Classic Poem

While quiet thus the Romaine prince did ly,
Without mistrust of any bloudy broyle,
Proclaiming pardon, life and liberty,
To euery yeelding soule, in that faire soyle:
A crew of trayterous Iewes, of base condition,
Assayled the Romaine guard, without suspition.

All Tytus gallant Souldiers which he set,
So carefully, the Temple gates to keepe,
Vpon a sodaine, they against them get,
In dead of night, when most were falne a-sleepe:
And there without all stay, or further wordes,
Each man they murdered on their drawn swordes.

Not one escap'd their bloody butchering hands,
Which noble Tytus hearing, grieued sore,
And thereon rais'd his best prepared bandes,
Slaying those Iewes, and many hundreds more.
And with such fury, he pursu'd them still.
That who escapt, fled vp to Syon hill,

But yet the Romaines full of hot reuenge,
For this vilde deede, by wicked Iewes committed,
Troopt to the Temple, with a mighty swinge:
And hauing all things for their purpose fitted:
Did in their rage, set on the fiers flame,
Those goodly goulden gates, of greatest fame.

And as the flaming fier gather'd strength,
Great spoyle was practisd by the Romaine rout,
The melting gould that streamed downe at length,
Did gild the marble pauement round about:
The gates thus burned with a hidious din,
Sanctum Sanctorum Romaines entred in.

Who hauing hereby won their hearts desier,
With mighty shootes they shewed signes of ioy,
burnt with flaming fier,
Which did earthes heauenly paradice destroy:
This woefull sight when Tytus once did see,
He sought to quench it: but it would not be.

For many wicked hands had busie beene,
To worke that holy house all foule disgraces,
Which Tytus would haue sau'd as well was seene,
But it was fier'd in so many places:
That by no meanes the spoyle he could preuent,
Which thing he did most grieuously lament.

He ran about and cri'd with might and maine,
O stay your hands, and saue this house I charge yee,
Fetch water vp, and quench this fire againe,
Or you shall smart, before I doe enlarge yee,
Thus some he threatned, many he intreated:
Till he was hoarse, with that he had repeated.

But when his voyce was gone with crying out,
He drew his sword, and slew the disobedient,
Till faint and weary, running round about,
He sat him downe, as it was expedient:
And there twixt wrath and sorrow he bewayled,
With froward Souldiers, he no more preuayled.

The Priests & Iewes that earst themselues had hidden
Within the compasse of that holy ground,
Against the Romaines fought: and had abidden,
For to defend it many a bleeding wound:
But when they saw, there was no way to fly,
They lept into the fier, and there did die.

So long they fought, vntill the parching fier,
Did burne the clothes, from off their sweating backes,
The more they fought, the more was their desier,
For to reuenge the Temples wofull wrackes:
They layd about, as long as they could stand;
Or moue a legge, or lift a feeble hand.

And all this while did noble Tytus mourne,
To see Sanctorum spoyled in such sort,
Layde on the ground, there did he tosse and turne:
And smote at such as did to him report,
The woefull ruine of that holy place,
And from his sight, with frownes he did them chace.