JANIN

And yet (my Lord) all this could not allay The fatal thrist of his ambition. For some have herd him say he would not die, Till on the wings of valour he had reached One degree higher; and had seen his head Set on the royal Quarter of a crown; Yea at so unbelieved a pitch he aimed, That he hath said his heart would still complain, Till he aspird the style of Sovereign, And from what ground my Lord rise all the levies Now made in Italy ? from whence should spring The warlike humour of the Count Fuentes ? The restless stirrings of the Duke of Savoy ? The discontent the Spaniard entertained, With such a threatening fury, when he herd The prejudicial conditions, Proposed him, in the treaty held at Vervins? And many other beaueries, this way aiming, But from some hope of inward aid from hence? And that, all this derectly aims at you, Your highness hath by one intelligence, Good cause to think; which is your late advice, That the Sea army, now prepared at Naples, Hath and intended Enterprise on Provence ? Although the cunning Spaniard gives it out, That all is for Algies. And still our humble counsels, (for his service) Would so resolve you, if he will employ His honoured valour as effectually, To fortify the State, against your foes; As he hath practised bade intendments with them. I sorrow for your resolution, And fear your dissolution, will succeed. Fare you well my Lord; I think (my Lord) they have no end for Flanders; Contentedly Maurice being already entered Brabant To pass to Flanders, to relieve Ostend, And th'Arch-duke full prepared to hinder him; And sure it is that they must measure forces, Which (ere this new force could have passed the Alps) Of force must be encountered. I much should doubt that to, but that I hope The strength of his conspiracy, as yet Is not so ready, that he dare presume, By his refusal to make known so much Of his disloyalty. I will my Lord, and hope I shall present him. Exit Jan. Farely my Lord; the cloud is yet far off That aims at his obscuring, and his will, Would gladly give the motion to your powers That should di pierce it; but the means, himself, Would personally relate in your direction Upon my life, my Lord, He much desires to see you, and your sighed Is now grown necessary to suppress (As with the glorious splendour of the Sun) The rude winds that report breathes in his ears, Endeavouring to blast your loyalty. But these aloof abodes, my Lord bewray, That there is rather firmness in your breath. Then in your heart; Truth is not made of glass, That with a small touch, it should fear to break, And therefore should not shun it; believe me His arm is long, and strong; and it can fetch Any within his will, that will not come: Not he that surfeits in his mines of gold, And for the pride thereof, compares with God, Calling (with almost nothing different) His powers invincible, for omnipotent, Can back your boldest Fort gainst his assaults; It is his pride, and vain ambition, That hath but two stairs in his high designs; (The lowest envy, and the highest blood) That does abuse you; and gives minds too high, Rather a will by guiddinesse to fallen, Then to descend by judgement. My Lord, it's better hold a Sovereigns love By bearing injuries; then by laying out Stir his displeasure; Princes discontents (Being once incensed) are Like the flames of Aetna, Not to be quenched, nor lessend: and be sure, A subjects confidence in any merit, Against his Sovereign, that makes him presume To fly too high; approves him Like a cloud, That makes a show as it did hawlke at kingdoms, And could command, all raised beneath his vapor: When suddenly, the Foul that hawlkt so fair, Stoops in a puddle, or consumes in air. Begin at the end my Lord and execute, Like Alexander with Parmeni . Princes (you know) are Masters of their laws, And may resolve them to what forms they please, So all conclude in justice; in whose stroke, There is one sort of manage for the Great; Another for inferior: The great Mother, Of all productions (graven Necessity) Commands the variation: And the profit, So certainly foreseen, commends the example. They all are made my Lord, and some give out, That it's a blow given to religion, To weaken it, in ruining of him, That said, he never wished more glorious title, Then to be called the scourge of Hugenots. Honour, and loyal Hope's to Duke Byron. You must do your office, The King commands you; Yet are the civil tumults of his spirits, Hight and outragiouse: not resolved, Ahlas, (Being but one man) render the kingdoms dome; He doubts storms, threatens, rues, complains, imp oars, Grief hath brought all his forces to his looks, And nought is left to strengthen him within, Nor la ts one habit of those grieved aspects: Blood expels paleness, paleness Blood does chase, And sorrow errs through all forms in his face,