CAIGUBUS

Treason, treason. Oh my Father treason, Help lanizaries. If ever man loved sorrow wished to grieve Father I do for thee. Could I deprive My senses of each object, but thy death, Then should I joy to sighs away my breath: Be Godhead to my grief, then shall these eyes With tributary tears bedeck thy shrine: And thus I do invoke thee: nimble Ghost What ever rbe of Heaven, what ever coast Affords thee present mansion, quickly thence Flit hither, and present unto my sense Thy self a feeling substance, let me see, Acknowledge and admire thy Majesty. Put off that airy thinness which denies Me to behold thee with these duller eyes, Then shall they sending down a powerful flood, Rence thy cold members from each drop of blood, And so return thee back, that thou mayest soar Up to the skies, much purer then before. Had the joust course of nature wrought thee hence, I would have made the gods know their offence, And back restore thy soul: but thou art dead, And 'twas a fiercer hand that clipped thy thread. Fiercer, and bolder, which did ever thrive By mischief, and once coffinde thee alive Up in death's mantle, but then would not use Such open violence, nor durst abuse One of such sacred worth, till fury st uck His reason dead, and made his treacherous hand Creepingly stab thee, both unseen and foul, As if he would have tolne away thy soul. But o! Why what? Unfold a Scene of murders: Fates work on, We'll make a path to Heaven, and being gone Down from the lofty towers of the skies Throw thunder at the Tyrant; will he press The earth with weight of slaughtered carcases? Let him grow up in mischief, still shall her womb Gaping, reserve for him and empty tomb. We do but tread his path; and Bassa since It stands upon thee, now to cure thy Prince Of his distempered lunacy, go fetch The instrument of death, while I a wretch Expect thy sad return. He that is judged, down from a steepy hill To drop unto his death, and trembling still Expects one thence to push him, such a slave Does not deserve to live, nor's worth a graven. Then Lachisi , thou that deuid'st the thread Of breath, since this days Sun must see me dead, Thus I'll prevent thy pain, thus I'll outrun My Fate; and in this stroke thy work is done. Eternal mover, thou that whirl'st about The skies n circular motion hear me out What I command, see that without control Thou make Heaven clear, to entertain my soul, And let the nimble spirits of the air Print me a passage hence up to thy chair, There will I fit, and from the Azure sky, Laugh at obsequious base mortality. Vanish my soul, enjoy, embrace thy Fate I shall forget to sleep, to breath, to live, Sooner then these thy precepts, they are fixed, And printed in my thoughts. Father, adieu. I fear' your sa ety and voutly prayed The sword of justice, which your hand did sway, Might be of conquering force. Mahometes the turn lights next on you. The heavens were joust indeed, but who comes here Isaac, Mesithes, and Baiazets three sons, Pray heaven they do not.