The Argument.  
AT that time when the states of Greece began to grow great, and Philosophy to be thought precious, Solon the first light of the Athenian commonwealth like a provident Bee gathering honey over many fields, learning knowledge over many countries, was sent for by Croesus' King of Lidia as famous for his Wealth, as the other was for his Wisdom. And not so much for any desire the King had to profit by the experience of so profound a Philosopher, as to have the report of his (as he thought it) happiness approved by the testimony of so renowned a witness. But Solon always like himself entering the regal Palace, and seeing the same very gloriously appareled, but very incommodiously furnished with Courtiers, more curious to have their bodies decked with a womanishly affected form of raiment, and some superficial compliments of pretended courtesies, than to have their minds enriched with the true treasure of inestimable virtue, he had the same altogether in disdain. Therefore after some conference had with Croesus concerning the felicity of man, his opinion not seconding the king's expectation, he was returned with contempt as one of no understanding. But yet comforted by Aesop (Author of the witty fables) who for the time was resident at Court, and in credit with the King.  
Immediately after the departure of Solon, Croesus having two Sons (whereof the eldest was dumb, and the other a brave youth) dreamt that the youngest died by the wound of a dart, wherewith being marvelously troubled, he married him to a Gentlewoman named Caelia, and for farther disappointing the suspected, though inevitable destiny, he discharged the using of all such weapons as he had dreamed of. Yet who could cut away the occasion from the heavens of accomplishing that which they had designed. The spiritful youth being long restrained from the fields, was invited by some countrymen to the chase of a wild Boar, yet could very hardly impetrate leave of his lovingly suspicious father.  
Now in the mean time there arrived at Sardis a youth named Adrastus, Son to the King of Phrigia, one no less infortunate than valorous, he having lost his mistress by a great disaster, and having killed his brother by a far greater, came to Croesus, by whom he was courteously entertained, and by the instancy of the King, and the instigation of others against his own will, who feared the frowardness of his infectious fortune, he got the custody of Atis (so was the Prince called) whom in time of the sport thinking to kill the Boar, by a monstrous mishap he killed. After which disastrous accident standing above the dead corpse after the inquiry of the truth being pardoned by Croesus, he punished himself by a violent death. There after, Croesus sorrowing exceedingly this exceeding misfortune, he was comforted by Sandanis, who laboured to dissuade him from his unnecessary journey against the Persians, yet he reposing on superstitious, and wrong interpreted responses of deceiving oracles, went against Cyrus, who having defeated his forces in the field, and taken himself in the City, tied him to a stake to be burned, where by the exclaiming divers times on the name of Solon, moving the Conqueror to compassion, he was set at liberty, and lamenting the death of his Son, and the loss of his Kingdom, makes the Catastrophe of this present Tragedy.   

The Scene in Sardis  

Actors.  
Croesus' King of Lydia.  
Atis his son.  
Caelia wise to Atis.  
Adrastus.  
Sandanis a Counsellor.  
Chorus of all the Lydians.  
Solon.  
Aesop.  
Cyrus king of Persia.  
Harpagus Lieutenant to Cyrus.  
Chorus of some Countrymen.    

THE tragedy of Croesus.  

Act. I.  SOLON. 

Lo how the trustless world the worldlings tosses,  
And leads her lovers headlong unto death,  
Those that do court her most have maniest crosses,  
And yet vain man, this half-spent spark of breath,  
This dying substance, and this living shadow,  
The sport of Fortune, and the spoil of Time,  
Who like the glory of a half-mowed meadow  
Doth flourish now, and straight falls in his prime,  
Still toils t'attain (such is his foolish nature)  
A constant good in this inconstant ill:  
Unreasonable reasonable creature  
That makes his reason subject to his will.   

Whilst in the Stage of Contemplation placed  
Of worldly humours I behold the strife,  
Though different sprites have divers parts embraced,  
All act this transitory Scene of Life:  
Of curious minds who can the fancies fetter,  
The Soul unsatisfied, a prey t'each snare,  
Still loathing what it hath, doth dream of better,  
Which gotten, but begets a greater care.   

And yet all labour for t'attain the top  
Of th'unsure sovereign bliss that they surmise,  
Flowers of felicity, that few can crop,  
Yea, scarce can be discerned by the wise.   

Some place their happiness (unhappy beasts,  
And I must say, more senseless than their treasures)  
In gorgeous garments, and in dainty feasts,  
To pamper breath-tossed flesh with flying pleasures.   

Some more austerely with a wrinkled brow  
That triumph o'er their Passions with respects,  
With neither fortune moved to brag or bow,  
Would make the world enamoured of their sects.   

Some ravished still with virtues purest springs,  
Feed on th'Idea of that divine brood,  
And search the secrets of celestial things  
As most undoubted heirs of that high good.   

Thus with conceited ease and certain pain,  
All seek by several ways a perfect bliss:  
Which, O what wonder, if they not obtain,  
Who cannot well discern what thing it is!   

What happiness can be imagined here?  
Though we our hopes with vain surmises cherish,  
Who hardly conquer first what we hold dear,  
Then fear to lose it still that once must perish.   

Think (though of many thousands scarcely any  
Can at this point of Happiness arrive)  
Yet if it chance, it chanceth not to many,  
Only to get for what a world did strive.   

And though one swim in th'Ocean of delights,  
Have none above him, and his equals rare,  
Ears joying pleasant sounds; eyes stately sights;  
His treasures infinite; his buildings fair.   

Yet doth the world on Fortune's wheel rely,  
Which love's t'advance the wretched, wrack the great,  
Whose course resembles an inconstant eye,  
Ever in motion compassing deceat.   

Then let the greedy of his substance boast,  
Whilst th'excrements of th'earth his senses smother,  
What hath he gained, but what another lost?  
And why may not his loss enrich another?   

But ah! all loose, who seek to profit thus,  
And found their confidence on things that fade,  
We may be robbed from them, they robbed from us,  
all's grieved for th'one, as for the other glad.   

Vain fool, that thinks solidity to find  
In this frail world, where for a while we range,  
Which like sea-waves, depending on the wind,  
Ebbs, flows, calms, storms, still moving, still in change.   

Each surge, we see, doth drive the first away,  
The foam is whitest, where the Rock is near,  
And as one grows, another doth decay,  
The greatest dangers oft do least appear.   

Their seeming bliss that trust in frothy shows,  
In Fortune's danger, burdened with the Fates,  
First to a full, then to confusion grows,  
A secret Destiny doth guide great States.   

But I scorn Fortune, and was ever free  
From that dead wealth that wavers in her power,  
I bear my treasure still about with me,  
Which neither Time nor Tyrants can devour.   

Light author of events, and vain adventurers,  
Now do thy worst, I know how to undo thee,  
The way is stopped by which thy poison enters,  
Thou can harm none but them that trust unto thee.   

And I have learned to moderate my mind,  
Contentment is the crown of my desires:  
My clothes are course, my fare such as I find,  
He hath enough that to no more aspires.   

What satisfaction doth overflow my soul,  
While as I weigh the world which few hold fast,  
And in my memories unblotted scroll,  
judge of the present by the time that's past?   

The poor-rich heir of breath that boasts of smoke,  
And come of dust, yet of the dross still thinks,  
Whilst baser passions do his virtues choke,  
The soul overbalanced with the body sinks.   

Yet need I not to loath the world and live,  
As one whom stepdame she would never nourish,  
I had a part of all that she could give,  
My race, my house, by fame and wealth did flourish.   

And if that I would vaunt of mine own deeds,  
Fair City, where mine eyes first sucked the light,  
I challenge might what most thy glory breeds  
Whose labours both enlarged thy fame and might.   

When Salamina utterly was lost,  
And by the rascal multitude neglected,  
A counterfeited fool, I went and crossed  
All their designs, whose courses were suspected.   

And when I had by policy persuaded  
My country to embrace the wars again,  
I both by stratagems and strength invaded  
That famous I'll which vanquished did remain.   

Then having compassed that exploit with speed,  
And turned in triumph decked with strangers spoils,  
No perfect bliss below worse did succeed,  
The peace that was abroad bred civil broils.   

What with more violence doth fury lead,  
Than a rash multitude that wants a head?  
The meaner sort could not their minds conform,  
T'abide at what their betters did command:  
Then the weal-public in a dangerous storm,  
All joined to place the rudder in my hand.   

I reunited that divided state,  
And managed matters with a good success,  
Which farther kindled had been quenched too late,  
That Hydra-headed tumult to suppress.   

When I had both these glorious works effected,  
And trod the path of sovereignty a space,  
The minion of the people most respected,  
None could be great save such as I would grace.   

Thus carried with the force of Fortune's stream,  
I absolutely acted what I would,  
For the Democraty was but a name,  
My hand the rains did of the City hold.   

I might a Tyrant still have governed so  
But my pure soul could no such thought conceive,  
And that oversight yet made me never woe,  
If I may rule myself it's all I crave.   

Yet some that seemed to be more subtle-witted,  
Said my base sprite could not aspire t'a crown,  
And foolish Solon had a fault committed,  
Who would not do the like in every town.   

My mind in this a more contentment finds,  
Then if a Diadem adorned my brow,  
I chained th'affections of undaunted minds,  
And made them civil that were wild till now.   

I hardly could rich Citizens entice,  
T'embrace the statutes that my Laws contained,  
What one approved another did despise,  
Some loved, some loathed, e'en as they thought they gained.   

At last at least in show, all rest content,  
e'en those that hate me most lend their applause,  
A worthy mind needs never to repent  
T'have suffered crosses for an honest cause.   

I travel now with a contented thought,  
The memory of this my fancy feeds,  
When all their Empires shall be turned to nought,  
Time cannot make a prey of virtues deeds.   

Where seven-mouthed Nile from a concealed source  
Inunding o'er the fields, no banks can bind,  
I saw their wonders, heard their wise discourse,  
Rare sights enriched mine eyes, rare lights my mind.   

And if it were but this, yet this delights,  
Behold, how Croesus here the Lydian King,  
To be his guest us earnestly invites,  
The which to some would great contentment bring.   

But I disdain that world-bewitched man,  
Who makes his gold his God, the earth his heaven,  
Yet I will try by all the means I can  
To make his judgement with his fortune eauen.   

CHORUS.  

What can confine man's wandering thought,  
Or satisfy his fancies all?  
Is aught so great, but it seems small  
To that tossed spirit, which still of flought  
Doth dream of things were never wrought,  
And would gripe more than it can hold:  
This sea-environed centered ball  
Is not a bound unto that mind,  
That mind, which big with monsters,  
The right delivery never consters,  
And seeking here a solid ease to find,  
Would but melt mountains and embrace the wind.   

What wonder, though the soul of man,  
A spark of heaven, that shines below,  
Doth labour by all means it can,  
itself like to itself to show,  
This heavenly essence, heaven would know,  
But married with this mass we see,  
With pain they spend lives little span,  
The better part would be above,  
The earth from th'earth cannot remove,  
How can two contraires well agree?  
Thus as the best or worst part doth prevail,  
Man is of much, or else of no avail.   

O from what source can this proceed,  
T'have humours of so many kinds,  
Each brain doth divers fancies breed,  
all's many men, als many minds,  
And in the world, a man scarce finds  
Another of his humour right,  
There are not two so like indeed,  
If we remark their several graces  
And lineaments of both their faces,  
That can abide the proof of sight:  
If the outward forms then differ as they do,  
Of force th'affections must be different to.   

Ah! Passions spoil our better part,  
The Soul is vexed with their dissensions;  
We make a God of our own heart,  
And worship all our vain inventions.  
This brain-bred mist of apprehensions  
The mind doth with confusion fill,  
Whilst reason in exile doth smart;  
And few are free from this infection,  
For all are slaves to some affection,  
Which doth extorse the senses still.  
These partial tyrants rage the sight ouersyles,  
And doth eclipse the clearest judgement whiles.   

A thousand times o happy he,  
Who doth his passions so subdue,  
That he may with clear reason's eye,  
Their imperfections fountains view,  
And as it were himself renew.  
If that one might prescribe them laws,  
And set his soul from bondage free,  
From reason never for to swerver,  
And make his passions him to serve,  
And be but moved as he had cause:  
O greater were that monarch of the mind,  
Then if he might command from Thule to Ind.     

Act. II.  

Scen. I.  CROESUS. Aesop. SOLON. Croe. 

WHo ever was so favoured by the Fates,  
As could like us of full contentment boast,  
Loved of mine own, and feared of foreign states,  
I know not what it is for to be crossed.   

No thwarting chance my good hap doth importune,  
In all attempts my success hath been such,  
The darling of heaven, the minion of fortune,  
I wot not what to wish I have so much.   

Mine eyes did never yet dismay my heart  
With no delightless object that they saw,  
My name applauded is in every part  
My word an Oracle, my will a Law.   

My breast cannot contain this flood of joys  
That with a mighty stream o'erflows my mind,  
Which never dreamed of sorrow or annoys,  
But did in all a satisfaction find.   

My Soul then be content and take thy pleasure.  
And be not vexed with fear of any ill,  
My bliss abounds, I cannot count my treasure,  
And gold that conquers all, doth what I will.   Aesop. 

That Grecian (Sir) is at the Court arrived,  
Whose wisdom, Fame so prodigally praises.   Craes. 

And have you not t'extend my greatness strived,  
And entertained his ears with courteous phrases.   Aesop. 

I think in all the parts where he hath been,  
In foreign Countries or his native home,  
He never hath such stately wonders seen,  
As since unto this princely Court he come.   

When first he in the regal Palace entered,  
As one, who borne amongst the craggy Mountains,  
That never for to view the plains adventured,  
Acquainted but with dew and little Fountains:   

If he be forced for to frequent the veils,  
And there the wanton water-Nimphs to see,  
The rareness of the sight so far prevails,  
Each strip appears a flood, each flood a Sea.   

So all that he re-encountered by the way,  
Did to his mind a great amazement bring,  
The gold-embroidred Gallants made him stay,  
Each groom appeared a Prince, each squire a King.   

And now he comes t'attain your grace's sight,  
Whom in his mind, no doubt he doth adore,  
He gazed on those, who held of you their light,  
Of force he must admire yourself far more.   

Now he will set your happy Empire forth,  
And be eye-witness of your glorious Reign,  
One wise man's testimony is more worth  
Than what a world of others would maintain.   Sol. 

Disdain not (mighty Prince) the loving zeal,  
Which a mean man, yet a good mind affords,  
And who perchance as much affects your weal,  
As those that paint their love with fairer words.   Croes. 

Thy love (sage Greek) is grateful unto us,  
Whom Fame long since enamoured of thy deeds,  
We of thy virtues have heard her discuss,  
Who in extolling of the same exceeds.   

I wish that many such should here resort,  
Whose unstained life would teach us what were best;  
Whose grave aspect would grace so great a Court,  
And like clear Lamps give light unto the rest.   Sol. 

My Sovereign spare, I merit no such praise,  
I am but one that doth the world despise,  
And would my thoughts to some perfection raise,  
A Wisdom-lover that would feign be wise.   

Yet with great toil all that I can attain  
By long experience, and in learned schools,  
Is for to know my knowledge is but vain,  
And those that think them wise are greatest fools.   Croes. 

This is the nature of a worthy mind,  
It rather would be good then be so thought,  
As if it had no aim but Fame to find,  
Such as the shadow not the substance sought.   

Yet that pursues thee too which thou so fliest,  
Still troops applaud thy worth though thou not spy them,  
Whilst thou wouldst press it down, it mounts up highest;  
For Fame and Honour follow those that fly them.   

And now I think in all the world none lives,  
That better may unfold what I would learn,  
Than thou to whom frank Nature largely gives  
The grace to see, the judgement to discern.   Sol. 

I'll answer freely to what you propose,  
If my small skill can comprehend the sense.   Croes. 

Lo, you have seen in what I most repose  
My treasures huge, my great magnificence.   Sol. 

This is the dream of bliss that Fortune brings,  
On which the wisest never have presumed  
I saw nought but a heap of senseless things,  
A momentary treasure soon consumed.   

This only serves the body to decore,  
And for corruption framed cannot persever:  
The mind immortal lays up better store  
Of unconsuming joys that last for ever.   Croes. 

I wot not what you mean by such surmises,  
And feigned ideas of imagined bliss,  
This portrait of Fancy but entices  
Sick brains to dream that which indeed they miss.   

But I brook more than their conceits can show,  
Whose rich conjectures breed but poor effects:  
And I beseek you, did you ever know  
A man more blessed than I in all respects?   Sol. 

Yes, I knew Tellus an Athenian borne,  
Whom I hold happy in the first degree:  
Who e'en the harvest of Happiness hath shorn,  
He lived with fame, and did with honour die.   

For having long time lived, loved and respected,  
His country in a conflict had the worst:  
He come, and there fallen courage re-erected,  
And having won the field did die unforced.   

More happy now nor when he was alive;  
He dead, doth reap the guerdon of his merit,  
And in his children doth again revive,  
Who all their fathers worthy parts inherit.   Croes. 

Well, since that to a private Citizen  
You do ascribe the first most blessed estate.  
Now in the second rank of happy men  
Whom would you number in your own conceit?   Sol. 

o Cleobis and Biton! now I may  
No doubt prefer you next, without reproach,  
Their mother chanced on a festival day  
To want two horses, for to draw her coach.   

Them to supply the place, Love kindly raised,  
Who drew her to that place of public mirth,  
And both of them exceedingly were praised,  
They for their piety, she for her birth.   

This charitable office being ended,  
Both in the Church were found dead the next morrow,  
I think the gods who this good work commended,  
Were loath to let them taste of farther sorrow.   

For why? our lives are frail, do what we can,  
And like the brittle glass, are but a glance,  
And oft the heavens t'abate the height of man,  
Do enter our our sweets with some sad chance.   Croes. 

Then from this Category am I secluded,  
And is my state so vile unto thine eyes,  
That as one of all happiness denuded,  
Thou thus dost my felicity despise?   

Or think'st thou me of judgement too remiss,  
A miser that in misery remains,  
The bastard child of Fortune, barred from bliss,  
Whom heavens do hate, and all the world disdains?   

Are base companions then to be compared  
With one that may consume such in his wrath?  
Who, as I please, do punish and reward,  
Whose words, nay, even whose looks yield life or death.   Sol. 

Sir, be not thus commoved without all reason,  
Nor misconceive my meaning as you do,  
Those that speak freely, have no mind of treason,  
I cannot be your friend and flatter to.   

Unto us Grecians (Sir) the gods have granted  
A moderate measure of a humble wit,  
And in our Country there have never wanted  
Some whom the world for wise men did admit.   

And yet amongst us all, the greatest number  
Have here despaired of any perfect rest,  
Though some a while in Fortune's bosom slumber,  
And to world-blinded eyes seem to be blessed.   

Yet over all mortal states, change so prevails,  
We alterations daily do attend,  
And hold this for a ground that never fails,  
None should triumph in bliss before the end.   

I may compare our state to table-plays,  
Where by dumb judges matters are decided,  
Their many doubts, the earnest mind dismays,  
The dice must first cast well, then be well guided.   

So all our days in doubt what thing may chance us,  
Time runs away, the breath of man doth chase it,  
And when th'occasion comes for to advance us,  
Amongst a thousand one can scarce embrace it.   

When two by generous indignation moved,  
Would try by sword, whose glory, fame will smother,  
Whilst valour blindly by th'event is proved,  
And th'ones overthrow can only grace the other.   

O what a fool his judgement will commit  
To crown the one with undeserved applauses,  
Where fortune is for to give sentence yet,  
While bloody agents plead such doubtful causes.   

This world, it is the field, where each man ventures,  
And armed with reason, resolutely goes,  
To fight against a thousand misadventures,  
Both with external and internal foes.   

And how can he the victor's title gain,  
That yet is busied with a doubtful fight,  
Or he be happy that doth still remain  
In Fortune's danger for a small delight.   

Th'abortive course of man away fast wears,  
Course that consists of hours, hours of a day,  
Day that give's place tonight, night full of fears,  
Thus all things alter, still all things decay.   

Who flourish now in peace, may fall in strife,  
And have their fame with infamy suppressed;  
The evening shows the day, the death the life;  
And many are fortunate, but few are blessed.   Croes. 

I see this Grecian of a simple spirit,  
The which is capable of no great things,  
Men but advance him far above his merit,  
He can not comprehend the States of Kings.   

Fame did so largely of his worth report,  
It made me long to have him in my house,  
But all my expectations are come short,  
I think a Mountain hath brought forth a mouse.   Exit Croesus.  

Act. II. Scen. II.  SOLON. Aesop. Sol. 

THis king hath put his trust in trustless treasures,  
Cloyed with th'abundance of all worldy bliss,  
And like a hooded hawk gorged with vain pleasures  
At random flies, and wots not where he is.   

O how this makes me wonderfully sorry,  
To see him keep this lifeless wealth so straightly,  
Whilst witless worldlings wonder at his glory,  
Which I not envy, no, but pity greatly!   

Thus worms of th'earth, whose worst part doth prevail,  
Love melting things, whose show the body fits,  
Where Souls of clearer sight do never fail  
To thesaurize the gifts of gallant wits.   

Those worldly things do in this world decay,  
Or at the least we leave them with our breath,  
Whereas the other makes us live for aye,  
So differ they as far as life and death.   Aesop. 

And yet what wonder though that he be thus,  
Whose knowledge clouded is with prosperous winds,  
Though this indeed seem somewhat strange to us,  
Who have with learning purified our minds.   

Was he not borne heir of a mighty State?  
And used with Fortune's smiles, not feared for frowns,  
Doth measure all things by his own conceit,  
Th'infirmity that fatal is to Crowns:   

He hath been from his infancy addicted  
To all the pompous shows wealth could devise,  
And still entreated, never contradicted,  
Now doth all liberty of speech despise.   

Though I durst not so to his fight appear,  
Whose corrupt judgement was from reason swerving,  
I grieved to see your entertainment here  
So far inferior to your own deserving.   

That divine Wisdom which the world admires,  
And ravished with delight amazed hears,  
Because it answered not his vain desires,  
Did seem unsavoury to distempered ears:   

Ears that are ever stopped to all discourses  
Save such as enter fraughted with his praises,  
He can love none but them that love his courses,  
And thinks all fools that use not flattering phrases.   

This wracks the great, and makes the heavens despite them;  
Let virtue spread forth all her heavenly powers,  
If not in their own livery to delight them,  
They will not deign her audience a few hours.   Sol. 

I care not Aesop how the King conceited  
Of my frank speeches, which I ever use,  
I came not here, till I was first entreated,  
Nor being come, will I my name abuse:   

Should I his poisonous Sycophants resemble,  
A hateful thing to honest men that know it,  
I would not for his Diadem dissemble,  
What the heart thinks, the tongue was made to show it.   

And what, if his vain humour to have cherished,  
I had my speeches for the purpose painted,  
I had but gotten gifts that would have perished,  
But nothing could have cleared my fame once tainted.   

If I had shown myself toward him officious,  
It would in end have but procured my shame:  
To have our virtue praised by one that's vicious,  
This in effect is but a secret blame.   

He thinks him simple, who his anger raises,  
But better simply good, then doubly ill;  
I never value my worth by others' praises,  
Nor by opinions do direct my will.   

And it contents me more to be applauded  
By one of judgement (though of mean degree)  
Then by a Prince of princely parts defrauded,  
Who hath more wealth, but not more wit than he.   Aesop. 
Who come to Court, must with king's faults comport.  Sol. 
Who come to Court, should truth to king's report.  Aesop. 
A wise man at their imperfections winks.  Sol. 
An honest man will tell them what he thinks.  Aesop. 
So should you lose yourself, and them not win.  Sol. 
But I would bear no burden of their sin.  Aesop. 
By this you should their indignation find.  Sol. 
Yet have the warrant of a worthy mind.  Aesop. 
It would be long, ere you were thus preferred.  Aesop. 
Then it should be the King not I that erred.  Aesop. 
They guerdon as they love, they love by guess.  Aesop. 
They guerdon as they love, they love by guess.  Sol. 
Yet when I merit well, I care the less.  Aesop. 
It's good to be still by the Prince approved.  Sol. 
It's better to be upright, though not loved.  Aesop. 
But by this mean, all hope of Honour fails.  Aesop. 
Yet honesty in end ever prevails.  Aesop. 

I think they should excel as oft they do  
All men in wit, that unto men give laws:  
Kings are the Centre of the Kingdom, to  
The which each weighty thing by nature draws:   

For as the mighty Rivers, little streams,  
And all the liquid powers that rise or fall,  
Do seek in sundry parts by several seams  
To the main Ocean that receives them all.   

Who as he were but steward of those waters  
returns them back by many secret veins,  
And as the earth hath need of moisture, scatters  
His humid treasures to refresh the plains.   

So are Kings breasts the depth where daily flows  
Clear streams of knowledge with rare treasures charged,  
And thus continually their wisdom grows  
By many helps that others want enlarged.   

For those that have intelligence over all,  
Do commonly communicate to Kings  
All th'accidents of weight that chance to fall,  
Their greatness to them this advantage brings.   

They being jealous find out many drifts,  
And by a long experience learn to scance them,  
Than those whom Art or Nature lends great gifts,  
All come to Kings as who may best advance them.   

No doubt, those Powers who put them in their places  
To make their qualities with their charge even,  
Do dote them with some supernatural graces,  
Vice-gods on th'earth, great Lieutenants of heaven.   Sol. 

As you have shown, Kings have a good occasion  
Whereby t'attain unto the height of wit.  
Which whoso do embrace by good persuasion,  
Are surely worthy on a Throne to sit.   

But ah! those Rivers are not ever pure  
The which through tainted channels whiles conveyed,  
Vile flatteries poison rendered hath impure.  
Thus are Kings hearts oft by their ears betrayed.   

For impudent effronted persons dare  
Court with vain words and detestable lies,  
Whilst purer spirited men must stand afar,  
The light is loathsome to diseased eyes.   

But this doth ravish oft my soul with wonder,  
Some that are wise, with flattery can comport,  
And though of all men best men's parts they ponder,  
Yet ever entertain the baddest sort.   

Is't that such men as those cannot control them,  
Nor never cross their appetite in aught,  
But for each purpose that they speak extol them,  
Where better wits would argue as they thought,   

Or as they would have none for to resist them,  
So for th'advancement of the worthiest sorry,  
They will have none that may seem to assist them,  
Lest any challenge interest in their glory.   

This self-conceit is a most dangerous shelf,  
Where many have made shipwreck unawares:  
He that doth trust too much unto himself,  
Can never fail to fall in many snares.  
Of all that live, great Monarchs have most need  
To balance all their actions, and their words,  
And with advise in all things to proceed:  
A faithful Counsel oft great good affords.   

Lo, how th'inferior Spheres their courses bend  
There, whither the first Mover doth them drive:  
The Commons customs on the Prince depend,  
His manners are the rules by which they live.   

No man is only for himself brought forth,  
And Kings for th'use of many are ordained,  
They should like Suns, clear Kingdoms with their worth,  
Whose life a pattern must be kept unstained.   

Those that are virtuous have an ample field  
T'express their wisdom and t'extend their merit,  
Where mean men must to their misfortune yield,  
Whilst lack of power doth burst a gallant spirit.   

As precious Stones are th'ornaments of rings,  
The Stone decores the ring, the ring the hand:  
So Countries are conform unto their Kings,  
The King decores the Court, the Court the Land.   

And as a drop of poison spent alone,  
Th'infected fountain doth with venom fill,  
So mighty States may be o'erthrown by one;  
A vicious Prince is a contagious ill.   Aesop. 

This is an easy thing, for us to spy  
And paint in th'air the shadows of our minds,  
And t'apprehend with th'intellectual eye;  
A blessing that no worldly Kingdom finds.   Sol. 

I grant imaginary grounds of ours  
Will never move a world-bewitched Prince,  
To disenchant himself, and spend some hours  
His own designs of folly to convince.   

Ere Croesus can refrain from this his fury,  
He must forsake himself, and be renewed,  
And in the Lethe of oblivion bury  
The vanities that have his soul subdued.   

He first must his prerogatives all smother,  
And be a man, a man to be controlled,  
Than all his faults as they were in another  
Like an unpartial Arbiter behold.   

Could he cast off this vail of fond self-love,  
Through which all things not as they are he spies,  
He would those wicked Parasites remove,  
Vile instruments of shame that live by lies.   

And th'only means to force them to depart,  
That he might judge more freely of his state,  
Were to cast out the Idol of his heart  
Which puffs him up with a pride-swollen conceit.   

For foreign flatterers could not find access,  
Were't not overvaluing his own worth too much,  
He flattered first himself and thinks no less  
But all their praises ought for to be such.   

And when these hireling Sycophants have found  
A Prince whose judgement self-conceit disarms,  
They breach his weakest part, and bring to ground  
The greatness of his State with flatteries charms.   

Then bearing over his Passions once the sway,  
lest by the better sort he be advised,  
To wholesome counsel they close up the way,  
And use all means t'have honest men despised.   Aesop. 

If you at Court to credit would arise,  
You must not seek by truth t'acquire renown,  
But learn t'applaud whiles what you most despise,  
And smile in show, whilst in effect you frown.   Sol. 

From Court in time I will myself retire,  
I find my humour is not fit for Court.  
I'm none of those whom Croesus doth desire,  
I can not alway of his worth report.   

O that he cannot see light Fortune flout him  
While as he glories in this outward show,  
Hedged in with greedy Harpies round about him,  
That gape t'enrich themselves with his overthrow.   Exeunt 

Chorus.  

OF all the creatures below  
We must call Man most miserable,  
Who all his time is never able  
T'attain unto a true repose,  
His very birth may well disclose  
What miseries his bliss overthrow,  
For being borne he can not know  
Who to his state is friend or fo.  
Nor how at first for to stand stable,  
But even with cries and tears doth show  
What dangers do his life enclose,  
Whose griefs are sure, whose joys a fable?  
Thus still his days in dolour so  
He to all perils must expose,  
And with vexation lives, and dies with woe,  
Not knowing whence he come nor where to go.   

While as he brooks this lowest place,  
O how uncertain is his state,  
Which governed by a secret fate  
Is subject to inconstancy,  
And ever changing as we see  
Is still in toil, never in peace.  
For if man prosper but a space,  
With each good success too too bold,  
And puffed up in his own conceit,  
He but abuses Fortune's grace:  
And when that with adversity  
His pleasures come to end their date,  
And with disasters are controlled,  
Straight he begins for grief to die:  
And still the top of some extreme doth hold,  
Not suffering summer's heat, nor winters cold.   

His state doth in most danger stand  
That most abounds in worldly things,  
And soars too high with Fortune's wings,  
Which carry up aspiring minds  
For to be beaten with all winds,  
The course of such being rightly scanned,  
Whilst men can not themselves command  
Transported with a powerless name,  
Oft unexpected ruin brings.  
W' have seen examples in this land,  
How worldly bliss the senses blinds,  
And on a reed unsurely hangs,  
He that presumes upon the same  
Hid poison in his pleasure finds,  
And sailing rashly with the winds of fame,  
Doth oft times sink into a sea of shame.   

It's to be feared our King at last  
Whilst he for nothing is afraid,  
Be by prosperity betrayed,  
For growing thus in greatness still,  
And having worldly things at will,  
He thinks though Time should all things waste,  
Yet his estate shall ever last,  
The wonder of th'inferior round,  
And in his own conceit hath said,  
No course of heaven his state can cast,  
Nor make his success to be ill;  
If Fortune once those thoughts t'upbraid  
Will have our King to be uncrowned,  
She may that mind with horror fill,  
And in an instant utterly confound  
The state, that stands upon so slippery ground,  
When such a monarch's mind is bent  
To follow most the most unwise,  
Who can their folly disguise  
With sugared speeches poisonous baits,  
The secret canker of great states,  
From which at first few disassent,  
The which at last all do repent,  
While as repenting lust must go,  
When Kings begin for to despise  
Of honest men the good intent,  
Who to assure their sovereign's seats,  
Would feign in time some help devise,  
And would cut off all cause of woe,  
Yet can not second their conceits,  
These dreadful Comets commonly forego  
The king's destruction that's miscarried so.      

Act. III.  

Scen. I.  CROESUS. ADRASTUS. Croes. 

WHat uncouth fancies do affright my soul,  
And have captived it to a thousand fears?  
Strange cares suggesting grief my joys control,  
My mind some coming evil charactered bears,  
And credulous suspicion too too wise,  
To fortify my fears doth means invent,  
Whilst sudden terrors do my sprite surprise,  
An ominous presage of some bad event.   

I think the soul come of immortal brood  
As being partner of a divine power  
Hath a foreknowledge both of evil and good,  
Although she can not fly a fatal hour.   

Though with this mortal vail being made half blind,  
She can not soar outright with her own wings,  
Yet she communicates unto the mind  
In cloudy dreams and mysteries strange things.   

Th'imagination wonderful in force  
Of foils the judgement with confusion so,  
That presupposing all things to be worse  
Than they fall forth, we double our own woe.   

For as the shadow seems more monstrous still  
Then doth the substance whence it hath the being,  
So th'apprehension of approaching ill  
Seems greater than itself, whilst fears are lying.   

This alteration too seems more than strange,  
Which at an instant hath overwhelmed my senses,  
I see (more than I thought) all states may change,  
Against the heaven th'earth can find no defences.   

My soul her wonted pleasure else is loathing,  
This hath indeed so deep impression left,  
A dream, a fantasy, a shadow, nothing  
Hath all my mirth even in a moment reft.   Adras. 

Whence (mighty Sovereign) can this change proceed,  
That doth obscure the rays of princely grace,  
Those that are schooled in woe may clearly read,  
A mighty passion written in your face.   

And if a stranger may presume so far,  
I would the copy of your passions borrow,  
I else conjecture in what state you are,  
Taught by a secret sympathy in sorrow.   

Two strings in divers Lutes set in accord,  
(Although th'one be but touched) together sound,  
Even so souls tuned to grief the like afford,  
And other with a mutual motion wound.   Croes. 

No doubt but it disburdens much the mind,  
A Secretary in distress to have,  
Who by his own another's grief can find,  
Where glad minds scorn what they can not conceive.   

And I (Adrastus) would the cause declare  
With which I so torment myself in vain,  
O but I blush t'unfold my foolish care,  
It's but th'illusion of a drowsy brain.   Adras. 

According to the Body's constitution,  
The soul by night with fancies is afflicted,  
Or by these thoughts continual revolution,  
To which by day the mind is most addicted.   Craes. 

Now whilst the Sun did peep through Thetis bower,  
And on the beauties of Aurora gazed,  
Out of my body spoiled of moving power,  
All faculties of life dull sleep had razed,   

While as the sprite more powerful than ever  
Since lest impeached with this earthly part  
The verity from lies could best dissever  
Hid mysteries unclouding to the heart.   

I only have two sons, and th'one you see  
The sign of Nature's indignation bears,  
And from his birth day dumb is dead to me,  
Since he can power no pleasure in my ears.   

The other Atis all my life's delight,  
In whom the treasures of my soul are kept,  
I thought (vain be my thought) in the twilight  
I wot not whether yet I walked or slept.   

Whilst he was sporting void of worldly cares,  
Not in a list's belonging to his merits,  
A pointed tool of iron fell unawares,  
And pierced his temples, and expelled his spirits.   

Whilst the pale carcase seemed t'upbraid mine eyes,  
The horror of the sight my sense recalled,  
Which when I think of, yet my comfort dies,  
Such an exceeding fear my spirit apaid.   

This hath me moved, it touched my state so nearly,  
To match my son in marriage at this time  
With beauteous Caelia whom he loved most dear,  
That both might reap the pleasure of their prime.   

And if the heavens his o'erthrow have decreed  
By destiny that can not be revoked,  
So shall we have behind some of his seed,  
Ere in his blossom all our hopes be choked.   

Thus ere his soul lodge in the sightless shade,  
T'have of his race 'twill mitigate my mind,  
I can not hold him altogether dead,  
That leaves his Image in some one behind.   

And for the time we do all that seems best  
For to prevent those but surmised annoys,  
Yet for all this my mind hath never rest,  
Some secret terror still disturbs my joys.   Adras. 

Ah Sir! if but th'imagined evil of this  
Hath plunged your soul in such a gulf of grief,  
Unhappy I who wail a thing that is,  
And have not means to hope for no relief.   

If all these dreadful fancies took effect  
(Which heavy chance th'almighty jove withhold)  
It could not be compared in no respect  
With those misfortunes that my state enfold.   

For when your son fell by another's hand,  
You should but wail his death, and not your crime,  
The heavens of me my brother's blood demand,  
His fate, my fault, mourn must I all my time.   Croes. 

In what strange form could this disaster fall,  
That is th'occasion of so great distress,  
Tell on at length th'original of all,  
To hear of greater grief 'twill make mine less.   Adras. 

I have concealed my sorrows still till now,  
As too offensive food for dainty ears,  
Yet since of such a subject you allow,  
I'll tell a tale that may move stones to tears.   

My Father of the Phrygian Princes come,  
Had in my growing age a tender care,  
That all my education might become  
One whom he might for mighty hopes prepare:   

As yet four lustres scarcely had begun  
For to discern my sex with downy cheeks,  
When I into that Labyrinth was run,  
Whence back in vain the straying entrer sheekes.   

I loved, O fatal love! unlovely fate,  
The virtuously fair, yet fairest Dame  
That ever was enshrined in soul's conceit,  
Or gave a ditty to the sounds of fame.   

Straight were my fancies to her beauties tied,  
None can paint passions but in feeling minds,  
I burnt, freezed, hoped, despaired, and lived, and died,  
My actions changed as oft as th' Autumns winds.   

Yet after many doubtful hopes and fears  
That I attained the height of my desires,  
She had subscribed a truce unto my tears,  
And tempered with encountering flames my fires.   

For as she was the most affected Saint,  
Whose image was erected in my thought,  
She had compassion too of my complaint,  
And to acquit my firm affection sought.   

Thus whilst I triumphed in mine own conceit,  
As one whose love his Lady did prefer,  
I was corrivaled (O unhappy fate!)  
By one who loved, but was not loved by her.   

He looking as I looked, saw what I saw,  
Saw Nature's wonder, and the world's delight:  
And as a blind god blind guide did him draw  
Still like a lizard lived but by her sight.   

Then straight he strives the jewel for to won,  
Whose unstained worth he rates above his breath,  
He hates the light that comes not from my Sun,  
And thinks to live without her worse than death.   

And this affection favoured was by Fortune  
Which seemed to ratify his high reared hopes,  
The Nymph her parents daily did importune,  
For to confine his flying fancies scopes.   

Now judge if that my miseries were rife,  
Who threatened thus with eminent mishap,  
Was like to lose a dearer thing than life,  
Whilst others strived my treasure to entrap.   

The man that sought my joys to undermine,  
I could not wish for this t'have him overthrown,  
Nor blame the sprite that sympathised with mine,  
I envied not his hap, but wailed mine own.   

Now in my breast a battle did begin,  
Which forced my soul with inward wounds to bleed,  
Some fancies feared to what his love might win,  
And possibility for to come speed.   

Then others called her constancy to mind,  
Which would not yield although she were invaded,  
Yet forced to fear the frailty of her kind.  
A woman that hath ears may be persuaded.   

Thus tossed with doubts into a deep of woe,  
Which with suspicion had my joys supplanted,  
I blamed the thoughts that durst accuse her so,  
As virtues pattern had one virtue wanted.   

As I concluded, so it come to pass,  
Th'affliction served for fuel to affection,  
For she who th'ornament of women was,  
Would never wrong her worth with a defection.   

When in my absence they had oft assayed  
To have me from her memory removed,  
The Sun burns hottest when his beams are stayed,  
The more that they would let, the more she loved.   

And finding that delay no end affords,  
And that fair generals are th'abusers Art,  
She did repel him with disdainful words  
To raze all thought of her out of his heart.   

Love is a joy that upon pain depends,  
A drop of sweet drowned in a sea of sours,  
What Folly doth begin, oft Fury ends,  
They hate for ever, that have loved for hours.   

When all his arguments proved of no force,  
straight with disdain his soul in secret burned,  
And what he thought was evil, to make far worse,  
He unto furor all his favour turned.   

As he extremely loved, far more he hated,  
And mused of many means how to annoy her,  
Which was the best a long time he debated,  
To see her dead, or to see me enjoy her.   

What? saith he when he first had mused a space,  
So hard it is to quench a great affection:  
Shall I disfigure that angelic face,  
And make the world eclipsed of all perfection?   

Shall she by me be to confusion brought,  
To whom I vows and prayers did impart,  
To whom I sacrificed my secret thought,  
And on her beauty's altar burned my heart?   

Or shall I see her in another's power,  
And in his bosom lie t'upbraid my loss,  
Whilst both with scornful smiles then death more sour,  
To point me out for sport report my cross?   

That sight which sometime did me sweetly charm,  
Should it become a cause of grief to me?  
No, none that lives, shall glory in my harm,  
Since she will not be mine, she shall not be.   

Th'unloving Lover having vowed her death,  
Did with a cup of poison drown my joys.  
The fairest body from the sweetest breath  
Was parted thus, (O Ocean of annoys!)   

That Monster Fame, whose many mouths and ears  
Must know, but not conceal a rare thing long,  
And prodigal of ill, most chiefly bears  
The worst news first, informed me of this wrong.   

For neighbouring near the most unhappy part  
That had been spoiled of such a beauteous guest,  
No sooner had death seized on the chaste heart  
Then sorrow on my ears to rob my rest.   

How the sad news first sounded in my soul,  
I will not weary you with long laments,  
Rage did the outward signs of grief control;  
When great winds blow the fire, the smoke worst vents.   

Whilst generous disdain disguised my grief,  
(As one transported with a mighty rage)  
I ran unto the Theater of mischief,  
A tragic Actor for a bloody stage.   

For I was come no sooner to the place  
Whereas I thought the Murderer to have found,  
But I re-encountered (O unhappy case)  
Too dear a friend to catch an enemy's wound.   

Ah passions! dimmed mine eyes, wrath led my hand,  
I was no more myself, sorrow had killed me,  
The first ('twas night) that did before me stand,  
I fiercely did pursue, as Furor willed me.   

And as it chanced, ere one could speak a word,  
I filled his bosom with a luke warm flood,  
And in his kind breast drowned the cruel sword,  
That in another's body drank my blood.   

whenas a Torch had partly robbed the night,  
Proud of supposed revenge (ah bitter gain)  
I saw, I knew, black knowledge, cruel sight,  
'twas mine own brother that myself had slain.   

O bitter loss that nothing can repair!  
My soul at once with all woes army wounded,  
Grief, rage, spite, shame, amazement and despair,  
Galled, tossed, burnt, dashed, astonished, and confounded.   

The thought of my offence torments me most,  
Yet am I whiles by my loves verdict cleansed,  
And whiles my brother's violated ghost  
By dreadful dreams doth boast to be revenged.   Croes. 

Now whilst this great disaster did occur,  
What came of him who was the cause of all?   Adra. 

He having heard this lamentable stir,  
Whom self-accusing thoughts did guilty call,   

straight strucken with a wonderful remorse,  
I wot not whether fear or pity moved him,  
If not t'o'erlive her death, or dreading worse,  
He killed himself, his conscience so disproved him.   Croes. 

I grant the manner of so rare mischances  
Would force compassion from your greatest foe,  
Where all the grief-begetting circumstances  
Do join to make a harmony in woe.   

But natural love doth at ourself begin,  
It moves far more to feel than hear mishaps,  
The perturbation that my sprite is in,  
Me in a maze of miscontentments wraps.   

We should such past misfortunes pretermit,  
At least no more immoderately lament them,  
And as for those which are but coming yet,  
Use ordinary means for to prevent them.   Adrast. 

No wonder Sir, although you take great care,  
Lest all your hopes in Atis person perish.   Croes. 

I will by all the means I may, prepare  
To save his youth, that he my age may cherish.   

If it be possible for mortal states  
To strive against the Stars and be more strong,  
I'll unarm Fortune, and resist the fates,  
By barring both all means to do me wrong.   

I have commanded under pain of death,  
That no such weapon be within my walls,  
As I supposed should have abridged his breath,  
T'eschew such sudden evil as rashly falls.   

He shall go rarely to the fields, and then  
With chosen bands be guarded all the time:  
Lo where he communes with some countrymen,  
We will go try what they would have of him.    

Act. III. Scen. II.  CHORUS of countrymen. CROESUS. ATIS. ADRASTUS. CAELIA. 

Lend (Sir) a willing ear to humble words,  
Let not our baseness bar us from your grace,  
Which still itself alike to all affords  
Who bless their sight with that majestic face.   

My Sovereign all his subjects well remembers,  
As vile as our estate is thought of now  
You are our head, and we are of your members,  
And you must care for us, we care for you.   

Our poverty to us is no reproach,  
Which th'innocency of our mind adorns,  
We never on our neighbours' bounds encroach,  
But by our labours live midst many thorns.   

And ever busied for the country's good,  
We have no time to muse of vain conceits,  
Yet earning with continual toil our food  
We entertain the pomp of prouder States.   

And (Sir) conceive not of our meaning ill,  
That thus dare speak so freely as we do,  
Whilst mediators do dilate our will  
They wrest it as they will, and wrack us too.   

To countenance such as us you need not shun,  
A great man too well graced may do more harm:  
And 'tis no stain unto the glorious Sun,  
Though oft his beams an abject object warm.   Croes. 

Be not discouraged by your base estate,  
Ye are my people, and I'll hear your plaint,  
A King must care for all, both small and great,  
And for to help th'afflicted never faint.   

The Sceptre such as these should chiefly shroud,  
Not cottages, but Castles spoil the Land,  
T'advance the humble and t'abate the proud;  
This is a Virtue that makes Kings to stand.   Cor. 

Sir, our estate some speedy help requires,  
In Misia near unto the famous Mountain  
Of great olympus that the World admires,  
There haunts a Boar by Diana's Fountain   

Of a big body, and a hideous form,  
His foamy jaw with tusks like javelins strikes,  
And all parts in deformity conform,  
His back hath bristles like to iron Pikes.   

This Monster of Nature, wonder of Men,  
The forests tyrant, and the country's terror,  
Tears all to death, and draws them to his Den,  
That chance into his way by fatal error.   

Whilst tender-hearted Mother's do bewail  
The gored infant's toiling in their blood,  
Th'abominable beast them doth assail,  
And in his bowels buries both for food.   

Then when we fly the field where he sojourns,  
To have his hunger or his rage allayed,  
He wastes the fruits, and ruins all the corns,  
Thus the poor husband's hopes are all betrayed.   

Ere this, of true Repose we were the types,  
And pastured on each plain our fleecy flocks,  
And made a consort of our warbling pipes,  
With moving crystals th'issue of the rocks.   

And sometime to refresh us after travel,  
With flowery garlands shielded from Sunbeams  
We gazed upon Pactolus golden gravel,  
Glassed, bathed, and quenched our thirst with his pure streams:   

Whilst we preferred, the River seemed amazed,  
Unto his golden bed, his grassy bank,  
And lay and looked whereas our cattle grazed,  
Without all envy of a greater rank.   

That to repress oppression you take care,  
This rest of ours is an effectual token,  
Your Laws like Spiders webs do not ensnare  
The feeble flies, and by the Bees are broken.   

For we by them are fenced from great men's pride,  
The Heavens perpetuate your prosperous reign,  
And suffer not this savage Boar t'abide,  
To turn that ease which men have spared to pain.   Croes. 

What would ye then, that should be done by me?  
For to repay your loss; repair this wrong.   Chorus. 

We crave none of your wealth, yet wish to see  
This Boar be-blood the staff of the most strong:   

Let valorous Atis worthily your son,  
Backed with the best of all the Lydian Youth,  
Go to the fields before the rising Sun  
Quench with the morning's tears his midday's drought,   

And we shall lead them crowned with laurel forth,  
Where in a circuit small, yet a large Theater  
For men to make a trial of their worth  
This Monster stays: th'earth never nursed a greater.   

So shall we both reap profit, and they pleasure,  
Which may be brought to pass without great obstacle,  
By making this waster of the world's treasure,  
Of a horrid sight, a delightful spectacle.   Croes. 

I may not spare my Son for a respect,  
Which is not needful now for to be known,  
But I'll send others for the same effect,  
That this pestiferous Beast may be o'erthrown.   

Th'ostentive gallants that our Grace attend,  
And wait th'occasion but t'advance their strength,  
Against the Boar shall all their forces bend,  
With hounds and darts still till he fall at length.   

I swear this Monster shall when he is dead,  
A memorable monument remain,  
To Diane's Church I'll consecrate his head,  
The Virgin-goddess darts no shaft in vain.   Atis. 

Ah wherein Father have I thus offended!  
Or what vile sign of a degenered mind  
Have you remarked in me that ever tended  
To the reproach of our Imperial kind?   

That of this praise you would give me no part,  
But bar me from a famous enterprise,  
As one unworthy for to wield a dart:  
Who still in vile repose inglorious lies,   

Lies like a wanton with vain thoughts bewitched,  
Who spoiled of force effeminately lives,  
A Peacock but with painted pens enriched,  
Yet poor in all the parts that Glory gives.   

What glory gives those glorious Styles to me  
Which by succession fall, not by desert,  
Should but my Fame with borrowed feathers flee;  
For come of Kings a kingdom is my part.   

Who only by his Birth advancement claims,  
Like a base bastard doth his birthright bloat,  
I will not beg my worth from dead men's names,  
Nor conquer Credit only by my Coat.   

What comforts this to brook th'imperial seat,  
And all the bliss that Majesty imparts?  
If those whom only we exceed in State,  
Be our Superiors in far better parts.   

More than a Crown true Worth is to be valued,  
Th'one Fortune's gift, and th'other our own merit,  
By which oft times th'afflicted Mind is salved,  
When Fortune takes what we by her inherit.   Croes. 

I see what brave Desires boil in thy Soul,  
And make thee with immortal wings to flee,  
This high-bent courage, nothing can control,  
All Lidia is not large enough for thee.   

Go, seek an Empire equal with thy mind,  
No common limits can confine thy thought;  
But while a full perfection thou wouldst find,  
I fear thy fall turn all our hopes to nought.   

And pardon me, (dear Son) it's a great Love  
That makes me watch so warily o'er thy ways,  
Th'affection of a Father what may move,  
Whom such an eminent danger not dismays?   

The Heavens of late advertised me by Dream,  
That some sad fortune did attend thy Youth,  
New Meteors and strange Stars through th'air still stream,  
Which are as Oracles of jove's own mouth.   

This was the cause that hastened Us so much  
To have thee bound to Hymen's hallowed Law,  
This was the cause that all our care was such,  
Out of our sight all weapons to withdraw.   

Scorn not th'amazing Comets that thou notes,  
The Stars to mortal States have terms prefixed,  
And think not only that my love but dotes,  
For if thou fall, my fate with thine is mixed.   Atis. 

Would God I had some means once ere my death  
To satisfy that infinite desert;  
Which I shall hold so long as I have breath,  
Deep registered with reverence in my heart.   

Yet (Sir) we see it is a natural thing  
For too excessive love t'engender fears,  
A sport like this can no great peril bring  
Where either all delights the eyes or th'ears.   

If from my former deeds I now should shrink,  
As void of virtue to soft pleasure thrall,  
Of your two Sons what might your subjects think,  
Th'one wanting but one sense, and th'other all.   

What fancies might my late spoused love possess,  
To see her husband hateful in their sights?  
And from the height of Honour to digress,  
To womanize with courtly vain delights:   

Though women love t'have men at their devotion,  
They hate base minds that hatch no noble motion.   Croes. 

Well, well, my Son, I see thou must prevail,  
Go follow forth the chase, use thine own will,  
Yet stay, or let my words thus much avail,  
Walk warily now t'eschew this threatened ill.   

Thy haughty sprite t'attempt all hazards bent,  
I fear transport thee to a fatal strife,  
(God grant I be deceived) yet take good tent,  
Thy over-frank courage may betray thy life.   

And (dear Adrastus,) I must let him know  
What benefits I have bestowed on thee,  
Not to upbraid thee, no, but for to show  
How I may trust thee best that's bound to me.   

When thou from Phrigia come defiled with blood,  
And a fraternal violated love:  
When in a most extreme estate thou stood,  
Chased from thy father's face, cursed from above.   

Thou found me friendly, and my Court thy rest,  
A Sanctuary sacred for thy safety,  
Where thou wast entertained as pleased thee best,  
I think those dangers scaped should make thee crafty.   

Yet though I graced thee erst, 'twas but a sign  
Of a heroic mind that helps the wretched:  
But in thy hands my soul I'll now consign,  
And give a proof of love not to be matched.   

Behold how Atis of our age the shield,  
Whose harm as you have heard I feared ere now,  
Is to go take his pastime in the field,  
And with his custody I'll credit you.   

I must my friend even fervently exhort,  
Wait on my son, remember of my dream,  
This dangerously delectable sport,  
Doth make me fear the grief exceed the game.   Adras. 

I never shall those courtesies neglect,  
It irks me not to think nor hear the same:  
For while this sprite these members doth direct,  
All shall concur to celebrate your fame.   

If 'twere your will I would not hence depart,  
Who all such motives unto mirth abhor,  
But with my passions here, retired apart,  
Would wail woe past and shun all cause of more.   

For if I strive t'abandon my annoys,  
I fear my fellowship infect with woe:  
Those that would recreate themselves with joys,  
Still strange mishaps attend me where I go.   

Yet since you will commit this charge to me,  
I'll use all means that you may not repent you,  
At lest all my defects faith shall supply,  
I covet nothing more than to content you.   Atis. 

Now for to see this monsters ugly shape,  
With an inflamed desire my thoughts do burn,  
And Father, be not feared for no mishap,  
I hope soon, and victorious to return.   Caelia. 

Return? and whither love? O deadly word!  
That doth import thy parting from my sight,  
I heard thee name, mishap, ah my dear Lord!  
Should such strict limits bound so large delight?   

O cruel resolution, unkind dealing,  
And canst thou condescend to leave me so?  
Or from my presence privily thus stealing,  
Thinkst thou to rob a portion of my woe?   

This might indeed to thee yield some relief,  
To have thy ears not wounded with my moan,  
But would wound me with a continual grief.  
To fear all things where I should fear but one.   

Desist in time from this intended strife,  
With which thy thoughts have unadvisedly entered,  
Remember I have interest in thy life,  
Which I consent not to be thus adventured.   

Hast thou not given a proof in thy green prime,  
That may content the most ambitious hopes,  
Whilst Atis was his own, O then 'twas time  
To follow fancies unconfined scopes.   

thyself then only camped in Fortune's bounds,  
Thou dost endanger Caelia likewise now,  
You sigh her breath, she suffers in your wounds:  
You live in her, and she must die in you.   Atis. 

Life of my soul, how do such broken speeches  
From confused passions thus abruptly rise?  
I know my love, thy love my mind o'erreaches,  
Affection schooled with fears is too too wise.   

I go o'erthwart the fields for sport to range,  
Thy sighs do but my soul with sorrow fill,  
And pardon (dear) I find this wondrous strange,  
Thou never did till now resist my will.   

If I trespass in aught against my duty,  
Which makes thee thus my faith for to mistrust,  
Mistrust not yet the chains of thine own beauty,  
Which bind all my desires and so they must.   

Are we not now made one such fears o'ercome,  
Though I would fly myself my self do fetter,  
And if that I would fly, from whom? to whom?  
I can love none so well, none loves me better.   

Have pity of those peerless (sweet eyes souls pleasures)  
Lest they presage what thou would not have done,  
The heavens had not given me those precious treasures  
Of such perfections to be spoiled so soon.   

Chorus.  

THose that domine above,  
High precedents of heaven,  
By whom all things do move  
As they have order given:  
What worldling can arise  
Against them to repine?  
Whilst castled in the skies  
With providence divine  
They force th'inferior round  
Their judgements to confess,  
And in their wrath confound  
Proud mortals that transgress  
The covenant they made  
With Nature in heavens stead.   

Base brood of earth, vain man,  
Why brag'st thou of thy might?  
The heavens thy courses scan,  
Thou walkst still in their sight,  
Ere thou wast borne, thy deeds  
Their registers dilate,  
And think that none exceeds  
The compass of his fate.  
What heavens would have thee to  
Though they thy ways abhor,  
That thou of force must do,  
And thou may do no more.  
This reason would fulfil,  
Their work should serve their will.   

Are we not heirs of death,  
In whom there is no trust,  
Who tossed with circling breath,  
Are but a dram of dust?  
Yet fools whenas we err  
And do th'heavens wrath contract,  
If they a while defer  
A just revenge t'exact,  
Pride in our bosom creeps,  
And misinforms us thus,  
That the Eternal sleeps,  
Or takes no care of us.  
No, th'eye of heaven beholds  
All what our heart enfolds.   

The gods digest no crime  
Though they continue long,  
And in th'offenders time  
Seem to neglect their wrong,  
Till others of their race  
Fill up the cup of wrath,  
Whom ruin and disgrace  
Long time attended hath,  
And Gyges' fault we fear  
To Croesus' charge be laid,  
Which love will not forbear  
Though it be long delayed:  
For o sometime the gods  
Must plague sin with sharp rods.   

And lo how Croesus still  
Tormented in his mind,  
Like a reed on a hill,  
Is shivering with each wind.  
Each step a terror brings,  
Dreams do by night afflict him,  
And by day many things,  
All his thoughts do convict him:  
He his star would control,  
This makes evil not the worst  
Whilst he wounds his own soul  
With th'apprehension first:  
Man may his fate foresee,  
But not shun heavens decree.      

Act. IIII.  

Scen. I.  ADRASTUS CROESUS. CHORUS. 

CAn heaven behold hands stained with blood ofttimes,  
And to the Stygian streams not headlongs hurled?  
Can th'earth support one burdened with such crimes,  
As may provoke the wrath of all the world?   

Why sends not jove t'have my cursed course confined,  
A death-denouncing flash of rumbling thunder,  
Or a tempestuous terror-breeding wind,  
With violence to tear me all asunder.   

What unknown corner from the world removed  
T'inhabit in th'horizon of despair  
Shall I go now possess and be approved  
By monsters like myself that hate repair.   

I'll go indeed whom all the world detests,  
Who have no interest in the fields of bliss,  
And barbarize among the barbarous beasts,  
Where tiger's rage, Toads spue, and Serpents hiss.   

Yet though both th'Arctic and Antarctic Pole  
I should overpass, and find th'unpeopled zones,  
A wilderness where nought were to control  
My damnable cruelties but trees and stones:   

Yet of my deeds which all the world do tell,  
All this could not deface th'infamous scroll,  
Within my breast I bear about my hell,  
And can not scape the horrors of my soul.   

Those fearful monsters of confused aspects,  
chimaera, Gorgon, Hydra, hellish apes,  
Which in the world wrought wonderful effects,  
And borrowed from th'infernal shades their shapes.   

Their devilish forms that did the world amaze,  
Not half so monstrous as myself I find,  
When on mine own deformities I gaze,  
In the black depth of a polluted mind.   

No, but my mind untainted still remains,  
My thoughts in this delict have had no part,  
Which accidentally this foul fact stains,  
My hands had no commission of my heart.   

Yet, whether it was fortune or my fate,  
Or some hell-hag that did direct my arm,  
I quailed the Lydians hopes abortive date,  
And am the instrument of all their harm.   

Then swelling mountains come and fall upon me,  
Your height may hide me from the wrath of heaven:  
But this needs not, my fault hath else undone me,  
No torment can with my offence be even.   

Ah of what desert shall I now make choice,  
T'avoid the countenance of an angry King?  
I know th'avenging sword of Croesus' voice,  
To wound my soul hosts of rebukes doth bring.   

No, th'object of distress I'll stand alone,  
A memorable monster of mishap,  
For though Pandora's plagues were poured in one,  
All were too few so vile a wretch t'entrap.   Chor. 

O how the King is moved with Atis death,  
His face th'impression of a passion bears  
With bended eyes, crossed arms, and quivering breath,  
His princely robe he desperately tears.   

Lo, with a silent pity-pleading look,  
Which shows with sorrow mixed a high disdain,  
He whilst his soul seems to dissolve in smoke,  
Whiles eyes the corpse whiles him by whom 'tis slain.   Croes. 

Thou ruthless Tyrant, ruin of my bliss,  
And didst thou so disguise thy devilish nature  
To recompense my courtesies with this?  
Ah cruel wretch, abominable creature.   

Thy Tigrish mind who could have well detected?  
In mortal breasts so great barbarity?  
What forward sprite could have such spite suspected?  
In hospitality hostility?   

Did I revive thee when thy hopes were dead,  
whenas thy life thy parents had not spared?  
And having heaped such favours on thy head,  
Is this? Is this?   Chor. 
he would say the reward.  Adrast. 

I grant what you allege, and more, is true,  
I have unto the height of hatred run,  
A blood-stained Wretch, not worthy for to view  
The rolling Circles, nor the rayie Sun.   

I'll never strive to cloak my foul abuses,  
So for to make my forfeit to seem less,  
And paint my fault with imperfect excuses,  
'tis greater far than words can well express.   

Nor go I thus to aggravate my crime,  
And damn myself to be absolved by others;  
No, no, such Rhetoric comes out of time,  
I'll not survive his death, as erst my brothers.   

Whose unkind fall if I had followed straight,  
As then indeed I died to all delight,  
I had not groaned charged with this inward weight,  
But slept with shadows in eternal night.   

Yet must I die at last, though late grown wise,  
This in my mind most discontentment breeds,  
A thousand torturing deaths cannot suffice  
To plague condignly for so heinous deeds.   

Come, cause him, who the Spriteless body buries,  
Upon the Tomb to sacrifice my blood,  
No fitter offering for th'infernal Furies  
Then one, in whom they reigned while as he stood.   

In whom they oft infused their devilish rage,  
And in my bosom all their Serpents nestled,  
So that this hellish horror to assuage,  
I all my days have with disasters wrestled.   Croes. 

I find Adrastus, when I deeply scaunce  
Th'effectual motives of this fatal cross,  
That not thy malice, but mine own mischance  
Hath been th'occasion of our bitter loss.   

Whilst barely with a superficial wit,  
We weigh the outside of such strange events,  
If but the mediate means our judgements hit,  
We search not the first cause, this much contents.   

When such prodigious accidents fall out,  
Though they amaze our minds, and so they must,  
The ground of all comes from ourself no doubt,  
Ah! man hath sinned, the heavens are always just.   

Now when I search the secrets of my soul,  
And rip the corners of my corrupt mind,  
Mark of my former life th'offensive scroll,  
And do examine how I was inclined,   

O then I see the angry hosts of heaven  
Come girt with flames to plague for my offences,  
Which once no doubt will with the world be even,  
And judge our thoughts, words, acts, and vain pretences.   

Son, 'tis my pride that hath procured thy fall,  
I'm guilty of thy blood, I gave the wound  
Which was thy death, and whose remembrance shall  
My life each day with many deaths confound.   

Then injust Stars, your statutes I contemn;  
O! if I were confronted with the gods,  
I would their partial providence condemn,  
That in such sort do exercise their rods.   

Ah! my sons death doth show their judgement nought,  
What could he perpetrate against such Powers?  
Should he have suffered for his Father's fault?  
Whom without cause their wrong-spent wrath devours.   

Now all the world those deities may despise,  
Which plague the guiltless, and the guilty spare:  
Cease hapless man t'outrage thyself thus ways;  
I pardon thee, and pity thy despair.   Adrast. 

O cruel judgement of a rigorous fate!  
Must I o'erlive myself t'entomb my Fame?  
All things that I behold upbraid my state;  
Too many monuments of one man's shame.   

All (and no more than I) my deeds detest,  
Yet some not find a friend, I find no foe  
To rid the world of such a dangerous pest,  
Borne but to be an instrument of woe.   

I know what makes all worthy minds refrain  
The sword against a Caitiff for to stretch,  
They this opprobrious office do disdain,  
To be the Deaths-men of so base a wretch.   

Or must I yet a fouler fact commit,  
And fill the world with th'horror of my name?  
Is there some new disaster resting yet,  
And other funerals famous by my shame?   

Or would some bastard thought life's cause debate,  
That in the blasted field of comfort gleans,  
No, no, in spite of heaven I'll force my fate,  
One that's resolved to die, cannot want means.   

Proud tyrant Death, and must thou make it strange?  
T'involve my wearied soul in further strife,  
Unless my courage with my fortune change,  
I can appoint a Period to my life.   

But this (Ay me) all hope of help devours,  
What gains my soul by death in those sad times?  
If potent still in all her wonted powers  
She must remember of my odious crimes.   

What though unbodied she the world forsake?  
Yet cannot from her conscience be divorced,  
It will but vex her at the shadowy Lake,  
Till even to groan the god of ghosts be forced.   

But welcome death, and O would God I had  
Less famous or more fortunately lived!  
Then had I never shown myself so mad  
T'have only been by infamy survived.   

Ah! have I lived to see my Lady die,  
And die for me, for me not worth so much;  
Ah! have I lived (unnatural man) to be  
My Brother's death, whose love to me was such.   

Ah! have I lived, with mine own hands to kill  
A gallant Prince committed to my charge,  
And do I gaze on the dead body still,  
And in his Father's sight my shame enlarge.   

Ah! have I lived (O execrable Monster)  
To be accounted of a devilish nature,  
And even by them that best my actions construe,  
For to be called (and justly called) a Traitor.   

Yet with my blood this stain away I'll wash,  
And lest my memory make th'earth detracted,  
Let my name perish in my Body's ash,  
And all my life be as a thought unacted.   

Brave Atis, now I come to plead for grace,  
Although thou frownest on my affrighted ghost,  
And to revenge thy wrong this wound embrace;  
Thus, thus, I toil t'attain the Stygian coast.   Cho. 

The man himself doth desperately wound,  
With leaden lights, weak legs, and head declined,  
The body in disdain doth beat the ground,  
That of his members one hath proved unkind:   

The fainting hand falls trembling from the sword  
With this micidiall blow for shame grown red,  
Which straight the blood pursues with vengeance stored  
To drown the same with the same floods it shed.   

Who of those parties can the combat show,  
Where both but one, one both, struck and sustained,  
Or who shall triumph for this strange o'erthrow  
Whereas the Victor lost, the Vanquished gained.   Croes. 

Cursed eyes, what sudden change hath drowned your lights,  
And made your mirthful objects mournful now?  
Ye that were still enured to stately sights  
Since seated under an Imperial brow.   

o'erclouded now with vapours of my cares,  
Are low thrown down unto a hell of grief,  
And have no prospect but my soul's despairs,  
The sad beholders of a rare mischief.   

O dead Adrastus I absolve thy ghost,  
Whose hand some secret destiny did charm,  
Thou hated by the Heavens, wert to thy cost  
An accidental Actor of our harm.   

No doubt some angry God hath laid this snare,  
And whilst thy purpose was the Boar to kill,  
Did intercept thy shaft amidst the air,  
And threw it at my Son against thy will.   

Ah Son! must I be witness of thy death,  
Who view thee thus with violence to bleed,  
And yet want one on whom to power my wrath,  
To take just vengeance for so vile a deed?   

This wretch whose guiltless mind hath cleared his hand  
Grieved for his error, lo, unforced doth fall,  
And not as one that did in danger stand,  
For he lived still till I forgave him all.   

Thus have I but the heavens on whom I may  
power forth the poison of my troubled spirit,  
In my soul's bitterness I'm forced to say,  
This seconds not their custom and my merit.    

Act. IV. Scen. II.  SANDANIS. CROESUS. 

WHy spend you (Sir) with sighs th'Imperious breath,  
Which nought but words of Sovereignty should breed,  
O weak revenge for one that's wronged by death,  
T'adorn his triumph with a mourning weed!   

This pale-faced tyrant, author of our ill,  
Who did, t'eclipse our joys, that black shaft borrow,  
Should you frame Trophies to his Tigrish will,  
And wear his livery, and succumb to sorrow?   

No, though he might this outward bliss o'erthrow,  
And you save you of all that's yours might spoil,  
Yet whilst of one that yields no sign you show,  
You triumph still, and he receives the foil.   

Th' o'erflowing humour that would drown your soul,  
In baser breasts might better be excused,  
Who want the sprite their passions to control,  
As from their birth still to subjection used.   

But you, in whom high Thoughts have been innate,  
To this decay how is your Virtue come?  
I blush to see my Sovereign so abated,  
And Majesty by misery o'ercome.   

Nor are my words out of a rocky mind,  
T'unnaturalize you, as not feeling smart,  
No, none can bar a Prince from being kind,  
Th'undoubted badge of an Heroic heart.   

That supreme power, by which great States do stand,  
Should order but th'affection, not undo it  
And I could wish you might yourself command,  
Which though you may not well, yet seem to do it.   Croes. 

I will not now rehearse, t'enlarge my grief,  
On what just reasons my laments are grounded,  
But still will muse upon mine own mischief,  
While as my soul a thousand ways is wounded.   

What pensive pencil ever limned aright  
The sad conceits of soul-consuming woe:  
Ah! words are weak to show the swelling height  
Of th'inward anguish that o'erwhelms me so.   

Though many Monarchs jealously despise  
The rising Sun that their declining stains;  
And hate the Heir, who by their fall must rise,  
As grieved to hear of death, or others reigns.   

My love towards Atis otherwise appeared,  
Whom, whilst for him I did my cares engage,  
I as a Father loved, as King not feared,  
The comfort, not th'encumbrance of mine age.   

And hadst thou Son, as reason would, survived me,  
Who glanced and vanished like a lightning-flash,  
Than death of life could never have deprived me,  
Whilst such a Phoenix had reviv'd my ash.   San. 
Let not these woes eclipse your virtues light.  Croes. 
Ah! rage and grief must once be at a height.  San. 
Strive of your sorrows for to stop the source.  Croes. 
These salt eye-floods must flow & have their course.  San. 
That is not kingly.  Croes. 
And yet it is kindly.  
Where passions do domine they govern blindly.  San. 
Such woeful plaints cannot repair your State:  Croes. 

Th'infortunate at least may wail their Fate.  
The meanest comfort can t' a wretch return,  
Is in calamine t'have leave to mourn.   San. 

What grave-browed Stoic void of all affections,  
With tearless eyes could that Youths death behold?  
Though green in years, yet ripe in all perfections,  
A hoary judgement under locks of gold.   

No, no man lives but must lament to see  
The world's chief hope even in his blossom choked:  
But men cannot control the heavens decree:  
And mischief done, can never be revoked.   

Then let not this torment your mind no more,  
This cross with you alike your Country bears,  
If wailing could your ruined State restore,  
Souls fraught with grief should sail in Seas of tears.   

Lest all our comfort dash against one shelf,  
And his untimely end occasion yours,  
Have pity of your people, spare yourself,  
If not to your own use, yet unto ours.   Croes. 

When Sandanis, I first thy faith did find,  
Thou dived so deeply in my bosom then,  
That since thou kept the key still of my mind,  
And knew what I concealed from other men.   

Behold, I go to open up to you  
(Dear Treasurer of all my secrets still)  
A mighty enterprise I mind for now:  
A Physic in some sort t'assuage my ill.   

Which may unto my soul yield some relief,  
And make me to forego sad thoughts content,  
Or else acquire copartners in my grief,  
If not for me, yet with me to lament.   Sand. 

This benefit must bind me with the rest,  
To love your Majesty, and wish you well,  
I'll give you my advise, and I protest,  
That you take friendly what I freely tell.   Croes. 

Since that it hath not pleased the Divine powers,  
That of my offspring I might comfort claim,  
Yet lest the ravenous course of flying hours  
Should make a prey of my respected name,   

I hope t'engender such a generous brood,  
That the unborn shall know how I have lived,  
And this no doubt would do my ghost great good,  
To be by famous Victories reviv'd.   

I'll Eaglelike so are with Fame's immortal wings,  
Unless my high-bent thoughts themselves deceive,  
That having acted admirable things,  
I may scorn death, and triumph o'er the grave.   

Yet have I not so settled my conceit  
That all opinions are to be despised,  
Unfold your judgement touching my estate,  
Take heed I'll tell you what I have devised.   

Some Scythian Shepherd in a high disdain,  
As I have heard rehearsed by true discourses,  
To plague some of the Medes with endless pain,  
Did entertain them with Thyestes' courses.   

And to content their more than Tigrish wishes,  
They with the infant's flesh the parents fed,  
Who not suspecting such polluted dishes,  
Did in their bowels bury whom they bred.   

Then after this abominable crime,  
They come unto my father's famous court,  
And working on th'advantage of the time,  
Did as they pleased of what was past report.   

They show'd what served to help, and hid the rest,  
Whilst pity pleaded for afflictions part,  
He noble-minded favouring the distressed,  
Was won to them by this Sinonic art.   San. 

Oft Kings of judges thence have parties gone,  
Where both their ears were patent but to one.   Croes. 

Then Ciaxare Monarch of the Medes,  
To prosecute those fugitives to death,  
In indignation of my father's deeds,  
Did boast them both with all the words of wrath.   

My father thinking that his court should be  
A sanctuary for all supplicants,  
Did levy men, that all the world might see  
He helped the weak, and scorned the mighties vaunts.   

Thus mortal wars on every side proclaimed,  
With mutual damage did continue long,  
Till both the armies by Bellona tamed,  
Did irk t'avenge or to maintain a wrong.   

It chanced whilst peace was at the highest dearth,  
That all their forces furiously did fight,  
A sudden darkness curtained up the earth,  
And violently dispossessed the light.   

I think for Phaeton the Sun looked sad,  
And that the bloody objects that he saw  
Did wound his memory, with grief gone mad,  
He from the world his wagon did withdraw.   

Yet Ignorance the mother of confusion,  
With wresting nature's course found cause of fears,  
Which well edged on by wiser men's illusion,  
Was cause of concord and of truce from tears.   

Then straight there was a perfect peace begun,  
And that it might more constantly endure,  
Astyages the King of Media's son,  
A marriage with my Sister did procure.   

A deadly rancour reconciled again,  
Must sealed with consanguinity remain.   Croes. 

He since his father's age-worn course was ended.  
Hath ruled his people free from blood or strife,  
Till now a Viper of his loins descended,  
Would by his ruin make himself a life.   

I mean by Cyrus' base Cambises brood,  
Who by a Bitch nursed with the country swains,  
Degenered far from any princely blood,  
The doggish nature of his nurse retains.   

He come against his Grandfather to field,  
And unexpected with a mighty power,  
Overthrew his forces, forced himself to yield,  
Who captive kept now waits for death each hour.   

That you may see now what my interest is,  
I made recital of this ruthful story,  
Those circumstances show that shame of his  
Tends to the derogation of our glory:   

That any dare presume to trouble thus  
One whom our kingdoms favour should defend,  
In strict affinity combined with us,  
Yet not respected for so great a friend.   

My joyless soul with this will be rejoiced,  
Whilst I to war against that rebel go:  
I hope that both shall know how they have choiced,  
Th'one a kind friend, and th'other a fierce fo.   San. 

Though Nature's law you cared not to transgress,  
And this your wronged ally would not repair,  
Yet the regard t'a Monarch in distress,  
Should move the mighty with a mutual care.   

These terrors to that thunder in your ear,  
I think the Lydians will not well allow,  
For when the Cedar falls, the Oak may fear,  
Th' Assyrians o'erthrow may astonish you.   

And when we see our neighbour's house afire,  
Than we may judge our own to be in danger,  
It's better first with others to conspire,  
Or we be forced ourselves t'invade that stranger.   

Ah this is but the outside of your course,  
A dangerous ambush by ambition planted,  
There may come raging rivers from this source,  
To drown your state whilst fancies are undaunted.   

I know these new-born monsters of your mind,  
Have armed your ravished thoughts with fair conceits,  
Yet may these wonders that you have divined,  
Prove traitorous projects painted for deceits.   

And (pardon Sir) it is not good to be  
Too rashly stout nor curiously wise,  
Lest that you from that which is certain flee,  
And not attain to that which you devise.   Croes. 

I grant indeed which very few shall know,  
Though I design but to relieve my friend,  
My thoughts are aimed (this unto you I'll show,)  
And not without great cause, t'a greater end.   

You see how Fortune nought but change affects,  
Some are reproached that others may be praised,  
And every age brings forth some strange effects,  
Some must be ruined, others must be raised.   

I doubt not you have heard who was the first  
Whom fame for warring with the world revives,  
Who had of sovereignty so great a thirst,  
That it could not be quenched with thousands lives.   

'twas he who first obtained the name of jove,  
Who was reputed for his glorious acts,  
The most imperious of the powers above,  
That vows and offerings of the world exacts.   

He all his time could nought but terror breath,  
To make the world acquaint with war and dearth,  
The chiefest sergeants deputed by death,  
That made th'Assyrians sovereigns of the earth.   

Yet since his course the world's first plague was passed,  
His successors who many ages reigned,  
Made shipwreck of their Empire at the last,  
And by the Medes were thralled, scorned, and disdained.   

This was the cause of that great kingdoms fall,  
A King who could not judge of kingly treasures,  
With loss of sceptre, honour, life and all,  
Did buy his base delights and servile pleasures.   

To that disastered Monarchies decay,  
Th'aspiring Persians purpose to succeed,  
But I intend to cross them by the way,  
And quail their courage ere that they can speed.   

The Persians once the Lydians force must prove,  
And, O who knows but that it is ordained  
At the Tribunal of the States above,  
That I should reign where famous Ninus reigned.   

This all the host of heaven ofttimes foretells,  
To this the gods of Greece my mind have moved,  
And he that in th'Arabian desert dwells,  
By his response this enterprise approved.   San. 

Thus still in love with what we mind to do,  
What we affect we fairest still conceive,  
This feeds our humour whilst we labour, to  
Seem full of wit ourselves for to deceive.   

You flatter so yourself, you can not spy  
What secret danger this design doth bear,  
But whilst I look with an indifferent eye  
On your intentions, I find cause of fear.   

You unadvisedly purpose to pursue  
A barbarous people that are foes to peace,  
Who but by rapine to their greatness grew,  
And would for each light cause the wars embrace.   

No dainty silks of the Assyrian die,  
Do deck their bodies to abase their minds,  
But clothed with wild beasts skins they do defy  
The force of Phoebus rays, and Eol's winds.   

They simply feed and are not grieved each day,  
With stomachs cloyed decocting divers meats,  
They fare not as they would, but as they may,  
Of judgement sound not carried with conceits.   

These uncorrupted customs that they hold,  
Make all things easy that they feel no pain,  
This cools the summers heat, kills Winter's cold,  
This makes the rivers dry, the mountains plain.   

Those whose ambition poverty did bound,  
Of the delights of Lidia if they taste  
Will have in hatred straight their barren ground,  
And insolently all our treasures waste.   

To govern such although that you prevail,  
You shall but buy vexation with your blood,  
And do yourself and yours, if fortune fail,  
From a possessed Sovereignty seclude.   

Yea, though this rash desire your judgement leads,  
I for my part must praise the gods for you,  
The have not put into the Persians heads,  
To war against the Lydians long ere now.   Croes. 

These flames that burn my breast must once burst out,  
Your counsel for more quiet minds I leave,  
And be you still thought wise, so I prove stout,  
I'll conquer more, or lose the thing I have.   Caelia. 

YEt am I forced out of afflictions store,  
To ease my mind a few sad words to strain,  
And but unload it now to load it more,  
I empty but mine eyes to fill again.   

My soul must sound even as my passions strike,  
Which now are tuned to nothing but mischief,  
My breast and eyes are both accursed alike,  
The cabinet of care, the cells of grief.   

O cruel heaven, fierce star, unhappy fate,  
Too foul injustice of the divine powers,  
Whose high disdain towards me with partial hate,  
The comfort of the world (sad world) devours.   

Cursed be the day in which I first was borne,  
When lying tongues affirmed I come to light,  
A monstrous blasphemy, a mighty scorn,  
Since 'twas to darkness and a joy-set night.   

O happy if I then had chanced to smother,  
That the first hour had been the last to me,  
Then from one grave t'have gone unto another,  
I should have died to live, not lived to die.   

What profited to me my parents joys,  
That with such pomp did solemnize my birth,  
When I must be the mirror of annoys,  
And all my days taste but one dram of mirth?   

Which served for nothing but to make me know,  
The height of horror that was to succeed,  
I was but raised up high to be brought low,  
That short-lived joys might endless anguish breed.   

That nothing might for my confusion lack,  
All my best actions but betrayed my state,  
My virtues too were guilty of my wrack,  
And warred against me banded with my fate.   

For whilst my Virgin-years with praise I passed,  
Which did (ah that it did) too much import,  
My modest eye told that my mind was chaste:  
This gained the warrant of the world's report,  
And Maids must have a great respect to fame,  
No greater dowry than an unstained name.   

Fair beauty's Goddess, thou canst bear record,  
My offering never made thine altar rich,  
All such lascivious fancies I abhorred,  
My freeborn thoughts no folly could bewitch.   

Till happily (ah so it seemed to some)  
Ah but unhappy th'event hath proved:  
All this and more to Atis ears did come,  
Who straightway liked, and after liking loved:   

Then to our ears his purpose did impart,  
Not lip-sick-lover-like with words far sought,  
His tongue was but the agent of his heart,  
Yet could not tell the tenth part of his thought.   

And lest his travels should have seemed to tend  
To breach my honour, work my fame's decay,  
He brought his wishes to a lawful end,  
And by th'effect, th'affection did bewray.   

Their juno precedent of wedlocks vow,  
And Hymen with his saffron-coloured coat,  
Our love with sacred customs did allow,  
Whilst th'ominous Owls no crosses did denote.   

The blessing that this marriage did procure,  
It was too great to have continued long,  
A thing that's vehement can not endure:  
Our joys far past th'expressing of the tongue,   

whoever did full satisfaction find,  
Yet with satiety were never cloyed,  
We seemed two bodies governed by one mind,  
Such was the happiness that we enjoyed.   

He loved me dearly, I obeyed his will,  
Proud of myself because that I was his,  
A harmony remained betwixt us still,  
Each in another placed their chiefest bliss.   

This moved th'immortals to a high disdain,  
That thus two worldlings who of death were heirs,  
Should in a paradise of joys remain,  
Which did exceed, at least did equal theirs.   

But chiefly juno did despite it most,  
Who through a jealousy still jars with jove,  
That body-prisoned souls of that could boast,  
Which she (although Heavens Queen) had not above.   

Thus even for envy of our rare delights;  
The fatal Sisters by the heavens suborned,  
Of my soul's treasure closed the lovely lights,  
By which they thought the earth too much adorned.   

O but he is not dead, he lives in me,  
Ah but I live not, for I died in him,  
The one without the other can not be,  
If death have set his eyes, mine must look dim.   

Since to my sight that Sun no more appeared,  
From whom my beauties borrowed all their rays,  
A long eclipse that never shall be cleared,  
Hath darkened all the points of my sad days.   

Ay me! I live too long, he died too soon,  
Thus still the worst remain, the best depart,  
Of him who told how this black deed was done.  
The words like swords shall ever wound my heart.   

Fierce tyrant Death, that in thy wrath didst take  
One half of me, and left an half behind,  
Take this to thee, or give me th'other back,  
Be altogether cruel, or all kind.   

For whilst I live, thou canst not wholly die,  
O! even in spite of death, yet still my choice,  
Oft with th'Imaginations love-quick eye,  
I think I see thee, and I hear thy voice.   

And to content my languishing desire,  
Each thing to ease my mind some help affords,  
I fancy whiles thy form, and then afire,  
In every sound I apprehend thy words.   

Then with such thoughts my memory to wound,  
I call to mind thy looks, thy words, thy grace,  
Where thou didst haunt, yet I adore the ground,  
And where thou stepped, O sacred seems that place!   

My solitary walks, my widowed bed,  
My dreary sighs, my sheets oft bathed with tears,  
These can record the life that I have led  
Since first sad news breathed death into mine ears.   

I live but with despair my sprite to dash,  
Thee first I loved, with thee all love I leave;  
For my chaste flames extinguished in thy ash  
Can kindle now no more but in thy grave.   

By night I wish for day; by day for night;  
Yet wish far more, that none of both might be;  
But most of all, that banished from the light  
I were no more, their courses for to see.   

At night revolving my despaired estate,  
I go to sum with sighs my wonted joys,  
When in an agony, a grieved conceit  
Doth blot th'unperfect count with new annoys.   

When Sleep the eldest brother of pale Death,  
The Child of darkness, and Father of rest,  
In a free prison hath confined my breath,  
That it may vent, but not with words expressed.   

Then with my sprite thou enter'st for to speak  
With honeyed speeches to appease my grief,  
And my sad heart that laboured for to break,  
In this feigned comfort finds a while relief.   

Yea, it our souls remained united so,  
This late divorcement would not vex my mind,  
But when I waken, it augments my woe,  
Whilst this a dream, and me a wretch I find.   

O happy, if I had been happy never,  
But happier, if my happiness had lasted:  
Yet had I in this state chanced to persever,  
My days had with excessive joys soon wasted.   

Why waste I thus, whilst vainly I lament,  
The precious treasure of that swift Post Time?  
Ah! pardon me, (dear Love) for I repent  
My lingering here, my Fate, and not my crime.   

Since first thy body did enrich the Tomb,  
In this spoiled world, my eye no pleasure sees,  
And Atis, Atis, lo, I come, I come  
To be thy Mate, amongst the Myrtle trees.   

CHORUS.  

Lo all our time even from our birth,  
In nought but misery exceeds,  
For where we find a moment's mirth,  
A Month of mourning still succeeds,  
By all the evils that Nature breeds,  
Which daily do our sprites appall,  
Th'infirmities that frailty sends,  
The loss of it, that fortune lends:  
And such disasters as oft fall:  
Yet to far worse our states are thrall,  
Whilst wretched man with man contends,  
And every one his whole force bends,  
How to procure another's losses;  
But this torments us most of all,  
The mind of man, which many a fancy tosses,  
Doth forge unto itself a thousand crosses.   

O how the Soul with all her might  
Doth all her heavenly forces strain!  
How to attain unto the light  
Of Nature's wonders, that remain  
Hid from our eyes, we strive in vain  
To seek out things that are unsure:  
In Sciences to seem profound,  
We dive so deep we find no ground,  
And the more knowledge we procure,  
The more it doth our minds allure,  
Of mysteries the depth to sound:  
Thus our desires we never bound,  
Which by degrees thus drawn on still,  
The memory may not endure:  
But like the tubs that Danaus' daughters fill,  
Doth drink no faster than it's forced to spill.   

Yet how comes this? and O how can  
Divine Knowledge the Souls chief treasure  
Occasion such a cross to man?  
That should afford him greatest pleasure:  
O it's because we cannot measure  
The limits that to it belong!  
But for to tempt forbidden things,  
Do soar too high with Nature's wings:  
Still weakest whilst we think us strong,  
The Heavens that think we do them wrong,  
To try what in suspense still hangs,  
This cross upon us justly brings:  
With knowledge, knowledge is confused,  
And grows a grief ere it be long.  
That which a blessing is, being rightly used,  
Doth grow the greatest cross, when it's abused.   

Ah! what avails this unto us,  
Who in this vail of woes abide,  
With endless toil to study thus,  
To learn the thing that Heaven would hide:  
And trusting in too blind a guide,  
To spy the Planets how they move,  
And too transgressing common bars  
The constellation of the stars,  
And all that is decreed above,  
Whereof as oft th'event doth prove,  
Th'intelligence our welfare mars,  
And in our breasts breeds endless wars,  
Whilst what our Horoscopes foretell,  
Our expectations do disprove,  
Those apprehended plagues prove such a Hell,  
That we would wish t'unknow them till they fell.   

This is the pest of great Estates;  
They by a thousand means devise  
How to foreknow their doubtful Fates,  
And like new Giants scale the Skies,  
Heavens secret storehouse to surprise:  
Which sacrilegious skill we see  
With what great pain they apprehend it,  
And then how foolishly they spend it,  
To learn the thing that once must be:  
Why should we seek our destiny?  
If it be good, we long attend it,  
If it be evil, none may amend it;  
Such knowledge further rest exiles,  
'tis best to abide the heavens decree,  
It's to be feared, those whom this Art beguiles,  
Do change their fate & make their Fortune wheels.   

And lo of late, what hath our King  
By his preposterous travels gained,  
In searching each particular thing  
That Atis Horoscope contained;  
But what the Heavens had once ordained,  
He could not by no means prevent,  
And yet he labours to find out  
Through all the Oracles about,  
Of future things th'unsure event,  
This doth his raving mind torment,  
Now in his age unwisely stout  
To fight with Cyrus, but no doubt  
The Heavens are grieved for to hear told  
Long ere the time their hid intent.  
Let Tantalus b'a terror to th'o'erbold  
That dare jove's cloudy secrecies unfold.      

Act. V.  

Scen. I.  CYRUS. HARPAGUS. 

Go, Let us triumph o'er these unthroned thralls,  
Whose maimed greatness to confusion runs,  
Who forfeited their glory by their falls;  
No hand that fights is pure, but that which wins.   

The ravished world that fraught with doubts did stand,  
To see the bloody end of this days toil,  
Saw how the Heavens placed lightning in my hand,  
To thunder on all those that sought my foil.   

Now therefore let us first devoutly go  
And lose our vows, the gods detest th'ingrate,  
And who delight t'adore their deities so,  
Do never fail t'establish their estate.   

Go load the Altars, smoke the sacred places  
With Bullocks, Incense, Odours of all kinds,  
Though none can give the gods that flow in graces  
A sweeter Sacrifice then thankful minds.   Har. 

Though all that endenized in this Vale  
Walk here confined within this fertile Round,  
And are tapestried with this azure Pale,  
T'adore the gods by many means are bound.   

Yet there are some particularly, I find,  
Whose names are written in their dearest scrolls,  
Whom extraordinary favours bind,  
Even to prefer them to their very Souls.   

Of which (Sir) you are one, your deeds declare,  
Of you amidst innumerable broils,  
Even from your cradle they have had a care,  
And led you safe through all your greatest toils.   

Though of the dangers of your youth I see  
The thought no more with grief your mind importunes;  
Yet I think on who had the hap to be  
An Actor in your Tragic-comic fortunes.   Cyr. 

The accidents that in our Nonage chance,  
whenas our years grow ripe, slide out of thought  
Like fabulous dreams that Darkness doth advance,  
And are by Day disdained as things of nought.   

For our Conceptions are not then so strong  
As for to leave th'impression long behind,  
Yet mix (dear Friend) old griefs new joys among,  
And call afflicted Infancy to mind.   Har. 

Who would not wonder at thy wondrous Fate,  
Whose ruin ere thy Birth appeared conspired?  
Who unbegun, seemed to expire that date,  
Which now begun, shall never be expired.   

Your Mother first her Sire with cares did sting,  
While as he dreamt, which yet his soul confounds,  
That from her womb there did a Vine-tree spring,  
Which did o'ershadow all great Asia's bounds.   

Then to the Magies straight he gave in charge,  
To try what this strange Vision did presage,  
Who having studied their dark Art at large,  
Gave this response with a prophetic rage.   

That once his Daughter should bring forth a Son,  
For glorious Acts exceedingly renowned,  
By whom th'Empire of Asia should be won;  
By whom his Grandfather should be uncrowned.   

This to Astyages a terror bred,  
Who labouring to annul the heavens decree,  
Advised as best his Daughter for to wed  
T'a powerless stranger, but of base degree.   

Then of Cambises he by chance made choice,  
And for his barbarous country's cause the rather,  
Whom by your birth the Princess did rejoice,  
And further than before affright her Father.   

Thus tyranny by feeble sprites begun,  
Doth force the Parents in despair to fall,  
A dastard to attempt, proud having won,  
Which being feared of all, doth still fear all.   

And tyrants no security can find,  
For every shadow frights a guilty mind.  
This Monarch, whom scarce Armies could surprise,  
Whom gallant Guards and stately Courts delighted,  
Who triumphed o'er th'Earth, threatened the Skies,  
A Babe scarce borne, come of himself, affrighted.   

And whilst Lucina the last help did make,  
As if some ugly Monster had been borne,  
A minotaur, a Centaur or a Snake,  
The world's terror, and the Mother's scorn.   

The nephew's birth, that would have seemed t'impart  
Unto the Grandfather great cause of joys,  
As if the naked hand had pierced his heart,  
Did wind him in a maze of sad annoys.   

And to prevent a but suspected spite,  
By giving an occasion of just hate,  
He sought by robbing you the newfound Light,  
To make your birth and burial of one date.   

Soon after this he sent for me in haste,  
Whom at that time (and not in vain) he loved,  
Then showed me all the circumstances past,  
Wherewith his marble mind seemed nothing moved:   

Out of the which, as he would let me know,  
All compliments of pity were not blotted,  
He would this superficial favour show,  
Not with your blood to have his own hands spotted.   

Thus having lulled asleep the conscience, still  
The wicked would extenuate their crimes,  
Not knowing those that but allow of ill,  
Are Actors in effect, guilty all times.   

Yet with his fault he would have burdened me,  
And willed that I an Innocent should slay,  
I promised to perform his rash decree,  
Well weighing whom, but not wherein t'obey.   

When I had parted from his highness face,  
And carried you (then swaddled) with me too,  
Through th'apprehended horror of my case,  
I stood perplexed and wist not what to do.   

Necessity took place, I wailed with tears  
Th'untimely funerals (as I thought) of you,  
My soul confounded with a swarm of fears,  
Did with sad sighs my message disallow.   

Yet t'him I send a servant of mine own,  
Who for the time was Herdsman to the King,  
To whom I made all my commission known,  
But as direct to him show'd every thing.   

Delivering you with an unwilling breath,  
Then with a mantle of pure gold arrayed,  
I threatened him with many a cruel death,  
If that your death were any way delayed.   

Straight for to execute th'intended doom,  
He from my sight did all astonished go:  
Too great a charge for such a simple groom,  
The show of Majesty amazed him so.   

O what a wonder is't for to behold,  
Th'unfailing providence of powerful jove,  
Whose brazen edicts can not be controlled,  
Firm are the statutes of the states above.   

That mortal whom th'immortals favour shields,  
No worldly force is able to confound,  
He may securely walk through dangers fields,  
Times and occasions are t'attend him bound.   

For lo before the Herdsman was come home,  
His wife of a dead burden was delivered,  
Who wondered so to see her Husband come,  
That with a secret terror faintly shivered.   

She straight grew curious for to know the form  
How he a Babe so beautiful obtained,  
Who did her suddenly of all inform,  
And to what cruelty he was constrained.   

See quickly then th'occasion to embrace,  
No doubt inspired by some celestial power,  
Prayed him t'expose her dead child in your place,  
Yet where no beasts repaired him to devour:   

So shall we have (saith she) a double gain,  
Our offspring shall receive a stately tomb,  
And we a princely infant, to remain  
Still nursed with us as th'issue of my womb.   

The Husband liked so well his wives intent,  
That all what she affected he effected,  
And soon I had one of my household sent,  
To try if all were done as 'twas directed:   

He seeing the babe dead, dead in that weed,  
With that rich funeral furniture about him,  
Told what the fellow told, and I indeed  
Reposed on his report, for who could doubt him?   

In end, Time posting with hour-feathered wings,  
Had given you strength with others of your years,  
You past the time, not nephews unto Kings,  
But for that time admitted for your peers.   

They fail, call Fortune blind, she sight bewrayed,  
And your authority by lot enlarged,  
In pastoral sports who still the sceptre swayed,  
And as but borne for that, that best discharged.   

Then with the other children as it chanced,  
A noble man of Medea's son remained,  
Who swollen with envy to see you advanced,  
Your childish charge with scornful words disdained.   

You spiting at that proud attempt of his,  
Did punish him as it became a Prince:  
I doubt now (Sir) if that you think on this,  
The rest of rashness did your deed convince.   Cyr. 

More mighty matters now to muse upon,  
My memory with the remembrance cloy,  
That those are all forgot, and yet tell on,  
For I delight to hear this childish toy.   Harpa. 

The father of the child informed the King  
How such a base-born boy abused his son,  
And caused an Esquire straightway you to bring,  
To suffer for the fault that you had done.   

And when the King accused you in his sight,  
As the presumptuous brat of a base clown,  
You boldly did maintain that you had right  
To scourge one that rebelled against your crown.   

The King astonished at th'imperious words  
Of one so magnanimous, and so young,  
Doth pause awhile, and straightway he records,  
That you were you, and I had done him wrong.   

The torture to the Neatherd was presented,  
Who soon for fear confessed (O sudden change)  
The King as seemed exceedingly contented,  
Sent one for me to hear the tidings strange.   

And as he had good cause, in show delighted,  
Did for a solemn Sacrifice prepare,  
And me as his most special guest invited,  
Who with my son did straight to Court repair.   

When light was banished by nights shadowy sable,  
The candles by his forfeit taking place,  
They served me with my sons flesh at the table,  
Then did upbraid me with his bloodless face.   

What anguish, or what rage o'erflowed my soul,  
A loving father may imagine best,  
Yet at that time I did my rage control,  
But laid it up for ever in my breast.   Cyr. 

Some of the wise men then I heard remained,  
Who from their former sentence did recoil,  
Saying, no danger was since I had reigned,  
And so dismissed me for my native soil:   

Where when I had my unripe season spent,  
Your Letter came to give my fire new fuel,  
And told how many of the Medes were bent,  
T'abandon their own Lord that proved so cruel:   

And wished if to that Sceptre I aspired,  
That I should move the Persians to rebel,  
Which did succeed even as my soul desired,  
For they disdained in servitude to dwell.   

I placed my gallant troops in warlike order,  
And lest th'occasion should have slipped away,  
Marched with my army to my enemies border,  
Whereas you had the conduct for that day.   Harpa. 

Lo how those wretches that the heavens would wrack  
Are spoiled of judgement: that proud Tyrant offered  
The charge to me not thinking I would take  
A high revenge for th'injury I suffered,   

Which was so deeply rooted in my heart,  
My countries thraldom, and mine own disgrace,  
And all the horrors that death could impart,  
Seemed nought to me so my disdain took place.   Cyr. 

'tis dangerous trusting one that's wronged we see,  
Just rancour unrevenged can never die.   Harpa. 

That was the first beginning of your glory,  
Which since hath been augmented by degrees,  
And which by time may breed so brave a story,  
As may be precious in all PRINCE's eyes.   Cyr. 

Behold how Croesus with his riches blinded,  
Durst come t'encounter with my warlike bands,  
And through a long prosperity highminded,  
Was not afraid to fall before my hands.   

But he and his confederates have seen,  
How Victory doth still my troops attend,  
And Persia must be once all Asia's Queen,  
Or we shall war unto the world's end.   

Now Croesus is o'ercome rich Sardis taken,  
And Lidia fraught with gold is made our spoil,  
Th'Egyptians have th'prosperous league forsaken,  
This is the happy end of all our toil.   

But ah one sour unseasons all my sweets,  
Brave Abradatus my brother in arms,  
Whose praise through all the peopled circuit fleets,  
And with his love each generous courage warms.   

Whilst but overbold for to be backed so badly,  
Th'Egyptian Chariots desperately he charged:  
There with evil-fortuned valour fighting madly,  
His soul out of th'earth's prison was enlarged.   Harpa. 

No doubt that dame this trouble hardly bears,  
Who only seemed for him t'account of life:  
I heard him whilst she bathed his Coach with tears,  
Wish to prove worthy of so rare a wife.   

When their farewell was sealed, last speeches spent,  
She kissed the Coach that did contain her trust,  
And with eyes big with pearl gazed where he went,  
Still till her sight was choked with clouds of dust.   Cyr. 

I hear you have not heard how his death proved  
The black beginning of a bloody scene,  
His wife Panthea at the first not moved,  
Seemed as she had some marble image been.   

The body that had oft her fancies fired  
She caused bear out of sight, still dear, though dead,  
But being to Pactolus banks retired,  
She in her bosom did entomb his head.   

And then from rage she did some respite borrow,  
For sorrow by degrees a passage seeks,  
Vapouring forth sighs that made a cloud of sorrow,  
A tempest then of tears rained down her cheeks.   

And whilst her eye the wonted object misses,  
She many a languishing look doth cast,  
And on the senseless lips still lavished kiss,  
As affectionedly as in times past.   

I posted thither for to have relieved  
This Lady of a portion of her woes,  
Heaven bear me witness I was greatly grieved,  
Who would, to save one friend, spare hosts of foes.   

She first a space me passionately eyed,  
Then with these words her lips did slowly move,  
My husband lo hath valorously died,  
Well worthy of your friendship, and my love.   

When I had all the flowers of comfort used.  
That a sad soul o'ercharged with grief could show,  
I went away with words that were confused,  
And scarcely could my last farewell forth throw.   

I was not well departed from her face,  
whenas she charged the Eunuchs out of sight,  
Then prayed her nurse to bury in one place  
Her and her Lord, as they deserved of right.   

Then looking on his corpse she drew a sword,  
And even as if her soul had flown in him,  
She stabbed herself, then falling on her Lord,  
Her beauty's blubbered stars were waxing dim.   

The faithful Eunuchs for their Sovereign sorry,  
And scorning to survive so rare a date,  
In emulation of their mistress glory,  
Died violently partners of her fate.   

O sweet Panthea rich in rarest parts!  
I must admire thy ghost though thou be gone,  
Who mightst have made a monarchy of hearts,  
Yet loathed unlawful loves, and loved but one.   

O wondrous wonders, wonders wondrous rare!  
A woman constant, such a beauty chaste,  
So pure a mind joined with a face so fair,  
Beauty and Virtue in one person placed!   

Both were well matched as any could devise,  
Whose undivided end their choice allows,  
He valorous, she virtuous, both wise,  
She worthy such a mate, he such a spouse.   

And Harpagus, lest that it should be thought,  
The memory of virtuous minds may die,  
Cause build a stately tomb with statues wrought,  
Where their dead bodies may respected lie.   Har. 

I'll raise a pyramid of Croesus' spoils,  
Where all their famous parts shall be comprised,  
But how t'insist in these tumultuous broils,  
'tis best now (Sir) that you were well advised.   

Your adversary doth attend your will,  
This haughty city humbled hath her crest,  
And therefore go to pardon, or to kill,  
To save, or sack, even as you shall think best.   Cyr. 

Abstract for old Croesus I am else resolved,  
He with some captives which I keep in store,  
Shall have their bodies by the fire dissolved,  
As offrands to the Gods that I adore.   

This city shall my soldiers pains defray,  
Since by their force it hath been brought to bow,  
I yield it unto them as their just pray,  
Who taste the sweetness of their travels now.   

Of other things we shall so well dispose,  
That our renown o'er all the world shall shine,  
Till Cyrus' name b'a terror to all those,  
I That dare against his Sovereignty repine.    

Act. V. Scen. II.  NVNTIVS. CHORUS. 

AH to what part shall I my steps address,  
The burden of base bondage to eschew?  
Lo, desolation, ruin, and distress,  
With horror doth my native home pursue.   

And now poor country take my last farewell,  
Farewell all joy, all comfort, all delight:   Chor. 

What heavy tidings hast thou for to tell,  
That tearest thy garments thus, tell thy sad plight?   Nun. 

I tell the wrack of us, and all that live  
Within the circuit of this wretched soil.   Cho. 

A hideous shout we heard the City give,  
Is't in th'enemies' hands, is't made his spoil?   Nun. 
It's made his spoil.  Cho. 
And is our Sovereign killed?  Nun. 
No, but yet nearly scaped doth live in danger.  Cho. 

Then let our ears be with disasters filled,  
And must we bear the yoke of that proud stranger?   Nun. 

You know how Croesus at th'advantage lay,  
Still seeking means t'abate the Persians pride,  
And his confederates had assigned a day  
When they should for th'intended war provide.  
But Cyrus having heard how that they should  
Against his state so great an army bring,  
Straight raising all the forces that he could,  
Prevents, invades, o'ercomes and takes our King.   Chor. 

This shows a Captain both expert and brave,  
First well t'advise, then t'execute with speed:  
No circumstance (friend) unrelated leave,  
Which with our Kings did our confusion breed.   Nun. 

When Croesus saw that Cyrus came so soon,  
He stood awhile with a distracted mind,  
Yet what time would permit, left nought undone,  
But made his Musters, marched his Foe to find.   

Our stately Troops that glistered all with gold,  
And with umbrageous Feathers fanned the air,  
They with unwary insolence grown bold,  
More how to triumph, than to o'ercome, took care.   

The Lydian Horsemen are of great account,  
And are for valour through the world renowned,  
Them Cyrus' chiefly laboured to surmount,  
And this devise for that effect was found.   

Untrussing all their baggage by the way,  
Of the disburdened Camels each did bear  
A grim-faced Groom, who did himself array  
Even as the Persian Horsemen use to wear.   

To them th'infantry did follow next,  
A solid Squadron like a brazen wall,  
But those in whom all confidence was fixed,  
The brave Cavalry came last of all.   

Then Cyrus by the reins his Courser took,  
And being mounted, holding out his hands,  
With an assured and Imperious look  
Went breathing valour through th'unconquered bands.   

He willed all them that at Death's game should strive,  
To spare none of their foes in any form,  
But as for Croesus, to take him alive,  
And keep him captive for a greater storm.   

Where famous Hellus doth to Hermus' post  
In his broad waves t'entomb his strength and name,  
Our Army ran against a greater Host  
T'enrich it likewise with our force and fame.   

Our Troops a time with equal valour stood,  
Till giving place, at length we took the chase,  
While as the River ran to hide our blood,  
But still his borders blushed at our disgrace.   

For so soon as the Camels once were come,  
Our Horses loathing to endure their sight,  
Ran raging back again, and of them some  
Disordering ranks, put many to the flight.   

Yet others that were of more martial minds,  
Perceived the Stratagem that did deride them,  
And lighting on their feet, like mighty winds,  
Bore down before them all that durst abide them.   

There, whilst: the world proved prodigal of breath,  
The headless trunks lay prostrated in heaps,  
This field of funerals, proper unto death,  
Did paint our Horror in most hideous shapes.   

There men unhorsed, horses unmastered, strayed,  
Some called on them whom they most dearly tendered,  
Some raged, some groaned, some sighed, roared, wept & prayed,  
Fighting, fainting, falling, desp'rate, maimed, rendered.   

Those that escaped, like beasts unto a Den,  
Fled to a Fortress, which true valour drowns,  
Walls are for women, and the fields for men,  
For Towns cannot keep men, but men keep Towns.   

And we were scarcely entered at the Ports,  
whenas the enemies did the Town enclose,  
And rearing many artificial Forts,  
To the Defenders did huge pains impose.   

There all the military slights were found,  
Which at the like encounters had prevailed,  
Both for to use th'advantage of the ground,  
Or for to help with Art where Nature failed.   

They ever compassing our Trench about,  
Still where the Walls were weakest, made a breach,  
Which being straight repaired, we threw tools out,  
And killed all those that came within our reach.   

There all the bolts of death edged by disdain,  
That many curious wits inclined to ill,  
Helped by th'occasion, and the hope of gain,  
Had power t'invent, were put in practice still.   

Yet as we see, it oft times hath occurred,  
Where we suspected least, we were surprised,  
Whilst fortune and the fates in one concurred  
To have our ruin in their rolls comprised.   

The side of Sardis that was least regarded,  
Which lies towards Tmolus, and was thought most sure,  
Through this presumption, whilst 'twas weakly guarded,  
Th'o'erthrow of all Lidia did procure.   

As one of ours (unhappily it chanced)  
T'o'ertake his helmet that had scaped his hand,  
Alongst that steepy part his steps advanced  
And was returning back unto his Band:   

He was well marked by one that had not spared  
No kind of danger for to make us thralls,  
For Cyrus had proposed a great reward  
To any one that first could scale our walls.   

And this companion seeing without stay,  
One in his sight that craggy passage climb,  
Straight followed on his footsteps all the way,  
And many a thousand followed after him.   

By whom all those that durst resist were killed,  
The rest were forced, and knew not where to flee:  
For every street was with confusion filled,  
There was no corner from some mischief free.   

O what a piteous clamour did arise,  
Of ravished virgins, and of widowed wives!  
Who pierced the heavens with lamentable cries,  
And having lost all comfort, loathed their lives.   

Whilst those proud Victor's did insist t'have stained  
Themselves with all the wrongs that such like use,  
They by a charge from Cyrus were restrained,  
And durst no more their captives thus abuse.   Chor. 

No doubt but desolation then abounded,  
Whilst with disdain the Conqueror's bosom boiled,  
Some with the sword, some with disgrace confounded,  
Sacred Temples, private houses, all were spoiled.   

None can imagine greater misery  
Than all the sufferings of a captived City.  
But whilst this famous City was distressed,  
What could become of the hard-fortuned King?   Nun. 

He seeing th'enemy of his State possessed,  
And that confusion seized on every thing,  
Stood first amazed, scarce trusting his own sight,  
His former fortune had him so transported,  
Yet it is hard for to deny the light,  
He saw a stranger that his wealth extorted.   

And when that he had deeply apprehended  
Th'unbounded horrors that o'erflowed his soul,  
As one whose joys had long before been ended,  
He could no more the signs of grief control.   

But bursting out in bitter sighs and tears,  
Plunged in the deepest depth of black despair,  
Through o'er great fear, leaving all kind of fears,  
Did of his safety take no further care,   

And never wished he so for a long life,  
But he o'erwished it, wishing for death now,  
Still seeking danger in the bounds of strife,  
Providing that he died, he cared not how.   

Whilst thus he fostered furies in his breast,  
A certain soldier by the way him meets,  
As insolent as any of the rest,  
That drunk with blood, ran raging through the streets:   

And seeking but an object to his ire,  
He made to him, and he to him again,  
I wot not which of them did most desire,  
Th'one for to slay, or th'other to be slain.   

But whilst so base a hand towering aloft,  
Did to so great a Monarch threaten death,  
His eldest Son, that as you have heard oft,  
Was barred from the right function of his breath.   

I cannot tell you well, nor in what fashion,  
If that the destinies had so ordained,  
Or if the vehemency of his passion  
Did break the strings that had his tongue restrained.   

But when he saw his Sire in such a danger,  
He bursted forth into those words the rather,  
Hold, hold thy hand in haste thou furious stranger,  
Kill not King Croesus, murder not my Father.   

The other hearing this, his hand retired,  
Then called his king's commandment to mind,  
And to no small preferment he aspired,  
To whom this desert did his Sovereign bind.   

Now, when that Croesus, who for death did languish,  
Was of this fair occasion disappointed,  
o'ercharged with grief, and surfeiting of anguish,  
To see himself for further evils appointed.   

He with sad sighs those syllables did accord,  
Now cruel destiny do what thou can,  
Which would not unto me the grace afford  
That I might perish like a private man.   

Ah! must I live to wish t'have been unborn,  
charactering shame in a dejected face?  
Ah! must I live to my perpetual scorn,  
The finger-pointed object of disgrace?   

Yet this unto his soul more sorrow bred,  
He Kinglike as in former times arrayed,  
Was with a mighty acclamation led  
straight to the Tent whereas their Emperor stayed.   

So soon as Cyrus got him in his power,  
He caused bring bands of iron, burdenous chains,  
And clogged him hand and foot at that same hour,  
As one that was designed for grievous pains.   

Then caused in haste a pile of wood to make,  
And in the midst where all men might espy him,  
Caused bind the captived King unto a stake,  
With fourteen others of the Lydians by him.   

There, as th'oblation for his Victory,  
With sacred flames their bodies to combure,  
Although jove hates preposterous piety,  
And doth delight in offerings that are pure.   

Now whilst the fires were kindling round about,  
As one that to some powerful god had vowed,  
With eyes bent up, and with his hands stretched out,  
O Solon, Solon, Croesus cried aloud.   

Some hearing him to utter such a voice,  
And seeing Cyrus' curious for to know,  
Now of what Deity dying he made choice,  
Did pray him liberally his mind to show.   

He answered; upon one in wit profound  
He called, with whom he wished, if it might be,  
That all the Rulers of th'inferior round  
Had had some conference as well as he.   

For he had told him whilst his fortune lasted,  
As one expert in good advises giving,  
That all his flowers of bliss might soon be blasted,  
And could not be accomplished he being living.   

Then he proceeded for to show at length  
The Dialogue twixt Solon and twixt him,  
Who prayed him not to trust in worldly strength,  
By which unto true bliss no man could climb.   

This speech moved Cyrus deeply, for to ponder  
The great uncertainty of worldly things,  
As thinking that himself might be brought under,  
Who had no privilege more than other Kings.   

Then having such a pattern placed before him,  
Whose far-changed fortune thoroughly was revolved,  
He freely did his liberty restore him,  
And willed him from the fire to be absolved.   

O now Devotion! well appeared thy force,  
Which binds the earth and opens up the Heaven,  
In the celestial breasts a deep remorse  
Was strangely wrought whilst Croesus prayed; for even   

Whileas the flashing flames, in vain to quench,  
All men did labour, but could do no good,  
The clouds were opened and a shower did drench  
The fiery ashes of the flaming wood.   

Now whilst that Croesus coming from the fire,  
Saw ruthless soldiers sacking all the City,  
To save the same he had a great desire,  
And spoke to Cyrus melting all in pity.   

Great Prince, for famous Victories renowned,  
Who dost in arms all others so surmount,  
That it contents me much to be uncrowned  
By one so worthy, and in such account:   

And since I am constrained your thrall to be,  
I must conform myself unto my fate,  
And cannot hold my pace whereas I see  
Ought to prejudge the greatness of your State,   

Which ah! is wounded now with your own powers,  
Whilst this rich City is sacked and o'erthrown,  
It is not mine no more, no, it is yours,  
And therefore (Sir) have pity of your own.   

Yea, though the loss of such a populous Town,  
That's rich, that's yours, your mind could nothing move,  
Yet think of this that doth import your Crown;  
A piece of policy which time will prove.   

The barbarous Persians borne with stubborn minds,  
Who but for poverty first followed you,  
Their matchless worth in arms all Asia finds,  
Their fear is fallen upon all Nations now.   

But if you suffer them in such a sort  
T'enrich themselves with plenteous Lidia's spoil,  
Not able then their Conquest to support,  
The Victor of the vanquished gets the foil.   

For this will make them wealthy out of measure:  
Wealth to confusion many a Country leads;  
Whilst feebled with delights, in-vilde with pleasure,  
No thought of honour harbours in their heads.   

Then Cyrus straight approving what he spoke,  
His soldiers from their pillage were restrained,  
Pretending first the tenth part for to take,  
As a rich offering for the Gods ordained.   

Of our distress, this is the ruthful story;  
A stranger is possessed of this Province;  
Our King hath with the loss of all his glory  
Bought breath a while, a poor thing for a Prince.   Chor. 

O woeful people! O unhappy King!  
Our joys are spoiled, his happiness expired,  
And no new chance can any comfort bring  
To either now, whose fall the Fates conspired.   

Go woeful messenger, hold on thy course,  
For to have heard too much, it irks our ears,  
We ever must bewail thy sad discourse,  
Accented with sighs, and pointed with tears.   Exeunt. Croesus. 

WHat needs me more of my mishap to pause?  
Though I have tasted of afflictions cup,  
Yet it may be, the gods for a good cause  
Have cast me down to raise a thousand up.   

And never let a Monarch after me,  
Trust in betraying titles glorious bates,  
Who with such borrowed feathers rashly flee,  
Fall melted with the wrath of greater states.   

O had this precious wit enriched my mind,  
Which by experience I have dearly bought,  
Whilst fortune was within my court confined,  
And that I could not think a bitter thought.   

Then satisfied with Sovereignties erst proved,  
I had disdained new dangers to embrace,  
And clothed with majesty, admired and loved,  
Had lived with pleasure, and had died in peace.   

Yet it is wonderful in any state,  
To see a worldling prosper, and not proud;  
But chiefly we whose fortunes grow so great,  
It's hard for us to have our high thoughts bowed.   

What could the world afford, or man affect,  
Which did not glad my soul whilst I was such?  
Who now am past the compass of respect,  
Plagued with prosperity, clogged with too much.   

Long lulled asleep with scornful fortunes lies,  
A slave to pleasure, drowned in base delights,  
I made a covenant with my wandering eyes,  
T'have entertained them still with pleasant sights.   

I held not from my heart none of her wishes,  
But wallowing in vainglory this world's toy,  
Still served with dainty, but suspicious dishes,  
My soul was sick with pleasure, faint for joy.   

There wanted nothing that might help to ease me,  
All did divine my will, aim at my though,  
And strive to do that which they trowed would please me,  
Which if I but allowed, no more was sought.   

whatever come of me was held of weight,  
My words were balanced and my looks were marked,  
Those whom I graced were had in honour straight,  
All speeches in my praises were embarked.   

I in magnificence excelled all Kings,  
Whilst drowsy in security I slumbered,  
My coffers still were full of precious things,  
My treasure infinite could not be numbered.   

I reared rare buildings all embossed with gold,  
Made ponds for fishes, forests for wild beasts,  
And with transported fancies uncontrolled,  
Oft spent the day in sport, the night in feasts.   

I seemed t'usurp the power that erst was jove's,  
And of the Elements the course would change,  
For stately fountains, artificial groves,  
These were so common, they were not thought strange.   

With me (what more could any Monarch crave)  
In all the parts of pomp none could compare,  
My minions gallant, my counsellors grave,  
My guards were strong, my concubines were fair:   

Yea ere my state was cast upon this shelf,  
I wanted nought that could with seeming merits  
Breed wonder in the world, pride in ones self,  
For to puff up the flesh and spoil the spirits.   

Thus pressing with delight the grapes of pleasure,  
I quaffed with Fortune still sense-pleasing vines,  
Till drunk with wealth, and riotous out of measure,  
I carded not to consume all Tmolus mines.   

Then weary to be well, and tired of rest,  
T'engender discord I th'occasion sought,  
Yet for to cloak th'ambition of my breast,  
Did with devotion long disguise my thought.   

I send of all the Oracles to inquire,  
What was to come of this intended war,  
Who said as seemed to second my desire,  
That I a mighty Monarchy should mar.   

Those doubtful words I wresting to my will,  
In hope t'expugn th'imperious Persians' powers,  
Did ruin quite whilst all succeeded ill,  
What many a age had conquered in few hours.   

And this most wondrous is, because most strange,  
I who disdained an equal of before,  
(What cannot Fortune do, being bent to change)  
Must a Superior now serve, and adore?   

What eye not fraught with scorn my state surveys?  
Whom Fates have forced for to o'erlive my shame,  
And in mine enemy's danger for some days,  
But borrowed with the interest of my fame.   

Though this sweet gale of life-bestowing winds,  
Would seem a favour (so it seems to some,  
Who by the baseness of their muddy minds,  
Show of th'ignoble multitude they come)   

I scorn unlike myself for to be seen,  
Though to my comfort this appeared to tend,  
As if that all misfortunes past had been,  
A Tragic entry to a Comic end.   

Of all that plague my state the greatest pest  
It is base life, that faints from th'earth to sever,  
And hath in one united all the rest,  
To make me die each day, and yet die never.   

Life in my breast no comfort can infuse,  
An enemy's gift could never come for good,  
It but gives time of misery to muse,  
And bathe my sorrows in a bitter flood.   

Ah! had my breath evanished with my bliss,  
And closed the windows that give light to life,  
I had not apprehended as it is  
The height of my mishaps that now are rife:   

Whilst with a thousand sighs I call to mind,  
The death of Atis and mine own decay,  
My sprite in such perplexity I find,  
That to lives passage I would feign make way.   

But since I see reserved for further spite,  
I with sad thoughts must burden yet my soul,  
My memory t'a melancholious sprite,  
Of all my troubles shall present a scroll.   

Of which while as th'account I go to cast,  
Th'enormities still numbering of my fate,  
I'll whiles look back upon my pleasure's part,  
And by them balance my (now) hapless state.   

CHORUS.  

IS't not a wonder for to see  
How by experience each man reeds,  
In practised volumes penned by deeds,  
Th'inconstant courses that there be,  
Yet whilst ourselves continue free,  
We ponder oft, but not apply,  
That precious oil, which we might buy  
Best with the price of others pains;  
Which as what nought to us pertains,  
To use we will not condescend,  
As if we might the Fates defy,  
While as untouched our state remains:  
But soon the heavens a change may send,  
No perfect bliss before the end.   

When first we fill with fruitful seed,  
The apt-conceiving womb of th'earth,  
And seem t'expel all fear of dearth,  
With the increase that it may breed,  
Yet dangers do our hopes exceed,  
The frosts may first with cold confound  
The tender greens that decked the ground,  
Whose wrath though th' April's smiles assuage,  
It hath t'abide th'Eolian rage,  
Which t'o'erpass whilst we attend,  
T'have Ceres' wandering tresses bound,  
The rains let from their cloudy cage,  
May spoil what we expect to spend,  
No perfect bliss before the end.   

Lo whilst the Vine-tree great with grapes  
With nectared liquour strives to kiss  
Th'embracing Elm not loved amiss:  
Those clusters lose their comely shapes,  
Whilst by the thunder burnt in heaps,  
All Bacchus' hopes fall down and perish:  
Thus many a thing doth fairly flourish,  
That no perfection can attain,  
And yet we worldlings are so vain,  
That our conceits we highly bend,  
If fortune but our spring-time cherish,  
Though we have storms for to sustain,  
Ere to the harvest our years ascend,  
No perfect bliss before the end.   

By all that in this world have place,  
There is a course that must be run,  
And let none judge himself t'have won,  
Till he have finished first his race,  
The forests through the which we trace,  
Breed ravenous beasts that do abhor us,  
And lie in wait for to devour us,  
Whilst brambles do our steps beguile,  
The fear of which though we exile,  
And to our mark with gladness tend,  
Than balls of gold are laid before us,  
To entertain our thoughts a while,  
And our good meaning to suspend,  
No perfect bliss before the end.   

Behold how Croesus long hath lived,  
Throughout this spacious world admired,  
And having all that he desired  
A thousand means of joy contrived,  
Yet now is suddenly deprived  
Of all that wealth, and strangely falls;  
For every thing his sprite appals;  
His sons decease, his country's loss;  
And his own State which huge storms toss:  
Thus he, who could not apprehend,  
Whilst as he slept in marble walls,  
No, nor imagine any cross,  
To bear all those, his breast must lend:  
No perfect bliss before the end.   

And we the Lydians that designed  
To reign over all that were about us,  
Behold how Fortune too doth flout us,  
And hath us utterly resigned:  
For we that had t'ourselves assigned  
A Monarchy, but knew not how,  
Yet thought to make the world to bow,  
That at our forces stood afraid;  
We, we, by whom these plots were laid,  
To think of bondage must descend,  
And bear the yoke of others now;  
O it is truth, that Solon said,  
While as he yet doth breath extend;  
No man is blessed, behold the end.      
W. A.  
FINIS.