Tixall Poetry.
79
II.
Shall you, Eridanus' new bird, out scan
The wing of Dirces swan?
From whos full pennes deep raptures gusht of owld,
Lyke rivers downe hill rould:
And I (when Tiber can not keepe
His bed) in myne here sleepe?
Wher still my muse consumes
Her flagging veine in downy plumes:
No, no, though hope could never raise my quill,
Feare now gives wings to clime yon neboring hill.
Shall you, Eridanus' new bird, out scan
The wing of Dirces swan?
From whos full pennes deep raptures gusht of owld,
Lyke rivers downe hill rould:
And I (when Tiber can not keepe
His bed) in myne here sleepe?
Wher still my muse consumes
Her flagging veine in downy plumes:
No, no, though hope could never raise my quill,
Feare now gives wings to clime yon neboring hill.
III.
See, see, the land turn'd an Egean sea,
Where mountains ciclads be;
Hark, how the tyrant water foaming roares,
Disdaining hills for shores;
Each element his seate confounds,
Where rivers brooke no bounds:
Thos streames, who, lesse, could yeeld
Rich pasture to each gladsome field,
See, see, the land turn'd an Egean sea,
Where mountains ciclads be;
Hark, how the tyrant water foaming roares,
Disdaining hills for shores;
Each element his seate confounds,
Where rivers brooke no bounds:
Thos streames, who, lesse, could yeeld
Rich pasture to each gladsome field,
