CHORUS. "Whate'er the massy earth hath fraight, Or on her nurselike back sustains, Upon the will of Heaven doth wait, And doth no more than it ordains. All fortunes, all felicities, Upon their motion do depend: And from the stars doth still arise Both their beginning and their end. The monarchies, that cover all This earthly round with majesty, Have both their rising and their fall From heaven and heaven's variety. Frail men, or man's more frail defence, Had never power to practise stays Of this celestial influence, That governeth and guides our days. No cloud but will be overcast; And what now flourisheth, must fade; And that that fades, revives at last, To flourish as it first was made. The forms of things do never die, Because the matter that remains Reforms another thing thereby, That still the former shape retains. The roundness of two bowls cross-cast, (So they with equal pace be aim'd), Shows their beginning by their last, Which by old nature is new-fram'd. So peopled cities, that of yore Were desert field, where none would bide, Become forsaken as before, Yet after are re-edified." Perceive we not a petty vein, Cut from a spring by chance or art, Engendereth fountains, whence again Those fountains do to floods convert? Those floods to waves, those waves to seas, That oft exceed their wonted bounds: And yet those seas (as heavens please) Return to springs by under-grounds. E'en so our city (in her prime) Prescribing princes every thing, Is now subdu'd by conquering time, And liveth subject to a king, And yet perhaps the sun-bright crown, That now the tyrant's head doth deck, May turn to Rome with true renown, If fortune chance but once to check. The stately walls that once were rear'd, And by a shepherd's hands erect, (With hapless brother's blood besmear'd) Shall show by whom they were infect. And once more unjust Tarquin's frown (With arrogance and rage inflam'd) Shall keep the Roman valour down, And Rome itself a while be tam'd. And chastest Lucrece once again (Because her name dishonour'd stood) Shall by herself be careless slain, And make a river of her blood; Scorning her soul a seat should build Within a body basely seen, By shameless rape to be defil'd, That erst was clear as heaven's queen. But, heavens, as tyranny shall yoke Our bastard hearts with servile thrall; So grant your plagues (which they provoke) May light upon them once for all. And let another Brutus rise, Bravely to fight in Rome's defence, To free our town from tyranny, And tyranny's[353] proud insolence. FOOTNOTES: [346] Furze. So in Shakespeare's "Tempest," act iv. sc. 1--