Æsopicks: or, A second collection of fables, paraphras'd in verse, adorn'd with sculpture, and illustrated with annotations. / By John Ogilby, esq; his Majesty's cosmographer, geographick printer, and master of revels in the kingdom of Ireland.

SECT. IX.

I That lov'd War, for Wars sake; that abhorr'd All Purchase if not gotten by the Sword; Swallow'd his specious Baits, mad after Power, Whate'r he set before me did devour; With subtle Novelties he drew me on, Till sure intangled in his great Trepan; My Wife and Crown he for himself design'd, Whilst me he did with Mists and Shadows blind; Soon he by Sorcery won her to his Lust, And me out of my self and Kingdom thrust;

A Soporiferous Drink he first did make, Which under certain Aspects I must take, My Soul in Sleep then cas'd from heavy Limbs, With Angels should converse, and Cherubims; Inspection through Earth's dismal Entrails make, But with black Juncto's in the Stygian Lake; Quick, as from Star to Star we cast our Eyes, Climb vast Expansions of th' Enammell'd Skies; 'Mongst Gulphs and fluctuating Atoms hurl'd, Mount Sphere from Sphere, & so from World to World!

With what mad Follies had he stuff'd my Head, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 me he fitted for the fatal Bed! Thicker than Motes, he told me, in the Sun, Our Demons and our Cacademons run

In busie Hayes, on Humane Business fly, Courts vexing, and Star-Chambers of the Sky; There I should see Fate spinning Mortals Webs, Their highest Fortunes, and their lowest Ebbs; But mine with Aspects bright I should behold, In Milkie Looms, in Silver wove, and Gold.

Th' appointed time fit for Projection come, We enter in the Spell-prepared Room; There I must Drink, there must the Work be done To raise an Empire, and beget a Son. Faint Heart ne're Realm did, nor Fair Lady win. So up he sew'd me in a Lion's Skin; My fitted Legs and Arms up close he lac'd, The Shape stuck to my Shoulders and my Waste:

Said he, Alcides had been thrice as strong, Had he thus button'd what he loosly hung; Girt in such Spoils, Twelve Labors had been slight, The World had bow'd to him by Conquest right.

Then gave he me the Fate-foretelling Bowl, That must such Wings add to my fleeting Soul: I saw the Bottom, though the Drench was deep, Which soon my Eye-lids clos'd in fett'ring Sleep; Then laid me on a Quilt of Sheep-skins warm, To strengthen Fancy, and impower the Charm: Secur'd thus, as his Plot before he laid, He to my Queen with Joy himself convey'd.