Through helpe of whom (the crooked banks much wondering at the thing)
I have compelled streams to run clean backward to their spring.
By charmes I make the calm seas rough, and make the rough Seas plaine.
And cover all the Skie with Clouds and chase them thence again.
By charmes I raise and lay the windes, and burst the Viper’s jaw.
And from the bowels of the Earth both stones and trees doe draw.
Whole woods and Forestes I remove: I make the Mountains shake,
And even the Earth it selfe to grone and fearfully to quake.
I call up dead men from their graves: and thee O lightsome Moone
I darken oft, though beaten brasse abate thy perill soone.