Classic Poem

Whose amorous youths, when once they feele the force
Of thy enuenomed shafts, shall freely story
Mee and my Massinissaes sad diuorce,
Feeding their Ladies eares with farre-fetchd glory,
Straining their toungs, their wits and memory,
In their best forme, with eloquence to show,
Such accidents as they desire to know.

One in his armes holding his deerest dame,
May haply court her with such words as these:
Faire worlds admired beauty, here I am,
Who not long since, amid ten thousand foes,
Most valiantly did this pure brest oppose,
Against the fury of the cruell'st fight,
Yet neuer wounded till approch'd thy fight.

Hard by my feete, great Hasdruball lay slaine,
Who to all Romaines, bare innated hate,
Not distant farre from him was Syphax tane,
Who to oppose himselfe against our state,
Receiu'd in Dower his Daughter but of late,
Who now attends Scipios triumphant carre,
As the proud trophae of this famous warre.

Let them thus vainely prattle of my griefe,
And mock my woes, my miseries and wrongs,
Let them spend time in telling my mischiefe,
Let my disgrace be subiect to their songs,
And let them all, these iolly things amongs,
Proclaime their vallour, and reueale our wrack,
Yet in my bonds they shall no pleasure take.

For death and I are now agreed together,
Euen from this moment neuer more to sunder,
Who by no meanes will grant I should go thither,
Where worlds of eyes vpon my fall shall wonder,
Scipio may threaten, and proud Rome may thunder,
That I shall rest their euerlasting thrall,
Yet death has vowd to set me free from all.

Welcome thy friendship, sweete confederate Death,
Who still most faithfull in distresse doost prooue;
Who would not gladly yeeld to thee their breath,
Since onely thou canst miseries remooue,
O how my soule with thee is falne in loue!
Knowing how quickly thou her paines can finish,
Haste then sweet death, ere she her loue diminish.

How falsely haue they wrong'd the trueth, that faine,
(Thereby to make thee odious to our eyes)
Thee to be ougly, cruell, meager, leane,
Drawing thy portrait with deformities?
Some paint thee fleshlesse, all but bones and knees:
Most like a withered vile Anatomy,
Some with a lethall Dart do picture thee.

But let the world thus paint thee as they list;
Yet thou appeers most louely to my sight,
Who in this cup comes but to quench my thirst,
And not my soule with ougly shapes t' affright:
Well may that torment be accounted light,
That emptying with one draught this little boule,
From all disasters so may free my soule.

Why stay I then to surfet out this potion,
Whose drousie liquour shall breed such a slumber,
As I shall need to feare no careful motion:
Nor with my sad disgrace my thoughts to cumber,
My woes, my griefes, and my mishaps past number
Shall all be buried in eternall sleepe,
My heart, and eyes shall no more sigh and weepe.

This body thereby shall bee sau'd from scorne,
These hands from bands, mine eyes from misery,
This head, which late imperiously hath worne
A Princely crowne shall not so abiect be,
As from anothers liberality,
Which tyrannizing did the same bereaue,
In seruile manner it againe receiue.