A discours of the present troobles in Fraunce, and miseries of this tyme, compyled by Peter Ronsard gentilman of Vandome, and dedicated vnto the Quene Mother, ; translated into English by Thomas Ieney gentilman..

A DISCOVRS OF THE PRESENT TROOBLES IN FRAVNCE , AND MISERIES OF THIS TYME , COMPYLED BY PETER RONSARD GENTILMAN OF VANDOME , AND DEDICATED VNTO THE QVENE MOTHER , TRANSLATED IN TO ENGLISH BY THOMAS IENEY GENTILMAN .

PRINTED AT ANDWERPE . M.D.LXVIII .

A PASSION . When grymm dispaire , withe graspe of grieslye wooes , In plounged myndes , do worke the muses wracke : Then boylinge heades turmoyles , the hammars gooes , And hewmors dryues , as dothe the sommers racke . No kindlye course , his propper plyght reteanes . Sommond wythe cayres , so fayred it by me , By soddayne dryft , as flormes by mystye raynes , Do chooke th' aire , and bryghtnes of the skey . In suche a plyght , did all my senses stand , The storme begann , withe in my restles brayne , And from my eyes , the streames were streight at hand , That on my cheekes , sharpe showres downe did rayne . Eche hewmor did ( as surges soyles them selves , On muddye shoores ) wythe rughe reflex contend . Eche veyne puft vpp , as though with flotynge eveles : Did ransicke oft , what way to wrest or wend . My bodye chylld , as all amasd withe woo : My trymblynge fleshe , hott agewes did conspire : My clustred lymes , on frossen heapes did growe : And streight resolud , as thoughe attacht withe fyer , Where in my corse , a stubburne warr begann . My sobbes supt vp , wythe snatchyng breathe redownd , And smookye sieghes from clowdy brest forth came , That estsouns forst , a shatterynge hollowe sound . But what it was , that bredd me all this caire , My silence shall , recorde his cureles dumpe In careles mynde , that yelds not to dispaire : Nor bragge of fickle fortunes worldly brunt . In mase of wo , and in this caise was i : Twene hope to riese , and feare , to said , or fall , When first my frend , presented vnto me This mournynge uerse , of plaintfull FRAVNCE his thrall : And badd me wrest , my wearye muse to synge , Of clatterynge armes , and fyerye MAVORS moude : Of hatefull warr , en forst by ENVYES stynge : To baythe his handes , withein his countree bloude . Not halfe ypast , the threats of wynter sadd , When SATVRNE had , styrd vp the GAVLES to armes . My mormynge muse , in sorrowe all ycladd , Gan then to wryet , of theis deuyded harmes . My shaykynge hand , my plaintfull pen begann , To wayle the FRENCHE , and present stayte of man .

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE , MY VERIE GOOD LORD AND MAISTER SIR HENRY NORREIS KNIGHT . L. AMBASSADOVR RESIDENT IN FRAVNCE . The bale begonne , is when deformed warres , Whith civil stroake , embrewes his natiue swoorde . For were it not , that rage of rancours roote , By growinge evills , had watcht so blacke a tyme , I weane envie , by suche owtraginge splene Had not brought foorth , this fowle mishapen change In maymed state , that RONSARD wayles in ryme , And I reduce , whith not resemblinge penne , To Englishe grace ( though in vnskilful verse ) By frendes enforst to publish now abroade : Whiche I present ( SIR ) to yowr shrowdinge hande , No Trophee , nor masse of mighty myne , Nor golden somme , but as à miete of fame , Where power failes t'vnlade affections force . Your bounden servant THOMAS IENEY .

AD THOMAM IENEIVM EPIGRAMMA . Gallica si laudem Ronsardi Musa meretur , Dum deflet patriis patria fata sonis : Et tua , digna suis Ieneie est laudibus , eius Anglorum in numeros dum breue cogis opus : Nam tibi materia est eadem , decurris eodem Tramite , Pieriae doctus vterque lyrae . Ille canit patriae moestus fera damna ruentis , Tingit & Aoniis Gallica verba fauis : Tuque sequens vates Musae vestigia Gallae , Sollicitas doctis plectra Britanna modis . Gratia quaéque illum comitatur blanda canentem , Emicat , in versu nec minor illa tuo est . Sic vatem vates vertens , quas ille meretur , Efficis vt laudes sint quoque iure tuae . D. ROGERIVS .

FAWTES ESCAPED IN PRINTINGE .

The leafe B. iij. seconde syde , last verse for echo es reade eckoes . The leafe followinge , fyrst syde , the 24. lyne , for , ou blacke Moorey , reade thou blacke Moores . At the ende in the sonnet , in the ende of the sixt verse , for fame , reade , tame .

A DISCOVRSE OF THEIS PRESENT TROBLES , AND miseries of this tŷme . SENCE that by diuine might of God , The worlde was first y framd , Who lent vs life , as nature hight , Vnspotted and vnsteande , If then from age to age , encrease Of vice , had entred in To humain hartes , and rowted nowght But rage of cancred sinne , Then longe to fore , shold extreme wrath Of malice and of might , Surmonted al , and wee haue led Our lives in sineful plight : But sence we see , ech sort of men In Sondrie place and I le , Some walke as in a vertuous way , And some doo live but vile , We owght , and must confesse by force , That this difformed vice , Owght not to bost of victorie , But as by fowle surprise Pursewes that trade , that she enioyes That day when man is cladd , With vertues and vith vices robes In habit good or bad . Ne yet vertew it selfe , do owght Augment her gladsome bandes , If she had but encreast eftsonnes , Her fame with heauid vp handes , Had strecht vnto the tipp of gloor , And ech thinge shoold accourre , By perfit meanes to golden happe , Which present we abhorre . But as it semes to Royal states , And to ther pompeus trayne , And manners eke , throughe tract of yeares , We see it thus remayne . For sometyme vertue beares à sale , And sometyme vice aboundes , Thone erectes hym selfe , with force , The other sinckes and drowndes : Rebayted thus , rechast with might , The painful minde applyes , Lest that , with in this sineful woorld , Encrease of vice arrise . It pleased thus , the puissant god , To enterchaunge our might , And suffer man , within the lap , Of good and bad to light . As dooth the painful pilot oft Conduct his crased boate , In bitter storme , and quiet calme , Twene hap and happles loate . ( Thou Quene ) that from thie sappie wittes , Doth shake of ignoraunce , And redes and heares attentiuely Our Martial feates of Fraunce , Thow knowest , and canst fulwel decerne Beholdinge our debate , The difference of eche tyme forpast , And of our present state . To write of kinges , ther maners eke In blood sometyme embrewde , And some vnspotted and vnsteande , That lyud with fame pursewde . My hande doth shake , my feble pen Is not in perfit plight , My Muses all do mase to see The fruites of dire despite . Ambition doth with thirstie throate , And wide deuouringe pawe , Stirre vp à thowsand strifes and moo Withowt respect of lawe : Some one are lame of wit an skil , And some with reason flowes , And some of feble hart agayne Ther nedeful cause foreslowes . As princes do professe and are So subiectes do encline , For princes are a paterne prest Vnto ther peoples eyen . It then behoues in tender age , For to enstruct eche kinge , How with advice he may conduct , And gouerne euery thinge : Even from his cradels fyrst he owght , To haue before his eyes , The feare of God , his erlie scourge , That through misorders rise . And eke he owght so wel prouide , And so ordaine and way , The trewe and perfit lawe , that none Do erre or runne astraye , By scisme or by pernicious sect , By false or forgd devise , That intricates nowght els but dowbtes , By wicked mannes surmise . MADAME alas I wayle to see The clowdy bitter storme , That threatens Fraunce , such wrackes of woos , By wynters wrathe y torne . The flaggy snowes , the dampishé mystes , The furye of the skyes , The bowstiours windes doo woorcke the seas And fominge surges rise . And nowe the starres , the guidinge twynnes , Disdaynes ther gladsome light , Stand stifflye ( MADAME ) to the sterne , To guide the barcke out right . In mawger of the heydeous wyndes , And rough malicious storme , Conduct to harbor man and mate In shipwracke thus y torne . Whole Fraunce with folded handes requires , An thryse requires thy meane , Our sillye state ( a pray to suche As scorne our noble reigne ) That thou wilt hast that happie meane , That may those evels redresse , And by thy right and might appease , Thes mischeffes more and lesse . The Royal pride of haughtie seate , The pompe of princely law , That quiet held the mace of might , And regal swoorde of awe , In bosome of the heauenly light , What may their sowles now say ? Yea what may they that shrowded are In cowche and tombe of clay ? What may the Royal PHARAMOVND And CLODIVS insigne ? What may proude CHARLES , kinge PIPIN eke , And LEWIS of that tyme ? What maye CLOWIS in Armer clad And Martial MARTEL say ? That yerst whythe prudent pollecye , Did raigne and rule alwaye . That whithe there valiant Armes stil sought For to inlarge oure state , Ye first found meanes by conqueste great , To gaine this fertel seate . Where in theire stateley goulden raignes Of warlike Gaules we reade , And howe wythe Armed men were seen The barren feildes ouer spreade . Not thus by Civell sawage warrs Oure state to ouer tourné , But sought by rigor of the swourde , Our lustye fame to fourme . Imagen that you heare the skrikes , That echo es to the skies And so redoundes from heigh againe To yearthe wythe dowleful cryes : What may our foremer fathers saye ? And lustie men at armes : That in theese conquestes perrilous , Receyvd theire mortall harmes ? And died : to effraunchise Fraunce , With longe and yerkesome toyles , To see our selfes wythe Civell swourd , Distroye oure natiue Soyles . They may repyne and yeke repent Theire lothesome blouddie broiles : Theire quarrels and theire conquests thus Subdewed wythe warlike toylis For souche a people thus distroaght , For souche diuided strife , That loosethe while they myght inioye A shore of happie leife , A fructeful soyle a fertel lande , That thou of BRVTVS source Where fominge seas on loftie sides Dothe beat wyth rage of force , And drinckes vpon Thamasis springes . And also ou blacke Moorey , That in the westerne waues do live , And buylde on Libicks shores , Fearinge the flames of Phaëton Declininge on thy head : And thow proud Prince of poumpus traine , That confines one oure syde , And thou prowde Goate to Armour prest That prowes striues to wynne , Who feeles the Northen coulde some tyme , One roughe and riueled skin : By Martial feates of glittering Armes Ne yet by blouddye fight , Could neuer daunt or tame by hand The GAVLES of warlike might . The Axe of hardnid stele y wrought , And quyck of cvt y framd Makes oft the labour easier , Vnto the woorke mans hand . And warlike Fraunce , yf sharpe of witt , And prudent pollecie , Ought nowe to quicken wythe there force The dymnese of the eye : And by theire labour so reduce Theire wealthe to gladsome stats And to the hatchet heow we see The taulest okes abats . Whose weale no raginge armes could daunt Nor threat of forraine foo , Them selfs whith bloudye CYVEL knyfe , Now seekes to ouerthrow . So was stronge AIAX brought vnto His baleful blowdie end , Whilst throughe his corse , his brutishe hand , The sauage knyfe did send : And ROME that wondred longe eache state , ( A Monarke built of pryd , ) Who from Appollos rvddy bed , Vnto the westerne side , His EMPIRE whithe his largest skirtts , And boundes ystretched farr , Reuoltinge once , by CYVEL sworde , Decayed by countrey warr . Yf theis be hateful presidents , By plainteful hasserds thral , And wee not warnd how to beware , To read of others fall ? Ought not we to be wayle oure wronges , That in a cloud of wo , Oure eyes whithe blyndnes so forecaste , We can discerne no fo ? That present now to plonge of wracke , Dothe threaten yeke decaye , And we headlonge in myserye , Can not eschew the waye . The forraigne Prince whithe warlike swourd , Whose wars are plaine to vs , Doo pittie oure absourdities , And state tormented thus , That blount of wyt we feele not now , How oure Dysastre tournes , And that we see , and wil not see , How wayward fortune spornes . Of Longe record of antique fame , Manye haue here tofore , By thretninge and by fearful signes , Presaged lesse and more . Namelye withe in soche yeares and dayes , That headdy franticke GAWLES , Whithe CYVEL shocke and natiue swourd , Should shake bothe towne and walles : And that of filthie mourders ofte , Oure trowbeled estate , Should render vs of al estates , The most vnfortunate . While like to blowndred crowes in mystes , We headlonge ronne to Armes , Not knowinge how to shunn or shifte , The sequel of oure harmes . An to declare oure selfs more wyse , We neuer gaue no truste , To trewe precepts nor ruled , oure lyues , But euer to oure lust . But obstinate and blynde as were The HEBRVES of foretyme , That trusted not the Sacred wordes , Of those whiche did deuine . The godds that hauinge some respecte , Vnto the strayned sort , Sent in oure tyme soche wonders ofte , That might oure lyfes exhorte : Whithe waterie eyes for to repent , And wayle our wycked syn , And to repaire the breache wile wee , A better life be gin . The Skies whithe showers did wayle oure wrake , Be fore oure tourmoyles were , The Commetts from the Esterne Syde , Whithe threates did foule appere , And SEINE whithe ouer flowinge waves , Of far vnwonted force , Did denotate , and we might deme , To PARIS some devorse . The waters in theire swelling wrathe , As though whithe fominge fume , They woulde by mightie ouerflow , The synful worlde consume : That heauen and earthe did as it weare , Threaten oure Royall Realme , A daye of bytter sharpe reuenge , And Ruine of the same . O thou that writest of warlike workes , Whithe not dissemblinge pen , Depaint at lengthe oure monstrous age , To feare and warne all men : Recompte vnto oure tender youthe , Oure fatalle myserye , That readinge they may yeke bewayle , Oure state whithe watery eye , That they may lyue and yeke beware , Of theyre forefathers synn , Lest they by headlonge error do , Right to soche evels fall in . Wythe what vnshamefast face mayest thou , O Vyle tormented lyfe , Be hold the storie of oure tyme , In thys myshapen strife : In Readinge that oure Septer hathe , And Kinglie famus rase , From first so manye yeares to forne , Indured whithe glad increase : And nowe runues rashlye to rvine , By rage of martiall might , Even as the strongest rocke is forst , From heighe to low to light . The storie wytethe howe IOVE some tyme , In rage whithe hewmaine rase , That would by curious meanes invent , His godhead to displace : And soughte to know his deuine might , Whithe in his Sacred Ile , Whiche no man might to enterprise , That are prophane and Vile , One day by pricke of youthe the god , From heigh seate would remoue , To finde owt dame Presumption , To entertayne in love . Where at the foote of heigh OLIMPE , Sounde sleepinge where she laye , Refte from her tender lippes a kisse , And eftesones stale a waye . Where whithe the prophaine god conceaud , Souche rancour in his mynd , That all his meanes was for reuenge , Vpon the heumaine kynd , Where at the heauens was wrothe to see , The vile lasciuous god , And so agreed that he shoulde fele , The scourge and smartinge rod , Refte than of Sacred godhead quite , By strange transformed meane , From ryueled aged hyde became , To tender skyn agayne , From fleetinge youthe to manlye state , As he stept forwardes still , Whythe oute restraynt he wrought a meane , That might succede his will , What fancye framed in franticke braine , What youthe vnsemelye ment , What thinge prophane and vile might be , That he not easelye hent , Poufte vp whithe peacokes pride as dyd , His beastlye raigne begyn , So dyd his mounstrous shape declare , The forme of ouglye syn , From forth his fyrie eyes broust out , A strange deformed flame , And noughte but fraud and fycle baytes , Dyd harber in his braine , In poysoned hart was nourisht nowghtt , But lothesome loue deuysed , Vnder his habit raggd and rent , AMBICION sat disguised , Whithe twyned looke yet delycate , As is the SERENS face , And yeke a dulced tounge enfefte , Whithe prowde and paynted grace , His winges were lightelye borne , his feete , Weere nether fleshe nor bone , A shadow but , that non may heere , When he was fled and gone . In Sacred scooles the subtell god , Fonde meanes to lodge and dwell , Onlye to blunt and blynd there wyttes , Whithe deuine arts that mell , And to that ende to plunge in wo , Theire curious wytts that soughte , As arrogant the heauens to clyme , To knowe eyche Deuine thoughte . This fowle transformed IOVE that thus , Becamme prophane ad vile , Hathe brought this monsterous exchaunge , And vprores in this Isle , Demaundinge now to nedie Fraunce , From SAVOYE some Svpplie , From SPAYNE and from eche Christian foo , That nere confyning lie , And also of the man of warre , That preste to sound of dromme , Drinckes of the flowd of DANVBY , Whithe channel deepe that ronne , And of the sylver streames of RHEYNE , Whithe lustie sydes hempt in , Who dothe bestride the barbed horse , His Martiall fame to wyn . In this deformed change the sonne , The fathers feare white stode , The brother yeke whithe stayned hand , Ybaiths in brothers bloud : Yea Nature clene degenerates , In weake and femall kynd , And glowinge spite by pride conceales , The rancor of the mynd , Extracte from howse of Natiue lyne , Bereaues the others life . The seruile man in maisters bloud , Whithe stroke of stayned knyfe , Imbrues his hands , ( O bluddie b●…le ) O Nature foule confused : The man contract in bandes we see , In Nvptiall bed refused , The fruct of foes , by fraude of frendes , He maye pervse that lust , How ferme is fraude , how fraile is faythe , How tycklie now is trust , How as from HYDRAIS head intrudes , The plumes of pevishe pride , And how whithe duble faced wronge , Tymes truthe is sloly tried . The infant from his cradel crept , Deuorst from parents awe , Standes vp and stifflye dothe dispute , Of right and Sacred lawe . And euerie thinge do cleane declyne , Whithe out restraint of might , Abandond are all CYVEL meanes , Of polecye and right . In this deformed change eche crafte , By painefull handes sustaynd , Who rept his fruct by labour sweet , Is now no more mayntaind . The herdeman dothe ( dismayed man , ) Refuse his simple charge , The advocate hathe now no meane , To wrest his law at large . The steerman leaues his floting barke , To drenche the seas alone , The trafique of the spendinge hand , Is now reiect and gone . By this mishapen Monster eke , The wise and ware deuise , Is by his malice cleane transformed , To lewd and fylthie vyce . The tender youthe in learned scooles , Traind vp to expert yeares , Corrups his fraile and tender age , Whithe fonde and foule desiers . The vilest crafte do yeke transforme , His pick axe and his spade , His pitcheforke to a pike and yeke , His hatchet to a blade . And wyll no more whithe togge of ploughe , Teare vp the slatie soyles , But in a sword begert pourshewes , This frantycke Cyvel broyles . Mute is the mouthe that would controle , That Error nowe subornes , There blinde and brutishe appetits , No Ivstice now reformes . To foule and vile lycencious vice , Now libertie permitts , Disorder and deformed will , In open ivdgement sitts . Now eche man proles for pryvate gaine , And gredy lust to wrenges , The massie gaines of goulden sommes , That soche disorder bringes . In this blacke tyme the starres do warre , The heauens do frowne at this , To see this Chaos vpon earthe , Where forme and fascion is . Vpon this dolefull stage scarse did , The prologue once begone , Before oure woees vnladed weere , By conductes of the eyen , Sence that blacke tyme of lateful warres , And hateful myserie , Wee haue not svpt vp all aure sobbes , Oure eyes be scarcelye drye : Attacht of new vnhappie tyme , From worse to worse we fall , Eche resteful place , Eche quiet seate , Of Cyttye , Towne and wall , Hathe whithe foule breache of promise heighe In triall of there truthe , Revolted and to bluddye Armes , Theese Cyvelle stormes pourshewethe . Forfyerie Mars hathe this decreed , In wrathe and raginge moode , To power downe theese plages on Fraunce , Bestaynd whithe Cyvell bludde : I wrast whithe wretched cares and woes , Of stormye wynter threates , Wee fleete in waues of warlike sourge , And crased sydes that beates . As dothe the barke in stubberne blastes , Of mast and mayne berefte , Of marenner of man and mate , And yeake of pylate leafte . The painefull hand of skilfull mate , Denies to to holde the helme , In goulfe of playntefull myserye , Oure state do ouerwhelme : Decayed wytte how blunt art thou ? That could not see the tyme , When as the fatale Sisters did , Draw fourthe theire vitall twyne , And left the soche tryumphant yeares , Of longe and happie age , As in thy bosome neuer myght , Crepe in soche beastely rage , Of glowinge spite by cruel Armes , To bathe the synful handes , In bowells of thye natiue shore , That gylteles thee whithe standes . Vnhappye GAWLES vnhappye men , And thrise vnhappye race , That thus distraught sekst to distroye , Thy fertell natiue place . Defamed sword of Regall awe , Blushe at thy feeble right , Devided thus , decayed art , Of Law and publique myght . Vnhappie seate vnhappye state , That now vnsteadye standes , From lofty throne in case to fall , In to Ambicions handes . Looke to your proude estate you GAWLES , You GAWLES of ancient name , That neuer staynd whithe ouerthrow , You might conserue your fame , In quiet forme , as yerst to fore , Youre fathers in theire tyme , Who longe mayntaynd a quyet reigne , From all vnshamefaast cryme : From head longe broyles , from Cyvell woundes , From suche defamed warre , That in this age ( vnhappie tyme ) We see apparent are . Of happie and of quiet Lyfe , We see the glase ronne out , The wrackes appeares from clowdye skye , Now MADAME looke a bout : Make cleare a bourde , in stormye seas The master showes his skill , Reforme these franticke braines that thus , Do ronne on headlonge will . Restrayne whithe stedy raignes these men , That whithe vnbrideled heade , Haste to the stage of fyerie armes , Theire natiue blud to sheed . Respect the hassarde of oure state , Respect oure present Raigne , Appease this quarell and debate , That mangles thus our fame . Redresse our vile dismembred age , Of most deformed life , Seeke how to reconcyle these warres , Of vile and hatefull strife . Seeke to avoyde thys fowle Eclips , Of warr and Cyuell broyles , Seeke to be nvnme the synfull handes , That in these mischifs moyles . Seeke howe to cleere the clowdye threats , Of this deformed sonnes , Seeke to repare this curlish breatche , In sauage harts bogon . Reforme whithe heedful care oure state , That thus transfigured are , Respecte ô QVENE this sequell now , Of this vnwonted warre . Repaire ô QVENE whith tymely care , Oure wealthe now ouerthrone , Some good hand gripe the stable healme , To shipwracke as we ronne . Our plaintefull state in throwes of wo , In hassard of decaye , Calls helpe of none but thee ( thou QVENE ) That bearethe now the swaye . The tender yeares of pompous kinge , And proude vnstayned seate , That neuer yelded to no calme , Nor pusshe of coursed fate , Assiste nowe whith thy sage advice , Assist whithe pollecye , Assist oure Realme lest worne to wracke , Whithe wringed handes we crye , Vnhappy raigne vnhappie life , Vnhappie eke the wyght , Vnhappie eke a thousand tymes , The rvle of female might . Let not the earthe be staynd whith blud , In plonge of hatefull harmes , Exclayme and whithe outraging skrikes , Complame of Cyvell armes . Whose hateful and displesant yoke , Of presant plage we feele , Disarminge vs vnhappie GAWLES , Of all oure wonted wee le . Of all oure proud and pompous prayse , Of all oure antique fame , Our honor flets , the glorie ebbes , Of our Tryumphant name : What longe tofore in foremer age , Our fathers fame hathe won , Vnhappie we vnhappie GAWLES , Vnhappie haue vndon . FINIS .

A sonnet to the translatour . As Homers streaminge source , of springinge head doth flow In Grekishe cloustred camps , by Troians reard to fame : As Virgils matchinge stile , doth weaue in smothed frame , The peased pliant woordes , of wightes that lye ful low : So RONSARDS blowminge grafte ( from them as you may knowe By ruthful mourners minde ) doth woordes from parentes fame , Waylinge whith brokken seighes the fyerie kinghtes of name , That braue whith glitternige sword in fielde to smyte the blow Of dedlye massie fiste , ( most deu to waylful Fraunce ) Sent from myld God , that doth which splayed armes inhaunce , The lastinge painful scourge , to whippe the th anckles flockee . If creed may credit geue , to dysmalles iudgmentes day , I thincke the same hath taught , IENEY to outforth bray , An Englishe pleasant phrase , not far from RONSARDS stocke . Ferd : Fyldinge .

ELEGIA DANIELIS ROGERII ALBIMONTII ANGLI , DE PERTVRBATA CHRISTIANI ORBIS REPVBLICA , AD ILLVSTREM VIRVM , HENRICVM NORRICIVM , AVRATAE MILITIAE EQVITEM , SERENISS . ET CHRISTIANISS . PRINCIPIS , D. ELIZABETHAE , ANGLIAE , &c. REGINAE , AD KAROLVM NONVM GALLIAE REGEM , ORATOREM .

AD ILLVSTREM VIRVM HENRICVM NORRICIVM . Tristia conueniunt si carmina tristibus horis , Tempore nec luctus , si dare laeta decet : Haec ea , NORRICI , quae tristia tristibus horis Offero iudicio scripta legenda tuo , Non ingrata tibi spero ventura legenti , Defleo dum tristi tristia fata lyra . Adde quòd est aequum cum flenti flere piúmque , Publicus & tangit pectora iuncta dolor . Ipsa etiam in lacrumas dum lumina soluimus aegras , Egeritur , gemitu fit quoque cura minor . Hinc tibi , credo , tui IENEI Musa probatur , Quòd queritur patria publica damna cheli . Quòd si nostra etiam poterunt lugubria , puris Auribus , indicio & complacuisse tuo , Tempora quàm praestant genialia tristibus horis , Temporibus laetis tam meliora leges .

ELEGIA , Ad illustrem virum , Henricum Norricium , Auratae militiae Equitem , Sereniss . & Christianiss . Principis , D. Elizabethae , Angliae , &c. Reginae , ad Karolum nonum Galliae Regem , Oratorem . MIssus es Orator Galli dum Regis ad aulam , NORRICI , & patriae consulis vsque tuae , Ecquid vt est omnis facies tristissima mundi Cernis , & vt praeceps in sua damna ruat ? Cernis , & haud melius te regna ruentia quisquam Prospicit , incertas cernis adesse vices . Nam tibi non tantùm clarorum stripe parentum Contigit , & nasci nobiliore domo : Sed quoque prudentes tribuerunt numina sensus , Abdita queis aliis quaeque videre soles . Adde quòd aerumnas praesens queis angitur orbis , Ipse etiam lippus , tonsor & ipse videt . At tua mens causas sensu praesagit acuto , Et tibi praesenti● constat origo mali . Scilicet orb● furens toto bacchatur Erinnys , Insidias , belli semina prima , serens . Nec fas , nec rata pacta sinit , verúmque fidémque Tollit , & est horum fraúsque dolúsque loco . Victa iacet pietas , terrásque exosa profanas , Relligio , coelum regna priora , petit . Ambitióque leuis magnorum pectora Regum , Sollicitans , odij tetra venena ciet . Hinc Bellona manus tortis armata flagellis , Accensis animis cogit ad arma viros . Hinc pauor , hinc luctus , hinc plurima mortis imago Perturbant cunctis gaudia nostra locis . Ergo nec Virgo , nec iam Saturnia regna Longius in terris quas coluêre , vigent . Aurea Pax cessit niueos lacerata lacertos , Et Charites terris eripuere fugam . Deliciaeque hominum Musae fugêre , nec illas Qui foueat vasto vix viget orbe locus . Ipse fides fractásque lyras abiecit Apollo , Nec iuuat auratam nunc tenuisse chelyn , Quin pharetra promens sua tela , en strenuus arcum , Lunat , vt hac sola se tueatur ope . Omnis amorfugit , lacera Concordia palla , AEthereos petiit venerat vnde tholos . Quàm cuperem Mauors etiam ad sua regna redisset , Esset vt à tantis libera terra malis . Ille etenim dextra latè sua fulmina vibrans , Inficit humano triste cruore solum . Nec pudor integritásque iuuant , furor omnia miscet , Martis vbique metus , mortis vbique pauor . Foelices quibus antè datum , meliora videre Saecula , cùm pietas cúmque vigeret amor : Cùm Pax alma domos coleret , nec miles iniquus , Turbaret patrios Marte furente deos . Nunc nec grata dies , noctísque ingratior vmbra est , Felléque vipereo quaelibet hora madet . Ecquis enim locus est quem non perrupit Erinnys ? Quem non sacrilegi militis arma replent ? Personat armorum terras fragor horridus omnes , Quaeque parit tellus , sanguine fota putes . Omnia deuastat gens Mossyneca sub arcto , Russica qua gelidos Duna pererrat agros , Sarmata bella fremens Henetos inuadit : & Hunos Innumero oppressos milite Turca premit . Et sexennali miscentes praelia bello , Cimber in exitium triste Gothúsque ruunt . Germanísque habitans passim discordia campis , Nescio quos motus insidiásque timet . Belga sub Hispanis queritur noua vincla catenis , Excuterétque iugum si daret hora ducem : Quin etiam Mauors discordibus implicat armis Illa Calydoniae proxima regna plagae . Quaeque fuit quondam rerum domina Itala tellus , Quàm variis dominis seruiat illa vides . At diuisa ruit plus quam ciuilibus armis , Gallia , & in proprias effera fertur opes . Nec modus vllus adest , nullus pudor , omnia legum , Iuráque naturae militis ira premit . Ipse pater bellum natis indicit , & arma Filius in patris colla verenda gerit . Frater & in fratris distringit viscera ferrum , Quis memoret siccis vel legat ista genis ? Illum Caucaseis prognatum cautibus , horrens Fouit inhumanae & dura papilla lupae . Interea fidei saeuissimus imminet hostis , Et iaculo & saeuus fulmine Acinacio . Quis furor est , externa vocant dum bella , manúsque Turcica Christiadum dum sitit vsque necem , In proprios saeuire artus , & vulnere mortem Alterno , diris accelerare modis ? Tam subitò oblita es belli cladísque prioris Gallia , vt hei rursus ciuica bella velis ? Aspice quas toto regno circunspicis arces , Quod de ciuili Marte querantur , habent . Non cernis viduata suis tua rura colonis ? Oppida diuitiis & spoliata suis ? Sulphureis quassata globis quae moenia quondam Hostiles poterant temnere salua minas ? Squallida praeteritos deplorant rura tumultus , Et Druidum vestris ossibus albet ager . Ah! melius purges infectos sanguine campos , Quàm noua funesto praelia Marte noues . Facta prius , nondum coijt miseranda cicatrix , Quid renoues igitur vulnera clade noua ? Quisquis es , es tanti primus qui turbinis author , Te poenae vltrices fata & acerba manent . Tristia qui populos cogens ad bella quietos , In niueae pugnas relligionis opus . Non ita vis quorum verus successor haberi , Induerant populis arma ferenda suis . Alma procurantes sanctae sed commoda Pacis , Et bene commissas hi tuebantur oues . Iam video instantes , te sic cogente , ruinas , Sanguine iam video rura madere pio . Forsitan & densis circundata lilia spinis , Tempus adest perdant protenus omne decus . Nam quis rebus opem ( NORRICI ) praebeat , orbi Tam desperato num quis adesse queat ? Consilijs nullus cùm sit locus , irrita vatum Cùm vota , vndosum per mare ventus agat . Quod nisi certa meam fallant praesagia mentem , Iam ruimus subitò , tu nisi CHRISTE iuues . Tu nisi CHRISTE iuues , nostrae qui causa salutis , His potes auxilio solus adesse malis . Adsis , at oppressis Dux CHRISTE salutifer adsis , Afflictásque iuues maxime Pastor oues . Pastor oues tueare tuas , quas perdere pastor Qui ferus Ausonia regnat in vrbe , studet . Respice nos , tutíque tuae sub robore dextrae , Da precor aduersas vincere posse manus : Pax redeat , nostrósque lares tranquilla reuisat , Et comites , pulsas orbe , reducat ouans . Cana fides redeat , redeant probitásque pudórque , Astraea & solitis det pia iura locis . At lites valeant , valeant at praelia , saeui Exulet immani Martis at orbe furor . Quaeque tuam niuea defendit pace Sareptam , Tuta sit auxillis ELIZABETHA tuis . Audiit , & coelo spes in mea pectora venit , Et melior spero qui venit annus erit .

AD GVLIELMVM NORRICIVM , Henrici Norricij fil . natu max. summae spei iuuenem , Epigramma . Stemmate nobilium quòd sis Gulielme parentum Ortus , & innumeros quòd numeres atauos , Clarus es , & populo charissimus inde Britanno , Nobilis & titulum fulgidáque arma geris . At potius purae virtutis captus amore , Quòd vitas vitij semina quaeque mali , Quòd pietate refers niueo & candore parentem , Est tibi quòd curae cum probitate fides , Nobilis & verè clarus Gulielme probaris , Hinc tua nobilitas suspicienda fuit . D. ROGERIVS .

ANNO MDLXVIII .

CALEND . IANVAR .