University of Virginia Library

Act 5.

Scene 1.

Cyrus,
Harpagus.
Let us triumph o're them (though proud of late)
Whose glory now doth with their greatnesse faile:
Since with their fortune forfeiting their state:
No warre 's approv'd unlesse that it prevaile:
The world, that whil'st we fought, did doubtfull stand,
As for the one, ordain'd to be a prey,
Saw how the heavens plac'd lightning in my hand,
Those thund'ring downe, who would not us obey:
Goe pay our vowes, ere enterprising more;
The Gods detest a minde that is ingrate;
And who delight their Deities to adore,
Are alwaies bent to stablish their estate;
Cause burden Altars, smoke each sacred place
With Bullockes, Incense, Odours of all kindes;
“But none can give the Gods (still great in grace)
“A sacrifice more sweet, than thankefull mindes.

Harp.
Though all who partners are of th' earth and ayre,
Still whil'st tapestred with this azure pale,
If for nought else, yet for those gifts least rare,
To serve th' all-pow'rfull pow'rs, should never faile;
Yet there are some whom successe hath design'd,
Whose names are written in respected scroules,
Whom benefits (not ordinary) binde
To love them more then life, yea, then their soules:
Of those that you are one, your deeds declare,
Of whom amid'st innumerable broiles,
Even from your cradle they have had a care,
And led you safe through many dangerous toiles;
Though of the troubles of your youth I see,
You have not heard the wonderfull discourse,
I them remember, who did chance to be
An actor in your Tragicke-Comicke course.

Cyrus.
The accidents which in our nonage chance,
A ripened age not to remembrance brings,
Like fabulous dreames which darkenesse doth advance,
That are by day disdain'd as frivolous things:
For, our conceptions are not then so strong
That they can leave impressions long behinde,
Yet mixe (deare friend) old griefes new joyes among,
And call afflicted infancy to minde.

Harp.
Who would not wonder at thy wondrous fate,
Whom (even or borne) destruction did attend,
Whil'st ere thou could'st offend, pursu'd by hate,
Even then to end what now shall never end?
Your mother first her fathers minde did sting,
Whil'st once he dream'd, which yet his soule confounds,
That of a tree which from her wombe did spring,
Th'umbragious branches, darkened Asias bounds;
Then to the Magies straight he gave in charge
To try what this strange vision did presage,
VVho having studied their darke Art at large,
Gave this response with a propheticke rage:
That once his daughter should a sonne bring forth,
Who should (by valour gaining great renowne)
Make vanquish'd Asia witnesse of his worth;
But from his grand-father first reave the Crowne.
This to Astyages a terrour bred,
Who (vainely bent to scorne the heavens decree)
His daughter (out of policy) would wed,
To some weake stranger of no great degree.
And to Cambyses, who of her made choice,
He, for his Country (then contemn'd) gave eare,
Whom by your birth the Princesse did rejoyce,
And gave her father further cause of feare,
“Thus tyranny (their brood whose courage failes)
“Doth force the Parents in despaire to fall,
“To fight a dastard, proud when it prevailes,
“But yet (as fear'd of all,) doth still feare all;
“And tyrants no security can finde,
“For every shadow frights a guilty minde.
This Monarch then who could not dreame of harmes,
Whose guards did glance all still with steele array'd,
Then whil'st he liv'd secure from forraigne Armes,
A babe, scarce borne, and his, did make afraid.
And whil'st Lucina the last helpe did make,
As if some ugly monster had beene borne,
A Minotaure, a Centaure, or a Snake,
The peoples terrour, and the Mothers scorne;
The Grand-childes birth, which justly should impart,
To grand-fathers the greatest cause of joyes,
Did (long ere wounded, making him to smart)
Involve him in a maze of sad annoyes;
And to prevent what did him fondly fright,
By giving cause of a deserved hate,
He sought by robbing you the new-found light,
To make your birth and buriall of one date.
Soone after this he sent for me in haste,
Whom at that time (and not in vaine) he lov'd,
And told the summe of all things that were past,
By which his marble-minde seem'd nothing mov'd;
Yet in the same, as he would let me know,
Though pitty none, some horrour did remaine,
Whil'st damn'd in substance, to seeme cleere in show,
Your bloud his heart, but not his hand should staine.
“Thus having lull'd asleepe their judgement still,
“The wicked would extenuate their crimes,
“Not knowing those who but allow of ill,
“As actors guilty, differ but in times.
With his vile fault he would have burden'd me,
Whom straight he charg'd an Innocent to slay;
I promis'd to performe his rash decree,
Well weighing whom, not what I should obey;
When I had parted from his Highnesse face,
And carried you (then swadled) with me too,
Whil'st horrour did congeale my bloud, a space
I stood perplex'd, not knowing what to doe,
And (as to purge my part) even shedding teares,
By troupes of passions griefe, my soule assail'd,
Thus (when distress'd for easing others feares,)
Th'intended death of you, your murd'rers wail'd;
For him I sent a servant of mine owne,
VVho for the time was heards-man to the King,
To whom I made all my Commission knowne,
But as enjoyn'd to him, shew'd every thing;
Delivering you with an unwilling breath,
Whom of pure gold, a glistring robe array'd,
I threatned him with many a cruell death,
If that your death were any way delay'd;
Straight then to execute the Tyrants doome,
He from my sight did all astonish'd goe,
Too great a charge for such a simple Groome,
The shew of Majestie amaz'd him so;
What man (not wondring) can by deeds behold
The providence of all-commanding Iove,
Whose brazen edicts cannot be contrould:
“Firme are the Statutes of the States above:
“That mortall whom a Deities savour shields,
“No worldly force is able to confound,
“He may securely walke through dangers fields,
“Times and occasions are to serve him bound:
For loe, before the heards-man was come home,
His wife had chanc'd a breath-lesse childe to beare,
Who wondred so to see her husband come,
While by his conscience crush'd, he quak'd for feare;
And straight she curious grew to know the forme,
How he a babe so beautifull obtain'd;
Who her of all did suddenly informe,
And to what cruelty he was constrain'd;
She quickly then th' occasion to embrace,
(No doubt inspir'd by some celestiall pow'r)
Pray'd that her infant might supply your place,
Yet where no beasts his body might devoure,
So shall we have (saith she) a double gaine,
Since our owne childe shall get a stately tombe,
And we a Princely brood, which may remaine,
Still nurst with us as th'issue of my wombe.
The husband lik't so well his wives designe,
That he perform'd all what she did require,
And when I had directed one of mine,
This Tragedies last act, who might enquire:
My man who spy'd a babe there breathlesse lye,
With that rich funerall furniture array'd,
Told what the fellow told, (a generous lye)
So that thus try'd, I trusted what they said.
In end, Time (posting with houre-feather'd wings)
Had given you strength, with others of your yeares
You haunted games, not nephewes unto Kings,
But for that time admitted for your Peeres,
They faile call fortune blinde, she sight bewray'd,
And your authority by lot enlarg'd,
In pastorall sports, who still the Scepter sway'd,
And as but borne for that, that best discharg'd:
With other children then, as once it chanc'd,
A Noble-man of Medeas Sonne remain'd,
Who swolne with envy to see you advanc'd,
Your childish charge with scornfull words disdain'd;
You raging at that proud attempt of his,
Did punish him, as it became a Prince,
I doubt now (Sir) if that you thinke of this:
The rest of rashnesse did your deed convince.

Cyrus.
Though now my breast doth greater thoughts embrace,
Of youthfull sports, yet do not spare to speake;
“Let cares alternatly give pleasure place:
“That which is bended still, must sometime breake.

Harp.
The childes great Father did inform the King,
How that so base a boy his Sonne abus'd,
And of the guard one hasted you to bring,
As for an odious crime to be accus'd;
But when the King (expostulating long)
By terrours striv'd to cast your courage downe:
You boldly said, that you had done no wrong,
To punish one who had contemn'd your Crowne;
You so magnanimous amaz'd to finde,
Whil'st pausing long with an attentive Eye,
That speech imperious told the King your kinde:
Whose brood but th'Eagles durst have soar'd so high?
The fained Father to the King was brought,
Who (fear'd for torture) telling truth in time,
Where he reward deserv'd, but pardon sought,
As if the saving you had beene a crime.
Then (as it seem'd) delighted with the rest,
The King did cause a sumptuous feast prepare,
And me desir'd as his most speciall guest,
That with my Sonne I would to Court repaire;
When I was come, the King great joy disclos'd,
And sooth'd my words which did his chance applaud,
But for another end then I suppos'd:
“What fairer cloke then courtesie for fraud?
When th'absence of the Sunne did darknesse breed,
The Candles light inheriting his place,
On my Sonnes flesh they caus'd my selfe to feed,
Then did upbraid me with his bloudlesse face;
VVhat anguish, or what rage o're-flow'd my soule,
A loving Father may imagine best,
Yet at that time I did my rage controull,
But laid it high up in a stormie brest.

Cyrus.
Some of the wise-men then I heard remain'd,
VVho from their former sentence did recoyle,
And said, no danger was, since I had raign'd,
Then did dismisse me for my native soile;
VVhere when I had my blooming season spent,
To weakened wrath your lines did strength afford,
Informing us that many Medes were bent
For his great cruelty to leave their Lord;
And wish'd (if to their Scepter I aspir'd)
That I should move the Persians to rebell,
VVhich did succeed even as my soule desir'd:
For they disdain'd in bondage base to dwell;
VVhen my encourag'd troups all arm'd did stand,
Ere they from Strangers could attend releefe,
I quickly march'd, encountring with that band,
Of which the King had chanc'd to make you chiefe.

Harp.
“Loe how those wretches whom the heavens would wrack,
“(To plagues expos'd) of judgement are unarm'd:
“The King of me his Captaine straight did make,
“And look't for help of him whom he had harm'd;
“Yet was th'old wrong so rooted in my heart,
“My Countries thraldome, and mine owne disgrace,
“That all the horrours mischiefe could impart
“Seem'd nought to me, so my disdaine took place.

Cyr.
“On those whom they have wrong'd, none should relye:
“Iust rancour unreveng'd, can never dye.

Harp.
This enterprise at first so well did speed,
That since, your Greatnesse still began to rise,
Which may by time Io brave a story breed,
As may be pretious in all Princes eyes.

Cyr.
Behold how Crœsus with his riches blinde,
Durst even encounter with my warre-like band;
And whil'st a prosp'rous course betray'd his minde,
Did not suspect what pow'r was in my hand;
But he and his confederates have seene
How victory doth still my troupes attend,
And Persia must be once all Asia's Queene,
On whom for servants Princes shall depend;
Now Crœsus is o'recome, this Towne surpris'd,
And Lydia charg'd with gold, doth yeeld rich spoyles;
The League unprosp'rous, Ægypt hath despis'd,
This is the happy end of all our toiles.
But ah! one sowre unseasons all my sweets,
That gallant man who was my Mate in armes,
Whose praise through all the peopled circuit fleets,
And with his love each generous courage warmes;
Then when (though weake in troups) in courage strong,
Th'Ægyptian Chariots desperately he charg'd
There (whil'st he fought infortunately long)
Mars from terrestriall bands his soule enlarg'd.

Harp.
No doubt that Dame this trouble hardly beares,
Who onely seem'd for him to like of life,
I heard him (whil'st she bath'd his breast with teares)
Oft wish by proofe to merit such a wife.
When their farewell was seal'd, last speeches spent,
She kiss'd the Coach that did containe her trust,
And with eyes bigge with pearle, gaz'd where he went,
Still till her sight was choak'd with clouds of dust.

Cyrus.
And have you then not heard, his death but prov'd
The black beginning of a bloudy Scene?
His wife Panthea at the first not mov'd,
Seem'd as she had some marble image beene;
The body that had oft her fancies fir'd,
She caus'd beare out of sight, still deare, though dead;
But where the River ranne, when once retir'd,
She 'twixt her bosomes Rounds entomb'd his head;
And then from Rage she borrowed some reliefe:
For sorrow by degrees, a passage seeks,
Vapouring forth sighs, which made a cloud of griefe,
A mighty storme of teares rain'd downe her cheeks;
Then, whil'st her Eyes the wonted object miss'd,
With heavy looks resolving fatall haste,
Pale senselesse lips she prodigally kiss'd,
With as great ardour then as in times past.
I posted thither, bent to have releev'd
This Lady of a portion of her woes.
Heaven beare me witnesse! I was greatly griev'd,
Who would to save one friend, spare hosts of foes,
She first a space me passionately ey'd,
Then with those words, her lips did slowly move,
My husband, loe, hath valorously dy'd,
As of your friendship, worthy of my love.
“My comming but encreas'd griefes starving store:
“For, till that passion of it selfe expire,
“All kinde of comfort but augments it more,
“Like drops of oyle thrown on a mighty fire.
A constant count'nance though I striv'd to make,
And what her woes diminish might, did tell;
That comfort which I gave, I could not take,
And scarcely could throw forth my last farewell;
When I had left her but a little space,
She did discharge the Eunuchs from her sight,
Then pray'd her Nurse to bury in one place
Her and her Lord, as they deserv'd of right;
Last, looking on his corps, she drew a sword,
And even as if her soule had flown in him,
(Pure snows in Crimson dy'd) imbrac'd her Lord,
Whil'st beauties blubbred Starres were waxing dim;
Then bent to fall, when her they could not raise,
(As scorning to survive their prosp'rous state)
In emulation of their Ladies praise,
The Eunuchs did precipitate their fate.
O sweet Panthea, rich in rarest parts,
I must admire thy ghost though thou be gone!
Who might'st have made a Monarchy of hearts,
Yet loath'd unlawfull loves, and lov'd but one;
O wond'rous wonders, wonders wond'rous rare!
A woman constant, such a beauty chast,
A minde so pure, joyn'd with a face so faire,
With vertue beauty in one person plac't;
Both were well match'd as any could devise,
Whose death confirmes the union of their life;
He valorous, she vertuous, both wise,
She worthy such a Mate, he such a wife.
And Harpagus, lest that it should be thought,
That of brave mindes the memory may dye;
Cause build a stately Tombe with Statues wrought,
Where both their bodies with respect may lye.

Harp.
I'le raise a Pyramide of Crœsus spoils,
Where of their worth each part shall be compris'd,
But how to do in these tumultuous broils,
Now time requires that you were well advis'd:
Your adversary doth attend your will;
This hauty Towne for feare to fall doth bow,
And therefore pardon, ransome, quite, or kill,
Do what you please, none can controll us now.

Cyr.
As for old Crœsus, I am else resolv'd,
He with some captives whom I keep in store
Shall have their bodies by the fire dissolv'd,
As offerings to the Gods whom I adore.
My Souldiers paines this City shall defray,
Since by their meanes it hath beene gain'd for us,
I yeeld it unto them, as their just prey,
Who taste the sweetnesse of their travels thus;
Of other things we shall so well dispose
That our renowne through all the world shall shine,
Till Cyrus name give terror to all those,
Who dare against his Soveraignty repine.

Scene 2.

Nuntius.
Chorus.
Ah! to what part shall I my steps addresse,
Of bondage base the burden to eschue?
Loe, desolation, ruine, and distresse
With horrour do my native home pursue;
And now poore Countrey, take my last farewell,
Farewell all joy, all comfort, all delight.

Cho.
What heavy tydings hast thou now to tell,
Who tear'st thy garments thus? what forc'd thy flight?

Nunt.
I tell the wracke of us, and all who live
Within the circuit of this wretched foile.

Cho.
A hideous shout we heard the Citie give,
Have foes prevail'd, do they her beauty spoile?

Nunt.
They may it spoile.

Cho.
And is our Soveraigne slaine?

Nunt.
No, but scarce scap't doth live in danger still.

Chor.
Then let our mindes no more in doubt remaine,
And must we yeeld to that proud Strangers will?

Nunt.
You know how Crœsus at advantage lay,
Still seeking meanes to curbe the Persians pride,
And how th'Assyrians had assign'd a day
When led by him, they battell would abide;
But Cyrus having heard how that they would
Against his State so great an armie bring,
Straight raising forces, providently bold,
Prevents, invades, o're-comes, and takes our King.

“Cho.
This shews a Captaine both expert and brave,
“Who wisely doth advise, performe with speed,
No circumstance (friend) unrelated leave,
Which with our Kings did our confusion breed.

Nunt.
When Crœsus saw that Cyrus came so soone,
He stood a while with a distracted minde,
Yet what time would permit, left nought undone,
But made his musters, march'd his foe to finde.
Our stately troups that for rich armes excell'd,
And with umbragious feathers fann'd the aire,
With insolency, not with courage swell'd,
A triumph dream'd, scarce how to fight took care.
The Lydian horse-men never stain'd, but true,
And for their worth, through all the world renown'd,
Them chiefly Cyrus labour'd to subdue,
And this device for that effect was found:
Untrussing all their baggage by the way
Each of the Camels for his charge did beare
A grim-fac'd Groome, who did himselfe array
With what in Persia horsemen use to weare;
To them th'infantery did follow next,
A solid squadron like a brasen wall;
But those in whom all confidence was fix'd,
The brave Cavallery came last of all,
Then Cyrus by the raines his Courser tooke,
And bravely mounted, holding out his hands
With an assured, and imperious look
Went kindling courage through the flaming bands;
He them desir'd, who at deaths game would strive
To spare none of their foes in any forme;
But as for Crœsus to take him alive,
And keep him captive for a greater storme:
Where famous Hellus doth to Hermus post,
To give another both his strength, and name;
Our army ranne against a greater host,
To grace it likewise with our force and fame.
Each troupe a time with equall valour stood,
Till giving place at length we took the chace,
While as the River ranne to hide our bloud,
But still his borders blush'd at our disgrace;
For when the Camels to the field were come,
Our horses all affrighted at their sight,
Ranne raging backe againe, and of them some
Disordering ranks, put many to the flight;
Yet some who had beene us'd with martiall traines
The stratagem (though out of time) perceiv'd,
And lighting downe (red heights rais'd from green plains)
Did vengeance urge of those who them deceiv'd;
There whil'st the world prov'd prodigall of breath,
The headlesse tronks lay prostrated in heaps;
This field of funerals sacred unto death,
Did paint out horrour in most hideous shapes:
Whil'st men unhors'd, horses unmastred, stray'd,
Some call'd on those whom they most dearly lov'd,
Some rag'd, some groan'd, some sigh'd, roar'd, promis'd, pray'd,
As blows, falls, faintnesse, paine, hope, anguish mov'd.
Those who then scap'd (like beasts unto a den)
A fortresse took where valour none renownes,
“Walls are for women, and the fields for men,
“No Towne can keep a man, but men keep Townes;
And we were scarcely entred at the Ports,
When straight the Enemies did the Towne enclose,
And quickly rear'd huge artificiall Forts,
Which did to the besieg'd more paine impose:
All martiall Engines were for battery found,
At like encounters, which had ear'st prevail'd,
Whil'st both they us'd the vantage of the ground,
And borrow'd help from Art, where Nature fail'd;
They alwayes compassing our Trench about,
Still where the walls were weake, did make a breach,
Which (straight repairing) darts were hurled out,
To kill all those who came where we might reach;
There all the bolts of death, edg'd by disdaine,
Which many curious wits enclin'd to ill,
Whil'st kindled by revenge, or hope of gaine,
Had skill to make, were put in practise still;
Yet as we see it oft-times hath occurr'd,
Where least we did suspect, we were surpris'd,
Whil'st Fortune and the Fates in one concurr'd,
That in Fames rolls our fall might be compris'd:
That side of Sardis, farre from all regard,
Which doth next Tmolus lye, thought most secure,
Through this presumption, whil'st without a guard,
All Lydia's o'rethrow did with speed procure:
As one of ours (unhappily it chanc'd)
To reach his helmet, that had scap't his hand,
Alongst that steepie part his steps advanc'd,
And was returning back unto his band;
He was well mark'd by one, who had not spar'd
To tempt all dangers which might make us thralls:
For Cyrus had proclaim'd a great reward
To him whose steps first trod the conquer'd walls;
And this companion seeing without stay
One in his sight that craggie passage clime,
Straight on his foot-steps followed all the way,
And many a thousand hasted after him;
Then all that durst resist, were quickly kill'd,
The rest who fled, no where secure could be:
For every street was with confusion fill'd;
There was no corner from some mischiefe free.
O what a piteous clamour did arise
Of ravish'd virgins, and of widow'd wives!
Who pierc'd the heavens with lamentable cryes,
And having lost all comfort, loath'd their lives.
Whil'st those proud Victors would themselves have stain'd
With all the wrongs that Pride, or power could use,
They by a charge from Cyrus were restrain'd,
And durst no more their captives thus abuse.

Chor.
No doubt but high mishaps did then abound,
Whil'st with disdaine the Conqu'rours bosome boyld,
As some the sword, disgrace did some confound,
Not onely houses, Temples too were spoyld.
“What misery more great can be devis'd,
“Then is a Cities when by force surpris'd?
But whil'st that stately Towne was thus distress'd,
What did become of our unhappy King?

Nunt.
Then when the Enemy had his state possest,
And that confusion seaz'd on every thing:
He scarcely first could trust his troubled sight,
(The Fortune past transported had him so)
Yet having eyes who can deny the light?
He saw himselfe inferiour to his foe;
And apprehending there whil'st left alone,
How that his judgement long had beene betray'd,
(As metamorphos'd in a marble stone)
His ravish'd thoughts in admiration stray'd;
But such a weight of woes not us'd to beare,
He first was griev'd, then rag'd, and last despair'd,
Till through excessive feare, quite freed from feare,
He for his safetie then no further car'd;
And never wishd he so to have long life,
But death farre further was affected now,
Still seeking danger in the bounds of strife,
So he were sure to dye, he car'd not how;
Whilst furies thus were fostred in his brest,
Him suddenly a Souldier chanc'd to meet,
As insolent as any of the rest,
Who drunk with bloud, ran raging through the street;
And wanting but an object to his ire,
He sought to him, and he to him againe;
I know not which of them did most desire,
The one to slay, the other to be slaine;
But whil'st so base a hand to wring aloft,
Did to so great a Monarch threaten death,
His eldest Sonne, who (as you have heard oft)
Was barr'd from making benefit of breath:
I cannot tell you well, nor in what forme,
If that the destinies had so ordain'd,
Or if of passions an impetuous storme
Did raze the strings that had his tongue restrain'd;
But when he saw his Syre in danger stand,
He with those words a mighty shout did give:
Thou furious Stranger stay, hold, hold thy hand,
Kill not King Crœsus, let my Father live;
The other hearing this, his hand retyr'd,
And call'd his Kings commandement to minde;
High were those aymes to which his thoughts aspir'd,
Whom for great fortunes this rare chance design'd;
Now when that Crœsus, who for death long long'd,
Was quite undone, by being thus preserv'd,
As both by life, and death, then doubly wrong'd,
Whil'st but by fates for further harme reserv'd;
He with sad sighs those accents did accord:
Now let the heavens do all the ill they can,
Which would not unto me the grace afford,
That I might perish like a private man,
Ah, must I live to sigh that I was borne,
Charactring shame in a dejected face?
Ah, must I live, to my perpetuall scorne,
The abject object, pointed for disgrace?
Yet this unto his soule more sorrow bred,
He (scorne pretending state) as King array'd,
Was with great shouts ridiculously led
Backe to the Tent, whereas their Emp'rour stay'd:
Then that he might his misery conceive,
Those robes so rich, were all exchang'd with chains,
And prisons strictnesse bragg'd him with the grave,
So soone as death could make a choice of paines;
They caus'd in haste a pile of wood to make,
And in the mid'st where all men might him spie,
Caus'd binde the captive King unto a stake,
With fourteene others of the Lydians by;
There (as if offerings fit to purge the state)
Foes sought with flames their ruine to procure,
Though Iove prepostrous piety doth hate:
“No sacrifice is sweet, which is not pure.
Now whil'st the fire was kindling round about,
As to some pow'rfull God, who pray'd, or vow'd,
With eyes bent up, and with his hands stretch'd out:
O! Solon, Solon, Crœsus cry'd aloud;
Some hearing him to utter such a voice,
Who said that Cyrus curious was to know
(When dying now) what deity was his choice,
Did him request his last intent to show:
His exclamation was (said he) on one,
With whom he wish'd (their frailty so to see)
That all who ever trusted in a Throne,
Had but conferr'd a space as well as he;
Then there he told what Solon had him showne,
Whil'st at his Court (which flourish'd then) arriv'd;
How worldly blisse might quickly be o're-throwne,
And not accomplish'd was, while as one liv'd;
Whil'st forth salt flouds attending troupes did powre;
He shew how much the wise-man did disdaine
Those who presum'd of wealth, or worldly pow'r,
By which none could a perfect blisse obtaine;
This speech did Cyrus move to ponder much
The great uncertainty of worldly things,
As thinking that himselfe might once be such,
Since thrall'd to Fortunes throne, like other Kings;
Then such a patterne standing him before,
Whom envy once, then pitie did attend,
He to our King did liberty restore,
And with his life did Solons fame extend;
Yet him the fire still threatned to devoure,
Which (rising high) could hardly be controll'd,
But O devotion! then appear'd thy pow'r,
Which to subdue the heavens makes worldlings bold!
To quench the flames, whil'st divers toild in vaine,
(Iove mov'd by prayer) as Crœsus did require,
The azure Cisterns open'd did remaine,
And clouds fell downe in flouds to quench the fire.
Then whil'st the Souldiers did the Citie sack,
To save the same (as to his Countrey kinde)
The hopelesse Crœsus thus to Cyrus spake,
With words which pitie melted from his minde:
Great Prince, to whom all Nations now succumbe,
And do thy yoke so willingly embrace,
That it some comfort gives to be o're-come
By one whose glory graces our disgrace;
Since now I am constrain'd your thrall to be,
I must conforme my selfe unto my fate,
And cannot hold my peace, whereas I see,
That which may wrong the greatnesse of your state;
Your state is spoil'd by not suspected pow'rs,
If this rich Citie thus do rest ore-throwne,
Which now no more is mine, but is made yours:
And therefore (Sir) have pittie of your owne;
Yea, though the losse of such a populous Towne,
Both rich, and yours, your minde could nothing move,
Yet thinke of this, which may import your Crowne,
A peece of policy which time will prove:
The haughty Persians borne with stubborne mindes,
Who but for poverty first followed you,
Their matchlesse worth in armes large Asia findes,
Their feare is falne upon all Nations now;
But if you suffer them in such a sort
To be made rich with plenteous Lydia's spoiles,
Not able then their conquest to support,
The vanquish't by their fall the victor foils;
Let not vain pleasures entertaine their sights:
“Rest wealth, wealth pride, pride warre, warre ruine breeds,
Whil'st (faint through pleasures, weakened with delights)
No thought of honour from base breasts proceeds.
Then Cyrus straight approving what he spake,
His souldiers were from pretious spoyls restrain'd,
Whil'st he the tenth part did pretend to take,
A fatall off'ring for the Gods ordain'd;
This is the summe of our disastrous state,
We must a Stranger serve, as thrall'd long since;
With losse of all which he possest of late
Our King bought breath, a poore thing for a Prince.

Chor.
O wretched people! O unhappy King!
Our joyes are spoyl'd, his happinesse expir'd,
And no new chance can any comfort bring,
Where destinies to ruine have conspir'd,
Go wofull messenger, hold on thy course,
For, to have heard too much, it irks our eares;
And we shall note of this thy sad discourse,
With sighs each accent, and each point with teares.

Croesus.
Loe! I who late did thunder from a Throne,
Am now a wretch whom every one disdaines;
My treasure, honour, state, and freedome gone;
No kinde of comfort, no, nor hope remaines,
And after me, let none whom greatnesse shrouds,
Trust tumid titles, nor ostentive shows:
“Sailes swolne with windes, whil'st emulating clouds,
That which puffes up, oft at the last o're-throws.
O! had this pretious wit enrich'd my minde,
Which by experience I have dearly bought,
Whil'st fortune was within my Court confin'd,
And that I could not thinke a bitter thought;
Then satisfi'd with Soveraignty ear'st prov'd,
I had disdain'd new dangers to embrace,
And cloath'd with majestie, admir'd, and lov'd,
Had liv'd with pleasure, and had dy'd in peace.
“But what more wonderfull in any State,
“Then power (when courted) that is free from pride?
“But chiefly those who live securely great,
“They oft may erre, since Fortune is their guide,
What could the world afford, or man affect,
Which did not smooth my soule, whil'st I was such?
Whom now the changing world doth quite neglect,
By prospr'ing plagu'd, starv'd onely with too much;
Long lull'd asleep with scornfull Fortunes lyes,
A slave to pleasure, drown'd in base delights,
I made a covenant with my wandring eyes,
To entertaine them still with pleasant sights;
My heart enjoy'd all that was wish'd of late,
Whil'st it the height of happinesse did cloy,
Still serv'd with dainty, but suspected meat,
My soule with pleasure sicke, was faint for joy;
All, with much care what might procure mine ease:
(My will divin'd) obsequiously devis'd,
And who my fancy any way could please,
As prais'd by me, was by all others pris'd.
Save serving me none else could have deserv'd,
Of whom what ever came, was held of weight,
My words and looks were carefully observ'd,
And whom I grac'd, were had in honour straight;
For pompe and pow'r, farre passing other Kings,
Whil'st too secure with drowsie thoughts I slumbred,
My coffers still were full of pretious things,
Of which (as wealth least weigh'd) gold scarce was numbred;
I rear'd rare buildings, all embost with gold;
Made ponds for fishes, forrests for wilde beasts;
And with vain thoughts which could not be controll'd,
Oft spent the day in sport, the night in feasts.
I toss'd the Elements with power like Ioves,
Driv'd water up, aire downe, a pleasant change:
For, stately fountains, artificiall groves,
As common things were not accounted strange.
With me (what more could any Monarch crave?)
In all the parts of pompe, none could compare:
My Minions gallant, Counsellours were grave,
My guards were strong, my Concubines were faire;
Yea, whil'st light Fortune my defects supply'd,
I had all that could breed (as now I finde)
In others wonder, in the owner pride,
So puffing up the flesh to spoyle the minde.
Thus with delight (long pressing pleasures grapes)
With Fortune I carrows'd what men deare hold,
But ah! from misery none alwayes scapes,
“One must be wretched once, or yong, or old;
Then weary to be well, and tyr'd of rest,
To waken trouble, I th'occasion sought;
And yet to cloake the passions of my brest,
Did with devotion long cloud what I thought:
Of all the Oracles I did enquire
What was to come of this intended warre,
Who said (as seem'd to second my desire)
That I a mightie Monarchie should marre.
Those doubtfull words I wresting to my will,
In hope to breake the hauty Persians pow'rs,
Did ruine quite (whil'st all succeeded ill)
What many a age had gain'd, even in few houres;
And this may be admir'd as more then strange,
I who disdain'd an equall of before,
(What cannot Fortune do, when bent to change?)
Then servants lesse, must dreame content no more;
What eye not bigge with scorne my state surveyes,
Whom all do pittie now; or worse, do blame,
And bound even to my foe for some few dayes,
Which borrowed are with th'intrest of my fame.
Though this sweet gale of life-bestowing windes
Would seeme a favour (so it seemes to some)
Who by the basenesse of their muddie mindes
Shew from what vulgar stock their kinde doth come;
I scorne unlike my selfe thus to be seene,
Though to my comfort this appear'd to tend,
As if misfortunes past had onely beene
A Tragick entry to a Comick end.
Of all that plague my State, what greater pest
Then servile life, which faints from th'earth to part?
And hath in one united all the rest
To make me dye each day, yet live to smart;
Life in my brest no comfort can infuse:
“An En'mies gift could never come for good,
It but gives time of misery to muse,
And bathe my sorrows in a bitter flood:
Ah! had my breath straight vanish'd with my blisse,
And clos'd the windows that gave light to life,
I had not borne (to misery submisse)
The height of those mishaps, which now are rife:
Whil'st with a thousand sighs I call to minde
The death of Atis, and mine owne disgrace,
In such an agony my soule I finde,
That life to death would willingly give place;
But since I see reserv'd for further spight,
I with sad thoughts must burden yet my soule,
My memory to my distracted spright
Of all my troubles shall present a scroule,
Of which, while as th'accounts I go to cast,
When numbring my misfortunes all of late,
I will looke backe upon my pleasures past,
And by them ballance my (now) haplesse stare.

Chorus.