A1r A1v 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.

A2v 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 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- 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 sar, (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 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 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 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 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 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 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 sars, 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 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 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- 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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, 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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- 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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- 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. 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 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 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 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 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 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- 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 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- 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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- 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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- 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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,

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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, the