O thou that buriest old age in thy grave, And art by seeming funerals to have A new return of life, whose custom 'tis To rise by ruin, and by death to miss Ev'n death itself, a new beginning take, And that thy wither'd body now forsake! Better thyself by this thy change! This said He shakes his locks, and from his golden head Shoots one bright beam, which smites with vital fire The willing bird; to burn is his desire, That he may live again: he's proud in death, And goes in haste to gain a better breath. The spicy heap fir'd with celestial rays Doth burn the aged Ph[oe]nix, when straight stays The chariot of th' amazed moon; the pole Resists the wheeling swift orbs, and the whole Fabric of Nature at a stand remains, Till the old bird a new young being gains. All stop and charge the faithful flames, that they Suffer not Nature's glory to decay. By this time, life which in the ashes lurks Hath fram'd the heart, and taught new blood new works; The whole heap stirs, and ev'ry part assumes Due vigour; th' embers too are turn'd to plumes; The parent in the issue now revives, But young and brisk; the bounds of both these lives, With very little space between the same, Were parted only by the middle flame. To Nilus straight he goes to consecrate His parent's ghost; his mind is to translate His dust to Egypt. Now he hastes away Into a distant land, and doth convey The ashes in a turf. Birds do attend His journey without number, and defend His pious flight, like to a guard; the sky Is clouded with the army, as they fly. Nor is there one of all those thousands dares Affront his leader: they with solemn cares Attend the progress of their youthful king; Not the rude hawk, nor th' eagle that doth bring Arms up to Jove, fight now, lest they displease; The miracle enacts a common peace. So doth the Parthian lead from Tigris' side His barbarous troops, full of a lavish pride In pearls and habit; he adorns his head With royal tires: his steed with gold is led; His robes, for which the scarlet fish is sought, With rare Assyrian needle-work are wrought; And proudly reigning o'er his rascal bands, He raves and triumphs in his large commands. A city of Egypt, famous in all lands For rites, adores the sun; his temple stands There on a hundred pillars by account, Digg'd from the quarries of the Theban mount. Here, as the custom did require--they say-- His happy parent's dust down he doth lay; Then to the image of his lord he bends And to the flames his burden straight commends. Unto the altars thus he destinates His own remains; the light doth gild the gates; Perfumes divine the censers up do send: While th' Indian odour doth itself extend To the Pelusian fens, and filleth all