ALAHAM

T'is madness at the worst to fear mischance. The days be fresh, when all the world in hate With Mahomets supreme authority, The Bashas idly lived; no form of State Observed; no Counsels held; no Majesty; Weak spirits did corrupt; the strong did cast; Worth withered up; craft only was in trust; The Court a farm; strange, ominous, ill sign, When public States to privateness incline. Such was my father's frail simplicity, As wanting judgement how to stand alone; He (passion-ledd) could love, and trust but one. The world saw all was nought; yet I saw fear Would, while it murmured, mischief counsels keep; So blind are men, or with respects a sleep. Envy wrought more in me, and made me know, This passion in the King (which did advance Mahomet above the reach of overthrow) Had counter-passions, change, inconstancy, For wit, and malice, possibility. I stirred the King with envies of his slave; For great Estates enlarge not little hearts. My charge suspicious, which no answer have; Power still concluding all in evil partly. With Kings not strong in virtue, nor in vice, I knew truth was Like pillars built on ice. Factions beside I in the Bashas moved, And in their diverse wits my malice cast, Conspiracy with good success I proved: For Kings are easily led away with many, That hearing all, want strength to judge of any, Thus we exiled him with pretence of State, Whom (it is true) I for my self did hate. But now, when Mahomet was banished hence, His fellow Bässha's, found of Government, To rule their Prince with his name they intend, And ruin heirs, yet seem successions friends. For while I by my brother's exile stood, They hide their minds to undermine the more; And much to me in pity things they leave, That craft in good apparel might deceive. I found their craft, and made my good of all. Some I did win, the rest I did disgrace, Even binding them by what they gave to me: So great the scopes of brave ambition be. Nor stayed I here; but as a man in doubt To trust this tickle art of men too far, Where many wits to one kept subject are: I forthwith sought on fewer heads to lay This wardship of the King effeminate. A far less servile course for me, that meant To steal in change into this Government. This made me think of Cain, whose spirits I saw Officious were, already entered grace, Pleasant, and fit to multiply a place. The scruple that divided him, and me, Was fear he did too much possess my wife: With private scorn I weighed with public ends; And saw, who will not see, needs no amends. For he, to hide his fault, straight puts on faith, And care of me; a badge of servile lust, Which ever injure those it pleases must. In him I did accept the sacrifice Of ruling him, that ruled this waving mass: Who cannot bear, what can he bring to pass? Now though by him the present state I gained, Yet to my after-ends this gave no aid: For their foundations only were, by fame, On peoples loves, and wonders to be laid. How little Princes favors help the same They know, that mark what feet men go withal, Who while they rise in grace, in credit fallen. The people then it was that I must seek, A future, not a present use of power; Not strength established, but a strength to change; To all, but only those who work it, strange. With this Cain's place had no Affinity; It presage being of a Kingdoms fallen, When Kings trust any one to govern all. His nature less, for it Monarchal was, Sharp, narrow-humor'd, only fit to rise By that, which people hate, Crown-flatteries. Since nature therefore cannot change her face, To think one fit, for all were foolishness, To force and instrument experience fears, Since wit may take of each the fruit it bears. Of Mahomet I then bethought my self, Whose absence pity had. And as in sects, The present errors do prepare a place For masked change, to show her pleasing face: So did the hate of present Government Forget his faults, as they forget their wounds. I saw that he alone did fit my ends; Occasion mother is of truest friends. My ends were not to broil the present State, Norleaue obedience in my father's days; But after he was dead, to dispossess My brother, whom the heavens did depress. Chance wrought me good: lest it should work me fear, I meant to go beyond the ways of spite, Both stay, and win the world with Mahomet: For who can stir are fittest means to let. My father I did move, removed, and sped, Fear made him pitiful, and folly kind, In passion Orb most patient to be led; Each argument begat another mind; Doubt had no memory, offence was dead, Distress seemed safety, likeliness did bind: For in these captive wits, born to be thrall, Who sees one thought beyond them, sees all. Mahomet returns: But whither deeply shrined, Within the hollow abstracts of his heart, His malice lay; or that ambitious kind Be easy, for it self, from all to partly; Respect to me, and honour, laid behind; Finding this King to be but humours art, He takes his soul, and miracles he shows; Restores the lost, the established overthrows. My elder brother, whom the Gods forespake Laws had deprived, exiled, and men forgotten, He straight calls home; and dares to undertake That which audacity believeth not. Ah! Error of good meaning, apt to trust, For want of ill enough, I perish must. And am I born for duties sacrifice, To watch for change of times, or Gods revenge? Is patience scorn, and hazard yet unwise? No, No: Confusion reigns; despair is it, That now makes chance a God; and danger, wit. Inflamed, distract, confused, put out of fear I am. Visions I feel of better Hope's arise. Malice, and rage, whose heats had barrenness, Are, with ambition of revenge, made wise. Birth, chance, occasion, right, good Fortune's be To some: and wrong can all these be to me? Who measures Hope's, and losses by the truth, Goes ever naked in this world of might: Mine be the Crown: my brother's be the right. Those mischiefs prosper that exceed the rest. That one is more than all the world to me. My wounds then heal, when all the earth does bleed. Father descending kindness signifies: Our State is there, where our well-being lies. They ever prosper whom the world does blame; Shame sees not climbing up, but falling down. Men only giddy be that be above, And will look down to doubts, when they be there. Shall name of King overthrow a Kings Estate? Hath public good no friend? Shall private fear Of one weak man make all unfortunate? No, No, deer Heli! I Gods Champion am; And will my father for a while depose, Lest he the Kingdom, we the Church do loose. So be the God eternal my belief; As I my father from his State depose, Only for fear the Church should honour loose. But Heli! Judge not things with common eyes; The Church it is one link of Government, Of noblest Kings the noblest instrument. For while Kings sacred keep her mysteries, She keeps the world to Kings obedient; Giving the body to obey the spirit, So carrying power up to infinite. But here with us, the discipline is stained; Form lost; truth scandalized with novelty; Lovingness with craft; and faith with Atheism. Honour, and zeal, with curiosity; The worst best used; shame carrying honours face, And Innovation king in every place. Down must these ruins to be set upright; Misfortune pieced grows more unfortunate; And parents Laws must yield to Laws of State. Impossible is but the faith of fear; To make hope easy fetch belief elsewhere. Yet lest these sparks raked up in hollow hearts, Should spread, and burn before their fury show; Keep on the course which you have used to go. Preach you with firy tongue, distinguish might, Tyrants from Kings; duties in question bring Betwixt God, and man; where power infinite Compared, makes finite power a scornful thing. Safely so craft may with the truth give light, To judge of Crowns without enammelling; And bring contempt upon the Monarchs State; Where straight unhallowed power hath peoples hate. Glance at Prerogatives indefinite, Tax customs, wars, and Laws all gathering; Censure Kings faults, their spies, and favourites; Holiness hath a privilege to sting. Men be not wise; bitterness from zeal of spirit, Is hardly judged; the envy of a King Makes people Like reproof of Majesty; Where God seems great in Priests audacity. Thus keep a good: For be he true, or no, Mixed faith so works on men idolatry, That minds, in bonds; bodies, delight in woe. Religion carrying men above respect: For what thing else can stand in self neglect? And when men's minds thus tuned, and tempted are To change, with arguments against present times, Then hope awakes, and men ambition climes. Taxes, and scorns of Bashas government, Which under Kings make present times still sour; Hope leads the ill, and they the innocent. All fears are weak, where any hope is fixed. Or suffer that the Christians wear his Crown My wife, their mutual trust. These Bashas with themselves she shall betray; Arts of revenge are written down in lust. What cannot women do with wit, and play? They that think ought more deer than honest name. Good fortune does in humours market fit, And those that buy, must fell all else for it. Such stairs they climb, that unto fortune rise. Opinion reigns without, and truth within: Who others please, against themselves must sin. Exit Heli. You spirits then grown subtle by your age! Not you that do inhabit Paradise, Whose constant joys most unacquainted be With all affections, that should make you wise! No: I invoke that black eternity, As apt to put in Actium, as devise! Help me, that have to do with Princes power, To pluck down King, with Kings authority; And make men slaves, with show of liberty. Free hope from evil luck, revenge from fear; Ruin, and change adorn you every where. If change were currant in Eternity, As here amongst us in this mortal sphere, Passion might hope for counterpassion there. My brother's doom decreed was from above: Truth varies not: Gods pleasure constant is: Time present shows not all that is amiss. Gods law it was, whereby he was deprived; My elder brother's right, was but the law. Change in Estates is Like unto a steep, Which, but it self, can nothing constant keep. And wast thou then called into grace by me, To be the mean that I should ruined be? No Mahomet: That Labyrinth thy heart, Artisan of craft, great Empire of deceit, The plague of all inferiors, and the bait; In Princes frailty shall not drown this State. Sense and thy wrongs alike be general; A Princes power cannot protect them all. When flattery gives scope to tyrannise, Extremes then from extremities do rise. Who truth do only but to hate it know, They nothing fear, but only to be good: Unthankfulness is ever valiant so. Our gods seemed wrath; and fame spoke strangely ill. That sure my Wife did worse than dote of thee; This was dishonour, wrong, and lose to me. Yet I distract with good belief and fear, Detest her could not; love forbade it me: Love her I did not, for mistrust was there; While I suspected her, I hated thee. At length (it is true) I God thee banished; If not revenge, at least security: Till humorous Time, that blots to print again, Showed me in Hala's thoughts Cain Basha's name. I called thee home; and though I scorn still bear By fame, who when she lies, recanteth not, Yet I forgave the shame, and pardoned fear; Brought thee good luck, where good turns are forgotten. And is it a return of that you owe, For you to work your Patroness overthrow? Oh God! what's this? Mine inward spirits shake; Senses do leave their work; thoughts are confused; Horror and glory now possession take; New visions to my darkness are infused: Like Delpho's maid, I find a mighty work; My heart with more than it self does resolve; What I think, speak, or do, is not mine own. I feel what made me wish my brother's fallen, And find what mischief gets, it goes withal. His safety now, I see, my safety is; And honour you, that have procured this. It is no work: it is a heavenly bliss, Which perfect be, as soon as they begin. Spite! (thou Impostume of aspiring hearts, Whose nature is, that if the bag remain, The wicked humours straight will fill again) I will lay open thee, and all thy arts: It is no shame to say we were amiss, Since man does take his name of that he is. Thy life is sought: Nay more, thy death is sworn. What moves the wicked else to hate the good? I witness take of these light-bearing stars, Wherein the dooms are laid of men desires; No lack of hope, or power, to conceal; Remorse alone does them, and me reveal. My wife hath compassed Cain so cunningly As he hath sworn you, by his hand, shall die. Upon what grounds do men begin to love? When enemies bid enemies take heed, They trust not them, and yet they will beware; For disadvantage grows of little care. Resolve to die; or else resolve to fear. Call up the dead; for that is less to do. A woman's hate is ever dipped in blood, And does exile all counsels that be good. The eyes of rage it self do only see: And truth serves unto rage, but for a glass To deck her self in, and bring spite to pass. Reason to rage is Like hands to a soar, Whose often stroking makes the anguish more. Let Cain be killed: and then my wife accuse. If counsel be the guide of undertaking, Our powers best with our own wits do agree, Where both the means, and ends together be. If you captived be I speak withal, Then from my passion into yours I fallen. Forbidding is the prison of the thought, A violence which on themselves they draw, That inwardly of nothing stand in awe. But mark the end: he first despises thee, Then triumphs in thy once forsaken love; Proclaims deceit to be thy state of mind, Uncompetible, unpossible to find. So as if I should rule this glorious Throne, You ruling me (as he assumes you do) The State and I at once were overthrown. Hate is the band of fury in the heart, Without revenge, no more but sense of smart. Revenges, in your sex, dishonour be; And in your strength, impossibility. Impatience only does with God make war. Yet God, and kings use wisdom in their might, Reward, and grace do from their own hands partly; They others use for instruments of spite. Aspirers are not void of rival hate: If any envy him, or love our right, Revenge lies there; their lives desire Art. Ruin, the power (not art ) of Princes is: Cain is engaged as deep as we in this. Mischief! now claim thy endue. Malice! fear not, To offer all thy sleights to wicked wits; Ruin lights not amiss where ere it hits. My engines work, care is already passed; My Hope's arise out of these Bashas blood: If both, my wish; if either die, my good. Hala! Good Fortune's are together linked; Thy faith stirs up new light within my mind: Behold, the Throne descends to take me up. Antiquity, in her unenvied womb, Now offers us the fatal president Of sixteen Kings, my Predecessors, all Blinded, and then deposed by Bashas hand: So tickely unworthiness does stand. Does wit, and courage only rest in slaves? Hath hazard ought more horrible than scorn? Have I occasions sure, and shall I stay To give all, but my misery, away? No Hala, No: Thy dowry shall be fame; Thy style, a Crown; thy prospect, reverence: The East shall do thee honour in my name. Out shall my father's, and my brother's eyes; Authority is only for the wise. But since these mighty works have many parts, And I but one, which one cannot do all; I'll send thee Cain: keep firm upon your strengths. Beauty, and honour, nature's Sceptres be, And have on men's desires authority. My mind misgave it self; my thoughts did fear; Yet knew I they of nothing guilty were. By fate, or malice is the Basham slain? By sudden death, by thunder, lightning, fire, Or by what other anger of the sky? I pray thee show how Mahomet did die. What execration did he dying use Against this violence of broken faith; Which wounds good souls more than the bodies death? Most wicked act! Could neither faith, nor law, Reverence of State, remorse of doing ill, The pains of justice, nor the Hope's withdraw Thy raging hand? And dost thou think the world can suffer this; That thou shouldst glory to have done amiss? By fires of hell, which burn, and have no light; By those foul spirits which ill men only see; I swear thy death shall Mahomets requite. In vain I should command his death by sleights, That placed am upon the father's seat, Where power can easilier do things, than entreat. Rumor, complaints, and scornful thoughts of power, Are ways of private hearts, that from below Misiudge those higher powers, they do not know. But now born up into a Princes Throne, Beneath I see that world of discontent, Where error teaches use of punishment. Away with him. Entreaty is in vain: Thy death to him is endue, whom thou hast slain. I say; Let him be slain. His fault is this, That Mahomet most traitorously he slew. Traitor unto thy self! and false to me! What riddles of contempt, and wick ness Are these, which of thy self confessed be? If Mahomet be dead; then shalt thou die: For murder of thy friend deserves no less. If Mahomet do live; yet shalt thou die: For if no murder, scorn thou dost confess. Away with him. The fallen of him whose heart hath done amiss. Report of mischief does infect the heart, And wisdom bids they should in silence go; For nature feeleth every bodies smart. If I shall tell you what you long to know, What boots it? If you think it is not so. The man that was, and is not now, is he That never was the man he seemed to be. Cain: What needs more to show? with him are dead His fault, and our goodwills to him mislead. By sword. Nay, dead he is. These eyes did see his breath Bear all his spirits into the world of death. Ah Mahomet! whose Hope's were on me placed. When wickedness is ripe, a minute shows What chance the dice of Innocency throws. God, meaning we should rule, and you obey, Gave men clear sighed, and women good affection: In us, not in your selves, lies your election. Envy will rise, and both ways fallen on us; Either as having slain and innocent, Or highly erred by burying treason thus. In penal justice silence best contents. I fear the carriage: it hath many parts. And Hazards courses may find overthwarts. Great works do oft yield grievous accidents, Which stir up peoples rage beyond intents. Oh blessed yoke! that under reason draws The pleasant load of well-united love: Thy counsel (as mine own) I do approve. Tell me where thy Father is. Leave off this mask; deceit is never wise; Though he be blind, a King hath many eyes Passion are learned, not born within the heart; That method keep: Order is quiets art. Tell where he is: For look what love conceals, Pain out of Nature's Labyrinths reveals. Hath meek devotion finished her work? Tell what their manner was; and how they died; That to the dead would thus be crucified. Speak plain: What threatening mysteries be these? What change is this, that now I feel within? Is it disease that works this fallen of spirits? Or works this fallen of spirits my disease? Things seem not as they did; horror appears. What sin embodied, what strange sighed is this? Does sense bring back but what within me is? Or do I see those shapes which haunt the flame? What summons up remorse? Shall Conscience rate Kings deeds, to make them less than their Estate? Ah silly ghost! is't you that swarm about? Wouldst thou, that art not now, a father be? These body laws do with the life go out. What thoughts be these that do my entrails tear? You wandering spirits frame in me your hell; I feel my brother, and my sister there. Where is my wife? There lacks no more but she: Let all my own together dwell with me. Infernal womb! receive thy right. Of old This body was thine own, before I was. Obey my father, brother, sister, me: I gave their ghosts; they must give mine to thee. They call, I come. It was my sin alone, That gloried many ways to tyrannise: For all the dooms of ill let me suffice. Ah powerful God! why dost thou Thunders spend (By chance, or without vengeance) on the plants; Since it is Man, not Trees, that does offend? Sirs! tear the roof; perfect the work of Power: I have no being, while she there does fit, Subject in sex, but King, in rage of wit. Is this Ormus? Or is Ormus my hell, Where only Furies, and not Men, do dwell? The poison works; I feel my spirits faint; I must beseech; my Power is but complaint. Yet Wit! thou knowest what every Power can do; Be Strength to me. Can Mother's kill their own? Selflove will spare them. Why should I request? Words do inflame. But ah! it Hala is: I must entreat. Her malice keeps no fashion: Though she have all, that all is but one Passion. If I entreat; does sense show where to wound? I owe it mine; does that give malice Power? Ah God! What shall I do, that both within, and out, Authority have lost? Unused to request, Yet must, and will: Yet, even in doing, know; Impossible, adds but more scorn to woe. Hala! I do, with Nature, beg for thine. Harm me alone thy Husband, and thy King. Horror hath her degrees: there is excess In all Revenge, that may be done with less. Innocent, thine own, too young for hate, or fear: His death does only execration bear. Disease, or Grief (I know not which) or both: Languish my powers: Hala! some respite give; Spare him a while: I have not long to live. Earth! Standest thou fast under this ugliness? And fallest not down to that infernal deep, Which fears (perchance) worse than it self to keep? Eyes! close your lids: There is no more to do: Yet know, you have seen that before you die, Which no Age will believe; One worse than I. Thou coward soul! Why standest thou doubting now? Why to, and from? The dice of chance are cast: Counsels of law, of shame, of love, are passed. Think what the worst have done; what they enjoy, That pluck down States to put up private laws, Whom fame ennobles while she would destroy. Honour hath many wings: Chance hath no books: Who follow, tread but where men trodden before; Who give example still are something more. Bear witness yet ye good, and evil spirits! Who in the air invisibly do dwell; That these strange paths I walk of ugliness, Are forced by threatening gulfs of treachery, Nourished by States, and Times injurious. Nor is it sin, which men for safety choose; Nor hath it shame, which men are forced to use. I march above the wits, and hearts of men; Chance at my feet, and power in my hand. Now King indeed. Obedience does become Men, that can strength by wisdom overcome. It honour was, even worthy more than Crowns, To pass the Bashas in adventuring: They were possessed, I dispossessed of all, But liberty to live, or die a thrall. Truth was in vain; no peecing up with might For me I saw; I had too good a cause: counsel is slow, each minute infinite, When resolution to her ripeness draws. I saw corruption was the way to rise, And with that shot I pierced their tyrannies. Their guard I did corrupt. Base servile spirits, (I knew) lacked wit to see, or heart to bear Temptation: For desire is infinite In them, that wanting honour cannot fear. Trial is made: The King I do possess: My right is more; why should my hope be less? And am I King? And do my foes still live? Can wounded Greatness slumber in a Throne? Or that be glory which I feel alone? No, No: Let rigour speak, which all men hear: Life, is the work of Nature; death, of Kings: Ruin it is, that reputation brings. My Guard is strong; their first employment is The murder of those men my father trusts; Not all; for that were cruelty, not wit: Some simple being, some indifferent spirits: Their ends, and honours being but delights. Others ambitious, rash, and violent, No inward strength of nature: or of grace; Of present power the noblest instruments. Transform, and use: wit virtue does exceed: For it is all, or none, as men have needs. Only my care is how the Plot should prove, Which for the Bashas now in ambush lies: My wife hath art and rage, which jointly move Her headstrong spirits unto cruelties. But if her craft serve not to pluck them down, The sword wants not pretences for the Crown. My friends, and Mates! (You! upon whom I lay My life, and honour, with this State, in trust) Be resolute; For scruple does betray; Since all great works have great examples must. Take Assem, Zeraphus, and Velladoune: Blood asks blood: with ravine they did spoil The people first; and now betray the Crown. Revenge your parents, Countrymen, and kin: Blood here is joust, true honour, and no sin. The cankered Calchas, scourge of Tyrannies, Great master of deceit, Artisan of spoil, The spy of faults, and spring of subsidies; Naked deliver him into the Sea, To plague those faults it cannot wash away. The rest to bonds, who though they want no spite, Their frailty yet for innocence shall stand. All else exile. Obey in every thing: They happy are that serve a rising King. Sirs! seek the City, examine, torture, rack: Sanctuaries none let there be: make darkness known: Pull down the roofs, dig, burn, put all to wrack: And let the guiltless for the guilty groan. Change, shame, misfortune in their escaping, lie; And in their finding our prosperity. Good fortune Welcome! we have lost our care, And found our lose: Celica distract I see; The King is near: She is her father's eyes. Behold! the forlorn wretch, half of my fear, Takes Sanctuary at holy Altars feet: Led him apart, examine, force, and try; These bind the subject, not the Monarchy. Celica! awake: that God of whom you crave Is deaf, and only gives men what they have. Chance now congratulates. This is indeed A Princely work, and fashions nature new, To sacrifice the living to the dead; And with revenge be to a Kingdom led. My father, brother, sister, and my King; All slain for me? Obedience! Duty! Love! Your followers to such height when do you bring. Now Hala's Present, this Triumphant Robe Shows all Estates, things real, humours, laws, Yea Wives themselves owe homage unto might. Justice in Kings cannot be definite. Hala, who strove, by strength of wit, and passion, To change, enforce, deceive, or undermine Me, as a Man; yet to a Princes place Humbles her pride, and strives to purchase grace. When I ordained this mask, and first decreed A specious death for Prince, and Parent too; I felt once tenderness, that evil weed, Which some call Duty; others, Nature's Laws. Should I have lost a Crown for such applause? No, No: Each State peculiar wisdoms hath, The way of Princes is to hide their minds: For else each slave will suddenly descry Our inward passion, which they traffic by. Remissness did in me no sooner move, And only by a pause it self express; But straightway they divined remorse, or love; And instantly drew arguments from both, As if distraction to resolve were loath. But, Like a Sultan, mixing power with art; When I made good my will, and only said; Sirs, do your charge. This intermittent passion Is but the print of natural affection; The seat of Justice is above compassion: Straight, as if Furies breath had filled these bladders, With cruel hearts their charge they undertook; And ever after made my will their book. Who govern men, if they will stay above, Must see, and scorn the downfalls of selflove. Nay, mark again what glory Order yields, Where every spirit is fitted to his room. Did not distress these weak Ghosts well become? At which fine plays of Chance, and intercession, Did I relent? Or had I any sense, But in the glories of Omnipotence? These Scepter-mysteries Kings must observe, Or not be Kings. Are private virtues such? " Want great Estates no other strengths but those, " Which make them, for good words, good fortune loose? As Dogs their kennels, these their graves did frame: 'Twas crafty power that gave such laws to fame. Away they went, rich in self-pitys smoke, No hope of praise, but by their form of death; Nor of revenge, but in the Peoples breath. While I ascending roam to look about, And in the strength of confidence, and power, Behold the unprosperities of doubt. But hark! What mournful harmony is this? In dole my Triumphs are. What sounds are these; Change! is thy nature both to grieve, and please? Confused Echo's! whither do you fly? Or whence proceed? From grudge? or from applause? Except my will, craves Mankind any laws? Solemnity infers the work is ended: Yet hear I noise that shows unquiet motion; As from their ashes some new work intended. Now shall we know: Behold! I see one come, Whose looks bring woe, and horror from that Tomb. That which I most did hate, and least did fear, Is fallen: Nature cares not for native blood. I wickedly must do, or mischief bear; I must no more be, or no more be good. Heli! you know the time when this frail King, Languished, and wantoned in a powerful throne, Sent to the gods to learn what should befall, Having but peace; and wealth to doubt withal. Their answer was: My father's eldest son Must be a sacrifice for this Estate, And with his blood wash out the doom of fate. The Bashas, swollen by use of ruling Kings, Presume on God: and what by Gods decree Was death; by theirs must only exile be. And proud again with this unjust success, A second error on the first they built; And he that lives against the heavenly doom, Must now not live, but reign: yet only reign, To put down me they fear, for him they scorn. Is innocency to no other born? And must my right, and Royal blood abide Traitors, to be my Lords; the dead, my King? Is honour to so many Master's tied? Shall I not live, except I scorned live? Well: where the choice is left to kill, or die; The best Estates do but in hazard lie. When evil strives, the worst have greatest name. When God speaks unto men, and they expound, Truth easily escapes, all threatened woes seem light; Misprision ever gives misfortune might: For power is proud till it look down to fear, Though only safe, by ever looking there. Beside; if fates be passed, what means this star, Whose glorious tail threatens unglorious days, Fear unto Kings, and to the State a war? What mean these bloody showers? These darkened rays Of Sun, and Moon, which still eclipsed are? Are all signs chance? For if the stars can work, These signs that threaten prove their bodies lurk. What added is in honour to the Crown, Or what increase of Empire to the King; That exiles are called home to put me down? Strange innovation some increase should bring. Kings fondly else tempt God, and trust to chance, Where change, and hazard nothing do advance. The wounds are new that present right deface. Hope, which our God sets up, dare man pull down? By them that hate, be cause they love. And either's kindness do in mischief prove. That thou of fault are free. Their love that ma lice thee. To kill, or to be killed. I to my self am free; But faith forbids to tell what others be. That which I may not see: For they love well that do in hate agree. Mischief still hides her self from them she hits In Hope's, and fears of unresolving wits. My wounds can have no cure; my fears have cast Nature, and truth into afflictions moulds; The works of time, and counsel both are passed. When hearts once from themselves are run astray, Chance must their guide be, violence their way. If love have power to leave, and break her vow; How can I trust to that you promise now? If love change not; how can I trust, and know, That you love Mahomet, my overthrow? The play of Chance, Which without mischief nothing can advance. Smart cools these boiling stile of vanity. Confess: where is he hid? Bodies have place, and blindness must be led: Graves be the Thrones of Kings, when they be dead. Well Sirs! Go seek the dark, and secret caves, The holy Temples, sanctified Cells, All parts wherein a living corpse may dwell. Tear up the vaults: behold her agonies! " Sorrow substracts, and multiplies the spirits; " Care, and desire do under anguish cease! " Doubt curious is, affecting piety; " Woe, loves it self; fear from it self would fly. Do not these trembling motions witness bear, That all these protestations be of fear? Confess in time. Revenge is merciless. Tell yet where thou thy Father last didst see. Bear her away: devise; add to the rack Torments, that both call death, and turn it back. Now feel thou shalt, thou ghost unnatural! Those wounds which thou to my heart then didst give, When, in despite of God, this State, and me, Thou didst from death mine elder brother free. The smart of Kings oppression does not die: Time, rusteth malice; rust, wounds cruelly. Go, led them hence. Prepare the funeral; Hasten the sacrifice, and pomp of woe. Where she did hide him, thither let them go.