I A1r ii A1v iii A2r

Tenth Muse

Lately ſprung up in America.

Severall Poems, compiled
with great variety of Wit
and Learning, full of delight.

Wherein eſpecially is contained a compleat
diſcourſe and deſcription of
The Four

  • Elements,
  • Conſtitutions,
  • Ages of Man,
  • Seaſons of the Year.

Together with an Exact Epitomie of
the Four Monarchies, viz.

  • Aſſyrian,
  • Perſian,
  • Grecian,
  • Roman.

Alſo a Dialogue between Old England and
New, concerning the late troubles.

With divers other pleaſant and ſerious Poems.

By a Gentlewoman in thoſe parts.

Printed at London for Stephen Bowtell at the ſigne of the
Bible in Popes Head-Alley. 16501650.

iv A2v v A3r

Kind Reader:

Had I opportunity but to borrow ſome of the Authors wit, ’tis poſſible I might ſo trim this curious Work with ſuch quaint expreſsions, as that the Preface might beſpeake thy further peruſall; but I feare ’twil be a ſhame for a man that can ſpeak ſo little, to be ſeene in the title page of this Womans Book, leſt by comparing the one with the other, the Reader ſhould paſſe his ſentence, that it is the gift of women, not only to ſpeak moſt, but to ſpeake beſt; I ſhall leave therefore to commend that, which with any ingenious Reader will too much commend the Author, unleſse men turne more peeviſh then women, to envie the excellency of the inferiour Sex. I doubt not but the Reader will quickly finde more then I can say, and the worſt effect of his reading will be unbeleif, which will make him queſtion whether it be a womans Work, and aske, Is it poſsible? If any doe, take this as an anſwer from him that dares avow it; It is the Work of a Woman, honoured, and eſteemedA3 ſteemed vi A3v ſteemed where ſhe lives, for her gracious demeanour, her eminent parts, her pious converſation, her courteous diſpoſtion, her exact diligence in her place, and diſcreet mannaging of her family occaſions; and more then ſo, theſe Poems are the fruit but of ſome few houres, curtailed from her ſleep, and other refreſhments. I dare adde little, leſt I keepe thee too long, if thou wilt not beleeve the worth of theſe things (in their kind) when a man ſayes it, yet beleeve it from a woman when thou ſeeſt it. This only I ſhall annex, I feare the diſpleaſure of no perſon in the publiſhing of theſe Poems but the Authors, without whoſe knowledge, and contrary to her expectation, I have preſumed to bring to publick view what ſhe reſolved ſhould never in ſuch a manner ſee the Sun; but I found that divers had gotten ſome ſcattered papers, affected them wel, were likely to have ſent forth broken peices to the Authors prejudice, which I thought to prevent, as well as to pleaſure thoſe that earneſtly deſired the view of the whole.

Mercu- vii A4r

Mercury ſhew’d Apollo, Bartas Book,

Minerva this, and wiſht him well to look,

And tell uprightly, which, did which excell;

He view’d, and view’d, and vow’d he could not tell.

They bid him Hemiſphear his mouldy noſe,

With’s crackt leering-glaſſes, for it would poſe

The beſt brains he had in’s old pudding-pan,

Sex weigh’d, which beſt, the Woman, or the Man?

He peer’d, and por’d, and glar’d, and ſaid for wore,

I’me even as wiſe now, as I was before:

They both ’gan laugh, and ſaid, it was no mar’l

The Auth’reſſe was a right Du Bartas Girle.

Good ſooth quoth the old Don, tel ye me ſo,

I muse whither at length theſe Girls wil go;

It half revives my chil froſt-bitten blood,

To ſee a woman, once, do ought that’s good;

And chode buy Chaucers Boots, and Homers Furrs,

Let men look to’t, leaſt women weare the Spurs.

N. Ward.

A4 To viii A4v

To my deare Siſter, the Author of theſe Poems.

Though moſt that know me, dare (I think) affirm

I ne’re was borne to doe a Poet harm,

Yet when I read your pleaſant witty ſtrains,

It wrought ſo ſtrongly on my addle braines;

That though my verſe be not ſo finely ſpun,

And so (like yours) cannot ſo neatly run:

Yet am I willing, with upright intent,

To ſhew my love without a complement.

There needs no painting to that comely face,

That in its native beauty hath ſuch grace;

What I (poore ſilly I) prefix therefore,

Can but doe this, make yours admir’d the more;

And if but only this, I doe attaine

Content, that my diſgrace may be your gaine.

If women, I with women, may compare,

Your Works are ſolid, others weake as aire;

Some books of Women I have heard of late,

Peruſed ſome, ſo witleſſe, intricate,

So void of ſence, and truth, as if to cire

Were only wiſht (acting above their ſphear)

And ix A5r

And all to get, what (ſilly ſoules) they lack:

Eſteeme to be the wiseſt of the pack;

Though (for your ſake) to ſome this be permitted,

To print, yet wiſh I many better witted;

Their vanity make this to be inquired,

If women are with wit, and ſence inſpired:

Yet when your Works ſhall come to publick view,

’Twill be affirm’d, ’twill be confirm’d by you:

And I, when ſeriouſly I had revolved

What you had done, I preſently reſolved,

Theirs was the Perſons, not the Sexes failing,

And therefore did be-ſpeak a modeſt vailing.

You have acutely in Eliza’s ditty

Acquitted women, elſe I might with pitty,

Have wiſht them all to womens Works to look,

And never more to meddle with their book.

What you have done, the Sun ſhall witneſſe beare,

That for a womans Worke ’tis very rare;

And if the Nine vouchſafe the Tenth a place,

I think they rightly may yeeld you that grace.

But leaſt I ſhould exceed, and too much love,

Should too too much endear’d affection move,

To ſuper-adde in praiſes I ſhall ceaſe,

Leaſt while I pleaſe my ſelfe I ſhould diſpleaſe

The longing Reader, who may chance complaine,

And ſo requite my love with deep diſdaine;

That I your ſilly Servant, ſtand i’ th’ porch,

Lighting your Sun-light with my blinking torch;

Hindring his minds content, his ſweet repoſe,

Which your delightfull Poems doe diſcloſe,

When once the Caskets op’ned; yet to you

Let this be added, then i’le bid adieu.

If x A5v

If you ſhall think, it will be to your ſhame

To be in print, then I muſt beare the blame:

If’t be a fault, ’tis mine, ’tis shame that might

Deny ſo faire an infant of its right,

To looke abroad; I know your modeſt minde,

How you will blush, complaine, ’tis too unkinde,

To force a womans birth, provoke her paine,

Expoſe her Labours to the world’s diſdaine:

I know you’l ſay, you doe defie that mint,

That ſtampt you thus, to be a foole in print.

’Tis true, it doth not now ſo neatly ſtand,

As ift ’twere polliſht with your owne ſweet hand;

’Tis not ſo richly deckt, so trimly tir’d

Yet it is ſuch as juſtly is admir’d.

If it be folly, ’tis of both, or neither,

Both you and I, we’l both be fools together;

And he that ſayes,’tis fooliſh (if my word

May ſway) by my conſent ſhall make the third.

I dare out-face the worlds diſdaine for both,

If you alone profeſſe you are not wroth;

Yet if you are, a womans wrath is little,

When thousands elſe admire you in each tittle.

I. W.

Upon xi A6r

Upon the Author, by a knowne Friend.

Now I beleeve Tradition, which doth call

The Muſes, Vertues, Graces, Females all;

Only they are not nine, eleaven, nor three,

Our Authreſſe proves them but one unity.

Mankind take up ſome bluſhes on the ſcore,

Menopolize perfection no more:

In your owne Arts, confeſſe your ſelves out-done,

The Moone hath totally ecclips’d the Sun,

Not with her ſable mantle mufling him,

But her bright ſilver makes his gold looke dim:

Juſt as his beams force our pale Lamps to winke,

And earthly Fires within their aſhes ſhrinke.

I cannot wonder at Apollo now

That he with Female Lawrell crown’d his brow,

That made him witty: bad I leave to chuſe,

My Verſe ſhould be a Page unto your Muſe.

C. B.

Arme xii A6v

Arme, arme, Soldado’s arme, Horſe,

Horſe, ſpeed to your Horſes,

Gentle-women, make head, they vent their plots in Verſes;

They write of Monarchies, a moſt ſeditious word,

It ſignifies Oppreſſion, Tyranny, and Sword:

March amain to London, they’l riſe, for there they flock,

But ſtay a while, they ſeldome riſe till ten a clock.

R. Q.

In xiii A7r

In praiſe of the Author, Miſtris Anne Bradſtreet, Vertue’s true and lively Patterne, Wife of the Worſhipfull Simon Bradſtreet Eſquire.

At preſent reſiding in the Occidentall parts of the World, in America, alias Nov-Anglia.

What Golden ſplendent Star is this, ſo bright,

One thouſand miles thrice told, both day, and night,

(From xiv A7v

(From th’ Orient firſt ſprung) now from the Weſt

That ſhines; ſwift-winged Phœbus, and the reſt,

Of all Joves fiery flames ſurmounting far,

As doth each Planet, every falling Star;

By whoſe divine, and lucid light moſt cleare,

Natures darke ſecret Myſteries appeare;

Heaven’s, Earths, admired wonders, noble acts

Of Kings, and Princes moſt heroyick facts,

And what e’re elſe in darknes ſeem’d to dye,

Revives all things ſo obvious now to th’ eye;

That he who theſe, its glittering Rayes viewes o’re,

Shall ſee what’s done, in all the world before.

N. H.

Upon xv A8r

Upon the Author.

Twere extreame folly ſhould I dare attempt,

To praiſe this Authors worth with complement;

None but her ſelf muſt dare commend her parts,

Whoſe ſublime brain’s the Synopſis of Arts:

Nature and Skil, here both in one agree,

To frame this Maſter-peice of Poetry:

Falſe Fame, belye their Sex, no more, it can,

Surpaſſe, or parallel the beſt of man.

C. B.

Another to Mris. Anne Bradſtreete, Author of this Poem.

Ive read your Poem (Lady) and admire,

Your Sex, to ſuch a pitch ſhould e’re aſpire;

Goe on to write, continue to relate,

New Hiſtories, of Monarchy and State:

And what the Romans to their Poets gave,

Be ſure ſuch honour, and eſteeme you’l have.

H. S.

An xvi A8v

An Anagram.

Anna Bradeſtreate.

Deer Neat An Bartas.

So Bartas like thy fine ſpun Poems been,

That Bartas name will prove an Epicene.


Anne Bradſtreate.

Artes bred neat An.

To 001 B1r 1

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

Deare Sir, of late delighted with the ſight,

Of your TDThomas Dudley on the four parts of the world four ſiſters, deckt in black & white

Of fairer Dames, the ſun near ſaw the face,

(though made a pedeſtall for Adams Race)

Their worth ſo shines, in those rich lines you show.

Their paralells to find I ſcarcely know,

To climbe their Climes, I have nor ſtrength, nor skill,

To mount ſo high, requires an Eagles quill:

Yet view thereof, did cauſe my thoughts to ſoare,

My lowly pen, might wait upon thoſe four,

I bring my four; and four, now meanly clad,

To do their homage unto yours moſt glad,

Who for their age, their worth, and quality,

Might ſeem of yours to claime precedency;

But by my humble hand thus rudely pen’d

They are your bounden handmaids to attend.

Theſe ſame are they, of whom we being have,

Theſe are of all, the life, the nurſe, the grave,

These are, the hot, the cold, the moiſt, the dry,

That ſinke, that ſwim, that fill, that upwards flye,

B Of 002 B1v 2

Of theſe conſiſts, our bodyes, cloathes, and food,

The world, the uſefull, hurtfull, and the good:

Sweet harmony they keep, yet jar oft times,

Their diſcord may appear, by theſe harſh rimes.

Yours did conteſt, for Wealth, for Arts, for Age,

My firſt do ſhew, their good, and then their rage,

My other four, do intermixed tell

Each others faults, and where themſelves excell:

How hot, and dry, contend with moiſt, and cold,

How Aire, and Earth, no correſpondence hold,

And yet in equall tempers, how they gree,

How divers natures, make one unity.

Something of all (though mean) I did intend,

But fear’d you’ld judge, one Bartas was my friend,

I honour him, but dare not wear his wealth,

My goods are true (though poor) I love no ſtealth,

But if I did, I durſt not send them you;

Who muſt reward a theife but with his due.

I ſhall not need my innocence to clear,

Theſe ragged lines, will do’t, when they appear.

On what they are, your mild aſpect I crave,

Accept my beſt, my worſt vouchſafe a grave.

From her, that to your ſelfe more duty owes,

Then waters, in the boundleſſe Ocean flowes.

Anne Bradstreet

The 003 B2r 3

The Prologue.


To ſing of Wars, of Captaines, and of Kings,

Of Cities founded, of Common-wealths begun,

For my mean pen, are too ſuperiour things,

And how they all, or each, their dates have run:

Let Poets and Hiſtorians ſet theſe forth,

My obſcure Verſe, ſhal not ſo dim their worth.


But when my wondring eyes and envious heart,

Great Bartas ſugar’d lines doe but read o’re;

Foole, I doe grudge, the Muſes did not part

’Twixt him and me, that over-fluent ſtore;

A Bartas can, doe what a Bartas wil,

But ſimple I, according to my skill.


From School-boyes tongue, no Rhethorick we expect,

Nor yet a ſweet Conſort, from broken ſtrings,

Nor perfect beauty, where’s a maine defect,

My fooliſh, broken, blemiſh’d Muſe ſo ſings;

And this to mend, alas, no Art is able,

’Cauſe Nature made it ſo irreparable.


Nor can I, like that fluent, ſweet tongu’d Greek

Who lisp’d at firſt, ſpeake afterwards more plaine

By Art, he gladly found what he did ſeeke,

A full requitall of his ſtriving paine:

B2 Art 004 B2v 4

Art can doe much, but this maxime’s moſt ſure,

A weake or wounded brain admits no cure.


I am obnoxious to each carping tongue,

Who ſayes, my hand a needle better fits,

A Poets Pen, all ſcorne, I ſhould thus wrong;

For ſuch deſpight they caſt on female wits:

If what I doe prove well, it wo’nt advance,

They’l ſay its ſtolne, or elſe, it was by chance.


But ſure the antick Greeks were far more milde,

Elſe of our Sex, why feigned they thoſe nine,

And poeſy made, Calliope’s owne childe,

So ’mongſt the reſt, they plac’d the Arts divine:

But this weake knot they will full ſoone untye,

The Greeks did nought, but play the foole and lye.


Let Greeks be Greeks, and Women what they are,

Men have precedency, and ſtill excell,

It is but vaine, unjuſtly to wage war,

Men can doe beſt, and Women know it well;

Preheminence in each, and all is yours,

Yet grant ſome ſmall acknowledgement of ours.


And oh, ye high flown quils, that ſoare the skies,

And ever with your prey, ſtill catch your praiſe,

If e’re you daigne theſe lowly lines, your eyes

Give wholſome Parſley wreath, I aske no Bayes:

This meane and unrefined ſtuffe of mine,

Will make your gliſtering gold but more to ſhine.

A. B.

The 005 B3r 5

The Foure Elements.

Fire, Aire, Earth, and Water, did all conteſt

which was the ſtrongeſt, nobleſt, & the beſt,

Who the moſt good could ſhew, & who moſt rage

For to declare, themſelves they all ingage;

And in due order each her turne ſhould ſpeake,

But enmity, this amity did breake:

All would be cheife, and all ſcorn’d to be under,

Whence iſſu’d raines, and winds, lightning and thunder;

The quaking Earth did groan, the skie look’t black,

The Fire, the forced Aire, in ſunder crack;

The ſea did threat the heavens, the heavens the earth,

All looked like a Chaos, or new birth;

Fire broyled Earth, and ſcorched Earth it choaked,

Both by their darings; Water ſo provoked,

That roaring in it came, and with its ſource

Soone made the combatants abate their force,

The rumbling, hiſſing, puffing was ſo great,

The worlds confuſion it did ſeeme to threat;

But Aire at length, contention ſo abated,

That betwixt hot and cold, ſhe arbitrated

The others enmity: being leſſe, did ceaſe

All ſtormes now laid, and they in perfect peace,

That Fire ſhould firſt begin, the reſt conſent,

Being the moſt impatient Element.

B3 Fire 006 B3v 6


What is my worth (both ye) and all things know,

Where little is, I can but little ſhow,

But what I am, let learned Grecians ſay;

What I can doe, well skill’d Mechanicks may,

The benefit all Beings, by me finde;

Come firſt ye Artiſts, and declare your minde.

What toole was ever fram’d, but by my might,

O Martialiſt! what weapon for your fight?

To try your valour by, but it muſt feele

My force? your ſword, your Pike, your flint and ſteele,

Your Cannon’s bootleſſe, and your powder too

Without mine ayd, alas, what can they doe?

The adverſe wall’s not ſhak’d, the Mine’s not blowne,

And in deſpight the City keeps her owne,

But I with one Granado, or Petard,

Set ope thoſe gates, that ’fore ſo ſtrong was barr’d.

Ye Husband-men, your coulter’s made by me,

Your ſhares, your mattocks, and what e’re you ſee,

Subdue the earth, and fit it for your graine,

That ſo in time it might requite your paine;

Though ſtrong limb’d Vulcan forg’d it by his skill,

I made it flexible unto his will.

Ye Cooks, your kitchin implements I fram’d,

Your ſpits, pots, jacks, what elſe I need not name,

Your dainty food, I wholſome make, I warme

Your ſhrinking limbs, which winters cold doth harme;

Ye Paracelſians too, in vaine’s your skil

In chymeſtry, unleſſe I help you Stil,

And 007 B4r 7

And you Philoſophers, if ere you made

A tranſmutation, it was through mine aide.

Ye Silver-ſmiths, your ure I do refine,

What mingled lay with earth, I cauſe to ſhine.

But let me leave theſe things, my flame aſpires

To match on high with the Celeſtiall fires.

The Sun, an Orbe of Fire was held of old,

Our Sages new, another tale have told:

But be he what they liſt, yet his aſpect,

A burning fiery heat we find reflect;

And of the ſelfe ſame nature is with mine,

Good ſiſter Earth, no witneſſe needs but thine;

How doth his warmth refreſh thy frozen backs,

And trim thee gay, in green, after thy blacks?

Both man and beaſt, rejoyce at his approach,

And birds do ſing, to ſee his glittering Coach.

And though nought but Sal’manders live in fire;

The Flye Pyrauſta cal’d, all elſe expire.

Yet men and beaſts, Aſtronomers can tell,

Fixed in heavenly conſtellations dwell,

My Planets, of both Sexes, whoſe degree,

Poor Heathen judg’d worthy a Diety:

With Orion arm’d, attended by his dog,

The Theban ſtout Alcides, with his club:

The Valiant Perſeus who Meduſa ſlew,

The Horſe that kill’d Bellerophon, then flew.

My Crabbe, my Scorpion, fiſhes, you may ſee,

The maid with ballance, wayn with horſes three;

The Ram, the Bull, the Lyon, and the Beagle;

The Bear, the Goate, the Raven, and the Eagle,

The Crown, the Whale, the Archer, Bernice Hare,

The Hidra, Dolphin, Boys, that waters bear.

B4 Nay 008 B4v 8

Nay more then theſe, Rivers ’mongſt ſtars are found,

Eridanus, where Phaeton was drown’d,

Their magnitude and height ſhould I recount,

My ſtory to a Volume would amount:

Out of a multitude, theſe few I touch

Your wiſdom out of little gathers much,

I’le here let paſſe, my Choler cauſe of warres,

And influence of divers of thoſe ſtarres,

When in conjunction with the ſun, yet more,

Augment his heat, which was too hot before:

The Summer ripening ſeaſon I do claime;

And man from thirty unto fifty frame.

Of old, when Sacrifices were divine,

I of acceptance was the holy ſigne.

’Mong all my wonders which I might recount;

There’s none more ſtrange then Ætna’s ſulphery mount

The choaking flames, that from Veſuvius flew

The over-curious ſecond Pliny flew:

And with the aſhes, that it ſometimes ſhed

Apulia’s jacent parts were covered;

And though I be a ſervant to each man;

Yet by my force, maſter my maſter can.

What famous Townes to cinders have I turn’d?

What laſting Forts my kindled wrath hath burn’d?

The ſtately feats of mighty Kings by me:

In confus’d heaps of aſhes may ye ſee.

Where’s Ninus great wal’d Towne, and Troy of old?

Carthage, and hundred moe, in ſtories told,

Which when they could not be o’re come by foes

The Army through my helpe victorious roſe;

Old ſacred Zion, I demoliſh’d thee;

So great Diana’s Temple was by me.

And 009 B5r 9

And more then bruitiſh Sodome for her luſt,

With neighbouring Townes I did conſume to duſt,

What ſhal I ſay of Lightning, and of Thunder,

Which Kings, and mighty ones; amaz’d with wonder,

Which made a Cæſar, (Romes) the worlds proud head,

Fooliſh Caligula, creep under’s bed

Of Metors, Ignis Fatuus, and the reſt,

But to leave thoſe to th’ wife, I judge is beſt,

The rich I oft make poore, the ſtrong I maime,

Not ſparing life when I can take the ſame;

And in a word, the World I ſhal conſume,

And all therein at that great day of doome;

Not before then, ſhal ceaſe my raging ire,

And then, becauſe no matter more for fire:

Now Siſters, pray proceed, each in her courſe,

As I; impart your uſefulneſſe, and force.


The next in place, Earth judg’d to be her due,

Siſter, in worth I come not ſhort of you;

In wealth and uſe I doe ſurpaſſe you all,

And Mother Earth, of old, men did me call,

Such was my fruitfulneſſe; an Epithite

Which none ere gave, nor you could claime of right,

Among my praiſes this I count not leaſt,

I am th’ originall of man and beaſt,

To tell what ſundry fruits my fat ſoyle yeelds,

In vine-yards, orchards, gardens, and corne fields,

Their kinds, their taſte, their colours, and their ſmels,

Would ſo paſſe time, I could ſay nothing elſe;

The 010 B5v 10

The rich and poore, wiſe, foole, and every ſort,

Of theſe ſo common things, can make report:

To tell you of my Countries, and my regions

Soone would they paſſe, not hundreds, but legions,

My cities famous, rich, and populous,

Whoſe numbers now are growne innumerous;

I have not time to thinke of every part,

Yet let me name my Grecia, ’tis my heart

For Learning, Armes, and Arts, I love it well:

But chiefly, ’cauſe the Muſes there did dwell;

I’le here skip o’re my mountaines, reaching skies

Whether Pyrenian, or the Alpes; both lyes

On either ſide the country of the Gaules,

Strong forts from Spaniſh and Italian braules,

And huge great Taurus, longer then the reſt.

Dividing great Armenia from the leaſt,

And Hemus, whoſe ſteep ſides, none foote upon,

But farewell all, for deare mount Helicon,

And wonderous high Olimpus, of ſuch fame,

That heaven it ſelfe was oft call’d by that name;

Sweet Parnaſſus, I dote too much on thee,

Unleſſe. thou prove a better friend to me;

But ile skip o’re theſe Hills, not touch a Dale,

Nor yet expatiate, in Temple vale;

Ile here let goe, my Lions of Numedia,

My Panthers, and my Leopards of Libia,

The Behemoth, and rare found Unicorne,

Poyſons ſure antidote lyes in his horne.

And my Hyæna (imitates mans voyce)

Out of huge numbers, I might pick my choyce,

Thouſands in woods, and planes, both wild, and tame,

But here, or there, I liſt now none to name;

No 011 B6r 11

No, though the fawning dog did urge me ſore

In his behalfe to ſpeak a word the more;

Whoſe truſt, and valour I might here commend:

But time’s too ſhort, and precious ſo to ſpend.

But hark, ye worthy Merchants who for prize

Send forth your well man’d ſhips, where ſun doth riſe.

After three years, when men and meat is ſpent,

My rich commodities payes double rent.

Ye Galeniſts, my Drugs that come from thence

Doe cure your patients, fill your purſe with pence;

Beſides the uſe you have, of Hearbs and Plants,

That with leſſe coſt, neare home, ſupplyes your wants.

But Marriners, where got you ſhips and ſailes?

And Oares to row, when both my ſiſters failes?

Your Tackling, Anchor, Compaſſe too, is mine;

Which guides, when Sun, nor Moon, nor Stars do ſhine.

Ye mighty Kings, who for your laſting fames

Built Cities, Monuments call’d by your names;

Was thoſe compiled heapes of maſſy ſtones?

That your ambition laid, ought but my bones?

Ye greedy miſers who do dig for gold;

For gemmes, for ſilver, treaſures which I hold:

Will not my goodly face, your rage ſuffice?

But you will ſee what in my bowels lyes?

And ye Artificers, all trades and ſorts;

My bounty calls you forth to make reports,

If ought you have to uſe, to wear, to eate?

But what I freely yeeld upon your ſweat?

And cholerick ſiſter, thou (for all thine ire)

Well knoweſt, my fuell muſt maintain thy fire.

As I ingenuouſly (with thanks) confeſſe

My cold, thy (fruitfull) heat, doth crave no leſſe:

But 012 B6v 12

But how my cold, dry temper, works upon

The melancholy conſtitution.

How the Autumnal ſeaſon I do ſway;

And how I force the grey head to obey.

I ſhould here make a ſhort, yet true narration,

But that thy method is my imitation.

Now might I ſhew my adverſe quality,

And how I oft work mans mortality.

He ſometimes findes, maugre his toyling paine,

Thiſtles and thornes, where he expected graine;

My ſap, to plants and trees, I muſt not grant,

The Vine, the Olive, and the Figtree want:

The Corne, and Hay, both fall before they’r mowne;

And buds from fruitfull trees, before they’r blowne

Then dearth prevailes, that Nature to ſuffice,

The tender mother on her Infant flyes:

The Husband knowes no Wife, nor father ſons;

But to all outrages their hunger runnes.

Dreadfull examples, ſoon I might produce,

But to ſuch auditours ’twere of no uſe.

Again, when Delvers dare in hope of gold.

To ope thoſe veines of Mine, audacious bold:

While they thus in my intralls ſeem to dive;

Before they know, they are all inter’d alive.

Ye affrighted wights, appall’d how you do ſhake

If once you feel me, your foundation, quake,

Becauſe in the abyſſe of my darke wombe:

Your Cities and your ſelves I oft intombe.

O dreadfull Sepulcher! that this is true,

Korah and all his Company well knew.

And ſince, faire Italy full ſadly knowes

What ſhe hath loſt by theſe my dreadfull woes.

And 013 B7r 13

And Rome, her Curtius, can’t forget I think;

Who bravely rode into my yawning chinke.

Again, what veines of poyſon in me lye;

As Stibium and unfixt Mercury:

With divers moe, nay, into plants it creeps;

In hot, and cold, and ſome benums with ſleeps,

Thus I occaſion death to man and beaſt,

When they ſeek food, and harme miſtruſt the leaſt.

Much might I ſay, of the Arabian ſands;

Which riſe like mighty billowes on the lands:

Wherein whole Armies I have overthrown;

But windy ſiſter, ’twas when you have blown.

Ile ſay no more, yet this thing adde I muſt,

Remember, ſonnes, your mould is of my duſt,

And after death, whether inter’d, or burn’d;

As earth at firſt, ſo into earth return’d.


Scarce Earth had done, but th’ angry waters mov’d;

Siſter (quoth ſhe) it had full well behov’d

Among your boaſtings to have praiſed me;

Cauſe of your fruitfullneſſe, as you ſhall ſee:

This your neglect, ſhewes your ingratitude;

And how your ſubtilty would men delude.

Not one of us, all knowes, that’s like to thee,

Ever in craving, from the other three:

But thou art bound to me, above the reſt:

Which am thy drink, thy blood, thy ſap, and beſt.

If I withhold, what art thou, dead, dry lump

Thou bear’ſt no graſſe, nor plant, nor tree, nor ſtump.

Thy 014 B7v 14

Thy extream thirſt is moiſtened by my love,

With ſprings below, and ſhowers from above:

Or elſe thy ſun-burnt face, and gaping chapps;

Complaines to th’heaven, and when I withhold my drops:

Thy Bear, thy Tyger, and thy Lyon ſtout,

When I am gone, their fierceneſſe none need doubt;

The Camell hath no ſtrength, thy Bull no force:

Nor mettl’s found in the couragious Horſe:

Hindes leave their Calves, the Elephant the Fens;

The Woolves and ſavage Beaſts forſake their Dens.

The lofty Eagle and the Storke flye low,

The Peacock, and the Oſtrich ſhare in woe:

The Pine, the Cedars, yea and Daph’nes tree;

Do ceaſe to flouriſh in this miſery.

Man wants his bread, and wine, and pleaſant fruits:

He knowes ſuch ſweets, lyes not in earths dry roots,

Then ſeeks me out, in River and in Well;

His deadly mallady, I might expell.

If I ſupply, his heart and veines rejoyce;

If not, ſoon endes his life, as did his voyce.

That this is true, earth thou canſt not deny;

I call thine Egypt, this to verifie;

Which by my fatting Nile, doth yeeld ſuch ſtore,

That ſhe can ſpare, when Nations round are poore.

When I run low, and not o’reflow her brinks;

To meet with want, each woefull man bethinks.

But such I am in, Rivers, ſhowers and ſprings;

But: what’s the wealth that my rich Ocean brings?

Fiſhes ſo numberleſſe I there do hold;

Shouldſt thou but buy, it wou’d exhauſt thy gold.

There lives the oyly Whale, whom all men know,

Such wealth, but not ſuch like, Earth thou mayſt ſhew.

The 015 B8r 15

The Dolphin (loving muſique) Arions friend.

The crafty Barbell, whoſe wit doth her commend;

With thouſands moe, which now I liſt not name,

The ſilence of thy beaſts, doth cauſe the ſame.

My pearles that dangle at thy darlings ears;

Not thou, but ſhell-fiſh yeelds, as Pliny clears.

Was ever gem ſo rich found in thy trunke?

As Ægypts wanton Cleopatra drunke.

Or haſt thou any color can come nigh;

The Roman Purple, double Tirian dye.

Which Cæſars, Conſuls, Tribunes all adorne;

For it, to ſearch my waves, they thought no ſcorne.

Thy gallant rich perfuming Amber-greece:

I lightly caſt a ſhoare as frothy fleece.

With rowling graines of pureſt maſſy gold:

Which Spaines Americans, do gladly hold.

Earth, thou haſt not more Countrys, Vales and Mounds,

Then I have Fountaines, Rivers, Lakes and Ponds:

My ſundry Seas, Black, White and Adriatique;

Ionian, Balticke and the vaſt Atlantique;

The Ponticke, Caſpian, Golden Rivers fine.

Aſphaltis Lake, where nought remains alive.

But I ſhould go beyond thee in thy boaſts,

If I ſhould ſhew, more Seas, then thou haſt Coaſts.

But note this maxime in Philoſophy:

Then Seas are deep, Mountains are never high.

To ſpeake of kinds of Waters I’le neglect,

My divers Fountaines and their ſtrange effect;

My wholeſome Bathes, together with their cures.

My water Syrens, with their guilefull lures:

Th’ uncertain cauſe, of certain ebbs and flowes;

Which wondering Ariſtotles wit, ne’r knowes.

Nor 016 B8v 16

Nor will I ſpeake of waters made by Art,

Which can to life, reſtore a fainting heart;

Nor fruitfull dewes, nor drops from weeping eyes;

Which pitty moves, and oft deceives the wiſe.

Nor yet of Salt, and Sugar, ſweet and ſmart,

Both when we liſt, to water we convert.

Alas; thy ſhips and oares could do no good

Did they but want my Ocean, and my Flood.

The wary Merchant, on his weary beaſt

Transfers his goods, from North and South and Eaſt;

Unleſſe I eaſe his toyle, and doe tranſport,

The wealthy fraught, unto his wiſhed Port.

Theſe be my benefits which may ſuffice:

I now muſt ſhew what force there in me lyes.

The fleg my conſtitution I uphold;

All humours, Tumours, that are bred of cold.

O’re childehood, and Winter, I bear the ſway;

Yet Luna for my Regent I obey.

As I with ſhowers oft time refreſh the earth;

So oft in my exceſſe, I cauſe a dearth:

And with aboundant wet, ſo coole the ground,

By adding cold to cold, no fruit proves ſound;

The Farmer, and the Plowman both complain

Of rotten ſheep, lean kine, and mildew’d grain.

And with my waſting floods, and roaring torrent;

Their Cattle, Hay and Corne, I ſweep down current,

Nay many times, my Ocean breaks his bounds:

And with aſtoniſhment, the world confounds.

And ſwallowes Countryes up, ne’re ſeen againe:

And that an Iſland makes which once was maine.

Thus Albion (tis thought) was cut from France,

Cicily from Italy, by th’like chance.

And 017 C1r 17

And but one land was Affrica and Spayne,

Untill ſtraight Gibralter, did make them twaine.

Some ſay I ſwallowed up (ſure ’tis a notion)

A mighty Country ith’ Atlanticke Ocean.

I need not ſay much of my Haile and Snow,

My Ice and extream cold, which all men know.

Whereof the firſt, ſo ominous I rain’d,

That Iſraels enemies therewith was brain’d.

And of my chilling colds, ſuch plenty be;

That Caucaſus high mounts are ſeldom free.

Mine Ice doth glaze Europs big’ſt Rivers o’re,

Till Sun releaſe, their ſhips can ſaile no more.

All know, what innundations I have made;

Wherein not men, but mountaines ſeem’d to wade

As when Achaia, all under water ſtood,

That in two hundred year, it ne’r prov’d good.

Ducalions great deluge, with many moe;

But theſe are trifles to the Flood of Noe.

Then wholly periſh’d earths ignoble race;

And to this day, impaires her beautious face.

That after times, ſhall never feel like woe:

Her confirm’d ſonnes, behold my colour’d bow.

Much might I ſay of wracks, but that Ile ſpare,

And now give place unto our ſiſter Aire.


Content (quoth Aire) to ſpeake the laſt of you,

Though not through ignorance, firſt was my due,

I doe ſuppoſe, you’l yeeld without controle;

I am the breath of every living ſoul.

C Mor- 018 C1v 18

Mortalls, what one of you, that loves not me,

Aboundantly more then my ſiſters three?

And though you love Fire, Earth and Water wel;

Yet Aire, beyond all theſe ye know t’excell.

I aske the man condemn’d that’s near his death:

How gladly ſhould his gold purchaſe his breath,

And all the wealth that ever earth did give,

How freely ſhould it go, ſo he might live.

No world, thy witching traſh, were all but vain.

If my pure Aire, thy ſonnes did not ſuſtain.

The famiſht, thirſty man, that craves ſupply:

His moveing reaſon is, give leaſt I dye.

So loath he is to go, though nature’s ſpent,

To bid adue, to his dear Element.

Nay, what are words, which doe reveale the mind?

Speak, who, or what they will, they are but wind.

Your Drums, your Trumpets, and your Organs ſound,

What is’t? but forced Aire which muſt rebound,

And ſuch are Ecchoes, and report o’th gun

Which tells afar, th’ exployt which he hath done.

Your ſongs and pleaſant tunes, they are the ſame,

And ſo’s the notes which Nightingales do frame.

Ye forging Smiths, if Bellowes once were gone;

Your red hot work, more coldly would go on.

Ye Mariners, tis I that fill your Sailes,

And ſpeed you to your Port, with wiſhed gales

When burning heat, doth cauſe you faint, I coole,

And when I ſmile, your Ocean’s like a Poole.

I ripe the corne, I turne the grinding mill;

And with my ſelfe, I every vacuum fill.

The ruddy ſweet ſanguine, is like to Aire,

And youth, and ſpring, ſages to me compare.

My 019 C2r 19

My moiſt hot nature, is ſo purely thinne,

No place ſo ſubtilly made, but I get in.

I grow more pure and pure, as I mount higher,

And when I’m throughly rarifi’d, turn fire.

So when I am condens’d, I turne to water:

Which may be done by holding down my vapour.

Thus I another body can aſſume,

And in a trice, my own nature reſume.

Some for this cauſe (of late) have been ſo bold,

Me for no Element, longer to hold.

Let ſuch ſuſpend their thoughts, and ſilent be:

For all Philoſophers, make one of me.

And what thoſe Sages, did, or ſpake, or writ,

Is more authentick then their moderne wit.

Next, of my Fowles ſuch multitudes there are;

Earths Beaſts, and Waters Fiſh, ſcarce can compare.

The Oſtrich with her plumes, th’Eagle with her eyne;

The Phœnix too (if any be) are mine;

The Stork, the Crane, the Partrich, and the Pheſant;

The Pye, the Jay, the Larke, a prey to th’ Peaſant.

With thouſands moe, which now I may omit;

Without impeachment, to my tale or wit.

As my freſh Aire preſerves, all things in life;

So when’ts corrupt, mortality is rife.

Then Feavours, Purples, Pox, and Peſtilence;

With divers moe, worke deadly conſequence.

Whereof ſuch multitudes have dy’d and fled,

The living, ſcarce had power, to bury dead.

Yea ſo contagious, Countries have me known;

That birds have not ſcap’d death, as they have flown,

Of murrain, Cattle numberleſſe did fall.

Men fear’d deſtruction epidemicall.

C2 Then 020 C2v 20

Then of my tempeſts, felt at Sea and Land,

Which neither ſhips nor houſes could withſtand.

What woeful wracks I’ve made, may wel appear,

If nought was known, but that before Algire.

Where famous Charles the fift, more loſſe ſuſtain’d,

Then in his long hot wars, which Millain gain’d.

How many rich fraught veſſells, have I ſplit?

Some upon ſands, ſome upon rocks have hit.

Some have I forc’d, to gaine an unknown ſhoare;

Some overwhelm’d with waves, and ſeen no more.

Again, what tempeſts, and what hericanoes

Knowes Weſtern Iſles, Chriſtophers, Barbadoes;

Where neither houſes, trees, nor plants, I ſpare;

But ſome fall down, and ſome flye up with aire.

Earth-quaks ſo hurtful and ſo fear’d of all,

Impriſoned I, am the original.

Then what prodigious ſights, ſometimes I ſhow:

As battells pitcht ith’ Aire (as Countries know;)

Their joyning, fighting, forcing, and retreat;

That earth appears in heaven, oh wonder great!

Sometimes ſtrange flaming ſwords, and blazing ſtars,

Portentious ſignes, of Famines, Plagues and Wars.

Which makes the mighty Monarchs fear their Fates,

By death, or great mutations of their States.

I have ſaid leſſe, then did my ſiſters three;

But what’s their worth, or force, but more’s in me.

To adde to all I’ve ſaid, was my intent,

But dare not go, beyond my Element.

Of 021 C3r 21

Of the foure Humours in Mans conſtitution.

The former foure, now ending their Diſcourſe,

Ceaſing to vaunt, their good, or threat their force.

Loe! other foure ſtep up, crave leave to ſhew

The native qualities, that from each flow,

But firſt they wiſely ſhew’d their high deſcent,

Each eldeſt Daughter to each Element;

Choler was own’d by Fire, and Blood by Aire,

Earth knew her black ſwarth childe, Water her faire;

All having made obeyſance to each Mother,

Had leave to ſpeake, ſucceeding one the other;

But ’mongſt themſelves they were at variance,

Which of the foure ſhould have predominance;

Choler hotly claim’d, right by her mother,

Who had precedency of all the other.

But Sanguine did diſdaine, what ſhe requir’d,

Pleading her ſelfe, was moſt of all deſired;

Proud Melancholy, more envious then the reſt,

The ſecond, third, or laſt could not digeſt;

She was the ſilenceſt of all the foure,

Her wiſedome ſpake not much, but thought the more.

C3 Cold 022 C3v 22

Cold flegme, did not conteſt for higheſt place,

Only ſhe crav’d, to have a vacant ſpace.

Wel, thus they parle, and chide, but to be briefe,

Or wil they nil they, Choler wil be cheife;

They ſeeing her imperioſity,

At preſent yeelded, to neceſſity.


To ſhew you my great deſcent, and pedigree,

Your ſelves would judge, but vain prolixity.

It is acknowledged, from whence I came,

It ſhal ſuffice, to tel you what I am:

My ſelf, and Mother, one as you ſhal ſee,

But ſhe in greater, I in leſſe degree;

We both once Maſculines, the world doth know,

Now Feminines (a while) for love we owe

Unto your Siſter-hood, which makes us tender

Our noble ſelves, in a leſſe noble Gender.

Though under fire, we comprehend all heat,

Yet man for Choler, is the proper ſeat.

I in his heart erect my regal throne,

Where Monarch-like I play, and ſway alone.

Yet many times, unto my great diſgrace,

One of your ſelves are my compeers, in place:

Where if your rule once grow predominant,

The man proves boyiſh, ſottiſh, ignorant,

But if ye yeeld ſub-ſervient unto me,

I make a man, a man i’th higheſt degree,

Be he a Souldier, I more fence his heart

Then Iron Corſlet, ’gainſt a ſword or dart;

What 023 C4r 23

What makes him face his foe, without appal?

To ſtorme a Breach, or ſcale a City wal?

In dangers to account himſelf more ſure,

Then timerous Hares, whom Caſtles doe immure?

Have ye not heard of Worthies, Demi-gods?

’Twixt them and others, what iſt makes the odds

But valour, whence comes that? from none of you;

Nay milk-ſops, as ſuch brunts you look but blew,

Here’s Siſter Ruddy, worth the other two,

That much wil talk, but little dares ſhe do,

Unleſſe to court, and claw, and dice, and drink,

And there ſhe wil out-bid us all, I think;

She loves a Fiddle, better then a Drum,

A Chamber wel, in field ſhe dares not come;

She’l ride a Horſe as bravely, as the beſt,

And break a ſtaffe, provided’t be in jeſt,

But ſhuns to look on wounds, and bloud that’s ſpilt,

She loves her ſword, only becauſe its gilt;

Then here’s our ſad black Siſter, worſe then you,

She’l neither ſay, ſhe wil, nor wil ſhe doe:

But peeviſh, Male-content, muſing ſhe ſits,

And by miſpriſions, like to looſe her wits;

If great perſwaſions, cauſe her meet her foe;

In her dul reſolution, ſhe’s ſlow.

To march her pace, to ſome is greater pain,

Then by a quick encounter, to be ſlaine;

But be ſhe beaten, ſhe’l not run away,

She’l firſt advise, if’t be not beſt to ſtay.

But let’s give, cold, white; Siſter Flegme her right.

So loving unto all, ſhe ſcornes to fight.

If any threaten her, ſhe’l in a trice,

Convert from water, to conjealed Ice;

C4 Her 024 C4v 24

Her teeth wil chatter, dead and wan’s her face,

And ’fore ſhe be aſſaulted, quits the place,

She dare, not challenge if I ſpeak amiſſe;

Nor hath ſhe wit, or heat, to bluſh at this.

Here’s three of you, all ſees now what you are,

Then yeeld to me, preheminence in War.

Again, who ſits, for learning, ſcience, Arts?

Who rarifies the intellectuall parts?

Whence flow fine ſpirits, and witty notions?

Not from our dul ſlow Siſters motions:

Nor siſter Sanguine, from thy moderate heat,

Poor ſpirits the Liver breeds, which is thy seat,

What comes from thence, my heat refines the ſame,

And through the arteries ſends o’re the frame,

The vitall ſpirits they’re call’d, and wel they may,

For when they faile, man turnes unto his clay:

The Animal I claime, as wel as theſe,

The nerves ſhould I not warm, ſoon would they freeze.

But Flegme her ſelf, is now provok’d at this,

She thinks I never ſhot ſo farre amiſſe;

The Brain ſhe challenges, the Head’s her ſeat,

But know’ts a fooliſh brain, that wanteth heat;

My abſence proves, it plain, her wit then flyes

Out at her noſe, or melteth at her eyes;

Oh, who would miſſe this influence of thine,

To be diſtill’d a drop on every line!

No, no, thou haſt no ſpirits, thy company

Wil feed a Dropſie, or a Timpany,

The Palſie, Gout, or Cramp, or ſome ſuch dolor,

Thou waſt not made for Souldier, or for Schollar;

Of greaſie paunch, and palled cheeks, go vaunt,

But a good head from theſe are diſonant;

But 025 C5r 25

But Melancholy, wouldſt have this glory thine?

Thou ſayſt, thy wits are ſtai’d, ſubtle and fine:

Tis true, when I am midwife to thy birth;

Thy ſelf’s as dul, as is thy mother Earth.

Thou canſt not claime, the Liver, Head nor Heart;

Yet haſt thy seat aſſign’d, a goodly part,

The ſinke of all us three, the hatefull ſpleen;

Of that black region, Nature made thee Queen;

Where paine and ſore obſtructions, thou doſt work;

Where envy, malice, thy companions lurke.

If once thou’rt great, what followes thereupon?

But bodies waſting, and deſtruction.

So baſe thou art, that baſer cannot be;

The excrement, aduſtion of me.

But I am weary to dilate thy ſhame;

Nor is’t my pleaſure, thus to blur thy name:

Onely to raiſe my honours to the Skyes,

As objects beſt appear, by contraries.

Thus arms, and arts I claim, and higher things;

The Princely quality, befitting Kings.

Whoſe Serene heads, I line with policies,

They’re held for Oracles, they are ſo wiſe.

Their wrathfull looks are death, their words are laws;

Their courage, friend, and foe, and ſubject awes,

But one of you would make a worthy King:

Like our ſixt Henry, that ſame worthy thing.

That when a Varlet, ſtruck him o’re the ſide,

Forſooth you are to blame, he grave reply’d.

Take choler from a Prince, what is he more,

Then a dead Lyon? by beaſts triumpht ore.

Again, ye know, how I act every part:

By th’influence I ſend ſtill from the heart.

Its 026 C5v 26

Its not your muſcles, nerves, nor this nor that:

Without my lively heat, do’s ought thats flat.

The ſpongy Lungs, I feed with frothy blood.

They coole my heat, and ſo repay my good.

Nay, th’ſtomach, magazeen to all the reſt,

Without my boiling heat cannot digeſt,

And yet to make, my greatneſſe far more great:

What differences the Sex, but only heat?

And one thing more to cloſe with my narration.

Of all that lives, I cauſe the propagation.

I have been ſparing, what I might have ſaid,

I love no boaſting, that’s but childrens trade:

To what you now ſhal ſay, I wil attend,

And to your weakneſſe, gently condeſcend.


Good ſiſters give me leave (as is my place)

To vent my griefe, and wipe off my diſgrace.

Your ſelves may plead, your wrongs are no whit leſſe,

Your patience more then mine, I muſt confeſſe.

Did ever ſober tongue, ſuch language ſpeak?

Or honeſtie ſuch ties, unfriendly break?

Do’ſt know thy ſelfe ſo well, us ſo amiſſe?

Is’t ignorance, or folly cauſeth this?

Ile only ſhew the wrongs, thou’ſt done to me:

Then let my ſiſters, right their injury.

To pay with railings, is not mine intent,

But to evince the truth, by argument.

I will annaliſe, thy ſo proud relation;

So ful of boaſting, and prevarication.

Thy 027 C6r 27

Thy childiſh incongruities, Ile ſhow:

So walke thee til thou’rt cold, then let thee go.

There is no Souldier, but thy ſelfe thou ſay’ſt,

No valour upon earth, but what thou haſt.

Thy fooliſh provocations, I deſpiſe.

And leave’t to all, to judge where valour lyes.

No pattern, nor no Patron will I bring,

But David, Judah’s moſt heroyick King:

Whoſe glorious deeds in armes, the world can tel,

A roſie cheek’d muſitian, thou know’ſt wel.

He knew how, for to handle, Sword and Harpe,

And how to ſtrike ful ſweet, as wel as ſharpe.

Thou laugh’ſt at me, for loving merriment:

And ſcorn’ſt all Knightly ſports, at turnament.

Thou ſayſt I love my ſword, becauſe tis guilt.

But know, I love the blade, more then the hilt.

Yet do abhorre, ſuch timerarious deeds,

As thy unbridled, barb’rous Choler yeelds.

Thy rudeneſſe counts, good manners vanity,

And real complements, baſe flattery.

For drink, which of us twain, like it the beſt,

Ile go no further then thy noſe for teſt.

Thy other ſcoffes not worthy of reply:

Shal vaniſh as of no validity.

Of thy black calumnies, this is but part:

But now Ile ſhew, what Souldier thou art.

And though thou’ſt uſ’d me, with opprobrious ſpight,

My ingenuity muſt give thee right.

The Choler is but rage, when tis moſt pure.

But uſeful, when a mixture can indure.

As with thy mother Fire, ſo ’tis with thee,

The beſt of al the four, when they agree.

But 028 C6v 28

But let her leave the reſt, and I preſume,

Both them and all things elſe, ſhe will conſume.

Whil’ſt us, for thine aſſociates thou takeſt,

A Souldier moſt compleat in al points makeſt.

But when thou ſcorn’ſt to take the helpe we lend,

Thou art a fury, or infernal Fiend.

Witneſſe the execrable deeds thou’ſt done:

Nor ſparing Sex, nor age, nor fire, nor ſon.

To ſatisfie thy pride, and cruelty

Thou oft haſt broke bounds of humanity.

Nay ſhould I tel, thou wouldſt count me no blab,

How often for the lye, thou’ſt giv’n the ſtab.

To take the wal’s a ſin, of ſuch high rate,

That naught but blood, the ſame may expiate.

To croſſe thy wil, a challenge doth deſerve.

So ſpils that life, thou’rt bounden to preſerve.

Wilt thou this valour, manhood, courage cal:

Nay; know ’tis pride, moſt diabolical.

If murthers be thy glory, tis no leſſe.

Ile not envy thy feats, nor happineſſe.

But if in fitting time, and place, on foes;

For Countries good, thy life thou darſt expoſe.

Be dangers neer ſo high, and courage great,

Ile praiſe that fury, valour, choler, heat.

But ſuch thou never art, when al alone;

Yet ſuch, when we al four are joyn’d in one.

And when ſuch thou art, even ſuch are we.

The friendly coadjutors, ſtil to thee.

Nextly, the ſpirits thou do’ſt wholly claime,

Which natural, vital, animal we name.

To play Philoſopher, I have no liſt;

Nor yet Phiſician, nor Anatomiſt.

For 029 C7r 29

For acting theſe, I have nor wil, nor art,

Yet ſhal with equity give thee thy part,

For th’ natural, thou doſt not much conteſt,

For there are none, thou ſay’ſt, if ſome, not beſt.

That there are some, and best, I dare averre;

More uſeful then the reſt, don’t reaſon erre;

What is there living, which cannot derive

His life now animal, from vegative?

If thou giv’ſt life, I give thee nouriſhment,

Thine without mine, is not, ’tis evident:

But I, without thy help can give a growth,

As plants, tree, and ſmall Embryon know’th,

And if vital ſpirits do flow from thee,

I am as ſure, the natural from me;

But thine the nobler, which I grant, yet mine

Shal juſtly claime priority of thine;

I am the Fountaine which thy Ciſterns fils,

Through th’ warme, blew conduits of my veinal rils;

What hath the heart, but what’s ſent from the liver?

If thou’rt the taker, I muſt be the giver:

Then never boaſt of what thou do’ſt receive,

For of ſuch glory I ſhal thee bereave;

But why the heart, ſhould be uſurpt by thee,

I muſt confeſſe, is ſomewhat ſtrange to me,

The ſpirits through thy heat, are made perfect there,

But the materials none of thine, that’s cleare,

Their wondrous mixture, is of blood, and ayre,

The firſt my ſelf, ſecond my ſiſter faire,

But i’le not force retorts, nor do thee wrong,

Thy fiery yellow froth, is mixt among.

Challenge not all, ’cauſe part we do allow,

Thou know’ſt I’ve there to do, as wel as thou;

But 030 C7v 30

But thou wilt ſay, I deale unequally,

There lives the iraſcible faculty:

Which without all diſpute, is Cholers owne;

Beſides the vehement hear, only there known,

Can be imputed unto none, but Fire;

Which is thy ſelf, thy Mother, and thy Sire:

That this is true, I eaſily can aſſent,

If ſtil thou take along my Aliment,

And let me be thy Partner, which is due,

So wil I give the dignity to you.

Again, ſtomachs concoction thou doſt claime,

But by what right, nor do’ſt, nor canſt thou name;

It is her own heat, not thy faculty,

Thou do’ſt unjuſtly claime, her property,

The help ſhe needs, the loving Liver lends,

Who th’ benefit o’ th’ whole ever intends:

To meddle further, I ſhal be but ſhent,

Th’ reſt to our Siſters, is more pertinent.

Your ſlanders thus refuted, takes no place,

Though caſt upon my guiltleſſe bluſhing face;

Now through your leaves, ſome little time i’le ſpend;

My worth in humble manner, to commend.

This hot, moiſt, nurtritive humour of mine,

When ’tis untaint, pure, and moſt genuine

Shal firſtly take her place, as is her due,

Without the leaſt indignity to you;

Of all your qualitites I do partake,

And what you ſingly are, the whole I make.

Your hot, dry, moyſt, cold, natures are foure,

I moderately am all, what need I more:

As thus, if hot, then dry; if moiſt, then cold;

If this can’t be diſprov’d, then all I hold:

My 031 C8r 31

My vertues hid, i’ve let you dimly ſee;

My ſweet complexion, proves the verity,

This ſcarlet die’s a badge of what’s within,

One touch thereof ſo beautifies the skin;

Nay, could I be from all your tangs but pure,

Mans life to boundleſſe time might ſtil endure;

But here’s one thruſts her heat, where’ts not requir’d

So ſuddenly, the body all is fir’d:

And of the ſweet, calme temper, quite bereft,

Which makes the manſion, by the ſoul ſoon left;

So Melancholly ceaſes on a man;

With her uncheerful viſage, ſwarth and wan;

The body dryes, the minde ſublime doth ſmother,

And turns him to the wombe of ’s earthy mother,

And Flegme likewiſe can ſhew, her cruel art,

With cold diſtempers, to pain every part;

The Lungs, ſhe rots, the body weares away,

As if ſhe’d leave no fleſh to turn to clay,

Her languiſhing diſeaſes, though not quick,

At length demoliſhes the faberick,

All to prevent, this curious care I take;

Ith’ laſt concoction, ſegregation make.

Of all the perverſe humours from mine owne,

The bitter choler, moſt malignant knowne

I turn into his cel, cloſe by my ſide,

The Melancholly to the Spleen to ’bide;

Likewiſe the Whey, ſome uſe I in the veines,

The over plus I ſend unto the reines;

But yet for all my toyl, my care, my skil,

It’s doom’d by an irrevocable wil:

That my intents ſhould meet with interruption,

That mortal man, might turn to his corruption.

I 032 C8v 32

I might here ſhew, the nobleneſſe of minde,

Of ſuch as to the Sanguine are inclin’d,

They’re liberal, pleaſant, kinde, and courteous,

And like the Liver, all benignious;

For Arts, and Sciences, they are the fitteſt,

And maugre (Choler) ſtil they are the witteſt,

An ingenious working phantaſie,

A moſt volumnious large memory,

And nothing wanting but ſolidity.

But why, alas, thus tedious ſhould I be?

Thouſand examples, you may daily ſee

If time I have tranſgreſt, and been too long,

Yet could not be more breif, without much wrong.

I’ve ſcarce wip’d off the ſpots, proud Choler caſt,

Such venome lyes in words, though but a blaſt,

No braggs i’ve us’d, t’ your ſelves I dare appeale,

If modeſty my worth do not conceale.

I’ve us’d no bitterneſſe, nor taxt your name,

As I to you, to me, do ye the ſame.


He that with two aſſaylents hath to do,

Had need be armed wel, and active too,

Eſpecially when freindſhip is pretended:

That blow’s moſt deadly, where it is intended;

Though Choler rage, and raile, i’le not do ſo,

The tongue’s no weapon to aſſault a foe,

But fith we fight with words, we might be kind,

To ſpare our ſelves, and beat the whiſtling winde.

Faire 033 D1r 33

Faire roſie Siſter, ſo might’ſt thou ſcape free,

I’le flatter for a time, as thou did’ſt me,

But when the firſt offenders I have laid,

Thy ſoothing girds ſhal fully be repaid;

But Choler, be thou cool’d, or chaſ’d, i’le venter,

And in contentions liſts, now juſtly enter.

Thy boaſted valour ſtoutly’s been repell’d,

If not as yet, by me, thou shalt be quell’d:

What mov’d thee thus to villifie my name?

Not paſt all reaſon, but in truth all shame:

Thy fiery ſpirit ſhal bear away this prize,

To play ſuch furious pranks I am too wiſe;

If in a Souldier raſhneſſe be ſo precious,

Know, in a General its moſt pernicious.

Nature doth teach, to ſheild the head from harm,

The blow that’s aim’d thereat is latch’d by th’arm,

When in Battalia my foes I face,

I then command, proud Choler ſtand thy place,

To uſe thy ſword, thy courage, and thy Art,

For to defend my ſelf, thy better part;

This warineſſe count not for cowardiſe,

He is not truly valiant that’s not wiſe;

It’s no leſſe glory to defend a town,

Then by aſſault to gain one, not our own.

And if Marceüus bold, be call’d Romes ſword,

Wiſe Fabius is her buckler: all accord.

And if thy haſte, my ſlowneſſe ſhould not temper,

’Twere but a mad, irregular diſtemper,

Enough of that, by our Siſter heretofore,

I’le come to that which wounds me ſomewhat more:

Of Learning, and of Policie, thou would’ſt bereave me,

But’s not thy ignorance ſhal thus deceive me.

D What 034 D1v 34

What greater Clerke, or polititian lives?

Then he whoſe brain a touch my humour gives.

What is too hot, my coldneſſe doth abate;

What’s diffluent, I do conſolidate.

If I be partial judg’d, or thought to erre,

The melancholy Snake ſhall it aver.

Thoſe cold dry heads, more ſubtilly doth yeild,

Then all the huge beaſts of the fertile field.

Thirdly, thou doſt confine me to the ſpleen,

As of that only part I was the Queen:

Let me as wel make thy precincts, the gal;

To priſon thee within that bladder ſmal.

Reduce the man to’s principles, then ſee

If I have not more part, then al ye three:

What is without, within, of theirs, or thine.

Yet time and age, ſhal ſoon declare it mine.

When death doth ſeize the man, your ſtock is loſt,

When you poor bankrupts prove, then have I moſt

You’l ſay, here none ſhal ere diſturbe my right;

You high born (from that lump) then take your flight

Then who’ mans friend, when life and all forſakes?

His mother (mine) him to her wombe retakes,

Thus he is ours, his portion is the grave.

But whilſt he lives, Ile ſhew what part I have.

And firſt, the firme dry bones, I juſtly claim:

The ſtrong foundation of the ſtately frame.

Likewiſe the uſeful ſpleen, though not the beſt,

Yet is a bowel cal’d wel as the reſt.

The Liver, Stomach, owes it thanks of right:

The firſt it draines, o’th’ laſt quicks appetite,

Laughter (though thou ſayſt malice) flowes from hence,

Theſe two in one cannot have reſidence.

But 035 D2r 35

But thou moſt groſly do’ſt miſtake, to thinke

The Spleen for al you three, was made a ſinke.

Of al the reſt, thou’ſt nothing there to do;

But if thou haſt, that malice comes from you.

Again, you often touch my ſwarthy hew,

That black is black, and I am black, tis true,

But yet more comely far, I dare avow,

Then is thy torrid noſe, or braſen brow.

But that which ſhewes how high thy ſpight is bent,

In charging me, to be thy excrement.

Thy loathſome imputation I defie;

So plain a ſlander needeth no reply.

When by thy heat, thou’ſt bak’d thy ſelfe to cruſt,

Thou do’ſt aſſume my name, wel be it juſt;

This tranſmutation is, but not excretion,

Thou wants Philoſophy, and yet diſcretion.

Now by your leave, Ile let your greatneſſe ſee;

What officer thou art to al us three.

The Kitchin Drudge, the cleanſer of the ſinks,

That caſts out all that man or eates, or drinks.

Thy bittering quality, ſtil irretates,

Til filth and thee, nature exhonorates.

If any doubt this truth, whence this ſhould come;

Show then thy paſſage to th’ Duodenum.

If there thou’rt ſtopt, to th’ Liver thou turn’ſt in

And ſo with jaundiſe, Safferns al the skin.

No further time ile ſpend, in confutations,

I truſt I’ve clear’d your ſlandrous imputations.

I now ſpeake unto al, no more to one;

Pray hear, admire, and learn inſtruction,

My vertues yours ſurpaſſe, without compare:

The firſt, my conſtancy, that jewel rare.

D2 Choler’s 036 D2v 36

Choler’s too raſh, this golden gift to hold.

And Sanguine is more fickle many fold.

Here, there, her reſtleſſe thoughts do ever flye;

Conſtant in nothing, but inconſtancy,

And what Flegme is, we know, likewiſe her mother,

Unſtable is the one, ſo is the other.

With me is noble patience alſo found,

Impatient Choler loveth not the ſound.

What Sanguine is, ſhe doth not heed, nor care.

Now up, now down, tranſported like the Aire.

Flegm’s patient, because her nature’s tame.

But I by vertue, do acquire the ſame.

My temperance, chaſtity, is eminent,

But theſe with you, are ſeldome reſident.

Now could I ſtain my ruddy ſiſters face,

With purple dye, to ſhew but her diſgrace.

But I rather with ſilence, vaile her ſhame;

Then cauſe her bluſh, while I dilate the ſame.

Nor are ye free, from this inormity,

Although ſhe beare the greateſt obloquie.

My prudence, judgement, now I might reveale,

But wiſdome ’tis, my wiſdom to conceale.

Unto diſeaſes not inclin’d as ye:

Nor cold, nor hot, Ague, nor Pluriſie;

Nor Cough, nor Quinſie, nor the burning Feavor.

I rarely feel to act his fierce indeavour.

My ſickneſſe cheifly in conceit doth lye,

What I imagine, that’s my malady.

Strange Chymera’s are in my phantaſie,

And things that never were, nor ſhal I ſee.

Talke I love not, reaſon lyes not in length.

Nor multitude of words, argues our ſtrength;

I’ve 037 D3r 37

I’ve done, pray Siſter Flegme proceed in courſe,

We ſhal expect much ſound, but little force.


Patient I am, patient i’d need to be,

To bear the injurious taunts of three;

Though wit I want, and anger I have leſſe,

Enough of both, my wrongs for to expreſſe;

I’ve not forgot how bitter Choler ſpake,

Nor how her Gaul on me ſhe cauſleſſe brake;

Nor wonder ’twas, for hatred there’s not ſmal,

Where oppoſition is diametrical:

To what is truth, I freely wil aſſent,

(Although my name do ſuffer detriment)

What’s ſlanderous, repel; doubtful, diſpute;

And when i’ve nothing left to ſay, be mute;

Valour I want, no Souldier am, ’tis true,

I’le leave that manly property to you;

I love no thundering Drums, nor bloody Wars,

My poliſh’d skin was not ordain’d for skars,

And though the pitched field i’ve ever fled,

At home, the Conquerors, have conquered:

Nay, I could tel you (what’s more true then meet)

That Kings have laid their Scepters at my feet,

When ſiſter Sanguine paints my Ivory face,

The Monarchs bend, and ſue, but for my grace;

My Lilly white, when joyned with her red,

Princes hath ſlav’d, and Captains captived:

Country with Country, Greece with Aſia fights,

Sixty nine Princes, all ſtout Hero Knights.

D3 Under 038 D3v 38

Under Troys wals, ten years wil waſt away,

Rather then looſe, one beauteous Hellena;

But ’twere as vain, to prove the truth of mine,

As at noon day to tel, the Sun doth ſhine.

Next difference betwixt us twain doth lye,

Who doth poſſeſſe the Brain, or thou, or I;

Shame forcd thee ſay, the matter that was mine,

But the ſpirits, by which it acts are thine;

Thou ſpeakeſt truth, and I can ſpeak no leſſe,

Thy heat doth much, I candidly confeſſe,

But yet thou art as much, I truly ſay,

Beholding unto me another way.

And though I grant, thou art my helper here,

No debtor I, becauſe ’tis paid elſe where;

With all your flouriſhes, now Siſters three,

Who is’t or dare, or can compare with me;

My excellencies are ſo great, ſo many,

I am confounded, ’fore I ſpeak of any:

The Brain’s the nobleſt member all allow,

The ſcituation, and form wil it avow,

Its ventricles, membrances, and wond’rous net,

Galen, Hipocrates, drives to a ſet.

That divine Eſſence, the immortal Soul,

Though it in all, and every part be whole:

Within this ſtately place of eminence,

Doth doubtleſſe keep its mighty reſidence;

And ſurely the Souls ſenſative here lives,

Which life and motion to each Creature gives,

The conjugations of the parts to th’ brain

Doth shew, hence flowes the power which they retain;

Within this high built Citadel doth lye,

The Reaſon, Fancy, and the Memory;

The 039 D4r 39

The faculty of ſpeech doth here abide,

The ſpirits animal, from whence doth ſlide,

The five moſt noble Sences, here do dwel,

Of three, its hard to ſay which doth excel;

This point for to diſcuſſe longs not to me,

I’le touch the Sight, great’ſt wonder of the three;

The optick nerve, coats, humours, all are mine,

Both watry, glaſſie, and the chriſtaline.

O! mixture ſtrange, oh colour, colourleſſe,

Thy perfect temperment, who can expreſſe:

He was no foole, who thought the Soul lay here,

Whence her affections, paſſions, ſpeak ſo clear;

O! good, O bad, O true, O traiterous eyes!

What wonderments, within your bals there lyes?

Of all the Sences, Sight ſhal be the Queen;

Yet ſome may wiſh, oh, had mine eyes ne’re ſeene.

Mine likewiſe is the marrow of the back,

Which runs through all the ſpondles of the rack,

It is the ſubſtitute o’th royal Brain,

All nerves (except ſeven paire) to it retain;

And the ſtrong ligaments, from hence ariſe,

With joynt to joynt, the entire body tyes;

Some other parts there iſſue from the Brain,

Whoſe uſe and worth to tel, I muſt refrain;

Some worthy learned Crooke may theſe reveal,

But modeſty hath charg’d me to conceal;

Here’s my epitome of excellence,

For what’s the Brains, is mine, by conſequence;

A fooliſh Brain (ſaith Choler) wanting heat,

But a mad one, ſay I, where ’tis too great,

Phrenſie’s worſe, then folly, one would more glad,

With a tame foole converſe, then with a mad.

D4 Then 040 D4v 40

Then, my head for learning is not the fitteſt,

Ne’re did I heare that Choler was the witt’eſt;

Thy judgement is unſafe, thy fancy little,

For memory, the ſand is not more brittle.

Again, none’s fit for Kingly place but thou,

If Tyrants be the beſt, i’le it allow;

But if love be, as requiſite as feare,

Then I, and thou, muſt make a mixture here:

Wel, to be breif, Choler I hope now’s laid,

And I paſſe by what ſiſter Sanguine ſaid;

To Melancholly i’le make no reply,

The worſt ſhe ſaid, was, inſtability,

And too much talk; both which, I do confeſſe,

A warning good, hereafter i’le ſay leſſe.

Let’s now be freinds, ’tis time our ſpight was ſpent,

Leſt we too late, this raſhneſſe do repent,

Such premiſes wil force a ſad concluſion,

Unlesse we ’gree, all fals into confuſion.

Let Sanguine, Choler, with her hot hand hold,

To take her moyſt, my moiſtneſſe wil be bold;

My cold, cold Melanchollies hand ſhal claſp,

Her dry, dry Cholers other hand ſhal graſp;

Two hot, two moiſt, two cold, two dry here be,

A golden Ring, the Poſey, Unity:

Not jars, nor ſcoffs, let none hereafter ſee,

But all admire our perfect amity;

Nor be diſcern’d, here’s water, earth, aire, fire,

But here’s a compact body, whole, entire:

This loving counſel pleas’d them all ſo wel,

That Flegme was judg’d, for kindneſſe to excel.

The 041 D5r 41

The Four Ages of Man.

Loe now! four other acts upon the ſtage,

Childhood, and Youth, the Manly, and Old-age.

The firſt: ſon unto Flegme, grand-child to water,

Unſtable, ſupple, moiſt, and cold’s his Naure.

The ſecond, frolick, claimes his pedigree,

From blood aire, for hot, and moiſt is he.

The third, of fire, and choler is compoſ’d,

Vindicative, and quarelſome diſpoſ’d.

The laſt, of earth, and heavy melancholly,

Solid, hating all lightneſſe, and al folly.

Childhood was cloath’d in white, and given to ſhow,

His ſpring was intermixed with ſome ſnow.

Upon his head a Garland Nature ſet:

Of Dazy, Primroſe, and the Violet.

Such cold mean flowers (as theſe) bloſſome betime,

Before the Sun hath throughly warm’d the clime.

His hobby ſtriding, did not ride, but run,

And in his hand an hour-glaſſe new begun,

In dangers every moment of a fall,

And when tis broke, then ends his life and all.

But if he held, til it have run its laſt,

Then may he live, til threeſcore years or paſt.

Next 042 D5v 42

Next, youth came up, in gorgeous attire;

(As that fond age, doth moſt of al deſire.)

His Suit of Crimſon, and his Scarfe of Green:

In’s countenance, his pride quickly was ſeen.

Garland of Roſes, Pinks, and Gilliflowers,

Seemed to grow on’s head (bedew’d with ſhowers:)

His face as freſh, as is Aurora faire,

When bluſhing firſt, ſhe ’gins to red the Aire.

No wooden horſe, but one of mettal try’d:

He ſeems to flye, or ſwim, and not to ride.

Then prauncing on the Stage, about he wheels;

But as he went, death waited at his heeles.

The next came up, in a more graver ſort,

As one that cared, for a good report.

His Sword by’s ſide, and choler in his eyes;

But neither us’d (as yet) for he was wiſe.

Of Autumne fruits a basket on his arme.

His golden god in’s purſe, which was his charm?

And laſt of al, to act upon this Stage;

Leaning upon his ſtaffe, comes up old age.

Under his arme a Sheafe of wheat he bore,

A Harveſt of the beſt, what needs he more.

In’s other hand a glaſſe, ev’n almoſt run,

This writ about: This out, then I am done.

His hoary haires, and grave aſpect made way;

And al gave care, to what he had to ſay.

Theſe being met, each in his equipage,

Intend to ſpeak, according to their age:

But wiſe Old-age, did with all gravity,

To childiſh childhood, give precedency.

And to the reſt, his reaſon mildly told;

That he was young, before he grew ſo old.

To 043 D6r 43

To do as he, the reſt ful ſoon aſſents,

Their method was, that of the Elements,

That each ſhould tel, what of himſelfe he knew;

Both good and bad, but yet no more then’s true:

With heed now ſtood, three ages of fraile man,

To hear the child, who crying, thus began.


Ah me! conceiv’d in ſin, and born in ſorrow,

A nothing, here to day, but gone to morrow.

Whoſe mean beginning, bluſhing cann’t reveale,

But night and darkeneſſe, muſt with ſhame conceal.

My mothers breeding ſicknes, I will ſpare;

Her nine months weary burden not declare.

To ſhew her bearing pangs, I ſhould do wrong,

To tel that paine, which cann’t be told by tongue;

With tears into this world I did arrive;

My mother ſtil did waſte, as I did thrive:

Who yet with love, and all alacrity,

Spending was willing, to be ſpent for me;

With wayward cryes, I did diſturbe her reſt;

Who ſought ſtil to appeaſe me, with her breſt,

With weary armes, ſhe danc’d, and By, By, ſung,

When wretched I (ungrate) had done the wrong.

When Infancy was paſt, my Childiſhneſſe,

Did act al folly, that it could expreſſe.

My ſillineſſe did only take delight,

In that which riper age did ſcorn, and ſlight:

In Rattles, Bables, and ſuch toyiſh ſtuffe.

My then ambitious thoughts, were low enough.

My 044 D6v 44

My high-borne ſoule, ſo ſtraitly was confin’d:

That its own worth, it did not know, nor mind.

This little houſe of fleſh, did ſpacious count:

Through ignorance, all troubles did ſurmount.

Yet this advantage, had mine ignorance,

Freedome from Envy, and from Arrogance.

How to be rich, or great, I did not carke;

A Baron or a Duke, ne’r made my mark.

Nor ſtudious was, Kings favours how to buy,

With coſtly preſents, or baſe flattery.

No office coveted, wherein I might

Make ſtrong my ſelfe, and turne aſide weak right.

No malice bare, to this, or that great Peer,

Nor unto buzzing whiſperors, gave ear.

I gave no hand, nor vote, for death, or life:

I’d nought to do, ’twixt Prince, and peoples ſtrife.

No Statiſt I: nor Marti’liſt i’ th’ field;

Where e’re I went, mine innocence was ſhield.

My quarrells, not for Diadems did riſe;

But for an Apple, Plumbe, or ſome ſuch prize,

My ſtroks did cauſe no death, nor wounds, nor skars.

My little wrath did ceaſe ſoon as my wars.

My duel was no challenge, nor did ſeek.

My foe ſhould weltering, with his bowels reek.

I had no Suits at law, neighbours to vex.

Nor evidence for land, did me perplex.

I fear’d no ſtormes, nor al the windes that blowes,

I had no ſhips at Sea, no fraughts to looſe.

I fear’d no drought, nor wet, I had no crop,

Nor yet on future things did place my hope.

This was mine innocence, but oh the ſeeds,

Lay raked up; of all the curſed weeds,

Which 045 D7r 45

Which ſprouted forth, in my inſuing age,

As he can tell, that next comes on the ſtage.

But yet let me relate, before I go,

The ſins, and dangers I am ſubject to.

From birth ſtayned, with Adams ſinfull fact;

From thence I ’gan to ſin, as ſoon as act.

A perverſe will, a love to what’s forbid:

A ſerpents ſting in pleaſing face lay hid.

A lying tongue as ſoon as it could ſpeak,

And fift Commandment do daily break.

Oft ſtubborn, peeviſh, ſullen, pout, and cry:

Then nought can pleaſe, and yet I know not why.

As many was my ſins, ſo dangers too:

For ſin brings ſorrow, ſickneſſe, death, and woe.

And though I miſſe, the toſſings of the mind:

Yet griefs, in my fraile fleſh, I ſtill do find.

What gripes of wind, mine infancy did pain?

What tortures I, in breeding teeth ſuſtain?

What crudities my cold ſtomach hath bred?

Whence vomits, wormes, and flux have iſſued?

What breaches, knocks, and falls I daily have?

And ſome perhaps, I carry to my grave.

Some times in fire, ſometimes in waters fall:

Strangely preſerv’d, yet mind it not at all.

At home, abroad, my danger’s manifold.

That wonder tis, my glaſſe till now doth hold.

I’ve done, unto my elders I give way.

For ’tis but little, that a childe can ſay.

Youth 046 D7v 46


My goodly cloathing, and my beauteous skin,

Declare ſome greater riches are within;

But what is beſt i’le firſt preſent to view,

And then the worſt, in a more ugly hue;

For thus to do, we on this Stage aſſemble,

Then let not him, which hath moſt craft diſſemble;

Mine education, and my learning’s ſuch,

As might my ſelf, and others, profit much:

With nurture trained up in vertues Schools,

Of Science, Arts, and Tongues, I know the rules,

The manners of the Court, I likewiſe know,

Nor ignorant what they in Country do;

The brave attempts of valiant Knights I prize,

That dare climbe Battlements, rear’d to the skies;

The ſnorting Horſe, the Trumpet, Drum I like,

The gliſtring Sword, and wel advanced Pike;

I cannot lye in trench, before a Town,

Nor wait til good advice our hopes do crown;

I ſcorn the heavy Corſlet, Musket-proof,

I fly to catch the Bullet that’s aloof;

Though thus in field, at home, to all moſt kind;

So affable that I do ſuit each mind;

I can inſinuate into the breſt,

And by my mirth can raiſe the heart depreſt;

Sweet Muſick rapteth my harmonious Soul,

And elevates my thoughts above the Pole.

My wit, my bounty, and my courteſie,

Makes all to place their future hopes on me.

This 047 D8r 47

This is my beſt, but youth (is known) alas,

To be as wilde as is the ſnuffing Aſſe,

As vain as froth, as vanity can be,

That who would ſee vain man, may look on me:

My gifts abus’d, my education loſt,

My woful Parents longing hopes all croſt,

My wit, evaporates in meriment:

My valour, in ſome beaſtly quarrel’s ſpent;

Martial deeds I love not, ’cauſe they’re vertuous;

But doing ſo, might ſeem magnanimous.

My Luſt doth hurry me, to all that’s ill,

I know no Law, nor reaſon, but my wil;

Sometimes lay wait to take a wealthy purſe,

Or ſtab the man, in’s own defence, that’s worſe,

Sometimes I cheat (unkind) a female Heir,

Of all at once, who not ſo wiſe, as fair,

Truſteth my loving looks, and glozing tongue,

Until her freinds, treaſure, and honour’s gone.

Sometimes I ſit carouſing others health,

Until mine own be gone, my wit, and wealth;

From pipe to pot, from pot to words, and blows,

For he that loveth Wine, wanteth no woes;

Dayes, nights, with Ruffins, Roarers, Fidlers ſpend,

To all obſcenity, my eares I bend.

All counſel hate, which tends to make me wiſe,

And deareſt freinds count for mine enemies;

If any care I take, ’tis to be fine,

For ſure my ſuit more then my vertues ſhine;

If any time from company I ſpare,

’Tis ſpent in curling, friſling up my hair;

Some young Adonis I do ſtrive to be,

Sardana Pallas, now ſurvives in me:

Cards, 048 D8v 48

Cards, Dice, and Oaths, concomitant, I love;

To Maſques, to Playes, to Taverns ſtil I move;

And in a word, if what I am you’d heare,

Seek out a Brittiſh, bruitiſh Cavaleer;

Such wretch, ſuch monſter am I; but yet more,

I want a heart all this for to deplore.

Thus, thus alas! I have miſpent my time,

My youth, my beſt, my ſtrength, my bud, and prime:

Remembring not the dreadful day of Doom,

Nor yet that heavy reckoning for to come;

Though dangers do attend me every houre,

And gaſtly death oft threats me with her power:

Sometimes by wounds in idle combates taken,

Sometimes by Agues all my body ſhaken;

Sometimes by Feavers, all my moiſture drinking,

My heart lyes frying, and my eyes are ſinking;

Sometimes the Cough, Stitch, painful Pluriſie,

With ſad affrights of death, doth menace me;

Sometimes the loathſome Pox, my face be-mars

With ugly marks of his eternal ſcars;

Sometimes the Phrenſie, ſtrangely madds my Brain,

That oft for it, in Bedlam I remain.

Too many’s my Diſeaſes to recite,

That wonder ’tis I yet behold the light,

That yet my bed in darkneſſe is not made,

And I in black oblivions den long laid;

Of Marrow ful my bones, of Milk my breaſts,

Ceas’d by the gripes of Serjeant Death’s Arreſts:

Thus I have ſaid, and what i’ve ſaid you ſee,

Child-hood and youth is vaine, yea vanity.

Middle 049 E1r 49

Middle Age.

Childehood and youth, forgot, ſometimes I’ve ſeen,

And now am grown more ſtaid, that have been green,

What they have done, the ſame was done by me,

As was their praiſe, or ſhame, ſo mine muſt be.

Now age is more, more good ye do expect;

But more my age, the more is my defect.

But what’s of worth, your eyes ſhal firſt behold,

And then a world of droſſe among my gold.

When my Wilde Oates, were ſown, and ripe, & mown,

I then receiv’d a harveſt of mine owne.

My reaſon, then bad judge, how little hope,

Such empty ſeed ſhould yeeld a better crop.

I then with both hands, graſpt the world together,

Thus out of one extreame, into another.

But yet laid hold, on vertue ſeemingly,

Who climbes without hold, climbes dangerouſly.

Be my condition mean, I then take paines;

My family to keep, but not for gaines.

If rich, I’m urged then to gather more.

To bear me out i’ th’ world, and feed the poor,

If a father, then for children muſt provide:

But if none, then for kindred near ally’d.

If Noble, then mine honour to maintaine.

If not, yet wealth, Nobility can gain.

For time, for place, likewiſe for each relation,

I wanted not my ready allegation.

Yet all my powers, for ſelf-ends are not ſpent,

For hundreds bleſſe me, for my bounty ſent.

E Whoſe 050 E1v 50

Whoſe loynes I’ve cloth’d, and bellies I have fed;

With mine owne fleece, and with my houſhold bread.

Yea juſtice I have done, was I in place;

To chear the good, and wicked to deface.

The proud I cruſh’d, th’ oppreſſed I ſet free,

The lyars curb’d but nouriſht verity.

Was I a paſtor, I my flock did feed:

And gently lead the lambes, as they had need,

A captain I, with skil I train’d my band;

And ſhew’d them how, in face of foes to ſtand.

If a Souldier, with ſpeed I did obey,

As readily as could my Leader ſay:

Was I a laborer, I wrought all day,

As chearfully as ere I took my pay.

Thus hath mine age (in all) ſometimes done wel.

Sometimes mine age (in all) been worſe then hell.

In meanneſſe, greatneſſe, riches, poverty;

Did toile, did broile; oppreſſ’d, did ſteal and lye.

Was I as poor, as poverty could be,

Then baſeneſſe was companion unto me.

Such ſcum, as Hedges, and High-wayes do yeeld,

As neither ſow, nor reape, nor plant, nor build.

If to Agricolture, I was ordain’d,

Great labours, ſorrows, croſſes I ſuſtain’d.

The early Cock, did ſummon but in vaine,

My wakefull thoughts, up to my painefull gaine.

For reſtleſſe day and night, I’m rob’d of ſleep,

By cankered care, who centinel doth keep.

My weary beaſt, reſt from his toile can find;

But if I reſt, the more diſtreſt my mind.

If happineſſe my ſordidneſſe hath found,

’Twas in the crop of my manured ground:

My 051 E2r 51

My fatted Oxe, and my exuberous Cow,

My fleeced Ewe, and ever farrowing Sow.

To greater things, I never did aſpire,

My dunghil thoughts, or hopes, could reach no higher.

If to be rich, or great, it was my fate;

How was I broyl’d with envy, and with hate?

Greater, then was the great’ſt, was my deſire,

And greater ſtil, did ſet my heart on fire.

If honour was the point, to which I ſteer’d;

To run my hull upon diſgrace I fear’d.

But by ambitious ſailes, I was so carryed;

That over flats, and ſands, and rocks I hurried,

Oppreſt, and ſunke, and ſact, all in my way;

That did oppoſe me, to my longed bay:

My thirſt was higher, then Nobility.

And oft long’d ſore, to taſte on Royalty.

Whence poyſon, Piſtols, and dread inſtruments,

Have been curſt furtherers of mine intents.

Nor Brothers, Nephewes, Sons, nor Sires I’ve ſpar’d.

When to a Monarchy, my way they barr’d.

There ſet, I rid my ſelfe ſtraight out of hand-

Of ſuch as might my ſon, or his withſtand.

Then heapt up gold, and riches as the clay;

Which others ſcatter, like the dew in May.

Sometimes vaine-glory is the only bait,

Whereby my empty ſcule, is lur’d and caught.

Be I of worth, of learning, or of parts;

I judge, I ſhould have room, in all mens hearts.

And envy gnawes, if any do ſurmount.

I hate for to be had, in ſmall account.

If Bias like, I’m ſtript unto my skin,

I glory in my wealth, I have within.

E2 Thus 052 E2v 52

Thus good, and bad, and what I am, you ſee,

Now in a word, what my diſeaſes be.

The vexing Stone, in bladder and in reines,

Torments me with intollerable paines;

The windy Cholick oft my bowels rend,

To break the darkſome priſon, where it’s pend;

The knotty Gout doth ſadly torture me,

And the reſtraining lame Sciatica;

The Quinſie, and the Feavours, oft diſtaſte me,

And the Conſumption, to the bones doth waſt me;

Subject to all Diſeaſes, that’s the truth,

Though ſome more incident to age, or youth:

And to conclude, I may not tedious be,

Man at his beſt eſtate is vanity.

Old Age.

What you have been, ev’n ſuch have I before,

And all you ſay, ſay I, and ſomething more;

Babes innocence, Youths wildnes I have ſeen,

And in perplexed Middle-age have bin,

Sickneſſe, dangers, and anxieties have paſt,

And on this Stage am come to act my laſt:

I have bin young, and ſtrong, and wiſe as you,

But now, Bis pueri ſenes, is too true;

In every Age i’ve found much vanitie,

An end of all perfection now I ſee.

It’s not my valour, honour, nor my gold,

My ruin’d houſe, now falling can uphold;

It’s not my Learning, Rhetorick, wit ſo large,

Now hath the power, Deaths Warfare, to diſcharge;

It’s 053 E3r 53

It’s not my goodly houſe, nor bed of down,

That can refreſh, or ease, if Conſcience frown;

Nor from alliance now can I have hope,

But what I have done wel, that is my prop;

He that in youth is godly, wiſe, and ſage,

Provides a ſtaffe for to ſupport his age.

Great mutations, ſome joyful, and ſome ſad,

In this ſhort Pilgrimage I oft have had;

Sometimes the Heavens with plenty ſmil’d on me,

Sometimes again, rain’d all adverſity;

Sometimes in honour, ſometimes in diſgrace,

Sometime an abject, then again in place,

Such private changes oft mine eyes have ſeen,

In various times of ſtate i’ve alſo been.

I’ve ſeen a Kingdom flouriſh like a tree,

When it was rul’d by that Celeſtial ſhe;

And like a Cedar, others ſo ſurmount,

That but for ſhrubs they did themſelves account;

Then ſaw I France, and Holland ſav’d, Cales won,

And Philip, and Albertus, half undone;

I ſaw all peace at home, terror to foes,

But ah, I ſaw at laſt thoſe eyes to cloſe:

And then, me thought, the world at noon grew dark,

When it had loſt that radiant Sun-like ſpark,

In midſt of greifs, I ſaw ſome hopes revive,

(For ’twas our hopes then kept our hearts alive)

I ſaw hopes daſht, our forwardneſſe was ſhent,

And ſilenc’d we, by Act of Parliament.

I’ve ſeen from Rome, an execrable thing,

A plot to blow up Nobles, and their King;

I’ve ſeen deſignes at Ree, and Cades croſt,

And poor Palatinate for ever loſt;

E3 I’ve 054 E3v 54

I’ve ſeen a Prince, to live on others lands,

A Royall one, by almes from Subjects hands,

I’ve ſeen baſe men, advanc’d to great degree,

And worthy ones, put to extremity:

But not their Princes love, nor ſtate ſo high;

could once reverſe, their ſhamefull deſtiny.

I’ve ſeen one ſtab’d, another looſe his head;

And others fly their Country, through their dread.

I’ve ſeen, and ſo have ye, for ’tis but late,

The deſolation, of a goodly State.

Plotted and acted, ſo that none can tell,

Who gave the counſel, but the Prince of hell.

I’ve ſeen a land unmoulded with great paine.

But yet may live, to ſee’t made up again:

I’ve ſeen it ſhaken, rent, and ſoak’d in blood,

But out of troubles, ye may ſee much good,

Theſe are no old wives tales, but this is truth;

We old men love to tell, what’s done in youth.

But I returne, from whence I ſtept awry,

My memory is ſhort, and braine is dry.

My Almond-tree (gray haires) doth flouriſh now,

And back, once ſtraight, begins a pace to bow.

My grinders now are few, my ſight doth faile

My skin is wrinkled, and my cheeks are pale.

No more rejoyce, at muſickes pleaſant noyſe,

But do awake, at the cocks clanging voyce.

I cannot ſcent, ſavours of pleaſant meat,

Nor ſapors find, in what I drink or eat.

My hands and armes, once ſtrong, have loſt their might,

I cannot labour, nor I cannot fight:

My comely legs, as nimble as the Roe,

Now ſtiffe and numb, can hardly creep or go.

My 055 E4r 55

My heart ſometimes as fierce, as Lion bold,

Now trembling, and fearful, ſad, and cold;

My golden Bowl, and ſilver Cord, e’re long,

Shal both be broke, by wracking death ſo ſtrong;

I then ſhal go, whence I ſhal come no more,

Sons, Nephews, leave, my death for to deplore;

In pleaſures, and in labours, I have found.

That earth can give no conſolation ſound.

To great, to rich, to poore, to young, or old,

To mean, to noble, fearful, or to bold:

From King to begger, all degrees ſhal finde

But vanity, vexation of the minde;

Yea knowing much, the pleaſant’ſt life of all,

Hath yet amongſt that ſweet, ſome bitter gall.

Though reading others Works, doth much refreſh,

Yet ſtudying much, brings wearineſſe to th’ fleſh;

My ſtudies, labours, readings, all are done,

And my laſt period now e’n almoſt run;

Corruption, my Father, I do call,

Mother, and ſiſters both; the worms, that crawl,

In my dark houſe, ſuch kindred I have ſtore,

There, I ſhal reſt, til heavens ſhal be no more;

And when this fleſh ſhal rot, and be conſum’d,

This body, by this ſoul, ſhal be aſſum’d;

And I ſhal ſee, with theſe ſame very eyes,

My ſtrong Redeemer, comming in the skies;

Triumph I ſhal, o’re Sin, o’re Death, o’re Hel,

And in that hope, I bid you all farewel.

E4 The 056 E4v 56

The four Seaſons of the Yeare.


Another Four i’ve yet for to bring on,

Of four times four, the laſt quaternian;

The Winter, Summer, Autumne, and the Spring,

In ſeaſon all theſe Seaſons I ſhal bring;

Sweet Spring, like man in his minority,

At preſent claim’d, and had priority,

With ſmiling Sun-ſhine face, and garments green,

She gently thus began, like ſome fair Queen;

Three months there are allotted to my ſhare,

March, April, May, of all the reſt moſt faire;

The tenth o’ th’ firſt Sol into Aries enters,

And bids defiance to all tedious Winters:

And now makes glad thoſe blinded Northern wights,

Who for ſome months have ſeen but ſtarry lights;

Croſſes the Line, and equals night and day,

Still adds to th’ laſt, til after pleaſant May;

Now goes the Plow-man to his merry toyl,

For to unlooſe his Winter-locked ſoyl;

The Seedſ-man now doth laviſh out his Grain,

In hope, the more he caſts, the more to gain;

The Gardner, now ſuperfluous branches lops,

And Poles erects, for his green clambering Hops;

Now digs, then ſows, his hearbs, his flowers, and roots,

And carefully manures his trees of fruits.

The 057 E5r 57

The Pleiades, their influence now give,

And all that ſeem’d as dead, afreſh do live.

The croaking Frogs, whom nipping Winter kild,

Like Birds, now chirp, and hop about the field,

The Nitingale, the Black-bird, and the Thruſh,

Now tune their layes, on ſprays of every buſh;

The wanton frisking Kids, and ſoft fleec’d Lambs,

Now jump, and play, before their feeding Dams,

The tender tops of budding Graſſe they crop,

They joy in what they have, but more in hope,

For though the Froſt hath loſt his binding power,

Yet many a fleece of Snow, and ſtormy ſhowre,

Doth darken Sols bright face, makes us remember

The pinching Nor-weſt cold, of fierce December.

My ſecond month is April, green, and fair,

Of longer dayes, and a more temperate air;

The Sun now keeps his poſting reſidence

In Taurus Signe, yet haſteth ſtraight from thence;

For though in’s running progreſſe he doth take

Twelve houſes of the oblique Zodiack,

Yet never minute ſtil was known to ſtand,

But only once at Joſhua’s ſtrange command;

This is the month whoſe fruitfull ſhowers produces

All Plants, and Flowers, for all delights, and uſes;

The Pear, the Plumbe, and Apple-tree now flouriſh,

And Graſſe growes long, the tender Lambs to nouriſh;

The Primroſe pale, and azure Violet,

Among the verduous Graſſe hath Nature ſet,

That when the Sun (on’s love) the earth doth ſhine,

Theſe might as Lace, ſet out her Garments fine;

The fearful Bird, his little houſe now builds,

In trees, and wals, in cities, and in fields,

The 058 E5v 58

The outſide ſtrong, the inſide warme and neat.

A natural Artificer compleate.

The clocking hen, her chipping brood now leads,

With wings, and beak, defends them from the gleads.

My next, and laſt, is pleaſant fruitfull May,

Wherein the earth, is clad in rich aray:

The ſun now enters, loving Geminie,

And heats us with, the glances of his eye,

Our Winter rayment, makes us lay aſide,

Leaſt by his fervor, we be terrifi’d,

All flowers before the ſun-beames now diſcloſes,

Except the double Pinks, and matchleſſe Roſes.

Now ſwarmes the buſie buzzing hony Bee.

Whoſe praiſe deſerves a page, from more then me.

The cleanly huſwives Dary, now’s ith’ prime,

Her ſhelves, and Firkins fill’d for winter time.

The Meads with Cowſlip, Hony-ſuckl’s dight,

One hangs his head, the other ſtands upright:

But both rejoyce, at th’ heavens clear ſmiling face,

More at her ſhowers, which water them a ſpace.

For fruits, my ſeason yeelds, the early Cherry,

The haſty Peaſe, and wholeſome red Strawberry,

More ſolid fruits, require a longer time.

Each ſeaſon, hath his fruit, ſo hath each clime.

Each man his owne peculiar excellence,

But none in all that hath preheminence.

Some ſubject, ſhallow braines, much matter yeelds,

Sometime a theame that’s large, proves barren fields.

Melodious Spring, with thy ſhort pittance flye,

In this harſh ſtrain, I find no melody,

Yet above all, this priviledge is thine,

Thy dayes ſtil lengthen, without leaſt decline.

Summer 059 E6r 59


When Spring had done, then Summer muſt begin,

With melted tauny face, and garments thinne.

Reſembling choler, fire and middle-age;

As Spring did aire, blood, youth in’s equipage.

Wiping her ſweat from off her brow, that ran,

With haire all wet, ſhe puffing thus began.

Bright June, July, and Auguſt, hot are mine,

Ith’ firſt, Sol doth in crabed Cancer ſhine.

His progreſſe to the North; now’s fully done,

And retrograde, now is my burning Sun.

Who to his Southward tropick ſtill is bent,

Yet doth his parching heat the more augment,

The reaſon why, becauſe his flames ſo faire,

Hath formerly much heat, the earth and aire.

Like as an oven, that long time hath been heat.

Whoſe vehemency, at length doth grow ſo great,

That if you do, remove her burning ſtore,

She’s for a time as fervent as before.

Now go thoſe frolick ſwaines, the ſhepheard lad,

To waſh their thick cloath’d flocks, with pipes ful glad.

In the coole ſtreames they labour with delight,

Rubbing their dirty coates, till they look white.

Whoſe fleece when purely ſpun, and deeply dy’d,

With robes thereof, Kings have been dignifi’d.

’Mongſt all ye ſhepheards, never but one man,

Was like that noble, brave Archadian.

Yet hath your life, made Kings the ſame envy,

Though you repoſe on graſſe under the skye.

Careleſſe 060 E6v 60

Careleſſe of worldly wealth, you ſit and pipe,

Whilſt they’re imbroyl’d in Wars, and troubles ripe;

Which made great Bajazet cry out in’s woes,

Oh! happy Shepheard, which had not to loſe.

Orthobulus, nor yet Sebaſtia great,

But whiſt’leth to thy Flock in cold, and heat,

Viewing the Sun by day, the Moon by night,

Endimions, Diana’s dear delight;

This Month the Roſes are diſtill’d in Glaſſes,

Whoſe fragrant ſcent, all made-perfume ſurpaſſes;

The Cherry, Gooſ-berry, is now i’th prime,

And for all ſorts of Peaſe this is the time.

July my next, the hot’ſt in all the year,

The Sun in Leo now hath his carrear,

Whoſe flaming breath doth melt us from afar,

Increaſed by the Star Canicular;

This month from Julius Cæsar took the name,

By Romans celebrated to his fame.

Now go the Mowers to their ſlaſhing toyl,

The Medows of their burden to diſpoyl;

With weary ſtroaks, they take all in their way,

Bearing the burning heat of the long day;

The Forks, and Rakes do follow them amain,

Which makes the aged fields look young again,

The groaning Carts to bear away this priſe.

To Barns, and Stacks, where it for Fodder lyes.

My next, and laſt, is Auguſt, fiery hot,

For yet the South-ward Sun abateth not;

This month he keeps with Virgo for a ſpace,

The dryed earth is parched by his face.

Auguſt, of great Auguſtus took its name,

Romes ſecond Emperour of peaceful fame;

With 061 E7r 61

With Sickles now, the painful Reapers go,

The ruffling treſſe of terra for to moe,

And bundles up in ſheaves the weighty Wheat,

Which after Manchet’s made, for Kings to eat;

The Barley, and the Rye, ſhould firſt had place,

Although their Bread have not ſo white a face.

The Carter leads all home, with whiſtling voyce,

He plow’d with pain, but reaping doth rejoyce;

His ſweat, his toyl, his careful, wakeful nights,

His fruitful crop, abundantly requites.

Now’s ripe the Pear, Pear-plumbe, and Apricock,

The Prince of Plumbs, whoſe ſtone is hard as Rock.

The Summer’s ſhort, the beauteous Autumne haſtes,

To ſhake his fruit, of moſt delicious taſtes;

Like good Old Age, whoſe younger juycie roots,

Hath ſtil aſcended up in goodly Fruits,

Until his head be gray, and ſtrength be gone,

Yet then appears the worthy deeds be ’ath done:

To feed his boughes, exhauſted hath his ſap,

Then drops his Fruits into the Eaters lap.


Of Autumne months, September is the prime,

Now day and night are equal in each clime;

The tenth of this, Sol riſeth in the Line,

And doth in poyzing Libra this month ſhine.

The Vintage now is ripe, the Grapes are preſt,

Whoſe lively liquor oft is curſt, and bleſt;

For nought’s ſo good, but it may be abuſed,

But its a precious juyce, when wel it’s uſed.

The 062 E7v 62

The Raiſins now in cluſters dryed be,

The Orange, Lemon, Dangle on the tree;

The Figge is ripe, the Pomgranet alſo,

And Apples now their yellow ſides do ſhow;

Of Medlar, Quince, of Warden, and of Peach,

The ſeaſon’s now at hand, of all, and each;

Sure at this time, Time firſt of all began,

And in this month was made apoſtate man;

For then in Eden was not only ſeen

Boughs full of leaves, or fruits, but raw, and green,

Or withered ſtocks, all dry, and dead,

But trees with goodly fruits repleniſhed;

Which ſhewes, nor Summer, Winter, nor the Spring,

Great Adam was of Paradice made King.

October is my next, we heare in this,

The Northern Winter blaſts begin to hiſſe;

In Scorpio reſideth now the Sun,

And his declining heat is almoſt done.

The fruitful trees, all withered now do ſtand,

Whoſe yellow ſapleſſe leaves by wind are fann’d:

Which notes, when youth, and ſtrength, have paſt their prime,

Decrepit age muſt alſo have its time;

The ſap doth ſlily creep towards the earth,

There reſts, untill the Sun give it a birth:

So doth Old Age ſtil tend unto his Grave,

Where alſo he, his Winter time muſt have;

But when the Son of Righteouſneſſe drawes nigh,

His dead old flock, again ſhall mount on high.

November is my laſt, for time doth haſte,

We now of Winters ſharpneſſe ’gin to taſte;

This month’s the Sun in Sagitarius,

So farre remote, his glances warm not us;

Almoſt 063 E8r 63

Almoſt at ſhorteſt is the ſhortned day,

The Northern Pole beholdeth not one ray.

Now Green-land, Groen-land, Lap-land, Fin-land, ſee

No Sun, to lighten their obſcurity;

Poor wretches, that in total darkneſſe lye,

With minds more dark, then is the darkned sky;

This month is timber for all uſes fell’d,

When cold, the ſap to th’ roots hath low’ſt repell’d.

Beef, Brawn, and Pork, are now in great’ſt requeſt.

And ſolid’ſt meats, our ſtomachs can digeſt;

This time warm cloaths, ful diet, and good fires,

Our pinched fleſh, and empty panch requires:

Old cold, dry age, and earth, Autumne reſembles,

And melancholy, which moſt of all diſſembles.

I muſt be ſhort, and ſhort’s, the ſhortned day,

What Winter hath to tel, now let him ſay.


Cold, moiſt, young, flegmy Winter now doth lye

In Swadling clouts, like new-born infancy,

Bound up with Froſts, and furr’d with Hails, and Snows,

And like an Infant, ſtil he taller growes.

December is the firſt, and now the Sun

To th’ Southward tropick his ſwift race hath run;

This month he’s hous’d in horned Capricorn,

From thence he ’gins to length the ſhortned morn,

Through Chriſtendome, with great feſtivity

Now’s held, a Gueſt, (but bleſt) Nativity.

Cold frozen January next comes in,

Chilling the blood, and ſhrinking up the skin.

In 064 E8v 64

In Aquarias, now keeps the loved Sun,

And North-ward his unwearied race doth run;

The day much longer then it was before,

The cold not leſſened, but augmented more.

Now toes, and eares, and fingers often freeze,

And Travellers ſometimes their noſes leeſe.

Moyſt ſnowie February is my laſt,

I care not how the Winter time doth haſte;

In Piſces now the golden Sun doth ſhine,

And North-ward ſtil approaches to the Line;

The Rivers now do ope, and Snows do melt,

And ſome warm glances from the Sun are felt,

Which is increaſed by the lengthened day,

Until by’s heat he drives all cold away.

My Subjects bare, my Brains are bad,

Or better Lines you ſhould have had;

The firſt fell in ſo naturally,

I could not tell how to paſſe’t by:

The laſt, though bad, I could not mend,

Accept therefore of What is penn’d

And all the faults which you ſhall ſpy,

Shall your feet for pardon cry.

Your dutifull Daughter.

A. B.

The 065 F1r 65

The Foure Monarchies,

the Aſſyrian being the firſt, beginning under Nimrod, 131. yeares after the Floud.

When Time was young, and World in infancy,

Man did not ſtrive for Soveraignty,

But each one thought his petty rule was high

If of his houſe he held the Monarchy:

This was the Golden Age, but after came

The boyſterous Sons of Cuſh, Grand-child to Ham,

That mighty Hunter, who in his ſtrong toyls,

Both Beaſts and Men ſubjected to his ſpoyls.

The ſtrong foundation of proud Babel laid,

Erech, Accad, and Calneh alſo made;

Theſe were his firſt, all ſtood in Shinar land,

From thence he went Aſſyria to command;

And mighty Ninivie, he there begun,

Not finiſhed, til he his race had run;

Reſen, Caleh and Rehoboth likewiſe,

By him, to Cities eminent did riſe;

Of Saturn, he was the original,

Whom the ſucceeding times a god did call:

F When 066 F1v 66

When thus with rule he had been dignified,

One hundred fourteen years, he after dyed.


Great Nimrod dead, Bellus the next, his Son,

Confirmes the rule his Father had begun,

Whoſe acts, and power, is not for certainty,

Left to the world, by any Hiſtory;

But yet this blot for ever on him lyes,

He taught the people firſt to Idolize;

Titles divine, he to himſelf did take,

Alive, and dead, a god they did him make;

This is that Bell, the Chaldees worſhipped,

Whoſe Preiſts, in Stories, oft are mentioned;

This is that Bell, to whom the Iſraelites

So oft profanely offered ſacred rites;

This is Belzebub, god of Ekronites,

Likewiſe Bal-peor, of the Moabites:

His reign was ſhort, for as I calculate,

At twenty five, ended his regal date.


His father dead, Ninus begins his reign,

Transfers his Seat, to the Aſſyrian plain,

And mighty Ninivie more mighty made,

Whoſe foundation was by his Grand-ſire laid;

Four hundred forty Furlongs, wall’d about,

On which ſtood fifteen hundred towers ſtout:

The 067 F2r 67

The walls one hundred ſixty foot upright,

So broad, three Chariots run abreſt there might,

Upon the pleaſant banks of Tigris flood,

This ſtately ſeat of warlike Ninus ſtood.

This Ninus for a god, his father canoniz’d,

To whom the ſottiſh people ſacrific’d;

This Tyrant did his neighbours all oppreſſe,

Where e’re he warr’d he had too good ſucceſſe,

Barzanes, the great Armenian King,

By force, his tributary, he did bring.

The Median country, he did alſo gain,

Pharmus, their King, he cauſed to be ſlain;

An army of three Millions he led out,

Againſt the Bactrians (but that I doubt)

Zoroaſter their King, he likewiſe ſlew,

And all the greater Aſia did ſubdue;

Semiramis from Menon he did take,

Then drown himſelf, did Menon, for her ſake;

Fifty two years he reign’d (as we are told)

The world then was two thouſand nineteen old.


This great oppreſſing Ninus dead, and gone,

His wife, Semiramis, uſurp’d the throne,

She like a brave Virago, play’d the rex,

And was both the ſhame, and glory of her ſex;

Her birth-place was Philiſtrius Aſcalon,

Her Mother Docreta, a Curtezan;

Others report, ſhe was a veſtal Nun,

Adjudged to be drown’d, for what ſhe’d done;

F2 Tranſ- 068 F2v 68

Transform’d into a fiſh, by Venus will,

Her beauteous face (they feign) retaining ſtill.

Sure from this fiction, Dagon firſt began,

Changing his womans face, into a man.

But all agree, that from no lawfull bed;

This great renowned Empreſſe, iſſued.

For which, ſhe was obſcurely nouriſhed.

Whence roſe that fable, ſhe by birds was fed.

This gallant dame, unto the Bactrian war;

Accompaning her husband Menon far,

Taking a towne, ſuch valour ſhe did ſhow,

That Ninus of her, amorous ſoon did grow;

And thought her fit, to make a Monarch’s wife,

Which was the cauſe, poor Menon loſt his life,

She flouriſhing with Ninus, long did reigne;

Till her ambition, caus’d him to be ſlaine:

That having nor compeer, ſhe might rule all,

Or elſe ſhe ſought, revenge for Menons fall:

Some think the Greeks, this ſlander on her caſt,

As of her life, licentious, and unchaſt.

And that her worth deſerved no ſuch blame,

As their aſperſions, caſt upon the ſame.

But were her vertues, more, or leſſe, or none,

She for her potency, muſt go alone.

Her wealth ſhe ſhew’d in building Babylon;

Admir’d of all, but equaliz’d of none.

The walls ſo ſtrong, and curiouſly were wrought;

That after ages, skil, by them were taught.

With Towers, and Bulwarks made of coſtly ſtone

Quadrangle was the forme, it ſtood upon:

Each Square, was fifteen thouſand paces long,

An hundred gates, it had, of mettall ſtrong;

Three 069 F3r 69

Three hundred ſixty foot, the walls in heighth:

Almoſt incredible, they were in breadth.

Moſt writers ſay, ſix chariots might a front,

With great facility, march ſafe upon’t.

About the wall, a ditch ſo deep and wide,

That like a river, long it did abide.

Three hundred thouſand men, here day, by day;

Beſtow’d their labour, and receiv’d their pay,

But that which did, all coſt, and art excell,

The wondrous Temple was, ſhe rear’d to Bell;

Which in the midſt, of the brave Town was plac’d

(Continuing, till Xerxes it defac’d)

Whoſe ſtately top, beyond the clouds did riſe;

From whence, Aſtrologers, oft view’d the skies.

This to diſcribe, in each particular,

A ſtructure rare, I ſhould but rudely marre,

Her gardens, bridges, arches, mounts, and ſpires;

All eyes that ſaw, or ears that hears, admires.

On Shinar plain, by the Euphratan flood,

This wonder of the world, this Babell ſtood.

An expedition to the Eaſt ſhe made.

Great King Staurobates, for to invade.

Her Army of four Millions did conſiſt,

(Each man beleive it, as his fancy liſt)

Her Camells, Chariots, Gallyes in ſuch number,

As puzzells beſt hyſtorians to remember:

But this is marvelous, of all thoſe men,

(They ſay) but twenty, ere came back agen.

The River Indus ſwept them half away,

The reſt Staurobates in fight did ſlay.

This was laſt progreſſe of this mighty Queen,

Who in her Country never more was ſeen.

F3 The 070 F3v 8070

The Poets feign her turn’d into a Dove,

Leaving the world, to Venus, ſoar’d above,

Which made the Aſſyrians many a day,

A Dove within their Enſigne to diſplay.

Forty two years ſhe reign’d, and then ſhe dy’d,

But by what means, we are not certifi’d.

Ninias, or Zamies.

His Mother dead, Ninias obtains his right,

A Prince wedded to eaſe, and to delight,

Or elſe was his obedience very great,

To ſit, thus long (obſcure) wrong’d of his ſeat;

Some write, his Mother put his habite on,

Which made the people think they ſerv’d her Son;

But much it is, in more then forty years,

This fraud, in war, nor peace, at all appears;

It is more like, being with pleaſures fed,

He ſought no rule, til ſhe was gone, and dead;;

What then he did, of worth, can no man tel,

But is ſuppos’d to be that Amraphel,

Who warr’d with Sodoms, and Gomorahs King,

’Gainſt whom his trained Bands Abram did bring.

Some may object, his Parents ruling all,

How he thus ſuddenly ſhould be thus ſmall?

This anſwer may ſuffice, whom it wil pleaſe,

He thus voluptuous, and given to eaſe;

Each wronged Prince, or childe that did remain,

Would now advantage take, their own to gain;

So Province, after Province, rent away,

Until that potent Empire did decay.

Again 071 F4r 8171

Again, the Country was left bare (there is no doubt)

Of men, and wealth, his mother carried out;

Which to her neighbours, when it was made known,

Did then incite, them to regain their own.

What e’re he was, they did, or how it fel,

We may ſuggeſt our thoughts, but cannot tel;

For Ninias, and all his Race are left,

In deep oblivion, of acts bereft,

And eleav’n hundred of years in ſilence ſit,

Save a few names anew, Beroſus writ,

And ſuch as care not, what befals their fames,

May feign as many acts, as he did names;

It is enough, if all be true that’s paſt,

T’ Sardanapalus next we wil make haſte.


Sardanapalus, (Son t’ Ocrazapes)

Who wallowed in all voluptuouſneſſe,

That palliardizing ſot, that out of doores

Ne’re ſhew’d his face, but revell’d with his Whores.

Did wear their garb, their geſtures imitate,

And their kind t’ excel did emulate.

Knowing his baſeneſſe, and the peoples hate,

Kept ever cloſe, fearing ſome diſmal fate;

At last Arbaces brave, unwarily,

His maſter like a Strumpet chanc’d to ſpy,

His manly heart diſdained, in the leaſt,

Longer to ſerve this Metamorphos’d beaſt;

Unto Beloſus, then he brake his minde,

Who ſick of his diſeaſe, he ſoone did finde.

F4 Theſe 072 F4v 72

Theſe two rul’d Media and Babylon

Both, for their King, held their dominion,

Beloſus, promiſed Arbaces aide,

Arbaces him, fully to be repaid.

The laſt, the Medes and Perſians doth invite.

Againſt their monſtrous King to bring their might,

Beloſus the Chaldeans doth require,

And the Arabians, to further his deſire.

Theſe all agree, and forty thouſand make,

The rule from their unworthy Prince to take

By propheſie, Beloſus ſtrength’s their hands,

Arbaces muſt be maſter of their lands.

Theſe Forces muſtered, and in array,

Sardanapalus leaves his Apiſh play.

And though of wars, he did abhor the ſight;

Fear of his diadem, did force him fight:

And either by his valour or his fate

Arbaces courage he did ſore abate:

That in diſpaire, he left the field and fled:

But with freſh hopes Beloſus ſuccoured.

From Bactaria an Army was at hand,

Preſt for this ſervice, by the Kings command;

Theſe with celerity, Arbaces meers,

And with all termes of amity, he greets,

Makes promiſes, their necks for to un-yoak,

And their Taxations ſore, all to revoake,

T’infranchiſe them, to grant what they could crave,

To want no priviledge, Subjects ſhould have,

Only intreats them, joyn their force with his,

And win the Crown, which was the way to bliſſe,

Won by his loving looks, more loving ſpeech,

T’accept of what they could, they him beſeech.

Both 073 F5r 73

Both ſides their hearts, their hands, their bands unite,

And ſet upon their Princes Camp that night;

Who revelling in Cups, ſung care away,

For victory obtain’d the other day;

But all ſurpris’d, by this unlookt for fright.

Bereft of wits, were ſlaughtered down right.

The King his Brother leaves, all to ſuſtaine,

And ſpeeds himſelf to Ninivie amain;

But Salmeneus ſlaine, his Army fals,

The King’s purſu’d unto the City wals;

But he once in, purſuers came too late,

The wals, and gates, their courſe did terminate;

There with all ſtore he was ſo wel provided,

That what Arbaces did, was but derided;

Who there incamp’d two years, for little end:

But in the third, the River prov’d his friend,

Which through much rain, then ſwelling up ſo high,

Part of the wal it level caus’d to lye;

Arbaces marches in, the town did take,

For few, or none, did there reſiſtance make;

And now they ſaw fulfill’d a Propheſie;

That when the River prov’d their enemy,

Their ſtrong wall’d town ſhould ſuddenly be taken;

By this accompliſhment, their hearts were ſhaken:

Sardanapalus did not ſeek to fly,

This his inevitable deſtiny;

But all his wealth, and friends, together gets,

Then on himſelf, and them, a fire he ſets;

This the laſt Monarch was, of Ninus race,

Which for twelve hundred years had held that place;

Twenty he reign’d, ſame time, as Stories tel,

That Amazia was King of Iſrael;

His 074 F5v 8474

His Father was then King (as we ſuppoſe)

When Jonah for their ſins denounc’d ſuch woes;

He did repent, therefore it was not done,

But was accompliſhed now, in his Son.

Arbaces thus, of all becomming Lord,

Ingeniouſly with each did keep his word;

Of Babylon, Beloſus he made King,

With over-plus of all treaſures therein,

To Bactrians, he gave their liberty,

Of Ninivites, he cauſed none to dye,

But ſuffered, with goods to go elſewhere,

Yet would not let them to inhabite there;

For he demoliſhed that City great,

And then to Media transfer’d his ſeat.

Thus was the promiſe bound, ſince firſt he crav’d,

Of Medes, and Perſians, their aſſiſting aide;

A while he, and his race, aſide muſt ſtand,

Not pertinent to what we have in hand;

But Belochus in’s progeny purſue,

Who did this Monarchy begin anew.

Beloſus, or Belochus.

Beloſus ſetled, in his new, old ſeat,

Not ſo content, but aiming to be great,

Incroached ſtil upon the bord’ring Lands,

Til Meſopotamia he got in’s hands,

And either by compound, or elſe by ſtrength,

Aſſyria he alſo gain’d at length;

Then did rebuild deſtroyed Ninivie,

A coſtly work, which none could doe but he,

Who 075 F6r 8575

Who own’d the treaſures of proud Babylon,

And thoſe which ſeem’d with Sardanapal’s gone;

But though his Palace, did in aſhes lye,

The fire, thoſe Mettals could not damnifie;

From rubbiſh theſe, with diligence he rakes,

Arbaces ſufferers all, and all he takes.

He thus inricht, by this new tryed gold,

Raiſes a Phœix new, from grave o’th old;

And from this heap did after Ages ſee,

As fair a Town, as the firſt Ninivie.

When this was built, and all matters in peace,

Moleſts poor Iſrael, his wealth t’encreaſe.

A thouſand tallents of Menahem had,

Who to be rid of ſuch a gueſt, was glad;

In ſacred Writ, he’s known by name of Pul,

Which makes the world of differences ſo ful,

That he, and Belochus, one could not be,

But circumſtance, doth prove the verity;

And times of both computed, ſo fall out,

That thoſe two made but one, we need not doubt:

What elſe he did, his Empire to advance,

To reſt content we muſt, in ignorance.

Forty eight years he reign’d, his race then run,

He left his new got Kingdoms to his Son.

Tiglath Palaſſer.

Beloſus dead, Tiglath his warlike Son

Next treads the ſteps, by which his Father won.

Damaſcus, ancient ſeat of famous Kings,

Under ſubjection by his ſword he brings;

Reſin 076 F6v 6776

Reſin their valiant King, he alſo ſlew,

And Syria t’obedience did ſubdue;

Juda’s bad King occaſioned this War,

When Reſins force his borders ſore did mar.

And divers Cities, by ſtrong hand did ſeize,

To Tiglath then doth Ahaz ſend for eaſe.

The temple robes, ſo to fulfill his ends,

And to Aſſyria’s King a Preſent ſends.

I am thy Servant, and thy Son (quoth he)

From Rezin, and from Pekah ſet me free:

Gladly doth Tiglath this advantage take,

And ſuccours Ahaz, yet for Tiglath’s ſake,

When Rezin’s ſlain, his Army over-thrown,

Syria he makes a Province of his own.

Unto Damaſcus then, comes Judah’s King,

His humble thankfulneſſe (with haſt) to bring,

Acknowledging th’ Aſſyrians high deſert,

To whom, he ought all loyalty of heart.

But Tiglath, having gain’d his wiſhed end,

Proves unto Ahaz but a feigned friend;

All Iſraels Land, beyond Jordan, he takes.

In Galilee, he woful havock makes;

Through Syria now he marcht, none ſtopt his way,

And Ahaz open, at his mercy lay,

Who ſtil implor’d his love, but was diſtreſſ’d,

(This was that Ahaz, which ſo much tranſgreſt.)

Thus Tiglath reign’d, and warr’d twenty ſeven years,

Then by his death, releas’d, was Iſraels fears.

Salma- 077 F7r 77

Salmanaſſer, or Nabonaſſer.

Tiglath deceas’d, Salmanaſſer is next,

He Iſraelites, more then his Father vext;

Hoſhea, their laſt King, he did invade,

And him ſix years his tributary made;

But weary of his ſervitude, he ſought,

To Ægypts King, which did avail him nought;

For Salmanaſſer, with a mighty Hoaſt,

Beſieg’d his regal town, and ſpoyl’d his Coaſt,

And did the people, nobles, and their King,

Into perpetual thraldome that time bring;

Thoſe that from Joſhua’s time had been Eſtate,

Did Juſtice now, by him, eradicate: 10 years.

This was that ſtrange degenerated brood,

On whom, nor threats, nor mercies could do good;

Laden with honour, priſoners, and with ſpoyl,

Returns triumphant Victor to his ſoyl;

Plac’d Iſrael in’s Land, where he thought beſt,

Then ſent his Colonies, theirs to inveſt;

Thus Jacobs Sons, in exile muſt remain,

And pleaſant Canaan ne’re ſee again:

Where now thoſe ten Tribes are, can no man tel,

Or how they fare, rich, poor, or ill, or wel;

Whether the Indians of the Eaſt, or Weſt,

Or wild Tartarians, as yet ne’re bleſt,

Or else thoſe Chinoes rare, whoſe wealth, and Arts,

Hath bred more wonder, then beleefe in hearts;

But what, or where they are, yet know we this;

They ſhal return, and Zion ſee, with bliſſe.

Senacherib. 078 F7v 8878


Senacherib Salmaneſer ſucceeds,

Whoſe haughty heart is ſhewn in works, and deeds;

His Wars none better then himſelf can boaſt,

On Henah, Arpad, and on Ivah leaſt;

On Hena’s, and on Sepharuaim’s gods,

Twixt them and Iſraels he knew no odds. 7 years.

Until the thundring hand of heaven he felt,

Which made his Army into nothing melt;

With ſhame then turn’d to Ninivie again,

And by his Sons in’s Idols houſe was ſlain.


His Son, weak Eſſarhadon reign’d in’s place,

The fifth, and laſt, of great Beloſus race,

Brave Merodach, the Son of Balladan,

In Babylon, Leiutenant to this man,

Of opportunity advantage takes,

And on his Maſters ruins, his houſe makes;

And Beloſus, firſt, his did unthrone,

So he’s now ſtil’d, the King of Babylon;

After twelve years did Eſſarhadon dye,

And Merodach aſſume the Monarchy.

Merodach 079 F8r 8979

Merodach Baladan.

All yeelds to him, but Ninivie kept free,

Until his Grand-childe made her bow the knee;

Embaſſadours to Hezekiah ſent, 21 years.

His health congratulates with complement.

Ben. Merodach.

Ben. Merodach, Succeſſor to this King,

Of whom is little ſaid in any thing; 22 years.

But by conjecture this, and none but he,

Led King Manaſſeh, to captivity.


Brave Nebulaſſar to this King was Sonne,

The ancient Niniveh by him was won;

For fifty years, or more, it had been free,

Now yeelds her neck unto captivity: 12 years.

A Vice-roy from her foe, ſhe’s glad t’accept,

By whom in firm obedience ſhe’s kept.

Nebuchadnezar, or Nebopolaſſar.

The famous Wars, of this Heroyick King,

Did neither Homer, Heſiode, Virgil ſing;

Nor 080 F8v 80

Nor of his acts have we the certainty,

From ſome Thucidides grave Hiſtory;

Nor’s Metamorphoſis from Ovids Book,

Nor his reſtoring from old legends took;

But by Prophets, Pen-men moſt Divine,

This Prince in’s magnitude doth ever ſhine;

This was of Monarchies that head of gold,

The richeſt, and the dreadfull’ſt to behold;

This was that tree, whoſe branches fill’d the earth,

Under whoſe ſhadow, birds, and beaſts, had birth;

This was that King of Kings, did what he pleas’d,

Kild, ſav’d, pull’d down, ſet up, or pain’d, or eas’d;

And this is he, who when he fear’d the leaſt,

Was turned from a King, unto a Beaſt;

This Prince, the laſt year of his Fathers reign,

Againſt Jehoiakim marcht with his train;

Judah’s poor King beſieg’d, who ſuccourleſſe,

Yeelds to his mercy, and the preſent ſtreſſe;

His Vaſſal is, gives pledges for his truth,

Children of Royal bloud, unblemiſh’d youth;

Wiſe Daniel, and his fellows ’mongſt the reſt,

By the victorious King to Babel’s preſt;

The temple of rich ornaments defac’d,

And in his Idols houſe the Vaſſal’s plac’d.

The next year he, with unreſiſted hand,

Quite vanquiſh’d Pharaoh Necho, and his Band;

By great Euphrates did his Army fall,

Which was the loſſe of Syria withall;

Then into Ægypt, Necho did retire,

Which in few years proves the Aſſyrians hire;

A mighty Army next, he doth prepare,

And unto wealthy Tyre with haſt repaire.

Such 081 G1r 81

Such was the ſcituation of this place,

As might not him, but all the world out-face,

That in her pride, ſhe knew not which to boaſt,

Whether her wealth, or yet her ſtrength was moſt;

How in all Merchandiſe ſhe did excell,

None but the true Ezekiel need to tell:

And for her ſtrength, how hard ſhe was to gain,

Can Babels tired Souldiers tell with pain;

Within an Iſland had this City ſeat,

Divided from the maine, by channel great;

Of coſtly Ships, and Gallies, ſhe had ſtore,

And Mariners, to handle ſayle, and oare;

But the Chaldeans had nor ſhips, nor skill,

Their ſhoulders muſt their Maſters minde fulfill;

Fetch rubbiſh from the oppoſite old town,

And in the channell throw each burden down;

Where after many aſſayes, they make at laſt,

The Sea firm Land, whereon the Army paſt,

And took the wealthy town, but all the gain

Requited not the coſt, toyle, and pain.

Full thirteen yeares in this ſtrange work he ſpent,

Before he could accompliſh his intent;

And though a Victor home his Army leads,

With peeled ſhoulders, and with balded heads,

When in the Tyrian wars, the King was hot,

Jehoiakim his Oath had clean forgot;

Thinks this the fitteſt time to break his bands,

While Babels King thus deep ingaged ſtands;

But he (alas) whoſe fortunes now i’th ebbe,

Had all his hopes like to a Spiders web;

For this great King, with-drawes part of his force,

To Judah marches with a ſpeedy courſe,

G And 082 G1v 82

And unexpected findes the feeble Prince,

Whom he chaſtiſed for his proud offence;

Faſt bound, intends at Babel he ſhal ſtay,

But chang’d his minde, and ſlew him by the way;

Thus caſt him out, like to a naked Aſſe,

For this was he, for whom none ſaid, Alas!

His Son three months he ſuffered to reign,

Then from his throne, he pull’d him down again:

Whom with his Mother, he to Babel led,

And more then thirty years in priſon fed;

His Unckle, he eſtabliſhed in’s place,

Who was laſt King of holy Davids race;

But he, as perjur’d as Jehoiakim,

Judah loſt more (then e’re they loſt) by him;

Seven years he keeps his faith, and ſafe he dwels,

But in the eighth, againſt his Prince rebels;

The ninth, came Nebuchadnezar with power,

Beſieg’d his City, Temple, Zions Tower;

And after eighteen months he took them all,

The wals ſo ſtrong, that ſtood ſo long, now fall;

The curſed King, by flight could no wiſe free

His wel deſerv’d, and fore-told miſery;

But being caught, to Babels wrathful King,

With Children, Wives, and Nobles, all they bring,

Where to the ſword, all but himſelf was put,

And with that woful ſight his eyes cloſe ſhut.

A hapleſſe man, whoſe darkſome contemplation,

Was nothing, but ſuch gaſtly meditation;

In mid’ſt of Babel now, til death he lyes,

Yet as was told, ne’re ſaw it with his eyes;

The Temple’s burnt, the Veſſels had away,

The Towers, and Palaces, brought to decay;

Where 083 G2r 83

Where late, of Harp, and Lute, was heard the noyſe,

Now Zim and Sim, lift up their ſhriking voyce;

All now of worth, are captive led with tears,

There ſit bewailing Zion ſeventy years.

With all theſe Conqueſts, Babels King reſts not,

No, nor when Moab, Edom he had got.

Kedar, Hazer, the Arabians too,

All Vaſſals, at his hands, for grace muſt ſue;

A totall Conqueſt of rich Ægypt makes,

All rule, he from the ancient Pharoes takes;

Who had for ſixteen hundred years born ſway,

To Babylons proud King, now yeelds the day.

Then Put, and Lud, doe at his mercy ſtand,

Where e’re he goes, he Conquers every Land;

His ſumptuous buildings paſſes all conceit,

Which wealth, and ſtrong ambition made ſo great;

His Image, Judahs Captives worſhip not,

Although the Furnace be ſeven times more hot;

His Dreams, wiſe Daniel doth expound ful wel,

And his unhappy change with grief fore-tel;

Strange melancholly humours on him lay,

Which for ſeven years his reaſon took away;

Which from no natural cauſes did proceed,

For by the Heavens above it was decreed:

The time expir’d, remains a Beaſt no more:

Reſumes his Government, as heretofore,

In ſplender, and in Majeſty, he ſits,

Contemplating thoſe times he loſt his wits;

And if by words, we may gueſſe at the heart,

This King among the righteous had a part:

Forty four years he reign’d, which being run,

He left his Wealth, and Conqueſt, to his Son.

G2 Evilme- 084 G2v 84


Babels great Monarch, now laid in the duſt,

His ſon poſſeſſes wealth, and rule, as juſt;

And in the firſt year of his royalty,

Eaſeth Jehoiakims captivity.

Poor forlon Prince, that had all ſtate forgot,

In ſeven and thirty years, had ſeen no jot,

Among the Conquered Kings, that there did lye,

Is Judah’s King, now lifted up on high.

But yet in Babell, he muſt ſtill remain:

And native Canaan, never ſee again,

Unlike his father, Evilmerodach,

Prudence, and magnanimity, did lack

Faire Ægypt is, by his remiſſeneſſe loſt;

Arabia, and all the boardering coaſt.

Wars with the Medes, unhappily he wag’d,

(Within which broiles, rich Crœſus was engag’d,)

His Army routed, and himſelfe there ſlain,

His Kingdome to Belſhazzar did remain,


Unworthy Belſhazzar next weares the Crown,

Whoſe prophane acts, a ſacred pen sets down.

His luſt, and cruelty, in books we find,

A Royall State, rul’d by a bruitiſh mind.

His life ſo base, and diſſolute, invites

The Noble Perſains, to invade his rights.

Who 085 G3r 85

Who with his own, and Uncles power anon;

Layes ſiedge to’s regall ſeat, proud Babylon,

The coward King, whoſe ſtrength lay in his walls,

To banquetting, and revelling now falls,

To ſhew his little dread, but greater ſtore,

To chear his friends, and ſcorn his foes the more.

The holy veſſells, thither brought long ſince,

Carous’d they in; and ſacrilegious Prince,

Did praiſe his gods of mettall, wood, and ſtone,

Protectors of his Crown, and Babylon,

But he above, his doings did deride,

And with a hand, ſoon daſhed all his pride,

The King, upon the wall caſting his eye:

The fingers of his hand-writing did ſpy.

Which horrid ſight, he fears, muſt needs portend,

Deſtruction to his Crown, to’s Perſon end.

With quaking knees, and heart appall’d, he crys,

For the Soothſayers, and Magicians wiſe;

This language ſtrange, to read, and to unfold;

With guifts of Scarlet robe, and Chaines of gold,

And higheſt dignity, next to the King,

To him that could interpret clear this thing:

But dumb the gazing Aſtrologers ſtand,

Amazed at the writing, and the hand.

None anſwers the affrighted Kings intent.

Who ſtill expects ſome fearful ſad event,

As thus amort he ſits, as all undone:

In comes the Queen, to chear her heartleſſe ſon.

Of Daniel tells, who in his Grand-ſires dayes,

Was held in more requeſt, then now he was,

Daniel in haſte, is brought before the King,

Who doth not flatter, nor once cloake the thing.

G3 Re- 086 G3v 86

Re-minds him of his Grand-ſires height, and fall,

And of his own notorious ſins, withall;

His drunkenneſſe, and his prophainneſſe high,

His pride, and ſottiſh groſſe Idolatry.

The guilty King, with colour pale, and dead,

There hears his Mene, and his Tekel read;

And did one thing worthy a King (though late)

Perform’d his word, to him, that told his fate;

That night victorious Cyrus took the town,

Who ſoone did terminate his Life, and Crown:

With him did end the race of Baladan,

And now the Perſian Monarchy began.

The end of the Aſſyrian Monarchy.

The 087 G4r 87

The Second Monarchy,

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

Cyrus Cambyſes, Son of Perſia’s King

Whom Lady Mandana did to him bring;

She Daughter unto great Aſtiages,

He in deſcent the ſeventh from Arbaces.

Cambyſes was of Achemenes race,

Who had in Perſia the Lieutenants place.

When Sardanapalus was over-thrown,

And from that time, had held it as his own;

Cyrus, Darius Daughter took to wife,

And ſo unites two Kingdoms, without ſtrife;

Darius was unto Madana brother,

Adopts her Son for his, having no other:

This is of Cyrus the true pedigree,

Whoſe Anceſtors, were royal in degree;

His Mothers Dream, and Grand-ſires cruelty,

His preſervation in his miſery;

His nouriſhment afforded by a Bitch,

Are fit for ſuch, whoſe eares for fables itch;

G4 He 088 G4v 88

He in his younger dayes an Army led,

Against great Creſſus, then of Lidia head;

Who over-curious of wars event,

For information to Apollo went:

And the ambiguous Oracle did truſt,

So over-thrown of GCyrus, as was juſt;

Who him purſues to Sardis, takes the town,

Where all that doe reſiſt, are ſlaughter’d down;

Diſguiſed Creſſus, hop’d to ſcape i’th throng,

Who had no might to ſave himſelf from wrong;

But as he paſt, his Son, who was born dumbe,

With preſſing grief, and ſorrow, over-come,

Amidſt the tumult, bloud-ſhed, and the ſtrife,

Brake his long ſilence, cry’d, ſpare Creſſus life:

Creſſus thus known, it was great Cyrus doome,

(A hard decree) to aſhes he conſume;

Then on a Pike being ſet, where all might eye,

He Solon, Solon, Solon, thrice did cry.

Upon demand, his minde to Cyrus broke,

And told, how Solon in his hight had ſpoke.

With pitty Cyrus mov’d, knowing Kings ſtand,

Now up, now down, as fortune turnes her hand,

Weighing the age, and greatneſſe of the Prince,

(His Mothers Unckle, ſtories doe evince:)

Gave him at once, his life, and Kingdom too,

And with the Lidians, had no more to doe.

Next war, the reſtleſſe Cyrus thought upon,

Was conqueſt of the ſtately Babylon,

Now trebble wall’d, and moated ſo about,

That all the world they neither feare, nor doubt;

To drain this ditch, he many ſluces cut,

But till convenient time their heads kept ſhut;

That 089 G5r 89

That night Belſhazzar feaſted all his rout,

He cuts thoſe banks, and let the river out;

And to the walls ſecurely marches on,

Not finding a defendant thereupon;

Enters the town, the ſottiſh King he ſlayes,

Upon earths richeſt ſpoyles his Souldiers preys;

Here twenty yeares proviſion he found,

Forty five mile this City ſcarce could round;

This head of Kingdoms, Caldes excellence,

For Owles, and Satyres, makes a reſidence;

Yet wondrous Monuments this ſtately Queen,

Had after thouſand yeares faire to be ſeen.

Cyrus doth now the Jewiſh captives free,

An Edict makes, the Temple builded be,

He with his Unckle Daniel ſets on high,

And caus’d his foes in Lions den to dye.

Long after this, he ’gainſt the Sythians goes,

And Tomris Son, an Army over-throwes;

Which to revenge, ſhe hires a mighty power,

And ſets on Cyrus, in a fatall houre;

There routs his Hoaſt, himſelf ſhe priſoner takes,

And at one blow, worlds head, ſhe headleſſe makes;

The which ſhe bak’d within a But of bloud,

Uſing ſuch taunting words as ſhe thought good.

But Zenophon reports, he dy’d in’s bed,

In honour, peace, and wealth, with a grey head,

And in his Town of Paſargada lyes,

Where Alexander fought, in hope of prize,

But in this Tombe was only to be found

Two Sythian bowes, a ſword, and target round;

Where that proud Conquerour could doe no leſſe,

Then at his Herſe great honours to expreſſe;

Three 090 G5v 90

Three Daughters, and two Sons, he left behind,

Innobled more by birth, then by their mind;

Some thirty years this potent Prince did reign,

Unto Cambyſes then, all did remain.


Cambyſes, no wayes like, his noble Sire,

But to enlarge his ſtate, had ſome deſire;

His reign with Bloud, and Inceſt, firſt begins,

Then ſends to finde a Law for theſe his ſins;

That Kings with Siſters match, no Law they finde,

But that the Perſian King, may act his minde;

Which Law includes all Lawes, though lawleſſe ſtil,

And makes it lawful Law, if he but wil;

He wages warre, the fifth year of his reign,

’Gainſt Ægypts King, who there by him was ſlain,

And all of Royal bloud that came to hand,

He ſeized firſt of life, and then of Land;

(But little Marus, ſcap’d that cruel fate,

Who grown a man, reſum’d again his ſtate)

He next to Cyprus ſends his bloudy Hoaſt

Who landed ſoon upon that fruitful coaſt,

Made Evelthon their King, with bended knee,

To hold his own, of his free courteſie;

The Temples he deſtroyes not, for his zeal,

But he would be profeſt god of their Weal;

Yea, in his pride, he ventured ſo farre,

To ſpoyl the Temple of great Jupiter;

But as they matched o’re thoſe deſart ſands,

The ſtormed duſt o’r-whelm’d his daring bands;

But 091 G6r 91

But ſcorning thus by Jove to be out-brav’d,

A ſecond Army there had almoſt gravd;

But vain he found, to fight with Elements,

So left his ſacrilegious bold intents:

The Ægyptian Apis then he likewise ſlew,

Laughing to ſcorn that calviſh, ſottiſh crew.

If all his heat, had been for a good end.

Cambyſes to the clouds, we might commend;

But he that ’fore the gods, himſelf preferrs,

Is more prophane, then groſſe Idolaters;

And though no gods, if he eſteem them ſome,

And contemn them, woful is his doome.

He after this, ſaw in a Viſion,

His brother Smerdis ſit upon his throne;

He ſtrait to rid himſelf of cauſleſſe fears,

Complots the Princes death, in his green years,

Who for no wrong, poore innocent muſt dye,

Praraſpes now muſt act this tragedy;

Who into Perſia with Commiſſion ſent,

Accompliſhed this wicked Kings intent;

His ſiſter, whom inceſtuouſly he wed,

Hearing her harmleſſe brother thus was dead,

His woful fate with tears did ſo bemoane,

That by her Husbands charge, ſhe caught her owne;

She with her fruit was both at once undone,

Who would have borne a Nephew, and a Son.

O hellish Husband, Brother, Unckle, Sire,

Thy cruelty will Ages ſtill admire.

This ſtrange ſeverity, one time he us’d,

Upon a Judge, for breach of Law accus’d;

Flayd him alive, hung up his ſtuffed skin

Over his Seat, then plac’d his Son therein;

To 092 G6v 92

To whom he gave this in rememberance,

Like fault muſt look, for the like recompence.

Praraſpes, to Cambyſes favourite,

Having one ſon, in whom he did delight,

His cruell Maſter, for all ſervice done,

Shot through the heart of his beloved ſon:

And only for his fathers faithfullneſſe,

Who ſaid but what, the King bad him expreſſe.

’T would be no pleaſant, but a tedious thing,

To tell the facts, of this moſt bloody King.

Fear’d of all, but lov’d of few, or none,

All thought his ſhort reign long, till it was done.

At laſt, two of his Officers he hears,

Had ſet a Smerdis up, of the ſame years;

And like in feature, to the Smerdis dead,

Ruling as they thought good, under his head.

Toucht with this newes, to Perſia he makes,

But in the way, his ſword juſt vengeance takes.

Unſheathes, as he his horſe mounted on high,

And with a Mortall thruſt, wounds him ith’ thigh,

Which ends before begun, the Perſian Warre,

Yeelding to death, that dreadfull Conquerer.

Griefe for his brothers death, he did expreſſe,

And more, becauſe he dyed iſſuleſſe.

The Male line, of great Cyrus now did end.

The Female many ages did extend,

A Babylon in Egypt did he make.

And built fair Meroe, for his ſiſters ſake.

Eight years he reign’d, a ſhort, yet too long time,

Cut off in’s wickedneſſe, in’s ſtrength, and prime.

The 093 G7r 93

The inter Regnum between Cambyſes, and Darius Hyſlaſpes.

Childleſſe Cambyſes, on the ſudden dead,

The Princes meet to chuſe one in his ſtead,

Of which the cheife were ſeven, call’d Satrapes,

(Who like to Kings, rul’d Kingdomes as they pleaſe,)

Descended all, of Achemenes blood,

And kinsmen in account, to th’ King they ſtood,

And firſt theſe noble Magi ’gree upon,

To thruſt th’Imposter Smerdis out of throne,

Their Forces inſtantly they raiſe, and rout,

This King, with conſpirators ſo ſtout,

Who little pleaſure had, in his ſhort reigne,

And now with his accomplyces lye ſlaine.

But yet, ’fore this was done, much blood was ſhed,

And two of theſe great Peers, in place lay dead:

Some write that ſorely hurt, they ’ſcap’d away;

But ſo or no, ſure tis, they won the day.

All things in peace, and Rebells throughly quel’d,

A Conſultation by the States was held.

What forme of Government now to erect,

The old, or new, which beſt, in what reſpect,

The greater part, declin’d a Monarchy.

So late cruſht by their Princes Tyranny;

And thought the people, would more happy be,

If governed by an Ariſtocracy.

But others thought (none of the dulleſt braine,)

But better one, then many Tyrants reigne.

What arguments they us’d, I know not well,

Too politicke (tis like) for me to tell,

But 094 G7v 94

But in concluſion they all agree,

That of the ſeven a Monarch choſen be;

All envie to avoyd, this was thought on,

Upon a Green to meet, by riſing Sun;

And he whoſe Horſe before the reſt ſhould neigh,

Of all the Peers ſhould have precedency.

They all attend on the appointed houre,

Praying to Fortune, for a Kingly power;

Then mounting on their ſnorting courſers proud,

Darius luſty ſtallion neighed full loud;

The Nobles all alight, their King to greet,

And after Perſian manner, kiſſe his feet.

His happy wiſhes now doth no man ſpare,

But acclamations ecchoes in the aire;

A thouſand times, God ſave the King, they cry,

Let tyranny now with Cambyſes dye.

They then attend him, to his royall roome,

Thanks for all this to’s crafty Stable-groome.

Darius Hyſlaſpes.

Darius by election made a King,

His title to make ſtrong omits no thing;

He two of Cyrus Daughter now doth wed,

Two of his Neeces takes to nuptiall bed;

By which he cuts their hopes (for future times)

That by ſuch ſteps to Kingdoms often climbs.

And now a King, by marriage, choyce, and bloud,

Three ſtrings to’s bow, the leaſt of which is good;

Yet more the peoples hearts firmly to binde,

Made wholſome gentle Laws, which pleas’d each mind.

His 095 G8r 95

His affability, and milde aſpect,

Did win him loyalty, and all reſpect;

Yet notwithſtanding he did all ſo well,

The Babylonians ’gainſt their Prince rebell;

An Hoaſt he rais’d, the City to reduce,

But ſtrength againſt thoſe walls was of no uſe;

For twice ten months before the town he lay,

And fear’d, he now with ſcorn muſt march away:

Then brave Zopirus, for his Maſters good,

His manly face diſ-figures, ſpares no bloud,

With his own hands cuts off his eares, and noſe,

And with a faithfull fraud to’ th’ town he goes,

Tels them, how harſhly the proud King had dealt,

That for their ſakes, his cruelty he felt;

Deſiring of the Prince to raiſe the ſiege,

This violence was done him by his Leige;

This told, for enterance he ſtood not long,

For they beleev’d his noſe, more then his tongue;

With all the Cities ſtrength they him betruſt,

If he command, obey the greateſt muſt:

When opportunity he ſaw was fit,

Delivers up the town, and all in it.

To looſe a noſe, to win a Town’s no ſhame,

But who dare venture ſuch a ſtake for th’ game;

Then thy diſgrace, thine honour’s manifold,

Who doth deſerve a Statue made of gold;

Nor can Darius in his Monarchy,

Scarſe finde enough to thank thy loyalty;

But yet thou haſt ſufficient recompence,

In that thy fame ſhall ſound whilſt men have ſence;

Yer o’re thy glory we muſt caſt this vaile,

Thy falſhood, not thy valour did prevaile;

Thy 096 G8v 96

Thy wit was more then was thine honeſty,

Thou lov’dſt thy Maſter more then verity.

Darixus in the ſecond of his reign,

An Edict for the Jews publiſh’d again,

The temple to re-build, for that did reſt

Since Cyrus time, Cambyſes did moleſt;

He like a King, now grants a Charter large,

Out of his owne revenues beares the charge;

Gives ſacrifices, wheat, wine, oyle, and ſalt,

Threats puniſhment to him, that through default

Shall let the work, or keep back any thing,

Of what is freely granted by the King;

And on all Kings he poures out execrations,

That ſhall, but dare raze thoſe firme foundations;

They thus backt of the King, in ſpight of foes,

Built on, and proſper’d, till their walls did cloſe;

And in the ſixth yeare of his friendly reign

Set up a Temple (though, a leſſe) again.

Darius on the Sythians made a war,

Entring that large and barren country far;

A bridge he made, which ſerv’d for boat, and barge,

Over fair Iſter, at a mighty charge;

But in that Deſart, ’mongſt his barbarous foes,

Sharp wants, not ſwords, his vallour did oppoſe;

His Army fought with Hunger, and with Cold,

Which two then to aſſaile, his Camp was bold.

By theſe alone his Hoaſt was pinch’d ſo ſore,

He warr’d defenſive, not offenſive, more;

The Salvages did laugh at his diſtreſſe,

Their minds by Hieroglyphicks they expreſſe;

A Frog, a Mouſe, a Bird, an Arrow ſent,

The King will needs interpret their intent;

Poſſeſ- 097 H1r 97

Poſſeſſion of water, earth, and aire,

But wiſe Gobrias reads not half ſo farre:

Quoth he, like Frogs, in water we muſt dive,

Or like to Mice, under the earth muſt live;

Or fly like birds, in unknown wayes full quick;

Or Sythian arrows in our ſides muſt ſtick.

The King, ſeeing his men, and victuall ſpent,

His fruitleſſe war, began late to repent;

Return’d with little honour, and leſſe gaine,

His enemies ſcarce ſeen, then much leſſe, ſlaine;

He after this, intends Greece to invade,

But troubles in leſſe Aſia him ſtay’d;

Which huſht, he ſtraight ſo orders his affaires;

For Attica an Army he prepares;

But as before, ſo now with ill ſucceſſe,

Return’d with wondrous loſſe, and honourleſſe:

Athens perceiving now their deſperate ſtate,

Arm’d all they could, which elev’n thouſand make;

By brave Miltiades (their chief) being led,

Darius multitude before them fled;

At Marathon this bloudy field was fought,

Where Grecians prov’d themſelves right Souldiers, ſtout;

The Perſians to their Gallies poſt with ſpeed,

Where an Athenian ſhew’d a valiant deed,

Purſues his flying-foes, and on the ſtrand,

He ſtayes a landing Gally with his hand;

Which ſoon cut off, he with the left

Renews his hold; but when of that bereft,

His whetted teeth he ſticks in the firm wood,

Off flyes his head, down ſhowres his frolick bloud.

Go Perſians carry home that angry peece,

As the beſt trophe that ye won in Greece.

H Darius 098 H1v 98

Darius light, he heavie, home returnes,

And for revenge his heart ſtill reſtleſſe burnes;

His Queen Attoſſa, cauſed all this ſtir,

For Grecian Maids (’tis ſaid) to wait on her;

She loſt her aime; her Husband, he loſt more,

His men, his coyn, his honour, and his ſtore;

And the enſuing yeare ended his life,

(’Tis thought) through grief of his ſucceſleſſe ſtrife.

Thirty ſix years this royall Prince did reign,

Unto his eldeſt Son, all did remain.


Xerxes, Darius, and Attoſſa’s Son,

Grand-childe to Cyrus now ſits on the throne;

The Father not ſo full of lenity,

As is the Son, of pride, and cruelty;

He with his Crown, receives a double warre,

Th’ Ægyptians to reduce, and Greece to marre;

The firſt begun, and finish’d in ſuch haſt,

None write by whom, nor how, ’twas over-paſt;

But for the laſt he made ſuch preparation,

As if to duſt he meant to grinde that Nation;

Yet all his men, and inſtruments of ſlaughter,

Produced but deriſion, and laughter;

Sage Artabanus counſell, had he taken,

And’s couſen, young Mardonius forſaken,

His Souldiers, credit, wealth, at home had ſtay’d,

And Greece ſuch wondrous triumphs ne’re had made.

The firſt deports, and layes before his eyes,

His Fathers ill ſucceſſe in’s enterpriſe,

Againſt 099 H2r 99

Againſt the Sythians, and Grecians too,

What infamy to’s honour did accrue.

Flattering Mardonius on th’other ſide,

With certainty of Europe feeds his pride;

Vaine Xerxes thinks his counſell hath moſt wit,

That his ambitious humour beſt can fit;

And by this choyce, unwarily poſts on,

To preſent loſſe, future ſubverſion;

Although he haſted, yet foure yeares was ſpent,

In great proviſions, for this great intent;

His Army of all Nations, was compounded,

That the large Perſian government ſurrounded;

His Foot was ſeventeen hundred thouſand ſtrong;

Eight hundred thouſand Horſe to them belong;

His Camels, beaſts, for carriage numberleſſe,

For truth’s aſham’d how many to expreſſe;

The charge of all he ſeverally commended,

To Princes of the Perſian bloud deſcended,

But the command of theſe Commanders all,

To Mardonius, Captain Generall;

He was the Son of the fore-nam’d Gobrias,

Who married the ſiſter of Darius:

Theſe his Land Forces were, then next, a Fleet

Of two and twenty thouſand Gallies meet,

Mann’d by Pheniſians, and Pamphilians,

Cipriots, Dorians, and Cilicians,

Lycians, Carians, and Ionians

Eolians, and the Heliſpontines;

Beſides, the Veſſels for his tranſportation,

Three thouſandthouſand (or more) by beſt relation,

Artemeſia, Halicarna’s Queene,

In person there, now for his help was ſeen;

H2 Whoſe 100 H2v 100

Whoſe Gallies all the reſt in neatneſſe paſſe,

Save the Zidonians, where Xerxes was.

Hers ſhe kept ſtil, ſeperate from the reſt,

For to command alone, ſhe thought was beſt.

O noble Queen, thy valour I commend,

But pitty ’twas, thine ayde that here did’ſt lend,

At Sardis, in Lidia, theſe all doe meet,

Whither rich Pithyus comes, Xerxes to greet;

Feaſts all this multitude, of his own charge,

Then gives the King, a King-like gift, moſt large;

Three thouſand Tallents of the pureſt gold;

Which mighty ſum, all wondred to behold.

He humbly to the King then makes requeſt,

One of his five Sons there, might be releaſt;

To be to’s age a comfort, and a ſtay,

The other four he freely gave away:

The King cals for the Youth, who being brought,

Cuts him in twain, for whom his Sire beſought.

O moſt inhumain incivility!

Nay, more then monſtrous barb’rous cruelty!

For his great love, is this thy recompence?

Is this to doe like Xerxes, or a Prince?

Thou ſhame of Kings, of men the deteſtation,

I Rhethorick want, to poure out execration.:

Firſt thing, Xerxes did worthy recount,

A Sea paſſage cuts, behind Orthos Mount.

Next, o’re the Helliſpont a bridge he made,

Of Boats, together coupled, and there laid;

But winds, and waves, theſe couples ſoon diſſever’d;

Yet Xerxes in his enterpriſe perſever’d;

Seven thouſand Gallies chain’d, by Tyrians skil,

Firmly at length, accompliſhed his wil;

Seven 101 H3r 101

Seven dayes and nights, his Hoaſt without leaſt ſtay,

Was marching o’re this interrupting Bay;

And in Abidus Plaines, muſtring his Forces,

He glories in his Squadrons, and his Horſes;

Long viewing them, thought it great happineſſe,

One King, ſo many Subjects ſhould poſſeſſe;

But yet this goodly ſight produced teares,

That none of theſe ſhould live a hundred yeares:

What after did enſue, had he fore-ſeen.

Of ſo long time, his thoughts had never been.

Of Artabanus he again demands,

How of this enterpriſe his thoughts now ſtands;

His anſwer was, both Land and Sea he feared,

Which was not vaine, as it ſoon appeared:

But Xerxes reſolute, to Thrace goes firſt,

His Hoaſt, who Liſſus drinks to quench their thirſt,

And for his Cattell, all Piſſirus Lake

Was ſcarce enough, for each a draught to take.

Then marching to the ſtreight Thermopyle,

The Spartan meets him, brave Leonade,

This ’twixt the Mountains lyes (half Acre wide)

That pleaſant Theſſaly, from Greece divide;

Two dayes and nights a fight they there maintain,

Till twenty thouſand Perſians falls down ſlain;

And all that Army, then diſmay’d, had fled,

But that a Fugative diſcovered,

How part, might o’re the Mountains goe about,

And wound the backs of thoſe bold Warriours ſtout.

They thus behemm’d with multitudes of foes,

Laid on more fiercely, their deep mortall blowes;

None cryes for quarter, nor yet ſeeks to run,

But on their ground they dye, each Mothers Son.

H3 O 102 H3v 102

O noble Greeks, how now, degenerate?

Where is the valour, of your antient State?

When as one thouſand, could ſome Millions daunt;

Alas, it is Leonades you want!

This ſhamefull Victory coſt Xerxes deare,

Amongſt the reſt, two brothers he loſt there;

And as at Land, ſo he at Sea was croſt,

Four hundred ſtately Ships by ſtormes was loſt,

Of Veſſels ſmall almoſt innumerable,

Them to receive, the Harbour was not able;

Yet thinking to out-match his foes at Sea,

Inclos’d their Fleet i’ th’ ſtreights of Eubea;

But they as valiant by Sea, as Land,

In this Streight, as the other, firmly ſtand.

And Xerxes mighty Gallies batter’d ſo,

That their ſplit ſides, witneſſ’d his overthrow;

Yet in the Streights of Salamis he try’d,

If that ſmal number his great force could bide;

But he, in daring of his forward foe,

Received there, a ſhameful over-throw.

Twice beaten thus by Sea, he warr’d no more:

But Phocians Land, he then waſted ſore:

They no way able to withſtand his force,

That brave Thymiſtocles takes this wiſe courſe,

In ſecret manner word to Xerxes ſends,

That Greeks to break his bridge ſhortly intends;

And as a friend, warns him, what e’re he doe,

For his retreat, to have an eye thereto:

He hearing this, his thoughts, and courſe home bended,

Much, that which never was intended!

Yet ’fore he went, to help out his expence,

Part of his Hoaſt to Delphos ſent from thence,

To 103 H4r 103

To rob the wealthy Temple of Apollo,

But miſchief, Sacriledge doth ever follow;

Two mighty Rocks, brake from Parnaſſus Hil,

And many thouſands of theſe men did kil;

Which accident, the reſt affrighted ſo,

With empty hands they to their Maſter go;

He ſeeing all thus tend unto decay,

Thought it his beſt, no longer for to ſtay;

Three hundred thouſand yet he left behind,

With his Mardon’us, judex of his minde;

Who for his ſake, he knew, would venture far,

(Chief inſtigater of this helpeleſſe War;)

He inſtantly to Athens ſends for peace,

That all Hoſtility might thence-forth ceaſe;

And that with Xerxes they would be at one,

So ſhould all favour to their State be ſhown.

The Spartans, fearing Athens would agree,

As had Macedon, Thebes, and Theſſalie,

And leave them out, the ſhock for to ſuſtaine,

By their Ambaſſador they thus complain;

That Xerxes quarrel was ’gainſt Athens State,

And they had helpt them, as confederate;

If now in need, they ſhould thus fail their friends,

Their infamy would laſt till all things ends:

But the Athenians, this peace deteſt,

And thus reply’d unto Mardon’s requeſt;

That whilſt the Sun did run his endleſſe courſe,

Againſt the Perſians they would uſe their force.

Nor could the brave Ambaſſador be ſent,

With Rhetorick, t’ gain better complement:

Though of this Nation borne a great Commander,

No leſſe then Grand-ſire to great Alexander.

H4 Mardonius 104 H4v 104

Mardonius proud, hearing this anſwer ſtout,

To adde unto his numbers, layes about,

And of thoſe Greeks, which by his skil he’d won,

He fifty thouſand joynes unto his own;

The other Greeks, which were confederate,

One hundred thouſand, and ten thouſand make.

The Beotian Fields, of war, the ſeats,

Where both ſides exercis’d their manly feats;

But all their controverſies to decide,

For one maine Battell ſhortly, both provide;

The Athenians could but forty thouſand arme,

For other Weapons, they had none would harme;

But that which helpt defects, and made them bold,

Was Victory, by Oracle fore-told:

Ten dayes theſe Armies did each other face,

Mardonius finding victuals waſt apace,

No longer dar’d, but fiercely on-ſet gave,

The other not a hand, nor ſword will wave,

Till in the entrails of their Sacrifice,

The ſignall of their victory doth riſe;

Which found, like Greeks they fight, the Perſians fly,

And troubleſome Mardonius now muſt dye:

All’s loſt, and of three hundred thouſand men,

Three thouſand ſcapes, for to run home agen;

For pitty, let thoſe few to Xerxes go,

To certifie this finall over-throw.

Same day, the ſmall remainder of his Fleet,

The Grecians at Mytale in Aſia meet,

And there ſo utterly they wrack’d the ſame,

Scarce one was left, to carry home the fame;

Thus did the Greeks deſtroy, conſume, diſperce,

That Army, which did fright the Univerſe;

Scorn’d 105 H5r 105

Scorn’d Xerxes, hated for his cruelty.

Yet ceaſes not to act his villany:

His brothers wife, ſollicites to his will;

The chaſte, and beauteous Dame, refuſes ſtill.

Some years by him in this vain ſuit was ſpent,

Yet words, nor guifts, could win him leaſt content:

Nor matching of her daughter, to his ſon:

But ſhe was ſtil, as when it firſt begun.

When jealous Queen Ameſtris, of this knew,

She Harpy-like, upon the Lady flew:

Cut off her lilly-breaſts, her noſe, and ears;

And leaves her thus, beſmear’d with blood, and tears

Straight comes her Lord, and finds his wife thus lie,

The ſorrow of his heart, did cloſe his eye:

He dying to behold, that wounding ſight;

Where he had ſometime gaz’d with great delight.

To ſee that face, where Roſe and Lilly ſtood,

O’re-flown with torrent of her ruby blood.

To ſee thoſe breaſts, where chaſtity did dwel,

Thus cut, and mangled by a hag of hell,

With loaden heart unto the King he goes,

Tels as he could, his unexpreſſed woes,

But for his deep complaints; and ſhowres of tears,

His brothers recompence was naught but jears:

The grieved Prince finding nor right, nor love,

To Bactria his houſhold did remove.

His wicked brother, after ſent a crew,

Which him, and his, moſt barbarouſly there ſlew,

Unto ſuch height did grow his cruelty,

Of life, no man had leaſt ſecurity.

At laſt his Uncle, did his death conſpire,

And for that end, his Eunuch he did hire.

Which 106 H5v 106

Which wretch, him privately ſmother’d in’s bed,

But yet by ſearch, he was found murthered,

The Artacanus hirer of this deed,

That from ſuſpition he might be freed,

Accus’d Darius, Xerxes eldeſt ſon,

To be the Authour of the deed was done,

And by his craft, ordered the matter ſo,

That the poor innocent, to death muſt go.

But in ſhort time, this wickedneſſe was knowne,

For which he dyed, and not he alone.

But all his family was likewiſe ſlain,

Such Juſtice then, in Perſia did remain,

The eldeſt ſon, thus immaturely dead,

The ſecond was inthron’d, in’s fathers ſtead.

Artaxerxes Longimanus.

Amongſt the Monarchs next, this Prince had place

The beſt that ever ſprang of Cyrus race.

He firſt, war with revolting Ægypt made.

To whom the perjur’d Grecians lent their aide,

Although to Xerxes, they not long before,

A league of amity, had ſworn before,

Which had they kept, Greece had more nobly done,

Then when the world, they after over-run:

Greeks and Egyptians both, he overthrows,

And payes them now, according as he owes,

Which done, a ſumptuous feaſt; makes like a King

Where nineſcore days, are ſpent in banquetting,

His Princes, Nobles, and his Captaines calls,

To be partakers in theſe feſtivalls.

His 107 H6r 107

His hangings, white, and green, and purple dye,

With gold and ſilver beds, moſt gorgiouſly.

The royall wine, in golden cups doth paſſe,

To drink more then he liſt, none bidden was.

Queen Vaſhty alſo feaſts, but ’fore tis ended,

Alas, ſhe from her Royalty’s ſuſpended.

And a more worthy, placed in her roome,

By Memucan’s advice, this was the doome.

What Heſter was, and did, her ſtory reed,

And how her Country-men from ſpoile ſhe freed.

Of Hamans fall, and Mordica’s great riſe;

The might o’th’ Prince, the tribute on the Iſles.

Unto this King Thymiſtocles did flye.

When under Oſtraciſme he did lye.

For ſuch ingratitude, did Athens ſhow

This valiant Knight, whom they ſo much did owe;

Such entertainment with this Prince he found,

That in all Loyalty his heart was bound;

The King not little joyfull of this chance,

Thinking his Grecian wars now to advance.

And for that end, great preparation made,

Fair Attica, a third time to invade.

His Grand-ſires old diſgrace, did vex him ſore,

His father Xerxes loſſe, and ſhame, much more,

For puniſhment, their breach of oath did call,

The noble Greek, now fit for generall.

Who for his wrong, he could not chuſe but deem,

His Country, nor his Kindred would eſteem,

Proviſions, and ſeaſon now being fit

T’Thymiſtocles he doth his war commit,

But he all injury, had ſoon forgate,

And to his Country-men could bear no hate.

Nor 108 H6v 108

Nor yet diſloyall to his Prince would prove,

To whom oblig’d, by favour, and by love;

Either to wrong, did wound his heart ſo ſore,

To wrong himſelfe by death, he choſe before.

In this ſad conflict, marching on his ways,

Strong poyſon took, and put an end to’s dayes.

The King this noble Captaine having loſt,

Again diſperſed, his new levyed hoaſt.

’Reſt of his time in peace he did remain;

And dy’d the two and fortieth of his reign.

Daryus Nothus.

Three ſons great Artaxerxes left behind;

The eldeſt to ſucceed, that was his mind.

But he, with his next brother fell at ſtrife,

That nought appeas’d him, but his brothers life.

Then the ſurviver is by Nothus ſlaine;

Who now ſole Monarch, doth of all remaine,

Theſe two lewd ſons, are by hyſtorians thought,

To be by Heſter, to her husband brought.

If they were hers, the greater was her moan;

That for ſuch graceleſſe wretches ſhe did groan,

Diſquiet Egypt, ’gainſt this King rebells,

Drives out his gariſon that therein dwels.

Joynes with the Greeks, and ſo maintains their right,

For ſixty years maugre the Perſians might.

A ſecond trouble, after this ſucceeds.

Which from remiſſeneſſe, in Aſia proceeds

Amerges, whom their Vice-roy he ordain’d

Revolts, having treaſure, and people gain’d:

In- 109 H7r 109

Invades the Country, and much trouble wrought,

Before to quietneſſe things could be brought,

The King was glad, with Sparta to make peace,

So that he might, theſe tumults ſoon appeaſe.

But they in Aſia, muſt firſt reſtore

All townes, held by his Anceſtors before.

The King much profit reapeth, by theſe leagues,

Re-gaines his own, and then the Rebell breaks:

Whoſe forces by their helpe were overthrown,

And ſo each man again poſſeſt his owne.

The King, his ſiſter, like Cambyſes, wed;

More by his pride, then luſt, thereunto led.

(For Perſian Kings, did deem themſelves ſo good,

No match was high enough, but their own blood,)

Two ſons ſhe bore, the youngeſt Cyrus nam’d,

A hopefull Prince, whoſe worth is ever fam’d.

His father would no notice of that take;

Prefers his brother, for his birth-rights ſake.

But Cyrus ſcornes, his brothers feeble wit;

And takes more on him, then was judged fit.

The King provok’d, ſends for him to the Court,

Meaning to chaſtiſe him, in ſharpeſt ſort,

But in his ſlow approach, ere he came there,

His fathers death, did put an end to’s fear.

Nothus reign’d nineteen years, which run,

His large Dominions left, to’s eldeſt ſon.

Artaxerxes Mnemon.

Mnemon now ſits upon his fathers Throne,

Yet doubts, all he injoyes, is not his own.

Stil 110 H7v 110

Still on his brother, caſts a jealous eye,

Judging all’s actions, tends to’s injury.

Cyrus o’th’ other ſide, weighs in his mind,

What helps, in’s enterprize he’s like to find,

His intereſt, in the Kingdome, now next heir,

More deare to’s mother, then his brother far.

His brothers litle love, like to be gone,

Held by his mothers interceſſion.

Theſe and like motives, hurry him amain,

To win by force, what right could not obtain.

And thought it beſt, now in his mothers time,

By leſſer ſteps, towards the top to climbe;

If in his enterprize he ſhould fall ſhort,

She to the King, would make a fair report:

He hop’d, if fraud, nor force the Crowne could gaine;

Her prevailence, a pardon might obtain.

From the Lieutenant firſt, he takes away,

Some Townes commodious in leſſe Aſia,

Pretending ſtill, the profit of the King,

Whoſe rents and cuſtomes, duly he ſent in.

The King finding, revenues now amended;

For what was done, ſeemed no whit offended.

Then next, the Lacedemons he takes to pay;

(One Greeke could make ten Perſians run away)

Great care was his pretence, thoſe Souldiers ſtout,

The Rovers in Piſidia, ſhould drive out.

But leaſt ſome worſer newes ſhould fly to Court,

He meant himſelfe to carry the report.

And for that end, five hundred Horſe he choſe,

With poſting ſpeed towards the King he goes;

But fame more quick, arrives ere he came there,

And fills the Court with tumult, and with fear.

The 111 H8r 111

The young Queen, and old, at bitter jars:

The one accus’d the other, for theſe wars:

The wife, againſt the mother, ſtill doth cry

To be the Author of conſpiracy.

The King diſmay’d, a mighty Hoaſt doth raiſe;

Which Cyrus heares, and ſo ſore-ſlowes his pace:

But as he goes, his Forces ſtill augments,

Seven hundred Greeks now further his intents:

And others to be warm’d by this new fun,

In numbers from his brother daily run.

The fearfull King, at laſt, muſters his Forces;

And counts nine hundred thouſand foot and horſes:

And yet with theſe, had neither heart, nor grace;

To look his manly brother in the face.

Three hundred thouſand, yet to Syria ſent;

To keep thoſe ſtreights, to hinder his intent.

Their Captain hearing, but of Cyrus name.

Ran back, and quite abandoned the ſame,

Abrocomes, was this baſe cowards name,

Not worthy to be known, but for his ſhame:

This place was made, by nature, and by art;

Few might have kept it, had they but a heart.

Cyrus diſpair’d, a paſſage there to gain,

So hir’d a fleet, to waſt him ore the Maine,

The mazed King, was now about to fly;

To th’ utmoſt parts of Bactr’a, and there lye.

Had not a Captain; ſore againſt his will;

By reaſon, and by force, detain’d him ſtill.

Up then with ſpeed, a mighty trench he throwes,

For his ſecurity, againſt his foes.

Six yards the depth, and forty mile the length,

Some fifty, or elſe ſixty foote in breadth.

Yet 112 H8v 112

Yet for his brothers comming, durſt not ſtay,

He ſureſt was, when furtheſt out o’th’ way.

Cyrus finding his campe, and no man there;

Rejoyced not a little at his feare.

On this, he and his Souldiers careleſſe grow,

And here, and there, in carts their Armes they throw,

When ſuddenly their Scouts come in and cry,

Arme, arme, the King is now approaching nigh;

In this confuſion, each man as he might,

Gets on his armes, arayes himſelfe for fight;

And ranged ſtood, by great Euphrates ſide,

The brunt of that huge multitude to bide.

Of whoſe great numbers, their intelligence,

Was gather’d by the duſt that roſe from thence:

Which like a mighty cloud darkned the skye;

And black and blacker grew, as they drew nigh

But when their order, and ſilence they ſaw;

That, more then multitudes, their hearts did awe:

For tumult and confuſion they expected,

And all good diſcipline to be neglected.

But long under their fears, they did not ſtay,

For at firſt charge the Perſians ran away.

Which did ſuch courage to the Grecians bring,

They ſtraight adored Cyrus for their King,

So had he been, and got the victory,

Had not his too much valour put him by.

He with ſix hundred, on a ſquadron ſet,

Of ſix thouſand, wherein the King was yet;

And brought his Souldiers on ſo gallantly,

They were about to leave their King and fly,

Whom Cyrus ſpi’d, cries out, I ſee the man,

And with a full career, at him he ran.

But 113 I1r 113

But in his ſpeed a Dart hit him i’th’ eye,

Down Cyrus fals, and yeelds to deſtiny;

His Hoſt in chaſe, knowes not of his diſaſter,

But treads down all, for to advance their Maſter;

At laſt his head they ſpy upon a Launce,

Who knowes the ſudden change made by this chance;

Senceleſſe and mute they ſtand, yet breath out groans,

Nor Gorgons like to this, transform’d to ſtones.

After this trance, revenge, new ſpirits blew,

And now more eagerly their foes purſue,

And heaps on heaps, ſuch multitudes they laid,

Their armes grew weake, through ſlaughters that they made.

The King unto a country Village flyes,

And for a while unkingly there he lyes;

At laſt, diſplayes his Enſigne on a Hil,

Hoping with that to make the Greeks ſtand ſtil,

But was deceiv’d; to it they make amain,

The King upon the ſpur, runs back again;

But they too faint, ſtill to purſue their game,

Being Victors oft, now to their Camp they came;

Nor lackt they any of their number ſmall,

Nor wound receiv’d, but one among them all:

The King with his diſpers’d also incampt.

With infamy upon each fore-head ſtampt;

After a while his thoughts he re-collects,

Of this dayes cowardize, he feares the effects;

If Greeks unto their Country-men declare,

What daſtards in the field the Perſians are;

They ſoone may come, and place one in his Throne,

And rob him both of Scepter, and of Crown;

That their return be ſtopt, he judg’d was beſt,

That ſo Europians might no more moleſt;

I Forth 114 I1v 114

Forth-with he sends to’s Tent, they ſtraight addreſſe,

And there all wait his mercy, weaponleſſe;

The Greeks with ſcorn reject his proud commands;

Asking no favour, where they fear’d no bands.

The troubled King, his Herauld ſends again,

And ſues for peace, that they his friends remain;

The ſmiling Greeks reply, they firſt muſt bait,

They were too hungry to capitulate;

The King great ſtore of all proviſion ſends,

And courteſie to th’ utmoſt he pretends;

Such terrour on the Perſians then did fall,

They quak’d, to heare them, to each other call.

The King’s perplext, there dares not let them ſtay,

And feares as much to let them march away;

But Kings ne’re want ſuch as can ſerve their will,

Fit inſtruments t’accompliſh what is ill;

As Tyſſaphern, knowing his Maſters minde,

Invites their chief Commander, as moſt kinde;

And with all Oathes, and deepeſt flattery,

Gets them to treat with him in privacy,

But violates his honour, and his word,

And Villaine-like, there puts them to the ſword.

The Greeks, having their valiant Captaines ſlaine,

Choſe Xenophon, to lead them home again;

But Tyſſaphern did what he could deviſe,

To ſtop the way in this their enterpriſe,

But when through difficulties ſtill they brake,

He fought all ſuſtinance from them to take,

Before them burnt the country as they went,

So to deprive them of all nouriſhment;

But on they march, through hunger, and through cold,

O’re mountains, rocks, and hils, and Lions bold;

Nor 115 I2r 115

Nor rivers courſe, nor Perſians force could ſtay,

But on to Trabezond they kept their way;

There was of Greeks, ſetled a Colony,

Theſe after all, receiv’d them joyfully:

There for ſome time they were, but whilſt they ſtaid,

Into Bitbynia often in-rodes made;

The King afraid what further they might doe,

Unto the Spartan Admirall did ſue,

Straight to tranſport them to the other ſide,

For theſe incurſions he durſt not abide;

So after all their travell, danger, pain,

In peace they ſaw their Native ſoyl again.

The Greeks now (as the Perſian King ſuſpects)

The Aſiatiques, cowardize detects;

The many victories themſelves did gain,

The many thouſand Perſians they had ſlain;

And now their Nation with facility,

Might win the univerſall Monarchy;

They then Dercilladas, ſend with an Hoaſt,

Who with his Spartans on the Aſian coaſt;

Town after town, with ſmall reſiſtance take,

Which rumor makes great Artaxerxes quake;

The Greeks by this ſucceſſe, incourag’d ſo,

Ageſilaus himſelf doth over-goe,

By th’ Kings Lieutenant is encountered,

But Tyſſaphernes with his Army fled;

Which over-throw incens’d the King ſo ſore,

That Tyſſapherne muſt be Vice-roy no more;

Tythrauſtes now is placed in his ſtead,

And hath command, to take the others head,

Of that falſe perjur’d wretch, this was the laſt,

Who of his cruelty made many taſt,

I2 Tythrauſtes 116 I2v 116

Tythrauſtes truſts more to his with then Arms,

And hopes by craft to quit his Maſters harmes;

He knows that many towns in Greece envies

The Spartans height, which now apace doth riſe;

To theſe he thirty thouſand Tallents ſent,

With ſuit, their force, againſt his foes be bent;

They to their diſcontent, receiving hire,

With broyls, and quarrels, ſets all Greece on fire.

Ageſtilaus is called home with ſpeed,

To defend, more then offend, he had need.

They now loſt all, and were a peace to make,

The Kings conditions they are forc’t to take;

Diſſention in Greece continued long,

Til many a Captain fel, both wiſe, and ſtrong,

Whoſe courage nought but death could ever tame,

’Mongſt theſe Epimanondas wants no fame;

Who had (as noble Raleigh doth evince)

All peculiar vertues of a Prince:

But let us leave theſe Greeks, to diſcord bent.

And turne to Perſia, as is pertinent;

The King from forraign foes, and all at eaſe,

His home-bred troubles ſeeketh to appeaſe;

The two Queens, by his means, ’gin to abate

Their former envie, and inveterate hate;

Then in voluptuouſneſſe he leads his life,

And weds his Daughter for a ſecond wife;

His Mothers wicked counſell was the cauſe,

Who ſooths him up, his owne deſires are Lawes:

But yet for all his greatneſſe, and long reign,

He muſt leave all, and in the pit remain;

Forty three years he rules, then turns to duſt,

As all the mighty ones, have done, and muſt:

But 117 I3r 117

But this of him is worth the memory,

He was the Maſter of good Nehemie.

Darius Ochus.

Great Artaxerxes dead, Ochus ſucceeds,

Of whom no Record’s extant of his deeds;

Was it becauſe the Grecians now at war,

Made Writers work at home, they ſought not far?

Or dealing with the Perſian, now no more

Their Acts recorded not, as heretofore?

Or elſe, perhaps the deeds of Perſian Kings

In after wars were burnt, ’mongſt other things?

That three and twenty years he reign’d, I finde,

The reſt is but conjecture of my minde.

Arſames, or Arſes.

Why Arſames his brother ſhould ſucceed,

I can no reaſon give, cauſe none I read;

It may be thought, ſurely he had no Son,

So fell to him, which elſe it had not done:

What Acts he did, time hath not now left pend,

But as ’tis thought, in him had Cyrus end:

Whoſe race long time had worn the Diadem,

But now’s divolved, to another Stem.

Three years he reign’d, as Chronicles expreſſe,

Then Natures debt he paid, quite Iſſue-leſſe.

I3 Darius 118 I3v 118

Darius Codomanus.

How this Darius did attain the Crown,

By favour, force, or fraud, is not ſet down:

If not (as is before) of Cyrus race,

By one of theſe, he muſt obtain the place.

Some writers ſay, that he was Arſes ſon,

And that great Cyrus line, yet was not run,

That Ochus unto Arſames was father,

Which by ſome probabilities (ſeems rather;)

That ſon, and father, both were murthered

By one Bagoas, an Eunuch (as is ſed.)

Thus learned Pemble, whom we may not ſlight,

But as before doth (well read) Raleigh write,

And he that ſtory reads, ſhall often find;

That ſeverall men, will have their ſeverall mind;

Yet in theſe differences, we may behold;

With our judicious learned Knight to hold.

And this ’mongſt all’s no controverted thing,

That this Darius was laſt Perſian King,

Whoſe warres and loſſes we may better tell;

In Alexanders reign who did him quell,

How from the top of worlds felicity;

He fell to depth of greateſt miſery,

Whoſe honours, treaſures, pleaſures, had ſhort ſtay;

One deluge came, and ſwept them all away;

And in the ſixt year of his hapleſſe reigne,

Of all, did ſcarce his winding ſheet retaine.

And laſt; a ſad cataſtrophe to end,

Him, to the grave, did Traytor Beſſus ſend.

The end of the Perſian Monarchy.

The 119 I4r 119

The third Monarchy was the Grecian,

beginning under Alexander the Great, in the 112 Olimpiad.

Great Alexander was wiſe Phillips ſon,

He, to Amintas, Kings of Macedon;

The cruell, proud, Olimpias, was his mother,

Shee to the rich Moloſſians King, was daughter.

This Prince (his father by Pauſanias ſlain)

The twenty firſt of’s age, began to reign.

Great were the guifts of nature, which he had;

His Education, much to theſe did adde.

By Art, and Nature both, he was made fit,

T’accompliſh that, which long before was writ.

The very day of his nativity,

To th’ ground was burnt, Diana’s Temple high,

An Omen, to their near approaching woe;

Whoſe glory to the Earth, this Prince did throw,

His rule to Greece, he ſcorn’d ſhould be confin’d.

The univerſe, ſcarce bounds his large vaſt minde;

I4 This 120 I4v 120

This is the hee-goat, which from Grecia came,

Who ran in fury, on the Perſian Ram,

That broke his hornes, that threw him on the ground,

To ſave him from his might, no man was found.

Phillip, on this great conqueſt had an eye;

But death did terminate, thoſe thoughts ſo high.

The Greeks had choſe him Captain Generall,

Which honour to his ſon, now did befall.

(For as worlds Monarch, now we ſpeak not on,

But as the King of little Macedon.)

Reſtleſſe both day and night, his heart now was,

His high reſolves which way to bring to paſſe:

Yet for a while, in Greece is forc’d to ſtay,

Which makes each moment ſeem, more then a day:

Thebes, an old Athens, both ’gainſt him rebell,

But he their mutinies, full ſoon doth quell.

This done, againſt all right, and natures laws,

His kinſmen puts to death without leaſt cauſe;

That no combuſtion in his abſence be,

In ſeeking after Soveraignity:

And many more, whom he ſuſpects will clime,

Now taſte of death, (leaſt they deſerv’t in time)

Nor wonder is’t, if he in blood begin,

For cruelty, was his parentall ſin.

Thus eaſed now, of troubles, and of fears;

His courſe to Aſia, next Spring he ſteers.

Leaves ſage Antipater at home to ſway,

And through the Helliſpont, his ſhips make way.

Comming to land, his dart on ſhoar he throwes,

Then with alacrity he after goes:

Thirty two thouſand made up his foot force,

To theſe were joyn’d, five thouſand goodly horſe.

Then 121 I5r 121

Then on he march’d, in’s way he veiw’d old Troy;

And on Achillis Tombe, with wondrous joy,

He offer’d, and for good ſucceſſe did pray

To him, his mothers Anceſtor (men ſay.)

When newes of Alexander, came to th’ Court,

To ſcorn at him, Darius had good ſport:

Sends him a frothy, and contemptuous letter,

Stiles him diſloyall ſervant, and no better;

Reproves him, for his proud audacity;

To lift his hand, ’gainſt ſuch a Monarchy.

Then to his Lieutenant, in Aſia ſends,

That he be tane alive, (for he intends)

To whip him well with rods, and then to bring,

That boy ſo mallepart, before the King.

Ah! fond vaine man, whoſe pen was taught ere while,

In lower termes to write a higher ſtile,

To th’ river Granicke, Alexander hyes,

Which twixt Phrigia and Propontis lyes.

The Perſians for encounter ready ſtand,

And think to keep his men from off the land,

Thoſe banks ſo ſteep, the Greeks, now ſcramble up

And beat the coward Perſians from the top,

And twenty thouſand, of their lives bereave,

Who in their backs did all their wounds receive

This Victory did Alexander gain;

With loſſe of thirty four, of his there ſlaine:

Sardis, then he, and Epheſus, did gaine,

Where ſtood of late Diana’s, wondrous Phane,

And by Parmenio (of renowned fame)

Miletus, and Pamphilia overcame,

Hallicarnaſſus and Piſidia

He for his maſter takes, with Lycia.

Next 122 I5v 122

Next Alexander marcht, t’wards the black ſea;

And eaſily takes old Gordium in his way;

(Of Aſſe-eard) Midas, once the regall ſeat,

Whoſe touch turn’d all to gold, yea even his meat:

There the Prophetick knot, he cuts in twain;

Which who ſo did, muſt Lord of all remain,

Now newes, of Memmons death (the Kings Vice-roy)

To Alexanders heart’s no little joy.

For in that Peer, more valour did abide;

Then in Darius multitudes beſide:

There Arſemes was plac’d, yet durſt not ſtay;

But ſets one in his roome, and ran away.

His ſubſtitute, as fearfull as his maſter,

Goes after too, and leaves all to diſaſter.

Now Alexander all Cilicia takes:

No ſtroake for it he ſtruck, their hearts ſo quakes.

To Greece he thirty thouſand talents ſends;

To raiſe more force, for what he yet intends.

And on he goes Darius for to meet:

Who came with thouſand thouſands at his feet,

Though ſome there be, and that more likely, write;

He but four hundred thouſand had to fight,

The reſt attendants, which made up no leſſe;

(Both ſexes there) was almoſt numberleſſe.

For this wiſe King, had brought to ſee the ſport;

Along with him, the Ladyes of the Court.

His mother old, beautious wife, and daughters,

It ſeemes to ſee the Macedonians ſlaughters.

Sure its beyond my time, and little Art;

To ſhew, how great Darius plaid his part;

The ſplendor, and the pompe, he marched in,

For ſince the world, was no ſuch Pageant ſeen.

Oh 123 I6r 123

Oh ’twas a goodly ſight, there to behold;

The Perſians clad in ſilk, and glitt’ring gold;

The ſtately Horſes trapt, the launces guilt;

As if they were, now all to run at tilt:

The Holy fire, was borne before the Hoſt:

(For Sun and Fire the Perſians worſhip moſt)

The Prieſts in their ſtrange habit follow after;

An object not ſo much of fear, as laughter.

The King ſat in a chariot made of gold,

With Robes and Crowne, moſt glorious to behold.

And o’re his head, his golden gods on high;

Support a party coloured canopy.

A number of ſpare horſes next were led,

Leaſt he ſhould need them, in his chariots ſtead.

But they ſaw him in this ſtate to lye;

Would think he neither thought to fight nor fly,

He fifteen hundred had like women dreſt,

For ſo to fright the Greeks he judg’d was beſt,

Their golden Ornaments ſo to ſet forth,

Would aske more time, then were their bodys worth.

Great Siſigambis, ſhe brought up the Reare;

Then ſuch a world of Wagons did appear,

Like ſeverall houſes moving upon wheeles:

As if ſhe’d drawne, whole Suſhan at her heeles.

This brave Virago, to the King was mother;

And as much good ſhe did, as any other.

Now leaſt this Gold, and all this goodly ſtuffe.

Had not been ſpoile, and booty rich enough,

A thouſand Mules, and Camells ready wait.

Loaden with gold, with Jewels and with Plate,

For ſure Darius thought, at the firſt ſight,

The Greekes would all adore, and would none fight.

But 124 I6v 124

But when both Armies met, he might behold,

That valour was more worth then Pearls, or gold,

And how his wealth ſerv’d but for baits t’allure,

Which made his over-throw more fierce, and ſure.

The Greeks come on, and with a gallant grace,

Let fly their Arrowes, in the Perſians face;

The cowards feeling this ſharp ſtinging charge,

Moſt baſely run, and left their King at large,

Who from his golden Coach is glad t’alight

And caſt away his Crown, for ſwifter flight;

Of late, like ſome immovable he lay,

Now finds both leggs, and Horſe, to run away;

Two hundred thouſand men that day were ſlaine,

And forty thouſand Priſoners alſo tane;

Beſides, the Queens, and Ladies of the Court,

If Curtius be true, in his report.

The Regall ornaments now loſt, the treaſure

Divided at the Macedonians pleaſure.

Yet all this grief, this loſſe, this over-throw,

Was but beginning of his future woe;

The Royall Captives, brought to Alexander,

T’ward them, demean’d himſelf like a Commander;

For though their beauties were unparalled

Conquer’d himſelf (now he had conquered)

Preſerv’d their honour, us’d them courteouſly,

Commands, no man ſhould doe them injury,

And this to Alexander is more a fame,

Then that the Perſian King he over-came;

Two hundred eighty Greeks he lost in fight,

By too much heat, not wounds (as Authors write.)

No ſooner had this Captaine won the field,

But all Phenicia to his pleaſures yeeld;

Of 125 I7r 125

Of which, the Government he doth commit

Unto Parmenio, of all, moſt fit;

Darius now, more humble then before,

Writes unto Alexander, to reſtore

Thoſe mournfull Ladies, from captivity,

For whom he offers him a ranſome high;

But down his haughty ſtomach could not bring,

To give this Conquerour, the ſtile of King;

His Letter Alexander doth diſdaine,

And in ſhort termes, ſends this reply againe;

A King he was, and that not only ſo,

But of Darius King, as he ſhould know.

Now Alexander unto Tyre doth goe,

(His valour, and his victories they know)

To gain his love, the Tyrians do intend,

Therefore a Crown, and great proviſions ſend;

Their preſent he receives with thankfulneſſe,

Deſires to offer unto Hercules,

Protector of their Town; by whom defended,

But they accept not this, in any wiſe,

Leaſt he intend more fraud, then ſacrifice,

Sent word, that Hercules his Temple ſtood,

In the old town (which now lay like a wood)

With this reply, he was ſo ſore enrag’d,

To win their town, his honour he engag’d;

And now, as Babels King did once before,

He leaves not, till he makes the ſea firme ſhoar;

But far leſſe coſt, and time, he doth expend,

The former ruines, help to him now lend;

Beſides, he had a Navie at command,

The other by his men fetcht all by Land;

In 126 I7v 126

In ſeven months ſpace he takes this lofty town,

Whoſe glory, now a ſecond time’s brought down;

Two thouſand of the cheif he crucifi’d,

Eight thouſand by the ſword now alſo dy’d,

And thirteen thouſand Gally-ſlaves he made,

And thus the Tyrians for miſtruſt were paid,

The rule of this he to Philosas gave,

Who was the Son of that Parmenio brave;

Cilicia he to Socrates doth give,

For now’s the time, Captains like Kings may live;

For that which eaſily comes, as freely goes;

Zidon he on Epheſtion beſtowes:

He ſcorns to have one worſe then had the other,

And therefore gives this Lord-ſhip to another.

Epheſtion now, hath the command o’th’ Fleet,

And muſt at Gaza, Alexander meet;

Darius finding troubles ſtill increaſe,

By his Embaſſadours now ſues for peace:

And layes before great Alexanders eyes,

The dangers, difficulties, like to riſe;

Firſt, at Euphrates, what he’s like to abide,

And then at Tigris, and Araxis ſide:

Theſe he may ſcape, and if he ſo deſire,

A league of friendſhip make, firm, and entire;

His eldeſt Daughter, (him) in marriage offers,

And a moſt Princely Dowry with her proffers;

All thoſe rich Kingdoms large, which doe abide

Betwixt the Helleſpont, and Hallis ſide;

But he with ſcorn, his courteſie rejects,

And the diſtreſſed King no way reſpects;

Tels him, theſe proffers great (in truth were none)

For all he offered now, was but his owne:

But 127 I8r 127

But, quoth Parmenio, (that brave Commander)

Was I as great, as is great Alexander,

Darius offers I would not reject,

But th’ Kingdoms, and the Ladies, ſoone accept;

To which, brave Alexander did reply,

And ſo if I Parmenio were, would I.

He now to Gaza goes, and there doth meet

His favourite Epheſtion, with his fleet;

Where valiant Betis, doth defend the town,

(A loyall Subject to Darius Crown)

For more repulſe, the Grecians here abide,

Then in the Perſian Monarcy beſide,

And by theſe walls, ſo many men were ſlaine,

That Greece muſt yeeld a freſh ſupply againe;

But yet, this well defended town is taken,

(For ’twas decreed, that Empire ſhould be ſhaken,

The Captaine tane, had holes bor’d through his feet,

And by command was drawn through every ſtreet,

To imitate Achilles (in his ſhame)

Who did the like to Hector (of more fame)

What, haſt thou loſt thy late magnanimity?

Can Alexander deale thus cruelly?

Sith valour, with Heroyicks is renown’d,

Though in an enemy it ſhould be found;

If of thy future fame thou hadſt regard,

Why didſt not heap up honour, and reward?

From Gaza, to Jeruſalem he goes,

But in no hoſtile way (as I ſuppoſe)

Him in his Prieſtly Robes, high Jaddus meets,

Whom with great reverence Alexander greets;

The Prieſt ſhews him good Daniels Propheſie,

How he ſhould over-throw this Monarchy;

By 128 I8v 128

By which he was ſo much incouraged,

No future dangers he did ever dread:

From thence, to fruitfull Ægypt marcht with ſpeed,

Where happily in’s wars he did ſucceed;

To see how faſt he gain’d, is no ſmall wonder,

For in few dayes he brought that Kingdom under.

Then to the Phane of Jupiter, he went,

For to be call’d a god, was his intent;

The Pagan Prieſt through hire, or elſe miſtake,

Son of Jupiter did ſtraight him make:

He Diabolicall muſt needs remaine,

That his humanity will not retaine,

Now back to Ægypt goes, and in few dayes,

Faire Alexandria from the ground doth raiſe;

Then ſetling all things in leſſe Aſia,

In Syria, Ægypt, and Phœnicia;

Unto Euphrates marcht, and over goes,

For no man to reſiſt his valour ſhowes;

Had Betis now been there, but with his Band,

Great Alexander had been kept from Land;

But as the King is, ſo’s the multitude,

And now of valour both were deſtitute;

Yet he (poore Prince) another Hoaſt doth muſter,

Of Perſians, Scithians, Indians, in a cluſter;

Men but in ſhape, and name, of valour none,

Fit for to blunt the ſwords of Macedon,

Two hundred fifty thouſand by account,

Of Horſe, and Foot, this Army did amount;

For in his multitudes his truſt ſtill lay,

But on their fortitude he had ſmall ſtay;

Yet had ſome hope, that on the eeven plain,

His numbers might the victory obtaine.

About 129 K1r 129

About this time, Darius beauteous Queen,

Who had long travaile, and much ſorrow ſeen,

Now bids the world adieu, her time being ſpent,

And leaves her wofull Lord for to lament.

Great Alexander mourns, as well as he,

For this loſt Queen (though in captivity)

When this ſad newes (at firſt) Darius heares,

Some injury was offered, he feares;

But when inform’d, how royally the King

Had uſed her, and hers, in every thing,

He prayes the immortall gods, for to reward

Great Alexander, for this good regard;

And if they down, his Monarchy wil throw,

Let them on him, that dignity beſtow:

And now for peace he ſues, as once before,

And offers all he did, and Kingdoms more;

His eldeſt Daughter, for his Princely Bride.

(Nor was ſuch match, in all the world beſide)

And all thoſe Countries, which (betwixt) did lye,

Pheniſian Sea, and great Euphrates high,

With fertile Ægypt, and rich Syria,

And all thoſe Kingdoms in leſſe Aſia;

With thirty thouſand Tallents, to be paid

For his Queen-Mother, and the royall Maid;

And till all this be well perform’d, and ſure,

Ochus his Son a hoſtage ſhall endure.

To this, ſtout Alexander, gives no eare,

No, though Parmenio plead, he will not heare;

Which had he done (perhaps) his fame had kept,

Nor infamy had wak’d, when he had ſlept;

For his unlimited proſperity,

Him boundleſſe made, in vice, and cruelty;

K Thus 130 K1v 130

Thus to Darius he writes back again,

The Firmament two Suns cannot contain;

Two Monarchies on Earth cannot abide,

Nor yet two Monarchs in one World reſide;

The afflicted King, finding him ſet to jar,

Prepares againſt to morrow for the war,

Parmenio, Alexander wiſht, that night,

To force his Camp, ſo put them all to flight;

For tumult in the dark doth cauſe moſt dread,

And weaknesse of a foe is covered;

But he diſdain’d to ſteale a victorie,

The Sun ſhould witneſſe of his valour be:

Both Armies meet, Greeks fight, the Perſians run,

So make an end, before they well begun;

Forty five thouſand Alexander had,

But ’tis not known what ſlaughters here they made.

Some write, th’ other had a million, ſome more,

But Quintus Curtius, as was ſaid before.

At Arbela, this victory was gain’d,

And now with it, the town alſo obtain’d.

Darius ſtript of all, to Media came,

Accompani’d with ſorrow, fear, and ſhame;

At Arbela left, his ornaments, and treaſure,

Which Alexander deals, as ſuits his pleaſure.

This Conquerour now goes to Babylon,

Is entertain’d with joy, and pompous train,

With ſhowres of Flowers, the ſtreets along are ſtrown,

And Inſence burnt, the ſilver Altars on;

The glory of the Caſtle he admires,

The firme foundations, and the lofty ſpires;

In this a maſſe of gold, and treaſure lay,

Which in few hours was carried all away;

With 131 K2r 131

With greedy eyes, he views this City round,

Whoſe fame throughout the world, was ſo renown’d;

And to poſſeſſe, he counts no little bliſſe,

The Towers, and Bowers, of proud Semiramis:

Though worn by time, and raz’d by foes full ſore,

Yet old foundations ſhew’d, and ſomewhat more;

With all the pleaſures that on earth was found,

This City did abundantly abound;

Where four and thirty dayes he now doth ſtay,

And gives himſelf to banqueting, and play:

He, and his Souldiers, wax effeminate,

And former Diſcipline begins to hate;

Whilſt revelling at Babylon, he lyes,

Antipater, from Greece, ſends great ſupplyes;

He then to Suſhan goes, with his freſh bands,

But needs no force, ’tis rendred to his hands;

He likewiſe here a world of treaſure found,

For ’twas the ſeat of Perſian Kings renown’d;

Here ſtood the Royall houſes of delight,

Where Kings have ſhown their glory, wealth, and might;

The ſumptuous Palace of Queen Heſter here,

And of good Mordecai, her Kinſman dear;

Thoſe purple hangings, mixt, with green, and white,

Thoſe beds of gold, and couches of delight,

And furniture, the richeſt of all Lands,

Now falls into the Macedonians hands.

From Suſhan, to Perſapolis he goes,

Which newes doth ſtill augment Darius woes;

In his approach, the Governour ſends word,

For his receit with joy, they all accord;

With open Gates, the wealthy town did ſtand,

And all in it was at his high command;

K2 Of 132 K2v 132

Of all the Cities, that on Earth was found;

None like to this in riches did abound.

Though Babylon was rich, and Suſhan too;

Yet to compare with this, they might not do.

Here lay the bulk, of all thoſe precious things;

Which did pertain unto the Perſian Kings.

For when the Souldiers, had rifled their pleaſure,

And taken mony, plate, and golden treaſure;

Statues of gold, and ſilver numberleſſe,

Yet after all, as ſtories do expreſſe.

The ſhare of Alexander did amount,

To a hundred thouſand Tallents by account,

Here of his own, he ſets a Garriſon,

(As firſt at Suſhan, and at Babylon)

On their old Governours, titles he laid;

But on their faithfullneſſe, he never ſtaid;

Their charge, gave to his Captains (as moſt juſt)

For ſuch revolters falſe, what Prince will truſt:

The pleaſures and the riches of this town,

Now makes this Kings, his vertues all to drown.

He walloweth now, in all licenciouſneſſe,

In pride, and cruelty, to th’ higheſt exceſſe.

Being inflam’d with wine upon a ſeaſon,

(Filled with madneſſe, and quite void of reaſon)

He at a bold, baſe Strumpets, lewd deſire;

Commands to ſet this goodly town on fire.

Parmenio wiſe, intreats him to deſiſt,

And layes before his eyes, if he perſiſt

His names diſhonour, loſſe unto his State.

And juſt procuring of the Perſians hate.

But deafe to reaſon, (bent to have his will;)

Thoſe ſtately ſtreets with raging flames doth fil.

Now 133 K3r 133

Now to Darius, he directs his way,

Who was retir’d, and gone to Media.

(And there with ſorrows, fears, and cares ſurrounded)

Had now his fourth, and laſt Army compounded,

Which forty thouſand made; but his intent,

Was ſtraight in Bactria theſe to augment,

But hearing, Alexander was ſo near;

Thought now this once, to try his fortunes here,

Chuſing rather an honorable death:

Then ſtill with infamy, to draw his breath.

But Beſſus falſe, who was his cheife Commander;

Perſwades him not to fight, with Alexander.

With ſage advice, he layes before his eyes,

The little hope, of profit like to riſe.

If when he’d multitudes, the day he loſt;

Then with ſo few, how likely to be croſt.

This counſell, for his ſafety, he pretended,

But to deliver him to’s foes, intended.

Next day this treaſon, to Darius known,

Tranſported ſore, with griefe and paſſion;

Grinding his teeth, and plucking off his haire,

Sate down o’rewhelme’d, with ſorrow, and deſpair,

Bidding his ſervant Artabaſſus true;

Look to himſelfe, and leave him to that crew;

Who was of hopes, and comfort quite bereft;

And of his Guard, and Servitors now left.

Straight Beſſus comes, and with his traiterous hands,

Lays hold on’s Lord, and binding him with bands.

Into a cart him throwes, covered with hides;

Who wanting means t’ reſiſt, theſe wrongs abides.

Then draws the Cart along, with chaines of gold;

In more diſpight, the thrawled Prince to hold.

K3 And 134 K3v 134

And thus to Alexander, on he goes,

Great recompence, in’s thoughts, he did propoſe;

But ſome deteſting, this his wicked fact,

To Alexander fly, and told this act;

Who doubling of his march, poſts on amain,

Darius from thoſe Traitors hands to gain;

Beſſus gets knowledge, his diſloyalty,

Had Alexanders wrath incenſed high;

Whoſe Army now, was almoſt within ſight,

His hopes being daſht, prepares himſelf for flight:

Unto Darius, firſt he brings a Horſe,

And bids him, ſave himſelfe, by ſpeedy courſe:

This wofull King, his courteſie refuſes,

Whom thus the execrable wretch abuſes:

By throwing Darts, gives him his mortall wound,

Then ſlew his ſervants, that were faithfull found;

Yea, wounds the beaſts (that drew him) unto death,

And leaves him thus, to gaſpe out his laſt breath.

(Beſſus, his Partner in this Tragedy,

Was the false Governour of Media)

This done, they with their Hoaſt, ſoon ſpeed away,

To hide themſelves, remote, in Bactria;

Darius bath’d in bloud, ſends out his groanes,

Invokes the heavens, and earth, to heare his moanes;

His loſt felicity did greive him ſore,

But this unheard of injury much more;

Yea, above all, that neither eare, nor eye,

Should heare, nor ſee, his groans, and miſery:

As thus he lay, Poliſtratus a Greeke,

Wearied with his long march, did water ſeek,

So chanc’d theſe bloudy Horſes to eſpy,

Whoſe wounds had made their skins of purple dye;

To 135 K4r 135

To them he goes, and looking in the Cart,

Findes poore Darius, peirced to the heart;

Who not a little chear’d, to have ſome eye,

The witneſſe of his dying miſery:

Prayes him, to Alexander to commend,

The juſt revenge of this his wofull end;

And not to pardon ſuch diſloyalty,

Of treaſon, murther, and baſe cruelty.

If not, becauſe Darius thus did pray,

Yet that ſucceeding Kings in ſafety may

Their lives enjoy, their crowns, and dignity,

And not by Traitors hands untimely dye.

He alſo ſends his humble thankfulneſſe,

For all that Kingly Grace he did expreſſe,

To’s Mother, Children deare, and Wife now gone,

Which made their long reſtraint, ſeeme to be none;

Praying the immortall gods, that Sea, and Land,

Might be ſubjected to his royall hand;

And that his rule as farre extended be,

As men, the riſing, ſetting Sun ſhall ſee.

This ſaid, the Greek for water doth intreat,

To quench his thirſt, and to allay his heat;

Of all good things (quoth he) once in my power,

I’ve nothing left, at this my dying houre;

Thy pitty, and compaſſion to reward,

Wherefore the gods requite thy kinde regard.

This ſaid, his fainting breath did fleet away,

And though a Monarch once, now lyes like clay;

Yea, thus muſt every Son of Adam lye,

Though gods on earth, like Sons of men ſhall dye.

Now to the Eaſt great Alexander goes,

To ſee if any dare his might oppoſe;

K4 (For 136 K4v 136

(For ſcarce the world, or any bounds thereon,

Could bound his boundleſſe, fond ambition)

Such as ſubmits, he doth againe reſtore,

And makes their riches, and their honours more;

On Artabaſus more then all beſtow’d,

For his fidelity to ’s Maſter ſhow’d;

Thaleſtris, Queen of th’ Amazons, now brought

Her traine to Alexander (as ’tis thought)

Though ſome reading of the beſt, and ſoundeſt minde,

Such country there, nor yet ſuch people finde.

Then tell her errand, we had better ſpare

To th’ ignorant, her title may declare.

As Alexander in his greatneſſe growes,

So daily of his vertues doth he loſe;

He baſeneſſe counts his former clemency,

And not beſeeming ſuch a dignity;

His paſt ſobriety doth alſo hate,

As moſt incompatible to his ſtate;

His temperance, is but a ſordid thing,

No wayes becomming ſuch a mighty King;

His greatneſſe now he takes, to repreſent,

His fancied gods, above the firmament,

And ſuch as ſhew’d but reverence before,

Are ſtrictly now commanded to adore;

With Perſian Robes, himſelfe doth dignifie,

Charging the ſame on his Nobility;

His manners, habit, geſtures, now doth faſhion,

After that conquer’d, and luxurious Nation;

His captains, that were vertuouſly enclin’d,

Griev’d at this change of manners, and of minde:

The ruder ſort, did openly deride

His fained Deity, and fooliſh pride:

The 137 K5r 137

The certainty of both comes to his eares,

But yet no notice takes, of what he hears;

With thoſe of worth, he ſtill deſires eſteem,

So heaps up gifts, his credit to redeem;

And for the reſt new wars, and travels findes,

That other matters may take up their minds.

Then hearing, Beſſus makes himſelfe a King,

Intends with ſpeed, that Traitor down to bring;

Now that his Hoaſt from luggage might be free,

And no man with his burden, burdened be,

Commands forth-with, each man his fardle bring.

Into the Market-place, before the King;

Which done, ſets fire upon thoſe coſtly ſpoyls

The recompence of travels, wars, and toyls;

And thus unwiſely, in one raging fume,

The wealth of many Cities doth conſume:

But marvell ’tis, that without muteny,

The Souldiers ſhould paſſe this injury;

Nor wonder leſſe, to Readers may it bring,

For to obſerve the raſhneſſe of the King.

Now with his Army, doth he haſt away,

Falſe Beſſus to finde out, in Bactria;

But ſore diſtreſt for water, in their march,

The drought, and heat, their bodies much doth parch;

At length, they came to th’ River Oxus brink,

Where moſt immoderatly theſe thirſty drink;

This more mortality to them did bring,

Then did their wars, againſt the Perſian King.

Here Alexander’s almoſt at a ſtand,

How to paſſe over, and gaine the other Land;

For Boats here’s none, nor neare it any wood,

To make them rafts, to waft them o’re the floud;

But 138 K5v 138

But he that was reſolved in his minde,

Would by ſome means a tranſportation finde;

So from his carriages the Hides he takes,

And ſtuffing them with ſtraw, he bundles makes;

On theſe, together ty’d, in six dayes ſpace,

They all paſſe over, to the other place;

Had Beſſus had but valour to his wil,

He eaſily might have made them ſtay there ſtil;

But coward, durſt not fight, nor could he fly,

Hated of all, for’s former treachery,

Is by his owne, now bound in Iron chaines,

(A coller of the same his neck containes)

And in this ſort, they rather drag, then bring,

This Malefactor vild, before the King,

Who to Darius Brother gives the wretch,

With wracks, and tortures, every limbe to ſtretch.

Here was of Greeks, a town in Bactria,

Whom Xerxes from their country led away;

Theſe not a little joy’d, this day to ſee,

Wherein their own had ſoveraignity.

And now reviv’d with hopes, held up their head,

From bondage, long to be infranchiſed;

But Alexander puts them to the ſword,

Without cauſe, given by them, in deed, or word:

Nor ſex, nor age, nore one, nor other spar’d,

But in his cruelty alike they ſhar’d;

Nor could he reaſon give, for this great wrong,

But that they had forgot their Mother-tongue.

Whilſt thus he ſpent ſome time in Bactria,

And in his Camp ſtrong, and ſecurely lay,

Down from the mountains twenty thouſand came,

And there moſt fiercely ſet upon the ſame;

Repelling 139 K6r 139

Repelling theſe two marks of honour got,

Imprinted deep in’s legg, by Arrowes ſhot;

And now the Bactrians ’gainſt him rebel,

But he their ſtubbornneſſe full ſoone doth quel;

From hence he to Jaxartis river goes,

Where Scithians rude, his valour doth oppoſe,

And with their out-cries, in a hideous ſort,

Beſets his Camp, or Military Court;

Of Darts, and Arrowes, made ſo little ſpare,

They flew ſo thick they ſeem’d to dark the aire:

But ſoone the Grecians forc’d them to a flight,

Whoſe nakedneſſe could not endure their might;

Upon this Rivers banck in ſeventeen dayes,

A goodly City doth compleatly raiſe;

Which Alexandria he doth alſo name,

And furlongs ſixty could not round the ſame.

His third ſupply, Antipater now ſent,

Which did his former Army much augment,

And being an hundred twenty thouſand ſtrong,

He enters now the Indian Kings among;

Thoſe that ſubmit, he doth reſtore again.

Thoſe that doe not, both they, and theirs, are ſlain;

To age, nor ſex, no pitty doth expreſſe,

But all fall by his ſword, moſt mercileſſe.

He t’ Niſa goes, by Bacchus built long ſince,

Whoſe feaſts are celebrated by this Prince;

Nor had that drunken god, one that would take

His liquors more devoutly in, for’s ſake.

When thus, ten dayes, his brain with wine he’d ſoak’d,

And with delicious meats, his Pallat choak’d,

To th’ river Indus next, his courſe he bends,

Boats to prepare, Epheſtion firſt he ſends,

Who 140 K6v 140

Who comming thither, long before his Lord;

Had to his mind, made all things now accord:

The Veſſells ready were, at his command;

And Omphis, King of that part of the land:

Through his perſwaſion Alexander meets;

And as his Sovereign Lord, him humbly greets.

Fifty ſix Elephants he brings to’s hands:

And tenders him the ſtrength of all his lands,

Preſents himſelfe, there with a golden Crowne,

And eighty Tallents to his Captaines down.

But Alexander, caus’d him to behold;

He glory ſought, no ſilver, nor yet gold;

His Preſents all, with thanks he doth reſtore;

And of his own, a thouſand Tallents more.

Thus all the IndiauN Kings, to him ſubmit;

But Porus ſtout, who will not yeeld as yet;

To him doth Alexander thus declare,

His pleaſure is, that forthwith he repaire

Unto his Kingdoms borders, and as due,

His Homage unto him as Soveraigne doe.

But Kingly Porus this brave anſwer ſent,

That to attend him there, was his intent;

And come as well provided as he could,

But for the reſt, his ſword adviſe him ſhould.

Great Alexander vext at this reply,

Did more his valour then his Crown envie;

Is now reſolv’d to paſſe Hidaſpes floud,

And there his Soveraignty for to make good;

But on the banks doth Porus ready stand,

For to receive him, when he comes to land;

A potent Army with him, like a King,

And ninety Elephants for war did bring;

Had 141 K7r 141

Had Alexander ſuch reſiſtance ſeen,

On Tygris ſide, here now he had not been;

Within this ſpacious river, deep, and wide,

Did here, and there, Iſles full of trees abide;

His Army Alexander doth divide,

With Ptolomy, ſends part o’ th’ tother ſide;

Porus encounters them, thinking all’s there,

Then covertly, the reſt gets o’re elſe where;

But whilſt the first he valiantly aſſayl’d,

The laſt ſet on his back, and ſo prevail’d:

Yet Work enough, here Alexander found,

For to the laſt, ſtout Porus kept his ground.

Nor was’t diſhonour, at the length to yeeld;

When Alexander ſtrives to win the field,

His fortitude his Kingly foe commends;

Reſtores him, and his bounds further extends;

Eaſt-ward, now Alexander would goe ſtill,

But ſo to doe, his Souldiers had no will;

Long with exceſſive travailes wearied,

Could by no means be further drawn, or led:

Yet that his fame might to poſterity,

Be had in everlaſting memory,

Doth for his Camp a greater circuit take,

And for his Souldiers larger Cabins make;

His Maungers he erected up ſo high,

As never Horſe his Provender could eye;

Huge Bridles made, which here, and there, he left,

Which might be found, and ſo for wonders kept:

Twelve Altars, he for Monuments then rears,

Whereon his acts, and travels, long appears;

But doubting, wearing Time would theſe decay,

And ſo his memory might fade away,

He 142 K7v 142

He on the faire Hidaſpis pleaſant ſide,

Two Cities built, his fame might there abide;

The firſt Nicca, the next Bucephalon,

Where he entomb’d his ſtately ſtallion.

His fourth, and laſt supply, was hither ſent,

Then down t’ Hidaſpis with his Fleet he went;

Some time he after ſpent upon that ſhore,

Where one hundred Embaſſadours, or more,

Came with ſubmiſſion, from the Indian Kings

Bringing their Preſents, rare, and precious things:

Theſe, all he feaſts in ſtate, on beds of gold,

His furniture moſt ſumptuous to behold;

The meat, and drink, attendants, every thing,

To th’ utmoſt ſhew’d, the glory of a King;

With rich rewards, he ſent them home again,

Acknowledg’d for their Maſters Soveraigne;

Then ſayling South, and comming to the ſhore,

Theſe obſcure Nations yeelded as before;

A City here he built; cal’d by his name,

Which could not ſound too oft, with too much fame;

Hence ſayling down by th’ mouth of Indus floud,

His Gallies ſtuck upon the ſand, and mud;

Which the ſtout Macedonians mazed ſore

Depriv’d at once, the uſe of Saile, and Oare;

But well obſerving th’ nature of the tide,

Upon thoſe Flats they did not long abide;

Paſſing faire Indus mouth, his courſe he ſtear’d,

To th’ coaſt which by Euphrates mouth appear’d;

Whoſe inlets neare unto, he winter ſpent,

Unto his ſtarved Souldiers ſmall content;

By hunger, and by cold, ſo many ſlaine,

That of them all, the fourth did ſcarce remaine.

Thus 143 K8r 143

Thus Winter, Souldiers, and proviſion ſpent,

From hence he to Gedroſia went,

And thence he marcht into Carmania,

So he at length drew neare to Perſia;

Now through theſe goodly countries as he paſt,

Much time in feaſts, and ryoting doth waſt;

Then viſits Cyrus Sepulcher in’s way,

Who now obſcure at Paſſagardis lay;

Upon his Monument his Robes he ſpread,

And ſet his Crown on his ſuppoſed head;

From hence to Babylon, ſome time there ſpent,

He at the laſt to royall Suſhan went;

A Wedding Feaſt to’s Nobles then he makes,

And Statirah, Darius daughter takes,

Her Siſter gives to his Epheſtion deare,

That by this match he might be yet more neare.

He fourſcore Perſian Ladies alſo gave;

At the ſame time, unto his Captains brave;

Six thouſand Gueſts he to this feaſt invites,

Whoſe Sences all, were glutted with delights:

It far exceeds my meane abilities,

To ſhadow forth theſe ſhort felicities:

Spectators here, could ſcarce relate the ſtory,

They were ſo wrapt with this externall glory.

If an Ideall Paradise, a man ſhould frame,

He might this feaſt imagine by the ſame.

To every Gueſt, a cup of gold he ſends,

So after many dayes this Banquet ends.

Now, Alexanders conqueſts, all are done,

And his long travells paſt, and over-gone;

His vertues dead, buried, and all forgot,

But vice remaines, to his eternall blot.

’Mongſt 144 K8v 144

’Mongſt thoſe, that of his cruelty did taſte,

Philotas was not leaſt, nor yet the laſt;

Accus’d, becauſe he did not certifie

The King of treaſon, and conſpiracy;

Upon ſuſpicion being apprehended,

Nothing was found, wherein he had offended;

His ſilence, guilt was, of ſuch conſequence,

He death deſerv’d, for this ſo high offence;

But for his Fathers great deſerts, the King,

His Royall pardon gave, for this ſame thing;

Yet is Philotas unto Judgement brought;

Muſt ſuffer, not for what he did, but thought:

His Maſter is Accuſer, Judge, and King,

Who to the height doth aggravate each thing;

Enveighs againſt his Father, now abſent,

And’s Brethen whom for him their lives had ſpent;

But Philotas, his unpardonable crime,

Which no merit could obliterate, or time:

He did the Oracle of Jupiter deride,

By which his Majeſty was deifi’d.

Philotas thus o’re-charg’d, with wrong, and greif,

Sunk in deſpair, without hope of releif;

Faine would have ſpoke, and made his owne defence,

The King would give no eare, but went from thence;

To his malicious foes delivers him,

To wreak their ſpight, and hate, on every limbe.

Philotas after him ſends out this cry,

Oh, Alexander, thy free clemency,

My foes exceeds in malice, and their hate,

Thy Kingly word can eaſily terminate;

Such torments great, as wit could firſt invent,

Or fleſh, or life could bear, till both were ſpent,

Are 145 L1r 145

Are now inflicted on Parmenio’s Son,

For to accuſe himſelf, as they had done;

At laſt he did: So they were juſtified,

And told the world, that for deſert he dyed.

But how theſe Captaines ſhould, or yet their Maſter,

Look on Parmenio, after this diſaſter,

They knew not; wherefore, beſt now to be done,

Was to diſpatch the Father, as the Son.

This sound advice, at heart, pleas’d Alexander,

Who was ſo much engag’d, to this Commander,

As he would ne’re confeſſe, nor could reward,

Nor could his Captaines bear ſo great regard;

Wherefore at once all theſe to ſatisfie,

It was decreed Parmenio ſhould dye:

Polidamus, who ſeem’d Parmenio’s friend,

To doe this deed, they into Media ſend;

He walking in his Garden, too and fro,

Thinking no harme, becauſe he none did owe,

Moſt wickedly was ſlaine, without leaſt crime,

(The moſt renowned Captaine of his time)

This is Parmenio, which ſo much had done,

For Philip dead, and his ſurviving Son,

Who from a petty King of Macedon,

By him was ſet upon the Perſian Throne:

This that Parmenio, who ſtill over-came,

Yet gave his Maſter the immortall fame;

Who for his prudence, valour, care, and truſt,

Had this reward moſt cruel, and unjuſt.

The next that in untimely death had part,

Was one of more eſteem, but leſſe deſart;

Clitus, belov’d next to Epheſtion,

And in his cups, his chief Companion;

L When 146 L1v 146

When both were drunk, Clitus was wont to jeere;

Alexander, to rage, to kill, and ſweare,

Nothing more pleaſing to mad Clitus tongue,

Then’s Maſters god-head, to defie, and wrong;

Nothing toucht Alexander to the quick

Like this, againſt his deity to kick:

Upon a time, when both had drunken well,

Upon this dangerous theam fond Clitus fell;

From jeaſt, to earneſt, and at laſt ſo bold,

That of Parmenio’s death him plainly told.

Alexander now no longer could containe,

But inſtantly commands him to be ſlaine;

Next day, he tore his face, for what he’d done,

And would have ſlaine himſelf, for Clitus gone,

This pot companion he did more bemoan,

Then all the wrong to brave Parmenio done.

The next of worth, that ſuffered after theſe,

Was vertuous, learned, wiſe Caliſthines,

Who lov’d his Maſter more then did the reſt,

As did appeare, in flattering him the leaſt:

In his eſteem, a God he could not be,

Nor would adore him for a Deity:

For this alone, and for no other cauſe,

Againſt his Soveraigne, or againſt his Lawes,

He on the wrack, his limbs in peeces rent,

Thus was he tortur’d, till his life was ſpent.

Of this unkingly deed, doth Seneca

This cenſure paſſe, and not unwiſely, ſay,

Of Alexander, this th’ eternall crime,

Which ſhall not be obliterate by time,

Which vertues fame can ne’re redeem by farre,

Nor all felicity, of his in war;

When 147 L2r 147

When e’re ’tis ſaid, he thouſand thouſands ſlew,

Yea, and Caliſthines to death he drew,

The mighty Perſian King he over-came,

Yea, and he kild Caliſthines by name;

All Kingdoms, Countries, Provinces, he won,

From Helliſpont, to th’ furtheſt Ocean;

All this he did, who knows not to be true,

But yet withall, Caliſthines he ſlew;

From Macedon his Empire did extend,

Unto the furtheſt bounds of th’ orient;

All this he did, yea, and much more, ’tis true,

But yet withall, Caliſthines he ſlew;

Now Alexander goes to Media,

Findes there the want of wise Parmenio,

Here his cheif favourite Epheſtion dyes,

He celebrates his mournfull obſequies;

For him erects a ſtately Monument,

Twelve thouſand Tallents on it franckly ſpent;

Hangs his Phiſitian, the reaſon why,

Becauſe he let Epheſtion to dye.

This act (me thinks) his god-head ſhould aſhame;

To puniſh, where himſelf deſerved blame:

Or of neceſſity, he muſt imply,

The other was the greateſt Deity.

From Media to Babylon he went,

To meet him there, t’ Antipater had ſent,

That he might next now act upon the Stage,

And in a Tragedy there end his age.

The Queen Olimpias, bears him deadly hate,

(Not ſuffering her to meddle in the State)

And by her Letters did her Son incite,

This great indignity for to requite.

L2 His 148 L2v 148

His doing ſo, no whit diſpleas’d the King,

Though to his Mother he diſprov’d the thing;

But now, Antipater had liv’d thus long,

He might well dye, though he had done no wrong;

His ſervice great now’s ſuddenly forgot,

Or if remembred, yet regarded not;

The King doth intimate ’twas his intent,

His honours, and his riches, to augment

Of larger Provinces, the rule to give,

And for his Counſell, ne’re the King to live.

So to be caught, Antipater’s too wiſe,

Parmenio’s death’s too freſh before his eyes;

He was too ſubtile for his crafty foe,

Nor by his baits could be enſnared ſo:

But his excuſe with humble thanks he ſends,

His age, and journey long, he now pretends;

And pardon craves, for his unwilling ſtay,

He ſhewes his grief, he’s forc’d to diſobey:

Before his anſwer came to Babylon,

The thread of Alexanders life was ſpun;

Poyſon had put an end to’s dayes ’twas thought,

By Philip, and Caſſander, to him brought,

Sons to Antipater, bearers of his Cup,

Leaſt of ſuch like, their Father chance to ſup:

By others thought, and that more generally,

That through exceſſive drinking he did dye.

The thirty third of’s age doe all agree,

This Conquerour did yeeld to deſtiny;

Whoſe famous Acts muſt laſt, whilſt world ſhall ſtand,

And Conqueſts be talkt of, whilſt there is Land;

His Princely qualities, had he retain’d

Unparalel’d, for ever had remain’d;

But 149 L3r 149

But with the world his vertues overcame,

And so with black, be-clouded all his fame.

Wiſe Ariſtotle, tutour to his youth,

Had ſo inſtructed him in morall truth.

The principles of what he then had learn’d

Might to the laſt (when ſober) be diſcern’d.

Learning, and learned men, he much regarded,

And curious Artiſts evermore rewarded.

The Illiads of Homer he ſtill kept,

And under’s pillow laid them when he ſlept.

Achille’s happineſſe he did envy,

’Cauſe Homer kept his Acts to memory;

Profuſely bountifull, without deſert,

For thoſe that pleas’d him: had both wealth and heart:

Cruell by nature, and by cuſtome too,

As oft his Acts throughtout his reigne did ſhew:

More boundles in ambition then the skie,

Vain thirſting after immorality:

Still fearing that his Name might hap to die,

And fame not laſt unto Eternity:

This conquerour did oft lament (’tis ſed)

There was no worlds, more, to be conquered:

This folly great Auguſtus did deride,

For had he had but wiſdome to his pride,

He would have found enough for to be done,

To govern that he had already won:

His thoughts are periſh’d he aſpires no more,

Nor can he kill, or ſave as heretofore,

A God alive him all muſt Idolize;

Now like a mortall helpleſſe man he lies;

Of all thoſe kingdomes large which he had got,

To his poſterity remain’d no jot,

L3 For 150 L3v 150

For by that hand, which ſtill revengeth bloud,

None of his Kindred, or his Race, long ſtood;

And as he took delight, much bloud to ſpill,

So the ſame cup to his, did others fill.

Four of his Captains, all doe now divide,

As Daniel, before had Propheſied;

The Leopard down, his four wings ’gan to riſe,

The great Horn broke, the leſſe did tytannize;

What troubles, and contentions did enſue,

We may hereafter ſhew, in ſeaſon due.


Great Alexander dead, his Army’s left,

Like to that Giant, of his eye bereft;

When of his monſtrous bulk it was the guide,

His matchleſſe force no Creature could abide;

But by Ulyſſes, having loſt his ſight,

Each man began for to contemn his might;

For ayming ſtill amiſſe, his dreadfull blowes

Did harm himſelf, but never reacht his foes:

Now Court, and Camp, all in confuſion be,

A King they’l have, but who, none can agree:

Each Captain wiſht this prize to beare away,

Yet none ſo hardy found as ſo durſt ſay.

Great Alexander had left iſſue none,

Except by Artabaſus daughter one;

And Roxan faire, whom late he married,

Was neare her time to be delivered;

By Natures right, theſe had enough to claime,

But meanneſſe of their Mothers bard the ſame:

Alleadg’d 151 L4r 151

Alleadg’d by thoſe, which by their ſubtill plea

Had hope themſelves, to beare the Crown away;

A Siſter Alexander had, but ſhe

Claim’d not, perhaps her Sex might hindrance be.

After much tumult, they at laſt proclaim’d

His baſe born Brother Aridæus nam’d,

That ſo under his feeble wit, and reign,

Their ends they might the better ſtill attain.

This choyſe Perdicas, vehemently diſclaim’d,

And th’ unborn babe of Roxan he proclaim’d;

Some wiſhed him, to take the ſtile of King,

Becauſe his Maſter gave to him his Ring,

And had to him, ſtill ſince Epheſtion dyed,

More then to th’ reſt, his favour teſtified:

But he refus’d, with fained modeſty,

Hoping to be elect more generally;

He hold of this occaſion ſhould have laid,

For ſecond offers there were never made;

’Mongſt theſe contentions, tumults, jealouſies,

Seven dayes the Corps of their great Maſter lyes

Untoucht, uncovered, ſlighted, and neglected,

So much theſe Princes their owne ends reſpected.

A contemplation to aſtoniſh Kings,

That he, who late, poſſeſt all earthly things,

And yet not ſo content, unleſſe that he

Might be eſteemed for a Deity;

Now lay a ſpectacle, to teſtifie

The wretchedneſſe of mans mortality.

After this time, when ſtirs began to calme,

The Egyptians, his body did enbalme;

On which, no ſigne of poyſon could be found,

But all his bowels, coloured well, and sound.

L4 Perdicas 152 L4v 152

Perdicas, ſeeing Aridæus must be King,

Under his name begins to rule each thing.

His chief opponents who kept off the Crown,

Was ſtiffe Meleager, whom he would take down,

Him by a wile he got within his power,

And took his life unworthily that houre:

Uſing the name, and the command o’ th’ King

To authorize his Acts in every thing.

The Princes ſeeing Perdicas’s power and Pride,

Thought timely for themſelves, now to provide.

Antigonus, for his ſhare Aſia takes,

And Ptolomy, next ſure of Egypt makes.

Seleuchus afterward held Babylon;

Antipater, had long rul’d Macedon,

Theſe now to govern for the King pretends,

But nothing leſſe: each one himſelf intends.

Perdicas took no Province, like the reſt,

But held command o’ th’ Armies which was beſt;

And had a higher project in his head,

Which was his Maſters siſter for to wed:

So, to the Lady ſecretly he ſent,

That none might know, to fruſtrate his intent;

But Cleopatra, this ſuitour did deny,

For Leonatus, more lovely in her eye,

To whom ſhe ſent a meſſage of her mind,

That if he came, good welcome he ſhould find:

In theſe tumultuous dayes, the thralled Greeks

Their ancient liberty, afreſh now ſeeks,

Shakes off the yoke, ſometimes before laid on

By warlike Philip, and his conquering ſon.

The Athenians, force Antipater to fly

To Lamia, where he ſhut up doth ly;

To 153 L5r 153

To brave Craterus, then, he ſends with ſpeed,

To come and to releaſe him in his need,

The like of Leonatus, he requires,

(Which at this time well ſuited his deſires)

For to Antipater he now might go,

His Lady take i’ th’ way, and no man know.

Antiphilus the Athenian Generall,

With ſpeed his forces doth together call,

Striving to ſtop Leonatus, that ſo

He joyn not with Antipater, that foe,

The Athenian Army was the greater far,

(Which did his match with Cleopatra mar)

For fighting ſtill, whilſt there did hope remain,

The valiant Chief, amidſt his foes was ſlain,

’Mongſt all the Captains of great Alexander,

For perſonage, none was like this Commander:

Now to Antipater, Craterus goes,

Blockt up in Lamia, ſtill by his foes;

Long marches through Cilicia he makes,

And the remains of Leonatus takes;

With them and his, he into Grecia went,

Antipater releas’d from’s priſonment,

After this time, the Greeks did never more

Act any thing of worth, as heretofore,

But under ſervitude, their necks remain’d,

Nor former liberty, or glory gain’d,

Now dy’d (about the end of th’ Lamian warre)

Demoſthenes, that ſweet tongu’d oratour.

Craterus, and Antipater now joyn

In love, and in affinity combine:

Craterus doth his daughter Phiſa wed,

Their friendſhip may the more be ſtrenghtened:

Whilſt 154 L5v 154

Whilſt they in Macedon doe thus agree,

In Aſia they all aſunder be.

Perdicas griev’d, to ſee the Princes bold,

So many Kingdoms in their power to hold,

Yet to regain them, how he did not know,

For’s Souldiers ’gainſt thoſe Captains would not goe;

To ſuffer them goe on, as they begun,

Was to give way, himſelf might be undone;

With Antipater t’ joyn, ſometimes he thought,

That by his help, the reſt might low be brought:

But this again diſlikes, and would remain,

If not in word, in deed a Soveraigne.

Deſires the King, to goe to Macedon,

Which of his Anceſtors was once the throne,

And by his preſence there, to nullifie

The Acts of his Vice-royes, now grown ſo high:

Antigonus of Treaſon firſt attaints,

And ſummons him, to anſwer theſe complaints;

This he avoyds, and ſhips himſelf, and’s Son,

Goes to Antipater, and tels what’s done;

He, and Craterus, both with him now joyn,

And ’gainſt Perdicas, all their ſtrength combine.

Brave Ptolomy, to make a fourth now ſent,

To ſave himſelf from dangers eminent;

In midſt of theſe, Garboyles, with wondrous ſtate,

His Maſters Funerals doth celebrate;

At Alexandria, in Ægypt Land,

His ſumptuous monument long time did ſtand;

Two years and more ſince, Natures debt he paid,

And yet till now, at quiet was not laid.

Great love did Ptolomy by this act gain.

And made the Souldiers on his ſide remain;

Perdicas 155 L6r 155

Perdicas hears, his foes are now combin’d,

(’Gainſt which to goe, is troubled in his minde;)

With Ptolomy for to begin was beſt,

Near’ſt unto him, and fartheſt from the reſt.

Leaves Eumenes, the Aſian coaſt to free,

From the invaſions of the other three;

And with his Army into Ægypt goes,

Brave Ptolomy to th’ utmoſt to oppoſe.

Perdicas ſurly carriage, and his pride,

Did alienate the Souldiers from his ſide;

But Ptolomy by affability,

His ſweet demeanour, and his courteſie,

Did make his owne firme to his cauſe remaine,

And from the other, daily ſome did gaine.

Pithon, next Perdicas, a Captaine high,

Being entreated by him ſcornfully,

Some of the Souldiers enters Perdica’s tent,

Knocks out his braines, to Ptolomy then went,

And offers him his Honours, and his place,

With ſtile of the Protector, would him grace;

Next day into Camp comes Ptolomy,

And is of all received joyfully;

Their proffers he refus’d, with modeſty

Confers them Pithon on, for’s courteſie;

With what held, he now was well content,

Then by more trouble to grow eminent.

Now comes there newes of a great victory,

That Eumenes got of the other three,

Had it but in Perdicas life arriv’d,

With greater joy it would have been receiv’d;

Thus Ptolomy rich Ægypt did retaine,

And Pithon turn’d to Aſia againe.

Whilſt 156 L6v 156

Whilst Perdicas thus ſtaid in Africa,

Antigonus did enter Aſia,

And fain would draw Eumenes to their ſide,

But he alone now faithfull did abide:

The other all, had kingdomes in their eye,

But he was true to’s maſters family,

Nor could Craterus (whom he much did love)

From his fidelity make him once move.

Two battells now he fought, and had the beſt,

And brave Craterus ſlew, amongſt the reſt,

For this great ſtrife, he pours out his complaints,

And his beloved foe, full ſore laments.

I ſhould but ſnip a ſtory into verſe,

And much eclipſe his glory to rehearſe

The difficulties Eumenes befell,

His ſtratagems, wherein he did excel,

His policies, how he did extricate

Himſelf from out of labyrinths intricate.

For all that ſhould be ſaid, let this ſuffice,

He was both valiant, faithfull, patient, wiſe.

Python now choſe protector of the State,

His rule Queen Euridice begins to hate,

Perceives Aridæus must not king it long,

If once young Alexander grow more ſtrong,

But that her Husband ſerve for ſupplement,

To warm the ſeat, was never her intent,

She knew her birthright gave her Macedon,

Grandchild to him, who once ſat on that throne,

Who was Perdicas, Philips elder brother,

She daughter to his ſon, who had no other;

Her mother Cyna ſiſter to Alexander,

Who had an Army, like a great Commander.

Ceria 157 L7r 157

Ceria the Phrigian Queen for to withſtand,

And in a Battell ſlew her hand to hand;

Her Daughter ſhe inſtructed in that Art,

Which made her now begin to play her part;

Pithons commands, She ever countermands

What he appoints, She purpoſely withſtands:

He wearied out, at laſt, would needs be gone,

Reſign’d his place, and ſo let all alone;

In’s ſtead, the Souldiers choſe Antipater,

Who vext the Queen more then the other farre;

He plac’d, diſplac’d, controld, rul’d, as he liſt,

And this no man durſt queſtion, or resiſt;

For all the Princes of great Alexander

Acknowledged for chief, this old Commander:

After a while, to Macedon he makes;

The King, and Queen, along with him he takes.

Two Sons of Alexander, and the reſt,

All to be order’d there as he thought beſt:

The Army with Amigonus did leave.

And government of Aſia to him gave;

And thus Antipater the ground-work layes,

On which Antigonus his height doth raiſe:

Who in few years the reſt ſo over-tops,

For univerſall Monarchy he hopes;

With Eumenes he divers Battels fought,

And by his ſleights to circumvent him ſought;

But vaine it was to uſe his policy,

’Gainſt him, that all deceits could ſcan, and try:

In this Epitomy, too long to tell

How neatly Eumenes did here excell,

That by the ſelfe-ſame traps the other laid,

He to his coſt was righteouſly repaid.

Now 158 L7v 158

Now great Antipater, the world doth leave

To Poliſperchon, then his place he gave,

Fearing his Son Caſſander was unſtay’d,

Too young to beare that charge, if on him lay’d;

Antigonus hearing of his deceaſe,

On moſt part of Aſſyria doth ſeize,

And Ptolomy, now to encroach begins,

All Syria, and, Phenicia he wins;

Now Poliſperchon ’gins to act in’s place,

Recals Olimpias, the Court to grace;

Antipater had baniſht her from thence,

Into Epire, for her great turbulence;

This new Protector’s of another minde,

Thinks by her Majeſty much help to finde;

Caſſander could not (like his father) ſee

This Poliſperchons great ability,

Slights his commands, his actions he diſclaimes;

And to be great himſelfe now bends his aymes;

Such as his father had advanc’d to place,

Or by his favour any way did grace,

Are now at the devotion of the Son,

Preſt to accompliſh what he would have done;

Beſides, he was the young Queens favourite,

On whom (’twas thought) ſhe ſet her chief delight;

Unto theſe helps, in Greece, he ſeeks out more,

Goes to Antigonus, and doth implore,

By all the Bonds ’twixt him and’s father paſt

And for that great gift, which he gave him laſt;

By theſe, and all, to grant him ſome ſupply,

To take down Poliſperchon grown so high;

For this Antigonus needed no ſpurs.

Hoping ſtill more to gaine by theſe new ſtirs;

Straight 159 L8r 159

Straight furniſht him with a ſufficient aide,

Caſſander for return all ſpeed now made:

Poliſperchon, knowing he did relye

Upon thoſe friends, his father rais’d on high,

Thoſe abſent, baniſhed, or elſe he ſlew

All ſuch as he ſuſpected to him true.

Caſſander with his Hoaſt to Grecia goes,

Whom Poliſperchon labours to oppoſe,

But had the worſt at Sea, as well as Land,

And his opponent ſtill got upper hand,

Athens, with many Townes in Greece beſides,

Firme to Caſſander at this time abides:

Whilſt hot in wars theſe two in Greece remaine,

Antigonus doth all in Aſia gaine;

Still labours Eumenes might with him ſide,

But to the laſt he faithfull did abide;

Nor could Mother, nor Sons of Alexander,

Put truſt in any, but in this Commander;

The great ones now began to ſhew their minde,

And act, as opportunity they finde:

Aridæus the ſcorn’d, and ſimple King,

More then he bidden was, could act no thing;

Poliſperchon hoping for’s office long,

Thinks to enthrone the Prince when riper grown;

Euridice this injury diſdaines,

And to Caſſander of this wrong complaines;

Hatefull the Name, and Houſe of Alexander,

Was to this proud, vindicative Caſſander,

He ſtill kept freſh within his memory,

His Fathers danger, with his Family;

Nor counts he that indignity but ſmall,

When Alexander knockt his head to th’ wall:

Theſe 160 L8v 160

Theſe, with his love, unto the amorous Queen

Did make him vow her ſervant to be ſeen.

Olimpias, Aridæus deadly hates,

As all her Husbands children by his Mates;

She gave him poyſon formerly (’tis thought)

Which damage both to minde and body brought:

She now with Poliſperchon doth combine,

To make the King by force his ſeat reſigne;

And her young Nephew in his ſtead t’ inthrone,

That under him ſhe might rule all alone.

For ayde goes to Epire, among her friends,

The better to accompliſh theſe her ends;

Euridice hearing what ſhe intends,

In haſt unto her deare Caſſander ſends,

To leave his Seige at Tagra, and with ſpeed

To come and ſuccour her, in this great need;

Then by intreaties, promiſes, and coyne,

Some Forces did procure, with her to joyne.

Olimpias now enters Macedon,

The Queen to meet her, bravely marched on;

But when her Souldiers ſaw their ancient Queen,

Remembring what ſometime ſhe had been,

The Wife, and Mother, of their famous Kings,

Nor Darts, nor Arrowes now, none ſhoots, nor flings;

Then King, and Queen, to Amphipolis doe fly,

But ſoone are brought into captivity;

The King by extreame torments had his end,

And to the Queen, theſe preſents ſhe doth ſend;

A Halter, cup of Poyſon, and a Sword,

Bids chuſe her death, ſuch kindneſſe ſhe’l afford:

The Queen with many a curſe, and bitter check,

At length yeelds to the Halter, her faire neck;

Praying, 161 M1r 161

Praying, that fatall day might quickly haſte,

On which Olimpias of the like might taſte.

This done, the cruell Queen reſts not content,

Till all that lov’d Caſſander was nigh ſpent;

His Brethern, Kinsfolk, and his chiefeſt friends,

That were within her reach, came to their ends;

Digg’d up his brother dead, ’gainſt natures right,

And throwes his bones about, to ſhew her ſpight.

The Courtiers wondring at her furious minde,

Wiſht in Epire ſhe ſtill had been confin’d;

In Pelioponeſus then Caſſander lay,

Where hearing of this newes he ſpeeds away,

With rage, and with revenge, he’s hurried on,

So goes to finde this Queen in Macedon;

But being ſtopt, at Straight Tharmipoley

Sea paſſage gets, and lands in Theſſaly;

His Army he divides, ſends part away,

Poliſperchon to hold a while in play,

And with the reſt Olimpias purſues,

To give her for all cruelties her dues:

She with the flow’r o’th Court to Pidna flyes,

Well fortified, and on the Sea it lies;

There by Caſſander she’s block’d up, ſo long,

Untill the Famine growes exceeding ſtrong.

Her Couſen of Epire did what he might,

To raiſe the Seige, and put her foes to flight;

Caſſander is reſolv’d, there to remaine,

So ſuccours, and endeavours proves but vaine.

Faine would ſhe come now to capitulate,

Caſſander will not heare, ſuch is his hate.

The Souldiers pinched with this ſcarcity,

By ſtealth unto Caſſander daily fly;

M Olimpias 162 M1v 162

Olimpias wills to keep it, to the laſt,

Expecting nothing, but of death to taſte;

But he unwilling longer there to ſtay,

Gives promiſe for her life, and wins the day:

No ſooner had he got her in his hands,

But made in Judgement her Accuſers ſtand,

And plead the blood of their deare Kindred ſpilt,

Deſiring Juſtice might be done for guilt;

And ſo was he acquitted of his word,

For Juſtice ſake ſhe being put to th’ ſword.

This was the end of this moſt cruell Queen,

Whoſe fury yet unparalleld hath been;

The Daughter, Siſter, Mother, Wife to Kings,

But Royalty no good conditions brings;

So boundleſſe was her pride, and cruelty,

She oft forgot bounds of Humanity.

To Husbands death (’twas thought) ſhe gave conſent,

The Authours death ſhe did ſo much lament,

With Garlands crown’d his head, bemoan’d his Fates,

His ſword unto Apollo conſecrates:

Her out-rages too tedious to relate,

How for no cauſe, but her inveterate hate;

Her Husbands Wife, and Children, after’s death

Some ſlew, ſome fry’d, of others, ſtopt the breath;

Now in her age ſhe’s forc’t to taſte that Cup,

Which ſhe had often made others to ſup:

Now many Townes in Macedon ſuppreſt,

And Pellas faine to yeeld amongſt the reſt;

The Funeralls Caſſandra celebrates,

Of Aridæus, and his Queen, with ſtate;

Among their Anceſtors by him there laid,

And ſhewes of lamentation for them made.

Old 163 M2r 163

Old Thebes he then re-built (ſo much of fame)

And raiſ’d Caſſandria after his name,

But leave him building, others in their urn,

And for a while, let’s into Aſia turn,

True Eumenes endeavours by all skill,

To keep Antigonus from Suſha ſtill,

Having Command o’ th treaſure he can hire,

Such as nor threats, nor favour could acquire;

In divers battels, he had good ſucceſſe,

Antigonus came off ſtill honourleſſe,

When victor oft had been, and ſo might ſtill,

PeuceſtasPeuceſtas did betray him by a wile,

Antigonus, then takes his life unjuſt,

Becauſe he never would let go his truſt:

Thus loſt he all for his fidelity,

Striving t’ uphold his Maſters family,

But as that to a period did haſte,

So Eumenes of deſtiny muſt taſte.

Antigonus, all Perſia now gains,

And Maſter of the treaſure he remains;

Then with Seleushus ſtraight at ods doth fall,

But he for aid to Ptolomy doth call.

The Princes all begin now to envie

Antigonus, his growing up ſo hye,

Fearing their ſtate, and what might hap ere long,

Enter into a combination ſtrong:

Seleuchus, Ptolomy, Caſſander joynes,

Lyſimachus to make a fourth combines:

Antigonus, deſirous of the Greeks,

To make Caſſander odious to them, ſeeks,

Sends forth his declaration from a farre,

And ſhews what cauſe they had to take up warre.

M2 The 164 M2v 164

The Mother of their King to death he’d put,

His Wife, and Son, in priſon cloſe had ſhut;

And how he aymes to make himſelfe a King,

And that ſome title he might ſeeme to bring,

Theſſalonica he had newly wed,

Daughter to Phillip, their renowned head;

Had built, and call’d a City by his name,

Which none e’re did but those of royall fame;

And in deſpight of their two famous Kings,

Th’ hatefull Olinthians to Greece re-brings;

Rebellious Thebs he had re-edified,

Which their late King in duſt had damnified;

Requires them therefore to take up their Armes,

And to requite this Traytor for thoſe harmes:

Now Ptolomy would gain the Greeks likewiſe,

For he declares againſt his injuries;

Firſt, how he held the Empire in his hands,

Seleuchus drove from government, and lands;

Had valiant Eumenes unjuſtly ſlaine,

And Lord o’ th’ City Suſha did remain.

So therefore craves their help to take him down,

Before he weare the univerſall Crown;

Antigonus at Sea ſoone had a fight,

Where Ptolomy, and the reſt put him to flight;

His Son at Gaza likewiſe loſt the field,

So Syria to Ptolomy did yeeld;

And Seleuchus recovers Babylon,

Still gaining Countries Eaſt-ward goes he on.

Demetrius againe with Ptolomy did fight,

And comming unawares put him to flight;

But bravely ſends the Priſoners back againe,

And all the ſpoyle and booty they had tane;

Curtious 165 M3r 165

Curtius, as noble Ptolomy, or more,

Who at Gaza did th’ like to him before.

Antigonus did much rejoyce his ſon,

His loſt repute with victorie had won;

At laſt theſe Princes tired out with warres,

Sought for a peace, and laid aſide their jarres:

The terms of their agreement thus expreſſe,

That each ſhall hold what he doth now poſſeſſe,

Till Alexander unto age was grown,

Who then ſhall be inſtalled in the throne:

This touch’d Caſſander ſore, for what he’d done,

Impriſoning both the mother, and her ſon,

He ſees the Greeks now favour their young Prince,

Whom he in durance held, now and long ſince,

That in few years he muſt be forc’d or glad

To render up ſuch kingdomes as he had

Reſolves to quit his fears by one deed done,

And put to death, the mother and her ſon,

This Roxane for her beautie all commend,

But for one act ſhe did, juſt was her end,

No ſooner was great Alexander dead,

But ſhe Darius’s daughters murthered,

Both thrown into a well to hide her blot,

Perdicas was her partner in this plot:

The Heavens ſeem’d ſlow in paying her the ſame,

But yet at laſt the hand of vengeance came,

And for that double fact which ſhe had done,

The life of her muſt go, and of her ſon

Perdicas had before, for his amiſſe,

But from their hands, who thought not once of this.

Caſſander’s dead, the Princes all deteſt,

But ’twas in ſhew, in heart it pleas’d them beſt

M3 That 166 M3v 166

That he was odious to the world, they’r glad,

And now they are, free Lords, of what they had,

When this foul tragedy was paſt, and done,

Poliſperchon brings up the other ſon,

Call’d Hercules, and elder then his brother,

(But, Olympias, thought to preferre th’ other:)

The Greeks touch’d with the murther done ſo late,

This Prince began for to compaſſionate.

Begin to mutter much ’gainſt proud Caſſander,

And place their hopes o’th heire of Alexander,

Caſſander fear’d what might of this inſue,

So Poliſperchon to his Counſell drew,

Gives Peloponeſus unto him for hire,

Who ſlew the prince according to deſire:

Thus was the race, and houſe of Alexander

Extinct, by this inhumane wretch Caſſander;

Antigonus for all this doth not mourn,

He knows to’s profit, all i’ th end will turn,

But that ſome title he might now pretend,

For marriage to Cleopatra, doth ſend

Lyſimachus and Ptolomy, the ſame,

And vile Caſſander too, ſticks not for ſhame;

She now in Lydia at Sardis lay,

Where, by Embaſſage, all theſe Princes pray,

Choiſe above all, of Ptolomy ſhe makes

With his Embaſſadour, her journey takes,

Antigonu’s Lieutenant ſtayes her ſtill,

Untill he further know his Maſters will;

To let her go, or hold her ſtill, he fears,

Antigonus thus had a wolf by th’ ears,

Reſolves at laſt the Princeſſe ſhou’d be ſlain,

So hinders him of her, he could not gain.

Her 167 M4r 167

Her women are appointed to this deed,

They for their great reward no better ſpeed,

For ſtraight way by command they’r put to death,

As vile conſpiratours that took her breath,

And now he thinks, he’s ordered all ſo well,

The world muſt needs believe what he doth tell:

Thus Philips houſe was quite extinguiſhed,

Except Caſſanders wife, who yet not dead,

And by their means, who thought of nothing leſſe

Then vengeance juſt, againſt the ſame t’ expreſſe;

Now blood was paid with blood, for what was done

By cruell father, mother, cruell ſon,

Who did erect their cruelty in guilt,

And wronging innocents whoſe blood they ſpilt,

Philip and Olympias both were ſlain,

Aridæus and his Queen by ſlaughters ta’ne;

Two other children by Olympias kill’d,

And Cleopatra’s blood, now likewiſe ſpill’d,

If Alexander was not poyſoned,

Yet in the flower of’s age, he muſt lie dead,

His wife and ſons then ſlain by this Caſſander,

And’s kingdomes rent away by each Commander:

Thus may we hear, and fear, and ever ſay,

That hand is righteous ſtill which doth repay:

Theſe Captains now, the ſtile of Kings do take,

For to their Crowns, there’s none can title make.

Demetrius is firſt, that ſo aſſumes,

To do as he, the reſt full ſoon preſumes,

To Athens then he goes, is entertain’d,

Not like a King, but like ſome God they fain’d;

Moſt groſſely baſe, was this great adulation,

Who incenſe burnt, and offered oblation.

M4 Theſe 168 M4v 198168

Theſe Kings fall now afreſh to warres again,

Demetrius of Ptolomy doth gain;

’Twould be an endleſſe ſtory to relate

Their ſeverall battells, and their ſeverall fate,

Antigonus and Seleuchus, now fight

Near Epheſus, each bringing all their might,

And he that conquerour ſhall now remain,

Of Aſia the Lordſhip ſhall retain.

This day twixt theſe two foes ends all the ſtrife,

For here Antigonus loſt rule, and life,

Nor to this ſon did there one foot remain,

Of thoſe dominions he did ſometimes gain,

Demetrius with his troops to Athens flies,

Hoping to find ſuccour in miſeries.

But they adoring in proſperity,

Now ſhut their gates in his adverſity,

He ſorely griev’d at this his deſperate ſtate,

Tries foes, ſince friends will not compaſſionate,

His peace he then with old Seleuchus makes,

Who his fair daughter Straetonica takes,

Antiochus, Seleuchus dear lov’d ſon,

Is for this freſh young Lady half undone,

Falls ſo extreamly ſick, all fear his life,

Yet dares not ſay, he loves his fathers wife;

When his diſeaſe the skilfull Phyſician found,

He wittily his fathers mind did ſound,

Who did no sooner understand the ſame,

But willingly reſign’d the beauteous dame:

Caſſander now muſt die, his race is run,

And leaves the ill got kingdomes he had won,

Two ſons he left, born of King Philips daughter,

Who had an end put to their dayes by ſlaughter.

Which 169 M5r 169

Which ſhould ſucceed, at variance they fell,

The mother would the youngeſt ſhould excell,

The eld’ſt enrag’d did play the vipers part,

And with his Sword did pierce his mothers heart,

(Rather then Philips child muſt longer live)

He, whom ſhe gave his life, her death muſt give)

This by Lyſimachus ſoon after ſlain,

(Whoſe daughter unto wife, he’d newly ta’n)

The youngeſt by Demetrius kill’d in fight,

Who took away his now pretended right:

Thus Philips, and Caſſander’s race is gone,

And ſo falls out to be extinct in one,

Yea though Caſſander died in his bed,

His ſeed to be extirpt, was deſtined,

For blood which was decreed, that he ſhould ſpill,

Yet muſt his children pay for fathers ill.

Jehu in killing Ahabs houſe did well,

Yet be aveng’d, muſt th’ blood of Jeſreel.

Demetrius, Caſſanders kingdomes gains,

And now as King, in Macedon he reigns;

Seleuchus, Aſia holds, that grieves him ſore,

Thoſe Countries large, his father got before,

Theſe to recover, muſters all his might,

And with his ſon in law, will needs go fight:

There was he taken and impriſoned

Within an Iſle that was with pleaſures fed,

Injoy’d what ſo beſeem’d his Royalty,

Onely reſtrained of his liberty;

After three years he dyed, left what he’d won

In Greece, unto Amigonus, his ſon,

For his poſterity unto this day,

Did ne’r regain one foot in Aſia.

Now 170 M5v 170

Now dyed the brave and noble Ptolomy,

Renown’d for bounty, valour, clemency,

Rich Ægypt left, and what elſe he had won

To Philadelphus, his more worthy Son.

Of the old Heroes, now but two remaine,

Seleuchus, and Lyſimachus; thoſe twaine

Muſt needs goe try their fortune, and their might,

And ſo Lyſimachus was ſlaine in fight.

’Twas no ſmall joy, unto Seleuchus breaſt,

That now he had out-lived all the reſt:

Poſſeſſion he of Europe thinks to take,

And ſo himſelfe the only Monarch make;

Whilſt with these hopes, in Greece he did remaine,

He was by Ptolomy Cerannus ſlaine.

The ſecond Son of the firſt Ptolomy,

Who for rebellion unto him did fly,

Seleuchus was as Father, and a friend,

Yet by him had this moſt unworthy end.

Thus with theſe Kingly Captaines have we done,

A little now, how the Succeſſion run:

Antigonus, Seleuchus, and Caſſander,

With Ptolomy, reign’d after Alexander;

Caſſanders Sons, ſoone after’s death were ſlaine,

So three Succeſſors only did remaine;

Antigonus his Kingdoms loſt, and’s life,

Unto Seleuchus, author of that ſtrife.

His Son Demetrius, all Caſſanders gaines,

And his poſterity, the same retaines,

Demetrius Son was call’d Amigonus,

And his againe, alſo Demetriuſ.

I muſt let paſſe thoſe many battels fought,

Between thoſe Kings, and noble Pyrrus ſtout,

And 171 M6r 171

And his ſon Alexander of Epire,

Whereby immortall honour they acquire.

Demetrius had Philip to his ſon,

He Perſeus, from him the kingdom’s won,

Emillius the Roman Generall,

Did take his rule, his ſons, himſelf and all.

This of Antigonus, his ſeed’s the fate,

Whoſe kingdomes were ſubdu’d by th’ Roman ſtate.

Longer Seleuchus held the Royalty

In Syria by his poſterity,

Antiochus Soter his ſon was nam’d,

To whom Ancient Beroſus (ſo much fam’d)

His book of Aſsurs Monarchs dedicates,

Tells of their warres, their names, their riches, fates;

But this is periſhed with many more,

Which we oft wiſh were extant as before.

Antiochus Theos was Soters ſon,

Who a long warre with Egypts King begun.

The affinities and warres Daniel ſet forth,

And calls them there, the Kings of South, and North;

This Theos he was murthered by his wife,

Seleuchus reign’d, when he had loſt his life,

A third Seleuchus next ſits on the ſeat,

And then Antiochus ſurnam’d the great,

Seleuchus next Antiochus ſucceeds,

And then Epiphanes, whoſe wicked deeds,

Horrid maſſacres, murders, cruelties,

Againſt the Jewes, we read in Macchabees,

By him was ſet up the abomination

I’ th’ holy place, which cauſed deſolation;

Antiochus Eupator was the next,

By Rebells and impoſters daily vext;

So 172 M6v 172

So many Princes ſtill were murthered,

The Royall blood was quite extinguiſhed.

That Tygranes the great Armenian King,

To take the government was called in,

Him Lucullus, the Romane Generall

Vanquiſh’d in fight, and took thoſe kingdomes all,

Of Greece, and Syria thus the rule did end,

In Egypt now a little time we’l ſpend.

Firſt Ptolomy being dead, his famous ſon,

Cal’d Philadelphus, next ſat on the throne,

The Library at Alexandria built,

With ſeven hundred thouſand volumes fill’d,

The ſeventy two interpreters did ſeek,

They might tranſlate the Bible into Greek,

His ſon was Evergetes the laſt Prince

That valour ſhew’d, vertue or excellence.

Philopater was Evergete’s ſon,

After Epiphanes, ſat on the Throne

Philometer: then Evergetes again.

And next to him, did falſe Lathurus reigne,

Alexander, then Lathurus in’s ſtead,

Next Auletes, who cut off Pompey’s head:

To all theſe names we Ptolomy muſt adde,

For ſince the firſt, that title ſtill they had,

Fair Cleopatra next, laſt of that race,

Whom Julius Cæſar ſet in Royall place,

Her brother by him, loſt his trayterous head

For Pompey’s life, then plac’d her in his ſtead,

She with her Paramour Mark Antony,

Held for a time the Egyptian Monarchy:

Till great Auguſtus had with him a fight,

At Actium ſlain, his Navy put to flight.

Then 173 M7r 173

Then poyſonous Aſpes ſhe ſets unto her Armes,

To take her life, and quit her from all harmes;

For ’twas not death, nor danger, ſhe did dread,

But ſome diſgrace, in triumph to be led.

Here ends at laſt the Grecian Monarchy,

Which by the Romans had its deſtiny.

Thus Kings, and Kingdoms, have their times, and dates,

Their ſtandings, over-turnings, bounds, and fates;

Now up, now down, now chief, and then brought under,

The Heavens thus rule, to fill the earth with wonder.

The Aſſyrian Monarchy long time did ſtand,

But yet the Perſian got the upper hand;

The Gretian, them did utterly ſubdue,

And Millions were ſubjected unto few:

The Grecian longer then the Perſian ſtood,

Then came the Romane, like a raging flood,

And with the torrent of his rapid courſe,

Their Crownes, their Titles, riches beares by force.

The firſt, was likened to a head of gold,

Next, armes and breaſt, of ſilver to behold;

The third, belly and thighs of braſſe in ſight,

And laſt was Iron, which breaketh all with might.

The Stone out of the Mountaine then did riſe,

And ſmote thoſe feet, thoſe legs, thoſe arms and thighs;

Then gold, ſilver, braſſe, iron, and all that ſtore,

Became like chaffe upon the threſhing floor;

The firſt a Lion, ſecond was a Beare,

The third a Leopard, which four wings did rear;

The laſt more ſtrong, and dreadfull, then the reſt,

Whoſe Iron teeth devoured every beaſt;

And when he had no appetite to eate,

The reſidue he ſtamped under’s feet:

But 174 M7v 174

But yet this Lion, Bear, this Leopard, Ram,

All trembling ſtand, before that powerfull Lambe.

With theſe three Monarchies, now have I done,

But how the fourth, their Kingdoms from them won;

And how from ſmall beginnings it did grow,

To fill the world with terrour, and with woe:

My tired braine, leaves to a better pen,

This taske befits not women, like to men:

For what is paſt I bluſh, excuſe to make,

But humbly ſtand, ſome grave reproof to take:

Pardon to crave, for errours, is but vaine,

The Subject was too high, beyond my ſtraine;

To frame Apologie for ſome offence,

Converts our boldneſſe, into impudence.

This my preſuption (ſome now) to requite,

Ne ſutor ultra crepidum, may write.

After ſome dayes of reſt, my reſtleſſe heart,

To finiſh what begun, new thoughts impart

And maugre all reſolves, my fancy wrought

This fourth to th’ other three, now might be brought.

Shortneſſe of time, and inability,

Will force me to a confus’d brevity;

Yet in this Chaos, one ſhall eaſily ſpy,

The vaſt limbs of a mighty Monarchy.

What e’re is found amiſſe, take in beſt part.

As faults proceeding from my head, not heart.

The 175 M8r 175

The Roman Monarchy,

being the Fourth, and laſt, beginning, -3212Anno Mundi, 3213.

Stout Romulus, Romes Founder, and firſt King,

Whom veſtall Rhea, into th’ world did bring

His Father was not Mars, as ſome devis’d,

But Æmulus, in Armour all diſguis’d.

Thus he deceiv’d his Neece, ſhe might not know

The double injury, he then did doe:

Where Shepheards once had Coats, and Sheep their Folds,

Where Swaines, and ruſtick Peaſants made their Holds.

A Citty faire did Romulus erect:

The Mistris of the World, in each reſpect.

His Brother Remus there, by him was ſlaine,

For leaping o’re the Walls with ſome diſdaine;

The Stones at firſt was cimented with bloud,

And bloudy hath it prov’d, ſince firſt it ſtood:

176 M8v 176

This City built, and Sacrifices done,

A forme of Government he next begun;

A hundred Senators he likewiſe choſe,

And with the ſtile of Patres honour’d thoſe;

His City to repleniſh, men he wants,

Great priviledges then, to all he grants,

That wil within theſe ſtrong built walls reſide,

And this new gentle Government abide:

Of Wives there was ſo great a ſcarſity,

They to their neighbours ſue, for a ſupply;

But all diſdaine alliance then to make,

So Romulus was forc’d this courſe to take.

Great ſhewes he makes at Tilt, and Turnament,

To ſee theſe ſports, the Sabins all are bent;

Their Daughters by the Romans then were caught,

For to recover them, a Feild was fought;

But in the end, to finall peace they come,

And Sabins, as one people, dwelt in Rome.

The Romans now more potent ’gin to grow,

And Fedinates they wholly over-throw:

But Romulus then comes unto his end,

Some faining ſay, to heav’n he did aſcend;

Others, the ſeven and thirtyeth of his reigne

Affirme, that by the Senate he was ſlaine.

Numa Pompilius.

Numa Pompilius, is next choſen King,

Held for his Piety, ſome ſacred thing;

To Janus, he that famous Temple built,

Kept ſhut in peace, but ope when bloud was ſpilt;

Religious 177 N1r 177

Religious Rites, and Cuſtoms inſtituted,

And Prieſts, and Flamines likewiſe he deputed;

Their Augurs ſtrange, their habit, and attire,

And veſtall Maids to keep the holy fire.

Goddeſſe Ægeria this to him told,

So to delude the people he was bold:

Forty three yeares he rul’d with generall praiſe,

Accounted for ſome god in after dayes.

Tullus Hoſtilius.

Tullus Hoſtilius, was third Roman King,

Who Martiall Diſcipline in uſe did bring;

War with the antient Albans he doth wage,

The ſtrife to end, ſix Brothers doe ingage;

Three call’d Horatii, on Romans ſide,

And Curiatii, three Albans provide;

The Romans Conquereth, others yeeld the day,

Yet for their compact, after falſe they play:

The Romans ſore incens’d, their Generall ſlay,

And from old Alba fetch the wealth away;

Of Latine Kings this was long ſince the Seat,

But now demoliſhed, to make Rome great.

Thirty two years doth Tullus reigne, then dye,

Leaves Rome, in wealth and power, ſtill growing high.

Aneus Martius.

Next, Aneus Martius ſits upon the Throne,

Nephew unto Pomphilius dead, and gone;

N Rome 178 N1v 178

Rome he inlarg’d, new built againe the wall,

Much ſtronger, and more beautifull withall;

A ſtately Bridge he over Tyber made,

Of Boats, and Oares, no more they need the aide;

Faire Oſtia he built, this Town, it ſtood,

Cloſe by the mouth of famous Tyber flood:

Twenty foure yeare, th’ time of his royall race,

Then unto death unwillingly gives place.

Tarquinius Priſcus.

Tarquin, a Greek, at Corinth borne, and bred;

Who for ſedition from his Country fled;

Is entertain’d at Rome, and in ſhort time,

By wealth, and favour, doth to honour climbe;

He after Martius death the Kingdome had,

A hundred Senatours he more did adde;

Warres with the Latins he againe renewes,

And Nations twelve, of Tuſcany ſubdues.

To ſuch rude triumphs, as young Rome then had,

Much ſtate, and glory, did this Priſcus adde:

Thirty eight yeares (this Stranger borne) did reigne,

And after all, by Aneus Sons was ſlaine.

Servius Tullius.

Next, Servius Tullius ſits upon the Throne,

Aſcends not up, by merits of his owne,

But by the favor, and the ſpeciall grace

Of Tanaquil, late Queen, obtaines the place;

He 179 N2r 179

He ranks the people, into each degree,

As wealth had made them of abilitie;

A generall Muſter takes, which by account,

To eighty thouſand ſoules then did amount:

Forty foure yeares did Servius Tullius reigne,

And then by Tarquin, Priſcus Son, was ſlaine.

Tarquinius Superbus, the laſt Roman King.

Tarquin the proud, from manners called ſo,

Sate on the Throne, when he had ſlaine his foe;

Sextus his Son, doth (moſt unworthily)

Lucretia force, mirrour of chaſtety;

She loathed ſo the fact, ſhe loath’d her life,

And ſhed her guiltleſſe blood, with guilty knife.

Her Husband ſore incens’d, to quit this wrong,

With Junius Brutus roſe, and being ſtrong,

The Tarquins they from Rome with ſpeed expell,

In baniſhment perpetuall, to dwell;

The Government they change, a new one bring,

And people ſweare, ne’re to accept of King.

The end of the Roman Monarchy, being the fourth and laſt.

N2 A 180 N2v 180

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


New England.

Alas, deare Mother, faireſt Queen, and beſt,

With honour, wealth, and peace, happy and bleſt;

What ayles thee hang thy head, and croſſe, thine armes?

And ſit i’ th duſt, to ſigh theſe ſad alarms?

What deluge of new woes thus over-whelme

The glories of thy ever famous Realme?

What meanes this wailing tone, this mourning guiſe?

Ah, tell thy Daughter, ſhe may ſimpathize.

Old England.

Art ignorant indeed, of theſe my woes?

Or muſt my forced tongue theſe griefes diſcloſe?

And 181 N3r 181

And muſt my ſelfe diſſect my tatter’d ſtate,

Which ’mazed Chriſtendome ſtands wondring at?

And thou a childe, a Limbe, and doſt not feele

My weakned fainting body now to reele?

This Phiſick-purging-potion I have taken,

Will bring Conſumption, or an Ague quaking,

Unleſſe ſome Cordial thou fetch from high,

Which preſent help may eaſe this malady.

If I deceaſe, doſt think thou ſhalt ſurvive?

Or by my waſting ſtate, doſt think to thrive?

Then weigh our caſe, if ’t be not juſtly ſad,

Let me lament alone, while thou art glad.

New England.

And thus, alas, your ſtate you much deplore,

In generall terms, but will not ſay wherefore:

What Medicine ſhall I ſeek to cure this woe,

If th’ wound’s ſo dangerous I may not know?

But you perhaps would have me gueſſe it out,

What, hath ſome Hengiſt, like that Saxon ſtout,

By fraud, and force, uſurp’d thy flowring crown,

And by tempeſtuous Wars thy fields trod down?

Or hath Canutus, that brave valiant Dane,

The regall, peacefull Scepter from thee tane?

Or is’t a Norman, whoſe victorious hand

With Engliſh blood bedews thy conquered Land?

Or is’t inteſtine Wars that thus offend?

Doe Maud, and Stephen for the Crown contend?

Doe Barons riſe, and ſide againſt their King?

And call in Forreign ayde, to help the thing?

N3 Muſt 182 N3v 182

Muſt Edward be depos’d, or is’t the houre

That ſecond Richard muſt be clapt i’ th’ Tower?

Or is the fatall jarre againe begun,

That from the red, white pricking Roſes ſprung?

Muſt Richmonds ayd, the Nobles now implore,

To come, and break the tuſhes of the Boar?

If none of theſe, deare Mother, what’s your woe?

Pray, doe not feare Spaines bragging Armado?

Doth your Allye, faire France, conſpire your wrack?

Or, doth the Scots play falſe behind your back?

Doth Holland quit you ill, for all your love?

Whence is this ſtorme, from Earth, or Heaven above?

Is’t Drought, is’t Famine, or is’t Peſtilence?

Doſt feele the ſmart, or feare the conſequence?

Your humble Childe intreats you, ſhew your grief,

Though Armes, nor Purſe ſhe hath, for your releif:

Such is her poverty, yet ſhall be found

A ſupplyant for your help, as ſhe is bound.

Old England.

I muſt confeſſe., ſome of thoſe Sores you name,

My beauteous Body at this preſent maime;

But forraigne Foe, nor fained friend I feare,

For they have work enough (thou knowſt) elſewhere;

Nor is it Alcies Son, and Henries Daughter,

Whoſe proud contention cauſe this ſlaughter;

Nor Nobles ſiding, to make John no King

French Lewis unjuſtly to the Crown to bring;

No Edward, Richard, to loſe rule, and life,

Nor no Lancaſtrians, to renew old ſtrife;

No 183 N4r 183

No Crook-backt Tyrant, now uſurps the Seat,

Whoſe tearing tusks did wound, and kill, and threat:

No Duke of York, nor Earle of March, to ſoyle

Their hands in Kindreds blood, whom they did foyle:

No need of Teder, Roſes to unite,

None knowes which is the Red, or which the White:

Spaines braving Fleet a ſecond time is ſunke,

France knowes, how of my fury ſhe hath drunk;

By Edward third, and Henry fifth of fame,

Her Lillies in mine Armes avouch the ſame.

My Siſter Scotland hurts me now no more,

Though ſhe hath bin injurious heretofore.

What Holland is, I am in ſome ſuſpence,

But truſt not much unto his Excellence;

For wants, ſure some I feele, but more I feare,

And for the Peſtilence, who knowes how neare?

Famine, and Plague, two ſiſters of the Sword,

Deſtruction to a Land doth ſoone afford;

They’re for my puniſhments ordain’d on high,

Unleſſe thy teares prevent it ſpeedily.

But yet, I anſwer not what you demand,

To ſhew the grievance of my troubled Land;

Before I tell the effect, ile ſhew the cauſe,

Which are my Sins, the breach of ſacred Lawes;

Idolatry, ſupplanter of a Nation,

Which fooliſh ſuperſtitious adoration;

And lik’d countenanc’d by men of might,

The Goſpel is trod down, and hath no right;

Church Offices are ſold, and bought, for gaine,

That Pope, had hope, to finde Rome here againe;

For Oathes, and Blaſphemies did ever eare

From Beelzebub himself, ſuch language heare?

N4 What 184 N4v 184

What ſcorning of the Saints of the moſt high,

What injuries did daily on them lye;

What falſe reports, what nick-names did they take,

Not for their owne, but for their Maſters ſake;

And thou, poore ſoule, waſt jeer’d among the reſt,

Thy flying for the Truth I made a jeaſt;

For Sabbath-breaking, and for Drunkenneſſe,

Did ever Land prophanneſſe more expreſſe?

From crying bloods, yet cleanſed am not I,

Martyrs, and others, dying cauſeleſly:

How many Princely heads on blocks laid down,

For nought, but title to a fading Crown?

’Mongſt all the cruelties which I have done,

Oh, Edwards Babes, and Clarence hapleſſe Son,

O Jane, why didſt thou dye in flowring prime,

Becauſe of Royall Stem, that was thy crime:

For Bribery, Adultery, for Thefts, and Lyes,

Where is the Nation, I cann’t paralize;

With Uſury, Extortion, and Oppreſſion,

Theſe be the Hydra’s of my ſtout tranſgreſſion;

Theſe be the bitter fountains, heads, and roots,

Whence flow’d the ſource, the ſprigs, the boughs, and fruits;

Of more then thou canſt heare, or I relate,

That with high hand I ſtill did perpetrate;

For theſe, were threatned the wofull day,

I mock’d the Preachers, put it faire away;

The Sermons yet upon record doe ſtand,

That cry’d, deſtruction to my wicked Land:

Theſe Prophets mouthes (alls the while) was ſtopt,

Unworthily, ſome backs whipt, and eares crept;

Their reverent cheeks, did beare the glorious markes

Of ſtinking, ſtigmatizing, Romiſh Clerkes;

Some 185 N5r 185

Some loſt their livings, ſome in priſon pent,

Some groſſely fin’d, from friends to exile went:

Their ſilent tongues to heaven did vengeance cry,

Who heard their cauſe, and wrongs judg’d righteouſly,

And will repay it ſevenfold in my lap,

This is fore-runner of my after-clap,

Nor took I warning by my neighbours falls,

I ſaw ſad Germanie’s diſmantled walls.

I ſaw her people famiſh’d, Nobles slain,

Her fruitfull land, a barren heath remain.

I ſaw (unmov’d) her Armies foil’d and fled,

Wives forc’d, braves toſſ’d, her houſes calcined,

I ſaw ſtrong Rochel yeelding to her foe,

Thouſands of ſtarved Chriſtians there alſo.

I ſaw poore Ireland bleeding out her laſt,

Such cruelty as all reports have paſt.

My heart obdurate, ſtood not yet agaſt.

Now ſip I of that cup, and juſt ’t may be,

The bottome dregs reſerved are for me.

New England.

To all you’ve ſaid, ſad mother, I aſſent

Your fearfull ſinnes, great cauſe there’s to lament,

My guilty hands (in part) hold up with you,

A ſharer in your puniſhment’s my due,

But all you ſay, amounts to this effect,

Not what you feel, but what you do expect.

Pray in plain termes, what is your preſent grief,

Then let’s join heads, and hands for your relief.

Old 186 N5v 186

Old England.

Well, to the matter then, there’s grown of late,

’Twixt King and Peeres a queſtion of ſtate,

Which is the chief, the law, or elſe the King,

One ſaith its he, the other no ſuch thing.

My better part in Court of Parliament,

To eaſe my groaning land ſhew their intent,

To cruſh the proud, and right to each man deal.

To help the Church, and ſtay the Common-Weal,

So many obſtacles comes in their way,

As puts me to a ſtand what I ſhould ſay,

Old cuſtomes, new Prerogatives ſtood on,

Had they not held law faſt, all had been gone,

Which by their prudence ſtood them in ſuch ſtead,

They took high Strafford lower by the head,

And to their Laud be ’t ſpoke, they held i’ th’ Tower,

All Englands Metropolitane that houre,

This done, an Act they would have paſſed fain,

No prelate ſhould his Biſhoprick retain;

Here tugg’d they hard indeed, for all men ſaw,

This muſt be done by Goſpel, not by law.

Next the Militia they urged fore,

This was deny’d, I need not ſay wherefore.

The King diſpleas’d, at York himſelf abſents,

They humbly beg return, ſhew their intents,

The writing, printing, poſting to and fro,

Shews all was done, I’ll therefore let it go.

But now I come to ſpeak of my diſaſter,

Contention’s grown ’twixt Subjects and their Maſter:

They 187 N6r 187

They worded it ſo long, they fell to blows,

That thouſands lay on heaps, here bleeds my woes.

I that no warres, ſo many yeares have known,

Am now deſtroy’d, and ſlaughter’d by mine own,

But could the field alone this cauſe decide,

One battell, two or three I might abide,

But theſe may be beginnings of more woe,

Who knows, the worſt, the beſt may overthrow;

Religion, Goſpell, here lies at the ſtake,

Pray now dear child, for ſacred Zions ſake,

Oh pity me, in this ſad perturbation,

My plundered Townes, my houſes devaſtation,

My raviſht virgins, and my young men ſlain,

My wealthy trading faln, my dearth of grain,

The ſeed time’s come, but Ploughman hath no hope,

Becauſe he knows not, who ſhall inn his crop:

The poore they want their pay, their children bread,

Their wofull mother’s tears unpitied.

If any pity in thy heart remain,

Or any child-like love thou doſt retain,

For my relief now uſe thy utmoſt skill,

And recompence me good, for all my ill.

New England.

Dear mother ceaſe complaints, and wipe your eyes,

Shake off your duſt, chear up, and now ariſe,

You are my mother, nurſe, I once your fleſh,

Your ſunken bowels gladly would refreſh:

Your griefs I pity much, but ſhould do wrong,

To weep for that we both have pray’d for long,

To 188 N6v 188

To ſee theſe latter dayes of hop’d for good,

That Right may have its right, though ’t be with blood;

After dark Popery the day did clear,

But now the Sun in’s brightneſſe ſhall appear,

Bleſt be the Nobles of thy Noble Land,

With (ventur’d lives) for truths defence that ſtand,

Bleſt be thy Commons, who for Common good,

And thine infringed Lawes have boldly ſtood.

Bleſt be thy Countries which do aid thee ſtill

With hearts and ſtates, to teſtifie their will.

Bleſt be thy Preachers, who do chear thee on,

O cry: the ſword of God, and Gideon:

And ſhall I not on thoſe wiſh Mero’s curſe,

That help thee not with prayers, arms, and purſe,

And for my ſelf, let miſeries abound,

If mindleſſe of thy ſtare I e’r be found.

Theſe are the dayes, the Churches foes to cruſh,

To root out Prelates, head, tail, branch, and ruſh.

Let’s bring Baals veſtments out, to make a fire,

Their Myters, Surplices, and all their tire,

Copes, Rochests, Croſſiers, and ſuch traſh,

And let their names conſume, but let the flaſh

Light Chriſtendome, and all the world to ſee,

We hate Romes Whore, with all her trumperie.

Go on brave Eſſex, ſhew whoſe ſon thou art,

Not falſe to King nor Countrey in thy heart,

But thoſe that hurt his people and his Crown,

By force expell, deſtroy, and tread them down:

Let Gaoles be fill’d with th’ remnant of that pack,

And ſturdy Tyburn loaded till it crack,

And yee brave Nobles, chaſe away all fear,

And to this bleſſed Cauſe cloſely adhere

O 189 N7r 189

O mother, can you weep, and have ſuch Peeres.

When they are gone, then drown your ſelf in teares.

If now you weep ſo much, that then no more,

The briny Ocean will o’rflow your ſhore,

Theſe, theſe, are they (I truſt) with Charles our King

Out of all miſts, ſuch glorious dayes will bring,

That dazzled eyes beholding much ſhall wonder

At that thy ſetled Peace, thy wealth and ſplendour,

Thy Church and Weal, eſtabliſh’d in ſuch manner,

That all ſhall joy that thou diſplay’dſt thy banner,

And diſcipline erected, ſo I truſt,

That nurſing Kings, ſhall come and lick thy duſt:

Then Juſtice ſhall in all thy Courts take place,

Without reſpect of perſons, or of caſe,

Then bribes ſhall ceaſe, and ſuits ſhall not ſtick long,

Patience, and purſe of Clients for to wrong:

Then High Commiſſions ſhall fall to decay,

And Purſevants and Catchpoles want their pay,

So ſhall thy happy Nation ever flouriſh,

When truth and righteouſneſſe they thus ſhall nouriſh.

When thus in Peace: thine Armies brave ſend out,

To ſack proud Rome, and all her vaſſalls rout:

There let thy name, thy fame, thy valour ſhine,

As did thine Anceſtours in Paleſtine,

And let her ſpoils, full pay, with int’reſt be,

Of what unjuſtly once ſhe poll’d from thee,

Of all the woes thou canſt let her be ſped,

Execute to th’ full the vengeance threatned.

Bring forth the beaſt that rul’d the world with’s beek,

And tear his fleſh, and ſet your feet on’s neck,

And make his filthy den ſo deſolate,

To th’ ’ſtoniſhment of all that knew his ſtate.

This 190 N7v 190

This done, with brandiſh’d ſwords, to Turky go,

(For then what is’t, but Engliſh blades dare do)

And lay her waſt, for ſo’s the ſacred doom,

And do to Gog, as thou haſt done to Rome.

Oh Abrahams ſeed lift up your heads on high.

For ſure the day of your redemption’s nigh;

The ſcales ſhall fall from your long blinded eyes,

And him you ſhall adore, who now deſpiſe,

Then fulnes of the Nations in ſhall flow,

And Jew and Gentile, to one worſhip go,

Then follows dayes of happineſſe and reſt,

Whoſe lot doth fall to live therein is bleſt:

No Canaanite ſhall then be found ith’ land,

And holineſſe, on horſes bells ſhall ſtand,

If this make way thereto, then ſigh no more,

But if at all, thou didſt not ſee’t before.

Farewell dear mother, Parliament, prevail,

And in a while you’l tell another tale.

An 191 N8r 191

An Elegie upon that Honourable and renowned Knight, Sir Philip Sidney, who was untimely ſlaine at the Seige of Zutphon, 1586Anno 1586.

By A. B.


When England did injoy her Halſion dayes,

Her noble Sidney wore the Crown of Bayes;

No leſſe an Honour to our Britiſh Land,

Then ſhe that ſway’d the Scepter with her hand:

Mars and Minerva did in one agree,

Of Armes, and Arts, thou ſhould’ſt a patterne be.

Calliope with Terpſecher did ſing,

Of Poeſie, and of Muſick thou wert King;

Thy Rhethorick it ſtruck Polimnia dead,

Thine Eloquence made Mercury wax red;

Thy Logick from Euterpe won the Crown,

More worth was thine, then Clio could ſet down.

Thalia, and Melpomene, ſay th’ truth,

(Witneſſe Arcadia, penn’d in his youth)

Are 192 N8v 192

Are not his Tragick Comedies ſo acted,

As if your nine-fold wit had been compacted;

To ſhew the world, they never ſaw before,

That this one Volumne ſhould exhauſt your ſtore.

I praiſe thee not for this, it is unfit,

This was thy ſhame, O miracle of wit:

Yet doth thy ſhame (with all) purchaſe renown,

What doe thy vertues then? Oh, honours crown!

In all records, thy Name I ever ſee,

Put with an Epithet of dignity;

Which ſhewes, thy worth was great, thine honour ſuch,

The love thy Country ought thee, was as much.

Let then, none diſ-allow of theſe my ſtraines,

Which have the ſelf-ſame blood yet in my veines;

Who honours thee for what was honourable,

But leaves the reſt, as moſt unprofitable:

Thy wiſer dayes, condemn’d thy witty works,

Who knowes the Spels that in thy Rethorick lurks?

But ſome insatuate fooles ſoone caught therein,

Found Cupids Dam, had never ſuch a Gin;

Which makes ſeverer eyes but ſcorn thy Story,

And modeſt Maids, and Wives, bluſh at thy glory;

Yet, he’s a beetle head, that cann’t diſcry

A world of treaſure, in that rubbiſh lye;

And doth thy ſelfe, thy worke, and honour wrong,

(O brave Refiner of our Brittiſh Tongue;)

That ſees not learning, valour, and morality,

Juſtice, friendſhip, and kind hoſpitality;

Yea, and Divinity within thy Book,

Such were prejudicate, and did not look:

But to ſay truth, thy worth I ſhall but ſtaine,

Thy fame, and praiſe, is farre beyond my ſtraine;

Yet 193 O1r 193

Yet great Auguſtus was content (we know)

To be ſaluted by a ſilly Crow;

Then let ſuch Crowes as I, thy praiſes ſing,

A Crow’s a Crow, and Cæſar is a King.

O brave Achilles, I wiſh ſome Homer would

Engrave on Marble, in characters of Gold,

What famous feats thou didſt on Flanders coaſt,

Of which, this day, faire Belgia doth boaſt.

O Zutphon, Zutphon, that moſt fatall City,

Made famous by thy fall, much more’s the pitty;

Ah, in his blooming prime, death pluckt this Roſe,

E’re he was ripe; his thred cut Atropos.

Thus man is borne to dye, and dead is he,

Brave Hector by the walls of Troy, we ſee:

Oh, who was neare thee, but did ſore repine;

He reſcued not with life, that life of thine,

But yet impartiall Death this Boone did give,

Though Sidney dy’d, his valiant name ſhould live;

And live it doth, in ſpight of death, through fame,

Thus being over-come, he over-came.

Where is that envious tongue, but can afford,

Of this our noble Scipio ſome good word?

Noble Bartas, this to thy praiſe adds more,

In ſad, ſweet verſe, thou didſt his death deplore;

Illuſtrious Stella, thou didſt thine full well,

If thine aſpect was milde to Aſtrophell;

I feare thou wert a Commet, did portend

Such prince as he, his race ſhould ſhortly end:

If ſuch Stars as theſe, ſad preſages be,

I wiſh no more such Blazers we may ſee;

But thou art gone, ſuch Meteors never laſt,

And as thy beauty, ſo thy name would waſt.

O But 194 O1v 194

But that it is record by Philips hand,

That ſuch an omen once was in our land,

O Princely Philip, rather Alexander,

Who wert of honours band, the chief Commander.

How could that Stella, ſo confine thy will?

To wait till ſhe, her influence diſtill,

I rather judg’d thee of his mind that wept,

To be within the bounds of one world kept,

But Omphala, ſet Hercules to ſpin,

And Mars himſelf was ta’n by Venus gin;

Then wonder leſſe, if warlike Philip yield,

When ſuch a Hero ſhoots him out o’ th’ field,

Yet this preheminence thou haſt above,

That thine was true, but theirs adult’rate love.

Fain would I ſhew, how thou fame’s path didſt tread,

But now into ſuch Lab’rinths am I led

With endleſſe turnes, the way I find not out,

For to perſiſt, my muſe is more in doubt:

Calls me ambitious fool, that durſt aſpire,

Enough for me to look, and ſo admire.

And makes me now with Sylveſter confeſſe,

But Sydney’s Muſe, can ſing his worthineſſe.

Too late my errour ſee, that durſt preſume

To fix my faltring lines upon his tomb:

Which are in worth, as far ſhort of his due,

As Vulcan is, of Venus native hue.

Goodwill, did make my head-long pen to run,

Like unwiſe Phaeton his ill guided ſonne,

Till taught to’s coſt, for his too haſty hand,

He left that charge by Phœbus to be man’d:

So proudly fooliſh I, with Phaeton ſtrive,

Fame’s flaming Chariot for to drive.

Till 195 O2r 195

Till terrour-ſtruck for my too weighty charge.

I leave’t in brief, Apollo do’t at large.

Apollo laught to patch up what’s begun,

He bad me drive, and he would hold the Sun;

Better my hap, then was his darlings fate,

For dear regard he had of Sydney’s ſtate,

Who in his Deity, had ſo deep ſhare,

That thoſe that name his fame, he needs muſt ſpare,

He Promis’d much, but th’ muſes had no will,

To give to their detractor any quill.

With high diſdain, they ſaid they gave no more,

Since Sydney had exhauſted all their ſtore,

That this contempt it did the more perplex,

In being done by one of their own ſex;

They took from me, the ſcribling pen I had,

I to be eas’d of ſuch a task was glad.

For to revenge his wrong, themſelves ingage,

And drave me from Parnaſſus in a rage,

Not becauſe, ſweet Sydney’s fame was not dear,

But I had blemiſh’d theirs, to make ’t appear:

I penſive for my fault, ſat down, and then,

Errata, through their leave threw me my pen,

For to conclude my poem two lines they daigne,

Which writ, ſhe bad return’t to them again.

So Sydney’s fame, I leave to England’s Rolls,

His bones do lie interr’d in ſtately Pauls.

His Epitaph.

Here lies intomb’d in fame, under this ſtone,

Philip and Alexander both in one.

O1 Heir 196 O2v 196

Heire to the Muses, the Son of Mars in truth,

Learning, valour, beauty, all in vertuous youth:

His praiſe is much, this ſhall ſuffice my pen,

That Sidney dy’d the quinteſſence of men.

In honour of Du Bartas.


A. B.

Amongſt the happy wits this Age hath ſhowne,

Great, deare, ſweet Bartas, thou art matchleſſe knowne;

My raviſht eyes, and heart, with faltering tongue,

In humble wiſe have vow’d their ſervice long;

But knowing th’ taske ſo great, and ſtrength but ſmall,

Gave o’re the work, before begun withall:

My dazled ſight of late, review’d thy lines.

Where Art, and more then Art in Nature ſhines;

Reflection from their beaming altitude,

Did thaw my frozen hearts ingratitude;

Which Rayes, darting upon ſome richer ground,

Had cauſed flowers, and fruits, ſoone to abound;

But barren I, my Dayſey here doe bring,

A homely flower in this my latter ſpring:

If Summer, or my Autumne age, doe yeeld

Flowers, fruits, in garden, orchard, or in field;

They 197 O3r 197

They ſhall be conſecrated in my Verſe,

And proſtrate off’red at great Bartas Herſe.

My Muſe unto a Childe, I fitly may compare,

Who ſees the riches of ſome famous Fayre;

He feeds his eyes, but underſtanding lacks,

To comprehend the worth of all thoſe knacks;

The glittering Plate, and Jewels, he admires,

The Hats, and Fans, the Plumes, and Ladies tires,

And thouſand times his mazed minde doth wiſh

Some part, at leaſt, of that brave wealth was his;

But ſeeing empty wiſhes nought obtaine,

At night turnes to his Mothers cot againe,

And tells her tales; (his full heart over-glad)

Of all the glorious ſights his eyes have had:

But findes too ſoone his want of Eloquence,

The ſilly Pratler ſpeakes no word of ſence;

And ſeeing utterance fayle his great deſires,

Sits down in ſilence, deeply he admires:

Thus weake brain’d I, reading thy lofty ſtile,

Thy profound Learning; viewing other while

Thy Art, in Naturall Philoſophy:

Thy Saint-like minde in grave Divinity,

Thy peircing skill in high Aſtronomy,

And curious in-ſight in Anatomy,

Thy Phiſick, Muſick, and State policy,

Valour in War, in Peace good Husbandry.

Sure liberall Nature, did with Art not ſmall,

In all the Arts make thee moſt liberall;

A thouſand thouſand times my ſenſleſſe Sences,

Moveleſſe, ſtand charm’d by thy ſweet influences,

More ſenceleſſe then the Stones to Amphions Lute,

Mine eyes are ſightleſſe, and my tongue is mute;

O3 My 198 O3v 198

My full aſtoniſh’d heart doth pant to break,

Through grief it wants a faculty to ſpeak,

Vollies of praiſes could I eccho then,

Had I an Angels voice, or Barta’s pen,

But wiſhes cann’t accompliſh my deſire,

Pardon, if I adore, when I admire.

O France, in him thou didſt more glory gain,

Then in thy Pippin, Martell, Charlemain.

Then in Saint Lewis, or thy laſt Henry great,

Who tam’d his foes, in bloud, in skarres and ſweat,

Thy fame is ſpread as farre, I dare be bold,

In all the Zones, the temp’rate, hot and cold,

Their trophies were but heaps of wounded ſlain,

Thine the quinteſſence of an Heroick brain,

The Oaken garland ought to deck their browes,

Immortall bayes, all men to thee allows.

Who in thy tryumphs (never won by wrongs)

Leadſt millions chaind by eyes, by eares, by tongues,

Oft have I wondred at the hand of heaven,

In giving one, what would have ſerved ſeven.

If e’r this golden gift was ſhowr’d on any,

Thy double portion would have ſerved many.

Unto each man his riches are aſſign’d,

Of names, of ſtate, of body, or of mind,

Thou haſt thy part of all, but of the laſt,

Oh pregnant brain, Oh comprehenſion vaſt:

Thy haughty ſtile, and rapted wit ſublime,

All ages wondring at, ſhall never clime.

Thy ſacred works are not for imitation,

But monuments for future admiration:

Thus Bartas fame ſhall laſt while ſtarres do ſtand,

And whilſt there’s aire, or fire, or ſea or land.

But 199 O4r 199

But leſt my ignorance ſhould doe thee wrong,

To celebrate thy merits in my Song,

Ile leave thy praiſe, to thoſe ſhall doe thee right,

Good will, not skill, did cauſe me bring my mite.

His Epitaph.

Here lyes the pearle of France, Parnaſſus glory,

The world rejoyc’d at’s birth, at’s death was ſorry;

Art and Nature joyn’d, by heavens high decree,

Now ſhew’d what once they ought, Humanity,

And Natures Law; had it been revocable,

To reſcue him from death, Art had been able:

But Nature vanquiſh’d Art, ſo Bartas dy’d,

But Fame, out-living both, he is reviv’d.

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

The Proem.

Although great Queen, thou now in ſilence lye,

Yet thy loud Herauld Fame, doth to the sky

Thy wondrous worth proclaime, in every clime,

And ſo has vow’d, whilſt there is world, or time;

O4 So 200 O4v 200

So great’s thy glory, and thine excellence,

The ſound thereof raps every humane ſence;

That men account it no impiety,

To ſay, thou wert a fleſhly Deity:

Thouſands bring off’rings, (though out of date)

Thy world of honours to accumulate,

Mongſt hundred Hecatombs of roaring Verſe,

’Mine bleating ſtands before thy royall Herſe:

Thou never didſt, nor canſt thou now diſdaine,

T’accept the tribute of a loyall Braine;

Thy clemency did yerſt eſteeme as much

The acclamations of the poore, as rich;

Which makes me deeme, my rudeneſſe is no wrong,

Though I reſound thy greatneſſe ’mongſt the throng.

The Poem.

No Phœnix Pen, nor Spencers Poetry,

No Speeds, nor Chamdens learned Hiſtory;

Eliza’s works, wars, praiſe, can e’re compact,

The World’s the Theater where ſhe did act;

No memories, nor volumes can containe,

The nine Olimp’ades of her happy reigne;

Who was ſo good, ſo juſt, ſo learn’d, ſo wiſe,

From all the Kings on earth ſhe won the prize;

Nor ſay I more then duly is her due,

Millions will teſtifie that this is true;

She hath wip’d off th’ aſperſion of her Sex,

That women wiſdome lack to play the Rex;

Spaines Monarch ſa’s not ſo; not yet his Hoaſt,

She taught them better manners to their coſt.

The 201 O5r 201

The Salique Law had not in force now been,

If France had ever hop’d for ſuch a Queen;

But can you Doctors now this point diſpute,

She’s argument enough to make you mute;

Since firſt the Sun did run, his ne’r runn’d race.

And earth had twice a yeare, a new old face:

Since time was time, and man unmanly man,

Come ſhew me ſuch a Phœnix if you can;

Was ever people better rul’d then hers?

Was ever Land more happy, freed from ſtirs?

Did ever wealth in England ſo abound?

Her Victories in forraigne Coaſts reſound?

Ships more invincible then Spaines, her foe

She ract, ſhe ſackt, ſhe sunk his Armadoe;

Her ſtately Troops advanc’d to Lisbons wall,

Don Anthony in’s right for to inſtall;

She frankly help’d Franks (brave) diſtreſſed King,

The States united now her fame doe ſing;

She their Protectrix was, they well doe know.

Unto our dread Virago, what they owe:

Her Nobles ſacrific’d their noble blood,

Nor men, nor coyne ſhe ſpar’d, to doe them good;

The rude untamed Iriſh she did quell,

And Tiron bound, before her picture fell.

Had ever Prince ſuch Counſellors as ſhe?

Her ſelfe Minerva, caus’d them ſo to be;

Such Souldiers, and ſuch Captaines never ſeen,

As were the ſubjects of our (Pallas) Queen:

Her Sea-men through all ſtraights the world did round,

Terra incognitæ might know her ſound;

Her Drake came laded home with Spaniſh gold,

Her Eſſex took Cades, their Herculean hold:

But 202 O5v 202

But time would faile me, ſo my wit would to,

To tell of halfe she did, or she could doe;

Semiramis to her is but obſcure,

More infamie then fame she did procure;

She plac’d her glory but on Babels walls,

Worlds wonder for a time, but yet it falls;

Feirce Tomris (Cirus Headſ-man, Sythians Queen)

Had put her Harneſſe off, had ſhe but ſeen

Our Amazon i’ th’ Camp at Tilberry:

(Judging all valour, and all Majeſty)

Within that Princeſſe to have reſidence,

And proſtrate yeelded to her Excellence:

Dido firſt Foundreſſe of proud Carthage walls,

(Who living conſummates her Funerals)

A great Eliza, but compar’d with ours,

How vanisheth her glory, wealth, and powers;

Proud profuſe Cleopatra, whoſe wrong name,

Inſtead of glory prov’d her Countries shame:

Of her what worth in Story’s to be ſeen,

But that she was a rich Ægyptian Queen:

Zenobia, potent Empreſſe of the Eaſt,

And of all theſe without compare the beſt;

(Whom none but great Aurelius could quell)

Yet for our Queen, is no fit parallel:

She was a Phœnix Queen, ſo ſhall ſhe be,

Her aſhes not reviv’d more Phœnix ſhe;

Her perſonall perfections, who would tell,

Muſt dip his Pen i’ th’ Heliconian Well;

Which I may not, my pride doth but aspire,

To read what others write, and then admire.

Now ſay, have women worth, or have they none?

Or had they ſome, but with our Queen iſt gone?

Nay 203 O6r 203

Nay Maſculines, you have thus tax’d us long,

But ſhe though dead, will vindicate our wrong.

Let ſuch, as ſay our ſex is void of reaſon,

Know ’tis a ſlander now, but once was treaſon.

But happy England, which had ſuch a Queen,

O happy, happy, had thoſe dayes ſtill been,

But happineſſe, lies in a higher ſphere,

Then wonder not, Eliza moves not here.

Full fraught with honour, riches, and with dayes:

She ſet, ſhe ſet, like Titan in his rayes,

No more ſhall riſe or ſet ſuch glorious Sun,

Untill the heavens great revolution:

If then new things, their old form muſt retain,

Eliza shall rule Albian once again.

Her Epitaph.

Here ſleeps the Queen, this is the royall bed

O’ th’ Damask roſe, ſprung from the white and red,

Whoſe ſweet perfume fills the all-filling aire,

This Roſe is withered, once ſo lovely faire,

On neither tree did grow ſuch Roſe before,

The greater was our gain, our loſſe the more.


Here lies the pride of Queens, pattern of Kings,

So blaze it fame, here’s feathers for thy wings,

Here lies the envy’d, yet unparralell’d Prince,

Whoſe living vertues ſpeak (though dead long ſince)

If many worlds, as that fantaſtick framed,

In every one, be her great glory famed.

Davids 204 O6v 204

Davids Lamentation for Saul, and Jonathan, 2 Sam. 1. 19.

Alas, ſlaine is the head of Iſrael,

Illuſtrious Saul, whoſe beauty did excell

Upon thy places, mountan’ous and high,

How did the mighty fall, and falling dye?

In Gath, let not this thing be ſpoken on,

Nor publiſhed in ſtreets of Askelon,

Leſt Daughters of the Philiſtins rejoyce,

Leſt the uncircumcis’d lift up their voyce:

O! Gilbo Mounts, let never pearled dew,

Nor fruitfull ſhowres your barren tops beſtrew,

Nor fields of offerings e’re on you grow,

Nor any pleaſant thing e’re may you show;

For the mighty ones did ſoone decay,

The Shield of Saul was vilely caſt away;

There had his dignity ſo ſore a foyle,

As if his head ne’re felt the ſacred Oyle:

Sometimes from crimſon blood of gaſtly ſtaine,

The bow of Jonathan ne’re turn’d in vaine,

Nor from the fat, and ſpoyles, of mighty men,

Did Saul with bloodleſſe Sword turne back agen.

Pleaſant 205 O7r 205

Pleaſant and lovely were they both in life,

And in their deaths was found no parting ſtrife;

Swifter then ſwiftest Eagles, ſo were they,

Stronger then Lions, ramping for their prey.

O Iſraels Dames, o’re-flow your beauteous eyes,

For valiant Saul, who on Mount Gilbo lyes;

Who cloathed you in cloath of richeſt dye,

And choyſe delights, full of variety.

On your array put ornaments of gold,

Which made you yet more beauteous to behold.

O! how in battell did the mighty fall,

In mid’ſt of ſtrength not ſuccoured at all:

O! lovely Jonathan, how wert thou ſlaine,

In places high, full low thou doſt remaine;

Diſtreſt I am, for thee, deare Jonathan,

Thy love was wonderfull, paſſing a man;

Exceeding all the Love that’s Feminine,

So pleaſant haſt thou been, deare brother mine:

How are the mighty falne into decay,

And war-like weapons perished away.

Of 206 O7v 206

Of the vanity of all worldly creatures.

As he ſaid vanity, ſo vain ſay I,

O vanity, O vain all under skie,

Where is the man can ſay, lo, I have found

On brittle earth, a conſolation ſound?

What is’t in honour, to be ſet on high?

No, they like beaſts, and ſonnes of men ſhall die,

And whilſt they live, how oft doth turn their State?

He’s now a ſlave, that was a Prince of late.

What is’t in wealth, great treaſures for to gain?

No, that’s but labour anxious, care and pain.

He heaps up riches, and he heaps up ſorrow.

Its his to day, but who’s his heire to morrow?

What then? content in pleaſures canſt thou find?

More vain then all, that’s but to graſp the wind.

The ſenſuall ſenſes for a time they pleaſe,

Mean while the conſcience rage, who ſhall appeaſe?

What is ’t in beauty? no, that’s but a ſnare,

They’r foul enough to day, that once was fair,

What, Is’t in flowring youth, or manly age?

The firſt is prone to vice, the laſt to rage.

Where is it then? in wiſdome, learning, arts?

Sure if on earth, it muſt be in thoſe parts;

Yet theſe, the wiſeſt man of men did find,

But vanity, vexation of the mind,

And he that knows the moſt doth ſtill bemoan,

He knows not all, that here is to be known,

What is it then? to do as Stoicks tell,

Nor laugh, nor weep, let things go ill or well:

Such 207 O8r 207

Such ſtoicks are but ſtocks, ſuch teaching vain:

While man is man, he ſhall have eaſe or pain.

If not in honour, beauty, age, nor treaſure,

Nor yet in learning, wiſdome, youth nor pleaſure?

Where ſhall I climbe, ſound, ſeek, ſearch or find,

That ſummum Bonum which may ſtay my mind?

There is a path, no vultures eye hath ſeen.

Where lions fierce, nor lions whelps hath been,

Which leads unto that living Chriſtall fount,

Who drinks thereof, the world doth naught account.

The depth, and ſea, hath ſaid its not in me,

With pearl and gold it ſhall not valued be:

For Saphyre, Onix, Topas, who will change,

Its hid from eyes of men, they count it ſtrange,

Death and deſtruction, the fame hath heard,

But where, and what it is, from heaven’s declar’d,

It brings to honour, which ſhall not decay,

It ſteeres with wealth, which time cann’t wear away.

It yeeldeth pleaſures, farre beyond conceit,

And truly beautifies without deceit.

Nor ſtrength nor wiſdome, nor freſh youth ſhall fade,

Nor death ſhall ſee, but are immortall made,

This pearl of price, this tree of life, this ſpring,

Who is poſſeſſed of, ſhall reign a King.

Nor change of ſtate, nor cares ſhall ever ſee,

But wear his Crown unto eternitie,

This ſatiates the ſoul, this ſtayes the mind,

The reſt’s but vanity, and vain we find.