NUNTIUS

While (Madame) you wayme ̄ ting here your heavy plaints declare And waste the time, my Lords your Sons in taunged battle are: Eke Captains bright in Armour stands, the Trumpet sounds amain, And Standard is aduanc'de, amid the throng of either train. In marshal ray full pressed to fight stand seven worthy Kings: And eke of them a warlike troop of valiant Soldiers brings. With courage not behind the best, the Thebans march apace: And Like right imps of Cadmus brood, do slash at Enemies face. The Soldiers force and willingness on either side to fight, Appears: in that they nothing less pretend them shameful flight. See how their trampling to and fro, the dust to Skies does rear, And what a Cloud of Smoke in Camp the horses make appear. And if my fear dismay me not: It all be true I see: Me thinks I view their glittering glaues begoard with blood to be. Me thinks I see the Vanward thrill and shake their Pikes in hand: Me thinks I see the Gydons gay, and Streamers where they stand: Wherein is wrought by curtous skill, in Letters all of Gold The Scotchion, Poeste, Name and Arms of every captain bold. Make hast, be gone, dispatch. (Madame) Cause Brothers to agree: Betwixt them stay this quarrel, least a slaughter great you see. So shall you to your Children love, to each side peace restoare: The mother's mediation may heal up all the Soar. She runs apace, Like one of wit and senses all distract: No Arrow swifter out of Bow: no Ship with Sail full thwacked With wind at will more way can make with motion such sh e flies As gliding Star whose leams do draw a Furrow long in Skies. As much aghast she trottes apace: and now in Camp she stands: Her presence and arrival there hath parted both the Bands. At mother's great entreaty made, the bloody broil is hushed: And where before with goring Glaive the one at tother pushed, With full intent to kill and slay, appeased is now their ire And they well pleased to bend to peace, as she does them require. The Sword again in sheath is put, that lately out was drawn To pash out Brains of Brother's Scull: she ceaseth not to fawn Upon them both, their strife to stint: her grey and hoary hairs, Her Snow White locks with tears besprent in ruthful sort she eats. She Motherlike seeks how to link their hearts in one assent, With brynish tears she wettes the cheeks of him thats malcontent. That Child that staggering long does stand, with mother to dispute, May seem unwilling mind to bear to yield to Mother's suit.