Great Britain -- History -- Poetry; Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 -- Sources
To _Rome_ then we and all our host did hie,
The _Romans_ they with ioy did vs receiue,
To _Constantine_ they gaue the emperie,
But he of them most earnestly did craue,
That I the rule of al the worlde myght haue:
“It is,” quoth he, “my mother’s ryght to rayne,
Til dreadful death hath shred her twyst in twayne.”
37.
“I graunt my sonne, the monarchie is myne,
For at his death thy father gaue it me
For terme of life: but let it nowe be thine,
I aged must go pay the earth her fee,
I am content to liue with lesse degree:
O louing sonne, geue eare vnto my hest,
I wyl not rule, that charge for thee is best.”
38.
And when he myght not rule his mother’s minde,
Agaynst his wyll he wylling did assent,
That al should be as I had then assignde,
To rule the worlde, he greued was content:
And whilste that there my happie dayes I spent,
Reioycing much to see my sonne’s successe,
I dyde and had a heauenly happinesse.
39.
Thrice happye I who ranne this royal race,
And in the ende my wished goale did get:
For by my meanes al people did imbrace
The fayth of Christ, the orders I did set
They were obay’d with ioy, which made me iet:
Euen in this blesse a better blesse befel,
I dyde, and nowe my soule in heauen doth dwel.
40.
So now you see the happye hap I had:
Learne then thereby to do as I haue done,
To prayse God’s name let euery prince be glad:
To persecute the truth let al men shunne,
By vertuous wayes great honor maye be wonne:
But he who doth to vices vile incline,
May be comparde vnto a filthie swine.
41.
Who doth not loue the playne nor pleasant way,
He cannot feare to sleepe amidst the greene,
But in the mire he doth delyght to lay:
So princes such as vile and vicious beene,
Do tumble aye amidst a sinke of sinne,
Whose names on earth, whose soules in hel, remayne
In infamye, the other pincht with payne.
42.
Let them that seeke for euerlasting fame,
Tread in the steps that I before haue trod,
And he who would avoyd reprochful shame,
And flee the smart of _Plutoe’s_ ruthful rod,
Let him not cease to learne the law of God,
Which onely law man’s stumbling steppes doth guyde
Who walkes therein, his feete can neuer slide.
[THE INDUCTION.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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