Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE OLYMPIAN CATASTROPHE, by ARTHUR GORGES


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE OLYMPIAN CATASTROPHE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: This princely crowne, the marke of monarchye
Last Line: Which old sawes saye turnes to a summers woonder.
Subject(s): Henry, Prince Of Wales (1584-1612); Tournaments


This princely Crowne, the marke of Monarchye,
This lofty plume, the badge of souldiery,
These learned quilles, the types of pollicy,
If they combine in perfect unity,
In happy state do mayntayne Soveranty,
But sever'd turnes all to deformity.

The statlie strife, that did of late befall
Betwixt three dames, of more then mortall force;
And what calamitie it bredd with all
To us poore Brittons (reft of heavens remorce)
In bleedinge layes my fainting Muse must show,
That wounded lyes, in vertues overthrow.

And yet the helpe I meane not to implore
Of sadd Melpomene to tune my verse:
Whearby to make each sorrow seeme the more,
Or humane harts more inlye to impearce:
For those just plaints, that steepes our eyes in teares
May search the laborinths of deaffest eares.

Bellona bould, great Patroness of Armes,
Mynerva myld, Parnassus sacred queene:
And Juno, Empress of the glisteringe Swarmes,
Together meet on the Olympion greene,
To eye the martiall feats and manlie games
Of youthfull knights, for honor and for dames.

But that, which Cheiflie drewe them to this place,
Was to behould a princlie paragon:
On whom they three conferr'd a severall grace,
(Ech deeminge therby him to claime alone)
For those three guifts were each of heavenlie kinde,
The leaste whearof might greatest mortalls binde.

Bellona said the triple plume belongd
To hir, because it was the badge of Mart:
Mynerva playnde hir right therin was wrongd,
For that the quills weare instruments of art;
Juno aleag'd the Crowne she did bestowe,
To whom both arts, and Armes theire homage owe.

Thus they contest, and from this strife arose
That hope-confounding harme, which we doe rue:
Convertinge our delightfull thoughts to woes;
As shalbe shew'd in place where it is due.
Till when letts talke of pastimes whilst wee maye,
And to Th'olympian games hast on our way.

Wheare was to see (on that Herculean plaine)
In troopes dissperst choyce of actyvetie;
Some with the Sledge their brawnye armes distraine,
Some cast the barr with like agillytie,
Some wrestlinge for the palme trusting their might,
Are yet tripte upp with nymblenesse and slight.

Some of these wrestlers from that country came
That's Cornwall height (for manrodd much renown'd)
Whose Prince of yore Sir Tristrum had to name,
And Lord of Lyoness, A countrye drown'd,
That Sillie and the maine lay just betweene,
Wheareof records remaine, though no land seene.

Others againe swiftfooted as the Roe
Theyr synnewes streach to overrune the rest:
And some of these the dart right well cann throwe,
Whose longe shagg'd glibbs and habits stranglie drest,
Did shew that they weare kearnes of Irish breed,
Manlie of Lymmes, and doughtie of their deed.

Next unto these A gallant troope ther stands
Of Latium Ladds, that Coollered skarfes did weare
Some Carying naked Rapiers in ther hands,
And others on ther shoulders long-swords beare.
All these the wary Fencinge art profest,
(Vallours best refuge when by strengh opprest).

But leave wee these, and now behould the rancks
Of sturdie archers bearinge bowes ybent,
With sheaves of steele-shodd-shaftes, girt to there shancks
Whose feathers made a bustlinge as they went:
And when in showers the bowmen letts them flie,
More then the bulletts farr they daunte the eye.

For hidden harmes doe not so much affright
The mynd of man, nor yet the sence subdue,
As those, that are apparant in our sight:
What th'eye sees not, the hart the lesse dooth rue.
The stormes of bullets close convayed beene,
But showeres of shaftes offencyvelie are seen.

For through the aire theire singing feathers flitts,
Whose fatall noats our foes have bought full deere:
They teare the flesh, and boanes in sunder splytts
Wheareso they light; brave weapon without peare
Untill the Gunn crept in that hath like might,
Shott by a dastard dwarffe, or hardie knight.

Ah woe is me, this whilome conqueringe bowe,
(That hath such glorie gained to our state)
Is now forlorne, his Trophes scarse yknowe,
His force forgott; but wee the more ungrate.
Cressye, and Poycters feilds cann yet rehearse,
How deepe through Fraunce these powerfull armes did pearce.

And worthie Henry, worthiest of them all,
Our English Mars, our thunderbolt to foes,
Thy Aginecourt did so their pride apall,
As that their flower-daluce Stoopte to thy rose:
Though Alexander like (in manlie prime)
Amidst thy conquests shortned was thy time

But how am I digrest into lament,
Rippinge up curelesse cares of long past acts?
When sorrow straines, it strives to finde sume vent:
For Henries very name, my sence distracts.
Such Henries were of temper to devyne,
To be longe held by strength of Mortall lyne.

Returne wee therfore to the Manny Moe
Of matches made, of trials, and of sporte:
But it sufficeth that the world doth knowe
This place exceld for Pomp and great resorte:
And cheeflie for the brave atchyvements gainde,
By noble bloods in feats of Armes ytrainde.

Now might wee heare at hand a clamorous noyse
Of showts and baggpips, in confused wise,
And therewith saw a skowle of dapper boyes,
On horsbacke mounted with a double prise:
Too golden bells; on for the swiftest race,
To-ther for him that wynnes the wildgoose chase.

Their slight-lymed Palfryes Gennets were of Spayne,
Or of the breede that Barbary doth yeld,
Fitter in full caryer to run amayne,
Then to sustaine the shock of speare and sheilde.
So foorth they prick and swich to gett the starte,
Like eger Grayhounds, that pursue the harte.

Not farr from this uppon a leveld strand,
Alongst the banckes wheare sweet Alpheus glides,
A beaten way was trodden in the sand,
Whearas againe an other troope there rides
In quainte attires, with painted launces light,
Fitt for dissporte, but not for martiall fight.

These seemd to bee fresh youthes of Flora's traine:
For with them they a gold bright garland bare
Contriv'd in flowers of pure enamels staine
So fyne, that art with nature did compare:
This as a prize to honor him they bringe,
That fayrest dooth and oftest take the ringe.

For at the end of this smooth leveld liste,
There stood a poste, with lively coollours painted:
Wherat did hange a ringe (that many myst)
Of silver plate, yet often tymes was taynted:
And when they runne they guide their launces head,
As yf a ladyes hand her neeld should thread.

To this faire troope there did him selfe addresse
(With gallant cheare) a lovely springhald knight.
A Prince they said he was, and seemd no lesse
By his brave trayne, his Turkey horse milkwhite
He voltes, whose furniture besett with stone
Reflected rayes as Phebus on it shone.

His owne attire was of Carnation hue,
With Orient pearles embrodred like a frett:
About his necke of silk a ribbon blewe,
Where hangs a George with diamonds besett:
His spurr gold-hatcht, his buskynes spanish-white,
His left legg gartred, as St. Georges knight.

And yet all this his byrth no whitt bewrayes,
But that which on his browne-curld locks he wore
Of Roses redd and white two wreathed sprayes,
(Types of the Crowne-competitors of yore)
And both of these he had together Twynde:
Because in him both titles were combynde.

This made him knowne great Britaines Prince to be
A right Plantagynet of Royall race:
And by each on saluted so was hee,
Who greatlie joyed to see him in that place.
Then they him prayed in this to lead the dawnce
At whose request hee fairely tooke his launce.

Thrice did he runne (for so with courses three
Each knight ystynted was his turne to have)
And thrise together on steelpoynted tree
He takes the ringe with grace and caryage brave:
But when that he had runne his latest bout,
The hatts flewe in the aire with joyous showt.

In this araye the rest by turnes did runne:
Some myst, some taynt, and some the ringe did take:
But none performed at all, as he had doone:
Therefore (as due) they all consent to make
Him offer of their glorious garlands prize,
Which was presented thus, in statlie wise.

Betwixt two gallant Ladyes he was ledd
Unto a goodlie Arbor standinge nye:
The Herrawlds (as they went) his titles read,
The Trumpets sound as they would teare the skye.
Then in a chayre of state they did him sett,
Whilst divers other dames the garland fett.

Which on a tyssu'd Cushen was ybore
By on of them coverd with tynssell vayle:
Two other Ladies usherd it before,
And said to him, great Prince, all health, all haile!
This garland wee about your arme must place,
Which he receaves with lovely Courtuous grace.

This done into a larger Roome they passe,
Wheare was to see a sumptious banquett dyght:
Sweete mellodie of sundry kindes there was,
And by each dame was plac't a gallant knight.
So past the tyme tyll nyght cald all away,
To fitt them selves for the next Martiall day.

The worlds faire rowling eye withdrew his beames,
And (postinge towards Thetis purple bedd)
His steedes he watters in the western streames,
And in the ocean dippes his gold-beamd head,
Then sadd nights shade lends to the worldlings rest,
And beasts, and birds were shrowded in theyr nest.

Morpheus now in soft silk fillets byndes
The active humors of these martiall knights:
But Brittains Prince his bedd all restles findes,
Ideas straunge in dreames afflyct his spryghts,
His squiers in his Pavilyon, that did lye
Did heare him often rowse, and talke full hie.

Wherewith on squire (more wakefull then the rest)
Forsakes his bedd, and lends a listninge eare:
But all was husht, then he himself addrest
Into the open field, where Cinthya Cleare
A rainebowe fram'd coullord like fire and blood,
Archinge the aire where this Pavilyon stood.

In then he commes tyll night was overpast,
And towards dawne to rest the Prince enclynes:
But when the sunn his beames abroad had cast,
And glisteringe starres their place to him resignes:
The Trumpetts, fiffes, and drumes such clamoring keepe
That than the season serv'd not for to sleepe

Each knight takes warninge of his taske in hand,
And so prepares to fitt him for the feild:
Whenas the Brittayne Prince with himselfe scand,
What it might be, that he in dreames beheald:
And whilst he trimmes himselfe in his atyres,
His dreame he tells to his attendaunt squires.

This night (quoth hee) meseemed in my dreame,
A grave old sire before me stood upright,
And by the hand did lead me to the streame,
(That Poets faigne so blacke) and Stix it hyght:
Where Charon in his barge us safe did guyde
Unto the bancks, uppon the other side.

Theare tooke wee land in the Elizian feildes,
Whose pleasure, bewtie, and delightfull aire
Was more then Natures force, or vertue yealds,
So sweet, so fruytfull, and so floweringe faire:
Amidst whose pleasant groves there rominge plaies
Those Hero's so renownd in olden dayes.

But all I saw my tongue cannot reporte:
The sweet mellodious birds in flockes that sings,
The murmringe brookes ytund to theyr consorte,
The bloominge greeneleavde trees, that alwayes springs,
The sunshine dayes never cutt of by nights,
The blessed soules that live still in delights.

Ravisht with sweet contentment of this place:
Now (quoth my guide) thinke you your labour lost?
Ah no, quoth I, it is the highest grace,
That ever I receaved, and likes me moste.
Why then (quoth hee) with speede prepare thy mynd;
For to this place the heavens have thee designed.

Hearwith I wakt raysing my selfe upright,
And doubtfull stood weare this a dreame or no:
But therewith all the horrours of this night,
(That toste my troubled sences to and fro)
Came to my mynd: but this sweete dreame was last,
Which made amends for those vexations past.

Dread Lord (quoth on of his most loyall squyers)
Reck not of dreames, that are but fancyes vayne,
Proceedinge of those vapors that aspieres
From ill disgestion, that offends the brayne,
Or from the ill affected humord meate,
Which too much dryes, or moysts our vitall heate:

Or from those fancies, which wee have conceav'd
In memorye, when wee have past the tyme,
Wherof (when deepe impression is receav'd)
They flutter in our thoughts, like birds in Lyme:
Stirringe upp strange Chymeraes in our mynds,
Whose true existenc reason never fynds.

But yet I thus in Poesie have read,
That Somnus hath two Archytecturd gates
To his darke cell, where he in heben bedd
Snorteth securlie free from care or fates.
One of the which is cleare transparent horne,
Tother Ivorye such as the gazinge Morne

Hath to hir Cabynet, now these that passe
By the hornye entraunce, to theire nightlie rest
Doe ofte behould (as in a lookinge glasse)
Truths true Idea with her naked brest:
But those that by the tother enter in,
To harpe on fancyes figures never lynn.

Now all the Poets this waye have ygonn
To theyr repose, wherefore wee may conclude
The Cheefest theames that they doe discant on
Are but dull dreames that sences doe delude.
Wee neede not therefore creditt what they say:
Because the yvorye passage was theire way.

Hee heareinge this makes answere to his squire:
I thinke so too; and as for Poetrye,
(Sith the best Poet is but the best lyer)
Their fictions I reck not, and doe agree
With you, that dreaminge fancyes are no more,
Then descants on our deedes the day before.

To this discourse a grave bold knight replyes:
My lord what needes in this such tyme be spent?
Synce all dreames are but types of truthes or lies:
If lyes: nought worth; and truthes who can prevent?
Thinges present, and things past, wee cann discearne:
Futures are knowne but to the eie Etearne.

Then leave wee such to his empyringe wyll,
And ceasse to search the secreets of his hests:
Fitter it is to bend our humane skill
To gayne his grace, by our devoute requests:
Wherby wee may, in all, have him our guide;
And god with us, what care wee what betide.

To this the squire his speache dooth interpose,
That over night the raynebow had yseen:
At which relation much dispute arose:
For some the same as Omynous did ween:
But yet the Prince thereof accompted light.
And in that sence there speakes an other knight.

I doe not make profession of arte,
Nor yet presume of things to knowe the cause:
My selfe and studie is bequeathed to Marte:
And yet my mynde no fancyes overawes.
For this I knowe, the Raynbowe, as a signe,
To comfort man, was gevne by grace devine.

And therfore I cann no construction make,
That any Raynbowe should presage our bale,
Thats seene, when daylight dooth our world forsake
More then by day; (tis but an old wives tale)
As well might wee thinke straunge, a starr by daye:
Because by night, they most themselves displaye.

But from thinges rare constructions straunge arise.
And yet those sights, (that seild with us are seene)
Are frequentlie beheld with forrayne eyes,
In other clymats, wheare my self have beene.
The westerne Indyes (I cann trulie say)
By night hath Raynbowes, as wee have by day.

Heare with a lively page, (whose hart was sett
Uppon the feild, and martiall sports to come)
Came runninge in, and said you all forgett,
That warneinge twise is given, by trump and drum.
You may doe well to hast the Prince away;
Least brave exployts be hindred by delay.

Which by the Prince oreharde, he smilinge said,
This boye thinks longe to see these sportes in hand.
And fitt it is our standard weare displayed,
To give our trayne thereby to understand,
That they be heere against the hower of prime.
Come lett us arme and loose no longer tyme.

Then foorth they bringe all peeces for the feild:
Which he putts on with much facylitye,
Strechinge him selfe, the paise of them to weyld.
He stirres and leapes with great agillytye:
And by the tyme he was at all poynts arm'd,
About his tent his men and horses swarm'd.

Then forth he comes, (like Phebus in the morne
New gazinge from the windowes of the east)
And as his beames dooth hills and dales adorne:
So doth this Prince the eyes of gazers feast:
To see his equipage, and statlie porte,
Gracinge himselfe in right Heroyck sorte.

For on his Iron Armour, (sylver hatcht,
Shininge as though it dar'd the sunn beames)
Athwart his neck with golden buckle latcht
A Bawdrick hung casting foorth fiery gleames
Of pretious stones, whearof in it was store,
And therein was his gold hilt faulchion bore.

A triple plume upon his head did wave,
Impalled with a glorious Princlie crowne,
Which seem'd as it the winges of fame would brave,
And straine her trumpe with noates of high renowne.
His pircinge launce uppon his thigh did rest.
St. George his crose enameld on his brest.

His tissude base of neldworke wrought, like frost,
Was of a deepe incarnate Tyrean die,
Uppon whose border richlie was imbost
(With Curius art) the worlds faire shyninge eye:
Wheare rubies, diamonds, and pearles did strive;
Whether should others lustre most deprive.

Himselfe he mounts uppon a browne-baye steede;
Within whose front a blasinge commett shynde,
Of Corage feirc right of the Naples breede,
And of the loftye crested coursers kinde.
The ground with hoofe for prid he beats and stamps,
Whilst on his masteringe bitt he fomes and Champs.

Caparysonnd he was, as rich as faire,
Sutinge the base, that his great maister wore:
His plumed shaffron glistred in the ayre,
And (toucht with spurr) doth bound, doth bray, and snoare.
This Prince (so armde and mounted as hee was)
The old worlds Palladynes seem'd to surpase.

He that the great Macedon cann concaipte,
Taminge with bytt his prid swolne Bucephale:
Or Scypio Affrycanne, in his hoaps height,
Flaminge in Armes before Carthagos wall;
Let him, that so admyres the former age,
This woorthye see, in his Marts equipage.

This Prince, that Venus framd to give to marte:
This Prince, that Mars had mand, not tyme nor yeares:
This Prince, that forward tyme had grac't with arte:
This Prince, in whom the quyntysence apeeres
Of arte, of Marte, of Venus, and of tyme:
for such was hee and more in early prime.

But as a flourysht prologue to a sceane;
A flash of lightninge, to a thundarbolt:
A touchole moment-flame, when on doth meane
(With Cannons rage) to batter downe a holt:
So his abillyments, and splendant weedes,
Weare but as ushers to his glorious deedes.

And as wee see, (with slow and statlie gate)
Junos prowd bird, (with purple guilded brest)
Hir burnisht neck, and heade dooth elevate,
With spangled spriggs, (streaminge upon hir crest)
All soodaynelie hir Argus traine displayes,
And Halo-like about hir selfe convayes

Hir glorious hemyspheare, studded like starres:
So this brave ofspringe, of old Brutus lyne,
(Advancinge forward to these frendly warres)
Most bright, and breeme in every eye did shine.
When soodenlie about him cyrklinge swarmes
His steele clad squyres, and glyttering men at armes.

Thus martcht he foorth unto the place preparde
For publique triall of these martiall feats:
Wheare mett him manny a knight, that doeing darde:
Whose manly harts both love, and glory heates.
And on of them (more gallant then the rest)
Towards the Bryttayne Prince himself addrest.

And (him salutinge faire) this speech begunn.
Brave Prince, afforde this honor to a knight,
Three Courses for your Mistris sake to runn:
And then three Turnaments, with faulchons bright:
And he of us, that best himselfe dooth quyte,
His be all favour in his ladies sight.

And his to boote the glorye of the daye.
Wheareto the Prince, (haveinge that he desir'd)
Mildlie replied; worthie by your Araye,
I will assent to that you have required,
With this condition, that you will agree
Unto a motion, fittinge Chyvalrye:

And that is this; he of us too that shall
(By manlie prowes, or true martiall slight)
Be overcommen by his corryvall,
On bended knee shall give in publyque sight
The plume that he doth weare from of his crest,
As Trophe where the victory doth rest.

To this the knight assents, and takes his ground.
The like doth Brittaynes Prince, with launce on thigh.
And both these Champions (at the Trumpetts sound)
With fearce incounter doe together flye.
Who both there aymes, so right at other bendes,
That boath there launces into shiveres rendes.

At the next course, the Princlie answeringe knight
(With steadie hand) dyrects his Launces poynt
Just wheare the Challenger did take his sight:
And of his bever hitts so full the Joynte,
That (with the Counterboofe well nye oreborne)
Parte of his helmett was ycrusht and torne.

Yet no disasters cann true curage quayle.
He armes anew, and takes againe his launce.
But what cann strength, or valoure, ought avayle
To help the man, thats destynde to mischaunce?
For though this knight his utmost force aplyes
Yet (to his losse) a hotespurr match he tryes.

For when againe, at the third course they mett
In full confront, and with amayne carier;
They doe each other then, right roughly greete:
Whilst the triumphant Trumpett, sownding cleare
Hyr latest charge, through hir Meandry throat,
Sings to this challenger a dismall noate.

For our brave Brittayn had ygott a launce
(Of purpose framed of tough-graind grounded ash)
Whose sharpe steeld poynt would neyther yeld nor glance,
Which lends the other such a boystrous dash
Full on his throot (and Counterboofe withall)
That flowndrynge under him his horse did fall.

And as you see a statlie battlement
(Graceinge a loftye Towre of squared stone)
By on fierc shott, thats from a Cannon sent,
Cum totteringe downe, in heapes all overthrown.
So fell this knight: whose fall cast such a sheene,
As he an other Phaeton had beene.

The Brittish vanquister (thus haveinge doonn)
Dismounteth from his Pegas-hoofed steed.
But vaunts no whitt, that he the day had woone,
Nor braves his foe; but used this modest reede:
Unsure he stands, that leanes to fortunes care.
To dought and not to dread, is well to dare.

But Oh the vanquished stands all amorte:
As haveing lost the honor, and the day:
Distasted much to thinke, that fames reporte
To every eare will his disgrace displaye.
But that which makes him most to greeve and fume:
Is now with homage to give upp his plume.

Yet was it doone right as the Herraulds bydd,
Who likewise doe demande theire forfait due:
To wytt the furnisht horse whearon he rydd,
And his one gallant Armes; or ells (in lue
Of them) to give the Herraulds recompence.
Whearewith a cloud of passion dymd his sence.

So must wee leave him in his vexed moode,
Disabled now to act his Turnament.
And eye our Britton (as he victor stoode)
Adjudgd of all for Armes the Ornament.
But he retyres, and doth himselfe provide
In Turney and at Barryers to be tride.

Meane while the course of field was still maintaind
By divers others, that for honor sought
Wheare manny a on both grace and glory gaind,
And manny more theire corrage sould for nought.
For whearas Mars his Tennys balls doth tosse
No man cann wynne but by an others losse.

There was to see such actyve chevalrye,
Which whoe so would in full fraught periods wrytt,
Hee should unbowell all old soldiarye
(For propar tearmes) theire stances to endytt.
Wee leave them therefore to your best concaite:
For now the chaunting trumpet sounds retraite.

And every on his courses three had runn.
Whearin the honor of the cheefest prise
Was to be geven to him, that best had doonn,
By Censure of the revrent Judges eyes.
Who all consent this censure to sett downe:
The Brittayne Prince had woone the lawrell crowne.

And these words weare with trumpetts sownd proclaymed:
And so aloude pronownc't by Herraulds voyce;
The marke (wherat, so many worthies aymde)
Was hitt by Brittaynes Prince in armes most choise.
Wherat through out the field aloude they shright;
Faire fall that lovely lord St. Georges knight.

Then to the Turnament they all prepared,
And fitt themselves with there steeledged blads:
Wheare manny a sharpe encounter was ysharde,
And with such force each on his foe invads:
That you would thinke deepe mallyce did them straine.
When as they sought, but love and glories gaine.

Such is the force of glory, and of love,
When they take place in valorous yong hartes.
All due respects those passions doe remove:
And frendlie mynds to hatefull tearmes convarts.
True is it said; scepters no kyndred knowes.
And lovers lawes recks frends no more then foes.

So all thes fight, and bitterlie contest
With frendlie hartes, although with armed hands.
And here the Brittayne Prince (amongst the rest)
Singles on out, who on such prowd tearmes stands,
That on his breast this Mott had writ in golde;
Without Compare; my swoord shall that uphould.

This bravinge woord much daringe did envyte,
And manny did his haught disdaine deryde;
For singularity begetts dispight.
Therefore our Prynce (to chastice pampred pride)
Cales to this knyght and hailes him with his sword,
And bidds him (if he dare) make good his word.

Wheare with the knight inragd on him doth runn,
And with the like the Prince doth him requite.
Betwixt them was so hott a fraye begunn,
That from ther swoords and helmes flew sparkles bright,
As thick as if too Smiths together smott
(Uppon theire Anvile) Iron barres redd hott.

And as you see twyxt too Cockes of the game
(Through like disdayne) like enmytie exprest:
Knowinge no other cause them to enflame,
With pearceinge spurres to wound each others brest,
And die theire plumes so deepe in others goore,
Tyll by ons death the battayle leastes no more.

So mought you see these hottspurs rive and rend
Each others glittringe armes with balefull blowes.
But of the combat what would be the end:
All aegerlie expect, but no man knowes.
For yet the fight in equall ballance stood,
And both of them had drawne each others blood.

Untill the Prynce with quick and watchfull eye
(As on that did in horsmanshipp excell)
A great advantage, offred dooth asspie
By him, that could not use his horse so well.
For he alofte dooth on his styrrops stand,
Thereby to give more vigor to his hand.

Wheareat the Britton to him pressed nye,
And (with the showlder of his ready horse)
Dooth under-myne this standinge gallants thigh,
And pusheth on with so great speed, and force:
That he dooth over-turne him cleane withall:
And therewith said, So prid will have a fall.

Now lyes Without Compare halfe on the ground
Whilst on foot faste doth in the styrrop sticke.
The raines lett loose his steed doth flinge and bound,
Dragginge his Master thorough thinn and thicke.
Whearewith the whole assembly stand at gaze,
Whilst this prowd knight laye in a deadlie maze.

This accidant the Turnament doth end.
For evry knight in scabbard sheathes his blade,
And to this foyled man theyre help doe lend
(Now calm'd like wind, that earst a blustring mad)
His eyes weare sett and senceless like a stone,
Doubted for dead but that he fetcht a groane.

This moved ruth in all the standers by,
And pittye did the Prince impassionate.
Untill att last they further did discry
From whence he was, and what was his estate.
Which knowne, all cryde, no better mought befall
Such helhownd turkes, and Mahometans all.

For such was he a natyve Asiann-borne,
And Prince of Antioch he had to name
A prowdswolne harte, that Christians held in skorne:
But private came to this Olympian game:
Because he would know all and not be knowne.
Yet by this Chance his name abroad was blowne.

For as himselfe and all the traine he hadd
Weare metamorphosde from there owne attyres,
And right like Christian soldiers arm'd, and cladd,
So too of them Baptisme with zeale desires,
(As convertites that long at Turcisme yearn'd)
And from these too his race and name was learn'd.

Thus lyes he lowe that latelie was so stowt,
Whom happie hand of vertue overthrew.
So fortune doth these over-darers flowt.
But what became of him aske them that knew.
The Prince I weete (by this heroyck deed)
Gaynd publique grace, and glory for his meed.

Heerewith abruptlie brake the Tournament
(As formerlie was said), and now withall
These honors Portraytures againe weare bent,
To trye to whom the Barriers pryse should fall.
Preparinge now the swoord, and pike to weild,
That is esteemed the honour of the feild.

There might you see twelve Pyramids of fame,
Upon whose silver Armes the sunn-beames danct
Lavolto's as in statlie garbe they came
Unto the Barre: wheare first with pikes they glanct
At one an other (as in halves they stood)
With loftie hand, and fame-enflamed blood.

So brake they each theire pikes at others brest
Faster then Pages could give new supplie,
Who for that very purpose weare addrest
(In watchfull rediness) to stand them by.
And haveinge shiverd all their brandling pikes,
With well forg'd Bilbo's th'one the other strikes.

And as you would two Sturdy Clownes suppose,
Threshinge the sheafe with corne-out-singling flayle:
Such might you see theire Vulcane-dinging blowes,
As though theire armes weare never framed to fayle.
And thence you might the quicke bright sparkes descry,
As thicke as graines from threshed sheaves do flye.

But mongst the rest our North-bred-starre did lend
So smart a blow to him he did assayle:
As had not one experienc'd Martiall kend
How the disjoynted powldron gan to fayle.
And thereupon did quicklie hoyse the barre.
The second stroake had entred too too farre.

Now when the strife-appeasinge barre was drawne,
And nights last period closd these manlie games:
Another strife (as first I said) gan dawne
Amongst the three high mynded heavenlie dames;
To whom this princlie Phoenix did belonge,
That peerelesse there did stand the peeres among.

Bellona bid them eye the plumy crest,
That on his helmet mooved with the ayre
In statlie motion, and in proud unrest,
Whether he satt, or stood, or marched faire.
And bidds them knowe that plume her favor was,
When he from childish playes to armes did passe.

Nay then (quoth Pallas) sister stay a while:
He weares my favour too: the Stemme of yours.
Whearat Majestick Juno so did smile,
As power-atractive bewtyes on theire woers.
And thus she said, ladyes you both shall see,
That both your favours but his followers bee.

You thought (because you gave to him the feather)
He had beene yours withouten more adoe.
And you Mynerva are come flauntinge hether
Because the quills you gave him: but you two,
Mistake your marke: tis not by quills nor feathers,
Whearwith this Prince his knightlie trophees gethers.

Twas I gave him that Poictiers-famed crowne,
Whearin your favours stood as ornaments:
Twas I that from my spheare did send him downe
That majestie, which in his Tournaments
Did still appeare, Twas I that did so grace
His manly actions, with heroicke face.

Twas I that made him noted bove the rest
When first in feild he came for excercise;
Twas I that caus'd his browes to be addrest
With rosy wreathes, and garlands of the prize:
Twas I and none but I that made him such.
Therefore presume not you my claymes to tuch.

Madam quoth sterne Bellona you forgett
Your selfe in wholy clayminge him your owne.
For who wast that such manly courage sett
In his undaunted brest? Am I not knowne
To be the deitie that armes doth grace?
And did not he my stratagems embrace?

Was I not shee, that taught him how to weeld
His pike, his swoord, and his steel-poynted lawnce?
Was I not she that traind him to the feild,
And taught him teach his head-strong cou[r]ser prance?
And to Conclude, was I not onely shee,
That breath'd in him the spright of Chevalry?

Why doe you then (as Esops lion did,
When all the beastes in takinge of the harte
Had sweat, in strict commaunding accents bidd
Them to resigne to him each smallest part)
So challenge to your selfe, what's myne of due,
As onelie empresse of the Martiall crue?

The Queene of kingdomes would have mad replye,
But that Joves brayn-borne daughter tooke her tyme:
And in a close-coucht stile gan say: twas I,
That did inspire him, in his teeming prime
With manny secrets of entreasur'd skill,
From whom so much cause-soundinge art did still;

That all could say, that heard him but discourse,
He was true of-spring of that Majesty
Whose learned profoundnes makes so sweet a sowrse,
As Aganippes river, that runnes by
The Muses forked cloud-surmounting hill,
And with Ambrosean streames her bankes doth fill.

And as for you, although you did cutt off
My first discourse, with your emperious chatt:
And wag'd your head with such a skornfull scoffe,
That all the place did shake whearas you satt:
Yet know you Juno (though you be my Queene)
That (had not this my disciplininge beene)

He might have stuffed up a chayre of state,
And on his head have worne a diadem,
He might have Jetted with affected gate,
And with a scepter over-aw'd a Reame:
And so a Princes onlie owt-sid be,
But for the in-sid he must have from me.

Juno hereat was heard to be so loud,
As Jove is when the puny Gods displease him:
And such a frowne her angry face did cloud,
As his when sine-sick soules cannot apease him.
Her breath was lightninge, and her words were thunder,
And swore by Stix that she would keep them under.

Why minkes (quoth she) how durst you be so bold,
To give such taunting language to your Queene?
As though my heasts by you should be controld.
I vowe (as I am Juno ile be seene)
To be the empresse of your lesser powers,
That raigne in subject homage owing bowers.

Bellona interpos'd; It is not just
(Madam) that you require: for if you take
On you, what doth belong to us, you must
Controll your husband Jove, that us did make
Powerfull, in that inferior power that wee
Enjoye and hold from him that all doth see.

Whilest these two stood on tearmes of such despight,
Minerva went to fetch her quilles away:
As not enduringe they should grace that wight,
That Juno claymed her owne; nor yet to stay,
And beare those feathers that Bellona gave.
So every one against each other strave.

And as she went the murtheringe destiny
(With naked wreasts distained all with gore)
She mett, yclad in robes of ruthfull die,
And in her hand the fatall knife she bore,
That newly had ycutt some vitall thread:
For the steele-blade seem'd to her that it blead.

Atrops (quoth shee) what act hast thou beene doeinge?
That thus in blood-drentch't habite thou art dight,
It seemes to me, that thou hast beene undoinge
The life-entwistinge thread of some brave knight
That did resort to this Olympian game,
To try his valour and to purchase fame.

Tis true Mynerva (quoth that ruthlesse hagge)
This knife hath broacht the sweet-life-fedinge blood
Of that yonge Prince, of whom you so much bragge
To be your favorite, and Juno stood
So much uppon, as though no hand but hers,
The healme of this inferior center steares.

Aye me then (quoth Minerva) is it hee?
And with that word she fetch't so faint a breath,
That (if a mortall wight she had ybee)
She there had fallen dead upon the earth.
For arts grew fainte when this sweet prince was dead,
That in his life tyme them with bountie fedd.

Is't he she said; O most unhappy strife,
That twixt us deityes did earst beginne!
Wee were the cause that thou didst end his life:
For each of us did strive him all to wynne.
And therefore Jove (with strife-appeasing power)
Did take him from us three to his high bower.

And thus in mournfull wise she back retyr'd
To Juno, and Bellona, whom she found
With hate-engendring fury so much fir'd,
That their loud words did Eccho from the ground.
To whom shee sayes; this strife may well be left.
For (wo is me) the cause thereof is reft,

He's reft; ah dismall word! that weight is gon,
That you, and I, and you so much have grac't
With our rich favours, that in him alone
The seedes of our heaven-cloystered powers were plac't.
For Atrops hath ycutt that silver twyne,
Which to adorne wee three did so combyne.

But yet, O yet the faulte was in us three;
That this fell murtheresse did end his lyfe
For when cellestiall powers so dissagree,
The fates do streight take vauntage of our strife.
Nought now remaineth of us to be done;
But that wee all resume our proper boone.

Whearat the angry Goddesses did vayle
Their (earst enflamed, now enpaled) looke
With sable cloud as though they vow'd to wayle
This Princes losse, whom death untymely tooke.
And forth they went their favours to retake:
Whearewith to rayse up Trophees for his sake.

And as they went, they chaunc't to meete againe
The horrid hagge, (still stain'd with purple gore)
Just at that place (on this Olympian plaine)
Wheare sad Minerva mett with her before.
To whom the Queene of Majesty so spake,
As would have made a mortall inly quake.

Envious malignant, foul-fac't destiny,
Deserts-destractres, wrinkle-fronted hagge,
Lethe-bred monster, that makest worth to die,
Pluto's cheife handmayd, whose to choppes doe flagg
Like quagg-myres, blear-eyed, haire-beknotted fury,
That our best favourites in Earth doest bury.

What was the cause that thou (in spite of us)
Didst wreake thy malice on our Cheife delight?
And (in the midst of tryumph) reft him thus,
When he our gloryes graces should have dight?
Thou Lerna-gendred Hydra, deathes deepe grave,
Envyes-disgorged bratt, that poyson gave

To our Idea, Natures quintessence,
The Gods Epitome, Fames Pyramis,
The all of Art, and Armes, the All of sence,
The All of Glorye, and of worldlie blisse,
For blisse, and glory, Armes, Arts, Fame and all,
Fell, when this Pyramid did take his fall.

What was there none, but he could satisfie
Thy gulphous appetite? were there no men
In discontent that oft desired to die?
None, that by age weare infants wax't agen?
No Cowards, Canker-wormes of common-weale
With whom in Justice, thus thou oughtst to deale?

Yes Madam (quoth the Hagge) tis true you say:
And (mought I have my will) it shold be so
But theres a Supreme power, whom wee obay:
Besides whose sacred heastes wee dare not go.
It was ordayn'd that I shold do the deede.
Joves ordinance delayed doth vengeance breed.

Tis not for us with him to hold dispute.
His doomes are lawes, his heasts without controll.
Wee dare not question whither they do sute
With reason, who all reason doth enroll
Within his breast, we are but Instruments,
That some doe please, and others discontents.

But (Madam) would you lay aside your wrath,
And heare me speake with an impartiall eare:
You should perceave, that by his death he hath
Obtain'd a crowne, devoyd of jealous feare:
More rich, more firme, and farre more glorious,
Then that you gave, though that were pretious.

And though it seeme he left the earth too soone;
Yet (if unprejudicall reason scanne
The Circumstaunce) It will be thought a boone
Greater, then your thrice-greatning favours can
Bestow on him; from hight of earthlie grace,
To be a Child adopt of heavenly race.

For mortalls manny tymes are much deceav'd
In that, which to them selves they doe propose;
And soonest are of those high hopes bereav'd,
Whearin they most assuraunce doo repose.
That oft dislikes that manny hold most deare:
And that turnes to content they most did feare[.]

The Crowne he had, was but a type of care:
The Crowne he hath is joyes eternall seale:
That was but fleetinge, as earth's gloryes are:
This Settles him in heavens aye-lasting weale:
That was but earthly subject still to fate:
This heavenlie keepes him still in stedfast state[.]

And like some viscous-matterd blazing starre,
Which (for a tyme) with beames out braves the sunne,
And casteth out her streaming tayle as farre,
As Phebus when his day course is begunn:
But when (by whirlinge oftentymes about)
Her stuffe is spent, her light is streight put out.

So that earthes crowne, which he in tyme mought weare,
(Adorn'd with pearle and shinynge Chrisolites)
Mought for a tyme such streaming blazes beare:
As this great Meteor mongst lesser lightes.
But when his dayes with kingdomes cares are spent.
His pompe is gon, none knoweth wheare it went.

Now this he now enjoyes sends forth such rayes:
As that the worldes all-seeinge eye doth weare.
But with this oddes; that tyme Sunne-shine decayes:
This aye shall beame in heavens immortall spheare:
This by tenn thousand tymes doth seate him higher,
Then Alexander had he his desire.

Besids, he left the earth when he was crown'd
With youth, with strength, with worlds applauding love,
With all the cheefest grace, that could be found
In Natures sea-wall'd world, that could behove
Him in his enterprises: so that he
Left it not baselie but with majestee.

He lyv'd not so to have his soule possest,
With manny yeares engendred spawne of sinne:
He lyv'd not as some do that are opprest
With wanton thoughts: but liv'd, as he had beene
A Barracad against Cupido's darts,
That seeld are shott in vayne at youthfull harts.

He lyv'd not to be tainted with disgrace,
As manny worthies did in dayes of yore,
That after famous conquests dyed base:
Nor felt the Numming frosts of aged hoare.
He liv'd not to out live his natures force:
But at his best his soule I did divorce.

But had he longer liv'd and Monnarch beene
Of all the world tis but fates tenis-ball
That (with tymes racket) shall in tyme be seene,
By banded force to ruins hazard fall.
And all that on it any way depend,
Shall on same way be sent to fatall end.

Tis but a limme of old Confusions spawne
That by the Eternall's power (when tyme begunne)
Was from the teeming wombe of Chaos drawne,
And moulded like a bowle, that's apt to runne
In topsie turvye motion; for to shew
There is no constancye in things below.

Tis but polluting pitch that doth defile
The soule: tis but a snare that doth enthrall:
Tis nought but clammy lyme, that doth beguile
The silly birds: a nett that tangles all.
For all are tangeld, caught, enthralld beguild;
And by this nett, snare, lyme, and pitch defiled.

Tis all what Imperfection is, and nought
That any way can give the least content
Unto the Immortall Soules aspiring thought,
That from the breath of God was hither sent,
Therefore the best are soonest reft away
From out this daylesse night, to nightless day.

The best are in best tyme, by favour reft
From out this pilgrimage of teares to joy:
The worst in this worst world are longer left,
That just revenge may them at length distroye
From of the earth, as loathing any more
To beare the weight of sinne she did before.

And had I so much frinded Hanniball,
(That lyghtning flash that blasted Roman pride)
When he made Paulus and Sempronius fall,
And Cannas feild with so much blood had dy'd,
And Italy bestrow'd with Legions scalpes,
After that he had pearc't the cloud-browd Alpes.

Had I, I say this woorthy so much frinded,
As (with this knife) to period those his actes:
Marcellus never had at Nola dymmed
With overthrow his glory flamed factes:
Nor had he satt on ruin'd Carthage wall,
Wailinge his sadd mishapp and countryes fall.

Or had I taken Scipio, in his pryme,
When he had brought Romes-rivall on her knees:
He had not then beene taxt with odious cryme,
Suggested by base envi's stinging bees.
Which made him say ungratfull country myne
The bones of Africane thou shalt not shrine.

Or had I parted Nero's twyne in twayne,
In his Quinquennium: when the confluence
Of Prince-beseeminge vertues grac't his raigne,
And heald possession of his purer sence:
He never had a hell-hatch't monster beene
Accounted, for his nature-thwartinge sinne.

He had not liv'd to be the scorne of men,
The scourge of Rome, the worlds enflamed brand:
He had not beene the first of all the tenn,
That tortor'd those that for the truth did stand:
He had not had the divells imagery
Stampt in his soule, with seale of tyranye.

Now Madam had this Brittane so longe liv'd,
As to be sole commander of this Ile;
Who knowes not that he soone mought be deprived
Of these his vertues and his fame defile,
With pride with Cowardise with blasphemy,
With prodigall will-edged tyranny?

Who knowes not, that most kings have on eare ope
To state-subverting buzze of flattery;
Which (by too often clawing) maketh scope
For all her Harpie-ravening company?
That plagueth courts with faithlesse faction,
And mightie kingdomes with exaction.

Who knowes not, that in tyme he might infect
His virgin soule with wanton-fronted sinne,
And God and Nature carlesly neglect
To be his governours, as they had beene:
For Soveraigne power disposeth humaine blood
From good to ill, but seild from ill to good.

Therefore he was most happie, that he was
Taken in tyme (when twas best tyme to take
Him) from the sholders of this reelinge masse,
And from this tangling-bird-lyme-dawbed brake:
Happie I say he was, that was so soone,
Placed above earthes planett changing moone.

Cease thy all ill-anticipatinge chatt
(Quoth Juno in an accent of out-rage)
Cease speake no more, thou Lerna-lept-out bratt,
Thinke'st thou if tyme had longer yeared his age
He should (as thou hast said in idle prate)
So much from former good degenerate?

Doe wee (think'st thou) chuse favorites belowe,
To be defil'd with vices ouglie stayne?
The smoak-tand garments that hell doth bestow
On her Attendants? No; we still mayntayne
Our followers in vertues lyvery,
Whose badges are Arts, armes, and Majestie.

Those whom we love wee love unto the end;
And guid them allwayes in theire enterprise.
Wee doe them from infernall rage defend,
And from hell's foulnes, mask't in faire disguise.
Our favourites are chang'd and alterd still
From ill to good but not from good to ill

Therefore twas thou alone that (in despite
Of our Celestiall power) did'st end his life
Twas thou that did'st extinguish this faire light.
Twas thou that cutt'st his thread with poysoned knife.
Therefore foule hagge fell fury hence avaunt,
And cease thy falce Apology to Chaunt.

Do thou thy worst henc-foorth we will prevent
The worst that thou canst do to crosse our wills.
The Hagge thus chek't to her darke harbour went:
But like a Crocadile falce teares distills.
Th'impassion'd deityes (when she was gon)
Consulted what they should resolve upon.

By this tyme fames report abroad had blowne
The untymely death of this Heroicke knight
Which was no sooner to the vulger knowne,
But strange it was to see the heavy plight,
That over all the game-some feild was spred,
And nothinge heard but The brave Prince is dead.

Sorrow in playntes, in teares, in mourninge weeds,
Was Epilogue to all the royall sporte.
Now they recount, his late faire knightlie deeds,
His Cariage debonair, his gracious port,
The myld aspect logd'd in his manly brest,
His vertuous mynd, which honoured all the rest.

Alas say they, what would his fruite have beene,
Had he but liv'd to come to his ripe strength;
Since in his flower was such perfections seene,
Whose well shapte lymmes yet shott but up in length.
Oh nigard heavens! why cald you back againe
This Planet fytt on happie men to raigne.

But that which so doth swallow up their sence,
Doth likewise plung old Bruttus ile in teares:
And forceth greife to be at more expence
Of Sorrowes waves, to drowne her highest peares.
For when this heavye newes to Britayne came,
To name her plight my Muse did want a name.

My Muse did want her selfe my sence was nume,
My heart grew faint, my quicker power grew slow,
Myne eyes weare dimme, my tongue was taken dumbe,
My inke no longer from my penn would flowe,
For inke, tongue, eyes, power, hart, senc, muse, apawld,
Became thick dumbe dymme, slow, faint nume, and stald.

Contemplate but Troyes greife when Hector fell;
And pensive Priamus and Hecuba;
Or lovelie Paris how his hart did swell;
Or the sadd teares of faire Polixena;
You may conceipt the woe of Troynovant,
Of James, Anne, Charles, Eliza for theire want.

New Troy her Prince, James wayles his Hector heire:
Anne moanes the prime braunch of her owne selfe gon:
Charles mournes this losse, which he cannot repaire.
For what cann value deere affection?
But faire Eliza (when she heard the newes)
Polixen like all comfort did refuse.

Of went her tyre with diamonds bespangl'd:
She spurnes her christall mirror with her feet:
She teares those crisped lockes that sweetly dangl'd:
Her discontent beinge strenghned with regreete.
She scornes those rich abillements, that dect
Her gracefull lymmes that earst gave such reflect

As Cynthea, when she darts her silver beames
Upon the browe of Neptune in the night.
But greefe of greefes! those passion strayned streames
(That drew a channell whenc she takes her syght)
Doth Non plus me, theyre measure to discrive
In fittinge vearse, and manner to contryve.

But yet the words which dolefully she mutterd,
Wringinge her hands and castinge up her eyes
In such confused Characters were utterd,
As dolor doth that dieinge never dyes.
And thus she playnd (but death hath eares of stone
Else would have pitied this sweete virgins moane)

Hensfoorth (quoth she) lett me no more behold
Pleasure on earth, which is but false delight
A pill in Sugar, drosse guilt ore with gold,
Before a Tempest but a sunne-shine light,
But hony'd gall, but dead-sea-bank-bred fruite,
But Xeuxis paynt, that birds for grapes repute

No sleepe (the Harbinger of wearye weights)
Shall Ceaze upon myne ey-lids any more,
Nor any foode refresh my wasted sprights,
And faylinge powers to former strength restore.
For I by day will feed on heavy plight,
And spend with Philomele the longe-some night.

So will I scorne my selfe whom nature made,
And in her workemanshipp no comfort find:
For tis but fraile, and doth like shadowes fade,
So soone as on it blowes the blastinge wynde
Of spitefull death, that deemes all dates too longe:
Yet age to die is right; but youth tis wronge.

Why fell he then amidst his floweringe race,
Whilst yet his bud was greene and fresh his rynde,
Whilst he exceld in every gifte and grace,
That is admired most in humane kinde
Adorn'd with wisdom and such pieties,
As made him mynion to the deities?

With whom he rests, and wheare I wish to bee:
That I might still enjoye his blessed sight.
Which said; such deadlie palenes you might see
Bedymm that face that Princlie virgine light,
As (had not heaven be-pettied our late woes)
This passion would have quaild this Royall rose.

But plaintes and teares no whit at all avayl'd,
His Genius now hath scal'd eternity
For, this brave blossom (that death's frost hath quayld)
Was no fitt guest for fraile mortalitie.
And these laments theire want of him exprest,
That findes no want of them wheare he doth rest.

Letts then retourne to those three deities,
Whom earst wee left in Consultation,
What gracefull remedye they mought devise
To Countervayle the scorne by Atrops don.
And hereupon this new dispute arose,
How they theire widdow gifts might best dispose.

Juno said, shee would have her crowne againe,
Whearewith to raise a Trophee for her knight
Then (quoth Minerva) ile likwise retayne
My learned quills his elegie to write.
Bellona said, in honor of this Mann,
His plumes Ile grace, to weare them as my fanne.

This resolution beinge so sett downe:
All risinge from there seates to act the same;
Juno (that first made motion for her crowne)
Discreetlie said, my mynd misgyves some blame.
And therefore let us better yet advise:
For rash attempts disgrace an enterprise

If I estraunge this crowne from Arts, and Armes:
And you the quills, should sep'rate from the feather:
The naked Crowne would be exposed to harmes:
And arts and Armes could not combine together.
No lett us still our gifte entire retayne,
To grace therewith a second Charlemayne.

For such a darlynge yet in store have I:
A hopefull plant of whom great store I make:
For whom with Jove my Creadit I will trye,
And him with teares implore that (for my sake)
This Hellish hagge may not with such despite,
Extinguish all my lampes of honours light.

To this they all doe willingly assent;
Extollinge highlie Juno's providence.
Whearwith likewise there testy fitts are spent,
And now they guard (with care and diligence)
The crowned plume, in faire Eliza's feild:
Untyll they give it him that shall it weild.

To this that Juno said Mynerva spake:
Let us then hast to heavens high'st throane:
And at Joves feet our joynt petition make:
That he would take compassion of our moane:
And right this foule affront by Atrops don,
Which was approved and Juno thus begunn.

Great Mona[r]ch whence all greatnes is deriv'd,
Whose favours blesse, whose frowne the world doth dante
Voughtsafe thy sister, whom thy selfe hast wyv'd
And these two deityes, this boone to graunt
That Atrops may (by thy resist-lesse law)
From crossinge our designes stand more in awe.

And that she may no more as late she did
in skorne of us, and of our gloryes grace,
Have any power to cutt the vitall thryd
Of our Cheefe favoryts of Royall race:
Nor yet amid'st there prime to short their dayes
Whom wee have myrrors mad for virtus prayse

But sith none doe returne, whom fate hath refte,
And subjected to tyrannizinge death,
Oh graunt to Charles, that here behind is lefte
A fire of life, blowne with a Nestor breath:
For he alone it is (vouchsafe to know)
One whom these widdow giftes wee will bestow.

Juno (quoth Jove) although you be my wiffe,
And Sister, yet I must not so connive
To you in askinge short or longer life
For any wight: for then I should deprive
My selfe of providence, and constancye,
That tymed all from all eternitye.

I change not my unchangeable decree
For any Orisons that any make,
(Though offerd up on lowly bended knee)
I never alter ought for any's sake.
Deere Juno therefore sattifie your mynd,
That my fore knowledge hath all fate confind.

That Prince that's latly dead, whom you do call
Youre favorite; was myn: and for that cause,
I tooke him from the earth, and from you all
By death, the Seargeant of my death-lesse lawes
I tooke him thence, to give him heere his meed,
For earthes base pompe, his vertue did exceed.

And as for Charlemayne your Minnion now,
For whom your gracefull guiftes you keepe in stoare
I doo no whit your likinge disavowe.
My high decree determyn'd it before.
Whearat was heard a Clapp of wintrs thunder,
Which old sawes saye turnes to a Summers woonder.





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