Of all the glories make Noone gay,
This is the Morne;
This Rock buds forth the fountaine of the streames of Day;
In Joye's white annalls live this howre10
When Life was borne;
No cloud scoule on His radiant lids, no tempest lower.
Life, by this Light's nativity
All creatures have;
Death onely by this Daye's just doome is forc't to dye,15
Nor is Death forc't; for may he ly
Thron'd in Thy grave,
Death will on this condition be content to dye.
SOSPETTO D' HERODE.
LIBRO PRIMO.[41]
ARGOMENTO.
Casting the times with their strong signes,
Death's master his owne death divines:
Strugling for helpe, his best hope is
Herod's suspition may heale his.
Therefore he sends a fiend to wake
foolish The sleeping tyrant's fond mistake;
Who feares (in vaine) that He Whose birth
Meanes Heav'n, should meddle with his Earth.