LES FEMMES ILLUSTRES OR THE Heroick Harrangues OF THE Illustrious Women

Written in FRENCH by the Exqui [...] Pen of MONSIEUR de CUDDERY

GOVERNOUR OF NOSTRE D [...].

Translated By JAMES INNES.

EDINBURGH,

Printed by THOMAS BROWN [...] GLEN and JOHN Book Sellers Anno [...] 168 [...]

TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS MARY of ESTE DUTCHES of ALBANY and YORK:

MADAM.

TO Celebrate Eter­nally the Honour of famous Heroins and perfectly to Sotemnise the glo­ry of the fair Sex, do Illustrious Queens and Princes prostrate themselves at your Royall feet: The noyse of your Bounteous worth hath so over-ecchoed the spe­cious Universe, that they (but from your Royall perfections) co [...]ld ne­ver hope to obtain, what they have long strayed through the World in: [Page]quest of: Become now weary with wandering, and toyl'd with fatigue, pitie pleads in their behalf for lodg­ing, and charity proclaims aloud that their glory will be for ever Eclipsed, if the Rayes of your Heroick and No­ble Vertue dissipate not the clouds which benight it, by taking them in protection: Their Garlands will want the choisest Laurels of their acquir­ed praise, if your Royal Excellen­cies Crown not the Trophies of their merit by sustaining their conquests: And they will not only ly alwaies un­der the lash of calumny, but be irre­coverably ship wracktif their recourse to your Royal Highness for defence be rejected. Such has been the im­patient Ambition of these Magnani­mous Spirits, to be adrest to you for particular tuition, that if they could have travelled in English without a guid, they would have certainly ren­dered themselves where I have made [Page]bold to present them, knowing you only worthy to maintain their glory. Opprest with the stormie malice of frowning fortune, they flie to the al­tars of security, plung'd in griefe they Solace themselves with intreat­ing for shelter from untainted honor; and though by redoubled misfortuns they be surcharged with sorrow, they shall retake their courage under your Royal Tutelage, being fully assured that your Illustrious Patronage is of sufficient power to stop the froward carrier of volatile unconstancy, and justly perswaded to find a delectable retreat, where the Princly Pattern of accomplished Vertue, and the glori­ous Modell of sincer perfection is presented to Posterity.

May your Royal Highness there­fore, in bestowing a favourable look on Illustrious Ladyes, (whose a [...] ­duous desires have been to parta [...] of a comfortable and delicate [...] ­rity [Page]with you;) Be graciouslie pleased to accept of my thus conse­crating this my Translation of the first part of the Heroick Harrangues that thereby I may avouch, I have safly lodged these renowned wor­thies in the closet of Princely Ex­cellency; Have securely harbour­ed them in the haven of safty; have quietly laid to rest their wearied ghosts under the shadow of Roy, all Goodness: And in fine, sound them out a Noble repose, where the only refuge could be had wor­thie of Heroick Souls. Since then in your Royall Person vertue is compleatly perfect, and does from thence so splendidly renew its lustre that to defend the interest of fam­ous He [...]iones must be Universally acknowledged your propriety, I humbly begg liberty to leave them to the peaceable enjoyment of [...]our Illustrious inclination, having [Page]Royalty for their Tutilare Angel, and a glorious resting place in re­compence of their sufferings. Your esteem Madam, is the onlything can render this unpolisht work perfect and your approving of my oblation will render me most happy, in obtaining the honour of presenting my Royal Princes with these hum­ble devoirs of.

Madam
Your ROYAL HIGHNESSES Most Humble, Most Faithful and ever Devoted Servant, JAMES INNES.

THE AUTHORS DEDICATION TO LADIES

I Present the Illustrious Wo­men, to the most Illustri­ous of Women, and conjures them to take them in prote­ction; By sustaining the Glo­rie of these heroick persons, they mantain their own pro­prietie, and by a generous Interest defend them­selves in defending these: for me beautiful and Lovlie Ladies, who have alwaies been the adorer of your Sex, if so be this work please you, and contribute any thing to your Re­putation, I shall arrive at the end I have pro­posed to my self; Yet nevertheless, if by that goodness which is naturall to you, You will protect me; And if the malice of men should induce me to the necessity of having need of so [...] a refuge, tell them, if you please; what [Page]I am going to say to you, and I shall endeavour to make them silent, if you judge me worthie [...]o speak. Let them know then, For instruct­ing them of my design, that the fortunat sucesse I had of the translation which I made of the harrangues of Manz [...], hath partly obli­ged me to undertake these, I desire to see if I can work as livelie in originall as in Copie, and that I wander not, because I travell without a guide. But if they think it strange that I have chosen Women for expressing my meditations, and imagin that Oratorical Art is absolutly un­known to you, abuse them I conjure you, and defend me with so much Eloquence, that they shall be compelled to confesse there is no want of it in you, and consequently I am not deceiv­ed in my choice: Certainlie among the thou­sands of rare qualities that the Ancients have noticed in your Sex; They have alwayes said that you possesse Eloquence, without art, with­out Labour, and without Pains, and that na­ture gives liberallie to you, that which stud [...] sells to us at a dear rate: That you are born the same which we become at last, and that scailitie of speaking well is naturall to you, in place of being acquired by us. Yet it may be they will say to me, if Ladies be so naturallie Eloquent why do not I make them punctually observe all parts of orations, as Rhetorick teaches in the schools? What may not be [...]een in this book (Pardon me famous Ladie [...] the harsh words I am going to speak [...]) Exerdes, Mariationes, Epilo [...]ues, Exag [...] [...]. Metapb [...]s, D [...]gresssit [...]s, [...] and all the beautifull figures, which usuallie d [...] ­enrich [Page]works of this kind. To this I can answer them, that they are heir more fitlie placed. The delicacie of art consists in making believe there is none at all. You carrie flyes on your faces, which by your dressing are put there, to make the whiteness of your Complexion shine the clearer: Yet they are placed so orderlie, that it might be said they are living, and that they fly at hasard. You make curles and rings of your hair, but with such a subtile negligence and agreeable cairlesness, that it might be judg­ed [...] the wind, then your hands had been helping to nature. Just so heir I have endea­voured to make my Heroines Eloquent; Yet I have not thought that the Eloquence of a Ladie should be the same of a Master of Arts; The li [...]le St [...]e [...] and the Classes the Colledges and the Palace the Court and the Ʋniversiies; Have as differing waies as if they were a peo­ple far from other: And what would they doe to see a Ladie of the Let ne countrey among the young. People of the Court: They would look upon her as a Ma [...]ster, and scorn her. This, famous Persons, is what you have to say to them upon the subject [...]hand, but if they insist that I have observed no order of Chronologie heir, how I have placed my [...]; That they will see C [...]e [...]pas a before [...] after Zenob [...]a, &c. Tell them it is [...]ue, but this error is voluntar, and if I dare say, Ju­dicious. I have imitated at this time the Skill of their who make nosegayes, who mixe by a regular confusion Roses and Jassamine, the flower of Orange, and the Pomgraned, the Tulips and the junquille, to the end that from [Page]this so pleasing mixture of coulors there appear ane agreable diversitie still to please the sight; Just so heir I have chosen in historie the finest mater and the most different that I could; And have so orderlie mixed, and so fitlie concealed them, that it is almost impossible but the read­er shall be diverted. But divyn persons, if anie remark slightlie that among Heroines, there are more afflicted then content; Ansuer, it is ane ordinarie thing, that fortune and vertue are two old enemies, that all beauties are not hap­pie and that compassion and pittie are not the least agreeable and least touching resentments which this sort of reading can give. You have yet to answer these who find it strange that the Title of my Book should be the Illustrious WOMEN or the HEROICK HARRANGUES: And who will say, that Women and Ha [...]ran­gues are not the same thing you have I say, to answer them that the example of Herod [...]es au­thorises me, and condemns them: And if it was not forbidden him to name the nine books of his historie M [...]lpomene, Er [...]stone, Cleo, Ʋnauia, Terficor, Eurerpe, [...], Calli [...] ­p [...]ia, and Pila [...]ea, which are the names of the nine Muses, these who are Gode esse and not Books, this which I have doe may verie well be permitted me.

Moreover if it be observed, that in part of my Harrangues, there are some Meditations which have been seen in MODERN Tragedies: Where these same Heroins are introduced: I do con­jure you to hinder [...] from being so unjust [Page]as to suspect my having taken them from thence And for my vindication say if you please, that there are certain Universall Notions which ne­cessarlie occurres to all the World, when they treat of the same Subjects. Further if there be any strange thing in my work, that hath not been taken from the Modernes: But which they and I have taken from Antiquitie. I believed it re­quisite to adorn those Harrangues with all that Historie had that was pleasant and remarkable, concerning the Subject I treat of; And I have made a curious enough search whereby to me­rit some Glorie: However I was so scrupulous in it, that I have marked with a different ca­racter all that it did furnish me with, so much for Meditation to make slanderers silent: as for envie, I have no such esteem of my self, as to dare believe, that I can make it speak. In fine to make an end of answering ali the objections that can be made against me, if any does take the Medalles of those Heroines, for Medailles made for pleasure, and think them false, because their inscriptions are French, in stead of those which are true, that are Greek or Latin: An­swer if you please that they who are curious to know, will defend me from the ignorance of them who know not: And that I have made these inscriptions in our Language in favours of them who do not understand Latin, and who cannot read Greeck.

Behold Noble Ladies, what you have to say for me, or to speak more truly. what I had to say to you, for to end this dicourse by which I have begun, if so be, you are satisfyed I cannot faill to be contented: And if this Triumphing [Page]Arch which I have set up, to the Glorie of your Sex, be not judged unworthie of you, it shall not be the last work I shall undertake for you, I meditat a second Volumn of Harrangues, whose subject are no less great then the first: They have also something more peireing, and more proper for divertisement: But you think it convenient after this first race, that I with­draw to the end of the careire, that before I make a second, I behold the scaffolds, and try to know in your eyes if my adress hath pleased you.

ARTEMISA TO SOCRATES. THE FIRST HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

AFter that Artemisa had employed the most knowing Architectures of her time, to build a glorious Monument, which was since one of the seven wonders of the World: the love she had for her dear Mausole, was not fully sa­ [...]isfied; she caused Socrates and Theopompus, the two most famous Orators of antiquity come from Greece, and by truely Royal Liberalitie, she oblidged these great men to set their Eloquence at work in favours of the King her Husband, that they might eternise his memorie; it was in asking this Favour, that this fair comfortless spoke to them in this manner, when the excess of her love made her forget that she was speaking before the famous Socrates.

ARTEMISA to SOCRATES.

IT is from you, O Famous Orator, that expect the immortality of Mausole; It is you must give a Soul to all the Sta­tues I set up; It is you must make- [...] a Tomb, which the revolutions of Ag [...] cannot destroy, and which will eter­nise Mausole, Socrates, and Artemisa together. Do not think that I believe Time or Fortune will respect, the Gold, the Marble, the Jaspire, the Porphire, and the Orientall Alabaster, which I employ to build Him a sumptuous Monument? No, I know that these three hundred Pillars, in which all order is care­fully observed, whose foundations are so sollidli [...] fixed, whose Chapiters, are so magnifick, and where Art sur­passes the Matter, shall one day be but pittifull Ruines, and after a little Time shall be nothing at all; those lowe Sculptures, which are at the four Faces of the Sepul­chre, shall Successively be defaced by injurious Seasons, and but with pain shall some imperfect figures be there perceived, of all those things which we admire to day. Those Obelisques which seem to defie Tempests, may be one day beat down with Thunder, and turned [...] Dust, these smoaking Vessals, those extinguished Ter­ches, these trophies of Armes, and all the Ornaments that Architecture is capable of, shall not hinder the dis­truction of this Work: In fine Socrates. When I have wasted all my Treasures for this Tomb, and that by the skilfull hands of Scopas, of Briaxes, of Timothie and of Leochares. I have put it in condition to pass for one of the wonders of the World, if after all this none take care to preserve his Memorie by writtings: The statues which I have set up, the Gold, the Marble, the Jaspire, the Porphire, the Alabaster, the Pillars, the low Sculpte [...] the Obelisques the smoaking Vessals, the extinguished Torches, & all the Ornaments of Building [...] in the work, shall not (I say) hinder [...] his Architectures, his Sculptors, and Artemisa her selfe from being buried in Oblivion, and from be [...] known to the Ages which come [...] never been: It belongs then to you [...] [Page 4] [...] to give more sollid foundations to this stru­cture: It is you must animat these Marbles by magnifi­cent Inscriptions; It is you must revive Mausole, it is you must make me live Eternally, although I feel my Death verie near approaching: I desire not Socrates, that you make Elogies of Busire, or that you give praises to Helen, as you have done at other times, I give you a more easie and more Illustrious Subject, the vertues of Mausole, and the lawfull love of Artemisa, are a more Noble subject, then the inhumanity of Busire, or the slightness of Helen your Eloquence shall have no crime to disguise: All the craft that Rhotorick teaches for Im­posing of Fables, & rendering them seemingly true, will but serve you to perswade to truth: and without Printing any thing of Sophistes, it shal suffice that you writ as an Orator, as a Philosopher and as a Historian together, Elo­quence that rare priviledge, which the gods have besto­wed on men as a raie of their divinity, should never be employed but for protecting innocencie; or eternising vertue. They who have made a godess of perswasion, have not designed to render it a slave to the Capricioes of men: and doubtless they know as well as I that Elo­quence is a gift of Heaven which none ought to pro­phane, the power it has of excit [...]ing or appeasing, the [...] violent passions; of softening the hardest hearts; of perswading the most incredulous; of forcing the most obstinate, of constraining even to our will, and of [...] us in opposition to our selves, by quitting our [...] opinions to follow these of others; all these ad­vantages, I say, have not been given him to serve him­self with injustice: On the contrary, it is that which the gods have chosen to make the World see vertue as lovely as it is, and to cause it every day make new con­quests. It is by possessing of it, that men acquire Immor­tality by making others immortall: It is it which in [...]ight of Time and change of Things preserves the me­ [...]o [...]ie of brave actions; It is it which maugre the destru­ction of Kingdoms and Empires, does perpetuate the [...] of Kings and Emperours, and when their [...]tie [...] are no more in their Tombs, when their Pa­ [...]ces are destroyed, their most famous Towns desolated, [...] their verie Kingdoms have changed their Names, [...] the whole Earth see an image of their vertu [...] [Page 5]Yea many ages after their death they have lived among men, they have still Friends and Subjects, they are con­sulted for the Government of their lives, their good qua­lities are imitated, they have new Elogies made them, envie finishes not their Glory, they get all the Praises the merit, there if so great veneration had for them, that People go not to the places where they dwelt, with­out some kind of fear; and if there yet remain any old Ruines of their Buildings, some do's respect that in them which time did not regaird, they look upon them with pleasure, and prefers them to all the Magnificence of the Modernes, and the Limners also adorn their Tab­lets, with their Illustrous Ruines, and with eternising their memories. After all this wonder not Socrates, that I so passionately desire, your Eloquence to make a Panegirick, for my dear lord: I know in what esteem it was through all Greece, and I certainly foresee that Ages to come will render it Justice. All the writtings that bear the Name of Socrates, or of Theopompus, shall be reverenced, by time, by fortune and by all men. They shall pass among all Nations, and in all Ages without having anie wrong done to them, and shall carrie win [...] them the reputation of them whom they speak of: Also there may be Famous Persons found, who by the esteem they have of your work, will make you speak of Langua­ges, which have not yet been invented, who by the brightness of your Glory, will believe they add sorn thing to their own by publishing of them Speak then [...], speak then Socrates to the end, that all men may speak after you. But do not think, that there are any thoughts of vaniti [...], mingled with the Prayer that I make to you; No Socrates, I will not have you search in my Person not Life, whereof to me a Magnificent Elogie, I will not have you speak of my Noble Birth; I will not that you tell I was Born with the Crown of Hallicarnassus; I will not have you tell that though a Woman, I did know the the Act of Soveraigne Reigning; I will not that you acquant Posterity, with the Extraordinarie Esteem the great Xerxes had of me, I will not have you tell that [...] made a Voayage into Greece with him. I will not have you make known that I had the first Place in his Co [...] [...] and that mine was ever followed; I will not [...] you speak of the Exploits I did in that War, nor [...] [Page 6]exceeding Price which the Athenians promised to any that would deliver me into their hands: Only I Will have you tell that Artemisa was Queen of Caria. Be­cause she Married Mausole who was King of it: That Artemisa above all Vertues, did ever love that which is most Necessarie to her Sex: That Artemisa never had any other Passion, But that of perfectly loving Her Husband; that Artemisa after losing him, lost all de­sire of Life; and in fine, that Artemisa after that Mis­fortune, had no other care but the Celebrating of his Memory. But after you have said all those things, and praised Mausole as much as he Merited, after I say, you have painted out my Grief, or to speak better my de­spair as great as it is, forget not to declaire to Posterity, that after I hade Builded the most Sumptuous Monu­ment that never was seen; I could not find one Urne that I belived worthie to enclose his Ashes. Cristall, Alabaster, and all the Precious Stones which Nature produces, cannot me thinks abundantly testifie my af­fection: It must needs be Noble and Liberall, to give him an Urne of Gold covered with Diamonds, but to give him the Heart for an Urne, it must be Artemisa. There it is Socrates, where I shut up the Ashes of my dear lord; there it is Theopompus, where I lay to rest his dear Reliques, waiting impatiently, till his Tomb be in condition to receive the Urne a live which I have given him. It is truely my Heart should serve for an Urne to the Ashes of my dear Mausole; Me thinks I give them a new life by putting them there, and again me thinks they Communicat that mortall coldness to me which I feel in them. Moreover it is very just that since Mausole was alwayes in my heart while he lived, he should also be there after his death: May be if I had put his Ashes in this Urue of Gold all coverd with Jewels, may be (I say) some unjust Conquerour should come to open his Tomb, and with a Prophane and Sacralegious hand take away the Urne, and cast his Ashes with the Wind, and separate mine from those of Mausole. But as I use them, we shall be inseparable. There is no Tyrrant can trouble my rest, because none [...]an divide me from my dear lord. Behold, Socrates, what I will have you say of me. But for my dear lord, forget nothing that may be Glorious to him, nor any [Page 7]thing that was Effectually in him. Tell that he was feared of his Enemies, beloved of his Subjects, and in Veneration among the Princes his Neighbours. Speak of the great qualities of his Soul, as well as of the fa­vours he received from Nature; Praise his Valior in War, his Sweetness in peace, and his Equity and Meek­to all the World, In fine from the Idea of an accom­plished Prince, and you shall make the true Picture of Mausole; Yet after you have said all things of this Noble Husband; Speak zealously of the love he had for me, and of that which I had alwayes for him. [...]aint this passion as strong as pure and as faithfull as it is; undeceive these who believe that Crym is the nourisher of Love, and who thinks that a Lawfull passion can be neither fervent, long or agreeable; Let them see that Mausole and I give an exemple which destroyes their Experience and all their Reasons: Because as our Love had alwayes much Innocency, it did not forbear to have great Zeal, in lasting even to death, and being infinitly agreeable to us; Speak then with the Elogie, of that holie Tie, which forces two Vertuous Persons to Love each Other Eternally. And if possible make haste to satisfie me Employ also your Eloquence toperswade them who work at the Tomb of Mausole, to make as great dispatch as they possiblie can, in advancing their work, for mine begins to be finished. The few ashes that remain of my dear Mausole, will be quickly consumed, and that once done I have no more to do in the World, all that is on the Earth can no more touch my Spirit: I am insensible of all things but grief, and the only desires of my Soul are to be Re-united to my dear Mausole, and to know certainly that you take care of his Glorie; your own should oblidge you to this, compassion should carrie you forward in it, and if it be permitted to propose other recompences to Philosophers then the sole desire of well doing, consider what the expences are that I am at, for Building of this Magnificent Tomb, and judge from thence that she who spends so much of her Treasures u­pon dumb Marbles, will not be ingrate when you speak to the Glory of her dear Mausole; But whatsoever di­ligence you make to satisfie me, nor the Architectures nor you shall so soon make an end of your work as I shall finish mine: and if I be not mistaken I shall dy [...] soon enough, to permit you to Illustrat the Panegor [...] of Mausole, with the death of his Arte [...]isa.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

THis Vertuous QUEEN obtained her wish, Socrates and Theopompus did speak of her dear Mausole, but in so advant ageous terms, that some-have acoused them of flatterie for her Money: As for her, it was not without reason that she pressed the Builders, for this Sumptuous Monument was scarce finished, before she had her Place in it. They who did begin this Mervellous work left it not unfinished: It was of a long time one of the wonders of the World, and Her Glory which had more sollid foun­dations then it, continuous yet in the Memory of Men, with that of Mausole, and the Illustruous Artemisa.

MARIAMNE TO HEROD. THE SECOND HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

FEw are Ignorant that Herod put his Wife to death, but all do not know what She said in her defence, the two Historians who writ of her; One was not in her time, and the other was a Flatterer of Her Husband: So that it belongs to us to try the Truth, in the Ignorance of the one & Malice of the other; for me I acknowledge I am ranked in Mariam­nes party, and whither it be by Pittie or Reason, whither I say her beauty hath blinded or her Innocency made me clear sighted, I cannot believe that a Princess descended from the Macabees Illustrous Bloud, had put a blemish on her Re­putation: But I will rather love to believe that Herod was still Herod, I would say an unjust and bloody man: Behold then the Apologie of this unfortunat Beauty, who hath more Excellencie in her mouth then is in mine. Hear her then speak I Conjure you, and remark in her Noble Pride the true Caralter of Ma [...]iamnes Humor.

MARIAMNE TO HEROD.

IT is neither fear of death, nor desire of life that makes me speak to day: and were I but assure that posteri­ty would do me justice when I shall be no more. I my self would help my Accusers and Enemies: I would look upon the last of my dayes as the first of my happinesse, and would wait the hour of my Death with so great, Constancie, that it should render these who Persecute me confused. But since they would as much against, my vertue as my life, it were great Coward liness to in­dure a Calumny without repelling it: Innocencie and Glory are two such precious Jewels, that all things should be done to preserve them. Suffer then my lord (if it be suitable for the Grand-Daughter of Hircane to call you so) that to let you see the purity of my Soul, I recall to your Memorie, what you are, and what I am, to the end that Comparing my past Actions with the Accusations which are now made against me, you may some way pre­pare your Spirit to believe these truths which I ought to tell it. Doubtless you have not forgot that I am come of that famous Race, which for many Ages by past hath given Kings to Judea: That all my Predecessores did Justly hold that Scepter which you have, that by their Birth right they carried the Crown which Fortune hath put upon your Head, and that if things had been according to ordinar Order, so far from being my Judge, I might have reckoned you in the Number of my Subjects, and lawfullie taken that power of you, which you Usurpe over me; However as this high birth oblidged me to a not common Vertue, Hircane did no sooner command me to be your Wife, knowing th [...] [Page 12]obedience I owed him, without considering the in-e­quality that was betwixt us. I received you for my hus­band, and although that my inclinations (thanks to Heaven) were quit contrate to yours, you know in what manner I have lived with you: and if you had need to expect more Complacency, and more Testimony of Affection from me, when your very Alliance was as Honourable to me, as mine was Glorious to you. Since that my lord, even to the death of Hircan, what have I done? what have I said? what have I thought against you? Nothing, but that I could not rejoyce in your Victories, because they were fatall to my Relations, and again, because I had a heart as great as the Nobleness of my Birth, I could not step upon the Th [...] one of my Predeces­sours without shedding tears: Because I could not do it in Justice; at least in the quality of Herods Wife. But you know that being unable to hinder a just Resent­ment which Reason and Nature hath given me I took all possible care to conceall my grief from you. I en­deavoured my self at that time to justifie you in my minde; and seeing that you had Ambition without Cruelty, I have rather pitted then accused you. I cal­led that Passion the error of great Spirits, and the in­fallible signe of a Person born for great things. How many times have I said to my self, if fortune would give you lawfull Enemies, you would be the greatest Prince of the Earth? How many times have I wished that great and Marvellous Spirit which you have, that invincible heart which makes you undertake all things, might carrie you against a People over whom you might be a Conquerour and not an Usurper. Alace, did you know all the Vowes that I have made for your Glorie, you would not believe me capable of having desires to Te­nebrate its Splendor by forgetting my own. And per­haps it is for that fault that Heaven punishes me; yet I cannot wish that I had doue it; and although I see my self to day in hazard of losing my Life, I cannot repent, for having preserved you by my Counsells, when con­ [...]are to all appearance you would trust the Traitor Bar­saphane, I do not Reproach you of that good office. I [...]nlie Remember you of it, thereby to let you see I have still done all I could. But since that I avouch that I have no more lived so, I have no more concilled my sor­rows, [Page 13]I have no more stopped my voice, I have weeped, I have cryed, I have excessivly groaned and complained; But what less could the Grand Daughter of Hircane do, who is expired by your orders & by your cruelties? What less, I say, could the Sister of young Aristobulus doe, who perished by your Inhumanitie, for securing the Scepter in your hands? Ah! No, no, Patience would have been Criminall at that time. I was without doubt born for the Throne, but I would not mount it, because I could not without Treading on the Bodies of my Grand-Father and Brother. That Throne was wett with their Blood, I ought at least to wash it with my teares; since it is not permitted me to shed that of their Ene­mies. Wo is me! what object worthie of compassion, was that, to see the Successor of so manie Kings, that Re­verend old man, receive his death, from him whom he had made his allay; [...] tremble with horrour onlie to think of it, nor could I withdraw my thoughts, if the image of young Aristobulus did not present it self to my eyes. What had that unfortunate Youth done to merit such unhapiness? He was Young, he was Vertuous, he was brave in all things, and his greatest fault was doubtless, that he resembled me. But alace! that fault should have been advantagious to him at such a time: for if it was true that you had such Passionate Love for me, as you would have cōstantly perswaded me was in your heart; though Aristo­bulus had not been my Brother, though he had not been innocent, you should have alwayes respected my Image in him. The Resemblance of a person Beloved, hath made Armes fall from most cruel hands, and caused them change their designs. But insensible that I am what do I, to speak in this manner to him who would do so to my own Life; And who not content with over­turning tho Thrones of my Fathers, causing kill my Grand-Father, drown my Brother & extirpating all my Race, would also this day ravish me of Honour, by un­justlie accusing me of three faults, which I could never be capable of? I have been so little Accustomed to commit them, and am so innocent of those which are imposed upon me that I doubt if I can well Remember the Accusations which are made against me. Never­theless, I think my Enemies say, that I have sent my [...]ictu [...]e to A [...]th [...]ny; that I have had too particular intel­ligence [Page 14]with Joseph; and that I would have attempted your Life. O! Heavens is it possible, that Mariamne is oblidged to answer such things? And may it not be suf­ficient to tell, it is Mariamne whom they Accuse, to say that she is Innocent? No, I will see that without rememb­ring my state, or my vertue, I must put my self in condi­tion of being unjustlie condemned: And although my birthis such that I ought not to give accompt of my Acti­ons but to God alone; yet I must Vindicat my self before my Accusers, my enemies and my Judges together. You say then, that I have sent my Picture to Anthonie, whom I know not, and who did never see me: and with­out noticing any Circumstance, if not that he was then in Aegypt, yet you would have this Accusation passe for a constant truth; But tell me a little, what Limner drew it? who was he who carried it? who are they to whom Anthony has showen it? where are the letters he writ to thank me for so great a favour? For it is not to be believed that he has received so extraordinarie a Testimonie of my affection without giving me thanks. The heart of Mariamne is not so little Glorious a conquest, though there have been manie Kings in the Earth, who would have esteemed it a Glorie to have done it, and who would not have done all things for de­serving it. Nevertheless there appears no signs of the care that Anthonie has taken, either to Conquer or to Preserve me: And surelie in that Occasion, I must not onlie have forgot my proper Glorie, but altogether lost my Reason, to have dreamed of such a crime as I am Accused of. But if it had been in the time that you did all things for him, even in sending all your Jewels to him, and opposing the Roman Empire for his sake, I had been somewhat judicious in my choise; And I ought not to believe that Anthony who stimulates him. self by Generositie, should betray a man from whom he [...]rath had so many Obligations, for a person whom he knows not at all. But if it be since that, that you have not been well together, by the divices of Cleopatra, there is yet lesse appearance there: And I should have been verie inconsiderat [...], to have given armes my self to my Ene­ [...]ie; (for at that time your interest was also mine) and moreover, what seeming truth can there be, if I were a [...] infamous as I am innocent, that at the time when all the [Page 15]Earth was filled with the love of Anthony and Cleopatras I should have sent him my Picture; Had Rome found that expedient, to cure her of the charmes of that Aegyptian? Had the Empire need of that Remedie, or had I anie desire to Sacrifice my self to the vanitie of that unfortunat Princess, whose jealousie would not have failled to have been most highlie Refulgent? No, Herod, nothing of this is come to pass: And the Inno­cencie of Mariamne is so great, that her verie Enemies, cannot propose crimes to her seeminglic true. And moreover, you know that that which is called Beautie in me, never gave me vanitie: And that I have alwayes taken more pains, to be Vertuous then fair. Yet I do not deny, that there hath been a Picture of Mariamne, which has passed among all Princes of the Earth, and which perhaps will be a long time preserved there. Yes, Herod, there is an invisible Image of Mariamne, which wanders through the World; which makes her inno­cent Conquests; and which without her consent, makes secret Enemies to you. Her high-Birth, her Vertue, her Patience, and your Crueltie, are the onlie Colours that are made use of in this Picture: And the Blood which I am going to shed, shall doubtless perfect the rendering of it adorable to Posteritie. But to answer the second Accusation that is made against me, which though false, hinders not my changing of Colon [...], by the confusion I am in, to be constrained to speak of such a thing: I shall say with joy, that thanks to Heaven, I have no other witness against me but you who during the time of this supposed crime was at Laodicea: And by Consequence, was incapable of answering for my Actions. So well am I assured, that neither your eyes, nor your ears, could declare any thing against my inno­cencie: And although that your Court be all composed of your slaves, or of my enemies; that your veris Sister who hates me, and through envie and by interest of State, hath observed with Extraordinarie care, even the least things that I have done or spoken, (I say) I am ver [...] certain, that she dares not maintain before me, [...]o have heard on word, or remarked one single look, which could make the modestie of Mariamne suspected. It is no [...] but that I know verie well she can tell a lie: [...] which makes me speak with so much boldness, is [...] [Page 16]I know me to have more Vertue then she has Malice: and that having Heavon for my Protector, I cannot be­lieve that if at least I do perish, I shall not obtain Grace to die in that manner, that your injustice and my inno­cencie shal be equallie manifested. And trulie at this time we need but open our eyes to see that these Accu­sations which are made against me, are but pretexts to loss me. For what likelie-hood is there, if I were guilty of such a crime, that I would have chosen the husband of Salome, my cruelest Enemie, and Herods confident? But a cōfidēt to that degree that all things were trusted to him: [...] there was no wicked design, which was not communi­cated to him. He was partner in all your crimes. He was the goaler & not lover of Mariamne; & to say all: It was he should plunge the poyniard in my heart, to obey your wil. O! Heaven who did ever see such Testimonies of Love! Why Herod, you might at parting bid me adieu with tears; you might look upon as you have done, with eyes wherein I saw but signes of Affection; and at the same time meditate my death. Ah! If you could (which I doubt not) you might verie well also to day, feigne that you believe me culpable to make me die Innocent. And tell me not as a favour, that this command was the effect of the strong passion you had for me: the death of the person beloved can never be a Testimonie of Affection. Hatred and Love have not the same ope­rations; they may some times reign successivlie in the heart, but never together. Everie man who loves well lives not without the person beloved, yet he can alwaies die without her; and her death can never be an agree­able thought to him. He should regrate his being sepa­rated from her; and not regrate that she died not with him. But your way of loving is onlie peculiar to your self, and your inclinations are so Naturallie cruel, that poisons, and daggers, are the best gifts that can be re­ceived from yon, when you would testifie your Freind­ship. Pray you tell me how you can Accomodate all those things. You say that I have sent my picture to Anthony, and consequentlie that I had an intelligence with him: and at the same time, you again Accuse me of having one with Joseph: because say you, you having trusted to him the thing in the World, which was of [...]greatest Importance to you; and he having discovered [Page 17]it to me, it is impossible but that I should have given my self absolutely to him for that advertisment. Con­sider well Herod, what you say? Anthony and Joseph, could they be both together in my heart? were these two rivals of the same qualitie and merit? And this Mariamne, whose Birth is so great and Illustrious; whose Soul is so High and so Glorious, that her Noble pride is by some rather taken for a fault then a vertue; could she be capable for alike weakness, for two men so dif­ferent, who could have no conformitie together, if not that it had been equallie impossible for them to have touched my heart, when they would have endea­voured it. This conquest is not so easie as you think: and trulie I wonder, that you who could never do it, judges it hath cost others so little. I do acknowledge that Jo­seph did discover to me the wicked design that you had against me: but I also avouch, I believed him not. I did immedia [...]lie think that it was a Treacherie of Salome, who to make me carrie my self the more excessivlie against you, to the end of advancing my death: had invented that device: imagining with her self, that my death would trouble me more, then did that of Hircane, and of my brother. And that which made me the more believe it was so, was that I saw him under­take to perswade me, that I ought to be infinitle oblidg­ed to you for that excess of love, which you testified to me at that time: adding also, that he told me not the design, but when you was readie to return: and that so far from making a Misterious Secret, he told it in pre­sence of my Mother, and before all my Women. It is certain, that as I ought also to know all from you, I doubted the truth of what Joseph told me. I thought being the Mother of your Children you was incapable of such barbarous thoughts: And in effect, without de­terminating the matter in my mind, I waited your re­turn. I received you then with the same Melancholie that I have alwayies had, since the death of Hireane and Aristobulus, without testifying any more: and obser­ving all your actions, I acknowledge that I ever doubted the truth of Josephs discourse. The malice of his. Wire, made me also more suspicious: and when I was speak­ing to you, it is true, I rather designed to informe my self of the thing, then to reproach you. For if [...] [Page 18]been true that I had a particular Affection for Joseph, and that I had taken what he said, as the pure effect of of his compassion to me; I had sooner died then had spoken of it, and that unfortunate man should have also lived. Nevertheless, behold, all the Testimonies of good wil that he has got from me: no bodie sales that we have had too private correspondence together: No bo­die saies he hath come often to my appartments; and in fine, I have done nothing for him, but what his most cruel enemie might have done, if they had known the same thing: surlie I should have rewarded him ill to tre­at him thus. You say also that hatred and vengeance, caus­ed me to favour Joseph, after having known your design: but know that great Spirits never fail by example. The erimes of others gives them so much horrour, that they are never more stronglic confirmed in good, then when they see evil committed: and for me, I think I should have been less innocent, if you had been less un­just. In fine, for conclusiones, if Mariamne descended from so manie Illusturous Kings, had desired to give her affection to any, it should not have been to the husband of Salome, nor to the favorite of Herod: And if for the punishing of others crimes, she had been capable, she had not caused him be put to death, whom she believed would preserve her life. You know too well what was my wonder, when after the discourse which I made to you. I knew by your answer all was true: I was so sur­prised, that I almost lost my speech. Nevertheless I did not foresee the Accusation which is this day made against me: And the onlie knowledge of your crime, and of Josephs innocencie, whom I exposed to your cruelties, caused all my grief. Since that Salome im­proving that misfortune for my Ruine, as she designed long agoe, hath doubtless perswaded you, that I would attempt your life: and behold the onlie crime where­in there can be a witness found against me, but if I be not deceived, she does more justifie then convict me: For what liklie-hood is there, that in a design of this Importance, I should have trusted a man of so low con­dition? And what seeming truth is there, if it were true that I had correspondence with Joseph, but that it was [...]ther he then I made this proposition? Used I to [...] with such Persons? Hath this man come to my [Page 19]Appartment? Have I set him beside you? Is he come of my Familie? Is he a Relation to any of My Officers In what place have I spoken to him? in what manner have I suborned him? Let him show the Jewels that I have given him? Make him let the money be seen that he has gotten for so great a design? For it is not Rationall, to think that upon simple hope, he would undertake the hazard of his life. It may be he will answer, that since he had no design to do the deed, but on the contrare to adverise you, he did not think of a reward. But I can say to that impostore, that not to give me reason of suspecting him, he alwayes accepted what I offered to him: And that also not having spoken, and not being able to show, is a strong and convincing perswasion of his lie: for in fine, Gold is the Complice of all Crimes and Hope is the onlie Portion of great Spirits: But for the Base and Mercenarie, they must be moved by the sight of a certain reward; otherwaies that sort of People will not serve you: And too manie Examples of your Reign, should have taught you what I say. Yet though it be true, that it cannot be made appear, that either I or mine, have had anie dealing with that man, it is not so of Salome your heart and my enemie. It is a long time since my Women foretold me of it, that contrarie to the Custome and Decorum of the qualitie she keeps to day, he often went to enter­tain her, even in her Closer: However, because I could never stoop to take notice of such things, and by excess of vertue, did not easilie suspect others; I heard that Discourse without making anie Restection upon it. But if you would oblidge them to give ac­count of so manie Conversations as they had together, I am assured that you would not find them answer you punctuallie. And moreover, in what place have I taken poison; who prepared it? from whence caused I bring it? And wherefore, if I had such intentiones, was it necessar to have emploied that man: was is not easie for me, when we have eat so manie times together; to have poisoned you with my own hand, without trusting [...] bodie? Why should not I have attempted it at your re­turn from Laodicea, as well as they pretend I have done after your return from Rhodes, since the unhappie Joseph discovered to me then your cruel Intentiones, as walk [Page 20]as when the unfortunate Son hath told me since? In fine Herod, all those things are without likeliehood, and there is no Spirit so ignorant, who sees not clearlie, that if I were not descended from the Kings of Judea; If I were not vertuous, I should have no enemies; and my Death should not be resolved upon; I should not have sent my Picture to Anthonie; I should not have had In­telligence with Joseph; I should not have attempted your life; and consequentlie mine should have been secure.

But because I am of too Illustrious blood, and because my Soul is too great, to suffer the baseness and unworthi­ness of my enemies; Mariamne must die, she must pe­rish, she must be sacrificed to the hatred of her Persecu­tores: they desire it so, and she is resolved to it. Think not unjust and cruel Herod, that I speak with intention to incline you to pittie: I think of preserving my Re­putation, and not of moving your heart. For as I said in the beginning of my discourse, it is neither fear of death, nor desire of life, that makes me speak to day. The first prepares Crowns for me, and the other can give me nothing but troubles. It is not then hope of escaping from the danger I am in, that makes me take care to justifie my self: I know my sentenee is signed my Executioners are readie to strik off my head, and that my Tomb is alreadie opened to receive me: But that which moved me to it, was to the end, that all who hear me, may let Posterity know, that my verie ene­mies could not with all their malice, stain the vertue of Mariamne: Nor find a plausible pretext for con­demning her. If I obtain this favour from them who hear me, I die almost without grief: and I shall abso­lutlie say, without Regrate, if the Children I leave you were Banished their paternall house: For I doubt not because they are Vertuous, but that they will acquire your hatred as well as I. The complaints that they shall make for my death, will be crimes against you: You will believe they design against your life by lamen­ting the loss of mine. Wo is me! I see them alreadie Maltreated by that slave, who was your first wife: I see them submit to the violent humor of your Son Antipa­ter, to the calumnies of Solome, to the outrages of [...]; and to your own crueltie.

And perhaps these same Executioners who put me to death, will shed their blood, or to speak better, will make an end of shedding mine. I alreadie see you un­just and cruel finishing so many Murders: But do not hope to enjoy peaceablie the Fruits of such fatal Victo­ries. You seek a repose which you shall not find; You shall be your own Accuser, your Judge, and your Hang­man: The Ghosts of so manie Kings as I am come of whom you have abused in my Person, shall inviron you on all parts: Those of Old Hircan and of Young Ari­stobolus, shall disturbe all your Life: You shall alwaies see your self covered with the Blood of your Children: And the Image of Mariamne pursued by these Executi­oners who wait on her, shall ever follow you foot by foot. You shall alwaies see that whither awake or asleep, which shall reproach you for her death: You shall have Repentance in your heart, Shame, Confusion, and Despare: You shall wish for the death you give to o­thers: My Vertue shall appear then as pure as it is: your Crimes shall seem as great as they are: And perhaps you shall have the misfortune to repent without amend­ing: And I doubt not, but after you have violated all Rights, Divine and Humane, some will do the same to your self. Yes, I already see the eldest of your Chil­dren (for mine will never be capable of it) desirous to give you that poison, which you accuse me unjustlie of. I see (I say) all the Administratores of your fury, become your most cruel Enemies: Salome, Pher [...], and Antipater, shall be most violentlie obnoxious to you: I see you hated of all People, detested of all Prin­ces, execrable to Posteritie: and perhaps you shall be­come then so odious to your self, that after you have; shed all the blood of your Race. Despair shall put [...] Dagger in your hand, to deliver the World from so dan­gerous an Enemie, But it may also be that your cause make an end when you would, and your shall have the misfortune to indure in this life the punishments that are prepared for you in an other. Behold, unjust and cruel Her [...], the Prophesie which the unhappie Mari­amne dying unjustlie, makes of you: who in this [...] last day, lookes upon you rather as a Subject revolted, [...] as her Tygrant then either as her King or Husband.

THE EFFECT OF THIS DISCOURSE.

This afflicted and generous Beauty, obtained what she desired from her Husband, and from Posterity; For the first gave her death, and the other hath preserved her glo­rie: I shall think mine great, if after so ma­ny Ages, I could also contribute something to hers and if my Meditations were not thought unworthie of her. I would say more, if the Author of the holy Court had not said all: But as he was too carefull to leave any thing is so Noble a Field, I am too Vain to appear unprofitably there after him. It suffices that I behold his Triumph without lying me to his chariot, and I Love better to quit my Armes, then to see him amidst his Trophies.

CLEOPATRA TO MARK-ANTHONIE. THE THIRD HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

AFter the losse of the Battle of Actium, Occasi­oned by Cleopatras flight, which was followed by that of Anthonie: Herhad some opinion, that she would Betray him, and testisled his Resentments to her. But that Lovely and Just Egyptian, who desired to take away from him any im­pression that could be disadvant agious to her: Did thus speak to him in behalf of her innocenoie. I have surely establish­ed these words, which I put in the mouth of that Queen, upon the Conjectures of Historie: And according to my sense, see what she could say at that time, so that Irritated Lover.

CLEOPATRA TO MARK-ANTHONIE.

IS it true then, that Anthonie could suspect Cleopatra to have fa­voured his Enemie? that he could think she would with her own hand pluck the Crown from him, which Victorie was putting upon his head? And to say all in one word, that he be­lieved she had betrayed him? Ah if it be so, and if by my Discourse I cannotremit reason in your Soul, by giving it other thoughts of my fidelitie. I desire no more life; and death is the end of my wishes. No Anthonie, if I be dead in your heart, I will live no longer in the World: And per­haps my death will let you see, that I have not desired yours. But I pray you tell me (O Illustrious Em­perour) what way, by what liberalities, or by what hopes could Octavius corrupt my fidelitie? This surelie cannot be a new Passion, that hath sur­prised my heart in conquering his; Since we are e­quallie unknown to other. This could not be so by presents, for what could I receive from him, which I have not received from you, who has given me whole Kingdoms, and made me reign over the most part of Asia? but if it were true, that I could have resolved to leave you, and follow his partie, what securitie could I have taken from his words? where are the pedges he has sent me in assurance of our Treatit? What places hath he rendered to me? Why Anthonie, could I have trusted my self to Cesars word he who is Octavi [...] brother: He who publicklie deelared War against [...] in Rome, and who did know me much better, [...] [Page 26]the name of that Aegyptian, more famous (said he) by her Enchantments then by her beautie, then not by that of Cleopatra? Why Anthonie, could I have been assured of him? By that Cleopatra should have loaded her self with Chains? she should have with her own hands tied her armes to the Triumphing Chariot of her Enemie, and which is also worse, Anthonies Enemie. And by an imprudence and ungratitude which never had example, she should have betrayed a man who betrayed his own glorie for love of her; who hath made himself enenmy to his Country for her sake; who hath abandoned Cesars sister, rather then forsake her? Who hath divided his power with her? Who hath preferred her interests to those of the Roman Empire? and who, to say all, hath absolutlie given her his heart.

Ah! My Anthonie, all those things are unliklie: And it almost suffices to see, that I have not forgot my obligations to you, to make me be thought innocent. But if it be permitted me to add one other Reason: I shall say, that as none that is generous doth as easilie forget the good deeds of anie other; so none loves to loss their own proprietie: and seldom would we by inju­ries deform the good offices which we do to anie Bodie.

Consider then if it be possible (pardon me for speak­ing so) that after I had done all for you that I have done, I my self would extinguish the remembrance of it in your Soul: And of my own inclination, infuse hatred in the heart, whose Empire hath cost me so manie Vowes and so much Pains. For if you Remember, My dear Anthonie, you was rather my conquest, then I yours: fame had given me a Picture of you, which possessing me with admiration, made me design to overcome in your person the Conqueror of all others. And though my eyes had sometimes gained famous Victories, and could have counted among their Cap­tives Caesares and Halph gods: Yet I trusted not to their Charmes, I suspected my beautie at that time; I thought it had not force enough to conquer you: And as you was the most Magnificent of all men, I did not wish that love should take possession of your heart, but by Magnificencie: And that the day of its Pr [...]sall should seem rather to be a day of Triumph then of Battle.

I desired to dasle your eyes then by the beautie of my Armes: for if you remember, My dear Anthonie, the first day that I say you, I shinned in a ship, whose Poupe was all of Gold, the sails Purpell, and the oares Silver, which by their Equall Cadence, imitated the sound of diverse instruments concording together. I was under a Pavilion or wrought Gold, and know­ing your Birth was divine, because you are descended of Hercules, you are not ignorant, that I had a Vesture like that which is given to Venus. All my Women were Splendidlie Cloathed as Nymphes: and a hun­dred Cupidons round about me: Were also an effect of the desire I had to overcome you; For in fine, My dear Anthony, that little Armour was only made against you.

It was not then without design that I overcame you: I employed all things to that end: And nothing that Beautie, Skill, or Magnificencie could do was fogot at that time. I know verie well it is imprudence, to speak to you of all those things, in a time so differing from the felicitie of that: but that day was so glo [...]ious to me, that I can never loss the memorie of it: And moreover, to speak Rationallie, that Remembrance is not unprofitable for my Vindication. For to think any way, that I my self would loss my conquests? such thoughts never entered in the minde of any Conque­rour: Certainlie Alexander would have rather chosen to loss Macedonia then Persia: That Kingdom was his Fathers Estate; But this was truelie his own: And by the same Reason, I would have rather lost my self then lost you. You know also if I be not mistaken that I was no severe Conqueress: the Chains I gave you were of no weight: my Lawes had nothing of Rudness in them: and in the manner I used you, it had been hard to know, who was Victorious.

Since that, what have I done Anthonie, to make me be suspected? It is true I forgot my own Glorie, but it was for love of you. Yes, I have suffered my self to be opprobriated in Rome: and although the pride of your Country, that treats all strangers like Barbarians, and all Queens (like slaves) hindered me from being your Wife, the affection which I have for your Person is so strong, that I have not left off to be yours. Yes, Anthonie, I loved you more then my honor, and more [Page 28]then my life: I thought it could not be unjust to love a man worthie of being ranked among the gods: And that the Passion which I had in my Soul, had so noble a cause, that it would render me excusable: so that without considering what misfortuns were prepared for me, I have most constantlie loued you, ever since the f [...]st day that I gave you my promise. Judge from that if I had power to betray you, or to speak bet­ter if I would betray my self. It is true, I fled, but gene­rous Anthonie, if I took the flight it was for love of you, I slighted the Victorie to preserve your life: And your person was dearer to me, then your glorie or my own.

I Well see that this Discourse Astonishes and surprises you. But for your comprehension, permit me to tell what condition my Soul was in, when in the midest of the Fight, I saw you all covered with Darts and Flams. The death which I saw in so manie places made me apprehensive of yours: all the Enemies Javelines seemed by me to address themselves against you: And, in the manner, that my imagination represented the affair to me, I thought all Cesars Armie desired to fight none but Anthonie. I manie times fancied that I saw you dragged by force into the enemies vessalls, or fall dead at their feet.

And although those who were round about me, assured me, that I was deceived by my eyes, and that the Victorie was still uncertain; What did I not say in those fatal moments? And what grief did I not feel? Ah! my dear Anthonie, did you but know the sorrows of a Soul, that sees the Person beloved everie minute in hazard of dying; you would find it the most ter­rible torment, thar can ever be indured. My heart received all the blows which were aimed at you; I was captive everie time, I thought you so, and death it self hath nothing so rude, as what I suffered at that time. In that deplorable condition, I found no re­medie for my grief: and my imagination using greater Ingenuitie for my Persecution; after having perswaded me that all the enemies desired your death, immediat­lie perswaded me, that they resolved to preserve your life, thereby to make themselves Masters of your li­bertie. The first thought did certainlie give me a little [Page 29]ease: But the image of Cesars Triumph, presenting it self all at once to me, I relapsed into my former despaire. It was not, my dear Anthonie, that I believ­ed you capable of following a Conquerours Charriot: But I thought that to shune that supream misfortune, you would have recourse to death: So that whatever way it was, I alwayes found my self equallie unhappie. I bethought me of what poison I should choice that I might follow you: And there is no fatall Resolution which past not in my minde I thought more then twen­tie times to cast my self into the Sea, to free me from the agonie I was in: Yet because I could not die with out forsaking you, I could not pursue that design.

But coming of a sudden to consider the strong Pas­sion which you alwaies testified to me, I thought if you should see me abandon the armie, you would also forsake it & by that found I the meanes of preserving your life, and libertie together. For (said I to my self, after framing that Resolution) Cesar doth not seek Victorie so much, as the life or libertie of Anthonie: And upon condition that he have neither the one nor the other, I shall be glad to loss the Battle. In fine, my dear Anthonie, I did what my affection and despair councelled me to do: And you did what I expected from your love I had no sooner seen, you quit your Ship, and take a Galley to follow me: but my heart was sea [...]ed with a Surprisall of Joy: Me thought it was I gained the Battle, because I preserved you: And beginning to think that Cesar would be content to exchange his for for [...]e for mine, I was partlie comforted of all my disgrace [...]. But that which yeelded me most satisfaction in that [...] day was to see Anthonie capable of preferring Cleopatra to the desire of conquering his enemies: that he lov­ed better to follow her though unfortunate, then to p [...] ­sue the Victorie and in fine, that the Empire of the Wor [...] was not so dear to him as Cleopatra. This thought [...] so pleasant that though my fright ranked us among the conquered, I cannot repent me, and as the case is, the Battle of Actium shall not be so glorious [...] Cesar as to Cleopatra. He overcame Souldiers who wanted their Commander, but Cleopatra saw the most Valiant of all the Heroes, throw away his Armes, and follow her. But to perfect my vindication, [...] [Page 30]my dear Anthonie, that how soon you was disingaged from your Ships, I caused a Banner be set upon the Poupe of mine, to advertise you where you should find me. Judge then if that could be the action of a Criminall; For if I had designed to be separated from you, it was easie for me not to have received you: Because I had sixtie sail, and you had but one single Galley. If I had betrayed you I might have easilie delivered you unto Cesars hands: And by that given him truelie the Victorie.

If I had essaied to rank my self on the enemies side; if the flight which I took, might have been suspicious to you; I shall say your suspicions are lawfull: But on the contrare, my flight having been the effect of my despair and love you should complain of fortune and not accuse Cleopatra.

Further, do not imagine, that that Victorie shall ei­ther be verie Glorious to Cesar, or your retrait sham­full to you; You fled not from your enemies, you but followed Cleopatra. Your Souldiers were conquer­ed by Cesar, but you was onlie by love. If this Battle had been the first occasion of War, wherein you had been found, your Valior might have been questi­oned: but it is so Universallie known, that none are igno­rant of it. There are almost no People, among whom you have not given proof of your courage in the begin­ning of your Youth: And certainlie you must have given manie, because the great Julius Cesar choise you to command the left wing of his armie, in the famous Battle of Pharsalia; and in a day whereon the conquest of the Empire of all the World depended.

And moreover, Octavius knows sufficientlie that you are skilfull in the art of fighting and conquering: That Battle which you gained against Cassius, will not per­mit him to doubt: And less also the Victorie you had of Brutus: When at this time it may be said, that you have overcome Octavius his Conquerours: Because you know, that he lost the Battle some daies before, and baselie fled in presence of these, whom you soon after did overcome: But with this difference that Love caused your flight, and perhaps fear made his. You [...]ee then my dear Anthonie, that you are conquered without disgrace, and that your enemies has overcome [Page 31]without honor. And moreover, our affairs are not yet desperate: you have a strong Armie near Actium, which is not yet under Cesars Colours: My Kingdoms have also men, monie, & fortified places: and I wish that, all my Subjects may loss to the last drop of their blood to preserve yours and your libertie. But in fine, when fortune shall unjustlie take from you these Crowns, which your merit, and valiour have gained by force: Know that Cleopatras love shall not diminish. No my dear Anthonie, when that enemie of Illustrious Persons, shall reduce us to live under a Cotage of Straw, in some place remote from the Societie of the World; I shal have for you the same passion, that I had in that blessed hour, wherein you gave Kingdoms: And wherein twentie two Kings were to be seen in your Train. Think not then that misfortune can fright me: there is but one which I can never suffer with you: And doubtless which you also will not endure. Yes, Cleopatra can be exiled with Anthonie and not complain: She can Renounce all the Splendour of Royalitie, and yet preserve her desires of life, but bondage is that which she can ne­ver endure, and which she knows you will not suffer no more then she. Be then assured, that so far from hav­ing intelligence with Cesar, I give you my promise, to die rather then trust to him, or put my self in hazard of serving his Triumph.

No Anthonie, Cleopatra shall never carrie Chains [...] And if fortune be so perverse to her, that she can have no way to choose, but that of Rome or of Death; The surrendering of her life, shall justifie your love to her, and her innocencie. But before we come to that ex­tream remedie, let us do all things to resist our ene­mies. Let us preserve life so long as we can without shame: For in fine, it should not be indifferent to us, while we love each other perfectlie. My dear Anthonie I perceive, me thinks by your eyes, that my discourse hath not been unprofitable: They tell me that your heart repents, of having unjustlie suspected me; That it sees my innocencie as pure as it is; and that the love it has for me is so great, that it forebears not yet to love the person, who robbed your hands of the Victorie. For me, my dear Anthonie, you shall alwayes be my strongest and last passion; I do acknowledge, that in [Page 32]the time I did not know you, Julius Cesars glorie did touch my heart: And that I could not hinder my self from loving a man, who over all the Earth, passed for the first or Mortals. A man (I say) whom you formerlie judged worthie the Empire of all the World: Because you gave him his first honour, by putting a Diadem upon his head in the middle of Rome, and who after his death, by a brave and Heroick Oration which you made to the Roman People, caused him be set up amongst the gods: Who chased Brutus and Cassius; burned their Places; And Signalised your Courage and Friend ship.

But since the time I have seen you, I can assure you, that you have soveraignlie reigned in my Soul; and shall reign there continuallie. It is an Empire which fortune hath not given you, and which being without its domination, shall ever be yours in spight of its un­justice. It may overturn Kingdoms and Empires, but it shall never change my heart: And whatever doth usuallie destroy the strongest affections, shall but fortifie mine. And to testifie to you, that I can love better then you, I will not suspect your Friendship of anie weakness. Yes Anthonie, I do believe that although Cleopatra hath caused all your misfortunes, she shall ever make all your happiness: and that without repent­ing you of having ever loved her, she shall alwayes reign in your heart, as you do in hers. Let us go then my dear Anthonie, Let us go to Alexandria, to do our last Endeavours, to conquer those who have over­come us: it is there where perhaps we shal yet find where­withall to subdue the insolence of our enemies. But if it come to pass that Heaven hath resolved our Ruine; that fortune become constant to persecute as; that hope be absolutlie denyed us; that all your friends abandon you; that all my subjects betray me, and join with the stronger partie; if (I say) it come to pass that all those things befal us; we shal stil find our Tomb in Alexandria; And to merit from our enemies the favour, of letting our Ashes remain there together, we must Signalise our death, by shunning bondage: and in that manner, we shall Rob them of the Noblest fruits of their Victo­rie, and conquer Cesar himself by death.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

THey who Love, let themselves be easily per­swaded, by things which can please them: And the vol [...] of this fair Monster of Nilus, failed not to Attract Anthonies minde, to what she desired. He did not follow Cleo­patra, to forsake her afterward: And his Choller being the Effect of his love, as well as his flight had been, it was as easie to apease it as to flie. He then believed all she said to him: He repented that he had suspected her fidelity: But repenred not the loss of the Empire of the World, for preserving Cleopatra. He followed her to Alexand­ria? Where though she was more Generous that second, then the first time, they were not alwayes happy; And of all the things which she promised him Cleopatra could give Anthonie, but the half of her Tomb.

SISIGAMBES TO ALEXANDER. THE FOURTH HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

AFter Conquering the Indians, Alexander the Great Married Statira, one of Darius his Daughters. Then was it that Sisigambes, Mother of that Princess, abandoned her Soul to the joyes and Inclinations which she had for that Invincible Conqueror. She at that time Remem­bered all that he had done for her; And as her Soul was Noble, she immediatlie testified her gratitude to him in this manner.

SISIGAMBES to ALEXANDER.

IT is truelie this day, O Invincible Alex­ander, that I believe you to be the son of Jupiter: an ordinarie man cannot be capable of so much Vertue. There have been severall times Victories and Conquerors known; But there was never a person found like you who has made the portion of the Conqu [...]red equall with the Victorious: Nor none who have divided the Empire which they have Conquered, with the Children of their enemies. In fine, Alexander, though you were of Humane Blood, and not of that of the gods; It is most certain that you deserve Incense and Altars. I leave to the Famous Testimonies of your Valour, the Publication of those Marvellous Exploits you have done, in making you Master of the World: For I Propose to entertain you, onlie with your Clemencie and Goodness. You know, Generous Alexander, if I should for your glorie Erect a Trophie of your Ene­mies Spoils; I should there find Subject of making sorrowfull Tears flow abundantlie, in a day wherein I ought to express joy. This does not proceed from my not knowing, that I shall not there see the Bodie of my Son: For I Remember you was so generouslie good, as to cover it with your Royall Cloack, and be­dew it with your Tears; When coming to the Place where he expired by the cruelties of Treacherous Bessus, you saw that great Prince in so deplorable a condition. No. Alexander, in this Juncture of affairs, I should not look upon you as the old enemie of Darius, but as the revenger of his Death, as the protector of his Mother and Wife; as the Husband of his Daughter, and as the lawfull Heir of the great Cyrus his Throne. In Effect▪ you know what were my Sons last words: [Page 38]He testified his Gratitude of the Obligations that I was indebted to you for: He made Vowes for your Glorie; He assured you he died your Friend and Servant; And without imploying those few Moments he had to live, in Deploring his Misfortune; He wished you Conqe­ror of the Universe; He hoped you would revenge his Death; That you would take care to perpetuate his Memorie; and he also left to you, the rewarding Polistratus, for that little water he gave him, that he might the more distinctlie pronounce those things which he had to say for your Glorie.

O my dear Darius, you was truelie my Son in speak­ing so of Alexander! I give thanks to the gods, that at last you had Power to acknowledge, what we owe to his Clemencie, and Goodness. It is for those two Vertues, O Invincible Heros! That I admire you this day: The whole Earth is filled with the noise of your Victories: you are the Master a [...] Conqueror of all men; the meanest of your Exploits are known to all; The verie Playes of your infancie shall be Patterns to all Kings that come after you: What your Conquests have been is everie where known: None are ignorant of what a Glorious War you made in Greece; The Splendid Ruines of Thebes which you razed, are eter­nall signs that you was its Conqueror. The Battle which you gave at the passage of the Garnick, equallie manifests your conduct and courage: None can be ignorant of what you did in the day of Issus; Nor of what passed at the famous Seidge of Tyre. The Battle of Arbella had too remarkable Circumstances, not to be known of all the Earth.

The Conquest of the Indians, and the defaite of Porrus on the Banck of Hidaspes, are Eternal Monu­ments of your Glorie. For not onlie is it known, that you excelled that great King; But it is also known that after you had Conquered his Kingdom, you Restored it to him greater then it was before: And in this manner, if it be allowed so to speak; You may not onlie be called the overcomer of this Prince, but the Conqueror of Porrus: Because it seems you did not fight but to make him greater.

The Cittie of Oxidraxes, where you so resolutlie [...] your self, is seen of all the Earth: It is looked [Page 39]upon as the field of Battle? Where your great Heart seemed equallie to defie death and fortune, and where you Surmounted both. In fine, Alexander, there may be everie where found Testimonies of your Valour and Conquests; Wherefore, without speaking to you, I content my self with praising your Clemencie and Goodness. But, what do I say? Those two Vertues are as Generallie known as your courage: for if, as I have alreadie said, you are Master and conqueror of all men; It may be also said that you are all mens Benefactor.

It will be said that the gods have remitted into your hands all the favours they used to bestow; That they have established you to be the distributor of good deeds; And that they have given you Commission to make all the World happie. You do no sooner Conquer a Kingdom, but you give it: your enemies are no sooner your Subjects, but they become your friends: And you not sooner Conquer them, but you become their Protector.

I have so famous an example in my Person of what I say, that I cannot doubt it without being Criminall. For, O Invincible Alexander! I shall never forget the favours I have received from you:

Yes, I shall alwaies remember that dismal-day, wherein my Daughter and I became your Prisoners: Fear of bondage had possest our Spirits with such horrid Visions that death appeared the greatest happiness that could befall us. We had lost the Battle with the Throne; we believed Darius alreadie lost; And that which was most insupportable to us, was, we thought that we should be necessitated, to die by our own hands, to shun the Insolence of the Conquerors.

But alace! I did not then know Alexander; For, said I to my self, I am Mother of the greatest of his Enemies, because Darius is the most powerfull of all them who resisted him: And judging of you by the rest, I feared you as much then, as I love you now. This unjust fear was of no continuance in my minde: the sight of you quicklie dissipated it, and I also remember, the first time, I had the honor of seeing you. You pardoned me a fault. For because I did no know you, and be­cause the trouble I was in, gave me not libertie [...] Reason well on the matter, you know I took the Gene­rous [Page 40] Ephistion for you: And that without being angrie? you said to me, that I was not mistaken, because he was the second Alexander. That sign of Moderation to­wards me, and of Friendship towards your Favorite, began to give me juster thoughts of you: And to remitt in my Soul that hope which fear had chased from it. And surlie you also to day does well testifie, that Ephistion is as dear to you as your self: Because having designed to Marrie the Eldest of my Daughters your self, you gave the other to this second Alexander.

Since that, what have you not done for me? You have not onlie treated me as a Queen, though I was Captive; But you have treated me as your Mother, and you have done me the favour alwaies to call me so. Everie time that anie new Subject of grief did befall me, you have had the goodness to Solace me; I have seen you in consideration of me weep for your Victories; I have seen you Regrate Darius his Death; I have seen you carefull of his Funeralls and Tomb; I have seen you expose your life to Revenge his death; I have seen you punish the Traitor Bessus who did assa­sine him; I have seen you reward them who were faith­full to him; And I see you also this day restore Da­rius to the Throne, by placing there his Daughter and mine.

But the most wonderfull of all the Actions that I have seen you do for Darius; Is that I have some times seen this Alexander Conqueror of the Universs, have so much Vertue, as not to trust to his own: And not to expose himself to the eyes of Darius his Wife, fearing least he should be Conquered by her beautie.

Ah! After all this it must certainlie be acknow­ledged, that all that can be said of you is far below your merit: you have both together the chastitie of my Sex, and the Vertues of all the Heroes, who have onlie preceeded you in age.

There can be no good qualities which are not to be found in your Person in the highest degree: And it may be said that Vertues are Perfectionated in your Soul, and take a new luster. That which is Temeritie in anie other, is but simple Effect of your courage, and excesse of good cannot be vicious in you. You give profuselie, and yet without prodigalitie: Because [Page 41]you do not onlie proportionat the presents you make to them who receives them, but to him who gives them.

So that, Townes, whole Provinces, Millions of Gold, Scepters and Crowns, are things which Alex­ander can give without being Prodigall: For as he has received more favours from Heaven then anie other; it is also he should give more then all others. This truth is so well known to you, and you practise it so perfectlie; That after having Conquered all the World, and having given it almost whollie to diverse Persons; when you have been sometimes asked what you would Reserve for your self; You have answered, Hope.

And truelie I have often wondered to see, that you no sooner had anie thing in your power, but you did put it in that of an other: And nevertheless, you desisted not to be alwaies giving. This Reflection made me think, that Alexander might be said to be like the Sea, which no sooner receives in its Vast Breast the Tribute which all the Fountains, the Rivers and the Floods carrie to it, but it renders it with Usurie to some other part of the World.

What she takes from the Persians, she gives back to the Greecks; The Ship wracks which she makes does not enrich her; She makes no bodie poor but to augment some others fortune; And without keeping anie thing either of what is given her, or of what she Usurpes; She alwaies rolles her Vawes with an equall Motion. Just so is it with things that you receive from the Gratitude of your Subjects, of the tributes they pay to you, or of the Conquests you make.

You receive them with one hand, and gives them with the other: The verie booties which you take from your Enemies, does but make Rich your Souldiers [...] So that, be it in Peace, or in war, during a Tempest, or during a Calme, you equallie do good to all, with­out doing anie to your self.

Yet there is this difference, between the Ocean and you, that all which goes from the Sea returnes to it, but what goes from your hands never comes back to them again. Further, it shall be glorious for you to see People in your Historie, who have refused your [Page 42]gifts, because you gave too much: And that there shall be none found Complaining that you gave too little. Your liberalitie is so much the more Execllent, in that it is not blind. You do good to all the World, but you do it not alwaies without choice.

All the daies of your life are not those of Donationes to the People, where without distinction, you throw Treasures among the crowd: Where the happie on­lie have the advantage.

Aristotles Disciple knows better how to use Riches; and knows better how liberalitie must be practised. Yes Alexander, You have reconcilled Fortune with Vertue: We see Philosophers, Poets, Musicians, Limners, and Sculptors in abundance, and yet do not work but onlie for your Glorie and their own.

We see (I say) Philosophers practise that Policie which they teach in Governing great Kingdoms; We see Poëts carrie at once a Harp of Gold, and a Quiver of Ibonie; To sing your Triumphes, and command your Provinces. We see Musicians, whose Luttes are of Ivorie; Who emploie not their voices, but to praise you, and to speak of your felicitie. We see Limners as Rich as the Mightie Princes have been formerlie, who emploied them to work. We see Sculptors, not onlie make use of Marble, Alabaster, and Porphire in their statues; but have Palaces of their own, where all those things are seen.

In fine, all good Sciences and all good Arts, flourish under your reign. Also it shall be said, that as the gods have made a Miracle of you, Nature was likewaies desirous to make its chiefest works for love of you. You have Aristotless, Xenophantess, Apelless and Li­cippess, who owing their felicitie and Glorie to you, shall also bestow their Labour upon yours. All future Ages that shal see the pictures which these Famous men will leave of you, either by their writings, or by their tablets, or by their statues, shall doubtless envie that of the great Alexander.

All the Vertues of that time shall wish to have been in this. You shall be the Modell of great Pinces, and the foil of perverse: And while there shall be men, you shall be spoken of as a god. I certainlie wonder an more, that our great Xerxes with all his power [Page 43]could not perfect what designs he had conceived: For since Greece ought to Educate you: The gods had reason to preserve the Conquest of the World for you. If Xerxes had accomplished his enterprise, perhaps he should have been called the Tyrran and whip of the Uni­verse: But for you, you are the Legitimate Prince of all the People whom you have Conquered. You are sent from Heaven for the Worlds felicitie: And there was just Subject for Hamnon the Oracle of Jupiter to say, That you was his Son, and was Invincible.

No Alexander, none can exceed you, neither in War nor in Vertue: And after the design you have made to day, of replacing Darius on the the Throne by dividing it with his Daughter Statira: There is nothing more remains for you to do, and nothing more for me to wish, but the Continuance of your Glorie. It is not that I fear it can be taken from you: No, there is no such thought in my mind: But I fear that mens unjustice will render them unworthie of having you long for their Master: Or that the gods jealous of our happiness recall you to themselves. If which come to pass, I do assure you, O invincible Alexander! not to stay in the World after you: I could live after Darius, who was my Son; But after all the Obligations which I have had from you, I shall not survive Alex­ander. I had not told you, such sad thoughts in a day of rejoicing, if I had not believed that it would be advantageous to you, that it should be known there was a Princess, that there was (I say) a Mother, and if I dare say a Vertuous Mother, who without baseness, and without unjustice, hath loved you better then her own Son, though you was her enemie. Pardon me then so dolefull a thought, because it is Glorious to you: And believe that when my wishes are exhausted, not onlie shall your Glorie be immortall, but likewaies your Person.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

ALexander must be known, if the Effect of this Discourse be questioned. That great and Generous Soul did again redouble his good Offices, to that Illustrious Princess: And did so gain her Heart; That when soon after the death of this invincible Conquerour came to pass in Babylon, she failled not to keep her promise, for she died of sorrow. And certainlie that death was a Glorious sign of Alexanders goodness: And when some Excellent Orator, shall employ all his Art, to make him a Famous Elogie: when he has (I say) Magnificently Exagge­rated all his brave Actions, I believe I shall say something Greater and more Extraordinarie: When I onlie say that Sisigambes endured the death of her Son Darius, and could not bear with that of the great Alexander. She lived after the one, and died after the other; And Vertue was of more force with her then Nature. O the brave Panegirick! But why? it was Alexander.

SOPHONISBA TO MASSINISSA. THE FIFTH HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

AFter that by the Romans assistance, Massinissa had Re-conquered the Kingdom of his Fa­thers, and taken Siphax prisoner, who had Ʋsurped it: He Beseidged and took the town of Sirthe, where Sophonisba Wife of this Captive King, was retired. The charms of that fair African, made strong impressions in his heart, and the Numideans being Naturalie inclined to Love, he was no sooner Victorious, but he began to feel himself Conquered. But coming to make Reflections upon the Austere Humor of Scipio, he questioned not his being desirous to have that Beautifull Captive Queen led in Triumph, to hinder which he Married her the same day, not thinking that after that, any hodie would make Triumph of the Wife of a King, allied to the Roman People. But scarcely was this sudden Marriage celebrated, when Scipio being in­formed of it, sent by Lellius to ordaine Massinissa, to come to him and give account of his Victorie. But Sopho­nisba who had a Naturall aversion to the Romans, and more also to bondage; having seen something in the eyes of Lellius that threatned Triumph, did in this manner speak to Massinissa, at his going to part from her.

SOPHONISBA TO MASSINISSA.

MY LORD.

I Well see by Lellius Procedure, that fortune is not yet wearie of Persecuting me: That after hav­ing in one and the same day, lost my Crown, my Husband and my Libertie, and by a Capricio of that inconstant thing, found again my Libertie, and Illustrious Hus­band, and a Crown; I well see (I say) that it is yet readie after such strange accidents to make me loss all things.

Lellius looking upon me hath doubtless judged me sufficientlie prettie, to honour Scipios Trumph, and to follow his Chariot I have seen in his eies the Idea of what he bears in his minde, and the disigne which he has in his heart: But perhaps he has not discovered what I have in mine. He knows not that desire of Li­bertie is much stronger in me, then that of Life: And that for preserving the first, I am capable of losing the other with joy.

Yes I clearlie perceive my dear Massinissa that You are going to fight against strong enemies: The Auste­ritie of Scipios Humor, joined to the Roman Austeritie shall doubtless make him give You a sharp Reprimand: he will think it strange, that in the verie day of your Vi­ctorie, and in the verie day of your Re-taking the Crown which belonged to You. You should have thought of Marriage: And have chosen for you Wife, not onlie that of your Enemie, but a Captive, a Carthaginean, the [Page 48]Daughter of Hasdru [...]ll, and the Enemie of Rome.

Nevertheless my Lord, remember, that at this time, You should not look upon me, nor as the Wife of Siphax, nor as a Captive, nor as a Carthaginean, nor as Hasdru­balls Daughter, nor as Enemie of Rome, though I Glorie in being so; But as the Wise of the Illustri­ous Massinissa.

Remember also, that I consented not to receive that honour till after that you promised me that I should not fall in the Romans power: You have engaged your word, be sure then not to faill, I desire not that You expose your self to the loss of the Senats Friendship for preserving me, because your hard Fortune hath made You need it. But I onlie desire, that in pursuance of what You have sworn to me, you will hinder me from falling alive in Scipios power.

I doubt not but Siphax in the condition he is in, will say to his Conqerour, that I am the cause of his Mis­fortune; That I have loaded him with Irones, that I made him friend to Carthage, and Romes enemie.

Yes Generous Massinissa, I avouch all these things And if I could rob the Romans of You, I would esteem my self happie: And believe that my death should be trulie worthie the Daughter of Hasdruball. Pardon me, my dear Massinissa, for speakieg so boldlie to You. But since this is the last time, perhaps that I shall ever see You, I shall joyfullie tell You what have alwaies been my sentiments: To the end, that by the know­ledge I shall give You, of that aversion which I ever had to bondage, You may be the more easilie induced, to think of my Libertie. How soon I had opened my eies to the light, the first thing I learned, was that there Were a People, who without anle right, but what the strong imposes upon the weak, would make themselves Masters of all others: And while my infancie lasted. I heard no discourse but of the Roman Triumphs; Of Kings whom they had chained; Of famous Captives which they had made; Of the Miseries of these unfor­tunate men; And of all the things that are done in those fatal Spectales, where the Romans pride makes up the Noblest fruit of the Victorie.

Those images were so earlie Imprinted in my mind, that nothing could ever banish them thence. Since I [Page 49]became more Reasonable by age, I have had more Aversion for that Roman Eagle; which sees nothing but the rapines it makes: And which flies not above the heads of Kings, but to take off their Crowns. Per­haps it will be said to me, that the Romans give so manie Kingdoms as they Usurpe? And that they make as manie Kings as they [...] to their Chariot.

But my dear Massinissa, if you will rightlie Con­sider the business, You wil find that they give, no Scepters, but to have the more famous slaves: And that if they put Crowns upon their Vassals heads, it is but to have the pleasure of seeing them laid at their feet; because that by their orders, they will have hommage payed to them.

Vanitie is the Soul of that Nation: It is its onlie work: It is but for it that it makes Conquests; Usurpes Kingdomes; Desolates all the World; And unsatis­fied in being absolutlie Mistris of all that great Part of the Universe, which is of its Continent; Passes the Seas to come and Disturb our Repose.

For if onlie a desire of augmenting its Confines, and encreassing its riches, caused it make War, it would be content to overturn Thrones, and putting them to death who Lawfullie Possessed them. But because pride is their cheif instigator; A simple Citizen of Rome, must for his Glorie, and for the Peoples diver­tisement, Drag Kings chained after his Triumphing Chariot. O Gods! Is it possible that Conqueros can be so inhumane! Is it possible to find Conquered Kings so cowardlie to endure such cruell Usage? Yes, without doubt, and too manie examples of this kind, have made it known, that all Princes are not Generous.

Nevertheless it is certain, that Irons and Crowns, Scepters and Chains, are things which should never be seen together: A Chaire drawn by Elephants, should not be followed by Kings; And by Kings tied like Criminall, with whom no signs of Royaltie are left, but to signalise their shame, and the Glorie of their Conqueror. But what Glorie can he have who Tri­umphs in this sort? For if these whom he has over­come are baise, (as there is great appearance because they live:) It is no just Subject of vanitie to have outbrav­ed them.

And if these unfortunate men, testified courage in their defaite; It is great inhumanitie in him who treats thus Princes who have done nothing, but defend their Crowns; Their Countrie; Their Wifes; Their Children; Their Subjects; And their Domestick-Gods.

But if for the Glorie of their Conquerors, and for the Pleasure of the People they would have Triumphs; It would be more Glorious for them, to cause carrie the Enemies armes whom they have killed with their own hands, then to have themselves followed by Kings whom they have not fought. Chariots filled with broken armes, Bucklers, Launces, Javelins, and Standards taken from the Enemies; Would make a show less Lamentable and more agreeable to the eies of the People.

But Gods! Is it possible that Kings are destined for such infamie? That these same People, who have Combates of Gladiators and of wild Beasts given them for their divertisement; Should also be the cause of such fatall Ceremonie; And extract their pleasure from the ignominie and misfortune of Kings; That it should be, that they who delight in seeing four thou­sand men, by a horrid brutalitie kill one another in one day; And who find their happiness in seeing Tigers and Lyons devour each other; Is it possible (I say) that Kings opressed with Irons, should be draged for these same People?

For me, my dear Massinissa, I find something so strange in this sort of Triumph, that I doubt if it be more disgracefull to the Conquered, then to the Victorious; and in my particular, I know verie well, that I shall nei­ther do the one nor the other. Judge then my dear Massinissa, if a person who would not enter Rome in a Triumphing Chariot, followed by a hunder chained Kings; Could resolve to follow with Irons, that of the proud Scipio. No, Sophonisbas Soul is too great for that; If I were but a Carthaginean, I shall never be cap­able of it: If I were but Hasdrubals daughter, I shal never resolve to do it: If I were but the Wife of the unfortunate Siphax, it is a weakness that shal never come in my mind: And If I were but the slave of the Illustrious Massinissa, I [Page 51]shall not follow anie other Conquerour. But being both together, a Carthaginean; Hasdruballs daughters; Wife to Siphax, and Massinissa, and Queen of two great Kingdoms: Scipio needs not think to make Triumph of Sophonisba. No, Generous Massinissa, if the chains they would give me were of Diamonds; And all the Irons Glister with Gold and precious Stones; And if they would assure me that I should be immediatlie restored to the Throne, how soon I were untied from the Triumphant Chariot, I would choose death in prejudice of Royalltie: And if my hand should once carrie Irons, I should no more think it worthie to carrie a Scepter. In fine, I have so strong an aversion for slaverie and bondage, and my Spirit is so delicate in such matters, that if I thought Scipio would cause carrie my Picture in Triumph, I would pray you to put all the Limners of Numidea to death. But no, I condemn my self for that thought: For if the insensible Scipio does carrie my Image in his en­tering into Rome, he shall rather publish my Glorie then his own; It will be seen that I could die, when I could live no longer with honour: And that a Femi­nine courage surpassed the Roman Vanitie.

I doubt not Generous Massinissa, if you do not with all your force oppose Scipios severitie, but that you will be compelled to give me death, for acquitting you of your promise; For besides the publick interest, there is also his own particular. He Remembers that his Father and Unckle are formerlie dead in Africa: He looks upon me as a fit victime to appease their Ghosts: And Joyning together in his heart, Romes Glorie and his own vengeance, it is not to be believed that Hasdruballs Daughter shall obtain her Libertie. Yet Generous Massinissa, I think, it will be verie un­just, if in the same day wherein you Re-take the Crown of Numidea, your Wife should be tied to a Triumphing Chariot: It is me thinks, to make you at once, a King and a Slave: Because if (what you have said to me be true) that my sorrow and tears, added to the little beautie I have, hath touched your heart, and forced you to love me as much as your self; This will be a Triumphing over you as well as [Page 52]me. Consider well Massinissa, If you can be my Spe­ctator that day: Or if you will not think me unworthie of having done me the honor to Marrie me, if I should be capable of disgracing you so much: But do not fear that I shall expose you to such sorrow: If Scipio be inexorable, and you keep your promise to me, my death shall vindicat what choise you have made. How ever before we have recourse to this last extreami­tie, do all you can to move the heart of that insensible Creature: Tell him I have whollie rendered my self to you: That of all the bootie, which your Valour hath acquired to the Romans: You ask onlie one slave from them.

But if his unjustice would oblidge you to deliver her into his hands, as if you were the meanest Souldier of his Legions; Tell him then that this slave is your Wife: And that she cannot be made Triumph of without Triumphing over you: And that the Blood which you have lost, in the service of the Reipublick, deserves their giving you Permission to let her live in Freedom. Let him know that you have found her in your Kingdom, in your Palace, and upon your Throne: That in Reason she belongs to you; And cannot be taken from you without injustice. But if these weightie Reasons prevaill not, pray him tenderlie: And if at last you cannot make him flexible, Remember your promise, and fail not to keep it. I perceive by your eies, my dear Massinissa, that it will grieve you to present me with such a lamentable gift: I well see (I say) that it will trouble you to send poison to her, to whom you have given a Diadem, your heart and libertie: I know that it is a rigid thought, and that it will be a doolefull sight to you to see those same Torches which gave light at my Marriage, must burn at my Funeralls: And that the same hand which you gave me in pledge of your faith, must be that which must open my Tomb: But in fine, all those things shall be more supportable to you, (if you be Generous as I believe you are) then to see me chained: They who say that true Generositie consists in undergoing fatall accidents with constancie; And that abandoning life for eviting misfortune, is according to their opinion [Page 53]a yeelding the Victorie to Fortune: These People (I say) knows not what is the true Glorie of Princes.

This thought is good for Philosophers, but not for Kings, whose whole Actions should be Heroick Pat­terns of Valour. But if quitting of life be allowed (which I doubt not) it must assuredlie be, to shune the infamie of being led in Triumph. It is a great un­happiness to a King, to have his Subjects revolt: But if he should then think of dying I would esteem him baise: Because he may fight and punish them. It is a great misfortune for a Prince to loss a Battle: But because it is often seen, that they who are conquered to day, may be Victorious to morrow: He must stand firme, and not abandon himself to despair. In fine, all mis­fortunes that can have an honorable remedie, should not make us have recourse to the Tomb: But when all things are lost, there remains no more for our choise, but enains or death; We must break the cords of life to escape those of bondage. Behold my dear Massinis­sa, all I had to say to you: Remember it then I con­jure you: And do not Listen so much to what Scipio will say to you, as not to Remember your promise, and the discourse which I have made to you. It is (if I be not deceived) so just and rationall, that you can­not dissaprove of it. Go then, my dear and well be­loved Massinissa, go fight for my libertie and your Glorie, against the insensible Scipio. Ask him Vene­rablie, if after he was not willing to see the fair prisoners he hath made, in his new conquests, why he should desire to see a Woman tied to his Chariot, whose looks had power to conquer Massinissa? Let him fear that I become not his conquerour, in stead of his desiring to be mine: And that at least the austere Vertue which he professes, should serve to hinder his desires of Tri­umphing over me.

You may well perceive, my dear Massinissa, that my mind is not troubled, and that I speak to you with abundance of tranquillitie: And I do also assure you, that in the condition I find my self, there is nothing I regrate, but my being constrained to be so soon se­parated from you. Doubtless this is the onlie thing can touch my heart: For having seen my Countrie [Page 54]desolated; Siphax prisoner; The Crown fallen from off my head; And what is yet worse, Sophonisba readie to be Scipios Captive: After (I say) all those things; My Tomb shall be a refuge, and resting place to me, if I could enter there without abandoning you. But I have this comfort in my miserie, that having ever had an Irreconcilable hatred to the Romans Tirranie: I have at least this advantage to have been the captive of a Numidean and not of a Roman: But also of a Numidean who is my Husband and Liberator: And whose slave I no sooner was, but I was absolute Mistris of his Soul. Go then my dear Massinissa, and faill not to keep your promise to the unhappie Sophonisba: Who will with much impatience expect Libertie, or Poison.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE

THis beautifull and deplorable Queen obtained her desire, because Massinissa obtained nothing from Scipio. He sent death to her, because he could not preserve her Libertie free from danger. And this Sluggard, preferred his interest, and the Romans Friendship, to the life of that Generous Person. I should have patientlie endured his losing of it to have preserved his Glorie, if he could do it no other way: But that this Gallant man should have lived eightie years after such a loss, and still freind to the Romans; Is that which hath made me Chollerick against him, every time I see this accident in Historie: And which also makes me Silent, because if I had writ more, I must have reproached him. Pittie Sophonisba with me my dear Reader, and because I endeavour to divect you, be at least so complacent as not to approve of the action, of the insensible and too wise Massinissa.

ZENOBIA TO HER DAUGHTERS. THE SIXTH HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

THis Discourse and the Precedent, lets us clearly see, that all things have two Faces: And that we may arrive at the same end, by different wayes, I mean at Vertue. So­phonisba would die, the Valiant Zenobia would live; And both would live and die by Principels of Generositie. The one beholds Libertie as the Chief good: The other believes that Chief good consists in Soveraign Wisdom. The one could not indure the Idea of a Chariot, because she believed it Ignominious to its Followers: The other followed the Chariot without trouble, because she thought nothing shamefull but crime. The one beheld a Conquerors Triumph with dispair, as a mightie disgrace: The other considered it with disdain, as a chance of Fortune. The one died, the other lived: The one searched Glorie, where the other believed it Infamie: However as I have said, the one and the other had a Vertuous Subject: So true is it that all things have diverse Faces, according to the byass they are regarded. You have heard the Reasons of the one, hear also the other, and then judge of both:

ZENOBIA TO HER DAUGHTERS.

IT is now a long time, dear & unfortunat Princesses, that I have seen your tears trickle in vain: My Constancie hath to no purpose taught you, that Heroick Spirits can en­dur great sorrows without de­spaire: The Idea of the Throne which you have lost, and of the chariot which you have followed, being alwaies fresh in your memorie, makes my example Fruitless: And all the days of your life, renew your affliction. You still carrie in your hearts the Irons which you had on your hands, that cursed day wherein you entred Rome: And without losing anie of that Noble pride, which Illustrious Birth in­spires in them who are born with that advantage; Aurellian Triumphs yet over you, everie time you call to minde his Triumph. I am verie sorrie, O my Daughters, that having made you partakers of my disgraces, I cannot give you constancie necessar to support them. Yet its the onlie heritage I can leave you a dying, and I do most affectionatlie wish that that Vertue may pass from my heart into yours: To the end that being unable to live as Queens, you may at least reign over your selves, If through excess of misfortune, anie could with Reason despaire, it is certain Zenobia may do it: For as she has had more [Page 58]Glorie then anie of her sex could ever obtain; So her mis­fortunes have been more deplorable, then any was ever heard of You know that on my side you may reckon the Ptolomees Kings of Aegypt for your fore Fathers, and that I am come of the Illustrious Blood of Cleopatra. But alace! It may be said that the Triumphant Cha­riot which Augustus appointed for her, is come to me by right of succession: And that I have onlie followed what was prepared for her. Yet Fortune hath treated me with greater inhumanitie: For you are not ignorant that I followed a chariot, which I thought I led, and which I had caused do with design to make Triumph of him, who Triumphed over me. You also know, that the beginning of my life, was full of happi­ness; The Valiant Odenat your Father, and my dear Lord; After he had given me the Crown of Palmiranea would also make me partaker of his Glorious conquests. And I can say without vanitie, and without wronging that Heros that if he gave to Zenobia the Crown which she carried; She did also with her own hand add leaves of Laurell to that which Victorie had put upon his head. Yes my Daughters, I can say without offending the memorie of Odenat, that we together conquered all the East: And being encouraged by just resent­ments we did undertake to revenge upon the Persians the indignities they made the Emperour Valerian suffer whom Sapor keeped prisoner; When in the interim the infamous Galienus his Son abandoned himself to all sorts of delight.

Yet Odenat did not forebear to send him all the pri­soners we made in that War: We took the best places in Mesopotamia; Carres, and Nisibea rendered to my dear Lord: And pursueing the Victorie, we routed at Ctesiphont, an innumerable multitude of Persians; We made manie Satrapps prisoners; their King also fled away: And continuing almost whollie Victorious, in all our Encounters; Renown made such Proclamations of Odenates Valour, that Galienus in fine roused himself. Then stimulated by fear rather then gratitude, he made him Colleague in the Empire: And to give him also more honour, you know he caused Medalles be made, wherein my dear Odenat dragged the Persians captives, ever till then I had felicitie: Victorie and [Page 59]Fortune equallie favoured me: But alace! And must I say it? When my dear Odenat was assasined with the eldest of my Children; I past from one extreamitie to an other: And became as miserable as I had been happie. Then was it my Daughters, that I had need of all my Vertue, to endure that misfortune: And certainlie Odenates death, is that, which hath made the loss of my freedom the less rude. I had more trouble to follow my dear Lord to the Tomb, then I had to follow Aurelians chariot: And his lamentable Pompe, made me shed mere tears, then did all the Magnificence of the Triumph was made of me. But though my grief was excessive, I spent not too long time in weeping: I thought of preserving the Empire for my Children, and of washing of the Blood which he shed, with that of his enemies. And as it might have been said, that Valor was the Soul of that Heros; I made vows to pass my Life time, in gathering Palms to put upon his Tomb: That it might be one day said, my hand alone had revenged his death; Preserved the Empire for his Children; And Elevated a Trophie to his Glorie. I believed (I say) that it was more worthie, to hang above his Coffine, the spoils of these enemies I should conquer, then to drown his Ashes with my tears: And being this resolved I took armes in one hand, and the reins of the Empire in the other. I was alwaies of the opinion, my Daughters, that all Vertues could not be incompatible: That it was not impossible for one Person to possess them all: That those of men might be Practised by Women: That true Vertue affects no Sex: That one may be both chaste and Valiant: testifie great courage at one time, and humilitie at an other: Be severe and meek at severall Occasions: Command and obey: Know how to carrie Irons and a Crown with the same countenance: It is by this consideration; (my Daughters) that I have done things so appearentlie different; though I have ever been what I am to day. But to recount all my life to you, you know that death, which robbed me of my dear Odenat, did not take the happiness of his armes from me. On the contrate, I though his valtor joyned it self with mine: I slighted the Armie which Galienus, sent against me, under the conduct of Heraclean: [Page 60]And unsatisfied with this first Victorie, I went into Aegypt, and made me absolute Mistris of my Predecessours Kingdom. From thence I was at Ancyre, the Metropolis of Galatia: I carried like­waies my armes through all Berhinea, to Calcedonea, and below Bosphore, and after I had conquered the Per­sians diverse times, and spread the noise of my Victories over all the Universe; Aurelian, guided by Fortune, and being more capable of useing a Sword, then Ga­lienus was; Came at last in Person to stop the course. I should Exactlie re-count all my misfortunes to you, as I have done my felicitie, if I did not know, that you remember them but too much: Nor should I have undertaken to Repeat my Victories, if your extream Melancholie made me not think, that your thoughts entertaining nothing but sorrow full imagina­tions, you had forgot them. Surelie you are not ignorant which way Aurelian conducted me to Rome: Doubt­less you remember, how Herclamones Perfidie, made him take the Cittie of Theanea: How Mauger my con­duct and courage, Aurelian by his craft gained the Battle of Antioche: How Zabas Industrie put my Per­son in saiftie: How I retreated to Emesa: How I rallied my Troups: How I gave Battle to Aurelian a second time; who after thinking he had lost, was in fine Victor in spight of all my endeavours. You know also I abandoned Emesa, and went to shut my self up in Palmiranea, wating for the succourss which the Persians, the Sarasins, and the Armenians promised me: You know (I say) that Aurelian came there and besiedged me, with a strong Armie which was composed of Pannoneans, Dalmatians, Mesiness, Celtes, a quantitie of Mores, and a multitude of other Troupes, drawn out of Asia, Theanea, Mesopotamea, Sirea, Phenitia- and Palestina. You know (I say) that I saw at that time, as great Preparation of War against me: As there needed be, to conquer the whole Earth. However I lost not my heart at that time: You know that I defended the Walls of Pal­meranea, with so much courage as conduct; That Aurelian himself was dangerouslie wounded there­by an Arrow, which may be was drawn at him by my hand: For the gods knows, if I spared my life, to [Page 61]preserve your Libertie: And further, I know since my having been at Rome, that Posteritie will know. I did not forsake the Throne, which belonged to you, without defending it. Aurelian having writ to his Freind Macapor, Said, It was true, that he fought against a Woman: But a Woman who had more Archers under her pay, then if she had been a man, against a Wo­man who hath Prudence in danger, and who by her fore­sight, hath made so great Preparations of War, to Op­pose his conquest, that it was impossible to imagine, what prodigious number, of Darts, and Stones she had provid­ed. In fine (said he speaking of me) there is no place about the Walls of Palmiranea, that is not defended by many Machinations: Its Veines Lenches everie hour Arteficiall sire upon us, and in few words, she fears like a Woman, and fights like a Person affeared. Behold my Daughters, what my Enemie hath said of me: And surelie he had not Reason to say, that I feared, be­cause when he sent to offer me life and pardon, (for his letter was writ in these tearmes) if I would render him the place, and if I would deliver into his hands all my Jewels and Treasures: I answered him so reso­lutelie, that Aurelian was offended. I remember among other things that I said, I told him, that never anie but he sought of me what he desired: Remember you (said I to him) that Vertue should as well govern affaires of War. as those of peace; And further, I let you know, that the Persians assistance, which we expect, will not faill us: We have on our partie, the Armenians, and Sarasines: And Aurelian, since the robbers of Sirea did beat your armie; What shall we do when we have all the forces, which we wait for from these places? Surely you will then abate some of that great pride, with which as if you were whollie victorious, you command me to render. You see, my Daughters, that while you was in the Temple pray­ing to the Gods, I did all things possiblie for your Preservation, and never did anie unglorious action. Finalie you know, that Aurelian did defate the Persians, who were coming to our relief: And seeing it absolute­lie impossible to save that place, I was at least desirous to secure my Person: But Fate which had resolved my Ruine, made Aurelian at last my Conqueror, and [Page 62]me his prisoner. How soon he saw me, he asked' from whence came it, that I had the boldness to attack the Roman Emperours and despise their forces: Au­relian (said I to him) I acknowledge you for a lawfull Emperour, because you know how to Conquer; But for Galienus and such as he, I never had that esteem of them. Till now, my Daughters, you cannot accuse me of cowardise: I have formerlie carried a Crown with­out vanitie; I have had my hand sufficientlie firme, to hold at once a Scepter and a Sword: I have equallie known the Arts of fighting and of reigning: I have known how to Conquer, and which is more, I knew how to use the Victorie: I have received good Fortune with Moderation: And in the verie time, wherein Youth & the weakness of my Sex, might have made me proud of that little beautie I had: I have without plea­sure heard, all the flatterers of the Court, paint me in their verses, with Lilies and Roses; say that my Teeth were Orientall Pearles: That my Eyes, black as they were, shined clearer then the Sun; And in fine that Venus her self was not so beautifull as I My Daughters I have told you all these things and I have extended my self more then I ought: To make you comprehend that in all the actions of my life, I was never guiltie of Imbecillitie: Think not then, that in the most important of all the actions I have done, or wherein there was greatest need of courage, that my heart ever fail­led me, more then at other times. No, my Daughters, I have done nothing in all my life, that gives me more Satisfaction of my self, then that I had power to follow a Triumphing Chariot with constancie. It is truelie, at such times, that a great Spirit it requisite, let it not be said to me, in such encounters that despair is a Ver­tue, and constancie a weakness. No, Vice can never be Vertue, nor can Vertue ever be Vicious. Let none say to me, that such constancie is more proper for Philosophers then Kings: But know, my Daughters, that there is no difference betwixt Philosophers and Kings: If not that the one teaches Veritable Wisdom, and the other should practise it. In fine as Soveraigns owe their example to their Subjects, and because they are in the sight of all the World; There is no Vertue, which they ought not to imitate. Yet among all these [Page 63]that are most necessare for Princes, Constancie is the more Illustrious, as being the most difficile: But for that despair, which puts the dagger in the hand of them who would evit Bondage, it is rather infirmitie then Vertue. They cannot look upon Fortune when it is Irritated: It would no sooner attack them, but they shun fighting it: It would no sooner destroy them, but they promot its designs: By a weakness unworthie of them, they yeeld the Victorie to this airy thing: And by a Precipitous action, without knowing often what they do, they quit the Irons, in abandoning their lives, whose sweetness they only loved, without being able to endure the bitter. For me, my Daughters, who am of an other opinion; I mantain that they who live with Glorie, should die as slowlie as possible: And that to speak rationallie, a sudden death is rather a sign of Remorse of Repentance, and Imbecillitie, then of great courage. It may be, some will say to me, that I am of a Race which should never carrie Irons: That since Cleopatra would not follow Augustus his Chariot, I should never have followed that of Aurelian: But there is such a difference be­tween that great Queen and me, that all her Glorie consisted in her death: And I made mine consist in my life. Her reputation had not been advantagious to her, if she had not died by her own hand; And mine should never have been at the height it is come to, if I had deprived my self of the Glorie, of knowing to carrie Irons, with such Grandure of Courage, as if I had Triumphed over Aurelian, as he did of me: If Cleopatra had followed Augustus his Chariot, she would have seen a hundered odious objects in her traversing Rome, which would have reproached her of her former Imprudences: The People would have certainlie caused her understand by their murmurings a part of her wanting conduct: But for me, I was verie certain, that I could see nothing about the Chariot which I followed, but men whom I had formerly con­quered and witnesses of my Valor and Vertue. I was, I say, assured to hear no Contumelie, and to Understand no Speeches but of my present misfortune, and of my former Victories. Behold, said the People, the Va­liant Zenobia: Behold the Woman who did gain ma­nie [Page 64]Victories: Admire her constancy in this encounter: Might it not be said, that these chains of Diamonds, which she carries, do rather seen to adorn then bind her; And that she leads the Chariot which she follows? In fine, my Daughters, in the time I was all loaded with Irons, or to name them better, Chains of Gold and Jewels, like a Noble Slave; In the time of all that Magnificent Triumph, which is undoubtedlie the most unpleasant day of Bondage; I was at freedom in my heart, and had my minde quiet enough, to see with pleasure, that my constancie, drew tears from some of my enemies, Yes, my Daughters, Vertue hath so strong charmes, that their Roman austeritie could not resist them; And I saw some among them weep for Aurelians Victorie and my misfortune: Moreover, none should be so cowardlie, as to let the minde be troubled, with things that do not at all touch it, if they be perfectlie wise. All the great preparations that are made for these Triumphs should not fright a rationall Soul: All these guilded Chariots, these chaines of Diamonds, these Trophies of Armes, and the multi­tudes of People who flock together, to see that fatall Ceremonie, should not make a Generous Person time­ [...]ous, It is true, my chains were weightie; But when they hurt not the minde, they do not much incomode the armes that carrie them: And for me in that deplorable state, I manie times thought that as fortune had made me follow a Chariot, I my self had done it for Triumph; By that same Revolution which be­falls all things in the World: You may perhaps one day have Scepters made to you, of these same chains which I carried. But in fine, if this should not come to pass, afflict your selves moderatlie: Be more care­full to approve your selves worthie of the Throne; Then to remount it: For in the humor I am of, I have more esteem of a simple slave, if he be faithfull, then of the most potent King in the World, if he be not Generous. Think then my Daughters, of indur­ing your Bondage with more constancie: And be­lieve certainlie, that if I have been conquered by Au­relian: Mine surpassed fortune, it may be seen through all the course of my life, that death did not fright me, if I could have had Glorie by it: I have seen it a hun­dered [Page 65]times under a more terrifying countenance then the most desperate have ever seen: Cato his dag­ger, Brutus his sword, Porcias burning coals, Mithra­dates his poison, nor Cleopatras aspes, are anie way so fearfull. I have seen greeles of darts and arrowes fall upon my head; I have seen the points of a hundered lances presented to my heart; And all this without anie thoughts of fear. Think not then, if I had be­lieved death could have been Glorious to me, but that I could have found it by my own hand. It was accusto­med to conquer others; And it would have broken my Irons if I would: But I thought my shaire of Glorie would be greater, to carrie them without weep­ing, then to spill my Blood through feebleness or despair. They whose satisfaction onlie consists in themselves, quits the Throne with less regrate then others: They who encounter nothing but content­ment in their minds, are constrained to seek their hap­piness, in things that they are strangers to. It may be then you will ask me, what remains for Princesses to do, who have lost their Empire and Libertie? I shall answer you reasonablie, that since the Gods were desir­ous to give your courage so Noble a Subject, you are oblieged to use it well: And to make all the World know, by your Patience and Vertue, that you merit the Scepter which is taken from you; And that the Irons which were given you, were unworthie of you, This, my Daughters, is what remains for you to do: And if you could let your selves be moved by my example and reasons; You should find that your life might yet be pleasing and Glorious to you. At least you have this advantage, that in the condition your Fortune is, it cannot become worse then it is: So that if you can but once accustome your selves to it, nothing can after­wards trouble your repose. Remember that of the manie millions of men whom the World contains, there are not an hundreth who carrie Crowns: And do you believe, my Daughters, that all these men are unhappie, and that there is no pleasure but on the Throne? If it be so, O how you are deceived! There is no condition of life, but hath pain and pleasure: And it is true Wisdom, to know how to use all equallie, if Fortune bring you to the triall of it. They who kill [Page 66]themselves, know not that while People are living, they are in a state of acquiring Glorie: There is no Tyrran can hinder me from Immortalising my name everie day, if he let me live, and if I be Vertuous: And if my verie silence, do make me suffer anie pu­nishment, while I endure it with constancie, it shall not forebear to speak of me. Let us live then, my Daughters, because we can do it with honour: And because we also have the means left us of testifying our Vertue, the Scepter, the Throne, the Empire which we have lost, were they not given us by Fortune: But con­stancy comes directlie from the gods. It was from their hands I received it: And for that cause you ought to imitate it: It is the true sign of Heroes, as despare is of the weak or inconsiderat. Trouble not your selves then, for what posteritie will say of me? And do not fear that the day of Aurelians Triumph, hath obscur­ed my Victories; Since as I said to you, it was the most Glorious of my life. And moreover I know that Aure­lian hath made a picture of me at his speaking to the Se­nate which shall make me known to Posteritie: Preserve it then, my Daughters, that when I shall be no more, the remembrance of what I have been, may oblidge you to be alwaies what you ought. Behold the culores wherewith Aurelian hath painted his tablet: I have learned (said he) that I be not reproached of do­ing an action so little worthy of great courage, by Triumph­ing over Zenobia: But they who blame me, knows not what Praise I Merit, if they knew what a Woman she was: How well advised Counsells she had: How cou­ragious she showed her self, and constant in keeping good Order: How Imperious and Grave she was among Soul­diers: How Liberall when her affaire oblidged her: And how severe and exact, when necessity constrained her: I could say it was by her assistance, that Odenat conquered the Persians, and pursued the King Sapor to Ctesiphont: I could affirme that this Woman had so possest all the East and Aegypt with the terrour of her armes: That neither the Arabians, Sarasians nor Ar­menianes dared to move. Let them who are dis­pleased with these Actions be silent; For if there be no honour in having Conquered and Triumphed over a Woman what will they say of Galienus in contempt of [Page 67]whom she mantained her Empire. what will they say of Claudius a Holy and Venerable Prince; Who being employed in the War with the Gothes, by a laudable Prudence, suffered her to reign; To the end, that this Princess employing her armes elsewhere, he might with the greater facility accomplish his other enterprises. Behold my daughters, what my conqueror hath said of me, though I followed his Chariot. Have the same Equity, I conjure you: And believe that whosoever liv­eth thus, need not kill himself to Immortalise his Name.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

THis Discourse lets it be seen, that a per sua­sive Orator, may prevaile with others: These Princesses lived, as their Mother had no desires of death; And the Gardens that Aurelian gave them for their dwelling place, and which are called to this day Tivoly, seems more pleasing to them, them the Coffine. Historie gives ac­count that this Generous Queen was highlie esteemed by all the Roman Ladies: And that her Daughters were Married to the most Illustrious Families. It was little for their Birth, but much for their misfortune: Because these same People thought Anthonie and Titus unworthily Married, though they espoused Queens. This was a Noble thought; But it was that of the Masters of the World. And who says that, says all.

PORCIA TO VOLUMNIUS. THE SEVENTH HARRAN [...]UE.

ARGUMENT.

AFter that Brutus and Cassius were defaited and killed: Porcia Wife to the first, and Daughter to Cato of Utica, testified by her discourse and actions, that she would follow her Husbands fate, and that she would live no longer. Her Relations who were willing to hinder her from dying, after they had taken all things from her, thas could advance such fatall designs, sent Volumnius the Philosopher, who had been the intimate friend of Brutus, to endeavour to perswade her by reason, that she ought not to abandon her self to despair. But this Generous Wife, after she had most impatiently heard him answered him in this manner.

PORCIA TO VOLUMNIUS.

IT is in vain, O wise Volumnius, that my Relations have cho­sen you to perswade me to live after the loss I have had: See­ing it is incredible that the same Phi­losopher, who put the Sword in the hand of the Illustri­ous Cato my Father, and afterward in that of my dear Brutus, can make me believe that it is just or possible for me to preserve my life. No Volumnius, in the state I am Reduced to, I neither can nor ought to live: You know that contrare to my Sex, that Philosophie which you employ against me, is not altogether unknown to me; And that the Vertuous Cato my Father, madh me learn it with greatcare. Think not then that the Resolution I take, is the Effect of a Spirit blinded with its own grief, and of despair without Reason. I have meditated upon it a long time: And in the Vicissitudes of things, I have formed a design, which I shall execute to day. Any other but I might satisfie their Husbands Ashes, with shedding of tears all the rest of their dayes, but the Daughter of Cato, and Wife of Brutus should do it an other way. Also I am verie well assured, that Porcia has too great a Soul, to lead a Life Unworthie of her Birth; And of the honor of having had for her Father [Page 72]and Husband, the two most Illustrious of the Ancient Romans: But for them who live to day, they are the Remains of Julius Cesars slaves; or to say better, they are enraged Tygers, who tear their Mothers bowells, by desolating their Countrie. Wo is me! Who could ever have thought, that the Roman People, were be­come enemies of their own Libertie? That it could be they themselves, who not onlie forged the chains which did captivate them; Who not onlie set upon the Throne him who was the cause of so manie mens deaths, that he might come to it; But who was also capable of weeping for the death of a Tyrran; Place him in the rank of the gods; And criminallie pursue, a man, who to give them libertie, hazarded his life & de­spised Cesars Friendship? For what would not he had obtained from him, if he could have submitted to Bondage? His Irons should have been certainlie-ligh­ter then others: And for a little pains which he might have taken, he might have been Master of him who was of all the World. But Brutus was too Generous, to establish his particular felicitie, upon the Ruine of the Reipublick: He knew that the first duty took, or ought to take away all other: That owing all things to his Country, he owed nothing to Cesar: That being born a Roman Citizen, he ought to hate Tyrranie: That not to be ungrate to his Country, he must be partlie against Cesar: And that being of the first Bru­tus his Race, he owed the assistance of his Arms and Valor, to the oppressed Reipublick. Nevertheless after he had done all these things, these cowardlie and in­sensible People, exiled him, for whom they should have erected atues in all their publick places. Yet this great ungratitude wearied not the vertue of Brutus: you know, O wise Volumnius! All that he has done for his Countrey: Nor do I tell it to make you learn; But to employ that little life that remains in me, to speak of his Heroick Actions, and to conjure you, to make them known to Posteritie. Remember then, Volumnius, that though all the Romans were ungrate to him, he desisted not to do all things for them: And when these Sluggards, in place of one Tyrran had suf­fered three; He had more compassion for them, then resentment of their ungratitude: And without think­ing [Page 73]of his own Preservation, what did he not to make them happie? Maugre what they had been? But these enemies of Vertue are so well accustomed to slaverie, that they hoard up their chaines as their de [...] ­est Treasures: And all along, after that Brutus had broken them, they themselves renewed them with care: And Rome which manie ages by-past command­ed all the Earth, now voluntarlie submits to Tyrranie. O Cato, O Brutus! Who could ever have thought it? And who could believe, that the gods would protect crime, and oppress innocence. Yet I plainlie see what it is that provockes Heaven to p [...]mish us: The death of Brutus is Romes chastisement, and the greatest unhappiness that can ever besail it: And certainlie it is for Romes pu­nishment, that the gods permitted him to end his dayes. For Brutus, his pains are his reward: The Romans ungratitude contributes to his Glorie: And his verie death doth so Illustrate his life, that it is almost a shame for me to weep. Moreover I assure you, that I have weeped more for his absence, then death. I then looked upon my [...] as being unlimited: And my Soul being ballanced between hope and fear, I solaced my self with weeping. But to day when I have no more to loss, and when I see an infallible way of ending my miserie; My Soul is more tranquill: And though my grief be greater then anie was ever felt, I endure it with less impatience; Because I know it shall be quicklie finished. Do not then tell me that I ought to live, for preserving the memorie of Brutus: The action he did is so Heroick and Noble, that it shall ever be remembered by all men. He shall alwaies be regarded as the first and last of the Romans. And the Tyrrans who shall reign after this we have now, shall likewaies serve to preserve a Glorious remem­brance of him; So long as there shall be Kings seen in Rome, it will be remembered, that the Old Brutus chased them, and that the last died in saving that li­bertie which the first had acquired. For I doubt not but Rome shall be continuallie in slaverie: Being un­doubtable, that if its freedom could have been re­covered, Brutus would have restored it: But since he could not do it, he had at least the Glorie of dying without being a slave. Think it not strange then, that [Page 74]being Daughter and Wife to two men, who were even free to death, I would partake of that Glorie with them. And yet to speak truelie, Brutus shall not be altogether at libertie, If I were so base as to live a Captive. There will be somewhat wanting to his Glorie, if I forget mine: The affection that he had alwayes to me, makes our interests unseparable. I was of the conspiracie, because I knew it before it was executed: It is but just then that I should follow Brutus his destinie: And know Volumnius that she whose minde was resolu [...]e enough, to stab her self with a Proigniard, to endure and suppress the smart, thereby to testifie to her hus­band, that she could conceall a secret; Will not easilie change her resolution of dying. The images of Cato, and of my dear Brutus, do so fill my spirit. that I see no other thing: And me thinks their death is so wor­thie of envie, that I took upon it as the cheifest good can ever befall me. Remember, Volumnius, that the true zeall of Vertue consists in the desires of imi­tating it: For they who praise Vertuous People, with­out traceing them so much as they can, deserves blame raither then praise, because they know the good and do not follow it: Cato is dead with this advantage, to have had it said by Cesar, that he envied his death, be­cause it deprived him of the Glorie of his Pardon: And I wish that Octavius may envie Brutus, for having chosen a Wife abundantlie couragious to follow him to the Tomb. It is there we shall enjoy a libertie which we can nomore loss; While the Romans shall groan under the weight of their Irons. But a day will come, when the name of Brutus shall be in veneration among them: When they shall desire that good which they refused: And when the blood of Cato and Brutus shall confound and make them blush. Yes, these Roman Citizens, who saw themselves Masters of the Earth; Who had Kings for their Subjects, whose Glorie was without tashe, and whose power had no Authoritie a­bove it but that of the Gods, shall become infamous slaves: And their Bondage shall be so rigid, that they shall not be Masters of their own will. They shall take from the Tyrrans all their vices: And Rome which was a Seminarie of Vertue, shall be a receptacle of vile Adulatores. O Heavens! That the Inclinatons of [Page 75]such mightie People, should be thus altered in an instant? All these millions of men, who fought on the plains of Pharsalia, under Pompeyes coulors, were they all killed in that battle? Or have they lost their hearts in losing it? All these Kings who hold their Crowns, of the Senats authoritie, are they all ungrate? And is there none who could suffer Brutus to unburthen them of their chains? The desire of freedom, which is so strong among all the creatures who live upon the Earth, is it extinguished among men? And is the bloud of a dead Tyrran, so dear to the Romans, that to honor his memorie, and to wear mourning, they must load themselves with chains all their life? Yes, all the Roman Legiones have lost their hearts; All the Kings own Vassals, are readie to lay their Crowns at their Tyrrans feet; All the Romans do preferr servitude to libertie; Cesars Ashes are in veneration among them; And for their last misfortune Brutus hath abandoned them. However, do not think, Volumnius, that he de­sired to forsake me: It is true when we parted in the Citie of Elea, he would not let me go with him, al­though I did all things possible for it; Because said he the journey would be verie troublesome to me: And because I might be of more profit to him at Rome; Then in this armie. But at that time it was not so: I know Brutus minded me a dying: He expects me in the place where he is; And he doubts not, but Porcia remembers, that the Illustrious Cato loved better to tear his entrails, then to surrvive his contreyes freedom: And that she having more valide reasons to perswade her; will not faill to follow the way that he hath pa­thed for her. When life can be neither honorable, nor happie, it is great wisdom to abandone it: Being cer­tain, that it should be no longer dear to us, then when it can serve for our Glorie, or that of our Coutrey: Since it is so, I ought no more to preserve mine. Yes, Volumnius, I owe my death to my own Glorie; To that of Cato; To that of Brutus: And to that of Rome. But do not think that this death shall be rude to me: I go to a place where Vertue is certainlie known, and rewarded. That terrifying apparition which Brutus saw, without being frighted at the Town of Sardis, and afterwards at Philippes, appears not to me, I see but my husbands [Page 76]ghost calling me; And which seems to be impatient till mine be with it. I see that of Cato, which retain­ing a fathers authoritie, seems to command me to make haste and quite a place unworthie of Porcias Ver­tue. Judge, Volumnius, if this Vision affrights me: And if in the two wayes I have to follow, I can have any difficultie in, choosing; From one side, I see my coun­trey desolated: All the Earth covered with the blood of our friends; Our persecutors became our Masters; All my relations in Bondage: And to say all, nothing in the World can be more dear to me then the Ashes of Brutus. Behold, Volumnius, what I see from that side: But from the other, I see nothing but felicitie: My Father and Husband wait for me; The first requires the fruits of the instructions he gave me; And the other, the reward of the affection he testified to me. Yes, Generous Cato, yes Illustrious Brutus, Porcia shall do what she ought at this time, and nothing shall be able to hinder her. For think not. O wise Volumnius, that inclinations can be compelled: Because by it, we partlie resemble the Gods: It is a priviledge which Heaven hath given us. Tyrranes cannot force it: It is not under their domination: And when the Soul is [...] and resolute, the designs are never changed. Believe not then, that my Relations care can hinder me to die. Or that your reasons can anie way brangle my Spirit. Cato would not let himself be moved with his sons tears, and Porcia shall not yeeld to those of her Rela­tions, nor your discourse; Brutus to escape Bondage could resolve to leave me; And by what reason, should it not be easier, and also juster for me then him, to end my life. My freedom is as dear to me, as his was pretious to him: But I have this advantage, and plea­sure in death, that whereas he could not be free with­out aband oning me: I need but follow him, to pre­ [...]erve my libertie. You see then, O wise Volumnius, [...]fter all that I have said to you; That death is glorious. [...]ecessare, and pleasing to me. Think not then of hin­dering me, because your care will be also to no pur­pose. They who have been made change such reso­ [...]utions, are certainlie subject to perswasion: They have [...]n the bottom of their heart a secret resentment, which opposes their desire; And their own Timeritie is a [Page 77]strong enough defence, to preserve their life. They are of such People that would die, to the end that some or other might come and hinder them. But with me, it shall not go so: I conceal not my design; I will not deceive my Gaurds: I tell them freely, that I shall escape from their hands: And that death shall free me from the pain I am in. Yes, Volumnius, I do to die. O Illustruous and great Cato! O Generous Brutus! Come and receive my Soul. See dear ghosts, if I be worthie the name [...]ear, do not disown me for what I am. For if I be not mistaken, my death shall not be unworthie of a true Roman. See my dear Brutus, if I have any faintings in this last hour: Or rather if I have not great impatience to be with you. O Generous Cato, you see, that daggers, poison, and everie thing that could seem to assist my design, are taken from me: My Chamber is become my prison; I have neither precipes, nor cordes; And I have Gaurds who are carefull of me. But by taking all those things from me, they cannot take away my desire of death, nor the memorie of your Vertue. I remember, O Illustrious Cato, of that Glorious day; Wherein you excelled Cesar, by [...] ­mounting your self. You then told your Gaurds, that your life was not i [...] their power; Because to finish it. you needed but stop your breath, or dash your head a­gainst the Wall. It is then in imitation of so Gene­rous a pattern, that I go to find my dear Brutus. Be­hold, O Illustruous Husband, the last action of Porcia; Judge of her life, by her death: And of the passion which I have had for you, by these burning coals, which I hold, readie to choake me.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

IN saying these last words, She did what she said. And by a stedfast courage, which procures admi­ration and horror, she made it appear, that things are not easie and impossible, but according to the manner they are looked upon: And that when any bodie loves one better then their life, they have no pr [...]uble in following their death.

BERINICEA TO TITUS. THE EIGHT HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

IN the time of the Judean War, Titus became pas­sionately in love with Berinicea, Queen of Chalsis, Daughter of Mariamne: And according to the opinion of some he Married her Secretly. At his Return to Rome, where he brought her, the Roman People, who treat all strangers like Barbarians, and Queens as well as others, did not approve of that alliance: so that the Emperour Vespasian ordered his Son to send her back; It was in that troublesome con­juncture, that this afflicted Princess, speak thus to the great Titus.

BERINICEA TO TITUS.

THink not, O Il­lustrious and ge­nerous Titus, that I complain of your parting from me: Siuce on the contrare, knowing you as I doe, I rather Pittie then Ac­cuse you: And without saying any thing against you, I onlie de­sire your libertie, to complain of Fortune: Which having favoured you so much in all actions of War, doth treate you so cruellie to day in my person: For I doubt not but you shall be more sorrow­full to abandone me, then you was joyfull in all your Victories. I know that though ambition be as strong a passion as love; It does not surmount it in your Soul: And I will also believe to comfort me in my disgrace, that if you were in condition to dispose absolutlie of your self, you would prefer the possession of Berinicea, to the Empire of all the World. But this reason of state, which Authorises so manie Crimes, and so much Vio­lence, cannot endure that after the invincible. Titus, [Page 82]hath so manie times hazarded his life, to secure the Romans felicitie, should think of his own particular. Yet I have never heard it said, that love was a shamfull passion, when its object was honest: On the contrare, I thought it a sign of great Spirits, because all the Horces of antiquitie were capable of it. I thought (I say) that when this passion reignes in a Generous Soul, it in­spires it with new desires of acquireing Glorie: Never­theless, I plainlie see that this is not the Emperours, nor the Senates opinion; And that I am deceived in my conjectures. Had you chosen for the object of your love, a person absolutlie unworthie of you, their com­plaints should be more tollerable, and I should merit the treatment I receive, if I had in fused any baise or shamefull thought, in the Soul of Titus: but if I be not mistaken, they cannot reproach you of having made an Alliance too unequall. Alexander thought that he did nothing against his own Glorie, when he Married Roxana, though she was both a Captive and Stranger: And that error which love caused him commit, hinder­ed not the noise of his Victories, from coming to us: Nor his being ranked among the most Illustrious Heroes. The fault which you are reproached off, hath nothing comparable to that: For in fine, you know, I am Mariamnes grand-Daughter; I have all the ancient Kings of Judea, for my Predecessors, and I my self do carrie a Crown, which me thinks should oblidge the Senat, not to treate me so cruellie. Yes Titus, Palestina hath had Heroes, as well as Rome. The Jona­thanes, the Davids, the Solomons, from whom I am come, have perhaps done as brave actions, as the Ro­mules, the Numa Pompiliuses or the Cesares: And the Noble and Rich spoils, which you took in the Temple of Jerusalem and wherewith you adorned your Triumph, makes Rome too much see the Gran­dure, and magnificence of my Fathers. If I were of a blood that were enemie to the Reipublick, as for­merlie Sophonisba Hasdruballs Daughter was, I would say that they had reason to fear, that after having con­quered the Generous Titus, I would make my Victorie fatall to the Senate: And at last, cause him do actions contrare to his Authoritie. But I am of a Race accusto­med to receive Crowns from the Roman Emperours: [Page 83]The great Agrippa my Father, did hold the Kingdom of Lisania, of Cajus his liberalitie, as well as that of Chalsis, whose Scepter I carrie this day, The second Agrippa my Brother, received the same favour from the Emperour your Father: And his death made it sufficientlie known, that he was not ungrate. It was in your presence he lost his life, having a desire to oblidge the inhabitants of Gamalia to render them­selves, and acknowledge Vespasians authoritie: How­ever to comfort me for his death, they banish me like a Criminall. They say I would overthrow the Empire; And scarce can they find a corner of the Earth, fart enough from Rome, wherein to send me in exile. Yet you know, O my dear Lord, that I have committed no other fault, but the receiving the honor which you have done to me, by giving me the Glorious Tittle of your Wife: the innocent conquest that my eves made of your heart, is that which makes me culpable; The Romans would have you be their Captive, and not mine: They would (I say) dispose of your love, and hatred as they please; And choose a Wife for you according to their fancie, and not according to your inclinations. Moreover, my dear Lord, I know my tears may be suspected, by them who know me not: They of my enemies who will see my grief, doubtless will say, that I regrate the Empire as much as Titus: And that Am­bition hath a greater share of my Soul, then Love, But if you truelie love me as much as you have told me, You will judge my thoughts by your own: And You shall certainlie know that your person onlie causes all my sorrow, as it did all my felicitie. No, Titus, the Roman Magnificence hath not transported me: The Throne which You expect; Contributed nothing to the affection I have for You: And the Vertues of your Soul, and the love which. You testified to me, were the onlie things I considered, when I did resolve to love You. Take then when You please, a Person with whom You shall divide, the Soveraign Power You shall one day have, without thinking I wish her anie harme; But for favours sake, never divide the heart where You made me reign. It is an Empire which belongs to me, and which You cannot take from me without injustice, You cannot, my dear Titus, accuse me of asking too [Page 84]much; Because I demand nothing but what you gave me. No more can you say, that this heart is not in your power; That Vespasian holds it in his hands; That the Senate disposes of it; And in fine, that you are not its Master. All slaves, though as stronglie fettered with chains as they possiblie can, enjoy this priviledge: They love and hate what seems good to them: And their will is as free in the Irons, as if they were on the Throne. Since it is so, you must certainlie enjoy the same freedom, and shall not resuse me the favour I ask from you. You may get a Wife for the Illustrious Titus, to content the Capricoes of the People: But you must not give a Rivall to Berinicea. She must be single in your Soul, as you are in hers: And though she be separated from you, yet she shall ever be present in your minde: If it be so I shall patientlie endure my exille. But Gods! can I think never to see you again. No, Titus, it is absolutlie impossible for me: my fate is inseparable from yours: and though Vespasiane and the Senates authoritie doe all they can, I must not quit you. It would be imbecillity to abandone you: you might reproachfullie say to me, that fear of be­ing male-treated, made me too ready to obey the order I received for going out of Rome, and in fine, you might accuse me of little love, But no, I will contradict that thought: It would be ingratitude to use it so, Berinicea must not cost you the Empire: Preserve it then, and let her depart. It is enough to her that you complain: And that when you are ar­rived to the Crown, you then call to mynd that the possession which you shall have, did cost you Beri­nicea. Truelie, Titus, there is some strange thing in our adventure: For it should be the least thing to think, that these same people, who alreadie prepare themselves to acknowledge you for Master of all the Earth, would be Law givers to you, in an affaire of such importance to you, and of so little to them? And that these same persons, over whom you shall have an absolute power, to dispose of their fortunes and lives; May not suffer you to love me? Am I Wife or enemie of all the Romans; Have they jealousie, or hatred to me? Fear they that I will prevaill with you to rebuild the walls of Jernfalem? Have I inter­prised [Page 85]any thing against the common good, or have I offended any of them in particular? No Titus, I have done nothing, I have said nothing, I have thought nothing against them: And my greatest crime is that I am unhappie, and that you love me. But would to Heaven, that I be in that manner Criminall all my life: Continue, my dear Lord, to give them, new subject of hateing me by loving me alwayes: Testi­fie to them, that the Victime which you sacrifice for them is dear to you: And for your glorie as much as myne, make them know that the affection you have for me, hath lawfull fundationes. Conceall my faults, and carefulie exaggerate the few good qualities are in me: tell them that the affection which I had for you, served in stead of merit. And in fine, that you have found in my persone, she object worthie of your love. For me, I am not troubled to justifie what I have for you; your Valor and Vertue are so equallie known through all the Earth, that I need not tell for what reasons I love you, This sentiment is so universall, that though you were not infinitly Good, you should not be oblidged to me. But my dear Titus, shall I tell you something, that is in my minde! Yes be­cause my affection hath caused it, you cannot be dis­pleased and you are too just to condemn Berenieta, when you shall know that she is onlie guiltie of excess of Love. I would not in the condition that things are in to day, robb you of the Crown which you ought to carrie, by oblidging you to follow me: For, my dear Lord, there is no corner of the Earth, where the Illustrious Titus can live unknown. But if it be per­mitted me to tell you all that I think, I wish that be­ing born without Crown, without Kingdom, and without Empire, we could leave together in some place where Vertue alone should Reign with us. I wish (I say) that you were not what you are. And yet I would not have you changed, In fine, the excess your grief and affection, makes that finding nothing that satisfies me, among all things possible, I am constrained for my consolation, to make wishes which are impossible to execute, Pardon me, my door Titus, If I would rob you of a Crown: I reprehend my self because I know by your eyes you are no off [...] ­ded. [Page 86]Till now I never thought that I could see you greived, and not be a partaker with you: Yet surely that which I see Painted in your face, sweetneth my af­fliction: Your tears diminishes the bitterness of mine: And in the condition my Soul is in, I can have no reflection so pleasing as to see you infinitly afflicted. Yes Titus, my dispair is so great, that since I cannot live happie with you, there are moments wherein I shall wish that we were alwaies unhappie, so that we could but be together. Yet this unjust thought does not last long in my mind: And passing from one extremity to another, I shall wish that I were yet more unfortu­nate, and that you were not at all. Methinks then the Romans have reason to exile me, because I am capable of disturbing the repose of their Prince. I wish I could depart without afflicting you; Carrie away in my heart, your sorrow with my own: And by so tender a thought, I pittie you more then my self. Moreover, if I can possiblie live without you, I am sure I shall hear often newes of you, though you your self should give me none: Fame will tell me of ail your brave actions: And I heartily wish that it would load it self with my tears, as well as with your exploits, thereby to let you know that neither time nor absence, had anie way Diminished my sorrows or affection. Remem­ber, my Dear Titus, everie time that your heart makes you do a brave action; That there Berenicea shall find both a subject of joy and of grief. She shall rejoice at your glorie, and afflict her self for the loss she has had: But when that doth come to pass, she shall ever love you equallie. Nevertheless, I think I shall not be long in pain, to partake of what befals you: for my grief which I feel is so great, That I believe it cannot be long. If my exile had been caused by your inconstancie, that you had changed your thonghts of of me; That your disdain had been the cause of my disgrace; I should have comforted my self by com­plaining of you; I should mitigate my Torment, by cal­ling you ungrate & perfidious: Choller & despight should devide my heart: I might one day hope to love you no more: And whether by resentment or glorie, I should almost depart from you without weeping. But as matters goe, I se call over subjects to afflict me; [Page 87]And nothing that can sweeten my grief. I not only loss a lover, I loss a Faithfull lover; And I loss him in such a manner, that it permits me not to complain of him, I accuse the Senate and the people, that I may not complain of the Emperor, because he is his Father: And without being able to accuse him, If not of his having loved me too well, I depart the unhap­piest woman that ever was! But unsensible that I am, what do I say? By that I find some cause to com­fort me: Because I quit Titus, and he not me for­tune plucks me from him against his will: It threat­ens to take the Crown from him, If he consent not to my banishment: And at this time I have the satis­faction, of seeing my dear Titus esteem me more then the Empire of all the World. However it is true, that I must forsake him: Yet I have this little comfort at our parting, to know that I dwell in his heart, and that nothing can chase me thence. If I be not mistaken I see by your silence that you consent to what I say; Your sighes does assure me, and your teares permit me not to doubt. You have too delicate a Soul to be capable of infidelitie or forgetfulness: Unconstancie is a fault, which cannot be fouud in you, be cause it is certainly, a sign, of imbicilitie or little Judgement. The heart must not be given without a long premeditation: But when once given it must never be retaken. For me, I find we have more right over others goods, which belong not to us; then we have of the presents which our liberalitie gives Others things may sometimes come under our power without injustice: But what we once give, should never again be ours. It is a renouncing of all right we have to pretend to it; And no Law can with equi­ty put us in possesion of it. Since it is so, I am assured to have alwayes the possession of your heart: It is by that thought that I can hope to live in my exile. It is the onlie thing can support my life: And for that only can I, say that I am not absolutely unhappie. I hope the Romans will in time know, that as your love to me had nothing of injustice, sol have inspired you with nothing but rationall thoughts. I desire not Titus, that you loss your self for preserving me; I will not have you oppose the Emperor; I will not [Page 87]have you acquire the Senats hatred; I will not have you irritate the People against you; I will not have you endeavour to make the Legions Rebel; I will not have you refuse the fair Arricidea, who I know is appointed for you; I will not (I say) have you lose the Empire for love of me. On the contrare I coun­sel and conjure you to obey the Emperor, to follow the Senats advice; to content the humours of the people; to keep your legiones, to make new conquests; to receive on the Throne the too happy Arricidea: and preserve the Empire which Fate promises, and birth gives you. But when to my prejudice you have satis­fied all the World, be so just as to remember, that Berenicea should by your only passion. If I obtain this favour from you, I shall depart with some pleasure Maugre all my sorrows: & so far from making impre­cationes against my Enemies, I shall make Vowes for their felicity, as I shall doe for your preservation. May you then O Titus, gain so many Victories as you give Battles? May you Reign over your people with as much Authority as clemency? May you be feared of all the Earth? May you have so much Glorie [...] you merit? May your Reign be as happy, as I am un­fortunate? In fine may you doe so many brave act­ions both by your excellent Vallour, and rare good­ness: That by consent of all Nations you may one day be called. The love and delight of mankind.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

THese wishes were too passionate, no to be èx­ [...]ushed, Titus, Was as great, and as much beloved, as Berenicia did wish: And if the si­nce of Historie deceive me not, she was his last passion, according to her desires, So that it may be said that she obtained all that she asked, though she parted from R [...]me and abandoned Titus.

PANTHEA TO CYRUS. THE NINTH HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

PAnthea Queen of Susania, being taken prison­er of War by the great Cyrus, was favour­ablie treated, in acknowledgement of which courtesie, she obliedged Abdradates her Hushand, to for sake the Lydeane partie, and joyn his Armes with those of this invincible Con­queror. But that mightie man of War, to signalise his gratitude and courage, asked permission from Cyrus to fight in the advance guards in the day of Battle: That glorious favour being granted to him, he did prodigious, things and so little spared himself, that he gained the Battle and loft his life. His body was brought back all covered with wounds to [...]he inconsolable Panthia: And Cyrus having gone to comfort her. or rather to hear a part of her affliction for a loss equal to them both, this sorrow­ [...]ll Princess spoke to him in these words.

PANTHEA TO CYRUS.

YOu see, O Great a [...] Generous Cyrus, what the Victorie hath cost you: Ab­dradates hath been the Victime, which has made the Gods Propitious to you His Bloud hath dy­ed the Laurels, which are wreathed about your head. He is dead in Crow­ning of you: And to speak trulie of the matter, Cyrus and Panthea, are rather the cause of his death, then the Lydeans Valor. Yes, Cyrus, your Generositie, his gratitude and mine, have put him in the deplorable condition that he is in. You see him all covered with his own bloud, and with that of your enemies. The great manie wounds he hath received over all his bodie, are certaine proof of what he gave to them who fought him. His mightie Courage, changed that of the Aegyptians into despair: And that Illustrious hand, which they have almost sepa­rated from his arm, (alace! what an object to Panthea!) makes it sufficientlie seen, that he quitted not his [Page 92]armes but by quitting his life. He was seen, Generous Cyrus, fight with such Ardencie, that it was said, that the gaining of that Battle, ought to put the Crown of the World upon his head. He hath retributed the ob­ligations I had from you, with his person, his blood, and his life: And in this manner, O invincible Cyrus, (as I have told you alreadie) your Generositie, his Gratitude and mine, have caused his death and my miserie. However I do not accuse you; I am too just to do that: On the contrate, I thank you kindlie, for offering your assistance to comfor me, I praise in you, O Cyrus, that Generous sentiment, which makes your shed tears, the verie day of your Victorie: And which makes you greive more for the death of your freind, then rejoice for the gaining of the Battle, and defait­ing all your enemies. But after I have done your Ver­tue this justice, suffer me, without either accusing you, or repenting me, to complain of the rig our of my fate, which owing the preservation of my honour to you, would oblidge me my self to expose my dear Abdradates to a fight, where multitudes made him Succumb. It was onlie for the love of me, that he abandoned Cresus forces: For though he had just enough cause not to serve him, the memorie of the dead King his Father, who loved him dearlie, made him not abandone the Son, though less Vertuous. But I no sooner made my obligations from you known to him, then he freelie offered to acquitt me with you, for so sensible an obligation. Your fame had former­lie disposed his heart, to consent to what I asked: And having alreadie esteemed you infinitlie, it was easie for him to love you. In fine, Cyrus, you know, he testi­fied at that time, great Gratitude to you, and great love to me. No, said he to me, Generous Panthea, Abdradates cannot be your Protectors enemie: He hath dried up your tears, and I must spend my blood in his service, he hath been carefull of your glorie, and my Valour must increase his: He hath lost a man whom he verie much loved, by Protecting you I ought to repaire that loss; And if it be possible, not let it be perceived in the day of Battle, that Araspes is not there. Yes, said he to me a loud, I shall loss my life, or I shall testifie to Cyrus, that they who receive [Page 93]benefits as they ought, are some times as generous as they who give them. Wo is me! Must I tell it, I never gain-said this discourse: And without apprehen­ding any fatall Event from so Noble an Intention, I praised his resolution and designe I thanked him for that, which was to become the cause of my supream mis­fortune; & contributing to my own unhappiness, I ex­cited his courage to do thins which have caused his death to day; And yet which will make him live Eter­nallie. O cruell Remembrance! O injustice of For­tune! of all the Conquerours, why should Abdradates onlie been overcome? And having so profitably shed his blood, for gaining of the Battle, why should he al­most have been the onlie one, who enjoyed not the Fruits of the Victorie? But it was not in this encounter alone, that I contributed to my own Disaster: So great was my blindness, that I expected that fatall day, like a day of Triumph: My spirit was filled with no­thing but hope; My imagination presented me with nothing but what was agreeable; I looked upon the conclusion of the fight. as the Commencement of my [...]: Me thought I saw, Abdradates returning all garnished with Palmes, and his Chariot overloaded with the spoils of his enemies: And in that considerati­on, I took more pains to make his Armour Glorious then strong. I knew Abdradates his Valor, but I did not also know Fortunes Malice. I had so much fear that his brave Actions, should not be sufficientlie known, that I employed all my Jewels, to make his Coat of Armour the more remarkable. But insensible that I am, what do I say? Doubtless I was in paction with his enemies: I was minded to show them where to strick: I was the cause of all the wounds that Abdradates re­ceived: It was I who peirced his heart: And covered all his bodie with blood and wounds, I guided all his Assailants hands: And as if it could not have been e­nough that the Generous did fight him, in emulation of his extraordinarie courage: I would also make the Avaritious and Mercenarie have the same designs. In fine, I armed all Cresus armie against him: Some on­lie by desiring to conquer a man, who seemed to be the God of War; And others by the Richness of the Bootie. It was my hand put on Abdradates his Ar­mour [Page 94]that cursed day: yes Generous Cyrus, I my self brought the cause of my ruine to him: and though in that very instant, a secret horrour seised me, which foretold my miserie. I despised a revelation, which was sent me by the Gods, and though I could not restain my teares, I was so unjust as to conceal them from my dear, Abdradates. Me thought it would be a robbing him of his heart, to testifie to him that I wanted one at such a time: But imprudent that I was? I ought to have showed him my Tears with all their bitterness: For I doubt not, If by my grief I had let him know, that my life depended upon the preservation of his; But he would have taken a little more care of himself then he did. He would have equallie considered your glorie and my life: But O Illustrious Cyrus, it seems at that time that I neither cared for that of Abdradates nor my own: For when I had made an end of arming him, and had led him to the Magnificent Chariot that waited for him; I did neither speak to him of himself nor of me; But Wholie of your obligations to me, I remembered him that when you might have used me as a slave, you treated me like a Queen that having had the misfortun of displeasing a man whom you loved better then your self, you was so generous, as to defend one from him; and that after so heroick an action: I pro­mised to you that he would be as faithfull and profi­table to you, as Araspes had been, Behold. Gener­rous Cyrus, what I said to my Dear Abradates, being readie to depart from me for the last time. And as his thought were never differing from mine, Would to the Gods (said he to me, putting his hand upon my head and lifting up his eyes to Heaven) That I may show my self to day as a deserving friend to Cyrus, and as a husband worthie of Panthea. And having so said he left me; And looking upon me so long as it was possible when he was in the Charriot, he commanded his Po­stilion to drive. And being depryved of embracing my dear Abdradates any more, all I could do was, to kiss the outside of the Chaire wherein he did sit. Adiew, Would I have said to my dear Abdradates; When an excesive greiefe, which surprised me all at once did hinder me. And although the Charriot [Page 95]did begin to goe away from me, I did not forbear to follow it: But when Abdradates perceived it: Goe (said he to me) generous Panthea, expect my return with hopes of seeing me a [...]one, Woe is me? I did not then know, that the Charriot whose magnificence atracted the eyes of all its beholders, and which seemed to have been made for a day of Triumph; would be Abdradates his coffine: However I did no sooner lose sight of him, when my waiting women having put me in my Litter, and brought me back to my Aunt: I ceased to hope, and began to fear, My imagi­nation, which till then had entertained me with Crowns and victories, then presented nothing to my view but dooleful objects: and according to the acount is given me of the business I saw in my Melancholie, revenge all that hath befallen my dear Abdradates, Yes Cyrus, I saw him in the front of the Battle, im­patient to shed his blood for your glorie. I saw him furiouslie repulse the Lydeanes; I saw him break the Battalions he attacked: I saw him give Death where­soever he carried his Arm, pursuing his flying ene­mies, covering the fields with dead bodies: and in my Vision, me thought I saw his Chariot condu­ted by Victorie. But alace! That apparition was quicklie defaced by an other? I saw of a sudden that that which should have oblidged Abdradates his soul­diers to stick close to him, made them abandone him. The great dangers wherein he did cast himself, daunted his followers courage, and augmented that of the Egyptianes. I saw him abandoned by the most part of his Suoldiers, and invelopped among his ene­mies. yet I saw him make bright day thorow the lances, the darts and the javelie of them he did assaulte [...] saw him like in l [...]ghting among the ranks: Overthrew all that he encountered: Break the Chariots that opposed him: Kill the men who drove them, attaque and defend himself at once: And in fine conquer all that withstood his Valour. But after he had with his own hand erected a trophy to your and his own glorie and had taught your Souldiers, which way they should obtain the victorie. After (I say) he had covered all the fields with blood, dead bodies, broken armes, and Chariots dashed to peices: These same men [Page 96]whom he had killed, These Armes which he had brok­en, and these verie Chariots which he destroyed: Did (O Cyrus shall tell it) overturn that of my Abdradates. If he had conquered fewer enemies, he had not been overcome: They whom he had surmounted, were more fatal to him, then they he had to fight: But in fine I saw Abdradates oppressed by the croud, I saw him all overwounded, disputing for his life, even to the last drop of his blood! O terrifying vision! I saw him fall dead, and a dying conqueror them who caused him dye, and in effect, O Cyrus, you know that your Souldiers fought better to have the dood bodie of Abdradates, then they did to save Abdradates his life. Judge what condition could my Soul be in dureing such a lamentable sight: But that was nothing in com parison of what I suffered, when I saw Abdradates his Chariot return all loaded with the spoiles of his enemies: And above that fa [...]all Trophie, the body of that Illustrious Heros all covered with wounds, pale, dead, and bleeding, O Cyrus! O Panthea! O doleful victorie! What object to my eyes! And what grief to my soul! It is so great, that I wonder it hath not alreadie de­prived me of all sorrow, everie thing I see Tor­ments me, and everie thing I think of makes me dispair, for Cyrus, when the unlawful passion of Araspes. gave me cause to complain; If I had then had my recourse to Death, I had preserved Abdradates his life I had secured my honor, And you should not have had cause to accuse a man who was beloved of you I should have altogether satisfied my husband, my own glory, and the great Cyrus I owed him that respect not to have complained of his favorite and if I had been rationall, death should have hindred my complai­nts then, And my tears to day. But fate had other­wise resolved it: Would t the Gods in so sad as ad­venture, that as Abdradates showed himself, a husband worthie of Panthea and worthy of Cyrus, his friendship I may also manifest to posterity, that Panthea was a wife worthy of Abdradates; And that she was not unworthie of Cyrus his protection. I well per­ceive. O excellent Prince, by the many sacrifices that are prepared, and by the magnificent ornaments; [Page 97]That are brought to me upon your account: That you design to make the obsequies of my dear Abdradates, such as are suitable to this Illustrious Conqueror: But because his Glorie is the onlie thing, that I ought to care most for; O great Cyrus, let Posteritie know, by a Glorious Monument, and by true Inscriptions, what Abdradates was. Eternise altogether, your glo­rie, his, and my unhappiness. The Gold and the Marble which you will make use of in it, will not be unprofitable to you: And the Tomb which you cause build, to Immortalise Abdradates, shall make your self immortall. There are more People who can do a brave action, then give account of it themselves: Who can acknowledge and publish it as it ought to be. Have not that Jealousie, which Glorie gives to the most Illustrious: And believe that if You take care of that of Abdradates, the Gods will also take care of yours. The blood which he has lost for you, merits me thinks this gratitude: Nor shall I doubt my obtain­ing what I desire of you. I see that you consent to me; And that I have no sooner thought of my request, but your goodness oblidges me to thank you. However I have another yet to ask of you: It is, O Illustrious Cyrus, that without hastening the doolfull Pomp of my dear Abdradates, I may be yet suffered a while to wash his wounds with my tears. All the Vi­ctims that are necessare for appeasing his Ghost, are not yet in that order they should be: O Cyrus, let them not then be pressed: I shall not make them wait long, my last fare-wells shall be quicklie said. And moreover, it is verie just that since he died for me, I shed so manie tears as he did drops of blood: And since I ought to see him no more in this World, I may enjoy the sight of him so long as it is possible for me. Yes Cyrus, that lamentable and most pittifull object, is the onlie good I have re­maining. It is both my despare and comfort: I can­not see it without dying, and perhaps I shall die how soon I am deprived of seeing it any more. Wherefore I [...] you that I be not pressed: And because you [...]tyed me to tell you into what place I would go; I promise to you, that you shall quickly know the place that I shall choose for my retirement.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

ALace! This beautifull and sad Queen, was but too true: For scarcelie had she deceived Cyrus, by making him believe that she was capable to live after the death of Abdra­dates; (And that Generous deceipt was the issue of her Harrangue) but she choose her retiring place; I mean her husbands Tomb. I say Cyrus was not well gone from her, but she plunged a Poiniard in her heart, and expired upon the dead body of Abdradates. This Generous monarch was incredibly greived: And to eternise the memorie of these two rare persons, and his own gratitude with them; He builded for them a Glo­rious Monument: Where manie ages after his, the Marble and the Brass, declared the Vertues of Panthea, and the Valor of Abdradates: And the River Pactose which is there represented, upon whose banks this Tom was builded, seems to tell that she esteems their Reliques more precious, then all the Gold that rolles on her sands.

AMALASONTHA TO THEODATES. THE TENTH HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

A Malasontha daughter of Theodorick the great, Reigned after the death of Eutharick her Husband, eight years in Italie with a marvollous Splendor dureing the minority of Athalarick her Son. But this young Prince being dead, whither it was that she would discharge her self partlie of state affairs; Or that she believed the Goths were desirous of a King; She placed upon the Throne Theodates, Son of Amalfreda, Sister to Theodorick her Father: Yet with intention to partake of the Soveraign Authoritie with him. But this ungrate man, had the Scepter no sooner in his hand, then he banished this great Princess: Who immediatly upon her departure, did express her self in these words.

AMALASONTHA TO THEODATES.

HAve you forgot, Theodates, which way you was conducted to the Throne? Have you forgot how you received that Crown which you carrie? Have you forgot of whom you hold that Scepter which I see in your hands? And that absolute power which I so cruellie have tri­all of to day; Did it come to you by your Valor? Was it given you by the Laws of this Kingdome? Or by the depopulation of all the Goths? Have you conquered that great Extent of Earth, which acknowledges your Authoritie? Are you either Conqueror; Usurper, or Legittimate King? Answer everie thing Theodates: Or at least let me answer for you: Because if I be not de­ceived, you cannot make it for your advantage: And I am more indulgent then to oblidge you, to tell anie thing that would be irkesome to you. They who de­sire not to acknowledge a benefit, can have no greater punishment then to be forced to publish it: Wherefore I will not constrain you, to avouch from your own mouth, that neither by right of Birth, nor of a Con­querour, nor by that of our Lawes, could you while I am alive have anie pretensions to the Kingdom of the Gothes: Because I was in possession of it, as Daughter, Wife, and Mother of them whose in was; And who left it to me after them, as their lawfull Heiress. Nor are you ignorant that you are born my Subject: And that you would have still been so; If by a verie extra­ordinare goodness, I had not descended from the [Page 102]Throne to conduct you to it. However after I had taken the Crown from off my own head to give it you; After I had deposited my Scepter in your hands, and was re­solved to make a King of your Person: After all that it was, seen that I had much ado, to make the Gothes obey you; It was seen (I say) that the first things you did, was to recall to the Court, all them whom I had banished for their crimes: And after you had chosen my greatest enemies for your principall Ministers. Theo­dates. That same Theodates, whom Amalasontha Daugh­ter of Theodorick the great, had made a King: Whom she by her own hand had Crowned; And to whom as a manefest proof of her power, she demitted the Regall authoritie, unjustlie exilles her, who gave him the power of banishing her. O Heavens! Is it possible to see the like ungratitude among men? And is it also pos­sible that Amalasontha hath made so bad a choise? No Theodates I am not like you: I will not condemn you without hearing: You must certainlie have some reason for hateing and banishing of me. What did I against you while you was my Subject? Or what have I done against you, since I have made you a King? I remember verie well in the time you was under my morigiration; And when I had the power of punish­ing, or rewarding you; I verie well remember, that multitudes of Tuscanes, having come to complain to me, of the violences your avarice made you commit against them, I remember (I say) that being angrie no see you guiltie of a passion, unbefiting Theodoricks Nephew; I used all my endeavours to make you com­prehend, that such desires, were base and unjust. It is true I oblidged you to restore things, which did not belong to you: But it is also true that I did nothing but what reason and equitie would have me do, I know I told you at that time, that avarice was the infallible sign of a mean Spirit: That almost all covetous People were cowards: That they who so pationatlie desire to heap up Treasures, take but little care to acquire Glo­rie: And in fine, that Avarice for the most part was alwaies the companion of ungratitude. See Theodates, what I have done against you: I have endeavoured to correct a wicked inclination, with which you was born: But do you know Theodates, what was then my intenti­on? [Page 103]I thought of putting a Crown upon your head: I thought of giving my Subjects no cause to reproach you, when you should become their King: I thought to hinder them from fearing, that you would be their Tyrran, rather then Soveraign: And that they should not apprehend, that he who had alreadie usurped their Fortunes, when he was but a Subject like them­selves, would not intirelie Ruine them, when he should be their Master. Behold Theodates, the true cause of the sharpness of that Reprimand, which hath infused that hatred in your Soul against me. Nevertheless, I wonder, that having spent the most part of your life, in studying Platos Philosophie you should take it ill, to be corrected by anie bodie. They who so carefullie learn Wisdom, should me thinks practise it: And I cannot think it strange enough, that you should so well remember, the reprehension I gave you, and not remember more what I have done for you. When I resolved your Coronation, I did it not rashlie, I consi­dered what you was; I endeavoured to foresee, what you would one day be. I found two inclinations in you which did not please me: The first was that ne­gligence, which you alwaies have had of warlike affairs: And the second, that insatiable desire, of acquiring everie day new Riches. Yet I thought that the one would oblidge you to be wise. And for the other, I thought that a man who believed his avarice could be satisfied, with usurping three or four foot of ground from his Neighbours; Would be cured of that infam­ous passion when I gave him a Kingdom. I believed (I say) that when that avarice wanted an object it would at least become a Noble ambition; That you would thereafter take as much care to merit the Fortune I had given you, as you have alwaies had to purchase new. Treasures; And I believed in fine, that of a covetous and sloathfull Subject, I should make a prudent and understanding King. But I should have also thought, that he who could not endure Neighbours at his Con­trey house; And who was so unjust, to augment his Limits by paces; I say, I might have verie well thought, that a man of that humor, would never resolve to par­tage a Throne with me. Trulie Theodates, I do not at all think, that you have well excogitated what you do, [Page 104]for is it possible, after I have given you a great King­dom; After I have made you Master of the Gothes and all Italie? That you can appoint for the place of my banishment, that little Island of Bolsina, scituated in the middle of a lake, where there is hardlie place for a small Castle? No, Theodatts, let us not disguise the truth: The place of my banishment, should be rather called my prison, or rather perhaps my Tomb. May be I shall there find my Executioners, thinking to find my guards: And it may also be, that in this verie time I am speaking to you, You are vexed at the length of my discourse, because by it the fatall moment of my death is postponed. However, you are not yet in condition to accomplish the crime which you are readie to commit: Consider Theodates, what you are undertaking, Perhaps my death may cost you your life. Eternise then your name some other way then by un­gratitude: do not begin your reign with an unjust acti­on: And if it be possible, let your repenting for a wicked design, make you undertake better. Consider if I had not been willing to have you reign, I should not have made you a King: And that it be not thought, that I did set you upon the Throne, but to preci­pitate you from it. Wherefore, what do you appre­hend of me? Or to say better, what should you not fear, if you exill me? Do you think that the Gothes and Italians, will endure without murmuring, the Daughter of Theodorick, to be unworthilie treated, by a man whom they do hate so much alreadie, when he was but her Subject? That secret hatred which they have to you, will appear how soon they can find a pre­text for it: They will equalie think of revenging the abuse done to me, and also themselves: And in that manner, without Amalasonthas contributing to your Ruine, she shall not forbear to overthrow the Throne whereon she hath placed you. The injurie you do to me, doth not reach me onlie, all the Princes of the Earth ought to be concerned with it: And if I be not deceived, you have Neighbours, who under the Title of Protectors of innocence, or revengers of my death, shall make incursions into some parts of your Domini­ons. If Fortune had otherwaies treated me, That I had lost the Throne in some other manner, Had my [Page 105]Subjects revolted; Had the Emperour Justinian made War against me; Had Bellisarius conquered me; Or had any other conquerors usurped my Kingdom; I should have been the more easilie comforted: But to see that by my own hand, the Crown is taken from me, to give it to my persecutor; Is that which puts a stand to my Constancie, and all my Vertue. Ha! Theodates! Can you see Amalasontha, at the foot of the same Throne where I have formerlie seen you, as my Subject, as a Cri­minal, and as a Supplicant? Can you (I say) see me there, unjstlie condemned to perpetual banishment? Without having done anie other crime in all my life, but that I gave you the Soveraign Power? Perhaps that is the cause why Heaven punishes me: It would revenge upon me all the injustices you wil commit; And make me myself experimently feel that, which doubtless you will make others undergo. However because my Intentions were most sincere; I cannot repent me of what I have done for you: But since I am so Generous as not to repent me of a good action; Be you also so just as to repent of a wick­ed design: And if you will not do it for love to me, let it be done for love to your self. Ungratitude is a Popular vice, which hath never been seen upon the Throne but with Monsters: And as liberaltie and gra­titude are the true Vertues of Kings; Avarice and un­gratitude, are vices which they should never be capable of. They are the distributors of benefits, and rewards: That which is avarice in the heart of a Subject, should be Prodigality, in him and that which is ungratitude, should be Ambition in the Soul of a Soveraign. Yes Theodates, a King may be ambitious and prodigall, without being dishonored: But he can never be either covetuous, or ungrate, without being the object of his Subjects dis­dain, and without being execrable to Posteritie. Doubtless your Books have taught you what I say, and what onlie experience hath taught me; But you think if I be not mistaken, that it is easier to make a fine discourse then to do a brave action. It is not that the way to Vertue is defficile, if the inclinations be Noble: On the caontrare, it brings its reward along with it; And the pleasure of doing well, is the more agreeable Value. But that which gives you the trouble of bring­ing your self to it, is that all your inclinations are against [Page 106]you. You cannot be just, without fighting against yourself: you cannot be thankfull, without betray­ing your thoughts: you cannot be liberall without tearing your heart: And to say all in one word, you cannot follow vertue without abandoning your self. Yet consider, Theodates that you have but one enemy to subdue: Undertake that War if you believe me, and be assured it will be glorious to you. You need besiedge no Cittie; You need give no Battle: You have not Incommodious Voyage to undergo; You need not exhaust your so much beloved Treasures, to raise armes; You need not hazard your life on that oc­casion; You need not go into a far countrey to seek your enemies; You need not disturb that profound repose, you so much delight in; For in fine, without going out of your closet, you may find in yourself, your ad­versarie and defender. Your inclinations will oppose your reason; But if your will do but join with the juster party, and if you will stronglie dispute the Victorie; You shall no sooner design the Conquest, but you shall be Victorious: Or to explain my self more clearlie, you shall no sooner be resolved to abandone vice: and em­brace Vertue, but you shall be Vertuous. perhaps you will say to me, that this Civill War, which will pass without anie witnesses but your self, will not be glorious to you. because it will not be known: But think not Theodates, that Vertue is a thing that can be hidden. You shall not sooner be of its partie, but all the Earth shal know it. You shall gather no more Treasures, but to enrich your Subjects: You shall not let your self be ob­lidged, but to reward them who Oblidge you: You shall reign over your People, with as much Equitie as Clemencie, you shal behold inveneration by all the Prin­ces your Neighboures: You shall no more banish Ama­lasontha: And your name shall be glorious, in all Ages to come. Behold Theodates, what Victorious fruits you may reap, which does not at all depend upon the caprice of Fortune, nor of the chance of armes: It is absolutlie in your power. But to leave you the free­dom, of assaulting and conquering this enemie, whom I have Crowned; I withdraw, and does yeeld all the glorie of the Combate to your self.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

THis discourse wrought effects in Theodates his person; But not such as Amalasontha expected. This Monster of ungratitude and crueltie, would not so much let himself be moved by the tears of that Queen, as to remember the obligations he had from her: And because he was ashamed to see her, he hastned her Departure. Yet his inhumanity dallyed not: For some few dayes after, he induced them who were enemies to the Vertues of that great princess, to go and kill her with a P [...]yniard in her Prison. but this did not pass unpunished: He did not long enjoy the fruits of his crimes: He lost the Scepter and his Life: And to speak Rationallie, his death was the Effect of this Harrangue: Which in fine, armed his just revengers against him.

LUCRETIA TO COLLATINUS. THE ELEVENTH HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

THis Harrangue hath need of no Argument: And none are ignorant that when the young Traquin ravished Lucretia, she neither concealled his crime, nor her own misfor­tune! She told both the one and the other to her husband: And to excit his revenge, she made ap­pear to him the abuse that was done to her, With all the Circumstances that could aggravat it. Though there have been severall ages since this accident hapned, and that it is almost as old, as ancient Rome: It cannot yet be decided, if she did well in killing her self after her misfortune, [...] as she had not done better, to have let Tarquin kill her, and died innocent, though she had not been believed so, Reader, hear her Reasons, and because her case is ex­posed to the eyes of all the Vniverse, and that all men an her judges; Give your vote after so manie; And make use of a priviledge, which every one hath acquired: But because she is going to speak, do not condemn her without hearing.

LUCRETIA TO COLLATINUS.

WO is me! Can Lu­cretia possiblie seo Collatinus, without dareing to call him her husband? Yes. Reason will have it, and I will not op­pose it. No, Col­latinus, I am no more your Wife: I am an unhappie creature, whom the indignation of the Gods hath chosen, to be the object of the most horrid Tirranie, that ever was heard of. I am no more that Lucretia, whose Vertue charmed you more then her beautie: I am an unfortunate Soul, which an others crime hath made culpable. But to oblidge me to speak with Tranquil­litie to you in so great a trouble; Swear to me, that you will revenge the abuse I have received. Let me see desires of Vengeance in your eies: Show me the Poigniard, which should obliterate the injurie that was done to me: ask arduouslie the Tirrans name from me. But alace can I tell it? Yes. Lucretia, for your vindi­cation and chastisement, thou must to day, be alto­gether [Page 112]thy accuser, thy witness, thy partie, thy defender, and thy judge. Know then, Collatinus, that that Lu­cretia, who did ever love her honor, better then her life, or yours; Whose chastitie was alwayes without blemish; The puritie of whose Soul is incorruptible; Hath suffered in your place, a base, an infamous Person the son of a Tirran, and a verie Tirran himself. Yes, Collatinus, the perfidious Tarquin, whom you cal­led your friend, when you brought him to me the first time that I had seen him; (and would to the Gods it had been the last day of my life?) That Traitor, I say, hath made Triumph of Lucretias chastity. By despising his own Glorie, he hath lessened yours, by having absolutlie benighted mine; Aud by a crueltie which never had example, he hath reduced me, to the most deplorable condition, that Woman whose whole inclinations are Noble, could ever see. I per­seive Generous Collatinus, that my discourse astonishes you; And that you are in pain to believe what I say: Yet it is a certain truth. I am witness and asociate of Lucretias crime. Yes Collatinus though I am yet alive I am not innocent: Yes my Father, your daughter is guiltie, for having survived her glorie: Yes, Brutus, I merit the hatred of all my Neighbours: And when I have commited no other crime, but the giving love to a cruell Tirran, who by the abuse he hath done to me; hath altogether violated the Laws of men of fri­endshp, offended the Roman People, and despised the Gods; It is enough to merit the hatred of all the World. Wo is me! Is it possible, that Lucretia could inspire such base thoughts; that her fatal beautie could kindle a flame, which should be her own destruction? And that her looks which were so innocent, could give such criminall desires? But what is thy wonder, in­sensible that thou art! Rather wonder that thou did not tear thy heart, before thy great misfortune. Then was the time Lucretia wherein you should have testified courage, and the love that you had to Glorie You should have then died innocent; Your life would have been spotless; and without question the Gods would have [...]een carefull of your reputation. Butinfine the busi­fiess is not so. I am unhappie, unworthie to fee the right; Unworthie of being Spurius Lucretius his [Page 113]Daughter; Unworthie of being Collatinus his Wife; And unworthie of being a Roman. Now Collatinus I ask of you, what punishment Lucretia deserves, Deprive her of your affection: Blot her our of your Remembrance. Revenge the abuse that has been done to her, onlie for love to your self, and not out of love her. Look upon her no more but as infamous: And though her misfortune be extream, deny her that compassion, which is had of all that are miserable. But nevertheless, if it were permitted me, after I have spoken against my self, to say some what in my de­fence; I would say Collatinus, without contradicting truth; That I have not obscured my Glorie, but by having loved Glorie too well. Tarquins cajolleries, did not touch my heart. His passion gave me none: His presents did not at all suborn my fidelitie: Nor love nor ambition brangled my Soul: And if I desired to speak for my self, I can onlie say, that I loved my Reputation too much. Yes Collatinus, Lucretias crime was that she preferred fame to true Glorie. When the insolent Tarquin came into my Chamber; I being awaked saw a Poiginard in his hand; And having brought it to my Throat to hinder my out-cries, he began to speak of a passion he had for me; The Gods knows what were then my thoughts; And if death appeared terrible to me. In that condition I equallie despised the praiers and threats of the Tyrran: His demands and offers were equallie rejected: Neither love nor fear, had anie place in my Soul: Death did not affright me, And so far from apprehending, I manie times desired it. My Vertue had nothing to fight against at that time: I was not pendulous to preser death to the Tyrrans love: And I know no horrid pain, which I would not have joyfullie endured, to have preserved my honour. But when my coustancie had wearied the Tirrans patience: That he saw neither his praiers, tears, presents, pro­mises, threats, nor death it self could move my heart: That Barbarian, inspired by the furies, said it I resist­ed his desires anie longer, he would not onlie kill me; But to make me infamous to Posteritie, he would [...] slave who accompanied him: To the end that [...] him dead in my bed, it should be thought that I [...] forgot my honour for that slave, and that he wing [...] [Page 114]zeal to you, had punished us, as being guiltie of that crime. I avouch with shame, that that discourse wrought on my Spirit, what the certaintie of death could not do: I lost strength and reason; I yeelded to the Tirran; And the fear of being thought infamous, is the onlie thing that made me so. No, Collatinus, I cannot endure that Lucretia should be accused, to have failled in her honour: That the memorie of it was eternallie blasted: And thinking that she should be execrable to you, hindered her from dying at that instant, and makes her live till now. I did all things to oppose the Tyrrans violences, except killing my self. I desired to live, that I might preserve my Re­putation, and that I should not die unrevenged: And a false image of true Glorie, taking possession of my heart; made me commit a crime, which I feared to be accused of. However the Gods are my witnesses, that my Soul and desires are whollie pure, my con­sent contributed nothing to that doolefull accident, neither in the beginning, progress nor end of it. You know, Generous Collatinus, that when you brought the Tirran as your Friend, I was not voluntarlie the cause of his unjust passion; I scarce lifted up my eies to look upon him: And that Illustrious Victorie, which my Modestie gained to you that day, should make you suf­ficientlie remember, that I have not drawn upon my self, the misfortune that is befallen me. After that, I did not see the treacherous Tarquin, untill that dis­mall day, wherein he made prise of Lucretia. Vertue. But what do I say? Tirrans have no power over the will, I am yet the same Lucretia who so much loved glorie; Because it is certain that mine is altogether innocent. The tears which flow from my eies, are not the effects of my remorse: I repent not for the fault I have commit­ted, but onlie that I died not before that of another. We were two in the crime, and but one Criminall: And my conscience does check me of nothing, but my having preferred my reputation and revenge, to a Glorious death. That which hath caused my misfor­tune, is that I believed the Glorie of my death would not be known: I doubted the equitie of the Gods at that time: And without remembering that they do miracles when they please, and that they are protectors [Page 115]of innocence; I have lived longer then I ought because I have survived my chastitie. Think not Collatinus, that I will diminish my crime to appease your furie; I see in your eies more splen against Tarquin then hatred to Lucretia: Doubtless you rather pittie then accuse me, and all the former actions of my life, assist to vindicate me in your heart. And moreover, as I have said alreadie, though I am unwillinglie guiltie, yet I consent that Collatinus do love me no more. I speak not this to flatter you; But onlie to carrie you the more ardentlie on to revenge. Me thinks, in vindicateing my self, I make the Tirran the more odious: The more innocent I appear, the more guiltie he seems: The more unhappie I am, the more he deserves to be, and the more tears I shed, the more blood you should make him shed. Behold, Collatinus, the cause of my discourse, of my tears and of my life. Let me not be said to have lived infamous to no purpose: Think of revenge, Generous Collatine, consider what you are, and what your enemie is, or to speak better the pub­lick enemie. You are a Roman, you are Vertuous, you are Noble; And if I dare also say so, you are Lu­cretias husband. But for him he is of a strange race, he is the son, and Grand-Son of Tyrrans. The Proud Tarquin. you know, mounted not the Throne, but by pulling a Vertuous Prince from it, whose Daughter he married. The Scepter which he holds, cost the life of him who formerlie carried it: And to secure himself in his dominions, he has committed more crimes, then he hath subjects. Behold Collatinus, who is the Father of my ravisher. If I be not deceived his mother does not make him more considerable: For in fine, I cannot be live, that the son of the infam­ous Tullia who dared to drive her Chariot over her Fathers bodie, that she might arrive at the Throne she aspired to; Had not so manie enemies at Rome, as there are Vertuous men in it. And more over, the Vertue of Sextus Tarquinius, did not deface the crimes of his predecessors: The best action that he did, was the betraying a great manie People, who trusted in him. Behold Collatinus, what an enemie you sis, go then, go and assault him couragiouslie. You shall no sooner speak of the abuse he hath done to me, but you [Page 116]shall have all the Romans on your side. It shall be both a Generall and Particular quarell to them: They will be feared for their Wives; Their Daughters; And their Sisters: They shall all look upon the treacherous Tarquin as their enemie: And if their yet remain anie who will follow him, they will certainly be cowardly & esteminate, whom it wil be no hard matter to overcome. The Senate waits but a pretext to declare themself: The People are wearie of carrieing chaines: They will seek a hand to unbind them: And the equitie of the gods shall favour your partie, You shall see that the Tirrans verie Relations, shall tear the Crown from off his head. Yes I see Brutus listening to me, with in­tention to revenge my abuse: Doubtless he will follow you, in such a generous design: And if the confidence whsch I have of Heaven deceive me not, I alreadie see the Proud Tarquin chased out of Rome; His infamous Son die by some unknown hand; And all bloodie fall in the dust. (For I doubt if the gods will suffer him to die by so Illustrious a hand as yours.) Yes Collatinus, the Victorie is yours, I alreadie see all his Souldiers revolt, and all the Citizens mutiny. Hatred to the Tirran, and desire of libertie, shall equallie press them: And would to the gods, that I may be the Victime, to obtain from their goodness, my countreys libertie. Yes Collatine all the Souldiers who are in his camp, who fight to day under his colours, shall become worse ene­mies to him, then they of Ardea whom he now be­sidges. Go then and make my misfortune known over all: And believe Collatine, that you shall not pub­lish my crime, but onlie that of Tarquin. And more­over, I am verie certain, not to hear, what the People will say: For having been my own accuser, my wit­ness, my partie, and my defender; I must be also my judge and Executioner. Yes Collatinus I must die: Do not tell tell me then, that because my inclinations are innocent, I ought to live, that I might have the pleasure of seeing how you revenge my injuries It is enough that you promise me: And therefore I can sweetlie die; But I can have no pleasure in life. There is a Lucretia within me whom I cannot endure: I must separate from her, she is insupportable to me; I can­not see her; I cannot suffer, her; I owe herblood to [Page 117]the others justification, and to the revenge which you will take, When the Roman people shall see Lucretia killed by her own hand, because she would not sur­vive her misfortune; They will the more easilie be­lieve, that a Woman who loved glorie, better then life, was not capable, willinglie to loss it. That last action shall justifie all mine: The blood which I shall shed, will beget Souldiers to you, to help your punish­ing the Tirran: And in this manner, I my self shall assist to my revenge. My tears shall doubtless have some effect: And moreover, though I am unhappie, I dare believe that my death will trouble you. Yes Collatinus, Yes my Father, you shall be sensible of my death: And finding your selves oblidged both toge­ther to revenge the honor, and life of your Wife, and Daughter; You shall be the more irritated against the Tirran. Say not to me that my death is use-less, or that it will be evillie explicated. No, they who judge sincerlie of affairs, will not take it for the effect of my crime: Remorse doth ordinarlie shed more tears, then blood: And if I be not mistaken death is the re­medie of the generous or desperat. Repentance is alwaies a sign of weakness: And whosoever is capable of having it, may live after they have f [...]lled. I have the Authoritie of all ages for me; Which lets it appear, that almost everie day, they who have emploied their hands against their own life, do it onlie to dissapoint Fortunes crueltie. To shun a shamofull death; Or to hinder themselves from being slaves and not for their punishment. When we have erred, we are alwaies fa­vorable judges to our selves: And there are few people who condemn themselves to death. Let none tell me then, that the blood which I shall shed, will rather ble­mish my life, then deface what the Tirran hath done to it. No, Collatin, my intention is too pure, and the gods are too just, to suffer all men to be unjust to me. I die not through remorse, or despair, I die with reason. I have told you what causes I have, do not then oppose my design, for you cannot hinder it. Think of ven­geance and not of my preservation: Because the one may be glorious to you, and the other will be unpro­fitable. Further, Lucretias example shall perswade the Roman Ladies never to survive their glorie: I must [Page 118]vindicate the esteem, that they alwaies had of my vertue. I owe the loss of my life to my own glorie; To that of my countrey; To that of Spurius Lucretius; And to that of Collatin. But as I shall do what I ought at this time, do you the like after my death. Forget nothing to revenge me; employ Sword, Fire, and Poison: All violences are lawfull against Ʋsurpers: Policy must be joyned to force, when valoris not suf­ficient to destroy. Consider the justness of your cause; Remember Lucretias chastitie; The love that you ever had for her; And that which she had for you. Never for­get the passion which she alwaies had for glorie: And her continuall hatred to vice. Believe her to be more unhappie then guiltie: And from all those things Ge­nerous Collatine, frame in your heart an irreconciliable hatred to the Tirran. But not to delay anie longer such a Noble revenge; Go, Collatine go; I end this doole­full discourse, with ending my life: And behold the dagger which I hold, whereby to punish my self, where­by to revenge you, and wherewithall to show you, how the Tirrans heart must be perirced.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

THe Effect of this Harrangue, was the flight of Tar­quine, the banishment of his Father, the loss of his Kingdom, and the beginning of the Roman Reipublick. It cost Lucretias ravisher both life & crown: And never was crime better punished: Never was an outrage better re­venged. The death of that chaste unfortunate, put armes in the hands of a great manie People: Her blood pro­duced such effects as she expected: And the name of Tar­quin was so odious to all the World, that being unable to endure it in the Person of one of them who had been assist­ing to banish the Tyrrans he was oblidged to change it.

VOLUMNIA TO VIRGILIA. THE TWELTH HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

AFter that Coriolanus by his Mothers intreatie, had made peace with Rome, he caused the ar­mie of the Volsques return to their countrey; And would have that People experiment the Generositie of his action. But Tullus who loved him not, because he had been formerlie overcome by him, while they were of acontrare partie, Suscitated some seditious People, whowhen he was desirous to vin­dicate himself in the publick Assemblie, did hinder him to speak and at last killed him amidst the tumult. This newes being brought to Rome, all the Ladies of the Cittie suddenlie repaired to the Mother and Wife of that gene­rous enemie: And the first taking in hand the diseourse, did immediatlie speak to them in this manner, if the conjectures of Historie deceive [...] a not.

VOLUMNIUA TO VIRGILIA.

LOok upon me no more Virgilia, as the Mother of Cori­lanus your husband, I am unworthie of that name; You should in Reason [...]ate me as much as formerlie that unfortunate Herods Loved me. Re­member that fa­mous day wherein I employed my tears to dis-arme him: I weeped, I cried, I comman­ded; And I forgot nothing that could make a Generous Son flexible. I begged favour for the ungrate; I took part with Coriolanus his enemies: and though the Victo­rie was so certain to him, that he was readie to be re­venged of his banishers; And held in chains almost all them who did abuse him; That great heart which nothing could have moved, was at last by his mother: I did overcome in him the conquerour of Rome: And to my misfortune I obtained all that I asked of him. You know it Virgilia, as well as I; Nor do I remember; all those things, but for redoubling my griefe. Alace! Me thinks I still hear the voice of Coriolanus! When he had thrown down his armes, to come and embrace me, he cried out with sight, O Mother what have you done [Page 122]to me! You have gained a Victorie verie Glorious for your self, and verie happie for your countrey; But most [...]isfortunate for your Son. Wo is me Virgilia this dis­course was but too true! For these same armes which he threw down to come to me, were emploied against him. Then did the Volsques take the Daggers in their hands, which they plunged in his heart: It was I made them undertake that design: I was of that conspi­racy against him: For after I had surmounted my Son, I delivered him all unarmed as he was, into the hands of his enemies. Ah insensible that I was, could I think that it would be other waies! Was I mother of all the Volsques, to believe that for love to me they would yeeld the Victorie which they were readie to obtain? What right had I to ask from them the libertie of their enemie Rome. Should not I have thought, that they would revenge upon my Son, that loss which I caused to them? Ah yes! Virgilia, I ought to have considered all those things: And if Coriolanus could not return to Rome, I ought at least to have been com­panion with him in his dishonour: And as he did over­come his resentments in consideration of me, I should have quit my countrey for love of him. However we did not use him so: I did let Coriolanus depart environed with them who caused him loss his life: And I return­ed to Rome as in Triumph, to enjoy the fruits of that fatall Victorie. When at our return the Senate asked of us what recompence we would have for our action, we ought, Virgilia to have desired the return of Corio­lanus; And not as we did, permission to build a Temple to Feminine Fortune: It well appears, that that Divinitie hath not approved of our zeal; Because it is so much a­gainst us. The gods would have certainlie been the more agreeable, that we had been thankfull to Coriolanus: The Temple which is builded for us, is the effect of our vanitie, and not of our gratitude: We sought our own glorie, and not that of our liber­ator: Though to speak truelie he merited it better then we: It was to the vertues of my Son, and not to our own that we should have erected Altars: And he who could surpass his resentments; Deliever his countrey; And yeeld the Victorie to his Mothers tears, without doubt meritted better then we, the honor which is done [Page 123]to us. Me thinks his pietie should have had a more Favourable treatment from Heaven: For though there be some Romans so unjust, as to say that Coriola­nus should not have quitted his armes, but onlie for his countreys sake, and not for mine: And consequentlie bewrayed more feebleness then generositie, in that action; I am not of their opinion; And I hope posteri­ty will be of mine. That strong passion which birth inspires in them, who have a compleat Soul, is not caused by the Situation of the places where they were born: The same Sun gives light to all the Universe: We enjoy the Elements everie where: And if they have no stronger reason then that, certainlie it will be verie weak. But that which makes us love our countrey, is because the Citizens, are all our Relations or Allyes. The interest of blood, or that of civill Societie, links us to them: The Religion, Lawes, Customes which we have common, makes our interests be common: But the first sentiment that nature gives to them who love their countrey; Is to love it cheiflie, because their Fathers, their Mothers, their Brothers, their Sisters, and their Relations are in it. Yes, I am verie certain, that the most zealous of all the Romans, returning to Rom, after along journey will not so soon look to the Capitoll, as to that place of the Town where his Mother or Wife dwelleth: Wherefore then, let ne [...]e wonder anie more, that Coriolanus would yeeld to none but to my tears: For to whom among the Romans, should he have been rendered? All who were sent to him did abuse him; He did not see in anie of them the mark of a true Roman: They were all ungrate to him: He could not in them acknowledge his countrey: He onlie saw the walls of Rome, but did not see his friends which he formerlie had there. Fear made all them speak who were sent to him: And it was onlie by me, that he did know he had yet in Rome, something that ought to be venerated by him. We is me! Is it pos­sible, That such extraordinar Pietie hath been so evillie rewarded, that so couragious a man, hath so lamentable ended his daies? That he should be assasinated by them who had chosen him for their Captain, and that the Place of his refuge, should be that of his executi­on? Alace, I say, that from my intentions which were [Page 124]so pure and innocent, there should result so fatal an accident: However Virgilia, the Gods have permitted all these things; And yet I see no other reason, if not that Coriolanus and I, have too much oblidged the Ro­mans, who have rendered themselves unworthie. But in fine, Coriolanus is dead; And onlie dead for love of volumnia. Yet his death hath this advantage that it hath made them shed tears who caused it: For the Vols­ques after the overthrow of their Captain, did hono­ [...]ble take him up; They no sooner did see his blood, but they saw their crime, and elevated a Trophie to his glorie, of these same armes, which they employed against his life. They gave him a Conquerours fune­rall; His memorie is dear to them: They hung above his Tomb numbers of Ensignes; And all the glorious spoills, which do usuallis signalise the valor of these Illustrious dead, over whom they put them: And Rome which owes her libertie to Coriolanus, knows of his death without making publick mourning! She re­members no more that she had been lost, and in slave­rie but for him: All the Romans were ungrate to him while he lived, they continue so after his death. They look upon him rather as their enemie then their liber­ator: They remember more the chains which he pre­pared for them, then these he took away from them: And that fear which formerlie possest them, of seeing him enter Rome in a Triumphing Chariot, makes them verie glad to know, that he is to day in his coffin. For me I avouch, that though none should ever repent of [...]aving doue well, I have no great trouble to hinder me from wishing, that Rome were in Captivitie, and that Goriolanus were alive. The vertue of Brutus, who without greif saw his Children die, is not of my know­ledge: That hard heartedness hath more ferocitie then Grandure of courage in it: There are some tears just; And compassion is not contrare to generositie: When I told Coriolanus, that I would love better to die, then to see him Conqueror of Rome, I said nothing against truth: And when I also say, that I wish to be dead, and that my Son were alive: I say nothing against naturall equitie nor against Rome; I give to reason and nature, what I cannot refuse them; And I take nothing from the Reipublick. I have sacrificed my Son for it, and it [Page 125]may also suffer me to weep a little over the Victime which I have immolated for its preservation: And that after I have done all that a true Roman could do, I may likewaies do all that sorrow can exact from the tender­ness of a Mother. All they who loss their Children have constantly just subject of weeping: yet they have for their comfort, the libertie of making imprecations against them who take away their lives: But for me, I not one­lie weep for the death of my Son, but I also weep, for being the cause of his death: And to increase my sor­row, there is ane austere vertue, that will not let me repent for what I have done. O my Son! O my dear Coriolanus; Can I pursue such a [...]arbarous resolution? No it is too contrare to nature and reason: I must greive; I must weep till death for the death that I was the cause of. It is not Romes enemie I regrate; It is he who was so manytimes prodigall of his blood, in pursuit of glorie whohath served in the wars seventeen years, with incom­parable zeal: And had no reward but the wounds which covered his bodie. Further, Illustrious Roman Ladies, this mans birth doth not render him unworthie of your tears: he came of one of your Kings, and Ancus Martius his Predecessour, having carried a Crown, it might seem that he should have had more right to the honors of the Reipublick then anie other; Because he was incapable of useing it ill. But perhaps it was for that reason (some may say to me) that the Romans refused him the Consulship, through fear that he would use it as a step, to remount the Throne of his Fathers. No, this reason cannot be good; And there needs no more but the remembrance of Coriola­nus his whole life, to make his intentions know. In that Battle which was given against the proud Tarquin, he made it verie well appear, that his ambition aimed no further, then to merit the Crown of Bayes, which the Dictator did put upon his head, without thinking of that of his Predecessors; For having seen one of out Citizens fall to the ground, he set himself before him to serve him for a Buckler: And covering his bodie with his own, he secured him from danger: And so well congregated his forces and valor, that he gave death to him, who would have caused his. If the Ro­mans, had dealt rationallie with Coriolanus, [...] at singlee [Page 126]action would have sufficed to hinder them, from be­ing desirous to have him pass for a Tirran: Because it is not credible that he would have so much exposed himself, to save so small a part of so great a bodie, if he could have been capable of framing designs to destroy it intirelie on day. But it is not in that encounter alone, that he hath made his zeal for the Reipuslick appear. Is it not to be seen in all occasions that offer­ed? Is it not signalised ill all the battles that have been given? Hath he ever returned to Rome, without bringing with him some of his enemies spoilles, or without being all covered with theirs or his own blood? Behold Virgilia, what a husband yours was: See Illust­rious Romans what my dear Coriolanus was, who in all his warlike actions, was never conquered but onlie by me. The Volsques themselves, whom he afterward commanded, judged him not worthie of that em­ploiment, but because by his hand, was that Victorie plucked from them, which they were readie to bear away, in spight of Lartius his ressistance: Who going to assault the Town of Corioles, was so couragiouslie beat back by the besidged, that they put all our trophues to the flight, and all our armie into confusion. That was the time, wherein the passion that he ever had for the glorie of the Roman Empire, made him surpass his own strength, and by his example, forced some of ours to turn head to the enemie. This Generous design did so happilie succeed with him, that he repulsed them to the walls of the Town: and not contented with so brave an action; he would have perswaded them who followed him, that the gates of Corioles, were not so open for these who fled, as for them to enter. But seeing their fear more prevalent then his discourse, and that they thought more of retreating then fighting, this unfortunate whom I lament, did not forbear to pursue his design. There did he see himself almost alone, fighting against the whole inhabitants of a Town who fought through despair. There his hardi­ness wrought terror upon his enemies; His example reinforced the spirits of our Legions, and by the strength of his arme he made them enter that fortified Town; And in fine made them over come those who came to conquer them. It was onlie then by his [Page 127]courage, that Lartius had leasure to rallie his trophues, to go and reap the fruits of that Victorie, by finishing what he had so happilie begun. And not being igno­rant, that the Consull Cominius, who commanded the half of the Roman armie, might be in hands with them who were coming to relieve the Town whieh he had taken: He did cheerfullie re-take these same soul­diers, who having no desire to share in the hazard with him, were amusing themselves with dividing the bootie which he had acquired to them. But in vain did he set shame and glorie before them: So that seeing their cowardliness, he abandoned them, and onlie followed by them who would willinglie accompanie him, (which were but a verie small number) went diligent­lie in search of a new subject to his Valor. He arrived just at the Camp, in the instant wherein Cominius was going to give Battle to the enemie: And being all covered with blood and dust, his arrivall did some what amaise the Consull. But he had no sooner given account of the action he had done, then the newes of his first Victorie did presage a second. All the Soul­diers reanimated their desires of fighting, hope and joy adorned their foreheads; And onlie by the sight of him, did they banish that fear which had seised their hearts. As for my Son, as if he had been verie sorie, that anie other should haue served the Reipublick better that day then he, having asked the Consull what trophues of the enemie were the best; An being in­formed that these of Antiates were the most couragious, Because the Volsques had put them in the front of the Battle; he desired in recompence of his taking Corioles, permission to fight them. You know Illustrious Ro­mans, that he obtained at that time what he had de­manded: That his arme couducted by the Gods, had the first honor of breaking the enemies Squadrons: that he alone did attaque an armie, thereby to show the Romans how they must despise their life, to make themselves Masters of that of an other: And that his prodigious valor, had a success which was likewaies so But when victorie had declared it self for us, the Con­sull intreated my Son to consider the condition he was in: And to remember that by the wounds he had re­ceived, his blood dropped with that of his enemies. [Page 128]But he answered him that Victores ought not to retire: In Testimonie whereof, joining effects to his words, he pursued them who fled even till night: And as he had been the first in the Battle, he was the last in the Retreat. It may be some will say to me, that desire of reward inspired my Son with that valor, but none can be ignorant that he refused everie thing that was presented to him: On the contrare so great was his moderation, that after he had taken a town by force, gained a Battle, saved the Honor of the armie and of the Reipublick, he asked no recompence for his toil­lings, but the libertie of one man, who had formerlie been his Host and friend; And who was then prisoner of Was among the Romans. I remember verie well, that the name Coriolanus which he did bear, (O Gods! Can I speak in such termes?) I say I well remember that that name was given him at that encounter, to eter­nise his action. But I also remember that the verie same People who named him Coriolanus, called him after­wards the disturber of the publick repose, the enemie of Rome, and the Senates Tirran. Since that, what hath he not also done in an other occasion? Certainly you remember of that fatall year, wherein it was thought that famine would have intirly desolated Rome: When all the People Geminated, wherein hunger made triumph of the poor Peoples deaths, and where­in the richest themselves were exposed to the like dan­ger. You know, I say, that Coriolanus by his valor and courage, brought back abundance into Rome, revived the People; And all this with the price of his blood; And without desiring other recompence, but that of having saved the lives of the Citizens. Nevertheless, for the reward of so manie services; Of so manie brave actions; Of so manie wounds that he received And of so much blood that he shed: When he de­manded the Consullship, which was granted to manie others, who did not merit it so well as he; They treat­ed him as infamous, and as a criminall; they put him in the hands of the Aedilles, as the worst of men, and banisht him his countrey. O Heavens! Could I ask favour for them who treated my Son sounworthilie, and how could that unfortunate Son consent to me? Further after so manie abuses that Coriolanus received, [Page 129]what did he to revenge himself? Hath it been discover­ed that he desired to suborn anie of our Consulls? Hath he secretlie taken up money to make the armie of the Volsques subsist? Hath he furnished them with Soul­diers? No, Coriolanus hath done none of all those things: He was content for his revenge of Rome, to put onlie the faithfullest of the Citizens in the hands of his enemies. But if that despare which forced him to it, had succeeded happilie; that he had found more Humanitie in the heart of Tullus, whose Triumphing enemie he severall times was, then in the hearts of all the People, for the glorie of whom he vanquished the same Tullus, would anie, I say, that by an extream ungratitude, that he should have abandoned him in a just War, and which he had undertaken in considera­tion of him? Would any, I say, that to merit the base treatment, he received from them whom he had served, had him betray them whom he protected: And who by a verie extraordinarie confidence had chosen him to be Generall of their armie? It may be some will say to me that Coriolanus did more hurt to the Romans, in accepting of that emploiment, then if he had su­borned the Consuls of Rome; Then if he had taken up their riches: Then if he had made the People rebell, led an armie against his adversaries: Because it was seen that his person alone, joining with the Vols­ques partie made an intire change in their affairs: And that they who had so manie times desired peace with Rome, were in condition to make her dearlie buy it. But let none imagin that that was a simple effect of his conduct and valor. No, our Gods who are protectors of innocence, doubtless guided his arme, to subdue the pride of them who thought themselves invincible not fearing to abuse their Allayes. But in his happie suc­ceedings, he did not forget that he was born a Roman, and though the Nobilitie abandoned it to the furie of the People, he did not forbear to preserve their countrey houses, against all the disorders of War. He also had respect for them who were become his enemies; And though his particular Fortune was in a deplorable con­dition, he never asked anie thing for himself in the Articles that he proposed, and desired no unjust thing for the Volsques whom he protected. Behold once [Page 130]more, O Ilustrious Romans, what Coriolans was: I recommend my Son by the picture I have made to you of him, preserve his image in your heart: Remember that without his Generositie, the famin would have destroyed your Fathers, your Brothers, your Husbands, your Children and your selves: Or what would yet be word, that you have been formerlie, partakers of their chains and bondage. Let us not imitate Generous Romans, the ungratitude of our Citizens: Let us eternise the Glorie of our Sex to their prejudice: And for our gratitude let us Crown them with confusion: This Temple which was granted to us, when my Son consented to the favour we asked of him, shall not be so glorious to us, as the affection that you will testifie, in de­siring to preserve the memorie of Coriolanus. You owe your tears to him who formerlie dried them up, and who hath broken your chains. You also should (if I dare say so) sweeten the bitterness of my forrow, by that which you will testifie for hls death: I have immolated my Son for love to you, you can do no less then afflict your selves for love to him. And as you should have all carried mourning, if it had not been for my Sons Generositie: It is but just you should all wear it, in honour of his memorie. Let us go then Virgilia. Let us go Generous Romans, to ask this permission from the Senate. But O Gods! Can it be possibly, necessare to ask leave, to wear mourning for our Liberator? Yes the corruption of the age will have it so. Let us go then once more and ask with tears, the last thing that we can seek for my Son, because he is dead. But for his Glorie, I am verie much assured that Rome shall be destroyed, when the Name of Coriolanus shall be spoken of afterwards.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

SHe obtained what she desired of them: All the Roman Ladies did put on mourning, and did wear it ten months, which was the accustomed time of wearing it for their Fathers and Hus­bands. Therefore this Illustrious exile was happier after hu death, then while he was alive; And the fairest Sex at that time, was the most gratefull.

ATHENAIS TO THEODOSIUS THE THREETEEN HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

AThenais Danghter to Leontine the Philoso­phor, being preferred to the Empire, by her beautie, and the rare qualities of her Soul, did not long enjoy her good Fortune: The Emperour Theodosius her husband being some what jealous of her, and of one of the principall men of his Court, named Paulinus, put him to death, and deprived her of his favour, In that abandonment, the unfortunate Athenais was skilfully made sensible, that she ought to retire from Court; So that of her self being sufficiently troubled in minde: She asked what she did obtaine and what they would have had her demand, I would say, permission to go and live at Jerusalem. It was then at the instane of her parting, and in her last fair­wells, that she did speak in these termes, to the Emperour Theodosius.

ATHENAIS TO THEODOSIUS

MY LORD.

BEing readie to quit the Court; And to go confine my self in Palestina; I dare supplicat your Majestie, by the most ve­nerable name of the Emperour Trajan, of whom you are come; By that of the great Theodosius your grand-Father: By that of the equitable Arcades your Fa­ther; And by that of the great Constantine, of whom you hold the Scepter, and whose pietie you imitat, to permit me this day, to tell you all that I think, both of my past and present Fortune: That I may at least, have the satisfaction, at my departing from you, to be thought not to have whollie abandoned my innocence. Wo is me! If anie would have said formerlie to the poor Athenais, when her Father Leontine the Philosopher, taught her Vertue that hers should be one day suspected, she could not have thought it. The simplicitie of her education, the little ambition that she had, and the walls of the cottage that she inhabited, seemed to secure her against Calumnie. Innocence reigned in her Soul, She was contented with her Fortune; She sought after nothing but the acquisition of Sciences and Vertue: And the sole desire of learning, and practiseing good, was both [Page 136]her delight and occupation. But is it not this Athenais whom they accuse: It is the unhappie Eudosia; It is the Wise of a great Emperour; It is a person exposed to the eies of a great Court; It is a person to whom na­ture hath given some advantages, to whom Fortune hath given the first Crown of the World; And the love of the most venerable Prince of the earth. All these things, invincible Emperour makes my disgrace the more seeminglie true: Great misfortunes are not seen but in the houses of great Princes: Thunder falls oftner upon the statlie Palaces of Kings, then upon Shepherds Cottages: And the Sea makes more Ship wrackes then the Rivers. It is no wonder then, if Eudosia be more unhappie then Athenais, though she be as inno­cent: And though she be as Vertuous, under the Glorious Tittle that she bears of Emperess of the East, as she was under that Name which her parents gave her. If Fortune, my Lord, had but robbed me of these things over which its domination extends; Had it pulled the Scepter from me which I carrie, after I had received it from your hands; Had it taken the Crown from off my head: Had your Subjects mutined against me, and tumbled me from the Throne as unworthie to have place upon it; I would endure that disgrace without murmuring: Yes my Lord, that blind thing, so much accustomed to favour vice, at the expence of Vertue, that makes no presents but to take them away; That establishes no Kingdomes, but to destroy them; And which overturns all that it does establish; In one word Fortune, shall not put a stand to my patience. I shall without regrate quit the Scepter, the Crown, the Throne, the Court, and the Empire, and all that splen­did some which accompanies Royalltie, if I could return into my solitude, with your esteem and affecti­on. These two things, my Lord, if I be not mistaken, should not be under Fortunes Jurisdiction: It may both take day and Empire from you, it may also make you a slave, but it cannot make your unjust. You alone are the arbitrator of your will, your hatred, your esteem and your affection. The noble priviledge, that God hath given to man, of being free among chains, and of being absolute Master of his inclinations, makes [...]ou be oblidged, to answer exactlie for yours. Never­theless. [Page 137]my Lord, the respect I have to you, makes that I dare not accuse you of these you have to me; Though certainlie, my innocence renders them un­just: And for that respect I will rather call my self un­happie then say you are culpable. I accuse Fortune unjustlie of one thing which you alone can answer; It is not from its hand, to speak more trulie then I have done that I hold the Scepter which I carrie; It is not she hath put the Crown up on my head; Her wheel hath not thrown me upon the Throne; Her caprice made me not your Wife; All these things my Lord, are either effects of your goodness, of my merit, or of your blindness. If it be the first, I have learned of my Father, that crime alone justifies repentance: That it is a sentment which vertue knows not, and which should not be used but after a wicked action. If it be the se­cond, and if you have estemed me, by knowing how little I am worth, take not from me my Lord, what belongs to me: Because being the verie same that I was, you should be the same that you have been. But if you say to me, that I am the error of your judgement and that you have not found in my person, such merit as you did believe to meet with; I dispute not against you, take from me all that you have given me, but take not away my innocence, which I have onlie received from Heaven. When Athenais came to your Court, her reputation was spotless: Few People that did speak, said all good of her. To day all People speak ac­cording to their fancie, yet without letting me know what they say: For to speak sincerlie, it is onlie with you that I would be justified. They who do good, be­cause it is good, and not because it should be divulged, care not what unjustice fame will do to their Vertue: They find their satisfaction on themselves, without seeking after it in anie other: So that the wise are some­times most innocent, and most happie, when the Vul­gar who onlie judge appaaentlie, believes them guilty and unfortunate. But my Lord, since the affection that you have had for me, and thrt which I have for you, hath made you (if I dare say so) a second self to me; I ought to vindicate my actions before your eies. Re­member, my Daughter, said my Father to me one day; That you studie not so much to acquire the esteem of [Page 138]other, as not to endeavour more, to obtain your own. Be you both your own judge, and partie; Think of satisfying your self; Examine your inclinations; Search the bottome of your heart, to knew if Vertrue be Mistris of it: But do not flatter yourself, incline rather to rigor, then to indulgence. And after hav­ing made an exact scrutinie of your intentions, when you come to the point of being satisfied with your mind slight the glorie of the World; laugh at calumnie; And be better contented in having your own esteem then if you had that of the greatest Princes of the Earth. But my Lord, for this reason, I cannot be tranquill, so long as my better half doth not believe me innocent; Suffer me then my Lord, to repass ex­actlie, all the circumstances of my disgrace, and that dear part of my innocence that I may thereby with some tranquillitie go to my searched for solitude. When I came to Constantinople, asking justice against my Brothers, who refused me that right which I had to the paternall Succession, the prudent Pulcheria, re­jected not my requests: She heard me: And making me loss my cause verie advantageouslie gave me For tunes, which she ought to have preserved for me. At that time my Lord, there was onlie a poor cottage in agitation, and three foot of Earth to cover me from extream necessitie: But to day when not onlie the ho­nor of Anthenais is in question, but that of Eudosia your Wise, you are oblidged to hear her, and to do her justice. I think my Lord, that the cause of your anger and my grief is, because I have given a trifle which you gave me: And that afterwards, to excuse an action, which I saw by your eies, would not have pleased you if you had known it; I excused that innocent error by a lie. Behold, my Lord, all the crime that I have com­mitted: And the fear onlie of dispeasing you, hath made me displease you. When your Majestie gave me that fatal fruit, which hath caused my disgrace, I receiv­ed it with joy; Both for its extraordinar pleasantness, and more because it came from your hands. The pleasure I had in seeing of it, perswading me that it was more proper to divert the sight, then to satisfie the teast; And being irresolute to destroy it, I examined what I could do with such an agreeable present: The unfor­tunate [Page 139] Paulinus was then sick: So that being minded to send & visit him; I thought the amiable gift that you gave me, could not be better bestowed, then by giving it to a person whom you testified that you loved better then your self. But my Lord, Paulinus made not a misterie of this liberalitie: For because I did not tell him that I had received it from your Majestie, the same apprehension that had oblidged me to send him that fatall apple, was doubtless the cause, why to testifie to me the esteem he had of the present I made him, he would put it in more worthie hands then his own. But if you say to me, that since you gave me the gift, I ought never to have regiven it, because everie thing that comes from the person beloved, should be held as dear as the life: I shall agree with you, be­cause by that I pretend to justifie my self. However there is an important distinction to be made in this en­counter: For as there is great diversitie in mens loves, the things which that passion produces, should also be all differing. The love of husband, and Wife, is no more that of Lover and Mistris: And though they be the same persons, and though love be as ardent in their hearts, as it was before their marriage; Yet their o­pinons are different in manie occasions. They have more soliditie, and less affection; And none of all these follies which criminall loves do produce, are to be found in their Souls. So, my Lord, if Paulinus had had a passion for me, he would have keeped the pre­sent which I made him, with care and with jealousie: Since it is most certain, that in this kind of illegitti­mate affections, (which I never heard spoken of since I have been at Court) the least things that comes from the person beloved, are inestimable Treasures, which are never parted from, but with the life. However Paulinus no sooner received my present, but he sent it to you: And in that occasion it may be said, that he designed more to please you, then to content me. For me, my Lord, I never thought, you could take it ill, that I should have given a triviall thing, which you gave me: And that liberalitie was a vertue, which I ought not to practise. For, my Lord, if I ought to give nothing but what I have not received from you, I must give my self: Having brought nothing into your Palace, but [Page 140]that simplicitie and innocence. which some would ra­vish me of to day. Why, my Lord, do your not re­member, that by the innumerable riches that you have given me, I have diverse times enriched severall whole Towns? Why, my Lord Theodosius hath permitted me to give Gold, Pearls and Diamonds, to a hunder­ed people, who were unknown to him; And could I have foreseen that he would have been dissatisfied with my giving a simple fruit to the man in the World who had most profitable served him, and for whom he had most affection? No, my Lord, that was not possible: And the wise Pulcheria, howsoever clear sighted she is, and is believed to be, and who fore­sees things from a far, had been deceived in it. But, my Lord if I ought to take care of anie nixt to your Ma­jestie, it should be of Paulinus: And if I dare say it, I owe more to him then to my Father, and more then to your Majestie; For my Father gave me nothing but life, and having received nothing from you but the Throne, I can say, Paulinus having inspired me with the lights of faith, I am more oblidged to him, then to all the rest of the Earth. Yes, my Lord, I owe the saftie of my Soul to him, and my eternall beatitude, if the innocence of the life that I shal lead, do make me obtain it. You know, my Lord, that it was he who converted me, that all your Doctors could not convince me; that only he unseilled my eyes? And letting me see the absurdites of my religion gained me to embrace yours. Believe then my Lord, that the birth of our Friendship had too holie a beginning, to be criminall in its progress? And that he who had opened the gates of Heaven to me, would never conduct me to the waies of hell. And moreover, my Lord, know that when Eudosia shall again be Athenais; When she shall I say, be again of that Religion, wherein all crimes are authorised by the example of the Gods whom she adores: She shall not be less innocent. Chastitie is a Vertue which hath been known of all Nations, and through all ages; It is so essentiall to my Soul, that nothing can banish it thence. Judge then, my Lord, if being of a Religion, where modestie is rewarded, I could do anie thing against my dutie to you, and a­gainst my dutie to my self. I thing if I be not deceived, [Page 141]that I have made you know, that I might have given with out crime what you gave to me: And at last that I have made you see, with a similtude sufficientlie true, that Paulinus his liberalitie to you; Justifies mine to­wards him. Now as to what concerns the lie that I made, in telling you that I had eat the fruit, it is cer­tain that I cannot deny, I would have done better to have told you the truth: But, my Lord, all follies are not crimes. When you spake to me at that time, I saw such alteration in your Countenance, and so much choller in your eies: That fear of angering you having seised my spirit, I lost my use of reason, Consider, my Lord, that if there had been anie too particular affection, between Paulinus and me; Assoon as you had spoken tome, I might have wel judged, that you did know something: And therefore, by an apparent in­genuitie, though artificiall; I should have told you that I sent it to Paulinus. But having nothing in my minde, that objected anie error! I told an innocent lye not fearing it was evillie explained. I failled, through fear of being accused of a fault: And a too fearfull affection, hath made me loss yours. Further, my Lord, being unprepared for that accusation, and be­ing ignorant of the crime that I am accused for; I then answered you onlie with tears. My silence and respect, were the onlie colours, that I employed for my justifi­cation: A too scrupulous & too austere Vertue, made me believe, that I would stain my self by vindicating me of such a thing; And I also think that I should never have spoken to you, if I had not designed to separate from you. But venerable Emperour I reprehend my self for all I have said; you are not the Subject of my dis­grace, I accuse you no more; I receive it as the chastisement of my past errors. I have too much de­fended the cause of Idolls, to gain n [...]y own to day: And it is verie just having so eagerlie maintained a lie, that I be not believed, when I speak a truth that is of importance to me. I have sacrificed too much to Ju­piter, and have offered too manie criminall Victimes, not to expiat that fault, by some innocent sacrifice. I my self must be my Victime at this time: And by pa­tient suffering, merit the pardon of my past errours. My Lord, do not think that I bear anie grudge in my [Page 142]Soul: I well see, that I whereas the journey I am going to make, was undertaken by my own will; I well see, I say, that the permission which is given me, was consented to in such manner, that I may rather call it, a place of banishment, then of pilgramage. However that shall not hinder me from praying to GOD, that the blood of Paulinus be not an obstacle to the felicitie of your dayes. I shall also make vowes for the prudent Pulcherias Reign; Whose pietie doubtless doth ap­prove of the place I have chosen for my retirment. I shall be more profitable to her at Jerusalem then at Constantinople; And perhaps more agreeable. But in acknowledgement of the last obligations I had from her, I shall begg of Heaven, to give her such repose, as I go to enjoy in my solitude; Though perhaps this is not the favour that she askes from it in her praiers. Further my Lord, I go not so far off, that fame may not speak of me to you: And if I be not mistaken it shall tell you so manie things of my lifes innocence, that you will believe it was never soilled: And that holie land where­in I go to dwell, shall obtain for me from Heaven, the pleasure and honor of seeing you again. This, my Lord, is the hope, which a person who lived contented in a poor cottage bears in her minde; A person who with­out pride received the first Crown of the World; Who without regrate quits the highest Throne that is upon the Earth; And who never loved anie thing but the Emperour Theodosius and vertue.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

THis disconrse was not unprofitable, though its effects were slow: It left impressions of hoat in the heart of Theodosius, which in fine rekindled his first flames. It is true, Athenais departed: But she returned with Glory: She saw begging pardon at her feet, him who saw the half of the Earth at his: And her innocence and reputa­tion remounted the Throne with her: After that time, and reason reestablished tranquillity in the Emperors mind.

PULCHERIA TO THE PATRIARCH OF CONSTANTINOPLE. THE FOURTEEN HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

AThenais being received again in favour with the Emperour Theodosius her Husband, by the intercession of Crisaphius; Was no soon­er returned from Palestina to Constantinople, but useing her new power, she changed all order of affairs in it, and knowing that Pulcheria did not oppose her departure, she would not let her return be so agreeable to her, as her departing had been. She then caused the Emperour, who was charmed with his seeing of her again, resolve to take the Adminiflration of State from the Princess his Sister: And command the Patriarch of Constantinople to go take her, and put her among the consecrated Virgins. This order seemed so hard to Flavian, that he could not resolve to execute it to the rigor: He caused secretlie advertise Pulcheria of it: That if she did not absent her self, he would be constrained to do her that displeasure. The Princess was quickly resolved to it: And at her going to part from the Court, and retire to the Countrey she did thus speak to him.

PULCHERIA TO THE PATRIARCH OF CONSTANTINOPLE.

THe advertisement you gave me, doth nather asto­nish nor trouble me: I verie well foresaw wise Fla­vian, that Eude­sias return would cause Puleberias departure: And being acquairted with the revolu­tions of Mundain affairs; I see with­out regrate a change which perhaps will not be disadvantageous but to them who cause it. This so sudden mutation is the effect of Crisa­phius his malice, of Theodd [...] his goodness, and of the Emperesses ambition. Flaviah, if anie had said for­merlie, that this poor Athenais, who had not a cot­tage to cover her, when she did cast her self at my feet, should carrie the first Crown of the World upon her [Page 146]head, could it have been seeminglie true? But what is yet more strange; Who could have thought that this person whom with my own hands I have Crowned, would violentlie take from me the Reins of the Em­pire, which I have alwaies happilie enough held, un­der the Authoritie of Theodosius since I was fifteen years old? No, Venerable Flavian, I desire not that posteri­tie should accuse the Emperour or Emperess for banish­ing a Princess to whom partlie they owe the Crown which they carrie: For if I did put it upon the head of Athenais, I securlie set it upon that of Theodosius. That famous Victorie which he gained of Roilas, who having past the Danube, was coming with all the forces of Scithia and Russia, to ranverse the Imperiall Throne of Constantinople, doubtless was not the effect of Theo­dosius his care: And if I dare say it, I forced thunder from the hands of GOD to knock that Barbarian in the head; For you know, hat he died with a Thunder Bolt. Yes, Flavian, Theotdosius owes that Victorie to me, and also that which he gained of Baravanes King of the Persians, who being in league with Alamondar King of the Sarasins, had formed so strong an armie, that doubtless there was more hen humane force need­full to oppose that innumertable multitude of men, composed of diverse Nations. Nevertheless, a Pannik fear having possest their Troups, they were destroyed by themselves: And that which should have made them victorious, rendered them uncapable of con­quering. Yes, most prudent, and most holy Flavian; I have made winds: storms, and tempests, serve for the glorie of Theodosius: I have made Heaven interested with his protection: And not the bloodie Victories which he gained, were the reward of that Vertue which I taught him. You know that being two years older then he was when he came to the Empire, I took care of his edu­cation: I had the honor of being his Sister, but he was my Son by Adoption: And you are not ignorant of what I have done, since Theodosius did me the favour to divide his power with me, and make me his associate in the Empire. Could there be a more prosperous Reign seen then his? Was there a Prince in allthe World, who did not either love, or fear Theodosius? Did anie complain of my Government? Were not my [Page 147]Counsells just, or have they not been fortunate? No, wi [...]e Flavian, to speak rationallie of everie thing, I have done favours formerlie to Athenais, but I never did unjustice to anie bodie. However, think not by what I say, that I would make you understand, the Emperess is unworthie of the Throne: No, I will not destroy what I have established: And I was not deceived, when I thought I saw in her a most extraordinare Vertue. With­out doubt, Athenais is a miraele of nature: She is born with advantages, which I never saw but in her person: And if her Birth were as great as her Spirit, and if in stead of being bred in solitude, she had been brought up at Court; she had been incomparable in everie thing: But to her misfortune, she hath begun, with what I am going to finish. Doubtless it is more easie to them who have a well accomplished Soul, to live gloriouslie in solitude, after they have lived in the World; Then to go from solitude to domination. They who have known how to conduct manic People can certainlie lead their flocks without going astray: But all they who can industriouslie use a sheep-hook, cannot carrie a Scepter with honor. In fine, Kings may be Shepherds, but all Shepherds cannot be Kings. The Philosophers also, who establish themselves Sove­rain Judges of all the actions of men; Who beast of knowing the weight of Crowns; Who make imaginary Republicks? Who give laws to all the Earth? And who form Modeles, by which the greatest Princes of the World should Regulate their Lives and Governments: I say these men, who make Kings so perfect by their writings are not fit to Reign. Athenais gives me a domestick example of this? She knows Philosophy: She is Daughter to a man who taught it her: She is born with all noble inclinations; She knows all that any of her Sex can know; She was without ambition when she came to the Court; She has as much Spirit as anie bodie can have: But because she knows not the World but by looks, and because her experience hath taught her nothing; Her simplicity hath made her listen to Crisaphius his divices: And doubtless hath possest her with the opinion that she has of me to day. All these things, Flavian, were not of my knowledge, when kindled in the Emperours heart, that flame which de­stroys [Page 148]me to day: But now I well know, that an active Philosophie is requisite to know how to reign: That experience is the surest studie of Kings; And I have al­so known by my own, that none can be perfectlie wise, but at its expences, and truly I should not think it strange, that the Emperess do everie thing, to preserve that qua­litie which I have given her: It is so advantageous to her; That I also wonder she doth not make it more, But as I have alreadie said to you, the change that hap­pens to day, doth neither astonish nor trouble me: And I do yet preserve so much affection for Theodosius, and so much esteem for Athenais, that to hinder them from committing a publick fault, I will denude my self of what power I had; Abandon Theodosius to the affection that he has for the Emperess: And abandon her to her little experience, and to the divices of Crisaphsus. I know not reverend Flavian, if my conjectures will be as false this day, as they were when I Crowned Athenais: But if I be not mistaken, the reign of these Illustrious Persons, shall neither be long nor happie. The com­placencie of Theodosius, and the little experience of the Emperess, makes me compassionate them: Me­thinks I alreadie see her, going to consult her books, up­on the least unexpected accident: But my Father, her books were not made for our Age: And if she have not her judgement verie clear, that which was glori­ous to Alexander, shall be disgracefull to Theodosius; That which made him love, shall make this hate: And that which made him redoubtable, shall make this despised. The Throne whereon she is to day is so high, that I fear her sight is not stronge enough, to see the cottage again wherein she did formerlie dwell. I fear, I say, she will be transported, and abandoning the reins of State which I have forsaken to her, fall into some important errour. For me, I was never dazled by Grandeure: I am born among purples: The playes of my infancie past upon the Throne: And the first thing I learned was to reign over others, and over my self. The wise Anthemius teaching me policie, which I have hap­pilie enough practised since, told me one day, that to be never surprised at fortunes unconstancy; We must always be prepared to endure, what others do undergo: And never to mount a Triumphing Chariot, without being [Page 149]prepared to be tied to it, if Fortune desire it. Where­fore, Flavian, I should not be surprised, if having partlie banished the Emperess into Palestina; She should to day send me into solitude. The sweet pleasure that she found there, without doubt makes her wish it to me: And it is onlie in gratitude, that she desires to be employed in that place which I did hold. When she came to cast her self at my feet, and when by reasons which would be too long to relate, I resolved to make her Emperess: I thought that that person, who esteem­ed her self happie, in having a roof of straw for riches would behave infinitlie, when she should see her self reign over the heart of Theodosius, and set upon a throne, to which she dared not to list her eyes. How­ever matters go not so; And she who onlie desired a simple cottage for her contentmemt, cannot find her self in a great and statelie Palace, if she be not there alone, and if she banish not her who opened the gates to her, and put her in possession. It may truelie be said for her excuse, that she does not believe, it was from my hands she received the crown which she carries: The assurance her Father gave her a dying, that she should be richer then her brothers, perswads her that this Crown did fall from the highest heavens upon her head. She believes that the influence of the stars caus­ed her good Fortune. And that I did nothing at that time, but what I could not hinder me from doing. She thinks I was constrained, by that constellation under which she is born, to make her Emperess of the East: And in this manner, believing that she holds her good Fortune of the stars, she thinks her self thankful enough, when without looking upon me, she hath onlie lifted up her eyes to Heaven. But wise Flavian, I who never believed all the miracles that have been told me of judicial Astrologie, who knows the uncertaintie of that Science: How mistie and doubious are the predictions which it makes; And how unprofitable they are: I say, I know verie well, that I was not constrained to Crown Athenais. I designed it not without reason, I examined the thing exactlie. And because it was of importance to me, I did not tumultuouslie resolve it: And it might have come to [...], that Athenais should have gained her cause, and lost the Empire that day, in spight of [Page 150]the Planets and Stars. In fine, my Father, I well know, that this Science, whose predictions are not un­derstood, untill the things come to pass, is not a gift of Heaven: GOD did make nothing unprofitable in the World: And yet judiciall Astrologie is of such a nature, that it oblidges me the more to believe its falsitie. Who is he that hath profited by the Prophesies have been made of him? Or to say better who hath understood them? Chance, that caused the Sponge be so fortunatlie thrown at the famous Painter, which accomplished without thinking of it, that which all his Art could not do, doubtless makes these occurencies, upon which the reputation of this Science is established, sometimes mervailious: But ordinarlie, they who ad­just accidents to Prophesie, must have more spirit then the greatest masters of his Art. When Lantiue a dying said to Athenais, that she should be richer then her Brothers: The good-man said it rather in praise of her beautie and vertue, then in assurance of the Empire. And if he had certainlie foreseen, that the Crown which she carries to day, was to be upon her head; He had but little judgement, to a muse himself with dividing three or four foot of earth among his Sons: Because it was verie credible, that if she did become Emperess, she would not let her brothers live in the povertie of their birth, and consequentlie the paternall Succession would be of no use to them. Yes, wise Flavian, onlie I have made Athenais Emperess of the East: How­ever, I forgive her want of gratitude: And I wish with all my heart, that in fine she may know the talent which Heaven hath given her. She is certainlie proper for great vertues: And if she attempt but to Reign over her self; She shall be the mervaill of her age. She shall reap more Palms in Palestina, then she can acquire Glorie by the Government of affairs. And if I be not deceived, she shall there be happier. For me my Fa­ther, who am otherwaies born, I should willinglie put my self, as you have been ordained, among these Virgins, who have no other care, but to make an [...] ob­lation of their hearts to God; If I did not think that Theodosius and the Emperess may perhaps need my as­sistance: But knowing them as I do, it shall suffice, that retiring to my solitude, I leave them libertie of [Page 151]acting according to their fancies: And I wish to GOD, that same inform me of nothing to their disadvantage. I shall be verie glad that their conduct let it be seen, that what I had of Theodosius had no evil success: And that I have not made a bad choice of Athenais. How­ever, Flavian, if it be possible, let the Emperour know, that without murmuring I quit that share of dominati­on which he gave me: That not having taken it but onlie for his ease and glorie, I willinglie demit, how soon I know that he thinks it no more agreeable to him. But let him remember, that at my parting from him, I leave all his Empire in peace; That all his subjects love him; That all his Neighbours fear him; That there is abundance in all his towns: That Vertue is seen in everie particular Familie; That vice appears no more among them; That his Court (except Crisaphius) hath no flatterers; That the Rable are without insolence; That the great are without pride; And that pietie reigns in all the Temples of his Empire. Let him remember, Venerable Flavian, that that great vertue (if I dare say it) hath past from my heart into his; And from his, into that of all his Subjects, that thereby the me­morie of me be not troublesome to him: And also to the end, that if it come to pass by chance, that he one day do recall me, as he hath recalled Athenais; He may see, if the Government will be then in the condi­tion I leave it in this day: As for the Emperess, I shall be glad she know, that though I have not made a particular studie of Philosophie, that though I be of a birth to exile others, and not to be banished; That though I have some portion in the Throne which she whollie this day possesses, I forbear not I say, to quit that Throne, and endure my exile, with more mode­ration then she testifies by receiving the crown which I gave her: I wish from Heaven, that I may know better how to use my disgrace, then she hath done her good Fortune: And to conclude this discourse, remember my Father, you who have Governed my Conscience, so long as I governed the Empire; That I never in my life proposed anie other thing to my self, then alwaies to do what I ought, and what I believed to be most glo­rious, and most just. Veritable Wisdom consists in the good usage of what accidents befall us: There is no [Page 152]need of a scrupulous atachment to one Vertue: They must be all practised according to severall occasions. There is a time wherein humilitie is not laudable; And wherein Grandeur of courage is more necessarie: And others also wherein dissimulation is Wisdom: And Freedom criminall. We must know how to change seasonablie, yet without ever changing the resolution of doing what we ought. If a Prince with whom I have made a just War, should by chance of Armes make me his salve; I should then look upon him no more as my enemie, but as my Master; I would be faithfull to him in that condition; And renew the chains which he would make me carrie, if of Them­selves they did break; Because I could not break them without crime. It is by the same reason, wise Flavian, and by that same vertue, that without making factions in the Empire; Without causing the People rebell in my favours; And without making the Ecclesiasticks remember, that I have severall times destroyed Heresie, and sustained their Altars; Without I say doing anie of these things, I do resolve after having known how to reign Soveraignlie enough; To obey with as much submission of Spirit, as I have had Grandeur of courage, in commanding the half of the World, from the age of fifteen years untill this day.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

THis Discourse which was told to Theo­dosius was effectuall in its time, as well as that of the Emperess had been; And because affairs did not prosper well under the admi­nistration of Athenais, Pulcheria after four years was recalled to the Government; Which with much Glorie she possessed till her death: After having caused flrick of the head of Crisaphius; And the fair and know­ing Athenais molested with he changes of Court; retired of her own accord to Palestina, where she lived and died in a mervellous Sanctitie

CALPHURNIA TO LEPIDUS THE FIFTEENTH HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

ALl Ages all Nations, and almost all men, have made Cesars Elogy; But I know none, that hath made his Apology. They thought it was easier to praise his Valour, then to justifie his Intentions, and that his warrs were mere Glorious then was their cause. Everie one believes he was a great Captain, but all do not believe that be was a good Citizen. They who called him the Father of Souldiers, have also called him the Tirran of Rome, and almost all have thought that he aspired at Soveraigh power. Yet whosoever considers the business will find, that he ap­peared rather innocent then criminall, and I do assure my self, if you will hearken to his reasons in the mouth of Calphurnia, you will not condemn him. Because our Nation was conquered by him, me thinks it is important to our Glorie, that our Conquerour be without tashe, and I think to defend the honour of France, by defend­ing the I li [...]strious Cesar. He hath spoken so worthily of the Gaul's in his commentaries, that it is just the Gaules should speak of him, and I cannot endure it to be said that we have followed a Tirrans Chariot. Hear then what his Wife is going to say, who knew his intenti­ons, and is going to make them known to you.

CALPHURNIA TO LEPIDUS.

CESAR is revenged Lepidus; The last of his murderers hath lost his life; And all the Romans have a Master: They themselves give to Augustus the Sove­raign power, which they would have re­fused to the great Cesar if he had been capable of as­king it: And for the punishment of their crime, they with their own hands forge the chains, which they not onlie ought to carrie; But which by right of Succession shall pass to their Postertie. Yes, Lepidus, because the Romans did unjustlie accust Cesar, of desiring to be their Tirran, they shall if I be not deceived, have triall of all that the cruellest Tirrany can make them endure. We alreadie see that Augustus hath no children, and that Tiberius hath inclinations speedilie to begin, what I say. And moreover, the knowledge that I have of the innocency of the first Cesars, makes me almost certainlie see the misfortunes which shall oppress Rome. The Gods are [...]oo just, not to chastise with rigout, them who massa­cred the Father of his countrey, and the protector of libertie. Yes, Lepidus, the great Cesar trulie merit­ed [Page 158]these two Glorious Titles, and did not at all merit the treatment that he received. Trulie I wonder that the Romans have so evillie explained his intentions, since his whole life lets them see that he loved libertie: And also that the greatest crimes he is accused of, are the effects of his passionate desires to preserve it. You know Lepidus that in his more tender years, he declar­ed himself enemie to Sy [...], and consequenclie to Tir­ranie. He was looked upon then as a Citizen too pas­sionate for libertie, and was constrained to hid him­self, and also to retire from Rome, that he might e­scape the Ambuscadoes that were laid against his life. After that, he accused Doll [...]bel [...], and Rigorouslie pro­secuted him, for having acted with too much Sove­raignitie, in the Government of his Province: And by that action made it sufficientlie known, that he ap­proved not in him, what he condemned in others. In effect, while he was Pretor, there happned no disorder in the Republick: Though that was the time wherein he might have rather made his wicked actions appear: Because that charge was of greater importance, then what he had formerlie possest: However he did not abuse it: He did everie thing with prudence, and moderation: And his verie enemies could not reproach him of anie thing of that time. And to speak [...]atronallie, it never did anie thing but make the Romans power greater, by making new conquests for it everie day, hazarding his life in a thousand different occasions, and generouslie opposing all the Tirrans, who minded to usurpe the domination, He did not regard their being his rela­tions or allayes: And did so much for the publick good, that he no more considered his particular interests. Trulie Lepidus, everie time I remember what Cesar hath done for the Romans, of the numbers of victories he hath gained, or against their enemies, or against their Tirrans; I immediatlie believe that my memorie de­ceives me: And that it altogether presents to me all the brave actions, that have been done since the be­ginning of Ages. I cannot, I say, think, that one and the same person had interprised so manic things, had accomplished so manic glorious designes had made so manic Conquests, had given so manic Battles, had so much hazarded his life, had escaped so manic dangers, [Page 159]and had not lived longer then others. Nevertheless, Lepidus you know, that Cesar hath done more then I say although he hath lived but fistic six years: And to recount onlie one part of his victories, and of the brave actions which he hath done before I undertake to justifie him, remember what he did in Spain. He subingated the Callaciens, and the Lusitanians even to the Ocean, where the Romans had never been. The conquest of the Gaules, you know, hath immorta­lised his glorie: For there in less then ten years, he did take either by composition or assault, more then eight hundred Towns, conquered three hundered different Nations; And having seen before him in ranged Battle above three millions of armed men in manic encounters, he killed more then one million, and did take as manic prisoners. (O Cesar, O Illustri­ous Conqueror! Must the poigniard of an ungrate­full Traytor, make thee loss thy life!) But I am not yet come to the last of his Victories: That famous Battle which he gave to Ariovistus upon the banks of the Rhine, where more then eightie thousand men died, makes it suslicientlie seen that Conquerours are never wearie. Further Cesar did not alwaies over­come with case: He hath some times seen victorie flic above his enemies camp, and same altogether readie to publish his desate: But his single valour forced them to return to his partie. The adventure of the Nervianes makes what I say abundantlie seen: All the Romans were desated, and the other were verie like to have been Masters of the field of battle, when Cesar did cast himself alone, amidst his enemies with his sword in his hand, and a sheild upon his left arm: And by an action worthie of Cesar, deserved to conquer these, who had almost conquered his People. After that, he was the first who passed the Rhine; He was the first who sailed with an armie upon the Occidentall Ocean; He conquered England, which none believed was in being: And carried his armes and Romes Glorie, in places where the name of Romans had never been. The famous prise of Alexia, is none of Cesars least actions: He saw in head of him, an Armie of three hundered thousand men, to make him raise the siedge: But having as much prudence as courage, he devided [Page 160]his armie, and acted so skilfullie, that they who lived before Alexia, did not know there was a power­full reliefe coming to the Town. They did not know I say, they were inclosed between two powerfull ene­mies, untill Cesar had defated them; And Vercingen­torix, who was in that place, was rendered to that fa­mous Conquerour. Ah surelie! After that I doubt not but Historie will one day say, that he surmounted all ther Heroes: Yes, Lepidus, whosoever would com­pare the great qualities of the most Illustrious with him, will find that he hath excelled them. The Fabianes, Seipioes, the Metalles, and also they of his own time as Silla, Marius, the two invincible Lucullus, and Pompey, are inferiour to him in everie thing: He sur­mounted one by the difficulties of the countreys he conquered: The second by the extent of the Nations which he hath put under the Romans dominion: The hird by the multitudes of enemies he hath defated: An other by the feirceness of the People with whom he had to do, and whom he behooved both to overcome and teach: An other in sweetness, in clemencie, and in humanitie, to them whom he conquered: The last in magnificence and liberalitie to them who fought under him: And all of them in gaining manic battles, in defateing numbers of enemies, and in practising manic vertues. Behold Lepidus, the Victories which the Romans could not dispute with Cesar. They are re­duable to him for all the blood that he shed in the ma­ny encounters he met with. It was for them that he fought; It was for them that he over came; It was for them that he conquered so manic countreys? And there were none to be found, untill the passage of that famous River, which Cesar traversed to come to Rome; or to say better, to come against the Tirran of Rome; I say there was none to be found but who did agree, that the Republick was much oblidged and indebted to Ce­sar. But Lepidus, I intend to show you this day that the other Victories which Cesar gained, are these for which the Romans are more oblidged to him. I intend to let you see that Cesar did never more stronglie testi­fie the passion that he had for libertie, and the hatred that he had to tirranie; Then when he fought and con­quered Pompey. But to resume the matter from its [Page 161]source, to justifie Cesar, Pompey must be accused: And it must be seen, that as the one did alwaies testifie his being the Protector of libertie, the other, hath still made it appear that he aspired at Tirranie. All the World hath known, that Pompey did so manic things to usurpe the domination, that to hinder him from interprising it any more they wereconstrained to declare him alone Consull: And the Romans at that time loved better to satisfie his vanitie some way, then to oppose directlie him. But they did not use Cesar so, for so far from granting new honors to him, they [...]ragiouslie refused the just things that he sought. Lentulus Pompeyes Parlysan, disgracefullie banished Anthonie and Curio, who were constrained to disguise them­selves like slaves, that they might return with safitie to Cesar; And all that Lepidus, because Cesar by them did ask, the continuation of the Government of the Gaules, whom he conquered. The unjust refusall that he got, did not carrie him to unjust designs: He did at that time know, that Pompey demanded not his return to Rome, but for his loss; That Pompey looked upon him as his enemie; And as the onlie obstacle that could hinder him from obtaining the Soveraign power, which he had so long pretended to. Cesar did then consider his particular preservation, and also the publick good. He had a minde to disarme his enemie, and the ene­mie of Rome, and also disarme himself. He then caused tell the Senate, to let the puritie of his intentions be seen, that he was readie to quit the Government of the Gaules, who had so often made him expose his life; That he was readie to lay down his armes; That he was readie to come and give account of his actions; That he was readie absolutlie to renounce all kind of autho­ritie, conditionallie that Pompey should lay down his armes, as well as he, and that they should both live as private persons. Me thinks these propositions were not Tirranick: Tirrans never do expose themselves to such things: And Pompeyes Procedour makes what I say verie well seen. If Cesar had proposed to him to divide the Soveraign power with him, perhaps he would have more favourabllie heard him; But because he desired to put him out of condition of being able to aspire anie more at Tirranie, he could not suffer so just [Page 162]a proposition; He made factions to hinder the Senate from being brought to reason; And to wearie Cesars patience entirlie, he caused as I have alreadie told you, and as you know, ignominiouslie banish them whom he had sent. He was treated as enemie of the publick good: And Pompey who sought but to set affairs on sire for Cesars death, and to profit himself by the misfor­tunes of others, loved better to ruine his countrey, then to change his wicked designs. All the Senat­ors found Cesars propositions just: For he cause de­monstrate to them, that if they would have him quit his armes, and Pompey not quit his: It was to give him the means of arriving at Monarchie: But demand­ing that it should be ordained for them both to quit, was asking a thing equallie profitable to all the people, and which should not offend Pompey, if he truelie had no wicked intentions. his Father in law Scipio, and his friend Marcellus, liked not to consent to it: And also they were almost the onlie men who hindered Cesar from obtaining what he demanded: And did so high­lie speak of Pompeys interest, that because the Senate could resolve upon nothing, publick mourning was ordained for that particular dessention. Yet Cesar was not wearied: He writ again to the Senate; He made just propositions to them a second time: And both these times Pompeys faction was the strongest. Further I know not how Cesar can be accused, of having so much as dreamed to usurpe the Soveraign power; Be­cause some time before the last injuries were done to him, Pompey having sent to recall some Troupes that he had given him; Cesar sent them back without be­ing pressed to it: Sufficientlie testifying by that action, that he feared not for the weakening his own forces, nor the augmenting those of his Enemie: And did consequentlie let them see, that he had no concealled designs: But morover, where are the great preparations of War that Cesar hath made for so great an enterprise? Where are the intelligences that he hath practised in Rome or in anie other Towns: Where are his great Armies, or the manic Machines, for the battles that he must have given, or for the siedges he must have laid? No Lepidus, Cesar had none of all those things: And when Curia and Anthonie came to him disguised [Page 163]as slaves, to acquaint him of the unworthie treatment he had received in their persons, and of the wicked de­signs which Pompey had both against him and against the Republick: He had but five thousand in fantrie; And three hundred horse with him. Do you think Le­pidus that these Troupes were sufficient if or a design of that importance? If Cesar had had that intention, he would without doubt have Leived a much stronger Armie, he would have found pretexts for it; And he was more wise then to have undertaken such a thing, without having a long time before searched outaway to make it succeed. It was not then apremeditated design that made him pass that River, which he hath made so famous by his passage: It was both a resentment of choller, of shame and despight, with an earnest desire to be revenged of his enemie, and to destroy a man who not onlie desired to destroy him, but also destroy the Republick, He departed then without anie preme­ditation; And the justice of Heaven conducting all his designs; He made himself Master of Italie in sixty dayes, without shedding the blood of the Citizens. As to Pompey, it well appeared by his conduct, that re­morse of conscience made him loss his good sense: He was no more the great Pompey, who when he had none but lawfull designs, and when he served the Re­publiek, testified so much prudence and so much cou­rage. He lost both the one and the other at that time: For though he had more Wariours then Cesar, and though he had the advantage of being in Rome; He no sooner understood, that he had past the Rubicone; But he fled in disorder: without so much as giving leasure for making sacrifices to the Gods, to calme that florme. But the knowledge he had of his wicked de­signs, doubtless made him believe, they would not be favurable to him: And there may be manic persons found, who in so great a trouble will loss that respect, which they alwaies did beat to them. Some did remember at that time, that he had been heard say, formerlie, that stricking the foot against the Earth would make Souldiers arise. That way of speaking, which smells, of Tirranie, was he reproached with: And one of the chiefest of Rome, seeing his astonish­ment. boldlie said to him; Now strick the earth, to [Page 164]oncrease your armie, that you may oppose Cesar. He was also reproached of ambition and unjustice: And what was said against him at that time, makes it sufficently seen that Pompey, was the tyrran, that Cesar, was the Protector. In effect he was no sooner in Rome, then he courtiouslie treated all the senatores: he with a sweet tenderness prayed them to Pacifie every thing; and again proposed to them most just, and most reasonable articles of peace, thereby to make them agree with Pompey. But they knowing that Pompey would be all or nothing; They did not make it, and excused themselves to Cesar. But Lepidus, when this Ilustrious Heros, was created dictator, gave he any markes of his having desires to aspire at tyrranie. Non at all; He recalled the banished; Re­placed in honor the children of them who had been con fiscated in the time of Silla, who was a Tyrran, and eleven dayes after voluntarlie demitted the dictatorship, contenting himself with being Consulate, with Servilius Jsauricus. After that Lepidus, can any say that Cesar was a tyrran, and that Pompey, was the defender of li­bertie. But let us finish the giving account of his Illust­rious Life in few words, that we may have the more leasure to Lament his death, Doubtless you remember all the artifice that Pompey used, to shun fighting with Cesar, and draw affairs to delay: and they were so cer­tainly visible, and his ambitione so known, that his verie souldiers boldlie said, he continued not the warr, but for to continue his authority, In effect, he knew that either victorious or conquered, he must quitt the sover­aign Power, or altogether take of the Mask, that con­cealed him to the halph of the Romaines. But Cesar, whose confidence was in the equity of his cause, and in that of the gods, searched after his enemies He seared not to assault and sight him; He had nothing in his heart that reproached him of crime; He knew that he re­venged Rome, by revenging himself; And by freeing himself of an adversarie, He freed Rome of a tyrran. His hope of heaven did not deceive him: He gained the battle and Pompey lost it. That man who had been so much favoured by fortune whille he was innocent, was abandoned by it when he became Criminal. He did not anie more know aither to fight or overcome; nor did somuch as know how to be overcome like a man [Page 165]of courage, Howsoon his partie had gotten the worst in the battle of Pharsalia, in sted of annimating them by his example he went into his tent, without knowing al­most what he said: And knowing that affairs went still worse for him, that his entrenchments were forced And that Cesar, approached, what (said he all fright­ned) even in our Camp, and after he had spoken in this mannner, he again fledd, and abandoned all that remained of his Partie. Yet me thinks it would have ben more glorious for him to have died by Cesars armes then by the sword of the traitour Septimius, who for­merlie commanded under him: But this great man, having in his heart, hatred, remorse, repentance; shame of being overcome, and ambition; We neid not wonder if losing hopes of reinging, He, in fine lost his reason, But after we have seen that Cesar was skil­ful in the art of conquering, I pray you Lepidus let us look if he did also know the use of victorie; if he was inhuman or clement; If he was just or rigorous? If he was tyrran or Romane Citisen. How soon the field of battle was left to him, and the eagernesse he had to fight was mitigated when he saw such multitudes of dead souldiers round about him, he shedd so many tears, as he had caused them shedd bloud: O gods, (cried he weeping,) Ye know it was their desyre and that they Compelled me to be their conqueror! For Cesar after having gained so many Illustrious victories, doubtless would have bein blamed, if he had abandoned his armie. Any other Conqueror but Cesar, would shedd tears of soy, after having gained the battle: But for him, He could not rejoyce in his Victorie, because it had cost the lives of some of his citisens. Believe me Lepidus, Tyrrants do not weep for their ennemies: And clemen­cie and pitty are sentiments which they know not at all. However you know that Cesar, almost pardoned all his: He also had a particular care to cause search for that pre­fidious man, who afterwards caused him loss his life: And when the traytor Brutus, rendred himself to him, he treated him as if he had bein his son: Woe is me! me thinks I see my dear Cesar, going from rank to rank asking from his people news of Brutus, looking among the dead bodies, if he was not yet there in condition to be suceoured, and doing all things possible to save him, [Page 166]who by a horrid ungratitude, thrusted a poigniard into his breast. O gods! is it possible that Cesar, could make so bad a choice? That among all the Romans he loved his murtherer, better then any other, and that the gods who testified their having such particular care of his life, did not advertise him, that he whom he loved best of all men, should of all men be the most cruell against him. But it is not yet tyme to speak of Brutue, his ungratitude; The clemency and the goodness of Cesar, furnishes me With too good a subject to leave it so soon: And to let his affasinates cryme appear as great as it is, his vertues must appear with all the splendour that they had. Tyrrans have some times put a pryce upon the heads of their enemies, they have promised abolitione of all sorts of crimes to these who would bring them: And sometimes when they have been sa­tisfied, they have looked upon that fatall present with joy. But Cesar, used not his so; He would not see that of Pompey; He weeped bitterlie; He treated him igno­miniously who presented it to him, and forced him to the necesity, of making his recourse to flight, thereby to save his life. For me, I find that actione more glo­rious for Cesar, then if he had overcome Pompey: But though he was alone to weep for his enemie; He was not alone to fight. Further, He well testified that He did not so much regaird Pompey, as to his own Particular, then as to that of the Republick? For he not only pardoned all them of his partie who would render themselves? But he took a particular care of all Pompeys friends: And by that made it seen that he hated not his person, but on­ly that He desyred to destroy his unjust and pernicious dessignes. Any other but Cesar, after having been victor, would have considred his own security; By banishing some, by puting others to death, and by putting him­self in a condition to defie the rest. But for him, He considered nothing but the gathering the ruptures of Pompeyes naufrage. It might have been said that it was his army that was defated: And that He stayed in that place, to railly his troups, He testified so much swet­nesse and goodness to them who came and listed them­selves under his coulors. He did also wreat to Rome, That the sweetest fruits he receved of the Victorie, was that every day, He saved the life of some of their [Page 167]Citizens. O Lepidus. Tirrants have no such words! Further to demon [...] rate the equitie of his intentions, and to show that his victorie was not a change of For­tune, but an effect of the will of the Gods; he continu­ed happie in other things that he enterprised. The War of Egypt, and that of Armenia, from whence he writ to Rome, that he was come, that he had seen, and that he had overcome, makes what I say abundantlie seen. After that, in one single day, he made him­self Master of three Camps; killed fiftie thousand men; And lost but fiftie Souldiers. In your opinion Lepidus, was it Cesars arm that fought so, or rather was it not that of the Gods? That Illustrious victorie made him no more inexorable then the rest: For when he was told, that Cato was killed by his own hand? O Cato! (said he) how I envie thy death, because thou hast envied my glorie of saving thy life. Perhaps some will say, that if Cato had lived. Cesar would not have done what he said: But it is easie to imagine, that he who pardoned Brutus and Cicero, who carried armes against him, would have also pardoned Cato. But Lepidus I will have none judge of Cesar by the know­ledge I have of him; I will have none judge of Cesar by what his friends will say of him; But I will onlie have them judge of him by the honors that the Romans have done to him, dureing his life, and after his death. And truelie, it was not without reason that there was a Temple of Clemencie builded in acknowledgement of his; Because there was never a conqueror, who did so perfectlie know the practise of that vertue. But pray you tell me Lepidus, how is it possible that these same Romans, who since the ending of the Wars, could not reprocah Cesar of anie act of Soveraignitie; how is it I say possible, that these verie men who build­ed this Temple of clemencie, by the knowledge they had of his goodness, could call him Tirran; It might be found in Historie, that Triumphant Arches have been erected for Tirrans: That by their orders, and by their violence, their statues have been placed upon the Altars: But that by a voluntary gratitude, Temples have been builded to their glorie, and Temples of Clemencie; Is that which will not be found in all Ages, and wich wil be found of Cesar: For in fine, he [Page 168]was no Tirran, and doubtless, merited more then was given him. Do you not remember Lepidus, of the day wherein he caused redress Pompeyes statues, and wherein Cicero said, that by re-elevating the, he se­eured his own: That action was then found as brave, as it was; All the Romans spake of no other thing, and all did agree, that Cesar was the most Illustrious of all the Heroes, And trulie at that time Cesar seemed as just as generous: For whereas these statues were erect­ed for Pompey, in the time that he served the Republick; He would have no mark of honour taken from him. which he did effectuallie merit. Further Tirrans are never in safitie: They fear everie thing, and trust themselves to no bodie: They judge themselves wor­thie of a violent death: And by the pains they take to shun it, they make it appear that they know they merit it. But for Cesar, because he trusted to his innocence, he also trusted to all People: For he put Brutus and Cass [...]us in authoritie by making them Pretors and would take no care of his safitie. Ah would to Hea­ven! That he had followed his friends counsell at that time: But he was too Generous, to be capable of such prudence, as does so stranglie resemble fear, that it does verie often produce the same effects. And moreover, he thought that having made known to the Romans, the sinceritie of his intentions, he should have no need of anie other provision for his safitie. He lost not one single occasion of testifying to them that he preferred the qualitie of a Roman Citizen to all o­ther: As you know, when he returned one day from Alba, when some did salute him, they called him King; But he answered them, that he was named Cesar and not King. Yes, Cesar you had reason to prefer that name to this of King: You have rendered it so famous that you cannot quit it without losing by the change: You must having lived Cesar, die Cesar. Do you also remember Lepidus, that when the Senate de­cered new honors for him, he said with an extream moderation, that his honors had rather need of being re­trinched then augmented: Nor are you ignorant, that when Anthonie by an inconsiderate zeal caused pre­sent the Royall Bandeau to him, he twice refused it: And commanded it to be carried to Jupiters statue: [Page 169]As if he would have said, that the Romans should onlie be commanded by the Gods. What could he do more at that time to testifie to the Romans, that he aspired not at Tirranie, then Publicklie to refuse the badge of Royaltie? Would anie have had him cause put Anthony to death for that cryme? No that would not have been just: and he who had pardoned his enemies of a hun­dered crymes, ought also to pardone a rash zeal in on of his friends. I well know that Pompeys partisans have said, that Cesar, contributed to some excessive honors that were done to him, thereby to essay the peoples good will: But know, Lepidus, if he had contributed to them, his refuseing of them would have been with designe, to justifie his intentions, Ah, Lepidus, to speak truelie of the matter, the friends, flatterers, and enemies of Cesar, are they who equally oppressed him, with the Crowns of flowres, that they did throw upon him The first by excesse of affection: others, by the desyre of pleasing and making themselves great, and others, by design of giving pretexts to the people, to murmure against Cesar; And of having some coulor for the villanies which they under hand devised against him. But tell me, Lepidus, what other thing could Cesar doe, then refuse the honors that were offered to him! More­over if Cesar, had a desyred to be King, it would not have been impossible to him: That same arm that made him conquer so many countreyes, and gain so many victories, would have secured the Empire to him. He was too well instructed in worldlie affairs, to belive that by meeknesse, and the suffrage of all the Romans, he could arrive at the throne: Doubtless, he knew that crowns are taken by violence, and are never given: And if he had intended to make himself King, He would have used force and not meekness. France would have furnished him with ane armie strong enough for that: And if with five thousand foot and three hun­dred horse he put Pompey to the flight, and made him­self master of all Italie; It would not have been more difficult for him after the battle of Pharsalia, to have usurped the soveraign authority. The Gaules, would have followed him with joy, and would have come un­to Rome, to retake the bootie, which the Roman Legi­ns had for merlie taken from them. In fine Lepidu; [Page 170]He would have acted like a tyrran, and usurper, and not like a citizen. I do avouch that Cesar, desired to reign, but it was in the Romans hearts, and not in Rome: He did them everie day new favours; He considered onlie their felicity and their glory: And in the verie time wherein they were meditating his death he em­ployed all his pains to make them live happily. Lepidus, was there ever a more Ilustrious Heroe then Cesar? Re­pass all his life with himself, you shal not find on single blemish, but you shall their find all vertues in the highest degree the victorys which he gained were not of those which fortune gives blindlie to them who confide in it absolutlie: He gained them both by valour and reason: and when he gave any thing to chance, it was because reason would have it so. The stadefastness of mind, that he alwayes testified, in all the dangers wherein he exposed himself for the republick, is ane in­comprehensible thing: He ever beheld good and evil fortune with the same countenance. Love, Choller, Hatr­ed Revenge, and Ambition, did never make him guilty of anie imbecillitie: He was alwaies. Master of his passions, and did never let himself be surmounted but by Clemencie. Nevertheless, there are men, there are Romans, who have been so wicked, as to look upon Cesar as a Tirran. But no, Lepidus, the business was not altogether so; The particular ha [...]red which Cassius did bear to Cesar, because he preferred Brutus to him, in designing to make him Consull to his prejudice, was that which made the conspiracie. It was not for hav­ing violated the Roman Laws; it was not for having male-treated the Senators; It was not for causing put citizens to death: It was onlie for revenging Cassius. But if Cesar was to die, for preferring Brutus to Cassius, it should not have been Brutus, who was to stabb Cesar for revenging Cassius, whom Cesar did not abuse but by oblidgeing Brutus. No, Lepidus, if Cesar had been what he was not, I would say the cruellest Tirran that ever was, the sword of Brutus ought not to have been tainted with his blood: And he should have been the last of all the Romans, in abandoning him, after what he had done for him. Ah let none say to me, that the more ungrate he appeared to Cesar the more thankfull did he seem to his countrey: No, Lepidus [Page 171]Generositie is not compatible with ungratitude, Vice and Vertue cannot be together: And none can be ungrate and thankfull equallie. Whosoever receives an obligation engadges themselves to the person oblidg­ing: Therefore they who have a high spirit do never receive benefits but from their friends: and in the choice of the two, they love better to oblidge their adversaries, then not to be oblidging. If Brutus could not have lived happie, while Cesar was alive, he should have alwaies ap­peared under his enemies coulors; He should have refused all the honors which Cesar gave him; He should not have rendered himself to him; And rather then to have received that life which Cesar gave him, he should with his own hand have killed himself, as the generous Cato did. But having received his life from Cesar; Having accepted the first offices of the Republick; Af­ter that by a kindlie resentment, Cesar had preferred him to Cassius; That he should have let him self been perswaded by Cassius, to stab Cesar; Is that which cannot comprehend; Is that which cannot be approved off by anie rationall person; And is that which could not have been glorious to Brutus although Cesar had been a Tirran. Nevertheless Lepidus, that was the ungrate, this is that Traitor, who was chief of the conspiration, who gave him his deaths wound. Why Brutus! Why cruell! Could thou strick him who saved thy life? Why Barbarian, why did not the sword drop from thy hands, when the Illustrious and Great Cesar, seeing you come to him like the rest, did forebear to defend himself, and also said to you with more affection then splen,

And thou also my Son! Why Tyger, these words touched not thy heart, and thou could strick Cesar? Ah no Brutus! It thou hadest had anie reason thou shouldest have changed such a wicked design; Thou shouldest have fought for Cesar, rendered to him that life which he gave thee, or if thou could not, thou should have deleated thy ungratitude with thy blood, and killed thy self upon the dead bodie of Cesar. But what do I Lepidus? My grief transports me: That dolefull image of Cesars death, irritates my displea­sure and anger, everie time that it comes in my mind; And without having any dessign to it, I change both discourse and subject Let us return then to my first [Page 172]intention: And say that if Cesars innocence, could be questioned, by the actions he did dureing his life, it hall be fullie justified by what is come to pass at his death, and after his death. The extraordinare care that the Gods took to advertise him of the misfortune that was to befall him, lets the puritie of his Soul be sufficentlie seen: All those signs which appeared in Heaven; Those defective Victimes, those dreams which frighted me; The hands of these Souldiers which appeared in fire; He who Prognosticated to him that the ides of March would be fatall to him; And all these other things which thought to impede the effects of the conspiration: makes it abundantlie known that Cesar was not an ordinaric man. If Cesars death could have been for the good of the Republick, the Gods would not have given so manic presages of it. They foretell misfortunes, thereby to make men shun them; But of the felicitie that they send them, they never give so manic signs. Perhaps it may be said to me, that Brutus was sufficientlie forewarned of his death? But that horrid Phantasmc which a p [...]eared twice to him, was rather sent for his chastisement, then to give him means of escaping the misfortune that was prepared for him. Further who did ever see dead Tirrans vene­rated? When they are alive they are feared, but when they are dead, their bodies are dragged through the publick places; they are torn in pieces: The laws which they have made are changed; Their statues are demolished; Their memories are in execration; And they who killed them, live insastie and with honour. But for Cesar, all dead as he was, he hath been respect­ed: The places which were marked with his blood, were worshiped by the Romans, and seemed to be sacred Nis bloodie Gown all peirced with the wounds he re­ceived, excitted sorrowin the Souls of all the Citizens: His Testament which enriched them all, was given carto as that of the Father of the countrey: The People made him a pile, more Glorious for his memorie, then if they had given him the noblest funerall, that Kings are honored with: Because this was an effect of his affec­tion; And that because the same fire that did consume my dear Cesar, desired to embrace the houses of his murtherers. The Senate changed none of the ordi­nances [Page 173]which he made; They gave him new honours; All his assasinates took the flight, and by an universall consent, he was ranked among the Gods. Who ever faw a Tirran deified after his death? Alexander him­self, who was the greatest Prince of all Antiquitie, did not pass for Jupiters son, but dureing his life: But Cesar hath that advantage above this Illustrious Heres that what Alexander; freinds did while he was alive, the witnesses of Cesars merit have done to him, after he ceased to live. The Gods also, after they had given sinister presages of his death, desired likewaies to testi­fie; That it had infinitlie offended them. That terri­fying Comet which appeared seven whole days after his death, was alreadie a sign of the vengeance they would take: The Sun also that was a whole year, without giving his accustomed hear and brightness, has made it known to all the earth that by Cesars death, the Re­publick had lost its greatest ornament and best lustre: And also to testifie his innocence better, the vengeance of Heaven hath pertinaciouslie pursued even to death, all them who onlie by their Counsells, had contributted anie thing to that unjust conspiration. They all died violent deaths, without so much as one escaping; They found to Element, where they could live quietlie; The Sea was fatal to them as well as the land, they who escaped the furie of their enemies, killed themselves with their own hand; Cassius peirced his own heart, with that same sword, wherewith he struck Cesar; And in that manner, he is punished with these same armes with which he committed the crime. Brutus you know ended his dayes that same way: And in fine I know that none of Cesars murtherers, remains anie more in the World. Judge from that Lepidus, if he is not fullie justified. If his death be not as Glorious to him as his life, because it hath shown to us that all nature was interessed in it! And to speak rationallie, if Cesar was not [...], the [...], and Father of his countrey, then the Romans Tyrran.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

IT belongs not to me to tell you the effect of this Hard range, it belongs to you, to let me know it. For its object, it has had the design of perswadeing you, it belongs to you then to let me understand if you be. It is you she hath spoken to under the name of Lepidus, it belongs to you to tell me if it hath hits its aime. For me, I do assure you, if I have seduced your reason, it is but because my own is seduced: And because I do not endeavour to make you believe, but what I be­lieve, my self. I have so great veneration for Cesar that I can have noevil thought of his intentions: And Me thinks we owe that respect to all great men, not to condemn them upon slight conjectures They are deceitful; Great mens designs are fecret; Let us then respect them, and not on­terprise to judge them.

LIVIA TO MECENAS THE SIXTEENTH HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

IT is to the glorie of good learning, that this Harran­gue is consecrated. But though this be its principall object, it may be said that it doth not alienate me from the Generall design of my Book, because Poe­sie being one of the most agreeable emploiments of Ladies, and one of their dearest divertisments; It vin­dicates their pleasure, to make the merit be seen. Beheld them what I have proposed to my self by this discourse, which if I be not deceived is ra [...]ier more reasonable then interessed: At least I know, if I defend this cause, it is because I think it good, and also because I do not contravert the oath of Orators, which oblidges them not to defend any that they find evill. Judge of it Reader, and hear Livia speak to Mecenas upon his subject, the famous Pro­tector of the Muses. But be not astonished to hear her speak to the depth of this matter, Augustus loved verse too much, & [...] them too often, not to haveinspired that same inclination, in her who possessed his heart, and she was too industri [...] not to be complacent. So then if I have chosen, I had reason, and none shall have anie to blame me.

LIVIA TO MECENAS.

I Know Illustrious Mecenas, that Augustus oweth the Em pire to your Conselles: That the Romans, owe to you the felicity they enjoy, under a reigne so differing from Tyrranie; And also that I owe to you that quality I have to day. Yes, Mecenas; it was you who surmounted the powerful reasons of A­grippa, in that day, wherin Augustus, becoming ene­mie of his own glory, and of the Romans repose, dis­puted with himself; Whither he should preserve the supreame power, or whither he should remit it into the disposition of the people. That great Emperous would with his own hand have taken off the crown that was upon his head for saken the reines of the Empires descended from the throne whereon he was seated by so many toylings; And by a retreat more shameful, then Anthonies flight was from the battel of Actium; Alto­gither lost the fruits of so many victories that he gained: It might be said that at that time, love caused Anthonies flight: But in this encounter can Augustus, be accused of any thing but imbecility. It might have been said, that his hand was not strong enough to carrie the scepter which it held: and that he onlie abandoned what he could not keep, However, Mecanes you had no feeble enimes to fight with at that time: Augustus, and Agrip­p [...] that is to say, the two first men of the world, were they who opposed you: their opinion seemed to be the [Page 178]juster, as appearing the more generous: And it hath been said, that heshould have had more glory by destroy­ing the Empire, then by establishing of it; And more advantage in obeying then in commanding. Neverthe­less, you was conquerour in that famous battle: And yet by a most extraordinar chance, the conquered con­tinued crowned: And you contented your self, with o­beying him for whom you preserved the authority. That obligation which the Emperour, has to you, doubtless is veric great: But in my opinion, he is more redeuable to you, for the care you took to reconcile him to the good will of the Muses, then for all the things which you have done for him. It is truellie, by that mean, that you can give him immortality, and also give it to your self: It is for that, that Augustus, his age can call it self happy: And I mantain it to be more glorious for the Emperour, to be beloved of Virgill, of Horace, of Titus Livius, and of the famous Mecenas, who is pro­tector of these favorites of Apollo; then if he had bein feared of all the earth. Fear by rendring him redoubta­ble to all nations, doubtless would have made him o­beyed while he was alive: But the praises of Virgil, and of Horace, shal render him venerable to all ages to come. Certainlie Mecenas if all Kings were truelie inspired with desire of glorie, they should carefulie consider, how to acquire the affections of them whome the gods have chosen to distribute it. It is by historie and polisie, that they can obtain the immortalising of their names: And that they may pretend to conquer after their death both time and fortune.

But betwixt those two famous waies that conducts to eternitie, Poesie seems to have a particular priviledge to deifie men: It is whollie Celestiall and divine; The fire that it animates doth purifie and clarifie all them whose Elogies it makes; And without abandoning truth, it excuses faults, and makes good qualities seen with all the advantages they have. Historie demon­strates to us vertue all naked, and Poesie adornes it with its best ornaments. Historie is so scrupulous, that it dares not determine anie thing: It gives asimple narrative of things. but doth not judge them: But poesi [...] judges Soveraignlie of all. It praises, it blames, it punishes, it recompences, it gives Crowns, and chastis­ments, it Illustrates or stains the lives of them whom [Page 179]it speaks of: And to speak all in few words it hath equally the advantages of Historie and Eloquence: And dis­poses absolutlie of that immortall Glorie, which is the noblest reward of all the Heroes toillings. Further, a Historian looks upon so manic things, that it is impos­sible, that the Prince whose reign he describes, be not as it were inrolled among the number of his subjects. He owes his pen as well to all the criminalls of these times, as to all the Illustrious: He has not the libertie of choosing his subject: He must take it as fortune and tyme do give it to him: And the prince and his subjected are so strongly mingled together, that almost He can never been seen, But in Armies, in publick places, and and in a popular multitude. On the contrare, the Poet, separates the Prince from the people; He choose [...] object and subject; He follows his Heroes to the Tombe: He speaks of noihing but what pleases him, and yet speaks all when he finds it convient. In fine the histori­ans object is simplie veritie: And that of the poet is the glorie and immortalitie of his Heros. You see I do not much differ from your thoughts: And that the conversation of Augustus, and Meccnas, have gi­ven me knowledge enough, in everie thing that con­cerns Poesie, to speak rationallie of it. Wherefore, I think I may say, that Kings should employ all their care, to make themselves beloved of poets: And that Augustus is more oblidged to you, for the freindship of of Horace and Virgil, then for your having constrained him not to denudehimself of the Empire that he possesses Doubtless Alexander, had reason, to envie Achilles his destiny, because he had the advantage, of having Homer to proclame his glorie; But Augustus, shall have non to complain of his age, because the gods have given him for freinds, Virgile, Horace and Mecenas. However I certainlie mantain, that he hath some subject to accuse fate, for having compelled him to banish Ovide. Yet you know to excuse the Emperor, the regrate that he testified; And how much pain he had to refuse you his pardon. I avouch Mecenas, that I fear the banish­ing of such a brave spirit, will one day be a greater re­proach to Augustus, then all the proscriptions of the Triumvirate. These men who can illustrate or denigrate the whole life of a great Prince, should me thinks be [Page 180]much feared or much beloved: And whither by gene­rositie or interest they should be in veneration among all the Kings of the Universe. Conquerours think [...] well erecting Trophies of building Triumphant Arches, cau­sing put their statues in publick places, engraveing mag­nificent inscriptions upontheir Tombes for imor­alising their glorie; All those things fall successivelie into ruine, they destroy themselves, they burie them­selves under ground and in oblivion: And their me­morie perishes with the Marble that is elevated. But when a Poet who is truelie worthie of that name, un­dertakes the protection of a Heroe; He is in condition to defie, envie, time, and fortune. Nothing can anie more obscurate his reputation; His protector refutes all his enemies; And from age to ages, He renewes his life, and acquires for him a new splendour. The writtings of Virgil and of Horace, shall not onlie be glo­rious for Augustus, by the places which speak of him; but by everie thing that will be admired, in these fa­mous Authors. They who read with astonishment, and admiration, Virgills divine Eneides, shall find the lost of his Prince, worthie to be envied by all the Monarchs of the World; In having meritted the praise and friend­ship, of the most excellent man, that all ages have ever produced. The who shall read Horace his works will find them verie advantageous to Augustus, in hav­ing meritted the good will of a man, who could con­duct the spirit so agreeably to vertue, by reprehending of vice: Yet to have had a greater share in his Odes then in his Satyres. Everie time that I consider the advan­tages and charmes of Poesie, I become the more pas­sionate of it; And if the decencie of my Sex would per­mit me, I would say that Didoes chastirie pleases me less in Historie, then her weakness and despire does in the Encides. Judge then Mecenas, if they who can render vice so agreeable; Cannot make vertue appear with all the Ornaments: And if they who can impose Fables, cannot perswade to truth. You know Mecenas, that some are bold enough to affirme, that the Scaman­der is but a rivolet; And that Troy is of the number of things which never have been. Yet Homer found cre­dit in all Nations: All the Heroes whom he introduces in his Iliades, or into his Odyses, have their friends and [Page 181]partisans: And the truest historie doth not so much in­teress his Readers, as the one and the other of these mervailous works. Let Princes learn then from thence, that they who can so well immortalise their fancies and imaginations, can with much stronger reason make them live eternallie, when they render them­selves worthie of it, both by their merit and by their Benifices. Doubtless it belongs to them to publish the Victories of their Princes: But it also belongs to their Princes, to make them reap of the fruits of their Vi­ctories. They who say that the Muses desire not abun­dance: And that solitude and povertie are not unprofi­table for the production of their works; Perhaps will loss that opinion when they know that the liberalities of Augustus and Mecenas, have not hindred Virgill from making of Master peices; Horace from acquiring Universall esteem: And Titus-Livius from having merited a glorie which shall not die. In effect it is easilie comprehended that they who do brave things, when they work but for necessitie; Will do miracles if they work onlie for glorie. Such a Noble object will exalt their spirits to the verie heavens: Whereas sad­ness disturbs the hearts, and makes them rampe upon the earth. All the watchings they employ, in com­plaining of fortune; in accusing the unjustice of their age, in blaming the ignorance of the times where­in they live: And in publishing the avarice of their Princes; Doubrless would be emploied in more famous subjects. I know verie well, that solitude, fountains, rivers, groves, and woods, have been alwaies looked upon, as places proper for the composition of fine works: But if all those things do belong to him who makes them, I do not see that it can be anie obstacle to his glorie: And if I be not mistaken, he shall better describe the beautie of his own praierie, then that of an other; The shades of his own woods shall defend him better from the scorching heat of the Sun, then these of his Neighbours: The noise of his fountains shall yeeld him more agreeable fancies, then those of the publick can give him; a river to which he hath some right, will seem more proper for his making a fine description, then if he looked upon it with an indifferent eye: And in fine solitude, which is not by constraint, [Page 182]will certainlie afford more agreeable Ideas, then these whereto he is forced. It is true that shepherds cottages renders pesantry most agreeable: But painters when they are skilfull, do alwaies place them a far of; So then to do things according to reason, [...]oets must ne­ver see a roof of straw, but in their journeys, or from the windows of their Palaces. For it is not to be ima­gined, that a man who passes all his life time incem­modiouslie, in chagrine and solitude; Can speak of abundance which he hath not, of Magnificence which he sees not, of the Court which he never frequents, of Kings whom he knows not but onlie by their names, of war which he hath not seen but in books, and of a great manic other things which are strange and new to him, if it be true that he is poor and solitarie? Believe me Mecenas, Poets in such encounters are like painters, who reprefent nothing perfectlie but what they see. Great Princes then must alwaies have them to be witnesses of their actions, if they would have them leave tablets of them to posteritie. For it is not to be thought, that they to whom just subject of complaint is given, can elegantlie praise them whom they do secretlie accuse in their heart? It is not to be thought I say, that they who praise for gain, do praise so arduouslie as they who praise for thanks? No Mecenas, that cannot possiblie be so. Further, as dreams are ordinarlie formed by the thoughts of the day, so these agreeable transportations which Poesie gives to them who medle with it, when they are happie; Losses all their brightness by the Au­thors chagrine, when he is not, but alwaies laments his evil fortune. He would do well to strive to be di­vided from himself, for he is seen by all; He carries his discontent even into the hearts of the Heroes, whose lives he writs; And does not writ one verse which his heart doth not secretlie diffavow. In fine, Mecenas, I am perswaded that a rich Poet, lodged in a statly palace will with more ease make apicture of povertie and soli­tude; Then a poor lodged in a cottage, shall make of the magnificence of the Court, of the vertues of Kings, of policie, and all those other things, which are not perfect­lie learned, but in the societie of men & in abundance. There is this difference between the rich and the poor, that the one are solitarie when they please, that they [Page 183]have rockes and caves when they will: And the others cannot have a palace, and that their solitude is forced. And moreover, who can comprehend? That Poesie which is the Noblest effort of imagination, may not some way need beautifull objects, either to excit, to divert, or to recreat it? They who have assigned woods and rocks to the Muses, have doubtless been of his o­pinion, yet without making their consideration destroy mine. They have spoken of forests and rivers, because these universall beauties are in the power of all the World: But that doth not hinder, that these same Mu­ses who search the woods, may not walk in a cultivated Garden. Art doth not spoill Nature, it perfectionats it: And trees regularlie planted, hinder not if I be not deceived, the Poets from working under their Ombrages with pleasure and with glorie. It is true, Mecenas, that these nine famous Sisters, from whom our Muses draw their Origine, had no habitation as is said, but woods and mountains, and did not devert themselves but beside fountains: Yet these woods, these moun­tains, and these fountains, belongs to them: Parnassus is of their dominion: The waters of Parmessa are also theirs; And Apollo nor the Muses, borrow nothing of other divinitie. After all Mecenas, it is for the Grandour of Princes, not onlie to know how to conquer their enemies in war, not onlie to know how to reign dureing peace; Not onlie to make themselves to be feared of their Neighbouts; Not onlie to make themselves be beloved of their subjects; But also to make themselves surpass all other men in liberalitie. They must give like Masters of the Universe; They must when they make presents, look rather to them­selves, then regard others; And proportionat their gifts to their own Grandour onlie. They who receive go halfes with profit, but ordinarlie they have no share in glorie. It belongs whollie to the giver: And to speak rationallie, the most glorious conquests that Kings can make, are these which they make by liberalitie. In war, success is alwaies dubious: There is no battle so advantageous in its beginning, whose end may not be fatall: But here we are alwaies assured of Victorie: A liberall Prince doth equallie make to himself, slaves, subjects, and friends of them to whom he gives: And [Page 184]this is the onlie way whereby he can merit the rank of the Gods. But among all men, Princes should choose for the principall object of their liberalitie, these fa­mous dispensatores of glorie, yet with this difference, that what is pure liberalitie at other occasions, is grati­tude in this? For what is not due to them who give im­mortalitie. They have been formerlie, stupide, ig­norant and covetous Princes, who have let the Muses languish in povertie, without giving a just subject of a­stonishment. But if Augustus having such insights as he hath, in all brave Sciences; Loving fine works at the rate he doth; Making Poesie his divertisement; Being a lover of glorie, as he hath alwaies made ap­pear; And making of things himself, which may place him in the rank of the most Ilustrious Authors: I say, if Augustus having all these advantages, do give but meanlie, to the professours of good learning, he shall be dishonored by it, and it should be almost less shameful for him, to be both stupide, ignorant, and avaritious, then to be knowing and not to be liberall. But thanks to the Gods, his inclinations and your counsells, have well hindered that blemish from poluting one of the speciall passages of his life: And to know if Augustus hath known the price of all brave Sciences, we need but consider the rewards he gave to them who practised them. But among all them who are carefull of this mervaillous Art, which the Gods have taught to men, it must be avouched that they whose spirits are sublime enough, for being capable to undertake a Heroick Poem, deserve the first rank near Kings: And doubt­less it is principallie of them, that they should have a par­ticular esteem. For of all the various species of Poesie which we admire, this work is the greatest, the most Illustrious, the most Difficile, the most Glorious, both for him that makes it, and for the Heros whom he chooses. To speak rationalie, and Epique Poem, con­tains whollie in it self, all others beauties, and some­thing more. They who make Elogies, do eternise rather their mistrises, their passions, and their languish­ings, then the merit of their Princes: We see but short tablets in Odes, wherein the most part of things are not distinguished: One single action is sometimes too ample a subject for that work: And its limits, in fine, [Page 185]are too much contracted to boast of its having conque­red time and fortune. Eglogues can do no more, then make posterite imagine, that the reigne was fortunate, dureing which the Muses might employ themselves, to make shepherds speak, and not in complaining of thevi­olence of their Kings.

The Satyres, these bold painters, wherein all the world find their picturs; Cannot be glorious for Prin­ces, but when their images are not found in them: And to speak more clearlie, their silence is the greatest glo­rie that they can give, Epigrames for the most part, are but sparkles of diamonds, whose brightness though splendid, cannot furbish the life of a great prince: They are a simple pastime of the spiritr and of the im­agination: which at most, cannot preserve but the glorie of him, who hath fortunatlie acquited himself of that sort of work; A Tragedie, which is certainlie one of the noblest employments of the Muses, although it do bragg of teaching by its diverting, and though it pass among the most learned, for the Master-peice of this art; Yet should not be so considerable to a Prince, as a heroick poeme. He who makes Tragedies, works more for himself then for his King: He makes tablets, but his Master can pretend to have no other glorie in his work, but that, of haveing known all the beautie, of preserving these rare paintings with care, and in buying of them magnificentlie. It is not so with ane Epique Poeme: It is truelie it, that deifies Princes, for whom they are composed; all their vertues appear splendidlie there; Their conquests are there painted forth in their finest lustre: Their faults if they have anie are skill sullie minced; fortune, victorie, and fame are allwayes of their partie; They have no enemies in it whom they excell not; They are happie, in warr, and in love; Their splendour, contrarie to custome, returns from them to the Origine of their race; And whereas chil­dren did use to dervie their glory from that of their pre­decessours; on the contrarie, here the predecessours, extract their greatest advantages from the vertues of their Children.

The goodness of Augustus, caused Virgil, eterrnise the pietie of Aeneas: The conquests which he made, shall make these of his fore fathers live eternally: It is for [Page 186]love to him, that this great Poet hath conducted that Illustrious Trojan, even upon the throne: And to speak tru lie, it is he who hath saved him from the conflagrations of Troy, with his father, and his do­mestick gods: Because without him, doubtless, He should have continued buried under these mightie ru­ines: At least posterity should no more have heard his valor spoken of, then if he had never been.

It belongs then to Princes, to make a dilligent scruting thorow all their provinces, after them who are capable of such a noble occupation: To the end that having found them, they may b [...] their benefits oblidge them, to undertake so great a work.

They who make Hector Achilles, and Agamemnont speak in a Tragedie, with the same spirit that Homer hath given them, doubtless are capable of acomplish­ing so long ane enterprise with glorie, if they be oblidg ed to it by allurements.

But they not to engadge themselves, in so long a course, without being assured to find a prise at the end of the Careere.

They who run at the Olimpique games, find Crowne­at the end of the list: wherefore then would anie des fire, a man to bestow his pains, his watchings, Hi fastings, and all his life for a poeme, without pre­tending to anie other advantage by it, but onlie the glorie of having made it. No, Mecenas, it would not be just, and I say again, that it belongs to a prince to make choice of him, whom he would have to praise his victories; That it belongs to this to make that happie, if he desire that he should render him immortall: And in fine that it belongs to him, to doe, what Augustus, and Mecenas, have done for the incomparable Virgil, You see (as I think I have already said to you) that I differr not from your sentiments, and that the conversa­tion that I have had with Augustus, and you, hath made meknowing enough in poesie, to dare speak to you

But nevertheless if you are surprised at it, you will easilie find the reason of it, if you consider, that the Emperours, glorie wasing itatione.

It was for it, that I have examined all these things: And it is for it, that I conjuere you, to continue to en [...] tertain him in so brave ane inclination.

Pursue then Mecenas, such a noble designe: Enrich all the Muses with Augustus his treasures: In imita­tion of the gods, give them gold for incence: And know, that if you cause give them Kingdoms, they shall again give you more.

Yes Mecenas, you shall reign over the most Illustrious of all ages: And if conjectures deceive me not, your name shall be so venerable to posteritie, principally a­mong the learned; That all they who render them­selves their protectors, shall esteeme it ane honor to bear it.

They shall be called the Mecenaes of these times: And from age to age, that glorie renewing it self every day, your name shall be in the memorie, and in the mouths of all men, so long as the sun shall give light to the World.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

I Know not what effect this Harrange will have a­mong the Grandes, of this age: But I verie well know, that it shall have a most advantageous, one if their Magnificence doe but come near to that of Augustus, and Mecenas, neither the one nor the other of these great men needed to have their liberality ex­cited: Nor have they been spoken of, but thereby to speak to others; And the literall sense is but the pretext of the Allegorik.

CLOELIA TO PORSENNA THE SEVENTENTH HARRANGUE!

ARGUMENT.

VVHen the Romans had made peace with Porsenna, they sent their Daughters to him in ho­stage, for assurance of their treatie. But when they were come to that Princes Camp, one among them named Cloelia, judgeing that their chasti [...]ie Was not secure, among so manic wariours, exhorted her Campanions to deliver themselves from so just an apprehension, and that they would rather expose their lives then their honour. She gained them all to be of her opinion and by a prodigious hardiness, they did undertake to cross the Tyber by swim­ing. Their resolution was as fortunate as great, they all passed without anie misfortune, under the conduct of that couragious Maid, and returned to Rome. There Parents did trualie admire such brave temerity, but the Roman severity, that would not endure the publick faith to be violated, made them be sent back to the King, that thereby he might punish their perfidie, if he had a mind to it. When they were before him, he asked them who had been the first among them, that proposed so dangerous an enterprise: But they all imagining that he only asked but for to punish her, none of them would answer. Then this Generous Maid, took upon her the discourse, and almost spake to him these words.

CLOELIA TO PORSENNA.

THe action that I have done, hav­ing too noble a cause not to be Glorious, the si­lence of mycom­panions is injuri­ousto me, though their intention be innocent. I would have hop­ed Porsenna, that they should have Acknowledged me for their li­beratrix: And that they should have published aloud before you, that it was under my conduct, and by my counsells, that they went out of your Camp,: But since they put me to the necessitie of praiseing my self because they fear you will male-treat me; I shall freelie tell you, that it was I who did withdraw them from your hands. Do not think that what hindered them to name me, is a remorse of what they have done. No, they do not doubt my enterprise having been just? But they doubt [Page 182]will be generous enough to reverence vertue in your verie enemies. For me who am uncapable of fearing anie thing, if it be not the loss of my honor, I tell you again, that it was by my counsels, by my care, and under my conduct, that these generous Romans resol­ved to go out of your power; And abandone them­selves to the impetuousness of the water to follow me;

And couragiouslie expose their lives, to deliver them­selves from the fear of suffering some treatment unwor­thy of their vertue. Why! Illustrious Romans, (said I to them, to encourage them to cast themselves in the river, as I did propose to them) can you put your lives in the balance with your honour: And in fear of los­ing the one or the other, can you have anie trouble in choosing? No, no (pursued I) your are Romans, and my companions: And consequentlie too Generous, not to love better to put your selves in hazard of dying gloriouslie then of living with infamie.

Who did ever hear it said (insisted I) that Virgins were in good repute in a Camp, where shame and modestie are not to be found? We are in ane armie, continued I (which I hope your Majestre will pardon me for speak­ing so) whose General, is Protector, of the Tarquines: It is for them that King Porsenna, hath undertaken the warr: And by what means then do you think to find a place of fastie with a Prince, where Lucretias, ravisher hath found a refuge and a defender? No, my com­panions, flatter not your selves: If the blood of that chaste unfortunate had not power to hinder a Prince from opposing the revenge that the Romans, were taking? Our tears will never prevail with him to re­venge us of them who would abuse us.

It may be you will say to me, that we were given to him in hostage, and that the publick faith is engadged to him by our persones: But know my companions, that whatsoever is done for honor, cannot but be glori­ous.

We will not break the peace; we will not cheat Por­senna; we will onlie shun shame and infamie, or die with the same glorie wherein we lived.

Let us go then, Illustrious Romans, so long as we have libertie.

Heat the noise, that the Souldiers make in their campe, and be a feard of their insolence.

They are altogether souldiers, strangers, our enemies and the defenders of the Tarquins Consider in fine my companions, that in the place where you are, you may lose your honor: But in that wher­in I will conduct you, you can lose but your life.

Behold, Porsenna, a part of the reasons I used to per­swade these Generous Virgins to follow me; And I shall say for their glorie and for that of my countrey, that it was easie for me to perswade them to my incli­nations. I was not contradicted in my opinion: They looked death in the face with constancie, and quitted the banks of the river with joy, though according to all liklie hood, they almost saw their death assured. But because our intentions were most innocent, the Gods did take care of conducting us; They assisted our feebl­ness, they sustained us upon the waters, and happilie brought us to the other side. Yet we did not find there all the repose that we expected: For that austere ver­tue, which all the Romans do profess, made our Re­lations have no joy at our return: They admired our resolution, they have also praised our design: But to satisfie the publick faith that they had engadged to you, they would have us brought back to your Camp: And for that effect, they have given us a convoy to conduct us hither, See Porsenna, by this adventure, what the Roman Virgins are, who loved better to hazard their life, and break their word, then expose their honour: And again see, what the Roman men are, who love better to expose the lives and honour of their Daughters, then to break their word. Yes, Porsenna, these two actions are equallie praise worthie: And to be just at such a time, we render to our parents the same honours which they gave us. They haye praised our flight, though they have not foreborn to remit us into your hands: And we also admire their vertue, though it deprives us of that libertie which we had acquired to our selves. The design of preserving our honour, caused our flight: And that of not lofting their reputation hath caused out return. Perhaps you will say to me, that it will be hard to comprehend how one and the same action can be both worthie of praise and of blame; And in fine that our return is an infallible sign, that our flight was cri­minall. No, Porsenna, the business should not be so [Page 194]considered: It must be better examined, to judge of it equitablie. And I am verie certain, that if it be re­garded with an uninteressed eye, it will be found that our flight was glorious to us, and that our return is so to our parents, I avouch that in some manner, we seem to have broken the publick faith: But before we be convin­ced of that fault, I must be permitted to defend our cause. Doubtless it cannot be denied that honour should be the rule of all the actions of men: It is for it that life is ex­posed in war! It is for it that sometimes all the senti­ments of Nature are renounced: It is for it that men do voluntarlie devout themselves to the safety of their coun­trey: It is for it that the publick faith is exactlie keeped; And in fine, it is for it that all tings ought to be done. Wherefore, let none wonder, if for preserving our honour we have exposed our lives, and broken the pub­lick faith. For seeing it is not keeped but onlie for honour, it was permitted to us to violate it; Because we could not keep it, but by exposing our selves to in­famie. Further, since our Sex is deprived of all pub­lick charge, as to our particular we had promised no­thing: And we thought, that for the iuterest of Rome, we ought to have gone out of your camp, because if mis­fortune had happened, to us it might have suffered an [...]utrage in our persons. Its glorie then finding it self [...]gadged with ours, we believed that it was just, to [...]pose our lives for preserving both the one and the [...]er: And doubtless we shall do the same thing, if [...] same occasion does offer. Lucretias misfortune [...] but too much taught us to prevent such disasters; [...] I can assure you, that if we had death in our option, [...] shou'd at least die innocent. Further, there is [...] from which an exception cannot be made: [...] which is doubtless baseness, is sometimes [...], and I am assured that no bodie blames that which [...] generous Mutius told, when seeing his hand [...], with a prodigious constancie, he assured you that [...] were three hundred in our camp who designed to [...] you, though effectivelie it was onlie he. That [...] hardiness that made Horatius Cocles [...], to stand himself alone unmoveable against all [...], and oblidged him at last to cast himself all [...] as he was in the Tyber, shall not be put in the [Page 195]number of ridiculous temerities. The firme resolution of Brutus, himself to see his children die, because they were Traitors to their countrey, shall rather pass for the zeal of a good Citizen, then for the inclination of an un-naturall Father. Wherefore, why would anie that the interest of honour and of the publick, justifying Mun [...]tius his lie, Cocles his temeritie, and the insen­sibilitie of Brutus, should not also justifie the flight of Cloelia and of her companions; Since they had no o­ther object, but the preservation of their honour, and that of their countrey? If Mutius did couragiously burn his hand; If Cocles be entitlie devoted to the publick safitie; If Brutus gave the blood of his children, for these two things onlie; We have also exposed our lives for the same cause, and may consequentlie pretend to the same glorie. Why, Porsenna, Lucretia hath me­rited an immortall reputation, for having killed her­self after her crime, and are we laughed at as in famous, for having exposed our lives, to the end that we might die innocent? No, no, it is impossible that it should be so: Posteritie will be more just: And I do verilie believe, that if you examine your thoughts exactlie, you will find that they do not condemn us. We have never seen that the gods who are so jealous of their au­thoritie, have caused Thunder fall upon the Victimes, which escape from the Altars: And wherefore them Porsenna, would you unworthilie treat Virgins, who having seen themselves abandoned of their guards, or to speak better their enemies; Went in quest of saftie, at the expence of their lives? Perhaps it will be said to me, that it seems by my reasons, that we had no wrong done to us: But if it be so, it seems likewaies that our parents had no reason to send us back. yet this conse­quence is not well grounded: And if I be not mistaken, I shall destroy it in few words. I have alreadie told you, that honour caused our flight, and that this same honor hath caused our return: For to speak rationallie, it was our Fathers who engadged their words to your; It was they who gave us in pledge, it was they who treated with you; It was they who consented to the articles of peace; And it is also they, who should exactlie per­forme all that they promised to you, thereby to oblidge you to do the same thing, The publick faith engadges [Page 196]them to it: the publick interest desires it; Their coun­treys honor requires it; Their own in particular oblidges them to it. and in fine nothing can exempt them from it. For they verie well know that these same Virgins, who have despised the impetuositie of the Tyber, onlie through fear of receiving an abuse; Will again contemn their lives, rather then do anie thing unworthie of Roman vertue; And in that manner shall they keep their word, without hazarding their honour or that of their countrey. See, Porsenna, what our Parents opinions are, and also what ours are: It be­longs now to you, to consider if you will treat us like fugitives, like enemies or like Romans. Yet I hope that you will take the juster and most advantageous partie. But know, that if by violating the lawes of men, you should treat us unworthilie, and break the peace that you have made, your designs shall advance no further then they have done. That which Mutius and Cocles did undertake against you a thousand Romans shall yet attempt. They are all born for great actions; All of them have an obstinat vertue, that blushes at nothing: Despaire does nothing, but corroborate their courage; Fear of death is unknown to them, They, endeavour to live with glorie and not to live long; Par­ticular interest can do nothing in their spirits; They do everie thing for honor, and do never anie thing that can blast it. See Porsenna, what the Romans are: See what sentiments they have given to us: And see in fine, that which hath both caused our flight and our return. it is true that at first flight, I had great repug­nancie to return under the power of a Prince, whom til then I had not considered, but as the protector of the Tarquins, and as the enemie of Rome: But coming to ponder the matter with a more tranquill spirit; That last quality did begin to give mea better opinion of you. Yes Porsenna, I found that you must doubtless have a great and bold spirit, in having attempted to make war with Rome: And consequentlie I believed. that if you had not been worthie of the rank that you keep, the Romans would not have made peace with you, and would not have received you into their Aliance. So that after I had perswaded my companions to go out of your Camp; I have likewares perswaded them to return [...]cit. Let us go (said I to them) let us go, and satis fie [Page 197]the publick faith, which our parents have engadged: Let us go and confirme the peace that they have made; And let us no more look upon Porsenna, as the protector of the Tarquins, but as their greatest enemie, because he hath abandoned them. Let us believe my compa­nions, that if this Prince had no vertue, the Romans would not have remitted us in his power. And moreover if it should come to pass that he have not so much as he ought, to treat us as he should; We shall alwaies have enough, to have our recourse to death, rather then pre­serve a life unworthie of what we are. let us go then my companions, let us go and ask from that Prince, the recompence of our flight: He hath been here a long enough time, within the territories of Rome, to have learned, that vertue should be loved and rewarded, in his verie enemies: he hath freelie pardoned Mutius, who attempted his life; Yet it will be easier for him to forget our flight, and grant us the favour, of sending us back to our parents. It belongs to you now Porsenna, to tell me if I have had reason to perswade these gene­rous Virgins to trust themselves to your goodness; For me, if I were not concerned in the thing, I would counsel you to use it thus. For it is not onlie glorious to you, to have been enemie of the Romans, and to be at present their Allay: But it shall also be more to you, if you undertake to dispute vertue with them. That is the thing wherein it will be brave to outdoe them: For that sort of war, hath this particular priviledge, that the conquered as well as the Victorious, shall alwaies acquire abundance of glorie. The sole desire of sur­mounting at such occasions, is more advantageous, then the gaining of a battle. undertake then Porsenna this famous combate, trust your self absolutl; to the Romans faith, and send us back to our parents.

Methinks they have keeped their word to you in a Generous enough manner, not to permit you to questi­on it: Yet that doth not hinder, But you shall do a brave action, if you restore us to libertie. But to give libertie to Roman Virgins, and to Virgins, who can despise death to shun infamie, is to give them more then Kingdoms, more then Empires, and more then life. That place of Historie, shall be so advantageous to you, that your reign shall have nothing more brave [...] You shal gain the hearts of all the Romans; And by this [Page 198]means, you shall have fewer hostages in your Camp, but you shall have more intelligence in Rome. We do not pray to the Gods here, but only for our country: But in Rome we shall daylie offer them vows, for your glorie. You shall be our protector, and without our having been slaves, we shall not forbear to consi­der you with the same sentiments, as if you had broken our chains, and as if you had relieved us from servitude. Resnse not Porsenna, the glorious title of our Liberator, because we earnstlie desire to give it you. Perhaps you will say to me, that we abused you by our flight, be­cause we would not have fled, but for having feared you, and because we looked upon you as a Prince cruel, barbarous and Tirranick: But remember Porsenna that the vertue of Women should be scrupulous and timide, They should almost look upon all People, as if they were their enemies: And because by custome armes are forbidden to them, fear must serve in stead of prudence: And it was more worthie for them to flee, or to have died a little too soon, then to have lingered, or to have lived a little too long. Further, we had evil thoughts of you, because we did not know you, but by the name of the Protector of Tirranie, and I declare to you presentlie, that I do not yet know who you are: Speak then Porsenna, that I may thereby know you: Remember that you are within the fight of Rome, that you have all the Romans for your spectators; that you are to speak to Virgins, who can alwaies live or die with glorie; That same attends our arrest to publish it over all the Earth; That the Gods who see you, do alreadie hold Crowns to put upon your head, if you can surpass your resentment; And overcome the vertue of our Fathers and ours, by trusting to them, and by granting us our libertie.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

THe Sublime Vertue of that Generous Virgin made him an Illustrious slave, though [...] was Crowned. Porsenna was ravished [...] her; He ordained infinit praises to Cloelia He rendered unto her, her liberty, and that of her companions; And to signalise the Grandeure o [...] her action, he made a present of a Cataphractarie horse which was the recompence of a Valiant man, who ha [...] done brave actions in the wars: As if he would have said, that her action equalled that of the most generou [...] In sine, he sent them all backe to their parents: And al [...] permitted Cloelia, to choose among all the other hostag [...] them whom she pleased to deliever. This Illustrious P [...] son made choice of all the young children, as being most [...] posed: And in that manner returned to Rome, [...] the Allegress and Magnisicence of a Triumph. She [...] there received with a joy equall to what she had: A [...] the Roman austeritie yeelded at that time to the rese [...] ­ments of Nature and Reason: They erected for her, [...] publick market place, a statue on horse back, thater [...] equaüie, her vertue, her boldness, and the generositie Porsenna.

OCTAVIA TO AUGUSTUS THE EIGHTEENTH HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

AFairs being allwaies in agitations betwixt Augustus, and Mark Anthonie, and both the one and the other being making preparati­ons to renew a warr; The first would have oblidged his sister Octavia, to depart from the house of a housband, by whom she had been unworthily used.

But this verteous wife, who could not approve of that counsel, did with all her strength oppose it: And spake in these termes to that Illustrious and Dear Brother.

OCTAVIA TO AUGUSTUS

I Pray you my Lord, com­mand me not to quit An­thonies house: And force me not to the necessitie of di­sobeying you. the vertuethat Iprofesse, will not permit me to commit such a fault; And the excess of the frindship that you have for me, doubt­less is that which carries you on to give me this counsel, It is true that Anthonie, robbs me of his heart, and of his affection, to give both the one and the other to Cleopatra: But my Lord, will it be convenient that if the Love of that Queen hath caused Anthonie, com­mit a fault, that Octavias, jealousie should carrie you to doe ane other! No it will not be just: Consider then if you please, the publick interest, and not mine, and think also, that it will be equallie disgraceful to Cesar, and to Anthonie, to begin a warr, and to destroy the Empire, for the Love of on woman and for the jealou­sie of ane other. But nevertheless if you cannot be e­qually blamed for it, I dare say, that you shall be more justlie accused then Anthonie; Because he is no more in condition either to hear, or understand reason: And yours cannot be disturbed but onlie in consideration of me. The love of Cleopatra, hath in such manner obscured his judgement, that he is blind to his own [Page 204]interests: He hath not considered that he has done me ane injurie, when he refused the presents that I made to him: And that in stead of letting me see him, he is returned into Alexandria. I say he hath not dessigned to offend Octavia, but to please Cleopatra. He has feared that the sight of me would give him other in­clinations; And doubtless he knows that he hath suficiently loved me already, not to be able to endure my presence without confusion and repentance. In fine my Lord, his imbecility, and his blindness must be p [...]ed, and he not imitated in his fault. The passion [...]hat [...]am [...] [...]o follow, is yet more dan­gerous, then that which possesses Anthonie; And if it should [...] from my he [...]t into yours, doubtless you shall Act with more violence, and with more unjustice then it does: Because it will certainlie communi­cate to you, a part of that furie, that doth allwaies accompanie it. The injurie that I have receved, re­quires not the bloud of the Romanes, to blot it out: That will not be the way, of restoring Anthonies, affecti­on to me, to declare warr aginst him for my sake: On the conrtare, it will be ane authorising his fault and un­constancie; Because it is certain, that I should merit the treatment I receve, if for banishing of me from his heart, I should banish me from his house, and should joyn with his enemies partie. I know that I am a Ro­man, and that I have the honor of being your sister, but I also know, that I am Anthonies wife; That his in­terests ought to be mine; And that though He hath not for me, all the affection that He is oblidged to have; My own vertue does not permit me to despense with that which I owe to him: And if I use it any other way, it will be the acknowledging of Clopatra, for Anthonys lawfull wife, and a voluntarie yeelding a quality to her, which she cannot take from me. Let me then conceal my greif and teares in the house of my husband: My Lord, let me then absconde my affliction, and my resentment: And if it be true, that my interests are dear to you, as you have alwayes testified to me; Assist me in excuseing Anthonie, to the Senate. Tell that this Love is too violent, to last long time: And that as the great Jnlius Cesar, had strength enough to dissi­pate the charmes of that fair Egyptian which had sur­prised him: Anthonie, having the same feeblnesse, [Page 205]will at last have courage enough to break that enchant­ment as well as he. But in fine, my Lord, see that that Love be not the beginning of war: Remember that glorious day wherein my tears made the armes fall from the hands of the two greatest Emperors that ever was. you was then environed with your Legions; your armie was all in a readynesse to fight; The three hundered ships which Anthonie led, were in sight of your troupes: Their was then to be seen in both parties, that fervour, which the sight of enemies gives in such encounters; Desire of victorie was in the hearts of all the souldiers: They had alreadie consider­ed the richnesse of the bootie; Eagles were seen against [...]agles; Romans agitnst Romans; Citizens against Gitizens; Freinds against freinds: Relationes against relations: And in fine to say all, the battle of Pharsalta, did make nothing more terrible to the sight, then what my eyes saw at that time. However though Anthonie, appeared the agressor, because he came to attaque you? My tears, my reasons, and my prayers surpassed your re­sentment. You embraced Anthonie, in stead of fighting of him: You receved him as the husband of your sister, and not as your enemie: And these two puissante ar­mies, which you had raised to destroy your selves served but to give you reciprocall marks of a perfect intelli­gence. For you have not forgot, that Anthonie, gave you a hundred Galies, and twentie Brigantines: Also that you gave him two Legions: And besides that, you granted also to me for him a thousand of your best souldiers. Think you, my Lord, that that first victorie, doth not make me hope for a second. You love me as much to day, as you Loved me at that time? The sight of your enemies does not acerberate your resentment: You have no Legions about you, who presle you to give them a new subject to their courage: You are alone, you are unarmed, I am unfortunate and afflicted, and my tears, my reasones, and my prayers, should also be more powerful with you, then they were that day, be­cause there is nothing in agitation but my interest.

Further, it is casier to hinder ones self from taking up of armes, then to quit them: And it should have been then more difficult for you, to have made peace with Anthonie, then it can be to you now to begin a warr: It is Anthonies, passion, and not his person that [Page 206]must be fought against; And for that effect, I ought to endure his unconstancy without complaining, I ought to preserve my heart for him, though he robbes me of his; I ought to have compassion of his weakness; I ought to have respect for him, though he despises me; I ought to dwell in his house, [...]o long as he does me the favour, to suffer me there; And to say all, I ought to opposeyou, every time that you would oblidge me to doethings which might be dishonorable to me. If Anthonie, would desire to carrie me on to a design of hurting you I should oppose him, as I doe oppose you: And with the same armes wherewith I fight you now, would I fight his unjustice and his obstinacie. Yes my Lord I shall alwayes be Cesars sister, and Anthonies wife: And let fortune doe what it will, I shall never do any thing unworthie of these two glorious qualities. pardon me then, if I tell you boldlie, that I will not go out of my Husbands house, unless he command me; And if it should also come to pass, that Cleopatras Love, doe even carrie him to such ane irregularity, as to ordain me to quit it: I shall abandon it with shedding as few tears as is possible for me, for fear that the compassion that will be had for me, doe not augment the hatred that will be had to him. Behold my Lord what Octa­vias thoughts are and what they shall allwayes be. And moreover, to speak rationallie, Anthonie, is not ane ordinarie man: The great qualities: which are in him, merits the excuse of his imbecillity: And the brave actiones which he hath donein the wars should doubtless obtain from the equity of all men, some indulgence for these which love makes him doe. The affection that he alwayes had for the great Julius Cesar, should oblidge you not condemn him slightlie: Because be­ing his sone by adoption, and his lawful successor, me thinks you should be heir to his inclinationes and to his friends, as well as to his riches. When Anthonie, fought for Julius Cesoer, He fought for you, you ought to reward him for all that he did for him: For in sine, of all Cesares debts, the most just and most glorious to pa [...], are doubtless the good offices which his freinds have rendered to him. Remember what Anthonie, did for that Excellent man: it was he who did gener­ouslie oppose Pompeyes faction, when it would have had Cesar lay down his armes, and his enemie not lay [Page 207]down his: He spake zealouslie at that time, and feared not the exposing of himself, to receve an outrage; as in effect he was unworth [...]lie used, in consideration of that: And was constrained to disguise himself like a slave, to goe and seek a refuge, in the Camp of him whom he had protected. But what He did at that time, He did also at a hundered others as important; He hath repayed with his blood, and with his person, the friendship that Cesar did bear to him. He was seen severall times to rallie his troupes, bring them back to the battle, and render them victorious, when they were almost ready to be conquered. He was seen at the battle of Pharsalia, command the right wing of Cesars armie fight for glo­lrie, and expose his life, to secure in his hands, that soveraign Power, which at last hath come to yours. Further, if he fought for Cesar, dureing his life, he hath also caused Cesar conquer after his death: His eloquence did that, which the valour of anie other had not power to doe: For you are not ignorant, that without that fervent zeal that made him speak, the Roman people dared not to testifie, how near the blood of Cesar did touch them. They would have bein con­tented with shedding of tears, and would not have set fire to the houses of his murtherers. You see then my Lord, in what manner he erected the first stepp, by which you obtained the power that you have? But if after what he hath done for Cesar, it be permitted to put in account, what he hath done for the common cause, both against Cassjus, and against Brutus; You will find that he was alwaies their conqueror: And that in some encounters wherein you was not in condition to fight he was as advantageous to you, as he was to your freinds: Because that without his valor, they should have doubtlesse gained a victorie, which perhaps would have put them in condition of not being anie more con­quered. I well know my Lord, that since that you have not still being equallie well together: And that this noble jealousie that inseparablie followes them, who are lovers of glorie, and who aspyre at great things, hath altered your freindship: But if I be not mistaken, this kind of hatred, should not so much as reach the per­son: Ane enemie must be excelled in grandour of courage and in generositie: He must be opposed, if [Page 208]he attempts to destroy us: But for particular causes the publick repose must never be troubled: nor for everie flight reason, should a warr be begun, whose successe is allwaies dubious. Hatred is a pass on for particulars: And if it be permitted to persones who have the supreame power to have it, it should be a hatred of vice, of slaverie, and of infamie; Other wayes if they fight not against that passion, and if they let it bear sway with them, they shall doubtlesse be capable of all sort of unjustice. For revenging their own injuries, they will make no difficultie to violate the lawes of men, to forget naturall equitie, to infringe the justest Lawes, to destroy their countrey, and to despise the power of the gods. Behold, my Lord the disorders that hatred may cause sometimes in the most steaddie mind; And to hinder you from falling in the like misfortune con­sider a little what ane excesse of love makes the unfor­tunat Anthonie doe. Think you my Lord, that [...]atred can give you juster sentiments? And that jealousie, if I were capable of it, permitts me to act with lesse violence? No my Lord, these three passiones being put in opposition to one another, as they will be in this encounter, will be capable of destroying the whole earth. Doe not engadge your self then, in such a perverse designe; but how ever if you will revenge your self of Anthonie, abandone him to his own judge­ment, and to the charms of Cleopatra. Let him pre­serve that fair conquest in repose: And doe not fear that he will attempt to oppose yours, if you let him enjoy that peaceablie. But my Lord consider if you doe jrritate him, he may parhaps give you much trou­ble: Anthonies first valour is not dead, it is but benum­ed: Perhaps it may at last rouse it self with furie: And without quitting the passion, that reignes in his soul, he may oppose your designs, with all the fervour that man can have, who fights to defend himself, to revenge himself. for his own glorie, and to preserue his Mistress. Make not then a redoubtable enemie of ane unfortunat freind: I conjure you never to let me see you undertake a warr, wherein it will not be permitted me, to have the power of wishing you to gain the victorie. Consider I pray you in what condition my soul will find it self, if I should again see you ready to come to shedding [Page 209]of blood. But with this cruel difference from the first that that was but for love to you, and that this will be for love of me. No, No, revenge not the injurie that is done to me, and seek not a remedie worse then the desease. The sole thought of seing my brother and my husband, ready to give death to each other for my sake, transports me with horror; I almost know no more what I say: And in so greata trouble I am ready to give my blood and my life, to preserve yours and that of Anthonies: But since you would naither ac­cept of my blood nor of my life, see my tears with with compassion; At least hear my prayers and my sighs; And since by your command, I am Anthonies wife: Doe not command in [...]e to quit his house, as that of my enemie. Consider I am mother of An­thonies, children: And that in that quality I should natther forsake them nor make them goe out of their fathers house. That will be almost to say, that they are not legittimat successors if [...] should cause them depart; And it will be also my giving of armes to destroy my self, to all Anthonies flatterers, and to Cleopatras [...]aves. But I am verie well assured not to use it so; my patience shall la [...] [...]onger then Anthonies love: And let the contempt he has of me goe to what height it can, my vertue shall yet goe further. yes my Lord, though his affection should never return to me; And though he should live and die in Cliopatras armes? I shall shed tears for his death: His memorie shall be dear to me: The children of Fulvia and also of Cleopatra, shonld become mine; I will take care of their education, and of their fortune: And so long as Octavia shall be alive, she shall never for­bear to give new proofes of her constancie. Since I am of a Sex to whom valor is forbidden, at least pati­ence may be permitted me, and that that vertue may serve me for courage. There is sometimes as much generosity, in knowing how to endure misfortunes, as in knowing how to fight enemies: Do not you then oppose the victorie, that I will have of my self: And to make it more glorious, let me surmount you as well as my self. Doe not expose your self to be conquer ed by Anthonies power, and let your self be over­come by Octavia. But because I doe not see in your eyes, that you are yet in condition of yeelding your self, to [Page 210]my prayers and teares; Suffer me my Lord, to goe and wait for your resolution in my husbands house, becauseit is the only place wherein I can dwelwith honnor, so long as Anthonie permitts me. However I do assure you, that whereas I doe make no vowes gainst Anthonie, while I Im in your palace; I shal make none against Cesar, when I am in the house of Anthonie.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

THis fair and Vertuous person obtained from the freindship of Augustus, all that she ask­ed: And he permitted her to live in her hus­bands house, so long as she could conveniently Yet she was not there long: For Anthonie, was so unjust to her, and so complacent to Cleopatra, that he sent her a command to goe out of it: She did it with the same modestie that she had alwaies testified: And for all the disgraces that burried after this unfortunate, both dureing her life and after his death; she was ever what till then she was I would say afamous and rare example of conjugal freind ship.

AGRIPINA TO THE ROMAN PEOPLE, THE NINTEENTH HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

After the death of Germanicus, Agrippina his wife carried his Ashes back to Rome, to put them in the to mb of Augustus. All the people did goe with her even to Brundusium, and testified by their sadness that they com­plained of the malice of Tiberius. That generous wife, whose imperious and bold spirit, could never disguise its thoughts did nomore conceal them at that time: But on the contrare, letting her self be transported with greif as with her natural humor she thusspake to the Roman people who were hearing her.

AGRIPPINA TO THE ROMAN PEOPLE,

GERM ANICVS, the grand-Son of Au­gustus, and the Ne­phew of Anthonie; Germanicus, the terror of Germanie, and the love of the Romans; Germani­cus, in whom all vertue shined e­quallie; Germa­nicus, whose whole Actions have been glorious, Germani­cus, husband to the unfortunate Agripin. grand-Daughter to Augustus; In fine Germanicus, the bravest, the most valiant, the most modest, the most equitable, and the most ac­complished that shall ever be; Is now no more but a few ashes and this Urne contains, (O pitifull accident!) him whose valor might have conquered all the Earth, if he had been but suffered to have lived a little longer. Yes Romans, see your Germanicus in a state of needing you, to make him live eternallie. See him there equa­lie uncapable to serve you, and to revenge himself of his and your enemies: See him now in condition not to excit anie more envie against his vertue: He hath conquered this Monster by death: For the least circum­stances of his life are so glorious, that calumnie it self can find nothing in them to repeat. Lament then Ro­mans, our common misfortune: Because if I have lost [Page 214]a husband, you have lost your Protector. Look I pray you, round about this Urne, upon Germanicus his six Children all clouded with tears: Take pittie of their youth, and of their misfortune: And fear with me that by their father his abandoning of them, he hath not taken from them all their vertue. If his life had been so long, as rationallie it might have been, his example, if they had had perverse inclinations, would have al­waies led them to good: But to day, in the condition that things are, who shall he be who can instruct them? Who shall he be who will correct them? Who is he who will lead them into the War? Who is he who will make them hate Vice, and love Vertue? I doubt not but that Tiberius will have for them, the same sentiments which he had for their father: For his inclinations are not easilie changed: But since the Emperour did not hinder him from having enemies, envyers, persecutors, and from dying by poison, it may also be, that the care he will take for their education, will not be profitable: And I wish to heaven that all I apprehend of Caligula do not come to pass: Let us Romans, let us leave what is to come under the providence of the Gods: And let us onlie speak of the misfortunes which are befallen us. They are great enough to merit all our tears: Divide them not I conjure you: Let them all be shed for my dear Germanicus, and remember that he was of the blood of the Julius Cesareses, of the Anthonies, of the Marcelluses, and of the Augustuses. It belongs to you Romans, to weep of his death, and to Cele­brate his memorie. And for the stronger testifying the esteem you had for him, hate them who hated him; Detest his enviers, his enemies, and his murtherers: Fear not to speak of the wickedness of Piso, nor of the ambition of P [...]ancina, publish without apprehension, that these dead bodies which were found without their Tombes; That these imprecations which were made against Germanicus; That his name that was engraven upon blades of lead; And all those signes of enchant­ments which have been known, are manifest proofes of the designs which were had against his life. Publish I say, that poison hath finished what charmes could not do: And do not fear that you will be punished for this crime; The death of Germanicus hath so over joyed [Page 215]them who caused it, that for a long time they shall not be in condition to take notice of your sadness nor of your discourse. This Victorie that they have gained of the most valiant man that ever was, doubtless gives them vanitie enough to slight your resentment; And not to trouble themselves, for what you will think of that accident. I do also believe, that they are so much blinded by their ambition, as to be verie glad, that posteritie should know, that they have put Germanicus to death. They aspire more to the reputation of great Politicians, then of vertuous men: And conditionallie that it be said, that they did know how to loss him who could oppose their unjust authoritie, it is no matter to them, to pass for [...]ruell, for un-naturall, for impious, for perverse, and for bloodie. yes treacherous Piso. Yes co­wardlie enemies of Germanicus, it will be said that you did know how to reign, it wil be known that you put him to death; It will be known that you have violated by his person, all sorts of Laws: It will be known that you have not respected in him, the Noblest blood among the Romans; It will be known that you have cut the threed, of the most Illustrious life that shall ever be; It will be known that the number of his vertues, hath shortned that of his dayes; It will be known that you did not extinguish that bright light, but because it made the blackness of your lives the clearer; And in fine it will be known that the excess of your crimes, and that of his Vertues, are the true causes of his death. I shall make no stope O Generous Romans, to repass exactlie to you, what all the enemies of Germanicus were: It is not that fear doth hinder me from naming of them, for Agripina is incapable of it: But it is because I know that they are all known to you. You know the cause of their hatred nor do I speak to you this day, but of the pittifull effects of that dangerous passion, But ye Gods! How is it possible that Germanicus could be hated? What had he done in all his life; That could have acquired enemies to him? Let us repass it, I con­jure you: Let us be rigid Judges to him: And let us see if he could have merited the punishment that he suffer­ed. First as to abmition, never was anie man so voide of it: And all the earth hath seen, that the more op­portunitie he had to pretend to the Empire; The great­er [Page 216]affection did he testifie to Tiberius, and did deviate himself the more, from what would have conducted him to the Throne. Ah! would to the Gods! That he had rather followed my counsells, then his own inclinations! It was he who caused present an oath of fidelitie, to the Bdlgiks, a Neighbouring Nation of Ger­manie. It was he who appeased the revolr of the Legions and who rather then listen to the offers which they made to him, of following him everie where, would peirce his heart with the blow of a dager. Behold Romans, what Germanicus did for Tiberius at that time. He would die for him: And perhaps by another way, and by o­ther sentiments, hath he had the same destinie. But though it be so, let us not continue. upon such a dole­ful discourse. Let us remember that Germanicus com­manded me a dying to lose some of that noble seroci­ty that innocence gives me, and the illustrious Blood from which I am descended. Let us [...]ay then simply, that without lying it may be affirmed that Germanicus preserved the Empire for Tiberius: because it was he who remitted obedience and military Discipline among the greatest part of the Legions, with out whom the Em­perours could not have enjoyed the Soveraign power. The disorder was so great, the complaints which were made against Tiberius so injurious; the demands of the Souldiers so insolent, their proceedings accompanied with so much violence; that Germanicus was conitrain­ed to cause me go out of the Camp, searing I might receive an abuse in it: However I did what I could, that I might not be separated from him at that time: For as I have already told you, fear had no place in the heart of Agrippina: and no humane power could oblidge her, either to be silent or to speak, until that it pleased her, and that Reason required it. But generous Romans, Ger­manicus did not only appease the sedition of the Soul­diers, but he caused the same Souldiers, who would no more know a Commander; who only followed their own fancies; who would hear nothing but their own fury, who did not arm themselves but to oppose the Em­perours will; return under their Colours, render them­selves capable of Reason, hear the commands of Ger­manicus, and take up their armes, to follow him with fervency, in all the dangers wherein he exposed him­self at that time, and from which he retired with glory [Page 217]It was with these same Souldiers that he revenged the defate of Varus, that he did retake the Eagle of the nine­teenth Legion; that he past thorow the Brustores; that he wholly ransacked all that is betwixt the Rivers Ami­sa and Luppia; and unsatisfied with testifying his va­lour in the Wars, he did let his piety be seen as well as his courage. For coming to the same place where Var­rus had been defated, and where there is yet to be seen an infinite number of blanched bones, scattered upon the plain, or cumulated together in great heaps, ac­cording as the Souldiers fled or fought: Where I say there is yet to be seen shivered launces, and quantities of other broken armes, horses heads tied to trees; altars whereon the Barbarians had immolated the Tribunes and the Centurians; where they who had escaped from the defate, shewed the places, where the Comman­ders had received their deaths wounds; where the Eagles had been taken, where Varrus had received his first wounds; and where quickly after he died by his own hand. I say Germanicus being come to that horrid place, and there seeing such fatal Reliques of a Roman army, expelled bloody sighs, poured out tears, and abandoned his invincible Soul to sorrow and compas­sion. He exhorted the Souldiers to render the last du­ties to these unfortunate men, of whom some had been their Relations and their Freinds. he inspires their hearts with sadness, thereby to carry them on after­wards with the more zeal to revenge: and with his own hand did lay the first turf to the tomb that was builded for these unfortunate worthies. However Tiberius did not approve of that laudable action. He did not compre­hend that a man could be equally valiant and pious; give burial to his Fre [...]nds, and conquer his Enemies; and in sine he belived that Piety was a Vertue unworthy of a great Spirit. he wished that Germanicus had trode upon these dead mountains, without remembering that they had been Romans like himself, that they had fought, as he was going to fight: that the same [...]nemies waited for him: that to render him victorious over them, who had conquered these, he must make the Gods propitious to him; and infuse desire of venge­ance into the souls of his Souldiers, thereby to encrease that of fighting, and of gaining the victory. But the maximes of Tiberius, and these of Germanicus were [Page 218]very different: they did also lead them to very diffe­rent wayes. Romans, Tiberius reignes, and Germanicus is dead. Render to him at least the same honours, which he gave to Varrus his Souldiers; and because he had courage enough to revenge their death, be you at least so generous as to mourn for his. Nevertheless let us not leave him any longer in the shad of this terrifying field all covered with dead bodies: let us behold him in hisconquests: let us lock how the Valiant Arminius dares not wait for him: and let us see with what skill, what conduct, and with what courage he pursued and excel­led so generous an enemy. Germanieus at that time joyned prudence with valour: And surprising the Cattaneans, when they least thought of him, he ran­sacked all their countrey: took the town of Martium Capitoll of the Province. He set it on fire, he had many prisoners in it: And after he had carried terrour eve­rie where, he retook the way to the Rhine, without the enemies dareing to follow him. From thence he re­lived Segesta, which they of his countrey hold besidg­ed, in favours of Arminius, who afterward, by a trom­perie of war, seemed rather to flee, then to retire. But it was onlie untill Germanicus was arrived at an Am­busca doe that was laid for him: and I wish from hea­ven that he had so happilie evited all the ambushes which were laid a gainst his life. He payed for his valour at that time: And seeing the Germans who fol­lowed his partie, going to cast themselves in a Marrish most advantageous for the enemies; he caused all the Legions advance in Battalion, which did put terrour among all Arminius this troupes, and assurance among [...]urs. Germanicus his good-fortune, went even to Cecina his Lieutenent: For he surpassed all difficulties which he encountered; Fought with glorie, the troupes of Inguiomere, and these of Arminius: and in fine the Roman armes were but too fortunate at that time: Be­cause if Germanicus had acquired less glorie, he would have been less suspected. I have cheiflie known, that I contributed somewhat to his death: His valour was thought to be as contagious, as vice is in this age: And that he had communicate a part of it to me. it has been thought (I say) [...] since he had made me cou­ragious, he would make Heroes of all the Souldiers who fought for him. [...]ut they who believe that, re­member [Page 219]member no more that Agrippina is of the blood of Augustus: Aud that Germanicus had more trouble to retain her courage, then to excit it. And moreover at that time, I did nothing that could give anie shadow: It is true that when the noise did run that the Roman armie was beaten, and that the enemie were coming to pillage the Gaules: I hindered that anie who was too fearfull of that false news, should break the bridge that crossed the Rhine: And by that means, I did in some manner serve the Roman Legi­ons. It is also true, that when they were returning; I keeped my self at the end of the bridge, to thank the Souldiers: To praise some, assist others, comfort the wounded, and in the end [...]o do everie thing that compas­sion and Generositie counselled me to do in favours of them, who had fought for the advantage, of their countrey, for the safitie of Tiberius, and for the glorie of Germanieus: But if I be not deceived, I ought ra­ther to have been thanked for that action, then to have been looked upon as an enemie. Further the freind­ship that the Legions had, both for Agrippina and for Germanicus, hath onlie served for the advantage of his enemies: For though he knew as well as I, that they had but verie unjust inclinations for him: He made use of that freindship or the Legions, to enga [...]ge them [...] his designs: And his designs had no other object but the glorie of them who loved him not; It is true he was obstinate for the German War: But it was onlie, be­cause he beleived it convenient to do it for the publick good: As in effect, the event at last made what I say appear: For after the valiant Arminius and the generous Inguiomere had done their last endeavours to raise an armie, capable of conquering that of Germanicus: And that by all stratagemes of warr; which great Cap­tains do use, they had considered how to takefull advan­tages, which the scituation of the place could give them: Germanicus ceased not to gain so manic Victo­ries, as he made fights, or as he gave battles. Never were enemies seen defend themselves more obstinatly: It seemed that they did not sometimes flee, but to re­turn with the greater courage to fight: The defaiting of their troupes did on lie augment their courage: And the nearer they seemed to be conquered, the more they [Page 220]to put themselves in condition of being victorious. It might have been said that the valor of the Souldiers who were killed, past into the hearts of their compani­ons ro revenge their death: And therefore, Germanicus merits not a little glorie for having conquered such ene­mies. Among the things which were found in the bootie that was taken from them, after one of the battles which was lost; There were a great manic chains to be seen, which they caried with them, to fetter the Roman Souldiers, whom they should take prisoners; For they doubted not, that they should gain the victo­rie. However, after that Germanicus, by his valor and conduct had revenged the death of Varrus; The loss of his Legions; had again found the lost coulors; And caried horror amongst all the Barbarians; What did he for his particular interest? What did he for his own glo­rie? Shall I rell it generous Romans. Yes let us tell it for his honour, and for the [...]ame of his enemies; He erected a Magnificent Trophie, with an inscription that simply said: That Tiberius Cesars armie, had consecra­ted these monuments to Mars, to Jupiter, and to Augu­stus: For the victorie that it had obtained, against these Nations which inhabitated bet wixt the Rhine and Albis. And all that, Romans, without speaking of himself, more then of the me [...]st Souldier of the armie that he commanded. I shall not tell you exactlie all the actions which Germanicus hath done: Fame hath reached you it: And the hatred that hath been had to him, should also perswade you that he merited your freindship. Further, when Tiberius judged, that it was convenient, for the designs which he had, that Germanicus should return to Rome, to receive the ho­nor of the Triumph; That unfortunate Heroe did well know, that they desired they should Triumph before the victorie. nevertheless, he did not forbear to obey them, he left that imperfect war which he was going to finish so profitablie, and so gloriously for you: And without desiring to use all his prudence, he listned on­lie to his generositie. You saw him, invincible Romans in the Triumphing Chariot: But in the verie instant wherein you was sheding tears of joy, perhaps there was some of the Magicians of which Rome is plentifullie furnished, who then foretold, that you should verie [Page 221]soon shed tears of sorrow upon the Ashes of Germanicus. You also know, that he was not recalled to his countrey, to permit him to live in it: On the contrare, he was sent to a place verie far off: And it was found conveni­ent, or to speak better, necessar; Whither for the pub­lick good or for particular reasons; To banish him from Rome, upon some honorable pretext. Let it be what it would, he did what he was desired he was as for­tunate in pacifying the interests of the princes allyed to the Roman people, as he had been in fighting his ene mies, and if the treacherous Piso and the ambitious Plan­eina had not attempted his death? Perhaps they might have had rouble enough to have brought it to pass. Germanicus was so unversallie beloved, that it would have been a hard matter for them who put him to death, to have en­creased the number of their complices. He knew what was thought of him: And the esseem that he had ac­quired, could not make him suspected. For everie time that he went into the warr, he was accustomed, to go alone in the night disguised like a simple Souldier from tent to tent to hear what was said of him. yet it was not that he delighted in hearing the praises, which were given to his valour: On the contrare, he said, he search­ed to be instructed of his faults, that he might amend them. Behold Romans, what Germanicus was: His Soul was whollie Noble and Generous: And under whatsoever form death did present it self, he looked upon it with a fixed countenance. he hath seen tem­pest disperse his armie, and drive his ship against the rocks, without having anie other fear then that of seeing the Roman Legions perish. He has beenseen after ship-wrack, repay to all the Souldiers who escaped; what the storme had made them loss: He was seen while he livedserve his greatest enemies: And that which is morestrange, and more mervalous, he is dead, without having said anie thing, against the chief of the con­spiracie, that was done against his life: And he is con­tented with having prayed his friends, to cause punish the complices. Me thinks Romans, that it is the least thing, can be granted to the Ashes of Anthonies Ne­phew, of Augustus his grand-son, and of Agrippinaes husband. yes Romans, if Tiberius were chief of that conspiration, (which none among you dare say) that [Page 222]it be by his order, that Germanicus is put to death; Be­ing a great Politician as he is, he ought alwaies to put the complices of his crime to death. Piso and Plancina should be sacrificed to Germanicus: though it should be but for to hinder them from speaking, and to dry up your tears, their blood ought to be shed. All they who concern themselves with doing of horrid Villanies have alwaies used to let the executioners of their wick­ed designs be lost, to the end that they be not suspected. Piso hath alreadie had the audacity, to say to Marsus Vibius, by an insolent rallerie, that seems to be like a per­son whom I name not, because I have more respect then he; that he would come to Rome to justifie the death of Germanicus, when the Praetor informed of the poisons had summoned there all the criminals, and all the accusers. Yes Romans, I tell you again, that whatsoever way Germanicus was put to death, Piso should die; And I have so much hope from the prudence of Tiberius, that I doubt not but Piso shall die: And that in some man­ner the death of Germanicus will be revenged. But to obtain this satisfaction, employ your tears and prayers: Let the name of Germanicus be heared over all: Do not enclose your sorrow in the tomb of Augustus, with those pittifull Reliques which we are carieing to it. Fol­low me Romans; Let us go to the Senat and demand justice for Germanicus: Let us represent that it will be disgracefull to it, not to revenge the death of a man, for whom Triumphant Arches were erected; Who was seen enter Rome, in a Triumphant Chariot; And who past among all Nations, and among the Barbarians themselves, for the most accomplished among mor­tals. Let us not use charmes nor enchantments, for de­stroying our enemies, as they have done to destroy Ger­manicus, Let us not revenge his death by the same armes which caused it; let us trust to the justice of the Gods, to the prudence of Tiberius. and to the Senats authoritie: The justice that we desire cannot be refus­ed to us. You Souldiers, who have followed him, ask the blood of Piso, to revenge the death of your Captain, Recount to the Senate the perills wherein you did ac­companie him, show the wounds you received in the fights where he was: Tell truelie the things which you was witnesses of: And in fine, desire, that the death of [Page 223]the Father of his Legions and your Generall may be re­venged. You generous Citizens who hear me, desire boldlie that the death of Germanicus may be revenged: Remember what he was; Remember his vertue, his modestie, his goodness, his courage, his liberalitie, and his moderation. Say that he was the Modell by which you hoped to regulate the lives of your children, & to hinder them from following the perniciousexam­ples which they see everie day. Tel that you have lost your Supporter, and your upholder? And desire at least, that they may revenge on the person of the treacherous Piso, him who is taken from you. in fine, who ever you be that hears my voice, employ yours, in asking this equi­table vengeance. Echo over all, the names of Julius Cesar, of Anthonie, of Marcellus, and of Augustus, thereby to obtain what you desire. Speak of Tombs, of Urnes, and of Ashes, to excit compassion in the most cruel heart. Joyn also some menaces with prayers, if they be unprositable: And forget nothing of all that can cause Piso his death, comfort Agrippina, and [...] ­venge Germanicus

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

THis Harrangue failed not of an advantageous Effect, all the Senate, and all the Roma People were sensibly touched with it: The one and the other shed tears, breathed com­plaints, and abandoned themselves to forrow: And it was said that all the glorie of Rome entered the Tomb, with the Ashes of Germanicus. Everie on called Agrippina, the honour of her countrey, the blood of Augustus, the onlie and last example of the ancient Roman Vertue: And everie one prayed the Gods that they would preserve her Race, and make her live beyond, and after the intire ruine of these wicked men. In fine, the publick zeal. was so arduous for Germanicus, and for Agrippina, that Tiberius was constrained to abandone. [...]iso to the rigour of justice. But he prevented his judgement by the wound of a sword which he gave himself in the throat, and whereof he instantly dyed.

SAPHO TO ERINNA THE TWENTIETH HARRANGUE.

ARGUMENT.

YOw are to hear that Illusticus Woman speak, of whom all ages have said so much: Whom Plato himself admired; whose image was engraven, like that of a great Prince of whom we have yet remaining a species of Poesie, whose verses are called Saphick, because it was she who invented their measure, and whom two great men of Antiquity a Grecian and a Roman, called the tenth Muse. I cause her take occasion to exhort her fre­ind to make verses as she did, thereby to make it appear that Ladies are sapable of it: And that they wrong themselves by neglecting such an agreeal [...] occupation. It is the Argument of this Harrangue, that I give in parti­cular to the glorie of this fair Sex; as in generall I have given all this Volumn.

SAPHO TO ERINNA

I Must Erinnae, I must this day overcome in your mynd that disttrust of your self, and thatfalse shame, that hin­ders you from employing yourmind with things which it is Capable of. But before I speak to you particularlie of your merit, I must let you see that of our Sex in gene­ral, that by the knowledge thereof I may the more easily bring you to what I would. They who say that beauty is the portion of women; And thatfine arts, good learning, and all the sublime and eminent sciences, are of the domination of men, without our having power to pretend to any part of them; Are equallie differing from justice and vertue. If it were so, all women would be born with beautie and [...]ll men with a strong disposition to become learned; Otherwayes nature would be unjust in the dispensati­ones of her treasures. Neverthelesse we see every day that uglinesse is seen in our Sex, and stupidity in the other. But if it were true that beauty was the only ad­vantage which we receive from heaven; All women would not onlie be fair, but I also belve they would be so till death; That time would respect in them what [Page 228]it destroyes every moment; And that not being sent it to the world, but to let their beautie be seen; They would be fair so long as they should be in the world. In effect, this would be a strange destiny to survive ane age, for one onlie thing that could render us recom­endable: And of the many years which doe conduct us to the tombe. not to passe but five or six with glorie. The things which nature seemes to have made for the ornament of the Universe, do almost never lose that beautie which it hath once given them. [...]old, Pearles Diamonds presetve their brighstn [...]e [...]o long as they have being: And the [...]cuix her self, as is said of her, dies with her beautie that it may resuscitate with her. Let us say then after this, that because we see no roses not lilies upon the faire [...] complexiones; which the rigour of some winters will not blast; that we see no eyes, which after they have been brighter then the sun, doe not coyer themselves, with darknesse; And which after they have made a hundered famous conquests, do find themselves to be in condition of almost no [...] seeing any more the conquests of others; I say, let us say, that since we see every instant of our life robbe us in spight of our selves, and in spight of our cares of the finest things which we have; That tine makes our youth impotent; That these threeds of Cold, wherwith so many hearts have been caught shall be one day no more then threeds of silver; And in fine that this air of beautie, that so agreeablie mixes with all the traits of a fair counte­nance, and where a ray of divinity seemes to appear, is not strong enough to conquer diseases, time and old age: Let us conclude I say that wein ust of necessity have other advantages then that. And to speak ration­alie of it, beautie is in our Sex, what valor is in that of men; But as that quality doeth not hinder their loving the studie of good learning, so this advantage does no [...] hinder us from learning and knowing of it. But if there be any difference betwixt men and women, it should onlie be in affaires of war: It belongs to the beautie of my Sex to conquer hearts, and to the valor and strength of men to conquer Kingdomes: Natures intention does appear so clear in this encounter, that it cannot be opposed: I consent then that we let townes be taken, battles given, and armies conducted by them who are born for it: But for things which doe onlie [Page 229]require fancie, vivacity of spirit, memorie and judge­ment, I cannot endure that we should be deprived of them. You know that men for the most part are wholly our slaves or our enemies, if the chains which we cause them wear seem to be too weightie for them, or if they break them, they are the more irritated against us; however let us not dispute, neither the beautie of ima­gination, the vivacitie of spirit, nor the force of me­morie; But for judgement some have the unjustice to maintain that they have mo [...]e of it then we. Neverthe­less I think that the moderation, and modestie of our Sex, makes it sufficientlie seen that we do not want it; And moreover if it be true, that we posiess these first advantages in the highest degree; it is almost impos­sible for us not to possess the other. But if our imagi­nation demonstrat things to us as they are, if our spirit understand them perfectlie; And if our memorie serve us as it ought: By consequence our judgement cannot erre? The imagination when it is livelie, it is a faithfull mirrour; the spirit when it is enlightned, doth so deep­lie penetrate t [...]ings; And the memorie when it is for­tunate and cultivated, Instructs so stronglie by example that it is impossible for the judgement not to form it self. Believe me Erinna, it is impossible to make ship-wrack when the Sea is calme; the worst Pilor can enter the harbours And there are no rocks but may be shunned when they are seen, and when the waves are not swel­ling. For me, I avouch to you, that I do not compre­hend, how they who leave imaginarion, spirit and memorie for our po [...]tion, can boast of having more judgement then we. For it is not to be thought, that their imagination not showing them things as they are That their [...]p [...]it not knowing them perfectlie, and that their memorie, not being fair full to them: I say it is not to be thought that upon such false similitudes, their judgement can act equitablie? No Erinna, that is not possible: And that we may be more ration all then any among them; Let us say that among them and among us, there are persons who have both fancie, spirit, me­morie and judgement. It is not if I would, but I could make appear, by a strong and puissante inducement that our Sex can boast: of being more richlie furnished with spiritual treasures, then that of men. For conside [Page 230] Erinna, that almost universal order, which is to be seen among all animals, who live in woods and in caves; you see that they who are born with strength and cou­rage, are verie often unskillfull and of litle understan­ding, and ordinarlie the weak have a stronger instinct, and come nearer to reason, then they to whom nature hath given other advantages. Judge you then that ac­cording to this order, since Nature has given more strength and more courage to men, then to women; It should have also given more spirit and more judgement to us: But again Erinna, let us grant to them, that they have as much as we, provided that they also consent to our having as much as they. Perhaps you will say to me, that when by consent of all men. I have obtained that declaration, I shall not for all that be able to perswad, that the knowledge of good learning is decent for a wo­man, because by an established custome of men, for fear of being excelled by us, studie is as much forbid­den to us as war. making of verses, is the same thing as to give battles, if we will believe them: And to say all, we have nothing permitted to us, but what should be rather forbidden to us. See Erinna, we have a good fancie, a clear sighted spirit, a fortunate memorie, a solid judgement, and must we employ all these things to frisle our hair, and to seek after Ornaments which can add something to our beautie? No Erinna, that would be an unprofitable abuse of the favours which we recive from Heaven. They who are born with eyes to make conqu [...] need not joyn art to graces of nature: And that would be a giving of an unworthie employment to the spirit, to give it no other work all our life, but such occupation. it might likewaies be said, that if things were ordained as they should, the studie of learning should be rather permitted to Women then to Men: For because they have the guiding of the universe Some being Kings, others Governours of Provinces, some Sacrificers, others Magistrats, and all in generall Masters of their Families: And consequently taken up ai­ther with publick affaires, or with their own in particular They doubtless must have bu [...] little time to bestow, up­on this kind of studie. They must substract [...]rom their subjects their freinds or from themselves: But for us, our leasure and our retirement, gives us all the ease that [Page 231]we could wish. We take nothing from the publick not from our selves in the contrare, we enrich our selves without empow [...]ng others; We Illustrate our coun­trey by ma [...]n our selves famous; And without wrong­ing anie b [...]d [...]e, we acquir [...] abundance of glorie. It is but verie just, me thinks, since we quit the domination to men, that at least they allow us, the libertie of know­ing all the things, which our spirit is capable of: The desire of righteousness should not be forbidden us: And consequentlie it can be no crime to practise it. The Gods have made no unprofitable thing in all nature: Everie thing follows the order that has been given to it. The Sun enlightens and warms the Universe: the Earth gives us flowers and fruits every year: The Sea gives us of all its riches; the Rivers water our meadows; The woods lend us their shades: And in fine, all things are useful forpub­lick Societie. Wherefore then, if it be so, should it bedesir­ed that we should the only rebels & ungrateful creatures to the gods! why I say, should it be desired, that our spirits should either be unworthilie employed, or eternallie unprofitable? What improvement can there be had, by despising what is honest: And how can it agree with reason, that what is of it self infinitlie laudable, doth become wicked and damnable, when it is in our possession? They who have slaves, do caus [...] instruct them for their own advantage: And they whom Nature or custome has given to us for Masters, would have us extinguish in our souls, all these lights which heaven hath put there: And that we should live in the thickest darkness of igno­rance. If this be for obtaining our admiration the more easilie, they shall not come to their purpose: Because we do not admire, what we know not: But if it be also to render us more subject to them, that is not a generous sentiment: And if it be true that they have any Empire over us, it is the making of their Government the less glorious to reign over stupid and ignorants. Perhaps you will say to me, that all men are not so rigid to us: And that some do consent to Womens imploying of their spirits, in the knowledge of good learning: Provided that they medle not, with desire of making works themselves. But let them who are of that opinion, re member, that if Mercurius and Apollo are of their Sex Minerva & the Muses are of ours. nevertheless I avouch [Page 232]that Having received so much from heaven as we have, we should not slightlie engadge our selves, in such things, As for example it is no shame, to make verse, but to make them evil: And if mine had not had the good fortune of pleasing, I should never have shown them [...]wice. However this shame is not particular to [...]s, and who ever doth a thing evilie; that he volutarlie un­dertakes: Doubtless merits to be blamed, of whatso­ever Sex he is. A perverse Orator, an evil Philosopher an evil Poet do acquire no more glorie, then a woman who with no good grace does acquit her self of all those things: And of whatsorver Sex anie is, they merit reproof when they do ill, and great esteem when they do well: But to give something to the custome and depraved­ness of the age, leave, Erinna, all those thornie Sciences to them who love not to seek for glorie, but in difficult pathes.

I will not lead you unto places where you shall see nothing agreeable: I will not have you spend your life in importunate inquires after secrets which are not to be found: I will not have you unprofitablie employ all your spirits to know the place whereto the winds re­tires after they have made shipwrackes: And in fine I will not have you consume the rest of your dayes, in divyning indisserently upon all things, I love your repose, your glorie and your beautie equallie: I doe not wish to you such studies, as make the complexion yellow, the eyes hollow, the countenance ghastlie, which make wrinekles on the forehead; and which make the humor melancholie and unquiet. I will not have you flee societie nor light: But I onlie will have you follow me to the banks of Parnassus. It is there Erinna, that I will conduct you; it is there that you shall surpass me, how soon you arrive at it: It is there, that you shall acquire beauty, which time, yeares, seas­ones, old Age, nor Death it self can robb you of: And in fine it is there, that you shall know perfectlie, that our Sex it capable of every thing that it would under­take. It may be you will say to me, that by my de­siring to engadge you to poesie, I do not keep my word to you: Because in the descriptions which are given of them who make verses, it seemes that beautie cannot correspond with the grimaces which itcauses [Page 233]them make; But know Erinna, that this is but ane in­vention of men; who would make us belive that as we see them who give oracles troubled by the presence of the god that makes them speak; The same way, poesie being whollie divyn, troubles them: who practise it. But though that were so, your eyes shall not be lesse bright: For how soon the Oracle is given, the Preist is restored to his former tranquillity; So shall you also no sooner quit the pen, then you shall resind all your premire urbanities: And moreover, I doe not think that you will replenish your spirits with so dooleful images, as may cause any forrowful thing result in your eyes. You shall be absolute Mistriss of the subjects you wonld treat of: And of the manic beauties which are in nature; you may choise what pleases most your inclination, the description of a wood, or of a fountain, the compla­ints of a lover and of a Mistris; Or the Elogie of some vertue will give you ample enough subject, to make the talents appear which heaven hath endued your person with. You are born with such glorious advantages, as that you will be ungrate to these who have given you them, if you know not the good use of them. Perhaps you will ask of me, if it be not sufficiently glorious for a fine woman, that all the brave spirits of her time; make verses in praise of her, without that she medle, to make her own Pictur her self: I say you may ask me, if her glorie be not better established this way then the other; But I have this a [...]swer to give you, that what ever Elogies can be given to you, it will be more glorious for you, to have made verses for all the Illustrious of your time, if you doe them well then it can be to you, when they have all been made for you. Believe me Erinna, it is much better to give immortalitie to others, then to receive it from any other: And to find ones own glorie with themselves, them to hear of it elsewhere the pictures which shall be this way made of you perhaps shall not passe one day with po­sterity, but as tablets made for pleasure. The Poets imagination, will be more admired then your beauty; And the Copies in fine shall passe fore the original. But if from your own hand, you doe leave some signes of what you are, you shall still live with honor, in the me­mories of all men; They of your age who have praised [Page 234]you, shall then p [...]s [...] for true; And they who have no [...] done it for stupid or envious. Nevertheless doe [...]ot pretend that you should make your own [...]cture; That you shonld speak of your beautie; O [...] your vertue; And of all the [...]re qualities that me in you: No I will not impose such a hard thing upon your mo­destie. Poesie has manic other priviledges, you need not speak of yourself, to make posterity know you: You need but speak [...] legantlie, and you shall be suffi­ciently known. Yes Erinne, when you make no other use of your pen, but to blame the vices of your age, your praise shall not be forgotten. Consider also again I conjure you, how feeble and undureable is the re­putation that is founded upon beautie. Of all the in­finit numbers of beautiful women, who doubtless have lived in these ages which preceded ours, we have scarse heard two or three onlie spoken of: And in these very ages, we see the glorie of most men, solidlie established by the wreatings which they have left be­hind them; let not Erinna, tyme, old age and death robb you of any thing but Roses; And not take away all your beautie. Triumph over these enemies in everie good thing: Put your self in condition to sustain the glorie of our Sex by your example: make our common enemies avouch that it is as easie for us to con­quer, with the force of our spirits, as with the beauty of our eyes: Let your judgement appear, by despise­ing the sottisness, that the vulgare will say of your reso­lution: Let all the earth see such fine tablets of your imagination; such noble efforts of your spirit; Such brave effects of your memorie; And such good testi­monies of your judgement; that you alone may have the advantage, of having reestablished the glorie of all women. Doe not contemn then what I say to you: But if for a false shame, you will not resolve to follow me; And will make all your glorie consist in your Beautie you shall lament while you are alive the losse of that beautie. You shall be spoken of, as if you had been of ane other age, And you shall then find that I had reason to say to you this day, what I think I have said formerly in some of my verses.

Your looks, and all that charming grace,
Of rose and lilies in your face;
Your heav'nly orbes so clear and bright.
Tho'emblems of Eternall light,
Must all decay; your beauty wither,
Death makes you both forgot together:
But learning does immortality gaine
Andvictory o'rdeath and the grave make obtain.

THE EFFECT OF THIS HARRANGUE.

IT cannot be said that this harrangue had no Effect; If things be taken literally: For it well appears, that she to whom it was adrest let her self be cari­ed where it was desired, because a Greck Epi­grame hath told us; that by how much Sapho excelled Erinna, in Lirick Poesie, so much Erinna did surpass Sapho in hexami erverse. But if any differ from the literall sense, to come nearer my intentions, I shal be verie happy, if I can perswade our Ladies, to what this fair Lesbian per­swaded her freind: But yet more if I could perswade all the earth, that this beautifull Sex is worthie of our ado­rations That thereby Temples and Altars, might be one day consecrated to them, as I do now consecrate, THIS TRIUMPHING ARCH, WHICH I HAYE ELE­VATED TO THEIR GLORIE.

FINIS.

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