Dead must to dead, the liuing to the liuing,
The graue cannot be capable of loue,
It ill beseemes thy youth to be thus greeuing:
Must thou a mourner restlesse euer proue?
Thy beauty was not fram'd to such behoue,
That thy sweete yeeres should still consumed be
A votresse vnto loues-foe, chastity,

Let vestalls, who all other Nuns excells,
Closely immur'd from mens society,
While as they chat in their religious cells,
Maintaine this idle theame of chastitie,

Of which (sayd hee) I hope his princely letter,
Can better far then I informe your grace.
I thanke thee friend (sayd shee) but sighes did let her
To say the rest, such was her carefull case:
Transported for a while, she held her peace.
Words killing sighes, sighes killing words agame,
So that betwixt them her discours is slaine.

This airy combat, this debate of breath,
This speech restrayning strife, this sighing warre
Did euen bewray what she to shew was laith:
And makes the carrier to discerne her care,

Nor doth this breath-bereauing monster keepe,
A certaine diet, or appointed date,
For sometime they who most securely sleepe,
VVho doe on nothing lesse then death conceit,
There life then hangs into most dangerous state:
For why vnwares he oftimes comes to many,
But being called for, seldome comes to any.

And when he comes, request, nor yet intreat,
With this remorselesse catife nought availes,
For when he finds aproach the fatall date:
The execution neuer in him failes,

But now t' auoyd those ommous conceits
Sleepe did afford, she quickly vp arose,
Leauing the snow-white, soft, and lawny sheets,
Impouerish'd thereby t' enrich her cloes,
Which to presage her worser-comming woes,
That day by fortune were of colour blacke:
And thus vnwares deaths liuery she doth take.

In which her heart-bereauing beauty shin'd,
Like faire Diana in the sable night,
Or like a polisht Diamond of Ind,
Set in blacke Iet, to glue a glance more bright,

But if more pitty in their sauage hearts,
There be nor was in thy remorslesse mind,
Thinke that the same nought els to thee imparts,
But as thou nature, so they'l passe their kind,
Which being to rapine and to bloud inclin'd,
Yet least it were a benefite to thee,
From tortring thoughts deny thy soule to free.

And sometimes while the Turtle moanes her make,
With many a heauie, shrill, and piteous crie,
Leaning her soft brest to a withered stake,
Still crauing death, (poore bird) but cannot die:

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,

Ay me! vnhappy, thus to minde her rarieties,
To which all hearts and eyes did owe their feauty,
Whiles all her vertues (as contesting parties;)
Doe now vpbraid me with the breach of duty,
For had she not beene of such birth and beauty;
And alwayes matchlesse-excellent, God knowes,
Her mischiefes had beene lesse, and lesse my woes.

For, oh! this grieues me more then death ten-fold,
To thinke that one of such desert must dye,
And that I haue not power to controul't,

But they like volleys, willing to be wrocken,
On it poore toung, that staid their course so long,
Disorderly do march, their rankes being broken
All would be first for to reueng their wrong,
Euen as wee see a mad vnruly throng,
Of countrey Clownes, to sack some bordering towne,
Run swarming from the hills and mountaines downe.

Or as a Christall current, that is staid,
To pay his debtfull tribute to the sea,
His channell stopt, whereby his course delayd,
He's forst a back vnto his sourse to flye,

It was the time by this the post departed,
That golden Phaebus hides his glorious beames,
Low in the Westerne Ocean, when vncarted:
His neighing steeds leauing their wearied teames,
Whose mouthes through trauell yet the froth out fumes,
Goes to their nightly manger, and their guide,
In Thetis lap his hoary head did hide.

A sable darkenesse did the earth o'reshed,
And busie labourers left their dayly toile:
Way-faring Pilgrims wished peryods made
To that dayes iourney, wearied with turmoile,

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,