BARD

Who's this disturbs my rest? I well remember, powerful Deity, Arch-governess of this terrestrial Globe, Goddess of all mutation man affords, That in the reign of Rome's great Emperor, Cleped Claudian, when the Bryttish I'll Was tributary to that conquering See, This worthy Prince survived, whose puissant might Was not inferior to that son of Jove, Who, in his cradle chokte two hideous Snakes. Which, since my Fortune is to speak his worth, My utmost skill alive shall paint him forth. Then, since I needs must tell the high designs Of this brave Welshman, that succeeding times, In leaves of gold, may register his name, And rear a Pyramys unto his fame; This only do I crave, that in my song, Attention guide your ears, silence your tongue. Then know all you, whose knowing faculties Of your diviner parts scorn to insist On sensual objects, or on naked sense, But on men highest Alps, Intelligence. For to plebeyan wits, it is as good, As to be silent, as not under stood. Before fair Wales her happy Union had, Blessed Union, that such happiness did bring, Like to the azure roof of heaven full packed With those great golden Tapers of the night, Whose spheres sweat with their numbers infinite; So was it with the spacious bounds of Wales, Whose firmament contained two glorious sons, Two Kings, both mighty in their arch-co ̄ mands, Though both not lawful in their government: The one Octavian was, to whom was left, By lineal descent, each government: But that proud Earl of Munmouth stealing fire, Of high ambition did one throne aspire, Which by base usurpation he detains. Of lawful (right) unlawful treason gains. Twice, in two haughty set Battalions, The base usurper Munmouth God the day: And now Octavian spurde with grief and rage, Conducted by a more propitious star, Himself in person comes to Shrewsbury, Where the great Earl of March, great in his age, But greater in the circuit of his power, Yet greatest in the Fortune's of his sons, The Father of our valiant Welshman called, Himself, his warlike sons, and all does bring, To supplant Treason, and to plant their King. No more I'll speak: but this old Bard intreats, To keep your understanding and your seats. The treacherous Bastard, with his accomplices, Cornwall and Gloucester, did invite the King, Fair Guiniuer and beauteous Voada, The sister of renowned Caradoc, Unto a sumptuous feast, whose costly outside Gave no suspicion to a foul intent. And had Cassandra (as she did at Troy Foretell the danger of the re jan ho see, That Sinon counterfeited with his tears,) Presaged this Treason; Like to some nightly dream Of some superfluous brain begotten in wine, It had been only fabulous, and extinct Even with the same breath, that she brought it forth, Like some abortive Oracle, so beguiles The Sire's songs, and tears of Crocodiles. At this great banquet, great Octavian Was poisoned, and the wife of Caradoc, Together with his beauteous sister led Unto a loathsome prison, and the Crown Invested on the head of Codigune The envious Bastard. Here leave we them a while: And now to Bryttayne let us steer the course Of our attention, where this worthy Sun That shines within the firmament of Wales, Was Like himself, thrice welcomed, till the spleen Of that malicious Gloucester did pursue In certain letters, sent to Goderus King, Whose sister he had married, his defame Wales lost, in lively Scenes weel show the same. Thus have you seen a man, whose daring thoughts, Even hell it self, the treasury of terrors, Whose very shapes make Nature look aghast, Cannot outface. Now once more turn your eyes, And view the sudden mutabilities, That wait upon the greatest favourite That ever Fortune fauourde with her love, Stern Caradoc, virtuously returned, Hoping to see his beauteous Queen and friends, His sister Voada, whom he had left With treacherous Cornwall, who villain-like betrayed The Town and Voada, as yet a maid, Unto the hands of Marcus Gallicus, Son to the Roman General, who, as we saw, Was far inamor'd of that warlike Dame, And to the Roman Band conducts her safe, Whilst Galled, her husband, flies to save his life, And in disguise, seeks the Magician forth, Entreating him by prayers, sighs and tears, To help him by his Art, whilst Caradocs fair Queen, Together with her daughter, made escape, And fled unto her Lord, who being enraged, His manly courage doubled his resolve, The Roman host pursuing of his Queen And her young daughter. Who, when Caradoc espied, Armed with a strength invincible, he fought In single opposition against and host: Which famous battle, because histories, Above the rest, to his immortal fame, Have quoted forth, willing to give it life And everlasting motion, with the rest Shall be in lively Scenes by him expressed. Alarm. Time cuts off our valiant Welshmans worth, When longer Scenes more amply might have shown But that the Story's tedious to rehearse, And we in danger of impatient ears, Which too long repetition might beget. Here leave we him with Caesar full of mirth: And now of you old Bardh intreats to tell, In good or ill, our Story does excel. If ill, then go I to my silent Tomb, And in my shroud sleep in the quiet earth, That did intend to give a second birth. But if it please, then Bardh shall tune his strain, To sing this Welshmans praises once again Bells' are the dead men music: ere I go, Your Clappers found will tell me I, or no. Exit. Thus have you seen, the vali nt Caradoc, Mounting the Chariot of eternal fame, Whom, mighty Fortune, Regent of this Globe, Which Navigators call terrestrial, Attends upon: and Like a careful Nurse, That sings sweet Lullabies unto her babe, Crowns her beloved Minion with content, And sets him on the highest Spire of Fame. Now to Gederus, King of warlike Britain, Oppressed with Roman Legions is he gone, Spurred o with matchless resolution, And in the battle, as your selves shall see, Fights Like a Nemean Lion, Or Like, those Giants, that to cope with Jove, Hurled Osla upon Peleon, heaped hill on hill, Mountain on mountain, in their boundless rage. But in the mean time dreadless of treacherous plots, The Bastard plays his Rex, whose ancient soar Begins to fester, and now breaks the head Of that Impostume malice had begotten. Now Cornwall, Gloucester, twins of some Incubus, And son and heir to hells Imperial Crown, The Bastard Codigune, conspire the death Of old Octavian. Those that feign would know The manner how, observe this silent show.