JANUARY

WHat ignorance dares make that question? Would any ask, who MARS were, in the wars? Or, which is HESPERUS, among the stars? Of the bright Planets , which is SOLEMNIZING? Or can A doubt arise, among creatures, which is Man? Behold, whose eyes do dart Promethean fire Throughout this all; whose precepts do inspire The rest with duty; yet commanding, cheer: And are obeyed, more with love, then fear. Dost thou not know me? I too well know thee By thy Ovid. Metam. lib. 6. near the end see— bor ridus, ira, quae solit est illi, nimi que do mestica, vento, &c. rude voice, that does so hoarcely blow; Thy hair, thy beard, thy wings, ore-hil'd with snow, Thy serpent feet, to be that rough Northwind , BOREAS, that to my reign art still unkind. I am the Prince of Months, called IANVARIE; Because by me See the offi ces and power of Janus, Ovid. Fast. 1. IANUS the year does vary, Shutting up wars, proclaiming peace, and feasts, Freedom, and triumphs; making Kings his guests. WHich they received, but broke their day: and yet Have not returned a look of grace for it, Showing a course, and most unfit neglect. Twice have I come, in pomp here, to expect Their presence; Twice deluded, have been feign With Two marriages; the one of the Earl of Essex , 1606. the other of the Lord Hay , 1607. other Rites my Feasts to entertain: And, now the third time, turned about the year, Since they were looked for; and, yet, are not here. WOuld thou hadst not begun, unlucky Wind , That never yet blewest goodness to mankind; But with thy bitter, and too piercing breath, Strikest The violent ̄ ce of Boreas, Ovid excellently describes in the place a above quoted. Hac nubila pel lo, hac freta concutio, nodo sa que , robora for to, Induro que , ni ves, & terras grandin pulso. horrors through the air, as sharp as death. YOur grace is great, as is your beauty, Dams ; Enough my feasts have proved your thankful flames. Now use your seat: that seat which was, before, Thought stray'ing, uncertain, floating to each shore, And to whose having For what country is it thinks not her own beauty fairest, yet? every climb laid claim, Each land , and nation urged as the aim Of their ambition, beauty's perfect throne , Now made peculiar, to this place, alone; And that, by'impulsion of your destinies, And his attractive beams, that lights these skies: Who (though with the Ocean compassed) never wets His hair therein, nor wears a beam that sets. Long may his light adorn these happy rites As I renew them; and your gracious sights Enjoy that happiness, even to envy, 'as when Beauty , at large, brake forth, and conquered men.