A Canticle of the victory obtained by the French King, Henry the fourth. At Yury.  
WRITTEN IN FRENCH BY the noble, learned, and divine Poet, William Salustius; Lord of Bartas, and Counsellor of estate unto his Majesty.  
Translated By Josuah Silvester Merchant adventurer.  
AT LONDON, Printed by Richard Yardley, on Breadstreet hill, at the sign of the Star 159●.   

To the worshipful Master james Parkinson and Master john Caplin Esquires, his well-beloved friends.  
A Quatorzaine.  

TO make one slender some (a season) to suffice  
two creditors, for two long-dew deep debts I own,  
I am perforce constrained to part my payment so;  
which use (I grant indeed) is but bad marchant-guise.  
Yet when through wrack by sea, or hindrance otherwise  
great worlds of massy wealth do into wanting go  
right honest men (of force) in such sad overthrow  
to please all parties, thus their rests must portionize.  
As I, alas! (the ship of mine hopes treasure rend  
on ruthless ragged rocks, in seas of swollen despair)  
seek as my rest will reach, your bonds (deer-loved pair)  
Of countless courtesies, and kindness to content:  
take thus much in mean while, I call not in my bill,  
if fortune chance to smile, I stand your debtor still.  
Your Worship's faithful and affectionate, JOSVAH SILVESTER. After the dawn, comes day.    

A canticle of the victory obtained by the French King, Henry the fourth. At Yury.  

O God what glorious sun, beams bright about our bounds?  
What high triumphal hymn, so sweetly shirle resounds,  
In our arched temples fair? what noise runs longest our streets?  
What ruddy flakes of fire with clouds high climbing meets?  
Then is the victory ours: and heavens most righteous wrath  
Upon the cruel camp of Leaguers showered hath.   

My brows be-slick yourselves, & you my throbbing thoughts  
(Deep sunk in sigh-full cells of sorrows sable vaughts)  
Soar up to heaven again: you sisters threefold three,  
Which of your sweets some years have now been niggardly,  
And left my lips a-dry: insucket now my tongue  
In your best syrups; now pour down upon this song  
A lake of learned gold, a rich May-month of flowers:  
Let not my blubbered eyes disturb with sorrows showers  
The common public joy: nor me dumb-thanklesse hide  
Among so many Orphes', these brave Trophés tried.   

Ah in my brain I feel, already gi'en to boil  
Inventions thousand fair: and now's the fittest while  
To give my spirit career, whilst others whist their voice  
For silence never long accompanies great ioies   

But how, or at which end, or of what thread shall I  
This rich gold-grounded web, to weave begin to try?  
Lord, here I will not show, nor consecrate to fame  
Of thy first brave exploits, the now far-noised name:  
I will not sing of all those numbrie hosts undunne,  
Those walls defended well, those rampires warlike 〈◊〉  
By thy young valour great: nor will I Lyl● again  
Repurple with my pen: nor smear the fertile plain  
Of Courtras with dead grease: nor shall thy fauchine dread  
Now here again cut-off thy foes unfaith-ful head.   

I will not neither now, that my learned Calyópa  
Shall cornet through the world, that whilst that our Európa  
(Of Church, and King with-al, abusing th'-holy style)  
Against thee was combined in league most lawless vile:  
Thou, (Prince then parti-les, sans men, munition, treasure,  
Prince, poor at once in all, save rich in hope 'bove measure:)  
Didst seem of thy huge hills like one of greatest height  
Which beaten day and night, is stablished by his weight,  
With right-up-lifted looks beholds the starry stages,  
Scorns stormy winds, mocks rains, & laughs at tempests rages:  
And treads-downe loftie-brave, on each assailed side,  
Beneath his knobbed knees the thunder's rolling pride.   

I may not overcast our glad thoughts watchet sky  
With cloudy sad recite of passed misery:  
I may not cruel now to lance again begin▪  
The wound which waxing whole gins a pace to skin.   

Let others storize that: Me shall suffice to sing  
That since some happy months, since thou wert Fraunce's king  
Thy heau'n-holpe, hardy hand, more fenced Forts hath won  
Then on both sides, the heads in thirty years have done:  
Although the swarms besieged, (in far un-equal count)  
Of thy besieging troops the number did surmount;  
So that there often seems more standards of thy foes  
Then in thy Kingly Camp there single Soldiers goes.   

Thou seèm'st a lightning swift, and then thy squadrons you're  
Warned of thy will do seem, feathers not feet to bare:  
Thy warriors winged with plumes of honours mounting mind  
Are bravely borne about by thy good fortune's wind:  
Thou comest, thou seest, thou winst: & thou triumphant fliest,  
Moore swifter yet than I have these swift words devised.   

near Arques only, proud, the foe for certain days  
Of thine exploits a space the expedition stays:  
But as an angry stream, whose wrathful waves for stop  
The thickness have and height, of some new kawsies top.  
His bottom under-mines, and wrestles with his shore,  
And still adds (though in vain) to forces, forces more;  
Till taking to his aid the succour of the snows  
Wrath-foaming, roaring, he his prison overthrows:  
The forests turui-turnes, drives down the bridges all,  
And having won the plains, doth now the hills appall  
Swells like a surging sea, and then his furious soap  
Steals from the one her land, enlarging thothers scope:  
So thou returnest to field: thou run'st, incounterst, beat'st,  
Holds, houses, cities downe: and ne'er thy paces seatst  
Until fore Paris walls the rebel pále for fear  
In her vast suburbs see thy face (which bright doth bear  
Too-iust a wráth depaint) suburbs entrenched strong,  
Suburbs which flanked well with soldiers thickly throng.   

Thou tak'st Etampes, and then (sans loss of man almost)  
Th'unthankful Vandoms sacked by thine unvanquished host:  
Man's is assailed, and taen Falaise soon after that,  
Lizieux, Eureux, and Main, stoop to thy standards flat:  
And so doth Honfleur too: thy bumbard's brimstone thunder  
Prepárd the prowdful walls of Dreux to pash in sunder,  
When as the Leaguers Lord, puffed with his fresh supplies  
From fatal Philip sent (which Philip craftie-wise  
Wide-gapeth after France; ambitious waiting still  
For nothing, but to see our Peers poure-out and spill  
Each others life and blood, that at more easy rate,  
He fox might bear-awaie the price of their debate.)  
Draws nigh thy honoured host, Then thou whose greatest fear,  
Is lest he fear toomuch: mak'st a retreat as 'twere,  
Thou seemest to shrink a space, coolst thy hot heart renowned  
And stepst alittle back to leap the larger ground.   

Thou mak'st a stand, he flies: thou followst, than he stays  
Both parts prepare a pace, to wars death-dealing plays  
They seem two forests great: each Captain doth apart  
His squadrons quickly range (though quickly yet with art)  
The lightning, flashing-fire, from swords, casks, curtilaces,  
With trembling beams depaints the neighbor-growing grasses  
Like as the starry host, of heavenly torches bright  
Be spangles richlie-gaie the mantle of the night.   

The Soldier past his wont, his face more fearful makes,  
Rage in his sparkling eyes, in's mouth he railing takes,  
His corselet on his back, in's hand his fauchine fell,  
Erinne to Yury fields transport her hateful hell:  
Theirs nothing heard but drums, mischiefs, clarions, trumpets noise  
But sharp-shirle neighings loud, and dreadful tempests voice:  
Terror is over all, each-where is horror spread;  
Horror is each-where fair, and each-where sweet is dread  
All ready fight their toongues, already fights their gest  
The valiant Knight his lance hath now-now couched in rest  
Like as for all the world when meeting on the sand  
With boisterous Bul the Lion tameles hand to hand,  
The Bull with nostrel wide, wrath-fuming, fearful, great  
Against his enemy proud, bold bellows out a threat  
Defies his valiant foe, his head lifts lofty high,  
With hooves the ground, with horns he beats the breathy sky  
Than tother wyding wood his sparkle-spewing throat  
From hollow greedy gulf, intunes a thundering note,  
A ruthless roaring fell: and rowles in furious wise  
Beneath his bugbear brows his brandie blazing eyes  
He rears (in rearing high his crest) his courage stout,  
And spurs his rage apace with fisking train about.   

The cannon is prepared, discharged, handstroks begin,  
The neighbours, brethren, friends, the cousins, and the kin,  
All eyes of duty close, and open eyes to know  
Where, worthy of their wrath, & deadly strokes to stow.   

But never Northwest wind beneath the weeping Kid  
So threefold-thicke let fall on smoky mountains did  
(Which stand, the Gascoine ground eternally confining)  
The quick rebounding beads of yce-pearle slippery shining:  
As here drop showers of lead, as here hail sudden deaths:  
Ofbloud they rivers make, of bodies make they heaths:  
Tost truncheons, noises, smokes, the flames, the fuming damps  
With thickened clouds obscure the face of both the camps.  
Th'earth trembles terrified, the winds reflecten steep,  
And Pluto's self empales, within his Chaos deep.   

This side advances now, anon this side retreats;  
Where fear did lodge of late, now valiant courage seats:  
For yet dame Victory (blest daughter of the Lord,  
With trumpet at her back, and by her side a sword:  
Her hands of sceptres full, crowns hundred on her head;  
Her corpse, in rob depaint with thousand conquests clad;  
With standards flourished fair, embossed with broidered towns,  
Powdered with palms, and wrought with great Achill's renowms)  
Flies swift from camp to camp: and longest the purple plain  
She Glory alluring-sweet leads with triumphant train:  
To soldiers shows her face, O Sons, O who: today?  
Who of you all (dign spouse) shall valiant bear away  
This peerless beauteous bride? who shall her bed-mate be  
Who wel-content shall suck her balm-breath's Ambrosia?   

O happy thousand-times! him shall the Kings adore:  
The nobles humble bow, his honoured feet before:  
The gazing common sort, (like waving Sea untamd)  
Through streets flock-follow him: and's face forever famed,  
Shall sudden set a-work the life-like pencil bold,  
The hammer, graving tool, the chisel, and the mould.  
He shallbe th'argument of an admired story:  
All ages, every sound shall celebrate his glory:  
In short his high renown, shall only bounded be,  
With limits of the world and of eternity.   

Thus spoke fair Victory; and in their boosoms blew  
A more than common fire, a fit of fury new:  
Here number overcomes, their force, here conquers art:  
Thus yet good-fortune fell indifferent t'either part.  
Even so, (or much alike) th'earth angrie-spitefullie,  
To war against the seas, and combat with the sky,  
Sets-on, provoks, inflames, in fight of new device  
The southwind armed with showers, & north-wind lad with ice:  
The flood floats certain-les, the cloud's tossed too and fro,  
Driven to his place again; and both, rough blasts do blow,  
Till th'one of them, by stroke of valiant victory  
Be made King of the sea, and tyrant of the sky.   

But see my mighty King, ah see him, courage, all,  
O what bright honour bears his face Majestical,  
O God, what burnished beams, in's eyes fresh-flaming fair,  
What more than princely port: what sweet presaging air  
Of some good fortune near? he doth not flaunt it nice,  
In rich-rare shining show of pearls of costly price,  
He is bare armed all: and steely temp'rament  
Is of his valour rich the sole rich ornament:  
His nurse him lullabied in steel, in steel he dight  
With down his royal chin, in steel it 'gins to white:  
And by the carving steel he doth reconquer bold  
Crowns, sceptars, diadems, and pearls, and goods, and gold▪   

Yet wholly void of mark, he doth not dastard shroud  
His person in the press: a plume dread-dansing proud  
Beclowds his creasted cask: and like a willow shows  
Which proined smooth beneath, close by a river grows,  
So soon as it envied hath heavens calm favour lost  
Of his wight-waving top the great green tough is tossed:  
Now up, now down; and waves (made slave unto the wind)  
Now too, now fro; and sways now forward, now behind.   

Thus that he might be known, our bold Achilles great  
With his six hundred horse upon six thousand set:  
The first that felt the force of his far▪ swathing keen  
Was (O blind valour bold) a warrior that did ween  
His stomach by his strength, his strength by depth of wound,  
Who daring hand to hand frunts Henry high-renoumd:  
Th'unconquered Henry then, bears level with his eye  
His pistol flinting-fire, yet lets no bullet fly.   

Then with an angry voice, hence guileful arms (quoth he)  
The shining sword indeed of valiant chivalry  
The noblest glory is: then quickly tossing light  
The fiery flaming fear of fauchine flashing bright,  
Like an Autumnal star, which ruddy doth foreshow  
Some dearth, some pestilence, some bloody overthrow)  
He buckles with his foe, th'assailant he assaults  
And resolute he marks his armours weak defaults:  
Then entering in between his breastplate and his bases  
He seeks his sinful soul, their finds and thence it chases.   

Go happy soul, go tell, go tidings tell beneath,  
That by th'unvanquished arm thou honoured hadst thy death  
Of th' Hercules of France, because the glorious fame  
Of so fair death is more, then if ye overcame:  
Say that here lives again a new Martellus brave:  
And say the fields of France another Rowland have.   

But thou diest not alone; of all this goodly play,  
Thou art but prologue thou, or first fruits of the fray:  
He deals as many deaths as he bestoweth blows,  
He hacks, he hews, he hurts, them all he overthrows  
More soon than whirlwind swift, or cannot shot, or thunder,  
Can overturn a tree, pash walls, or tower mine-under:  
One place, one troup, one wound, one death, one doghty deed  
Cannot contain his rage, nor can restrain his steed:  
Ech-where he lays on load, and's fiery fury stout  
Crosse-carues an hundred ways, the quaking camp throughout  
All fall at once dismayed: yet diversly they tumble,  
Some stabbed, some stunned withstroks, some on their fellows stumble.   

But like a Lion fierce, which longest Numidian lawn,  
Vnlades his hunger's load on trembling troupes that fawn:  
If of a bear he hear the hollow howling voice  
With ears erect and crest he roars an hideous noise,  
Leaves lambs, and kids, and knows: glad he encountered hath,  
An object matching more his honourable wrath:  
My matchless Monarch so, discovering Duke Lorraine  
Scorns base blood, and plies to meet with him amain,  
Throngs thwart the thickest troupes of soldiers, men at-arms  
Dead horses, horses live, pikes, bills, bows, ensigns, arms:  
Encounters: and beneath the steel seeks buissie-brave  
The heart that only life unto the Leaguers gave.   

But dreading his disdaigne, the Duke de-Maine retires  
And from all hopes at once dejected, faint, suspires:  
Him past-blisse makes to blush, him thousand cares molest,  
Of his new foil he doth the witness fields detest.   

Now Jury out of sight, he near to Mante approacheth  
His heel, his weary horse with weary rowel broacheth  
(His horse which breathless melts to dusty dew his fat  
Which on his bridle hangs his long neck crest-fallen flat  
Which having mouth more dry the pum-stone spungi-light  
Respects the spur no more than stock that's stirr-les quite.)   

O wherefore noble Prince, o wherefore dost thou fly?  
What Panike terror chokes thy virtues valiancy?  
Who graves a pale-faint fear upon thy constant face?  
Thou lackest a lawful cause, not courage (in this case)  
The cause doth combat thee: stay Charles, confess thy miss,  
And humble, of thy king the right hand come and kiss.   

If ruthless red revenge for thy dead brothers fall  
Made thee take arms in hand, what's that to France at all?  
What's that unto the King? which hath of brother's gore  
heart no less free (thou knowest) than fingers ever more.   

If greatness made the fight, then mightst thou not attend  
More honour from a Prince, which prudent can comprend  
Thy noble virtues high; and which as king can grace  
Those that his service will with courage stout embrace:  
Then from base people blind, poor, thankless light, inorme  
Which sail with every wind, and leak in every storm:  
Which do reward with death, or exile (at the best)  
just Photion's, Camills stout, wise Dions with the rest:  
Which have no rule but rage, and which cast down to ground  
(Like ivy green) the wall to which they most are bound.   

But if bleak fear to find no more now open never  
The wide gates of his grace: ah was there known yet ever  
A King of service true and just remembering more:  
Or King that more forgot old quarrels quenched before.   

He rather would subdue by benefits then blows  
His rebel subjects all: his wrath that hottest glows  
Is like a fire of straw: striking he sigheth sore,  
And from his foeman's flank of blood he draws not more  
Than tears from his own eyes: his spirit is void of gall,  
This special gift from heaven the house of Bourbon all  
Holds for blessed heritage, and this world's glorious eye,  
Which 'bout the heaven each day one restless round doth ply  
Did neuer'see a prince religiously more loath  
To shake in any sort his honnor-binding oath.   

Offer unto my Lord the crown of Germany  
The diadem of Spain, the Turks Grand-Signorie:  
Yea make him Monarch of the world (by guile)  
he'll spurn all sceptres, fore his faith defile.   

Perhaps (th'wilt say) thou fightest for church-creed catholic  
But tell me, who conducts the Pinnace Politic?  
Who in his camp commands? but those that more than thou  
Do zealous tooth and nail the faith of Rome avow?  
Serves not his healthful name for freedom ('bout our borders)  
And presence for azile unto the priestly orders?  
No Atheism in his heart he broodeth hypocrite,  
A Christian king he is, and prince religious right:  
He doth believe he sucked with his kind nurse's creames  
Gods service pure reformed (more dear to him then realms)  
Yet he not partial is, nor heady opinionated:  
If th'holy temple fair, now newly ruinated  
By our foul hands profane, by our strife-stirring quills,  
May ever one day look for to repair her ills:  
And if the Church at all may hope to reprocure  
An happy blessed estate, a peace firme-founded sure:  
The same shall doubtless be, in such a Princes reign  
So free from passion blind. My Muse cast back again,  
Return we to the fight. But what, there all are fled  
all's full of rumour there, disorder, death and dread:  
Al-readie none obey, already none command,  
Each soldier now apart makes by himself his band:  
The large bloud-bibbing plains are covered all about  
With swords, casks, lances, guns; and bravest soldiers stout  
Bear into forests black, their faint, live-deaths conceived  
And cast in hollow gulfs, their fallen, dead-deaths received.   

The Victor following fast, o'ertakes their hindelike heels,  
Fears not the flier's way: the greatest fear he feels,  
Is least th'ones hare-like dread, the others desperate fury,  
Find out some ferry boat, some bridge, some way securie,  
To scape to safe retreat: they gasping headlong throw  
Their bodies here and there, into the waters low.   

The azure-eyed Nymph, Navonda never-dying  
Which (Queen) the crystal cleves of those waves (woeful crying)  
Bleak 'gan to breathe this plaint, from out the streaming glass:  
(Her head in dropping koife of rushes kercherd was.)  
Alas (quoth she) whence comes? whence comes this iron spawn?  
This mettle-moulded folk? from what Mount Gibel drawn?  
What Vulcan? what Myron, hath cunning given (I say)  
To steel, a life to stir: to iron, breath to naigh?  
Hence monsters, hence, away; (of war the workmanship)  
Go, and your mother Earth with blood bedie and dip.  
Let us slide toward the sea, with streams smooth-swifting sweet  
Our Tritons loving, kind embracing arms to meet.  
Her voice doth vanish void, amid so many noises,  
One combats with his weight, one through his armours poises  
Swallows the choking flood: another hath for grave  
Nought but his bayard bold, his bayard nought but but wave:  
Another more amazed, for skiff his target takes,  
For owers his aching arms, his Plume his sail he makes:  
But strait a whirlpoole-place, that roareth ringing-round  
Down-gimblets all at once, owers, sail, and ship to ground.   

Those that by happy hap, safe tother shore do find,  
In changing air, with-al yet do not change their mind:  
Dikes, barricadoes, brigges, towns, rampires, trenches cast  
Cannot suffice to stop their heedless headlong haste.   

And if that any band resist thy victory;  
'tis not to stoop, but more thy praise to multiply:  
Witness that warlike troop of valiant soldiers bold,  
Which martched well ordered fair, beneath three standards old:  
Thyself the fifteenth man with thine arm's's lightning just  
That mighty body beatest downe to the blood-dyed dust  
Like as in calmy seas a galley with her guns  
Drowns in the deep a ship of full four hundredth tons:  
Or like as in career the Spanish jennet light  
Turns topsyturvy down the german Coursers might.  
Thou heawst, thou beat'st, thou breakest, thou overcomest aye  
Until the niggard night, have robbed thee of the day:  
And death of foe deprived: th'▪ Heluecian band alone  
Not willing to forget their ancient valour shown,  
Against the conquering camp, shake the sharp ashen dart  
The more their number grows the higher swells their heart.  
But of thy warlike face th'hot shunshine in a trice,  
Their Diamantine heart transforms to brittle ice,  
That brittle ice to wet, that wet to vapour vain,  
And those (whom pinching death, before pale dread did pain:)  
Yea those I say, that ne'er turned shameful back at-all,  
But to the warrious Phoenix, tamer of our Gaul:  
Those old whip-tirants tough, those king-correcting braves  
Prostrate before thy feet their bodies, and their staves:  
Then, lest that thou shouldst blot with brand of ever-blame  
A people ever true to th' Flower-de-luce (offame)  
Of thy high hearts disdaigne, the warlike wrath relenting  
Thou to their Cantons goest their colours loved presenting.   

O Trophy statelie-proud, which needs no Trophies more!  
O head whom Laurels green, still flourishing decore!  
O thou (indeed) invict, o more than kingly breast,  
Which happy o'er thyself, and triumph triumphest:  
Which blest contentst all parts: with victory thine host,  
With grace thy vanquished foe, both with thy glory most.   

Thou this world's ornament, thou honour of our times,  
May ever on the wings of mine heroic rhymes  
This brave exploit be borne: & may our Country Nations  
(which, fostered-up in frays, wars, treasons, innovations,  
Stood as it were at-gaze, with divers winds reflecting,  
And of this battle great the issue stood expecting)  
Reap their right profit thence: may eke our Nobles yield,  
Thy prowess, of the world the Empire fit to wield,  
That now they have for head, a king, wise-fortunate:  
That by this fight thy hand hath blest restored the state  
Of nobles to their place, revenged the dead Kings wrong,  
Authorized the Crown, freed France from bondage long.   

May Clergymen devout, at last begin confess  
That God upholds thy side, and doth thy bosom bless  
With princely virtues rare, and that upon thy crown  
Th'oil of his holy ghost he poureth ever down.  
In short may all our French confess this certain thing  
That thou oughtest only be, and canst be sole our king.   

But what (alas,) a plague, gangrene, or leprosy,  
Spreads all this body o'er: a torch of mutiny  
burneth France to ashes all: and but thy hand un-idle  
Of this state's stumbling steed bears up so short the bridle,  
Our sceptre (honoured erst of many men of might)  
Would fly to shivers all, or waste in sparkles quite.   

The Prelate strikes the fire, the Noble blows the coal,  
Of this consuming flame, the people peevish whole  
Delighting in the blaze, do wretched-witched elves  
Instead of fuel (fools) cast in their willing selves.   

O, Clergy (that forget the holy room ye hold)  
Is't well done, 'gainst your own, your own to arm so bold?  
To kill your king? a King, which in the womb (akin  
To thousand famous Kings) that office did begin:  
A King which for your laws, your altars, honours, mitres,  
His blood adventerd oft among so many fighters:  
A King (sans doubt) devout if ever were on ground:  
A King that feared most the fearful thunder-sound  
That roars from Vatican: and more, t'inregister  
Amongst most glorious saints, a monstrous murderer  
Which sheathed in belly of the Lord of hosts anointed,  
(First'nine-times steeped in Styx) a steel of purpose pointed.   

O little-noble Nobles, see you not alas,  
Supplanting of the king ye do yourselves abass?  
That whilst ye do pull down this royal Monarchy,  
Ye do establish mad a very Anarchy,  
A shapeless Chaos rude: still stabbing night and day  
Against your breast the blade of people's violent sway;  
Which hate the honest sort and have their chief delight,  
In hope t▪ ensue the Swissers too-rebellious rite.   

And thou peopl▪ undiscreet, which for a Monarch blest,  
Just, lawful, mighty, wise, and valiant 'bove the best:  
Tak'st hundred tyrants base, whose tusk-teeths tearing fell  
Thy marrow-kernel suck, and crack thy bones (the shell)  
To whom the glittering gold, from forth th'earth's bowels brought,  
Or midst the slippery sands of shining Tagus sought  
Seems nothing near so fine as doth the gold they fet  
From forth thy womb, or gold that with thy tears is wet.   

No no, the frenchman's deaf, deep drowned in Lethargy,  
Senseless he doth not feel, his murdering malady,  
Or if he live and feel, he frantic arms his force  
'Gainst his Physician kind, that feign would cure his corpse,  
Appliyng thousand sorts of sound-sweet medicines fit  
Yet he doth more and more increase his furious fit.   

Then courage mighty King thy thoughts let anchor here,  
O noble Prince pursue thy wel-begun career,  
And sith this festered sore a plaster helps so small,  
Set me the lance a-work, the sword, the fire and all:  
Choke me this Hydra huge whence monsters muster out  
And with thy fair renown fill me the world about:  
Use thy good fortune now; the hills most loftie-browd  
Do trembling give thee place: the floods profoundest proud,  
Dry up before thy feet: the hugest mighty camps  
Fore beams of thy bright eyes, vanish in smoky damps:  
And of the strongest holds the massy founded frame  
Affrighted shaketh sore at sole sound of thy name.   

But (mighty King) take heed, do not alas expose  
Thy life in pray so oft to spareless Atropos:  
Be sparing of thy blood and think for certainty  
That our good hangs on hooks of thy prosperity.   

But if thou shut thine ear, 'gainst th'▪ humble low request  
Of thy fame's trumpeter: yet hear how France (at least)  
Presents herself to thee, not such as once she was,  
When near the Danish deep her limits bounds did pass:  
When Euphrates and Nile in favour of her realms  
'Longst fruitful plains did roll their tributary streams:  
When to the Spaniard proud she rulers did allow:  
And when the pride of Rome beneath her laws did bow:  
But lean, and bleak, and broke, and tattered, rend, and torn,  
And sunk in ●●ngerous Seas or hard mishap forlorn.   

o my dear son (quoth she) nay my defender rather,  
My staff, my stay, my fort, my second-founding father,  
Through grief and sorrow (sure) I should despairing die,  
I should my stommach stab, with shameful halter I  
Should stop my weary wind, and stint these cares of mine  
Wert thou not mine (my Lord) and if I were not thine.   

Be not (my dearest hope) then of thy life so lavish  
My kind King let no more fame-hunting envy ravish  
Thy thoughts to see all things, to make thee hardi-heed-les  
To get too great renown run into dangers needle's.   

A mighty Monarch must, whilst greening youth doth flower  
Make one, or two, or three, proofs of his peerless power  
For valour is the gate of honour beautified,  
The first stair-step it is, whereby good-hap doth guide  
Our feet to Glory's mount: and nothing heartens so  
The men of arms to fight, as valiant Prince (we know:)  
But afterwards he must with wary wisdom war,  
More often with his witthen with his weapon far:  
And feeding so his spirit with sweet-sharp easie-paine,  
Not keep a soldiers place, but captains room retain.   

My son, but all toomuch th'-hast fought with thine own hand  
The virtue of whose force thous-thousands understand:  
My King, t'enlarge thy laud thoust laboured all too-long,  
But not for my repose: brave Lord my Victrie strong  
Lies in thy length of life, not in thy boisterous arm:  
Thy life's my life, thy death my death, thy hurt my harm:  
If thou neglect thyself, I prithee love me tho  
Upon thy country dear (at least) some pity show  
Think what I should become is some untimely ●eath  
Betwixt mine arms toosoone should stop my Henry's breath▪  
Even like a widow-ship which wanting Pilot sage,  
On suddy Seas is tossed in time of tempests rage  
Which surging, at the last 'gainst th'▪- horned stone doth knock  
And with farr-spreading split doth hide the hoary rock.  
But if that toomuch heart, too-prodigue of thy life,  
Set not too-soon a-work the edge of Atrop's knife,  
I hope to flourish more, then ere I did in Arts,  
In manners fair, in laws, in stoar of valiant hearts,  
In faith, in knowledge, wealth▪ and thy just reign and sage  
Shall nothing yield in bliss to calm Augustus' age.   
FJNJS.