ABSTRACT

We are not hew'n out of the monst'rous masse Of Giantes those, which heavens wrack conspir'd: Ixions race, false prater of his loves: Nor yet of him who fained lightnings found: Nor cruell Tantalus, nor bloudy Atreus, Whose cursed banquet for Thyestes plague 250 Made the beholding Sunne for horrour turne His backe, and backward from his course returne: And hastning his wing-footed horses race Plunge him in sea for shame to hide his face: While sulleine night upon the wondring world For mid-daies light her starrie mantle cast.