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Him, when that least he would;
If one had all at once
Hydaspes' precious stones,
And yellow Tagus gold;
The orientall treasure,
And every earthly pleasure,
Even in the greatest measure,
It should not make him bold:
For while he lives secure,
His state is most unsure;
When it doth least appeare,
Some heavy plague drawes neare,
Destruction to procure.

World's glory is but like a flowre,
Which both is bloom'd, and blasted in an houre.

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Those minions oft to whom kings doe extend,
Above their worth, immoderate good-will,
(The buttes of common hate oft hit in end)
In prosp'rous times they onely doe depend,
Not upon them, but on their fortune still,
Which if it change, they change, them though they
Their hopes with honour, and their chests with coyne;
Yet if they fall, or their affaires goe

Those whom they rais'd will not with them descend,
But with the side most stronge all straight doe joyne,
And doe forget all what was given before,
When once of them they can expect no more.

The truth hereof in end this strange event
In Bessus and Narbazenes hath prov'd,
On whom their prince so prodigally spent
Affection, honour, titles, treasure, rent,
And all that might an honest minde have mov'd.
So bountyfull a prince still to have lov'd,
Who so benignely tendred had their state;
Yet traitours vile (all due respects remov'd)
They him to strike the strength he gave have bent,
Soe as he now may rue, although too late,
That slie camelions, changing thus their hue,
To servants were preferr'd, who still were true.

But though those traitours for a space doe speed,
No doubt the Heavens once vengeance will exact;
The very horrour of this hainous deed,
Doth make the hearts of honest men to bleed:
Yea, even the wicked hate this barbarous act:
The Heavens no higher choler can contract,
Then for the forcing of a sacred king,
Whose state (if rage doe not their mindes distract)
Must feare and reverence in inferiours breed,
To whom from him all what is theirs doth spring;
But though on th' Earth men should neglect this

Heavens will those traitours plague ere it be long.

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Thus while he is, his paines are never ended, That whil'st he is not, he may be commended.

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Yet princes must be serv'd, and with all sorts:
Some both to do, and counsell what is best,
Some serve for cyphers to set out the rest,
Like life-lesse pictures which adorne the ports;
Faire palaces replenish'd are with feares,
Those seeming pleasures are but snares,
The royall robe doth cover cares;

Th' Assyrian dye deare buys he who it beares;
Those dainty delicates, and farre-fetch'd food,
Oft (through suspition) savour out of season,
Embrodred beds, and tapestries hatch treason;
The golden goblets mingled are with bloud.
Such shows the shadows are when greatnesse shines,
Whose state by them the gazing world divines."

O happie he who, farre from fame, at home,
Securely sitting by a quiet fire,
(Though having little) doth not more desire,
But first himselfe, then all things doth orecome;
His purchase weigh'd, or what his parents left,
He squares his charges to his store,
And takes not what he must restore,
Nor eates the spoyles that from the poore were reft:

Not proud, nor base, he (scorning creeping art)
From jealous thoughts and envy free,
No poyson feares in cups of tree;
No treason harbours in so poore a part:

No heavy dreame doth vex him when he sleeps,


A guiltlesse minde the guardlesse cottage keeps."

He doth not studie much what stormes may blow,
Whose poverty can hardly be impair'd;
He feares no forraine force, ner craves no guard;
None doth desire his spoyle, none looks so low,
Whereas the great are commonly once crost,
As Darius hath beene in his flowre,
Or Sisigambis at this houre,

Who hath seap'd long, and now at length is lost:
But how comes this, that potentates oft fall,
And must confesse this trouble of their soule?
There is some higher pow'r that can controull,
The monarchs of the Earth, and censure all:
Who once will call their actions to account,
And them represse who to oppresse were prompt.




WHAT Strange adventures now
Distract distressed mindes
With such most monstrous formes?
When silence doth allow

The peace that nature findes, And that tumultuous windes Do not disturbe with stormes An universall rest: When Morpheus bath represt Th' impetuous waves of cares, And with a soft sleepe bindes Those tyrants of the brest, [snares Which would spread forth most dangerous To sink affliction in despaires: Huge horrours then arise The elements to marre, With most disastrous signes: Arm'd squadrons in the skies, With lances throwne from farre, Do make a monstrous warre, Whil'st furie nought confines: The dragons vomit fire, And make the starres retire Out of their orbes for feare, To satisfie their ire,

Which Heaven's high buildings not forbear,
But seem the crystall towres to teare;
Amidst this ayre, fierce blasts
Doe boast with blustring sounds
To crush the mighty frame,
Which (whilst the tempest lasts)
Doth rent the stately rounds,
To signifie what wounds

To all her off-spring's shame,

Shall burst th' Earth's vaynes with bloud, And this all-circling floud

(As it the Heavens would drowne) Doth passe the bounding bounds, And all the scalie brood

Reare roaring Neptune's foamie crowne, Whilst th' Earth for feare seems to sinke downe:

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And though none did sterne laws impart,
That might to virtue men compell,
Each one, by habit, in his heart

Had grav'd a law of doing well:
And did all wickedness forbeare
Of their free-will, and not for feare.

The first who spoil'd the publick rest,

And did disturb this quiet state, Was Avarice, the greatest pest

Which doth of darknesse fill the seat;
A monster very hard to daunt,

Leane, as dry'd up with inward care,
(Though full of wealth) for feare of want
Still at the borders of despayre;
Scarce taking food for nature's ease,

Nor for the cold sufficient clothing,
She whom her owne could never please,

Thinks all have much, and she bath nothing: This daughter of sterne Pluto, still Her father's dungeons strives to fill.

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The great men not for nought,
Doe seeke the people's love:
Their deeds that to approve,
They may their mindes allure:
But Perdiccas is thought,
Too slowly to have sought
Their doubtfull mindes to move,
As one who still conceits
He may command the fates;
His pride so great is growne,
That none can it endure;
Yet stands his state unsure,
Since odious to his owne:
"He must be once orethrowne,
Whose humour each man hates,
Pride doth her followers all
Lead head-longs to a fall."

When at the last deluge, Men by Deucalion once Were made againe of stones; And well this wicked race Bewrayes a stony kinde, Which beares a stubborne minde, Still hardned unto sinne. Loe, now in every place All vertuous motions cease, And sacred faith we finde, Farre from the earth is fled, Whose flight huge mischiefe bred, And filles the world with warres, Whilst impious brests begin To let base treason in : Which common concord marres, Whilst all men live at jarres, And nets of fraud doe spreade, The simple to surprise, Too witty, but not wise; Yet those who in deceit Their confidence repose, A thing more deare doe lose Then can by guile be gain'd; Which when repented late, May ruine once their state, Whilst purer sprites disclose With what their breasts are stor'd; For, though they would remord, They get not trust againe ; But, having honour stain'd, And covenants prophan'd, Are held in high disdaine, "And doe in end remaine, Of all the world abhorr'd; Not trusty when they should, Not trusted when they would:" But ah! our nobles now, Loe, like Lysander still, So that they get their will, Regard not by what way, And with a shamelesse brow, Doe of the end allow, Even though the meanes were ill; Which all the world may see, Disgraceth their degree, Who (changing every houre) Doe all base slights assay; What can brave mindes dismay, Whose worth is like a tower, Against all fortune's pow'r, Still from all fraud whilst free? "These keepe their course unknowne, Whom it would blame if showne:" Who not from worth digresse, To slights which feare imparts, Doe show heroicke hearts, The which would rather farre

An open hate professe,

Then basely it suppresse:

"No glory comes from fearefull arts:" But those who doe us lead, As for dissembling made, Even though that they intend Amongst themselves to warre, Seeme in no sort to jarre, But friendship doe pretend, Not like their lord now dead, Who trusting to his worth, Still what he meant spake forth; VOL. V.


AH, ah! though man the image of great love,
And, th' onely creature that gives Reason place,
With reverence due unto the powres above,
His heavenly progeny should seeke to prove,
By still resembling the immortall kinde;
Yet makes the world our better part so blinde,
That we the clouds of vanity imbrace,
And from our first excellency decline;
This doth distinguish that celestiall grace, [love,
Which should make soules to burne with vertue's
Whose fancies vice luxuriously now feasts;
"Vice is the Circe that enchants the minde,
And doth transforme her followers all in swine;
Whil'st poyson'd pleasures so corrupt our tastes,
That of halfe-gods, we make our selves whole-
And yet of ruthlesse Pluto's raging host, [beasts:"
The vice which doth transport presumptuous hearts,
And makes men from the gods to differ most,
Is cruelty, that to the sufferer's cost,
And actor's both, is often-times appeas'd:
The gods delight to give, and to forgive,
By pardoning, and not by plagueing pleas'd;
And why should men excogitate strange arts,
To show their tyranny, as those who strive
To feed on mischiefe, though the author smarts,
Oft for the deed of which himselfe did boast,
Whil'st whence the blow first came, the griefe doth

"For, that by which the minde at first was eas'd,
May it in th' end the greatest burden give;
Oft those whose cruelty makes many mourne,
Do by the fires which they first kindled burne;
Of other tyrants which oppresse the minde,
With pleasure some delight it, in such sort
That first the hony, then the gall we finde;
And others (though from honor's court declin'd)
Some comfort yeeld (but base) by hope of gaine;
And, though some make us to be loath'd of one,
We by their meanes another's love obtaine;
But cruelty, with which none can comport,
Makes th' authors hated when the deed is done,
Oft even by those whom it did most support,
As that which alienates men from their kinde;
And as humanity the minde enchaunts,

So barbarous soules which from the same refraine,
More fierce than savage beasts, are lov'd of none:
Since with such beasts one with lesse danger haunts,
Then with the man whose mind all mercy wants;"



Yet though the minde of man, as strong, and rude, Be ravish'd oft with violent desire,

And must, if fir'd with rage, be quench'd with bloud,
How can this tender sexe, whose glory stood
In having hearts inclin'd to pity, still

It selfe delight in any barbarous deed?
For, Nature seemes in this to use her skill,
In making womens' mindes (though weake) entire,
That weaknesse might, love, and devotion breed;
To which their thoughts (if pure) might best aspire,
As aptest for th' impressions of all good,
But from the best to worst all things do weare;
Since cruelties from feeble mindes proceed, [feare
"In breasts where courage failes, spite, shame and
Make envy, hate, and rigour rule to beare."
Our queene Olympias, who was once so great,
And did such, monstrous cruelties commit,
In plaguing Philip, and his queene of late,
Loe, now brought low to taste the like estate,
Must take such entertainment as she gave,
And yet good reason that it should be so,
"Such measure as we give, we must receive."
Whil'st on a throne she proudly earst did sit,
And with disdainefull eyes look'd on her foe,
As onely vanquish'd by her pow'r, and wit,
She did not weigh what doth proceed from fate:
O, O! th' immortals which command above,
Of every state in hand the rudder have,
And as they like, can make us stay or go;
"The griefe of others should us greatly move,
As those who sometime may like fortune prove;
But as experience with rare proofes hath showne,
To look on others, we have linx-his eyes,
Whil'st we would have their imperfections knowne;
Yet (like blinde moles) can never marke our owne.
Such clouds of selfe-regard do dimme our sight;
Why should we be puff'd up when foes do fall?
Since what to day doth on another light,
The same to morrow may our state surprise.
Those that on this inconstant constant ball
Do live environ'd with th' all-circling skies,
Have many meanes whereby to be ore-throwne:
And why should dying worldlings swolne with wrath,
So tyrannize ore an afflicted wight,
Since miseries are common unto all?

Let none be proud who draw a doubtfull breath, Good hap attends but few, unto their death."


"WHAT damned furies thus tosse mortals' mindes,
With such a violent desire to raigne ?
That neither honour, friendship, duty, bloud,
Nor yet no band so sacred is as bindes
Ambitious thoughts which would a kingdome gaine:
But all is buried in blacke Lethe's floud,
That may the course of sovereignty restraine,
Which from the brest doth all respects repell,
And like a torrent cannot be gaine-stood:
Yea many would, a scepter to obtaine,
In spite of all the world, and love's owne wrath,
March through the lowest dungeons of the Hels,
And from a diademe would breath with pow'r,
Though all death's engines brag'd them every houre,"

Yet, though such restlesse mindes attaine in th' end The height to which their haughty hearts aspir'd, They never can embrace that dreamed blisse, Which their deluded thoughts did apprehend;

Though by the multitude they be admir'd,
That still to pow'r doth show it selfe submisse;
Yet by the soule still further is requir'd,
Which should seale up th' accomplishment of joy;
"Thus partiall judgements blindely ayme amisse,
At things which stand without our reach retir'd,
Which whilst not ours, as treasures we define,
But not the same whilst we the same enjoy;
Some things a farre doe like the glow-worme shine,
Which look't too neere, have of that light no signe.
No charge on th' Earth more weighty to discharge,
O! those who manage must the reynes of state,
Then that which of a kingdome doth dispose:
Till their pale ghost imbarke in Charon's barge,
They never need t' attend a true repose:
How hard is it to please each man's conceit,
When gaining one, they must another lose?
Thus, hardly kings themselves can evenly beare,
Whom if severe (as cruell) subjects hate;
Contempt dare to the milde it selfe oppose;
Who spare in time, as niggards are despis'd,
Men from too franke a minde, exactions feare,
Though in all shapes (as Proteus us'd) disguis'd,
Kings by some scandall alwaies are surpris'd."
Yet one might well with every thing comport,
Which on opinion onely doth depend,
If further danger follow'd not by deeds,
But every monarch (loe) in many a sort
Death (laid in ambush) alwaies doth attend;
Of some by mut'nous swords the life forth bleeds;
By unsuspected poyson others end,
Which whilst they alwaies labour to prevent,
A thousand deaths within their breasts life breeds;
Loe, this is all for which the great contend,
Who, (whilst their pride themselves and others

With their dominions doe their cares augment:
"And O vaine man who toyl'st to double toyles,
Though still the victory the victor foiles:"
Thus Alexander could not be appeas'd,
Whilst he to raise his state did wayes prepare,
Which when made most, diminish'd most remain'd,
Where (with his father's bounds had he beene

He might have left our crowne sure to his heire,
Who by his conquest nought but death hath gayn'd;
Yet for no paines a number now doth spare,
To worke for that by which his wreake was wrought,
Which (though from it they rage to be restrain'd)
Yet they by harme of others seeke the thing
Would (if possest) their pleasures but impaire:
Which by their harme of others will be sought:
"To him and his, each of them death would bring,
That it might once be said he was a king.
We may securely sitting on the shore,
Whilst great men doe (as toss'd on th' ocean) grone,
Taught by their toyles, esteeme much of our rest:
For this doth thousands with affliction store,
Which of the world as most unhappy moane,
If they but chance to view some few more blest,
Where if they would but marke, how many a one
More wretch'd then they in misery doth live,
It straight would calme the most unquiet brest;
The cottage oft is happier then the throne;
To thinke our owne state good, and others' ill,
It could not but a great contentment give:
There much consists in the conceit and will:
To us all things are as we thinke them still."

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