Multitude.
Like when some mastiffe whelpe disposd to play, A whole confused heard of beests doth chase, Which with one vile consent runne all away, If any hardier then the rest in place.
Englands Parnassus: or the choysest flowers of our moderne poets, with their poeticall comparisons Descriptions of bewties, personages, castles, pallaces, mountaines, groues, seas, springs, riuers, &c. Whereunto are annexed other various discourses, both pleasaunt and profitable.
About this Item
- Title
- Englands Parnassus: or the choysest flowers of our moderne poets, with their poeticall comparisons Descriptions of bewties, personages, castles, pallaces, mountaines, groues, seas, springs, riuers, &c. Whereunto are annexed other various discourses, both pleasaunt and profitable.
- Author
- Albott, Robert, fl. 1600.
- Publication
- Imprinted at London :: For N. L[ing,] C. B[urby] and T. H[ayes],
- 1600.
- Rights/Permissions
-
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- Subject terms
- English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700.
- Cite this Item
-
"Englands Parnassus: or the choysest flowers of our moderne poets, with their poeticall comparisons Descriptions of bewties, personages, castles, pallaces, mountaines, groues, seas, springs, riuers, &c. Whereunto are annexed other various discourses, both pleasaunt and profitable." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A16884.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed April 30, 2024.
Pages
Page 465
But turne the head that idle feare to stay, Backe strait the daunted chacer turnes his face: And all the rest with bold example led, As fast runne on him as before they fled. So with this bold opposer rushes on This many headed monster multitude. S. Daniell.
As when the daughter of Thaumantes faire Hath in a watry cloud displaied wide Her goodly bowe which paints the liquid aire, That all men wonder at her colours pride: All suddenly ere one can looke aside, The glorious picture vanisheth away, Ne any token doth thereof abide. So did this Ladies goodly forme decay, And into nothing goe, ere one could it bewray. Ed. Spencer.