C. If of the living yet the dead have care.
G. An easy grief by counsel may be cur'd.
C. But headstrong mischiefs princes should avoid.
G. In headlong griefs and cases desperate?
C. Call to your mind, Gismund, you are the queen.
G. Unhappy widow, wife, and paramour.
Next night a dreary night!
Cast on the wildest of the Cyclad isles,
Where never human foot had mark'd the shore,
These ruffians left me. Beneath a shade
I sat me down, more heavily oppress'd,
More desolate at heart than e'er I felt
Before; when Philomela o'er my head
Began to tune her melancholy strain,
As piteous of my woes: till, by degrees,
Composing sleep on wounded nature shed
A kind but short relief. At early morn,
Wak'd by the chant of birds, I look'd around
For usual objects: objects found I none,
Except before me stretch'd the toiling main,
And rocks and woods, in savage view, behind.
378. A. Rend, rend the heaven with shouts, cast high
And wave your garlands as the autumn wind
Waves the vine-tendrils. B. Citizens, behold him!
With how serene a step he mounts the throne,
As 'twere his birthright to o'erawe mankind
With his superior state. C. How like to Neptune!
That sits upon his lofty car, and rules
All ocean with the shaking of his trident.
The Ægean and the barbarous Pontic seas,
The Tyrrhene and the stormy Adriatic,
And the wide surface of the Libyan main,
To where it breaks on Calpe's rock, rise up
Beneath his nod: even thus Olybius sways
The surges of yon boundless multitudes.
379. Therefore, when any favour'd of high Jove
Chances to pass through this advent'rous glade,
Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star
I shoot from heaven to give him safe convoy,
As now I do: but first I must put off
These my sky-robes, spun out of Iris' woof,
And take the weeds and likeness of a swain,
That to the service of this house belongs,
Who with his soft pipe, and smooth-dittied song,
Well knows to still the wild winds when they roar,
And hush the waving woods; nor of less faith,
And in this office of his mountain watch
Likeliest, and nearest to the present aid
Of this occasion. But I hear the tread
Of hateful steps. I must be viewless now.
380. I. I yield if thou delay not. A. I with speed
Will bear these tidings to the camp, and soon
Acquaint thee, priestess, with the king's reply.
There is a message I would gladly bear him;
"Twould quickly banish all perplexity:
Thou didst not heed thy faithful friend's advice.
I. I willingly have done whate'er I could.
A. E'en now 'tis not too late to change thy mind.
1. To do so is no longer in my power.
A. What thou would'st shun thou deem'st impos-
sible.
I. Thy wish doth make thee deem it possible.
A. Wilt thou so calmly venture everything?
I. My fate I have committed to the Gods.
A. The Gods are wont to save by human means.
I. By their appointment everything arrives.
381. L. Madam, you haply scorn the vulgar earth
Of which I stand compacted; and because
I cannot add a splendour to my name
Reflective from a royal pedigree,
You interdict my language; but be pleas'd
To know, the ashes of my ancestors,
If intermingled in the tomb with kings,
Could hardly be distinguish'd. The stars shoot
An equal influence on the open cottage,
Where the poor shepherd's child is rudely nurs'd,
As on the cradle where the prince is rock'd
With care and whisper. S. And what hence infer
you?
L. That no distinction is 'tween man and man,
But as his virtues add to him a glory,
382. They that do pull down churches, and deface
The holiest altars, cannot hurt the Godhead.
A calm wise man may show as much true valour,
Amidst these popular provocations,
As can an able captain show security
By his brave conduct through an enemy's country.
A wise man never goes the people's way;
But as the planets still move contrary
To the world's motion, so doth he to opinion.
He will examine if those accidents,
Which common fame calls injuries, happen to him
Deservedly or no. Come they deservedly?
They are no wrong then, but his punishment;
If undeservedly, and he not guilty,
The doer of them first should blush, not he.
383, Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea,
And twice by awkward wind from England's bank
Drove back again unto my native clime?
What boded this, but well-forewarning wind
Did seem to say,- Seek not a scorpion's nest,
Nor set no footing on this unkind shore?
And he that loos'd them from their brazen caves;
And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore,
Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock.
Yet Eolus would not be a murderer,
But left that hateful office unto thee:
The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me; Knowing that thou would'st have me drown'd on shore,
With tears as salt as sea, through thine unkindness.
384. There is a place in a black hollow vault,
Where day is never seen there shines no sun,
But flaming horror of consuming fires;
A lightless sulphur, choak'd with smoky fogs
Of an infected darkness. In this place
Dwell many thousand thousand sundry sorts
Of never-dying deaths: there damned souls
Roar without pity; there are gluttons fed
With toads and adders; there is burning oil
Pour'd down the drunkard's throat; the usurer
Is forc'd to sup whole draughts of molten gold;
There is the murderer for ever stabb'd,
Yet can he never die; there lies the wanton
On racks of burning steel, while in his soul
He feels the torment of his raging lust.
385. Let come what will, I mean to bear it out,
And rather live with glorious victory,
Or die with fame, renown'd for chivalry.
He is not worthy of the honey-comb
That shuns the hive because the bees have stings.
That likes me best that is not got with ease,
Which thousand dangers do accompany;
For nothing can dismay our regal mind,
Which aims at nothing but a golden crown,
The only upshot of mine enterprizes.
Were they enchanted in grim Pluto's court,
And kept for treasure 'mong his hellish crew,
I'd either quell the triple Cerberus,
And all the army of his fearful hags,
Or roll the stone with wretched Sisyphus.
D. The senate have concluded
To give this day a crown to mighty Cæsar.
If you shall send them word you will not come,
Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock
Apt to be render'd, for some one to say,
Break up the senate till another time,
When Cæsar's wife shall meet with better dreams.
If Cæsar hide himself, shall they not whisper,
Pardon me, Cæsar; for my dear, dear love
To your proceeding bids me tell you this;
And reason to my love is liable.
C. How foolish do your fears seem now, Calphur
I am ashamed I did yield to them.
Give me my robe, for I will go.
Yes, my children!
There sate a woman in a lowly house,
And she had moulded meal into a cake;
And she sate weeping even in wild delight
Over her sleeping infants, at the thought
Of how their eyes would glisten to behold
The unaccustom'd food. She had not tasted
Herself the strange repast: but she had rais'd
The covering under which the children lay
Crouching and clinging fondly to each other,
As though the warmth that breath'd from out their
bodies
Had some refreshment for their wither'd lips.
We bared our swords to slay: but subtle John
Snatch'd the food from her, trod it on the ground,
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