THREE PRECIOUS TEARS OF BLOOD, Flowing from the wounded hearts of three great French Ladies. IN MEMORY, OF THE Virtues, complaint of the loss, and execration of the murder, of that thrice-worthy Monarch, HENRY the Great. Now shed again in English. To three of the most excellent among the excellentest Ladies of this little world, and of the greatest. LONDON Printed at Britain Burse for john Budge, and are there to be sold at his shop. Anno 1611. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, THE COUNTESS OF DERBIE▪ MADAM. YOUR approved love to that great house which I most honour, and a true love more grounded upon right kindred of virtue, then of blood, which generally maketh you commendable to all the world, challenges yet a more special duty of me; besides that good will you vouchsafe to our Nation. I wish I could witness respect and gratefulness where I owe it, in a better matter, or of mine own; But since I am not able, and yet will not foreslow that duty, I give you that which hath been given me, and with that, the earnest of the earnest service which most humbly vows to you, Your Honours Most humble and most to be commanded servant. Δ Larme premiere, A LA MEMOIRE ET LOVANGE DE CE FAMEVZ MONARQVF, HENRY le grand. 1 come un foudre du Ciel, come un torrent de Mars, je tonnay, I'étonnay des Hectors auz alarms, je brauay les destins, & l'horreur des hazars, Se rendit hommager à l'honneur de mes armes. 2 je retiray mes lis d'vn deluge de sang Qu'vn milion de coeurs enfloit de son carnage, Qui pensant me noyer auz on des de mon flanc, je noyay leurs desseins auz flots de mon courage. 3 On arma contre moy l'orgueil des Nations, Mais ce fut l'Ocean qui attaqua Neptune, Car ces vens orageuz furent des Alcions, Pour ancrer le vaisseau de ma bonne fortune. 4 En fin ie suffoquay les goziers renaissans, Et l'Hidre des Francois souz l'amas de mes palmes, Et d'vne douce paiz les Oliuiers croissans, Ombrageoyent le sejour de mes riuages calms. 5 Attlas sontint l'Olimpe, & moy cet univers Que i'auoy fait courber au faiz de mes Trophées, Les mons n'etoyent pas tant de leurs neiges couuers, Que mes cimes etoyent de mes fleurs etoffeés. 6 Les poles fremissoyent au bruit de mes combas, Et ceuz qui sont souz nous se disoyent ma conquest, Il ne restoit plus rien de domtable icy bas, A qui ie n'eusse mis le pied dessus la teste. 7 Bref ie ne faisoy plus que prescri●●●es loiz, Mon nom etoit l'obiéct des grandeurs de la terre, Le bon heur me faisoit le Monarque des Roys, Et mon coeur Martial, le Demon de la guerre. 8 Pour mon dernier triomphe il me faloit les cieuz, Mais un si cher butin ne s'aquiert par la lame, Et la lame pourtant du co●p audacieuz D'vn bras desesperé y a porté mon ame. 9 Voila tousjours l'acier guide de mon destin, Icy bas ce fut luy qui forgea mes victoires, Et puisque les Cesars ont une mesme fin, L'acier devoit encor me conquerir ces gloires. 10 Puis qu'en ma pomp i'eus un Ciel de petis Dieuz, Pour couronner de lis la junon de ma couch, Il ne me restoit plus que le Nectar des Cieuz Le monde n'ayant plus rien dign de ma bouche. 11 come en ce beau sejour l'esprit d'aise transi, Le Dauphin du grand Dien me donnoit une palm, Mon Dauphin recevoit une Couronne aussi, Mais la sienne est au cors, & la mienne est en l'ame. 12 Ainsi & Pere & Fils ensemble sont faits Rois, L'vn pour offrir des voeuz au trone de sa gloire, L'autre pour appuyer les Armes de ses Loiz, Et tous deuz pour regner au temple de memoire. The first tear, IN MEMORY AND PRAISE OF THAT FAMOUS MONARCH, HENRY the Great. 1 LIke thundering jove, or like all- conquering Mars, I made great Hector's quake with my alarms, I braved the fates, and in my hardest wars Made horror self yield honour to my arms. 2 I saved my Lilies from a crimson flood Of bloody hearts rebellious to my Crown: They thought to drown me quite in streams of blood, In streams of courage I their thoughts did drown. 3 The pride of Nations against me was bend, But like the sea which Neptun's force assails: For those loud storms were but Altions, sent To fix the anchor of my peaceful sails. 4 Under the weight of my victorious bays I crushed that Hydra which my France oppressed, And gave my subjects leave to pass their days Under the olive-shades of peace and rest. 5 Attlas, Olympus; I this world upheld, Which I made shrink under my trophies load: Snow not so thick lies upon mountains swelled As Palms, Bays, Lilies, on my high abode. 6 The Poles did ttemble at my conquest's sound, Th' Antipodes did fear my victories, Of all that could be conquered on the ground, I made my feet above their head to rise. 7 Thus, did I but prescribe the laws to things, My name their object was that greatest are, My fortune made me Monarch over Kings, My martial heart, the Genius of the war. 8 For my last triumph heaven I should have had, But such a prays not gotten by the blade, And yet the blade of an audacious mad Thither my soul hath with a stroke conveyed. 9 Behold, how still the steel doth guide my fate, And here cut out my victories below, Now since by steel the Caesar's end their state, By steel why should not my last triumphs grow? 10 A heaven of little Gods my pomp enjoyed, The Lilies of my juno's bed which graced; Only of heavens sweet Nectar I was void, Earth having nothing worthy of my taste. 11 When to this heavenly rest my spirit did rise, With palm I was by God's great Dolphin crowned, My little Dolphin had a crown likewise, His on his head, mine on my soul was found. 12 Thus both at once are Kings, not for one cause, The one to pay his vows is throned in glory, The other to establish arms and laws, Yet both to reign in times eternal story. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, THE VICOUNTESSE OF CRANBORNE. MADAM. HErein appears both the scantness of my power, having nothing of mine own to present whom I respect; And the plenteousness of my desire, rather borrowing of others then be wanting to the duties of a fervent affection, never so well witnessed but by giving. But these English verses are already yours by so many reasons, as without to much wrong I cannot alienate them to another. First, they be mine, and I yours; Mine I say, by free gift, and there is no better title for propriety. Then, they be made at my request, and by such a one, whose worthiness makes him yours indeed, yea, of good use too; where alas I am yours but in vow and idle thought, without acceptation: I confess it to my shame, and the further from envy, the nearer to sorrow. Moreover, since the rare life, and rarest death of so great a King, written by a Man, was tendered to your Noble Husband; me thought the complaint for his loss, penned by a Woman, could be no where so well directed as to his dear Wife: Finally, that honour of womankind (the more feelingly mourning, because besides the general interest, she was very near in blood to that deceased Monarch) being a fair, young, and most excellent Lady, of one of the most ancient and Princely houses, not of France only, but of all the world, claims to the full as many qualities, in whomsoever her admirable works must be presented unto. All which finding no where else in one only subject, together; nor all, so plentifully, nor every one, in so high a degree; I must needs dedicate them to you, though otherwise (both by desire, vow and affection to all those you most nearly belong unto, and to yourself) I were not already, Your Honour's Most humble and most to be commanded servant. Δ Larme second, complaint DE MADAMOYSELLE ANNE DE ROHAN, SUR LA MORT DV GRAND Roy, HENRY IIII. 1 QVoy? faut-il que HENRY, ce redouté Monarque Ce domteur des humains, soit domté par la Parque? Que l'oeil qui vit sa gloire, ores voye sa fin? Que le notre pour luy incessamment degoute? Et que si peu de terre, enferme dans son sein Celuy qui meritoit de la posseder toute? 2 Quoy? faut-il qu' à iamais, nos joys soyent eteintes? Que nos chants & nos riz soient conuertis en plaintes? Qu'au am de notre Roy, le dueil regne en ces lieuz? Que la douleur nous poigne, & le regret nous serre? Que sans fin nos soupirs montent dedans les cieuz? Que sans espoir nos pleurs descendent sur la terre? 3 Il le faut, on le doit; Et que pouuons-nous rendre, Que des pleurs assidus à cete august cendre? Arrousons à iamais son triste marbre blanc: Non, non, plutost quittons ces inutiles armes; Mais puis qu'il fut pour nous prodig●e de son sang, Serions nous bien pour luy, auares de nos larmes? 4 Quand bien nos yeuz seroient conuertis en fontaines, Ils ne sauroient noyer la moindre de nos peines, On ●panche des pleurs pour un simple meschef; un devoir trop commun, bien souuent peu s'estime▪ Il faut donques mourir auz piez de notre Chef▪ Son tombeau soit l'autel, & nos cors la victim. 5 Mais qui pourroit mourir? Les Parques filandieres Dedaignent de toucher à nos moites paupieres, Ayans fermé les yeuz du Prince des guerriers, Atropos de sa proye est par trop glorieuse, Elle peut bien changer ses Cyprez en Lauriers, Puis que de ce vainqueur elle est victorieuse. 6 Puis qu'il nous faut encor, & soupirer & viure Puis que la Parque fuit ceuz qui la veulent suiure, Viuons donc, en plaignant notre rigoureuz sort, Notre bon-heur perdu, notre ioye rauye, Lamentons, soupirons, & iusques à la mort, Temoignons qu'en vivant nous pleurons notre vie. 7 Plaignons, pleurons sans fin cet esprit admirable, Ce judgement parfait, cet humeur agreeable, Cet Hercule sans pair, aussi bien que sans peur; Tant de perfections qu'en louant on soupire, Qui powoient asseruir le monde à sa valeur, Si sa rare equité n'eut borné son Empire. 8 Regret●ons, soupirons cette sage Prudence, Cette extreme Bonté, cette rare Vaillance, Ce coeur qui se pouuoit flechir, & non domter; Vertus de qui la part est à nous tant amere, Et que ie puis plutot admirer que chanter, Puis qu'à ce grand Achille il faudroit un Homer. 9 Mais parmy ces vertus, par mes vers publiées, Lairron-nous sa Clemence au rang des oubliées, Qui seulement auoit le pardon pour objet? Pardon qui rarement an coeur des Rois se 〈◊〉: En parle l'ennemy, non le loyal sujet, En face le recit qui en a fait l'epreuue. 10 Pourroit-on bien conter le nombre de ses gloires? Pourroit-on bien nombrer ses insignes victoires? Non, d'vn si grand discours le dessein est trop haut: On doit lover sans fin, ce qu'on ne peut décrire, Il faut humble se taire, ou parler come il faut. Et celuy ne dit rien qui ne peut assez dire. 11 Ce Mars dont les vertus furent jadis sans nombre Et que nul n'egaloit, est equal á une ombre, Le fort a ressenty d' Atropos les effors, Le Vainqueur est gisant dessouz la froide lame, Et le fer infernal qui luy persa le cors, Fait qu'vne âpre douleur nous pierce à iamais l'ame. 12 Iadis pour ses beauz faits, nous eleuions nos testes, L'ombre de ses lauriers nous gardoit des tempêtes, La fin de ses combas finissoit notre effroy: Nou-nous prisions tous seuls, nous méprisions les autres Etans plus glorieuz, d'étre sujets du Roy, Que si les autres Rois eussent eté les notres. 13 Maintenant notre gloire est à iamais ternie, Maintenant notre ioye est pour iamais finie, Les Lis sont atterrez, & aue●ques enz: Dafné baisse ch●tiue en terre son visage, Et semble par ce geste, humble autant que piteuz, Ou couronner sa tomb, ou bien luy fair hommage. 14 France, pleure ton Roy qu'vn noir cachot enserre, Roy florissant en paiz, Victorieuz en guerre, Qui conseruoit des tiens, les biens, les libertez; jest sans fin des cris, & des larmes non feintes jusques au bout du monde; Auz lieuz plus ecartez Où resonnoient ses faits, fay resonner tes plaintes. 15 Modelle de l'honneur, & l'honneur de la France, rain des Lys Francois, parmy tant de souffrance Votre pleur est sans fin, votre coeur sans comfort; Et le regret cuisant dont votre ame est suiuie Vous fait aussi souuent souhaiter votre mort, Que vos vertus nous font desirer votre vie. 16 Las! combien est votre ame an dueil abandonnee, Quand vou-vous sowenez de l'heureuse iournee Laquelle innocemment a nos mauz precedé; Et que sur ce beau chef que le noir enuironne, A si piteusement & si tot succedé Le dueil à l'ornement, le voile à la Couronne. 17 Mais parmy vos douleurs, parmy tant de miseres Gardez-vous, gardez-nous ces siz relics cheres, Gages de votre amour, espoir en nos malheurs; Etouffez vos soupirs, sechez votre oeil liquide, Et pour calmer un iour l'orage de nos pleurs, Soyez de cet Etat le secours & la guide. 18 Belliqueuse Noblesse, un iour si triomphante, Et par le sort cruel en l'autre, si dolente, Perdant un si grand Prince, un pere tant humain, Votre oeil pleure sans fin, & iamais ne sommeille Quand il vous sowiendra du triste lendemain, Qui fut de vos malheurs & le iour & la veille. 19 Endossez le harnois, aiguisez vos épees, Puis les rendez de sang & de Larmes trempees, Cerchez au cle fer, iusques dedans le flanc Des secrets inu●nteurs du traitre parricide; Emplissez l'Ocean des flewes de leur sang, Ou mourez▪ ou vangez la mort de notre Alcide. 20 reins du double mont, admirable Newaine, Sechez par vos soupirs votre docte fontaine, Puis l'emplissez de pleurs; afin que les esprits Qui vont rendans leurs voeu● an temple de Memoire, Abrewez de cete eau, pleurent par leurs écrits Le trepas de celuy, dont ils chantoient la gloire. 21 Arrachez vos lauriers, tant aymez de minerve, Hé! pour qui, doctes soeurs, en feriez-vous reserve, Puis que le Chef n'est plus qui les souloit porter? Que la mort qui vainc tont, a vaincu l' invincible? Ne cessez, cher troupeau, de plaindre & lamenter, Et pour être immortel, ne soyez impassable. 22 Mais quoy? pourrions-nous bien vous prescrire des larmes? Ne vous seruez-vous pas de ces liquides armes, Pour combatre l'ennuy qui nous accable tous? De nos extremes mauz, vos regrets sont extremes, Vous pleurez de pitié quand vous songez à nous. Vous pleurez de douleur en pensant à vou-mesmes. 23 Que les ro●s soient emus, de nos larmes non feintes, Que les mons & les bois ne resonnent que plaintes, Que les pleurs des voisins, montrent leur desespoir; Qu'euz & nous lamentions, par cette piteuse onde, Nous d' avoir trop peu un, euz de n'auoir pu voir La Gloire des Francois, le Miracle du monde. 22 Mais quoy? sans fin, sans fruit, nos humides paupieres Feront-elles couler des piteuses rivieres? Les ans n'en pourront-ils fair arréterle cours? Nos bouches à l'enuy plain dront-elles sans cesse? Et nos coeurs sang lot ans, seront-ils pour tousiours Esclaues du malheur, hôtes de la tristesse? 25 Ouy, nous plaindrons sans fin; Hé! quel Scyth● deny A des maus infinis, une plainte infinie? Montrons d'vn rare Prince un regret non commun, Ou viuons pour le plaindre, ou mourons pour le suiure, Soit viuans, soit mourans, temoignons à chacun Qu'en cessant de pleurer nous cesserons de viure. The second tear, A COMPLAINT OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, THE LADY ANNE OF ROHAN, UPON THE DEATH of that great King, HENRY the fourth. 1 MVst great redoubted HENRY, o must he That awed & tamed men, now be tamed by death? Must we that saw his glory, his end see? And spend in showers our tears, in sighs our breath? O must so little earth hold him, whose merit Sufficed, that he the whole earth should inherit? 2 Must all our joys ever extinct remain? Must mirth and music turn to sad lament? In place of such a King, must sorrow reign? Must anguish pierce our souls, grief our heart's rent? While endless sighs are towards heaven exhaling, Must hopeless tears still on the earth be falling? 3 They must, they ought; what tribute can we pay His sacred ashes, but our tears? most fit To sprinkle the sad marble, wherein they Repose; No, no, such helpless helps let's quit; Yet since his blood he spared not, us to pleasure, Shall we spate to spend tears, so poor a treasure? 4 Should our distilling eyes to fountains turn, Of all our griefs they would not drown the jest; With tears for each light cause we lightly mourn, And common things are seldom in request: Then die we must, nought else is worth the proffering, His tomb the Altar, we must be the offering. 5 But who can die? the spinning destinies Disdain to touch our moistened eyes, now they Have closed his, whose great heart did death despise; Pale Atropos proud of so rich a prey May bear for Cypress, Bays; a change most glorious, Since she proves victor of the most victorious. 6 Since we must yet lament, and live; since fate Attends them lest that do pursue it most; O let us live lamenting our hard state, Our joy bereft us, and our comfort lost; Let's grieve, weep, sigh, this testimony giving Till death, that we bewail our life in living. 7 Let's mourn to lose that spirit so admired, That perfect judgement, that sweet Nobleness, That Peerless, Fearless Hercules, inspired With more perfections than words can express; Who would have brought the world in his subjection, But that his justice bounded his affection. 8 Let's mourn that that grave wisdom so should end, That best of goodness, that great valiant mind, That heart that knew not how to break, though bend; Dear parts, whose use we had, whose loss we find: I rather can admire then sing their glory, Such an Achilles fits an Homer's story. 9 But in the throng of virtues mustered here, Shall his rare Clemency in silence rest, Which pardon only held for object dear, Pardon so seldom lodged in Prince's breast? This asks not his friends, but his foe's expression, Let them that made proof of it make confession. 10 Who can the number of his acts recount? His famous victories who can set forth? Their due discourse doth my poor power surmount, No end of praise where is no end of worth; Silence should still be kept, or wisely broken, He speaks nought who speaks not, what should be spoken. 11 That man for his perfections numberless, Like none alive, is now but like the dead; The strong hath found his strength then deaths strength les, The Conqueror now conquered lies in lead: Th'infernal steel that pierced without compassion His royal flesh, hath pierced our souls with passion. 12 His acts made us our heads aloft to rear, His laurels shades did us from tempests shrowded, The end of his fights ended all our fears, We scorning others of ourselves were proud; Prouder to live in such a King's subjection, Then to have subject Kings in our protection. 13 Our glory now we withring dying see, Now are our joys for ever finished, Our Flours-de-luce buried, with them we; Sad Daphne hanging her triumphant head In humble pitiful respect unto him, Seems she will crown his tomb, or homage do him. 14 Dear France bewail thy King, thy King of late Blessed in his peace, victorious in his wars, Conserver of thy freedom, goods and state, Ceaseless cry out, power out unfeigned tears; As far as earth hath earth for man's remaining, As far as his name rings, ring out thy plaining. 15 Model of honour, honour of our France, Queen of the Flowers-de-luce, in these woes Your tears are without stop, your sufferance Without redress; your grief that no end knows Makes you as often wish your life expired, As your life for your virtues is desired. 16 Oh! how your soul to grief abandoned lies, When you but think on that thrice-blessed day Which harmless did precede our miseries, How on that fair head, where you now display Sad black, you should be seen so quickly turning A rich crown to a vail, splendour to mourning. 17 But, o amidst your woes, your wounding cares, Those six dear relics, pledges of your love, Save for yourself, for us, to slack our fears; So cease to sigh, to weep, and cares remove, And in those seas of grief better to clear us From storms of tears, be you our guide to steer us. 18 Warlike Nobility, you that one day, Triumphant were; the next, by fa●e depressed; Your King, your Father, your dear Countries stay, Thus oft, weep still and bar your eyes their rest; While you remember that black dismal morrow, The day and eve to the cause of your sorrow. 19 Clap on your armour, whet your swords, and then Yet moist with tears, steep them in blood of foe●, Pierce to the hearts of those damned monster-men From whose invention such destruction flows; With rivers of their blood th'Ocean filling, Dye or revenge our great Alcides killing. 20 Queens of the forked mount, admired nine, O with your sighs your learned fountains dry, Then fill again with tears, that those divine Spirits that pay their vows to memory, Tasting those drops, may with tears sing the story Of his death, of whose life they sung the glory. 21 Tear down your bays, Minerva's sacred boughs, For whom (wise brood) are they preserved by you? He's gone that wont with them begirt his brows Whom none could vanquish, death hath vanquished now, Cease not (dear troop) to show in saddest fashion, Immortal though you be, that you have passion. 22 But shall we dare prescribe your tears their▪ course? Do you not make use of those liquid arms To combat sorrows overmastring force? Extreme your griefs are for our extreme harms; Thinking on us, you tears of pity borrow, When you think on yourselves, tears spring of sorrow. 23 O let your plaints the rocks to pity move, Let mountains, valleys, woods resound our cries, Let neighbours tears their desperate state approve, Let them and us lament; They, that their eyes Saw not at all; We, less than we desired The glory of the French, the world's admired. 24 But shall our fruitless tears near cease? shall they Like rivers from our moist eyes ever flow? Shall no time their impetuous current stay? Shall we still strive who loudest cries can throw? And shall our throbbing hearts be still remaining Slaves to mishap, dull sadness entertaining. 25 O I, let's ceaseless wail, what Scythian heart Can endless plaints to endless woes deny? For such a King let's act griefs liveliest part, Let's live his mourners or his followers die; Living or dying let's not grief diminish, Till life and grief shall at one instant finish. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, THE LADY CLIFFORD. MADAM. I Must needs be faithful to my grounds: Once I remember I chose you all for my Zodiac, though but four; yet four such, whose light could not be less worth than for twelve: And wonderful great must that great light be indeed, whose glorious beams I have seen even from France, even through mine ears, though mine eyes could not as yet be so happy, as to look upon your faces. I thank God that according to my wish, there hath been so brightful a star since added to your number, and so good an order taken for the filling up of that want, which then I was bold to mark in that fair circle. No doubt but by these fortunate conjunctions, there will arise such a quantity of new Planets upon our Orison; of worthy Knights (no less than Castor and Pollux) of brave Lions, of fair Virgins, and other bright shining stars; as too far exceeding one Zodiac, they shall wander far and wide from this English heaven through the remote climes of this world, where your famous name and fame will shine for ever. In the mean time joying and wondering at so much light as there is, let this serve me towards you and to all the world, still for a witness (though small) of my sincerest zeal (though hitherto but vain and without fruit) how far I am, or rather would be, Your Honours Most humble and most to be commanded servant Δ Larme troisieme, EN EXECRATION DV MEURTRE DV GRAND Roy, HENRY, IIII. 1 EXecrable Assas●in dont l'enfer avorta, Parricide public que Megere alaita, Horreur de la Nature; organ de Satan return desormais An fons du mesme enfer, hurler à tout jamais Pour telle forfeiture. 2 Que là tant de malheurs que vient sur nous versant Ton sacrilege bras, tant de larmes de sang Que tu nous fais repandre, En tes propres tourmens aillent se transformer, Sans que jamais serpent se puisse r'animer,, De ta maudite cendre. 3 Par toi le Monde est veuf d'vn Roy, dont le Soleil Depuis qu'il fut creé n'a point veu de pareil Entre les grands & iustes; Qui de guerre & de Paiz a cultiué les ars, Plus magnifiquement que tous ces vieu● Cesars, Qui sont les plus Augustes. 4 ROY, duquel la sagesse a de loin surpassé Tous les chefs couronnez qui l'avoient devancé; Dont la douceur immense Tousjours accompagna la grave Majesté, Seul semblable à soi-mesme, en Candeur, en Bonté, Foi, Valeur & Clemence. 5 Mais tu n'as seul commis cet ●nique forfeit, Le mal, que trop souvent chacun de nou● a fait, Et l'impie doctrine, De vous▪ qui les sujets des Princes seduisez, Et sans cesse contr'eus vos couteauz éguisez, Ont navré sa poitrine. 6 Encor pour augmenter nos extremes douleurs, Nos immortels regrets▪ nos excessifs malheurs, Sont aggravez d'un autre; Cest qu'a vos attentats trop bon il pardonna, Que par trop liberal son coeur il vous donna, Sans qu'il ait eu le votre. 7 Et que d'vn si grand Roy (sous lequel a tremblé De tous les plus grans Rois le pouvoir assemblé) La preciense vie, Qui rendoit bien-heureus tant & tant de mortels, Pour seruir de victim à vos sanglans aut●ls, Nous soit ainsi ravie, 8 RIONE, de qui le ciel tira le rameau d'or, Ce Prince, és yeuz duquel nous revoyons encor L'Image vive & bell Du grand Roy votre epous, puissiez-vous bien garder Vos cotez & les siens, des cous que ●ait d●●der Cette sect cruelle. 9 N'approchant point de vous ces Hydres si hydeus, Et vos dens, & vos coeurs seront garentis d'eus, Leur venin si funeste, N'a pour contre-poison excellent, que le soin De s'en contre-garder en s'en tenant bien loin Ainsi que de la pest. 10 TUTRICE du royalme, & du Roy, qui seruez De Mere à tous les deus, tous les deus preseruez De ce mal, sans attendre Que par un coup troisiéme on nous aille egorger, Et qu'un dernier malheur nous venant saccager met l'Etat en cendre. 11 DIEV, qui de notre ROINE as le chef couronné, Qui de ta main l'as ointe, & qui lui as donné Des graces si parfaites; Ren sa gloire immortelle, en faisant que nos Rois Regnent à l'avenir surement par les lois Que sage elle aura faites. 12 Et come tu as pu d'invisibles aimans Convertir en amour d●s divers Elemens La discord ancienne; D'indissolubles noeus ●train les volontez, Et tous les coeurs Francois envers leurs Magestez, O● nous voyons la tienne. 13 Afin qu à ce devoir tous nos voeus addressez jamais en cet Etat nous ne soyons poussez. De passions contraires; Mais qu'en notre patrie, aus Spartains ressemblans, Nous allions en un coeur tous nos coeurs rassemblans Ainsi que plusieurs freres. 14 Et que tout ce qui rest aujourd'huy de bon sang Dans cette monarchy, en un se ramassant Plus genereuz, ne cesse (Vangeant d'vn si bon Roy le cher sang repandu) De mieuz garder son coeur, puis qu'il nous l'a rendu. En ce fis qu'il nous laisse. 15 Auquel tant de vertus, croissantes à l'envi Rendront incessamment si fort sujette à lus La fortune prospere, Qu'en peu d'ans & par tout sa dextre plantera Les triomphans lauriers, que sans fin produira Le tombeau de son Pere. The third tear, IN EXECRATION OF THE murder of that great King, HENRY the fourth. 1 Damned murderer, o ●els abortive cursed, Parricide of us all, by ●uries nursed, Horror of Nature, hence; Instrument of Satan, forthwith return To thy first depth, where ever howling mourn For thy heinous offence. 2 As many plagues as here thy false hand powers On us, as many tears of blood in showers As still thou mak'st us spend, Fall to thy torments there; in such a wise As from thy cursed ashes never rise Another such a fend. 3 Thou robbest the world of such a King, whose pear For justice and for power did near appear Under the suns fair eye; Such an Artist as well in peace and war, Beyond the bruit of those old Caesar's, far Of famous memory. 4 A King whose worth no little doth surpas All their crowned heads, whose reign before his was; Whose wonderful meekness, Went still combined with Royal Majesty, Like his brave self alone, in purity, Truth, faith, valour, goodness. 5 Yet this foul part thou actest not alone, The sins by each to often done, And that most impious ground Of you, that subjects hearts from Kings seduce, Whetting your knives to break that loyal truce, His royal breast did wound. 6 More to augment our hearts extremely bleeding, Our never dying sorrows, griefs exceeding, This added is to ours; That he, to kind, must your attempts forgive, By much to kind, his heart to you must give, Yet never could have yours. 7 That this great King (under whose power did quake The greatest power the greatest Kings could make) His life so highly prized; That life which hath so many happy made, Should on your bloody altars now be laid, Thus to be sacrificed. 8 Dear Queen, from whom heaven plucked this branch of Gold Our Prince, in whose eyes yet we fair behold Those worthy living parts Of that great King your husband, O protect Your sides and his, from that so cruel sect, To expect at these darts. 9 Those Hidra's must not come where you reside, So shall your teeth and hearts at rest abide, Their poison will infest▪ Without your care, there's no such Antitode As is to keep yourselves always remote From them as from the pest. 10 Our Kingdom and King's Guardian, you that serve As mother to them both, then both preserve From mischief without staying; Lest by a third stroke we, our state and all, Unhappily at length to ruin fall By your to kind delaying. 11 O God, which with thy hand upon her head Hast set her Crown, and thine oil on her shed, Granting her so great grace; Make her name live, as she shall be the cause Our Kings may reign in peace by her wise laws, When thou bring'st them in place. 12 And as thou hast by adamants unknown Drawn Elements from Enemies to one, As we see them agree; So Lord, unite each Frenchman's heart and mind, That fast their love to their kings they may bind, In whose face thine we see. 13 That to this end all our endeavours tending, Our wills may never in this realm be bending To any factious passion; But Spartan-like our Country undivided All our hearts knit may as one heart be guided, In a brotherly fashion. 14 And that the rest of all our generous blood, Within this Realm may now become one flood Not stopping, till we find Means to revenge our good Kings dear blood shed, And keep his heart more safe (restored though dead) In this son left behind. 15 In whom such virtue doth already grow, As it shall make proud fortune stoop and know Subjection to his worth; And thus in time his planting hand shall fill The world with those victorious bays, which still His father's tomb brings forth. FINIS.