Classic Poem

Innated hatred, bred in either blood,
Of Carthaginian and of Romaine race,
Farre worse then death, feare of their seruitude,
Made thee alas, to thinke it lesse disgrace,
To haue beene sacrificed in that place,
By some — bloud guilty hand, nor liu'd a Queene,
In chaines of gold, in Romes faire Citty seene.

Which made thee to relye thy hopes on me,
Whom neighbourhood and nature did combine,
Com'd of Italian bloud by no degree,
But of that ancient great Numidian line,
Which euer at Romes greatnesse did repine:
And most of all, this one thing mou'd thy minde.
That I was theirs by chance, and not by kinde,

And on my part much more did challenge loue,
Then countrey, blood, or birth, or high degree,
Maiesticke courage, beauty, grace, did mooue,
And plead compassion in the cruellest eye,
Hard Tygrish harted, and remorselesse hee,
Hearing thy fighes and plaints, veiwing thy teares,
Would not haue freed the scorning world of feares.

Is death a ioynter equall to thy dower?
Should such a beauty be berest of breath?
But feeble Massinissa see thy power,
Behold the fruites are frustrate of thy faith,
Who couldst not saue a Lady faire from death,
To whom (alas) were left no other meanes,
But she must die a Queene, or liue in chaines.

O Liberty! too dearely, dearely bought
At such a rate, so ransom'd and obtain'd,
And who procures you so, may well be thought
Of his owne life too prodigall a friend:
O cruell freedome! that must be maintain'd
By blouds expence, and by no other way,
As this unhappy wretched Queene may say.

Yet wronged Lady, thou art not to blame,
Now to exchange thy life for liberty:
I must sustaine the blot thereof with shame,
As th' onely author of thy miserie;
Happy, (though haples I) thou ay shalt be,
For thy braue mind into renowne be had,
Though still detested I who thee betrayd.

What shall the world and comming ages speake,
When they shall read the story of thy fall?
Shall they not sweare that I might iustly breake
To flinty Scipio , and the Romaines all?
A traytor to my heart they shall me call:
To thee but mercy: cruell, and vnkind,
And iustly all to me may be assign'd.

Both to my Deare vngratefull, and to Nature
I shall be thought (alas) for euer still,
That furnisht death, vnto so rare a creature,
Whom euen Deaths selfe did pitty (oh) to kill:
O to be thought-of-memorable ill!
Which by no tract of time shall be forgotten,
But shall grow euer greene, when it seemes rotten.

What rests there then (detested wretch) to thee?
But that thou find out some repairelesse place
To waile thy woes: but whither shalt thou flie
To saue thee from the sting of thy disgrace?
For no where great Apollo showes his face,
To Indus, Tagus, Tay, nor Nilus streame,
But all shall know vile Massinissa's shame.

Mourne foorth thy shame with neuer-stanching teares,
Sigh for thy error till thy heart be broken,
Acquaint thy wrong to Tygers, Wolfes, and Beares,
Whose quenchles thirst of blood, thy blood may slocken,
That so thy fault may be seuerely wrocken:
And for thy beastly cruelty, that they
To stanch their hunger, on thy corps may prey.