BALLAD. (I've made to marches Mars descend)

I've made to marches Mars descend, Justice in jigs her scales suspend, Magicians in gavots portend, And Furies black wigs bristle.

To prestos Pallas' Aegis blaze, Snakes twist to fugues a thousand ways, And Jove whole towns with lightning raze, At sound of the prompter's whistle.

I've made a sun of polish'd tin, Dragons of wood, with ghastly grin, A canvas sea, the which within Did leather dolphins caper;

I've strung with packthread Orpheus' lyre, Made sheep and oxen dance with wire, And have destroyed, with painted fire, Grand temples of cartridge paper.

I've made a swain, his love asleep, Chide warbling birds and bleating sheep, While he himself did bawling keep, Like boatman at a ferry.

I've racks made that no blood could spill, Foul poison that could do no ill, And daggers queens and princes kill, Who are alive and merry.