Book III II

Quantas rerum flectat habenasNatura potens, quibus inmensumLegibus orbem prouida seruetStringatque ligans inresolutoSingula nexu, placet argutoFidibus lentis promere cantu.Quamuis Poeni pulchra leonesVincula gestent manibusque datasCaptent escas metuantque trucemSoliti uerbera ferre magistrum,Si cruor horrida tinxerit ora,Resides olim redeunt animiFremituque graui meminere sui;Laxant nodis colla solutisPrimusque lacer dente cruentoDomitor rabidas imbuit iras.Quae canit altis garrula ramisAles caueae clauditur antro;Huic licet inlita pocula melleLargasque dapes dulci studioLudens hominum cura ministret,Si tamen arto saliens textoNemorum gratas uiderit umbras,Sparsas pedibus proterit escas,Siluas tantum maesta requirit,Siluas dulci uoce susurrat.Validis quondam uiribus actaPronum flectit uirga cacumen;Hanc si curuans dextra remisit,Recto spectat uertice caelum.Cadit Hesperias Phoebus in undas,Sed secreto tramite rursusCurrum solitos uertit ad ortus.Repetunt proprios quaeque recursusRedituque suo singula gaudentNec manet ulli traditus ordoNisi quod fini iunxerit ortumStabilemque sui fecerit orbem.

How the first reins of all things guided areBy powerful Nature as the chiefest cause,And how she keeps, with a foreseeing care,The spacious world in order by her laws,And to sure knots which nothing can untie,By her strong hand all earthly motions draws--To show all this we purpose now to tryOur pliant string, our musick's thrilling sound.Although the Libyan lions often lieGentle and tame in splendid fetters bound,And fearing their incensed master's wrath,With patient looks endure each blow and wound,Yet if their jaws they once in blood do bathe,They, gaining courage, with fierce noise awakeThe force which Nature in them seated hath,And from their necks the broken chains do shake;Then he that tamed them first doth feel their rage,And torn in pieces doth their fury slake.The bird shut up in an unpleasing cage,Which on the lofty trees did lately sing,Though men, her want of freedom to assuage,Should unto her with careful labour bringThe sweetest meats which they can best devise,Yet when within her prison flutteringThe pleasing shadows of the groves she spies,Her hated food she scatters with her feet,In yearning spirit to the woods she flies,The woods' delights do tune her accents sweet.When some strong hand doth tender plant constrainWith his debased top the ground to meet,If it let go, the crooked twig againUp toward Heaven itself it straight doth raise.Phoebus doth fall into the western main,Yet doth he back return by secret ways,And to the earth doth guide his chariot's race.Each thing a certain course and laws obeys,Striving to turn back to his proper place;Nor any settled order can be found,But that which doth within itself embraceThe births and ends of all things in a round.

Literally, "and take food offered by the hand."

Literally, "their spirits, hitherto sluggish, return."