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Come, come, my scholar, you see the river stops our morning walk:
and
I will also here stop my discourse: only as we sit down under this
honeysuckle hedge, whilst I look a line to fit the rod that our
brother
Peter hath lent you, I shall, for a little confirmation of what
I have said,
repeat the observation of Du Bartas:
God, not contented to each kind to give
And to infuse the virtue generative,
Made, by his wisdom, many creatures breed
Of lifeless bodies. without Venus' deed.
So, the cold humour breeds the Salamander,
Who, in effect, like to her birth's commander,
With child with hundred winters, with her touch
Quencheth the fire, tho'glowing ne'er so much.
So of the fire, in burning furnace, springs
The fly Pyrausta with the flaming wings:
Without the fire, it dies: within it joys,
Living in that which each shine else destroys.
So, slow Boôtes underneath him sees
In th' icy isles those goslings hatch'd of trees;
Whose fruitful leaves, falling into the water,
Are turn'd, they say, to living fowls soon after.
So, rotten sides of broken ships do change
To barnacles. O transformation strange!
'Twas first a green tree; then, a gallant hull;
Lately a mushroom; now, a flying gull.
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