----------Generals oftimes famous grow By valiant friends, or cowardly enemies; Or, what is worse, by some mean piece of chance. Truth is, ’tis pretty to observe How little Princes and great Generals Contribute oftentimes to the fame they win. How oft hath it been found, that noblest minds With two short arms, have fought with fatal stars; And have endeavour’d with their dearest blood To mollify those diamonds, where dwell The fate of kingdoms; and at last have faln By vulgar hands, unable now to do More for their cause than die; and have been lost Among the sacrifices of their swords; No more remember’d than poor villagers, Whose ashes sleep among the common flowers, That every meadow wears: whilst other men With trembling hands have caught a victory, And on pale foreheads wear triumphant bays. Besides, I have thought A thousand times; in times of war, when we Lift up our hands to heaven for victory; Suppose some virgin Shepherdess, whose soul Is chaste and clean as the cold spring, where she Quenches all thirsts, being told of enemies, That seek to fright the long-enjoyed Peace Of our Arcadia hence with sound of drums, And with hoarse trumpets’ warlike airs to drown The harmless music of her oaten reeds, Should in the passion of her troubled sprite Repair to some small fane (such as the Gods Hear poor folks from), and there on humble knees Lift up her trembling hands to holy Pan, And beg his helps: ’tis possible to think, That Heav’n, which holds the purest vows most rich, May not permit her still to weep in vain, But grant her wish, (for, would the Gods not hear The prayers of poor folks, they’d ne’er bid them pray); And so, in the next action, happeneth out (The Gods still using means) the Enemy May be defeated. The glory of all this Is attributed to the General, And none but he’s spoke loud of for the act; While she, from whose so unaffected tears His laurel sprung, for ever dwells unknown.[43] * * * * * _Unlawful Solicitings._ When I first Mention’d the business to her all alone, Poor Soul, she blush’d, as if already she Had done some harm by hearing of me speak, Whilst from her pretty eyes two fountains ran So true, so native, down her fairest cheeks; As if she thought herself obliged to cry, ’Cause all the world was not so good as she. * * * * * _Proportion in Pity._