This floating Ram did bear his Horns above, All ty'd with Ribbands, ruffling in the Wind: Sometimes he nodded down his Head a while, And then the Waves did heave him to the Moon : He clamb'ring to the Top of all the Billows; And then again he curtfi'd down fo low, I could not fee him; 'till at laft, all fidelong With a great Crack, his Belly burst in pieces. (Shak. Temp.
Thus as a Ship, which Winds and Waves afsail, Now with the Current drives, now with the Gale, Both oppofite; and neither long prevail :
She feels a double Force: By turns obeys
Th' imperious Tempeft, and impetuous Seas. Dryd.Ovid. SICKNE'S S.
Mean while the Health of Arcite still impairs, From bad proceeds to worse, and mocks the Leeches
Swoll'n is his Breast, his inward Pains increase
All Means are us'd, and all without Succefs.
The clotted Blood lies heavy on his Heart,
Corrupts, and there remains in Spight of Art:
The Mould of Nature's Fabrick is destroy'd,
Her Veffels difcompos'd, her Virtue void
i
The Bellows of his Lungs begins to fwell,
All out of Frame is ev'ry fecret Cell ;
Nor can the good receive, nor bad expell.
Those breathing Organs, thus within opprefs'd,
With Venom foon diftend the Sinews of his Breaft;
Nought profits him to fave abandon'd Life,
Nor Vomits upward aid, nor downward Laxative.
The midmoft Region batter'd and destroy'd,
When Nature cannot work, th' Effect of Art is void.
(Dryd. Pal. Arc.
Phyficians had forfaken his Cure.
All fcorch'd withour, and all parch'd up within,
The Moisture that maintain'd confuming Nature
Lick'd up, and in a Feaver fry'd away.Dryd. Riv.Lad.
He had a Feaver when he was in Spain,
And when the Fit was on him, I did mark
How he did shake: 'tis true, this God did shake!
His coward Lips did from their Colour fly,
And that fame Eye, whofe Bend does awe the World,
Did lofe his Luftre. I did hear him groan;
Aye, and that Tongue of his that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his Speeches in their Books,
Alas! it cry'd, Give me fome Drink, Titinius ;
As a fick Girl.
Shak. Jul. Caf. Spoken of Cæfar. And thus the Wretch, whofe Feaver-weaken'd Joynts, Like ftrengthlefs Hinges, buckle under Life, Impatient of his Fit, breaks like a Fire, Out of his Keepers Arms.
As he who in a Fever burning lies
First of his Friends does for a Drop implore,
Which tafted once, unable to give o'er,
Knows 'tis his Bane, yet ftill thirsts after more.
Her wafted Spirits now begin to faint,
Yet Patience ties her Tongue from all Complaint,
And in her Heart, as in a Fort remains;
But yields at last to her refiftless Pains.
Thus while the Fever, am'rous of his Prey,
Thro' all her Veins makes his delightful Way:
Her Fate's like Semele's; the Flames deftroy
That Beauty they too eagerly enjoy.
Her charming Face is in its Spring decay'd,
Pale grow the Roses, and the Lillies fade :
Her Skin has loft that Luftre, which furpafs'd
The Sun's, and did deserve as long to last.
Her Eyes, which us'd to pierce the firmeft Hearts,
Are now difarm'd of all their Flames and Darts.
Thofe Stars now heavily and flowly move,
And Sickness triumphs in the Throne of Love.
Ah! lovely Amoret, the Care
Of all that know what's good or fair!
Is Heav'n become our Rival too?
With fuch a Grace you entertain,
And look with fuch Contempt on Pain,
That languishing you conquer more,
And wound us deeper than before.
So Lightnings whicn in Storms appear,
Scorch more than when the Skies are clear.
And as pale Sicknefs does invade
Your frailer Part, the Breaches made
In that fair Lodging, fill more clear
Make the bright Gueft, your Soul, appear.
So Nymphs o'er pathlefs Mountains born,
Their light Robes by the Brambles torn,
From their fair Limbs expofing new
And unknown Beauties to the View
Of following Gods, increase their Flame,
And Hafte to catch the flying Game.
He rais'd a Sigh, fo hideous and profound, That it did feem to shatter all his Bulk,
And end his Being.
She drew a Length of Sighs.
Sigh'd from her inward Soul.
A general Sigh diffus'd a mournful Sound. Cong. Hom. Then fuch deep Sigbs heav'd from his woful Heart, As if his forrowful Soul
Had crack'd the Strings of Life, and burft away.
Nor Women's Sighs, nor Tears are true,
Thofe idly blow, thefe idly fall;
Nothing like to ours at all:
But Sighs and Tears have Sexes too.
Keep down, ye rifing Sighs.
And murmur in the Hollow of any Breaft;
Run to my Heart, and gather more fad Wind
Than when the Voice of Fate fhall call you forth,
You may at once rush from the Seat of Life,
Blow the Blood out, and burst me like a Bladder.
(Lee Alex.
The firft troupe was a monftrons rabblement
Of fowle mishapen wights, of which some were
Headed like Owles, with beakes uncomely bent,
Others like Dogs, others like Gryphons dreare,
And fome had wings, and fome had clawes to teare,
And every one of them had Lynces eyes,
And every one did bowe and arrowes beare,
All thofe were lawless lufts, corrupt envies
And covetous afpects, all cruell enemies,
Those fame against the bulwarke of the Sight
Did lay ftrong fiege, and battailous affault,
Ne once did yield it refpit day nor night,
But foon as Titan gan his head exault,
And foon again as he his light withhault,
Their wicked engins they against it bent :
That is, each thing, by which the eyes may fault
But two than all more huge and violent,
Beauty and Money, they that bulwarke forely rent.
Silence! Goceval with Eternity;
Thou wert e'er Nature firft began to be,
'Twas one vaft Nothing, All, and All first slept in Silence! the Knave's repute,the Whore's good Name, The only Honour of the wishing Dame;
Thy very want of Tongue makes thee a Kind of Fame.
Silence, the Midnight God appears
In all its downy Pomp array'd,
Behold the rev'rend Shade.
An ancient Sigh he fits upon,...
Whofe Memory of Sound is long fince gone,
And purposely annihilated for his Throne.
Beneath two foft tranfparent Clouds do meet,
In which he feems to fink his foftér Feet:
A melancholy Thought condens'd to Air,
Stoll'n from a Lover in Despair,
Like a thin Mantle, ferves to wrap
In fluid Folds his vifionary Shape;
A Wreath of Darkness round his Head he wears,
Where curling Mists supply the Want of Hairs.
While the ftill Vapours, which from Poppies rife,
Bedew his hoary Head, and lull his Eyes.
Silence, more dreadful than fevereft Sounds ? Would the but fpeak, tho' Death, eternal Exile, Hung at her Lips, yet while her Tongue pronounces, There would be Mafick ev'n in my Undoing.
Still as the Bofom of the Defart Night, As fatal Planets, or deep-plotting Friends. Silent as the extatick Blifs
Of Souls, that by Intelligence converse.
Still as the peaceful Walks of ancient Night.
Silent as are the Lamps that burn in Tombs
Silent as Dews that fall in dead of Night.
So flush'd and fwol'n with his accuftom'd Load,
Silenus, prais'd of old," the jolly God.
His mellow Train would in the Chorus joyn,
And blefs the Riches of the purple Vine.
The live-long Night the merry Satyrs fung,
Evius, the Subject of each fault'ring Tongue:
Evius, the Hills around, and hollow Valleys rung.
Two Satyrs, on the Ground
Stretch'd at his Eafe, their Sire Silenus found:
Doz'd with his Fumes, and heavy with his Load
They found him fnoring in his dark Abode;"
And feiz'd with youthful Arms the drunken God.
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