University of Virginia Library

[Miscellaneous.]

COOPER'S HILL

Sure there are Poets which did never dream
Upon Parnassus, nor did tast the stream
Of Helicon, we therefore may suppose
Those made not Poets, but the Poets those.
And as Courts make not Kings, but Kings the Court,
So where the Muses & their train resort,
Parnassus stands; if I can be to thee
A Poet, thou Parnassus art to me.
Nor wonder, if (advantag'd in my flight,
By taking wing from thy auspicious height)
Through untrac't ways, and aery paths I fly,
More boundless in my Fancy than my eie:
My eye, which swift as thought contracts the space
That lies between, and first salutes the place
Crown'd with that sacred pile, so vast, so high,
That whether 'tis a part of Earth, or sky,
Uncertain seems, and may be thought a proud
Aspiring mountain, or descending cloud,
Pauls, the late theme of such a Muse whose flight
Has bravely reach't and soar'd above thy height:
Now shalt thou stand though sword, or time, or fire,
Or zeal more fierce than they, thy fall conspire,
Secure, whilst thee the best of Poets sings,
Preserv'd from ruine by the best of Kings.
Under his proud survey the City lies,
And like a mist beneath a hill doth rise;
Whose state and wealth the business and the crowd,
Seems at this distance but a darker cloud:
And is to him who rightly things esteems,
No other in effect than what it seems:
Where, with like hast, though several ways, they run
Some to undo, and some to be undone;
While luxury, and wealth, like war and peace,
Are each the others ruine, and increase;
As Rivers lost in Seas some secret vein
Thence reconveighs, there to be lost again.
Oh happiness of sweet retir'd content!
To be at once secure, and innocent.
Windsor the next (where Mars with Venus dwells.
Beauty with strength) above the Valley swells
Into my eye, and doth it self present
With such an easie and unforc't ascent,
That no stupendious precipice denies
Access, no horror turns away our eyes:
But such a Rise, as doth at once invite
A pleasure, and a reverence from the sight.
Thy mighty Masters Embleme, in whose face
Sate meekness, heightned with Majestick Grace
Such seems thy gentle height, made only proud
To be the basis of that pompous load,
Than which, a nobler weight no Mountain bears,
But Atlas only that supports the Sphears.
When Natures hand this ground did thus advance,
'Twas guided by a wiser power than Chance;
Mark't out for such a use, as if 'twere meant
T'invite the builder, and his choice prevent.
Nor can we call it choice, when what we chuse,
Folly, or blindness only could refuse.
A Crown of such Majestick towrs doth Grace
The Gods great Mother, when her heavenly race
Do homage to her, yet she cannot boast
Amongst that numerous, and Celestial host,
More Hero's than can Windsor, nor doth Fames
Immortal book record more noble names.
Not to look back so far, to whom this Isle
Owes the first Glory of so brave a pile,
Whether to Cæsar, Albanact, or Brute,
The Brittish Arthur, or the Danish Knute,
(Though this of old no less contest did move,
Then when for Homers birth seven Cities strove)
(Like him in birth, thou should'st be like in fame,
As thine his fate, if mine had been his Flame)
But whosoere it was, Nature design'd
First a brave place, and then as brave a mind.
Not to recount those several Kings, to whom
It gave a Cradle, or to whom a Tombe,
But thee (great Edward) and thy greater son,
(The lillies which his Father wore, he won)
And thy Bellona, who the Consort came
Not only to thy Bed, but to thy Fame,
She to thy Triumph led one Captive King,
And brought that son, which did the second bring.
Then didst thou found that Order (whither love
Or victory thy Royal thoughts did move)
Each was a noble cause, and nothing less,
Than the design, has been the great success:
Which forraign Kings, and Emperors esteem
The second honour to their Diadem.
Had thy great Destiny but given thee skill,
To know as well, as power to act her will,
That from those Kings, who then thy captives were,
In after-times should spring a Royal pair
Who should possess all that thy mighty power,
Or thy desires more mighty, did devour;
To whom their better Fate reserves what ere
The Victor hopes for, or the Vanquisht fear;
That bloud, which thou and thy great Grandsire shed,
And all that since these sister Nations bled,
Had been unspilt, had happy Edward known
That all the bloud he spilt, had been his own.
When he that Patron chose, in whom are joyn'd
Souldier and Martyr, and his arms confin'd
Within the Azure Circle, he did seem
But to foretell, and prophesie of him,
Who to his Realms that Azure round hath joyn'd,
Which Nature for their bound at first design'd.
That bound, which to the Worlds extreamest ends,
Endless it self, its liquid arms extends;
Nor doth he need those Emblemes which we paint,
But is himself the Souldier and the Saint.
Here should my wonder dwell, & here my praise,
But my fixt thoughts my wandring eye betrays,
Viewing a neighbouring hill, whose top of late
A Chappel crown'd, till in the Common Fate,
The adjoyning Abby fell: (may no such storm
Fall on our times, where ruine must reform.)
Tell me (my Muse) what monstrous dire offence,
What crime could any Christian King incense
To such a rage? Was't Luxury, or Lust?
Was he so temperate, so chast, so just?
Were these their crimes? They were his own much more:
But wealth is Crime enough to him that's poor,
Who having spent the Treasures of his Crown,
Condemns their Luxury to feed his own.
And yet this Act, to varnish o're the shame
Of sacriledge, must bear devotions name.
No Crime so bold, but would be understood
A real, or at least a seeming good.
Who fears not to do ill, yet fears the Name,
And free from Conscience, is a slave to Fame.
Thus he the Church at once protects, & spoils:
But Princes swords are sharper than their stiles.
And thus to th'ages past he makes amends,
Their Charity destroys, their Faith defends.
Then did Religion in a lazy Cell,
In empty, airy contemplations dwell;
And like the block, unmoved lay: but ours,
As much too active, like the stork devours.
Is there no temperate Region can be known,
Betwixt their Frigid, and our Torrid Zone?
Could we not wake from that Lethargick dream,
But to be restless in a worse extream?
And for that Lethargy was there no cure,
But to be cast into a Calenture?
Can knowledge have no bound, but must advance
So far, to make us wish for ignorance?
And rather in the dark to grope our way,
Than led by a false guide to erre by day?
Who sees these dismal heaps, but would demand
What barbarous Invader sackt the land?
But when he hears, no Goth, no Turk did bring
This desolation, but a Christian King;
When nothing, but the Name of Zeal, appears
'Twixt our best actions and the worst of theirs,
What does he think our Sacriledge would spare,
When such th'effects of our devotions are?
Parting from thence 'twixt anger, shame, & fear,
Those for whats past, & this for whats too near:
My eye descending from the Hill, surveys
Where Thames amongst the wanton vallies strays.
Thames, the most lov'd of all the Oceans sons,
By his old Sire to his embraces runs,
Hasting to pay his tribute to the Sea,
Like mortal life to meet Eternity.
Though with those streams he no resemblance hold,
Whose foam is Amber, and their Gravel Gold;
His genuine, and less guilty wealth t'explore,
Search not his bottom, but survey his shore;
Ore which he kindly spreads his spacious wing,
And hatches plenty for th'ensuing Spring.
Nor then destroys it with too fond a stay,
Like Mothers which their Infants overlay.
Nor with a sudden and impetuous wave,
Like profuse Kings, resumes the wealth he gave.
No unexpected inundations spoyl
The mowers hopes, nor mock the plowmans toyl:
But God-like his unwearied Bounty flows;
First loves to do, then loves the Good he does.
Nor are his Blessings to his banks confin'd,
But free, and common, as the Sea or Wind;
When he to boast, or to disperse his stores
Full of the tributes of his grateful shores,
Visits the world, and in his flying towers
Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours;
Finds wealth where 'tis, bestows it where it wants
Cities in deserts, woods in Cities plants.
So that to us no thing, no place is strange,
While his fair bosom is the worlds exchange.
O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it is my theme!
Though deep, yet clear, though gentle, yet not dull,
Strong without rage, without ore-flowing full.
Heaven her Eridanus no more shall boast,
Whose Fame in thine, like lesser Currents lost,
Thy Nobler streams shall visit Jove's aboads,
To shine amongst the Stars, and bath the Gods.
Here Nature, whether more intent to please
Us or her self, with strange varieties,
(For things of wonder give no less delight
To the wise Maker's, than beholders sight.
Though these delights from several causes move
For so our children, thus our friends we love)
Wisely she knew, the harmony of things,
As well as that of sounds, from discords springs.
Such was the discord, which did first disperse
Form, order, beauty through the Universe;
While driness moysture, coldness heat resists,
All that we have, and that we are, subsists.
While the steep horrid roughness of the Wood
Strives with the gentle calmness of the flood.
Such huge extreams when Nature doth unite,
Wonder from thence results, from thence delight.
The stream is so transparent, pure, and clear,
That had the self-enamour'd youth gaz'd here,
So fatally deceiv'd he had not been,
While he the bottom, not his face had seen.
But his proud head the aery Mountain hides
Among the Clouds; his shoulders, and his sides
A shady mantle cloaths; his curled brows
Frown on the gentle stream, which calmly flows,
While winds and storms his lofty forehead beat:
The common fate of all that's high or great.
Low at his foot a spacious plain is plac't,
Between the mountain and the stream embrac't:
Which shade and shelter from the Hill derives,
While the kind river wealth and beauty gives;
And in the mixture of all these appears
Variety, which all the rest indears.
This scene had some bold Greek, or Brittish Bard
Beheld of old, what stories had we heard,
Of Fairies, Satyrs, and the Nymphs their Dames,
Their feasts, their revels, & their amorous flames:
'Tis still the same, although their aery shape
All but a quick Poetick sight escape.
There Faunus and Sylvanus keep their Courts,
And thither all the horned hoast resorts,
To graze the ranker mead, that noble heard
On whose sublime and shady fronts is rear'd
Natures great Master-piece; to shew how soon
Great things are made, but sooner are undone.
Here have I seen the King, when great affairs
Give leave to slacken, and unbend his cares,
Attended to the Chase by all the flower
Of youth, whose hopes a Nobler prey devour:
Pleasure with Praise, & danger, they would buy,
And wish a foe that would not only fly.
The stagg now conscious of his fatal Growth,
At once indulgent to his fear and sloth,
To some dark covert his retreat had made,
Where nor mans eye, nor heavens should invade
His soft repose; when th'unexpected sound
Of dogs, and men, his wakeful ear doth wound.
Rouz'd with the noise, he scarce believes his ear,
Willing to think th'illusions of his fear
Had given this false Alarm, but straight his view
Confirms, that more than all he fears is true.
Betray'd in all his strengths, the wood beset,
All instruments, all Arts of ruine met;
He calls to mind his strength, and then his speed,
His winged heels, and then his armed head;
With these t'avoid, with that his Fate to meet:
But fear prevails, and bids him trust his feet.
So fast he flyes, that his reviewing eye
Has lost the chasers, and his ear the cry;
Exulting, till he finds, their Nobler sense
Their disproportion'd speed does recompense.
Then curses his conspiring feet, whose scent
Betrays that safety which their swiftness lent.
Then tries his friends, among the baser herd,
Where he so lately was obey'd, and fear'd,
His safety seeks: the herd, unkindly wise,
Or chases him from thence, or from him flies.
Like a declining States-man, left forlorn
To his friends pity, and pursuers scorn,
With shame remembers, while himself was one
Of the same herd, himself the same had done.
Thence to the coverts, & the conscious Groves,
The scenes of his past triumphs, and his loves;
Sadly surveying where he rang'd alone
Prince of the soyl, and all the herd his own;
And like a bold Knight Errant did proclaim
Combat to all, and bore away the Dame;
And taught the woods to eccho to the stream
His dreadful challenge, and his clashing beam.
Yet faintly now declines the fatal strife;
So much his love was dearer than his life.
Now every leaf, and every moving breath
Presents a foe, and every foe a death.
Wearied, forsaken, and pursu'd, at last
All safety in despair of safety plac'd,
Courage he thence resumes, resolv'd to bear
All their assaults, since 'tis in vain to fear.
And now too late he wishes for the fight
That strength he wasted in Ignoble flight:
But when he sees the eager chase renew'd,
Himself by dogs, the dogs by men pursu'd:
He straight revokes his bold resolve, and more
Repents his courage, than his fear before;
Finds that uncertain waies unsafest are,
And Doubt a greater mischief than Despair.
Then to the stream, when neither friends, nor force,
Nor speed, nor Art avail, he shapes his course;
Thinks not their rage so desperate t'assay
An Element more merciless than they.
But fearless they pursue, nor can the floud
Quench their dire thirst; alas, they thirst for bloud.
So towards a Ship the oarefin'd Gallies ply,
Which wanting Sea to ride, or wind to fly,
Stands but to fall reveng'd on those that dare
Tempt the last fury of extream despair.
So fares the Stagg among th'enraged Hounds,
Repels their force, and wounds returns for wounds.
And as a Hero, whom his baser foes
In troops surround, now these assails, now those,
Though prodigal of life, disdains to die
By common hands; but if he can descry
Some nobler foes approach, to him he calls,
And begs his Fate, and then contented falls.
So when the King a mortal shaft lets fly
From his unerring hand, then glad to dy,
Proud of the wound, to it resigns his bloud,
And stains the Crystal with a Purple floud.
This a more Innocent, and happy chase,
Than when of old, but in the self-same place,
Fair liberty pursu'd, and meant a Prey
To lawless power, here turn'd, and stood at bay.
When in that remedy all hope was plac't
Which was, or should have been at least, the last.
Here was that Charter seal'd, wherein the Crown
All marks of Arbitrary power lays down:
Tyrant and slave, those names of hate and fear,
The happier stile of King and Subject bear:
Happy, when both to the same Center move,
When Kings give liberty, and Subjects love.
Therefore not long in force this Charter stood;
Wanting that seal, it must be seal'd in bloud.
The Subjects arm'd, the more their Princes gave,
Th'advantage only took the more to crave.
Till Kings by giving, give themselves away,
And even that power, that should deny, betray.
“Who gives constrain'd, but his own fear reviles
“Not thank't, but scorn'd; nor are they gifts, but spoils.
Thus Kings, by grasping more than they could hold,
First made their Subjects by oppression bold:
And popular sway, by forcing Kings to give
More than was fit for Subjects to receive,
Ran to the same extreams; and one excess
Made both, by striving to be greater, less.
When a calm River rais'd with sudden rains,
Or Snows dissolv'd, oreflows th'adjoyning Plains,
The Husbandmen with high-rais'd banks secure
Their greedy hopes, and this he can endure.
But if with Bays and Dams they strive to force
His channel to a new, or narrow course;
No longer then within his banks he dwells,
First to a Torrent, then a Deluge swells:
Stronger, and fiercer by restraint he roars,
And knows no bound, but makes his power his shores.

A SONG

[Morpheus the humble God, that dwells]

NEWS FROM COLCHESTER

OR, A PROPER NEW BALLAD OF CERTAIN CARNAL PASSAGES BETWIXT A QUAKER AND A COLT, AT HORSLY NEAR COLCHESTER IN ESSEX

THE PROLOGUE TO HIS MAJESTY

Greatest of Monarchs, welcome to this place
Which Majesty so oft was wont to grace
Before our Exile, to divert the Court,
And ballance weighty Cares with harmless sport.
This truth we can to our advantage say,
They that would have no KING, would have no Play:
The Laurel and the Crown together went,
Had the same Foes, and the same Banishment:
The Ghosts of their great Ancestors they fear'd,
Who by the art of conjuring Poets rear'd,
Our HARRIES and our EDWARDS long since dead
Still on the Stage a march of Glory tread:
Those Monuments of Fame (they thought) would stain
And teach the People to despise their Reign:
Nor durst they look into the Muses Well,
Least the cleer Spring their ugliness should tell;
Affrighted with the shadow of their Rage,
They broke the Mirror of the times, the Stage;
The Stage against them still maintain'd the War,
When they debauch'd the Pulpit and the Bar.
Though to be Hypocrites, be our Praise alone,
'Tis our peculiar boast that we were none.
Whatere they taught, we practis'd what was true,
And something we had learn'd of honor too,
When by Your Danger, and our Duty prest,
We acted in the Field, and not in Jest;
Then for the Cause our Tyring-house they sack't,
And silenc't us that they alone might act;
And (to our shame) most dext'rously they do it,
Out-act the Players, and out-ly the Poet;
But all the other Arts appear'd so scarce,
Ours were the Moral Lectures, theirs the Farse:
This spacious Land their Theater became,
And they Grave Counsellors, and Lords in Name;
Which these Mechanicks Personate so ill
That ev'n the Oppressed with contempt they fill,
But when the Lyons dreadful skin they took,
They roar'd so loud that the whole Forrest shook;
The noise kept all the Neighborhood in awe,
Who thought 'twas the true Lyon by his Pawe.
If feigned Vertue could such Wonders do,
What may we not expect from this that's true!
But this Great Theme must serve another Age,
To fill our Story, and adorne our Stage.

FRIENDSHIP AND SINGLE LIFE AGAINST LOVE AND MARRIAGE

TO SIR JOHN MENNIS BEING INVITED FROM CALICE TO BOLOGNE TO EAT A PIG

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN SIR JOHN POOLEY AND MR. THOMAS KILLIGREW

P.

K.

P.

K.

P.

NATURA NATURATA

ON MY LORD CROFT'S AND MY JOURNEY INTO POLAND, FROM WHENCE WE BROUGHT 10000 L. FOR HIS MAJESTY BY THE DECIMATION OF HIS SCOTTISH SUBJECTS THERE

ON MR. THO. KILLIGREW'S RETURN FROM HIS EMBASSIE FROM VENICE, AND MR. WILLIAM MURRAY'S FROM SCOTLAND

AN OCCASIONAL IMITATION OF A MODERN AUTHOR UPON THE GAME OF CHESS

THE PROGRESS OF LEARNING

TO HIS MISTRESS

Go, Love-born Accents of my dying Heart,
Steal into hers, and sweetly there impart
The boundless Love, with which my Soul does swell,
And all my sighs there in soft Echoes tell:
But if her Heart does yet repugnant prove
To all the Blessings that attend my Love;
Tell her the Flames that animate my Soul,
Are pure, and bright, as those Prometheus stole;
From Heav'n, tho' not like his by theft, they come,
But a free Gift, by the eternal Doom.
How partial, cruel Fair one, are your Laws,
To reward th'Effect, and yet condemn the Cause?
Condemn my Love, and yet commend my Lays,
That merits love more than these merit praise.
Yet I to you my Love and Verse submit,
Without your Smile, that Hope, and these want Wit.
For as some hold no colours are in deed,
But from Reflection of the Light proceed;
So as you shine, my Verse and I must live,
You can Salvation and Damnation give.

[Political.]

A SPEECH AGAINST PEACE AT THE CLOSE COMMITTEE

TO THE FIVE MEMBERS OF THE HONOURABLE HOUSE OF COMMONS. THE HUMBLE PETITION OF THE POETS

After so many Concurring Petitions
From all Ages and Sexes, and all conditions,
We come in the rear to present our Follies
To Pym, Stroude, Haslerig, H. and H.
Though set form of Prayer be an Abomination,
Set forms of Petitions find great Approbation:
Therefore, as others from th'bottom of their souls,
So we from the depth and bottom of our Bowls,
According unto the blessed form you have taught us,
We thank you first for the Ills you have brought us,
For the Good we receive we thank him that gave it,
And you for the Confidence only to crave it.
Next in course, we Complain of the great violation
Of Priviledge (like the rest of our Nation)
But 'tis none of yours of which we have spoken
Which never had being, until they were broken:
But ours is a Priviledge Antient and Native,
Hangs not on an Ordinance, or power Legislative.
And first, 'tis to speak whatever we please
Without fear of a Prison, or Pursuivants fees.
Next, that we only may lye by Authority,
But in that also you have got the Priority.
Next, an old Custom, our Fathers did name it
Poetical license, and alwaies did claim it.
By this we have power to change Age into Youth,
Turn Non-sence to Sence, and Falshood to Truth;
In brief, to make good whatsoever is faulty,
This art some Poet, or the Devil has taught ye:
And this our Property you have invaded,
And a Priviledge of both Houses have made it:
But that trust above all in Poets reposed,
That Kings by them only are made and Deposed,
This though you cannot do, yet you are willing;
But when we undertake Deposing or Killing,
They're Tyrants and Monsters, and yet then the Poet
Takes full Revenge on the Villains that do it:
And when we resume a Scepter or a Crown,
We are Modest, and seek not to make it our own.
But is't not presumption to write Verses to you,
Who make the better Poems of the two?
For all those pretty Knacks you compose,
Alas, what are they but Poems in prose?
And between those and ours there's no difference,
But that yours want the rhime, the wit and the sense:
But for lying (the most noble part of a Poet)
You have it abundantly, and your selves know it,
And though you are modest, and seem to abhor it,
'T has done you good service, and thank Hell for it:
Although the old Maxime remains still in force,
That a Sanctified Cause, must have a Sanctified Course.
If poverty be a part of our Trade,
So far the whole Kingdom Poets you have made,
Nay even so far as undoing will do it,
You have made King Charles himself a Poet:
But provoke not his Muse, for all the world knows,
Already you have had too much of his Prose.

A WESTERN WONDER

A SECOND WESTERN WONDER

VERSES ON THE CAVALIERS IMPRISONED IN 1655

[Elegies and Eulogies.]

ON MR. JOHN FLETCHERS WORKS

So shall we joy, when all whom Beasts and Worms
Had turn'd to their own substances and forms,
Whom Earth to Earth, or Fire hath chang'd to Fire,
We shall behold more then at first entire;
As now we do, to see all thine thy own
In this thy Muses Resurrection,
Whose scatter'd parts, from thy own race, more wounds
Hath suffer'd then Acteon from his Hounds;
Which first their Brains, and then their Bellies fed,
And from their excrements new Poets bred.
But now thy Muse enraged from her Urn
Like Ghosts of Murdered bodies does return
T'accuse the Murderers, to right the Stage,
And undeceive the long abused Age,
Which casts thy praise on them, to whom thy wit
Gives not more Gold then they give dross to it:
Who not content like Felons to Purloyn,
Adde treason to it, and debase thy Coyn.
But whither am I straid? I need not raise
Trophies to thee from other mens dispraise;
Nor is thy Fame on lesser ruines built,
Nor needs thy juster Title the foul guilt
Of Eastern Kings, who to secure their reign,
Must have their Brothers, Sons, and Kindred slain.
Then was wits Empire at the Fatal height,
When labouring and sinking with its weight,
From thence a Thousand lesser Poets sprung
Like petty Princes from the fall of Rome;
When Johnson, Shakespear, and thy self did sit,
And sway'd in the triumvirate of wit—
Yet what from Johnson's oyl and sweat did flow,
Or what more easie Nature did bestow
On Shakespear's gentler Muse, in thee full grown
Their graces both appear, yet so, that none
Can say here Nature ends, and Art begins,
But mixt like th'Elements and born like twins,
So interweav'd, so like, so much the same,
None, this meer Nature, that meer Art can name:
'Twas this the Antients mean't; Nature and Skill
Are the two tops of their Parnassus Hill.

TO SIR RICHARD FANSHAW UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF PASTOR FIDO

Such is our Pride, our Folly, or our Fate,
That few but such as cannot write, Translate.
But what in them is want of Art, or voice,
In thee is either Modesty or Choice.
Whiles this great piece, restor'd by thee doth stand
Free from the blemish of an Artless hand.
Secure of Fame, thou justly dost esteem
Less honour to create, than to redeem.
Nor ought a Genius less than his that writ,
Attempt Translation; for transplanted wit,
All the defects of air and soil doth share,
And colder brains like colder Climates are:
In vain they toil, since nothing can beget
A vital spirit, but a vital heat.
That servile path thou nobly dost decline
Of tracing word by word, and line by line.
Those are the labour'd births of slavish brains,
Not the effects of Poetry, but pains;
Cheap vulgar arts, whose narrowness affords
No flight for thoughts, but poorly sticks at words.
A new and nobler way thou dost pursue
To make Translations and Translators too.
They but preserve the Ashes, thou the Flame,
True to his sense, but truer to his fame.
Foording his current, where thou find'st it low
Let'st in thine own to make it rise and flow;
Wisely restoring whatsoever grace
It lost by change of Times, or Tongues, or Place.
Nor fetter'd to his Numbers, and his Times,
Betray'st his Musick to unhappy Rimes,
Nor are the nerves of his compacted strength
Stretch'd and dissolv'd into unsinnewed length:
Yet after all, (lest we should think it thine)
Thy spirit to his circle dost confine.
New names, new dressings, and the modern cast,
Some Scenes some persons alter'd, had out-fac'd
The world, it were thy work; for we have known
Some thank't and prais'd for what was less their own.
That Masters hand which to the life can trace
The airs, the lines, and features of a face,
May with a free and bolder stroke express
A varyed posture, or a flatt'ring Dress;
He could have made those like, who made the rest,
But that he knew his own design was best.

AN ELEGIE UPON THE DEATH OF THE LORD HASTINGS

Reader, preserve thy peace: those busie eyes
Will weep at their own sad Discoveries;
When every line they adde, improves thy loss,
Till, having view'd the whole, they sum a Cross,
Such as derides thy Passions best relief,
And scorns the succours of thy easie Grief.
Yet lest thy Ignorance betray thy name
Of Man and Pious; read, and mourn: the shame
Of an exemption from just sense, doth show
Irrational, beyond excessive Wo.
Since Reason then can priviledge a Tear,
Manhood, uncensur'd, pay that Tribute here
Upon this Noble Urn. Here, here remains
Dust far more precious then in India's veins:
Within these cold embraces ravisht lies
That which compleats the Ages Tyrannies;
Who weak to such another Ill appear:
For, what destroys our Hope, secures our Fear.
What Sin unexpiated in this Land
Of Groans, hath guided so severe a hand?
The late Great Victim that your Altars knew,
You angry gods, might have excus'd this new
Oblation; and have spar'd one lofty Light
Of Vertue, to inform our steps aright:
By whose Example good, condemned we
Might have run on to kinder Destiny.
But as the Leader of the Herd fell first,
A Sacrifice to quench the raging thirst
Of inflam'd Vengeance for past Crimes: so none
But this white fatted Youngling could atone,
By his untimely Fate, that impious Stroke
That sullied Earth, and did Heaven's pity choke.
Let it suffice for us, that we have lost,
In Him, more then the widow'd World can boast
In any lump of her remaining Clay.
Fair as the grey-ey'd Morn, He was: the Day,
Youthful, and climbing upwards still, imparts
No haste like that of his increasing Parts:
Like the Meridian-beam, his Vertues light
Was seen; as full of comfort, and as bright.
Ah that that Noon had been as fix'd as clear! But He,
That onely wanted Immortality
To make him perfect, now submits to night;
In the black bosom of whose sable Spight,
He leaves a cloud of Flesh behinde, and flies,
Refin'd, all Ray and Glory, to the Skies.
Great saint shine there in an eternal Sphere,
And tell those Powers to whom thou now drawst neer,
That, by our trembling Sense, in Hastings dead,
Their Anger, and our ugly Faults, are read:
The short lines of whose Life did to our eyes,
Their Love and Majestie epitomize.
Tell them whose stern Decrees impose our Laws,
The feasted Grave may close her hollow Jaws.
Though Sin search Nature, to provide her here
A second Entertainment half so dear;
She'll never meet a Plenty like this Herse,
Till Time present her with the Universe.

A PANEGYRICK ON HIS EXCELLENCY, THE LORD GENERAL GEORGE MONCK

If England's bleeding story may transmit
One Renown'd Name to Time, Yours must be it:
Who with such Art dost heal, that we resound,
Next to our Cure, the glory of our Wound.
Thou sav'st three shatter'd KINGDOMS gasping Life,
Yet from our desperate Gangrene keep'st thy Knife.
And though each searching Weapon rallied stand,
And all Fates keen Artilery wait at hand:
Thou curb'st those Terrors from inflicting harms;
Swords are Thy Instruments, but not Thy Armes.
Thou with Thy Pause and Treaty rout'st Thy Foes;
And Thy tame Conference a Conquest growes.
With the Great Fabius then advance Thy Bayes,
Who sinking Rome restor'd by wise Delayes.
Let other Victors count their Dead, and lay
Sad Wreaths of conscious Lawrel, where they slay,
Whilest thou alone Dry Trophies dost assume;
They know to Kill, but Thou to Overcome.
Hence, though some foming spleens and working hates
Make Thee the Sampson to our Citie Gates;
At length Thou introducest cooler Votes,
To be the temper to impetuous Throats.
Choosing that safe Sobriety of thy way,
Not to Eject their fury, but Allay.
With like inspired Prudence didst Thou guide
Thy doubtful Answers, when their fears apply'd
Their subt'lest Emissaries to disclose,
Which strugling Cause thy Courage would oppose.
When though Thy innocent brest resolved stood
The steady Bulwark of the General Good;
Thy then unripe Affairs left them such scope,
That who deserv'd no help, might still have hope.
The Superstitious thus return'd of old
From their consulted Oracles, that unfold
Two-handed Fates, which when they false appear,
Delphos spoke true, false the Interpreter.
Apollo's awful Tripos would not lye,
Yet the Receivers sense might mis-apply.
So thy Consultors from their proud hopes fell:
They gave Delusion, Thou gav'st Oracle.
Hence secret trains and snares Thy steps pursue;
So dangerous 'mongst the False 'tis to be True.
Return, Return! and shroud Thy envy'd Name,
In those glad Roofs thy sole Arme skreen'd from flame.
Thus threatned TROY no stronger Fortress seeks
Than her Palladium, 'gainst the trecherous Greeks.
And that Palladium ne're was seen no more,
When once by Rapine from the Temple tore.
What she to Troy, Troy did to her become,
And was the Pallas to Palladium.
Thence did their mutual Protections start;
Together both, neither were safe apart.
So Thou without Us safe canst hardly be,
And we despise all safety without Thee.
Return, Return! Enshrine Thy Glories here;
Thou, whom both Seas and Shore do love and fear.
'Midst Triumphs great, like those, Thy Valor stood,
Whilst Hollands faithless Gore did stain the Floud:
When Thy bold Shot made their proud Vessels creep,
And cleanse their guilty Navie in the Deep.
Let Land and Waters yet thy Deeds proclaime,
Till Nature mints more Elements for Thy FAME.

ON MR ABRAHAM COWLEY

HIS DEATH AND BURIAL AMONGST THE ANCIENT POETS

Old Chaucer, like the morning Star,
To us discovers day from far,
His light those Mists and Clouds dissolv'd,
Which our dark Nation long involv'd;
But he descending to the shades,
Darkness again the Age invades.
Next (like Aurora) Spencer rose,
Whose purple blush the day foreshows;
The other three, with his own fires,
Phœbus, the Poets God, inspires;
By Shakespear's, Johnson's, Fletcher's lines,
Our Stages lustre Rome's outshines:
These Poets neer our Princes sleep,
And in one Grave their Mansion keep;
They liv'd to see so many days,
Till time had blasted all their Bays:
But cursed be the fatal hour
That pluckt the fairest, sweetest flower
That in the Muses Garden grew,
And amongst wither'd Lawrels threw.
Time, which made them their Fame outlive,
To Cowly scarce did ripeness give.
Old Mother Wit, and Nature gave
Shakespear and Fletcher all they have;
In Spencer, and in Johnson, Art,
Of slower Nature got the start;
But both in him so equal are,
None knows which bears the happy'st share;
To him no Author was unknown,
Yet what he wrote was all his own;
He melted not the ancient Gold,
Nor with Ben Johnson did make bold
To plunder all the Roman stores
Of Poets, and of Orators:
Horace his wit, and Virgil's state,
He did not steal, but emulate,
And when he would like them appear,
Their Garb, but not their Cloaths, did wear:
He not from Rome alone, but Greece,
Like Jason brought the Golden Fleece;
To him that Language (though to none
Of th'others) as his own was known.
On a stiff gale (as Flaccus sings)
The Theban Swan extends his wings,
When through th'ætherial Clouds he flies,
To the same pitch our Swan doth rise;
Old Pindar's flights by him are reacht,
When on that gale his wings are stretcht;
His fancy and his judgment such,
Each to the other seem'd too much,
His severe judgment (giving Law)
His modest fancy kept in awe:
As rigid Husbands jealous are,
When they believe their Wives too fair.
His English stream so pure did flow,
As all that saw, and tasted, know.
But for his Latin vein, so clear,
Strong, full, and high it doth appear,
That were immortal Virgil here,
Him, for his judge, he would not fear;
Of that great Portraicture, so true
A Copy Pencil never drew.
My Muse her Song had ended here,
But both their Genii strait appear,
Joy and amazement her did strike,
Two Twins she never saw so like.
'Twas taught by wise Pythagoras,
One Soul might through more Bodies pass;
Seeing such Transmigration here,
She thought it not a Fable there.
Such a resemblance of all parts,
Life, Death, Age, Fortune, Nature, Arts,
Then lights her Torch at theirs, to tell,
And shew the world this Parallel,
Fixt and contemplative their looks,
Still turning over Natures Books:
Their works chast, moral, and divine,
Where profit and delight combine;
They guilding dirt, in noble verse
Rustick Philosophy rehearse;
When Heroes, Gods, or God-like Kings
They praise, on their exalted wings,
To the Celestial orbs they climb,
And with the Harmonious sphears keep time;
Nor did their actions fall behind
Their words, but with like candour shin'd,
Each drew fair Characters, yet none
Of these they feign'd, excels their own;
Both by two generous Princes lov'd,
Who knew, and judg'd what they approv'd:
Yet having each the same desire,
Both from the busie throng retire,
Their Bodies to their Minds resign'd,
Car'd not to propagate their Kind:
Yet though both fell before their hour,
Time on their off-spring hath no power,
Nor fire, nor fate their Bays shall blast,
Nor Death's dark vail their day o'recast.

ON THE EARL OF STRAFFORD'S TRYAL AND DEATH

Great Strafford! worthy of that Name, though all
Of thee could be forgotten, but thy fall,
Crusht by Imaginary Treasons weight,
Which too much Merit did accumulate:
As Chymists Gold from Brass by fire would draw,
Pretexts are into Treason forg'd by Law.
His Wisdom such, at once it did appear
Three Kingdoms wonder, and three Kingdoms fear;
Whilst single he stood forth, and seem'd, although
Each had an Army, as an equal Foe.
Such was his force of Eloquence, to make
The Hearers more concern'd than he that spake;
Each seem'd to act that part, he came to see,
And none was more a looker on than he:
So did he move our passion, some were known
To wish for the defence, the Crime their own.
Now private pity strove with publick hate,
Reason with Rage, and Eloquence with Fate:
Now they could him, if he could them forgive;
He's not too guilty, but too wise to live;
Less seem those Facts which Treasons Nick-name bore,
Than such a fear'd ability for more.
They after death their fears of him express.
His Innocence, and their own guilt confess.
Their Legislative Frenzy they repent;
Enacting it should make no President.
This Fate he could have scap'd, but would not lose
Honour for Life, but rather nobly chose
Death from their fears, then safety from his own,
That his last Action all the rest might crown.

TO THE HONOURABLE EDWARD HOWARD ESQ; UPON HIS POEM OF THE BRITISH PRINCES

What mighty Gale hath rais'd a flight so strong?
So high above all vulgar eyes? so long?
One single rapture, scarce it self confines,
Within the limits, of four thousand lines,
And yet I hope to see this noble heat
Continue, till it makes the piece compleat,
That to the latter Age it may descend,
And to the end of time, its beams extend,
When Poesie joyns profit, with delight,
Her Images, should be most exquisite,
Since man to that perfection cannot rise,
Of always virt'ous, fortunate, and wise:
Therefore, the patterns man should imitate,
Above the life our Masters should create.
Herein, if we consult with Greece, and Rome,
Greece (as in warre) by Rome was overcome,
Though mighty raptures, we in Homer find,
Yet like himself, his Characters were blind:
Virgil's sublimed eyes not only gaz'd,
But his sublimed thoughts to heaven were rais'd.
Who reads the Honors, which he paid the Gods
Would think he had beheld their bless'd abodes,
And that his Hero, might accomplish'd be,
From divine blood, he draws his Pedigree,
From that great Judge your Judgment takes its law,
And by the best Original, does draw
Bonduca's Honor, with those Heroes time
Had in oblivion wrapt, his sawcy crime,
To them and to your Nation you are just,
In raising up their glories from the dust,
And to Old England you that right have done,
To shew, no story nobler, than her own.

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JUDGE CROOKE

This was the Man! the Glory of the Gown
Just to Himself, his Country and the Crown!
The Atlas of our Liberty; as high
In this own Fame as others Infamy.
Great by his vertues, greate by others Crimes,
The best of Judges in the Worst of Times.
He was the first who happily did sound
Unfathomd Royalty and felt the Ground;
Yet happier to behold that dawning Ray,
Shot from himself, become a perfect Day;
To hear his Judgment so authentic grown,
The Kingdoms voice the Eccho to his own.
Nor did he speak, but live the Laws; altho
From his sage Mouth grave oracles did flow,
Who knew his Life Maxims might thence derive
Such as the Law to Law itself might give.
Who saw him on the Bench would think the name
Of Friendship or Affection never came
Within his thoughts: who saw him thence might know
He never had nor could deserve a Foe;
Only assuming Rigor with his Gown,
And with his Purple laid his Rigor down.
Him nor Respect nor Disrespect could move;
He knew no Anger, nor his Place no Love.
So mixd the Stream of all his Actions ran,
So much a Judge so much a Gentleman;
Who durst be just when justice was a crime,
Yet durst no more even in too just a Time;
Not hurried by the highest Movers force
Against his proper and resolved course;
But when our World did turn, so kept his Ground
He seemd the Axe on which the Wheel went round.
Whose Zeal was warm when all to Ice did turn,
Yet was but warm when all the World did burn.
No ague in Religion eer inclin'd
To this or that Extream his fixed Mind.
Rest, happy Soul, till the Worlds last assize,
When calld by thy Creator thou shalt rise,
With thy Redeemer in Commission joynd
To sit upon the Clouds and judge Mankind.

TRANSLATIONS

THE DESTRUCTION OF TROY

While all with silence & attention wait,
Thus speaks Æneas from the bed of State:
Madam, when you command us to review
Our Fate, you make our old wounds bleed anew
And all those sorrows to my sence restore,
Whereof none saw so much, none suffer'd more:
Not the most cruel of Our conqu'ring Foes
So unconcern'dly can relate our woes,
As not to lend a tear, Then how can I
Repress the horror of my thoughts, which fly
The sad remembrance? Now th'expiring night
And the declining Stars to rest invite;
Yet since 'tis your command, what you, so well
Are pleas'd to hear, I cannot grieve to tell.
By Fate repell'd, and with repulses tyr'd,
The Greeks, so many Lives and years expir'd,
A Fabrick like a moving Mountain frame,
Pretending vows for their return; This, Fame
Divulges, then within the beasts vast womb
The choice and flower of all their Troops intomb,
In view the Isle of Tenedos, once high
In fame and wealth, while Troy remain'd, doth lie,
(Now but an unsecure and open Bay)
Thither by stealth the Greeks their Fleet convey:
We gave them gone, and to Mycenæ sail'd,
And Troy reviv'd, her mourning face unvail'd;
All through th'unguarded Gates with joy resort
To see the slighted Camp, the vacant Port;
Here lay Ulysses, there Achilles, here
The Battels joyn'd, the Grecian Fleet rode there;
But the vast Pile th'amazed vulgar views
Till they their Reason in their wonder lose;
And first Tymætes moves, (urg'd by the Power
Of Fate, or Fraud) to place it in the Tower,
But Capis and the graver sort thought fit,
The Greeks suspected Present to commit
To Seas or Flames, at least to search and bore
The sides, and what that space contains t'explore;
Th'uncertain Multitude with both engag'd,
Divided stands, till from the Tower, enrag'd
Laocoon ran, whom all the crowd attends,
Crying, what desperat Frenzy's this? (oh friends)
To think them gone? Judge rather their retreat
But a design, their gifts but a deceit,
For our Destruction 'twas contriv'd no doubt,
Or from within by fraud, or from without
By force; yet know ye not Ulysses shifts?
Their swords less danger carry than their gifts.
(This said) against the Horses side, his spear
He throws, which trembles with inclosed fear,
Whilst from the hollows of his womb proceed
Groans, not his own; And had not Fate decreed
Our Ruine, We had fill'd with Grecian blood
The Place, Then Troy and Priam's Throne had stood;
Meanwhile a fetter'd pris'ner to the King
With joyful shouts the Dardan Shepherds bring,
Who to betray us did himself betray,
At once the Taker, and at once the Prey,
Firmly prepar'd, of one Event secur'd,
Or of his Death or his Design assur'd.
The Trojan Youth about the Captive flock,
To wonder, or to pity, or to mock.
Now hear the Grecian fraud, and from this one
Conjecture all the rest.
Disarm'd, disorder'd, casting round his eyes
On all the Troops that guarded him, he cries,
What Land, what Sea, for me what Fate attends?
Caught by my Foes, condemned by my Friends,
Incensed Troy a wretched Captive seeks
To sacrifice, a Fugitive, the Greeks.
To Pity, This Complaint our former Rage,
Converts, we now enquire his Parentage,
What of their Councils, or affairs he knew,
Then fearless, he replies, Great King to you
All truth I shall relate: Nor first can I
My self to be of Grecian birth deny,
And though my outward state, misfortune hath
Deprest thus low, it cannot reach my Faith.
You may by chance have heard the famous name
Of Palimede, who from old Belus came,
Whom, but for voting Peace, the Greeks pursue,
Accus'd unjustly, then unjustly slew,
Yet mourn'd his death. My Father was his friend,
And me to his commands did recommend,
While Laws and Councils did his Throne support,
I but a youth, yet some Esteem and Port
We then did bear, till by Ulysses craft
(Things known I speak) he was of life bereft:
Since in dark sorrow I my days did spend,
Till now disdaining his unworthy end
I could not silence my Complaints, but vow'd
Revenge, if ever fate or chance allow'd
My wisht return to Greece; from hence his hate,
From thence my crimes, and all my ills bear date:
Old guilt fresh malice gives; The peoples ears
He fills with rumors, and their hearts with fears,
And then the Prophet to his party drew.
But why do I these thankless truths pursue;
Or why defer your Rage? on me, for all
The Greeks, let your revenging fury fall.
Ulysses this, th'Atridæ this desire
At any rate. We streight are set on fire
(Unpractis'd in such Mysteries) to enquire
The manner and the cause, Which thus he told
With gestures humble, as his Tale was bold.
Oft have the Greeks (the siege detesting) tyr'd
With tedious war, a stoln retreat desir'd,
And would to heaven they had gone: But still dismay'd
By Seas or Skies, unwillingly they stay'd,
Chiefly when this stupendious Pile was rais'd
Strange noises fill'd the Air, we all amaz'd
Dispatch Eurypilus to enquire our Fates
Who thus the sentence of the Gods relates,
A Virgins slaughter did the storm appease
When first towards Troy the Grecians took the Seas,
Their safe retreat another Grecians blood
Must purchase; All, at this confounded stood:
Each thinks himself the Man, the fear on all
Of what, the mischief, but on one can fall:
Then Calchas (by Ulysses first inspir'd)
Was urg'd to name whom th'angry Gods requir'd,
Yet was I warn'd (for many were as well
Inspir'd as he) and did my fate foretel.
Ten days the Prophet in suspence remain'd,
Would no mans fate pronounce; at last constrain'd
By Ithacus, he solemnly design'd
Me for the Sacrifice; the people joyn'd
In glad consent, and all their common fear
Determine in my fate, the day drew near;
The sacred Rites prepar'd, my temples crown'd
With holy wreaths, Then I confess I found
The means to my escape, my bonds I brake,
Fled from my Guards, and in a muddy Lake
Amongst the Sedges all the night lay hid,
Till they their Sails had hoist (if so they did)
And now alas no hope remains for me
My home, my father and my sons to see,
Whom, they enrag'd, will kill for my Offence,
And punish for my guilt their Innocence.
Those Gods who know the Truths I now relate,
That faith which yet remains inviolate
By mortal men, By these I beg, redress
My causless wrongs, and pity such distress.
And now true Pity in exchange he finds
For his false Tears, his Tongue, his hands unbinds.
Then spake the King, be Ours whoere thou art,
Forget the Greeks. But first the truth impart,
Why did they raise, or to what use intend
This Pile? to a Warlike, or Religious end?
Skilful in fraud, (his native Art) his hands
Toward heaven he rais'd, deliver'd now from bands.
Ye pure, Æthereal flames, ye Powers ador'd
By mortal men, ye Altars, and the sword
I scap'd; ye sacred Fillets that involv'd
My destin'd head, grant I may stand absolv'd
From all their Laws and Rites, renounce all name
Of faith or love, their secret thoughts proclaim;
Only O Troy, preserve thy faith to me,
If what I shall relate preserveth thee.
From Pallas favour, all our hopes, and all
Counsels, and Actions took Original,
Till Diomed (for such attempts made fit
By dire conjunction with Ulysses wit)
Assails the sacred Tower, the Guards they slay,
Defile with bloudy hands, and thence convey
The fatal Image; straight with our success
Our hopes fell back, whilst prodigies express
Her just disdain, her flaming eyes did throw
Flashes of lightning, from each part did flow
A briny sweat, thrice brandishing her spear,
Her Statue from the ground it self did rear;
Then, that we should our Sacrilege restore
And reconveigh their Gods from Argos shore,
Calchas perswades, till then we urge in vain
The fate of Troy. To measure back the Main
They all consent, but to return agen,
When re-inforc'd with aids of Gods and men.
Thus Calchas, then instead of that, this Pile
To Pallas was design'd; to reconcile
Th'offended Power, and expiate our guilt,
To this vast height and monstrous stature built,
Lest through your gates receiv'd, it might renew
Your vows to her, and her Defence to you.
But if this sacred gift you dis-esteem,
Then cruel Plagues (which heaven divert on them)
Shall fall on Priams State: but if the horse
Your walls ascend, assisted by your force,
A League 'gainst Greece all Asia shall contract;
Our Sons then suffering what their Sires would act.
Thus by his fraud and our own faith o'recome,
A feigned tear destroys us, against whom
Tydides nor Achilles could prevail,
Nor ten years conflict, nor a thousand sail.
This seconded by a most sad Portent
Which credit to the first imposture lent;
Laocoon, Neptunes Priest, upon the day
Devoted to that God, a Bull did slay,
When two prodigious serpents were descride,
Whose circling stroaks the Seas smooth face divide;
Above the deep they raise their scaly Crests,
And stem the floud with their erected brests,
Their winding tails advance and steer their course,
And 'gainst the shore the breaking Billow force.
Now landing, from their brandisht tongues there came
A dreadful hiss, and from their eyes a flame:
Amaz'd we fly, directly in a line
Laocoon they pursue, and first intwine
(Each preying upon one) his tender sons,
Then him, who armed to their rescue runs,
They seiz'd, and with intangling folds embrac'd
His neck twice compassing, and twice his wast,
Their poys'nous knots he strives to break, and tear,
Whilst slime and bloud his sacred wreaths besmear,
Then loudly roars, as when th'enraged Bull
From th'Altar flies, and from his wounded skull
Shakes the huge Ax; the conqu'ring serpents fly
To cruel Pallas Altar, and there ly
Under her feet, within her shields extent;
We in our fears conclude this fate was sent
Justly on him, who struck the Sacred Oak
With his accursed Lance. Then to invoke
The Goddess, and let in the fatal horse
We all consent:
A spacious breach we make, & Troys proud wall
Built by the Gods, by our own hands doth fall;
Thus, all their help to their own ruine give,
Some draw with cords, and some the Monster drive
With Rolls and Leavers, thus our works it climbs,
Big with our fate, the youth with Songs and Rhimes,
Some dance, some hale the Rope; at last let down
It enters with a thundering noise the Town.
O Troy the seat of Gods, in war renown'd;
Three times it stuck, as oft the clashing sound
Of Arms was heard, yet blinded by the Power
Of Fate, we place it in the sacred Tower.
Cassandra then foretels th'event, but she
Finds no belief (such was the Gods decree.)
The Altars with fresh flowers we crown, & wast
In Feasts that day, which was (alas) our last.
Now by the revolution of the Skies,
Nights sable shadows from the Ocean rise,
Which heaven and earth, and the Greek frauds involv'd,
The City in secure repose dissolv'd,
When from the Admirals high Poop appears
A light, by which the Argive Squadron Steers
Their silent course to Iliums well known Shore,
When Synon (sav'd by the Gods partial power)
Opens the horse, and through the unlockt doors
To the free Ayr the armed fraight restores:
Ulysses, Stenelus, Tysander slide
Down by a Rope, Machaon was their guide;
Atrides, Pyrrhus, Thoas, Athamas,
And Epeus who the frauds contriver was,
The Gates they seize, the Guards with sleep and wine
Opprest, surprize, and then their forces joyn.
'Twas then, when the first sweets of sleep repair
Our bodies spent with toil, our minds with care
(The Gods best gift) When bath'd in tears and blood
Before my face lamenting Hector stood,
Such his aspect when soyl'd with bloudy dust
Dragg'd by the cords which through his feet were thrust
By his insulting Foe; O how transform'd!
How much unlike that Hector who return'd
Clad in Achilles spoyls; when he, among
A thousand ships (like Jove) his Lightning flung;
His horrid Beard and knotted Tresses stood
Stiff with his gore, & all his wounds ran blood,
Intranc'd I lay, then (weeping) said, The Joy,
The hope and stay of thy declining Troy;
What Region held thee, whence, so much desir'd,
Art thou restor'd to us consum'd and tir'd
With toyls and deaths; but what sad cause confounds
Thy once fair looks, or why appear those wounds?
Regardless of my words, he no reply
Returns, but with a dreadful groan doth cry,
Fly from the Flame, O Goddess-born, our walls
The Greeks possess, and Troy confounded falls
From all her Glories; if it might have stood
By any Power, by this right hand it should.
What Man could do, by me for Troy was done,
Take here her Reliques and her Gods, to run
With them they Fate, with them new Walls expect,
Which, tost on Seas, thou shalt at last erect;
Then brings old Vesta from her sacred Quire,
Her holy Wreaths, and her eternal Fire.
Mean while the Walls with doubtful cries resound
From far (for shady coverts did surround
My Fathers house) approaching still more near
The clash of Arms, and voice of men we hear:
Rowz'd from my Bed, I speedily ascend
The house's top, and listning there attend,
As flames rowl'd by the winds conspiring force,
Ore full-ear'd Corn, or Torrents raging course
Bears down th'opposing Oaks, the fields destroys
And mocks the Plough-mans toil, th'unlookt for noise
From neighb'ring hills, th'amazed Shepherd hears;
Such my surprise, and such their rage appears,
First fell thy house Ucalegon, then thine
Deiphobus, Sigæan Seas did shine
Bright with Troys flames, the Trumpets dreadful sound,
The louder groans of dying men confound.
Give me my arms, I cry'd, resolv'd to throw
My self 'mongst any that oppos'd the Foe:
Rage, anger, and Despair at once suggest
That of all Deaths, to die in Arms was best.
The first I met was Panthus, Phœbus Priest,
Who scaping with his Gods and Reliques fled,
And towards the shore his little Grandchild led;
Panthus, what hope remains? what force? what place
Made good? but sighing, he replies (alas)
Trojans we were, and mighty Ilium was;
But the last period and fatal hour
Of Troy is come: Our Glory and our Power
Incensed Jove transfers to Grecian hands,
The foe within, the burning Town commands;
And (like a smother'd fire) an unseen force
Breaks from the bowels of the fatal Horse:
Insulting Synon flings about the flame,
And thousands more than e're from Argos came
Possess the Gates, the Passes and the Streets,
And these the sword oretakes, & those it meets,
The Guard nor fights nor flies, Their fate so near
At once suspends their Courage and their Fear.
Thus by the Gods, and by Atrides words
Inspir'd, I make my way through fire, through swords,
Where Noises, Tumults, Out-cries and Alarms
I heard, first Iphitus renown'd for Arms
We meet, who knew us (for the Moon did shine)
Then Ripheus, Hippanis and Dymas joyn
Their force, and young Choræbus Mygdons son,
Who, by the Love of fair Cassandra, won,
Arriv'd but lately in her Fathers Ayd
Unhappy, whom the Threats could not disswade
Of his Prophetick Spouse;
Whom, when I saw, yet daring to maintain
The fight, I said, Brave Spirits (but in vain)
Are you resolv'd to follow one who dares
Tempt all extreams? The state of Our affairs
You see: The Gods have left us, by whose aid
Our Empire stood; nor can the flame be staid:
Then let us fall amidst Our Foes; this one
Relief the vanquisht have, to hope for none.
Then re-inforc'd, as in a stormy night
Wolves urged by their raging appetite
Forrage for prey, which their neglected young
With greedy jaws expect, ev'n so among
Foes, Fire and Swords, t'assured death we pass,
Darkness our Guide, Despair our Leader was.
Who can relate that Evenings woes and spoils,
Or can his tears proportion to our Toils!
The City, which so long had flourisht, falls;
Death triumphs o're the Houses, Temples, Walls
Nor only on the Trojans fell this doom,
Their hearts at last the vanquish'd re-assume;
And now the Victors fall, on all sides, fears,
Groans and pale Death in all her shapes appears:
Androgeus first with his whole Troop was cast
Upon us, with civility misplac't;
Thus greeting us you lose by your delay,
Your share both of the honour and the prey,
Others the spoils of burning Troy convey
Back to those ships, which you but now forsake.
We making no return; his sad mistake
Too late he finds: As when an unseen Snake
A Travellers unwary foot hath prest,
Who trembling starts, when the Snakes azure Crest,
Swoln with his rising Anger, he espies,
So from our view surpriz'd Androgeus flies.
But here an easie victory we meet:
Fear binds their hands, and ignorance their feet,
Whilst Fortune, our first Enterprize, did aid,
Encourag'd with success, Choræbus said,
O Friends, we now by better Fates are led,
And the fair Path they lead us, let us tread.
First change your Arms, and their distinctions bear;
The same, in foes, Deceit and Vertue are.
Then of his Arms, Androgeus he divests,
His Sword, his Shield he takes, and plumed Crests,
Then Ripheus, Dymas, and the rest, All glad
Of the occasion, in fresh spoils are clad.
Thus mixt, with Greeks, as if their Fortune still
Follow'd their swords, we fight, pursue, and kill.
Some re-ascend the Horse, and he whose sides
Let forth the valiant, now, the Coward hides.
Some, to their safer Guard, their Ships, retire;
But vain's that hope, 'gainst which the Gods conspire:
Behold the Royal Virgin, The Divine
Cassandra, from Minerva's fatal shrine
Dragg'd by the hair, casting tow'rds heaven in vain,
Her Eyes; for Cords her tender hands did strain:
Choræbus at the spectacle enrag'd,
Flies in amidst the foes: we thus engag'd,
To second him, amongst the thickest ran;
Here first our ruine from our friends began,
Who from the Temples Battlements a shower
Of Darts and Arrows on our heads did powr:
They, us for Greeks, and now the Greeks (who knew
Cassandra's rescue) us for Trojans slew.
Then from all parts Ulysses, Ajax, then,
And then th'Atridæ rally all their men;
As winds, that meet from several Coasts, contest,
Their prisons being broke, the South and West,
And Eurus on his winged Coursers born
Triumphing in their speed, the woods are torn,
And chafing Nereus with his Trident throws
The billows from their bottom; Then all those
Who in the dark our fury did escape,
Returning, know our borrowed Arms and shape
And diff'ring Dialect: Then their numbers swell
And grow upon us; first Choræbus fell
Before Minerva's Altar, next did bleed
Just Ripheus, whom no Trojan did exceed
In virtue, yet the Gods his fate decreed.
Then Hippanis and Dymas wounded by
Their friends; nor thee Panthus thy Piety,
Nor consecrated Mitre, from the same
Ill fate could save; My Countreys funeral flame
And Troys cold ashes I attest, and call
To witness for my self, That in their fall
No Foes, no Death, nor Danger I declin'd
Did, and deserv'd no less, my Fate to find.
Now Iphitus with me, and Pelias
Slowly retire, the one retarded was
By feeble Age, the other by a wound,
To Court the Cry directs us, where We found
Th'Assault so hot, as if 'twere only there,
And all the rest secure from foes or fear:
The Greeks the Gates approach'd, their Targets cast,
Over their heads, some scaling ladders plac't
Against the walls, the rest the steps ascend,
And with their shields on their left Arms defend
Arrows and darts, and with their right hold fast
The Battlement; on them the Trojans cast
Stones, Rafters, Pillars, Beams, such Arms as these,
Now hopeless, for their last defence they seize.
The gilded Roofs, the marks of ancient state
They tumble down, and now against the Gate
Of th'Inner Court their growing force they bring,
Now was Our last effort to save the King.
Relieve the fainting, and succeed the dead.
A Private Gallery 'twixt th'appartments led,
Not to the Foe yet known, or not observ'd,
(The way for Hectors hapless Wife reserv'd,
When to the aged King, her little son
She would present) Through this we pass and run
Up to the highest Battlement, from whence
The Trojans threw their darts without offence.
A Tower so high, it seem'd to reach the sky,
Stood on the Roof, from whence we could descry
All Ilium—both the Camps, the Grecian Fleet;
This, where the Beams upon the Columns meet,
We loosen, which like Thunder from the Cloud
Breaks on their heads, as sudden and as loud.
But others still succeed: mean time, nor stones
Nor any kind of weapons cease.
Before the Gate in gilded Armour, shone
Young Pyrrhus, like a Snake his skin new grown,
Who fed on poys'nous herbs, all winter lay
Under the ground, and now reviews the day
Fresh in his new apparel, proud and young,
Rowls up his Back, and brandishes his tongue,
And lifts his scaly breast against the Sun;
With him his Fathers Squire, Antomedon
And Periphas who drove his winged steeds,
Enter the Court; whom all the youth succeeds
Of Scyros Isle, who flaming firebrands flung
Up to the roof, Pyrrhus himself among
The formost with an Axe an entrance hews
Through beams of solid Oak, then freely views
The Chambers, Galleries, and Rooms of State,
Where Priam and the ancient Monarchs sate.
At the first Gate an Armed Guard appears;
But th'Inner Court with horror, noise and tears
Confus'dly fill'd, the womens shrieks and cries
The Arched Vaults re-eccho to the skies;
Sad Matrons wandring through the spacious Rooms
Embrace and kiss the Posts: Then Pyrrhus comes
Full of his Father, neither Men nor Walls
His force sustain, the torn Port-cullis falls,
Then from the hinge, their strokes the Gates divorce,
And where the way they cannot find, they force:
Not with such rage a Swelling Torrent flows
Above his banks, th'opposing Dams orethrows,
Depopulates the Fields, the Cattel, Sheep,
Shepherds, and folds the foaming Surges sweep.
And now between two sad extreams I stood,
Here Pyrrhus and th'Atridæ drunk with blood,
There th'hapless Queen amongst an hundred Dames,
And Priam quenching from his wounds those flames
Which his own hands had on the Altar laid:
Then they the secret Cabinets invade,
Where stood the Fifty Nuptial Beds, the hopes
Of that great Race, the Golden Posts whose tops
Old hostile spoils adorn'd, demolisht lay,
Or to the foe, or to the fire a Prey.
Now Priams fate perhaps you may enquire,
Seeing his Empire lost, his Troy on fire,
And his own Palace by the Greeks possest,
Arms, long disus'd, his trembling limbs invest;
Thus on his foes he throws himself alone,
Not for their Fate, but to provoke his own:
There stood an Altar open to the view
Of Heaven, near which an aged Lawrel grew,
Whose shady arms the houshold Gods embrac'd;
Before whose feet the Queen her self had cast,
With all her daughters, and the Trojan wives,
As Doves whom an approaching tempest drives
And frights into one flock; But having spy'd
Old Priam clad in youthful Arms, she cry'd,
Alas my wretched husband, what pretence
To bear those Arms, and in them what defence?
Such aid such times require not, when again
If Hector were alive, he liv'd in vain;
Or here We shall a Sanctuary find,
Or as in life, we shall in death be joyn'd.
Then weeping, with kind force held & embrac'd
And on the sacred seat the King she plac'd;
Mean while Polites one of Priams sons
Flying the rage of bloudy Pyrrhus, runs
Through foes & swords, & ranges all the Court
And empty Galleries, amaz'd and hurt,
Pyrrhus pursues him, now oretakes, now kills,
And his last blood in Priams presence spills.
The King (though him so many deaths inclose)
Nor fear, nor grief, but Indignation shows;
The Gods requite thee (if within the care
Of those above th'affairs of mortals are)
Whose fury on the son but lost had been,
Had not his Parents Eyes his murder seen:
Not That Achilles (whom thou feign'st to be
Thy Father) so inhumane was to me;
He blusht, when I the rights of Arms implor'd;
To me my Hector, me to Troy restor'd:
This said, his feeble Arm a Javelin flung,
Which on the sounding shield, scarce entring, rung.
Then Pyrrhus; go a messenger to Hell
Of my black deeds, and to my Father tell
The Acts of his degenerate Race. So through
His Sons warm bloud, the trembling King he drew
To th'Altar; in his hair one hand he wreaths;
His sword, the other in his bosom sheaths.
Thus fell the King, who yet surviv'd the State,
With such a signal and peculiar Fate.
Under so vast a ruine not a Grave,
Nor in such flames a funeral fire to have:
He, whom such Titles swell'd, such Power made proud
To whom the Scepters of all Asia bow'd,
On the cold earth lies th'unregarded King,
A headless Carkass, and a nameless Thing.

SARPEDON'S SPEECH TO GLAUCUS IN THE 12TH OF HOMER

Thus to Glaucus spake
Divine Sarpedon, since he did not find
Others as great in Place, as great in Mind.
Above the rest, why is our Pomp, our Power?
Our flocks, our herds, and our possessions more?
Why all the Tributes Land and Sea affords
Heap'd in great Chargers, load our sumptuous boards?
Our chearful Guests carowse the sparkling tears
Of the rich Grape, whilst Musick charms their ears.
Why as we pass, do those on Xanthus shore,
As Gods behold us, and as Gods adore?
But that as well in danger, as degree,
We stand the first; that when our Lycians see
Our brave examples, they admiring say,
Behold our Gallant Leaders! These are They
Deserve the Greatness; and un-envied stand:
Since what they act, transcends what they command.
Could the declining of this Fate (oh friend)
Our Date to Immortality extend?
Or if Death sought not them, who seek not Death,
Would I advance? Or should my vainer breath
With such a Glorious Folly thee inspire?
But since with Fortune Nature doth conspire,
Since Age, Disease, or some less noble End,
Though not less certain, doth our days attend;
Since 'tis decreed, and to this period lead,
A thousand ways the noblest path we'll tread;
And bravely on, till they, or we, or all,
A common Sacrifice to Honour fall.

OUT OF AN EPIGRAM OF MARTIAL

THE PASSION OF DIDO FOR ÆNEAS

Having at large declar'd Joves Ambassy,
Cyllenius from Æneas straight doth flye;
He loth to disobey the Gods command,
Nor willing to forsake this pleasant Land,
Asham'd the kind Eliza to deceive,
But more afraid to take a solemn leave;
He many waies his labouring thoughts revolves,
But fear o're-coming shame, at last resolves
(Instructed by the God of Thieves) to steal
Himself away, and his escape conceal.
He calls his Captains, bids them Rigg the Fleet,
That at the Port they privately should meet;
And some dissembled colour to project,
That Dido should not their design suspect;
But all in vain he did his Plot disguise:
No Art a watchful Lover can surprize.
She the first motion finds; Love though most sure,
Yet always to itself seems unsecure;
That wicked Fame which their first Love proclaim'd,
Fore-tells the end; The Queen with rage inflam'd
Thus greets him, thou dissembler would'st thou flye
Out of my arms by stealth perfidiously?
Could not the hand I plighted, nor the Love,
Nor thee the Fate of dying Dido move?
And in the depth of Winter in the night,
Dark as thy black designs to take thy flight,
To plow the raging Seas to Coasts unknown,
The Kingdom thou pretend'st to not thine own;
Were Troy restor'd, thou shouldst mistrust a wind
False as they Vows, and as thy heart unkind.
Fly'st thou from me? by these dear drops of brine
I thee adjure, by that right hand of thine,
By our Espousals, by our Marriage-bed,
If all my kindness ought have merited;
If ever I stood fair in thy esteem,
From ruine, me, and my lost house redeem.
Cannot my Prayers a free acceptance find?
Nor my Tears soften an obdurate mind?
My Fame of Chastity, by which the Skies
I reacht before, by thee extinguisht dies;
Into my Borders now Iarbus falls,
And my revengeful Brother scales my walls;
The wild Numidians will advantage take,
For thee both Tyre and Carthage me forsake.
Hadst thou before thy flight but left with me
A young Æneas, who resembling thee,
Might in my sight have sported, I had then
Not wholly lost, nor quite deserted been;
By thee no more my Husband, but my Guest,
Betray'd to mischiefs, of which death's the least.
With fixed looks he stands, and in his Breast
By Joves command his struggling care supprest;
Great Queen, your favours and deserts so great,
Though numberless, I never shall forget;
No time, until my self I have forgot;
Out of my heart Eliza's name shall blot:
But my unwilling flight the Gods inforce,
And that must justifie our sad Divorce;
Since I must you forsake, would Fate permit,
To my desires I might my fortune fit;
Troy to her Ancient Splendour I would raise,
And where I first began, would end my days;
But since the Lycian Lotts, and Delphick God
Have destin'd Italy for our abode;
Since you proud Carthage (fled from Tyre) enjoy,
Why should not Latium us receive from Troy?
As for my Son, my Fathers angry Ghost,
Tells me his hopes by my delays are crost,
And mighty Joves Ambassadour appear'd
With the same message, whom I saw and heard;
We both are griev'd when you or I complain,
But much the more, when all complaints are vain;
I call to witness all the Gods and thy
Beloved head, the Coast of Italy
Against my will I seek.
Whilst thus he speaks, she rowls her sparkling eyes,
Surveys him round, and thus incens'd replies;
Thy Mother was no Goddess, nor thy stock
From Dardanus, but in some horrid rock,
Perfidious wretch, rough Caucasus thee bred,
And with their Milk Hircanian Tygers fed.
Dissimulation I shall now forget,
And my reserves of rage in order set;
Could all my Prayers and soft Entreaties force
Sighs from his Breast, or from his look remorse.
Where shall I first complain? can Mighty Jove
Or Juno such Impieties approve?
The just Astræa sure is fled to Hell,
Nor more in Earth, nor Heaven it self will dwell.
Oh Faith! him on my Coasts by Tempest cast,
Receiving madly, on my Throne I plac'd;
His Men from Famine, and his Fleet from Fire
I rescu'd: now the Lycian Lotts conspire
With Phœbus; now Joves Envoyé through the Air
Brings dismal tydings, as if such low care
Could reach their thoughts, or their repose disturb;
Thou art a false Impostor, and a Fourbe;
Go, go, pursue thy Kingdom through the Main,
I hope if Heaven her Justice still retain,
Thou shalt be wrackt, or cast upon some rock,
Where thou the name of Dido shalt invoke;
I'le follow thee in Funeral flames, when dead
My Ghost shall thee attend at Board and Bed,
And when the Gods on thee their vengeance show,
That welcom news shall comfort me below.
This saying, from his hated sight she fled;
Conducted by her Damsels to her bed;
Yet restless she arose, and looking out,
Beholds the Fleet, and hears the Seamen shout:
When great Æneas pass'd before the Guard,
To make a view how all things were prepar'd.
Ah cruel Love! to what dost thou inforce
Poor Mortal Breasts? again she hath recourse
To Tears, and Prayers, again she feels the smart
Of a fresh wound from his tyrannick Dart.
That she no ways nor means may leave untry'd,
Thus to her Sister she her self apply'd:
Dear Sister, my resentment had not been
So moving, if this Fate I had fore-seen;
Therefore to me this last kind office do,
Thou hast some interest in our scornful Foe,
He trusts to thee the Counsels of his mind,
Thou his soft hours, and free access canst find;
Tell him I sent not to the Ilian Coast
My Fleet to aid the Greeks; his Fathers Ghost
I never did disturb; ask him to lend
To this the last request that I shall send,
A gentle Ear; I wish that he may find
A happy passage, and a prosp'rous wind.
That contract I not plead, which he betray'd,
Nor that his promis'd Conquest be delay'd;
All that I ask, is but a short Reprieve,
Till I forget to love, and learn to grieve;
Some pause and respite only I require,
Till with my tears I shall have quencht my fire.
If thy address can but obtain one day
Or two, my Death that service shall repay.
Thus she intreats; such messages with tears
Condoling Anne to him, and from him bears;
But him no Prayers, no Arguments can move,
The Fates resist, his Ears are stopt by Jove:
As when fierce Northern blasts from th'Alpes descend,
From his firm roots with struggling gusts to rend
An aged sturdy Oak, the ratling sound
Grows loud, with leaves and scatter'd arms the ground
Is over-layd; yet he stands fixt, as high
As his proud head is raised towards the Sky,
So low towards Hell his roots descend. With Pray'rs
And Tears the Hero thus assail'd, great cares
He smothers in his Breast, yet keeps his Post,
All their addresses and their labour lost.
Then she deceives her Sister with a smile,
Anne in the Inner Court erects a Pile;
Thereon his Arms and once lov'd Portraict lay,
Thither our fatal Marriage-bed convey;
All cursed Monuments of him with fire
We must abolish (so the Gods require)
She gives her credit, for no worse effect
Then from Sichæus death she did suspect,
And her commands obeys.
Aurora now had left Tithonus bed,
And o're the world her blushing Raies did spread;
The Queen beheld as soon as day appear'd,
The Navy under Sail, the Haven clear'd;
Thrice with her hand her Naked Breast she knocks,
And from her forehead tears her Golden Locks.
O Jove, she cry'd, and shall he thus delude
Me and my Realm! why is he not pursu'd?
Arm, Arm, she cry'd, and let our Tyrians board
With ours his Fleet, and carry Fire and Sword;
Leave nothing unattempted to destroy
That perjur'd Race, then let us dye with joy;
What if the event of War uncertain were,
Nor death, nor danger, can the desperate fear?
But oh too late! this thing I should have done,
When first I plac'd the Traytor on my Throne.
Behold the Faith of him who sav'd from fire
His honour'd houshold gods, his Aged Sire
His Pious shoulders from Troy's Flames did bear;
Why did I not his Carcase piece-meal tear
And cast it in the Sea? why not destroy
All his Companions and beloved Boy
Ascanius? and his tender limbs have drest,
And made the Father on the Son to Feast?
Thou Sun, whose lustre all things here below
Surveys; and Juno conscious of my woe;
Revengeful Furies, and Queen Hecate,
Receive and grant my prayer! if he the Sea
Must needs escape, and reach th'Ausonian land,
If Jove decree it, Jove's decree must stand;
When landed, may he be with arms opprest
By his rebelling people, be distrest
By exile from his Country, be divorc'd
From young Ascanius sight, and be enforc'd
To implore Forrein aids, and lose his Friends
By violent and undeserved ends:
When to conditions of unequal Peace
He shall submit, then may he not possess
Kingdom nor Life, and find his Funeral
I'th' Sands, when he before his day shall fall:
And ye oh Tyrians with immortal hate
Pursue his race, this service dedicate
To my deplored ashes; let there be
'Twixt us and them no League nor Amity;
May from my bones a new Achilles rise,
That shall infest the Trojan Colonies
With Fire, and Sword, and Famine, when at length
Time to our great attempts contributes strength;
Our Seas, our Shores, our Armies theirs oppose,
And may our Children be for ever Foes.
A ghastly paleness deaths approach portends,
Then trembling she the fatal pile ascends;
Viewing the Trojan relicks, she unsheath'd
Æneas Sword, not for that use bequeath'd:
Then on the guilty bed she gently lays
Her self, and softly thus lamenting prays:
Dear Reliques whilst that Gods and Fates gave leave,
Free me from care, and my glad soul receive;
That date which fortune gave I now must end,
And to the shades a noble Ghost descend;
Sichæus blood by his false Brother spilt,
I have reveng'd, and a proud City built;
Happy, alas! too happy I had liv'd,
Had not the Trojan on my Coast arriv'd;
But shall I dye without revenge? yet dye,
Thus, thus with joy to thy Sichæus flye.
My conscious Foe my Funeral fire shall view
From Sea, and may that Omen him pursue.
Her fainting hand let fall the Sword besmear'd
With blood, and then the Mortal wound appear'd;
Through all the Court the fright and clamours rise,
Which the whole City fills with fears and cries,
As loud as if her Carthage, or old Tyre
The Foe had entred, and had set on Fire:
Amazed Anne with speed ascends the stairs,
And in her arms her dying Sister rears:
Did you for this, your self, and me beguile
For such an end did I erect this Pile?
Did you so much despise me, in this Fate
My self with you not to associate?
Your self and me, alas! this fatal wound
The Senate, and the People, doth confound.
I'le wash her Wound with Tears, and at her Death,
My Lips from hers shall draw her parting Breath.
Then with her Vest the Wound she wipes and dries;
Thrice with her Arm the Queen attempts to rise,
But her strength failing, falls into a swound,
Life's last efforts yet striving with her Wound;
Thrice on her Bed she turns, with wandring sight
Seeking, she groans when she beheld the light;
Then Juno pitying her disastrous Fate,
Sends Iris down, her Pangs to Mitigate,
(Since if we fall before th'appointed day,
Nature and Death continue long their Fray)
Iris Descends; This Fatal lock (says she)
To Pluto I bequeath, and set thee free,
Then clips her Hair, cold Numness strait bereaves
Her Corps of sense, and th'Ayr her Soul receives.

OF PRUDENCE. OF JUSTICE

CATO MAJOR

---

203

OF OLD-AGE

Cato, Scipio, Lælius.
Scipio to Cato.
Cat.
What you urge (Scipio) from right reason flows,
All parts of Age seem burthensome to those,
Who Virtue's, and true Wisdom's happiness
Cannot discern, but they who those possess
In what's impos'd by Nature, find no grief,
Of which our Age is (next our Death) the chief,
Which though all equally desire to' obtain,
Yet when they have obtain'd it, they complain;
Such our inconstancies, and follies are,
We say it steals upon us unaware:
Our want of reas'ning these false measures makes,
Youth runs to Age, as Childhood Youth o'retakes;
How much more grievous would our lives appear
To reach th'eight hundreth, then the eightieth year:
Of what, in that long space of time hath past,
To foolish Age will no remembrance last,
My Ages conduct when you seem to' admire,
(Which that it may deserve, I much desire)
'Tis my first rule, on Nature, as my Guide
Appointed by the Gods, I have rely'de,
And Nature, (which all Acts of life designes)
Not like ill Poets, in the last declines;
But some one part must be the last of all,
Which like ripe fruits, must either rot, or fall,
And this from Nature must be gently born,
Else her (as Giants did the Gods) we scorn.

Læl.
But Sir, 'tis Scipio's, and my desire,
Since to long life we gladly would aspire,
That from your grave Instructions we might hear,
How we, like you, might this great burthen bear.

Cat.
This I resolv'd before, but now shall do
With great delight, since 'tis requir'd by you.

Læl.
If to your self it will not tedious prove,
Nothing in us a greater joy can move,
That as old Travellers the young instruct,
Your long, our short experience may conduct.

Cat.
'Tis true, (as the old Proverb doth relate)
Equals with equals often congregate.
Two Consuls (who in years my equals were,)
When Senators, lamenting I did hear,
That Age from them had all their pleasures torn,
And them their former suppliants now scorn,
They, what is not to be accus'd, accuse,
Not others, but themselves their age abuse,
Else this might me concern, and all my friends,
Whose cheerful Age, with Honour, Youth attends,
Joy'd that from pleasure's slavery they are free,
And all respects due to their age they see,
In its true colours, this complaint appears
The ill effect of Manners, not of years,
For on their life no grievous burthen lies,
Who are well-natur'd, temperate, and wise:
But an inhumane, and ill-temper'd mind
Not any easie part in life can find.

Læl.
This I believe, yet others may dispute,
Their age (as yours) can never bear such fruit,
Of Honour, Wealth, and Power, to make them sweet,
Not every one such happiness can meet.

Cat.
Some weight your argument (my Lælius) bears,
But not so much, as at first sight appears,
This answer by Themistocles was made,
(When a Seriphian thus did him upbraid,
You those great Honours to your Country owe,
Not to your self) had I at Seripho
Been born, such honour I had never seen,
Nor you, if an Athenian you had been:
So Age, cloath'd in undecent povertie,
To the most prudent cannot easie be,
But to a fool, the greater his estate,
The more uneasie is his Age's weight.
Age's chief arts, and arms, are to grow wise,
Virtue to know, and known to exercise,
All just returns to Age then Virtue makes,
Nor her in her extremity forsakes,
The sweetest Cordial we receive at last
Is conscience of our virtuous actions past.
I, (when a youth) with reverence did look
On Quintus Fabius, who Tarentum took,
Yet in his age such cheerfulness was seen,
As if his years and mine had equal been,
His Gravity was mixt with Gentleness,
Nor had his Age made his good humour less,
Then was he well in years (the same that he
Was Consul, that of my Nativity)
(A Stripling then) in his fourth Consulate
On him at Capua I in armes did wait,
I five years after at Tarentum wan
The Quæstorship, and then our love began,
And four years after, when I Prætor was
He Pleaded, and the Cincian Law did pass.
With youthful diligence he us'd to' ingage,
Yet with the temperate Arts of patient Age
He breaks fierce Hannibal's insulting heats;
Of which exploit thus our friend Ennius treats,
He by delay restor'd the Common-wealth,
Nor preferr'd Rumour before publick Health.

THE ARGUMENT

When I reflect on Age, I find there are
Four Causes, which its Misery declare.
1. Because our Bodies Strength it much impairs;
2. That it takes off our Minds from great Affairs:
3. Next, That our Sense of Pleasures it deprives:
4. Last, That approaching Death attends our Lives.
Of all these several Causes I'le discourse,
And then of each, in Order, weigh the force.

1. THE FIRST PART

The Old from such affairs is only freed,
Which vigourous youth, and strength of body need.
But to more high affairs our age is lent,
Most properly when heats of youth are spent.
Did Fabius, and your Father Scipio
(Whose Daughter my Son married) nothing do?
Fabricii, Coruncani, Curii;
Whose courage, counsel, and authority,
The Roman Common-wealth, restor'd, did boast,
Nor Appius, with whose strength his sight was lost,
Who when the Senate was to Peace inclin'd
With Pyrrhus, shew'd his reason was not blind.
Whither's our Courage and our Wisdom come?
When Rome it self conspires the fate of Rome?
The rest with ancient gravity and skill
He spake (for his Oration's extant still)
'Tis seventeen years since he had Consul been
The second time, and there were ten between;
Therefore their Argument's of little force,
Who Age from great Imployments would divorce.
As in a Ship some climb the Shrouds, to' unfold
The Sails, some sweep the Deck, some pump the Hold;
Whil'st he that guides the Helm, imploys his skill,
And gives the Law to them by sitting still.
Great actions less from Courage, strength, and speed,
Then from wise Counsels and Commands proceed;
Those Arts Age wants not, which to Age belong,
Not heat, but cold experience makes us strong,
A Consul, Tribune, General, I have been,
All sorts of war I have past through, and seen
And now grown old, I seem to' abandon it,
Yet to the Senate I prescribe what's fit.
I every day 'gainst Carthage war proclaim,
(For Rome's destruction hath been long her aim)
Nor shall I cease till I her ruine see,
Which Triumph may the Gods designe for thee;
That Scipio may revenge his Grandsire's Ghost,
Whose life at Cannæ with great Honour lost
Is on Record, nor had he wearied been
With Age, if he an hundred years had seen,
He had not us'd Excursions, Spears, or Darts,
But Counsel, Order, and such aged Arts,
Which, if our Ancestors had not retain'd,
The Senate's Name, our Council had not gain'd.
The Spartans to their highest Magistrate,
The Name of Elder did appropriate:
Therefore his fame for ever shall remain,
How gallantly Tarentum he did gain,
With vigilant Conduct, when that sharp reply
He gave to Salinator, I stood by,
Who to the Castle fled, the Town being lost,
Yet he to Maximus did vainly boast,
'Twas by my means Tarentum you obtain'd;
'Tis true, had you not lost, I had not gain'd;
And as much Honour on his Gown did wait,
As on his Arms, in his Fifth Consulate,
When his Colleague Carvilius stept aside,
The Tribune of the People would divide
To them the Gallick, and the Picene Field,
Against the Senate's will, he will not yield,
When being angry, boldly he declares
Those things were acted under happy starres,
From which the Commonwealth found good effects,
But othewise, they came from bad Aspects.
Many great things of Fabius I could tell,
But his Son's death did all the rest excell;
(His Gallant Son, though young, had Consul been)
His Funeral Oration I have seen
Often, and when on that I turn my eyes,
I all the Old Philosophers dispise,
Though he in all the Peoples eyes seem'd great,
Yet greater he appear'd in his retreat;
When feasting with his private friends at home,
Such Counsel, such Discourse from him did come,
Such Science in his Art of Augury,
No Roman ever was more learn'd than he;
Knowledge of all things present, and to come,
Remembring all the Wars of ancient Rome,
Nor only these, but all the World's beside;
Dying in extreme age, I prophesi'd
That which is come to pass, and did discern
From his Survivors I could nothing learn.
This long discourse was but to let you see,
That his long life could not uneasie be.
Few like the Fabii or the Scipio's are
Takers of Cities, Conquerors in War,
Yet others to like happy Age arrive,
Who modest, quiet, and with vertue live:
Thus Plato writing his Philosophy,
With Honour after ninety years did die.
The Athenian Story writ at ninety four
By Isocrates, who yet liv'd five years more,
His Master Gorgias at the hundredth year
And seventh, not his studies did forbear,
And askt, why he no sooner left the Stage,
Said, he saw nothing to accuse Old Age.
None but the foolish, who their lives abuse
Age, of their own Mistakes and Crimes accuse,
All Commonwealths (as by Record is seen)
As by Age preserv'd, by Youth destroy'd have been.
When the Tragedian Nævius did demand,
Why did your Common-wealth no longer stand?
'Twas answer'd, that their Senators were new,
Foolish, and young, and such as nothing knew;
Nature to Youth hot rashness doth dispence,
But with cold prudence Age doth recompence;
But Age ('tis said) will memory decay,
So (if it be not exercis'd) it may;
Or, if by Nature it be dull, and slow,
Themistocles (when ag'd) the Names did know
Of all th'Athenians, and none grow so old,
Not to remember where they hid their Gold.
From Age such Art of Memory we learn,
To forget nothing, which is our concern.
Their interest no Priest, nor Sorcerer
Forgets, nor Lawyer, nor Philosopher;
No understanding, Memory can want,
Where Wisdome studious industry doth plant.
Nor does it only in the active live,
But in the quiet and contemplative;
When Sophocles (who Plays, when aged wrote)
Was by his Sons before the Judges brought,
Because he pay'd the Muses such respect,
His Fortune, Wife, and Children to neglect,
Almost condemn'd, he mov'd the Judges thus,
Hear, but instead of me, my Oedipus,
The Judges hearing with applause, at th'end,
Freed him, and said no Fool such Lines had penn'd.
What Poets, and what Orators can I
Recount? What Princes in Philosophy?
Whose constant Studies with their Age did strive,
Nor did they those, though those did them survive.
Old Husbandmen I at Sabinium know,
Who for another year dig, plough, and sow.
For never any man was yet so old,
But hop'd his life one Winter more might hold.
Cæcilius vainly said, each day we spend
Discovers something, which must needs offend,
But sometimes Age may pleasant things behold,
And nothing that offends: He should have told
This not to Age, but Youth, who oftner see
What not alone offends, but hurts, then wee:
That, I in him, which he in Age condemn'd,
That us it renders odious, and contemn'd.
He knew not vertue, if he thought this, truth;
For Youth delights in Age, and Age in Youth.
What to the Old can greater pleasure be,
Then hopeful, and ingenious Youth to see?
When they with rev'rence follow where we lead,
And in strait paths by our directions tread;
And even my conversation here I see,
As well receiv'd by you, as yours by me.
'Tis dis-ingenious to accuse our Age
Of Idleness, who all our pow'rs ingage
In the same Studies, the same Course to hold;
Nor think our reason for new Arts too old.
Solon the Sage his Progress never ceast,
But still his Learning with his dayes increast;
And I with the same greediness did seek
As (water when I thirst) to swallow Greek,
Which I did only learn, that I might know
Those great Examples, which I follow now:
And I have heard that Socrates the wise
Learn'd on the Lute for his last exercise,
Though many of the Antients did the same,
To improve Knowledge was my only aime.

2. THE SECOND PART

Now int' our second grievance I must break,
That loss of strength makes understanding weak.
I grieve no more my youthful strength to want,
Then young, that of a Bull or Elephant;
Then with that force content, which Nature gave,
Nor am I now displeas'd with what I have.
When the young Wrestlers at their sport grew warm,
Old Milo wept, to see his naked arm;
And cry'd, 'twas dead, Trifler thine heart, and head,
And all that's in them (not thy arme) are dead;
This folly every looker on derides,
To glory only in thy armes and sides.
Our gallant Ancestors let fall no tears,
Their strength decreasing by increasing years;
But they advanc'd in Wisdom ev'ry hour,
And made the Common-wealth advance in power.
But Orators may grieve, for in their sides
Rather than heads, their faculty abides;
Yet I have heard old voices loud and clear,
And still my own sometimes the Senate hear.
When th'Old with smooth and gentle voices plead,
They by the ear their well-pleas'd Audience lead:
Which, if I had not strength enough to do,
I could (my Lælius and my Scipio)
What's to be done, or not be done, instruct,
And to the Maximes of good life conduct.
Cneius and Publius Scipio, and (that man
Of men) your Grandsire the great Affrican,
Were joyful, when the flower of Noble blood
Crowded their Dwellings, and attending stood,
Like Oracles their Counsels to receive,
How in their Progress they should act, and live.
And they whose high examples youth obeys,
Are not despised, though their strength decays.
And those decayes (to speak the naked truth,
Though the defects of Age) were Crimes of Youth.
Intemperate Youth (by sad experience found)
Ends in an Age imperfect, and unsound.
Cyrus, though ag'd (if Xenophon say true)
Lucius Metellus (whom when young I knew)
Who held (after his Second Consulate)
Twenty two years the high Pontificate;
Neither of those in body, or in mind
Before their death the least decay did find.
I speak not of my self, though none deny
To age (to praise their youth) the liberty:
Such an unwasted strength I cannot boast,
Yet now my years are eighty four almost:
And though from what it was my strength is far,
Both in the first and second Punick war,
Nor at Thermopylæ, under Glabrio,
Nor when I Consul into Spain did go;
But yet I feel no weakness, nor hath length
Of Winters quite enervated my strength;
And I, my Guest, my Client, or my friend,
Still in the Courts of Justice can defend:
Neither must I that Proverb's truth allow,
Who would be Antient, must be early so.
I would be youthful still, and find no need
To appear old, till I was so indeed.
And yet you see my hours not idle are,
Though with your strength I cannot mine compare.
Yet this Centurion's doth yours surmount,
Not therefore him the better man I count.
Milo when entring the Olympick Game,
With a huge Oxe upon his shoulder came.
Would you the force of Milo's body find?
Rather than of Pythagoras's mind?
The force which Nature gives with care retain,
But when decay'd, 'tis folly to complain;
In age to wish for youth is full as vain,
As for a youth to turn a child again.
Simple, and certain Nature's wayes appear,
As she sets forth the seasons of the year.
So in all parts of life we find her truth,
Weakness to childhood, rashness to our youth:
To elder years to be discreet and grave,
Then to old age maturity she gave.
(Scipio) you know, how Masinissa bears
His Kingly Port, at more than ninety years;
When marching with his foot, he walks till night;
When with his horse, he never will alight;
Though cold, or wet, his head is alwayes bare;
So hot, so dry, his aged members are.
You see how Exercise and Temperance
Even to old years a youthful strength advance.
Our Law (because from age our strength retires)
No duty which belongs to strength requires.
But age doth many men so feeble make,
That they no great design can undertake;
Yet, that to age not singly is appli'd,
But to all man's infirmities beside.
That Scipio (who adopted you) did fall
Into such pains, he had no health at all;
Who else had equall'd Affricanus parts,
Exceeding him in all the Liberal Arts.
Why should those errors then imputed be
To Age alone, from which our youth's not free?
Ev'ry disease of age we may prevent,
Like those of youth, by being diligent.
When sick, such moderate exercise we use,
And diet, as our vital heat renues;
And if our bodies thence refreshment finds,
Then must we also exercise our minds.
If with continual Oyl we not supply
Our Lamp, the Light for want of it will die:
Though bodies may be tir'd with exercise,
No weariness the mind could e're surprise.
Cæcilius, the Comedian, when of Age,
He represents the follies on the Stage;
They're credulous, forgetful, dissolute,
Neither those Crimes to age he doth impute;
But to old men to whom those Crimes belong.
Lust, petulance, rashness, are in youth more strong
Than age, and yet young men those vices hate,
Who vertuous are, discreet, and temperate:
And so what we call dotage, seldome breeds
In bodies, but where Nature sow'd the seeds.
There are five Daughters and four gallant Sons,
In whom the blood of Noble Appius runs,
With a most num'rous Family beside;
When he alone though old, and blind did guide.
Yet his clear-sighted mind was still intent,
And to his business like a Bow stood bent:
By Children, Servants, Neighbours so esteem'd,
He not a Master, but a Monarch seem'd.
All his Relations his admirers were,
His Sons paid reverence, and his Servants fear:
The Order and the antient Discipline
Of Romans, did in all his actions shine.
Authority (kept up) old age secures,
Whose dignity, as long as life endures.
Something of youth I in old age approve,
But more the marks of age in youth I love.
Who this observes, may in his body find
Decrepit age, but never in his mind.
The seven Volumes of my own Reports,
Wherein are all the Pleadings of our Courts.
All noble Monuments of Greece are come
Unto my hands, with those of ancient Rome.
The Pontificial, and the Civil Law,
I study still, and thence Orations draw.
And to confirm my Memory, at night,
What I hear, see, do, by day, I still recite.
These exercises for my thoughts I find,
These labours are the Chariot of my mind.
To serve my friends, the Senate I frequent,
And there what I before digested, vent.
Which only from my strength of mind proceeds,
Not any outward force of body needs:
Which, if I could not do, I should delight
On what I would to ruminate at night.
Who in such practices their minds engage,
Nor fear, nor think of their approaching age;
Which by degrees invisibly doth creep:
Nor do we seem to die, but fall asleep.

3. THE THIRD PART

Now must I draw my forces 'gainst that Host
Of Pleasures, which i'th' Sea of age are lost.
Oh, thou most high transcendent gift of age!
Youth from its folly thus to disengage.
And now receive from me that most divine
Oration of that noble Tarentine,
Which at Tarentum I long since did hear;
When I attended the great Fabius there.
Yee Gods, was it man's Nature? or his Fate?
Betray'd him with sweet pleasures poyson'd bait?
Which he, with all designs of art, or power,
Doth with unbridled appetite devour;
And as all poysons seek the noblest part,
Pleasure possesses first the head and heart;
Intoxicating both, by them, she finds,
And burns the Sacred Temples of our Minds.
Furies, which Reasons divine chains had bound,
(That being broken) all the World confound.
Lust, Murder, Treason, Avarice, and Hell
It self broke loose; in Reason's Pallace dwell,
Truth, Honour, Justice, Temperance, are fled,
All her attendants into darkness led.
But why all this discourse? when pleasure's rage
Hath conquer'd reason, we must treat with age.
Age undermines, and will in time surprize
Her strongest Forts, and cut off all supplies.
And joyn'd in league with strong necessity,
Pleasure must flie, or else by famine die.
Flaminius, whom a Consulship had grac'd
(Then Censor) from the Senate I displac'd;
When he in Gaul a Consul, made a Feast,
A beautious Curtesan did him request,
To see the cutting off a Prisoner's head;
This Crime I could not leave unpunished,
Since by a private villany he stain'd
That Publick Honour, which at Rome he gain'd.
Then to our age (when not to pleasures bent)
This seems an honour, not disparagement.
We, not all pleasures like the Stoicks hate;
But love and seek those which are moderate.
(Though Divine Plato thus of pleasures thought,
They us, with hooks and baits, like fishes caught.)
When Quæstor, to the Gods, in Publick Halls
I was the first, who set up Festivalls.
Not with high tastes our appetites did force,
But fill'd with conversation and discourse;
Which Feasts, Convivial Meetings we did name.
Not like the Antient Greeks, who to their shame,
Call'd it a Compotation, not a Feast;
Declaring the worst part of it the best.
Those Entertainments I did then frequent
Sometimes with youthful heat and merriment:
But now (I thank my age) which gives me ease
From those excesses, yet my self I please
With cheerful talk to entertain my guests,
(Discourses are to age continual feasts)
The love of meat and wine they recompence,
And cheer the mind, as much as those the Sence.
I'm not more pleas'd with gravity among
The ag'd, than to be youthful with the young;
Nor 'gainst all pleasures proclaim open war,
To which, in age, some natural motions are.
And still at my Sabinum I delight
To treat my Neighbours till the depth of night.
But we the sence and gust of pleasure want,
Which youth at full possesses, this I grant;
But age seeks not the things which youth requires,
And no man needs that, which he not desires.
When Sophocles was ask'd if he deny'd
Himself the use of pleasures, he reply'd,
I humbly thank th'Immortal Gods, who me
From that fierce Tyrants insolence set free.
But they whom pressing appetites constrain,
Grieve when they cannot their desires obtain.
Young men the use of pleasure understand,
As of an object new, and neer at hand:
Though this stands more remote from age's sight,
Yet they behold it not without delight:
As ancient souldiers from their duties eas'd,
With sense of Honour and Rewards are pleas'd,
So from ambitious hopes, and lusts releast,
Delighted with it self, our age doth rest.
No part of life's more happy, when with bread
Of ancient Knowledge, and new Learning fed;
All youthful pleasures by degrees must cease,
But those of age even with our years increase.
We love not loaded Boards, and Goblets crown'd,
But free from surfets, our repose is sound.
When old Fabritius to the Samnites went
Ambassadour from Rome to Pyrrhus sent,
He heard a grave Philosopher maintain,
That all the actions of our life were vain;
Which with our sence of pleasure not conspir'd.
Fabritius the Philosopher desir'd,
That he to Pyrrhus would that Maxime teach,
And to the Samnites the same doctrine preach;
Then of their Conquest he should doubt no more,
Whom their own pleasures overcame before.
Now into Rustick matters I must fall,
Which pleasure seems to me the chief of all.
Age no impediment to those can give,
Who wisely by the Rules of Nature live.
Earth (though our Mother) cheerfully obeys,
All the commands her race upon her lays.
For whatsoever from our hand she takes,
Greater, or less, a vast return she makes,
Nor am I only pleas'd with that resource,
But with her wayes, her method, and her force,
The seed her bosom (by the plough made fit)
Receives, where kindly she embraces it,
Which with her genuine warmth, diffus'd, and spread
Sends forth betimes a green, and tender head,
Then gives it motion, life, and nourishment,
Which from the root through nerves and veins are sent,
Streight in a hollow sheath upright it grows,
And, form receiving, doth it self disclose,
Drawn up in rancks, and files, the bearded spikes
Guard it from birds as with a stand of pikes.
When of the Vine I speak, I seem inspir'd,
And with delight, as with her juice am fir'd;
At Nature's God-like power I stand amaz'd,
Which such vast bodies hath from Attoms rais'd.
The kernel of a grape, the fig's small grain
Can cloath a Mountain, and o'reshade a Plaine:
But thou (dear Vine) forbid'st me to be long,
Although thy trunck be neither large, nor strong,
Nor can thy head (not helpt) it self sublime,
Yet like a Serpent, a tall tree can climb,
Whate're thy many fingers can intwine
Proves thy support, and all its strength is thine,
Though Nature gave not legs, it gave thee hands,
By which thy prop the proudest Cedar stands;
As thou hast hands, so hath thy off-spring wings,
And to the highest part of Mortals springs,
But lest thou should'st consume thy wealth in vain,
And starve thy self, to feed a numerous train,
Or like the Bee (sweet as thy blood) design'd
To be destroy'd to propagate his kind,
Lest thy redundant, and superfluous juyce,
Should fading leaves instead of fruits produce,
The Pruner's hand with letting blood must quench
Thy heat, and thy exub'rant parts retrench:
Then from the joynts of thy prolifick stemme
A swelling knot is raised (call'd a gemme)
Whence, in short space it self the cluster shews,
And from earths moisture mixt with Sun-beams grows,
I'th' Spring, like youth, it yields an acid taste,
But Summer doth, like age, the sourness waste,
Then cloath'd with leaves from heat, and cold secure,
Like Virgins, sweet, and beauteous, when mature.
On fruits, flowrs, herbs, and plants, I long could dwell
At once to please my eye, my taste, my smell,
My Walks of trees, all planted by my hand
Like Children of my own begetting stand,
To tell the several nature of each earth,
What fruits from each most properly take birth:
And with what arts to inrich every mold,
The dry to moysten and to warm the cold.
But when we graft, or Buds inoculate,
Nature by Art we nobly meliorate,
As Orpheus Musick wildest beasts did tame,
From the sowr Crab the sweetest Apple came:
The Mother to the Daughter goes to School,
The species changed, doth her laws o're-rule;
Nature her self doth from her self depart,
(Strange transmigration) by the power of Art.
How little things, give law to great? we see
The small Bud captivates the greatest Tree.
Here even the Power Divine we imitate,
And seem not to beget, but to create.
Much was I pleas'd with fowls and beasts, the tame
For food and profit, and the wild for game.
Excuse me when this pleasant string I touch,
(For age, of what delights it, speaks too much)
Who, twice victorious Pyrrhus conquered,
The Sabines and the Samnites captive led,
Great Curius, his remaining dayes did spend,
And in this happy life his triumphs end.
My Farm stands neer, and when I there retire,
His, and that Age's temper I admire,
The Samnites chiefs, as by his fire he sate,
With a vast sum of Gold on him did wait,
Return, said he, Your Gold I nothing weigh,
When those, who can command it, me obey:
This my assertion proves, he may be old
And yet not sordid, who refuses Gold.
In Summer to sit still, or walk, I love,
Neer a cool Fountain, or a shadie Grove,
What can in Winter render more delight?
Then the high Sun at noon, and fire at night,
While our old friends, and neighbours feast, and play,
And with their harmless mirth turn night to day,
Unpurchas'd plenty our full tables loads,
And part of what they lent, returns to our Gods.
That honour, and authority which dwells
With age, all pleasures of our youth excells,
Observe, that I that Age have only prais'd
Whose pillars were on youth's foundations rais'd,
And that (for which I great applause receiv'd)
As a true maxime hath been since believ'd.
That most unhappy age great pity needs,
Which to defend it self, new matter pleads,
Not from gray hairs authority doth flow,
Nor from bald heads, nor from a wrinckled brow,
But our past life, when virtuously spent,
Must to our age those happy fruits present,
Those things to age most Honorable are,
Which easie, common, and but light appear,
Salutes, consulting, complement, resort,
Crouding attendance to, and from the Court,
And not on Rome alone this honour waits,
But on all Civill, and well-govern'd States.
Lysander pleading in his City's praise,
From thence his strongest argument did raise,
That Sparta did with honour Age support,
Paying them just respect, at Stage, and Court,
But at proud Athens Youth did Age out-face,
Nor at the Playes, would rise, or give them place,
When an Athenian Stranger of great age,
Arriv'd at Sparta, climbing up the Stage,
To him the whole Assembly rose, and ran
To place and ease this old and reverend man,
Who thus his thanks returns, the Athenians know
What's to be done, but what they know, not do.
Here our great Senat's Orders I may quote,
The first in age is still the first in vote,
Nor honour, nor high-birth, nor great command
In competition with great years may stand.
Why should our Youths short, transient pleasures, dare
With Age's lasting honours to compare?
On the World's Stage, when our applause grows high,
For acting here, life's Tragick Comedy,
The lookers on will say we act not well,
Unless the last the former Scenes excell:
But Age is froward, uneasie, scrutinous,
Hard to be pleas'd, and parcimonious;
But all those errors from our Manners rise,
Not from our years, yet some Morosities
We must expect, since jealousie belongs
To age, of scorn, and tender sense of wrongs,
Yet those are mollify'd, or not discern'd,
Where civil arts and manners have been learn'd,
So the Twins humours in our Terence, are
Unlike, this harsh, and rude, that smooth and faire,
Our nature here, is not unlike our wine,
Some sorts, when old, continue brisk, and fine,
So Age's gravity may seem severe,
But nothing harsh, or bitter ought to'appear,
Of Age's avarice I cannot see
What colour, ground, or reason there should bee,
Is it not folly? when the way we ride
Is short, for a long voyage to provide.
To Avarice some title Youth may own,
To reap in Autumn, what the Spring had sown;
And with the providence of Bees, or Ants,
Prevent with Summers plenty, Winters wants,
But Age scarce sows, till Death stands by to reap,
And to a strangers hand transfers the heap;
Affraid to be so once, she's alwayes poor,
And to avoid a mischief, makes it sure
Such madness, as for fear of death to dy,
Is, to be poor for fear of Poverty.

4. THE FOURTH PART

Now against (that which terrifies our age)
The last, and greatest grievance we engage,
To her, grim death appears in all her shapes,
The hungry grave for her due tribute gapes,
Fond, foolish man! with fear of death surpriz'd
Which either should be wisht for, or despis'd,
This, if our Souls with Bodies, death destroy,
That, if our Souls a second life enjoy,
What else is to be fear'd? when we shall gain
Eternal life, or have no sence of pain,
The youngest in the morning are not sure,
That till the night their life they can secure
Their age stands more expos'd to accidents
Then our's, nor common cure their fate prevents:
Death's force (with terror) against Nature strives,
Nor one of many to ripe age arrives,
From this ill fate the world's disorders rise,
For if all men were old they would be wise,
Years, and experience, our fore-fathers taught,
Them under Laws, and into Cities brought:
Why only should the fear of death belong
To age? which is as common to the young:
Your hopefull Brothers, and my Son, to you
(Scipio) and me, this maxime makes too true,
But vigorous Youth may his gay thoughts erect
To many years, which Age must not expect,
But when he sees his airy hopes deceiv'd,
With grief he saies, who this would have believ'd?
We happier are then they, who but desir'd
To possess that, which we long since acquir'd.
What if our age to Nestor's could extend?
'Tis vain to think that lasting, which must end;
And when 'tis past, not any part remains
Thereof, but the reward which virtue gains.
Dayes, Months, and years, like running waters flow,
Nor what is past, nor what's to come we know,
Our date how short soe're must us content,
When a good Actor doth his part present,
In ev'ry Act he our attention draws,
That at the last he may find just applause,
So (though but short) yet we must learn the art
Of virtue, on this Stage to act our part;
True wisdome must our actions so direct,
Not only the last Plaudite to expect;
Yet grieve no more though long that part should last,
Then Husbandmen, because the Spring is past,
The Spring, like Youth, fresh blossoms doth produce,
But Autumne makes them ripe, and fit for use:
So Age a Mature Mellowness doth set
On the green promises of youthfull heat.
All things which Nature did ordain, are good,
And so must be receiv'd, and understood,
Age, like ripe Apples, on earth's bosom drops,
Whil'st force our youth, like fruits untimely crops;
The sparkling flame of our warm blood expires,
As when huge streams are pour'd on raging fires,
But age unforc'd falls by her own consent,
As Coals to ashes, when the Spirit's spent;
Therefore to death I with such joy resort,
As Seamen from a Tempest to their Port,
Yet to that Port our selves we must not force,
Before our Pilot Nature steers our course,
Let us the Causes of our fear condemn,
Then death at his approach we shall contemn,
Though to our heat of youth our age seems cold,
Yet when resolv'd, it is more brave and bold.
Thus Solon to Pisistratus reply'd,
Demanded, on what succour he rely'd,
When with so few he boldly did ingage,
He said, he took his courage from his Age.
Then death seems welcome, and our Nature kind,
When leaving us a perfect sense and mind;
She (like a Workman in his Science skill'd)
Pulls down with ease, what her own hand did build.
That Art which knew to joyn all parts in one,
Makes the least violent separation.
Yet though our Ligaments betimes grow weak,
We must not force them till themselves they break.
Pythag'ras bids us in our Station stand,
Till God our General shall us disband.
Wise Solon dying, wisht his friends might grieve,
That in their memories he still might live.
Yet wiser Ennius gave command to all
His friends, not to bewail his funeral;
Your tears for such a death in vain you spend,
Which strait in immortality shall end.
In death if there be any sense of pain,
But a short space, to age it will remain.
On which without my fears, my wishes wait,
But timorous youth on this should meditate:
Who for light pleasure this advice rejects,
Finds little, when his thoughts he recollects.
Our death (though not its certain date) we know,
Nor whether it may be this night, or no:
How then can they contented live? who fear
A danger certain, and none knows how near.
They erre, who for the fear of death dispute,
Our gallant actions this mistake confute.
Thee (Brutus) Rome's first Martyr I must name,
The Curtii bravely div'd the Gulph of Flame:
Attilius sacrific'd himself, to save
That faith, which to his barb'rous foes he gave;
With the two Scipio's did thy Uncle fall,
Rather to fly from Conquering Hannibal.
The great Marcellus (who restored Rome)
His greatest foes with Honour did intomb.
Their Lives how many of our Legions threw,
Into the breach? whence no return they knew;
Must then the wise, the old, the learned fear,
What not the rude, the young, th'unlearn'd forbear?
Satiety from all things else doth come,
Then life must to it self grow wearisome.
Those Trifles wherein Children take delight,
Grow nauceous to the young man's appetite,
And from those gaieties our youth requires,
To exercise their minds, our age retires.
And when the last delights of Age shall die,
Life in it self will find satietie.
Now you (my friends) my sense of death shall hear,
Which I can well describe, for he stands near.
Your Father Lælius, and yours Scipio,
My friends, and men of honour I did know;
As certainly as we must die, they live
That life which justly may that name receive.
Till from these prisons of our flesh releas'd,
Our souls with heavy burdens lie oppress'd;
Which part of man from Heaven falling down,
Earth in her low Abysse, doth hide, and drown.
A place so dark to the Celestial light,
And pure, eternal fires quite opposite.
The Gods through humane bodies did disperse
An heavenly soul, to guide this Universe;
That man, when he of heavenly bodies saw
The Order, might from thence a pattern draw:
Nor this to me did my own dictates show
But to the old Philosophers I owe.
I heard Pythagoras, and those who came
With him, and from our Countrey took their Name.
Who never doubted but the beams divine
Deriv'd from Gods, in mortal breasts did shine.
Nor from my knowledge did the Antients hide
What Socrates declar'd, the hour he dy'd,
He th'Immortality of Souls proclaim'd,
(Whom th'Oracle of men the wisest nam'd)
Why should we doubt of that? whereof our sence
Finds demonstration from experience;
Our minds are here and there, below, above;
Nothing that's mortal can so swiftly move.
Our thoughts to future things their flight direct,
And in an instant all that's past collect,
Reason, remembrance, wit, inventive art,
No nature, but immortal, can impart.
Man's Soul in a perpetual motion flowes,
And to no outward cause that Motion owes;
And therefore, that, no end can overtake,
Because our minds cannot themselves forsake.
And since the matter of our Soul is pure,
And simple, which no mixture can endure
Of parts, which not among themselves agree;
Therefore it never can divided be.
And Nature shews (without Philosophy)
What cannot be divided, cannot die.
We even in early infancy discern,
Knowledge is born with babes before they learn;
Ere they can speak, they find so many wayes
To serve their turn, and see more Arts than dayes,
Before their thoughts they plainly can expresse,
The words and things they know are numberlesse;
Which Nature only, and no Art could find,
But what she taught before, she call'd to mind.
This to his Sons (as Xenophon records)
Of the great Cyrus were the dying words;
This Noble Speech the dying Cyrus made.
Me (Scipio) shall no argument perswade,
Thy Grandsire, and his Brother, to whom Fame
Gave from two conquer'd parts o'th' World, their Name,
Nor thy great Grandsire, nor thy Father Paul,
Who fell at Cannæ against Hannibal;
Nor I (for 'tis permitted to the ag'd
To boast their actions) had so oft ingag'd
In Battels, and in Pleadings, had we thought,
That only Fame our vertuous actions bought,
'Twere better in soft pleasure and repose
Ingloriously our peaceful eyes to close:
Some high assurance hath possest my mind,
After my death, an happier life to find.
Unless our Souls from the Immortals came,
What end have we to seek Immortal Fame?
All vertuous spirits some such hope attends,
Therefore the wise his dayes with pleasure ends.
The foolish and short-sighted die with fear,
That they go no where, or they know not where.
The wise and vertuous Soul with cleerer eyes
Before she parts, some happy Port discries.
My friends, your Fathers I shall surely see,
Nor only those I lov'd, or who lov'd me;
But such as before ours did end their daies:
Of whom we hear, and read, and write their praise.
This I believe, for were I on my way,
None should perswade me to return, or stay:
Should some God tell me, that I should be born,
And cry again, his offer I should scorn;
Asham'd when I have ended well my race,
To be led back, to my first starting place.
And since with life we are more griev'd than joy'd,
We should be either satisfi'd, or cloy'd;
Yet will not I my length of dayes deplore,
As many wise and learn'd have done before:
Nor can I think such life in vain is lent,
Which for our Countrey and our friends is spent.
Hence from an Inne, not from my home, I pass,
Since Nature meant us here no dwelling place.
Happy when I from this turmoil set free,
That peaceful and divine assembly see:
Not only those I nam'd I there shall greet,
But my own gallant vertuous Cato meet.
Nor did I weep, when I to ashes turn'd
His belov'd body, who should mine have burn'd:
I in my thoughts beheld his Soul ascend,
Where his fixt hopes our Interview attend:
Then cease to wonder that I feel no grief
From Age, which is of my delights the chief.
My hope's, if this assurance hath deceiv'd,
(That I Man's Soul Immortal have believ'd)
And if I erre, no Pow'r shall dispossess
My thoughts of that expected happiness.
Though some minute Philosophers pretend,
That with our dayes our pains and pleasures end.
If it be so, I hold the safer side,
For none of them my Error shall deride.
And if hereafter no rewards appear,
Yet Vertue hath it self rewarded here.
If those who this Opinion have despis'd,
And their whole life to pleasure sacrific'd;
Should feel their error, they when undeceiv'd,
Too late will wish, that me they had believ'd.
If Souls no Immortality obtain,
'Tis fit our bodies should be out of pain.
The same uneasiness, which every thing
Gives to our Nature, life must also bring.
Good Acts (if long) seem tedious, so is Age
Acting too long upon this Earth her Stage.
Thus much for Age, to which when you arrive,
That Joy to you, which it gives me, 'twill give.

THE SOPHY

THE PROLOGUE

Hither ye come, dislike, and so undo
The Players, and disgrace the Poet too;
But he protests against your votes, and swears
He'll not be try'd by any, but his Peers;
He claims his priviledge, and sayes 'tis fit
Nothing should be the Judge of wit, but Wit.
Now you will all be Wits, and be I pray;
And you that discommend it, mend the Play:
'Tis the best satisfaction, he knows then
His turn will come, to laugh at you agen.
But Gentlemen, if ye dislike the Play,
Pray make no words on't till the second day,
Or third be past: For we would have you know it,
The loss will fall on us, not on the Poet:
For he writes not for money, nor for praise,
Nor to be call'd a Wit, nor to wear Bayes:
Cares not for frowns or smiles: so now you'll say,
Then (why the Devil) did he write a Play?
He says, 'twas then with him, as now with you,
He did it when he had nothing else to do.

ACTORS

Scena Persia.

• Abbas, King of Persia.
• Mirza, the Prince, his Son.
• Erythæa, the Princess, his Wife.
• Haly, the King's Favourite. Enemy to the Prince.
• Mirvan, Haly's Confident. Enemy to the Prince.
• Abdall, Lord, Friend to the Prince.
• Morat, Lord, Friend to the Prince.
• Caliph..
• Solyman, a foolish Courtier.
• Soffy, the Prince his Son, now King of Persia.
• Fatyma, his Daughter.
• 2 Turkish Bashawes.
• 3 Captains.
• 2 Women.
• Physician.
• Tormentors.

Actus Primus.

[Scena Prima.]

Enter Abdall and Morat.
Mor.
My Lord, you have good intelligence,
What news from the Army,
Any certainty of their design or strength?

Abd.
We know not their design: But for their strength,
The disproportion is so great, we cannot but
Expect a fatal consequence.

Mor.
How great my Lord?

Abd.
The Turks are fourscore thousand Foot,
And fifty thousand Horse. And we in the whole
Exceed not forty thousand.

Mor.
Me-thinks the Prince should know
That Judgment's more essential to a General,
Than Courage, if he prove victorious
'Tis but a happy rashness.

Abd.
But if he lose the battel, 'tis an error
Beyond excuse, or remedy, considering
That half the Lesser Asia will follow
The Victors fortune.

Mor.
'Tis his single vertue
And terror of his name, that walls us in
From danger, were he lost, the naked Empire
Would be a prey expos'd to all Invaders.

Abd.
But is't not necessary
The King should know his danger?

Mor.
To tell him of so great a danger,
Were but to draw a greater on our selves:
For though his eye is open as the mornings,
Towards lusts & pleasures, yet so fast a lethargy
Has seiz'd his powers towards publick cares and dangers,
He sleeps like death.

Abd.
He's a man of that strange composition,
Made up of all the worst extremities
Of youth, and age.

Mor.
And though
He feels the heats of youth, and colds of age,
Yet neither tempers, nor corrects the other;
As if there were an Ague in his nature
That still inclines to one extream.

Abd.
But the Caliph, or Haly, or some that know
His softer hours, might best acquaint him with it.

Mor.
Alas, they shew him nothing
But in the glass of flattery, if any thing
May bear a shew of glory, fame, or greatness,
'Tis multiplied to an immense quantity,
And stretcht even to Divinity:
But if it tend to danger, or dishonour,
They turn about the Perspective, and shew it
So little, at such distance, so like nothing,
That he can scarce discern it.

Abd.
'Tis the fate of Princes, that no knowledge
Comes pure to them, but passing through the eies
And ears of other men, it takes a tincture
From every channel; and still bears a relish
Of Flattery, or private ends.

Mor.
But danger and necessity
Dare speak the truth.

Abd.
But commonly
They speak not till it is too late:
And for Haly,
He that shall tell him of the Princes danger,
But tells him that himself is safe.

Scena Secunda.

Enter King, Princess, and Solyman.
King.
Clear up, clear up, sweet Erythæa,
That cloud that hangs upon thy brow presages
A greater storm than all the Turkish power
Can throw upon us, me-thinks I see my fortune
Setling her looks by thine, and in thy smile
Sits victory, and in thy frown our ruine:
Why should not hope as much erect our thoughts,
As fear deject them; why should we
Anticipate our sorrows? 'Tis like those
That die for fear of death:
What is 't you doubt, his courage or his fortune?

Prin.
Envy it self could never doubt his courage.

King.
Then let not love do worse, by doubting that
Which is but valours slave; a wise, well-temper'd valour,
For such is his, those Giants death and danger,
Are but his Ministers, and serve a Master
More to be fear'd than they; & the blind Goddess
Is led amongst the Captives in his triumph.

Prin.
I had rather she had eyes, for if she saw him
Sure she would love him better; but admit
She were at once a Goddess, and his slave,
Yet fortune, valour, all is overborn
By numbers: as the long resisting Bank
By the impetuous Torrent.

King.
That's but rumour:
Ne're did the Turk invade our Territory,
But Fame and Terrour doubled still their files:
But when our Troops encountred, then we found
Scarce a sufficient matter for our fury. One brings word of a Messenger.

Solyman conduct him in, 'tis surely from the Prince.

Enter Post, and delivers a Letter.
King.
Give it our Secretaries, I hope the Prince is well.

Post.
The Letter will inform you.

Enter a Mess. Ex. Princess. Enter Lords.
Mess.
Sir, the Lords attend you.

King.
What news from the Army?

Lord.
Please you to hear the Letter.

King.
Read it.

Lord.

The Turk enraged with his last years overthrow, hath re-enforc't his Army with the choice of all his Janizars, and the flow'r of his whole Empire, we understand by some fugitives, that he hath commanded the Generals to return with victory, or expect a shameful death: what I shall further do, (their numbers five times exceeding ours) I desire to receive directions from your Majesties command.

King.
Send away all our Guards
Let fresh supplies of victuals, and of money—

Lord.
Your Treasures
Are quite exhausted, the Exchequer's empty.

King.
Send to the Bankers.

Abd.
Sir, upon your late demands
They answered they were poor.

King.
Sure the Villains hold a correspondence
With the enemy, and thus they would betray us:
First give us up to want, then to contempt,
And then to ruine; but tell those sons of earth
I'le have their money, or their heads.
'Tis my command, when such occasions are
No Plea must serve; 'tis cruelty to spare.

Another Messenger. Exeunt Lords.
King.
The Prince transported with his youthful heat,
I fear hath gon too far: 'Tis some disaster,
Or else he would not send so thick: well, bring him in;
I am prepar'd to hear the worst of evils.

Enter Solyman and two Captains. Cap. kisses his hand.
King.
What is the Prince besieged in his Trenches,
And must have speedy aid, or die by famine?
Or hath he rashly tri'd the chance of War,
And lost his Army, or his Liberty?
Tell me what Province they demand for ransom:
Or if the worst of all mishaps hath fallen,
Speak, for he could not die unlike himself:
Speak freely; and yet me-thinks I read
Something of better fortune in thy looks,
But dare not hope it.

Cap.
Sir, the Prince lives.

King.
And hath not lost his honour?

Cap.
As safe in honour as in life.

King.
Nor liberty?

Cap.
Free as the air he breaths.

King.
Return with speed:
Tell him he shall have money, victuals, men,
With all the haste they can be levied. Farewel.

Offers to go.
Cap.
But Sir, I have one word more.

King.
Then be brief.

Cap.
So now you are prepar'd; and I may venture.

King.
What is't?

Cap.
Sir, a Fathers love mixt with a Father's care,
This shewing dangers greater, and that nearer,
Have rais'd your fears too high; and those remov'd,
Too suddenly would let in such a deluge
Of joy, as might oppress your aged spirits,
Which made me gently first remove your fears,
That so you might have room to entertain
Your fill of joy: Your Son's a Conquerour.

King.
Delude me not with fained hopes, false joys,
It cannot be. And if he can but make
A fair Retreat, I shall account it more
Than all his former conquests, (those huge numbers
Arm'd with despair) the flow'r of all the Empire.

Cap.
Sir, I have not us'd to tell you tales or fables,
And why should you suspect your happiness,
Being so constant. On my life 'tis true Sir.

King.
Well, I'le no more suspect
My fortune, nor thy faith:
Thou and thy news most welcom: Solyman
Go call the Princess and the Lords, they shall
Participate our joyes, as well as cares.

Enter Princess and Lords.
King.
Fair daughter, blow away those mists & clouds,
And let thy eyes shine forth in their full lustre;
Invest them with thy loveliest smiles, put on
Thy choycest looks: his coming will deserve them.

Princess.
What, is the Prince return'd with safety?
'Tis beyond belief or hope.

King.
I, sweet Erythæa;
Laden with spoyls and honour: all thy fears,
Thy wakeful terrors, and affrighting dreams,
Thy morning sighs, and evening tears have now
Their full rewards. And you my Lords,
Prepare for Masques & Triumphs: Let no circumstance
Be wanting, that becomes
The greatness of our State, or Joy.
Behold he comes.

Enter Prince with Captains, and two Captive Bashawes.
King.
Welcom brave son, as welcom to thy father
As Phœbus was to Jove, when he had slain
Th'ambitious Giants that assail'd the sky;
And as my power resembles that of Joves,
So shall thy glory like high Phœbus shine
As bright and as immortal.

Prince.
Great Sir, all acquisition
Of Glory as of Empire, here I lay before
Your Royal feet, happy to be the Instrument
To advance either: Sir I challenge nothing,
But am an humble suitor for these prisoners,
The late Commanders of the Turkish powers,
Whose valours have deserv'd a better fortune.

King.
Then what hath thine deserv'd? th'are thine brave Mirzah,
Worthy of all thy Royal Ancestors,
And all those many Kingdoms, which their vertue,
Or got, or kept, though thou hadst not been born to't.
But daughter still your looks are sad,
No longer I'le defer your joys, go take him
Into thy chast embrace, and whisper to him
That welcom which those blushes promise.

Exit King.
Prince.
My Erythæa, why entertain'st thou with so sad a brow
My long-desir'd return? thou wast wont
With kisses and sweet smiles, to welcom home
My victories, though bought with sweat and bloud;
And long expected.

Princess.
Pardon Sir;
'Tis with our souls
As with our eyes, that after a long darkness
Are dazled at the approach of sudden light:
When i'th' midst of fears we are surpriz'd
With unexpected happiness: the first
Degrees of joy are meer astonishment.
And 'twas so lately in a dreadful dream
I saw my Lord so near destruction,
Deprived of his eyes, a wretched Captive;
Then shriekt my self awake, then slept again
And dream't the same; my ill presaging fancy
Suggesting still 'twas true.

Prince.
Then I forgive thy sadness, since love caus'd it,
For love is full of fears; and fear the shadow
Of danger, like the shadow of our bodies,
Is greater then, when that which is the cause
Is farthest off.

Princess.
But still there's something
That checks my joys, nor can I yet distinguish
Which is an apparition, this, or that.

Prince.
An apparition?
At night I shall resolve that doubt, and make
Thy dreams more pleasing.

Exeunt. Enter Haly and Mirvan.
Mir.
The time has been, my Lord,
When I was no such stranger to your thoughts,
You were not wont to wear upon your brow
A frown, or smile, but still have thought me worthy,
At least to know the cause.

Ha.
'Tis true,
Thy breast hath ever been the Cabinet
Where I have lockt my secrets.

Mir.
And did you ever find
That any art could pick the lock, or power
Could force it open.

Ha.
No, I have ever found thee
Trusty and secret. But is't observ'd i'th' Court
That I am sad?

Mir.
Observ'd? 'tis all mens wonder and discourse,
That in a Joy so great, so universal,
You should not bear a part.

Ha.
Discour'st of too?

Mir.
Nothing but treason
More commonly, more boldly spoken.
So singular a sadness
Must have a cause as strange as the effect:
And grief conceal'd, like hidden fire consumes;
Which flaming out, would call in help to quench it.

Ha.
But since thou canst not mend it,
To let thee know it, will but make thee worse;
Silence and time shall cure it.

Mir.
But in diseases when the cause is known,
'Tis more than half the cure: you have my Lord
My heart to counsel, and my hands to act,
And my advice and actions both have met
Success in things unlikely.

Ha.
But this
Is such a secret, I dare hardly trust it
To my own soul. And though it be a crime
In friendship to betray a trusted Counsel,
Yet to conceal this were a greater crime,
And of a higher nature.

Mir.
Now I know it,
And your endeavour to conceal it,
Speaks it more plainly. 'Tis some plot upon the Prince.

Ha.
Oh thou hast touch't my Sore, and having searcht it,
Now heal it if thou canst: The Prince hates me,
Or loves me not, or loves another better;
Which is all one. This being known in Court,
Has rendred me despis'd, and scorn'd of all:
For I that in his absence
Blaz'd like a star of the first magnitude,
Now in his brighter sun-shine am not seen:
No applications now, no troops of suitors;
No power, no not so much as to do mischief.

Mir.
My Lord, I am asham'd of you,
So ill a master in an art, so long
Profest, and practiz'd by you, to be angry,
And angry with a Prince. And yet to shew it
In a sad look, or womanish complaint:
How can you hope to compass your designs,
And not dissemble 'em. Go flatter & adore him,
Stand first among the crowd of his admirers.

Ha.
Oh I have often spread those nets, but he
Hath ever been too wise to think them real.

Mir.
However,
Dissemble still, thank him for all his injuries;
Take 'em for favours; if at last
You cannot gain him; some pretty nimble poyson
May do the feat. Or if he will abroad,
Find him some brave and honourable danger.

Ha.
Have I not found him out as many dangers
As Juno did for Hercules: yet he returns
Like Hercules, doubled in strength and honour.

Mir.
If danger cannot do it, then try pleasure,
Which when no other enemy survives,
Still conquers all the Conquerers. Endeavour
To soften his ambition into lust,
Contrive fit opportunities, and lay
Baits for temptation.

Ha.
Ile leave nothing unattempted:
But sure this will not take; for all his Passions,
Affections, and Faculties are slaves
Only to his ambition.

Mir.
Then let him fall by his own greatness,
And puffe him up with glory, till it swell
And break him. First, betray him to himself,
Then to his ruine: From his virtues suck a poyson,
As Spiders do from flowers; praise him to his Father,
You know his nature: Let the Princes glory
Seem to eclipse, and cast a cloud on his;
And let fall something that may raise his jealousie:
But lest he should suspect it, draw it from him
As Fishers do the bait, to make him follow it.

Ha.
But the old King is so suspitious.

Mir.
But withall
Most fearful: He that views a Fort to take it,
Plants his Artillery 'gainst the weakest part:
Work on his fears, till fear hath made him cruel;
And cruelty shall make him fear again.
Methinks (my Lord) you that so oft have sounded
And fathom'd all his thoughts, that know the deeps
And shallows of his heart, should need no instruments
To advance your ends; his passions, and his fears
Lie Liegers for you in his brest, and there
Negotiate your affairs.

Enter King, Solyman, and Lords to them.
King.
Solyman, Be it your care to entertain the Captains
And the Prisoners, & use them kindly.

Sol.
Sir, I am not for entertainments now I am melancholy.

King.
What, griev'd for your good fortune?

Sol.
No Sir, but now the wars are done, we have no pretences
To put off Creditors: I am haunted Sir.

King.
Not with Ghosts.

Sol.
No Sir,
Material and Substantial Devils.

King.
I know the cause, what is't thou ow'st them?

Sol.
Not much Sir, but so much as spoils me for a good fellow;
'Tis but 2000 Dollars. A small sum—to you Sir.

King.
Well, it shall be paid.

Sol.
Then if the Devil come, for drinking let me alone with him.
Well, Drink, I love thee but too well already,
But I shall love thee better hereafter: I have often
Drunk my self into debt, but never out of debt till now.

Actus Secundus.

Scena Prima.

Enter Prince, Haly, Captains and Prisoners, Bashawes.
Prince.
Pray let these strangers find such entertainment
As you would have desir'd,
Had but the chance of war determin'd it
For them, as now for us. And you brave enemies
Forget your Nation, and ungrateful Master;
And know that I can set so high a price
On valour, though in foes, as to reward it
With trust and honour.

1 Bashaw.
Sir, your twice conquered Vassals,
First by your courage, then your clemency,
Here humbly vow to sacrifice their lives,
(The gift of this your unexampled mercy)
To your commands and service.

Prince to Haly.
I pray (my Lord) second my suit,
I have already mov'd the King in private,
That in our next years expedition they may have
Some command.

Ha.
I shall, my Lord,
And glad of the occasion. aside.

I wonder Sir, you'll leave the Court, the sphere
Where all your graces in full lustre shine.

Prince.
I Haly, but the reputation
Of virtuous actions past, if not kept up
With an access, and fresh supply of new ones,
Is lost and soon forgotten: and like Palaces,
For want of habitation and repair,
Dissolve to heaps of ruine.

Ha.
But can you leave, Sir,
Your old indulgent Father, and forsake
The embraces of so fair, so chast a Wife?
And all the beauties of the Court besides,
Are mad in love, and dote upon your person:
And is 't not better sleeping in their arms,
Than in a cold Pavilion in the Camp?
Where your short sleeps are broke and interrupted
With noises and alarms.

Prince.
Haly, Thou know'st not me, how I despise
These short and empty pleasures; and how low
They stand in my esteem, which every Peasant,
The meanest Subject in my Fathers Empire
Enjoys as fully, in as high perfection
As he or I; and which are had in common
By beasts as well as men: wherein they equal,
If not exceed us; pleasures to which we're led
Only by sence, those creatures which have least
Of reason, most enjoy.

Ha.
Is not
The Empire you are born to, a Scene large enough
To exercise your virtues? There are virtues
Civil as well as military; for the one
You have given the world an ample proof already:
Now exercise the other, 'tis no less
To govern justly, make your Empire flourish
With wholesom laws, in riches, peace & plenty,
Than by the expence of wealth and bloud to make
New acquisitions.

Prince.
That I was born so great, I owe to Fortune,
And cannot pay that debt, till vertue set me
High in example, as I stand in title;
Till what the world calls fortune's gifts, my actions
May stile their own rewards, and those too little.
Princes are then themselves, when they arise
More glorious in mens thoughts than in their eyes.

Ha.
Sir, your fame
Already fills the world, and what is infinite
Cannot receive degrees, but will swallow
All that is added; as our Caspian Sea
Receives our Rivers, and yet seems not fuller:
And if you tempt her more, the wind of fortune
May come about, and take another point
And blast your glories.

Prince.
No,
My glories are past danger, they're full blown:
Things that are blasted, are but in their bud;
And as for fortune, I nor love, nor fear her:
I am resolv'd, go Haly, flatter still your aged Master,
Still sooth him in his pleasures, and still grow
Great by those arts.
Well, farewell Court,
Where vice not only hath usurp't the place,
But the reward, and even the name of vertue.

Ha.
Still, still,
Slighted and scorn'd; yet this affront
Hath stampt a noble title on my malice,
And married it to Justice. The King is old,
And when the Prince succeeds,
I'me lost past all recovery: then I
Must meet my danger, and destroy him first;
But cunningly, and closely, or his son
And wife, like a fierce Tygress will devour me.
There's danger every way; and since 'tis so,
'Tis brave, and noble, when the falling weight
Of my own ruine crushes those I hate:
But how to do it, that's the work; he stands
So high in reputation with the people,
There's but one way, and that's to make his father
The instrument, to give the name, and envy
To him; but to my self the prize and glory.
He's old and jealous, apt for suspitions,
'Gainst which Tyrants ears
Are never clos'd. The Prince is young,
Fierce, and ambitious, I must bring together
All these extreams, and then remove all Mediums,
That each may be the others object.

Enter Mirvan.
Mir.
My Lord,
Now if your plots be ripe, you are befriended
With opportunity; the King is melancholy,
Apted for any ill impressions.
Make an advantage of the Princes absence,
Urge some suspected cause of his departure,
Use all your art: he's coming.

Exit Mir. Enter King.
Ha.
Sir, have you known an action of such glory
Less swell'd with ostentation, or a mind
Less tainted with felicity? 'Tis a rare temper in the Prince.

King.
Is it so rare to see a son so like
His Father? Have not I performed actions
As great, and with as great a moderation?

Ha.
I Sir, but that's forgotten.
Actions o'th' last Age are like Almanacks o'th' last Year.

King.
'Tis well; but with all his conquests, what I get in Empire
I lose in fame: I think my self no gainer.
But am I quite forgotten?

Ha.
Sir, you know
Age breeds neglect in all, and actions
Remote in time, like objects
Remote in place, are not beheld at half their greatness;
And what is new, finds better acceptation,
Than what is good or great: yet some old men
Tell Stories of you in their chimney corners.

King.
No otherwise.

Ha.
They're all so full of him: some magnifie
His courage, some his wit, but all admire
A greatness so familiar.

King.
Sure Haly
Thou hast forgot thy self: art thou a Courtier,
Or I a King? my ears are unacquainted
With such bold truths; especially from thee.

Ha.
Sir, when I am call'd to 't, I must speak
Boldly and plainly.

King.
But with what eagerness, what circumstance,
Unaskt, thou tak'st such pains to tell me only
My son's the better man.

Ha.
Sir, where Subjects want the priviledge
To speak; there Kings may have the priviledge,
To live in ignorance.

King.
If 'twere a secret that concern'd my life
Or Empire, then this boldness might become thee;
But such unnecessary rudeness savours
Of some design.
And this is such a false and squint-eyed praise,
Which seeming to look upwards on his glories,
Looks down upon my fears; I know thou hat'st him;
And like infected persons fain wouldst rub
The ulcer of thy malice upon me.

Ha.
Sir, I almost believe you speak your thoughts,
But that I want the guilt to make me fear it.

King.
What mean these guilty blushes then?

Ha.
Sir, if I blush, it is because you do not,
To upbraid so try'd a servant, that so often
Have wak'd that you might sleep; and been expos'd
To dangers for your safety.

King.
And therefore think'st
Thou art so wrapt, so woven into all
My trusts and counsels, that I now must suffer
All thy Ambition aims at.

Ha.
Sir, if your love grows weary,
And thinks you have worn me long enough, I'me willing
To be left off; but he's a foolish Sea-man,
That when his Ship is sinking, will not
Unlade his hopes into another bottom.

King.
I understand no Allegories.

Ha.
And he's as ill a Courtier, that when
His Master's old, desires not to comply
With him that must succeed.

King.
But if he will not be comply'd with?

Ha.
Oh Sir,
There's one sure way, and I have known it practiz'd
In other States.

King.
What's that?

Ha.
To make
The Fathers life the price of the sons favour,
To walk upon the graves of our dead Masters
To our own security.

King starts and scratches his head.
Ha.
aside.
'Tis this must take: Does this plainness please you Sir?

King.
Haly: thou know'st my nature, too too apt
To these suspitions; but I hope the question
Was never mov'd to thee.

Ha.
In other Kingdoms, Sir.

King.
But has my Son no such design?

Ha.
Alas,
You know I hate him; and should I tell you
He had, you'd say it was but malice.

King.
No more of that good Haly, I know thou lov'st me:
But lest the care of future safety tempt thee
To forfeit present loyalty; or present loyalty
Forfeit thy future safety,
Ile be your reconciler: call him hither.

Ha.
Oh Sir, I wish he were within my call, or yours.

King.
Why where is he?

Ha.
He has left the Court, Sir.

King.
I like not these Excursions, why so suddenly?

Ha.
'Tis but a sally of youth, yet some say he's discontented.

King.
That grates my heart-strings. What should discontent him?
Except he think I live too long.

Ha.
Heaven forbid:
And yet I know no cause of his departure;
I'me sure he's honoured, and lov'd by all;
The Souldiers god, the Peoples Idol.

King.
I, Haly,
The Persians still worship the rising sun.
But who went with him?

Ha.
None but the Captains.

King.
The Captains? I like not that.

Ha.
Never fear it, Sir:
'Tis true, they love him but as their General, not their Prince.
And though he be most forward and ambitious,
'Tis temper'd with so much humility.

King.
And so much the more dangerous;
There are some that use
Humility to serve their pride, and seem
Humble upon their way, to be the prouder
At their wisht journeys end.

Ha.
Sir, I know not
What ways or ends you mean; 'tis true
In popular States, or where the Princes Title
Is weak, & must be propt by the peoples power;
There by familiar ways 'tis necessary
To win on mens affections. But none of these
Can be his end.

King.
But there's another end.
For if his glories rise upon the ruines
Of mine, why not his greatness too?

Ha.
True Sir,
Ambition is like love, impatient
Both of delays and rivals. But Nature.—

King.
But Empire.—

Ha.
I had almost forgot Sir, he has
A suit to your Majesty.

King.
What is't?

Ha.
To give the Turkish prisoners some command
In the next action.

King.
Nay, then 'tis too apparent,
He fears my Subjects loyalty,
And now must call in strangers; come deal plainly,
I know thou canst discover more.

Ha.
I can discover (Sir)
The depth of your great judgment in such dangers.

King.
What shall I do Haly?

Ha.
Your wisdom is so great, it were presumption
For me to advise.

King.
Well, we'll consider more of that, but for the present
Let him with speed be sent for. Mahomet, I thank thee
I have one faithful servant, honest Haly.

Exit King. Enter Mirvan.
Mir.
How did he take it?

Ha.
Swallow'd it as greedily
As parched earth drinks rain.
Now the first part of our design is over,
His ruine; but the second, our security,
Must now be thought on.

Mir.
My Lord, you are too sudden; though his fury
Determine rashly, yet his colder fear
Before it executes, consults with reason,
And that not satisfied with shews, or shadows,
Will ask to be convinc'd by something real;
Now must we frame some plot, and then discover it.

Ha.
Or intercept some Letter, which our selves
Had forg'd before.

Mir.
And still admire the miracle,
And thank the providence.

Ha.
Then we must draw in some body
To be the publick Agent, that may stand
'Twixt us and danger, and the peoples envy.

Mir.
Who fitter than the grand Caliph?
And he will set a grave religious face
Upon the business.

Ha.
But if we cannot work him,
For he's so full of foolish scruples;
Or if he should prove false, and then betray us.

Mir.
Betray us? sure (my Lord) your fear has blinded
Your understanding; for what serves the King?
Will not his threats work more than our perswasions,
While we look on, and laugh, and seem as ignorant
As unconcern'd; and thus appearing friends
To either side, on both may work our ends.

Enter Mess.
Mess.
My Lord, the Turkish Bashaws
Desire access.

Ha.
Admit 'em, I know their business.

Mir.
They long to hear with what success you mov'd
The King in their behalf.

Ha.
But now they're come, I'le make 'em do my business
Better than I did theirs. Mirvan, leave us a while.

Ex. Mir. Enter two Bashaws.
Ha.
My Lords, my duty and affection to the Prince,
And the respects I owe to men of honour,
Extort a secret from me, which yet I grieve to utter:
The Prince departing, left to me the care
Of your affairs, which I, as he commanded,
Have recommended to the King, but with so unlookt for
A success—

1 Bas.
My Lord, fear not to speak our doom, while we
Fear not to hear it: we were lost before,
And can be ready now to meet that fate
We then expected.

Ha.
Though he that brings unwelcom news
Has but a losing Office, yet he that shews
Your danger first, and then your way to safety,
May heal that wound he made. You know the King
With jealous eyes hath ever lookt awry
On his Sons actions, but the fame and glory
Of the last war hath rais'd another spirit;
Envy and Jealousie are twin'd together,
Yet both lay hid in his dissembled smiles,
Like two concealed serpents, till I, unhappy I,
Moving this question, trod upon them both,
And rouz'd their sleeping angers; then casting from him
His doubts, and straight confirm'd in all his fears,
Decrees to you a speedy death, to his own son
A close restraint: but what will follow
I dare not think; you by a sudden flight
May find your safety.

2 Bas.
Sir, Death and we are not such strangers,
That we should make dishonour, or ingratitude
The price of life; it was the Princes gift,
And we but wear it for his sake and service.

Ha.
Then for his sake and service
Pray follow my advice: though you have lost the favour
Of your unworthy Master; yet in the Provinces
You lately governed, you have those dependances
And interests, that you may raise a power
To serve the Prince: Ile give him timely notice
To stand upon his guard.

1 Bas.
My Lord, we thank you,
But we must give the Prince intelligence,
Both when, and how to imploy us.

Ha.
If you will write,
Commit it to my care and secrecy,
To see it safe convey'd.

2 Bas.
We shall my Lord.

Ex.
Ha.
These men were once the Princes foes, and then
Unwillingly they made him great: but now
Being his friends, shall willingly undo him;
And which is more, be still his friends.
What little Arts govern the world! we need not
An armed enemy, or corrupted friend;
When service but misplac'd, or love mistaken
Performs the work: nor is this all the use
I'le make of them; when once they are in Arms,
Their Master shall be wrought to think these forces
Rais'd against him; and this shall so endear me
To him, that though dull vertue and the gods
O'recome my subtle mischief, I may find
A safe retreat, and may at least be sure,
If not more mighty, to be more secure.

Exeunt.

Actus Tertius.

Scena Prima.

Enter King and Haly.
King.
But Haly, what confederates has the Prince
In his conspiracy?

Ha.
Sir, I can yet suspect
None but the Turkish prisoners, and that only
From their late sudden flight.

King.
Are they fled? For what?

Ha.
That, their own fears best know; their entertainment
I'me sure was such as could not minister
Suspition, or dislike: but sure they're conscious
Of some intended mischief, and are fled
To put it into act.

King.
This still confirms me more;
But let 'em be pursu'd: let all the passages
Be well secur'd, that no intelligence
May pass between the Prince and them.

Ha.
It shall be done, Sir.

King.
Is the Caliph prepar'd?

Ha.
He's without, Sir,
And waits your pleasure.

King.
Call him.

Enter Haly and Caliph.
King.
I have a great design to act, in which
The greatest part is thine. In brief 'tis this,
I fear my Sons high spirit; and suspect
Designs upon my Life and Crown.

Ca.
Sure, Sir, your fears are causeless;
Such thoughts are strangers to his noble soul.

King.
No, 'tis too true; I must prevent my danger,
And make the first attempt: there's no such way
To avoid a blow, as to strike first, and sure.

Ca.
But, Sir, I hope my function shall exempt me
From bearing any part in such designs.

King.
Your function! (Laughs)
Do you think that Princes
Will raise such men so near themselves for nothing?
We but advance you to advance our purposes:
Nay, even in all Religions,
Their Learned'st, and their seeming holiest men, but serve
To work their Masters ends; and varnish o're
Their actions, with some specious pious colour:
No scruples; do 't, or by our holy Prophet,
The death my rage intends to him, is thine.

Ca.
Sir, 'tis your part to will, mine to obey.

King.
Then be wise and sudden.

Enter Lords as to Council, Ab., Mor.
Ca.
My Lords, it grieves me to relate the cause
Of this Assembly; and 'twill grieve you all:
The prince you know stands high in all those graces
Which Nature, seconded by fortune, gives:
Wisdom he has, and to his Wisdom Courage;
Temper to that, and unto all, Success.
But Ambition, the disease of Virtue, bred
Like surfets from an undigested fulness,
Meets death in that which is the means of life.
Great Mahomet, to whom our Soveraigns life,
And Empire is most dear, appearing, thus
Advis'd me in a Vision; Tell the King,
The Prince his Son attempts his Life & Crown;
And though no creature lives that more admires
His vertues, nor affects his person more
Than I; yet zeal and duty to my Soveraign
Have cancell'd all respects; nor must we slight
The Prophets Revelations.

Abd.
Remember, Sir, he is your Son,
Indeared to you by a double bond,
As to his King, and Father.

King.
And the remembrance of that double bond
Doubles my sorrows. 'Tis true,
Nature and duty bind him to Obedience;
But those being placed in a lower sphere,
His fierce ambition, like the highest mover,
Has hurried with a strong impulsive motion
Against their proper course. But since he has forgot
The duty of a son, I can forget
The affections of a Father.

Abd.
But, Sir, in the beginning of diseases
None try the extreamest remedies.

King.
But when they're sudden,
The cure must be as quick; when I'me dead, you'll say,
My fears have been too slow: Treasons are acted,
As soon as thought, though they are ne're believed
Until they come to act.

Mor.
But consider, Sir,
The greatness of the attempt, the people love him;
The lookers on, and the enquiring vulgar
Will talk themselves to action: thus by avoyding
A danger but suppos'd, you tempt a real one.

King.
Those Kings whom envy, or the peoples murmur
Deters from their own purposes, deserve not
Nor know not their own greatness;
The peoples murmur, 'tis a sulphurous vapour
Breath'd from the bowels of the basest earth;
And it may soyl, and blast things near it self:
But ere it reach the region we are plac'd in,
It vanishes to ayr; we are above
The sence or danger of such storms.

Ca.
True Sir, they are but storms while Royalty
Stands like a Rock, and the tumultuous vulgar,
Like billows rais'd with wind, (that's with opinion)
May roar, and make a noise, and threaten;
But if they rowl too near, they're dash't in pieces
While they stand firm.

Abd.
Yet Sir, Crowns are not plac'd so high,
But vulgar hands may reach 'em.

King.
Then 'tis when they are plac'd on vulgar heads.

Abd.
But Sir,
Look back upon your self; why should your son
Anticipate a hope so near, so certain?
We may wish and pray
For your long life: but neither prayers nor power
Can alter Fates decree, or Natures Law.
Why should he ravish then that Diadem
From your gray temples, which the hand of time
Must shortly plant on his?

King.
My Lords,
I see you look upon me as a Sun
Now in his West, half buryed in a cloud,
Whose rays the vapours of approaching night
Have rendred weak and faint: But you shall find
That I can yet shoot beams, whose heat can melt
The waxen wings of this ambitious Boy.
Nor runs my bloud so cold, nor is my arm
So feeble yet, but he that dares defend him,
Shall feel my vengeance, and shall usher me
Into my grave.

Ab.
Sir, we defend him not,
Only desire to know his crime: 'Tis possible
It may be some mistake, or mis-report,
Some false suggestion, or malicious scandal:
Or if ambition be his fault, 'twas yours;
He had it from you when he had his being:
Nor was't his fault, nor yours, for 'tis in Princes
A crime to want it; from a noble spirit
Ambition can no more be separated,
Than heat from fire: Or if you fear the Vision,
Will you suspect the noble Prince, because
This holy man is troubled in his sleep?
Because his crazy stomach wants concoction,
And breeds ill fumes; or his melancholy spleen
Sends up phantastick vapours to his brain:
Dreams are but dreams, these causeless fears become not
Your noble soul.

King.
Who speaks another word
Hath spoke his last: Great Mahomet we thank thee,
Protector of this Empire, and this life,
Thy cares have met my fears; this on presumptions
Strong and apparent, I have long presag'd:
And though a Prince may punish what he fears,
Without account to any but the Gods;
Wise States as often cut off ills that may be,
As those that are; and prevent purposes
Before they come to practise; and foul practises
Before they grow to act. You cannot but observe
How he dislikes the Court, his rude departure,
His honour from the people and the souldiers,
His seeking to oblige the Turks, his prisoners,
Their sudden and suspected flight:
And above all, his restless towring thoughts.

King.
If the business be important,
Admit him.

Enter Messenger with a letter.
Mess.
Sir, upon your late command
To guard the passages, and search all packets,
This to the Prince was intercepted.

King opens it, and reads it to himself.
King.
Here Abdal, read it.

Abdal reads. The Letter.
Ab.
reads.

Sir, we are assured how unnaturally your fathers intentions are towards you, and how cruel towards us; we have made an escape, not so much to seek our own, as to be instruments of your safety: We will be in arms upon the borders, upon your command, either to seek danger with you, or to receive you if you please, to seek safety with us.

King.
Now my Lords,
Alas my fears are causless, and ungrounded,
Fantastick dreams, and melancholick fumes
Of crazy stomacks, and distempered brains:
Has this convinc'd you?

Mor.
Sir, we see
Some reason you should fear, but whom, we know not;
'Tis possible these Turks may play the Villains,
Knowing the Prince, the life of all our hopes,
Staff of our Age, and pillar of our Empire;
And having fail'd by force, may use this Art
To ruine him, and by their treason here
To make their peace at home.
Now should this prove a truth, when he has suffered
Death, or disgrace, which are to him the same;
'Twill be too late to say you were mistaken;
And then to cry him mercy: Sir, we beseech you
A while suspend your doom, till time produce
Her wonted off-spring, Truth.

King.
And so expecting
The event of what you think, shall prove the experiment
Of what I fear; but since he is my son,
I cannot have such violent thoughts toward him,
As his towards me: he only shall remain
A prisoner till his death or mine enlarge him.

Ex. Lords. Man. Haly. Solyman peeps in.
King.
Away, away, we're serious.

Sol.
But not so serious to neglect your safety.

King.
Art thou in earnest?

Sol.
Nay Sir, I can be serious as well as my betters.

King.
What's the matter?

Sol.
No, I am an inconsiderable fellow, and know nothing.

King.
Let's hear that nothing then.

Sol.
The Turks, Sir.

King.
What of them?

Sol.
When they could not overcome you by force, they'll do it by treachery.

King.
As how?

Sol.
Nay I can see as far into a milstone, as another man.
They have corrupted some ill-affected persons.

King.
What to do?

Sol.
To nourish Jealousies 'twixt you and your Son.

King.
My son! Where is he?

Sol.
They say he's posting hither.

King.
Haly, we are betrayed, prevented, look
To the Ports, and let
The Guards be doubled: how far's his Army hence?
Is the City in arms to joyn with him?

Sol.
Arms? and joyn with him? I understand you not.

King.
Didst thou not say the Prince was coming?

Sol.

I heard some foolish people say you had sent for him, as a Traytor, which to my apprehension was on purpose spoken to make you odious, and him desperate; and so divide the people into faction. A Plot of dangerous consequence, as I take it, Sir.

King.
And is this all, thou sawcy trifling fool?

Haly.

Sir, this seeming fool is a concealed dangerous knave; Under that safe disguise he thinks he may say or do any thing: you'll little think him the chief conspirator, the only spy t'inform the Prince of all is done in Court.

King.
Let him be rack't, till he confess
The whole conspiracy.

Sol.

Rackt! I have told you all I know, and more; There's nothing more in me, Sir, but may be squeezed out without racking, only a stoop or two of Wine; and if there had not been too much of that, you had not had so much of the other.

King.
That's your cunning, sirrah.

Sol.

Cunning, Sir! I am no Politician; and was ever thought to have too little wit, and too much plain dealing for a States-man.

Exit.
King.
Away with him.

Ha.
But something must be done, Sir,
To satisfie the people:
'Tis not enough to say he did design,
Or plot, or think, but did attempt some violence;
And then some strange miraculous escape:
For which our Prophet must have publick thanks:
And this false colour shall delude the eyes
Of the amused vulgar.

King.
'Tis well advis'd.

Enter Mess.
Mess.
Sir, his Highness is return'd.

King.
And unconstrain'd? But with what change of countenance
Did he receive the message?

Mess.
With some amazement;
But such as sprung from wonder, not from fear;
It was so unexpected.

King.
Leave us.
Haly, I ever found thee honest; truer to me
Than mine own bloud, and now's the time to shew it:
For thou art he my love and trust hath chosen
To put in action my design: surprize him
As he shall pass the Galleries. I'le place
A guard behind the Arras; when thou hast him,
Since blinded with ambition, he did soar
Like a seel'd Dove; his crime shall be his punishment
To be depriv'd of sight, which see perform'd
With a hot steel: Now as thou lov'st my safety
Be resolute, and sudden.

Ha.
'Tis severe;
But yet I dare not intercede, it shall be done:
But is that word irrevocable?

King.
I, as years, or ages past; relent not, if thou do'st—

Exit King. Enter Mirvan.
Mir.
Why so melancholy? is the design discovered?

Ha.
No, but I am made the instrument,
That still endeavoured to disguise my plots
With borrowed looks, and make 'em walk in darkness,
To act 'em now my self; be made the mark
For all the peoples hate, the Princes curses,
And his sons rage, or the old Kings inconstancy.
For this to Tyranny belongs,
To forget service, but remember wrongs.

Mir.
But could you not contrive
Some fine pretence to cast it on some other?

Ha.
No, he dare trust no other: had I given
But the least touch of any private quarrel,
My malice to his son, not care of him,
Had then begot this service.

Mir.
'Tis but t'other plot, my Lord; you know
The King by other wives had many sons:
Soffy is but a Child, and you already
Command the Emperours Guard; procure for me
The Government o'th' City; when he dies,
Urge how unfortunate those States have been
Whose Princes are but children: then set the Crown
Upon some others head, that may acknowledge
And owe the Empire to your gift.

Ha.
It shall be done; Abdal, who commands
The City, is the Princes friend, and therefore
Must be displac'd, and thou shalt straight succeed him.
Thou art my better Genius, honest Mirvan;
Greatness we owe to Fortune, or to Fate;
But wisdom only can secure that state.

Ex. Enter Prince at one door, and Princess at another.
Princess.
You're double welcom now (my Lord) your coming
Was so unlookt for.

Prince.
To me I'me sure it was;
Know'st thou the cause? for sure it was important,
That calls me back so suddenly.

Princess.
I am so ignorant,
I knew not you were sent for.
Waking I know no cause, but in my sleep
My fancy still presents such dreams, and terrors,
As did Andromache's the night before
Her Hector fell; but sure 'tis more than fancy.
Either our Guardian Angels, or the Gods
Inspire us, or some natural instinct
Fore-tells approaching dangers.

Prince.
How does my Father?

Princess.
Still talks and plays with Fatyma, but his mirth
Is forc'd, and strain'd: In his look appears
A wild distracted fierceness; I can read
Some dreadful purpose in his face; but where
This dismal cloud will break, and spend his fury,
I dare not think: pray heaven make false his fears.
Sometimes his anger breaks through all disguises,
And spares not gods, nor men; and then he seems
Jealous of all the world: suspects, and starts,
And looks behind him.

Enter Morat, as in haste.
Mor.
Sir, with hazard of my life I've ventur'd
To tell you, you are lost, betray'd, undone;
Rouze up your courage, call up all your counsels,
And think on all those stratagems which nature
Keeps ready to encounter sudden dangers.

Prince.
But pray (my Lord) by whom? for what offence?

Mor.
Is it a time for story, when each minute
Begets a thousand dangers? the gods protect you.

Ex.
Prince.
This man was ever honest, and my friend,
And I can see in his amazed look,
Something of danger; but in act or thought,
I never did that thing should make me fear it.

Princess.
Nay, good Sir, let not so secure a confidence
Betray you to your ruine.

Prince.
Prethee woman
Keep to thy self thy fears, I cannot know
There is such a thing in nature. I stand so strong,
Inclosed with a double guard of Vertue,
And Innocence, that I can look on dangers,
As he that stands upon a Rock
Can look on storms and tempests. Fear & guilt
Are the same thing; & when our actions are not,
Our fears are crimes.
And he deserves it less that guilty bears
A punishment, than he that guiltless fears.

Ex. Enter Haly and Torturers.
Ha.
This is the place appointed, assist me courage!
This hour ends all my fears; but pause a while:
Suppose I should discover to the Prince
The whole conspiracy, and so retort it
Upon the King; it were an handsom plot,
But full of difficulties, and uncertain;
And he's so fool'd with down-right honesty,
He'l ne're believe it; and now 'tis too late;
The guards are set, and now I hear him coming.

Enter Prince, stumbles at the entrance.
Prince.
'Tis ominous, but I will on; destruction
O'retakes as often those that fly, as those
That boldly meet it.

Ha.
By your leave Prince, your father greets you.

Prince.
Unhand me traytors.

Haly casts a scarf over his face.
Ha.
That title is your own, and we are sent
To let you know it.

Prince.
Is not that the voice of Haly?

Ha.
I, vertuous Prince, I come to make you exercise
One vertue more, your patience. (Heat the Irons quickly.)

Prince.
Insolent villain, for what cause?

Ha.
Only to gaze upon a while, until your eyes are out.

Prince.
O villain, shall I not see my Father,
To ask him what's my crime? who my accusers?
Let me but try if I can wake his pity
From his Lethargick sleep.

Ha.
It must not be, Sir.

Prince.
Shall I not see my wife, nor bid farewell
To my dear Children?

Ha.
Your pray'rs are all in vain.

Prince.
Thou shalt have half my Empire Haly, let me
But see the Tyrant, that before my eyes are lost,
They may dart poys'nous flashes like the Basilisk,
And look him dead: These eyes that still were open,
Or to fore-see, or to prevent his dangers,
Must they be closed in eternal night?
Cannot his thirst of bloud be satisfied
With any but his own? And can his tyranny
Find out no other object but his Son?
I seek not mercy; tell him, I desire
To die at once, not to consume an age
In lingring deaths.

Ha.
Our ears are charm'd: Away with him.

Prince.
Can ye behold (ye Gods) a wronged Innocent?
Or sleeps your Justice, like my Fathers Mercy?
Or are you blind? as I must be.

Actus Quartus.

Enter Abdal and Morat.
Ab.
I ever fear'd the Princes too much greatness
Would make him less: the greatest heights are near
The greatest precipice.

Mor.
'Tis in worldly accidents
As in the world it self, where things most distant
Meet one another: Thus the East and West,
Upon the Globe, a Mathematick point
Only divides: Thus happiness and misery,
And all extreams are still contiguous.

Ab.
Or, if 'twixt happiness and misery there be
A distance, 'tis an Aery Vacuum;
Nothing to moderate, or break the fall.

Mor.
But oh this Saint-like Devil!
This damned Caliph, to make the King believe
To kill his son, 's religion.

Ab.
Poor Princes, how they are mis-led!
While they, whose sacred Office 'tis to bring
Kings to obey their God, and men their King;
By these mysterious links to fix and tie
Them to the foot-stool of the Deity;
Even by these men, Religion, that should be
The curb, is made the spur to tyranny:
They with their double key of conscience bind
The Subjects souls, and leave Kings unconfin'd;
While their poor Vassals sacrifice their blouds
T'Ambition; and to Avarice, their goods:
Blind with Devotion. They themselves esteem
Made for themselves, and all the world for them;
While heavens great Law, given for their guide, appears
Just, or unjust, but as it waits on theirs:
Us'd, but to give the eccho to their words,
Power to their wills, and edges to their swords.
To varnish all their errors, and secure
The ills they act, and all the world endure.
Thus by their arts Kings aw the world, while they,
Religion, as their Mistress, seem t'obey;
Yet as their slave command her: while they seem
To rise to heaven, they make heaven stoop to them.

Mor.
Nor is this all, where feign'd devotion bends
The highest things, to serve the lowest ends:
For if the many-headed beast hath broke,
Or shaken from his neck the royal yoke,
With popular rage, Religion doth conspire,
Flows into that, and swells the torrent higher;
Then powers first pedigree from force derives,
And calls to mind the old prerogatives
Of free-born man; and with a saucy eye
Searches the heart and soul of Majesty:
Then to a strict account, and censure brings
The actions, errors, and the end of Kings;
Treads on authority, and sacred Laws;
Yet all for God, and his pretended cause,
Acting such things for him, which he in them,
And which themselves in others will condemn;
And thus engag'd, nor safely can retire,
Nor safely stand, but blindly bold aspire,
Forcing their hopes, even through despair, to climb
To new attempts; disdain the present time,
Grow from disdain to threats, from threats to arms;
While they (though sons of peace) still sound th'alarms:
Thus whether Kings or people seek extreams,
Still conscience and religion are their Theams:
And whatsoever change the State invades,
The pulpit either forces, or perswades.
Others may give the fewel, or the fire;
But they the breath, that makes the flame, inspire.

Ab.
This, and much more is true, but let not us
Add to our ills, and aggravate misfortunes
By passionate complaints, nor lose our selves,
Because we have lost him; for if the Tyrant
Were to a son so noble, so unnatural;
What will he be to us, who have appear'd
Friends to that son?

Mor.
Well thought on, and in time;
Farewel, unhappy Prince, while we thy friends,
As strangers to our Countrey, and our selves,
Seek out our safety, and expect with patience
Heavens Justice.

Ab.
Let's rather act it, than expect it:
The Princes injuries at our hands require
More than our tears, and patience:
His Army is not yet disbanded,
And only wants a head; thither we'll fly,
And all who love the Prince, or hate the Tyrant,
Will follow us.

Mor.
Nobly resolv'd; and either we'll restore
The Prince, or perish in the brave attempt.
Ye Gods, since what we mean to execute,
Is your high office (to avenge the innocent)
Assist us with a fortune, equal to
The justice of our action; lest the world
Should think it self deluded, and mistrust
That you want will, or power to be just.

Ex. Enter Haly.
Ha.
'Tis done, and 'twas my master-piece, to work
My safety 'twixt two dangerous extreams;
Now like a skilful sayler have I past
Scylla and Charybdis, I have scap't the rock
Of steep Ambition, and the gulf of Jealousie,
A danger less avoyded, 'cause less fear'd.

Enter Mirvan.
Mir.
What's done, my Lord?

Ha.
Enough, I warrant you;
Imprison'd, and depriv'd of sight.

Mir.
No more? This but provokes him: Can you think
Your self secure, and he alive?

Ha.
The rest o'th' business will do it self;
He can as well endure a prison, as a wild Bull the net:
There let him struggle, and toyl himself to death,
And save us so much envy.

Mir.
But if his Father should relent, such injuries
Can receive no excuse or colour, but to be
Transfer'd upon his Counsellours; and then
The forfeiture of them redeems his errour.

Ha.
We must set a mark upon his passion,
And as we find it running low,
What ebbs from his, into our rage shall flow.
Why, should we be more wicked
Than we must needs?

Mir.
Nay, if you stick at Conscience,
More gallant actions have been lost, for want of being
Compleatly wicked, than have been perform'd
By being exactly vertuous. 'Tis hard to be
Exact in good, or excellent in ill;
Our will wants power, or else our power wants skill.

Ex. Enter Solyman, and Tormentors.
Sol.
But Gentlemen, was the King in earnest?
I can scarce believe it.

Tor.
You will when you feel it.

Sol.
I pray, have any of you felt it, to tell me what it is?

Tor.
No, Sir, but
Some of your fellow Courtiers can tell you,
That use something like it, to mend their shapes.
'Twill make you so straight and slender!

Sol.

Slender! because I was slender in my wits, must I be drawn slender in my waste? I'de rather grow wise, and corpulent, like him they call Abdomen.

Tor.
Come, Sir, 'tis but a little stretching.

Sol.

No, no more's hanging; and sure this will be the death of me: I remember my Grandmother died of Convulsion fits.

Tor.
Come, Sir, prepare, prepare.

Sol.
I, for another world: I must repent first.

Tor.
Quickly then.

Sol.

Then first I repent that sin of being a Courtier. And secondly, the greatest sin one can commit in that place, the speaking of truth.

Tor.
Have you no more sins?

Sol.

Some few trifles more, not worth the remembring; drinking, and whoring, and swearing, and such like: but for those let 'em pass.

Tor.
Have you done now?

Sol.
Only some good counsel to the standers by.

Tor.
We thank you for that, Sir.

Sol.

Nay, Gentlemen, mistake me not; 'tis not that I love you, but because 'tis a thing of course for dying men.

Tor.
Let's have it then.

Sol.

First then, if any of you are fools (as I think that but a needless question) be fools still, and labour still in that vocation, then the worst will be but whipping; where, but for seeming wise, the best is racking. But if you have the luck to be Court-fools, those that have either wit or honesty, you may fool withal, and spare not: but for those that want either, you'll find it rather dangerous than otherwise; I could give you a modern insance or two, but let that pass: but if you happen to be State-fools, then 'tis but fooling on the right side, and all's well; then you shall at least be wise mens fellows, if not wise mens masters. But of all things take heed of giving any man good counsel, you see what I have got by it; and yet like a fool, must I be doing on 't again.

Tor.
Is this all?

Sol.

All, but a little in my own behalf. Remember, Gentlemen, I am at full growth, and my joynts are knit; and yet my sinews are not Cables.

Tor.
Well, we'll remember 't.

Sol.
But stay, Gentlemen, what think you of a bottle now?

Tor.
I hope you are more serious.

Sol.

If you knew but how dry a thing this sorrow is, especially meeting with my constitution; which is as thirsty as any Serving-mans.

Tor.
Let him have it, it may be 'twill make him confess.

Sol.

Yes, I shall, I shall lay before you all that's within me, and with most fluent utterance. Here's to you all Gentlemen, and let him that's good natur'd in his drink, pledge me.

(Drinks)

So, me-thinks I feel it in my joynts already, it makes 'em supple.

(Drinks again)

Now I feel it in my brains, it makes 'em swim.

Tor.
Hold, Sir, you have no measure of your self.

Sol.

What do you talk of measure, you'll take measure of me with a vengeance?

Tor.
You are witty, Sir.

Sol.

Nothing but a poor clinch; I have a thousand of them (a trick I learn't amongst the States-men.)

(Drinks again)

Well rack, I defie thee, do thy worst; I would thou wer't Man, Gyant, or Monster. Gentlemen, now if I happen to fall asleep upon this Engine, pray wake me not to suddenly; you see here's good store of wine, and if it be over-rackt, 'twill come up with lees and all; there I was with you again, and now I am for you.

Exeunt. Enter Prince, being blind, solus.
Prince.
Nature,
How didst thou mock mankind to make him free
And yet to make him fear; or when he lost
That freedom, why did he not lose his fear?
That fear of fears, the fear of what we know not,
While yet we know it is in vain to fear it:
Death, and what follows death, 'twas that that stamp't
A terrour on the brow of Kings; that gave
Fortune her Deity, and Jove his thunder.
Banish but fear of death, those Giant names
Of Majesty, Power, Empire, finding nothing
To be their object, will be nothing too:
Then he dares yet be free that dares to die,
May laugh at the grim face of Law and scorn
The cruel wrinkle of a Tyrants brow:
But yet to die so tamely,
O'recome by passion and misfortune,
And still unconquer'd by my foes, sounds ill;
Below the temper of my spirit:
Yet to embrace a life so poor, so wretched,
So full of deaths, argues a greater dulness;
But I am dead already, nor can suffer
More in the other world. For what is Hell,
But a long sleepless night? and what's their torment,
But to compare past joyes with present sorrows?
And what can death deprive me of? the sight
Of day, of children, friends, and hope of Empire;
And whatsoever others lose in death,
In life I am depriv'd of; then I will live
Only to die reveng'd: nor will I go
Down to the shades alone.
Prompt me some witty, some revengeful Devil,
His Devil that could make a bloudy feast
Of his own son, and call the gods his guests;
Hers that could kill her aged Sire, and cast
Her Brothers scatter'd limbs to Wolves and Vultures;
Or his that slew his Father, to enjoy
His mothers bed; and greater than all those,
My fathers Devil.
Come mischief, I embrace thee; fill my soul:
And thou Revenge ascend, and bear the Scepter
O're all my passions; banish thence
All that are cool, and tame.
Know old Tyrant,
My heart's too big to break, I know thy fears
Exceed my sufferings; and my revenge,
Though but in hope, is much a greater pleasure
Than thou canst take in punishing. Then my anger
Sink to the Center of my heart, and there
Lie close in ambush, till my seeming patience
Hath made the cruel Tyrant as secure,
Though with as little cause, as now he's jealous.
Who's there?

Enter two or three.
Exit. Enter King, Haly and Caliph.
King.
How do's the Prince? how bears he his restraint?

Ha.
Why, Sir, as all great spirits
Bear great and sudden changes, with such impatience
As a Numidian Lion, when first caught,
Endures the toyl that holds him.
He would think of nothing
But present death, and sought all violent means
To compass it. But time hath mitigated
Those furious heats, he now returns to food
And sleep, admits the conversation
Of those that are about him.

King.
I would I had not
So easily believ'd my fears, I was too sudden;
I would it were undone.

Cal.
If you lament it,
That which now looks like Justice, will be thought
An inconsiderate rashness.

King.
But there are in nature
Such strong returns! That I punisht him,
I do not grieve; but that he was my Son.

Ha.
But it concerns you to bear up your passion,
And make it good; for if the people know,
That you have cause to grieve for what is done,
They'll think you had no cause at first to do it.

King to the Ca.
Go visit him from me, and teach him patience;
Since neither all his fury, nor my sorrow
Can help what's past, tell him my severity
To him shall in some measure be requited,
By my indulgence to his children. And if he
Desire it, let them have access to him:
Endeavour to take off his thoughts from revenge,
By telling him of Paradise, and I know not
What pleasures in the other world.
Cal.
I shall, Sir.

Ex. King and C. Ma. Haly. Enter Mirvan.
Ha.
Mirvan, The King relents, and now there's left
No refuge but the last; he must be poysoned:
And suddenly, lest he survive his Father.

Mir.
But handsomly, lest it appear.

Ha.
Appear!
To whom? you know there's none about him
But such as I have plac't; and they shall say
'Twas discontent, or abstinence.

Mir.
But at the best
'Twill be suspected.

Ha.
Why though't be known,
We'll say he poysoned himself.

Mir.
But the curious will pry further
Than bare report, and the old King's suspitions
Have piercing eyes.

Ha.
But those nature
Will shortly close: you see his old disease
Grows strong upon him.

Mir.
But if he should recover?

Ha.
But I have cast his Nativity; he cannot, he must not.
I'th' mean time I have so besieg'd him,
So blockt up all the passages, and plac'd
So many Centinels and Guards upon him,
That no intelligence can be convey'd
But by my instruments. But this business will require
More heads and hands than ours: Go you to the prison,
And bring the Keeper privately to me,
To give him his instructions.

Ex. several ways. Enter Prince and Caliph.
Cal.
Sir, I am
Commanded by the King to visit you.

Prince.
What, to give a period to my life,
And to his fears? You're welcome; here's a throat,
A heart, or any other part, ready to let
In death, and receive his commands.

Ca.
My Lord,
I am no messenger, nor minister
Of death, 'tis not my function.

Prince.
I should know that voice.

Ca.
I am the Caliph, and am come to tell you, your Father
Is now return'd to himself: Nature has got
The victory o're passion, all his rigour
Is turn'd to grief and pity.

Prince.
Alas good man!
I pity him, and his infirmities;
His doubts, and fears, and accidents of age,
Which first provok'd his cruelty.

Ca.
He bid me tell you,
His love to yours should amply recompence
His cruelty to you: And I dare say 'tis real;
For all his thoughts, his pleasures, and delights,
Are fixt on Fatyma: when he is sad,
She comforts him; when sick, she's his Physitian,
And were it not for the delight he takes
In her, I think hee'd die with sorrow.

Prince.
But how, are his affections fixt so strangely
On her alone? sure 'tis not in his nature;
For then he had lov'd me, or hated her,
Because she came from me.

Ca.
'Tis her desert,
She's fair beyond comparison, and witty
Above her age; and bears a manly spirit
Above her sex.

Prince.
But may not I admire her?
Is that too great a happiness? pray let
Her make it her next suit to be permitted
To visit me her self.

Ca.
She shall, Sir: I joy to see your mind
So well compos'd; I fear'd I should have found
A tempest in your soul, and came to lay it.
I'le to the King; I know to him that news
Will be most acceptable.

Prince.
Pray do, and tell him
I have cast off all my passions, and am now
A man again; fit for society
And conversation.

Ca.
I will Sir.

Exit.
Prince.
I never knew my self till now; how on the sudden
I'me grown an excellent dissembler, to out-do
One at the first, that has practiz'd it all his life:
So now I am my self again, what is 't
I feel within? Me thinks some vast design
Now takes possession of my heart, and swells
My labouring thoughts above the common bounds
Of humane actions, something full of horror
My soul hath now decreed, my heart does beat,
As if 'twere forging thunder-bolts for Jove,
To strike the Tyrant dead: So now, I have it,
I have it, 'tis a gallant mischief,
Worthy my Father, or my Fathers Son.
All his delight's in Fatyma, poor innocent!
But not more innocent than I, and yet
My Father loves thee, and that's crime enough.
By this act, old Tyrant,
I shall be quit with thee: while I was virtuous,
I was a stranger to thy bloud, but now
Sure thou wilt love me for this horrid crime,
It is so like thy own. In this I'm sure,
Although in nothing else, I am thy Son:
But when 'tis done, I leave him yet that remedy
I take my self, Revenge; but I as well
Will rob him of his anger, as his joy,
And having sent her to the shades, I'le follow her.
But to return again, and dwell
In his dire thoughts, for there's the blacker hell.

Enter Messenger.
Mess.
Sir, your wife the Princess is come to visit you.

Prince.
Conduct her in; now to my disguise again.

Enter Princess.
Princess.
Is this my Lord the Prince?

Prince.
That's Erythæa, or some Angel voyc't
Like her. 'Tis she, my strugling soul would fain
Go out to meet and welcome her. Erythæa!
No answer but in sighs (dear Erythæa?)
Thou cam'st to comfort, to support my sufferings,
Not to oppress me with a greater weight,
To see that my Unhappiness
Involves thee too.

Princess.
My Lord, in all your triumphs and your glories,
You call'd me into all your joys, and gave me
An equal share, and in this depth of misery
Can I be unconcern'd? you needs must know,
You needs must hope I cannot; or which is worse,
You must suspect my love: for what is love
But sympathy? And this I make my happiness,
Since both cannot be happy,
That we can both be miserable.

Prince.
I prithee do not say thou lovest me;
For love, or finds out equals, or makes 'em so:
But I am so cast down, and fal'n so low,
I cannot rise to thee, and dare not wish
Thou should'st descend to me; but call it pity,
And I will own it then, that Kings may give
To beggars, and not lessen their own greatness.

Princess.
Till now I thought virtue had stood above
The reach of fortune; but if virtue be not,
Yet love's a greater Deity: whatever fortune
Can give or take, love wants not, or despises;
Or by his own omnipotence supplies:
Then like a God with joy beholds
The beauty of his own Creations.
Thus what we form and image to our fancies,
We really possess.

Prince.
But can thy imagination
Delude it self, to fix upon an object
So lost in miseries, so old in sorrows;
Paleness and death hang on my cheek, and darkness
Dwells in my eyes; more chang'd from what I was
In person than in fortune.

Princess.
Yet still the same to me: alas my Lord,
These outward beauties are but the props and scaffolds
On which we built our love, which now made perfect,
Stands without those supports: nor is my flame
So earthy as to need the dull material fuel
Of eyes, or lips, or cheeks, still to be kindled,
And blown by appetite, or else t'expire:
My fires are purer, and like those of Heaven,
Fed only, and contented with themselves,
Need nothing from without.

Prince.
But the disgrace that waites upon misfortune,
The meer reproach, the shame of being miserable,
Exposes men to scorn and base contempt,
Even from their nearest friends.

Princess.
Love is so far from scorning misery,
That he delights in 't, and is so kindly cruel,
Sometimes to wish it, that he may be alone;
Instead of all, of fortunes, honours, friends, which are
But meer diversions from loves proper object,
Which only is it self.

Prince.
Thou hast almost
Taught me to love my miseries, and forgive
All my misfortunes. I'le at least forget 'em;
We will revive those times, and in our memories
Preserve, and still keep fresh (like flowers in water)
Those happier days: when at our eyes our souls
Kindled their mutual fires, their equal beams
Shot and returned, till linkt, and twin'd in one,
They chain'd our hearts together.

Princess.
And was it just, that fortune should begin
Her tyranny, where we began our loves?
No, if it had, why was not I blind too?
I'm sure if weeping could have don't, I had been.

Prince.
Think not that I am blind, but think it night,
A season for our loves, and which to lovers
Ne're seems too long; and think of all our miseries,
But as some melancholy dream which has
Awak't us, to the renewing of our joys.

Princess.
My Lord, this is a temper
Worthy the old Philosophers.

Prince.
I but repeat that lesson
Which I have learnt from thee. All this morality
Thy love hath taught me.

Princess.
My Lord, you wrong your virtue,
T'ascribe the effect of that to any cause
Less noble than it self.

Prince.
And you your love,
To think it is less noble, or less powerful,
Than any the best virtue: and I fear thy love
Will wrong it self; so long a stay will make
The jealous King suspect we have been plotting:
How do the pledges of our former love;
Our Children?

Princess.
Both happy in their Grandsires love, especially
The pretty Fatyma; yet she
According to her apprehension feels
A sence of your misfortunes.

Prince.
But let her not too much express it,
Lest she provoke his fury.

Princess.
She only can allay it
When 'tis provok't; she
Plays with his rage, and gets above his anger;
As you have seen a little boat
To mount and dance upon the wave, that threatens
To overwhelm it.

Prince.
To threaten is to save, but his anger
Strikes us like thunder, where the blow out-flies
The loud report, and even prevents mens fears.

Princess.
But then like thunder
It rends a Cedar, or an Oak, or finds
Some strong resisting matter; women and children
Are not Subjects worthy a Princes anger.

Prince.
Whatsoever
Is worthy of their love is worth their anger.

Princess.
Love's a more natural motion; they are angry
As Princes, but love as men.

Prince.
Once more I beg,
Make not thy love thy danger.

Princess.
My Lord, I see with what unwillingness
You lay upon me this command, and through your fears
Discern your love, and therefore must obey you.

Exit.
Prince.
Farewell my dearest Erythæa.
There's a strange musick in her voice, the story
Of Orpheus, which appears so bold a fiction,
Was prophecy'd of thee; thy voyce has tam'd
The Tygers and the Lions of my soul.

Enter Messenger.
Mess.
Sir, your daughter Fatyma.

Prince.
Conduct her in; how strangely am I tempted
With opportunity, which like a sudden gust
Hath swell'd my calmer thoughts into a tempest?
Accursed opportunity!
The Midwife and the Bawd to all our vices,
That work'st our thoughts into desires, desires
To resolutions; those being ripe, and quickned,
Thou giv'st 'em birth, and bring'st 'em forth to action.

Enter Fat. and Messenger.
Prince.
Leave us, O opportunity!
That when my dire and bloudy resolutions,
Like sick and froward children
Were rockt asleep by reason or religion,
Thou like a violent noise cam'st rushing in,
And mak'st 'em wake and start to new unquietness.
Come hither, pretty Fatyma,
Thy Grandsires darling, sit upon my knee:
He loves thee dearly.

Fat.
I, Father, for your sake.

Prince.
And for his sake
I shall requite it. O virtue, virtue,
Where art thou fled? thou wert my Reasons friend;
But that like a deposed Prince has yielded
His Scepter to his base usurping vassals;
And like a traytor to himself, takes pleasure
In serving them.

Fat.
But Father, I desir'd
Him that you might have liberty, and that
He would give you your eyes again.

Prince.
Pretty Innocence!
'Tis not i'th' art, nor power of man to do it.

Fat.
Must you never see again then, Father?

Prince.
No, not without a miracle.

Fat.
Why Father, I
Can see with one eye, pray take one of mine.

Prince.
I would her innocent prate could overcome me:
O what a conflict do I feel! how am I
Tost like a ship 'twixt two encountring tides!
Love that was banisht hence, would fain return
And force an entrance, but revenge
(That's now the Porter of my soul) is deaf,
Deaf as the Adder, and as full of poyson.
Mighty revenge! that single canst o'rethrow
All those joynt powers, which nature, vertue, honour,
Can raise against thee.

Fat.
What do you seek for, your handkerchief? pray use mine;
To drink the bloudy moisture from your eyes;
I'le shew 't my Grandfather, I know
'Twill make him weep. Why do you shake Father?
Just so my Grandsire trembled at the instant
Your sight was ta'ne away.

Prince.
And upon the like occasion.

Fat.
O Father, what means the naked knife?

Prince.
'Tis to requite thy Grandsires love. Prepare
To meet thy death.

Fat.
O, 'tis I, 'tis I,
Your daughter Fatyma!

Prince.
I therefore do it.

Fat.
Alas, was this the blessing my mother sent me to receive?

Prince.
Thy Mother! Erythæa! There's something
In that that shakes my resolution.
Poor Erythæa, how wretched shall I make thee,
To rob thee of a Husband and a Child?
But which is worse, that first I fool'd and won thee
To a belief that all was well; and yet
Shall I forbear a crime for love of thee,
And not for love of virtue? But what's virtue?
A meer imaginary sound, a thing
Of speculation; which to my dark soul,
Depriv'd of reason, is as indiscernable
As colours to my body, wanting sight.
Then being left to sense, I must be guided
By something that my sense grasps and takes hold of;
On then my love, and fear not to encounter
That Gyant, my revenge (alas poor Fatyma)
My Father loves thee, so do's Erythæa:
Whether shall I by justly plaguing
Him whom I hate, be more unjustly cruel
To her I love? Or being kind to her,
Be cruel to my self, and leave unsatisfied
My anger and revenge? but Love, thou art
The nobler passion, and to thee I sacrifice
All my ungentle thoughts. Fatyma forgive me,
And seal it with a kiss: What is 't I feel?
The spirit of revenge re-inforcing
New Arguments. Fly Fatyma,
Fly while thou may'st, nor tempt me to new mischief,
By giving means to act it; to this ill
My will leads not my power, but power my will.
Ex. Fat.
O what a tempest have I scap't, thanks to Heaven,
And Erythæa's love!
No: 'twas a poor, a low revenge, unworthy
My virtues, or my injuries, and
As now my fame, so then my infamy,
Would blot out his; And I in stead of his Empire,
Shall only be the heir of all his curses.
No: I'le be still my self, and carry with me
My innocence to th'other world, and leave
My fame to this: 'twill be a brave revenge
To raise my mind to a constancy, so high,
That may look down upon his threats, my patience
Shall mock his fury; nor shall he be so happy
To make me miserable: and my sufferings shall
Erect a prouder Trophy to my name,
Than all my prosperous actions: Every Pilot
Can steer the ship in calms, but he performs
The skilful part, can manage it in storms.

Actus Quintus.

Enter Prince.
Prince.
If happiness be a substantial good,
Not fram'd of accidents, nor subject to 'em,
I err'd to seek it in a blind revenge,
Or think it lost in loss of sight, or Empire;
'Tis something sure within us, not subjected
To sense or sight, only to be discern'd
By reason, my soul's eye, and that still sees
Clearly, and clearer for the want of these;
For gazing through these windows of the body,
It met such several, such distracting objects;
But now confin'd within it self, it sees
A strange, and unknown world, and there discovers
Torrents of Anger, Mountains of Ambition;
Gulfes of Desire, and Towers of Hope, huge Giants,
Monsters, and savage Beasts; to vanquish these,
Will be a braver conquest than the old
Or the new world.
O happiness of blindness! now no beauty
Inflames my lust, no others good, my envy,
Or misery, my pity: no mans wealth
Draws my respect, nor poverty my scorn;
Yet still I see enough. Man to himself
Is a large prospect, rays'd above the level
Of his low creeping thoughts; if then I have
A world within my self, that world shall be
My Empire; there I'le raign, commanding freely,
And willingly obey'd, secure from fear
Of forraign forces, or domestick treasons,
And a hold a Monarchy more free, more absolute
Than in my Fathers seat; and looking down
With scorn or pity, on the slippery state
Of Kings, will tread upon the neck of fate.

Ex. Enter Bashaws disguis'd, with Haly.
1 Bash.
Sir, 'tis of near concernment, and imports
No less than the Kings life and honour.

Ha.
May not I know it?

1 Bash.
You may, Sir. But in his presence we are sworn
T'impart it first to him.

Ha.
Our Persian State descends not
To Interviews with strangers: But from whence
Comes this discovery, or you that bring it?

2 Bash.
We are, Sir, of Natolia.

Ha.
Natolia? Heard you nothing
Of two Villains that lately fled from hence?

1 Bash.
The Bashaws, Sir?

Ha.
The same.

2 Bash.
They are nearer than you think for.

Ha.
Where?

1 Bash.
In Persia.

Ha.
In arms again to 'tempt another slavery?

2 Bash.
No, Sir,
They made some weak attempts, presuming on
The reputation of their former greatness:
But having lost their fame and fortunes, 'tis
No wonder they lost their friends; now hopeless and forlorn
They are return'd, and somewhere live obscurely,
To expect a change in Persia; nor wil't be hard
To find 'em.

Ha.
Do 't, and name your own rewards.

2 Bash.
We dare do nothing till we have seen the King,
And then you shall command us.

Ha.
Well, though 'tis not usual,
Ye shall have free access.

Exit Haly. Enter King and Haly.
1 Bash.
Sir, there were two Turkish prisoners lately fled
From hence for a suppos'd conspiracy
Between the Prince and them.

King.
Where are the Villaines?

1 Bash.
This is the Villain, Sir; They pull off their disguises.

And we the wrongfully accus'd: You gave
Life Sir, and we took it
As a free noble gift; but when we heard
'Twas valued at the price of your Sons honour,
We came to give it back, as a poor trifle,
Priz'd at a rate too high.

King.
Haly,
I cannot think my favours plac'd so ill,
To be so ill requited; yet their confidence
Has something in't that looks like innocence.

Ha.
aside.
Is't come to that? then to my last and surest refuge.

King.
Sure if the guilt were theirs, they could not charge thee
With such a gallant boldness: If 'twere thine,
Thou could'st not hear 't with such a silent scorn;
I am amaz'd.

Ha.
Sir,
Perplex your thoughts no further, they have truth
To make 'em bold; and I have power to scorn it:
'Twas I, Sir, that betray'd him, and you, and them.

King.
Is this impudence, or madness?

Ha.
Neither: a very sober, and sad truth—
To you, Sir.

King.
A Guard there.

Enter Mirvan, and others.
King.
Seize him.

Ha.
Seize them; now
Though 'tis too late to learn, yet know 'gainst you
Are King again, what 'tis to let your Subjects
Dispose all offices of trust and power:
The beast obeys his keeper, and looks up,
Not to his masters, but his feeders hand;
And when you gave me power to dispense
And make your favours mine, in the same hour
You made your self my shadow: and 'twas my courtesie
To let you live, and raign so long.

King.
Without there! Enter two or three, and joyn with the others.

What none but Traytors? Has this Villain
Breath'd treason into all, and with that breath,
Like a contagious vapour, blasted Loyalty?
Sure Hell it self hath sent forth all her Furies,
T'inhabit and possess this place.

Ha.
Sir, passions without power,
Like seas against a rock, but lose their fury.
Mirvan, Take these Villains, and see 'em strangled.

1 Bash.
Farewell, Sir, commend us to your son, let him know,
That since we cannot die his servants,
We'll die his Martyrs.

King.
Farewell, unhappy friends,
A long farewell, and may you find rewards
Great as your Innocence; or which is more,
Great as your wrongs.

2 Bash.
Come, thou art troubled,
Thou dost not fear to dye?

1 Bash.
No, but to lose my death,
To sell my life so cheap, while this proud villain
That takes it must survive.

2 Bash.
We shall not lose our deaths,
If Heaven can hear the cries of guiltless blood,
Which sure it must; for I have heard th'are loud ones:
Vengeance shall overtake thee.

Ha.
Away with 'em.

King.
Stay, Haly, they are innocent; yet life,
When 'tis thy gift,
Is worse than death, I disdain to ask it.

1 Bash.
And we to take it.

Ha.
Do not ask it, Sir,
For them to whom you owe your ruine, they have undone you,
Had not they told you this, you had liv'd secure,
And happy in your ignorance; but this injury,
Since 'tis not in your nature to forgive it,
I must not leave it in your power to punish it.

King.
Heaven, though from thee I have deserv'd this plague,
Be thou my Judge and Witness, from this villain
'Tis undeserv'd.
Had I but felt your vengeance from some hand
That first had suffer'd mine, it had been justice:
But have you sent this sad return of all
My love, my trust, my favours?

Ha.
Sir, there's a great resemblance
Between your favours, and my injuries;
Those are too great to be requited, these
Too great to be forgiven: and therefore
'Tis but in vain to mention either.

King.
Mirza, Mirza,
How art thou lost by my deceiv'd credulity?
I'le beg thy pardon.

Ha.
Stay, Sir, not without my leave:
Go some of you, and let the people know
The King keeps state, and will not come in publick:
If any great affairs, or State addresses,
Bring 'em to me.

King.
How have I taught the villain
To act my part? But oh, my son, my son,
Shall I not see thee?

Ha.
For once you shall, Sir,
But you must grant me one thing.

King.
Traytor, dost thou mock my miseries?
What can I give but this unhappy life?

Ha.
Alas! Sir,
It is but that I ask, and 'tis my modesty
To ask it, it being in my power to take it:
When you shall see him, Sir, to dye for pity,
'Twere such a thing, 'twould so deceive the world,
And make the people think you were good natur'd;
'Twill look so well in story, and become
The stage so handsomly.

King.
I ne're deny'd thee any thing, and shall not now
Deny thee this, though I could stand upright
Under the tyranny of age and fortune;
Yet the sad weight of such ingratitude
Will crush me into earth.

Ha.
Lose not your tears, but keep
Your lamentations for your son, or sins:
For both deserve 'em: but you must make haste, Sir,
Or he'l not stay your coming. He looks upon a watch.

'Tis now about the hour the poyson
Must take affect.

King.
Poyson'd? oh Heaven!

Ha.
Nay, Sir, lose no time in wonder, both of us
Have much to do; if you will see your Son,
Here's one shall bring you to him. Exit King.

Some unskilful Pylot had shipwrackt here;
But I not only against sure
And likely ills have made my self secure:
But so confirm'd, and fortify'd my state,
To set it safe above the reach of Fate.

Exit Haly. Enter Prince led, Servant at the other door, Princess and Soffy.
Serv.
Sir, the Princess and your Son.

Prince.
Soffy, thou com'st to wonder at
Thy wretched father: why dost thou interrupt
Thy happiness, by looking on an object
So miserable?

Princess.
My Lord, methinks there is not in your voice
The vigour that was wont, nor in your look
The wonted chearfulness. Are you well, my Lord?

Prince.
No: but I shall be, I feel my health a coming.

Princess.
What's your disease, my Lord?

Prince.
Nothing, but I have tane a Cordial,
Sent by the King or Haly, in requital
Of all my miseries, to make me happy:
The pillars of this frame grow weak,
As if the weight of many years oppress 'em;
My sinews slacken, and an Icy stiffness
Benums my blood.

Princess.
Alas, I fear he's poysoned:
Call all the help that Art, or Herbs, or Minerals
Can minister.

Prince.
No, 'tis too late:
And they that gave me this, are too well practis'd
In such an Art, to attempt and not perform.

Princess.
Yet try my Lord, revive your thoughts, the Empire
Expects you, your Father's dying.

Prince.
So when the ship is sinking,
The winds that wrackt it cease.

Princess.
Will you be the scorn of fortune,
To come near a Crown, and only near it?

Prince.
I am not fortunes scorn, but she is mine,
More blind than I.

Princess.
O tyranny of Fate! to bring
Death in one hand, and Empire in the other;
Only to shew us happiness, and then
To snatch us from it.

Prince.
They snatch me to it;
My soul is on her journey, do not now
Divert, or lead her back, to lose her self
I'th' amaze, and winding labyrinths o'th' world:
I preethee do not weep, thy love is that
I part with most unwillingly, or otherwise
I had not staid till rude necessity
Had forc'd me hence.
Soffy, be not a man too soon,
And when thou art, take heed of too much vertue;
It was thy Fathers, and his only crime,
'Twill make the King suspitious; yet ere time,
By natures course has ripened thee to man,
'Twill mellow him to dust; till then forget
I was thy Father, yet forget it not,
My great example shall excite thy thoughts
To noble actions. And you, dear Erythæa,
Give not your passions vent, nor let blind fury
Precipitate your thoughts, nor set 'em working,
Till time shall lend 'em better means and instruments
Than lost complaints. Where's pretty Fatyma?
She must forgive my rash ungentle passion.

Princess.
What do you mean, Sir?

Prince.
I am asham'd to tell you.
I prethee call her.

Princess.
I will, Sir, I pray try if sleep will ease
Your torments, and repair your wasted spirits.

Prince.
Sleep to those empty lids
Is grown a stranger, and the day and night,
As undistinguisht by my sleep, as sight.
O happiness of poverty! that rests
Securely on a bed of living turfe,
While we with waking cares and restless thoughts,
Lye tumbling on our downe, courting the blessing
Of a short minutes slumber, which the Ploughman
Shakes from him, as a ransom'd slave his fetters:
Call in some Musick, I have heard soft airs
Can charm our senses, and expel our cares.
Is Erythæa gone?

Serv.
Yes, Sir.

Prince.
'Tis well:
I would not have her present at my death.
Enter Musick.

Serv.
So now he sleeps, let's leave him
To his repose.

Enter King.
King.
The horrour of this place presents
The horrour of my crimes, I fain would ask
What I am loth to hear; but I am well prepar'd:
They that are past all hope of good, are past
All fear of ill: and yet if he be dead,
Speak softly, or uncertainly.

Phy.
Sir, he sleeps.

King.
O that's too plain, I know thou mean'st his last,
His long, his endless sleep.

Phy.
No, Sir, he lives; but yet
I fear the sleep you speak of will be his next:
For nature, like a weak and weary traveller,
Tir'd with a tedious and rugged way,
Not by desire provokt, but even betray'd
By weariness and want of spirits,
Gives up her self to this unwilling slumber.

King.
Thou hast it, Haly, 'tis indeed a sad
And sober truth, though the first
And only truth thou ever told'st me:
And 'tis a fatal sign, when Kings hear truth,
Especially when flatterers dare speak it.

Prince.
I thought I heard my Father, does he think the poyson
Too slow, and comes to see the operation? Prince Awakes.

Or does he think his engine dull, or honest?
Less apt to execute, than he to bid him:
He needs not, 'tis enough, it will succeed
To his expectation.

King.
'Tis indeed thy Father,
Thy wretched Father; but so far from acting
New cruelties, that if those already past,
Acknowledg'd and repented of, can yet
Receive a pardon, by those mutual bonds
Nature has seal'd between us, which though I
Have cancell'd, thou hast still preserv'd inviolate;
I beg thy pardon.

Prince.
Death in it self appears
Lovely and sweet, not only to be pardoned,
But wisht for, had it come from any other hand,
But from a Father; a Father,
A name so full of life, of love, of pity:
Death from a Fathers hand, from whom I first
Receiv'd a being, 'tis a preposterous gift,
An act at which inverted Nature starts
And blushes to behold her self so cruel.

King.
Take thou that comfort with thee, and be not deaf to truth:
By all that's holy, by the dying accents
Of thine, and my last breath, I never meant,
I never wisht it: sorrow has so over-fraught
This sinking bark, I shall not live to shew
How I abhor, or how I would repent
My first rash crime; but he that now
Has poyson'd thee, first poyson'd me with jealousie,
A foolish causless jealousie.

Prince.
Since you believe my innocence,
I cannot but believe your sorrow:
But does the villain live? A just revenge
Would more become the sorrows of a King,
Than womanish complaints.

King.
O Mirza, Mirza!
I have no more the power to do it,
Than thou to see it done: My Empire Mirza,
My Empire's lost: thy vertue was the rock
On which it firmly stood, that being undermin'd,
It sunk with its own weight; the villain whom
My breath created, now braves it in my Throne.

Prince.
O for an hour of life; but 'twill not be:
Revenge and justice we must leave to Heaven.
I would say more, but death has taken in the outworks,
And now assails the fort; I feel, I feel him
Gnawing my heart-strings: Farewel, and yet I would. . . .

Dies.
King.
O stay, stay but a while, and take me with thee;
Come Death, let me embrace thee, thou that wert
The worst of all my fears, art now the best
Of all my hopes. But Fate, why hast thou added
This curse to all the rest? the love of life;
We love it, and yet hate it; death we loath,
And still desire; flye to it, and yet fear it.

Enter Princess and Soffy.
Princess.
He's gone, he's gone for ever:
O that the poyson had mistaken his,
And met this hated life; but cruel Fate
Envyed so great a happiness: Fate that still
Flies from the wretched, and pursues the blest.
Ye Heavens! But why should I complain to them
That hear me not, or bow to those that hate me?
Why should your curses so out-weigh your blessings?
They come but single, and long expectation
Takes from their value: but these fall upon us
Double and sudden. Sees the King.

Yet more of horrour, then farewel my tears,
And my just anger be no more confin'd
To vain complaints, or self-devouring silence;
But break, break forth upon him like a deluge,
And the great spirit of my injur'd Lord
Possess me, and inspire me with a rage
Great as thy wrongs, and let me call together
All my Souls powers, to throw a curse upon him
Black as his crimes.

King.
O spare your anger, 'tis lost;
For he whom thou accusest has already
Condemn'd himself, and is as miserable
As thou canst think, or wish him; spit upon me,
Cast all reproaches on me, womans wit
Or malice can invent, I'le thank thee for them;
Whate're can give me a more lively sence
Of my own crimes, that so I may repent 'em.

Princess.
O cruel Tyrant! could'st thou be so barbarous
To a Son as noble as thy self art vile?
That knew no other crime, but too much vertue;
Nor could deserve so great a punishment
For any fault, but that he was thy Son?
Now not content to exceed all other Tyrants,
Exceed'st thy self: first robbing him of sight,
Then seeming by a fain'd and forc'd repentance,
To expiate that crime, didst win him to
A false security, and now by poyson
Hast rob'd him of his life.

King.
Were but my soul as pure
From other guilts as that, Heaven did not hold
One more immaculate. Yet what I have done,
He dying did forgive me, and hadst thou been present,
Thou wouldst have done the same: for thou art happy,
Compar'd to me; I am not only miserable,
But wicked too; thy miseries may find
Pity, and help from others; but mine make me
The scorn, and the reproach of all the world;
Thou, like unhappy Merchants, whose adventures
Are dasht on rocks, or swallowed up in storms,
Ow'st all thy losses to the Fates: but I
Like wastful Prodigals, have cast away
My happiness, and with it all mens pity:
Thou seest how weak and wretched guilt can make,
Even Kings themselves, when a weak womans anger
Can master mine.

Princess.
And your sorrow
As much o'recomes my anger, and turns into melting pity.

King.
Pity not me, nor yet deplore your husband;
But seek the safety of your son, his innocence
Will be too weak a guard, when nor my greatness,
Nor yet his fathers vertues could protect us.
Go on my Boy, the just revenge of all To Soffy.

Our wrongs I recommend to thee and Heaven;
I feel my weakness growing strong upon me: Exeunt.

Death, thou art he that wilt not flatter Princes,
That stoops not to authority, nor gives
A specious name to tyranny; but shews
Our actions in their own deformed likeness.
Now all those cruelties which I have acted,
To make me great, or glorious, or secure,
Look like the hated crimes of other men.

Enter Physician.
King.
O save, save me! who are those that stand,
And seem to threaten me?

Phy.
There's no body, 'tis nothing
But some fearful dream.

King.
Yes, that's my brothers ghost, whose birth-right stood
'Twixt me and Empire, like a spreading Cedar
That grows to hinder some delightful prospect,
Him I cut down.
Next my old Fathers Ghost, whom I impatient
To have my hopes delay'd, hastned by violence
Before his fatal day;
Then my enraged Son, who seems to becken,
And hale me to him. I come, I come, ye Ghosts,
The greatest of you all; but sure one hell's
Too little to contain me, and too narrow
For all my crimes.

Dies.
Enter Mirvan and Haly at several doors.
Haly.
Go muster all the City-Bands; pretend it
To prevent sudden tumults, but indeed
To settle the succession.

Mir.
My Lord,
You are too sudden, you'l take 'em unprepar'd;
Alas, you know their consciences are tender.
Scandal and scruple must be first remov'd,
They must be pray'd and preach'd into a tumult:
But for succession,
Let us agree on that; there's Calamah
The eldest Son by the Arabian Lady,
A gallant youth.

Ha.
I, too gallant, his proud spirit will disdain
To owe his greatness to anothers gift:
Such gifts as Crowns, transcending all requital,
Turn injuries. No, Mirvan;
He must be dull and stupid, lest he know
Wherefore we made him King.

Mir.
But he must be good natur'd, tractable,
And one that will be govern'd.

Ha.
And have so
Much wit to know whom he's beholding to.

Mir.
But why, my Lord, should you look further than your self?

Ha.
I have had some such thoughts; but I consider
The Persian State will not endure a King
So meanly born; no, I'le rather be the same I am,
In place the second, but the first in power:
Solyman the Son of the Georgian Lady
Shall be the man: what noyse is that?

Enter Messenger.
Mess.
My Lord, the Princes late victorious Army
Is marching towards the Palace, breathing nothing
But fury and revenge; to them are joyn'd
All whom desire of change, or discontent,
Excites to new attempts, their Leaders
Abdal and Morat.

Ha.
Abdal and Morat! Mirvan, we are lost,
Fallen from the top
Of all our hopes, and cast away like Saylers,
Who scaping Seas, and Rocks, and Tempests, perish
I'th' very Port; so are we lost i'th' sight
And reach of all our wishes.

Mir.
How has our intelligence fail'd us so strangely?

Ha.
No, no, I knew they were in mutiny;
But they could ne're have hurt us,
Had they not come at this instant period,
This point of time: had he liv'd two days longer,
A pardon to the Captains, and a largess
Among the Souldiers, had appeas'd their fury:
Had he dy'd two days sooner, the succession
Had as we pleas'd, been settled, and secur'd
By Soffy's death. Gods, that the world should turn
On minutes, and on moments!

Mir.
My Lord, lose not yourself
In passion, but take counsel from necessity;
I'le to 'em, and will let them know
The Prince is dead, and that they come too late
To give him liberty; for love to him
Has bred their discontents: I'le tell them boldly,
That they have lost their hopes.

Ha.
And tell them too,
As they have lost their hopes o'th' one, they have lost
Their fears o'th' other: tell their Leaders we desire
Their counsel in the next succession;
Which if it meet disturbance,
Then we shall crave assistance from their power,
Which Fate could not have sent in a more happy hour.

Exit Mirvan. Enter Lords, Caliph.
Cal.
My Lord, ye hear
The news, the Princes Army is at the gate.

Ha.
I, I hear it, and feel it here; (Aside.)

But the succession, that's the point that first
Requires your counsel.

Cal.
Who should succeed, but Soffy?

Ha.
What! in such times as these, when such an Army
Lies at our gates, to chuse a Child our King?
You, my Lord Caliph, are better read in story,
And can discourse the fatal consequences
When Children reign.

Cal.
My Lords, if you'l be guided
By reason and example—

Enter Abdal and Morat.
Ha.
My Lords,
You come most opportunely, we were entring
Into dispute about the next succession.

Ab.
Who dares dispute it? we have a powerful argument
Of forty thousand strong, that shall confute him.

Cal.
A powerful argument indeed.

Ab.
I, such a one as will puzzle all your Logick
And distinctions to answer it;
And since we came too late for the performance
Of our intended service to the Prince,
The wronged Prince, we cannot more express
Our loyalty to him, than in the right
Of his most hopeful Son.

Ha.
But is he not too young?

Mor.
Sure you think us so too; but he, and we
Are old enough to look through your disguise,
And under that to see his Fathers Enemies.
A Guard there.

Enter Guard.
Mor.
Seize him, and you that could shew reason or example.

Ha.
Seize me! for what?

Ab.
Canst thou remember such a name as Mirza,
And ask for what?

Ha.
That name I must remember, and with horrour;
But few have dyed for doing,
What they had dy'd for if they had not done:
It was the Kings command, and I was only
Th'unhappy minister.

Ab.
I, such a minister as wind to fire,
That adds an accidental fierceness to
Its natural fury.

Mor.
If 'twere the Kings command, 'twas first thy malice
Commanded that command, and then obey'd it.

Ha.
Nay, if you have resolv'd it, truth and reason
Are weak and idle arguments; but let
Me pity the unhappy instruments
Of Princes wills, whose anger is our fate,
And yet their love's more fatal than their hate.

Ab.
And how well that love hath been requited,
Mirvan your Confident, by torture has confest.

Mor.
The story of the King, and of the Bashaws.

Ha.
Mirvan, poor-spirited wretch, thou hast deceiv'd me;
Nay then farewel my hopes, and next my fears.

Enter Soffy.
Soffy.
What horrid noyse was that of drums and trumpets,
That struck my Ear? What mean these bonds? Could not
My Grandsires jealousie be satisfied
Upon his Son, but now must seize
His dearest Favourite? Sure my turn comes next.

Ab.
'Tis come already, Sir; but to succeed
Him, not them: Long live King Soffy!

Without Drums and Trumpets.
Soffy.
But why are these men prisoners?

Ab.
Let this inform you.

Soffy.
But is my Grandsire dead?

Ab.
As sure as we are alive.

Soffy.
Then let 'em still be prisoners, away with 'em;
Invite our Mother from her sad retirement,
And all that suffer for my Fathers love,
Restraint or punishment.

Enter Princess.
So.
Dear Mother, make
Our happiness compleat, by breaking through
That cloud of sorrow,
And let us not be wanting to our selves,
Now th'heavens have done their part,
Lest so severe and obstinate a sadness
Tempt a new vengeance.

Princess.
Sir, to comply with you I'le use a violence
Upon my nature; Joy is such a forrainer,
So meer a stranger to my thoughts, I know
Not how to entertain him; but sorrow
Is made by custom so habitual,
'Tis now part of my nature.

So.
But can no pleasure, no delight divert it?
Greatness, or power, which women most affect,
If that can do it, rule me, and rule my Empire.

Princess.
Sir,
Seek not to rob me of my tears, Fortune
Her self is not so cruel; for my counsels
Then may be unsuccessful, but my prayers
Shall wait on all your actions.

Enter Solyman, as from the Rack. Guard.
So.
Alas poor Solyman, how is he altered?

Sol.

Why, because I would not accuse your Father, when your Grandfather saw he could not stretch my conscience, thus he has stretcht my carkass.

Mor.
I think they have stretcht his wit too.

Sol.

This is your Fathers love that lyes thus in my bones; I might have lov'd all the Pocky Whores in Persia, and have felt it less in my bones.

So.
Thy faith and honesty shall be rewarded
According to thine own desire.

Sol.

Friend, I pray thee tell me where-about my knees are, I would fain kneel to thank his Majesty: Why Sir, for the present my desire is only to have a good Bone setter, and when your Majesty has done that office to the Body Politick, and some skilful man to this body of mine (which if it had been a Body Politick, had never come to this) I shall by that time think on something for my suffering: But must none of these great ones be Hang'd for their villanies?

Aside.
Mor.
Yes certainly.

Sol.

Then I need look no further, some of their estates will serve my turn.

So.
Bring back those villains. Enter Haly and Caliph.

Now to your tears, dear Madam, and the Ghost
Of my dead Father, will I consecrate
The first fruits of my justice: Let such honours
And funeral rites, as to his birth and vertues
Are due, be first performed, then all that were
Actors, or Authors of so black a deed,
Be sacrific'd as Victims to his Ghost:
First thou, my holy Devil, that couldst varnish
So foul an act with the fair name of Piety:
Next thou, th'abuser of thy Princes ear.

Cal.
Sir, I beg your mercy.

Ha.
And I a speedy death, nor shall my resolution
Disarm it self, nor condescend to parley
With foolish hope.

So.
'Twere cruelty to spare 'em, I am sorry
I must commence my reign in blood, but duty
And justice to my fathers soul exact
This cruel piety; let's study for
A punishment, a feeling one,
And borrow from our sorrow so much time,
T'invent a torment equal to their crime.

Exeunt.

THE EPILOGUE

'Tis done, and we alive again, and now
There is no Tragedy, but in your brow.
And yet our Author hopes you are pleas'd, if not;
This having fail'd, he has a second Plot:
'Tis this; the next day send us in your friends,
Then laugh at them, and make your selves amends.
Thus, whether it be good or bad, yet you
May please your selves, and you may please us too:
But look you please the Poet, lest he vow
A full revenge upon you all, but how?
'Tis not to kill you all twenty a day,
He'll do't at once, a more compendious way;
He means to write again; but so much worse,
That seeing that, you'l think it a just curse
For censuring this: 'Faith give him your applause,
As you give Beggars money; for no cause,
But that he's troublesome, and he has swore,
As Beggars do, he'l trouble you no more.

Appendix A. POEMS OF UNCERTAIN AUTHORSHIP

THE FAMOUS BATTEL OF THE CATTS

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

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Of doubtful attribution.

SATIRES ON SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT'S GONDIBERT

TO SIR W. DAVENANT

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

[_]

Of doubtful attribution.

A LETTER SENT TO THE GOOD KNIGHT

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

[_]

Of doubtful attribution.

TO DAPHNE:

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

[_]

Of doubtful attribution.

On his Incomparable Incomprehensible Poem Gondibert.

Chear up small Wits; now you shall crowned be;
Daphne himself is turn'd into a tree.
(Nor think it strange, for our great Author can
Clap stones to Hirmigil, and make her Man:)
Goe gather sprigs, nor can you strip him bare,
For all the ancient Wreaths fall to his share.
Poor Homer's eyes by his unshaded light
Again put out, who bids the world Good-night,
And is as much eclips'd by one more blind,
As is his by our new Hectors out-shin'd:
Virgil, thou hast no Wit, and Naso is
More short of Will, then is Will's Nose of his;
Can silence Tasso, and the Fairy-Queen,
Though all by Will unread, and most unseen.
Nor shall we ere hear more of great Tom-thumb,
For Gondibert and Oswald strike all dumb.
Thus then secur'd, thy Babe shall not miscarry,
Since all do bow to Fames Fine Secretary.
So have I heard the great Leviathan,
Let me speak true, and not bely a man,
Reign in the Deep and with tyrannick Power
Both Costick Codd, and squallid Sprats devour.

AN ESSAY IN EXPLANATION OF MR. HOBBS,

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

[_]

Of doubtful attribution.

Where he tells the Author, The Vertues you distribute there among so many Noble persons, represent the Image but of one Mans Vertue to my Fancy, which is your own.

THUS FAR IN THE AUTHORS OWN WORDS, NOW A LITTLE IN HIS OWN WAY.

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

[_]

Of doubtful attribution.