GHOST OF ALEXANDER

Back from umbrageous bounds still robbed of rest Must I return, where Phœbus gildes the fields, A ghost not worthy to be Pluto's guest, Since one to whom the world no burial yields. Oh what a great disgrace is this to me, Whose trophies earth in every corner keeps, That I (contemned) cannot transported be, A passenger through the sulphurean deeps. Dare churlish Charon, though not used to bow, The raging torrent of my wrath gain estand? Must I succumb amid hells dungeons now, Though over the world accustomed to command? But it may be that this hath wrought me harm. What bloodless ghosts stray on the Stygian bank, Whose falls (made famous by my fatal arm) Whose falls (made famous by my fatal arm) Gave terror oft to many a martial rank? Yet for a prey exposed to ravenous beasts, Could never have the honour of a tomb. But (though for such rude guests too precious feasts) Were basely buried in their brutish womb. Thus as it seems the horiour of such deeds With Like indignity attends my sprite, What stormy breast this thirst of vengeance breeds, T'accuse for that which valour did acquit. Ah might Alcmena's son (as worthy of Jove ) Once force infernal forts of endless night, Encounter Dis in the Tartarian grove, And draw forth ugly Cerberus to light. Then leading Theseus through the caverns dark, That would have forced inferior regions Queen, By violence used he th'auernall bark, As Conqueror of the pallide Empire seen. And may not I down in the centre fit? Their renting earth (as thence when vapours rise) Enlarge th'imprison'd souls, the pitchy pit, That once the light may lighten lightless eyes. What though I from th'aetheriall circles swerve, Whom in this state it may be some mistake, May not the voice of Alexander serve To make earth tremble, and the depths to shake? Or shall I go above with new alarms, To spoil the princes of the peopled round? And turn back, backed with squadrons all in arms, Affright the ghosts that are beneath the ground. But (ah) what comfort can I find above, Where those whom I advanced, lo now in th'end The titles of my offspring strive t'improue? And to my chair by violence ascend. Ingratitude torments my troubled sprite: Would God therefore, that with a body stored, I might return enjoy the days clear light. My back with arms, my hand charged with a sword, As when I entered in a populous town. To war alone with thousands in my wrath, While (prizing honour dearer than my Crown) Each of my blows gave wounds, each wound gave death. Then thundering vengeance on rebellious bans I would make them redeem my grace with groans, Where now my Ghost hedgd in with horror stands: Less graced then those whom I commanded once. And yet thaduancement by those captains had, Whom first my Ensigns did acquaint with same, Does make my soul a thousand times more sad, Then all the sufftings that the hels can claim. Oh now I see what all my minions blinds, My funerals to perform that none takes pain, My state betraying me distracts their minds, That have forgotten all love, but love to reign. But Ptholomie does yet by time intend Back to Alexandrta to transport me once: Not moved by love; no, for and other end, In hope my fortune will attend my bones. And must I then so great a trouble have, That lately had all thearth, and all thearths store, For some few foots of earth, to be a graven Which mean men get: and great men get no more? Though many a thousand at my sign did bow, Is this the end of all my conquests then, To be barred from that little circuit now, The benefit thats common unto men? But of it all that once was thrall to me, Lest that a little partly my body bound, I think all thearth my fatal bed should be, That still all confines scorned but the azure round. Oh blind ambition! great minds viperous brood, The scourge of mankind, and the foe to rest, Thou guilty art of many a millions blood, And while I reigned, didst reign within my breast. This to my soul but small contentment brings, That I some Cities reared, and others razed: And made Kings captives, captives to be Kings: Then while the wondering world did stand amazed, All that but now torments me after death, Which raised my fame on pillars, that were rare. Oh costly conquest of alittle breath, Whose flattering sounds, both come and go with th'aire! Can I be he that thought it a disgrace, Once to be made with other mortals even, That would be thought of and immortal raze, The offspring of great Jove, the heir of heaven? I by all1 means the peoples minds did move, To-have Altars (as a God) with offerings stored; Till of his glory Jove did jealous prove, All Princes should be reverenced, not adored. Ah while transported with a prosperous state, I toiled t'exalt my throne above the stars, That pride of mine, the thunderer bent t'abate, Did wound my fame with most infamous wars. Made I not graven Calistines to smart, That did disdain a dying flesh t'adore? And bent t'unknow my knowledge, by vain Art Though known a man sought to b'imagin'd more. All feared t'incurre the danger of my wrath: Which as a sleeping Lion, none durst wake. Mine anger was the messenger of death, That many a time made armies all to quake. So much Ambition did my thoughts engage, That I could not abide my father's praise: But (though my friend) killed Clitus in a rage, That in my presence Philips fame durst raise. Thus though that I mine enemies did abate, I made my greatest friends become my foes, Who did my barbarous insolences hate, And for the Like afraid, wailed others woes. Those tyrannies which thousands chanced to see As inhumane a multitude admire: And feared to be familiar more with me, As from and odious tyrant stood retired: Yea there were many too that did conspire, By base ambushments while t'entrap my life. Of all my labours, lo this was the hire, Those must have store of toils, that toil for strife: And I remember that amid my joys, Even while the chase of armies was my sport, There wanted not a portion of annoys To counterpoise my pleasures in some sort. Of those in earth most happy that remain, (As aged experience constantly records) The pleasures far exceeded are by pain, Life greater grief then comfort still affords. What rage and sorrow seized upon my soul, While big with Hope's a battle bent to prove! That sudden sickness did my course control, Which Cidnus cold embracings chanced to move. From the Physician then (though deemed for ill) I took his drink, and gave invective lines. Then while he read did drink, yet eyed him still, And by accusing looks searched guilty signs. Not that suspicious fears could make me sad. This was the ground whence did proceed my pain, Lest death that victory prevented had, Which I was sure (if present once) obtain. But when that I extended had my state, From learned Athens to the barbarous Indes, Still my tumultuous troops my pride did hate, As monstrous mutinies unmasked their minds. I (so my name more wondered to make) Of Hercules and Bacchus passed the bounds. And (while that Memnons sun burned bans did quake) Did write my worth in many a Monarchs wounds, Kings were my subjects, and my subjects kings: Yet my contentment further did require, For I imagined still more mighty things, And to a greater greatnesle did aspire, The compass of the carriere of the sun, By many a famous victory I won: Yet wept that there were no more world's to win, As all had been to little for one man. Was I not honoured as a God by some, While what I interprizd it still prevailed? Whom I assailed I always did overcome, No project of my fancies ever failed. This made me thought immortalized to be, Which in all minds amazement yet contracts, For I led Fortune, Fortune followed me, As forced t'attend the greatness of my acts. Yet I have found it a more easy thing, To conquer all the mansions of the wind, Then mine own self; and of my passion king To order the disorders of my mind. What comfort justly could my soul receive Of all my conquests passed, if that even then While I triumphed, (to wrath and wine as slave) I scaped not scandal more then other men. Ah, seizing without right on every state, I but my self too great a Monarch made: Since all men gapt to get the golden bore, Which by my death seemed easy to be had. While from humanity too much divorced My deeds all hearts with fear and horror filled: I whom the force of foes yet never forced, Was by my friends most fraudulently killed. But now I see the troublous time draws near, When they shall keep my obsequies with blood. No wonder too, though such a warriors bier, At last do swim amids a scarlet flood: For as my life did breed huge broils over all, My death must be occasion of great cumbers, And it does best become a strong men fallen, To be renowned by ruining of numbers. The snaky-tressed sisters shall not need Use fatal firebrands, loathsome Pluto's pestes, Or poisonous inspirations, so to bred, A thirst of murder in transported breasts. Yet my ambitious ashes once may shine T'enflame my Minions minds with strange desires: If of their spirits each keep a spark of mine, To waste the world, their breasts may furnish fires. The beauty's once of earth shall all look read, While my lieutenants through that pride of theirs With unkind arms, huge streams of blood do shed, By murdering of mine heirs to be mine heirs. Is this the gain of greatnesses did I pine To be made eminent, to be overthrown, To ruin first my self then root out mine; As conquering others, but to loose mine own? Oh happy I, but happier far my raze, If with my father's conquests still content, I managed had the Aemathian power in peace, Which was made lawful by a long dissent. Then far sequestered from Bellona's rage, I had the true delights of nature tried, And aged with honour; honoured in my age Had left my sceptre to my son and died, And he succeeded had t'a quiet state, Which then because less great had been more sure. And not exposed to envy, nor to hate, That do against the greatest States conjure. But since they mind t'enearth mine earthly partly; Which now no badge of majesty reraines. To roaring Phlegeton I must depart, Far from the lightsome bounds of airy Plains. And must I there, that did the world surmount, (Arrested by the Monarch of the Ghosts) To Radamanthus render and account, Of all the deeds done by my ravenous hosts? There while with Minos Aeacus sits down, A rigorous Judge in Hells most horrid court. Though far before his Nephew in renown, He will not with one of his raze comport. Oh what pale troops of ghosts are gathered here, That were of bodies spoiled by my decree! And first the wronged Parmenio does compear, From whom I nought, but who did much from me, At the tribunal of Tartarian powers: He aggravates a ingratitude too great. And (while infernal tyrant foaming lowres) All whom I wronged for vengeance stand t'intreat: Yet guilty thoughts torment me most of all. No sprite can be by plaguing Furies pined, (Though charged without with snakes, within with gall) As by the slings of a remording mind. If it be true that drowsy Laethes streams Drown in oblivions deeps all things at last, There let me bury far from Phœbus beams The loathed remembrance of my Labours passed.