For hangings and for curtaines, all along The walls (abominable ornaments!) Are tooles of wrath, anvills of torments hung; Fell executioners of foule intents, Nailes, hammers, hatchets sharpe, and halters strong, Swords, speares, with all the fatall instruments Of Sin and Death, twice dipt in the dire staines Of brothers' mutuall blood, and fathers' braines. XLII. The tables furnisht with a cursèd feast Which Harpyes, with leane Famine feed upon, Vnfill'd for ever. Here among the rest, Inhumane Erisicthon too makes one; Tantalus, Atreus, Progne, here are guests: Wolvish Lycaon here a place hath won. The cup they drinke in is Medusa's scull, Which mixt with gall and blood they quaffe brim-full. XLIII. The foule queen's most abhorrèd maids of honour, Medæa, Jezabell, many a meager witch, With Circe, Scylla, stand to wait upon her: But her best huswife's are the Parcæ, which Still worke for her, and have their wages from her: They prick a bleeding heart at every stitch. Her cruell cloathes of costly threds they weave, Which short-cut lives of murdred infants leave. XLIV. The house is hers'd about with a black wood, _hearsed_ Which nods with many a heavy-headed tree: Each flowers a pregnant poyson, try'd and good, Each herbe a plague. The wind's sighes timèd bee By a black fount, which weeps into a flood. Through the thick shades obscurely might you see Minotaures, Cyclopses, with a darke drove Of Dragons, Hydraes, Sphinxes, fill the grove. XLV. Here Diomed's horses, Phereus' dogs appeare, With the fierce lyons of Therodamas. Busiris has his bloody altar here: Here Sylla his severest prison has: The Lestrigonians here their table reare: Here strong Procrustes plants his bed of brasse: Here cruell Scyron boasts his bloody rockes And hatefull Schinis his so fearèd oakes. XLVI. What ever schemes of blood, fantastick Frames Of death, Mezentius or Geryon drew; Phalaris, Ochus, Ezelinus: names Mighty in mischiefe; with dread Nero too; Here are they all, here all the swords or flames Assyrian tyrants or Egyptian knew. Such was the house, so furnisht was the hall, Whence the fourth Fury answer'd Pluto's call. XLVII. Scarce to this monster could the shady king The horrid summe of his intentions tell; But shee (swift as the momentary wing Of lightning, or the words he spoke) left Hell. She rose, and with her to our World did bring Pale proofe of her fell presence; th' aire too well With a chang'd countenance witnest the sight, And poore fowles intercepted in their flight. XLVIII.