Ye cooks, your kitchen implements I frame,
Your spits, pots, jacks, what else I need not name; Your daily food I wholesome make; I warm
Your shrinking limbs, which winter's cold doth harm.
Ye Paracelsians, too, in vain 's your skill
In chemistry unless I help you still.
And you, philosophers, if e'er you made
A transmutation it was through mine aid.
Ye silversmiths, your ore I do refine;
What mingled lay with earth I cause to shine.
But let me leave these things; my flame aspires
To match on high with the celestial fires.
The sun an orb of fire was held of old;
Our sages now another tale have told.
But be he what they will, yet his aspect
A burning fiery heat we find reflect;
And of the self-same nature is with mine,
Cold sister Earth, no witness needs but thine:
How doth his warmth refresh thy frozen back,
And trim thee brave in green after thy black!
Both man and beast rejoice at his approach,
And birds do sing to see his glittering coach.
And though naught but salamanders live in fire,
And fly pyrausta called,—all else expire,—
Yet men and beasts, astronomers will tell,
Fixed in heavenly constellations dwell
My planets of both sexes, whose degree.
Poor heathen judged worthy a deity.
There's Orion, armed, attended by his dog;
The Theban, stout Alcides, with his club;
The valiant Perseus, who Medusa slew;
The horse that killed Bellerophon, then flew.
My crab, my scorpion, fishes, you may see,
The maid with balance, wain with horses three,
The ram, the bull, the lion, and the beagle,
The bear, the goat, the raven, and the eagle,
The crown, the whale, the archer, Berenice's hair,
The hydra, dolphin, boys that water bear;
Nay, more than these, rivers 'mongst stars are found
Eridanus, where Phaethon was drowned.
Their magnitude and height should I recount,
My story to a volume would amount.
Out of a multitude these few I touch;
Your wisdom out of little gather much.
I'll here let pass my choler, cause of wars;
And influence of divers of those stars,
When in conjunction with the sun, do more
Augment his heat which was too hot before.
The summer ripening season I do claim;
And man from thirty unto fifty frame.
Of old, when sacrifices were divine,
I of acceptance was the holy sign.
'Mong all my wonders which I might recount,
There's none more strange than Ætna's sulph'ry mount;
The choking flames that from Vesuvius flew
The over-curious Second Pliny slew,
And with the ashes that it sometimes shed
Apulia's 'jacent parts were covered.
And though I be a servant to each man,
Yet, by my force, master my masters can.
What famous towns to cinders have I turned!
What lasting forts my kindled wrath hath burned!
The stately seats of mighty kings by me
In confused heaps of ashes may you see.
Where's Ninus' great walled town, and Troy of old,
Carthage, and hundred more in stories told?
Which when they could not be o'ercome by foes,
The army, through my help, victorious rose.
And stately London, our Great Britain's glory,
My raging flame did make a mournful story;-
But maugre all that I or foes could do,
That phenix from her bed is risen new.
Old sacred Zion, I demolished thee;
Low great Diana's temple was by me;
And more than bruitish Sodom for her lust,
With neighboring towns, I did consume to dust.
What shall I say of lightning and of thunder,
Which kings and mighty ones amaze with wonder,—
Which made a Cæsar (Rome's), the world's proud head,
Foolish Caligula, creep under his bed,—
Of meteors, ignes fatui, and the rest?
But to leave those to the wise I judge it best.
The rich I oft make poor, the strong I maim,
Not sparing life when I can take the same.
And, in a word, the world I shall consume,
And all therein, at that great day of doom;
Not before then shall cease my raging ire,
And then because no matter more for fire.
Now, sisters, pray proceed; each in your course,
As I, impart your usefulness and force."
The next in place Earth judged to be her due.
Sister," quoth she, "I come not short of you;
In wealth and use I do surpass you all,
And Mother Earth of old men did me call,
Such is my fruitfulness-an epithet
Which none e'er gave, or you could claim, of right. Among my praises this I count not least,
I am the original of man and beast.
To tell what sundry fruits my fat soil yields
In vineyards, gardens, orchards, and corn-fields,
Their kinds, their tastes, their colors, and their smells,
Would so pass time I could say nothing else;
The rich, the poor, wise, fool, and every sort,
Of these so common things can make report.
To tell you of my countries and my regions,
Soon would they pass not hundreds but legions;
My cities famous, rich, and populous,
Whose numbers now are grown innumerous.
I have not time to think of every part,
Yet let me name my Grecia, 't is my heart;
For learning, arms, and arts I love it well,
But chiefly 'cause the Muses there did dwell.
I'll here skip o'er my mountains reaching sky,
Whether Pyrenean or the Alps, which lie
On either side the country of the Gauls,
Strong forts from Spanish and Italian brawls;
And huge great Taurus, longer than the rest,
Dividing great Armenia from the least;
And Hemus, whose steep sides none foot upon.
But farewell all for dear Mount Helicon;
And wondrous high Olympus, of such fame
That heaven itself was oft called by that name;
Parnassus sweet, I dote too much on thee,
Unless thou prove a better friend to me.
But I'll leap o'er these hills, not touch a dale,
Nor will I stay, no, not in Tempe vale.
I'll here let go my lions of Numidia,
My panthers and my leopards of Libya,
The behemoth, and rare found unicorn
(Poison's sure antidote lies in his horn),
And my hyena (imitates man's voice);
Out of great numbers I might pick my choice,
Thousands in woods and plains, both wild and tame.
But here or there, I list now none to name-
No, though the fawning dog did urge me sore
In his behalf to speak a word the more,
Whose trust and valor I might here commend,
But time's too short and precious so to spend.
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