Carthage, and hundred more in stories told
Which when they could not be o'ercome by foes
The Army, thro'ugh my help victorious rose
And Stately London, our great Britian's glory
My raging flame did make a mournful story,
But maugre all, that I, or foes could do
That Phœnix from her Bed, is risen New.
Old sacred Zion, I demolished thee
Lo great Diana's Temple was by me,
And more than bruitish London, for her lust
With neighbouring Towns, I did consume to dust
What shall I say of Lightning and of Thnder
Which Kings & mighty ones amaze with wonder,
Which make a Cæsar, (Romes) the world's proud head,
Foolish Caligula creep under 's bed.
Of Meteors, Ignus fatuus and the rest,
But to leave those to th' wise, I judge it best.
The rich I oft made poor, the strong I maime,
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.
Fully satisfied that nothing remains to be said, Fire takes her place among the sisterhood and waits scornfully for such poor plea as Earth may be able to make, surprised to find what power of braggadocio still remains and hastens to display itself.
The next in place Earth judg'd to be her due,
Sister (quoth shee) 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 Epithite,
Which none ere gave, or you could claim of sight
Among my praises this I count not least,
I am th' original of man and beast,
