Madagascar.
13
As if they knew, they Uncle bred thy Fate,
And his just anger thou didst imitate.
But thy proud Foes, who thought the Morne did rise,
For no chiefe cause, but to salute their Eies;
Are now enform'd by Death, it may grow Night
With them, yet others still enjoy the light:
For strait (me thought) their perish'd Bodies lay
To soyle the Ground, they conquer'd yesterday.
O, why is valour priz'd at such a rate?
Or if a Vertue, why so fool'd by Fate?
That Land, achiev'd with patient toyle, and might
Of emulous encounter in the fight,
They must not only yeeld, when they must dy,
But dead, it for the Victor fructifie.
And now our Drummes so fill each adverse Eare,
Their fellowes groanes, want roome to enter there;
Like Ships neere Rocks, when stormes are growne so high,
They cannot warne each other with their cry:
Ev'n so, not hearing what would make them flye,
All stay'd, and sunke, for sad societie:
Their wounds are such, the Neighb'ring Rivers need
No Springs to make them flow, but what they bleed:
And his just anger thou didst imitate.
But thy proud Foes, who thought the Morne did rise,
For no chiefe cause, but to salute their Eies;
Are now enform'd by Death, it may grow Night
With them, yet others still enjoy the light:
For strait (me thought) their perish'd Bodies lay
To soyle the Ground, they conquer'd yesterday.
O, why is valour priz'd at such a rate?
Or if a Vertue, why so fool'd by Fate?
That Land, achiev'd with patient toyle, and might
Of emulous encounter in the fight,
They must not only yeeld, when they must dy,
But dead, it for the Victor fructifie.
And now our Drummes so fill each adverse Eare,
Their fellowes groanes, want roome to enter there;
Like Ships neere Rocks, when stormes are growne so high,
They cannot warne each other with their cry:
Ev'n so, not hearing what would make them flye,
All stay'd, and sunke, for sad societie:
Their wounds are such, the Neighb'ring Rivers need
No Springs to make them flow, but what they bleed:
Where
