In that same myd-daies hower came sayling in, A thought-swift-flying Pynnase, taught by winde, T' outstrip in flight Times euer flying wing; And being come where vertue was inshrinde, First vaild his plumes, and wheeling in a ring, With Goat-like dauncing, stays where _Grinuile_ shynd, The whyle his great Commaunder calls the name, Which is ador'd of all that speakes the same. The great Commaunder of this little Barke, Which like an Eglet armes the Eagles side, Was _Midleton_, the ayme of Honors marke, That more had prou'd then danger durst haue tride, Now seeing all good fortunes sun-shine darke, Thrise calls Sir _Richard_, who as oft replyde, Bidding him speake, and ring his newes aloude, Ill, not apald, nor good could make him proude. O then (quoth Midleton) thou soule of all What euer boasts in magnanimitie, Thou, whom pure Vertue her best part doth call, Better then valure, stronger then dietie, Whom men adore, and all the gods exhall Into the bookes of endlesse memorie, I bring thee tidings of a deadly fray, Begun in Heauen, to end vpon the Sea. The glorious Senate of the Skyes was set, And all the gods were royaliz'd in state, When _Happy-fortune_ and _Ill-fortune_ met, Striuing who first should enter Heauen's gate, The one made mad the others fame to let, Neither but stirr'd with rage to wonder at, Confusedly, as water floods doe passe Their common bounds, such their rude entrance was. The gods disturb'd, admire their strange aproch, Censuring their angers by their gloing eyes, _Ill-fortune_ was attended by _Reproch_, _Good-fortune, Fame_, and _Vertue_ stellesies;[3] One sweares the other doth her right incroch, Which is the elder house, none can deuise: The gods diuide, yet in the end agree The Fates shall iudge each others pedigree. _Good-Fortune_, drawes from heauen her hye descent, Making hie _Ioue_ the roote of her large tree; She showes from him how many god-heads went, _Archangells, Angells_, heauen's posteritie: From thence, she shows the glorious thrid she lent, To _Monarks, Emperours_, and _Kyngs_ in fee, Annexing as Colatteralls to her line, _Honour, Vertue, Valure_, and _Endles-time_. Naithlesse, _Ill-fortune_ will be elder borne, She saith, she springs from _Saturne, Ioues_ wronged Sier, And heauen, and earth, and hell her coate haue borne, Fresh bleeding harts, within a field of fier; All that the world admires, she makes her scorne, Who farthest seemes, is to _Ill-fortune_ nier, And that iust proofe may her great praise commend, All that _Best-chaunce_ begins, _Ill-chaunce_ doth ende. Thus they, dispute, guilding their tongues report With instances, and argumental sawes, _Ill-fortune_, bids let all the worlde resort, And show within their Chronicles and lawes, The man whose liue-line neuer did consort, With sharpe affliction, deaths first grounded cause, Then will she yeeld, else, is shee victor still. Worlds good is rare, perpetuall is their ill.