Soe low to giue his thirsty stallions drinke; Each soule in sighes had spent its dearest breath, As glad to waite vpon their King in death. Each wingèd chorister would swan-like sing A mournfull dirge to their deceasèd king. The painted meddowes would haue laught no more For ioye of their neate coates; but would haue tore Their shaggy locks, their flowry mantles turn'd Into dire sable weeds, & sate, & mourn'd. Each stone had streight a Niobe become, And wept amaine; then rear'd a costly tombe, T' entombe the lab'ring earth. For surely shee Had died just in her deliuery. But when Ioue's wingèd heralds this espied, Vpp to th' Almighty thunderer they hied, Relating this sad story. Streight way hee The monster crusht, maugre their midwiferie. And may such Pythons neuer liue to see The Light's faire face, but still abortiue bee. UPON THE GUNPOWDER-TREASON. Grow plumpe, leane Death; his Holinesse a feast Hath now præpar'd, & you maist be his guest. Come grimme Destruction, & in purple gore Dye seu'n times deeper than they were before Thy scarlet robes: for heere you must not share A common banquett: noe, heere's princely fare. And least thy blood-shott eyes should lead aside This masse of cruelty, to be thy guide Three coleblack sisters, (whose long sutty haire, And greisly visages doe fright the aire; When Night beheld them, shame did almost turne Her sable cheekes into a blushing morne, To see some fowler than herselfe) these stand, Each holding forth to light the aery brand, Whose purer flames tremble to be soe nigh, And in fell hatred burning, angry dy. Sly, lurking treason is his bosome freind, Whom faint, & palefac't Feare doth still attend. These need noe invitation, onely thou Black dismall Horror, come; make perfect now Th' epitome of Hell: oh lett thy pinions Be a gloomy canopy to Pluto's minions. In this infernall Majesty close shrowd Your selues, you Stygian states; a pitchy clowd Shall hang the roome, & for your tapers bright, Sulphureous flames, snatch'd from æternall night. But rest, affrighted Muse; thy siluer wings May not row neerer to these dusky rings.[60] Cast back some amorous glances on the cates, That heere are dressing by the hasty Fates, Nay stopp thy clowdy eyes, it is not good, To drowne thy selfe in this pure pearly flood. But since they are for fire-workes, rather proue A phenix, & in chastest flames of loue Offer thy selfe a virgin sacrifice To quench the rage of hellish deities. But dares Destruction eate these candid breasts, The Muses, & the Graces sugred neasts? Dares hungry Death snatch of one cherry lipp? Or thirsty Treason offer once to sippe One dropp of this pure nectar, wch doth flow In azure channells warme through mounts of snow?