THE MIRACLE OF THE PEACE IN FRAVNCE.  
Celebrated by the Ghost of the Divine DV BARTAS.  
Translated, By JOSVAH SYLVESTER.  
¶ Imprinted at London by Richard Bradocke for john Browne, and are to be sold at his shop in Fleet street at the sign of the Bible. 1599   

¶ To the most honourable, learned, and religious Gent. M. Anthony Bacone.  

BOund by your Bounty and mine own desire,  
To tender still new tribute of my zeal  
To you (your Countries watchful Sentinel,  
Whose wisdom, ours and other States admire)   

Lo here I tune upon mine humble Lyre  
Our neighbour Kingdoms unexpected weal,  
Through sudden ceasing of Wars enter-deale;  
As Celtike Muses to my Muse inspire.   

Miraculous the Work: and so his wit  
That firstly sung this sacred MIRACLE:  
A gracious Theme (if I disgrace not it)   

That your grave eyes may deign for spectacle.  
What e'er it be, accept it as a due  
From him whose all doth all belong to You.   
josuah Sylvester.   

A Phoneur de la Paix, chantée par Monsieur du NESME, & rechantée en Anglois par Monsieur SYLVESTRE.  

SAns Paix rien ne subsist: en Paix tout croist & dure,  
Dieu maintient par sa Paix le beau grand universe  
Et le petit, bastis de members si divers,  
Tous s'entr●ydans l'un l'autre en common facture:   

Elle unit a son Dieu! humane creature:  
Elle emplit descitez les Royaumes deseris:  
Elle bride les fols, & rendles champs converts  
De biens donnans-plaisirs, vesture, & nurture.   

Enuoy-la donc, o Dieu! a nos Princes & Roys,  
En nos maisons, en nous; & fay que dvne vois  
Nous suyvions les accords de ton Nesme admirable▪   

〈◊〉 a iamais seras love de nos Gaulois  
Parses chantstout-divins: & Syluestre, en Anglois  
Redoubleràce loz don style inimitable.   
P. CATELLE. ●'atten● le temps.   

SONNET.  

HEnry, triumphant though thou wert in War,  
Though Fate & Fortitude conspired thy glory,  
Though thy least conflicts well deserve a Story;  
Though Mars his fame by thine be darkened far;   

Though from thy cradle (infant Conqueror)  
Thy martial proofs have dimmed Alcides' praise;  
And though with garlands of victorious Bays  
Thy Royal temples richly crowned are:   

Yet (matchless Prince) nought hast thou wrought so glorious  
As this un-lookt-for happy PEACE admired;  
Whereby thyself art of thyself victorious:   

For, while thou mightst the world's throne have aspired,  
Thou by this Peace thy warlike heart hast tamed;  
What greater conquest could there than be named?   
  

¶ THE MIRACLE OF THE PEACE in France.  

But what new Sun doth now adorn our Land,  
And gives our sky so smooth & smiling cheer?  
For 'tis not Phoebus; else his golden brand  
Shines brighter now than it hath done many a year.   

Sweet Angel-beauty, sacred PEACE, heavens present;  
Is't not the rising of thy newcome star,  
Which makes the air more clear, the spring more pleasant;  
Zephyre more calm, & Flora merrier?   

Ah I perceive the Olive, Dove, and Bow,  
Divine presages that the flood abates,  
The dismal flood where blood & tears did flow,   

And janus now lockes-up his Temple gates:  
justice and Faith do kindly kiss each other,  
And Mars appeased sits down by Cupid's mother.    

SONNET.  

Fair fruitful daughter of th'Omnipotent,  
Great Umpire that dost either World sustain,  
Without whose help all would return again  
Like hideous Chaos to confusion bend.   

O Mother of the living, second Nature  
Of th'Elements, Fire, Water, Earth, and Air:  
O Grace (whereby men climb the heavenly stair)  
Whence void, this world harbours no happy creature.   

Pillar of Laws, Religion's pedestal,  
Hope of the godly, glory of th'immortal;  
Honour of Cities, Pearl of kingdoms all;   

Thou Nurse of virtues, Muses chief supportall,  
Patron of Arts, of Good the special spring:  
All hail (dear Peace) which us all heal dost bring.    

SONNET.  

Come forth (dear France) from thy dark cell of moan,  
Come (as new-born) from wars unkindly quarrels,  
Turn tragic Cypress to triumphant Laurels;  
Change black to green, and make thy grave a Throne,   

Let Ceres dwell upon thy desert Plain,  
Bacchus, and Diane, on thy hills and groves,  
Pomona in gardens, Pan among thy droves,  
Secure all Roads, and open all gates again.   

Resume (O Cities) Rule and Reverence;  
Revest (ye States) your robes of dignity;  
Rise-up (ye Ruins) in fair Battlements;   

Come Muses, Pallas, Themis, Mercury,  
Restore us Laws, Learning, & Arts, & Trade,  
And let our Age, a golden Age be made.    

SONNET.  

Most Christian kingdom, thou wert ne'er so near  
Drowned in the deep gulfs of thy Civil war,  
As in the tempest of this later jar,  
Which past conceit of calming did appear:   

When all the winds adversely armed were,  
(Though selfely-foes) yet friends to work thy wrack:  
Thy ship a helm, thyself a heart didst lack,  
On troubled waters tossed here and there.   

When from above (O bounty most admired)  
Saint Hermes shined, whose gentle light presageth  
That then the anger of the heavens assuageth.   

O happy PEACE! less hoped then desired:  
O grace much honoured, little yet conceived;  
O blessed guile, that thus our sense deceived.    

SONNET.  

Who could expect (but past all expectation)  
So sudden order from so sad confusion;  
So loyal friendship, from false emulation;  
So firm possession from so fierce intrusion?   

Who could expect (but past all likelihood)  
From such a storm, such and so sweet a calm;  
From France her cinders, such a Phoenix-brood;  
Pandora's box to yield so rare a balm?   

Who could expect (but past all human thought)  
So frank a freedom from a thrall so late,  
Or certain Rudder of so rend a State?   

True Aesculapius, thou alone hast wrought  
This MIRACLE, not on Hippolytus,  
But on this kingdom, much more wondrous.   

Th'unlook't-for working of all things almost,  
Inconstant-constant, in succession strange,  
Amazeth those whose wits we chief boast,  
To see this sudden unexpected change.   

Each feels th'effect, but none the cause descries,  
(No, though he have with stars intelligence:)  
God to himself reserves such mysteries,  
Disposing Kingdoms by his Providence.   

O endless Bounty! In the midst of Broils  
He gives us PEACE, when war did us inflame,  
And reaves the mischief we pursued ere while:   

But this doth most extol his glorious name,  
That when most sharply this extremest fit  
strove to be cureless, soon he cured it.    

SONNET.  

Some reasoned thus; No violence can last:  
Revolted subjects, of themselves will quail:  
Just Sovereignty can never be displaced;  
And lawful Princes first or last prevail:   

But who could think that the conjoined powers  
Of Spain & Rome, with an exceeding number  
Of rebel Cities and false States of ours,  
So weak a King so little should encumber?   

Others discoursed in another sort,  
While all things sorted to another end  
Then their imaginations did purport.   

That earth may know, it cannot comprehend  
The secret depths of judgements all-divine,  
No: there's no ground, beginning, midst, nor fine.    

SONNET.  

Admire we only Gods Omni-potence,  
His deep-deepe Wisdom, & his Mercy dear,  
For with these three he hath surmounted here  
Our hateful foes, our hopes, and all our sense:   

His power appears upon our Lord and King  
As erst on David, for they both attain  
By warlike broils their pre-appointed reign  
Strangers, and subjects, and selves conquering   

His Prudence shines, when to preserve us thus,  
All human wit his wisdom doth convince:  
His gracious bounty in our bounteous Prince.   

O various wonders! mel delicious  
Flows from a living Lion, Mars is quiet,  
Valour relenting, Conquest void of riot.    

SONNET.  

This was no action of a human hand,  
But th'only work of the great Thunderer,  
Who wise-directing all the things that are,  
In us divinely works his own command.   

Some men, unwilling, benefit their Land,  
Or un-awares their Country's good prefer;  
Another motions PEACE, but mindeth war,  
And PEACE succeeds whatever drifts withstand.   

Th'Arch-Architect, the matchless Artisan moves;  
All instruments unto good uses proves:  
Man's but a wheel which that great Mover▪   

Each gracious gist in that first cause began:  
Each good's a gleam of that first light alone,  
If Ill approach us, only that's our own.    

SONNET.  

If God dart lightning, soon he dews down rain  
A dreadful judge, and yet a gentle father:  
Whose wrath slow-kindled is soon quenched again,  
To move us sinners to repent the rather.)   

'Gainst hellbred- Hydra, heau'n-born Theseus brings  
The great Alcides' arm and armory:  
Of greatest Ill, a greater goodness springs;  
And mercy still doth rigour qualify.   

Ah France, so many monsters to suppress  
Thou hadst great need of Royal fortitude,  
Else hadst thou been an Afrique wilderness.   

O happy lost Realm, for it hath ensu'de  
That now thy gain is more, in restoration;  
Then was thy less in all thy desolation.    

SONNET.  

But if I sing great Henry's fortitude,  
Shall I not then be blamed for overdaring?  
If overslip it, then be taxed of fearing,  
Of silent dread, and dumb ingratitude?   

What ere befall, my youth-bold thoughts conclude  
Like Icarus my nimble Muse to raise:  
And if I fall in such a Sea of praise,  
What rarer Mausole may my bones include?   

A sacred rage of some sweet furious flame  
Will-nill. I raps me boldly to rehearse  
Great Henry's Trophies, & his glorious name.   

Then roll thou Torrent of my tender verse,  
Though this high Theme deserve a consort rather  
Of all the Muses, and all musics father.    

SONNET.  

Great Prince, not pleased with a vain vertu-seeming;  
Great Victor, prone to pardon humbleness,  
Happy, all hap heavens only gift esteeming;  
Warrior, whose wars have wrought his countries PEACE:   

Noble by deeds, and noble by descent;  
Ancient Achilles, youthful Nestor sage,  
Whose ripe-experienced courage confident,  
To knocks knits counsel, and gives rule to rage.   

As hard in toil, as in compassion soft,  
enured to that, by nature borne to this;  
Who sheds no blood, but sheddeth tears as oft,   

Who never fights but still the field is his.  
So like to Mars, that both in loves and wars,  
Bellona and Venus take him still for Mars.    

SONNET.  

A spirit, to virtues cheerfully addressed;  
Apt to all goodness, to no ill inclined;  
Quick to conceive, ingenious to digest;  
Whose tongue is still true trumpet of the mind:   

A body, resting when it hath no rest;  
A waxed mildness in a steely mind;  
A soul tra-lucent in an open breast  
Which others thoughts through banie walls can find;   

Whose front reflects majesticall-humilitie,  
Whose grave sweet look commandingly-intreats,  
Which in one instant fear and love begets:   

A king still warring to obtain tranquillity,  
To save his Country scorning thousand dangers;  
Mirror of France, and miracle of strangers.    

SONNET.  

If that before thee fall rebellious Towers,  
If battered walls before thy soldiers, loof:  
If hugest rocks be pierced by thy powers;  
If 'gainst thine arms, no armour be of proof.   

If that our fields flow with Iberian blood,  
If that thy camp composed of many a Caesar  
Can by no dismal dangers be withstood;  
Jousting with Giants, as it were at pleasure.   

If lofty mountains to thine homage vail;  
If valleys rise to bulwark thee about;  
If for thy sake rivers do flow and fail;   

'Twas neither Canons, nor our conflicts stout,  
Nor strength, nor stomach got these victories:  
No, 'twas thy presence Henry, and thine eyes,    

SONNET.  

They be to blame then that thy boldness blame,  
For having put thyself so oft in danger,  
Sith against rebels and against the stranger,  
Thy looks, like lightning did thy troops inflame.   

France fought before, all bloody, faint, and lame,  
Craving thine aid to venge her hateful wrong:  
When, like a Lion to preserve her young  
Thou layd'st about thee to redeem the same.   

Then hadst thou cause to hazard so thy life,  
In extreme perils, extreme remedies.  
But spare thee now, thy state is free from strife:   

Sovereign, our safety in thy safety lies.  
Codrus could keep his, only by his death:  
Thou thine, alone by thine own living breath.    

SONNET.  

What wreath were worthy to become thy crown,  
What Carr-triumphant equal with thy worth,  
What marble statue meet for thy renown,  
Thou that hast raised the Lily of the Earth?   

What honourable Title of Addition  
Dost thou deserve, who joining might with mildness,  
Hast saved this great ship from a sad perdition,  
Nigh lost in th'Ocean of wars civil vildness?   

O modern Hercules, thy Country's father,  
Hope not of us thy iust-deserued meed,  
Earth is too-base, in heaven expect it rather.   

Our Laurels are too-pale to crown thy deed,  
Who thus hast salved the universal Ball,  
For the health of France imports the health of all▪    

SONNET.  

Pardon me (Henry) if heavens silver rain  
Dewing thy Pearls impearle mine humble lays,  
And if my verse void both of price and pain,  
Presume thy virtues passing-price to praise:   

Pardon (great King) if that mine infant Muse  
Stutter thy name; and if with skill too-scant  
I limn thee here, let zeal my crime excuse;  
My steels attracted by thine Adamant.   

For as the Sun, although he do reflect  
His golden rays on grosser Elements,  
Doth never spot his beautiful aspect:   

So though the praises of thine Excellence  
Do brightly glister in my gloomy style,  
They nothing lose of their first grace the while.    

SONNET.  

Now sith as well by conquest as succession  
France is thine own; O keep it still therefore:  
'Tis much to conquer, but to keep possession  
Is full as much, and if be not more.   

Who well would keep so plentiful a portion,  
Must 'stablish first the heavenly discipline;  
Then human Laws, restraining all extortion;  
And princely wealth with public weal combine.   

A Prince's safety lies in loving people;  
His Fort is justice (free from stratagem)  
Without the which strong Citadels are feeble.   

The subjects love is won by loving them:  
Of loving them, n'-oppression is the trial:  
And no oppression makes them ever loyal.    

SONNET.  

Bold Martialists, brave Imps of noble birth,  
Shining in steel for France, and for your king:  
Ye sons of those that heretofore did bring  
Beneath their yoke, the pride of all the earth.   

It is an honour to be high-discended,  
But more t'have kept ones Country and fidelity;  
For our own virtues make us most commended:  
And Truth's the title of all true Nobility.   

Your shoulders shoard up France, even like to fall;  
You were her Atlas, Henry Hercules:  
And but for you her shock had shaken All;   

But now she stands steadfast on Civil PEACE:  
Wherefore if yet your warlike heat doe-wurke,  
With holy arms go hunt the hateful Turk.    

SONNET.  

But you that vaunt your antic Pettigrees,  
So stately timbering your surcharged shields,  
Perking (like Pines above the lower trees)  
Over the Farmers of your neighbour fields;   

Is't lack of love, or is it lack of courage,  
That holds you snail-like creeping in your houses,  
While over all your countries foes do forage,  
And rebel outrage every corner rouses?   

If no example of your Anceters',  
Nor present instance of bright-armed Lords,  
The feeble temper of your stomach stirs,   

If in your lives ye never drew your swords  
To serve your King, nor quench your Country's flames,  
Pardon me Nobles, I mistook your names.    

SONNET.  

You sacred Order, charged the Church to watch  
And teach the holy mysteries of heaven,  
From henceforth all seditious plots dispatch,  
And fatherlike, to all be always even.   

Through superstition stir no strife again;  
Reuolt's a mischief evermore pernicious:  
Pluck up abuses, and the hurtful grain  
Sprung from the Ignorant and Avaricious.   

Avoid Ambition (common cause of strife)  
Your reverend rob be free from stains of blood,  
Preach holy doctrine, prove it by your life:   

Fly Idleness, choose exercises good;  
To wit, all works of lively faith and piety,  
So to your fold shall flock the blessed society.    

SONNET.  

You grave assembly of sage Senators,  
Rights, Oracles, ye Ephori of France;  
Who for the States and justice maintenance,  
Of Sword and Balance are the Arbitrers:   

That from henceforth against all enemies,  
Our PEACE may seat her in a settled Throne;  
Repress the malice of all mutinies,  
Which through th'advantage of these times have grown.   

At a low tide 'tis best to mend a breach  
Before the flood return with violence:  
'Tis good in health to counsel with a leech.   

So while a People's calm from insolence,  
'Tis best that Rulers bridle them with awe;  
And (for the future) kurbe the lewd with law.    

SONNET.  

People, less settled than the sliding sand;  
More mutable than Proteus, or the Moon;  
Turned and returned in turning of a hand,  
Like Euripus ebbe-flowing every Noon.   

Thou thousand-headed headless Monster-most,  
Oft slain like Antheus, and as oft new rising,  
Who hard as steel, as light as wind art tossed;  
chameleon-like, each objects colour prising.   

Unblind thy blind soul, open thine inward sight,  
Be no more tinder of intestine flame,  
Of all fantastic humours purge thy sprite:   

For if past follies urge yet grief and shame,  
Lo, like oblivions law, to cure thy passion,  
State-stabling Peace brings froward minds in fashion.    

SONNET.  

Engines of Vulcan, heaven affrighting wonders.  
Like brittle glass the Rocks to cinders breaking;  
Deafening the winds, dumbing the loudest thunders;  
May ye be bound a thousand years from speaking.   

Ye hate-peace hackster's fleshed in massacres,  
Be you for ever banished from our soil;  
Ye steeled tools of slaughter, wounds, & wars,  
Be you condemned to hang, and rust a while:   

Or (not to languish in so fruitless rest)  
Be you transformed to husband-furniture,  
To blow those fields you have so oft depressed:   

Or (if you cannot leave your wont urc)  
Leave (at the least) all mutinous alarms,  
And be from henceforth justice lawful Arms.    

SONNET.  

O Paris know thyself, and know thy master  
As well thy heavenly as thine earthly guider:  
And be not like a horse, who proud of pasture  
Breaks bit, & rains, and cast his cunning rider.   

Who nill be subjects, shall be slaves in fine:  
Who Kings refuse, shall have a Tyrant Lord:  
Who are not moved with the mild rods divine,  
Shall feel the fury of heavens venging sword.   

Thy greatness stands on theirs that wear the crown,  
Whereof thoust had now seventy saving seven;  
Think one sufficient soon to pull thee down:   

King's greatness stands on the great King of heaven.  
Knowing these two, then Paris know thyself,  
By wars afflictions, and by pieces wealth.    

SONNET.  

Swell not in pride O Paris (princely dame)  
To be chief City and thy Sovereign's Throne:  
City? nay model of this total Frame,  
A mighty kingdom of thyself alone:   

The scourge that lately with paternal hand  
For thine amendment did so mildly beat-thee,  
If any more against thy kings thou stand,  
Shall prove that then God did but only threat-thee.   

Wert thou a hundred thousand fold more mighty,  
Who in th'olympic court command's the thunders,  
In his lest wrath can wrack thee (most almighty)   

Thebes, Babel, Rome, those proud heau'n-daring wonders,  
Low under ground in dust and ashes lie,  
For earthly kingdoms even as men do die.    

SONNET.  

But O my sorrows! whither am I tossed?  
What? shall I bloody sweet ASTREA'S songs?  
Re-open wounds that are now healed almost,  
And new-remember nigh-forgotten wrongs?   

Sith storms are calmed by a gentle star,  
Forget we (Muse) all former furie-moods,  
And all the tempest of our viper-warre;  
Drown we those thoughts in deep-deepe Lethe floods.   

O but (alas) I cannot not retain  
So great, notorious, common miseries.  
Nor hide my plaint, nor hold my weeping rain:   

But 'mid these hideous hellish outrages,  
I'll show and prove by this strange spectacle,  
Our civil PEACE, a sacred Miracle.    

SONNET.  

As he that scap't from ship wrack on a plank,  
Doubts of his health, and hardly yet believes  
(Still faintly shivering on the fearless bank)  
That (through that frail help) certainly he lives:   

As he that new freed from strange servitude  
Returns again to tread his native allies,  
Seems still to fear his Patron's rigour rude,  
And seems still tugging, chained in the Galleys.   

So always ruth, ruin, and rage, and horror  
Of troubles past do haunt me every where,  
And still meet furies and ghastly terror;   

Then to myself thus rave I, (rapt with fear)  
From pleasures past if present sorrow spring,  
Why should not past cares present comfort bring?    

SONNET.  

We must now upbraid each others crimes,  
Committed wrongly in the time of war;  
For we have all (alas) too often times  
Provoked the vengeance of the Lord too far:   

Some robbing justice under mask of Reason;  
Some blowing coals to kindle-up Sedition;  
Some ' against their King attempting open Treason;  
Some Godding fortunen (Idol of Ambition)   

Alas, we know our cause of malady,  
All apt t'accuse, but none to cleanse th'impure;  
Each doth rebuke, but none doth remedy:   

To know a grief it is but half a cure:  
Is it our sins? let's purge away that bane;  
For what helps Physic if it be not ta'en?    

SONNET.  

Who cloak their crimes in hoods of holiness,  
Are double villains: and the Hypocrite  
Is most-most odious in Gods glorious sight,  
That takes his name to cover wickedness.   

Profane Ambition, blind and irreligious,  
Inquest of kingdoms holding nothing holy;  
Thinkest thou th'eternal blind (as thou in folly)  
Or weak to punish monsters so prodigious?   

O execrable vizard, canst thou hide thee  
From th'All-pierce-eye? are treason, rape, & murder  
Effects of faith, or of the Furies-order?   

Thy vail is rend, the rudest have descried thee.  
'Tis now apparent to each plain Opinion,  
Thy hot Devotion hunted but Dominion.    

SONNET.  

'Tis strange to see the heat of Civil brands,  
For when we arm us brother against brother,  
O then how ready are our hearts and hands:  
And wits awake to ruin one another!   

But come to counter-min 'gainst secret treason,  
Or force the forces of a stranger foe,  
Alas, how shallow are we then in reason,  
How cold in courage, and in camping slow?   

Franunce only strives to triumph over France:  
With selfe-kill swords to cut each others throat,  
What swarms of soldiers every where do float,   

To spend and spoil a kingdoms maintenance?  
But said I soldiers? ah I blush for shame,  
To give base the eves the noble soldiers name.    

SONNET.  

be't not an endless scandal to our days  
(If possible our heirs can credit it)  
That th'holy name of PEACE so worthy praise,  
Hath been our watchword for a fault unfit?   

That the pure Lily, our own native flower,  
Hath been an odious object in our eyes?  
That kingly Name, & kings heaun'-stablisht power,  
Hath been with us a mark of treacheries?   

T'have banished hence the godly and the wise,  
Whose sound direction kept the State from danger,  
Yea, made their bodies bloody sacrifice?   

And (to conclude) seeking to serve a stranger,  
T'have flabed our own (but O Muse keep that in,  
The fault's so foul, to speak it were a sin.)    

SONNET.  

I wail not I so much wars wasteful rigours,  
Nor all thy ruins make me half so sorry,  
As thy lost honour (France) which most disfigures,  
Losing thy loyalty, thy native glory.   

From Moors to Moscovites (O cursed change!)  
The French are called, Faithless Parricides:  
Th'erst-most-prince-loyal people (o most strange!)  
Are now Prince-treachers more than all beside:   

With us, massacres pass for Piety;  
Theft, rape, & wrong for iust-attaind possessions;  
Revolt for Merit, Rage for Equity:   

Alas, must we needs borrow the transgressions  
And imperfections of all other nations,  
Erst only blamed for inconstant fashions?    

SONNET.  

Not without reason hath it oft been spoken,  
That through fair concord little things augment,  
And (opposite) that mightiest things are broken  
Through th'ugly discord of the discontent   

When many tunes do sweetly symphonize  
It conquers hearts & kindly them compound;  
When many hearts do gently sympathise  
In sacred friendship, there all bliss abounds.   

Alas, if longer we divide this Realm,  
Losing to every Partisan a part;  
Farewell our Lilies and our Diadem.   

For though it seem to breath now some what pert,  
Our sins I fear will work worse afterclaps,  
And there's most danger in are-relaps.    

SONNET.  

O how I hate these partializing words,  
Which show how we are in the faith devised:  
be't possible to whet so many sword,  
And light such flames 'mong th'In-one-Christ baptizedt   

Christians to Christians to be brute and bloody,  
Altars to Altars to be opposite,  
Parting the limbs of such a perfect Body,  
While Turks with Turks do better far unite?   

We our Truth find doubts (whence follow schisms)  
They, whose fond Law doth all of lies consist,  
Abide confirmed in their vain Paganismes.   

One nought believes, another what him list,  
One over-creeds, another Creeds too-short;  
Each makes his Church (rather his Sect) a part.    

SONNET.  

Put off (dear French) all secret grudge and gall,  
And all keen stings of vengeance on all parts:  
For if you would have PEACE proclaimed to all,  
It must be first fair printed in your hearts.   

Henry, the mildest of all Conquerors,  
(Your perfect glass for Princely clemency)  
He, to appease and calm the state from jars,  
For his friend's sake hath saved his enemy.   

Let's all be French, all subjects to one Lord;  
Let France from henceforth be one only state;  
Let's all (for God's sake) be of one accord:   

So (through true zeal Christ's praise to propagate)  
May the most Christian King with prosperous power  
On Zion walls be-plant our Lillie-flower.    

SONNET.  

O Christian corsive! That the Mahomite  
With hundred thousands in Vienna Plain,  
His Mooned standards hath already pight,  
priest to join Ostrich to his Thracian reign:   

Malth, Corfu, Candie, his proud threats disdain;  
And all our Europe trembles in disinay;  
While striving Christians by each other slain,  
Each other weakening, make him easy way.   

Rhodes, Belgrade, Cyprus, & the Realms of Greece,  
Thralled to his barbarous yoke, yet fresh-declare,  
That while two strive a third obtains the fleece.   

Though name of Christian be a title fair,  
If but for Earth they all this while have striu'n,  
They may have Earth, but others shall have heaven.    

SONNET.  

May I not one day see in France again  
Some new Martellus, full of stout activity,  
To snatch the sceptre from the Saracen,  
That holds the Holy Land in straight captivity?   

May I not see the selfe-weale-wounding lance  
Of our brave bloods (erst one another goring)  
Turned with more valour on the Musulmans,  
A higher pitch of happy prowess soaring?   

But who (dear France) of all thy mens-at-arme  
Shall so far hence renew thine ancient Laurels?  
Sith here they plot thine and their prophet harms,   

I rather fear that (through these fatal quarrels)  
That hate-Christ Tyrant will in time become  
The Lord and Sovereign of all Christendom.    

SONNET.  

amid all these mischiefs while the frend-foe strangers  
With us, against us, had intelligence;  
Henry our King, our father, voids our dangers,  
And (O heavens wonder) plants PEACE in France.   

Thou judge that sittest on the supernal Throne,  
O quench thy fury, keep us from hostility,  
With eyes of mercy look thou still upon  
Our PEACE, and found it on a firm stability:   

Sith in despite of discord, thou alone,  
Inward and outward haste thus salved us (Lord)  
Keep still our France, (or rather Lord thine own)   

Let Princes love, and live in just accord:  
Disarm them (Lord) or if arms busy them,  
Be it alone for thy jerusalem.    

A Dialogue upon the Troubles past: BETWEEN HERACLITUS and the laughing Philosophers.  Heraclitus. 
A 'Las, thou laughest, perhaps not feeling well  
The painful torments of this mortal hell:  
Ah canst thou teare-les in this iron Age,  
See men massacred, monsters borne to rage?  Democritus. 
Ha, but why weep'st thou? wherefore in this sort  
Dost thou lament amid this merry sport  
Ha, canst thou choose but laugh to see the state  
Of men's now-sollies, and the freaks of fate?  Heraclitus. 
He hath no heart that melts not all in tears,  
To see the treasons, murders, massacres,  
Sacks, sacrileges, losses, and alarms  
Of those that perish by their proper arms.  Democritus. 
Who all-dismayed, swoundeth suddenly  
To hear or see some feigned Tragedy  
held in these days on every stage as common,  
Is but a heartless man, or but a woman.  Heraclitus. 
O would to God our Country's tragic ruth  
Were but a fable, no effected truth:  
My soul then should not sigh to angry heaven,  
Nor for her plagues my tender heart be riu'n.  Democritus. 
I take the world to be but as a stage,  
Where not-maskt men dee play their parsonage.  
'Tis but a mummery, and a pleasant show,  
Sith over all strange vanities do flow.  Heraclitus. 
Those vanities I have in detestation,  
As cursed causes of God's indignation:  
Which makes me always weep, sith on the earth  
I see no object for the meanest mirth.  Democritus 
Thus from one subject sundry sequels spring,  
As diversly our wits conceive a thing.  
I laughed to see thee weep; thou weep'st to see  
Me laugh so much, which more afflicteth thee.  Heraclitus. 
Laugh while thou list at mortal miseries,  
I cannot choose but even weep out mine eyes,  
Finding more cause for tears in bloody slaughter,  
Then for thy sence-lesill-beseeming laughter.  Democritus. 
Melt thee, distill thee, turn to wax or snow;  
Make sad thy gesture, turn thy voice to wor;  
I cannot weep, except sometimes it hap  
Through laughing much mine eyes let fall a drop.  Heraclitus. 
I weep to see thus every thing confused,  
Order disordered, and the Laws abused;  
justice reversed, and Policy perverted;  
And this sick state near utterly subverted.  Democritus. 
I laugh to see how Fortune, like a ball,  
Plays with the Globe of this inconstant All:  
How she degradeth these, and graceth those;  
How whom she lifts-up, down again she throws.  Heraclitus. 
I rain down Rivers, when against their King  
City's rebel through subjects bandying:  
When Colleges through arms are reft of Art:  
When every County kingdoms it apart.  Democritus. 
I burst with laughter, when confounding state,  
I see those rebels hunt their Magistrate.  
When I hear Porters prate of State-designes,  
And make all common, as in newfound Indeses.  Heraclitus. 
I weep to see God's glory made a vail  
To cover who his glory most assail:  
That sacred Faith is made a mask for sin,  
And men run headlong to destructions gin.  Democritus. 
I laugh with all my heart at the transforming  
Of ●●ggling Proteis, to all timaes conforming,  
But most I laughed have seen the world so mad  
To starve and die, when those damned Atheists bad.  Heraclitus. 
I weep (alas) to see the people weep,  
Oppressed with restless weight in dangers deep;  
Crying for PEACE, but yet not like to get-her,  
Yet her condition is not greatly better.  Democritus. 
I laugh to see all cause of laughter gone, (thy moan:  
Through those which (erst thou saidst) have caused  
Noting th'old guise I laugh at all their new;  
I laugh at more, but dare not tell it you.  Heraclitus. 
Some sorrows also I in silence keep,  
But in the desert, all my woes shall weep,  
And there perhaps the Rocks will help me then;  
For in these days they are more mild than men.  Democritus. 
I'●e dwell in Cities (as my Genius guides)  
To laugh my fill, for smiling PEACE provides  
Such plenteous store of laughing stuff to fill me,  
That still I'll laugh, unless that laughing kill me  
Finis.   

AN ODE OF THE love and beauties of ASTREA.  
To the most matchless, fair, and virtuous, M. M. H.  

TETRASTICON.  
Thou for whose sake my freedom I forsake,  
Who murdering me, dost yet maintain my life:  
Here under PEACE, thy beauty's type I make,  
Fair warlike Nymph that keep'st me still in strife.   

The Love and Beauties of ASTREA.  

Sacred PEACE, if I approve thee,  
If more than my life I love thee,  
'Tis not for thy beauteous eyes:  
Though the brightest lamp in skies  
In his highest Summer shine  
Seems a spark compared with thine,  
With thy pair of selfe-like Suns,  
Past all else comparisons.   

'Tis not (dear) the dews Ambrosial  
Of those pretty lips so Roseal  
Make me humble at thy feet.  
Though the purest house sweet  
That the Muse's birds do bring  
To Mount Hybla every spring,  
Nothing near so pleasant is  
As thy lively loving kiss.    

ASTREA.  

'Tis not (Beauty's Empress)  
Th'amber circlets of thy tress,  
Curled by the wanton winds,  
That so fast my freedom binds:  
Though the precious glittering sand  
Richly strowed on Tagus' strand;  
Nor the grains Pactolus told  
Never were so fine a gold.   

'Tis not for the polished rows  
Of those Rocks whence Prudence flows  
That I still my suit pursue;  
Though that in those Country's new  
In the Orient lately found  
(Which in precious gems abound)  
'Mong all baits of Avarice  
Be no Pearls of such a price.    

ASTREA.  

'Tis not (Sweet) thine ivory neck  
Makes me worship at thy beck;  
Nor that pretty double Hill  
Of thy bosom panting still:  
Though no fairest Leda's swan,  
Nor no sleekest marble can  
Be so smooth or white in show,  
As thy Lilies, and thy Snow.   

'Tis not (O my Paradise)  
Thy front evener than the ye,  
That my yielding heart doth tie  
With his mild-sweet Majesty:  
Though the silver Moon be feign  
Still by night to mount her wain,  
Fearing to sustain disgrace  
If by day she meet thy face.    

ASTREA.  

'Tis not that soft Satin limb,  
With blue trails enameled trim,  
Thy hand, handle of perfection,  
Keeps my thoughts in thy subjection:  
Though it have such curious cunning,  
Gentle touch, and nimble running,  
That on Lute to hear it warble,  
Would move rocks and ravish marble,   

'Tis not all the rest beside,  
Which thy modest vail doth hide  
From mine eyes (ah too injurious)  
Makes me of thy love so curious:  
Though Diana being bare,  
Nor Leucothoe passing rare,  
In the Christall-flowing springs  
Never bathed so beauteous things.    

ASTREA.  

What then (O divinest Dame)  
Fires my soul with burning flame,  
If thine eyes be not the matches  
Whence my kindling taper catches?  
And what Nectar from above  
Feeds and feasts my joys (my Love)  
If they taste not of the dainties  
Of thy sweet lips sugared plenties?   

What fell heat of covetise  
In my feeble bosom fries;  
If my heart no reckoning hold  
Of thy tresses purest gold?  
What inestimable treasure  
Can procure me greater pleasure  
Than those Orient Pearls I see  
When thou deign'st to smile on me?    

ASTREA.  

What? what fruit of life delights  
My delicious appetites,  
If I overpass the mess  
Of those apples of thy breasts?  
What fresh buds of scarlet Rose  
Are more fragrant sweet than those  
Then those twins thy strawberry teats,  
Curled-purled cherrielets?   

What (to finish) fairer limb,  
Or what member yet more trim,  
Or what other rarer subject  
Makes me make thee all mine object?  
If it be not all the rest  
By thy modest vail suppressed  
(Rather which an envious cloud  
From my sight doth closely shroud.)    

ASTREA.  

Ah 'ts a thing far more divine,  
'Tis that Peerless soul of thine,  
Masterpiece of heavens best Art,  
Made to maze each mortal heart.  
'Tis thine all-admired wit,  
Thy sweet grace and gesture fit,  
Thy mild pleasing courtesy  
Makes thee triumph over me.   

But, for thy fair soul's respect,  
I love twinne-flames that reflect  
From thy bright tra●lucent eyes.  
And thy yellow locks likewise.  
And those Orient Pearlie Rocks  
Which thy lightning smile unlocks.  
And the Nectar-passing blisses  
Of thy bony-sweeter kisses.    

ASTREA.  

I love thy fresh rosy cheek  
Blushing most Aurora-like,  
And the white-exceeding skin  
Of thy neck and dimpled chin,  
And those yvorie-marble mounts  
Either, neither, both at once:  
For I dare not touch to know  
If they be of flesh or no.   

I love thy pure Lily hand  
Soft and smooth, and slender; and  
Those five nimble brethren small  
Armed with Pearle-shel helmets all.  
I love also all the rest  
By thy modest vail suppressed  
(Rather which an envious cloud  
Fron my longing sight doth shroud.)    

ASTREA.  

Sweet mouth that send'st a musky rosed breath;  
Fountain of Nectar, and delightful Balm;  
Eyes cloudy-clere, smile-frowning, stormy-calm;  
Whose every glance darts me a living-death:   

Brows bending quaintly, your round Ebon arks:  
Smile, that then Venus sooner Mars besots;  
Locks more than golden, curled in curious knots,  
Where in close ambush wanton Cupid lurks:   

Grace Angellike; fair forehead smooth and high;  
Pure white, that dimm'st the Lilies of the vale;  
Vermilion rose, that makest Aurora pale:   

Rare spirit, to rule this beauteous Empery:  
If in your force divine effects I view,  
Ah who can blame me if I worship you?    

TO ASTREA.  

Thou, whose sweet eloquence doth make me mute;  
Whose sight doth blind me; & whose nimbleness  
Of feet in dance, and fingers on the Lute,  
In deep amazes makes me motionless.   

Whose only presence from myself absents me,  
Whose pleasant humours, make me passionate;  
Whose sober mood, my follies represents me:  
Whose grave-mild graces make me emulate.   

My heart, through whom my heart is none of mine:  
My All, through whom, I nothing do possess  
Save thine Idéa, glorious and divine.   

O thou my Peace-like war, & warlike PEACE,  
So much the wounds that thou hast given me, please;  
That 'tis my best case never to have case.     

Epigrams upon War and Peace.  

Upon the League.  

FRance, without cause thou dost complain  
Against the League for wronging thee,  
Sh'hath made thee large amends again  
With more than common usury.  
For, for thy one King which she slew,  
Sh'hath given thee now a thousand new.    

Upon the taking of Paris.  

1  
When Paris happily was won  
With small or no endangering,  
Such sudden common joy begun,  
That one would say (t'have seen the thing)  
Th'King took not Paris, Paris took the King.   

2  
O rarest sight of joyful woe,  
Adorned with delightful dread;  
When Henry with lemma self-same show,  
Conquered at once and triumphed!   

3  
Sith thee from danger and distress to free,  
The King thus took, or rather entered thee:  
Paris, it was not in stern Mars his month,  
But in the month that mild ASTREA owneth.    

Upon the fall of the Millars-bridge.  

1  
The Miller's in the river drowned,  
While Paris was beleagerd round;  
To die were all resolved in mind  
Because they had no more to grind.   

2  
Then was their fittest time to die  
Because they might intend it best:  
But their intent was contrary,  
Because they then lived so at rest.   

3  
As after long sharp famine, some (forlorn)  
Of surfeit die, their greediness is such:  
This Mill-bridge having fasted long from corn  
Is drowned perhaps for having ground too-much.    

Upon the recovery of Amiens.  

I know not which may seem most admirable;  
To take or retake such a cities force:  
But yet I know which is most honourable,  
To take by fraud, or to retake by force.   

2  
Each where they sing a thousand ways  
The glory of this enterprise:  
But yet of all their merry lays,  
The best is still in the Reprise.   

3  
Hernand was happy by this Enterprise  
To take so soon our Amiens without blow:  
More happy yet, to die ere the Reprise,  
Else had he died for shame to leave it so.    

Upon the Reduction of Nantes.  
Nantes would not yield so soon (they said)  
Nor be recovered so good cheap  
And yet for all defence it made,  
'Twas made to make the Britton leap.   

Upon PEACE.  

1.  
Soldiers late priest, are now suppressed;  
Crossed and cassierd from further pay,  
Yet will they in this time of rest,  
Take up their lend by the Way.   

2  
This PEACE (it seemeth) doth not sound  
To all the world, for every where  
More Sergeants now do go the Round,  
Then Soldiers erst accustomed were.    

Upon Captain Coblar.  

A merry Coblar left the wars,  
To turn unto his occupation:  
And asked by his customers  
The reason of his alteration:  
‛ Thath pleased (quoth he) the King t'ordaine  
That each his Office take again.     

Epitaphs.  

Upon War.  

1  
Here, under 〈◊〉 huge heap of stones  
Lately interred, lies cruel WAR:  
Pray God long rest her soul and bones:  
Yet there is nothing worse for her.    

Upon Rowland Rob-Church.  

2  
Here lieth Rowland, that was lately slain,  
In robbing of a wealthy Chapel, spied:  
Yet I believe he doth in heaven remain,  
Sith only for the Churches Good he died.    

Upon Captain Catch.  

3  
Here under, Captain CATCH is laid,  
Who six times changed from side to side,  
Of neither side (it seemed) afraid:  
He wore a white scarf when he died,  
Yet some suspect, and so do I,  
For his inconstance shown before,  
That to the Black-band he did fly.  
But now he can revolt no more.    

Upon Sir Nequam Neuter.  

4  
Here lieth he, who the more safe to pray  
On both sides; Neuter, between both abode:  
Wither his Soul is gone, I can not say,  
Sith he was nor for Devil, nor for God.   
Pax omnibus una.  
FINIS.