Had _Constantine_, that three times sacred Prince, Beene rescu'd then by power of Christendome, _Mathias_ neuer should haue cran'd defence, Of _Germans_, _English_, _Spanish_, _France_, and _Rome_, Taxes of warre, to these climes had not come: Nor yet the _Turke_ with all his barbarous hoast, Durst with the Catholikes such war commence, Where now they haue heard their drums, & feard their hoast. 6 Who reads or heares the losse of that great town _Constantinople_ but doth wet his eyes? Where litle babes fr[=o] windows were pusht down Yong Ladies blotted with adulteries, Old fathers scourg'd with all base villanies? O mourne her ruine, and bewish the _Turke_, eternall depriuation of his Crowne, That durst for paganisme such outrage worke. 7 When _Mahomet_ had man'd the wals, the towne surpriz'd Great grew the slaughter, bloudy waxt the fight, Like _Troy_, where all was fir'd, and all despis'd, But what stood gracious in the victors sight. Such was the wo of this great citty right: Here lay a Saint throwne downe, & here a Nun, Rude _Sarazens_ which no high God agnis'd, Made all alike our wofull course to run. 8 And in this deadly dealing of sterne death, And busie dole of euery Souldiers hand, Where swords were dul'd with robbing men of breath Whil'st rape with murder, stalk't about the land, And vengeance did performe her own command, and where 'twas counted sin to thinke amisse: There no man thought it ill to do all scath, O what doth warre respect of bale or blisse? 9 There stood an ancient Chappell next the Court, Where sacred Bishops said their morrow Masse. And sung sweet _Anthems_ with a loud report, To that eternall God-head, whose sonne was, Sequestred from the Trinity to passe, Vnder the burthen of the holy Crosse, For our redemption, whose death did retort, The sting of Sathan, and restor'd our losse. 10 Hither was got of silly maides some few, Whom happily no Souldier yet had seas'd, Tendring their spotlesse vows, in child-cold dew, Of virgin teares, to haue the heauens appeas'd But teares too late, must be too soone displeas'd, And hither, like a Tyger from the chase, Recking in bloudy thoughts, and bloudy shew, Came _Amurath_ himselfe to sacke the place. 11 In Armour clad, of watchet steele, full grim, Fring'd round about the sides, with twisted gold, Spotted with shining stars vnto the brim, Which seem'd to burn the spheare which did th[=e] hold: His bright sword drawn, of temper good and old, A full moone in a fable night he bore, On painted shield, which much adorned him, With this short Motto: _Neuer glorious more_. 12