1.
Alecto rising from the lakes
Of nights sad Empery:
With knotty bunch of curled snakes,
Doth lash faire Britany.
Fuimus Troes Æneid. 2. The true Troianes, being a story of the Britaines valour at the Romanes first inuasion: Publikely represented by the gentlemen students of Magdalen Colledge in Oxford.
About this Item
- Title
- Fuimus Troes Æneid. 2. The true Troianes, being a story of the Britaines valour at the Romanes first inuasion: Publikely represented by the gentlemen students of Magdalen Colledge in Oxford.
- Author
- Fisher, Jasper, b. 1591.
- Publication
- London :: Printed by I[ohn] L[egatt] for Robert Allot, and are to be sold at the signe of the Beare in Pauls-Churchyard,
- 1633.
- Rights/Permissions
-
To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.
- Link to this Item
-
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A00760.0001.001
- Cite this Item
-
"Fuimus Troes Æneid. 2. The true Troianes, being a story of the Britaines valour at the Romanes first inuasion: Publikely represented by the gentlemen students of Magdalen Colledge in Oxford." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A00760.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 10, 2025.
Pages
Page [unnumbered]
2.
More ghastly monster did not spring,
From the Hybernian flood:
With which Morindus combating,
Of foe became his food.
3.
Shall no more Shepheards in the shade
sit whistling without care?
Shall neuer speare be made a spade,
And sword a plowing share?
4.
Grant heauen at last, that Musick loud
Of bloudy Mars be still:
That Britaine Virgins in a croud,
With hymnes the skie may fill.