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Whom her wing'd hand advanceth, since on it
Eternity doth, crowning virtue, sit.

All whose poor seed, like violets in their beds,
Now grow with bosom-hung and hidden heads;
For whom I must speak, though their fate convinces
Me worst of poets, to you best of princes.

By the most humble and faithful implorer for all
the graces to your highness eternized

by your divine Homer.

GEO. CHAPMAN.

150

AN ANAGRAM OF THE NAME OF OUR DREAD PRINCE, MY MOST GRACIOUS AND SACRED MÆCENAS,

B

HENRYE PRINCE OF VVALES

OVR SVNN, HEYR, PEACE, LIFE.

E to us, as thy great name doth import,
Prince of the people, nor suppose it vain
That in this secret and prophetic sort

Thy name and noblest title doth contain
So much right to us, and as great a good.
Nature doth nothing vainly; much less Art
Perfecting Nature. No spirit in our blood

But in our soul's discourses bears a part;
What nature gives at random in the one,

In th' other order'd our divine part serves.
Thou art not HEYR then to our State alone,

But SVNN, PEACE, LIFE; and, what thy pow'r deserves
Of us and our good in thy utmost strife,

Shall make thee to thyself HEYR, SVNN, PEACE, LIFE.

TO THE SACRED FOUNTAIN OF PRINCES,

SOLE EMPRESS OF BEAUTY AND VIRTUE, ANNE, QUEEN OF ENGLAND, ETC.

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ITH whatsoever honour we adorn

Your royal issue, we must gratulate you,
Imperial Sovereign; who of you is born
Is you, one tree make both the bole and bow.

If it be honour then to join you both

To such a pow'rful work as shall defend
Both from foul death and age's ugly moth,
This is an honour that shall never end.
They know not virtue then, that know not what
The virtue of defending virtue is;

It comprehends the guard of all your State,
And joins your greatness to as great a bliss.
Shield virtue and advance her then, great Queen,
And make this book your glass to make it seen.

Your Majesty's in all subjection most

humbly consecrate,

GEO. CHAPMAN.

ANNE, daughter of FREDERICK II. of Denmark, married King James Ist 20

Aug. 1590, and died 2 March, 1619.

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LEST with foul hands you touch these holy rites,
And with prejudicacies too profane,

Pass Homer in your other poets' slights,

Wash here. In this porch to his num'rous fane,
Hear ancient oracles speak, and tell you whom
You have to censure. First then Silius hear,
Who thrice was consul in renowned Rome,
Whose verse, saith Martial, nothing shall out-wear.

H

SILIUS ITALICUS, LIB. XIII. 777.

E, in Elysium having cast his eye

Upon the figure of a youth, whose hair,
With purple ribands braided curiously,

Hung on his shoulders wond'rous bright and fair,

Said: Virgin, what is he whose heav'nly face
Shines past all others, as the morn the night;
Whom many marvelling souls, from place to place,
Pursue and haunt with sounds of such delight;
Whose count'nance (were't not in the Stygian shade)
Would make me, questionless, believe he were

A very God?' The learned virgin made

This answer: If thou shouldst believe it here, Thou shouldst not err. He well deserv'd to be

Esteem'd a God; nor held his so-much breast

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10

A little presence of the Deity,

His verse compris'd earth, seas, stars, souls at rest; In song the Muses he did equalize,

In honour Phoebus. He was only soul,

Saw all things spher'd in nature, without eyes,

And rais'd your Troy up to the starry pole.' Glad Scipio, viewing well this prince of ghosts,

Said: O if Fates would give this poet leave
To sing the acts done by the Roman hosts,

How much beyond would future times receive
The same facts made by any other known!
O blest acides, to have the grace

That out of such a mouth thou shouldst be shown
To wond'ring nations, as enrich'd the race

Of all times future with what he did know!
Thy virtue with his verse shall ever grow.'

Now hear an Angel sing our poet's fame,
Whom fate, for his divine song, gave that name.

ANGELUS POLITIANUS, IN NUTRICIA.*

More living than in old Demodocus,

Fame glories to wax young in Homer's verse.

And as when bright Hyperion holds to us

His golden torch, we see the stars disperse,

And ev'ry way fly heav'n, the pallid moon
Ev'n almost vanishing before his sight;

So, with the dazzling beams of Homer's sun,
All other ancient poets lose their light.
Whom when Apollo heard, out of his star,
Singing the godlike acts of honour'd men,

The lines begin,

66 nam Demodoci vivacior ævo

*

Obstrepuit, prorsusque parem confessus Apollo est."

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