DEVOREUX. virtues tears for the loss of the most christian King Henry, third of that name, King of France; and the untimely death, of the most noble & heroical Gentleman, Walter Devoreux, who was slain before Rouen in France. First written in French, by the most excellent and learned Gentlewoman, Madam Genewefue, Petau Maulette. And paraphrastically translated into English. Ieruis Markham.  ❧ Bramo assaj, poco spe●● nulla chieggio. 
AT LONDON, Printed by I. Roberts, for Thomas Millington, and are to be sold at his shop in Cornhill, under Saint Peter's Church, 1597.   

To the Right Honourable, and most virtuous Ladies and Sisters, Dorithie, Countess of Northumberland, and the Lady Penelope Rich.  
THE virtue of your perfections (most excellent Madams) which draweth not alone our Clime, but even all the Nations of Europe to wonder; hath now divinely brought forth one issue of their admiration; (I mean this Monument of your everworthy to be living Brother,) the Mother of it (a most rare French spirit,) fi●st created and brought it forth in England, (then a quiet fauster-mother to her thoughts) after took it over with her, to acquaint with her own Nation; and since, sent it to me to apparel in our English fashions, desirous (for his sake whom it most adoreth) that it might principally do your ladyships service. It was when I received it, exceeding rich in French embroidery, and if now, either by my want or dullness, it seem patched, or too homely: with the beams of your gracious eyes, (most rare creatures) shine upon it, and then the worst of my pens earthines doubtless shall be stellified. Our Realm boasts not naturally of silks, which are gaudy and soon vanish, but of her plain broadcloth, which is comely and durable; if such like be my Paraphras upon this French ground, I am all I would be, sith I desire nothing more than to give his living name Poet's eternity. To you is due this tribute, and to you most humbly I tender it, vowing to live best pleased, when I am either able, or can do your Honour's service: being (though a worm) as great an adorer of your virtues, as the mightiest whosoever.  Ieruis Markham.  


In praise of the work.  
FAme hovering in her threefold Region,  
Beheld how Aretea did complain  
In tragic tunes, th'untimely rape of one,  
Whom froward Fate, and forward Zeal had ●laine.  
But when she heard the noble Devoreux named,  
Unto his grave she made a speedy flight,  
Where base Oblivion sat, who now ashamed  
Hides her foul head in shades of endless Night.  
Than not content her valorous Palladine  
Should be interred in so small a room;  
That after time may think his Stem divine,  
She makes the spacious world his glorious tomb,  
And bade this Lady do the obsequies,  
Who offereth holy tears for sacrifice.  R. Allot.  

To my most affectionate friend, Ieruis Markham.  
TO worthy Devoreux, Arms, and after Age,  
A wondrous Colosse doth thy Muse enhance,  
His boisterous feet are fixed on the stage  
Of peaceful Albion's strand, and fruitful France,  
Under whose forked Arch whole Navies ride  
Filling their empty sails with Devoreux Fame,  
That France, Spain, Flaunders, and the world beside  
Amazed stands to hear great Essex Name.  
From out his eyes he darts the golden beams  
Of perfect honours neuer● s●tting Sun,  
Whose influence in each soul fresh courage streams  
All this, nay more, thy sacred tears have done,  
Winged by thy fiery Muse they mount the skies,  
And move to weeping ruth heavens twinkling eyes.  R. Allot.  

In praise of the work.  
ONce borne of mortal Parents, mortally  
Earth turns to earth in noble Devoreux:  
A second life immortal wits infuse,  
And crown him now with immortality:  
His Mother French, for he in France did die,  
And Phoenix of his ashes there renews;  
His Father is a gentle English Muse,  
From whence he challengeth nobility:  
English and French thus entermarried,  
Have issue double Fame: his fame, their own:  
As gold of that Great-worke, that powerful Stone,  
So Fame of Virtue, and itself are bred;  
His first birth night to this, this a true morn;  
May his noble Brother be as well twise-borne.  E. Guilpin.  

To his dear friend Ieruis Markham.  
NO longer let dismembered Italy  
Think scorn of our (thought dull for colder) clime,  
We are not so frostbitten in the prime,  
But blest from heaven with as great wealth as she:  
With all her Cities shall one, our City  
Compare for all the wealth of this rich time;  
Thames shall with Po vie Swans, Swans music chime,  
London with subtle Venice, policy;  
She shall drop beauties with fair Genoa,  
Though humorous travailers repine thereat:  
But not with glorious Florence will they say,  
So farrefamed for her wit's triumvirate;  
To that proud brag thou Ieruis shalt reply,  
Whose Muse in this song gives them all the lie.  E. Guilpin.   

ARETEAE Lachrimae.  

1.  
WOe-wearied with the ever-weeping woe  
That breaks the aged rains of withered France,  
And thinking how those thoughts to overgo  
That give eternal memory to mischance,  
Or willing to deceive th'unwilling foe,  
Of everspringing tears, by some dead trance,  
Early before the early Sun could rise,  
I rose from rest, when rest rose from mine eyes:   

2  
And freed from that which frees itself from care,  
(For quiet near was consort with complaint)  
Led by Hope's hand, though drawn on by Despair,  
(The Factor for improvident constraint)  
I walked alongst a stream, for pureness rare,  
Brighter than sunshine, for it did acquaint  
The dullest sight with all the glorious prey  
That in the pibble-paved channel lay.   

3  
No molten Crystal, but a richer Mine,  
Even Nature's rarest Alchemy ran there,  
Diamonds resolved, or substance more divine,  
Through whose bright-gliding current might appear  
A thousand naked Nymphs, whose ivory shine  
Enamoling the banks, made them more dear  
Than ever was that glorious Palace gate  
Where the day-shyning Sun in triumph sat.   

4  
Upon the brim, the Eglantine and Rose,  
The Tamoriske, Olive, and th' Almond-tree,  
As kind companions in one union gro●s,  
Folding their twinding arms, as oft we see  
Turtle-taught Lovers either other close,  
Lending to dullness feeling sympathy.  
And as a costly Vallance o'er a bed,  
So did their garland-tops the Brook o'erspread.   

5  
Their leaves, that differed both in shape and show,  
(Though all were green, yet difference such in green)  
Like to the chequered bent of Iris bow,  
Prided the running Mine, as it had been  
The bower of Beauty; whence alone did flow  
More heavenly streams then former age had seen,  
Taking their current from that learned Hill  
Where lodge the Mothers of admire and skill.   

6  
Amongst the Summer blossoms of their bows  
A thousand several coloured Birds was set,  
Who moved (as seemed) by charitable vows,  
Or excellent compassion, ever wet  
With honourable tears, (for Fates allows  
That sensible, from senseless, still shall fet  
Models of pity,) came there with melody,  
To cheer men's minds, fore-done with misery.   

7  
And with the murmring cadence of the wave  
That made a pretty wrangling as it went,  
Chiding the banks which no more limit gave,  
They joined their well-tuned throats with such consent,  
That even mad grief at sight thereof grew grave;  
And as enchanted, stayed from languishment,  
Proving, then there, delight was never greater,  
And grief how much the more, so much the better.   

8  
Thither came I to seek out lost Delight,  
(Delight that was in Eden banished man)  
But presently appeared unto my sight  
A soule-sad Nymph, griefe-tortured, pale and wan;  
Upon whose countenance rigorous Despite  
Registered much, or more than Mischief can:  
All that she was, was pitiful and ill,  
Such as to limn, my weak wit wanteth skill.   

9  
With baleful Cypress was her forehead crowned,  
And fatal Yewgh made bracelets for her hands;  
A shoal of night-crows with a deadly sound,  
And dismal Shrike-owles round about her stands:  
Her eyes within a woeful Ocean drowned,  
Oyle-like increased new fire on dolours brands,  
And with a dim blue burning Lamp she bore,  
She offered sacrifice unto Despair.   

10  
Those curious rich abylliments which once  
Pleased all the world, because they pleased her well,  
Now torn and stained, disparaged for the nonce,  
Like Autumn leaves too negligently fell:  
And falling, in disorder all atonce,  
With less respect than least regard can tell,  
Carelessly trailed after her as she went,  
To prove she loved no vesture but lament.   

11  
And yet for all this Chronicle of shame,  
This ample Legend of misfortunes worst,  
This boundless volume of desertless blame,  
This figure of despite, this Map accursed;  
Well might I know her now ill ruined frame  
Had even sometimes the rarest features nursed,  
And beauties abstracts still were le●t so claire,  
That wilful blind must say, once she was fair.   

12  
Once was she fair, and that her mangled gown  
Which half forsook to shroud her sacred skin,  
Was of a stuff immortal, as Ioues crown,  
Rich-seeming Azure-Veluet, wrought within,  
Without, and every part; all waving down  
With golden Flower-deluces, that had been  
Charms from dishonour, and despite mischance  
Brought ten times thousand Trophies into France.   

13  
All this I knew, yet knew not what mishap,  
What life-confounding grief, wasting good thought,  
Her heavy soul in agony should wrap:  
Nor could the mean by any mean be sought  
Why her eternal sighs (clowd-like) did lap  
Her joys in mourning garments, sadly wrought,  
Nor why she tore her flame downe-burning hair;  
Yet still she sighed, and still her locks did taire.   

14  
Till with a knee-bowed humble low salute,  
(For who will not do reverence to admire)  
Approaching near her, I made humble 〈◊〉  
Her godhead would give grace to my desire,  
And tell me what woe murdered her repute,  
Making her sighs to set her tears on fire;  
And she whose grief could not surprise her glory,  
Set her sad tongue in tune to tell the story.   

15  
❀ O you immortal Daughters of delight,  
Admired alone, triple triplicity,  
Fair Thespyan Goddesses, whose only might,  
With holy fire inspires our memory;  
Even you dear Muses, aid me to recite  
Her doleful accents, and her agony:  
bath my cold temples in some blessed spring,  
That dare not else dream of so great a thing.   

16  
But you! o you, you that alone are you, 
The Countess of Northumberland & the Lady Rich.   
Whom nothing but yourselves your selves can match,  
From whom, and to whom, all the Virtues flew:  
For ere high I●●e the world's work did dispatch,  
Your curious moulds within himself he drew,  
Making his Deity thereon to watch,  
Vowing, Beauty and Virtue, till your birth  
Should not be seen, or known upon the earth.   

17  
You, Sisters both in nature and admire,  
The golden tip of every praising tongue,  
That make one Isle 'bove all the world aspire.  
(O think not France this fury doth thee wrong,  
For who that speaks, speaks not with double fire  
If but one thought of them glance in his song?  
Then pardon mine in●oke, and let me ring  
justly on them that teach all Swans to sing:)   

18  
Hear me, o holy ones, and help my style,  
Glorious adopted fair Northumberland,  
And thou rich Rich, richest did ere compile,  
Th'only history shall eternal stand  
When ruin else shall all records defile,  
And burn out memory with oblivions brand;  
Aid you those Muses that should aid my pen,  
For you're adored of Muses, Gods, and men.   

19  
Even for his soul's sake whom your souls loved dear,  
Fair Ladies lighten favour on my lay,  
And him behold, though me you will not hear,  
Him, whose omnipotence of fame bears sway  
Farther than from the high Alps highest stair  
The world's great eye hath power to see by day:  
You that live aye in him, he in your thought,  
Exhalt my Muse, untuterd, not untaught.   

20  
Be you, you glorious Angels of his praise,  
(Whose but report lends earth a heavenly soul)  
The first beholders of my tragic lays,  
Whom if you bless, there's none dares to control,  
(For cursed is he that what you say, gaine-sayes)  
Or chide me for your Brother I enroll  
Above the host of former living men;  
A noble work, fit for a golden pen.   

21  
Bow then your ears (the Adamants of love)  
Unto the song that wounded Honour sang,  
And let her teare-steept words some pity move,  
For thus she sighed, and thus her tale began.  
❀ Know (said this Nymph, that's reverenst all above)  
I am the same on whom sometimes did hang  
The rule of France, her sway, her Empery,  
Her type of state, her Kingdom's dignity.   

22  
'twas I that bent their backs with loaden wealth,  
That gave them laws to govern gloriously,  
'twas I that made them breath eternal health,  
And gave them names, Nations to 〈◊〉:  
I brought them wonder by desert, not stealth,  
And lodged them in the books of memory;  
In brief, 'twas I, that with their neighbour's store  
Made them more rich then ere was Realm before.   

23  
But see alas, a lefthand chance of ill  
Madding their brains made lunatic with pride,  
Hath turned this Turret down, valleyd this Hill,  
All topsy-turvy thrown on every side:  
Thus have they torn my vesture, broke my will,  
Doomed me in endless banishment to bide,  
All things are out of order, woe alas,  
I am not ARETEA, as I was.   

24  
Now doth the father hate his living son,  
The neighbour loathes his neighbour bounds him in,  
The married pair would have their knot undone,  
Laws serve for nought, but baits to draw on sin,  
After religion painted zeal doth run  
Mocking his moans, that ending, new begin;  
And like the ruined batteries of a wall,  
Things shaped, unto their unshapt Chaos fall.   

25  
Adder-deafe ears they have when wisdom charms,  
Wilful in ill, illness beyond conceit,  
Foolish to shun, wise to draw on their harms,  
Rich to deceive themselves by self deceit:  
All they desire is civil home alarms,  
Burning the houses of their own receipt;  
Wracking the vessels that transport their good,  
Within the Ocean of their own heart's blood.   

26  
Eight times have I given end to their unrest,  
And sealed up discords gates with wealthy peace,  
Their streets and Temples all with Olives dressed,  
As oft hath testified their wars surcease:  
But woe, I die that this should be expressed.  
Mars giving blood-drunk Ate new release,  
Hath at this present set fresh brands on fire  
To kindle those old wars Time did expire.   

27  
For as a mighty deluge after rain  
Gliding with fury from the hills descent,  
Finding all bounds too strait for his remain,  
With roaring clamours (as the earth did rend)  
Bursts through the Meads, & overflows the plain,  
Chiding the rocks in which his waves were penned:  
Then drowns the Ploughman's profit in his fall,  
His house, his hay, his labours, hope and all.   

28  
Briefly, so like a Tyrant doth it rage,  
Madder, since unresisted being mad,  
When an encountering bridge seeks to assuage  
The thunder-d●a●●ing current proudly glad:  
As these stern men (borne in this iron age)  
Have done, who making all my pleasures sad,  
Are nor content to tear their Country's bones,  
And spoil her life and ●oule, with bedrid groans:   

29  
But being Paracids, abortive borne,  
In whom old Nature challengeth no right,  
Bring in their murderous hands (to France forlorn)  
The minatours of shame, engines of spite:  
As pride, inchastity, horror, blood, and scorn,  
Monsters of hell-black suns unto the night;  
Thinking to stop that royal Champion's breath,  
Whose life preserved Divinity from death.   

30  
Even him whom I had planted strong and high,  
(High in the world, strong in the hearts of Kings)  
To be a scourge unto their tyranny:  
Bating the fury of their envious wings,  
By means of that almighty Henry;  
Henry de Val●is, on whom virtue rings:  
Under whose gracious aspect, I did hope,  
My laws should take new virtue, larger scope.   

31  
And the all white, pure Virgin-coloured faith,  
Of souls eternal quiet, lodged in skies,  
That turns the dying pangs to joys in death,  
Should to the height of heights aspire and rise:  
Hence sprang it, and for this my true heart saith,  
I joined to him, the man most stout, most wise  
Th'other all great Henry: whose insight,  
Might guide, support, and govern him in right.   

32  
But o, these monstrous men, Monsters, not men:  
Whom the earth-shaking heavens in thunder framed,  
To make my ruin boundless; they, even then  
Have raised their blood-bathed hands, yet unashamed,  
Against the Lords anointed: (Weep my pen)  
For they have slain their King, (brute beasts untamed)  
Their sacred King, their world's God, whose true care,  
Made their great names flourish on earth so far.   

33  
But he, too excellent to know what's ill,  
(The goodest holy one that breathed this air)  
Troubling no thoughts to think what others will,  
Neglected what they meant, what hearts they bear,  
Neither ambition, palme-like growing still,  
Nor looks, nor policies, nor nightly fear,  
Made him beware, which each day growing on,  
Double each day afflicted me with moan.   

34  
❀ At th'end of this sad memorable story,  
Crossing her arms as one in desperate case,  
There broke from her two eyes (the stars of glory)  
Two bloody streams of tears, that ran a pace,  
Which her immortal sighs (woes oratory)  
strove both to interrupt and to disgrace,  
So mightily, that pity did not stint  
To place himself in hearts of iron and flint.   

35  
Hear, here, said she (assoon as say she could,  
Or that her woes gave words leave how to speak)  
Hear mayst thou see my sorrows flood unfold,  
The deluge of my care, hence, hence doth break,  
The tumult of my sighs, the heat, the cold,  
Of my flame-burning thoughts, benumbed and weak:  
This is the cause of my first borne lament,  
And the true grief which doth my soul torment.   

36  
And yet 'tis but the first step to my care,  
Or but the superficies of my pain;  
A preface to my moan, an Index to despair,  
A little thread, lending a mighty mean  
To search the Labyrinth where languors are,  
A rising cloud against a storm of rain:  
For mount on mount was thrown, mass upon mass,  
Till greatest grief grew greater than it was.   

37  
This woe, that spread itself from East to West,  
Bounding the artic and Antarctic pole,  
Ambitiously envied he was suppressed  
Within the circuit of the worlds control;  
Wherhfore as if all tremor, all unrest,  
Were insufficient richly to condole  
My star-crossed misadventures in disdain,  
Adds a new grief, to make new worlds complain.   

38  
Even now affliction heaves her heavy arm,  
And spreads black sorrows Ensign through our land;  
Calamity braves all the world with harm,  
And burns up peace with wars worst fier-●●and:  
Tempests, no calms, men's ears do rudely charm,  
And all preposterous things in tumult stand:  
All fortunes draw us to infortune's gates,  
(Fortune, the first and last that ruin● states.)   

39  
O Fortune, thou great Amorite of Kings,  
Opinions breath, thou Epicurian air,  
Invention of man's soul, falsest of things,  
A step beyond our judgement, and a stair  
Higher than men can reach with reasons wings;  
Thou blindfold Archeresse, thou that wilt not hear,  
Thou foe to persons, manners, times and all,  
That raisest worthless, whilst the worthiest fall.   

40  
O thou, whom all may find, but none avoid,  
Deceitful Queen of mutability,  
Swift are thy feathered feet, still unanoyde,  
Lofty thy mind, thy hopes to heaven fly,  
Thy wings are light, like flames never destroyed,  
Upon a Globe thou standest, turning our misery:  
Of thee must I complain, dread Nurse of woe,  
From whom, both heaven and earthly things do flow.   

41  
Thou thrall to none but to Philosophy,  
That Monarchies and states turn'st at thy will,  
Leaving no more marks of their dignity,  
Then ships in water leave, or feathered quill  
Leaves in the liquid air, when speedily  
It glides through it, scaling the starry hill:  
Monster-bearing Mother, why didst thou long,  
Having done thy worst, yet to do greater wrong?   

42  
But why of this great nothing do I plain,  
Stoning to death these shadows with my tears?  
And rather do not with their drops constrain  
The substance to lament for my despairs?  
Why doth not this salt Ocean of my brain  
Convey my mournings to more better ears?  
Beating the marble-skye for this offence,  
Chiding no more Fortune, but Providence.   

43  
O Providence, the conduct to our life,  
The ground of virtue, hostile foe to sin,  
That rearest Towers, and appeasest strife,  
That gatherest all disperse exiles in:  
Thou, that inventedst laws, gave man his wife,  
Thou Mistress unto ancient discipline,  
Thou, that bearest heaven & nature round about thee,  
That makest all things, nothing being without thee.   

44  
O why art thou grown blind? leading astray?  
Confounding virtue? making vice thy friend?  
Sacking the sunshine Towers of the day?  
Prefixing wandering misery no end?  
Why hast thou given Barbarizme sway,  
And wilt not let Order on thee attend?  
Why art thou fled from us? whither art thou gone?  
Leaving both men, and all things else alone.   

45  
Tell me, thou Architectresse of this frame,  
Thou, that upon the great booke-firmament  
Writest in golden star●es each creatures name,  
Their lives, their fortunes, and intendiment,  
Why deign'st thou not that we may read the same,  
And spelder our misdeeds why we be shent?  
If to behold the letters be thy will,  
Teach us to read, that we may rid our ill.   

46  
Lend us divine eyes to our heavenly part,  
To read on that almighty Chronicle:  
So shall the date of virtue never part,  
But double wonder with more miracle,  
(Ay me) against the wind breathes my poor heart:  
Vain is my wish, vain every article,  
Of mine enraged desire, my wrath boots not,  
Men must be men, and must not know their lot.   

47  
Then on thou saddest Muse of my sad thought,  
Or what besides more sad than sadness is,  
You Goddesses for earth's sole wonder wrought, 
The two Ladies.   
Ladies of my plaint, creators of all bliss,  
In whose aspects virtue is chastened taught:  
You hearers of mine invocations wish,  
Hollow my song with Diamonds from your eyes,  
Since woe is godlike, falling from such skies,   

48  
And thou that hast grownd-sharpe mine o'erworn moan,  
Adding new fire to cinders of my grief,  
Make thine ears pliant to receive my groan,  
(Thine ears, the Consistory of belief,)  
Exhalt thine heart (perfect afflictions throne)  
Cancel th'accounts of pleasure: and in brief,  
Make every office of receipt in thee,  
A storehouse of this greatest misery.   

49  
After the sons of mischief and misdeed  
(These tyrannous blood-drinking miscreants)  
Had slain their King; An act which did exceed  
The worst that Time noteth in recreants:  
When they had banished Virtue, torn her weed,  
And sworn themselves, Shames devoted tenants,  
Fell deadly lovesick with Ambition's face,  
Whose Fever, nought could cure but my disgrace.   

50  
❀ Ambition, fie upon thy painted cheek,  
(Woe worth the beauty sleeps not with the face)  
For thou art hateful, foul, unfair, unmeeke,  
A poyson-painted pleasure mad men chase:  
Thou reasonless desire, that makest men seek  
To kiss the S●nne, whilst fire doth them embrace,  
Thou only strong, disordered, rulelesse passion,  
That marrest men's minds, & puttest them out of fashion.   

51  
Thou angry house- 〈…〉 guest  
That beg'st, and yet loathest Hospitality,  
Thou murderer of the mind that gives thee rest,  
Rewarding kindness with indignity;  
Thou element to mischiefs shape digest,  
False Prophet, teaching nought but heresy:  
Thou robbest the rich of gold, alms from the poor,  
And gyu'st them back but hope to mend●their store.   

52  
Thou, that in Rome within a hundred years  
Raised and o'erthrew seaventy-three Emperors:  
Mother of civil discord, homebred tears▪  
Thou infinite great ill no end devours,  
Pride's Minion, and the ladder to despairs,  
A day eternal, ended by no hours:  
'twas thou that taught'st them all the ways to sin,  
And ending, how new mischiefs should begin.   

53  
By this Lievetenant-generall of hell  
Conducted to assault all holy things,  
They racst my buildings, burnt my virgin-Cell,  
Defacst my Temples, spoiled mine offerings;  
Broke all my statues Fame had carved so well,  
And quenched my burning Lamps in bloody springs:  
All the bright Censors round about my shrine,  
Are dampt, and smoard up with forgetful Time.   

54  
This inauspitious star, this fatal ill,  
This messenger of majesties low fall,  
Having subjecteth all things to his will,  
And bound me everlastingly to thrall;  
Great grief, which grows by use to greatest skill,  
Raised royal passions to a civil brawl,  
And by strong arguments, approved this true,  
That leaden thoughts, than earth near higher flew.   

55  
Thence came it, that mine all-forsaken Fame,  
Full of sicke-feathers, weak, and desperate,  
Imped her broke plumes, and like a jealous flame,  
With envious haste mounting the highest gate,  
And striving to outgo in swift-paced game  
Clowd-fashond Smoke, (the Usher to his state)  
I heaved my head above a sea of tears,  
And through the world sought aid for my despairs.   

56  
Was near a corner (if there corners be  
As some imagine) in this gloabie round,  
Wither Fame bore not mine indignity,  
Comenting stories of my bleeding wound.  
Fair Sien, whose face saw their impiety,  
Bore through her channel to the Oceans bound  
My huge infortune, thence the salt-Seas course,  
To all the world my miseries discourse.   

57  
Yet pitiful unpitied, pitying eyes  
surveyed me, but with common charity:  
This customary, usual sacrifice,  
Silly God-helpe, verbal integrity;  
Chameleon alms, a food which doth suffice  
Hardly the ear: though air most commonly  
Is all his sustenance. O this was that  
Which poorest made, made poorer mine estate.   

58  
At length, (though bedrid with perpetual grief,  
And Mountaine-laden with my misery)  
By Fame instructed, (she that is the chief,  
And great all-teller what great'st wonders be)  
I heard of thee fair ENGLAND, where relief  
Is stored in a Silver Treasury▪  
That placed alone, rul'st others, ruling many,  
Too good by much to be conjoined with any.   

59  
Of thee sang Fame a glorious golden story.  
❀ Oh not that prodigal praise: spending Fame  
Which like a bubble, raiseth up his glory,  
That shadowlike continueth in the same:  
And in the end; whi●●t no we● eye is sorry,  
Dies in Time's bosom, which forgets his name.  
Nor that vain Fame which turns more quick th● eyes,  
Soon withered fruit, bright flame, that early dies.   

60  
But that pure Fame, which is the soul of Kings,  
(Much better for that better residence)  
The true discoverer of all worthy things,  
The honny-tast, and pleasure of our sense  
That bears eternity upon her wings:  
That borne ere Time, shall live when Time is hence.  
This holy Fame, o England, spoke of thee,  
More praise than I can write, less than I see.   

61  
Fame told me thou wert ●o●es delightful ●eat,  
His Olive-garden, walled with ivory,  
Whose spring, wars canker durst not dare to eat,  
An Eden, full of quiet dignity:  
Thy people rest when others broil in sweat:  
She drew thy line from immortality,  
And bade me fly to thee for my redress.  
He that torments, can make all torments less.   

62  
Unto the faire-shapt body of this praise  
Fame adds a head, more beauteous, more divine;  
She tells me then; Pallas thine Empire sways.  
(Pallas, said I) nay one of better line:  
She that mounts others, but whom none can raise  
By any title, figure, or in fine,  
Higher than her own height; because it is  
The highest step in all the scale to bliss.   

63  
She hath no like; and therefore no comp●re  
Is excellent enough to fort● with her:  
To say she's best, were to say others are▪  
And there's no other whom I may prefer  
To such celest'all honour: O who dare  
In any Name but hers, her Name inter▪  
(Then thus saith Fame) ELIZA from that Land  
Controls the world, with an unconquered hand.   

64  
'tis she, that whilst Confusion's smoky cloud  
(Stirred from the raging fires of civil wars)  
The heads of all her neighbour-Kings doth shroud,  
Infranchising Oppression by those jars,  
Doth, with an host of heavenly thoughts endowed  
Preserve her countries face from bloody scars:  
So that no fog of putrefied wounds  
Is seen within the circuit of her bounds.   

65  
'tis she that taught, teacheth Philosophy  
To be more excellent than heretofore:  
It others, but she, it doth ornefi●,  
Unto all Arts she is the sacred door.  
She, heals Afflictions-ulcers with her eye,  
And unto those which tortuous wrongs deplore,  
She gives propitious Balm, such as they crave,  
Or such as justice wronged deserves to have.   

66  
Fame told me further, that by nature there,  
In thee o England, (o all-peace-full I'll)  
Courage grows up, and best resolves appear:  
The ancient Her●es, whom old Time did file  
Upon record, to live when he should wear,  
justly compared, no sense ca●reconcile  
Or match with them, whose actions unoutgone,  
breath at this day about ELIZA'S throne.   

67  
An endless bead-roule of deceased Kings,  
As many Princes, Nobles, Generals,  
Golden-spurd Knights, (the plumes of honours wings)  
Fame reckoned up, and called them Principals.  
But Death, the certainest of uncertain things,  
Long since had reveld at their burials;  
So that I beat my breast with desperate pain,  
Lest Nature could not make the like again.   

67  
But Fame, (the happy Herald of Desire,)  
Chid the weak humour of my vain mistrust:  
And told me, England's praise was never higher.  
For though her houshold-Armes lay long to rust,  
And want of use made many souls retire  
From what they would, to what perforce they must,  
Yet Soldiers borne they have continued still,  
As good by nature, as the best by skill.   

69  
But those whom others harms have called abroad,  
And Armed to guard the innocent from wrong,  
They, Demy-god-like, from his vast abode  
Have chaste Oppression, and made Tyrants throng  
In heaps to hell, and Charon's boat ore-load,  
All which to name, would make my story long:  
And dull thine ears, though it content thy mind,  
Sith sweetest things do soon cloy by kind.   

70  
O Norris, 
Sir john Norris.  I could live upon thy name,  
And wear more pens then ere were made to write,  
I could each hour draw stanzas of thy fame,  
And make my brains perpetually indite;  
But o! thy virtues shall inspire a flame  
Better than mine, much better to recite  
Thy noble Gests, which gallantly shall stand,  
Whilst Ireland is, Spain, or the netherlands.   

71  
Vere, I could breath a spirit in thy praise, 
Sir Francis Vere.   
(Thou Father to a most oppressed Land)  
But that I know, Honour intends to raise  
Miraculously from that frozen strand  
A wit; which set on fire to see thy days,  
Shall register the glories of thy hand:  
And, for that all my praises are too few  
For him; to whom I, and all praise are dew.   

72  
For thee o Essex and thy noble line,  
Ever most great, yet greater than it was,  
Thou sunshine, drying widows teared eyen,  
The Columb which supports a royal mass;  
Thou excellent, derived from most divine,  
The work ELIZA'S power hath brought to pass:  
To thee am I devote, and from thy deeds,  
I draw this breath, on which my spirit feeds.   

73  
Yet (Princely Lord) imagine not I dare  
To take in hand the legend of thy deeds:  
I hold the best conceit too poor and bare,  
To aim at that, which all our aim exceeds▪  
Who lives, shall see the rarest wits that are,  
Contend to memorise the growing seeds  
Of those ripe virtues which are grafted in thee,  
More than in any like posterity.   

74  
Suffice it; I, as silly Palmer's use,  
That seek to shorten day-long labouring way,  
'mongst rude discourses, oftentimes infuse  
The Acts of Kings and Princes, and allay  
Labour with labour: so my travailed Muse  
Fordone, and ravished with this sweet assay,  
Glanceth upon thy Name, thy Name doth then  
Beget thy deeds, thy deeds the maze of men.   

75  
Yet if pure zeal could tune delicious lines,  
Or calms would re●t within my troubled brain,  
Then would I task my spirit, which inclines  
To sing of thee, and with those notes constrain  
Envy to burst; and as thou brighter shines,  
So would I raise my thoughts, and so far strain  
My high-pitcht notes to make the world resound,  
Till I grown horse, lose life, lose skill and sound.   

76  
But o fair fury; Mistress of my wit,  
Wither dost thou exhale me? flag a while,  
Thou for such glorious accents art unfit:  
These sweet imaginary hopes beguile  
My quick-inchaunted soul; come sadly sit,  
Enough is thee, if thou in tears compile  
A woeful tale, that they which hear the same,  
In ruth may say: our fortunes were too blame.   

77  
❀ Thus than it was. This Nations sacred praise,  
From ear to ear, through all the world conveyed,  
Quickend my spirits, and my mind assays  
To beg some pity there, where Angels said,  
Commiseration like a Monarch sways:  
Thence came it, that thus torn and ill arrayed  
I thither went. O I shall ever think,  
What Nectar of delight mine eyes did drink.   

78  
The Sun●e I saw, was well, the world's fair eye,  
For by ELIZA'S light, all Nations see,  
Her throne, like to herself, most gloriously  
Amazed beholders: round about it be  
Troops of deere-breathing stars, which whilst she's by,  
Shine dim, yet sweetly gracing their degree,  
But when to make light dearer, she's unseen,  
They shine as bright as they all Suns had been.   

79  
Round about these, as Planets in their spheres,  
Predominant to rule all other men,  
Sages, and Princes, Knights and Squires appears,  
Ever almighty: most almighty than  
Is he, whom her life-giving grace endears,  
And lends a leave to search through Dangers den  
For all the praiseful Honours: or beside,  
What ought or should with Knighthood's fame abide.   

80  
Before her Majesty thus fell I down,  
Forsaken, comfortless, and most oppressed,  
And ere I spoke, I oftentimes did swoon,  
(Grief hardly parts from a care-filled breast)  
My tears her footsteps piteously did crown;  
And on the ground whilst I my sight invest,  
Despite the interruptions of my bale  
I echoed forth a sorrow-broken tale.   

81  
More were my plaints then I have power to tell;  
For when clear Majesty with gracious look  
Lends a mild eare t' Afflictions passing bell,  
Conceit redoubles, and what power forsook,  
Makes itself powerful; nothing thinks he well  
Which is not oft repeated. Thence I took  
Courage to bare my wounds, and evermore,  
Begged aid to heal th'apostumes of my sore.   

82  
I vowed, if she would pity my distress,  
(Sith but in her ruth hath no dwelling place)  
All France should wish her endless happiness,  
Sing her good Name, and daily interlace  
Her praise with Angels of best worthiness.  
Nor should excelling wits white paper grace  
With speaking lines, if those lines do no● speak,  
ELIZA'S honour, strengthening us, grown weak.   

83  
ELIZA, which her Nation doth adorn  
With all the bridall-garments of the best,  
Within whose Cli●e, the Muse's high are borne,  
Arts in esteem, most honourably blest;  
Where Error, like a Fury, lives forlorn,  
Consumed, and banished from conceit of rest,  
That all those Kings admire beyond the flood,  
So small an isle can hold so great a good▪   

84  
I hoped, by her assist, this fourth Henry  
Which I oppose against these wicked ones,  
Should in revenge for their impiety  
Rain sharp destruction, and upon their bones,  
Heap Mountains of tormenting agony,  
To quittance my most undeserved groans:  
And for they made my cheeks unjustly take  
The shameful blush they never can forsake.   

85  
I told her▪ that the power which gives her power,  
(The most almighty-Maister of her thought)  
Would from his throne, thunder & lightning shower,  
Till all my foes to hated dust were brought:  
Furies I knew from night's black-shades would scour,  
And haunt their bosoms, making them distraught,  
Rage and consume the pleasure of their lives,  
Ha●ing them values, their children, and their wives.   

86  
Only her Name, (the terror of her foes)  
Must patronize the actions of the just:  
A Knight of hers, that other Knights outgoes,  
Must lead the legions of mine only trust;  
For France grown weak, fails in her own dispose,  
The purest minds are canker-eate with rust:  
Lady I cried, aid my distressed plight,  
Oft didst thou help; yet near a better right.   

87  
Hear ceased my s●te, and with a piteous voice,  
Of falling tears I murmured hidden woe,  
(Dumb plaints in feeling hearts makes greatest noise)  
When least I spoke, most was my sorrows shoe,  
Liberall-tongued care, is care which doth rejoice,  
For vent of grief, eases the overfloe:  
And when I nothing said, then did I find  
Sorrow most eloquent; relief most kind.   

88  
For instantly with bowing of her head,  
Which sign makes all knees bend before her chair,  
She testified, prevailing tears were shed;  
For proof whereof, her melting heart did rear  
A holy dew into her sovereign head,  
Which thence from her clear eyesight did appear:  
And though she for herself no sorrow knew,  
Yet did she weep, to hear how others rue.   

89  
Then with her hand ELIZA lifts me up,  
Cheers my poor soul, repairs my ruin'd mind,  
Makes me drink comfort from the flowing cup  
Of her most sacred breath; then doth she bind  
My ●●ares to exile, which till then did sup  
The i●yce of my waste life, consumed and pined:  
And tells me; she'll partake of my distress,  
Making it nothing, or then nothing, less.   

90  
Which to achieve, she bids me there select  
A princely Champion, fortunate and strong,  
One whom my thoughts assures me will effect  
As great designs, and right as worthy wrong.  
Many there were, that many would elect,  
Not one unworthy person in the throng:  
But in my choice, I was deliberate,  
For rash respect reputes when 'tis too late.   

91  
On every person ceased my ravished sight,  
Contemplating the beauty of their frames,  
That Prince, me thought, was finely shaped, upright,  
Such as was Marops at th' Olympic games:  
Another, seemed broad set, yet passing light,  
Like wild Hippolytus, eschewing shames;  
This was like Ajax, that like Hector was,  
All did exceed, the meanest did surpass.   

92  
This universal excellence set out  
(As if Perfection knew no other soil)  
Astonished me, for all a like borne stout,  
How could I choose, but reason would recoil  
Blame to my choice? Since who doth from a rout  
Cull forth a principal, leaves for a foil  
Th'unchosen rest, when all I did behold  
Were jewels-like, of one weight, and one gold.   

93  
But o, the eye that never apprehends  
The truth of objects by a slight survey,  
With graver judgement busily extends  
His nimble sight, and what it doth survey,  
Notes not alone, but whereat others tends,  
And in whose eyes all other eye-sights lay:  
And then I might behold one Prince alone,  
Upon whose beauty all men's eyes were thrown.   

94  
Higher than others his clear countenance stood,  
For he was taller much, more strait, more strong,  
Like to the Forrests-King 'bove under wood,  
Or like an Ensign in a battles throng;  
His eye, like that which guides men in the flood,  
Had all eyes fixed on it which went not wrong:  
Even in his looks, Nature me thought had laid  
Some excellence too rare for men too read.   

95  
Yet not so mystical, but blindest sights  
Might prophecy, if his dread Sovereign would,  
(To whom is due the honour of his fights)  
The world from her should all their glories hold.  
And those which yet deny our saviours rights,  
By him for her subdued, thence be in●old:  
Amongst converted Saints; Lady bewa●e,  
This power thou hast, and this is holy war.   

96  
Me thought he was not fashond in the mould  
Of common men; th'accustomed work of Nature:  
Nor in the world's first models, (now grown ou●d)  
But, as it seemed by his external feature,  
Surpassing her great self, Nature grew bold,  
And made him of some special temprature:  
Then grown in love with what her power could frame,  
Obtained a spirit worthy of the same.   

97  
Essex, 'twas thee I mean, thou didst surprise  
All my desires to seek my help by thee,  
My sad petition-making tears suffice,  
Thy sovereign Goddess did accord to me:  
The brute whereof no sooner could arise,  
But all that ever were, or hoped to be  
Great in the world, with Eagles speedy flight  
Flew unto thee, and offered up their might.   

98  
My state, which until then hung doubtful strange,  
And wounded government past all recure,  
From whom all hope of help far of did range,  
Of nothing but of cross infortunes sure,  
(Now in a moment see a sudden change)  
When thou wert known mine aid▪ could then endure  
No more such thoughts of fear▪ infants could tell,  
Where ere thou went, there would best fortune dwell.   

99  
You memorable worthy Gentlemen  
That in these great occurrents tried your chance,  
For whose dear sakes we hold all Englishmen  
In reverent regard, and will advance  
Your fames before all other Noblemen,  
Whilst France hath power to hold the name of France.  
If your peculiar names I not reveal,  
Blame want of knowledge: not my want of zeal.   

100  
Forgive me, thou right habit of the wars,  
Resolved Willi●ms, 
〈◊〉 Roger Williams.  all too soon dissolved,  
Which raised thine honour from thy Country's jars.  
Forgive me Clyfford, 
Sir Conyers Clyfford.  s●th I have revolved  
Of thy well purchased glory by thy scars,  
And yet conceal it: you dear rest resolved,  
Morgan 
Sir Matthew Morgan.  and Brooke, 
Sir Edw●rde Brooke.  pardon my sparing song▪  
Lest poor in praise, I prove too rich in wrong.   

101  
Gallant men say, (and less you will not say)  
That he which leads a world of hands to fight,  
Them to a world of blows ought to convey:  
So he that many fames in praise would dight  
To many rare conceits, must run astray,  
And garnish each one with a several light:  
But sith I want that wi●●ie treasures store,  
One two, two one I'll write of, and no more.   

102  
A spacious field are they for royal brains  
To run carriers in: th'air of them is great,  
Wherein high-soaring thoughts may hold remains,  
And try their towering Sarcells if they'●e seat  
Their ●lie-inchaunting notes, above the beams  
Of other suns, and like Times teeth, out-eate  
Foregoing memory; bewitching Fame,  
To sing of theirs, and of no other name.   

103  
❀ Essex to thee, (who then was part of thee)  
In this great business was thy brother joined,  
Hadst thou had more but him, than should he be  
Thy best, thy dearest; but since unconjoind,  
Since all were worthless of such fame, but he,  
Where thy name is, there let his name rejoined,  
Be ever chained in Fame's best lyncks of gold,  
Borne of one mind, created of one mould.   

104  
And now I come to thee most blessed Saint,  
Thou sweetest Nightingale in th'heavenly choir,  
Noble-borne Walter Deuor●x, I faint  
And tremble, lest my new enkindled fire  
Mount thee not high enough; yet shalt acquaint  
All the world's ears how much I do desire.  
O heavenly soul, think not I do thee wrong,  
Intending thy praise first, to stay so long.   

105  
I● was but that 〈…〉 mind  
〈…〉 those though 〈…〉 delight,  
〈…〉 the wind,  
S●● with 〈…〉  
Save 〈…〉 did bind  
Within thy 〈◊〉 and how 〈…〉 despite  
Bryb●d Death to 〈…〉 the earth  
Poor by thy 〈…〉 ●hy birth.   

106  
I did but as the 〈…〉  
Who winning 〈…〉 their speech,  
First 〈…〉  
(Delight, 〈…〉)  
Then, 〈…〉 asswadge,  
And with 〈…〉 breach:  
So, if I did 〈◊〉 of glory shoe▪  
T●was but a 〈…〉   

107  
And now to Comba●● 〈…〉  
〈…〉 events,  
My harsh Muse do●h 〈…〉 harmonies  
Of 〈…〉, pitching Tents;  
Of fires, and swords, and 〈…〉,  
valours true edge, 〈…〉,  
My soule●●● 〈…〉,  
Figures to life true 〈◊〉 true designs   

108  
❀ O thou Almightie-power which didst infuse 
M. Walter 〈◊〉   
Spirit into my spirit, to dare to do  
This act of memory, (which they refu●e  
Whom both desert and worth have called thereto)  
breath endless life into my fainting Muse,  
That I may write, and by my writing woo  
Saints to displeasure, when ingrateful men  
Suffers thee sleep so long in darkness den.   

109  
No sooner had ELIZA given leave  
To princely Essex, De●●rax and their power,  
To help th'oppressed, and from their backs to heave  
Tyrannies burden, which doth states devour;  
When easeful thoughts Wars summons did receive,  
And gave adieu to loves fantastic hour,  
Then every one prepared themselves to sea,  
Prayed for fair gales, and for a prosperous day▪   

110  
A Northwest wind then gently did beget  
Their swelling sails with child of honours course:  
Their steele-shod keels, the rough-seas entrails slit,  
And unto France conveyed fair E●glands force.  
And then disburdening them, on land did set  
Rebels dismay; just scourges of their worse:  
And though their powers and Ensigns dreadful shoes,  
Yet bred their Names most terror in their fo●s.   

111  
But to their Beadsmen, whose continual prayers,  
Flew into heaven from their breathing hearts,  
Whose wishes, in Ieho●as eyes appears,  
To them, and to the torrents of their smarts,  
They brought delicious Balm●, and newly rears  
Their down 〈◊〉 broken hopes: such happy parts  
Plays virtues sight▪ and such delight we have,  
When we behold Revenge we most do crave.   

112  
❀ Revenge, the 〈◊〉 of a fiery mind,  
Which evermore succeeds a noble thought,  
The food whereon resolves do feed by kind,  
Nourishing Honour when its captive brought;  
The All from whence we any help can find  
For our disparaged Names, to scandal brought:  
For it in blood doth purify disgrace,  
Purging her stains, and making smooth her face.   

113  
The mind by wrongs is made a malcontent,  
And clouds her shine in pleaseless melancholy:  
Her holy humours are in passions spent,  
Till by 〈◊〉 she is ●et at liberty,  
And bravely to her first creation sent;  
Even from Re●e●ge got justice liberty.  
For 'tis 〈◊〉, and Satisfaction brings  
To injured minds, and to oppressed things▪   

114  
The soul is like a boisterous working sea,  
Swelling in billows for disdain of wrongs:  
And tumbling up and down from bay to bay,  
Proves great with child of indignations;  
Yet with Revenge is brought to calm allay,  
Disburdened of the pain thereto belongs,  
Her lours are turned to bright-faced sunshine braves,  
And fair Content plays gently on her waves.   

115  
This truest justicer, this upright Lord,  
(Wished R●ueng●) the wronged persons hope,  
With this deu●ded Nation doth accord  
So sweetly, and doth lend so large a soup  
Unto Redress, that every breathing word  
The gates of their contentments doth set open:  
And albe nothing's well, ye● for i● may,  
They l●ue content, and make a holiday▪   

116  
❀ There ●●ands a Town close by the Oceans ●ide,  
Whose 〈◊〉 are often washed with the ●●ood,  
Well sensed, and full of Wars most ancient pride,  
A common harbour for his neighbours good:  
Within whose channel, safe securely ride  
Many tall ships, that many storms with 〈◊〉  
Thither 〈…〉  
Landing 〈…〉.   

117  
Deep, I imagine now how blest thou was  
Which hadst the maidenhead of their first sight,  
How did thy wish and fortunes come to pass?  
Making thee shine more clearer by their light  
Then all the Towns in France. Thou didst surpass,  
Those ancient Mother-Citties held so bright:  
I do not mean thy neighbour Cities by,  
For they were stained with blood and perjury.   

118  
But those whose streets were guiltless of their ills,  
That made not zeal a cloak for damned deeds,  
Whose power could bridle unrestrained wills:  
Even these, at that time thou by much exceeds  
As Mountains do the little sandy Hills,  
Or well-grown Cedars marish-shaken Reeds,  
Both for they first arrived on thy strand,  
And thou first gau●st them welcome to the Land.   

119  
Short time with thee (though long with the oppressed)  
These worthy Chieftains breathed within thy walls,  
None could perceive, much less say they did rest  
Their waking harts-honor from slumber-calls.  
And (then in ease) knowing no worse unrest,  
Speedy prepares they make for these new bralls:  
And from thee Deep departing, marched along  
To Ro●●, both too nethlesse, & too strong.   

120  
Rouen, 
Rouen be●●●g'd.  (that falsefied the holy oath,  
She owed unto the lawful Kings of France,  
That tumults raised by her divided troth,  
Upon religions wounds, looking a askance)  
Shuts her late-opend gates against them both,  
And vows to have no Sovereign but Mischance,  
Which she bought dearly, and more dearly should,  
If Valour might have done, what Valonr would.   

121  
Rouen, me thinks I see thy paly face,  
Thy Towers ready ere their time to fall▪  
Me thinks I see thy Sons run in each place  
Madly affrighted, and for succours call,  
Thy guilty conscience blaming thy disgrace:  
And from the loop-holes of thy ruined wall,  
How many teare-fild eyes stood gazing round,  
Wishing themselves away, or under ground.   

122  
O Villiers, 
Villiers, Governor of Rouen.  thou thyself, (though then in thee  
Was worthy courage; much to ill applied)  
Wept in thy soul, that thou perforce must be  
A Chieftain over sin, and oft hadst tried  
To welcome peace, and shun calamity,  
But that these arguments made thee abide:  
Fear of the misreporting multitude,  
And fame to war, against best fortitude.   

123  
These were the chains ●hat bound thee to defame,  
And blinded thee from seeing what was best:  
This Siren o●● Opini●●, wind-borne la●e,  
Seeking to ease ●s 〈◊〉 us to unrest;  
This, shu●ning-shame, ●●ought thee to greater shame,  
Thou couldst not harbour ● more thankless guest,  
For it adiugeth nothing it doth see,  
By what it is, but what it seems to be.   

124  
So help me truth, as I do truly think,  
Opinion, th'only tor●●re of 〈◊〉 mind,  
Alas tha● any ●●ing so urine should sink,  
With muddy barbarizme, unrefinde,  
Into our heart's deepe●losse●s, and there link  
All our beliefs to him, whose ancient kind  
Is to deceive us, promising the rest,  
Which neue● was, or ere shall be posse●●.   

125  
The many Prodigies were hourly borne,  
From the distempered womb of th●●e amaze,  
Thy Country's beauty by thine own hands torn,  
Thy dignities; which thy defaults did raze,  
Thy guilty faintness, thy obprobrious scorn,  
The golden Crown on which thine eyes did g●ze,  
Might have been Orators, for they could tell,  
Thou didst all ill, in doing nothing well.   

126  
And you, which were his sinews, and his force,  
The fatal hands to this ill plotting head;  
You, that made nothing better, all things worse,  
You are not blameless, you must I upbraid,  
As petty springs from whose polluted source,  
This stream became a deluge. Be it said,  
Under control; this doubt doth still remain,  
Whether was worse, the Leaders, or the train.   

127  
But howsoever, ever this is true,  
You both repent what you undertook,  
Through your eyes into your bossomes flew  
Wounds unrecurable: oft in your look  
When painted smiles lay public in our view,  
We might behold how much your joys forsook,  
Your undisguised hearts; for they said still,  
The waking heavens will plague the sleeping ill.   

128  
Even as cold Hemlock numbs the vital sense,  
Or juice of Mandrakes over-comes the brain,  
Even so your fear, wedded to your offence,  
Enforced a trembling thorough every vain:  
Nought but mistrust kept fatal residence  
Within your breasts, the state-houses of pain.  
And after you beheld the English bands,  
Scarce could you hold your weapons in your hands.   

129  
But yet dear Countrymen, mistake me not,  
(Dear I may call you, since by lives more dear,  
Our peace, and your contentment was begot)  
I do not mean this while a dastard fear:  
Far from the bounds of France hath been such blot,  
But a taint soul, seeing those Princes there,  
Who hated to unsheath their swords in fight  
If not for lawful Kings, and Gods pure right.   

130  
This was th'afflicting corsive of your hearts,  
And hourly renovator of your ills,  
This drew all your hard chances from deserts,  
Yet made no l●sse the mischee●es of your wills;  
Why do I seek to colour your foul parts,  
That knowing truth, no p●rt of truth fulfils?  
Therefore i'll say as your deeds witnessed then,  
You were, what you were borne, most sinful men.   

131  
By this time warreon both sides was prepared,  
And Fury like a strumpet runs about,  
First th'one, and then the others mind she squared,  
And casts her venom over every rout;  
Scorn upon scorns, and dares at them which dared,  
Were banded first within, and then without,  
Combats were challenged, ta'en, and then put off,  
Cuffs were repaid with cuffs, & scoff with scoff.   

132  
As oft as day beheld them, and as long  
Were sallies made, beat back, and new inforest,  
Night, Nurse of ease, to whom calm rests belong,  
Saw there no closed eye, Wars waking worst,  
Made night, as day, in uproars fatal strong:  
What in the day by counsel was discoursed,  
The night did execute; what in the night,  
Was in the day effected by his light.   

133  
And thus this weighty business, busy kept  
surviving great ones, and their following train,  
None slumberd, but such as eternal slept,  
Their souls sent hence to joys, or endless pain,  
And of their names an endless count was swept,  
Into forgetful Lethe, where they rain  
Secure from scandals on the living hurled,  
Lost from men's thoughts, forgotten of the world.   

134  
In all the conflicts, battles, tournaments,  
And dreadful clamours of affrighting Arms.  
O Walter Deu●r●x, thy soul's blandishments,  
(Not guilt, but guilding Honour's choice alar'mes)  
Were to all spirits sprightly precedents,  
As far as Neptune flows, or Phoebus warms:  
Thy prowess shall extend that in Wars ●ire  
Didst ever first assail, and last retire.   

135  
There never fled before the tigers face▪  
Poor L●mb so fast (o'ertaken in his game)  
As Frenchmen fled from thee with winged pace,  
After they had approved thy virtues flame.  
Like fire and water, pen● up in one place  
With thunder-renting all the heavenly frame,  
Such were thy deeds: and more by much then so,  
If more could be, or more from man could go.   

136  
Even as the fearful Le●orit in the wood,  
Viewing the dreadful Lion full of rage,  
Murder his dame, and feed upon her blood,  
Renting her limbs, his rigour to assuage:  
With silent pace, and trembling in her mood,  
Flies from the rancour of the beasts outrage,  
And every step bethinks of what was done,  
And every hour ●dreads to be undone.   

137  
So did the troops where starre-eyed De●rax went  
With fearful admiration see his ire,  
One to another w●● a Precedent  
To seek their 'scapes by some more safe retire;  
And yet their flights was no true banishment  
Of their despairs: for still his valours fire,  
Shined in their hearts, and though he was not nigh,  
Yet Furie-like his deed● w●●e 〈◊〉 their eye.   

138  
But what was it (o perfect man) which thus  
Got power in thy dear thoughts, and haled thee on,  
To tear from Dangers gates the dangerous,  
Exposing still thy person oft alone,  
In spite of hazard most miraculous?  
Waste Hon●●rs love, hard gotten, and soon gone?  
Was't En●ie? or was't neither which thee led,  
'twas both, 'twas both, and En●ie nobly bred.   

139  
O soldiers- Envy, near alley to Kings,  
Majestic humour, careful jealous thought,  
Thou, which awak'st us from ignoble things,  
A passion nearest to a Godhead brought,  
Only indefinite; to whom none brings,  
Limit or bond: thou greater than our thought,  
Who holds thee, holds a power to make him able,  
Who loses thee, becomes most miserable.   

140  
And yet forgive me (fair one) 'twas not this,  
Was never any thing how good so ere,  
Which hath so rough a name as Envy is,  
That could live in thy heart: for Angels there,  
Keep solemn revels, and by power dismiss,  
The earthy passions which our natures bear:  
Without thee, well might humane rareness rest,  
But holy things lived only in thy breast.   

141  
Upon thy helm, 〈◊〉 Conquest re●dy dressed,  
Delighting to behold thy sacred deeds,  
And swore that Temple m●●e her ●●●ly ble●●,  
For by thine acts, her actions praise exceeds.  
Thou not her fair, but she thy fair possessed,  
Thy looks the tables whereon honour reeds  
Instructions for her laud, enchanted all,  
And like thy sword, made best resolved fall.   

142  
That Engine of defence and punishment,  
Which well could chastise, who could well do ill,  
With thee was but a needless instrument,  
Nature had given thee darts could better kill;  
Thy hart-inchaunting looks, had they been bend,  
In bitter frowns, or showed displeased will:  
The strength of strengths, had humbly fa●●e before thee  
So much thy beauty made the world adore thee.   

143  
If Hercules by Hylas was subdued,  
And chained in golden fetters to his love,  
And if Patrocles held in servitude,  
Stix-washt Achilles: then I will approve,  
And in thy power, all power, all love include:  
Making thy fame sit stars, and heaven above.  
For thou hast courage greater than the one,  
And beauty morethen in the other shone.   

144  
Thy cheeks were ●illy-fields where Roses grew,  
Thine eyes two L●●ps, which lent the day his light,  
Thy breath the 〈◊〉 in which choice pleasures flew,  
Perfuming all things n●●re unto thy sight;  
Thy dangling tresses (hanging in our view,)  
Then Phoebu● sounding 〈◊〉 were much more bright.  
Thy lips, which kiss each other when they meet,  
Taught them to kiss, which thought no kisses sweet.   

145  
Love in thy looks hung forth a conquering sign,  
Sharpening his arrows on thy dainty brow,  
I saw him light his Torches at thine eyen.  
Oft have I heard him for thy sake a-vow  
He would no more 'mongst men be held divine,  
But for thy favour his great titles bow  
To do thee service, and become thy Squire,  
Begging no more but countenance for his hire.   

146  
What wonder is it then if mortal bred  
Fell at thy feet? when such a sacred power,  
Who at the tables of the Gods hath fed,  
He which hath made jove tremble at his lower,  
Stoops vassaile-like, and humbleth his proud head,  
Begging the pleasures of a happy hour.  
O great insearchable, almighty Fate,  
This was your will, and you thus formed his state.   

147  
Even you sad 〈…〉  
Which in you● 〈…〉  
What hath, or 〈…〉 light,  
Whose Stories none 〈…〉 less recite.  
You Rulers of the 〈…〉 gave might,  
That our great 〈…〉 should unite  
All her best tre●●ures in 〈…〉 
Essex and De●●rax. ,  
That after-age might say▪ Thus could she do.   

148  
Nature, in 〈…〉,  
Lively presenting 〈…〉  
Is that same Spi●●● of 〈…〉 divine,  
Which causeth every n●●●rall work to be.  
All things she doth preserve, and can re●ine  
Muddy pollutions from impurity.  
Philosophy can teach no Art nor ground  
Which Nature (elder borne) had first not found.   

149  
Nature, th'effect of Order, or 〈…〉,  
Was never known so rich, ●o prodigal,  
As when she took in h●nd the blessed frame  
Of this most famous work; this General,  
Delight of those that do behold the same.  
Which to renown and make more special,  
She to herself, Learning and Use combinds,  
And then all three sleep sweetly in their minds.   

150  
This not to be disjoined tryumuerate,  
From any mind that will be per●it taught,  
Possessed in them an endless during state,  
By no frail passion to distemper brought:  
All what they could, to them they dedicate.  
Nature is Learning's eyes, She, Nature's thought,  
Use, wanting either, is imperfect made:  
They without Use, no better than a shade.   

151  
The finest Orpheus toucheth no more strings  
Than the unskilful man which near saw Lute,  
Yet th'one by Use and Knowledge, sweetly brings  
To th'ear delight, th'other harsh repute.  
So Nature's perfect man, (the best of things)  
Tries but what fitt'st with Nature's gifts will suit,  
Till taught by Use and Reasons holy skill,  
He brings unto perfection what he will.   

152  
❀ Why on creation lives my Muse thus long?  
All the world knows they are the best can be.  
Contrary matter must be in my song,  
No life but death, no birth but tragedy.  
In tears, worn pen, writ dissolution,  
That accent better fits my melody.  
Devorax, thy death is my desire to frame,  
My prayer; thy Brother will but hear the same.   

153  
But woe alas, thi● 〈◊〉 vp● r●ayding Muse  
Which tells me what tho● wer● when thou wert here,  
Doth with the memory thereof, in●use  
Into th'impoverished 〈◊〉, (which held thee dear)  
Matter of endless mou●●ing; Horr●●● news,  
Showing itself how ●ilde it doth appear,  
Who severed from the glory which it h●d,  
Is now a widow, woeful, desperate, sad▪   

154  
Look how the Sea swells br●●ely in her pride  
Whilst two fair Navies daun●● upon her stream,  
Seeming the starre-set heavens to deride,  
But when lean Envy with her poys●ning b●ame  
Amongst them doth her venomed hate divide,  
Leaving no memory of theirs or them,  
Mourns in black-smoaks, in clamours, and in blood,  
Saying she is not, which hath now no good.   

155  
Or as the gallant Tyltyards kingly dressed  
With royal eyes, and famous Conquerors,  
Boasts that no place can be more richly blest,  
No, not the Courts of greatest Emperors:  
When night appears, and calls them thence to rest,  
Which him of all his happy load devours,  
Becomes unfair, subject to vild abuse,  
Serving for base, and most respectless use.   

156  
Such was the widdow-world when thou wert gone,  
An honor-loosing sea, in blood addressed,  
A Realm dispeopled, a deposed throne,  
A withered garland, where no flowers rest,  
A crown not made of gold, nor riched with stone,  
'twas altogether vild, wholly oppressed.  
But whether doth this sorrow bear my breath?  
I yet should write thy life, anon thy death.   

157  
❀ A lingering siege, Calamities best friend,  
The wealthy harvest, gathering store of woes,  
The work where Deaths work never finds an end,  
The purchase got by blood, and lost by blows,  
Increasing, made the walls of Rouen bend;  
Famine an infant, past his childhood grows,  
And com'd to riper strength, beginneth then,  
Stern Tyrantlike, to reign over feeble men.   

158  
His government, from exile calls Dispair●,  
Which strait accuseth H●pe of perjury,  
Affliction, for a witness doth appear,  
And adds beside more worse impiety.  
H●pe seeks to plead, but no man gives him care▪  
Than banished, he departs from misery,  
And taking with him all content of minds,  
Flies to the Camp, and better welcome finds.   

159  
Souldiorly triumphs gi●es him entertain,  
All hearts are open set to take him in,  
Like an imperious Prince, through every vain  
He rides triumphant. What before had been  
Low brought by War, rises to life again.  
Those which had thought to end, do new begin;  
Nothing is held impossible, but this,  
To fail of conquest, which incertain is.   

160  
❀ The new made King, (whose title, holy, just,  
Was by some Rebels yet debarred their streets)  
Warring in other parts (as needs he must)  
With the report of their approaches meets,  
Which making complete his long-wished trust,  
(Turning feares-gall, to conquests honny-sweets)  
Inspired him with desire to bless his eyes,  
With sight of them from whom his bliss must rise.   

161  
A special day both parties do propose,  
(And news thereof by Heralds published)  
In which these two almighty powers dispose,  
Like several Oceans jointly married,  
To meet each other; and in sight of those  
Which knew th'ones right, how it was injured,  
And how the others aid might save the weak,  
To knit that love-knot time should never break.   

162  
Days which beget days, naturally begot,  
This blessed day (worthy some holy Name)  
And brought it purely forth, without one spot,  
Spreading most universally his flame:  
When France, that had not all old pomp forgot,  
(Though she used little since she was fa●ne lame)  
Now pranks herself, like an old widdow-bride,  
And strives t'outgoe her youths admired pride.   

163  
England as much, (and by so much the more  
As her long peace taught how she might be brave)  
Adorns herself, and as her birthday, wore  
What ever curious was, and did engrave  
Admire in such as saw her: stars before  
Rode twinkling, like heavens spangles on the wave,  
Some marched behind; but in the mid-poynt went  
Two Suns, which made, made one Sun excellent.   

164  
In self-like order France directs her state:  
And then, like two great elements conjoined,  
But not propostrous, as distemperate,  
Their joyful clamours note a blessed rejoin:  
This Plannet-like conjunction, soon begat  
The faith which Times exchange shall near disjoin.  
Thus French with English mixed, they marched together  
Hope seen in both, and sworn to part from neither.   

165  
What better Emperor can the body hold  
Then sacred Hope? the element from whence  
Virtue is drawn, fresh-looking, never old,  
Matter most worthy of a strong defence:  
It animates young men, and makes them bold,  
Arming their hearts with holy influence,  
It like a seal, in tender thoughts doth press  
The perfect Image of all worthiness.   

166  
This Hope is double, and hath double power,  
As being mortal, and immortal framed,  
In th'one she's movelesse, certain every hour,  
In th'other, doubtful, and incertain named.  
Th'immortal Hope reigns in a holy bower,  
In earthy closurs is the mortal tamed:  
And these two contraries, where ere they meet,  
Double delight, and make our thoughts more sweet.   

167  
He that hopes least, leaves not to hope at all,  
But hopes the most, hoping so little hope,  
Augmenting of our hope, makes hope grow small,  
And taking from it, gives it greater scope.  
The desperate man which in despair doth fall,  
Hopes by that end ill-fortunes to revoke.  
And to this hope belongs a second part,  
Which we call Confidence, that rules the heart.   

168  
This second part of hope, this Confidence,  
Which Tully calls a virtue that doth guide  
The spirit to an honest residence,  
Without whose aid no pleasure will abide  
In our world-wearied flesh: This strong defence  
Against our adverse Fate: now full of pride,  
Persuades the English Legions, that it is  
Impossible their chance should run amiss.   

169  
O Hope, thou Nurse of aged feebleness,  
Thou common good which bid'st when nought is left,  
Thou best maintaynour of life's happiness,  
Excluding from our heart's misfortunes theft:  
How art thou made the cause to wretchedness,  
Of all thy proper nature quite bereft?  
What, canst thou err? I passing wondrous well,  
Chiefly, when Hope and Love together dwell.   

170  
You men tormentors, Hope, and foolish Love,  
(The last our guide, the first is our consort)  
The one to execute our thoughts doth prove,  
The other of success gives good report:  
Nothing in minds doth greater mischiefs move,  
Then where you hold your hourly resort.  
And though to sights you never public be,  
Yet are you plagues, much worse than eyes can see▪   

171  
For you are they which feed the mighty mind  
With swee●●●● poison of d●●●red praise,  
You make us trust for that we shall not find,  
And like the looks which only should displease:  
For did not love of dangers inly bind  
Our hearts to hazard, and the painted case  
Of our own hopes, arm all our Spirits breath,  
We should not seek, nor gain untimely death.   

172  
Thou evill-good, I would exclaim on thee,  
Did thine own self, not others guide thy will,  
But being least thin● own, what injury  
By thee was done, shall live in others ill.  
❀ The French and English now joined faithfully,  
Do either's ●ares, with others glory fill,  
And th'adverse part felt daily by their blows,  
That though their hearts were friends, their fames were foes.   

173  
One strives to go more faster than the rest,  
Saying, the buis'ne● craved a winged pace:  
Another, seeing his dear friend oppressed,  
For loves sake will depose him of that place.  
Thus under zeal, by e●ch it is expressed,  
To what a crow●● of wonder aims their race:  
And what for love they did; wert truly known,  
Wo●●d prove 〈…〉 to be outgone.   

174  
This happy, E●●lation (God of 〈◊〉)  
Which oftest comes unconquerd from the field,  
This which makes Monarchies stretch out so far,  
Not made to Saint, because it cannot yield,  
Well wots I, would have mad● a fatal scar,  
(Such as all France would tremble yet to wield)  
If it had gone, whither it would have flown.  
But ill he spoils, which spoils nought but his own.   

175  
O Policy, scarce known in times tha●'s past▪  
Or being known, yet lest of most 〈◊〉▪  
Thy providence most worthily shall last▪  
And in these latter days be better deemed,  
Because thou savedst, what Fury might have waist.  
Though much thou hast done ill, yet this act 〈◊〉  
Better than any; and so much more far  
As calme-facst Peace, exceeds bloodshedding War.   

176  
O, hadst thou loved thy neighbour friends as well,  
And taught them how to shun pursuing harms,  
Then had not I sat sadly in my Cell,  
For woe invoking words, for ears strong charms:  
None yet had seen this Tomb, none heard this Bell,  
This paper-noyse, this Epitaph alarms:  
But best content with res●, vntas●t to write,  
I had admired what others could indite▪   

177  
But leaving this, no helpe-attayning Plaint,  
(Because great Nature's work must still be so)  
My Muse henceforward shall no more acquaint  
Men with th'imagined causes of our woe,  
But even with feeling plainness barely paint,  
Our sorrows day. Saying, 'twas thus, and so,  
For then are griefs Tones, most best ordered,  
When theyare with plainness truly uttered.   

178  
A day was borne, o would it had not been,  
Or ere it was, I would the general dumb  
Which shall dissolve this mass, might have been seen,  
That then these sorrows from a timeless tomb,  
Exhaled by zeal, made by our passions keen,  
Might full have lodged in an unsearched womb:  
But sith that cannot be, because it was,  
Report what that days illness brought to pass.   

179  
❀ Upon this day, this day that followed fast,  
Foregoing days, full of contagious chance,  
Mishap, which by degrees did hourly waste  
The force of Rebels, and the blot of France,  
Right like herself, (that long well will not last)  
Upon good things casts a despiteful glance.  
And to approve how ill in well would show,  
Flies from the bad, and to the good doth go.   

180  
Unwelcome Fury, thou wert ill advised,  
Hell would become thee better than their Tents:  
Can not some vast unknown place have sufficed  
For receptacle to thy vild intents,  
But even where Honour was imparadised?  
Must thou of force go thither? what reputes  
Can cleanse thy faults? no tears of thine prevail,  
For they are showers of spite, no streams of zeal.   

181  
Mishap, i'll curse thee with a bitter curse,  
(Yet 'twill not help me: then as good undone)  
Then the most vildest, I will make thee worse,  
(Why so thou wert before) what shall be done  
To make men loath thee, (common mischiefs Nurse)  
By thee i'll say, the best b●ame of our sun,  
As much as half his light, Devorax I mean,  
Was by thy hand unseen, shamefully slain.   

182  
If any then (for all will be displeased,  
Chiefly those blessed ones which knew him well,  
And also those upon whose ears have ceased,  
Rumour of his renown, Fame's loudest bell,  
Busy to have their jealous thoughts appeased)  
Ask how 'twas done, and bid my story tell  
How he was slain, then will I thus begin,  
And paint with truth his death, with shame thy sin.   

183  
I will report in that abortive day  
When thou uncharitably left'st thine own,  
Those that well knew thee, those that did obey  
Thy lamentable power▪ and all alone,  
Disguised with virtues vizard, brought'st decay  
To those that never saw thee, or thy throne.  
Thine old acquaintance, by thine absence eased,  
Began to smile, which long had been displeased.   

184  
Those minds which-had been worthy, had they held  
An awful 〈◊〉 to their lawful King,  
Whose hands 〈◊〉 good, if they could rightly wield  
Their 〈…〉 should, or did not bring  
Upon th●● guiltless blood. Oft times re●eld  
And beaten with continu●●● skirmishing,  
Whether grown● now more strong o● desperate,  
I know not; but they'll once more try their fate.   

185  
Once more they'll tempt their fortunes with their sword's  
Or make more speed to Death's unwelcome Inn▪  
Occasion, and the day, fit time affords,  
Debating counsel holds it means to win;  
Vulgar unto the mighty still accords,  
And do their wills, be't lawful, or a sin:  
Wherhfore the flowers of all the cities p●ide,  
Well armed, in a fair Battalion ●ide.   

186  
But what is it so private can be meant  
But Wars intellegencer, Rum●r knows?  
And if not for despite, yet to th'intent  
He may be still himself, in fury goes:  
And unto what the one side's fully bend,  
Maliciously unto the other shoes;  
This now well-prating Parat, tells the end  
Whereto the cities issues do intend.   

187  
Forthwith (o Essex) thou a counsel took,  
Though none could utter what thou knewst not well,  
(For all experience, lodged within thy look)  
And there agreed, that force their force should quell,  
Like number, 'gainst like number undertook  
To bate the pride which now began to swell:  
And Deu'rax, who was Honours daily guest,  
Would guide them to their fame, or to their rest.   

188  
What in the heavenly Parliament above  
Is written by the finger of the first,  
Mortals may feel, but never can remove,  
For they are subjects to the heavens worst.  
Hence came it Deu'rax, that no prayers, no love  
Can stay thy forward course, thine youth's flame bur●●  
Into impatience, when advise, thy friend,  
Sought to protract the hasting of thine end.   

189  
Even as the sun in all his royalty  
At noontide casts his looks upon the ground,  
And woos the fruits with eye-cleare Majesty,  
Curing the Winter's ulcerated wound,  
So Deu'rax look, such beams of dignity  
From him upon the Army did rebound:  
And from his beams all gazers took that fire,  
Which mounting up, would never more retire▪   

190  
When Hect●r wore the purest robes of war,  
And loverlike would have no blemish spied,  
Courting bright Glory, all his hopes dear star,  
Famed then to be Achilles promised bride,  
Was not so rich, nor shined his praise so far  
As Devorax did: which in the troup did ride,  
Before all others, like the break of day,  
which through night's shadows makes his burnished way.   

191  
I think his soul (for oft it happens so)  
Like a dear Prophetess by holy flame  
Had a foreknowledge, or some sacred shoe  
Of what should after happen: For this same,  
Which we call death (the souls release from woe  
The work which brings our bliss to happy frame)  
Seldom arrests the body, but we find  
Some notice of it written in our mind.   

192  
I know his blessed Genius, sacred bred,  
Which in a moment, by her thoughts surveys  
All the celestial houses, and doth spread  
Over the earth, and through the va●test Seas;  
This day, (by some diviner humour led,)  
Doth apprehend the changes of his days:  
For he was not himself, (though ever best)  
But stranger, with strange honour, strangely dressed.   

193  
Never road Bridegroom to salute his Bride,  
With such delight as he to his unrest:  
All speed was leaden-footed; oft he cried,  
By dallying time, our hopes will be depressed.  
Then strait he notes how swift the day doth slide,  
And fears it will not last till he be blest.  
At length, in all points fitted as he would,  
He marcheth on, encouraging the bold.   

194  
Armed was he royally through every part,  
His head except, which had no steely guard:  
Those Angell-lookes, which could enchant a heart,  
Flint-moulded, or in iron closurs bard,  
Nakedly borne, unpollished by Art,  
Like the attracting Sun, with his beams, snard  
The vapours of the war to fly unto him,  
Whose mists of death, in touching did undo him.   

195  
The vapours of the war, the cloudy smoke,  
The mantles to that winged messenger,  
Which from the Cannon's entrails rudely broke,  
Or from a lesser hand deliverer,  
Kills where it comes, woundeth the hardest Oak,  
Batters stone walls, and leaves no register  
Of any comely work, this airy devil,  
Became in love with good, itself all evil.   

196  
With him it was in love, (or feigned to be)  
For even as hailstones fall upon the ground,  
Or in the Sun plays little Attomie,  
Even so flew bullets, with a music sound  
Of whistling notes, Death charming melody  
About each part of him, yet made no wound;  
So that those living, and that dying lay,  
Thought him Wars self, with whom War seemed to play.   

197  
And well it might be so, if War, like men,  
Had been created with a sickly soul,  
Full of our melting passion; I would then  
Have so imagined, but because 'tis foul  
And most deformed, (if some mournful pen,  
With ink not full so black, did not control  
The rugged gestures of his hateful face)  
I would not think him guilty of such grace.   

198  
War, of one matter made, hath but one thought,  
Barbarous obduracy, conceiting blood,  
Yet from those unions infinits are brought,  
But all of one like humour, and one good:  
War, simply is but spoil, till Virtue taught  
How it might be refined, and understood  
A better thing; reporting 'twas the Sire  
Of Honour, which all mortal men desire.   

199  
This thin-leaued Gold upon a Copper link,  
This Venice ceres on an Ethiopes face,  
This Di'mond set in Lead, this faire-paued sink,  
Cheats the whole world, and under show of grace,  
Deprives us of more joys than we can think:  
This robs us of the riches we embrace.  
Me thinks, the losses which we find by it,  
Should make men loath, and vildly spit at it.   

200  
But fie; this fury is too vehement,  
(Many dead boughs hang on a soveraigne-tree,)  
War, rightly handled, is most excellent,  
And easy makes impossibility:  
It mounts the Alps, and through vast Seas doth rend,  
By it in blood a way to heaven we see:  
And even by it, (though long before thy time)  
Deu'rax thou didst into the heavens clime.   

200  
Look how a gust of wind upon the flood,  
Comes scouring, and o'ertakes the sailors eye,  
Or as a tempest, renting up a wood,  
Seems swifter than the nimblest thought to fly:  
With speed as great, or more in likelihood,  
This worthy Devorax to the charge doth high;  
And as the thunder rends the heavenly frame,  
So tears his Lance the ranks in which he came.   

201  
As earth's great wealth falls by the Reaper's hand,  
So fell his foes by his devouring sword,  
The Parragons and Minion of that Land,  
Buying their proof too dearly, do accord,  
That his renowns pre-eminence shall stand  
Above all former Princes: and afford  
Matter for greater marvel than hath been,  
Or had he lived, should elsewhere have been seen.   

202  
But what avails it to say this he did,  
When 'twas but shows to that he would have done?  
What better am I to say thus he rid?  
Thus he triumphed, thus did his foe-men run?  
When what he was, from present is, is hid,  
Remembrance, by such memory undone;  
Who knew him, knew he was the best of any,  
Who knew him not, may learn by me and many.   

204  
But lo, the battle grew by this time old,  
And yet the worst of it was still unborn,  
Many a life was dearly bought and sold,  
But now in happy state, and now forlorn:  
Contagious changes every one behold,  
The Rebels first, sith vanquished and o'erborne:  
The English next, who having slain their foes,  
Came weeping back, but could not tell their woes.   

205  
The Fountain whence these miseries did spring,  
(O noble Devorax) flowed from thy great thought,  
Thy sacred resolutions towering wing,  
A step above Fame's height entirely sought:  
And if to do enough, were that sweet thing  
Which thou aspyr'dst to; it was fully wrought:  
Thou didst enough, if conquest might content,  
And who doth more, is worthy to be shent.   

206  
But this false-painted Deity, called Laude,  
Which makes us thirst for vain Eternity,  
Twixt our Desires and Hope, a cunning Bawd,  
Ushers the soul unto Extremity:  
And helped by sly insinuating Fraud,  
Covers her deeds in scrolls of Piety;  
This hath led others, but it led not thee,  
For thou esteemest no such vain imagery.   

207  
A most religious humour was thy guide,  
A fervent zeal to raise up Majesty,  
A hate unto this hellbred Monster Pride,  
A loath thou took'st 'gainst upstart Tyranny.  
Religion, Love, and Honour sanctified,  
With all the other beams of Piety,  
Gave light unto thy footsteps, and brought forth  
Thy mind to dare to do these acts of worth.   

208  
No Idoll-beautie in thy heart was seen  
To govern what thou under-took'st in this,  
Thou hadst no Mistress, but thy sovereign Queen,  
And she, of all men's praise most worthy is:  
Her beams, (I do confess) made the beams keen  
Of thy best metaled Spirit; what's amiss  
That she makes perfect? what can perfect die,  
If first it be not moulded in her eye?   

209  
Thou lively work of her great excellence,  
Wel-worthy Matter for her power to frame,  
I could attach thee of a high offence,  
In being too regardless, what became  
Of thine excelling fortunes; what defence  
But was too little to begird thy Name?  
For her works sake, though not thine own respect,  
Thou shouldst have banished far this wars defect.   

210  
But woe unto this too late counseling,  
Woe that I have a cause to counsel thus,  
Woe of all woes, conscience perpetual sting,  
Alive and dead, haunt him that injured us,  
In curses would I name him, would shame ring  
His name, and hold it meritorious:  
But hell, for more-great mischief still doth hide it,  
Because if known, no creature would abide it.   

211  
An unknown villain, for he was unseen  
The while the skirmish heat continued,  
With others, like himself, (which monsters been,)  
In a remoted place were ambushed,  
And viewing all the battles ireful teen,  
And how Fame's beauty was embellished  
In Deu'rax deeds; grown envious of the stain,  
Sent from his piece a bullet through his brain.   

212  
Most damned wretch, thou hast most vildly done,  
The Musket back recoiling told as much.  
The glass of Honour now was fully run,  
What heart but this base dastard-blow will touch?  
Ungracious engine which eclip●st our Sun,  
For ever be thou cursed: and let all such  
As hear thee, hate thee; let thy stinking breath,  
Be loathed, and held the savour of foul Death.   

213  
Now from his hands fell down the golden reins,  
And gave the Horse that liberty he sought;  
The remnant of his senses, which remains,  
Fled from their Palace; all to ruin brought.  
The blood ran freshly from his weeping veins,  
His body's King a heavenly Empire caught.  
But all his virtues, to his brother fled,  
And vowed to live with him, since he was dead.   

214  
Look how a shoal of Ravens for a bait,  
Tangle their lives in danger of the snare,  
Or starved Wolves, (that wanting what to eat)  
Seeing a pray, pursues it without care;  
So those, which nothing but their deaths await,  
Seeing the falling of this noble Star,  
(I mean the Rebels, re●t of all defence)  
Hazard new deaths to steal the body thence.   

215  
But they whose hearts had long time lived therein,  
(For 'twas a little kingdom of their loves)  
Seeing this reprobate, and damned sin,  
Both for revenge and honour, stoutly proves  
To beat them back: so that new fights begin.  
The fight of fights, which stones to wonder moves.  
One would feign get, the other will not lose,  
Both hang in doubt, and can nor will nor choose.   

216  
At last, Impatience conjures up Resolve,  
Which (like a Spirit raised) thundereth about,  
Rents Towers, & trees, and Mountains doth dissolve;  
Even so like raged the English, when base Doubt  
Made question of their chance, strait they absolve  
Themselves from fear, then through the damned rout,  
Made thousand several ways, & by main strength,  
(Got where he was) recovered him at length.   

217  
From the sad ground they heaved his wounded head,  
(Wedded too soon unto devouring dust)  
His saddle for a Bear, supplies the stead,  
His Horse his breathing joy, his valour's trust,  
Which boar him living, now must bear him dead:  
All things were quite transformed to what they must,  
As soft as foot could fall, (o Snaile-pacst moans)  
They brought him to his Tent, with sighs, with groans.   

218  
But when this object in the middle way  
Encountered with his noble Brother's sight,  
What tears, what vows, what plaints, what shall I say,  
What every thing that can but shape the plight  
Of insupportable distress. O day,  
Blacker than hell, more desolate than night,  
What not to be imagined care, didst thou  
View in his face, and read upon his brow?   

219  
France, thou mightst this day praise the King of Kings,  
Which raised thee up a King of thine own seed,  
Who like a brooding Hen, under his wings  
Nourished thee kindly, wept to see thee bleed,  
And lost himself, to gain thee quiet things:  
For had thy haps been otherwise, this deed  
Had been thine utter ruin, and decay,  
Thy Glories last known hour; and Shames first day.   

220  
O R●an, thou ayme-cryer to this woe,  
Be proud, thy fortunes by thy King was blest,  
Else, thou which now art high, had then lain lo,  
As low as leveled plains by fire depressed:  
What thou wert then, now had been nothing so:  
Infants yet hanging on their Mother's breast,  
Should have come far thy memories to have seen,  
But missing thee, not known where thou hadst been.   

221  
Nor so contented had great Essex stayed,  
But brought an other name unto thy Land,  
Yet better fortune thy worse chance allayed,  
He which did lift it up, now slayed his hand:  
Had he been for himself, not others aid,  
His strange revenge by all tongues had been scanned,  
And for each drop his Brother's wound did shed,  
A million of French Gallants had lain dead.   

222  
Nor came he home wholly unsatisfide,  
Witness thy widows yet within thy street,  
Thy walls, and houses scarce re-edified,  
The Orphans wailing at their Grandams feet,  
Thy Churches useless, and unsanctifide,  
These records with revenge in part do meet,  
But greater had it been, and better would,  
If Might did what it might, not what it should.   

223  
France, that wert beauteous, o be comely still,  
Be not a Vassal, that an Empire was,  
Love thy dread Lord, be governed by his will,  
Thy ruling of thyself brings ills to pass,  
Confound his foes, and thine own mischiefs kill:  
Be you yourselves helpers in your ill case,  
Lest your ingratitudes do draw perforce  
From you his love, on you your neighbour's force.   

224  
And then again, Essex return again,  
Yoking your untamed necks, making you bow,  
In whose almighty mind cannot be slain,  
The memory of his Brother. I avow,  
And here presage, if ever your disdain,  
And forfeit troths of such sad days allow,  
You will accurse yourselves, and ban your breath,  
And pray the Mountains to bring speedy death.   

225  
But unto those yet uncreated times,  
O Muse bequeath these secret Prophecies,  
And let his end draw to an end thy rhymes,  
Dye with his death, and in his obsequies  
Entomb thy soul: thy soul which weary climes,  
And falls with faintness as he seeks to rise;  
And seat his numbers in their sweetened ears  
Where best delights, and best wits fire appears.   

226  
❀ Thus ARETEA with a heavy look,  
Ending with sighs, what was with tears begun,  
Turns from my presence: and with woe forsook  
Further discourse. But I that swift did run  
Upon Desire's feet, with reverence took  
Hold of her garment, and cried, stay dear Sun,  
Thou which hast taken prisoner all my thought,  
Ransom my mind, let his release be bought.   

227  
If thus thou do departed; from me will part  
My ravished sense; for charritie (fair Saint)  
Stay; and as thou hast banqueted my heart,  
So glut mine eyes, o holy Maid, acquaint  
My sight (yet drowned with overflow of smart)  
With those rare miracles which Art doth paint  
Upon his famous Tomb: for 'ttwere a shame  
Forgetfulness should sleep upon his Name.   

228  
I do assure myself, religious France,  
Which loves the laws of Hospitality,  
Will not ingratefully forget his chance,  
Or for a world forego his memory:  
I know her eyes with tribute-teares do glance  
Daily upon his Tomb, his valiancy,  
Which for her sake brought him to earthly mould,  
lives writ in jet, in Marble, Brass, or gold.   

229  
Or if 'ttwere so that her distempered mind  
Filled with her own grief, should forget her friend,  
I know his Country's spirit (most refined)  
And those whom Nature binds to such an end,  
Will raise a Piramed of some strange kind,  
Upon whose Colombs every with shall spend  
The fire of his best Muse; that who succeeds,  
Shall beg form him, or wear no witty weeds,   

230  
❀ It may be so (the heavenly one replied)  
And fear of that, I fear, keeps him obscure,  
Or else for that experience late hath tried,  
That handy works do never ever dure,  
They are content to let him unknown bide,  
Till they may frame the work more certain sure.  
Or Time that can dissolve these holy things,  
Hath taught us now to doe●lesse holy things.   

231  
Yet lest thou shouldst too much complain, and fret  
The world, by telling wherein she offends:  
(For what we do amiss, behind we set,  
Few to their faults reprove, with patience tends)  
Come, and i'll carry thee where Time hath set  
His Trophies up, to last when all things ends,  
Earth hath them not, nor Sea, nor here, nor there,  
But no where, some where, some where, every wher●.   

232  
❀ With that me thought the power of Amaze  
Carried my Soul far from my common sense,  
Wonder me thought, with a starre-shyning blaze,  
Lighted her to some sacred residence:  
Earth's eyes were closed, only my mind did gaze,  
Much I beheld, yet knew not what, nor whence  
Any thing issued: Sight of many things  
Confounds the sight, and not true judgement brings.   

233  
A world of worlds I saw, yet no worlds there,  
Abundance of delights bathing in tears,  
Passion, and stoic dullness every where,  
Vassals, and Kings: Kings as no Kings appears,  
A thousand hands, a thousand Towers do rear,  
As many more the walls in sunder tears,  
Beauties stood thicker much the● spotted stars,  
But double more defects which faces●marrs.   

234  
When I saw all things, I saw nothing well,  
Millions about me now, but straightway gone;  
I numbered much, and yet could nothing tell,  
Infinets when I summed them, were but one;  
Desirous for to know this heavenly hell,  
I saw 'twas mere Imagination,  
For by the hourly changes it did bring,  
I saw it was no ever-during thing.   

235  
About this great imaginary round,  
This Kingdom of the unrestrained thought,  
Where all things are, which are not to be found,  
I made a long large progress: then she brought  
My tired conceits to a more holy ground,  
Where many curious moulds were rarely wrought,  
Of all the Worthies, which were nobly bred,  
Sleeping secure in Honours quiet bed.   

236  
Not far from them was built a Monument  
Of sparkling diamonds fast bound in with gold,  
And round about it for an ornament,  
Laurel I might, and Cypress Groves behold;  
The gates were of the days best blandishment,  
And every Pillar wrought, seemed to uphold  
A singing Angel, and a weeping Saint;  
The strangest mixture Thought did ever paint.   

237  
This place delightless, had me thought Delight,  
And filled his emptiness with rare conceit,  
This nothing, me thought, all things did despite,  
And seem, more rich than the most rich receipt  
Of Eden's excellence: there thoughts did wright  
Happy content, contented with deceit.  
And as me thought I viewed these glorious gates,  
I read these lines written in golden Plates.   

THE TOMB.  
You which desire to open this dead man's door,  
Or you that pass by it without regard,  
Rest here your eyes, and filling them with gore,  
Behold this Tomb of words, and lines prepared:  
On Marble, jet, and jasper, mayst thou po're  
Till thou pour out thy sight, yet be debarred  
To read the sacred heau'n-out-lyuing scroll,  
Which hath the deeds of this almighty soul.   

238  
Drawn by the charming Music of these roes,  
And guided by the strength of my desire,  
I priest into this airy house of woes,  
Praising the thoughts which made me to aspire:  
The sights I saw, seemed not me thought like shoes  
Of earth's invention, they bore-brighter fire,  
But looking long, they vanished: then appear,  
Nothing but lines; and these me thought they were.   

THE STATVE.  
O thou new Age, apparelled with desire,  
To know them whom the liberal powers create,  
Of most heroic spirits sacred fire,  
Raising their deeds to heavens starre-spotted gate:  
Behold this Empire-meriting young Prince,  
Closed with his virtues in this Tombs black shade,  
Who fought for France, and those which ever since  
Should not for shame see his great glory fade:  
And if a fair desire thou take to spread  
Through this world's Theatre (which sings his deeds)  
His glorious praise, and with it raise the dead,  
Name but his name, for it all names exceeds,  
The sound of Deu'rax borne through thousand Lands,  
Eternally on memories Altar stands.   

239  
With this last word the lines were vanished,  
And by some sacred hand ta'en from my sight,  
By that great loss my joys were banished,  
For yet my long were not ordered right,  
This unseen seen, this tale half uttered  
Drive me from ill, into a worse plight:  
Then to my Guide, thinking to make my moan,  
She was departed to, I all alone.   

240  
Even ARETEA was departed thence:  
No sign was left of any thing but woe,  
Mine ancient woe, my think recompense,  
Delight, me thought, was changed to nothing so.  
Now stood my feet in their old residence,  
Painfully moving, taught by Care to go,  
But now in heaven, and now in hell I range,  
So swift out thoughts are, and so apt to change.   

241  
Vast solitariness bounded my sight,  
(For all is desolate, where not selfe-kinde selfe-kinde  
Unto selfe-kind affords a mutual right)  
Of●patious trees, of flowers, and fruits I find,  
Millions of consorts pitying my plight:  
But their dumb eloquence wound more the mind,  
And in their silent listening, seem to say,  
We are Griefs hearers, why doth Griefs tongue stay?   

242  
This heavy summons to my wounded heart,  
Awaked the sleeping sparks of my best zeal,  
Which mixed with my Country's fatal smart,  
(Both cause, and mourner, of this early peal)  
Compelled me play Calamities sad part,  
And strive thy praise, o Deu'rax to reveal,  
Affliction in my bosom long depressed,  
Broke from my lips, and thus flew from my breast.   

243  
¶ Alas, mine eyes that these your falling tears  
Should make two Rivers, and yet not erect  
Their Funerals above the moving spheres,  
But sadly on these flowers, with sighs defect  
Paint lamentable verses, piteous fears,  
The witnesses of thousand Griefs respect:  
O now exhalt these fountains of my brain,  
They happy are which for good Chance complain.   

244  
Nor eyes, nor verse, filled with this teary source,  
Which with pale colours ploughs my furrowed face,  
Can us suffice, till my sad tongues discourse,  
Relent obdurate Pity, mourn Disgrace,  
All pains, all mortal anguishes, all worse  
Than pain or anguish, or the woefull'st case  
Can be imagined, o what pain have I  
To see again, a new Achilles die?   

245  
Woe me, mine eyes, seek shadows for your sight,  
To sounding Rocks recount your miseries,  
The Sun is not for you, seek lasting Night,  
Long not for Day, place galling agonies,  
And foreknown mischiefs next thy heavy plight,  
Of woes, and wrongs, found new societies,  
Weep, weep, poor France, this loss by Fate down hurled,  
Is not alone to thee, but all the world.   

246  
❀ Alas fair Nymphs, you Ladies of clear springs,  
If either love or pity (which still dwells  
In female hearts) lament those heavy things,  
Which press our fortunes down to many hells,  
Why do you let these flowers which dumbly sings,  
Weep ere you weep, and with tormenting yells,  
Sigh long before you. O great powers decline:  
Tears shed for virtues sake, are tears divine.   

247  
❀ You Wood-Gods; hence leave haunting of your Caves,  
Come weep with me this lamentable cross,  
Which fatal Death, (the Emperor of graves)  
Hath heaped upon our days; o bare-boned gloss,  
Of what we all must be; what nothing saves:  
Can there alas then this be surer loss  
To see all virtue in a forgotten Tomb?  
Of Fortune o inevitable dumb.   

248  
❀ O Fate, thou faithless measurer of times,  
Most unindiffrent Mistress to young years,  
Which have the purest souls: now note thy crimes,  
Tell us who caused thee hasten our despairs,  
Inroling Deu'rax in these burial rhymes?  
Why didst thou bandy mischief 'gainst the spheres,  
Taking away what heaven to earth did lend,  
And bringing rarest things to quickest end.   

249  
In spite of thee, and Death; his gentle Name,  
His glorious Name under his soul shall shine,  
It from the skies shall take the days bright flame,  
And on the heavenly stage his deeds divine  
Shall sacredly be read, and by the same  
Eternity shall live, his virtues Mine,  
Shall be a rich example unto Kings:  
'tis praise, not shame to follow virtuous things.   

250  
❀ Daughter's of jove, since happy Memory  
Enrolls the deeds, are worthy of record,  
In golden letters (lasting Charractrie)  
Upon a polished Marble; o accord,  
And in that Book, heavens royal library,  
Writ down his Praises: then that Praise afford,  
Limits beyond all earth, or seas proud rage,  
Leaving their beams to guide this iron age.   

251  
❀ You Sisters of Apollo, sacred nine,  
O through all worlds, within your living Arts,  
Bear his renown, and grave within your shrine  
The honour of his great almighty parts,  
Let it fly farther much than Sun can shine:  
For he was even a Monarch of all hearts,  
Nor ever did the Warriors in times past  
Attain more honour than his Time imbra●st.   

252  
❀ O triple crowned Diana, o great Queen,  
Latona's Daughter, Sister to the Sun,  
Thou Delphian Lamp, Lady of every green,  
With that sad Crystal water which doth run  
From thy celestial eyes, sadly be seen,  
To wet this Tomb where England's fame doth won▪  
Make it a living spring, think there remains,  
What ere the earth, or rich, or fair contains.   

253  
What ere on earth is rich, delightsome, fair,  
Holy, or virtuous, which the rare right hand  
Of that most great, most infinite, most dear,  
Father of all eternity makes stand  
Upon this mould, under the triple air,  
Which bounds the boundless circuit of the Land,  
Upon his soules-brow think thou seest the same,  
The dear conservator of his best Name.   

254  
¶ France, which hath caused the loss of all this best,  
Come offer tears and sighs for sacrifice,  
And (though too late) by it know thy unrest.  
¶ Goddess ELIZA, Queen of hearts and eyes,  
That lost this Name I love, wish it good rest,  
Say Deu'rax live in peace, and 'twill suffice:  
I dare not beg a tear; yet Deu'rax gone,  
You lost one of the best beams 'bout your Throne.   

255  
❀ And you great Lord, greatest of all that's great,  
Losing your Brother whom most worthily  
The earth adores, your breasts fair Palace beat;  
Dear Essex praise his new Nativity.  
❀ You Sovereign Ladies throned in my heart's seat,  
Northumberland, and Rich, for charritie  
Aid his rare praise, and sweeten my poor rhyme  
Which strives to make him conquer Death and Time.   

256  
❀ Lastly, you English people, Pallas Squires,  
Faithfully wall this Saintlike Tomb about,  
And make his virtues grow from your desires,  
Report by Valour's tongue the world throughout:  
That though the Fates incensed with envious fires,  
Break Natrues thread, and captivate the stout,  
Yet shall his Name, the badge of Piety,  
Live both in heaven, and earth eternally.   

257  
And thus arrest thy pace poor heavy Muse,  
Do thy last service, end thy weary tale,  
And on this well-built holy Tomb, infuse  
The large derived currents of thy bale;  
Say (as to say all holy powers use)  
Glory adieu, Honour, and Virtues pale:  
❀ The drowned Meads again regain their green,  
What not in him, is in his Brother seen.   
FINIS.