Poems. By Robert Gomersall

Poems. By Robert Gomersall

Table of contents

[1]

Title page

The Booke-seller, to the READER.

An Elegy upon the death of Mris. ANNE KING.

In obitum Serenissimi Regis Jacobi.

To the Deane, from Flower in Northamptonshire 1625. now the worthy Bishop of Norwich.

To Mr. Holiday Archdeacon of Oxon: from Flower 1625.

Vpon the death of his worthy friend Mr. Iohn Deane of New-Colledge.

To his Detractors.

A Song for the Musicke lecture.

An Elegie upon the Noble Merchant Mr. FISHBORNE.

Vpon a vertuous Magistrate.

[2]

THE EXPLANATION of the Frontispice.

§

Title page

TO HIS MOST VVORTHIE FRIEND Mr. FRANCIS HIDE PROCTOR OF OXFORD.

The Argument.

The names of the Actors.

The Prologue.

Actus primi

Scena prima.

Scena secunda.

Scena tertia

Scena quarta.

Scena quinta.

Actus secundi

Scena prima.

Scena secunda.

Scena tertia.

Scena quarta.

Scena quinta.

Scena quinta.

Scena sexta.

Actus tertii

Scena prima.

Scena secunda.

Scena tertia.

Scena quarta.

Scena quinta.

Actus quarti

Scena prima.

Scena secunda.

Scena tertia.

Scena quarta.

Scena quinta.

Actus Quinti

Scena prima.

Scena secunda.

Scena tertia.

Scena quarta.

Scena ultima.

The Epilogue.

To the Ambitious.

[3]

The explanation of the Frontispice.

§

Title page

TO HIS VVORTHILY RESPECTED FRIFND, MASTER BARTEN HOLIDAY ARCH-DEACON OF OXFORD.

TO THE READER.

To my learned and highly esteemed Friend, Mr. ROBERT GOMERSALL.

§

§

THE LEVITES REVENGE. Canto. I.

Canto. II.

Canto. III.

A Thanksgiving for a recovery from a burning Feaver.

In illos qui Crastinum faeliciorem putant, Hendecasyllabon.

Upon our vaine flattery of our selves that the succeeding times will be better then the former.

TO the READER.

AN ELEGY VPON the untimely, yet Heroicall death of Gustavus Adophus the Victorious King of Sweden, &c.

§

§

§

§

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POEMS BY Robert Gomersall.

LONDON. Printed by M. F. for Iohn Marriot. M DCXXXIII.

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The Booke-seller, to the READER.

TO praise the worke, were to set my selfe to sale, since the greater its worth is, the more is my benefit, & not the Authors: He good man may have an Ayery, but I a reall profit. An Ayery one, I terme it, for I judge others by my selfe, who cannot feed by praises. But thus much I must needs say of it, that if ever it were worthy the reading, now the worth of it is multiplied, the whole being perused by the Author, and some, not deformed peices added, which as they mend the bulke, so they take nothing from the Dignity of the Poem. But for this I put my selfe upon my Countrey. Thus farre the Authour thought it not unfit, to please thee and his youth: from hence forward, you must expect [Page] nothing from him, but what shall relish of a bearded and austere Devotion. And this, I trust will be no small incitement to thy approbatiō of the worke since it is the last: All men we know, delight in Benjamin. One thing I must not forget to acquaint thee with; Some men, (that would be wise without booke,) have excepted against a passage in Sforza, concerning Galeazzoes revealing his wives counsells to his enemy, as a thing beyond Probability, or Poetry: but it shewes that they are short of History, for let them read almost the first leafe of Guicciardin, or the eighth book of Comminés, they shall there find what they carpe at here, and that this fond opennesse, was Galeazzo's, and not the Authors weaknesse: I would say somewhat of the Levite too, but it needs not, seeing the Authours blasphemy is turned into the Calumny of the ignorant Detractor. But I beginne to talke rather like a Maker, then a seller of Bookes: I have nothing now more to adde, but this, love the Authour, and me for bringing you acquainted.

Thine Iohn Marriot.

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An Elegy upon the death of Mris. ANNE KING.

I Dare not say that Death in heav'n hath powre,

Or that we have a second fatall howre:

'Tis impious to beleeve that soules doe range,

Or that they can affect that foolish change

Of happinesse, for Earth, (as if they thought

Gadding to be felicity, or sought,

A moderation of their joyes) that heav'n,

The roomes being empty which she first had giv'n,

Strives to make good afresh, that this should be

The cause, deare Ghost, why we are robb'd, of thee.

Yet pardon Heav'n, if I am bold to dare

A question: you doe know how few they are

That sucke your Ayre and goodnesse, how the earth

Lookes like the errour of a monstrous birth,

With scarce one perfect member, and will you

Robbe us of our one peice, and make the few

No number? Pardon then if for this wrong

We leave your precepts, to live ill, and long.

Be we once good, we shall not be at all;

Vertue does onely hast a funerall.

If that a mortall may but give advice,

Teach not the world sinne by your Avarice;

Spare us a while that little which we have,

Let [...] finde somewhat besides a Grave;

[Page]You first command us to be good, and then

You take away the goodnesse with the men,

Will not the bad say, Iustice here is scant,

To take our store, and punish us for want?

But you are just, and wise, nor will acquaint

Man with your reasons: Why an Embryon Saint

Suddenly droppes into the Earth, which he,

Had he liv'd long, would but have liv'd to see,

And not affect, does pose all earth, and so

Now we may weepe, because we cannot know:

Now I but weep, that we have lost the wife

That Overbury would have fain'd, my strife

About your Iustice I disclaime; for I

Know it is just that what was borne must dye.

Yet without touch at your prerogative,

I may summe up my losse, and dare to grieve

With a full sorrow, I may say there dy'd

One that was Heav'ns, as well as Henries bride;

One that was match'd unto the Church, that she

Might learne a Marriage with the Deity.

Sure there were Velvet-cloakes that woo'd, & those

That could weare Scarlet for a need, and close

Which Ladyes out of play bookes, that could earne

A Mistris with a congy, and could learne

How many sighes must carry her, which she

By her wise choyce, left them to multiply.

And would they onely griev'd, would I could raise

Their teares a fresh, by adding to her dayes

More yeares with Henry, that their envy might

Cause them to burst, and dye for her in spight,

Such funeralls were fit: but since that Heav'n

Has harshly snatch'd what it had kindly giv'n;

And thou must be the Sacrifice, and he

Must have thy sorrow that erewhile had thee,

[Page]Ile spare my teares which must of force cause his:

'Tis rudenesse when we cannot restore blisse

To adde more to unhappinesse (then thou

Sometime the happy choice of her, and now

The sad survivor) pardon if my strife

To grieve enough, give thee a griefe, not wife.

If that my sighes could her to life repreeve,

I would create aswell as now I grieve,

In obitum Serenissimi Regis Jacobi.

SVperbe tene as consciam vermis gulam;

Agnosce tandem regias satur dapes,

Quae cultui sacrantur, & non esui:

Iacobus hic est, abstine, Iacobus est,

Qui cum relictas senserit partus moras

Vagivit infans Caesar, ut faceret fidem,

Quod non Mariae natus, at Monarchiae,

Foret estimandus, crederes genitum Deum

Simulàc Monarcham, quisque certe liberum

Putare mortis potuit humanae jugo

Aeque acremota vulgo erat nativitas.

At hic fidelis vermibus, praestat dapes

Non vendicatas, obstupent tali cibo

Fati helluones, parciusque urgent famem:

Ipso cibantur tutiùs miraculo,

Eheu verendum sentio maestus caput

I am jam minatum: siste, quisquis impium

Audere morsum fortis, agnoscas caput

Quo velsepulchri doctiùs moles tumet

Minusque hebescit terra. Iacobum tegens

[Page]Sapit ille pulvis, qui suo gaudens hero

Tumulum negat sibi & asserit palatium,

Semesa facies regis, & lacerae genae

(Discriminandae jam fere vix vermibus

Antiquiori à pabulo) quod non suo

Horrori adaptant corpus? ut tandem miser

Sit quod queratur: qui do let leviùs, stupe [...]

Mala non fatetur ni suis addat malis

Et causa fiat luctus, & lugens simul.

Aliud.

Vnde nova haec macies? quae quadragesima vera est

Cum carnibus Regem negans?

Num superi efficerent magis ut jeiunia constent?

Luctumque paenitentiam?

To the Deane, from Flower in Northamptonshire 1625. now the worthy Bishop of Norwich.

STill to be silent, or to write in Prose

Were a like sloath, such as I leave to those,

Who either want the grace of wit, or have

Vntoward arguments: like him that gave

Life to the flea, or who without a guest

Would prove that famine was the onely feast:

Selfe tyrants, who their braines doubly torment

Both for their matter, and their ornament.

If these doe stutter sometimes, and confesse

That they are tyr'd, wee could expect no lesse.

But when my matter is prepar'd and fit,

When nothing's wanting but an equall wit,

I need no Muses help to ayde me on,

Since that my subject is my Helicon,

And such are you: ô give me leave, deare Sir

(He that is thankfull, is no flatterer)

[Page]To speake full truth: where ever I finde worth

I shew I have it, if I set it forth:

You reade your selfe in these, here you may see

A ruder draught of Corbets infancy,

For I professe if ever I had thought

Needed not blush if publish'd, were there ought

Which was call'd mine, durst beare a Criticks view,

I was the instrument, but the Author you.

I need not tell you of our health, which here

Must be presum'd, nor yet shall our good cheare

Swell up my paper, as it hath done me,

Or as the May'rs feast does Stowes History,

Without an early bell to make us rise,

Health calls us up, and Novelty; our eyes

Have divers objects still on the same ground,

As if the earth had each night walk'd her round

To bring her best things hither: tis a place

Not more the Pride of Shires then the Disgrace.

Which Ide not leave had I my Deane to boot,

For the large offers of the cloven-foot

Vnto our Saviour, but you being not here,

Tis to me though a rare one but a Shire,

A place of good earth, if compar'd with worse,

Which hath a lesser part in Adams curse.

Or for to draw a simily from the Hig'st

Tis like unto Salvation without Christ,

A fairely situate Prison: When againe,

Shall I injoy that frendship, and that braine:

When shall I once more heare in a few words

What all the learning of past-times affords,

Austin epitomiz'd, and him that can

To make him cleare contract Tertullian,

But I detaine you from them: Sir adjeu

You reade their workes, but let me study you.

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To Mr. Holiday Archdeacon of Oxon: from Flower 1625.

NOw that you dare receive a messenger,

Now that the tyr'd-out plague begins to weare

It selfe away, not people: when the street

Begins a new acquaintance with the feet

Of lowd coach-horses and the bells high call

Is for Devotion more then Buriall,

Now you dare read, accept what I here send

A poore remembrance of an healthy friend.

Trust me (deare Sir) I linger, and the day

Though by the method of the yeare hee may

Truly be said to shorten, and to slight

Former conceits, make Britaines know a night

Long, unto tediousnesse, yet to me

Seemes like Alcides night lengthen'd to three,

Whilst I want you: Yet doe not misconceive

The earnest of your friend, as if to leave

My former company I were so faine;

I would have them, and you: if I complaine

Hotly of times delay, expound that fire

Not to have flames of anger, but desire.

To see the poverty of man! he still

Receives but curtall'd happinesse, his skill

Makes him not capable of a full store,

But if he have some, he must want the more.

How could I prize myselfe lesse then a marke

For an high envy, when (as in the arke

Onely poore eight were rescu'd from the waves,

And that which drowns the world, their vessel saves,

The depth of the devourer) not uneven

In Fortune, though in Number, not past seven,

[Page]Our preservation lasts unto this hower

From the fierce plague in the dry arke of Flower?

When that I had the daily happinesse

Of conversation with my Deane, when lesse

Then Heaven I could not thinke on, when I saw

A face, that might heav'n to affection draw,

When I injoy'd beauty, and wit, to trye

Which could be more delighted eare, or eye;

Yet I was not delighted, not that ought

Was wanting, which Ide covet to be bought;

Nor what was bought was envi'd me; tis true,

Yet I had a neer want, the want of you.

But had I wanted them had I liv'd still

With my deare Holiday; had there to my will

Beene an agreeing lucke, I can conceive

Happly I might have wish'd those, whom I leave.

Nor is this accusation: fancy not

That I am changeable: if in the hot

Rage of the dogge, I goe but thinly clad,

And in the winters other rage am glad

To beare a fire too in my cloathes, theres none

Will call this Lightnesse, but Discretion.

Nor is it Fond, which I professe my suite,

To wish the good of which I'm destitute,

He cannot be accus'd like to the weather,

Who'd have by parts, what he must want together.

You are that part now: whom if I injoy,

No thwarting chance shall possibly destroy

My blisse: the other want strikes not my soule,

Ile sweare this halfe does comprehend the whole.

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Vpon the death of his worthy friend Mr. Iohn Deane of New-Colledge.

NAture, will it ever be

That we must complaine of thee?

Shall then all our search ne'r finde

Age at least to worth assign'd?

Must this constant truth be knowne

Vertue dead as soone as Growne?

Happy Deane then, who may'st call

Thirty, Climactericall,

And in spite of Envies sport

Prove thy good life by thy short,

Thus when others that doe dye

Old or in their Infancy,

Must (if our Divines say true)

Be transform'd and shap'd a new,

That at length they may appeare

Much about our Saviours yeare

(For in Heav'n there never shall

Enter either Old or Small

Since that these can ne'r agree

Weakenesse and Aeternity,)

Thou, deare shadow, needst not have

Any wonder in the grave,

Done for thee, nor thinke upon

Future augmentation

Reader, he that herein lies

Dy'd as old as he shall rise.

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To his Detractors.

DEane, (then which no other name

Is of better, of more Fame)

Sleepe in quiet: if there be

Tongues of that Malignity,

That will dare to wound thy grave

And not suffer thee to have

Slumber here, Ile say no more;

May they when they have plai'd ore

All their scenes of life, but know

The same Rigor, that they shew

That 'tis not generous, nor scarcely safe

To make a Libell, for an Epitaph.

A Song for the Musicke lecture.

STrike againe; ô no, no more

I implore,

Such another touch would be

My destiny.

What bewitching soundes are these

Which so please;

As that we beginne to feare

What we heare:

Sound yet lowder, raise a Tone

Which to owne,

The caelestiall Quire would be

Suitorst' yee,

Sound yet lowder, that if Fate

Make this date

To my yeares, I yet may dye

Speedily,

[Page]And that this Ditty sweetly strong

May be my Death and Fun'rall song.

An Elegie upon the Noble Merchant Mr. FISHBORNE.

DOe they walke London still, and can we meet

With any now but mourners in the street?

Such a stupidity exceeds beleefe,

To have so great a cause, so small a griefe:

The kinder Marble weepes against a shower,

And can these more then Marble-hearts not poure

One teare for Fishborne? shall that VVorthy lie,

Like vulgar trophees of mortality,

Vnwept, and unremembred? or at best

Have common showers, such as become the rest,

Vassalls of death? who never thinking why

They were plac'd her, doe onely live, and die,

Who by no worthy act ayding their Name,

Perish at once in person and in Fame.

Where are our Cataracts? where is the eye

That strives for sorrowfull praecedency?

That Poet now shall be accounted chiefe

Whose wit is not the highest, but whose griefe:

And he is most officious to this hearse,

Who flowes more in his eye, then in his verse.

Fishborne is dead, alas that Fishborne can

Onely in goodnesse be above a man

And not in lasting! that such men should have

For all their worth, but a more noted grave,

A sigh in earnest! Piety we see

Will not afford us an Aeternity,

And hence we may collect the reason why

So few are studious of Piety,

[Page]So few are like to him: whom shall we see

His holy rivall in Virginity?

Whom shall we finde, that in an active life

Like his, injoy'd the meanes, without the wife?

Nay I may aske how few there are that shunne

Like him, the sinne in the occasion?

How few there are that looser thoughts defie!

And onely in good deeds doe multiply.

Him no deformity, no want of Fire,

Of lively blood did tame in the desire

Forc't to cold goodnesse, but his minde, as free

From the tyrannicall necessity,

As from the vice; he therefore liv'd not well

Because he did not know the way to Hell,

Chast out of weaknesse, no, he might have beene

A strong delinquent, powerfull in sinne,

He might have made, had he but heard his sense,

His lust as famous as his continence,

As was his friendship: which none can expresse

So full, but that the prayse will be the lesse.

How like unto a fable we esteeme,

What heretofore did most Heroicke seeme,

The Graecian frendships, when that we doe crowne

Our happy thoughts with Fishborne and his Browne?

His belov'd Browne, with whom he joyn'd in all

Which Avarice would it's particular call,

Cares, pleasures, hopes, and feares, nay they goe on

Heavenly in a combin'd devotion,

That they appeare, when ever we would scanne

Which were the kinder or the better man,

Aequall in all, their charity the same,

Their continency too, all but the Name,

So ready unto good, to bad so loth,

They one another, love, but Heav'n loves both.

[Page]O what an heate! what constancy was there!

How did their love teach them how to persevere

In holy duties! as if they had ment

By such an exquisite astonishment

To shew there was no difference in effect

Betweene the Friendly man and the Elect;

How were they ne're asunder but to meet!

How all their parting was to make more sweet

Their next embraces! nothing had the power,

Deare Shade, to make thee feare thy latest how'r

But a divorce from him, from his lov'd sight,

That thou shouldst thy Browne too with the light.

Add yet it was a kinde of friendship too

That thou so rare a courtesie wouldst doe,

To lead the way to death, in which alone

Thou couldst not wish him thy companion.

But is he dead? and does that harsher bell

Toll with such horrour noble Fishbornes knell,

Sure here's no funerall, or if there be,

It is a Funerall of Poverty.

Where are the preparations, the rich dresse

Of Death, the gawdy tyre of Rottennesse?

Where are the Hearlds? those great gods of earth,

Who can bestow on man a second birth?

And make him stand upon his honour now,

Who yesterday did leane upon the Plow?

Those grand Logicians, who exactly just

Can shew the punctuall difference of each dust,

And satisfie the most ambitious Dame

Discreetly, from what noble worme she came?

No, none of these does he vouchsafe to hire,

Who onely make a well-clad Gull admire

At his full vanity, which fill our minde

With pride, I feare, farre higher then our kinde,

[Page]Then our progenitors ere knew: but he

Chooseth the Heralds of that Majesty,

Who swaies the world, those men who heav'nly wise

Instruct us to below in our owne eyes;

Who shew us that the way to the most High

Is by dejection and humility,

Which blazon to us our Originall,

The lowly earth, and then our baser fall

Beneath that lownesse, unto these he payes

A tribute after he hath spent his dayes:

When natures due was pai'd, his wealth is theirs,

Whose life did call thē fathers, whose death, heyres,

By his wise zeale the Churches the Priests are,

And they have now the meanes, who had the care▪

Nor doe they longer finde, to breed despaires,

The tythe another's, when the Pulpit's theirs.

I have no Art of wonder, nor no skill

To make an action greater by my quill,

Yet thus much truly can say without the ayde

Of figure, Twas an act fit for a maid,

For him, who leads us in the way he trod,

Bringing himselfe, then others unto God;

That if the world have such another birth,

Our Saviour comming, may finde faith on earth▪

It would be injury after this to call

Him the true Surgion of the Hospitall,

Which he hath so releiv'd, that there are found

Some, who are sorry that they want a wound,

That they have no defect in any limme,

Which they should venture to be cur'd by him.

Thus when the greater sort after much care,

Much watchfulnesse, much cos'nage too, who dare,

[Page]So they may raise their states, ransacke the Seas

And after all their toyle cannot appease,

Their endlesse thirst of gaine, although they mine

So deepe in earth, Hell hath some hope to shine,

And all this onely but to change a sinne,

That what in covetousnesse did beginne

Might end in riot, that to mocke their paines

Their spending might be worse then were their gaines:

Thou gatherst with much conscience, and then

With greater goodnesse do'st disperse agen,

That this praise to thy memory may be giv'n

Here lies the merchant which hath purchas'd heav'n.

Vpon a vertuous Magistrate.

SLeepe lov'd soule, and let those eyes

Which to rest were enemies

Be atton'd at last, and lye

Quiet to Aeternity,

Lie they quiet, but let ours

Earnestly distill salt showers,

And though they doe see the lesse

Make a mourning businesse:

'Twere an act too neere to hate

Him in rest to imitate?

Howle ye Poore, now he is gone

Who shall stop oppression?

Who shall make the wary Law

Speake uprightly, and not draw

[Page]Specious colours, to indeare

What were foule if it were cleare?

Now ther's none your cause indures,

Not because 'tis naught, but yours,

Who will make the rich to see

That unto an injury

They are poore themselves? and find

All their sinnes within their mind.

For his wisedome did provide

That they should hurt none beside.

But now all the world may doe

What they are addicted to:

Lye, dissemble, cogge, and cheate,

Make the easie poore their meate,

And when they have raged thus

Still be counted vertuous,

Have the name, which he deserv'd

And be prais'd though they have swerv'd.

This in publike. But his life

Did maintaine a glorious strife

VVhich should be commended most,

VVhether we might trulier boast

Close, or open acts: If we

Looke on that, which we can see

That is thought the best, but then

VVhat we heare excells agen;

So that which to trust we feare,

If our eye, or else our eare,

And there is no meane debate

Twixt the Man, and Magistrate.

But I interrupt the rest,

Thou, who now amongst the blest

[Page]Lookst on thy Creators face,

Countst our praise a kind disgrace;

And dost feare those acts were bad,

VVhich no better praisers had.

Sleepe then still, and let those eyes,

VVhich to rest were enemies,

Be atton'd at last, and lye

Seal'd up to Aeternity.

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THE EXPLANATION of the Frontispice.

IT was when Industry did sleepe

The Wolfe was Tutor to the Sheepe,

And to amaze a plainer man,

The thiefe was made the guardian.

But can a Wolfe forget to prey?

Can Night be lightened into Day?

Without respect of lawes or blood,

His charge he makes to be his food.

With that triumphant he sits downe,

Opprest, not honour'd with a Crowne,

And on the lesser beasts does try

A most Authenticke Tyranny:

This the French Lyon heares, and when

He's thought fast sleeping in his denne,

Vengeance and He at once doe wake,

And on the Wolfe their fury flake.

Bad acts may bloome somtimes, but n'er grow high,

Nor doe they live so sure, as they shall dye.

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SFORZA by Rob: Gomersall.

London Printed for Iohn Marriott. Tho: Cecill. sculp.

§

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THE TRAGEDIE OF LODOVICK SFORZA DVKE OF MILLAN.

By Robert Gomersall.

The second Edition.

Printed at LONDON in the yeare M DCXXXIII.

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TO HIS MOST VVORTHIE FRIEND Mr. FRANCIS HIDE PROCTOR OF OXFORD.

HAving resolved what to print, I could not belong doubtfull unto whom: it had been an unfriendly absurdity not to have intit'led him to my second, who might not unjustly have challenged the patronage of my first Labour. But if untill this time I had had no reason for such a dedication, if the same most fruitfull Colledge had not for these many yeares knowne us of the same time and friendship, if in all offices of life I had not still found you most inseparably one with me: yet this Worke at this time could not offer it selfe to any so justly as to you. It is to your name that I owe what ever fruits of my spent time shall be preserved, it is to your name that I owe what ever fruits of my former time, being unhappily lost, may have a possibilitie of recovery. And could I dedicate any of my remaining Labours with more justice unto any, then to him, by whose friendly care, I dare almost assure [Page] my selfe of them which are remaining? But some perhaps may say for this, that it had beene better if it had beene lost, or at least that these kinde of Labours are more judiciously supprest then published. Sermons had beene fitter for my setting forth, and to preach more proper then to write. But is not this to preach? I have heard divers speake an houre, who preach not, and there are many, who effectually preach, that are more sparing of their breath. If I make the ambitious see that he climbes but to a fall, the usurper to acknowledge, that blood is but a slippery foundation of power, all men in generall to confesse that the most glorious is not the most safe place: is not this to cry downe Ambition and Vsurpation? or is it lesse to shew, then to threaten? and are not men so much moved with the event it selfe, as with the commination of the event? And yet in this age, wherein onely Heresie or Sedition preferre a Boooke, wherein Contradiction is called Learning, and Zeale wonders that she is become Faction, I can expect but a few Readers, whose small number shall be no discouragement at all to me, if that your judgment shall counterpoise them, which is the onely desired crowne of

Your true friend, R. G.

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The Argument.

LOdovicke Sforza, after he had cunningly supplanted the Duchesse from the wardship of her sonne Galeazzo, as cunningly practizeth to bee the murtherer of him, of whom he would seeme to be the Protector. To this end he was to remove this impediment. Isabella daughter to the Prince of Calabria, and Grand-childe unto Ferdinand King of Naples, was wife to Galeazzo. A woman of a spirit as high as her birth, & equall to Sforza in all things but the sex: she perceiving the stupidity of her husband, & how that whatsoever she projected for his safety, he discovered to his vncle, for his overthrow, makes her father secretly acquainted with all the passages, desiring him to vindicate his sonne in law from the usurpation of his Protector. This could not bee so privately dispatched, but that Sforza had an incling of it, whether out of his owne reach he guessed it: or by his Nephewes sottishnesse he understood it. To prevent then his owne ruine, whilst hee intends his Nephewes, hee ventures on those remedies which the height of feare rather rusheth on, then chuseth, which more expresse and exchange, then remove, or avoyde a danger. He [Page] knew the French claime to Naples, to the prosecution of which hee sollicites the young King; whom either his right, or inconsideratenesse quickly armes unto the action. But before his comming, he by continuall messengers deludes the old King, and makes him beleeve that there was no purpose of his comming, and that the French journey unto Naples, as it was onely the childe of rumor, and had no being but from fame, so in a very short space, in the age of a wonder it would vanish and expire. Thus was Ferdinand perswaded from his necessary defence, till having certainly understood that all defence would be too late, the French being already very strong upon his frontires, cheated, not conquered, he dies, and leaves his sonne Alphonso heire of his kingdome, and his troubles. The French king being now entred in person into Italy, Galeazzo dyes of a poyson at Pavia, when Sforza has brought this worse poyson into his Country. But the French growing prodigiously victorious, and almost by the very seeing overcomming their opposites, Sforza begins to be apprehensive of his owne danger, and strives to rid himselfe of these incumbrances, in the which a too much providence had intangled him. A consideration without doubt necessary, but almost past the season, it being near unto an impossibility to expell him now, whom it was farre [Page] from any difficulty at the first not to admit. So that this second resolution did onely proclaime the folly of the first, which either in wisedome he should not have ventured on, or, in honesty not have altred. But howsoever, he enters into a new league with the Venetians, and gives the French after their victorious returne from Naples halfe an overthrow at Taro. And now when he thinkes himselfe confirm'd in his Dukedome, when hee as little fear'd ruine, and he deserv'd preservation; the French King dyes suddenly, to whom Lewis, the true Duke of Orleans, and titular Duke of Millan, succeeded: with him Sforzaes late friend, the Venetians, conclude a league. Thus Sforza being left alone, raiseth two armies under the conduct of the two Sanseverines, men, whom he had highly favour'd and advanced. But it is scarce seene, that a faithlesse Master should have a trusty servant, and he that hath no respect to his owne word, shall in the extremest of his necessities, finde all others promises but words. The elder revolts, and the younger, without the least shew of resistance, flyes; and Sforza himselfe is so closely pursued, that he can scarce get away safe into Germany. The French abusing their late victory, the Millanesi with a generall consent, recall Sforza; who, like a melting snow, overflowes all before him, and recovers most of his Duchy, with the same easinesse that he had [Page] lost it. The strength of his Army consisted especially of Swizzers, whom the late overthrow of the warlike Duke of of Burgundy, and these Italian wars, had raised to the height of admiration. But to be valiant is not to have all vertues: these were as strong in trechery, as in battle, they lead Sforza in the habit of a Swizzer into the French campe, through which in the same habit they had promised to conduct him. Thus having beene twice betrayd, and now a prisoner, after a ten yeares harsh confining he dyes in France, having liv'd in his misery, longer then in his Duchy, and leaving instruction to succeeding Princes that height should not be their ayme, but integrity; and that they would not (that I may vse the words of our Poet) tempt their starres beyond their light.

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The names of the Actors.

GIovanni Galeazzo the yong Duke.

Lodovick Sforza His Protector, afterward Duke.

Galeazzo

Count Caiazzo

two brothers of the house of Sanseverin, Sforza's favourites.

Lucio Malvezzo

Carlo Burbiano Count Belgiosa

two of the Nobility.

Iuliano

Picinino

two old Courtiers.

Vitellio

Malatesta

Poysoners.

Ascanio Sforza's brother, a Cardinall.

Triulcio The French Generall.

The Captaine of the Swizzers.

Isabella Galeazzo's wife.

Iulia.

Bettrice wife to Sforza.

Embassadors, Souldiers, Servants.

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The Prologue.

CAn horror have an auditory? can

Man love the spectacle of ruin'd man?

We fear'd we should have beene alone, that hence,

The Actors should have beene the Audience.

Are you not frighted yet? doe you not rise?

Can that invite, which should dismay your eyes!

We shew neer murthers, and in that degree

Where Mariage is unlawfull, then, the free

Progresse of crimes, by nimble Iustice met,

Aequally horrid, this we shew, but yet

Vnlesse your Courtesie, your Iudgement sway,

We suffer a worse torture, then we play.

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Actus primi

Scena prima.

Galeazzo Duke of Millane, Isabella his Wife.

Gal.

WHy weeps my Deare?

Isab.

Aske why I do not weep▪

(Poore Isabella are thy teares deni'd thee?)

Aske why thus long such a succession

Of sorrow clogs my bosome, and does rob

So much of Woman from me, as complaints.

Aske why I doe not rave, teare my haire, thus,

Create a griefe, whieh Fate would spare me, then

Cloud the sad Ayre with sighes, and at the last,

With a bold stab take from insulting Fortune

The miserable object of her sport:

Aske why I do not this, not, why I weepe.

Gal.

Or stint thy teares, or mingle them with mine

By a relation of their cause: these eyes,

Trust me, my Isabella, are not dry,

Nor has strong sorrow ere exhausted them,

To make them banckrout of a friendly teare,

Doe thou but prove it once a friendly tear

And not a fond one. Why, my Isabella,

Why dost thou hasten those that come too fast,

[Page]Sorrow, and Age? If it be true, I heard

Of Sforza, my deare Sforza, ther's no joy

But either past, or fleeting, and poore man

Growes up but to the experience of Griefe,

And then is truly past minority

When he is past all happinesse:

Isab.

My Lord,

My sorrow dares not argue with your love,

This smile expels it.

Gal.

Be it banisht farre,

Aeternally, or to the yeares of Age.

I, these unclouded lookes become my deare,

And give me joy too. I must hunt to day

With my deare vncle: O he is a man

That alters all those fond relations,

Which Nature gives, who in an vncles name

Out loves a Father: I could praise him still,

But that I stay too long from him: farewell.

Exit.

Isab.

O Galeazzo! O not Galeazzo!

How has Man fled thee! how thy soule has fled thee!

Only thy lineaments bely a Man.

Thou hunt? alas poore Prince, thou art the Game:

Thy vncle hunts: and yet he does not neither,

But stands a glad, and idle looker on,

Whilst thou insnar'st thy selfe, sinfully fool'd,

Flattering thy Executioner, and so

Dost nor prevent thy misery, nor yet know.

Enter Galeaz.

Gal.

I am return'd once more, before I'm gone,

To see if thy fond griefe be not return'd;

What joy is there in a forbidden griefe?

What comfort in the eyes sad flux? once more

Is it my fault gives you these teares?

Isab.

My faults;

[Page]For which so strange a sadnesse seizes me▪

That it increaseth when I strive with it,

And makes my face rebellious to my Lord,

When my heart yeelds

Gal.

Then once againe, adieu,

Forsake your griefe, or griefe will forsake you.

Ex.

Isab.

Forsake my griefe—O bid me forsake heav'n,

My reason, and mine honor: onely sighes

Doe keepe me in opinion of Beeing,

And without them I were a stupid coarse.

Shall I obey impossibilities?

Forsake the sorrow, and retaine the cause?

How can I thinke that yet the untyr'd Sunne

Has journy'd but a twelve-month, since I was

In Ferdinando's Court, the Paragon

Of happy Naples, when his Palace seem'd

Guarded whith Princely sutors, and mine eye,

Caught with so many rarities of men,

Taught me that too much choice did hinder choice,

That Galeazzo then must cary me?

This Galeazzo, neither Prince, nor Man,

Fool'd out of both by Sforza, his deare vncle.

Can I thinke this, and thinke of joy againe?

Can I thinke this, and dare to thinke againe?

Why should some toyes of after-torment fright

A resolution of easing me

From present ones? O tis the curse of man

To be unhappy at arbiterment,

Enter Iulia.

Till heav'n please to relent▪ My Iulia,

Breath's Naples any comfort? quickly speake.

Iul.

None, Madam, and your courteous Grandfather

In steed of Armies sends you Patience.

Isab.

VVhat? patience? he should have sent me rage,

Ayded my anger, if nor my revenge:

[Page]Patience? O God! can griefe be patient?

Can Thunder whisper? or chaf'd seas not roare?

In me is Sea and thunder, I will be

A patterne of Revenge not misery.

Scena secunda.

Sforza.

SForza, as yet thou but beginst to act,

And yet beginst to stagger: wert thou not

A Princes sonne? why art thou not a Prince?

Protectors are but subjects, and this staffe

But shewes me under whose command I am.

Is this our hindrance that our mother first

Swell'd with another? what her wombe denyde

Our head shall give, or we will lose our head.

What was her labour to a Crowne? Perhaps

A monster might have fill'd her first, a thing

Of royall prodigy, and should this thing

Grow to be hooted to a crowne before us?

Or if that crownes be due to the most yeares,

Why should the Nephew be the Vncles Lord?

And Lawes of Nations conquer those of Nature?

Nature intended Sov'raignty to them

Of soveraigne understanding; to the rest,

How ever aged, but subjection,

Which Isabella would detaine us in:

And whilst she trusts to Naples, our sad brow

May sooner weare willow, then Diadems.

Enter Belgiosa.

Return'd so soone, my Belgiosa? thankes,

Before I heare thy message, for thy hast,

[Page]Bel.

My Lord, our sudden comming into France,

Left fame behind us, where ariv'd, we crav'd

A private audience.

Sf.

But had you it?

Did not our enemies sharpe espies descry

The depth of our hid counsells?

Bel.

They might first

Descry the subtill path of a swift ship,

The voyage of a bullet, or of thought,

Before your more mysterious purposes?

Sf.

Then since we are alone, and in a place

Free from the bold intrusion of an eye,

Feigne Vs the Prince to whom we sent you forth,

And speake our Embassy unto our selfe.

Bel.

Great Prince, to have the offer of a Crowne

Is rare, and your felicity: my Lord,

Millans Protector, but your servant, knowing

The ancient right your predecessors had

In usurpt Naples, by us wooes your Grace

(Consider unto what he wooes your Grace)

Not to maintaine his pow'r, but make your owne,

To take a Kingdome that e'n sighes for you.

So shall the infamy of a lost crowne

Rot in the earth with your dead Ancestors,

And the recovery revive their names

To waite upon your tryumph with your foes:

For so much justice needs no other power,

And yet such is your pow'r, that it is able

To make what ever you should fancy, just:

But that your vertue is above that pow'r.

I will not call you usurer of Fame,

By this large act, when the astonisht world

Now fifty Ages off from us, shall reade

Not in the boastings of a painted tombe

[Page](The flatteries of great rottennesse) but your name

Writ in Aeternities true Characters,

For making conquer'd Crownes the rudiments

Of your victorious infancy in armes,

When France shall know no other Charlemaigne

Sf.

But should we faile in the attempt? what then?

Belg.

Can Heav'n faile Iustice? or those pow'rs cōmit

Sinnes which they punish? O my gracious Lord

Sin not with that weak thought: but if they should,

Sforza will never:

Sf.

He is alwaies noble,

But hee'l undoe us with a benefit,

To give a kingdome is above requitall.

Belg.

His hopes are but the praise of honest deeds,

If in the rereward of your spreading Fame,

That fils all mouthes, some happy tongue may glance

At him, as a poore engine of your glory,

That could impart, but not possesse a Fame.

Sf.

Excellent man! if to this welcome speech

Thou giu'st as faire an answer.

Bel.

This in briefe

After some scruple, and a little pause

He whisper'd he would come.

Sf.

Exactly done.

But leave us now, my noble Belgiosa,

Till we may study a reward for thee.

Ex. Belg.

The twilight hastens, when Vitellio

And Malatesta one of an high trust

Ent. Vitell. & Ma.

with our fond Nephew promised cōferēce.

And here they are. Is it decreed brave friends?

Shall it be swiftly done? nay, tis no matter,

Your colour sayes you dare not,

Vit.

It lyes then:

If that my colour shew me disobedient

[Page]To my good Lord, be I for ever pale:

But when shall Galeazzoes wish'd-for death

Shew we dare somewhat?

Sf.

VVe would gladly have

A poyson teach him linger to his death,

And a month hence we shall expect his knell.

Ex.

Now are we entred, and now to retire

VVere the worse treason: like an inrag'd fire

The more we are oppos'd, the more wee'l spred

And make our foes our fewell: to be head

VVee'l cut off any member, and condemne

Vertue of folly for a Diadem,

Banish Religion, and make blood as cheape

As when two Armies turn'd into one heape

Of carcasses, lye grov'ling, what care we

For the slight tainture of disloyalty?

None will commend the race till it be run,

And these are deeds not prais'd till they are done.

Scena tertia

Iuliano, Picinino.

Iul.

MY Picinino, holds this sad newes true?

Pici.

My Iuliano, yes; tis in each voyce

That some perswasion flatt'ring Ferdinand,

That the French journey was but a report,

Made him revoke Alphonso, his brave sonne

VVho with an Army had indanger'd us:

For the wise old man fearing, a deepe feare

Might arme an enemy, else too weake for him,

And make us hasten the French warre, gave o're

[Page]His warre with us: but when he understands

That all this quiet does not purchase peace,

The coozen'd Prince seeks the sure peace of death,

And leaves his ruine to destroy his sonne.

Iul.

Will the French come? then prethee, Death, come too.

Why should our eyes dull'd to all other sights

By Age and sorrow, be reserv'd for sight

Of warre and sorrow? ô discourteous heav'ns!

Why have you dally'd with us to white hayres?

Why kept till this time, must we perish now?

O wherefore are we come so neere the grave

And are not in it yet? yet pardon me

Good heav'n, your acts are above question:

Yet I may shed these teares for Italy;

Slave of that world, which once, her valour slav'd,

Restoring backe her triumph's with her spoyle,

Distracted in herselfe, and onely fit

To make a bankrout Poet heale his credit

With matter for fresh Tragedies.

Pic.

Good heav'n!

Is this to ease misfortune, or increase it?

If Passion could whine out felicity,

Or plentious teares could drowne unhappinesse,

I have eyes too, and they containe their showers,

Nor would I ere be niggard of a Griefe.

But teares being onely teares, an easie dew

Of childish eyes, and all the rest of Griefe

Commanding smiles, more then Compassion,

I thanke my Genius I am resolute

To laugh at Fortune when she is most angry.

Iul ▪

Such laughter may have little mirth in it,

And I shall have more comfort in a teare.

Pic.

You may, good Fountaine, yes, droppe on, to see,

If so much moysture will revive thy cheekes

[Page]Whilst Ile be yong with laughter. I am he

That feares a sorrow, more then misery.

Scena quarta.

Vitellio.

THis is the place, & this the time: good heav'n!

What an odd place, and what an uncouth time?

Had I beene hyr'd to murther Sforza here,

Hell could not prompt more fit occasion.

I like nor it, nor him: but here he comes.

Ent. Sfor.

Sf.

Welcome Vitellio, thy hast is welcome:

Nay complement with him, whō thou wouldst kill,

Be free to us as we doe know thee true.

Speak, yet I need not bid thee, for thine eye

Sparkles a joyfull answer. Is it done?

Vit.

Tis done my Lord, and now my Lord, 'tis told

(That Galeazzo is no more a man)

And with an even scruple, for to me

The act's as easie as relation.

Sf.

Thou speak'st true manhood: 'tis thy art alone

That gives us certaine honour: there are some

Strive for Aeternity with losse of life,

At least with hazard of the losse of it,

And think they are reveng'd when they are kill'd;

These are our valiant duellists, and these

Do bleed whilst we do cōquer; heale their wounds,

Whilst we receive none: then, at last, unfold

(Man of deepe Art, that canst prevent the Fates,

And cut a thread, which they had thought to spun

Forty yeares longer) thy wise mysteries.

[Page]Thy constant, never failing stratagems,

Which cause a death, without a feare of death,

Vit.

Here are some drugs, but of these some, not one

But can command a life where ere it is,

And ruinate the strongest workemanship

That Heav'n ere brag'd to have compos'd of earth,

Powders of speedy Fate, but above all

The instruments, which make me neere to death

Of such indear'd familiarity,

This glasse has nimblest operation:

Whose liquor cast upon the face of man

Straight dulls him to an everlasting sleepe.

Sf ▪

Is this the liquor of Aeternitie?

Vitellio fals as dead. Ent. Ma.

Then take thy Lethe, & goe sleep for ever.

Mal.

I am deceiv'd, or else this is the place,

Which Sforza chooseth when he is alone.

Yes, this is it.

Sf.

What Malatesta come?

What Devill brought him hither? O crosse stars!

Be sudden, Sforza, now, or thou art lost:

He must beleeve our guilt was accidēt.

He fals upō Vitellio.

Speake my Vitellio, O tune thy lips.

But to one syllable, but to one groane

And I am satisfi'd,

Mal.

What sight is here?

Vitellio dead, & Sforza turn'd a Mourner?

Sf.

Should thou die thus, how would thy name be soyld!

For though I am as guiltlesse of thy death,

As Innocence, or if there be a name

That hath lesse being: yet the envious world

Will quit curst Fortune of so great a crime,

And give it me: yet speake.

Mal.

I'me bold my Lord,

To aske your Honor when this dismall chance

[Page]First frighted Heav'n?

Sf.

Now, Malatesta, now:

When could unhappinesse raigne so, but now?

As if he meant to be before his Lord,

He had no sooner told the Prince must die,

Bul he straight dy'd.

Mal.

Then courage, my good Lord,

Since it is thus, make the best use of it:

For now you need not feare to be reveal'd,

When one mouth's stopt, & th'other is your owne.

But since your last retyrement, we have beene

Instructed by the speed of frequent Poasts,

Of the arrivall of the King of France.

Sf.

With thanks, a while, my Malatesta, leave us.

Ex.

Why should we longer thinke of other pow'rs,

And not bring offerings now to our owne braine?

VVhich gives us Agents of all kinds of men,

And Kings aswell as poys'ners: this wise King

Must trouble Naples, who would trouble us,

Divert invasions which are yet not made,

And thus our ends are cheapely brought about,

VVe onely at the charge of plott: they fight,

And Galeazzo dyes, whom either King

VVere they not thus intangled, would preserve:

VVe shall be conquerors without fighting, thus,

And their poore swords shal cut a way for us.

Surg. Vitellio.

I'me for you France.

Vit.

And I am for you, Sforza,

Not poyson'd yet, unlesse t'were by thy teares.

The other liquor had an Antidote.

Happy suspect! had I beene credulous

And thought his love as free as it would seeme

I had not beene, distrust has ransom'd me.

But Malatesta is intrapp'd, I know

[Page] Sforza for nothing did not aske the skill:

My equall villaine perishes, and I

Thus being accessary to his death

May sinne to Innocence, by poasting off

The Princes fate to him: whilst a disguise

Shall keepe alive the fame that I am dead.

And thus halfe truth shall come to light, and I,

Be wisely cleer'd by double villany.

Scena quinta.

Caiazzo, Sanseverin, Malvezzo;

Sans.

AS I am noble, 'twas a glorious sight,

To see two Princes, in their State at once▪

As if two Sunnes had harmlesly conspir'd

To beautifie, and not to fright the Heav'ns.

Why should the formall nicety of State

Debarre these often enterviewes? I thinke

They would be medicine against Tyranny:

For, when a Prince sees all things under him,

Heads of eternall nakednesse, and men

That make their glory of their servitude,

He thinkes hee's uncontroulable, that none

Without a saucy imputation

Dares warne him to his duty: but suppofe

An equall Majesty should once become

His usuall object, one, whose uncheck't blood

Runnes full as high as his, then he does learne,

That ther's a Common wealth of Princes too,

Not one sole Monarch.

Cai.

Yet, Sanseverin,

If you observ'd, some clouds obscur'd both Sunnes

[Page]For, when they smil'd most freely, and exprest

Their neerest friendship by a strict embrace,

They lookt so jealously, as if they fear'd

A closer stab: and then the King tooke leave

With that excesse of hast, that one would thinke

(After this eager preparation,)

He did intend his journey to leave us,

Not to winne Naples

Mal.

'Tis a dangerous time,

(And yet I seeme to crosse the truth I speake

When I not feare to call't a dangerous time)

Sforza is over-wise, and so attempts

Vpon the confidence of his owne braine

(A braine, though wise, yet I may safely say,

Within the possibilitie of error)

Things, that can onely hap by miracle

To any good.

Sans.

Why, what can happen ill?

Feare you a warre? and what's to be fear'd there?

Least that a mortall dy, least that the life

Due to a knotty gout, or grating stone,

Have a more easie period by the sword,

Let them feare warre, who feare to see their gold,

Lest that the Sunne should have a sight with them,

Holding so much of Earth, th'are turn'd to it,

Who have no more life then their durty acres,

Men, I may say, in the worst part of men.

And why like these runne we an idle race

Of threescore yeares, and then sneake to a Death▪

Whilst souldiers master their mortality

And dye by men, if that at all they dye.

Malvezzo know, when all things fifted are,

Peace onely pleaseth them that ne'r knew warre.

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Actus secundi

Scena prima.

Iuliano, Picinino.

Iul.

HEard you the generall whisp'ring?

Pic.

No, what ist?

Iul.

The Duke is ill.—

Pic.

And doe they whisper that?

Iul

Yes: and they say he has strange fits.

Pic.

How? strange?

Is poyson strange in Italy? why, know,

As Princes live above the vulgar, so

Their death has a Prerogative: meane men

May dreame away their time to fourescore yeares,

And when their rotten joynts drop to their dust,

Onely some triviall infirmity,

A Palsie, or an Ague beares the blame:

But'tis not State for Princes to be old,

And yet they must not be suppos'd to dye

By the respectlesse treason of disease,

But by some strange unheard of accident

That Fate did never dreame of: but no more,

You know Vitellio, and the hight of grace

Sforza has shew'd him, 'tis suspitious

VVhen wisedome flatters villany: then come,

Let us be private, and discourse some treason.

[Page]Enter, after solemne Musick, Sforza, Sanseverin, Cajazzo, and Souldiers. [...]hen after some private whisp'ring they depart severall waies.

Iul.

But stay, my Picinino, who are here?

Pic.

O the grand favorite, Sanseverine,

A most full bubble, valiant vanity:

That in high termes can sweare downe fortresses,

Blow away Armies with a pow'rfull breath,

And spoyle the enemy before he sees him:

But when he comes to action, lye as still,

As in the tale, that lumpish King of Frogs,

Which Iove did give them in his merriment▪

Were tilting, valour, I ne're knew a man

Of larger worth: could he but breake the rankes

Of enemies aswell as he does speares,

Millan ne're saw a braver Generall.

But there's his brother too.

Iul.

I, thats the man.

Pic.

(Tis wonder we can know so much of him)

He that can sound the depth of that sly braine

Has a large plummet, trust me Iulia,

An hundred Lawyers make up that one head,

And scarcely too: quicke Proteus to him,

To this Cajazzo was an Ideot,

A plaine flat Ideot, I tell thee man,

Meander never knew so many windings;

If, as they say, an Aemulation

Is bred by likenesse, I do wonder much

How Sforza is induc'd to imploy him,

Who has more Devill in him, then himselfe.

Iul.

But why is this imployment? why these Armes?

[Page]When all but Naples are our friends, and they

Not able now to shew themselves our foes,

Ingag'd, and almost lost in the French warre.

Pic.

Trickes, Iuliano, Statists call them Arts.

Not to be fadom'd by a vulgar reach:

But though I want the villany to know,

Yet I have so much spleene to laugh at them,

And take a comfort in this plainer sense,

No subtilty can coozen Providence.

Scena secunda.

Ascanio, Galeazzo, Isabella, Iulia.

Asc.

HOw rests the Prince?

Isab.

O my good Lord, he rests,

But 'tis a quiet, such as the Seas have,

When that the winds have spent their violence,

And out of impotence bestow a calme:

'Tis more a death, then slumber, you may see

His senses rather weary, then at rest.

Asc.

Are then his fits so raging?

Isab.

Nothing else,

Should he but wake, youd think two Armies met,

And strove together for the loudest shout.

Disease has spred herselfe ore all his parts,

And onely spar'd his tongue, as if some starre

Not knowing otherwise to cleare itselfe

From imputation of tyranny,

For such exact plaguing of Innocence

[Page]Had left him that to curse withall, that so

To all that heard his fury, he might seeme

To be thus tortur'd for his Blasphemy.

Gal.

Water, some water.

Isab.

Now the fit beginnes:

Gal.

Some of my slaves runne, and exhaust the Po,

Charge him no more to vent his idle streames

Into the glutted Maine, but rather poure

All his moyst mouths on me: d'ye stare, begone,

Vse not your eyes at all, unlesse to weepe:

And that, not teares of sorrow, but of helpe,

Such as may coole me.

Asc.

Patience, sweet Prince,

Adde not unto the fire of your disease,

The heat of passion,

Gal.

What red thing is this?

Ha, Isabella, tell me.

Is.

'Tis your vncle

The noble Prince, Ascanio.

Gal.

'Tis false;

He is nor Prince, nor noble: hearke you friends,

He talkes of Passion, and of Patience,

Let him discourse of Aetna, or Vesuvius,

Or of a greater heat then I doe feele,

And I will answer him: Patience to me?

Goe bid rough seas be patient.

As.

He growes worse,

And opposition does inflame him more:

Me thinkes I see his eye-lids faintly strive

Against Deaths closing.

Gal.

O! my joynts are fire.

Why does not heav'n shed Cataracts, and lowre

Once to my comfort? are they hot as I,

Have they no moysture, for a Suppliant?

[Page]Thē, though hot heav'n oppose, whē once my breath

Hath left this corps, Ile have a cold by death. Mor,

Is.

Heard you that grone my Lord—ô he is dead;

Cracke then ye tardy heart strings, quickly cracke,

And give me leave to over-take the flight

Of my dead husband.

Asc.

What is past our helpe,

Let it be past our griefe: tis fortitude

To suffer chances counterbuffes as one

That by his expectation had deceiv'd

All her faint threatnings: till this sadder time

Your life has had one constant scene of joy,

Which here is interrupted: you should thanke

The heav'ns because they were not tedious

In their delights: for this variety.

As hunger praiseth feasts, so it may be

Youle love joy better for this misery.

Scena tertia.

Sforza, Beatrice.

Sf.

HOw covetous thou art to learne mishap?

Beatrice the answer kills thee.

Beat.

Kill me then,

But not deny me

Sf.

Dearest, I am lost,

And in my ruine, thou.

Beat.

I would be so,

Safety were ruine were it otherwise,

Yet tell me Sforza, how are you so lost?

Sf.

O what a busie torture woman is!

I must say somewhat, but the maine is silence,

Vitellioes losse, yes, that hath lost me too:

[Page]No sooner kill'd then lost, so strangely gone,

As if the dead had learnt a motion

So to convey themselves unto the grave.

Beat.

Will you be still vnkind?

Sf.

Thou shalt heare all.

The French have cōquer'd Naples, & wch drawes

Blood from our soule, without a drop of blood:

When thus we plotted it, that when both Kings

Had wearied out themselves with equal slaughter,

And here Alphonso totter'd, and there Charles;

When losse had seiz'd the conqueror, then we

Would have amaz'd the conqueror afresh

With new alarmes: when by the flattery

Of chance, France gets a kingdom without blood,

And by dry victory has undone a plot

Worth many Kingdomes: I presum'd on this,

Naples had souldiers enough to last

Killing a yeare, in which space, we resolv'd

To arme all Italy against the French,

And cunningly drive out, whom we call'd in:

Which, ere we could accomplish, is disclos'd,

And conqu'ring France intends to hinder it,

By our invasion: ô my policy!

Must I be wounded with the sword I gave?

And find those enemies, whom onely I

Enabled to my injury? well; heav'n,

Your kindnesse is a miracle sometime,

Beyond all reason, but your curse is wit,

Enter Ascan.

My fault is my faults punisher.

Asc.

Long life,

And happy to our Duke.

Sf.

How my Ascanio?

Recall thy selfe, good Cardinall, what Duke

Whilst Galeazzo lives?

[Page]Asc.

Most truly Duke,

Sf.

For Galeazzo's dead.

Alas poore child,

I could have wish'd thee longer life, but since

Heav'ns will is otherwise, twere blasphemy

To storme at that which is the will of heav'n.

I hate that impotent rebellion.

Enter Sansev.

Sans.

My Lord, so crosse was Fortune, that you were

Made almost banqu'rout by a too much thrift:

For whē you had discharg'd those numerous troops

Whose charges lay as hard upon the State

As an invasion could, then Orleance mov'd

And stole Navarra, which disastrous newes

So heated the remainder of your troopes

(As if you had added to their valour more,

When you abated from their multitudes)

That by a nimble victory, they made

His conquest be his prison.

Sf.

Noble friend

Stand thou, and our State stands: ô why doe men

Cry out on Age, on eating Age? as though

Our many griefes were from our many yeares,

And the last times were worst: we rather find

That nothing is so dangerous to Kings

As a yong Principality: for tis

With them almost as with yong plants, which yeeld

Vnto the least intreaty of the wind,

And need no stronger blast; but gaining Age

Scarce stoope to thunder: may we once arise

Vnto this happy firmenesse of estate,

This blest maturity of Prince, we stand

Fearelesse of fall, but if heaven envy us

And have decreed our ruine with our rising,

Yet such weele have it voyde of all base feares

Our foes shall grieve our ruine was not theirs.

[Page]

Scena quarta.

Cajazzo, Belgiosa, Malvezzo.

Mal.

MY Lords, since we are met so happily,

(If you esteeme me not too bold, to aske

The story of your high-fam'd actions)

Blesse me with the Relation.

Caj.

I much feare

Mine are not worthy your attention:

Yet if it please you, noble Belgiosa,

(Because my story will depend on that)

To shew the reason why the giddy French,

So strangely left their conquest: such your pow'r,

Such a full conquest have you of your friend,

I'le shame my selfe for your content.

Bel.

Then, thus:

From us France hurry'd thorow Lumbardy

And fled to conquer, who had seene that hast

Would easily suppos'd it to have beene

Rather a flight then an invasion.

The Pope quakes at the progresse, and admits

Yong Ferd'nand into Rome, that if the French

Should dare a fight, they might find Naples there.

France slights that fainter opposition,

And speakes his scorne in thunder, Naples flyes,

And all his army hath no other use

Then to become unwilling harbingers

To shew their lodgings to the conqu'ring French,

Who like fierce winds that sweep away their lets,

Or like incroaching tydes, take swiftly in

The offer'd Countries, not defended: now

Saint German yeelds, and sawcy Capua

[Page]That dar'd a competition once with Rome,

Aversa takes the president, and now

The King of Naples finds home foes, and such

As durst be valiant against their Prince,

And use their fond armes in a mutiny,

Which were not safe enough for a defence.

He taking the advantage of their crime

Vnconquer'd by the French, to these he yeelds,

And chuseth rather to become no Prince

The keep the Crown, which they would take away.

Mal.

What was the issue?

Bel.

Strangely pittifull:

He that had Navies yesterday, has now

Scarce a barke left him, scarce a planke or two,

To trust him to the mercy of the Seas,

The Seas more courteous then the multitude:

In which he makes for Ischia, and leaves

His enemy his successor.

Cai.

And he

(As I have seene some wav'ring amorist)

Neglects his conquest for the easinesse,

For when twas certaine Ferdinand was fled,

Whilst they might justly yet feare his returne,

The French returne, as if they meant to try

Which would be soonest weary of the hast,

Who had the swifter pace to runne away:

Bel.

That is no new act of new governors,

Such stories are as ancient as the world.

Till they doe try what they can doe, they thinke

They may doe all things, their first act is warre

(As if they meant rather to kill then raigne)

It matters not upon what ground: there is

Pretence enough to quit a conqueror

From the least shew of injury: but then

[Page]When they have felt the least of warres extremes

They rave, they faint, they crosse what they first did

And are e'en weary of a victory.

Cai.

France made this certain truth, who in his brags

Had sworne the fall of Mahomet: but now

When he might heare the groanes of Graecia

Deliver'd by the ecchoes of their sea,

To make them more, he thinkes on a retreate,

And chuseth home before a victory.

It was a vally, where our Taro laves

The root of Apennine, and a large plaine

Spheard with a row of swelling Earth, makes warre

A spatious Amphitheater: where we

Stayd for their comming; when mature advice

That crownes most actions, strangely injur'd us

For rashnesse would have stole a victory

Which tedious consultation gave away,

Successe had smil'd on our temerity

Had we assaulted them upon the hills

And added to the mountaines with the French.

But I am tedious: onely our vanne fought,

And twas the Frenchmens victory to resist:

Both were o'recome, both conquerors, for they

Still kept the field, and we still kept the prey.

Bel.

O what is valour joyn'd with Modesty!

This conquers both our Fortune and your skill.

Should you but write a story, and professe

That purenesse from al passion which y'aue shown,

You would be credited, though twere your owne.

But what reward is't to be but beleev'd?

You shall be ever prays'd: what you have done

Feares neither envy, nor oblivion:

And for this act succession shall see

Cajazzo as long-liv'd as Italy.

[Page]

Scena quinta.

Vitellio disguised.

I Wonder Malatesta still survives:

Sure Sforza has forgot himselfe; my death

Does but halfe cleare him, and if the other live,

He cannot looke for a full innocence.

It is not mercy, certainly: ô, no,

Mercy with him is folly: but t'may be

He feares that had he kild us both at once

Rumor would be too busie, and all mouths

Would cry, that Chance had too much project in't.

This is the place of Destiny, 'tis here

Sforza does actuate his bloody arts,

Mistaking privacy for innocence,

And thinkes hee's good, because he is not seene.

Here must I wayte for a discovery.

Enter Sforza.

Sf.

I must once more be cruell, yet not I,

This is the murther of Necessity:

But what has he deserv'd, who has done nought

But what we charg'd, & so perform'd our thought?

Is Death due to Obedience? can this hand

Yeeld to his Fate, that seal'd to his command?

Yet he, or I must perish: shall I see

My life, my honor, my Aeternity,

Lye at his mercy, and be safe, so long

As he is pleas'd to temper his rude tongue?

Till he be drunke, or treacherous? Ile first

Study amongst all actions, which is worst

And over-act it: though our former deed

Was from ambition, this is yet from need:

[Page]Death is too good reward for such a slave,

Enter Mal.

And sure there is no blabbing in the grave.

But here he comes: why are thy looks so grim?

Why Malatesta, in thy furrow'd face

See I the signes of Anger, or of Griefe?

Command thy face to a more smiling forme,

That I may think thee pleas'd when thou dost tell

What does displease thee.

Mal.

'Twas a foolish dreame,

That stole my colour from my paler cheekes.

Last night I saw Vitellio.

Sf.

And what?

Canst thou feare shadowes?

Mal.

Yes if shadowes speake,

If that their threatnings be substantiall.

From such a paper as your Highnesse holds,

He forc't me breath in Death.

Sf.

This Paper holds

A strange perfume, of such a cunning vertue,

That at a distance it scarce smels at all.

And at the nose it gives the best of sents.

Make the experiment:

Mal.

O! I am slaine.

Sf.

Heavens what a stilnesse here is? what a death

Of the whole man at once? the wandring eye

Now findes a station, and the busie pulse

Is now for ever idle: where's the tongue

That but ev'n now could say as much as this,

When that the soule could prompt it? but e'en now

Here was a thing could speake, and poyson too,

That knew more wayes to kill, then ever Heav'n

Did to make man: and could his subtlety,

That could give death, not know to keep out death?

Fye, what a bulke it is, what a great lumpe

[Page]Of nothing, that shall lose that nothing too?

What a dead toy is Man, when his thin breath

Flyes to its kindred Ayre? ô why at all

Did Heav'n bestow, or why at all bereave

Man of this Vapour of Eternity?

And must we one day be a stocke like this,

Fit onely to inrich the greedy Earth,

And fill an house of Death, perhaps before

We see the Issue of another Plot?

Must we lie subject to be trampled on,

By some, perhaps not Politicians?

Where's then our Wisedome? our deepe Providence?

Are they durt too? ô heav'ns! but if they are

Enter some Negroes to cary away the body.

Or durt, or nothing, Ile enjoy my fame.

And rottennesse shall seize me, not my name.

Vit'

Are those the Instruments? well my black friends,

I eas'd you of a labour: all succeeds

According to the flatt'ry of my wish,

And my suspition turnes to prophecy.

But my so bloody, and so wary Sforza,

Your Agent's dead, but not your crime: 'twill out,

And by this carcasse: I will flye to France,

Divulge loud papers,—they are writ already,—

And here they are, these I will sweare were found

In the dead pois'ners pockets: by this meanes

Sforza's proclaim'd a murtherer, I'me freed,

And make it be his guilt, which was my deed.

Vitellio going forth meets with Isabella.

[Page]

Scena quinta.

Vitellio, Isabella, Iulia.

MAdame I have some newes of that import,

That (if you please to command privacy)

Will both desire, and fright your patience

Is.

Be briefe

Vit.

First know I am Vitellio.

Is.

Thou art a villaine, and a pois'ner then,

Hast thou a drugge for us?

Vit.

Yes such an one

Shall make you love a poyson: reade, & wonder.

Is.

I doe: and more, how thou could purchase this

Without a guilt.

Vit.

I did peruse the spoyles

Of Malatesta's carcasse, whom I found

Most strangely guilty, and as strangely dead,

Whose pockets furnisht me with these instructions

Is.

Thus we learne Murther from thy Felony:

But what should make me trust a confest rogue?

Vit.

My villany: my credit is my crime:

Had not I stole, you had not understood.

Is.

I must beleev't: but darst thou poison well?

Commit a crime, which thou maist glory of?

Vit.

On whom deare Lady?

Is.

Nay I care not whom.

But I can give reward to a wise crime.

Vit.

My quicke dispatch shall make you gladly know

I understand, what you desire, and hide.

Exit.

Is.

Now should he poison Sforza. O fond hope!

That mak'st us thinke all true that we desire.

Should he betray us now? for what? that we

[Page]Intreated him to kill, we knew not whom.

By this expression thus much I have wonne:

I may be made, but cannot be undone.

Scena sexta.

Picinino.

FOrtune is merry, and the heav'n dispos'd

To play with me, I am turn'd Favourite.

Me thinkes my haires asham'd of their white hue

Should blush to youth: O how I could looke big,

Take Gyant strides, doat on my lovely selfe,

And talke as fillily as any Lord.

To see the prettinesse of action,

Of State imployment: Sforza's to be crown'd,

And I must winne the popular suffrages.

Good Heav'ns! was ever such a merry load

Impos'd on Man: some cry the times are ill,

Others could wish them better, and a third

Knowes how to make all well, but tells not how,

And, cause that he is silent, would be wise.

But in conclusion I doe finde them ready

(On supposition of no more expence,

And that their voice is su'd for, not their purse)

To give a lusty acclamation.

[Page] Sforza, 3 Ambassadors, Cajazzo, Sanseverin, Malvezzo, as in procession, they offer up the French Banners at the Altar, whilst this is sung.

Song.

Io, Io, gladly sing,

Till the Heav'n with wonder ring.

He is fled, let Millan say

Once more, he is fled, the day

Cleares againe, and makes us see

A braver light of victory.

Io, Io, &c.

Yet he had before he fought

(By the speedy warre of thought)

Conquer'd Italy, and so

Has hasten'd his owne overthrow.

Io, Io, &c.

Henceforth let them learne to live

In the peace, that home doth give,

Nor againe so fondly rave,

To travell for a forren grave.

Io, Io, &c.

Sf.

First we thank Heav'n, by whose most gracious aid

We have the meanes, and reason to thanke you.

Now we beginne to lift up our faint heads,

And entertaine, though scarce beleeve a peace:

Now Italy at length has lost her yoake,

Which she was wont to give, but never beare,

And therefore wondred at the strangenesse more

[Page]Then at the weight of't: in this noble act

Sforza claimes nothing but the happinesse,

Which he acknowledges receiv'd from you.

1 Amb.

Sforza's deserts exceed the height of praise.

2 Amb.

He has slav'd Italy by freeing it.

3 Amb.

Millan must know him for her Romulus.

Sf.

VVe know our selfe so underneath this praise,

That could we but suspect untruth in you,

VVee'd call all this but mockery.

Pic.

D'yee doubt?

Make you a question of the name of it?

VVhy call it as it is, plaine flattery.

Cajaz.

VVe wondred lately at the prouder French,

And gave too high a valew to their acts:

VVhen in a serious estimation,

Their chiefest victory was of the miles,

And more a journey then a warre: if they

Could gaine a fame by nimble travelling,

How shall we reare a trophee to his name,

That made them goe farre faster then they came?

For my part (though I know his Modesty,

VVhich will refuse the honours he deserves)

I'de have him forc'd unto the government,

To rule that happy land which he hath sav'd.

Omnes.

A Sforza a Sforza.

Ascanio crowns him.

Sf.

Sforza will ne'r gainesay the gen'rall voice,

Your love I like beyond your gift: kind Heav'ns

Shew by my governments integrity

You were the peoples prompter, and I'le shew

(If you but actuate my just desires)

I onely am their Duke in goodnesse: since

Millan hath chose, it shall applaud her Prince.

[Page]

Actus tertii

Scena prima.

Umbra Galeatii.

NO rest in death? why then I see they erre

That give a quiet to a sepulcher.

'Tis our hard fate, nor can Man chuse but die,

But where Griefe is, is Immortality.

This drawes our juicelesse bones to a new day,

From Lethes banks, where we have learnt the way,

(An easie learning) to returne our woes,

And laugh at our misfortunes in our foes.

Wee'll draw felicity out of our fall,

And make our ghost reuenge our Funerall.

That our dim Eyes, & with pale death benighted,

May by revenge be clear'd, and we be righted

(If other punishment should come too slow)

By the exacter justice of our foe.

When being betray'd by them he trusted most,

He shall be pris'ner in a forren coast,

When wanting sustenance, his teeth shall chaw

His armes for food, and their once feeders gnaw.

When Hell shall have but part of him, when he

That now triumphs shall be lesse ghost then we.

[Page]

Scena secunda.

Sforza. Ascanio.

Asc.

SForza, you are undone.

Sf.

Why my Ascanio?

Fortune is fearefull of so foule a crime.

Asc.

You durst be bad, and yet improvident,

And so it is not Fortunes, but your crime.

Which shall I first beginne to blame? your fault

Or (pardon if I call it) Foolishnesse:

I faint to thinke, that you are past excuse,

Both with the honest and the Politicke.

Sf.

Come neerer, my deare Cardinall, and tell

In easier termes what tis that troubles you:

Is Galeazzo's death divulg'd?

Asc.

It is:

The time, the manner, and the murtherer,

Nor am I free from th' imputation.

Sf.

You speake what you suspect, not what is true,

Dos speech come frō the dead? can their dry'd nerves

Borrow a tongue for accusation?

This is no other then the voice of Guilt,

The speech of our home-executioner:

And yet I feare— and yet what should I feare?

Bloud hath strange organs to discourse withall,

It is a clamorous Oratour, and then

Enter Sanseverin, Halberdeers & Vit.

Even nature wil exceed her self to tell

A crime so thwarting Nature

Sans.

My good Lord,

Pardon the zeale of my intrusion,

I bring hid danger with me: 'twas my chance

As I was passing to the bedchamber,

[Page]Iust at the doore to finde this muffled man,

Waiting some trecherous opportunity.

Each circumstance swell'd with suspition,

The place, the time, the person, all did seeme

To beare a danger worthy of your feare,

At least your wiser disquisition.

Sf.

Thou art all goodnesse, and deserv'st of us

Beyond the niggardly reward of thankes:

But what are you that thus becloud your face,

Who not unlike that over-bashfull fowle,

He discovers himselfe

Delight in darknesse? Ha! Vitellio!

The wonder is resolv'd by a new wonder.

Ex. San.

Vit.

Sforza I live: doe ye stare? I live: these words

Are not the fond delusions of the Ayre,

As you officiously would gull your selfe;

But from a solid substance, had not we

Ent. Sans. with 2 Negroes.

Bin by your diligēt spy too soon surpriz'd,

Before our projects full maturity.

Thy death more fully should have prov'd my life

Sf.

Foole that I was, who thought to take thy life

By that which nourisht it: there's none so mad

Would poyson Serpents, Ile worke surely now.

Once more Iletry your immortality.

Strangle the Monster.

Vit.

'Twas a doubtfull chance

within this houre who first should own those words

But, Tyrant, weary thy invention

To finde variety of punishment,

Yet all that thou canst doe, exceeds not this

A pinne could doe as much: weake, silly Sforza.

All thou canst doe to me exceeds not that

Which I did on the person of thy Prince:

Disease would prove a better murtherer.

Sf.

Stop that malignant throat. — O my Ascanio,

[Page]Thus must they toyle wch work an hight by bloud,

How I could wish an innocent descent

To new subjection? how I hate that wish!

How scorne all thoughts that have not danger in them!

Get us more Remora's, sweet Cardinall,

Or rather then to droope to Idlenesse,

Wee'll worke to be no Prince, our selfe re-calling:

In rising, most, some wit there is in falling.

Scena tertia.

Cajazzo.

ASsist me, Hell, for I intend an Act,

Which should your puny fiends but think upon,

Would make their blacker cheeks receive a blush,

Would give a rednesse which your weaker Fire

Had ne're that heating pow'r to worke in them:

An act, the Heav'ns did onely then declare

They would permit to be perform'd by man

When they created Night: for were all Day,

Could such a Crime be as well seene as done,

Their Immortality might justly feare,

Lest all the guilt should be remov'd on them,

As Idle, or as Cruell lookers on,

Whilst heav'n on Earth did suffer: this blacke night

Must Isabella dye, dye, by this hand:

This Chappell is her ordinary walke,

Discover'd to me by her Iulia,

Where when she comes to see her husbands tombe,

This hand shall make her fit for such a roome.

[Page] Enter Isabella and Julia with two torches, she places them at either end of the Tombe, & Exit. Isabella drawes towards the Tombe, and speakes.

Is.

PRince of shades, (for unto me

Still thou keep'st thy Majesty)

If thou art not wholly lost,

And there's something in a Ghost:

Heare thy Isabella's vow:

If hereafter I allow

Of a second match, or know

Any man, but for a foe,

Saving him that shall ingage

His revenge unto my rage:

(Heare just heav'ns) may I then be

Made another Ghost like thee,

May I dye, and never have

What I visit now, a Grave.

Caj.

O doe not heare her Heav'n, & kill me straight

If I dare touch her: he that sees those eyes

And dares attempt to make those eyes not see,

Has a blinde soule: burne clearer, you kind lights

O doe not envy me the sight of her:

But what's there in a sight? I must be briefe,

If not for love, yet for ambition:

Her Mariage makes me greater then her Death,

And she has taught me the condition.

Pardon, bright Angell, and returne the sword,

Which Sforza made me sweare to sheath in you,

Into my bosome

Is.

No, obey your Prince,

[Page]If you have goodnesse in you keepe your oath,

Murther is nothing unto perjury.

Caj.

By this faire hand you injure me, and more

Then ever Sforza did: can you suppose

(Though you had heard the vowes he forc't me to)

I meant what I protested? that this hand

Which ever yet has us'd a sword for you,

Would use it now for your destruction.

Revoke that thought, deare Lady, that harsh thought,

And let not so much sweeter innocence

Make it selfe guilty by suspition,

Suspition of impossibilities.

Rather command, and you shall quickly see

That he, who would have arm'd me against you,

Shall finde in his owne entrailes the just steele.

Is.

aside.

What traps are these to catch the Innocent?

Sforza I smell your project, 'tis too ranke.

My Lord, no more: your speech is dangerous,

I must not heare it.

Caj

You shall see it then:

Doe not beleeve me Madam till I've done,

Till I doe bring my credit in my armes,

The Traitors head, and when you see that time,

Confesse you owe your life unto my crime.

Scena quarta.

Picinino, Iuliano.

Iul.

WHat will become of this declining State?

Can we beleeve that the yet patient heav'n

Will any longer suffer? and not give

Destruction as notorious as our crimes.

Awake, sterne Iustice, and unsheath thy sword.

[Page]The Scabberd will not heale us, but the edge,

Nor is't enough to brandish, but to strike:

Let then thy terrour give us innocence,

That mildnesse may no longer injure man.

Pic.

Why, thou perpetuall Murmurer, thou sea

Tost with eternall tempest, thou darke sky

VVith everlasting clouds, thou—any thing,

VVhom, being angry I can call no more:

Thinke better of those acts thou canst not mend.

VVill Sforza be lesse bad, because thou whin'st?

Or dost thou thinke thy pittifull complaints

Can beg a goodnesse of Ascanio?

I never knew that mighty use of teares,

That they could wash away anothers fault:

VVhen thou shalt want a teare for a fit griefe,

Sanseverin will be a Coward still:

And when thy groanes are turn'd to thy last gaspe,

Cajazzo will not be lesse trecherous.

Enter Sanseverin, with divers suitors following him, some of whose bils he teares, others laughs at, others puts up.

Exit.

Iul.

Now for thy thunder, heav'n, now now for a piece

Of thy most eminent Artillery.

Are you still silent? see, he teares their papers,

Papers, perhaps, wherein they worship him,

Give him more titles, then they give their God;

And yet he teares them. O vast Favourite!

Swell'd by the airy favour of thy Prince,

Till thou hast dimm'd the light that made thee shine,

Till Sforza's lesse then his Sanseverin.

Tell me, good Picinino, does the Sunne

Spend all his rayes upon one Continent?

Or have you ever seene the partiall Heav'ns

Vpon one Acre lavish all her showres

[Page]While the rest moulder with dry barrennesse?

Pic.

I have not, Iuliano, but what then?

Iul.

Are you to seeke for the collection?

Why, has not Sforza made himselfe our Sunne?

Are not his favours our refreshing showers?

Why should one suck up what is due to all?

Why is the Prince made a Monopoly?

Pic.

Thou mak'st me laugh at thy fond question:

What? are not Princes men; of the same mould,

Of the same passions with inferiours?

Doe not they feare, desire, and hate (as we)

And shall we onely hinder them from love?

Coblers may have their friends, & why not Kings?

Because th'are higher then the rest of men,

Shall they be therefore worse? and therefore want

The Benefits, because they have the Rule?

O hard condition of Majesty!

The former accusation of Kings

Has beene their cruelty, that they did hate

The people they should governe: O hard plight!

O strange perversnesse! shall their love at length,

Their frindship be imputed as their fault?

Would Heav'n our Sforza had no worse a crime.

Enter Sanseverin againe with his traine of Suitors.

Iul.

You are a worthy Advocate, and here

Comes your great Patron: goe and aske your fee.

Sans.

This is a sawcy importunity:

You have your answer.

1 Sutor.

O my gracious Lord,

Looke on these scarres I gain'd in the French war,

Where I have lost my Fortunes,

2 Sutor.

So have I,

[Page]Scarce left alive to tell my misery.

Sans.

You have bin drunk, and quarrell'd—must the State

Find plaisters for your broken heads? — no more —

Nay if you'll take no answer, I must call

Them that will drive you hence. O my tir'd eares!

Henceforth I vow to stoppe them at your suites,

And be as Deafe, as you are Impudent.

Exit.

Iul.

Yes, do, good Aeolus—how he blowes thē hence!

How cleares his passage with a lusty frowne!

And yet it may be that despised wretch

Worne out of cloathes, and flesh, whom his high scorne

Would not vouchsafe once more to looke upon,

Durst in the field doe more, then he durst see,

Then he would there vouchsafe to looke upon,

Pic.

As if that Valour were the onely praise,

And none were to be lov'd, but they that fight:

Where were we then? what would become of us?

Thou think'st it paradox, but is most true,

A Souldier is the greatest enemy,

Of whom the Common-wealth can be afraid,

Preferre you which you please; yet unto them

Which are the sole Physitians of State,

Who with the teeming of a pregnant braine,

Search the diseases and the remedies,

Valour is nothing but a desp'rate vice,

And there's no safety, but in cowardice.

Scena quinta.

Sforza, Ascanio, Malvezzo.

Sf.

WE are not man, for such an empty thing

Could not have this solidity of joy:

[Page]Say the French King is dead, and say withall

We are immortall, and ones happy truth

Shall expiate for the others flattery.

But speake the maner too as well, as death.

Asc.

When now his gadding thoughts had won the world,

And Italy was to be taken in

But onely as an easie seat, from whence

He might derive his further victories;

Ottoman quak'd, & 'twas in chance, if now

New Rome, should be new French, and the proud Turks

Be brought to know what their beginnings were:

When Fortune had advanc'd him to that height,

That growne forgetfull of a lowly tombe,

He rear'd huge Pyramides, and troubled Art

To match his fancy with magnificence

Fit for a conqu'ring builder, who had learnt

To ruine first, and then to build a City,

When Marbles were to be inricht with wounds,

And cut for their advancement: thē, Heav'ns sport,

He rais'd competitors to dare the Heav'ns:

Nor dreames his owne descent into low Earth.

Sf.

Ascanio, you make him live too long,

Tell how he di'd, without more circumstance.

Asc.

He went (such was his use) to see the play

At Tennis court, when by his trembling Queene

He sanke into halfe-death: thence he's convey'd

To the next roome, where on a couch of straw,

As if a downe-bed were too soft for him,

Whom rottennesse attended, and the grave,

That harder lodging of Mortality,

A King, a conqu'ring youthfull King expires.

Thrice from deaths slumbers he awak't to speake,

Thrice did he cry to heav'n, unto deafe heav'n,

[Page]And after nine houres death he dy'd.

Sf.

I find

A certaine grumbling against Fortune here:

Which that I may whet to a lively rage,

Repeat Malvezzo her last trechery

Against the French, and Neapolitan.

Mal.

Naples now wonne, and the unstable French

(As if they were afraid of their owne lucke)

Ridiculously leaving what th'ad wonne;

The Deputy was Mompenseer, a man

Of an high birth, but of unequall deeds.

For when yong Ferdinand with some few boates

(Which onely feare might make a Navy of,

And nothing but the strength of cowardize

Could possibly judge strong) approacht the shoare,

As if the poore Prince once more had desier'd

Onely to see his ancient government,

And therefore had adventur'd to the Sea,

The Sea was in the City, for ne're was

Such a confusion in the vulgar waves,

All cry a Ferdinand, a Ferdinand,

Ev'n those who latley banisht Ferdinand:

Part ope the gates to him, and part shut up

The French into the Cattadells, where he

Besiegeth his once Conquerors.

Sf.

Tis true

Not the world onely, but a man's a ball,

VVill Fortune never leave her tossing him?

Mal.

VVhether their owne neglect forc'd them to want,

Or want to yeeld, 'tis doubted: but they yeeld:

Thus as in triviall sports we oft have seene

After too tedious inconstancy,

The Corke returne to him that strucke it first,

So in this fatall revolution,

[Page]Fortune gives Naples unto him againe,

Whom she first injur'd in the taking it.

Sf.

VVho hearing this would not erect his soule

To a contempt of Fortune! that blind wretch

VVhom onely sottishnesse hath deifi'd?

Man hath a nobler Godhead in himselfe,

His vertue and his wisedome, unto these

Bend all our knees, let us still honour these:

And count it comfort in our l [...]est state,

He that is wise, would not be fortunate

Exit.

Actus quarti

Scena prima.

Sforza, Ascanio, Cajazzo, Sanseverin, a Boy.

Sf.

WE leave it to your care, Sāseverin;

But see, the night grows old, good rest my Lords,

Ex.

VVhy stayst thou, my Aurelio? good boy

Ile see no bed to night; then goe, yet stay,

If they have not escap'd thy memory

Sing me those verses which you made to sleepe.

Song.

HOw I laugh at their fond wish whose desire aymes no higher

Then the bayts of Midas dish?

VVhat is Gold but yellow durt? which th' unkind heavens refin'd

[Page]VVhen they made us love our hurt.

VVould to heav'n that I might steepe my faint eyes in the wise,

In the gentle dew of sleepe?

VVhose effects doe pose us so, that we deeme it does seeme

Both Deathes brother and his foe.

This does alwayes with us keepe, and being dead that's not fled,

Death is but a longer sleepe.

Sf.

Pretty Philosophy! goe boy, goe sleepe,

Ex.

Enjoy the good thou sing'st—this boy can sleepe,

Sleepe quietly, and sing himselfe a sleepe:

Making that gentle Rest unto his Song.

But Ile goe read: what have we here? a Map?

VVelcome thou lively picture of the world:

Now Ile peruse my large Dominions,

VVhat a vast compasse they doe fill in thee?

How Poe is wearied with his tedious course,

But running onely through our Continent?

Ha! where is Poe? which is our Continent?

If that my eyes deceive me not, I see

My Empire is compriz'd within my nayle:

VVhat a poore point Ime Master of? a blot

Made by the swiftest tincture of the Inke?

But what did this point cost me? this small blot?

My innocence, my conscience, my soule;

I kill'd a Nephew, to obtaine this blot?

O horrid purchace! all this toyle, this guilt

For so despis'd a Nothing? let me see,

[Page]Here is no roome to sit, to walke, to stand,

In all my land I cannot place my selfe,

Nor be at all, where I would be the Duke,

But the sad tapers doe deny their light,

And stranger fire supplyes an horrid day

Of Lightning: help us, heav'n, make us cōfess,

There is a Power in your Mercy too.

Ascendit Umb. Gale.

Umb.

Is then a time, when all our time is spent

That thou of us shouldst feare a punishment?

O happy purchas'd privacy! to have

The free possession of an humble grave,

VVu't poyson us from that? why startst thou so?

VVe doe not shunne a kinsman, but a foe:

Beleeve it Sforza, I am a neer ghost,

Nor is our kindred by thy murther lost:

Rayse thy cheer'd looke, see Galeazzo here:

Traitor, and coward, does thy faint breast feare

The shadow, which is made? or is a soule

Vncloath'd of Earth, more abled to controle

Him that uncloath'd it! Then I see to dye

Is more to right then suffer injury.

Know I am still thy prince, and if that man

In such a Miracle of villaine can

At last be found, in this thy manhood show

That thou darst heare thy doome of overthrow.

Sf.

Villaine be dumbe: we are too tamely mild

That dead men dare affront us, assume flesh,

And we will make a second ghost of thee.

Umb.

Thy threats are Ayre, like us: but to goe on:

In curse; now that thy wisedome hopes upon

A joy in unmolested royalty,

Now shalt thou have onely a certainty

Of high unhappinesse, and be undone,

[Page]Losing thy rule no better then twas wonne.

Fetters shall bind thy legs, not Crownes thy head,

And as a curst beast is prohibited

From common shew, so thou, of beasts the worst,

Must die imprison'd, and, what's most accurst,

Obey to death, all comforts tane away,

Rob'd of the light, and the sweet heav'n of day:

Then flatter not thy miseries, to know

Is not to hinder Fate, fall shalt thou low,

Sinke to despaire, despaire to nought, and dye,

Then lower fall, and then as low as I. Discen. Umb.

Sf.

Sinke into earth, and doe not reach thy hell,

Propheticke bubble: might thy threats prove true,

For we could wish the death that thou foretell'st

That our feirce shadow might pursue thee still,

To fright thy Ghost to nothing: O weake Heav'n!

VVas this a terror for a man? to send

A Bug-beare, fram'd out of the empty Ayre.

This does confirme, not fright us: this might be

A terror to my picture, not to me.

Scena secunda.

Cajazzo.

Cai.

IT must succeed: Fortune may shew her spite,

Her pow'r she cannot, in the houre I'me made

A Princes Lord, or murtherer: I've plac'd

Close at the outward doore, Sanseverin,

That if successe doe crowne my hopes, his cares

May give me safety, with my happinesse,

That I be not surpris'd: but if I faile

I have injoyn'd him on the noyse he heares,

Straight to go call the Duke, & enter hither.

Ent. Is.

Madame, tis done: and now the guilty head

[Page](VVhich whilst it stood, made all to feare their heads,

VVho durst affirme it did usurp a crown,)

Most humbly bends, and offers it to you.

Is.

VVhich I accept: but for no other end

Then to revenge his death, base wretch on thee:

If that head be not planted there, 't shall off:

You shall injoy your Masters death

Caj.

How's this?

Is this a love tricke, Lady? I had thought

After your thankes parted twixt heav'n and me,

You would with greedinesse have giv'n you selfe

To him that gave you your desires:

Is.

Fond thought!

Dost thinke Ide love a man that kils a man?

Make him my Prince, who hath dispatch this owne?

VVas Treason euer Preface unto love?

Hadst thou monopoliz'd perfection,

And shar'd a thousand Cupids in each eye:

I would contemne the proudest of their shafts,

And give thee onely what is due, Disdaine.

Caj.

Youle urge me to just vengeance; doe you heare

Madam ingratitude, quickly professe

That this harsh language was but a wise baite,

To make him faster, who was sure before,

Or I professe Ile joyne your death with his

VVith thy loath'd Sfroza.

Is.

I beleeve thee now

And trust me, so beleeve, that I could thanke thee,

I love thy cruelty, though not thy person.

Caj.

Hath death so little horror? well Ile doe

VVhat shall inforce you to desire a death.

This ponyards point shall naile thee to the earth

Strucke through thy armes: where doe not hope upon

A noble ravisher, my swarty slaves,

[Page]Slaves hated of their fellow-Black a mores,

Shall on thy Honors ruine tyre their Lust,

And kill thee in thy loathfull suffering.

Ent. Sforz. Sanseverin. Belgiosa.

What dare you struggle?

Is.

A rape, a rape.

Caj.

O my good Lord, you come in such a time

As I could wish for, for this houre or more

This wicked woman hath beene wooing me,

To murther your most sacred Majesty,

And for reward hath promis'd me herselfe,

Together with the Duchy: my good Lord,

In detestation of such trechery,

I gave her some harsh answers, with which mov'd,

She us'd a womans craft, and cry'd a Rape.

Sf.

Is this truth, Isabella? see, shee's dumbe:

Have I then liv'd to have you seeke my death?

A Cosin-Traitor? yet you shall not dy,

Nor know another prison then my Court,

I love to see my Murtherer: O heav'ns!

Why, should I feare to kill her? yet tis reason:

Who is no true Prince, can ne'er punish treason.

Caj.

And I shall take you at your word, deare Sf.

Ex.

Scena tertia.

Iuliano, Picinino.

Pic.

IT cannot be, good Iulian, no more:

I doe not love these over-earnest dreames.

The French invade us? when their jolly King

With limber staves does onely mocke a warre,

VVhich like so many reeds against a stone,

[Page]Punish their owne attempt with their owne ruine,

Breaking themselves, not armors: when we know

The Court is lost in Maskes, reality

Is so farre fled since the last victory,

That we may thinke the Court it selfe a maske.

Aeternall Musicke, revells without end

Tire the too-much delighted souldier,

Whose armes have now forgot their ancient use,

His spirits onely active in his heeles,

And canst thou thinke theyle dance to Italy?

Iul,

I've heard some tell that a great City once

Was built by Musicke: would we might not find

Our Country to be ruin'd by a dance:

O feare the toying of an enemy.

Pic.

What cannot be beleev'd, cannot be fear'd,

Iul.

Youle not beleeve, not you, till the French swords

Dive to the bottome of your doubting heart,

Till that th'unkinder newes is brought so neere,

You cannot have the power to beleeve it.

Ent. Sansever. with sould.

Can you beleeve this is a drum that beates?

That this is the couragious Generall

Can you beleeve, that he beleevs 'tis true?

Pic.

But who assists us in this dreadfull time?

Iul.

As many as we have deserv'd: not one:

Sforza has too much wisedome to have friends.

Pic.

And we have too much—I said nothing, did I?

I did not speake against the State, I hope?

Nor said that we had too much patience?

Iul.

Is Picinino then ore come at last,

Now I could change my sorrow for a smile.

Pic.

I must confesse an anger though not griefe:

O how I love to fit me to mischance!

And whē that has no reason, thē I'me mad.

Why should our Millan blood staine the French swords

[Page]Vnto a glory? Sforza does offend,

Deny's the heav'nly pow'rs, or names them then,

When he does dare them with bold perjury,

Loades his blacke soule with murther of a man

That could have made his execution, justice.

This Sforza does, but what is this to me?

Why shall this throat be cut for his? why thine?

Why shall our Countryes ruine fill his penance?

The heav'ns doe know no meane, but either wast

Their benefits on dull ingratitude

Or throw away their thunder, so it hit,

So it not faile, they care not whom it strike,

Whether the guilty, or the innocent.

Iul.

This is a griefe of higher fault then mine,

You make a warre with them you should appease,

And vrge the heav'ns to our calamities.

First we were punisht with, and now for Sforza,

Could any justice have more method in't.

Pic.

Well Iulian, I'm sorry for my griefe,

And so perswade thee to that holy truth,

I now could rave against my selfe, not heav'n,

But tis as fruitlesse, as to wish good lucke:

Then let the French presse upon victory,

Let them amaze the Ayre with stranger fire,

Rais'd by our Cities flaming Funeralls,

Swell they the Poe with blood, act o'r, what ere

Has beene the brag of royall murtherers,

Yet our defence is here: Fortune may faile

But our true soules shall never, we may lose

An aged life, but not Aeternity:

And with this strength the field must needs be ours

Who doe not feare, doe beate the Conquerors.

[Page]

Scena quarta.

Sforza. Ascanio. A Guard.

Sf.

WHat noyse is this that from a forraign foe

Recalls our anger? yet our purer hands

Know not the dy of blood: we should be loath

To learne a valour on our subjects first.

1 Nunc.

The people now have rav'd to quietnesse:

But till that Landriano, whom you us'd

About the last taxation, was become

Their rages sacrifice, I durst have sworne

The French were in the City.

2 Nun.

This sad houre

(I'me sorry that you heare this truth from me)

Your Duchesse is departed.

Sf.

VVhither villaine?

2 Nun.

To that free Crown, where she shall feare no French,

To Heav'n.

Sf.

O envious heav'n! why doe you give

Men such hard precepts of mortality,

And take them hence before that they can learne?

Must not she live, because she liv'd too well?

Alas my wife!

Asc.

Alas my sister, ô!

Sf.

VVho dar'd that groane? good Cardinall, no more,

I know not what I could deny to thee:

Take to thee all for what the French so toyle,

But kindly leave my griefe unto my selfe,

3 Nun.

Pardon, my Lord, ill Fortunes eloquence,

Vnlesse you heare you cannot cure your harmes,

The French, now enter'd Lombardy, sat downe

Before Valenza: where the mouth of Death,

[Page]The thundring Canon being scarcely brought,

But just presented to the yet sound wall,

Discovered there was some what more unsound:

For Rattagnino, the false Governour

Entreats a Parly, gives away the strength,

Sweares the towne French, and gives the key to them,

VVith which they open Lombardy.

Sf.

My fact;

None can be guilty of this crime, but I:

That after Treason durst againe trust treason.

This very man, whose easie heart relents

At a French death, and wisely is afraid

His manners might be call'd in question,

If he should put them off to sue againe,

To aske the second time, for what he held:

Out of his zeale to vertue, and good lucke,

Did the like act for us, & gave a strength

Ent Mal. wounded

Wch al our Duchy never could have forc't.

VVhat more revolting yet?

Mal.

O my good Lood!

I feare this is beyond Addition.

O my blood failes me, but my tongue does more,

Fearing the story that it must relate.

Your Army being parted, and this halfe

Cajazzo leading, that Sanseverin,

My troops did fall amongst the French mens scouts;

From whom we learn't their numbers, & intents,

To march with speed for Millan: this sad newes

VVe sent to Count Cajazzo, with advice,

That he would instantly rejoyne with us,

To stop their further entrance: he pretends

That the Venetians hemming in his campe

Have made his danger greater: yet he moves,

Makes to the river, and when now our thoughts

[Page]Had left their wav'ring, and did seeme assur'd

His actions would be better then his words,

I saw, O misery that ere I saw!

That crossing o'r the Po he did embrace

Those men which he in duty should have kill'd:

(O tis this kils me, not my want of blood)

I in just anger set upon the Reare,

And after many vaine attempts, have brought

My carkasse, to intreat for my revenge.

Sf.

This is conspiracy: Cajazzo false?

Tell me that contradictions then are true,

Tell me the heav'ns no more doe travell now

Being growne inconstant to their motion:

Or that the Earth pursie with too long ease

Would with a walke at length refresh her selfe:

Tell me that Princes may be fortunate,

Those that like me are credulous: or if

You'd speake of things more hard to be beleev'd,

Tell me, there are, that birth of feare, call'd Gods,

And if they be, that they doe thinke of Man:

Tell me, O prethee tell me somewhat else,

Or I shall thinke thee false, and not Cajazzo,

But I do know thee true, know thy wounds true.

And must conclude Cajazzo is most fals.

Ent. San.

Sans.

To be o'recome, my Lord, is wretched chance.

But not to fight at all will be thought crime,

I n're durst thinke so to surviue ill lucke

As to become the fatall messenger

But I must say, I durst not fight, and more,

I must intreat your cowardize, your foes

Are strengthned with your Army (ô pardon me

Let me not tell you (how) and all our troopes

Have no pow'r left us but for a safe flight.

Sf.

I did expect this: was not man at first

[Page]Plac'd on this curious Theater, to see

How he could act all parts: doe we not know

What we can feare is nothing? providence

Long since hath spent our feare; for a wise man,

When he does found his happinesse, forecasts

Mischiefs, that Fate had never practiz'd yet,

Which if they happen, if they prove too true,

They meet, not overtake him, and so find

A scorne, because a preparation.

I knew it might be thus, though I not fear'd,

And know it may be better, though not hope:

Yet let us ne'r despaire, nor by low thoughts

Excuse Fate for her present injury,

And when once more her favours we shall feele,

Then say, that Fortune has no standing wheele.

Scena quinta.

Enter at one doore, Triulcio, Aubeny, Cajazzo: at the other, some Senators of Millan, who deliver the keyes of the City.

Sen.

WE here presēt you with our keys, great Lords,

Yet doe not thinke us cowards, who doe part

So easily with that, which if we pleas'd

We might, in spight of force, as easily keepe:

We know your right, justice does ope these gates,

And not your swords, nor our disloyalty;

We leave a Traytor that hath first left us,

And now are glad to entertaine our Prince.

Triu.

Is he fled then? O our unhappy sloath!

Why ranne we not as well as we did fight?

Are Cowards swifter then their Conquerors.

[Page] Above as in the Cittadell appear Isabella, and Iulia.

Is.

Doe not disswade me, Iulia, 'tis true

I may escape, but whither? all is lost,

In Naples we find France, as well as here.

O who'od indure the tyranny of hope,

That could so quickly gaine a liberty?

If I but fall I'm free; ô Iulia,

The greatest distance twixt my blisse, and me,

Reacheth no farther then to the next earth.

Can I behold in a perplexed flight

(Of which I know no comfort, and no end)

This my sweet infant crying for the food,

VVhich I'me uncertaine where to beg for him?

No, Ile descend, and if the greedy French

VVill have our blood with our dominiōs,

She comes down with some souldiers.

Yet I shall joy to have a speedy end

And call a nimble enemy, a friend.

Tri.

VVhat answer from the Cittadel? once more

Give them a summons, if they yeeld not then

Ent. Isabella

Give an assault.

Is.

You shall not need my Lords,

VVhat you could wish you have, most cheapely have

The conquest of a woman; and a child.

I'me Isabella, (let not that sad name

Be ominous to conquerors,) and this

This Pretty Infant, is my lucklesse child,

Borne Prince of that, which you have made your prey.

VVhy doe you one consult anothers face,

As you would see, who could be cruell first?

Be not at all, or if at all, to me.

O doe not warre with infants! can these hands

Deserve your feare or anger? these weake hands

That cannot reach themselves unto their teat?

[Page]Who have so much of yong infirmity,

They cannot lift themselves to ask you mercy?

O let them have, because they cannot aske.

How many dismall accidents may chance

To take him hence, before he grow to man,

And so excuse, and yet fulfill your purpose?

O let disease be cruell, and not you.

Tri.

Madam, you shall be honourably us'd,

You, and your faire sonne: take your liberty

To chuse your owne free course: for this yong Lord,

He must to France with us, where he shall learne

The good of royall education:

Where he shall know the happy difference

Betweene a petty, and a kingly Court.

Some waite upon the princesse.

Is.

O my starres!

What have I done? ay me. I have betrayd,

What Tyranny had left me, my sweet boy,

For whom I never knew a griefe; till now;

I brought him forth with pleasure, when I thinke

Vpon this paine of parting: my deare child,

O too too like thy mother; if thou chance

To draw thy self unto that hated length,

That thou arrive to the discretion

To know, what by my folly, thou hast lost,

Call it no more, ô doe not call it crime,

No mother willingly would lose a sonne:

Whilst in some darker cell I will intombe

Thy ruines cause, where whatsoever teare

Sorrow did once force, now devotion shall:

That my new name unto the heav'ns may reach

Whom misery the way to blisse did teach.

Exit.

Tri.

Never till now had we the victory,

And now no single one, this happy houre

[Page]Has gain'd a conquest for Posterity.

They may be idle now, now the French youth

May grow up without wounds, & at their homes,

Steale to a private grave, no more being forc't

To death, though by a glory; nay this Land

May thanke us, for our thrift of victory,

For lighting on this blest occasion,

Which makes us need no more to conquer them:

If heav'n continue us this kindnesse still,

Wee'll measure out our conquests by our will▪

Actus Quinti

Scena prima.

Sforza, Ascanio, Sanseverin.

Sf.

O What is man? and all that happinesse

That puffes him to security? to day

One acts a Prince, and swell'd with Majesty

Fills a proud throne, from whence the Multitude

Thinkes he rules Fortune too, as well as them,

Whilst she in just esteeme of her owne name,

Makes him forgot, or odious, that none

Can be so miserably fool'd, to wish

His well-apparell'd misery: thus we

That did enjoy beyond a Crowne, a braine

Able to meet, or challenge the worst chance:

Yet in the space of a few dayes, a space

Of too short lasting to expell a man

(By the most subtle fetches of the Law)

Out of a false inheritance: we lost,

We were expell'd out of a Monarchy;

But does Fate make a stand at this? O no,

She is not constant, no not in her curse,

But giving most againe, which once was mine

[Page]She gives me too the capability

Of a new curse.

Asc.

Of a new joy: for shame

Give thankes at least for your felicity:

Can you repine being cramm'd, and so deserve

A bountifull unhappinesse? I've knowne

Some that have long endur'd a tedious siege,

Or a more tedious sicknesse, who have beene

Forst to a lasting Lent, when they have come

Or to their health, or to their liberty,

Not dare to take the nourishment they might,

Making themselves their sicknesse, and their foe:

Is not my Sforza one of these? you grieve

Because you have no longer cause to grieve.

Sans.

O I doe feare your griefe, that it does glance

With a most undeserv'd disgrace at me;

As if I were a-kinne unto the fault

Of my false brother: O repeate that thought,

It is no great thing I request you to,

But trust unto the faith that you have found.

Would I betray, and follow you? d'yee thinke,

I'de be so mad to buy my banishment?

No man would be unprofitably false,

Nor I for any profit: speake your selfe

If I have left you, when your Fortune did?

Nay, then my love was greatest, when you least,

I was your subject, when you were no Prince.

Sf.

Sanseverin, thy feare is too too fond,

And like the people, the Authoritie,

Who make an impious confusion

Of an high birth, and of an higher crime:

Who in a sawcy thwarting to their Prince,

Count him still worst, whom he has made the best,

As if we gave him, with his honors, crimes,

[Page]And made him vicious, when fortunate.

No, let them spend their breath in idle talke,

Count thee or trecherous, or cowardly;

Whilst to thy Sforza thou art still the same,

Most valiant, and with thy valour, wise,

That by thy abstinence a while from warre,

Hast sav'd us forces for a victory.

Sans.

The Subjects life lies in the Princes voice:

Now you have cleer'd me I dare hasten warre,

And wish more enemies, then cowards feare:

That you may see, by my neglect of blood,

(Which I shall onely love when shed for you)

How slaunder was my most fear'd enemy.

Sf.

No more, my dearest frend: we lose all time

Which we do save from fight; still there does flocke

New forces to our Army, and the French

Are now as much amaz'd, as proud before:

We lately tooke the Swizzers into pay,

Those that dare sell their lives to any cause,

Whom Gold hath arm'd for me: if they proceed

In their first heat, we winne: but if they faile

We cannot be more wretched then we were:

The vilest chance of lucke can make us know

But an Addition to an Overthrow.

Scena secunda.

The Captaine of the Swizzers, with a Souldier, as a fugitive from the French.

Soul.

NOw w'are alone I dare reveale my selfe,

I am not what I seeme, a Fugitive,

But one that from Triulcio doe bring

[Page]Letters that much concerne you.

Capt.

What? to me?

Letters unto his enemy? let's see:

Ex. Soul.

Expect an answer in my Tent.—What's here?

Letter.

THou Man of Action, whom th' Italians

Feele their Achilles, both to wound & heale:

Triulcio salutes thee: what is past,

As past recall he will not mention,

But for the future this; you ayd a man,

From whom you cannot any way expect

Reward, or Honour, such his poverty

Both in desert, and meanes; but against whom?

I will not urge they are your Countrymen,

Partakers of the same sweet soyle with you,

Who onely differ in their better choice:

Yet so farre doe I prize your worth, to thinke,

You have not put off Nature, nor have chang'd

With your home-ayre your home-affections,

That you are still a Swizzer: thinke of this,

And that at other times twere shame to flye,

Now onely flight shewes Magnanimity.

Triulcio.

What shall I doe? O I am lost in doubt,

Nor know, what to refuse, or what to grant.

Shall then the Swizzers to their valour adde

A tainture of disloyaltie? to whom?

Who can accuse us for our trechery?

One that has patroniz'd it by his act:

That hath betraied his Nephew: shall a man

Be counted trecherous; that betrayes vice?

It was a crime to aide him, can it be

A crime to leave him too? O paradox!

[Page]Resolve me Goodnesse what tis best to doe:

And that does whisper a dislike: for what,

What goodnesse can there be in civill warre?

When we shall kill them that were borne with us,

When we shall make the Father dye his sword

In the sonnes bloud, and strangely give a death

To him, to whom he kindly gave a life,

When the mixt bloud of the same Family

Shall make a cruell incest: this we doe

If we are honest: Ile learne treason first,

And the most accurate sinne. Triulcio,

Our Country calls us, and not thou, To be

Dishonest then is the best honesty.

Ex.

Scena tertia.

Picinino in his study, with a Deaths head & a Watch.

Pic.

THis is the summe, I can but be like this.

After the prouder threatning of the French,

After the sure impression of Diseases

I can but be like this: then let me thinke

What losse I have when I am made like this:

This feares no French: a peece of ordinance

Can breake, but not astonish this, no force

Can draw a teare, no not a sigh from hence:

And can it be a losse to be like this?

O Death why art thou fear'd? why doe we thinke

Tis such a horrid terror Not to Be?

Why, not to be, is, not to be a wretch,

Why? not to be, is, to be like the heav'ns,

Not to be subject to the pow'r of Fate:

O there's no happines but not to be.

to the Watch.

[Page]But thou discloser of the stealth of Time,

Let me inquire how much is worne away

Of this sad houre: the halfe? O speedy time!

That makst us feele, ere we can thinke of Age,

Ere we can take an order for the Grave.

Ent. Iul.

Iul.

What? deepe in meditation, noble friend?

So studious of your Watch? alas good man,

Thou needst not this faint helpe to guesse at Fate,

These silver haires are watch enough for thee.

Pic.

I onely looke how many minutes hence

Millan expires.

Iul.

O swift Arithmeticke,

To summe by minutes our sad Duchies age.

Pic.

This Watch doth teach reall Philosophy,

There is no tutor to this active brasse:

What is a Kingdome, but a larger watch?

Wound up by Fate unto some scores of yeares,

And then it falls: good Iuliano list,

Harke how it beats, how strongly and how fast,

Beyond the motion of a nimble pulse.

Who would not thinke this were a lasting noise?

And yet it endes: after some date of houres

The watch will be as silent as the head.

O tis our folly, folly my deare friend,

Because we see th' activity of States,

To flatter them with false Eternity:

Why longer then the dweller lasts the house?

Why should the world be alwayes, and not man?

Sure Kingdomes are as mortall as their Kings,

And stay but longer for their period,

Iul.

I feare our Climactericall is now:

When all professions turne to souldier,

To that curst Art that thrives by Destiny.

The sithes are straighted into swords▪ and th' Earth

[Page]Being not wounded is undone, where once

Stood buildings, which an humble Poetry

VVithout too bold a swelling might give Kings:

VVhole Mines undone to beautifie one roofe,

Now onely Desolation dwels: weake griefe,

To say Corne growes, where once a City stood,

That sustenance is there where no men are,

This is a trifling, and halfe misery:

Our Lands now onely furnish us with Graves,

Can hide us, but not feed us; we would thinke

Our Cities standing, though the buildings fell,

If we had no griefe, but Fertility.

Pic.

But on what strength does Sforza still subsist

Against so powerfull foes?

Iul.

The Emperor

Has sold him some few Almaines, but his hopes

Chiefly depend upon the valiant Swizze,

VVho were the chiefe in his depression.

Pic.

Has his grosse braine not learnt the danger yet

Of bringing strangers into Italy?

He call'd the French to Naples, who have now

Found Millan too: O what's the difference

Betwixt a mercenary and a foe,

But that we kill one for his outrages,

And hyre the other? Iuliano, I

May feele misfortune, but will never buy.

Ex.

Scena quarta.

Sforza, Sanseverin.

Sans.

THe French are mighty, and portentously

Rise by their fall: strong shame begets a rage,

And a disdaine, that you whom they expell'd

[Page]Should hazard their expulsiō, makes them hazard,

What ere being ventur'd, addes a fame to Man,

And gives a glory to his misery.

They are so farre from the base feare of death,

That they embrac't, and like those fiercer curres,

That spend their anger on the senselesse stone

Not daring to attempt on him that threw,

They with a senselesse anger breake the darts

That naile them to the Earth, as if they scorn'd

Their killer should survive them: other lets,

As heat, or hunger are their exercise:

That one would thinke they'd lost all part of man

When they did meane to shew the best: my Lord,

I wish a swift, but love a certaine conquest:

I thinke twere wisdōe to protract the fight. know,

Sf.

I know thou speakst what thou thinkst best: but

Tis wisedome to delay on equall fame:

But when a foe has wonne opinion,

Which drawes all eyes, and hearts to him, O then

A valiant desperation fits a man:

For victory is not impossible,

And honour necessary: my best friend,

Call forth our Swizzers, and if happy swords

Though few, may cut a way to glory, come:

Ent. Capt with Swiz.

The purchase is above the pains: but here

Come they that shall fill histories: brave friends

Now is the time we shall imploy your swords,

And teach the world your valour.

Capt

You may faile:

'Tis better to be wise: Sforza, I'm come

To take my leave of you, nor shall much breath

Be spent in ceremoniall complement,

I am the French Kings souldier.

Sf.

Speake low,

[Page]Let not the ayre feele such a treason, know

There is a pow'r above us, and that pow'r

Thunders sometimes, I know, thou darst not stand

In contestation with the pow'r of heav'n:

Revoke thy words.

Capt,

Ile doe no miracles:

My voice and faith are past.

Sf.

Yes they are past:

Thou art made up all of disloyalty,

Reason hath nothing of thee: yet relate

(If thou hast any reliques left of sense,

Ile not conjure thee by strange Honesty)

Why dost thou leave the heav'ns, and us, and so

For nothing dost commit a double Treason?

Cap.

Ile satisfie you thus, you see I do't:

Srike up a march.

Sf.

Yet stay: what is the price

That makes thee trecherous, Ile turne prodigall

To buy thee to a vertue: stay: be rich,

Without a curse, without a fault.

Cap.

Tis vaine,

I'me deafe to Rhetoricke: yet say th'ast met

With a good perjurer, my word is past,

And to be twice a traytor, is a fault

No sorrow can attone for: yet thus farre

Ile straine my selfe to please thee, tis well knowne,

Vnlesse you get unto Ascanio,

Your hopes are at the last, but betweene you

And him, the French have interpos'd themselves,

Nothing remaines but that you trust to me,

And in a Swizzers coat disguise your selfe,

That you may passe their Army.

Sf.

O hard strait,

Must Sforza impotently hide himselfe?

[Page]Or can a Prince be hid? I have oft heard

Sparkes of Divinity adorne his face,

To cleare him from the multitude: why then,

Then being a Prince will make us be no Prince,

We being betray'd by our owne Majesty.

Yet off, ye envy'd roabes, fall to the Earth,

O fall so low, that henceforth Man may scorne

The labour of descent to take you up:

On, on, ye happy roabes, that like good clouds

Doe not obscure, but for a time defend

The threatned Sunne, that he may after shine

With higher vigour: I have heard of some,

That weare their flesh with haire cloth for their crimes,

As thinking to be good if they were rough,

By such a wilde repentance: be it so;

Ent. Triul. with the French.

These robes offēded, thē there is an hope

These ragges may expiate heav'n

Tri.

Brave souldiers,

How we rejoyce we may embrace at last,

Not with arm'd hands, without the guilt & shame

Of civill murther▪ but are these the troupes

That now must learne to use their valour well,

To give a death without a prodigy?

A conqu'ring cheerfulnesse adornes their face.

These are not common souldiers: looke you pale?

Then I must know the mystery.

Cap.

I'me betrayd.

Tri.

Yea I know all, but yet from thy forc'd tongue

Will I extract confession; fetch a racke,

To make him howle the truth he will not speake

Cap.

I can dare torments for wise honesty,

But when you know as much as I can tell.

Should I conceale't, all policy would judge,

I did deserve the worst that I endur'd:

[Page]Who told you this was Sforza?

Sf.

O my braine!

Must subtletie perish by subtlety?

And our high wisedome finde a Conqueror?

Make an end Nature, the great worke is done,

Sforza is over-reacht—weake, childish rage:

Is this to lessen, or make misery:

Can passion loose us, or a courteous teare

Wash off our fetters? if it can, poure eyes,

Poure out wet comfort; if it can, refuse

The curse of slumber, but it cannot, then

Covet a slumber everlastingly,

And be like me, imprison'd in your lids.

Convey us quickly hence, kind friends, you know

Sforza can never be a prisoner here,

Convey us thither where we are no Prince.

And must we wooe our Ruine? never man

Is a true wretch, but when he loseth all,

And wants the sad Election of his fall.

Scena ultima.

Iuliano, Picinino.

Iul.

I'Me lost in this confusion: one reports

We have lost all, another instantly

Kils all the French at once: thus ev'ry street

Is filld with wondring people, some cry, Arme,

Others runne crying, to perswade a flight:

All have an earnest bus'nesse in the stirre,

But in the helpe not any.

Pic.

These are they

That if an happy messenger should come

[Page]With Sforza's victory, would pretend at least

To be orecome with joy: the gorgeous wals

Should shine with painted triumphs, & the French

Should be againe vanquisht in pageant

But if his fortune yeeld to the French force,

What obloquy's will be enough for him?

Disgrace will then be wit, and any braine

Will venture on a Libell.

Iul,

'Tis the use,

The popular folly to admire events.

And those low souls thinke that the sword is just,

Proportioning the reason, by the end,

Of the chiefe acts, of the best enterprize,

And so by folly runne into a crime.

Pic.

No matter for their wisedome, were they good:

O why are such term'd Innocents? but friend,

What is our ayme? a flight our age denyes,

And whither should we flye, but to the grave?

O I have so much people in me too.

Enter Malvezzo.

That I could wish thy company

Mal.

Good Heav'ns!

Am I escap'd? may I stay safely here?

My feare has left such neere impressions,

I scarce dare thinke that this is Liberty.

Pic.

Noble Malvezzo, is there any hope?

Mal.

As much as in despaire: we are betraid,

Sforza is made a prisoner, all's lost,

And Millan, without blowes, is once more French,

Pic.

Now I remember what I dream't last night,

(If it be safe to call a vision, Dreame,)

I saw our Sforza in so pale a shape,

That Envy never was describ'd more wan,

Who frighted me with this relation.

[Page]STart not astonisht mortall: let no feare

Chill thee to my pale image, but fixe here:

Let thy once Prince be thy now spectacle,

Whilst I the direst Tragedy shall tell

That ever challeng'd wonder: briefly then

I was betraid, betraid, and by those men

By whom I conquer'd: tis an happy end

To perish for, but never by a friend,

This our first death: but then — O could curst Time

Dare ever such a Minute, such a Crime?

Then was I pinion'd, then these royall hands

Were forc'd obedient to the base commands

Of an insulting Conqueror, and knit

Vnto a hated union; t'were fit

If ever Heav'n shed teares, then to distill

Mournings Elixar, though th' expence should kill

The hopes of after Ages: but Heav'n smil'd

Nor any courteous clouds were wisely pil'd

Over the Suns sharpe beames, but they gaz'd on

With the same visage of compassion

As did my torturers, by whom I'me brought

Vnto a place the which some shallower thought

Has faint by term'd a prison, but to tell

The truth of horror, t'was on Earth, an Hell:

Darknesse so dwelt there, that I might be wonne

To wish the cruell comfort of the Sunne,

Which earst I rav'dat: twas a narrow cave,

Form'd to the modell of a lesser grave,

Or straitned Coffin, all was length, for they

Left not the hight that I might kneele to pray,

Was ever such a bed? could ever yet

Cruelty boast of such a subtle wit

To bury so! some that have entred Earth

Alive, like me, yet by the usuall mirth

[Page]Of justice had their buriall with meat,

As if't should be their punishment to eate,

From which Ime barr'd, I had no food, but me,

And yet a guest of famine; Courtesie

At last ceiz'd heav'n, I dy'd, and so though late,

I both appeas'd and triumpht over Fate.

But where am I? what extasie was this?

Iul

How quickely we learne misery? no ghost

Would have so courteosly relinquisht Hell

To teach us happinesse: if a kind starre

Had cast a Fortune on us beyond wish,

We might expect the story from the starre

Assoone as the deare benefit: but when griefe

That against which we would seale up our eares,

When that is meant us, we shall surely heare,

Though heav'n doe straine for a new Miracle,

So to amaze us to a certainty:

Though rotten carkasses regaine a voice,

And hell is bounteous of intelligence,

To give us teares.

Pic.

Why, then an end to teares,

Let's scorne the sorrow, which we owe to hell:

How learne we the prodigious effects

Of wise Ambition: for twere easie justice

To ruine foolish usurpation,

Heav'n needs not stickle in't: but when those men

Who are as accurate, as bad, who can

So shape their vice into a vertuous mould,

That we repine at the accusers more,

Then at the guilty: when that these men fall,

Who then will call that wise, which he sees bad?

Such wisedome made, and ruin'd him: then ye

That dazle with your Majesty, and sit

Too neere to thunder, and not feare it, know

[Page] Sforza, and learne a wise contempt of wisdome,

Frailty attends your best, and strongest tricke,

And there's no foole unto the Politicke.

The Epilogue.

SOme what beyond an end? and can there be

Tediousnesse counted an Apology?

It was prolixity of speech offended,

And can that error by more speech be mended?

Your patience stints the wonder: that is it

Hath dar'd us to be publike, and to fit

These times of tempest, with a blustering scene.

If ought doe please, if we have hit the meane,

That neither cloyes the Auditor, nor starves,

Felicity hath crown'd us; if ought swarves

From plausible invention, know 'twas it

VVhich we intend, which is in stead of wit.

Teares grace a Tragedy and we are glad

To have the happy power to make you sad,

Continue it, and our applause is high,

Not from your Hand so much; as from your eye.

To the Ambitious.

TEll me, mortalls, if there be

Ought beside stupidity

Hidden in you at the least,

If you are not all one beast

[Page]VVherefore doe you cloud your face

If you want the chiefest place?

VVhy doe you respect? O why?

Not how good 'tis, but how high?

VVould you all be Kings? ô vaine.

This is but to entertaine

Such desires, that you may feare,

Lest the heav'n should lend an eare,

Lest you have what you desir'd,

And in your owne bogges be myr'd.

Height is basenesse, if it be

Level'd by A [...]quality,

And the Earth were a plaine still,

If it were but one great hill.

VVould you all be Kings? as though

Standing poole should wish to flow,

Or a river make his plea

To exceed into a Sea:

As if of the stars not one,

But should strive to be the Sun,

Or the Larke would partner be

In the Eagles soveraignty.

VVould you not be mad to see,

If a beast, a stone, a tree

To the heav'nly powers ran

Angry that they were not man?

Nay in us consider well

To what Monsters we should swell,

If but any Part should be

Of the Mans infirmity.

VVhat should lead, or what be led,

If the feet were made the Head?

VVhat should speake, or what should see,

If this itch of Majesty

[Page]Made the mouth, for being nigh,

Beg advancement to the eye.

Would you all be Kings, poore men!

Wish, what you would wish agen,

Which within your thoughts dares bide,

And's not fearfull to be try'd.

What's a King, consider well,

But the publike Sentinell?

But a Beacon, which we find

Highly subject to the wind:

And can any still desire

To be worse, so he be higher?

Are you weary of your sleepe,

Can you count it blisse, to creepe,

To take paines unto that height,

Whence your fall may gaine a weight,

Would you all be Kings? you may,

Every man hath regall sway,

And 'tis this the fault does beare,

Not that he commands, but where.

Doe thy thoughts rebell? would Pride

Have thy worst acts magnifi'd?

Does Ambition make thee flee

To forbidden Sov'raignty.

Know it is a braver way

To forbid, then to obey:

Know it is a nobler deed,

To give over, then to speed.

Were this all? would every one

But command himselfe alone,

But command his owne desire,

From the thought of rising higher:

It would not be a griefe to see

An universall Monarchy.

FINIS.

§

§

[Page]

[Page]

The explanation of the Frontispice.

A Levite in his journey goes

To wicked Gibeah for repose,

VVhich is deny'd, but having found

Another lodging then the ground,

(Such is th' unkindnesse of their sinne)

They make a prison of his Inne.

From whence he shall not issue free,

But by his wifes Adultery,

So when from thence to hast he minds,

Her dead before the doore he finds,

VVhen to expresse their crime, and make

The villaines at their owne guilt quake,

Into twelve pieces he divides

The body that was once his Brides,

Now Gibeah is besieg'd, and though

They twice have giv'n the overthrow

Unto their betters, yet at length

They finde Vice hath no lasting strength:

For now their town's as hot as their Desire,

And as they burnt in Lust, so that in fire.

§

[Page]

THE LEVITES REVENGE. by Robert Gomersall.

LONDON. Printed for Iohn Marriott.

§

[Page]

[Page]

THE LEVITES REVENGE: Containing POETICALL MEDITATIONS VPON The 19. and 20. Chapters of JVDGES.

By Robert Gomersall.

The second Edition.

Printed at LONDON in the yeare M DCXXXIII.

[Page]

[Page]

TO HIS VVORTHILY RESPECTED FRIFND, MASTER BARTEN HOLIDAY ARCH-DEACON OF OXFORD.

WOrthy Sir; whilst others are ambitious of an honourable Dedication, I am thankfull for a friendly one, this in the meane time being mine happy advantage over them, that they expect, but I injoy a Patron. And yet I have not such a scarcity of great names, to whom I might pretend with as good a confidence as the greatest part of VVriters, but that some of the higher ranke (to whom for their frequent courtesie I confesse my selfe an unequall debtor) might have expected, others almost challenged my Dedication: to whom I know no other answer of more respect and satisfaction then this, [Page] that I concluded the worke to bee below their notice, how much more their protection; and that I would have others to take notice more of my Friendship, then of my Ambition: But it may bee that some will conceive an Ambition in this Friendship, when I of such an infancy in study shall boast the favours of so growne a vertue, and intrude upon his fame. If this be an offence, I must professe I glory in it, this accusation I confesse and am proud of: such is the ambition of him that is enamoured on vertue, of the man who would bee indeared to heaven, whose desires would not be so good, were they not so high, and the Angells might have stood, had they never known another Pride. But not to insist on that (which neverthelesse I can never too much insist on, the remembrance of our friendship) to whom could I more fitly dedicate a Poeme, then to him that hath shewed such excellency? or a Divine Poem, then to him that hath shewed such Religion in his composures? Of this truth Persius is a witnesse, whom you have taught to speake English with such a grace, that wee can understand when wee heare him, and find no one syllable in his Dialect offensive either to the Elegant, or to the Chast Eare. Of this truth Iuvenall may bee a witnesse, whom though wee doe not yet heare in publike bettering [Page] his expressions by your exact rendring him, yet they that have injoy'd the happinesse of your neerer friendship, confidently and upon the hazzard of their understanding affirme, that hee is farre unworthy of such an imprisonment, that hee should bee obscured by that hand which cleared him. But it is Divinity that is the subject of these verses, and it is Divinity which is the exercise, and glory of your studies, which makes you an inhabitant of the Pulpit, nay which makes every place where you will vouchsafe to discourse, to bee a Pulpit, for such is the bounty of your religious conversation, that howsoever the place may bee changed, the Sermon is perpetuall. Sermons that at the same time make us devout and witty, which by first winning the Preacher, have the easier Conquest of the Auditory: who are never with lesse difficulty intreated to their happinesse, then when they see they doe not goe alone. So that now when I consider what I present, and to whom, I beginne to suspect the lightnesse of my worke, and thinke I have some reason to feare the censure of such a Friend, to whom if I shall bee excus'd, I expect some glory from others, not because the Levite, but because [Page] He was mine, to whom, having thus farre tryed his patience, I have nothing more to adde but this, that I am his,

In all the duties of Affection, ROBERT GOMERSALL.

[Page]

TO THE READER.

REader, I must first intreat thy Patience, afterward thy Ingenuity; thy Patience, that thou wilt read somewhat before my verses: thy Ingenuity, that thou wilt not censure them the worse, because thou shalt finde them censur'd to thy hand. The purpose of this Poem is Religious Delight, which if thou shalt finde in any place wanting, or disjoyned, understand, that it was either not my intent, or mine Error. And yet I dare affirme no man shall be the worse by it, and that if there be any want, it is more of the Delight then of the Religion: If I intended excuses, I could tell you, and that truely too; that these verses were not now first made, although they are now first published, and the Composure was a younger mans, though the Edition be a Divines. This I could say, if I thought Poetry incompatible with Divinity, if it were a serious truth, that God could bee onely magnified in Prose: But when I consider that Nazianzen could be both a Poet, and a Saint, and that it was heresie that cast Tertullian out of the Church, and not his Verses, I dare acknowledge these for mine owne, and feare not to suffer in that cause, wherein those Worthies were so magnify'd: Especially, since these Essayes (which I feare their weaknesse will too strongly testifie) were not my study, but my Recreation, when in the vacations having for a time intermitted my more serious affaires, I chose Poetry before Idlenesse; yet I have not chose Poetry with the [Page] hazard of my Conscience, & so instead of a Divine have writ a superstitious worke; howsoever Malice or Ignorance may wrest a passage unto Popery, I meane that, where Abraham prayes for the victory of the Israelites: But besides that the Intercession is generall for the Church, which no judicious Divine but will allow for Orthodox, it is made by him, whom a Popish Divine will deny at that time to bee able to intercede: there was no solliciting of him they saw not, and the holiest of the Patriarchs (as they will tell you) saw not God till after the Resurrection: I have the more fully exprest my selfe in this, because I would not be esteem'd as one of thē (wherof there is too great an harvest) who play the wantons with Religion, that will halt betweene two parties, and in spite of the Prophet, at the same time serve God and Baal, who like not Orthodoxe truth, unlesse delivered in hereticall tearmes, & so by a notable new tricke of Iugling, call that Pacification, which is Conspiracy, of whose proficiency in Religion I can speake little; but this I may most confidently affirme, that (perhaps not after the Apostles mind, yet certainely in his words) they goe on from Faith, to Faith. Of this crime, and of the suspition of it, I trust I am sufficiently acquited: for other errors which Malice ond Curiosity will aboundantly multiply, I onely referre my selfe to the truely Iudicious, who know that a good Poem is as a good Life, not wherein there are none, but wherin there are the fewest faults.

[Page]

To my learned and highly esteemed Friend, Mr. ROBERT GOMERSALL.

HAd such a Labour in this jugling age

Sought after Greatnesse for its patronage,

Not after Goodnesse, I had then beene free

To love thy worke, though not to fancy thee;

But thou hast wonne me: since I see thy booke

Aymes at a judging eye, no smiling looke.

Greatnesse doth well to shelter errours, thou

Not having any, fear'st no frowning brow,

But wisely crav'st a view of his, that can

Not onely praise, but censure of a man.

Thou needst not doubt severer eyes, if he

Adde but applause unto thy Poety.

His workes such monuments of fame doe raise,

That none will Censure if he once but Praise.

Commend I would, but what? here's nothing knowne

Can be call'd thine, when each hath claim'd his owne.

Iove-bred-Minerva challengeth the wit.

Mercury flyes and sweares he languag'd it.

Thy Artes the Muses claime; the History

Savours of nothing but Divinity,

Transcrib'd from Gods records; then nothing's thine

(But griefe for th' Levites sinne) since th' use is mine.

But now deare friend, though this sufficient be

To raise up Trophees, and eternize thee:

Give leave to him that loves thee to desire

To serve thee friendlike, though in meane attire.

[Page]The glittering starre that darts a glorious light

Were lost if not commended by the night?

So stands it with thy verse; I writing set

Their beauty off, as Christall is by Iett.

Nor doth it trouble me; since that my end

Is not to be a Poet, but a friend.

And yet perhaps these looser lines of mine

May prove eternall; cause they usher thine.

Midd. Temp.

C. L. I. C.

§

[Page]

Epitaphium Concubinae.

Quae tristis ignes, Gibeah, passa est tuos,

Cultrumquè sponsi, cujus amplexum petit

Non unus ardor, ecce in amplexu perit,

Non una facta victima, & multus rogus.

Discant pueliae forma sit quantum Nihil,

Virtus venusta est, pulchra mens solus decor.

Englished thus.

Who suffer'd Gibeahs Lust, and her Lords knife,

Whom not one Suitor would have had to wife;

By many Suitors perishing, here lyes,

A not-one Coarse, and many sacrifice.

O who would trust in formes, that houres impaire,

Vertue's true shape, and onely Goodnesse fayre.

§

[Page]

PSAL. 9.2.

I will bee glad and rejoyce in thee, yea my Songs will I make of thy name, O thou most High.

FAther of Lights, whose praises to rehearse

Would pose the boldnesse of the ablest verse;

Who art so far above what we can say,

That what we leave is greatest: shew the way

To my weake Muse, that being full of thee

She judge Devotion the best Poesie,

Teach her to shunne those ordinary wayes,

Wherein the greater sort seeke shamefull praise

By witty sinne, which ill affections stirres,

Whose pennes at leastwise are Adulterers.

O teach me Modesty: let it not be

My care to keepe my verse from harshnes free

And not from lightnesse; let me censure thus,

That what is Bad, that too is Barbarous.

Then shall my soule warm'd with thy sacred fire,

Advance her thoughts, and without Pride aspire,

Then shall I shew the glory of my King,

Then shall I hate the faults which now I Sing,

[Page]

THE LEVITES REVENGE.
Canto. I.

The Argument.

The Levites Love, her flight, his stay

In hope to bring his Runne-away:

Gibeahs harsh usage, with the free,

Vnlookt for old mans courtesie:

Their base attempt, her wretched fate;

This song to Time doth consecrate.

WHilst Israels government was yet but rude,

And Multitudes did sway the Multitude,

Whilst all the Nation were so many Kings,

Or else but one great Anarchy: Fame sings

That there a Levite was (Levites may erre)

Who had a Concubine, and doubted her.

Durst Lust and Iealousie so high aspire

To one that onely knew the Altars fire?

Must he feele other Flames? to wanton eyes

Must ev'n the Priest be made a sacrifice?

Or hath he offerd incense so long time

For Iudah's fault, that he hath gain'd their crime?

[Page]Appeas'd for sinnes to learne them? in times past

Whilst yet the ancient innocence did last,

Levi could kill a Ravisher, but now

Levies base off-spring does not disavow

To be a Ravisher. Perhaps to show

His Grandsires bloody rashnesse, who would so

Punish that crime, which some years past might be

His owne, at least in his Posterity.

For so 'twas now: the Levite loves, and more,

Suspects at last, whom he did first adore:

For Fame speakes hardly of her: but poore man

Fame speaks no more thē thou should thinke: for can

One that hath broke with honesty, be true

To him that made her breake? or else are you

The onely Tempter? does there no blood boyle

Besides the Levites? can they onely toyle

In sinnes, that preach against them? if they can,

Yet such as she are made for every man.

What none can challenge his, is due to all,

Lust should not imitate a Nuptiall.

She now suspects her Levites jealousie,

And hasts home to her fathers house: ô why

To goe or come againe couldst thou dispense,

And bring not backe againe, what thou broughtst

Was then a Father to be visited

When thou wert made a Mother? what hope bred thence?

That madnesse in thee, that unto a mild

Father, thou shouldst be welcome for a child?

But unto whom wouldst thou have welcome beene?

A Father? 'tis the nature of thy sinne:

To make them doubtfull: they that live like thee,

Asham'd of nothing but of modesty,

Banish themselves from all, but their deare sinne;

And lose at once their vertue, and their kinne.

[Page]But when the Levite saw that she was gone,

That she was lost, whom he so doted on,

Reason almost forsooke him too, to prove

Anger can blind a man as well as love:

It may be Israel was holy then

And sacrifices for the guilty men

Came slowly in, this might increase his griefe,

And be an accessory, if not chiefe:

This might confirme him in his angry sinne,

Rob'd of his profit and his concubine.

But hee'l not lose her: wilt thou seeke her then

That does fly thee? that to an host of men

Hath giv'n thy due? as if she meant to try

Which were the most unvanquisht luxury

Of Priest or people: whom if thou shouldst finde,

Thou hast not yet recovered her lost mind,

That wanders still, and wilt thou fetch her thence

To try, or else to teach thee Patience?

Can she teach any vertue? can there be

Ought learnt from her besides immodesty?

All that this journey can effect, that thou

Can'st promise to thy selfe, if thou speed'st now,

Is, that shee'l lose the bashfulnesse she had,

And onely prove more confidently bad.

You now may thinke him neere his journeyes end,

Where long before his thoughts had met his friend,

Scorning his bodies sluggish company,

And now both are arriv'd, where to his eye

She first appear'd, for whom alone, I find,

He thank'd the heav'n that did not make him blind,

For which he should have thank'd them: he had been

Then nor a Lover, nor a Priest: no sinne

Had crept in with the light, nor ever made

In that good Darknesse, an unhallowed shade

[Page]But who had seene him when he first descry'd

Who'twas that met him, how he slipt beside

The wearied beast, and with full speed did run

As if he meant to tempt temptation;

He would have judg'd that women strongest were,

And men object the weakenesse which they are.

Thus when he should wisely have understood,

And thank'd the kinder heav'ns, who made him good

Against his will almost, having remov'd

That which did hinder him from being belov'd

Of God, and goodnesse, not unlike the Fish

Which seemes to be desirous of the dish,

(As if for his delivery he did waite,

And therefore were ambitious of the baite:)

Into a knowne snare, he does gladly run,

And foolishly pursues, what he should shun.

And is not this, Ide know, the readiest way

To make God thinke, we mocke him when we pray?

When we pretend desire, that we may be,

As from the Fault, so the Temptation free:

Whilst (as we had not knowne what we had said,

Or hop'd, that God observ'd not how we prai'd)

Lest that we should receive our hurt from farre,

We both the Tempted, and the Tempters are,

And thus the holyest name we take in vaine,

Praying as never meaning to obtaine.

And now her father comes, who after words

As kind and elegant as that place affords,

Intreats her pardon: but alas, good Age,

Who shall intreat thy pardon, or asswage

The Levites passion now? who does averre,

That he alone does sinne, who taxes her:

With this he smiles on her, and yet does feare

Lest she should thinke that this a Pardon were,

[Page]Or reconcilement: without much adoe,

You might perswade him now he came to wooe,

And not to fetch her backe; but by the hast

Of carrying her from thence, fearing the wast

Of the least minute, she might well descry,

What ere his words, his deeds spoke Iealousie.

Hardly he condiscends to one nights stay

Though 'twere with her: but how he spent the day,

How his desires were speedier then the Sunne,

(Whom then he thought to creep, and not to runne)

Twere tedious to relate, though the old man

With all the Art, and all the Cheare he can,

Detaines him three daies longer, which appeare

As long as fancy can extend a yeare.

Minutes are Ages with him, and he deemes

He hath out-lingred grave Methusalems

Nine hundred yeare by such a stay, and feares

That she may once more shunne him for his yeares.

Sure such accounts the wise Egyptians made

Who added wings to Time, as if he had

Mov'd on too slowly, or as if they meant

To take his fore-top from him, with intent

To make him bald before too, whose records

Had very neere as many yeares as words.

Making full forty thousand ere the fall,

And pu'ny Adam of no age at all.

The fifth day dawnes, but ere the rising Sunne

Had shew'd the victory which he had wonne

Of cloudy night, before the sleepy Cocke

Had prov'd himselfe to be the Country Clocke

Shewing the mornings houre, when now we might

Have spoke no falshood had we call'd it Night:

Our Levite for his journey does prepare,

And his are drest, ere Phoebus horses are:

[Page]To whom the Father comes, and gently chides

His earely sonne-in-law, who, forst, abides

Till after noone with him, and then he goes

Not from the house so fast, as to his woes,

Sure the old man did prophecy the harme,

Which would insue, when he did seeke to charme

Our Levite to a longer stay: but O

Tis double misery beforehand to know

We shall be miserable! then why hath man

That curst ability, that well he can

Prognosticate mishapps, when they are neere?

And all his knowledge teaches but to feare.

Which yet our Levite hath not learnt, who rides

Doubting no danger: now the worlds eye glides

To his west Inne, when Iebus he espies,

Whom he counts his, because Gods enemies.

Hearken ye Gallants that will crosse the seas,

And are industrious for a new disease,

If you will needs be gadding, and despise

For forraine toyes, our home-bred rarities,

Take this example with you, if you goe

Travell not from Religion: why, although

You never touch at Rome, or else perchance

You scarce see Spaine, and gleane but part of France,

You may be weary, thinke your travell great,

And spare at once your conscience, and your sweat;

You see our Levite though the night draw neere,

His love be weary, and no towne appeare

Where she may rest her selfe, although the way

Were troublesome enough eu'n in the day,

Yet he resolves gladly to undergoe

More miseries then Night and danger know,

Ere he will venture there to make his stay

From whence the Idols had drove God away:

[Page]O farre unworthy of thy future Fate

By this best Action! miserable state

Of too great vertue ill-imploy'd! to be

Punish't, when he did shunne Iniquitie,

As he did Iebus. How he spurs, how rates

His tardy beast! how his owne slacknesse hates?

Which forc't him by his travelling so late

If not to stay, yet to deliberate.

Within the Center of the Earth there stands

Neere to the fiery streames, and ashy sands,

A dreadfull palace, of such uncouth frame,

Each part so shap't as if twere built to shame

All Architecture, that if one did see

The vastnesse of it, and deformity,

He would not make the least demurre to tell

That 'twas a lodging for the Prince of Hell.

What ere does beautifie a house, here wants,

The walls are blacke as the Inhabitants,

Made out of Iett, into such figures fram'd

That Nature dare not owne them, nor be blam'd

With so much Monster: we in doubt may call,

Whether the trimming, or materiall,

Had the more horror. No birds here are heard,

But such whose harsher accents would have feard

The most resolv'd: they punish in their rimes,

And all their ditty does consist of crimes.

They sly Praecisian that could gull the eye

Of the most sharpe, by close hypocrisie,

Whose mischiefes onely he that did, could tell,

Who, we may thinke might ev'n have cheated Hell

With such dissembling, sees his vices bare,

Naked, and foule, as when they acted were:

One layes oppression to his charge, another

His sisters incest, murther of his brother.

[Page]They shew his zeale was onely to contend,

And all his reformation not to mend

But to confound the State, that his knit brow

(Which lookt so sterne as it would disallow

The most indifferent act, and like of none

But such as did pretend perfection)

Was but an easie Vizor, such as Rage

Can give it selfe, and must receive from Age.

That he did onely know externall Grace,

And all his holinesse was in his face.

Is goodnes in a wrinkle? can we finde

That what does cloud the face, does clense the mind?

To me it is a tricke of rarest art

That hollow browes should have the soundest heart.

These are the sounds, but then the smells are worse,

Enough to make that Harmony no Curse.

Vnder the walls there runnes a brimstone flood

The top of flames, the bottome was of mud:

Of such grosse vapour, that to smell was Death,

Prisons are sweet, compar'd unto that breath.

And to maintaine the fire and stench at once,

The fewell is prepar'd of usurers bones,

Loose Madams lockes, the fethers of their Fanne,

With the foule inside of a Puritan.

In this sweet place as sweet a Prince doth dwell,

The chiefe of fiends, the Emperor of Hell

Grand Lucifer, whom if I should relate

In the worst figure that the eye doth hate:

I should but faintly his foule selfe expresse,

Nor reach unto his unpattern'd uglinesse,

Death keepes the entrance, a tall sturdy groome.

Who emptying all places fills no roome,

But like the fond Idolater of pelfe,

Denyes men, what he cannot have himselfe:

[Page]Here does this shade send challenges to all,

Who would have entrance first to try a fall,

They try, and they are throwne; ther's none so great

But yeelds to him, who knew but one defeat

And that long after, but his prime was now,

His bones some marrow had, some grace his brow.

No plagues as yet, no famines had beene knowne,

The sword was thrifty, making few to groane

Vnder his edge. Death yet had lusty thighes,

Nor spent himselfe with too much exercise.

Here there stand numbers, which exceed all sums

(For they refuse none here, who ever comes)

The murtherer first, and without much adoe.

Sometime he will admit the murtherd too.

Then the incontinent, but if that he

Be knowne by Incest or Adultery

His seat is chiefe: nor have they a low place,

Who with an open and alluring face,

Delude their trusting friends, till they have wonn

Their deeper projects, which they built upon.

The rest of lower crimes, whom we may call,

Downe-right offenders, such as after all

Their time of trespasse, have not gain'd the skill,

And onely know the taint, not art of Ill:

Have no distinguisht roomes, but venture in

As headlong to their paines, as to their sinne,

But now some other enter; for a charge

Past from the Prince of shadowes, to inlarge

Th' imprison'd Crimes, that they might all conferre

(Such is his will) with their Lord Lucifer.

What noyse there was? what striving at the doore?

This would be first, and that would goe before:

Pride claimes precedency, and cryes who ere

Ventures to make a step before her there

[Page]Is impudently foolish, that the place

Is hers by due, and onely theirs by grace,

When she would yeeld it: unlesse first they would

Bring more convincing reasons then she could:

For who should to the Prince of Hell first goe

To visit him, but she that made him so?

And who had made him so, shee'd know, but she,

When with his God he claim'd Aequality?

Peace, wrath exclaimes, and with so deepe an oath

As all those fiends, with Hell to boot, were loath

To heare another such, he vowes no more

To beare the bravings of that scarlet whore,

Hee'l first a Rebell, first a Vertue be,

And no more Wrath, but Magnanimity.

She smil'd, and bid him be so, but whilst they

Were hot in this contention, Envy lay

Gnawing her breasts: faine would she have bin higher

Had but her spirit equall'd her desire.

But since she cannot be reveng'd of them,

She useth an unheard of stratagem,

Teares her owne haires, and her gimme face beslimes

Thus punishing her selfe for others crimes.

By this time Idlensse comes in the reare,

As proud, thoug not as active, as they were;

He scarce would take the paines to speake, but loth

To lose his dignity by too much Sloth,

He gives them these few words, Why strive you so

About the place which all to me doe owe?

Doe not ye know, I am the raigning Crime,

Most generall, and most lofty of the time?

I mak [...] [...] Lawyer silent, though he see

His clyent full; I am beyond a Fee:

When Lawes doe not, I make the Preacher dumbe

Ev'n when the Tyger, or the Wolfe doe come:

[Page]But above all, I in the Court doe grow,

Beggers are proud, but Emperors are slow.

Drunkennesse could not answere, but does thinke

Twas fit that Idlenesse should yeeld to drinke:

And reeling to encounter him, does fall

Iust in the entrance, and excludes them all.

Now is the skirmish hotter then before,

Now Pride begins to scratch, and Wrath to roare;

Drunkennesse lies unmov'd, and Sloths intent

Is to sit still, and to expect th' event.

But in this civill broyle, at last comes Craft

Of whom no Painter ere could take a draft,

He had such change of shapes, who when he saw

These tumbling warriours, and that no awe,

No feare of Lucifer could teach them peace,

Hee'l try his skill to make these broyles to cease,

Fie Pride, sayes he, What? give your selfe the fall?

And Wrath are you no more discreet withall

Then quarrell with a woman? Come agree,

If not for feare of Hell, for love of me.

But out alas, you doe too well agree,

When Wrath is Proud, and Pride will Wrathfull be.

Goe hand in hand (thus friendly Craft decides)

Onely the upper hand let that be Prides.

They enter the great hall, where they doe see

The Hellish Monarch in his Majesty,

Where having made obeysance, he beginnes,

Thus to breake silence▪ and upbraid the sinnes.

The reason why I call'd you (not to dwell

On an unnecessay praeamble)

Is to informe you, that we finde of late

You have not beene officious to the State:

'Tis true, you bring me daily what's mine owne▪

And plentifully reape what I have sowne.

[Page]In the grosse Heathen you doe hourly cause

Vices, which never were forbid by Lawes,

Because ne'r thought of? but what's this to me,

Whether that Lust or Infidelity

Fill Hell with those, nay and oppresse it too,

Which must come thither, whatsoere they do?

You doe like those, who in the other life

Buy their owne lands, and wooe againe their wife.

A goodly act, and wherein's danger store,

You give me that, which was mine owne before.

Whilst Iudah all this while hath me withstood,

And dares, when I forbid them, to be good.

They honor Parents with a zealous strife,

And with their goodnesse doe prolong their life.

In them no malice nor no rancor lies,

Nor shed they blood, but for a sacrifice:

Adultery's scarce heard of in a life,

And they're men onely unto their owne wife.

In such a lou'd community they live,

None need to steale▪ all are so apt to give.

While you suppose that highly you deserve

If you can say that you have made them swerve

From goodnesse that ne'r had it: well y'aue done

If that Semiramis once doate upon

Her wondring issue, and begin to swell

With such a birth, that would pose us to tell

How she should call it; and what she did beare

If it her daughter, or her granchild were,

You have discharged your office, if you make

Some bloody Nations their owne issue take

And offer unto me; or if you draw

Some to the practice of that wicked Law

That after fifty they their parents kill,

And not that onely, but suppose that ill

[Page]To be their duty. O fond thought! and thence

Doe estimate their childs obedience.

Hence truant Crimes, avant, no more appeare

In my dread presence, no more let me heare

Those petty actions, if you doe not straight

Revenge my wrongs, and ease me of this waight,

Which thus oppresseth me, if Israel still

Shall dare to crosse what I shall call my will;

By Hell Ile doe— but what? I say no more,

If you are wise, prevent, if not, deplore.

This said he star'd so fiercely that they fear'd

He would performe much more then they had heard,

Nor know they wel how they their tongues should use,

Whether 'twere best to promise or excuse.

At last Lust rises, and becalmes him thus,

Why doe you loose your wrath, great Prince, on us?

Vs your sworne vassals? who nor thinke nor doe

But what your will is their command unto.

What though w'ave spent our paines not the right way?

Yet they were paines, nor can an enemie say

But we were active Furies, and have done

What lesser fiends durst not have thought upon.

And yet (if that I may have leave to tell

From your dread grace) preciser Israel

Hath not escap'd us wholy, nor hath bin

More noted for their Law, then tor their Sinne.

Was that a Vertue too, when being led

By Gods owne hand, and fill'd with Angels bread,

They did, (I joy to caus't, but blush to tell,)

They did repine ev'n at that miracle.

Fasting and full they murmure, nor are lesse

Angry with Manna then with Emptinesse.

I could speake more, and truely: but in summe,

To prove my past acts by my act to come;

[Page]If by your gracious leave, I have the fate

To have a joynt commission with Debate,

Ile make a fire within their blood to burne,

Shall their proud Cities into ashes turne:

And they shall know how foolishly they erre,

Who are not willing slaves to Lucifer.

Lucifer nods, and Lust does swiftly runne

With his unlimited Commission:

Which with what Art, what mischiefe he did use,

Is now the griefe and bus'nesse of my Muse.

But now she must to our sad Levite hast

Whom we left trav'lling, when the day was past.

The sunne sets over Gibeah; when that he

Drawes neerer thither ward, but then to see

The blush of Heav'n, with what a red it shin'd,

(As if the Sun his office had resign'd

Vnto those clouds) to all that understood,

It would have shew'd that it did figure blood,

And now our Levite is arriv'd, but finds

The walls more courteous then the peoples minds:

For these had gates which let him in, but they

Were mercilesse, and rougher then the way:

Men that had onely studied to oppresse,

Whose mindes were shut against the harbourlesse:

And yet he sees large houses, some so high

As if they learn't acquaintance with the sky,

What ever pleas'd their fathers now growes stale,

Their buildings to the hills exalt the vale:

And such thicke Palaces the mountaines fill,

As if the quarry grew without the hill.

Some are of that circumference you'd guesse,

They had beene built for him, who had no lesse

Then the whole world his Family. But when

Our Levite was inquisitive, what men

[Page]Fill'd up that Princely dwelling; and if there

Might be found hope of rest for them that were

But two more then the Family; they tell

That two are the whole Family, 'twas well,

And stately too (as state is at this day)

So might they live at home, and yet away,

O the great folly of Magnificence!

Houses are little Cities, and from thence

Cities are lesser worlds, that man may have

Roome enough here that cannot fill a grave.

He must have Halls, and Parlors, and beside

Chambers invented, but not nam'd by pride:

And all this for one man, as if he sought

To have a severall lodging for each thought,

But none for any stranger: this truth seemes

Too certaine to our Levite, who esteemes

That pris'ners are in better state then he;

Nay, ev'n the pris'ners of mortality,

Such as are fast immur'd within the grave

Who though they want a life, a lodging have.

Inhumane wretches! have you then forgot

That you were sometime strangers? Were you not

In Egypt once? where the Propheticke land

Did justly scourge your basenesse before hand,

Knowing you would be barbarous, and so

Made you to feele the harshnesse which you show.

O cruelly forgetfull! that indure

To act, or else out-doe the Epicure,

Whilest he feeds on the Ayre; that thinke it meet

To lye in Downe, while he lies in the street!

An old man thought not thus, but to his house

Intreats the strangers: 'tis malicious

To lay the imputation upon Age

That it is covetous (as if the sage

[Page]Haires of the Ancient were therefore white

To signifie their silver Appetite.)

Peace you blasphemers, see an aged man

Covetous onely of a Guest, who can

Repay him nothing, but his Prayer, and be

Indebted once more for his Piety;

But if my Muse have any power o'r time

And sinne hath more mortality then rime,

Old man thou shalt be ever old, and have

No entertainment in the silent grave

For this thy entertainment: here a while

Let me admire how that a towne so vile,

Which we would thinke with strangers had decreed

To shut out Vertue too, should rarely breed

Such a strange Vertue? quietly we heare

Of courtesies in Rome; of kindnesse there

Where Greece is nam'd, who counted it a sinne

Not to have made each noble house an Inne

For worthy strangers: but when one shall fall

In commendation of the Canniball,

Shall say that they, who on their guests doe gnaw

And entertaine their strangers in their maw,

Are hospitably minded, that ev'n there

May be a mouth which is no Sepulcher:

We stand agast, as if we did conspire

Not to beleeve the good we did desire.

Whence sprung this Singularity? whence came

This worth which so deserves and conquers Fame?

Our Vertues are not borne with us, and they

Which will in noble man till times last day

Live after them they make to live, what we

Call goodnesse, is the gift of Company,

Our study not ou [...] Nature, and could these

Teach any other thing besides disease

[Page]In manners? it is fit then we confesse

Mercy is learn't amongst the mercilesse,

And rather then a Levite shall want rest

Avarice selfe shall entertaine a Guest.

But now the Levite hath forgot that he

Had left the hard streets hospitality;

He finds such kindnesse, that he does suppose

Courtesie wore no other haires then those.

To grieve the honest world, who now might feare.

That she was hasting to her sepulcher.

Into an anticke roome he leads him first,

Where one would guesse that Abraham had beene mirst

Or a more ancient Patriarch, the walls

Compos'd of that which from a wett shooe falls

In weeping winter, which a man would thinke

Their age had now dry'd up into one Chinke.

Yet such a roome one comfort does afford,

It was not built to ruine its sad Lord.

For who will begge a Cottage? who would make

A guilty wretch, that he his rags might take?

To that whence nothing comes is no regard:

None would be vicious too but for reward.

No, let them feare who dwell in arched vaults,

Who in much roome doe seeke to hide their faults.

Where hundred columnes rise to mate the skie,

And mocke their Lords with false Divinity.

Envie is proud, nor strikes at what is low,

And they shall onely feele who scorne her blow:

She on no base advantage will insist,

Nor strive with any but that can resist.

Now is the table spred, and now the meat

Be'ing set, each takes him his appointed seat:

No courtship here is shew'd, no carving grace,

The entertainment (homely as the place

[Page]Spoke onely hearty, and that plaine intent

Which greater entertainers complement.

So Abraham feasted heav'nly guests, as when

He made the Angels eat the bread of men:

So on the like guests, hospitable Lot

Bestow'd the diet which they wanted not;

In this ours differs, nay in this exceeds,

That he bestowes his kindnesse where it needs.

One would have thought so, when he heard the noise,

Of confus'd multitudes, men mixt with boyes.

All ages in the cry, as if they meant

That now the Babes should not be innocent:

Bees doe not murmure so, and angry hounds

In their full rage send forth but easy sounds,

Compar'd to this: their in land Sea stood still,

Wondring to heare him selfe out-roar'd, and till

This time, that noise hath such a silence bred,

That ever since it hath beene styl'd the Dead.

Now they besiege the house, and one would feare

That their loud tongues so many engines were

To batter it: downe with the Gate, cryes one,

Another laughes at that, and with a stone

Threatens to force a Gate, and deepely swore

To give them entrance, all the House was Doore,

But then another that would needs be wise,

And counted chiefe in this great enterprise,

Exhorts them to a Parley: Why, my friends,

Make you such hast, sayes he, to lose your ends?

Have you indented with the stones you throw

To misse the Levit? Doe you thinke no blow

Can fasten on him, or d'ye meane to prove

If that the stones are rivalls in your Love?

Stones and not men! with that the hands were still,

But all the noise, the Hubbub, with an ill

[Page]Consent, cries for the Levite, whom they faine

Would onely know, and so returne againe.

And could you see him in the street so long,

As farre from being hid, as this your wrong

Shall be from after-Ages, when he had

No cover, but the kinder heav'ns, (whose sad

Compassion hindred them from shedding teares,

Left such a griefe should make th' unkindnes theirs)

Had you so full a view of him, and yet

Doe you desire to know him? No, forget

That ever there was such a one, and then

Posterity may thinke that you were men:

How will they wonder else, when they shall heare

You lov'd him in the house, whom you did feare

To bring into your house; that you were mad,

In the pursuit of that you might have had?

You ai'm'd another, a worse way, and just

His answere is, that calls your Knowledge, Lust,

But how, were they so long time innocent?

How was this Prodigy of Desire ev'n spent

Before it was exprest? here we may see

In impudence there was some Modesty:

They would not sinne at home, the worst abhor'd

To be a beast, where he should be a Lord.

And it seem'd better to the vilest breast

Not to receive, then to abuse a Guest.

Now the Old-man not fearing any harme

That might ensue, whether he hop'd the warme

Lust of their Youth, would by his Age be quelld,

And that those flames would to such winter yeeld:

Or whether he was then rather addrest

To offer up himselfe before his Guest

Vnto their Fury, forth he goes: they thought

That now they should obtaine what they had sought,

[Page]Whom thus he does be speake; Have Patience

My friends, I come, not to intreat you hence,

But to fulfill your pleasure, onely change

The Sex; I have a daughter, and what's strange

In this hot towne, a Virgin: at your suite

I am content to make her prostitute,

So that my stranger may not injur'd be:

Nature shall yeeld to Hospitality.

O constant goodnesse! O best act, which can

Conclude the Vertue, older then the Man!

How I could lose my selfe in praysing thee,

Man not of Age, but of Aeternity!

Who didst respect thy guest beyond thy blood,

And knew'st the difference betwixt Fond, and Good.

Henceforth scorne all comparisons below,

Onely thy Maker, thy Superiour know:

Such was his Mercy that he did bestow

His onely Sonne a ransome for his Foe;

(This was a patterne fit for the most High)

Yet next this Mercy, was thy Charitie,

Thy Act in this is second to the best,

Thou wouldst not spare thy Daughter for thy Guest.

But they'l not be prescrib'd in their desire,

Who thinke, to alter, were to quench their fire:

They must the Levite or his Sister know,

(For Sister they interpret her) to show

Our sawcy Lay-men how they should expound

Their Preachers actions, not to be profound

To search their faults, but well and wisely too,

Doe what they speake, and not speake what they do,

This they exclaime, and this our Levite heares,

Who now hath spent his Reason, and his Feares.

Such a Confusion he is fallne into,

He knowes not what to shunne, nor what to doe.

[Page]So in rais'd Seas, when that the angry wind

Threatens destruction to that daring kind,

Who to a flying house themselves commit,

(Seeming at once to flye too from their wit.)

The well-stor'd passenger, (when he does find

That all this fury of the wave and wind

Is for his Treasure) now resolves to dye:

(Death is not so much fear'd as Poverty)

And now resolves that he will venture on

More losse, before that Resolution:

He does from this unto that purpose skip,

And now his minde more totters then his ship.

Till after all this tedious, foolish strife,

Which he shall save, his treasure, or his Life,

He shall save neither; and thus being loath

To hazard either, he does forfeit both

And now she shall be Passive. O Fates sport!

Hee'l now betray that should defend the Fort,

Such Revolution did you ever see?

Who earst was Iealous, will a Pander be.

O Life thou most desir'd, and wretched thing!

Thy love betrayd his love, from thee did spring

This Contradiction of crosse Faults, O why

Chose he not rather to doe well, and Dye?

Why did he so desire to shunne his Friend,

And call that Misery, which was an End?

The Dead doe feare no Ravisher, no Lust

Was ere so hot, to dote upon cold dust,

Were he once dead he should feare no crimes then,

Neither his owne, nor those of other men:

And could he wish a longer life? let those

Who doe not know (but by inflicting) woes,

Hugg that desire, but he who wisely waighs

What many miseries are in many dayes,

[Page]Let him not be so mad to wish his feares,

And onely prove his Dotage by his Yeares.

Never did Morning blush so much as that

Which next appear'd; when up our Levite gat,

And running nimbly to the doore, he sees

His love before the doore with her faire knees

Growne to the Earth, so close, that one would feare,

She tooke a measure of her Sepulcher,

With hands out stretch'd, as if, fearing to faile,

She meant to make a Sexton of her naile

To dig her grave: or else (for who can tell?)

Suspecting by her injuries an Hell

Not to be farre, where such sinnes had a birth,

She lay so close, to feele if it were Earth.

He wonders at the posture, nor knowes why

She had not chose to rest more easily,

And now he will be satisfy'd, but she

Had lost her tongue too, with her Chastity.

He thinkes she sleepes, and therefore louder cryes,

Why doe we dally here? Wake, and Arise.

But let him cry on, she hath heard her last,

Deafe to all sounds now, but the latest blast.

And art thou dead, he cryes? what dead? with that

You'd wonder which had beene alive, as flat

He lay, and speechlesse, glad of the same death,

But that thicke sighes betray that he had breath:

Which onely serves his Anger: now he hyes

Home to mount Ephraim, all his jelousies

Are dead with her, and now he meanes to make

Her common after death: each Tribe shall take

A peice of her; O the obdurate mind

That so could part, what God had so combin'd!

I faint in the relating it, nor well

What he durst act, dare undertake to tell.

[Page]Twelve made of one? O who would not be mad,

To thinke upon that madnesse? if she had

But such another griefe, with both opprest,

My Muse would thē be dumbe, which now doth rest.

Canto. II.

The Argument.

The twelve peices of his wife

Cut out by the Levites knife,

To the field to doe him right,

Draw the angry Israelite.

Abrahams Prayer, Heav'ns decree,

Benjamins glad victory

Twice repeated, doe prolong

My story to a second song.

SVch crimes amongst the Israelites? I feare

Incredulous posterity will sweare

Mine was the fault, and when they muse hereon

They'l judge the Crime was in my Fiction,

When Vice exceeds a Probability

It gaines excuse, so that to sinne on high

Is politicke offence, for he that shall

Sinne so, is thought not to have sinn'd at all.

'Tis the corruption of the minds of men

To judge the worst of actions, but 'tis when

The fault is frequent, when the daily use

Gives it at once, the guilt, and the excuse:

But if a crime swell to the height of this,

Murder, or Incest, or if any is

Of fowler name; when man will man abuse,

We doe absolve more gladly then accuse,

[Page]Can it be possibly presum'd that they

To whom the God of Iacob shew'd the way,

Both of their feet and manners, who had seene

His frequent Miracles, nay who had beene

Part of the wonder too, so to have fell

As to commit a greater Miracle?

Sodom in Iudah? now the Fable winnes

Credit, and is out-acted by true sinnes:

Report hath made Pymalion to have lov'd

That which he made, who by his Art was mov'd

To palpable Idolatry, yet so

At least he lov'd a woman in the show:

Hee's fixt on his faire Image, so that one

Would wonder which had beene the truer stone.

Yet 'twas a Woman Image, so that I

Wonder at's lucke, more then his vanity,

A Painted Woman will cause love: I'me mov'd

More, how he did obtaine, then why he lov'd,

These doe affect what to obtaine is worst,

What in the very thinking is accurst:

In other loves the wife may barren prove,

In this the barrennesse is in the Love,

In other faults there have excuses beene,

This hath no other Motive then the Sinne.

And can this sinne be theirs? Yes know it can,

Man forsakes God, and then he doates on man.

But who did tutor them to this offence?

For, though we find it in each conscience

That we are naturally vicious,

That ther's no true good in the best of us,

That we pursue our ill, as drawne by Fate,

Yet 'tis example does specificate,

That teacheth us This sinne: 'tis mine owne Vice,

But that I am more lost in Avarice,

[Page]That I doe choose Adultery, or preferre

The lustfull man before the Murtherer,

I have from Praesident: and thus our ill

Comes from the Patterne too, as from the Will.

Egypt denyes to have an hand herein,

(Egypt the house of bondage, not of sinne.)

Their cruelty I heare, and which is odd,

I reade that their chiefe sinne, is their chiefe god.

They make their gardens heav'ns, and in each plant

They find a Deity: If that any want

Be in their fields, if thence they doe not gaine,

It is their gods they want, and not their graine.

Their superstition might issue hence,

The Calfe, on which they plac'd their confidence,

Which act this glory to them doth afford,

They make themselves the beast which they ador'd

Or did the Desart make them thus to stray,

And cause them lose their Manners with the Way?

Did those vast places, which wise Nature fram'd,

Wherein wild man should by his feare be tam'd,

His feare of wilder beasts, instruct these men,

That there are beasts which are not in the Denne▪

And that when ever we neglect, or scanne

The Lords commands, the Monster is the Man?

No, these suspitions may suspected be,

As farre from Truth, as they from Honesty:

Egypt was free from this fault, and much lesse

Can we impose it on the Wildernesse.

They had no King: as well the fooles as wise

Did all what did seeme right in their owne Eyes.

And Sodomes crime seem'd right to some: to see

When every man will his owne Monarch be,

When all subjection is tane quite away,

And the same man does governe and obey;

[Page]How there is no obedience, nor rule,

How every man like to the Horse and Mule,

Which want the understanding of their bit,

And neither have their owne nor Riders wit,

Make a swift pace to Ruine. Giue me then

Leave to admire, and pitty those poore men,

Who thinke that Man should his owne Ruler be,

And exercise Home-principality:

Who in one speedy minute strangely doe

What Alexander but aspir'd unto,

Conquer all Kingdomes, which they affirme to be,

No better then a well-nam'd Tyranny.

Let me inquire of these, if they have read

Any such crimes where people had an head?

Let me inquire of men, as yet not wild,

Whether they thinke thēselves Lords of their child?

Whether their servants Masters? whether they

Suppose that God did not make some t'obey?

In Innocence there was Dominion,

And the first man was the first Lord: that one

King of the Creatures, whom for this none blames,

He prov'd his Soveraignty by their Names.

That he was his wives Soveraigne, in the Fall

He fell not from his Monarchy, when all

His Righteousnesse was vanish't, that remain'd,

And so a knowledge of this truth he gain'd,

(A truth he could not know had he still stood)

We can be longer Powerfull then Good.

Nay let us looke on Hell, and we shall see

That there's a Prince of that obscurity.

It is a torment such as Hell hath none,

To want that order in confusion:

That is the best; we may conclude from hence,

That is in Hell, and was in Innocence.

[Page]But I doe wonder at the fault so long

That I deferre the punishment: my song

Must to the Levite turne, or rather be

No more a Song, but a sad Elegy.

He having carv'd his Love, as you have heard,

And done that act, which Hell and Furies fear'd;

Sends a choice piece to every Tribe, to plead

Their injuries, and tell why she is dead:

Benjamin shall have one of them, lest he

Might dare commit a crime, he durst not see,

A severall messenger to each Tribe is sent:

But he that unto Princely Iudah went,

Carying the head of the dismembred coarse,

With such a voice which sorrow had mad hoarse,

(Least he should rave too highly) thus beginnes!

Is there an Heav'n? and can there be such sinnes.

Stands the Earth still? me thinkes I hardly stand,

Feeling the Seas inconstancy on Land.

After this Act, why flowes the water more?

Why does't not staine, which alwaies clear'd before?

It is not Ayre we draw now, 'tis a breath

Sent to infect us from the Land of Death:

The Fire, whose office 'tis to warme and shine,

Growes blacke and downewards, as it did repine

To see the fact, and sheds a kinde of teares,

Quenching his heat, because he cannot theirs.

Can you behold these eyes without a teare?

Can you with patience longer thinke they were,

And are not the worlds wonder? yet I erre,

It is Revenge, and not a Teare fits her:

Let women weepe for women, then you shall

Shew you have sorrow'd heartily, if all

Doe sorrow which have injur'd her, and be

Examples, as of Crimes so Misery.

[Page] Gibeah 'twas (O 'twas not Gibeah)

Credit me not, beleeve not what I say,

I scarce dare trust my selfe, and yet agen,

Gibeah 'twas that did this Fact: and then

He tells them all, what I before have wept;

Now Iudah stormes, and as a River kept

From its owne course by Weares and Milles, if once

It force a passage, hurryes or'e the stones,

Sweepes all along with it, and so alone

Without stormes makes an Inundation:

Such was the peoples fury, they're so hot

That they will punish what we credit not,

And be as speedy as severe: but some

Who loath'd the bloudy accents of the Drumme,

Who thought no mischiefes of that foulnesse are,

But that they gaine excuse, compar'd with warre,

And warre with brethren; these, I say, of age

The chiefe amongst them, doe oppose their rage,

Exhort them to a temper: Stay, sayes one,

And be advis'd before you be undone.

Whence is this fury? why d'yee make such hast

To doe that act which you'l repent as fast?

Are any glad to fight? or can ought be

Mother of warre, beside Necessity?

Be not mistaken; brethren, take good heed,

It is not Physicke frequently to bleed.

He that for petty griefes incision makes

Cannot be cur'd so often as he akes.

Are then your sisters, daughters, wifes too chast?

Or are you sorry that as yet no wast

Deformes your richer grounds? or does it stirre

An anger in you, that the souldier

Mowes not your Fields? Poore men, do you lament

That still you are as safe as innocent?

[Page]We yet have Cities proudly situate,

We yet have people: be it not in fate

That your esteeme of both should be so cheape

To wish those carcasses and these an Heape.

Me thinkes our Iordan hath an happier pace,

And flowes with greater majesty and grace

In his owne naturall wave, then if the sword

Should higher colour to his streames afford;

Should paint and so deforme it: to mine eye

A River's better then a Prodigy.

But I desire, deere Countrymen, to know,

Whose is the blood that we must lavish so?

Perhaps the Philistins ambition

Would to our Shiloh bring their Ascalon,

And these you would encounter: or it may be

Egypt still envying that you are free

Intends a second bondage: or perchance

Your daily conquer'd Enemies advance

Their often flying ensignes, those at hand

Possessors and destroyers of the Land;

Whom God reserving for our future Pride,

Left to our eyes as thornes, prickes to our side.

No none of these, but all your swords intend,

I grieve to speak't, the ruine of a friend:

And all the sonnes of Israel doe presse

That Israel may have a sonne the lesse.

Ioseph I've read suffer'd his brothers hate,

(Ioseph of neere acquaintance unto fate.

The mouth of Destiny,) they would kill him first

But after sell him, to try which was worst:

And yet no reason for this spleene appeares,

But that his glory was beyond his years.

To hate the yonger still is too much sinne,

And after Ioseph to spoile Benjamin.

[Page]Hath twelve no mystery? doe ye ascribe

Meerely to Chance, that there is no odd Tribe?

Trust me my brethren, they doe injure God,

Who say that he delights in what is odd:

I thinke 'tis parity best pleaseth heav'n;

And what is most just, loves what is most ev'n.

Doe I excuse them then to please the time,

And onely make an error of a Crime?

Am I sinnes Advocate? farre be't from me

To thinke so ill of Warre as Sodomy:

For Sodomy I tearme it, Iustice calls

That, fact; which never into action falls,

If it hath past the license of the will:

And their intent reacht to that height of ill;

But whose intent? O pardon me, there be

Benjamites spotlesse of that Infamy.

Shall these be ioyn'd in punishment? a sinne

You'd warre against, O doe not then beginne

To act a greater, as if you would see

Whether Injustice aequall'd Luxury?

This madnesse was from Gibeah, 'tis true,

Yet some doe more distast the crime, then you▪

Even in that City: heare then my advice,

And God shall prosper what you enterprize.

Exhort them to doe justice, if that then

They still be partiall to these guilty men,

Their guilt is greatest, let them perish all

And equall their offences with their fall.

Thicke acclamations breake off his discourse,

Theyle heare no more because they like't: Remorse

Ceizeth each conscience, they already hate

The civill warre, which they so wisht of late.

Embassadors by generall voice are sent:

But Benjamin conceits that to repent

[Page]Were the worse sinne, and that who ere will doe

A wicked act, he ought defend it too.

But are not we true Benjamites in this,

And aggravate what ere we doe amisse

By a new act? as if the second deed

Excus'd the former, if it did exceed.

Did we not thus, an end were come to warre;

Did we not thus, no more should private jarre

Molest our peace; Kings might put up their swords,

And every quarrell might conclude in words:

One conference would root out all debate,

And they might then most love, who now most hate,

The most sworne foes: for shew me, where is he

Would seeke Revenge without an injury?

A wrong receiv'd, or thought one? then no need

But to deny, or to excuse the deed,

Why is Defence? O what doe they intend

Who justifie those acts, which they should mend!

O Pride! O folly! O extreme disease!

O Fact, which he condemnes who practises!

Who in his soule confesseth he offends,

And yet doubles his guilt when he not ends.

Great crimes find greater patrons: impudence

Followes each fault, to make us thinke that sense

Hath fled us with our Vertue, and that men

By such an hardnesse were turn'd stones agen.

So wifes of Entertainment (who doe know

More then one Husband) in the publicke: shew

As vertuous as the best whilst undescry'd,

Whilst they have this good left, that they will hide

And veile o're their offences: but if once

Either their husbands just suspicions,

Or their security betray their fact,

No more doe blush to answere, then to act,

[Page]As if 'twere meritorious, and so, did

Appeare no sinne no longer then 'twas hid.

Why should the bad be bold? why should there be

Audaciousnesse joyn'd to impiety?

Whence is this daring? Sinne was child to Night,

How dares he then approach and blast the light?

How dares he stand th' examining, and try

If men can find out his deformity?

I have the reason, we are flatterers all,

And to our selves the most; if any fall

Into grosse errors, still he thinkes hee's free,

And Pride supplies the place of honesty.

He thinkes tis good to have a vertuous name,

And cares not for the goodnesse, but the fame.

Which makes the Benjamites reply: we admire

(To say no more) at your so strange desire.

And at the craft on't most, that you pretend

Love and advice▪ when you subjection send:

Are we so stupid, and so senslesse growne

As to be thought not fit to rule our owne?

Benjamin was the youngest we confesse

Of Iacobs sonnes, and yet a sonne, no lesse

Then Levi, or proud Iudah: he that gave

Life to each Tribe, intended none a slave,

Nor shall you make us. But youle say that you

Out of a generall love to goodnesse sue

For justice 'gainst her Enemies. Tis poore

If what we would we cannot cover o're

With specious pretences: tis an ill

Physitians part so to betray his pill,

That children may perceive its want of dresse,

And chuse disease before seene bitternesse;

But let me tell you, who so ere do's deale,

In the affaires of a strange common-weale,

[Page]Is tyrannous or mad: he would be knowne

Either anothers Lord, or's not his owne.

Yet what is't your grave Masters doe advise

Our sleepy Councell of? whose duller Eyes

See onely open vices: we have heard

The Levite and his Concubine, we feard

You'd have us punish him: then you relate

That comming unto Gibeah some thing late,

And willing to depart the earlier thence,

He found his Chast one dead: O dire offence.

She had the punishment she deserv'd, and just

It was, that who had liv'd should dye by Lust.

And yet for feare Levits in time to come

Might want such easie favourites, and some

Would leaue their courteous trade, if there be found

No cure, no remedy for such a wound:

We are content to be severe: but then

We doe expect, you name those guilty men.

Our's the more hard and thanklesse taske I trow,

For we will punish those whom you but show.

These mockes doe whet the Isra'elites so farre,

Nothing remaines now but a civill warre:

When all the Tribes have unto Mispah ran,

With such consent you'd thinke they were one man.

If warre had ever reason, or if men

Had ere authority to kill others, then

Certainely these, in so divine a cause,

Twas not the peoples quarrell, but the Lawes.

Here no ambition, no untam'd desire

Of Principality, of growing higher,

Put on these Armes, nor was it fault enough

That Benjamin was rich, to raise these rough

Spirits of Mars, nor is't a true surmise

That private wrongs did cause these Enemies:

[Page]These fight the battel of the Lord, herein

Iustice on the one side fights, on th'other Sinne:

So that in height of blood, heat of the warres,

They rather Iudges are, then Souldiers.

The Israelites if they now spare, are shent,

The more they kill, the more they're innocent.

Our Age makes us againe these actions see,

An Age of warre, though not of victory.

For 'tis not victory to winne the Field,

Vnlesse we make our Enemies to yeeld

More to our Iustice, then our Force, and so

As well instruct as overcome our Foe

Call you that Conquest, or a Theft of State,

When in a Stranger region of late,

The Eagle built his nest, having expell'd

(Vpon a meere pretence that he rebell'd)

The former Ayry, for no other cause,

But that his bill was strong, and sharpe his clawes.

To see the malice, and the power of hate,

That made ev'n the Elector Reprobate.

When Caesar did not sticke, nor blush to doe

What they detested, who advis'd him too,

When that all lawes their ancient force might loose,

He made a Choyce of him that was to Choose.

Now all occasions can perswade to fight,

When Power is misinterpreted for Right.

There is a Lust of killing men so great,

Rivers of blood can scarce asswage the heat

Our lives are cheaper then the lives of beasts,

Then those whose very being is for feasts;

Who have no use but for the throat: hard plight!

Anger not kills them, but our appetite

If we have eaten once, we spare: and then

If we are full are kind: but to kill men

[Page]We have a lasting appetite, shedding blood,

Our famine is increas'd ev'n by our food:

Such Erisichthons are we; they that have

Vnlimited desires, Death and the Grave

But shadow this affection, and to it

Compar'd, the Horse-leach wants an Appetite:

It may be weighing mans high faculties

(Which make him claime a kinred with the skies)

Wee seeme to doubt of his mortality

And onely strive to know if he can die.

Nor doe we care on what pretence (lest ought

Should make our crime the lesse) no reason's fought

To mitigate our fault, and we are thus

So farre from good, we scarce are cautelous.

But 'tis a sore will fester, if you touch,

Away my Muse, sometimes a truth's too much

For Honour, or for safety: he alone

Prospers who flatters. But if any one

Shall aske a colour, a pretence for this

How such a multitude, such a swarme is

Assembled of the Israelites (for then

There met at once foure hundred thousand men

Against their brother Benjamin,) whilst yet

They had not dispossest the Canaanite,

(There was a mixture not a Conquest made)

How durst they then so foolishly invade

Their brethrens Countrey, when they left their owne

Subject to imminent destruction?

Or when was this invasion made? To me

The Number hath a more Facility

For credit, then the Time; doe we not finde,

That Israel wanting Iudges was assignde

To bondage, as to Anarchy? they groane

Vnder a forraigne yoake, wanting their owne.

[Page]Carries it any likelyhood; or can

It sincke into the fancy of a man,

That when they were opprest, they should oppresse?

As full of folly as of savagenesse:

This were to perfect Eglons victory,

And act what Iabin but desir'd should be.

And yet it might be, Ioshua being dead,

Then was the time, the people lack'd an head:

Who taking no care for posterity,

Twas the worst act of Ioshua to dye.

Moses deputed him, and if that he

Had left another Governor, it might be

Our Levite had beene chast, and Benjamin

Beene noted for his vertue; not his sinne.

Then were those multitudes no miracle,

And Canaan so oft beat by Israel,

In likelihood would rest quiet, and expect

If these would doe what they could not effect.

Besides, their dwellings in the Valleys be

So that their seat teaches humilitie:

And then to climbe the mountaines was such paine

As that the labour did exceed the gaine.

And thus you see, that they may fight, but ere

Their enemies Countries by them wasted were,

They to the Oracle repaire, to know

If victory shall grace them, or their Foe.

Yet pardon me, I erre, they are so strong

As that they would imagine it a wrong

Done to their valor, if we should suppose,

That they intreated conquest of their foes;

No, being sure of victory, they aske

Which of the Tribes shall undertake the taske

Of the first on set, and the Tribes refus'd,

Envy at Iudahs choyce, as if abus'd,

[Page]And injur'd they esteem'd themselves, that they

Should lose the dangerous honour of the day.

Such was their pride, such thoughts their Numbers bred;

Numbers, whose feare might strike the Enemy, dead:

Whose hands deserv'd a fiercer Enemy,

And matter of an higher victory.

With these they think, they might to Memphis passe,

And make the Egyptians know, what bondage was.

VVith these they thought with ease to force a VVay

(Though nature did oppose) to India.

And in a sawcy victory out-runne,

The primitive uprising of the Sunne.

How large are our desires? and yet how few

Events are answerable? So the dew

VVhich early on the top of mountaines stood

(Meaning at least to imitate a flood)

VVhen once the Sunne appeares, appeares no more,

And leaves that parch'd, which was too moist before.

That we are never wholy good! that still

Mixt with our Vertue, is some spice of ill!

The Israelites are Iust, but they are Proud,

As if a lesser fault might be allowd

For punishing the greater; yet I'de know

VVhilst yet they might suffer an overthrow,

VVhy they rejoyce as if th'ad wonne! or why

They have a Pride ere they have Certainty?

Their numbers are incredible, 'tis true,

Yet multitudes have beene orecome by few:

Their army is compleat, 'tis right, but then

VVe know it is an army but of men.

Of future carkasses, so quickly some

They have no time to thinke of death to come:

To whom no starre a certainty does give,

That they at least to the next Field should live.

[Page]Foure hundred thousand carkasses; enough

To give the beasts a surfet, and allow

Fertility which Nature had deny'd

Vnto those Lands: So that their height of pride,

Of hope, of glory, and of all their toyle

Is to inrich the Land which they would spoile.

So thought the Benjamites, who though they saw

That Pow'r too was against them with the Law,

Yet resolutely they intend to die,

And such despaire gives them the victory.

They are not Cowards, yet, though they are bad,

They slay more numbers then wee'l thinke they had.

Whence comes this Courage to the Desperate?

The bad me thinkes should be effeminate,

And as the Bees (the subject or the King)

Having abus'd it once, doe loose their sting:

And to inforce a Stoick unto laughter,

Being once too fierce, they are alwaies sluggish after

Converted unto Droanes, so it seemes fit

(And not so much heavens Iustice, as its wit)

That who hath lost his Vertue once, should straight

Lose courage too, opprest with his owne weight.

The Israelites though amaz'd at this defeat,

Yet gather head, and to their Campe retreate;

There might you see Sorrow and Anger joyn'd,

Nor doe they grieve so much as they repin'd.

Here fathers weepe their onely sonnes, and there

Brothers for as deare losses dropp a teare,

Accompany'd with threatnings, they are mad

Till they bestow the sorrow which they had.

Once more to Shiloh they repaire, to heare

If God at last will aide them, and for feare

That it was pride did frustrate their first sute,

They're now as humble, as then resolute:

[Page]In stead of fighting they now weepe a day,

Sighes they doe thinke and teares can make a way

Where swords are uselesse, they'l gaine victory

No longer by their hand, but by their Eye,

Great and just God, sayes one, we doe confesse

That all this heavy anger is farre lesse

Then our deservings: should'st thou fully weigh

Our sinnes enormity, 'tis not a day

Losse to the Foe, can expiate: did we feele

What ere we saw in A [...]gypt, did the steele

Peirce deeper in our bowells, should the skes

Shed those hot showers in which Gomorrah fryes,

We could not taxe the Iustice of our King,

But after all, owe still a suffering.

Yet thou hast ancient mercies, we've beene told

Of all thy courtesies, which were of old

Shew'd to our Fathers; O vouchsafe them still,

And make us heires of those: we have done ill,

Prodigiously ill, there's no offence

Which we are guiltlesse of, each conscience

Accuseth, and amazeth us: yet now

Our flinty hearts to a repentance bow:

Yet now at last vouchsafe thy favour to us,

And as thy rod hath scourg'd, let mercy wooe us;

We dare not looke for victory: O no,

Give us at leastwise a more vertuous Foe.

Thy wrath is just, great God, and 'tis our sute

Onely just men thy wrath may execute.

We beg not for our lives, they are thy loane

Which when thou wilt receive, yet as thine owne.

Let not their swords bereave us of our breath,

And we shall find a benefit in death.

Yet what a glory can it be to thee

That we are dead? and that the Heathen see

[Page]Thy anger on thy Children? that thy wrath

In stead of being left, is told in Gath,

And publisht in fierce Ascalon; spare us then

If not for us, yet for thy selfe; and when

Thou think'st of plaguing us, thy selfe exempt,

Since that our Ruine will breed thy contempt:

Let then thy mercy above justice shine;

If we are bad, consider we are thine.

Thus grumbled they a pray'r: and he that sees

Councells unhatchd, and what he will, decrees,

(Yet ever justly) does perceive that they

VVhat ere they faine, doe murmur, and not pray.

VVhich he decrees to punish: they would know

VVhether that once more they shall fight or no?

Once more he grants that they shall fight: and thus

They're not so craving, as he Courteous.

If they but aske him, he will not deny,

Fight's their desire, and then his answere's, I.

Had they but ask'd the victorie, as well,

He would have heard his troubled Israel:

He that deliver'd them from forraine armes,

And taught their weake hands to repaire their harms

VVith admirable victory, He I say

VVould have bestow'd the honor of the day

On them, had they desir'd it; they have knowne

How he hath warr'd for thē from heaven, & showne

Such miracles in their defence, they fright

Those whom they save, as when the wondring night

Thought herselfe banisht from the world (the Sunne

Standing unmov'd, forgetting how to runne,)

If they now lose the day, the fault is theirs,

God does no mercy want, they want right prayers.

But they suppose it too too fond to stand

Begging of that which is in their owne hand.

[Page]This they conceive were to mocke God, to crave

That to begiv'n which they already have,

A pow'r to use their armes: No, if once more

They may have field-roome, may but fight it o're,

Though Heav'n doe not fight for them, they suppose

They cannot lose, if Heav'n doe not oppose.

They thinke no chance can possibly bestow

The foile on them, the Lawrell on the foe.

What though they lost the praise of the first day,

And fought as though they came to runne-away:

Twas not for want of courage sure, but either

The foe had got advantage of the weather

Or else the wind had rais'd the dust so high

That they suppos'd fresh enemies to be nigh,

And fear'd to be environ'd round: what ere

Occasion'd their first overthrow, no feare,

No chance, shall cause another; and the slaves

That now triumph, shall find their trenches, graves.

Is this their Crime alone, or doe not all

Partake as of their fault, so of their fall?

Israel is not onely mad, there be

Some vices which we give posterity,

And this is one of them: O how vaine is man!

O how his Reason too is but a spanne,

And not his stature or his Age! we have long

Injur'd the beasts, and done them too much wrong,

By calling them Irrationall; could they speake,

Thus in rough language, they would fiercely breake

Their mind unto us: O you onely wise

To whom kind Nature hath imparted Eyes,

Leaving all other blind; pardon if we

Doe tell you where you have forgot to see,

Where we are clearer sighted: can you show

Where ever beasts did to that madnesse grow.

[Page]As to pronounce of that, which is to come,

Of that which onely seemes in Chances doome?

Yet thus you doe; and doing thus have showne;

Reason's your title, our Possession.

The Israelites had to their cost of late

Found confidence to be unfortunate;

(Their confidence in Numbers) and yet still

(Though now contain'd in smaller roome) they will

Forespeake their victory: why, because they see

That they are many yet; poore vanity!

When they were more, they were o'recome, yet dare

Conceive a Conquest when they fewer are;

Because still some are to be kill'd: as though

Successe to Multitudes did homage owe,

And multitudes impair'd: as if the way

To winne another were to lose one day.

But had we seene the City now! what joy

Raign'd in those streets, sufficient to destroy

Those whom it comforted (for pleasue too

Can find a way to death, and strangely doe

The worke of heavinesse and griefe) I say

Had we but seene the glory of that day:

The whooping, dancing, and the generall noyse

To which the sea and thunder are but toyes;

We should have thought it (so the sounds agree,)

No noise of Triumph, but Captivity.

At last they doe repose themselves, and one

Of highest judgement and discretion,

Instructs them thus: My dearest Countrymen,

Who ere intends his private ends, does pen

A speech unto the Eare, his study is

Which words soūd wel, & which are thought amisse,

He tryes all wayes, he layes all colours on

To cheat the Iudgement, sooth the Passion,

[Page]So that he hopes at last that it must hit

Either the subject, or the clothing it:

But I whose end is Publike good, intend

Nothing but that which caryes to that end:

Pardon me then if I am harsh, and round,

If that I am not Plausible, but sound.

We wonne a victory last day, so great

We hardly dare beleeve we were not beate:

Our conquest easier was then our beleife;

And with great reason too: for tell, what chiefe,

What petty captaine is so vaine, so mad

As to ascribe to his conduct the glad

Event of last dayes hazard? to my sense

The Conqueror was onely Providence,

And we but instruments: then I'de advise

That as you have beene happy, you'd be wise:

That man does still in greatest glory stand,

Whose braine is better thought of then his hand▪

And so I wish that yours should be: we know

That what is gain'd by Fortune is lost so,

She hath no constant Favorite; then now

Whilst yet our victory does meanes allow

To purchase peace at our owne rate, and thrive

By Covenant more then Battle: let us drive

All thought of warre farre from us, tis in vaine

To get that hardly, which we may obtaine

By easier meanes, and he does more then rave

Who hazards that which he may certaine have.

More was he speaking, when a thousand tongues

Made his be silent, one would thinke their lunges

To be unequall to that noyse, so fierce

Their clamor is, such sounds the heavens doe peirce.

So have I oft heard in our Theater

(When that a daintier passage wan the Eare)

[Page]A thousand tongues, a thousand hands rebound,

(As if the Plaudite were in the sound,

And most noise were most pleasing:) they expresse

Their liking so, as these their frowardnesse.

Who rave from noise to action, one stoopes downe,

To reach a stone, another fiercer clowne

Shakes a steel'd Iavelin at him, all the hands,

Against which Israel but weakely stands,

Ayme now at one; who dreadlesse, unimpair'd

In courage, neither wisht life, nor despair'd.

At last a serious Counceller stood up;

Much had he tasted of the liberall Cup,

And thankefully exprest it in his face,

To which a larger wound would be a grace

By hiding his rich pimples: This brave man

Raises himselfe, and with what speed he can

Stutters thus to them; Cease my noble boyes,

Quiet your threatnings now, and stint your noyse.

Tis a just anger you have showne, but yet

The time in which you shew it is unfit.

Now should we dance, my bloods, now should we sing,

And make the wondring firmament to ring

With joyfull acclamations; now brave spirits

To shew the most joy, is to shew most merits.

Sadnesse is onely Capitall: in fine,

Now should we shed no blood but of the vine.

For you Sir whom we doubly guilty see,

Of Treason first, and then Philosophy,

If these doe please, thus we pronounce: to shew

How little we doe feare you, or the Foe,

Wee'l send you first unto their campe, and then

Wee'l fetch you by our conquest home agen.

This is a mercy if well understood,

You shall injoy the fortune you thinke good.

[Page]Here his breath failes: when all the people cry

He hath spoke nobly, none this day shall dye.

And yet the Traitor shall not scape at last,

Whose execution is deferr'd, not past.

Twas neither peace, nor warre now, either side

Having sufficiently their forces try'd,

Take breath a while: O happy men, if still

This mind continue in them! If they kill

Their appetite of killing! if this rest

Can at the last informe them what is best!

To bury their slaine friends, both sides agree

Vnto a two dayes truce: Stupiditie

Not to be borne with! had they knowne the use

At first of that which they now call a truce,

This truce had beene unnecessary, then

They might have spar'd, whilst now they bury men.

And that they now may bury, they intreat

Respite a while from warre: thus all their heate

Is buried for the time: good heav'n to see

Th' Omnipotency of Necessity,

Whom all the nearest ties of Neighbourhood,

Religion, Language, nay of the same Blood

Could not containe from fight, but that they would

(To see if it were theirs) shed their owne blood,

These are intreated to a forme of peace,

Their fury for a day or two can cease,

Commanded by Necessity: they feare

Lest th' Ayre by so much carcasse poysoned were:

Lest to revenge the blood which they had shed,

They now might feele the valour of the dead,

Of strong corruptiō: these thoughts hold their mind

These thoughts a while inforce them to be kind

On both sides (for they doe not jarre in all)

Nature prevailes not, but a Funerall,

[Page]Nor doth this long prevaile, for when they had

Interr'd some carcasses, they yet are mad

Till they have made some more, till they have done

A second fault, as not content with one,

They see their Error, and commit it, thus

Who are not eminently vertuous,

Are easily entrapp'd in vices snares,

And want the poore excuse, that unawares

They were ingag'd; we greedily runne on

Offending with Deliberation.

And can you call this but Infirmity?

Nick-name a Vice? O call it Prodigy.

Call it—O what? What name can well expresse

The miracle of humane guiltinesse?

Could he pretend an ignorance at least

And be in Nature as in Fact a beast,

He were not worse then they, then he might be

Both from the Vse and fault of Reason free.

But what new horror ceizeth me? what fire

Raignes in my thoughts, & prompts me to rise higher▪

Hence you low soules, who groveling on the Earth

Basely deject your selves below your birth,

Sold to your senses: I intend to tell

What none can know but in whose breasts doe dwell

Coelestiall fires, and unto whom 'tis given

To have a neerer intercourse with Heav'n.

Yet pardon you pure soules, whom no one dares

Eas'd of our flesh, to trouble with our cares:

Pardon I once more aske, if my weake pen

Fitting it selfe to ordinary men,

Attaine not to your height (to us unknowne)

And give you those words which you shame to owne.

The Lawgiver, who saw as in a glasse

All in the Word, what ever 'twas did passe

[Page]In these neer enmities, as farre as Man

Perfectly happy knowes a griefe, began

To feele Compassion: Have I then said he

Deliver'd Israel for this misery?

And did I free them from the Aegyptian

Onely to find them graves in Canaan?

I did foretell their Land shall overflow,

But never thought to be expounded so;

Never with bloud: I meant that they should have

More blessings then the covetous can crave,

The flowing Vdder, and the untir'd Bee,

An happy Deluge of Fertility.

O how would now proud Pharaoh rejoyce!

How he would have a joy beyond a voyce,

Beyond his tyranny, could he but know

What Israel does indure without a Foe!

Was it for this I did so oft repeat

Wonders before him, wonders of so great

Exuberance of powre, so highly done,

That they contemne all admiration?

How wert thou Nilus bloody'd into Red,

Thy waters as unknowne as is thy Head?

When all thy finny progeny did find

That to destroy now, which did breed their kind,

When by a nimble death they understand,

The River as discourteous as the Land?

Can I forget that when I did bestow

A liberty as heretofore to flow

Vnto thy now pale waters, there did passe

An issue stranger then his Colour was

From the too fertil river? Frogges are found

With such a multitude to hide the ground

That there's no grasse appeares, no corne is seene.

The spring does blush because he lookes not greene.

[Page]Their numbers and their noise equally harsh

Make Egypt not a Region but a Marsh.

What a small portion of my acts where these?

How scarcely to be counted passages

In my large story? Dust is chang'd to Lice

And now beginnes to creepe, which the most nice

And curious eye before could never find

To move at all, unlesse't were by the winde:

Which could not scatter those thicke clouds of Flyes

That would not let them, no, not see the skyes.

When I but threaten, all the cattle dye,

And Egypts Gods find a Mortality.

But lest the men should thinke that they were free

From the fault too, if the Calamity,

I taught their bodies with blacke goare to runne,

And imitate their soules corruption.

What was a Face, is now a pimple growne,

And in each part is plentifully sowne

A store of blaines, so ugly, that to me

It was a kind of Iudgement but to see.

And if this were but little, was't not I

That call'd those candy'd pellets from the sky,

Which in a moment overwhelming all

Did badly change their colour in their fall:

And by the murthering every one they found

Within their reach came red unto the ground?

When to repaire the numbers they had slaine

(Beasts of all sorts) the land is fill'd againe,

But tis with Locusts, such a swarme they see

Made for the shame of all their Husbandry,

That they could wish, so they were rid of these,

The former Murrein, ere this new increase.

But who can tell the following Prodigy?

Last day the Earth was hid, but now the sky

[Page]Chaos returnes, the Sunne hath lost his rayes

And Nights obscurity is turn'd to Dayes.

Who could a greater miracle afford?

God made the Light, I Darknesse by a Word,

Which had it lasted, had it ne'r beene spent,

They would have call'd it a kind punishment,

They had not seene then their first borne to dy,

To challenge death by their Nativity:

All this I did, but why? was it to see

My people suffer fuller misery?

To gaine the Country which they could not hold,

From which their owne armes ignorantly bold

Expell their owne selves: O let no man tell

That Israel did banish Israel.

My prayers forbid, nor let it ere be said

That Moses was unkind since he was dead,

That in the grave I left my goodnesse too;

And could not pity when not feele a woe.

Having said this, with all the speed he may

He seekes out holy Abraham, who that day,

By his deere Isaac seconded did sing

The ancient mercies of their heavenly King.

One tells how having now worne out a life,

And so being fitter for his Grave then Wife,

Nay then when she had liv'd unto those yeares,

To be accounted with the Grandmothers,

When Sara now was so unweildy growne,

Her legges could scarcely beare her selfe alone,

She beares another burthen, and does swell

Not with a child, but with a Miracle.

This said, he stops; and then againe goes on

No more with story, but Devotion.

O praise the Lord my soule, let me not find

My body was more fruitfull then my mind.

[Page]O let that teeme with thankefulnes, and be

Made sweetly pregnant by my memory.

Father, sayes Isaac, I have often heard

That we doe tell with Ioy what we have Feard,

And what in suffering terrifies our sense,

Does in relating please: what violence

Of blisse possesseth me when I compare

My dangers past with joyes that present are!

Me thinkes I yet carry that fatall wood

(A burden which I hardly understood

Should carry me) me thinkes I still enquire

Where is the sacrifice, and where the fire?

How little did I thinke, or feare till then

That God commanded sacrifice of men!

How little could I guesse in any part

That God in such sort did desire the Heart?

Yet pardon Father, if you now must know,

Your silence seem'd more cruell then your blow:

Could I oppose my mind against your will,

Or wish him spar'd, whom you decreed to kill?

Wherefore was as all this circumstance? what need

But first to tell, and then to act the deed?

I never knew what disobedience meant.

And your distrust was my worst punishment,

I must confesse I was amaz'd, my blood

Congeal'd within me, and my faint haires stood

Yet not for feare of death (Death was my profit)

But for the manner and the Author of it.

Was this the heav'nly promise? and must I

So strangely borne, somewhat more strangely die?

What should I say now? or what should I doe?

That frustrate by my death Gods promise too.

Should I invoke Heav'ns ayde? alas, from thence

Came the injunction for this violence:

[Page]Should I implore my fathers helpe? why, he

Would sooner hearken unto heav'n then me.

And so he did: for when the trembling sword

As if he knew the temper of his Lord

Theatned a death, most fortunately then

He that did arme you did disarme agen;

Shewing your will was all he did require,

Commanding you to that you most desire,

To be againe a Father: O the power

And mercy of our God! who in an houre,

Who in a minute, can make all things well,

Can bring and then deliver out of Hell.

These were their Accents, when that Moses sayes,

It is an holy businesse to praise,

To magnifie our Lord, so to goe on

In the intent of our Creation.

To this all times, all reasons doe obey,

And we may praise as often as we pray.

But now let's change these tones, let us be mute

In all discourses now, but in a suite;

Let us at once conjoyne our prayers, and see

If our one God will hearken unto three.

Your issue, and my charge, whom I have led

Thorow those paths that never man did tread.

(As if they fear'd a scarcity of foes)

Doe their owne selves against themselves oppose,

And their destruction (unlesse we repaire

Sooner to ayde them) will prevent our pray'r.

It was a place above the Ayre, the Sky,

Whither Man cannot reach, not with his Eye,

Nay if th'exactnesse of the height be sought,

Whither Man cannot reach, not with his thought.

Beyond the place where haile, and raine doe growe,

Above the chill-white treasures of the snow;

[Page]To which compar'd the starry heav'n is fell

Vnto a neerer neighbourhood with Hell.

And when I shall of Gods abode intreat

It does become his prospect, not his seat.

To which compar'd, the Chrystall heav'n does meet

With Earth, to be a stoole unto his feet,

This was the Place (yet pardon 'twas not so,

Places are things which onely bodies know,

Our bounds of Ayre, from which the heav'ns are free

As from Corruption and Mortality)

But here it was His sacred throne did stand,

Who with a word created Sea and Land:

Who with a word was Maker of his Throne,

Who till he made it never wanted one.

Bring me the richest goldsmiths treasuries

(Those baites that doe allure our hearts and eyes)

The dusky Sapphire, the Pearle richly white,

The sparkling Diamond, yellow Chrysolite,

Or if there be a gemme Nature hath fram'd,

Of so high price that Art hath never nam'd,

Ransacke the Inga's tombes, where there doth lie

With their corrupted dust their treasury:

(Who to that pretty bounty doe attaine

That they bestow their gold on earth againe.)

Search me their graves, or if you fearfull be

Of treasure guarded by Mortality,

Rob all the mines fenc't with so many barres,

(Where Nature in the Earth hath fancy'd starres,

Whose luster lest our weaknesse cannot beare

Her kinder wisedome made her store up there)

Bring these unto the view, to an exact

Figure, which Phidias durst call his act:

Yet to this throne compar'd, it will appeare

So farre from shining, it will scarce looke cleare.

[Page]Here does the Ancient of dayes disclose

The glory of his Majesty to those

To whom he daignes his presence, who enjoy

At full, what would a weaker eye destroy:

Whose blisse shall never have a period,

Who therefore live because they see their God,

How could I ever linger, ever dwell

In this so blest Relation! O how well

Should I esteeme my selfe entranc'd; if I

By staying here should lose my History!

Here thousand thousands wait upon his call

Of humane servants, and Angelicall,

And such a multitude invest his throne

(Millions of Spirits waiting upon One,)

That it may be we should not say amisse,

Their Number stranger then their Nature is:

Here sound the Hallelujahs, here the Quire

Of Heav'n is high, and full as their desire:

No voice is here untun'd, they doe not find

A jarre, more in the sound, then in the mind.

Their power of singing growes on with their song;

And they can longer sing, because thus long;

Thus here them selves they fully strengthned see,

To a melodious eternitie.

Here Abraham presents himselfe; and sayes

O thou above the injury of Dayes;

Who making Times art subject unto none,

Who giv'st all knowledge, and art never knowne;

Who in my dayes of flesh didst gladly lend

An eare unto my suite, and wouldst not bend

Thy plagues against thine enemies; untill

I knew th' intent, and thou hadst askt my will,

The will of me poore mortall, nay farre worse

Of me a sinner then, the ancient curse

[Page]Stucke deeply in me, that I might have feard

My faults, and not my pray'r should have been heard:

Could I speake then, and am I silent now?

Did Sodom move, and cannot Israel bow?

O pardon me if I bewaile their state,

If I their Father prove their Advocate,

Didst not thou promise when I had giv'n ore

All hope of Father, when I wisht no more

Then a contented Grave, that then from me,

Should come so numerous a progeny:

That all the cleerer army of the sky

And the thicke sands which still unnumbred lye

Should come within account before my feed,

Which not my Sara, but thy truth should breed▪

How oft I thought that promise did include

Their lasting too as well as multitude;

That their continuance should be as sure,

As long as either sands or starres indure.

If they have sinn'd, thou know'st they may repent

And be the better by a punishment,

Never by Ruine: O then use thy rod

Thinke that they are thy People, thou their God,

And if they are so, O then let not be

Any more strife, but who shall most serve thee,

If they are so, let Abraham once more

Receive those children which thou gav'st before.

Now they have left their heav'nly ecchoing,

Now all the Quire does wonder and not sing,

When from th'eternall Majesty are heard

Speeches, which all but the dread Speaker fear'd.

Am I as Man that I should change? or like

The sonne of man to threaten and not strike?

If I pronounce my wrath against a Land

Shall that continue, and my word not stand?

[Page]If I doe whet a sword, shall it be blunt,

And have no direr sharpnesse then t'was wont?

Benjamins crime h'as such an horror in't,

(Who have confirm'd their faces like a flint

Against all dye of modesty) that till

Their blood (which now their too hot veines doe fill)

Flow in their fields, till that their numbers be

Of as small note as is their Chastity,

It shall not be remitted: yet to show

That I can pay that which I doe not owe,

A remnant shall escape: but for the rest,

(Those other Tribes which boast they are the best.)

And yet to verifie their goodnesse lesse;

Speake, as if they were injur'd by successe,

So making the fault mine: who therefore have

Beene lib'rall benefactors to the grave

By their thicke deaths: untill that I doe see

A confirm'd truth of their humility,

They shall not see a victory: Ile make

Benjamin punish these, and after take

Vengeance on the Revengers, till they see

My mercy hath not spent mine Aequity.

This I pronounce, this is my constant will.

Now all the holy company doe fill

The heav'ns with shouts of praise, and loudly cry

All Honor, Glory, Power to the most High.

But now the Israelites once more have brought,

Their troopes into the field, once more have fought;

And whether 'twas the fault of them that led,

Or of the Soldier, once more they have fled:

And now because their battle was not long

I will not be more tedious in my Song.

[Page]

Canto. III.

The Argument.

The Levites vision, Phineah's Prayer,

The Israelites late caus'd despaire

Now turn'd to courage, when by them

A new invented stratagem

Drawes the enemy from the walls,

Untill within their net he falls,

With the full righting of the wrong

Does both conclude, and crowne my Song.

WHen will Vice faile? whē shall we see th'event

Of wicked acts as bad as the Intent?

As yet the worst are prosperous, and worse,

The good as yet have never miss'd their curse:

Review the Levites wife, and you shall see

When she had forfeited her honesty,

Her father entertain'd her; but once more

When she was come to what she left before,

Her Lord and Vertue, when that all her strife

Shall be to gaine the name of a good wife,

Gibeah will not harbour her; O poore!

Gibeah were guiltlesse had it done no more:

But Gibeah will murder her; review

The Campe awhile, and that'th campe is true

Which was in her; Twice had that army try'd

The valour of their enemies, and twice dy'd

The fields with their best blood, so hardly crost

That they have fought no oftner then th' have lost:

[Page]And yet their cause was best: neither were they

The onely people which have lost the day,

Which they deserv'd to winne: search the records

Of every Age, and every Age affords

Examples of like strangenesse: who can tell

What the Assyrian did to Israel?

How in despite of all their lofty towers,

(Which hop'd a standing to the last of hours)

He made one houre their last: unlucky howre,

Where vice shew'd what't could do when it had power▪

The sword did sport with lifes, nor were they such

Whose losse or preservation did not much

Pertaine unto the State: but the Kings sonnes

In the same time, the same Pavilions,

By the same tyrant are inforc'd to die,

And which exceeds all, in their father eye.

Poore Zedekiahs kingdomes first is gone

And then his heyre's, O harsh inversion▪

If he had lost them first, it might be thought

His kingdomes losse would not have mov'd him ought

He would have made the best of th'other crosse

Esteeming it an easing, not a losse.

As he might now to be depriv'd of sight

When he should covet the kind screene of Night,

Betweene his woes and him: if in his mind

He saw, it was a blessing to be blind:

That then he should be forc't to see no more

When he could not see what he saw before,

This Israel suffer'd, and this Ashur did,

And yet I dare affirme it was not hid

No not from Ashur ev'n in his owne doome

That they were better who were overcome.

Or if the goodnesse to his side he drawes,

Tis that his sword was better, not his cause

[Page]I could goe on in presidents as true,

Actions betweene the Heathen and the Iew,

Betweene the Turke and Christian: but what need

To shew there is no birth without a seed?

No speech without a tongue? or if there be

More truths of such knowne perspicuity.

How doe they doate then, who would tye the Lord

To be so ayding to his childrens sword,

As that he ne're should use his owne, nor doe

Any one act, but what they wish him too?

Are they so good? or is his love so fond

As of a courtesie to make a bond?

Shall they indent with him? and say thus farre

Thou maist correct, but if thy judgements are

Of longer date, they are unjust? for shame

(All ye that glory in a purer Name,)

Hence those blasphemous thoughts, far hence remove,

Lest they deserve the plagues they would reprove.

Is it injustice to suppresse our pride,

To bring unto our eyes what we would hide,

Ev'n from our selves, our close deformities?

Or, may not God, to shew how he does prize

His servants labours, make them thus appeare,

As does the Sunne after a cloud, more cleare?

His judgement certainly wee'l say's too quicke,

Who'l prove one bad because he sees him sicke;

These judgements are diseases, and bestowd

At pleasure, and not where they most are owd:

Yet due they are where ever they are found,

Since there are none so Catholikely sound,

But in a word, but in a thought have strayd,

Perhaps in those Afflictions, when th'ave wayd

Their deeds and suffrings, which they thinke to be

Of farre more rigor then Aequality.

[Page]Then courage noble Countrymen, nor feare,

Though you should want successe a while, to reare

Your names up to your ancestors, (who did

Those acts which now were better to be hid:

Lest that they should upbraid us) doe not feare

That Spaine is neerer the Almighties Eare

Then our devotions: he that could bestow

A victory after a second blow

Vpon the doubting Israelites, can still

Create our better hopes ev'n out of ill

Or if he doe not, if he have decreed

That our just plague shall be their unjust deed:

That Israel shall be once more overcome,

And David flie away from Absalom:

Yet let this glad us in our chiefest woe,

Man may be good and yet unhappy too.

Now are they truly humbled, now although

No curious eye could guesse their overthrow

When he had seene their numbers, yet at length

They will rely upon another strength,

Or if to numbers they will trust agen,

'Tis to Gods numerous mercies, not their men.

He can deliver (they have seene) by few,

And they doe thinke it possible and true

That he can help by many too, they find

Without him all their actions full of wind,

Of emptinesse, and with him they not doubt

To be as well victorious as devout,

Now Pride hath left them, now they goodnesse yeeld▪

Now have they lost their vices with the field.

Such holy lessons doe misfortunes teach,

Which make our once bad thoughts bravely to rea [...] ▪

At Heav'n and glory: if you marke it well

Whilst yet it was a populous Israel

[Page]It was a proud one too, but when that now

God lookes upon them with an angry brow,

When all their troopes halfe weary and halfe sicke,

Are growne to easier Arithmeticke,

Th'are truly penitent; hence we may see

The pow'r, the good pow'r of Adversitie,

W'are bad if we are happy, if it please

Heav'n to indow us with a little ease,

If riches doe increase, untill our store

Meet our desires, till we can wish no more,

If that our garners swell (untill they feare

Ruine from that with which they furnisht were)

We but abuse these benefits: our Peace

Brings forth but factions, if that strangers cease

To give us the affront; our selves will be

Both the defendant, and the Enemy.

Our riches are our snares, which being giv'n,

To man, to make a purchase of the heav'n,

We buy our ruine with them, the abuse

Is double, in the getting, and the use,

So that our summes unto such heaps are growne

When Avarice succeeds Oppression.

In briefe, our garners so well stuff'd, so eramm'd,

Detaine our Corne, as if that it were damn'd,

To everlasting prison, none appeares,

And thus we give dearth to the fruitfull yeares:

Being to such a proud rebellion growne,

Famine is not heav'ns judgement but our owne.

So wretched are we, so we skilfull grow

In crimes, the which the heathen doe not know.

We wrong God for his blessings, as if thus

We then were thankfull, if injurious.

Why should not mercy winne us? why should we

[...]e worse by that, whence we should betterd be?

[Page]Blessings were ne're intended for our harme,

Nor should the snake have stung, when he was warme

Him that had warm'd him. O how base is man!

How foolish Irreligion has wanne

Vpon his reason too! Doe we not say

That hee's a beast, whom onely stripes can sway.

O what is man then! who ne're heares his Lord,

Till that the famine call him, or the sword.

Who (as he meant to tyre his patient God)

Yeelds not unto his favours, but his rod.

And can we yet intreat him to be kind,

To alter his, when wee'l not change our mind?

If we are heard, we will offend agen,

And all our pray'r does but intreat a Sinne.

Thus pray'd the Israelites, but if th'are heard

If he that made them scorn'd, will make them feard:

It is in chance, no, tis as sure as fate,

Having forgot their misery of late

They will rebell againe: like those good hearts

Who though they know the paines, the many smarts

Which fruitfulnesse is fruitfull with, still give

Death to themselves, to make their issue live:

And if they scape this death, they try againe,

And boldly venture for a second paine,

As if twere pleasure, or as if they meant

Rather to dye, then to be continent.

Thus have we seene a barren, sandy soyle

(Made onely for the husbandmans sad toyle

And not his profit) when the full heav'n powres

His moisture downe, easing himselfe by showres,

Drown'd with the drops, to make us understand

A figure of the Sea upon the Land;

When once those drops are spent, when that the sky

Smiles with his new restor'd serenitie,

[Page]Swifter then thought, before that we can say

This was the place; the water's gone away,

Theres a low Ebbe, againe we see the Land

Changing its moisture for its ancient sand.

Yet he that knowes this their infirmity,

At last will pitty it, and from on high,

(When now their thoughts of war they will adjourne

When there's no talke now, but of their returne)

Hee'l hinder it by victory: with that

(About the time that pitchy night had gat

The conquest of the day, of which being proud

He wrapt himselfe within his thickest cloud,

Thinking perhaps his conquest to be voyd,

If any saw the triumphs he injoyd)

Vnto our Levite he a vision sends

Clad in her dearest shape, in whom he ends

All thoughts of Fancy: Whom when he had seene

(And quickly he had spy'd her) Fairest Queene

Of heav'n, he sayes, what is there here on earth

That could perswade thee to a second birth,

Thus to appeare agen? needs must thou know

(For ignorance belongs to us below

Excluded out of heav'n) that our sad state

Is for its goodnes prov'd unfortunate;

That Benjamin is conqueror, and that we

Could not revenge, but onely follow thee▪

Nor was't one losse, one petty overthrow

Hath daunted us, but (as if fate would shew

All her choyce malice on us) we have try'd

How many wayes 'twas possible t'ave dy'd.

Beleeve it, heavenly one, no cowardise

(Which heretofore being base; is now tearmd wise)

Lost us the day, no providence; no zeale

Nor that (which can the maymes of actions heale)

[Page]Councell, and grave advice was wanting to us:

Only the heav'ns, which we had thought would wooe us

To prosecute thy vengeance, and from whence

We look'd for daies, like a good conscience

Shining and cleare, with cruelty unheard

Give vs an overthrow for a reward;

That we can onely (such our wretched fate)

Deplore the losse, which we should vindicate.

Is this your Iustice heav'ns? nay I would know

If it at least be wisedome, thus to show

Your wrath upon you followers? if there be

Such a desire in you to make us see

What powre you have, wherefore d'ye not use

That powre on those, who impiously abuse

Vs and your selves? O there are heathen still,

People that neither feare, nor know your will,

If you will ruine these, or any wise

But lessen, y'ave the fewer Enemies:

On these be powerfull; but if you doubt

Whether such nations may be singled out,

That sinne hath fled the world, then here begin,

For all the Heathen are in Benjamin.

Are we the onely faulty? or am I

Pickt out for eminent Iniquity?

All lights on me, twas I that rays'd these warres,

Twas I that this thicke people like to starres,

Have lessend into Number; I alone

Merit both peoples curses joynd in one,

Benjamin does detest me, and I guesse

Israels hatred is more close, not lesse.

What shall I doe, what course is to be tryde

When safe I cannot goe, nor safe abide?

No more sayes she, nor foolishly conclude

To give complaints in stead of gratitude

[Page]Wee' are heard my deare, and he at whose command

The earth will learne to move, the heav'n to stand

Fast as the Center, who brings downe to hell,

And out of deeper mercies (which to tell

Would pose thē that they blesse) brings backe againe▪

Making the pleasure greater by the paine,)

Hath crown'd our wishes; O joyfully good!

Not to be had on earth, nor understood:

Heav'ns high superlative, for unto me

Revenge is better then Aeternity.

Revenge upon Gods enemies: know my deare

(And know that thou must doe what thou shalt heare)

It is the will of heav'n, when once the skye

Is proud of the next mornings livery,

All Israel should meet, where what shall fall

Iust with our wishes, or exceed them all,

I must not now discover, yet thus much

I dare deliver (my affection's such)

A truth, that is confest as soone as heard,

That he who knew to plague, knowes to reward.

Our Levite wakes, but stretching out an arme

He feels no body, no, nor no place warme

To prove she had beene there, he thinkes 'tmay be

No vision, but a birth of Phantasie:

An issue of a troubled braine that fram'd

Formes to it selfe which Nature hath not nam'd:

Have I not slaine enough he sayes, but still

Is it my office and my curse to kill?

Twas but a dreame injoyn'd me to be bad,

A dreame, a vapour, and am I so mad

For nothing to be monstrous, and commit

A crime, that men shall feare to dreame of it!

But can I disobey what it hath pleas'd

Heav'n to command me? O how I am ceaz'd

[Page]With strange extremes! nor readily can tell

Whether this Revelation should dwell

Clos'd in my brest; or whether I goe on

As counting it a Revelation:

There may be guilty silence, if we feare

In the affaire of heaven to wound an eare

With threatning Rhetoricke; this will not be

Excus'd by a pretence of modesty:

Rather twill prove the judgement of just heav'n,

We shall receive the doome we should have giv'n,

Now all the people know what he hath heard,

Now they have all their forwardnesse declar'd

In sacrifice, when Phineas appeares,

One that had lived unto so many years;

He knew not how to count them, and that knew

The Desert wonders, and could prove them true

By his owne sight, that could the more ingage

Men to beleeve, not by his tongue, but age.

Nay I have heard some having duely waigh'd

How long in that high office he had stayd,

Conceive they may affirme without a checke,

Him of the order of Melchisedec;

And prove (as onely judgeing what they see)

Their Priesthoods, by their Priests eternity.

Who having enter'd, all the people bow'd:

(For 'twas not yet as perfect zeale allow'd

To be irreverent to their Priest, that name

Which now is prov'd a title but of shame,

Then was the badge of glory) he indeares

Himselfe, more by his office, then his yeares,

To those, who thinke these two can ne'r agree,

To scorne the Priest, and serve the Deitie.

Before the Altar his weake knees he bends,

Which age before, but now devotion sends

[Page]Vnto the ground, where with a voice so low,

That he could onely heare it, who could know

What it would have before it spake, he thus

Whisper'd a prayer;

King of Heaven, of Earth, of Seas,

And of men exceeding these:

Thou that when thy people ranne

From the proud Aegyptian,

Leadst them through aliquid path

Safe, and scarce wet, when thy wrath

Wonderfully made them know,

Twas a Sea unto the foe.

Thou that when the heat, the sand

Of a barren thirsty land,

Made our tongues be so confin'd

To our roofes, they scarce repin'd,

But in secret, so that we

Onely fear'd a blasphemy.

Thou then by a powerfull knocke

Mad'st a Sea within a Rocke,

And gav'st Israel to know

For them drought should overflow:

Thou art still the same, and we

Stand in the same need of thee,

Pardon then if we presume

To an hope, and so assume

Courage to us, when we joyne

Our wants to that power of thine.

Yes our wants, for we can find

None of merit, w'ave declin'd

Ev'ry good way, and have still

Beene ambitious of ill,

So that when we are exact,

And have all our good deeds rackt

[Page]To the highest rate, ther's none

Dares appeare before thy throne:

Onely this desert we see,

Continuance of adversity.

Nay such monsters have we bin,

Such proficients in each sinne,

That we durst not looke on heav'n,

Nor intreat to bee forgiv'n.

Hadst not thou vouchsaf'd to doe

What our wishes reacht not to:

Hadst not thou vouchsaf'd to be

Tutor to our Infancy:

And bestow'd when we were mute

Both our prayer and our sute.

O the Courteous

Respect heav'ns beares us! Scarcely had he done,

Scarce finisht his impos'd devotion,

When on the sudden, ere you could have said

The Priest had sacrific'd, or he had pray'd,

Through all the Campe a light was spread, to this

Compar'd, the Sunn but a darke body is:

And in respect of so divine a light

Our day is honor'd, if he be tearmd night,

Nor this alone, but that they there might see

And feare their God in his full Majesty,

Such voyces and such thunders fright the Ayre,

That they suppose they want another prayer

To be assur'd from them; so they declar'd

They were afraid to heare, that they were heard▪

Downe on the pavement every knee is fixt,

Some groveling on their faces, when betwixt

Astonishment and hope, whilst yet they doubt

What all this preface meanes, and whilst the rout

[Page]Fear'd judgements which they merited, they heare

A voice for which they wish a larger eare,

It was so sweetly mercifull: Once more

Goe up (it sayes) and though that heretofore

Y'ave had the worst: yet thus my sentence stands

Ile now deliver them into your hands.

Have you beheld how some condemn'd to dy,

When they were fitted for Aeternity,

When life they did despise, and all below,

Receiv'd a pardon, when they fear'd the blow

That should unman them, have you seene them then

Almost forgetting that they were but men;

How to expresse their mind they want a word,

Ioy having done the office of the sword,

And made them speechlesse? then you may in part

Conceive the wonder of their joy; which Art

Confesseth it exceeds her power to show

At full, which onely they that have can know.

Thus brave Corvinus, then whom fame nere knew

Any that to an higher vertue grew,

When once it pleas'd Fortune to leave her frowne,

Made an exchange of Fetters for a Crowne,

Thus, not to seeke a forreigne president,

Our Henry, whom the Heav'ns courteously sent

To set a period to our Civill broyles,

To joyne both Roses: after many foyles,

Receiv'd and conquer'd, after he had seene

Himselfe an Exile, who a Prince had beene,

When banishment was envy'd him, when nought

Would please his Enemy, unlesse he bought

His death of him that harbour'd him; ev'n then,

To foole the projects of the cunning'st men,

This wither'd root begins afresh to spring,

And from a banisht coarse revives a King.

[Page]Thus (not to seeke out a stale president,

Mentioning mercies after they are spent,

And lost in story) Englands present Ioy

(Whom Fate can onely threaten, not annoy,)

How hath he try'd variety of griefe!

How beene in dangers, as in Rule our Chiefe;

That when there is a speech of suffering,

He is no lesse our Patterne, then our King,

The Seas spoke loud, yet if we rightly poyse,

There was more danger, where there was lesse noyse:

Yet was he freed from both, when in mans eye,

Successe had seem'd to smile on Trechery.

These are your wonders, Heav'n, and not so much

Favours, (although the Favour too be such,

That it does pose our gratitude, and so

Onely proclaimes that we are made to owe

Our proverty of merit) to be short,

Th'are not so much your Favours, as your Sport.

You in an instant rayse, whom we would sweare,

Nayl'd to the Earth, him that had left to feare

More then he suffer'd, that had beene so long

Acquainted with ill lucke, with such a throng

Of misadventures, that he does not know

VVhat it is to be free from them, and so

This courteous intermission he expounds

Rather a Change then Cure of his neer wounds:

You in an unthought Minute can depresse,

VVhom we beleeve in league with Happinesse.

And as upon the Stage we oft have seene,

Him act a Beggar, who a King hath beene:

For no default, but that the Poets art

Thought at that time he best would fit that part:

So in our serious Theaters, when you please

Kings are as varying persons as are these▪

[Page]Onely in this their disadvantage lyes;

That they may fall, but cannot hope to rise.

They, whom the bands that make a kingdome strong;

Succession to the Crowne both right and long

From worthy Ancestors, obedience

At home, and lastly sure intelligence

Abroad hath fortifyed, those that suppos'd

True joy to be wholly in them inclos'd:

If you but please to frowne, in one short day

(When they not thinke their Enemies on their way)

Are conquer'd by them, and at last retaine

This comfort onely to allay their paine

That their misfortune (if the heavens decree)

May be the portion of their Enemy.

Why then doe trifling miseries so grate

Our minds, and make us more unfortunate

Then heav'n intended? if out of a summe

Of mony (not so rich as troublesome

By the large roome, it occupies,) some one

Willing to teach us moderation,

Nibble a little, how we fret! we rave!

How for our treasure we distraction have!

As if we did beleeve (to say no more)

Heav'n had the onely powre to make us poore.

Israel thought not thus, but does prepare

All things that for the action needfull are:

He thinkes now double diligence is due,

That he may be victorious, and God true.

On the Eastside of Gibeah there stood

An overgrowne and unfrequented wood,

The trees so thickly plac'd, that you would guesse,

(Had you beheld that horrid wildernesse:

How darkenesse all the Mastery had wonne,)

Twas made for the discredit of the Sunne;

[Page]Never did any raye pierce through those leaves,

And if at any time it light receives

Tis onely when the heavens doe misse their stroke,

And passing wicked men, murder an Oke.

So that the brightnesse that adornes the same

Serves not so much to'inlighten, as inflame.

Here never did the nimble Fairy tread,

Nor ever any of the Wood-nymphes bred

Within this grove, but it was singled out

For Pluto's regiment, for that bad rout

Of Hell-borne furies, there you might have seene

Alecto stretch'd at her full length betweene

Two fatall Yughs, where while her rest she takes,

She gives an intermission to her Snakes,

Who in a thousand curles there hissing lye,

And she sleepes sweeter by their harmony.

Here had the Canaanite in former times

(Whilest that Religion did consist in crimes)

Offer'd his sonnes in sacrifice, as though

He meant to pay backe heav'n all he did owe

Or did conceive, (that which he should despaire)

To be without sinne, when without an heire.

This horrid place till now had emptie stood,

But now the Israelites conclude it good

To plant an ambush there: for thus they plot

That when the skirmish shall be growing hot,

They will draw backe, to make the Benjamite

Conceive that stratagem to be a flight,

And leave the towne for the pursuit; when straight

Vpon a signe giv'n, they that lie in waite

Shall ceize upon the City, and so force

Their Enemy to such a desp'rate course,

That being pursu'd by those he put to flight,

He shall not know, whether to flie or fight,

[Page]Hearken ye silly ones that doe suppose

You ought not to beare Armes against your foes:

VVho having cast off ordinary sense,

Affirme that they doe warre with Providence,

VVho providently warre, that they distrust

The powre, or care of heav'n, who will be just

To their owne cause, which you will noyse to be

A spice of wiser Infidelity.

To these I need no other answer find:

Shall we be foolish because heav'n is kind?

And when your industry might doe as well,

VVill ye inforce God to a Miracle?

It is a truth I grant, which you pretend

That God hath destin'd all things to their end,

Which stands immoveable: nor is't in Fate

To alter what he will praeordinate:

Yet never any did so farre proceed

In folly, to affirme that he decreed

Onely the end, that was in Gods intents,

Whilest we did sleepe, to blesse us with events

We dreame not of: Such fondnes cannot find

Any excuse (unlesse they were design'd

Inevitably to't:) for I would know

(If they suppose it possible to shew

Their mind in these affaires, or if they be

Not hindred from an answer by Decree)

Why they doe eate; and why they doe not hence

Conclude rebellion against Providence;

Why they doe cloath themselves; and why desire

When cold oppresseth them to choose a fire;

Have you forgot that for his holy ones,

God can at ease produce e'ne out of stones

As solid sustenance? or is it lost

In your fraile memory, that when Israel crost

[Page]The Desert out of Aegypt, forty yeares

Nor Taylors they imploy'd, nor Shoomakers?

Trust me if you your selves thinke your selves true,

Your care does vilify Gods care of you;

And every dish that to your board is brought

Vpbraides him to his face, as if you sought

To mend his purpose; and by this odd feat,

You doe blaspheme as often as you eate.

The Israelites are wiser farre, although

They have that unknowne happinesse, to know

Their victory aforehand, though they heare

This truth from him, from whom they cannot feare

Any deceit, (whose powerfull word alone

Makes that a truth which he resolves upon,)

Although they will allow his Act for chiefe,

Yet they will doe their part too: to be briefe,

Every soldier to himselfe sayes thus;

God will bestow the victory, but by us.

The night they spend in prayer, but whē the morne

Had dimm'd the pride of Cynthia's cleerest horne

By higher luster, being call'd away

Nor by the Cocke, the Trumpetter of Day;

But by an earlier trumpet, then you might

By her unwilling, and yet hasting light,

Discerne, and seeing, almost rightly poyse

Whether were more, their number, or their noyse,

And unto which more feare was to be giv'n.

Who fill the Earth with Numbers, with noyse Heav'n.

Benjamin takes th'alarme, and having chose

One in whose faithfulnesse they might repose

A wary confidence; they quit the wall

And to the wider field issue out all.

[Page]Lest if they stay'd within, and did oppose

Rampiers and ditches onely to their foes,

They might have bragg'd, (as if that they had won)

Making a prison of their garrison.

Now both the Hoasts themselves so neere do find,

That it would aske more labour t' have declin'd

The field, then to have wonne it, yet they stay

Hoping that innocence is in delay,

If they are slowly guilty: now speares flye

Shiver'd in thousand fitters to the skye;

And whether it revenge or fortune were,

Every peece becomes a Murtherer,

And from their bodies frees a many soule,

Doing that broken, which they could not whole.

Could Xerxes here have sate upon an hill,

To see these warriors, he would not still

Fondly lament, nor lavish out a teare

Because they could not live an hundred yeare,

But melt into just passion away

Because they could not live out all that day.

Now might you have beheld the fiery horse

Proud of his owne, and of his Masters force.

Robb'd of his Master, whom you now might see

Running, as if twere after Liberty,

Or you'd conceive, had you but seene the race

That 'twas no more a battle, but a chase.

No stroke falls idle, nay they are so neere;

They need not strike at all: death is caus'd here

By their bad neighbourhood, the whole and sound

You might have seene here dead without a wound.

To save the guilt and labour of the sword,

Bodies to bodies their owne ends afford.

Now nothing but the dust is to be seene

Which like so many Emblems flyes betweene

[Page]They mingled armies, which in silence sayes,

They are no better then the motes they raise,

Thē those poore Atomes: but they think to shrowde

Their acts from sight of heav'n under that cloud,

And therefore doe their utmost: yet as though

Those hands were sluggish, or this fury slow,

The trumpets chid them to a lustier guilt,

And the loud drums proclaim'd, you have not spilt

Blood enough yet: O what were they that found

Out first the use and malice of that sound?

Which makes us kill with greedinesse, and when

Tis the Corrupted Nature of most men

Hardly to yeeld unto the destitute,

These will not suffer us to heare their suite.

This drowns the groanes: but now both armies reele,

Now this gives backe some ground, now that doth feele

That it is prest too hardly. Thus the seas

When over it the angry winds doe please

To exercise their fury, doe not know

What course to take, nor whither they should flow:

This wave breakes that, and then another blast

Makes that the conqueror, which was conquerd last.

At length the Israelites give backe indeed,

And though in order, yet with such a speed,

Benjamin calls it Flight, all's ours they cry,

If we can runne we have the victory:

With that, what ever men the towne affords,

Skilfull to use their fingers or their swords,

For spoyle or for pursuite, issue out thence

With such a noyse, they give intelligence

That they have left it emptie: O the vaine

Attempts of foolish man! O deserv'd paine!

Th'are made the spoile, that they intend to make,

So wisely can just heav'ns their vengeance take

[Page]On bad attempts, so all our heate asswage,

And make our Ruine greater then our Rage.

It never entred into their proud thought,

They should receive the damage which they sought

To give unto their brethren: who having left

Their woody covert, and the friendly cleft,

Which entertain'd them, by a quicke surprize,

Take the unguarded towne: O who can prize

Those losses to the full? or who rehearse

Those misadventures in an equall verse?

They spare no age, but (cruell) take away

From the old men, the solitary day

They could expect to live: now Infants dye,

Ev'n those, who yet within their mothers lye,

Finding a Night before they see the Morne,

Being buri'd thus, before that they were borne,

For whom their murtherers no crime could choose,

But that they were▪ and had a life to loose,

Nor does the weaker sex escape the rage

Of these intruders, and as every Age,

So every Person suffers, onely here

May be the difference, (if that any were)

Either they're killd out-right, or which is worse,

They thinke their life to be the greater curse.

Here mothers see their daughters whom they bred

As Votaries unto their Maiden head,

Vn-virgin'd in their sight, where having lost

That peerelesse jewell, which they valewd most,

They doe receive to vindicate their name

A death from them, from whom they had their shame.

Avarice followes Lust, now they have leisure

To ransacke all those Mineralls of treasure

Long peace and thrift had hoarded up, at last

As children when their Appetite is past

[Page]Spoyle what they cannot eate, and badly kind

Pamper their dogs with that they leave behind:

So these, as surfeiting with such a store,

(Which made them lose all feare of being poore)

What is not ready spoyle, give to the fire,

Whose conqu'ring flames unto the heav'ns aspire,

As boasting of their service: through the towne,

Swifter then any thing that has renowne

For speedinesse, they runne, one houre does spoile

(Vnlucky houre) what was an Ages toyle,

Now cracke the houses, now the Temples fry,

Now the poore Citizens resolv'd to dye,

Doubt of what death: and know not which to try,

The fire, the downefalls, or the Enemy,

Had this misfortune hapned in the Night

(Though Nature had oppos'd) such a full light

Had made a day, and so againe had wonne

A Conquest of the towne, and of the Sunne.

Never did Sailor with such joy behold

Castor and Pollux when his ship was roll'd

Vpon the angry Ocean, (whose proud waves

Made the most haughty mindes freeze into slaves

With a base feare,) as Israel does view

Those flames, which he does feare not to be true

They are so great, and yet he hopes to see

These flames to light him to a victory.

Now all the face of things is chang'd a new,

Now those which earst seem'd vanquish'd, do pursue:

The Israelites confirming by their Fight,

That they could cause as well as act a Flight.

Benjamin growes amaz'd, and does not know

What he should doe, nor on what grounds to goe,

Which probably seeme safe: if he should flye

He runnes away unto the Enemy:

[Page]And shall he fight? alas! but he will find

It is impossible to fight behind,

Where he shall be assay'ld: yet he shifts ground,

And figures out his battle in a round.

And since he hath no hope to scape away,

Hee'l nobly sell, not give away the day.

They never fought till now, all the whole day

Before, was onely somewhat fiercer Play,

Murder in jest, but now they are so fierce

As if they would inforce their swords to pierce

Beyond the body; this a while, at length

Despaire does yeeld the victory to strength;

And Fortune (that the world henceforth might find

That they had injur'd her who call'd her blind)

Crownes the best side, and providently tryes

At once to prove their Conquest, and her Eyes.

The Parallell is easie; was't not thus,

When Heav'n was pleas'd to be as kind to us?

We felt the prickles first, but then our Nose

Suckt in the sweeter vertue of the Rose.

We had successe, as it were chose, and pickt,

And, what we feard to suffer, did inflict.

When Brett and Burrowes (that I speake their due)

Reviv'd to France, Talbot and Montague.

(O too like Montague, that lost thy breath,

By the same fatall Engine of quicke death.)

When the choyce valour of each rancke, and fyle

Made up a double Sea within the Isle

Of blood and teares, O give us thankes, kind heav'n,

And adde a vertue to our Fortune giv'n.

But soft, I heare the wise man say, Commend

No man, nor action till you see the end.

Our night is not yet past, or if it be

Tis but the dawning, not the day we see,

[Page]And but a misty dawning, we must know

That yet we have not payd God what we owe

And that would worse then any Madnesse be

To have a joy ere a security,

Vnder the rodd to laugh: yet we conclude

Patience does please no lesse then gratitude;

And he that can orecome a losse, nor be

Too much cast downe for want of victory,

Is in some part victorious, and can say

Tis blest to be a conquerour any way.

That we may all acknowledg his desert,

Who nobly gain'd a conquest of the heart

Of them, whose bodies he had conquer'd first,

To whom he then discover'd, what he durst,

And after what his Nature was, when he

In the sad field had spent his Cruelty,

For when they offer'd to redeeme their dead,

Summes which another would have vanquished,

He freely yeelds unto the sutors breath,

And gives the Grave, as easily as the Death,

Whilst they doe give— O how I blush to tell,

A poisond knife, a poison that will dwell

And eate into their fame till earth be gone,

Till poyson have no more to worke upon.

Teach us our right to him, but then to you

What shall we give? and yet what not leave due?

Then, O kind Heav'n, for this let me be pleader,

May we still sing your praise, who led our Leader,

And now I hast unto my songs conclusion;

Israels conquest, Benjamins confusion:

Of all that valiant number which but now

Made treble numbers to their valor bow:

Onely sixe hundred scape away, so few,

They were scarceable to commit anew

[Page]The Crime for which they suffer'd; had not Night

Became their Vmpire and forbad the Fight,

Those few had perisht too; then at the last

Let future Ages learne of Ages past

How vice rewards her servants! Let them be

Afraid at leastwise of the misery,

Who slight the sinne: why should a beauteous face

Make my soule foule? and an externall grace

Bereave me of my inward? O despaire!

Shall I be bad, because another's faire?

Hence that poore folly, rather let us winne

A conquest by the losse of Benjamin.

To know that those bely'd, and stolne delights

Are not of so long lasting as the Nights,

In which we did injoy them, how the Day

Takes both their darknesse, and our sweets away:

To understand that tardy heav'n is just,

That Ruine is the consequent of Lust.

And now O Father, once more I repaire

To thy great presence, O thou onely Faire,

(Who dwelling in the light that none comes neere,

Canst not be seene of us, because too cleere;

To whom created beauties if compar'd,

Ev'n such as have the wisest eyes ensnar'd,

Are nothing but Deformity at best,

Durt somewhat better colourd then the rest)

Instruct my youth, O teach that I may know,

What mischiefes lurke under a seemely show;

What a sweet danger woman is: O thou

To whom the knees that doe not love, doe bow,

Whom all obey, ev'n such as have no sense,

Who doe not know their owne obedience;

Whom all obey, ev'n such as doe goe on

In a perpetuall Rebellion,

[Page]The Spirits accurst: Grant me, that chastly wise

I enter into Covenant with mine eyes,

Never to looke on Woman, not to see

What would perswade my soule to forsake thee,

To make a God of flesh: But if that I

Forc'd by Temptation, or Necessity,

Must see my Ruine, yet thus much, O thou

Whō my soule loves, & would more, knew she how,

(For his deare sake and worth, in whom was found

Onely a place, no reason for a wound)

If I must have the sight, yet I require

I may at leastwise not have the desire,

If I must see, let it be to despise

So shall my heart be chast, if not mine eyes.

FINIS.

[Page]

A Thanksgiving for a recovery from a burning Feaver.

I Burne againe, methinkes an holy fire

Kindles my dull devotion, and farre higher

Raiseth my spirit, then my hot disease

Inflam'd my blood: how with a sacred ease

Feele I these flames through my glad soule to rush!

Like those, which made a Chappell of the bush

Whence God did tutor Moses; would 'twere found

That this place too were such an holy ground:

Then should I boldly vent my Gratitude,

And being Godly, not be counted Rude,

The Night approacht, when by my paines I might

Suspect it would have beene my lasting Night:

I had a griefe beyond a Cowards feares,

And such a griefe, it robb'd me of my teares.

I was all Fire, the greedy Element

Left no one part unsing'd, as if it meant

To crosse the vulgar notions of our birth,

And prove that man was not compos'd of Earth;

That he was made of Flames, that past all doubt

To dye was nothing, but to be put out.

And yet the truth of this, this truth denyes,

Man is not made of that by which he dyes.

And had I dy'd thus, they had beene unjust

Who had pronounc'd, we give dust unto dust.

Ashes they well might tearme me, and so turne

My Christian buriall to a Pagan urne.

Without a tedious pilgrimage to Rome,

(If that the torment make the Martyrdome)

I might be Canoniz'd, and sooner farre

Then some whose names in the gulld Calender

Burne in red letters, of whom none can tell

Whether they onely felt a Fire in Hell.

[Page]O heat! O drought! O am I quencht as yet,

Or is not this Remembrance a new fit!

Yet in my fiercest fit how oft I thought

(Whilst yet there was some moisture left, which fought

With my hot Enemy) how durst liberall men

Give us a freedome of our wills, that when

Ever we list we may be good, and so

Owe to our selves as well the Cure as Blow?

Who gave us this strange power, can any tell,

Not to be Bad, and yet not to be Well?

Can we command our sinnes so easily,

And faint at a poore Feaver? tell me why

You will consent to dye? and wherefore still

You plead not then a liberty of will?

My God cry'd I, though I must needs confesse

Vnto my shame, that all my paines are lesse

Then my demerits, yet I grant as free

That they exceed all possibility

Of mine owne cure, and yet I sooner can

(Spite of disease) turne my Physitian

Then my Redeemer, thou alone canst doe

A powerfull cure on soule and body too.

With that I felt recovery: my flame

Was kindly lessen'd to a lower name,

To moderate heat: Sleepe did my senses charme,

And I that burnt before, was now but warme,

Health and Devotion ceize on me, my fire

Had left my bones to live in my Desire,

And I was sicke of thankfulnesse: then now

Teach me O Lord not why to praise, but how:

Bow my stiffe knees, that they may beg a pow'r▪

Of full thanksgiving to my Saviour.

Some praise for lesse: I've read of Ionah's arke

(Which was of surer cariage then his Barke)

[Page]Th'inhabitable Fish, and yet we see

That he gives thankes for his Delivery

From his Preserver, and shall retchlesse I

Deliver'd from a neerer death, now dye

In the Remembrance? first, O Lord returne

My tutor-torment, let me againe burne.

And now great God, I doe intreat and change

My praise into a pray'r, (for tis not strange

That benefits should make a suppliant,

Since courtesies cause pray'r as well as want)

Twas thy great mercy made my body whole,

O let me find that mercy to my soule,

Then shall I boldly hasten to the grave,

And wanting Life, not want what I would have.

In illos qui Crastinum faeliciorem putant, Hendecasyllabon.

HEu quam tempora ludimus diferti,

Heu quam quaerimus improbi dierum

Successus, quibus invenire tandèm

Possimus miseri repente mortem.

Injustus tamen imputare Fato

(Fato quod melius meretur, aut nil)

Audet quisque suam subinde mortem.

Aude quisque suum vel inde crimen.

Optamus celerem Leves ruinam,

Et stultè cupimus quod execrandum est,

Sic ut pectore pullulent in uno

(Heu sors prodigiosa!) Mens et Hostis.

Quis primas adeò probavit horas,

Ut semper cupiat manere primas

Ut non turbine raptus impotenti

Laudaret magis ipse quae sequantur:

[Page]Acsi tempora sera quae sequuntur

Non morti mágis obviam propinquent,

Acsi tempora sera quae sequuntur

Non sint tempora sera sed beata.

Hoc ex vbere profluit parentis,

Infanti tenero, nec invenire

Quenquamtam puerum, rudemve possis,

Quisi forte minus queat loquendo,

Non mutire tamen velhiscere ausit

(Quamvis hoc violare, non precari

Divos, auribus esset eruditis)

Annos ut videat, homo (que) crescat.

Et jam Numina prorsus annuêre,

Et jambarba virum satis probavit,

Num constant ibi vota, num morantur?

Num non alter adhûc rogatur annus?

Hic tandem rogo vota nūm fatiscunt?

Rotatus citius jacebit aer,

Et rivus sciet inquies quietem,

Luctus, quem fero; sit, sit et voluptas

(Expertis onus est quin et voluptas)

Quicquid sit Modo, Crastinum petemus

Quin curas fugat ille pertinaces

Quin et spem quo (que) longiusfugatam

(Si mens certius autumet) reducit

Sic mens stultior autumat: quin illa

Quae non novimus anne sint futura

Laudamus nimium, parum (que) certi,

Incertissima perperam probamus,

Cum praesentia tedio futura, et

Sint desiderio nimis futura,

Advenit modo Crastinus petitus,

Advenit quo (que) Crastinus secundus,

Tot demum, quibus impar omnis esset

[Page]Annorum fuga, computus dierum.

Quid tandem inveniunt? quid, oro, tandem

Non abunde leves, ut ante, quaerunt?

Et quaerunt modo, denuoque quaerunt,

Donec jam leve sit velinvenire.

Us (que) ad tempora verticis soluti

Rasi tempore, num severa frontem

Non tantum ceperat ruga, sed omnem

Obnubit faciem, at (que) luscus intus

Abdit sese oculus, ut inde possit

Visu cernere clariore mentem,

Cum nasi stupeas videns acumen,

Donec longa dies rogare fecit,

An hic quem videas homo vocetur.

Cum sulcis lacerata tota frons sit,

Donec tempora jam irruant suprema

Expectatio tunc suprema fati,

Et voti male compotes perimus.

Upon our vaine flattery of our selves that the succeeding times will be better then the former.

HOw we dally out our dayes!

How we seeke a thousand wayes

To find Death▪ the which if none

We sought out, would shew us one.

Why then doe we injure Fate,

When we will impute the date

And expiring of our time,

To be hers, which is our Crime?

Wish we not our End? and worse,

Mak't a Pray'r which is a Curse?

Does there not in each breast lye

Both our soule and Enemy?

[Page]Never was there Morning yet

(Sweet as is the Violet)

Which mans folly did not soone

Wish to be expir'd in Noone;

As though such an hast did tend

To our blisse, and not our End;

Nay the yong ones in the nest

Sucke this folly from the breast,

And no stamm'ring ape but can

Spoyle a prayer to be a Man.

But suppose that he is heard,

By the sprouting of his beard,

And he hath what he doth seek

The soft cloathing of the Checke:

Would he yet stay here? or be

Fixt in this Maturity?

Sooner shall the wandring starre

Learne what rest and quiet are:

Sooner shall the slippery Rill

Leave his motion and stand still.

Be it joy, or be it Sorrow,

We referre all to the Morrow,

That we thinke will ease our paine,

That we doe suppose againe

Will increase our Ioy, and so

Events, the which we cannot know

We magnifie, and are (in summe)

Enamor'd of the time to come.

Well, the next day comes, and then,

Another next, and so to ten,

To twenty we arrive, and find

No more before us then behind

Of solid joy, and yet hast on

To our Consummation:

[Page]Till the baldnesse of the crowne,

Till that all the face doe frowne,

Till the Forehead often have

The remembrance of a Grave;

Till the eyes looke in, to find

If that they can see the mind.

Till the sharpnesse of the Nose,

Till that we have liv'd, to pose

Sharper eyes, who cannot know

Whether we are men or noe▪

Till the tallow of the Cheeke,

Till we know not what we seeke;

And at last of life bereav'd,

Dye unhappy, and deceiv'd.

FINIS.

[Page]

TO the READER.

REader, my Profession is not versifying, but this is part of the King of Swedens power, that he can transforme a Divine into a Poet, and indeed he that cannot make a verse upon this Argument, is an Argument for verses to be made upon. But thou shalt have nothing of a Poem here besides the Ryme, it being this Kings singularity, that he who writeth his History, shall be thought to write a Poem, and he that would write a Poem of him, cannot but write an History. It is impossible, that invention should exceed his actions, or that a Penne should dare more then Sweden. So that now an excuse is needlesse, a Divine may write an History. And why not such a Poem? I am sure a Prince in Israel is fallen, and therefore it can be no shame for David himselfe to follow the Beer. Which I trust thou dost in a true sorrow for him, and an harty prayer to the Almighty that he would raise up another to perfect, who thus farre hath advanc't this royall instument in his cause. Thus thou art advised by

R. GOMERSALL.

[Page]

[Page]

AN ELEGY VPON the untimely, yet Heroicall death of Gustavus Adophus the Victorious King of Sweden, &c.

ARe all our hopes but this? did we expect

that thou our falling Fortunes shoulst erect,

And must thou fall thy selfe? a little dust

Remaine of him, who, we did surely trust,

Should into dust have brought Romes prouder walls,

And hastned the great whores just Funeralls?

Is this the noble Conquerour? this he,

Who was the Favourite of victory?

Who, whatsoever he attempted, wrought,

Event still gladly lackying his wise thought,

Who wrought no other thing, then what he should,

His power being still confin'd to what was good:

How could he choose then but be happyest,

Who had his will, who will'd that which was best?

Alas how pale he lookes! sure tis not He,

This is the count'nance of the Enemy,

When Sweden prest him, thus did Tilly looke,

When in the field of Leipsich, that sad booke,

He read his following miseries, which did reach,

As farre as Elve is distant from the Leach;

Where he receiv'd his Death at his proud knee,

Because before he would not bow to thee,

This was Bavaria's colour when he saw

His Arts could not diswade, nor forces draw

Thee from thy high designes, this was his hew,

When after all his projects, he not drew

[Page]A sword in his defence, and threw away

His lands without the hazard of a day,

As if hee'd see, how nobly thou wouldst use them,

Or he had had his countryes, but to lose them.

Or thus look'd Fridland, when he saw the field

Strew'd with his slaughter'd souldiers who doe yeeld

Riches [...]o those grounds, whēce they took the spoile;

And their dead bodies doe manure the soile,

Which, living, they had wasted, in that howre,

When Sweden foyld the Emperours Emperour.

If these looke pale 'tis fit, a pretty art,

That their owne cheekes, should represent the heart

Of their dead forces, should want blood as well,

And by their Faces, shew us how They fell.

Let's looke againe: Alas! tis He, tis He,

This was Gustavus, was? ô misery,

Was it, and ist not? ô that face! those eyes!

Where Spaine and Austria read their destinies

Are they the dainties for the worme? that hand,

Lift up to Prayer alway, or Command

Must that lye still for Ever? must it bee,

So still, as it would make the [...]nemy?

Was it for this thou leftst thy native soile,

Thy Queene, thine Heire, was it for this? to toile

For others benefit, and after, have

For all thy travells but a German grave?

Could not thy Sweden bury thee? nor give

Rest to thy bones, which whilst that thou didst live

Bestow'd a Crowne upon thy head? was't more

To give a Grave, then a whole Realme before?

Yet this is thy reward, that thou doest lye,

In the, by thee twice reskew'd Saxony:

Yet what reward is this for thee? they have

From thee their Right, frō them thou but thy Grave.

[Page]Farre be all blessing from that man, who first

Found out that Fatall instrument, who durst

Thunder on Earth, and teach mankind a way

How they might send mankind unto their clay,

Not knowing who 'twas sent them, by whose skill

The Coward is instructed how to kill,

And the brave man must at a distance dye

By him, whom neerer, his owne livelyer eye

Would look to Death: how could he have the braine,

To teach the world, by what a world is slaine,

Or since he knew the mischiefe of his Art,

If he could have the Braine, yet how the Heart?

Is this the Cloysterd study? cannot they

Deny the world; unlesse the world they slay?

Is this (I'de know) their owne selfes to deny,

To cause, besides themselves all else should dye?

Are they coop'd up for this? but I admire

In vaine, how from the Devill, and the Frier

Commeth ought, that is not, Hellish, how those two

Should thinke, what 'twas not a lowd crime to doe?

Wert not for them 'twould be no wondred thing

To see at once one Aged, and a King,

Since we doe learne in Sage experience Schoole

Crownes would be sacred wert not for the Cowle.

Nor are we longer ign'rant now, who gave

Birth to our sorrow, to our joy a grave,

What ever mist to blind our eyes they spread,

The Hand we doe not know, we doe the Head,

Which that we may curse home, to pay his due,

Let us their triumph and our losse review.

Many have beene victorious, ev'ry Age

Hath once produc'd some Worthies on the Stage,

Sacred to glory: Rome doth Caesar praise,

Carthage her Hannibal to Heav'n doth raise

[Page]Thy Bruce ô Scotland is farre fam'd by thee,

Their Henry, France doth boast, our Edward we.

All these were Conqu'rours, but upon what right

May we inquire, did some of them first fight?

Some were but Royall robbers, and the best

Made man so cheape for their owne Interest,

Revenge, or Profit drove them unto Fame,

And thus they injur'd, whilst they gain'd their name:

Whilst all Thy power is spent in doing good,

And thou gain'st nothing but the losse of blood,

Whilst all thy power is spent the wrong'd to right,

And thus thy acts are Iudgement, and not Fight,

Thus whilst their actions in this currant ran

To make th' Oppressour greater the Man,

Had there beene none opprest, thou hadst lien still

That thou might Save, thou wert inforc't to Kill:

Whilst all thy power is spent in Gods owne Cause,

To plant, or to establish his pure Lawes

To make Professours fearelesse, that it might

No longer be a crime to be i'th' Right,

Nor a sufficient cause to make one Dye

That he would seeke a true Aeternity.

These are thy Acts— to make the Enemy yeeld,

By force to make him quit the blood-died field;

To take in townes with as much ease, as though

Their walls were like to those of Iericho,

Would fall to give thee entrance; to or'e come

Whole countryes with more speedinesse then some

Could view them, all these are thy acts tis knowne,

But these, with others, thine; those, thine alone.

I challenge thee proud Greece and prouder Rome,

From their first birth unto their latest tombe,

Peruse your Heroes, read their actions or'e

Make what was somewhat, by your Fabling, more,

[Page]Add lye and all to boot, then if you dare

Bring them: if with Gustavus you compare,

They shall as much that competition shunne,

As a weake Taper yeelds to the bright Sunne,

Which of them ever fought for others gaines,

That theirs might be the Profit his the Paines?

I could be infinite thee to commend,

But thou thy selfe doest not despise an end

I therefore hasten: having done thus much

Thou now wouldst see whether another such

Would after thy departure rise, or why

May I not say, that thou wouldst therefore dye

That man should grudge no longer at his Death

Nor strive to keep whē heav'n would take his breath?

Must we all Dye? proud death then doe thy worst,

What ere thou canst, Sweden hath sufferd first

And he being dead who now would live? mine eres

Begin to flow a fresh, new fountaines rise,

Which threaten inundations, but I stay,

When I consider, thou hast found one way,

Not to doe all for others: Princely shade!

This is thy Art of warre at length t' invade

Heav'n for Thy selfe, there all the gaines are Thine,

Thou wert not Kill'd for the Prince Palatine:

When I thinke this then doe I spare mine eye:

For others thou dost Fight, for thy selfe Dye.

§

The Epitaph in Latin.

SVecia me genuit, Borealis gloria plagae,

Lipsia bis palmam dat mihi, fata semel.

Erexi oppressos, incurvavique prementes,

Sceptra alijs, mortem comparo at ipse mihi.

[Page]Nescio quae balista meum jaculata Sepulchrum est.

Sic cecidi, incerto vulnere fixus humo:

Occubui, per quem non certó novimus, Author

Non licuit cuiquam dicere caedis Ego.

Lachrymulam funde unam lector, funde vel unam

Qui vivus plures fundere te vetui.

In English thus.

ME Sweden bred, there I receiv'd my breath,

Leipsich twice gave me honour, once my Death,

I free'd th' opprest, brought down th' oppressors pride,

Won crowns, that other men might weare thē, dy'ed.

A bullet, out of what piece none can tell,

Brought me that dismall message, thus I fell,

Death at adventure my last blood hath spill'd,

No man must boast that he hath Sweden kill'd.

Reader shed one teare for my death, but one,

Whose life took order, that thou shouldst shed none.

FINIS.

[Page]

Information about this book

Title statement

Poems. By Robert Gomersall

Gomersall, Robert, 1602-1646?

Edition statement

1633

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2004-08 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A01851

ID [STC]

STC 11993

ID [STC]

ESTC S103214

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

99838971

ID [PROQUEST]

99838971

ID [VID]

3364

Availability

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

Series

Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A01851)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 3364)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 958:20)

Source

— Poems. By Robert Gomersall, Gomersall, Robert, 1602-1646?, Cecil, Thomas, fl. 1630, engraver., Gomersall, Robert, 1602-1646? Tragedie of Lodovick Sforza Duke of Millan., Gomersall, Robert, 1602-1646? Levites revenge..

Extent

[4], 16, [14], 70, [18], 81, [15] p.

Printed by M[iles] F[lesher] for Iohn Marriot,. London :: M DCXXXIII. [1633]. (Printer's name from STC.) ("The tragedie of Lodovick Sforza Duke of Millan. .. The second edition" and "The Levites revenge .. The second edition" each have separate dated title page and pagination; register is continuous. These two works also have engraved title pages (included in pagination above), each signed "Tho: Cecill sculp."; the first reads "Sforza by Rob: Gomersall". The works were originally published separately in 1627 and 1628.) (Reproduction of the original in the Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery.)

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