Excerpt from “The historie of that wise and fortunate prince, Henrie of that name the seventh, King of England With that famed battaile, fought betweene the sayd King Henry and Richard the third named Crookbacke, upon Redmoore neere Bosworth. In a poem” by Charles Aleyn

And thus he spoke. If punishment, and sinne
Are borne at once, then cannot Richard dreame,
But that in Heav’n his hath for vengeance beene:
For murders have low’d voyces, and the Steame,
Which fumes from blood, doth teare the clouds in sunder
Such exhalations can breed nought but thunder.

Thinke that you heare his slaughterd Brother cry,
And beg your almes of vengeance on his brother:
Thinke that you see his Nephewes smothered lye
In Bed, exchanging one sleepe for another.
And now heele wed his Neece, as if he wou’d
Be more alli’de by sinne, than by his Blood.

On Crooke-backe as a Malefactour looke,
Abstracted from the Title of a King:
But view your selves as Instruments, are tooke
By Heav’ns corrective hand vengeance to bring.
Be Bold: there can be no resistance made,
When Justice striketh with a Souldiers blade.

This is the Point of time: you must strike home;
Judgement holds execution by the hilt:
His sinnes are ripe, and to their growth are come;
His blood is now prepar’d to wash his gilt.
Vengeance doth surely, ‘though but slowly tread,
And strikes with Iron, ‘though it walkes with lead.

Dare, what they thinke you dare not: for that thought
Makes the act easie, ’cause they think not so:
The ends at which we levell, will be brought
Under command, if we but dare to doe
The hardnesse of an act as often springs
From our Imagination, as the things.

If you feare death, you shall decline that feare
By change of Object: pitch your thoughts upon
Those Garlands, which victorious you shall weare:
Graspe conquest in your apprehension.
No other qualities can be exprest,
When th’ Instruments of sense are prepossest.

You mannage death by facing it; blowes shun
Those that present themselves to meete a wound:
Death’s a Coy Mistresse, court her she’s not wonne,
Of those which sought her, she was rarely found.
Who shewes his backe to danger soonest dies,
The shadow of death from her pursuer flies.

Though his assaults be feirce, the charges hot
Partaking of that wild-fire, which doth glow
In Richards bosome; yet conceit them not
Certaine presages of an overthrow.
Sharpe maladies, and hardest to endure,
Have not in Physicke their predictions sure.

Feare not his numbers: Victories consist
In mindes, not multitudes: most of their part
Favour our cause, and coldly will resist:
Feare not the hand, assured of the heart.
Be wisely bold, and like a Center stand,
And fly with Brutus, not with foote, but hand,

Flight may be their security, and though
They vanquish not, they know there is a meane
Betweene a Trophee, and a Grave: but you
Are in a certeine desperatenesse betweene
Conquest and death: you must not doubt to dye
Though Fortune doubts to give the Victory.

From: Aleyn, Charles, The historie of that wise and fortunate prince, Henrie of that name the seventh, King of England With that famed battaile, fought betweene the sayd King Henry and Richard the third named Crookbacke, upon Redmoore neere Bosworth. In a poem, 2005, Text Creation Partnership: Ann Arbor, Michigan and Oxford, pp. 18-21.
(http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A16622.0001.001)

Date: 1638

By: Charles Aleyn (????-c1640)

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