Tway birchen sprays, with anxious fears entwin’d,
With dark distrust, and sad repentance fill’d,
And stedfast hate, and sharp affliction join’d,
And fury uncontroul’d and chastisement unkind.
Few but have ken’d, in semblance meet portray’d,
The childish faces of old Eol’s train;
Libs, Notus, Auster; these in frowns array’d,
How then would fare on earth, or sky, or main,
Were the stern god to give his slaves the rein?
And were not she rebellious breasts to quell,