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Which he perceiving, says; Now, now, 'tis fit,
To give the world cause to admire my wit:
Both land and sea are watch'd by day and night;
Nor land nor sea lies open to our flight,
Only the air remains ; then let us try
To cut a passage thro' the air and fly.
Jove be auspicious in my enterprize,
I covet not to mount above the skies :
But make this refuge, since I can prepare
No means to fly, my lord, but thro' the air.
Make me immortal, bring me to the brim
Of the black Stygian water Styx, I'll swim.
Oh! human wit, thou canst invent much ill,
Thou searchest strange arts ; who would think, by skill,
A beavy man, like a light bird, should stray,
And thro’ the empty heavens find a way?
He placeth in just order all his quills,
Whose bottoms with resolved wax he fills;
Then binds them with a line, and b’ing fast ty’d,
He placeth them like oars on either side.
The tender lad the downy feathers blew,
And what his father meant, he nothing knew.
The wax he fasten'd, with the strings he play'd,
Nor thinking for his shoulders they were made;
To whom his father spake (and then look’d pale)
With these swift ships, we to our land must sail.
All passages doth cruel MINOS stop,
Only the empty air he still leaves ope.



That way must we; the land and the rough deep Doth Minos bar, the air he cannot keep. But in the way, beware thou set no eye On the sign Virgo, nor Bootes high: Look not the black Orion in the face, That shakes his sword, but just with me keep pace. Thy wings are now in fastning, follow me, I will before thee fly; as thou shalt see Thy father mount, or stoop, so I aread thee; Make me thy guard, and safely I will lead thee. If we should soar too near great Phebus' seat, The melting wax will not endure the heat: Or if we fly too near the humid seas, Our moisten'd wings we cannot shake with ease. Fly between both, and with the gusts that rise, Let thy light body sail amidst the skies: And ever as his little son he charms, He fits the feathers to his tender arms : And shews him how to move his body light, As birds first teach their little young ones flight. By this he calls to counsel all his wits, And his own wings unto his shoulders fits: Being about to rise, he fearful quakes, And in this new way his faint body shakes. First, ere he took his flight, he kiss'd his son, Whilst by his cheeks the brinish waters run. There was a hillock not so tow'ring tall, As lofty mountains be, nor yet so small


To be with vallies even, and yet a hill;
From this, thus both attempt their uncouth skill.
The father moves his wings, and with respect
His eyes upon his wandering son reflect.
They bear a spacious course, and the apt boy,
Fearless of harm, in his new tract doth joy,
And flies more boldly. Now upon them look
The fishermen, that angle in the brook;
And with their eyes cast upwards, frighted stand.
By this, is Samos isle on their left hand;
Upon the right, Lebinthos they forsake,
Astypale and the fishy lake;
Shady Pachine full of woods and groves.
When the rash youth, too bold and vent'ring roves ;
Loseth his guide, and takes his flight so high,
That the soft wax against the sun doth fry,
And the cords slip that kept the feathers fast,
So that his arms have power upon no blast.
He fearfully from the high clouds looks down
Upon the lower heavens, whose curl'd waves frown
At his ambitious height, and from the skies
He sees black night and death before his eyes.
Still melts the wax, his naked arms he shakes,
And thinking to catch hold, no hold he takes.
But now the naked lad down headlong falls,
And by the way, he Father, father, calls;
Help, father, help, I die: and as he speaks
A violent surge his course of language breaks

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Th’ unhappy father (but no father now)
Cries out aloud, Son Ic'rus, where art thou?
Where art thou, Icarus, where dost thou fly?
Ic'Rus, where art? when lo, he may espy
The feathers swim; aloud he doth exclaim :
The earth his bones, the sea still bears his name..




NOW from another word doth sail with joy,
A welcome daughter to the king of Troy.
The whilst the Grecians are already come,
(Mov'd with that general wrong 'gainst Illium)
Achilles in a smock his sex doth smother,
And lays the blame upon his careful mother.
What mak'st thou, great ACHILLES, teazing wool,
When Pallas in a helm should clasp thy scull?
What do these fingers with fine threads of gold,
Which were more fit a warlike shield to hold ?
Why should that right hand rock or tow contain,
By which the Trojan Hector must be slain ?
Cast off thy loose veils, and thy armour take,
And in thy hand the spear of Pallas shake.


Thus lady-like he with a lady lay,
Till what he was her belly must bewray;
Yet was she forc'd (so should we all believe)
Not to be forc'd so, now her heart would grieve.
When he should rise from her, still would she cry,
(For he had arm'd him, and his rock laid by)
And with a soft voice speak: ACHILLES stay,
It is too soon to rise, lie down, I pray:
And then the man that forc'd her she would kiss :
What force (DEIDÆMIEA) call you this ?


FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintive story from a sist’ring vale,
My spirits attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tun'd tale,
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,

Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her words with sorrow's wind and rain :

Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortify'd her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought night think sometime it sam
The carcase of a beauty spent and done.
Time had not scithed all that youth begun,

Nor youth all quit; but spite of Heaven's fell rage,
Some beauty peep'd thro' lattice of sear'd' age.

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