What basilisk was hatched in this place, Where every thing consumed is to nought?
What fearful Fury haunts these cursed groves, Where not a root is left for Humber's meat?
Hath fell Alecto, with invenomed blasts, Breathed forth poison in these tender plains?
Hath triple Cerberus, with contagious foam, Sowed Aconitum mongst these withered herbs?
Hath dreadful Fames with her charming rods Brought barrenness on every fruitful tree?
What, not a root, no fruit, no beast, no bird, To nourish Humber in this wilderness?
What would you more, you fiends of Erebus?
My very entrails burn for want of drink, My bowels cry, Humber, give us some meat.
But wretched Humber can give you no meat;
These foul accursed groves afford no meat, This fruitless soil, this ground, brings forth no meat.
The gods, hard hearted gods, yield me no meat.
Then how can Humber give you any meat?
[Enter Strumbo with a pitchfork, and a scotch-cap, saying:]
STRUMBO.
