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(The Poet's Compasse) such as the blind Priest
In fury writ, when like an Exorcist,
His Numbers charm'd the Grecian Host; whose Pen,
The Scepter was, which rul'd the Soules of Men.
Survey his mystick Card; learne to what Coast,
He did transport, each brave unbody'd Ghost,
New shifted from his flesh, that valiant Crew,
Which fierce Achilles, and bold Hector slew?
In fury writ, when like an Exorcist,
His Numbers charm'd the Grecian Host; whose Pen,
The Scepter was, which rul'd the Soules of Men.
Survey his mystick Card; learne to what Coast,
He did transport, each brave unbody'd Ghost,
New shifted from his flesh, that valiant Crew,
Which fierce Achilles, and bold Hector slew?
ENDIMION.
Enquire, where these are now? beneath what Shade,
In deare-bought rest, their weary Limmes are laid,
That trod on rugged wayes? for Honor still
Leaves the smooth Plaine, t'ascend the rough, steepe Hill.
There seeke, the Macedonian Youth; who knew
No worke, so full of ease, as to subdue:
Who scarce beleev'd his Conquests worthy fame,
Since others thought, his fortune overcame.
Enquire, where these are now? beneath what Shade,
In deare-bought rest, their weary Limmes are laid,
That trod on rugged wayes? for Honor still
Leaves the smooth Plaine, t'ascend the rough, steepe Hill.
There seeke, the Macedonian Youth; who knew
No worke, so full of ease, as to subdue:
Who scarce beleev'd his Conquests worthy fame,
Since others thought, his fortune overcame.
ARIGO.
Neere him, the Epire-Quarreller doth lie;
Lookes, as he scorn'd his immortalitie,
Because of too much rest; seemes still at strife
With Fate, for losse of troubles, not of life:
Neere him, the Epire-Quarreller doth lie;
Lookes, as he scorn'd his immortalitie,
Because of too much rest; seemes still at strife
With Fate, for losse of troubles, not of life:
Griev'd
