Great Babylon her haughtie walls will praise, And sharped steeples high shot up in ayre; Greece will the olde Ephesian buildings blaze, And Nylus nurslings their Pyramides faire; The same yet vaunting Greece will tell the storie Of Ioves great image in Olympus placed; Mausolus worke will be the Carians glorie, And Crete will boast the Labyrinth, now raced; The antique Rhodian will likewise set forth The great Colosse, erect to Memorie; And what els in the world is of like worth, Some greater learned wit will magnifie. But I will sing above all moniments Seven Romane Hils, the worlds seven wonderments. III. Thou stranger, which for Rome in Rome hero seekest, And nought of Rome in Rome perceiv’st at all, These same olde walls, olde arches, which thou seest, Olde palaces, is that which Rome men call. Beholde what wreake, what mine, and what wast, And how that she which with her mightie powre Tam’d all the world hath tam’d herselfe at last; The pray of Time, which all things doth devowre! Rome now of Rome is th’onely funerall, And onely Rome of Rome hath victorie; Ne ought save Tyber hastning to his fall Remaines of all: O worlds inconstancie! That which is firme doth flit and fall away, And that is flitting doth abide and stay. IV. She whose high top above the starres did sore, One foote on Thetis, th’other on the Morning, One hand on Scythia, th’other on the More, Both heaven and earth in roundnesse compassing; Iove fearing, least if she should greater growe, The old giants should once againe uprise, Her whelm’d with hills, these seven hils, which be nowe Tombes of her greatnes which did threate the skies: Upon her head he heapt Mount Saturnal, Upon her bellie th’antique Palatine, Upon her stomacke laid Mount Quirinal, On her left hand the noysome Esquiline, And Caelian on the right; but both her feete Mount Viminal and Aventine doo meete. V. Who lists to see what ever nature, arte, And heaven could doo, O Rome, thee let him see, In case thy greatnes he can gesse in harte By that which but the picture is of thee! Rome is no more: but if the shade of Rome May of the bodie yeeld a seeming sight, It’s like a corse drawne forth out of the tombe By magicke skill out of eternall night: The corpes of Rome in ashes is entombed, And her great spirite, reioyned to the spirite Of this great masse, is in the same enwombed; But her brave writings, which, her famous merite In spight of Time out of the dust doth reare, Doo make her idole* through the world appeare. [* _Idole_, image, idea.] VI.