with Titles Vain,  
Which Princes wore while they on Earth did Reign.  
Here were some signs of Antic Babylon,  
Of Fatal Thebes, of Rome, that Reigned long,  
Of Sacred Salem, and sad Ilium.  
Lamenting Sorrow, did in Darkness lie,  
And Trembling Fear, still to and fro did fly.  
In Sable Weeds, sat self-consuming-Care  
With gnashing Misery, and mad Despair.  
Now while the astonished Maid, with Plaints and Cries,  
Doth Importune the listening Deities,  
And makes the Molten Stars to drop like Eyes.  
Ceres had sought among the shady Bowers,  
And little Rivulets Fringed with sweet Flowers.  
For her lost Darling, like some careful do,  
That wand'ring round the Wilderness doth go;  
Till she her tender straying Kid hath found,  
Fearing some Briars its Velvet skin may wound.  
She Climbs the Mountains, where the Golden Mine,  
And all the sparkling, costly Jewels Shine;  
But coming back to some Remoter Strand,  
Mourning and Weeping, on the Pearly Sand.  
She learns the News, and straight away doth go  
To tell the Gods the Story of her Woe.  
On Airy Wings she mounted up on High,  
And coming to the Starry Gallery  
Where Jupiter with Hallowed Light doth Shine,  
She there relates the Rape of Proserpina.  
Who is by the Decree of Sacred Heaven,  
Six Months to her, and Six to Pluto given.   

LEUCOTHOE and PHOEBUS.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
Leucothoe was the Daughter of Orchamus; who being beloved by Phoebus, was by her Buried alive in the Ground, whereupon the Poets feign that Phoebus pitying, turned her in a Tree of Frankincense.  
WHen first Aurora in her Purple Pall,  
Out of the Dawning-East the Day doth Call.  
Behold the Sun's swift Horses from a far,  
Mark how they Post with the Triumphant Car.  
Behold the Chariot which the Gods Admire!  
'Twas wrought in Lemno with unquenched Fire.  
The Seat which doth the Years Great Ruler hold,  
Is rough with Rubies, stiff with beaten Gold.  
For Mulciber from a Remoter Shoar,  
Brought Oriental Gems, and Indian Oar.  
The Sky-like Jasper, Purple Amethyst,  
And fiery Carbuncles, which the Flames resist.  
The Saphire, Beril, Ophir, Chrysolite,  
And costly Diamonds, scattered Heavenly Light.  
The Jewels like so many Lamps appear,  
And Dart their Streamers to the Gloomy Air,  
Like Argus' Eyes they looked forth every where.  
Behold the Sun with Wreaths of Stars that grace,  
And Circle evermore his Beamy-Face.  
Not Ariadnes' Crown, doth shine so clear,  
Nor the bright Polestar of the Hemisphere.  
Nor fair Latona's Daughter with her Train,  
Nor the great Waggoner of Charles' Wain,  
That guides the Sailors in the Watery Main.  
Look so Divine; Those only gild the Night,  
And so give place to his more Glorious Light.  
Like Vassalage, when unawares the Eye  
Encounters that of brighter Majesty.  
His Shining Eyes look like two Seraphins,  
When they with joy display their Hallowed Wings.  
Like to Eridanus his Beauty's show,  
(Eridanus the pleasant— River— Po;)  
Whose Golden-waves in Heaven and Earth do flow.  
Behold with Wonder here the Zodiack-line,  
Where every Constellation (every Sign)  
That hangs upon the beauteous Breast of Heaven,  
Looks like a George, to some great Hero given.  
Once through the Firmament as Phoebus' past,  
Beholding various sorts of things:— at last  
The fair Leucothoe he did descry,  
Who fires his generous-heart, and charms his Eye.  
For Venus has (could Venus be surveyed)  
No sweeter look than the unsullied Maid:  
Her Beauties like the Morn were bright and clear,  
And in her Eyes Mercy and Peace appear.  
The Ennamored God doth straight descend to view,  
More near this Earthly-Saint of heavenly hue:  
He came when Nature's tender Nurse, had hurled  
Her Sable Curtains o'er the drowsy World.  
When every Bird to his Pavilion fled,  
And on his Downy-pillow laid his head:  
He takes her Mother's shape, by that betrayed,  
The unsuspecting careless, harmless Maid.  
Then reassuming all his Rays, did say,  
I am the mighty Guider of the Day,  
To all the Wondring-World my Beams display.  
All that you see below the spacious Sky,  
My Creatures are, and wear my Livery.  
Without my heat the Seeds of all things fall  
To the first Nothing, (their Original.)  
On the young Spring my Influence I spread,  
And give a Golden-green Mantle to each Mead.  
'tis I that gilled fair Iris lightsome Front,  
And with my gaudy Pencil paint upon't:  
'tis I give life to every tender Plant,  
And cause the numerous Armies of the Ant.  
'tis I make Gold, that Thoughtfulness and Care,  
Thus Diligence and Thrift, my Drudges are.  
I fill the World with her unnumbered Kin,  
And make old Nature every year lie In.  
As some fair Peacock prinks his breast and head,  
(Wooing the female to his Painted-bed:)  
Spreadeth all round with Pride his pompious Veil,  
His Azure-Wings, and golden starry Tail.  
So Phoebus burning with Love's flames doth move,  
Displays his golden Rays all round his Love.  
To inflame Leucothoe with Lover's Grace,  
To yield the sooner to his kind Embrace:  
Who could resist? Won by his melting Charms,  
She does receive him in her trembling Arms:  
And let's him Pleasures take, that even Jove,  
Might envy, and with Beauty feasts his Love.  
How sweet is every Lover's fleeting joy,  
Nothing but Envious-time would Love destroy.  
For Love the Virgin lays aside her fears,  
Regards not her Indulgent-mothers' tears.  
Old sullen Saturn, Cupid's Laws obeys,  
And the coy Thetis Goddess of the Seas.  
And even the aged Sire of Neptune's heard,  
With his long Beaugle-colourd Dewy-beard:  
Whose Frory-head with Snow is covered o'er.  
Will court a Sea-Nymph on the Grassy-shore.  
Mysterious Love cannot be understood,  
Both old and young admire, and think it good;  
And yet 'tis nothing but a Dream of blood.  
That wakes with the enjoying-open-eyes,  
Forget the Pleasures they last Night did prize.  
Pleasures look fair, like Pyramids they show,  
Too like (alas) observe them as they go.  
When nearest to their height, how narrow still they grow  
Now Clitie to her Father doth reveal,  
The secret joys which these two Lovers steal:  
Makes cruel Orchamus with Rage to burn,  
Who shuts the tender Beauty in an Urn.  
But Phoebus glancing with his Golden-eyes,  
Breaks up the Marble-Couch wherein she lies:  
And by his powerful-quickning Influence,  
Turns her into a Tree of Frankincense;  
That in the Balmy-smoak she might arise,  
And offer Jove a daily Sacrifice.   

ANDROMEDA, & PERSEUS.  
The Argument.  
Andromeda for the Pride of her Mother Cassiope, that contended with the Sea-Nymphs in Beauty, was by them bound to a Rock, and left to be devoured by a Sea-Monster: Afterwards Perseus slew the Monster, and married the Daughter.  
THere stands a Rock that furiously doth beat,  
The weary Billows (foaming with her sweat.)  
When they attempt to take one minutes rest,  
On the rough Pillow of his Craggy-brest;  
Where solitary Storks in Troops do throng,  
On shining Shells, both hatch, and feed their Young:  
The Shells that lie upon the unhallowed place,  
Do serve the Mermaids for their Looking-glass;  
By these they dress their heads, and see their face.  
Here Halcions ne'er will venture with their brood,  
Lest Aeolus should drown them in the flood:  
None but the fatal Birds resorted here,  
The ill-faced Screech-Owl (Death's sad messenger)  
The hoarse Night-Raven that who hears, doth die,  
And Harpies Prophets of sad destiny.  
The Rocks look wild, like some old Desert, where  
Tall Cedars whisper to the sighing Air:  
Upon this Top the Tritons sound a Call,  
Summon the Sea-Nymphs to the Funeral,  
Of fair Andromeda, brought to appease,  
By a sad death the angry Goddesses:  
By their decree the guiltless Maid lay bound,  
Complaining to the pitying stony-ground:  
The Rock itself, how rough and rude so e'er,  
Would scarce believe that Nymphs such Furies were.  
Have you not seen lie prostrate on the ground,  
A Lovers-heart fresh bleeding of a Wound;  
With a small Golden Chain about it bound.  
How sweetly it will sigh, 'twill seem to frame  
Fine Nopes, and call upon some cruel Name.  
Thus seemed Andromeda, with Plaints and Cries,  
She importunes the Guardian-Deities.  
Like some fair Almond-tree that stands alone,  
Whose tender Leaves do tremble every one;  
She fears each breath that under Heaven is blows.  
Her beauteous Mother (as great Hecter's Wife)  
Became an humble Suppliant for the Life  
Of young Astyonax, her tender Son.  
One of the Relics of sad Ilium.  
Entreateth all the Gods to spare her Race,  
With Prayers and Pearly-tears that dew her Face.  
As a young Lark, when the kind heavens do pour  
Upon the Earth some sweet-refreshing Shower;  
Sit bathing of his airy Wings on high;  
Under those Crystal-drops, you might espy  
A charming Cupid in each mournful Eye.  
The Boy with all his Arts did try to clear  
Those Lights through which his Conquests did appear;  
But still she wept, and did of Fate complain,  
Like Venus for her dear Adonis slain.  
But lo the Monster from the Oose doth rise,  
Approaching towards his longed-for Sacrifice:  
His bloody Eyes like Comets shining bright,  
Darting out horrid Beams of threatening Light:  
His Thunder sounding to the distant Woods,  
Which echoing back frighteth the trembling floods:  
The Waters wondering at the difmal-roar,  
Silently steal to some remoter Shoar.  
But now a Valiant noble Youth appears,  
Whose Helmet glitters with a thousand Stars.  
His shining Beaver was of beaten Gold,  
And on the Crest, a Dragon did enfold.  
Whose greedy Paws, whose dreadful hideous Head,  
Both glorious brightness, and great terror bred:  
Upon his Sun-broad Shield Embossed high,  
Were Fame and Glory running swiftly by.  
A curious Silver Trumpet Fame did bear,  
Whose Wind was Praise, and sounded through the Air.  
By Glory most Ingeniously were wrought,  
The dangerous Battles Alexander fought.  
Here were Displayed the Roman Eagles Wings,  
By them great Triumphs and the Crowns of Kings;  
Trophies and Garlands, wonderfully sweet,  
And many Princes sighing at her Feet.  
The Royal-Maid when she the Youth espies,  
Tries with unable hands to hid her Eyes;  
Then Rosie-blushes from her Cheeks arise.  
So once the modest World did strive to hid  
Those Secrets which Columbus since descried:  
Unwilling that her Beauties should be told,  
Her Veins, her Mines, her undiscovered Gold.  
When Perseus saw her lovely Limbs all bare,  
Left to be chilled by the piercing Air;  
Her Ivory-neck, her Alabaster-breast,  
Where little Love in soft delight did rest:  
Her Bosom white as Albion's pale-faced Shore,  
Or Snow by Northern-blasts bolted thrice o'er.  
The Hero does resolve to undertake,  
The dreadful-dangerous Combat for her sake.  
The Gods have always took peculiar Care,  
To help and secure the distressed-Fair:  
The Angels watch that no Mischance befall,  
At unawares the sacred Animal:  
This Monster was by the brave Warrior's hand,  
Sent suddenly to Pluto's griefly Land.  
Like as the sacred Ox that careless stands,  
Proud of his dying-honour, and dear bands;  
With gilded Horns, and flowery Garlands crowned,  
While Incense doth perfume the Altar round:  
He grovelling falls, and with his streamy Gore,  
Doth slain the Altar, and the shining Oar;  
So fell the Monster on the dismal Shoar.  
The loving Mother that nine Months doth bear  
Her tender Babe, seeing it safe appear  
Shows not such Joys as the expressed here.  
When once the misty Mountains late unseen,  
Change their white Garments into lovely-green.  
The Gardens smile with their fresh flowry-buds,  
The Meads with Grass, with leaves the naked-woods.  
So now Cassiope no longer shrouds  
Andromeda in Robes of Sable-clouds.  
But let us now behold each charming Grace,  
That shines in her bright beauteous Royal-face:  
Beauty like banks of Violets, or the Rose,  
To Favourites obliging-sweets bestows.  
Those Eyes that languished, now recruit their fire,  
Her Cheeks like untouched Cherries do aspire.  
With Crimson blushes, as it were to court,  
Or to entice the Linnet, or to sport  
With the young wanton Sparrow; her bright hair  
Like to a curious Border did appear;  
Her Looks were sweet as Juno's Eyelids are.  
Glorious as Titon, when he doth unfold  
His beamy-Curtains to the wondering World;  
And makes dull Earth shine like the glittering Gold.  
This Beauty by the bounteous Will of Heaven,  
In all her Jewels, to the Youth is given.  
And now the fair Adromeda is led  
In Triumph to the Lover's Genial-bed:  
The Virgins all Rejoicing in her Way,  
Strews Flowers, while loud Clarions sweetly play.   

VENUS and ADONIS.  
The Argument.  
Adonis was the Darling of Venus, who was killed by a wild Boar, whom Venus after his Death turned into a Flower.  
OSacred Muses! by your secret Skill,  
every with curious Forms my labouring Quill:  
Dress up in Flowery-fancy every Line,  
Yet let them in a Native-sweetness shine:  
Like some great Gilder, teach me how to shed  
A Glorious-gloss, and finely overspread,  
Each Verse with golden Foil, that they may bring  
Credit to every Wonder that I sing,  
Of young Adonis: Atlas ne'er did bear  
Upon his Glittering-back a brighter Star:  
His Face was like a serene Summers-night,  
Crested all o'er with beauteous beams of Light.  
Buskins he wore of costly Cordiwain,  
Which fashion did become the gentle Swain:  
Pinked upon Gold, and Baled part by part;  
In his Right-hand he held a trembling Dart;  
That seemed unwilling to destroy the nimble Hart.  
He had a Hood which curious Aglets spread,  
A Horn to Wind the Obsequies of his Deads':  
He never spilt the Blossom of his days  
In Idleness, but in delightful ways.  
There was no Hawk that mantled on her Perch,  
But he did both her flight and measure search;  
Her towering up on high, her coasting low,  
Did all her curious Prey and Diet know;  
Such be the Joys that in the Forests grow.  
Sometimes young Fawns and Kids he would convey,  
And sometimes with the silver Fish's play:  
At other-times he Robin-red-brests caught,  
And after little wanton Squirrels sought.  
But when the Sable-night chased Light away,  
(Unsullied with the Pleasures of the Day;  
The Youth did with the Queen of Beauty rest,  
On the white Pillow of her Panting-breast.  
Between these Alps where troops of Beauties are,  
She lays his head, and strokes his shining hair:  
Sweet-balmy Nectar-drops from thence distils,  
Like Orient-Pearl along it softly trills.  
So from the Vine the sacred Juice doth flow,  
Bestowing blessings from his bounteous Bough:  
A silver Veil she wore, but wrought so thin,  
It did not quite her Alabaster-skin.  
As Usurers (whose Plenty makes them poor,  
With grievous Gouty Toes tormented sore,  
Although their wretched days draw nigh Death's door.  
How greedily they view their cursed Pelf,  
And Iron-chest, that Guards their Mammon-wealth.  
Like them, Adonis wishes slill to view,  
(For evermore) her naked heavenly hue:  
In her bright Eyes sat smiling sweet Delight,  
Able to tempt a sullen Anchorite.  
A feeble Withered-hermit grown Times-scorn,  
With fivescore snowy tedious Winter's worn;  
Might shake off fifty looking in her Eye,  
She gave the Crutch the Cradle's Infancy:  
Like the fair Hebe she looks ever young,  
Time cannot her Immortal Beauty wrong.  
This Goddess doth submit unto his Charms,  
Pressing him gently in her loving Arms:  
Her starry Mantle over him she spread,  
And Rosy Pillows placed beneath his head.  
Thus did great Juno's Nymphs (by Nature kind)  
Help Hercules the Golden-fruit to find.  
Their Pleasures did the feeble-sence confound,  
And the frail Soul in deep-delight did drowned.  
Pleasure's the Daughter of the Queen of Love,  
Whose Charms can sweetly temper angry Jove.  
The Gliding-minutes as they passed away,  
Did often vainly wish with them to stay;  
So kindly did they. Treat them every day.  
Now with sweet Kisses doth she bathe his Eyes,  
Leads him to Grottoes where the Myrtles rise.  
Whose shady boughs rude Iron ne'er did lop,  
Whose Trees do Gummy-juyces freely drop:  
Shows him a Fountain on whose Top did shine,  
A naked Boy in every part divine:  
Blindfold he was, and in his hands did hold  
A Bow and Arrows made of massy Gold;  
Ah Youth beware how you the Darts behold.  
About the Fountain several Antics played,  
With purest Bullion finely over-laid.  
Fancy with her own painted Plumes did play,  
To Lovers she did curious Thoughts convey,  
Ideas whiter than heavens Milky way.  
The next was Hope, a comely handsome Maid,  
In a Silk Camis beauteously arrayed:  
Her Sunny-Locks were woven up in Gold,  
She always smiled, and in her hands did hold  
A Poplar-branch which oft she dipped in Dew,  
And Favours upon begging Courtiers threw,  
Thousands she seemed to like, yet loved but very few.  
The next was flattery brisk Debonair,  
Richly adorned, and seemed exceeding fair;  
But her bright Brows were decked with borrowed hair.  
Displeasure next appeared lumpish and sad,  
An angry Wasp she in a Vial had:  
Then loss of Time with slow Repentance came,  
Repentance, Feeble, sorrowful, and Lame:  
Here Spears were broke, Trophies and Garlands rend,  
And all to show Loves merciless intent.  
Love Loadstone like on Iron-Tempers acts,  
And by a secret Touch the Heart attracts:  
Attracts it strangely with unclasping Crooks,  
With unknown Cords, with unperceived-Hooks:  
With unseen-hands, with undiscerned Arms,  
With Powerful hidden-force, and secret Charms.  
By the fair Fountains-side the starry Spies,  
Nightly beholding their Love-thieveries;  
Decree that young Adonis shall be slain,  
Youths pleasant Clues of Life are short and vain.  
A mighty Boar into Adonis' Breast,  
Doth strike his Tusks, and goars his Snowy-Chest:  
Forth from the Wounds there streams a blushing-flood,  
Of rich untainted Crimson-colour'd-blood.  
Those Ruby-Lips which just before began,  
To show their Smiling-red turn pale and wan.  
Beauteous Adonis on the Ground lies dead,  
Like some fair sleeping-Poppey, when the head  
By a rude Coulter is untimely shred.  
ne'er did Great Hecuba for Hector slain,  
So much lament, as Venus did complain.  
The Fields with faded Flowers did seem to mourn,  
And running Waters wept for his return:  
Birds Warbled out a melancholy Note,  
The sighing Air put on a Mourning-Coat;  
And testified its grief in flowing Tears,  
Like those which on Aurora's Cheek appears.  
When from old Tithon's Bed she doth arise,  
Scattering fresh Diamond-drops from her fair Eyes.  
A general Sorrow Nature did sustain,  
When the unhappy lovely Youth was slain.   

CYNTHIA and ENDYMION.  
The Argument.  
Cynthia is the Moon, she loved Endymion a Shepherd that lay upon Mount Latmos, and used to come to see him: Juno Jupiter's Wife likewise loved him, and for that reason Jupiter (being jealous) commanded Morpheus to keep him there in Eternal Sleep.  
THere is a Mountain so prodigious high,  
The Frontiers boldly seem to scale the Sky:  
The Frontiers boldly seem to scale the Sky:  
Higher than Airy Pelion (known by Fame)  
Mount Latmos called, here Cynthia often came.  
Her silver Stags (as Poets feign) did stop  
Each Night upon the misty Mountains-Top,  
The Goddess loved to view the beauteous Face  
Of her fair Love that slept upon this Place:  
From the high Battlement of Heaven, her Carr  
Descending finely gilded the gloomy Air;  
She wears a Glorious Crescent for a Crown,  
Which shining to her very Heels hangs down:  
Her Brows are bend in mild Majestick-wise,  
Beneath the same stand Crysolites for Eyes.  
An Azure-Mantle waving at her Back,  
With two bright Clasps buckled about her Neck,  
Flourished with Birds of sundry-shape, and each  
With Glittering Stars Embossed, and Powdered rich:  
She sits upon a Mighty-burnisht Throne,  
And sways the Giddy, Restless-Seas thereon;  
In her Right-hand a curious Globe doth show,  
Composed of Ponderous-Earth and Water too.  
(As Emblem) that the Rivers are her Slaves,  
That she Commands in Chief the Linked Waves.  
This Goddess, seeing on the naked Ground  
The lovely Youth in Morpheus Fetters bound;  
Doth sadly Mourn to think that angry Jove,  
Should be so cruel to her only Love;  
To her that takes such Care to watch, and eye  
His Starry-Hoast, and Shining-Gallery.  
Happy (said she) are all those Nymphs and Swains,  
That sleep together on the Flowery Plains;  
They ease each other of their raging Flames.  
To his fair Miss Colin doth Wildings bring,  
Wildings as beauteous as the Virgin-Sping:  
Whose Purple-sides entice the Birds to taste,  
With these the little Gluttons make a Feast;  
And after Dinner sing, and thank their Host,  
Then go and Ramble to some other Coast.  
Sometimes he mixes Lilies with the Rose,  
And True-love-knots for Phillis doth Compose;  
And by a curious sort of Cunning-Art,  
Makes Mysteries appear in every Part.  
The lovely Garlands that Adorn her Brows,  
Are sweetly Interwove with Mirtle-Boughs;  
And all the Flowers appearing in their Place,  
Do show the Beauties of her Angel-Face,  
The modest Violet shows her Veins, the Rose  
Her Blushes that to Lovers she bestows.  
The Thorny-Prickles tell the Cruel-smart,  
Of some forlorn, forsaken Shepherds-heart;  
And mystically show the Power of Cupid-Dart,  
The Rural-Lasses, and the Rustick-Boys,  
Partake of solid and substantial Joys.  
Thus silly Shepherds make the Gods confess,  
That only they enjoy True-happiness.  
I (though a Goddess) vainly beg of Vove,  
To let Endymion see my tender Love.  
Then would the grateful Youth my Altars dress,  
With Incense and with humble Thankfulness.  
When e'er the blooming Blossoms do bestow  
Their lovely Treasure from their yielding Bow.  
The Earth doth kindly the sweet Present take,  
And back again to them Returns doth make.  
When the Sun shined on Alexander's Shield,  
It Darted Golden Rays throughout the Field.  
I Dart my Beams, but no Return of Light  
Can come from Eyes closed in Eternal Night.  
The spiteful God may make me live a Slave,  
But yet i'll visit fair Endimion's Cave.  
Why should the Thunderer be so severe?  
To keep my Beauteous Love a Prisoner here.  
'Tis vain to ask (as wherefore Tempests rise,)  
For Powerful Jove regards not Peevish-whys.  
Through Seas of Tears (where every Sighs a Gale)  
Young Lovers must to Beautie's-Temple Sail:  
No calmer way by the Rash-Child is given,  
They pass by Hell before they come to Heaven.   

ACHILLES and DEIDAMIA.  
The Argument.  
Thetis (the Goddess of the Seas) takes her Son Achilles from old Chiron, that taught him all manner of Arts, and brings him to Lycomedes' Court, for fear the Grecians should find him, and entice him to the War; therefore she puts him in Woman's  to pass for a Maid, etc.  
Achilles he falls in Love with Deidamia, one of the King's Daughters, and she with him, and so they continue in their kindness to each other, till Ulysses finding him, carries him to the Camp.  
TO Lycomedes Court, Renowned by Fame,  
With her young Darling Son Great Thetis came.  
She brought him from the Old Chiron's Den, for fear  
The cunning Greeks might search, and find him there;  
And so by Wiles entice the Martial-Boy  
To see their Camp besieging careless Troy.  
This Noble Palace was with Marble built,  
The Floores with Polisht-Ivory paved, and gilt.  
The Roofs were high, and all about them were  
Pendants, and curious Corbes, engraved fair.  
The Hang of Rich Arras wrought with Gold,  
And those the Battles of the Giants told.  
The shining metal lurked privily,  
As wishing to be hid from Humane Eye.  
Like a discoloured Snake, whose hidden Snares,  
By his bright back through the Grass appears.  
A Hundred tender Virgins Lily-white  
Here always ranged about, in sweet Delight.  
For all that Nature by her Mother-wit  
Can frame, was here, and what she did omit,  
Art playing Nature's part, supplied it.  
The Juniper, the Pine, the Cedar tall,  
That Decks his Branch with Blossoms over all,  
Was Planted here, or else grew Natural.  
Alcides' curious speckled Poplar-Tree,  
The Fir, the Almond, Pine, the Mulbury.  
Whose Juice doth Dew the Poet's Brain,  
And Palms that Monarches do obtain.  
Near these the stately Trees of Honour stood,  
That do in Winter, as in Summer bud.  
Spreading Pavilions for the Birds to Bower,  
And in their Tops the Soaring-Eagles Tower,  
Sitting on high in Majesty and Power.  
Each Sense of Man, most Coy, most Curious-Nice,  
Might please itself with each Device,  
For here all Pleafures were that could frail Sense entice.  
Shadows to Screen them from the Sun's hot Ray,  
Sweet-streams in which these beauteous Nymphs did play.  
High-reared Mounts the far-off Lands to view,  
Delightful Groves for Phylomels' young Crew:  
False Labyrinths where none might Peep, or gaze  
To see their Pretty-wanton secret-ways,  
To please her Children Nature made the Maze.  
And all about were Vines of even Ranks,  
And pleasant Primrose-Seats, and Violet-Banks:  
Here did these beauteous Nymphs together sport,  
The Ruder-Sex to them did near resort:  
Therefore in Virgins-Tire the YouthsYouths arrayed,  
(And by his Mother's Art) looked like a Maid.  
She taught him gentle-Looks and pleasing-Smiles,  
And showed him how to Act the Womens-wiles;  
And all the cunning Charms by which they get  
The weak unguarded Heart into their Net.  
Said She Loves-Arts are various ('tis confessed)  
But yet Humility succeedeth bed:  
For all the Learned Sages say of old,  
That Fortune ever favoured the bold.  
For all they do affirm Women are won,  
Chief by brisk-Attempt, and putting on  
The young Practitioner in Love shall find,  
That humble-postures soon catch the Mind,  
And makes the roughest Tempers calm and kind.  
They shake the noble Tree that would preserve  
Its Fruit, and make it from uprightness swerve.  
Learn you to Love, let others learn to War;  
Of Shields and Helmets (my dear Child) beware.  
Honour like Cinnamon is mounded round,  
With many a Thorn that doth the Hero wound:  
'tis mounded round, that none may Danger less  
Approach the Plant, much less the Fruit possess.  
Honour that with the Price of Blood is bought,  
Is a mere Fancy seated in the Thought.  
A sine New-nothing, a (Gilt-Name) alas!  
As vain as Archimedo's Heaven of Glass.  
For Omphale Great Hercules forsook  
Rude War, and in his Hand a Distaff took.  
The Mighty Lover in her softer-Charms,  
Forgot that Heroes used to Shine in Arms.  
Think with yourself how happy is this state,  
How pleasant. sweet, how quiet, fortunate.  
To live for ever here at rest and ease,  
Free from the tempest of all worldly-Seas  
From Battle safe, and all things that displease  
After these Documents and many more,  
(Her shining Chariot posting to the shore)  
The Queen to Lycomedes Royal Care,  
Doth trembling leave her fearless beauteous Heir.  
Like some poor Pelican that cannot rest,  
Leaving her Downy-young in their warm Nest.  
In this fair Tree she thinks them not secure,  
And that another can't fierce Winds endure.  
The Youth among these Beauties now doth rove,  
And with fair Deidamia falls in love.  
Who was so fair, that Flesh (he seemed not,  
(Clear as the Azure-skie without a spot.)  
This heavenly Portrait of bright Angels-hew,  
Had the sweet mixtures of Complectious Dew.  
Nature's kind beauteous White, and blushing red,  
The Gazer's Eyes with double Pleasure fed,  
Able to heal the Sick, and to revive the Dead.  
Her Words did drop like Manna when she spoke,  
And from those Pearls and Rubies, softly broke  
A silver Sound that Music seemed to make.  
Her Breasts, like Fruit in May began to swell,  
And silently like Virgins seemed to tell,  
What bounteous Favours they would shortly shed,  
For the Deserver in the genial Bed.  
Her sunny Locks, large as the morning were,  
And waved, and like a Penon did appear.  
Widely dispred, and loosely scattered,  
Fresh blooming Buds and Flowers adorned her Head.  
And when mild Zephyrus amongst them blew,  
Most dainty Odours round about them threw.  
In the Youth's looks more roughness one might read,  
(Though lovely Lilies were with Roses spread)  
For Nature takes a more peculiar care,  
To make the Woman Beautiful and Fair.  
The Female Sex has a more gentle Eye,  
A smother Skin, a Cheek of purer dye.  
A fainter Voice, a more enticing Face,  
A deeper Tress, a more delightful Grace.  
These happy Lovers mutually impart,  
Sweet Glances that do fire each others Heart.  
By every Glance mysteriously we find,  
Whether the Temper's Cruel, Rough, or Kind,  
The Eye's the truest Index of the Mind.  
Here first the little God gins to play,  
And steals, not rudely Forces Hearts away.  
Have you observed how Circles will increase,  
From One, to Two, to Three, and never cease,  
Till they the very utmost Bank have found,  
They spread, and reach, and strive to gain the ground.  
So Love increases, and doth never rest,  
Till he the Conquest gets of some fair Breast:  
And then he sits, and mocks, and laughs, and sings.  
And Claps for Joy his Purple-colourd Wings.  
By many Arts the Virgin is betrayed,  
Fair Deidamia thinking him a Maid;  
By strict-embracing him doth blow up higher,  
His burning-Passion to a flaming-Fire.  
The Noble-Youth did with this Beauty lie,  
(This Beauty full of all Divinity)  
(Whose Sacred Charms might raise from Hermits-heat  
Made him the Womans-bashful Rules forget:  
The Youth doth now Ambrosial-Kisses taste,  
And on the best of Joys doth freely feast;  
Possessing all that Heaven can give, or Jove,  
(His secret Mistresses most tender-love.)  
To Lycomedes he was never known,  
To be the brave Achilles (Thetis' Son)  
Till Sly Ulysses landed on the Coast,  
Who carried him to Agamemnon's Host.   

APOLLO and DAPHNE.  
The Argument.  
Daphne was the Daughter of Peneus; She was Courted by Apollo, but fled from him; afterwards she was turned into a Lawrell-Tree.  
CVpid's Almighty-Dart that cannot rest,  
Till it arrives and wounds some Noble-breast:  
Makes Great Apollo leave his Chair of Gold,  
To Court a Beauty of a Brighter-Mould.  
He came in a Rich-Garment wrought in Folds,  
With Turnsols, Daffidils, and Marigolds:  
His Saffron-Ruff was Edged mighty neat,  
With Curious-Flaming-Balnites round it set.  
The Yellow-grounded-Robe for Tufts had on,  
A precious Porphire, or an Agat-stone.  
Two Glorious Suns, in Daphne's Eyelids lay,  
Whose Gates let out the Oriental-Day:  
Whose Flames Disguised in Balls of Snow were hurled,  
And so Consumed the unsuspecting World.  
The God of Wit with his Ingenious Charms,  
Labours to bring this Beauty to his Arms:  
Courts her with a most gentle-winning-Grace,  
(As if each Word were Moulded for the Place.)  
Tries with most Witty-wiles her Steps to stay,  
Spreads Nets of Birdlime-Passion in her Way.  
Takes his Harmonious-Lute whose Charms could call,  
The willing Stones into the Theban-wall.  
But Music, nor Soft-Eloquence can move  
The Carless-Nymph to Pity, or to Love.  
She flies like some poor Bird with Fear oppressed,  
That Wanders to the Wilderness to rest.  
Apollo doth behold her from ,  
(As Skill'd-Astronomers some Glittering-Star.)  
Then close pursues, and tells her she will chase  
The Beauteous-Lillies from their Native-place:  
Tells her that gentle-Doves thus Eagles eat,  
And Trembling-milk-white Lambs from Foxes run.  
Tells her the Marigold with Joy receives,  
His gentle-heat into her Virgin-Leaves.  
Shows her that beauteous Blossoms oft bestow,  
Most Odoriferous Kisses from their Bough:  
And yield to Zephyrus because he's fair,  
And Courts them with a mild and gentle Air.  
Be kind (said he) fair Nymph, to Sighs give Ear,  
The Sweets of Love are wasted by long Prayer.  
Love's like the Rose (if rightly understood)  
The Virgin-Rose, most sweetest in the Bud.  
But Arguments are vain, She shuns his Sight,  
And flies like Mists chased by the Morning-light.  
As in a Covent where the Ghostly-Fryar,  
(Feeling some Feeble-Flames of Cupid's-Fire.)  
Pursues a Fearful-Nun, and talks of Bliss,  
And Greets the Virgin with a Holy-Kiss.  
When in his Looks She reads a Winters-Day,  
Sees Nature's White and Red quite worn away.  
Knows that bright-Silver-hairs long since appeared,  
(Shining like Ysacles) upon his Beard:  
And marks that his Old-Palsie-shaken Head,  
Looks like the Branches of an Oak neer-Dead,  
With Hoary-Frost, and Spangles covered.  
She that before thought him inur'd to Fast,  
Thought that he kept his Body low and chaste;  
Blushing with Horror hastens from the Place,  
Nor dare behold her Amorous-Father's-Face:  
But straight retires in secret to her Cell,  
That she in her unsullied-state may dwell.  
Apollo overtook her trembling-Foot,  
Just as 'twas Metamorphized to a Root.  
About her Bark, his loving Arms he cast,  
And gently did Embrace her tender Waste.  
So sometimes doth a Cloud a Hill receive,  
And of his Lofty-head out Eyes bereave;  
As if the Amorous-Cloud did try to rest,  
The Drousie-Mountain in its Sable-breast.  
But now the Nymph that was so Coy and Fair,  
Sits Mourning in a Verdant-Lawrel-Chair.  
Within the Bark her Heart doth beat and pant,  
Much like Pudefetan (the Shame-fac'd-Plant.)  
Which if by Chance a Man approach too much,  
It trembles, shrinks, and shuns the hateful-touch;  
As if it had a Soul, a Sense, a Sight,  
Subject to Fear, to Sorrow, and Despite.  
Yet still the Generous-God for her takes Care,  
And  her in a Mantle all the Year.  
For though the Angry-heav'ns' oft lower and frown,  
The Laurel wears her Green-embroidered Gown.   

ARETHUSA and ALPHEUS.  
The Argument.  
Arethusa was a Virgin one of Diana's Companions, loving Hunting; She was beloved of Alpheus, whose Violence when she could not escape, Diana turned her into a Fountain of that Name, which lest she should be mixed with Alpheus, runs under Ground in secret Channels, and breaks out about Syracuse.  
HOW Coldly doth the Bashful-Skie behold,  
Her Spruce-bright-Lover Decked in Beams of Gold;  
With what unwillingness She seems to meet,  
His Heavenly-Charms, his Youth-enticing- Heat;  
As if he were some Aged-Bard, whose Beard  
Might make a Virgin's tender-Lips afeard.  
Like her the Nymphs of Great Diana were  
Modest and , and most Divinely-fair,  
As the Serenest-Summers Purged Air.  
These Nymphs did often to Old Cynthus go,  
To chase the fearful-Fawn, and hunt the do;  
That to the Far-of Spicy-Desart flies,  
Leaving her Young to her (fair-Enemies.)  
It chanced Alpheus saw them in some Grove,  
(Or pleasant- Grotto where they used to Rove,)  
And with fair Arethusa fell in Love.  
The Beauteous-Nymph derived from Angels-Race,  
Was clothed in Green fine-laid with Silver-lace;  
Her Golden-Quiver hanging by her side,  
Whose Shafts were with the Princely-Purple died.  
About her Shoulders played her Flowing-hair,  
Her Neck was decked with Pearl which Seas prepare,  
And looked like some brave-Altar which men Rear.  
To Offer Divine-Sacrifice thereon,  
(As Trophies after War and Battle done.)  
Pure as the Assyrian-Monarchs-Sacred-Fire,  
Which all his humble-Subjects did admire.  
Alpheus' with a Lovers Cunning-art,  
Tries to Imprint warm-words upon her heart;  
Besieges close the Beauteous-Cittadel,  
(Where all the Sweet-Triumphant-Graces dwell,  
Like some Great Scipio, or brave Hannibal.  
But all in vain, the Nymph's unconquered-Mind,  
Remains as free as any Mountain-wind:  
Wisely she does Resolve never to prove,  
The Various Perils that attend on Love;  
Nor altar her unsullied Virgin-State,  
For a more Careful, and unfortunate.  
Who'd change a Happiness both firm, and true,  
(A Happiness that Heaven stands Witness to.)  
A Happiness with Dearest-wisdom bought,  
For Transitory-Love (the Itch of Thought.)  
None but a Slave would wear his Ponderous-Chains,  
Obey his Simpleness, endure his Pains.  
(What want the Birds? how sweetly do they live,)  
They Drink the Diamond-Dew that Heaven doth give,  
And pay in Songs for what they do receive.  
They take the Pleasures of the Pathless-Air,  
Uncloged they mount, and ramble every where,  
Not knowing any Self-destroying-Care.  
In short, they live like their Creator free,  
Not like Dullman (the World's Epitome.)  
Man's like the Fly that in the Furnace-Springs.  
(The Fly Pyrausta with its Flaming-wings.)  
Without the Fire of Love he takes no joy,  
Doting on that which doth his Youth destroy.  
When once Alpheus found he could not move,  
Nor make Fair-Arethusa think of Love;  
Rudely within his Arms the Maid did Press,  
(By Violence to get a Happiness.)  
Who calling on Diana for her Aid,  
Into a Crystal-Fountain changed the Maid:  
So the Soft-Ermin is in Whiteness seen,  
(So carefully She keeps herself, so Clean;  
She won't endure the Sweaty-Hunters-Touch,  
Nor towards a sullied-Creature will approach.  
This Beauteous-Nymph, fearing She might be found  
By false-Alpheus, runneth under Ground,  
In secret-Channels, and such hatred bears,  
She suffers not his Stream to mix with hers:  
Such Spite there was (if we may Credit Fame)  
Between two Brothers in the Funeral-flame;  
Their burning-Bones strangely divided were,  
And seemed to sight ascending in the Air.   

HIPPOMANES and ATTALANTA.  
The Argument.  
Hippomanes was the Son of Macareus, he fell in Love with Attalanta, who had Vowed Virginity; (only this Condition she proposed to her Wooers) That they should run a Race with her Unarmed, and she should be allowed to have a Dart, and if she outran them, she should kill them with her Dart, but he that outran her should have her to Wife: Now when she had been the Death of many Wooers, Hippomanes durst not well trust to his Feet, therefore he besought Venus to help him, who gave him Three Golden-Apples, and taught him how he should use them. Whereupon he undertook the Race; and when he saw she was even at his Heels, and ready to catch him, he threw the Golden-Apples three several ways, a great way off, with whose Beauty she was so alured, that she could not refrain from gathering them up; the whilst Hippomanes won the Race, and Her; Afterwards he forgot to be thankful to Venus, and she in Revenge bewitched him to such Lust, that he lay with his Wife in the Temple of Mars: Cybile taking the Matter heinously, transformed him into a Lion, and she into a Lioness.  
AFter that sundry Nobles sought to move  
Fair Attalanta, and had vainly striven;  
The Youth Hippomanes doth fall in Love.  
This Nymph had vowed Virginity, unless  
Her Wooers could outrun her in a Race;  
The Loss was Death, the Prize a Beauteous Face.  
She was to be allowed to have a Dart,  
And if she won, to pierce her Lover's Heart.  
Many brave Men that sought her for a Wife,  
Not staggering at the Danger, lost their Life.  
The Nimble Roe she would have left behind,  
That trips o'er Mountains, and outflies the Wind.  
Fame flies not faster, when he is to bring  
Tidings of Trophies to some Happy King.  
The Youth considering Peril tract Delay,  
That Expedition was to win the Day.  
And that he durst not trust to his own Feet,  
And that his Life was like her Beauty-sweet.  
In a strange Conflict betwixt Hope and Fear,  
To Venus' Guilded-Temple doth Repair;  
Where choice Corinthian-Marble-Pillars rise,  
Curiously framed after the Dorick-guise.  
Here he besought the Goddess for Relief,  
To take compassion on his Youth, and Grief.  
The Gentle Queen, unwilling to destroy  
The Expectations of the Beauteous-Boy;  
Brings him Three Golden Apples from her Grove,  
And bids him fling the Fruit before his Love.  
The Youth now cheerfully doth undertake  
To run the Race, and doth Lifes-Jewel stake.  
And by a Wile fair Attalanta stays,  
Flinging the Golden-Apples several ways;  
Which when she saw lie shining on the Place,  
She stooped to take them up, and lost the Race.  
By Golden-Birdlime, thus the Maid was caught,  
Allur'd, and to the Net-of-Marriage brought.  
Such Sacred Power lies hidden in the Sand,  
That glitters on the Famed Pactolus' Strand.  
Gold is the Bias of the World we see,  
And makes Men turn from all indifferency.  
It catches Coyest Beauties in its Snare,  
And strangely melts the Frosty-Vsurer.  
But (ah) the careless Youth forgets from whom  
His Glorious Fortune and Success did come;  
Forgets his Sacred Goddess, and her Grove,  
Forgets, She gave him both his Life and Love.  
For which neglect, the Angry-Deity  
Plagues him with burning-Lust, and Infamy:  
Makes him to lie with his New-conquered-Fair,  
In the Old Temple of the God of War.  
And Cybele enraged (as Authors guess)  
Changed them both for their audaciousness,  
Into a Lion, and a Lioness.  
Ingratitude by Devils first came in,  
It wears the deepest-black of any Sin.  
The Grateful-Stork, when by a Chance it found,  
A Lovely-sparkling-Gem upon the Ground,  
Conveyed it to a Maid that cured him of a Wound.   

PROMETHEUS.  
The Argument.  
Prometheus was the Son of Japetus, the Father of Deucalion, he was the first that made Man of Clay; Whose Wit Minerva so Admired, that she promised him any thing in Heaven that he would ask: To perfect his Work, he desired her to take him up into Heaven, and when he came there, and had looked about him, he saw all things were Animated, or had Souls, by Heavenly Fire; Therefore having a little Ferula in his Hand, he put it to the Charriot-wheel of the Sun, and being kindled, he brought Fire to the Earth, and put therewith Life and Soul into his Man that he had made of Clay; but Jupiter being Angry, sent Pandora with a Box, which after he had opened, there flew out thence sundry-sorts of Diseases.  
SO Excellent and so Divine is Wit,  
All things like Vassalage submit to it;  
(Of yore) the little Bees kept Holiday,  
And on the Poet- Pindar's-Lips did play,  
Dropped Honey on him while he sleeping lay:  
Sweet as those Drops here Numbers we should mould,  
And show fair Helen's Picture set in Gold.  
Wit round the Hemisphere his Rays hath hurled,  
And like the Sun's admired by all the World.  
Even on Poot- Lunatics doth Beams bestow,  
As Stars enlighten Wretched Souls below.  
Wit is the Mirror in Arcadia,— where  
When Zealous-Sojourners resorted-there.  
Strangely they saw instead of their own Face,  
The Deity they Worshipped in the Glass.  
This Great- Divinity (as Poets feign)  
Takes up his Earhtly-lodging in the Brain:  
Where the frail-Soul doth wondrous Beams display,  
(Whose Glorious-flight is checked, and clogged in Clay.)  
In praising it we do but Folly show,  
We smooth the Ice, Perfumes on Violets strew.  
What though Timanthes has his Cyclops Drawn,  
And great Pharrasius counterfeited Lawn.  
For Venus (famed Apelles could not tell)  
Where to draw out, or fetch a Parallel.  
Nor we sufficient Praises can bestow,  
What Gods above, and Men affect below.  
The purest Thoughts are mixed with dull Allays,  
As all our Stories, are but gross Essays.  
In vain at Excellence we reach,  
In vain (alas) 'tis too sublime a Pitch.  
From Imperfections none are free,  
In the blessed Sun some Spots there seem to be.  
Perfection is a Bird that Perches high,  
Far from the Sight of any Humane Eye.  
After the greater World's Epitome,  
Was by Prometheus made in Imagery.  
As Man within his Mighty Cradle lay,  
(That was Originally made of Clay.)  
Even when the Earthly-Creature wanted yet,  
Both Life and Motion that doth Heat beget.  
Minerva so admired the Beauteous Sight,  
(Beauteous as Diamonds in their Native-light.)  
She promised that the richest Gift in Heaven,  
To the Great Artist should be freely given.  
Prometheus' Wittingly desires to see,  
The Palace of the Radiant-Deity.  
Where all the Gods do on Sweet Nectar Feast,  
Where Hallowed-light is hatched in the East.  
Where Stars Ennamel all the Firmament.  
And serve as Torches to the Omnipotent.  
Soon did the Wind, and the Obsequious Air,  
Into the Walks of Clouds Prometheus bear;  
Who wondering, Views the higher heavens bright-face,  
And through the Paths of Matter, Maze doth trace:  
He Nature's mighty Work in pieces took,  
Into her Labour, and her Art did look;  
And made Remarks, that all he did Admire,  
Was Animated by Celestial-Eire.  
To Perfect therefore what he had begun,  
He lights his little Ferul at the Sun;  
And steals away to Earth, and doth bestow  
A Soul on Man whom he affected so.  
This Curious-Workman that well understood,  
To make a Mercury of any Wood,  
Taught him to separate Evil-things from good.  
Imprinted soft Impressures like a Seal,  
And made him strangely Vigorous-Motions feel.  
As on the Earth, Dews unperceived do fall,  
So Life, and Wit, and Growth, did steal on all.  
Thus Man with all Choice Excellence did shine,  
And looked as Bright, as Glorious, and as Fine,  
As the Fair-Firmament all o'er Divine.  
And now he Smiles with Admirable Grace,  
The lovely Dimples do adorn his Face.  
And now all Creatures do Salute their King,  
Salute him as the Flowers the Virgin-Spring:  
And he to them Distributes every Way,  
Glances as Beauteous as the Burnisht-Day.  
The Crystal Rivulets do Glide, and Creep,  
And strive who first shall wash his Snowy-feets.  
The jarring Winds and Waters did agree,  
And made a Consort of Sweet-harmony;  
Till Angry Jove Pandora sent, who brought,  
A Direful Box with all Diseases fraught.  
Whose general Contagion spread like Night,  
That Shrouds and Muffles up the Chearful-Light.  
Plagues flew like Shafts in Battle upon Man,  
(As on Callimachus at Marathon.)  
So when in unknown Deserts Wit appears,  
After some dark and dimal thousand Years:  
If once those Gloomy Regions lighsom grow,  
It strangely to the Savageman doth show  
So strangely, that it dazzles his weak Eye,  
He gazes and imagines Plagues are nigh;  
He Curses it too some Remoter-shore,  
And wishes he may never see it more.  
Thus after all his Care (instead of Gains)  
It meets with Plagues and Curses for its Pains.  
(Tarquin the Proud) did carry in his Hand,  
(For Policy not Use) a tender Wand;  
With which he did behead the taller-Flowers,  
As who should say, be jealous of Great Powers:  
And Cut them down whose State ne'er equals Ours.  
Great Souls shall always dangerous Fortunes run,  
Those Birds shall be destroyed that Soar up to the Sun.  
The Eastern-Conqueror, whose Praise and Worth,  
Fame loudly round the Earth did Trumpet forth,  
Amidst his Early-Glories, and Renown,  
He Poisoned Dies as soon as Fate doth Frown.  
Our Joys like Ephimeras post away,  
Which when they're born, do live but one poor Day.  
Prometheus' thought that from the Firmament,  
Minerva some Celestial-Gift had sent;  
But when he sadly found himself beguiled,  
He Mourned like Phoebus for his Fairest-Child.  
Mourned that his Skill had found no other Gains,  
Save those of Plagues for his Obliging-Pains.  
Mourned that he e'er the Crime of Knowledge knew,  
That by his Art Death proud, and witty, grew.  
Thus Sorrow soon Imbittered all Man's-State,  
(By Destiny Ordained unfortunate.)  
So if a Tree be over topped with spite,  
His Glory soon decays, and withers quite.  
Even the shadow of the Thorny-Tress,  
So sorely will the gentle Plant Oppress.  
'Twill pine, and die, while that doth proudly grow,  
Proudly Triumphing in poor Misletoe.  
The Aged Oak (if Fate to kind would be,  
Might full three hundred happy Summers see;  
But if that Fatal-Steel his Heartstrings Wound,  
He lays his Reverend-Head upon the Ground.  
To Day we will suppose some Man of worth,  
The curious tender Leaves of Hope puts forth:  
They bud perhaps to Morrow, and do bear  
Most lovely Colours, fit for him to wear.  
And now himself with various thoughts doth please,  
Dreaming of Riches, Pleasure, and of Ease.  
The next Day comes a Frost, a Killing Frost,  
And thus his Ripening-Hopes, and Joys are lost.  
That Happiness there is, Men find in Vales,  
Content doth seat itself in lowly Dales;  
Out of the force of Stormy Winds, and Harms,  
Free from Ambiton, and the noise of Arms.  
Here runs fresh cooling Streams, here springs sweet Flowers,  
Here Heat and Cold are fenced with shady Bowers.  
Here poorest Beggars eat their Beans with Mirth,  
And lesser Care, than Princes of the Earth;  
In Blessed-Ignorance, and Peace each lives,  
Well pleased with whatsoever Nature gives.  
Knowledge to some seems Good, to others Evil,  
Both White, and Black, an Angel, and a Devil.  
It is a dangerous Tutor full of harm,  
We find it doth consume, as well as warm.  
Of all choice Arts, 'tis the undoubted source,  
And has a strange prodigious powerful force.  
It strangely doth refine the Rudest-Man,  
(Rude as the Chaos  the World began.)  
'Twill make a stubborn, rough Achilles yield,  
Tempers as hard as Ajax sevenfold Shield.  
But true it is, without a watchful care,  
'Twill lead the Great, and Learned, to a Snare,  
To stumble upon that which Fools beware.  
How strangely in a blew-bleak Winters-Night,  
From Moory-Grounds doth there arise a Light.  
Which when the Shepherd spies upon the Plain,  
Straight to his Cot flies the poor simple Swain,  
And leaves it to misguide the searching Brain.  
These Mysteries some abler Pen may Paint,  
Grieving, I view my Colour's Dark, and Faint.  
With tender care I touch upon its worth,  
Poor Flint doth only sparks of Fire send forth.  
FINIS.