Classic Poem

Senec[a] Hippolitus — 4 Chor[us]

How many Chances meet to dress
And Spin out Humane Busnesses
In Smaller things Fortune goes Less

It is Obscureties high price
She Mistreses Secureties
Which in a homely Cottage lies

Whilst the aspiring Tops soe high
Above the Clowds seem t'kiss the Sky
Subject to Stormes and Tempests lie

The moister valey doth not know
The mischief of a Thunder blow
But is preservd by being lowe

When Caucasus that Giant Hill
Lay trembling to feel the ill
From the loud Thunderers bowlt and will

Nor could the Phrygian grove be free
Honerd with Fame of Cybele
Neernes in Jove bred Jelousy

But the low sell and Cuntry roof
None of the Greater Motians moove
Soe such are wind and weather proof

The active hower with doubtfull wings
Flies fast away and seldom bringes
To pass fond Fortunes promisings

Yet He that lookes the Starrs upon
Behoulding Day when night is gon
Puts on sad Contemplation

For nights return; and worse than Hel
Concludes it to see now the sell
And house wher once his frends did dwell

Pallas th'Athenian Goddess Thou
Canst nothing to thy uncle owe
For Theseus hath made a vowe

He that accounts Himself for thine
The Stygian Lakes for to decline
And Heavn look up to wher Gods shine

As for the Tyrant swayes beneath
He hath his number, yet what breath
Comes from above in mournfull ditty
Sure Phedra's mad seeks her owne death
Yet willfullnes deserves less pitty.