THE POETICAL ESSAYS OF SAM. DANYEL.  
Newly corrected and augmented.  
AEtas prima canat veneres, postrema tumultus.  
AT LONDON Printed by P. Short for Simon Waterson. 1599   

The Arguments of these Essays following.  

THe civil wars between the two houses of Lancaster and York.  
Musophilus, or a defence of learning.  
The Epistle of Octavia to Antonius.  
The Tragedy of Cleopatra corrected.  
The complaint of Rosamond.    

To the Right honourable, Sir Charles Blunt Knight, Lord Mountioy, and Knight of the most Noble order of the Garter, and his most worthy Lord.  

I Do not plant thy great respected name  
Here in this front, to th' end thou shouldst protect  
These my endeavours from contempt or blame,  
Which none but their own forces must effect:  
Nor do I seek to win thy more respect,  
Most learned Lord, by these Essays of mine,  
Since that clear judgement that did first elect  
To favour me, will always keep me thine:  
Nor do I this more honour to assign.  
Unto thy worth that is not more hereby,  
Since th' offerings made unto the powers divine,  
every not them but show men's piety:  
But this I do to th'end if destiny  
Shall any monument reserve of me,  
Those times should see my love, how willing I  
That lived by thee, would have thee lives with me.   S. D.  

THE CIVIL WARS OF ENGLAND, BEtween the two Houses of Lancaster and York.  
AEtas prima canat veneres, postrema tumultus.  
SAM. DANIEL:  
AT LONDON Printed by P. S. for Simon Waterson. 1599   


THE ARGUMENT OF THE FIRST BOOK.  
What times forego Richard the seconds reign:  
The fatal causes of this civil war  
His uncles pride, his greedte Minions gain,  
Gloucester's revolt, and death dclivered are:  
Herford accused, exiled, called back again,  
Pretends t'amend what others Rule did mar.  
The King from Ireland, hastes but did no good,  
Whilst strange prodigious signs foretoken blood.  

1  
I Sing the civil wars, tumultuous broils,  
And bloody factions of a mighty land:  
Whose people haughty, proud with foreign spoils  
Upon themselves, turn back their conquering hand:  
Whilst Kin their Kin, brother the brother foils,  
Like Ensigns all against like Ensigns band:  
Bows against bows, the Crown against the crown,  
whilst all pretending right, all right thrown down.   

2  
What fury, o what madness held you so  
Dear people to too prodigal of blood?  
To waste so much and war without a foe,  
Whilst France to see your spoils, at pleasure stood;  
How much might you have purchased with less woe?  
Thave done you honour and your nephews good,  
Yours might have been what ever lies between  
The Perenei and Alps, Aquitaine, and Rbeine.   

3  
And yet o God we have no cause to plain  
Since hereby came, the quiet calm we joy  
The bliss of thee ELIZA, happy gain  
For all our loss; for that no other way  
The heavens could find, then unite again  
The fatal seu'red families; that they  
Might bring forth thee; that in thy peace might grow  
That glory which no age could ever show.   

4  
O sacred Goddess, I no muse but thee  
Invoke in this great work I now intend,  
Do thou inspire my thoughts, infuse in me  
A power to bring the same to happy end:  
Raise up a work for latter times to see  
That may thy glory and my pains commend:  
Strengthen thy subject strange things to rehearse  
And give peace to my life, life to my verse.   

5  
And thou Charles Mountioy borne the worlds  
That hast received into thy quiet shore delight,  
Me tempest-driven fortune-tossed wight,  
Tired with expecting and could hope no more:  
And cheerest on my better years to write  
A sadder Subject than I took before,  
Receive the work I consecrate to thee  
Borne of that rest which thou dost give to me.   

6  
And MEMORY, preseruresse of things done,  
Come thou, unfold the wounds, the wrack, the waist,  
Reveal to me how all the strife begun  
Twixt Lancaster and York in ages past.  
How causes, counsels and events did run  
So long as these unhappy times did last,  
Vnintermixt with fictions, fantasies;  
I versify the troth, not poetize.   

7  
And to the end we may with better ease  
judge the true progress; here bigin to show  
What wear the times fore going near to these,  
That these we may with better profit know:  
Tell how the world fell into this disease  
And how so great distemperature did grow,  
So shall we see by what degrees it came  
How things grown full, do soon grow out of frame.   

8  
Ten kings had now reigned of the Norman race  
With variable fortune turning chance,  
All in two hundredth sixty one years space,  
When Edward third of name and first of France  
Possessed the crown in fortune's highest grace;  
And did to greatest state, his state advance,  
When England might the largest limits see  
That ever any king attained but he.   

9  
For most of all the rest, toiled in unrest  
What with wrong titles, what with inward broil,  
Hardly a true establishment possessed  
Of what they sought with such exceeding toil;  
For why their power within itself oppressed,  
Scarce could break forth to greatness all that while;  
Such woe the childhood of this state did pass  
Before it could attain to what it was.   

10  
For first the Norman conquering all by might, 
William the Conqueror.   
By might was forced to keep what he had got:  
Altering the laws, changing the form of Right,  
And placing barbarous Customs he had brought:  
Mastering the mighty, humbling the poorer wight  
With grievous taxes tyranny had sought,  
Scarce laid th'assured grounds to build upon  
The change so hateful in such course begun.   

11  
William his son tracing the self-same ways 
William Rufus.   
The great outworn with war, or slain in peace  
Only upon depressed weakness prays,  
And treads down what was likeliest to increase,  
Those that were left, being left to woeful days,  
Had only power to wish for some release:  
Whilst giving beasts what did to men pertain  
took for a beast himself was after slain.   

12  
Henry his brother reigns when he had done 
Henry 1.   
(Who Roberts title better to reject)  
The Norman Duke the conquerors first son,  
Lightens in show, rather than in effect  
Those grievances, his fatal race begun  
Reforms the laws which soon he did neglect:  
Whose sons being drowned for whom he did prepare  
Leaves crown & strif to Maud his daughter's care.   

13  
Whom Stephen his Nephew (falsifying his oath)  
Prevents; assails the Realm; obtains the crown: 
King Stephen.   
Raising such tumults as torment them both  
Whilst both held nothing certainly their own.  
Th'afflicted Realm divided in their troth,  
And partial faith; most miserable grown,  
Endures the while; till peace and Stephen's death  
Conclude some hope, of quiet; to take breath.   

14  
The son of Maud (from Saxon blood derived 
Henry 2.   
By mother's line) succeeds th'unrightful king  
Henry the second, in whose reign reviv'd  
Th'oppressed state and first began to spring,  
And o if he had not been too long lived  
T'have seen th'affliction that his age did bring  
By his ungodly sons; then happy man,  
For they against him warred, for whom hewan   

15  
All Ireland, Scotland, th'isles of Orcadeses,  
Poitiers, Guienna, Britain he got,  
And leads forth sorrow from itself to these,  
Recovers strength at home so feeble brought:  
Gives courage to the strong, to weaker ease;  
Adds to the state what England never sought:  
Who him succeed (the foreign blood out grown)  
Are home born kings by speech and birth our own.   

16  
Lo hitherto the new borne state in tears  
Was in her raw and wailing infancy,  
During a hundred two and twenty years  
Under the hand of strangers tyranny:  
And now some better strength and youth appears  
Which promises a glad recovery:  
For hard beginnings have the greatest states  
What with their own, or neighbourers debates.   

17  
Even like to Rhine which in his birth oppressed,  
Strangled almost with rocks and mighty hills,  
Works out a way to come to better rest,  
Wars with the mountains, strives against their wills:  
Brings forth his streams in unity possessed  
Into the quiet bed he proudly fills,  
Carrying that greatness which he cannot keep  
Unto his death and burial in the deep:   

18  
So did the worlds proud Mistress Rome at first  
Strive with a hard beginning, warred with need;  
Forcing her strong Confiners to the worst,  
And in her blood her greatness first did breed:  
So Spain at home with Moors ere forth it burst  
Did practise long and in itself did bleed;  
So did our state begin with her own wounds  
To try her strength ere it enlarged her bounds.   

19  
But now comes Richard to succeed his fire, 
Rich. t.   
Who much the glory of our arms increased,  
His father's limits bond not his desire  
He spreeds the English Ensigns in the East:  
And whilst his virtues would have raised him higher  
Treason, and malice his great actions ceased:  
A faithless brother and a fatal king  
Cut off his growth of glory in the spring.   

20  
Which wicked brother contrary to course 
K. jolm.   
False John usurps his Nephew Arthur's right,  
Gets to the crown by craft, by wrong, by force,  
Rules it with lust, oppression, rigour, might:  
Murders the lawful heir without remorse,  
Wherefore procuring all the worlds despite,  
A Tyrant loathed, a homicide convented  
Poisoned he dies, disgraced and unlamented.   

21  
Henry his son is chosen king, though young 
Henry 3.   
And Lewes of France (elected first) beguiled,  
After the mighty had debated long,  
Doubtful to choose a stranger or a child:  
With him the Barons (in these times grown strong)  
War for their ancient laws so long exiled.  
He grants the Charter that pretended ease  
And kept his own, yet did his own appease.   

22  
Edward his son a martial king succeeds  
Just, prudent, grave, religious, fortunate: 
Edwa. 1.   
Whose happy ordered reign most fertile breeds  
Plenty of mighty spirits to strength his state,  
And worthy minds, to manage worthy deeds  
Th' experience of those times ingenerate:  
For ever great employment for the great  
Quickens the blood and honour doth beget.   

23  
And had not his mislead lascivious son 
Edward. 1.   
Edward the second, intermitted so  
The course of glory happily begun  
Which brought him, and his favourites to woe:  
That happy current without stop had run  
Unto the full of his son Edward's flow:  
But who hath often seen in such a state,  
Father and son like good, like fortunate.   

24  
But now this great succeeder all repairs, 
Edward. 3.   
And rebrings-backe that discontinued good,  
He builds up strength and greatness for his heirs  
Out of the virtues that adorned his blood:  
He makes his subjects Lords of more than theirs,  
And sets their bounds far wider than they stood:  
Can greatness have but kept what he had got  
It was enough he did, and what he wrought.   

25  
And had his heir surviued him in due course, 
Edward the black prince who died before his father.   
What limits England hadst thou found, what bar?  
What world could have resisted so great force?  
O more than men! two thunderbolts of war,  
Why did not time your joined worth divorce  
T'have made your several glories greater far?  
Too prodigal was nature thus to do,  
To spend in one age, what should serve for two.   

26  
But now the sceptre in this glorious state 
Rich, 2. 1   
Supported with strong power and victory  
Was left unto a child, ordained by fate  
To stay the course of what might grow too high:  
Here was a stop that greatness did abate  
When power upon so weak a base did lie,  
For lest great fortune should presume too far  
Such oppositions interposed are.   

27  
Never this Island better peopled stood,  
Never more men of might, and minds addressed,  
Never more Princes of the royal blood,  
(If not too many, for the public rest)  
Nor ever was more treasure, wealth and good,  
Then when this Richard first the crown possessed  
Second of name, a name in two accursed,  
And well we might have missed all but the first.   

28  
In this man's reign began this fatal strife  
The bloody argument where of we treat;  
That dearly cost so many ' a Prince his life;  
That spoiled the weak, & even consumed the great,  
That, wherein all calamity was rife  
That memory even grieves her to repeat  
And would that time would now this knowledge lose,  
But that 'tis good to learn by others woes.   

29  
Edward the third being dead, had left this child  
Son of his worthy son deceased of late  
The crown and Sceptre of this Realm to wield,  
Appointing the protectors of his state  
Two of his sons to be his better shield,  
Supposing uncles free from guile or hate  
Would order all things for his better good,  
In the respect and honour of their blood.   

30  
Of these John Duke of Lancaster was one,  
(Too great a subject grown, for such a state  
The title of a king and what h'had done  
In great exploits his mind did elevate  
Above proportion kingdoms stand upon,  
Which made him push at what his issue gate)  
The other Edmond Langley, whose mild spirit  
Affected quiet and a safe delight.   

31  
With these did interpose his proud unrest  
Thomas of woodstock, one most violent,  
Impatient of command, of peace, of rest,  
Whose brow would show, that which his heart had meant:  
His open malice and repugnant breast  
Procured much mischief by his discontent:  
And these had all the charge of king and state,  
Till by himself he might it ordinate.   

32  
And in the first years of this government,  
Things past, as first; the wars in France proceed  
Though not with that same fortune and event  
Being now not followed with such careful heed,  
Our people here at home grown discontent  
Through great exactions insurrections breed,  
Private respects hindered the common weal,  
And idle ease doth on the mighty steal.   

33  
Too many kings breed factions in the court,  
The head too weak, the members grown too great:  
O this is that which kingdoms doth transport,  
This plague the heavens do for injustice threat  
When children rule, who ever in this sort  
Confound the state their ancestors did get;  
For the ambitious once enured to reign  
Can never brook a private state again.   

34  
And kingdoms ever suffer this distress,  
For one or many guide the infant king,  
Which one or many, tasting this excess  
Of greatness and command; can never bring  
Their thoughts again t'obey or to be less:  
From hence these insolences ever spring,  
Contempt of others whom they seek to foil,  
Then follow leagues, destruction, ruin, spoil.   

35  
Whether it were that they which had the charge  
Suffered the king to take a youthful vain,  
That they their private better might enlarge:  
Or whether he himself would farther strain  
(Thinking his years sufficient to discharge  
The government) presumed to take the reign,  
We will not say: but now his ear he lends  
To youthful counsel, and his lusts attends.   

36  
And courts were never barren yet of those  
Which could with subtle train and apt advise  
Work on the Prince's weakness, and dispose  
Of feeble frailty easiest to entice:  
And such no doubt about this king arose,  
Whose flattery (the dangerous nurse of vice)  
Got hand upon his youth to pleasures bend  
Which lead by them did others discontent.   

37  
For now his uncles grew much to mislike  
These ill proceed; were it that they saw,  
That others favoured did aspiring seek  
Their nephew from their counsels to withdraw,  
Seeing his nature flexible and mecke,  
Because they only would keep all in awe:  
Or that indeed they found the king and state  
Abused by such as now in office sat.   

38  
Or rather else they all were in the fault,  
Th' ambitious uncles, th' indiscreet young king,  
The greedy counsel and the Minions nought,  
And all together did this tempest bring;  
Besides the times withal injustice fraught,  
Concurred in this confused disordering,  
That we may truly say this spoiled the state;  
Youthful Counsel, private gain, partial hate.   

39  
And sure the king plainly discovereth  
Apparent cause his uncles to suspect;  
For John of Gaunt was said to seek his death  
By secret means, which came not to effect:  
The Duke of Gloster like wise practiseth  
In open world that all men might detect  
And leagues his Nobles, and in greatest strength  
Rises in arms against him too at length.   

40  
Under pretence from him to take away  
Such as they said the states oppressors wear,  
To whom the Realm was now become a prey;  
The chief of whom they named was Robert Vere  
Then Duke of Ireland; bearing greatest sway  
About the king, who held him only dear,  
Him they would have removed and divers more,  
Or else would never lay down arms they swore.   

41  
The king was forced in that next Parliament  
To grant them what he durst not well refuse,  
For thither armed they came and fully bend  
To suffer no repulse nor no excuse:  
And here they did accomplish their intent  
Where justice did her sword, not balance use:  
For even that sacred place they violate  
And there arrest the judges as they sat.   

42  
Which soon with many others had their end,  
Cruelly slain without the course of right,  
And still these wars that public good pretend  
Work most injustice being done for spite:  
For the aggrieved evermore do bend  
Against those whom they see of greatest might,  
Who though themselves are wronged & often forced,  
Yet for they can do most are thought the worst.   

43  
And yet I do not seem herein to excuse  
The justices, and Minions of the king  
Which might their office and their grace abuse,  
But only blame the course of managing:  
For great men too well graced much rigour use;  
Presuming favourites mischief ever bring;  
So that concluding I may boldly speak,  
Minions too great, argue a king too weak.   

44  
Now that so much was granted as was sought,  
A reconcilement made although not meant  
Appeased them all in show, but not in thought  
Whilst every one seemed outwardly content:  
Though hereby king, nor peers, nor people got  
More love, more strength, or easier government;  
But every day things now succeeded worse,  
For good from kings must not be drawn by force.   

45  
And this it lo continued till by chance  
The Queen (which was the emperors daughter) died;  
When as the king t' establish peace with France  
And better for home quiet to provide,  
Sought by contracting marriage to advance  
His own affairs against his uncles pride:  
took the young daughter of king Charles to wife  
Which after in the end raised greater strife.   

46  
For now his uncle Gloster much repined  
Against this french alliance and this peace,  
Having himself a working stirring mind  
Which never was content the wars should cease:  
Whether he did dishonourable find  
Those articles that did our bounds decrease,  
And therefore stormed because the crown had wrong;  
Or that he feared the king would grow too strong;   

47  
Or whatsoever moved him; this is sure  
Hereby he wrought his ruin in the end,  
And was a fatal cause that did procure  
The swift approaching mischiefs that attend:  
For lo the king no longer could endure  
Thus to be crossed in what he did intend,  
And therefore watched but some occasion fit  
T' attach the Duke when he thought least of it.   

48  
And fortune now to further this intent  
The great Earl of S. Paul doth hither bring,  
From Charles of France unto the young Q. sent  
To see both her and to salute the king:  
To whom he shows his uncles discontent  
And of his secret dangerous practising,  
How he his subjects sought to fullevare  
And break the league with France concluded late.   

49  
To whom the subtle Earl forthwith replies,  
Great Prince it is within your power with ease,  
To remedy such fears, such jealousies,  
And rid you of such mutineers as these;  
By cutting off that which might greater rise,  
And now at first preventing this disease,  
And that before he shall your wrath disclose,  
For who threats first means of revenge doth lose.   

50  
First take his head, then tell the reason why,  
Stand not to find him guilty by your laws,  
Easier you shall with him your quarrel try  
Dead then alive who hath the better cause:  
For in the murmuring vulgar usually  
This public course of yours compassion draws,  
Especially in cases of the great  
Which work much pity in the undiscreat.   

51  
And this is sure though his offence be such,  
Yet doth calamity attract commorse,  
And men repine at Prince's bloodshed much  
How iust-socuer judging 'tis by force:  
I know not how their death gives such a tuch  
In those that reach not to a true discourse;  
That so shall you observing formal right  
Be still thought as unjust and win more spite.   

52  
And oft the cause, may come prevented so,  
And therefore when 'tis done, let it be heard;  
So shall you hereby scape your private woe  
And satisfy the world to, afterward:  
What need you weigh the rumours that shall go?  
What is that breath being with your life compared?  
And therefore if you will be ruled by me  
Strangled or poisoned secret let him be.   

53  
And then arraign the chief of those you find  
Were of his faction secretly compact,  
Whom you may wisely order in such kind  
That you may such confessions then exact,  
As both you may appease the people's mind  
And by their death much aggravate the fact:  
So shall you rid yourself of dangers quite  
And show the world that you have done but right.   

54  
This counsel uttered unto such an ear  
As willing listens to the safest ways,  
Works on the yielding matter of his fear,  
Which easily to any course obeys:  
For every Prince seeing his danger near  
By any means his quiet peace assays:  
And still the greatest wrongs that ever were  
Have then been wrought when kings were put in fear.   

55  
And long it was not ere he apprehends  
The Duke, who close to Calais was conveyed,  
And th' Earls of Arundel and Warwick sends,  
Both in close prisons strongly to be laid;  
And soon the Duke his life unquiet ends,  
Strangled in secret ere it was bewrayed;  
And Arundel was put to public death,  
But Warwick by great means he banisheth.   

56  
And for his person he procures a guard  
A thousand Archers daily to attend,  
Which now upon the act he had prepared  
As th' argument his actions to defend:  
But yet the world had now conceived so hard  
That all this nought availd him in the end:  
In vain with terror is he fortified  
That is not guarded with firm love beside.   

57  
Now storm his uncles albeit in vain,  
For that no remedy they could devise,  
They might their sorrows inwardly complain,  
But outwardly they needs must temporize:  
The king was great, and they should nothing gain  
T'attempt revenge or offer once to rise,  
This league with France had made him now so strong  
That they must needs as yet endure this wrong.   

58  
For like a Lion that escapes his bounds  
Having been long restrained his use to stray,  
Ranges the restless woods, stays on no ground,  
Riottes with bloodshed, wantoness on his pray:  
Seeks not for need but in his pride to wound,  
Glorying to see his strength and what he may;  
So this unbridled king freed of his fears  
In liberty himself thus wildly bears.   

59  
For standing on himself he sees his might  
Out of the compass of respective awe,  
And now begins to violate all right  
While no restraining fear at hand he saw:  
Now he exacts of all, wastes in delight,  
Riots in pleasure, and neglects the law;  
He thinks his crown is licensd to do ill  
That less should list, that may do what it will.   

60  
Thus b'ing transported in this sensual course  
No friend to warn, no counsel to withstand,  
He still proceedeth on from bad to worse,  
Soothed in all actions that he took in hand  
By such as all impiety did nurse,  
Commending ever what he did command:  
Unhappy kings that never may be taught  
To know themselves or to discern their fault.   

61  
And whilst all silent grieve at what is done,  
The Duke of Herford then of courage bold  
And worthily great john of Gaunts first son  
Utters the passion which he could not hold,  
In sad discourse upon this course begun,  
Which he to Mowbray Duke of Norfolk told;  
To th' end he being great about the king  
Might do some good by better counseling.   

62  
The faithless Duke that presently takes hold 
Froisart. Pol. Virg. & Hall, der huer it in this sort.   
Of such advantage to insinuate  
Hastes to the king, perverting what was told,  
And what came of good mind he makes it hate:  
The king that might not now be so controlled  
Or censured in his course, much frets thereat;  
Sends for the Duke, who doth such words deny  
And craves the combat of his enemy.   

63  
Which strait was granted, and the day assigned  
When both in order of the field appear  
To right each other as th' event should find,  
And now both even at point of combat were  
When lo the king changed suddenly his mind,  
Casts down his warder and so stays them there,  
As better now advisd what way to take  
Which might for his assured safety make.   

64  
For now considering (as it likely might)  
The victory should hap on herford's side,  
A man most valiant and of noble spirit,  
Beloved of all, and ever worthy tried:  
How much he might be graced in public sight  
By such an act as might advance his pride,  
And so become more popular by this,  
Which he fears, too much he already is.   

65  
And therefore he resolves to banish both,  
Though th' one in chiefest favour with him stood,  
A man he dearly loved and might be loath  
To leave him that had done him so much good:  
Yet having cause to do as now he doth  
To mitigate the envy of his blood,  
Thought best to lose a friend, to rid a foe,  
And such a one as now he doubted so.   

66  
And therefore to perpetual exile he  
Mowbray condemns; Herford but for ten years:  
Thinking (for that the wrong of this decree  
Compared with greater rigour less appears)  
It might of all the better liked be:  
But yet such murmuring of the fact he hears,  
That he is feign four of the ten forgive,  
And judged him six years in exile to live.   

67  
At whose departure hence out of the land,  
O how the open multitude reveal  
The wondrous love they bore him underhand,  
Which now in this hot passion of their zeal  
They plainly showed that all might understand  
How dear he was unto the common weal:  
They feared not to exclaim against the king  
As one that sought all good men's ruining.   

68  
Unto the shore with tears, with sighs, with moan  
They him conduct, cursing the bounds that stay  
Their willing feet that would have further gone  
Had not the fearful Ocean stopped their way:  
Why Neptune hast thou made us stand alone  
Divided from the world, for this say they?  
Hemmed in to be a spoil to tyranny  
Leaving affliction hence no way to fly?   

69  
Are we locked up poor souls, here t'abide  
Within the watery prison of thy waves,  
As in a fold, where subject to the pride  
And lust of rulers we remain as slaves?  
Here in the reach of might, where none can hide  
From th' eye of wrath, but only in their graves?  
Happy confiners you of other lands  
That shift your soil and oft scape tyrants' hands.   

70  
Ah must we leave him here; that here were fit  
We should retain the pillar of our state;  
Whose virtues well deserve to govern it,  
And not this wanton young effeminate?  
Why should not he in regal honour sit,  
That best knows how a realm to ordinate?  
Yet one day o we hope thou shalt bring back  
Dear Bullingbrooke the justice that we lack.   

71  
Thus muttred lo the malcontented sort  
That love kings best before they have them still,  
And never can the present state comport,  
But would as oft change as they change their will:  
For this good Duke had won them in this sort  
By suckring them and pitying of their ill,  
That they supposed strait it was one thing,  
To be both a good man, and a good king.   

72  
When as the graver sort that saw the course  
And knew that Princes may not be controlled,  
Liked well to suffer this for fear of worse;  
Since many great, one kingdom cannot hold:  
For now they saw intestine strife of force  
The apt-devided state entangle would,  
If he should stay whom they would make their head,  
By whom the vulgar body might be lead.   

73  
They saw likewise that Princes oft are feign  
To buy their quiet with the price of wrong:  
And better 'ttwere that now a few complain  
Then all should morn, aswell the weak as strong:  
Seeing how little Realms by change do gain,  
And therefore learned by observing long  
T' admire times past, follow the present will  
Wish for good Princes, but t' endure the ill.   

74  
For when it nought awailes what folly then  
To strive against the current of the time?  
Who will throw down himself for other men  
That make a ladder by his fall to climb?  
Or who would seek t'imbroile his country when  
He might have rest; suffering but others crime?  
Since wisemen ever have preferred far  
Th' uniustest peace, before the justest war.   

75  
Thus they considered that in quiet fate,  
Rich or content, or else unfit to strive:  
Peace lover-wealth, hating a troublous state  
Doth willing reasons for their rest contrive:  
But if that all were thus considerate  
How should in court the great, the favoured thrive?  
Factions must be and these varieties,  
And some must fall that other some may rise.   

76  
But long the Duke remained not in exile  
Before that john of Gaunt his father dies,  
Upon whose state the king seized now this while  
Disposing of it as his enemies:  
This open wrong no longer could beguile  
The world that saw these great indignities,  
Which so exasperates the minds of all  
That they resolved him home again to call   

77  
For now they saw 'twas malice in the king  
Transported in his il-conceived thought,  
That made him so to prosecute the thing  
Against all law and in a course so nought:  
And this advantage to the Duke did bring  
Fit occasions whereupon he wrought:  
For to a man so strong and of such might  
He gives him more, that takes away his right.   

78  
The king, in this mean time, I know not how  
Was drawn into some actions forth the land,  
T' appease the Irish that revolted now;  
And there attending what he had in hand  
Neglects those parts from whence worse dangers grow,  
As ignorant how his affairs did stand:  
Whether the plot was wrought it should be so,  
Or that his fate did draw him on to go.   

79  
Certain it is that he committed here  
An ignorant and idle oversight,  
Not looking to the Duke's proceed there,  
Being in the court of France where best he might,  
Where both the king and all assured were  
T' have stopped his course being within their right:  
But being now exiled he thought him sure  
And free from farther doubting lived secure.   

80  
So blinds the sharpest counsels of the wise  
This overshadowing providence on high,  
And dazzleth the clearest sighted eyes,  
That they see not how nakedly they lie:  
There where they little think the storm doth rise,  
And overcasts their clear security:  
When man hath stopped all ways save only that  
That (lest suspected) ruin enters at.   

81  
And now was all disorder in th' excess  
And whatsoever doth a change portend,  
As idle luxury, and wantonness,  
Proteus-like varying pride, vain without end:  
Wrong-worker Riot, motive to oppress,  
Endless exactions, which the idle spend,  
Consuming usury and credits cracked,  
Called on this purging war that many lacked.   

82  
Then ill persuading want in martial minds,  
And wronged patience, long oppressed with might,  
Looseness in all, which no religion binds,  
Commanding force the measure made of right,  
Gave suell to this fire, that easy finds  
The way t'inflame the whole endangered quite:  
These were the public breeders of this war,  
By which still greatest states confounded are.   

83  
For now this peace with France had sue in here  
The overgrowing humours wars do spend,  
For where t' cuacuate no employments were  
Widerth ' unwieldy burden doth distend;  
Men wholly used to war, peace could not bear;  
As knowing no course else whereto to bend:  
For brought up in the broils of these two Realms,  
They thought best fishing still in troubled streams.   

84  
Like to a river that is stopped his course  
Doth violate his banks, breaks his own bed,  
Destroys his bounds and overruns by force  
The neighbour fields irregularly spread:  
Even so this sudden stop of war doth nurse  
Home broils within itself, from others lead:  
So dangerous the change hereof is tried  
E'er minds come soft or otherwise employed.   

85  
And all this makes for thee, o Bullingbrooke,  
To work a way unto thy sovereignty;  
This care the heavens, fate and fortune took  
To bring thee to thy sceptre easily:  
Upon the falls that hap which him forsook  
Who crowned a king, a king yet must not die,  
Thou wert ordained by providence to raise  
A quarrel lasting longer than thy days.   

86  
For now this absent king out of his land,  
Where though he show'd great spirit and valour then,  
(Being attended with a worthy band  
of valiant Peers, and most courageous men)  
Gave time to them at home that had in hand  
Th' ungodly work and knew the season when;  
Who fail not to advise the Duke with speed,  
Soliciting to what he soon agreed.   

87  
For presently upon so good report,  
He doth with cunning train and policy  
Convey himself out of the French kings court  
Under pretence to go to Brittany:  
And with his followers that to him resort  
Landed in England. Welcomed joyfully  
Of th' altering vulgar apt for changes still  
As headlong carried with a present will.   

88  
And comed to quiet shore but not to rest,  
The first night of his joyful landing here  
A fearful vision doth his thoughts molest,  
Seeming to see in woeful form appear  
A naked goodly woman all distressed,  
Which with ful-weeping eyes and rent-white hair,  
Wring her hands as one that grieved and prayed,  
With sighs commixed, with words it seemed she said.   

89  
O whither dost thou tend my unkind son?  
What mischief dost thou go about to bring  
To her whose Genius thou here look'st upon,  
Thy mother country whence thyself didst spring?  
O whither dost thou in ambition run,  
To change due course by foul disordering?  
What bloodshed, o what broils dost thou commence  
To last for many woeful ages hence?   

90  
Stay here thy foot, thy yet unguilty foot,  
That canst not stay when thou art farther in,  
Retire thee yet unstained whilst it doth boot,  
The end is spoil of what thou dost begin:  
Injustice never yet took lasting root,  
Nor held that long impiety did win:  
The babes unborn, shall o be borne to bleed  
In this thy quarrel if thou do proceed.   

91  
Thus said she ceased, when he in troubled thought  
Grieved at this tale and sighed, and this replies:  
Dear Country o I have not hither brought  
These Arms to spoil but for thy liberties:  
though sin be on their head that this have wrought  
Who wronged me first, and thee do tyrannize;  
I am thy Champion and I seek my right,  
Provoked I am to this by others spite.   

92  
This this pretence faith she, th' ambitious find  
To smooth injustice, and to flatter wrong:  
Thou dost not know what then will be thy mind  
When thou shalt see thyself advanced and strong:  
When thou hast shaked off that which others bind  
Thou soon forgettest what thou learnedest long:  
Men do not know what then themselves will be  
When as more than themselves, themselves they see.   

93  
And here withal turning about he wakes,  
Labouring in spirit, troubled with this strange sight:  
And musd a while, waking advisement takes  
Of what had passed in sleep and silent night.  
Yet hereof no important reckoning makes  
But as a dream that vanished with the light:  
The day designs, and what he had in hand  
Left it to his diverted thoughts unskand.   

94  
Doubtful at first, he wary doth proceed  
Seems not t' affect, that which he did effect,  
Or else perhaps seems as he meant indeed,  
Sought but his own, and did no more expect:  
Then fortune thou art guilty of his deed,  
That didst his state above his hopes erect,  
And thou must bear some blame of his great sin  
That left'st him worse than when he did begin.   

95  
Thou didst conspire with pride, and with the time  
To make so easy an assent to wrong,  
That he that had no thought so high to climb,  
(With favouring comfort still allured along)  
Was with occasion thrust into the crime,  
Seeing others weakness and his part so-strong:  
And o in such a case who is it will  
Do good, and fear that may live free with ill.   

96  
We will not say nor think O Lancaster,  
But that thou than didst mean as thou didst swear  
Upon th' Evangelists at Doncaster,  
In th' eye of heaven, and that assembly there  
That thou but as an upright orderer  
Soughtest to reform th' abused kingdom here,  
And get thy right, and what was thine before,  
And this was all, thou wouldst attempt no more.   

97  
Though we might say & think that this pretence  
Was but a shadow to th' intended act,  
Because th' event doth argue the offence  
And plainly seems to manifest the fact:  
For that hereby thou mightst win confidence  
With those whom else thy course might hap distracted,  
And all suspicion of thy drift remove,  
Since easily men credit whom they love.   

98  
But God forbidden we should so nearly pry  
Into the low deep buried sins long past  
T' examine and confer iniquity,  
Whereof faith would no memory should last:  
That our times might not have t' exemplify  
With aged stains, but with our own shame cast,  
Might think our blot the first not done before,  
That new-made sins might make us blush the more.   

99  
And let unwresting charity believe  
That then thy oath with thy intent agreed,  
And others faith, thy faith did first deceive,  
Thy after fortune forced thee to this deed:  
And let no man this idle censure give  
Because th' event proves so, 'twas so decreed:  
For o what counsels sort to other end  
Then that which frailty did at first intend?   

100  
Whilst those that are but outward lookers on,  
That cannot sound these mysteries of state,  
deems things were so contrived as they are done,  
Holding that policy, that was but fate:  
Wondering how strange 'twas wrought, how close begun,  
And think all actions else did tend to that,  
When o how short they come, or cast too far  
Making the happy wiser than they are.   

101  
But by degrees he venter's now on blood,  
And sacrificed unto the people's love,  
The death of those that chief in envy stood  
As th' Officers, who first these dangers prove:  
The treasurer and those that they thought good,  
Bushy and green by death he must remove,  
These were the men the people thought did cause  
Those great exactions and abused the laws.   

102  
This done, his cause was preached with learned skill,  
And th' Archbishop of Canterbury show'd  
A pardon sent from Rome, to all that will  
Take part with him, and quit the faith they owed  
To Richard, as a Prince unfit and ill,  
On whom the crown was fatally bestowed:  
And easie-yeelding zeal was quickly caught  
With what the mouth of gravity had taught.   

103  
O that this power from everlasting given  
The great alliance made twixt God and us,  
Th' intelligence that earth doth hold with heaven,  
Sacred religion, o that thou must thus  
Be made to smooth our ways unjust, uneven,  
Brought from above earth-quarrels to discuss,  
Must men beguile our souls to win our wills,  
And make our zeal the furtherer of ills?   

104  
But the ambitious to advance their might  
Dispense with heaven and what religion would,  
The armed will find right, or else make right,  
If this means wrought not, yet another should:  
And this and other now do all incite  
To strength the faction that the Duke doth hold;  
Who easily obtained what he sought,  
His virtues and his love so greatly wrought.   

105  
The king still busied in this Irish war  
Which by his valour there did well succeed,  
Had news how here his Lords revolted are,  
And how the Duke of Herford doth proceed:  
In these affairs he fears are grown too far,  
Hastes his return from thence with greatest speed;  
But was by tempests, winds, and seas debarred  
As if they likewise had against him warred.   

106  
But at the length, though late, in wales he lands,  
Where thoroughly informed of Henry's force,  
And well advertisd how his own case stands, 
The Duke of Anibarle son to the Duke of York.   
Which to his grief he sees tends to the worse:  
He leavest ' Aumarle, at Milford all those bands  
He brought from Ireland; taking thence his course  
To conway all disguised with fourteen more  
Tothth' Earl of. Salisbury thither sent before.   

107  
Thinking the Earl had raised some forces there  
Whom there he finds for saken all alone,  
The people in those parts which levied were  
B'ing closely shrunk away dispersed and gone:  
The king had stayed too long, and they in fear  
Resolved every man to shift for one,  
At this amazed such fortune he laments,  
Foresees his fall whereto each thing consents.   

108  
In this disturbed tumultuous broken state,  
Whilst yet th'event stood doubtful what should be,  
Whilst nought but headlong running to debate  
And glittering troops and armour men might see:  
Fury, and fear, compassion, wrath, and hate  
Confused through all the land no Corner free:  
The strong all mad, to strife, to ruin bend;  
The weaker wailed, the aged they lament,   

109  
And blame their many years that live so long  
To see the horror of these miseries:  
Why had not we (said they) died with the strong  
In foreign fields in honourable wise?  
In just exploits, and lawful without wrong,  
And by the valiant hand of enemies?  
And not thus now reserved in our age  
To home confusion and disordered rage.   

110  
Unto the Temples flock the weak devout,  
Sad wailing women, there to vow and pray  
For husbands, brothers, or their sons gone out.  
To bloodshed, whom nor tears, nor love could stay:  
Here grave religious fathers which much doubt  
The sad events these broils procure them may,  
As Prophets warn, exclaim, dissuade these crimes  
By the examples fresh of other times.   

111  
And o what do you now prepare said they,  
Another conquest by these fatal ways?  
What must your own hands make yourselves a prey  
To desolation, which these tumults raise?  
What Dane, what Norman, shall prepare his way  
To triumph on the spoil of your decay?  
That which nor France nor all the world could do  
In union, shall your discord, bring you to?   

112  
Conspire against us neighbour nations all  
That envy at the height whereto weare grown;  
Conjure the barbarous North, and let them call  
Strange fury from far distant shores unknown,  
And let them altogether on us fall;  
So to divert the ruin of our own,  
That we forgetting what doth so incense  
May turn the hand of malice to defence.   

113  
Calm these tempestuous spirits O mighty Lord,  
This threatening storm that over hangs the land,  
Make them consider ere they'vnsheath the sword  
How vain is th' earth, this point whereon they stand,  
And with what sad calamities is stoored  
The best of that, for which th' Ambitious band:  
Labour the end of labour, strife of strife,  
Terror in death and horror after life.   

114  
Thus they in zeal whose humbled thoughts were good:  
Whilst in this wide spread volume of the skies,  
The book of providence disclosed stood,  
Warnings of wrath, foregoing miseries;  
In lines of fire and characters of blood,  
There fearful forms in dreadful flames arise,  
Amazing Comets, threatening monarchs might  
And new-seene stars, unknown unto the night.   

115  
Red fiery dragons in the air do fly,  
And burning Meteors, poynted-streaming lights,  
Bright stars in midst of day appear in sky,  
Prodigious monsters, ghastly fearful sights:  
Strange Ghosts, and apparitions terrific,  
The woeful mother her own birth affrights,  
Seeing a wrong deformed infant borne  
Grieves in her pains, deceived in shame doth morn.   

116  
The Earth as if afeard of blood and wounds  
Trembles in terror of these falling blows:  
The hollow concaves give out groaning sounds  
And sighing, murmurs to lament our woes:  
The Ocean all at discord with his bounds,  
Reiterates his strange untimely flows:  
Nature all out of course to check our course,  
Neglects her work to work in us remorse.   

117  
So great a wrack unto itself doth lo  
Disordered mortality prepare:  
That this whole frame doth even labour so  
Her ruin unto frailty to declare;  
And travails to foresignify the woe,  
That weak improvidence could not beware:  
For heaven and earth, and air and seas and all  
Taught men to see, but not to shun their fall.   

118  
Is man so dear unto the heavens that they  
Respect the ways of earth, the works of sin?  
Doth this great all this universal weigh  
The vain designs that weakness doth begin?  
Or do our fear father of zeal make way  
Unto this error ignorance lives in?  
Making our faults the cause that move these powers  
That have their cause from other cause then ours?   

119  
Or do the conscience of our wicked deeds  
Apply to sin the terror of these sights,  
Happening at the instant when commotion breeds  
Amazing only timorous vulgar wights,  
Who ever aggravating that which feeds  
Their fears, still find out matter that affrights,  
Whilst th' impious fierce, neglecting seal no touch,  
And weigh too light what other scare so much.   

120  
Ah no th' eternal power that guides this frame  
And serves him with the instruments of heaven  
To call the earth and summon up our shame,  
By an edict from everlasting given;  
Forbids mortality to search the same,  
Where sense is blind, and wit of wit bereaven  
Terror must be our knowledge, fear our skill,  
T' admire his work and tremble at his will.   

121  
And these beginnings had this impious war,  
Th' ungodly bloodshed that did so defile  
The beauty of thy fields, and even did mar  
The flower of thy chief pride o fairest Isle:  
These were the causes that incensed so far  
The civil wounding hand enraged with spoil,  
That now the living with afflicted eye  
Look back with grief on such calamity.    

THE ARGUMENT OF THE SECOND BOOK.  
King Richard moans his wrong and wails his reign:  
And here betrayed to London he is led,  
Basely attired attending herford's train,  
Where th' one is scorned, the other welcomed.  
His Wife mistaking him doth much complain  
And both together greatly sorrowed:  
In hope to save his life and ease his thrall  
He yields up state, and Rule, and Crown, and all.  

1  
IN dearth of faith and scarcity of friends,  
The late great mighty monarch on the shore  
In th' utmost corner of his land attends  
To call back false obedience fled before:  
Toils, and in vain, his toil and labour spends,  
More hearts he sought to gain he lost the more:  
All turned their faces to the rising sun  
And leaves his setting-fortune night begun.   

2  
O Percy how by thy example lead 
This Percy was Earl of Woster, and brother to the Earl of Northumberland.   
The household train for sook their wretched Lord,  
When with thy staff of charge dishonoured,  
Thou brok'st thy faith, not steward of thy word,  
And tookst his part that after took thy head:  
When thine own hand had strengthened first his  
For such great merits do obraid, and call  
For great reward, or think the great too small.   

3  
And kings love not to be beholding aught,  
Which makes their chiefest friends oft speed the worst:  
For those by whom their fortunes have been wrought  
Put them in mind of what they were at first:  
Whose doubtful faith if once in question brought  
'tis thought they will offend because they durst,  
And taken in a fault are never spared,  
Being casier to revenge, then to reward.   

4  
And thus these mighty actors sons of change,  
These partizanes of factions, often tried  
That in the smoke of innovations strange  
Build huge uncertain plots of unsure pride:  
And on the hazard of a bad exchange  
Have ventured all the stock of life beside,  
Whilst Princes raised, disdain to have been raised  
By those whose helps deserve not to be praised.   

5  
O Majesty left naked all alone,  
But with th' unarmed title of thy right,  
Those gallant troops, thy fortune followers gone;  
And all that pomp (the compliments of might)  
Th' amazing shadows that are cast upon  
The ears of Princes, to be guile the sight,  
Are vanished clean, and only frailty left  
Thyself of all, besides thyself bearest.   

6  
Like when some great Colossus, whose strong base  
Or mighty props are shrunk or sunk away,  
Foreshowing ruin, threatening all the place  
That in the danger of his fall doth stay,  
All strait to better safety flock apace,  
None rest to help the ruin while they may:  
The peril great and doubtful there dress,  
Men are content to leave right in distress.   

7  
As stately Thames enriched with many a flood,  
And goodly rivers that have made their graves  
And buried both their names and all their good  
Within his greatness to augment his waves;  
Glides on with pomp of waters unwithstood  
Unto the Ocean, which his tribute craves  
And Taies up all his wealth within that power,  
Which in itself all greatness doth devour.   

8  
So flock the mighty with their following train  
Unto the all-receiving Builing brook,  
Who wonders at himself how he should gain  
So many hearts as now his party took,  
And with what ease and with how slender pain,  
His fortune gives him more than he could look,  
What he imagined never could be wrought  
Is powered upon him, far beyond his thought.   

9  
So often things which seem at first in show  
Without the compass of accomplishment,  
Once ventured on to that success do grow,  
That even the Authors do admire th' event:  
So many means which they did never know  
Do second their designs, and do present  
Strange unexpected helps, and chief then  
When th' Actors are reputed worthy men.   

10  
And Richard who looked fortune in the back,  
Sees headlong-lightnes running from the right,  
Amazed stands to note how great a wrack  
Of faith his riots caused, what mortal spite  
The bear him, who did law and justice lack:  
Sees how concealed hate breaks out in sight,  
And feare-depressed envy penned before  
When fit occasion thus unlocked the door.   

11  
Like when some mastiff whelp disposed to play  
A whole confused heard of beasts doth chase,  
Which with one vile consent run all away,  
If any hardy than the rest in place  
But turn the head that idle fear to stay,  
Back strait the daunted chaser turns his face,  
And all the rest with bold example led  
As fastrun on him as before they fled.   

12  
So with this bold opposer rushes on  
This many-headed monster Multitude:  
And he who late was feared is set upon,  
And by his own Actaeon-like pursued,  
His own that had all love and awe foregone;  
Whom breath and shadows only did delude,  
And newer hopes which promises persuade:  
Though rare performed promises so made.   

13  
Which seeing this: thus to himself complains:  
O why do you fond false deceived so  
Run headlong to that change that nothing gains  
But gain of sorrow, only change of woe?  
Which is all one if he be like that reigns:  
Why will you buy with blood what you forego  
'tis nought but shows that ignorance esteems,  
The thing possessed is not the thing it seems.   

14  
And when the sins of Bullingbrooke shall be  
As great as mine, and you unanswered  
In these your hopes; then may you wish for me  
Your lawful Sour'aigne from whose faith you fled,  
And grieved in your souls the error see  
That shining promises had shadowed:  
As th' humorous sick removing find no ease,  
When changed Chambers change not the disease.   

15  
Then shall you find this name of liberty  
(The watchword of rebellion ever used  
The idle echo of uncertainty,  
That evermore the simple hath abused)  
But new-turned servitude and mice rye,  
And even the same and worse before refused,  
Th' aspirer once attained unto the top  
Cuts off those means by which himself got up.   

16  
And with a harder hand and straighter rain  
Doth curb that looseness he did find before,  
Doubting th'occasion like might serve again,  
His own example makes him fear the more:  
Then o injurious land what dost thou gain  
To aggravate thine own afflictions store  
Since thou must needs obey to government,  
And no rule, ever yet could all content   

17  
O if my youth hath offered up to lust  
Licentious fruits of indiscreet desires  
When idle heat of vainer years did thrust  
That fury on: yet now when it retires  
To calmer state: o why should you distrust  
To reap that good whereto mine age aspires?  
The youth of Princes have no bounds for sin  
Unless themselves do make them bounds within.   

18  
Who sees not that sees aught (woe worth the while)  
The easy way that greatness hath to fall  
Environed with deceit, hemmed in with guile,  
Soothed up in flattery, fawned on of all:  
Within his own living, as in exile,  
Hears but with others ears or not at all:  
Even made a pray only unto a few,  
Who lock up grace that would to others show.   

19  
And who as let in lease do farm the crown,  
And joy the use of Majesty and might,  
Whilst we hold but the shadow of our own,  
Pleased but with shows, and dallied with delight:  
They as huge unproportioned mountains grown.  
Between our land and us, shadowing our light,  
Bereave the rest of joy and us of love,  
And keep down all to keep themselves above.   

20  
Which wounds with grief poor unrespected zeal  
When grace holds no proportion in the parts;  
When distribution in the common weal  
Of charge and honour due to good deserts  
Is stopped, when others greedy hands must deal  
The benefit that Majestic imparts:  
What good we meant comes gleaned home but light  
Whilst we are robbed of praise, they of their right.   

21  
O hence I see, and to my grief I see,  
Th' unreconcilable disunion  
Is grown between my aggraved realm and me,  
And by their fault, whose faith I trusted on:  
My easy nature tractable and free,  
Soon drawn to what my council would have done  
Is thus betrayed by them and my neglect,  
Easiest deceived where least I did suspect.   

22  
Thus he complained, when lo from Lancaster  
(The new entitled Duke) with order sent  
Arrived Northumberland, as to confer  
And make relation of the Duke's intent:  
And offered there, if that he would refer  
The controversy unto Parliament,  
And punish those that had abused the state  
As causers of this universal hate,   

23  
And also see that justice might be had  
On those the Duke of Gloucester's death procured,  
And such removed from council as were bad,  
His cousin Henry would he there assured  
On humble knees before his grace be glad  
To ask him pardon to be well secured,  
And have his right and grace restored again,  
The which was all he laboured t' obtain.   

24  
And therefore he a Parley doth exhort,  
Persuades him leave that unbeseeming place  
And with a Princely hardiness resort  
Unto his people, that attend his grace:  
They meant the public good and not his hurt,  
And would most joyful be to see his face:  
He jaies his soul to pledge, and takes his oath  
The oft of Christ an hostage for his troth.   

25  
This proffer with such protestations made  
Unto a king that so near danger stood,  
Was a sufficient motive to persuade  
When no way else could show a face of good:  
Th' unhonourable means of safety bade  
Danger accept what Majesty withstood:  
When better choices are not to be had  
We needs must take the seeming best of bad.   

26  
Yet stands he in doubt a while what way to take,  
And doth confer with that small staying troup  
That fortune left; which never would forsake  
Their poor distressed Lord, nor ever stoop  
To any hopes the stronger part could make:  
Good Carlisle, Ferby and sir Stephen Scroop 
The Bishop of Carlisle. Montague Earl of Salisbury.   
With that most worthy Montague were all,  
That were content with Majesty to fall.   

27  
O Time, commit not sacrilegious theft  
Upon the holy faith of these good men:  
Let not succeeding ages be bereft  
Of such examples worthy of our Pen:  
Nor thou magnanim'ous Leigh shalt not be left  
In darkness for thy constant honour then,  
That then to save thy faith wouldst lose thy head,  
That reverent head that all men pitied.   

28  
Nor conscience would that I should injury  
O jenico thy memory so clear, 
jenico d' Artois a Gascoyn.   
For being not ours, though wish that Gascony  
Claimed not for hers the faith we hold so dear;  
So England should have this small company  
Wholly her own, and she no partner here;  
But let's divide this good betwixt us both,  
Take she thy birth and we will have thy troth.   

29  
Grave Montague, whom long experience taught  
In either fortune; this advisd his king:  
Dear Sovereign know, the matter that is sought  
Is only now your Majesty to bring  
From out of this poor safety you have got  
Into their hands, that else hold every thing:  
Nothing but only you they want of all,  
And wanting you, they nothing theirs can call.   

30  
Here have you craggy rocks to take your part  
That never will betray their faith to you;  
These trusty mountains here will never start  
But stand t' obraid their shame that are untrue,  
Here may you fence your safety with small art  
Against the pride of that confused Crew:  
If men will not, these very cliffs will fight  
And be sufficient to defend your right.   

31  
Then keep you here, and here shall you behold  
Within short space the sliding faith of those  
That cannot long their resolution hold,  
Repent the course their idle rashness chose:  
For that same mercenary faith they sold  
With least occasions discontented grows,  
And insolent those voluntary bands,  
Presuming how by them he chiefly stands.   

32  
And how can he those mighty troops sustain  
Long time where now he is, or any where?  
Besides what discipline can he retain  
Where as he dares not keep them under fear,  
For fear to have them to revolt again?  
So that itself when greatness cannot bear  
With her own weight must needs confusedly fall  
Without the help of other force at all.   

33  
And hither to approach he will never dare  
Where deserts, rocks, and hills no succours give,  
Where desolation and no comforts are,  
Where few can do no good, many not live:  
Besides we have the Ocean to prepare  
Some other place if this should not relieve;  
So shall you tyre his force, consume his strength  
And weary all his followers out at length.   

34  
Do but refer to time and to small time,  
And infinite occasions you shall find,  
To quail the reble even in the prime  
Of all his hopes beyond all thought of mind,  
For many with the curse what they designed;  
And bad success obraiding their ill fact  
Draws them that others draw from such an act.   

35  
For if the least imagined overture  
But of conceived revolt men once espy,  
Strait shrink the weak, the great will not endure,  
Th' impatient run, the discontented fly,  
The friend his friend's example doth procure,  
And altogether haste them presently  
Some to their home, some hide, others that stay  
To reconcile themselves, the rest betray.   

36  
What hope have you that ever Bullingbrooke  
Will live a subject that hath tried his fate?  
Or what good reconcilement can you look  
Where he must always fear, and you must hate?  
And never think that he this quarrel took  
To reobtain thereby his private state;  
'twas greater hopes that hereto did him call  
And he will thrust for all, or else lose all.   

37  
Nor trust this subtle Agent nor his oath,  
You know his faith, you tried it before hand,  
His fault is death and now to lose his troth,  
To save his life he will not greatly stand:  
Nor trust your kinsman's proffer, since you both  
Show blood in Princes is no steadfast band:  
What though he hath no title, he hath might  
That makes a title where there is no right?   

38  
Thus he: when that good Bishop thus replies 
The Bishop of Castille   
Out of a mind that quiet did affect,  
My Lord, I must confess as your case lies,  
You have great cause your subjects to suspect  
And counterplot against their subtleties,  
You all good care and honesty neglect  
And fear the worst what insolence may do,  
Or armed fury may incense them to.   

39  
But yet my Lord, fear may as well transport  
Your care beyond the truth of what is meant,  
As other wife neglect may fall too short  
In not examining of their intent:  
But let us weigh the thing which they exhort,  
'tis Peace, submission and a parliament,  
Which how expedient 'tis for either part  
'tTwere good we judged with an unpartial heart.   

40  
And first for you my Lord, in grief we see  
The miserable case wherein you stand  
Void here of succour, help or majesty,  
On this poor promontory of your land,  
And where how long a time your grace may be,  
Expecting what may fall into your hand  
We know not: sinceth ' event of things do lie  
Closed up in darkness far from mortal eye.   

41  
And how unfit it were you should protract,  
Long time in this so dangerous disgrace,  
As though that you good spirit and courage lacked  
To issue out of this opprobrious place:  
When even the face of kings do oft exact  
Fear and remorse in faulty subjects base,  
And longer stay a great presumption draws  
That you were guilty or did doubt your cause.   

42  
What subjects ever so enraged would dare  
To violate a Prince, t' offend the blood  
Of that renowned race, by which they are  
Exalted to the glory of this good?  
What if some things by chance misguided were,  
Which they have now rebelliously withstood?  
They never will proceed with that despite  
To wrack the state, and to confound the right.   

43  
Nor do I think that Bulling brook can do  
So blind ambitious to affect the crown,  
Having himself no title, and doth see  
Others, if you should fail, must keep him down:  
Besides the Realm, though mad, will never 'gree  
To have a right succession overthrown,  
To raise confusion upon them and theirs  
By prejudicing true and lawful beires.   

44  
And now it may be fearing the success  
Of his attempts, or with remorse of mind,  
Or else distrusting secret practices,  
He would be glad his quarrel were resigned,  
So that there were some orderly redress  
In those disorders which the Realm did find:  
And this I think he now fees were his best  
Since farther actions farther but unrest.   

45  
And for the impossibility of peace  
And reconcilement which my Lords objects:  
I think when doying injury shall cease  
(The cause pretended) then surcease th' effects:  
Time and some other Actions may increase  
As may divert the thought of these respects;  
Others law of forgetting injuries 
Lex Amnesti●s.   
May serve our turn in like calamities.   

46  
And for his oath my Lord I think in conscience;  
True honour would not so be found untrue,  
Nor spot his blood with such a fowl offence  
Against his soul, against his God and you:  
Our Lord for bid that ever with th'expense  
Of heaven and heavenly joys that shall ensue,  
Mortality should buy this little breath  
T'endure the horror of eternal death.   

47  
And therefore as I think you safely may  
Accept this proffer, that determine shall  
All doubtful courses by a quiet way;  
Needful for you, fit for them, good for all:  
And here my sovereign to make longer stay  
T'attend for what you are unsure will fall  
May slip th'occasion and incense their will,  
For fear that's wiser than the truth doth ill.   

48  
Thus he persuades even of a zealous mind,  
Supposing men had spoken as they meant,  
And unto this the king likewise inclined  
As wholly unto peace and quiet bent,  
And yields himself to th'earl, goes, leaves behind  
Safety, Sceptre, honour, government:  
For gone, all's gone, he is no more his own;  
And they rid quite offeare, he of the crown.   

49  
A place there is where proudly raised there stands  
A huge aspiring rock neighbou'ring the skies  
Whose surly brow imperiously commands  
The sea his bounds that at his proud feet lies:  
And spurns the waves that in rebellious bands  
Assault his Empire and against him rise:  
Under whose craggy government there was  
A niggard narrow way for men to pass.   

50  
And here in hidden cliffs concealed lay  
A troup of armed men to intercept  
The unsuspecting king, that had no way  
To free his foot that into danger stepped:  
The dreadful Ocean on th' one side lay,  
The hard-incroching mountain th'other kept,  
Before him he beheld his hateful foes;  
Behind, him traitorous enemies enclose.   

51  
Environed thus the Earl gins to cheer  
His all-amased Lord by him betrayed:  
Bids him take courage there's no cause offeare,  
These troops but there to guard him safe were laid:  
To whom the king: what needs so many here?  
This is against your oath my Lord he said:  
But now he fees in what distress he stood,  
To strive was vain, t' entreat would do no good.   

52  
And therefore on with careful heart he goes  
Complains (but to himself) sighs, grieves & frets,  
At Rutland dines, though feeds but on his woes,  
The grief of mind hindered the mind of meats:  
For sorrow, shame and fear, scorn of his foes,  
The thought of what he was and what now threats,  
Than what he should and now what he hath done,  
Musters confused passions all in one.   

53  
To Flint from thence unto a restless bed  
That miserable night he comes conveyed,  
Poorly provided, poorly followed,  
Vncourted, unrespected, unobeyed:  
Where if uncertain sleep but hoovered  
Over the drooping cares that heavy weighed,  
Millions of figures fantasy presents  
Unto that sorrow, wakened grief augments.   

54  
His new misfortune makes deluding sleep  
Say 'twas not so, false dreams the truth deny:  
Where with he starts: feels waking cares do creep  
Upon his soul, and gives his dream the lie:  
Then sleeps again, and then again as deep  
Deceits of darkness mock his misery:  
So hard believed was sorrow in her youth  
That he thinks truth was dreams, & dreams were truth.   

55  
The morning light presents unto his view  
Walking upon a turret of the place,  
The truth of what he fees is proved too true;  
A hundred thousand men before his face  
Carne marching on the shore which thither drew:  
And more to aggravate his fowl disgrace,  
Those he had wronged or done to them despite  
As if they him upbraid, came first in sight.   

56  
There might he see that false for sworn vile crew,  
Those shameless agents of unlawful lust,  
His Panders, Parasites, people untrue  
To God and man, unworthy any trust:  
Pressing unto that fortune that was nue  
And with unblushing faces foremost thrust  
As those that live in sunshine of delights,  
And fly the winter when affliction lights.   

57  
There he beheld how humbly diligent  
New adulation was to be at hand,  
How ready Falsehood stepped, how nimbly went  
Basepick thank Flattery and prevents command:  
He saw the great obey, the grave consent,  
And all with this new-raised Aspirer stand,  
Which when he saw and in his sorrow weighed  
Thus out of grief unto himself he said   

58  
O faithless cozen, here behold I stand  
Spectator of that act myself have played,  
That act of rule which now upon thy hand  
This wavering mutability hath laid:  
But cozen, know the faith of this false land  
Stands sworn to me, that faith they have betrayed  
Is mine, 'tis mine the rule, thou dost me wrong  
T' usurp the government I held so long.   

59  
And when thou hast but tried what I have found,  
Thou mayst repent t'have bought command so dear,  
When thou shalt find on what unquiet ground  
Greatness doth stand, that stands so high in fear:  
Where infinite occasions do confound  
The peace of mind, the good thou look'st for here:  
O fatal is th' ascent unto a crown!  
From whence men come not down, but must tall down.   

60  
O you that cherish fat iniquity,  
Enriching sin, with store, and vice with gain  
By my disgrace, see what you get thereby  
To raise the bad, to make the good complain:  
These vipers spoil the womb wherein they lie,  
And have but impudence a grace to gain,  
But bodies and bold brows no minds within  
But mind of ill, that knows but how to sin.   

61  
And for the good which now do take thy part  
Thou mayst rejoice, for th'others I am glad  
To think they may in time likewise subvart  
The expectation which of thee men had:  
When thou shalt find how difficult an art  
It is to rule and please the good and bad:  
And seel the grievance of this fatal sort,  
Which still are borne for court are made in court.   

62  
More grief had said: when lo the Duke he saw  
Entering the Castle come to parley there,  
Which makes him presently from thence withdraw  
Into a fit place some other where:  
His fortune now enforced an yielding awe  
To meet him, who before in humble fear  
Would have been glad t' have stayed, and to prepare  
The grace of audience, with attendant care.   

63  
The Duke when come in presence of his king,  
Whether the sight of majesty did breed  
Remorse of wrong which reverence did bring;  
Or whether but to formalize his deed,  
He kneels him down even at his entering,  
Rose, kneels again (for craft will still exceed)  
When as the king approached, put off his hood  
And welcomed him, though wished him little good.   

64  
To whom the Duke thus said: my Lord I know  
That both unlooked for, and unsent unto  
I have presumed to come hither now;  
But this your wrong and rigour drove me to,  
And being come I purpose now to show  
You better how to rule, and what to do:  
You have had time too much to work our ill,  
But now redress is planted in our will.   

65  
As you shall please dear cousin said the king,  
You have me in your power, I am content  
And I am pleased, if my disgrace may bring  
Good to my country which I ever meant:  
But yet God grant your course held in this thing  
Cause not succeeding ages to repent.  
And so they left: the Duke had haste to go,  
It was no place to end the matter so.   

66  
Strait towards London in this heat of pride  
The Duke sets forward as they had decreed,  
With whom the Captive King constrained must ride,  
Most meanly mounted on a simple steed:  
Degraded of all grace and case beside,  
Thereby neglect of all respect to breed;  
For th' overspreading pomp of prouder might  
Must darken weakness and debase his sight.   

67  
Approaching near the City he was met  
With all the sumptuous shows joy could devise,  
Where new-desire to please did not forget  
To pass the usual pomp of former guise;  
Striving applause as out of prison let,  
Runs on beyond all bounds to novelties:  
And voice and hands and knees and all do now  
A strange deformed form of welcome show.   

68  
And manifold confusion running greeces  
Shoots, cries, claps hands, thrusts, strives and presses nero:  
Houses impou'risht were t'enrich the streets,  
And streets left naked that unhappy were  
Placed from the sight where joy with wonder meets,  
Where all of all degrees strive to appear:  
Where divers-speaking zeal, one murmur finds  
In undistinguished voice to tell their minds.   

69  
He that in glory of his fortune fate,  
Admiring what he thought could never be,  
Did feel his blood within salute his state,  
And lift up his reiovicing soul to see  
So many hands and hearts congratulate  
Th'advancement of his long-desired degree:  
When prodigal of thanks in passing by  
He resalutes them all with cheerful eye.   

70  
Behind him all aloof came pensive on  
The unregarded king, that drooping went  
Alone, and but for spite scarce looked upon,  
judge if he did more envy or lament:  
O what a wondrous work this day is done,  
Which th'image of both fortunes doth present,  
In th' one to show the best of glories face,  
In th' other worse than worst of all disgrace.   

71  
Now I Sabell the young afflicted Queen,  
Whose years had never show'd her but delights,  
Nor lovely eyes before had ever seen  
Other then smiling joys and joyful sights:  
Borne great, matched great, lived great and ever been  
Partaker of the world's best benefits,  
Had placed herself, hearing her Lord should pass  
That way where she unseen in secret was.   

72  
Sick of delay and longing to behold  
Her long mist love in fearful jeopardies,  
To whom although it had in fort been told  
Of their proceeding, and of his surprise,  
Yet thinking they would never be so bold  
To lead their Lord in any shameful wise,  
But rather would conduct him as their king,  
As seeking but the States reordering.   

73  
And forth she looks: and notes the form oft train  
And grieves to view some there she wished not there,  
Seeing the chief not come, stays, looks again,  
And yet she sees not him that should appear:  
Then back she stands, and then desires was sane  
Again to look to see if he were near,  
At length a glittering troop far off she spies,  
Perceives the throng and hears the shoots & cries.   

74  
Lo yonder now at length he comes (saith she)  
Look my good women where he is in sight:  
Do you not see him? yonder that is he  
Mounted on that white courser all in white,  
There where the thronging troops of people be,  
I know him by his seat, he sits sh' upright:  
Lo now he bows: dear Lord with what sweet grace:  
How long have I longed to behold that face?   

75  
O what delight my heart takes by mine eye?  
I doubt me when he comes but something near  
I shall set wide the window: what care I  
Who doth see me, so him I may see clear?  
Thus doth false joy delude her wrongfully  
Sweet lady in the thing she held so dear;  
For nearer come, she finds she had mistook,  
And him she marked was Henry Bullingbrooke.   

76  
Then Envy takes the place in her sweet eyes  
Where sorrow had prepared herself a feat,  
And words of wrath from whence complaints should rise,  
Proceed from eager looks, and brows that threat:  
Traitor faith she: is't thou that in this wise  
To brave thy Lord and king art made so great?  
And have mine eyes done unto me this wrong  
To look on thee? for this stayed I so long?   

77  
O have they graced a perjured rebel so?  
Well for their error I will weep them out,  
And hate the tongue defiled that praised my so,  
And loathe the mind that gave me not to doubt:  
O have I added shame unto my woe?  
I'll look no more; Ladies look you about,  
And tell me if my Lord be in this train,  
Lest my betraying eyes should err again.   

78  
And in this passion turns herself away:  
The rest look all, and careful note each wight;  
Whilst she impatient of the least delay.  
Demands again, and what not yet in fight?  
Where is my Lord? what gone some other way?  
I muse at this, O God grant all go right.  
Then to the window goes again at last  
And sees the chiefest train of all was passed.   

79  
And sees not him her soul desired to see,  
And yet hope spent makes her not leave to look,  
At last her love-quicke eyes which ready be,  
Fastens on one whom though she never took  
Can be her Lord: yet that sad cheer which he  
Then show'd, his habit and his woeful look,  
The grace he doth in base attire retain,  
Caused her she could not from his sight refrain.   

80  
What might be she said that thus alone  
Rides pensive in this universal joy:  
Some I perceive as well as we do moan,  
All are not pleased with every thing this day,  
It may be he laments the wrong is done  
Unto my Lord, and grieves as well he may,  
Then he is some of ours, and we of right  
Must pity him, that pities our sad plight.   

81  
But stay, it's not my Lord himself I see?  
In truth if 'ttwere not for his base array,  
I verily should think that it were he;  
And yet his baseness doth a grace bewray:  
Yet God forbidden, let me deceived be;  
O be it not my Lord although it may:  
And let desire make vows against desire,  
And let my sight approve my sight a liar.   

82  
Let me not see him, but himself, a king;  
For so he left me, so he did remove:  
This is not he, this feels some other thing,  
A passion of dislike or else of love:  
O yes 'tis he, that princely face doth bring  
The evidence of majesty to prove:  
That face I have conferred which now I see  
With that within my heart, and they agree.   

83  
Thus as she stood assured and yet in doubt,  
Wishing to see, what seen she grieved to see,  
Having belief, yet sane would be without;  
Knowing, yet striving not to know 'twas he:  
Her heart relenting, yet her heart so stout  
As would not yield to think what was, could be:  
Till quite condemned by open proof of sight  
She must confess or else deny the light.   

84  
For whether love in him did sympathise  
Or chance so wrought to manifest her doubt,  
Even just before, where she thus secret prize,  
He stays and with clear face looks all about:  
When she: tis o too true, I know his eyes  
Alas it is my own dear Lord, cries out:  
And with that cry sinks down upon the flore,  
Abundant grief lacked words to utter more.   

85  
Sorrow keeps full possession in her soul,  
Locks him within, lays up the key of breath,  
Reigns all alone a Lord without control  
So long till greater horror threateneth:  
And even in danger brought, to lose the whole  
His forced come forth or else to stay with death,  
Opens a sigh and let's in sense again,  
And sense at legth gives words leave to complain.   

86  
Then like a torrent had been stopped before,  
Tears, sighs, and words, doubled together flow,  
Confusedly striving whether should do more  
The true intelligence of grief to show:  
Sighs hindered words, words perished in their store,  
Both intermixed in one together grow:  
One would do all, the other more than's part  
Being both sent equal agents from the heart.   

87  
At length when past the first of sorrows worst,  
When calmed confusion better form affords  
Her heart commands her words should past outfirst,  
And then her sighs should interpoint her words;  
The whiles her eyes out into tears should burst,  
This order with her sorrow she accords,  
Which orderless all form of order broke,  
So then began her words and thus she spoke.   

88  
O dost thou thus return again to me?  
Are these the triumphs for thy victories?  
Is this the glory thou dost bring with thee  
From that unhappy Irish enterprise?  
O have I made so many vows to see  
Thy safe return, and see thee in this wise?  
Is this the looked for comfort thou dost bring,  
To come a captive that went'st out a king?   

89  
And yet dear Lord though thy ungrateful land  
Hath left thee thus, yet I will take thy part,  
I do remain the same under thy hand,  
Thou still dost rule the kingdom of my heart;  
If all be lost, that government doth stand  
And that shall never from thy rule departed:  
And so thou be, I care not how thou be,  
Let greatness go, so it go without thee.   

90  
And welcome come, how so unfortunate,  
I will applaud what others do despise,  
I love thee for thyself not for thy state,  
More than thyself is what without thee, lies:  
Let that more go, if it be in thy fate,  
And having but thyself it will sussize:  
I married was not to thy crown but thee,  
And thou without a crown all one to me.   

91  
But what do I here lurking idly moan  
And wail a part, and in a single part  
Make several grief which should be both in one,  
The touch being equal of each others heart?  
Ah no sweet Lord thou must not moon alone,  
For without me thou art not all thou art,  
Nor my tears without thine are fully tears,  
For thus vnioyned, sorrow but half appears.   

92  
join then our plaints & make our grief full grief,  
Our state being one, o let's not part our care,  
Sorrow hath only this poor bare relief,  
To be bemoaned of such as woeful are:  
O should I rob thy grief and be the thief  
To steal a private part, and several share,  
Defrauding sorrow of her perfect due?  
No no my Lord I come to help thee rue.   

93  
Then forth she goes a close concealed way  
As grieving to be seen not as she was;  
Laborst ' attain his presence all she may,  
Which with most hard a do was brought to pass:  
For that night understanding where he lay  
With earncst treating she procured her pass  
To come to him. Rigour could not deny  
Those tears, so poor a suit or put her by.   

94  
Entering the chamber where he was alone  
As one whose former fortune was his shame,  
Loathing th' obraiding eye of any one  
That knew him once and knows him not the same:  
When having given express command that none  
Should press to him, yet hearing some that came  
Turns angrily about his grieved eyes  
When lo his sweet afflicted Queen he spies.   

95  
Strait clears his brow & with a borrowed smile  
What my dear Queen, o welcome dear he faies?  
And striving his own passion to beguile  
And hide the sorrow which his eye betrays,  
Can speak no more but wrings her hands the while,  
And then (sweetlady) and again he stays:  
Th' excess of joy and sorrow both affords  
Affliction none, or but poor niggard words.   

96  
She that was come with a resolved heart  
And with a mouth full stoored, with words well chose,  
Thinking this comfort will I first impart  
Unto my Lord, and thus my speech dispose:  
Then thus i'll say, thus look, and with this art  
Hid mine own sorrow to relieve his woes,  
When being come all this proved nought but wind,  
Tears, looks, and sighs do only tell her mind.   

97  
Thus both stood silent and confused so,  
Their eyes relating how their hearts did morn  
Both big with sorrow, and both great with woe  
In labour with what was not to be borne:  
This mighty burden where withal they go  
Dies undelivered, perishes unborn;  
Sorrow makes silence her best oratore  
Where words may make it less not show it more.   

98  
But he whom longer time had learned the art  
T' endure afflicton as a usual touch:  
Strains forth his words, and throws dismay apart  
To raise up her, whose passions now were such  
As quite oppressed her overchardged heart,  
Too small a vessel to contain so much,  
And cheers and moans, and feigned hopes doth frame  
As if himself believed, or hoped the same.   

99  
And now the while these Princes sorrowed,  
Forward ambition come so near her end,  
Sleeps not nor slips th' occasion offered  
T' accomplish what it did before intend:  
A parliament is forthwith summoned  
In Richard's name, whereby they might pretend  
A form to grace disorder and a show  
Of holy right, the right to overthrow.   

100  
Ah could not Majesty be ruined  
But with the fearful power of her own name?  
And must abused obedience thus be led  
With powerful titles to consent to shame?  
Can not confusion be established  
But form and order must confirm the same?  
Must they who his authority did hate,  
Yet use his style to take away his state?   

101  
Order, o how predominant art thou!  
That if but only thou pretended art,  
How soon deceived mortality doth bow  
To follow thine as still the better part?  
'tis thought that reverent form will not allow  
Iniquity: or sacred right pervart:  
Within our souls since o thou dwellest so strong  
How ill do they that use thee to do wrong?   

102  
So ill did they that in this formal course  
Sought to establish a deformed right:  
Who might as well effected it by force,  
But that men hold it wrong what's wrought by might:  
Offences urged in public are made worse,  
The show of justice aggravates despite:  
The multitude that look not to the cause  
Rest satisfied, so it be done by laws.   

103  
And now doth envy articles object  
Of rigour, malice, private favouring,  
Exaction, riot, falsehood and neglect;  
Crimes done, but not to b' answered by kings:  
Which subjects may complain but not correct:  
And all these faults which Lancaster now brings  
Against a king, must be his own when he  
By urging others sins a king shall be.   

104  
For all that was most odious was devisd  
And published in these articles abroad,  
All th' errors of his youth were here comprisd  
Calamity with obloquy to load:  
And more to make him publicly despised  
Libels, invectives, railing rhymes were sowed  
Among the vulgar, to prepare his fall  
With more applause and good consent of all.   

105  
Look how the day-hater Minerva's bird  
Whilst privileged with darkness and the night,  
Doth live securet ' himself of others feared,  
But if by chance discovered in the light  
O how each little soul with envy stirred  
Calls him to justice, urges him with spite;  
Summons the feathered flocks of all the wood  
To come to scorn the tyrant of their blood.   

106  
So fares this king laid open to disgrace  
Whilst every mouth full of reproach invaies,  
And every base detractor in this case  
Upon th' advantage of misfortune plays:  
Downe-falling greatness urged on a pace  
Was followed hard by all disgraceful ways,  
Now in the point t' accelerate an end  
Whilst misery had no means to defend.   

107  
Upon these articles in parliament  
So heinous made, enforced, and urged so hard,  
He was a diugd unfit for government  
And of all regal power and rule debarred:  
For who durst contradict the Duke's intent,  
Or if they durst should patiently be heard?  
Desire of change, old wrongs, new hopes, fresh fear  
Being far the mayor part, the cause must bear.   

108  
Yet must we think that some which saw the course  
The better few, whom passion made not blind  
Stood careful lookers on with sad commorse,  
Amazed to see what headlong rage dessignd:  
And in a more considerate discourse  
Of tragical events there of devind,  
And did or might their grieved hearts to ease  
Utter their sorrows in like terms as these.   

109  
What dissolute proceed have we here?  
What strange presumptuous disobedience?  
What unheard fury void of awe or fear,  
With monstrous unexampled insolence?  
Durst subjects ever here or any where  
Thus impiously presume so fowl offence?  
To violate the power commanding all  
And into judgement majesty to call.   

110  
O same conceal and do not carry word  
To after-coming ages of our shame,  
Blot out of books and raze out of Record  
All monuments memorial of the same:  
Forget to tell how we did lift our sword,  
And envious idle accusations frame  
Against our lawful fou'raigne, when we ought  
His end and our release have stayed not sought.   

111  
Since better years might work a better care,  
And time might well have cured what was amiss;  
Since all these faults fatal to greatness are,  
And worse deserts have not been punished thus,  
But o in this the heavens we fear prepare  
Confusion for our sins as well as his,  
And his calamity beginneth our:  
For he his own, and we abused his power.   

112  
Thus grieved they: when to the king were sent  
Certain that might persuade and urge him on  
To leave his crown, and make with free consent  
A voluntaric resignation,  
Seeing he could no other way prevent  
The danger of his own confusion,  
For not to yield to what fear would constrain,  
Would bar the hope of life that did remain.   

113  
And yet this scarce could work him to consent  
To yield up that so soon men hold so dear:  
Why let him take (said he) the government,  
And let me yet the name, the title bear:  
Leave me that show and I will be content,  
And let them rule and govern without fear:  
O can they not my shadow now endure  
When they of all the rest do stand secure?   

114  
Let me hold that, I ask no other good:  
Nay that I will hold, Henry do thy worst,  
For ere I yield my crown i'll lose my blood,  
That blood that shall make thee and thine accursed:  
Thus resolute a while he firmly stood,  
Till love of life and fear of being forced  
Vanquished th' innated valour of his mind;  
And hope and friends, so wrought that he resigned.   

115  
Then to the tower (where he remained) went  
The Duke with all the Peers attended on:  
To take his offer with his free consent,  
And testify his resignation:  
And there of to inform the parliament  
That all things might more formally be done:  
And men might rest more satisfied thereby  
As not done of constraint but wilsingly.   

116  
And forth he is brought unto th'accomplishment  
Decked with the crown in princely robes that day,  
Like as the dead in other lands are sent  
Unto their graves in all their best array:  
And even like good did him this ornament,  
For what he brought he must not bear away,  
But buries there his glory and his name  
Entombed for evermore in others blame.   

117  
And there unto th' assembly of these states  
His sorrow for their long endured wrong  
Through his abused authority relates,  
Excuses with confessions mixed among:  
And glad he says to finish all debates  
He was to leave the rule they sought for long,  
Protesting if it might be for their good  
He would as gladly sacrifice his blood.   

118  
There he his subjects all in general  
Assoyles and quites of oath and fealty,  
Renounces interest, title, right and all  
That appertaind to kingly dignity;  
Subscribes thereto and doth to witness call  
Both heaven and earth, and God and saints on high,  
And all this did he but t' have leave to live  
The which was all he craved that they would give.   

119  
'tis said with his own hands he gave the crown  
To Lancaster, and wished to God he might  
Have better joy thereof then he had known,  
And that his power might make it his by right:  
And furthermore he craved of all his own  
But life to live apart a private wight;  
The vanity of greatness he had tried  
And how unsurely stands the foot of pride.   

120  
This brought to pass the lords return with speed  
T' acquaint the Parliament with what is done,  
Where they at large published the kings own deed  
And manner of his resignation:  
When Canterbury urged them to proceed  
Forthwith unto a new election, 
Arundel Bishop of Canterbury   
And Henry make his claim both by descent  
And resignation to the government.   

121  
Who there with full and general applause  
Is strait proclaimed as king and after crowned,  
The other clean rejected by the laws,  
As one the Realm had most unworthy found.  
And yet o Lancaster I would thy cause  
Had had as lawful and as sure a ground  
As had thy virtues, and thy glorious worth  
For Empire borne, for Government brought forth   

122  
Then had not o that sad succeeding age  
Her fields engrained with blood, her rivers died  
With purple streaming wounds of her own rage,  
Nor seen her Princes slain, her Peers distroide:  
Then hadst not thou dear country come to wage  
War with thyself, nor those afflictions tried  
Of all-consuming discord here so long,  
Too mighty now against thyself too strong.   

123  
So had the blood of thirteen battles fought  
About this quarrel, fatal to our land,  
Have been reserved with glory to have brought  
Nations and kingdoms under our command;  
So should all that thy son and thou had got,  
With glorious praise have still been in our hand,  
And that great worthy last of all thy name  
Had joined the western Empire to the same.   

124  
So should his great imperial daughter now  
Th' admired glory of the earth, hereby  
Have had all this near bordering world to bow  
To her immortalised majesty:  
Then proud Iberus Lord not seeking how  
T'attain a false-conceived Monarchy,  
Had kept his barren bounds and not have stood  
In vain attemptst ' enrich the seas with blood.   

125  
Nor interposed his greedy meddling hand  
In other men's affairs t' advance his own,  
Nor tyrannisd over so many lands  
From late obscurity so mighty grown:  
But we with our undaunted conquering bands  
Had lent our Ensigns unto lands unknown,  
And now with more audacious force began  
To march against th' earths-terror Ottoman.   

126  
Where thou (O worthy Essex) whose dear blood  
Reserved from these sad times to honour ours,  
Shouldst have conducted Armies and now stood  
Against the strength of all the Eastern Powers:  
There should thy valiant hand performed that good  
Against the barbarism that all devours,  
That all the states of the redeemed Earth  
Might thee admire, and glorise thy birth.   

127  
Thence might thy valour have brought in despite  
Eternal Trophies to Eliza's name,  
And laid down at her sacred feet the right  
Of all thy deeds and glory of the same.  
All that which by her power, and by thy might  
Thou hadst attained to her immortal fame  
Had made thee wondered here, admired a far  
The Mercury of peace, the Mars of war.   

128  
And thou my Lord the glory of my muse  
Pure-spirited Mounting, th' ornament of men,  
Hadst had a large and mighty field to use  
Thy holy gifts and learned counsels then:  
Whole lands and Provinces should not excuse  
Thy trusty faith, nor yet sufficient been  
For those great virtues to have ordered  
And in a calm obedience governed.   

129  
Nor had I then at solitary brook  
Sat framing bloody accents of these times,  
Nor told of wounds that grieved eyes might look  
Upon the horror of their father's crimes,  
But rather a more glorious subject took  
To register in everlasting rhymes  
The sacred glories of ELIZABETH,  
T' have kept the wonder of her worth from death.   

136  
And like wise builded for your great designs  
O you two worthies beauties of our state,  
Immortal tombs of unconsuming lines  
To keep your holic deeds inviolate:  
You in whose actions yet the image shines  
Of ancient honour near worn out of date,  
You that have virtue into fashion brought  
In these neglected times respected nought.   

131  
But whither am I carried with the thought  
Of what might have been, had not this been so?  
O sacred Fury how was I thus brought  
To speak of glory that must tell of woe?  
These acted mischiefs cannot be unwrought  
Though men be pleased to wish it were not so.  
And therefore leave sad Muse th' imagined good,  
For we must now return again to blood.    

THE ARGUMENT OF THE THIRD BOOK.  
Henry the fourth the Crown established,  
The Lords that did to Gloucester's death consent,  
Degraded do rebel, are vanquished:  
King Richard unto Promfret Castle sent  
Is murdered there. The Percies making head  
Against the king, receive the punishment:  
And in the end a tedious troublous reign  
A grievous death concludes with care, and pain.  

I  
Tow risen is that head, by which did spring  
The birth of two strong heads, two crowns, two rights;  
That monstrous shape that afterward did bring  
Deformed confusion to distracted wights:  
Now is attained that dearly purchased thing  
What filled the world with lamentable sights:  
And now attained, all care is how to frame  
Means to establish, and to hold the same.   

2  
Striving at first to build a strong conceit  
Of his weak cause, in apt-abused minds,  
He decks his deed with colours of deceit  
And ornaments of right, which now he finds:  
Succession, conquest, and election strait  
Suggested are, and proved in all three kinds:  
More then enough he finds, that finds his might  
Hath force ' to make all that he will have, right.   

3  
All these he hath when one good would suffice  
The world's applause, and liking to procure,  
But who his own cause makes doth still devise  
To make too much to have it more than sure:  
Fear casts too deep, and ever is too wise,  
The doubtful can no usual plots endure:  
These self-accusing titles all he had  
Seeking to make one good of main bad.   

4  
Like foolish he that fears, and sane would stop  
An inundation working on apace,  
Runs to the breach, heaps mighty matter up,  
Throws indigested burdens on the place,  
Loads with huge weights, the outside and the top,  
But leaves the inner parts in feeble case;  
Thinking for that the outward form seems strong  
'tis sure enough, and may continue long.   

5  
But when the under working waves come on  
Searching the secrets of unsenced ways,  
The full main Ocean following hard upon  
Bears down that idle frame, scorning such stays;  
Prostrates that frustrate pains as if not done,  
And proudly on his silly labours plays,  
Whilst he perceives his error, and doth find  
His ill proceeding contrary to kind.   

6  
So fares it with our indirect diffeignes  
And wrong-contrived labours at the last,  
Whilst working time or justice undermines  
The feeble groundwork craft thought laid so fast:  
Then when out-breaking vengeance uncombines  
The ill-joind plots so fairly overcast,  
Turns up those strong pretended heaps of shows  
And all these weak illusions overthrows.   

7  
But well he thought his power made all seem plain,  
And now t' his coronation he proceeds,  
Which in most sumptuous fort (to entertain  
The gazing vulgar whom this error feeds)  
Is furnished with a stately-glorious train,  
Wherein the former kings he far exceeds:  
And all t' amuse the world, and turn the thought  
Of what, and how 'twas done, to what is wrought.   

8  
And that he might on many props repose  
He strengths his own, and who his part did take:  
New officers, new counsellors he chose,  
His eldest son the Prince of Wales doth make,  
His second Lord high Steward, and to those  
Had hazarded their fortunes for his sake  
He gives them charge, as merits their desert;  
Seeking all means t' oppress the adverse part.   

9  
All Counsellors unto the former king,  
All th' officers, and judges of the state,  
He to disgrace, or else to death did bring  
Lead by his own, or by the people's hate:  
Who evermore by nature mallicing  
Their might whom not their virtues, but their fate  
Exalted hath, who when kings do what's nought  
Because 'tis in their power, 'tis thought their fault.   

10  
And placed for these such as were popular  
Beloved of him, and in the people's grace,  
Learned grave Shirley he makes Chancellor,  
One of great spirit, worthy his worthy race:  
And Clifford he ordains Lord Treasurer,  
A man whose virtues well deserved that place:  
Others to other rooms (whom people hold  
So much more loved how much they loathed the old)   

17  
Then against those he strictly doth proceed  
Who chief of Gloucester's death were guilty thought,  
(Not so much for the hatred of that deed)  
But under this pretext the means he sought,  
To ruin such whose might did much exceed  
His power to wrong, nor else could well be wrought;  
Law, justice, blood, the zeal unto the dead  
Were on his side, and his drift shadowed.   

12  
Here main of the greatest of the land 
The   
Accused were of the act, strong proofs brought out  
Which strongly were refelled, the Lords all stand  
To clear their cause most resolutely stout:  
The king perceiving what he took in hand  
Was not with safety to be brought about  
Desistes to urge their death in any wise,  
Respecting number, strength, friends, and allies.   

13  
Nor was it time now in his tender reign  
And infant-young-beginning government,  
To strive with blood when lenity must gain  
The mighty wight, and please the discontent:  
New kings do fear, when old courts farther strain,  
Established states to all things will consent:  
He must dispense with his will, and their crime,  
And seek t'oppress and wear them out with time.   

14  
Yet not to seem but to have something done  
In what he could not as he would effect,  
To satisfy the people that begun  
Revenge of wrong, and justice to expect:  
He caused be put to execution  
One that to do this murder was elect,  
A base mean man whom few or none would miss,  
Who first did serve their turn, and now serves his.   

15  
And to abase the too high state of those  
That were accused, and lessen their degrees,  
Aumarle, Surry, Exeter, must lose  
The names of Dukes, their titles, dignities,  
And what soever honour with it goes:  
The Earls their titles and their Signories,  
And all they got in th' end of Richard's reign  
Since Gloucester's death, they mustrestore again.   

16  
By this as if by Ostracism t'abate  
That great presumptive wealth, whereon they stand;  
For first hereby impou'rishing their state  
He kills the means they might have to withstand:  
Then equals them with other whom they hate,  
Who (by their spoils) are raised to high command,  
That weak, and envied if they should conspire  
They wrack themselves, and he hath his desire.   

17  
And by this grace which yet must be a grace  
As both they, and the world, are made believe,  
He doth himself secure and them defuce,  
Thinking not rigour that which life doth give:  
But what an error was it in this case  
To wrong so many, and to let them live?  
But errors are no errors but by fate,  
For oft th' event make soul faults fortunate.   

18  
The parliament which now is held, decreed  
What ever pleased the king but to propound;  
Confirmed the crown to him and to his seed.  
And by their oath their due obedience bound:  
And o b' it sin t' examine how this deed  
How just 'tis done and on how sure a ground?  
Whether that Court may change due course or no  
Or ought the realm against the realm can do?   

19  
Here was agreed to make all more secure  
That Richard should remain for evermore  
Close-prisoner, lest the realm might chance endure  
Some new revolt, or any fresh uprone:  
And that if any should such broil procure  
By him or for him, he should die therefore.  
So that a talk of tumult and a breath  
Would serve him as his passing-bell to death.   

20  
Yet reverent Carlisle thou didst there oppose  
Thy holy voice to save thy Prince's blood,  
And freely check'st this judgement and his foes,  
When all were bad, yet thou darest to be good:  
Be it enrolled that time may never lose  
The memory how firm thy virtues stood,  
When power, disgrace, nor death could aught divart  
Thy glorious tongue, thus to reveal thy heart.   

21  
Grave, reverent Lords, since that this sacred place  
Our Aventine, Retire, our holy hill;  
This place, soul of our state, the realms best grace  
Doth privilege me speak what reason will:  
O let me speak my conscience in this case  
Lest sin of silence show my heart was ill,  
And let these walls witness if you will not,  
I do discharge my soul of this soul blot.   

22  
Never shall this poor breath of mine consent  
That he that two and twenty years hath reigned  
As lawful Lord, and king by just descent,  
Should here be judged unheard, and unaraignd  
By subjects two: judges incompetent  
To judge their king unlawfully detained,  
And un-brought forth to plead his guiltless cause,  
Barring th' anointed liberty of laws.   

23  
Have you not done enough? blush to think,  
Lay on your hearts those hands; those hands too rash,  
Know that this stain that's made doth farther sink  
Into your souls then all your bloods can wash,  
Leave with the mischief done and do not link  
Sin unto sin, for heaven, and earth will dash  
This ill accomplished work ere it be long,  
For weak he builds that senses wrong with wrong.   

24  
Stopped there was his too vehement speech with speed,  
And he sent close to ward from where he stood:  
His zeal untimely deemed too much t' exceed  
The measure of his wit and did no good:  
They resolute for all this do proceed  
Unto that judgement could not be withstood:  
The king had all he craved or could compel,  
And all was done we will not say how well.   

25  
Now Muserelate a woeful accident  
And tell the bloodshed of these mighty Peers  
Who lately reconciled, rest discontent,  
Grieved with disgrace, remaining in their fears  
How everseeming outwardly content,  
Yet th' inward touch that wounded honour bears  
Roasts closely rankling and can find no ease  
Till death of one side cure this great disease.   

26  
Means how to feel, and learn each others heart  
By th' Abbot now of Westminster is found,  
Who secretly disliking Henries part  
Invites these Lords, and those he meant to sound,  
Feasts them with cost, and draws them on with art,  
And dark, and doubtful questions doth propound:  
Then plainer speaks, and yet uncertain speaks,  
Then wishes well, then off abruptly breaks.   

27  
My Lord faith he, I fear we shall not find  
This long-desired king such as was thought:  
But yet he may do well: God turn his mind:  
'tis yet new days: but ill bodes new and nought:  
Some yet speed well: though all men of my kind  
Have cause to doubt; his speech is not forgot,  
That Princes had too little, we too much;  
God give him grace, but 'tis ill trusting such.   

28  
This open-close, apparent-darke discourse  
Drew on much speech, and every man replies,  
And every man adds heat, and words enforce  
And urge out words, for when one man espies  
Another's mind like his, then ill breeds worse,  
And out breaks all in th' end what closest lies,  
For when men well have fed th' blood being warm  
Then are they most improvident of harm.   

29  
Bewray they did their in ward boiling spite  
Each stirring other to revenge their cause,  
One says he never should endure the sight  
Of that forsworn, that wrongs both land and laws:  
Another vows the same of his mind right:  
A third t' a point more near the matter draws,  
Swears if they would, he would attempt the thing  
To chaste th' usurper, and replace their king.   

30  
Thus one by one kindling each others fire  
Till all inflamed they all in one agree,  
All resolute to prosecute their ire,  
Seeking their own, and Country's cause to free:  
And have his first that their blood did conspire,  
For no way else they said but this could be  
Their wrong-detained honour to redeem,  
Which truebred blood should more than life esteem.   

31  
And let not this our new-made faithless Lord  
Saith Surry think, that we are lest so bare  
Though bare enough: but we will find a sword  
To kill him with, when he shall not beware:  
For he that is with life and will but stoored,  
Hath for revenge enough, and needs not care,  
For time will fit and furnish all the rest,  
Let him but even attend, and do his best.   

32  
Then of the manner how t' effect the thing  
Consulted was, and in the end agreed  
That at a mask and common reveling  
Which should b' ordained, they should perform the deed;  
For that would be least doubted of the king  
And fittest for their safety to proceed,  
The night, their number, and the sudden act  
Would dash all order, and protect their fact.   

33  
Besides they might under the fair pretence  
Of Tilts and Turnements which they intent,  
Provide them horse, and armour for defence,  
And all things else convenient for their end:  
Besides they might hold sure intelligence  
Among themselves without suspect t' offend:  
The king would think they sought but grace in court  
Withal their great preparing in this sort.   

34  
A solemn oath religiously they make  
By intermutuall vows protesting there  
This never to reveal; nor to forsake  
So good a cause, for danger hope, or fear:  
The Sacrament the pledge of faith they take,  
And every man upon his sword doth sweere  
By knighthood, honour, or what else should bind,  
To assecure the more each others mind.   

35  
And whenal this was done, and thought welldone  
And every one assures him good success,  
And easy seems the thing to every one  
That nought could cross their plot or them suppress;  
Yet one among the rest, whole mind not won  
With th' overweening thought of hot excess,  
Nor headlong carried with the stream of will,  
Nor by his own election lead to ill:   

36  
Sober, mild Blunt, whose learning, valour, wit 
Sir Thomas Bluns'.   
Had taught true judgement in the course of things,  
Knew dangers as they were, and th' humorous fit  
Of ware-lesse discontent, what end it brings:  
Counsels their heat with calm grave words, & fit  
Words welfore thought that from experience springs,  
And warns a warier carriage in the thing  
Lest blind presumption work their ruining.   

37  
My Lords (saith he) I know your wisdoms such  
As that of my advise you have no need,  
I know you know how much the thing doth touch  
The main of all your states, your blood, your seed:  
Yet since the same concerns my life as much  
As his whose hand is chiefest in this deed,  
And that my foot must go as far as his,  
I think my tongue may speak what needful is.   

38  
The thing we enterprise I know doth bear  
Great possibility of good effect,  
For that so many men of might there are  
That venture here this action to direct:  
Which meaner wights of trust, and credit bore  
Not so respected could not look t' effect;  
For none without great hopes will follow such  
Whose power, and honour doth not promise much.   

39  
Besides this new, and doubtful government,  
The wavering faith of people vain, and light,  
The secret hopes of many discontent,  
The natural affection to the right,  
Our lawful sovereign's life, in prison penned,  
Whom men begin to pity now, not spite,  
Our wel-laid plot, and all I must confess  
With our just cause doth promise good success.   

40  
But this is yet the outward fairest side  
Of our design: within rests more of fear,  
More dread of sad event yet descry  
Then o most worthy Lords I would there were:  
But yet I speak not this as to divide  
Your thoughts from th' act, or to dismay your cheer,  
Only to add unto your forward will  
A moderate fear to cast the worst of ill.   

41  
Danger before, and in, and after th' act  
You needs must grant, is great, and to be weighed  
Before: lest while we do the deed protract  
It be by any of ourselves be wrayed:  
For many being privy to the fact  
How hard it is to keep it unbetraid?  
When the betrayer shall have grace and life  
And rid himself of danger and of strife.   

42  
For though some few contiove resolute,  
Yet many shrink, which at the first would dare  
And be the foremost men to execute,  
If the act, and motion at one instant were:  
But intermission suffers men dispute  
What dangers are, and cast with farther care  
Cold doubt cavils with honour, scorneth fame,  
And in the end fear weighs down faith with shame.   

43  
Then in the act, what perils shall we find  
If either place, or time, or other course  
Cause us to alterth ' order now assigned?  
Or that, than we expect things happen worse?  
If either error, or a fainting mind,  
An indiserect amazement or remorse  
In any at that instant should be found,  
How much it might the act, and all confound?   

44  
After the deed the dangers are no less,  
Lest that our forwardness not seconded  
By our own followers, and complices  
Being kept back or flow or hindered:  
The hasty multitude rush on t'oppress  
Confused weakness there unsuccored,  
Or raise another head of that same race  
T' avenge his death, and prosecute the case,   

45  
All this my Lords must be considered  
The best and worst of that which may succeed,  
That valour mixed with fear, boldness with dread,  
May march more circumspect with better heed:  
And to prevent these mischiefs mentioned  
Is by our faith, our secrecy and speed,  
For even already is the work begun  
And we rest all undone, till all be done.   

46  
And o I could have wished another course  
In open field t' have hazarded my blood,  
But some are here whose love is of that force  
To draw my life, whom zeal hath not withstood:  
But like you not of your design the worse  
If the success be good your course is good:  
And ending well our honour then gins,  
No hand of strife is pure, but that which wins.   

47  
This said, a sad still silence hold their minds  
Upon the fearful project of their woe,  
But that not long ere forward fury finds  
Encouraging persuasions on to go:  
We must said they, we will, our honour binds,  
Our safety bids, our faith must have it so,  
We know the worst can come, 'tis thought upon,  
We cannot shift, being in, we must go on.   

48  
And on indeed they went, but o not sarre,  
A fatal stop traversed their headlong course,  
Their drift comes known, and they discovered are,  
For some of many will be False of force:  
Aumarle became the man that all did mar  
Whether through indisoretions' chance or worse,  
He makes his peace with offering others blood  
And shows the king how all the matter stood.   

49  
Then lo dismayed confusion all possessed  
Th' afflicted troop hearing their plot descried,  
Then runs amazed distress with sad unrest  
To this, to that, to fly, to stand, to hide:  
Distracted terror knew not what was best  
On what determination to abide,  
At last despair would yet stand to the sword,  
To try what friends would do or fate afford.   

50  
Then this then that man's aid they crave, implore,  
Post here for help, seek there their followers;  
Conjure the friends they had, labour for more,  
Solicit all reputed favourers,  
Who Richard's cause seemed to affect before,  
And in his name write, pray, send messengers;  
To try what faith was left, if by this art  
Any would step to take afflictions part:   

51  
And some were found, & some again draw back  
Uncertain power could not itself retain,  
Entreat they may, authority they lack,  
And here, and there they march, but all in vain:  
With desperate course, like those that see their wrack  
Even on the Rocks of death, and yet they strain  
That death may not them idly find t'attend  
Their certain last, but work to meet their end.   

52  
And long they stand not ere the chief surprised  
Conclude with their dear blood their tragedy:  
And all the rest dispersed, run some disguised  
To unknown costs, some to the shores do fly,  
Some to the woods, or whether fear advisd,  
But running from all to destruction high,  
The breach once made upon a battered state  
Down goes distress, no shelter shrouds their fate.   

53  
O now what horror in their souls doth grow?  
What sorrows with their friends, and near allies?  
What mourning in their ruin'd houses now?  
How many children's plaints and mother's cries?  
How many woeful widows left to bow  
To sad disgrace? what perished families?  
What heirs of high rich hopes their thought smust frame  
To bace-downe-looking poverty and shame!   

54  
This slaughter, and calamity foregoes  
Thy eminent destruction woeful king,  
This is the bloody comet of thy woes  
That doth foretell thy present ruyning:  
Here was thy end decreed when these men rose  
And even with their, this act thy death did bring  
Or hastened, at the least upon this ground;  
Yet if not this, another had beenbe found.   

55  
Kings (Lords of times and of occasions)  
May take th' advantage, when, and how they lift,  
For now the Realm with these rebellions  
Vexed, and turmyld, was thought would not resist  
Nor feel the wound, when like confusions  
Should by this means be stayed, as all men witted,  
The cause being once cut off that did molest,  
The land should have her peace, and he his rest.   

56  
He knew this time, and yet he would not seem  
Too quick to wrath, as if affecting blood;  
But yet complains so far, that men might deem  
He would 'ttwere done, and that he thought it good;  
And wished that some would so his life esteem  
As rid him of these fears wherein he stood: 
This knight was Sir Pierce of Exton.   
And therewith eyes a knight, that then was by,  
Who soon could learn his lesson by his eye.   

57  
The man he knew was one that willingly  
For one good look would hazard soul and all,  
An instrument for any villainy,  
That needed no commission more at all:  
A great ease to the king that should hereby  
Not need in this a course of justice call,  
Nor seem to will the act, for though what's wrought  
Were his own deed, he grieves should so be thought.   

58  
So soul a thing o thou injustice art  
That tortrest both the doer and distressed,  
For when a man hath done a wicked part,  
O how he strives t' excuse to make the best,  
To shift the fault, t'vnburthen his charged heart  
And glad to find the least furmise of rest:  
And if he could make his seem others sin,  
O what repose what easily finds therein?   

59  
This knight, but o why should I call him knight  
To give impiety this reverent style,  
Title of honour, worth, and virtues right  
Should not be given to a wretch so vile?  
O pardon me if I do not aright,  
It is because I will not here defile  
My unstained verse with his opprobrious name,  
And grace him so to place him in the same.   

60  
This eaitise goes and with him takes eight more  
As desperate as himself; impiously bold  
Such villains as he knew would not abhor  
To execute what wicked act he would,  
And hastes him down to Pomfret wherebefore  
The restless king conveyed, was laid in hold:  
There would he do the deed he thought should bring  
To him great grace and favour with his king.   

61  
Whether the soul receive intelligence  
By her near Genius of the body's end,  
And so imparts a sadness to the sense  
Foregoing ruin whereto it doth end:  
Or whether nature else hath conference  
With profound sleope, and so doth warning send  
By prophetizing dreams what hurt is near,  
And gives the heavy careful heart to fear:   

62  
How ever so it is, the now sad king  
Tossed here and there his quiet to confound,  
Feels a strange weight of sorrows gathering  
Upon his trembling heart, and sees no ground:  
Feels so deign terror bring cold shivering.  
Lists not to eat, still muses, sleeps unfound,  
His senses droop, his steady eye unquicke  
And much he ails, and yet he is not sick.   

63  
The morning of that day, which was his last,  
After a weary rest rising to pain  
Out at a little grate his eyes he cast  
Upon those bordering hills, and open plain,  
And views the town, and sees how people past,  
Where others liberty makes him complain  
The more his own, and grieves his soul the more  
Conferring captive-crownes with freedom poor.   

64  
O happy man, faith he, that lo I see  
Grazing his cattle in those pleasant fields!  
O if he knew his good, how blessed he  
That feels not what affliction greatness yields,  
Other than what he is he would not be,  
Nor change his state with him that Sceptres wields:  
O thine is that true life, that is to live,  
To rest secure, and not rise up to gricue.   

65  
Thou sittest at home safe by thy quiet fire  
And hearest of others harms, but feelest none;  
And there thou tellest of kings and who aspire,  
Who fall, who rise, who triumphs, who do moon:  
Perhaps thou talk'st of me, and dost inquire  
Of my restraint, why here I live alone,  
O know tis others sin not my desert,  
And I could wish I were but as thou art.   

66  
Thrice-happie you that look as from the shore  
And have no venture in the wrack you see,  
No sorrow, no occasion to deplore  
Other men's travails while yourselves sit free.  
How much doth your sweet rest make us the more  
To see our misery and what we be?  
O blinded greatness! thou with thy turmoil  
Still seeking happy life, makest life a toil.   

67  
But look on me, and note my troubled reign,  
Examine all the course of my vexed life;  
Compare my little joys with my long pain,  
And note my pleasures rare, my sorrows rife,  
My childhood difrent in others pride, and gain,  
My youth in danger, farther years in strife,  
My courses crossed, my deeds wrest to the worst,  
My honour spoiled, my life in danger forced.   

68  
This is my state, and this is all the good  
That wretched I have gotten by a crown,  
This is the life that costs men so much blood  
And more than blood to make the same their own,  
O had not I then better been t'have stood  
On lower ground, and safely lived unknown,  
And been a herds man rather then a king,  
Which inexperience thinks so sweet a thing.   

69  
O thou great Monarch, and more great therefore 
Dioclesian the Emperor.   
For scorning that whereto vain pride aspires,  
Reckoning thy gardens in Illiria more  
Than all the Empire; took'st those sweet retires:  
Thou well didst teach, that o he is not poor  
That little hath, but he that much desires:  
Finding more true delight in that small ground  
Then in possessing all the earth was found.   

70  
But what do I repeating others good  
To vex mine own perplexed soul the more?  
Alas how should I now free this poor blood  
And care-worn body from this state restore?  
How should I look for life or livelihood  
Kept here distressed to die, condemned before,  
A sacrifice prepared for his peace  
That can but by my death have his release?   

71  
Are kings that freedom give themselves not free,  
As meaner men to take what they may give?  
O are they of so fatal a degree  
That they cannot descend from that and live?  
Unless they still be kings can they not be,  
Nor may they their authority survive?  
Will not my yielded crown redeem my breath?  
Still am I feared? is there no way but death?   

72  
Scarce this word death had sorrow uttered,  
But in rushed one, and tells him how a knight  
Is come from court, his name delivered.  
What news with him said he that traitorous wight?  
What more removes? must we be farther lead?  
Are we not sent enough yet out of sight?  
Or hath this place not strength sufficient  
To guard us in? or have they worse intent?   

73  
By this the bloody troup were at the door,  
When as a sudden and a strange dismay  
Enforced them strain, who should go in before;  
One offers, and in offering makes a stay:  
Another forward sets and doth no more,  
A third the like, and none durst make the way:  
So much the horror of so vile a deed  
In vilest minds hinders them to proceed.   

74  
At length, as to some great assault the knight  
Cheers up his fainting men all that he can,  
And valiantly their courage doth incite  
And all against one weak unarmed man:  
A great exploit worthy a man of might,  
Much honour wretch therein thy valour wan:  
Ah poor weak prince, yet men that presence fear  
Which once they knew authority did bear.   

75  
Then on thrusts one, and he would foremost be  
To shed another's blood, but lost his own;  
For entering in, as soon as he did see  
The face of majesty to him well known,  
Like Marius' soldier at Minternum, he  
Stood still amazed his courage overthrown:  
The king seeing this, starts up from where he fate  
Out from his trembling hand his weapon gate.   

76  
Thus even his foes that came to bring him death,  
Bring him a weapon that before had none,  
That yet he might not idly lose his breath  
But dierevengd in action not alone:  
And this good chance that this much favoureth  
He slacks not, for he presently speeds one,  
And Lion-like upon the rest he flies,  
And here falls one, and there another lies.   

77  
And up and down he traverses his ground,  
Now wards a felling blow, now strikes again,  
Then nimbly shifts a thrust, than lends a wound,  
Now back he gives, than rushes on amain,  
His quick and ready hand doth so confound  
These shameful beasts that four of them dies slain,  
And all had perished happily and well  
But for one act, that o I grieve to tell.   

78  
This coward knight seeing with shame and fear  
His men thus slain and doubting his own end,  
Leaps up into a chair that lo was there,  
The whiles the king did all his courage bend  
Against those four that now before him were,  
Doubting not who behind him doth attend,  
And plies his hands undaunted, unaffeard  
And with good heart, and life for life he stirred.   

79  
And whiles he this, and that, and each man's blow  
Doth eye, descend, and shift, being laid to sore  
Backward he beats for more advantage now,  
Thinking the wall would safeguard him the more,  
When lo with impious hand o wicked thou  
That shameful durst not come to strike before,  
Behind him gav'st that woeful deadly wound,  
That laid that most sweet Prince flat on the ground.   

08  
Monster of men, o what hast thou here done  
Unto an overpressed innocent,  
Labouring against so many, he but one,  
And one poor soul with care, with sorrow spent?  
O could thy eyes endure to look upon  
Thy hands disgrace, or didst thou then relent?  
But what thou didst I will not here divine  
Nor strain my thoughts to enter into thine.   

81  
But leave thee wretch unto black infamy,  
To dark eternal horror, and disgrace,  
The hateful scorn to all posterity,  
The outcast of the world, last of thy race,  
Of whose cursed seed, nature did then deny  
To bring forth more her fair works to deface:  
And as ashamed to have produced that past  
She stays her hand, and makes this worst her last.   

82  
There lies that comely body all imbrued  
With that pure blood, mixed with that fowl he shed:  
O that those sacred streams with such vile rude  
Unhallowed matter should be mingled!  
O why was grossness with such grace endued,  
To be with that sweet mixture honoured?  
Or served it but as some vile grave ordained,  
Where an embalm corpses should be contained?   

83  
Those fair distended limbs all trembling lay,  
Whom yet nor life nor death their own could call,  
For life removed had not rid all away,  
And death though entering seized not yet on all:  
That short-timed motion (that soon finish shall  
The mover ceasing) yet a while doth stay,  
As th' organ sound a time survives the stop  
Before it doth the dying note give up:   

84  
So holds those organs of that goodly frame  
The weak remains of life a little space,  
But ah full soon cold death poffest the same,  
Set are those sunlike eyes, bloodless that face,  
And all that comely whole a lump became,  
All that fair form which death could scarce disgrace  
Lies perished thus, and thus untimely fate  
Hath finished his most miserable state.   

85  
And thus one king most near in blood allied  
is made th' oblation for the others peace:  
Now only one, both name and all beside  
Entirely hath, plurality doth cease:  
He that remains, remains unterrifide  
With others right; this day doth all release:  
And henceforth he is absolutely king,  
No crowns but one, this deed confirms the thing.   

86  
And yet new Hydra's lo, new heads appear  
T' afflict that peace reputed then so sure,  
And gave him much to do, and much to fear,  
And long and dangerous tumults did procure,  
And those even of his chiefest followers were  
Of whom he might presume him most secure,  
Who whether not so graced or so preferred  
As they expected, these new factions stirred.   

87  
The Percyes were the men, men of great might,  
Strong in alliance, and in courage strong  
That thus conspire, under pretence to right  
The crooked courses they had suffered long:  
Whether their conscience urged them or despite,  
Or that they saw the part they took was wrong,  
Or that ambition hereto did them call,  
Or others envied grace, or rather all.   

88  
What cause soever were, strong was their plot,  
Their parties great, means good, th' occasion fit:  
Their practice close, their faith suspected not,  
Their states far off and they of wary wit:  
Who with large promises draw in the Scot  
To aid their cause, he likes, and yields to it,  
Not for the jove of them or for their good,  
But glad hereby of means to shed our blood.   

89  
Then join they with the Welsh, who fitly trained  
And all in arms under a mighty head  
Great Glendowr, who long warred, and much attained, 
Omen Glenden   
Sharp conflicts made, and many vanquished:  
With whom was Edmond Earl of March retained  
Being first his prisoner, now confedered,  
A man the king much feared, and well he might  
Lest he should look whether his Crown stood right.   

90  
For Richard, for the quiet of the state,  
Before he took those Irish wars in hand 
Rich. 2.   
About succession doth deliberate,  
And finding how the certain right did stand,  
With full consent this man did ordinate  
The heir apparent to the crown and land:  
Then judge if this the king might nearly touch,  
Although his might were small, his right being much.   

91  
With these the Percyes them confederate,  
And as three heads they league in one intent,  
And instituting a triumvirate  
Do part the land in triple government:  
dividing thus among themselves the state,  
The Percyes should rule all the North from Trent  
And Glendowr Wales: the Earl of March should be  
Lord of the South from Trent; and thus they 'gree.   

92  
Then those two helps which still such actors find  
Pretence of common good, the king's disgrace  
Doth fit their course, and draw the vulgar mind  
To further them and aid them in this case:  
The king they accused for cruel, and unkind  
That did the state, and crown, and all deface;  
A perjured man that held all faith in scorn,  
Whose trusted oaths had others made for sworn.   

93  
Besides the odious detestable act  
Of that late murdered king they aggravate,  
Making it his that so had willed the fact  
That he the doers did remunerate:  
And then such taxes daily doth exact  
That were against the orders of the state,  
And with all these or worse they him assailed  
Who late of others with the like prevailed.   

94  
Thus doth contentious proud mortality  
Afflict each other and itself torment:  
And thus o thou mind-tortring misery  
Restless ambition, borne in discontent,  
Turnest and retossest with iniquity  
The unconstant courses frailty did invent:  
And foul'st fair order and defilst the earth  
Fostering up war, father of blood and dearth.   

95  
Great seemed the cause, and greatly to, did add  
The people's love thereto these crimes rehearsed,  
That many gathered to the troops they had  
And many more do flock from costs dispersed:  
But when the king had heard these news so bad,  
Th'unlooked for dangerous toil more nearly pierced;  
For bend towards Wales t' appease those tumults there,  
he's forced divert his course, and them forbear.   

96  
Not to give time unto th'increasing rage  
And gathering fury, forth he hastes with speed,  
Left more delay or giving longer age  
To th'evil grown, it might the cure exceed:  
All his best men at arms, and leaders sage  
All he prepared he could, and all did need;  
For to a mighty work thou goest o king,  
To such a field that power to power shall bring.   

97  
There shall young Hotespur with a fury lead 
The son to the Earl of Northumberland.   
Meet with thy forward son as fierce as he:  
There warlike Worster long experienced  
In foreign arms, shall come t' encounter thee:  
There Dowglas to thy Stafford shall make head:  
There Vernon for thy valiant Blunt shall be:  
There shalt thou find a doubtful bloody day,  
Though sickness keep Northumberland away.   

98  
Who yet reserved, though after quit for this,  
Another tempest on thy head to raise,  
As if still wrong revenging Nemesis  
Did mean t' afflict all thy continual days:  
And yet this field he happily might miss  
For thy great good, and therefore well he stays:  
What might his force have done being joined thereto,  
When that already gave so much to do?   

99  
The swift approach and unexpected speed  
The king had made upon this new-raised force  
In th'unconfirmed troops much fear did breed,  
Untimely hindering their intended course;  
The joining with the Welsh they had decreed  
Was hereby stopped, which made their part the worse,  
Northumberland with forces from the North  
Expected to be there, was not set forth.   

100  
And yet undaunted Hotspur seeing the king  
So near approached, leaving the work in hand  
With forward speed his forces marshalling,  
Sets forth his farther coming to withstand:  
And with a cheerful voice encouraging  
By his great spirit his well emboldened band,  
Brings a strong host of firm resolved might,  
And placed his troops before the king in sight.   

101  
This day (saith he) o faithful valiant friends,  
What ever it doth give, shall glory give:  
This day with honour frees our state, or ends  
Our misery with fame, that still shall live,  
And do but think how well this day he spends  
That spends his blood his country to relieve:  
Our holy cause, our freedom, and our right,  
Sufficient are to move good minds to fight.   

102  
Besides th' assured hope of victory  
That we may even promise on our side  
Against this weake-constrained company,  
Whom force & fear, not will, and love doth guide  
Against a prince whose soul impiety  
The heavens do hate, the earth cannot abide,  
Our number being no less, our courage more,  
What need we doubt if we but work therefore.   

103  
This said, and thus resolved even bend to charge  
Upon the king, who well their order viewed  
And careful noted all the form at large  
Of their proceeding, and their multitude:  
And deeming better if he could discharge  
The day with safety, and some peace conclude,  
Great proffers sends of pardon, and of grace  
If they would yield, and quietness embrace.   

104  
But this refused, the king with wrath incensed  
Rage against fury doth with speed prepare:  
And o faith he, though I could have dispensd  
With this days blood, which I have sought to spare  
That greater glory might have recompensed  
The forward worth of these that so much dare,  
That we might honour had by th' overthrown  
That th' wounds we make, might not have been our own.   

105  
Yet since that other men's iniquity  
Calls on the sword of wrath against my will,  
And that themselves exact this cruelty,  
And I constrained am this blood to spill:  
Then on my masters, on courageously  
True-hearted subjects against traitors ill,  
And spare not them who seek to spoil us all,  
Whose fowl confused end soon see you shall.   

106  
Strait moves with equal motion equal rage  
The like incensed armies unto blood,  
One to defend, another side to wage  
Fowl civil war, both vows their quarrel good:  
Ah too much hear to blood doth now enrage  
Both who the deed provokes and who withstood,  
That valour here is vice, here manhood sin,  
The forwardst hands doth o lest honour win.   

107  
But now begin these fury-moving sounds  
The notes of wrath that music brought from hell,  
The rattling drums which trumpets voice confounds,  
The cries, th' encouragements, the shouting shrell;  
That all about the beaten air reboundes,  
Thundering confused, murmurs horrible,  
To rob all sense except the sense to fight,  
Well hands may work, the mind hath lost his sight.   

108  
O war! begot in pride and luxury,  
The child of wrath and of dissension,  
Horrible good; mischief necessary,  
The fowl reformer of confusion,  
Vniust-iust scourge of our iniquity,  
Cruel recurer of corruption:  
O that these sin-sick states in need should stand  
To be let blood with such a boisterous hand!   

109  
And o how well thou hadst been spared this day  
Had not wrong counselled Percy been perverse, 
The Prince of Wales,   
Whose young vndangered hand now rash makes way  
Upon the sharpest fronts of the most fierce:  
Where now an equal fury thrusts to stay  
And rebeat-backe that force and his disperses,  
Then these assail, than those chase back again,  
Till stayed with new-made hills of bodies slain.   

110  
There lo that new-appearing glorious star  
Wonder of Arms, the terror of the field  
Young Henry, labouring where the stoutest are,  
And even the stoutest forces back to yield,  
There is that hand boldened to blood and war  
That must the sword in wondrous actions wield:  
But better hadst thou learned with others blood  
A less expense to us, to thee more good.   

111  
Hadst thou not there lent present speedy aid  
To thy indaungerde father nearly tired,  
Whom fierce encountering Dowglas overlaid,  
That day had there his troublous life expired:  
Heroical Courageous Blunt arrayed 
Which was Sir Walter Blunt   
In habit like as was the king attired  
And deemed for him, excused that fate with his,  
For he had what his Lord did hardly miss.   

112  
For thought a king he would not now disgrace  
The person then supposed, but prince like shows  
Glorious effects of worth that fit his place,  
And fight dies, and dying overthrows:  
Another of that forward name and race 
Another Blunt which was the king's Standard bearer.   
In that hot work his valiant life bestows,  
Who bore the standard of the king that day,  
Whose colours overthrown did much dismay.   

113  
And dear it cost, and o much blood is shed  
To purchase thee this losing victory  
O travayld king: yet hast thou conquered  
A doubtful day, a mighty enemy:  
But o what wounds, what famous worthlyes dead!  
That makes the winner look with sorrowing eye,  
Magnanimous Stafford lost that much had wrought,  
And valiant Shorly who great glory got. 
Sir Hugh Shorly.    

114  
Such wrack of others blood thou didst behold  
O furious Hotspur, ere thou lost thine own!  
Which now once lost that heat in thine waxed cold,  
And soon became thy Army overthrown;  
And o that this great spirit, this courage bold,  
Had in some good cause been rightly shown!  
So had not we thus violently then  
Have termed that rage, which valour should have been.   

115  
But now the king retires him to his peace,  
A peace much like a feeble sick-man's sleep,  
(Wherein his waking pains do never cease  
Though seeming rest his closed eyes doth keep)  
For o no peace could ever so release  
His intricate turmoils, and sorrows deep,  
But that his cares kept waking all his life  
Continue on till death conclude the strife.   

116  
Whose herald sickness, being sent before  
With full commission to denounce his end,  
And pain, and grief, enforcing more and more,  
Besieged the hold that could not long defend,  
And so consumed all that imboldning store  
Of hot gaine-striving blood that did contend,  
Wearing the wall so thin that now the mind  
Might well look thorough, and his frailty find.   

117  
When lo, as if the vapours vanished were,  
Which heat of boiling blood & health did breed,  
(To cloud the sense that nothing might appear  
Unto the thought, that which it was indeed)  
The lightened soul began to see more clear  
How much it was abused, & notes with heed  
The plain discovered falsehood open laid  
Of ill persuading flesh that so betrayed.   

118  
And lying on his last afflicted bed  
Where death & conscience both before him stand,  
Th'one holding out a book wherein he red  
In bloody lines the deeds of his own hand;  
The other shows a glass, which figured  
An ugly form of fowl corrupted sand:  
Both bringing horror in the highest degree  
With what he was, and what he strait should be.   

119  
Which seeing all confused trembling with fear  
He lay a while, as overthrown in spirit,  
At last commands some that attending were  
To fetch the crown and set it in his sight,  
On which with fixed eye and heavy cheer  
Casting a look, O God (saith he) what right  
I had to thee my soul doth now conceive;  
Thee, which with blood I got, with horror leave.   

120  
Wert thou the cause my climbing care was such  
To pass those bounds, nature, and law ordained?  
Is this that good which promised so much,  
And seemed so glorious ere it was attained?  
Wherein was never joy but gave a touch  
To check my soul to think, how thou wert gained,  
And now how do I leave thee unto mine,  
Which it is dread to keep, death to resign.   

121  
With this the soul rapt wholly with the thought  
Of such distress, did so attentive weigh  
Her present horror, whilst as if forgot  
The dull consumed body senseless lay,  
And now as breathless quite, quite dead is thought,  
When lo his son comes in, and takes away  
The fatal crown from thence, and out he goes  
As if unwilling longer time to lose.   

122  
And whilst that sad confused soul doth cast  
Those great accounts of terror and distress,  
Upon this counsel it doth light at last  
How she might make the charge of horror less,  
And finding no way to acquit that's past  
But only this, to use some quick redress  
Of acted wrong, with giving up again  
The crown to whom it seemed to appertain.   

123  
Which found, lightened with some small joy she hies,  
Rouses her servants that dead sleeping lay,  
(The members of her house,) to exercise  
One feeble duty more, during her stay:  
And opening those dark windows he espies  
The crown for which he looked was borne away,  
And all-agrieued with the unkind offence  
He caused him bring it back that took it thence.   

124  
To whom (excusing his presumteous deed  
By the supposing him departed quite)  
He said: o Son what needs thee make such speed  
Unto that care, where fear exceeds thy right,  
And where his sin whom thou shalt now succeed  
Shall still upbraid thy ' inheritance of might,  
And if thou canst live, and live great from woe  
Without this careful travail; let it go.   

125  
Nay father since your fortune did attain  
So high a stand: I mean not to descend,  
Replies the Prince; as if what you did gain  
I were of spirit unable to defend:  
Time will appease them well that now complain,  
And ratify our interest in the end;  
What wrong hath not continuance quite outworn?  
Years makes that right which never was so borne.   

126  
If so, God work his pleasure (said the king)  
And o do thou contend with all thy might  
Such evidence of virtuous deeds to bring,  
That well may prove our wrong to be our right:  
And let the goodness of the managing  
Race out the blot of foul attaining quite:  
That discontent may all advantage miss  
To wish it otherwise then now it is.   

127  
And since my death my purpose doth prevent  
Touching this sacred war I took in hand,  
(An action wherewithal my soul had meant  
T'appease my God, and reconcile my land)  
To thee is left to finish my intent,  
Who to be safe must never idly stand;  
But some great actions entertain thou still  
To hold their minds who else will practise ill.   

128  
Thou hast not that advantage by my reign  
To riot it (as they whom long descent  
Hath purchased love by custom) but with pain  
Thou must contend to buy the world's content:  
What their birth gave them, thou hast yet to gain  
By thine own virtues, and good government,  
And that unless thy worth confirm the thing  
Thou canst not be the father to a king.   

129  
Nor art thou born in those calm days, where rest  
Hath brought a sleep sluggish security;  
But in tumultuous times, where minds addressed  
To factions are inurd to mutiny,  
A mischief not by force to be suppressed  
Where rigour still begets more enmity,  
Hatred must be beguiled with some new course,  
Where states are strong, & princes doubt their force   

130  
This and much more affliction would have said  
Out of th'experience of a troublous reign,  
For which his high desires had dearly paid  
Th'interest of an ever-toyling pain  
But that this all-subduing power here stayed  
His faltering tongue and pain r'inforced again,  
And cut off all the passages of breath  
To bring him quite under the state of death.   

113  
In whose possession I must leave him now,  
And now into the Ocean of new toils,  
Into the stormy Maine where tempests grow  
Of greater ruins, and of greater spoils  
Set forth my course to hasten on my vow  
O'er all the troublous deep of these turmoils:  
And if I may but live t'attain the shore  
Of my desired end, I wish no more.   

132  
Help on o sovereign Muse, help on my course  
If these my toils be grateful in thy eyes;  
Or but look on, to cheer my feeble force  
That I faint not in this'great enterprise:  
And you o worthy you, that take remorse  
Of my estate, and help my thoughts to rise;  
Continue still your grace that I may give  
End to the work wherein your worth may live.    

THE ARGUMENT OF THE FOWRTH BOOK.  
Henry the fifth cuts off his enemy  
The earl of Cambridge that conspired his death:  
Henry the fixed married unluckily  
His and his countries glory ruineth:  
Suffolk that made the match preferred too high  
Going to exile a pirate murdereth:  
What means the Duke of York observed to gain  
The world's goodwill, seeking the crown t'attain.  

1  
CLose smothered lay the low depressed fire,  
Whose after-issuing flames confounded all  
Whilst thou victorious Henry didst conspire 
Hen. 5.   
The wrack of France, that at thy feet did fall:  
Whilst joys of gotten spoils, and new desire  
Of greater gain to greater deeds did call  
Thy conquering troops, that could no thoughts retain  
But thoughts of glory all that working reign.   

2  
What do I feel o now in passing by  
These blessed times that I am forced to leave?  
What trembling sad remorse doth terrify  
MY amazed thought with what I do conceive?  
What? doth my pen commit impiety  
To pass those sacred trophies without leave?  
And do I sin, not to salute your ghosts  
Great worthies, so renowned in foreign coasts?   

3  
Who do I see out of the dark appear,  
Covered almost with clouds as with the night,  
That here presents him with a martial cheer  
Seeming of dreadful, and yet lovely fight?  
Whose eye gives courage, & whose brow hath fear  
Both representing terror and delight,  
And stays my course, and off my purpose breaks,  
And in obraiding words thus fiercely speaks.   

4  
Ungrateful times that impiously neglect  
That worth that never times again shall show,  
What, merits all our toil no more respect?  
Or else stands idleness ashamed to know  
Those wondrous Actions that do so object  
Blame to the wanton, sin unto the slow?  
Can England see the best that she can boast  
lie thus ungraced, undeckt, and almost fit?   

5  
Why do you seek for feigned Palladins  
Out of the sinoke of idle vanity,  
That may give glory to the true designs  
Of Bourchier, Talbot, Nevile, Willoughby?  
Why should not you strive to fill up your lines  
With wonders of your own, with verity?  
T' inflame their offspring with the love of Good  
And glorious true examples of their blood.   

6  
O what eternal matter here is found!  
Whence new immortal Fliads might proceed,  
That those whose happy graces do abound  
In blessed accents here may have to feed  
Good thoughts, on no imaginary ground  
Of hungry shadows which no profit breed:  
Whence music like, instant delight may grow,  
But when men all do know they nothing know.   

7  
And why dost thou in lamentable verse  
Nothing but bloodshed, treasons, sin and shame,  
The worst of timos, th'extreme of ills rehearse,  
To raise old stains, and to renew dead blame?  
As if the minds of th'evil, and perverse  
Were not far sooner trained from the same  
By good example of fair virtuous acts,  
Then by the show of foul ungodly facts   

8  
O that our times had had some sacred wight,  
Whose words as happy as our sword had been  
To have prepared for us Trophies aright  
Of undecaying frames t'have rested in:  
Triumphant arks of perdurable might  
O holy lines: that such advantage win  
Upon the Sith of time in spite of years,  
How blessed they that gain what never wears.   

9  
What is it o to do, if what we do  
Shall perish near as soon as it is done?  
What is that glory we attain unto  
With all our toil, if lost as soon as won?  
O small requital for so great a do  
Is this poor present breath a smoke soon gone;  
Or these dumb stones erected for our sake,  
Which formles heaps few stormy changes make.   

10  
Tell great ELIZA since her days are graced  
With those bright ornaments to us denied,  
That she repair what darkness hath defaced,  
And get our ruyned deeds reediside:  
She in whose all directing eye is placed  
A power the highest powers of wit to guide,  
She may command the work and oversee  
The holy frame that might eternal be.   

11  
O would she be content that time should make  
A ravenous pray upon her glorious reign;  
That darkness and the night should overtake  
So clear a brightness, shining without stain?  
Ah no, she softens some no doubt that wake  
For her eternity, with pleasing pain:  
And if she for herself prepare this good,  
O let her not neglect those of her blood.   

12  
This that great Monarch Henry seemed to crave; 
Hen. 5.   
When (weighing what a holy motive here  
Virtue proposed, and fit for him to have,  
Whom all times ought of duty hold most dear)  
I sighed, and wished that some would take t'ingraue  
With curious hand so proud a work to rear,  
To grace the present, and to bless times past,  
That might for ever to our glory last.   

13  
So should our well taught times have learned alike  
How fair shined virtue, and how soul vice stood,  
When now myself have driven to mislike  
Those deeds: of worth I dare not vow for good:  
I cannot moon who lose, nor praise who seek  
By mighty Actions to advance their blood;  
I must faith who wrought most, least honour had,  
How ever good the cause, the deeds were bad.   

14  
And only tell the worst of every rain  
And not the intermeddled good report,  
I leave what glory virtue did attain  
At th'evermemorable Agincorte:  
I leave to tell what wit, what power did gain  
Th'assieged Rouen, Caen, Dreux, or in what sort:  
How majestic with terror did advance  
Her conquering foot on all subdued France.   

15  
All this I pass, and that magnanimous King  
Mirror of virtue, miracle of worth,  
Whose mighty Actions with wise managing  
Forced prouder boasting climbs to serve the North:  
The best of all the best the earth can bring  
Scarce equals him in what his reign brought forth,  
Being of a mind as forward to aspire  
As fit to govern what he did desire.   

16  
His comely body was a goodly seat  
Where virtue dwelled most fair as lodged most pure,  
A bodic strong when use of strength did get  
A stronger state to do, and to endure:  
Making his life th' example to beget  
Like spirit in those he did to good in ure,  
Most glorying to advance true virtuous blood,  
As if he greatness sought but to do good.   

17  
Who as the chief, and all-directing head,  
Did with his subjects as his members live,  
And them to goodness forced not, but lead  
Winning not much to have, but much to give:  
Deeming the power of his, his power did spread  
As borne to bless the world & not to grieve:  
Adorned with others spoils not subjects store,  
No king exacting less, none winning more.   

18  
He after that corrupted faith had bred  
An ill enured obedience for command,  
And languishing luxuriousness had spread  
Feeble unaptness over all the land,  
Yet he those long unordred troops so led  
Under such formal discipline to stand,  
That even his soul seemed only to direct  
So great a body such exploits t'effect.   

19  
He brings abroad distracted discontent,  
Dispersed ill humours into actions high,  
And to unite them all in one consent  
Placed the fair mark of glory in their eye,  
That malice had no leisure to dissent,  
Nor envy time to practise treachery,  
The present actions do divert the thought  
Of madness past, while minds were so well wrought.   

20  
Here now were pride, oppression, usury,  
The canker-eating mischiefs of the state,  
Called forth to pray upon the enemy,  
Whilst the home-burthned better lightened sat:  
Ease was not suffered with a greedy eye  
T'examine states or private wealths to rate,  
The silent Courts warred not with busy words,  
Nor wrested law gave the contentious sword.   

21  
Now nothing entertains th'attentive care  
But stratagems, assaults, surprises, fights;  
How to give laws to them that conquered were,  
How to articulate with yielding wights:  
The weak with mercy, and the proud with fear  
How to retain, to give deserts their right,  
Were now the Arts, and nothing else was thought  
But how to win and maintain what was got.   

22  
Here o were none that privately possessed  
And held alone imprisoned majesty,  
Proudly debarring entrance from the rest  
As if the pray were theirs by victory:  
Here no detractor wounds who merits best,  
Nor shameless brow cheers on impiety,  
Virtue who all her toil with zeal had spent  
Not here all unrewarded, sighing went.   

23  
But here the equally respecting eye  
Of power, looking alike on like deserts,  
Blessing the good made others good thereby.  
More mighty by the multitude of hearts:  
The field of glory unto all doth lie  
Open alike, honour to all imparts;  
So that the only fashion in request  
Was to be good or good-like, as the rest.   

24  
So much o thou example dost effect  
Being far a better master than command,  
That how to do by doing dost direct  
And teachest others, action by thy hand.  
Who follows not the course that kings elect?  
When Princes work, who then will idle stand?  
And when that doing good is only thought  
Worthy reward; who will be bad for nought?   

25  
And had not th' earl of Cambridge with vain speed  
Untimely practised for another's right,  
With hope t'advance those of his proper seed,  
(On whom yet rule seemed destined to light)  
The land had seen none of her own to bleed  
During this reign, nor no aggrieved sight:  
None the least blackness interclouded had  
So fair a day, nor any eye looked sad.   

26  
But now when France perceiving from a far  
The gathering tempest growing on from hence  
Ready to fall, threatening their state to mar,  
They labour all means to provide defence:  
And practising how to prevent this war,  
And shut out such calamities from thence,  
Do softer here some discord lately grown  
To hold Ambition busied with her own.   

27  
Finding those humours which they saw were fit  
Soon to be wrought and easy to be fed,  
Swollen full with envy that the crown should sit  
There where it did, as if established:  
And whom it touched in blood to grieve at it  
They with such hopes and helps solicited,  
That this great Earl was drawn t'attempt the thing  
And practices how to depose the king.   

28  
For being of mighty means to do the deed  
And yet of mightier hopes than means to do,  
And yet of spirit that did his hopes exceed,  
And then of blood as great to add thereto:  
All which, with what the gold of France could breed  
Being powers enough a climbing mind to woe,  
He so employed, that many he had won  
Even of the chief the king relied upon.   

29  
The welknown right of the Earl of March alurd  
A leaning love, whose cause he did pretend;  
Whereby he knew that so himself procured  
The Crown for his own children in the end:  
For the Earl being (as he was assured)  
Unapt for issue, it must needs descend  
On those of his being next of Clarence race,  
As who by course of right should hold the place.   

30  
It was the time when as the forward Prince  
Had all prepared for his great enterprise, 
At Southhaton.   
And ready stand his troops to part from hence  
And all in stately form and order lies:  
When open fame gives out intelligence  
Of these bad complots of his enemies:  
Or else this time of purpose chosen is  
Though known before, yet let run on till this.   

31  
That this might yield the more to aggravate  
Upon so foul a deed so vilely sought,  
Now at this time t'attempt to ruinated  
So glorious great designs so forward brought:  
Whilst careful virtue seeks t'advance the state  
And for her everlasting honour sought  
That though the cause were right, and title strong  
The time of doing it, yet makes it wrong.   

32  
And strait an unlamented death he had,  
And strait were joyfully the Anchors weighed  
And all flock fast aboard, with visage glad,  
As if the sacrifice had now been paid  
For their good speed; that made their stay so sad  
Loathing the least occasion that delayed.  
And now new thoughts, great hopes, calm seas, fair winds  
With present action entertains their minds.   

33  
No other cross o Henry saw thy days  
But this that touched thy now possessed hold;  
Nor after long, till this man's son assays 
Richard Duke of York.   
To get of thine the right that he controwld:  
For which contending long, his life he pays;  
So that it fatal seemed the father should  
Thy winning seek to stay, and then his son  
Should be the cause to lose, when thou hadst won.   

34  
Yet now in this so happy a mean while  
And inter lightning times thy virtues wrought,  
That discord had no leisure to defile  
So fair attempts with a tumultuous thought:  
And even thyself, thyself didst so beguile  
With such attention upon what was sought,  
That time affords not now with care or hare  
Others to seek thee to secure thy state.   

35  
Else o how easy had it been for thee  
All the pretendant race t'have laid full low  
If thou proceeded hadst with cruelty,  
Not suffering any fatal branch to grow:  
But unsuspicious magnanimity  
Shames such effects of fear, and force to show:  
Busied in free, and open Actions still  
Being great; for being good, hates to be ill.   

36  
Which o how much it were to be required  
In all of might, if all were like of mind;  
But when that all depraved have conspired  
To be unjust, what safety shall they find  
(After the date of virtue is expired)  
That do not practise in the self-same kind,  
And countermine against deceit with guile?  
But o what mischief feels the world the while?   

37  
And yet such wrongs are held meet to be done,  
And often for the state thought requisite,  
As when the public good depends thereon,  
When most injustice is esteemed most right:  
But o what good with doing ill is won?  
Who hath of blood made such a benefit  
As hath not feared more after then before,  
And made his peace the less, his plague the more?   

38  
Far otherwise dealt this undaunted king  
That cheerished the offspring of his foes  
And his competitors to grace did bring,  
And them his friends for Arms, and honours, chose;  
As if plain courses were the safest thing  
Where upright goodness, sure, and steadfast goes  
Free from that subtle masked impiety,  
Which this depraved world calls policy.   

39  
Yet how hath fate disposed of all this good?  
What have these virtues after times availd?  
In what steed hath hy-raised valour stood,  
When this continuing cause of greatness failed?  
Then when proud-growne the irritated blood  
Enduring not itself it self assailed,  
As though that Prowess had but learned to spill  
Much blood abroad to cut her throat with skill.   

40  
O doth th' Eternal in the course of things  
So mix the causes both of good and ill,  
That thus the one effects of th' other brings,  
As what seems made to bliss, is borne to spill?  
What from the best of virtues glory springs  
That which the world with misery doth fill?  
Is th' end of happiness but wretchedness,  
Hath sin his plague, and virtue no success?   

41  
Either that is not good, the world holds good,  
Or else is so confused with ill, that we  
Abused with th'appearing likelihood  
Run to offend, whilst we think good to be:  
Or else the heavens made man, in furious blood  
To torture man: And that no course is free  
From mischief long. And that fair days do breed  
But storms, to make more foul, times that succeed.   

42  
Who would have thought but so great victories,  
Such conquests, riches, land, and kingdom gained,  
Can not but have established in such wise  
This powerful state, in state to have remained?  
Who would have thought that mischief could devise  
A way so soon to lose what was attained?  
As greatness were but showed to grieve not grace,  
And to reduce us into far worse case.   

43  
With what contagion France didst thou infect  
The land by thee made proud, to disagree?  
T'inrage them so their own swords to direct  
Upon themselves that were made sharp in thee?  
Why didst thou teach them here at home t'erect  
Trophies of their blood which of thine should be?  
Or was the date of thy affliction out,  
And so was ours by course to come about?   

44  
But that untimely death of this Great King,  
Whose nine years reign so mighty wonders wrought  
To thee thy hopes, to us despair did bring  
Not long to keep, and govern what was got:  
For those that had th'affairs in managing  
Although their country's good they greatly sought,  
Yet so ill accidents unfitly fell  
That their designs could hardly prosper well.   

45  
An infant king doth in the state succeed  
Scarce one year old, left unto others guide,  
Whose careful trust, though such as showed indeed  
They waighd their charge more than the world beside;  
And did with duty, zeal and love proceed:  
Yet for all what their travail could provide  
Can not woe fortune to remain with us  
When this her Minion was departed thus.   

46  
But by degrees first this, then that regaind  
The turning tide bears back with flowing chance  
Unto the Dolphin all we had attained,  
And fills the late low-running hopes of France,  
When Bedford who our only hold maintained  
Death takes from us their fortune to advance,  
And then home strife that on itself did fall  
Neglecting foreign care, did soon lose all.   

47  
Near three score years are passed since Bullinbrooke  
Did first attain (God knows how just) the crown:  
And now his race for right possessors took  
Were held of all, to hold nought but their own:  
When Richard Duke of York, gins to look  
Into their right, and makes his title known:  
Wakening up sleeping-wrong that lay as dead  
To witness how his race was injured.   

48  
His father's end in him no fear could move  
T'attempt the like against the like of might,  
Where long possession now of fear, and love  
Seemed to prescribe even an innated right,  
So that to prove his state was to disprove  
Time, law, consent, oath, and allegiance quite:  
And no way but the way of blood there was  
Through which with all confusion he must pass.   

49  
O then yet how much better had it been  
T'endure a wrong with peace, then with such toil  
T'obtain a bloody right; since Right is sin  
That is ill sought, and purchased with spoil?  
What madness unconstrained to begin  
To right his state, to put the state in broil?  
justice herself may even do wrong in this,  
No war being right but that which needful is.   

50  
And yet that opportunity which led  
Him to attempt, seems likewise him t'excuse:  
A feeble spirited king that governed  
Unworthy of the Sceptre he did use;  
His enemies that his worth maliced,  
Who both the land and him did much abuse,  
The poeples love, and his apparent right,  
May seem sufficient motives to incite.   

51  
Besides the now ripe wrath (deferred till now,)  
Of that sure and unfailing Justicer,  
That never suffers wrong so long to grow  
And to incorporate with right so far;  
That it might come to seem the same in show,  
T'encourage those that evil minded are  
By such success; but that at last he will  
Confound the branch whose root was planted ill.   

52  
Else might the ympious say with grudging sprite,  
Doth God permit the great to riot free,  
And bless the mighty though they do unright,  
As if he did unto their wrongs agree?  
And only plague the weak and wretched wights  
For smallest faults even in the highest degree?  
When he but using them others to scourge,  
Likewise of them at length the world doth purge.   

53  
But could not o for bloodshed satisfy  
The now well-ruling of th'ill-gotten crown?  
Must even the good receive the penalty  
Of former sins that never were their own?  
And must a just king's blood with misery  
Pay for a bad unjustly overthrown?  
Then o I see due course must rightly go  
And th' earth must trace it or else purchase woe.   

54  
And sure this king that now the crown possessed  
Henry the sixth was one, whose life was free  
From that command of vice, whereto the rest  
Of many mighty foveraignes' subiectés be:  
And numbered might have been among the best  
Of other men, if not of that degree:  
A right good man, but yet an evil king  
Unfit for what he had in managing.   

55  
Mildred, meek of spirit, by nature patiented:  
No thought t' increase or scarce to keep his own:  
Apt for pardoning then for punishment,  
Seeking his bounty, not his power t' have known;  
Far from revenge, soon won, soon made content:  
As fit for a cloister then a crown:  
Whose holy mind so much addicted is  
On th'world to come, that he neglecteth this.   

56  
With such a weak, good, feeble, godly king  
Hath Richard Duke of York his cause to try:  
Who by th'experience of long managing  
The wars of France with supreme dignity;  
And by his own great worth with furthering  
The common good against the enemy,  
Had wrought that zeal and love attend his might  
And made his spirit equal unto his right.   

57  
For now the Duke of Bedford being dead,  
He is ordained the Regent to succeed  
In France for five years, where he travailed  
With ready hand and with as careful heed  
To seek to turn back fortune that now fled,  
And hold up falling power, in time of need:  
And goat, and lost and reattaines again  
That which again was lost for all his pain.   

58  
His time expired, he should for five years more  
Have had his charge prolonged, but Somerset 
The Duke of Somersit a great enemy to the Duke of York & had ever envied his preferment.   
That still had envied his command before,  
That place and honour for himself did get:  
Which ans that matter to th' already store  
Of kindled hate, which such a fire doth set  
Unto the touch of that confounding flame  
As both their bloods could never quench the same.   

59  
And now the weakness of that feeble head  
That doth neglect all care, but his soul's care,  
So easy means of practice ministered  
Unto th'ambitious members to prepare  
Their own desires, to what their humours lead;  
That all good Actions coldly followed are,  
And seurall-tending hopes do wholly bend  
To other now then to the public end.   

60  
And to draw on more speedy misery,  
The king unto a fatal match is led  
With Rayners daughter king of Sicily, 
This Rainer was Duke of Anjou & only enjoyed the title of the K. of Sicilia.   
Whom with unlucky stars he married:  
For by the means of this affinity  
Was lost all that his Father conquered,  
Even as if France had some Erynnis sent  
T'avenge their wrongs done by the insolent.   

61  
This marriage was the Duke of Suffolk's deed  
With great rewards won to effect the same:  
Which made him that he took so little heed  
Unto his country's good, or his own shame:  
Being a match could stand us in no steed 
Which were delivered up to her father upon the match.   
For strength, for wealth, for reputation, fame:  
But cunningly contrived for their gain  
To cost us more than Anjou, Mauns, and Maine.   

62  
And yet as if he had accomplished  
Some mighty benefit unto the land;  
He got his travails to be registered  
In Parliament, for evermore to stand  
A witness to approve all what he did:  
To th' end that if hereafter it were scanned,  
Authority might yet be on his side,  
As doing nought but what was ratified.   

63  
Imagining th' allowance of that place  
Would make that good the which he knew was nought,  
And so would his negotiation grace  
As none would think it was his private fault:  
Wherein though wit dealt wary in this case,  
Yet in the end itself it over reached,  
Striving to hide he opened it the more,  
His after care showed craft had gone before.   

64  
Dear didst thou buy o king so fair a wife,  
So rare a spirit, so high a mind the while:  
Whose portion was destruction, dowry strife,  
Whose bed was sorrow, whose embracing spoil:  
Whose maintenance cost thee, and thine their life,  
And whose best comfort never was but toil:  
What Paris brought this booty of desire  
To set our mighty Ilium here on fire?   

65  
I grieve that I am forced to say thus much,  
To blame her, that I yet must wonder at;  
Whose so sweet beauty, wit and worth were such,  
As everlasting admiration got:  
Yet doth my country's zeal so nearly touch  
That I am drawn to say I know not what,  
And yet o that my pen should ever give  
Stain to that sex by whom her fame doth live.   

66  
For sure those virtues well deserved a crown,  
And had it not been ours, no doubt she might  
Have matched the worthiest that the world hath known  
And now sat fair with fame, with glory bright:  
But coming in the way where sin was grown  
So foul and thick, it was her chance to light  
Amidst that gross infection of those times,  
And so came stained with black disgraceful crimes.   

67  
And some the world must have on whom to lay  
The heavy burden of reproach, and blame,  
Against whose deeds th' afflicted may inveigh  
As th' only Authors, whence destruction came:  
When yet perhaps 'twas not in them to stay  
The current of that stream, nor help the same;  
But living in the eye of Action so  
Not hindering it, are thought to draw on wo.   

68  
So much unhappy doth the mighty stand  
That stand on other than their own defence,  
When as destruction is so near at hand,  
That if by weakness, folly, negligence,  
They do not coming misery withstand  
They shall be thought th'author's of the offence,  
And to call in that which they kept not out,  
And cursed as those, that brought those plagues about.   

69  
And so remain for ever registered  
In that eternal book of infamy:  
When o how many other causes lead  
As well to that, as their iniquity:  
The worst complots oftly close smothered,  
And well meant deeds fall out unluckily:  
Whilst the aggrieved stand not t'waigh th'intent  
But ever judge according to th'event.   

70  
I say not this t'excuse thy Sin o Queen,  
Nor clear their faults that mighty Actors are:  
I cannot but affirm thy pride hath been  
A special means this commonwealth to mar:  
And that thy way ward will was plainly seen  
In vain ambition to presume too far,  
And that by thee the only way was wrought  
The Duke of Gloster to his death was brought. 
His frer Duke of Gloster.    

71  
A man though seeming in thy thought to sit  
Between the light of thy desires and thee,  
Yet did his taking thence plainly permit  
Others to look to that they could not see  
During his life, nor would adventure it:  
When his remove quite made that passage free;  
So by his fall thinking to stand alone  
Hardly could stand at all when he was gone.   

72  
For this Duke as Protector many years  
Had ruled the land, during the king's young age:  
And now the self same charge and title bears  
As if he still were in his pupillage:  
With such disgrace unto the Queen appears  
That all incensed with an ambitious rage  
She doth conspire to have him made away,  
As who the course of her main will doth stay.   

73  
Thrust thereinto not only with her pride  
But by her father's counsel and consent,  
That grieved likewise that any else beside  
Should have the honour of the government:  
And therefore he such deep advise applied  
As foreign craft and cunning could invent,  
To cirumvent an unsuspecting wight  
Before he should discern of their despite.   

74  
And many ready hands she strait doth find  
To aid her deed, of such as could not brook  
The length of one man's office in that kind  
That to himself th'affairs all wholly took:  
And ruling all had never any mind  
T'impart a part with others that would look  
To have likewise some honour in their hands,  
And grieved at such engrossing of commands.   

75  
And had he not had such a greedy love  
Of still continuing of his charge too long,  
Envy had been unable to reprove  
His acted life without she did him wrong:  
But having lived so many years above  
He grieves now to descend to be less strong,  
And kills that fame that virtue did beget,  
Chose to be held less good, then seen less great.   

76  
O could the mighty but give bounds to pride  
And weigh back fortune ere she pull them down,  
Contented with enough, with honours satisfied,  
Not striving how to make so much their own  
As to leave nothing for the rest beside,  
Who seem by their high spreading overgrown:  
Whilst they themselves remain in all men's sight  
The odious mark of hatred and despite.   

77  
Than should not o so many tragedies  
Burden our knowledge with their bloody end,  
Nor their disgraced confounded families  
From so high pride to so low shame descend:  
But planted on that ground where safety lies,  
Their branches should to eternity extend:  
But ever those that overlook so much  
Must oversee themselves; their state is such.   

78  
Severe he was, and strictly did observe  
Due form of justice towards every wight,  
unmovable, and never won to swerver  
For any cause in what he thought was right:  
Wherein although he did so well deserve,  
In the licentious yet it bread despite;  
So that even virtue seems an Actor too  
To ruin those fortune prepares to undo.   

79  
Those, thus provided whom the Queen well knew  
Hated his might, and glad to inoovate  
Unto so great, and strong a party grew  
As easy 'twas to overthrow his state:  
And only hope of alteration drew  
Many to yield that had no cause to hate:  
For even with goodness men grow discontent  
Where states are ripe to fall, and virtue spent.   

80  
And taking all the rule into her hand  
(Under the shadow of that feeble king)  
The Duke she excludes from office and command,  
And in the reach of enmity doth bring  
From that respected height where he did stand,  
Whilst malice scarce durst mutter anything:  
When strait the worst of him comes all revealed  
Which former fear, or rigour kept concealed.   

81  
Now is he taxed that he rather sought  
His private profit then the public good,  
And many things presumptuously had wrought  
Other then with our laws, and customs stood:  
As one that would into the land have brought,  
The civil form in cases touching blood,  
And such poor crimes that showed their spite was sound,  
But yet bewrayed, their matter wanted ground.   

82  
Yet served they well the turn, and did effect  
That which is easy wrought in such a case,  
Where what suborned justice shall object  
Is to the purpose, and must pass with grace:  
And what the wretched bring of no effect  
Whose heinous faults his matter must deface:  
For where power hath decreed to find th' oftence  
The cause is better still then the defence.   

83  
A Parliament at Berry summoned  
Dispatched the deed more speedily than well,  
For thither came the Duke without all dread  
Or aught imagining of what befell:  
Where as the matter is so followed  
That he convented is ere he could tell  
He was in danger or had done offence,  
And presently to prison sent from thence.   

84  
Which quick, and sudden action gave no time  
For men to weigh the justice of the deed,  
Whilst looking only on the urged crime  
Unto the farther drift they take no heed:  
For these occasions taken in the prime  
Of courses new, that old dislikes succeed,  
Leave not behind that feeling touch of wrong,  
Satiety makes passions still less strong.   

85  
And yet they seemed some mutiny to doubt  
For thus proceeding with a man of might,  
Seeing he was most popular and stout  
And resolute would stand upon his right:  
And therefore did they cast this way about  
To have him closely murdered out of sight,  
That so his trouble, and his death hereby  
Might come together and together die.   

86  
Reekning it better since his end is meant  
And must be wrought, at once to rid it clear  
And put it to the fortune of th'event,  
Then by long doing to be long in fear:  
When in such courses of high punishment  
The deed and the attempt like danger bear;  
And oft things done perhaps do less annoy  
Than may the doing handled with delay.   

87  
And so they had it strait accomplished,  
For that day after his committing he  
Is dead brought forth being found so in his bed.  
Which was by sudden sickness said to be  
That had upon his sorrows gathered,  
As by apparent tokens men might see:  
And thus o Sickness thou art oft belied,  
When death hath many ways to come beside.   

88  
Are these the deeds high foreign wits invent?  
Is this that wisdom whereof they so boast?  
O than I would it never had been spent  
Here amongst us, nor brought from out their coast!  
O let their cunning in their limits penned  
Remain amongst themselves that like it most!  
And let the North they count of colder blood  
Beheld more gross, so it remain more good.   

89  
Let them have fairer cities, goodlier soils,  
And sweeter fields for beauty to theeie,  
So long as they have these ungodly wiles,  
Such detestable vile impiety:  
And let us want their vines, their fruits the while,  
So that we want not faith and honesty,  
We care not for those pleasures, so we may  
Have better hearts, and stronger hands than they.   

90  
Neptune keep out from thy embraced Isle  
This foul contagion of iniquity;  
Drown all corruptions coming to defile  
Our fair proceed ordered formally;  
Keep us mere English, let not craft beguile  
Honour and justice with strange subtlety:  
Let us not think, that that our good can frame,  
Which ruined hath the Authors of the same.   

91  
But by this impious means that worthy man  
Is brought unto this lamentable end,  
And now that current with main fury ran  
(The stop removed that did the course defend)  
Unto the full of mischief that began  
T'a universal ruin to extend,  
That Isthmus failing which the land did keep  
From the entire possession of the deep.   

92  
And now the king alone all open lay,  
No underprop of blood to stay him by,  
None but himself stands weakly in the way  
Twixt York and the affected sovereignty:  
Gone is that bar that would have been the stay  
T'have kept him back from mounting up so high.  
But o in what a state stand these men in  
That cannot live without, nor with their kin?   

93  
The Queen hath yet by this her full desire  
And now she with her minion Suffolk reigns,  
Now she hath all authority entire,  
And all affairs unto herself retains:  
And only Suffolk is advanced hire,  
He is the man rewarded for his pains:  
He that did her instead most chief stand,  
And more advanced her, than he did the land.   

94  
Which when they saw who better did expect,  
Then they began their error to descry,  
And well perceive that only the defect  
Was in their judgements, passion-drawne awry:  
Found, formal rigour fit to direct  
Then pride and insolent inconstancy;  
Better severity that's right and just  
Then impotent affections led with lust.   

95  
And there upon in sorrow thus complain:  
O what great inconvenience do they feel,  
Where as such imbecility doth reign  
As so neglects the care of common weal?  
Where ever one or other doth obtain  
So high a grace thus absolute to deal:  
The whilst th'aggrieved subject suffers still  
The pride of some predominating will.   

96  
And ever one removed, a worse succeeds;  
So that the best that we can hope is war,  
Tumults and stirs, that this disliking breeds,  
The sword must mend, what insolence doth mar:  
For what rebellions, and what bloody deeds  
Have ever followed where such courses are?  
What oft removes, what death of counsellors,  
What murder, what exile of officers?   

97  
Witness the Spencers, Gaveston and Vere  
The mighty minions of our feeblest kings;  
Who ever subjects to their subjects were,  
And only the procurers of these things:  
When worthy monarchs that hold honour dear  
Master themselves, and theirs; which ever brings  
That universal reverence, and respect:  
For who weighs him that doth himself neglect?   

98  
And yet our case is like to be far worse  
Having a king though not so bend to ill,  
Yet so neglecting good, that giving force  
By giving leave doth all good order kill:  
Suffering a violent woman take her course  
To manage all according to her will,  
Which how she doth begin, her deeds express,  
And what will be the end, ourselves may guess.   

99  
Thus well they deemed what after followed  
When now the shameful loss of France much  
Which unto Suffolk is attributed  
As who in all men's sight most hateful lives: grieves,  
He with the enemy consedered  
Betrays the state, and secret knowledge gives 
Articles objected against de la Poole Duke of Suffolk.   
Of all our strength; that all which we did hold  
By his corruption is or lost or sold.   

100  
And as he deals abroad, so likewise here  
He robs at home, the treasury no less  
Here, where he all authorities doth bear  
And makes a Monopoly of offices:  
He is enriched, he's raised, and placed near  
And only he gives counsel to oppress:  
Thus men object, whilst many up in arms  
Offer to be revenged of these harms.   

101  
The Queen perceiving in what case she stood,  
To lose her minion or engage her state;  
(After with long contention in her blood  
Love and ambition did the cause debate)  
She yields to pride, and rather thought it good  
To sacrifice her love unto their hate,  
Then to adventure else the loss of all  
Which by maintaining him was like to fall.   

102  
Yet seeking at the first to temporize,  
She tries if that some short imprisonment  
would calm their heat: when that would not suffice,  
Then to exile him she must needs consent:  
Hoping that time would salve it in such wise  
As yet at length they might become content,  
And she again might have him home at last,  
When the first fury of this rage was passed.   

103  
But as he to his judged exile went,  
Hard on the shore he comes encountered  
By some, that so far off his honour sent,  
As put his back-return quite out of dread:  
For there he had his rightful punishment  
Though wrongly done, and there he lost his head,  
Part of his blood hath Neptune, part the sand,  
As who had mischief wrought by sea and land.   

104  
Whose death when swift-wingd fame at full conveyed  
Unto the travailed Queen misdoubting nought,  
Despite and sorrow such affliction laid  
Upon her soul as wondrous passions wrought:  
O God (saith she) and art thou thus betrayed?  
And have my favours thy destruction brought?  
Is this their gain whom highness favoureth,  
Who chief preferred, stand as preferred to death?   

105  
O fatal grace without which men complain  
And with it perish, what prevails that we  
Thus bear the title of a sovereign,  
And suffered not to be that which we be?  
O must our subjects limit and constrain  
Our savours where as they themselves decree?  
Must we our love at their appointment place?  
Do we command, and they direct our grace?   

106  
O will they then our power, and will divide?  
And have we might, but must not use our might?  
Poor majesty that other men must guide  
Whose discontent can never look aright:  
For evermore we see those that abide  
Gracious in ours, are odious in their sight,  
Who would all-maistring majesty defeat  
Of her best grace, that is to make men great.   

107  
Decree Suffolk, o I saw thy woeful cheer  
When thou perceiu'dst no help but to departed:  
I saw that look wherein did plain appear  
The lamentable message of thy heart:  
That seemed to say: O Queen, and canst thou bear  
My ruin so? the cause whereof thou art:  
Canst thou endure to see them work their will  
And not defend me from the hand of ill?   

108  
Have I for thee adventured so much,  
Made ship wrack of my honour, faith and fame?  
And doth my service give no deeper touch  
To thy hard heart better to feel the same?  
Or dost thou fear, or is thy weakness such  
As not of force to keep me from this shame?  
Or else now having served thy turn of me,  
Art well-content my overthrow to see?   

109  
As if my sight did read unto thy mind  
The lecture of that shame thou wouldst forget,  
And therefore peradventure glad to find  
So fit occasion dost it forward set:  
Or else thyself from dangerous toil t'vnwinde  
Down on my neck dost all the burden let;  
Since kings must have some hated worse than they,  
On whom they may the weight of envy lay.   

114  
No Suffolk, none of this, my soul is clear;  
Without the thought of such impiety:  
Yet must I needs confess that too much fear  
Made me defend thee less courageously:  
Seeing more Princes ever ruined were  
By their immoderate favouring privately  
Then by severity in general,  
For best he's liked, that is alike to all.   

111  
Thus in her passion lo she uttered,  
When as far greater tumults now burst out,  
Which close and cunningly were practised  
By such as sought great hopes to bring about:  
For up in arms in Kent were gathered  
A mighty insolent rebellious rout  
Under a dangerous head; who to deter  
The state the more, himself named Mortimer.   

112  
The Duke of York that did not idle stand  
But seeks to work on all advantages,  
Had likewise in this course a secret hand,  
And heartened on their chief accomplices,  
To try how that the people of the land  
Would (if occasion served) b' in readiness.  
To aid that line if one should come indeed  
To move his right, and in due course proceed.   

113  
Knowing himself to be the only one  
That must attempt the thing if any should,  
And therefore lets the Rebel now run on  
With that false name t' effect the best he could  
To make a way for him to work upon,  
That but on certain ground adventure would:  
For if the traitor sped, the gain were his;  
If not, yet he stands safe, and blamelesis.   

114  
THE attempt with others dangers, not his own,  
He counts it wisdom if it could be wrought:  
And t'have the honour of the people known  
Was now that which was chief to be sought:  
For with the best he knew himself was grown  
In that account, as made him take no thought,  
Having observed in those he meant to prove  
Their wit, their wealth, their carriage, and their love.   

115  
With whom and with his own alliances  
He first gins to open in some wise  
The right he had, yet with such doubtfulness,  
As rather sorrow than his drift descries:  
Complaining of his country's wretchedness  
In what a miserable case it lies,  
And how much it imports them to provide  
For their defence against this woman's pride.   

116  
Then with the discontented he doth deal  
In sounding theirs, not uttering his intent,  
As being sure not so much to reveal  
Where by they might be made again content:  
But when they grieved for the common weal  
He doth persuade them to be patiented,  
And to endure there was no other course,  
Yet so persuades as makes their malice worse.   

117  
And then with such as with the time did run  
He doth in most upright opinion stand,  
As one that never crossed what they begun,  
But seemed to like what still they took in hand:  
Seeking all causes of offence to shun,  
Praises the rule, and blames th' unruly land:  
Works so with gifts, and kindly offices  
That even of them he serves his turn no less.   

118  
Then as for those that were his followers  
Being all choice men for virtues or deserts,  
He so with grace, and benefits prefers,  
That he becomes the monarch of their hearts:  
He draws the learned for his Counsellors  
And cherishes all men of rarest parts,  
To whom good done doth an impression strike  
Of ioic and love in all that are alike.   

119  
And now by means of th'intermitted war  
Many most valiant men impou'rished,  
Only by him fed and relieved are,  
Only respected, graced and honoured:  
Which let him in, unto their hearts so far,  
As they by him were wholly to be led:  
He only treads the sure and perfect path  
To greatness who love and opinion hath.   

120  
And to have one some certain province his  
As the main body that must work the feat,  
Yorkshire he chose, the place wherein he is  
By title, livings, and possessions great:  
No country he prefers so much as this,  
Here hath his bounty her abiding seat,  
Here is his justice and relieving hand  
Ready to all that in distress do stand.   

121  
What with his tenants, servants, followers, friends,  
And their alliances, and amities,  
All that Shire universally attends  
His hand held up to any enterprise:  
And thus far virtue with her power extends,  
The rest touching th' event in fortune lies.  
With which accomplishment so mighty grown  
Forward he tends with hope t' attain a crown.   
The end of the fourth book.   

The fift Book of the Civil wars between the two Houses of Lancaster and York.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
The bad success of Cades rebellion,  
Yorks open practise and conspiracy,  
His coming in, and his submission,  
Th' effect of Printing and Artillery,  
Bordeaux revolts, craves our protection,  
Talbot defending ours, dies gloriously.  
The French Wars end, & York gins again,  
And at S. Alban's Somerset is slain.  

1  
THE furious train of that tumultuous rout,  
Whom close subayding power & good success,  
Had made unwisely proud, and fond stout,  
Thrust headlong on, oppresion to oppress:  
And now to fullness grown, boldly give out  
That they the public wrongs meant to redress;  
Formless themselves, reforming do pretend,  
As if confusion could disorder mend.   

2  
And on they march with their false-named head, 
jack Cade.   
Of base, and vulgar birth, though noble feigned,  
Who puffed with vain desires, to London led  
His rash abused troops, with shadows trained.  
When as the King thereof ascertained,  
Supposing some small power would have restrained  
Disordered rage, sends with a simple crew  
Sir Humphrey Stafford, whom they overthrew.   

3  
Which so increased th' opinion of their might,  
That much it gave to do, and much it wrought,  
Confirmed their rage, drew on the vulgar wight,  
Called forth the timorous, fresh partakers brought;  
For many, though most glad their wrongs to right,  
Yet durst not venture their estates for nought:  
But see'ing the cause had such advantage got,  
Occasion makes them stir, that else would not.   

4  
So much he errs, that scorns or else neglects  
The small beginnings of arising broils,  
And censures others, not his own defects,  
And with a self conceit himself beguiles:  
Thinking small force will compass great effects,  
And spares at first to buy more costly toils:  
When true observing providence in war  
Still makes her foes, far stronger than they are.   

5  
Yet this good fortune all their fortune marred  
Which fools by helping ever doth suppress:  
For warelesse insolence whilst undebarred  
Ofbounding awe, runs on to such excess,  
That following lust, and spoil, and blood so hard,  
Sees not how they procure their own distress:  
The better, loathing courses so impure,  
Rather will like their wounds, than such a cure.   

6  
For whilst this wild unrained multitude  
(Led with an unfore-seeing greedy mind  
Of an imagined good, that did delude  
Their ignorance, in their desires made blind,)  
Ransack the City, and with hands imbrued,  
Run to all outrage in th'extremest kind,  
Heaping up wrath and horror more and more,  
Adding fresh guilt, to mischiefs done before.   

7  
And seeing yet all this draw to no end  
But to their own, no promised aid t'appear,  
No such partakers as they did attend,  
Nor such successes as imagined were:  
Good men resolved the present to defend  
justice against them with a brow severe.  
Themselves feared of themselves, tired with excess,  
Found, mischief was no sit way to redress.   

8  
Like when a greedy Pirate hard in chase  
Pursuing of a rich supposed prize,  
Works for the winds, plies sails, bears up a pace,  
Outruns the clouds, scours after her that flies,  
Pride in his heart, and wealth before his face,  
Keeps his hands wrought, & fixed keeps his eyes,  
So long, till that engaged within some strait  
He falls amid his foes laid close in wait:   

9  
Where all too late discovering round about  
Danger and death the purchase of his haste;  
And no back flying, no way to get out,  
But there to perish, or to yield disgraced,  
Cursing his error, yet in th'error stout:  
He toils for life, now charges, now is chaste:  
Then quails, and then fresh courage takes again,  
Striving t'vnwind himself, but all in vain.   

10  
So stands this rout in desperate cumberment,  
Environed round with horror, blood, and shame:  
Crossed of their course, despairing of th'event  
When pardon, that smooth bait of baseness came:  
Pardon, (the snare to catch the impotent)  
Being once pronounced, they strait embrace the same,  
And as huge snowy Mountains melt with heat,  
So they dissolved with hope, and home they get.   

11  
Leaving their Captain to discharge alone  
The shot of blood consumed in their heat:  
Too small a sacrifice for mischiefs done  
Was one man's breath, which thousands did defeat.  
Unrighteous Death, why art thou but all one  
Unto the small offender and the great?  
Why art thou not more than thou art, to those  
That thousands spoil, and thousands lives do lose:   

12  
This fury passing with so quick an end,  
Disclosed not those, that on th'advantage lay,  
Who seeing the course to such disorder tend,  
Withdrew their foot, ashamed to take that way;  
Or else prevented whilst they did attend  
Some mightier force, or for occasion stay,  
But what they meant, ill fortune must not tell,  
Mischief being oft made good by speeding well.   

13  
Put by from this, the Duke of York designs  
Another course to bring his hopes about:  
And with those friends affinity combines  
In surest bonds, his thoughts he poureth out,  
And closely feels, and closely undermines  
The faith of whom he had both hope and doubt:  
Meaning in more apparent open course  
To try his right, his fortune, and his force.   

14  
Love and alliance had most firmly joined  
Unto his part, that mighty family  
The fair descended stock of Neviles kind,  
Great by their many issued progeny;  
But greater by their worth, that clearly shined  
And gave fair light to their nobility:  
A mighty party for a mighty cause  
By their united amity he draws.   

15  
For as the spreading members of proud Po,  
That thousand-branched Po, whose limbs embrace  
Thy fertile and delicious body so  
Sweet Lombardie, and beautifies thy face:  
Such seemed this powerful stock; from whence did grow  
So many great descents, spreading their race  
That every corner of the Land became,  
Enriched with some great Heroes of that name.   

16  
But greatest in renown doth Warwick sit,  
That great King-maker Warwick, so far grown  
In grace with Fortune, that he governs it,  
And Monarches makes, and made, again puts down;  
What revolutions his first moving wit  
Hear brought about, are more than too well known;  
That fatal kindlefire of those hot days,  
Whose worth I may, whose work I cannot praise.   

17  
With him, with Richard Earl of Salisbury,  
Courtny and Brook, his most assured friends,  
He intimates his mind, and openly,  
The present bad proceed discommends;  
Laments the state, the people's misery,  
And that which such a pittyer seldom mends,  
Oppression, that sharp two edged sword  
That others wounds, and wounds likewise his Lord.   

18  
My Lord, saith he, how things are carried here  
In this corrupted state, you plainly see,  
What burden our abused shoulders bear  
Charged with the weight of imbecility;  
And in what base account all we appear  
That stand without their grace that all must be:  
And who they be, and how their course succeeds,  
Our shame reports, and time bewrays their deeds.   

19  
Anjou and Maine, (O main that foul appears,  
Eternal scar of our dismembered Land)  
And, Guien's lost, that did three hundred years  
Remain subjecteth under our command.  
From whence, me thinks, there sounds unto our ears  
The voice of those dear ghosts, whose living hand  
Got it with sweat, and kept it with their blood,  
To do us, thankless us, their offspring good.   

20  
And seem to cry; O how can you behold  
Their hateful feet upon our graves should tread?  
Your Father's graves, who gloriously did hold  
That which your shame hath left recovered.  
Redeem our Tombs, O spirits too too cold,  
Pull back these Towers our Arms have honoured:  
These Towers are yours, these Forts we built for you,  
These walls do bear our names, and are your due.   

21  
Thus well they may upbraid our recklessness,  
Whilst we, as if at league with infamy,  
Riot away for nought, whole Provinces;  
Give up as nothing worth all Normandy,  
Traffic strong holds, sell Fortresses,  
So long, that nought is left but misery:  
Poor Calais, and these water-walls about,  
That basely pounds us in, from breaking out.   

22  
And which is worse, I fear we shall in th' end  
Thrown from the glory of invading war,  
Be forced our proper limits to defend,  
Where ever, men are not the same they are  
Where hope of conquest doth their spirits extend  
Beyond the usual powers of valour far:  
For more is he that ventureth for more,  
Than who fights but for what he had before.   

22  
Put to your hands therefore to rescue now  
Th'endangered state, dear Lords, from this disgrace,  
And let us in our honour, labour how  
To brings this scorned Land in better case:  
No doubt but God our action will allow  
That knows my right, and how they rule the place  
Whose weakness calls up our unwillingness,  
As opening even the door to our redress.   

24  
Though I protest it is not for a Crown  
My soul is moved, (yet if it be my right,  
I have no reason to refuse mine own)  
But only these indignities to right.  
And what if God whose judgements are unknown,  
Hath me ordained the man, that by my might  
My Country shall be blest; if so it be,  
By helping me, you raise yourselves with me.   

25  
In those whom zeal and amity had bred  
A fore-impression of the right he had,  
These stirring words so much encouraged,  
That with desire of innovation mad,  
They seemed to run before, not to be led,  
And to his fire do quicker fuel add:  
For where such humours are prepared before,  
The opening them makes them abound the more.   

26  
Then counsel take they fitting their desire,  
(For nought that fits not their desire is wayghd)  
The Duke is strait advised to retire  
Into the bounds of Wales to levy aid;  
Which under smooth pretence he doth require  
T' amove such persons as the state betrayed,  
And to redress th'oppression of the land,  
The charm which weakness seldom doth withstand.   

27  
Ten thousand strait caught with this bait of breath  
Are towards greater lookt-for forces led,  
Whose power the King by all means travaileth  
In their arising to have ruined:  
But their preventing head so compasseth,  
That all ambushments warily are fled,  
Refusing aught to hazard by the way,  
Keeping his greatness for a greater day.   

28  
And to the City strait directs his course,  
(The City, seat of Kings, and Kings chief grace)  
Where finding of his entertainment worse  
By far then he expected in that place,  
Much disappointed, draws from thence his force,  
And towards better trust marches a pace;  
And down in Kent (fatal for discontents)  
Near to thy banks fair Thames doth pitch his Tents.   

29  
And there entrenched, plants his Artillery,  
Artillery th' infernal instrument,  
New brought from hell to scourge mortality  
With hideous roaring, and astonishment:  
Engine of horror, framed to terrific  
And tear the earth, and strongest Towers to rent;  
Torment of Thunder, made to mock the skies,  
As more of power in our calamities.   

30  
O if the fire subtle Promethius brought  
Stolen out of heaven, did so afflict mankind,  
That ever since plagued with a curious thought  
Of stirring search, could never quiet find;  
What hath he done who now by stealth hath got  
Lightning and Thunder, both in wondrous kind?  
What plague deserves so proud an enterprise?  
Tell Muse, and how it came, and in what wise.   

31  
It was the time when fair Europa sat  
With many goodly Diadems addressed,  
And all her parts in flourishing estate  
Lay beautiful, in order at their rest:  
No swelling member unproportionate  
Grown out of form, sought to disturb the rest:  
The less, subsisting by the greater's might,  
The greater, by the lesser kept upright.   

32  
No noise of tumult ever waked them all,  
Only perhaps some privatiarrs within  
For titles or for confines might befall,  
Which ended soon, made better love begin;  
But no eruption did in general  
Break down their rest with universal sin:  
No public shock dysjointed this fair frame,  
Till Nemesis from out the Orient came.   

33  
Fierce Nemesis, mother of fate and change,  
Sword-bearer of th'eternal providence,  
That had so long with such afflictions strange  
Confounded Asias proud magnificence,  
And brought foul impious Barbarism to range  
On all the glory of her excellence,  
Turns her stern look at last unto the West,  
As grieved to see on earth such happy rest.   

34  
And for Pandora calleth presently,  
(Pandora, Ioues fair gift, that first deceived  
Poor Epimetheus imbecility,  
That thought he had a wondrous boon received,  
By means whereof curioius mortality  
Was of all former quiet quite bereaved)  
To whom being come, decked with all qualities,  
The wrathful Goddess breaks out in this wise:   

35  
Dost thou not see in what secure estate  
Those flourishing fair Western parts remain?  
As if they had made covenant with Fate  
To be exempted free from others pain:  
At one with their desires, friends with debate,  
In peace with pride, content with their own gain,  
Their bounds contain their minds, their minds applied  
To have their bounds with plenty beautified.   

36  
Devotion, (mother of Obedience,)  
Bears such a hand on their credulity,  
That it abates the spirit of eminence,  
And busies them with humble piety:  
For see what works, what infinite expense,  
What monuments of zeal they edify,  
As if they would, if that no stop were found,  
Fill all with Temples, make all holy ground.   

37  
But we must cool this all-beleeving zeal,  
That hath enjoyed so fair a turn so long,  
And other revolutions must reveal,  
Other desires, other designs among:  
Dislike of this, first by degrees shall steal  
Upon the souls of men persuaded wrong,  
And th'abused power that such a power hath got,  
Shall give herself the sword to cut her throat.   

38  
Go thou therefore with all thy stirring train  
Of swelling sciences, (the gifts of grief)  
Go lose the lynks of that soule-binding chain,  
Enlarge this uninquisitive belief;  
Call up men's spirits, whom darkness doth detain,  
Enter their hearts, and Knowledge make the thief  
To open all the doors to let in light,  
That all, may all things see, but what is right.   

39  
Opinion Arm against opinion grown,  
Make new-born contradiction still so rise  
As if Thebes-founder Cadmus' tongues had sown  
In stead of teeth, for greater mutinies.  
Bring like defended faith against faith known,  
Weary the soul with contrarieties:  
Till all Religion become retrograde,  
And that fair tire, the mask of sin be made.   

40  
And better to effect a speedy end,  
Let there be found two fatal instruments,  
The one to publish, th' other to defend  
Impious contention, and proud discontents:  
Make that instamped Characters may send  
Abroad to thousands, thousand men's intents,  
And in a moment, may dispatch much more  
Than could a world of pens perform before.   

41  
Whereby all quarrels, titles, secrecies,  
May unto all be presently made known,  
Factions prepared, parties allured to rise,  
Sedition under fair pretensions sown;  
Whereby the vulgar may become so wise,  
That with a self presumption overgrown  
He may of deepest mysteries debate,  
Control his betters, censure acts of state.   

42  
And then, when this dispersed mischief shall  
Have brought confusion in each mystery,  
Called up contempt of all states general,  
Ripened the humour of impiety,  
Then have they th' other Engine, wherewithal  
They may torment their selfe-wrought misery,  
And scourge each other, in the strangest wise  
As time or Tyrants never could devise.   

43  
For by this stratagem they shall confound  
All th' ancient form and discipline of war:  
Altar their camps, altar their fights, their ground,  
Daunt mighty spirits, prowess and manhood mar;  
For basest cowards from a far shall wound  
The most courageous, forced to fight a far;  
Valour rapt up in smoke, as in the night,  
Shall perish without witness, without sight.   

44  
But first, before this general disease  
Break forth into so great extremity,  
Prepare it by degrees; first kill this ease,  
Spoil this proportion, mar this harmony  
Make greater States upon the lesser seize,  
join many kingdoms to one sovereignty,  
Raise a few great, that may with greater power  
Slaughter each other, and mankind devour.   

45  
And first begin with factions, to divide  
The fairest land, that from her thrusts the rest,  
As if she cared not for the world beside,  
A world within herself, with wonders blest;  
Raise such a strife as time shall not decide,  
Till the dear blood of most of all her best  
Be poured forth, and all her people tossed  
With unkind tumults, and almost all lost.   

46  
Let her be made the sable Stage whereon  
Shall first be acted bloody Tragedies:  
That all the neighbour States gazing there on,  
May make their profit by her miseries.  
And those whom she before had marched upon,  
(Having by this both time and mean to rise)  
Made martial by her Arms, shall grow so great,  
As save their own. no force shall them defeat.   

47  
That when their power unable to sustain  
And bear itself, upon itself shall fall,  
She may (recovered of her wounds again)  
Sat and behold their parts as tragical:  
For there must come a time that shall obtain  
Truce for distress. When make-peace Hymen shall  
Bring the conjoined adverse powers to bed,  
And set the Crown made one, upon one head.   

48  
Out of which blessed union shall arise  
A sacred branch, with grace and glory blest,  
Whose virtue shall her Land so patronize,  
As all our power shall not her days molest:  
For she, fair she, the Minion of the skies,  
Shall purchase of the highe'st to hers such rest,  
(Standing between the wrath of heaven and them)  
As no distress shall touch her Diadem.   

49  
Though thou shalt seek by all the means thou may,  
And Arm impiety and hell and all;  
Stir up her own, make others to assay,  
Bring saith disguised, the power of Pluto call,  
Call all thy orafts to practise her decay,  
And yet shall this take no effect at all:  
For she secure, (as intimate with Fate)  
Shall sit and scorn those base designs of hate.   

50  
And from the Rocks of safety shall descry  
The wondrous wracks that wrath lays ruined,  
All round about her, blood and misery,  
Powers betrayed, Princes slain, Kings massacred,  
States all-confusd, brought to calamity,  
And all the face of kingdoms altered.  
Yet she the same inviolable stands,  
Dear to her own, wonder to other Lands.   

51  
But let not her defence discourage thee,  
For never none but she, shall have this grace  
From all disturbs to be so long kept free,  
And with such glory to discharge that place:  
And therefore, if by such a power thou be  
Stopped of thy course, reckon it no disgrace;  
Sith she alone (being privileged from high)  
Hath this large Patent of eternity.   

52  
This charge the Goddess gave, when ready strait  
The subtle messenger accompanied  
With all her crew of crafts that on her wait,  
Hastes to effect what she was counseled:  
And out she pours of her mimens' conceit,  
Upon such searching spirits as travailed  
In penetrating hidden secrecies,  
Who soon these means of misery devise.   

53  
And boldly breaking with rebellious mind  
Into their mother's close-lockt Treasury,  
They minerals combustible do find,  
Which in stopped concaves placed cunningly  
They fire, and fire imprisoned against kind,  
Tears out away, thrusts out his enemy,  
Barking with such a horror, as if wroth  
With man, that wrongs himself and nature both.   

54  
And this beginning had this cursed frame,  
Which York hath now planted against his King,  
Presuming by his power, and by the same,  
His purpose unto good effect to bring;  
When divers of the gravest Counsel came  
Sent from the King, to understand what thing  
Had thrust him into these proceed bad,  
And what he sought, and what intent he had.   

55  
Who with words mildly-sharp, gently-severe,  
Wrought on those wounds that must be touched with heed,  
Applying rather salves of hope then fear,  
Lest corrosives should desperate mischiefs breed.  
And what my Lord, said they, should move you here  
In this unseemly manner to proceed,  
Whose worth being such, as all the Land admires,  
Hath sayrer ways than these to your desires?   

56  
Will you whose means, whose many friends, whose grace,  
Can work the world in peace unto your will,  
Take such a course as shall your blood deface,  
And make by handling bad, a good cause ill?  
How many heart's hazard you in this case,  
That in all quiet plots would aid you still,  
Having in Court a Party far more strong,  
(Than you conceive) priest to redress your wrong.   

57  
Fie, fie, forsake this hateful course, my Lord,  
Down with these Arms that will but wound your cause  
What peace may do, hazard not with the sword,  
Fly from the force that from your force withdraws,  
And yield, and we will mediate such accord  
As shall dispense with rigour and the laws:  
And interpose this solemn faith of our  
Betwixt your fault, and the offended power.   

58  
Which engines of protests, and proffers kind,  
Urged out of seeming grief, and shows of love,  
So shook the whole foundation of his mind,  
As it did all his resolution move:  
And present seemed unto their course inclined,  
So that the King would Somerset remove;  
The man whose most intolerable pride,  
Trodden down his worth, and all good men's beside.   

59  
Which they there vowed should presently be done;  
For what will not pence-lovers willing grant  
Where dangerous events depend thereon,  
And men unfurnished, and the state in want?  
And if with words, the conquest will be won,  
The cost is small: and who holds breath so scant  
As then to spare, tho' against his dignity,  
Better descend, than end in majesty.   

60  
And hereupon the Duke dissolves his force,  
Submits him to the King, on public vow.  
The rather to, presuming on this course  
For that his son the Earl of March was now  
With mightier powers abroad, which would enforce  
His peace, which else the King would not allow.  
For seeing not all of him in him he hath,  
His death would but give life to greater wrath.   

61  
Yet coming to the King, in former place  
His foe, the Duke of Somerset he finds,  
Whom openly reproaching to his face,  
He charged with treason in the highest kinds.  
The Duke returns like speeches of disgrace,  
And fiery words bewrayed their flaming minds:  
But yet the trial was for them deferred  
Till fit time allowed it to be heard.   

62  
At Westminster a Counsel gathered  
Deliberats what course the cause should end  
Of th'apprehended Duke of York, whose head  
Doth now on others doubtful breath depend;  
Law fiercely urged his deed, and found him dead,  
Friends failed to speak where they could not defend:  
Only the King himself for mercy stood,  
As prodigal of lice, nyggard of blood.   

63  
And as if angry with the Laws of death,  
And why should you, said he, urge things so far?  
You, that enured with mercenary breath,  
And hired tongue so peremptory are?  
Braving on him whom sorrow prostrateth,  
As if you did with poor affliction war,  
And pray on frailty folly hath betrayed,  
Bringing the laws to wound, never to aid.   

64  
Dispense sometime with stern severity,  
Make not the laws still traps to apprehend,  
Win grace upon the bad with clemency,  
Mercy may mend whom malice made offend:  
Death gives no thanks, but checks authority,  
And life doth only majesty commend.  
Revenge dies not, rigour begets new wrath,  
And blood hath never glory, mercy hath.   

65  
And for my part, (and my part should be chief)  
I am most willing to restore his state;  
And rather had I win him with relief  
Then loose him with despite, and get more hate:  
Pity draws love, bloodshed as nature's grief,  
Compassion, follows the unfortunate.  
And losing him, in him I lose my power,  
We rule who live, the dead are none of our.   

66  
And should our rigour lessen then the same  
Which we with greater glory should retain?  
No, let him live, his life must give us fame,  
The child of mercy, newly borne again:  
As often burials is physicians shame,  
So, many deaths, argues a King's hard reign.  
Why should we say, the law must have her vigour?  
The law kills him, but quits not us of rigour.   

67  
You, to get more preferment by your wit,  
Others, to gain the spoils of misery,  
Labour with all your power to follow it,  
Showing us fears, to draw on cruelty.  
You urge th'offence, not tell us what is fit,  
Abusing wrong-informed majestic:  
As if our power, were only but to slay,  
And that to sane, were a most dangerous way.   

68  
Thus out of pity spoke that holy King,  
Whom mild affections led to hope the best.  
When Somerset began to urge the thing  
With words of hotter temper, this expressed:  
Dear sovereign Lord, the cause in managing  
Is more than yours, t' imports the public rest,  
We all have part, it touches all our good,  
And lyfe's ill spared, that's spared to cost more blood.   

69  
Compassion here is cruolty, my Lord,  
Pity will cut our throats for saving so.  
What benefit shall we have by the sword  
If mischief shall escape to draw on more?  
Why should we give what Law cannot afford  
To ' be ' accessaries to our proper woe?  
Wisdom must judge twixt men apt to amend  
And minds incurable, borne to offend.   

70  
It is no private cause (I do protest)  
That moves me thus to prosecute his deed,  
Would God his blood and mine had well released  
The dangers that his pride is like to breed:  
Although at me, he seems to have addressed  
His spite, 'tis not his end he hath decreed:  
I am not he alone, he doth pursue  
But thorough me, he means to shoot at you.   

71  
For this course ever they deliberate  
Which do aspire to reach the government,  
To take advantage of the people's hate,  
Which ever hate those that are eminent:  
For who can manage great affairs of state,  
And all a wayward multitude content?  
And then these people-minions they must fall  
To work out us, to work themselves int'all.   

72  
But note my Lord, first who is in your hand,  
Then, how he hath offended, what's his end:  
It is the man whose race would seem to stand  
Before your right, and doth a right pretend;  
Who (Traytor-like) hath raised a mighty band  
With colour your proceed to amend:  
Which if it should have happened to succeed,  
You had not now fate to adjudge his deed.   

73  
If oftentimes the person not th' offence  
Have been sufficient cause of death to some,  
Where public safety puts in evidence  
Of mischief, likely by their life to come;  
Shall he, whose fortune and his insolence  
Have both deseru'd to dye, escape that doom?  
When you shall save your Land, your Crown thereby,  
And since you cannot live unless he die?   

74  
This spoke th' aggrieved Duke, that gravely saw  
Th' incompatible powers of Prince's minds;  
And what affliction his escape might draw  
Unto the state, and people of all kinds.  
And yet the humble yielding and the awe  
Which York there show'd, so good opinion finds,  
That, with the rumour of his sons great strength  
And French affairs, he there came quit at length.   

75  
For even the fear t' exasperate the heat  
Of th' Earl of March, whose forward youth & might  
Well followed, seemed a proud revenge to threat  
If any shame should on his Father light:  
And then desire in Gascoigne to reget  
The glory lost, which home-broyles hinder might,  
Aduauntaged the Duke, and saved his head,  
Which question less had else been hazarded.   

76  
For now had Bordeaux offered upon aid  
Present revolt, if we would send with speed.  
Which fair advantage to have then delayed  
Upon such hopes, had been a shameful deed:  
And therefore this, all other courses stayed,  
And outwardly these inward hates agreed:  
Giving an interpause to pride and spite,  
Which breathed but to break out with greater might.   

77  
Whilst dreadful Talbot terror late of France  
(Against the Genius of our fortune) strove  
The downthrowne glory of our state t'advance;  
Where France far more than France he now doth prove.  
For friends, opinion, & succeeding chance,  
Which wrought the weak to yield, the strong to love,  
Were not the same, as he had found before  
In happier times, when less would have done more.   

78  
For both the Britain and Burgonian now 
The Dukes of Britain and Burgundio.   
Came altered with our luck, & won with theirs  
Those bridges and the gates that did allow  
So easy passage unto our affairs.  
judging it safer to endeavour how  
To link with strength, then lean unto despairs;  
And who wants friends, to back what he gins  
In Lands far of, gets not, although he wins.   

79  
Which too well proved this fatal enterprise,  
The last that lost us all we had to lose:  
Where, though advantaged by some mutinies,  
And petty Lords that in our cause arose,  
Yet those great failed; whose ready quick supplies  
Ever at hand, cheered us, and quailed our foes:  
Succours from far, come seldom to our mind,  
For who holds league with Neptune, or the wind?   

80  
Yet worthy Talbot, thou didst so employ  
The broken remnants of discattered power,  
That they might see it was our destiny  
Not want of spirit that lost us what was our:  
Thy dying hand sold them the victory  
With so dear wounds as made the conquest sour:  
So much it cost to spoil who were undone,  
And such a do to win, when they had won.   

81  
For as a fierce courageous mastiff fares  
That having once sure fastened on his foe,  
lies tugging on that hold, never forbears  
What force soever force him to forego;  
The more he feels his wounds, the more he dares,  
As if his death were sweet in dying so;  
So held his hold this Lord, whilst he held breath,  
And scarce but with much blood let's go in death.   

82  
For though he saw prepared against his side  
Both unlike fortune, and unequal force,  
Borne with the swelling current of their pride  
Down the main stream of a most happy course:  
Yet stands he stiff undasht, unterrified,  
His mind the same, although his fortune worse;  
Virtue in greatest dangers being best shown,  
And though oppressed, yet never overthrown.   

83  
For rescuing of besieged Chatillon  
Where having first constrained the French to fly,  
And following hard on their confusion,  
Comes lo encountered with a strong supply  
Of fresh-ariving powers, that back thrust on  
Those flying troops, another chance to try;  
Who double Armed, with shame, and fury, strain  
To wreak their foil, and win their fame again.   

84  
Which seeing, th' undaunted Talbot with more might  
Of spirit to will, than hands of power to do:  
Preparing t'entertain a glorious fight,  
Cheers up his wearied soldiers thereunto:  
Courage, saith he, those braving troops in sight  
Are but the same that now you did undo.  
And what if there be come some more than they?  
They come to bring more glory to the day.   

85  
Which day must either thrust us out of all,  
Or all with greater glory back restore.  
This day your valiant worth adventure shall  
For what our Land shall never fight for, more:  
If now we fail, with us is like to fall  
All that renown which we have got before:  
This is the last, if we discharge the same,  
The same shall last to our eternal fame.   

86  
Never had worthy men for any fact  
A more fair glorious Theatre than we:  
Whereon true magnanimity might act  
Brave deeds, which better witnessed could be.  
For lo, from yonder Turrets yet unsacked,  
Your valiant fellows stand your worth to see,  
T'avouch your valour, if you live, to gain,  
And if we die, that we died not in vain.   

87  
And even our foes, whose proud & powerful might  
Would seem to swallow up our dignity,  
Shall not keep back the glory of our right  
Which their confounded blood shall testify:  
For in their wounds our gored swords shall write  
The monuments of our eternity:  
For vile is honour and a title vain  
The which true worth, and danger do not gain.   

88  
For they shall see when we in careless sort  
Shall throw ourselves on their despised spears,  
'tis not despair that doth us so transport,  
But even true fortitude, that nothing fears:  
Sith we may well retire us, in some sort,  
But shame on him that such a foul thought bears;  
For be they more, let Fortune take their part,  
We'ill tug her to, and scratch her, ere we part.   

89  
This said, a fresh infused desire of fame,  
Enters their warmed blood, with such a will  
That they deemed long they were not at the same:  
And though they marched, they thought they yet stood still,  
And that their lingering foes too slowly came  
To join with them, spending much time so ill:  
Such force had words fierce humours up to call,  
Sent from the mouth of such a General.   

90  
Who weighing yet his force and their desire,  
Turns him about in private to his son, 
The Lo●●… Lisie.   
A worthy son, and worthy such a Sire,  
Tells him the doubtful ground they stood upon,  
Advising him in secret to retire;  
Seeing his youth but even now begun,  
Would make it unto him at all no stain,  
His death small fame, his flight no shame could gain.   

91  
To whom th' aggrieved son as if disgraced  
Ah Father, have you then selected me  
To be the man, which you would have displaced  
Out of the role of immortality?  
What have I done this day that hath defaced  
My worth: that my hands work despised should be?  
God shield I should bear home a Coward's name,  
I have lived enough, if I can die with fame.   

92  
At which the Father touched with sorrowing-ioy,  
Turns him about, shaking his head, and says:  
O my dear son, worthy a better day  
To enter thy first youth in hard assays.  
And now had wrath, impatient of delay  
Begun the fight, and farther speeches stays:  
Fury thrusts on, striving whose sword should be  
First warmed in the wounds of th' enemy.   

93  
Hotly these small, but mighty minded Bands  
(As if ambitious now of death) do strain  
Against innumerable armed hands,  
And gloriously a wondrous fight maintain:  
Rushing on all what ever strength with-stands,  
Whetting their wrath on blood and on disdain;  
And so far thrust, that hard 'twere to descry  
Whether they more desire to kill, or die.   

94  
Frank of their own, greedy of others blood,  
No stroke they give but wounds, no wound but kills;  
near to their hate, close to their work they stood,  
Hit where they would, their hand obeys their wills,  
Scorning the blow from far that doth no good,  
Loathing the crack unless some blood it spills:  
No wounds could let out life that wrath held in,  
Till others wounds revenged did first begin.   

95  
So much true resolution wrought in those  
That had made covenant with death before,  
That their small number scorning so great foes,  
Made France most happy that there were no more  
Sith these made doubtful how Fate would dispose  
That weary day, or unto whom restore  
The glory of a conquest dearly bought,  
Which scarce the Conqueror, can think worth aught.   

96  
For as with equal rdge, and equa'll might  
Two adverse winds combat with billows proud  
And neither yield: Seas, skies maintain like fight,  
Wave against wave opposed, and cloud to cloud,  
So war both sides with obstinate despite,  
With like revenge, and neither party bowed:  
Fronting each other with confounding blows,  
No wound, one sword unto the other owes.   

97  
Whilst Talbot, whose fresh spirit having got  
A marvelous advantage of his years.  
Carries his unfelt age as if forgot,  
Whirling about where any need appears:  
His hand, his eye, his wits all present, wrought  
The function of the glorious part he bears:  
Now urging here, now cheering there he flies,  
Vnlocks the thickest troops where most force lies.   

98  
In midst of wrath, of wounds, of blood and death,  
There is he most whereas he may do best.  
And there the closest ranks he severoth,  
Drives back the stoutest powers that forward priest:  
There makes his sword his way, there laboureth  
Th'infatigable hands that never rest,  
Scorning unto his mortal wounds to yield  
Till Death became best muister of the field.   

99  
Then like a sturdy Oak that having long  
Against the wars of fiercest winds made head,  
When with some forced tempestuous rage, more strong,  
His downe-borne top comes over-maistered,  
All the near bordering Trees he stood among,  
Crushed with his weighty fall, lie ruined:  
So lay his spoils, all round about him slain  
T'adorn his death, that could not die in vain.   

100  
On th'other part, his most all-daring son  
(Although the inexperience of his years  
Made him less skilled in what was to be done,  
Yet did it thrust him on beyond all fears)  
Flying into the main Batallion,  
near to the King, amidst the chiefest Peers,  
With thousand wounds became at length oppressed,  
As if he scorned to die, but with the best.   

101  
Who thus both having gained a glorious end,  
Soon ended that great day that set so red,  
As all the purple plains that wide extend  
A sad tempestuous season with essed:  
So much a do had toiling France to rend  
From us the right so long inherited,  
And so hard went we from what we possessed,  
As with it, went the blood we loved best.   

102  
Which blood not lost, but fast laid up with heed  
In everlasting same, is there held dear,  
To seal the memory of this days deed,  
Th'eternal evidence of what we were:  
To which our Fathers, we, and who succeed,  
Do own a sigh, for that it touch us near:  
Who must not sin so much as to neglect  
The holy thought of such a dear respect.   

103  
Yet happy hapless day, blest-ill-lost breath,  
Both for our better fortune, and your own:  
For what soul wounds, what spoil, what shameful death,  
Had by this forward resolution grown,  
If at S. Albon, Wakefield, Barnet-heath,  
It should unto your in famie be shown?  
Blessed you, that did not teach how great a fault  
Even virtue is in actions that are nought.   

104  
Yet would this sad days loss, had now been all  
That this day lost, then should we not much plain,  
If hereby we had come but there to fall,  
And that day ended, ended had our pain.  
Then small the lost of France, of Given small,  
Nothing the shame to be turned home again  
Compared with other shames. But now France lost  
Sheds us more blood than all her winning cost.   

105  
For losing war abroad; at home lost peace,  
Being with our unsupporting selves close penned.  
And no designs for pride that did increase,  
But our own throats, & our own punishment.  
The working spirit ceased not tho work did cease,  
Having fit time to practise discontent.  
And stir up such as could not long lie still,  
Who not employed to good, must needs do ill.   

106  
And now the grief of our received shame  
Gave fit occasion for ambitious care,  
They draw the chief reproach of all the fame  
On such as naturally hated are,  
Seeing them apt to bear the greatest blame  
That offices of greatest envy bear.  
And that in vulgar ears delight it breeds  
To have the hated, Authors of misdeodes.   

107  
And therefore easily great Somerset  
Whom envy long had singled out before  
With all the volley of disgraces met,  
As the main mark Fortune had placed therefore:  
On whose hard-wrought opinion spite did whet  
The edge of wrath, to make it pierce the more.  
Grief being glad t'have gotten now on whom  
To lay the fault of what, must light on some.   

108  
Whereon th'againe out-breaking York begins  
To build new models of his old desire,  
Seeing the fair booty Fortune for him wins  
Upon the ground of this enkindled ire.  
Taking th'advantages of others sins  
To aid his own, and help him to aspire:  
And doubting peace should better scan deeds past,  
He thinks not safe, to have his sword our last.   

109  
Especially, sith every man now priest  
To innovation do with rancour swell,  
A stirring humour generally possessed  
Those peace-spylt times, weary of being well:  
The weak with wrongs, the happy tired with rest,  
And many mad, for what, they could not tell.  
The world even great with change, thought it went wrong  
To stay beyond the bearing time so long.   

110  
And therefore now these Lords consedered  
Being much increased in number and in spite,  
So shaped their course, that drawing to a head,  
Began to grow to be offeare full might;  
Th'abused world so hasty gathered,  
Some for revenge, some for wealth, some for delight,  
That York from small-beginning troops soon draws  
A world of men to venture in his cause.   

111  
Like as proud Severne from a private head,  
With humble streams at first doth gently glide,  
Till other Rivers have contrybuted  
The springing riches of their store beside,  
Wherewith at length high swelling she doth spread  
Her broad descended waters laid so wide,  
That coming to the Sea, she seems from far  
Not to have tribute brought, but rather war.   

112  
Even so is York now grown, and now is bend  
T'encounter with the best, and for the best,  
Whose near approach the King hastes to prevent,  
Seeking t'have had his power, far of suppressed:  
Fearing the City, lest some insolent  
And mutinous, should hearten on the rest  
To take his part. But he's so forward set,  
That at S. Alban's both the Annies met.   

113  
Whether their haste far fewer hands did bring  
Then else their better leisure would have done:  
And yet too many for so foul a thing  
Sith who did best, hath but dishonour won:  
For whilst some offer peace sent from the King,  
Warwick's too forward hand hath war begun:  
A war that doth the face of war deform  
Which still is foul, but foulest wanting form.   

114  
Never did valiant Leaders so well known  
For brave performed actions done before  
Blemish the reputation of renown  
In any weak effected service more,  
To bring such powers into so strait a Town  
As to some Citty-tumulr or uproar:  
Which slaughter, and no battle might be thought.  
Where that side used their swords, & this their throat.   

115  
But this on Warwick's wrath must needs be laid,  
And upon Sommersets desire t'obtain  
The day with peace, for which he longer stayed  
Than wisdom would, or then was for his gain:  
Whose force in narrow streets once over laid,  
Never recovered head, but there came slain  
Both he, and all the Leaders else beside:  
The King himself alone a prisoner bides.   

116  
A prisoner, though not to the outward eye,  
For that he must seem graced with his lost day,  
All things being done for his commodity,  
Against such men as did the state betray:  
For with such apt deceiving clemency  
And seeming-order, York did so allay  
That touch of wrong, as made him make great stealth  
In weaker minds, with show of Common wealth.   

117  
Long-lookt-for power thus got into his hand,  
The former face of Court now altered,  
All the supremest charges of command  
Were to his aiders strait contributed:  
Himself is made Protector of the land.  
A title found, which only covered  
All-working power under another style,  
Which yet the greatest part doth act the while.   

118  
The King held only but an empty name  
Left with his life, where of the proof was such  
As sharpest pride could not transpers the same,  
Nor once, all-seeking Fortune durst to tuch:  
Impiety had not enlarged shame  
As yet so wide as to attempt so much:  
Mischief was not full ripe for such a deed,  
Left for th' unbounded horrors that succeed.   
The end of the fift Book.    

MUSOPHILUS: CONTAINING a general defence of learning.  
SAMVEL DANIEL.  
AT LONDON Printed by P. S. for Simon Waterson. 1599   

To the right worthy and judicious favourer of virtue, master Fulke Grevill.  
I Do not here upon this humorous Stage,  
Bring my transformed verse appareled  
With others passions, or with others rage;  
With loves, with wounds, with factions furnished:  
But here present thee, only modeled  
In this poor frame, the form of mine own heart:  
Here to revive myself my Muse is lead  
With motions of her own, t' act her own part  
Striving to make, her now contemned art  
As fair t'her self as possibly she can;  
Lest seeming of no force, of no desert  
She might repent the course that she began,  
And, with these times of dissolution, fall  
From goodness, virtue, glory, fame and all.   

MUSOPHILUS. CONTAINING A general defence of all learning.  PHILOCOSMUS. 

Fond man Musophilus, that thus dost spend  
In an ungainefull art thy dearest days,  
Tiring thy wits and toiling to no end,  
But to attain that idle smoke of praise;  
Now when this busy world cannot attend  
Th'untimely music of neglected lays.  
Other delights then these, other desires  
This wiser profit-seeking age requires.   Musophilus. 

Friend Philocosmus, Iconfesse indeed,  
I love this sacred art thou sett'st so light,  
And though it never stand my life in steed,  
It is enough, it gives myself delight,  
The whiles my unafflicted mind doth feed  
On no unholy thoughts for benefit.  
Be it that my unseasonable song  
Come out of time, that fault is in the time,  
And I must not do virtue so much wrong  
As love her ought the worse for others crime;  
And yet I find some blessed spirits among,  
That cherish me, and like and grace my rhyme.  
Again that I do more in soul esteem  
Then all the gain of dust, the world doth crave;  
And if I may attain but to redeem  
My name from dissolution and the grave,  
I shall have done enough, and better deem  
T'have lived to be, then to have died to have.  
Short-breathed mortality would yet extend  
That span of life so far forth as it may,  
And rob her fate, seek to beguile her end  
Of some few lingering days of after stay,  
That all this little All, might not descend  
Into the dark a universal prey.  
And give our labours yet this poor delight,  
That when our days do end they are not done;  
And though we die we shall not perish quite,  
But live two lives where other have but one.   Philocosmus, 

Silly desires of selfe-abusing man,  
Striving to gain th'inheritance of air  
That having done the uttermost he can  
Leaves yet perhaps but beggary to his heir;  
All that great purchase of the breath he won,  
Feeds not his race, or makes his house more fair.  
And what art thou the better thus to leave  
A multitude of words to small effect,  
Which other times may scorn and so deceive  
Thy promised name of what thou dost expect,  
Besides some viperous Creticke may bereave  
Th' opinion of thy worth for some defect,  
And get more reputation of his wit  
By but controlling of some word or sense,  
Then thou shalt honour for contriving it,  
With all thy travel, care and diligence;  
Being learning now enough to contradict  
And censure others with bold insolence.  
Besides so many so confusedly sing,  
Whose divers discords have the music marred,  
And in contempt that mystery doth bring,  
That he must sing aloud that will be heard;  
And the received opinion of the thing,  
For some unhallowed strings that vildly jarred,  
Hath so unseasoned ' now the ears of men,  
That who doth touch the tenor of that vain  
Is held but vain, and his vnreck'ned pen  
The title but of levity doth gain.  
A poor light gain to recompense their toil,  
That thought to get eternity the while.  
And therefore leave the left & outworn course  
Of unregarded ways, and labour how  
To fit the times with what is most in force,  
Be new with men's affections that are new;  
Strive not to run an idle counter-course  
Out from the sent of humours, men allow.  
For not discreetly to compose our parts  
Unto the frame of men (which we must be)  
Is to put off ourselves, and make our arts  
Rebleses to Nature and society,  
Whereby we come to bury our deserts,  
In th' obscure grave of singularity.   Musophiliss. 

Do not profane the work of doing well,  
Seduced man, that canst not look so high  
From out that mist of earth as thou canst tell  
The ways of right, which virtue doth descry,  
That over-lookes the base, contemptibly,  
And low-laid follies of mortality:  
Nor meat out truth and right-deseruing praise,  
By that wrong measure of confusion  
The vulgar foot: that never takes his ways  
By reason, but by imitation;  
Rolling on with the rest, and never way's  
The course which he should go, but what is gone.  
Well were it with mankind, if what the most  
Did like were best, but ignorance will live  
By others square, as by example lost;  
And man to man must th' hand of error give  
That none can fall alone at their own cost,  
And all because men judge not, but believe.  
For what poor bounds have they whom but th' earth bounds,  
What is their end whereto their care attains,  
When the thing got relieves not, but confounds  
Having but travail to succeed their pains?  
What joy hath he of living that propounds  
Affliction but his end, and grief his gains?  
Gathering, encroaching, wresting, joining to,  
Destroying, building, decking, furnishing,  
Repairing, altering, and so much a do  
To his soul's toil, and bodies travailing:  
And all this doth he little knowing who  
Fortune ordains to have th'inheriting.  
And his fair house raised high in envies eye,  
Whose pillars reared perhaps on blood & wrong  
The spoils and pillage of iniquity.  
Who can assure it to continue long?  
If rage spared not the walls of piety,  
Shall the profanest piles of sin keep strong?  
How many proud aspiring palaces  
Have we known made the prey of wrath and pride,  
Levelled with th'earth, left to forgetfulness,  
Whilst titlers their pretended rights decide,  
Or civil tumults, or an orderless  
Order pretending change of some strong side?  
Then where is that proud title of thy name,  
Written in ye of melting vanity?  
Where is thine heir left to possess the same?  
Perhaps not so well as in beggary.  
Some thing may rise to be beyond the shame  
Of vile and unregarded poverty.  
Which, I confess, although I often strive  
To cloth in the best habit of my skill,  
In all the fairest colours I can give;  
Yet for all that me thinks she looks but ill,  
I cannot brook that face, which dead-alive  
Shows a quick body, but a buried will.  
Yet oft we fee the bars of this restraint  
Holds goodness in, which lose wealth would let fly,  
And fruitless riches barrayner than want,  
Brings forth small worth from idle liberty?  
Which when disorders shall again make scant,  
It must resetch her state from poverty.  
But yet in all this interchange of all,  
Virtue we see, with her fair grace, stands a fast;  
For what hy races hath there come to fall,  
With low disgrace, quite vanished and passed,  
Since Chaucer lived who yet lives and yet shall,  
Though (which I grieve to say) but in his last  
Yet what a time hath he wrested from time,  
And won upon the mighty waste of days,  
Unto th' immortal honour of our clime,  
That by his means came first adorned with bay,  
Unto the sacred Relics of whose rhyme  
We yet are bound in zeal to offer praise?  
And could our lines begotten in this age  
Obtain but such a blessed hand of years,  
And scape the fury of that threatening rage,  
Which in confused clouds ghastly appears,  
Who would not strain his travails to engage,  
When such true glory should succeed his cares?  
But whereas he came planted in the spring,  
And had the Sun, before him, of respect;  
We set in th' Autumn, in the withering,  
And sullen season of a cold defect,  
Must taste those four distastes the times do bring,  
Upon the fullness of a cloyed neglect,  
Although the stronger constitutions shall  
Wear out th' infection of distempered days,  
And come with glory to outlive this fall,  
Recouring of another spring of praise,  
Cleared from th' oppressing humours, wherewithal  
The idle multitude surcharge their lays.  
When as perhaps the words thou scornest now  
May live, the speaking picture of the mind,  
The extract of the soul that laboured how  
To leave the image of herself behind,  
Wherein posterity that love to know  
The just proportion of our spirits may find.  
For these lines are the veins, the Arteries,  
And undecaying life-strings of those hearts  
That still shall pant, and still shall exercise  
The motion spirit and nature both imparts,  
And shall, with those alive so sympathise  
As nourished with their powers enjoy their parts.  
O blessed letters that combine in one  
All ages past, and make one live with all,  
By you we do confer with who are gone,  
And the dead living unto council call:  
By you th' unborn shall have communion  
Of what we feel, and what doth us befall.  
Soul of the world, knowledge, without thee,  
What hath the earth that truly glorious is?  
Why should our pride make such a stir to be,  
To be forgot? what good is like to this,  
To do worthy the writing, and to write  
Worthy the reading, and the world's delight?  
And let th' unnatural and wayward race  
Borne of one womb with us, but to our shame  
That never read t' observe but to disgrace,  
Raise all the tempest of their power to blame;  
That puff of folly never can deface,  
The work a happy Genius took to frame.  
Yet why should civil learning seek to wound  
And mangle her own members with despite?  
Prodigious wits that study to confound  
The life of wit, to seem to know aright,  
As if themselves had fortunately found  
Some stand from of the earth beyond our sight,  
Whence overlooking all as from above,  
Their grace is not to work, but to reprove.  
But how came they placed in so high degree  
Above the reach and compass of the rest?  
Who hath admitted them only to be  
Free-denizons of skill, to judge the best?  
From whom the world as yet could never see  
The warrant of their wit sound expressed.  
T'acquaint our times with that perfection  
Of high conceit, which only they possess,  
That we might have things exquisitely done  
Measured with all their strict observances:  
Such would (I know) scorn a translation,  
Or bring but others labours to the press;  
Yet oft these monster-breeding mountains will  
Bring forth small Mice of great expected skill.  
Presumption ever fullest of defects,  
Fails in the doing to perform her part;  
And I have known proud words and poor effects,  
Of such indeed as do condemn this Art:  
But let them rest, it ever hath been known,  
They others virtues scorn, that doubt their own:  
And for the divers disagreeing cords,  
Of interiangling ignorance that fill  
The dainty ears, & leave no room for words,  
The worthier minds neglect, or pardon will;  
Knowing the best he hath, he frankly fords  
And scorns to be a niggard of his skill.  
And that the rather since this short-lived race,  
Being fatally the sons but of one day,  
That now with all their power ply it apace,  
To hold out with the greatest might they may  
Against confusion that hath all in chase,  
To make of all a universal prey.  
For now great Nature hath laid down at last  
That mighty birth, where with so long she went  
And overwent the times of ages past,  
Here to lie in, upon our soft content,  
Where fruitful she, hath multiplied so fast,  
That all she hath on these times, seemed t'have spent.  
All that which might have many ages graced,  
Is borne in one, to make one cloyed with all;  
Where plenty hath impressed a deep distaste,  
Of best and worst, and all in general:  
That goodness seems, goodness to have defaced,  
And virtue hath to virtue given the fall.  
For emulation, that proud nurse of wit,  
Scorning to stay below or come behind,  
Labours upon that narrow top to sit  
Offole perfection in the highest kind;  
Envy and wonder looking after it,  
Thrust likewise on the self same bliss to find:  
And so long striving till they can no more,  
Do stuff the place or others hopes shut out,  
Who doubting to overtake those gone before  
Give up their care, and cast no more about;  
And so in scorn leave all as forepossessed,  
And will be none where they may not be best.  
Even like some empty Greek that long hath lain,  
Left or neglected of the River by,  
Whose searching sides pleased with a wandering, vain,  
Finding some little way that close did lie,  
Steal in at first, than other streams again  
Second the first, then more than all supply,  
Till all the mighty main hath borne at last  
The glory of his chiefest power that way,  
Plying this newfound pleasant room so fast  
Till all be full, and all be at a stay;  
And then about, and back again doth cast,  
Leaving that full to fall another way:  
So fears this humorous world, that evermore  
Rapt with the Current of a present course,  
Runs into that which lay contemned before;  
Then glutted leaves the same, and falst'a worse:  
Now zeal holds all, no life but to adore;  
Then cold in spirit, and faith is of no force.  
Strait all that holy was unhallowed lies,  
The scattered carcases of ruined vows:  
Then truth is false, and now hath blindness eyes,  
Then zeal trusts all, now scarcely what it knows:  
That evermore to foolish or to wise,  
It fatal is to be seduced with shows.  
Sacred Religion, mother offorme and fear,  
How gorgeously sometimes dost thou sit decked?  
What pompous vestures do we make thee wear?  
What stately piles we prodigal erect?  
How sweet perfumed thou art, how shining clear?  
How solemnly observed, with what respect?  
Another time all plain, and quite thread bare,  
Thou must have all within and nought without,  
Sat poorly without light, disrobed, no care  
Of outward grace, to amuse the poor devout,  
Powerless unfollowed, scarcely men can spare  
Thee necessary rites to set thee out.  
Either truth, goodness, virtue are not still  
The self same which they are, and always one,  
But altar to the project of our will,  
Or we our actions make them wait upon  
Putting them in the livery of our skill,  
And cast them off again when we have done.  
You mighty Lords, that with respected grace  
Do at the stern of fair example stand,  
And all the body of this populace  
Guide with the only turning of your hand,  
Keep a right course, bear up from all disgrace,  
Observe the point of glory to our land:  
Hold up disgraced knowledge from the ground,  
Keep virtue in request, give worth her due,  
Let not neglect with barbarous means confounded  
So fair a good to bring in night anew.  
Be not, o be not accessary found  
Unto her death that must give life to you:  
Where will you have your virtuous names safe laid,  
In gorgeous tombs, in sacred Cells secure?  
Do you not see those prostrate heaps betrayed  
Your father's bones, and could not keep them sure?  
And will you trust deceitful stones fair laid:  
And think they will be to your honour truer?  
No, no, unsparing time will proudly send  
A warrant unto wrath that with one frown  
Will all these mock'ries of vain glory rend,  
And make them as before, ungraced, unknown,  
Poor idle honours that can ill defend  
Your memories, that cannot keep their own.  
And whereto serve that wondrous trophei now,  
That on the godly plain near Wilton stands?  
That huge dumb heap, that cannot tell us how,  
Nor what, nor whence it is, nor with whose hands,  
Nor for whose glory, it was set to show  
How much our pride mocks that of other lands?  
Where on when as the gazing passenger  
Hath greedy looked with admiration,  
And feign would know his birth, and what he were,  
How there erected, and how long agone:  
Inquires and asks his fellow travailer  
What he hath heard and his opinion:  
And he knows nothing. Then he turns again  
And looks and sighs, and then admires afr esh,  
And in himself with sorrow doth complain  
The misery of dark for getfuln esse;  
Angry with time that nothing should remain,  
Our greatest wonders, wonder to express.  
Then ignorance with fabulous discourse  
Robbing fair art and cunning of their right,  
Tells how those stones were by the devils force  
From Africa brought to Ireland in a night,  
And thence to Britanny by Magic course,  
From giant's hand redeemed by Merlin's sleight.  
And then near Ambri placed in memory  
Of all those noble Britons murdered there  
By Hengist and his Saxon treachery,  
Coming to parley in peace at unaware.  
With this old Legend than credulity  
Holds her content, and closes up her care:  
But is antiquity so great a liar,  
Or, do her younger sons her age abuse,  
Seeing after comers still so apt t'admire  
The grave authority that she doth use,  
That reverence and respect dares not require  
Proof of her deeds, or once her words refuse?  
Yet wrong they did us to presume so far  
Upon our easy credit and delight:  
For once found false they strait became to mar  
Our faith, and their own reputation quite:  
That now her truths hardly believed are,  
And though sh'auouch yn right, she scarce hath right.  
And as for thee, thou huge and mighty frame  
That stands corrupted so with times despite,  
And giv'st false evidence against their fame  
That set thee there to testify their right:  
And art become a traitor to their name  
That trusted thee with all the best they might;  
Thou shalt stand still belied and slandered,  
The only gazing stock of ignorance,  
And by the guile the wife admonished  
Shall never more desire such heapest ' advance,  
Nor trust their living glory with the dead  
That cannot speak, but leave their fame to chance;  
Considering in how small a room do lie  
And yet lie safe, as fresh as if alive  
All those great worthies of antiquity,  
Which long foreliued thee, & shall long survive,  
Who stronger tombs found for eternity,  
Then could the powers of all the earth contrive.  
Where they remain these trifles to obraid  
Out of the reach of spoil, and way of rage,  
Though time with all his power of years hath laid  
Long battery, backed with undermining age,  
Yet they make head only with their own aid  
And war, with his all conquering forces, wage:  
Pleading the heavens prescription to be free  
And t'have a grant t'endure as long as he.   Philocosmus. 

Behold how every man drawn with delight  
Of what he doth, flatters him in his way;  
Striving to make his course seem only right  
Doth his own rest, and his own thoughts betray;  
Imagination bringing bravely dight  
Her pleasing images in best array,  
With flattering glasses that must show him fair  
And others foul; his skill and his wit best,  
Others seduced, deceived and wrong in their;  
His knowledge right, all ignorant the rest,  
Not seeing how these minions in the air  
Present a face of things falsely expressed,  
And that the glimmering of these errors shown,  
Are but a light to let him see his own.  
Alas poor Fame, in what a narrow room  
As an incaged Parrot, art thou penned  
Here amongst us; where even as good be dumb  
As speak, and to be heard with no attended?  
How can you promise of the time to come  
When as the present are so negligent?  
Is this the walk of all your wide renown,  
This little point, this scarce discerned I'll,  
Thrust from the world, with whom our speech unknown  
Made never any traffic of our style.  
And is this all where all this care is shown,  
T'inchant your fame to last so long a while?  
And for that happier tongues have won so much,  
Think you to make your barbarous language such  
Poor narrow limits for so mighty pains,  
That cannot promise any foreign vent:  
And yet if here to all your wondrous veins  
Were generally known, it might content:  
But lo how many reads not, or disdains  
The labours of the chief and excellent.  
How many thousands never heard the name  
Of Sidney, or of Spencer, or their books?  
And yet brave fellows, and presume of fame  
And seem to bear down all the world with looks:  
What then shall they expect of meaner frame,  
On whose endeavours few or none scarce looks?  
Do you not see these Pamphlets, Libels, Rhymes,  
These strange confused tumults of the mind,  
Are grown to be the sickness of these times,  
The great disease inflicted on mankind?  
Your virtues, by your follies, made your crimes,  
Have issue with your indiscretion joined  
Schools, arts, professions, all in so great store,  
Pass the proportion of the present state,  
Where being as great a number as before,  
And fewer rooms them to accommodate;  
It cannot be but they must throng the more,  
And kick, and thrust, and shoulder with debate.  
For when the greater wits cannot attain  
Th'expected good, which they account their right,  
And yet perceive others to reap that gain  
Of far inferior virtues in their sight;  
They present with the sharp of Envy strain  
To wound them with reproaches and despite:  
And for these, cannot have as well as they  
They scorn their faith should deign to look that way.  
Hence discontented Sects, and Schisms arise,  
Hence interwounding controversies spring,  
That feed the simple, and offend the wife,  
Who know the consequence of cavilling:  
Disgrace that these to others do devise,  
Contempt and scorn on all in th'end doth bring  
Like scolding wives reckoning each others fault  
Make standers by imagine both are nought.  
For when to these rare dainties time admits,  
All comers, all Complexions, all that will,  
Where none should be let in, but choicest wits,  
Whose mild discretion could comport with skill,  
For when the place their humour neither fits,  
Nor they the place: who can expect but ill?  
For being unapt for what they took in hand,  
And for aught else where to they shalb'addrest  
They even become th'encumbrance of the land  
As out of rank disordering all the rest:  
This grace of theirs to seem to understand,  
Marres all their grace to do, without their rest.  
Men find that action is another thing  
Then what they in discoursing papers read,  
The world's affairs require in managing  
More arts than those wherein you Clerks proceed,  
Whilst timorous knowledge stands considering,  
Audacious ignorance hath done the deed.  
For who knows most, the more he knows to doubt  
The least discourse is commonly most stout.  
This sweet in chanting knowledge turns you clean  
Out from the fields of nature all delight,  
And makes you hide unwilling to be seen  
In th'open concourse of a public sight:  
This skill where with you have so cunning been,  
Vnsinewes all your powers, unmans you quite.  
Public society and commerce of men  
Require another grace, another port:  
This eloquence, these rhymes, these phrases then  
Begot in shades, do serve us in no sort,  
Th'unmaterial swellings of your pen  
Touch not the spirit that action doth import:  
A manly style fitted to manly ears  
Best grease with wit, not that which goes so gay,  
And commonly the gaudy liu'rie wears  
Of nice corruptions which the times do sway,  
And waits on th'humor of his pulse that bears  
His passions set to such a pleasing key;  
Such dainties serve only for stomachs weak,  
For men do foulest when they finest speak.  
Yet do I not dislike that in some wise  
Be sung the great heroical deserts  
Of brave renowned spirits, whose exercise  
Of worthy deeds may call up others hearts,  
And serve a model for posterities  
To fashion them fit for like glorious parts:  
But so that all our spirits may tend hereto  
To make it not our grace, to say, but do.   Musophilus. 

Much thouhast said, and willingly I hear,  
As one that am not so possessed with love  
Of what I do, but that I rather bear  
An ear to learn, than a tongue to disprove:  
I know men must as carried in their sphere  
According to their proper motions move.  
And that course likes them best which they are on,  
Yet truth hath certain bounds, but falsehood none.  
I do confess our limits are but small  
Compared with all the whole vast earth beside,  
All which again rated to that great All,  
Is likewise as a point scarcely descried;  
So that in these respects we may this call  
A point but of a point where we abide.  
But if we shall descend from that high stand  
Of overlooking Contemplation,  
And cast our thoughts but to, and not beyond  
This spacious circuit which we tread upon,  
We then may estimate our mighty land  
A world within a world standing alone.  
Where if our fame confined cannot get out,  
What shall we then imagine it is penned  
That hath so great a world to walk about,  
Whose bounds with her reports have both one end:  
Why shall we not rather esteem her stout  
That farther than her own scorn to extend?  
Where being so large a room both to do well  
And eke to hear th' applause of things well done,  
That farther if men shall our virtues tell  
We have more mouths, but not more merit won,  
It doth not greater make that which is laudable,  
The flame is bigger blown, the fire all one.  
And for the few that only lend their care,  
That few is all the world, which with a few  
Doth ever live, and move, and work and stir,  
This is the heart doth feel, and only know.  
The rest of all, that only bodies bear  
Roll up and down, and fill but up the row:  
And serve as others members not their own,  
The instruments of those that do direct.  
Then what disgrace is this not to be known  
To those know not to give themselves respect?  
And though they swell with pomp of folly blown,  
They live ungraced, and die but in neglect.  
And for my part if only one allow  
The care my labouring spirits take in this,  
He is to me a Theatre large enough,  
And his applause only sufficient is:  
All my respect is bend but to his brow,  
That is my all, and all I am is his.  
And if some worthy spirits be pleased to,  
It shall more comfort breed, but not more will;  
But what if none; it cannot yet undo  
The love I bear unto this holy skill:  
This is the thing that I was borne to do,  
This is my Scene, this part must I fulfil.  
Let those that know not breath esteem of wind,  
And set t'a vulgar air their servile song,  
Rating their goodness by the praise they find,  
Making their worth on others sirs belong,  
As virtue were the hireling of the mind,  
And could not live if fame had ne'er a tongue.  
Hath that all-knowing power that holds within  
The goodly prospective of all this frame, 
Virtue.   
(Where whatsoever is, or what hath been,  
Reflects a certain image of the same)  
No inward pleasures to delight her in,  
But she must gad to seek an alines of fame?  
Must she like to a wanton Courtesan  
Open her breasts for show, to win her praise,  
And blaze her fair bright beauty unto man,  
As if she were enamoured of his ways?  
And knew not weakness nor could rightly skan  
To what defects his humorous breath obeys.  
She that can tell how proud ambition  
Is but a beggar, and hath nought at all  
But what is given of mere devotion;  
For which how much it sweats, how much its thrall?  
What toil it takes, and yet when all is done,  
The ends in expectation never fall.  
Shall she join hands with such a servile mate,  
And prostrate her fair body to commit  
Folly with earth, and to defile that state  
Of clearness, for so gross a benefit?  
Having reward dwelling within her gate,  
And glory of her own to furnish it.  
Herself a recompense sufficient  
Unto herself, to give her own content.  
be't not in aught that she hath raised so high  
Those that be hers, that they may sit and see  
The earth below them, and this All to lie  
Under their view: taking the true degree  
Of the just height of swollen mortality  
Right as it is, not as it seems to be,  
And undeceived with the paralax  
Of a mistaking eye of passion, know  
By these masked outsides what the inward lacks  
Meas'ring man by himself not by his show,  
Wondering not at their rich and golden backs  
That have poor minds, and little else to show.  
Nor taking that for them, which well they see  
Is not of them, but rather is their load:  
The lies of fortune, where withal men be  
Deemed within, when they be all abroad:  
Whose ground, whose grass, whose earth have cap & knee,  
Which they suppose, is on themselves bestowed.  
And think like Isis' Ass, all honours are  
Given unto them alone, the which are done  
Unto the painted I doll which they bear,  
That only makes them to be gezod on:  
For take away their pack and show them bare,  
And see what beast this honour rides upon.  
Hath knowledge lent to hers the privy key,  
To let them in unto the highest stage  
Of causes, secrets, Counsels; to survey  
The wits of men, their heats, their colds, their rage,  
That build, destroy, praise, hate, say and gain say;  
Believe, and unbelieve, all in one age.  
And shall we trust goodness as it proceeds  
From that unconstant mouth; which with one breath  
Will make it bade again, unless it feeds  
The present humour that it favoureth?  
Shall we esteem and reckon how it heeds  
Our works, that his own vows unholloweth?  
Then whereto serves it to have been enlarged  
With this free manumission of the mind,  
If for all that we still continue charged  
With those discovered errors, which we find?  
As if our knowledge only were discharged,  
Yet we ourselves stayed in a servile kind.  
That virtue must be out of countenance,  
If this gross spirit, or that weak shallow brain,  
Or this nice wit, or that distemperance,  
Neglect, distaste, uncomprehend, disdain;  
When such sick eyes, can never cast a glance  
But through the colours of their proper stain.  
Though I must needs confess the small respect,  
That these great-seeming best of men do give,  
(Whose brow begets th' inferior sorts neglect,)  
Might move the weak irresolute to grieve:  
But stronger, see how justly this defect  
Hath overtook the times wherein we live;  
That learning needs must run the common fate  
Of all things else, thrust on by her own weight,  
Comporting neither self in her estate  
Under this burden of a self conceit:  
Our own dissentious hands opening the gate  
Unto Contempt, that on our quarrels wait,  
Discovered have our inward government,  
And let in hard opinion to disgrace  
The general, for some weak impotent  
That bear out their disease with a stolen face,  
Who (silly souls) the more wit they have spent,  
The less they show'd not bettering their bad case.  
And see how soon this rolling world can take  
Advantage for her dissolution,  
Feign to get lose from this with holding stake  
Of civil science and discretion:  
How glad it would run wild, that it might make  
One formelesse form of one confusion?  
Like tyrant Ottomans blindfolded state,  
Which must know nothing more but to obey:  
For this, seeks greedy ignorance t'abate  
Our number, order, living, form and sway;  
For this, it practices to dissipate  
Th'unsheltered troops, till all be made away.  
For since our father's sins pulled first to ground  
The pale of their dissevered dignity,  
And overthrew that holy reverent bound  
That parted learning and the laity,  
And laid all flat in common to confound  
The honour and respect of piety:  
It did so much invile the estimate  
Of th'opened and invulgard mysteries,  
Which now reduced unto the basest rate,  
Must wait upon the Norman subtleties,  
Who (being mounted up into their state)  
Do best with wrangling rudeness sympathise.  
And yet though now set quite behind the train  
Of vulgar sway (and light of power weighed light)  
Yet would this giddy innovation feign  
Down with it lower to abase it quite:  
And those poor remnants that do yet remain  
The spoilt marks of their divided right:  
They wholly would deface, to leave no face  
Of reverent distinction and degree,  
As if they weighed no difference in this case  
Betwixt Religion's age and infancy;  
Where th'one must creep, th'other stand with grace  
Lest turned to a child it overturned be.  
Though to pull back th' on-running state of things,  
(Gathering corruption as it gathers days)  
Unto the form of their first orderings,  
Is the best means that dissolution stays,  
And to go forward backward, right, men brings,  
T'observe the line from whence they took their ways.  
Yet being once gone wide, and the right way  
Not level to the times condition:  
To alter course may bring men more astray;  
And leaving what was known to light on none,  
Since every change the reverence doth decay  
Of that which always should continue one.  
For this is that close kept Palladium,  
Which once removed brings ruin evermore:  
This stirred makes men foresetled to become  
Curious to know what was believed before:  
Whilst faith disputes that used to be dumb,  
And more men strive to talk then to adore.  
For never headstrong reformation will  
Rest till to th'extreme opposite it run,  
And overrun the mean distrusted still  
As being too near of kin, to that men shun:  
For good and bad, and all must be one ill,  
When once there is another truth begun.  
So hard it is an even hand to bear,  
In tempering with such maladies as these,  
Lest that our forward passions lance to near,  
And make the cure prove worse than the disease?  
For with the worst we will not spare the best,  
Because it grows with that which doth displease:  
And faults are easier looked in, then redressed;  
Men running with such eager violence  
At the first view of errors fresh in quest,  
As they to rid an inconvenience,  
Stick not to raise a mischief in the steed,  
Which after mocks their weak improvidence:  
And therefore o make not your own sides bleed  
To prick at others, you that would amend  
By pulling down; and think you can proceed  
By going back unto the farther end,  
Let stand that little Covert left behind,  
Where on your succours and respects depend.  
And bring not down the prizes of the mind,  
With under-rating of yourselves so base:  
You that the mighties doors do crooching find,  
To sell yourselves to buy a little grace,  
Or wait whole months to outbid Simony,  
For that which being got is not your place:  
For if it were, what needed you to buy  
What was your due, your thirsting shows your shift,  
And little worth that seeks injuriously  
A worthier from his lawful room to lift?  
We cannot say that you were then preferred,  
But that your money was, or some worse gift.  
O scattering gath'rers that without regard  
Of times to come, will to be made, undo:  
As if you were the last of men, prepared  
To bury in your graves all other to.  
Dare you profane that holy portion  
Which never sacreligious hands durst do?  
Did forme-establishing devotion,  
To maintain a respective reverence  
Extend her bountiful provision  
With such a charitable providence,  
For your deforming hands to dissipate  
And make Gods due your impious expense?  
No marvel then though th'ouer pestered state  
Want room for goodness, if our little hold  
Be lessened unto such a narrow rate  
That reverence cannot sit, sit as it should;  
And yet what need we thus for rooms complain,  
That shall not want void room if this course hold:  
And more than will be filled, for who will strain  
To get an empty title to betray  
His hopes and travail for an honour vain  
And gain a port without support or stay?  
What need hath envy to malign their state  
That will themselves so kind, give it away?  
This makes indeed our number pass the rate  
Of our provisions; which if dealt aright  
Would yield sufficient room t'accommodate  
More than we have in places requisite.  
The ill disposing only doth us set  
In disarray, and out of order quite.  
Whiles other gifts then of the mind shall get  
Under our colours that which is our dues,  
And to our travails neither benefit,  
Nor grace, nor honour, nor respect accrewes:  
This sickness of the states soul, Learning, than  
The bodies great distemperature ensues.  
For if that learning's rooms to learned men  
Were as their heritage distributed,  
All this disordered thrust would cease, for when  
The sit were called, th'vn worthy frustrated  
These would b'asham'd to seek, those to b'vnsought  
And stay'ng their turn were sure they should be sped.  
Then would our drooping Academies brought  
Again in heart, regain that reverend hand  
Oslost opinion, and no more be thought  
Th'unnecessary furnish of the land,  
Nor disincouraged with their small esteem,  
Confused, irresolute, and wavering stand.  
Caring not to become profound, but seem  
Contented with a superficial skill  
Which for a sleight reward enough they deem,  
When th'one succeeds as well as th' other will,  
Seeing shorter ways lead sooner to their end,  
And others longer travails thrive so ill.  
Then would they only labour to extend  
Their now unsearching spirits beyond these bounds  
Of others powers, wherein they must be penned  
As if there were besides no other grounds:  
And set their bold Plus ultra far without  
The pillars of those Axioms age propounds.  
Discou'ring daily more, and more about  
In that immense and boundless Ocean  
Of Nature's riches, never yet found out  
Nor foreclosed, with the wit of any man.  
So far beyond the ordinary course  
That other unindustrious ages ran,  
That these more curious times they might divorce  
From the opinion they are linked unto  
Of our disable and unactive force,  
To show true knowledge can both speak and do:  
Armed for the sharp, which in these days they find,  
With all provisions that belong thereto.  
That their experience may not come behind  
The times conceit, but leading in their place  
May make men see the weapons of the mind  
Are states best strengths, and kingdoms chiefest grace,  
And rooms of charge, charged full with worth & praise  
Makes majesty appear with her full face,  
Shining with all her beams, with all her rays  
Vnscanted of her parts, unshadowed  
In any darkened point: which still bewrays  
The wain of power, when power's unfurnished  
And hath not all those entire compliments  
Wherewith the state should for her state be sped.  
And though the fortune of some age consents  
Unto a thousand errors grossly wrought,  
Which flourished over with their fair events  
Have passed for current, and good courses thought;  
The least whereof in other times again  
Most dangerous inconveniences have brought,  
Whilst to the times, not to men's wits pertain  
The good successes of ill managed deeds,  
Though th'ignorant deceived with colours vain  
Miss of the causes whence this luck proceeds.  
Foreign defects giving home-faults the way,  
Make even that weakness sometimes well succeeds.  
I grant that some unlettered practic may  
(Leaving beyond the Alps faith and respect,  
To God and man) with impious cunning sway  
The courses fore-begun with like effect,  
And without stop maintain the turning on  
And have his errors deemed without defect:  
But when some powerful opposition  
Shall, with a sound encountering shock, disjoint  
The fore-contrived frame, and theroupon  
Th'experience of the present disappoint,  
And other stirring spirits, and other hearts  
Built-huge, for action, meeting in a point;  
Shall drive the world to summon all their arts  
And all too little for so real might,  
When no advantages of weaker parts  
Shall bear out shallow counsels from the light;  
And this sence-opening action (which doth hate  
Unmanly craft) shall look to have her right.  
Who then holds up the glory of the state  
(Which lettered arms, & armed letters won)  
Who shall be fittest to negotiate  
Contemned justinian, or else Littleton?  
When it shall not be held wisdom to be  
Privately made, and publicly undone:  
But sound deseignes that judgement shall decree  
Out of a true discern, of the clear ways  
That lie direct, with safe-going equity  
embroiling not their own & others days.  
Extending forth their providence beyond  
The circuit of their own particular;  
That even the ignorant may understand  
How that deceit is but a caviller,  
And true unto itself can never stand,  
But still must with her own conclusions war.  
Can truth and honesty, wherein consists  
The right repose on earth, the surest ground  
Of trust, come weaker armed into the lists,  
Then sraud or vice, that doth itself confound?  
Or shall presumption that doth what it lists,  
Not what it ought, carry her courses sound?  
Then what safe place out of confusion  
Hath plain proceeding honesty to dwell?  
What suit of grace, hath virtue to put on  
If vice shall wear as good, and do as well?  
If wrong, if craft, if indiscretion,  
Act as fair parts with ends as laudable?  
Which all this mighty volume of events  
The world, the universal map ofdeedes  
Strongly controls, and proves from all descents,  
That the directest courses best succeeds  
When craft, wrapped still in many comberments  
With all her cunning thrives not, though it speeds.  
For should not grave and learned experience  
That looks with th'eyes of all the world beside,  
And with all ages holds intelligence,  
Go safer than deceit without a guide?  
Which in the bypaths of her diffidence  
Crossing the ways of Right, still runs more wide:  
Who will not grant? and therefore this observe,  
No state stands sure but on the grounds of Right,  
Of virtue, knowledge, judgement to preserve,  
And all the powers of learning's requisite;  
Though other shifts a present turn may serve,  
Yet in the trial they will weigh too light.  
And do not thou contemn this swelling tide  
And stream of words that now doth rise so high  
Above the usual banks, and spreads so wide  
Over the borders of antiquity:  
Which I confess comes ever amplifide  
With th'abounding humours that do multiply:  
And is with that same hand of happiness  
Enlarged as vices are out of their bands;  
Yet so, as if let out but to redress  
And calm, and sway th'affections it commands:  
Which as it stirs, it doth again repress  
And brings in, th'outgone malice that with stands.  
power above powers, O heavenly Eloquence,  
That with the strong rain of commanding words,  
Dost manage, guide, and master th'eminence  
Of men's affections, more than all their swords:  
Shall we not offer to thy excellence  
The richest treasure that our wit affords?  
Thou that canst do much more with one poor pen  
Then all the powers of princes can effect:  
And draw, divert, dispose, and fashion men  
Better than force or rigour can direct:  
Should we this ornament of glory then  
As th'unmaterial fruits of shades, neglect?  
Or should we careless come behind the rest  
In power of words, that go before in worth,  
When as our accents equal to the best  
Is able greater wonders to bring forth:  
When all that ever hotter spirits expressed  
Comes bettered by the patience of the North?  
And who in time knows whither we may vent  
The treasure of our tongue, to what strange shores  
This gain of our best glory shall be sent,  
T'enrich unknowing Nations with our stores?  
What worlds in th'yet unformed Occident  
May come refined with th'accents that are ours?  
Or who can tell for what great work in hand  
The greatness of our style is now ordained?  
What powers it shall bring in, what spirits command,  
What thoughts let out, what humours keep restrained  
What mischief it may powerfully withstand,  
And what fair ends may thereby be attained:  
And as for Poesy (mother of this force)  
That breeds, brings forth, and nourishes this might,  
Teaching it in a lose, yet measured course,  
With comely motions how to go upright:  
And fostering it with bountiful discourse  
Adorns it thus in fashions of delight,  
What should I say? since it is well approved  
The speech of heaven, with whom they have commerce  
That only seem out of themselves removed,  
And do withmore then human skills converse:  
Those numbers where with heaven & earth are'moued,  
Show, weakness speaks in prose, but power in verse.  
Where in thou like wise seemest to allow  
That th'acts of worthy men should be preserved;  
As in the holiest tombs we can bestow  
Upon their glory that have well deserved,  
Wherein thou dost no other virtue show  
Then what most barbarous countries have observed:  
When all the happiest nations hitherto  
Did with no lesser glory speak then do.  
Now to what else thy malice shall object,  
For schools, and Arts, and their necessity:  
When from my Lord, whose judgement must direct  
And form, and fashion my ability  
I shall have got more strength: thou shalt expect  
Out of my better leisure, my reply.  
And if herein the curious sort shall deem  
My will was carried far beyond my force,  
And that it is a thing doth ill beseem  
The function of a Poem, to discourse:  
Thy learned judgement which I most esteem  
(Worthy Fulke Grevil) must defend this course.  
By whose mild grace, and gentle hand at first  
My Infant Muse was brought in open sight  
From out the darkness wherein it was nursed,  
And made to be partaker of the light;  
Which peradventure never else had durst  
T'appear in place, but had been smothered quite.  
And now herein encouraged by thy praise,  
Is made so bold and venturous to attempt  
Beyond example, and to try those ways,  
That malice from our forces thinks exempt:  
To see if we our wronged lines could raise  
Above the reach of lightness and contempt.   
FINIS.   

A LETTER FROM OCTAVIA TO MARCUS ANTONIUS.  
SAMVEL DANIEL.  
AT LONDON Printed by P. Short for Simon Waterson. 1599   

To the right Honourable and most virtuous Lady, the Lady Margaret Countess of Cumberland.  
Although the meaner fort (whose thoughts are placed  
As in another region, far below  
The Sphere of greatness) cannot rightly taste  
What touch it hath, nor right her passions know:  
Yet have there adventured to bestow  
Words upon grief, as my griefs comprehend,  
And made this great afflicted Lady show  
Out of my feelings, what she might have penned.  
And here the same, I bring forth, to attend  
Upon thy reverent name, to live with thee  
Most virtuous Lady, that vouch safest to lend  
Ear to my notes, and comfort unto me,  
That one day may thine own fair virtues spread  
Being secretary now, but to the dead.   

The Argument.  
Upon the second agreement (the first being broken through jealousy of a disproportion of eminency) between the Triumuiri Octavius Caesar, Marcus Antonius, and Lepidus: Octavia the sister of Octavius Caesar, was married to Antonius, as a link to combine that which never yet, the greatest strength of nature, or any power of nearest respect could long hold together, who made but the instrument of others ends, and delivered up as an Hostage to serve the opportunity of advantages, met not with that integrity she brought: but as highly preferred to affliction encountered with all the grievances that beat upon the misery of greatness, exposed tossed and betwixt the divers tending humours of unquiet parties. For Antony having yet upon him the letters of Egypt, laid on by the power of a most incomparable beauty, could admit no new laws into the state of his affection, or dispose of himself being not himself, but as having his heart turned Eastward whither the point of his desires were directed, touched with the strongest allurements that ambition, and a licentious sovereignty could draw a man unto: could not truly descend to the private love of a civil nurtured Matron, whose entertainment bounded with modesty and the nature of her education, knew not to clothe her affections in any other colours then the plain habit of truth: wherein she ever suited alher actions, and used all her best ornaments of honesty, to win the good liking of him that held her but as a Curtain drawn between him and Octavius to shadow his other purposes withal; which the sharp sight of an equally ie alous ambition could soon pierce into, and as easily look thorough and over blood and nature as he to abuse it: And therefore to prevent his aspiring, he arms his forces either to reduce Antonic to the rank of his estate, or else to disrank him out of state and al. When Octavia by the employment of Antony (as being not yet ready to put his fortune to her trial) throws herself, great with child, and as big with sorrow, into the travail of a most labour some reconciliation: taking her journey from the farthest part of Greece to find Octavius, with whom her care and tears were so good agents that they effected their commission beyond all expectation: and for that time quite disarmed their wrath, which yet long could not hold so. For Antonius falling into the relapse of his former disease, watching his opportunity got over again into Egypt, where he so forgot himself, that he quite put off his own nature, and wholly became a prey to his pleasures, as if he had wound himself out of the respect of Country, blood and alltance, which gave to Octavia the cause of much affliction, and to me the Argument of this letter.   

A Letter sent from Octavia to her husband Marcus Antonius into Egypt.  

1  
To thee (yet dear) though most disloyal Lord,  
Whom impious love keeps in a barbarous land,  
Thy wronged wife Octavia sendeth word  
Of th'unkind wounds received by thy hand,  
Grant Antony, o let thine eyes asford  
But to permit thy heart to understand  
The hurt thou dost, and do but read her tears  
That still is thine though thou wilt not be hers.   

2  
Although perhaps, these my complaints may come  
Wilt thou in th'arms of that incestuous Queen  
The stain of Egypt, and the shame of Rome  
Shalt dallying sit, and blush to have them seen:  
Whilst proud disdainful she, guessing from whom  
The message came, and what the cause hath been,  
Will scorning say, faith, this comes from your Deer,  
Now sir you must be shent for staying here.   

3  
From her indeed it comes, delicious dame,  
(Thou royal Concubine, and Queen of lust)  
Whose Arms yet pure, whose breasts are void of blame,  
And whose most lawful flame proves thine unjust:  
'tis she that sends the message of thy shame,  
And his untruth that hath betrayed her trust:  
Pardon, dear Lord, from her these sorrows are  
Whose bed brings neither infamy nor war.   

4  
And therefore hear her words, that too too much  
Hath heard the wrongs committed by thy shame;  
Although at first my trust in thee was such  
As it held out against the strongest fame;  
My heart would never let in once a touch  
Of least belief, till all confirmed the same:  
That I was almost last that would believe  
Because I knew me first that most must grieve.   

5  
How oft have poor abused I took part  
With falsehood only for to make thee true?  
How oft have I argued against my heart  
Not suffering it to know that which it knew?  
And for I would not have thee what thou art  
I made myself, unto myself untrue:  
So much my love laboured against thy Sin  
To shut out fear which yet kept fear within:   

6  
For I could never think th' aspiring mind  
Of worthy and victorious Antony,  
Can be by such a Siren so declind,  
As to be trained a prey to Luxury:  
I could not think my Lord would be f'vnkind  
As to despise his Children, Rome and me:  
But o how soon are they deceived that trust  
And more their shame, that willbe so unjust.   

7  
But now that certain fame hath open laid  
Thy new relapse, and strange revolt from me,  
Truth hath quite beaten all my hopes away  
And made the passage of my sorrows free:  
For now poor heart, there's nothing in the way  
Remains to stand betwixt despair and thee;  
All is thrown down, there comes no succours new  
It is most true, my Lord is most untrue.   

8  
And now I may with shame enough pull in  
The colours jaduanced in his grace  
For that subduing power, that him did win  
Hath lost me too, the honour of my face:  
Yet why should I bearing no part of sin  
Bear such a mighty part of his disgrace?  
Yes though it be not mine, it is of mine;  
And his renown being clipsed, mine cannot shine.   

9  
Which makes me as I do, hide from the eye  
Of the misjudging vulgar that will deem,  
That sure there was in me some reason why  
Which made thee thus, my bed to disesteem:  
So that alas poor undeserving I  
A cause of thy unclean deserts shall seem,  
Though Just takes never joy in what is due,  
But still leaves known delights to seek out new.   

10  
And yet my brother Caesar laboured  
To have me leave thy house, and live more free,  
But God forbidden, Octavia should be led  
To leave to live inthine, though left by thee  
The pledges here of thy forsaken bed,  
Are still the objects that remember me  
What Antony was once, although false now,  
And is my Lord, though he neglect his vow.   

11  
These walls that here do keep me out of sight  
Shall keep me all unspotted unto thee,  
And testify that I will do thee right,  
I'll never stain thy house, though thou shame me:  
The now sad Chamber of my once delight  
Shall be the temple of my piety  
Sacred unto the faith I reverence,  
Where I will pay my tears for thy offence.   

12  
Although my youth, thy absence, and this wrong  
Might draw my blood to forfeit unto shame,  
Nor need I frustrate my delights so long  
That have such means to carry so the same,  
Since that the face of greatness is so strong  
As it dissolves suspect, and bears out blame,  
Having all secret helps that long thereto  
That seldom wants there aught but will to do:   

13  
Which yet to do, ere lust this heart shall frame  
Earth swallow me alive, hell rap me hence:  
Shall I because despised contemn my shame,  
And ad disgrace to others impudence?  
What can my power but give more power to fame?  
Greatness must make it great incontinence;  
Chambers are false, the bed and all will tell,  
No door keeps in their shame that do not well.   

14  
Hath greatness aught peculiar else alone  
But to stand fair and bright above the base?  
What doth divide the cottage from the throne,  
If vice shall lay both level with disgrace?  
For if uncleanness make them but all one  
What privilege hath honour by his place?  
What though our sins go brave and better clad,  
They are as those in rags as base as bad.   

15  
I know not how, but wrongfully I know  
Hath undiscerning custom placed our kind  
Under desert, and set us far below  
The reputation to our sex assigned;  
Charging our wrong reputed weakness, how  
We are unconstant, fickle, false, unkind:  
And though our life with thousand proofs shows no  
Yet since strength says it, weakness must be so.   

16  
Unequal partage to b'allowed no share  
Of power to do of life's best benefit;  
But stand as if we interdicted were  
Of virtue, action, liberty and might:  
Must you have all, and not vouchsafe to spare  
Our weakness any interest of delight?  
Is there no portion left for us at all,  
But sufferance, sorrow, ignorance and thrall?   

17  
Thrice happy you in whom it is no fault,  
To know, to speak, to do, and to be wife:  
Whose words have credit, and whose deeds though naugh  
Must yet be made to seem far otherwise:  
You can be only heard whilst we are taught  
To hold our peace, and not to exercise  
The powers of our best parts, because your parts  
Have with our freedom robbed us of our hearts.   

18  
We in this prison of ourselves confined  
Mu here shut up with our own passions live  
Turned in upon us, and denied to find  
The vent of outward means that might relieve:  
That they alone must take up all our mind;  
And no room left us, but to think and grieve,  
Yet oft our narrowed thoughts look more direct  
Than your lose wisdoms borne with wild neglect.   

19  
For should we to (as God forbidden we should)  
Carry no better hand on our desires  
Then your strength doth; what interest could  
Our wronged patience pay you for your hires?  
What mixture of strange generations would  
Succeed the fortunes of uncertain Sires?  
What foul confusion in your blood and race  
To your immortal shame, and our disgrace?   

20  
What? are there bars for us, no bounds for you?  
Must levity stand sure, though firmness fall?  
And are you privileged to be untrue,  
And we no grant to be dispensed withal?  
Must we inviolable keep your due,  
Both to your love, and to your falsehood thrall?  
Whilst you have stretched your lust unto your will  
As if your strength were licensed to do ill.   

21  
O if you be more strong than be more just,  
Clear this suspicion, make not the world to doubt  
Whether in strong, or weak be better trust,  
Iffrailtie, or else valour be more stout:  
And if we have shut in our hearts from lust  
Let not your bad example let them out,  
Think that there is like feeling in our blood,  
If you will have us good, be you then good.   

22  
Is it that love doth take no true delight  
In what it hath, but still in what it would,  
Which draws you on to do us this unright,  
Whilst fear in us of losing what we hold  
Keeps us in still to you, that set us light,  
So that what you unties, doth us enfold?  
Then love 'tis thou that dost confound us so  
To make our truth the occasion of our wo.   

23  
Distressed woman kind that either must  
For loving lose your loves, or get neglect;  
Whilst wantoness are more cared for, than the just  
And falsehood cheerisht, faith without respect:  
Better she fares in whom is lesser trust,  
And more is loved that is in more suspect.  
Which (pardon me) shows no great strength of mind  
To be most theirs, that use you most unkind.   

24  
Yet well it fits for that sin ever must  
Be tortured with the rack of his own frame,  
For he that holds no faith shall find no trust,  
But sowing wrong is sure to reap the same:  
How can he look to have his measure just  
That fills deceit, and reckons not of shame,  
And being not pleased with what he hath in lot  
Shall ever pine for that which he hath not?   

25  
Yet if thou couldst not love, thou mightst have seemed,  
Though to have seemed had like wise been unjust:  
Yet so much are lean shows of us esteemed  
That oft they feed, though not suffice our trust:  
Because our nature grieveth to be deemed  
To be so wronged, although we be and must.  
And it's some ease yet to be kindly used  
In outward show, though secretly abused.   

26  
But woe to her, that both in show despised,  
And in effect disgraced, and left forlorn,  
For whom no comforts are to be devised,  
Nor no new hopes can evermore be borne:  
O Antony, could it not have sufficed  
That I was thine, but must be made her scorn  
That envies all our blood, and doth divide  
Thee from thyself, only to serve her pride?   

27  
What fault have I committed that should make  
So great dislike of me and of my love?  
Or doth thy fault but an occasion take  
For to dislike what most doth it reprove?  
Because the conscience gladly would mistake  
Her own misdeeds which she would feign remove,  
And they that are unwilling to amend  
Will take offence because they will offend.   

28  
Or having run beyond all pardon quite  
They fly and join with sin as wholly his,  
Making it now their side, their part, their right,  
And to turn back would show t'have done amiss:  
For now they think not to be opposite  
To what obraides their fault, were wickedness:  
So much doth folly thrust them into blame  
That even to leave of shame, they count it shame.   

29  
Which do not thou, dear Lord, for I do not  
Pursue thy fault, but sue for thy return  
Back to thyself; whom thou hast both forgot  
With me, poor me, that doth not spite but mourn:  
And if thou couldst as well amend thy blot  
As I forgive, these plaints had been forborn:  
And thou shouldst be the same unto my heart  
Which once thou were, not that which now thou art.   

30  
Though deep doth sit the hard recovering smart  
Of that last wound (which God grant be the last)  
And more doth touch that tender feeling part  
Of my sad soul, than all th'unkindness past:  
And Antony I appeal to thine own heart,  
(If th'heart' which once was thine thou yet still hast)  
To judge if ever woman that did live  
Had juster cause, then wretched I, to grieve.   

31  
For coming unto Athens as I did,  
Weary and weak with toil, and all distressed,  
After I had with sorrow compassed  
A hard consent, to grant me that request:  
And how my travail was considered  
And all my care, and cost, thyself knows best:  
That wouldst not move one foot from Just for me  
That had left all was dear to come to thee!   

32  
For first what great a do had I to win  
My ' offended brother Caesar's backward will?  
And prayed, and wept, and cried to stay the sin  
Of civil rancorrising twixt you still:  
For in what case shall wretched I be in,  
Set betwixt both to share with both your ill?  
My blood said I with either of you goes,  
Who ever win, I shall be sure to lose.   

33  
For what shame should such mighty persons get  
For two weak women's cause to disagree?  
Nay what shall I that shall be deemed to set  
Th'enkindled fire, seeming inflamed for me?  
O if I be the motive of this heat  
Let these unguilty hands the quenchers be,  
And let me trudge to mediate an accord  
The Agent twixt my brother and my Lord.   

34  
With prayers, vows and tears, with urging hard  
Iwrung from him a slender grant at last,  
And with the rich provisions I prepared  
For thy (intended Parthian war) made haste  
Weighing not how my poor weak body fared,  
But all the tedious difficulties passed:  
And came to Athens; whence I Niger sent  
To show thee of my coming and intent.   

35  
Where of when he had made relation:  
I was commanded to approach no near;  
Then sent I back to know what should be done  
With th'horse, and men, and money I had there:  
Where at perhaps when some remorse begun  
To touch thy soul, to think yet what we were,  
Th'enchantress strait steps twixt thy heart & thee  
And intercepts all thoughts that came of me.   

36  
She arms her tears, the engines of deceit  
And all her battery, to oppose my love:  
And bring thy coming grace to a retreat  
The power of all her subtlety to prove:  
Now pale and faint she languishes, and strait  
Seems in a sound, unable more to move:  
Whilst her instructed followers ply thine ears  
With forged passions, mixed with feigned tears.   

37  
Hard-hearted lord, say they, how canst thou see  
This mighty Queen a creature so divine,  
Lie thus distressed, and languishing for thee  
And only wretched but for being thine?  
Whilst base Octavia must entitled be  
Thy wife, and she esteemed thy concubine:  
Advance thy heart, raise it unto his right  
And let a sceptre base passions quit.   

38  
Thus they assail thy nature's weakest side  
And work upon th'advantage of thy mind,  
Knowing where judgement stood least fortified  
And how t'encounter folly in her kind:  
But yet the while O what dost thou abide,  
Who in thyself such wrestling thoughts dost find?  
In what confused case is thy soul in  
Racked betwixt pity, sorrow, shame and sin?   

39  
I cannot tell but sure I dare believe  
My travails needs must some compassion move:  
For no such lock to blood could nature give  
To shut out pity, though it shut out love:  
Conscience must leave a little way to grieve  
To let in horror coming to reprove,  
The guilt of thy offence that caused the same,  
For deepest wounds the hand, of our own shame.   

40  
Never have unjust pleasures been compleet  
In joys entire, but still fear kept the door  
And held back something from that full of sweet  
To intersowre unsure delights the more:  
For never did all circumstances meet  
With those desires which were conceived before  
Something must still be left to check our sin,  
And give a touch of what should not have been.   

41  
Wretched mankind, wherefore hath nature made  
The lawful, undelightfull, th'unjust shame?  
As if our pleasure only were forbade,  
But to give fire to lust, ’t’adad greater flame;  
Or else but as ordained more to lad  
Our heart with passions to confound the famme,  
Which though it be, yet add not worse to ill,  
Do, as the best men do, bound thine own will.   

42  
Redeem thyself, and now at length make peace  
With thy divided heart oppressed with toil:  
Break up this war, this breast dissension cease,  
Thy passions to thy passions reconcile;  
I do not only seek my good t'increase,  
But thine own ease, and liberty the while:  
Thee in the circuit of thyself confine,  
And be thine own, and then thou wilt be mine.   

43  
I know my pitied love, doth aggravate  
Envy and wrath for these wrongs offered:  
And that my sufferings add with my estate  
Coals in thy bosom, hatred on thy head:  
Yet is not that, my fault, but my hard fate,  
Who rather wish to have been unpitied  
Of all but thee, then that my love should be  
Hurtful to him that is so dear to me.   

44  
Cannot the busy world let me alone  
To bear alone the burden of my grief,  
But they must intermeddle with my moan  
And seek t'offend me with unsought reliese?  
Whilst my afflictions laboured to move none  
But only thee; must pity play the thief,  
To steal so many hearts to hurt my heart,  
And move apart against my dearest part?   

45  
Yet all this shall not prejudice my Lord  
If yet he will but make return at last,  
His sight shall raze out of the sad record  
Of my enrolled grief all that is past;  
And I will not so much as once afford  
Place for a thought to think I was disgraced:  
And pity shall bring back again with me  
Th'offended hearts that have forsaken thee.   

46  
And therefore come dear lord, lest longer stay  
Do arm against thee all the powers of spite,  
And thou be made at last the woeful pray  
Of full enkindled wrath, and ruined quite:  
But what presaging thought of blood doth stay  
My trembling hand, and doth my soul affright?  
What horror do I see, prepared t'attend  
Th'event of this? what end unless thou end?   

47  
With what strange forms and shadows ominous  
Did my last sleep, my grieved soul entertain?  
I dreamt, yet o, dreams are but frivolous,  
And yet i'll tell it, and God grant it vain.  
Me thought a mighty Hippopotamus 
A Sea Horse.   
From Nilus floating, thrusts into the main,  
Upon whose back a wanton Mermaid fate,  
As if she ruled his course and steered his fate.   

48  
With whom t'encounter, forth another makes,  
Alike in kind, of strength and power as good:  
At whose ingrappling Neptune's mantle takes  
A purple colour died with streams of blood,  
Whereat, this looker on, amazed forsakes  
Her Champion there, who yet the better stood;  
But seeing her gone strait after her he hies  
As if his heart and strength jaie in her eyes.   

49  
On follows wrath upon disgrace and fear,  
Where of th'event forsook me with the night,  
But my waked cares, gave me, these shadows were  
Drawn but from darkness to instruct the light,  
These secret figures, nature's message bear  
Of coming woes, were they deciphered right;  
But if as clouds of sleep thou shalt them take,  
Yet credit wrath and spite that are awake.   

50  
Prevent great spirit the tempests that begin,  
If lust and thy ambition have lest way.  
But to look out, and have not shut all in,  
To stop thy judgement from a true survey  
Of thy estate; and let thy heart within  
Consider in what danger thou dost lay  
Thy life and mine, to leave the good thou hast,  
To follow hopes with shadows overcast.   

51  
Come, come away from wrong, from craft, from toil,  
Possess thine own with right, with truth, with peace;  
Break from these snares, thy judgement unbeguile,  
Free thine own torment, and my grief release.  
But whither am I carried all this while  
Beyond my scope, and know not when to cease?  
Words still with my increasing sorrows grow;  
I know t'have said too much, but not enough.  
Wherefore no more but only I commend  
To thee the heart that's thine, and so I end.   
FINIS.   

THE TRAGEDY OF CLEOPATRA.  
Aetes' prima canat veneres, postrema tumultus.  
SAM. DANYELL:  
AT LONDON Printed by P. S. for Simon Waterson. 1599   

To the Right Honourable, the Lady Mary, Countess of PEMBROKE.  

Lo here the work the which she did impose,  
Who only doth predominate my Muse:  
The star of wonder, which my labours chose  
To guide their way in all the course I use.  
She, whose clear brightness doth alone infuse  
Strength to my thoughts, and makes me what I am;  
Called up my spirits from out their low repose,  
To sing of state, and tragic notes to frame.   

I, who (contented with an humble song,)  
Made music to myself that pleased me best,  
And only told of DELIA, and her wrong,  
And praised her eyes, and plained mine own unrest:  
(A text from whence my Muse had not digressed)  
Madam, had not thy well graced Anthony,  
(who all alone, having remained long,)  
Required his Cleopatra's company.   

Who if she here do so appear in act,  
That for his Queen and Love he scarce will know her,  
Finding how much she of herself hath lacked,  
And missed that glory wherein I should show her,  
In majesty debased, in courage lower;  
Yet lightning thou by thy sweet favouring eyes  
My dark defects, which from her spirit detract,  
He yet may guess it's she; which will suffice.   

And I hereafter in another kind,  
More fitting to the nature of my vain,  
May (peradventure) better please thy mind,  
And higher notes in sweeter music strain:  
Seeing that thou so graciously dost deign,  
To countenance my song and cherish me,  
I must so work posterity may find  
How much I did contend to honour thee.   

Now when so many pens (like Spears) are charged,  
To chase away this tyrant of the North:  
Gross Barbarism, whose power grown far enlarged,  
Was lately by thy valiant brother's worth  
First found, encountered, and provoked forth:  
Whose onset made the rest audacious,  
Whereby they like wise have so well discharged.  
Upon that hideous beast encroaching thus.   

And now must I with that poor strength I have,  
Resist so foul a foe in what I may:  
And arm against oblivion and the grave,  
That else in darkness carries all away,  
And makes of all our honours but a pray.  
So that if by my pen procure I shall  
But to defend me, and my name to save,  
Then though I die, I cannot yet die all;   

But still the better part of me will live,  
Decked and adorned with thy sacred name,  
Although thyself dost far more glory give  
Unto thyself, than I can by the same.  
Who dost with thine own hand a Bulwark frame  
Against these monsters, (enemies of honour)  
Which evermore shall so defend thy Fame,  
That Time nor they, shall never pray upon her.   

Those Hymns that thou dost consecrate to heaven,  
Which Israel's Singer to his God did frame:  
Unto thy voice eternity hath given,  
And makes thee decree to him from whence they came.  
In them must rest thy ever reverent name,  
So long as Zion's God remaineth-honoured;  
And till confusion hath all zeal be-reaven,  
And murdered Faith, and Temples ruined.   

By this (great Lady,) thou must then be known,  
When Wilton lies low levelled with the ground:  
And this is that which thou mayst call thine own,  
Which sacrilegious time can not confound;  
Hear thou surviv'st thyself, here thou art found  
Of late succeeding ages, fresh in fame:  
This monument cannot be overthrown,  
Where, in eternal Brass remains thy Name.   

O that the Ocean did not bound our style  
Within these strict and narrow limits so:  
But that the melody of our sweet He,  
Might now be heard to Tiber, Arne, and Po:  
That they might know how far Thames doth out-go  
The Music of declined Italy:  
And listening to our songs another while,  
Might learn of thee their notes to purify.   

O why may not some after-coming hand,  
Unlock these limits, open our confines:  
And break asunder this imprisoning band,  
T enlarge our spirits, and publish our deseignes;  
Planting our roses on the Apenines?  
And teach to Rhine, to Loire, and Rhodanus,  
Our accents, and the wonders of our Land,  
That they might all admire and honour us.   

Whereby great Sidney and our Spencer might,  
With those Po-singers being equalled,  
Enchant the world with such a sweet delight,  
That their eternal songs (for ever read,)  
May show what great Eliza's reign hath bred.  
What Music in the kingdom of her peace  
Hath now been made to her, and by her might,  
Whereby her glorious fame shall never cease.   

But if that fortune doth deny us this,  
Then Neptune, lock up with thy Ocean key  
This treasure to ourselves, and let them miss  
Of so sweet riches: as unworthy they  
To taste the great delights that we enjoy.  
And let our harmony so pleasing grown,  
Content ourselves, whose error ever is,  
Strange notes to like, and disesteem our own.   

But, whither do my vows transport me now,  
Without the compass of my course injoind?  
Alas, what honour can a voice so low  
As this of mine, expect hereby to find?  
But, (Madam,) this doth animate my mind,  
That favoured by the worthies of our Land,  
My lines are liked; the which may make me grow,  
In time to take a greater task in hand.    

THE ARGUMENT.  
AFter the death of Antonius, Cleopatra (living still in the Monument she had caused to be built,) could not by any means be drawn forth, although Octavius Caesar very earnestly laboured it: and sent Proculcius to use all diligence to bring her unto him: For that he thought it would be a great Ornament to his triumphs, to get her alive to Rome. But never would she put herself into the hands of Proculeius, although on a time he found the means, (by a window that was at the top of the Monument,) to come down unto her: where he persuaded her (all he might) to yield herself to Caesar's mercy. Which she, (to be rid of him,) cunningly seemed to grant unto. After that, Octavius in person went to visit her, to whom she excused her offence, laying all the fault upon the greatness, and fear she had of Antonius, and withal, seemed very tractable, and willing to be disposed of by him.  
Whereupon Octavius, (thinking himself sure) resolved presently to send her away to Rome. Whereof, Dolabella a favourite of Caesar's, (and one that was grown into some good liking of her,) having certified her, she makes her humble petition to Caesar, that he would suffer her to sacrifice to the ghost of Antonius: which being granted her, she was brought unto his Sepulchre, where after her rites performed, she returned to the Monument, and there dined with great magnificence. And in dinner time, came there one in the habit of a Countryman, with a Basket of Figs unto her who (unsuspected) was suffered to carry them in. And in that Basket (among the Figs) were conveyed the Aspics wherewith she did herself to death. Dinner being ended, she dispatched Letters to Caesar, containing great lamentations: with an earnest supplication, that she might be entombed with Antonius. Whereupon Caesar knowing what she intended, sent presently with all speed, Messengers to have prevented her death, which not withstanding, before they came was dispatched.  
Caesario her son, which she had by julius Caesar, (conveyed before unto India, out of the danger of the wars,) was about the same time of her death, murdered at Rhodes: trained thither by the falsehood of his Tutor, corrupted by Caesar. And so hereby, came the race of the Ptolemy's to be wholly extinct, and the flourishing rich kingdom of Egypt utterly overthrown and subdued.   

The Scene supposed Alexandria.  

THE ACTORS.  Cleopatra. 
Octavius Caesar.  Proculeius. 
Dolabella.  Titius, 
servant to Dolebella.  Arius, 
Philosopher.  Philostratus, 
Philosopher.  Seleucus, 
secretary to Cleopatra.  Rodon, 
Tutor to Caesario.  Nuntius. 


The Chorus, all Egyptians.      

THE TRAGEDY OF CLEOPATRA.  

ACTUS PRIMUS.  CLEOPATRA. 

YET do I live, and yet doth breath extend  
My life beyond my life, nor can my grave  
Shut up my griefs, to make my end my end?  
Will yet confusion have more than I have?  
Is th' honour, wonder, glory, pomp and all  
Of Cleopatra dead, and she not dead?  
Have I outlived myself, and seen the fall  
Of all upon me, and not ruined?  
Can yet these eyes endure the ghastly look  
Of desolations dark and ugly face,  
Want but on fortunes fairest side to look,  
Where nought was but applause, but smiles, and grace?  
Whiles on his shoulders all my rest relied  
On whom the burden of m'ambition lay,  
My Atlas, and supporter of my pride  
That did the world of all my glory sway,  
Who now thrown down, disgraced, confounded lies  
Crushed with the weight of shame and infamy,  
Following th' unlucky party of my eyes,  
The trains of lust and imbecility,  
Whereby my dissolution is become  
The grave of Egypt and the wrack of all;  
My unforeseeing weakness must intoome  
My Country's fame and glory with my fall.   

Now who would think that I were she who late  
With all the ornaments on earth enriched,  
Environed with delights, compassed with state,  
Glittering in pomp that hearts and eyes bewitched;  
Should chus distressed, cast down from of that height  
Levelled with low disgraced calamity,  
Under the weight of such affliction sigh,  
Reduced unto th'extremest misery?   

Am I the woman whose inventive pride,  
Adorned like Isis, scorned mortality?  
Is't I would have my frailty so belied  
That flattery could persuade I was notd?  
Well now I see they but delude that praise us,  
Greatness is mocked, prosperity betrays us.  
And we are but ourselves, although this cloud  
Of interposed smokes make us seem more:  
These spreading parts of pomp whereof weare proved,  
Are not our parts, but parts of others store:  
Witness these gallant fortune-following trains,  
These Summer Swallows of felicity  
Gone with the heat, of all see what remains,  
This monument, two maids, and wretched I.  
And I t'adorn their triumphs am reserved.  
A captive, kept to honour others spoils,  
Whom Caesar labours so to have preserved,  
And seeks to entertain my life with wiles.  
But Caesar, it is more than thou canst do,  
Promise, flatter, threaten extremity,  
Employ thy wits and all thy force thereto,  
I have both hands, and will, and I can die.  
Though thou of both my country and my crown,  
Of power, of means & all dost quite bereave me;  
Though thou hast wholly Egypt made thine own,  
Yet hast thou left me that which will deceive thee.  
That courage with my blood and birth innated,  
Admired of all the earth as thou art now,  
Can never be so abjectly abated  
To be thy Slave that ruled as good as thou.  
Think Caesar I that lived and reigned a Queen,  
Do scorn to buy my life at such a rate,  
That I should under neath myself be seen,  
Basely enduring to survive my state:  
That Rome should see my scepter-bearing hands  
Behind me bound, and glory in my tears,  
That I should pass whereas Octavia stands,  
To view my misery that purchased hers.  
No, I disdain that head which wore a crown  
Should stoop to take up that which others give;  
I must not be, unless I be mine own.  
'tis sweet to die when we are forced to live,  
Nor had I staid behind myself this space,  
Nor paid such interest for this borrowed breath,  
But that hereby I seek to purchase grace  
For my distressed seed after my death.  
It's that which doth my dearest blood control,  
That's it alas detains me from my tomb,  
While nature brings to contradict my soul  
The argument of mine unhappy womb.   

You luckless' issue of an woeful mother,  
The wretched pledges of a wanton bed,  
You Kings designed, must subjects live to other;  
Or else, I fear, scarce live, when I am dead.  
It is for you I temporize with Caesar,  
And stay this while to mediate your safety:  
For you I feign content and soothe his pleasure,  
Calamity herein hath made me crafty.  
But this is but to try what may be done,  
For come what will, this stands, I must die free,  
And die myself vncaptiued, and unwon.  
Blood, Children, Nature, all must pardon me.  
My soul yields honour up the victory,  
And I must be a Queen, forget a mother,  
Though mother would I be, were I not I;  
And Queen would not be now, could I be other.  
But what know I if th' heavens have decred,  
And that the sins of Egypt have deserved  
The Ptolemy's should fail and none succeed,  
And that my weakness was thereto reserved  
That I should bring confusion to my state,  
And fill the measure of iniquity,  
luxuriousness in me should raise the rate  
Of lose and ill-dispensed liberty.  
If it be so, then what need these delays?  
Since I was made the means of misery:  
Why should I strive but to make death my praise,  
That had my life but for my infamy?  
And let me write in letters of my blood  
A fit memorial for the times to come,  
To be example to such Princes good  
As please themselves and care not what become.   

And Antony, because the world takes note  
That my defects have only ruined thee:  
And my ambitious practices are thought  
The motive and the cause of all to be:  
Though God thou knowst, how just this stain is laid  
Upon my soul, whom ill success makes ill:  
Yet since condemned misfortune hath no aid  
Against proud luck that argues what it will,  
I have no means to undeceive their minds,  
But to bring in the witness of my blood,  
To testify the faith and love that binds  
My equal shame, to fall with whom I stood.  
Defects I grant I had, but this was worst,  
That being the first to fall I died not first.   

Though I perhaps could lighten mine own side  
With some excuse of my constrained case  
Drawn down with power: but that were to divide  
My shame: to stand alone in my disgrace.  
To clear me so, would show m'affections nought,  
And make th'excuse more heinous than the fault.  
Since if I should our errors disunite,  
I should confound afflictions only rest,  
That from stern death even steals a sad delight  
To die with friends or with the like distressed;  
And since we took of either such firm hold  
In th'overwhelming seas of fortune cast,  
What power should be of power to reunfold  
The arms of our affections locked so fast,  
For grappling in the ocean of our pride,  
We sunk each others greatness both together;  
And both made shipwreck of our fame beside,  
Both wrought a like destruction unto either:  
And therefore I am bound to sacrifice  
To death and thee, the life that doth reprove me:  
Our like distress I feel doth sympathize,  
And even affliction makes me truly love thee.  
Which Antony, I must confess my fault  
I never did sincerely until now:  
Now I protest I do, now am I taught  
In death to love, in life that knew not how.  
For whilst my glory in her greatness stood,  
And that I saw my state and knew my beauty;  
Saw how the world admired me, how they wooed,  
I then thought all men must love me of duty;  
And I love none: for my lascivious Court,  
Fertile in ever fresh and new-choise pleasure,  
Afforded me of so bountiful disport  
That I to stay on love had never leisure:  
My vagabond desires no limits found,  
For lust is endless, pleasure hath no bound.   

Thou coming from the strictness of thy City,  
And never this lose pomp of monarches learnest,  
Enured to wars, in women's wiles unwitty,  
Whilst others feigned, thou fellest to love in earnest;  
Not knowing how we like them best that hover,  
And make least reckoning of a doting lover.   

And yet thou cam'st but in my beauty's wain,  
When new appearing wrinkles of declining  
Wrought with the hand of years, seemed to detain  
My grace's light, as now but dimly shining  
Even in the confines of mine age, when I  
Failing of what I was, and was but thus;  
When such as we do deem in jealousy  
That men love for themselves and not for us,  
Then and but thus, thou didst love most sincerely  
O Antony, that best deservest it better,  
This Autumn of my beauty bought so dearly,  
For which in more than death, I stand thy debtor,  
Which I will pay thee with so true a mind,  
(Casting up all these deep accounts of mine)  
That both our souls, and all the world shall find  
All reckonings cleared, betwixt my love and thine.   

But to the end I may prevent proud Caesar,  
Who doth so eagerly my life importune,  
I must prevail me of this little leisure,  
Seeming to suit my mind unto my fortune;  
Thereby with more convenience to provide  
For what my death and honour best shall fit:  
An yielding base content must wary hide  
My last design till I accomplish it,  
That hereby yet the world shall see that I,  
Although unwise to live had wit to die.   Exit. CHORUS, 

Behold what furies still  
Torment their tortured breast,  
Who by their doing ill,  
Have wrought the world's unrest.  
Which when being most distressed,  
Yet more to vex their sprite,  
The hideous face of sin,  
(In forms they must detest)  
Stands ever in their sight.  
Their conscience still within  
Th'eternal alarm is  
That ever-barking dog that calls upon their miss.   

No means at all to hide  
Man from himself can find:  
No way to start aside  
Out from the hell of mind.  
But in himself confined,  
He still sees sin before:  
And winged-footed pain,  
That swiftly comes behind,  
The which is evermore,  
The sure and certain gain  
Impiety doth get,  
And wanton lose respect, that doth itself forget.   

And Cleopatra now,  
Well sees the dangerous way  
She took, and cared not how,  
Which led her to decay.  
And likewise makes us pay  
For her disordered lust,  
The interest of our blood:  
Or live a servile prey,  
Under a hand unjust,  
As others shall think good.  
This hath her riot won,  
And thus she hath her state, herself and us undunne.   

Now every mouth can tell,  
What close was muttered:  
How that she did not well,  
To take the course she did.  
For now is nothing hid,  
Of what fear did restrain.  
No secret closely done,  
But now is uttered.  
The text is made most plain  
That flattery glossed upon,  
The bed of sin revealed  
And all the luxury that shame would have concealed.   

The scene is broken down,  
And all uncovered lies,  
The purple actors known  
Scarce man, whom men despise.  
The complots of the wise,  
Prove imperfections smoke:  
And all what wonder gave  
To pleasure-gazing eyes,  
Lies scattered, dashed, all broke.  
Thus much beguiled have  
Poor unconsiderate wights,  
These momentary  pleasures, fugitive delights.    

ACTUS SECUNDUS:  CAESAR. PROCULEIUS. 

KIngdoms I see we win, we conquer Climates,  
Yet cannot vanquish hearts, nor force obedience,  
Affections kept in close-concealed limits,  
Stand far without the reach of sword or violence.  
Who forced do pay us duty, pay not love:  
Free is the heart, the temple of the mind,  
The Sanctuary sacred from above,  
Where nature keeps the keys that lose & bind.  
No mortal hand force open can that door,  
So close shut up, and locked to all mankind:  
I see men's bodies only ours, no more,  
The rest, another's right, that rules the mind.   

Behold, my forces vanquished have this Land,  
Subdued that strong Competitor of mine:  
All Egypt yields to my all-conquering hand,  
And all their treasure and themselves resign.  
Only this Queen, that hath lost all this all,  
To whom is nothing left except a mind:  
Cannot into a thought of yielding fall,  
To be disposed as chance hath her assigned.  
But Proculei, what hope doth she now give,  
Will she be brought to condescend to live?   Proc. 

My Lord, what time being sent from you to try  
To win her forth alive (if that I might)  
From out the Monument, where woefully  
She lives enclosed in most aficted plight:  
No way I found, no means how to surprise her,  
But through a grate at th'entry of the place  
Standing to treat, llaboured to advise her,  
To come to Caesar, and to sue for grace.  
She said, she craved not life, but leave to die,  
Yet for her children, prayed they might inherit,  
That Caesar would vouchsafe (in clemency)  
To pity them, though she deserved no merit.  
So leaving her for then; and since of late,  
With Gallus sent to try another time,  
The whilst he entertains her at the grate,  
I found the means up to the Tomb to climb.  
Where in descending in the closest wise,  
And silent manner as I could contrive:  
Her woman me descried, and out she cries,  
Poor Cleopatra, thou art ta'en alive.  
With that the Queen reached from her side her knife,  
And even in act to stab her martyred breast,  
I stepped with speed, and held, and saved her life,  
And forth her trembling hand the blade did wrest.  
Ah Cleopatra, why shouldst thou, (said I)  
Both injury thyself and Caesar so?  
Bar him the honour of his victory,  
Who ever deals most mildly with his foe?  
Live and rely on him, whose mercy will  
To thy submission always ready be.   

With that (as all amazed) she held her still,  
Twixt majesty confuzed and misery.  
Her proud grieved eyes, held sorrow and disdain,  
State and distress warring within her soul:  
Dying ambition dispossessed her reign,  
So base affliction seemed to control.  
Like as a burning Lamp, whose liquor spent  
With intermitted flames, when dead you deem it,  
Sends forth a dying flash, as discontent,  
That so the matter fails that should redeem it:  
So she (in spite) to see her low-brought state,  
(When all her hopes were now consumed to nought)  
Scorns yet to make an abject league with Fate,  
Or once descend into a servile thought.  
Th'imperious tongue unused to beseech,  
Authority confounds with prayers, so  
Words of command conjoined with humble speech,  
show'd she would live, yet scorned to pray her foe.   

Ah, what hath Caesar here to do, said she,  
In confines of the dead in darkness lying?  
Will he not grant our sepulchres be free,  
But violate the privilege of dying?  
What, must he stretch forth his ambitious hand  
Into the right of Death, and force us here?  
Hath misery no covert where to stand  
Free from the storm of pride, be't safe no where?  
Cannot my land, my gold, my crown suffice,  
And all what I held dear, to him made common,  
But that he must in this fortty tyrannize,  
Th'afflicted body of an woeful woman?  
Tell him, my frailty, and the Gods have given  
Sufficient glory, if he could content him:  
And let him now with his desires make even,  
And leave me to this horror, to lamenting.  
Now he hath taken all away from me,  
What must he take me from myself by force?  
Ah, let him yet (in mercy) leave me free  
The kingdom of this poor distressed corpse.  
No other crown I seek, no other good.  
Yet wish that Caesar would vouchsafe this grace,  
To favour the poor offspring of my blood.  
Confused issue, yet of Roman race.  
If blood and name be links of love in Princes,  
Not spurs of hate; my poor Caesario may  
Find favour notwithstanding mine offences,  
And Caesar's blood, may Caesar's raging stay.  
But if that with the torrent of my fall,  
All must be rapt with furious violence,  
And no respect, nor no regard at all,  
Can aught with nature or with blood dispense:  
Then be it so, if needs it must be so.  
There stays and shrinks in horror of her state:  
When I began to mitigate her woe,  
And thy great mercies unto her relate;  
Wishing her not despair, but rather come  
And sue for grace, and shake off all vain fears:  
No doubt she should obtain as gentle doom  
As she desired, both for, herself and hers.  
And so with much ado, (well pacified  
Seeming to be,) she show'd content to live,  
Saying she was resolved thy doom t'abide,  
And to accept what favour thou wouldst give,  
And here-with all, craved also, that she might  
Perform her last rites to her lost beloved.  
To sacrifice to him that wrought her plight:  
And that she might not be by force removed.  
I granting from thy part this her request,  
Left her for then, seeming in better rest.   Caes. 
But dost thou think she will remain so still?  Pro. 
I think and do assure myself she will.  Caes. 
Ah, private men sound not the hearts of princes,  
Whose actions oft bear contrary pretences.  Pro. 
Why, 'tis her safety for to yield to thee.  Caes. 
But 'tis more honour for her to die free.  Pro. 
She may thereby procure her children's good.  Caes. 
Princes respect their honour more than blood.  Pro. 
Can princes power dispense with nature than?  Caes. 
To be a prince, is more than be a man.  Pro. 
There's none but have in time persuaded been.  Caes. 
And so might she too, were she not a Queen.  Pro. 
divers respects will force her be reclaimed.  Caes. 

Princes (like Lions) never will be tarned.  
A private man may yield, and care not how,  
But greater hearts will break before they bow.  
And sure I thinke sh' will never condescend,  
To live to grace our spoils with her disgrace:  
But yet let still a wary watch attend,  
To guard her person, and to watch the place.  
And look that none with her come to confer:  
Shortly myself will go to visit her.   CHORUS. 

OPINION, how dost thou molest  
Th'affected mind of restless man?  
Who following thee never can,  
Nor ever shall attain to rest,  
For getting what thou sayst is best,  
Yet lo, that best he finds far wide  
Of what thou promisedst before:  
For in the same he looked for more,  
Which proves but small when once 'tis tried  
Than something else thou findst beside,  
To draw him still from thought to thought:  
When in the end all proves but nought.  
Farther from rest he finds him than,  
Then at the first when he began.   

O malcontent seducing guest,  
Contriver of our greatest woes:  
Which born of wind, & fed with shows,  
Dost nurse thyself in thine unrest.  
judging ungotten things the best,  
Or what thou in conceit rain'st.  
And all things in the world dost deem,  
Not as they are, but as they seem:  
Which shows, their state thou ill defin'st:  
And liv'st to come, in present pinest.  
For what thou hast, thou still dost lack:  
O minds tormentor, body's wrack,  
Vain promiser of that sweet rest,  
Which never any yet possessed.   

If we unto ambition tend,  
Then dost thou draw our weakness on,  
With vain imagination  
Of that which never hath an end.  
Or if that lust we apprehend,  
How doth that pleasant plague infest?  
O what strange forms of luxury,  
Thou strait dost cast t'entice us by?  
And tell'st us that is ever best,  
Which we have never yet possessed.  
And that more pleasure rests beside,  
In something that we have not tried.  
And when the same likewise is had,  
Then all is one, and all is bad.   

This Antony can say is true,  
As Cleopatra knows 'tis so,  
By th'experience of their woe.  
She can say, she never knew  
But that lust found pleasures new,  
And was never satisfied:  
He can say by proof of toil,  
Ambition is a Vulture vile,  
That feeds upon the heart of pride:  
And finds no rest when all is tried.  
For worlds cannot confine the one,  
Th'other, lists and bounds hath none.  
And both subvert the mind, the state,  
Procure destruction, envy, hate.   

And now when all this is proved vain,  
Yet Opinion leaves not here,  
But sticks to Cleopatra near,  
Persuading now, how she shall gain  
Honour by death, and fame attain.  
And what a shame it were to live,  
Her kingdom lost, her Lover dead:  
And so with this persuasion led,  
Despair doth such a courage give,  
That nought else can her mind relieve,  
Nor yet divert her from that thought:  
To this conclusion all is brought.  
This is that rest this vain world lends,  
To end in death that all things ends.    

ACTUS TERTIUS.  
PHILOSTRATUS. ARIUS. 

HOW deeply Arius am I bound to thee,  
That savedst from death this wretched life of mine:  
Obtaining Caesar's gentle grace for me,  
When I of all helps else despaired but thine?  
Although I see in such a woeful state,  
Life is not that which should be much desired:  
Sith all our glories come to end their date,  
Our Country's honour and our own expired.  
Now that the hand of wrath hath over-gone us,  
Living (as 'twere) in th'arms of our dead mother,  
With blood under our feet, ruin upon us,  
And in a Land most wretched of all other,  
When yet we reck on life our dearest good.  
And so we live, we care not how we live:  
So deep we feel impressed in our blood,  
That touch which Nature with our breath did give.  
And yet what blasts of words hath learning found,  
To blow against the fear of death and dying?  
What comforts unsicke eloquence can sound,  
And yet all fails us in the point of trying.  
For whilst we reason with the breath of safety,  
Without the compass of destruction living:  
What precepts show we then, what courage lofty  
In taxing others fears in counsel giving?  
When all this air of sweet-contrived words  
Proves but weak armour to defend the heart.  
For when this life, pale fear and terror boards,  
Where are our precepts then, where is our art?  
O who is he that from himself can turn,  
That bears about the body of a man?  
Who doth not toil and labour to adjourn  
The day of death, by any means he can?  
All this I speak to th' end myself t'excuse,  
For my base begging of a servile breath,  
Wherein I grant myself much to abuse,  
So shamefully to seek t'avoid my death.   Arius. 

Philostratus, that self same care to live,  
Possesseth all alike, and grieve not then  
Nature doth us no more than others give:  
Though we speak more than men, we are but men.  
And yet (in truth) these miseries to see,  
Wherein we stand in most extreme distress:  
Might to ourselves sufficient motives be  
To loathe this life, and weigh our death the less:  
For never any age hath better taught,  
What feeble footing pride and greatness hath.  
How ' improvident prosperity is caught,  
And clean confounded in the day of wrath. '  
See how dismayed Confusion keeps those streets,  
That nought but mirth and music late resounded,  
How nothing with our eye but horror meres,  
Our state, our wealth, our pride and all confounded.  
Yet what weak sight did not discern from far  
This black-arisingtempest, all confounding?  
Who did not see we should be what we are,  
When pride and riot grew to such abounding.  
When dissolute impiety possessed  
Th'unrespective minds of prince, and people:  
When infolent Security found rest  
In wanton thoughts, with lust & ease made feeble.  
Then when unwary peace with fatfed pleasure,  
New-fresh invented riots still detected,  
Purchased with all the Ptolemy's rich treasure,  
Our laws, our gods, our mysteries neglected.  
Who saw not how this confluence of vice,  
This inundation of disorders, must  
At length of force pay back the bloody price  
Of sad destruction, (a reward for lust.)  
O thou and I have heard, and read, and known  
Of like proud states, as woefully encumbered,  
And framed by them, examples for our own:  
Which now among examples must be numbered.  
For this decree a law from high is given,  
An ancient Cannon, of eternal date,  
In Consistory of the stars of heaven,  
Entered the book of unavoided Fate;  
That no state can in height of happiness,  
In th' exaltation of their glory stand:  
But thither once arrived, declining less,  
Ruin themselves, or fall by others hand.  
Thus doth the ever-changing course of things  
Run a perpetual circle, ever turning:  
And that same day that highest glory brings,  
Brings us unto the point of back-returning.  
For senseless sensuality, doth ever  
Accompany felicity and greatness.  
A fatal witch, whose charms do leave us never,  
Till we leave all in sorrow for our sweetness;  
When yet ourselves must be the cause we fall,  
Although the same befirst decreed on high:  
Our errors still must bear the blame of all,  
This must it be, earth ask notheaven why.   

Yet mighty men with wary jealous hand,  
Strive to cut off all obstacles of fear:  
All whatsoever seems but to withstand  
Their least conceit of quiet, held so dear;  
And so entrench themselves with blood, with crimes,  
With all injustice as their fears dispose:  
Yet for all this we see, how oftentimes  
The means they work to keep, are means to lose.  
And sure I cannot see, how this can stand  
With great Augustus' safety and his honour,  
To cut off all succession from our land,  
For her offence that pulled the wars upon her.   Phi. 
Why must her issue pay the price of that?  Ari. 
The price is life that they are rated at.  Phi. 
Casario to, issued of Caesar's blood?  Ari. 
Plurality of Caesar's are not good.  Phi. 
Alas what hurt procures his feeble arm?  Ari. 
Not for it doth, but that it may do harm.  Phi. 
Then when it offers hurt, repress the same.  Ari. 
'tis best to quench a spark before it flame.  Phi. 
'tis inhuman, an innocent to kill.  Ari. 
Such innocents, seldom remain so still.  
And sure his death may best procure our peace,  
Competitors the subject dearly buys:  
And so that our affliction may surcease,  
Let great men be the people's sacrifice.  
But see where Caesar comes himself, to try  
And work the mind of our distressed Queen,  
To apprehend some falsed hope: whereby  
She might be drawn to have her fortune seen.  
But yet I think, Rome will not see that face  
(That quelled her champions,) blush in base disgrace.   

SCENA SECUNDA.  CAESAR. CLEOPATRA, SELEUCUS, DOLABELLA. Caes. 

WHat Cleopatra, dost thou doubt so much  
Of Caesar's mercy, that thou hidest thy face?  
Or dost thou think, thy ' offences can be such,  
That they surmount the measure of our grace?   Cleo. 

O Caesar, not for that I fly thy sight  
My soul this sad retire of sorrow chose:  
But that my'oppressed thoughts abhorring light  
Like best in darkness, my disgrace t'enclose.  
And here to these close limits of despair,  
This solitary horror where I bide:  
Caesar, I thought no Roman should repair,  
More after him, who here oppressed died.  
Yet now, here at thy conquering feet I lie,  
Poor captive soul, that never thought to bow:  
Whose happy foot of rule and Majesty  
Stood late only same ground thou standest now.   Caes. 

Rise Queen, none but thyself cause of all.  
And yet, would all were but thine own alone:  
That others ruin had not with thy fall  
Brought Rome her sorrows, to my triumphs moon.  
For breaking off the league of love and blood,  
Thou makest my winning joy a gain unpleasing:  
Sith th'eye of grief must look into our good,  
Thorough the horror of our own blood shedding.  
And all, we must attribute unto thee.   Cleo. 

To me? Caesar, what should a woman do  
Oppressed with greatness? what was it for me  
To contradict my Lord, being bend thereto?  
I was by love, by fear, by weakness, made  
An instrument to such designs as these.  
For when the Lord of all the Orient bade,  
Who but obeyed? who was not glad to please?  
And how could I withdraw my succouring hand  
From him that had my heart, and what was mine?  
The interest of my faith in straightest band,  
My love to his most firmly did combine.   Caes. 

Love? alas no, it was th'innated hatred  
That thou and thine haste ever born our people:  
That made thee seek all means to have us scattered,  
To disunite our strength and make us feeble.  
And therefore did that breast nurse our dissension,  
With hope t'exalt thyself, t'augment thy state:  
To pray upon the wrack of our contention,  
And (with the rest our foes,) to joy thereat.   Cleo. 

O Caesar, see how easy 'tis t'accuse  
Whom Fortune hath made faulty by their fall,  
The wretched conquered may not refuse  
The titles of reproach he's charged withal.  
The conquering cause hath right, wherein thou art,  
The vanquished, still is iud'g the worse part.  
Which part is mine, because Ilost my part.  
No lesser than the portion of a Crown.  
Enough for me, alas what needed art  
To gain by others, but to keep mine own?  
But here let weaker powers note what it is,  
To neighbour great Competitors too near,  
If we take part, we oft do perish thus,  
If neutral bide, both parties we must fear.  
Alas, what shall the forced partakers do,  
When following none, yet must they perish to?  
But Caesar, sith thy right and cause is such,  
Be not a heavy weight upon calamity:  
Depress not the afflicted overmuch,  
The chiefest glory is the Victor's lenity.  
Th'inheritance of mercy from him take,  
Of whom thou hast thy fortune and thy name:  
Great Caesar me a Queen at first did make,  
And let not Caesar now confound the same,  
Read here these lines which still I keep with me,  
The witness of his love and favours ever:  
And God forbidden this should be said of thee,  
That Caesar wronged the favoured of Caesar.  
For look what I have been to Antony,  
Think thou the same I might have been to thee.  
And here I do present thee with the note  
Of all the treasure, all the jewels rare  
That Egypt hath in many ages got;  
And look what Cleopatra hath, is there.   Seleus. 

Nay there's not all set down within that roll,  
I know some things she hath reserved apart.   Cleo. 

What vile ungrateful wretch, darest thou control  
Thy Queen & sovereign, caitiff as thou art. (hands.   Caes. 
Hold, hold; a poor revenge can work so feeble  Cleo. 

Ah Caesar, what a great indignity  
Is this, that here my vassal subject stands  
T'accuse me to my Lord of treachery?  
If I reserved some certain women's toys,  
Alas it was not for myself (God knows,)  
Poor miserable soul, that little joys  
In trifling ornaments, in outward shows.  
But what I kept, I kept to make my way  
Unto thy Livia and Octavia's grace,  
That thereby in compassion moved, they  
Might mediate thy favour in my case.   Caes. 

Well Cleopatra, fear not, thou shalt find  
What favour thou desir'st, or canst expect:  
For Caesar never yet was found but kind  
To such as yield, and can themselves subject.  
And therefore give thou comfort to thy mind;  
Relieve thy soul thus over charged with care,  
How well I will entreat thee thou shalt find,  
So soon as some affairs dispatched are.  
Till when farewell. Cl. Thanks thrice-renowned Caesar,  
Poor Cleopatra rests thine own for ever.   Dol. 

No marvel Caesar though our greatest spirits,  
Have to the power of such a charming beauty  
Been brought to yield the honour of their merits?  
Forgetting all respect of other duty.  
Then whilst the glory of her youth remained  
The wondering object to each wanton eye:  
Before her full of sweet (with sorrow waned,)  
Came to the period of this misery.  
If still, even in the midst of death and horror  
Such beauty shines, thorough clouds of age & sorrow,  
If even those sweet decay seem to plead for her,  
Which from affliction moving graces borrow:  
If in calamity she could thus move,  
What could she do adorned with youth and love?  
What could she do then, when as spreading wide  
The pomp of beauty, in her glory dight?  
When armed with wonder, she could use beside,  
Th'engines of her love, Hope and Delight?  
Beauty daughter of marvel, o see how  
Thou canst disgracing sorrows sweetly grace.  
What power thou show'st in a distressed brow,  
That makest affliction fair, giv'st tears their grace.  
What can untressed locks, can torn rend hair,  
A weeping eye, a wailing face be fair?  
I see then, artless feature can content,  
And that true beauty needs no ornament.   Caes. 

What in a passion Dolabella? what take heed:  
Let others fresh examples be thy warning;  
What mischiefs these, so idle humours breed,  
Whilst error keeps us from a true discrening.  
In deed I saw she laboured to impart  
Her sweetest graces in her saddest cheer:  
Presuming on the face that know the are  
To move with what aspect so e'er it were.  
But all in vain, she takes her aim amiss,  
The ground and mark, her level much deceives;  
Time now hath altered all, for neither is  
She as she was, nor we as she conceives.  
And therefore now, 'ttwere best she left such badness,  
Folly in youth is sin, in age, 'tis madness.   

And for my part, I seek but t' entertain  
In her some feeding hope to draw her forth;  
The greatest Trophy that my travails gain,  
Is to bring home a prizal of such worth.  
And now, sith that she seems so well content  
To be disposed by us, without more stay  
She with her children shall to Rome be sent,  
Whilst I by Syria thither take my way   CHORUS, 

O Fearful frowning Nemesrs,  
Daughter of justice, most severe,  
That art the world's great arbitress,  
And Queen of causes reigning here.  
Whose swift-sure hand is ever near  
Eternal justice, righting wrong:  
Who never yet deserest long  
The prouds' decay, the weaks redress.  
But through thy power every where,  
Dost raze the great, and raise the less.  
The less made great dost ruin to,  
To show the earth what heaven can do.   

Thou from darke-closed eternity,  
From thy black cloudy hidden seat,  
The world's disorders dost descry:  
Which when they swell so proudly great,  
Reversing th' order nature set,  
Thou giv'st thy all consounding doom,  
Which none can know before it come.  
Th' inevitable destiny,  
Which neither wit nor strength can let,  
Fast chained unto necessity,  
In mortal things doth order so,  
Th' alternate course of weal or wo.   

O how the powers of heaven do play  
With travailed mortalitises:  
And doth their weakness still betray,  
In their best prosperity?  
When being lifted up so high,  
They look beyond themselves so far,  
That to themselves they take no care;  
Whilst swift confusion down doth lay,  
Their late proud mounting vanity:  
Bringing their glory to decay,  
And with the ruin of their fall,  
Extinguish people, state and all.   

But is it justice that all we  
The innocent poor multitude,  
For great men's faults should punished be,  
And to destruction thus pursued?  
O why should th' heavens us include,  
Within the compass of their fall,  
Who of themselves procured all?  
Or do the Gods (in close) decree,  
Occasion take how to extrude  
Man from the earth with cruelty?  
Ah no, the Gods are ever just,  
Our faults excuse their rigour must.   

This is the period Fate set down  
To Egypt's fat prosperity:  
Which now unto her greatest grown,  
Must perish thus, by course must die.  
And some must be the causers why  
This revolution must be wrought:  
As borne to bring their state to nought.  
To change the people and the crown,  
And purge the world's iniquity:  
Which vice so far bathe overgrown.  
As we, so they that treat us thus,  
Must one day perish like to us.     

ACTUS QVARTUS.  SELEUCUS. RODON. Sel. 

Never friend Rodon in a better hour,  
Can I have met thee them even now I do  
Having affliction in the greatest power  
Upon my soul, and none to tell it to.  
For 'tis some ease our sorrows to reveal,  
If they to whom we shall impart our woes  
Seem but to feel a part of what we feel:  
And meet us with a sigh but at a close.   Rod. 

And never (friend Seleucus) found'st thou one  
That better could bear such a part with thee:  
Who by his own, knows others cares to moan,  
And can, in like accord of grief, agree.  
And therefore tell th' oppression of thy heart,  
Tell to an ear prepared and tuned to care:  
And I will likewise unto thee impart  
As sad a tale as what thou shalt declare.  
So shall we both our mournful plaints combine,  
I'll wail thy state, and thou shalt pity mine.   Sel. 

Well then, thou knowst how I have liu'din grace  
With Cleopatra, and esteem'din Court  
As one of Counsel, and of chiefest place,  
And ever held my credit in that sort:  
Till now in this confusion of our state,  
When thinking to have used a mean to climb,  
And fled the wretched, flown unto the great,  
(Following the fortune of the present time,)  
Am come to be cast down and ruined clean;  
And in the course of mine own plot undone.  
For having all the secrets of the Queen  
Revealed to Caesar, to have favour won:  
My treachery is quited with disgrace,  
My falsehood loathed, and not without great reason  
Though good for him, yet Princes in this case  
Do hate the Traitor, though they love the treason  
For how could he imagine I would be  
Faithful to him, being false unto mine own?  
And false to such a bounteous Queen as she,  
That had me raised and made mine honour known  
He saw 'twas not for zeal to him I bore,  
But for base fear, or mine own state to settle.  
Weakness is false, and faith in Cowards rare,  
Fear finds out shifts, timidity is subtle,  
And therefore scorned of him, scorned of mine own,  
Hateful to all that look into my state:  
Despised Seleucus now is only grown  
The mark of infamy, that's pointed at.   Rod. 

'tis much thou fairest, and ôo too much to feel,  
And I do grieve and do lament thy fall:  
But yet all this which thou dost here reveal,  
Compared with mine, will make thine seem but small  
Although my fault be in the self-same kind,  
Yet in degree far greater, far more hateful;  
Mine sprung of mischief, thine from feeble mind,  
I stained with blood, thou only but ungrateful,  
For unto me did Cleopatra give  
The best and dearest treasure of her blood,  
Lovely Caesario, whom she would should live  
Free from the dangers wherein Egypt stood.  
And unto me with him this charge she gave,  
Here Rodon, take, convey from out this Coast,  
This precious Gem, the chiefest that I have,  
The jewel of my soul I value most.  
Guide him to INDIA, lead him far from hence,  
Safeguard him where secure he may remain,  
Till better fortune call him back from thence,  
And Egypt's peace be reconciled again.  
For this is he that may our hopes bring back;  
(The rising Sun of our declining state:)  
These be the hands that may restore our wrack,  
And raise the broken ruins made of late.  
He may give limits to the boundless pride  
Of fierce Octavius, and abate his might:  
Great Julius offspring, he may come to-guide  
The Empire of the world, as his by right.  
O how he seems the model of his Sire?  
O how I gaze my Caesar in his face?  
Such was his gate, so did his looks a spire;  
Such was his threatening brow, such was his grace.  
High shouldered, and his forehead even as high.  
And o, (if he had not been borne so late,)  
He might have ruled the world's great Monarchy,  
And now have been the Champion of our state.   

Then unto him, o my dear Son (she says,)  
Soon of my youth, fly hence, o fly, be gone,  
Reserve thyself, ordained for better days,  
For much thou hast to ground thy hopes upon.  
Leave me (thy woeful Mother) to endure  
The fury of this tempest here alone:  
Who cares not for herself, so thou be sure,  
Thou mayst revenge, when others can but moon:  
Rodon will see thee safe, Rodon will guide  
Thee and thy ways, thou shalt not need to fear.  
Rodon (my faithful servant) will provide  
What shall be best for thee, take thou no care.  
And o good Rodon, look well to his youth,  
The ways are long, and dangers every where.  
I urge it not that I do doubt thy truth,  
Mothers will cast the worst, and always fear.   

The absent danger greater still appears,  
Less fears he, who is near the thing he fears.  
And o, I know not what presaging thought  
My spirit suggests of luckless' bad event:  
But yet it may be 'tis but love doth dote,  
Or idle shadows with my fears present.  
But yet the memory of mine own fate  
Makes me fear his. And yet why should I fear  
His fortune may recover better state,  
And he may come in pomp to govern here.  
But yet I doubt the Genius of our race  
By some malignant spirit comes overthrown  
Our blood must be extinct, in my disgrace,  
Egypt must have no more Kings of their own.  
Then let him stay, and let us fall together,  
Sith it is fore-decreed that we must fall.  
Yet who knows what may come? let him go thither,  
What Merchant in one Vessel venter's all?  
Let us divide our stars. Go, go my son,  
Let not the fate of Egypt find thee here:  
Try if so be thy destiny can shun  
The common wrack of us, by being there.  
But who is he found ever yet defence  
Against the heavens, or hide him any where?  
Then what need I to send thee so far hence  
To seek thy death that maystas well die here?  
And here die with thy mother, die in rest,  
Not travailing to what will come to thee.  
Why should we leave our blood unto the East,  
When Egypt may a Tomb sufficient be?   

O my divided soul, what shall I do?  
Where on shall now my resolution rest?  
What were I best resolve to yield unto  
When both are bad, how shall I know the best?  
Stay; I may hap so work with Caesar now,  
That he may yield him to restore thy right.  
Go; Caesar never will consent that thou  
So near in blood, shalt be so great in might.  
Then take him Rodon, go my son farewell.  
But stay; there's something else that I would say:  
Yet nothing now, but o God speed thee well,  
Lest saying more, that more may make thee stay.  
Yet let me speak: It may be 'tis the last  
That ever I shall speak to thee my Son.  
Do Mothers use to part in such post-haste?  
What, must I end when I have scarce begun?  
Ah no (dear heart,) 'tis no such slender twine  
Wherewith the knot is tied twixt thee and me,  
That blood within thy veins came out of mine,  
Parting from thee, I part from part of me:  
And therefore I must speak. Yet what? O son.   

Here more she would, when more she could not say,  
Sorrow rebounding back whence it begun,  
Filled up the passage, and quite stopped the way:  
When sweet Caesario with a princely spirit,  
(Though comfortless himself) did comfort give,  
With mildest words, persuading her to bear it.  
And as for him, she should not need to grieve.  
And I (with protestations of my part,)  
Swore by that faith, (which sworn I did deceive)  
That I would use all care, all wit and art  
To see him safe; And so we took our leave.  
Scarce had we travailed to our journeys end,  
When Caesar having knowledge of our way,  
His Agents after us with speed doth send  
To labour me, Caesario to betray.  
Who with rewards and promises so large,  
Assailed me then, that I grew soon content;  
And back to Rhodes did reconvey my charge,  
Pretending that Octavius for him sent,  
To make him King of Egypt presently.   

And thither come, seeing himself betrayed,  
And in the hands of death through treachery,  
Wailing his state, thus to himself he said.   

Lo here brought back by subtle train to death  
Betrayed by Tutor's faith, or traitors rather:  
My fault my blood, and mine offence my birth,  
For being son of such a mighty Father.   

From India, (whither sent by mother's care,  
To be reserved from Egypt's common wrack,)  
To Rhodes, (so long the arms of tyrants are,)  
I am by Caesar's subtle reach brought back:  
Here to be made th' oblation for his fears,  
Who doubts the poor revenge these hands may do him:  
Respecting neither blood, nor youth, nor years,  
Or how small safety can my death be to him.   

And is this all the good of being borne great?  
Then wretched greatness, proud rich misery,  
Pompous distress, glittering calamity.  
Is it for this th' ambitious Fathers swear,  
To purchase blood & death for them and theirs?  
Is this the issue that their glories get,  
To leave a sure destruction to their heyroes?  
O how much better had it been for me,  
From low descent, derived of humble birth,  
T'have eat the sweet-sour bread of poverty,  
And drunk of Nilus streams in Nilus' earth:  
Under the covering of some quiet Cottage,  
Free from the wrath of heaven, secure in mind,  
Untouched when sad events of prince's dotage  
Confounds what ever mighty it doth find.  
And not t'have stood in their way, whose condition  
Is to have all made clear, and all thing plain  
Between them and the mark of their ambition,  
That nothing let, the full sight of their reign.  
Where nothing stands, that stands not in submission;  
Where greatness must all in itself contain.  
King's will be alone, Competitors must down,  
Near death he stands, that stands too near a Crown.   

Such is my case, for Caesar will have all.  
My blood must seal th' assurance of his state:  
Yet ah weak state that blood assure him shall,  
Whose wrongful shedding, Gods & men do hate.  
Injustice never escapes unpunished still,  
Though men revenge not, yet the heavens wil   

And thou Augustus that with bloody hand,  
Cuttest off succession from another's race,  
Mayst find the heavens thy vows so to withstand,  
That others may deprive thine in like case.  
When thou mayst see thy proud contentious bed  
Yielding thee none of thine that may inherit:  
Subvert thy blood, place others in their stead,  
To pay this thy injustice her due merit.   

If it be true (as who can that deny  
Which sacred Priests of Memphis do foresay)  
Some of the offspring yet of Antonis,  
Shall all the rule of this whole Empire sway;  
And then Augustus, what is it thou gainest  
By poor Antillus' blood, or this of mine?  
Nothing but this thy victory thou slainest,  
And pullest the wrath of heaven on thee and thine.  
In vain doth man contend against the star's,  
For that he seeks to make, his wisdom mars.  
Yet in the meantime we whom Fates reserve,  
The bloody sacrifices of ambition,  
We feel the smart what ever they deserve,  
And woindure the present times condition.  
The justice of the heavens revenging thus,  
Doth only satisfy itself, not us.  
Yet 'tis a pleasing comfort that doth ease  
Affliction in so great extremity,  
To think their like destruction shall appease  
Our ghosts, who did procure our misery.  
But dead we are, uncertain what shall be,  
And living, we are sure to feel the wrong:  
Our certain ruin we ourselves do see.  
They joy the while, and we know not how long.  
But yet Caesario, thou must die content,  
For men will moon, and God revenge th'innocent.  
Thus he complain'd, & thus thou hearest my shame.   Sel. 
But how hath Caesar now rewarded thee?  Rod. 

As he hath thee. And I expect the same  
As fell to Theodor to fall to me:  
For he (one of my coat) having betrayed  
The young Antillus, son of Anthony,  
And at his death from off his neck conveyed  
A jewel: which being asked, he did deny:  
Caesar occasion took to hang him strait.  
Such instruments with Princes live not long.  
Although they need such actors of deceit,  
Yet still our sight seems to upbraid their wrong;  
And therefore we must needs this danger run,  
And in the net of our own guile be caught:  
We must not live to brag what we have done,  
For what is done, must not appear their fault.  
But here comes Cleopatra, woeful Queen,  
And our shame will not that we should be seen.   Exeunt. Cleopatra. 

WHat hath my face yet power to win a Lover?  
Can this torn remnant serve to grace me so,  
That it can Caesar's secret plots discover  
What he intends with me and mine to do?  
Why then poor Beauty thou hast done thy last,  
And best good service thou couldst do unto me.  
For now the time of death revealed thou hast,  
Which in my life didst serve but to undo me.   

Hear Dolabella far forsooth in love,  
Writes, how that Caesar means forthwith, to send  
Both me and mine, th'air of Rome to prove:  
There his Triumphant Chariot to attend.  
I thank the man, both for his love and letter;  
The one comes fit to warn me thus before,  
But for th'other, I must die his debtor,  
For Cleopatra now can love no more.   

But having leave, I must go take my leave  
And last farewell of my dead Anthony:  
Whose dearly honoured tomb must here receive  
This sacrifice, the last before I die.   

O sacred ever-memorable stone,  
That hast without my tears, within my flame,  
Receive th'oblation of the woefull'st moan  
That ever yet from sad affliction came,  
And you dear relics of my Lord and Love,  
(The sweetest parcels of the faithfullest liver,)  
O let no impious hand dare to remove  
You out from hence, but rest you here for ever.  
Let Egypt now give peace unto you dead,  
That living gave you trouble and turmoil:  
Sleep quiet in this everlasting bed,  
In foreign land preferred before your soil.  
And o, if that the spirits of men remain  
After their bodies, and do never die,  
Then hear thy ghost thy captive spouse complain  
And be attentive to her misery.  
But if that labour some mortality  
Found this sweet error, only to confine  
The curious search of idle vanity,  
That would the depth of darkness undermine:  
Or rather to give rest unto the thought  
Of wretched man, with th'after-coming joy  
Of those conceived fields whereon we dote,  
To pacify the present world's annoy.  
If it be so, why speak I then to th'air?  
But 'tis not so, my Anthony doth hear:  
His everliving ghost attends my prayer,  
And I do know his hovering spirit is near.  
And I will speak, and pray, and mourn to thee,  
O pure immortal love that deign'st to hear:  
I feel thou answerest my credulity  
With touch of comfort, finding none elsewhere.  
Thou knowst these hands cotombed thee here of late,  
Free and vnsorced, which now must servile be,  
Reserved for bands to grace proud Caesar's state,  
Who seeks in me to triumph over thee.  
O if in life we could not severed be,  
Shall death divide our bodies now asunder?  
Must thine in Egypt, mine in Italy,  
Be kept the Monuments of Fortune's wonder?  
If any powers be there where as thou art,  
(Sith our own Country Gods betray our case,)  
O work they may their gracious help impart,  
To save thy woeful wife from such disgrace.  
Do not permit she should in triumph show  
The blush of her reproach, joined with thy shame:  
But (rather) let that hateful Tyrant know,  
That thou and I had power t'avoid the same.  
But what do I spend breath and idle wind,  
In vain invoking a conceived aid?  
Why do I not myself occasion find  
To break the bounds where in my'selfe am stayed?  
Words are for them that can complain and live,  
Whose melting hearts composed of base frame,  
Can to their sorrows, time and leisure give,  
But Cleopatra may not do the same.  
No Anthony, thy love requireth more:  
A lingering death, with thee deserves no merit,  
I must myself force open wide a door  
To let out life, and so unhouse my spirit,  
These hands must break the prison of my soul  
To come to thee, thereto enjoy like state,  
As doth the long-pent solitaric Fowl,  
That hath escaped her cage, and found her mate.  
This Sacrifice to sacrifice my life,  
Is that true incense that doth best beseem:  
These rites may serve a life-desiring wife,  
Who doing them, t'have done enough doth deem.  
My heart blood should the purple flowers have been,  
Which here upon thy Tomb to thee are offered,  
No smoke but dying breath should here been seen,  
And this it had been to, had I been fufired.  
But what have I save these bare hands to do it?  
And these weak fingers are not iron-poynted:  
They cannot pierce the flesh being put unto it,  
And I of all means else am disappointed.  
But yet I must away and means seek, how  
To come unto thee, what so ere I do.  
O Death art thou so hard to come by now,  
That we must pray, entreat, and seek thee too?  
But I will find thee where so ere thou lie,  
For who can stay a mind resolved to die?   

And now I go to works th'effect indeed,  
He never send more words or sighs to thee:  
He bring my soul myself, and that with speed,  
Myself will bring my soul to Antbonie.  
Come go my Maids, my fortunes sole attenders,  
That minister to misery and sorrow:  
Your Mistress you unto your freedom renders.  
And will discharge your charge yet ere to morrow.   

And now by this, I think the man I sent,  
Is near returned that brings me my dispatch.  
God grant his cunning sort to good event,  
And that his skill may well beguile my watch:  
So shall I shun disgrace, leave to be sorry,  
Fly to my love, scape my foe, free my soul;  
So shall I act the last of life with glory,  
Die like a Queen, and rest without control.   Exit. CHORUS. 

Mysterious Egypt, wonder breeder,  
strict religions strange observer,  
State-orderer zeal, the best rule-keeper,  
Fostering still in temperate fervour:  
O how cam'st thou to lose so wholly  
All religion, law and order?  
And thus become the most unholy  
of all Lands, that Nilus' border?  
How could confused Disorder enter  
Where stern Law suit so sewerely?  
How durst weak lust and riot venture  
th'eye of justice looking nearly?  
Can not those means that made thee great  
Be still the means to keep thy state?   

Ah no, the course of things requireth  
change and alteration ever.  
That same continuance man desireth,  
th'unconstant world yieldeth never.  
We in our counsels must be blinded,  
And not see what doth import us:  
And oftentimes the thing least minded  
is the thing that most must hurt us.  
Yet they that have the stern in guiding,  
'tis their fault that should prevent it.  
For oft they seeing their Country sliding,  
take their ease, as though contented.  
We imitate the greater powers,  
The Prince's manners fashion ours.   

Th'example of their light regarding,  
Vulgar looseness much incences:  
Vice uncontrolled, grows wide enlarging,  
Kings small faults, be great offences.  
And this hath set the window open.  
unto licence, lust and riot:  
This way confusion first found broken,  
whereby entered our disquiet.  
Those laws that old Sesostris founded,  
and the Ptolemy's observed,  
Hereby first came to be confounded,  
which our state so long preserved.  
The wanton luxury of Court,  
Did form the people of like sort.   

For all (respecting private pleasure,)  
universally consenting  
To abuse their time, their treasure,  
in their own delights contenting:  
And future dangers nought respecting,  
whereby, (o how easy matter  
Made this so general neglecting,  
confused weakness to discatter?)  
Caesar found th'effect true tried,  
in his easy entrance making:  
Who at the sight of arms, descried  
all our people, all forsaking.  
For riot (worse than war,) so sore  
Had wasted all our strength before.   

And thus is Egypt servile rendered  
to the insolent destroyer:  
And all their sumptuous treasure tendered,  
All her wealth that did betray her.  
Which poison (O if heaven be right full,)  
may so far infect their senses,  
That Egypt's pleasures so delightful,  
may breed them the like offences.  
And Romans learn our way of weakness,  
be instructed in our vices:  
That our spoils may spoil your greatness,  
overcome with our devices.  
Fill full your hands, and carry home  
Enough from us to ruin Rome.    

ACTUS QVINTUS.  
DOLABELLA. TITIUS. Dol. 

Come tell me Titius every circumstance  
How Cleopatra did receive my news:  
Tell every look, each gesture, countenance,  
That she did in my Letters reading, use.   Tit. 

I shall my Lord, so far as I could note,  
Or my conceit observe in any wise.  
It was the time when as she having got  
Leave to her Dearest dead to sacrifice;  
And now was issuing out the Monument  
With Odours, Incense, Garlands in her hand,  
When I approached (as one from Caesar sent,)  
And did her close thy message t'understand.  
She turns her back, and with her, takes me in,  
Reads in thy lines thy strange unlooke for tale:  
And reads, and smiles, and stays, and doth begin  
Again to read, than blushed, and then was pale.  
And having ended with a sigh, resoldes  
Thy Letter up: and with a fixed eye,  
(Which steadfast her imagination holds)  
She mused a while, standing confusedly:  
At length. Ah friend, (saith she), tell thy good Lord,  
How dear I hold his pitying of my case:  
That out of his sweet nature can afford  
A miserable woman so much grace.  
Tell him how much my heavy soul doth grieve  
Merciless Caesar should so deal with me:  
Pray him that he would all the counsel give,  
That might divert him from such orueltie.  
As for my love, say Antony hath all,  
Say that my heart is gone into the grave  
With him, in whom it rests and ever shall:  
I have it not myself, nor cannot have.  
Yet tell him, he shall more command of me  
Then any, whosoever hiving can.  
He that so friendly shows himself to be  
A right kind Roman, and a Gentleman.  
Although his Nation (fatal unto me,)  
Have had mine age a spoil, my youth a pray,  
Yet his affection must accepted be,  
That favours one distressed in such decay.  
Ah, he was worthy then to have been loved,  
Of Cleopatra whiles her glory lasted;  
Before she had declining fortune proved,  
Or seen her honour wracked, her flower blasted.  
Now there is nothing left her but disgrace,  
Nothing but her affliction that can move:  
Tell Dolabella, one that's in her case,  
(Poor soul) needs rather pity now than love.  
But shortly shall thy Lord hear more of me.  
And ending so her speech, no longer staid,  
But hasted to the tomb of Antony.  
And this was all she did, and all she said.   Dol. 

Ah sweet distressed Lady. What hard heart  
Can choose but pity thee, and love thee too?  
Thy worthiness, the state wherein thou art  
Requireth both, and both I vow to do.  
Although ambition lets not Caesar see  
The wrong he doth thy majesty and sweetness,  
Which makes him now exact so much of thee,  
To add unto his pride, to grace his greatness,  
He knows thou canst no hurt procure us now,  
Sith all thy strength is seized into our hands:  
Nor fears he that, but rather labours how  
He might show Rome so great a Queen in bands:  
That our great Ladies (envying thee so much  
That stained them all, and held them in such wonder,)  
Mightioy to see thee, and thy fortune such,  
Thereby exrolling him that brought thee under.  
But I will seek to stay it what I may;  
I am but one, yet one that Caesar loves,  
And o if now I could do more than pray,  
Then shouldst thou know how far affection moves.  
But what my power and prayer may prevail,  
I'll join them both, to hinder thy disgrace:  
And even this present day I will not fail  
To do my best with Caesar in this case.   Tit. 

And sir, even now herself hath letters sent,  
I met her messenger as I came hither,  
With a dispatch as he to Caesar went,  
But know not what imports her sending thither.  
Yet this he told, how Cleopatra late  
Was come from sacrifice. How richly clad  
Was served to dinner in most sumptuous state,  
With all the bravest ornaments she had.  
How having dined, she writes, and sends away  
Him strait to Caesar, and commanded than  
All should departed the Tomb, and none to stay  
But her two maids, & one poor Countryman:   Dol. 

Why then I know, she sends t'have audience now,  
And means t' experience what her state can do:  
To see if Majesty will make him bow  
To what affliction could not move him to.  
And o, if now she could but bring a view  
Of that fresh beauty she in youth possessed,  
(The argument where with she overthrew  
The wit of Julius Caesar, and the rest,)  
Then happily Augustus might relent,  
Whilst powerful Love, (far stronger than ambition)  
Might work in him, a mind to be content  
To grant her ask, in the best condition.  
But being as she is, yet doth she merit  
To be respected, for what she hath been:  
The wonder of her kind, of rarest spirit,  
A glorious lady, and a mighty Queen.  
And now, but by a little weakness falling  
To do that which perhaps sh'was forced to do:  
Alas, an error past, is past recalling,  
Take away weakness, and take women too.  
But now I go to be thy advocate,  
Sweet Cleopatra, now I'll use mine art.  
Thy presence will me greatly animate,  
Thy face will teach my tongue, thy love my heart.    

SCENA SECUNDA.  Nuntius. 

AM I ordained the careful Messenger,  
And sad news-bringer of the strangest death,  
Which self hand did upon itself infer,  
To free a captive soul from servile breath?  
Must I the lamentable wonder show,  
Which all the world must grieve and marvel at  
The rarest form of death in earth below,  
That ever pity, glory, wonder got.   Chor. 

What news bring'st thou, can Egypt yet yield (more  
Of sorrow than it hath? what can it add  
To the already overflowing store  
Of sad affliction, matter yet more sad?  
Have we not seen the worst of our calamity?  
Is there behind yet something of distress  
Unseen, unknown? Tell if that greater misery  
There be, that we wail not that which is less.  
Tell us what so it be, and tell at first,  
For sorrow ever longs to hear her worst.   Nun. 

Well then, the strangest thing relate I will,  
That ever eye of mortal man hath seen.  
I (as you know) even from my youth, have still  
Attended on the person of the Queen:  
And ever in all fortunes good or ill,  
With her as one of chiefest trust have been.  
And now in these so great extremities,  
That ever could to majesty befall,  
I did my best in what I could devise,  
And left her not, till now she left us all.   Chor. 
What is she gone. Hath Caesar forced her so?  Nun. 
Yea, she is gone, and hath deceived him to.  Chor. 
What, fled to INDIA, to go find her son?  Nun. 
No, not to INDIA, but to find her son.  Chor. 
why then there's hope she may her state recover.  Nun. 
Her state? nay rather honour, and her Lover.  Chor. 
Her Lover? him she cannot have again.  Nun. 
Well, him she hath, with him she doth remain.  Cho. 
Why then she's dead. be't so? why speakest not thou?  Nun. 

You guess aright, and I will tell you how.  
When she perceived all hope was clean bearest her,  
That Caesar meant to send her strait away,  
And saw no means of reconcilement left her,  
Work what she could, she could not work to stay:  
She calls me to her, and she thus began.  
O thou, whose trust hath ever been the same  
And one in all my fortunes, faithful man,  
Alone content t'attend disgrace and shame.  
Thou, whom the fearful ruin of my fall,  
Never deterred to leave calamity:  
As did those others smooth state-pleasers all,  
Who followed but my fortune, and not me.  
'tis thou must do a service for thy Queen,  
Wherein thy faith and skill must do their best:  
Thy honest care and duty shall be seen  
Performing this, more than in all the rest.  
For all what thou hast done, may die with thee,  
Although 'tis pity that such faith should die.  
But this shall evermore remembered be,  
A rare example to posterity.  
And look how long as Cleopatra shall  
In after ages live in memory,  
So long shall thy clear fame endure withal,  
And therefore thou must not my suit deny;  
Nor contradict my will. For what I will  
I am resolved: and this 'tis thou must do me:  
Go find me out with all thy art and skill  
Two Aspics, and convey them close unto me.  
I have a work to do with them in hand,  
Inquire not what, for thou shalt soon see what,  
If the heavens do not my designs withstand,  
But do thy charge, and let me shift with that.   

Being thus conjured by her t'whom I'had vowed  
My true perpetual service, forth I went,  
Devising how my close attempt to shroud,  
So that there might no art my art prevent.  
And so disguised in habit as you see,  
Having found out the thing for which I went,  
I soon returned again, and brought with me  
The Aspics, in a basket closely penned.  
Which I had filled with figs, and leaves upon.  
And coming to the guard that kept the door,  
What hast thou there? said they, and look thereon.  
Seeing the figs, they deemed of nothing more,  
But said, they were the fairest they had seen.  
Taste some, said I, for they are good and pleasant.  
No, no, said they, go bear them to thy Queen,  
Thinking me some poor many brought a present.  
Well, in I went, where brighter than the Sun,  
Glittering in all her pompous rich array,  
Great Cleopatra sat, as if sh'had won  
Caesar, and all the world beside this day:  
Even as she was when on thy crystal streams,  
O Cydnos she did show what earth could show.  
When Asia all amazed in wonder, deems  
Venus from heaven was come on earth below.  
Even as she went at first to meet her Love,  
So goes she now at last again to find him.  
But that first, did her greatness only prove,  
This last her love, that could not live behind him.  
Yet as she fate, the doubt of my good speed,  
Detracts much from the sweetness of her look:  
Cheer-marrer Care, did then such passions breed,  
That made her eye bewray the care she took.  
But she no sooner sees me in the place,  
But strait her sorow-clowded brow she clears,  
Lightning a smile from out a stormy face,  
Which all her tempest-beaten senses cheers.   

Look how a strayed perplexed travailer,  
When chased by thieves, & even at point of taking,  
Descrying suddenly some town not far,  
Or some unlookt-for aid to himward making;  
Cheers up his tired spirits, thrusts forth his strength  
To meet that good, that comes in so good hour:  
Such was her joy, perceiving now at length,  
Her honour was t'escape so proud a power,  
Forth from her seat she hastes to meet the present,  
And as one overjoyed, she caught it strait.  
And with a smiling cheer in action pleasant,  
Looking among the figs, finds the deceit.  
And seeing there the ugly venomous beast,  
Nothing dismayed, she stays and views it well.  
At length th' extremest of her passion ceased,  
When she began with words her joy to tell.   

O rarest beast (saith she) that Africa breeds,  
How dearly welcome art thou unto me?  
The fairest creature that fair Nilus feeds  
Me thinks I see, in now beholding thee.  
What though the ever-erring world doth deem  
That angered Nature framed thee but in spite?  
Little they know what they so light esteem,  
That never learned the wonder of thy might.  
Better than Death, Death's office thou dischargest,  
That with one gentle touch can free our breath:  
And in a pleasing sleep our soul enlargest,  
Making ourselves not privy to our death.  
If Nature erred, o then how happy error,  
Thinking to make thee worst, she made thee best:  
Sith thou best freest us from our lives worst terror,  
In sweetly bringing souls to quiet rest.  
When that inexorable Monster Death  
That follows Fortune, flies the poor distressed,  
Tortures our bodies ere he takes our breath,  
And loads with pains th' already weak oppressed.  
How oft have I begged, prayed, entreated him  
To take my life, and yet could never get him?  
And when he comes, he comes so ugly grim,  
That who is he (if he could choose) would let him?  
Therefore come thou, of wonders wonder chief,  
That open canst with such an easy key  
The door of life, come gentle cunning thief,  
That from ourselves so stealest ourselves away.  
Well did our Priests discern something divine  
Shadowed in thee, and therefore first they did  
Offerings and worships due to thee assign,  
In whom they found such mysteries were hid.  
Comparing thy swift motion to the Sun,  
That movest without the instruments that move:  
And never waxing old, but always one,  
Dost sure thy strange divinity approve.  
And therefore to, the rather unto thee  
In zeal I make the offering of my blood,  
Calamity confirming now in me  
A sure belief that piety makes good.  
Which happy men neglect, or hold ambiguous.  
And only the afflicted are religious.   

And here I sacrifice these arms to Death,  
That Lust late dedicated to Delights:  
Offering up for my last, this last of breath,  
The complement of my loves dearest rites.  
With that she bears her arm, and offer makes  
To touch her death, yet at the touch withdraws,  
And seeming more to speak, occasion takes,  
Willing to die, and willing to to pause.   

Look how a mother at her sons departing  
For some far voyage bend to get him fame,  
Doth entertain him with anidle parling  
And still doth speak, and still speaks but the same;  
Now bids farewell, and now recalls him back,  
Tells what was told, and bids again farewell,  
And yet again recalls; for still doth lack  
Something that love would feign and cannot tell.  
Pleased he should go, yet cannot let him go.  
So she, although she knew there was no way  
But this, yet this she could not handle so  
But she must show that life desired delay.  
Feign would she entertain the time as now,  
And now would feign that Death would seize upon her,  
Whilst I might see presented in her brow,  
The doubtful combattryed twixt Life and honour.  
Life bringing Legions of fresh hopes with her,  
Armed with the proof of time, which yields we say  
Comfort and help, to such as do refer  
All unto him, and can admit delay.  
But Honour scorning Life, lo forth leads he  
Bright immortality in shining armour:  
Thorough the rays of whose clear glory, she  
Might see Life's baseness, how much it might harm her.  
Besides she saw whole armies of Reproaches,  
And base Disgraces, Furies fearful sad,  
Marching with Life, and Shame that still encroaches  
Upon her face, in bloody colours clad.  
Which representments seeing, worse than death  
She deemed to yield to Life, and therefore chose  
To render all to Honour, heart and breath;  
And that with speed, lest that her in ward foes  
False flesh and blood, joining with life and hope,  
Should mutiny against her resolution.  
And to the end she would not give them scope,  
She presently proceeds to th' execution.  
And sharply blaming of her rebel powers,  
False flesh (saith she,) & what dost thou conspire  
With Caesar to, as thou wert none of ours,  
To work my shame, and hinder my desire?  
Wilt thou retain in closure of thy veins,  
That enemy Base life, to let my good?  
No, know there is a greater power constrains  
Then can be counterchecked with fearful blood.  
For to the mind that's great, nothing seems great:  
And seeing death to be the last of woes,  
And life lasting disgrace, which I shall get,  
What do I lose, that have but life to lose?   

This having said, strengthened in her own heart,  
And union of herself, senses in one  
Charging together, she performs that part  
That hath so great a part of glory won.  
And so receives the deadly poisoning touch;  
That touch that tried the gold of her love, pure,  
And hath confirmed her honour to be such,  
As must a wonder to all worlds endure.  
Now not an yielding shrink or touch offeare,  
Consented to bewray least sense of pain:  
But still in one same sweet unaltred cheer,  
Her honour did her dying thoughts retain.   

Well, now this work is done (saith she,) here ends  
This act of life, that part the Fates assigned:  
What glory or disgrace here this world lends,  
Both have I had, and both I leave behind.  
And now o Earth, the Theatre where I  
Have acted this, witness I die unforst.  
Wirnes my soul parts free to Anthony,  
And now proud Tyrant Caesar do thy worst.   

This said, she stays, and makes a sudden pause,  
As 'ttwere to feel wheher the poison wrought:  
Or rather else the working might be cause  
That made her stay, and entertained her thought.  
For in that instant I might well perceive  
The drowsy humour in her falling brow:  
And how each power, each part oppressed did leave  
Their former office, and did senseless grow.  
Look how a new plucked branch against the Sun,  
Declines his fading leaves in feeble sort;  
So her disjoined jointures as undone,  
Let fall her weak dissolved limbs support.  
Yet lo that face the wonder of her life,  
Retains in death, a grace that graceth death,  
Colour so lively, cheer so lovely rife,  
That none would think such beauty could want breath.  
And in that cheer th'impression of a smile  
Did seem to show she scorned Death and Caesar,  
As glorying that she could them both beguile,  
And telling death how much her death did please her.  
Wonder it was to see how soon she went,  
She went with such a will, and did so haste it,  
That sure I think she did her pain prevent,  
Foregoing pain, or staying not to taste it.  
And senseless, in her sinking down she wries  
The Diadem which on her head she wore,  
Which Charmion (poor weak feeble maid) espies,  
And hastes to right it as it was before.  
For Eras now was dead, and Charmion too  
Even at the point, for both would imitate  
Their Mistress glory, striving like to do.  
But Charmion would in this exceed her mate,  
For she would have this honour to be last,  
That should adorn that head that must be seen  
To wear a Crown in death, that life held fast,  
That all the world might know she died a Queen,  
And as she stood setting it fitly on,  
Lo in rush Caesar's Messengers in haste,  
Thinking to have prevented what was done,  
But yet they came too late, for all was passed.  
For there they found stretched on a bed of gold,  
Dead Cleopatra, and that proudly dead,  
In all the rich attire procure she could,  
And dying Charmion trimming of her head,  
And Eras at her feet, dead in like case.  
Charmion, is this well done? said one of them.  
Yea, well said she, and her that from the race  
Of so great Kings descends, doth best become.  
And with that word, yields to her faithful breath,  
To pass th'assurance of her love with death.   Chor. 
But how knew Caesar of her close intent?  Nun. 

By Letters which before to him she sent.  
For when she had procured this means to die,  
She writeth, and earnestly entreats, she might  
Be buried in one Tomb with Antony.  
Where by then Caesar guessed all went not right.  
And forthwith sends, yet ere the message came  
She was dispatched, he crossed in his intent,  
Her providence had ordered so the same  
That she was sure none should her plot prevent   CHORUS. 

THen thus we have bepeld  
Th'accomplishment of woes,  
The full of ruin and  
The worst of worst of ills:  
And seen all hope expelled,  
That ever sweet repose  
Shall repossess the Land  
That Desolation fills,  
And where Ambition spills  
With uncontrolled hand,  
All th'issue of all those  
That so long rule have held:  
To make us no more us,  
But clean confound us thus.   

And canst o Nilus thou,  
Father of floods endure,  
That yellow Tiber should  
With sandy streams rule thee?  
Wilt thou be pleased to bow  
To him those feet so pure,  
Whose unknown head we hold  
A power divine to be?  
Thou that didst ever see  
Thy free banks uncontrolled,  
Live under thine own care:  
Ah wilt thou bear it now?  
And now wilt yield thy streams  
A pray to other Reams?   

Draw back thy waters flow  
To thy concealed head:  
Rocks strangle up thy waves.  
Stop Cataracts thy fall.  
And turn thy courses so,  
That sandy Deserts dead,  
(The world of dust that craves  
To swallow thee up all,)  
May drink so much as shall  
Revive from vasty graves  
Aliving green which spread  
Far flourishing, may grow  
On that wide face of Death,  
Where nothing now draws breath.   

Fatten some people there,  
Even as thou us hast done,  
With plenty's wanton store,  
And feeble luxury:  
And them as us prepare  
Fit for the day of moan  
Respected not before.  
Leave levelled Egypt dry,  
A barren pray to lie,  
Wasted for evermore.  
Of plenty's yielding none  
To recompense the care  
Of Victor's greedy lust,  
And bring forth nought but dust.   

And so O leave to be,  
Sith thou art what thou art:  
Let not our race possess  
Th'inheritance of shame,  
The fee of sin, that we  
Have left them for their part:  
The yoke of whose distress  
Must still upbraidour blame,  
Telling from whom it came.  
Our weight of want oneness  
Lies heavy on their heart,  
Who never-more shall see  
The glory of that worth  
They left, who brought us forth.   

O thou allseeing light,  
High Precedent of heaven,  
You magistrates the stars  
Of that eternal Court  
Of Providence and Right,  
Are these the bounds y'have given  
Th'vntran spassable bars,  
That limit pride so short,  
Is greatness of this sort,  
That greatness greatness mars,  
And wracks itself, self driven  
On Rocks of her own might?  
Doth Order order so  
Disorders over-thro?   
FINIS.     

THE COMPLAINT OF ROSAMOND.  

OUT from the horror of Infernal deeps,  
My poor afflicted ghost comes here to plain it,  
Attended with my shame that never sleeps,  
The spot wherewith my kind and youth did stain it.  
My body found a grave where to contain it.  
A sheet could hide my face, but not my sin,  
For Fame finds never tomb t'enclose it in.   

And which is worse, my soul is now denied,  
Her transport to the sweet Elysian rest,  
The joyful bliss for ghosts repurified,  
The ever-springing Gardens of the blessed:  
Charon denies me waftage with the rest.  
And says, my soul can never pass the River,  
Till lovers sighs on earth shall it deliver,   

So shall I never pass, for how should I  
Procure this sacrifice amongst the living?  
Time hath long since worn out the memory  
Both of my life, and lives unjust depriving,  
Sorrow for me is dead for aye reviving.  
ROSAMOND hath little left her but her name,  
And that disgraced, for time hath wronged the same.   

No muse suggests the pity of my case,  
Each pen doth overpass my just complaint,  
Whilst others are preferred, though far more base;  
Shore's wife is graced, and passes for a Saint;  
Her Legend justifies her foul attaint.  
Her wel-told tale did such compassion find,  
That she is passed, and I am left behind.   

Which seen with grief, my miserable ghost,  
(Whilom invested in so fair a vail,  
Which whilst it lived, was honoured of the most,  
And being dead gives matter to bewail.)  
Comes to solicit thee, (since others fail,)  
To take this task, and in thy woeful song  
To form my case, and register my wrong.   

Although I know thy just lamenting Muse,  
Toiled in th' affliction of thine own distress,  
In others cares hath little time to use,  
And therefore mayst esteem of mine the less:  
Yet as thy hopes attend happy redress,  
Thy joys depending on a woman's grace,  
So move thy mind a woeful woman's case.   

DELIA may hap to deign to read our story,  
And offer up her sigh among the rest,  
Whose merit would suffice for both our glory,  
Whereby thou mightst be graced and I be blest;  
That indulgence would profit me the best.  
Such power she hath by whom thy youth is led,  
To joy the living, and to bless the dead.   

So I (through beauty) made the woefull'st wight,  
By beauty might have comfort after death:  
That dying fairest, by the fairest might  
Find life above on earth, and rest beneath.  
She that can bless us with one happy breath,  
Give comfort to thy Muse to do her best,  
That thereby thou maistioy, and I might rest.   

Thus said: forthwith moved with a tender care,  
And pity, (which myself could never find,)  
What she desired, my Muse deigned to declare,  
And therefore, willed her boldly tell her mind.  
And I (more willing,) took this charge assigned,  
Because her griefs were worthy to be known,  
And telling hers, might hap forget mine own:   

Then writ (quoth she) the ruin of my youth,  
Report the downfall of my slippery state,  
Of all my life reveal the simple truth,  
To teach to others what I learned too late.  
Exemplify my frailty, tell how Fate  
Keeps in eternal dark our fortunes hidden,  
And ere they come, to know them 'tis forbidden.   

For whilst the sunshine of my fortune lasted,  
Iioyed the happiest warmth, the sweetest heat  
That ever yet imperious beauty tasted,  
I had what glory ever flesh could get:  
But this fair morning had a shameful set.  
Disgrace darkt honour, sin did cloud my brow,  
As note the sequel, and I'll tell thee how.   

The blood I stained, was good and of the best,  
My birth had honour, and my beauty fame:  
Nature and Fortune joined to make me blest,  
Had I had grace t'have known to use the same.  
My education show'd from whence I came,  
And all concurd to make me happy first,  
That so great hap might make me more accursed.   

Happy lived I whilst parents eye did guide  
The indiscretion of my feeble ways,  
And Country home kept me from being eide,  
Where best unknown I spent my sweetestdaics:  
Till that my friends mine honour sought to raise  
To higher place, which greater credit yields,  
Deeming such beauty was unfit for fields.   

From Country then to Court I was preferred,  
From calm to storms, from shore into the deeps:  
There where I perished, where my youth first erred,  
There where I lost the flower which honour keeps;  
There where the worse thrives, the better weeps;  
Ah me (poor wench,) on this unhappy shelf,  
I grounded me and ●●st away myself.   

For thither comed, when years had armed my youth,  
With rarest proof of beauty ever seen:  
When my reviving eye had 〈◊〉 the truth,  
That it had power to make the winter green,  
And flower affections whereas none had been;  
Soon could I teach my brow to tyrannize,  
And make the world do homage to mine eyes.   

For age I saw, (though years with cold conceit,  
Congealed their thoughts against a warm desire,)  
Yet sigh their want, and look at such a bait.  
I saw how youth was wax before the fire.  
I saw by stealth, I framed my look a lyre.  
Yet well perceived, how Fortune made me then  
The envy of my sex, and wonder unto men.   

Look how a Comet at the first appearing,  
Draws all men's eyes with wonder to behold it;  
Or as the saddest tale at sudden hearing,  
Makes silent listening unto him that told it,  
So did my speech when Rubies did unfold it.  
So did the blazing of my blush appear,  
T'amaze the world, that holds such sights so dear.   

Ah beauty Siren, fair enchanting good,  
Sweet silent rhetoric of perswading'eys:  
Dumb eloquence, whose power doth move the blood,  
More than the words, or wisdom of the wife;  
Still harmony, whose diapason lies  
Within a brow, the key which passions move,  
To ravish sense, and play a world in love.   

What might I then not do whose power was such?  
What cannot women do that know their power?  
What women knows it not (I fear too much)  
How bliss or bale lies in their laugh or lower?  
Whilst they enjoy their happy blooming flower,  
Whilst nature decks them in their best attires  
Of youth and beauty which the world admires.   

Such one was I, my beauty was mine own,  
No borrowed blush which bank-rot beauties seek:  
That newfound shame, a sin to us unknown,  
Th' adulterate beauty of a falsed cheek:  
wild stain to honour, and to women eke,  
Seeing that time our fading must detect,  
Thus with defect to cover our defect.   

Impiety of times, chastity's abator,  
Falsehood, wherein thyself thy self deniest:  
Treason to counterfeit the seal of nature,  
The stamp of heaven, impressed by the highest.  
Disgrace unto the world, to whom thou liest.  
Idol unto thyself, shame to the wise,  
And all that honour thee idolatrise.   

Far was that fin from us whose age was pure,  
When simple beauty was accounted best,  
The time when women had no other lure  
But modesty, pure cheeks, a virtuous breast.  
This was the pomp where with my youth was blest.  
These were the weapons which mine honour won  
In all the conflicts which my eyes begun.   

Which were not small, I wrought on no mean object,  
A Crown was at my feet, Sceptres obeyed me,  
Whom Fortune made my King, Love made my subject,  
Who did command the Land, most humbly prayed me,  
HENRY the second, that so highly weighed me,  
Found well (by proof) the privilege of beauty,  
That it had power to countermand all duty.   

For after all his victories in FRANCE,  
And all the triumphs of his honour won:  
Unmatched by sword, was vanquished by a glance,  
And hotter wars within his breast begun.  
Wars, whom whole Legions of desires drew on:  
Against all which, my chastity contends  
With force of honour, which my shame defends.   

No armour might be found that could defend,  
Transpearcing rays of Crystal pointed eyes:  
No stratagem, no reason could amend,  
No not this age; (yet old men should be wise.)  
But shows deceive, outward appearance lies.  
Let none for seeming so, think faints of others,  
For all are men, and all have sucked their mothers.   

Who would have thought a Monarch would have ever  
Obeyed his handmaid of so mean estate;  
Vultur ambition feeding on his liver,  
Age having worn his pleasures out of date,  
But hap comes never, or it comes too late,  
For such a dainty which his youth found nor,  
Unto his feeble age did chance allot.   

Ah Fortune, never absolutely good,  
For that some cross still counter-checks our luck;  
As here behold th' incompatible blood,  
Of age and youth was that whereon we stuck:  
Whose loathing, we from nature's breasts do suck,  
As opposite to what our blood requires.  
For equal age, doth equal like desires.   

But mighty men, in highest honour sitting,  
Nought but applause and pleasure can behold:  
Soothed in their liking, careless what is fitting,  
May not be suffered once to think the ' are old:  
Not trusting what they see, but what is told.  
Miserable fortune to forget so far  
The state of flesh, and what our frailties are.   

Yet must I needs excuse so great defect  
For drinking of the Lethe of mine eyes,  
he's forced forget himself, and all respect  
Of majesty, whereon his state relies:  
And now of loves, and pleasures must devise.  
For thus reviv'd again, he serves and su'th,  
And seeks all means to undermine my youth.   

Which never by assault he could recover.  
So well encamped in strength of chaste desires:  
My cleane-armed thoughts repelled an unchaste lover.  
The Crown that could command what it requires,  
I lesser prized than chastity's attires.  
Th'unstained vail, which innocents adorns,  
Th'ungathered Rose, defended with the thorns.   

And safe mine honour stood, till that in truth,  
One of my sex, of place, and nature bad,  
Was set in ambush to entrap my youth.  
One in the habit of like frailty clad.  
One who the liu'ry of like weakness had.  
A seeming Matron, yet a sinful monster,  
As by her words the chaster sort may construe.   

She set upon me with the smoothest speech  
That court and age could cunningly devise:  
Th'one authentic made her fit to reach,  
The other learned her how to subtelise.  
Both were enough to cirumvent the wise.  
A document that well might teach the sage,  
That there's no trust in youth, nor hope in age.   

Daughter (said she,) behold thy happy chance,  
That hast the lot cast down into thy lap,  
Whereby thou mayst thy honour great advance,  
Whilst thou (unhappy) wilt not see thy hap:  
Such fond respect thy youth doth so enwrap.  
T'oppose thyself against thine own good fortune,  
That points thee out, & seems thee to importune.   

Dost thou not see, how that thy King (thy jove,)  
Lightens forth glory on thy dark estate:  
And showers down gold & treasure from above,  
Whilst thou dost shut thy lap against thy fate?  
Fie fondling fie, thou wilt repent too late  
The error of thy youth; that canst not see  
What is the fortune that doth follow thee.   

Thou must not think thy flower can always flourish,  
And that thy beauty will be still admired:  
But that those rays which all these flames do nourish,  
canceled with Time, will have their date expired,  
And men will scorn what now is so desired.  
Our frailties doom is written in the flowers,  
Which flourish now, and fade ere many hours.   

Read in my face the ruins of my youth,  
The wrack of years upon my aged brow,  
I have been fair, (I must confess the truth,)  
And stood upon as nice respects as thou;  
I lost my time, and I repent it now.  
But were I to begin my youth again,  
I would redeem the time I spent in vain:   

But thou hast years, and privilege to use them,  
Thy privilege doth bear Beauties great seal,  
Besides, the law of nature doth excuse them,  
To whom thy youth may have a just appeal.  
Esteem not Fame more than thou dost thy weal.  
Fame, (whereof the world seems to make such choice,)  
Is but an Echo, and an idle voice.   

Then why should this respect of honour bound us,  
In th' imaginary lifts of reputation?  
Titles which cold severity hath found us,  
Breath of the vulgar, foe to recreation:  
Melancholies opinion, Customs relation;  
Pleasures plague, beauty's scourge, hell to the fair,  
To leave the sweet, for Castles in the air.   

Pleasure is felt, opinion but conceived,  
Honour, a thing without us, not our own:  
Whereof we see how many are bereaved,  
Which should have reaped the glory they had sown!  
And many have it, yet unworthy, known.  
So breathes his blast this many-headed beast,  
Whereof the wisest have esteemed least.   

The subtle Citty-women, better learned,  
Esteem them chaste enough that best seem so:  
Who though they sport, it shall not be discerned,  
Their face bewrays not what their bodies do;  
'tis wary walking that doth safeliest go.  
With show of virtue, as the cunning knows,  
Babes are beguiled with sweets, & men with shows.   

Then use thy talent, youth shall be thy warrant,  
And let not honour from thy sports detract:  
Thou must not fond think thyself transparent,  
That those who see thy face can judge thy fact,  
Let her have shame that cannot closely act.  
And seem the chaste, which is the chiefest art,  
For what we seem each see, none knows our heart.   

The mighty, who can with such sins dispense,  
In steed of shame do honours great bestow:  
A worthy author doth redeem th' offence,  
And makes the scarlet sin as white as snow.  
The majesty that doth descend so low,  
Is not defiled, but pure remains therein,  
And being sacred, sanctifies the sin.   

What, dost thou stand on this, that he is old?  
Thy beauty hath the more to work upon.  
Thy pleasure's want shall be supplied with gold,  
Cold age dotes most when heat of youth is gone:  
Enticing words prevail with such a one.  
Alluring shows most deep impression strikes,  
For age is prone to credit what it likes.   

Hear interrupt she leaves me in a doubt,  
When lo began the combat in my blood,  
Seeing my youth environed round about,  
The ground uncertain where my reasons stood;  
Small my defence to make my party good,  
Against such powers which were so surely laid,  
To overthrow a poor unskilful Maid.   

Treason was in my bones, myself conspiring,  
To sell myself to lust, my soul to sin:  
Pure blushing shame was even in retiring,  
Leaving the sacred hold it gloried in.  
Honour lay prostrate for my flesh to win,  
When cleaner thoughts my weakness 'gan vpbray  
Against myself, and shame did force me say;   

Ah ROSAMOND, what doth thy flesh prepare?  
Destruction to thy days, death to thy fame;  
Wilt thou betray that honour held with care,  
T'entomb with black reproach a spotted name?  
Leaving thy blush the colours of thy shame?  
Opening thy feet to sin, thy soul to lust,  
Graceless to lay thy glory in the dust?   

Nay, first let th' earth gape wide to swallow thee,  
And shut thee up in bosom with her dead,  
Ere Serpent tempt thee taste forbidden Tree,  
Or feel the warmth of an unlawfuli bed;  
Suffering thyself by lust to be misled;  
So to disgrace thyself and grieve thine heirs,  
That Clifford's race should scorn thee one of theirs.   

Never wish longer to enjoy the air,  
Then that thou breathest the breath of chastitio:  
Longer than thou preseru'st thy soul as fair  
As is thy face, free from impurity.  
Thy face, that makes th'admired in every eye,  
Where Natures care such rarities enrol,  
Which used amiss, may serve to damn thy soul.   

But what? he is my king and may constrain me,  
Whether I yield or not, I live defamed.  
The world will think authority did gain me,  
I shall be judged his Love, and so be shamed.  
We see the fair condemned, that never gamed.  
And if I yield, 'tis honourable shame,  
If not, I live disgraced, yet thought the same:   

What way is left thee then (unhappy maid,)  
Whereby thy spotless foot, may wander out  
This dreadful danger, which thouseest is laid,  
Wherein thy shame doth compass thee about?  
Thy simple years cannot resolve this doubt.  
Thy youth can never guide thy foot so even,  
But (in despite) some scandal will be given.   

Thus stood I balanced equally precise,  
Till my frail flesh did weigh me down to sin;  
Till world and pleasure made me partialize,  
And glittering pomp my vanity did win,  
When to excuse my fault my lusts begin.  
And impious thoughts alleged this wanton clause,  
That though I sinned, my sin had honest cause.   

So well the golden balls cast down before me,  
Can entertain my course, hinder my way:  
Whereat my reckless youth stooping to store me,  
Lost me the goal, the glory, and the day.  
Pleasure had set my well schooled thoughts to play,  
And bade me use the virtue of mine eyes,  
For sweetly it fits the fair to wantonise.   

Thus wrought to sin, soon was I trained from Court,  
T'a solitary Grange, there to attend  
The time the King should thither make resort,  
Where he loves long-desired work should end.  
Thither he daily messages doth send,  
With costly jewels (Orators of Love,)  
Which (ah too well men know) do women move.   

The day before the night of my defeature,  
He greets me with a Casket richly wrought;  
So rare, that art did seem to strive with nature,  
T' express the cunning workman's curious thought;  
The mystery whereof I prying sought,  
And found engraven on the lid above,  
Amymone, how she with Neptune strove.   

Amymone, old Danaus' fairest Daughter,  
As she was fetching water all alone  
At Lerna: whereas Neptune came and caught her,  
From whom she strived and struggled to be gone,  
Beating the air with cries and piteous moan.  
But all in vain, with him she's forced to go,  
'tis shame that men should use poor maidens so.   

There might I see described how she lay,  
At those proud feet, not satisfied with prayer:  
Wailing her heavy hap, cursing the day,  
In act so piteous to express despair.  
And by how much more grieved, so much more fair.  
Her tears upon her cheeks (poor careful girl,)  
Did seem against the Sun crystal and pearl.   

Whose pure clear streams, (which so fair appears;)  
Wrought hotter flames, (O miracle of love,)  
That kindles fire in water, heat in tears,  
And makes neglected beauty mightier prove,  
Teaching afflicted eyes affects to move;  
To show that nothing ill becomes the fair,  
But cruelty, which yields unto no prayer.   

This having viewed, and there with something moved,  
Figured I find within the other squares,  
Transformed Io, Ioues decrelie loved,  
In her affliction how she strangely fares.  
Strangely distressed (O beauty, borne to cares.)  
Turned to a Heiffer, kept with jealous eyes,  
Always in danger of her hateful spies.   

These precedents presented to my view,  
Wherein the presage of my fall was shown,  
Might have fore-warn'd me well what would ensue,  
And others harms have made me shun mine own.  
But fate is not prevented, though foreknown.  
For that must hap, decreed by heavenly powers,  
Who work our fall, yet make the fault still ours.   

Witness the world, wherein is nothing rifer,  
Than miseries unkend before they come:  
Who can the characters of chance decipher,  
Written in clouds of our concealed doom?  
Which though perhaps have been revealed to some,  
Yet that so doubtful, (as success did prove them,)  
That men must know they have the heavens above them.   

I saw the sin wherein my foot was entering,  
I saw how that dishonour did attend it,  
I saw the shame whereon my flesh was venturing,  
Yet had I not the power for to defend it.  
So weak is sense when error hath condemned it.  
We see what's good, and thereto we consent,  
But yet we choose the worst, and soon repent.   

And now I come to tell the worst of illness,  
Now draws the date of mine affliction near.  
Now when the dark had wrapped up all in stillness,  
And dreadful black had dispossessed the clear,  
Comed was the night, (mother of sleep and fear;)  
Who with her Sable-mantle friendly covers,  
The sweet-stolne sports, of joyful meeting Lovers.   

When lo, Iioyed my Lover, not my Love,  
And felt the hand of lust most undesired:  
Enforced th'unproved bitter sweet to prove,  
Which yields no mutual pleasure when 'tis hired.  
love's not constrained, nor yet of due required.  
judge they who are unfortunately wed,  
What 'tis to come unto a loathed bed.   

But soon his age received his short contenting,  
And sleep sealed up his languishing desires:  
When he turns to his rest, I to repenting,  
Into myself my waking thought retires:  
My nakedness had proved my senses liars.  
Now opened were mine eyes to look therein,  
For first we taste the fruit, then see our sin.   

Now did I find myself vnparadised,  
From those pure fields of my so clean beginning:  
Now I perceived how ill I was advised,  
My flesh 'gan loath the new-felt touch of sinning,  
Shame leaves us by degrees, not at first winning.  
For nature checks a new offence with loathing,  
But use of sin doth make it seem as nothing.   

And use of sin did work in me a boldness,  
And love in him, incorporates such zeal,  
That jealousy increased with age's coldness,  
Fearing to lose the joy of all his weal,  
Or doubting time his stealth might else reveal,  
he's driven to devise some subtle way,  
How he might safeliest keep so rich a pray.   

A stately Palace he forthwith did build,  
Whose intricate innumerable ways,  
With such confused errors so beguiled  
Th'unguided entrers with uncertain strays,  
And doubtful turnings kept them in delays,  
With bootless labour leading them about,  
Able to find no way, nor in, nor out.   

Within the closed bosom of which frame,  
That served a Centre to that goodly round:  
Were lodgings, with a Garden to the same,  
With sweetest flowers that e'er adorned the ground  
And all the pleasures that delight hath found,  
T'intertaine the sense of wanton eyes,  
Fuel of love, from whence lusts flames arise:   

Hear I enclosed from all the world asunder,  
The Minotaur of shame kept for disgrace,  
The Monster of Fortune, and the world's wonder,  
Lived cloistered in so desolate case:  
None but the King might come into the place,  
With certain Maids that did attend my need,  
And he himself came guided by a thread:   

O jealousy, daughter of Envy ' and Love,  
Most wayward issue of a gentle sire;  
Fostered with fears, thy father's joys t'improve,  
Mirth-marring Monster, borne a subtle liar;  
Hateful unto thyself, flying thine own desire:  
Feeding upon suspect that doth renew thee,  
Happy were Lovers if they never knew thee.   

Thou hast a thousand gates thou interest by,  
Condemning trembling passions to our heart;  
Hundred eyed Argus, everwaking Spy,  
Pale Hag, infernal Fury, pleasures smart,  
Envious observer, prying in every part;  
Suspicious, fearful, gazing still about thee,  
O would to God the love could be withuot thee.   

Thou didst deprive (through false suggesting fear,)  
Him of content, and me of liberty:  
The only good that women hold so dear,  
And turnst my freedom to captivity,  
First made a prisoner, ere an enemy.  
Enjoind the ransom of my body's shame,  
Which though I paid, could not redeem the same.   

What greater torment ever could have been,  
Then to enforce the fair to live retired?  
For what is beauty if it be not seen?  
Or what is't to be seen, unless admired?  
And though admired, unless in love desired?  
Never were cheeks of Roses, locks of Amber,  
Ordained to live imprisoned in a Chamber.   

Nature created beauty for the view,  
(Like as the fire for heat, the Sun for light:)  
The fair do hold this privilege as due  
By ancient Charter, to live most in sight,  
And she that is debarred it, hath not right.  
In vain our friends from this, do us dehort,  
For beauty will be where is most resort.   

Witness the fairest streets that Thames doth visit,  
The wondrous concourse of the glittering Fair:  
For what rare women decked with beauty is it,  
That thither covets not to make repair?  
The solitary Country may not stay her.  
Hear is the centre of all beauties best,  
Excepting DELIA, left t'adorn the West.   

Hear doth the curious with judicial eyes,  
Contemplate beauty gloriously attired:  
And herein all our chiefest glory lies,  
To live where we are praised and most desired.  
O how we joy to see ourselves admired,  
Whilst niggardly our favours we discover.  
We love to be beloved, yet scorn the Lover.   

Yet would to God my foot had never moved  
From Country safety, from the fields of rest:  
To know the danger to be highly loved,  
And live in pomp to brave among the best,  
Happy for me, better had I been blest;  
If I unluckily had never strayed,  
But lived at home a happy Country Maid.   

Whose unaffected innocency thinks  
No guileful fraud, as doth the Courtly liver:  
She's decked with truth, the River where she drinks  
Doth serve her for her glass, her counsel giver:  
She loves sincerely, and is loved ever.  
Her days are peace, and so she ends her breath,  
(True life that knows not what's to die till death.)   

So should I never have been registered,  
In the black book of the unfortunate:  
Nor had my name enrolled with Maids misled,  
Which bought their pleasures at so high a rate.  
Nor had I taught (through my unhappy fate,)  
This lesson, (which myself learned with expense)  
How most it hurts that most delights the sense:   

Shame follows sin, disgrace is duly given,  
Impiety will out, never so closely done:  
No walls can hide us from the eye of heaven,  
For shame must end what wickedness begun;  
Forth breaks reproach when we least think thereon.  
And this is ever proper unto Courts,  
That nothing can be done, but Fame reports.   

Fame doth explore what lies most secret hidden,  
Entering the closet of the Palace dweller:  
Abroad revealing what is most forbidden.  
Of truth and falsehood both an equal teller.  
'tis not a guard can serve for to expel her.  
The sword of justice cannot cut her wings,  
Nor stop her mouth from uttering secret things.   

And this our stealth she could not long conceal,  
From her whom such a forfeit most concerned:  
The wronged Queen, who could so closely deal,  
That she the whole of all our practice learned,  
And watched a time when least it was discerned,  
In absence of the King, to wreak her wrong,  
With such revenge as she desired long.   

The Labyrinth she entered by that thread,  
That served a conduct to my absent Lord,  
Left there by chance, reserved for such a deed,  
Where she surprised me whom she so abhorred.  
Enraged with madness, scarce she speaks a word,  
But flies with eager fury to my face,  
Offering me most unwomanly disgrace.   

Look how a Tigress that hath lost her whelp,  
Runs fiercely raging through the woods astray:  
And seeing herself deprived of hope or help,  
Furiously assaults what's in her way,  
To satisfy her wrath, (not for a pray;)  
So fell she on me in outrageous wife,  
As could disdain and jealousy devise.   

And after all her vile reproaches used,  
She forced me take the poison she had brought,  
To end the life that had her so abused,  
And free her fears, and ease her jealous thought.  
No cruelty her wrath would leave unwrought,  
No spiteful act that to revenge is common;  
(No beast being fiercer than a jealous woman.)   

Here take (saith she) thou impudent unclean,  
Base graceless strumpet, take this next your heart;  
Your lovesick heart, that overcharged hath been  
With pleasures surfeit, must be purged with art.  
This potion hath a power that will convert  
To nought, those humours that oppress you so.  
And (Girl,) I'll see you take it ere I go.   

What stand you now amazed, retire you back?  
Tremble you (minion?) come dispatch with speed;  
There is no help, your Champion now you lack,  
And all these tears you shed will nothing steed;  
Those dainty fingers needs must do the deed.  
Take it, or I will drench you else by force,  
And trifle not, lest that I use you worse.   

Having this bloody doom from hellish breath,  
My woeful eyes on every side I cast:  
Rigour about me, in my hand my death,  
Presenting me the horror of my last;  
All hope of pity and of comfort past.  
No means, no power, no forces to contend,  
My trembling hands must give myself my end.   

Those hands that beauty's ministers had been,  
They must give death that me adorned of late,  
That mouth that newly gave consent to sin,  
Must now receive destruction in thereat,  
That body which my lust did violate,  
Must sacrifice itself t'appease the wrong.  
(So short is pleasure, glory lasts not long.)   

And she no sooner saw I had it taken,  
But forth she rushes, (proud with victory,)  
And leaves my alone, of all the world forsaken,  
Except of Death, which she had left with me.  
(Death and myself alone together be.)  
To whom she did her full revenge refer.  
Oh poor weak conquest both for him and her.   

Then strait my conscience summons up my sin,  
T' appear before me, in a hideous face;  
Now doth the terror of my soul begin,  
When every corner of that hateful place  
Dictates mine etror, and reveals disgrace;  
Whilst I remain oppressed in every part,  
Death in my body, horror at my heart.   

Down on my bed my loathsome self I cast,  
The bed that likewise gives in evidence  
Against my soul, and tells I was unchaste,  
Tells I was wanton, tells I followed sense.  
And therefore cast, by guilt of mine offence,  
Must here the right of heaven needs satisfy,  
And where I wanton lay, must wretched die.   

Hear I began to wail my hard mishap,  
My sudden, strange unlooked for misery.  
Accusing them that did my youth entrap,  
To give me such a fall of infamy.  
And poor distressed ROSAMOND, (said I,)  
Is this thy glory got, to die forlorn  
In Deserts, where no ear can hear thee morn?   

Nor any eye of pity to behold  
The woeful end of thy sad tragedy;  
But that thy wrongs unseen, thy tale untold,  
Must here in secret silence buried lie.  
And with thee, thine excuse together die.  
Thy sin revealed, but thy repentance hid,  
Thy shame alive, but dead what thy death did.   

Yet breath out to these walls the breath of moan,  
Tell th'air thy plaints, since men thou canst not tell.  
And though thou perish desolate alone,  
Tell yet thyself, what thyself knows too well:  
Utter thy grief where with thy soul doth swell.  
And let thy heart pity thy heart's remorse,  
And be thyself the mourner and the Corpse.   

Condole thee here, clad all in black despair,  
With silence only, and a dying bed;  
Thou that of late, so flourishing, so fair,  
Did glorious live, admired and honoured:  
And now from friends, from succour hither led,  
Art made a spoil to lust, to wrath, to death,  
And in disgrace, forced hecre to yield thy breath.   

Did Nature (O for this) deliberate,  
To show in thee the glory of her best;  
Framing thine eye the star of thy ill fate,  
And made thy face the foe to spoil the rest?  
O beauty, thou an enemy professed  
To chastity and us that love thee most,  
Without thee how weare loathed, and with thee fit?   

O you that proud with liberty and beauty,  
(And o may well be proud that you be so,)  
Glitter in Court, loved and observed of durie;  
O that I might to you but ere I go  
Speak what I feel, to warn you by my woe,  
To keep your feet in pure clean paths of shame,  
That no enticing may divert the same.   

seeing how against your tender weakness still,  
The strength of wit, of gold, and all is bend;  
And all th' assaults that ever might or skill,  
Can give against a chaste and clean intent:  
Ah let not greames work you to ' consent.  
The spot is ford, though by a Monarch made,  
Kings cannot privilege a sin forbade.   

Lock up therefore the treasure of your love,  
Under the surest keys of fear and shame:  
and let no powers have power chaste thoughts to move  
To make a lawless entry on your fame.  
Open to those the comfort of your flame,  
Whose equal love shall march with equal pace,  
In those pure ways that lead to no disgrace.   

For see how many discontented beds,  
Our own aspiring, or our Parent's pride  
Have caused, whilst that ambition vainly weds  
Wealth and not love, honour and nought beside:  
Whilst married but to titles, we abide  
As wedded widows, wanting what we have,  
When shadows cannot give us what we crave.   

Or whilst we spend the freshest of our time,  
The sweet of youth in plotting in the air;  
Alas how oft we fall, hoping to climb;  
Or whither as unprofitably fair,  
Whilst those decay which are without repair,  
Make us neglected, scorned and reproved.  
(And o what are we, if we be not loved?)  
Fasten therefore upon occasions fit,  
Lest this, or that, or like disgrace as mine,  
Do overtake your youth to ruin it,  
And cloud with infamy your beauties shine:  
Seeing how many seek to undermine  
The treasury that's unpossessed of any:  
And hard 'tis kept that is desired of many.   

And fly (o fly,) these Bed-brokers unclean,  
(The monsters of our sex,) that make a pray  
Of their own kind, by an unkindly mean;  
And even (like Vipers,) eating out a way  
Through th'womb of their own shame, accursed they  
Live by the death of Fame, the gain of sin,  
The filth of lust, uncleanness wallows in.   

O is it not enough that we, (poor we)  
Have weakness, beauty, gold, and men our foes,  
But we must have some of ourselves to be  
Traitors unto ourselves, to join with those?  
Such as our feeble forces do disclose,  
And still betray our cause, our shame, our youth,  
To lust, to folly, and to men's untruth?   

Hateful confounders both of blood and laws,  
wild Orators of shame, that plead delight:  
Ungracious Agents in a wicked cause,  
Factors for darkness; messengers of night,  
Serpents of guile, devils, that do invite  
The wanton taste of that forbidden tree,  
Whose fruit once plucked, will show how foul we be.   

You in the habit of a grave aspect,  
(In credit by the trust of years,) can show  
The cunning ways of lust, and can direct  
The fair and wily wantoness how to go,  
Having (your loathsome selves) your youth spent so.  
And in uncleanness ever have been fed,  
By the revenue of a wanton bed.   

By you, have been the innocent betrayed,  
The blushing fearful, boldened unto sin,  
The wife made subtle, subtle made the maid,  
The husband scorned, dishonoured the kin:  
Parents disgraced, children infamous been.  
Confused our race, and falsi-fied our blood,  
Whilst father's sons, possess wrong Fathers good.   

This, and much more, I would have uttered then,  
A testament to be recorded still,  
Signed with my blood, subscribed with Conscience pen,  
To warn the fair and beautiful from ill.  
And o I wish (by th'example of my will,)  
I had not left this sin unto the fair,  
But died intestate to have had no heir.   

But now, the poison spread through all my veins,  
'Gan dispossess my living senses quite:  
And nought respecting death, (the last of pains,)  
Placed his pale colours, (th'ensign of his might,)  
Upon his new-got spoil before his right;  
Thence chased my soul, setting my day ere noon,  
When I least thought my joys could end so soon.   

And as conveyed t'vntimely funerals,  
My scarce cold corpse not suffered longer stay,  
Behold, the King (by chance) returning, falls  
T'inconnter with the same upon the way,  
As he repaired to see his dearest joy.  
Not thinking such a meeting could have been,  
To see his Love, and seeing been unseen.   

judge those whom chance deprives of sweetest treasure,  
What 'tis to lose a thing we hold so dear:  
The best delight, wherein our soul takes pleasure,  
The sweet of life, that penetrates so near.  
What passions feels that heart, enforced to bear  
The deep impression of so strange a sight,  
That over whemls us, or confounds us quite?   

Amazed he stands, nor voice nor body stcares,  
Words had no passage, tears no issue found,  
For sorrow shut up words, wrath kept in tears,  
Confused affects each other do confound:  
Oppressed with grief, his passions had no bound.  
Striving to tell his woes, words would not come;  
For light cares speak, when mighty griefs are dumb.   

At length extremity breaks out a way,  
Through which th' imprisoned voice with tears attended,  
wails out a sound that sorrows do bewray,  
With arms across, and eyes to heaven bended,  
vapouring out sighs that to the skies ascended.  
Sighs, (the poor ease calamity affords,)  
Which serve for speech when sorrow wanteth words.   

O heavens (quoth he,) why do mine eyes behold  
The hateful rays of this unhappy funne?  
Why have I light to see my sins controlled,  
With blood of mine own shame thus vildly done?  
How can my sight endure to look thereon?  
Why doth nor black eternal darkness hide,  
That from mine eyes, my heart cannot abide?   

What saw my life, wherein my soul might joy,  
What had my days, whom troubles still afflicted,  
But only this, to counterpoise annoy?  
This joy, this hope, which Death hath interdicted;  
This sweet, whose loss hath all distress inflicted;  
This, that did season all my sour of life,  
Vexed still at home with broils, abroad in strife,   

Vexed still at home with broils, abroad in strife,  
Diffention in my blood, jars in my bed:  
Distrust at board, suspecting still my life,  
Spending the night in horror, days in dread;  
(Such life hath Tyrants, and this life I led.)  
These miseries go masked in glittering shows,  
Which wise men see, the vulgar little knows.   

Thus as these passions do him overwhelm,  
He draws him near my body to behold it.  
And as the Vine married unto the Elm  
With strict embraces, so doth he enfold it.  
And as he in his careful arms doth hold it,  
Viewing the face that even death commends,  
On senseless lips, millions of kisses spends.   

Pitiful moutla (saith he) that living gavest  
The sweetest comfort that my soul could wish:  
O be it lawful now, that dead thou havest,  
This sorrowing farewell of a dying kiss.  
And you fair eyes, containers of my bliss,  
Motives of love, borne to be marched never,  
Entombed in your sweet circles sleep for ever.   

Ah how me thinks I see Death dallying seeks,  
To entertain itself in loves sweet place;  
Decayed Roses of discoloured cheeks,  
Do yet retain dear notes of former grace:  
And ugly Death sits fair within her face;  
Sweet remnants resting of vermilion red,  
That Death itself doubts whether she be dead:   

Wonder of beauty, oh receive these plaints,  
These obsequies, the last that I shall make thee:  
For lo, my soul that now already faints,  
That loved thee living, dead will not forsake thee,)  
Hastens her speedy course to overtake thee.  
I'll meet my death, and free myself thereby,  
For (ah) what can he do that cannot die?   

Yet ere I die, thus much my soul doth vow,  
Revenge shall sweeten death with ease of mind:  
And I will cause post ritie shall know.  
How fair thou were above all women kind.  
And afterages monuments shall find,  
Showing thy beauty's title, not thy name,  
Rose of the world that fwoetned so the fame.   

This said, though more desirous yet to say,  
For sorrow is unwilling to give over,)  
He doth repress what grief would else bewray,  
Lest he too much his passions should disover.  
And yet respect scarce bridles such a Lover.  
So fair transported that he know not whither,  
For Love and Maiestied dwell ill together,   

Then were my funerals not long deferred,  
But done with all the rites pomp could devise,  
At Godstow, where my body was interred,  
And richly tombed in honourable wise,  
Where yet as now scarce any note descries  
Unto these times, the memory of me,  
Marble and Brass so little lasting be.   

For those walls which the credulous devour,  
And apt-beleeving ignorant did found;  
With willing zeal, that never called in doubt,  
That time their works should ever so confound,  
Lie like confused heaps as underground.  
And what their ignorance esteemed so holy,  
The wiser ages do account as folly.   

And were it not thy favourable lines  
Re-edified the wrack of my decays,  
And that thy accents willingly assigns  
Some farther date, and give me longer days,  
Few in this age had known my beauty's praise.  
But thus renewed, my fame redeems some time,  
Till other ages shall neglect thy rhyme.   

Then when confusion in her course shall bring  
Sad desolation on the times to come:  
When mirthless Thames shall have no Swan to sing,  
All Music silent, and the Muses dumb.  
And yet even than it must be known to some,  
That once they flourished, though not cherished so,  
And Thames had Swans as well as ever Po.   

But here an end, I may no longer stay thee,  
I must return t'attend at Stygian flood:  
Yet ere I go this one word more I pray thee,  
Tell DELIA, now her sigh may do me good,  
And will her note the frailty of our blood.  
And if I pass unto those happy banks,  
Then she must have her praise, thy pen her thanks.   

So vanquished she, and left me to return  
To prosecute the tenor of my woes:  
Eternal matter for my Muse to mourn,  
But (ah) the world hath heard too much of those,  
My youth such errors must no more disclose.  
I'll hide the rest, and grieve for what hath been,  
Who made me known, must make me live unseen.   
FINIS.