Why com'st thou like a girl with blubber'd eyes, Who running by her busie mother cries To be ta'en up, and by her garments holds, Till she the fondli… - John Ogilby

Each thing by Destiny
So hastens to grow worse, and backward goes;
As one against a stream his Vessel rowes,
Who if by chance his arm a little slack,
The Boat in the swift Chanel hurries back.

Arms, and the Man I sing, who first did land,
Fate-forc'd from Troy, on the Lavinian Strand;
Whom angry Gods at Sea and Land engage,
And cruel Juno's persecuting Rage.
Much suffer'd he by War, whilst Walls he rear'd,
And Trojan Gods to Latian Realms transferr'd;
Whence Latins, and the Alban Princes come,
And lofty Tow'rs of all-commanding Rome.

I'le delight in Vales, near pleasant Floods,
And unrenown'd, haunt Rivers, Hills and Woods.