Not Iupiter, transform'd to many shapes,
His transmutations, or celestiall scapes;
Amorous imbracings, and adulterate fires,
Hot scalding passions, and vnchast desires:
Nor of his tri--form'd thunder we describe,
That mauld th'aspiring Giants for their pride:
But of a heauenly bodie, from whose merit,
Heroick actions drawe a noble spirit.
Vnder this stately and maiesticke starre,
Made happie by the raigne of Iupiter;
Are all those royall actions sweetly sung
By our Welch Bards: or the poettick tongue
Of rauishing Lyrickes; whose high Muses sings
Starre--kissing Poems, of the state of Kings:
The swelling tide of time, whose mightie flood,
Like to an Ocean, curl'd the streames of blood
Of Kings and Worthies, with true honour died,
Vnder this Princely Planet stellified.
True noble sparkes, that can the soule define
In honord persons, in this Planet shine;
And giues essentiall formes to royall bloods,
Eternall to their names, more then their goods
Or fortunes can distinguish; and deriues
True honor not in name, but in their liues.
Gentilitie from hence so riches bred,
That like a silke--worme, it spinnes out his web,
That others might giue armes, and weare his good,
More rich in vertues, then blaz'd forth in blood.
Young Alexander (whose triumphant hand,
Like some great earthquake shooke the sollid land,
With warlike rufflings of his princely mind,
By this aspect was at his birth assigned
To honord enterprices: and from hence,
Imperiall scepters draw their eminence;
And euery noble action of high fame,
That giues to honor an immortall name:
To Chronicles and times, this starre doth blesse,
With an eternall Trophie of successe.
Which since his Princely flames scornes common men,
In a heroicke furie chafes our pen:
Tell me, thou Royall States man to the Sunne,
Great signior of the worlds perfection;
High Treasurer, for honourable brests,
That with imperiall wreathes adornes their crests:
Where are those Heroes, whom Iupiter
Did canonize, euen in their Sepulcher:
And after death blest with thy influence,
Enspheard their soules with thy intelligence.
Crane vp true honor through the horned Moone
That now vsurpes the day, and shames bright noone,
With their confused actions: where are those
That had more honour in their minds then clothes;
Great Caesars Court did shine with warlick hands,
Ieer Atlas. Ieer, and laugh at yellow bands,
That now do staine the times. Tell Iupiter
The worlds mad after Safforn: and preferre,
A most sur--reuerence fashion (like a purge),
Before the conquest of the worlds large verge:
Gentilitie lookes like some painted whoore,
Whom wise men pittie, though times--Bands adore:
Rather bright starre of heauen drop from thy place,
And kisse the Chaos, then thy smiles disgrace
On their natiuities, that doe pretend
Their linage from the Sunne, which loath doth lend
His beames to such corruptions purified,
As that most noisome muckhill of their prides
Whose vapors stuffe the organ of mans sense
With such mortalitie of pestilence,
That each phantastick corner of the land,
Stinkes with infection of a yellow band:
And yet can boast their gentry from a starre
Kinde in coniunction, and familiar
To their high Fates. Laugh, Laugh Democritus,
Heer's a right Comedie, though vicious,
To stretch foorth all thy powers to excesse,
And fat thy heart with mortall foolishnesse:
These are those atomes of nobilitie,
Which in thy schoole thou taugh'st erroneously,
To be the worlds beginning. Laugh fond Sir:
Such moates of gentrie makes a Vsurer.
Raile foule--mouth'd Cinick, lend thy lanthorne here,
That to thy candles brightnesse may appeare
These Scums of gentrie; turne my beagle--Muse
To lash these Butterflies, that doe abuse
The name of that bright Planet, that shootes forth
More virtue, then their Tailors--billes are worth:
And if my Satyr, gently letting blood,
Might of true nobler brests be vnderstood,
What we call honor or Nobilitie;
Who knowes not vertue is gentilitie:
An habit of the minde, not of the clothes,
Which euery poore Logician truly knowes;
To be in diuers Categories plac'd,
The one in qualitie, the other grac'd
With Art and Scituation: Courtiers then
Would scorne such gaudy Gallifoists of men:
And rather fill their honord traine with starres,
Such whose vnspotted vertues weares no Scarres
Of banker out Citizens, that weares his owne,
Like Byas still about him, and not growne
To surfets with excesse in sates of trust,
Filling his hot veines with insatiat lust,
To formes of alteration: yet at last
Is alwaies poore in vertue, rich in wast.
The honor of this Planet shewes the minde,
And not the cast--clothes of some fawning hinde,
That by obseruance to his mightie Lord,
Hath crept into good outsides by a word,
Bought afore mou'd. For some poore office feede,
That now is fallen to helpe the busie neede,
Of some poore Groome. Great Iupiter forbeare,
To hurle thy influence from thy princely Spheare,
That these may claime their most abortiue birth,
Vpon this least all of this noisome earth.
From thy heroick flames, as from their sire:
But to right noble brests, giue nobler fire.
Let such adore thy rising in thy East,
That feele an honord furie in their brest,
Charme all ignoble--thoughts; and with the age,
Leaue reliques of his honord pilgrimage,
Euen to his speaking--marble, that his stone
May swet with memorie, and his dust bemone,
The liuelesse forme of his dead Element,
Hearst vp in death: whose liuing--Monument,
Can, with this heauenly Ecco, thus resound,
Prince (Henries) steps hath taught vs the same groud
Of noble buildings: and since him succeds,
A Princely Iupiter in noble--deeds,
And honord hopes: how then can honour er,
That shares the spirits of this Iupiter,
And Princely beames: whose motion most direct,
Treads worthie of so bright and faire aspect,
That trobled at his birth his princely rayes.
Behold great Prince, what in these Antick dayes,
May make true honor currant, and exclude
The ends of high blouds from the multitude
And fire of baser ranckes; that when your age
Shall come to vnderstand the Bedlame rage
Of this distracted time, and ripely see
That not by reason, but base phantasie,
Reflext from our opinions: we define
Honours to be the fashion of the time:
Like coloured Rainebowes that deceiue our eies
With superficiall shapes of vanities,
And with mature and clearer beames of sight
Distinguish of all obiects of the light,
In your perspicuous iudgement; then your sense
Shall in one point vnite the difference
Of what a long time, your too tender eie,
Your Organ not dispos'd, could ne're discrie:
Then all things rightly set, the Medium faire,
And the most grosse parts of this sinfull aire,
Diaphanall and cleare, your eie shall see,
That the true species of nobilitie
Is not th'extreame and outward visible part,
But the profound concealement of the hart,
Exempt from outward fashions so appli'd,
As it is truly noble, without pride,
Or forraine imitation, but intire
To his owne fashion; made not to admire,
But to attire poore nature, and to draw
The peoples hearts, with an obsequious awe,
Vnto the Commons loue: not common gaze
Of Player--like--fashions: for true honors praise,
Is like the blessed Hebrew tongue so strange,
That in confusions it did neuer change
His primitiue purenesse; and how vnlike we be
To heauenly bodies in simplicitie,
In motion and in formes: speake heauens in thunder,
And rate this mad world in a peale of wonder:
That euer since the order of thy frame,
Keepes still one fashion, and moues still the same:
Nor is the soule (as fond Pithagoras said)
Of a true noble man; to be conuai'd
By transmigration, or phantastick shapes,
Into the bodies of such Zainie--Apes,
As fashions make the English: but assigned
To the immortall vertue of the mind:
That's not traduc'd, or mixt of elements,
But of the most infused temperaments,
Subiect to no mortalitie of Fate,
Except base actions doe degenerate,
From that immortall and pure quintessense,
That vertue giues vs in our innocence;
From which, if honor by relapse digresse,
We lose that paradice of happinesse,
Where honor was created: and that place,
Where vertue did infuse originall grace
Into a great mans soule: Princes may eate
Of euery tree, that vertue made for meate.
Onely that tree, in midd'st of Eden spred,
The tree of vice: a touch of that strikes dead:
Thinke what it is, great Prince, that makes you liue
Greater, then you were borne: when worth shall giue
Vnto your actions such a long--liu'd fame,
As to all ages shall enrowle your name:
And such is vertue, that can ne're exspire,
But like a Salamander liues in fire,
And furie of the times; and there ne're burnes.
After the funerall ashes of our Vrnes;
For 'tis not that great title that you weare
Of princely greatnes, and a future feare:
That can make you controler of the starres,
Or write your name in endlesse Characters
To all posterities: nor ist applause,
Or popularitie, that can giue cause,
To make you liue for euer: but in fine,
'Tis vertue giues a Godhead, makes diuine;
Not Caesars birth made Caesar to suruiue,
But Caesars vertues, that are yet aliue.
Great Alexander Homers Iliades read,
Whose vertues made him liue, when he was dead.
A great mans vices dammes his fame so deepe,
Ther's no redemption, when his vertues sleepe:
Actions crowne vertues, and like Pulses prooue,
Whether the soule of greatnesse sweetly mooue
With Natures harmony: which standing still,
Or faintly beating, shewes them dead or ill:
All this (sweet Prince) is to instruct your youth,
Without equiuocation to the truth,
Of honourable actions, that doe rise
And mount by vertue, to possesse the skies:
For marke but that diuorce, that time hath sude
From such a Kingly troope and multitude,
Of memorie and fame, and with their toombe,
Buried their honours with an equall doome.
In silence and obliuion, you shall see,
That vertue reades the Art of memorie;
And can doe miracles euen from the dead,
To raise true worth by time canonized:
And fetch new breath in princes, when our shame
And vice in Lymbo shall ramine vp our name,
What pen shall blaze that Epicures dam'd vaine
That wisht his licorish pallate like a Crane
In surfets, and high sparklings healthes of wine.
Vnlesse some Satyr with his lashing line,
Flea his abuse: or else the stage hath stung
His life and vice with some base Players tongue;
When vertue shall command, like Orpheus strings,
Euen senselesse stones to follow when he singes.
The musicke of the soule, that sweetly sounds
The meanes of honor, and the vertuous grounds
Of our well fingered actions; and shall tell
In Oracles, how our best acts excell
The worst of enuie; though her toadelike wombe,
Burst in her venom, euen within our tombe.
Then since great Prince, that time must bring you rage.
To act one part vpon this earthly stage:
Oh let your vertuous actions keepe such meane,
As Angels may applaud your lifes best Sceane:
Which you shall doe, by acting what is good,
That when your riper yeeres haue vnderstood,
That the chiefe seate of honour is the hart,
Diffusing motion to each princely part.
And like the soule, whom Schooles hold all in all,

In euery member is essentiall,
Compleate and vndiuided: not begot
Of Thales element to die and rot:

Then your experience with confession ioynd,
Shall hold that practick vertue of the mind,
Is your best summum bonum: and not stroule
To Platoes fain'd Ideas of the soule:
Or Epicures sect, whose happinesse,
Their Schooles maintain'd to be voluptuousnesse:
And not in fortune, that all power can,
Or Stoicall necessitie in man:
Or in this later heresie that growes,
That the best bonum countes the best of clothes.
But vertue put to action, which doth keepe,
And put awaking difference from sleepe,
And drowsinesse in vertue: which though good,
If ne're in action, ne're is vnderstood.
These cautions make you worthy of this starre,
When others onely heare of Iupiter:
That your bright honour euer may appeare,
And moue within an vnecclipsed Spheare
But now I mount vnto the Souldiers starre,
Some Cannon fire my pen to rage and warre.