The triumph of faith The sacrifice of Isaac. The ship-wracke of Ionas. With a song of the victorie obtained by the French king, at Yvry. Written in French, by W. Salustius lord of Bartas, and translated by Iosuah Siluester, marchant aduenturer.

A canticle of the victorie obtained by the French King, Henrie the fourth. At Yvry. O God! what glorious ſun, beams bright about our bounds? What high triumphall hymne, ſo ſweetly ſhirle reſounds, In our archt temples faire? what noiſe runs longſt our ſtreets? What ruddy flakes of fire with clouds high climing meets? Then is the victory ours: and heauens moſt righteous wrath Vpon the cruell campe of Leaguers ſhowered hath. My brows be-ſlick your ſelues, & you my throbbing thoghts (Deepe ſunke in ſigh-full cels of ſorrowes ſable vaughts) Soar vp to heauen againe: you ſiſters threefold three, Which of your ſweets ſome yeers haue now bin niggardlie, And left my lips a-drie: inſucket now my tong In your beſt ſyrrops; now poure downe vpon this ſong A lake of learned gold, a rich May-month of flowers: Let not my blubbered eies diſturbe with ſorrowes ſhowers The common publike ioy: nor me dumb-thankleſſe hide Among ſo many Orphes, theſe braue Trophés tride. Ah in my braine I feele, alreadie gin to boile Inuentions thouſand faire: and now's the fitteſt while To giue my ſpirit carreer, whilſt others whiſt their voice For ſilence neuer long accompanies greatioies But how, or at which end, or of what thred ſhall I This rich gold-grounded web, to weaue begin to trie? Lord, heere I will not ſhew, nor conſecrate to fame Of thy firſt braue exploits, the now far-noiſed name: I will not ſing of all thoſe numbrie hoaſts vndunne, Thoſe wals defended well, thoſe rampires warlike 〈◊〉 By thy yoong valure great: nor will I Lyl • againe Repurple with my pen: nor ſmeere the fertile plaine Of Courtras with dead greaſe: nor ſhal thy fauchine dred Now here againe cut-off thy foes vnfaith-ful head. I will not neither now, that my learnd Calyópa Shall cornet through the world, that whilſt that our Európa (Of Church, and King with-al, abuſing th'-holie ſtile) Againſt thee was combinde in league moſt law-leſſe vile: Thou, (Prince then parti-les, ſans men, munition, treaſure, Prince, poore at-once in al, ſaue rich in hope boue meaſure:) Didſt ſeeme of thy huge hils like one of greateſt height Which beaten day and night, is ſtabliſht by his weight, With right-vp-lifted lookes beholds the ſtarrie ſtages, Skornes ſtormy winds, mocks rains, & laughs at tempeſts rages: And treads-downe loftie-braue, on each aſſailed ſide, Beneath his knobbed knees the thunders rowling pride. I may not ouer-caſt our glad thoughts watchet skie With cloudie ſad recite of paſſed miſerie: I may not cruel now to launce againe beginne▪ The wound which waxing whole begins a pace to skinne. Let others ſtorize that: Mee ſhal ſuffice to ſing That ſince ſome happy months, ſince thou weart Fraunce's king Thy heau'n-holpe, hardie hand, more fenced Forts hath wonne Then on both ſides, the heads in thirtie yeres haue donne: Al-though the ſwarmes beſeeg'd, (in farre vn-equal count) Of thy beſeeging troupes the number did ſurmount; So that there often ſeemes more ſtandards of thy foes Then in thy Kinglie Camp there ſingle Souldiars goes. Thou ſeèm'ſt a lightning ſwift, and then thy ſquadrons yare Warnd of thy wil doe ſeeme, fethers not feet to bare: Thy warriours wing'd with plumes of honors mounting mind Are brauelie borne about by thy good fortunes wind: Thou comſt, thou ſeeſt, thou winſt: & thou triumphant flieſt, More ſwifter yet then I haue theſe ſwift words deuiſd. Neere Arques onlie, prowd, the foe for certaine daies Of thine exploits a ſpace the expedition ſtaies: But as an angrie ſtreame, whoſe wrathful waues for ſtop The thicknes haue and height, of ſome new kawſies top. His bottom vnder-mines, and wraſtles with his ſhoare, And ſtil ads (though in vaine) to forces, forces more; Til taking to his aid the ſuccour of the ſnowes Wrath-foaming, roaring, he his priſon ouer-throwes: The forreſts turui-turnes, driues downe the bridges all, And hauing won the plaines, doth now the hils apall Swels like a ſurging ſea, and then his furious ſope Steales from the one her land, inlarging thothers ſcope: So thou returnſt to field: thou runſt, incounterſt, beatſt, Holds, houſes, cities do wne: and ne'r thy paces ſeatſt Vntil fore Paris wals the rebel pále for feare In her vaſt ſub-urbs ſee thy face (which bright doth beare Too-iuſt a wráth depaint) ſub-urbs intrenched ſtrong, Sub-urbs which flancked wel with ſouldiars thicklie throng. Thou takſt Etampes, and then (ſans loſſe of man almoſt) Th'vnthankful Vandom's ſackt by thine vn-vanquiſht hoaſt: Mans is aſſaild, and taen Falaiſe ſoone after that, Lizieux, Eureux, and Mayn, ſtoop to thy ſtandards flat: And ſo doth Honfleur too: thy bumbard's brimſtone thunder Prepárd the prowdful wals of Dreux to paſh in ſunder, When as the Leaguers Lord, puft with his freſh ſupplies From fatal Philip ſent (which Philip craftie-wiſe Wide-gapeth after France; ambicious wayting ſtill For nothing, but to ſee our Peeres poure-out and ſpill Each others life and blood, that at more eaſie rate, He fox might bear-awaie the price of their debate.) Drawes nigh thy honord hoaſt, Then thou whoſe greateſt feare, Is leaſt he feare too-much: makſt a retreat as twere, Thou ſeemſt to ſhrinke a ſpace, coolſt thy hot hart renownd And ſtepſt a-little backe to leape the larger ground. Thou makſt a ſtand, he flies: thou followſt, then he ſtaies Both parts prepare a pace, to warres death-dealing plaies They ſeeme two forreſts great: each Captaine doth apart His ſquadrons quicklie raunge (though quicklie yet with art) The lightning, flaſhing-fire, from ſwords, caskes, curtilaces, With trembling beames depaints the neighbor-growing graſſes Like as the ſtarrie hoaſt, of heauenlie torches bright Be ſpangles richlie-gaie the mantle of the night. The Souldiar paſt his wont, his face more fearful makes, Rage in his ſparkling eies, in's mouth he railing takes, His corſlet on his backe, in's hand his fauchine fel, Erinne to Yvry fields tranſport her hateful hel: Theirs nothing heard but drūmes, fifes, clarions, trumpets noiſe But ſharp-ſhirle neighings loud, and dreadful tempeſts voice: Terror is ouer al, each-where is horror ſpread; Horror is each-where faire, and each-where ſweeet is dread Al readie fight their toongues, alreadie fights their geſt The valiant Knight his launce hath now-now coucht in reſt Like as for al the world when meeting on the ſand With boiſtrous Bul the Lion tameles hand to hand, The Bul with noſtrel wide, wrath-fuming, fearful, great Againſt his enmie proud, bould bellowes out a threat Defies his valiant foe, his head lifts loftie high, With hooues the ground, with hornes he beates the breathie skie Then thother wyding wood his ſparkle-ſpewing throat From hollow greedie gulph, intunes a thundering noat, A ruth-les roaring fel: and rowles in furious wiſe Beneath his bug-beare browes his brandie blazing eies He reares (in rearing high his creſt) his courage ſtout, And ſpurs his rage a-pace with fisking traine about. The cannon is prepard, diſchargd, hand-ſtroks begin, The neighbours, brethren, freinds, the couſens, and the kin, All eies of duetie cloze, and open eies to know Where, worthie of their wrath, & deadly ſtrokes to ſtow. But neuer North-weſt wind beneath the weeping Kid So threefold-thicke let fall on ſmokie mountaines did (Which ſtand, the Gaſcoine ground eternally confining) The quicke rebounding beads of yce-pearle ſlippery ſhining: As heere drop ſhowers of lead, as heere haile ſudden deathes: Ofbloud they riuers make, of bodies make they heathes: Toſt truncheons, noiſes, ſmokes, the flames, the fuming damps With thickened clouds obſcure the face of both the camps. Th'earth trembles terrified, the winds reflecten ſteepe, And Pluto's ſelfe empales, within his Chaos deepe. This ſide aduances now, anon this ſide retreats; Where feare did lodge of late, now valiant courage ſeats: For yet dame Victorie (bleſt daughter of the Lord, With trumpet at hir backe, and by hir ſide a ſword: Her hands of ſcepters full, crownes hundred on hir head; Her corps, in robe depaint with thouſand conqueſts cled; With ſtandards flouriſht faire, emboſt with brodered townes, Powdred with palms, and wrought with great Achill's renowms) Flies ſwift from camp to camp: and longſt the purple plaine Shee Glorie alluring-ſweet leads with triumphant traine: To ſouldiars ſhowes her face, O Sonnes, O who: to-day? Who of you al (digne ſpouſe) ſhal valiant beare awaie This peer-les beauteous bride? who ſhal her bed-mate be Who wel-content ſhal ſuck her balm-breath's Ambroſie? O happie thouſand-times! him ſhal the Kings adore: The nobles humble bow, his honord feet before: The gazing common ſort, (like wauing Sea vntamd) Through ſtreets flock-follow him: and's face for-euer famd, Shal ſodaine ſet a-worke the life-like pencill bould, The hammer, grauing toole, the chiſel, and the mould. He ſhalbe thargument of an admired ſtorie: Al ages, euery ſound ſhal celebrate his glorie: In ſhort his high renowne, ſhal onlie bounded be, With limits of the world and of eternitie. Thus ſpake faire Victorie; and in their booſoms blew A more then common fire, a fit of furie new: Here number ouercomes, their force, here conquers art: Thus yet good-fortune fel indifferent t'either part. Euen ſo, (or much a-like) th'earth angrie-ſpitefullie, To warre againſt the ſeas, and combat with the skie, Sets-on, prouoks, inflames, in fight of new deuice The ſouth-wind armd with ſhowers, & north-wind lade with yce: The flood floats certain-les, the cloud's toſt too and fro, Driu'n to his place againe; and both, rough blaſts do blow, Til thone of them, by ſtroke of valiant victorie Be made King of the ſea, and tyrant of the skie. But ſee my mightie King, ah ſee him, courage, all, O what bright honnor bears his face Maieſticall, O God, what burniſht beames, in's eies freſh-flaming faire, What more than princelie port: what ſweet preſaging aire Of ſome good fortune neere? he dooth not flaunt it nice, In rich-rare ſhining ſhow of pearles of coſtlie price, He is bare armed all: and ſteelie temp'rament Is of his valure rich the ſole rich ornament: His nurſe him lullabied in ſteele, in ſteele he dight With downe his roiall chinne, in ſteele it gins to white: And by the caruing ſteele he dooth reconquer bold Crownes, ſceptars, diadems, and pearles, and goods, and gold▪ Yet wholie void of marke, he doth not daſtard ſhrowd His perſon in the preaſe: a plume dread-danſing proud Beclowds his creaſted caske: and like a willow ſhowes Which proined ſmooth beneath, cloſe by a riuer growes, So ſoone as it enuide hath heauens calme fauor loſt Of his wight-wauing top the great greene tuffe is toſt: Now vp, now downe; and waues (made ſlaue vnto the wind) Now too, now fro; and ſwaies now forward, now behind. Thus that he might be knowne, our bold Achilles great With his ſix hundred horſſe vpon ſix thouſand ſet: The firſt that felt the force of his far▪ſwathing keen Was (O blind vallour bold) a warriour that did ween His ſtomach by his ſtrength, his ſtrength by deapth of wound, Who daring hand to hand frunts Henrie high-renoumd: Th'vnconquerd Henrie then, bears leuell with his eie His piſtoll flinting-fire, yet lets no bullet flie. Then with an angrie voice, hence guilefull armes (quoth he) The ſhining ſword indeed of valiant chiualrie The nobleſt glorie is: then quicklie toſſing light The fierie flaming feare of fauchine flaſhing bright, Like an Autumnall ſtar, which ruddie dooth foreſhow Some dearth, ſome peſtilence, ſome bloudie ouer-throw) He buckles with his foe, th'aſſailant he aſſaults And reſolute he markes his armors weake defaults: Then entring in betweene his breſtplate and his baſes He ſeekes his ſinfull ſoule, their finds and thence it chaſes. Go happie ſoule, go tell, go tidinges tell beneath, That by th'vnuanquiſht arme thou honord hadſt thy death Of th' Hercules of France, becauſe the glorious fame Of ſo faire death is more, then if ye ouercame: Say that here liues againe a new Martellus braue: And ſay the fields of France another Rowland haue. But thou dieſt not alone; of al this goodly play, Thou art but prologue thou, or firſt fruits of the fray: He deals as many deaths as he beſtoweth blowes, He hacks, he hewes, he hurts, them all he ouerthrowes More ſoon than whirl-wind ſwift, or cannot ſhot, or thunder, Can ouerturne a tree, paſh wals, or tower mine-vnder: One place, one troope, one wound, one death, one doghty deed Cannot containe his rage, nor can reſtraine his ſteed: Ech-where he laies on lode, and's fiery fury ſtout Croſſe-carues an hundred waies, the quaking camp throughout All fall at once diſmaid: yet diuerſlie they tumble, Some ſtabd, ſome ſtund withſtroks, ſome on their fellows ſtūble. But like a Lion fierce, which longſt Numidian lawne, Vnlades his hungers load on trembling trowpes that fawne: If of a beare he heare the hollow howling voice With eares erect and creaſt he roares an hideous noiſe, Leaues lambs, and kids, and kowes: glad he incountred hath, An obiect matching more his honorable wrath: My match-les Monarch ſo, diſcouering Duke Lorrain Scornes baſer blood, and plies to meete with him amaine, Throngs thwart the thickeſt trowpes of ſouldiars, men at-arms Dead horſes, horſes liue, pikes, bils, bowes, enſignes, armes: Incounters: and beneath the ſteele ſeekes buiſſie-braue The hart that onlie life vnto the Leaguers gaue. But dreading his diſdaigne, the Duke de-Maine retires And from al hopes at-once deiected, faint, ſuſpires: Him paſt-bliſſe makes to bluſh, him thowſand cares moleſt, Of his new foile he doth the witnes feelds deteſt. Now Jvry out of ſight, he neere to Mante approcheth His heele, his wearie horſe with wearie rowell broacheth (His horſe which breathles melts to duſtie deaw his fat Which on his bridle hangs his long neck creſt-falne flatt Which hauing mouth more drie the pum-ſtone ſpungi-light Reſpects the ſpur no more then ſtocke that's ſtirr-les quight.) O wherefore noble Prince, ô wherefore doeſt thou flie? What Panike terror choakes thy vertues valiancie? Who graues a pale-faint feare vpon thy conſtant face? Thou lackſt a lawful cauſe, not courage (in this caſe) The cauſe doth combat thee: ſtay Charles, confeſſe thy miſſe, And humble, of thy king the right hand come and kiſſe. If ruth-les red reuenge for thy dead brothers fall Made thee take armes in hand, whats that to Fraunce at all? Whats that vnto the King? which hath of brothers gore Hart no leſſe free (thou knoweſt) then fingers euer more. If greatnes made the fight, then mightſt thou not attend More honor from a Prince, which prudent can comprend Thy noble vertues high; and which as king can grace Thoſe that his ſeruice will with courage ſtout imbrace: Then from baſe people blind, poore, thankleſſe light, inorme Which ſaile with euerie wind, and leake in euery ſtorme: Which doo reward with death, or exile (at the beſt) Iuſt Phocions, Camills ſtout, wiſe Dions with the reſt: Which haue no rule but rage, and which caſt downe to ground (Like yuie greene) the wall to which they moſt are bound. But if bleake feare to find no more now open neuer The wide gates of his grace: ah was there knowne yet euer A King of ſeruice true and iuſt remembring more: Or King that more forgat old quarrels quencht before. He rather would ſubdue by benefits then blowes His rebel ſubiects al: his wrath that hotteſt glowes Is like a fire of ſtraw: ſtriking he ſigheth ſore, And from his foe-mans flanke of bloud he drawes not more Then teares from his owne eies: his ſpirit is void of gall, This ſpeciall gift from heauen the houſe of Bourbon all Holds for bleſt heritage, and this worlds glorious eie, Which bout the heauen each day one reſtleſſe round doth plie Did neuer'ſee a prince religiouſlie more loath To ſhake in any ſort his honnor-binding oath. Offer vnto my Lord the crowne of Germanie The diadem of Spaine, the Turks Grand-Signorie: Yea make him Monarch of the world (by guile) Hee'l ſpurne al ſcepters, fore his faith defile. Perhaps (th'wilt ſay) thou fight'ſt for church-creed catholike But tell me, who conducts the Pinneſſe Politike? Who in his campe commands? but thoſe that more than thou Do zealous tooth and naile the faith of Rome auow? Serues not his healthfull name for freedome (bout our borders) And preſence for azile vnto the preeſtlie orders? No Atheiſme in his hart he broodeth hyppocrite, A Chriſtian king he is, and prince religious right: He doth beleeue he ſuckt with his kind nurſes creames Gods ſeruice pure reformd (more deere to him then realmes) Yet he not partiall is, nor heddie opinionated: If th'holie temple faire, now newlie ruinated By our foule hands prophane, by our ſtrife-ſtirring quils, May euer one day looke for to repaire hir ils: And if the Church at all may hope to reprocure An happy bleſt eſtate, a peace firme-founded ſure: The ſame ſhall doubtleſſe be, in ſuch a Princes raigne So free from paſſion blind. My Muſe caſt backe againe, Returne we to the fight. But what, there al are fled Al's full of rumor there, diſorder, death and dread: Al-readie none obay, al-readie none command, Each ſouldiour now apart makes by himſelfe his band: The large bloud-bibbing plaines are couered al about With ſwords, caskes, launces, guns; and braueſt ſoldiors ſtout Beare into forreſts blacke, their faint, liue-deaths conceiued And caſt in hollow gulphs, their falne, dead-deaths receiued. The Victor following faſt, ore-takes their hinde-like heeles, Feares not the flier's way: the greateſt feare he feeles, Is leaſt th'ones hare-like dread, the others deſperate furie, Find out ſome ferry boate, ſome bridge, ſome way ſecurie, To ſcape to ſafe retreat: they gaſping headlong throw Their bodies heere and there, into the waters low. The azure-eyed Nymph, Nauonda neuer-dying Which (Queen) the chriſtal cleues of thoſe waues (woful crying) Bleake gan to breath this plaint, from out the ſtreaming glaſſe: (Her head in dropping koife of ruſhes kercherd was.) Alas (quoth ſhe) whence comes? whence comes this iron ſpawn? This mettle-moulded folke? from what Mount Gibel drawne? What Vulcan? what Myron, hath cunning giuen (I ſaie) To ſteele, a life to ſtir: to iron, breath to naigh? Hence monſters, hence, away; (of war the workmanſhip) Goe, and your mother Earth with blood bedie and dip. Let vs ſlide toward the ſea, with ſtreames ſmooth-ſwifting ſweete Our Tritons louing, kind embracing armes to meete. Her voice doth vaniſh void, amid ſo manie noiſes, One combats with his waight, one through his armours poiſes Swallowes the choaking flood: another hath for graue Nought but his bayard bold, his bayard nought but but waue: Another more amazd, for skiffe his target takes, For owers his aking armes, his Plume his ſaile hee makes: But ſtraight a whirlpoole-place, that roareth ringing-round Down-gimblets al at once, owers, ſaile, and ſhip to ground. Thoſe that by happie hap, ſafe thother ſhoare do find, In changing aire, with-al yet do not change their mind: Dikes, barricadoes, brigges, townes, rampiers, trenches caſt Cannot ſuffice to ſtop their heed-les head-long haſt. And if that any band reſiſt thy victorie; Tis not to ſtoope, but more thy praiſe to multiplie: Witneſſe that war-like troupe of valiant ſouldiars bold, Which martch't wel orderd faire, beneath three ſtandards old: Thy ſelfe the fifteenth man with thine arme's lightning iuſt That mightie bodie beat'ſt downe to the blood-died duſt Like as in calmie ſeas a gallie with her gunnes Drownes in the deepe a ſhip of ful fower hundreth tunnes: Or like as in carreer the Spaniſh Iennet light Turnes topſi-turuie downe the Germain Courſers might. Thou heawſt, thou beatſt, thou breakſt, thou ouercommeſt aye Vntil the niggard night, haue robd thee of the day: And death of foe depriud: th▪ Heluecian band alone Not willing to forget their ancient valour ſhowne, Againſt the conquering camp, ſhake the ſharp aſhen dart The more their number growes the higher ſwels their hart. But of thy warlike face th'hot ſhun-ſhine in a trice, Their Diamantine hart tranſformes to brittle yce, That brittle yce to wet, that wet to vapour vaine, And thoſe (whom pinching death, before pale dread did paine:) Yea thoſe I ſaie, that ne're turnd ſhameful backe at-all, But to the warrious Phaenix, tamer of our Gaule: Thoſe old whip-tirants tough, thoſe king-correcting braues Proſtrate before thy feete their bodies, and their ſtaues: Then, leaſt that thou ſhouldſt blot with brand of euer-blame A people euer true to th' Flower-de-luce (offame) Of thy high hartes diſdaigne, the warlike wrath relenting Thou to their Cantons goeſt their cullors lou'd preſenting. O Trophe ſtatelie-proud, which needs no Trophes more! O head whom Laurels green, ſtil flouriſhing decore! O thou (indeed) inuict, ô more then kinglie breſt, Which happie o're thy ſelfe, and triumph triumpheſt: Which bleſt contentſt al parts: with victorie thine hoaſt, With grace thy vanquiſht foe, both with thy glorie moſt. Thou this worlds ornament, thou honor of our times, May euer on the wings of mine heróike rimes This braue exploit be borne: & may our Countrie Nations (which, foſtered-vp in fraies, warres, treaſons, innouations, Stood as it were at-gaze, with diuers winds reflecting, And of this battaile great the iſſue ſtood expecting) Reap their right profit thence: may eke our Nobles yeeld, Thy proweſſe, of the world the Empire fit to weeld, That now they haue for head, a king, wiſe-fortunate: That by this fight thy hand hath bleſt reſtord the ſtate Of nobles to their place, reuengd the dead Kings wrong, Authorized the Crowne, freed Fraunce from bondage long. May Clergie-men deuout, at laſt begin confeſſe That God vpholds thy ſide, and doth thy boſome bleſſe With princelie vertues rare, and that vpon thy crowne Th'oile of his holie ghoſt he powreth euer downe. In ſhort may al our French confeſſe this certaine thing That thou oughtſt onlie be, and canſt be ſole our king. But what (alas,) a plague, gangrene, or leproſie, Spreads al this bodie o're: a torch of mutinie Burnes Fraunce to aſhes all: and but thy hand vn-idle Of this ſtate's ſtumbling ſteede beares vp ſo ſhort the bridle, Our ſcepter (honord earſt of many men of might) Would flie to ſhiuers al, or waſte in ſparkles quight. The Prelate ſtrikes the fire, the Noble blowes the coale, Of this conſuming flame, the people peeuiſh whole Delighting in the blaze, doo wretched-witched elues Inſteed of fuel (fooles) caſt in their willing ſelues. O, Clergie (that forget the holie roome yee hold) Is't well doone, gainſt your owne, your owne to arme ſo bold? To kill your king? a King, which in the wombe (a-kin To thouſand famous Kings) that office did begin: A King which for your lawes, your altars, honours, miters, His bloud aduenterd oft among ſo many fighters: A King (ſans doubt) deuout if euer were on ground: A King that feared moſt the fearefull thunder-ſound That roares from Vatican: and more, t'inregiſter Amongſt moſt glorious ſaints, a monſtrous murtherer Which ſheath'd in belly of the Lord of hoaſts annointed, (Firſt'nine-times ſteept in Stix) a ſteele of purpoſe pointed. O little-noble Nobles, ſee you not alas, Supplanting of the king ye do your ſelues abaſs? That whilſt ye do pull downe this royall Monarchie, Ye do eſtabliſh mad a verie Anarchie, A ſhape-leſſe Chaos rude: ſtill ſtabbing night and day Againſt your breaſt the blade of peoples violent ſway; Which hate the honeſt ſort and haue their cheefe delight, In hope t▪enſue the Switzers too-rebellious rite. And thou peopl▪vndiſcreet, which for a Monarch bleſt, Iuſt, lawful, mightie, wiſe, and valiant boue the beſt: Takſt hundred tyrants baſe, whoſe tusk-teeth tearing fell Thy marrow-kernel ſucke, and cracke thy bones (the ſhell) To whom the glittring gold, frō forth th'earths bowels brought, Or midſt the ſlippery ſands of ſhining Tagus ſought Seemes nothing neere ſo fine as dooth the gold they fet From foorth thy wombe, or gold that with thy tears is wet. No no, the French-man's deafe, deep drownd in Lethargie, Senceleſſe he doth not feele, his murdring maladie, Or if he liue and feele, he frantike armes his force Gainſt his Phiſition kind, that faine would cure his corps, Appliyng thouſand ſorts of ſound-ſweet medcines fit Yet he doth more and more increaſe his furious fit. Then courage mighty King thy thoughts let anchor heer, O noble Prince purſue thy wel-begun carreer, And ſith this feſtred ſore a plaiſter helps ſo ſmall, Set me the launce a-worke, the ſword, the fire and all: Choke me this Hydra huge whence monſters muſter out And with thy faire renowne fill me the world about: Vſe thy good fortune now; the hils moſt loftie-browd Do trembling giue thee place: the flouds profoundeſt proud, Drie vp before thy feet: the hugeſt mightie camps Fore beames of thy bright eies, vaniſh in ſmokie damps: And of the ſtrongeſt holds the maſſie founded frame Affrighted ſhaketh ſore at ſole ſound of thy name. But (mighty King) take heed, do not alas expoſe Thy life in pray ſo oft to ſpareleſſe Atropos: Be ſparing of thy bloud and thinke for certeintie That our good hangs on hookes of thy proſperitie. But if thou ſhut thine eare, gainſt th▪humble low requeſt Of thy fames trumpetter: yet heare how Fraunce (at leaſt) Preſents hir ſelfe to thee, not ſuch as once ſhe was, When neer the Daniſh deep hir limits bounds did paſſe: When Euphrates and Nile in fauour of hir realmes Longſt fruitfull plaines did roule their tributarie ſtreames: When to the Spaniard proud ſhe rulers did allow: And when the pride of Rome beneath hir lawes did bow: But leane, and bleake, and broke, and tatterd, rent, and torne, And ſunck in •• ngerous Seas or hard miſhap forlorne. ô my deere ſonne (quoth ſhe) nay my defender rather, My ſtaffe, my ſtay, my fort, my ſecond-founding father, Through greefe and forrow (ſure) I ſhould diſpairing die, I ſhould my ſtommach ſtab, with ſhamful halter I Should ſtop my wearie wind, and ſtint theſe cares of mine Weart thou not mine (my Lord) and if I were not thine. Be not (my deereſt hope) then of thy life ſo lauiſhe My kind King let no more fame-hunting enuie rauiſhe Thy thoughts to ſee all things, to make thee hardi-heed-les To get too great renowne runne into dangers need-les. A mightie Monarke muſt, whilſt greening youth doth flower Make one, or two, or three, proofes of his peer-les power For valour is the gate of honor beautified, The firſt ſtair-ſtep it is, whereby good-hap doth guyde Our feete to Glorie's mount: and nothing hartens ſo The men of armes to fight, as valiant Prince (we know:) But after-wards he muſt with warie wiſedome warre, More often with his witthen with his weapon farre: And feeding ſo his ſpirit with ſweet-ſharp eaſie-paine, Not keepe a ſouldiars place, but Captaines roome retaine. My ſonne, but al too-much th'-haſt fought with thine own hand The vertue of whoſe force thouſ-thouſands vnderſtand: My King, t'inlarge thy laud th'haſt labourd al too-long, But not for my repoſe: braue Lord my Victrie ſtrong Lies in thy length of life, not in thy boyſtrous arme: Thy life's my life, thy death my death, thy hurt my harme: If thou neglect thy ſelfe, I pri-the loue me tho Vpon thy countrie deere (at leaſt) ſome pittie ſhow Thinke what I ſhould become iſ ſome vntimelie • eath Betwixt mine armes tooſoone ſhould ſtop my Henries breath▪ Euen like a widow-ſhip which wanting Pilot ſage, On ſuddie Seas is toſt in time of tempeſts rage Which ſurging, at the laſt gainſt th▪-horned ſtone doth knocke And with farr-ſpreading ſplit doth hide the hoarie rocke. But if that too-much hart, too-prodigue of thy life, Set not too-ſoone a-worke the edge of Atrop's knife, I hope to flouriſh more, then ere I did in Arts, In manners faire, in lawes, in ſtoar of valiant harts, In faith, in knowledge, wealth▪ and thy iuſt raigne and ſage Shal nothing yeeld in bliſſe to calme Auguſtus age. FJNJS.