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 Hung on his shoulders like the moon whose orb Through optick glasse the Tuscan Artist views At evening from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers or Mountaines in her spotty globe. His speare, to equall which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast Of some great Ammirall, were but a wand, He walkt with, to support uneasy steps Over the burning Marle, not like those steps On Heavens azure; and the torrid clime Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire; Nathlesse hee so endur'd, till on the beach Of that inflamed sea, hee stood and calld His legions, Angell form's, who lay intrans't Thick as Autumnall leaves that strow the brooks In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades High overarch't imbowre: or scatterd sedge Afloat when with fierce winds Orion arm'd Hath vext the red-sea coast, whose waves orethrew Busiris and his Memphian chivalry While with perfidious hatred they persu'd The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld From the safe shore thir floating carcasses