A Duell

Upon a day, when the Dog-starUnto the world proclaim'd a war,And poyson bark'd from black throat,And from his jaws infection shot,Under a deadly hen-bane shadeWith slime infernal mists are made,Met the two dreaded enemies,Having their weapons in their eyes.

First from his den rolls forth that loadOf spite and hate, the speckl'd toad,And from his chaps a foam doth spawn,Such as the loathed three heads yawn;Defies his foe with a fell spit,To wade through death to meet with it;Then in his self the lymbeck turns,And his elixir'd poyson urns.Arachne, once the fear oth' maidCoelestial, thus unto her pray'd:Heaven's blew-ey'd daughter, thine own mother!The Python-killing Sun's thy brother.Oh! thou, from gods that didst descend,With a poor virgin to contend,Shall seed of earth and hell ere beA rival in thy victorie?Pallas assents: for now long timeAnd pity had clean rins'd her crime;When straight she doth with active fireHer many legged foe inspire.Have you not seen a charact lieA great cathedral in the sea,Under whose Babylonian wallsA small thin frigot almshouse stalls?So in his slime the toad doth floatAnd th' spyder by, but seems his boat.And now the naumachie begins;Close to the surface her self spins:Arachne, when her foe lets flyeA broad-side of his breath too high,That's over-shot, the wisely-stout,Advised maid doth tack about;And now her pitchy barque doth sweat,Chaf'd in her own black fury wet;Lasie and cold before, she bringsNew fires to her contracted stings,And with discolour'd spumes doth blastThe herbs that to their center hast.Now to the neighb'ring henbane topArachne hath her self wound up,And thence, from its dilated leaves,By her own cordage downwards weaves,And doth her town of foe attack,And storms the rampiers of his back;Which taken in her colours spread,March to th' citadel of's head.Now as in witty torturing Spain,The brain is vext to vex the brain,Where hereticks bare heads are arm'dIn a close helm, and in it charm'dAn overgrown and meagre rat,That peece-meal nibbles himself fat;So on the toads blew-checquer'd scullThe spider gluttons her self full.And vomiting her Stygian seeds,Her poyson on his poyson feeds.Thus the invenom'd toad, now grownBig with more poyson than his own,Doth gather all his pow'rs, and shakesHis stormer in's disgorged lakes;And wounded now, apace crawls onTo his next plantane surgeon,With whose rich balm no sooner drest,But purged is his sick swoln breast;And as a glorious combatant,That only rests awhile to pant,Then with repeated strength and scars,That smarting fire him new to wars,Deals blows that thick themselves prevent,As they would gain the time he spent.

So the disdaining angry toad,That calls but a thin useless load,His fatal feared self comes backWith unknown venome fill'd to crack.Th' amased spider, now untwin'd,Hath crept up, and her self new lin'dWith fresh salt foams and mists, that blastThe ambient air as they past.And now me thinks a Sphynx's wingI pluck, and do not write, but sting;With their black blood my pale inks blent,Gall's but a faint ingredient.The pol'tick toad doth now withdraw,Warn'd, higher in CAMPANIA.There wisely doth, intrenched deep,His body in a body keep,And leaves a wide and open passT' invite the foe up to his jaws,Which there within a foggy blindWith fourscore fire-arms were lin'd.The gen'rous active spider doubtsMore ambuscadoes than redoubts;So within shot she doth pickear,Now gall's the flank, and now the rear;As that the toad in's own dispiteMust change the manner of his fight,Who, like a glorious general,With one home-charge lets fly at all.Chaf'd with a fourfold ven'mous foamOf scorn, revenge, his foes and 's own,He seats him in his loathed chair,New-made him by each mornings air,With glowing eyes he doth surveyTh' undaunted hoast he calls his prey;Then his dark spume he gred'ly laps,And shows the foe his grave, his chaps.

Whilst the quick wary AmazonOf 'vantage takes occasion,And with her troop of leggs carreersIn a full speed with all her speers.Down (as some mountain on a mouse)On her small cot he flings his house;Without the poyson of the elf,The toad had like t' have burst himself:For sage Arachne with good heedHad stopt herself upon full speed,And, 's body now disorder'd, onShe falls to execution.The passive toad now only canContemn and suffer. Here beganThe wronged maids ingenious rage,Which his heart venome must asswage.One eye she hath spet out, strange smother,When one flame doth put out another,And one eye wittily spar'd, that heMight but behold his miserie.She on each spot a wound doth print,And each speck hath a sting within't;Till he but one new blister is,And swells his own periphrasis.Then fainting, sick, and yellow-pale,She baths him with her sulph'rous stale;Thus slacked is her Stygian fire,And she vouchsafes now to retire.Anon the toad begins to pant,Bethinks him of th' almighty plant,And lest he peece-meal should be sped,Wisely doth finish himself dead.Whilst the gay girl, as was her fate,Doth wanton and luxuriate,And crowns her conqu'ring head all orWith fatal leaves of hellebore.Not guessing at the pretious aidWas lent her by the heavenly maid.The neer expiring toad now rowlsHimself in lazy bloody scrowls,To th' sov'raign salve of all his ills,That only life and health distills.But loe! a terror above all,That ever yet did him befall!

Pallas, still mindful of her foe,(Whilst they did with each fires glow)Had to the place the spiders larDispath'd before the ev'nings star.He learned was in Natures laws,Of all her foliage knew the cause,And 'mongst the rest in his choice wantUnplanted had this plantane plant.

The all-confounded toad doth seeHis life fled with his remedie,And in a glorious despairFirst burst himself, and next the air;Then with a dismal horred yellBeats down his loathsome breath to hell.

But what inestimable blissThis to the sated virgin is,Who, as before of her fiend foe,Now full is of her goddess too!She from her fertile womb hath spunHer stateliest pavillion,Whilst all her silken flags display,And her triumphant banners play;Where Pallas she ith' midst doth praise,And counterfeits her brothers rayes,Nor will she her dear lar forget,Victorious by his benefit,Whose roof inchanted she doth freeFrom haunting gnat and goblin bee,Who, trapp'd in her prepared toyle,To their destruction keep a coyle.

Then she unlocks the toad's dire head,Within whose cell is treasuredThat pretious stone, which she doth callA noble recompence for all,And to her lar doth it present,Of his fair aid a monument.