And all the Margent round about was fet
With fhady Lawrell Trees, thence to defend
The funny Beames, which on the Billows bet,
And those which therein bathed, mote offend.
BOWER of PROTEUS.
His Bowre is in the Bottom of the Maine, Under a mighty Rock, 'gainft which doe rave The raring Billoes in their proud difdaine; That with the angry working of the Wave, Therein is eaten our an hollow Cave,
That seems rough Mafon's Hand with Engine keen,
Had long while laboured it to engrave:
There was his wonne, ne living Wight was feen,
Save an old Nymph, hight Panope, to keep it clean.
Thus often at the Temple-Stairs we've seen
Two Tritons of a rough Athletick Mien,
Sourly difpute fome Quarrel of the Flood
With Knuckles bruis'd, and Face befmear'd in Blood;
But at the first Appearance of a Fare,
Both quit the Fray, and to their Oars repair.
Thus the chaft Bridegroom when the Prieft draws
Beholds the Bleffing with a trembling Eye,
Feels doubtlefs Paffions throb in ev'ry Vein,!
And in his Cheeks are mingled Joy and Pain;
Left ftill fome intervening Chance fhould rife,
Leap forth at once, and fnatch the glorious Prize,
Inflame his Woe, by bringing it fo late,
And ftab him in the Crifis of his Fate.
While the bleft. Bruses, tho' form'd of coarfer Mould, Are not expos'd to Famine or to Cold;
Lefs Miferies attend th' ignoble Birth,
Tho' their dull Souls bend down their Looks to Earth,
They, by unerring Inftinct, all are taught
Ills to be fhunn'd and Pleafures to be fought.
No outward Force the fearlefs Savage harms,
Bold with his Strength, and fenc'd with native Arms.
On ev'ry Hide thick fhaggy Ringlets grow,
That dare the Club, and mock the coming Blow.
The vigorous Bull the fierce Affailant fcorns,
And paws the Ground, and fets his bending Horns.
The fcaly Fish sport in their native Sea,
And thus fecur'd they force the liquid Way.
The Birds, on Wings well-pois'd, with emulous Pride,
Race thro' th' aerial Tracks, and cut the yielding Void.
The pregnant Earth each worthless Infect treats
With ready Viands, and unlabour'd Meats. Rowe's Call.
As falvage Bull, whom two fierce Mastives bait,
When Rancour doth with Rage him once begore,
Forgets with warie Ward them to await,
But with his dreadful Horns them drives afore,
Or flings aloft, or treads down in the flore,
Breathing out Wrath, and bellowing out Difdaine,
That all the Foreft quakes to hear him rore.
As two fierce Bulls, that strive the Rule to get
Of all the Herd, meet with fo hideous maine,
That both rebutted, tumble on the Plaine :
So thefe two Champions to the Ground were feld.
Like a wild Bull, that being at a Bay,
Is baited of a Maftiff and a Hound,
And a curre-dog. that do him fharp affay
On every Side, and beat about him round;
But moft the curre, barking with bitter found,
And creeping ftill behind, doth him incomber,
That in his chauffe he digs the trampled Ground,
And threats his Horns,and bellows like the thunder.
(Spenfer.
So fares the Bull in his lov'd Female's Sight,
Proudly he bellows, and preludes the Fight:
He tries his goring Horns against a Tree,
And meditates his abfent Enemy:
He pushes at the Winds, he digs the Strand
With his black Hoofs, and fpurns the yellow Sand.
As when two Bulls for their fair Female fight, In Sila's Shades, or on Taburnus Height: With Horns adverse they meet; the Keeper flies : Mute ftands the Herd the Heifers rowl their Eyes, And wait th' Event, which Victor they fhall bear, And who shall be the Lord, to rule the lufty Year. With Rage of Love the jealous Rivals burn, And Push for Push, and Wound for Wound return. Their Dewlaps gor'd, their Sides are lav'd in Blood ; Loud Cries and roaring Sounds rebellow thro' the Wood. (Dryd. Virg,
The Tide of Bufinefs, like the running Stream,
Is fometimes high, and fometimes low,
A quiet Ebb, or a tempeftuous Flow,
And always in Extream.
Now with a noifelefs gentle Course,
It keeps within the middle Bed;
Anon it lifts aloft the Head,
And bears down all before it with impetuous Force:
And Trunks of Trees come rouling down,
Sheep and their Folds together drown,
Both House and Homefted into Seas are born,
And Rocks are from their old Foundations torn,
And Woods, made thin with Winds, their fcatter'd
It is a Monster bred of hellish Race,
Then aufwer'd he, which often had annoy'd
Good Knights and Ladies true,and many else destroy'
Of Cerberus whylome he was begot,
And fell Chirara in her darkfome den,
Through foule commixture of his filthy blot,
Where he was foftred long in Stygian Fen,
'Till he to perfect Ripeness grew, and then
Into this wicked World he forth was fent,
To be the Plague and Scourge of wretched Men :
Whom with vile Tongue and venomous Intent
Ill fore doth wound, and bite, and cruelly torment.
But ah in Camps a thoufand Vices reign,
And blaft their Lawrels, and their Glories stain..
Falfe Honour juftifies the bravely Lewd,
And Men are infamous who dare be good.
Just Right, and Pow'r in War are all the same,
The longeft Sword decides the doubtful Claim.
Hence martial Fire degenerates into Rage,
And oft to Murders, or to Rapes engage.
Ah! let the Mufe the moving Camp attend,
The virtuous Mufe, that beft and kindeft Friend.
Ah! how unlike do Cancer's Beams fucceed !
How fhoot they adverfe, and Corrupt the Breed!
The foul Afelli in his Sphere he draws,
And fierce unclenches his extended Claws;
By him the Limbs mishap'd, the Strain is croft',
The Eyes are almost in their Sockets loft;
The Teeth difcolour'd with a loathfom Jett,
Or widely gaping, or uneven fet;
Tumours appear, the Back-Bone bow'd within,
Upheaves the Cheft to meet the hanging Chin;
The huddled Piece to Pigmy-Size is ty'd,
And the lank Arms hang dangling by the Side.
As when the devilish Iron Engine wrought In deepest Hell, and fram'd by Furies Skill,
With windy Nitre and quick Sulphur fraught, And ramm'd with Bullet round ordain'd to kill, Conceiveth Fire, the Heavens it doth fill
With thund'ring Noife, and all the Aire doth choke, That none can breathe, nor fee, nor hear at will,
Thro' fmouldry Cloud of duskish stinking Smoke That th' only Breath him daunts who hath efcapt (his ftroke. Spen.
Mean time the Chizel with the Pencil vies;
The Sifter-Arts difpute the doubtful Prize.
Are human Limbs, ev'n in their vital State,
More juft and ftrong, more free and delicate,
Than Bounorotas' curious Tools create ?
He to the Rock can vital Instincts give,
Which thus transform'd, can rage, rejoyce, or grieve.
His skillful Hand does marble Veins inspire
Now with the Lover's, now with the Hero's Fire.
So well th' imagin'd Actors play their Part,
The filent Hypocrites fuch Pow'r exert,
That Paffions, which they feel not, they beftow,
Afright us with their Fear, and melt us with their Woe.
There Niobe leans weeping on her Arm,
How her fad Looks and beauteous Sorrow charm?
See, here a Venus foft, in Parian Stone,
A Pallas there, to ancient Tables known;
That from the Rock arofe, not from the Main,
This not from Jove's, Lut from the Sculptor's Brain.
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