A heap of panting harts supported him, On which he sat gnawing a reeking limb Of some man newly murther'd. As he ate, His grave-digg'd brows, like stormy eaves did sweat;

Which, like incensed fens, with mists did smoke;

His hide was rugged as an aged oak With heathy leprosies; that still he fed With hot, raw limbs, of men late murthered. His face was like a meteor, flashing blood, His head all bristled, like a thorny wood; His neck cast wrinkles, like a sea enraged And in his vast arms was the world en gaged

Bathing his hands in every cruel deed: Whose palms were hell-deep lakes of boiling lead ;

His thighs were mines of poison, torment. grief;

In which digg'd fraud, and treachery for

And made your Highness' subject; which he prized

Past all his honours held in other lands; And that, because a Prince's main state stands

In his own knowledge, and his power within,

These works that had chief virtue to begin Those informations you would hold most dear,

Since false joys have their seasons to

appear

Just as they are; but these delights were

ever

Perfect and needful, and would irk you

never.

I praying for this happy work of heaven In your sweet disposition, the calm even Took me to rest; and he with wings of fire, To soft Air's supreme region did aspire.

GEO. CHAPMAN.

PRINCE OF MEN,

sought,

Is not with birth born, nor exchequers bought,

Nor follows in great trains, nor is possess'd With any outward state, but makes him blest

That governs inward, and beholdeth there

All his affections stand about him bare, That by his power can send to Tower and death

All traitorous passions, marshalling be

them still

May find stuff to be fashion'd by his lines. | Through all the pomp of kingdoms still be And graceth all his gracers. Then let le Your lutes and viols, and more loftily Make the heroics of your Homer sung

first Twelve Books of the Iliad.

tongue,

with the princely sport of hawks you

use,

old the kingly flight of his high Muse, see how, like the phoenix, she renews age and starry feathers in your sun, asands of years attending, every one ring the holy fire, and throwing in r seasons, kingdoms, nations, that have been

erted in them; laws, religions, all 'd to change and greedy funeral ; still your Homer lasting, living, reigning,

proves how firm truth builds in poets' eigning.

rince's statue, or in marble carved, eel, or gold, and shrined, to be preerved,

on pillars or pyramides,

into lowest ruins may depress; rawn with all his virtues in learn'd

erse,

shall resound them on oblivion's earse,

raves gasp with her blasts, and dead

en rise.

old can follow where true Poesy flies. en let not this Divinity in earth, Prince, be slighted as she were the irth

e fancy, since she works so high; et her poor disposer, Learning, lie bed-rid. Both which being in men lefaced,

en with them is God's bright image ased;

s the Sun and Moon are figures given 3 refulgent Deity in heaven, earning, and, her lightener, Poesy, rth present his fiery Majesty.

ire kings like him, since their diadems der and lighten and project brave

eams,

ince they his clear virtues emulate, ith and justice imaging his state, Junty and humanity since they shine, which is nothing like him more divine:

fire, not light, the sun's admired

course,

For, as great princes, well inform'd and deck'd

With gracious virtue, give more sure effect To her persuasions, pleasures, real worth, Than all th' inferior subjects she sets forth;

Since there she shines at full, hath birth, wealth, state,

Power, fortune, honour, fit to elevate
Her heavenly merits, and so fit they are,
Since she was made for them, and they for
her;

So Truth, with Poesy graced, is fairer far,

More proper, moving, chaste, and regular, Than when she runs away with untruss'd Prose;

Proportion, that doth orderly dispose Her virtuous treasure, and is queen of graces;

In Poesy decking her with choicest phrases, Figures and numbers; when loose Prose puts on

Plain letter-habits, makes her trot upon Dull earthly business, she being mere divine ;

Holds her to homely cates and harsh hedgewine,

That should drink Poesy's nectar; every way

One made for other, as the sun and day,
Princes and virtues. And, as in a spring,
The pliant water, moved with anything
Let fall into it, puts her motion out
In perfect circles, that move round about
The gentle fountain, one another raising;
So Truth and Poesy work; so Poesy,
blazing

All subjects fall'n in her exhaustless fount,
Works most exactly, makes a true account
Of all things to her high discharges given,
Till all be circular and round as heaven.

And lastly, great Prince, mark and pardon me :

As in a flourishing and ripe fruit-tree, Nature hath made the bark to save the bole,

The bole the sap, the sap to deck the whole

With leaves and branches, they to bear and shield

The useful fruit, the fruit itself to yield Guard to the kernel, and for that all

those,

Since out of that again the whole tree grows;

So in our tree of man, whose nervy root Springs in his top, from thence even to his

foot

K