Horn’d Hammon’s Waters at high noon
Are cold; hot at Sun-rise and setting Sun.
Wood, put in bub’ling Athemas is Fir’d,
The Moon then farthest from the Sun retir’d;
Ciconian streams congeal his guts to Stone
That thereof drinks, and what therein is thrown
Crathis and Sybaris (from the Mountains rol’d)
Color the hair like Amber or pure Gold.
Some fountains, of a more prodigious kinde,
Not only change the body but the mind.
Who hath not heard of obscene Salmacis?
Of th’ Æthiopian lake? for, who of this
But only taste, their wits no longer keep,
Or forthwith fall into a deadly sleep.
Who at Clitorius fountain thirst remove
Loath Wine and, abstinent, meer Water love.
With streams oppos’d to these Lincestus flowes—
They reel, as drunk, who drink too much of those.
A Lake in fair Arcadia stands, of old
Call’d Pheneus, suspected as twofold—
Fear and forbear to drink thereof by night—
By night unwholesome, wholesome by day-light.
Ovid

Cold Boreas from the top of ’lympus blows,
And from the bottom cloudy Notus flows.
From setting Phœbus fruitful Zeph’rus flies,
And barren Eurus from the Sun's up-rise.
Potanus

Out flies South-wind with dropping wings, who shrowds
His fearful aspect in the pitchie clouds,
His white Haire streams, his Beard big-swol’n with showers;
Mists binde his Brows, rain from his Bosome powres.

Force me befits: with this thick clouds I drive;
Toss the blew Billows, knotty Okes up-rive;
Congeal soft snow, and beat the Earth with hallo:
When I my brethren in the Aire assaile,
(For that's our Field) we meet with such a shock,
That thundering Skies with our encounters rock
And cloud-struck lightning flashes from on high,
When through the Crannies of the Earth I flie
And force her in her hollow Caves; I make
The Ghosts to tremble, and the ground to quake.

To Persis and Sabea, Eurus flies;
Whose gums perfume the blushing Morne’s up-rise:
Next to the Evening, and the Coast that glows
With setting Phœbus, flow’ry Zeph’rus blows;
In Scythia horrid Boreas holds his rain,
Beneath Boites, and the frozen Wain;
The land to this oppos'd doth Auster steep
With fruitful showres and clouds which ever weep.
Ovid

East, West, and North, and South, on either side,
These Quarters lie oppos’d, the World divide:
As many Winds from these four Quarters file,
And fight and rattle, thro’ the empty Sky;
Rough Boreas from the North, bears Frost and Snows,
And from the East, the gentle Eurus blows,
Wet Auster from the torrid South is thrown,
And pleasing Zephyrus cools the setting Sun.
Marcus Manilinus, "Astromica"