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HAd I been tongue-ti'd, nor as yet had said
An Infant word, but kept my mouth a Maid, o
This would have cut those Ropes, this to rehearse
Had Midwife prov'd to an Abortive verse,
Despightfull Embryo in secret plac't
By Her, by thee Shee's publikely disgrac't.
Such blowes o'th brest the standers-by her lend
As those that force tyr'd Iades to'th' journeyes end.
Had but a modest foule that under gone
T'would soon for shame have quitte its Mansion.
Yet shee's not dead, nor is her glasse quite runne,
Although her Thread be cutte her life's not spunne.
Shee lives and hath recal'd her wonted strength,
Nor is her life made short by her neckes Length.
I'le prophecy, Shee'l Lovers soone insnare
Without a Trope ther's Halters in her hayre.
Of the same cause here the effects doe fight,
One thing both hang'd and sav'd her, shee was Light.
DUm sucer Eurydicen Orpheus dèducit ab orco,
Flectit ad infernum lumina retrò Lacum:
Sic Correpta statim, nigras revocatur in umbras:
Rupta nec est Fidibus restituenda Fides.
Tutius effugium sua fata dedêre puellæ:
Quin & Apollineâ fit rediviva manu.
Sic valet ulteriùs Medicus quam Musicus; Ille
Imperat Infernis, Supplicat iste Diis.
Strange Metamorphosis Ovid never wott!
A maid chang'd from, yet to her selfe is brought.
He Pythagoricall migrations chants,
How humane soules inoculate with plants.
When Hers loath to divorce her antient Mate
(Scepticke in Love) resumes her former state.
And as halfe choak't in double prison walls
One of her Body, th'-other of the Gaole.
Shee takes a gentle flight in freer Air,
