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The Memphite Zoroas, a cunning clerk ;
sage then in the stars had spied the Fates Threaten'd him death, without delay; and sithe He saw he could not fatal order change, Forward he press'd, in battle that he might Meet with the ruler of the Macedons; Of his right hand desirous to be slain, The boldest beurn, 2 and worthiest in the field, And as a wight now weary of his life, And seeking death, in first front of his rage Comes desperately to Alexander's face; At him, with darts, one after other, throws; With reckless words and clamour him provokes; And saith, “ Nectanab's bastard, shameful stain
Ed. 1567, “ hath." 2 Qu, bearn, or barn?
6 Of mother's bed! why losest thou thy strokes, “ Cowards among? Turn thee to me, in case “ Manhood there be so much left in thy heart! “ Come fight with me, that on my helmet wear “ Apollo's laurel, both for learning's laud, " And eke for martial praise ; that in my shield “ The sevenfold sophie of Minerve contain ; “ A match more meet, sir king, than any
here." The noble prince, amov'd, takes ruth upon The wilful wight, and with soft words again, “ O monstrous man," quod he, “what so thou art, I pray
thee live! ne do not with thy death “ This lodge of lore, the Muses' mansion mar! " That treasure house this hand shall never spoil :
My sword shall never bruise that skilful brain, “Long gather'd heaps of science soon to spill. “ O, how fair fruits may you to mortal men “ From wisdom's garden give? How many may “ By you the wiser and the better prove ? " What error, what mad mood, what phrenzy thee “ Persuades to be down sent to deep Avern, “ Where no arts flourish, nor no knowledge 'vails?'” For all these saws, when thus the sovereign said, Alighted Zoroas : with sword unsheath'd The careless king there smote above the greave At th' opening of his cuishes-wounded him
But yet his mind he bent, in any wise,
The Persians wail'd such sapience to forego :-
But over all, those same Camenes, those same Divine Camenes, whose honour he procur'd, As tender parent doth his daughters' weal, Lamented; and for thanks, all that they can, Do cherish him deceas'd, and set him free From dark oblivion of devouring Death,
Marcus Tullius Cicero's Death.
Therefore when restless rage of wind and wave He saw: “ By Fates, alas ! cail'd for," quod he, “ Is hapless Cicero. Sail on, shape course “ To the next shore, and bring me to my death! “ Perdy, these thanks, rescu'd from civil sword, “ Wilt thou, my country, pay!--I see mine end; “ So powers divine, so bid the gods above."
Speaking no more, but drawing from deep heart
eyes and cheeks with showers of tears he wash’d.
The editions read "prove."
They might, and threats of following routs escape.
wrought? No, age forbids, and fix'd within deep breast His country's love, and falling Rome's image. “ The chariot turn,” sayth he, “let loose the reins ! “ Run to the undeserved death! me, lo, “ Hath Phæbus' fowl, as messenger forewarn’d, “ And Jove desires a new heaven's-man to make. “ Brutus' and Cassius' souls, live you in bliss ! “ In case yet all the Fates gainstrive us not, “ Neither shall we, perchance, die unreveng'd. “ Now have I liv'd, O Rome, enough for me :
Ed. 1567, “ tiger.”