Normale Version: Of death some tell, some of the cruel pain
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Of death some tell, some of the cruel pain
Which that bad craftsman in his work did try,
When (a new monster) flames once did constrain
A human corpse to yield a brutish cry.
Some tell of those in burning beds who lie,
For that they durst in the Phlegræn plain
The mighty rulers of the sky defy,
And siege those crystal towers which all contain.
Another counts of Phlegethon's hot floods
The souls which drink, Ixion's endless smart,
And his to whom a vulture eats the heart;
One tells of spectres in enchanted woods.
Of all those pains he who the worst would prove,
Let him be absent, and but pine in love.