Pleasant dialogues and dramma's selected out of Lucian, Erasmus, Textor, Ovid, &c. ... By Tho. Heywood |
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 | Pleasant dialogues and dramma's |  |
[The Dialogue of Ravisius Textor, called Earth and Age]
The Argument of the Dialogue betwixt Earth and Age.
In Earth and Age is to the life exprest,How bad all Men are, when they are at best:
How fraile, how fading, and in their great'st glory
Unsettled, wretched, vaine, and transitory.
It shewes all Learning, Beauty, Youth, and Strength,
All Pompe, all Wealth to nothing comes at length:
No Statue, Structure, Trophee, so sublime,
Which is not quite lost and defac' t by Time.
O who can then our common Parent blame,
Since all things she produceth that haue name,
As they haue birth from her still-teeming wombe,
So the same place is likewise made their tombe.
No wonder then her griefe so far exceeds,
Since she is forc't to bury all she breeds.
The Dialogue.
Earth.What's he so many tongues can me allow,
As he had eies who watcht the Pharian Cow?
So many mouthes to me who's he can give,
As Fame reports the Sybels yeares did live?
As (by th' Ascræan Poet) we may guesse,
The antient gods liv'd dayes? Had I beside,
As many brasen throats open and wide,
As Xerxes shot darts, (after fight begun)
Whose number from the earth shadow'd the Sun?
So many rivulets of teares what's hee
Can to myne eyes infuse, as was by thee
Cyrus (if we may trust antiquity)
Let into Ganges drops, thereby to breed
Dry waste vnto that Channell drown'd his steed?
Who can my clamorous words supply with sorrow?
So many deepe suspires where shall I borrow;
As Valiant Roman Spirits (scorning to yeeld)
fell in one fatall day at Canna's field?
O my great griefe, which in the height appeares,
Not to be calm'd with words, nor washt with teares.
How did his mournfull sisters him bemoane?
Who from their rough rindes where they be inclos'd,
Weepe pretious Amber still. Phœbus, oppos'd
'Gainst
You may read the like of Niobe the daughter of Tantalus, and wife to Pelops: who had sixe Sonnes, and sixe Daughters, all which Latona the mother to Apollo and Diana, (in whom are figured the Sunne and the Moone) caused to be slaine, for the pride of Niobe, who presumed to compare with her: for griefe whereof shee lost her speech, and remained stupid and without motion, which gave the Poets occasion to feigne that she was changed into a marble statue. Calvis. reporteth that shee lived in the yeare of the world, 2240.
O how she still in marble doth complaine?
What sorrow, musicall Orpheus, didst thou feele,
When thy
Euridice was the wife of Orpheus, who flying from Aristheus who would have ravished her, was stung with a Serpent, of which she dyed. Orpheus tooke his harpe, And went to Hell for her, and by his excellent Musick so far wrought with Pluto and Proserpine, that they suffered him to beare her thence, but upon condition, that he should not looke backe upon her till hee had past the infernall shades, and came to the upper light, which through his over love hee breaking, so lost her. The fable is thus moralliz'd, Euridice signifieth the soule of man, and Orpheus the body to which the soule is married. Aristæus is true happinesse which would gladly ravish the soule, but shee flying through grassy fields and medowes, is at length stung to death by a Serpent, that is, by the blandishments of immoderate pleasure: she then descends into Hell, which implyes dull and deepe melancholy, with the trouble of a perplext conscience, where shee is rescued by comfortable musick. But so, that unlesse shee submit herselfe to the rule of reason, shee shall quickly fall againe into the same agony: she lived in the yeare 1700. according to Natal Comes.
And dying, borne vnto th' infernall shade,
Thou with thy harp through hell free passage made?
What more than madnesse did corrode thy brest,
Andromache? when (Hector layd to rest)
Thou saw'st thy sonne, the hope of Troy and thee,
Dropt from a tower: what sorrow might this bee?
Ev'n such was thine,
Ægeus was the Sonne of Neptune, and King of Athens, in whose raigne King Minos of Creete to revenge the death of his Sonne Androgeus, made most cruell warre on the Athenians, forcing them yearely to send seven Noblemens Sonnes into Creete to bee devoured by the monster Minotaurus. Three yeares this continued, and in the fourth the lot (amongst others fell upon Thesius, the elect Sonne of the King, who being of a noble and heroick courage, put them in great hope that he was able to kill the monster: At his departure his father injoyn'd him, that if the ship hee went in returned prosperously he should set up a white flagge in token of victory, and pluck downe the black one which they then bore in signe of mourning. But after when Theseus by the counsell of Ardiane daughter to King Minos had overcome the monster, and with a clew of thread escaped the labyrinth, sayling homewards againe with joy towards his Country, he forgot his fathers commandement concerning the white flagge. The old King much longing to see the safe returne of his sonne, used every day to ascend an high promontory, which overlooked the Sea, to take view of all such ships as past that way, at length knowing his sons shippe, and seeing the same sable flagge in the top, with which they first launched from that shoare, supposed hee had beene dead, and therefore surcharged with griefe, cast himselfe headlong from the rocke into the Sea, which was after cald by his name Ægeum mare. He lived in the 48. yeere after Athens was first made a Kingdome; and in the yeare of the world 2680, about the time that Gedeon judged Israel.
Thy sonnes blacke sailes returning: which so cold
Strook to thy heart, thou thinking Theseus slaine,
Leapt from a rocke, and gav'st the sea thy name.
The torment of a mighty passion thou
Their mutuall ruines by revengefull Armes?
Sad
Dedalus was the sonne of Micion borne in Athens, the most excellent Artificer of these times. He made the Labyrinth into which Minos put him, and his sonne Icarus, at length having got feathers and wax, he made thereof artificiall wings for himselfe and his sonne, and so flew from Crete into Sardinia, and thence to Cuma, where he built a Temple to Apollo, but Icarus in the way soared so high, that the beames of the Sunne, melted the wax, and his wings failing him, by that disaster he fell into the Sea, from it hath still retained the name of Mare Icarium, the Icarian Sea, according to that of Ovid.
Icarus Icarijs nomina fecit aquis.Were in thy brest giv'n, to behold from hye,
Thy sonne with his feint wings drop from the skie?
There to be food for fishes, and to adde
A name vnto that sea, it neuer had?
Or should I speake how much
Progne was the daughter to King Pandion, who because her husband Tereus King of Thrace, had ravished her sister Philomela, and after cut out her tongue, she having notice thereof, in a barbarous revenge, at a feast dedicated to Bacchus: slew her son Itis, and after drest his limbs, and served them up to her husbands table, &c. She lived about the yeare of the world 2510. according to Helv.
Her husbands spowse-breach? or how discontented
Anthonoë was after Actæon torne?
Or of Antigone, sad and forlorne,
Leading blinde Oedipus o're rocks along?
Within the compasse of my passionate song
Bring all the torments of the former age,
Gyves, Manacles, and Fetters, all that Rage
Or Fury can inflict; want, hunger, thirst,
Whip, post, or prison, labor, or what's worst,
The melancholy dungeon, gallows, racke,
The forke or stake, what on the homicides backe
Law can impose, the Traitor or the Theefe;
All these are toyes, if rated at my griefe.
By stings of Serpents, or their teeth, to die;
Rough winter gusts, where Boreas blowes most hye:
A thousand wounds were nothing to endure,
Or mounted on a gybbet, there chain'd sure,
And liue to gorge the Ravens, or to bleed
Beneath the Lyons jawes; after to feed
Her whelps, were nothing.
Of the gods high straine.
What, or whence are you, that so loud exclaime?
Earth.
Earth, Parent of all things.
Age.
Why weepe you?
Earth.
Why?
Haue I not just cause? (who so great as I?
Being a Mother) in this wretched state,
To see my Sons hourely snatcht hence by Fate,
You haue iust cause to doo't.
Earth.
I pray what lesse
Perceiue you in the vntam'd Lionesse,
When she but one whelp misseth from her den?
Age.
She mournes.
Earth.
What of the ravenous Tygre then,
To lose her yong she tender'd with such care?
Age.
She grieves and raves.
Earth.
How doth the poore Hen fare,
Clocking amidst her brood, when in her sight
One Chicken is snatcht from her by the Kite?
Age.
She sorrowes.
Earth.
What doth the fleece-bearing Dam,
When 'fore her face the Wolfe deuours her Lamb?
Age.
Laments.
Earth.
Doth not the Cow with bellowing teare
The aire, to finde her Calfe spoyld by the Beare?
Age.
Alas she lowes.
Earth.
What doth the Sow, to spy
Out any of her Pigs stolne from her stie?
Age.
She calls loud after.
Earth.
O then what should I?
If whatsoever I produce or cherish,
Procreate or beare, I see before me perish?
Is it not wondrous, Forrests should at length
Bide putrifaction, rot, and lose their strength?
The shadowie tree Time of her beauty 'reaves,
Despoiling her both of her fruit and leaves.
Age.
'Tis wondrous I confesse, but so 't must bee.
Earth.
What is it then, that I behold and see
The brazen statues of the gods decay,
The monuments of Princes turne to clay;
Mighty Colossi, Temples deckt with Vaines,
Supported with rich Columnes (by the braines
Of the best Architects) made wide and large,
With spacious arches, sacred, in the charge
And in a few short seasons perish all.
Age.
So it hath pleas'd the gods.
Earth.
The gods are then
Too cruell and austere to vs and men;
Since whatsoeuer the Earths fertile wombe
Brings forth to aire, and in the world to have roome;
Whatever in her bosome she hath ta'ne
To feed and foster: what doth now remaine,
Or shall hereafter be? That all these must
Needs be involv'd in rottennesse and dust.
Age.
'Tis fit.
Earth.
O anguish never to abate,
Or have cessation!
Age.
So the gods will ha't.
Earth.
Then, as I said before, th'are too severe,
And mercilesly in this kinde austere.
Is't not enough strong walls are beaten downe,
And lofty turrets level'd with the ground;
Cities are sackt, to ruine made a pray,
The famous statues of the gods decay;
That rust the iron doth consume and waste,
And pleasant Orchards of corruption taste;
But Man must perish too, and cannot shun
Times fearefull havocke, but to ruine run?
Age.
The Fates so will.
Earth.
What pitty can there be
Ascrib'd to any pow'rfull deity?
But what art thou? What goddesse? or how styl'd?
Age.
Age I am call'd.
Earth.
Hence false Virago, vyld
Infernall Fury; for 'tis thou alone
Bringst all my Issue to confusion:
Swift feather-footed Time and ravenous Age
Devour all things in their remorselesse rage.
Age.
What's sublunarie, Fate will haue to fall.
Say Tyrannesse, thou Age, consuming all,
Where be those high Pyramides so fam'd,
By which the barbarous Memphis first was nam'd,
Rear'd by so many workmens sweat and toile?
Age.
As all things else, even these have suffer'd spoile.
Earth.
Where 's Pharos Isle? the Sepulchre renownd
Of King Mausolus? where's the Image crownd
Of chast Diana? Strumpet tell me.
Age.
Gone.
Earth.
Where's the
Tarpeian alludeth to Tarpeia, a Vestall virgin in Rome, who covenanting with the Sabines their enemies, to betray the Capitoll, for the bracelets they wore on their left armes, when they entred the City, and she stood ready to receive that which she had contracted for, in stead of their bracelets, they cast their Targets upon her, by which she was smothered and pressed to death: this happened in the yeare of the world 3205. The Tarpeian Mount was so called because she was there buried, and Iupiter was sirnamed Tarpeius, because there worshipped.
More famous? where's the hundred gated Towne
Calld Thebes? or strong immur'd Babylon?
Where's populous Ninive? what's Romes sublime
Vast Theatre by Cæsar built? by Time
Confounded all; where's the Colosse of Rhods?
Age.
Their ruins all were foreseen by the gods.
Earth.
What's Troy? old Sparta? or Corinthus hye?
What's Solomons Temple, Harlot?
Age.
All these lye
In darke oblivion buried; and in vaine
You fret, chide, wrangle, and perplex your braine,
Deare Mother Earth; weepe riuers from thine eies,
With clamors cleave thy jawes, make thy lungs rise,
Consume thy marrow, breake thy backe, and teare
Thy intrals out; the Fates are so severe,
Thou canst not breake their order, their strict lawes
Inviolate are, and will admit no clause:
For them the mightiest Kings cannot oppose,
The Souldiers shield hath no defence 'gainst those;
The rich mans purse, the learning of the Wise,
No nor the Poets Verse (let that suffice.)
Earth.
If then with such ferocitie they bee
So deeply incenst; and that the gods agree
In such inclemencie: advise me how
I shall demeane me?
Age.
You of force must bow
Grieve, sorrow, and lament, all is but vaine.
Earth.
I will not therefore.
Age.
Your best is to advise
Man to leave th'earth, and looke vp to the skies:
To put no confidence in Mundane Glory,
Which (like himselfe) is meerly transitory.
Not to grow proud of Beauty, Wisdome, Wealth,
Nor of his Strength, since Age by silent stealth
Will rifle him of all. To him relate,
Of far fam'd men the most vnhappy state.
Earth.
Your consolable words have given reliefe
To my suspence, and now exil'd all griefe.
Age.
That's all.
Earth.
I will obey. Man, answer me.
Man.
Who's that?
Earth.
Thy Mother.
Man.
Mine? It cannot be.
Earth.
Thy mother Earth.
Man.
Deare mother then All haile;
What seeke you?
Earth.
I lament.
Man.
Can teares prevaile?
Deare Parent cease to grieve: lies it in mee
To give least ease to your calamity?
Earth.
No, Sonne.
Man.
Why mourne you?
Earth.
Have not all things birth
From me thy wretched and sad mother Earth?
Man.
I know it well.
Earth.
Dost thou not see how I
Give to the woods production as they lie?
Sap to the Trees, Increase vnto the Graine;
Hug in my fertile bosome stones? Againe,
Afford the Vine Grapes, and the tough Oke Mast;
Food to the Fish, and to the Birds repast:
Hay, to the Gardens Floures, Grasse to the Field:
And last, as to the best of all my brood,
Birth unto Man; and after bearing food.
Man.
I do confesse it, Mother.
Earth.
I much lament,
Deare Childe, and from hence growes my discontent,
That hauing such a fertile wombe, so free,
And ever-teeming; only that by mee
So many shapes and bodies hourely grow,
So firme in substance, and so faire in show,
That nothing can her ravenous throat asswage,
But all must die and be consum'd by Age:
She ruines Forrests, the hard marble weares,
Frets iron, wasts Palaces, strong bulwarks teares,
Spoiles Camps, doth Citadels demolish quite;
Even the gods sacred statues takes from sight.
She not high consecrated Temples spares,
But that which teares and torments to my cares
Still addes, That Man she ruthlesly deuoures,
And makes him perish at vncertaine houres:
Therefore beware, my sweetest Childe, take heed,
Lest tympanous pride within thy bosome breed,
Of this beware, my sonne.
Man.
Mother I shall.
Earth.
Then first, lest warlike glory thee assaile,
And make thee to forget thou art but Dust;
Heare vnto what the god-like Heroes trust,
Whom Age hath worne out of all memorie.
Hector.
Lest any in his potencie rely,
Or in his militarie armes take pride,
Or powerfull skill in Geticke weapons tryde,
Let him consider me, puissant indeed,
Hector, the strongest of all Priams Seed,
Potent in battell, and whilst I did stand,
Ilium was safe, secur'd by sea and land:
Before me, Legions of the Grecians flew,
When I came arm'd in fury: Troy opprest
With ten yeares siege, I garded with this brest.
I whom alone Achilles quak't to see,
Have yeelded vnto Fate, and vnto thee
Andromache (a widow) left my sonne.
Thus Age ends all things an the earth begun.
Achilles.
The Trojans terror, Great Achilles, I
In sinewie strength excelling, and thereby
Famous of old, the only hope and stay
Of the Greeke Heroes, who alone made way
Through all the Dardan host. 'Twas I alone
Was dreaded in the field, and but me none.
Alone of far-fam'd Hector was I fear'd,
And Priam quak't when he my name but heard:
Able my nerves, and matchlesse might my grace,
In body mighty, terrible my face,
Big shoulderd and broad brested, sterne my brow;
Yet to Minerva's Altar as I bow,
Paris behinde me steales, and with his dart
Wounds me i'th heele, which rankles to my heart.
And thus the Valiant perish, and thus Age
All things consumes in her devouring rage.
Alexander.
What's life but frailtie, bubble, or a blast,
A cloud, a smoke, no sooner seene than past?
Yeares, like a ball, are voluble, and run;
Houres, like false Vowes, no sooner spoke than done:
Time quickly wasteth by vnwary dayes,
Nothing can bribe the Sisters to delayes.
The horrid sword of Death whoso would fly,
Let him but looke into myne age, how I
Am gon and spent; I that was calld and knowne
By name of Alexander Macedon:
Whose fame hath from the Suns vprise been heard
Beyond the place Ioves Sonne his pillars reard.
Have I been fam'd, whom none (oppos'd) withstands.
The populous city Thebes my arme o'rethrew,
I many thousand Persian souldiers slew;
Phœnicians, Ciclicks, Paphlagonians, all
My sword subdu'd: thrice did Darius fall
Beneath my potencie: great Babylon,
Mighty in walls, I sieg'd, and seised on.
And after, golden-wav'd Hidaspes past;
Porus (foure cubits high) I queld at last,
Whom, conquer'd, I set free. This done, I then
From India saild, to Babylon agen.
Returning, I fell sicke, soone after dyde;
Thus Time and ravenous Age shall all things hide.
Sampson.
Let Fame, th' admirer of all Ancestrie,
And such as are renown'd for Chivalrie,
Here shew her selfe, and in her shape divine;
Surveigh all places where the Sun doth shine,
In which large progresse let her see the head
Of flowing Nile: or say that she be fled
Vnto the Sun-burnt
They were called Garamantes of Garamus, a King of Lybia, who built a City there, which he called after his owne name: their Country lyeth along by the banke of Numidia, in a tract of ground from the Atlanticke Ocean, by the river Nilus. They were held in old time to be the farthest people Southward.
To enquire newes, or what she else can heare
From the Numidians or remoat estates
Of (the oft-shifting place) the Sanzonats.
Search Thetis Empire through, or further go
To what the fabricke of the world can show,
She shall not finde that mortall wight that dare
With me in nerves or strength of armes compare,
I am the mighty Sampson, famous yet,
To whom for strength Alcides would submit:
To strangle Lions was no more than play,
Or to out-run swift Tygres on the way.
What though I with the jaw-bone of an asse
A thousand slew, and through their army passe?
What though the city gates I rend and teare,
And (after) them vpon my shoulders beare?
I yeeld to death, Age swallowes all at length.
Earth.
Know now my Son, that such most happy are,
Whom others harmes can teach how to beware.
See, whatsoeuer I produce or bring,
Nurse or giue fostring to, even every thing
Devouring Age consumes. Dost thou not see
Renowned Hector yeeld to Destinie?
How great Achilles, after wars rough stormes,
Despoil'd of life, to be the food for wormes?
Sampson and Alexander in their prime,
Though strong, yet they both perisht: This can Time.
Now lest faire Feature should in thee breed pride,
Natures indowments, or ought else beside;
See women next, in face and forme excelling,
Swallow'd in dust; all Beauty Age expelling.
Hellen.
O you blind men, with feminine shape oretaken,
Whose amorous hearts are with their culture shaken,
Now do I finde too late, and grieve to thinke,
All mortall beauty must in Lethe sinke.
We kembe these haires, and trim them vp in gold.
(Our curled tresses with rich gems inrol'd)
Our fronts we burnish, and there cannot passe
One blemish, but corrected by the glasse.
By art we adorne our heads, and by art wee
Dispose the face and haire; by art we see.
And yet these haires, this head, these eies, this face,
Vanish like moving waves which flote apace.
Behold! I that was faire, am wormes meat made,
My flesh corrupt, and buried in the shade.
Behold (I say) that Grecian Hellen, shee
Rap't, Menelaus, in her prime from thee:
Me Theseus ravisht first, and left me so,
That saving kisses I did nothing know.
False Paris last (by Fate or Fury led)
Hosting with me, made stealth into my bed:
This snare for me was Troys sad overthrow.
This putrified Coarse by him so bought,
was after by a thousand ships re-sought.
O Greece, what preparation didst thou make,
To fetch that flesh which now the wormes forsake?
What broiles? what strage? what slaughter to destroy,
Did this loath'd carkasse breed 'twixt Greece and Troy?
Became it thee, friend Paris, to forsake
Thy houshold gods, and such a journey take,
To hazard seas, only to fetch away
From Greece this rottennesse, this putrid Clay?
And you the Atrides, would you saile so far,
And for this dust maintaine a ten yeares war?
That this vile earth, this stench you might returne,
To close these ashes in my fathers urne?
Lais.
If any fables haue bin sung in praise
Of Prostitutes, what fame their shapes could raise;
I the Corinthian Lais, choice and best,
Haue been the crowne and grace to all the rest.
My chin the Ivorie stain'd, Lillies my brow,
To match myne eies the world then knew not how:
My necke was long and straight, and my veins blew,
Soft lips, in my cleare cheekes fresh roses grew;
My nose was neither crooked, long, nor flat,
My visage it became, it graced that:
My wanton paps like two round hillocks grow,
From which moist springs two milky rivers flow,
My belly comely sweld, for it became
Like a plumpe Peacocks, soft as the yong lambe:
My stomacke like the temperat Turtles feeding;
Modest my dyet, and no surfets breeding;
My armes much whiter than the Lillies shwoing,
Or floures, Alcinous, in thy garden growing.
Who that my leg did looke on, but did thinke
He burnt in flames, or in the seas did sinke?
O that I were a flea in Lais bed.
Or who my foot, but wisht himselfe a stone,
With vpward eies for me to tread vpon.
And yet this face, these cheeks, these lips, these eies,
This necke, these haires, these temples, legs and thighes,
This stomacke, belly, backe, armes, hands, and feet
Are wormes meat now, and with corruption meet.
Learne yong man then, that which we trust in most
Is dust and filth; in Age are all things lost.
Thisbe.
The Babylonian Thisbe is my name,
Noble my birth, my beauty great in fame;
No lovely Maid that had in th' Orient place,
But with much envy gaz'd me in the face.
Inraged Iove I with a smile could please,
Or pull his threatning thunder backe with ease.
Iuno her selfe of me hath jealous bin,
And fear'd lest Iove in Babylon would sin.
The white Caistrian Bird to me did yeeld,
And to my blush the Roses of the field.
Yet not this feature, not this front or face,
Nor these myne eyes, to which the stars gave place,
Could ransome me from the wormes fearefull rage,
Or the rude phangs of all-devouring Age.
Lucretia.
Who the divining Sybels shall commend,
Or thee, Penelope, and not offend?
Of Dido's feature who shall smoothly write?
Or the Leucadian sisters beauty cite?
Behold me Lucrece, softer than the downe,
Or the swans brest, and whiter: who was knowne
More tractable than wax; fresh as the aire,
Softer my skin than the ripe Melons are.
With this faire body I the wormes haue fed,
And a small urne containes me being dead.
These paps, that Cato the Severe would turne,
Or chaste
Hippolitus, the sonne of Theseus and Hyppolita the Amazon, who when his father was abroad, his stepmother Phædra sollicited him to incestuou love, which he refusing, she accused him to his father that he would have forced her, but when hee perceived him to give credit to her false information, he tooke his Chariot and horses to flie his fury, but by the way his steeds being frighted with Sea-calves, ran with him to the mountaines, and dashed the Coach in pieces, and him also, he lived in the yeare of the world, 2743.
And putrifaction, to which all may trust.
Nothing the earth brings forth, but Age can wast,
One and the same fate meets with all at last.
Earth.
Considerthen, my Sonne, these shapes you haue,
Splendor nor feature, ransoms from the Grave:
That all things suffer change, necke, brest, and throat,
Lips, cheeks, brow, stomacke, all on which we doat,
Convert to ashes. Yet lest thou be won,
Thinking to scape by other gifts; my son
Attend with prepar'd eares, heare what the Learnd,
The Rich and others have 'tofore discernd;
These and the rest haue the same accent sung:
Now whilst they speake, thou still suppresse thy tongue.
Virgil.
If Learning from himselfe shall man divide,
And make him like the Peacocke strut with pride,
He offends in madnesse, sencelesly is vaine.
Behold, I Virgil, of the learned straine,
Of Poets Prince, their glory and their grace,
To whom Apollo did afford prime place;
Me the most sacred Muses favor'd still,
For me the Driades their laps would fill
With various floures, and the Napæe bring
Chaplets of Bayes to crowne me when I sing.
To th' Palaces of Emperors accited,
And to the banquets of great Kings invited:
And yet I dy'de. What profit did it breed,
That I first taught the wanton Goats to feed,
To till, to sow and reape; or be fam'd far
For the rude slaughters of a ten yeares war?
Yet was I food for wormes. What's Poesie then?
Instable Age ends what she will, and when.
Xerxes.
Lest opulencie should elate man high,
And make him set his face against the skie,
Trust to his youth, or what his riches brings,
Behold me Xerxes, mightiest of all Kings,
Possest of such an infinite Magozin
Of gold and treasure, so immense a store,
As neuer Persian King enjoyd before;
That when my pride toward Grecia 'gan to aspire,
Gave to so many souldiers food and hire;
So many legions from the Orient brought,
That in the first great battell which we fought,
Such store of shafts and darts my campe did yeeld,
As kept the Suns bright lustre from the field:
So many ships of mine the Ocean swayd,
As made astonisht Neptune fly, afraid,
And hide him in his Deeps. What's plenty then?
Or what doth Pompe or Greatnesse profit men?
We vanish all like shadowes: and even thus
Dy'de Crœsus,
Crassus surnamed Marcus, the richest man amongst the Romanes, who held no man worthy to be cald rich, who could not within his yearely revenue maintaine an Army: hee was extremely covetous, and managed warre against the Parthians, by whom, both hee and thirty thousand Romanes were slaine, and because the barbarous enemy conjectured that hee made an assault upon them for their gold: therefore they melted a great quantity, and powred it into his dead body, to sate him with that, with which in his life time; hee could never be satisfied. He lived in the yeare of Romes foundation 693. and before the Incarnation 57.
Pigmalion, whom both Age and Death constraines
To walke with Xerxes in th' Elysian plaines.
Nero.
If any aire to Tyrants breathing gives;
If any Catiline or Marius lives;
Or if there any sterne Mezentius be,
Contemner of the gods: these looke on me,
I the base sinke of sin, the ship of shame,
Quaffer of humane bloud, Nero, the same
Whose murthers have been bruted over all,
From the Suns uprise, to his Westerne fall:
Whose gluttonies and lusts Nilus knew plaine,
And Calpes, to the farthest parts of Spaine.
To rip my mothers wombe was my desire:
Who knowes not too, I set great Rome on fire?
Who knowes not, that my fury did betray
The lives of Lucian and wise Seneca?
Who knowes not, that Saint Paul and Peter tryde
My sword, by which most of the Senat dy'de?
But what was then my miserable fate?
Prest by my feares, and by the peoples hate,
Contemn'd of all, I fell by myne owne hand:
Thus Nero dy'de, thus none can Age withstand.
Sardanapal.
Lest soft effeminacie, lust, and abuse
Of Natures gifts, might pleade the least excuse;
I am that Sensuallist Sardanapal,
Who to my selfe thinking to ingrosse all
Voluptuousnesse, deckt in their womanish sutes,
I spent my time 'mongst common Prostitutes;
False periwigs vpon my head I wore,
And being man, the shape of woman bore.
Yet this ranke body a small urne containes;
To this we must, to this, Age all constraines.
Earth.
Son dost thou see how all things Age outweares?
How the Strong perish, with the prime in yeares?
How the Faire falls, and how the Learn'd decay?
And how the Rich consume and fade away?
How Tyrants dye? How death the Wanton tasts?
And, to conclude, how swift Time all things wasts?
Man.
What (Mother) shall I do? If I liue chast,
I am not therefore safe: or if I wast
My houres in Venus sports, I am not free:
If ever weepe, what shall become of me?
If ever sport, what profit can it bring?
And though I ever mourne, or ever sing,
All's one, for die I must. Since Death ends all,
Let my corrupted body die and fall
To dust, to earth or wormes, pleasure's my store,
Let me enioy that, I desire no more.
Earth.
Thus I conclude; Though mans life be vnstayd,
And as we see, by Custome hourely fade,
Even as the parched leaues by Autumne change
And fall to nothing; yet (which is most strange)
Of his owne fruit he is vnmindefull still,
And followes what proves to himselfe most ill.
| Pleasant dialogues and dramma's | |