ALLEGRE

The world would wish it so, that will not patiently Endure the endue rise of a virtuous man. I wonder you Will question it, ask a ground or reason Of men bred in this vile degenerate age; The most men are not good, and it agrees not With impious nature's to allow whats honest, 'Tis and offence enough to be exalted To regal favours, great men are not safe In their own vice, where good men by the hand Of Kings are planted to survey their workings; What man was ever fixed 'ith Sphere of honour, And precious to his Sovereign, whose actions, Nay very soul was not exposed to every Common and base dissection? and not only That which in Nature hath excuse, and in Themselves is privileged by name of frailty, But even Virtues are made crimes, and doomed Toth' fate of Treason. Judge your self by this One argument, his hearty truth to all, For in the heart hath anger his wisest seat, And gainst unjust suits such brave anger fires him, That when they seek to pass his place and power, Though moved, and urged by the other minion, Or by his greatest friends, and even the King Lead them to his allowance with his hand, First given in Bill, assigned, even then his spirit, (In nature calm as any Summer's evening) Puts up his Whole powers Like a Winter's sea, His blood boils over, and his heart even cracks At the injustice, and he tears the Bill, And would do, were he for't to be torn in pe ces. Nay it is worthy your wonder That I must tell you further, there no Needle In a Sun Dial placed upon his steel In such a tender posture, that does tremble The timely Dial being held amiss, And will shake ever, till you hold it right More tender than himself in any thing That he concludes in Justice for the State: For as a fever held him, he will shake When he is signing any things of weight, Least humane frailty should misguide his justice. He truly weighs and feels Sir, what a charge The Subject's livings are (being even their lives Laid on the hand of power,) which abused Though seen, blood flow not from the justice seat, 'Tis in true sense as grievous, and horrid. As of a Picture wrought to optic reason, That to all passers by, seems as they move Now woman, now a Monster, now a Devil, And till you stand, and in a right line view it, You cannot well judge what the main form is, So men that view him but in vulgar passes Casting but lateral, or partial glances, At what he is, suppose him weak, unjust, Bloody, and monstrous, but stand free and fast, And judge him by no more than what you know Ingenuously, and by the right laid line Of truth, he truly, will all stile deserve Of wise, just, good, a man both soul and nerve. As just, and well inclined when he's himself, (Not wrought on with the counsels, and opinions Of other men) and the main difference is, The Admiral is not flexible nor won To move one scruple, when he comprehends The honest tract and justness of a cause, The Constable explores not so sincerely The course he runs, but takes the mind of others (By name Judicial) for what his own Judgement, and knowledge should conclude. 'Tis nobly argued, and exemplified, But now I hear my Lord, and his young rival Are to be reconciled, and then one light May serve to guide them both. See, 'tis dispatched I hope, the King does grace it. Exceeding well, And seemed to smile at all their grim complaints, Gainst all that outrage to his highness hand, And said in plain, he signed it but to try My Lords firm Justice But how his rival the Lord Constable Is laboured by the Chancellor, and others to retort His wrong with ten parts more upon my Lord, Is monstrous? I Sir, for he's afraid To bear himself too boldly in his braves Upon the King (being newly entered Minion) Since 'tis but patience sometime they think; Because the favour spending in two streams, One must run low at length, till when he dare Take fire in such flame, as his faction wishes, But with wise fear contains himself, and so Like a green faggot in his kindling smokes, And where the Chancellor his chief Cyclops finds The fire within him apt to take, he blows, And then the faggot flames, as never more The bellows needed, till the too soft greenness Of his state habit, shows his sap still flows, Above the solid timber, with which, then His blaze shrinks head, he cools, and smokes again. True sir, but they still ply him with their arts, And as I herd have wrought him, personally To question my Lord with all the bitterness The galls of all their faction can pour in, And such and expectation hangs upon't, Though all the Court as it with child, and longed To make a mirror of my Lords clear blood, And therein see the full ebb of his flood, And therefore if you please to counsel him You shall perform a father's partly. My Lord retire, you're waylaid in your walks, Your friends are all fallen from you, all your servants Suborned by all advantage to report Each word you whisper out, and to serve you With hat and knee, while other have their hearts. Their other odds yet shun, all being combined, And lodged in ambush arrived to do you mischief By any means passed fear of law, or sovereign. Though some change appear Upon my body, whose severe affliction Hath brought it thus to be sustained by others, My hurt is still the same in faith to you, Not broken with their rage. Good my Lord, let not The thought of what I suffered dwell upon Your memory, they could not punish more Then what my duty did oblige to bear For you and Justice, but theres some thing in Your looks, presents more fear than all the malice Of my tormentors could affect my soul with, That paleness, and the other forms you wear, Would well become a guilty Admiral, and one Lost to his Hope's and honour, not the man Upon whose life the fury of unjustice Armed with fierce lightning, and the power of thunder, Can make no breach, I was not racked till now, Theres more death in that falling eye, than all Rage ever yet brought forth, what accident sir can blast, Can be so black and fatal to distract The calm? the triumph that should fit upon Your noble brow, mi fortune could have no Time to conspire with fate, since you were rescued By the great arm of providence, nor can Those garlands that now grow about your forehead With all the poison of the world be blasted. Wonder in apprehension, I must Suspect your health indeed. What accident is ground of this distraction? Not yet my Lord. It will Become my duty sir to leave you now. This is And honour above my weak desert, and shall Oblige the service of my life to satisfy it. All my prayers Are duties to your Lordship—