Mercury

GReat Atlas Nephew, shall the works of Peace,
(The Springs of plenty) Tillage, Trades encrease,
And Arts in times gulfes lost againe restore,
To their Perfection; nay, find many more,
More perfect Artists, Cyclops in their forge
Shall mould those brazen Typhons, which disgorge
From their hard Bowels metall, flame and smoake,
Mufling the aire up in a sable cloake.
Geryons, Harpyes, Dragons, Sphinges strange
Wheele, where in spacious gires the Fume doth range,
The Sea shrinkes at the blow, shake doth the ground,
The Worlds vast Chambers doth the sound rebound;
The Stygian Porter leaveth off to barke,
Black Jove appall'd doth shroud him in the darke;
Many a Typhis in adventures tost
By new-found skill shall many a maiden coast,
With thy sayle-winged Argoses find out,
Which like the Sun shall run the Earth about;
And far beyond his paths score wavy waies,
To Cathaies Lands by Hyperborean Seas;
He shall endue thee both in peace and war,
With wisdome, which than Strength is better far,
Wealth, Honour, Armes, and Arts shall grace thy States;
Thus Heavens ordaine, so do decree the Fates.