And struggling, stretch'd his restless Limbs about
The narrow Globe, to find a Passage out:
Yet enter'd in the Brick-built Town, he try'd
The Tomb; and found the streight Dimensions wide.
Death only this mysterious Truth unfolds,
The mighty Soul how small a Body holds.
The Blast which his ambitious Spirit swell'd,
See by how weak a Tenure it was held.
Ambition's like a Circle on the Water,
Which never ceases to enlarge it self,
Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.
Vaulting Ambition still o'erleaps it self.
Shak. Hen. 6.
Shak. Mach.
Bodies and cloaths himself with thicken'd Air,
All like a comely Youth, in Life's fresh Bloom,
Rare Workmanship, and wrought by heav'nly Loom!
He took for Skin a Cloud most soft and bright,
That e'er the mid-day Sun pierc'd thro' with Light.
Upon his Cheeks a lively Blush he spread,
Wash'd from the Morning Beauties deepest Red.
A harmless flaming Meteor shone for Hair,
And fell adown his Shoulders with loose Care.
He cut out a filk Mantle from the Skies,
Where the most sprightly Azure pleas'd the Eyes.
This he with starry Vapours spangles, all
Ta'en in their Prime, e'er they grow ripe and fall.
Of a new Rainbow, e'er it fret or fade,
The choicest Piece ta'en out, a Scarf is made.
Small streaming Clouds he does for Wings display,
Nor virtuous Lovers sigh more soft than they:
These he gilds o'er with the Sun's richest Rays,
Caught gliding o'er pure Streams, on which he plays.
Thus dress'd he posts away,
And carries with him his own glorious Day,
Thro' the thick Woods: The gloomy Shades awhile
Put on fresh Looks, and wonder why they smile.
The trembling Serpents close and filent lie;
The Birds obscene far from his Passage fly.
A fuddain Spring waits on him as he goes,
Suddain as that which by Creation rose.
Down thither, prone in Flight,
He speeds, and thro' the vast etherial Sky,
Sails between Worlds and Worlds, with steady Wings,
Now on the Polar Winds; then with quick Fan
Winnows the buxom Air.
Of beaming funny Rays a gold Tiar
Circled his Head; nor less his Locks behind
Illustrious on his Shoulders, fledg'd with Wings,
Lay waving round.
Six Wings he wore to shade
His Lineaments divine: The Pair that clad
Each Shoulder broad, came mantling o'er his Breast
With regal Ornament; the middle Pair
Girt like a starry Zone his Waste, and round
Skirted his Loins and Thighs with downy Gold,
And Colours dip'd in Heav'n: The third his Feet
Shadow'd from either Heel with feather'd Mail,
Sky-tinctur'd Grain. Like Maia's Son he stood,
And shook his Plumes, that heav'nly Fragrance fill'd
His troubled Looks reveal'd his inward Wound,
And Storms of Fury on his Forehead frown'd.
Enormous Rage distended ev'ry Vein,
And all Hell's Furies o'er his Breast did reign.
Swoln with Revenge, his blood-shot Eyes did glare,
Like ruddy Meteors blazing in the Air.
And Storms of Terrour threaten'd in his Looks.
He swells with Wrath, he makes outrageous Moan,
He frets, he fumes, he stares, he stamps the Ground.
Rage flash'd like Lightning from his livid Eyes.
Talgol had long suppress'd
Enflamed Rage in glowing Breast;
Which now began to rage and burn, as
Implacably, as Flame in Furnace.
He trembled and look'd pale with Ire,
Like Ashes first, then red as Fire.
At this the Knight grew high in Wrath,
And lifting Hands and Eyes up both,
Three times he smote on Stomach stout.
With fiery Eyes, and with contracted Brows,
He coin'd his Face in the severest Stamp,
And Fury shook his Fabrick like an Earthquake.
He heav'd for Vent, and burst, like bellowing Etna,
In Sounds scarce human.
Blac.
Gar.
(& Arc.
Dryd. Pal.
Blac.
There is a fatal Fury in your Visage;
It blazes fierce, and menaces Destruction.
Oh! I burn inward; my Blood's all o'fire:
Alcides, when the poyfon'd Shirt fate closest,
Had but an Ague-Fit to this my Feaver.
Mad with her Anguish, impotent to bear
The mighty Grief, the loaths the vital Air;
She raves against the Gods, she beats her Breast,
And tears with both her Hands her purple Vest.
A full-hot Horse: Allow him but his Way,
Self-Mettle tires him.
Anger, like Madness, is appeas'd by Reft.
ANT. See Creation.
Shak. Hen. 8. How. Ind. Quern,
Thus in Battalia march embody'd Ants, Fearful of Winter, and of future Wants, Tinvade the Corn; and to their Cells convey The plunder'd Forrage of their yellow Prey. The fable Troops, along the narrow Tracks, Scarce bear the weighty Burthen on their Backs: Some fet their Shoulders to the pond'rous Grain, Some guard the Spoil, some lash the lagging Train: All ply their several Tasks, and equal Toil sustain. Dryd, Virg. The little Drudge does trot about and sweat:
Nor will he strait devour all he can get ;
But in his temp'rate Mouth carries it home:
A Stock for Winter, which, he knows, must come. Cowl. Hord
ANTIQUARY. And ANTIQUITY.
It was a Question whether he
Or's Horse were of a Family
More worshipful; till Antiquaries
(After they'd almost por'd out their Eyes)
Did very learnedly decide
The Bus'ness on the Horse's Side;
And prov'd, not only Horse, but Cows;
Nay Pigs, were of the elder House :
For Beasts, when Man was but a piece
Of Earth himself, did th'Earth possess,
'Tis not Antiquity, nor Author, That makes Truth, Truth; altho' Time's Daughter,
'Twas he that put her in the Pit,
Before he pull'd her out of it.
And as he eats his Sons, just so
He feeds upon his Daughters too.
Nor does it follow, 'cause a Herald
Can make a Gentleman, scarce a Year old,
To be descended from a Race
Of ancient Kings, in a small Space:
That we should all Opinion hold
Authentick, that we can make old.
Like fair Apollo when he leaves the Froft Of wintry Xanthus, and the Lycian Coast
When to his native Delos he resorts,
Ordains the Dances, and renews the Sports :
Were painted Scythians, mix'd with Cretan Bands,
Before the joyful Altar joyn their Hands;
Himself, on Cinthus walking, sees below
The merry Madness of the sacred Show.
Green Wreaths of Bays his Length of Hair inclose,
A golden Fillet binds his awful Brows;
His Quiver sounds.
Me Claros, Delphos, Tenedos obey,
These Hands the Patareian Sceptre sway;
The King of Gods begot me: What shall be,
Or is, or ever was in Fate, I see.
Mine is th'Invention of the charming Lyre,
Sweet Notes and heavenly Numbers I inspire :
Sure is my Bow, unerring is my Dart;
Med'cine is mine: What Herbs and Simples grow
In Fields or Forrests, all their Pow'rs I know;
And am the great Physician call'd below.
O Source of facred Light,
God with the filver Bow, and golden Hair;
Whom Chryfa, Cilla, Tenedos obeys,
And whose broad Eye their happy Soil surveys !
I do remember an Apothecary,
In tatter'd Weeds, with overwhelming Brows,
Culling of Simples; meager were his Looks,
Sharp Misery had worn him to the Bones,
And in his needy Shop a Tortoise hung,
An Alligator stuff'd, and other Skins
Of ill-shap'd Fishes: And about his Shelves
A beggarly Account of empty Boxes,
Green earthen Pots, Bladders and musty Seeds,
Remnants of Packthread, and old Cakes of Roses,
Were thinly scatter'd to make up a Show.
His Shop the gazing Vulgar's Eyes employs
With foreign Trinkets, and domestick Toys:
Here Mummies lay, most reverendly stale,
And there the Tortoise hung her Coat of Mail;
Not far from some huge Shark's devouring Head,
The flying Fish their finny Pinions spread;
Aloft in Rows large Poppy-heads were strung,
And near a scaly Alligator hung:
In this Place Drugs, in musty Heaps, decay'd;
In that dry'd Bladders and drawn Teeth are laid.
Behold from far a breaking Cloud appears, Which in it many winged Wariours bears :
Their Glory shoots upon my aking Sense;
Thou, stronger, may'st endure the Flood of Light. Dryd. State
The broken Cloud pours out pure Floods of Light,
Show'rs of Celestial Rays, transcendent bright:
And Storms of Splendour, dazling mortal Sight.
Th'illustrious Tempest does on Hoel beat,
Who falls aftonish'd headlong from his Seat,
Confounded with unsufferable Day,
Grov'ling in Glory on the shining Way,
And with bright Ruin overwhelm'd he lay.
APPLAUSE. See Popular.
The Heav'ns around with Acclamations rung,
And loud Applauses of the shouting Throng.
Shouts of Applause ran ringing thro' the Field. Dryd. Virg.
Caps, Hands, and Tongues applaud it to the Skies.Shak.Haml.
Of the pleas'd People rend the vaulted Skies.
The Fields around with Io Peans ring,
And Peals of Shouts applaud the conqu'ring King. Dryd. Virg.
Shouts from the fav'ring Multitude arise,
Applauding Echo to the Shouts replies:
Shouts, Wishes, and Applause run rattling thro' the Skies.
Heard far and wide, and all the Host of Hell
With deaf'ning Shout return them loud Acclaim.
Th'Affembly, as when hollow Rocks retain
The Sound of blust'ring Winds, which all Night long
Had rowz'd the Sea, now with hoarse Cadence lull
Seafaring Men o'er-watch'd; whose Bark by chance
Or Pinnace anchors in a craggy Bay,
After the Tempeft: Such Applause was heard.
Such a Noise arose
As the Shrowds make at Sea in a stiff Tempest,
As loud, and to as many Tunes: Hats, Cloaks,
Doublets, I think, flew up; and had their Faces
Been loose, this Day they had been loft.
As the Sound of Waters deep,
Hoarse Murmur echo'd to his Words Applaufe.
ARCHERS. See Arrow, Bow.
A flutt'ring Dove to the Mast's Top they tie:
The living Mark at which their Arrows fly :
The Rival Archers in a Line advance;
Then all with Vigour bend their trusty Bows,
And from the Quiver each his Arrow chose.
Hippocoon's was the first; with forceful Sway
It flew, and whizzing, cut the liquid Way:
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