Demolishments of Kingdoms, and whole Ruines
Are wont to be my Orators; turn to tears,
You wretched and poor seeds of Sun-burnt Egypt,
And now you have found the nature of a Conquerour,
That you cannot decline with all your flatteries,
That where the day gives light will be himself still,
Know how to meet his Worth with humane Courtesies,
Go, and embalm those bones of that great Souldier;
Howl round about his Pile, fling on your Spices,
Make a Sabæan Bed, and place this Phoenix