These heapes of stones, these old wals which ye see, Were first enclosures but of salvage soyle; And these brave pallaces, which maystred bee Of time, were shepheards cottages somewhile. Then tooke the shepheards kingly ornaments And the stout hynde arm’d his right hand with steele: Eftsoones their rule of yearely presidents Grew great, and sixe months greater a great deele; Which, made perpetuall, rose to so great might, That thence th’imperiall eagle rooting tooke, Till th’heaven it selfe, opposing gainst her might, Her power to Peters successor betooke, Who, shepheardlike, (as Fates the same foreseeing,) Doth shew that all things turne to their first being. [XVIII. 8.—_Sixe months_, &c. The term of the dictatorship at Rome.] XIX. All that is perfect, which th’heaven beautefies; All that’s imperfect, borne belowe the moone; All that doth feede our spirits and our eies; And all that doth consume our pleasures soone; All the mishap the which our daies outweares; All the good hap of th’oldest times afore, Rome, in the time of her great ancesters, Like a Pandora, locked long in store. But destinie this huge chaos turmoyling, In which all good and evill was enclosed, Their heavenly vertues from these woes assoyling, Caried to heaven, from sinfull bondage losed: But their great sinnes, the causers of their paine, Under these antique ruines yet remaine. XX. No otherwise than raynie cloud, first fed With earthly vapours gathered in the ayre, Eftsoones in compas arch’t, to steepe his hed, Doth plonge himselfe in Tethys bosome faire, And, mounting up againe from whence he came, With his great bellie spreds the dimmed world, Till at the last, dissolving his moist frame, In raine, or snowe, or haile, he forth is horld, This citie, which was first but shepheards shade, Uprising by degrees, grewe to such height That queene of land and sea her selfe she made. At last, not able to beare so great weight, Her power, disperst, through all the world did vade*; To shew that all in th’end to nought shall fade. [* _Vade_, vanish.] XXI. The same which Pyrrhus and the puissaunce Of Afrike could not tame, that same brave citie Which, with stout courage arm’d against mischaunce, Sustein’d the shocke of common enmitie, Long as her ship, tost with so manie freakes, Had all the world in armes against her bent, Was never seene that anie fortunes wreakes Could breake her course begun with brave intent. But, when the obiect of her vertue failed, Her power it selfe against it selfe did arme; As he that having long in tempest sailed Faine would arive, but cannot for the storme, If too great winde against the port him drive, Doth in the port it selfe his vessell rive. XXII.