BRUTE

Wherein, recount thy height of happiness, Thou that before my honoured victory, Wertenberg as a base and oregrowne wilderness, Peopled With men of incivility, Huge and stern Giants, keeping company With savage monsters, thus was Albion then, Till I first furnished thee with civil men. Goentagot, and all his barbarous brood, (When he was foiled by Corineus hand,) Were quite subdued, and not one withstood My quiet prograce over all thy land, But, as sole Conqueror, I did command: And then from Albion did I change thy name, To Brutus's Britania, still to hold the same. Then built I my New Troy, in memory Of whence I came, by Thanesis fair side, And nature giving me posterity, Three worthy sons, not long before I died, My kingdom to them three I did divide. And as in three parts I had set it down, Each nam his seat, and each did wear a Crown. See, after so long slumbering in our tombs Such multitudes of years, rich poesy That does revive us to fill up these rooms And tell our former ages History, (The better to record Brutus's memory,) Turns now our accents to another key, To tell old Britain's new born happy day. That separation of her sinewed strength, Weeping so many hundred years of woes Whereto that learned Bard dated long length Before those vlcerd wounds again could close, Merlyn, who pro ph worser hereof long ago. And reach unto their former first dispose. Hath run his course through times andy glass, And brought the former happiness that was. Albania, Scotland, where my son was slain And where my follies wretchedness began, Hath bred another Brutus, that gives again to Britain her first name, he is the man On whose fair birth our elder wits did scan, Which Prophet-like seventh Henry did foresee, Of whose fair child comes Britain's unity. And what fierce war by no means could effect, To reunite those sundered lands in one, The hand of heaven did peacefully elect By mildest grace, to seat on Britain's throne This second Brutus, then whom there else was none. Wales, England, Scotland, severed first by me: To knit again in blessed unity. For this Britanniam tides in triumph thus, For this these Sister-kingdomes now shake hands, Brutus's Troy, (now London) looks most amorous And stands on tiptoe, telling foreign lands, So long as Seas bear ships, or shores have sands: So long shall we in true devotion pray, And praise high heaven for that most happy day.