If the first barke, _Fuscus_, thou would'st but pare From empty things, the rest will flow, And vanish quite like vernal snow; Which melts away, with the mild breath o'th' ayre. Valour from beauty sever'd, slowly moves. Meere outsides please: had _Paris_ seene Faire _Helens_ heart, how foule 't had beene, How ill requiting to the _Trojan_ Loves, Ne're, through the midst of _Nereus_ broyles, had hee Or the winds anger, borne away O'th' Grecian bed that beauteous prey. But Nature's Lord, the mutuall yoke, we see, Of things hath ord'red well, that black with white, Sad things with joyfull cov'red lye. And from this various mixture, hee The best would choose, from Heav'n must learne the right.
Latè minaces horruimus Lethi Regnare Thracas. Latius imperat, Qui solus, exemptusque vulgo Certa sui tenet arma voti. Imbelle pectus parce fidelibus Munire parmis; neu latus aspero Lorica cinctu, neu decorum Arcus amet pharetraque collum.
The large-commanding Thracians wee Have fear'd. More large command hath hee, Who all alone himselfe retyres, And keepes sure guard o're his desires. Thy unwarlike breast, with shield of proofe Forbeare to fortifie; throw off From thy unpractic'd sides the shirt Of Mayle, so hard about thee girt. Let not the Quiver and the bow Such homage to thy soft neck doe.
An Cimber, an te lectus ab ultimis Pictus Britannis ambiat, an Geta, Nil allabores; ipse miles, Ipse tibi pugil, ipse Ductor. Exile regnum, _Pausilipi_, sumus: Sed se obsequentem qui sibi subdidit, Hic grande fecit, si suasmet Ipse roget peragatque leges.
Whether't bee _Dane_, or _Pict_, ta'ne out From farthest _Brittaine_, hems th'about Or _Goth_, ne're labour much to know Thine owne Commander, Champion too. Wee are--'tis true a kingdome small; But, _Pausilipius_, hee that shall His flatt'ring selfe, t' himselfe subdue, A businesse great doth undergoe; If his owne lawes hee can perswade, And doth performe them being made,
Armata Regem non faciet cohors, Non tincta vulgi purpura sanguine, Aut nobili stellatus auro Frontis apex, teretique gemmâ. Rex est, profanos qui domuit metus: Qui cùm stat unus, castra sibi facit; Casumq; fortunamque pulchro Provocat assiduus duello.
An host, makes no Kings title good, Nor Robes deepe dy'd in peoples blood. A high brow set with starrs of gold, Or Jems more glorious to behold. Hee who hath tam'd all coward feares, And his owne Guard himselfe prepares, Who practic'd, in faire combate, first Dares Chance and Fortune do their worst;