The Memphite Zoroas, a cunning clerk; Why summer burns, why autumn hath ripe grapes: Whether the circle quadrate may become; Whether our tunes heaven's harmony can yield. This 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, 2 The boldest beurn, and worthiest in the field. * Ed. 1567, "hath." 2 Qu. bearn, or barn? "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, 6's 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, Should cause revenger hand deal baleful blows. And cut him in both knees;-he fell to ground. * * * 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. 1 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 1 The editions read “prove.” 2 Swords. They might, and threats of following routs escape. Of royal robe and sacred senate prince; And of his foen the ensign doth aknow I And with drawn sword Popilius threatening death, No, age forbids, and fix'd within deep breast |