And now, man-slaughtering Pallas tooke in hand
Her Snake-fring'd shield, and on that beam took stand
In her true forme, where Swallow-like she sat.
And then, in this way of the house and that:
The wooers (wounded at the heart with feare)
Fled the encounter: As in Pastures, where
Fat Herds of Oxen feede, about the field
(As if wilde madnesse their instincts impell'd)
The high-fed Bullockes flye: whom in the Spring
(When dayes are long) Gadbees, or Breezes sting.
Ulysses and his sonne, the Flyers chas'd;

And now his well-known bow the Master bore,
Turn'd on all sides, and view'd it o'er and o'er;
Lest time or worms had done the weapon wrong,
Its owner absent, and untry'd so long.
While some deriding--How he turns the bow!
Some other like it sure the man must know,
Or else wou'd copy; or in bows he deals;
Perhaps he makes them, or perhaps he steals.--
Heav'n to this wretch (another cry'd) be kind!
And bless, in all to which he stands inclin'd,
With such good fortune as he now shall find.
Heedless he heard them; but disdain'd reply;

And now, Eurynome had bath'd the King;
Smooth'd him with Oyles; and he himselfe attir'd
In vestures royall. Her part then inspir'd
The Goddesse Pallas ; deck't his head and face
With infinite beauties: gave a goodly grace
Of stature to him: a much plumper plight
Through all his body breath'd; Curles soft, and bright
Adorn'd his head withall, and made it show,
As if the flowry Hyacinth did grow
In all his pride there: In the generall trim
Of every locke, and every curious lim.
Looke how a skilfull Artizan, well seene

See & hear the fraud, the malice of the change of fortune,
Every eye is blind, every ear is deaf.
Many whom the sun & the moon had served for a bolster
Lay down their head at last in ashes & dust.
Will thy thumb-ring span the bow of Fate?
Will a shield ward off the strokes of Destiny?
Though thou screen thyself with iron walls, & brazen gates,
Ever the hand of your Fate crashes in.
Never mind the trembling light in the lamp of life,
Night follows on light, sugar only conceals poison.

I shall go from my sickbed to heaven
If, on my last march, thou holdest a torch for me
The wind-borne dust is heavy from thy attraction
Think on me, I am an older servant.
Not every poet sings inspired songs
My sly falcon grasps firmly the partridge of song.
Believest me not? Go ask the pictures of Sina
Whether Mani did not wish a stroke from my ink?
The nightingale says, Up cupbearer, good morning,
Still rings in my head the lute-tone of yesterday,
Ask not Hafiz, ask me, of revelry & love,

Who ever suffered as I from separation?
Ah I will punish separation by separation.
Hafiz

A stately bride is the shining world,
Yet none can woo that maid to wife.
Hafiz

Drink wine, and the heaven
New lustre diffuses,
And doubt not that sinning
Has also its uses.

The builder of Heaven
Has sundered the earth,
So that no footway
Leads out of it forth:

On turnpikes of wonder
Wine leads the mind forth,
Straight, sidewise & upward
Southward and north.

Stands the vault adamantine
Until the last day;
The wine-cup shall ferry
Thee o'er it away.
Hafiz

Lo! where from Heaven's high roof
Misfortune staggers down;
We, just from harm to stand aloof,
Will to the wineshop run.
Hafiz

The treacherous wind pipes a lewd song,
Makes saints perverse, & angels bad;
Shall we sit & see such wrong,
And not cry out like mad!
Fie! what flute pants in the North?
What viol in the west?
Steals Virtue not from men of worth?
Corrupts he not the best?
Shall this pass in silence by?
Shall we not make hue & cry?
Hafiz