THE Day grows hot, and darts his rays <br />From such a sure and killing place, <br />That half this World are fain to fly <br />The danger of his burning eye. <br />His early glories were benign, <br />Warm to be felt, bright to be seen, <br />And all was comfort, but who can <br />Endure him when Meridian? <br />Of him we as of kings complain, <br />Who mildly do begin to reign, <br />But to the Zenith got of pow'r, <br />Those whom they should protect devour. <br />Has not another Phaeton <br />Mounted the chariot of the Sun, <br />And, wanting art to guide his horse, <br />Is hurri'd from the Sun's due course. <br />If this hold on, our fertile lands <br />Will soon be turn'd to parched sands, <br />And not an onion that will grow <br />Without a Nile to overflow. <br />The grazing herds now droop and pant, <br />E'en without labour fit to faint, <br />And willingly forsook their meat <br />[food] <br />To seek out cover from the heat. <br />The lagging ox is no unbound, <br />From larding <br />the new turn'd up ground, [pressing down] <br />Whilst Hobbinal alike o'er-laid <br />, [burdened] <br />Takes his coarse dinner to the shade. <br />Cellars and grottos now are best <br />To eat and drink in, or to rest, <br />And not a soul above is found <br />Can find a refuge under ground. <br />When pagan tyranny grew hot, <br />Thus persecuted Christians got <br />Into the dark but friendly womb <br />Of unknown subterranean Rome <br />. [the Roman catacombs] <br />And as that heat did cool at last, <br />So a few scorching hours o'er-pass'd, <br />In a more mild and temp'rate ray <br />We may again enjoy the Day.<br /><br />Charles Cotton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-noon-quatrains/
