Farewell, farewel, Night shades my Body o're, Stretching my hands, t'embrace thee, thine no more. - John Ogilby

A Prophetess inspir'd thou shalt behold
Down in a Cave, who long hath Fate foretold;
Which writ in Leaves, the Maid in order puts,
And to secure, in hollow Marble shuts.
They keep their Stations just as she design'd:
But the Door op'ning, with the smallest Wind,
The slender leaves do every way disperse.

Like a burnt stake, half stuck upon his shield;
The other half lay broken in the field.

Him here he found preparing for the field
His bow, his breast-plate, and his glittering shield:
Whilst beauteous Helen 'mongst her maids in state
Their several works and tasks disposing sate.