The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America, Prologue – Part 1
THE PROLOGUE.
1.
TO ſing of Wars, of Captaines, and of Kings,
Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun,
For my mean Pen, are too ſuperiour things,
And how they all, or each, their dates have run:
Let Poets, and Hiſtorians ſet theſe forth,
My obſcure Verſe, ſhal not ſo dim their worth.
2.
But when my wondring eyes, and envious heart,
Great Bartas ſugar'd lines doe but read o're;
Foole, I doe grudge, the Muſes did not part
'Twixt him and me, that over-fluent ſtore;
A Bartas can, doe what a Bartas wil,
But ſimple I, according to my skill.
3.
From School-boyes tongue, no Rhethorick we expect,
Nor yet a ſweet Conſort, from broken ſtrings,
Nor perfect beauty, where's a maine defect,
My fooliſh, broken, blemiſh'd Muſe ſo ſings;
And this to mend, alas, no Art is able,
'Cauſe Nature made it ſo irreparable.
4.
Nor can I, like that fluent ſweet tongu'd Greek
Who lisp'd at firſt, ſpeake afterwards more plaine
By Art, he gladly found what he did ſeeke,
A full requitall of his ſtriving paine:
Art can doe much, but this maxime's moſt ſure,
A weake or wounded braine admits no cure.
5.
Iam obnoxious to each carping tongue,
Who ſayes, my hand a needle better fits,
A Poets Pen, all ſcorne, I ſhould thus wrong;
For ſuch deſpight they caſt on female wits:
If what I doe prove well, it wo'nt advance,
They'l ſay its ſtolne, or elſe, it was by chance.
6.
But ſure the antick Greeks were far more milde,
Elſe of our Sex, why feigned they thoſe nine,
And poeſy made, Calliope's owne childe,
So 'mongſt the reſt, they plac'd the Arts divine:
But this weake knot they will full ſoone untye,
The Greeks did nought, but play the foole and lye.
7.
Let Greeks be Greeks, and Women what they are,
Men have precedency, and ſtill excell,
It is but vaine, unjuſtly to wage war,
Men can doe beſt, and Women know it well;
Preheminence in each, and all is yours,
Yet grant ſome ſmall acknowledgement of ours.
8.
And oh, ye high flown quils, that ſoare the skies,
And ever with your prey, ſtill catch your praiſe,
If e're you daigne theſe lowly lines, your eyes
Give wholſome Parſley wreath, I aske no Bayes:
This meane and unrefined ſtuffe of mine,
Will make your gliſtering gold but more to ſhine.
A. B.
The Foure Elements.
FIre, Aire, Earth, and Water, did all conteſt
which was the ſtrongeſt, nobleſt, & the beſt,
Who the moſt good could ſhew, & who moſt rage
For to declare, themſelves they all ingage;
And in due order each her turne ſhould ſpeake,
But enmity, this amity did breake:
All would be cheife, and all ſcorn'd to be under,
Whence iſſu'd raines, and winds, lightning and thunder;
The quaking Earth did groan, the skie look't black,
The Fire, the forced Aire, in ſunder crack;
The ſea did threat the heavens, the heavens the earth,
All looked like a Chaos, or new birth;
Fire broyled Earth, and ſcorched Earth it choaked,
Both by their darings; Water ſo provoked,
That roaring in it came, and with its ſource
Soone made the combatants abate their force;
The rumbling, hiſſing, puffing was ſo great,
The worlds confuſion it did ſeeme to threat;
But Aire at length, contention ſo abated,
That betwixt hot and cold, ſhe arbitrated
The others enmity: being leſſe, did ceaſe
All ſtormes now laid, and they in perfect peace,
That Fire ſhould firſt begin, the reſt conſent,
Being the moſt impatient Element.
Fire.
WHat is my worth (both ye) and all things know,
Where little is, I can but little ſhow,
But what I am, let learned Grecians ſay;
What I can doe, well skill'd Mechanicks may,
The benefit all Beings, by me finde;
Come firſt ye Artiſts, and declare your minde.
What toole was ever fram'd, but by my might;
O Martialiſt! what weapon for your fight?
To try your valour by, but it muſt feele
My force? your ſword, your Pike, your flint and ſteele,
Your Cannon's bootleſſe, and your powder too
Without mine ayd, alas, what can they doe?
The adverſe wall's not ſhak'd, the Mine's not blowne,
And in deſpight the City keeps her owne,
But I with one Granado, or Petard,
Set ope thoſe gates, that 'fore ſo ſtrong was barr'd,
Ye Husband-men, your coulter's made by me,
Your ſhares, your mattocks, and what e're you ſee,
Subdue the earth, and fit it for your graine,
That ſo in time it might requite your paine;
Though ſtrong limb'd Vulcan forg'd it by his skill,
I m…e it flexible unto his will.
Ye Cooks, your kitchin implements I fram'd,
Your ſpits, pots, jacks, what elſe I need not name,
Your dainty food, I wholſome make, I warme
Your ſhrinking limbs, which winters cold doth harme;
Ye Paracelſians too, in vaine's your skil
In chymeſtry, unleſſe I help you Stil,
And you Philoſophers, if ere you made
A tranſmutation, it was through mine aide.
Ye Silver-ſmiths, your ure I do refine,
What mingled lay with earth, I cauſe to ſhine.
But let me leave theſe things, my flame aſpires
To match on high with the Celeſtiall fires.
The Sun, an Orbe of Fire was held of old,
Our Sages new, another tale have told:
But be he what they liſt, yet his aſpect,
A burning fiery heat we find reflect;
And of the ſelfe ſame nature is with mine,
Good ſiſter Earth, no witneſſe needs but thine;
How doth his warmth refreſh thy frozen backs,
And trim thee gay, in green, after thy blacks?
Both man and beaſt, rejoyce at his approach,
And birds do ſing, to ſee his glittering Coach.
And though nought but Sal'manders live in fire;
The Flye Pyrauſta cal'd, all …elſe expire.
Yet men and beaſts, Aſtronomers can tell,
Fixed in heavenly conſtellations dwell,
My Planets, of both Sexes, whoſe degree,
Poor Heathen judg'd worthy a Diety:
With Orion arm'd, attended by his dog,
The Theban ſtout Alcides, with his club:
The Valiant Perſeus who Meduſa ſlew,
The Horſe that kill'd Bellerophon, then flew.
My Crabbe, my Scorpion, fiſhes, you may ſee,
The maid with ballance, wayn with horſes three;
The Ram, the Bull, the Lyon, and the Beagle;
The Bear, the Goate, the Raven, and the Eagle,
The Crown, the Whale, the Archer, Bernice Hare,
The Hidra, Dolphin, Boys, that waters bear.
Nay more then theſe, Rivers 'mongſt ſtars are found,
Eridanus, where Phaeton was drown'd,
Their magnitude and height ſhould I recount,
My ſtory to a Volume would amount:
Out of a multitude, theſe few I touch,
Your wiſdom out of little gathers much,
Ile here let paſſe, my Choler cauſe of warres,
And influence of divers of thoſe ſtarres,
When in conjunction with the ſun, yet more,
Augment his heat, which was too hot before:
The Summer ripening ſeaſon I do claime;
And man from thirty unto fifty frame.
Of old, when Sacrifices were divine,
I of acceptance was the holy ſigne.
'Mong all my wonders which I might recount;
There's none more ſtrange then Aetna's ſulphery mount
The choaking flames, that from Veſuvius flew
The over-curious ſecond Pliny ſlew:
And with the aſhes, that it ſometimes ſhed
Apulia's jacent parts were covered;
And though I be a ſervant to each man;
Yet by my force, maſter my maſter can.
What famous Townes to cinders have I turn'd?
What laſting Forts my kindleed wrath hath burn'd?
The ſtately ſeats of mighty Kings by me:
In confus'd heaps of aſhes may ye ſee.
Where's Ninus great wal'd Town, and Troy of old?
Carthage, and hundred moe… in ſtories told,
Which when they could not be o're come by foes
The Army through my helpe victorious roſe;
Old ſacred Zion, I demoliſh'd thee;
So great Diana's Temple was by me.
And more then bruitiſh Sodome for her luſt,
With neighbouring Townes I did conſume to duſt,
What ſhal I ſay of Lightning, and of Thunder,
Which Kings, and mighty ones; amaz'd with wonder,
Which made a Caeſar, (Romes) the worlds proud head,
Fooliſh Caligula, creep under's bed
Of Metors, Ignis Fatuus, and the reſt,
But to leave thoſe to'th' wiſe, I judge is beſt,
The rich I oft make poore, the ſtrong I maime,
Not ſparing life when I can take the ſame;
And in a word, the World I ſhal conſume,
And all therein at that great day of doome;
Not before then, ſhal ceaſe my raging ire,
And then, becauſe no matter more for fire:
Now Siſters, pray proceed, each in her courſe,
As I: impart your uſefulneſſe, and force.
Earth.
THe next in place, Earth judg'd to be her due,
Siſter, in worth I come not ſhort of you;
In wealth and uſe I doe ſurpaſſe you all,
And Mother Earth, of old, men did me call,
Such was my fruitfulneſſe; an Epithite
Which none ere gave, nor you could claime of right,
Among my praiſes this I count not leaſt,
I am th' originall of man and beaſt,
To tell what ſundry fruits my fat ſoyle yeelds,
In vine-yards, orchards, gardens, and corne fields,
Their kinds, their taſts, their colours, and their ſmels,
Would ſo paſſe time, I could ſay nothing elſe;
The rich and poore, wiſe, foole, and every ſort,
Of theſe ſo common things, can make report:
To tell you of my Countries, and my regions
Soone would they paſſe, not hundreds, but legions,
My cities famous, rich, and populous,
Whoſe numbers now are growne innumerous;
I have not time to thinke of every part,
Yet let me name my Grecia, 'tis my heart
For Learning, Armes, and Arts, I love it well:
But chiefly, 'cauſe the Muſes there did dwell;
I'le here skip o're my mountaines, reaching skies,
Whether Pyrenian, or the Alpes; both lyes
On either ſide the country of the Gaules,
Strong forts from Spaniſh and Italian braules,
And huge great Taurus, longer then the reſt,
Dividing great Armenia from the leaſt,
And Hemus, whoſe ſteep ſides, none foote upon,
But farewell all, for deare mount Helicon,
And wonderous high Olimpus, of ſuch fame,
That heaven it ſelfe was oft call'd by that name;
Sweet Parnaſſus, I dote too much on thee,
Unleſſe thou prove a better friend to me;
But ile skip o're theſe Hills, not touch a Dale,
Nor yet expatiate, in Temple vale;
Ile here let goe, my Lions of Numedia,
My Panthers, and my Leopards of Libia,
The Behemoth, and rare found Unicorne,
Poyſons ſure antidote lyes in his horne.
And my Hyaena (imitates mans voyce)
Out of huge numbers, I might pick my choyce,
Thouſands in woods, and planes, both wild, and tame,
But here, or there, I liſt now none to name;
No, though the fawning dog did urge me ſore
In his behalfe to ſpeak a word the more;
Whoſe truſt, and valour I might here commend:
But time's too ſhort, and precious ſo to ſpend.
But hark, ye worthy Merchants who for prize
Send forth your well man'd ſhips, where ſun doth riſe.
After three years, when men and meat is ſpent,
My rich commodities payes double rent.
Ye Galeniſts, my Drugs that come from thence
Doe cure your patients, fill your purſe with pence;
Beſides the uſe you have, of Hearbs and Plants,
That with leſſe coſt, neare home, ſupplyes your wants.
But Marriners, where got you ſhips and ſailes?
And Oares to row, when both my ſiſters failes?
Your Tackling, Anchor, Compaſſe too, is mine;
Which guides, when Sun, nor Moon, nor Stars do ſhine.
Ye mighty Kings, who for your laſting fames
Built Cities, Monuments call'd by your names;
Was thoſe compiled heapes of maſſy ſtones?
That your ambition laid, ought but my bones?
Ye greedy miſers who do dig for gold;
For gemmes, for ſilver, treaſures which I hold:
Will not my goodly face, your rage ſuffice?
But you will ſee what in my bowels lyes?
And ye Artificers, all trades and ſorts;
My bounty calls you forth to make reports,
If ought you have to uſe, to wear, to eate?
But what I freely yeeld upon your ſweat?
And cholerick ſiſter, thou (for all thine ire)
Well knoweſt, my fuell muſt maintain thy fire.
As I ingenuouſly (with thanks) confeſſe
My cold, thy (fruitfull) heat, doth crave no leſſe:
But how my cold, dry temper, works upon
The melancholy conſtitution.
How the Autumnal ſeaſon I do ſway;
And how I force the grey head to obey.
I ſhould here make a ſhort, yet true narration,
But that thy method is my imitation.
Now might I ſhew my adverſe quality,
And how I oft work mans mortality.
He ſometimes findes, maugre his toyling paine,
Thiſtles and thornes, where he expected graine;
My ſap, to plants and trees, I muſt not grant,
The Vine, the Olive, and the Figtree want:
The Corne, and Hay, both fall before they'r mowne;
And buds from fruitfull trees, before they'r blowne.
Then dearth prevailes, that Nature to ſuffice,
The tender mother on her Infant flyes:
The Husband knowes no Wife, nor father ſons;
But to all outrages their hunger runnes.
Dreadfull examples, ſoon I might produce,
But to ſuch auditours 'twere of no uſe.
Again, when Delvers dare in hope of gold,
To ope thoſe veines of Mine, audacious bold:
While they thus in my intralls ſeem to dive;
Before they know, they are inter'd alive.
Ye affrighted wights, appall'd how do you ſhake
If once you feele me, your foundation, quake,
Becauſe in the abyſſe of my darke wombe:
Your Cities and your ſelves I oft intombe.
O dreadfull Sepulcher! that this is true,
Korah and all his Company well knew.
And ſince, faire Italy full ſadly knowes
What ſhe hath loſt by theſe my dreadfull woes.
And Rome, her Curtius, can't forget I think;
Who bravely rode into my yawning chinke.
Again, what veines of poyſon in me lye;
As Stibium and unfixt Mercury:
With divers moe, nay, into plants it creeps;
In hot, and cold, and ſome benums with ſleeps,
Thus I occaſion death to man and beaſt,
When they ſeek food, and harme miſtruſt the leaſt.
Much might I ſay, of the Arabian ſands;
Which riſe like mighty billowes on the lands:
Wherein whole Armies I have overthrown;
But windy ſiſter, 'twas when you have blown.
Ile ſay no more, yet this thing adde I muſt,
Remember ſonnes, your mould is of my duſt,
And after death, whether inter'd, or burn'd;
As earth at firſt, ſo into earth return'd.
Water.
SCarce Earth had done, but th' angry waters mov'd;
Siſter (quoth ſhe) it had full well behov'd
Among your boaſtings to have praiſed me;
Cauſe of your fruitfulneſſe, as you ſhall ſee:
This your neglect, ſhewes your ingratitude;
And how your ſubtilty would men delude.
Not one of us, all knowes, that's like to thee,
Ever in craving, from the other three:
But thou art bound to me, above the reſt;
Which am thy drink, thy blood, thy ſap, and beſt.
If I withhold, what art thou, dead, dry lump
Thou bear'ſt no graſſe, nor plant, nor tree, nor ſtump.
Thy extream thirſt is moiſtened by my love,
With ſprings below, and ſhowers from above;
Or elſe thy ſun-burnt face, and gaping chapps;
Complaines to th'heaven, when I withhold my drops:
Thy Bear, thy Tyger, and thy Lyon ſtout,
When I am gone, their fierceneſſe none need doubt;
The Camell hath no ſtrength, thy Bull no force;
Nor mettl's found in the couragious Horſe:
Hindes leave their Calves, the Elephant the Fens;
The Woolves and ſavage Beaſts, forſake their Dens.
The lofty Eagle and the Storke flye low,
The Peacock, and the Oſtrich, ſhare in woe:
The Pine, the Cedars, yea and Daph'nes tree;
Do ceaſe to flouriſh in this miſery.
Man wants his bread, and wine, and pleaſant fruits;
He knowes ſuch ſweets, lyes not in earths dry roots,
Then ſeeks me out, in River and in Well;
His deadly mallady, I might expell.
If I ſupply, his heart and veines rejoyce;
If nor, ſoon ends his life, as did his voyce.
That this is true, earth thou canſt not deny;
I call thine Egypt, this to verifie;
Which by my fatting Nile, doth yeeld ſuch ſtore;
That ſhe can ſpare, when Nations round are poore.
When I run low, and not o're flow her brinks;
To meet with want, each woefull man bethinks.
But ſuch I am, in Rivers, ſhowers and ſprings;
But what's the wealth that my rich Ocean brings?
Fiſhes ſo numberleſſe I there do hold;
Shouldſt thou but buy, it would exhauſt thy gold.
There lives the oyly Whale, whom all men know,
Such wealth, but not ſuch like, Earth thou mayſt ſhow.
The Dolphin (loving muſique) Arions friend.
The crafty Barbell, whoſe wit doth her commend;
With thouſands moe, which now I liſt not name,
Thy ſilence of thy beaſts, doth cauſe the ſame.
My pearles that dangle at thy darlings ears;
Not thou, but ſhell-fiſh yeelds, as Pliny clears.
Was ever gem ſo rich found in thy trunke?
As Aegypts wanton Cleopatra drunke.
Or haſt thou any colour can come nigh;
The Roman Purple, double Tirian dye.
Which Caeſars, Conſuls, Tribunes all adorne;
For it, to ſearch my waves, they thought no ſcorne.
Thy gallant rich perfuming Amber-greece:
I lightly caſt a ſhoare as frothy fleece.
With rowling graines of pureſt maſſy gold:
Which Spaines Americans, do gladly hold.
Earth, thou haſt not more Countrys, Vales and Mound…,
Then I have Fountaines, Rivers, Lakes and Ponds:
My ſundry Seas, Black, VVhite, and Adriatique
Ionian, Balticke, and the vaſt Atlantique;
The Ponticke, Caſpian, Golden Rivers fine.
Aſphaltis Lake, where nought remains alive.
But I ſhould go beyond thee in thy boaſts,
If I ſhould ſhew, more Seas, then thou haſt Coaſts.
But note this maxime in Philoſophy:
Then Seas are deep, Mountains are never high.
To ſpeake of kinds of VVaters I'le neglect,
My divers Fountaines and their ſtrange effect;
My wholeſome Bathes, together with their cures.
My water Syrens, with their guilefull lures:
Th' uncertain cauſe, of certain ebbs and flowes;
VVhichWhich wondring Ariſ…o…les wit, ne'r knowes.
Nor will I ſpeake of waters made by Art,
Which can to life, reſtore a fainting heart:
Nor fruitfull dewes, nor drops from weeping eyes;
VVhichWhich pitty moves, and oft deceives the wiſe.
Nor yet of Salt, and Sugar, ſweet and ſmart,
Both when we liſt, to water we convert.
Alas; thy ſhips and oares could do no good
Did they but want my Ocean, and my Flood.
The wary Merchant, on his weary beaſt
Transfers his goods, from North and South and Eaſt;
Unleſſe I eaſe his toyle, and doe tranſport,
The wealthy fraught, unto his wiſhed Port.
Theſe be my benefits which may ſuffice:
I now muſt ſhew what force there in me lyes.
The flegmy conſtitution I uphold;
All humours, Tumours, that are bred of cold.
O're childehood, and Winter, I bear the ſway;
Yet Luna for my Regent I obey.
As I with ſhowers oft time refreſh the earth;
So oft in my exceſſe, I cauſe a dearth:
And with aboundant wet, ſo coole the ground,
By adding cold to cold, no fruit proves ſound;
The Farmer, and the Plowman both complain
Of rotten ſheep, lean kine, and mildew'd grain.
And with my waſting floods, and roaring torrent;
Their Cattle, Hay, and Corne, I ſweep down current,
Nay many times, my Ocean breaks his bounds:
And with aſtoniſhment, the world confounds.
And ſwallowes Countryes up, ne're ſeen againe:
And that an Iſland makes, which once was maine.
Thus Albion (tis thought) was cut from France,
Cicily from Italy, by th'like chance.
And but one land was Affriea and Spayne,
Untill ſtraight Gibralter, did make them twaine.
Some ſay I ſwallowed up (ſure 'tis a notion)
A mighty Country ith' Atlanticke Ocean.
I need not ſay much of my Haile and Snow,
My Ice and extream cold, which all men know.
VVhereof the firſt, ſo ominous I rain'd,
That Iſraels enemies, therewith was brain'd.
And of my chilling colds, ſuch plenty be;
That Caucaſus high mounts, are ſeldom free.
Mine Ice doth glaze Europs big'ſt Rivers o're,
Till Sun releaſe, their ſhips can ſaile no more.
All know, what innundations I have made;
VVherein not men, but mountaines ſeem'd to wade
As when Achaia, all under water ſtood,
That in two hundred year, it ne'r prov'd good.
Ducalions great deluge, with many moe;
But theſe are trifles to the Flood of Noe.
Then wholly periſh'd, earths ignoble race;
And to this day, impaires her beautious face.
That after times, ſhall never feel like woe:
Her confirm'd ſonnes, behold my colour'd bow.
Much might I ſay of wracks, but that Ile ſpare,
And now give place unto our ſiſter Aire.
Aire.
COntent (quoth Aire) to ſpeake the laſt of you,
Though not through ignorance, firſt was my due,
I doe ſuppoſe, you'l yeeld without controle;
I am the breath of every living ſoul.
Mortalls, what one of you, that loves not me,
Aboundantly more then my ſiſters three?
And though you love Fire, Earth, and VVater wel;
Yet Aire, beyond all theſe ye know t'excell.
I aske the man condemn'd, that's near his death:
How gladly ſhould his gold purchaſe his breath,
And all the wealth, that ever earth did give,
How freely ſhould it go, ſo he might live.
No world, thy witching traſh, were all but vain.
If my pure Aire, thy ſonnes did not ſuſtain.
The famiſht, thirſty man, that craves ſupply:
His moveing reaſon is, give leaſt I dye.
So loath he is to go, though nature's ſpent,
To bid a due, to his dear Element.
Nay, what are words, which doe reveale the mind?
Speak, who, or what they will, they are but wind.
Your Drums, your Trumpets, and your Organs ſound,
VVhat is't? but forced Aire which muſt rebound,
And ſuch are Ecchoes, and report o'th gun
VVhichWhich tells afar, th' exployt which he hath done.
Your ſongs and pleaſant tunes, they are the ſame,
And ſo's the notes which Nightingales do frame.
Ye forging Smiths, if Bellowes once were gone;
Your red hot work, more coldly would go on.
Ye Mariners, tis I that fill your Sailes,
And ſpeed you to your Port, with wiſhed gales.
VVhen burning heat, doth cauſe you faint, I coole,
And when I ſmile, your Ocean's like a Poole.
I ripe the corne, I turne the grinding mill;
And with my ſelfe, I every vacuum fill.
The ruddy ſweet ſanguine, is like to Aire,
And youth, and ſpring, ſages to me compare.
My moiſt hot nature, is ſo purely thinne,
No place ſo ſubtilly made, but I get in.
I grow more pure and pure, as I mount higher,
And when I'm throughly rarifi'd, turn fire.
So when I am condens'd, I turne to water;
VVhichWhich may be done, by holding down my vapour.
Thus I another body can aſſume,
And in a trice, my own nature reſume.
Some for this cauſe (of late) have been ſo bold,
Me for no Element, longer to hold.
Let ſuch ſuſpend their thoughts, and ſilent be;
For all Philoſophers make one of me.
And what thoſe Sages, did, or ſpake, or writ,
Is more authentick then their moderne wit.
Next, of my Fowles ſuch multitudes there are;
Earths Beaſts, and VVaters Fiſh, ſcarce can compare.
The Oſtrich with her plumes, th'Eagle with her eyne;
The Phoenix too (if any be) are mine;
The Stork, the Crane, the Partrich, and the Pheſant;
The Pye, the Jay, the Larke, a prey to th' Peaſant.
VVith thouſands moe, which now I may omit;
VVithout impeachment, to my tale or wit.
As my freſh Aire preſerves, all things in life;
So when 'ts corrupt, mortality is rife.
Then Feavours, Purples, Pox, and Peſtilence;
VVith divers more, worke deadly conſequence.
VVhereof ſuch multitudes have dy'd and fled,
The living, ſcarce had power, to bury dead.
Yea ſo contagious, Countries have me known;
That birds have not ſcap'd death, as they have flown,
Of murrain, Cattle numberleſſe did fall.
Men fear'd deſtruction epidemicall.
Then of my tempeſts, felt at Sea and Land,
Which neither ſhips nor houſes could withſtand.
What woeful wracks I've made, may wel appear,
If nought was known, but that before Algire.
Where famous Charles the fift, more loſſe ſuſtain'd,
Then in his long hot wars, which Millain gain'd.
How many rich fraught veſſells, have I ſplit?
Some upon ſands, ſome upon rocks have hit.
Some have I forc'd, to gaine an unknown ſhoare;
Some overwelm'd with waves, and ſeen no more.
Again, what tempeſts, and what hericanoes
Knowes VVeſtern Iſles, Chriſtophers, Barbadoes;
VVhere neither houſes, trees, nor plants, I ſpare;
But ſome fall down, and ſome flye up with aire.
Earth-quaks ſo hurtful and ſo fear'd of all,
Impriſoned I, am the original.
Then what prodigious ſights, ſometimes I ſhow:
As battells pitcht ith' Aire (as Countries know;)
Their joyning, fighting, forcing, and retreat;
That earth appeares in heaven, oh wonder great!
Sometimes ſtrange flaming ſwords, and blazing ſtars,
Portentious ſignes, of Famines, Plagues and VVars.
VVhichWhich makes the mighty Monarchs fear their Fates,
By death, or great mutations of their States.
I have ſaid leſſe, then did my ſiſters three;
But what's their worth, or force, but more's in me.
To adde to all I've ſaid, was my intent,
But dare not go, beyond my Element.