Vincere qui potuit, te, Cato, non potuit.
OF CATO.
The world orecome, victorious Caesar, he
That conquer’d all, great Cato, could not thee.
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I.
And our head is our slave,The bright pearl in his close shell of oyster;Now the miter is lost,The proud Praelates, too, crost,And all Rome’s confin’d to a cloister.He, that Tarquin was styl’d,Our white land’s exil’d,Yea, undefil’d;Not a court ape’s left to confute us;Then let your voyces rise high,As your colours did flye,And flour’shing cry:Long live…
I.
Whilst men of armes to kettles their old helmes translate,And drinke in caskes of honourable plate.In ev’ry hand [let] a cup be found,That from all hearts a health may soundTo GORING! to GORING! see ‘t goe round.II.He whose glories shine so brave and high,That captive they in triumph leade each care and eye,Claiming uncombated the…
Cleft as the top of the inspired hill,
Whilst this foot doth the watry mount aspire,That Sinai’s living and enlivening fire,Behold my powers storm’d by a twisted lightO’ th’ Sun and his, first kindled his sight,And my lost thoughts invoke the prince of day,My right to th’ spring of it and him do pray.Say, happy youth, crown’d with a heav’nly rayOf the first…
Sir, how unravell’d is the golden fleece:
Are new-made polititians by thy book,And both can judge and conquer with a look.The hidden fate of princes you unfold;Court, clergy, commons, by your law control’d.Strange, serious wantoning all that theyBluster’d and clutter’d for, you PLAY.
Were it that you so shun me, ’cause you wish
Or that you take some small ease in your owneTorments, to heare another sadly groane,I were most happy in my paines, to beSo truely blest, to be so curst by thee:But oh! my cries to that doe rather adde,Of which too much already thou hast had,And thou art gladly sad to heare my moane;Yet sadly…
Vnhappy youth, betrayd by Fate
And damned those celestiall bandsAre onely knit with equal hands;The love of great ones is a love,Gods are incapable to prove:For where there is a joy uneven,There never, never can be Heav’n:‘Tis such a love as is not sentTo fiends as yet for punishment;IXION willingly doth feeleThe gyre of his eternal wheele,Nor would he now…