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He would no more endure, but came his way,
And cast to seeke the Lion where he may,

That he might worke the avengement for this shame
On those two caytives, which had bred him blame.
And, seeking all the forrest busily,

At last he found, where sleeping he did ly.

The wicked weed, which there the Foxe did lay,
From underneath his head he tooke away,

And then him waking, forc'd up to rize.
The Lion looking up gan him avize,
As one late in a traunce, what had of long
Become of him; for fantasie is strong.
"Arise, (said Mercurie) thou sluggish beast,
That here liest senseles, like the corpse deceast,
The whilste thy kingdome from thy head is rent,
And thy throne royall with dishonour blent:
Arise, and doo thy selfe redeeme from shame,
And be aveng'd on those that breed thy blame."
Thereat enraged, soone he gan upstart,
Grinding his teeth, and grating his great hart;
And, rouzing up himselfe, for his rough hide
He gan to reach, but no where it espide.
Therewith he gan full terribly to rore,
And chafte at that indignitie right sore:



But when his Crowne and scepter both he wanted,
Lord! how he fum'd, and sweld, and rag'd, and panted;
And threatned death, and thousand deadly dolours,
To them that had purloyn'd his Princely honours.
With that in hast, disroabed as he was,

He toward his owne Pallace forth did pas;
And all the way he roared as he went,
That all the forrest with astonishment
Thereof did tremble, and the beasts therein
Fled fast away from that so dreadfull din.
At last he came unto his mansion,
Where all the gates he found fast lockt anon,
And manie warders round about them stood:
With that he roar'd alowd, as he were wood,


That all the Pallace quaked at the stound,
As if it quite were riven from the ground,
And all within were dead and hartles left;

And th' Ape himselfe, as one whose wits were reft,
Fled here and there, and everie corner sought,
To hide himselfe from his owne feared thought.
But the false Foxe, when he the Lion heard,

Fled closely forth, streightway of death afeard, 136c
And to the Lion came, full lowly creeping,
With fained face, and watrie eyne halfe weeping,
T'excuse his former treason and abusion,
And turning all unto the Apes confusion.
Nath'les the royall Beast forbore beleeving,
But bad him stay at ease till further preeving.
Then, when he saw no entraunce to him graunted,
Roaring yet lowder that all harts it daunted,
Upon those gates with force he fiercely flewe,
And, rending them in pieces, felly slewe
Those warders strange, and all that els he met.
But th' Ape still flying he no where might get :
From rowme to rowme, from beame to beame he fled
All breathles, and for feare now almost ded;
Yet him at last the Lyon spide, and caught,
And forth with shame unto his judgement brought.
Then all the beasts he caus'd assembled bee,
To heare their doome, and sad ensample see.
The Foxe, first Author of that treacherie,

He did uncase, and then away let flie:



But th' Apes long taile (which then he had) he quight
Cut off, and both eares pared of their hight;
Since which all Apes but halfe their eares have left,
And of their tailes are utterlie bereft.

So Mother Hubberd her discourse did end,
Which pardon me, if I amisse have pend;
For weake was my remembrance it to hold,
And bad her tongue that it so bluntly tolde.

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E heavenly spirites, whose ashie cinders lie
Under deep ruines, with huge walls opprest,
But not your praise, the which shall never

Through your faire verses, ne in ashes rest;
If so be shrilling voyce of wight alive
May reach from hence to depth of darkest hell,
Then let those deep Abysses open rive,
That ye may understand my shreiking yell.
Thrice having seene under the heavens veale
Your toombs devoted compasse over all,
Thrice unto you with lowd voyce I appeale,
And for your antique furie here doo call,
The whiles that I with sacred horror sing
Your glorie, fairest of all earthly thing!

Great Babylon her haughtie walls will praise,
And sharped steeples high shot up in ayre;
Greece will the olde Ephesian buildings blaze,
And Nylus nurslings their Pyramides faire ;
The same yet vaunting Greece will tell the storie
Of Joves great Image in Olympus placed;
Mausolus worke will be the Carians glorie;
And Crete will boast the Labyrinth, now raced:

The antique Rhodian will likewise set forth
The great Colosse, erect to Memorie ;
And what els in the world is of like worth,
Some greater learned wit will magnifie :
But I will sing above all moniments
Seven Romane Hils, the worlds Seven Wonder-


Thou stranger, which for Rome in Rome here seekest,
And nought of Rome in Rome perceivst at all,
These same olde walls, olde arches, which thou seest,
Olde Palaces, is that which Rome men call.
Beholde what wreake, what ruine, and what wast,
And how that she, which with her mightie powre
Tam'd all the world, hath tam'd herselfe at last;
The pray of time, which all things doth devowre!
Rome now of Rome is th' onely funerall,
And onely Rome of Rome hath victorie;
Ne ought save Tyber hastning to his fall
Remaines of all. O worlds inconstancie!

That which is firme doth flit and fall away,
And that is flitting doth abide and stay.

She, whose high top above the starres did sore,
One foote on Thetis, th' other on the Morning,
One hand on Scythia, th' other on the More,
Both heaven and earth in roundnesse compassing;
Jove fearing, least if she should greater growe,
The old Giants should once againe uprise,

Her whelm'd with hills, these seven hils, which be nowe
Tombes of her greatnes which did threate the skies:
Upon her head he heapt Mount Saturnal,

Upon her bellie th' antique Palatine,

Upon her stomacke laid Mount Quirinal,
On her left hand the noysome Esquiline,

And Cælian on the right; but both her feete
Mount Viminall and Aventine doo meete.

Who lists to see what ever nature, arte,

And heaven could doo, O Rome! thee let him see,


In case thy greatnes he can gesse in harte,
By that which but the picture is of thee.
Rome is no more: but if the shade of Rome
May of the bodie yeeld a seeming sight,
It's like a corse drawne forth out of the tombe
By Magicke skill out of eternall night.
The corpes of Rome in ashes is entombed,
And her great spirite, rejoyned to the spirite
Of this great masse, is in the same enwombed;
But her brave writings, which her famous merite
In spight of time out of the dust doth reare,
Doo make her Idole through the world appeare.

Such as the Berecynthian Goddesse bright,
In her swifte charret with high turrets crownde,
Proud that so manie Gods she brought to light;
Such was this Citie in her good daies fownd:
This Citie, more than that great Phrygian mother
Renowm'd for fruite of famous progenie,
Whose greatnes by the greatnes of none other,
But by her selfe, her equall match could see.
Rome onely might to Rome compared bee,
And onely Rome could make great Rome to tremble
So did the Gods by heavenly doome decree,
That other earthlie power should not resemble
Her that did match the whole earths puisaunce,
And did her courage to the heavens advaunce.

Ye sacred ruines, and ye tragick sights,
Which onely doo the name of Rome retaine,
Olde moniments, which of so famous sprights
The honour yet in ashes doo maintaine;
Triumphant Arcks, spyres, neighbours to the skie,
That you to see doth th' heaven it selfe appall;
Alas! by little ye to nothing flie,

The peoples fable, and the spoyle of all:

And though your frames do for a time make warre Gainst time, yet time in time shall ruinate


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