The Furnace called in to sing by Potters
If ye deal freely, O my fiery friends,
As ye assure, I’ll sing, and serve your ends.
Pallas, vouchsafe thou here invok’d access, I
Impose thy hand upon this Forge, and bless
All cups these artists earn so, that they may
Look black still with their depth, and every way
Give all their vessels a most sacred sale.
Make all well-burn’d; and estimation call
Up to their prices. Let them market well,
And in all highways in abundance sell,
Till riches to their utmost wish arise,
And, as thou mak’st them rich, so make me wise.
But if ye now turn all to impudence,
And think to pay with lies my patience,
Then will I summon ’gainst your Furnace all
Hell’s harmfull’st spirits; Maragus I’ll call,
Sabactes, Asbett, and Omadamus,
Who ills against your art innumerous
Excogitates, supplies, and multiplies.
Come, Pallas, then, and all command to rise,
Infesting forge and house with fire, till all
Tumble together, and to ashes fall,
These potters selves dissolv’d in tears as small.
And as a horse-cheek chides his foaming bit,
So let this Forge murmur in fire and flit,
And all this stuff to ashy ruins run.
And thou, O Circe, daughter of the Sun,
Great-many-poison-mixer, come, and pour
Thy cruell’st poisons on this Potters’ floor,
Shivering their vessels; and themselves affect
With all the mischiefs possible to direct
’Gainst all their beings, urg’d by all thy fiends.
Let Chiron likewise come; and all those friends
(The Centaurs) that Alcides’ fingers fled,
And all the rest too that his hand strook dead,
(Their ghosts excited) come, and macerate
These earthen men; and yet with further fate
Affect their Furnace; all their tear-burst eyes
Seeing and mourning for their miseries,
While I look on, and laugh their blasted art
And them to ruin. Lastly, if apart
Any lies lurking, and sees yet, his face
Into a coal let th’ angry fire embrace,
That all may learn by them, in all their lust,
To dare deeds great, to see them great and just.