Classic Poem

No otherwise within her care-fraught breast,
This powerfull combat twixt her life and honor,
Is still maintain'd by turnes, whiles th' one is chac't,
Whiles th' other flies, whiles both do set vpon her,
Yet neither of them to their side can win her:
But now to honor, now to life giues place,
And dares not either freely to embrace.

Now in the midst of this intestine warre,
Vncertaine thus to either side to yeeld,
Her passions still augment, more growes her care;
Her woes the greater that they are conceal'd:
" Sorrow is lightest when it is reueal'd:
" A heauy burthen to a troubled hart,
" Is much to feele, and little to impart.

Yet in this sad and silent agonie,
While life and honor furiously contend,
Enters braue Courage with audacitie,
And giues this inward strife a fatall end,
And Honors high attempt doth so commend,
That in despite of what her life could say,
Makes her resolu'd to die without delay.

At last she gently enters to vnfold
Her currall lips, from whence her balmy breath,
Euen loath to leaue that paradized hold,
Where it so long time sweetly soiourn'd hath,
Flies houering bout her lips afraid of death,
Till gentle Zephir's gales finding it there,
Doth softly blow it to perfume the ayre.

Looke how in cleare Meanders winding brinkes,
The snow-white Swan her exequies doth sing
In sweetest notes, till that for paine she shrinkes,
And doth her musicke with her breath resigne:
Euen so doth she, O to be wondred thing!
Vnto the poyson such sweet speeches breath,
As she had courted Cupid and not Death.

Thrice-happy welcome guift (sayd she to me,)
And much more welcome had thou bin (God knowes)
If husbands hands had not affoorded thee,
For Deaths more grieuous friends do giue then foes,
Yet art thou not to blame, thou knewst my choice
Was euer to preferre a glorious death
Before an ignominious seruile breath.

I thanke you hartly for your kind regard,
And for the due aduertisement you giue
Of Scipio's plots, against poore me prepar'd,
Who for his owne sake suffers me to liue,
The period of Ambition to atchiue,
To lead in triumph such a mighty Queene,
Who neuer shall at Rome aliue be seene.

Nor shall that proude ore-all-empiring citty,
Or her more proud inhabitants, whose rage
My father, friends, and kindred all but pitty,
Kild and vndid their furie to asswage,
Behold me captiue clos'd up in a cage,
Or lead in triumph to their Capitoll,
I rather chuse a thousand deaths to tholl.

Where her faire glorious Dames enricht by spoyle
Of an vnlawful conquest, daily weares
Those robes and iewels which great turmoyle,
Others haue conquerd to their haplesse heires:
Who ouercome with this great power of theirs,
Giue all they haue to ransome their poore liues,
Which they send home to beautifie their wiues.

Shall they into their windowes richly deckt,
To gaze vpon my miseries remaine?
Or shall they with their longing lookes expect
My wish'd approach, their eyes to entertaine
With the sad obiect of my glories wame?
But ere their fights be satisfied so,
I rather chuse quicke to my graue to go.