English

O ye three-times-thrice sacred Quiristers,
Of Gods great Temple; the small Vniuerse
Of ruinous man: (thus prostrate as ye lye
Brooded, and Loded with Calamitie,
Contempt, and shame, in your true mother, Peace)
As you make sad my soule, with your misease:
So make her able fitly to disperse
Your sadnesse, and her owne, in sadder verse.
Now (olde, and freely banisht with your selues
From mens societies; as from rockes, and shelues)
Helpe me to sing, and die, on our Thames shore;

INDVCTIO

Now that our Soueraign, the great King of Peace,
Hath (in her grace) outlabour'd Hercules;
And, past his Pillars, stretcht her victories;
Since (as he were sole Soule, t'all Royalties)
He moues all Kings, in this vast Vniuerse,
To cast chaste Nettes, on th'impious lust of Mars;
See, All; and imitate his goodnesse still;
That (hauing cleard so well, warres outward ill)
Hee, God-like, still employes his firme desires,
To cast learn'd ynke vpon those inwarde fires,

Another.

Since Ouid (loues first gentle Maister) dyed
She hath a most notorious trueant beene,
And hath not once in thrice fiue ages seene
That same sweete Muse that was his first sweet guide;
But since Apollo who was gratified
Once with a kisse, hunting on Cynthus greene,
By loues fayre Mother tender Beauties Queene,
This fauor vnto her hath not enuied,
That into whome she will, she may infuse

I. D. of the middle Temple.

Onely that eye which for true loue doth weepe,
Onely that hart which tender loue doth pierse,
May read and vnderstand this sacred vierse
For other wits too misticall and deepe:
Betweene these hallowed leaues Cupid dooth keepe
The golden lesson of his second Artist,
For loue, till now, hath still a Maister mist

Another.

Vngratefull Farmers of the Muses land
That (wanting thrift and iudgment to imploy it)
Let it manureles and vnfenced stand,
Till barbarous Cattell enter and destroy it:
Now the true heyre is happily found out
Who (framing it t'inritch posterities)
Walles it with spright-fild darknes round about,
Grass, plants, and sowes; and makes it Paradise.

Tho: Williams of the inner Temple.

Issue of Semele that will imbrace
With fleshly arms the three-wingd wife of thunder:
Let her sad ruine, such proud thoughts abase
And view aloofe, this verse in silent wonder,
If neerer your vnhallowed eyes wil pierse,
Then (with the Satyre) kisse this sacred fire,
To scorch your lips, that dearely taught thereby

Richard Stapleton to the Author.

Phoebus hath giuen thee both his bow, and Muse;
With one thou slayst the Artizans of thunder,
And to thy verse dost such a sound infuse,
That gatherd storms therewith are blowne in sunder:
The other decks her with her golden wings
Spred beyond measure, in thy ample verse,
Where she (as in her bowrs of Lawrell) sings

CHORUS

Fate is the master of everything it is vain to fight against fate
from the beginning to the end the road is laid down human
scheming is futile worries are futile prayers are futile
sometimes a man wins sometimes he loses
who decides whether he loses or wins
it has all been decided long ago elsewhere
it is destiny
not a single man can alter it
all he can do is let it happen

the good luck the bad luck everything that happens
everything that seems to toss our days up and down

In the large house of Dara by the fire
The ruddy ale went round.
" A health, a health"
MacRoth replied:
" The loaning of the Bull.
That is a goodly bargain now, to drive him
Into the west, his praise to cross the fords,
He shall bring wealth and break the hurdles down
Between our lands and in a grassing year
For every calf dropped, you shall have the owning
Of a fine heifer, fatten as a chieftain
Beyond your neighbours when our mixing herds
Breed peace."

Fair of all fairings, sound the horn
In the delaying air and when the fires
Of branding scatter from the driven hoofs
Of war, praise then the happy, forest-belted,
The meadow-sunned and cattle-pasturing, plains
Of Cruachan; as ripe barley to the hook
My singing falls, for never Tailteann Fair
Fattening the red wattle with the noise
Of horseman and of dealers could surpass
The hosting of the cattle of the west:
The side of every glen had emptied out
Great droves into the highways and the cries