POEMS BY Robert Gomersall.  
LONDON. Printed by M. F. for john Marriot. M DCXXXIII.   

The Bookseller, to the READER.  
TO praise the work, were to set myself to sale, since the greater its worth is, the more is my benefit, & not the Authors: He good man may have an Eyrie, but I a real profit. An Eyrie one, I term it, for I judge others by myself, who cannot feed by praises. But thus much I must needs say of it, that if ever it were worthy the reading, now the worth of it is multiplied, the whole being perused by the Author, and some, not deformed pieces added, which as they mend the bulk, so they take nothing from the Dignity of the Poem. But for this I put myself upon my Country. Thus far the Author thought it not unfit, to please thee and his youth: from hence forward, you must expect nothing from him, but what shall relish of a bearded and austere Devotion. And this, I trust will be no small incitement to thy approbation of the work since it is the last: All men we know, delight in Benjamin. One thing I must not forget to acquaint thee with; Some men, (that would be wise without book,) have excepted against a passage in Sforza, concerning Galeazzo's revealing his wife's counsels to his enemy, as a thing beyond Probability, or Poetry: but it shows that they are short of History, for let them read almost the first leaf of Guicciardin, or the eighth book of Comminés, they shall there find what they carp at here, and that this fond openness, was Galeazzo's, and not the Author's weakness: I would say somewhat of the Levite too, but it needs not, seeing the Authors blasphemy is turned into the Calumny of the ignorant Detractor. But I begin to talk rather like a Maker, than a seller of Books: I have nothing now more to add, but this, love the Author, and me for bringing you acquainted.  
Thine john Marriot.   

An Elegy upon the death of Mris. ANNE KING.  
I Dare not say that Death in heaven hath pour,  
Or that we have a second fatal hour:  
'Tis impious to believe that souls do range,  
Or that they can affect that foolish change  
Of happiness, for Earth, (as if they thought  
Gadding to be felicity, or sought,  
A moderation of their joys) that heaven,  
The rooms being empty which she first had given,  
Strives to make good afresh, that this should be  
The cause, dear Ghost, why we are robbed, of thee.  
Yet pardon Heaven, if I am bold to dare  
A question: you do know how few they are  
That suck your Air and goodness, how the earth  
Looks like the error of a monstrous birth,  
With scarce one perfect member, and will you  
Rob us of our one piece, and make the few  
No number? Pardon then if for this wrong  
We leave your precepts, to live ill, and long.  
Be we once good, we shall not be at all;  
Virtue does only hast a funeral.  
If that a mortal may but give advice,  
Teach not the world sin by your Avarice;  
Spare us a while that little which we have,  
Let 〈◊〉 find somewhat besides a Grave;  
You first command us to be good, and then  
You take away the goodness with the men,  
Will not the bad say, justice here is scant,  
To take our store, and punish us for want?  
But you are just, and wise, nor will acquaint  
Man with your reasons: Why an Embryon Saint  
Suddenly drops into the Earth, which he,  
Had he lived long, would but have lived to see,  
And not affect, does pose all earth, and so  
Now we may weep, because we cannot know:  
Now I but weep, that we have lost the wife  
That Overbury would have feigned, my strife  
About your justice I disclaim; for I  
Know it is just that what was borne must dye.  
Yet without touch at your prerogative,  
I may sum up my loss, and dare to grieve  
With a full sorrow, I may say there died  
One that was heavens, as well as Henry's bride;  
One that was matched unto the Church, that she  
Might learn a Marriage with the Deity.  
Sure there were Velvet-cloakes that wooed, & those  
That could wear Scarlet for a need, and close  
Which Ladies out of play books, that could earn  
A Mistress with a congee, and could learn  
How many sighs must carry her, which she  
By her wise choice, left them to multiply.  
And would they only grieved, would I could raise  
Their tears a fresh, by adding to her days  
More years with Henry, that their envy might  
Cause them to burst, and dye for her in spite,  
Such funerals were fit: but since that Heaven  
Has harshly snatched what it had kindly given;  
And thou must be the Sacrifice, and he  
Must have thy sorrow that erewhile had thee,  
I'll spare my tears which must of force cause his:  
'Tis rudeness when we cannot restore bliss  
To add more to unhappiness (than thou  
Sometime the happy choice of her, and now  
The sad survivor) pardon if my strife  
To grieve enough, give thee a grief, not wife.  
If that my sighs could her to life reprieve,  
I would create aswell as now I grieve,   

In obitum Serenissimi Regis Jacobi.  
SVperbe tene as consciam vermis gulam;  
Agnosce tandem regias satur dapes,  
Quae cultui sacrantur, & non esui:  
jacobus hic est, abstine, jacobus est,  
Qui cum relictas senserit partus moras  
Vagivit infans Caesar, ut faceret fidem,  
Quod non Mariae natus, at Monarchiae,  
Foret estimandus, crederes genitum Deum  
Simulàc Monarcham, quisque certe liberum  
Putare mortis potuit humanae jugo  
Aeque acremota vulgo erat nativitas.  
At hic fidelis vermibus, praestat dapes  
Non vendicatas, obstupent tali cibo  
Fati helluones, parciusque urgent famem:  
Ipso cibantur tutiùs miraculo,  
Eheu verendum sentio maestus caput  
I am jam minatum: siste, quisquis impium  
Audere morsum fortis, agnoscas caput  
Quo velsepulchri doctiùs moles tumet  
Minusque hebescit terra. jacobum tegens  
Sapit ille pulvis, qui suo gaudens hero  
Tumulum negat sibi & asserit palatium,  
Semesa facies regis, & lacerae genae  
(Discriminandae jam fere vix vermibus  
Antiquiori à pabulo) quod non suo  
Horrori adaptant corpus? ut tandem miser  
Sit quod queratur: qui do let leviùs, stupe●  
Mala non fatetur ni suis addat malis  
Et causa fiat luctus, & lugens simul.  
Aliud.  
Vnde nova haec macies? quae quadragesima vera est  
Cum carnibus Regem negans?  
Num superi efficerent magis ut jeiunia constent?  
Luctumque paenitentiam?   

To the Deane, from Flower in Northamptonshire 1625. now the worthy Bishop of Norwich.  
STill to be silent, or to write in Prose  
Were a like sloth, such as I leave to those,  
Who either want the grace of wit, or have  
Untoward arguments: like him that gave  
Life to the flea, or who without a guest  
Would prove that famine was the only feast:  
Self tyrants, who their brains doubly torment  
Both for their matter, and their ornament.  
If these do stutter sometimes, and confess  
That they are tired, we could expect no less.  
But when my matter is prepared and fit,  
When nothing's wanting but an equal wit,  
I need no Muses help to aid me on,  
Since that my subject is my Helicon,  
And such are you: o give me leave, dear Sir  
(He that is thankful, is no flatterer)  
To speak full truth: where ever I find worth  
I show I have it, if I set it forth:  
You read yourself in these, here you may see  
A ruder draught of Corbets infancy,  
For I profess if ever I had thought  
Needed not blush if published, were there aught  
Which was called mine, durst bear a Critics view,  
I was the instrument, but the Author you.  
I need not tell you of our health, which here  
Must be presumed, nor yet shall our good cheer  
Swell up my paper, as it hath done me,  
Or as the May'rs feast does Stows History,  
Without an early bell to make us rise,  
Health calls us up, and Novelty; our eyes  
Have diverse objects still on the same ground,  
As if the earth had each night walked her round  
To bring her best things hither: 'tis a place  
Not more the Pride of Shires than the Disgrace.  
Which I'd not leave had I my Dean to boot,  
For the large offers of the cloven-foot  
Unto our Saviour, but you being not here,  
'tis to me though a rare one but a Shire,  
A place of good earth, if compared with worse,  
Which hath a lesser part in Adam's curse.  
Or for to draw a simile from the Hig'st  
'tis like unto Salvation without Christ,  
A fairly situate Prison: When again,  
Shall I enjoy that friendship, and that brain:  
When shall I once more hear in a few words  
What all the learning of pastimes affords,  
Austin epitomised, and him that can  
To make him clear contract Tertullian,  
But I detain you from them: Sir adjeu  
You read their works, but let me study you.   

To Mr. Holiday Archdeacon of Oxon: from Flower 1625.  
NOw that you dare receive a messenger,  
Now that the tyr'd-out plague begins to wear  
Itself away, not people: when the street  
Begins a new acquaintance with the feet  
Of loud coach-horses and the bells high call  
Is for Devotion more than Burial,  
Now you dare read, accept what I here send  
A poor remembrance of an healthy friend.  
Trust me (dear Sir) I linger, and the day  
Though by the method of the year he may  
Truly be said to shorten, and to slight  
Former conceits, make Britain's know a night  
Long, unto tediousness, yet to me  
Seems like Alcides' night lengthened to three,  
Whilst I want you: Yet do not misconceive  
The earnest of your friend, as if to leave  
My former company I were so fain;  
I would have them, and you: if I complain  
Hotly of times delay, expound that fire  
Not to have flames of anger, but desire.  
To see the poverty of man! he still  
Receives but kirtled happiness, his skill  
Makes him not capable of a full store,  
But if he have some, he must want the more.  
How could I prise myself less than a mark  
For an high envy, when (as in the ark  
Only poor eight were rescued from the waves,  
And that which drowns the world, their vessel saves,  
The depth of the devourer) not uneven  
In Fortune, though in Number, not past seven,  
Our preservation lasts unto this hour  
From the fierce plague in the dry ark of Flower?  
When that I had the daily happiness  
Of conversation with my Deane, when less  
Than Heaven I could not think on, when I saw  
A face, that might heaven to affection draw,  
When I enjoyed beauty, and wit, to try  
Which could be more delighted ear, or eye;  
Yet I was not delighted, not that aught  
Was wanting, which Ide covet to be bought;  
Nor what was bought was envied me; 'tis true,  
Yet I had a near want, the want of you.  
But had I wanted them had I lived still  
With my dear Holiday; had there to my will  
Been an agreeing luck, I can conceive  
Haply I might have wished those, whom I leave.  
Nor is this accusation: fancy not  
That I am changeable: if in the hot  
Rage of the dog, I go but thinly clad,  
And in the winters other rage am glad  
To bear a fire too in my clothes, there's none  
Will call this Lightness, but Discretion.  
Nor is it Fond, which I profess my suit,  
To wish the good of which I'm destitute,  
He cannot be accused like to the weather,  
Who'd have by parts, what he must want together.  
You are that part now: whom if I enjoy,  
No thwarting chance shall possibly destroy  
My bliss: the other want strikes not my soul,  
I'll swear this half does comprehend the whole.   

Upon the death of his worthy friend Mr. john Deane of New-Colledge.  
NAture, will it ever be  
That we must complain of thee?  
Shall then all our search ne'er find  
Age at least to worth assigned?  
Must this constant truth be known  
Virtue dead as soon as Grown?  
Happy Deane then, who may'st call  
Thirty, Climacterical,  
And in spite of Envies sport  
Prove thy good life by thy short,  
Thus when others that do dye  
Old or in their Infancy,  
Must (if our Divines say true)  
Be transformed and shaped a new,  
That at length they may appear  
Much about our Saviour's year  
(For in Heaven there never shall  
Enter either Old or Small  
Since that these can ne'er agree  
Weakness and Eternity,)  
Thou, dear shadow, needst not have  
Any wonder in the grave,  
Done for thee, nor think upon  
Future augmentation  
Reader, he that herein lies  
Died as old as he shall rise.   

To his Detractors.  
Dean, (than which no other name  
Is of better, of more Fame)  
Sleep in quiet: if there be  
Tongues of that Malignity,  
That will dare to wound thy grave  
And not suffer thee to have  
Slumber here, I'll say no more;  
May they when they have played o'er  
All their scenes of life, but know  
The same Rigour, that they show  
That 'tis not generous, nor scarcely safe  
To make a Libel, for an Epitaph.   

A Song for the Music lecture.  
STrike again; o no, no more  
I implore,  
Such another touch would be  
My destiny.  
What bewitching sounds are these  
Which so please;  
As that we begin to fear  
What we hear:  
Sound yet louder, raise a Tone  
Which to own,  
The celestial Choir would be  
Suitorst ' ye,  
Sound yet louder, that if Fate  
Make this date  
To my years, I yet may dye  
Speedily,  
And that this Ditty sweetly strong  
May be my Death and Funeral song.   

An Elegy upon the Noble Merchant Mr. FISHBORNE.  
Do they walk London still, and can we meet  
With any now but mourners in the street?  
Such a stupidity exceeds belief,  
To have so great a cause, so small a grief:  
The kinder Marble weeps against a shower,  
And can these more than Marble-hearts not pour  
One tear for Fishborne? shall that Worthy lie,  
Like vulgar trophies of mortality,  
Vnwept, and unremembered? or at best  
Have common showers, such as become the rest,  
Vassals of death? who never thinking why  
They were placed her, do only live, and die,  
Who by no worthy act aiding their Name,  
Perish at once in person and in Fame.  
Where are our Cataracts? where is the eye  
That strives for sorrowful praecedency?  
That Poet now shall be accounted chief  
Whose wit is not the highest, but whose grief:  
And he is most officious to this hearse,  
Who flows more in his eye, then in his verse.  
Fishborne is dead, alas that Fishborne can  
Only in goodness be above a man  
And not in lasting! that such men should have  
For all their worth, but a more noted grave,  
A sigh in earnest! Piety we see  
Will not afford us an Eternity,  
And hence we may collect the reason why  
So few are studious of Piety,  
So few are like to him: whom shall we see  
His holy rival in Virginity?  
Whom shall we find, that in an active life  
Like his, enjoyed the means, without the wife?  
Nay I may ask how few there are that shun  
Like him, the sin in the occasion?  
How few there are that loser thoughts defy!  
And only in good deeds do multiply.  
Him no deformity, no want of Fire,  
Of lively blood did tame in the desire  
Forced to cold goodness, but his mind, as free  
From the tyrannical necessity,  
As from the vice; he therefore lived not well  
Because he did not know the way to Hell,  
chaste out of weakness, no, he might have been  
A strong delinquent, powerful in sin,  
He might have made, had he but heard his sense,  
His lust as famous as his continence,  
As was his friendship: which none can express  
So full, but that the praise will be the less.  
How like unto a fable we esteem,  
What heretofore did most Heroic seem,  
The Grecian friendship's, when that we do crown  
Our happy thoughts with Fishborne and his Browne?  
His beloved Browne, with whom he joined in all  
Which Avarice would its particular call,  
Cares, pleasures, hopes, and fears, nay they go on  
Heavenly in a combined devotion,  
That they appear, when ever we would scan  
Which were the kinder or the better man,  
Equal in all, their charity the same,  
Their continency too, all but the Name,  
So ready unto good, to bad so loath,  
They one another, love, but Heaven loves both.  
O what an heat! what constancy was there!  
How did their love teach them how to persevere  
In holy duties! as if they had meant  
By such an exquisite astonishment  
To show there was no difference in effect  
Between the Friendly man and the Elect;  
How were they ne'er asunder but to meet!  
How all their parting was to make more sweet  
Their next embraces! nothing had the power,  
Dear Shade, to make thee fear thy latest how'r  
But a divorce from him, from his loved sight,  
That thou shouldst thy Browne too with the light.  
Add yet it was a kind of friendship too  
That thou so rare a courtesy wouldst do,  
To lead the way to death, in which alone  
Thou couldst not wish him thy companion.  
But is he dead? and does that harsher bell  
Toll with such horror noble Fishbornes' knell,  
Sure here's no funeral, or if there be,  
It is a Funeral of Poverty.  
Where are the preparations, the rich dress  
Of Death, the gaudy tire of Rottenness?  
Where are the Hearlds? those great gods of earth,  
Who can bestow on man a second birth?  
And make him stand upon his honour now,  
Who yesterday did lean upon the Blow?  
Those grand Logicians, who exactly just  
Can show the punctual difference of each dust,  
And satisfy the most ambitious Dame  
Discreetly, from what noble worm she came?  
No, none of these does he vouchsafe to hire,  
Who only make a well-clad Gull admire  
At his full vanity, which fill our mind  
With pride, I fear, far higher than our kind,  
Then our progenitors ere knew: but he  
Chooseth the Heralds of that Majesty,  
Who sways the world, those men who heavenly wise  
Instruct us to below in our own eyes;  
Who show us that the way to the most High  
Is by dejection and humility,  
Which blazon to us our Original,  
The lowly earth, and then our base fall  
Beneath that lowness, unto these he pays  
A tribute after he hath spent his days:  
When natures due was paid, his wealth is theirs,  
Whose life did call them fathers, whose death, heirs,  
By his wise zeal the Churches the Priests are,  
And they have now the means, who had the care▪  
Nor do they longer find, to breed despairs,  
The tithe another's, when the Pulpit's theirs.  
I have no Art of wonder, nor no skill  
To make an action greater by my quill,  
Yet thus much truly can say without the aid  
Of figure, 'twas an act fit for a maid,  
For him, who leads us in the way he trod,  
Bringing himself, than others unto God;  
That if the world have such another birth,  
Our Saviour coming, may find faith on earth▪  
It would be injury after this to call  
Him the true Surgeon of the Hospital,  
Which he hath so relieved, that there are found  
Some, who are sorry that they want a wound,  
That they have no defect in any limb,  
Which they should venture to be cured by him.  
Thus when the greater sort after much care,  
Much watchfulness, much cozenage too, who dare,  
So they may raise their states, ransack the Seas  
And after all their toil cannot appease,  
Their endless thirst of gain, although they mine  
So deep in earth, Hell hath some hope to shine,  
And all this only but to change a sin,  
That what in covetousness did begin  
Might end in riot, that to mock their pains  
Their spending might be worse than were their gains:  
Thou gatherest with much conscience, and then  
With greater goodness dost disperse again,  
That this praise to thy memory may be given  
Here lies the merchant which hath purchased heaven.   

Upon a virtuous Magistrate.  
Sleep loved soul, and let those eyes  
Which to rest were enemies  
Be atoned at last, and lie  
Quiet to Eternity,  
Lie they quiet, but let ours  
Earnestly distil salt showers,  
And though they do see the less  
Make a mourning business:  
'Twere an act too near to hate  
Him in rest to imitate?  
Howl ye Poor, now he is gone  
Who shall stop oppression?  
Who shall make the wary Law  
Speak uprightly, and not draw  
Specious colours, to endear  
What were foul if it were clear?  
Now there's none your cause endures,  
Not because 'tis naught, but yours,  
Who will make the rich to see  
That unto an injury  
They are poor themselves? and find  
All their sins within their mind.  
For his wisdom did provide  
That they should hurt none beside.  
But now all the world may do  
What they are addicted to:  
Lie, dissemble, cog, and cheat,  
Make the easy poor their meat,  
And when they have raged thus  
Still be counted virtuous,  
Have the name, which he deserved  
And be praised though they have swerved.  
This in public. But his life  
Did maintain a glorious strife  
Which should be commended most,  
Whether we might trulier boast  
Close, or open acts: If we  
Look on that, which we can see  
That is thought the best, but then  
What we hear excels again;  
So that which to trust we fear,  
If our eye, or else our ear,  
And there is no mean debate  
'twixt the Man, and Magistrate.  
But I interrupt the rest,  
Thou, who now amongst the blessed  
Look'st on thy Creator's face,  
Countest our praise a kind disgrace;  
And dost fear those acts were bad,  
Which no better praisers had.  
Sleep then still, and let those eyes,  
Which to rest were enemies,  
Be atoned at last, and lie  
Sealed up to Eternity.   

THE EXPLANATION of the Frontispiece.  
IT was when Industry did sleep  
The Wolf was Tutor to the Sheep,  
And to amaze a plainer man,  
The thief was made the guardian.  
But can a Wolf forget to prey?  
Can Night be lightened into Day?  
Without respect of laws or blood,  
His charge he makes to be his food.  
With that triumphant he sits down,  
Oppressed, not honoured with a Crown,  
And on the lesser beasts does try  
A most Authentic Tyranny:  
This the French Lion hears, and when  
He's thought fast sleeping in his den,  
Vengeance and He at once do wake,  
And on the Wolf their fury flake.  
Bad acts may bloom sometimes, but ne'er grow high,  
Nor do they live so sure, as they shall dye.   


SFORZA by Rob: Gomersall.  
London Printed for john Marriott. Tho: Cecil. sculp.    

THE TRAGEDY OF LODOVICK SFORZA DUKE OF MILAN.  
By Robert Gomersall.  
The second Edition.  
Printed at LONDON in the year M DCXXXIII.   

TO HIS MOST WORTHY FRIEND Mr. FRANCIS HIDE PROCTOR OF OXFORD.  
HAving resolved what to print, I could not belong doubtful unto whom: it had been an unfriendly absurdity not to have entitled him to my second, who might not unjustly have challenged the patronage of my first Labour. But if until this time I had had no reason for such a dedication, if the same most fruitful College had not for these many years known us of the same time and friendship, if in all offices of life I had not still found you most inseparably one with me: yet this Work at this time could not offer itself to any so justly as to you. It is to your name that I owe what ever fruits of my spent time shall be preserved, it is to your name that I owe what ever fruits of my former time, being unhappily lost, may have a possibility of recovery. And could I dedicate any of my remaining Labours with more justice unto any, then to him, by whose friendly care, I dare almost assure myself of them which are remaining? But some perhaps may say for this, that it had been better if it had been lost, or at least that these kind of Labours are more judiciously suppressed then published. Sermons had been fitter for my setting forth, and to preach more proper then to write. But is not this to preach? I have heard diverse speak an hour, who preach not, and there are many, who effectually preach, that are more sparing of their breath. If I make the ambitious see that he climbs but to a fall, the usurper to acknowledge, that blood is but a slippery foundation of power, all men in general to confess that the most glorious is not the most safe place: is not this to cry down Ambition and Usurpation? or is it less to show, then to threaten? and are not men so much moved with the event itself, as with the commination of the event? And yet in this age, wherein only Heresy or Sedition prefer a book, wherein Contradiction is called Learning, and Zeal wonders that she is become Faction, I can expect but a few Readers, whose small number shall be no discouragement at all to me, if that your judgement shall counterpoise them, which is the only desired crown of  
Your true friend, R. G.   

The Argument.  
Lodovic Sforza, after he had cunningly supplanted the Duchess from the wardship of her son Galeazzo, as cunningly practiseth to be the murderer of him, of whom he would seem to be the Protector. To this end he was to remove this impediment. Isabel daughter to the Prince of Calabria, and Grandchild unto Ferdinand King of Naples, was wife to Galeazzo. A woman of a spirit as high as her birth, & equal to Sforza in all things but the sex: she perceiving the stupidity of her husband, & how that whatsoever she projected for his safety, he discovered to his uncle, for his overthrow, makes her father secretly acquainted with all the passages, desiring him to vindicate his son in law from the usurpation of his Protector. This could not be so privately dispatched, but that Sforza had an inkling of it, whether out of his own reach he guessed it: or by his Nephew's sottishness he understood it. To prevent then his own ruin, whilst he intends his Nephews, he ventures on those remedies which the height of fear rather rusheth on, then chooseth, which more express and exchange, then remove, or avoid a danger. He knew the French claim to Naples, to the prosecution of which he solicits the young King; whom either his right, or inconsiderateness quickly arms unto the action. But before his coming, he by continual messengers deludes the old King, and makes him believe that there was no purpose of his coming, and that the French journey unto Naples, as it was only the child of rumour, and had no being but from fame, so in a very short space, in the age of a wonder it would vanish and expire. Thus was Ferdinand persuaded from his necessary defence, till having certainly understood that all defence would be too late, the French being already very strong upon his frontiers, cheated, not conquered, he dies, and leaves his son Alphonso heir of his kingdom, and his troubles. The French king being now entered in person into Italy, Galeazzo dies of a poison at Pavia, when Sforza has brought this worse poison into his Country. But the French growing prodigiously victorious, and almost by the very seeing overcoming their opposites, Sforza begins to be apprehensive of his own danger, and strives to rid himself of these encumbrances, in the which a too much providence had entangled him. A consideration without doubt necessary, but almost past the season, it being near unto an impossibility to expel him now, whom it was far from any difficulty at the first not to admit. So that this second resolution did only proclaim the folly of the first, which either in wisdom he should not have ventured on, or, in honesty not have altered. But howsoever, he enters into a new league with the Venetians, and gives the French after their victorious return from Naples half an overthrow at Taro. And now when he thinks himself confirmed in his Dukedom, when he as little feared ruin, and he deserved preservation; the French King dies suddenly, to whom Lewis, the true Duke of Orleans, and titular Duke of Milan, succeeded: with him Sforza's late friend, the Venetians, conclude a league. Thus Sforza being left alone, raiseth two armies under the conduct of the two Sanseverines, men, whom he had highly favoured and advanced. But it is scarce seen, that a faithless Master should have a trusty servant, and he that hath no respect to his own word, shall in the extremest of his necessities, find all others promises but words. The elder revolts, and the younger, without the least show of resistance, flies; and Sforza himself is so closely pursued, that he can scarce get away safe into Germany. The French abusing their late victory, the Millanesis with a general consent, recall Sforza; who, like a melting snow, overflows all before him, and recovers most of his Duchy, with the same easiness that he had lost it. The strength of his Army consisted especially of Swissers, whom the late overthrow of the warlike Duke of of Burgundy, and these Italian wars, had raised to the height of admiration. But to be valiant is not to have all virtues: these were as strong in treachery, as in battle, they lead Sforza in the habit of a Swisser into the French camp, through which in the same habit they had promised to conduct him. Thus having been twice betrayed, and now a prisoner, after a ten years harsh confining he dies in France, having lived in his misery, longer than in his Duchy, and leaving instruction to succeeding Princes that height should not be their aim, but integrity; and that they would not (that I may use the words of our Poet) tempt their stars beyond their light.   

The names of the Actors.  

GIovanni Galeazzo the young Duke.  
Lodovick Sforza His Protector, afterward Duke.  


Galeazzo  
Count Caiazzo   two brothers of the house of Sanseverin, Sforza's favourites.  


Lucio Maluezzo  
Carlo Burbiano Count Belgiosa   two of the Nobility.  


juliano  
Picinino   two old Courtiers.  


Vitellio  
Malatesta   Poisoners.  
Ascanio Sforza's brother, a Cardinal.  
Triulcio The French General.  
The Captain of the Swissers.  
Isabel Galeazzo's wife.  
julia.  
Beatrice wife to Sforza.  
Ambassadors, Soldiers, Servants.    

The Prologue.  
CAn horror have an auditory? can  
Man love the spectacle of ruined man?  
We feared we should have been alone, that hence,  
The Actors should have been the Audience.  
Are you not frighted yet? do you not rise?  
Can that invite, which should dismay your eyes!  
We show near murders, and in that degree  
Where Marriage is unlawful, then, the free  
Progress of crimes, by nimble justice met,  
Equally horrid, this we show, but yet  
Unless your Courtesy, your judgement sway,  
We suffer a worse torture, than we play.   

Actus primi  

Scena prima.  Galeazzo Duke of Milan, Isabel his Wife. Gal. 
WHy weeps my Dear?  Isab. 
Ask why I do not weep▪  
(Poor Isabel are thy tears denied thee?)  
Ask why thus long such a succession  
Of sorrow clogs my bosom, and does rob  
So much of Woman from me, as complaints.  
Ask why I do not rave, tear my hair, thus,  
Create a grief, whieh Fate would spare me, than  
Cloud the sad Air with sighs, and at the last,  
With a bold stab take from insulting Fortune  
The miserable object of her sport:  
Ask why I do not this, not, why I weep.  Gal. 
Or stint thy tears, or mingle them with mine  
By a relation of their cause: these eyes,  
Trust me, my Isabel, are not dry,  
Nor has strong sorrow ere exhausted them,  
To make them bankrupt of a friendly tear,  
Do thou but prove it once a friendly tear  
And not a fond one. Why, my Isabel,  
Why dost thou hasten those that come too fast,  
Sorrow, and Age? If it be true, I heard  
Of Sforza, my dear Sforza, there's no joy  
But either past, or fleeting, and poor man  
Grows up but to the experience of Grief,  
And then is truly past minority  
When he is past all happiness:  Isab. 
My Lord,  
My sorrow dares not argue with your love,  
This smile expels it.  Gal. 
Be it banished far,  
Eternally, or to the years of Age.  
ay, these unclouded looks become my dear,  
And give me joy too. I must hunt to day  
With my dear uncle: O he is a man  
That altars all those fond relations,  
Which Nature gives, who in an uncle's name  
Out loves a Father: I could praise him still,  
But that I stay too long from him: farewell. Exit.  Isab. 
O Galeazzo! O not Galeazzo!  
How has Man fled thee! how thy soul has fled thee!  
Only thy lineaments belly a Man.  
Thou hunt? alas poor Prince, thou art the Game:  
Thy uncle hunts: and yet he does not neither,  
But stands a glad, and idle looker on,  
Whilst thou insnar'st thyself, sinfully fooled,  
Flattering thy Executioner, and so  
Dost nor prevent thy misery, nor yet know.  Enter Galeaz. Gal. 
I am returned once more, before I'm gone,  
To see if thy fond grief be not returned;  
What joy is there in a forbidden grief?  
What comfort in the eyes sad flux? once more  
Is it my fault gives you these tears?  Isab. 
My faults;  
For which so strange a sadness seizes me▪  
That it increaseth when I strive with it,  
And makes my face rebellious to my Lord,  
When my heart yields  Gal. 
Then once again, adieu,  
Forsake your grief, or grief will forsake you. Ex.  Isab. 
Forsake my grief— O bid me forsake heaven,  
My reason, and mine honour: only sighs  
Do keep me in opinion of Being,  
And without them I were a stupid coarse.  
Shall I obey impossibilities?  
Forsake the sorrow, and retain the cause?  
How can I think that yet the untyred Sun  
Has journeyed but a twelvemonth, since I was  
In Ferdinando's Court, the Paragon  
Of happy Naples, when his Palace seemed  
Guarded which Princely suitors, and mine eye,  
Caught with so many rarities of men,  
Taught me that too much choice did hinder choice,  
That Galeazzo then must carry me?  
This Galeazzo, neither Prince, nor Man,  
Fooled out of both by Sforza, his dear uncle.  
Can I think this, and think of joy again?  
Can I think this, and dare to think again?  
Why should some toys of after-torment fright  
A resolution of easing me  
From present ones? O 'tis the curse of man  
To be unhappy at arbiterment, Enter julia.  
Till heaven please to relent▪ My julia,  
Breathes Naples any comfort? quickly speak.  jul. 
None, Madam, and your courteous Grandfather  
In steed of Armies sends you Patience.  Isab. 
What? patience? he should have sent me rage,  
Aided my anger, if nor my revenge:  
Patience? O God can grief be patient?  
Can Thunder whisper? or chafed seas not roar?  
In me is Sea and thunder, I will be  
A pattern of Revenge not misery.   

Scena secunda.  Sforza. 
SForza, as yet thou but beginst to act,  
And yet beginst to stagger: wert thou not  
A Prince's son? why art thou not a Prince?  
Protectors are but subjects, and this staff  
But shows me under whose command I am.  
Is this our hindrance that our mother first  
Swelled with another? what her womb denied  
Our head shall give, or we will lose our head.  
What was her labour to a Crown? Perhaps  
A monster might have filled her first, a thing  
Of royal prodigy, and should this thing  
Grow to be hooted to a crown before us?  
Or if that crowns be due to the most years,  
Why should the Nephew be the Uncle's Lord?  
And Laws of Nations conquer those of Nature?  
Nature intended Sovereignty to them  
Of sovereign understanding; to the rest,  
How ever aged, but subjection,  
Which Isabel would detain us in:  
And whilst she trusts to Naples, our sad brow  
May sooner wear willow, than Diadems. Enter Belgiosa.  
Returned so soon, my Belgiosa? thanks,  
Before I hear thy message, for thy haste,  Bel. 
My Lord, our sudden coming into France,  
Left fame behind us, where arrived, we craved  
A private audience.  Sf. 
But had you it?  
Did not our enemies sharp espies descry  
The depth of our hid counsels?  Bel. 
They might first  
Descry the subtle path of a swift ship,  
The voyage of a bullet, or of thought,  
Before your more mysterious purposes?  Sf. 
Then since we are alone, and in a place  
Free from the bold intrusion of an eye,  
Feign Us the Prince to whom we sent you forth,  
And speak our Embassy unto ourself.  Bel. 
Great Prince, to have the offer of a Crown  
Is rare, and your felicity: my Lord,  
Milan's Protector, but your servant, knowing  
The ancient right your predecessors had  
In usurped Naples, by us woos your Grace  
(Consider unto what he woos your Grace)  
Not to maintain his power, but make your own,  
To take a Kingdom that e'en sighs for you.  
So shall the infamy of a lost crown  
Rot in the earth with your dead Ancestors,  
And the recovery revive their names  
To wait upon your triumph with your foes:  
For so much justice needs no other power,  
And yet such is your power, that it is able  
To make what ever you should fancy, just:  
But that your virtue is above that power.  
I will not call you usurer of Fame,  
By this large act, when the astonished world  
Now fifty Ages off from us, shall read  
Not in the boastings of a painted tomb  
(The flatteries of great rottenness) but your name  
Writ in Eternity's true Characters,  
For making conquered Crowns the rudiments  
Of your victorious infancy in arms,  
When France shall know no other Charlemaigne  Sf. 
But should we fail in the attempt? what then?  Belg. 
Can Heaven fail justice? or those powers commit  
Sins which they punish? O my gracious Lord  
Sin not with that weak thought: but if they should,  
Sforza will never:  Sf. 
He is always noble,  
But he'll undo us with a benefit,  
To give a kingdom is above requital.  Belg. 
His hopes are but the praise of honest deeds,  
If in the rearward of your spreading Fame,  
That fills all mouths, some happy tongue may glance  
At him, as a poor engine of your glory,  
That could impart, but not possess a Fame.  Sf. 
Excellent man! if to this welcome speech  
Thou giv'st as fair an answer.  Bel. 
This in brief  
After some scruple, and a little pause  
He whispered he would come.  Sf. 
Exactly done.  
But leave us now, my noble Belgiosa,  
Till we may study a reward for thee. Ex. Belg.  
The twilight hastens, when Vitellio  
And Malatesta one of an high trust Ent. Vitell. & Ma.  
with our fond Nephew promised conference.  
And here they are. Is it decreed brave friends?  
Shall it be swiftly done? nay, 'tis no matter,  
Your colour says you dare not,  Vit. 
It lies then:  
If that my colour show me disobedient  
To my good Lord, be I for ever pale:  
But when shall Galeazzo's wished-for death  
Show we dare somewhat?  Sf. 
We would gladly have  
A poison teach him linger to his death,  
And a month hence we shall expect his knell. Ex.  
Now are we entered, and now to retire  
Were the worse treason: like an enraged fire  
The more we are opposed, the more we'll spread  
And make our foes our fuel: to be head  
we'll cut off any member, and condemn  
Virtue of folly for a Diadem,  
Banish Religion, and make blood as cheap  
As when two Armies turned into one heap  
Of carcases, lie groveling, what care we  
For the slight tainture of disloyalty?  
None will commend the race till it be run,  
And these are deeds not praised till they are done.   

Scena tertia  juliano, Picinino. jul. 
MY Picinino, holds this sad news true?  Pici. 
My juliano, yes; 'tis in each voice  
That some persuasion flattering Ferdinand,  
That the French journey was but a report,  
Made him revoke Alphonso, his brave son  
Who with an Army had endangered us:  
For the wise old man fearing, a deep fear  
Might arm an enemy, else too weak for him,  
And make us hasten the French war, gave o'er  
His war with us: but when he understands  
That all this quiet does not purchase peace,  
The cozened Prince seeks the sure peace of death,  
And leaves his ruin to destroy his son.  jul. 
Will the French come? then prithee, Death, come too.  
Why should our eyes dulled to all other sights  
By Age and sorrow, be reserved for sight  
Of war and sorrow? o discourteous heavens!  
Why have you dallied with us to white hairs?  
Why kept till this time, must we perish now?  
O wherefore are we come so near the grave  
And are not in it yet? yet pardon me  
Good heaven, your acts are above question:  
Yet I may shed these tears for Italy;  
Slave of that world, which once, her valour slaved,  
Restoring back her triumph's with her spoil,  
Distracted in herself, and only fit  
To make a bankrupt Poet heal his credit  
With matter for fresh Tragedies.  Pic. 
Good heaven!  
Is this to ease misfortune, or increase it?  
If Passion could whine out felicity,  
Or plenteous tears could drown unhappiness,  
I have eyes too, and they contain their showers,  
Nor would I ere be niggard of a Grief.  
But tears being only tears, an easy dew  
Of childish eyes, and all the rest of Grief  
Commanding smiles, more than Compassion,  
I thank my Genius I am resolute  
To laugh at Fortune when she is most angry.  jul▪ 
Such laughter may have little mirth in it,  
And I shall have more comfort in a tear.  Pic. 
You may, good Fountain, yes, drop on, to see,  
If so much moisture will revive thy cheeks  
Whilst I'll be young with laughter. I am he  
That fears a sorrow, more than misery.   

Scena quarta.  Vitellio. 
THis is the place, & this the time: good heaven!  
What an odd place, and what an uncouth time?  
Had I been hired to murder Sforza here,  
Hell could not prompt more fit occasion.  
I like nor it, nor him: but here he comes.  Ent. Sfor. Sf. 
Welcome Vitellio, thy haste is welcome:  
Nay compliment with him, whom thou wouldst kill,  
Be free to us as we do know thee true.  
Speak, yet I need not bid thee, for thine eye  
Sparkles a joyful answer. Is it done?  Vit. 
'tis done my Lord, and now my Lord, 'tis told  
(That Galeazzo is no more a man)  
And with an even scruple, for to me  
The act's as easy as relation.  Sf. 
Thou speakest true manhood: 'tis thy art alone  
That gives us certain honour: there are some  
Strive for Eternity with loss of life,  
At least with hazard of the loss of it,  
And think they are revenged when they are killed;  
These are our valiant duelists, and these  
Do bleed whilst we do conquer; heal their wounds,  
Whilst we receive none: then, at last, unfold  
(Man of deep Art, that canst prevent the Fates,  
And cut a thread, which they had thought to spun  
Forty years longer) thy wise mysteries.  
Thy constant, never failing stratagems,  
Which cause a death, without a fear of death,  Vit. 
Here are some drugs, but of these some, not one  
But can command a life where ere it is,  
And ruinate the strongest workmanship  
That Heaven ere bragged to have composed of earth,  
Powders of speedy Fate, but above all  
The instruments, which make me near to death  
Of such endeared familiarity,  
This glass has nimblest operation:  
Whose liquor cast upon the face of man  
Strait dulls him to an everlasting sleep.  Sf▪ 
Is this the liquor of Eternity? Vitellio falls as dead. Ent. Ma.  
Then take thy Lethe, & go sleep for ever.  Mal. 
I am deceived, or else this is the place,  
Which Sforza chooseth when he is alone.  
Yes, this is it.  Sf. 
What Malatesta come?  
What Devil brought him hither? O cross stars!  
Be sudden, Sforza, now, or thou art lost:  
He must believe our guilt was accident. He falls upon Vitellio.  
Speak my Vitellio, O tune thy lips.  
But to one syllable, but to one groan  
And I am satisfied,  Mal. 
What sight is here?  
Vitellio dead, & Sforza turned a Mourner?  Sf. 
Should thou die thus, how would thy name be soiled!  
For though I am as guiltless of thy death,  
As Innocence, or if there be a name  
That hath less being: yet the envious world  
Will quit cursed Fortune of so great a crime,  
And give it me: yet speak.  Mal. 
I'm bold my Lord,  
To ask your Honour when this dismal chance  
First frighted Heaven?  Sf. 
Now, Malatesta, now:  
When could unhappiness reign so, but now?  
As if he meant to be before his Lord,  
He had no sooner told the Prince must die,  
Bul he strait died.  Mal. 
Then courage, my good Lord,  
Since it is thus, make the best use of it:  
For now you need not fear to be revealed,  
When one mouth's stopped, & th'other is your own.  
But since your last retirement, we have been  
Instructed by the speed of frequent Posts,  
Of the arrival of the King of France.  Sf. 
With thanks, a while, my Malatesta, leave us. Ex.  
Why should we longer think of other powers,  
And not bring offerings now to our own brain?  
Which gives us Agents of all kinds of men,  
And Kings aswell as poisoners: this wise King  
Must trouble Naples, who would trouble us,  
Divert invasions which are yet not made,  
And thus our ends are cheaply brought about,  
We only at the charge of plot: they fight,  
And Galeazzo dies, whom either King  
Were they not thus entangled, would preserve:  
We shall be conquerors without fight, thus,  
And their poor swords shall cut a way for us. Surg. Vitellio.  
I'm for you France.  Vit. 
And I am for you, Sforza,  
Not poisoned yet, unless 'twere by thy tears.  
The other liquor had an Antidote.  
Happy suspect! had I been credulous  
And thought his love as free as it would seem  
I had not been, distrust has ransomed me.  
But Malatesta is entrapped, I know  
Sforza for nothing did not ask the skill:  
My equal villain perishes, and I  
Thus being accessary to his death  
May sin to Innocence, by posting off  
The Prince's fate to him: whilst a disguise  
Shall keep alive the fame that I am dead.  
And thus half truth shall come to light, and I,  
Be wisely cleared by double villainy.   

Scena quinta.  Caiazzo, Sanseverin, Maluezzo; Sans. 
AS I am noble, 'twas a glorious sight,  
To see two Princes, in their State at once▪  
As if two Suns had harmlessly conspired  
To beautify, and not to fright the heavens.  
Why should the formal nicety of State  
Debar these often interviews? I think  
They would be medicine against Tyranny:  
For, when a Prince sees all things under him,  
Heads of eternal nakedness, and men  
That make their glory of their servitude,  
He thinks he's uncontrollable, that none  
Without a saucy imputation  
Dares warn him to his duty: but suppofe  
An equal Majesty should once become  
His usual object, one, whose unchecked blood  
Runs full as high as his, than he does learn,  
That there's a Common wealth of Princes too,  
Not one sole Monarch.  Cai. 
Yet, Sanseverin,  
If you observed, some clouds obscured both Suns  
For, when they smiled most freely, and expressed  
Their nearest friendship by a strict embrace,  
They looked so jealously, as if they feared  
A closer stab: and then the King took leave  
With that excess of haste, that one would think  
(After this eager preparation,)  
He did intend his journey to leave us,  
Not to win Naples  Mal. 
'Tis a dangerous time,  
(And yet I seem to cross the truth I speak  
When I not fear to call't a dangerous time)  
Sforza is over-wise, and so attempts  
Upon the confidence of his own brain  
(A brain, though wise, yet I may safely say,  
Within the possibility of error)  
Things, that can only hap by miracle  
To any good.  Sans. 
Why, what can happen ill?  
Fear you a war? and what's to be feared there?  
Lest that a mortal die, lest that the life  
Due to a knotty gout, or grating stone,  
Have a more easy period by the sword,  
Let them fear war, who fear to see their gold,  
Lest that the Sun should have a sight with them,  
Holding so much of Earth, theyare turned to it,  
Who have no more life than their dirty acres,  
Men, I may say, in the worst part of men.  
And why like these run we an idle race  
Of threescore years, and then sneak to a Death▪  
Whilst soldiers master their mortality  
And dye by men, if that at all they die.  
Maluezzo know, when all things fifted are,  
Peace only pleaseth them that ne'er knew war.    

Actus secundi  

Scena prima.  juliano, Picinino. jul. 
Herded you the general whispering?  Pic. 
No, what is't?  jul. 
The Duke is ill.—  Pic. 
And do they whisper that?  jul 
Yes: and they say he has strange fits.  Pic. 
How? strange?  
Is poison strange in Italy? why, know,  
As Princes live above the vulgar, so  
Their death has a Prerogative: mean men  
May dream away their time to fourscore years,  
And when their rotten joints drop to their dust,  
Only some trivial infirmity,  
A Palsy, or an Ague bears the blame:  
But'tis not State for Princes to be old,  
And yet they must not be supposed to dye  
By the respectless treason of disease,  
But by some strange unheard of accident  
That Fate did never dream of: but no more,  
You know Vitellio, and the height of grace  
Sforza has showed him, 'tis suspicious  
When wisdom flatters villainy: then come,  
Let us be private, and discourse some treason.  Enter, after solemn Music, Sforza, Sanseverin, Cajazzo, and Soldiers. ●hen after some private whispering they depart several ways. jul. 
But stay, my Picinino, who are here?  Pic. 
O the grand favourite, Sanseverine,  
A most full bubble, valiant vanity:  
That in high terms can swear down fortresses,  
Blow away Armies with a powerful breath,  
And spoil the enemy before he sees him:  
But when he comes to action, lie as still,  
As in the tale, that lumpish King of Frogs,  
Which jove did give them in his merriment▪  
Were tilting, valour, I ne'er knew a man  
Of larger worth: could he but break the ranks  
Of enemies aswell as he does spears,  
Milan ne'er saw a braver General.  
But there's his brother too.  jul. 
ay, that's the man.  Pic. 
('tis wonder we can know so much of him)  
He that can sound the depth of that sly brain  
Has a large plummet, trust me julia,  
An hundred Lawyers make up that one head,  
And scarcely too: quick Proteus to him,  
To this Cajazzo was an Idiot,  
A plain flat Idiot, I tell thee man,  
Meander never knew so many windings;  
If, as they say, an Emulation  
Is bred by likeness, I do wonder much  
How Sforza is induced to employ him,  
Who has more Devil in him, than himself.  jul. 
But why is this employment? why these Arms?  
When all but Naples are our friends, and they  
Not able now to show themselves our foes,  
Engaged, and almost lost in the French war.  Pic. 
Tricks, juliano, Statists call them Arts.  
Not to be fathomed by a vulgar reach:  
But though I want the villainy to know,  
Yet I have so much spleen to laugh at them,  
And take a comfort in this plainer sense,  
No subtlety can cousin Providence.   

Scena secunda.  Ascanio, Galeazzo, Isabel, julia. Asc. 
HOw rests the Prince?  Isab. 
O my good Lord, he rests,  
But 'tis a quiet, such as the Seas have,  
When that the winds have spent their violence,  
And out of impotence bestow a calm:  
'Tis more a death, than slumber, you may see  
His senses rather weary, then at rest.  Asc. 
Are then his fits so raging?  Isab. 
Nothing else,  
Should he but wake, you'd think two Armies met,  
And strove together for the loudest shout.  
Disease has spread herself o'er all his parts,  
And only spared his tongue, as if some star  
Not knowing otherwise to clear itself  
From imputation of tyranny,  
For such exact plaguing of Innocence  
Had left him that to curse withal, that so  
To all that heard his fury, he might seem  
To be thus tortured for his Blasphemy.  Gal. 
Water, some water.  Isab. 
Now the fit begins:  Gal. 
Some of my slaves run, and exhaust the Po,  
Charge him no more to vent his idle streams  
Into the glutted Main, but rather pour  
All his moist mouths on me: d'ye stare, begun,  
Use not your eyes at all, unless to weep:  
And that, not tears of sorrow, but of help,  
Such as may cool me.  Asc. 
Patience, sweet Prince,  
Add not unto the fire of your disease,  
The heat of passion,  Gal. 
What red thing is this?  
Ha, Isabel, tell me.  Is. 
'Tis your uncle  
The noble Prince, Ascanio.  Gal. 
'Tis false;  
He is nor Prince, nor noble: hark you friends,  
He talks of Passion, and of Patience,  
Let him discourse of Aetna, or Vesuvius,  
Or of a greater heat than I do feel,  
And I will answer him: Patience to me?  
Go bid rough seas be patient.  As. 
He grows worse,  
And opposition does inflame him more:  
Me thinks I see his eyelids faintly strive  
Against Death's closing.  Gal. 
O! my joints are fire.  
Why does not heaven shed Cataracts, and lower  
Once to my comfort? are they hot as I,  
Have they no moisture, for a Suppliant?  
Then, though hot heaven oppose, when once my breath  
Hath left this corpse, I'll have a cold by death. Mor,  Is. 
Herd you that groan my Lord— o he is dead;  
Crack than ye tardy heart strings, quickly crack,  
And give me leave to overtake the flight  
Of my dead husband.  Asc. 
What is past our help,  
Let it be past our grief: 'tis fortitude  
To suffer chances counterbuffs as one  
That by his expectation had deceived  
All her faint threatenings: till this sadder time  
Your life has had one constant scene of joy,  
Which here is interrupted: you should thank  
The heavens because they were not tedious  
In their delights: for this variety.  
As hunger praiseth feasts, so it may be  
You'll love joy better for this misery.   

Scena tertia.  Sforza, Beatrice. Sf. 
HOw covetous thou art to learn mishap?  
Beatrice the answer kills thee.  Beat. 
Kill me then,  
But not deny me  Sf. 
Dearest, I am lost,  
And in my ruin, thou.  Beat. 
I would be so,  
Safety were ruin were it otherwise,  
Yet tell me Sforza, how are you so lost?  Sf. 
O what a busy torture woman is!  
I must say somewhat, but the maine is silence,  
Vitellio's loss, yes, that hath lost me too:  
No sooner killed then lost, so strangely gone,  
As if the dead had learned a motion  
So to convey themselves unto the grave.  Beat. 
Will you be still unkind?  Sf. 
Thou shalt hear all.  
The French have conquered Naples, & which draws  
Blood from our soul, without a drop of blood:  
When thus we plotted it, that when both Kings  
Had wearied out themselves with equal slaughter,  
And here Alphonso tottered, and there Charles;  
When loss had seized the conqueror, than we  
Would have amazed the conqueror afresh  
With new alarms: when by the flattery  
Of chance, France gets a kingdom without blood,  
And by dry victory has undone a plot  
Worth many Kingdoms: I presumed on this,  
Naples had soldiers enough to last  
Killing a year, in which space, we resolved  
To arm all Italy against the French,  
And cunningly drive out, whom we called in:  
Which, ere we could accomplish, is disclosed,  
And conquering France intends to hinder it,  
By our invasion: o my policy!  
Must I be wounded with the sword I gave?  
And find those enemies, whom only I  
Enabled to my injury? well; heaven,  
Your kindness is a miracle sometime,  
Beyond all reason, but your curse is wit, Enter Ascan.  
My fault is my faults punisher.  Asc. 
Long life,  
And happy to our Duke.  Sf. 
How my Ascanio?  
Recall thyself, good Cardinal, what Duke  
Whilst Galeazzo lives?  Asc. 
Most truly Duke,  Sf. 
For Galeazzo's dead.  
Alas poor child,  
I could have wished thee longer life, but since  
heavens will is otherwise, 'twere blasphemy  
To storm at that which is the will of heaven.  
I hate that impotent rebellion. Enter Sansev.  Sans. 
My Lord, so cross was Fortune, that you were  
Made almost bankrupt by a too much thrift:  
For when you had discharged those numerous troops  
Whose charges lay as hard upon the State  
As an invasion could, than Orleans moved  
And stole Navarra, which disastrous news  
So heated the remainder of your troops  
(As if you had added to their valour more,  
When you abated from their multitudes)  
That by a nimble victory, they made  
His conquest be his prison.  Sf. 
Noble friend  
Stand thou, and our State stands: o why do men  
Cry out on Age, on eating Age? as though  
Our many griefs were from our many years,  
And the last times were worst: we rather find  
That nothing is so dangerous to Kings  
As a young Principality: for 'tis  
With them almost as with young plants, which yield  
Unto the least entreaty of the wind,  
And need no stronger blast; but gaining Age  
Scarce stoop to thunder: may we once arise  
Unto this happy firmness of estate,  
This blessed maturity of Prince, we stand  
Fearless of fall, but if heaven envy us  
And have decreed our ruin with our rising,  
Yet such we'll have it void of all base fears  
Our foes shall grieve our ruin was not theirs.   

Scena quarta.  Cajazzo, Belgiosa, Maluezzo. Mal. 
MY Lords, since we are met so happily,  
(If you esteem me not too bold, to ask  
The story of your high-famed actions)  
Bless me with the Relation.  Caj. 
I much fear  
Mine are not worthy your attention:  
Yet if it please you, noble Belgiosa,  
(Because my story will depend on that)  
To show the reason why the giddy French,  
So strangely left their conquest: such your power,  
Such a full conquest have you of your friend,  
I'll shame myself for your content.  Bel. 
Then, thus:  
From us France hurried thorough Lombary  
And fled to conquer, who had seen that haste  
Would easily supposed it to have been  
Rather a flight then an invasion.  
The Pope quakes at the progress, and admits  
Young Ferdinand into Rome, that if the French  
Should dare a fight, they might find Naples there.  
France slights that fainter opposition,  
And speaks his scorn in thunder, Naples flies,  
And all his army hath no other use  
Then to become unwilling harbingers  
To show their lodgings to the conquering French,  
Who like fierce winds that sweep away their lets,  
Or like encroaching tides, take swiftly in  
The offered Countries, not defended: now  
Saint German yields, and saucy Capua  
That dared a competition once with Rome,  
Aversa takes the precedent, and now  
The King of Naples finds home foes, and such  
As durst be valiant against their Prince,  
And use their fond arms in a mutiny,  
Which were not safe enough for a defence.  
He taking the advantage of their crime  
Unconquered by the French, to these he yields,  
And chooseth rather to become no Prince  
The keep the Crown, which they would take away.  Mal. 
What was the issue?  Bel. 
Strangely pitiful:  
He that had Navies yesterday, has now  
Scarce a bark left him, scarce a plank or two,  
To trust him to the mercy of the Seas,  
The Seas more courteous than the multitude:  
In which he makes for Ischia, and leaves  
His enemy his successor.  Cai. 
And he  
(As I have seen some wavering amourist)  
Neglects his conquest for the easiness,  
For when 'twas certain Ferdinand was fled,  
Whilst they might justly yet fear his return,  
The French return, as if they meant to try  
Which would be soon weary of the haste,  
Who had the swifter pace to run away:  Bel. 
That is no new act of new governors,  
Such stories are as ancient as the world.  
Till they do try what they can do, they think  
They may do all things, their first act is war  
(As if they meant rather to kill then reign)  
It matters not upon what ground: there is  
Pretence enough to quit a conqueror  
From the least show of injury: but then  
When they have felt the least of wars extremes  
They rave, they faint, they cross what they first did  
And are even weary of a victory.  Cai. 
France made this certain truth, who in his brags  
Had sworn the fall of Mahomet: but now  
When he might hear the groans of Graecia  
Delivered by the echoes of their sea,  
To make them more, he thinks on a retreat,  
And chooseth home before a victory.  
It was a valley, where our Taro laves  
The root of Apennine, and a large plain  
Sphered with a row of swelling Earth, makes war  
A spacious Amphitheatre: where we  
Stayed for their coming; when mature advice  
That crownes most actions, strangely injured us  
For rashness would have stole a victory  
Which tedious consultation gave away,  
Success had smiled on our temerity  
Had we assaulted them upon the hills  
And added to the mountains with the French.  
But I am tedious: only our van fought,  
And 'twas the Frenchmens victory to resist:  
Both were o'ercome, both conquerors, for they  
Still kept the field, and we still kept the prey.  Bel. 
O what is valour joined with Modesty!  
This conquers both our Fortune and your skill.  
Should you but write a story, and profess  
That pureness from all passion which y'ave shown,  
You would be credited, though 'twere your own.  
But what reward is't to be but believed?  
You shall be ever praised: what you have done  
Fears neither envy, nor oblivion:  
And for this act succession shall see  
Cajazzo as long-lived as Italy.   

Scena quinta.  Vitellio disguised. 
I Wonder Malatesta still survives:  
Sure Sforza has forgot himself; my death  
Does but half clear him, and if the other live,  
He cannot look for a full innocence.  
It is not mercy, certainly: o, no,  
Mercy with him is folly: but 'tmay be  
He fears that had he killed us both at once  
Rumour would be too busy, and all mouths  
Would cry, that Chance had too much project in't.  
This is the place of Destiny, 'tis here  
Sforza does actuate his bloody arts,  
Mistaking privacy for innocence,  
And thinks he's good, because he is not seen.  
Here must I wait for a discovery.  Enter Sforza. Sf. 
I must once more be cruel, yet not I,  
This is the murder of Necessity:  
But what has he deserved, who has done nought  
But what we charged, & so performed our thought?  
Is Death due to Obedience? can this hand  
Yield to his Fate, that sealed to his command?  
Yet he, or I must perish: shall I see  
My life, my honour, my Eternity,  
Lie at his mercy, and be safe, so long  
As he is pleased to temper his rude tongue?  
Till he be drunk, or treacherous? I'll first  
Study amongst all actions, which is worst  
And overact it: though our former deed  
Was from ambition, this is yet from need:  
Death is too good reward for such a slave, Enter Mal.  
And sure there is no blabbing in the grave.  
But here he comes: why are thy looks so grim?  
Why Malatesta, in thy furrowed face  
See I the signs of Anger, or of Grief?  
Command thy face to a more smiling form,  
That I may think thee pleased when thou dost tell  
What does displease thee.  Mal. 
'Twas a foolish dream,  
That stole my colour from my paler cheeks.  
Last night I saw Vitellio.  Sf. 
And what?  
Canst thou fear shadows?  Mal. 
Yes if shadows speak,  
If that their threatenings be substantial.  
From such a paper as your Highness holds,  
He forced me breath in Death.  Sf. 
This Paper holds  
A strange perfume, of such a cunning virtue,  
That at a distance it scarce smells at all.  
And at the nose it gives the best of scents.  
Make the experiment:  Mal. 
O! I am slain.  Sf. 
Heavens what a stillness here is? what a death  
Of the whole man at once? the wand'ring eye  
Now finds a station, and the busy pulse  
Is now for ever idle: where's the tongue  
That but even now could say as much as this,  
When that the soul could prompt it? but even now  
Here was a thing could speak, and poison too,  
That knew more ways to kill, than ever Heaven  
Did to make man: and could his subtlety,  
That could give death, not know to keep out death?  
Fie, what a bulk it is, what a great lump  
Of nothing, that shall lose that nothing too?  
What a dead toy is Man, when his thin breath  
Flies to its kindred Air? o why at all  
Did Heaven bestow, or why at all bereave  
Man of this Vapour of Eternity?  
And must we one day be a stock like this,  
Fit only to enrich the greedy Earth,  
And fill an house of Death, perhaps before  
We see the Issue of another Plot?  
Must we lie subject to be trampled on,  
By some, perhaps not Politicians?  
Where's then our Wisdom? our deep Providence?  
Are they dirt too? o heavens! but if they are  Enter some Negroes to carry away the body. 
Or dirt, or nothing, I'll enjoy my fame.  
And rottenness shall seize me, not my name.  Vit ' 
Are those the Instruments? well my black friends,  
I eased you of a labour: all succeeds  
According to the flattery of my wish,  
And my suspicion turns to prophecy.  
But my so bloody, and so wary Sforza,  
Your Agent's dead, but not your crime: 'twill out,  
And by this carcase: I will fly to France,  
Divulge loud papers,— they are writ already,—  
And here they are, these I will swear were found  
In the dead poisoner's pockets: by this means  
Sforza's proclaimed a murderer, I'm freed,  
And make it be his guilt, which was my deed.  Vitellio going forth meets with Isabel.  

Scena quinta.  Vitellio, Isabel, julia. 
Madam I have some news of that import,  
That (if you please to command privacy)  
Will both desire, and fright your patience  Is. 
Be brief  Vit. 
First know I am Vitellio.  Is. 
Thou art a villain, and a poisoner then,  
Hast thou a drug for us?  Vit. 
Yes such an one  
Shall make you love a poison: read, & wonder.  Is. 
I do: and more, how thou could purchase this  
Without a guilt.  Vit. 
I did peruse the spoils  
Of Malatesta's carcase, whom I found  
Most strangely guilty, and as strangely dead,  
Whose pockets furnished me with these instructions  Is. 
Thus we learn Murder from thy Felony:  
But what should make me trust a confessed rogue?  Vit. 
My villainy: my credit is my crime:  
Had not I stole, you had not understood.  Is. 
I must believe't: but dar'st thou poison well?  
Commit a crime, which thou mayst glory of?  Vit. 
On whom dear Lady?  Is. 
Nay I care not whom.  
But I can give reward to a wise crime.  Vit. 
My quick dispatch shall make you gladly know  
I understand, what you desire, and hide. Exit.  Is. 
Now should he poison Sforza. O fond hope!  
That mak'st us think all true that we desire.  
Should he betray us now? for what? that we  
Entreated him to kill, we knew not whom.  
By this expression thus much I have won:  
I may be made, but cannot be undone.   

Scena sexta.  Picinino. 
FOrtune is merry, and the heaven disposed  
To play with me, I am turned Favourite.  
Me thinks my hairs ashamed of their white hue  
Should blush to youth: O how I could look big,  
Take Giant strides, dote on my lovely self,  
And talk as fillily as any Lord.  
To see the prettiness of action,  
Of State employment: Sforza's to be crowned,  
And I must win the popular suffrages.  
Good heavens! was ever such a merry load  
Imposed on Man: some cry the times are ill,  
Others could wish them better, and a third  
Knows how to make all well, but tells not how,  
And, cause that he is silent, would be wise.  
But in conclusion I do find them ready  
(On supposition of no more expense,  
And that their voice is sued for, not their purse)  
To give a lusty acclamation.  Sforza, 3 Ambassadors, Cajazzo, Sanseverin, Maluezzo, as in procession, they offer up the French Banners at the Altar, whilst this is sung. 

Song.  

Io, Io, gladly sing,  
Till the Heaven with wonder ring.  
He is fled, let Milan say  
Once more, he is fled, the day  
Clears again, and makes us see  
A braver light of victory.  
Io, Io, etc.   

Yet he had before he fought  
(By the speedy war of thought)  
Conquered Italy, and so  
Has hastened his own overthrow.  
Io, Io, etc.   

Henceforth let them learn to live  
In the peace, that home doth give,  
Nor again so fond rave,  
To travel for a foreign grave.  
Io, Io, etc.    Sf. 
First we thank Heaven, by whose most gracious aid  
We have the means, and reason to thank you.  
Now we begin to lift up our faint heads,  
And entertain, though scarce believe a peace:  
Now Italy at length has lost her yoke,  
Which she was wont to give, but never bear,  
And therefore wondered at the strangeness more  
Than at the weight of't: in this noble act  
Sforza claims nothing but the happiness,  
Which he acknowledges received from you.  1 Amb. 
Sforza's deserts exceed the height of praise.  2 Amb. 
He has slaved Italy by freeing it.  3 Amb. 
Milan must know him for her Romulus.  Sf. 
We know ourself so underneath this praise,  
That could we but suspect untruth in you,  
we'd call all this but mockery.  Pic. 
D'ye doubt?  
Make you a question of the name of it?  
Why call it as it is, plain flattery.  Cajaz. 
We wondered lately at the prouder French,  
And gave too high a value to their acts:  
When in a serious estimation,  
Their chiefest victory was of the miles,  
And more a journey then a war: if they  
Could gain a fame by nimble travelling,  
How shall we rear a trophy to his name,  
That made them go far faster than they came?  
For my part (though I know his Modesty,  
Which will refuse the honours he deserves)  
I'd have him forced unto the government,  
To rule that happy land which he hath saved.  Omnes. 
A Sforza a Sforza. Ascanio crowns him.  Sf. 
Sforza will ne'er gainsay the general voice,  
Your love I like beyond your gift: kind heavens  
Show by my governments integrity  
You were the people's prompter, and I'll show  
(If you but actuate my just desires)  
I only am their Duke in goodness: since  
Milan hath chose, it shall applaud her Prince.    

Actus tertii  

Scena prima.  Umbra Galeatii. 
NO rest in death? why than I see they err  
That give a quiet to a sepulchre.  
'Tis our hard fate, nor can Man choose but die,  
But where Grief is, is Immortality.  
This draws our juiceless bones to a new day,  
From Lethe's banks, where we have learned the way,  
(An easy learning) to return our woes,  
And laugh at our misfortunes in our foes.  
we'll draw felicity out of our fall,  
And make our ghost revenge our Funeral.  
That our dim Eyes, & with pale death benighted,  
May by revenge be cleared, and we be righted  
(If other punishment should come too slow)  
By the exacter justice of our foe.  
When being betrayed by them he trusted most,  
He shall be prisoner in a foreign coast,  
When wanting sustenance, his teeth shall chaw  
His arms for food, and their once feeders gnaw.  
When Hell shall have but part of him, when he  
That now triumphs shall be less ghost than we.   

Scena secunda.  Sforza. Ascanio. Asc. 
SForza, you are undone.  Sf. 
Why my Ascanio?  
Fortune is fearful of so foul a crime.  Asc. 
You durst be bad, and yet improvident,  
And so it is not Fortunes, but your crime.  
Which shall I first begin to blame? your fault  
Or (pardon if I call it) Foolishness:  
I faint to think, that you are past excuse,  
Both with the honest and the Politic.  Sf. 
Come nearer, my dear Cardinal, and tell  
In easier terms what 'tis that troubles you:  
Is Galeazzo's death divulged?  Asc. 
It is:  
The time, the manner, and the murderer,  
Nor am I free from th' imputation.  Sf. 
You speak what you suspect, not what is true,  
Does speech come from the dead? can their dried nerves  
Borrow a tongue for accusation?  
This is no other than the voice of Gild,  
The speech of our home-executioner:  
And yet I fear— and yet what should I fear?  
Blood hath strange organs to discourse withal,  
It is a clamorous Orator, and then Enter Sanseverin, Halberdiers & Vit.  
Even nature will exceed herself to tell  
A crime so thwarting Nature  Sans. 
My good Lord,  
Pardon the zeal of my intrusion,  
I bring hid danger with me: 'twas my chance  
As I was passing to the bedchamber,  
Just at the door to find this muffled man,  
Waiting some treacherous opportunity.  
Each circumstance swelled with suspicion,  
The place, the time, the person, all did seem  
To bear a danger worthy of your fear,  
At least your wiser disquisition.  Sf. 
Thou art all goodness, and deserv'st of us  
Beyond the niggardly reward of thanks:  
But what are you that thus becloud your face,  
Who not unlike that over-bashfull fowl, He discovers himself  
Delight in darkness? Ha! Vitellio!  
The wonder is resolved by a new wonder. Ex. San.  Vit. 
Sforza I live: do ye stare? I live: these words  
Are not the fond delusions of the Air,  
As you officiously would gull yourself;  
But from a solid substance, had not we Ent. Sans. with 2 Negroes.  
Been by your diligent spy too soon surprised,  
Before our projects full maturity.  
Thy death more fully should have proved my life  Sf. 
Fool that I was, who thought to take thy life  
By that which nourished it: there's none so mad  
Would poison Serpents, I'll work surely now.  
Once more Iletry your immortality.  
Strangle the Monster.  Vit. 
'Twas a doubtful chance  
within this hour who first should own those words  
But, Tyrant, weary thy invention  
To find variety of punishment,  
Yet all that thou canst do, exceeds not this  
A pin could do as much: weak, silly Sforza.  
All thou canst do to me exceeds not that  
Which I did on the person of thy Prince:  
Disease would prove a better murderer.  Sf. 
Stop that malignant throat.— O my Ascanio,  
Thus must they toil which work an height by blood,  
How I could wish an innocent descent  
To new subjection? how I hate that wish!  
How scorn all thoughts that have not danger in them!  
Get us more Remora's, sweet Cardinal,  
Or rather than to droop to Idleness,  
we'll work to be no Prince, ourself recalling:  
In rising, most, some wit there is in falling.   

Scena tertia.  Cajazzo. 
ASsist me, Hell, for I intent an Act,  
Which should your puny fiends but think upon,  
Would make their blacker cheeks receive a blush,  
Would give a redness which your weaker Fire  
Had ne'er that heating power to work in them:  
An act, the heavens did only then declare  
They would permit to be performed by man  
When they created Night: for were all Day,  
Could such a Crime be as well seen as done,  
Their Immortality might justly fear,  
Lest all the guilt should be removed on them,  
As Idle, or as Cruel lookers on,  
Whilst heaven on Earth did suffer: this black night  
Must Isabel dye, die, by this hand:  
This Chapel is her ordinary walk,  
Discovered to me by her julia,  
Where when she comes to see her husband's tomb,  
This hand shall make her fit for such a room.  Enter Isabel and Julia with two torches, she places them at either end of the Tomb, & Exit. Isabel draws towards the Tomb, and speaks. Is. 
PRince of shades, (for unto me  
Still thou keep'st thy Majesty)  
If thou art not wholly lost,  
And there's something in a Ghost:  
Hear thy Isabella's vow:  
If hereafter I allow  
Of a second match, or know  
Any man, but for a foe,  
Saving him that shall engage  
His revenge unto my rage:  
(Hear just heavens) may I then be  
Made another Ghost like thee,  
May I dye, and never have  
What I visit now, a Grave.  Caj. 
O do not hear her Heaven, & kill me strait  
If I dare touch her: he that sees those eyes  
And dares attempt to make those eyes not see,  
Has a blind soul: burn clearer, you kind lights  
O do not envy me the sight of her:  
But what's there in a sight? I must be brief,  
If not for love, yet for ambition:  
Her Marriage makes me greater than her Death,  
And she has taught me the condition.  
Pardon, bright Angel, and return the sword,  
Which Sforza made me swear to sheathe in you,  
Into my bosom  Is. 
No, obey your Prince,  
If you have goodness in you keep your oath,  
Murder is nothing unto perjury.  Caj. 
By this fair hand you injure me, and more  
Than ever Sforza did: can you suppose  
(Though you had heard the vows he forced me to)  
I meant what I protested? that this hand  
Which ever yet has used a sword for you,  
Would use it now for your destruction.  
Revoke that thought, dear Lady, that harsh thought,  
And let not so much sweeter innocence  
Make itself guilty by suspicion,  
Suspicion of impossibilities.  
Rather command, and you shall quickly see  
That he, who would have armed me against you,  
Shall find in his own entrailes the just steel.  Is. 
aside. What traps are these to catch the Innocent?  
Sforza I smell your project, 'tis too rank.  
My Lord, no more: your speech is dangerous,  
I must not hear it.  Caj 
You shall see it then:  
Do not believe me Madam till I've done,  
Till I do bring my credit in my arms,  
The Traitor's head, and when you see that time,  
Confess you owe your life unto my crime.   

Scena quarta.  Picinino, juliano. jul. 
WHat will become of this declining State?  
Can we believe that the yet patient heaven  
Will any longer suffer? and not give  
Destruction as notorious as our crimes.  
Awake, stern justice, and unsheathe thy sword.  
The Scabbard will not heal us, but the edge,  
Nor is't enough to brandish, but to strike:  
Let then thy terror give us innocence,  
That mildness may no longer injure man.  Pic. 
Why, thou perpetual Murmurer, thou sea  
Tossed with eternal tempest, thou dark sky  
With everlasting clouds, thou— any thing,  
Whom, being angry I can call no more:  
Think better of those acts thou canst not mend.  
Will Sforza be less bad, because thou whinest?  
Or dost thou think thy pitiful complaints  
Can beg a goodness of Ascanio?  
I never knew that mighty use of tears,  
That they could wash away another's fault:  
When thou shalt want a tear for a fit grief,  
Sanseverin will be a Coward still:  
And when thy groans are turned to thy last gasp,  
Cajazzo will not be less treacherous.  Enter Sanseverin, with diverse suitors following him, some of whose bills he tears, others laughs at, others putteth up. Exit. jul. 
Now for thy thunder, heaven, now now for a piece  
Of thy most eminent Artillery.  
Are you still silent? see, he tears their papers,  
Papers, perhaps, wherein they worship him,  
Give him more titles, than they give their God;  
And yet he tears them. O vast Favourite!  
Swelled by the airy favour of thy Prince,  
Till thou hast dimmed the light that made thee shine,  
Till Sforza's less than his Sanseverin.  
Tell me, good Picinino, does the Sun  
Spend all his rays upon one Continent?  
Or have you ever seen the partial heavens  
Upon one Acre lavish all her showers  
While the rest moulder with dry barrenness?  Pic. 
I have not, juliano, but what then?  jul. 
Are you to seek for the collection?  
Why, has not Sforza made himself our Sun?  
Are not his favours our refreshing showers?  
Why should one suck up what is due to all?  
Why is the Prince made a Monopoly?  Pic. 
Thou mak'st me laugh at thy fond question:  
What? are not Princes men; of the same mould,  
Of the same passions with inferiors?  
Do not they fear, desire, and hate (as we)  
And shall we only hinder them from love?  
Cobbler's may have their friends, & why not Kings?  
Because theyare higher than the rest of men,  
Shall they be therefore worse? and therefore want  
The Benefits, because they have the Rule?  
O hard condition of Majesty!  
The former accusation of Kings  
Has been their cruelty, that they did hate  
The people they should govern: O hard plight!  
O strange perverseness! shall their love at length,  
Their friendship be imputed as their fault?  
Would Heaven our Sforza had no worse a crime.  Enter Sanseverin again with his train of Suitors. jul. 
You are a worthy Advocate, and here  
Comes your great Patron: go and ask your fee.  Sans. 
This is a saucy importunity:  
You have your answer.  1 Suitor. 
O my gracious Lord,  
Look on these scars I gained in the French war,  
Where I have lost my Fortunes,  2 Suitor. 
So have I,  
Scarce left alive to tell my misery.  Sans. 
You have been drunk, and quarrelled— must the State  
Find plasters for your broken heads?— no more—  
Nay if you'll take no answer, I must call  
Them that will drive you hence. O my tired ears!  
Henceforth I vow to stop them at your suits,  
And be as Deaf, as you are Impudent. Exit.  jul. 
Yes, do, good Aeolus— how he blows then hence!  
How clears his passage with a lusty frown!  
And yet it may be that despised wretch  
Worn out of clothes, and flesh, whom his high scorn  
Would not vouchsafe once more to look upon,  
Durst in the field do more, than he durst see,  
Then he would there vouchsafe to look upon,  Pic. 
As if that Valour were the only praise,  
And none were to be loved, but they that fight:  
Where were we then? what would become of us?  
Thou think'st it paradox, but is most true,  
A Soldier is the greatest enemy,  
Of whom the Commonwealth can be afraid,  
Prefer you which you please; yet unto them  
Which are the sole Physicians of State,  
Who with the teeming of a pregnant brain,  
Search the diseases and the remedies,  
Valour is nothing but a desperate vice,  
And there's no safety, but in cowardice.   

Scena quinta.  Sforza, Ascanio, Maluezzo. Sf. 
WE are not man, for such an empty thing  
Could not have this solidity of joy:  
Say the French King is dead, and say withal  
We are immortal, and ones happy truth  
Shall expiate for the others flattery.  
But speak the manner too as well, as death.  Asc. 
When now his gadding thoughts had won the world,  
And Italy was to be taken in  
But only as an easy seat, from whence  
He might derive his further victories;  
Ottoman quaked, & 'twas in chance, if now  
New Rome, should be new French, and the proud Turks  
Be brought to know what their beginnings were:  
When Fortune had advanced him to that height,  
That grown forgetful of a lowly tomb,  
He reared huge Pyramids, and troubled Art  
To match his fancy with magnificence  
Fit for a conquering builder, who had learned  
To ruin first, and then to build a City,  
When Marbles were to be enriched with wounds,  
And cut for their advancement: them, heavens sport,  
He raised competitors to dare the heavens:  
Nor dreams his own descent into low Earth.  Sf. 
Ascanio, you make him live too long,  
Tell how he died, without more circumstance.  Asc. 
He went (such was his use) to see the play  
At Tennis court, when by his trembling Queen  
He sank into half-death: thence he's conveyed  
To the next room, where on a couch of straw,  
As if a downbed were too soft for him,  
Whom rottenness attended, and the grave,  
That harder lodging of Mortality,  
A King, a conquering youthful King expires.  
Thrice from death's slumbers he awaked to speak,  
Thrice did he cry to heaven, unto deaf heaven,  
And after nine hours' death he died.  Sf. 
I find  
A certain grumbling against Fortune here:  
Which that I may whet to a lively rage,  
Repeat Maluezzo her last treachery  
Against the French, and Neapolitan.  Mal. 
Naples now won, and the unstable French  
(As if they were afraid of their own luck)  
Ridiculously leaving what they'd won;  
The Deputy was Mompenseer, a man  
Of an high birth, but of unequal deeds.  
For when young Ferdinand with some few boats  
(Which only fear might make a Navy of,  
And nothing but the strength of cowardice  
Could possibly judge strong) approached the shore,  
As if the poor Prince once more had desired  
Only to see his ancient government,  
And therefore had adventured to the Sea,  
The Sea was in the City, for ne'er was  
Such a confusion in the vulgar waves,  
All cry a Ferdinand, a Ferdinand,  
Even those who latley banished Ferdinand:  
Part open the gates to him, and part shut up  
The French into the Cattadells, where he  
Besiegeth his once Conquerors.  Sf. 
'tis true  
Not the world only, but a man's a ball,  
Will Fortune never leave her tossing him?  Mal. 
Whether their own neglect forced them to want,  
Or want to yield, 'tis doubted: but they yield:  
Thus as in trivial sports we oft have seen  
After too tedious inconstancy,  
The Cork return to him that struck it first,  
So in this fatal revolution,  
Fortune gives Naples unto him again,  
Whom she first injured in the taking it.  Sf. 
Who hearing this would not erect his soul  
To a contempt of Fortune! that blind wretch  
Whom only sottishness hath deified?  
Man hath a nobler Godhead in himself,  
His virtue and his wisdom, unto these  
Bend all our knees, let us still honour these:  
And count it comfort in our l●●●est state,  
He that is wise, would not be fortunate Exit.    

Actus quarti  

Scena prima.  Sforza, Ascanio, Cajazzo, Sanseverin, a Boy. Sf. 
WE leave it to your care, Sanseverin;  
But see, the night grows old, good rest my Lords, Ex.  
Why stay'st thou, my Aurelio? good boy  
I'll see no bed to night; then go, yet stay,  
If they have not escaped thy memory  
Sing me those verses which you made to sleep.  

Song.  
HOw I laugh at their fond wish whose desire aims no higher  
Than the baits of Midas dish?  
What is Gold but yellow dirt? which th' unkind heaven's refined  
When they made us love our hurt.  
Would to heaven that I might steep my faint eyes in the wise,  
In the gentle dew of sleep?  
Whose effects do pose us so, that we deem it does seem  
Both Death's brother and his foe.  
This does always with us keep, and being dead that's not fled,  
Death is but a longer sleep.   Sf. 
Pretty Philosophy! go boy, go sleep, Ex.  
Enjoy the good thou singest— this boy can sleep,  
Sleep quietly, and sing himself a sleep:  
Making that gentle Rest unto his Song.  
But I'll go read: what have we here? a Map?  
Welcome thou lively picture of the world:  
Now I'll peruse my large Dominions,  
What a vast compass they do fill in thee?  
How Poe is wearied with his tedious course,  
But running only through our Continent?  
Ha! where is Poe? which is our Continent?  
If that my eyes deceive me not, I see  
My Empire is comprised within my nail:  
What a poor point I'm Master of? a blot  
Made by the swiftest tincture of the Ink?  
But what did this point cost me? this small blot?  
My innocence, my conscience, my soul;  
I killed a Nephew, to obtain this blot?  
O horrid purchase! all this toil, this guilt  
For so despised a Nothing? let me see,  
Here is no room to sit, to walk, to stand,  
In all my land I cannot place myself,  
Nor be at all, where I would be the Duke,  
But the sad tapers do deny their light,  
And stranger fire supplies an horrid day  
Of Lightning: help us, heaven, make us confess,  
There is a Power in your Mercy too.  Ascendit Umb. Gale. Umb. 
Is then a time, when all our time is spent  
That thou of us shouldst fear a punishment?  
O happy purchased privacy! to have  
The free possession of an humble grave,  
Vvued poison us from that? why startst thou so?  
We do not shun a kinsman, but a foe:  
Believe it Sforza, I am a near ghost,  
Nor is our kindred by thy murder lost:  
Raise thy cheered look, see Galeazzo here:  
Traitor, and coward, does thy faint breast fear  
The shadow, which is made? or is a soul  
Unclothed of Earth, more abled to control  
Him that unclothed it! Then I see to dye  
Is more to right then suffer injury.  
Know I am still thy prince, and if that man  
In such a Miracle of villain can  
At last be found, in this thy manhood show  
That thou dar'st hear thy doom of overthrow.  Sf. 
Villain be dumb: we are too tamely mild  
That dead men dare affront us, assume flesh,  
And we will make a second ghost of thee.  Umb. 
Thy threats are Air, like us: but to go on:  
In curse; now that thy wisdom hopes upon  
A joy in unmolested royalty,  
Now shalt thou have only a certainty  
Of high unhappiness, and be undone,  
Losing thy rule no better than 'twas won.  
Fetters shall bind thy legs, not Crowns thy head,  
And as a cursed beast is prohibited  
From common show, so thou, of beasts the worst,  
Must die imprisoned, and, what's most accursed,  
Obey to death, all comforts ta'en away,  
Robbed of the light, and the sweet heaven of day:  
Then flatter not thy miseries, to know  
Is not to hinder Fate, fall shalt thou low,  
Sink to despair, despair to nought, and dye,  
Then lower fall, and then as low as I. Discen. Umb.  Sf. 
Sink into earth, and do not reach thy hell,  
Prophetic bubble: might thy threats prove true,  
For we could wish the death that thou foretellest  
That our fierce shadow might pursue thee still,  
To fright thy Ghost to nothing: O weak Heaven!  
Was this a terror for a man? to send  
A Bugbear, framed out of the empty Air.  
This does confirm, not fright us: this might be  
A terror to my picture, not to me.   

Scena secunda.  Cajazzo. Cai. 
IT must succeed: Fortune may show her spite,  
Her power she cannot, in the hour I'm made  
A Prince's Lord, or murderer: I've placed  
Close at the outward door, Sanseverin,  
That if success do crown my hopes, his cares  
May give me safety, with my happiness,  
That I be not surprised: but if I fail  
I have enjoined him on the noise he hears,  
Strait to go call the Duke, & enter hither. Ent. Is.  
Madame, 'tis done: and now the guilty head  
(Which whilst it stood, made all to fear their heads,  
Who durst affirm it did usurp a crown,)  
Most humbly bends, and offers it to you.  Is. 
Which I accept: but for no other end  
Then to revenge his death, base wretch on thee:  
If that head be not planted there, 't shall off:  
You shall enjoy your Master's death  Caj. 
How's this?  
Is this a love trick, Lady? I had thought  
After your thanks parted 'twixt heaven and me,  
You would with greediness have given you self  
To him that gave you your desires:  Is. 
Fond thought!  
Dost think I'd love a man that kills a man?  
Make him my Prince, who hath dispatch this own?  
Was Treason ever Preface unto love?  
Hadst thou monopolised perfection,  
And shared a thousand Cupids in each eye:  
I would contemn the proudest of their shafts,  
And give thee only what is due, Disdain.  Caj. 
You'll urge me to just vengeance; do you hear  
Madam ingratitude, quickly profess  
That this harsh language was but a wise bait,  
To make him faster, who was sure before,  
Or I profess I'll join your death with his  
With thy loathed Sfroza.  Is. 
I believe thee now  
And trust me, so believe, that I could thank thee,  
I love thy cruelty, though not thy person.  Caj. 
Hath death so little horror? well I'll do  
What shall enforce you to desire a death.  
This poniards point shall nail thee to the earth  
Struck through thy arms: where do not hope upon  
A noble ravisher, my swarthy slaves,  
Slaves hated of their fellow-Black a mores,  
Shall on thy Honour's ruin tire their Lust,  
And kill thee in thy loathful suffering. Ent. Sforz. Sanseverin. Belgiosa.  
What dare you struggle?  Is. 
A rape, a rape.  Caj. 
O my good Lord, you come in such a time  
As I could wish for, for this hour or more  
This wicked woman hath been wooing me,  
To murder your most sacred Majesty,  
And for reward hath promised me herself,  
Together with the Duchy: my good Lord,  
In detestation of such treachery,  
I gave her some harsh answers, with which moved,  
She used a woman's craft, and cried a Rape.  Sf. 
Is this truth, Isabel? see, she's dumb:  
Have I then lived to have you seek my death?  
A Cousin-traitor? yet you shall not die,  
Nor know another prison than my Court,  
I love to see my Murderer: O heavens!  
Why, should I fear to kill her? yet 'tis reason:  
Who is no true Prince, can ne'er punish treason.  Caj. 
And I shall take you at your word, dear Sf. Ex.   

Scena tertia.  juliano, Picinino. Pic. 
IT cannot be, good julian, no more:  
I do not love these over-earnest dreams.  
The French invade us? when their jolly King  
With limber staves does only mock a war,  
Which like so many reeds against a stone,  
Punish their own attempt with their own ruin,  
Breaking themselves, not armours: when we know  
The Court is lost in Masks, reality  
Is so far fled since the last victory,  
That we may think the Court itself a mask.  
Eternal Music, revels without end  
Tyre the toomuch delighted soldier,  
Whose arms have now forgot their ancient use,  
His spirits only active in his heels,  
And canst thou think they'll dance to Italy?  jul, 
I've heard some tell that a great City once  
Was built by Music: would we might not find  
Our Country to be ruined by a dance:  
O fear the toying of an enemy.  Pic. 
What cannot be believed, cannot be feared,  jul. 
You'll not believe, not you, till the French swords  
Dive to the bottom of your doubting heart,  
Till that th'unkinder news is brought so near,  
You cannot have the power to believe it. Ent. Sanseuerin. with sold.  
Can you believe this is a drum that beats?  
That this is the courageous General  
Can you believe, that he beleeus 'tis true?  Pic. 
But who assists us in this dreadful time?  jul. 
As many as we have deserved: not one:  
Sforza has too much wisdom to have friends.  Pic. 
And we have too much— I said nothing, did I?  
I did not speak against the State, I hope?  
Nor said that we had too much patience?  jul. 
Is Picinino then over come at last,  
Now I could change my sorrow for a smile.  Pic. 
I must confess an anger though not grief:  
O how I love to fit me to mischance!  
And when that has no reason, them I'm mad.  
Why should our Milan blood stain the French swords  
Unto a glory? Sforza does offend,  
Denies the heavenly powers, or names them then,  
When he does dare them with bold perjury,  
Loads his black soul with murder of a man  
That could have made his execution, justice.  
This Sforza does, but what is this to me?  
Why shall this throat be cut for his? why thine?  
Why shall our Country's ruin fill his penance?  
The heavens do know no mean, but either waste  
Their benefits on dull ingratitude  
Or throw away their thunder, so it hit,  
So it not fail, they care not whom it strike,  
Whether the guilty, or the innocent.  jul. 
This is a grief of higher fault than mine,  
You make a war with them you should appease,  
And urge the heavens to our calamities.  
First we were punished with, and now for Sforza,  
Could any justice have more method in't.  Pic. 
Well julian, I'm sorry for my grief,  
And so persuade thee to that holy truth,  
I now could rave against myself, not heaven,  
But 'tis as fruitless, as to wish good luck:  
Then let the French press upon victory,  
Let them amaze the Air with stranger fire,  
Raised by our City's flaming Funerals,  
Swell they the Poe with blood, act o'er, what ere  
Has been the brag of royal murderers,  
Yet our defence is here: Fortune may fail  
But our true souls shall never, we may lose  
An aged life, but not Eternity:  
And with this strength the field must needs be ours  
Who do not fear, do beat the Conquerors.   

Scena quarta.  Sforza. Ascanio. A Guard. Sf. 
WHat noise is this that from a foreign foe  
Recalls our anger? yet our purer hands  
Know not the die of blood: we should be loath  
To learn a valour on our subjects first.  1 Nunc. 
The people now have raved to quietness:  
But till that Landriano, whom you used  
About the last taxation, was become  
Their rages sacrifice, I durst have sworn  
The French were in the City.  2 Nun. 
This sad hour  
(I'm sorry that you hear this truth from me)  
Your Duchess is departed.  Sf. 
Wither villain?  2 Nun. 
To that free Crown, where she shall fear no French,  
To Heaven.  Sf. 
O envious heaven! why do you give  
Men such hard precepts of mortality,  
And take them hence before that they can learn?  
Must not she live, because she lived too well?  
Alas my wife!  Asc. 
Alas my sister, o!  Sf. 
Who dared that groan? good Cardinal, no more,  
I know not what I could deny to thee:  
Take to thee all for what the French so toil,  
But kindly leave my grief unto myself,  3 Nun. 
Pardon, my Lord, ill Fortune's eloquence,  
Unless you hear you cannot cure your harms,  
The French, now entered Lombardy, sat down  
Before Valenza: where the mouth of Death,  
The thundering Canon being scarcely brought,  
But just presented to the yet sound wall,  
Discovered there was some what more unsound:  
For Rattagnino, the false Governor  
Entreats a Parley, gives away the strength,  
Swears the town French, and gives the key to them,  
With which they open Lombardy.  Sf. 
My fact;  
None can be guilty of this crime, but I:  
That after Treason durst again trust treason.  
This very man, whose easy heart relents  
At a French death, and wisely is afraid  
His manners might be called in question,  
If he should put them off to sue again,  
To ask the second time, for what he held:  
Out of his zeal to virtue, and good luck,  
Did the like act for us, & gave a strength Ent Mal. wounded  
which all our Duchy never could have forced.  
What more revolting yet?  Mal. 
O my good Lood!  
I fear this is beyond Addition.  
O my blood fails me, but my tongue does more,  
Fearing the story that it must relate.  
Your Army being parted, and this half  
Cajazzo leading, that Sanseverin,  
My troops did fall amongst the French men's scouts;  
From whom we learned their numbers, & intents,  
To march with speed for Milan: this sad news  
We sent to Count Cajazzo, with advice,  
That he would instantly rejoin with us,  
To stop their further entrance: he pretends  
That the Venetians hemming in his camp  
Have made his danger greater: yet he moves,  
Makes to the river, and when now our thoughts  
Had left their wavering, and did seem assured  
His actions would be better than his words,  
I saw, O misery that ere I saw!  
That crossing o'er the Po he did embrace  
Those men which he in duty should have killed:  
(O 'tis this kills me, not my want of blood)  
I in just anger set upon the Rear,  
And after many vain attempts, have brought  
My carcase, to entreat for my revenge.  Sf. 
This is conspiracy: Cajazzo false?  
Tell me that contradictions than are true,  
Tell me the heavens no more do travel now  
Being grown inconstant to their motion:  
Or that the Earth pursy with too long ease  
Would with a walk at length refresh herself:  
Tell me that Princes may be fortunate,  
Those that like me are credulous: or if  
You'd speak of things more hard to be believed,  
Tell me, there are, that birth of fear, called Gods,  
And if they be, that they do think of Man:  
Tell me, O prithee tell me somewhat else,  
Or I shall think thee false, and not Cajazzo,  
But I do know thee true, know thy wounds true.  
And must conclude Cajazzo is most fals. Ent. San.  Sans. 
To be o'ercome, my Lord, is wretched chance.  
But not to fight at all will be thought crime,  
I ne'er durst think so to survive ill luck  
As to become the fatal messenger  
But I must say, I durst not fight, and more,  
I must entreat your cowardice, your foes  
Are strengthened with your Army (o pardon me  
Let me not tell you (how) and all our troops  
Have no power left us but for a safe flight.  Sf. 
I did expect this: was not man at first  
Placed on this curious Theatre, to see  
How he could act all parts: do we not know  
What we can fear is nothing? providence  
Long since hath spent our fear; for a wise man,  
When he does found his happiness, forecasts  
Mischiefs, that Fate had never practised yet,  
Which if they happen, if they prove too true,  
They meet, not overtake him, and so find  
A scorn, because a preparation.  
I knew it might be thus, though I not feared,  
And know it may be better, though not hope:  
Yet let us ne'er despair, nor by low thoughts  
Excuse Fate for her present injury,  
And when once more her favours we shall feel,  
Then say, that Fortune has no standing wheel.   

Scena quinta.  Enter at one door, Triulcio, Aubeny, Cajazzo: at the other, some Senators of Milan, who deliver the keys of the City. Sen. 
WE here present you with our keys, great Lords,  
Yet do not think us cowards, who do part  
So easily with that, which if we pleased  
We might, in spite of force, as easily keep:  
We know your right, justice does open these gates,  
And not your swords, nor our disloyalty;  
We leave a Traitor that hath first left us,  
And now are glad to entertain our Prince.  Triu. 
Is he fled then? O our unhappy sloth!  
Why ran we not as well as we did fight?  
Are Cowards swifter than their Conquerors.  Above as in the Citadel appear Isabel, and julia. Is. 
Do not dissuade me, julia, 'tis true  
I may escape, but whither? all is lost,  
In Naples we find France, as well as here.  
O who'd endure the tyranny of hope,  
That could so quickly gain a liberty?  
If I but fall I'm free; o julia,  
The greatest distance 'twixt my bliss, and me,  
Reacheth no farther than to the next earth.  
Can I behold in a perplexed flight  
(Of which I know no comfort, and no end)  
This my sweet infant crying for the food,  
Which I'm uncertain where to beg for him?  
No, I'll descend, and if the greedy French  
Will have our blood with our dominions, She comes down with some soldiers.  
Yet I shall joy to have a speedy end  
And call a nimble enemy, a friend.  Tri. 
What answer from the Citadel? once more  
Give them a summons, if they yield not then Ent. Isabel  
Give an assault.  Is. 
You shall not need my Lords,  
What you could wish you have, most cheaply have  
The conquest of a woman; and a child.  
I'm Isabel, (let not that sad name  
Be ominous to conquerors,) and this  
This Pretty Infant, is my luckless child,  
Born Prince of that, which you have made your prey.  
Why do you one consult another's face,  
As you would see, who could be cruel first?  
Be not at all, or if at all, to me.  
O do not war with infants! can these hands  
Deserve your fear or anger? these weak hands  
That cannot reach themselves unto their teat?  
Who have so much of young infirmity,  
They cannot lift themselves to ask you mercy?  
O let them have, because they cannot ask.  
How many dismal accidents may chance  
To take him hence, before he grow to man,  
And so excuse, and yet fulfil your purpose?  
O let disease be cruel, and not you.  Tri. 
Madam, you shall be honourably used,  
You, and your fair son: take your liberty  
To choose your own free course: for this young Lord,  
He must to France with us, where he shall learn  
The good of royal education:  
Where he shall know the happy difference  
Between a petty, and a kingly Court.  
Some wait upon the princess.  Is. 
O my stars!  
What have I done? ay me. I have betrayed,  
What Tyranny had left me, my sweet boy,  
For whom I never knew a grief; till now;  
I brought him forth with pleasure, when I think  
Upon this pain of parting: my dear child,  
O too too like thy mother; if thou chance  
To draw thyself unto that hated length,  
That thou arrive to the discretion  
To know, what by my folly, thou hast lost,  
Call it no more, o do not call it crime,  
No mother willingly would lose a son:  
Whilst in some darker cell I will entomb  
Thy ruins cause, where whatsoever tear  
Sorrow did once force, now devotion shall:  
That my new name unto the heavens may reach  
Whom misery the way to bliss did teach. Exit.  Tri. 
Never till now had we the victory,  
And now no single one, this happy hour  
Has gained a conquest for Posterity.  
They may be idle now, now the French youth  
May grow up without wounds, & at their homes,  
Steal to a private grave, no more being forced  
To death, though by a glory; nay this Land  
May thank us, for our thrift of victory,  
For lighting on this blessed occasion,  
Which makes us need no more to conquer them:  
If heaven continue us this kindness still,  
we'll measure out our conquests by our will▪    

Actus Quinti  

Scena prima.  Sforza, Ascanio, Sanseverin. Sf. 
O What is man? and all that happiness  
That puffs him to security? to day  
One acts a Prince, and swelled with Majesty  
Fills a proud throne, from whence the Multitude  
Thinks he rules Fortune too, as well as them,  
Whilst she in just esteem of her own name,  
Makes him forgot, or odious, that none  
Can be so miserably fooled, to wish  
His well-appareled misery: thus we  
That did enjoy beyond a Crown, a brain  
Able to meet, or challenge the worst chance:  
Yet in the space of a few days, a space  
Of too short lasting to expel a man  
(By the most subtle fetches of the Law)  
Out of a false inheritance: we lost,  
We were expelled out of a Monarchy;  
But does Fate make a stand at this? O no,  
She is not constant, no not in her curse,  
But giving most again, which once was mine  
She gives me too the capability  
Of a new curse.  Asc. 
Of a new joy: for shame  
Give thanks at least for your felicity:  
Can you repine being crammed, and so deserve  
A bountiful unhappiness? I've known  
Some that have long endured a tedious siege,  
Or a more tedious sickness, who have been  
Forced to a lasting Lent, when they have come  
Or to their health, or to their liberty,  
Not dare to take the nourishment they might,  
Making themselves their sickness, and their foe:  
Is not my Sforza one of these? you grieve  
Because you have no longer cause to grieve.  Sans. 
O I do fear your grief, that it does glance  
With a most undeserved disgrace at me;  
As if I were akin unto the fault  
Of my false brother: O repeat that thought,  
It is no great thing I request you to,  
But trust unto the faith that you have found.  
Would I betray, and follow you? d'ye think,  
I'd be so mad to buy my banishment?  
No man would be unprofitably false,  
Nor I for any profit: speak yourself  
If I have left you, when your Fortune did?  
Nay, than my love was greatest, when you least,  
I was your subject, when you were no Prince.  Sf. 
Sanseverin, thy fear is too too fond,  
And like the people, the Authority,  
Who make an impious confusion  
Of an high birth, and of an higher crime:  
Who in a saucy thwarting to their Prince,  
Count him still worst, whom he has made the best,  
As if we gave him, with his honours, crimes,  
And made him vicious, when fortunate.  
No, let them spend their breath in idle talk,  
Count thee or treacherous, or cowardly;  
Whilst to thy Sforza thou art still the same,  
Most valiant, and with thy valour, wise,  
That by thy abstinence a while from war,  
Hast saved us forces for a victory.  Sans. 
The Subject's life lies in the Prince's voice:  
Now you have cleared me I dare hasten war,  
And wish more enemies, than cowards fear:  
That you may see, by my neglect of blood,  
(Which I shall only love when shed for you)  
How slander was my most feared enemy.  Sf. 
No more, my dearest friend: we lose all time  
Which we do save from fight; still there does flock  
New forces to our Army, and the French  
Are now as much amazed, as proud before:  
We lately took the Swissers into pay,  
Those that dare sell their lives to any cause,  
Whom Gold hath armed for me: if they proceed  
In their first heat, we win: but if they fail  
We cannot be more wretched than we were:  
The vilest chance of luck can make us know  
But an Addition to an Overthrow.   

Scena secunda.  The Captain of the Swissers, with a Soldier, as a fugitive from the French. Soul. 
NOw weare alone I dare reveal myself,  
I am not what I seem, a Fugitive,  
But one that from Triulcio do bring  
Letters that much concern you.  Capt. 
What? to me?  
Letters unto his enemy? let's see: Ex. Soul.  
Expect an answer in my Tent.— What's here?  
Letter.  
THou Man of Action, whom th' Italians  
Feel their Achilles, both to wound & heal:  
Triulcio salutes thee: what is past,  
As past recall he will not mention,  
But for the future this; you aid a man,  
From whom you cannot any way expect  
Reward, or Honour, such his poverty  
Both in desert, and means; but against whom?  
I will not urge they are your Countrymen,  
Partakers of the same sweet soil with you,  
Who only differ in their better choice:  
Yet so far do I prise your worth, to think,  
You have not put off Nature, nor have changed  
With your home-ayre your home-affections,  
That you are still a Swisser: think of this,  
And that at other times 'twere shame to fly,  
Now only flight shows Magnanimity.  
Triulcio.  
What shall I do? O I am lost in doubt,  
Nor know, what to refuse, or what to grant.  
Shall then the Swizzers to their valour add  
A tainture of disloyalty? to whom?  
Who can accuse us for our treachery?  
One that has patronised it by his act:  
That hath betrayed his Nephew: shall a man  
Be counted treacherous; that betrays vice?  
It was a crime to aid him, can it be  
A crime to leave him too? O paradox!  
Resolve me Goodness what 'tis best to do:  
And that does whisper a dislike: for what,  
What goodness can there be in civil war?  
When we shall kill them that were borne with us,  
When we shall make the Father dye his sword  
In the son's blood, and strangely give a death  
To him, to whom he kindly gave a life,  
When the mixed blood of the same Family  
Shall make a cruel incest: this we do  
If we are honest: I'll learn treason first,  
And the most accurate sin. Triulcio,  
Our Country calls us, and not thou, To be  
Dishonest then is the best honesty. Ex.   

Scena tertia.  Picinino in his study, with a Death's head & a Watch. Pic. 
THis is the sum, I can but be like this.  
After the prouder threatening of the French,  
After the sure impression of Diseases  
I can but be like this: then let me think  
What loss I have when I am made like this:  
This fears no French: a piece of ordinance  
Can break, but not astonish this, no force  
Can draw a tear, no not a sigh from hence:  
And can it be a loss to be like this?  
O Death why art thou feared? why do we think  
'tis such a horrid terror Not to Be?  
Why, not to be, is, not to be a wretch,  
Why? not to be, is, to be like the heavens,  
Not to be subject to the power of Fate:  
O there's no happiness but not to be. to the Watch.  
But thou discloser of the stealth of Time,  
Let me inquire how much is worn away  
Of this sad hour: the half? O speedy time!  
That mak'st us feel, ere we can think of Age,  
Ere we can take an order for the Grave. Ent. jul.  jul. 
What? deep in meditation, noble friend?  
So studious of your Watch? alas good man,  
Thou needst not this faint help to guess at Fate,  
These silver hairs are watch enough for thee.  Pic. 
I only look how many minutes hence  
Milan expires.  jul. 
O swift Arithmetic,  
To sum by minutes our sad Duchies age.  Pic. 
This Watch doth teach real Philosophy,  
There is no tutor to this active brass:  
What is a Kingdom, but a larger watch?  
Wound up by Fate unto some scores of years,  
And then it falls: good juliano list,  
Hark how it beats, how strongly and how fast,  
Beyond the motion of a nimble pulse.  
Who would not think this were a lasting noise?  
And yet it ends: after some date of hours  
The watch will be as silent as the head.  
O 'tis our folly, folly my dear friend,  
Because we see th' activity of States,  
To flatter them with false Eternity:  
Why longer than the dweller lasts the house?  
Why should the world be always, and not man?  
Sure Kingdoms are as mortal as their Kings,  
And stay but longer for their period,  jul. 
I fear our Climacterical is now:  
When all professions turn to soldier,  
To that cursed Art that thrives by Destiny.  
The scythes are straighted into swords▪ and th' Earth  
Being not wounded is undone, where once  
Stood buildings, which an humble Poetry  
Without too bold a swelling might give Kings:  
Whole Mines undone to beautify one roof,  
Now only Desolation dwells: weak grief,  
To say Corn grows, where once a City stood,  
That sustenance is there where no men are,  
This is a trifling, and half misery:  
Our Lands now only furnish us with Graves,  
Can hide us, but not feed us; we would think  
Our Cities standing, though the buildings fell,  
If we had no grief, but Fertility.  Pic. 
But on what strength does Sforza still subsist  
Against so powerful foes?  jul. 
The Emperor  
Has sold him some few Almains, but his hopes  
Chiefly depend upon the valiant Swizzes,  
Who were the chief in his depression.  Pic. 
Has his gross brain not learned the danger yet  
Of bringing strangers into Italy?  
He called the French to Naples, who have now  
Found Milan too: O what's the difference  
Betwixt a mercenary and a foe,  
But that we kill one for his outrages,  
And hire the other? juliano, I  
May feel misfortune, but will never buy. Ex.   

Scena quarta.  Sforza, Sanseverin. Sans. 
THe French are mighty, and portentously  
Rise by their fall: strong shame begets a rage,  
And a disdain, that you whom they expelled  
Should hazard their expulsion, makes them hazard,  
What ere being ventured, adds a fame to Man,  
And gives a glory to his misery.  
They are so far from the base fear of death,  
That they embraced, and like those fiercer curs,  
That spend their anger on the senseless stone  
Not daring to attempt on him that threw,  
They with a senseless anger break the darts  
That nail them to the Earth, as if they scorned  
Their killer should survive them: other lets,  
As heat, or hunger are their exercise:  
That one would think they'd lost all part of man  
When they did mean to show the best: my Lord,  
I wish a swift, but love a certain conquest:  
I think 'twere wisdom to protract the fight. know,  Sf. 
I know thou speak'st what thou thinkst best: but  
'tis wisdom to delay on equal fame:  
But when a foe has won opinion,  
Which draws all eyes, and hearts to him, O then  
A valiant desperation fits a man:  
For victory is not impossible,  
And honour necessary: my best friend,  
Call forth our Swizzers, and if happy swords  
Though few, may cut a way to glory, come: Ent. Captain with Swiz.  
The purchase is above the pains: but here  
Come they that shall fill histories: brave friends  
Now is the time we shall employ your swords,  
And teach the world your valour.  Captain 
You may fail:  
'Tis better to be wise: Sforza, I'm come  
To take my leave of you, nor shall much breath  
Be spent in ceremonial compliment,  
I am the French Kings soldier.  Sf. 
Speak low,  
Let not the air feel such a treason, know  
There is a power above us, and that power  
Thunders sometimes, I know, thou dar'st not stand  
In contestation with the power of heaven:  
Revoke thy words.  Capt, 
I'll do no miracles:  
My voice and faith are past.  Sf. 
Yes they are passed:  
Thou art made up all of disloyalty,  
Reason hath nothing of thee: yet relate  
(If thou hast any relics left of sense,  
I'll not conjure thee by strange Honesty)  
Why dost thou leave the heavens, and us, and so  
For nothing dost commit a double Treason?  Cap. 
I'll satisfy you thus, you see I do't:  
Strike up a march.  Sf. 
Yet stay: what is the price  
That makes thee treacherous, I'll turn prodigal  
To buy thee to a virtue: stay: be rich,  
Without a curse, without a fault.  Cap. 
'tis vain,  
I'm deaf to Rhetoric: yet say thoust met  
With a good perjurer, my word is past,  
And to be twice a traitor, is a fault  
No sorrow can atone for: yet thus far  
I'll strain myself to please thee, 'tis well known,  
Unless you get unto Ascanio,  
Your hopes are at the last, but between you  
And him, the French have interposed themselves,  
Nothing remains but that you trust to me,  
And in a Swissers coat disguise yourself,  
That you may pass their Army.  Sf. 
O hard strait,  
Must Sforza impotently hide himself?  
Or can a Prince be hid? I have oft heard  
Sparks of Divinity adorn his face,  
To clear him from the multitude: why then,  
Then being a Prince will make us be no Prince,  
We being betrayed by our own Majesty.  
Yet off, ye envied robes, fall to the Earth,  
O fall so low, that henceforth Man may scorn  
The labour of descent to take you up:  
On, on, ye happy robes, that like good clouds  
Do not obscure, but for a time defend  
The threatened Sun, that he may after shine  
With higher vigour: I have heard of some,  
That wear their flesh with hair cloth for their crimes,  
As thinking to be good if they were rough,  
By such a wild repentance: be it so; Ent. Triul. with the French.  
These robes offended, them there is an hope  
These rags may expiate heaven  Tri. 
Brave soldiers,  
How we rejoice we may embrace at last,  
Not with armed hands, without the guilt & shame  
Of civil murder▪ but are these the troops  
That now must learn to use their valour well,  
To give a death without a prodigy?  
A conquering cheerfulness adorns their face.  
These are not common soldiers: look you pale?  
Then I must know the mystery.  Cap. 
I'm betrayed.  Tri. 
Yea I know all, but yet from thy forced tongue  
Will I extract confession; fetch a rack,  
To make him howl the truth he will not speak  Cap. 
I can dare torments for wise honesty,  
But when you know as much as I can tell.  
Should I conceal't, all policy would judge,  
I did deserve the worst that I endured:  
Who told you this was Sforza?  Sf. 
O my brain!  
Must subtlety perish by subtlety?  
And our high wisdom find a Conqueror?  
Make an end Nature, the great work is done,  
Sforza is overreached— weak, childish rage:  
Is this to lessen, or make misery:  
Can passion lose us, or a courteous tear  
Wash off our fetters? if it can, pour eyes,  
Pour out wet comfort; if it can, refuse  
The curse of slumber, but it cannot, then  
Covet a slumber everlastingly,  
And be like me, imprisoned in your lids.  
Convey us quickly hence, kind friends, you know  
Sforza can never be a prisoner here,  
Convey us thither where we are no Prince.  
And must we woo our Ruin? never man  
Is a true wretch, but when he loseth all,  
And wants the sad Election of his fall.   

Scena ultima.  juliano, Picinino. jul. 
I'm lost in this confusion: one reports  
We have lost all, another instantly  
Kills all the French at once: thus every street  
Is filled with wondering people, some cry, Arm,  
Others run crying, to persuade a flight:  
All have an earnest business in the stir,  
But in the help not any.  Pic. 
These are they  
That if an happy messenger should come  
With Sforza's victory, would pretend at least  
To be o'ercome with joy: the gorgeous walls  
Should shine with painted triumphs, & the French  
Should be again vanquished in pageant  
But if his fortune yield to the French force,  
What obloquy's will be enough for him?  
Disgrace will then be wit, and any brain  
Will venture on a Libel.  jul, 
'Tis the use,  
The popular folly to admire events.  
And those low souls think that the sword is just,  
Proportioning the reason, by the end,  
Of the chief acts, of the best enterprise,  
And so by folly run into a crime.  Pic. 
No matter for their wisdom, were they good:  
O why are such termed Innocents'? but friend,  
What is our aim? a flight our age denies,  
And whither should we fly, but to the grave?  
O I have so much people in me too. Enter Maluezzo.  
That I could wish thy company  Mal. 
Good heavens!  
Am I escaped? may I stay safely here?  
My fear has left such near impressions,  
I scarce dare think that this is Liberty.  Pic. 
Noble Maluezzo, is there any hope?  Mal. 
As much as in despair: we are betrayed,  
Sforza is made a prisoner, all's lost,  
And Milan, without blows, is once more French,  Pic. 
Now I remember what I dreamt last night,  
(If it be safe to call a vision, Dream,)  
I saw our Sforza in so pale a shape,  
That Envy never was described more wan,  
Who frighted me with this relation.  
STart not astonished mortal: let no fear  
Chill thee to my pale image, but fix here:  
Let thy once Prince be thy now spectacle,  
Whilst I the direst Tragedy shall tell  
That ever challenged wonder: briefly then  
I was betrayed, betrayed, and by those men  
By whom I conquered: 'tis an happy end  
To perish for, but never by a friend,  
This our first death: but then— O could cursed Time  
Dare ever such a Minute, such a Crime?  
Then was I pinioned, than these royal hands  
Were forced obedient to the base commands  
Of an insulting Conqueror, and knit  
Unto a hated union; 'twere fit  
If ever Heaven shed tears, then to distil  
Mournings Elixir, though th' expense should kill  
The hopes of after Ages: but Heaven smiled  
Nor any courteous clouds were wisely piled  
Over the Sun's sharp beams, but they gazed on  
With the same visage of compassion  
As did my torturers, by whom I'm brought  
Unto a place the which some shallower thought  
Has faint by termed a prison, but to tell  
The truth of horror, 'twas on Earth, an Hell:  
Darkness so dwelled there, that I might be won  
To wish the cruel comfort of the Sun,  
Which erst I rav'dat: 'twas a narrow cave,  
Formed to the model of a lesser grave,  
Or straitened Coffin, all was length, for they  
Left not the height that I might kneel to pray,  
Was ever such a bed? could ever yet  
Cruelty boast of such a subtle wit  
To bury so! some that have entered Earth  
Alive, like me, yet by the usual mirth  
Of justice had their burial with meat,  
As if't should be their punishment to eat,  
From which I'm barred, I had no food, but me,  
And yet a guest of famine; Courtesy  
At last seized heaven, I died, and so though late,  
I both appeased and triumphed over Fate.  
But where am I? what ecstasy was this?  jul 
How quickly we learn misery? no ghost  
Would have so courteosly relinquished Hell  
To teach us happiness: if a kind star  
Had cast a Fortune on us beyond wish,  
We might expect the story from the star  
Assoon as the dear benefit: but when grief  
That against which we would seal up our ears,  
When that is meant us, we shall surely hear,  
Though heaven do strain for a new Miracle,  
So to amaze us to a certainty:  
Though rotten carcases regain a voice,  
And hell is bounteous of intelligence,  
To give us tears.  Pic. 
Why, then an end to tears,  
Let's scorn the sorrow, which we owe to hell:  
How learn we the prodigious effects  
Of wise Ambition: for 'twere easy justice  
To ruin foolish usurpation,  
Heaven needs not stickle in't: but when those men  
Who are as accurate, as bad, who can  
So shape their vice into a virtuous mould,  
That we repine at the accusers more,  
Then at the guilty: when that these men fall,  
Who then will call that wise, which he sees bad?  
Such wisdom made, and ruined him: than ye  
That dazzle with your Majesty, and sit  
Too near to thunder, and not fear it, know  
Sforza, and learn a wise contempt of wisdom,  
Frailty attends your best, and strongest trick,  
And there's no fool unto the Politic.    

The Epilogue.  
SOme what beyond an end? and can there be  
Tediousness counted an Apology?  
It was prolixity of speech offended,  
And can that error by more speech be mended?  
Your patience stints the wonder: that is it  
Hath dared us to be public, and to fit  
These times of tempest, with a blustering scene.  
If aught do please, if we have hit the mean,  
That neither cloys the Auditor, nor starves,  
Felicity hath crowned us; if aught swarves  
From plausible invention, know 'twas it  
Which we intent, which is in stead of wit.  
Tears grace a Tragedy and we are glad  
To have the happy power to make you sad,  
Continue it, and our applause is high,  
Not from your Hand so much; as from your eye.   

To the Ambitious.  
TEll me, mortals, if there be  
Aught beside stupidity  
Hidden in you at the least,  
If you are not all one beast  
Wherhfore do you cloud your face  
If you want the chiefest place?  
Why do you respect? O why?  
Not how good 'tis, but how high?  
Would you all be Kings? o vain.  
This is but to entertain  
Such desires, that you may fear,  
Lest the heaven should lend an ear,  
Lest you have what you desired,  
And in your own bogs be mired.  
Height is baseness, if it be  
Levelled by Equality,  
And the Earth were a plain still,  
If it were but one great hill.  
Would you all be Kings? as though  
Standing pool should wish to flow,  
Or a river make his plea  
To exceed into a Sea:  
As if of the stars not one,  
But should strive to be the Sun,  
Or the Lark would partner be  
In the Eagles sovereignty.  
Would you not be mad to see,  
If a beast, a stone, a tree  
To the heavenly powers ran  
Angry that they were not man?  
Nay in us consider well  
To what Monsters we should swell,  
If but any Part should be  
Of the Man's infirmity.  
What should lead, or what be led,  
If the feet were made the Head?  
What should speak, or what should see,  
If this itch of Majesty  
Made the mouth, for being nigh,  
Beg advancement to the eye.  
Would you all be Kings, poor men!  
Wish, what you would wish again,  
Which within your thoughts dares bide,  
And's not fearful to be tried.  
What's a King, consider well,  
But the public Sentinel?  
But a Beacon, which we find  
Highly subject to the wind:  
And can any still desire  
To be worse, so he be higher?  
Are you weary of your sleep,  
Can you count it bliss, to creep,  
To take pains unto that height,  
Whence your fall may gain a weight,  
Would you all be Kings? you may,  
Every man hath regal sway,  
And 'tis this the fault does bear,  
Not that he commands, but where.  
Do thy thoughts rebel? would Pride  
Have thy worst acts magnified?  
Does Ambition make thee flee  
To forbidden Sovereignty.  
Know it is a braver way  
To forbid, then to obey:  
Know it is a nobler deed,  
To give over, then to speed.  
Were this all? would every one  
But command himself alone,  
But command his own desire,  
From the thought of rising higher:  
It would not be a grief to see  
An universal Monarchy.  
FINIS.   

The explanation of the Frontispiece.  
A Levite in his journey goes  
To wicked Gibeah for repose,  
Which is denied, but having found  
Another lodging then the ground,  
(Such is th' unkindness of their sin)  
They make a prison of his Inn.  
From whence he shall not issue free,  
But by his wife's Adultery,  
So when from thence to hast he minds,  
Her dead before the door he finds,  
When to express their crime, and make  
The villains at their own guilt quake,  
Into twelve pieces he divides  
The body that was once his Brides,  
Now Gibeah is besieged, and though  
They twice have given the overthrow  
Unto their betters, yet at length  
They find Vice hath no lasting strength:  
For now their town's as hot as their Desire,  
And as they burned in Lust, so that in fire.   


THE LEVITES REVENGE. by Robert Gomersall.  
LONDON. Printed for john Marriott.    

THE LEVITES REVENGE: Containing POETICAL MEDITATIONS UPON The 19 and 20. Chapters of JUDGES.  
By Robert Gomersall.  
The second Edition.  
Printed at LONDON in the year M DCXXXIII.   

TO HIS WORTHILY RESPECTED FRIFND, MASTER BARTEN HOLIDAY archdeacon OF OXFORD.  
WOrthy Sir; whilst others are ambitious of an honourable Dedication, I am thankful for a friendly one, this in the mean time being mine happy advantage over them, that they expect, but I enjoy a Patron. And yet I have not such a scarcity of great names, to whom I might pretend with as good a confidence as the greatest part of Writers, but that some of the higher rank (to whom for their frequent courtesy I confess myself an unequal debtor) might have expected, others almost challenged my Dedication: to whom I know no other answer of more respect and satisfaction than this, that I concluded the work to be below their notice, how much more their protection; and that I would have others to take notice more of my Friendship, then of my Ambition: But it may be that some will conceive an Ambition in this Friendship, when I of such an infancy in study shall boast the favours of so grown a virtue, and intrude upon his fame. If this be an offence, I must profess I glory in it, this accusation I confess and am proud of: such is the ambition of him that is enamoured on virtue, of the man who would be endeared to heaven, whose desires would not be so good, were they not so high, and the Angels might have stood, had they never known another Pride. But not to insist on that (which nevertheless I can never too much insist on, the remembrance of our friendship) to whom could I more fitly dedicate a Poem, then to him that hath showed such excellency? or a Divine Poem, then to him that hath showed such Religion in his composures? Of this truth Persius is a witness, whom you have taught to speak English with such a grace, that we can understand when we hear him, and find no one syllable in his Dialect offensive either to the Elegant, or to the chaste Eare. Of this truth juvenal may be a witness, whom though we do not yet hear in public bettering his expressions by your exact rendering him, yet they that have enjoyed the happiness of your nearer friendship, confidently and upon the hazard of their understanding affirm, that he is far unworthy of such an imprisonment, that he should be obscured by that hand which cleared him. But it is Divinity that is the subject of these verses, and it is Divinity which is the exercise, and glory of your studies, which makes you an inhabitant of the Pulpit, nay which makes every place where you will vouchsafe to discourse, to be a Pulpit, for such is the bounty of your religious conversation, that howsoever the place may be changed, the Sermon is perpetual. Sermons that at the same time make us devout and witty, which by first winning the Preacher, have the easier Conquest of the Auditory: who are never with less difficulty entreated to their happiness, then when they see they do not go alone. So that now when I consider what I present, and to whom, I begin to suspect the lightness of my work, and think I have some reason to fear the censure of such a Friend, to whom if I shall be excused, I expect some glory from others, not because the Levite, but because He was mine, to whom, having thus far tried his patience, I have nothing more to add but this, that I am his,  
In all the duties of Affection, ROBERT GOMERSALL.   

TO THE READER.  
REader, I must first entreat thy Patience, afterward thy Ingenuity; thy Patience, that thou wilt read somewhat before my verses: thy Ingenuity, that thou wilt not censure them the worse, because thou shalt find them censured to thy hand. The purpose of this Poem is Religious Delight, which if thou shalt find in any place wanting, or disjoined, understand, that it was either not my intent, or mine Error. And yet I dare affirm no man shall be the worse by it, and that if there be any want, it is more of the Delight then of the Religion: If I intended excuses, I could tell you, and that truly too; that these verses were not now first made, although they are now first published, and the Composure was a younger mans, though the Edition be a Divines. This I could say, if I thought Poetry incompatible with Divinity, if it were a serious truth, that God could be only magnified in Prose: But when I consider that Nazianzen could be both a Poet, and a Saint, and that it was heresy that cast Tertullian out of the Church, and not his Verses, I dare acknowledge these for mine own, and fear not to suffer in that cause, wherein those Worthies were so magnified: Especially, since these Essays (which I fear their weakness will too strongly testify) were not my study, but my Recreation, when in the vacations having for a time intermitted my more serious affairs, I chose Poetry before Idleness; yet I have not chose Poetry with the hazard of my Conscience, & so instead of a Divine have writ a superstitious work; howsoever Malice or Ignorance may wrest a passage unto Popery, I mean that, where Abraham prays for the victory of the Israelites: But besides that the Intercession is general for the Church, which no judicious Divine but will allow for Orthodox, it is made by him, whom a Popish Divine will deny at that time to be able to intercede: there was no soliciting of him they saw not, and the holiest of the Patriarches (as they will tell you) saw not God till after the Resurrection: I have the more fully expressed myself in this, because I would not be esteemed as one of them (whereof there is too great an harvest) who play the wantoness with Religion, that will halt between two parties, and in spite of the Prophet, at the same time serve God and Baal, who like not Orthodox truth, unless delivered in heretical terms, & so by a notable new trick of juggling, call that Pacification, which is Conspiracy, of whose proficiency in Religion I can speak little; but this I may most confidently affirm, that (perhaps not after the Apostles mind, yet certainly in his words) they go on from Faith, to Faith. Of this crime, and of the suspicion of it, I trust I am sufficiently acquitted: for other errors which Malice and Curiosity will abundantly multiply, I only refer myself to the truly judicious, who know that a good Poem is as a good Life, not wherein there are none, but wherein there are the fewest faults.   

To my learned and highly esteemed Friend, Mr. ROBERT GOMERSALL.  
HAd such a Labour in this juggling age  
Sought after Greatness for its patronage,  
Not after Goodness, I had then been free  
To love thy work, though not to fancy thee;  
But thou hast won me: since I see thy book  
Aims at a judging eye, no smiling look.  
Greatness doth well to shelter errors, thou  
Not having any, fearest no frowning brow,  
But wisely cravest a view of his, that can  
Not only praise, but censure of a man.  
Thou needst not doubt severer eyes, if he  
Add but applause unto thy Poety.  
His works such monuments of fame do raise,  
That none will Censure if he once but Praise.  
Commend I would, but what? here's nothing known  
Can be called thine, when each hath claimed his own.  
jove-bred- Minerva challengeth the wit.  
Mercury flies and swears he languaged it.  
Thy Arts the Muse's claim; the History  
Savours of nothing but Divinity,  
Transcribed from God's records; then nothing's thine  
(But grief for th' Levites sin) since th' use is mine.  
But now dear friend, though this sufficient be  
To raise up Trophies, and eternize thee:  
Give leave to him that loves thee to desire  
To serve thee friendlike, though in mean attire.  
The glittering star that darts a glorious light  
Were lost if not commended by the night?  
So stands it with thy verse; I writing set  
Their beauty off, as Crystal is by jet.  
Nor doth it trouble me; since that my end  
Is not to be a Poet, but a friend.  
And yet perhaps these loser lines of mine  
May prove eternal; cause they usher thine.  
Midd. Temp. C. L. I. C.   


Epitaphium Concubinae.  
Quae tristis ignes, Gibeah, passa est tuos,  
Cultrumquè sponsi, cujus amplexum petit  
Non unus ardour, ecce in amplexu perit,  
Non una facta victima, & multus rogus.  
Discant pueliae forma sit quantum Nihil,  
Virtus venusta est, pulchra mens solus decor.   

Englished thus.  
Who suffered Gibeahs' Lust, and her Lord's knife,  
Whom not one Suitor would have had to wife;  
By many Suitors perishing, here lies,  
A not-one Coarse, and many sacrifice.  
O who would trust in forms, that hours impair,  
virtue's true shape, and only Goodness fair.    
PSAL. 9.2. 
I will be glad and rejoice in thee, yea my Songs will I make of thy name, O thou most High.  
FAther of Lights, whose praises to rehearse  
Would pose the boldness of the ablest verse;  
Who art so far above what we can say,  
That what we leave is greatest: show the way  
To my weak Muse, that being full of thee  
She judge Devotion the best Poesy,  
Teach her to shun those ordinary ways,  
Wherein the greater sort seek shameful praise  
By witty sin, which ill affections stirs,  
Whose pens at leastwise are Adulterers.  
O teach me Modesty: let it not be  
My care to keep my verse from harshness free  
And not from lightness; let me censure thus,  
That what is Bad, that too is Barbarous.  
Then shall my soul warmed with thy sacred fire,  
Advance her thoughts, and without Pride aspire,  
Then shall I show the glory of my King,  
Then shall I hate the faults which now I Sing,   

THE LEVITES REVENGE.  
Canto. I.  
The Argument.  
The Levites Love, her flight, his stay  
In hope to bring his Runaway:  
Gibeahs' harsh usage, with the free,  
Unlooked for old man's courtesy:  
Their base attempt, her wretched fate;  
This song to Time doth consecrate.  
WHilst Israel's government was yet but rude,  
And Multitudes did sway the Multitude,  
Whilst all the Nation were so many Kings,  
Or else but one great Anarchy: Fame sings  
That there a Levite was (Levites may err)  
Who had a Concubine, and doubted her.  
Durst Lust and jealousy so high aspire  
To one that only knew the Altar's fire?  
Must he feel other Flames? to wanton eyes  
Must even the Priest be made a sacrifice?  
Or hath he offered incense so long time  
For Iudah's fault, that he hath gained their crime?  
Appeased for sins to learn them? in times past  
Whilst yet the ancient innocence did last,  
Levi could kill a Ravisher, but now  
Levies base offspring does not disavow  
To be a Ravisher. Perhaps to show  
His Grandsire's bloody rashness, who would so  
Punish that crime, which some years passed might be  
His own, at least in his Posterity.  
For so 'twas now: the Levite loves, and more,  
Suspects at last, whom he did first adore:  
For Fame speaks hardly of her: but poor man  
Fame speaks no more than thou should think: for can  
One that hath broke with honesty, be true  
To him that made her break? or else are you  
The only Tempter? does there no blood boil  
Besides the Levites? can they only toil  
In sins, that preach against them? if they can,  
Yet such as she are made for every man.  
What none can challenge his, is due to all,  
Lust should not imitate a Nuptial.  
She now suspects her Levites jealousy,  
And hasts home to her father's house: o why  
To go or come again couldst thou dispense,  
And bring not back again, what thou brought'st  
Was then a Father to be visited  
When thou wert made a Mother? what hope bred thence?  
That madness in thee, that unto a mild  
Father, thou shouldst be welcome for a child?  
But unto whom wouldst thou have welcome been?  
A Father? 'tis the nature of thy sin:  
To make them doubtful: they that live like thee,  
Ashamed of nothing but of modesty,  
Banish themselves from all, but their dear sin;  
And lose at once their virtue, and their kin.  
But when the Levite saw that she was gone,  
That she was lost, whom he so doted on,  
Reason almost forsook him too, to prove  
Anger can blind a man as well as love:  
It may be Israel was holy then  
And sacrifices for the guilty men  
Came slowly in, this might increase his grief,  
And be an accessary, if not chief:  
This might confirm him in his angry sin,  
Robbed of his profit and his concubine.  
But he'll not lose her: wilt thou seek her then  
That does fly thee? that to an host of men  
Hath given thy due? as if she meant to try  
Which were the most unvanquished luxury  
Of Priest or people: whom if thou shouldst find,  
Thou hast not yet recovered her lost mind,  
That wanders still, and wilt thou fetch her thence  
To try, or else to teach thee Patience?  
Can she teach any virtue? can there be  
Aught learned from her besides immodesty?  
All that this journey can effect, that thou  
Canst promise to thyself, if thou speedest now,  
Is, that she'll lose the bashfulness she had,  
And only prove more confidently bad.  
You now may think him near his journeys end,  
Where long before his thoughts had met his friend,  
Scorning his bodies sluggish company,  
And now both are arrived, where to his eye  
She first appeared, for whom alone, I find,  
He thanked the heaven that did not make him blind,  
For which he should have thanked them: he had been  
Then nor a Lover, nor a Priest: no sin  
Had crept in with the light, nor ever made  
In that good Darkness, an unhallowed shade  
But who had seen him when he first descried  
Who'twas that met him, how he slipped beside  
The wearied beast, and with full speed did run  
As if he meant to tempt temptation;  
He would have judged that women strongest were,  
And men object the weakness which they are.  
Thus when he should wisely have understood,  
And thanked the kinder heavens, who made him good  
Against his will almost, having removed  
That which did hinder him from being beloved  
Of God, and goodness, not unlike the Fish  
Which seems to be desirous of the dish,  
(As if for his delivery he did wait,  
And therefore were ambitious of the bait:)  
Into a known snare, he does gladly run,  
And foolishly pursues, what he should shun.  
And is not this, I'd know, the readiest way  
To make God think, we mock him when we pray?  
When we pretend desire, that we may be,  
As from the Fault, so the Temptation free:  
Whilst (as we had not known what we had said,  
Or hoped, that God observed not how we prayed)  
Lest that we should receive our hurt from far,  
We both the Tempted, and the Tempter's are,  
And thus the holiest name we take in vain,  
Praying as never meaning to obtain.  
And now her father comes, who after words  
As kind and elegant as that place affords,  
Entreats her pardon: but alas, good Age,  
Who shall entreat thy pardon, or assuage  
The Levites passion now? who does aver,  
That he alone does sin, who taxes her:  
With this he smiles on her, and yet does fear  
Lest she should think that this a Pardon were,  
Or reconcilement: without much ado,  
You might persuade him now he came to woo,  
And not to fetch her back; but by the haste  
Of carrying her from thence, fearing the waist  
Of the least minute, she might well descry,  
What ere his words, his deeds spoke jealousy.  
Hardly he condescends to one nights stay  
Though 'twere with her: but how he spent the day,  
How his desires were speedier than the Sun,  
(Whom than he thought to creep, and not to run)  
'twere tedious to relate, though the old man  
With all the Art, and all the Cheer he can,  
Detains him three days longer, which appear  
As long as fancy can extend a year.  
Minutes are Ages with him, and he deems  
He hath out-lingred grave Methusalems'  
Nine hundred year by such a stay, and fears  
That she may once more shun him for his years.  
Sure such accounts the wise Egyptians made  
Who added wings to Time, as if he had  
Moved on too slowly, or as if they meant  
To take his foretop from him, with intent  
To make him bald before too, whose records  
Had very near as many years as words.  
Making full forty thousand ere the fall,  
And pu'ny Adam of no age at all.  
The fifth day dawns, but ere the rising Sun  
Had showed the victory which he had won  
Of cloudy night, before the sleepy Cock  
Had proved himself to be the Country Clock  
Showing the morning's hour, when now we might  
Have spoke no falsehood had we called it Night:  
Our Levite for his journey does prepare,  
And his are dressed, ere Phoebus' horses are:  
To whom the Father comes, and gently chides  
His early son-in-law, who, forced, abides  
Till after noon with him, and then he goes  
Not from the house so fast, as to his woes,  
Sure the old man did prophesy the harm,  
Which would ensue, when he did seek to charm  
Our Levite to a longer stay: but O  
'tis double misery beforehand to know  
We shall be miserable! then why hath man  
That cursed ability, that well he can  
Prognosticate mishaps, when they are near?  
And all his knowledge teaches but to fear.  
Which yet our Levite hath not learned, who rides  
Doubting no danger: now the world's eye glides  
To his west Inn, when jebus he espies,  
Whom he counts his, because God's enemies.  
Harken ye Gallants that will cross the seas,  
And are industrious for a new disease,  
If you will needs be gadding, and despise  
For foreign toys, our homebred rarities,  
Take this example with you, if you go  
Travel not from Religion: why, although  
You never touch at Rome, or else perchance  
You scarce see Spain, and glean but part of France,  
You may be weary, think your travel great,  
And spare at once your conscience, and your sweat;  
You see our Levite though the night draw near,  
His love be weary, and no town appear  
Where she may rest herself, although the way  
Were troublesome enough e'en in the day,  
Yet he resolves gladly to undergo  
More miseries than Night and danger know,  
Ere he will venture there to make his stay  
From whence the Idols had drove God away:  
O far unworthy of thy future Fate  
By this best Action! miserable state  
Of too great virtue ill-imployed! to be  
Punished, when he did shun Iniquity,  
As he did jebus. How he spurs, how rates  
His tardy beast! how his own slackness hates?  
Which forced him by his travelling so late  
If not to stay, yet to deliberate.  
Within the Centre of the Earth there stands  
near to the fiery streams, and ashy sands,  
A dreadful palace, of such uncouth frame,  
Each part so shaped as if 'twere built to shame  
All Architecture, that if one did see  
The vastness of it, and deformity,  
He would not make the least demur to tell  
That 'twas a lodging for the Prince of Hell.  
What ere does beautify a house, here wants,  
The walls are black as the Inhabitants,  
Made out of jet, into such figures framed  
That Nature dare not own them, nor be blamed  
With so much Monster: we in doubt may call,  
Whether the trimming, or material,  
Had the more horror. No birds here are heard,  
But such whose harsher accents would have feared  
The most resolved: they punish in their rhymes,  
And all their ditty does consist of crimes.  
They sly Praecisian that could gull the eye  
Of the most sharp, by close hypocrisy,  
Whose mischiefs only he that did, could tell,  
Who, we may think might even have cheated Hell  
With such dissembling, sees his vices bare,  
Naked, and foul, as when they acted were:  
One lays oppression to his charge, another  
His sister's incest, murder of his brother.  
They show his zeal was only to contend,  
And all his reformation not to mend  
But to confound the State, that his knit brow  
(Which looked so stern as it would disallow  
The most indifferent act, and like of none  
But such as did pretend perfection)  
Was but an easy Vizor, such as Rage  
Can give itself, and must receive from Age.  
That he did only know external Grace,  
And all his holiness was in his face.  
Is goodness in a wrinkle? can we find  
That what does cloud the face, does cleanse the mind?  
To me it is a trick of rarest art  
That hollow brows should have the soundest heart.  
These are the sounds, but then the smells are worse,  
Enough to make that Harmony no Curse.  
Under the walls there runs a brimstone flood  
The top of flames, the bottom was of mud:  
Of such gross vapour, that to smell was Death,  
Prisons are sweet, compared unto that breath.  
And to maintain the fire and stench at once,  
The fuel is prepared of usurers bones,  
Loose Madams locks, the feathers of their Fan,  
With the foul inside of a Puritan.  
In this sweet place as sweet a Prince doth dwell,  
The chief of fiends, the Emperor of Hell  
Grand Lucifer, whom if I should relate  
In the worst figure that the eye doth hate:  
I should but faintly his foul self express,  
Nor reach unto his unpatterned ugliness,  
Death keeps the entrance, a tall sturdy groom.  
Who emptying all places fills no room,  
But like the fond Idolater of pelf,  
Denies men, what he cannot have himself:  
Here does this shade send challenges to all,  
Who would have entrance first to try a fall,  
They try, and they are thrown; there's none so great  
But yields to him, who knew but one defeat  
And that long after, but his prime was now,  
His bones some marrow had, some grace his brow.  
No plagues as yet, no famines had been known,  
The sword was thrifty, making few to groan  
Under his edge. Death yet had lusty thighs,  
Nor spent himself with too much exercise.  
Here there stand numbers, which exceed all sums  
(For they refuse none here, who ever comes)  
The murderer first, and without much ado.  
Sometime he will admit the murdered too.  
Then the incontinent, but if that he  
Be known by Incest or Adultery  
His seat is chief: nor have they a low place,  
Who with an open and alluring face,  
Delude their trusting friends, till they have won  
Their deeper projects, which they built upon.  
The rest of lower crimes, whom we may call,  
Downright offenders, such as after all  
Their time of trespass, have not gained the skill,  
And only know the taint, not art of Ill:  
Have no distinguished rooms, but venture in  
As headlong to their pains, as to their sin,  
But now some other enter; for a charge  
Past from the Prince of shadows, to enlarge  
Th' imprisoned Crimes, that they might all confer  
(Such is his will) with their Lord Lucifer.  
What noise there was? what striving at the door?  
This would be first, and that would go before:  
Pride claims precedency, and cries who ere  
Ventures to make a step before her there  
Is impudently foolish, that the place  
Is hers by due, and only theirs by grace,  
When she would yield it: unless first they would  
Bring more convincing reasons than she could:  
For who should to the Prince of Hell first go  
To visit him, but she that made him so?  
And who had made him so, she'd know, but she,  
When with his God he claimed Equality?  
Peace, wrath exclaims, and with so deep an oath  
As all those fiends, with Hell to boot, were loath  
To hear another such, he vows no more  
To bear the brave of that scarlet whore,  
he'll first a Rebel, first a Virtue be,  
And no more Wrath, but Magnanimity.  
She smiled, and bid him be so, but whilst they  
Were hot in this contention, Envy lay  
Gnawing her breasts: fain would she have been higher  
Had but her spirit equalled her desire.  
But since she cannot be revenged of them,  
She useth an unheard of stratagem,  
Tears her own hairs, and her gimme face beslimes  
Thus punishing herself for others crimes.  
By this time Idlensse comes in the rear,  
As proud, though not as active, as they were;  
He scarce would take the pains to speak, but loath  
To lose his dignity by too much Sloth,  
He gives them these few words, Why strive you so  
About the place which all to me do owe?  
Do not ye know, I am the reigning Crime,  
Most general, and most lofty of the time?  
I mak● 〈◊〉 Lawyer silent, though he see  
His client full; I am beyond a Fee:  
When Laws do not, I make the Preacher dumb  
Even when the Tiger, or the Wolf do come:  
But above all, I in the Court do grow,  
Beggars are proud, but Emperors are slow.  
Drunkenness could not answer, but does think  
'twas fit that Idleness should yield to drink:  
And reeling to encounter him, does fall  
Just in the entrance, and excludes them all.  
Now is the skirmish hotter than before,  
Now Pride begins to scratch, and Wrath to roar;  
Drunkenness lies unmoved, and Sloths intent  
Is to sit still, and to expect th' event.  
But in this civil broil, at last comes Craft  
Of whom no Painter ere could take a draft,  
He had such change of shapes, who when he saw  
These tumbling warriors, and that no awe,  
No fear of Lucifer could teach them peace,  
he'll try his skill to make these broils to cease,  
Fie Pride, says he, What? give yourself the fall?  
And Wrath are you no more discreet withal  
Then quarrel with a woman? Come agree,  
If not for fear of Hell, for love of me.  
But out alas, you do too well agree,  
When Wrath is Proud, and Pride will Wrathful be.  
Go hand in hand (thus friendly Craft decides)  
Only the upper hand let that be Prides.  
They enter the great hall, where they do see  
The Hellish Monarch in his Majesty,  
Where having made obeisance, he begins,  
Thus to break silence▪ and upbraid the sins.  
The reason why I called you (not to dwell  
On an unnecessay preamble)  
Is to inform you, that we find of late  
You have not been officious to the State:  
'Tis true, you bring me daily what's mine own▪  
And plentifully reap what I have sown.  
In the gross Heathen you do hourly cause  
Vices, which never were forbid by Laws,  
Because ne'er thought of? but what's this to me,  
Whether that Lust or Infidelity  
Fill Hell with those, nay and oppress it too,  
Which must come thither, whatsoe'er they do?  
You do like those, who in the other life  
Buy their own lands, and woo again their wife.  
A goodly act, and wherein's danger store,  
You give me that, which was mine own before.  
Whilst judah all this while hath me withstood,  
And dares, when I forbid them, to be good.  
They honour Parents with a zealous strife,  
And with their goodness do prolong their life.  
In them no malice nor no rancour lies,  
Nor shed they blood, but for a sacrifice:  
Adulteries scarce heard of in a life,  
And they're men only unto their own wife.  
In such a loved community they live,  
None need to steal▪ all are so apt to give.  
While you suppose that highly you deserve  
If you can say that you have made them swerve  
From goodness that ne'er had it: well y'ave done  
If that Semiramis once dote upon  
Her wondering issue, and begin to swell  
With such a birth, that would pose us to tell  
How she should call it; and what she did bear  
If it her daughter, or her granchild were,  
You have discharged your office, if you make  
Some bloody Nations their own issue take  
And offer unto me; or if you draw  
Some to the practice of that wicked Law  
That after fifty they their parents kill,  
And not that only, but suppose that ill  
To be their duty. O fond thought! and thence  
Do estimate their child's obedience.  
Hence truant Crimes, avaunt, no more appear  
In my dread presence, no more let me hear  
Those petty actions, if you do not strait  
Revenge my wrongs, and ease me of this weight,  
Which thus oppresseth me, if Israel still  
Shall dare to cross what I shall call my will;  
By Hell I'll do— but what? I say no more,  
If you are wise, prevent, if not, deplore.  
This said he stared so fiercely that they feared  
He would perform much more than they had heard,  
Nor know they well how they their tongues should use,  
Whether 'twere best to promise or excuse.  
At last Lust rises, and becalms him thus,  
Why do you lose your wrath, great Prince, on us?  
Us your sworn vassals? who nor think nor do  
But what your will is their command unto.  
What though w'ave spent our pains not the right way?  
Yet they were pains, nor can an enemy say  
But we were active Furies, and have done  
What lesser fiends durst not have thought upon.  
And yet (if that I may have leave to tell  
From your dread grace) preciser Israel  
Hath not escaped us wholly, nor hath been  
More noted for their Law, then tor their Sinne.  
Was that a Virtue too, when being led  
By Gods own hand, and filled with Angel's bread,  
They did, (I joy to caused, but blush to tell,)  
They did repine even at that miracle.  
Fasting and full they murmur, nor are less  
Angry with Manna then with Emptiness.  
I could speak more, and truly: but in sum,  
To prove my past acts by my act to come;  
If by your gracious leave, I have the fate  
To have a joint commission with Debate,  
I'll make a fire within their blood to burn,  
Shall their proud Cities into ashes turn:  
And they shall know how foolishly they err,  
Who are not willing slaves to Lucifer.  
Lucifer nods, and Lust does swiftly run  
With his unlimited Commission:  
Which with what Art, what mischief he did use,  
Is now the grief and business of my Muse.  
But now she must to our sad Levite hast  
Whom we left trav'lling, when the day was passed.  
The sun sets over Gibeah; when that he  
Draws nearer thither ward, but then to see  
The blush of Heaven, with what a red it shined,  
(As if the Sun his office had resigned  
Unto those clouds) to all that understood,  
It would have showed that it did figure blood,  
And now our Levite is arrived, but finds  
The walls more courteous than the people's minds:  
For these had gates which let him in, but they  
Were merciless, and rougher than the way:  
Men that had only studied to oppress,  
Whose minds were shut against the harbourless:  
And yet he sees large houses, some so high  
As if they learned acquaintance with the sky,  
What ever pleased their fathers now grows stale,  
Their buildings to the hills exalt the vale:  
And such thick Palaces the mountains fill,  
As if the quarry grew without the hill.  
Some are of that circumference you'd guess,  
They had been built for him, who had no less  
Than the whole world his Family. But when  
Our Levite was inquisitive, what men  
Filled up that Princely dwelling; and if there  
Might be found hope of rest for them that were  
But two more than the Family; they tell  
That two are the whole Family, 'twas well,  
And stately too (as state is at this day)  
So might they live at home, and yet away,  
O the great folly of Magnificence!  
Houses are little Cities, and from thence  
Cities are lesser worlds, that man may have  
Room enough here that cannot fill a grave.  
He must have Halls, and Parlours, and beside  
Chambers invented, but not named by pride:  
And all this for one man, as if he sought  
To have a several lodging for each thought,  
But none for any stranger: this truth seems  
Too certain to our Levite, who esteems  
That prisoners are in better state than he;  
Nay, even the prisoners of mortality,  
Such as are fast immured within the grave  
Who though they want a life, a lodging have.  
Inhuman wretches! have you then forgot  
That you were sometime strangers? Were you not  
In Egypt once? where the Prophetic land  
Did justly scourge your baseness before hand,  
Knowing you would be barbarous, and so  
Made you to feel the harshness which you show.  
O cruelly forgetful! that endure  
To act, or else outdo the Epicure,  
Whilst he feeds on the Air; that think it meet  
To lie in Down, while he lies in the street!  
An old man thought not thus, but to his house  
Entreats the strangers: 'tis malicious  
To lay the imputation upon Age  
That it is covetous (as if the sage  
Hairs of the Ancient were therefore white  
To signify their silver Appetite.)  
Peace you blasphemers, see an aged man  
Covetous only of a Guest, who can  
Repay him nothing, but his Prayer, and be  
Indebted once more for his Piety;  
But if my Muse have any power o'er time  
And sin hath more mortality than rhyme,  
Old man thou shalt be ever old, and have  
No entertainment in the silent grave  
For this thy entertainment: here a while  
Let me admire how that a town so vile,  
Which we would think with strangers had decreed  
To shut out Virtue too, should rarely breed  
Such a strange Virtue? quietly we hear  
Of courtesies in Rome; of kindness there  
Where Greece is named, who counted it a sin  
Not to have made each noble house an Inn  
For worthy strangers: but when one shall fall  
In commendation of the Cannibal,  
Shall say that they, who on their guests do gnaw  
And entertain their strangers in their maw,  
Are hospitably minded, that even there  
May be a mouth which is no Sepulchre:  
We stand aghast, as if we did conspire  
Not to believe the good we did desire.  
Whence sprung this Singularity? whence came  
This worth which so deserves and conquers Fame?  
Our Virtues are not borne with us, and they  
Which will in noble man till times last day  
Live after them they make to live, what we  
Call goodness, is the gift of Company,  
Our study not ou● Nature, and could these  
Teach any other thing besides disease  
In manners? it is fit than we confess  
Mercy is learned amongst the merciless,  
And rather than a Levite shall want rest  
Avarice self shall entertain a Guest.  
But now the Levite hath forgot that he  
Had left the hard streets hospitality;  
He finds such kindness, that he does suppose  
Courtesy wore no other hairs than those.  
To grieve the honest world, who now might fear.  
That she was hasting to her sepulchre.  
Into an antic room he leads him first,  
Where one would guess that Abraham had been mirst  
Or a more ancient Patriarch, the walls  
Composed of that which from a wet shoe falls  
In weeping winter, which a man would think  
Their age had now dried up into one Chink.  
Yet such a room one comfort does afford,  
It was not built to ruin its sad Lord.  
For who will beg a Cottage? who would make  
A guilty wretch, that he his rags might take?  
To that whence nothing comes is no regard:  
None would be vicious too but for reward.  
No, let them fear who dwell in arched vaults,  
Who in much room do seek to hide their faults.  
Where hundred columns rise to mate the sky,  
And mock their Lords with false Divinity.  
Envy is proud, nor strikes at what is low,  
And they shall only feel who scorn her blow:  
She on no base advantage will insist,  
Nor strive with any but that can resist.  
Now is the table spread, and now the meat  
Being set, each takes him his appointed seat:  
No courtship here is showed, no carving grace,  
The entertainment (homely as the place  
Spoke only hearty, and that plain intent  
Which greater entertainers compliment.  
So Abraham feasted heavenly guests, as when  
He made the Angels eat the bread of men:  
So on the like guests, hospitable Lot  
Bestowed the diet which they wanted not;  
In this ours differs, nay in this exceeds,  
That he bestows his kindness where it needs.  
One would have thought so, when he heard the noise,  
Of confused multitudes, men mixed with boys.  
All ages in the cry, as if they meant  
That now the Babes should not be innocent:  
Bees do not murmur so, and angry hounds  
In their full rage send forth but easy sounds,  
Compared to this: their in land Sea stood still,  
Wondering to hear himself out-roared, and till  
This time, that noise hath such a silence bred,  
That ever since it hath been styled the Dead.  
Now they besiege the house, and one would fear  
That their loud tongues so many engines were  
To batter it: down with the Gate, cries one,  
Another laughs at that, and with a stone  
Threatens to force a Gate, and deeply swore  
To give them entrance, all the House was Door,  
But then another that would needs be wise,  
And counted chief in this great enterprise,  
Exhorts them to a Parley: Why, my friends,  
Make you such haste, says he, to lose your ends?  
Have you indented with the stones you throw  
To miss the Levit? Do you think no blow  
Can fasten on him, or d'ye mean to prove  
If that the stones are rivals in your Love?  
Stones and not men! with that the hands were still,  
But all the noise, the Hubbub, with an ill  
Consent, cries for the Levite, whom they fain  
Would only know, and so return again.  
And could you see him in the street so long,  
As far from being hid, as this your wrong  
Shall be from after-Ages, when he had  
No cover, but the kinder heavens, (whose sad  
Compassion hindered them from shedding tears,  
Left such a grief should make th' unkindness theirs)  
Had you so full a view of him, and yet  
Do you desire to know him? No, forget  
That ever there was such a one, and then  
Posterity may think that you were men:  
How will they wonder else, when they shall hear  
You loved him in the house, whom you did fear  
To bring into your house; that you were mad,  
In the pursuit of that you might have had?  
You ai'med another, a worse way, and just  
His answer is, that calls your Knowledge, Lust,  
But how, were they so long time innocent?  
How was this Prodigy of Desire even spent  
Before it was expressed? here we may see  
In impudence there was some Modesty:  
They would not sin at home, the worst abhorred  
To be a beast, where he should be a Lord.  
And it seemed better to the vilest breast  
Not to receive, then to abuse a Guest.  
Now the Old-man not fearing any harm  
That might ensue, whether he hoped the warm  
Lust of their Youth, would by his Age be quelld,  
And that those flames would to such winter yield:  
Or whether he was then rather addressed  
To offer up himself before his Guest  
Unto their Fury, forth he goes: they thought  
That now they should obtain what they had sought,  
Whom thus he does be speak; Have Patience  
My friends, I come, not to entreat you hence,  
But to fulfil your pleasure, only change  
The Sex; I have a daughter, and what's strange  
In this hot town, a Virgin: at your suit  
I am content to make her prostitute,  
So that my stranger may not injured be:  
Nature shall yield to Hospitality.  
O constant goodness! O best act, which can  
Conclude the Virtue, older than the Man!  
How I could lose myself in praising thee,  
Man not of Age, but of Eternity!  
Who didst respect thy guest beyond thy blood,  
And knewest the difference betwixt Fond, and Good.  
Henceforth scorn all comparisons below,  
Only thy Maker, thy Superior know:  
Such was his Mercy that he did bestow  
His only Son a ransom for his Foe;  
(This was a pattern fit for the most High)  
Yet next this Mercy, was thy Charity,  
Thy Act in this is second to the best,  
Thou wouldst not spare thy Daughter for thy Guest.  
But they'll not be prescribed in their desire,  
Who think, to alter, were to quench their fire:  
They must the Levite or his Sister know,  
(For Sister they interpret her) to show  
Our saucy Laymen how they should expound  
Their Preachers actions, not to be profound  
To search their faults, but well and wisely too,  
Do what they speak, and not speak what they do,  
This they exclaim, and this our Levite hears,  
Who now hath spent his Reason, and his Fears.  
Such a Confusion he is fallen into,  
He knows not what to shun, nor what to do.  
So in raised Seas, when that the angry wind  
Threatens destruction to that daring kind,  
Who to a flying house themselves commit,  
(Seeming at once to fly too from their wit.)  
The well-stored passenger, (when he does find  
That all this fury of the wave and wind  
Is for his Treasure) now resolves to dye:  
(Death is not so much feared as Poverty)  
And now resolves that he will venture on  
More loss, before that Resolution:  
He does from this unto that purpose skip,  
And now his mind more totters then his ship.  
Till after all this tedious, foolish strife,  
Which he shall save, his treasure, or his Life,  
He shall save neither; and thus being loath  
To hazard either, he does forfeit both  
And now she shall be Passive. O Fates sport!  
he'll now betray that should defend the Fort,  
Such Revolution did you ever see?  
Who erst was jealous, will a Pander be.  
O Life thou most desired, and wretched thing!  
Thy love betrayed his love, from thee did spring  
This Contradiction of cross Faults, O why  
Chose he not rather to do well, and Die?  
Why did he so desire to shun his Friend,  
And call that Misery, which was an End?  
The Dead do fear no Ravisher, no Lust  
Was ere so hot, to dote upon cold dust,  
Were he once dead he should fear no crimes then,  
Neither his own, nor those of other men:  
And could he wish a longer life? let those  
Who do not know (but by inflicting) woes,  
Hugg that desire, but he who wisely weighs  
What many miseries are in many days,  
Let him not be so mad to wish his fears,  
And only prove his Dotage by his Years.  
Never did Morning blush so much as that  
Which next appeared; when up our Levite got,  
And running nimbly to the door, he sees  
His love before the door with her fair knees  
Grown to the Earth, so close, that one would fear,  
She took a measure of her Sepulchre,  
With hands out stretched, as if, fearing to fail,  
She meant to make a Sexton of her nail  
To dig her grave: or else (for who can tell?)  
Suspecting by her injuries an Hell  
Not to be far, where such sins had a birth,  
She lay so close, to feel if it were Earth.  
He wonders at the posture, nor knows why  
She had not chose to rest more easily,  
And now he will be satisfied, but she  
Had lost her tongue too, with her Chastity.  
He thinks she sleeps, and therefore louder cries,  
Why do we dally here? Wake, and Arise.  
But let him cry on, she hath heard her last,  
Deaf to all sounds now, but the latest blast.  
And art thou dead, he cries? what dead? with that  
You'd wonder which had been alive, as flat  
He lay, and speechless, glad of the same death,  
But that thick sighs betray that he had breath:  
Which only serves his Anger: now he hies  
Home to mount Ephraim, all his jealousies  
Are dead with her, and now he means to make  
Her common after death: each Tribe shall take  
A piece of her; O the obdurate mind  
That so could part, what God had so combined!  
I faint in the relating it, nor well  
What he durst act, dare undertake to tell.  
Twelve made of one? O who would not be mad,  
To think upon that madness? if she had  
But such another grief, with both oppressed,  
My Muse would then be dumb, which now doth rest.   

Canto. II.  
The Argument.  
The twelve pieces of his wife  
Cut out by the Levites knife,  
To the field to do him right,  
Draw the angry Israelite.  
Abraham's Prayer, heavens decree,  
Benjamins glad victory  
Twice repeated, do prolong  
My story to a second song.  
Such crimes amongst the Israelites? I fear  
Incredulous posterity will swear  
Mine was the fault, and when they muse hereon  
They'll judge the Crime was in my Fiction,  
When Vice exceeds a Probability  
It gains excuse, so that to sin on high  
Is politic offence, for he that shall  
Sin so, is thought not to have sinned at all.  
'Tis the corruption of the minds of men  
To judge the worst of actions, but 'tis when  
The fault is frequent, when the daily use  
Gives it at once, the guilt, and the excuse:  
But if a crime swell to the height of this,  
Murder, or Incest, or if any is  
Of fouler name; when man will man abuse,  
We do absolve more gladly then accuse,  
Can it be possibly presumed that they  
To whom the God of jacob showed the way,  
Both of their feet and manners, who had seen  
His frequent Miracles, nay who had been  
Part of the wonder too, so to have fell  
As to commit a greater Miracle?  
Sodom in judah? now the Fable wins  
Credit, and is out-acted by true sins:  
Report hath made Pymalion to have loved  
That which he made, who by his Art was moved  
To palpable Idolatry, yet so  
At least he loved a woman in the show:  
he's fixed on his fair Image, so that one  
Would wonder which had been the truer stone.  
Yet 'twas a Woman Image, so that I  
Wonder at's luck, more than his vanity,  
A Painted Woman will cause love: I'm moved  
More, how he did obtain, then why he loved,  
These do affect what to obtain is worst,  
What in the very thinking is accursed:  
In other loves the wife may barren prove,  
In this the barrenness is in the Love,  
In other faults there have excuses been,  
This hath no other Motive than the Sinne.  
And can this sin be theirs? Yes know it can,  
Man forsakes God, and then he dotes on man.  
But who did tutor them to this offence?  
For, though we find it in each conscience  
That we are naturally vicious,  
That there's no true good in the best of us,  
That we pursue our ill, as drawn by Fate,  
Yet 'tis example does specificate,  
That teacheth us This sin: 'tis mine own Vice,  
But that I am more lost in Avarice,  
That I do choose Adultery, or prefer  
The lustful man before the Murderer,  
I have from President: and thus our ill  
Comes from the Pattern too, as from the Will.  
Egypt denies to have an hand herein,  
(Egypt the house of bondage, not of sin.)  
Their cruelty I hear, and which is odd,  
I read that their chief sin, is their chief god.  
They make their gardens heavens, and in each plant  
They find a Deity: If that any want  
Be in their fields, if thence they do not gain,  
It is their gods they want, and not their grain.  
Their superstition might issue hence,  
The Calf, on which they placed their confidence,  
Which act this glory to them doth afford,  
They make themselves the beast which they adored  
Or did the Desert make them thus to stray,  
And cause them lose their Manners with the Way?  
Did those vast places, which wise Nature framed,  
Wherein wild man should by his fear be tamed,  
His fear of wilder beasts, instruct these men,  
That there are beasts which are not in the Den▪  
And that when ever we neglect, or scan  
The Lords commands, the Monster is the Man?  
No, these suspicions may suspected be,  
As far from Truth, as they from Honesty:  
Egypt was free from this fault, and much less  
Can we impose it on the Wilderness.  
They had no King: as well the fools as wise  
Did all what did seem right in their own Eyes.  
And Sodomes' crime seemed right to some: to see  
When every man will his own Monarch be,  
When all subjection is ta'en quite away,  
And the same man does govern and obey;  
How there is no obedience, nor rule,  
How every man like to the Horse and Mule,  
Which want the understanding of their bit,  
And neither have their own nor Rider's wit,  
Make a swift pace to Ruin. Give me then  
Leave to admire, and pity those poor men,  
Who think that Man should his own Ruler be,  
And exercise Home-principality:  
Who in one speedy minute strangely do  
What Alexander but aspired unto,  
Conquer all Kingdoms, which they affirm to be,  
No better than a well-named Tyranny.  
Let me inquire of these, if they have read  
Any such crimes where people had an head?  
Let me inquire of men, as yet not wild,  
Whether they think themselves Lords of their child?  
Whether their servants Masters? whether they  
Suppose that God did not make some t'obey?  
In Innocence there was Dominion,  
And the first man was the first Lord: that one  
King of the Creatures, whom for this none blames,  
He proved his Sovereignty by their Names.  
That he was his wives Sovereign, in the Fall  
He fell not from his Monarchy, when all  
His Righteousness was vanished, that remained,  
And so a knowledge of this truth he gained,  
(A truth he could not know had he still stood)  
We can be longer Powerful then Good.  
Nay let us look on Hell, and we shall see  
That there's a Prince of that obscurity.  
It is a torment such as Hell hath none,  
To want that order in confusion:  
That is the best; we may conclude from hence,  
That is in Hell, and was in Innocence.  
But I do wonder at the fault so long  
That I defer the punishment: my song  
Must to the Levite turn, or rather be  
No more a Song, but a sad Elegy.  
He having carved his Love, as you have heard,  
And done that act, which Hell and Furies feared;  
Sends a choice piece to every Tribe, to plead  
Their injuries, and tell why she is dead:  
Benjamin shall have one of them, lest he  
Might dare commit a crime, he durst not see,  
A several messenger to each Tribe is sent:  
But he that unto Princely judah went,  
Carrying the head of the dismembered coarse,  
With such a voice which sorrow had mad hoarse,  
(Lest he should rave too highly) thus begins!  
Is there an Heaven? and can there be such sins.  
Stands the Earth still? me thinks I hardly stand,  
Feeling the Sea's inconstancy on Land.  
After this Act, why flows the water more?  
Why does't not stain, which always cleared before?  
It is not Air we draw now, 'tis a breath  
Sent to infect us from the Land of Death:  
The Fire, whose office 'tis to warm and shine,  
Grows black and downwards, as it did repine  
To see the fact, and sheds a kind of tears,  
Quenching his heat, because he cannot theirs.  
Can you behold these eyes without a tear?  
Can you with patience longer think they were,  
And are not the world's wonder? yet I err,  
It is Revenge, and not a Tear fits her:  
Let women weep for women, than you shall  
Show you have sorrowed heartily, if all  
Do sorrow which have injured her, and be  
Examples, as of Crimes so Misery.  
Gibeah 'twas (O 'twas not Gibeah)  
Credit me not, believe not what I say,  
I scarce dare trust myself, and yet again,  
Gibeah 'twas that did this Fact: and then  
He tells them all, what I before have wept;  
Now judah storms, and as a River kept  
From its own course by Wears and Milles, if once  
It force a passage, hurries o'er the stones,  
Sweeps all along with it, and so alone  
Without storms makes an Inundation:  
Such was the people's fury, they're so hot  
That they will punish what we credit not,  
And be as speedy as severe: but some  
Who loathed the bloody accents of the Drum,  
Who thought no mischiefs of that foulness are,  
But that they gain excuse, compared with war,  
And war with brethren; these, I say, of age  
The chief amongst them, do oppose their rage,  
Exhort them to a temper: Stay, says one,  
And be advised before you be undone.  
Whence is this fury? why d'ye make such haste  
To do that act which you'll repent as fast?  
Are any glad to fight? or can aught be  
Mother of war, beside Necessity?  
Be not mistaken; brethren, take good heed,  
It is not Physic frequently to bleed.  
He that for petty griefs incision makes  
Cannot be cured so often as he aches.  
Are then your sisters, daughters, wives too chaste?  
Or are you sorry that as yet no waist  
Deforms your richer grounds? or does it stir  
An anger in you, that the soldier  
Mows not your Fields? Poor men, do you lament  
That still you are as safe as innocent?  
We yet have Cities proudly situate,  
We yet have people: be it not in fate  
That your esteem of both should be so cheap  
To wish those carcases and these an Heap.  
Me thinks our jordan hath an happier pace,  
And flows with greater majesty and grace  
In his own natural wave, then if the sword  
Should higher colour to his streams afford;  
Should paint and so deform it: to mine eye  
A River's better than a Prodigy.  
But I desire, dear Countrymen, to know,  
Whose is the blood that we must lavish so?  
Perhaps the Philistines ambition  
Would to our Shiloh bring their Ascalon,  
And these you would encounter: or it may be  
Egypt still envying that you are free  
Intends a second bondage: or perchance  
Your daily conquered Enemies advance  
Their often flying ensigns, those at hand  
Possessors and destroyers of the Land;  
Whom God reserving for our future Pride,  
Left to our eyes as thorns, pricks to our side.  
No none of these, but all your swords intent,  
I grieve to speak't, the ruin of a friend:  
And all the sons of Israel do press  
That Israel may have a son the less.  
joseph I've read suffered his brother's hate,  
(joseph of near acquaintance unto fate.  
The mouth of Destiny,) they would kill him first  
But after sell him, to try which was worst:  
And yet no reason for this spleen appears,  
But that his glory was beyond his years.  
To hate the younger still is too much sin,  
And after joseph to spoil Benjamin.  
Hath twelve no mystery? do ye ascribe  
Merely to Chance, that there is no odd Tribe?  
Trust me my brethren, they do injure God,  
Who say that he delights in what is odd:  
I think 'tis parity best pleaseth heaven;  
And what is most just, loves what is most even.  
Do I excuse them then to please the time,  
And only make an error of a Crime?  
Am I sin's Advocate? far be't from me  
To think so ill of War as Sodomy:  
For Sodomy I term it, justice calls  
That, fact; which never into action falls,  
If it hath passed the licence of the will:  
And their intent reached to that height of ill;  
But whose intent? O pardon me, there be  
Benjamites spotless of that Infamy.  
Shall these be joined in punishment? a sin  
You'd war against, O do not then begin  
To act a greater, as if you would see  
Whether Injustice aequalled Luxury?  
This madness was from Gibeah, 'tis true,  
Yet some do more distaste the crime, than you▪  
Even in that City: hear then my advice,  
And God shall prosper what you enterprise.  
Exhort them to do justice, if that then  
They still be partial to these guilty men,  
Their guilt is greatest, let them perish all  
And equal their offences with their fall.  
Thick acclamations break off his discourse,  
They'll hear no more because they likeed: Remorse  
Ceizeth each conscience, they already hate  
The civil war, which they so wished of late.  
Ambassadors by general voice are sent:  
But Benjamin conceits that to repent  
Were the worse sin, and that who ere will do  
A wicked act, he ought defend it too.  
But are not we true Benjamites in this,  
And aggravate what ere we do amiss  
By a new act? as if the second deed  
Excused the former, if it did exceed.  
Did we not thus, an end were come to war;  
Did we not thus, no more should private jar  
Molest our peace; Kings might put up their swords,  
And every quarrel might conclude in words:  
One conference would root out all debate,  
And they might then most love, who now most hate,  
The most sworn foes: for show me, where is he  
Would seek Revenge without an injury?  
A wrong received, or thought one? then no need  
But to deny, or to excuse the deed,  
Why is Defence? O what do they intend  
Who justify those acts, which they should mend!  
O Pride! O folly! O extreme disease!  
O Fact, which he condemns who practices!  
Who in his soul confesseth he offends,  
And yet doubles his guilt when he not ends.  
Great crimes find greater patrons: impudence  
Follows each fault, to make us think that sense  
Hath fled us with our Virtue, and that men  
By such an hardness were turned stones again.  
So wives of Entertainment (who do know  
More than one Husband) in the public: show  
As virtuous as the best whilst undescryed,  
Whilst they have this good left, that they will hide  
And veil o'er their offences: but if once  
Either their husbands just suspicions,  
Or their security betray their fact,  
No more do blush to answer, then to act,  
As if 'twere meritorious, and so, did  
Appear no sin no longer than 'twas hid.  
Why should the bad be bold? why should there be  
Audaciousness joined to impiety?  
Whence is this daring? Sin was child to Night,  
How dares he then approach and blast the light?  
How dares he stand th' examining, and try  
If men can find out his deformity?  
I have the reason, we are flatterers all,  
And to ourselves the most; if any fall  
Into gross errors, still he thinks he's free,  
And Pride supplies the place of honesty.  
He thinks 'tis good to have a virtuous name,  
And cares not for the goodness, but the fame.  
Which makes the Benjamites reply: we admire  
(To say no more) at your so strange desire.  
And at the craft on't most, that you pretend  
Love and advice▪ when you subjection send:  
Are we so stupid, and so senseless grown  
As to be thought not fit to rule our own?  
Benjamin was the youngest we confess  
Of Jacob's sons, and yet a son, no less  
Than Levi, or proud judah: he that gave  
Life to each Tribe, intended none a slave,  
Nor shall you make us. But you'll say that you  
Out of a general love to goodness sue  
For justice against her Enemies. 'tis poor  
If what we would we cannot cover o'er  
With specious pretences: 'tis an ill  
Physicians part so to betray his pill,  
That children may perceive its want of dress,  
And choose disease before seen bitterness;  
But let me tell you, who so ere does deal,  
In the affairs of a strange commonweal,  
Is tyrannous or mad: he would be known  
Either another's Lord, or's not his own.  
Yet what is't your grave Masters do advise  
Our sleepy Council of? whose duller Eyes  
See only open vices: we have heard  
The Levite and his Concubine, we feared  
You'd have us punish him: than you relate  
That coming unto Gibeah some thing late,  
And willing to depart the earlier thence,  
He found his chaste one dead: O dire offence.  
She had the punishment she deserved, and just  
It was, that who had lived should dye by Lust.  
And yet for fear Levits in time to come  
Might want such easy favourites, and some  
Would leave their courteous trade, if there be found  
No cure, no remedy for such a wound:  
We are content to be severe: but then  
We do expect, you name those guilty men.  
Ours the more hard and thankless task I trow,  
For we will punish those whom you but show.  
These mocks do whet the Isra'elites so far,  
Nothing remains now but a civil war:  
When all the Tribes have unto Mispah ran,  
With such consent you'd think they were one man.  
If war had ever reason, or if men  
Had ere authority to kill others, then  
Certainly these, in so divine a cause,  
'twas not the people's quarrel, but the Laws.  
Here no ambition, no untamed desire  
Of Principality, of growing higher,  
Put on these Arms, nor was it fault enough  
That Benjamin was rich, to raise these rough  
Spirits of Mars, nor is't a true surmise  
That private wrongs did cause these Enemies:  
These fight the battle of the Lord, herein  
justice on the one side fights, on th'other Sin:  
So that in height of blood, heat of the wars,  
They rather judges are, than Soldiers.  
The Israelites if they now spare, are shent,  
The more they kill, the more they're innocent.  
Our Age makes us again these actions see,  
An Age of war, though not of victory.  
For 'tis not victory to win the Field,  
Unless we make our Enemies to yield  
More to our justice, than our Force, and so  
As well instruct as overcome our Foe  
Call you that Conquest, or a Theft of State,  
When in a Stranger region of late,  
The Eagle built his nest, having expelled  
(Upon a mere pretence that he rebelled)  
The former Airy, for no other cause,  
But that his bill was strong, and sharp his claws.  
To see the malice, and the power of hate,  
That made even the Elector Reprobate.  
When Caesar did not stick, nor blush to do  
What they detested, who advised him too,  
When that all laws their ancient force might lose,  
He made a Choice of him that was to Choose.  
Now all occasions can persuade to fight,  
When Power is misinterpreted for Right.  
There is a Lust of kill men so great,  
Rivers of blood can scarce assuage the heat  
Our lives are cheaper than the lives of beasts,  
Then those whose very being is for feasts;  
Who have no use but for the throat: hard plight!  
Anger not kills them, but our appetite  
If we have eaten once, we spare: and then  
If we are full are kind: but to kill men  
We have a lasting appetite, shedding blood,  
Our famine is increased even by our food:  
Such Erisichthons' are we; they that have  
Unlimited desires, Death and the Grave  
But shadow this affection, and to it  
Compared, the Horseleech wants an Appetite:  
It may be weighing man's high faculties  
(Which make him claim a kindred with the skies)  
We seem to doubt of his mortality  
And only strive to know if he can die.  
Nor do we care on what pretence (lest aught  
Should make our crime the less) no reason's fought  
To mitigate our fault, and we are thus  
So far from good, we scarce are cautelous.  
But 'tis a sore will fester, if you touch,  
Away my Muse, sometimes a truth's too much  
For Honour, or for safety: he alone  
Prospers who flatters. But if any one  
Shall ask a colour, a pretence for this  
How such a multitude, such a swarm is  
Assembled of the Israelites (for then  
There met at once four hundred thousand men  
Against their brother Benjamin,) whilst yet  
They had not dispossessed the Canaanite,  
(There was a mixture not a Conquest made)  
How durst they then so foolishly invade  
Their brethren's Country, when they left their own  
Subject to imminent destruction?  
Or when was this invasion made? To me  
The Number hath a more Facility  
For credit, than the Time; do we not find,  
That Israel wanting judges was assigned  
To bondage, as to Anarchy? they groan  
Under a foreign yoke, wanting their own.  
Carries it any likelihood; or can  
It sink into the fancy of a man,  
That when they were oppressed, they should oppress?  
As full of folly as of savageness:  
This were to perfect Eglons' victory,  
And act what jabin but desired should be.  
And yet it might be, joshua being dead,  
Then was the time, the people lacked an head:  
Who taking no care for posterity,  
'twas the worst act of joshua to dye.  
Moses deputed him, and if that he  
Had left another Governor, it might be  
Our Levite had been chaste, and Benjamin  
Been noted for his virtue; not his sin.  
Then were those multitudes no miracle,  
And Canaan so oft beat by Israel,  
In likelihood would rest quiet, and expect  
If these would do what they could not effect.  
Besides, their dwellings in the Valleys be  
So that their seat teaches humility:  
And then to climb the mountains was such pain  
As that the labour did exceed the gain.  
And thus you see, that they may fight, but ere  
Their enemy's Countries by them wasted were,  
They to the Oracle repair, to know  
If victory shall grace them, or their Foe.  
Yet pardon me, I err, they are so strong  
As that they would imagine it a wrong  
Done to their valour, if we should suppose,  
That they entreated conquest of their foes;  
No, being sure of victory, they ask  
Which of the Tribes shall undertake the task  
Of the first on set, and the Tribes refused,  
Envy at judah's choice, as if abused,  
And injured they esteemed themselves, that they  
Should lose the dangerous honour of the day.  
Such was their pride, such thoughts their Numbers bred;  
Numbers, whose fear might strike the Enemy, dead:  
Whose hands deserved a fiercer Enemy,  
And matter of an higher victory.  
With these they think, they might to Memphis pass,  
And make the Egyptians know, what bondage was.  
With these they thought with ease to force a Way  
(Though nature did oppose) to India.  
And in a saucy victory outrun,  
The primitive uprising of the Sun.  
How large are our desires? and yet how few  
Events are answerable? So the dew  
Which early on the top of mountains stood  
(Meaning at least to imitate a flood)  
When once the Sun appears, appears no more,  
And leaves that parched, which was too moist before.  
That we are never wholly good! that still  
Mixed with our Virtue, is some spice of ill!  
The Israelites are Just, but they are Proud,  
As if a lesser fault might be allowed  
For punishing the greater; yet I'd know  
Whilst yet they might suffer an overthrow,  
Why they rejoice as if they'd won! or why  
They have a Pride ere they have Certainty?  
Their numbers are incredible, 'tis true,  
Yet multitudes have been o'ercome by few:  
Their army is complete, 'tis right, but then  
We know it is an army but of men.  
Of future carcases, so quickly some  
They have no time to think of death to come:  
To whom no star a certainty does give,  
That they at least to the next Field should live.  
Four hundred thousand carcases; enough  
To give the beasts a surfeit, and allow  
Fertility which Nature had denied  
Unto those Lands: So that their height of pride,  
Of hope, of glory, and of all their toil  
Is to enrich the Land which they would spoil.  
So thought the Benjamites, who though they saw  
That Power too was against them with the Law,  
Yet resolutely they intent to die,  
And such despair gives them the victory.  
They are not Cowards, yet, though they are bad,  
They slay more numbers then we'll think they had.  
Whence comes this Courage to the Desperate?  
The bad me thinks should be effeminate,  
And as the Bees (the subject or the King)  
Having abused it once, do lose their sting:  
And to enforce a Stoic unto laughter,  
Being once too fierce, they are always sluggish after  
Converted unto Drones, so it seems fit  
(And not so much heaven's justice, as its wit)  
That who hath lost his Virtue once, should strait  
Lose courage too, oppressed with his own weight.  
The Israelites though amazed at this defeat,  
Yet gather head, and to their Camp retreat;  
There might you see Sorrow and Anger joined,  
Nor do they grieve so much as they repined.  
Here fathers weep their only sons, and there  
Brothers for as dear losses drop a tear,  
Accompanied with threatenings, they are mad  
Till they bestow the sorrow which they had.  
Once more to Shiloh they repair, to hear  
If God at last will aid them, and for fear  
That it was pride did frustrate their first suit,  
They're now as humble, as then resolute:  
In stead of fight they now weep a day,  
Sighs they do think and tears can make a way  
Where swords are useless, they'll gain victory  
No longer by their hand, but by their Eye,  
Great and just God, says one, we do confess  
That all this heavy anger is far less  
Than our deservings: shouldst thou fully weigh  
Our sin's enormity, 'tis not a day  
Loss to the Foe, can expiate: did we feel  
What ere we saw in A●gypt, did the steel  
Peirce deeper in our bowels, should the skies  
Shed those hot showers in which Gomorrah fries,  
We could not tax the justice of our King,  
But after all, owe still a suffering.  
Yet thou hast ancient mercies, we've been told  
Of all thy courtesies, which were of old  
Showed to our Fathers; O vouchsafe them still,  
And make us heirs of those: we have done ill,  
Prodigiously ill, there's no offence  
Which we are guiltless of, each conscience  
Accuseth, and amazeth us: yet now  
Our flinty hearts to a repentance bow:  
Yet now at last vouchsafe thy favour to us,  
And as thy rod hath scourged, let mercy woo us;  
We dare not look for victory: O no,  
Give us at leastwise a more virtuous Foe.  
Thy wrath is just, great God, and 'tis our suit  
Only just men thy wrath may execute.  
We beg not for our lives, they are thy loan  
Which when thou wilt receive, yet as thine own.  
Let not their swords bereave us of our breath,  
And we shall find a benefit in death.  
Yet what a glory can it be to thee  
That we are dead? and that the Heathen see  
Thy anger on thy Children? that thy wrath  
In stead of being left, is told in Gath,  
And published in fierce Ascalon; spare us then  
If not for us, yet for thyself; and when  
Thou think'st of plaguing us, thyself exempt,  
Since that our Ruin will breed thy contempt:  
Let then thy mercy above justice shine;  
If we are bad, consider we are thine.  
Thus grumbled they a prayer: and he that sees  
Counsels unhatchd, and what he will, decrees,  
(Yet ever justly) does perceive that they  
What ere they feign, do murmur, and not pray.  
Which he decrees to punish: they would know  
Whether that once more they shall fight or no?  
Once more he grants that they shall fight: and thus  
They're not so craving, as he Courteous.  
If they but ask him, he will not deny,  
Fight's their desire, and then his answeres, I.  
Had they but asked the victory, as well,  
He would have heard his troubled Israel:  
He that delivered them from foreign arms,  
And taught their weak hands to repair their harms  
With admirable victory, He I say  
Would have bestowed the honour of the day  
On them, had they desired it; they have known  
How he hath warred for them from heaven, & shown  
Such miracles in their defence, they fright  
Those whom they save, as when the wondering night  
Thought herself banished from the world (the Sun  
Standing unmoved, forgetting how to run,)  
If they now lose the day, the fault is theirs,  
God does no mercy want, they want right prayers.  
But they suppose it too too fond to stand  
Begging of that which is in their own hand.  
This they conceive were to mock God, to crave  
That to begiv'n which they already have,  
A power to use their arms: No, if once more  
They may have field-roome, may but fight it o'er,  
Though Heaven do not fight for them, they suppose  
They cannot lose, if Heaven do not oppose.  
They think no chance can possibly bestow  
The foil on them, the Laurel on the foe.  
What though they lost the praise of the first day,  
And fought as though they came to runaway:  
'twas not for want of courage sure, but either  
The foe had got advantage of the weather  
Or else the wind had raised the dust so high  
That they supposed fresh enemies to be nigh,  
And feared to be environed round: what ere  
Occasioned their first overthrow, no fear,  
No chance, shall cause another; and the slaves  
That now triumph, shall find their trenches, graves.  
Is this their Crime alone, or do not all  
Partake as of their fault, so of their fall?  
Israel is not only mad, there be  
Some vices which we give posterity,  
And this is one of them: O how vain is man!  
O how his Reason too is but a span,  
And not his stature or his Age! we have long  
Injured the beasts, and done them too much wrong,  
By calling them Irrational; could they speak,  
Thus in rough language, they would fiercely break  
Their mind unto us: O you only wise  
To whom kind Nature hath imparted Eyes,  
Leaving all other blind; pardon if we  
Do tell you where you have forgot to see,  
Where we are clearer sighted: can you show  
Where ever beasts did to that madness grow.  
As to pronounce of that, which is to come,  
Of that which only seems in Chances doom?  
Yet thus you do; and doing thus have shown;  
Reason's your title, our Possession.  
The Israelites had to their cost of late  
Found confidence to be unfortunate;  
(Their confidence in Numbers) and yet still  
(Though now contained in smaller room) they will  
Forespeak their victory: why, because they see  
That they are many yet; poor vanity!  
When they were more, they were o'ercome, yet dare  
Conceive a Conquest when they fewer are;  
Because still some are to be killed: as though  
Success to Multitudes did homage owe,  
And multitudes impaired: as if the way  
To win another were to lose one day.  
But had we seen the City now! what joy  
Reigned in those streets, sufficient to destroy  
Those whom it comforted (for pleasue too  
Can find a way to death, and strangely do  
The work of heaviness and grief) I say  
Had we but seen the glory of that day:  
The whooping, dancing, and the general noise  
To which the sea and thunder are but toys;  
We should have thought it (so the sounds agree,)  
No noise of Triumph, but Captivity.  
At last they do repose themselves, and one  
Of highest judgement and discretion,  
Instructs them thus: My dearest Countrymen,  
Who ere intends his private ends, does pen  
A speech unto the Ear, his study is  
Which words sound well, & which are thought amiss,  
He tries all ways, he lays all colours on  
To cheat the judgement, soothe the Passion,  
So that he hopes at last that it must hit  
Either the subject, or the clothing it:  
But I whose end is Public good, intent  
Nothing but that which caries to that end:  
Pardon me then if I am harsh, and round,  
If that I am not Plausible, but sound.  
We won a victory last day, so great  
We hardly dare believe we were not beat:  
Our conquest easier was then our belief;  
And with great reason too: for tell, what chief,  
What petty captain is so vain, so mad  
As to ascribe to his conduct the glad  
Event of last day's hazard? to my sense  
The Conqueror was only Providence,  
And we but instruments: then I'd advise  
That as you have been happy, you'd be wise:  
That man does still in greatest glory stand,  
Whose brain is better thought of then his hand▪  
And so I wish that yours should be: we know  
That what is gained by Fortune is lost so,  
She hath no constant Favourite; then now  
Whilst yet our victory does means allow  
To purchase peace at our own rate, and thrive  
By Covenant more than Battle: let us drive  
All thought of war far from us, 'tis in vain  
To get that hardly, which we may obtain  
By easier means, and he does more than rave  
Who hazards that which he may certain have.  
More was he speaking, when a thousand tongues  
Made his be silent, one would think their lungs  
To be unequal to that noise, so fierce  
Their clamour is, such sounds the heavens do pierce.  
So have I oft heard in our Theatre  
(When that a daintier passage won the Ear)  
A thousand tongues, a thousand hands rebound,  
(As if the Plaudite were in the sound,  
And most noise were most pleasing:) they express  
Their liking so, as these their frowardness.  
Who rave from noise to action, one stoops down,  
To reach a stone, another fiercer clown  
Shakes a steeled javelin at him, all the hands,  
Against which Israel but weakly stands,  
Aim now at one; who dreadless, unimpaired  
In courage, neither wished life, nor despaired.  
At last a serious Counsellor stood up;  
Much had he tasted of the liberal Cup,  
And thankfully expressed it in his face,  
To which a larger wound would be a grace  
By hiding his rich pimples: This brave man  
Raises himself, and with what speed he can  
Stutters thus to them; Cease my noble boys,  
Quiet your threatenings now, and stint your noise.  
'tis a just anger you have shown, but yet  
The time in which you show it is unfit.  
Now should we dance, my bloods, now should we sing,  
And make the wondering firmament to ring  
With joyful acclamations; now brave spirits  
To show the most joy, is to show most merits.  
Sadness is only Capital: in fine,  
Now should we shed no blood but of the vine.  
For you Sir whom we doubly guilty see,  
Of Treason first, and then Philosophy,  
If these do please, thus we pronounce: to show  
How little we do fear you, or the Foe,  
we'll send you first unto their camp, and then  
we'll fetch you by our conquest home again.  
This is a mercy if well understood,  
You shall enjoy the fortune you think good.  
Here his breath fails: when all the people cry  
He hath spoke nobly, none this day shall dye.  
And yet the Traitor shall not scape at last,  
Whose execution is deferred, not past.  
'twas neither peace, nor war now, either side  
Having sufficiently their forces tried,  
Take breath a while: O happy men, if still  
This mind continue in them! If they kill  
Their appetite of killing! if this rest  
Can at the last inform them what is best!  
To bury their slain friends, both sides agree  
Unto a two days truce: Stupidity  
Not to be borne with! had they known the use  
At first of that which they now call a truce,  
This truce had been unnecessary, than  
They might have spared, whilst now they bury men.  
And that they now may bury, they entreat  
Respite a while from war: thus all their heat  
Is buried for the time: good heaven to see  
Th' Omnipotency of Necessity,  
Whom all the nearest ties of Neighbourhood,  
Religion, Language, nay of the same Blood  
Could not contain from fight, but that they would  
(To see if it were theirs) shed their own blood,  
These are entreated to a form of peace,  
Their fury for a day or two can cease,  
Commanded by Necessity: they fear  
Lest th' Air by so much carcase poisoned were:  
Lest to revenge the blood which they had shed,  
They now might feel the valour of the dead,  
Of strong corruption: these thoughts hold their mind  
These thoughts a while enforce them to be kind  
On both sides (for they do not jar in all)  
Nature prevails not, but a Funeral,  
Nor doth this long prevail, for when they had  
Interred some carcases, they yet are mad  
Till they have made some more, till they have done  
A second fault, as not content with one,  
They see their Error, and commit it, thus  
Who are not eminently virtuous,  
Are easily entrapped in vices snares,  
And want the poor excuse, that unawares  
They were engaged; we greedily run on  
Offending with Deliberation.  
And can you call this but Infirmity?  
Nickname a Vice? O call it Prodigy.  
Call it— O what? What name can well express  
The miracle of humane guiltiness?  
Could he pretend an ignorance at least  
And be in Nature as in Fact a beast,  
He were not worse than they, than he might be  
Both from the Use and fault of Reason free.  
But what new horror ceizeth me? what fire  
Reigns in my thoughts, & prompts me to rise higher▪  
Hence you low souls, who grovelling on the Earth  
Basely deject yourselves below your birth,  
Sold to your senses: I intent to tell  
What none can know but in whose breasts do dwell  
Celestial fires, and unto whom 'tis given  
To have a nearer intercourse with Heaven.  
Yet pardon you pure souls, whom no one dares  
Eased of our flesh, to trouble with our cares:  
Pardon I once more ask, if my weak pen  
Fitting itself to ordinary men,  
Attain not to your height (to us unknown)  
And give you those words which you shame to own.  
The Lawgiver, who saw as in a glass  
All in the Word, what ever 'twas did pass  
In these near enmities, as far as Man  
Perfectly happy knows a grief, began  
To feel Compassion: Have I then said he  
Delivered Israel for this misery?  
And did I free them from the Egyptian  
Only to find them graves in Canaan?  
I did foretell their Land shall overflow,  
But never thought to be expounded so;  
Never with blood: I meant that they should have  
More blessings than the covetous can crave,  
The flowing Udder, and the untired Bee,  
An happy Deluge of Fertility.  
O how would now proud Pharaoh rejoice!  
How he would have a joy beyond a voice,  
Beyond his tyranny, could he but know  
What Israel does endure without a Foe!  
Was it for this I did so oft repeat  
Wonders before him, wonders of so great  
Exuberance of power, so highly done,  
That they contemn all admiration?  
How wert thou Nilus bloodyed into Red,  
Thy waters as unknown as is thy Head?  
When all thy finny progeny did find  
That to destroy now, which did breed their kind,  
When by a nimble death they understand,  
The River as discourteous as the Land?  
Can I forget that when I did bestow  
A liberty as heretofore to flow  
Unto thy now pale waters, there did pass  
An issue stranger than his Colour was  
From the too fertile river? Frogs are found  
With such a multitude to hide the ground  
That there's no grass appears, no corn is seen.  
The spring does blush because he looks not green.  
Their numbers and their noise equally harsh  
Make Egypt not a Region but a Marsh.  
What a small portion of my acts where these?  
How scarcely to be counted passages  
In my large story? Dust is changed to Lice  
And now begins to creep, which the most nice  
And curious eye before could never find  
To move at all, unless't were by the wind:  
Which could not scatter those thick clouds of Flies  
That would not let them, no, not see the skies.  
When I but threaten, all the cattle dye,  
And Egypt's Gods find a Mortality.  
But lest the men should think that they were free  
From the fault too, if the Calamity,  
I taught their bodies with black gore to run,  
And imitate their soul's corruption.  
What was a Face, is now a pimple grown,  
And in each part is plentifully sown  
A store of blains, so ugly, that to me  
It was a kind of judgement but to see.  
And if this were but little, was't not I  
That called those candied pellets from the sky,  
Which in a moment overwhelming all  
Did badly change their colour in their fall:  
And by the murdering every one they found  
Within their reach came red unto the ground?  
When to repair the numbers they had slain  
(Beasts of all sorts) the land is filled again,  
But 'tis with Locusts, such a swarm they see  
Made for the shame of all their Husbandry,  
That they could wish, so they were rid of these,  
The former Murrain, ere this new increase.  
But who can tell the following Prodigy?  
Last day the Earth was hid, but now the sky  
Chaos returns, the Sun hath lost his rays  
And Night's obscurity is turned to Days.  
Who could a greater miracle afford?  
God made the Light, I Darkness by a Word,  
Which had it lasted, had it ne'er been spent,  
They would have called it a kind punishment,  
They had not seen then their first borne to die,  
To challenge death by their Nativity:  
All this I did, but why? was it to see  
My people suffer fuller misery?  
To gain the Country which they could not hold,  
From which their own arms ignorantly bold  
Expel their own selves: O let no man tell  
That Israel did banish Israel.  
My prayers forbid, nor let it ere be said  
That Moses was unkind since he was dead,  
That in the grave I left my goodness too;  
And could not pity when not feel a woe.  
Having said this, with all the speed he may  
He seeks out holy Abraham, who that day,  
By his dear Isaac seconded did sing  
The ancient mercies of their heavenly King.  
One tells how having now worn out a life,  
And so being fitter for his Grave then Wife,  
Nay then when she had lived unto those years,  
To be accounted with the Grandmothers,  
When Sara now was so unwieldy grown,  
Her legs could scarcely bear herself alone,  
She bears another burden, and does swell  
Not with a child, but with a Miracle.  
This said, he stops; and then again goes on  
No more with story, but Devotion.  
O praise the Lord my soul, let me not find  
My body was more fruitful than my mind.  
O let that teeme with thankfulness, and be  
Made sweetly pregnant by my memory.  
Father, says Isaac, I have often heard  
That we do tell with joy what we have Feared,  
And what in suffering terrifies our sense,  
Does in relating please: what violence  
Of bliss possesseth me when I compare  
My dangers passed with joys that present are!  
Me thinks I yet carry that fatal wood  
(A burden which I hardly understood  
Should carry me) me thinks I still inquire  
Where is the sacrifice, and where the fire?  
How little did I think, or fear till then  
That God commanded sacrifice of men!  
How little could I guess in any part  
That God in such sort did desire the Heart?  
Yet pardon Father, if you now must know,  
Your silence seemed more cruel than your blow:  
Could I oppose my mind against your will,  
Or wish him spared, whom you decreed to kill?  
Wherefore was as all this circumstance? what need  
But first to tell, and then to act the deed?  
I never knew what disobedience meant.  
And your distrust was my worst punishment,  
I must confess I was amazed, my blood  
Congealed within me, and my faint hairs stood  
Yet not for fear of death (Death was my profit)  
But for the manner and the Author of it.  
Was this the heavenly promise? and must I  
So strangely borne, somewhat more strangely die?  
What should I say now? or what should I do?  
That frustrate by my death Gods promise too.  
Should I invoke heavens aid? alas, from thence  
Came the injunction for this violence:  
Should I implore my father's help? why, he  
Would sooner hearken unto heaven then me.  
And so he did: for when the trembling sword  
As if he knew the temper of his Lord  
Theatned a death, most fortunately than  
He that did arm you did disarm again;  
Showing your will was all he did require,  
Commanding you to that you most desire,  
To be again a Father: O the power  
And mercy of our God who in an hour,  
Who in a minute, can make all things well,  
Can bring and then deliver out of Hell.  
These were their Accents, when that Moses says,  
It is an holy business to praise,  
To magnify our Lord, so to go on  
In the intent of our Creation.  
To this all times, all reasons do obey,  
And we may praise as often as we pray.  
But now let's change these tones, let us be mute  
In all discourses now, but in a suit;  
Let us at once conjoin our prayers, and see  
If our one God will hearken unto three.  
Your issue, and my charge, whom I have led  
Thorough those paths that never man did tread.  
(As if they feared a scarcity of foes)  
Do their own selves against themselves oppose,  
And their destruction (unless we repair  
Sooner to aid them) will prevent our prayer.  
It was a place above the Air, the Sky,  
Whither Man cannot reach, not with his Eye,  
Nay if th'exactness of the height be sought,  
Whither Man cannot reach, not with his thought.  
Beyond the place where hail, and rain do grow,  
Above the chill-white treasures of the snow;  
To which compared the starry heaven is fell  
Unto a nearer neighbourhood with Hell.  
And when I shall of God's abode entreat  
It does become his prospect, not his seat.  
To which compared, the Crystal heaven does meet  
With Earth, to be a stool unto his feet,  
This was the Place (yet pardon 'twas not so,  
Places are things which only bodies know,  
Our bounds of Air, from which the heavens are free  
As from Corruption and Mortality)  
But here it was His sacred throne did stand,  
Who with a word created Sea and Land:  
Who with a word was Maker of his Throne,  
Who till he made it never wanted one.  
Bring me the richest goldsmiths treasuries  
(Those baits that do allure our hearts and eyes)  
The dusky Sapphire, the Pearl richly white,  
The sparkling Diamond, yellow Chrysolite,  
Or if there be a gem Nature hath framed,  
Of so high price that Art hath never named,  
Ransack the Ingas tombs, where there doth lie  
With their corrupted dust their treasury:  
(Who to that pretty bounty do attain  
That they bestow their gold on earth again.)  
Search me their graves, or if you fearful be  
Of treasure guarded by Mortality,  
Rob all the mines fenced with so many bars,  
(Where Nature in the Earth hath fancied stars,  
Whose lustre lest our weakness cannot bear  
Her kinder wisdom made her store up there)  
Bring these unto the view, to an exact  
Figure, which Phidias durst call his act:  
Yet to this throne compared, it will appear  
So far from shining, it will scarce look clear.  
Here does the Ancient of days disclose  
The glory of his Majesty to those  
To whom he daignes his presence, who enjoy  
At full, what would a weaker eye destroy:  
Whose bliss shall never have a period,  
Who therefore live because they see their God,  
How could I ever linger, ever dwell  
In this so blessed Relation! O how well  
Should I esteem myself entranced; if I  
By staying here should lose my History!  
Here thousand thousands wait upon his call  
Of humane servants, and Angelical,  
And such a multitude invest his throne  
(Millions of Spirits waiting upon One,)  
That it may be we should not say amiss,  
Their Number stranger than their Nature is:  
Here sound the Hallelujahs, here the Choir  
Of Heaven is high, and full as their desire:  
No voice is here untuned, they do not find  
A jar, more in the sound, then in the mind.  
Their power of singing grows on with their song;  
And they can longer sing, because thus long;  
Thus here themselves they fully strengthened see,  
To a melodious eternity.  
Here Abraham presents himself; and says  
O thou above the injury of Days;  
Who making Times art subject unto none,  
Who giv'st all knowledge, and art never known;  
Who in my days of flesh didst gladly lend  
An ear unto my suit, and wouldst not bend  
Thy plagues against thine enemies; until  
I knew th' intent, and thou hadst asked my will,  
The will of me poor mortal, nay far worse  
Of me a sinner then, the ancient curse  
Stuck deeply in me, that I might have feared  
My faults, and not my prayer should have been heard:  
Could I speak then, and am I silent now?  
Did Sodom move, and cannot Israel bow?  
O pardon me if I bewail their state,  
If I their Father prove their Advocate,  
Didst not thou promise when I had given o'er  
All hope of Father, when I wished no more  
Than a contented Grave, that then from me,  
Should come so numerous a progeny:  
That all the clearer army of the sky  
And the thick sands which still unnumbered lie  
Should come within account before my feed,  
Which not my Sara, but thy truth should breed▪  
How oft I thought that promise did include  
Their lasting too as well as multitude;  
That their continuance should be as sure,  
As long as either sands or stars endure.  
If they have sinned, thou knowst they may repent  
And be the better by a punishment,  
Never by Ruin: O then use thy rod  
Think that they are thy People, thou their God,  
And if they are so, O then let not be  
Any more strife, but who shall most serve thee,  
If they are so, let Abraham once more  
Receive those children which thou gav'st before.  
Now they have left their heavenly echoing,  
Now all the Choir does wonder and not sing,  
When from th'eternal Majesty are heard  
Speeches, which all but the dread Speaker feared.  
Am I as Man that I should change? or like  
The son of man to threaten and not strike?  
If I pronounce my wrath against a Land  
Shall that continue, and my word not stand?  
If I do whet a sword, shall it be blunt,  
And have no direr sharpness than 'twas wont?  
Benjamins crime he's such an horror in't,  
(Who have confirmed their faces like a flint  
Against all die of modesty) that till  
Their blood (which now their too hot veins do fill)  
Flow in their fields, till that their numbers be  
Of as small note as is their Chastity,  
It shall not be remitted: yet to show  
That I can pay that which I do not owe,  
A remnant shall escape: but for the rest,  
(Those other Tribes which boast they are the best.)  
And yet to verify their goodness less;  
Speak, as if they were injured by success,  
So making the fault mine: who therefore have  
Been liberal benefactors to the grave  
By their thick deaths: until that I do see  
A confirmed truth of their humility,  
They shall not see a victory: I'll make  
Benjamin punish these, and after take  
Vengeance on the Revengers, till they see  
My mercy hath not spent mine Equity.  
This I pronounce, this is my constant will.  
Now all the holy company do fill  
The heavens with shouts of praise, and loudly cry  
All Honour, Glory, Power to the most High.  
But now the Israelites once more have brought,  
Their troops into the field, once more have fought;  
And whether 'twas the fault of them that led,  
Or of the Soldier, once more they have fled:  
And now because their battle was not long  
I will not be more tedious in my Song.   

Canto. III.  
The Argument.  
The Levites vision, Phineah's Prayer,  
The Israelites late caused despair  
Now turned to courage, when by them  
A new invented stratagem  
Draws the enemy from the walls,  
Until within their net he falls,  
With the full righting of the wrong  
Does both conclude, and crown my Song.  
WHen will Vice fail? when shall we see th'event  
Of wicked acts as bad as the Intent?  
As yet the worst are prosperous, and worse,  
The good as yet have never missed their curse:  
Review the Levites wife, and you shall see  
When she had forfeited her honesty,  
Her father entertained her; but once more  
When she was come to what she left before,  
Her Lord and Virtue, when that all her strife  
Shall be to gain the name of a good wife,  
Gibeah will not harbour her; O poor!  
Gibeah were guiltless had it done no more:  
But Gibeah will murder her; review  
The Camp awhile, and that'th camp is true  
Which was in her; Twice had that army tried  
The valour of their enemies, and twice died  
The fields with their best blood, so hardly crossed  
That they have fought no oftener than th' have lost:  
And yet their cause was best: neither were they  
The only people which have lost the day,  
Which they deserved to win: search the records  
Of every Age, and every Age affords  
Examples of like strangeness: who can tell  
What the Assyrian did to Israel?  
How in despite of all their lofty towers,  
(Which hoped a standing to the last of hours)  
He made one hour their last: unlucky hour,  
Where vice showed what't could do when it had power▪  
The sword did sport with lives, nor were they such  
Whose loss or preservation did not much  
Pertain unto the State: but the King's sons  
In the same time, the same Pavilions,  
By the same tyrant are enforced to die,  
And which exceeds all, in their father eye.  
Poor Zedekiahs' kingdoms first is gone  
And then his heyre's, O harsh inversion▪  
If he had lost them first, it might be thought  
His kingdom's loss would not have moved him ought  
He would have made the best of th'other cross  
Esteeming it an easing, not a loss.  
As he might now to be deprived of sight  
When he should covet the kind screen of Night,  
Between his woes and him: if in his mind  
He saw, it was a blessing to be blind:  
That then he should be forced to see no more  
When he could not see what he saw before,  
This Israel suffered, and this Ashur did,  
And yet I dare affirm it was not hid  
No not from Ashur even in his own doom  
That they were better who were overcome.  
Or if the goodness to his side he draws,  
'tis that his sword was better, not his cause  
I could go on in precedents as true,  
Actions between the Heathen and the jew,  
Between the Turk and Christian: but what need  
To show there is no birth without a seed?  
No speech without a tongue? or if there be  
More truths of such known perspicuity.  
How do they dote then, who would tie the Lord  
To be so aiding to his children's sword,  
As that he ne'er should use his own, nor do  
Any one act, but what they wish him too?  
Are they so good? or is his love so fond  
As of a courtesy to make a bond?  
Shall they indent with him? and say thus far  
Thou mayst correct, but if thy judgements are  
Of longer date, they are unjust? for shame  
(All ye that glory in a purer Name,)  
Hence those blasphemous thoughts, far hence remove,  
Lest they deserve the plagues they would reprove.  
Is it injustice to suppress our pride,  
To bring unto our eyes what we would hide,  
Even from ourselves, our close deformities?  
Or, may not God, to show how he does prise  
His servants labours, make them thus appear,  
As does the Sun after a cloud, more clear?  
His judgement certainly we'll says too quick,  
Who'll prove one bad because he sees him sick;  
These judgements are diseases, and bestowed  
At pleasure, and not where they most are owed:  
Yet due they are where ever they are found,  
Since there are none so catholicly sound,  
But in a word, but in a thought have strayed,  
Perhaps in those Afflictions, when th'ave weighed  
Their deeds and sufferings, which they think to be  
Of far more rigour than Equality.  
Then courage noble Countrymen, nor fear,  
Though you should want success a while, to rear  
Your names up to your ancestors, (who did  
Those acts which now were better to be hid:  
Lest that they should upbraid us) do not fear  
That Spain is nearer the Almighty's Ear  
Then our devotions: he that could bestow  
A victory after a second blow  
Upon the doubting Israelites, can still  
Create our better hopes even out of ill  
Or if he do not, if he have decreed  
That our just plague shall be their unjust deed:  
That Israel shall be once more overcome,  
And David fly away from Absalon:  
Yet let this glad us in our chiefest woe,  
Man may be good and yet unhappy too.  
Now are they truly humbled, now although  
No curious eye could guess their overthrow  
When he had seen their numbers, yet at length  
They will rely upon another strength,  
Or if to numbers they will trust again,  
'Tis to God's numerous mercies, not their men.  
He can deliver (they have seen) by few,  
And they do think it possible and true  
That he can help by many too, they find  
Without him all their actions full of wind,  
Of emptiness, and with him they not doubt  
To be as well victorious as devout,  
Now Pride hath left them, now they goodness yield▪  
Now have they lost their vices with the field.  
Such holy lessons do misfortunes teach,  
Which make our once bad thoughts bravely to rea●●▪  
At Heaven and glory: if you mark it well  
Whilst yet it was a populous Israel  
It was a proud one too, but when that now  
God looks upon them with an angry brow,  
When all their troops half weary and half sick,  
Are grown to easier Arithmetic,  
theyare truly penitent; hence we may see  
The power, the good power of Adversity,  
weare bad if we are happy, if it please  
Heaven to endow us with a little ease,  
If riches do increase, until our store  
Meet our desires, till we can wish no more,  
If that our garners swell (until they fear  
Ruin from that with which they furnished were)  
We but abuse these benefits: our Peace  
Brings forth but factions, if that strangers cease  
To give us the affront; ourselves will be  
Both the defendant, and the Enemy.  
Our riches are our snares, which being given,  
To man, to make a purchase of the heaven,  
We buy our ruin with them, the abuse  
Is double, in the getting, and the use,  
So that our sums unto such heaps are grown  
When Avarice succeeds Oppression.  
In brief, our garners so well stuffed, so erammed,  
Detain our Corn, as if that it were damned,  
To everlasting prison, none appears,  
And thus we give dearth to the fruitful years:  
Being to such a proud rebellion grown,  
Famine is not heaven's judgement but our own.  
So wretched are we, so we skilful grow  
In crimes, the which the heathen do not know.  
We wrong God for his blessings, as if thus  
We then were thankful, if injurious.  
Why should not mercy win us? why should we  
●e worse by that, whence we should bettered be?  
Blessings were ne'er intended for our harm,  
Nor should the snake have stung, when he was warm  
Him that had warmed him. O how base is man!  
How foolish Irreligion has won  
Upon his reason too! Do we not say  
That he's a beast, whom only stripes can sway.  
O what is man then! who ne'er hears his Lord,  
Till that the famine call him, or the sword.  
Who (as he meant to tire his patient God)  
Yields not unto his favours, but his rod.  
And can we yet entreat him to be kind,  
To alter his, when we'll not change our mind?  
If we are heard, we will offend again,  
And all our prayer does but entreat a Sinne.  
Thus prayed the Israelites, but if theyare heard  
If he that made them scorned, will make them feared:  
It is in chance, no, 'tis as sure as fate,  
Having forgot their misery of late  
They will rebel again: like those good hearts  
Who though they know the pains, the many smarts  
Which fruitfulness is fruitful with, still give  
Death to themselves, to make their issue live:  
And if they scape this death, they try again,  
And boldly venture for a second pain,  
As if 'twere pleasure, or as if they meant  
Rather to dye, then to be continent.  
Thus have we seen a barren, sandy soil  
(Made only for the husbandman's sad toil  
And not his profit) when the full heaven pours  
His moisture down, easing himself by showers,  
Drowned with the drops, to make us understand  
A figure of the Sea upon the Land;  
When once those drops are spent, when that the sky  
Smiles with his new restored serenity,  
Swifter than thought, before that we can say  
This was the place; the water's gone away,  
There's a low Ebb, again we see the Land  
Changing its moisture for its ancient sand.  
Yet he that knows this their infirmity,  
At last will pity it, and from on high,  
(When now their thoughts of war they will adjourn  
When there's no talk now, but of their return)  
he'll hinder it by victory: with that  
(About the time that pitchy night had got  
The conquest of the day, of which being proud  
He wrapped himself within his thickest cloud,  
Thinking perhaps his conquest to be void,  
If any saw the triumphs he enjoyed)  
Unto our Levite he a vision sends  
Clad in her dearest shape, in whom he ends  
All thoughts of Fancy: Whom when he had seen  
(And quickly he had spied her) Fairest Queen  
Of heaven, he says, what is there here on earth  
That could persuade thee to a second birth,  
Thus to appear again? needs must thou know  
(For ignorance belongs to us below  
Excluded out of heaven) that our sad state  
Is for its goodness proved unfortunate;  
That Benjamin is conqueror, and that we  
Could not revenge, but only follow thee▪  
Nor was't one loss, one petty overthrow  
Hath daunted us, but (as if fate would show  
All her choice malice on us) we have tried  
How many ways 'twas possible t'ave died.  
Believe it, heavenly one, no cowardice  
(Which heretofore being base; is now termed wise)  
Lost us the day, no providence; no zeal  
Nor that (which can the maims of actions heal)  
Council, and grave advice was wanting to us:  
Only the heavens, which we had thought would woo us  
To prosecute thy vengeance, and from whence  
We looked for days, like a good conscience  
Shining and clear, with cruelty unheard  
Give us an overthrow for a reward;  
That we can only (such our wretched fate)  
Deplore the loss, which we should vindicate.  
Is this your justice heavens? nay I would know  
If it at least be wisdom, thus to show  
Your wrath upon you followers? if there be  
Such a desire in you to make us see  
What pour you have, wherefore d'ye not use  
That power on those, who impiously abuse  
Us and yourselves? O there are heathen still,  
People that neither fear, nor know your will,  
If you will ruin these, or any wise  
But lessen, y'ave the fewer Enemies:  
On these be powerful; but if you doubt  
Whether such nations may be singled out,  
That sin hath fled the world, than here begin,  
For all the Heathen are in Benjamin.  
Are we the only faulty? or am I  
Picked out for eminent Iniquity?  
All lights on me, 'twas I that raised these wars,  
'twas I that this thick people like to stars,  
Have lessened into Number; I alone  
Merit both people's curses joined in one,  
Benjamin does detest me, and I guess  
Israel's hatred is more close, not less.  
What shall I do, what course is to be tried  
When safe I cannot go, nor safe abide?  
No more says she, nor foolishly conclude  
To give complaints in stead of gratitude  
We ' are herded my dear, and he at whose command  
The earth will learn to move, the heaven to stand  
Fast as the Centre, who brings down to hell,  
And out of deeper mercies (which to tell  
Would pose them that they bless) brings back again▪  
Making the pleasure greater by the pain,)  
Hath crowned our wishes; O joyfully good!  
Not to be had on earth, nor understood:  
heavens high superlative, for unto me  
Revenge is better than Eternity.  
Revenge upon God's enemies: know my dear  
(And know that thou must do what thou shalt hear)  
It is the will of heaven, when once the sky  
Is proud of the next morning's livery,  
All Israel should meet, where what shall fall  
Just with our wishes, or exceed them all,  
I must not now discover, yet thus much  
I dare deliver (my affection's such)  
A truth, that is confessed as soon as heard,  
That he who knew to plague, knows to reward.  
Our Levite wakes, but stretching out an arm  
He feels no body, no, nor no place warm  
To prove she had been there, he thinks 'tmay be  
No vision, but a birth of Fantasy:  
An issue of a troubled brain that framed  
Forms to itself which Nature hath not named:  
Have I not slain enough he says, but still  
Is it my office and my curse to kill?  
'twas but a dream enjoined me to be bad,  
A dream, a vapour, and am I so mad  
For nothing to be monstrous, and commit  
A crime, that men shall fear to dream of it!  
But can I disobey what it hath pleased  
Heaven to command me? O how I am ceased  
With strange extremes! nor readily can tell  
Whether this Revelation should dwell  
Closed in my breast; or whether I go on  
As counting it a Revelation:  
There may be guilty silence, if we fear  
In the affair of heaven to wound an ear  
With threatening Rhetoric; this will not be  
Excused by a pretence of modesty:  
Rather 'twill prove the judgement of just heaven,  
We shall receive the doom we should have given,  
Now all the people know what he hath heard,  
Now they have all their forwardness declared  
In sacrifice, when Phineas appears,  
One that had lived unto so many years;  
He knew not how to count them, and that knew  
The Desert wonders, and could prove them true  
By his own sight, that could the more engage  
Men to believe, not by his tongue, but age.  
Nay I have heard some having duly weighed  
How long in that high office he had stayed,  
Conceive they may affirm without a check,  
Him of the order of Melchisedec;  
And prove (as only judging what they see)  
Their Priesthoods, by their Priest's eternity.  
Who having entered, all the people bowed:  
(For 'twas not yet as perfect zeal allowed  
To be irreverent to their Priest, that name  
Which now is proved a title but of shame,  
Then was the badge of glory) he indeares  
Himself, more by his office, than his years,  
To those, who think these two can ne'er agree,  
To scorn the Priest, and serve the Deity.  
Before the Altar his weak knees he bends,  
Which age before, but now devotion sends  
Unto the ground, where with a voice so low,  
That he could only hear it, who could know  
What it would have before it spoke, he thus  
Whispered a prayer;  
King of Heaven, of Earth, of Seas,  
And of men exceeding these:  
Thou that when thy people ran  
From the proud Egyptian,  
Lead'st them through aliquid path  
Safe, and scarce wet, when thy wrath  
Wonderfully made them know,  
'twas a Sea unto the foe.  
Thou that when the heat, the sand  
Of a barren thirsty land,  
Made our tongues be so confined  
To our roofs, they scarce repined,  
But in secret, so that we  
Only feared a blasphemy.  
Thou then by a powerful knock  
Mad'st a Sea within a Rock,  
And gav'st Israel to know  
For them drought should overflow:  
Thou art still the same, and we  
Stand in the same need of thee,  
Pardon then if we presume  
To an hope, and so assume  
Courage to us, when we join  
Our wants to that power of thine.  
Yes our wants, for we can find  
None of merit, w'ave declined  
Every good way, and have still  
Been ambitious of ill,  
So that when we are exact,  
And have all our good deeds racked  
To the highest rate, there's none  
Dares appear before thy throne:  
Only this desert we see,  
Continuance of adversity.  
Nay such monsters have we been,  
Such proficients in each sin,  
That we durst not look on heaven,  
Nor entreat to be forgiven.  
Hadst not thou vouchsafed to do  
What our wishes reached not to:  
Hadst not thou vouchsafed to be  
Tutor to our Infancy:  
And bestowed when we were mute  
Both our prayer and our suit.  
O the Courteous  
Respect heavens bears us! Scarcely had he done,  
Scarce finished his imposed devotion,  
When on the sudden, ere you could have said  
The Priest had sacrificed, or he had prayed,  
Through all the Camp a light was spread, to this  
Compared, the Sun but a dark body is:  
And in respect of so divine a light  
Our day is honoured, if he be termed night,  
Nor this alone, but that they there might see  
And fear their God in his full Majesty,  
Such voices and such thunders fright the Air,  
That they suppose they want another prayer  
To be assured from them; so they declared  
They were afraid to hear, that they were heard▪  
Down on the pavement every knee is fixed,  
Some grovelling on their faces, when betwixt  
Astonishment and hope, whilst yet they doubt  
What all this preface means, and whilst the rout  
Feared judgements which they merited, they hear  
A voice for which they wish a larger ear,  
It was so sweetly merciful: Once more  
Go up (it says) and though that heretofore  
Y'ave had the worst: yet thus my sentence stands  
Isle now deliver them into your hands.  
Have you beheld how some condemned to die,  
When they were fitted for Eternity,  
When life they did despise, and all below,  
Received a pardon, when they feared the blow  
That should unman them, have you seen them then  
Almost forgetting that they were but men;  
How to express their mind they want a word,  
joy having done the office of the sword,  
And made them speechless? then you may in part  
Conceive the wonder of their joy; which Art  
Confesseth it exceeds her power to show  
At full, which only they that have can know.  
Thus brave Corvinus, than whom fame ne'er knew  
Any that to an higher virtue grew,  
When once it pleased Fortune to leave her frown,  
Made an exchange of Fetters for a Crown,  
Thus, not to seek a foreign precedent,  
Our Henry, whom the heavens courteously scent  
To set a period to our Civil broils,  
To join both Roses: after many foils,  
Received and conquered, after he had seen  
Himself an Exile, who a Prince had been,  
When banishment was envied him, when nought  
Would please his Enemy, unless he bought  
His death of him that harboured him; even then,  
To fool the projects of the cunningest men,  
This withered root begins afresh to spring,  
And from a banished coarse revives a King.  
Thus (not to seek out a stale precedent,  
Mentioning mercies after they are spent,  
And lost in story) England's present joy  
(Whom Fate can only threaten, not annoy,)  
How hath he tried variety of grief!  
How been in dangers, as in Rule our Chief;  
That when there is a speech of suffering,  
He is no less our Pattern, than our King,  
The Seas spoke loud, yet if we rightly poise,  
There was more danger, where there was less noise:  
Yet was he freed from both, when in man's eye,  
Success had seemed to smile on Treachery.  
These are your wonders, Heaven, and not so much  
Favours, (although the Favour too be such,  
That it does pose our gratitude, and so  
Only proclaims that we are made to owe  
Our proverty of merit) to be short,  
theyare not so much your Favours, as your Sport.  
You in an instant raise, whom we would swear,  
Nailed to the Earth, him that had left to fear  
More than he suffered, that had been so long  
Acquainted with ill luck, with such a throng  
Of misadventures, that he does not know  
What it is to be free from them, and so  
This courteous intermission he expounds  
Rather a Change then Cure of his near wounds:  
You in an unthought Minute can depress,  
Whom we believe in league with Happiness.  
And as upon the Stage we oft have seen,  
Him act a Beggar, who a King hath been:  
For no default, but that the Poet's art  
Thought at that time he best would fit that part:  
So in our serious theatres, when you please  
Kings are as varying persons as are these▪  
Only in this their disadvantage lies;  
That they may fall, but cannot hope to rise.  
They, whom the bands that make a kingdom strong;  
Succession to the Crown both right and long  
From worthy Ancestors, obedience  
At home, and lastly sure intelligence  
Abroad hath fortified, those that supposed  
True joy to be wholly in them enclosed:  
If you but please to frown, in one short day  
(When they not think their Enemies on their way)  
Are conquered by them, and at last retain  
This comfort only to allay their pain  
That their misfortune (if the heaven's decree)  
May be the portion of their Enemy.  
Why then do trifling miseries so grate  
Our minds, and make us more unfortunate  
Than heaven intended? if out of a sum  
Of money (not so rich as troublesome  
By the large room, it occupies,) some one  
Willing to teach us moderation,  
Nibble a little, how we fret! we rave!  
How for our treasure we distraction have!  
As if we did believe (to say no more)  
Heaven had the only power to make us poor.  
Israel thought not thus, but does prepare  
All things that for the action needful are:  
He thinks now double diligence is due,  
That he may be victorious, and God true.  
On the Eastside of Gibeah there stood  
An overgrown and unfrequented wood,  
The trees so thickly placed, that you would guess,  
(Had you beheld that horrid wilderness:  
How darkness all the Mastery had won,)  
'twas made for the discredit of the Sun;  
Never did any ray pierce through those leaves,  
And if at any time it light receives  
'tis only when the heavens do miss their stroke,  
And passing wicked men, murder an Oak.  
So that the brightness that adorns the same  
Serves not so much to'inlighten, as inflame.  
Here never did the nimble Fairy tread,  
Nor ever any of the Wood-nymphes bred  
Within this grove, but it was singled out  
For Pluto's regiment, for that bad rout  
Of Hellborn furies, there you might have seen  
Allecto stretched at her full length between  
Two fatal Yughs, where while her rest she takes,  
She gives an intermission to her Snakes,  
Who in a thousand curls there hissing lie,  
And she sleeps sweeter by their harmony.  
Here had the Canaanite in former times  
(Whilst that Religion did consist in crimes)  
Offered his sons in sacrifice, as though  
He meant to pay back heaven all he did owe  
Or did conceive, (that which he should despair)  
To be without sin, when without an heir.  
This horrid place till now had empty stood,  
But now the Israelites conclude it good  
To plant an ambush there: for thus they plot  
That when the skirmish shall be growing hot,  
They will draw back, to make the Benjamite  
Conceive that stratagem to be a flight,  
And leave the town for the pursuit; when strait  
Upon a sign given, they that lie in wait  
Shall seize upon the City, and so force  
Their Enemy to such a desperate course,  
That being pursued by those he put to flight,  
He shall not know, whether to fly or fight,  
Harken ye silly ones that do suppose  
You ought not to bear Arms against your foes:  
Who having cast off ordinary sense,  
Affirm that they do war with Providence,  
Who providently war, that they distrust  
The power, or care of heaven, who will be just  
To their own cause, which you will noise to be  
A spice of wiser Infidelity.  
To these I need no other answer find:  
Shall we be foolish because heaven is kind?  
And when your industry might do as well,  
Will ye enforce God to a Miracle?  
It is a truth I grant, which you pretend  
That God hath destined all things to their end,  
Which stands immovable: nor is't in Fate  
To alter what he will praeordinate:  
Yet never any did so far proceed  
In folly, to affirm that he decreed  
Only the end, that was in God's intents,  
Whilst we did sleep, to bless us with events  
We dream not of: Such fondness cannot find  
Any excuse (unless they were designed  
Inevitably to't:) for I would know  
(If they suppose it possible to show  
Their mind in these affairs, or if they be  
Not hindered from an answer by Decree)  
Why they do eat; and why they do not hence  
Conclude rebellion against Providence;  
Why they do clothe themselves; and why desire  
When cold oppresseth them to choose a fire;  
Have you forgot that for his holy ones,  
God can at ease produce e'en out of stones  
As solid sustenance? or is it lost  
In your frail memory, that when Israel crossed  
The Desert out of Egypt, forty years  
Nor Tailors they employed, nor Shoemakers?  
Trust me if you yourselves think yourselves true,  
Your care does vilify God's care of you;  
And every dish that to your board is brought  
Upbraids him to his face, as if you sought  
To mend his purpose; and by this odd feat,  
You do blaspheme as often as you eat.  
The Israelites are wiser far, although  
They have that unknown happiness, to know  
Their victory aforehand, though they hear  
This truth from him, from whom they cannot fear  
Any deceit, (whose powerful word alone  
Makes that a truth which he resolves upon,)  
Although they will allow his Act for chief,  
Yet they will do their part too: to be brief,  
Every soldier to himself says thus;  
God will bestow the victory, but by us.  
The night they spend in prayer, but when the morn  
Had dimmed the pride of Cynthia's clearest horn  
By higher lustre, being called away  
Nor by the Cock, the Trumpeter of Day;  
But by an earlier trumpet, than you might  
By her unwilling, and yet hasting light,  
Discern, and seeing, almost rightly poise  
Whether were more, their number, or their noise,  
And unto which more fear was to be given.  
Who fill the Earth with Numbers, with noise Heaven.  
Benjamin takes th'alarm, and having chose  
One in whose faithfulness they might repose  
A wary confidence; they quit the wall  
And to the wider field issue out all.  
Lest if they stayed within, and did oppose  
Rampires and ditches only to their foes,  
They might have bragged, (as if that they had won)  
Making a prison of their garrison.  
Now both the Hosts themselves so near do find,  
That it would ask more labour t' have declined  
The field, then to have won it, yet they stay  
Hoping that innocence is in delay,  
If they are slowly guilty: now spears fly  
Shivered in thousand fitters to the sky;  
And whether it revenge or fortune were,  
Every piece becomes a Murderer,  
And from their bodies frees a many soul,  
Doing that broken, which they could not whole.  
Could Xerxes here have sat upon an hill,  
To see these warriors, he would not still  
Fond lament, nor lavish out a tear  
Because they could not live an hundred year,  
But melt into just passion away  
Because they could not live out all that day.  
Now might you have beheld the fiery horse  
Proud of his own, and of his Master's force.  
Robbed of his Master, whom you now might see  
Running, as if 'twere after Liberty,  
Or you'd conceive, had you but seen the race  
That 'twas no more a battle, but a chase.  
No stroke falls idle, nay they are so near;  
They need not strike at all: death is caused here  
By their bad neighbourhood, the whole and sound  
You might have seen here dead without a wound.  
To save the guilt and labour of the sword,  
Bodies to bodies their own ends afford.  
Now nothing but the dust is to be seen  
Which like so many Emblems flies between  
They mingled armies, which in silence says,  
They are no better than the motes they raise,  
Then those poor Atoms: but they think to shroud  
Their acts from sight of heaven under that cloud,  
And therefore do their utmost: yet as though  
Those hands were sluggish, or this fury slow,  
The trumpets chid them to a lustier guilt,  
And the loud drums proclaimed, you have not spilt  
Blood enough yet: O what were they that found  
Out first the use and malice of that sound?  
Which makes us kill with greediness, and when  
'tis the Corrupted Nature of most men  
Hardly to yield unto the destitute,  
These will not suffer us to hear their suit.  
This drowns the groans: but now both armies reel,  
Now this gives back some ground, now that doth feel  
That it is pressed too hardly. Thus the seas  
When over it the angry winds do please  
To exercise their fury, do not know  
What course to take, nor whither they should flow:  
This wave breaks that, and then another blast  
Makes that the conqueror, which was conquered last.  
At length the Israelites give back indeed,  
And though in order, yet with such a speed,  
Benjamin calls it Flight, all's ours they cry,  
If we can run we have the victory:  
With that, what ever men the town affords,  
Skilful to use their fingers or their swords,  
For spoil or for pursuit, issue out thence  
With such a noise, they give intelligence  
That they have left it empty: O the vain  
Attempts of foolish man! O deserved pain!  
theyare made the spoil, that they intent to make,  
So wisely can just heavens their vengeance take  
On bad attempts, so all our heat assuage,  
And make our Ruin greater than our Rage.  
It never entered into their proud thought,  
They should receive the damage which they sought  
To give unto their brethren: who having left  
Their woody covert, and the friendly cleft,  
Which entertained them, by a quick surprise,  
Take the unguarded town: O who can prise  
Those losses to the full? or who rehearse  
Those misadventures in an equal verse?  
They spare no age, but (cruel) take away  
From the old men, the solitary day  
They could expect to live: now Infants die,  
Even those, who yet within their mother's lie,  
Finding a Night before they see the Morn,  
Being buried thus, before that they were borne,  
For whom their murderers no crime could choose,  
But that they were▪ and had a life to lose,  
Nor does the weaker sex escape the rage  
Of these intruders, and as every Age,  
So every Person suffers, only here  
May be the difference, (if that any were)  
Either they're killed outright, or which is worse,  
They think their life to be the greater curse.  
Here mothers see their daughters whom they bred  
As Votaries unto their Maiden head,  
Vn-virgined in their sight, where having lost  
That peerless jewel, which they valued most,  
They do receive to vindicate their name  
A death from them, from whom they had their shame.  
Avarice follows Lust, now they have leisure  
To ransack all those Minerals of treasure  
Long peace and thrift had hoarded up, at last  
As children when their Appetite is past  
Spoil what they cannot eat, and badly kind  
Pamper their dogs with that they leave behind:  
So these, as surfeiting with such a store,  
(Which made them lose all fear of being poor)  
What is not ready spoil, give to the fire,  
Whose conquering flames unto the heavens aspire,  
As boasting of their service: through the town,  
Swifter than any thing that has renown  
For speediness, they run, one hour does spoil  
(Unlucky hour) what was an Age's toil,  
Now crack the houses, now the Temples fry,  
Now the poor Citizens resolved to dye,  
Doubt of what death: and know not which to try,  
The fire, the downfalls, or the Enemy,  
Had this misfortune happened in the Night  
(Though Nature had opposed) such a full light  
Had made a day, and so again had won  
A Conquest of the town, and of the Sun.  
Never did Sailor with such joy behold  
Castor and Pollux when his ship was rolled  
Upon the angry Ocean, (whose proud waves  
Made the most haughty minds frieze into slaves  
With a base fear,) as Israel does view  
Those flames, which he does fear not to be true  
They are so great, and yet he hopes to see  
These flames to light him to a victory.  
Now all the face of things is changed a new,  
Now those which erst seemed vanquished, do pursue:  
The Israelites confirming by their Fight,  
That they could cause as well as act a Flight.  
Benjamin grows amazed, and does not know  
What he should do, nor on what grounds to go,  
Which probably seem safe: if he should fly  
He runs away unto the Enemy:  
And shall he fight? alas! but he will find  
It is impossible to fight behind,  
Where he shall be assay'ld: yet he shifts ground,  
And figures out his battle in a round.  
And since he hath no hope to scape away,  
he'll nobly sell, not give away the day.  
They never fought till now, all the whole day  
Before, was only somewhat fiercer Play,  
Murder in jest, but now they are so fierce  
As if they would enforce their swords to pierce  
Beyond the body; this a while, at length  
Despair does yield the victory to strength;  
And Fortune (that the world henceforth might find  
That they had injured her who called her blind)  
Crowns the best side, and providently tries  
At once to prove their Conquest, and her Eyes.  
The Parallel is easy; was't not thus,  
When Heaven was pleased to be as kind to us?  
We felt the prickles first, but then our Nose  
Sucked in the sweeter virtue of the Rose.  
We had success, as it were chose, and picked,  
And, what we feared to suffer, did inflict.  
When Brett and Burrowes (that I speak their due)  
Revived to France, Talbot and Montague.  
(O too like Montague, that lost thy breath,  
By the same fatal Engine of quick death.)  
When the choice valour of each rank, and file  
Made up a double Sea within the Isle  
Of blood and tears, O give us thanks, kind heaven,  
And add a virtue to our Fortune given.  
But soft, I hear the wise man say, Commend  
No man, nor action till you see the end.  
Our night is not yet past, or if it be  
'tis but the dawning, not the day we see,  
And but a misty dawning, we must know  
That yet we have not paid God what we owe  
And that would worse than any Madness be  
To have a joy ere a security,  
Under the rod to laugh: yet we conclude  
Patience does please no less than gratitude;  
And he that can o'ercome a loss, nor be  
Too much cast down for want of victory,  
Is in some part victorious, and can say  
'tis blessed to be a conqueror any way.  
That we may all acknowledge his desert,  
Who nobly gained a conquest of the heart  
Of them, whose bodies he had conquered first,  
To whom he then discovered, what he durst,  
And after what his Nature was, when he  
In the sad field had spent his Cruelty,  
For when they offered to redeem their dead,  
Sums which another would have vanquished,  
He freely yields unto the suitor's breath,  
And gives the Grave, as easily as the Death,  
Whilst they do give— O how I blush to tell,  
A poisoned knife, a poison that will dwell  
And eat into their fame till earth be gone,  
Till poison have no more to work upon.  
Teach us our right to him, but then to you  
What shall we give? and yet what not leave due?  
Then, O kind Heaven, for this let me be pleader,  
May we still sing your praise, who led our Leader,  
And now I hast unto my songs conclusion;  
Israel's conquest, Benjamins confusion:  
Of all that valiant number which but now  
Made treble numbers to their valour bow:  
Only six hundred escape away, so few,  
They were scarceable to commit anew  
The Crime for which they suffered; had not Night  
Became their Umpire and forbade the Fight,  
Those few had perished too; then at the last  
Let future Ages learn of Ages past  
How vice rewards her servants! Let them be  
Afraid at leastwise of the misery,  
Who slight the sin: why should a beauteous face  
Make my soul foul? and an external grace  
Bereave me of my inward? O despair!  
Shall I be bad, because another's fair?  
Hence that poor folly, rather let us win  
A conquest by the loss of Benjamin.  
To know that those belied, and stolen delights  
Are not of so long lasting as the Nights,  
In which we did enjoy them, how the Day  
Takes both their darkness, and our sweets away:  
To understand that tardy heaven is just,  
That Ruin is the consequent of Lust.  
And now O Father, once more I repair  
To thy great presence, O thou only Fair,  
(Who dwelling in the light that none comes near,  
Canst not be seen of us, because too clear;  
To whom created beauties if compared,  
Even such as have the wisest eyes ensnared,  
Are nothing but Deformity at best,  
Dirt somewhat better coloured then the rest)  
Instruct my youth, O teach that I may know,  
What mischiefs lurk under a seemly show;  
What a sweet danger woman is: O thou  
To whom the knees that do not love, do bow,  
Whom all obey, even such as have no sense,  
Who do not know their own obedience;  
Whom all obey, even such as do go on  
In a perpetual Rebellion,  
The Spirits accursed: Grant me, that chastely wise  
I enter into Covenant with mine eyes,  
Never to look on Woman, not to see  
What would persuade my soul to forsake thee,  
To make a God of flesh: But if that I  
Forced by Temptation, or Necessity,  
Must see my Ruin, yet thus much, O thou  
Whom my soul loves, & would more, knew she how,  
(For his dear sake and worth, in whom was found  
Only a place, no reason for a wound)  
If I must have the sight, yet I require  
I may at leastwise not have the desire,  
If I must see, let it be to despise  
So shall my heart be chaste, if not mine eyes.  
FINIS.   

A Thanksgiving for a recovery from a burning Fever.  
I Burn again, methinks an holy fire  
Kindles my dull devotion, and far higher  
Raiseth my spirit, than my hot disease  
Inflamed my blood: how with a sacred ease  
Feel I these flames through my glad soul to rush!  
Like those, which made a Chapel of the bush  
Whence God did tutor Moses; would 'twere found  
That this place too were such an holy ground:  
Then should I boldly vent my Gratitude,  
And being Godly, not be counted Rude,  
The Night approached, when by my pains I might  
Suspect it would have been my lasting Night:  
I had a grief beyond a Coward's fears,  
And such a grief, it robbed me of my tears.  
I was all Fire, the greedy Element  
Left no one part unsinged, as if it meant  
To cross the vulgar notions of our birth,  
And prove that man was not composed of Earth;  
That he was made of Flames, that past all doubt  
To dye was nothing, but to be put out.  
And yet the truth of this, this truth denies,  
Man is not made of that by which he dies.  
And had I died thus, they had been unjust  
Who had pronounced, we give dust unto dust.  
Ashes they well might term me, and so turn  
My Christian burial to a Pagan urn.  
Without a tedious pilgrimage to Rome,  
(If that the torment make the Martyrdom)  
I might be Canonised, and sooner far  
Then some whose names in the gulled Calendar  
Burn in red letters, of whom none can tell  
Whether they only felt a Fire in Hell.  
O heat! O drought! O am I quenched as yet,  
Or is not this Remembrance a new fit!  
Yet in my fiercest fit how oft I thought  
(Whilst yet there was some moisture left, which fought  
With my hot Enemy) how durst liberal men  
Give us a freedom of our wills, that when  
Ever we list we may be good, and so  
Owe to ourselves as well the Cure as Blow?  
Who gave us this strange power, can any tell,  
Not to be Bad, and yet not to be Well?  
Can we command our sins so easily,  
And faint at a poor Fever? tell me why  
You will consent to dye? and wherefore still  
You plead not then a liberty of will?  
My God cried I, though I must needs confess  
Unto my shame, that all my pains are less  
Than my demerits, yet I grant as free  
That they exceed all possibility  
Of mine own cure, and yet I sooner can  
(Spite of disease) turn my Physician  
Then my Redeemer, thou alone canst do  
A powerful cure on soul and body too.  
With that I felt recovery: my flame  
Was kindly lessened to a lower name,  
To moderate heat: Sleep did my senses charm,  
And I that burned before, was now but warm,  
Health and Devotion seize on me, my fire  
Had left my bones to live in my Desire,  
And I was sick of thankfulness: then now  
Teach me O Lord not why to praise, but how:  
Bow my stiff knees, that they may beg a power▪  
Of full thanksgiving to my Saviour.  
Some praise for less: I've read of Ionah's ark  
(Which was of surer carriage than his Bark)  
Th'inhabitable Fish, and yet we see  
That he gives thanks for his Delivery  
From his Preserver, and shall reckless I  
Delivered from a nearer death, now die  
In the Remembrance? first, O Lord return  
My tutor-torment, let me again burn.  
And now great God, I do entreat and change  
My praise into a prayer, (for 'tis not strange  
That benefits should make a suppliant,  
Since courtesies cause prayer as well as want)  
'twas thy great mercy made my body whole,  
O let me find that mercy to my soul,  
Then shall I boldly hasten to the grave,  
And wanting Life, not want what I would have.   

In illos qui Crastinum faeliciorem putant, Hendecasyllabon.  
HEu quam tempora ludimus diferti,  
Heu quam quaerimus improbi dierum  
Successus, quibus invenire tandèm  
Possimus miseri repente mortem.  
Injustus tamen imputare Fato  
(Fato quod melius meretur, aut nil)  
Audet quisque suam subinde mortem.  
Aude quisque suum vel inde crimen.  
Optamus celerem Leves ruinam,  
Et stultè cupimus quod execrandum est,  
Sic ut pectore pullulent in uno  
(Heu sors prodigiosa!) Mens et Hostis.  
Quis primas adeò probavit horas,  
Ut semper cupiat manere primas  
Ut non turbine raptus impotenti  
Laudaret magis ipse quae sequantur:  
Acsi tempora sera quae sequuntur  
Non morti mágis obviam propinquent,  
Acsi tempora sera quae sequuntur  
Non sint tempora sera sed beata.  
Hoc ex ubere profluit parentis,  
Infanti tenero, nec invenire  
Quenquamtam puerum, rudemve possis,  
Quisi forte minus queat loquendo,  
Non mutire tamen velhiscere ausit  
(Quamvis hoc violare, non precari  
Divos, auribus esset eruditis)  
Annos ut videat, homoque crescat.  
Et jam Numina prorsus annuêre,  
Et jambarba virum satis probavit,  
Num constant ibi vota, num morantur?  
Num non alter adhûc rogatur annus?  
Hic tandem rogo vota nūm fatiscunt?  
Rotatus citius jacebit aer,  
Et rivus sciet inquies quietem,  
Luctus, quem fero; sit, sit et voluptas  
(Expertis onus est quin et voluptas)  
Quicquid sit Modo, Crastinum petemus  
Quin curas fugat ille pertinaces  
Quin et spem quoque longiusfugatam  
(Si mens certius autumet) reducit  
Sic mens stultior autumat: quin illa  
Quae non novimus anne sint futura  
Laudamus nimium, parumque certi,  
Incertissima perperam probamus,  
Cum praesentia tedio futura, et  
Sint desiderio nimis futura,  
Advenit modo Crastinus petitus,  
Advenit quoque Crastinus secundus,  
Tota demum, quibus impar omnis esset  
Annorum fuga, computus dierum.  
Quid tandem inveniunt? quid, oro, tandem  
Non abunde leves, ut ante, quaerunt?  
Et quaerunt modo, denuoque quaerunt,  
Donec jam leve sit velinvenire.  
Usque ad tempora verticis soluti  
Rasi tempore, num severa frontem  
Non tantum ceperat ruga, sed omnem  
Obnubit faciem, atque luscus intus  
Abdit sese oculus, ut inde possit  
Visu cernere clariore mentem,  
Cum nasi stupeas videns acumen,  
Donec longa dies rogare fecit,  
An hic quem videas homo vocetur.  
Cum sulcis lacerata tota frons sit,  
Donec tempora jam irruant suprema  
Expectatio tunc suprema fati,  
Et voti male compotes perimus.   

Upon our vain flattery of ourselves that the succeeding times will be better than the former.  
HOw we dally out our days!  
How we seek a thousand ways  
To find Death▪ the which if none  
We sought out, would show us one.  
Why then do we injure Fate,  
When we will impute the date  
And expiring of our time,  
To be hers, which is our Crime?  
Wish we not our End? and worse,  
Make't a Prayer which is a Curse?  
Does there not in each breast lie  
Both our soul and Enemy?  
Never was there Morning yet  
(Sweet as is the Violet)  
Which man's folly did not soon  
Wish to be expired in Noon;  
As though such an haste did tend  
To our bliss, and not our End;  
Nay the young ones in the nest  
Suck this folly from the breast,  
And no stammering ape but can  
Spoil a prayer to be a Man.  
But suppose that he is heard,  
By the sprouting of his beard,  
And he hath what he doth seek  
The soft clothing of the Check:  
Would he yet stay here? or be  
Fixed in this Maturity?  
Sooner shall the wand'ring star  
Learn what rest and quiet are:  
Sooner shall the slippery Rill  
Leave his motion and stand still.  
Be it joy, or be it Sorrow,  
We refer all to the Morrow,  
That we think will ease our pain,  
That we do suppose again  
Will increase our joy, and so  
Events, the which we cannot know  
We magnify, and are (in sum)  
Enamoured of the time to come.  
Well, the next day comes, and then,  
Another next, and so to ten,  
To twenty we arrive, and find  
No more before us then behind  
Of solid joy, and yet hast on  
To our Consummation:  
Till the baldness of the crown,  
Till that all the face do frown,  
Till the Forehead often have  
The remembrance of a Grave;  
Till the eyes look in, to find  
If that they can see the mind.  
Till the sharpness of the Nose,  
Till that we have lived, to pose  
Sharper eyes, who cannot know  
Whether we are men or no▪  
Till the tallow of the Cheek,  
Till we know not what we seek;  
And at last of life bereaved,  
Die unhappy, and deceived.  
FINIS.   

TO the READER.  
REader, my Profession is not versifying, but this is part of the King of Swedens' power, that he can transform a Divine into a Poet, and indeed he that cannot make a verse upon this Argument, is an Argument for verses to be made upon. But thou shalt have nothing of a Poem here besides the Rhyme, it being this King's singularity, that he who writeth his History, shall be thought to write a Poem, and he that would write a Poem of him, cannot but write an History. It is impossible, that invention should exceed his actions, or that a Pen should dare more than Sweden. So that now an excuse is needless, a Divine may write an History. And why not such a Poem? I am sure a Prince in Israel is fallen, and therefore it can be no shame for David himself to follow the Beer. Which I trust thou dost in a true sorrow for him, and an hearty prayer to the Almighty that he would raise up another to perfect, who thus far hath advanced this royal instument in his cause. Thus thou art advised by  
R. GOMERSALL.   

AN ELEGY UPON the untimely, yet Heroical death of Gustavus Adophus the Victorious King of Sweden, etc.  
ARe all our hopes but this? did we expect  
that thou our falling Fortunes shouldst erect,  
And must thou fall thyself? a little dust  
Remain of him, who, we did surely trust,  
Should into dust have brought Rome's prouder walls,  
And hastened the great whores just Funerals?  
Is this the noble Conqueror? this he,  
Who was the Favourite of victory?  
Who, whatsoever he attempted, wrought,  
Event still gladly lackeying his wise thought,  
Who wrought no other thing, than what he should,  
His power being still confined to what was good:  
How could he choose then but be happiest,  
Who had his will, who willed that which was best?  
Alas how pale he looks! sure 'tis not He,  
This is the countenance of the Enemy,  
When Sweden pressed him, thus did Tilly look,  
When in the field of Leipsich, that sad book,  
He read his following miseries, which did reach,  
As far as Elve is distant from the Leech;  
Where he received his Death at his proud knee,  
Because before he would not bow to thee,  
This was Bavaria's colour when he saw  
His Arts could not dissuade, nor forces draw  
Thee from thy high designs, this was his hue,  
When after all his projects, he not drew  
A sword in his defence, and threw away  
His lands without the hazard of a day,  
As if he'd see, how nobly thou wouldst use them,  
Or he had had his countries, but to lose them.  
Or thus looked Fridland, when he saw the field  
Strewed with his slaughtered soldiers who do yield  
Riches ●o those grounds, whence they took the spoil;  
And their dead bodies do manure the soil,  
Which, living, they had wasted, in that hour,  
When Sweden foiled the Emperor's Emperor.  
If these look pale 'tis fit, a pretty art,  
That their own cheeks, should represent the heart  
Of their dead forces, should want blood as well,  
And by their Faces, show us how They fell.  
Let's look again: Alas! 'tis He, 'tis He,  
This was Gustavus, was? o misery,  
Was it, and is't not? o that face! those eyes!  
Where Spain and Austria read their destinies  
Are they the dainties for the worm? that hand,  
Lift up to Prayer always, or Command  
Must that lie still for Ever? must it be,  
So still, as it would make the enemy?  
Was it for this thou leftest thy native soil,  
Thy Queen, thine Heir, was it for this? to toil  
For others benefit, and after, have  
For all thy travels but a Germane grave?  
Could not thy Sweden bury thee? nor give  
Rest to thy bones, which whilst that thou didst live  
Bestowed a Crown upon thy head? was't more  
To give a Grave, than a whole Realm before?  
Yet this is thy reward, that thou dost lie,  
In the, by thee twice reskewed Saxony:  
Yet what reward is this for thee? they have  
From thee their Right, from them thou but thy Grave.  
far be all blessing from that man, who first  
Found out that Fatal instrument, who durst  
Thunder on Earth, and teach mankind a way  
How they might send mankind unto their clay,  
Not knowing who 'twas sent them, by whose skill  
The Coward is instructed how to kill,  
And the brave man must at a distance dye  
By him, whom nearer, his own livelier eye  
Would look to Death: how could he have the brain,  
To teach the world, by what a world is slain,  
Or since he knew the mischief of his Art,  
If he could have the Brain, yet how the Heart?  
Is this the Cloistered study? cannot they  
Deny the world; unless the world they slay?  
Is this (I'd know) their own selves to deny,  
To cause, besides themselves all else should dye?  
Are they cooped up for this? but I admire  
In vain, how from the Devil, and the Friar  
Come ought, that is not, Hellish, how those two  
Should think, what 'twas not a loud crime to do?  
Wert not for them 'twould be no wondered thing  
To see at once one Aged, and a King,  
Since we do learn in Sage experience School  
Crowns would be sacred wert not for the Cowle.  
Nor are we longer ignorant now, who gave  
Birth to our sorrow, to our joy a grave,  
What ever missed to blind our eyes they spread,  
The Hand we do not know, we do the Head,  
Which that we may curse home, to pay his due,  
Let us their triumph and our loss review.  
Many have been victorious, every Age  
Hath once produced some Worthies on the Stage,  
Sacred to glory: Rome doth Caesar praise,  
Carthage her Hannibal to Heaven doth raise  
Thy Bruce o Scotland is far famed by thee,  
Their Henry, France doth boast, our Edward we.  
All these were Conqueror's, but upon what right  
May we inquire, did some of them first fight?  
Some were but Royal robbers, and the best  
Made man so cheap for their own Interest,  
Revenge, or Profit drove them unto Fame,  
And thus they injured, whilst they gained their name:  
Whilst all Thy power is spent in doing good,  
And thou gainest nothing but the loss of blood,  
Whilst all thy power is spent the wronged to right,  
And thus thy acts are judgement, and not Fight,  
Thus whilst their actions in this currant ran  
To make th' Oppressor greater the Man,  
Had there been none oppressed, thou hadst lain still  
That thou might Save, thou wert enforced to Kill:  
Whilst all thy power is spent in Gods own Cause,  
To plant, or to establish his pure Laws  
To make Professors fearless, that it might  
No longer be a crime to be i'th' Right,  
Nor a sufficient cause to make one Die  
That he would seek a true Eternity.  
These are thy Acts— to make the Enemy yield,  
By force to make him quit the blood-dyed field;  
To take in towns with as much ease, as though  
Their walls were like to those of jericho,  
Would fall to give thee entrance; to o'er come  
Whole countries with more speediness than some  
Could view them, all these are thy acts 'tis known,  
But these, with others, thine; those, thine alone.  
I challenge thee proud Greece and prouder Rome,  
From their first birth unto their latest tomb,  
Peruse your Heroes, read their actions o'er  
Make what was somewhat, by your Fabling, more,  
Add lie and all to boot, then if you dare  
Bring them: if with Gustavus you compare,  
They shall as much that competition shun,  
As a weak Taper yields to the bright Sun,  
Which of them ever fought for others gains,  
That theirs might be the Profit his the Pains?  
I could be infinite thee to commend,  
But thou thyself dost not despise an end  
I therefore hasten: having done thus much  
Thou now wouldst see whether another such  
Would after thy departure rise, or why  
May I not say, that thou wouldst therefore dye  
That man should grudge no longer at his Death  
Nor strive to keep when heaven would take his breath?  
Must we all die? proud death then do thy worst,  
What ere thou canst, Sweden hath suffered first  
And he being dead who now would live? mine eres  
Begin to flow a fresh, new fountains rise,  
Which threaten inundations, but I stay,  
When I consider, thou hast found one way,  
Not to do all for others: Princely shade!  
This is thy Art of war at length t' invade  
Heaven for Thyself, there all the gains are Thine,  
Thou wert not Killed for the Prince Palatine:  
When I think this then do I spare mine eye:  
For others thou dost Fight, for thyself Die.   


The Epitaph in Latin.  
SVecia me genuit, Borealis gloria plagae,  
Lipsia bis palmam dat mihi, fata semel.  
Erexi oppressos, incurvavique prementes,  
Sceptra aliis, mortem comparo at ipse mihi.  
Nescio quae balista meum jaculata Sepulchrum est.  
Sic cecidi, incerto vulnere fixus humo:  
Occubui, per quem non certó novimus, Author  
Non licuit cuiquam dicere caedis Ego.  
Lachrymulam funde unam lector, funde vel unam  
Qui vivus plures fundere te vetui.   

In English thus.  
ME Sweden bred, there I received my breath,  
Leipsich twice gave me honour, once my Death,  
I freed th' oppressed, brought down th' oppressors pride,  
Won crowns, that other men might wear than, dy'ed.  
A bullet, out of what piece none can tell,  
Brought me that dismal message, thus I fell,  
Death at adventure my last blood hath spilled,  
No man must boast that he hath Sweden killed.  
Reader shed one tear for my death, but one,  
Whose life took order, that thou shouldst shed none.   
FINIS.