RUSTAN

Conclude not now: For Thoughts that be offended. Are seldom with their present visions mended. Rage sees too much; Security too little; Affections are, Like glassy metal brittle. Rossa! Take heed. Your Honours, Like Kings humours, brittle are, Which broken once, repaired can hardly be; And these once stained, what is Humanity? Rossa! first judge your Ends, and then your Means. You seek to undermine a Princes State, Deep rooted in by Time, Power, Reverence; Established on Succession fortunate Of many Turks: from men that servile be, Use having lost the use of Liberty. I understand a Monarchs State too well, To bid you purchase Peoples idle breath, That have no power of Honour, Life, or Death: These ways are wrong, uncertain, fearful too, In absolutes, which all themselves will do. But turn your eyes up to the will of one; Know you must work a Father from his Son. Sons love with selflove must be overthrown By force of Nature's law there's nothing won. Strifes in the Father's mind you must beget, And him above his sweet affections bear, To take impressions both of hope, and fear. All these false Strengths of native Confidence, With their Excess, have their Inconstancy: The laws of Kind, with Tyrants, nothing be. Beside, deer Rossa! Ills have such alliance, As in what subject any one is grown, The seeds of all, even in that one, are sown. Rossa! Take heed. Extremes are not the means, To change Estates, either in good, or ill. Therefore yield not; since that makes Nature less: Nor yet use Rage, which vainly driveth on The mind to working without instruments: Beside, it does make partial our intents, Discredits Truth, condemns indifferent things. But take upon you quiet Providence, The Princes State, with his Authority; Teach Power to doubt; for Doubt is her defence. Degrees of Passion, as of Spirits there be; Choose now for Use, and not for Dignity. Love spreads the wit to play, but not to arm, Hath many feet to walk and easy pace, Slow to mistrust, and never apt to harm: But fear of Credit is within the mind, Strengthened by Nature with the strength of all; In Men, and Tyrants states both, natural. The Project of this fear must yet be made The Princes safety, Honour of the State: Such glorious Stile may easily overshade The ways of Spite; for Treason is in hate. Flattery straight speaks aloud in Powers right, Carrying things under names, Truth under might. " Who dare distinguish in a Tyranny, " Where fraud it self hath Powers authority? " Who shall correct Errors, made for the King, " But Kings themselves; who Actors in their fears, " Most honour those that most suspicion bring. " Who there sees Right, or dare use Honours name, " Where both are sure of death, and doubtful fame? Then Rossa! plant you here; accuse the Son; Although you fail his death, you needs not doubt: In Tyrants state never was man undone By miscomplaints. Beside, what comes about In earth, but it hath lets, and finds delays? Yield not: but multiply malice in patience; Honour is only form, form Tyrants ways. Accuse his Friends, speak doubtful, charge, and praise. Put Truth to silence: People dare not see The pride of Power in formal Tyranny. I know my time; the Basha's how they bend; Faction still wakes; and Competence hath spite; It's fault enough that Achmat is his friend; His lightness, and his power well understood. Things may so pass as Mustapha may die, Ere counsel, or Remorse put Fury by. But if Extremity chance to require A more audacious Figure; then use Rage: It give sometime and Honour to desire; It shows a Plainness, credible to Age: While it is ruled, it may have time, and place; But if it rule, in prophesieth disgrace. What arguments against him? Let Mustapha be dead. Achmat! The mysteries of Empire are dissolved. Fury hath made the People know their forces. Majesty (as but a Mist,) they breed, and spread. Nothing, but things impossible will please. Mustapha must live again, or Rosten perish. O wretchedness! which I cannot deny; I am ashamed to live, and loath to die. When Mustapha was by the Eunuchs strangled, Forthwith his Camp grew doubtful of his absence: The guard of Solyman himself did murmur. People began to search their Princes Counsels: Fury gave Laws: the Laws of Duty vanished: Kind Fear of him they loved Self-fear had banished. The headlong spirits were the heads that guided: He that most disobeyed, was most obeyed. Fury so suddenly became united, As while her forces nourished Confusion, Confusion seemed with Discipline delighted. Towards Solyman they run: and as the Waters, " That meet with banks of Snow, make Snow grow Water: So, even those Guards, that stood to interrupt them, Give easy passage, and pass on amongst them. Solyman, who saw this storm of Mischief coming, Thinks absence his best argument unto them: Retires himself, and sends me to demand, What they demanded, or what meant their coming? I spoke: they cried: For Mustapha, and Achmat. Some bid away; some kill; some save; some Harken. Those that cried, Save, were those that sought to kill me. Who cried, Hark, were those that first brake silence, They held that bade me Go. Humility was guilty; Words were reproach; Silence in me was scornful; They answered ere they asked; assured, and doubted. I fled; their Fury followed to destroy me; Fury made haste; Haste multiplied their Fury; Each would do all; none would give place to other. The hind most strake; and while the foremost listed Their arms to strike, each Weapon hindered other: Their running let their strokes, strokes let their running. Desire, mortal enemy to desire, Made them, that sought my life, give life unto me. Now Achmat! Though Blood-thirst deserve no Pity; Malice no love; though joust Revenge be Mercy; Yet save me. For, although my death be lawful, The Judges, and the manner are unlawful. If I die; what hath Solyman for warrant? Mischief is still the Governess of Mischief. If Solyman be slain; where will they stay, That Through God, and Majesty make way? If Solyman who hath been thy best Fortune, Safe thou wilt see, or safe his state preserve, Make haste. The State did never ill deserve. Rossa! whence grows this strange unquiet more cion? Govern your thoughts. What want you to content you, That have the King of Kings at your devotion? Achmat is wise, and Soliman's beloved: Even Tyrants covet to uphold their fame; Not fearing evil Deeds, but evil Name. Help Achmat! help: Furies runs over all. Pity my state, that with the Empire fallen.