As men in summer fearles passe the foord Which is in winter lord of all the plaine, And with his tumbling streames doth beare aboord* The ploughmans hope and shepheards labour vaine, And as the coward beasts use to despise The noble lion after his lives end, Whetting their teeth, and with vaine foolhardise Daring the foe that cannot him defend, And as at Troy most dastards of the Greekes Did brave about the corpes of Hector colde, So those which whilome wont with pallid cheekes The Romane triumphs glorie to behold, Now on these ashie tombes shew boldnesse vaine, And, conquer’d, dare the conquerour disdaine. [*_Aboord_, into the current.] XV. Ye pallid spirits, and ye ashie ghoasts, Which, ioying in the brightnes of your day, Brought foorth those signes of your presumptuous boasts Which now their dusty reliques do bewray, Tell me, ye spirits! (sith the darksome river Of Styx, not passable to soules returning, Enclosing you in thrice three wards for ever, Doo not restraine your images still mourning,) Tell me then, (for perhaps some one of you Yet here above him secretly doth hide,) Doo ye not feele your torments to accrewe, When ye sometimes behold the ruin’d pride Of these old Romane works, built with your hands, To become nought els but heaped sands? XVI. Like as ye see the wrathfull sea from farre In a great mountaine heap’t with hideous noyse, Eftsoones of thousand billowes shouldred narre*, Against a rocke to breake with dreadfull poyse; Like as ye see fell Boreas with sharpe blast Tossing huge tempests through the troubled skie, Eftsoones having his wide wings spent in wast, To stop his wearie cariere** suddenly; And as ye see huge flames spred diverslie, Gathered in one up to the heavens to spyre, Eftsoones consum’d to fall downe feebily, So whilom did this monarchie aspyre As waves, as winde, as fire, spred over all, Till it by fatall doome adowne did fall. [* _Narre_, nearer.] [** _Cariere_, career.] XVII. So long as Ioves great bird did make his flight, Bearing the fire with which heaven doth us fray, Heaven had not feare of that presumptuous might, With which the giaunts did the gods assay: But all so soone as scortching sunne had brent* His wings which wont the earth to overspredd, The earth out of her massie wombe forth sent That antique horror which made heaven adredd. Then was the Germane raven in disguise That Romane eagle seene to cleave asunder, And towards heaven freshly to arise Out of these mountaines, now consum’d to pouder. In which the foule that serves to beare the lightning Is now no more seen flying nor alighting. [* _Brent_, burned.] XVIII.