Classic Poem

Of all those three-brave-brothers, faln i'th'Warre
(Not without glory) Noble Sir, you are,
Despite of all concussions left the Stem
To shoot forth Generations like to them.
Which may be done, if (Sir) you can beget
Men in their substance, not in counterfeit.
Such Essences as those Three Brothers; known
Eternall by their own production.
Of whom, from Fame's white Trumpet, This Ile Tell,
Worthy their everlasting Chronicle,
Never since first Bellona us'd a Shield,
Such Three brave Brothers fell in Mars his Field.
These were those Three Horatii Rome did boast,
Rom's were these Three Horatii we have lost.
One Cordelion had that Age long since;
This, Three; which Three, you make up Foure Brave Prince.