XVII.
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o long as Ioves great bird did make his flight,Bearing the fire with which heaven doth us fray,Heaven had not feare of that presumptuous might,With which the giaunts did the gods assay:But all so soone as scortching sunne had brent*His wings which wont the earth to overspredd,The earth out of her massie wombe forth sentThat antique horror which made heaven adredd.Then was the Germane raven in disguiseThat Romane eagle seene to cleave asunder,And towards heaven freshly to ariseOut of these mountaines, now consum’d to pouder.In which the foule that serves to beare the lightningIs now no more seen flying nor alighting.[* _Brent_, burned.]
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