ΒΑΤΡΑΧΟΜΥΟΜΑΧΙΑ.
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Whose dead Corpse, vpwards swum along the lake;Nor yet (poore wretch) could be enforc'd to makeThe shore, his harbour; but the mid-Maine swum:When now (all haste made) with first morne did comeAll to set councell; in which, first rais'd head,Troxartes, angrie for his sonne; and said;O Friends, though I alone may seeme to beareAll the infortune; yet may all mette hereAccount it their case. But tis true, I amIn chiefe vnhappy; that a triple flameOf life, feele put forth, in three famous sonnes;The first, the chiefe in our confusions(The Cat) made rape of; caught without his hole:The second; Man, made with a cruell soule,Brought to his ruine, with a new-found sleight;And a most woodden engine of deceipt,They terme a Trap; mere [1]Murthresse of our Mise.The last that in my loue held speciall prise,And his rare mothers; this Physignathus(With false pretext of wafting to his house;)Strangl'd in chiefe deepes, of his bloudy streame.Come then; haste all, and issue out on them,Our bodies deckt, in our Dedalean armes.This said; his words thrust all vp in alarmes;And Mars himselfe, that serues the cure of war;Made all in their Appropriats circular.First on each leg, the greene shales of a Beane,They clos'd for Bootes; that sat [2]exceeding cleane:
The
