THE TENTH MUSE Lately sprung up in AMERICA. OR Several Poems, compiled with great variety of Wit and Learning, full of delight. Wherein especially is contained a complete discourse and description of 

The Four Elements,  
The Four Constitutions,  
The Four Ages of Man,  
The Four Seasons of the Year.    
Together with an Exact Epitome of the Four Monarchies, viz. 

The Assyrian,  
The Persian,  
The Grecian,  
The Roman.    
Also a Dialogue between Old England and New, concerning the late troubles. With divers other pleasant and serious Poems.  
By a Gentlewoman in those parts.  
Printed at London for Stephen Bowtell at the sign of the Bible in Pope's Head-Alley. 1650.   

Kind Reader:  
HAd I opportunity but to borrow some of the Author's wit, 'tis possible I might so trim this curious Work with such acquaint expressions, as that the Preface might bespeak thy further perusal; but I fear 'twil be a shame for a man that can speak so little, to be seen in the title page of this Woman's Book, lest by comparing the one with the other, the Reader should pass his sentence, that it is the gift of women, not only to speak most, but to speak best; I shall leave therefore to commend that, which with any ingenious Reader will too much commend the Author, unless men turn more peevish than women, to envy the excellency of the inseriour Sex. I doubt not but the Reader will quickly find more than I can say, and the worst effect of his reading will be unbeleif, which will make him question whether it be a woman's Work, and ask, Is it possible? If any do, take this as an answer from him that dares avow it; It is the Work of a Woman, honoured, and esteemed where she lives, for her gracious demeanour, her eminent parts, her pious conversation, her courteous disposition, her exact diligence in her place, and discreet managing of her family occasions; and more than so, these Poems are the fruit but of some few hours, curtailed from her sleep, and other refreshments. I dare add little, lest I keep thee too long, if thou wilt not believe the worth of these things (in their kind) when a man says it, yet believe it from a woman when thou seest it. This only I shall annex, I fear the displeasure of no person in the publishing of these Poems but the Authors, without whose knowledge, and contrary to her expectation, I have presumed to bring to public view what she resolved should never in such a manner see the Sun; but I found that divers had gotten some scattered papers, affected them well, were likely to have sent forth broken pieces to the Author's prejudice, which I thought to prevent, as well as to pleasure those that earnestly desired the view of the whole.   



MErcury showed Apollo, Bartas Book,  
Minerva this, and wished him well to look,  
And tell uprightly, which did which excel;  
He viewed, and viewed, and vowed he could not tell.  
They bid him Hemisphere his mouldy nose,  
With's cracked leering-glasses, for it would pose  
The best brains he had in's old pudding-pan,  
Sex weighed, which best, the Woman, or the Man?  
He peered, and poured, and glared, and said for wore,  
I'm even as wise now, as I was before:  
They both began laugh, and said, it was no marvel  
The Authoress was a right Du Bartas Girl.  
Good sooth quoth the old Don, tell, ye me so,  
I muse whither at length these Girls will go;  
It half revives my chill frostbitten blood,  
To see a woman once do, ought, that's good;  
And chode buy Chaucer's Boots, and Homer's Furs,  
Ler men look to't, lest women wear the Spurs.    

To my dear Sister, the Author of these Poems.  

THough most that know me, dare (I think) affirm  
I ne'er was borne to do a Poet harm,  
Yet when I read your pleasant witty strains,  
It wrought so strongly on my addle brames;  
That though my verse be not so finely spun,  
And so (like yours) cannot so neatly run,  
Yet am I willing, with upright intent,  
To show my love without a compliment.  
There needs no painting to that comely face,  
That in its native beauty hath such grace;  
What I (poor silly I) prefix therefore,  
Can but do this, make yours admired the more;  
And if but only this, I do attain  
Content, that my disgrace may be your gain.  
If women, I with women, may compare,  
Your Works are solid, others weak as air;  
Some books of Women I have heard of late,  
Perused some, so witless, intricate,  
So void of sense, and truth, as if to err  
Were only wished (acting above their sphere)  
And all to get, what ( souls) they lack,  
Esteem to be the wisest of the pack;  
Though (for your sake) to some this be permitted,  
To print, yet wish I many better witted;  
Their vanity make this to be inquired,  
If women are with wit, and sense inspired:  
Yet when your Works shall come to public view,  
'Twill be affirmed, 'twill be confirmed by you:  
And I, when seriously I had revolved  
What you had done, I presently resolved,  
Theirs was the Persons, not the Sexes failing,  
And therefore did be-speak a modest vailing.  
You have acutely in Eliza's ditty  
Acquitted women, else I might with pity,  
Have wished them all to women's Works to look,  
And never more to meddle with their book.  
What you have done, the Sun shall witness bear,  
That for a woman's Work 'tis very rare;  
And if the Nine vouchsafe the Tenth a place,  
I think they rightly may yield you that grace.  
But lest I should exceed, and too much love,  
Should too too much endeared affection move,  
To superadd in praises I shall cease,  
Lest while I please myself I should displease  
The longing Reader, who may chance complain,  
And so requite my love with deep disdain;  
That I your silly Servant, stand i' th' porch,  
Lighting your Sun-light with my blinking torch;  
Hindering his minds content, his sweet repose,  
Which your delightful Poems do disclose,  
When once the Caskets oped; yet to you  
Let this be added, then i'll bid adieu,  
If you shall think, it will be to your shame  
To be in print, than I must bear the blame:  
Iced be a fault, 'tis mine, 'tis shame that might  
Deny so fair an infant of its right,  
To look abroad; I know your modest mind,  
How you will blush, complain, 'tis too unkind,  
To force a woman's birth, provoke her pain,  
Expose her Labours to the world's disdain:  
I know you'll say, you do defy that mint,  
That stamped you thus, to be a fool in print,  
'Tis true, it doth not now so neatly stand,  
As if'ft 'twere polished with your own sweet hand;  
'Tis not so richly decked, so trimly tired,  
Yet it is such as justly is admired.  
If it be folly, 'tis of both, or neither,  
Both you and I, we'll both be fools together;  
And he that says, 'tis foolish (if my word  
May sway) by my consent shall make the third.  
I dare outface the world's disdain for both,  
If you alone profess you are not wroth;  
Yet if you are, a woman's wrath is little,  
When thousands else admire you in each tittle.   
●. W.   

Upon the Author, by a known Friend.  

NOw I believe Tradition, which doth call  
The Muses, Virtues, Graces, Females all;  
Only they are not nine, eleven, nor three,  
Our Authoress proves them but one unity.  
Mankind take up some blushes on the score,  
Menopolize perfection no more:  
In your own Arts, confess yourselves outdone,  
The Moon hath totally eclipsed the Sun,  
Not with her sable mantle mufling him,  
But her bright silver makes his gold look dim:  
Just as his beams force our pale Lamps to wink,  
And earthly Fires within their ashes shrink.   

I cannot wonder at Apollo now,  
That he with Female Laurel crowned his brow,  
That made him witty: had I leave to choose,  
My Verse should be a Page unto your Muse.   
C. B.   


Arm, arm, Soldadoes arm, Horse, Horse, speed to your Horses,  
Gentlewomen, make head, they vent their plots in Verses;  
They writ of Monarchies, a most seditious word,  
It signifies Oppression, Tyranny, and Sword:  
March amain to London, they'll rise, for there they flock,  
But stay a while, they seldom rise till ten a clock.   
R. Q.   

In praise of the Author, Mistress Anne Bradstreet, virtue's true and lively Pattern, Wife of the Worshipful Simon Bradstreet Esquire.  
At present residing in the Occidental parts of the World, in America, alias NOU-ANGLIA.  

What Golden splendent STAR is this, so bright,  
One thousand miles thrice told, both day and night,  
(From th' Orient first sprung) now from the West  
That shines; swift-winged Phoebus, and the rest,  
Of all Jove's fiery stames surmounting far,  
As doth each Planet, every falling Star;  
By whose divine, and lucid light most clear,  
Nature's dark secret Mysteries appear;  
Heaven's, Earth's admired wonders, noble acts  
Of Kings, and Princes most heroic facts,  
And what e'er else in darkness seemed to die,  
Revives all things so obvious now to th' eye;  
That he who these, its glittering Rays views o'er,  
Shall see what's done in all the world before.   
N. H.   

Upon the Author.  

'tTwere extreme folly should I dare attempt,  
To praise this Author's worth with compliment;  
None but herself must dare commend her parts,  
Whose sublime brain's the Synopsis of Arts:  
Nature and Skill, here both in one agree,  
To frame this Masterpiece of Poetry:  
False Fame, belie their Sex, no more, it can,  
Surpass, or parallel, the best of man.   
C. B.   

Another to M ris. Anne Bradstreete, Author of this Poem.  

I'Ve read your Poem (Lady) and admire,  
Your Sex, to such a pitch should e'er aspire;  
Go on to write, continue to relate,  
New Histories, of Monarchy and State:  
And what the Romans to their Poets gave,  
Be sure such honour, and esteem you'll have.   
H. S.   

An Anagram.  
Anna Bradestreate.  
Dear Neat An Bartas.  

So Bartas like thy fine spun Poems been,  
That Bartas name will prove an Epicene.   
Another.  
Anne Bradstreate.  
Arts bred neat An▪    

To her most Honoured Father Thomas Dudley Esq; these humbly presented.  

Dear Sir, of late delighted with the sight,  
Of your 
T D. on the four parts of the world  sour sisters, decked in black & white  
Of fairer Dames, the sun near saw the face,  
(though made a pedestal for Adam's Race)  
Their worth so shines, in those rich lines you show.  
Their parallels to find I scarcely know,  
To climb their Climes, I have nor strength, nor skill,  
To mount so high, requires an eagle's quill:  
Yet view thereof, did cause my thoughts to soar,  
My lowly pen, might wait upon those four,  
I bring my four; and four, now meanly clad,  
To do their homage unto yours most glad,  
Who for their age, their worth, and quality,  
Might seem of yours to claim precedency;  
But by my humble hand thus rudely penned  
They are your bounden handmaids to attend.  
These same are they, of whom we being have,  
These are of all, the life, the nurse, the grave,  
These are, the hot, the cold, the moist, the dry,  
That sink, that swim, that fill, that upwards fly,  
Of these consists, our bodies, , and food,  
The world, the useful, hurtful, and the good:  
Sweet harmony they keep, yet jar oft times,  
Their discord may appear, by these harsh rhymes.  
Yours did contest, for Wealth, for Arts, for Age,  
My first do show, their good, and then their rage,  
My other four, do intermixed tell  
Each others faults, and where themselves excel:  
How hot, and dry, contend with moist, and cold,  
How Air, and Earth, no correspondence hold,  
And yet in equal tempers, how they 'gree,  
How divers natures, make one unity.  
Some thing of all (though mean) I did intent,  
But feared you'd judge, one Bartas was my friend,  
I honour him, but dare not wear his wealth,  
My goods are true (though poor) I love no stealth,  
But if I did, I durst not send them you;  
Who must reward a thief, but with his due.  
I shall not need my innocence to clear,  
These ragged lines, will do't, when they appear.  
On what they are, your mild aspect I crave,  
Accept my best, my worst vouchsafe a grave.   
From her, that to yourself more duty owes,  
Then waters, in the boundless Ocean flows.  
ANNE BRADSTREET.   

THE PROLOGUE.  

1.  
TO sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings,  
Of Cities founded, Commonwealths begun,  
For my mean Pen, are too superior things,  
And how they all, or each, their dates have run:  
Let Poets, and Historians set these forth,  
My obscure Verse, shall not so dim their worth.   

2.  
But when my wondering eyes, and envious heart,  
Great Bartas sugared lines do but read o'er;  
Fool, I do grudge, the Muses did not part  
'Twixt him and me, that over-fluent store;  
A Bartas can, do what a Bartas will,  
But simple I, according to my skill.   

3.  
From Schoolboys tongue, no Rhetoric we expect,  
Nor yet a sweet Consort, from broken strings,  
Nor perfect beauty, where's a main defect,  
My foolish, broken, blemished Muse so sings;  
And this to mend, alas, no Art is able,  
'Cause Nature made it so irreparable.   

4.  
Nor can I, like that fluent sweet tongued Greek  
Who lisped at first, speak afterwards more plain  
By Art, he gladly found what he did seek,  
A full requital of his striving pain:  
Art can do much, but this maxime's most sure,  
A weak or wounded brain admits no cure.   

5.  
jam obnoxious to each carping tongue,  
Who says, my hand a needle better fits,  
A Poet's Pen, all scorn, I should thus wrong;  
For such despite they cast on female wits:  
If what I do prove well, it won't advance,  
They'll say its stolen, or else, it was by chance.   

6.  
But sure the antic Greeks were far more mild,  
Else of our Sex, why feigned they those nine,  
And poesy made, Calliopes own child,  
So 'mongst the rest, they placed the Arts divine:  
But this weak knot they will full soon untie,  
The Greeks did nought, but play the fool and lie.   

7.  
Let Greeks be Greeks, and Women what they are,  
Men have precedency, and still excel,  
It is but vain, unjustly to wage war,  
Men can do best, and Women know it well;  
Pre-eminence in each, and all is yours,  
Yet grant some small acknowledgement of ours.   

8.  
And oh, ye high flown quills, that soar the skies,  
And ever with your prey, still catch your praise,  
If e'er you deign these lowly lines, your eyes  
Give wholesome Parsley wreath, I ask no Bays:  
This mean and unrefined stuff of mine,  
Will make your glistering gold but more to shine.   
A. B.   

The Four Elements.  

FIre, Aire, Earth, and Water, did all contest  
which was the strongest, noblest, & the best,  
Who the most good could show, & who most rage  
For to declare, themselves they all engage;  
And in due order each her turn should speak,  
But enmity, this amity did break:  
All would be chief, and all scorned to be under,  
Whence issued reins, and winds, lightning and thunder;  
The quaking Earth did groan, the sky looked black,  
The Fire, the forced Air, in sunder crack;  
The sea did threat the heavens, the heavens the earth,  
All looked like a Chaos, or new birth;  
Fire broiled Earth, and scorched Earth it choked,  
Both by their dare; Water so provoked,  
That roaring in it came, and with its source  
Soon made the combatants abate their force;  
The rumbling, hissing, puffing was so great,  
The world's confusion it did seem to threat;  
But Air at length, contention so abated,  
That betwixt hot and cold, she arbitrated  
The others enmity: being less, did cease  
All storms now laid, and they in perfect peace,  
That Fire should first begin, the rest consent,  
Being the most impatient Element.   


Fire.  
WHat is my worth (both ye) and all things know,  
Where little is, I can but little show,  
But what I am, let learned Grecians say;  
What I can do, well skilled Mechanics may,  
The benefit all Being's, by me find;  
Come first ye Artists, and declare your mind.  
What tool was ever framed, but by my might;  
O Martialist! what weapon for your fight?  
To try your valour by, but it must feel  
My force? your sword, your Pike, your flint and steel,  
Your Cannon's bootless, and your powder too  
Without mine aid, alas, what can they do?  
The adverse wall's not shaked, the Mine's not blown,  
And in despite the City keeps her own,  
But I with one Granado, or Petard,  
Set open those gates, that 'fore so strong was barred,  
Ye Husbandmen, your coulter's made by me,  
Your shares, your mattocks, and what  you see,  
Subdue the earth, and fit it for your grain,  
That so in time it might requite your pain;  
Though strong limbed Vulcan forged it by his skill,  
I m●●e it flexible unto his will.  
Ye Cooks, your kitchen implements I framed,  
Your spits, pots, jacks, what else I need not name,  
Your dainty food, I wholesome make, I warm  
Your shrinking limbs, which winters cold doth harm;  
The Paracelsians too, in vaines your skill  
In chymestry, unless I help you Still,  
And you Philosophers, if ere you made  
A transmutation, it was through mine aid.  
Ye Silversmiths, your ure I do refine,  
What mingled lay with earth, I cause to shine.  
But let me leave these things, my flame aspires  
To match on high with the Celestial fires.  
The Sun, an Orb of Fire was held of old,  
Our Sages new, another tale have told:  
But be he what they list, yet his aspect,  
A burning fiery heat we find reflect;  
And of the self same nature is with mine,  
Good sister Earth, no witness needs but thine;  
How doth his warmth refresh thy frozen backs,  
And trim thee gay, in green, after thy blacks?  
Both man and beast, rejoice at his approach,  
And birds do sing, to see his glittering Coach.  
And though nought but Sal'manders live in fire;  
The Fly Pyrausta called, all celse expire.  
Yet men and beasts, Astronomers can tell,  
Fixed in heavenly constellations dwell,  
My Planets, of both Sexes, whose degree,  
Poor Heathen judged worthy a Deity:  
With Orion armed, attended by his dog,  
The Theban stout Alcides, with his club:  
The Valiant Perseus who Medusa slew,  
The Horse that killed Bellerophon, then flew.  
My Crab, my Scorpion, fishes, you may see,  
The maid with balance, wain with horses three;  
The Ram, the Bull, the Lion, and the Beagle;  
The Bear, the Goat, the Raven, and the Eagle,  
The Crown, the Whale, the Archer, Bernice Hare,  
The Hydra, Dolphin, Boys, that waters bear.  
Nay more than these, Rivers 'mongst stars are found,  
Eridanus, where Phaeton was drowned,  
Their magnitude and height should I recount,  
My story to a Volume would amount:  
Out of a multitude, these few I touch,  
Your wisdom out of little gathers much,  
I'll here let pass, my Choler cause of wars,  
And influence of divers of those stars,  
When in conjunction with the sun, yet more,  
Augment his heat, which was too hot before:  
The Summer ripening season I do claim;  
And man from thirty unto fifty frame.  
Of old, when Sacrifices were divine,  
I of acceptance was the holy sign.  
'Mong all my wonders which I might recount;  
There's none more strange than Aetna's sulphery mount  
The choking flames, that from Vesuvius flew  
The overcurious second Pliny slew:  
And with the ashes, that it sometimes shed  
Apulia's jacent parts were covered;  
And though I be a servant to each man;  
Yet by my force, master my master can.  
What famous Towns to cinders have I turned?  
What lasting Forts my kindleed wrath hath burned?  
The stately seats of mighty Kings by me:  
In confused heaps of ashes may ye see.  
Where's Ninus great walled Town, and Troy of old?  
Carthage, and hundred moe● in stories told,  
Which when they could not be o'er come by foes  
The Army through my help victorious rose;  
Old sacred Zion, I demolished thee;  
So great Diana's Temple was by me.  
And more than brutish Sodom for her lust,  
With neighbouring Towns I did consume to dust,  
What shall I say of Lightning, and of Thunder,  
Which Kings, and mighty ones; amazed with wonder,  
Which made a Caesar, (Rome's) the world's proud head,  
Foolish Caligula, creep under's bed  
Of Meteors, Ignis Fatuus, and the rest,  
But to leave those to''th' wise, I judge is best,  
The rich I oft make poor, the strong I maim,  
Not sparing life when I can take the same;  
And in a word, the World I shall consume,  
And all therein at that great day of doom;  
Not before then, shall cease my raging ire,  
And then, because no matter more for fire:  
Now Sisters, pray proceed, each in her course,  
As I: impart your usefulness, and force.    


Earth.  
THe next in place, Earth judged to be her due,  
Sister, in worth I come not short of you;  
In wealth and use I do surpass you all,  
And Mother Earth, of old, men did me call,  
Such was my fruitfulness; an Epithet  
Which none ere gave, nor you could claim of right,  
Among my praises this I count not least,  
I am th' original of man and beast,  
To tell what sundry fruits my fat soil yields,  
In vine-yards, orchards, gardens, and corn fields,  
Their kinds, their tastes, their colours, and their smells,  
Would so pass time, I could say nothing else;  
The rich and poor, wise, fool, and every sort,  
Of these so common things, can make report:  
To tell you of my Countries, and my regions  
Soon would they pass, not hundreds, but legions,  
My cities famous, rich, and populous,  
Whose numbers now are grown innumerous;  
I have not time to think of every part,  
Yet let me name my Grecia, 'tis my heart  
For Learning, Arms, and Arts, I love it well:  
But chief, 'cause the Muses there did dwell;  
I'll here skip o'er my mountains, reaching skies,  
Whether Pyrenian, or the Alps; both lies  
On either side the country of the Gauls,  
Strong forts from Spanish and Italian brawls,  
And huge great Taurus, longer than the rest,  
Dividing great Armenia from the least,  
And Hemus, whose steep sides, none foot upon,  
But farewell all, for dear mount Helicon,  
And wondrous high Olympus, of such fame,  
That heaven itself was oft called by that name;  
Sweet Parnassus, I dote too much on thee,  
Unless thou prove a better friend to me;  
But i'll skip o'er these Hills, not touch a Dale,  
Nor yet expatiate, in Temple vale;  
I'll here let go, my Lions of Numedia,  
My Panthers, and my Leopards of Libya,  
The Behemoth, and rare found Unicorn,  
Poisons sure antidote lies in his horn.  
And my Hyaena (imitates man's voice)  
Out of huge numbers, I might pick my choice,  
Thousands in woods, and planes, both wild, and tame,  
But here, or there, I list now none to name;  
No, though the fawning dog did urge me sore  
In his behalf to speak a word the more;  
Whose trust, and valour I might here commend:  
But time's too short, and precious so to spend.  
But hark, ye worthy Merchants who for prize  
Send forth your well man'd ships, where sun doth rise.  
After three years, when men and meat is spent,  
My rich commodities pays double rent.  
Ye Galenists, my Drugs that come from thence  
Do cure your patients, fill your purse with pence;  
Besides the use you have, of Herbs and Plants,  
That with less cost, near home, supplies your wants.  
But Mariners, where got you ships and sails?  
And Oars to row, when both my sisters fails?  
Your Tackling, Anchor, Compass too, is mine;  
Which guides, when Sun, nor Moon, nor Stars do shine.  
Ye mighty Kings, who for your lasting fames  
Built Cities, Monuments called by your names;  
Was those compiled heaps of massy stones?  
That your ambition laid, ought but my bones?  
Ye greedy misers who do dig for gold;  
For gems, for silver, treasures which I hold:  
Will not my goodly face, your rage suffice?  
But you will see what in my bowels lies?  
And ye Artificers, all trades and sorts;  
My bounty calls you forth to make reports,  
If ought you have to use, to wear, to eat?  
But what I freely yield upon your sweat?  
And choleric sister, thou (for all thine ire)  
Well knowest, my fuel must maintain thy fire.  
As I ingenuously (with thanks) confess  
My cold, thy (fruitful) heat, doth crave no less:  
But how my cold, dry temper, works upon  
The melancholy constitution.  
How the Autumnal season I do sway;  
And how I force the grey head to obey.  
I should here make a short, yet true narration,  
But that thy method is my imitation.  
Now might I show my adverse quality,  
And how I oft work man's mortality.  
He sometimes finds, maugre his toiling pain,  
Thistles and thorns, where he expected grain;  
My sap, to plants and trees, I must not grant,  
The Vine, the Olive, and the Figtree want:  
The Corn, and Hay, both fall before they're mown;  
And buds from fruitful trees, before they're blown.  
Then dearth prevails, that Nature to suffice,  
The tender mother on her Infant flies:  
The Husband knows no Wife, nor father sons;  
But to all outrages their hunger runs.  
Dreadful examples, soon I might produce,  
But to such auditors 'twere of no use.  
Again, when Delvers dare in hope of gold,  
To open those veins of Mine, audacious bold:  
While they thus in my entrails seem to dive;  
Before they know, they are interred alive.  
Ye affrighted wights, appalled how do you shake  
If once you feel me, your foundation, quake,  
Because in the abyss of my dark womb:  
Your Cities and yourselves I oft entomb.  
O dreadful Sepulchre! that this is true,  
Korah and all his Company well knew.  
And since, fair Italy full sadly knows  
What she hath lost by these my dreadful woes.  
And Rome, her Curtius, can't forget I think;  
Who bravely road into my yawning chink.  
Again, what veins of poison in me lie;  
As Stibium and unfixt Mercury:  
With divers moe, nay, into plants it creeps;  
In hot, and cold, and some benumbs with sleeps,  
Thus I occasion death to man and beast,  
When they seek food, and harm mistrust the least.  
Much might I say, of the Arabian sands;  
Which rise like mighty billows on the lands:  
Wherein whole Armies I have overthrown;  
But windy sister, 'twas when you have blown.  
I'll say no more, yet this thing add I must,  
Remember sons, your mould is of my dust,  
And after death, whether interred, or burned;  
As earth at first, so into earth returned.    


Water.  
SCarce Earth had done, but th' angry waters moved;  
Sister (quoth she) it had full well behoved  
Among your boastings to have praised me;  
Cause of your fruitfulness, as you shall see:  
This your neglect, shows your ingratitude;  
And how your subtlety would men delude.  
Not one of us, all knows, that's like to thee,  
Ever in craving, from the other three:  
But thou art bound to me, above the rest;  
Which am thy drink, thy blood, thy sap, and best.  
If I withhold, what art thou, dead, dry lump  
Thou bearest no grass, nor plant, nor tree, nor stump.  
Thy extreme thirst is moistened by my love,  
With springs below, and showers from above;  
Or else thy sunburnt face, and gaping chaps;  
Complains to th'heaven, when I withhold my drops:  
Thy Bear, thy Tiger, and thy Lion stout,  
When I am gone, their fierceness none need doubt;  
The Camel hath no strength, thy Bull no force;  
Nor mettl's found in the courageous Horse:  
Hinds leave their Calves, the Elephant the Fens;  
The Woolves and savage Beasts, forsake their Dens.  
The lofty Eagle and the Stork fly low,  
The Peacock, and the Ostrich, share in woe:  
The Pine, the Cedars, yea and Daph'nes tree;  
Do cease to flourish in this misery.  
Man wants his bread, and wine, and pleasant fruits;  
He knows such sweets, lies not in earth's dry roots,  
Then seeks me out, in River and in Well;  
His deadly malady, I might expel.  
If I supply, his heart and veins rejoice;  
If nor, soon ends his life, as did his voice.  
That this is true, earth thou canst not deny;  
I call thine Egypt, this to verify;  
Which by my fatting Nile, doth yield such store;  
That she can spare, when Nations round are poor.  
When I run low, and not o'er flow her brinks;  
To meet with want, each woeful man bethinks.  
But such I am, in Rivers, showers and springs;  
But what's the wealth that my rich Ocean brings?  
Fishes so numberless I there do hold;  
Shouldst thou but buy, it would exhaust thy gold.  
There lives the oily Whale, whom all men know,  
Such wealth, but not such like, Earth thou mayst show.  
The Dolphin (loving music) Arion's friend.  
The crafty Barbell, whose wit doth her commend;  
With thousands more, which now I list not name,  
Thy silence of thy beasts, doth cause the same.  
My pearls that dangle at thy darlings ears;  
Not thou, but shellfish yields, as Pliny clears.  
Was ever gem so rich found in thy trunk?  
As Egypt's wanton Cleopatra drunk.  
Or hast thou any colour can come nigh;  
The Roman Purple, double Tyrian dye.  
Which Caesar's, Consuls, Tribunes all adorn;  
For it, to search my waves, they thought no scorn.  
Thy gallant rich perfuming Ambergris:  
I lightly cast a shore as frothy fleece.  
With rolling grains of purest massy gold:  
Which Spain's Americans, do gladly hold.  
Earth, thou hast not more Countries, Vales and Mound●,  
Then I have Fountains, Rivers, Lakes and Ponds:  
My sundry Seas, Black, White, and Adriatic  
jonian, Baltic, and the vast Atlantic;  
The Pontic, Caspian, Golden Rivers fine.  
Asphaltis' Lake, where nought remains alive.  
But I should go beyond thee in thy boasts,  
If I should show, more Seas, than thou hast Coasts.  
But note this maxim in Philosophy:  
Then Seas are deep, Mountains are never high.  
To speak of kinds of Waters I'll neglect,  
My divers Fountains and their strange effect;  
My wholesome Baths, together with their cures.  
My water Siren's, with their guileful lures:  
Th' uncertain cause, of certain ebbs and flows;  
Which wondering Aris●o●les wit, ne'er knows.  
Nor will I speak of waters made by Art,  
Which can to life, restore a fainting heart:  
Nor fruitful dews, nor drops from weeping eyes;  
Which pity moves, and oft deceives the wise.  
Nor yet of Salt, and Sugar, sweet and smart,  
Both when we list, to water we convert.  
Alas; thy ships and oars could do no good  
Did they but want my Ocean, and my Flood.  
The wary Merchant, on his weary beast  
Transfers his goods, from North and South and East;  
Unless I ease his toil, and do transport,  
The wealthy fraught, unto his wished Port.  
These be my benefits which may suffice:  
I now must show what force there in me lies.  
The flegmy constitution I uphold;  
All humours, tumors, that are bred of cold.  
O'er childhood, and Winter, I bear the sway;  
Yet Luna for my Regent I obey.  
As I with showers oft time refresh the earth;  
So oft in my excess, I cause a dearth:  
And with abundant wet, so cool the ground,  
By adding cold to cold, no fruit proves sound;  
The Farmer, and the Ploughman both complain  
Of rotten sheep, lean kine, and mildewed grain.  
And with my wasting floods, and roaring torrent;  
Their Cattle, Hay, and Corn, I sweep down current,  
Nay many times, my Ocean breaks his bounds:  
And with astonishment, the world confounds.  
And swallows Countries up, ne'er seen again:  
And that an Island makes, which once was main.  
Thus Albion ('tis thought) was cut from France,  
Sicily from Italy, by th'like chance.  
And but one land was Affriea and Spain,  
Until strait Gibraltar, did make them twain.  
Some say I swallowed up (sure 'tis a notion)  
A mighty Country i'th' Atlantic Ocean.  
I need not say much of my Hail and Snow,  
My Ice and extreme cold, which all men know.  
Whereof the first, so ominous I reigned,  
That Israel's enemies, therewith was brained.  
And of my chilling colds, such plenty be;  
That Caucasus high mounts, are seldom free.  
Mine Ice doth glaze Europa's big'st Rivers o'er,  
Till Sun release, their ships can sail no more.  
All know, what inundations I have made;  
Wherein not men, but mountains seemed to wade  
As when Achaia, all under water stood,  
That in two hundred year, it ne'er proved good.  
Ducalions' great deluge, with many more;  
But these are trifles to the Flood of Noe.  
Then wholly perished, earth's ignoble race;  
And to this day, impairs her beauteous face.  
That after times, shall never feel like woe:  
Her confirmed sons, behold my coloured bow.  
Much might I say of wracks, but that I'll spare,  
And now give place unto our sister Air.    


Aire.  
COntent (quoth Aire) to speak the last of you,  
Though not through ignorance, first was my due,  
I do suppose, you'll yield without control;  
I am the breath of every living soul.  
Mortals, what one of you, that loves not me,  
Abundantly more than my sisters three?  
And though you love Fire, Earth, and Water well;  
Yet Air, beyond all these ye know t'excel.  
I ask the man condemned, that's near his death:  
How gladly should his gold purchase his breath,  
And all the wealth, that ever earth did give,  
How freely should it go, so he might live.  
No world, thy witching trash, were all but vain.  
If my pure Air, thy sons did not sustain.  
The famished, thirsty man, that craves supply:  
His moving reason is, give lest I die.  
So loathe he is to go, though nature's spent,  
To bid a due, to his dear Element.  
Nay, what are words, which do reveal the mind?  
Speak, who, or what they will, they are but wind.  
Your Drums, your Trumpets, and your Organs sound,  
What is't? but forced Air which must rebound,  
And such are Echoes, and report o'th' gun  
Which tells afar, th' exploit which he hath done.  
Your songs and pleasant tunes, they are the same,  
And so's the notes which Nightingales do frame.  
Ye forging Smiths, if bellows once were gone;  
Your red hot work, more coldly would go on.  
Ye Mariners, 'tis I that fill your Sails,  
And speed you to your Port, with wished gales.  
When burning heat, doth cause you faint, I cool,  
And when I smile, your Ocean's like a Pool.  
I ripe the corn, I turn the grinding mill;  
And with myself, I every vacuum fill.  
The ruddy sweet sanguine, is like to Air,  
And youth, and spring, sages to me compare.  
My moist hot nature, is so purely thin,  
No place so subtly made, but I get in.  
I grow more pure and pure, as I mount higher,  
And when I'm throughly rarified, turn fire.  
So when I am condensed, I turn to water;  
Which may be done, by holding down my vapour.  
Thus I another body can assume,  
And in a trice, my own nature resume.  
Some for this cause (of late) have been so bold,  
Me for no Element, longer to hold.  
Let such suspend their thoughts, and silent be;  
For all Philosophers make one of me.  
And what those Sages, did, or spoke, or writ,  
Is more authentic than their modern wit.  
Next, of my Fowls such multitudes there are;  
Earth's Beasts, and Water's Fish, scarce can compare.  
The Ostrich with her plumes, th'Eagle with her eyen;  
The Phoenix too (if any be) are mine;  
The Stork, the Crane, the Partridge, and the Pheasant;  
The Pie, the Jay, the Lark, a prey to th' Peasant.  
With thousands more, which now I may omit;  
Without impeachment, to my tale or wit.  
As my fresh Air preserves, all things in life;  
So when 'tis corrupt, mortality is rife.  
Then Fevers, Purples, Pox, and Pestilence;  
With divers more, work deadly consequence.  
Whereof such multitudes have died and fled,  
The living, scarce had power, to bury dead.  
Yea so contagious, Countries have me known;  
That birds have not scaped death, as they have flown,  
Of murrain, Cattle numberless did fall.  
Men feared destruction epidemical.  
Then of my tempests, felt at Sea and Land,  
Which neither ships nor houses could withstand.  
What woeful wracks I've made, may well appear,  
If nought was known, but that before Algire.  
Where famous Charles the fift, more loss sustained,  
Then in his long hot wars, which Milan gained.  
How many rich fraught vessels, have I split?  
Some upon sands, some upon rocks have hit.  
Some have I forced, to gain an unknown shore;  
Some overwelmed with waves, and seen no more.  
Again, what tempests, and what hurricanoes  
Knows Western Isles, Christopher's, Barbadoes;  
Where neither houses, trees, nor plants, I spare;  
But some fall down, and some fly up with air.  
Earthquakes so hurtful and so feared of all,  
Imprisoned I, am the original.  
Then what prodigious sights, sometimes I show:  
As battles pitched i'th' Air (as Countries know;)  
Their joining, fight, forcing, and retreat;  
That earth appears in heaven, oh wonder great!  
Sometimes strange flaming swords, and blazing stars,  
Portentous signs, of Famines, Plagues and Wars.  
Which makes the mighty Monarches fear their Fates,  
By death, or great mutations of their States.  
I have said less, than did my sisters three;  
But what's their worth, or force, but more's in me.  
To add to all I've said, was my intent,  
But dare not go, beyond my Element.     

Of the four Humours in Man's constitution.  

THe former four, now ending their Discourse,  
Ceasing to vaunt, their good, or threat their force.  
Lo! other four step up, crave leave to show  
The native qualities, that from each flow,  
But first they wisely showed their high descent,  
Each eldest Daughter to each Element;  
Choler was owned by Fire, and Blood by Air,  
Earth knew her black swarth child, Water her fair;  
All having made obeisance to each Mother,  
Had leave to speak, succeeding one the other;  
But 'mongst themselves they were at variance,  
Which of the four should have predominance;  
Choler hotly claimed, right by her mother,  
Who had precedency of all the other.  
But Sanguine did disdain, what she required,  
Pleading herself, was most of all desired;  
Proud Melancholy, more envious than the rest,  
The second, third, or last could not digest;  
She was the silencest of all the four,  
Her wisdom spoke not much, but thought the more.  
Cold phlegm, did not contest for highest place,  
Only she craved, to have a vacant space.  
Well, thus they parley, and chide, but to be brief,  
Or will they nile they, Choler will be chief;  
They seeing her imperiosity,  
At present yielded, to necessity.   


Choler.  
TO show my great descent, and pedigree,  
Yourselves would judge, but vain prolixity.  
It is acknowledged, from whence I came,  
It shall suffice, to tell you what I am:  
Myself, and Mother, one as you shall see,  
But she in greater, I in less degree;  
We both once Masculines, the world doth know,  
Now Feminines (a while) for love we own  
Unto your Sisterhood, which makes us tender  
Our noble selves, in a less noble Gender.  
Though under fire, we comprehend all heat,  
Yet man for Choler, is the proper seat.  
I in his heart erect my regal throne,  
Where Monarchlike I play, and sway alone,  
Yet many times, unto my great disgrace,  
One of yourselves are my compeers, in place:  
Where if your rule once grow predominant,  
The man proves boyish, sottish, ignorant,  
But if ye yield sub-servient unto me,  
I make a man, a man i'th' highest degree,  
Be he a Soldier, I more fence his heart  
Then Iron Corslet, 'gainst a sword or dart;  
What makes him face his foe, without appal?  
To storm a Breach, or scale a City wall?  
In dangers to account himself more sure,  
Then timorous Hares, whom Castles do immure?  
Have ye not heard of Worthies, Demigods?  
'Twixt them and others, what is't makes the odds  
But valour, whence comes that? from none of you;  
Nay milksops, at such brunts you look but blue,  
Here's Sister Ruddy, worth the other two,  
That much will talk, but little dares she do,  
Unless to court, and claw, and dice, and drink,  
And there she will outbid us all, I think;  
She loves a Fiddle, better than a Drum,  
A Chamber well, in field she dares not come;  
She'll ride a Horse as bravely, as the best,  
And break a staff, provideded be in jest,  
But shuns to look on wounds, and blood that's spilt,  
She loves her sword, only because its gilt;  
Then here's our sad black Sister, worse than you,  
She'll neither say, she will, nor will she do:  
But peevish, Malcontent, musing she sits,  
And by misprisions, like to lose her wits;  
If great persuasions, cause her meet her foe;  
In her dull resolution, she's slow.  
To march her pace, to some is greater pain,  
Then by a quick encounter, to be slain;  
But be she beaten, she'll not run away,  
She'll first advise, if't be not best to stay.  
But let's give, cold, white; Sister Phlegm her right.  
So loving unto all, she scorns to fight.  
If any threaten her, she'll in a trice,  
Convert from water, to conjealed Ice;  
Her teeth will chatter, dead and wan's her face,  
And before she be assaulted, quits the place,  
She dare, not challenge if I speak amiss;  
Nor hath she wit, or heat, to blush at this.  
Here's three of you, all sees now what you are,  
Then yield to me, pre-eminence in War.  
Again, who fits, for learning, science, Arts?  
Who rarefies the intellectual parts?  
Whence flow fine spirits, and witty notions?  
Not from our dull slow Sisters motions:  
Nor sister Sanguine, from thy moderate heat,  
Poor spirits the Liver breeds, which is thy seat,  
What comes from thence, my heat refines the same,  
And through the arteries sends o'er the frame,  
The vital spirits they're called, and well they may,  
For when they fail, man turns unto his clay:  
The Animal I claim, as well as these,  
The nerves should I not warm, soon would they freeze.  
But Phlegm herself, is now provoked at this,  
She thinks I never shot so fare amiss;  
The Brain she challenges, the Head's her seat,  
But know'ts a foolish brain, that wanteth heat;  
My absence proves, it plain, her wit then flies  
Out at her nose, or melteth at her eyes;  
Oh, who would miss this influence of thine,  
To be distilled a drop on every line!  
No, no, thou hast no spirits, thy company  
Will feed a Dropsy, or a Timpany,  
The Palsy, Gout, or Cramp, or some such dolour,  
Thou wast not made for Soldier, or for Scholar;  
Of greasy paunch, and palled cheeks, go vaunt,  
But a good head from these are disonant;  
But Melancholy, wouldst have this glory thine?  
Thou sayest, thy wits are stayed, subtle and fine:  
'tis true, when I am midwife to thy birth;  
thyself's as dull, as is thy mother Earth.  
Thou canst not claim, the Liver, Head nor Heart;  
Yet hast thy seat assigned, a goodly part,  
The sink of all us three, the hateful spleen;  
Of that black region, Nature made thee Queen;  
Where pain and sore obstructions, thou dost work;  
Where envy, malice, thy companions lurk.  
If once thou'rt great, what follows thereupon?  
But bodies wasting, and destruction.  
So base thou art, that base cannot be;  
The excrement, adustion of me.  
But I am weary to dilate thy shame;  
Nor is't my pleasure, thus to blur thy name:  
Only to raise my honours to the Skies,  
As objects best appear, by contraries.  
Thus arms, and arts I claim, and higher things;  
The Princely quality, befitting Kings.  
Whose Serene heads, I line with policies,  
They're held for Oracles, they are so wise.  
Their wrathful looks are death, their words are laws;  
Their courage, friend, and foe, and subject awes,  
But one of you would make a worthy King:  
Like our fixed Henry, that same worthy thing.  
That when a Varlet, struck him o'er the side,  
Forsooth you are to blame, he grave replied.  
Take choler from a Prince, what is he more,  
Then a dead Lion? by beasts triumphed over.  
Again, ye know, how I act every part:  
By th' influence I send still from the heart.  
It's not your muscles, nerves, nor this nor that:  
Without my lively heat, does aught that's flat.  
The spongy Lungs, I feed with frothy blood.  
They cool my heat, and so repay my good.  
Nay, th' stomach, magazeen to all the rest,  
Without my boiling heat cannot digest.  
And yet to make, my greatness far more great:  
What differences the Sex, but only heat?  
And one thing more to close with my narration.  
Of all that lives, I cause the propagation.  
I have been sparing, what I might have said,  
I love no boasting, that's but children's trade:  
To what you now shall say, I will attend,  
And to your weakness, gently condescend.    


Blood.  
GOod sisters giveme leave (as is my place)  
To vent my grief, and wipe off my disgrace.  
Yourselves may plead, your wrongs are no whit less,  
Your patience more than mine, I must confess.  
Did ever sober tongue, such language speak?  
Or honesty such ties, unfriendly break?  
Dost know thyself so well, us so amiss?  
Is't ignorance, or folly causeth this?  
I'll only show the wrongs, thou'st done to me.  
Then let my sisters, right their injury.  
To pay with rail, is not mine intent,  
But to evince the truth, by argument.  
I will annalise, thy so proud relation;  
So full of boasting, and prevarication.  
Thy childish incongruities, I'll show:  
So walk thee till thou'rt cold, then let thee go.  
There is no Soldier, but thyself thou sayest,  
No valour upon earth, but what thou hast.  
Thy foolish provocations, I despise.  
And leave't to all, to judge where valour lies.  
No pattern, nor no Patron will I bring,  
But David, Judah's most heroic King:  
Whose glorious deeds in arms, the world can tell,  
A rosy cheeked musician, thou knowst well.  
He knew how, for to handle, Sword and Harp,  
And how to strike full sweet, as well as sharp.  
Thou laughest at me, for loving merriment:  
And scornest all Knightly sports, at tournament.  
Thou sayest I love my sword, because 'tis guilt:  
But know, I love the blade, more than the hilt.  
Yet do abhor, such timerarious deeds,  
As thy unbridled, barbarous Choler yields.  
Thy rudeness counts, good manners vanity,  
And real compliments, base flattery.  
For drink, which of us twain, like it the best,  
I'll go no further than thy nose for test.  
Thy other scoffs not worthy of reply:  
Shall vanish as of no validity.  
Of thy black calumnies, this is but part:  
But now I'll show, what Soldier thou art.  
And though thou'st used me, with opprobrious spite,  
My ingenuity must give thee right.  
Thy Choler is but rage, when 'tis most pure.  
But useful, when a mixture can endure.  
As with thy mother Fire, so 'tis with thee,  
The best of all the four, when they agree.  
But let her leave the rest, and I presume,  
Both them and all things else, she will consume.  
Whilst us, for thine associates thou takest,  
A Soldier most complete in all points makest.  
But when thou scornest to take the help we lend,  
Thou art a fury, or infernal Fiend.  
Witness the execrable deeds thou'st done:  
Nor sparing Sex, nor age, nor sire, nor son.  
To satisfy thy pride, and cruelty  
Thou oft hast broke bounds of humanity.  
Nay should I tell, thou wouldst count me no blab,  
How often for the lie, thou'st given the stab.  
To take the wal's a sin, of such high rate,  
That naught but blood, the same may expiate.  
To cross thy will, a challenge doth deserve.  
So spills that life, thou'rt bounden to preserve.  
Wilt thou this valour, manhood, courage call:  
Nay, know 'tis pride, most diabolical.  
If murders be thy glory, 'tis no less.  
I'll not envy thy feats, nor happiness.  
But if in fitting time, and place, on foes;  
For Country's good, thy life thou dar'st expose:  
Be dangers near so high, and courage great,  
I'll praise that fury, valour, choler, heat.  
But such thou never art, when all alone;  
Yet such, when we all four are joined in one.  
And when such thou art, even such are we.  
The friendly coadjutors, still to thee.  
Nextly, the spirits thou dost wholly claim,  
Which natural, vital, animal we name.  
To play Philosopher, I have no list;  
Nor yet Physician, nor Anatomist.  
For acting these, I have nor will, nor art,  
Yet shall with equity give thee thy part,  
For th' natural, thou dost not much contest,  
For there are none, thou sayest, if some, not best.  
That there are some, and best, I dare aver;  
More useful than the rest, don't reason err;  
What is there living, which cannot derive  
His life now animal, from vegative?  
If thou giv'st life, I give thee nourishment,  
Thine without mine, is not, 'tis evident:  
But I, without thy help can give a growth,  
As plants, trees, and small Embryon knoweth,  
And if vital spirits do flow from thee,  
I am as sure, the natural from me;  
But thine the nobler, which I grant, yet mine  
Shall justly claim priority of thine;  
I am the Fountain which thy Cisterns fills,  
Through th' warm, blue conduits of my veinal rils;  
What hath the heart, but what's sent from the liver?  
If thou'rt the taker, I must be the giver:  
Then never boast of what thou dost receive,  
For of such glory I shall thee bereave;  
But why the heart, should be usurped by thee,  
I must confess, is somewhat strange to me,  
The spirits through thy heat, are made perfect there,  
But the materials none of thine, that's clear,  
Their wondrous mixture, is of blood, and air,  
The first myself, second my sister fair,  
But I'll not force retorts, nor do thee wrong,  
Thy fiery yellow froth, is mixed among.  
Challenge not all, 'cause part we do allow,  
Thou knowst I've there to do, as well as thou;  
But thou wilt say, I deal unequally,  
There lives the irascible faculty:  
Which without all dispute, is Cholers own;  
Besides the vehement heat, only there known,  
Can be imputed unto none, but Fire;  
Which is thyself, thy Mother, and thy Sire;  
That this is true, I easily can assent,  
If still thou take along my Aliment,  
And let me be thy Partner, which is due,  
So will I give the dignity to you.  
Again, stomaches concoction thou dost claim,  
But by what right, nor dost, nor canst thou name;  
It is her own heat, not thy faculty,  
Thou dost unjustly claim, her property,  
The help she needs, the loving Liver lends,  
Who th'benefit o'th' whole ever intends:  
To meddle further, I shall be but shent,  
Th' rest to our Sisters, is more pertinent.  
Your slanders thus refuted, takes no place,  
Though cast upon my guiltless blushing face;  
Now through your leaves, some little time i'll spend;  
My worth in humble manner, to commend.  
This hot, moist, nurtritive humour of mine,  
When 'tis untaint, pure, and most genuine  
Shall firstly take her place, as is her due,  
Without the least indignity to you;  
Of all your qualities I do partake,  
And what you singly are, the whole I make.  
Your hot, dry, moist, cold, natures are four,  
I moderately am all, what need I more:  
As thus, if hot, then dry; if moist, then cold;  
If this can't be disproven, than all I hold:  
My virtues hid, i've let you dimly see;  
My sweet complexion, proves the verity,  
This scarlet dies a badge of what's within,  
One touch thereof so beautifies the skin;  
Nay, could I be from all your tangs but pure,  
Man's life to boundless time might still endure;  
But here's one thrusts her heat, where'ts not required  
So suddenly, the body all is fired:  
And of the sweet, calm temper, quite bereft,  
Which makes the mansion, by the soul soon left;  
So Melancholy ceases on a man;  
With her uncheerful visage, swarth and wan;  
The body dries, the mind sublime doth smother,  
And turns him to the womb of is earthy mother,  
And Phlegm like wise can show, her cruel art,  
With cold distempers, to pain every part;  
The Lungs, she rots, the body wears away,  
As if she'd leave no flesh to turn to clay,  
Her languishing diseases, though not quick,  
At length demolishes the faberick,  
All to prevent, this curious care I take;  
Ith' last concoction, segregation make.  
Of all the perverse humours from mine own,  
The bitter choler, most malignant known  
I turn into his cel, close by my side,  
The Melancholy to the Spleen to 'bide;  
Likewise the Whey, some use I in the veins,  
The over plus I send unto the reins;  
But yet for all my toil, my ear, my skill,  
It's doomed by an irrevocable will:  
That my intents should meet with interruption,  
That mortal man, might turn to his corruption.  
I might here show, the nobleness of mind,  
Of such as to the Sanguine are inclined,  
They're liberal, pleasant, kind, and courteous,  
And like the Liver, all benignious;  
For Arts, and Sciences, they are the fittest,  
And maugre (Choler) still they are the wittest,  
An ingenious working fantasy,  
A most volumnious large memory,  
And nothing wanting but solidity.  
But why, alas, thus tedious should I be?  
Thousand examples, you may daily see  
If time I have transgressed, and been too long,  
Yet could not be more brief, without much wrong.  
I've scarce wiped off the spots, proud Choler cast,  
Such venom lies in words, though but a blast,  
No brags i've used, t'your selves I dare appeal,  
If modesty my worth do not conceal.  
I've used no bitterness, nor taxed your name,  
As I to you, to me, do ye the same.    


Melancholy.  
HE that with two assaylents hath to do,  
Had need be armed well, and active too,  
Especially when friendship is pretended:  
That blow's most deadly, where it is intended;  
Though Choler rage, and rail, i'll not do so,  
The tongue's no weapon to assault a foe,  
But sigh we fight with words, we might be kind,  
To spare ourselves, and beat the whistling wind.  
Fair rosy Sister, so mightst thou scape free,  
I'll flatter for a time, as thou didst me,  
But when the first offenders I have laid,  
Thy soothing girds shall fully be repaid;  
But Choler, be thou cooled, or cha●'d, i'll venture,  
And in contentions lists, now justly enter.  
Thy boasted valour stoutly's been repelled,  
If not as yet, by me, thou shalt be quelled:  
What moved thee thus to vilify my name?  
Not past all reason, but in truth all shame:  
Thy fiery spirit shall bear away this prize,  
To play such furious pranks I am too wise;  
If in a Soldier rashness be so precious,  
Know, in a General its most pernicious.  
Nature doth teach, to shield the head from harm,  
The blow that's aimed thereat is latched by th'arm,  
When in Battalia my foes I face,  
I then command, proud Choler stand thy place,  
To use thy sword, thy courage, and thy Art,  
For to defend myself, thy better part;  
This wariness count not for cowardice,  
He is not truly valiant that's not wise;  
It's no less glory to defend a town,  
Then by assault to gain one, not our own.  
And if Marcellus bold, be called Rome's sword,  
Wise Fabius is her buckler: all accord.  
And if thy haste, my slowness should not temper,  
'Twere but a mad, irregular distemper;  
Enough of that, by our Sister heretofore,  
I'll come to that which wounds me somewhat more:  
Of Learning, and of Policy, thou wouldst bereave me,  
But's not thy ignorance shall thus deceive me.  
What greater Clerk, or politician lives?  
Then he whose brain a touch my humour gives.  
What is too hot, my coldness doth abate;  
What's diffluent, I do consolidate.  
If I be partial judged, or thought to err,  
The melancholy Snake shall it aver.  
Those cold dry heads, more subrilly doth yield,  
Then all the huge beasts of the fertile field.  
Thirdly, thou dost confine me to the spleen,  
As of that only part I was the Queen:  
Let me as well make thy precincts, the gall;  
To prison thee within that bladder small.  
Reduce the man to's principles, then see  
If I have not more part, than all ye three:  
What is without, within, of theirs, or thine.  
Yet time and age, shall soon declare it mine.  
When death doth seize the man, your stock is lost,  
When you poor bankrupts prove, then have I most.  
You'll say, here none shall ere disturb my right;  
You high born (from that lump) then take your flight  
Then who's man's friend, when life and all forsakes?  
His mother (mine) him to her womb retakes,  
Thus he is ours, his portion is the grave.  
But whilst he lives, I'll show what part I have.  
And first, the firm dry bones, I justly claim:  
The strong foundation of the stately frame.  
Likewise the useful spleen, though not the best,  
Yet is a bowel called well as the rest.  
The Liver, Stomach, owes it thanks of right.  
The first it drains, o'th' last quicks appetite,  
Laughter (though thou saust malice) flows from hence,  
These two in one cannot have residence.  
But thou most grossly dost mistake, to think  
The Spleen for all you three, was made a sink.  
Of all the rest, thou'st nothing there to do;  
But if thou hast, that malice comes from you.  
Again, you often touch my swarthy hue,  
That black is black, and I am black, 'tis true;  
But yet more comely far, I dare avow,  
Then is thy torrid nose, or brazen brow.  
But that which shows how high thy spite is bend,  
In charging me, to be thy excrement.  
Thy loathsome imputation I defy;  
So plain a slander needeth no reply.  
When by thy heat, thou'st baked thyself to crust,  
Thou dost assume my name, well be it just;  
This transmutation is, but not excretion,  
Thou wants Philosophy, and yet discretion.  
Now by your leave, I'll let your greatness see;  
What officer thou art to all us three.  
The Kitchen Drudge, the cleanser of the sinks,  
That casts out all that man or eats, or drinks.  
Thy bittering quality, still irretates,  
Till filth and thee, nature exhonorates.  
If any doubt this truth, whence this should come;  
Show them thy passage to th' Duodenum.  
If there thou'rt stopped, to th' Liver thou turn'st in,  
And so with jaundice, Safferns all the skin.  
No further time i'll spend, in confutations,  
I trust I've cleared your slanderous imputations.  
I now speak unto all, no more to one;  
Pray hear, admire, and learn instruction.  
My virtue's yours surpass, without compare:  
The first, my constancy, that jewel rate.  
Choler's too rash, this golden gift to hold.  
And Sanguine is more fickle many fold.  
Here, there, her restless thoughts do ever fly;  
Constant in nothing, but inconstancy,  
And what Phlegm is, we know, likewise her mother,  
Unstable is the one, so is the other.  
With me is noble patience also found,  
Impatient Choler loveth not the sound.  
What Sanguine is, she doth not heed, nor care.  
Now up, now down, transported like the Air.  
Flegm's patiented, because her nature's tame.  
But I by virtue, do acquire the same.  
My temperance, chastity, is eminent,  
But these with you, are seldom resident.  
Now could I slain my ruddy sister's face,  
With purple dye, to show but her disgrace.  
But I rather with silence, veil her shame;  
Then cause her blush, while I dilate the same.  
Nor are ye free, from this inormity,  
Although she bear the greatest obloquy.  
My prudence, judgement, now I might reveal,  
But wisdom 'tis, my wisdom to conceal.  
Unto diseases not inclined as ye:  
Nor cold, nor hot, Ague, nor Pleurisy;  
Nor Cough, nor Quinsy, nor the burning Favour.  
I rarely feel to act his fierce endeavour.  
My sickness chiefly in conceit doth lie,  
What I imagine, that's my malady.  
Strange Chimaeras are in my fantasy,  
And things that never were, nor shall I see.  
Talk I love not, reason lies not in length.  
Nor multitude of words, argues our strength;  
I've done, pray Sister Phlegm proceed in course,  
We shall expect much sound, but little force.    


Phlegm.  
PAtient I am, patiented i'd need to be,  
To bear the injurious taunts of three,  
Though wit I want, and anger I have less,  
Enough of both, my wrongs for to express;  
I've not forgot how bitter Choler spoke,  
Nor how her Gaul on me she causeless brake;  
Nor wonder 'twas, for hatred there's not small,  
Where opposition is diametrical:  
To what is truth, I freely will assent,  
(Although my name do suffer derriment)  
What's slanderous, repel; doubtful, dispute;  
And when i've nothing left to say, be mute;  
Valour I want, no Soldier am, 'tis true,  
I'll leave that manly property to you;  
I love no thundering Drums, nor bloody Wars,  
My polished skin was not ordained for scars,  
And though the pitched field ●'ve ever fled,  
At home, the conquerors, have conquered:  
Nay, I could tell you (what's more true then meet)  
That Kings have laid their Sceptres at my feet,  
When sister Sanguine paints my Ivory face,  
The Monarches bend, and sue, but for my grace;  
My Lily white, when joined with her red,  
Princes hath slaved, and Captains captived:  
Country with Country, Grecce with Asia fights,  
Sixty nine Princes, all stout Hero Knights.  
Under Troy's walls, ten years will waste away,  
Rather than lose, one beauteous Helena;  
But 'twere as vain, to prove the truth of mine,  
As at noon day to tell, the Sun doth shine.  
Next difference betwixt us twain doth lie,  
Who doth possess the Brain, or thou, or I;  
Shame forced thee say, the matter that was mine,  
But the spirits, by which it acts are thine;  
Thou speakest truth, and I can speak no less,  
Thy heat doth much, I candidly confess,  
But yet thou art as much, I truly say,  
Beholding unto me another way.  
And though I grant, thou art my helper here,  
No debtor I, because 'tis paid else where;  
With all your flourishes, now Sisters three,  
Who is't or dare, or can compare with me;  
My excellencies are so great, so many,  
I am confounded, before I speak of any:  
The Brain's the noblest member all allow,  
The situation, and form will it avow,  
Its ventricles, membrances, and wondrous ner,  
Galen, Hipocrates, drives to a set.  
That divine Essence, the immortal Soul,  
Though it in all, and every part be whole:  
Within this stately place of eminence,  
Doth doubtless keep its mighty residence;  
And surely the Souls sensative here lives,  
Which life and motion to each Creature gives,  
The conjugations of the parts tooth ' brain  
Doth show, hence flows the power which they retain;  
Within this high built Citadel doth lie,  
The Reason, Fancy, and the Memory;  
The faculty of speech doth here abide,  
The spirits animal, from whence doth slide,  
The five most noble Senses, here do dwell,  
Of three, its hard to say, which doth excel;  
This point for to discuss longs not to me,  
I'll touch the Sight, great'st wonder of the three;  
The optic nerve, coats, humours, all are mine,  
Both watery, glassy, and the crystalline.  
O! mixture strange, oh colour, colourlesse,  
Thy perfect temperament, who can express?  
He was no fool, who thought the Soul lay here,  
Whence her affections, passions, speak so clear;  
O! good, O bad, O true, O traitorous eyes!  
What wonderments, within your balls there lies?  
Of all the Senses, Sight shall be the Queen;  
Yet some may wish, oh, had mine eyes ne'er seen.  
Mine likewise is the marrow of the back,  
Which runs through all the spondles of the rack,  
It is the substitute o'th' royal Brain,  
All nerves (except seven pair) to it retain;  
And the strong ligaments, from hence arise,  
With joint to joint, the entire body ties;  
Some other parts there issue from the Brain,  
Whose use and worth to tell, I must refrain;  
Some worthy learned Crook may these reveal,  
But modesty hath charged me to conceal;  
Here's my epitome of excellence,  
For what's the Brains, is mine, by consequence;  
A foolish Brain (saith Choler) wanting heat,  
But a mad one, say I, where 'tis too great,  
frenzy's worse, than folly, one would more glad,  
With a tame fool converse, then with a mad,  
Then, my head for learning is not the fittest,  
ne'er did I hear that Choler was the witt'est;  
Thy judgement is unsafe, thy fancy little,  
For memory, the sand is not more brittle.  
Again, none's fit for Kingly place but thou,  
If Tyrants be the best, i'll it allow;  
But if love be, as requisite as fear,  
Then I, and thou, must make a mixture here:  
Well, to be brief, Choler I hope now's laid,  
And I pass by what sister Sanguine said;  
To Melancholy i'll make no reply,  
The worst she said, was, instability,  
And too much talk; both which, I do confess,  
A warning good, hereafter i'll say less.  
Let's now be friends, 'tis time our spite was spent,  
Lest we too late, this rashness do repent,  
Such premises will force a sad conclusion,  
Unless we agree, all falls into confusion.  
Let Sanguine, Choier, with her hot hand hold,  
To take her moist, my moistness will be bold;  
My cold, cold Melancholies hand shall clasp,  
Her dry, dry Cholers other hand shall grasp;  
Two hot, two moist, two cold, two dry here be,  
A golden Ring, the Posey, Unity:  
Nor jars, nor scoffs, let none hereafter see,  
But all admire our perfect amity;  
Nor be discerned, here's water, earth, air, fire,  
But here's a compact body, whole, entire:  
This loving counsel pleased them all so well,  
That Phlegm was judged, for kindness to excel.     

The Four Ages of Man.  

Lo now! four other acts upon the stage,  
Childhood, and Youth, the Manly, and Old-age.  
The first: son unto Phlegm, grandchild to water,  
Unstable, supple, moist, and cold's his Naure.  
The second, frolic, claims his pedigree,  
From blood and air, for hot, and moist is he.  
The third, of fire, and choler is composed,  
Vindicative, and quarrelsome disposed.  
The last, of earth, and heavy melancholy,  
Solid, hating all lightness, and all folly.  
Childhood was clothed in white, and given to show,  
His spring was intermixed with some snow.  
Upon his head a Garland Nature set:  
Of Dazy, Primrose, and the Violet.  
Such cold mean flowers (as these) blossom betime,  
Before the Sun hath throughly warmed the clime.  
His hobby striding, did not ride, but run,  
And in his hand an hourglass new begun,  
In dangers every moment of a fall,  
And when 'tis broke, then ends his life and all.  
But if he hold, till it have run its last,  
Then may he live, till threescore years or past.  
Next, youth came up, in gorgeous attire;  
(As that fond age, doth most of all desire.)  
His Suit of Crimson, and his Scarf of Green:  
In's countenance, his pride quickly was seen.  
Garland of Roses, Pinks, and Gillyflowers,  
Seemed to grow on's head (bedewed with showers:)  
His face as fresh, as is Aurora fair,  
When blushing first, she begins to red the Air.  
No wooden horse, but one of metal tried:  
He seems to fly, or swim, and not to ride.  
Then prancing on the Stage, about he wheels;  
But as he went, death waited at his heels.  
The next came up, in a more graver sort,  
As one that cared, for a good report.  
His Sword by's side, and choler in his eyes;  
But neither used (as yet) for he was wise.  
Of Autumn fruits a basket on his arm.  
His golden god in's purse, which was his charm,  
And last of all, to act upon this Stage;  
Leaning upon his staff, comes up old age.  
Under his arm a Sheafe of wheat he bore,  
A Harvest of the best, what needs he more.  
In's other hand a glass, even almost run,  
This writ about: This out, than I am done.  
His hoary hairs, and grave aspect made way;  
And all gave ear, to what he had to say.  
These being met, each in his equipage,  
Intent to speak, according to their age:  
But wise Old-age, did with all gravity,  
To childish childhood, give precedency.  
And to the rest, his reason mildly told;  
That he was young, before he grew so old.  
To do as he, the rest full soon assents,  
Their method was, that of the Elements,  
That each should tell, what of himself he knew;  
Both good and bad, but yet no more than's true.  
With heed now stood, three ages of frail man;  
To hear the child, who crying, thus began.   


Childhood.  
AH me! conceived in sin, and born in sorrow,  
A nothing, here to day, but gone to morrow.  
Whose mean beginning, blushing can't reveal,  
But night and darkness, must with shame conceal.  
My mother's breeding sickness, I will spare;  
Her nine months' weary burden not declare.  
To show her bearing pangs, I should do wrong,  
To tell that pain, which can't be told by tongue;  
With tears into this world I did arrive;  
My mother still did waste, as I did thrive:  
Who yet with love, and all alacrity,  
Spending was willing, to be spent for me;  
With wayward cries, I did disturb her rest;  
Who sought still to appease me, with her breast,  
With weary arms, she danced, and By, By, sung,  
When wretched I (ungrate) had done the wrong.  
When Infancy was past, my Childishness,  
Did act all folly, that it could express.  
My silliness did only take delight,  
In that which riper age did scorn, and slight:  
In Rattles, Babbles, and such toyish stuff.  
My then ambitious thoughts, were low enough.  
My high-born soul, so straight was confined:  
That its own worth, it did not know, nor mind.  
This little house of flesh, did spacious count:  
Through ignorance, all troubles did surmount.  
Yet this advantage, had mine ignorance,  
Freedom from Envy, and from Arrogance,  
How to be rich, or great, I did not cark;  
A Baron or a Duke, ne'er made my mark.  
Nor studious was, King's favours how to buy,  
With costly presents, or base flattery.  
No office coveted, wherein I might  
Make strong myself, and turn aside weak right.  
No malice bare, to this, or that great Peer,  
Nor unto buzzing whisperors, gave ear.  
I gave no hand, nor vote, for death, or life:  
I'd nought to do, 'twixt Prince, and people's strife.  
No Statist I: nor Marti'list i' th' field;  
Where e'er I went, mine innocence was shield.  
My quarrels, not for Diadems did rise;  
But for an Apple, Plumbe, or some such prize,  
My strokes did cause no death, nor wounds, nor scars.  
My little wrath did cease soon as my wars.  
My duel was no challenge, nor did seek.  
My foe should weltering, with his bowels reek.  
I had no Suits at law, neighbours to vex.  
Nor evidence for land, did me perplex.  
I feared no storms, nor all the winds that blows,  
I had no ships at Sea, no fraughts to lose.  
I feared no drought, nor wet, I had no crop,  
Nor yet on future things did place my hope.  
This was mine innocence, but oh the seeds,  
Lay raked up; of all the cursed weeds,  
Which sprouted forth, in my ensuing age,  
As he can tell, that next comes on the stage.  
But yet let me relate, before I go,  
The sins, and dangers I am subject to.  
From birth stained, with Adam's sinful fact;  
From thence I began to sin, as soon as act.  
A perverse will, a love to what's forbid:  
A serpent's sling in pleasing face lay hid.  
A lying tongue as soon as it could speak,  
And fift Commandment do daily break.  
Oft stubborn, peevish, sullen, pout, and cry:  
Then nought can please, and yet I know not why.  
As many was my sins, so dangers too:  
For sin brings sorrow, sickness, death, and woe.  
And though I miss, the toss of the mind:  
Yet griefs, in my frail flesh, I still do find.  
What gripes of wind, mine infancy did pain?  
What tortures I, in breeding teeth sustain?  
What crudities my cold stomach hath bred?  
Whence vomits, worms, and flux have issued?  
What breaches, knocks, and falls I daily have?  
And some perhaps, I carry to my grave.  
Some times in fire, sometimes in waters fall:  
Strangely preserved, yet mind it not at all.  
At home, abroad, my danger's manifold.  
That wonder 'tis, my glass till now doth hold.  
I've done, unto my elders I give way.  
For 'tis but little, that a child can say.    


Youth.  
MY goodly clothing, and my beauteous skin,  
Declare some greater riches are within;  
But what is best i'll first present to view,  
And then the worst, in a more ugly hue;  
For thus to do, we on this Stage assemble,  
Then let not him, which hath most craft dissemble;  
Mine education, and my learning's such,  
As might myself, and others, profit much:  
With nurture trained up in virtues Schools,  
Of Science, Arts, and Tongues, I know the rules,  
The manners of the Court, I likewise know,  
Nor ignorant what they in Country do;  
The brave attempts of valiant Knights I prise,  
That dare climb Battlements, reared to the skies;  
The snorting Horse, the Trumpet, Drum I like,  
The glistering Sword, and well advanced Pike;  
I cannot lie in trench, before a Town,  
Nor wait till good advice our hopes do crown;  
I scorn the heavy Corsset, Musket-proof,  
I fly to catch the Bullet that's aloof;  
Though thus in field, at home, to all most kind,  
So affable that I do suit each mind;  
I can insinuate into the breast,  
And by my mirth can raise the heart deprest●  
Sweet Music rapteth my harmonious Soul,  
And elevates my thoughts above the Pole.  
My wit, my bounty, and my courtesy,  
Makes all to place their future hopes on me.  
This is my best, but youth (is known) alas,  
To be as wild as is the snuffing Ass,  
As vain as froth, as vanity can be,  
That who would see vain man, may look on me:  
My gifts abused, my education lost,  
My woeful Parents longing hopes all crossed,  
My wit, evaporates in merriment:  
My valour, in some beastly quarrel's spent;  
Martial deeds I love not, 'cause they're virtuous,  
But doing so, might seem magnanimous.  
My Lust doth hurry me, to all that's ill,  
I know no Law, nor reason, but my will;  
Sometimes lay wait to take a wealthy purse,  
Or stab the man, in's own defence, that's worse,  
Sometimes I cheat (unkind) a female Heir,  
Of all at once, who not so wise, as fair,  
Trusteth my loving looks, and glozing tongue,  
Until her friends, treasure, and honour's gone.  
Sometimes I sit carousing others health,  
Until mine own be gone, my wit, and wealth;  
From pipe to pot, from pot to words, and blows,  
For he that loveth Wine, wanteth no woes;  
Days, nights, with Ruffians, Roarers, Fiddlers spend;  
To all obscenity, my ears I bend.  
All counsel hate, which tends to make me wise,  
And dearest friends count for mine enemies;  
If any care I take, 'tis to be fine,  
For sure my suit more than my virtues shine;  
If any time from company I spare,  
'Tis spent in curling, frizzling up my hair;  
Some young Adonis I do strive to be,  
Sardana Pallas, now survives in me:  
Cards, Dice, and Oaths, concomitant, I love;  
To Masques, to Plays, to Taverns still I move;  
And in a word, if what I am you'd hear,  
Seek out a British, brutish Cavalier;  
Such wretch, such monster am I; but yet more,  
I want a heart all this for to deplore.  
Thus, thus alas! I have misspent my time,  
My youth, my best, my strength, my bud, and prime:  
Remembering not the dreadful day of Doom,  
Nor yet that heavy reckoning for to come;  
Though dangers do attend me every hour,  
And ghastly death oft threats me with her power,  
Sometimes by wounds in idle combats taken,  
Sometimes by Agues all my body shaken;  
Sometimes by Fevers, all my moisture drinking,  
My heart lies frying, and my eyes are sinking;  
Sometimes the Cough, Stitch, painful Pleurisy,  
With sad affrights of death, doth menace me;  
Sometimes the loathsome Pox, my face be-mars,  
With ugly marks of his eternal scars;  
Sometimes the Frenzy, strangely mads my Brain,  
That oft for it, in Bealam I remain.  
Too many's my Diseases to recite,  
That wonder 'tis I yet behold the light,  
That yet my bed in darkness is not made,  
And I in black oblivions den long laid;  
Of Marrow full my bones, of Milk my breasts,  
Ceased by the gripes of Sergeant Death's Arrests:  
Thus I have said, and what i've said you see,  
Childhood and youth is vain, yea vanity.    


Middle Age.  
Childhood and youth, forgot, sometimes I've seen,  
And now am grown more stayed, that have beengreen,  
What they have done, the same was done by me,  
As was their praise, or shame, so mine must be.  
Now age is more, more good ye do expect;  
But more my age, the more is my defect.  
But what's of worth, your eyes shall first behold,  
And then a world of dross among my gold.  
When my Wild Oats, were sown, and ripe, & mown,  
I then received a harvest of mine own.  
My reason, then bad judge, how little hope,  
Such empty seed should yield a better crop.  
I then with both hands, grasped the world together,  
Thus out of one extreme, into another.  
But yet laid hold, on virtue seemingly,  
Who climbs without hold, climbs dangerously.  
Be my condition mean, I then take pains;  
My family to keep, but not for gains.  
If rich, I'm urged then to gather more.  
To bear me out i'th' world, and feed the poor,  
If a father, then for children must provide:  
But if none, then for kindred near allied.  
If Noble, than mine honour to maintain.  
If not, yet wealth, Nobility can gain.  
For time, for place, likewise for each relation,  
I wanted not my ready allegation.  
Yet all my powers, for self-ends are not spent,  
For hundreds bless me, for my bounty sent.  
Whose loins I've clothed, and bellies I have fed;  
With mine own fleece, and with my household bread.  
Yea justice I have done, was I in place;  
To cheer the good, and wicked to deface.  
The proud I crushed, th' oppressed I set free,  
The liars curbed but nourished verity.  
Was I a pastor, I my flock did feed:  
And gently lead the lambs, as they had need,  
A Captain I, with skill I trained my band;  
And showed them how, in face of foes to stand.  
If a Soldier, with speed I did obey,  
As readily as could my Leader say:  
Was I a labourer, I wrought all day,  
As cheerfully as ere I took my pay.  
Thus hath mine age (in all) sometimes done well.  
Sometimes mine age (in all) been worse than hell.  
In meanness, greatness, riches, poverty;  
Did toil, did broil; oppressed, did steal and lie.  
Was I as poor, as poverty could be,  
Then baseness was companion unto me.  
Such scum, as Hedges, and Highways do yield,  
As neither sow, nor reap, nor plant, nor build.  
If to Agricolture, I was ordained.  
Great labours, sorrows, crosses I sustained  
The early Cock, did summon but in vain,  
My wakeful thoughts, up to my painful gain.  
For restless day and night, I'm robbed of steep,  
By can kered care, who centinel doth keep.  
My weary beast, rest from his toil can find;  
But if I rest, the more distressed my mind.  
If happiness my sordidness hath found,  
'Twas in the crop of my manured ground:  
My fatted Ox, and my exuberous Cow,  
My fleeced Ewe, and ever far owing Sow.  
To greater things, I never did aspire,  
My dunghill thoughts, or hopes, could reach no higher.  
If to be rich, or great, it was my fate;  
How was I broiled with envy, and with hate?  
Greater, than was the great'st, was my desire,  
And greater still, did set my heart on fire.  
If honour was the point, to which I steered;  
To run my hull upon disgrace I feared.  
But by ambitious sails, I was so carried;  
That over flats, and sands, and rocks I hurried,  
Oppressed, and sunk, and sact, all in my way;  
That did oppose me, to my longed bay:  
My thirst was higher, than Nobility.  
And oft longed sore, to taste on Royalty.  
Whence poison, Pistols, and dread instruments,  
Have been cursed furtherers of mine intents.  
Nor Brothers, Nephews, Sons, nor Sires I've spared.  
When to a Monarchy, my way they barred.  
There set, I rid myself strait out of hand.  
Of such as might my son, or his withstand.  
Then heaped up gold, and riches as the clay;  
Which others scatter, like the dew in May.  
Sometimes vainglory is the only bait,  
Whereby my empty soul, is lured and caught.  
Be I of worth, of learning, or of parts;  
I judge, I should have room, in all men's hearts.  
And envy gnaws, if any do surmount.  
I hate for to be had, in small account.  
If Bias like, I'm stripped unto my skin,  
I glory in my wealth, I have within.  
Thus good, and bad, and what I am, you see,  
Now in a word, what my diseases be.  
The vexing Stone, in bladder and in reins,  
Torments me with intolerable pains;  
The windy Colic oft my bowels rend,  
To break the darksome prison, where it's penned;  
The knotty Gout doth sadly torture me,  
And the restraining lame Sciatica;  
The Quinsy, and the Fevers, oft distaste me,  
And the Consumption, to the bones doth waste me;  
Subject to all Diseases, that's the truth,  
Though some more incident to age, or youth:  
And to conclude, I may not tedious be,  
Man at his best estate is vanity.    


Old Age.  
WHat you have been, even such have I before,  
And all you say, say I, and something more;  
Babes innocence, Youth's wildness I have seen.  
And in perplexed Middle-age have been,  
Sickness, dangers, and anxieties have past,  
And on this Stage am come to act my last:  
I have been young, and strong, and wise as you,  
But now, Bis pueri senes, is too true;  
In every Age i've found much vanity,  
An end of all perfection now I see.  
It's not my valour, honour, nor my gold,  
My ruin'd house, now falling can uphold;  
It's not my Learning, Rhetoric, wit so large,  
Now hath the power, Death's Warfare, to discharge;  
It's not my goodly house, nor bed of down,  
That can refresh, or ease, if Conscience frown;  
Nor from alliance now can I have hope,  
But what I have done well, that is my prop;  
He that in youth is godly, wise, and sage,  
Provides a staff for to support his age.  
Great mutations, some joyful, and some sad,  
In this short Pilgrimage I oft have had;  
Sometimes the Heavens with plenty smiled on me,  
Sometimes again, reigned all adversity;  
Sometimes in honour, sometimes in disgrace,  
Sometime an abject, then again in place,  
Such private changes oft mine eyes have seen,  
In various times of state i've also been.  
I've seen a Kingdom flourish like a tree,  
When it was ruled by that Celestial she;  
And like a Cedar, others so surmount,  
That but for shrubs they did themselves account;  
Then saw I France, and Holland saved, Cales won,  
And Philip, and Albertus, half undone;  
I saw all peace at home, terror to foes,  
But ah, I saw at last those eyes to close:  
And then, me thought, the world at noon grew dark,  
When it had lost that radiant Sunlike spark,  
In midst of griefs, I saw some hopes revive,  
(For 'twas our hopes then kept our hearts alive)  
I saw hopes dashed, our forwardness was shent,  
And silenced we, by Act of Parliament.  
I've seen from Rome, an execrable thing,  
A plot to blow up Nobles, and their King;  
I've seen designs at Ree, and Cades crossed,  
And poor Palatinate for ever lost;  
I've seen a Prince, to live on others lands,  
A Royal one, by alms from Subject's hands,  
I've seen base men, advanced to great degree,  
And worthy ones, put to extremity:  
But not their Prince's love, nor state so high;  
could once reverse, their shameful destiny.  
I've seen one stabbed, another lose his head;  
And others fly their Country, through their dread.  
I've seen, and so have ye, for 'tis but late,  
The desolation, of a goodly State.  
Plotted and acted, so that none can tell,  
Who gave the counsel, but the Prince of hell.  
I've seen a land unmoulded with great pain.  
But yet may live, to see't made up again:  
I've seen it shaken, rend, and soaked in blood,  
But out of troubles, ye may see much good,  
These are no old wives tales, but this is truth;  
We old men love to tell, what's done in youth.  
But I return, from whence I stepped awry,  
My memory is short, and brain is dry.  
My Almond-tree (grey hairs) doth flourish now,  
And back, once strait, gins apace to bow.  
My grinders now are few, my sight doth fail  
My skin is wrinkled, and my cheeks are pale.  
No more rejoice, at music's pleasant noise,  
But do awake, at the cocks clanging voice.  
I cannot scent, savours of pleasant meat,  
Nor sapours find, in what I drink or eat.  
My hands and arms, once strong have lost their might,  
I cannot labour, nor I cannot fight:  
My comely legs, as nimble as the Roe,  
Now stiff and numb, can hardly creep or go.  
My heart sometimes as fierce, as Lion bold,  
Now trembling, and fearful, sad, and cold;  
My golden Bowl, and silver Cord, e'er long,  
Shall both be broke, by wracking death so strong;  
I then shall go, whence I shall come no more,  
Sons, Nephews, leave, my death for to deplore;  
In pleasures, and in labours, I have found.  
That earth can give no consolation sound.  
To great, to rich, to poor, to young, or old,  
To mean, to noble, fearful, or to bold:  
From King to beggar, all degrees shall find  
But vanity, vexation of the mind;  
Yea knowing much, the pleasantest life of all,  
Hath yet amongst that sweet, some bitter gall.  
Though reading others Works, doth much refresh,  
Yet studying much, brings weariness to th' flesh;  
My studies, labours, readings, all are done,  
And my last period now e'en almost run;  
Corruption. my Father, I do call,  
Mother, and sisters both; the worms, that crawl,  
In my dark house, such kindred I have store,  
There, I shall rest, till heavens shall be no more;  
And when this flesh shall rot, and be consumed,  
This body, by this soul, shall be assumed;  
And I shall see, with these same very eyes,  
My strong Redeemer, coming in the skies;  
Triumph I shall, o'er Sin, o'er Death, o'er Hell,  
And in that hope, I bid you all farewell.     

The four Seasons of the Year.  


Spring.  
ANother Four i've yet for to bring on,  
Of four times four, the last quaternian;  
The Winter, Summer, Autumn, and the Spring,  
In season all these Seasons I shall bring;  
Sweet Spring, like man in his minority,  
At present claimed, and had priority,  
With smiling Sunshine face, and garments green,  
She gently thus began, like some fair Queen;  
Three months there are allotted to my share,  
March, April, May, of all the rest most fair;  
The tenth o'th' first Sol into Aries enters,  
And bids defiance to all tedious Winters:  
And now makes glad those blinded Northern wights,  
Who for some months have seen out starry lights,  
Crosses the Line, and equals night and day,  
Still adds to th' last, till after pleasant May;  
Now goes the Ploughman to his merry toil,  
For to unloose his Winter-locked soil;  
The Seedsman now doth lavish out his Grain,  
In hope, the more he casts, the more to gain;  
The Gardener, now superfluous branches l●ps,  
And Poles erects, for his green clambering Hops;  
Now digs, than sows, his herbs, his flowers, and ●oots,  
And carefully manures his trees of fruits.  
The Pleyades, their influence now give,  
And all that seemed as dead, afresh do live.  
The croaking Frogs, whom nipping Winter killed,  
Like Birds, now chirp, and hop about the field,  
The Nightingale, the Blackbird, and the Thrush,  
Now tune their lays, on sprays of every bush;  
The wanton frisking Kids, and soft fleeced Lambs,  
Now jump, and play, before their feeding Dams,  
The tender tops of budding Grass they crop,  
They joy in what they have, but more in hope,  
For though the Frost hath lost his binding power,  
Yet many a fleece of Snow, and stormy shower,  
Doth darken Sols bright face, makes us remember  
The pinching Nor-west cold, of fierce December.  
My second month is April, green, and fair,  
Of longer days, and a more temperate air;  
The Sun now keeps his posting residence  
In Taurus' Sign, yet hasteth strait from thence;  
For though in's running progress he doth take  
Twelve houses of the obliqne Zodiac,  
Yet never minute still was known to stand,  
But only once at Joshua's strange command;  
This is the month whose fruitful showers produces  
All Plants, and Flowers, for all delights, and uses;  
The Pear, the Plumbs, and Appletree now flourish,  
And Grass grows long, the tender Lambs to nourish;  
The Primrose pale, and azure Violet,  
Among the verduous Grass hath Nature set,  
That when the Sun (on's love) the earth doth shine,  
These might as Lace, set out her Garments fine;  
The fearful Bird, his little house now builds,  
In trees, and walls, in cities, and in fields,  
The outside strong, the inside warm and near.  
A natural Artificer complete.  
The clocking hen, her chipping brood now leads,  
With wings, and beak, defends them from the gleads.  
My next, and last, is pleasant fruitful May,  
Wherein the earth, is clad in rich array:  
The sun now enters, loving Geminie,  
And heats us with, the glances of his eye,  
Our Winter raiment, makes us lay aside,  
Lest by his fervour, we be terrified,  
All flowers before the sunbeams now discloses,  
Except the double Pinks, and matchless Roses.  
Now swarms the busy buzzing honey Bee.  
Whose praise deserves a page, from more than me.  
The cleanly huswives D●ry, now's i'th' prime,,  
Her shelves, and Firkins filled for winter time.  
The Meads with Cowslip, Hony-suckl's dight,  
One hangs his head, the other stands upright:  
But both rejoice, at th'heavens clear smiling face,  
More at her showers, which water them a space.  
For fruits, my season yields, the early Cherry,  
The hasty Pease, and wholesome red Strawberry,  
More solid fruits, require a longer time.  
Each season, hath his fruit, so hath each clime.  
Each man his own peculiar excellence,  
But none in all that hath pre-eminence.  
Some subject, shallow brains, much matter yields,  
Sometime a theme that's large, proves barren fields.  
Melodious Spring, with thy short pittance fly,  
In this harsh strain, I find no melody,  
Yet above all, this privilege is th●ne,  
Thy days still lengthen, without least decline.    


Summer.  
WHen Spring had done, than Summer must begin,  
With melted tawny face, and garments thin.  
Resembling choler, fire and middle-age;  
As Spring did air, blood, youth in's equipage.  
Wiping her sweat from off her brow, that ran,  
With hair all wet, she puffing thus began.  
Bright June, July, and August, hot are mine,  
Ith' first, Sol doth in crabbed Cancer shine.  
His progress to the North; now's fully done,  
And retrograde, now is my burning Sun.  
Who to his Southward tropic still is bend,  
Yet doth his parching heat the more augment,  
The reason why, because his flames so fair,  
Hath formerly much heat, the earth and air.  
Like as an oven, that long time hath been heat.  
Whose vehemency, at length doth grow so great,  
That if you do, remove her burning store,  
She's for a time as fervent as before.  
Now go those frolic swains, the shepherd lad,  
To wash their thick clothed flocks, with pipes full glad.  
In the cool streams they labour with delight,  
Rubbing their dirty coats, till they look white.  
Whose fleece when purely spun, and deeply died,  
With robes thereof, Kings have been dignified.  
'Mongst all ye shepherds, never but one man,  
Was like th●t noble, brave Arcadian.  
Yet hath your life, made Kings the same envy,  
Though you repose on grass under the sky.  
Careless of worldly wealth, you sit and pipe,  
Whilst they're embroiled in Wars, and troubles ripe;  
Which made great Bajazet cry out in's woes,  
Oh! happy Shepherd, which had not to lose.  
Orthobulus, nor yet Sebastia great,  
But whist'leth to thy Flock in cold, and heat,  
Viewing the Sun by day, the Moon by night,  
Endymion's, Diana's dear delight;  
This Month the Roses are distilled in Glasses,  
Whose fragrant scent, all made-perfume surpasses;  
The Cherry, Goosberry, is now i'th' prime,  
And for all sorts of Pease this is the time.  
July my next, the hot'st in all the year,  
The Sun in Leo now hath his carrear,  
Whose flaming breath doth melt us from afar,  
Increased by the Star Canicular;  
This month from Julius Caesar took the name,  
By Romans celebrated to his fame.  
Now go the Mowers to their slashing toil,  
The Meadows of their burden to despoil;  
With weary strokes, they take all in their way,  
Bearing the burning heat of the long day;  
The Forks, and Rakes do follow them amain,  
Which makes the aged fields look young again,  
The groaning Carts to bear away this prize.  
To Barns, and Stacks, where it for Fodder lies.  
My next, and last, is August, fiery hot,  
For yet the  Sun abateth not;  
This month he keeps with Virgo for a space,  
The dried earth is parched by his face.  
August, of great Augustus took its name,  
Rome's second Emperor of peaceful fame;  
With Sickles now, the painful Reapers go,  
The ruffling tress of terra for to moe,  
And bundles up in sheaves the weighty Wheat,  
Which after Manchet's made, for Kings to eat;  
The Barley, and the Rye, should first had place,  
Although their Bread have not so white a face.  
The Carter leads all home, with whistling voice,  
He ploughed with pain, but reaping doth rejoice;  
His sweat, his toil, his careful, wakeful nights,  
His fruitful crop, abundantly requites.  
Now's ripe the Pear, Pear-plumbe, and Apricock,  
The Prince of Plumbs, whose stone is hard as Rock.  
The Summer's short, the beauteous Autumn hastes,  
To shake his fruit, of most delicious tastes;  
Like good Old Age, whose younger juicy roots,  
Hath still ascended up in goodly Fruits,  
Until his head be grey, and strength be gone,  
Yet then appears the worthy deeds he has done:  
To feed his boughs, exhausted hath his sap,  
Then drops his Fruits into the Eaters lap.    


Autumn.  
OF Autumn months, September is the prime,  
Now day and night are equal in each clime;  
The tenth of this, Sol riseth in the Line,  
And doth in poising Libra this month shine.  
The Vintage now is ripe, the Grapes are pressed,  
Whose lively liquor oft is cursed, and blest;  
For nought's so good, but it may be abused,  
But it's a precious juice, when well it's used.  
The Raisins now in clusters dried be,  
The Orange, Lemon, Dangle on the tree;  
The Fig is ripe, the Pomegranate also,  
And Apples now their yellow sides do show;  
Of Medlar, Quince, of Warden, and of Peach,  
The season's now at hand, of all, and each;  
Sure at this time, Time first of all began,  
And in this month was made apostate man;  
For then in Eden was not only seen  
Boughs full of leaves, or fruits, but raw, and green,  
Or withered stocks, all dry, and dead,  
But trees with goodly fruits replenished;  
Which shows, nor Summer, Winter, nor the Spring,  
Great Adam was of Paradise made King.  
October is my next, we hear in this,  
The Northern Winter blasts begin to hisse;  
In Scorpio resideth now the Sun,  
And his declining heat is almost done.  
The fruitful trees, all withered now do stand,  
Whose yellow sapless leaves by winds are fanned:  
Which notes, when youth, and strength, have past their prime,  
Decrepit age must also have its time;  
The sap doth slily creep towards the earth,  
There rests, until the Sun give it a birth:  
So doth Old Age still tend unto his Grave,  
Where also he, his Winter time must have;  
But when the Son of Righteousness draws nigh,  
His dead old stock, again shall mount on high.  
November is my last, for time doth haste,  
We now of Winter's sharpness begin to taste;  
This month's the Sun in Sagitarius,  
So fare remote, his glances warm not us;  
Almost at shortest is the shortened day,  
The Northern Pole beholdeth not one ray.  
Now Green-land, Groenland, Lap-land, Fin-land, see  
No Sun, to lighten their obscurity;  
Poor wretches, that in total darkness lie,  
With minds more dark, then is the darkened sky;  
This month is timber for all uses felled,  
When cold, the sap to th' roots hath low'st repelled;  
Beef, Brawn, and Pork, are now in great'st request,  
And solid'st meats, our stomaches can digest;  
This time warm , full diet, and good fires,  
Our pinched flesh, and empty paunch requires:  
Old cold, dry age, and earth, Autumn resembles,  
And melancholy, which most of all dissembles.  
I must be short, and short's, the shortened day,  
What Winter hath to tell, now let him say.    


Winter.  
Could, moist, young, flegmy Winter now doth lie  
In Swaddling clouts, like newborn infancy,  
Bound up with Frosts, and fur●'d with Haiss, and Snows,  
And like an Infant, still he taller grows.  
December is the first, and now the Sun  
To th' Southward tropic his swift race hath run;  
This month he's housed in horned Capricorn,  
From thence he begins to length the shortened morn,  
Through Christendom, with great festivity  
Now's held, a Guest, (but blest) Nativity.  
Cold frozen January next comes in,  
Chilling the blood, and shrinking up the skin.  
In Aquarias, now keeps the loved Sun,  
And Northward his unwearied race doth run;  
The day much longer than it was before,  
The cold not lessened, but augmented more.  
Now toes, and ears, and fingers often freeze,  
And Travellers sometimes their noses lose.  
Moist snowy February is my last,  
I care not how the Winter time doth haste;  
In Pisces now the golden Sun doth shine,  
And Northward still approaches to the Line;  
The Rivers now do , and Snows do melt,  
And some warm glances from the Sun are felt,  
Which is increased by the lengthened day,  
Until by's heat he drives all cold away.   
My Subjects bare, my Brains are bad,  
Or better Lines you should have had;  
The first fell in so naturally,  
I could not tell how to passeed by:  
The last, though bad, I could not mend,  
Accept therefore of what is penned,  
And all the faults which you shall spy,  
Shall at your feet for pardon cry.   
Your dutiful Daughter. A. B.   

The Four Monarchies,  

the Assyrian being the first, beginning under Nimrod, 131. years after the Flood.  

WHen Time was young, and World in infancy,  
Man did not strive for Sovereignty,  
But each one thought his petty rule was high,  
If of his house he held the Monarchy:  
This was the Golden Age, but after came,  
The boisterous Sons of Cush, Grandchild to Ham.  
That mighty Hunter, who in his strong toils,  
Both Beasts and Men subjected to his spoils.  
The strong foundation of proud Babel laid,  
Erech, Accad, and Calneh also made;  
These were his first, all stood in Shinar land,  
From thence he went Assyria to command;  
And mighty Niniveh, he there begun,  
Nor finished, till he his race had run;  
R●sea, Caleh, and Rehoboth likewise,  
By him, to Cities eminent did rise;  
Of Sa●urn, he was the original,  
Whom the succeeding times a god did 〈◊〉  
When thus with rule he had been dignified,  
One hundred fourteen years, he after died.   

belus.  
GReat Nimrod dead, belus the next, his Son,  
Confirms the rule his Father had begun,  
Whose acts, and power, is not for certainty,  
Left to the world, by any History;  
But yet this blot for ever on him lies,  
He taught the people first to Idolise;  
Titles divine, he to himself did take,  
Alive, and dead, a god they did him make;  
This is that Bell, the Chaldees worshipped,  
Whose Priests, in Stories, oft are mentioned;  
This is that Bell, to whom the Israelites  
So oft profanely offered sacred rites;  
This is Belzebub, god of Ekronites,  
Likewise Bal-peor, of the Moabites:  
His reign was short, for as I calculate,  
At twenty five, ended his regal dare.   

Ninus.  
HIs father dead, Ninus gins his reign,  
Transfers his Seat, to the Assyrian plain,  
And mighty Niniveh more mighty made,  
Whose foundation was by his Grandsire laid;  
Four hundred forty Furlongs, walled about,  
On which stood fifteen hundred towers stout:  
The walls one hundred sixty foot upright,  
So broad, three Chariots run abrest there might,  
Upon the pleasant banks of Tigris flood,  
This stately seat of warlike Ninus stood.  
This Ninus for a god, his father canonised,  
To whom the sottish people sacrificed;  
This Tyrant did his neighbours all oppress,  
Where e'er he warred he had too good success,  
Barzanes, the great Armenian King,  
By force, his tributary, he did bring.  
The Median country, he did also gain,  
Pharmus, their King, he caused to be slain;  
An army of three Millions he led out,  
Against the Bactrians (but that I doubt)  
Zoroaster, their King, he likewise slew,  
And all the greater Asia did subdue;  
Semiramis from Menon he did take,  
Then drown himself, did Menon, for her sake;  
Fifty two years he reigned (as we are told)  
The world than was two thousand nineteen old.   

Semiramis.  
THis great oppressing Ninus dead, and gone,  
His wife, Semiramis, usurped the throne,  
She like a brave Virago, played the rex,  
And was both shame, and glory of her sex;  
Her birthplace was Philistrius Ascalon,  
Her Mother Docreta, a Courtesan;  
Others report, she was a vestal Nun,  
Adjudged to be drowned, for what she'd done;  
Transformed into a fish, by Venus' will,  
Her beauteous face (they feign) retaining still.  
Sure from this fiction, Dagon first began,  
Changing his woman's face, into a man.  
But all agree, that from no lawful bed;  
This great renowned Empress, issued.  
For which, she was obscurely nourished.  
Whence risen that fable, she by birds was fed.  
This gallant dame, unto the Bactrian war;  
Accompanying her husband Menon far,  
Taking a town, such valour she did show,  
That Ninus of her, amorous soon did grow;  
And thought her fit, to make a Monarch's wife,  
Which was the cause, poor Menon lost his life,  
She flourishing with Ninus, long did reign;  
Till her ambition, caused him to be slain:  
That having no compeer, she might rule all,  
Or else she sought, revenge for Menons' fall:  
Some think the Greeks, this slander on her cast,  
As of her life, licentious, and unchaste.  
And that her worth, deserved no such blame,  
As their aspersions, cast upon the same.  
But were her virtues, more, or less, or none;  
●he for her potency, must go alone.  
H●● wealth she showed, in building Babylon;  
Adm●●'d of all, but equalised of none.  
〈◊〉 walls so ●●ong, and curiously were wrought;  
〈◊〉 after ages, skill, by them were taught.  
With Tow●●s, and Bulwalks made of costly stone  
Quadrangle was the form, it ●ood upon:  
Each Square, was 〈◊〉 thousand paces long,  
An hundred 〈◊〉, it had, of mertall strong.  
Three hundred sixty foot, the walls in height:  
Almost incredible, they were in breadth.  
Most writers say, six chariots might a front,  
With great facility, march safe upon't.  
About the wall, a ditch so deep and wide,  
That like a river, long it did abide.  
Three hundred thousand men, here day, by day;  
Bestowed their labour, and received their pay,  
But that which did, all cost, and art excel,  
The wondrous Temple was, she reared to Bell;  
Which in the midst, of this brave Town was placed,  
(Continuing, till Xerxes it defaced)  
Whose stately top, beyond the clouds did rise;  
From whence, Astrologers, oft viewed the skies,  
This to describe, in each particular,  
A structure rare, I should but rudely mar,  
Her gardens, bridges, arches, mounts, and spires;  
All eyes that saw, or ears that hears, admires.  
On Shinar plain, by the Euphratan flood,  
This wonder of the world, this Babel stood.  
An expedition to the East she made.  
Great King Staurobates, for to invade.  
Her Army of four Millions did consist,  
(Each man believe it, as his fancy list)  
Her Camels, Chariots, Galleys in such number,  
As puzzells best hystorians to remember:  
But this is marvellous, of all those men,  
(They say) but twenty, ere came back again.  
The River Indus swept them half away,  
The rest Staurobates in fight did slay.  
This was last progress of this mighty Queen,  
Who in her Country never more was seen.  
The Poets feign her turned into a Dove,  
Leaving the world, to Venus, soared above,  
Which made the Assyrians many a day,  
A Dove within their Ensign to display.  
Forty two years she reigned, and then she died,  
But by what means, we are not certified.   

Ninias, or Zamies.  
HIs Mother dead, Ninias obtains his right,  
A Prince wedded to ease, and to delight,  
Or else was his obedience very great,  
To sit, thus long (obscure) wronged of his seat;  
Some writ, his Mother put his habit on,  
Which made the people think they served her Son;  
But much it is, in more than forty years,  
This fraud, in war, nor peace, at all appears;  
It is more like, being with pleasures fed,  
He sought no rule, till she was gone, and dead?  
What then he did, of worth, can no man tell,  
But is supposed to be that Amraphel,  
Who warred with Sodoms, and Gomorahs' King,  
'Gainst whom his trained Bands Abram did bring.  
Some may object, his Parents ruling all,  
How he thus suddenly should be thus small?  
This answer may suffice, whom it will please,  
He thus voluptuous, and given to ease;  
Each wronged Prince, or child that did remain,  
Would now advantage take, their own to gain;  
So Province, after Province, rend away,  
Until that potent Empire did decay.  
Again, the Country was left bare (there is no doubt)  
Of men, and wealth, his mother carried out;  
Which to her neighbours, when it was made known,  
Did then incite, them to regain their own.  
What e'er he was, they did, or how it fell,  
We may suggest our thoughts, but cannot tell;  
For Ninias, and all his Race are left,  
In deep oblivion, of acts bereft,  
And eleav'n hundred of years in silence sit,  
Save a few names anew, Berosus writ.  
And such as care not, what befalls their fames,  
May feign as many acts, as he did names;  
It is enough, if all be true that's past,  
T' Sardanapalus next we will make haste.   

Sardanapalus.  
SArdanapalus, (Son t' Ocrazapes)  
Who wallowed in all voluptuousness,  
That palliardizing sot, that out of doors  
ne'er showed his face, but revealed with his Whores.  
Did wear their garb, their gestures imitate,  
And their kind t' excel did emulate.  
Knowing his baseness, and the people's hate,  
Kept ever close, fearing some dismal fate;  
At last Arbaces brave, unwarily,  
His master like a Strumpet chanced to spy,  
His manly heart disdained, in the least,  
Longer to serve this Metamorphosed beast;  
Unto Belosus, than he broke his mind,  
Who sick of his disease, he soon did find.  
These two ruled Media and Babylon,  
B, for their King, held their dominion,  
Belosus, promised Arbaces aid,  
Arbaces him, fully to be repaid.  
The last, the Medes and Persians doth invite.  
Against their monstrous King to bring their might,  
Eclosus the Chaldeans doth require,  
And the Arabians, to further his desire.  
These all agree, and forty thousand make,  
The rule from their unworthy Prince to take.  
By prophesy, Belosus strength's their hands,  
Arbaces must be master of their lands.  
These Forces mustered, and in array,  
Sardanapalus leaves his Apish play.  
And though of wars, he did abhor the sight;  
Fear of his diadem, did force him sight:  
And either by his valour or his fate;  
Arbaces courage he did sore abate:  
That in despair, he left the field and fled.  
But with fresh hopes Belosus succoured.  
From Bactaria an Army was at hand,  
Pressed for this service, by the King's command;  
These with celerity, Arbaces meers,  
And with all terms of amity, he greets,  
Makes promises, their necks for to unyoke,  
And their Taxations sore, all to revoake,  
T'in franchise them, to grant what they could crave,  
To want no privilege, Subjects should have,  
Only entreats them, join their force with his,  
And win the Crown, which was the way to bl●sse,  
Won by his loving looks, more loving speech,  
T' accept of what they could, they him beseech.  
Both sides their hearts, their hands, their bands unite,  
And set upon their Prince's Camp that night;  
Who revelling in Cups, sung care away,  
For victory obtained the other day;  
But all surprised, by this unlooked for fright,  
Bereft of wits, were slaughtered down right.  
The King his Brother leaves, all to sustain,  
And speeds himself to Ninivic amain;  
But Salmeneus slain, his Army falls,  
The King's pursued unto the City walls;  
But he once in, pursuers, came too late,  
The walls, and gates, their course did terminate;  
There with all store he was so well provided,  
That what Arbaces did, was but derided;  
Who there encamped two years, for little end,  
But in the third, the River proved his friend,  
Which through much rain, then swelling up so high,  
Part of the wall it levelly caused to lie;  
Arbaces marches in, the town did take,  
For few, or none, did there resistance make;  
And now they saw fulfilled a Prophecy;  
That when the River proved their enemy,  
Their strong walled town should suddenly be taken;  
By this accomplishment, their hearts were shaken:  
Sardanapalus did not seek to fly,  
This his inevitable destiny;  
But all his wealth, and friends, together gets,  
Then on himself, and them, a fire he sets;  
This the last Monarch was, of Ninus race,  
Which for twelve hundred years had held that place;  
Twenty he reigned, same time, as Stories tell,  
That Am●zia was King of Israel;  
His Father was then King (as we suppose)  
When Jonah for their sins denounced such woes;  
He did repent, therefore it was not done,  
But was accomplished now, in his Son.  
Arbaces thus, of all becoming Lord,  
Ingeniously with each did keep his word;  
Of Babylon, Belosus he made King,  
With overplus of all treasures therein,  
To Bactrians, he gave their liberty,  
Of Ninivites, he caused none to die,  
But suffered, with goods to go elsewhere,  
Yet would not let them to inhabit there;  
For he demolished that City great,  
And then to Media transferred his seat.  
Thus was the promise bound, since first he craved,  
Of Medes, and Persians, their assisting aid;  
A while he, and his race, aside must stand,  
Not pertinent to what we have in hand;  
But Belochus in's progeny pursue,  
Who did this Monarchy begin anew.   

Belosus, or Belochus.  
BElosus settled, in his new, old seat,  
Not so content, but aiming to be great,  
Encroached still upon the bordering Lands,  
Till Mesopotamia he got in's hands,  
And either by compound, or else by strength,  
Assyria he also gained at length;  
Then did rebuild destroyed Ninivi●,  
A costly work, which none could do but he,  
Who owned the treasures of proud Babylon,  
And those which seemed with Sardanapal's gone;  
But though his Palace, did in ashes lie,  
The fire, those Metals could not damnify;  
From rubbish these, with diligence he rakes,  
Arbaces suffers all, and all he takes.  
He thus enriched, by this new tried gold,  
Raises a Phoenix new, from grave o'th' old;  
And from this heap did after Ages see,  
As fair a Town, as the first Niniveh.  
When this was built, and all matters in peace,  
Molests poor Israel, his wealth t' increase.  
A thousand talents of Menahem had,  
Who to be rid of such a guest, was glad;  
In sacred Writ, he's known by name of Pull,  
Which makes the world of differences so full,  
That he, and Belochus, one could not be,  
But circumstance, doth prove the verity;  
And times of both computed, so fall out,  
That those two made but one, we need not doubt:  
What else he did, his Empire to advance,  
To rest content we must, in ignorance.  
Forty eight years he reigned, his race then run,  
He left his new got Kingdoms to his Son.   

Tiglath Palasser.  
BElosus dead, Tiglath his warlike Son  
Neyt treads the steps, by which his Father won,  
Damascus, ancient seat of famous Kings,  
Under subjection by his sword he brings;  
Resin their valiant King, he also slew,  
And Syria t' obedience did subdue;  
Iudas bad King occasioned this War,  
When Resins force his borders sore did mar.  
And divers Cities, by strong hand did seize,  
To Tiglath then doth Ahaz send for ease.  
The temple robes, so to fulfil his ends,  
And to Assyria's King a Present sends.  
I am thy Servant, and thy Son (quoth he)  
From Rezin, and from Pekah set me free:  
Gladly doth Tiglath this advantage take,  
And succours Ahaz, yet for Tiglath's sake,  
When Rezin's slain, his Army overthrown,  
Syria he makes a Province of his own.  
Unto Damascus then, comes Iudah's King,  
His humble thankfulness (with haste) to bring,  
Acknowledging th' Assyrians high desert,  
To whom, he ought all loyalty of heart.  
But Tiglath, having gained his wished end,  
Proves unto Ahaz but a feigned friend;  
All Israel's Land, beyond jordan, he takes.  
In Galilee, he woeful havoc makes;  
Through Syria now he marched, none stopped his way,  
And Ahaz open, at his mercy lay,  
Who still implored his love, but was distressed,  
(This was that Ahaz, which so much transgressed.)  
Thus Tiglath reigned, and warted, twenty seven years,  
Then by his death, released, was Israel's fears.   

Salmanasser, or Nabonasser. 
[10 years.   
TIglath deceased, Salmanasser is next,  
He I sraelites, more than his Father vexed;  
Hoshea, their last King, he did invade,  
And him six years his tributary made;  
But weary of his servitude, he sought,  
To Egypt's King, which did avail him nought;  
For Salmanasser, with a mighty Host,  
Besieged his regal town, and spoiled his Coast,  
And did the people, nobles, and their King,  
Into perpetual thraldom that time bring;  
Those that from Ioshua's time had been Estate,  
Did Justice now, by him, eradicate:  
This was that strange degenerated brood,  
On whom, nor threars, nor mercies could do good;  
Laden with honour, prisoners, and with spoil,  
Returns triumphant Victor to his soil;  
Placed Israel in's Land, where he thought best,  
Then sent his Colonies, theirs to invest;  
Thus jacobs' Sons, in exile must remain,  
And pleasant Canaan ne'er see again:  
Where now those ten Tribes are, can no man tell,  
Or how they far, rich, poor, or ill, or well;  
Whether the Indians of the East, or West,  
Or wild Tartarians, as yet ne'er blest,  
Or else those Chinoes rare, whose wealth, and Arts,  
Hath bred more wonder, than belief in hearts;  
But what, or where they are, yet know we this;  
They shall return, and Zion see, with bliss.   

Senacherib. 
[7 years   
SEnacherib Salmaneser succeeds,  
Whose haughty heart is shown in works, and deeds;  
His Wars none better than himself can boast,  
On Henah, Arpad, and on Ivah least;  
On Hena's, and on Sepharuaim's gods,  
'Twixt them and Israel's he knew no odds.  
Until the thundering hand of heaven he felt,  
Which made his Army into nothing melt;  
With shame then turned to Niniveh again,  
And by his Sons in's Idols house was slain.   

Essarhadon.  
HIs Son, weak Essarhadon reigned in's place,  
The fifth, and last, of great Belosus race;  
Brave Merodach, the Son of Balladan,  
In Babylon, Leiutenant to this man,  
Of opportunity advantage takes,  
And on his Master's ruins, his house makes;  
And Belosus, first, his did unthrone,  
So he's now styled, the King of Babylon;  
After twelve years did Essarhadon die,  
And Merodach assume the Monarchy.   

Merodach Baladan. 
[21 years.   
ALl yields to him, but Niniveh kept free,  
Until his Grandchild made her bow the knee;  
Ambassadors to Hezekiah sent,  
His health congratulates with compliment.   

Ben. Merodach. 
[22 years.   
Been. Merodach, Successor to this King,  
Of whom is little said in any thing;  
But by conjecture this, and none but he,  
Led King Manasseh, to captivity.   

Nebulassar. 
[12 years.   
BRave Nebulassar to this King was Son,  
The ancient Niniveh by him was won;  
For fifty years, or more, it had been free,  
Now yields her neck unto captivity:  
A Viceroy from her foe, she's glad t' accept,  
By whom in firm obedience she's kept.   

Nebuchadnezar, or Nebopolassar.  
THe famous Wars, of this Heroic King,  
Did neither Homer, hesiod, Virgil sing;  
Nor of his acts have we the certainty,  
From some Thucydides grave History;  
Nor's Metamorphosis from Ovid's Book,  
Nor his restoring from old legends took;  
But by the Prophets, Penmen most Divine,  
This Prince in's magnitude doth ever shine;  
This was of Monarchies that head of gold,  
The richest, and the dreadfullest to behold;  
This was that tree, whose branches filled the earth,  
Under whose shadow, birds, and beasts, had birth;  
This was that King of Kings, did what he pleased,  
Killed, saved, pulled down, set up, or pained, or eased;  
And this is he, who when he feared the least,  
Was turned from a King, unto a Beast;  
This Prince, the last year of his Father's reign,  
Against Ichoiakim marched with his train;  
Iudah's poor King besieged, who succourless,  
Yields to his mercy, and the present stress;  
His Vassal is, giveth pledges for his truth,  
Children of Royal blood, unblemished youth;  
Wise Daniel, and his fellows 'mongst the rest,  
By the victorious King to Babel's pressed;  
The temple of rich ornaments defaced,  
And in his Idols house the Vassal's placed.  
The next year he, with unresisted hand,  
Quite vanquished Pharaoh Necho, and his Band;  
By great Euphrates did his Army fall,  
Which was the loss of ●yria withal;  
Then into Egypt, Necho did retire,  
Which in few years proves the Assyrians hire;  
A mighty Army next, he doth prepare,  
And unto wealthy Tyre with ha●● repure.  
Such was the situation of this place,  
As might not him, but all the world outface;  
That in her pride, she knew not which to boast,  
Whether her wealth, or yet her strength was most;  
How in all Merchandise she did excel,  
None but the true Ezekiel need to tell:  
And for her strength, how hard she was to gain,  
Can Babel's tired Soldiers tell with pain;  
Within an Island had this City seat,  
Divided from the main, by channel great;  
Of costly Ships, and Galleys, she had store,  
And Mariners, to handle sail, and oar;  
But the Chaldeans had nor ships, nor skill,  
Their shoulders must their Master's mind fulfil;  
Fetch rubbish from the opposite old town,  
And in the channel throw each burden down;  
Where after many aslayes, they make at last,  
The Sea firm Land, whereon the Army past,  
And took the wealthy town, but all the gain  
Requited not the cost, the toil, and pain.  
Full thirteen years in this strange work he spent,  
Before he could accomplish his intent;  
And though a Victor home his Army leads,  
With peeled shoulders, and with balded heads,  
When in the Tyrian wars, the King was hot,  
Jehoiakim his Oath had clean forgot;  
Thinks this the fittest time to break his bands,  
While Babel's King thus deep engaged stands;  
But he (alas) whose fortunes now i'th' ebb,  
Had all his hopes like to a Spider's web;  
For this great King, withdraws part of his force,  
To Judah marches with a speedy course,  
And unexpected finds the feeble Prince,  
Whom he chastased for his proud offence;  
Fast bound, intends at Babel he shall stay,  
But changed his mind, and slew him by the way;  
Thus cast him out, like to a naked Ass,  
For this was he, for whom none said, Alas!  
His Son three months he suffered to reign,  
Then from his throne, he pulled him down again:  
Whom with his Mother, he to Babel led,  
And more than thirty years in prison fed;  
His Uncle, he established in's place,  
Who was last King of holy David's race;  
But he, as perjured as Ichoiakim,  
judah lost more (than e'er they lost) by him;  
Seven years he keeps his faith, and safe he dwells,  
But in the eighth, against his Prince rebels;  
The ninth, came Nebuchadnezar with power,  
Besieged his City, Temple, Zions' Tower;  
And after eighteen months he took them all,  
The walls so strong, that stood so long, now fall;  
The cursed King, by flight could not wise free  
His well deserved, and foretell misery;  
But being caught, to Babel's wrathful King,  
With Children, Wives, and Nobles, all they bring,  
Where to the sword, all but himself was put,  
And with that woeful sight his eyes close shut.  
A hapless man, whose darksome contemplation,  
Was nothing, but such ghastly meditation;  
In midst of Babel now, till death he lies,  
Yet as was told, ne●e saw it with his eyes;  
The Temple's burnt, the Vessels had away,  
The Towers, and Palaces, brought to decay;  
Where late, of Harp, and Lute, was heard the noise,  
Now Zim, and Sim, lift up their shrieking voice;  
All now of worth, are captive led with tears,  
There sit bewailing Zion seventy years,  
With all these Conquests, Babel's King rests not,  
No, nor when Moab, Edom he had got.  
Kedar, Hazer, the Arabians too,  
All Vassals, at his hands, for grace must sue;  
A total Conquest of rich Egypt makes,  
All rule, he from the ancient Pharaoh's takes;  
Who had for sixteen hundred years born sway,  
To Babylon's proud King, now yields the day.  
Then Put, and Lud, do at his mercy stand,  
Where e'er he goes, he Conquers every Land;  
His sumptuous buildings passes all conceit,  
Which wealth, and strong ambition made so great;  
His Image, judah's Captives worship not,  
Although the Furnace be seven times more hot;  
His Dreams, wise Daniel doth expound full well,  
And his unhappy change with grief foretell;  
Strange melancholy humours on him lay,  
Which for seven years his reason took away;  
Which from no natural causes did proceed,  
For by the Heavens above it was decreed:  
The time expired, remains a Beast no more,  
Resumes his Government, as heretofore,  
In splendour, and in Majesty, he sits,  
Contemplating those times he lost his wits;  
And if by words, we may guess at the heart,  
This King among the righteous had a part:  
Forty four years he reigned, which being run,  
He left his Wealth, and Conquest, to his Son.   

Evilmerodach.  
Babels' great Monarch, now laid in the dust,  
His son possesses wealth, and rule, as just;  
And in the first year of his royalty,  
Easeth Jehoiakims captivity.  
Poor forlorn Prince, that had all state forgot,  
In seven and thirty years, had seen no jot,  
Among the Conquered Kings, that there did lie,  
Is Judah's King, now lifted up on high.  
But yet in Babel, he must still remain:  
And native Canaan, never see again,  
Unlike his father, Evilmerodach,  
Prudence, and magnanimity, did lack  
Fair Egypt is, by his remissness lost;  
Arabia, and all the boardering coast.  
Wars with the Medes, unhappily he waged,  
(Within which broils, r●ch Croesus was engaged,)  
His Army routed, and himself there slain,  
His Kingdom to Belshazzar did remain,   

Belshazzar.  
UNworthy Belshazzar next wears the Crown,  
Whose profane acts, a sacred pen sets down.  
His lust, and cruelty, in books we find,  
A Royal State, ruled by a brutish mind.  
His life so base, and dissolute, invites  
The Noble Persians, to invade his rights.  
Who with his own, and Uncle's power anon;  
Lays siege to's regal seat, proud Babylon,  
The coward King, whose strength lay in his walls,  
To banqueting, and revelling now falls,  
To show his little dread, but greater store,  
To cheer his friends, and scorn his foes the more.  
The holy vessels, thither brought long since,  
Caroused they in; and sacrilegious Prince,  
Did praise his gods of mettle, wood, and stone,  
Protectors of his Crown, and Babylon,  
But he above, his do did deride,  
And with a hand, soon dashed all his pride.  
The King, upon the wall casting his eye,  
The fingers of his hand-writing did spy.  
Which horrid sight, he fears, must needs portend,  
Destruction to his Crown, to's Person end.  
With quaking knees, and heart appalled, he cries,  
For the Soothsayers, and Magicians wise;  
This language strange, to read, and to unfold;  
With gifts of Scarlet robe, and Chains of gold,  
And highest dignity, next to the King,  
To him that could interpret clear this thing:  
But dumb the gazing Astrologers stand,  
Amazed at the writing, and the hand.  
None answers the affrighted King's intent.  
Who still expects some fearful sad event,  
As thus amort he sits, as all undone:  
In comes the Queen, to cheer her heartless son.  
Of Daniel tells, who in his Grandfires days,  
Was held in more request, than now he was,  
Daniel in haste, is brought before the King,  
Who doth not flatter, nor once cloak the thing.  
Reminds him of his Grandfires height, and fall,  
And of his own notorious sins, withal;  
His drunkenness, and his profaneness high,  
His pride, and sottish gross Idolatry.  
The guilty King, with colour pale, and dead,  
There hears his Mene, and his Tekel read;  
And did one thing worthy a King (though late)  
Performed his word, to him, that told his fate;  
That night victorious Cyrus took the town,  
Who soon did terminate his Life, and Crown:  
With him did end the race of Baladan,  
And now the Persian Monarchy began.   
The end of the Assyrian Monarchy.   

The Second Monarchy, being the Persian, begun under Cyrus, Darius (being his Uncle, and his Father in Law) reigning with him about two years.  

CYrus Cambyses, Son of Persia's King,  
Whom Lady Mandana did to him bring;  
She Daughter unto great Astyages,  
He in descent the seventh from Arbaces.  
Cambyses was of Achemenes race,  
Who had in Persia the Lieutenant's place.  
When Sardanapalus was overthrown,  
And from that time, had held it as his own;  
Cyrus, Darius' Daughter took to wife,  
And so unites two Kingdoms, without strife;  
Darius was unto Mandana brother,  
Adopts her Son for his, having no other:  
This is of Cyrus the true pedigree,  
Whose Ancestors, were royal in degree;  
His Mother's Dream, and Grandfires cruelty,  
His preservation in his misery;  
His nourishment afforded by a Bitch,  
Are fit for such, whose ears for fables itch;  
He in his younger days an Army led,  
Against great Croesus, then of Lydia head;  
Who overcurious of wars event,  
For information to Apollo went:  
And the ambiguous Oracle did trust,  
So overthrown of Gyrus, as was just;  
Who him pursues to Sardis, takes the town,  
Where all that do resist, are slaughtered down;  
Disguised Croesus, hoped to scape i'th' throng,  
Who had no might to save himself from wrong;  
But as he passed, his Son, who was born dumb,  
With pressing grief; and sorrow, overcome,  
Amidst the tumult, bloodshed, and the strife,  
Broke his long silence, cried, spare Croesus' life:  
Croesus thus known, it was great Cy●us doom,  
(A hard decree) to ashes he consume;  
Then on a Pike being set, where all might eye,  
He Solon, Solon, Solon, thrice did cry.  
Upon demand, his mind to Cyrus broke,  
And told, how Solon in his height had spoke.  
With pity Cyrus moved, knowing Kings stand,  
Now up, now down, as fortune turns her hand,  
Weighing the age, and greatness of the Prince,  
(His Mother's Uncle, stories do evince:)  
Gave him at once, his life, and Kingdom too,  
And with the Lydians, had no more to do.  
Next war, the restless Cyrus' thought upon,  
Was conquest of the stately ●abylon,  
Now treble walled, and moated so about,  
That all the world they neither fear, nor doubt;  
To drain this ditch, he many sluices cut,  
But till convenient time their heads kept shut;  
That night Belshazzar feasted all his rout,  
He cuts those banks, and let the river out;  
And to the walls securely marches on,  
Not finding a defendant thereupon;  
Enters the town, the sottish King he slays,  
Upon earth's richest spoils his Soldier's preys;  
Here twenty year's provision he found,  
Forty five mile this City scarce could round;  
This head of Kingdoms, calls excellence,  
For Owls, and Satyrs, makes a residence;  
Yet wondrous Monuments this stately Queen,  
Had after thousand years fair to be seen.  
Cyrus doth now the Jewish captives free,  
An Edict makes, the Temple builded be,  
He with his Uncle Daniel sets on high,  
And caused his foes in Lion's den to die.  
Long after this, he 'gainst the Sythians goes,  
And Tomris Son, an Army overthrows;  
Which to revenge, she hires a mighty power,  
And sets on Cyrus, in a fatal hour;  
There routs his Host, himself she prisoner takes,  
And at one blow, world's head, she headless makes;  
The which she baked within a But of blood,  
Using such taunting words as she thought good.  
But Zenophon reports, he died in's bed,  
In honour, peace, and wealth, with a grey head,  
And in his Town of Pasargada lies,  
Where Alexander fought, in hope of prize,  
But in this Tomb was only to be found  
Two Sythian bows, a sword, and target round;  
Where that proud Conqueror could do no less,  
Then at his Hearse great honours to express;  
Three Daughters, and two Sons, he left behind,  
Ennobled more by birth, then by their mind;  
Some thirty years this potent Prince did reign,  
Unto Cambyses then, all did remain.   

Cambyses.  
CAmbyses, no ways like, his noble Sire,  
But to enlarge his state, had some desire;  
His reign with Blood, and Incest, first gins;  
Then sends to find a Law for these his sins;  
That Kings with Sister's match, no Law they find,  
But that the Persian King, may act his mind;  
Which Law includes all Laws, though lawless still,  
And makes it lawful Law, if he but will;  
He wages war, the fifth year of his reign,  
'Gainst Egypt's King, who there by him was slain,  
And all of Royal blood that came to hand,  
He seized first of life, and then of Land;  
(But little Marus, scaped that cruel fate,  
Who grown a man, resumed again his state)  
He next to Cyprus sends his bloody Host,  
Who landed soon upon that fruitful coast,  
Made Evelthon their King, with bended knee,  
To hold his own, of his free courtesy;  
The Temples he destroys not, for his zeal,  
But he would be professed god of their Weal;  
Yea, in his pride, he ventured so fare,  
To spoil the Temple of great Jupiter;  
But as they marched o'er those desert sands,  
The stormed dust overwhelmed his daring bands;  
But scorning thus by Jove to be outbraved,  
A second Army there had almost graved;  
But vain he found, to fight with Elements,  
So left his sacrilegious bold intents:  
The Egyptian Apis then he likewise slew,  
Laughing to scorn that calvish, sottish crew.  
If all his heat, had been for a good end,  
Cambyses to the clouds, we might commend;  
But he that 'fore the gods, himself prefers,  
Is more profane, then gross Idolaters;  
And though no gods, if he esteem them some,  
And contemn them, woeful is his doom.  
He after this, saw in a Vision,  
His brother Smerdis sit upon his throne;  
He straight to rid himself of causeless fears,  
Complots the Prince's death, in his green years,  
Who for no wrong, poor innocent must die,  
Praraspes now must act this tragedy;  
Who into Persia with Commission sent,  
Accomplished this wicked King's intent;  
His sister, whom incestuously he wed,  
Hearing her harmless brother thus was dead,  
His woeful fate with tears did so bemoan,  
That by her Husband's charge, she caught her own;  
She with her fruit was both at once undone,  
Who would have born a Nephew, and a Son.  
O hellish Husband, Brother, Uncle, Sire,  
Thy cruelty will Ages still admire.  
This strange severity, one time he used,  
Upon a Judge, for breach of Law accused;  
Flayed him alive, hung up his stuffed skin  
Over his Seat, then placed his Son therein;  
To whom he gave this in remembrance,  
Like fault must look, for the like recompense.  
Praraspes, to Cambyses favourite,  
Having one son, in whom he did delight,  
His cruel Master, for all service done,  
Shot through the heart of his beloved son:  
And only for his father's faithfulness,  
Who said but what, the King bade him express.  
IT would be no pleasant, but a tedious thing,  
To tell the facts, of this most bloody King.  
Feared of all, but loved of few, or none,  
All thought his short r●ign long, till it was done  
At last, two of his Officers he heart,  
Had set a Smerdis up, of the same years;  
And like in feature, to the Smerdis dead,  
Ruling as they thought good, under his head.  
Touched with this news, to Persia he makes,  
But in the way, his sword just uéngeance takes.  
Unsheathes, as he his horse mounted on high,  
And with a Martall thrust, wounds him i'th' thigh,  
Which ends before begun, the Persian Wa●re,  
Yielding to death, that dreadful Conqueror.  
Grief for his brother's death, he did express,  
And more, because he died issueless.  
The Male line, of great Cyrus now did end.  
The Female many ages did extend,  
A Babylon in Egypt did he make.  
And built fair Meroe, for his sister's sake.  
Eight years he reigned, a short, yet too long time,  
Cut off in's wickedness, in's strength, and prime.   

The inter Regnum between Cambyses, and Darius Hyslaspes.  
Childless Cambyses, on the sudden dead,  
The Princes meet to choose one in his stead,  
Of which the chief were seven, called satraps,  
(Who like to Kings, ruled Kingdoms as they please,)  
Descended all, of Ach●menes blood,  
And kinsmen in account, to th'King they stood,  
And first these noble Magis agree upon,  
To thrust th' Imposter Smerdis our of throne,  
Their Forces instantly they raise, and rout,  
This King, with conspirators so stout,  
Who little pleasure had, in his short reign,  
And now with his accomplyces lie slain.  
But yet, 'fore this was done, much blood was shed,  
And two of these great Peers, in place lay dead:  
Some writ that sorely hurt, they 'scap'd away;  
But so or no, sure 'tis, they won the day.  
All things in peace, and Rebels throughly que●'d,  
A Consultation by the States was held.  
What form of Government now to erect,  
The old, or new, which best, in what respect,  
The greater part, declined a Monarchy.  
So late crushed by their Prince's Tyranny;  
And thought the people, would more happy be,  
If governed by an Aristocracy.  
But others thought (none of the dullest brain,)  
But better one, than many Tyrant's reign.  
What arguments they used, I know not well,  
Too politic ('tis like) for me to tell,  
But in conclusion they all agree,  
That of the seven a Monarch chosen be;  
All envy to avoid, this was thought on,  
Upon a Green to meet, by rising Sun;  
And he whose Horse before the rest should neigh,  
Of all the Peers should have precedency.  
They all attend on the appointed hour,  
Praying to Fortune, for a Kingly power;  
Then mounting on their snorting coursers proud,  
Darius' lusty stallion neighed full loud;  
The Nobles all alight, their King to greet,  
And after Persian manner, kiss his feet.  
His happy wishes now doth no man spare,  
But acclamations echoes in the air;  
A thousand times, God save the King, they cry,  
Let tyranny now with Cambyses die.  
They then attend him, to his royal room,  
Thanks for all this to's crafty Stablegroome.   

Darius' Hyslapses.  
DArius by election made a King,  
His title to make strong omits no thing;  
He two of Cyrus' Daughters now doth wed,  
Two of his Nieces takes to nuptial bed;  
By which he cuts their hopes (for future times)  
That by such steps to Kingdoms often climbs.  
And now a King, by marriage, choice, and blood,  
Three strings to's bow, the least of which is good;  
Yet more the people's hearts firmly to bind,  
Made wholesome gentle Laws, which pleased each mind.  
His affability, and mild aspect,  
Did win him loyalty, and all respect;  
Yet notwithstanding he did all so well,  
The Babylonians 'gainst their Prince rebel;  
An Host he raised, the City to reduce,  
But strength against those walls was of no use;  
For twice ten months before the town he lay,  
And feared, he now with scorn must march away:  
Then brave Zopirus, for his Master's good,  
His manly face disfigures, spares no blood,  
With his own hands cuts off his ears, and nose,  
And with a faithful fraud to''th' town he goes,  
Tells them, how harshly the proud King had dealt,  
That for their sakes, his cruelty he felt;  
Desiring of the Prince to raise the siege,  
This violence was done him by his Liege;  
This told, for entrance he stood not long,  
For they believed his nose, more than his tongue;  
With all the City's strength they him betrust,  
If he command, obey the greatest must:  
When opportunity he saw was fit,  
Delivers up the town, and all in it.  
To lose a nose, to win a Town's no shame,  
But who dare venture such a stake for th' game;  
Then thy disgrace, thine honour's manifold,  
Who doth deserve a Statue made of gold;  
Nor can Darius in his Monarchy,  
Scarce find enough to thank thy loyalty;  
But yet thou hast sufficient recompense,  
In that thy fame shall sound whilst men have sense;  
Yet o'er thy glory we must cast this veil,  
Thy falsehood, not thy valour did prevail;  
Thy wit was more than was thine honesty,  
Thou lov'dst thy Master more than verity.  
Darius in the second of his reign,  
An Edict for the Jews published again,  
The temple to rebuild, for that did rest  
Since Cyrus' time, Cambyses did molest;  
He like a King, now grants a Charter large,  
Out of his own revenues bears the charge;  
Gives sacrifices, wheat, wine, oil, and salt,  
Threats punishment to him, that through default  
Shall let the work, or keep back any thing,  
Of what is freely granted by the King;  
And on all Kings he pours out execrations,  
That shall, but dare raze those firm foundations;  
They thus backed of the King, in spite of foes,  
Built on, and prospered, till their walls did close;  
And in the sixth year of his friendly reign  
Set up a Temple (though, a less) again.  
Darius on the Sythians made a war,  
Entering that large and barren country far;  
A bridge he made, which served for boat, and barge,  
Over fair Ister, at a mighty charge;  
But in that Desert, 'mongst his barbarous foes,  
Sharp wants, not swords, his valour did oppose;  
His Army fought with Hunger, and with Cold,  
Which too then to assail, his Camp was bold:  
By these alone his Host was pinched so sore,  
He warred defensive, not offensive, more;  
The Savages did laugh at his distress,  
Their minds by Hieroglyphics they express;  
A Frog, a Mouse, a Bird, an Arrow sent,  
The King will needs interpret their intent;  
Possession of water, earth, and air,  
But wise Gobrias reads not half so fare:  
Quoth he, like Frogs, in water we must dive,  
Or like to Mice, under the earth must live;  
Or fly like birds, in unknown ways full quick,  
Or Sythian arrows in our fides must stick.  
The King, seeing his men, and victual spent,  
His fruitless war, began late to repent;  
Returned with little honour, and less gain,  
His enemies scarce seen, then much less, slain;  
He after this, intends Greece to invade,  
But troubles in less Asia him stayed;  
Which hushed, he strait so order his affairs,  
For Attica an Army he prepares;  
But as before, so now with ill success,  
Returned with wondrous loss, and honour less.  
Athens perceiving now their desperate state,  
Armed all they could, which eleven thousand make;  
By brave Miltiades (their chief) being led,  
Darius' multitude before them fled;  
At Marathon this bloody field was fought,  
Where Grecians proved themselves right Soldiers, stout;  
The Persians to their Galleys post with speed,  
Where an Athenian showed a valiant deed,  
Pursues his flying-foes, and on the strand,  
He stays a landing Galley with his hand;  
Which soon cut off, he with the left  
Renews his hold; but when of that bereft,  
His whetted teeth he sticks in the firm wood,  
Off flies his head, down showers his frolic blood.  
Go Persians, carry home that angry piece,  
As the best trophy that ye won in Greece.  
Darius' light, he heavy, home returns,  
And for revenge his heart still restless burns;  
His Queen Attossa, caused all this stir,  
For Grecian Maids ('tis said) to wait on her;  
She lost her aim; her Husband, he lost more,  
His men, his coin, his honour, and his store;  
And the ensuing year ended his life,  
('Tis thought) through grief of his successesse strife.  
Thirty six years this royal Prince did reign,  
Unto his eldest Son, all did remain.   

Xerxes.  
Xerxes', Darius, and Attossa's Son,  
Grandchild to Cyrus, now sits on the throne;  
The Father not so full of lenity,  
As is the Son, of pride, and cruelty;  
He with his Crown, receives a double war,  
Th' Egyptians to reduce, and Greece to mar;  
The first begun, and finished in such haste,  
None writ by whom, nor how, 'twas overpast;  
But for the last he made such preparation,  
As if to dust he meant to grind that Nation;  
Yet all his men, and instruments of slaughter,  
Produced but derision, and laughter;  
Sage Artabanus counsel, had he taken,  
And's cousin, young Mardonius forsaken,  
His Soldiers, credit, wealth, at home had stayed,  
And Greece such wondrous triumphs ne'er had made.  
The first deports, and lays before his eyes,  
His Father's ill success in's enterprise,  
Against the Sythians, and Grecians too,  
What infamy to's honour did accrue.  
Flattering Mardonius on th' other side,  
With certainty of Europe feeds his pride;  
Vain Xerxes thinks his counsel hath most wit,  
That his ambitious humour best can fit;  
And by this choice, unwarily posts on,  
To present loss, future subversion;  
Although he hasted, yet four years was spent,  
In great provisions, for this great intent;  
His Army of all Nations, was compounded,  
That the large Persian government surrounded;  
His Foot was seventeen hundred thousand strong,  
Eight hundred thousand Horse to them belong;  
His Camels, beasts, for carriage numberless,  
For truth's ashamed how many to express;  
The charge of all he severally commended,  
To Princes of the Persian blood descended,  
But the command of these Commanders all,  
To Mardonius, Captain General;  
He was the Son of the forenamed Gobrias,  
Who married the sister of Darius:  
These his Land Forces were, than next, a Fleet  
Of two and twenty thousand Galleys meet,  
Manned by Phenisians, and Pamphilians,  
Cipriots, Dorians, and Cilicians,  
Lycians, Carians, and jonians,  
Eolians, and the Helispontines;  
Besides, the Vessels for his transportation,  
Three thousand (or more) by best relation,  
Artemesia, Halicarna's Queen,  
In person there, now for his help was seen;  
Whose Galleys all the rest in neatness pass,  
Save the Zidonians, where Xerxes was.  
Hers she kept still, separate from the rest,  
For to command alone, she thought was best.  
O noble Queen, thy valour I commend,  
But pity 'twas, thine aid that here didst lend,  
At Sardis, in Lydia, these all do meet,  
Wither rich Pithyus comes, Xerxes to greet;  
Feasts all this multitude, of his own charge,  
Then gives the King, a Kinglike gift, most large;  
Three thousand Talents of the purest gold;  
Which mighty s●m, all wondered to behold.  
He humbly to the King than makes request,  
One of his five Sons there, might be relead;  
To be to's age a comfort, and a stay,  
The other four he freely gave away:  
The King calls for the Youth, who being brought,  
Cuts him in twain, for whom his Sire besought.  
O most inhuman incivility!  
Nay, more than monstrous barbarous cruelty!  
For his great love, is this thy recompense?  
Is this to do like Xerxes, or a Prince?  
Thou shame of Kings, of men the detestation,  
I Rhetoric want, to pour out execration:  
First thing, Xerxes did worthy recount,  
A Sea passage cuts, behind Orthos Mount.  
Next, o'er the Hellispont a bridge he made,  
Of Boats, together coupled, and there laid;  
But winds, and waves, these couples soon dissevered,  
Yet Xerxes in his enterprise persevered;  
Seven thousand Galleys chained, by Tyrians skill,  
Firmly at length, accomplished his will;  
Seven days and nights, his Host without least stay,  
Was marching o'er this interrupting Bay;  
And in Abydos Plains, must ring his Forces,  
He glories in his Squadrens', and his Horses;  
Long viewing them, thought it great happiness,  
One King, so many Subjects should possess;  
But yet this goodly sight produced tears,  
That none of these should live a hundred years:  
What after did ensue, had he fore-seen.  
Of so long time, his thoughts had never been.  
Of Artabanus he again demands,  
How of this enterprise his thoughts now stands;  
His answer was, both Land and Sea he feared,  
Which was not vain, as it soon appeared:  
But Xerxes' resolute, to Thrace goes first,  
His Host, who Lissus drinks to quench their thirst,  
And for his Cattles, all Pissirus Lake  
Was scarce enough, for each a draught to take.  
Then marching to the straight Thermopyle,  
The Spartan meets him, brave Leonade,  
This 'twixt the Mountain's lies (half Acre wide)  
That pleasant Thessaly, from Greece divide;  
Two days and nights a fight they there maintain,  
Till twenty thousand Persians falls down slain;  
And all that Army, than dismayed, had fled,  
But that a Fugitive discovered,  
How part, might o'er the Mountains go about,  
And wound the backs of those bold Warriors stout.  
They thus behemmed with multitude of foes,  
Laid on more fiercely, their deep mortal blows;  
None cries for quarter, nor yet seeks to run,  
But on their ground they die, each Mother's Son.  
O noble Greeks, how now, degenerate?  
Where is the valour, of your ancient State?  
When as one thousand, could some Millions daunt;  
Alas, it is Leonades you want!  
This shameful Victory cost Xerxes dear,  
Amongst the rest, two brothers he lost there;  
And as at Land, so he at Sea was crossed,  
Four hundred stately Ships by storms was lost,  
Of Vessels small almost innumerable,  
Them to receive, the Harbour was not able;  
Yet thinking to outmatch his foes at Sea,  
Enclosed their Fleet i'th' straits of Eubea;  
But they as valiant by Sea, as Land,  
In this Straight, as the other, firmly stand.  
And Xerxes' mighty Galleys battered so,  
That their split sides, witnessed his overthrow;  
Yet in the straits of Salamis he tried,  
If that small number his great force could bide;  
But he, in daring of his forward foe,  
Received there, a shameful overthrow.  
Twice beaten thus by Sea, he warred no more:  
But Phocians Land, he then wasted sore:  
They no way able to withstand his force,  
That brave Thymistocles takes this wise course,  
In secret manner word to Xerxes sends,  
That Greeks to break his bridge shortly intends;  
And as a friend, warns him, what e'er he do,  
For his retreat, to have an eye thereto:  
He hearing this, his thoughts, and course home bended,  
Much, that which never was intended!  
Yet before he went, to help out his expense,  
Part of his Host to Delphos sent from thence,  
To rob the wealthy Temple of Apollo,  
But mischief, Sacrilege doth ever follow;  
Two mighty Rocks, broke from Parnassus Hil,  
And many thousands of these men did kill;  
Which accident, the rest affrighted so,  
With empty hands they to their Master go;  
He seeing all thus tend unto decay,  
Thought it his best, no longer for to stay;  
Three hundred thousand yet he left behind,  
With his Mardon'us, judex of his mind;  
Who for his sake, he knew, would venture far,  
(Chief instigater of this hopeless War;)  
He instantly to Athens sends for peace,  
That all Hostility might thenceforth cease;  
And that with Xerxes they would be at one,  
So should all favour to their State be shown.  
The Spartans', fearing Athens would agree,  
As had Macedon, Thebes, and Thessaly,  
And leave them out, the shock for to sustain,  
By their Ambassador they thus complain;  
That Xerxes quarrel was 'gainst Athens State,  
And they had helped them, as confederate;  
If now in need, they should thus fail their friends,  
Their infamy would last till all things ends:  
But the Athenians, this peace detest,  
And thus replied unto Mardon's request;  
That whilst the Sun did run his endless course,  
Against the Persians they would use their force.  
Nor could the brave Ambassador be sent,  
With Rhetoric, t' gain better compliment:  
Though of this Nation borne a great Commander,  
No less than Grandsire to great Alexander.  
Mardonius proud, hearing this answer stout,  
To add unto his numbers, lays about,  
And of those Greeks, which by his skill he'd won,  
He fifty thousand joins unto his own;  
The other Greeks, which were confederate,  
One hundred thousand, and ten thousand make.  
The Beotian Fields, of war, the seats,  
Where both sides exercised their manly feats;  
But all their controversies to decide,  
For one main Battle shortly, both provide;  
The Athenians could but forty thousand arm,  
For other Weapons, they had none would harm;  
But that which helped defects, and made them bold,  
Was Victory, by Oracle foretell:  
Ten days these Armies did each other face,  
Mardonius finding victuals wast apace,  
No longer dared, but fiercely onset gave,  
The other not a hand, nor sword will wave,  
Till in the entrails of their Sacrifice,  
The signal of their victory doth rise;  
Which found, like Greeks they fight, the Persians fly,  
And troublesome Mardonius now must die:  
All's lost, and of three hundred thousand men,  
Three thousand 'scapes, for to run home again;  
For pity, let those few to Xerxes go,  
To certify this final overthrow.  
Same day, the small remainder of his Fleet,  
The Grecians at Mytale in Asia meet,  
And there so utterly they wracked the same,  
Scarce one was left, to carry home the fame;  
Thus did the Greeks destroy, consume, disperse,  
That Army, which did fright the Universe;  
Scorned Xerxes, hated for his cruelty.  
Yet ceases not to act his villainy:  
His brother's wife, solicits to his will;  
The chaste, and beauteous Dame, refuses still.  
Some years by him in this vain suit was spent,  
Yet words, nor gifts, could win him least content:  
Nor matching of her daughter; to his son:  
But she was still, as when it first begun.  
When jealous Queen Amestris, of this knew,  
She Harpy-like, upon the Lady flew:  
Cut off her lily breasts, her nose, and ears;  
And leaves her thus, besmeared with blood, and tears  
Strait comes her Lord, and finds his wife thus lie,  
The sorrow of his heart, did close his eye:  
He dying to behold, that wounding sight;  
Where he had sometime gazed with great delight.  
To see that face, where Rose and Lily stood,  
O'reflown with torrent of her ruby blood.  
To see those breasts, where chastity did dwell,  
Thus cut, and mangled by a hag of hell.  
With loaden heart unto the King he goes,  
Tells as he could, his unexpressed woes,  
But for his deep complaints; and showers of tears,  
His brother's recompense was naught but jeers:  
The grieved Prince finding nor right, nor l●ve,  
To Bactria his household did remove.  
His wicked brother, after sent a crew,  
Which him, and his, most barbarously there slew,  
Unto such height did grow his cruelty,  
Of life, no man had least security.  
At last his Uncle, did his death conspire,  
And for that end, his Eunuch he d●d hire.  
Which wretch, him privately smothered in's bed,  
But yet by search, he was found murdered,  
The Artacanus hirer of this deed,  
That from suspicion he might be freed,  
Accused Darius, Xerxes' eldest son,  
To be the Author of the deed was done,  
And by his craft, ordered the matter so,  
That the poor innocent, to death must go.  
But in short time, this wickedness was known,  
For which he died, and not he alone.  
But all his family was likewise slain,  
Such Justice then, in Persia did remain,  
The eldest son, thus immaturely dead,  
The second was enthroned, in's father's stead.   

Artaxerxes Longimanus.  
AMongst the Monarch's next, this Prince had place  
The best that ever sprang of Cyrus' race.  
He first, war with revolting Egypt made.  
To whom the perjured Grecians lent their aid,  
Although to Xerxes, they not long before,  
A league of amity, had sworn before.  
Which had they kept, Greece had more nobly done,  
Then when the world, they after overrun:  
Greeks and Egyptians both, he overthrows,  
And pays them now, according as he owes,  
Which done, a sumptuous feast; makes like a King  
Where ninescore days, are spent in banqueting,  
His Princes, Nobles, and his Captains calls,  
To be partakers in these festivals.  
His hang, white, and green, and purple dye;  
With gold and silver beds, most gorgeously.  
The royal wine, in golden cups doth pass,  
To drink more than he list, none bidden was:  
Queen Vashty also feasts, but before 'tis ended,  
Alas, she from her Royalty's suspended.  
And a more worthy, placed in her room,  
By Memucan's advice, this was the doom.  
What Hester was, and did, her story reed,  
And how her Countrymen from spoil she freed.  
Of Hamans' fall, and Mordica's great rise;  
The might o'th' Prince, the tribute on the Isles.  
Unto this King Thymistocles did fly.  
When under Ostracism he did lie.  
For such ingratitude, did Athens show  
This valiant Knight, whom they so much did owe;  
Such entertainment with this Prince he found,  
That in all Loyalty his heart was bound;  
The King not little joyful of this chance,  
Thinking his Grecian wars now to advance.  
And for that end, great preparation made,  
Fair Attica, a third time to invade.  
His Grandsires' old disgrace, did vex him sore,  
His father Xerxes' loss, and shame, much more,  
For punishment, their breach of oath did call,  
The noble Greek, now fit for general.  
Who for his wrong, he could not choose but deem,  
His Country, nor his Kindred would esteem,  
Provisions, and season now being fit,  
T' Thymistecles he doth his war commit,  
But he all injury, had soon forgot,  
And to his Countrymen could bear no hate.  
Nor yet disloyal to his Prince would prove,  
To whom obliged, by favour, and by love;  
Either to wrong, did wound his heart so sore,  
To wrong himself by death, he chose before:  
In this sad conflict, marching on his ways,  
Strong poison took, and put an end to's days.  
The King this noble Captain having lost,  
Again dispersed, his new levied host.  
‛ Rest of his time in peace he did remain;  
And died the two and fortieth of his reign.   

Daryus Nothus.  
THree sons great Artaxerxes left behind;  
The eldest to succeed, that was his mind.  
But he, with his next brother fell at strife,  
That nought appeased him, but his brother's life.  
Then the survivor is by Nothus slain;  
Who now sole Monarch, doth of all remain,  
These two lewd sons, are by hystorians thought,  
To be by Hester, to her husband brought.  
If they were hers, the greater was her moon;  
That for such graceless wretches she did groan,  
Disquiet Egypt, 'gainst this King rebels,  
Drives out his garrison that therein dwells.  
join with the Greeks, and so maintains their right,  
For sixty years maugre the Persians might.  
A second trouble, after this succeeds.  
Which from remissness, in Asia proceeds  
Amerges, whom their Viceroy he ordained  
Revolts, having treasure, and people gained:  
Invades the Country, and much trouble wrought,  
Before to quietness things could be brought,  
The King was glad, with Sparta to make peace,  
So that he might, these tumults soon appease.  
But they in Asia, must first restore  
All Towns, held by his Ancestors before.  
The King much profit reapeth, by these leagues,  
Regains his own, and then the Rebel breaks:  
Whose forces by their help were overthrown,  
And so each man again possessed his own.  
The King, his sister, like Cambyses, wed;  
More by his pride, than lust, thereunto led.  
(For Persian Kings, did deem themselves so good,  
No match was high enough, but their own blood,)  
Two sons she bore, the youngest Cyrus named,  
A hopeful Prince, whose worth is ever famed.  
His father would no notice of that take;  
Prefers his brother, for his birthright's sake.  
But Cyrus scorns, his brother's feeble wit;  
And takes more on him, than was judged fit.  
The King provoked, sends for him to the Court,  
Meaning to chastise him, in sharpest sort,  
But in his slow approach, ere he came there;  
His father's death, did put an end to's fear.  
Nothus reigned nineteen years, which run,  
His large Dominions left, to's eldest son.   

Artaxerxes Mnemon.  
MNemon now fits upon his father's Throne,  
Yet doubts, all he enjoys, is not his own.  
Still on his brother, casts a jealous eye,  
Judging all's actions, tends to's injury.  
Cyrus o'th' other side, weighs in his mind,  
What helps, in's enterprise he's like to find,  
His interest, in the Kingdom, now next heir,  
More dear to's mother, than his brother far.  
His brother's little love, like to be gone,  
Held by his mother's intercession.  
These and like motives, hurry him amain,  
To win by force, what right could not obtain.  
And thought ' it best, now in his mother's time,  
By lesser steps, towards the top to climb;  
If in his enterprise he should fall short,  
She to the King, would make a fair report:  
He hoped, if fraud, nor force the Crown could gain;  
Her prevailence, a pardon might obtain.  
From the Lieutenant first, he takes away,  
Some Towns commodious in less Asia,  
Pretending still, the profit of the King,  
Whose rents and customs, duly he sent in.  
The King finding, revenues now amended;  
For what was done, seemed no whit offended.  
Then next, the Lacedaemon's he takes to pay;  
(One Greek could make ten Persians run away)  
Great care was his pretence, those Soldiers stout,  
The Rovers in Pisidia, should drive out.  
But least some worse news should fly to Court,  
He meant himself to carry the report.  
And for that end, five hundred Horse he chose,  
With posting speed towards the King he goes;  
But fame more quick, arrives ere he came there,  
And fills the Court with tumult, and with fear.  
The young Queen, and old, at bitter jars:  
The one accused the other, for these wars:  
The wife, against the mother, still doth cry  
To be the Author of conspiracy.  
The King dismayed, a mighty Host doth raise;  
Which Cyrus hears, and so foreslows his pace:  
But as he goes, his Forces still augments,  
Seven hundred Greeks now further his intents:  
And others to be warmed by this new sun,  
In numbers from his brother daily run.  
The fearful King, at last, musters his Forces;  
And counts nine hundred thousand foot and horses:  
And yet with these, had neither heart, nor grace;  
To lo●k his manly brother in the face.  
Three hundred thousand, yet to Syria sent;  
To keep those straits, to hinder his intent.  
Their Captain hearing, but of Cyrus' name.  
Ran back, and choir abandoned the same,  
Abrccomes, was this base coward's name,  
Not worthy to be known, but for his shame:  
This place was made, by nature, and by art;  
Few might have kept it, had they but a heart.  
Cyrus' despaired, a passage there to gain;  
So hired a fleet, to waft him o'er the Main,  
The mazed King, was now about to fly;  
To th'utmost parts of Bactr'a, and there lie.  
Had not a Captain; sore against his will;  
By reason, and by force, detained him still.  
Up then with speed, a mighty trench he throws,  
For his security, against his foes.  
Six yards the depth, and forty miles the length,  
Some fifty, or else sixty foot in breadth.  
Yet for his brothers coming, durst not stay,  
He surest was, when furthest out o'th' way.  
Cyrus' finding his camp, and no man there;  
Rejoiced not a little at his fear.  
On this, he and his Soldiers cuelesse grow,  
And here, and there, in carts their Arms they throw,  
When suddenly their Scouts come in and cry,  
Arm, arm, the King is now approaching nigh;  
In this confusion, each man as he might,  
Gets on his arms, arrays himself for fight;  
And ranged stood, by great Euphrates side,  
The brunt of that huge multitude to bide.  
Of whose great numbers, their intelligence,  
Was gathered by the dust that risen from thence:  
Which like a mighty cloud darkened the sky;  
And black and blacker grew, as they drew nigh  
But when their order, and silence they saw;  
That, more than multitudes, their hearts did awe:  
For tumult and confusion they expected,  
And all good discipline to be neglected.  
But long under their fears, they did not stay,  
For at first charge the Persians ran away.  
Which did such courage to the Grecians bring,  
They strait adored Cyrus for their King,  
So had he been, and got the victory,  
Had not his too much valour put him by.  
He with six hundred, on a squadron set,  
Of six thousand, wherein the King was yet;  
And brought his Soldiers on so gallantly,  
They were about to leave their King and fly,  
Whom Cyrus spied, cries cut, I see the man,  
And with a full career, at him he ran.  
But in his speed a Dart hit him i'th' eye,  
Down Cyrus falls, and yields to destiny;  
His Host in chase, knows not of his disaster,  
But treads down all, for to advance their Master;  
At last his head they spy upon a Lance,  
Who knows the sudden change made by this chance;  
Senseless and mute they stand, yet breath out groans,  
Nor Gorgon's like to this, transformed to stones.  
After this trance, revenge, new spirits blue,  
And now more eagerly their foes pursue,  
And heaps on heaps, such multitudes they laid,  
Their arms grew weak, through slaughters that they made.  
The King unto a country Village flies,  
And for a while unkingly there he lies;  
At last, displays his Ensign on a Hil,  
Hoping with that to make the Greeks stand still,  
But was deceived; to it they make amain,  
The King upon the spur, runs back again;  
But they too faint, still to pursue their game,  
Being Victors oft, now to their Camp they came;  
Nor lacked they any of their number small,  
Nor wound received, but one among them all:  
The King with his dispersed also encamped.  
With infamy upon each forehead stamped;  
After a while his thoughts he recollects,  
Of this day's cowardice, he fears the effects;  
If Greeks unto their Countrymen declare,  
What dastards in the field the persians are;  
They soon may come, and place one in his Throne,  
And rob him both of Sceptre, and of Crown;  
That their return be stopped, he judged was best,  
That so Europians might no more molest;  
Forthwith he sends to's Tent, they strait address,  
And there all wait his mercy, weaponless;  
The Greeks with scorn reject his proud commands;  
Ask no favour, where they feared no bands.  
The troubled King, his Herald sends again,  
And sues for peace, that they his friends remain;  
The smiling Greeks reply, they first must bait,  
They were too hungry to capitulate;  
The King great store of all provision sends,  
And courtesy to th' utmost he pretends;  
Such terror on the Persians than did fall,  
They quaked, to hear them, to each other call.  
The King's perplexed, there dares not let them stay,  
And fears as much to let them march away;  
But Kings ne'er want such as can serve their will,  
Fit instruments t' accomplish what is ill;  
As Tyssaphern, knowing his Master's mind,  
Invites their chief Commander, as most kind;  
And with all Oaths, and deepest flattery,  
Gets them to treat with him in privacy,  
But violates his honour, and his word,  
And Villain-like, there puts them to the sword.  
The Greeks, having their valiant Captains slain,  
Chose Xenophon, to lead them home again;  
But Tyssaphern did what he could devise,  
To stop the way in this their enterprise;  
But when through difficulties still they broke,  
He sought all sustenance from them to take,  
Before them burnt the country as they went,  
So to deprive them of all nourishment;  
But on they march, through hunger, and through cold,  
O'er mountains, rocks, and hills, as Lions bold;  
Nor rivers course, nor Persians force could stay,  
But on to Trabezond they kept their way;  
There was of Greeks, settled a Colony,  
These after all, received them joyfully:  
There for some time they were, but whilst they stayed,  
Into Bythinia often in roads made;  
The King afraid what further they might do,  
Unto the Spartan Admiral did sue,  
Strait to transport them to the other side,  
For these incursions he durst not abide;  
So after all their travel, danger, pain,  
In peace they saw their Native soil again.  
The Greeks now (as the Persian King suspects)  
The Asiatiques, cowardice detects;  
The many victories themselves did gain,  
The many thousand Persians they had slain;  
And now their Nation with facility,  
Might win the universal Monarchy;  
They then Dercilladas, send with an Host,  
Who with his Spartans' on the Asian coast;  
Town after town, with small resistance take,  
Which rumour makes great Artaxerxes quake;  
The Greeks by this success, encouraged so,  
Agesilaus himself doth overgo,  
By th' King's Lieutenant is encountered,  
But Tyssaphernes with his Army fled;  
Which overthrow incensed the King so sore,  
That Tyssapherne must be Viceroy no more;  
Tythraustes now is placed in his stead,  
And hath command, to take the others head,  
Of that false perjured wretch, this was the last,  
Who of his cruelty made many taste,  
Tythraustes trusts more to his wit then Arms,  
And hopes by craft to quit his Master's harms;  
He knows that many towns in Greece envies  
The Spartans' height, which now apace doth rise;  
To these he thirty thousand Talents sent,  
With suit, their force, against his foes be bend;  
They to their discontent, receiving hire,  
With broils, and quarrels, sets all Greece on fire.  
Agestilaus is called home with speed,  
To defend, more than oflend, he had need.  
They now lost all, and were a peace to make,  
The King's conditions they are forced to take;  
Dissension in Greece continued long,  
Till many a Captain fell, both wise, and strong,  
Whose courage nought but death could ever tame,  
'Mongst these Epimanondas wants no fame;  
Who had (as noble Raleigh doth evince)  
All the peculiar virtues of a Prince:  
But let us leave these Greeks, to discord bend,  
And turn to Persia, as is pertinent;  
The King from foreign foes, and all at ease,  
His homebred troubles seeketh to appease;  
The two Queens, by his means, begin to abate  
Their former envy, and inveterate hare;  
Then in voluptuousness he leads his life,  
And weds his Daughter for a second wife;  
His Mother's wicked counsel was the cause,  
Who soothes him up, his own desires are Laws:  
But yet for all his greatness, and long reign,  
He must leave all, and in the pit remain;  
Forty three years he rules, then turns to dust,  
As all the mighty ones, have done, and must:  
But this of him is worth the memory,  
He was the Master of good Nehemie.   

Darius Ochus.  
GReat Artexerxes dead, Ochus succeeds,  
Of whom no Record's extant of his deeds;  
Was it because the Grecians now at war,  
Made Writers work at home, they sought not far?  
Or dealing with the Persian, now no more  
Their Acts recorded not, as heretofore?  
Or else, perhaps the deeds of Persian Kings  
In after wars were burnt, 'mongst other things?  
That three and twenty years he reigned, I find,  
The rest is but conjecture of my mind.   

Arsames, or Arses.  
WHy Arsames his brother should succeed,  
I can no reason give, cause none I read;  
It may be thought, surely he had no Son,  
So fell to him, which else it had not done:  
What Acts he did, time hath not now left penned,  
But as 'tis thought, in him had Cyrus' end:  
Whose race long time had worn the Diadem,  
But now's divolved, to another Stem.  
Three years he reigned, as Chronicles express,  
Then Nature's debt he paid, quite Issueless.   

Darius Codomanus.  
HOw this Darius did attain the Crown,  
By favour, force, or fraud, is not set down:  
If not (as is before) of Cyrus' race,  
By one of these, he must obtain the place.  
Some writers say, that he was Arses son,  
And that great Cyrus' line, yet was not run,  
That Ochus unto Arsames was father,  
Which by some probabilities (seems rather;)  
That son, and father, both were murdered  
By one Bagoas, an Eunuch (as is said.)  
Thus learned Pemble, whom we may not slight,  
But as before doth (well read) Raleigh write,  
Antd he that story reads, shall often find;  
That several men, will have their several mind;  
Yet in these differences, we may behold;  
With our judicious learned Knight to hold.  
And this 'mongst all's not controverted thing,  
That this Darius was last Persian King,  
Whose wars and losses we may better tell;  
In Alexander's reign who did him quell,  
How from the top of world's felicity;  
He fell to depth of greatest misery,  
Whose honours, treasures, pleasures, had short s●ay;  
One deluge came, and swept them all away;  
And in the sixth year of his hapless reign,  
Of all, did scarce his winding sheet retain.  
And last; a sad catastrophe to end,  
Him, to the grave, did ●raytor Bessus send.  
The end of the Persian Monarchy.    

The third Monarchy was the Grecian, beginning under Alexander the Great, in the 112 Olimpiad.  

GReat Alexander, was wise Phillip's son,  
He, to Amintas, Kings of Macedon;  
The cruel, proud, Olimpias, was his mother,  
She to the rich Molossians King, was daughter.  
This Prince (his father by Pausanias slain)  
The twenty first of is age, began to reign.  
Great were the gifts of nature, which be had;  
His Education, much to these did add.  
By Art, and Nature both, he was made fit,  
T'accomplish that, which long before was writ.  
The very day of his nativity,  
To th' ground was burnt, Diana's Temple high,  
An Omen, to their near approaching woe;  
Whose glory to the Earth, this Prince did throw,  
His rule to Greece, he scorned should be confined:  
The universe, scarce bounds his large vast mind;  
This is the hee-goat, which from Grecia came,  
Who ran in fury, on the Persian Ram,  
That broke his horns, that threw him on the ground,  
To save him from his might, no man was found.  
Philip, on this great conquest had an eye;  
But death did terminate, those thoughts so high.  
The Greeks had chose him Captain General,  
Which honour to his son, now did befall.  
(For as world's Monarch, now we speak not on,  
But as the King of little Macedon)  
Restless both day and night, his heart now was,  
His high resolves which way to bring to pass:  
Yet for a while, in Grecce is forced to stay,  
Which makes each moment seem, more than a day:  
Thebes, and old Athens, both 'gainst him rebel,  
But he their mutinies, full soon doth quell.  
This done, against all right, and nature's laws,  
His kinsmen puts to death without least cause;  
That no combustion in his absence be,  
In seeking after Sovereignty:  
And many more, whom he suspects will climb,  
Now taste of death, (lest they deserved in time)  
Nor wonder is't, if he in blood begin,  
For cruelty, was his parental sin.  
Thus eased now, of troubles, and of fears;  
His course to Asi●, next Spring he steers.  
Leaves sage Antipater at home to sway,  
And through the Hellispont, his ships make way.  
Coming to land, his dart on shear he throws,  
Then with alacrity he after goes:  
Thirty two thousand made up his foot force,  
To these were joined, five thousand goodly horse.  
Then on he marched, in's way he viewed old Troy;  
And on Achilles Tomb, with wondrous joy,  
He offered, and for good success did pray  
To him, his mother's Ancestor (men say.)  
When news of Alexander, came to th' Court,  
To scorn at him, Darius had good sport:  
Sends him a frothy, and contemptuous letter,  
Styles him disloyal servant, and no better;  
Reproves him, for his proud audacity;  
To lift his hand, 'gainst such a Monarchy.  
Then to his Lieutenant, in Asia sends,  
That he be ta'en alive, (for he intends)  
To whip him well with rods, and then to bring,  
That boy so malapert, before the King.  
Ah! fond vain man, whose pen was taught ere while,  
In lower terms to write a higher stile,  
To th' river Granicke, Alexander hies,  
Which twixt Phrigia, and Propontis lies.  
The Persians for encounter ready sland,  
And think to keep his men from off the land,  
Those banks so steep, the Greeks, now scramble up  
And beat the coward Persians from the top,  
And twenty thousand, of their lives bereave,  
Who in their backs did all their wounds receive  
This Victory did Alexander gain;  
With loss of thirty sour, of his there slain:  
Sardis, than he, and Ephesus, did gain,  
Where stood of late Diana's, wondrous Fane,  
And by Parmenio (of renowned fame)  
Miletus, and Pamphilia overcame,  
Hallicarnassus and Pisidia  
He for his master takes, with Lycia,  
Next Alexander marched, towards the black sea;  
And easily takes old Gordium in his way;  
(Of Asse-eard) Midas, once the regal seat,  
Whose touch turned all to gold, yea even his meat:  
There the Prophetic knot, he cuts in twain;  
Which who so did, must Lord of all remain,  
Now news, of Memnon's death (the King's Viceroy)  
To Alexander's heart's not little joy.  
For in that Peer, more valour did abide;  
Then in Darius' multitudes beside:  
There Arsemes was placed, yet durst not stay;  
But sets one in his room, and ran away.  
His substitute, as fearful as his master,  
Goes after too, and leaves all to disaster.  
Now Alexander all Cilicia takes:  
No stroke for it he struck, their hearts so quakes.  
To Greece he thirty thousand talents sends;  
To raise more force, for what he yet intends.  
And on he goes Darius for to meet;  
Who came with thousand thousands at his feet,  
Though some there be, and that more likely, writ;  
He but four hundred thousand had to fight,  
The rest attendants, which made up no less;  
(Both sexes there) was almost numberless.  
For this wise King, had brought to see the sport;  
Along with him, the Ladies of the Court.  
His mother old, beauteous wife, and daughters,  
It seems to see the Macedonians slaughters.  
Sure it's beyond my time, and little Art;  
To show, how great Darius played his part:  
The splendour, and the pomp, he marched in,  
For since the world, was no such Pageant seen.  
Oh 'twas a goodly sight, there to behold;  
The Persians clad in silk, and glittering gold;  
The stately Horses trapped, the lance's guilt;  
As if they were, now all to run at tilt.  
The Holy fire, was borne before the Host:  
(For Sun and Fire the Persians worship most)  
The Priests in their strange habit follow after;  
An object not so much of fear, as laughter.  
The King sat in a chariot made of gold,  
With Robes and Crown, most glorious to behold.  
And o'er his head, his golden gods on high;  
Support a party coloured canopy.  
A number of spare horses next were led,  
Lest he should need them, in his chariots stead.  
But they that saw him in this state to lie;  
Would think he neither thought to fight nor fly,  
He fifteen hundred had like women dressed,  
For so to fright the Greeks' he judged was best,  
Their golden Ornaments so to set forth,  
Would ask more time, then were their bodies worth.  
Great Sisigambis, she brought up the Rear;  
Then such a world of Wagons did appear,  
Like several houses moving upon wheels:  
As if she'd drawn, whole Sushan at her heels.  
This brave Virago, to the King was mother;  
And as much good she did, as any other.  
Now lest this Gold, and all this goodly stuff,  
Had not been spoil, and booty rich enough,  
A thousand Mules, and Camels ready wait.  
Loaden with gold, with Jewels and with Plate,  
For sure Darius' thought, at the first sight,  
The Greeks' would all adore, and would none fight.  
But when both Armies met, he might behold,  
That valour was more worth than Pearls, or gold,  
And how his wealth served but for baits t' allure,  
Which made his overthrow more fierce, and sure.  
The Greeks come on, and with a gallant grace,  
Let fly their Arrows, in the Persians face;  
The cowards feeling this sharp stinging charge,  
Most basely run, and left their King at large,  
Who from his golden Coach is glad t' alight,  
And cast away his Crown, for swifter flight;  
Of late-like some immovable he lay,  
Now finds both legs, and Horse, to run away;  
Two hundred thousand men that day were slain,  
And forty thousand Prisoners also ta'en;  
Besides, the Queens, and Ladies of the Court,  
If Curtius be true, in his report.  
The Regal ornaments now lost, the treasure  
Divided at the Macedomans' pleasure.  
Yet all this grief, this loss, this overthrow,  
Was but beginning of his future woe;  
The Royal Captives, brought to Alexander,  
T'ward them, demeaned himself like a Commander;  
For though their beauties were unparalled  
Conquered himself (now he had conquered)  
Preserved their honour, used them courteously,  
Commands, no man should do them injury,  
And this to A'exander is more a fame,  
Then that the Persian King he over-came;  
Two hundred eighty Greeks he lost in fight,  
By too much heat, not wounds (as Authors writ)  
No sooner had this Captain won the field,  
But all Th●nicia to his pleasures yield;  
Of which, the Government he doth commit  
Unto Parmenio, of all, most fit;  
Darius now, more humble than before,  
Writes unto Alexander, to restore  
Those mournful Ladies, from captivity,  
For whom he offers him a ransom high;  
But down his haughty stomach could not bring,  
To give this Conqueror, the stile of King;  
His Letter Alexander doth disdain,  
And in short terms, sends this reply again;  
A King he was, and that not only so,  
But of Darius' King, as he should know.  
Now Alexander unto Tyre doth go,  
(His valour, and his victories they know)  
To gain his love, the Tyrians do intent,  
Therefore a Crown, and great provisions send;  
Their present he receives with thankfulness,  
Desires to offer unto Hercules,  
Protector of their Town; by whom defended,  
And from whom also, lineally descended:  
But they accept not this, in any wise,  
Lest he intent more fraud, than sacrifice,  
Sent word, that Hercules his Temple stood,  
In the old town (which now lay like a wood)  
With this reply, he was so sore enraged,  
To win their town, his honour he engaged;  
And now, as Babel's King did once before,  
He leaves not, till he makes the sea firm sho●r;  
But far less cost, and time, he doth expend,  
The former ruins, help to him now lend;  
Besides, he had a Navy at command,  
The other by his men fetched all by Land;  
In seven months' space he takes this lofty town,  
Whose glory, now a second time's brought down;  
Two thousand of the chief he crucified,  
Eight thousand by the sword now also died,  
And thirteen thousand Galleyslaves he made,  
And thus the Tyrians for mistrust were paid,  
The rule of this he to Philotas gave,  
Who was the Son of that Parmenio brave;  
Cilicia he to Socrates doth give,  
For now's the time, Captains like Kings may live;  
For that which easily comes, as freely goes;  
Zidon he on Ephestion bestows:  
He scorns to have one worse than had the other,  
And therefore gives this Lordship to another.  
Ephestion now, hath the command o' th' Fleet,  
And must at Gaza, Alexander meet;  
Darius finding troubles still increase,  
By his Ambassadors now sues for peace:  
And lays before great Alexander's eyes,  
The dangers, difficulties, like to rise;  
First, at Euphrates, what he's like to abide,  
And then at Tigris, and Araxis side:  
These he may scape, and if he so desire,  
A league of friendship make, firm, and entire;  
His eldest Daughter, (him) in marriage offers,  
And a most Princely Dowry with her proffers;  
All those rich Kingdoms large, which do abide  
Betwixt the Hellespont, and halis side;  
But he with scorn, his courtesy rejects,  
And the distressed King no way respects;  
Tells him, these proffers great (in truth were none)  
For all he offered now, was but his own;  
But, quoth Parmenio, (that brave Commander)  
Was I as great, as is great Alexander,  
Darius offers I would not reject,  
But th' Kingdoms, and the Ladies, soon accept;  
To which, brave Alexander did reply,  
And so if I Parmenio were, would I.  
He now to Gaza goes, and there doth meet  
His favourite Ephestion, with his fleet;  
Where valiant Betis, doth defend the town,  
(A loyal Subject to Darius' Crown)  
For more repulse, the Grecians here abide,  
Then in the Persian Monarchy beside;  
And by these walls, so many men were slain,  
That Greece must yield a fresh supply again;  
But yet, this well defended town is taken,  
(For 'twas decreed, that Empire should be shaken)  
The Captain ta'en, had holes bored through his feet,  
And by command was drawn through every street,  
To imitate Achilles (in his shame)  
Who did the like to Hector (of more fame)  
What, hast thou lost thy late magnanimity?  
Can Alexander deal thus cruelly?  
Sith valour, with Heroyicks is renowned,  
Though in an enemy it should be found;  
If of thy future fame thou hadst regard,  
Why didst not heap up honour, and reward?  
From Gaza, to Jerusalem he goes,  
But in no hostile way (as I suppose)  
Him in his Priestly Robes, high Jaddus meets,  
Whom with great reverence Alexander greets;  
The Priest shows him good daniel's Prophesy,  
How he should overthrow this Monarchy;  
By which he was so much encouraged,  
No future dangers he did ever dread.  
From thence, to fruitful Egypt marched with speed,  
Where happily in's wars he did succeed;  
To see how fast he gained, is no small wonder,  
For in few days he brought that Kingdom under.  
Then to the Fane of Jupiter, he went,  
For to be called a god, was his intent;  
The Pagan Priest through hire, or else mistake,  
The Son of Jupiter did strait him make:  
He Diabolical must needs remain,  
That his humanity will not retain;  
Now back to Egypt goes, and in few days,  
Fair Alexandria from the ground doth raise;  
Then settling all things in less Asia,  
In Syria, Egypt, and Phoenicia;  
Unto Euphrates marched, and over goes,  
For no man to resist his valour shows;  
Had Betis now been there, but with his Band,  
Great Alexander had been kept from Land;  
But as the King is, so's the multitude,  
And now of valour both were destitute;  
Yet he (poor Prince) another Host doth muster,  
Of Persians, Scythians, Indians, in a cluster;  
Men but in shape, and name, of valour none,  
Fit for to blunt the swords of Macedon;  
Two hundred fifty thousand by account,  
Of Horse, and Foot, this Army did amount;  
For in his multitudes his trust still lay,  
But on their fortitude he had small stay;  
Yet had some hope, that on that eeven plain,  
His numbers might the victory obtain.  
About this time, Darius' beauteous Queen,  
Who had long travail, and much sorrow seen,  
Now bids the world adieu, her time being spent,  
And leaves her woeful Lord for to lament.  
Great Alexander mourns, as well as he,  
For this lost Queen (though in captivity)  
When this sad news (at first) Darius hears,  
Some injury was offered, he fears;  
But when informed, how royally the King  
Had used her, and hers, in every thing,  
He prays the immortal gods, for to reward  
Great Alexander, for this good regard;  
And if they down, his Monarchy will throw,  
Let them on him, that dignity bestow:  
And now for peace he sues, as once before,  
And offers all he did, and Kingdoms more;  
His eldest Daughter, for his Princely Bride,  
(Nor was such match, in all the world beside)  
And all those Countries, which (betwixt) did lie,  
Phenisian Sea, and great Euphrates high,  
W●th fertile Egypt, and rich Syria,  
And all those Kingdoms in less Asia;  
With thirty thousand Talents, to be paid  
For his Queen-Mother, and the royal Maid;  
And till all this be well performed, and sure,  
Ochus his Son a hostage shall endure.  
To this, stout Alexander, gives no ear,  
No, though Parmenio plead, he will not hear;  
Which had he done (perhaps) his fame had kept,  
Nor infamy had waked, when he had slept;  
For his unlimited prosperity,  
Him boundless made, in vice, and cruelty;  
Thus to Darius he writes back again,  
The Firmament two Suns cannot contain;  
Two Monarchies on Earth cannot abide,  
Nor yet two Monarches in one World reside;  
The afflicted King, finding him set to jar,  
Prepares against to morrow for the war;  
Parmenio, Alexander wished, that night,  
To force his Camp, so put them all to flight;  
For tumult in the dark doth cause most dread,  
And weakness of a foe is covered;  
But he disdained to steal a victory,  
The Sun should witness of his valour be:  
Both Armies meet, Greeks fight, the Persians run,  
So make an end, before they well begun;  
Forty five thousand Alexander had,  
But 'tis not known what slaughters here they made,  
Some writ, th' other had a million, some more,  
But Quintus Curtius, as was said before.  
At Arbela, this victory was gained,  
And now with it, the town also obtained.  
Darius' stripped of all, to Media came,  
Accompanied with sorrow, fear, and shame;  
At Arbela left, his ornaments, and treasure,  
Which Alexander deals, as suits his pleasure.  
This Conqueror now goes to Babylon,  
Is entertained with joy, and pompous train,  
With showers of Flowers, the streets along are strown,  
And Incense burnt, the silver Altars on;  
The glory of the Castle he admires,  
The firm foundations, and the lofty spires;  
In this a mass of gold, and treasure lay,  
Which in few hours was carried all away;  
With greedy eyes, he views this City round,  
Whose fame throughout the world, was so renowned;  
And to possess, he counts no little bliss,  
The Towers, and Bowers, of proud Semiramis:  
Though worn by time, and razed by foes full sore,  
Yet old foundations showed, and somewhat more;  
With all the pleasures that on earth was found,  
This City did abundantly abound;  
Where four and thirty days he now doth stay,  
And gives himself to banqueting, and play:  
He, and his Soldiers, wax effeminate,  
And former Discipline gins to hate;  
Whilst revelling at Babylon, he lies,  
Antipater, from Greece, sends great supplies;  
He then to Sushan goes, with his fresh bands,  
But needs no force, 'tis rendered to his hands;  
He likewise here a world of treasure found,  
For 'twas the seat of Persian Kings renowned;  
Here stood the Royal houses of delight,  
Where Kings have shown their glory, wealth, and might;  
The sumptuous Palace of Queen Hester here,  
And of good Mordecai, her Kinsman dear;  
Those purple hang, mixed with green, and white,  
Those beds of gold, and couches of delight,  
And furniture, the richest of all Lands,  
Now falls into the Macedonians hands.  
From Sushan, to Persapolis he goes,  
Which news doth still augment Darius' woes;  
In his approach, the Governor sends word,  
For his receipt with joy, they all accord;  
With open Gates, the wealthy town did stand,  
And all in it was at his high command;  
Of all the Cities, that on Earth was found;  
None like to this in riches did abound.  
Though Babylon was rich, and Sushan too;  
Y●● to compare with this, they might not do.  
Here lay the bulk, of all those precious things;  
Which did pertain unto the Persian Kings.  
For when the Soldiers, had rifled their pleasure,  
And taken money, plate, and golden treasure;  
Statues of gold, and silver numberless,  
Yet after all, as stories do express.  
The share of Alexander did amount,  
To a hundred thousand Talents by account.  
Here of his own, he sets a Garrison,  
(As first at Sushan, and at Babylon)  
On their old Governors, titles he laid;  
But on their faithfulness, he never stayed:  
Their charge, gave to his Captains (as most just)  
For such revolters false, what Prince will trust:  
The pleasures and the riches of this town,  
Now makes this King, his virtues all to drown.  
He walloweth now, in all licentiousness,  
In pride, and cruelty, to th' highest excess.  
Being inflamed with wine upon a season,  
(Filled with madness, and quite void of reason)  
He at a bold, base Strumpets, lewd desire;  
Commands to set this goodly town on fire.  
Parmenio wise, entreats him to desist,  
And lays before his eyes, if he persist  
His names dishonour, loss unto his State.  
And just procuring of the Persians hate.  
But deaf to reason, (bend to have his will;)  
Those stately streets with raging flames doth sil,  
Now to Darius, he directs his way,  
Who was retired, and gone to Media.  
(And there with sorrows, fears, and cares surrounded)  
Had now his fourth, and last Army compounded,  
Which forty thousand made; but his intent,  
Was strait in Bactria these to augment,  
But hearing, Alexander was so near;  
Thought now this once, to try his fortunes here,  
Choosing rather an honourable death:  
Then still with infamy, to draw his breath.  
But Bessus false, who was his chief Commander;  
Persuades him not to fight, with Alexander.  
With sage advice, he lays before his eyes,  
The little hope, of profit like to rise.  
If when h●'d multitudes, the day he lost;  
Then with so few, how likely to be crossed.  
This counsel, for his safety, he pretended,  
But to deliver him to's foes, intended.  
Next day this treason, to Darius known,  
Transported fore, with grief and passion;  
Grinding his teeth, and plucking off his hair,  
Sat down overwhelmed, with sorrow, and despair,  
Bidding his servant Artabassus true;  
Look to himself, and leave him to that crew;  
Who was of hopes, and comfort quite bereft;  
And of his Guard, and Servitor's now left.  
Strait Bessus comes, and with his traitorous hands,  
Lays hold on's Lord, and binding him with bands.  
Into a cart him throws, covered with hides;  
Who wanting means t'resi●●, these wrong's a bides.  
Then draws the Cart along, with chains of gold;  
In more despite, the thrawled Prince to hold.  
And thus to Alexander, on he goes,  
Great recompense, in's thoughts, he did propose;  
But some detesting, this his wicked fact,  
To Alexander fly, and told this act;  
Who doubling of his march, posts on amain,  
Darius from those Traitor's han●s to gain;  
Bessus gets knowledge, his disloyalty,  
Had Alexander's wrath incensed high;  
Whose Army now, was almost within sight,  
His hopes being dashed, prepares himself for flight:  
Unto Darius, first he brings a Horse,  
And bids him, save himself, by speedy course:  
This woeful King, his courtesy refuses,  
Whom thus the execrable wretch abuses:  
By throwing Darts, gives him his mortal wound,  
Then slew his servants, that were faithful found;  
Yea, wounds the beasts (that drew him) unto death,  
And leaves him thus, to gasp our his last breath.  
(Bessus, his Partner in this Tragedy,  
Was the false Governor of ●edia)  
This done, they with their Host, soon speed away,  
To hid themselves, remote, in Bactria;  
Da●ius bathed in blood, sends out his groans,  
Invokes the heavens, and earth, to hear his moans;  
His lost felicity did grieve him sore,  
But this unheard of injury much more;  
Yea, above all, that neither ear, nor eye,  
Should hear, nor see, his groans, and misery:  
As thus he lay, Pol stratus a Greek,  
Wearied with his long march, did water seek,  
So chanced these bloody Horses to espy,  
Whose wounds had made their skins of purple dye;  
To them he goes, and looking in the Cart,  
Finds poor Darius, pierced to the heart;  
Who not a little cheered, to have some eye,  
The witness of his dying misery:  
Prays him, to Alexander to commend,  
The just revenge of this his woeful end;  
And not to pardon such disloyalty,  
Of treason, murder, and base cruelty.  
If not, because Darius thus did pray,  
Yet that succeeding Kings in safety may  
Their lives enjoy, their crowns, and dignity,  
And not by Traitors hands untimely dye.  
He also sends his humble thankfulness,  
For all that Kingly Grace he did expre●●e,  
To's Mother, Children dear, and Wife now gone,  
Which made their long restraint, seem to be none;  
Praying the immortal gods, that Sea, and Land,  
Might be subjected to his royal hand;  
And that his rule as fare extended be,  
As men, the rising, setting Sun shall see.  
This said, the Greek for water doth entreat,  
To quench his thirst, and to allay his heat;  
Of all good things (quoth he) once in my power,  
I've nothing left, at this my dying hour;  
Thy pity, and compassion to reward,  
Wherefore the gods requite thy kind regard.  
This said, his fainting breath did fleet away,  
And though a Monarch once, now lies like clay;  
Yea, thus must every Son of Adam lie,  
Though gods on earth, like Sons of men shall die.  
Now to the East great Alexander goes,  
To see if any dare his might oppose;  
(For scarce the world, or any bounds thereon,  
Can bond his boundless, fond ambition)  
Such as submits, he doth again restore,  
And makes their riches, and their honours more;  
On Artabasus more than all bestowed,  
For his fidelity to is Master showed;  
Thalestris, Queen of th' Amazons, now brought  
Her train to Alexander (as 'tis thought)  
Though some of reading best, and soundest mind,  
Such country there, nor yet such people find.  
Then tell her errand, we had better spare  
To th' ignorant, her title may declare.  
As Alexander in his greatness grows,  
So daily of his virtues doth he lose;  
He baseness counts his former clemency,  
And not beseeming such a dignity;  
His past sobriety doth also hate,  
As most incompatible to his stare;  
His temperance, is but a sordid thing,  
No ways becoming such a mighty King;  
His greatness now he takes, to represent,  
His fancied gods, above the firmament,  
And such as showed but reverence before,  
Are strictly now commanded to adore;  
With Fersian Robes, himself doth dignify,  
Charging the same on his Nobility;  
His manners, habit, gestures, now doth fashion,  
After that conquered, and luxurious Nation;  
His Captains, that were virtuously inclined,  
Grieved at this change of manners, and of mind:  
The ruder sort, did openly deride  
His feigned Deity, and foolish pride:  
The certainty of both comes to his ears,  
But yet no notice takes, of what he hears;  
With those of worth, he still desires esteem,  
So heaps up gifts, his credit to redeem;  
And for the rest new wars, and travels finds,  
That other matters may take up their minds.  
Then hearing, Bessus makes himself a King,  
Intends with speed, that Traitor down to bring;  
Now that his Host from luggage might be free,  
And no man with his burden, burdened be,  
Commands forthwith, each man his fardel bring,  
Into the Marketplace, before the King;  
Which done, sets fire upon those costly spoils  
The recompense of travels, wars, and toils;  
And thus unwisely, in one raging fume,  
The wealth of many Cities doth consume:  
But marvel 'tis, that without mutiny,  
The Soldiers should let pass this injury;  
Nor wonder less, to Readers may it bring,  
For to observe the rashness of the King.  
Now with his Anny, doth he hast away,  
False Bessus to find out, in Bactria;  
But fore distressed for water, in their march,  
The drought, and heat, their bodies much doth parch;  
At length, they came to th' River Oxus brink,  
Where most immoderately these thirsty drink;  
This more mortality to them did bring,  
Then did their wars, against the Persian King.  
Here Alexmder's almost at a stand,  
How to pass over, and gain the other Land;  
For Boats here's none, nor near it any wood,  
To make them rafe's, to waft them o'er the flood;  
But he that was resolved in his mind,  
Would by some means a transportation find;  
So from his carriages the Hides he takes,  
And stuffing them with straw, he bundles makes;  
On these, together tied, in fix days space,  
They all pass over, to the other place;  
Had Bessus had but valour to his will,  
He easily might have made them stay there still;  
But coward, durst not fight, nor could he fly,  
Hated of all, for's former treachery,  
Is by his own, now bound in Iron chains,  
(A collar of the same his neck contains)  
And in this sort, they rather drag, then bring,  
This Malefactor vild, before the King,  
Who to Darius' Brother gives the wretch,  
W●th wracks, and tortures, every limb to stretch.  
Here was of Greeks, a town in Bactria,  
Whom Xerxes from their country led away;  
These not a little joyed, this day to see,  
Wherein their own had sovereignty.  
And now revived with hopes, held up their head,  
From bondage, long to be enfranchised;  
But Alexander puts them to the sword,  
Without cause, given by them, in deed, or word:  
Nor sex, nor age, nor one, nor other spared,  
But in his cruelty alike they shared;  
Nor could he reason give, for this great wrong,  
But that they had forgot their Mother-tongue.  
Whilst thus he spent some time in Bactria,  
And in his Camp strong, and securely lay,  
Down from the mountains twenty thousand came,  
And there most fiercely set upon the same;  
Repelling these two marks of honour got,  
Imprinted deep in's leg, by Arrows shot;  
And now the Bactrians 'gainst him rebel,  
But he their stubbornness full soon doth quell;  
From hence he to Jaxartis river goes,  
Where Scythians rude, his valour doth oppose,  
And with their our cries, in a hideous sort,  
Besets his Camp, or Military Court;  
Of Darts, and Arrows, made so little spare,  
They flew so thick they seemed to dark the air:  
But soon the grecians forced them to a flight,  
Whose nokednesse could not endure their might;  
Upon this River's bank in seventeen days,  
A goodly City doth completely raise;  
Which Alexandria he doth also name,  
And furlongs sixty could not round the same.  
His third supply, Antipa●er now sent,  
Which did his former Army much augment,  
And being an hundred twenty thousand strong,  
He enters now the Indian Kings among;  
Those that submit, he doth restore again.  
Those that do not, both they, and theirs, are slain;  
To age, nor sex, no pity doth express,  
But all fall by his sword, most merciless.  
He t' Nisa goes, by Bacchus built long since,  
Whose feasts are celebrated by this Prince;  
Nor had that drunken god, one that w●uld take  
His liquors more devoutly in, for's sake.  
When thus, ten days, his brain with wine he'd soaked,  
And with delicious meats, his  choked,  
To th' river Indus next, his course he bends,  
Boats to prepare, Ephestion first he sends,  
Who coming thither, long before his Lord;  
Had to his mind, made all things now accord:  
The Vessels ready were, at his command;  
And Omphis, King of that part of the land:  
Through his persuasion Alexander meets;  
And as his Sovereign Lord, him humbly greets.  
Fifty six Elephants he brings to's hands:  
And tenders him the strength of all his lands,  
Presents himself, there with a golden Crown,  
And eighty Talents to his Captains down.  
But Alexander, caused him to behold;  
He glory sought, no silver, nor yet gold;  
His presents all, with thanks he doth restore;  
And of his own, a thousand Talents more.  
Thus all the Indian Kings, to him submit;  
But Porus stout, who will not yield as yet;  
To him doth Alexander thus declare,  
His pleasure is, that forthwith he repair  
Unto his Kingdom's borders, and as due,  
His Homage unto him as Sovereign do.  
But Kingly Porus this brave answer sent,  
That to attend him there, was his intent;  
And come as well provided as be could,  
But for the rest, his sword advise him should.  
Great Alexander vexed at this reply,  
Did more his valour then his Crown envy;  
Is now resolved to pass Hilaspes flood,  
And there his Sovereignty for to make good;  
But on the banks doth Porus ready stand,  
For to receive him, when he comes to land;  
A potent Army with him, like a King,  
And ninety Elephants for war did bring;  
Had Alexander such resistance seen,  
On Tigris side, here now he had not been;  
Within this spacious river, deep, and wide,  
Did here, and there, Isles full of trees abide;  
His Army Alexander doth divide,  
With Ptolemy, sends part o' th' t'other side.  
Porus encounters them, thinking all's there,  
Then covertly, the rest gets o'er elsewhere;  
But whilst the first he valiantly assailed,  
The last set on his back, and so prevailed:  
Yet work enough, here Alexander found,  
For to the last, stout Porus kept his ground.  
Nor was't dishonour, at the length to yield,  
When Alexander strives to win the field,  
His fortitude his Kingly foe commends;  
Restores him, and his bounds further extends;  
Eastward, now Alexander would go still,  
But so to do, his Soldiers had no will;  
Long with excessive travails wearied,  
Can by no means be further drawn, or led:  
Yet that his fame might to posterity,  
Be had in everlasting memory,  
Doth for his Camp a greater circuit take,  
And for his Soldiers larger Cabins make;  
His Maungers he erected up so high,  
As never Horse his Provender could eye;  
Huge Bridles made, which here, and there, he left,  
Which might be found, and so for wonders kept:  
Twelve Altars, he for Monuments then rears,  
Whereon his acts, and travels, long appears;  
But doubting, wearing Time would these decay,  
And so his memory might fade away,  
He on the fair Hidaspis' pleasant side,  
Two Cities built, his fame might there abide;  
The first Nicaea, the next ●u●ephalon,  
Where he ●ntomb'd his st●tely stallion.  
His fourth, and last supply, was hither sent,  
Then down t' Hidaspis' with his Fleet he went;  
Some time he after penned upon that shore,  
Where one hundred Embissadours, or more,  
Came with submission, from th● Indian Kings  
Bringing their Presents, rare, and precious things:  
These, all he feasts in stare, on beds of gold,  
His furniture most sumptuous to behold;  
The meat, and drink, attendants, every thing,  
To th' utmost showed, the glory of a King;  
With rich rewards, he sent th●m home again,  
Acknowledged for their Master's Sovereign;  
Then sailing South, and coming to the shore,  
These obscure Nations yielded as before;  
A City here he built, called by his name,  
Which could not sound too oft, with too much fame;  
Hence sailing down by th' mouth of Indus flood,  
His Galleys stuck upon the sand, and mud;  
Which the stout Macedonians mazed sore  
Deprived are once, the use of Sail, and Oar;  
But well observing th' nature of the ti●e,  
Upon those Flats they did not long abide;  
Passing fair Indus mouth, his course he steered,  
To th● coast which by Eu●hra●es mouth appeared;  
Whose inlers near unto, he winter spent,  
Unto his starved Soldiers small content;  
By hunger, and by cold, so many slain,  
That of them all, the fourth did scarce remain.  
Thus Winter, Soldiers, and provision spent,  
From hence he to Gedrosia went,  
And thence he marched into Carmania,  
So he at length drew near to Persia;  
Now through these goodly countries as he passed,  
Much time in feasts, and rioting doth waist;  
Then visits Cyrus' Sepulchre in's way,  
Who now obscure at Passagardis lay;  
Upon his Monument his Robes he spread,  
And set his Crown on his supposed head;  
From hence to Babylon, some time there spent,  
He at the last to royal Sushan went;  
A Wedding Feast to's Nobleses then he makes,  
And Statirah, Darius' daughter takes,  
Her Sister gives to his Ephestion dear,  
That by this match he might be yet more near.  
He fourscore Persian Ladies also gave,  
At the same time, unto his Captains brave;  
Six thousand Guests he to this feast invites,  
Whose Senses all, were glutted with delights:  
It far exceeds my mean abilities,  
To shadow forth these short felicities:  
Spectators here, could scarce relate the story,  
They were so wrapped with this external glory.  
If an Ideal Paradise, a man should frame,  
He might this feast imagine by the same.  
To every Guest, a cup of gold he sends,  
So after many days this Banquet ends.  
Now, Alexander's conquests, all are done,  
And his long travels past, and over-gone;  
His virtues dead, buried, and all forgot,  
But vice remains, to his eternal blot.  
'Mongst those, that of his cruelty did taste,  
Philotas was not least, nor yet the last;  
Accused, because he did not certify  
The King of treason, and conspiracy;  
Upon suspicion being apprehended,  
Nothing was found, wherein he had offended;  
His silence, guilt was, of such consequence,  
He death deserved, for this so high offence;  
But for his Father's great deserts, the King,  
His Royal pardon gave, for this same thing;  
Yet is Philotas unto Judgement brought,  
Must suffer, not for what he did, but thought:  
His Master is Accuser, Judge, and King,  
Who to the height doth aggravate each thing;  
Inveighs against his Father, now absent,  
And's Brethren, whom for him their lives had spent;  
But Philotas, his unpardonable crime,  
Which no merit could obliterate, or time:  
He did the Oracle of jupiter deride,  
By which his Majesty was deified.  
Philotas thus o'ercharged, with wrong, and grief,  
Sunk in despair, without hope of relief;  
Feign would have spoke, and made his own defence,  
The King would give no ear, but went from thence;  
To his malicious foes delivers him,  
To wreak their spite, and hate, on every limb.  
Philotas after him sends out this cry,  
Oh, Alexander, thy free clemency,  
My foes exceeds in malice, and their hate,  
Thy Kingly word can easily terminate;  
Such torments great, as wit could first invent,  
Or flesh, or life could bear, till both were spent  
Are now inflicted on Parmenio's Son,  
For to accuse himself, as they had done;  
At last he did: So they were justified,  
And told the world, that for desert he died.  
But how these Captains should, or yet their Master,  
Look on Parmenie, after this disaster,  
They knew not; wherefore, best now to be done,  
Was to dispatch the Father, as the Son.  
This sound advice, at heart, pleased Alexander,  
Who was so much engaged, to this Commander,  
As he would ne'er confess, nor could reward,  
Nor could his Captains bear so great regard;  
Wherefore at once all these to satisfy,  
It was decreed Parmenio should die:  
Polidamus, who seemed Parmenio's friend,  
To do this deed, they into Media send;  
He walking in his Garden, too and fro,  
Thinking no harm, because he none did owe,  
Most wickedly was slain, without least crime,  
(The most renowned Captain of his time)  
This is Parmenio, which so much had done,  
For Philip dead, and his surviving Son,  
Who from a petty King of Macedon,  
By him was set upon the Persian Throne:  
This that Parmenio, who still over-came,  
Yet gave his Master the immortal fame;  
Who for his prudence, valour, care, and trust,  
Had this reward most cruel, and unjust.  
The next that in untimely death had part,  
Was one of more esteem, but less desert;  
Clitus, beloved next to Ephestion,  
And in his cups, his chief Companion;  
When both were drunk, Clitus was wont to jeer;  
Alexander, to rage, to kill, and swear,  
Nothing more pleasing to mad Clitus tongue,  
Then's Master's godhead, to defy, and wrong;  
Nothing touched Alexander to the quick  
Like this, against his deity to kick:  
Upon a time, when both had drunken well,  
Upon this dangerous theme fond Clitus fell;  
From jest, to earnest, and at last so bold,  
That of Parmenio's death him plainly told.  
Alexander now no longer could contain,  
But instantly commands him to be slain;  
Next day, he tore his face, for what he'd done,  
And would have slain himself, for Clitus gone,  
This pot companion he did more bemoan,  
Then all the wrong to brave Parmenio done.  
The next of worth, that suffered after these,  
Was virtuous, learned, wise Calist●ines,  
Who loved his Master more than did the rest,  
As did appear, in flattering him the least:  
In his esteem, a God he could not be,  
Nor would adore him for a Deity:  
For this alone, and for no other cause,  
Against his Sovereign, or against his Laws,  
He on the wrack, his limbs in pieces vent,  
Thus was he tortured, till his life was spent.  
Of this unkingly deed, doth Sene●a  
This censure pass, and not unwisely, say,  
Of Alexander, this th' eternal crime,  
Which shall not be obliterate by time,  
Which virtues fame can ne'er redeem by fare,  
Nor all felicity, of his in war;  
When e'er 'tis said, he thousand thousands slew,  
Yea, and Calisthines to death he drew,  
The mighty Persian King he over-came,  
Yea and he killed Calisthines by name;  
All Kingdoms, Countries, Provinces, he won,  
From Hellispont, to th' furthest Ocean;  
All this he did, who knows not to be true,  
But yet withal, Calisthines he slew;  
From Macedon his Empire did extend,  
Unto the furthest bounds of th' orient;  
All this he did, yea, and much more, 'tis true,  
But yet withal, Calisthines he slew.  
Now Alexander goes to Media,  
Finds there the want of wise Parmenio,  
Here his chief favourite Ephestion dies,  
He celebrates his mournful obsequies;  
For him erects a stately Monument,  
Twelve thousand Talents on it frankly spent;  
Hangs his Physician, the reason why,  
Because he let Ephestion to die.  
This act (me thinks) his god head should ashame,  
To punish, where himself deserved blame:  
Or of necessity, he must imply,  
The other was the greatest Deity.  
From Media to Babylon he went,  
To meet him there, t' Antipater had sent,  
That he might next now act upon the Stage,  
And in a Tragedy there end his age.  
The Queen Olimpias, bears him deadly hate,  
(Not suffering her to meddle in the State)  
And by her Letters did her Son incite,  
This great indignity for to requite.  
His doing so, no whit displeased the King,  
Though to his Mother he disproven the thing;  
But now, Antipater had lived thus long,  
He might well die, though he had done no wrong;  
His service great now's suddenly forgot,  
Or if remembered, yet regarded not;  
The King doth intimate 'twas his intent,  
His honours, and his riches, to augment  
Of larger Provinces, the rule to give,  
And for his Counsel, ne'er the King to live.  
So to be caught, Antipater's too wise,  
Parmenio's death's too fresh before his eyes;  
He was too subtle for his crafty foe,  
Nor by his baits could be ensnared so:  
But his excuse with humb●e thanks he sends,  
His age, and journey long, he now pretends;  
And pardon craves, for his unwilling stay,  
He shows his grief, he's forced to disobey:  
Before his answer came to Babylon,  
The thread of Alexander's life was spun;  
Poison had put an end to's days 'twas thought,  
By Philip, and Cassander, to him brought,  
Sons to Antipater, bearers of his Cup,  
Lest of such like, their Father chance to sup:  
By others thought, and that more generally,  
That through excessive drinking he did die.  
The thirty third of is age do all agree,  
This Conqueror did yield to destiny;  
Whose famous Acts must last, whilst world shall stand  
And Conquests be talked of, whilst there is Land;  
Hit Princely qualities, had he retained  
Unparalleled, for ever had remained;  
But with the world his virtues overcame,  
And so with black, be-clouded all his fame.  
Wise Aristotle, tutor to his youth,  
Had so instructed him in moral truth.  
The principles of what he then had learned  
Might to the last (when sober) be discerned.  
Learning, and learned men, he much regarded,  
And curious Artists evermore rewarded.  
The Illiads of Homer he still kept,  
And under's pillow laid them when he slept.  
Achille's happiness he did envy,  
'Cause Homer kept his Acts to memory;  
Profusely bountiful, without desert,  
For those that pleased him: had both wealth and heart:  
Cruel by nature, and by custom too,  
As oft his Acts throughout his reign did show:  
More boundless in ambition then the sky,  
Vain thirsting after immortality:  
Still fearing that his Name might hap to die,  
And fame not last unto Eternity:  
This conqueror did oft lament ('tis said)  
There was no worlds, more, to be conquered:  
This folly great Augustus did deride,  
For had he had but wisdom to his pride,  
He would have found enough for to be done,  
To govern that he had already won:  
His thoughts are perished he aspires no more,  
Nor can he kill, or save as heretofore,  
A God alive him all must Idolise;  
Now like a mortal helpless man he lies;  
Of all those kingdoms large which he had got,  
To his posterity remained no jot,  
For by that hand, which still revengeth blood,  
None of his Kindred, or his Race, long stood;  
And as he took delight, much blood to spill,  
So the same cup to his, did others fill.  
Four of his Captains, all do now divide,  
As Daniel, before had Prophesied;  
The Leopard down, his four wings began to rise,  
The great Horn broke, the less did tytannize;  
What troubles, and contentions did ensue,  
We may hereafter show, in season due.   

Aridaeus.  
GReat Alexander dead, his Army's left,  
Like to that Giant, of his eye bereft;  
When of his monstrous bulk it was the guide,  
His matchless force no Creature could abide;  
But by Ulysses, having lost his sight,  
Each man began for to contemn his might;  
For aiming still amiss, his dreadful blows  
Did harm himself, but never reached his foes:  
Now Court, and Camp, all in confusion be,  
A King they'll have, but who, none can agree:  
Each Captain wished this prize to bear away,  
Yet none so hardy found as so durst say.  
Great Alexander had left issue none,  
Except by Artabasus daughter one;  
And Roxan fair, whom late he married,  
Was near her time to be delivered;  
By Nature's right, these had enough to claim,  
But meanness of their Mother's bard the same:  
Alleged by those, which by their subtle plea  
Had hope themselves, to bear the Crown away;  
A Sister Alexander had, but she  
Claimed not, perhaps her Sex might hindrance be.  
After much tumult, they at last proclaimed  
His base born Brother, Aridaeus named,  
That so under his feeble wit, and reign,  
Their ends they might the better still attain.  
This choice Perdiccas, vehemently disclaimed,  
And th' unborn babe of Roxan he proclaimed;  
Some wished him, to take the stile of King,  
Because his Master gave to him his Ring,  
And had to him, still since Ephestion died,  
More than to th' rest, his favour testified:  
But he refused, with feigned modesty,  
Hoping to be elect more generally;  
He hold of this occasion should have laid,  
For second offers there were never made;  
'Mongst these contentions, tumul●s, jealousies,  
Seven days the Corpse of their great Master lies  
Untouched, uncovered, slighted, and neglected,  
So much these Princes their own ends respected.  
A contemplation to astonish Kings,  
That he, who late, possessed all earthly things,  
And yet not so content, unless that he  
Might be esteemed for a Deity;  
Now lay a spectacle, to testify  
The wretchedness of man's mortality.  
After this time, when stirs began to calm,  
The Egyptians, his body did embalm;  
On which, no sign of poison could be found,  
But all his bowels, coloured well, and sound.  
Perdiccas, seeing Aridaeus must be King,  
Under his name gins to rule each thing.  
His chief opponents who kept off the Crown,  
Was stiff Meleager, whom he would take down,  
Him by a wile he got within his power,  
And took his life unworthily that hour:  
Using the name, and the command o'th' King  
To authorise his Acts in every thing.  
The Princes seeing Perdica's power and Pride,  
Thought timely for themselves, now to provide.  
Antigonus, for his share Asia takes,  
And Ptolemy, next sure of Egypt makes.  
Seleuchus afterward held Babylon;  
Amipater, had long ruled Macedon,  
These now to govern for the King pretends,  
But nothing less: each one himself intends.  
Perdiccas took no Province; like the rest,  
But held command o'th' Armies which was best;  
And had a higher project in his head,  
Which was his Master's sister for to wed:  
So, to the Lady secretly he sent,  
That none might know, to frustrate his intent;  
But Cleopatra, this suitor did deny,  
For Leonatus, more lovely in her eye,  
To whom she sent a message of her mind,  
That if he came, good welcome he should find:  
In these tumultuous days, the thralled Greeks  
Their ancient liberty, afresh now seeks,  
Shakes off the yoke, sometimes before laid on  
By warlike Philip, and his conquering son.  
The Athenians, force Antipater to fly  
To Lamia, where he shut up doth lie;  
To brave Craterus, then, he sends with speed,  
To come and to release him in his need,  
The like of Leonatus, he requires,  
(Which at this time well suited his desires)  
For to Antipater he now might go,  
His Lady take i'th' way, and no man know.  
Antiphilus the Athenian General,  
With speed his forces doth together call,  
Striving to stop Leonatus, that so  
He join not with Antipater, that foe.  
The Athenian Army was the greater far,  
(Which did his match with Cleopatra mar)  
For fight still, whilst there did hope remain,  
The valiant Chief, amidst his foes was slain,  
'Mongst all the Captains of great Alexander,  
For personage, none was like this Commander:  
Now to Antipater, ●raterus goes,  
Blocked up in Lamia, still by his foes;  
Long marches through Cilicia he makes,  
And the remains of Leonatus takes;  
With them and his, he into Grecia went,  
Antipater released from's prisonment,  
After this time, the Grecks did never more  
Act any thing of worth, as heretofore,  
But under servitude, their necks remained,  
Nor former liberty, or glory gained;  
Now died (about the end of th' Lamian war)  
Dimosthencs, that sweet tongued orator.  
Craverus, that Antipater now join  
In love, and in affiaity combine:  
Crete●us doth his daughter Phisa wed,  
Their friendship may the more be strengthened:  
Whilst they in Macedon do thus agree,  
In Asia they all asunder be.  
Perdiccas grieved, to see the Prince's bold,  
So many Kingdoms in their power to hold,  
Yet to regain them, how he did not know,  
For's Soldiers 'gainst those Captains would not go;  
To suffer them go on, as they begun,  
Was to give way, himself might be undone;  
With Antipater t' join, sometimes he thought,  
That by his help, the rest might low be brought:  
But this again dislikes, and would remain,  
If not in word, in deed a Sovereign.  
Desires the King, to go to Macedon,  
Which of his Ancestors was once the throne,  
And by his presence there, to nullify  
The Acts of his Viceroys, now grown so high:  
Antigonus of Treason first attaints,  
And summons him, to answer these complaints;  
This he avoids, and ships himself, and's Son,  
Goes to Antipater, and tells what's done;  
He, and Craterus, both with him now join,  
And 'gainst Perdiccas, all their strength combine.  
Brave Ptolemy, to make a fourth now sent,  
To save himself from dangers eminent;  
In midst of these, Garboils, with wondrous state,  
His Master's Funerals doth celebrate;  
At Alexandria, in Egypt Land,  
His sumptuous monument long time did stand;  
Two years and more since, Nature's debt he paid,  
And yet till now, at quiet was not laid.  
Great love did Ptolemy by this act gain.  
And made the Soldiers on his side remain;  
Perdiccas hears, his foes are now combined,  
('Gainst which to go, is troubled in his mind;)  
With Ptolemy for to begin was best,  
Nearest unto him, and farthest from the rest.  
Leaves Eumenes, the Asian coast to free,  
From the invasions of the other three;  
And with his Army into Egypt goes,  
Brave Ptolemy to th' utmost to oppose.  
Perdiccas surly carriage, and his pride,  
Did alienate the Soldiers from his side;  
But Ptolemy by affability,  
His sweet demeanour, and his courtesy,  
Did make his own firm to his cause remain,  
And from the other, daily some did gain.  
Python, next Perdiccas, a Captain high,  
Being entreated by him scornfully,  
Some of the Soldiers enters Perdica's tent,  
Knocks out his brains, to Ptolemy then went,  
And offers him his Honours, and his place,  
With stile of the Protector, would him grace;  
Next day into the Camp comes Ptolemy,  
And is of all received joyfully;  
Their proffers he refused, with modesty  
Confers them Python on, for's courtesy;  
With what he held, he now was well content,  
Then by more trouble to grow eminent.  
Now comes there news of a great victory,  
That Eumenes got of the other three,  
H●d it but in Perdiccas life arrived,  
With greater joy it would have been received;  
Thus Ptolemy rich Egypt did retain,  
And Python turned to Asia again.  
Whilst Perdiccas thus stayed in Africa,  
Antigonus did enter Asia,  
And fain would draw Eumenes to their side,  
But he alone now faithful did abide:  
The other all, had kingdoms in their eye,  
But he was true to's master's family,  
Nor could Craterus (whom he much did love)  
From his fidelity make him once move.  
Two battles now he fought, and had the best,  
And brave Craterus slew, amongst the rest,  
For this great strife, he pours out his complaints,  
And his beloved foe, full sore laments.  
I should but snip a story into verse,  
And much eclipse his glory to rehearse  
The difficulties Eumenes befell,  
His stratagems, wherein he did excel,  
His policies, how he did extricate  
Himself from out of labyrinths intricate.  
For all that should be said, let this suffice,  
He was both valiant, faithful, patiented, wise.  
Python now chose protector of the State,  
His rule Queen Eurydice gins to hate,  
Perceives Aridaeus must not king it long,  
If once young Alexander grow more strong,  
But that her Husband serve for supplement,  
To warm the seat, was never her intent,  
She knew her birthright gave her Macedon,  
Grandchild to him, who once sat on that throne,  
Who was Perdiccas, Philip's elder brother,  
She daughter to his son, who had no other;  
Her mother Cyna sister to Alexander,  
Who h●d an Army, like a great Commander.  
Ceria the Phrygian Queen for to withstand,  
And in a Battle slew her hand to hand;  
Her Daughter she instructed in that Art,  
Which made her now begin to play her part;  
Pithon's commands, She ever countermands  
What he appoints, She purposely withstands.  
He wearied out, at last, would needs be gone,  
Resigned his place, and so let all alone;  
In's stead, the Soldiers chose Antipater,  
Who vexed the Queen more than the other fare;  
He placed, displaced, controlled, ruled, as he list,  
And this no man durst question, or resist;  
For all the Princes of great Alexander  
Acknowledged for chief, this old Commander:  
After a while, to Macedon he makes;  
The King, and Queen, along with him he takes.  
Two Sons of Alexander, and the rest,  
All to be ordered there as he thought best:  
The Army with Antigonus did leave,  
And government of Asia to him gave;  
And thus Antipater the groundwork lays,  
On which Antigonus his height doth raise:  
Who in few years the rest so over-tops,  
For universal Monarchy he hopes;  
With Eumenes he divers Battles fought,  
And by his sleights to circumvent him sought;  
But vain it was to use his policy,  
'Gainst him, that all deceits could scan, and try:  
In this Epitome, too long to tell  
How neatly Eumenes did here excel,  
That by the selfsame traps the other laid,  
He to his cost was righteously repaid.  
Now great Antipater, the world doth leave  
To Polisperchon, than his place he gave,  
Fearing his Son Cassander was unstay'd,  
Too young to bear that charge, if on him laid;  
Antigonus hearing of his decease,  
On most part of Assyria doth seize,  
And Ptolemy, now to encroach gins,  
All Syria, and, Phenicia he wins;  
Now Polisperchon begins to act in's place,  
Recals Olimpias, the Court to grace;  
Antipater had banished her from thence,  
Into Epire, for her great turbulence;  
This new Protector's of another mind,  
Thinks by her Majesty much help to find;  
Cassander could not (like his father) see  
This Polisperchons' great ability,  
Slights his commands, his actions he disclaims,  
And to be great himself now bends his aims;  
Such as his father had advanced to place,  
Or by his favour any way did grace,  
Are now at the devotion of the Son,  
Pressed to accomplish what he would have done;  
Besides, he was the young Queen's favourite,  
On whom ('twas thought) the set her chief delight;  
Unto these helps, in Greece, he seeks out more,  
Goes to Antigonus, and doth implore,  
By all the Bonds 'twixt him and's father passed,  
And for that great gift, which he gave him last;  
By these, and all, to grant him some supply,  
To take down Polisperchon grown so high;  
For this Antigonus needed no spurs,  
Hoping still more to gain by these new stirs;  
Strait furnished him with a sufficient aid,  
Cassander for return all speed now made:  
Polisperchon, knowing he did rely  
Upon those friends, his father raised on high,  
Those absent, banished, or else he slew  
All such as he suspected to him true.  
Cassander with his Host to Grecia goes,  
Whom Polisperchon labours to oppose,  
But had the worst at Sea, as well as Land,  
And his opponent still got upper hand,  
Athens, with many Towns in Greece besides,  
Firm to Cassander at this time abides:  
Whilst hot in wars these two in Greece remain,  
Antigonus doth all in Asia gain;  
Still labours Eumenes might with him side,  
But to the last he faithful did abide;  
Nor could Mother, nor Sons of Alexander,  
Put trust in any, but in this Commander;  
The great ones now began to show their mind,  
And act, as opportunity they find:  
Aridaeus the scorned, and simple King,  
More than he bidden was, could act no thing;  
Polisperchon hoping for's office long,  
Thinks to enthrone the Prince when riper grown;  
Eurydice this injury disdains,  
And to Cassander of this wrong complains;  
Hateful the Name, and House of Alexander,  
Was to this proud, vindicative Cassander,  
He still hep● fresh within his memory,  
His Father's danger, with his Family;  
Nor counts he that indignity but small,  
When Alexander knocked his head to th' wall:  
These, with his love, unto the amorous Queen  
Did make him vow her servant to be seen.  
Olimpias, Aridaeus deadly hates,  
As all her Husband's children by his Mates;  
She gave him poison formerly ('tis thought)  
Which damage both to mind and body brought:  
She now with Polisperchon doth combine,  
To make the King by force his seat resign;  
And her young Nephew in his stead t' enthrone,  
That under him she might rule all alone.  
For aid goes to Epire, among her friends,  
The better to accomplish these her ends;  
Eurydice hearing what she intends,  
In haste unto her dear Cassander sends,  
To leave his Siege at Tagra, and with speed  
To come and secure her, in this great need;  
Then by entreaties, promises, and coin,  
Some Forces did procure, with her to join.  
Olimpias now enters Macedon,  
The Queen to meet her, bravely marched on;  
But when her Soldiers saw their ancient Queen,  
Remembering what sometime she had been,  
The Wife, and Mother, of their famous Kings,  
Nor Darts, nor Arrows now, none shoots, nor flings;  
Then King, and Queen, to Amphipolis do fly,  
But soon are brought into captivity;  
The King by extreme torments had his end,  
And to the Queen, these presents she doth send;  
A Halter, cup of Poison, and a Sword,  
Bids choose her death, such kindness she'll afford:  
The Queen with many a curse, and bitter check,  
At length yields to the Halter, her fair neck;  
Praying, that fatal day might quickly haste,  
On which Olimpias of the like might taste.  
This done, the cruel Queen rests not content,  
Till all that loved Cassander was nigh spent;  
His Brethren, Kinsfolk, and his chiefest friends,  
That were within her reach, came to their ends;  
Digged up his brother dead, 'gainst natures right,  
And throws his bones about, to show her spite.  
The Courtiers wondering at her furious mind,  
Wished in Epire she still had been confined;  
In Pelloponesus then Cassander lay,  
Where hearing of this news he speeds away,  
With rage, and with revenge, he's hurried on,  
So goes to find this Queen in Macedon;  
But being stopped, at Strait Tharmipoley  
Sea passage gets, and lands in Thessaly;  
His Army he divides, sends part away,  
Polisperchou to hold a while in play,  
And with the rest Olimpias pursues,  
To give her for all cruelties her deuce:  
She with the flower o'th' Court to Pidna flies,  
Well fortified, and on the Sea it lies;  
There by Cassander she's blocked up, so long,  
Until the Famine grows exceeding strong.  
Her Cousin of Epire did what he might,  
To raise the Siege, and put her foes to flight;  
Cassander is resolved, there to remain,  
So succours, and endeavours proves but vain:  
Feign would she come now to capitulate,  
Cassander will not hear, such is his hate.  
The Soldiers pinched with this scarcity,  
By stealth unto Cassander daily fly;  
Olimpias wills to keep it, to the last,  
Expecting nothing, but of death to taste;  
But he unwilling longer there to stay,  
Gives promise for her life, and wins the day:  
No sooner had he got her in his hands,  
But made in Judgement her Accusers stand,  
And plead the blood of their dear Kindred spilt,  
Desiring Justice might be done for guilt;  
And so was he acquitted of his word,  
For Justice sake she being put to th' sword.  
This was the end of this most cruel Queen,  
Whose fury yet unparallelled hath been;  
The Daughter, Sister, Mother, Wife to Kings,  
But Royalty no good conditions brings;  
So boundless was her pride, and cruelty,  
She oft forgot bounds of Humanity.  
To Husband's death ('twas thought) she gave consent,  
The Authors death she did so much lament,  
With Garlands crowned his head, bemoaned his Fates,  
His sword unto Apollo consecrates:  
Her outrages too tedious to relate,  
How for no cause, but her inveterate hate;  
Her Husband's Wife, and Children, after's death  
Some flew, some fried, of others, stopped the breath;  
Now in her age she's forced to taste that Cup,  
Which she had often made others to sup:  
Now many Towns in Macedon suppressed,  
And Pellas feign to yield amongst the rest;  
The Funerals Cassandra celebrates,  
Of Aridaeus, and his Queen, with state;  
Among their Ancestors by him there laid,  
And shows of lamentation for them made.  
Old Thebes he then rebuilt (so much of fame)  
And raised Cassandria after his name,  
But leave him building, others in their urn,  
And for a while, let's into Asia turn,  
True Eumenes endeavours by all skill,  
To keep Antigonus from Susha still,  
Having Command o'th' treasure he can hire,  
Such as nor threats, nor favour could acquire;  
In divers battles, he had good success,  
Antigonus came off still honourlesse,  
When victor oft had been, and so might still,  
Pencestas did betray him by a wile,  
Antigonus, then takes his life unjust,  
Because he never would let go his trust:  
Thus lost he all for his fidelity,  
Striving t' uphold h●s Master's family,  
But as that to a period did haste,  
So Eumenes of destiny must taste.  
Antigonus, all Persia now gains,  
And Master of the treasure he remains;  
Then with Seleuchus strait at odds doth fall,  
But he for aid to Ptolemy doth call.  
The Princes all begin now to envy  
Antigonus, his growing up so hie,  
Fearing their state, and what might hap ere long,  
Enter into a combination strong:  
Selcuchus, Ptolemy, Cassander joins,  
Ly●●mac us to make a fourth combines:  
Antigonus, desirous of the Greeks,  
To make Cassander odious to them, seeks,  
Sends forth his declaration from a fare,  
And shows what cause they had to take up war.  
The Mother of their King to death he'd put,  
His Wife, and Son, in prison close had shut;  
And how he aims to make himself a King,  
And that some title he might seem to bring,  
Thessalonica he had newly wed,  
Daughter to Philip, their renowned head;  
Had built, and called a City by his name,  
Which none e'er did but those of royal fame;  
And in despite of their two famous Kings,  
Th' hateful Olinthians to Greece re-brings;  
Rebellious Thebes he had re-edified,  
Which their late King in dust had-damnified;  
Requires them therefore to take up their Arms,  
And to requite this Traitor for those harms:  
Now Ptolemy would gain the Greeks likewise,  
For he declares against his injuries;  
First, how he held the Empire in his hands,  
Seleuchus drove from government, and lands;  
Had valiant Eumenes unjustly slain,  
And Lord o'th' City Susha did remain.  
So therefore craves their help to take him down,  
Before he wear the universal Crown;  
Antigonus at Sea soon had a fight,  
Where Ptolemy, and the rest put him to flight.  
His Son at Gaza likewise lost the field,  
So Syria to Ptolemy did yield;  
And Sclcuchus recovers Babylon,  
Still gaining Countries Eastward goes he on.  
Demetrius again with Ptolemy did fight,  
And coming unawares put him to slight;  
But bravely sends the Prisoners back again,  
And all the spoil and booty they had ta'en;  
Curtius, as noble Ptolemy, or more,  
Who at Gaza did th' like to him before.  
Antigonus did much rejoice his son,  
His lost repute with victory had won;  
At last these Princes tired out with wars,  
Sought for a peace, and laid aside their jars:  
The terms of their agreement thus express,  
That each shall hold what he doth now possess,  
Till Alexander unto age was grown,  
Who then shall be installed in the throne:  
This touched Cassander sore, for what he'd done,  
Imprisoning both the mother, and her son,  
He sees the Greeks now favour their young Prince,  
Whom he in durance held, now and long since,  
That in few years he must be forced or glad  
To render up such kingdoms as he had  
Resolves to quit his fears by one deed done,  
And put to death, the mother and her son,  
This Rexane for her beauty all commend,  
But for one act she did, just was her end,  
No sooner was great Alexander dead,  
But she Dariu's daughters murdered,  
Both thrown into a well to hid her blot,  
Perdiccas was her partner in this plot:  
The Heavens seemed slow in paying her the same,  
But yet at last the hand of vengeance came,  
And for that double fact which she had done,  
The life of her must go, and of her son  
Perdiccas had before, for his amiss,  
But from their hands, who thought not once of this.  
Gassander's dead, the Princes all detest,  
But 'twas in show, in heart it pleased them best.  
That he was odious to the world, they're glad,  
And now they are, free Lords, of what they had,  
When this foul tragedy was past, and done,  
Polisperchon brings up the other son,  
Called Hercules, and elder than his brother,  
(By'r, Olymptas, thought to prefer th' other:)  
The Greeks touched with the murder done so late,  
This Prince began for to compassionate.  
Begin to mutter much 'gainst proud Cassander,  
And place their hopes o'th' heir of Alexander,  
Cassander feared what might of this ensue,  
So Polisperchon to his Counsel drew,  
Gives Peloponesus unto him for hire,  
Who slew the prince according to desire:  
Thus was the race, and house of Alexander  
Extinct, by this inhuman wretch Cassander;  
Antigonus for all this doth not mourn,  
He knows to's profit, all i'th' end will turn,  
But that some title he might now pretend,  
For marriage to Cleopatra, doth send  
Lysimachus and Ptolemy, the same,  
And vile Cassander too, sticks not for shame,  
She now in Lydia at Sardis lay,  
Where, by Embassage, all these Princes pray,  
Choice above all, of Ptolemy she makes  
With his Ambassador, her journey takes,  
Antigonu's Lieutenant stays her still,  
Until he further know his Master's will;  
To let her go; or hold her still, he fears,  
Antigonus thus had a wolf by th' ●a●s,  
Resolves at last the Princess thened be stain,  
So hinders him of her, he could not gain.  
Her women are appointed to this deed,  
They for their great reward no better speed,  
For strait way by command they're put to death,  
As vile conspirators that took her breath,  
And now he thinks, he's ordered all so well,  
The world must needs believe what he doth tell:  
Thus Philip's house was quite extinguished,  
Except Cassander's wife, who yet not dead,  
And by their means, who thought of nothing less  
Than vengeance just, against the same t' express;  
Now blood was paid with blood, for what was done  
By cruel father, mother, cruel son,  
Who did erect their cruelty in guilt,  
And wronging innocents' whose blood they spilt,  
Philip and Olympias both were slain,  
Aridaeus and his Queen by slaughters ta'en;  
Two other children by Olympias killed,  
And Cleopatra's blood, now likewise spilled,  
If Alexander was not poisoned,  
Yet in the flower of's age, he must lie dead,  
His wise and sons then slain by this Cassander,  
And's kingdoms rend away by each Commander:  
Thus may we hear, and fear, and ever say,  
That hand is righteous still which doth repay:  
These Captains now, the stile of Kings do take,  
For to their Crowns, there's none can title make.  
Demetrius is first, that so assumes,  
To do as he, the rest full soon presumes,  
To Athens then he goes, is entertained,  
Not like a King, but like some God they feigned;  
Most grossly base, was this great adulation,  
Who incense burnt, and offered oblation.  
These Kings fall now afresh to wars again,  
Demetrius of Ptolemy doth gain;  
'Twould be an endless story to relate  
Their several battles, and their several fate,  
Antigonus and Seleuchus, now fight  
Near Ephesus, each bringing all their might,  
And he that conqueror shall now remain,  
Of Asia the Lordship shall retain.  
This day twixt these two foes ends all the strife,  
For here Antigonus lost rule, and life,  
Nor to his son did there one foot remain,  
Of those dominions he did sometimes gain,  
Demetrius with his troops to Athens flies,  
Hoping to find succour in miseries.  
But they adoring in prosperity,  
Now shut their gates in his adversity,  
He sorely grieved at this his desperate state,  
Tries foes, since friends will not compassionate,  
His peace he then with old Seleuchus makes,  
Who his fair daughter Stratonica takes,  
Antiochus, Seleuchus dear loved son,  
Is for this fresh young Lady-half undone,  
Falls so extremely sick, all fear his life,  
Yet dares not say, he loves his father's wife;  
When his disease the skilful Physician found,  
He wittily his father's mind did sound,  
Who did no sooner understand the same,  
But willingly resigned the beauteous dame:  
Cassander now must die, his race is run,  
And leaves the ill got kingdoms he had won,  
Two sons he left, born of King Philip's daughter,  
Who had an end put to their days by slaughter.  
Which should succeed, at variance they fell,  
The mother would the youngest should excel,  
The eldest enraged did play the viper's part,  
And with his Sword did pierce his mother's heart,  
(Rather than Philip's child must longer live)  
He, whom she gave his life, her death must give)  
This by Lysimachus soon after slain,  
(Whose daughter unto wife, he'd newly ta'en)  
The youngest by Demetrius killed in fight,  
Who took away his now pretended right:  
Thus Philips, and Cassander's race is gone,  
And so falls out to be extinct in one,  
Yea though Cassander died in his bed,  
His seed to be extirpt, was destined,  
For blood which was decreed, that he should spill,  
Yet must his children pay for father's ill.  
Jehu in killing Ahabs' house did well,  
Yet be avenged, must th' blood of Jesreel.  
Demetrius, Cassander's kingdoms gains,  
And now as King, in Macedon he reigns;  
Seleuchus, Asia holds, that grieves him sore,  
Those 〈◊〉 untries large, his father got before,  
These to recover, musters all his might,  
And with his son in law, will needs go fight:  
There was he taken and imprisoned  
Within an Isle that was with pleasures fed,  
Enjoyed what so beseemed his Royalty,  
Only restrained of his liberty;  
After three years he died, left what he'd won  
In Greece, unto Antigonus, his son,  
For his posterity unto this day,  
Did ne'er regain one foot in Asia.  
Now died the brave and noble Ptolemy,  
Renowned for bounty, valour, clemency,  
Rich Egypt left, and what else he had won  
To Philadelphus, his more worthy Son.  
Of the old Heroes, now but two remain,  
Seleuchus, and Lysimachus; those twain  
Must needs go try their fortune, and their might,  
And so Lysimachus was slain in fight.  
'Twas no small joy, unto Seleuchus breast,  
That now he had outlived all the rest:  
Possession he of Europe thinks to take,  
And so himself the only Monarch make;  
Whilst with these hopes, in Greece he did remain,  
He was by Ptolemy Cerannus slain.  
The second Son of the first Ptolemy,  
Who for rebellion unto him did sly,  
Selencbus was as Father, and a friend,  
Yet by him had this most unworthy end.  
Thus with these Kingly Captains have we done,  
A little now, how the Succession run:  
Antigonus, Seleuchus, and Cassander,  
With Ptolemy, reigned after Alexander;  
Cassander's Sons, soon after's death were slain,  
So three Successors only did remain;  
Antigonus his Kingdoms lost, and's life,  
Unto Seleuchus, author of that strife.  
His Son Demetrius, all Cassander's gains,  
And his posterity, the same retains,  
Demetrius Son was called Awigonus,  
And his again, also Demetrius.  
I must let pass those many battles fought,  
Between those Kings, and noble Fyrrus stout,  
And his son Alexander of Epire,  
Whereby immortal honour they acquire.  
Demetrius had Philip to his son,  
He Perseus, from him the kingdom's won,  
Emillius the Roman General,  
Did take his rule, his sons, himself and all.  
This of Antigonus, his seed's the fate,  
Whose kingdoms were subdued by th' Roman state.  
Longer Seleuchus held the Royalty  
In Syria by his posterity,  
Awiochus Soter his son was named,  
To whom Ancient Berosus (To much famed)  
His book of Assurs Monarches dedicates,  
Tells of their wars, their names, their riches, fates;  
But this is perished with many more,  
Which we oft wish were extant as before.  
Antiochus Theos was Soters' son,  
Who a long war with Egypt's King begun.  
The affinities and wars Daniel set forth,  
And calls them there, the Kings of South, and North;  
This ●●cos he was murdered by his wife,  
Seleuchus reigned, when he had lost his life,  
A third Seleuchus next sit● on the seat,  
And then Antiochus surnamed the great,  
Seleuchus next Anttiochus succeeds,  
And then Epiphanes, whole wicked deeds,  
Horrid massacres, murders, cruelties,  
Against the Jews, we read in Macchabees,  
By him was set up the abomination  
I'th holy place, which caused desolation;  
Antiochus Eupator was the next,  
By Rebels and impostors daily vexed;  
So many Princes still were murdered,  
The Royal blood was quite extinguished.  
That Tygranes the great Armenian King,  
To take the government was called in,  
Him Lucullus, the Roman General  
Vanquished in fight, and took those kingdoms all,  
Of Greece, and Syria thus the rule did end,  
In Egypt now a little time we'll spend.  
First Ptolemy being dead, his famous son,  
Called Philadelphus, next sat on the throne,  
The Library at Alexandria built,  
With seven hundred thousand volumes filled,  
The seventy two interpreters did seek,  
They might translate the Bible into Greek,  
His son was Evergetes the last Prince  
That valour showed, virtue or excellence.  
Philopater was Evergete's son,  
After Epiphanes, sat on the Throne  
Philometer: then Evergetes again.  
And next to him, did false Lathurus reign,  
Alexander, than Lathurus in's stead,  
Next Auletes, who cut off Pompey's head:  
To all these names we Ptolemy must add,  
For since the first, that title still they had,  
Fair Cleopatra next, last of that race,  
Whom Julius Caesar set in Royal place,  
Her brother by him, lost his traitorous head  
For Pompey's life, then placed her in his stead,  
She with her Paramour Mark Antony,  
Held for a time the Egyptian Monarchy:  
Till great Augustus had with him a fight,  
At Actium slain, his Navy put to flight.  
Then poisonous Asps she sets unto her Arms,  
To take her life, and quit her from all harms;  
For 'twas not death, nor danger, she did dread,  
But some disgrace, in triumph to be led.  
Here ends at last the Grecian Monarchy,  
Which by the Romans had its destiny.  
Thus Kings, and Kingdoms, have their times, and dates,  
Their stand, overturnings, bounds, and fates;  
Now up, now down, now chief, and then brought under,  
The Heavens thus rule, to fill the earth with wonder.  
The Assyrian Monarchy long time did stand,  
But yet the Persian got the upper hand;  
The Grecian, them did utterly subdue,  
And Millions were subjected unto few:  
The Grecian longer than the Persian stood,  
Then came the Roman, like a raging flood,  
And with the torrent of his rapid course,  
Their Crowns, their Titles, riches bears by force.  
The first, was likened to a head of gold,  
Next, arms and breast, of silver to behold;  
The third, belly and thighs of brass in sight,  
And last was Iron, which breaketh all with might.  
The Stone out of the Mountain than did rise,  
And smote those feet, those legs, those arms and thighs;  
Then gold, silver, brass, iron, and all that store,  
Became like chaff upon the threshing floor;  
The first a Lion, second was a Bear,  
The third a Leopard, which four wings did rear;  
The last more strong, and dreadful, than the rest,  
Whose Iron teeth devoured every beast;  
And when he had no appetite to eat,  
The residue he stamped under's feet:  
But yet this Lion, Bear, this Leopard, Ram,  
All trembling stand, before that powerful Lamb.  
With these three Monarchies, now have I done,  
But how the fourth, their Kingdoms from them won;  
And how from small beginnings it did grow,  
To fill the world with terror, and with woe:  
My tired brain, leaves to a better pen,  
This task befits not women, like to men:  
For what is past I blush, excuse to make,  
But humbly stand, some grave reproof to take:  
Pardon to crave, for errors, is but vain,  
The Subject was too high, beyond my strain;  
To frame Apology for some offence,  
Converts our boldness, into impudence.  
This my presumption (some now) to requite,  
Ne suitor ultra crepidum, may write.   

AFter some days of rest, my restless heart,  
To finish what begun, new thoughts impart  
And maugre all resolves, my fancy Wrought  
This fourth to th' other three, now might be brought.  
Shortness of time, and inability,  
Will force me to a confused brevity;  
Yet in this Chaos, one shall easily spy,  
The vast limbs of a mighty Monarchy.  
What e'er is found amiss, take in best part,  
As faults preceding from my head, not heart.    

The Roman Monarchy, being the Fourth, and last, beginning, Anno Mundi, 3213.  

STout Romulus, Rome's Founder, and first King,  
Whom vestal Rhea, into th' world did bring  
His Father was not Mars, as some devised,  
But Aemulus, in Armour all disguised.  
Thus he deceived his Niece, she might not know  
The double injury, he then did do:  
Where Shepherds once had Coats, and Sheep their Folds,  
Where Swains, and rustic Peasants made their Holds.  
A City fair did Romulus erect:  
The Mistress of the World, in each respect.  
His Brother Remus there, by him was slain,  
For leaping o'er the Walls with some disdain;  
The Stones at first was cemented with blood,  
And bloody hath it proyed, since first it stood:  
This City built, and Sacrifices done,  
A form of Government he next begun;  
A hundred Senators he likewise chose,  
And with the stile of Patres honoured those;  
His City to replenish, men he wants,  
Great privileges then, to all he grants,  
That will within these strong built walls reside,  
And this new gentle Government abide:  
Of Wives there was so great a scarcity,  
They to their neighbours sue, for a supply;  
But all disdain alliance then to make,  
So Romulus was forced this course to take.  
Great shows he makes at Tilt, and Tournament,  
To see these sports, the Sabins all are bend;  
Their Daughters by the Romans than were caught,  
For to recover them, a Field was fought;  
But in the en●, to final peace they come,  
And Sabins, as one people, dwelled in Rome.  
The Romans now more potent begin to grow,  
And Fedinates' they wholly overthrow:  
But Romulus then comes unto his end,  
Some feigning say, to heaven he did ascend;  
Others, the seven and thirtyeth of his reign  
Affirm, that by the Senate he was slain.   

Numa Pompilius.  
NVmt Pompilius, is next chosen King,  
Held for his Piety, some sacred thing;  
To Janus, he that famous Temple built,  
Kept shut in peace, but open when blond was spilt,  
Religious Rites, and Customs instituted,  
And Priests, and Flamines likewise he deputed;  
Their Augurs strange, their habit, and attire,  
And vestal Maids to keep the holy fire.  
Goddess Aegeria this to him told,  
So to delude the people he was bold:  
Forty three veares he ruled with general praise,  
Accounted for some god in after days.   

Tullus Hostilius.  
TUllus Hostilius, was third Roman King,  
Who Martial Discipline in use did bring;  
War with the ancient Alban he doth wage,  
The strife to end, six Brothers do engage;  
Three called Horatij, on Romans side,  
And Curiatij, three Albans provide;  
The Romans Conquereth, others yield the day,  
Yet for their compact, after false they play:  
The Romans sore incensed, their General slay,  
And from old Alba fetch the wealth away;  
Of Latin Kings this was long since the Seat,  
But now demolished, to make Rome great.  
Thirty two years doth Tullus reign, then die,  
Leaves Rome, in wealth and power, still growing high.   

Ancus Martius.  
NExt, Ancus Martius sits upon the Throne,  
Nephew unto Pomphilius dead, and gone;  
Rome he enlarged, new built again the wall,  
Much stronger, and more beautiful withal;  
A stately Bridge he over Tiber made,  
Of Boats, and Oars, no more they need the aid;  
Fair Ostia he built, this Town, it stood,  
Close by the mouth of famous Tiber flood:  
Twenty four year, th' time of his royal race,  
Then unto death unwillingly gives place.   

Tarqvinius Priscus.  
TArquin, a Greek, at Corinth borne, and bred,  
Who for sedition from his Country fled;  
Is entertained at Rome, and in short time,  
By wealth, and favour, doth to honour climb;  
He after Martius death the Kingdom had,  
A hundred Senators he more did add;  
Wars with the Latins he again renews,  
And Nations twelve, of Tuscany subdues:  
To such rude triumphs, as young Rome then had,  
Much state, and glory, did this Priscus add:  
Thirty eight years (this Stranger borne) did reign,  
And after all, by Ancus Sons was slain.   

Servius Tullius.  
NExt, Servius Tullius sits upon the Throne,  
Ascends not up, by merits of his own,  
But by the favour, and the special grace  
Of Tanaquil, late Queen, obtains the place;  
He ranks the people, into each degree,  
As wealth had made them of ability;  
A general Muster takes, which by account,  
To eighty thousand souls then did amount:  
Forty four years did Servius Tullius reign,  
And then by Tarquin, Priscus Son, was slain.   

Tarqvinius Superbus, the last Roman King.  
TArquin the proud, from manners called so,  
Sat on the Throne, when he had slain his so;  
Sextus his Son, doth (most unworthily)  
Lucretia force, mirror of chastity;  
She loathed so the fact, she loathed h●r life,  
And shed her guiltless blood, with guilty knife.  
Her Husband sore incensed, to quit this wrong,  
With Junius Brutus rose, and being strong,  
The Tarquins they from Rome with speed expel,  
In banishment perpetual, to dwell;  
The Government they change, a new one bring,  
And people swear, ne'er to accept of King.   
The end of the Roman Monarchy; being the fourth and last.    

A Dialogue between Old England and New, concerning their present troubles. Anno 1642.  

New England.  
ALas, dear Mother, fairest Queen, and best,  
With honour, wealth, and peace, happy and blessed,  
What ails thee hang thy head, and cross thine arms?  
And sit i'th' dust, to sigh these sad alarms?  
What deluge of new woes thus over-whelme  
The glories of thy ever famous Realm?  
What means this wailing tone, this mourning guise?  
Ah, tell thy Daughter, she may sympathize.   

Old England.  
Art ignorant indeed, of these my woes?  
Or must my forced tongue these grief's disclose?  
And must myself dissect my tattered state,  
Which 'mazed Christendom● stands wondering at?  
And thou a child, a Limb, and dost not feel  
My weakened fainting body now to reel?  
This Phisick-purging-potion I have taken,  
Will bring Consumption, or an Ague quaking,  
Unless some Cordial thou fetch from high,  
Which present help may ease this malady.  
If I decease, dost think thou shalt survive?  
Or by my wasting state, dost think to thrive?  
Then weigh our case, if't be not justly sad,  
Let me lament alone, while thou art glad.   

New England.  
And thus, alas, your state you much deplore,  
In general terms, but will not say wherefore:  
What Medicine shall I seek to cure this woe,  
If th' wound's so dangerous I may not know?  
But you perhaps would have me guess it out,  
What, hath some Hengist, like that Saxon stout,  
By fraud, and force, usurped thy flowering crown,  
And by tempestuous Wars thy fields trod down?  
Or hath Canutus, that brave valiant Dane,  
The regal, peaceful Sceptre from thee ta'en?  
Or is't a Norman, whose victorious hand  
With English blood bedews thy conquered Land?  
Or is't intestine Wars that thus offend?  
Do Maud, and Stephen for the Crown contend?  
Do Barons rise, and side against their King?  
And call in Foreign aid, to help the thing?  
Must Edward be deposed, or is't the hour  
That second Richard must be clapped i'th' Tower?  
Or is the fatal jar again begun,  
That from the red, white pricking Roses sprung?  
Must Richmond's aid, the Nobles now implore,  
To come, and break the tusks of the Boar?  
If none of these, dear Mother, what's your woe?  
Pray, do not fear Spain's bragging Armado?  
Doth your Ally, fair France, conspire your wrack?  
Or, doth the Scots play false behind your back?  
Doth Holland quit you ill, for all your love?  
Whence is this storm, from Earth, or Heaven above?  
Is't Drought, is't Famine, or is't Pestilence?  
Dost feel the smart, or fear the consequence?  
Your humble Child entreats you, show your grief,  
Though Arms, nor Purse she hath, for your relief:  
Such is her poverty, yet shall be found  
A suppliant for your help, as she is bound.   

Old England.  
I must confess, some of those Sores you name,  
My beauteous Body at this present maim;  
But foreign Foe, nor feigned friend I fear,  
For they have work enough (thou know'st) elsewhere;  
Nor is it Alcies Son, and Henry's Daughter,  
Whose proud contention cause this slaughter;  
Nor Nobles si●ing, to make John no King  
French Lewis unjustly to the Crown to bring;  
No Edward, Richard, to l●se rule, and life,  
Nor no Lancastrians, to renew old strife;  
No Crook-backt Tyrant, now usurps the Seat,  
Whose tearing tusks did wound, and kill, and threat:  
No Duke of York, nor Earl of March, to soil  
Their hands in Kindred's blood, whom they did foil:  
No need of Teder, Roses to unite,  
None knows which is the Red, or which the White:  
Spain's braving Fleet a second time is sunk,  
France knows, how of my fury she hath drunk;  
By Edward third, and Henry fifth of fame,  
Her Lilies in mine Arms avouch the same.  
My Sister Scotland hurts me now no more,  
Though she hath been injurious heretofore.  
What Holland is, I am in some suspense,  
But trust not much unto his Excellence;  
For wants, sure some I feel, but more I fear,  
And for the Pestilence, who knows how near;  
Famine, and Plague, two sisters of the Sword,  
Destruction to a Land doth soon afford;  
They're for my punishments ordained on high,  
Unless thy tears prevent it speedily.  
But yet, I answer not what you demand,  
To show the grievance of my troubled Land;  
Before I tell the effect, i'll show the cause,  
Which are my Sins, the breach of sacred Laws;  
Idolatry, supplanter of a Nation,  
With foolish superstitious adoration;  
And liked, and countenanced by men of might,  
The Gospel is trod down, and hath no right;  
Church Offices are sold, and bought, for gain,  
That Pope, had hope, to find Rome here again;  
For Oaths, and Blasphemies did ever ear  
From Beelzebub himself, such language hear?  
What scorning of the Saints of the most high,  
What injuries did daily on them lie;  
What false reports, what nicknames did they take,  
Not for their own, but for their Master's sake;  
And thou, poor soul, wast jeered among the rest,  
Thy flying for the Truth I made a jest;  
For Sabbath-breaking, and for Drunkenness,  
Did ever Land profaneness more express?  
From crying bloods, yet cleansed am not I,  
Martyrs, and others, dying causelessly:  
How many Princely heads on blocks laid down,  
For nought, but title to a fading Crown?  
'Mongst all the cruelties which I have done,  
Oh, Edward's Babes, and Clare●ce hapless Son,  
O Jane, why didst thou die in flowering prime,  
Because of Royal Stem, that was thy crime;  
For Bribery, Adultery, for Thefts, and Lies,  
Where is the Nation, I can't paralize;  
With Usury, Extortion, and Oppression,  
These be the Hydra's of my stout transgression;  
These be the bitter fountains, heads, and roots,  
Whence flowed the source, the sprigs, the boughs, and fruits;  
Of more than thou canst hear, or I relate,  
That with high hand I still did perpetrate;  
For these, were threatened the woeful day,  
I mocked the Preachers, put it fare away;  
The Sermons yet upon record do stand,  
That cried, destruction to my wicked Land:  
These Prophet's mouths (al●s the while) was stopped,  
Unworthily, some backs whipped, and ears crept;  
Their reverend checks, did bear the glorious marks  
Of stinking, stigmatising, Romish Clerks;  
Some lost their live, some in prison penned,  
Some grossly fined, from friends to exile went:  
Their silent tongues to heaven did vengeance cry,  
Who heard their cause, and wrongs judged righteously,  
And will repay it sevenfold in my lap,  
This is forerunner of my after clap,  
Not took I warning by my neighbours falls,  
I saw sad Germanie's dismantled walls.  
I saw her people famished, Nobleses slain,  
Her fruitful land, a barren heath remain.  
I saw (unmoved) her Armies foiled and fled,  
Wives forced, babes tossed, her houses calcined,  
I saw strong Rochel yielding to her foe,  
Thousands of starved Christians there also.  
I saw poor Ireland bleeding out her last,  
Such cruelty as all reports have past.  
My heart obdurate, stood not yet aghast.  
Now sip I of that cup, and just it may be,  
The bottom dregs reserved are for me.   

New England.  
To all 've said, sad mother, I assent  
Your fearful sins, great cause there's to lament,  
My guilty hands (in part) hold up with you,  
A sharer in your punishments my due,  
But all you say, amounts to this effect,  
Not what you feel, but what you do expect.  
Pray in plain terms, what is your present grief,  
Then let's join heads, and hands for your relief.   

Old England.  
Well, to the matter then, there's grown of late,  
'Twixt King and Peers a question of state,  
Which is the chief, the law, or else the King,  
One saith it's he, the other no such thing.  
My better part in Court of Parliament,  
To ease my groaning land show their intent,  
To crush the proud, and right to each man deal.  
To help the Church, and stay the Common-Weal,  
So many obstacles comes in their way,  
As puts me to a stand what I should say,  
Old customs, new Prerogatives stood on,  
Had they not held law fast, all had been gone,  
Which by their prudence stood them in such stead,  
They took high Strafford lower by the head,  
And to their Laud be't spoke, they held i'th' Tower,  
All England's Metropolitan that hour,  
This done, an Act they would have passed fain,  
No prelate should his Bishopric retain;  
Here tugged they hard indeed, for all men saw,  
This must be done by Gospel, not by law.  
Next the Militia they urged sore,  
This was denied, I need not say wherefore.  
The King displeased, at York himself absents,  
They humbly beg return, show their intents,  
The writing, printing, posting to and fro,  
Shows all was done, I'll therefore let it go.  
But now I come to speak of my disaster,  
Contention's grown 'twixt Subjects and their Master:  
They worded it so long, they fell to blows,  
That thousands lay on heaps, here bleeds my woes.  
I that no wars, so many years have known,  
Am now destroyed, and slaughtered by mine own,  
But could the field alone this cause decide,  
One battle, two or three I might abide,  
But these may be beginnings of more woe,  
Who knows, the worst, the best may overthrow;  
Religion, Gospel, here lies at the stake,  
Pray now dear child, for sacred Zions' sake,  
Oh pity me, in this sad perturbation,  
My plundered Towns, my houses devastation,  
My ravished virgins, and my young men slain,  
My wealthy trading fallen, my dearth of grain,  
The seed time's come, but Ploughman hath no hope,  
Because he knows not, who shall inn his crop:  
The poor they want their pay, their children bread,  
Their woeful mother's tears unpitied.  
If any pity in thy heart remain,  
Or any childlike love thou dost retain,  
For my relief now use thy utmost skill,  
And recompense me good, for all my ill.   

New England.  
Dear mother cease complaints, and wipe your eyes,  
Shake off your dust, cheer up, and now arise,  
You are my mother, nurse, I once your flesh,  
Your sunken bowels gladly would refresh:  
Your griefs I pity much, but should do wrong,  
To weep for that we both have prayed for long,  
To see these latter days of hoped for good,  
That Right may have its right, though't be with blood;  
After dark Popery the day did clear,  
But now the Sun in's brightness shall appear,  
Blessed be the Nobles of thy Noble Land,  
With (ventured lives) for truth's defence that stand,  
Blessed be thy Commons, who for Common good,  
And thine infringed Laws have boldly stood.  
Blessed be thy Counties which do aid thee still  
With hearts and states, to testify their will.  
Blest be thy Preachers, who do cheer thee on,  
O cry: the sword of God, and Gidem:  
And shall I not on those wish Mero's curse,  
That help thee not with prayers, arms, and purse,  
And for myself, let miseries abound,  
If mindless of thy state I e'er be found.  
These are the days, the Church's foes to crush,  
To root out Prelates, head, tail, branch, and rush.  
Let's bring Baal's vestments out, to make a fire,  
Their Mitres, Surplices, and all their tire,  
Copes, Rochets, Crossiers, and such trash,  
And let their names consume, but let the flash  
Light Christendom, and all the world to see,  
We hate Rome's Whore, with all her trumpery.  
Go on brave Essex, show whose son thou art,  
Not false to King, nor Country in thy heart,  
But those that hurt his people and his Crown,  
By force expel, destroy, and tread them down:  
Let Gaoles be filled with th'remnant of that pack,  
And sturdy Tyburn loaded till it crack,  
And ye brave Nobles, chase away all fear,  
And to this blessed Cause closely adhere  
O mother, can you weep, and have such Peers.  
When they are gone, then drown yourself in tears.  
If now you weep so much, that then no more,  
The briny Ocean will overflow your shore,  
These, these, are they (I trust) with Charles our King,  
Out of all mists, such glorious days will bring,  
That dazzled eyes beholding much shall wonder  
At that thy settled Peace, thy wealth and splendour,  
Thy Church and Weal, established in such manner,  
That all shall joy that thou display'dst thy banner,  
And discipline erected, so I trust,  
That nursing Kings, shall come and lick thy dust:  
Then Justice shall in all thy Courts take place,  
Without respect of persons, or of case,  
Then bribes shall cease, and suits shall not stick long,  
Patience, and purse of Clients for to wrong:  
Then High Commissions shall fall to decay,  
And Pursuivants and Catchpoles want their pay,  
So shall thy happy Nation ever flourish,  
When truth and righteousness they thus shall nourish.  
When thus in Peace: thine Armies brave send out,  
To sack proud Rome, and all her vassals rout:  
There let thy name, thy fame, thy valour shine,  
As did thine Ancestors in Palestine,  
And let her spoils, full pay, with interest be,  
Of what unjustly once she polled from thee,  
Of all the woes thou canst let her be sped,  
Execute tothth' full the vengeance threatened.  
Bring forth the beast that ruled the world with's beck,  
And tear his flesh, and set your feet on's neck,  
And make his filthy den so desolate,  
To th' ' stonishment of all that knew his state.  
This done, with brandished swords, to Turkey go,  
(For then what is't, but English blades dare do)  
And lay her waist, for so's the sacred doom;  
And do to Gog, as thou hast done to Rome.  
Oh Abraham's seed lift up your heads on high.  
For sure the day of your redemption's nigh;  
The scales shall fall from your long blinded eyes,  
And him you shall adore, who now despise,  
Then fullness of the Nations in shall flow,  
And Jew and Gentile, to one worship go,  
Then follows days of happiness and rest,  
Whose lot doth fall to live therein is blest:  
No Canaanite shall then be found i'th' land,  
And holiness, on horses bells shall stand,  
If this make way thereto, then sigh no more,  
But if at all, thou didst not see't before.  
Farewell dear mother, Parliament, prevail,  
And in a while you'll tell another tale.    


An Elegy upon that Honourable and renowned Knight, Sir Philip Sidney, who was untimely slain at the Siege of Zutphon, Anno 1586.  
By A. B. in the year, 1638.  

WHen England did enjoy her Halsion days,  
Her noble Sidney wore the Crown of Bays;  
No less an Honour to our British Land,  
Then she that swayed the Sceptre with her hand:  
Mars and Minerva did in one agree,  
Of Arms, and Arts, thou shouldst a pattern be.  
Calliope with Terpsecher did sing,  
Of Poesy, and of Music thou wert King;  
Thy Rhetoric it struck Polimnia dead,  
Thine Eloquence made Mercury wax red;  
Thy Logic from Euterpe won the Crown,  
More worth was thine, than Clio could set down.  
Thalia, and Melpomene, say th' truth,  
(Witness Arcadia, penned in his youth)  
Are not his Tragic Comedies so acted,  
As if your ninefold wit had been compacted;  
To show the world, they never saw before,  
That this one Volume should exhaust your store.  
I praise thee not for this, it is unfit,  
This was thy shame, O miracle of wit:  
Yet doth thy shame (with all) purchase renown,  
What do thy virtues then? Oh, honour's crown!  
In all records, thy Name I ever see,  
Put with an Epithet of dignity;  
Which shows, thy worth was great, thine honour such,  
The love thy Country ought thee, was as much.  
Let then, none disallow of these my strains,  
Which have the selfsame blood yet in my veins;  
Who honours thee for what was honourable,  
But leaves the rest, as most unprofitable:  
Thy wiser days, condemned thy witty works,  
Who knows the Spells that in thy Rethroick lurks?  
But some infatuate fools soon caught therein,  
Found Cupid's Dam, had never such a Gin;  
Which makes severer eyes but scorn thy Story,  
And mode● Maids, and Wives, blush at thy glory;  
Yet, he's a beetle head, that can't descry  
A world of treasure, in that rubbish lie;  
And doth thyself, thy work, and honour wrong,  
(O brave Refiner of our B●iuish Tongue;)  
That sees not learning, valour, and morality,  
Justice, friendship, and kind hospitality;  
Yea, and Divinity within thy Book,  
Such were prejudicated, and did not look:  
But to say truth, thy worth I shall but stain,  
Thy fame, and praise, is fare beyond my strain;  
Yet great Augustus was content (we know)  
To be saluted by a silly Crow;  
Then let such Crows as I, thy praises sing,  
A Crows a Crow, and Caesar is a King.  
O brave Achilles, I wish some Homer would  
Engrave on Marble, in characters of Gold,  
What famous feats thou didst, on Flanders coast,  
Of which, this day, fair Belgia doth boast.  
O Zutphon, Zutphon, that most fatal City,  
Made famous by thy fall, much more's the pity;  
Ah, in his blooming prime, death plucked this Rose,  
 he was ripe; his thread cut Atropos.  
Thus man is borne to die, and dead is he,  
Brave Hector by the walls of Troy, we see:  
Oh, who was near thee, but did sore repine;  
He rescued not with life, that life of thine,  
But yet impartial Death this Boon did give,  
Though Sidney died, his valiant name should live;  
And live it doth, in spite of death, through fame,  
Thus being overcome, he over-came.  
Where is that envious tongue, but can afford,  
Of this our noble Scipio some good word?  
Noble Bartas, this to thy praise adds more,  
In sad, sweet verse, thou didst his death deplore;  
Illustrious Stella, thou didst thine full well,  
If thine aspect was mild to Astrophil;  
I fear thou wert a Comet, did portend  
Such prince as he, his race should shortly end:  
If such Stars as these, sad presages be,  
I wish no more such Blazers we may see;  
But thou art gone, such Meteors never last,  
And as thy beauty, so thy name would waste,  
But that it is record by Philip's hand,  
That such an omen once was in our land,  
O Princely Philip, rather Alexander,  
Who wert of honour's band, the chief Commander.  
How could that Stella, so confine thy will?  
To wait till she, her influence distil,  
I rather judged thee of his mind that wept,  
To be within the bounds of one world kept,  
But Omphala, set Hercules to spin,  
And Mars himself was ta'en by Venus' gin;  
Then wonder less, if warlike Philip yield,  
When such a Hero shoots him out o'th' field,  
Yet this pre-eminence thou hast above,  
That thine was true, but theirs adulterate love.  
Fain would I show, how thou fame's path didst tread,  
But now into such labyrinths am I led  
With end less turns, the way I find not out,  
For to persist, my muse is more in doubt:  
Calls me ambitious fool, that durst aspire,  
Enough for me to look, and so admire.  
And makes me now with Sylvester confess,  
But Sydney's Muse, can sing his worthiness.  
Too late my error see, that durst presume  
To fix my faltering lines upon his tomb:  
Which are in worth, as far short of his due,  
As Vulcan is, of Venus' native hue.  
Goodwill, did make my headlong pen to run,  
Like unwise Phaeton his ill guided son,  
Till taught to's cost, for his too hasty hand,  
He left that charge by Phoebus to be man'd:  
So proudly foolish I, with Phaeton strive,  
Fame's flaming Chariot for to drive.  
Till terrour-struck for my too weighty charge.  
I leave't in brief, Apollo do't at large.  
Apollo laughed to patch up what's begun,  
He bade me drive, and he would hold the Sun,  
Better my hap, then was his darlings fate,  
For dear regard he had of Sydney's state,  
Who in his Deity, had so deep share,  
That those that name his fame, he needs must spare,  
He Promised much, but th' muses had no will,  
To give to their detractor any quill.  
With high disdain, they said they gave no more,  
Since Sidney had exhausted all their store,  
That this contempt it did the more perplex,  
In being done by one of their own sex;  
They took from me, the scribbling pen I had,  
I to be eased of such a task was glad.  
For to revenge his wrong, themselves engage,  
And drove me from Parnassus in a rage,  
Not because, sweet Sydney's fame was not dear,  
But I had blemished theirs, to make it appear:  
I pensive for my fault, sat down, and then,  
Errata, through their leave threw me my pen,  
For to conclude my poem two lines they deign,  
Which writ, she bade returned to them again.  
So Sydney's fame, I leave to England's Rolls,  
His bones do lie interred in stately Paul's.   


His Epitaph.  
Here lies entombed in fame, under this stone,  
Philip and Alexander both in one.  
Heir to the Muses, the Son of Mars in truth,  
Learning, valour, beauty, all in virtuous youth:  
His praise is much, this shall suffice my pen,  
That Sidney died the quintessence of men.     

In honour of Du Bartas. 1641.  

A. B.  
AMongst the happy wits this Age hath shown,  
Great, dear, sweet Bartas, thou art marchlesse known;  
My ravished eyes, and heart, with faltering tongue,  
In humble wise have vowed their service long;  
But knowing th' task so great, and strength but small,  
Gave o'er the work, before begun withal:  
My dazzled sight of late, reviewed thy lines,  
Where Art, and more than Art in Nature shines;  
Reflection from their beaming altitude,  
Did thaw my frozen hearts ingratitude;  
Which Rays, datting upon some richer ground,  
Had caused flowers, and fruits, soon to abound,  
But barren I, my Day say here do bring,  
A homely flower in this my latter spring:  
If Summer, or my Autumn age, do yield  
●●ewers, sruits, in garden, orchard, or in seld;  
They shall be consecrated in my Verse,  
And prostrate offered at great Bartas Hearse.  
My Muse unto a Child, I fitly may compare,  
Who sees the riches of some famous Fair;  
He feeds his eyes, but understanding lacks,  
To comprehend the worth of all those knacks;  
The glittering Plate, and Jewels, he admires,  
The Hats, and Fans, the Plumes, and Ladies tires,  
And thousand times his mazed mind doth wish  
Some part, at least, of that brave wealth was his;  
But seeing empty wishes nought obtain,  
At night turns to his Mothers cour again,  
And tells her tales; (his full heart over-glad)  
Of all the glorious sights his eyes have had:  
But finds too soon his want of Eloquence,  
The silly Prattler speaks no word of sense;  
And seeing utterance fail his great desires,  
Sits down in filence, deeply he admires:  
Thus weak brained I, reading thy lofty stile,  
Thy profound Learning; viewing other while  
Thy Art, in Natural Philosophy:  
Thy Saintlike mind in grave Divinity,  
Thy piercing skill in high Astronomy,  
And curious insight in Anatomy;  
Thy Physic, Music, and State policy,  
Valour in War, in Peace good Husbandry.  
Sure liberal Nature, did with Art not small,  
In all the Arts make thee most liberal;  
A thousand thousand times my senseless Senses,  
Movelesse, stand charmed by thy sweet influences,  
More senseless than the Stones to Amphion's Lute,  
Mine eyes are sightless, and my tongue is mute;  
My full astonished heart doth pant to break,  
Through grief it wants a faculty to speak,  
Volleys of praises could I echo then,  
Had I an Angel's voice, or Barta's pen,  
But wishes can't accomplish my the sire,  
Pardon, if I adore, when I admire.  
O France, in him thou didst more glory gain,  
Then in thy Pippin, M●rtell, Charlemagne.  
Then in Saint Lewis, or thy last Henry great,  
Who tamed his foes, in blood, in scars and sweat,  
Thy fame is spread as fare, I dare be bold,  
In all the Zones, the temperate, hot and cold,  
Their trophies were but heaps of wounded slain,  
Thine the quintessence of an Heroic brain.  
The Oaken garland ought to deck their brows,  
Immortal bays, all men to thee allows.  
Who in thy triumphs (never won by wrongs)  
Lead'st millions chained by eyes, by ears, by tongues,  
Oft have I wondered at the hand of heaven,  
In giving one, what would have served seven.  
If e'er this golden gift was show●'d on anv,  
Thy double portion would have served many.  
Unto each man his riches are assigned,  
Of names, of state, of body, or of mind,  
Thou hast thy part of all, but of the last,  
Oh pregnant brain, Oh comprehension vast:  
Thy haughty stile, and rapted wit sublime,  
All ages wondering at, shall never climb.  
Thy sacred works are not for imitation,  
But monuments for future admiration:  
Thus Bartas fame shall last while stars do stand,  
And whilst there's air, or fire, or sea or land.  
But lest my ignorance should do thee wrong,  
To celebrate thy merits in my Song,  
I'll leave thy praise, to those shall do thee right,  
Good will, not skill, did cause me bring my mite.   


His Epitaph.  
HEre lies the pearl of France, Parnassus glory,  
The world rejoiced at's birth, at's death was sorry;  
Art and Nature joined, by heavens high decree,  
Now showed what once they ought, Humanity,  
And Nature's Law; had it been revocable,  
To rescue him from death, Art had been able:  
But Nature vanquished Art, so Bartas died,  
But Fame, out-living both, he is revived.     

In honour of that High and Mighty Princess, Queen ELIZABETH, of most happy memory.  

The Proem.  
ALthough great Queen, thou now in silence lie,  
Yet thy loud Herald Fame, doth to the sky  
Thy wondrous worth proclaim, in every clime,  
And so has vowed, whilst there is world, or time;  
So great's thy glory, and thine excellence,  
The sound thereof raps every humane sense;  
That men account it no impiety,  
To say, thou wert a fleshly Deity:  
Thousands bring offerings, (though out of date)  
Thy world of honours to accumulate,  
Mongst hundred Hecatombs of roaring Verse,  
‛ Mine bleating stands before thy royal Hearse:  
Thou never didst, nor canst thou now disdain,  
T' accept the tribute of a loyal Brain;  
Thy clemency did yerst esteem as much  
The acclamations of the poor, as rich;  
Which makes me deem, my rudeness is no wrong,  
Though I resound thy greatness 'mongst the throng.   

The Poem.  
NO Phoenix Pen, nor Spencer's Poetry,  
No Speeds, nor Chamdens' learned History;  
Eliza's works, wars, praise, can e'er compact,  
The World's the Theatre where she did act;  
No memories, nor volumes can contain,  
The nine Olimp'ades of her happy reign;  
Who was so good, so just, so learned, so wise,  
From all the Kings on earth she won the prize;  
Nor say I more then duly is her due,  
Millions will testify that th●s is true;  
She hath wiped off th' aspersion of her Sex,  
That women wisdom lack to play the R●x;  
Spain's Monarch sa's not so; nor yet his H●●st,  
She taught them better manners to their cost.  
The Salic Law had not in force now been,  
If France had ever hoped for such a Queen;  
But can you Doctors now this point dispute,  
She's argument enough to make you mute;  
Since first the Sun did run, his ne'er ●unn'd race,  
And earth had twice a year, a new old face:  
Sin●e time was time, and man unmanly man,  
Come show me such a Phoenix if you can;  
Was ever people better ruled than hers?  
Was ever Land more happy, freed from stirs?  
Did ever wealth in England so abound?  
Her Victories in foreign Coasts resound?  
Ships more invincible than Spain's, her foe  
She racked, she sacked, she sunk his Armadoe;  
Her stately Troops advanced to Lisbons' wall,  
Don Anthony in's right for to install;  
She frankly helped Franks (brave) distressed King,  
The States united now her fame do sing;  
She their Protectrix was, they well do know,  
Unto our dread Virago, what they own:  
Her Nobles sacrisiced their noble blood,  
Nor men, nor coin she spa●'d, to do them good;  
The rude untamed Irish she did quell,  
And Tiron bound, before her picture fell.  
Had ever Prince such Counsellors as she?  
Herself Minerva, caused them so to be;  
Such Soldiers, and such Captains never seen,  
As were the subjects of our (Pallas) Queen:  
Her Seamen through all straits the world did round,  
Terra incognitae might know her sound;  
Her Drake came laded home with Spanish gold,  
Her Essex took Cades, their Herculean hold:  
But time would fail me, so my wit would to,  
To tell of half she did, or she could do;  
Semiramis to her is but obscure,  
More infamy than fame she did procure;  
She placed her glory but on Babel's walls,  
Worlds wonder for a time, but yet it falls;  
Fierce Tomris (Cirus Headsman, Sythians Queen)  
Had put her Harness off, had she but seen  
Our Amazon ● ' th' Camp at Tilberry:  
(Judging all valour, and all Majesty)  
Within that Princess to have residence,  
And prostrate yielded to her Excellence:  
Dido first Foundress of proud Carthage walls,  
(Who living consummates her Funerals)  
A great Eliza, but compared with ours,  
How vanisheth her glory, wealth, and powers;  
Proud profuse Cleopalra, whose wrong name,  
Instead of glory proved her Country's shame:  
Of her what worth in Story's to be seen,  
But that she was a rich Egyptian Queen;  
Zenobia, potent Empress of the East,  
And of all these without compare the best;  
(Whom none but great Au●clius could quell)  
Yet for our Queen is not sit parallel:  
She was a Phoenix Queen, so shall she be,  
Her ashes not revived more Phoenix she;  
Her personal perfections, who would tell,  
Must dip his Pen i'th' Heliconian Well;  
Which I may not, my pride doth but aspire,  
To read what others writ, and then admire.  
Now say, have women worth, or have they none?  
Or had they some, but with our Queen is't gone?  
Nay Masculines, you have thus taxed us long,  
But she though dead, will vindicate our wrong.  
Let such, as say our sex is void of reason,  
Know 'tis a slander now, but once was treason.  
But happy England, which had such a Queen,  
O happy, happy, had those days still been,  
But happiness, lies in a higher sphere,  
Then wonder not, Eliza moves not here.  
Full fraught with honour, riches, and with days:  
She set, she set, like Titan in his rays,  
No more shall rise or set such glorious Sun,  
Until the heavens great revolution:  
If then new things, their old form must retain,  
Eliza shall rule Albion once again.   


Her Epitaph.  
Here sleeps THE Queen, this is the reyall bed  
O'th' Damask Rose, sprung from the white and red,  
Whose sweet perfume fills the all-filling air,  
This Rose is withered, once so lovely fair,  
On neither tree did grow such Rose before,  
The greater was our gain, our loss the more.   

Another.  
Here lies the pride of Queens, pattern of Kings,  
So blaze it fame, here's feathers for thy wings,  
Here lies the envied, yet unparralelled Prince,  
Whose living virtues speak (though dead long since)  
If many worlds, as that fantastic framed,  
In every one, be her great glory famed.     

David's Lamentation for Saul, and Jonathan, 2 Sam. 1.19.  

ALas, slain is the head of Israel,  
Illustrious Saul, whose beauty did excel  
Upon thy places, mountan'ous and high,  
How did the mighty fall, and falling die?  
In Gath, let not this thing be spoken on,  
Nor published in streets of Askelon,  
Lest Daughters of the Philistines rejoice,  
Lest the uncircumcised lift up their voice:  
O! Gilbo Mounts, let never pearled dew,  
Nor fruitful showers your barren tops bestrew,  
Nor fields of offerings e'er on you grow,  
Nor any pleasant thing e'er may you show;  
For the mighty ones did soon decay,  
The Shield of Saul was vilely cast away;  
There had his dignity so fore a foil,  
As if his head ne'er felt the sacred Oil:  
Sometimes from crimson blood of ghastly slain,  
The bow of Jonathan ne'er turned in vain,  
Nor from the far, and spoils, of mighty men,  
Did Saul with bloodless Sword turn back again:  
Pleasant and lovely were they both in life,  
And in their deaths was found no parting strife;  
Swifter than swiftest Eagles, so were they,  
Stronger than Lions, ramping for their prey.  
O Israel's Dames, o'erflow your beauteous eyes,  
For valiant Saul, who on Mount Gilbo lies;  
Who clothed you in cloth of richest dye,  
And choice delights, full of variety.  
On your array put ornaments of gold,  
Which made you yet more beauteous to behold.  
O! how in battle did the mighty fall,  
In midst of strength not succoured at all:  
O! lovely jonathan, how wert thou slain,  
In places high, full low thou dost remain;  
Distressed I am, for thee, dear jonathan,  
Thy love was wonderful, passing a man;  
Exceeding all the Love that's Feminine,  
So pleasant hast thou been, dear brother mine:  
How are the mighty fall'n into decay,  
And warlike weapons perished away.     


Of the vanity of all worldly creatures.  
AS he said vanity, so vain say I,  
O vanity, O vain all under sky,  
Where is the man can say, lo, I have found  
On brittle earth, a consolation sound?  
What is it in honour, to be set on high?  
No, they like beasts, and sons of men shall die,  
And whilst they live, how oft doth turn their State?  
He's now a slave, that was a Prince of late.  
What is't in wealth, great treasures for to gain?  
No, that's but labour anxious, care and pain.  
He heaps up riches, and he heaps up sorrow,  
It's his to day, but who 's his heir to morrow?  
What then? content in pleasures canst thou find?  
More vain than all, that's but to grasp the wind.  
The sensual senses for a time they please,  
Mean while the conscience rage, who shall appease?  
What is't in beauty? no, that's but a snare,  
They're foul enough to day, that once was fair,  
What, Is't in flowering youth, or manly age?  
The first is prone to vice, the last to rage's.  
Where is it then? in wisdom, learning, arts?  
Sure if on earth, it must be in those parts;  
Yet these, the wisest man of men did find,  
But vanity, vexation of the mind,  
And he that knows the most doth still bemoan,  
He knows not all, that here is to be known,  
What is it then? to do as Stoics tell,  
Nor laugh, nor weep, let things go ill or well▪  
Such stoics are but stocks, such teaching vain:  
While man is man, he shall have ease or pain.  
If not in honour, beauty, age, nor treasure,  
Nor yet in learning, wisdom, youth nor pleasure?  
Where shall I climb, sound, seek, search or find,  
That summum Bonum which may stay my mind?  
There is a path, no vultures eye hath seen.  
Where lions fierce, nor lions whelps hath been,  
Which leads unto that living Crystal fount,  
Who drinks thereof, the world doth naught account.  
The depth, and sea, hath said its not in me,  
With pearl and gold it shall not valued be:  
For Sapphire, Onyx, Topas, who will change,  
It's hid from eyes of men, they count it strange,  
Death and destruction, the fame hath heard,  
But where, and what it is, from heaven's declared,  
It brings to honour, which shall not decay,  
It steers with wealth, which time can't wear away.  
It yields pleasures, fair beyond conceit,  
And truly beautifies without deceit.  
Nor strength nor wisdom, nor fresh youth shall fade,  
Nor death shall see, but are immortal made,  
This pearl of price, this tree of life, this spring,  
Who is possessed of, shall reign a King.  
Nor change of state, nor cares shall ever see,  
But wear his Crown unto eternity,  
This satiat●s the soul, this stays the mind,  
The rest's but vanity, and vain we find.   
FINIS.