LXI.

As when a pile of food-preparing fire, The breath of artificiall lungs embraves, The caldron-prison'd waters streight conspire And beat the hot brasse with rebellious waves; He murmurs, and rebukes their bold desire; Th' impatient liquor frets, and foames, and raves, Till his o're-flowing pride suppresse the flame Whence all his high spirits and hot courage came.