Ye yeeld them tribute, and from us their Legions have their

pay;

Thus were too much, but more then thus, the haughtie
Tirant's fway;

That I am Queene from being wrong'd doth nothing me

protect :

Their rapes against my Daughters both I alfo might object : They may des deflower, they wives enforce, and ufe their wils in all,

And yeat we live, defferring fight, inferring fo our fall.

But valiant Brutons, ventrous Scots, and warlike Pichts, I

erre,

Exhorting whom I should dehort, your fiearcenes to deferre: Leffe courage more confiderate would make your foes to quake:

My heart hath joy'd to fee your hands the Romaine standards

take.

But when as force and fortune fail'd, that you with teeth
fhould fight,

And in the faces of their Foes your women, in defpight,
Should fling their fuckling Babes, I hild fuch valiantnes but

vaine :

Inforced flight is no difgrace, fuch flyers fight againe.

Here are ye, Scots, that with the King, my valiant Brother

dead,

The Latines, wondring at your prowes, through Rome in triumph led:

Ye Mars-ftar'd Pichtes of Scythian breed are here colleagues, and more,

Ye Dardane Brutes, last named, but in valour meant before : In your conduct, most knightly Friends, I fuperfeade the

reft:

Ye come to fight, and we in fight to hope and helpe our best."

Warner's Alb. Eng. Chap. 18. B. 3. 1602.

MUTIUS SCEVOLA to PORSENNA.

"BEHOLD, grim Tyrant, here before thee flands

A man had been thy death, had not these hands
Prov'd traitours to my mind: had made that grave
Been thine, which now's prepared for thy flave.
If Scævola must undergo death's doom,
There's none but will write guiltleffe on his tomb:
I fet upon with fearleffe courage those

Who were our Capitols, our Countrie's foes.
Why are the Heavens then thus against me bent;
And not propitious to my brave intent :

What, are the Gods afliam'd to lend their aid;
Or are they of this Tyrant's pow'r afraid?

Or have the Fates referved him that he
In future triumphs might a trophie be?

Whate'er 'twas made them thus 'gainst me conspire,
It grieves my foul it had not its defire.

Etruria, fee what fouls the Romans bear,

Admire the noble acts the Latians dare;
Long after me that will this fact yet do,
There comes an other and an other too;

There want not those who hope to fay they wore
A lawrel died in thy crimson gore:

Wha

What though thy camp lies free from our alarms,
And spoils our fields with unrevenged harms;
We fcorn with bafer blood to stain a dart,
O King, that's onely level'd at thy heart:
Our nobler fwords will drink the blood of none,
But thy heart-blood, Porfenna, thine alone;
Those who their hands will ftrait in it imbrue,
Walk intermixed with thy armed crew.
Methinks I fee at prefent one thee note,
Who ftrait wil hide his weapon in thy throat;
Hence, therefore, think each hower of thy breath,
To be th' affured hower of thy death;

Thou doft with warlike troups our wals furround,
Hoping to lay them level with the ground,
And thinkft to famifh us, whilst o'er thy head,
Hangs a revengeful arm will ftrike thee dead;
That glorious diadem which now I fee
Circles thy brow, was hop'd a fpoil by inee;
That purple robe invefts thy loins fhal lie,
Thy blood be tinged in a deeper dy:
That very feepter which thy hand fuftains,
Shal, turn'd a club, dafh out thy curfed brains;
Now rule, now lord and king it, with this fate,
Expecting still the period of thy date.
Methinks I fee how on thy curled brow,
Self-rendring Vengeance fits enthron'd, and how
Thy thoughts already tear me; yet I feel
No horror, nor my frighted body reel,
No trembling in my joynts; know, king, I can
Both do and fuffer bove the reach of man:
In free born fouls pale terror never stood
In competion with their Countries good;
Thofe fouls in whom afpiring fame her fphear
Hath plac't, neglect the precipice of fear;
This facred altar, thefe pure fires shall be
Witneffes of our undaunted conftancy;

This hand to Roman freedom fo unjust,
Shall for its penance be confum'd to duft;
Nor is it cruel, but inoft right its doom,
Since liberty it could not yield to Rome.".

John Dancer's Poems,
Ed. 1660.

A Reconciliation effected between the two brothers, BRENN and BELINE, at the interceffion of their Mother CONUVENNA.

"I

Dare to name ye Sonnes, because I am your Mother, yet I doubt to tearme you Brothers that doe brotherhood forget.

These prodigies, their wrothfull fhields, forbodden foe to

foe,

Doe ill befeeme allyed hands, even yours allyed foe.

O, how feeme Oedipus his Sonnes in you againe to strive?
How feeme these fwords in me (aye me) Jocasta to revive?
I would Dunwallo lived, or ere death, had lost againe
His Monarchie, fufficing fower, but now too small for twaine.
Then either would you, as did he, imploy your wounds elf-

wheare:

Or for the finalnes of your power, agree at least for feare.

VOL. IL

K

But

But pride of ritch and romefome Thrones, that wingeth now your darts,

It will (I would not as I feare) worke forrow to your harts. My Sonnes, fweet Sonnes, attend my words, your Mother's wordeş attend,

And for I am your Mother, doe conclude I

am your frend: I cannot counfell, but intreate, nor yet I can intreate But as a woman, and the fame whofe blood was once your

meate:

Hence had ye milke (fhe baerd her paps) these armes did hug ye oft:

Thefe fyed hands did wipe, did wrap, did rocke, and lay ye

foft:

These lips did kiffe, or eyes did weep, if that ye were un

queat,

Then ply I did, with fong, or fighes, with dance, with tung,

or teate:

For these kind causes, deere my Sonnes, difarme yourselves:

if not,

Then for these bitter teares that now your Mother's cheekes do fpot:

Oft urge

:

I Sonnes and Mothers names, names not to be forgot.

Send hence these Souldiers: yee, my Sons, and none but yee

fhould fight:

When none fhould rather be as one, if Nature had her

right.

What comfort, Beline, fhall I fpeede? fweete Brenn shall I prevaile?

Say yea, fweete Youthes, ah yea, say yea: or if I needes must

faile,

Say noe and then will I begin your battell with my baile, Then then fome stranger, not my Sonnes, fhall close me in the

Earth

When we by armor over foone shall meet, I feare, in death."