Ne feed on ought, the which doth bloud containe,
Ne drinke of wine, for wine they say is blood,
Euen the bloud of Gyants, which were slaine,
By thundring Ioue in the Phlegrean plaine.
For which the earth (as they the story tell)
Wroth with the Gods, which to perpetuall paine
Had damn’d her sonnes, which gainst them did rebell,
With inward griefe and malice did against them swell.
And of their vitall bloud, the which was shed xi
Into her pregnant bosome, forth she brought