Where the enrag'd Sicylian sea doth put
In Lilibeus its cleare silver foot,
Which to the coales of Vulcan is a cave,
Or to Tipheus bones is else a grave,
By a pale plaine orespread with ashes knowne;
There, not his sacrilegious passion
To check, but his rude office to restraine,
Riseth a Rock and curbs the foaming Maine.

Rude ornaments which this hard cliffe dothe weare
Are oregrowne trees to whose intangled haire
Lesse light, lesse aire, the profound Caverne owes
Then to the stone that its wide mouth doth close;
An ominous troop of birds Nocturnall over
Its gloomy bosome constantly do hover,
And show by their sad groanes and heavy flight
That this is the dark bed of sable night.

This dismall dreadfull desart, which doth seem
A yawning vacuum, unto Polipheme
(The horrour of that hill where he doth dwell)
A barb'rous Cottage is, a shady cell,
And spacious fold wherein he safe doth keep
Conceal'd, drawne up the rugged Mountain's steep
Ascent, the full increase of his faire flock,
Joyn'd with one whistle, seal'd up in one rock;

A hill by the prodigious stature knowne
Of that fam'd Cyclops, Neptunes savage Son;
One eye his spacious forehead did adorne,
And allmost emulate the great star oth'Morne
That to the world gives light; him the most tall
Pine like a twig obey'd: a rush so small
With his huge bulk compard that such he took
And sometimes made his staffe, sometimes his crook.

His haire was black which darkly waving shin'd
Like Lethe's obscure waters, and ith'wind
(By which tempestuously comb'd) doth fly
Loose without order, hanging carelessely;
His beard like an impetuous Torrent showes,
(The rough son of these Mountaines) and oreflowes
His breast, or ill, or late, or else in vaine,
And through his fingers breaks its waves againe.