of Mariam,
the Faire
Queene of Jewry.

Written by that learned,
vertuous, and truly noble Ladie,
E. C.

A bearded, unclothed angel wearing a crown walks towards the right side of the page, looking back over his shoulder at a hand that has descended from a cloud bank to grasp his left wing. The letters T C rest beneath his stride. An oval frame with the words obscured2 words, 14 lettersveritas. Ornamental drawings of metalwork and flowers fill a rectangular frame around the oval.

Printed by Thomas Creede, for Richard
, and are to be ſolde at his ſhoppe
in Chancery Lane, neere unto
Sargeants Inne.

π1v A1r

To Dianaes Earthlie Deputesse, and my worthy Siſter, Miſtris Elizabeth Carye.

When cheerfull Phœbus his full courſe hath run,

His ſiſters fainter beams our harts doth cheere:

So your faire Brother is to mee the Sunne,

And you his Siſter as my Moone appeere.

You are my next belov’d, my ſecond Friend,

For when my Phœbus abſence makes it Night,

Whilſt to th’ Antipodes his beames do bend,

From you my Phœbe, ſhines my ſecond Light.

Hee like to Sol, cleare-ſighted, conſt ant, free,

You Luna-like, unſpotted, chaſt, divine:

Hee ſhone on Sicily, you deſtin’d bee,

T’illumine the now obſcurde Palaſtine.

My firſt was conſecrated to Apollo,

My ſecond to Diana now ſhall follow.

E. C.

A The A1v

The names of the Speakers.

Herod, King of Judea.

Doris, his firſt Wife.

Mariam, his ſecond Wife.

Salome, Herods Siſter.

Antipater his ſonne by Salome.

Alexandra, Mariams mother.

Sillius, Prince of Arabia.

Conſtabarus, husband to Salome.

Pheroras, Herods Brother.

Graphina, his Love.

Babus firſt Sonne.

Babus ſecond Sonne.

Annanell, the high Prieſt.

Sohemus, a Counſellar to Herod.


Bu, another Meſſenger.

Chorus, a Companie of Jewes.

The A2r

The Argument.

Herod the ſonne of Antipater (an Idumean,) having crept by the favor of the Romanes, into the Jewiſh Monarchie, married Mariam the daughrter of Hircanus, the rightfull King and Prieſt, and for her (beſides her high blood, being of ſingular beautie) hee reputiated Doris, his former Wife, by whome hee had Children.

This Mariam had a Brother called Ariſtobolus, and next him and Hircanus his Graund-father, Herod, in his Wives right had the beſt title. Therefore to remoove them, he charged the firſt with treaſon: and put him to death, and drowned the ſecond under colour of ſport. Alexandra, Daughter to the one, and Mother to the other, accuſed him for their deaths before Anthony.

So when hee was forc’te to goe anſwere this Accuſation at Rome, he left the cuſtodie of his wife to Joſephus his Uncle, that had married his Siſter Salome, and out of a violent affection (unwilling any ſhould enjoy her after him) hee gave ſtrict and private commaundement, that if hee were ſlaine, ſhee ſhould be put to death. But he returned with much honour, yet found his Wife extreamely diſcontented, to whom Joſephus had (meaning it for the beſt, to prove Herod loved her) revealed his charge.

So by Salomes accuſation hee put Joſephus to death, but was reconciled to Mariam, who ſtill bare the death of her Friends exceeding hardly.

In this meane time Herod was againe neceſſarily to reviſite Rome, for Cæſar having overthrowne Anthony his A2 great A2v great friend, was likely to make an alteration of his Fortune.

In his abſence, newes came to Jeruſalem that Caeſar had put him to death, their willingnes it ſhould be ſo, together with the likelyhood, gave this Rumor ſo good credit, as Sohemus that had ſuceeded Joſephus charge, ſucceeded him likewiſe in revealing it. So at Herods returne which was ſpeedy and unexpected, he found Mariam ſo farre from joye, that ſhe ſhewed apparant ſignes of ſorrow. Hee ſtill deſiring to winne her to a better humour, ſhe being very unable to conceale her paſſion, fell to upbraiding him with her Brothers death. As they were thus debating, came in a fellow with a Cuppe of Wine, who hired by Salome, ſaide firſt, it was a Love potion, which Mariam deſired to deliver to the King: but afterwards he affirmed that it was a poyſon, and that Sohemus had tolde her ſomewhat, which procured the vehement hate in her.

The King hearing this, more moved with Jealouſie of Sohemus, then with this intent of poyſon, ſent her away, and preſently after by the inſtigation of Salome, ſhe was beheaded. Which raſhnes was afterward puniſhed in him, with an intollerable and almoſt Frantike paſſion for her death.

Actus A3r

Actus primus. Scœna prima.



How oft have I with publike voyce runne on?

To cenſure Romes laſt Hero for deceit:

Because he wept when Pompeis life was gone,

Yet when he liv’d, hee thought his Name too great.

But now I doe recant, and Roman Lord

Excuſe too raſh a judgement in a woman:

My Sexe pleads pardon, pardon then afford,

Miſtaking is with us, but too too common.

Now doe I finde by ſelfe Experience taught,

One Object yeelds both griefe and joy:

You wept indeed, when on his worth you thought,

But joyd that ſlaughter did your Fœ deſtroy.

So at his death your Eyes true droppes did raine,

Whom dead, you did not wiſh alive againe.

When Herod livd, that now is done to death,

Oft have I wiſht that I from him were free:

Oft have I wiſht that he might loſe his breath,

Oft have I wiſht his Carkas dead to ſee.

Then Rage and Scorne had put my love to flight,

That Love which once on him was firmely ſet:

Hate hid his true affection from my ſight,

And kept my heart from paying him his debt.

And blame me not, for Herods Jealouſie

Had power even conſtancie itſelfe to change:

For hee by barring me from libertie,

To ſhunne my ranging, taught me firſt to range.

But yet too chaſt a Scholler was my hart,

To learne to love another then my Lord:

To leave his Love, my leſsons former part,

A3 I A3v

I quickly learn’d, the other I abhord.

But now his death to memorie doth call,

The tender love, that he to Mariam bare:

And mine to him, this makes thoſe rivers fall,

Which by an other thought unmoiſtned are.

For Ariſtobolus the lowlyeſt youth

That ever did in Angels ſhape appeare:

The cruell Herod was not mov’d to ruth,

Then why grieves Mariam Herods death to heare?

Why joy I not the tongue no more ſhall ſpeake,

That yeelded forth my brothers lateſt dome:

Both youth and beautie might thy furie breake,

And both in him did ill befit a Tombe.

And worthy Grandſire ill did he requite,

His high Aſſent alone by thee procur’d,

Except he murdred thee to free the ſpright

Which ſtill he thought on earth too long immur’d.

How happie was it that Sohemus maide

Was mov’d to pittie my diſtreſt eſtate:

Might Herods life a truſtie ſervant finde,

My death to his had bene unſeparate.

Theſe thoughts have power, his death to make me beare,

Nay more, to wiſh the newes may firmely hold:

Yet cannot this repulſe ſome falling teare,

That will againſt my will ſome griefe unfold.

And more I owe him for his love to me,

The deepeſt love that ever yet was ſeene:

Yet had I rather much a milke-maide bee,

Then be the Monarke of Judeas Queene.

It was for nought but love, he wiſht his end

Might to my death, but the vaunt-currier prove:

But I had rather ſtill be foe then friend,

To him that ſaves for hate, and kills for love.

Hard-hearted Mariam, at thy diſcontent,

What flouds of teares have drencht his manly face?

How canſt thou then ſo faintly now lament,

Thy trueſt lovers death, a deaths diſgrace:

I now mine eyes you do begin to right

Th A4r

The wrongs of your admirer: And my Lord,

Long ſince you ſhould have put your ſmiles to flight,

Ill doth a widowed eye with joy accord.

Why now me thinkes the love I bare him then,

When virgin freedome left me unreſtraind:

Doth to my heart begin to creepe agen,

My paſsion now is far from being faind.

But teares flie backe, and hide you in your bankes,

You muſt not be to Alexandra ſeene:

For if my mone be ſpide, but little thankes

Shall Mariam have, from that incenſed Queene.

Actus primus: Scœna Secunda.

Mariam. Alexandra.


What meanes these teares? my Mariam doth miſtake,

The newes we heard did tell the Tyrants end:

What weepſt thou for thy brothers murthers ſake,

Will ever wight a teare for Herod ſpend?

My curſe purſue his breathles trunke and ſpirit,

Baſe Edomite the damned Eſaus heire:

Muſt he ere Jacobs child the crowne inherit?

Muſt he vile wretch be ſet in Davids chaire?

No Davids ſoule within the boſome plac’te,

Of our forefather Abram was aſham’d:

To ſee his ſeat with ſuch a toade diſgrac’te,

That ſeat that hath by Judas race bene fain’d.

Thou fatall enemie to royall blood,

Did not the murther of my boy ſuffice,

To ſtop thy cruell mouth that gaping ſtood?

But muſt thou dim the milde Hercanus eyes?

My gratious father, whoſe too readie hand

Did lift this Idumean from the duſt:

And he ungratefull catiffe did withſtand,

The man that did in him moſt friendly truſt.

What kingdomes right could cruell Herod claime,

Was he not Eſaus Iſsue, heyre of hell?

Then what ſucceſſion can he have but ſhame?

Did not his Anceſtor his birth-right ſell?

O A4v

O yes, he doth from Edoms name derive,

His cruell nature which with blood is fed:

That made him me of Sire and ſonne deprive,

He ever thirſts for blood, and blood is red.

Weepſt thou becauſe his love to thee was bent?

And readſt thou love in crimſon caracters?

Slew he thy friends to worke thy hearts content?

No: hate may Juſtly call that action hers.

He gave the ſacred Prieſthood for thy ſake,

To Ariſtobolus. Yet doomde him dead:

Before his backe the Ephod warme could make,

And ere the Myter ſetled on his head.

Oh had he given my boy no leſse then right,

The double oyle ſhould to his forehead bring:

A double honour, ſhining doubly bright,

His birth annoynted him both Prieſt and King.

And ſay my father, and my ſonne he ſlewe,

To royalize by right your Prince borne breath:

Was love the cauſe, can Mariam deeme it true,

That Mariam gave commandment for her death?

I know by fits, he ſhewd ſome ſignes of love,

And yet not love, but raging lunacie:

And this his hate to thee may juſtly prove,

That ſure he hates Hercanus familie.

Who knowes if he unconſtant wavering Lord,

His love to Doris had renew’d againe?

And that he might his bed to her afford,

Perchance he wiſht that Mariam might be ſlaine.


Doris, Alas her time of love was paſt,

Thoſe coales were rakte in embers long agoe:

If Mariams love and ſhe was now diſgraſt,

Nor did I glorie in her overthrowe.

He not a whit his firſt borne ſonne eſteem’d,

Becauſe as well as his he was not mine:

My children onely for his owne he deem’d,

Theſe boyes that did deſcend from royall line.

These did he ſtile his heyres to Davids throne,

My Alexander if he live, ſhall ſit

In B1r

In the Majeſticke ſeat of Salomon,

To will it ſo, did Herod thinke it fit.


Why? who can claime from Alexanders brood

That Gold adorned Lyon-guarded Chaire?

Was Alexander not of Davids blood?

And was not Mariam Alexanders heire?

What more then right could Herod then beſtow,

And who will thinke except for more then right,

He did not raiſe them, for they were not low,

But borne to weare the Crowne in his deſpight:

Then ſend thoſe teares away that are not ſent

To thee by reaſon, but by paſsions power:

Thine eyes to cheere, thy cheekes to ſmiles be bent,

And entertaine with joy this happy houre.

Felicitie, if when ſhee comes, ſhe findes

A mourning habite, and a cheerleſse looke,

Will thinke ſhe is not welcome to thy minde,

And ſo perchance her lodging will not brooke.

Oh keepe her whileſt thou haſt her, if ſhe goe

She will not eaſily returne againe:

Full many a yeere have I indur’d in woe,

Yet ſtill have ſude her preſence to obtaine:

And did not I to her as preſents ſend

A Table, that beſt Art did beautifie

Of two, to whom Heaven did beſt feature lend,

To woe her love by winning Anthony:

For when a Princes favour we doe crave,

We firſt their Mynions loves do ſeeke to winne:

So I, that ſought Felicitie to have,

Did with her Mynion Anthony beginne,

With double flight I ſought to captivate

The warlike lover, but I did not right:

For if my gift had borne but halfe the rate,

The Roman had beene over-taken quite.

But now he fared like a hungry gueſt,

That to ſome plenteous feſtivall is gone,

Now this, now that, hee deems to eate were beſt,

Such choice doth make him let them all alone.

B The B1v

The boyes large forehead firſt did fayreſt ſeeme

Then glaunſt his eye upon my Mariams cheeke:

And that without compariſon did deeme,

What was in eyther but he moſt did ſeeke.

And thus diſtracted, eythers beauties might

Within the others excellence was drown’d:

Too much delight did bare him from delight,

For eithers love, the others did confound.

Where if thy portraiture had onely gone,

His life from Herod, Anthony had taken:

He would have loved thee, and thee alone,

And left the browne Egyptian cleane forſaken.

And Cleopatra then to ſeeke had bene,

So firme a lover of her wayned face:

Then great Anthonius fall we had not ſeene,

By her that fled to have him holde the chaſe.

Then Mariam in a Romans Chariot ſet,

In place of Cleopatra might have ſhowne:

A mart of Beauties in her viſage met,

And part in this, that they were all her owne.


Not to be Empriſe of aſpiring Rome,

Would Mariam like to Cleopatra live:

With pureſt body will I preſſe my Toome,

And wiſh no favours Anthony could give.


Let us retire us, that we may reſolve

How now to deale in this reverſed ſtate:

Great are th’affaires that we muſt now revolve,

And great affaires muſt not be taken late.

Actus primus. Scœna tertia.

Mariam. Alexandra. Salome.


More plotting yet? Why? now you have the thing

For which ſo oft you ſpent your ſupliant breath:

And Mariam hopes to have another King,

Her eyes doe ſparkle joy for Herods death.

Alex. B2r


If ſhe deſir’d another King to have,

She might before ſhe came in Herods bed

Have had her wiſh. More Kings then one did crave,

For leave to ſet a Crowne upon her head.

I thinke with more then reaſon ſhe laments,

That ſhe is freed from ſuch a ſad annoy:

Who iſt will weepe to part from diſcontent,

And if ſhe joy, ſhe did not cauſe leſse joy.


You durſt not thus have given your tongue the raine,

If noble Herod ſtill remaind in life:

Your daughters betters farre I dare maintaine,

Might have rejoyc’d to be my brothers wife.


My betters farre, baſe woman t’is untrue,

You ſcarce have ever my ſuperiors ſeene:

For Mariams ſervants were as good as you,

Before ſhe came to be Judeas Queene.


Now ſtirs the tongue that is ſo quickly mov’d,

But more then once your collor have I borne:

Your fumiſh words are ſooner ſayd then prov’d,

And Salomes reply is onely ſcorne.


Scorne thoſe that are for thy companions held,

Though I thy brothers face had never ſeene,

My birth, thy baſer birth ſo farre exceld,

I had to both of you the Princeſſe bene.

Thou party Jew, and party Edomite,

Thou Mongrell: iſsu’d from rejected race,

Thy Anceſtors againſt the Heavens did fight,

And thou like them wilt heavenly birth diſgrace.


Still twit you me with nothing but my birth,

What ods betwixt your anceſtors and mine?

Both borne of Adam, both were made of Earth,

And both did come from holy Abrahams line.


I favour thee when nothing elſe I ſay,

With thy blacke acts ile not pollute my breath:

Elſe to thy charge I mightfull juſtly lay

A ſhamefull life, beſides a husbands death.


Tis true indeed, I did the plots reveale,

That paſt betwixt your favorites and you:

I ment not I, a traytor to conceale.

B2 Thus B2v

Thus Salome your Mynion Joſeph ſlue.


Heaven, doſt thou meane this Infamy to ſmother?

Let ſlandred Mariam ope thy cloſed eare:

Selfe-guilt hath ever bene ſuſpitious mother,

And therefore I this ſpeech with patience beare.

No, had not Salome unſtedfaſt heart,

In Joſephes ſtead her Conſtabarus plaſt,

To free her ſelfe, ſhe had not uſde the art,

To ſlander hapleſse Mariam for unchaſt.


Come Mariam, let us goe: it is no boote

To let the head contend againſt the foote.

Actus primus. Scœna quarta.



Lives Salome, to get ſo baſe a ſtile

As foote, to the proud Mariam Herods ſpirit:

In happy time for her endured exile,

For did he live ſhe ſhould not miſſe her merit:

But he is dead: and though he were my Brother,

His death ſuch ſtore of Cinders cannot caſt

My Coales of love to quench: for though they ſmother

The flames a while, yet will they out at laſt.

Oh bleſt Arabia, in beſt climate plaſt,

I by the Fruit will cenſure of the Tree:

Tis not in vaine, thy happy name thou haſt,

If all Arabians like Silleus bee:

Had not my Fate bene too too contrary,

When I on Conſtabarus firſt did gaze,

Silleus had beene object to mine eye:

Whoſe lookes and perſonage muſt allyes amaze.

But now ill Fated Salome, thy tongue

To Conſtabarus by it ſelfe is tide:

And now except I doe the Ebrew wrong

I cannot be the faire Arabian Bride:

What childiſh lets are theſe? Why ſtand I now

On honourable points? Tis long agoe

Since B3r

Since ſhame was written on my tainted brow:

And certaine tis, that ſhame is honours foe.

Had I upon my reputation ſtood,

Had I affected an unſpotted life,

Joſephus vaines had ſtill bene ſtuft with blood,

And I to him had liv’d a ſober wife.

Then had I never caſt an eye of love,

On Conſtabarus now deteſted face,

Then had I kept my thoughts without remove:

And bluſht at motion of the leaſt diſgrace:

But ſhame is gone, and honour wipt away,

And Impudencie on my forehead ſits:

She bids me worke my will without delay,

And for my will I will imploy my wits.

He loves, I love; what then can be the cauſe,

Keepes me for being the Arabians wife?

It is the principles of Moses lawes,

For Conſtabarus ſtill remaines in life,

If he to me did beare as Earneſt hate,

As I to him, for him there were an eaſe,

A ſeparating bill might free his fate:

From ſuch a yoke that did ſo much diſpleaſe.

Why ſhould ſuch priviledge to man be given?

Or given to them, why bard from women then?

Are men then we in greater grace with Heaven?

Or cannot women hate as well as men?

Ile be the cuſtome-breaker: and beginne

To ſhew my Sexe the way to freedomes doore,

And with an offring will I purge my ſinne,

The lawe was made for none but who are poore.

If Herod had liv’d, I might to him accuſe

My preſent Lord. But for the futures ſake

Then would I tell the King he did refuſe

The ſonnes of Baba in his power to take.

But now I muſt divorſe him from my bed,

That my Seilleus may poſſeſſe his roome:

Had I not begd his life he had bene dead,

I curſe my tongue the hindrer of his doome,

B3 But B3v

But then my wandring heart to him was faſt,

Nor did I dreame of chaunge: Silleus ſaid,

He would be here, and ſee he comes at laſt,

Had I not nam’d him longer had he ſtaid.

Actus primus. Sœna quinta.

Salome, Silleus.


Well found faire Salome Judeas pride,

Hath my innated wiſedome found the way

To make Silleus deeme him deified,

By gaining thee a more then precious pray?


I have deviſde the beſt I can deviſe,

A more imperfect meanes was never found:

But what cares Salome, it doth ſuffice

If our indevours with their end be crown’d.

In this our land we have an ancient uſe,

Permitted firſt by our law-givers head:

Who hates his wife, though for no juſt abuſe,

May with a bill divorce her from his bed.

But in this cuſtome women are not free,

Yet I for once will wreſt it, blame not thou

The ill I doe, ſince what I do’es for thee,

Though others blame, Silleus ſhould allow.


Thinkes Salome, Silleus hath a tongue

To cenſure her faire actions: let thy blood

Bedaſh my proper brow, for ſuch a wrong,

The being yours, can make even vices good:

Arabia joy, prepare thy earth with greene,

Thou never happie were indeed till now:

Now ſhall thy ground be trod by beauties Queene,

Her foote is deſtin’d to depreſſe thy brow.

Thou ſhalt faire Salome commaund as much

As if the royall ornament were thine:

The weaknes of Arabias King is ſuch,

The kingdome is not his ſo much as mine:

My mouth is our Obodas oracle,

Who thinkes not ought but what Silleus will?

And B4r

And thou rare creature. Aſias miracle,

Shalt be to me as It: Obodas ſtill.


Tis not for glory I thy love accept,

Judea yeelds me honours worthy ſtore:

Had not affection in my boſome crept,

My native country ſhould my life deplore.

Were not Silleus he with home I goe,

I would not change my Palaſtine for Rome:

Much leſſe would I a glorious ſtate to ſhew,

Goe far to purchaſe an Arabian toome.


Far be it from Silleus ſo to thinke,

I know it is thy gratitude requites

The love that is in me, and ſhall not ſhrinke

Till death doe ſever me from earths delights.


But whiſt; me thinkes the wolfe is in our talke,

Be gone Silleus, who doth here arrive?

Tis Conſtabarus that doth hither walke,

Ile find a quarrell, him from me to drive.


Farewell, but were it not for thy commaund,

In his deſpight Silleus here would ſtand.

Actus primus: Scœna Sexta.

Salome: Conſtabarus.


Oh Salome, how much you wrōong your name,

Your race, your country, and your husband moſt?

A ſtraungers private conference is ſhame,

I bluſh for you, that have your bluſhing loſt.

Oft have I found, and found you to my griefe,

Conſorted with this baſe Arabian heere:

Heaven knowes that you have bin my comfort chiefe,

Then doe not now my greater plague appeare.

Now by the ſtately Carved edifice

That on Mount Sion makes ſo faire a ſhow,

And by the Altar fit for ſacrifice,

I love thee more then thou thy ſelfe doeſt know.

Oft with a ſilent ſorrow have I heard

How ill Judeas mouth doth cenſure thee:

And B4v

And did I not thine honour much regard,

Thou ſhouldſt not be exhorted thus for mee.

Didſt thou but know the worth of honeſt fame,

How much a vertuous woman is eſteem’d,

Thou wouldeſt like hell eschew deſerved ſhame,

And ſeeke to be both chaſt and chaſtly deem’d.

Our wiſeſt Prince did ſay, and true he ſaid,

A vertuous woman crownes her husbands head.


Did I for this, upreare thy lowe eſtate?

Did I for this requitall begge thy life,

That thou hadſt forfeited haples fate?

To be to ſuch a thankles wretch the wife.

This hand of mine hath lifted up thy head,

Which many a day agoe had falne full lowe,

Becauſe the ſonnes of Baba are not dead,

To me thou doeſt both life and fortune owe.


You have my patience often exerciſde,

Uſe make my choller keepe within the bankes:

Yet boaſt no more, but be by me adviſde.

A benefit upbraided, forfeits thankes:

I prethy Salome diſmiſſe this mood,

Thou doeſt not know how ill it fits thy place:

My words were all intended for thy good,

To raiſe thine honour and to ſtop diſgrace.


To ſtop diſgrace? take thou no care for mee,

Nay do thy worſt, thy worſt I ſet not by:

No ſhame of mine is like to light on thee,

Thy love and admonitions I defie.

Thou ſhalt no hower longer call me wife,

Thy Jealouſie procures my hate ſo deepe:

That I from thee doe meane to free my life,

By a divorcing bill before I ſleepe.


Are Hebrew women now trasform’d to men?

Why do’ you not as well our battels fight,

And weare our armour? ſuffer this, and then

Let all the world be topſie turuned quite.

Let fiſhes graze, beaſtes, ſwine, and birds deſcend,

Let fire burne downewards whilſt the earth aſpires:

Let C1r

Let Winters heat and Summers cold offend,

Let Thiſtels growe on Vines, and Grapes on Briers,

Set us to Spinne or Sowe, or at the beſt

Make us Wood-hewers, Waters-bearing wights:

For ſacred ſervice let us take no reſt,

Uſe us as Joſhua did the Gibonites.


Hold on your talke, till it be time to end,

For me I am reſolv’d it ſhall be ſo:

Though I be firſt that to this courſe do bend,

I ſhall not be the laſt full well I know.


Why then be witneſse Heav’n, the Judge of ſinnes,

Be witneſse Spirits that eſchew the darke:

Be witneſse Angels, witneſse Cherubins,

Whoſe ſemblance ſits upon the holy Arke:

Be witneſſe earth, be witneſſe Paleſtine,

Be witneſſe Davids Citie, if my heart

Did ever merit ſuch an act of thine:

Or if the fault be mine that makes us part,

Since mildeſt Moſes friend unto the Lord,

Did worke his wonders in the land of Ham,

And ſlew the firſt-borne Babes without a ſword,

In ſigne whereof we eate the holy Lambe:

Till now that foureteene hundred yeeres are paſt,

Since firſt the Law with us hath beene in force:

You are the firſt, and will I hope, be laſt,

That ever ſought her husband to divorce.


I meane not to be led by preſident,

My will ſhall be to me in ſtead of Law.


I feare me much you will too late repent,

That you have ever liv’d ſo void of awe:

This is Silleus love that makes you thus

Reverſe all order: you muſt next be his.

But if my thoughts aright the cauſe diſcuſſe,

In winning you, he gaines no laſting bliſſe,

I was Silleus and not long agoe

Joſephus then was Conſtabarus now:

When you became my friend you prov’d his foe,

As now for him you breake to me your vowd.

C Salom. C1v


If once I lov’d you, greater is your debt:

For certaine tis that you deserved it not.

And undeſerved love we ſoone forget,

And therefore that to me can be no blot.

But now fare ill my once beloved Lord,

Yet never more belov’d then now abhord.


Yet Conſtabarus biddeth thee farewell.

Farewell light creature. Heaven forgive thy ſinne:

My prophecying ſpirit doth foretell

Thy wavering thoughts doe yet but new beginne.

Yet I have better ſcap’d then Joseph did,

But if our Herods death had bene delayd,

The valiant youths that I ſo long have hid,

Had bene by her, and I for them betrayd.

Therefore in happy houre did Caeſar give

The fatall blow to wanton Anthony:

For had he lived, our Herod then ſhould live,

But great Anthonius death made Herod dye.

Had he enjoyed his breath, not I alone

Had beene in danger of a deadly fall:

But Mariam had the way of perill gone,

Though by the Tyrant moſt belov’d of all.

The ſweet fac’d Mariam as free from guilt

As Heaven from ſpots, yet had her Lord come backe

Her pureſt blood had bene unjuſtly ſpilt.

And Salome it was would worke her wracke.

Though all Judea yeeld her innocent,

She often hath bene neere to puniſhment.


Thoſe mindes that wholy dote upon delight,

Except they onely joy in inward good:

Still hope at laſt to hop upon the right,

And ſo from Sand they leape in loathſome mud.

Fond wretches, ſeeking what they cannot finde,

For no content attends a wavering minde.

If wealth they doe deſire, and wealth attaine,

Then C2r

Then wondrous faine would they to honor lep:

Of meane degree they doe in honor gaine,

They would but wiſh a little higher ſtep.

Thus ſtep to ſtep, and wealth to wealth they ad,

Yet cannot all their plenty make them glad.

Yet oft we ſee that ſome in humble ſtate,

Are chreefull, pleaſant, happy, and content:

When thoſe indeed that are of higher ſtate,

With vaine additions do their thoughts torment.

Th’one would to his minde his fortune binde,

T’hother to his fortune frames his minde.

To wish varietie is ſigne of griefe,

For if you like your ſtate as now it is,

Why ſhould an alteration bring reliefe?

Nay change would then be fear’d as loſse of blis.

That man is onely happy in his Fate,

That is delighted in a ſetled ſtate.

Still Mariam wiſht ſhe from her Lord were free,

For expectation of varietie:

Yet now ſhe ſees her wiſhes proſperous bee,

She grieves, becauſe her Lord ſo ſoone did die.

Who can thoſe vaſt imaginations feede,

Where in a propertie, contempt doth breede?

Were Herod now perchance to live againe,

She would againe as much be grieved at that:

All that ſhe may, ſhe ever doth diſdaine,

Her wiſhes guide her to ſhe knowes not what.

And ſad muſt be their lookes, their honor ſower,

That care for nothing being in their power.

Actus ſecundus. Scœna prima.

Pheroras and Graphina.


Tis time Graphina, now the time drawes nye

Wherein the holy Prieſt with hallowed right,

C2 The C2v

The happy long deſired knot ſhall tie,

Pheroras and Graphina to unite:

How oft have I with lifted hands implor’d

This bleſsed houre, till now implord in vaine,

Which hath my wiſhed libertie reſtor’d,

And made my ſubject ſelfe my owne againe.

Thy love faire Mayd upon mine eye doth ſit,

Whoſe nature hot doth dry the moyſture all,

Which were in nature, and in reaſon fit

For my monachall Brothers death to fall:

Had Herod liv’d, he would have pluckt my hand

From faire Graphinas Palme perforce: and tide

The ſame in hatefull and deſpised band,

For I had had a Baby to my Bride:

Scarce can her Infant tongue with eaſie voice

Her name diſtinguiſh to anothers eare:

Yet had he liv’d, his power, and not my choiſe

Had made me ſolembly the contract ſweare.

Have I not cauſe in ſuch a change to joy?

What? though ſhe be my Neece, a Princeſſe borne:

Neere bloods without reſpect: high birth a toy.

Since Love can teach blood and kindreds ſcorne.

What booted it that he did raise my head,

To be his Realmes Copartner, Kingdomes mate,

Withall, he kept Graphina from my bed,

More wiſht by me then thrice Judeas ſtate.

Oh, could not he be skilfull Judge in love,

That doted ſo upon his Mariams face?

He, for his paſſion, Doris did remove.

I needed not a lawfull Wife diſplace,

It could not be but he had power to judge,

But he that never grudg’d a Kingdomes ſhare,

This well knowne happineſſe to me did grudge:

And ment to be therein without compare.

Elſe had I bene his equall in loves hoaſt,

For though the Diadem on Mariams head

Corrupt the vulgar judgements, I will boaſt

Graphina: brow’s as white, her cheekes as red.

Why C3r

Why ſpeaks thou not faire creature? move thy tongue,

For Silence is a ſigne of diſcontent:

It were to both our loves too great a wrong

If now this hower do find thee ſadly bent.


Miſtake me not my Lord, too oft have I

Deſir’d this time to come with winged feete,

To be inwrapt with griefe when tis too nie,

You know my wiſhes ever yours did meete:

If I be ſilent, tis no more but feare

That I ſhould ſay too little when I ſpeake:

But ſince you will my imperfections beare,

In ſpight of doubt I will my ſilence breake:

Yet might amazement tie my moving tongue,

But that I know before Pheroras minde,

I have admired your affection long:

And cannot yet therein a reaſon finde.

Your hand hath lifted me from loweſt ſtate,

To higheſt eminencie wondrous grace,

And me your hand-maid have you made your mate,

Though all but you alone doe count me baſe.

You have preſerved me pure at my requeſt,

Though you ſo weake a vaſſaile might conſtraine

To yeeld to your high will, then laſt not beſt

In my reſpect a Princeſſe you disdaine,

Then need not all theſe favours ſtudie crave,

To be requited by a ſimple maide:

And ſtudie ſtill you know muſt ſilence have,

Then be my cauſe for ſilence juſtly waide,

But ſtudie cannot boote nor I requite,

Except your lowly hand-maides ſteadfaſt love

And faſt obedience may your mind delight,

I will not promiſe more then I can prove.


That ſtudie needs not let Graphina ſmile,

And I deſire no greater recompence:

I cannot vaunt me in a glorious ſtile,

Nor ſhew my love in far-fetcht eloquence:

But this beleeve me, never Herods heart

Hath held his Prince-borne beautie famed wife

C3 In C3v

In neerer place then thou faire virgin art,

To him that holds the glory of his life.

Should Herods body leave the Sepulcher,

And entertaine the ſever’d ghoſt againe:

He ſhould not be my nuptiall hinderer,

Except he hindred it with dying paine.

Come faire Graphina, let us goe in ſtate,

This wiſh-indeered time to celebrate.

Actus 2. Scœna. 2.

Conſtabarus and Babus Sonnes.

Babus. 1. Sonne.

Now valiant friend you have our lives redeem’d,

Which lives as sav’d by you, to you are due:

Command and you ſhall ſee your ſelfe eſteem’d,

Our lives and liberties belong to you.

This twice ſixe yeares with hazard of your life,

You have conceal’d us from the tyrants ſword:

Though cruell Herods ſiſter were your wife,

You durſt in ſcorne of feare this grace afford.

In recompence we know not what to ſay,

A poore reward were thankes for ſuch a merit,

Our trueſt friendſhip at your feete we lay,

The beſt requitall to a noble ſpirit.


Oh how you wrong our friendſhip valiant youth,

With friends there is not ſuch a word as det:

Where amitie is tide with bond of truth,

All benefits are there in common ſet.

Then is the golden age with them renew’d,

All names of properties are baniſht quite:

Diviſion, and diſtinction, are eſchew’d:

Each hath to what belongs to others right.

And tis not ſure ſo full a benefit,

Freely to give, as freely to requite:

A bountious act hath glory following it,

They cauſe the glory that the act deſire.

All C4r

All friendſhip ſhould the patterne imitate,

Of Jeſſes Sonne and valiant Jonathane:

For neither Soveraignes nor fathers hate,

A friendſhip fixt on vertue ſever can.

Too much of this, tis written in the heart,

And need no amplifying with the tongue:

Now may you from your living tombe depart,

Where Herods life hath kept you over long.

Too great an injury to a noble minde,

To be quicke buried, you had purchaſt fame,

Some yeares a goe, but that you were confinde.

While thouſand meaner did advance their name.

Your beſt of life the prime of all your yeares,

Your time of action is from you bereft.

Twelve winters have you operpaſt in feares:

Yet if you uſe it well, enough is left.

And who can doubt but you will uſe it well?

The ſonnes of Babus have it by deſcent:

In all their thoughts each action to excell,

Boldly to act, and wiſely to invent.

Babus 2. Sonne.

Had it not like the hatefull cuckoe beene,

Whoſe riper age his infant nurſe doth kill:

So long we had not kept our ſelves unſeene,

But Conſtabarus ſafely croſt our will:

For had the Tyrant fixt his cruell eye,

On our concealed faces wrath had ſwaide

His Juſtice ſo, that he had forſt us die.

And dearer price then life we ſhould have paid,

For you our trueſt friend had falne with us:

And we much like a houſe on pillers ſet,

Had cleane depreſt our prop, and therefore thus

Our readie will with our concealement met.

But now that you faire Lord are daungerleſse,

The Sonnes of Baba ſhall their rigor ſhow:

And prove it was not baſenes did oppreſſe

Our hearts ſo long, but honour kept them low.

Ba. 1. Sonne.

Yet do I feare this tale of Herods death,

At laſt will prove a very tale indeed:

It C4v

It gives me ſtrongly in my minde, his breath

Will be preſerv’d to make a number bleed:

I wiſh not therefore to be ſet at large,

Yet perill to my ſelfe I do not leare:

Let us for ſome daies longer be your charge,

Till we of Herods ſtate the truth do heare.


What art thou turn’d a coward noble youth,

That thou beginſt to doubt, undoubted truth?

Babus. 1. Son.

Were it my brothers tongue that caſt this doubt,

I frōom his hart would have the queſtion out:

With this keene fauchion, but tis you my Lord

Againſt whoſe head I muſt not lift a ſword:

I am ſo tide in gratitude



You have no cauſe to take it ill,

If any word of mine your heart did grieve

The word diſcented from the ſpeakers will,

I know it was not feare the doubt begun,

But rather valour and your care of me,

A coward could not be your fathers ſonne,

Yet know I doubts unneceſſarie be:

For who can thinke that in Anthonius fall,

Herod his boſome friend ſhould ſcape unbruſde:

Then Cæsar we might thee an idiot call,

If thou by him ſhould’ſt be ſo farre abuſde.

Babus. 2. Sonne.

Lord Conſtab: let me tell you this,

Upon ſubmiſſion Cæsar will forgive:

And therefore though the tyrant did amiſſe,

It may fall out that he will let him live.

Not many yeares agone it is ſince I

Directed thither by my fathers care,

In famous Rome for twice twelve monthes did live,

My life from Hebrewes crueltie to ſpare,

There though I were but yet of boyiſh age,

I bent mine eye to marke, mine eares to heare.

Where I did ſee Octavious then a page,

When firſt he did to Julious ſight appeare:

Me thought I ſaw ſuch mildnes in his face,

And ſuch a ſweetnes in his lookes did grow,

Withall D1r

Withall, commixt with ſo majeſticke grace,

His Phiſmony his Fortune did foreſhow:

For this I am indebted to mine eye,

But then mine eare receiv’d more evidence,

By that I knew his love to clemency,

How he with hotteſt choller could diſpence.


But we have more then barely heard the news,

It hath bin twice confirm’d. And though ſome tongue

Might be ſo falſe, with falſe reporte t’abuſe,

A falſe report hath never laſted long.

But be it ſo that Herod have his life,

Concealement would not then a whit availe:

For certaine t’is, that ſhe that was my wife,

Would not to ſet her accuſation faile.

And therefore now as good the venture give,

And free our ſelves from blot of cowardiſe:

As ſhow a pittifull deſire to live,

For, who can pittie but they muſt deſpise?

Babus firſt ſonne.

I yeeld, but to neceſſitie I yeeld,

I dare upon this doubt ingage mine arme:

That Herod ſhall againe this kingdome weeld,

And prove his death to be a falſe alarme.

Babus ſecond ſonne.

I doubt it too: God grant it be an error,

Tis beſt without a cauſe to be in terror:

And rather had I, though my ſoule be mine,

My ſoule ſhould lie, then prove a true divine.


Come, come, let feare goe ſeeke a daſtards neſt,

Undanted courage lies in a noble breſt.

Actus 2. Scœna 3.

Doris and Antipater.


Your royall buildings bow your loftie ſide,

And ſcope to her that is by right your Queene:

D Let D1v

Let your humilitie upbraid the pride

Of thoſe in whom no due reſpect is ſeene:

Nine times have we with Trumpets haughtie ſound,

And baniſhing ſow’r Leaven from our taſte:

Obſerv’d the feaſt that takes the fruit from ground.

Since I faire Citie did behold thee laſt,

So long it is ſince Mariams purer cheeke

Did rob from mine the glory. And ſo long

Since I returnd my native Towne to ſeeke:

And with me nothing but the ſence of wrong.

And thee my Boy, whoſe birth though great it were,

Yet have thy after fortunes prov’d but poore:

When thou wert borne how little did I feare

Thou ſhouldſt be thruſt from forth thy Fathers doore.

Art thou not Herods right begotten Sonne?

Was not the haples Doris, Herods wife?

Yes: ere he had the Hebrew kingdome wonne,

I was companion to his private life.

Was I not faire enough to be a Queene?

Why ere thou wert to me falſe Monarch tide,

My lake of beauty might as well be ſeene,

As after I had liv’d five yeeres thy Bride.

Yet then thine oath came powring like the raine,

Which all affirm’d my face without compare:

And that if thou might’ſt Doris love obtaine,

For all the world beſides thou didſt not care.

Then was I yong, and rich, and nobly borne,

And therefore worthy to be Herods mate:

Yet thou ungratefull caſt me off with ſcorne,

When Heavens purpoſe raiſd your meaner fate.

Oft have I begd for vengeance for this fact,

And with dejected knees, aſpiring hands

Have prayd the higheſt power to inact

The fall of her that on my Trophee ſtands.

Revenge I have according to my will,

Yet where I wiſht this vengeance did not light:

I wiſht it ſhould high-hearted Mariam kill.

But it againſt my whilome Lord did fight

With D2r

With thee ſweet Boy I came, and came to try

If thou before his baſtards might be plac’d

In Herods royall ſeat and dignitie.

But Mariams infants here are onely grac’d,

And now for us there doth no hope remaine:

Yet we will not returne till Herods end

Be more confirmd, perchance he is not ſlaine.

So glorious Fortunes may my Boy attend,

For if he live, hee’ll thinke it doth ſuffice,

That he to Doris ſhows ſuch crueltie:

For as he did my wretched life diſpiſe,

So doe I know I ſhall deſpiſed die.

Let him but prove as naturall to thee,

As cruell to thy miſerable mother:

His crueltie ſhall not upbraided bee

But in thy fortunes. I his faults will ſmother.


Each mouth within the Citie loudly cries

That Herods death is certaine: therefore wee

Had beſt ſome ſubtill hidden plot deviſe,

That Mariams children might ſubverted bee,

By poiſons drinke, or elſe by murtherous Knife,

So we may be advanc’d, it skils not how:

They are but Baſtards, you were Herods wife,

And foule adultery blotteth Mariams brow.


They are too ſtrong to be by us remov’d,

Or elſe revenges fouleſt ſpotted face:

By our deteſted wrongs might be approv’d,

But weakneſſe muſt to greater power give place.

But let us now retire to grieve alone,

For ſolitarines beſt fitteth mone.

Actus ſecundus. Scœna 4.

Silleus and Conſtabarus.


Well met Judean Lord, the onely wight

Silleus wiſht to ſee. I am to call

D2 Thy D2v

Thy tongue to ſtrict account.


For what deſpight

I ready am to heare, and anſwere all.

But if directly at the cauſe I geſſe

That breeds this challenge, you muſt pardon me:

And now ſome other ground of fight profeſſe,

For I have vow’d, vowes muſt unbroken be.


What may be your expectation? let me know.


Why? ought concerning Salom, my ſword

Shall not be welded for a cauſe ſo low,

A blow for her my arme will ſcorne t’afford.


It is for ſlandering her unſpotted name,

And I will make thee in thy vowes deſpight,

Sucke up the breath that did my Miſtris blame,

And ſwallow it againe to doe her right.


I prethee give ſome other quarrell ground

To finde beginning, rule againſt my name:

Or ſtrike me firſt, or let ſome ſcarlet wound

Inflame my courage, give me words of ſhame,

Doe thou our Moſes ſacred Lawes diſgrace,

Deprave our nation, doe me ſome deſpight:

I’m apt enough to fight in any caſe,

But yet for Salome I will not fight.


Nor I for ought but Salome: My ſword

That owes his ſervice to her ſacred name:

Will not an edge for other cauſe afford,

In other fight I am not ſure of fame.


For her, I pitty thee enough already,

For her, I therefore will not mangle thee:

A woman with a heart ſo moſt unſteady,

Will of her ſelfe ſufficient torture bee.

I cannot envy for ſo light a gaine,

Her minde with ſuch unconſtancie doth runne:

As with a word thou didſt her love obtaine,

So with a word ſhe will from thee be wonne.

So light as her poſseſsions for moſt day

Is her affections loſt, to me tis knowne:

As good goe hold the winde as make her ſtay,

Shee never loves, but till ſhe call her owne.

She D3r

She meerly is a painted ſepulcher,

That is both faire, and vilely foule at once:

Though on her out-ſide graces garniſh her,

Her mind is fild with worſe then rotten bones.

And ever readie lifted is her hand,

To aime deſtruction at a husbands throat:

For proofes, Joſephus and my ſelfe do ſtand,

Though once on both of us, ſhe ſeem’d to doat.

Her mouth though ſerpent-like it never hiſſes,

Yet like a Serpent, poyſons where it kiſſes.


Well Hebrew well, thou bark’ſt, but wilt not bite.


I tell thee ſtill for her I will not fight.


Why then I call thee coward.


From my heart

I give thee thankes. A cowards hatefull name,

Cannot to valiant mindes a blot impart,

And therefore I with joy receive the fame.

Thou know’ſt I am no coward: thou wert by

At the Arabian battaile th’other day:

And ſaw’ſt my ſword with daring valiancy,

Amongſt the faint Arabians cut my way.

The blood of foes no more could let it ſhine,

And twas inameled with ſome of thine.

But now have at thee, not for Salome

I fight: but to diſcharge a cowards ſtile:

Here gins the fight that ſhall not parted be,

Before a ſoule or two indure exile.


Thy ſword hath made ſome windowes for my blood,

To ſhew a horred crimſon phiſnomie:

To breath for both of us me thinkes twere good,

The day will give us time enough to die.


With all my hart take breath, thou ſhalt have time,

And if thou liſt a twelve month, let us end:

Into thy cheekes there doth a palenes clime,

Thou canſt not from my ſword thy ſelfe defend.

What needeſt thou for Salome to fight,

Thou haſt her, and may’ſt keepe her, none ſtrives for her:

I willingly to thee reſigne my right,

For in my very ſoule I do abhorre her.

D3 Thou D3v

Thou ſeeſt that I am freſh, unwounded yet,

Then not for feare I do this offer make:

Thou art with loſse of blood, to fight unfit,

For here is one, and there another take.


I will not leave, as long as breath remaines

Within my wounded body: ſpare your words,

My heart in bloods ſtead, courage entertaines,

Salomes love no place for feare affords.


Oh could thy ſoule but propheſie like mine,

I would not wonder thou ſhould’ſt long to die:

For Salome if I aright divine

Will be then death a greater miſerie.


Then liſt, Ile breath no longer.


Do thy will,

I hateles fight, and charitably kill. I, I, they fight,

Pittie thy ſelfe, Silleus, let not death

Intru’d before his time into thy hart:

Alas it is too late to feare, his breath

Is from his body now about to part.

How far’ſt thou brave Arabian? Silleus very well,

My legge is hurt, I can no longer fight:

It onely grieves me, that ſo ſoone I fell,

Before faire Salomes wrongs I came to right.


Thy wounds are leſse then mortall. Never feare,

Thou ſhalt a ſafe and quicke recoverie finde:

Come, I will thee unto my lodging beare,

I hate thy body, but I love thy minde.


Thankes noble Jew, I ſee a courtious foe,

Sterne enmitie to friendſhip can no art:

Had not my heart and tongue engagde me ſo,

I would from thee no foe, but friend depart.

My heart to Salome is tide ſo faſt,

To leave her love for friendſhip, yet my skill

Shall be imploy’d to make your favour laſt,

And I will honour Conſtabarus ſtill.


I ope my boſome to thee, and will take

Thee in, as friend, and grieve for thy complaint:

But if we doe not expedition make,

Thy loſse of blood I feare will make thee faint.

Chorus. D4r


To heare a tale with eares prejudicate,

It ſpoiles the judgement, and corrupts the ſence:

That humane error given to every ſtate,

Is greater enemie to innocence.

It makes us fooliſh, heddy, raſh, unjuſt,

It makes us never try before we truſt.

It will confound the meaning, change the words,

For it our ſence of hearing much deceives:

Beſides no time to Judgement it affords,

To way the circumſtance our eare receives.

The ground of accidents it never tries,

But makes us take for truth ten thouſand lies.

Our eares and hearts are apt to hold for good,

That we our selves doe moſt deſire to bee:

And then we drowne objections in the flood

Of partialitie, tis that we ſee

That makes falſe rumours long with credit paſt,

Though they like rumours muſt conclude at laſt.

The greateſt part of us prejudicate,

With wiſhing Herods death do hold it true:

The being once deluded doth not bate,

The credit to a better likelihood due.

Thoſe few that wiſh it not the multitude,

Doe carrie headlong, ſo they doubts conclude.

They not object the weake uncertaine ground,

Whereon they built this tale of Herods end:

Whereof the Author ſcarcely can be found,

And all becauſe their wiſhes that way bend.

They thinke not of the perill that enſu’th,

If this ſhould prove the contrary to truth.

On D4v

On this ſame doubt, on this ſo light a breath,

They pawne their lives, and fortunes. For they all

Behave them as the newes of Herods death,

They did of moſt undoubted credit call:

But if their actions now doe rightly hit,

Let them commend their fortune, not their wit.

Actus tertius: Scœna prima.

Pheroras: Salome.


Urge me no more Graphina to forſake,

Not twelve howers ſince I married her for love:

And doe you thinke a ſiſters power cane mak

A reſolute decree, ſo ſoone removed


Poore minds they are that honour not affects.


Who hunts for honour, happines neglects.


You might have bene both of felicitie,

And honour too in equall meaſure ſeaſde.


It is not you can tell ſo well as I,

What tis can make me happie, or diſpleaſde.


To match for neither beautie nor reſpects

One meane of birth, but yet of meaner minde,

A woman full of naturall defects,

I wonder what your eye in her could finde.


Mine eye found lovelines, mine eare found wit,

To pleaſe the one, and to enchant the other:

Grace on her eye, mirth on her tongue doth ſit,

In lookes a child, in wiſedomes houſe a mother.


But ſay you thought her faire, as none thinks elſe,

Knowes not Pheroras, beautie is a blaſt:

Much like this flower which to day excels,

But longer then a day it will not laſt.


Her wit exceeds her beautie, Salo: Wit may ſhow

The way to ill, as well as good you know.


But wiſedome is the porter of her head,

And bares all wicked words from iſsuing thence.

Salome. E1r


But of a porter, better were you ſped,

If ſhe againſt their entrance made defence.


But wherefore comes the ſacred Ananell,

That hitherward his haſtie ſteppes doth bend?

Great ſacrificer y’are arrived well,

Ill newes from holy mouth I not attend.

Actus tertius. Scœna 2.

Pheroras. Salome. Ananell.


My lippes, my ſonne, with peacefull tidings bleſt,

Shall utter Honey to your liſtning eare:

A word of death comes not from Prieſtly breſt,

I ſpeake of life: in life there is no feare.

And for the newes I did the Heavens ſalute,

And fill’d the Temple with my thankfull voice:

For though that mourning may not me pollute,

At pleaſing accidents I may rejoyce.


Is Herod then reviv’d from certaine death?


What? can your news reſtore my brothers breath?


Both ſo, and ſo, the King is ſafe and ſound,

And did ſuch grace in royall Cæsar meet:

That he with larger ſtile then ever crownd,

Within this houre Jeruſalem will greet.

I did but come to tell you, and muſt backe

To make preparatives for ſacrifice:

I knew his death, your hearts like mine did racke,

Though to conceale it, prov’d you wiſe.


How can my joy ſufficiently appeare?


A heavier tale did never pierce mine eare.


Now Salome of happineſſe may boaſt.


But now Pheroras is in danger moſt.


I ſhall enjoy the comfort of my life.


And I ſhall looſe it, looſing of my wife. E Salome. E1v


Joy heart, for Conſtan: ſhall be ſlaine.


Grieve ſoule, Graphina ſhall from me be tane.


Smile cheekes, the faire Silleus ſhall be mine.


Weepe eyes, for I muſt with a child combine.


Well brother, ceaſe your mones, on one condition

Ile undertake to winne the Kings conſent:

Graphina ſtill ſhall be in your tuition,

And her with you be nere the leſse content.


What’s the condition? let me quickly know,

That I as quickly your command may act:

Were it to ſee what Hearbs in Ophir grow,

Or that the lofty Tyrus might be ſackt.


Tis no ſo hard a taſke: It is no more,

But tell the King that Conſta: hid

The ſonnes of Baba, done to death before:

And tis no more then Conſta. did.

And tell him more that he for Herods ſake,

Not able to endure his brothers foe:

Did with a bill our ſeparation make,

Though loth from Conſta: elſe to goe.


Beleeve this tale for told, Ile goe from hence,

In Herods care the Hebrew to deface:

And I that never ſtudied eloquence,

Doe meane with eloquence this tale to grace. Exit.


This will be Conſtabarus quicke diſpatch,

Which from my mouth would leſſer credit finde:

Yet ſhall he not deceaſe without a match,

For Mariam ſhall not linger long behinde.

Firſt Jealouſie, if that availe not, feare

Shalbe my miniſter to worke her end:

A common error moves not Herods eare,

Which doth ſo firmly to his Mariam bend.

She ſhall be charged with ſo horrid crime,

As Herods feare ſhall turne his love to hate:

Ile make ſome ſweare that ſhe deſires to clime,

And ſeekes to poyſon him for his eſtate.

I ſcorne that ſhe ſhould live my birth t’vpbraid,

To call me baſe and hungry Edomite:

With E2r

With patient ſhow her choller I betrayd,

And watcht the time to be reveng’d by flite.

Now tongue of mine with ſcandall load her name,

Turne hers to fountaines, Herods eyes to flame:

Yet firſt I will begin Pheroras ſuite,

That he my earneſt buſineſse may effect:

And I of Mariam will keepe me mute,

Till firſt ſome other doth her name detect.

Who’s there, Silleus man? How fares your Lord?

That your aſpects doe beare the badge of ſorrow?

Silleus man.

He hath the marks of Conſtabarus ſword,

And for a while deſires your ſight to borrow.


My heavy curſe the hatefull ſword purſue,

My heavier curſe on the more hatefull arme

That wounded my Silleus. But renew

Your tale againe. Hath he no mortall harme?

Silleus man.

No ſigne of danger doth in him appeare,

Nor are his wounds in place of perill ſeene:

Hee bides you be aſsured you need not feare,

He hopes to make you yet Arabias Queene.


Commend my heart to be Silleus charge,

Tell him, my brothers ſuddaine comming now:

Will give my foote no roome to walke at large,

But I will ſee him yet ere night I vow.

Actus 3. Scœna 3.

Mariam and Sohemus.


Sohemus, tell me what the newes may be

That makes your eyes ſo full, your cheekes ſo blew?


I know not how to call them. Ill for me

Tis ſure they are: not ſo I hope for you.



Oh, what of Herod?


Herod lives.


How! lives? What in ſome Cave or forreſt hid?
E2 Sohem. Nay, E2v


Nay, backe return’d with honor. Caeſar gives

Him greater grace then ere Anthonius did.


Foretell the ruine of my family,

Tell me that I ſhall ſee our Citie burnd:

Tell me I ſhall a death diſgracefull die,

But tell me not that Herod is returnd.


Be not impatient Madam, be but milde,

His love to you againe will ſoone be bred:


I will not to his love be reconcilde,

With ſolemne vowes I have forſworne his Bed.


But you muſt breake thoſe vowes.


Ile rather breake

The heart of Mariam. Curſed is my Fate:

But ſpeake no more to me, in vaine ye ſpeake

To live with him I ſo profoundly hate.


Great Queene, you muſt to me your pardon give,

Sohemus cannot now your will obey:

If your command ſhould me to ſilence drive,

It were not to obey, but to betray.

Reject, and ſlight my ſpeeches, mocke my faith,

Scorne my observance, call my counſell nought:

Though you regard not what Sohemus ſaith,

Yet will I ever freely ſpeake my thought.

I feare ere long I ſhall faire Mariam ſee

In wofull ſtate, and by her ſelfe undone:

Yet for your iſsues ſake more temp’rate bee,

The heart by affabilitie is wonne.


And muſt I to my Priſon turne againe?

Oh, now I ſee I was an hypocrite:

I did this morning for his death complaine,

And yet doe mourne, becauſe he lives ere night.

When I his death beleev’d, compaſsion wrought,

And was the ſtickler twixt my heart and him:

But now that Curtaine’s drawne from off my thought,

Hate doth appeare againe with viſage grim:

And paints the face of Herod in my heart,

In horred colours with deteſted looke:

Then feare would come, but ſcorne doth play her part,

And E3r

And saith that ſcorne with feare can never brooke.

I Know I could inchaine him with a ſmile:

And lead him captive with a gentle word,

I ſcorne my looke ſhould ever man beguile,

Or other ſpeech, then meaning to afford.

Elſe Salome in vaine might ſpend her winde,

In vaine might Herods mother whet her tongue:

In vaine had they complotted and combinde,

For I could overthrow them all ere long.

Oh what a ſhelter is mine innocence,

To ſhield me from the pangs of inward griefe:

Gainſt all miſhaps it is my faire defence,

And to my ſorrowes yeelds a large reliefe.

To be commandreſse of the triple earth,

And ſit in ſafetie from a fall ſecure:

To have all nations celebrate my birth,

I would not that my ſpirit were impure.

Let my diſtreſſed ſtate unpittied bee,

Mine innocence is hope enough for mee. Exit.


Poore guiltles Queene. Oh that my wiſh might place

A little temper now about thy heart:

Unbridled ſpeech is Mariams worſt diſgrace,

And will indanger her without deſart.

I am in greater hazard. O’re my head,

The fattall axe doth hang unſtedily:

My diſobedience once diſcovered,

Will ſhake it downe: Sohemus ſo ſhall die.

For when the King ſhall find, we thought his death

Had bene as certaine as we ſee his life:

And markes withall I ſlighted ſo his breath,

As to preserve alive his matchles wife.

Nay more, to give to Alexanders hand

The regall dignitie. The ſoveraigne power,

How I had yeelded up at her command,

The ſtrength of all the citie, Davids Tower.

What more then common death may I expect,

Since I too well do know his crueltie:

Twere death, a word of Herods to neglect,

E3 What E3v

What then to doe directly contrarie?

Yet life I quite thee with a willing ſpirit,

And thinke thou could’ſt not better be imploi’d:

I forfeit thee for her that more doth merit,

Ten ſuch were better dead then ſhe deſtroi’d.

But fare thee well chaſt Queene, well may I ſee

The darknes palpable, and rivers part:

The ſunne ſtand ſtill: Nay more retorted bee,

But never woman with ſo pure a heart.

Thine eyes grave majeſtie keepes all in awe,

And cuts the winges of every looſe deſire:

Thy brow is table to the modeſt lawe,

Yet though we dare not love, we may admire.

And if I die, it ſhall my ſoule content,

My breath in Mariams ſervice ſhall be ſpent.


Tis not enough for one that is a wife

To keepe her ſpotles from an act of ill:

But from ſuſpition ſhe ſhould free her life,

And bare her ſelfe of power as well as will.

Tis not ſo glorious for her to be free,

As by her proper ſelfe reſtrain’d to bee.

When ſhe hath ſpatious ground to walke upon,

Why on the ridge ſhould ſhe deſire to goe?

It is no glory to forbeare alone,

Thoſe things that may her honour overthrowe.

But tis thanke-worthy, if ſhe will not take

All lawfull liberties for honours ſake.

That wife her hand againſt her fame doth reare,

That more then to her Lord alone will give

A private word to any ſecond eare,

And though ſhe may with reputation live.

Yet though moſt chaſt, ſhe doth her glory blot,

And wounds her honour, though ſhe killes it not.

When E4r

When to their Husbands they themſelves doe bind,

Doe they not wholy give themſelves away?

Or give they but their body not their mind,

Reſerving that though beſt, for others pray?

No ſure, their thoughts no more can be their owne,

And therefore ſhould to none but one be knowne.

Then ſhe uſurpes upon anothers right,

That ſeekes to be by publicke language grac’t:

And though her thoughts reflect with pureſt light,

Her mind if not peculiar is not chaſt.

For in a wife it is no worſe to finde,

A common body, then a common minde.

And every mind though free from thought of ill,

That out of glory ſeekes a worth to ſhow:

When any’s eares but one therewith they fill,

Doth in a ſort her purenes overthrow.

Now Mariam had, (but that to this ſhe bent)

Beene free from feare, as well as innocent.

Actus quartus: Scœna prima.

Enter Herod and his attendants.


Haile happie citie, happie in thy ſtore,

And happy that thy buildings ſuch we ſee:

More happie in the Temple where w’adore,

But moſt of all that Mariam lives in thee.

Art thou return’d? how fares my Mariam? Enter Nutio.


She’s well my Lord, and will anon be here

As you commanded.


Muffle up thy browe

Thou daies darke taper. Mariam will appeare.

And where ſhe ſhines, we need not thy dimme light,

Oh haſt thy ſteps rare creature, ſpeed thy pace:

And let thy preſence make the day more bright,

And cheere the heart of Herod with thy face.

It E4v

It is an age ſince I from Mariam went,

Me thinkes our parting was in Davids daies:

The houres are ſo increaſt by diſcontent,

Deepe ſorrow, Joſhua like the ſeaſon ſtaies:

But when I am with Mariam, time runnes on,

Her ſight, can make months, minutes, daies of weekes

An hower is then no ſooner come then gon.

When in her face mine eye for wonders ſeekes.

You world commanding citie, Europes grace,

Twice hath my curious eye your ſtreets ſurvai’d,

And I have ſeene the ſtatue filled place,

That once if not for griefe had bene betrai’d.

I all your Roman beauties have beheld,

And ſeene the ſhowes your Ediles did prepare,

I ſaw the ſum of what in you exceld,

Yet ſaw no miracle like Mariam rare.

The faire and famous Livia, Caeſars love,

The worlds commaunding Miſtreſſe did I ſee:

Whoſe beauties both the world and Rome approve,

Yet Mariam: Livia is not like to thee.

Be patient but a little, while mine eyes

Within your compaſt limits be contain’d:

That object ſtraight ſhall your deſires ſuffice,

From which you were ſo long a while reſtrain’d.

How wiſely Mariam doth the time delay,

Leaſt ſuddaine joy my ſence ſhould ſuffocate:

I am prepar’d, thou needſt no longer ſtay:

Whoſe there, my Mariam, more then happie fate?

Oh no, it is Pheroras, welcome Brother,

Now for a while, I muſt my paſsion ſmother.

Actus quartus. Scœna ſecunda.

Herod. Pheroras.


All health and safetie waite upon my Lord,

And may you long in proſperous fortunes live

With F1r

With Rome commanding Cæſar; at accord,

And have all honors that the world can give.


Oh brother, now thou ſpeakſt not from thy hart,

No, thou haſt ſtrooke a blow at Herods love:

That cannot quickly from my memory part,

Though Salome did me to pardon move.

Valiant Phaſaelus, now to thee farewell,

Thou wert my kinde and honorable brother:

Oh haples houre, when you ſelfe ſtriken fell,

Thou fathers Image, glory of thy mother.

Had I deſir’d a greater ſute of thee,

Then to withhold thee from a harlots bed,

Thou wouldſt have granted it: but now I ſee

All are not like that in a wombe are bred.

Thou wouldſt not, hadſt thou heard of Herods death,

Have made his buriall time, thy bridall houre:

Thou wouldſt with clamours, not with joyfull breath,

Have ſhow’d the newes to be not ſweet but ſoure.


Phaſaelus great worth I know did ſtaine

Pheroras petty valour: but they lie

(Excepting you your ſelfe) that dare maintaine,

That he did honor Herod more then I.

For what I ſhowd, loves power conſtraind me ſhow,

And pardon loving faults for Mariams ſake.


Mariam, where is ſhe?


Nay, I do not know,

But abſent uſe of her faire name I make:

You have forgiven greater faults then this,

For Conſtabarus that againſt you will

Preſerv’d the ſonnes of Baba, lives in bliſſe,

Though you commanded him the youths to kill.


Goe, take a preſent order for his death,

And let thoſe traytors feele the worſt of feares:

Now Salome will whine to begge his breath,

But Ile be deafe to prayers: and blind to teares.


He is my Lord from Salome divorſt,

Though her affection did to leave him grieve:

Yet was ſhe by her love to you inforſt,

To leave the man that would your foes relieve.

F Herod F1v


Then haſte them to their death. I will requite

Thee gentle Mariam. Salom I meane

The thought of Mariam doth ſo ſteale my ſpirit,

My mouth from ſpeech of her I cannot weane.


Actus 4. Scœna 3.

Herod. Mariam.


And heere ſhe comes indeed: happily met

My beſt, and deereſt halfe: what ailes my deare?

Thou doeſt the difference certainly forget

Twixt Duskey habits, and a time ſo cleare.


My Lord, I ſuit my garment to my minde,

And there no cheerfull colours can I finde.


Is this my welcome? have I longd ſo much

To ſee my deareſt Mariam diſcontent?

What iſt that is the cauſe thy heart to touch?

Oh ſpeake, that I thy ſorrow may prevent.

Art thou not Juries Queene, and Herods too?

Be my Commandres, be my Soveraigne guide:

To be by thee directed I will woo,

For in thy pleaſure lies my higheſt pride.

Or if thou thinke Judæas narrow bound,

Too ſtrict a limit for thy great command:

Thou ſhalt be Empreſſe of Arabia crownd,

For thou ſhalt rule, and I will winne the Land.

Ile robbe the holy Davids Sepulcher

To give thee wealth, if thou for wealth do care:

Thou ſhalt have all, they did with him inter,

And I for thee will make the Temple bare.


I neither have of power nor riches want,

I have enough, nor doe I wiſh for more:

Your offers to my heart no eaſe can grant,

Except they could my brothers life reſtore.

No, had you wiſht the wretched Mariam glad,

Or F2r

Or had your love to her bene truly tide:

Nay, had you not deſir’d to make her ſad,

My brother nor my Grandſyre had not dide.


Wilt thou beleeve no oathes to cleere thy Lord?

How oft have I with execration ſworne:

Thou art by me belov’d, by me adord,

Yet are my proteſtations heard with ſcorne.

Hercanus plotted to deprive my head

Of this long ſetled honor that I weare:

And therefore I did juſtly doome him dead,

To rid the Realme from perill, me from feare.

Yet I for Mariams ſake doe ſo repent

The death of one: whoſe blood ſhe did inherit:

I wiſh I had a Kingdomes treaſure ſpent,

So I had nere expeld Hercanus ſpirit.

As I affected that ſame noble youth,

In laſting infamie my name inrole:

If I not mournd his death with heartie truth.

Did I not ſhew to him my earneſt love,

When I to him the Prieſthood did reſtore?

And did for him a living Prieſt remove,

Which never had bene done but once before.


I know that mov’d by importunitie,

You made him Prieſt, and ſhortly after die.


I will not ſpeake, unles to be beleev’d,

This froward humor will not doe you good:

It hath too much already Herod griev’d,

To thinke that you on termes of hate have ſtood.

Yet ſmile my deareſt Mariam, doe but ſmile,

And I will all unkind conceits exile.


I cannot frame diſguiſe, nor never taught

My face a looke diſſenting from my thought.


By heav’n you vexe me, build not on my love.


I wil not build on ſo unſtable ground.


Nought is ſo fixt, but peeviſhnes may move.


Tis better ſleighteſt cauſe then none were foūund.


Be judge your ſelfe, if ever Herod ſought

Or would be mov’d a cauſe of change to finde:

F2 Yet F2v

Yet let your looke declare a milder thought,

My heart againe you ſhall to Mariam binde.

How oft did I for you my Mother chide,

Revile my Siſter, and my brother rate:

And tell them all my Mariam they belide,

Diſtruſt me ſtill, if theſe be ſignes of hate.

Actus 4. Scœna 4.


What haſt thou here?


A drinke procuring love,

The Queene deſir’d me to deliver it.


Did I: ſome hatefull practiſe this will prove,

Yet can it be no worſe then Heavens permit.


Confeſſe the truth thou wicked inſtrument,

To her outragious will, tis paſſion ſure:

Tell true, and thou ſhalt ſcape the puniſhment,

Which if thou doe conceale thou ſhalt endure.


I know not, but I doubt it be no leſſe,

Long ſince the hate of you her heart did ceaſe.


Know’ſt thou the cauſe thereof?


My Lord I geſſe,

Sohemus told the tale that did diſpleaſe.


Oh Heaven! Sohemus falſe! Goe let him die,

Stay not to ſuffer him to ſpeake a word:

Oh damned villaine, did he falſifie

The oath he ſwore ev’n of his owne accord?

Now doe I know thy falſhood, painted Divill

Thou white Inchantres. Oh thou art ſo foule,

That Yſop cannot clenſe thee worſt of evill.

A beautious body hides a loathſome ſoule,

Your love Sohemus mov’d by his affection,

Though he have ever heretofore bene true:

Did blab forſooth, that I did give direction,

If we were put to death to ſlaughter you.

And you in blacke revenge attended now

To adde a murther to your breach of vow.


Is this a dream?


Oh Heaven, that t’were no more,

Ile give my Realme to who can prove it ſo:

I F3r

I would I were like any begger poore,

So I for falſe my Mariam did not know.

Foule pith contain’d in the faireſt rinde,

That ever grac’d a Cædar. Oh thine eye

Is pure as heaven, but impure thy minde,

And for impuritie ſhall Mariam die.

Why didſt thou love Sohemus?


they can tell

That ſay I lov’d him, Mariam ſaies not ſo.


Oh cannot impudence the coales expell,

That for thy love in Herods boſome glowe:

It is as plaine as water, and deniall

Makes of thy falſehood but a greater triall.

Haſt thou beheld thy ſelfe, and couldſt thou ſtaine

So rare perfection: even for love of thee

I doe profoundly hate thee. Wert thou plaine,

Thou ſhoul’dſt the wonder of Judea bee.

But oh thou art not. Hell it ſelfe lies hid

Beneath thy heavenly ſhow. Yet never wert thou chaſt:

Thou might’ſt exalt, pull downe, command, forbid,

And be above the wheele of fortune plaſt.

Hadſt thou complotted Herods maſſacre,

That ſo thy ſonne a Monarch might be ſtilde,

Not halfe ſo grievous ſuch an action were,

As once to thinke, that Mariam is defilde.

Bright workmanſhip of nature ſulli’d ore,

With pitched darknes now thine end ſhall bee:

Thou ſhalt not live faire fiend to cozen more,

With heavy semblance, as thou couſnedſt mee.

Yet muſt I love thee in deſpight of death,

And thou ſhalt die in the diſpight of love:

For neither ſhall my love prolong thy breath,

Nor ſhall thy loſſe of breath my love remove.

I might have ſeene thy falſehood in thy face,

Where coul’dſt thou get thy ſtares that ſerv’d for eyes?

Except by theft, and theft is foule diſgrace:

This had appear’d before were Herod wiſe,

But I’me a ſot, a very ſot, no better:

My wiſedome long agoe a wandring fell,

F3 Thy F3v

Thy face incountring it, my wit did fetter,

And made me for delight my freedome ſell.

Give me my heart falſe creature, tis a wrong,

My guliltles heart ſhould now with thine be ſlaine:

Thou hadſt no right to looke it up ſo long,

And with uſurpers name I Mariam ſtaine.

Enter Bu:


Have you deſign’d Sohemus to his end?


I have my Lord Herod: Then call our royall guard

To doe as much for Mariam, they offend

Leave ill unblam’d, or good without reward.

Here take her to her death Come backe, come backe,

What ment I to deprive the world of light:

To muffle Jury in the fouleſt blacke,

That ever was an oppoſite to white.

Why whither would you carrie her:


you bad

We ſhould conduct her to her death my Lord.


Wie ſure I did not, Herod was not mad,

Why ſhould ſhe feele the furie of the ſword?

Oh now the griefe returnes into my heart,

And pulles me peecemeale: love and hate doe fight:

And now hath love acquir’d the greater part,

Yet now hath hate, affection conquer’d quite.

And therefore beare her hence: and Hebrew why

Seaze you with Lyons pawes the faireſt lam

Of all the flocke? ſhe muſt not, ſhall not, die,

Without her I moſt miſerable am.

And with her more then moſt, away, away,

But beare her but to priſon not to death:

And is ſhe gon indeed, ſtay villaines ſtay,

Her lookes alone preserv’d your Soveraignes breath.

Well let her goe, but yet ſhe ſhall not die,

I cannot thinke ſhe ment to poiſon me:

But certaine tis ſhe liv’d too wantonly,

And therefore ſhall ſhe never more be free.

Actus F4r

Actus 4. Scœna 5.


Foule villaine, can thy pitchie coloured ſoule

Permit thine eare to heare her caules doome?

And not inforce thy tongue that tale controule,

That muſt unjuſtly bring her to her toome.

Oh Salome thou haſt thy ſelfe repaid,

For all the benefits that thou haſt done:

Thou art the cauſe I have the queene betraid,

Thou haſt my hart to darkeſt falſe-hood wonne.

I am condemn’d, heav’n gave me not my tongue

To ſlander innocents, to lie, deceive:

To be the hatefull inſtrument to wrong,

The earth of greateſt glory to bereave.

My ſinne aſcends and doth to heav’n crie,

It is the blackeſt deed that ever was:

And there doth ſit an Angell notarie,

That doth record it downe in leaves of braſse.

Oh how my heart doth quake: Achitophel,

Thou founds a meanes thy ſelfe from ſhame to free:

And ſure my ſoule approves thou didſt not well,

All follow ſome, and I will follow thee.

Actus 4. Scœna 6.

Conſtabarus, Babus Sonnes, and their guard.


Nw here we ſtep our laſt, the way to death,

We muſt not tread this way a ſecond time:

Yet let us reſolutely yeeld our breath,

Death is the onely ladder, Heav’n to clime.

Babus 1. Sonne.

With willing mind I could my ſelfe reſigne,

But yet it grieves me with a griefe untold:

Our death ſhould be accompani’d with thine,

Our friendſhip we to thee have dearely ſold.

Conſt: F4v


Still wilt thou wrong the ſacred name of friend?

Then ſhould’ſt thou never ſtile it friendſhip more:

But baſe mechanicke traffique that doth lend,

Yet will be ſure they ſhall the debt reſtore.

I could with needleſſe complement returne,

Tis for thy ceremonie I could ſay:

Tis I that made the fire your houſe to burne,

For but for me ſhe would not you betray.

Had not the damned woman ſought mine end,

You had not bene the ſubject of her hate:

You never did her hatefull minde offend,

Nor could your deaths have freed your nuptiall fate.

Therefore faire friends, though you were ſtill unborne,

Some other ſubtiltie deviſde ſhould bee:

Were by my life, though guiltles ſhould be torne,

Thus have I prov’d, tis you that die for mee.

And therefore ſhould I weakely now lament,

You have but done your duties, friends ſhould die:

Alone their friends diſaſter to prevent,

Though not compeld by ſtrong neceſſitie.

But now farewell faire citie, never more

Shall I behold your beautie ſhining bright:

Farewell of Jewiſh men the worthy ſtore,

But no farewell to any female wight.

You wavering crue: my curſe to you I leave,

You had but one to give you any grace:

And you your ſelves will Mariams life bereave,

Your common-wealth doth innocencie chase.

You creatures made to be the humane curſe,

You Tygers, Lyoneſſes, hungry Beares,

Teare maſſacring Hienas: nay far worſe,

For they for pray doe ſhed their fained teares.

But you will weepe, (you creatures croſſe to good)

For your unquenched thirſt of humane blood:

You were the Angels caſt from heave’n for pride,

And ſtill doe keepe your Angels outward ſhow,

But none of you are inly beautifide,

For ſtill your heav’n depriving pride doth grow.

Did G1r

Did not the ſinnes of many require a ſcourge,

Your place on earth had bene by this withſtood:

But ſince a flood no more the world muſt purge,

You ſtaid in office of a ſecond flood.

You giddy creatures, ſowers of debate,

You’ll love to day, and for no other cauſe,

But for you yeſterday did deply hate,

You are the wreake of order, breach of lawes.

You beſt, are fooliſh, froward, wanton, vaine,

Your worſt adulterous, murderous, cunning, proud:

And Salome attends the latter traine,

Or rather he their leader is allowd.

I do the ſottiſhneſſe of men bewaile,

That doe with following you inhance your pride:

T’were better that the humane race ſhould faile,

Then be by ſuch a miſchiefe multiplide.

Chams ſervile curſe to all your ſexe was given,

Becauſe in Paradiſe you did offend:

Then doe we not reſiſt the will of Heaven,

When on your willes like ſervants we attend?

You are to nothing conſtant but to ill,

You are with nought but wickedneſſe indude:

Your loves are ſet on nothing but your will,

And thus my cenſure I of you conclude.

You are the leaſt of goods, the worſt of evils,

Your beſt are worſe then men: your worſt then divels.

Babus ſecond ſonne.

Come let us to our death: are we not bleſt?

Our death will freedome from theſe creatures give:

Thoſe trouble quiet ſowers of unreſt,

And this I vow that had I leave to live,

I would for ever leade a ſingle life,

And never venter on a divelliſh wife.

G Actus G1v

Actus 4. Scœna 7.

Herod and Salome.


Nay, ſhe ſhall die. Die quoth you, that ſhe ſhall:

But for the meanes. The meanes! Me thinkes tis hard

To finde a meanes to murther her withall,

Therefore I am reſolv’d ſhe ſhall be ſpar’d.


Why? let her be beheaded.


That were well,

Thinke you that ſwords are miracles like you:

Her ſkinne will ev’ry Gurtlax edge refell,

And then your enterpriſe you well may rue.

What if the fierce Arabian notice take,

Of this your wretched weaponleſſe eſtate:

They anſwere when we bid reſiſtance make,

That Mariams ſkinne their fanchions did rebate.

Beware of this, you make a goodly hand,

If you of weapons doe deprive our Land.


Why drowne her then.


Indeed a ſweet device,

Why? would not ev’ry River turne her course

Rather then doe her beauty prejudice?

And be reverted to the proper ſourse.

So not a drop of water ſhould be found

In all Judeas quondam firtill ground.


Then let the fire devoure her.


T’will not bee:

Flame is from her deriv’d into my heart:

Thou nurseſt flame, flame will not murther thee, die:

My faireſt Mariam, fulleſt of deſert.


Then let her live for me.


Nay, ſhe ſhal die:

But can you live without her?


doubt you that?


I’me ſure, I cannot, I beſeech you trie:

I have experience but I know not what.


How ſhould I try?


Why let my love be ſlaine,

But if we cannot live without her ſight

Youle G2r

Youle finde the meanes to make her breathe againe,

Or elſe you will bereave my comfort quite.


Oh I: I warrant you.


What is ſhe gone?

And gone to bid the world be overthrowne:

What? is her hearts compoſure hardeſt ſtone?

To what a paſſe are cruell women growne?

She is return’d already: have you done?

Iſt poſſible you can command ſo ſoone?

A creatures heart to quench the flaming Sunne,

Or from the skie to wipe away the Moone.


If Mariam be the Sunne and Moone, it is:

For I already have commanded this.


But have you ſeene her cheek?


A thouſand times.


But did you marke it too?


I very well.


What iſt?


A Crimſon buſh, that ever limes

The ſoule whoſe foreſight doth not much excell.


Send word ſhe ſhall not dye. Her cheek a buſh,

Nay, then I ſee indeed you markt it not.


Tis very faire, but yet will never bluſh,

Though foule diſhonors do her forehead blot.


Then let her die, tis very true indeed,

And for this fault alone ſhall Mariam bleed.


What fault my Lord?


What fault iſt? you that aske:

If you be ignorant I know of none,

To call her backe from death ſhall be your taske,

I’m glad that ſhe for innocent is knowne.

For on the brow of Mariam hangs a Fleece,

Whoſe ſlendereſt twine is ſtrong enough to binde

The hearts of Kings, the pride and ſhame of Greece,

Troy flaming Helens not ſo fairely ſhinde.


Tis true indeed, ſhe layes them out for nets,

To catch the hearts that doe not ſhune a baite:

Tis time to ſpeake: for Herod ſure forgets

That Mariams very treſſes hide deceit.


Oh doe they ſo? nay, then you doe but well,

Inſooth I thought it had beene haire:

Nets call you them? Lord, how they doe excell,

I never ſaw a net that ſhow’d ſo faire.

G2 But G2v

But have you heard her ſpeake?


You know I have.


And were you not amaz’d?


No, not a whit.


Then t’was not her you heard, her life Ile ſave,

For Mariam hath a world amazing wit.


She ſpeaks a beautious language, but within

Her heart is falſe as powder: and her tongue

Doth but allure the auditors to ſinne,

And is the inſtrument to doe you wrong.


It may be ſo: nay, tis ſo: ſhee’s unchaſte,

Her mouth will ope to ev’ry ſtrangers eare:

Then let the executioner make haſte,

Leſt ſhe inchant him, if her words he heare.

Let him be deafe, leſt ſhe do him ſurpiſe

That ſhall to free her ſpirit be aſſignde:

Yet what boots deafenes if he have his eyes,

Her murtherer muſt be both deafe and blinde.

For if he ſee, he needs muſt ſee the ſtarres

That ſhine on eyther ſide of Mariams face:

Whoſe ſweet aſpect will terminate the warres,

Wherewith he ſhould a ſoule ſo precious chaſe.

Her eyes can ſpeake, and in their ſpeaking move,

Oft did my heart with reverence receive

The worlds mandates. Pretty tales of love

They utter, which can humane bondage weave.

But ſhall I let this heavens modell dye?

Which for a ſmall ſelfe-portraiture ſhe drew:

Her eyes like ſtarres, her forehead like the skie,

She is like Heaven, and muſt be heavenly true.


Your thoughts do rave with doating on the Queen,

Her eyes are ebon hewde, and you’ll confeſſe:

A ſable ſtarre hath beene but ſeldome ſeene,

Then ſpeake of reaſon more, of Mariam leſſe.


Your ſelfe are held a goodly creature heere,

Yet ſo unlike my Mariam in your ſhape:

That when to her you have approached neere,

My ſelfe hath often tane you for an Ape.

And yet you prate of beautie: goe your waies,

You are to her a Sun-burnt Blackamore:

Your G3r

Your paintings cannot equall Mariams praiſe,

Her nature is ſo rich, you are ſo poore.

Let her be ſtaide from death, for if ſhe die,

We do we know not what to ſtop her breath:

A world cannot another Mariam buy,

Why ſtay you lingring? countermaund her death.


Then youle no more remember what hath paſt,

Sohemus love, and hers ſhall be forgot:

Tis well in truth: that fault may be her laſt,

And ſhe may mend, though yet ſhe love you not.


Oh God: tis true. Sohemus: earth and heav’n,

Why did you both conſpire to make me curſt:

In couſning me with ſhowes, and proofes unev’n?

She ſhow’d the beſt, and yet did prove the worſt.

Her ſhow was ſuch, as had our ſinging king

The holy David, Mariams beautie ſeene:

The Hittits had then felt no deadly ſting,

Nor Bethſabe had never bene a Queene.

Or had his ſonne the wiſeſt man of men,

Whose fond delight did moſt conſiſt in change:

Beheld her face, he had bene ſtaid agen,

No creature having her, can wiſh to range.

Had Aſuerus ſeene my Mariams brow,

The humble Jewe, ſhe might have walkt alone:

Her beautious vertue ſhould have ſtaid below,

Whiles Mariam mounted to the Perſian throne.

But what availes it all: for in the waight

She is deceitfull, light as vanitie:

Oh ſhe was made for nothing but a bait,

To traine ſome haples man to miſerie.

I am the haples man that have bene trainde,

To endles bondage. I will ſee her yet:

Me thinkes I ſhould diſcerne her if ſhe fainde,

Can humane eyes be dazde by womans wit?

Once more theſe eyes of mine with hers ſhall meet,

Before the headſman doe her life bereave:

Shall I for ever part from thee my ſweet?

Without the taking of my lateſt leave.

G3 Salo: G3v


You had as good reſolve to ſave her now,

Ile ſtay her death, tis well determined:

For ſure ſhe never more will breake her vow,

Sohemus and Joſephus both are dead.


She ſhall not live, nor will I ſee her face,

A long heald wound, a ſecond time doth bleed:

With Joſeph I remember her diſgrace,

A ſhamefull end enſues a ſhamefull deed.

Oh that I had not cald to minde anew,

The diſcontent of Mariams wavering hart:

Twas you: you foule mouth’d Ate, none but you,

That did the thought hereof to me impart.

Hence from my ſight, my blacke tormenter hence,

For hadſt not thou made Herod unſecure:

I had not doubted Mariams innocence,

But ſtill had held her in my heart for pure.


Ile leave you to your paſſion: tis no time

To purge me now, though of a guiltles crime.



Deſtruction take thee: thou haſt made my hart

As heavie as revenge, I am ſo dull,

Me thinkes I am not ſenſible of ſmart,

Though hiddious horrors at my boſome pull.

My head waies downwards: therefore will I goe

To try if I can ſleepe away my woe.

Actus 4. Scœna. 8.


Am I the Mariam that preſum’d ſo much,

And deem’d my face muſt needes preſerve my breath?

I, I it was that thought my beautie ſuch,

At it alone could countermaund my death.

Now death will teach me: he can pale aſwell

A cheeke of roſes, as a cheeke leſſe bright:

And dim an eye whoſe ſhine doth moſt excell,

Aſſoone as one that caſts a meaner light.

Had G4r

Had not my ſelfe againſt my ſelfe conſpirde,

No plot: no adverſarie from without

Could Herods love from Mariam have retirde,

Or from his heart have thruſt my ſemblance out.

The wanton Queene that never lov’d for love,

Falſe Cleopatra, wholly ſet on gaine:

With all her ſlights did prove: yet vainly prove,

For her the love of Herod to obtaine.

Yet her allurements, all her courtly guile,

Her ſmiles, her favors, and her ſmooth deceit:

Could not my face from Herods minde exile,

But were with him of leſſe then little weight.

That face and perſon that in Aſia late

For beauties Goddeſſe Paphos Queene was tane:

That face that did captive great Julius fate,

That very face that was Anthonius bane.

That face that to be Egipts pride was borne,

That face that all the world eſteem’d ſo rare:

Did Herod hate, deſpiſe, neglect, and ſcorne,

When with the ſame, he Mariams did compare.

This made that I improvidently wrought,

And on the wager even my life did pawne:

Becauſe I thought, and yet but truly thought,

That Herods love could not from me be drawne.

But now though out of time, I plainly ſee

It could be drawne, though never drawne from me:

Had I but with humilitie bene grac’te,

As well as faire I might have prov’d me wiſe:

But I did thinke becauſe I knew me chaſte,

One vertue for a woman, might ſuffice.

That mind for glory of our ſexe might ſtand,

Wherein humilitie and chaſtitie

Doth march with equall paces hand in hand,

But one if ſingle ſeene, who ſetteth by?

And I had ſingly one, but tis my joy,

That I was ever innocent, though ſower:

And therefore can they but my life deſtroy,

My Soule is free from adverſaries power.) Enter Doris.

You G4v

You Princes great in power, and high in birth,

Be great and high, I envy not your hap:

Your birth muſt be from duſt: your power on earth,

In heav’n ſhall Mariam ſit in Saræs lap.


I heav’n, your beautie cannot bring you thither,

Your ſoule is blacke and ſpotted, full of ſinne:

You in adultry liv’d nine yeare together,

And heav’n will never let adultry in.


What art thou that doſt poore Mariam purſue?

Some ſpirit ſent to drive me to diſpaire:

Who ſees for truth that Mariam is untrue,

If faire ſhe be, ſhe is as chaſte as faire.


I am that Doris that was once belov’d,

Belov’d by Herod: Herods lawfull wife:

Twas you that Doris from his ſide remov’d,

And rob’d from me the glory of my life.


Was that adultry: did not Moſes ſay,

That he that being matcht did deadly hate:

Might by permiſſion put his wife away,

And take a more belov’d to be his mate?


What did he hate me for: for ſimple truth?

For bringing beautious babes for love to him:

For riches: noble birth, or tender youth,

Or for no ſtaine did Doris honour dim?

Oh tell me Mariam, tell me if you knowe,

Which fault of theſe made Herod Doris foe.

Theſe thrice three yeares have I with hands held up,

And bowed knees faſt nailed to the ground:

Beſought for thee the dreggs of that ſame cup,

That cup of wrath that is for ſinners found

And now thou art to drinke it: Doris curſe,

Upon thy ſelfe did all this while attend.

But now it ſhall purſue thy children worſe.


Oh Doris now to thee my knees I bend,

That hart that never bow’d to thee doth bow:

Curſe not mine infants, let it thee ſuffice,

That Heav’n doth puniſhment to me allow.

Thy curſe is cauſe that guiltles Mariam dies.

Doris. H1r


Had I ten thouſand tongues, and ev’ry tongue

Inflam’d with poiſons power and ſteept in gall:

My curſes would not anſwere for my wrong,

Though I in curſing thee imployd them all.

Heare thou that didſt mount Gerarim command,

To be a place whereon with cauſe to curſe:

Stretch thy revenging arme: thruſt forth thy hand,

And plague the mother much: the children worſe.

Throw flaming fire upon the baſeborne heads

That were begotten in unlawfull beds.

But let them live till they have ſence to know

What tis to be in miſerable ſtate:

Then be their neereſt friends their overthrow,

Attended be they by ſuſpitious hate.

And Mariam, I doe hope this boy of mine

Shall one day come to be the death of thine.



Oh! Heaven forbid. I hope the world ſhall ſee,

This curſe of thine ſhall be return’d on thee:

Now earth farewell, though I be yet but yong,

Yet I, me thinks, have knowne thee too too long.



The faireſt action of our humane life,

Is ſcorniugſcorning to revenge an injurie:

For who forgives without a further ſtrife,

His adverſaries heart to him doth tie.

And tis a firmer conqueſt truely ſed,

To winne the heart, then overthrow the head.

If we a worthy enemie doe finde,

To yeeld to worth, it muſt be nobly done:

But if of baſer mettall be his minde,

In baſe revenge there is no honor wonne.

Who would worthy courage overthrow,

And who woulde wraſtle with a worthles foe?

H We H1v

We ſay our hearts are great and cannot yeeld,

Becauſe they cannot yeeld it proves them poore:

Great harts are taſk’t beyond their power, but ſeld

The weakeſt Lyon will the lowdeſt roare.

Truths ſchoole for certaine doth this ſame allow,

High hartednes doth ſometimes teach to bow.

A noble heart doth teach a vertuous ſcorne,

To ſcorne to owe a dutie over-long:

To ſcorne to be for benefits forborne,

To ſcorne to lie, to ſcorne to doe a wrong.

To ſcorne to beare an injurie in minde,

To ſcorne a free-borne heart ſlave-like to binde.

But if for wrongs we needs revenge muſt have,

Then be our vengeance of the nobleſt kinde:

Doe we his body from our furie ſave,

And let our hate prevaile againſt our minde?

What can gainſt him a greater vengeance bee,

Then make his foe more worthy farre then hee?

Had Mariam ſcorn’d to leave a due unpaide,

Shee would to Herod then have paid her love:

And not have bene by ſullen paſſion ſwaide

To fixe her thoughts all injurie above

Is vertuous pride. Had Mariam thus bene prov’d,

Long famous life to her had bene allowd.

Actus quintus. Scœna prima.


When, ſweeteſt friend, did I ſo farre offend

Your heavenly ſelfe: that you my fault to quit

Haue H2r

Have made me now relator of her end,

The end of beautie? Chaſtitie and wit,

Was none ſo haples in the fatall place,

But I, moſt wretched, for the Queene t’chuſe,

Tis certaine I have ſome ill boding face

That made me culd to tell this luckles newes.

And yet no news to Herod: were it new,

To him unhappy t’had not bene at all:

Yet doe I long to come within his vew,

That he may know his wife did guiltles fall:

And heere he comes. Your Mariam greets you well.

Enter Herod.


What? lives my Mariam? joy, exceeding joy.

She ſhall not die.


Heav’n doth your will repell.


Oh doe not with thy words my life deſtroy,

I prethy tell no dying tale: thine eye

Without thy tongue doth tell but too too much:

Yet let thy tongues addition make me die,

Death welcome, comes to him whoſe griefe is ſuch.


I went amongſt the curious gazing troope,

To ſee the laſt of her that was the beſt:

To ſee if death had hart to make her ſtoope,

To ſee the Sunne admiring Phœnix neſt.

When there I came, upon the way I ſaw

The ſtately Mariam not debaſ’d by feare:

Her looke did ſeeme to keepe the world in awe,

Yet mildly did her face this fortune beare.


Thou doſt uſurpe my right, my tongue was fram’d

To be the inſtrument of Mariams praiſe:

Yet ſpeake: ſhe cannot be too often fam’d:

All tongues ſuffice not her ſweet name to raiſe.


But as ſhe came ſhe Alexandra met, H2 Who H2v

Who did her death (ſweet Queene) no whit bewaile,

But as if nature ſhe did quite forget,

She did upon her daughter loudly raile.


Why ſtopt you not her mouth? where had ſhe words

To darke that, that Heaven made ſo bright?

Our ſacred tongue no Epithite affords,

To call her other then the worlds delight.


Shee told her that her death was too too good,

And that already ſhe had liv’d too long:

She ſaid, ſhe ſham’d to have a part in blood

Of her that did the princely Herod wrong.


Baſe picke-thanke Divell. Shame, twas all her glory,

That ſhe to noble Mariam was the mother:

But never ſhall it live in any ſtorie

Her name, except to infamy ile ſmother.

What anſwere did her princely daughter make?


She made no anſwere, but ſhe lookt the while,

As if thereof ſhe ſcarce did notice take,

Yet ſmilde, a dutifull, though ſcornefull ſmile.


Sweet creature, I that looke to mind doe call,

Full oft hath Herod bene amaz’d withall.


Go on, ſhe came unmov’d with pleaſant grace,

As if to triumph her arrivall were:

In ſtately habite, and with cheefull face:

Yet ev’ry eye was moyſt, but Mariams there.

When juſtly oppoſite to me ſhe came,

She pickt me out from all the crue:

She beckned to me, cald me by my name,

For ſhe my name, my birth, and fortune knew.


What did ſhe name thee? happy, happy man,

Wilt thou not ever love that name the better?

But what ſweet tune did this faire dying Swan

Afford thine eare: tell all, omit no letter.


Tell thou my Lord, ſaid ſhe.


Mee, ment ſhe mee?

Iſt true, the more my ſhame: I was her Lord,

Were I not made her Lord, I ſtill ſhould bee:

But H3r

But now her name muſt be by me adord.

Oh ſay, what ſaid ſhe more? each word ſhe ſed

Shall be the food whereon my heart is fed.


Tell thou my Lord thou ſaw’ſt me looſe my breath.


Oh that I could that ſentence now controule.


If guiltily eternall be my death.


I hold her chaſt ev’n in my inmoſt ſoule.


By three daies hence if wiſhes could revive,

I know himſelfe would make me oft alive.


Three daies: three houres, three minutes, not ſo much,

A minute in a thouſand parts divided,

My penitencie for her death is ſuch,

As in the firſt I wiſht ſhe had not died.

But forward in thy tale.


Why on ſhe went,

And after ſhe ſome ſilent praier had ſed,

She did as if to die ſhe were content,

And thus to heav’n her heav’nly ſoule is fled.


But art thou ſure there doth no life remaine?

Iſt poſſible my Mariam ſhould be dead,

Is there no tricke to make her breathe againe?


Her body is divided from her head.


Why yet me thinkes there might be found by art,

Strange waies of cure, tis ſure rare things are don:

By an inventive head, and willing heart.


Let not my Lord your fancies idlely run.

It is as poſſible it ſhould be ſeene,

That we ſhould make the holy Abraham live,

Though he intomb’d two thouſand yeares had bene,

As breath againe to ſlaughtred Mariam give.

But now for more aſſaults prepare your eares,


There cannot be a further cauſe of mone,

This accident ſhall ſhelter me from feares:

What can I feare? already Mariams gone.

Yet tell ev’n what you will:


As I came by,

From Mariams death I ſaw upon a tree,

A man that to his necke a cord did tie:

H3 Which H3v

Which cord he had deſignd his end to bee.

When me he once diſcern’d, he downwards bow’d,

And thus with fearefull voyce ſhe cride alowd,

Goe tell the King he truſted ere he tride,

I am the cauſe that Mariam cauſeles dide.


Damnation take him, for it was the ſlave

That ſaid ſhe ment with poiſons deadly force

To end my life that ſhe the Crowne might have:

Which tale did Mariam from her ſelfe divorce.

Oh pardon me thou pore unſpotted Ghoſt,

My puniſhment muſt needes ſufficient bee,

In miſſing that contet I valued moſt:

Which was thy admirable face to ſee.

I had but one ineſtimable Jewell,

Yet one I had no monarch had the like,

And therefore may I curſe my ſelfe as cruell:

Twas broken by a blowe my ſelfe did ſtrike.

I gaz’d thereon and never thought me bleſt,

But when on it my dazled eye might reſt:

A pretious Mirror made by wonderous art,

I prizd it ten times dearer then my Crowne,

And laide it up faſt foulded in my heart:

Yet I in ſuddaine choler caſt it downe.

And paſht it all to peeces: twas no foe,

That robd me of it, no Arabian hoſt,

Nor no Armenian guide hath uſde me ſo:

But Herods wretched ſelfe hath Herod croſt.

She was my gracefull moytie, me accurſt,

To ſlay my better halfe and ſave my worſt.

But ſure ſhe is not dead you did but jeſt,

To put me in perplexitie a while,

Twere well indeed if I could ſo be dreſt:

I ſee ſhe is alive, methinkes you ſmile.


If sainted Abel yet deceaſed bee,

Tis certaine Mariam is as dead as hee.


Why then goe call her to me, bid her now Put H4r

Put on faire habite, ſtately ornament:

And let no frowne oreſhade her ſmootheſt brow,

In her doth Herod place his whole content.


Sheel come in ſtately weedes to pleaſe your ſence,

If now ſhe come attirde in robe of heaven:

Remember you your ſelfe did ſend her hence,

And now to you ſhe can no more be given.


Shee’s dead, hell take her murderers, ſhe was faire,

Oh what a hand ſhe had, it was ſo white,

It did the whitenes of the ſnowe impaire:

I never more ſhall ſee ſo ſweet a ſight.


Tis true, her hand was rare.


her hand? her hands;

She had not ſingly one of beautie rare,

But ſuch a paire as heere where Herod ſtands,

He dares the world to make to both compare.

Accurſed Salome, hadſt thou bene ſtill,

My Mariam had bene breathing by my ſide:

Oh never had I: had I had my will,

Sent forth command, that Mariam ſhould have dide.

But Salome thou didſt with envy vexe,

To ſee thy ſelfe out-matched in thy ſexe:

Upon your ſexes forehead Mariam ſat,

To grace you all like an imperiall crowne,

But you fond foole have rudely puſht thereat,

And proudly puld your proper glory downe.

One ſmile of hers: Nay, not ſo much a: looke

Was worth a hundred thouſand ſuch as you,

Judea how canſt thou the wretches brooke,

That robd from thee the faireſt of the crew?

You dwellers in the now deprived land,

Wherein the matchles Mariam was bred:

Why graſpe not each of you a ſword in hand,

To ayme at me your cruell Soveraignes head.

Oh when you thinke of Herod as your King,

And owner of the pride of Paleſtine:

This act to your remembrance likewiſe bring,

Tis H4v

Tis I have overthrowne your royall line.

Within her purer vaines the blood did run,

That from her Grandam Sara ſhe deriv’d,

Whoſe beldame age the love of Kings hath wonne,

Oh that her iſſue had as long bene li’ud.

But can her eye be made by death obſcure?

I cannot thinke but it muſt ſparkle ſtill:

Foule ſacriledge to rob thoſe lights ſo pure,

From out a Temple made by heav’nly skill.

I am the Villaine that have done the deed,

The cruell deed, though by anothers hand,

My word though not my ſword made Mariam bleed,

Hircanus Grandchild did at my command.

That Mariam that I once did love ſo deare,

The partner of my now deteſted bed,

Why ſhine you ſun with an aſpect ſo cleare?

I tell you once againe my Mariams dead.

You could but ſhine, if ſome Egiptian blows,

Or Æthiopian doudy loſe her life:

This was, then wherefore bend you not your brows,

The King of Juries faire and ſpotles wife.

Denie thy beames, and Moone refuſe thy light,

Let all the ſtarres be darke, let Juries eye

No more diſtinguiſh which is day and night:

Since her beſt birth did in her boſome die.

Thoſe fond Idolaters the men of Greece,

Maintaine theſe orbes are ſafely governed:

That each within themſelves have Gods a peece,

By whom their ſtedfaſt courſe is juſtly led.

But were it ſo, as ſo it cannot bee,

They all would put their mourning garments on:

Not one of them would yeeld a light to mee,

To me that is the cauſe that Mariams gon.

For though they faine their Saturne melancholy,

Of ſowre behaviours, and of angry moode:

They faine him likewiſe to be juſt and holy,

And I1r

And juſtice needes muſt ſeeke revenge for blood.

Their Jove, if Jove he were, would ſure deſire,

To puniſh him that ſlew ſo faire a laſſe:

For Lædaes beautie ſet his heart on fire,

Yet ſhe not halfe ſo faire as Mariam was.

And Mars would deeme his Venus had bene ſlaine,

Sol to recover her would never ſticke:

For if he want the power her life to gaine:

Then Phyſicks God is but an Empericke.

The Queene of love would ſtorme for beauties ſake,

And Hermes too, ſince he beſtow’d her wit,

The nights pale light for angrie griefe would ſhake,

To ſee chaſt Mariam die in age unfit.

But oh I am deceiv’d, ſhe paſt them all

In every gift, in every propertie:

Her Excellencies wrought her timeles fall,

And they rejoyc’d, not griev’d to ſee her die.

The Paphian Goddeſſe did repent her waſt,

When ſhe to one ſuch beautie did allow:

Mercurius thought her wit his wit ſurpaſt,

And Cinthia envi’d Mariams brighter brow.

But theſe are fictions, they are voyd of ſence,

The Greekes but dreame, and dreaming falſehoods tell:

They neither can offend nor give defence,

And not by them it was my Mariam fell.

If ſhe had bene like an Egiptian blacke,

And not ſo faire, ſhe had bene longer livde:

Her overflow of beautie turned backe,

And drownde the ſpring from whence it was derivde.

Her heav’nly beautie twas that made me thinke

That it with chaſtitie could never dwell:

But now I ſee that heav’n in her did linke,

A ſpirit and a perſon to excell.

Ile muffle up my ſelfe in endles night,

And never let mine eyes behold the light.

Retire thy ſelfe vile monſter, worſe then hee

I That I1v

That ſtaind the virgin earth with brothers blood,

Still in ſome vault or denne incloſed bee,

Where with thy teares thou maiſt beget a flood,

Which flood in time may drowne thee: happie day

When thou at once ſhalt die and finde a grave,

A ſtone upon the vault, ſome one ſhall lay,

Which monument ſhall an inſcription have.

And theſe ſhall be the words it ſhall containe,

Heere Herod lies, that hath his Mariam ſlaine.


WHo ever hath beheld with ſteadfaſt eye,

The ſtrange events of this one onely day:

How many were deceiv’d? How many die,

That once today did grounds of ſafetie lay?

It will from them all certaintie bereve,

Since twice ſixe houres ſo many can deceive.

This morning Herod held for ſurely dead,

And all the Jewes on Mariam did attend:

And Conſtabarus rise from Saloms bed,

And neither dreamd of a divorce or end.

Pheroras joyd that he might have his wife,

And Babus ſonnes for ſafetie of their life.

To night our Herod doth alive remaine,

The guiltles Mariam is depriv’d of breath:

Stout Conſtabarus both divorſt and ſlaine,

The valiant ſonnes of Baba have their death.

Pheroras ſure his love to be bereft,

If Salome her ſute unmade had left.

Herod this morning did expect with joy,

To ſee his Mariams much beloved face:

And yet ere night he did her life deſtroy,

And I2r

And ſurely thought ſhe did her name diſgrace.

Yet now againe ſo ſhort do humors laſt,

He both repents her death and knowes her chaſt.

Had he with wiſedome now her death delaide,

He at his pleaſure might command her death:

But now he hath his power ſo much betraide,

As all his woes cannot reſtore her breath.

Now doth he ſtrangely lunatickly rave,

Becauſe his Mariams life he cannot ſave.

This daies events were certainly ordainde,

To be the warning to poſteritie:

So many changes are therein containde,

So admirablie ſtrange varietie.

This day alone, our ſageſt Hebrewes ſhall

In after times the ſchoole of wiſedome call.