John Abbott Poems

Mysterious Rivers, whose each sacred lyne,
Shewes that thy Muse is absolute Divine;
And cannot with impurity be stain'd,
Or with obsceane conceptions be prophain'd.
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The hovvre did novv approach, in vvhich men dine,
VVhen see a Table set vvith bread and vvine:
Besides these tvvo nothing at all vvas pla'st,
No daintie dishes to content the tast.
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Why did God labour when he made the Court
Of Heaven so glorious? wherefore in such sort
Did he adorne it? wherefore take a mold,
Better then this terrestriall we behold,
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So many glorious titles crowne
Your Noble Stemme, as easily they put down
Great Romes Æmilians, Scipio's, Fabio's, whose
One single Tribe adventured to oppose
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In the first age, when world did new begin,
With many raines thou didst drowne man and sin:
Againe vnto the watery flouds giue scope,
Againe the cataracts of heauen let ope.
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