PALLAS

A Patroness unto you both, ye ignorant and vndeser ving Favorites of my Fame; You are a Soldier? To thee I am Bellona: you are a Scholar? To thee I am Minerva, Pallas to both, Goddess of Arts and Arms, Of Arms and Arts, for neither have precedence, For he's the complete man partakes of both, The soul of Arts joined with the flesh of valour; And he alone participates with me. Thou art no Soldier unless a Scholar, Nor thou a Scholar unless a Soldier. You have Noble breedings both, worthy Foundations, And will you built up rotten Battlements On such fair groundsels? That will ruin all: Lay Wisdom on thy Valour, on thy Wisdom, Valour; For these are mutual co-incidents, What seeks the Soldier? Lay by thine Arms and take the City then. Theres the full Cup and Cap of maintenance; And your grief is want too? No: you want most, what most you do profess. Where read you to be rich was happiest? He had no bay from Phœbus, nor from me That ever wrote so, no Minerva in him, My Priests have taught, that poverty is safe, Sweet and secure: for nature gives man nothing At his birth. When life and earth are wedded, There's neither Basin held nor Dowry given, At parting nor is any garner stored, Wardrobe or Warehouse kept for their return: Wherefore shall then man count his Myriad's Of gold and silver Idols: since thrifty Nature Will nothing lend but she will haue't again, And life and labour for her interest? My Priests do teach, Seek thou thy self within, Make thy mind wealthy, thy knowing conscience, And those shall keep thee company from hence. Or would you wish to emulate the gods, Live (as you may imagine) careless and free, With joys and pleasures crowned, and those eternal, This were to (far) exceed 'vm: for while earth lasts The Deities themselves abate their fullness, Troubled with cries of never contented man: Man then to seek and find it, all that hope Fled when Pandora's Fatal box flew open. That may as well be caused From your own negligence, as our slow blessings: But I'll prefer you to a greater power, Even Jupiter himself, Father and King of Gods, With whom I may well join in joust complaint: These latter Ages have dispoil'd my Fame. Minerva's Altars are all ruined now. I had along adored Paladium. Offerings and Incense fuming on my shrine; Room held me deer, and old Troy gave me worship, All Greece renowned me, till the Ida prize Joined me with wrathful Juno to destroy 'vm, (For we are better ruined, then profaned.) Now let the latter ages count the gains They God by wanton Venus sacrifice, But I'll invoke great Jupiter. Altitonant Imperial crowned, and thunder-armed Jove, Unfold thy fiery Veil, the flaming Robe And superficies of thy better brightness, Descend from thine Orbicular Chariot, Listen the plaints of thy poor Votaries, It's Pallas calls, thy Daughter, Jupiter, Taken from thee by the Lemnian Mulciber, A Midwife God to the delivery Of thy most Sacred fertile teeming brain. Just-judging Jove, I meditate the suit of humble mortals, By whose large Sceptre all their Fates are swayed, Adverse or auspicious. These are two noble Virtues (my dread Sire) Both Arts and Arms wellwishers unto Pallas. I shall, great Jupiter. These three were Hebrews, This Noble Duke was he, at whose command Hiperjon rein'd his fiery Coursers in, And fixed stood over Mount Gilboa, This Mattathias son, the Macchabee, Under whose arm no less then Worthies fell. This the most sweet and sacred Psalmograph, These of another sort, of much less knowledge, Little less valour, a Macedonian born, Whom afterwards the world could scarcely bear, For his great weight in Conquest, this Troy's best soldier; This Rome's first Caesar; these three of latter times, And to the present more familiar. Great Charles of France, and the brave Bulloine Duke, And this is Britons glory, Kinged thirteen times. You ave fair aspects, more to express Jove's power, Show you have motion for a Jovial hour. Who's this, great Jupiter?