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CHORUSES

IN JULIUS CESAR.

CHORUS FIRST.

"We should be loath to grieve the gods,
Who hold us in a ballance still;
And as they will

May weigh us up, or downe;
Those who by folly foster pride,
And do deride

The terrour of the thunderer's rods,

In seas of sinne their soules do drowne,
And others them abhorre as most unjust,
Who want religion do deserve no trust:"

How dare fraile flesh presume to rise

(Whil'st it deserves Heaven's wrath to prove)

On th'. Earth to move,

Lest that it opening straight,

Give death and buriall both at once?
How dare such ones

Look up unto the skies,

For feare to feele the thunderer's weight?
"All th' elements their Maker's will attend,
As prompt to plague, as men are to offend."

All must be plagu'd who God displease,
Then whil'st he Bacchus rites did scorne,
Was Pentheus torne ;

The Delian's high disdaine

Made Niobe (though turn'd a stone)
With teares still mone,

And (Pallas to appease)

Arachne weaves loath'd webbes in vaine :
Heaven hath prepar'd ere ever they begin,
A fall for pride, a punishment for sinne.

Loe, Iuno yet doth still retaine
That indignation once conceiv'd,
For wrong receiv'd

From Paris as we finde;

And for his cause (bent to disgrace

The Trojan race)

Doth hold a high disdaine,

Long layd up in a loftie minde:

"We should abstaine from irritating those

Whose thoughts (if wrong'd) not till reveng'd repose."

Thus, thus for Paris' fond desire,

Who of his pleasures had no part,
For them must smart:

Such be the fruits of lust;

Can heavenly breasts so long time lodge
A secret grudge?

Like mortals thrall to yre,

Till justice sometime seemes unjust?
"Of all the furies which afflict the soule,
Lust and revenge are hardest to controull:"

The gods give them but rarely rest,
Who do against their will contend,
And plagues do spend,

That fortunate in nought,

Their sprits (quite parted from repose)
May still expose

The stormy troubled brest

A prey to each tyrannicke thought:

"All selfe-accusing soules no rest can finde, What greater torment then a troubled minde ?"

Let us adore th' immortall powers,
On whose decree, of all that ends,
The state depends,

That (farre from barbarous broiles)
We of our life this little space
May spend in peace,

Free from affliction's showres;

Or at the least from guilty toyles;

"Let us of rest the treasure strive to gaine, Without the which nought can be had but paine."

CHORUS SECOND.

"THIS life of ours is like a rose,
Which whilst rare beauties it array,
Doth then enjoy the least repose;
When virgin-like made blush (we see)
Of every hand it is the prey,

And by each winde is blowne away;
Yea, though from violence scap'd free,
(Thus time triumphs, and leades all thrals)
Yet doth it languish and decay:

O! whilst the courage hottest boiles,
And that our life seemes best to be,
It is with dangers compast still;
Whilst it each little change appalles,
The body, force without oft foiles,
It th' owne distemp'rature oft spoiles,
And even, though none it chance to kill,
As nature failes, the body falles,

Of which save death, nought bounds the toyles :
What is this moving tow'r in which we trust?

A little winde clos'd in a cloud of dust."

And yet some sprites though being pent
In this fraile prison's narrow bounds,
(Whilst what might serve, doth not content)
Doe alwaies bend their thoughts too high,
And ayme at all the peopled grounds;
Then whilst their brests ambition wounds,
They feed as fearing straight to dye,
Yet build as if they still might live,
Whilst famish'd for fame's empty sounds:
Of such no end the travell ends,
But a beginning gives, whereby
They may be vex'd worse then before;
For, whilst they still new hopes contrive,
"The hoped good more anguish sends,
Then the possess'd contentment lends;"
As beasts not taste, but doe devoure,
They swallow much, and for more strive,
Whilst still their hope some change attends:
"And how can such but still themselves annoy,
Who can acquire, but know not how t' enjoy?"

Since as a ship amidst the deepes,
Or as an eagle through the ayre,
Of which no way th' impression keepes,
Most swift when seeming least to move:
This breath of which we take such care,
Doth tosse the body every where, '
That it may hence with haste remove :
"Life slips and sleepes alwayes away,
Then hence, and as it came, goes bare,"
Whose steppes behinde no trace doe leave:
Why should Heaven-banish'd soules thus love
The cause, and bounds of their exile,

As restlesse strangers where they stray?
And with such paine why should they reave
That which they have no right to have,
Which with them in a little while,
As summer's beauties, must decay,
And can give nought except the grave?
"Though all things doe to harme him what they
No greater enemie then himselfe to man."

Whilst oft environ'd with his foes,
Which threatned death on every side,
Great Cæsar parted from repose
(As Atlas holding up the starres)
Did of a world the weight abide;
But since a prey to foolish pride,
More then by all the former warres,
He now by it doth harm'd remaine,
And of his fortune doth diffide:
Made rich by many nations' wreake,
He (breaking through the liquid barres)
In Neptune's armes his minion forc'd ;
Yet still pursu'd new hopes in vaine:
"Would the ambitious looking backe
Of their inferiours knowledge take,
They from huge cares might be divore'd,
Whilst viewing few, more pow'r attaine,
And many more then they to lacke:

[can,

The onely plague from men that rest doth reave,
Is that they weigh their wants, not what they have."

Since thus the great themselves involve
In such a labyrinth of cares,

Whence none to scape can well resolve,
But by degrees are forward led,

Through waves of hopes, rockes of despaires:
Let us avoyd ambition's snares,
And farre from stormes by envy bred,
Still seeke (though low) a quiet rest,

With mindes where no proud thought repaires,
That in vaine shadowes doth delight;
Thus may our fancies still be fed
With that which Nature freely gives;

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Yet, O! who knows but Rome to grace
Another Brutus may arise?
Who may effect

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CHORUS FOURTH.

WHAT fury thus doth fill the brest
With a prodigious rash desire,

Which banishing their soules from rest,
Doth make them live who high aspire,
(Whilst it within their bosome boyles)
As salamanders in the fire;

Or like to serpents changing spoyles,
Their wither'd beauties to renew?
Like vipers with unnaturall toyles,

Of such the thoughts themselves pursue,
Who for all lines their lives doe square,
Whilst like camelions changing hue,
They onely feed on empty ayre:

"To passe ambition greatest matters brings, And (save contentment) can attaine all things."

This active passion doth disdaine
To match with any vulgar minde,
As in base breasts where terrours raigne,
Too great a guest to be confin'd;
It doth but lofty thoughts frequent,
Where it a spatious field may finde,
It selfe with honour to content,

Where reverenc'd fame doth lowdest sound;
Those for great things by courage bent,
(Farre lifted from this lumpish round)
Would in the sphere of glory move,
Whilst lofty thoughts which nought can binde,
All rivals live in vertue's love;
"On abject preyes as th' eagles never light,
Ambition poysons but the greatest sprite."
And of this restlesse vulture's brood,
(If not become too great a flame)
A little sparke doth sometime good,
Which makes great mindes (affecting fame)
To suffer still all kinde of paine:
Their fortune at the bloudy game,
Who hazard would for hope of gaine,
Vnlesse first burn'd by thirst of praise?
The learned to a higher straine,
Their wits by emulation raise,
As those who hold applauses deare;
And what great minde at which men gaze,
It selfe can of ambition cleare,
Which is when valu'd at the highest price,
A generous errour, an heroicke vice?

But when this frenzie, ftaming bright,
Doth so the soules of some surprise,
That they can taste of no delight,
But what from soveraignty doth rise,
Then, huge affliction it affords;
Such must (themselves so to disguise)
Prove prodigall of courteous words,
Give much to some, and promise all,
Then humble seeme to be made lords,
Yea, being thus to many thrall,
Must words impart, if not support;
To those why crush'd by fortune fall;
And grieve themselves to please each sort:

"Are not those wretch'd, who, ore a dangerous snare Do hang by hopes, whilst ballanc'd in the ayre;"

Then when they have the port attain'd,
Which was through seas of dangers sought,
They (loe) at last but losse have gain'd,
And by great trouble, trouble bought:
Their mindes are married still with feares,
To bring forth many a jealous thought;
With searching eyes, and watching eares,
To learne that which it grieves to know:
The brest that such a burden beares,
What huge afflictions doe orethrow?
Thus, each prince is (as all perceive)
No more exalted then brought low,
"Of many, lord, of many, slave;

That idoll greatnesse which th' Earth doth adore,
Is gotten with great paine, and kept with more;"
He who to this imagin'd good,

Did through his countrie's bowels tend,
Neglecting friendship, duty, bloud,
And all on which trust can depend,
Or by which love could be conceiv'd,
Doth finde of what he did attend,
His expectations farre deceiv'd;
For, since suspecting secret snares,
His soule hath still of rest beene reav'd,
Whilst squadrons of tumultuous cares,
Forth from his brest extort deep grones:
Thus Cæsar now of life despaires,

Whose lot his hope exceeded once;

And who can long well keep an ill wonne state? "Those perish must by some whom all men hate."

CHORUS FIFTH.

WHAT fools are those who do repose their trust
On what this masse of misery affords?
And (bragging but of th' excrements of dust)
Of life-lesse treasures labour to be lords:
Which like the Sirens' songs, or Circe's charmes,
With shadows of delights hide certaine harmes
Ah! whilst they sport on pleasure's ycie grounds,
Oft poyson'd by prosperitie with pride,
A sudden storme their floting joyes confounds,
Whose course is ordred by the eye-lesse guide,
Who so inconstantly her selfe doth beare
Th' unhappie men may hope, the happy feare,
The fortunate who bathe in flouds of joyes,

To perish oft amidst their pleasures chance,
And mirthlesse wretches wallowing in annoyes,
Oft by adversitie themselves advance;
Whil'st Fortune bent to mock vaine worldlings cares,
Doth change despaires in hopes, hopes in despaires.
That gallant Grecian whose great wit so soone,
Whom others could not number, did ore-come,
Had he not beene undone, had beene undone,
And if not banish'd, had not had a home;
To him feare courage gave (what wondrous change!)
And many doubts a resolution strange.

He who told one who then was Fortune's childe,
As if with horrour to congeale bis bloud:
That Caius Marius farre from Rome exil'd,

Wretch'd on the ruines of great Carthage stood; Though long both plagu'dby griefe, and by disgrace, The consul-ship regain'd, and dy'd in peace.

SOME VERSES

And that great Pompey (all the world's delight)
Whom of his theater then th' applauses pleas'd,

Whil'st praise-transported eyes endeer'd his sight,

Who by youth's toyles should have his age then WRITTEN TO HIS MAJESTIE BY THE AUTHOUR AT THE TIME

eas'd,

He by one blow of Fortune lost farre more
Then many battels gayned had before.

Such sudden changes so disturbe the soule,

That still the judgement ballanc'd is by doubt;
But, on a round, what wonder though things roule ?
And since within a circle, turne about?
Whil'st Heaven on Earth strange alterations brings,
To scorne our confidence in worldly things.

And chanc'd there ever accidents more strange,
Then in these stormy bounds where we remaine?
One did a sheep-hooke to a scepter change,

The nurceling of a wolfe ore men did raigne;'
A little village grew a mighty towne,

Which whil'st it had no king, held many a crowne.

Then by how many sundry sorts of men,

OF HIS MAIESTIES FIRST ENTRIE INTO ENGLAND.

STAY, tragick Muse, with those vntimely verses,
With raging accents and with dreadfull sounds,
To draw dead monarkes out of ruin'd berses,
T'affright th' applauding world with bloudie
wounds:

Raze all the monuments of horrours past,
T' aduance the publike mirth our treasures wast.

And pardon (olde heroes) for O I finde,

I had no reason to admire your fates: And with rare guiftes of body and of minde,

Th'vnbounded greatnesse of euill-conquerd states. More glorious actes then were achieu'd by you, Do make your wonders thought no wonders now.

For yee the potentates of former times,

Making your will a right, your force a law:

Hath this great state beene rul'd? though now by Staining your conquest with a thousand crimes,

none,

Which first obey'd but one, then two, then ten,
Then by degrees return'd to two, and one;
Of which three states, their ruine did abide,
Two by two's lusts, and one by two men's pride.

What revolutions huge have hapned thus,
By secret fates all violently led,

Though seeming but by accident to us,

Still raign'd like tyrants, but obey'd for awe: And whilst your yoake none willingly would beare, Dyed oft the sacrifice of wrath and feare.

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But this age great with glorie hath brought forth
A matchlesse monarke whom peace highlie raises,
Who as th' vntainted ocean of all worth

As due to him hath swallow'd all your praises.
Whose cleere excellencies long knowne for such,

Yet in the depths of heavenly breasts first bred, All men must praise, and none can praise too much.

As arguments demonstrative to prove
That weaknesse dwels below, and pow'r above.

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For that which others hardly could acquire,
With losse of thousands liues and endlesse paine,
Is heapt on him euen by their owne desire,

And neuer conquerour gain'd so great a thing,
That thrist t'enioy the fruites of his blest raigne:
As those wise subiects gaining such a king.

But what a mightie state is this I see?

A little world that all true worth inherites, Strong without art, entrench'd within the sea,

Abounding in braue men full of great spirits:
It seemes this ile would boast, and so she may,
To be the soueraigne of the world some day.

O generous Iames, the glorie of their parts,
In large dominions equall with the best:
But the most mightie monarke of men's harts,
That euer yet a diadem possest:
Long maist thou liue, well lou'd and free from dangers,
The comfort of thine owne, the terrour of strangers.

SOME VERSES

WRITTEN SHORTLY THEREAFTER BY REASON OF AN INUN-
DATION OF DOUEN, A WATER NEERE VNTO THE AUTHOR'S
HOUSE, WHEREVPON HIS MAIESTIE WAS SOMETIMES WONT
TO HAWKE.

WHAT wonder though my melancholious Muse,
Her bold attempts to prosecute refuse, [troules:
Whose generous course some lucklesse starre con-
And would faine burie my abortiue scroules.

To what perfection can my lines be rais'd, [fires: | And since our sunne shines in another part,
Whilst many a crosse would quench my kindling
Lo for Parnassus by the poets prais'd,
Some sauage mountaines shadow my retires.

No Helicon her treasure here vnlockes,

Of all the sacred band the chiefe refuge: But dangerous Douen rumbling through the rockes, Would scorne the raine-bowe with a new deluge.

As Tiber, mindefull of his olde renowne, [place: Augments his floodes to waile the faire chang'd And greeu'd to glide through that degener'd towne, Toyles with his depthes to couer their disgrace. So doth my Douen rage, greeu'd in like sort, While as his wonted honour comes to minde: To that great prince whilst he afforded sport,

To whom his trident Neptune hath resign'd. And as the want of waters and of swaines,

Had but begotten to his bankes neglect:
He striues t'encroch vpon the bordering plaines,
Againe by greatnesse to procure respect.

Thus all the creatures of this orphand boundes,
In their own kindes moou'd with the common

crosse :

With many a monstrous forme all forme confoundes, To make vs mourne more feelingly our losse.

We must our breastes to baser thoughts inure, Since we want all that did aduaunce our name: For in a corner of the world obscure,

We rest vngrac'd without the boundes of fame.

Liue like th' antipodes depriu'd of light: Whilst those to whom his beames he doth impart, Begin their day whilst we begin our night.

This hath discourag'd my high-bended minde,
And still in doale my drouping Muse arrayes:
Which if my Phoebus once vpon me shin'd,
Might raise her flight to build amidst his rayes.

VERSES

PREFIXED TO BISHOP ABERNETHY'S "CHRISTIAN AND HEAVENLY TREATISE, CONTAINING PHYSICKE FOR THE SOUL." 1622.

Or known effects, grounds too precisely sought,
Young naturalists oft atheists old doe prove.
And some who naught, save who first moves, can
move,

Scorn mediate means, as wonders still were wrought:
But tempting both, thou dost this difference even,
Divine physician, physical divine:

Who souls and bodies help'st, dost here design
From Earth by reason, and by faith from Heaven,
With mysteries, which few can reach aright:
How Heaven and Earth are match't, and work in
man;

Who wise and holy ends, and causes scan.
Loe true philosophy, perfection's height,
For this is all, which we would wish to gaine:
In bodies sound, that minds may sound remaine.

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