 | The raging Tvrke, or Baiazet the second |  |
Scena Septima.
Enter Corcutus with his Lute.Corcu.
Heauen whither run these projects? is the thought
Of man so sencelesse, void of wit, yet fraught
With threatning ambition? to what end
Doth this distempered madnesse headlong bend?
Blesse me my Genius from these hated toyles
Of murdering warfare, and these sweating broyles,
Of watchfull policy; Phœbus let it be
That I may know no other god but thee.
Learned experience sayes, ambiguous fates
Vexe eminent fortunes, and he onely stands
Without the beames of enuy, whom the hands
Of some propitious power, hath ranckt below
A Crown's a golden marke, which being hit,
Falls not alone, but off the head with it:
Honors are smoakie, nothing, then let the Queene
Of learning, great Minerua, and the nine
Chast sisters, that adorne the Grecian hill,
Devote me to themselues, but let me still
Within Apollos sacred Temple sit,
And spend my body to encrease my wit;
Raigne Selymus, for I shall ne're thee hate,
Thy supreame power, nor enuy thy state,
Corcutus stands diuorced from a life,
Engag'd to vaine ambition factious state,
And emptie power of Kings; Hee's great in fame
Not who seekes after, but neglects the same.
Since thou hast grieu'd me Phœbus, free my wit,
That I may ease my griefe by speaking it;
If thou deny'st fond god, twill be in vaine,
Sorrow can sing, though thou not tune the straine.
Sings to his Lute.
Then thou sweete Muse from whence there flowes,
words able to expresse our ill,
Teach me to warble out my woes,
and with a sigh each accent fill:
Jnfuse my breast with dolefull straines,
Whose heauy note may speake my paines,
O let me sigh, and sighing weepe,
Till might depriue my woes with sleepe.
words able to expresse our ill,
Teach me to warble out my woes,
and with a sigh each accent fill:
Jnfuse my breast with dolefull straines,
Whose heauy note may speake my paines,
O let me sigh, and sighing weepe,
Till might depriue my woes with sleepe.
The pleasing murmurers of the ayre,
that gently fanne each mouing thing,
I being heard, straight doe repayre,
and beare a burden whilst I sing,
An heauy burden dolefull song,
The fathers griefe the subiects wrong,
O let me sigh, and sighing weepe,
Till night beguiles my woes with sleepe.
that gently fanne each mouing thing,
I being heard, straight doe repayre,
and beare a burden whilst I sing,
An heauy burden dolefull song,
The fathers griefe the subiects wrong,
O let me sigh, and sighing weepe,
Till night beguiles my woes with sleepe.
The grieued Flora hangs the head
Of euery youthfull plant and tree
And flowry pleasures are starke dead,
at my lamenting melody,
Then all you Muses helpe my straine
To reach the depth of bitter paine.
Oh let me sigh, and sighing weepe
Till night beguiles my woes with sleepe.
Of euery youthfull plant and tree
And flowry pleasures are starke dead,
at my lamenting melody,
Then all you Muses helpe my straine
To reach the depth of bitter paine.
Oh let me sigh, and sighing weepe
Till night beguiles my woes with sleepe.
Me thinkes I heare the singing spheares,
tune their melodious straines to mine,
The deawie clouds dissolue in teares,
as if they grieu'd to see me pine;
Thus each thing ioynes to helpe my moane,
Thus seldome come true sighs alone;
Then let me sigh, and sighing weepe,
Till night beguile my woes with sleepe.
tune their melodious straines to mine,
The deawie clouds dissolue in teares,
as if they grieu'd to see me pine;
Thus each thing ioynes to helpe my moane,
Thus seldome come true sighs alone;
Then let me sigh, and sighing weepe,
Till night beguile my woes with sleepe.
He sleepes: Then enter two murtherers Who slaying him, heare him away.
Exeunt:
| The raging Tvrke, or Baiazet the second | |