Certaine learned and elegant vvorkes of the Right Honorable Fulke Lord Brooke written in his youth, and familiar exercise with Sir Philip Sidney. The seuerall names of which workes the following page doth declare.

Actus quartus: Scena Quarta.

King. Alaham.

KIng.

What sound is this of Celica's distresse? Alaham! wrong not a silly sisters faith. 'Tis plague enough that she is innocent; My child, thy sister; borne (by thee, and me) With shame, and sinne to haue affinity. Breake me; I am the prison of thy thought: Crownes deare enough, with fathers blood, are bought.

Alah.

Now feele thou shalt, thou ghost vnnaturall! Those wounds which thou to my heart then didst giue, When, in despite of God, this State, and me, Thou did'st from death mine elder brother free. The smart of Kings oppression doth not die: Time, rusteth malice; rust, wounds cruelly.

King.

Flatter thy wickednesse; adorne thy rage; To weare a Crowne teare vp thy Fathers age. Kill not thy sister: It is lacke of wit, To doe an ill that brings no good with it.

Alah.

Goe, lead them hence. Prepare the funerall; Hasten the sacrifice, and pompe of woe. Where she did hide him, thither let them goe.

King.

" O God! who mad'st those lawes which this " Wretch breaks, " Let parents blood this curse vpon him bring; " That he, who of a child breakes all respect, " May, in his children, finde the same neglect.

CHORVS QVARTVS, of People.

LIke as strong windes doe worke vpon the Sea, Stirring, and tossing waues to warre each other: So Princes doe with Peoples humors play,

As if Confusion were the Scepters mother. But Crownes! take heed: when humble things mount high, The windes oft calme before those billowes lie.

When we are all wrong'd, had we all one minde, Whom could you punish? what could you reserue? Againe, as hope, and feare distract mankinde; Knew Kings their strength, our freedome were to serue. But Fate doth to her selfe reserue both these, With each to punish other, when it please.

Grant that we be the stuffe for Princes art, By, and on it, to build their Thrones aboue vs: Yet if Kings be the head, we be the heart; And know we loue no soule, that doth not loue vs. Mens many passions iudge the worst at length, And they that doe so, easily know their strength:

With bruit, and rumor, as with hope, and feare, You lay vs low, or lift vs from our earth; You trie what nature, what our States can beare; By law you bind the liberties of birth; Making the People bellowes vnto Fame, Which vshers heauy doomes with euill name.

Kings gouerne People, ouer-racke them not: Fleece vs; but doe not clippe vs to the quicke. Thinke not with good, and ill, to write, and blot: The good doth vanish, where the ill doth sticke. Hope not with trifles to grow popular; Wounds that are heal'd for euer leaue a scarre.

To offer People showes makes vs too great: Princes descend not, keep your selues aboue. The Sunne drawes not our browes vp, but our swear: Your safest racke to winde vs vp is Loue. To maske your vice in pompes is vainly done: Motes lie not hidden in beames of a Sunne.

The stampe of Soueraignty makes currant

Home brasse to buy, or sell, as well as gold: Yet marke! the Peoples standard is the warrant What man ought not to doe, and what he should. Of words we are the Grammar, and of deeds The haruest both is ours, and eke the seeds.

We are the glasse of Power, and doe reflect That Image backe, which it to vs presents: If Princes flatter, straight we doe neglect; If they be fine, we see, yet seeme content. Nor can the Throne, which Monarchs doe liue in, Shaddow Kings faults, or sanctifye their sinne.

Make not the Church to vs an instrument Of bondage, to your selues of libertie: Obedience there confirmes your Gouernment; Our Soueraignes, Gods Subalternes you be: Else while Kings fashion God in humane light, Men see, and skorne what is not Infinite.

Make not the end of Iustice, Checquer-gaine, It is the Liberality of Kings: Oppression, and Extortion euer raigne, When Lawes looke more on Scepters, than on things. Make crooked that line which you measure by; And marre the fashion straight of Monarchie.

Why doe you then prophane your Royall line, Which we hold sacred, and dare not approach? Their wounds, and wrongs proue you are not diuine, And we learne, by example, to encroch. Your Fathers losse of eyes foretells his end: By craft, which lets downe Princes, we ascend.

How shall the People hope? how stay their feare, When old foundations daily are made new? Vncertaine is a heauy loade to beare; What is not constant sure was neuer true. Excesse in one makes all indefinite: Where nothing is our owne, there what delight?

Kings then take heed! Men are the bookes of fate, Wherein your vices deep engrauen lye, To shew our God the griefe of euery State. And though great bodies do not straightwaies die; Yet know, Your errors haue this proper doome, Euen in our ruine to prepare your tombe.