CAELICA

Though fear see nothing but extremity, Yet danger is no deep sea, but a Ford, Where they that yield can only drowned be. In wrongs, and wounds, Sir, you are to remiss. To Thrones a passive nature fatal is. Yet live: Live for the State. When fear propounds, with lose men ever choose, And is it nothing then to loose the State? Yet Sir! if weakness be not such a sand, As neither wrong, nor counsel can manure; Choose, and resolve what death you will endure. Unto that duty if these hands be born, I must think God, and Truth, but names of scorn. Again, this justice were, if life were loved; Now merely grace; since death does, but forgive A life to you, which is a death to live. Pain must displease that satisfies offence. Then sword! do Justice office through me; I offer more than that he hates to thee. No cliff, or rock is so precipitate, But down it eyes can lead the blind a way; Without me live, or with me die you may. Then be a King, no Tyrant of thy self: Be; and be what you will: what nature lent Is still in hers, and not our government. Yet Sir! hark to the poor oppressed tears, The joust men's moan, that suffer by your fallen; A Princes charge is to protect them all. And shall it nothing be that I am yours? The world without, my heart within does know, I never had unkind, unreverent powers. If thus you yield to Alahams treachery; He ruins you; it's you, Sir, ruin me. Will you do that which Alaham can not? He hath no good: you have no ill, but he: This Marque-right yield's honours Tyranny. " The laws of power chained to men's humours be. " The good have conscience; the ill (Like instruments) " Are, in the hands of wise authority, " Moved, divided, used, or laid down; " Still, with desire, kept subject to a Crown. " Stir up all States, all spirits: hope, and fear; Wrong, and revenge, are currant every where. Let them fear rumor that do work amiss; Blood, torments, death, horrors of Cruelty, Have time, and place. Look through these skins of fear, Which still persuade the better side to bear. And since thy son thus traitorously conspires, Let him not prey on all thy raze, and thee: Keep ill example from posterity. My soul now joys. Doing breathes horror out. Absence must be our first sleppe: Let us fly: A pause in rage makes Alaham to doubt; Which doubt may stir in people hope, and fear, With love, or hate, to seek you every where. For Princes lives are Fortune's misery; " As dainty sparks, which till men dead do know, " To kindle for himself each man does blow. But hark! What's this? Malice does never sleep: I hear the Spies of power drawing near. Sir! follow me: Misfortunes worst is come; Her strength is change; and change yields better doom. Choice now is passed. Hard by there is a pile Built, under colour of a sacrifice; If God do grant, it is a place to save; If God denies, it is a ready graven. What see I here! More spectacles of woe? And are my kindred only made to be Agents, and Patients in iniquity? Ah forlorn wretch! ruins example right! Lost to thy self, not to thy enemy, Whose hand, even while thou fliest, thou fallest into; And with thy fallen, thy father dost undo. Save one I may: Nature would save them both; But Chance hath many wheels, Rage many eyes. What shall I then abandon innocents? Not help a helpless brother thrown on me? Is nature narrow to adversity? No, No. Our God left duty for a law; Pity, at large; Love, in authority; Despair, in bonds; fear, of it self in awe: That rage of time, and powers strange liberty, Oppressing good men might resistance find: Nor can I to a brother be less kind. Dost thou, that canst not see, hope to escape? Disgrace, can have no friend; contempt, no guide; Right, is thy gilded; thy Judge, iniquity; Which desolation casts on them that see. Nay; God, the World, thy Parents it deny; A brother's jealous heart, usurped might Grows friends with all the world, except thy right. Fly unto God: For in humanity Hope there is none. Reach me thy fearful hand: I am thy sister; neither fiend, nor spy Of Tyrants rage; but one that feels despair Of thy Estate, which thou dost only fear. Kneel down; embrace this holy mystery, A refuge to the worst for rape, and blood; And yet, I fear, not hallowed for the good, Eternal God! that seest thy self in us! If vows be more than sacrifice of lust, Raised from the smokes of hope, and fear in us; Protect this innocent; calm Alahams rage; By miracles faith goes from age, to age. Affection trembles; reason is oppressed; Nature, methinks, does her own entrails tear: In resolution ominous is fear. Ah cruel wretch! guilty of parents blood! Might I, poor innocent, my father free, My murder yet were less impiety. But on; devour: fear only to be good: Let us not escape: thy glory then does rise, When thou at once thy house dost sacrifice. Oh twofold scorn. God be revenged for me. Yet since my Father is destroyed by thee, Add still more scorn, it sorrow multiplies. This is reward which thou dost threaten me: If terror thou wilt threaten, promise joys. And if my Father I no more shall see, Help me unto the place where he remains; To hell below, or to the sky above: The way is easy, where the guide is love. Rack not my woe. Thy glorious pride of this unglorious deed Does mischief, ripe; and therefore falling, show. He was (Unhappy) cause that thou art now; Thou art, ah wicked! cause that he is not; And fearest thou Parricide can be forgotten? Bear witness, Thou Almighty God on high! And you black Powers inhabiting below! That for his life my self would yield to die. Seek him amongst the dead, you placed him there: Yet loose no pains, good Souls! go not to hell; And, but to heaven, you may go every where. Guilty, with you, of his blood let me be, If any more I of my Father know, Than that he is where you would have him go. If ought be quick in me, move it with scorn: Nothing can come amiss to thoughts forlorn. Reward, and pain; fear, and desire too, Are vain, in things impossible to do. Even where he by his lose of eyes hath won, That he no more shall see his monstrous Son. First, in perpetual night thou madest him go; His flesh the graven, his life the stage, where sense Plays all the Tragedies of pain, and woe. And wouldst thou trayterosly thy self exceed, By seeking thus to make his Ghost to bleed? The flattering glass of Power is others pain. Perfect thy work; that heaven, and hell may know, To worse I cannot, going from thee, go. " Eternal life, that ever livest above! " If sense there be with thee of hate, or love; " Revenge my King, and Father's overthrow. " Oh Father! if that name reach up so high, " And be more than a proper word of Art, " To teach respects in our humanity; " Accept these pains, whereof you feel no smart. Oh bloody scorn? Must he be killed again that gave thee breath? Is duty nothing else in thee but death?