BEGLERBEY

His will was to depart immediately, With no train, but the Basham, Priest, and I. Your honour only ministered debate; Princes (some thought) stood fast by keeping state: His Pomp gave lustre to your Power, some said, For Princes should be gloriously obeyed. At this gap entered Love, and Intercession, The Multitude all liberties approved, The Wise to give them way held it discretion, Where it gave honour to your self above. Thus to the Coast number and order come, Where Mustapha leaves all to bide your doom. His foot on land, straight to the Church he goes; Applause, and wonder follow to that place, Greater he, by your Influence, still grows, Your Trophies upon him the people place. Unto the State men prophecy progression, And see your age, it's true, in your Succession. Your Power, and Love both, in his Pomp appear; For even the Basha's next you I did meet Hastening to honour him, whom you hold deer. What greater Triumph to a glorious Father, Than such a Son for age to lean unto, Whence declination may more forces gather, And impotence retain ability to do? Goodness exiling jealousy of State, From him whose duty sets his power a rate. Now by the way a paper up I took, Spread by the Mufti, as it should appear, Foretelling with authority of book, What those times wrapped in clouds, and these make clear. Wherein these Prophet-spirits did foreshow The progress of this Empire to the height; Under what Princes humours it should grow, Under whose weakness fallen again by weight: Inferring this; that where declining spirits To govern mighty Sceptres God ordains, Order no Basis finds; Honour must fallen: Where man is nothing, Place cannot do all. Again where worth, and wisdom sovereign be, And he that's King of Place, is King of Men, Change, Chance, or Ruin cannot enter then. And such a King must fit upon this Throne; Unperfect times (they say) are fully run, And this perfection present in your Son. Undone thy doing. Discovered unto Mustapha his danger: And from these relics, I do more than doubt, Her confidence brings Solyman about. My Lord! already come: For what can stay, Where Lo e, and Duty both teach to obey? Ross ! Not words, but deeds please Hell, or Heaven: I fear to tell; I tremble to conceal; Fortune, unto the death, is then displeased, When remedies do ruin the diseased. If Mustapha shall die, his death miscarries Partly of thy end, thy Fame, thy Friends, thy Joy: Who will, to hurt his foes, himself destroy? Camena must, with him, a Traitor be; Or Mustapha, for her sake, must be free. Is Mother by the woman overthrown? Your Child's death anger's him whom you must please. This plants confusion in the Powers above. God plagues Injustice in so great excess. What if this Work prove not conspiracy, But care, that with all duties may agree? Yet by the Love of Mother's to their Children, By all the pains of travail, so well known, Punish, but yet spare life; It is your own. When hither I from Mustapha returned, And had made you account of my Commission; Rossa, whose heart in care for your health burned, Curiously after Mustapha inquiring, A token spies, which I from hence did bear, For Mustapha by sweet Camena wrought; Yet gave it not; for I began to fear, And something in it more than kindness thought. No sooner she espied this precious gift, But, as enraged, hands on her self she lays; From me, as one that from her self would shift, She runs; nor till she found Camena stays. I follow, and find both their voices high, The one as doing, th'other suffering pain: But whither your Camena live, or die, Or dead, if she by rage, or gilded be slain; If she made Rossa mad, or Rossa mad To hurt things dearest to her self be glad, I know not. But o Solyman! make haste; For Men despair is but occasion passed. Sir! by our Lords commandment, here I wait, To guide you to his presence: Where, Like a King, and Father, he intends To honour, and acquaint you with his ends. His Court was great; and that which adds to you Is that all Princes had their Agents there Confessing, in the Son, the Father's endue: And from them all the honour done him such, As if none thought the World for him too much. Yet I no sooner to his presence came, But he paid all their homages to me, The rest looked on, as when men wonders see. First, at your name he bowed in humble wise; The rest appeared to be a joyful doom. Only the Persian spoke (it seems) with care: God make these favors good; for they be rare. The Persian Agent some distraction showed; All else their eyes to their Sun rising turn. He winds not spirits up with Power, or Fear: The ancient form he keeps, where it is good: His projects reformation every where: His care to have diseases understood: Reverend unto your Throne; more to your deeds: It is no imitation which exceeds. With zeal he does adore the Powers above; With zeal inferior duties paid him are: And, for his ends on public centers move, His ends are served with every bodies love. His Court, Like yours, the image of a Camp: In yours, your Power; in his, Himself the Lamp. He sees (men say) but only what he shows, I mean examples both of Power, and Love: You see again what from within you grows, Such humble fear, as fearful power moves. His Camp, in rest and Actium both, content; Assiduous order works this frame in either: Your discipline now lose, now ouerbent; Forced to use fear in both, contents in neither. This freedom Sir! makes them you two compare, Of whom, both he and they, but shadows are. Rossa, and Rosten! while you stand debating The joys, or sorrows of your private Fortune's, Some evil Angel does traduce you both. Achmat is called for: Wit, Art, Spite he hath; And while for Sons with Father's men entreat, Affection makes each good appearance great. Solyman! If Rossa you will see alive, You must make haste: for her Despair is such, As she thinks all things but her Rage, too much. Ah humorous Kings? how are you tos said, Like waves, With breathes, that from the earth beneath you move; " Observed, and betrayed; known and undone; " By being nothing, unto all things won. " Frail man! that mould'st misfortune in thy Wit, " By giving thy made I doll leave to fashion " Thy ends to his. For mark; what comes of it? " Nature is lost, our being only Chance, " Where Grace alone, not Merit, must advance. The one my Image: Soliman's the other: He, with himself, is wrought to spoil his own: I, with my self, am made the instrument, That Courts should have no great hearts innocent. But stay: why wander I thus from my ends? New counsels must be had when Planets fallen: Change hath her periods, and is natural. The Saint we worship is Authority, Which lives in Kings, and cannot with them die. True faith makes Martyrs unto God alone: Misfortune hath no such odds in a Throne. But see! This Football to the Stars is come, Mustapha I mean, in Innocence secure, Which, for it will not give Fate, must endure. Heli distract, fixed, and aghast, I see, And will go nearer to observe the rest, That Wit may take occasion at the best. For if they feel their State, and know their Strength, How prove this Mass is for another head; Did ever hazard find Occasion dead? Whither he get the Crown, or loose his blood, The one is ill to him; to me both good. Found Man! distract with diverse thoughts on foot, That rackest thy self, & Nature's peace dost break; Judgenot the Gods above: it does not boot, Nor do thou see that which thou darest not speak. Power hath great scope; she walks not in the ways Of private truth: Virtues of common men Are not the same which shine in Kings above, And do make fear bring forth the works of love. Admit that Mustapha not guilty be; Who by his Prince will rise, his Prince must please; And they that please judge with humility. Yonder they are, whose charge must be discharged, In Ross is face behold desire speaks, He keeps the laws, that all laws form breaks.