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Hir mothers fates doth Iulia speede,
To folow streight with all hir heart,
Who after longer wasted time
With bloudy fauchion kene, was slaine,
Although for no iust cause or crime.
Your mother eke that once did raigne,
Who then esteemd of Claudius well,
Did wisely weld his court at will,
And fruitfull was, as you can tell,
What could not her desire fulfill?
Shee sometime subiect to hir slaue,
To death was put with souldiours blade,
What shee, that easy hope might haue,
Toth skies, hir raigne to rise haue made,
Prynce Neroes lusty Parent great?
First tost with shipmans boysterous force,
Then torne with sword in Prynces heat,
Did shee not lye a senceles corse,
Oct.
Loe mee the tyrant stern will send
To yrcksome shades and hellish sprits.
Why wretch doe I the tyme thus spend?
Draw mee to death you to whose myghts,
False Fortune hath bequeathed mee.
I witnesse now the heauenly powre.
What dost thou bedlame? leaue to flee,
With prayer to Gods, who on thee lowre.
I call to witnesse Tartar deepe,
And sprytes of Hell reuenging freakes
Of haynous facts, in Dungeon steepe,
And Syre whom death deserued wreakes.
I doe not now repyne to dye,
Deck vp your Ship, and hoyse your Sayle,
On frothing seas to windes on hye:
Let him that guides the Helm not fayle,
To seeke the shore of Pharian Land.

Cho.
O pippling puffe of western wynde,
Which sacrifice didst once withstand,
Of Iphigen to death assignde:
And close in Cloude congealed clad,
Did cary hir from smoking aares,
Which angry, cruell Uirgin had:
This Prynce also opprest with cares,
Saue from this paynefull punishment,
To Dians temple safely borne:
The barbarous Moores to rudenesse bent,
Then Prynces Courtes in Rome forlorne,
Haue farre more Cyuile curtesie:
For there doth straungers death appease
The angry Gods in heauens on hie,
But Romayne bloude, our Rome must please.