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.
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Subject terms
English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700.
Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A16884.0001.001
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 June 7, 2024.

Pages

Famine.

A grisly shape of Famine might we see, With greedy lookes and gaping mouth that cride And would torment as she should there haue dide: Her body thin and bare as any bone, Whereto was left nought but the case alone: And that alas was gnawne on euery where, All full of holes, that I ne mought refraine From teares to see how she her armes could teare, And with her teeth gnash on her bones in vaine, When all for nought she faine would so sustaine Her staruen corps, that rather seem'd a shade, Then any substance of a creature made. Great was her force, whom stone walles could not stay, Her tearing nayles snatching at all she sawe: With gaping iawes, that by no meanes y may Be satisfied from hunger of her mawe, But eates her selfe, as she that hath no lawe: Gnawing alas her carkas all in vaine, While you may count each sinew, bone and vaine: On her, while we thus firmly fixt our eie,

Page 86

That bled for uth of such a drery sight, Lo suddenly she shrikte in so huge wise, As made hell gates to shiuer with the might: Where with a dart we sawe how it did light Right on his brest, and therewithall pale death Enthrilling it, to reaue her of her breath. M. Sackuile.
Meane cates are welcome still to hungry guests. B. Ioh.
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