LANTONUS

That Souls immortal are, I easily grant: Their future State distinguished, Joy, or Pain, According to the merits of this Life. But then I rather think, being free from Prison, And bodily contagion, they subsist In places fit for Immaterial Spirits: Are not transfused from Men to beasts, from beasts To men again: wheeled round about by change. So you debase the gods most lively image, The humane Soul, and rank it with mere Brutus's, Whose life of reason void, ends with their sense. The gods foretold these mischiefs long ago, In Eldells reign, The Earth and Sky were filled With prodigies, strange Sights, and hellish shapes. Sometime two Hosts with fiery lances met, Armour and Horse being herd amid the Clouds: With Streamers read now march these airy Warriors, And then a sable hearse-cloth wrappes up all: And bloody drops speckled the grass, as falling From their deep-wounded limbs: While staring Comets shook their flaming hair. Thus all our Wars were acted first on high, And we taught what to look for. All rites and orisons endue, shall be performed. Chifely Night's Empress fourfold Honour craves, Mighty in Heaven, and Hell, in Woods, and Waves. Exit. That ceremonious fear, which bends the heart Of mortal creatures, and displays it self In outward signs of true obedience; As prayer, kneeling, sacrifice, and Hymns: Requires again help from immortal Deities, As promise, not as Debt: we laud their names, They give us blessings, and forgive our blames. Thus gods and men do barter. What in Piety Ascends, as much descends again in pity: A golden chain reaching from Heaven to Earth. Draw near you heavenly powers, Who dwell in Starry bowers. And you who in the deep, On mosste pillows sleep. And you who keep the centre, Where never light did enter. And you whose habitations, Are still among the nations; To see, and hear our doings, Our births, our wars, our wooings. Behold our present grief: Belief does beg relief. By the vervain, and Lunary, By Fernefeed planetary, By the dreadful Mistletoe, Which does on holy Oak grow. Draw near, draw near, draw near. We'll praise then your great power, Each month, each day, each hour: And blaze in lasting story, Your honour and your glory. High altars lost in vapour; Young Heifars free from labour; White Lambs for suck still crying, Shall make your music dying. The boys and girls around, With honey-suckles crowned: The Bards with Harp and rhyming, Green bays their brows entwyning, Sweet tune, and sweeter ditty, Shall chant your gracious pity. Thou Queen of Heaven, Commandress of the Deep, Lady of Lake's, Regent of Woods and Dear, A Lamp dispelling irksome night: The source Of generable moisture. At whose feet With garments blue, and rushy garlands dressed Wait twenty thousand Naiades. Thy Crescent Brutus Elephants adore, and man does feel Thy force run through the Zodiac of his limbs. Oh thou first guide of Brutus to this I'll, Driven back these proud usurpers from this I'll. Whither the name of Cynthia's silver globe; Or chaste Diana with a guilded quiver; Or dread Proserpina, stern Dis his spouse; Or soft Lucina, called in childbed throws: Does thee delight. Rise with a glorious face, Green drops of Nereus trickling down thy cheeks, And with bright horns, united in full orb, Toss high the Seas, with billows beat the banks, Conjure up Neptune, and the Aeolian slaves, Contract both Night and Winter in a storm: That Roman lose their way, and sooner land At sad Avernus, than at Albions strand. So mayest thou shun the Dragons head and tail: So may Endymion snort on Latmian bed: So may the fair game fallen before thy bow: Shed light on us, but lightning on our foe. Behold, and Oracle flies out from her Shrine: Which both the King and State shall see, before We dare unfold it. Exeunt. Thanks to Andates, whose power kingdoms feel: Andates, greatest goddess: In whose train, Fear, red-faced anger, and confusions wheel, Murder, and Desolation run before: But joyful shouts, mirth, Olive-budding Peace, And Laurel-crowned triumph, at her back, Do pace with stately steps. Thy Temple is, The Earth: where furious Monarchs play the Priests: Armies of men imbrue thy Altar stones. Thanks also to the Trident-shakers Mace, Drawn by two ramping Sea-horses: at whose Beck, The waters wrinkled frown, or smoothly smile. But thou Heavens Diamond, fair Phœbus Sister, Nor Delian Dams, nor the Ephesian Towers, Shall blazon more thy Praise. Thy influence strong Struck up the sandy ooes; that madding waves Battered their ships, and dashed their bent sails, And with a tempest turned them round in scorn. Dread Sovereign, Thus runs the Oracle Loud does the King of Beasts roar, High does the Queen of Birds soar: But her wings clipped soon grow out: Both repent they are so stout. Till C. gainst C. strike a round, In a perfect Circle bound. The meaning wrapped up in cross doubtful terms, Lies yet thus open: That disastrous fate Must be the Prologue to a joyful close. The rest we'll search out, if our skill don't fail. Now time, best Oracle of Oracles, Father of truth, the true sense does suggest Of Dians answer; The Lion and the Eagle do design The Britain and the Roman states, whose arms Were painted with those Animals: Both fierce Weary at last conclude: The Semicircles, First letters of the Leaders names, we see Are joined in true loves endless figure. Both come of Trojan raze, both nobly bold, Both matchless Captains, on one Throne behold.