My Council grave and sapient, With lords of legal train, Attentive ears towards bend, And mark what shall be sain. So you likewise, my valiant knight, Whose manly acts doth fly, By brute of fame the sounding trump Doth pierce the azure sky: My sapient words, I say, perpend, And so your skill dilate. You know that Mors vanquished hath Cyrus that king of state; And I, by due inheritance, Possess that princely crown, Ruling by sword of mighty force In place of great renown. You know, and often have heard tell, My father’s worthy facts; A manly Mars’ heart he bare, Appearing by his acts. And what, shall I to ground let fall My father’s golden praise? No, no; I mean for to attempt This fame more large to raise, In that that I, his son, succeed His kingly seat as due: Extend your counsel unto me In that I ask of you. I am the King of Persia, A large and fertile soil: The Egyptians against us repugn, As varlets slave and vile; Therefore I mean with Mars’ heart, With wars them to frequent, Them to subdue as captives mine, This is my heart’s intent: So shall I win honour’s delight, And praise of me shall go. My Council, speak; and lordings eke, Is it not best do so? COUNCIL. O puissant king, your blissful words Deserves abundant praise, That you in this do go about Your father’s fame to raise. O blissful day, that king so young Such profit should conceive; His father’s praise and his to win, From those that would deceive. Sure, my true and sovereign king, I fall before you prest, Answer to give as duty mine, In that your grace request. If that your heart addicted be, The Egyptians to convince, Through Mars’ aid the conquest won, Then deed of happy prince Shall pierce the skies unto the throne Of the supernal seat, And merit there a just reward Of Jupiter the great. But then your grace must not turn back From this pretenced will, For to proceed in virtuous life, Employ endeavour still; Extinguish vice, and in that cup To drink have no delight: To martial feats and kingly sports Fix all your whole delight, KING. My Council grave, a thousand thanks With heart I do you render. That you my case so prosperous Entirely do tender: I will not swerve from those your steps, Whereto you would me train. But now, my lord and valiant knight, With words give answer plain: Are you content with me to go The Mars’ games to try? LORD. Yea, peerless prince, to aid your grace, Myself will live and die. KNIGHT. And I, for my hability, For fear will not turn back; But, as the ship against the rocks, Sustain and bide the wrack. KING.