seem'd to mocke him smiling being dead.

108

Vntill he tooke it in his bloudy power,
And then a crimson floud gusht out a pace,
The fauor chang'd fr[=o] smiling and look't sower.
And senceles teares ran trickling downe her face,
As who should say, I thought within this hower,
For me thou wouldst haue oppos'd heauen with strife,
That earthly being is like falling glasse,
To thee I lost virginity and life.

109

Long stood he mute, and gaz'd vpon her forme,
Till _Mustapha_ came in to play his part,
His eies shot lightning like a horrid storme,
Th[=e] with his fauchion runs him through the hart,
O could this diuell my soule so tranforme,
That I must eate that snake in him did lurke,
But this is hels instruction, the blacke Art.
To giue our sins the means by which they work.

110

O my _Hirena_, _Mahomet_ then cries,
Looke through the orbes, & see an Emperour sad
Detaine her not you rulers in the skies,
But send her once more, to make Monarkes glad.
My soule to thine like _Tartars_ shaft now flies,
They held his arme, or else he had done the deed
This mighty _Mahomet_ with loue growne mad,
Can nothing ease you, but your heart must bleed.

111

Where is that God-head due vnto your birth,
Descended from the _Prophet Mahomet_,
Recall your spirits to their former mirth,
And keep your colour constant like the Iet.
Now shew your fortitude, be God on earth,
Marshall your men, giue eare vnto your Drum,
And let your valour with the sunne being set,
With the resplendancy burne Christendome.

112

Awake dull mate, and leaue this trance,
Be perfect man, as thou hast here thy being,
Not subiect vnto passion or chance;
But like thy selfe, with Kingly thoughts agree,
Our siluer moone to heauen we will aduance,
And Christendome shall mourne for _Hirens_ fall,
That heathen Princes our braue acts seeing,
Shall yeeld the world to vs, we king of all.

113

And for my loues vnkindly Tragedy,
A thousand Citties for her death shall mourne,
And as a relicke to posterity,
Our priests shall keep her ashes in their vrne,
And fame to future times with memory,
Shall sound her glory, and my loues effects,
For, till this vniuersall Masse doth burne,
Her beauty rests the wonder of her sex.