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At length, the captain of the herd beguild
With a cow's-skin, by curious art compild,
The longing queen obtains her full desire,
And in her infant's form bewrays the fire.
This Minotaur, when he came to Growth, was inclos'd

in the Labyrinth, which was made by the curious
Arts-master Dedalus, whose Tale likewise we thus

When Dedalus the labyrinth had built,
In which t' include the queen Pasiphae's guilt,
And that the time was now expired full,
T'inclose the Minotaur, half inan, half bull :
Kneeling, he says, Just Minos end my moans,
And let

native soil intomb


bones :
Or if, dread sovereign, I deserve no grace,
Look with a piteous eye on my son's face;
And grant me leave, from whence we are exild,
Or pity me, if you deny my child.

This, and much more, he speaks, but all in vain,
The king both son and father will detain:
Which he perceiving, says; Now, now, 'tis fit,
To give the world cause to admire my wit :
Both land and sea are watch'd by day and night;
Nor land nor sea lies open to our Aight,
Only the air remains; then let us try
To cut a passage thro' the air and fly.
Fove be auspicious in my enterprize,
I covet not to mount above the skies :
But make this refuge, since I can prepare
No means to fly my lord but thro the air.
Make me immortal, bring me to the brim
Of the black Stygian water Styx, I'll swim.

Oh ! human wit, thou canst invent much ill, Thou searchest strange arts; who would think, by

skill, A heavy man, like a light bird, should stray, And thro' the empty heavens find a way

, ? He placeth in just order all his quills, Whose bottoms with resolved wax he fills ; Then binds them with a line, and b’ing fast ty’d, He placeth them like oars on either side. The tender lad the downy feathers blew, And what his father meant, he nothing knew. The wax he fasten’d, with the strings he play'd, Not thinking for his shoulders they were made; To whom his father fpake (and then look'd pale) With these swift ships, we to our land must fail. All passages doth cruel Minos stop, Only the empty air he still leaves ope. That way must we; the land and the rough deep Doth Minos bar, the air he cannot keep. But in thy way, beware thou set no eye On the sign Virgo, nor Bootes high : Look not the black Orion in the face, That shakes his sword, but just with me keep pace. Thy wings are now in fast’ning, follow me, I will before thee fly; as thou Ihalt see Thy father mount, or stoop, so I aread thee ; Make me thy guard, and safely I will lead thee. If we should foar too near great Phoebus' seat, The melting wax will not endure the heat : Or if we fly too near the humid seas, Our moisten's wings we cannot shake with ease. Fly between both, and with the gusts that rise, Let thy light body fail amidst the skies. And ever as his little son he charms, He fits the feathers to his tender arms :

And shews him how to move his body light,
As birds first teach their little young ones flight.
By this he calls to counsel all his wits,
And his own wings unto his shoulders fits:
Being about to rise, he fearful quakes,
And in this new way his faint body shakes.
First, ere he took his fight, he kiss'd his son,
Whilst by his cheeks the brinish waters run.
There was a hillock not so tow'ring tall,
As lofty mountains be, nor yet so small
To be with valleys even, and yet a hill;
From this, thus both attempt their uncouth skill.
The father moves his wings, and with respect
His eyes upon his wandering fon reflect.
They bear a spacious course, and the apt boy,
Fearless of harm, in his new track doth joy,
And flies more boldly. Now upon them looks
The fishermen, that angle in the brooks ;
And with their eyes cast upward, frighted stand.
By this, is Samus ifle on their left hand;
Upon the right, Lebinthos they forsake,
Aftipale and the fishy lake;
Shady Pachine full of woods and groves.
When the rafh youth, too bold in vent'ring, roves;
Loseth his guide, and takes his flight so high,
That the soft wax against the sun doth fry,
And the cords flip that kept the feathers fast,
So that his arms have power upon no blast.
He fearfully from the high clouds looks down
Upon the lower heavens, whose curl'd waves frown
At his ambitious height, and from the skies
He fees black night and death before his eyes,
Still melts the wax, his naked arms he shakes,
And thinking to catch hold, no hold he takes.

But now the naked lad down headlong falls,
And by the way, he father, father, calls;
Help, father, help, I die : and as he speaks,
A violent furge his course of language breaks.
Th' unhappy father (but no father now)
Cries out aloud, Son Icarus where art thou ?
Where art thou, Icarus, where dost thou fly?
Icarus where art? when lo, he may espy
The feathers swim ; aloud he doth exciaim :
The earth his bones, the sea still bears his name.

Achilles bis Concealment of his sex in the Court of


Now from another world doth sail with joy,
A welcome daughter to the king of Troy.
The whilst the Grecians are already come,
(Mov'd with that general wrong 'gainst llium)
Achilles in a smock his fex doth smother,
And lays the blame upon his careful mother.
What mak'st thou, great Achilles, teazing wool,
When Pallas in a helm should clasp thy skull ?
What do these fingers with fine threads of gold,
Which were more fit a warlike shield to hold ?
Why should that right hand rock or tow contain,
By which the Trojan Hector must be flain ?
Cast off thy loose veils, and thy armour take,
And in thy hand the spear of Pallas shake.
Thus lady-like he with a lady lay,
Till what he was, her belly must bewray ;
Yet was she forc'd (so should we all believe)
Not to be forc’d so, now her heart would grieve.
When he should rise from her, still would she cry,
(For he had arm’d him, and his rock laid by)

And with a soft voice speak: Achilles stay,
It is too soon to rife, lie down I pray,
And then the man that forc'd her she would kiss :
What force (Deida mea) call you this?

A Lover's Complaint.

From off a hill, whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a fift'ring vale,
My spirits t'attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to lift the fad-tun'd tale,
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her words with forrow's wind and rain:
Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortify'd her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw
The carcase of a beauty spent and done.
Time had not fcithed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but spite of heaven's fell rage,
Some beauty peep'd thro' lattice of fear'd age.
Oft did the heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters;
Laundring the filken figures in the brine,
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears;
And often reading what contents it bears :
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woc,
In clamours of all size, both high and low.
Sometimes her level'd eyes their

carriage ride,
As they did battery to the spheres intend;
Sometimes diverted, their poor balls are ty’d
To th' orbed earth; sometimes they do extend
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once, and no where fix’d,
The mind and fight distractedly commix'd.

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