The English Parnassus, or, A helpe to English poesie containing a collection of all rhyming monosyllables, the choicest epithets, and phrases : with some general forms upon all occasions, subjects, and theams, alphabeticaly digested : together with a short institution to English poesie, by way of a preface / by Joshua Poole.

Many.

Like casting bees in swarmes. Like dancing atomes on a ••••ramers d••y.

As candid pellets in congeaIed rain. Than Autumnes ears far more, Or leaves of trees, or sands on Neptunes shore, Unnumbered motes that in the sun do, play, When at some cranny with his peircing eye, He peepeth in some darker place to spie, Are not so many. More. Than there are sands upon the Lybian shore. More than the welkin poures Of candid drops upon the ears of corne, Before that Ceres yellow locks are shorne. Numbers that the stars outrun, And all the Atomes of the sun. Able to pose Arithmatick. As wandring Atoms in the empty skie, He that can number in November, all The wither'd leaves that in the forrest fall, He that can number all the drops in showers Which Hyads, Pleiads, moist Oryon powers, May count, &c. Past stars in number, or those sands that spread The vast seas bottom. Almost arriving to an infin••ty, bordering upon infinity▪ So multiply, That they mock the envying skie. Too large for all Arithmatick. Mount Gargarus hath not so many stems, You may first count Cenyphia's ears of corne, Or how much sweet Thyme Hybla doth adorne, How many birds cut the aire with their wings, How many fishes through the seas do swim, B••fore you number, &c. The flowers in spring time thou maiest sooner tell, Or Autumnes apples, or the snow that fell, Than, &c. More ears of ripe corne grow not in the fields, Nor half so many boughs the forrest yeilds, So many green leaves grow not in the wood, Nor swim so many fishes in the flood, So many stars in heaven you cannot see. As, &c.—Like trooping ants, In pl••nty hoarding for the time of want, More leaves the forrest yeilds not from the trees,

More beasts the Alpes breed not, nor Hybla bees. Nor are those billowes more, That proudly justle the Carpathian shore. Like cloudy threaves Of busie flies, when summers golden vailes Enrich the fields and milk bedewes the pales, As many they employ As Agamemnon once brought ships to Troy, Not Hybla's mountains in the jocund prime, Upon her many bushes of sweet thime, Showes greater number of industrious bees. Th••n, &c. The p••ety litle king, Of honey people in a sun-shine day, Leads not to field in o••derly aray, More busie buzzers. Swarme, tide of people. Which surmount T••e language of Arithmaticks account. Abound Like blades of grasse, the cloth the pregnant ground. Nor a••e in numbe•• more, The sands whereon the rolling billowes roare.