Sure Kingdoms are as mortal as their kings,
And stay but longer for their period.
Gomerfall's Lodovick Sforza.
'Tis true, indulgency, and flattery,.
Take away the benefit of experience
From princes; which ennobles the fortunes
Of private men.
A prince governs now, which has the name of
Mercy, as well as pow'r; which he truly knows,
And in his firft deeds defires to fhew on
You. He does not think he is then like Jove
When he can thunder, but when he can hold
It in; not when he is the voice of death,
But when he fits harmless, with the power
Of death about him. Revenge, and Torments,
Executions, are not expreffions of a king;
But a destruction: He rivals not
Th' immortal pow'rs, in temples, ftatues,
Adoration, but tranfcendent virtues,
Divine performances: thefe are th' additions,
By which he climbs to heaven, and appears
A God on earth.
But born a prince; our greatest royalty
Lies in our acts: If we have greatest parts
In reverence, let's have fo in deferts.
Oh the state of princes!
How far are we from that fecurity,
We dream't of, in th' expectance of our crown?
Were foreign dangers nothing, yet we nourish
Our ruin in our bofom: Vallenzo is a traytor,
So is Piero too; and who is not in this age?
It is unfafe not to fufpect ourself.
Reason fit ftill, enthron'd in thine own state;
Tis paffion only ruins kings, not fate.
Shine like the fiery beacons on a hill,
For all to fee, and feeing tremble at:
It's not a fingle ill, which you commit;
What in the fubject is a petty fault,
Monsters your actions, and's a foul offence;
You give your fubjects licence to offend,
When you do teach them how.
Kings arm their fubjects, when they break their laws.
Hemmings's Fatal Contra&.
"Tis but a dog-like madness in bad kings,
For to delight in wounds and murderings.
As fome plants profper beft, by cuts and blows;
So kings by killing, do encrease their foes.
That prince muft govern with a gentle hand,
That will have love comply with his command.
Thou art deceiv'd; 'twas not his hand,
But the juft hand of heav'n that whips my fins,
And through my veins pours out the innocent blood
Which I had fpilt before; the hand that holds
The equal balance to difcern the weight
"Twixt princes juftice and their tyranny,
Measures their bleffings and their plagues alike,
To their fair virtues or black infamies;
And makes the horrid acts of murd'rous minds
But inftruments of plague to punish guilt;
And pay us in the coin with which we hop'd
To buy our glutt'nous furfeits. Such is the state
Of prince's privilege, that we may run
Into the depth of fin, and uncontroul'd
Pull vengeance on our heads; while the fmooth hand Of peft'lent flatt'ry claps us on the back,
And gives us edge to villany, till they fee
Mis'ry and defolation clofe us round;
Then they fly back, and gaze, as on a place
Stricken with furious thunder in a ftorm:
When ev'ry vulgar hand has laws, and fear
Of prying authority to hold him back,
And friendly enemies to upbraid him with
His faults, and keep him in the bounds of merey;
Only our heights bereave us of these helps;
And we are footh'd in vices, till we run
Beyond the reach of grace, and stand within
The shot of heaviest vegeance, which feldom comes
Short of our merits.
Jones's Adrafla.
Kings rais'd to heav'n, by an unskilful pen;
Scarce look, when made ill gods, fo well as men.
Sir W. Davenant to the King.
For from the monarch's virtue, fubjects take
Th' ingredient which does publick virtue make:
At his bright beam they all their tapers light,
And by his dial fet their motion right.
Sir W. Davenant on the Reftauration. 1. O, you are wife,
And conftant to yourfelves; had you but any fhare
Of love for me, you would unking me ftraight,
And then teach me a fudden way to be no monfter.
2. A monster, fir! we understand you not.
1. What am I elfe, that ftill beneath
Two bodies groan, the nat'ral and the politick
By force compounded of moft diff'rent things.
How wearifome, and how unlucky is
The effence of a king; gentle, yet by
Constraint fevere; juít in our nature, yet
We must diffemble; our very virtues are
Taken from us, only t'augment our sway?
2. Your judgment is too cruel of yourself.
1. In what's our pity, or our kindness more
Exprefs'd, than when we father other's crimes?
As if it were a great prerogative
To make the guilty fafe. Our wealth serves but
To keep mens hopes in pay; only happy
When we can purchase friends, because they share
And ease the glorious torment of our power.
Sir W. Davenant's Fair Favourite.
Kings are but royal flaves, and pris'ners too;
They always toil, and always guarded go.
Henceforth, fir, be every body's king;
And then you are yourself: Lend equal ears
To what all fay; and like a skilful chymift
Draw the quick spirit off from ev'ry council,
And from your wife breast breath it as your own.
Sir R. Howard's Great Favourite.
The gods that in my fortunes were unkind ;
Gave me not fcepters, nor fuch gilded things;
But whilft I wanted crowns, inlarg'd my mind,
To despise scepters, and difpofe of kings.
Sir R. Howard's Indian Queen. And when the crown's once gain'd, there needs no fears: Crimes change their natures then, or men change theirs. Sir R. Howard's Blind Lady.
For nothing can old monarchs more offend ;
Than when their fucceffors we much commend.
What poor things are kings!
What poorer things are nations to obey
Him, whom a petty paffion does command ?
Fate, why was man made fo ridiculous ?
Oh I am mortal. Men but flatter me.
Oh fate! Why were not kings made more than men ?
Or why will people have us to be more?
Alas! we govern others, but ourselves
We cannot rule; as our eyes that do fee
All other things, but cannot see themselves.
Fountain's Rewards of Virtue.
You hate a prince, unless he'll tamely bear
Partners in pow'r; let fenates have a share.
Where laws, and domineering fenates reign,
Princes are flaves in purple, knaves in grain;
Sword-bearers to a many-headed lord,
Imean the crowd, and weak upon record:
For ev'ry law made by the state, implies,
That princes are defective, fenates wife.
If I prophane with my unworthy hand
This holy fhrine, the gentle fine is this;
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready ftand,
To fmooth the rough touch with a tender kifs.
Shakespear's Romeo and Juliet.
As if he pluck'd up kiffes by the roots,
That grew upon my lips.
Which at the face began, tranfplanted is
Since to the hand, fince to th'imperial knee,
Now at the papal foot delights to be.
If kings think that the nearer way, and do
Rife from the foot; lovers may do so too.
-We'll point our fpeech
With am'rous kiffing, kiffing-commas, and ev'n fuck The liquid breath from out each others lips.
Marfion's First Part of Antonio and Mellida.
He kifs'd her with that greediness of affection,
As if his lips had been as red as yours.
I look'd still when he would be black in th'mouth,
Like boys with eating hedge-berries.
Middleton's More Diffemblers befides Women.
Kifs the tear from her lip, you'll find the rose
The sweeter for the dew.
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