CHORUS OF CAESAR'S FRIENDS

OFaire Sun that gently smiles, From the Orient-pearled Isles, Guilding these our gladsome days, With the beauty of thy rays: Free from rage of civil strife, Long preserve our Caesars life. That from sable Affrique brings, Conquests whereof Europe rings. And fair Venus thou of whom The Eneades are come, Henceforth vary not thy grace, From Julus happy raze. Rather cause thy dearest son, By his triumphs new begun, To expel from forth the Land, irce wars quenchless firebrand. That of care acquitting us, (Who at last adore him thus) He a peaceful star appear, From our walls all woes to clear. And so let his warlike brows, Still be decked with Laurel boughs, And his statues new set With many a fresh-flowrd Coronet. So, in every place let be, Feasts, and Masks, and mirthful glee, Strewing Roses in the street, When their Emperor they meet. He his foes hath conquered, Never leaving till they fled, And (abhorring blood,) at last Pardoned all offences passed. "For high Jove the heavens among, "(Their support that suffer wrong,) "Does oppose himself again "Bloody minded cruel men. "For he shorteneth their days, "Or prolongs them with dispraise: "Or (his greater wrath to show,) "Gives them over to their foe. Caesar, a Citizen so wronged Of the honour him belonged, To defend himself from harms, Was enforced to take up Arms. For he saw that Envies dart, (Pricking still their poisoned heart, For his sudden glory God,) Made his envious foe so hight. Wicked Envy feeding still, Foolish those that do thy will. For thy poisons in them pour Sundry passion every bower. And to choler does convert, Purest blood about the heart. Which (overflowing of their breast) Suffers nothing to digest. "Other men's prosperity, "Is their infelicity. "And their choler then is raised "When they hear another praised. "Neither Phœbus fairest eye, "Feasts, nor friendly company, "Mirth, or what soever it be, "With their bumor can agree. "Day or night they never rest, "Spiteful hate so pecks their breast. "Pinching their perplexed lunges, "With her fiery poisoned tongues. "Firebrands in their breasts they bear, "As if Tesiphon were there. "And their souls are pierced as soar "As Prometheus ghost, and more. "Wretches, they are woe-begone, "For their wound is always one. "Nor hath Chyron pour or skill, "To recure them of their ill.