PERILLUS

Fear to offend his far divulged name, Which (who may mention without righteous fame) Being ever busied in effecting laws, Commended still with popular applause, Retaining order of Antiquity, Forbids me to repeat his Elegy: Each clamorous echo and all forrest-noise Engendered by the Sylvan Dryades, Be henceforth silent; never may such tunes Afford free mirth to Poets fantasy; Who, may surcease to sing their sacred lays, Viewing the unaccustomed change of time: Till future ages do revive the lose Of our dejected worthy in his son, Whose true external image does retain, The living lustre of our wonted king, May whose deer genius dwell thy gifts among, And us provoke to leave his funeral song. Patron of Poets, much esteemed Duke, Leaving the Muses, and my pleasant cares Regarding yours more then my own affairs, Poor Poet Il'e attend your conference, Command me ever, most ingenious Lord. Believe Il'e stretch the scant esse of my Motherwit, Rather then fail for to accomplish it. The God of Kings protect thee: so adieu. I smell a treason hypocritical. I have a little smack of poesy, Can smell the amber-breath that rapture brings, Upon receipt of which my consort sings. Mirth may expel distraction, if secûre. True ( Ajax ) true, take double share in dust, But for Achilles now contend we must. (Ajax) Your Giant brags lack policy, Strength wanting wisdom, argues ecstasy. What high renown or fame is to be had By fighting with a Soldier who is mad? Desire (alas) being not effectual To raise from Cinders dead mortality, And make a living heir indubitate, Heaven says, he shall remain ambiguous, Till you (great Judges) do decide the strife, And so restore Achilles unto life: Which, because doubtful, I do challenge grace Of you my patrons, and this public place. The bragging fellow Ajax does derive A long forgotten age from Telamon, Striving to fetch a foolish argument Of his renowned acts, from high dissent, If which dead picture of Kings pedigree, Could but infuce a fortune competent, And make that piercing wisdom of the soul A thing entitled to inheritance, I could produce a genealogy, From sacred Jove, and subtle Mercury; But, may the best of all my stratagems, Which to thy sole advantage (happy Greece ) I have invented; may they perish all When I assume the virtue of my sire, As agent for my hope, and chief desire. brave Achilles to the siege When he ( tained with fear of destiny) Was even excluded in a female robe? When he forgotten to be pontifical, And was a true virago? did refuse Both weapons, and each little found of war? I had a feeling of my countries cause, And drew Achilles to the Trojan wars; That mighty Captain of the Mermedons I drew to battle, made him disobey His mother-goddess, to advance the state Of weary toil, and trouble Pergamus: I put his armour on; gave weapons too; For what I gave (great Lords) I humbly woo. Speak, did not I encounter Telephon? Turn Thebes to ashes? conquer Tenedos? Chryses, and Cylla, Syron, Hector, Troy, All do acknowledge me; my valiant arm, My notable advice; all attribute The shameless ruin of subverted Troy To me, as author sole, and absolute Of such a safety to the commonweal; Which, notwithstanding (father's) I renounce, And must acknowledge you the principals Of and achievement so perspicuous: And whatsoever the vain peoples voice, Captains report, and painful Soldiers love, Does by misguided error give to me, I render back with all humility. To urge my own directions, and advice In Architecture of that happy horse, That fatal fabric (being so fresh in thought) Were to condemn you (mindful countrymen) Of that which wisdom loathes, Ingratitude. To reckon up Minerva's image, bought With hazard of my breath, and precious limbs, Wh n wedging bars flew from the Iron gates, And gave access unto that sacred spell, Might argue a most false oblivion In your quick wisdoms with strange impudence In my most bold surmise. But (Mighties all) May stupid Ajax his reproachful terms, (Without each scruple to your judging ears) Be twice retorted in his rotten teeth; So he may swallow down such base Rebukes, And make amends to me: for let him know, My suffering shoulders could sustain the load Not of Achilles armour, but his lump Of solid, brawny flesh, both legs and arms, Nay the whole massy trunk trussed up in steel: I ( Ajax ) I, that carcase once bestrid, Upon my shoulders took his heavy trunk When death stood there, and in the amid of all Carried Achilles to his funeral. When after thousand sharp calamities Of war, of winter, famine, pestilence, Of parching dogdays, long and tedious, Of tempest, thunder, much mortality, After all these, and ten years doubtful siege, When you forsook the Camp, did so recoil, As almost scorning a recovery; charmed the topmast, haled you back to shore, Converted all to conquest, which before Did seem above my dull inventive brain, Give me a eed for ten years toil and pain.