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.

v. Ovids Metam. 2. lib. Phaenix.

Which makes one narrow roome, ••er u••ne, her nest, her cradle and her tombe. The beauties of the first returne ••rom spicie ashes of the sacred urne, ••er own selfes heire, nurse, nurseling, dame and ••ire. Which when she rests Her aged carkasse in her spicie nest. The quick devouring fire of heaven consume••, The willing sacrifice in sweet perfumes; ••rom whose sad cyndars balm'd in funeral spices, A second Phaenix like the first arises. The bird which in the glowing ••ast With sweets doth make her tombe and nest. Who the wane Of age repaires, and sowes her self again. Nor feeds on grains or herbes, but on the gumme Of frankincense and jucie Amomum. Now when her life five ages hath fullfill'd, A nest her horned beak and talons bu••ld. Upon the crownet of a trembling palme, Bestrew'd with Casia, spikenard, pretious balme, B••u••••'d Cynnamon and My••rhe, whereon she bends Her body, and her age in odours ends; This breeding corps a litle Phoenix bears, Which is it selfe to live as many years, Grown strong, that load now able to tran••fer Her cradle, and her parents sepulcher. Devoutly carries to Hyperions towne, And on his flamy altar laies it downe. So ••a••e, That nature never yet could give a paire, One finds a cradle in the others urne, She dies to live, as the sun sets to rise. Th' Arabian wonder that in spicie fume

Renews her self in that she doth consume, O happy! thine own h••ir: what ruines all Addes strength to thee; restor'd by Funerall, Age, thou not dying, dies. The ages gone Were seen by thee, the revolution Of time thou knowest; then when the tumid main Swallowed the Mountains in his l••quid Plain, When Phaetons errour set the world on fire, None touch'd thy safety, nor didst thou expire, With stifled earth. The destinies nor draw, Nor cut thy thread, nor subject to their law. The Bird of silver Ganges.