TIRIOTES

She was not wronged, as you have wrong conceived; The Gods from harm did study to preserve her; She from your foe such favour hath received, As from her Subject's who were bound to serve her; But what a volley does my voice prepare Of woes to charge your cares? woes full of dread, Would God ere I my message can declare, That I may die in saying she is dead. And was it not enough (poor wretch alas) That I beheld her die, and would have died? But that I must (armed with sad tidings) pass To wound all them who hear what I have spied? See how he stands (moved with those words of mine,) As if by grief arrested unto death. Thus of that Prince, you without cause esteem, I know her death him grievously displeased, A woodrous thing which few or none would deem, He wailed it long, and could not be appeased. Even as my Sovereign now, then did he smart, And when he came to calm your mother's grief, As acting not his own, but even your partly, He seemed to needs, and not to give relief. Let not those love-bred fears abuse your thought; By all the world no fable I contrive; If partially I speak, or lie in ought, Earth open wide, and swallow me alive: He whom your grace so wrongfully suspects, Hath not in any sort your Queen abused, But as his sister still (in all respects) As chastely and as honourably used; When angry Jove subverted had our state, And viewed our thundered troops disordered flight, Light fortune then who flattered us of late, Did make our state a mirror of her might, For, having found a Crown foiled on the ground. We straight imagined that some cruel wound Had killed our Lord, and wailed it as assured. But Alexander having herd our cries, Sent one to learn the cause that moved our woe; Who finding whence our error did arise, Gave full assurance that it was not so. Then he himself did to our Tent resort, And with the mildest words he could conceive, Your Mother, Wife, and Children did exhort Such terrors vain (since but surmized) to leave; And he protested that they should expect No harm of him their courage to appall, Then all things did with great regard direct, That no man might endamage them at all. Thus when they were against all dangers armed, (I think, for fear (for who would not have feared ) Lest such rare graces might his mind have charmed) He never more before her face appeared; Else generous virtue, jealous of each thing, Which (tempting reason) senses might allure, (What rare restraint in a victorious King) He fled what fault, or scandal could procure. He does his fame above all things prefer, And will not be where it may blemish find, Nor give his eyes commodity to err, Lest thoughts impure might strive to stain his mind. He whilst that she was sick, did loath delight, And (gravely griey'd) all pomp and pleasure left. When he beheld death's triumph in that face, Which had triumphed over such a Monarchs heart, With witnessed woe, even passionate a space, The lookers on did much commend his partly; And when some time his dolour had overcome, Her funeral rites solemnly to decore, He used such honour, as might well become The Persian pomp in prosperous times before.