Classic Poem

Sad Massinissa , swoolne with griefe and rage,
When all his credit seru'd not to intreat
His braue victorious friend, to dis-ingage
His late-spous'd Lady from a seruile state:
Halfe mad, distraught, confus'dly doth hee write,
To show, the Romaine Conqueror thinks to send
Her as a slaue his triumph to attend.

But lo (quoth he) t'auoyd this vnkind doome,
And that my oath vn-uiolate remaine,
Made once to thee, thou neuer shouldst see Rome:
That her proud Dames might glory in thy paine,
And point their fingers at thee in disdaine:
I send thee here a potion with my letters,
To saue my faith from foyle, and thee from fetters.

Yet if my vnfain'd tears can haue the force,
(Deare Idoll of my soule) with thee so much,
I pray thee onely haue this small remorse
Of thine owne life, this cup thou neuer touch,
Till that thou see thy hapless fortune such
As nothing else can serue: I say (though loth)
Drinke this to saue thine honor, and my oth.

In this meane time il' labour with thy foe,
In whose assistance I haue spent my bloud,
To pitty thy estate, and ease my woe,
In the releasing of thy seruitude;
Which if his gentle Nature shall thinke good,
Straight you shall know, if hee refuse, too soone,
These lines, aye me! haue said what should be done.

Thus hauing written, with a sighing spirit,
Hee foulds those blacke newes in a snow-white sheet,
Vtt'ring these speeches, to the scroll; her merit
Deseru'd a better present then this writ:
Yet shall she see so rare a thing in it,
From seruitude and shame shall saue her now,
And likewise me from a polluted vow.

Then quickly cals he vnto him a post,
Whose secrecy he oftimes vs'd to proue,
Whom straight-waies he commands to leaue the hoste,
And beare these gifts of death vnto his loue;
Who doth no sooner from his sight remoue,
But straight his conscience summons out his fact,
T' appeare before him in a shape most blacke.

Behold the resolutions of man,
How vnaduisdly, sometimes, they proceed
Breeding repentance oftimes, when they can
Not bringe a backe that which they once decreed;
Th' al-ruling heauens being the cause indeed,
Which scorning humane wisdome lets vs know,
The imperfections of our thoughts below.

For loe this Prince who lately thought his faith,
And his sweet Ladies liberty to stand,
In the post-speedy acting of her death,
Which made him this sad message to command,
Which being past he rewes it out of hand.
But can not now remend it, which is worse,
" Too late repentance euer breeds remorse.

The messenger whom time and vse had learn'd,
Obsequious duty to his maisters will,
Hasts to his iourney, hauing not discern'd,
The soddaine passion that his soule did kill:
Each cannot gaze a Princes breast intill.
Whose outward iestures seldome doe bewray,
Those inward griefes, whereon there thoughts doe prey.

So ist with him who on his iourney goes,
Thinking on nothing but a quick returne,
Leauing his maister so o'r-come with woes,
That downe he lies vpon his bed to mourne:
Whose scalding sighes which inwardly doe burne,
The perly conduites of his teares vp dries,
As Phaebus drinks the May dew from the skies.