Certaine small poems lately printed with the tragedie of Philotas. Written by Samuel Daniel.

Philostratus. Arius.

HOw deepely Arius am I bound to thee, That sau'dst frō death this wretched life of mine: Obtaining Caesars gentle grace for mee, When I of all helpes else dispaird but thine?

Although I see in such a woful state. Life is not that which should be much desir'd Sith all our glories come to end their date, Our Countries honour and our own expir'd Now that the hand of wrath hath ouer-gone vs. We liue but as i•• th'armes of our dead mother, With bloud vnder our feet, ruine vpon vs, And in a Land most wretched of all other, When yet we reckon life our deerest good. And so we liue, we care not how we liue: So deepe we feele impressed in our blood, That touch which Nature with our breath did giue. And yet what blasts of words hath Learning found, To blow against the feare of death and dying? What comforts vnsicke eloquence can sound, And yet all failes vs in the point of trying. For whilst we reason with the breath of safety, Without the compasse of destruction liuing, What precepts shew we then what courage lofty In taxing others feares in councell giuing? When all this ayre of sweet-contriued wordes Proues but weake armour to defend the hart. For when this life, pale Feare and Terrour boords, Where are our precepts then, where is our arte? O who is he that from himselfe can tourne, That beares about the body of a man? Who doth not toile and labour to adiorne The day of death, by any meanes he can? All this I speake to th'end my selfe t'excuse, For my base begging of a seruile breath, Wherein I grant my selfe much to abuse,

So shamefully to seeke t'auoide my death.

Arius.

Philostratus, that selfe s••me care to liue, Possesseth all alike, and grieue not then, Nature doth vs no more then others giue: Though we speake more then men, we are but men. And yet (in truth) these miseries to see, Wherein we stand in most extreame distresse: Might to our selues sufficient motiues be To loath this life, and weigh our death the lesse: For neuer any age hath better taught, What feeble footing pride and greatnesse hath. How' improuident prosperity is caught. And cleane confounded in the day of wrath. See how dismaid Confusion keepes those streetes. That nought but mirth and musique late resounded, How nothing with our eic but horror meetes, Our state, our wealth, our pride and all confounded. Yet what weake sight did not discerne from far This black-arising tempest, all confounding? Who did not see we should be what we are, When pride and ryot grew to such abounding. When dissolute impietie possest Th'vnrespectiue mindes of prince and people: When insolent Securitie found rest In wanton thoughts, which lust and ease made feeble. Then when vnwary Peace with fat-fed pleasure: New-fresh muented ryots still detected. Purchac'd with all the Ptolomies rich treasure, Our lawes, our gods, our mysteryes neglected. Who saw not how this confluence of vice, This inundation of disorders, must

At length of force pay backe the bloodie price Of sad destruction, (a reward for lust) O thou and I haue heard, and read, and knowne Of like proud states, as wofully incombred. And fram'd by them, examples for our owne: Which now among examples must be numbred. For this decre a law from high is giuen, An ancient Canon, of eternall date, In Consistory of the starres of heauen, Entred the Booke of vnauoyded Fate: That no state can in heigh of happinesse. In the'exaltation of their glory stand: But thither once arriu'd declining lesse, Ruine themselues, or fall by others hand. Thus doth the euer-changing course of things Runne a perpetuall cirkle, euer turning: And that same day that hiest glory brings, Brings vs vnto the poynt of back-returning: For sencelesse sensualty, doth euer Accompany felicity and greatnesse. A fatall witch, whose charmes do leaue vs neuer Till we leaue all in sorrow for our sweetnesse; When yet our selues must be the cause we fall, Although the same be first decreed on hie: Our errors still must beare the blame of all, This must it be: earth, aske not heauen why.

Yet mighty men with wary iealous hand, Striue to cut off all obstacles of feare: All whatsoeuer seems but to withstand Their least conceit of quiet held so ••eere: And so intrench themselues with blood with crimes,

With all iniustice as their feares dispose: Yet for all this we see, how oftentimes The meanes they worke to keepe are meanes to lose, And sure I cannot see, how this can stand With great Augustus glory and his honor, T'extinguish the succession of our land, For her offence that pulld the warres vpon her,

Phi.

Must all her yssue be confounded now?

Ari.

Yea all that from the roots of kings did grow,

Phi.

And sweet Caesario sprong of Caesars blood?

Ari.

Plurality of Caesars are not good.

Phi.

Alas, what hurt procures his feeble arme?

Ari.

Not for it doth, but that it may do harme.

Phi.

Then when it offers hurt, represse the same.

Ari.

Tis best to quench a sparke before it flame.

Phi.

Tis inhumane, an innocent to kill.

Ari.

Such innocents seldome remaine so still. And sure his death may best procure our peace, Competitors the subiect deerely buies: And so that our affliction may surcease, Let great men be the peoples sacrifice.

But see where Caesar comes himselfe to try And worke the minde of our distressed Queene With some deluding hope: whereby She might be drawn to haue her fortune seene. But yet I trust, Rome will not see that face (That queld her champions) blush in base disgrace,