A stiffe and freezing horror sucks vp the riuers of my blood: my haire stands an ende with the panting of my braines: mine eye balls are ready to start out, being beaten with the billowes of my teares: out of my weeping pen does the inke mournfully and more bitterly than gall drop on the pale-faced paper, even when I do but thinke how the bowels of my sicke country have bene torne. _Apollo_, therefore, and you bewitching siluer-tongd _Muses_, get you gone: I inuocate none of your names. Sorrow and truth, sit you on each side of me, whilst I am delivered of this deadly burden: prompt me that I may utter ruthfull and passionate condolement: arme my trembling hand, that I may boldly rip up and anatomize the ulcerous body of this _Anthropophagized_ Plague: lend me art (without any counterfeit shadowing) to paint and delineate to the life the whole story of this mortall and pestiferous battaile. And you the ghosts of those more (by many) than 40000, that with the virulent poison of infection haue bene driuen out of your earthly dwellings: you desolate hand-wringing widowes, that beate your bosomes over your departing husbands: you wofully distracted mothers that with disheueld haire falne into swounds, while you lye kissing the insensible cold lips of your breathlesse infants: you out-cast and down-troden orphans, that shall many a yeare hence remember more freshly to mourne, when your mourning garments shall looke olde and be forgotten; and you the _Genii_ of all those emptyed families, whose habitations are now among the _Antipodes_; joine all your hands together, and with your bodies cast a ring about me; let me behold your ghastly vizages, that my paper may receiue their true pictures: _Eccho_ forth your grones through the hollow trunke of my pen, and raine downe your gummy tears into mine incke, that even marble bosomes may be shaken with terrour, and hearts of adamant melt into compassion. [Illustration: BELOW BRIDGE]