[Page] [Page] PLEASANT DIALOGVES AND DRAMMA'S, SELECTED OVT OF LUCIAN, ERASMUS, TEXTOR, OVID, &c. With sundry Emblems extracted from the most elegant Iacobus Catsius. As also certaine Elegies, Epitaphs, and Epithalamions or Nuptiall Songs; Anagrams and Acrosticks; With divers Speeches (upon severall occasions) spoken to their most Excellent Majesties, King CHARLES, and Queene MARY. With other Fancies translated from BEZA, BUCANAN, and sundry Italian Poets.
By THO. HEYWOOD.
‘ Aut prodesse solent, aut delectare—’
LONDON, Printed by R. O. for R. H. and are to be sold by Thomas Slater at the Swan in Duck-lane 1637.
To the Right Honourable Sir HENRY Lord CARY, Baron of Hunsdon, Viscount Rochford, Earle of DOVER, &c.
Right Honourable,
ELaborate Poems have ever aym'd at learned Patrons, who valued Books as your best Lapidaries praise Iewels, not by their greatnesse, but their goodnesse. This is a small Cabinet of many and choyse, of which none better than your Noble selfe can judge, some of them borrowing their luster from your own vertues, vouchsafe therefore (great Lord) their perusall, being devoted to our sole patronage, whilst the presenter wishing [...]nto you and all yours, a long fruition of terre [...]riall graces here, with the fulnesse of celestiall [...]yes hereafter, humbly takes his leave, with that of Catullus to M. Cicero:
Tanto pessimus omnium poeta,
Quanto tu optimus omnium patronus.
Your Lordships in all dutifull observance, THO. HEYWOOD.
To the Generous Reader.
REader, of what capacity or condition soever, I present unto thy favourable perusall a Miscellane of sundry straines in Poetry; which me thinks should not come altogether unwelcome to such as affect variety: here thou shalt finde choice and selected Dialogues borrowed from sundry Authors, both for the method and matter, pleasant and profitable. Which though I met with in Prose onely, yet upon better acquaintance, I have taught to goe upon even feet and number.
For such as delight in Stage-poetry, here are also divers Dramma's, never before published: Which though some may condemne for their shortnesse, others againe will commend for their sweetnesse.
From famous Iacobus Catsius, I have [Page] extracted Emblems of risk conceit, and excellent expression in the originall; Therefore I hope not to bee rejected in our native Tongue, howsoever by mee but rudely and coursely interpreted.
Here are moreover divers speeches, at sundry times, and upon severall occasions spoken, either to one or both of their sacred Majesties. And other of the same condition, before other Noble Personages.
Besides Epithalamions (or Nuptiall Songs) with Funerall Elegies, Epitaphs, Anagrams, &c. Nor doubt I, but in the service of such change of dishes, there may be found amongst them, though not all to please every man, yet not any of them but may taste some one or others palat. For the better illustration of which. I have prefixed before every particular piece its proper Argument, with Annotations and observations of all such things as may appeare difficult or forreigne to the ignorant Reader. Which I intreat thee to accept [Page] as well in plaine iake, as were they curiously insculpt in Copper. Complement I cannot t' onely that I take my [...]eave; Reader farewell. Read perfectly, examine strictly, but censure charitably.
Thine, THO. HEYWOOD.
To his worthie friend the Authour, Master Thomas Heywood.
HEywood, when men weigh truly what thou art,
How the whole frame of learning claimes a part
In thy deepe apprehension; and then see;
To knowledge added so much industry;
Who will deny thee the best Palme and Bayes?
And that to name thee, to himselfe is praise.
As first, which I must ever first preferre,
Thy skill in Poëtry, where thou so farre
Hast gone, as none beyond thee, and hast writ,
That after-ages must despaire of wit
Or matter to write more. Nor art thou lesse,
In whatsoere thy fancy will expresse.
Thy pen commands all history, all actions,
Counsels, Decrees, men, manners, States, and factions,
Playes, Epicediums, Odes, and Lyricks,
Translations, Epitaphs, and Panegyricks:
They all doe speake thy worth. Nor dost thou teach
Things meere prophane; but thy great Muse does reach
Above the Orbes; unto the utmost skie,
And makes transition unto Deitie.
When thou with such high straines detainst our eares,
As might become the Angels, or the Spheares.
What Reader then in justice can decline
From this assertion? Poets are divine,
Rapt with a heavenly fire, which is made knowne
By no example better than thine owne.
SH. MARMION.
To the learned Authour Master THOMAS HEYWOOD.
VVHo can deny but Poets take their birth
From some thing that's more excellent than earth
Since those harmonious strains that fill our eares,
Proclaime their neere allyance with the Spheares,
And shewes their Art all Arts as farre exceed
As doth the fiery-Cane, the weakest Reed.
That Matter which six lines of Prose rehearse,
May fitly be contained in one Verse;
Yea, and so pithily (if well compacted)
That out of it whole Bookes may be extracted.
A President whereof if thou wouldst find,
I prethee gentle Reader bend thy mind
To what this little Volume doth containe,
And sure the fruit will recompence thy paine.
The subject with the Authours names agree,
Who all have left unto Posteritie
Such Noble badges of their learned fame,
That my weake Pen can no way shew the same;
Therefore doe thou, ô
Heywood, weare the Bayes
As thy just merit many thousand wayes.
For this thy Worke, with others heretofore
Shall honor thee till time shall be no more.
D. E.
To my praise-worthy friend Master THOMAS HEYWOOD.
THy Worth unto the Knowing World is knowne,
Let Criticks censure others by their owne,
And tinct their foreheads with a purple shame,
When they shall see thy Works, or heare thy Name,
Whilst with thy owne, thou setst forth others fame;
Whose lofty Anthems, in our English tone
Thou sing'st, and mak'st them live, though dead & gone.
What barking or untutor'd
Momus then
Will dare to belch against thy learned Pen?
Whose worthier Lines, unto their foule disgrace,
Shall spit defiance in a brasen face;
And when th'art dead, thy Poēsie shall sing
Such pleasant straines, whereof the World shall ring;
And Envies selfe, in spight of all Assayes,
Shall crowne thy Tombe-stone with eternall Bayes.
S. N.
The Table.
THe Dialogue of Erasmus, called Naufragium, Pag. 1
The Dialogue of Erasmus, called Procus and Puella, Page 16
The Dialogue of Ravisius Textor, called Earth and Age, p. 38
A Dialogue from Lucianus Samosatensis, called Misanthropos, or the Man-hater, p. 54
A Dialogue of the same Author, betwixt Iupiter and Ganimede, p. 96
A third betwixt Iupiter and Iuno, p. 101
A fourth betwixt Iupiter and Cupid, p. 105
A fifth betwixt Vulcan and Appolo, p. 108
A sixth betwixt Apollo and Mercury, p. 111
A seventh betwixt Maia and Mercury. p. 114
An eighth betwixt Iupiter and Vulcan, p. 116
A ninth betwixt Mercurie and Neptune, p. 120
A tenth betwixt Mausolus and Diogenes, p. 123
An eleventh betwixt Diogenes and Crates. p. 126
A twelfth betwixt Charon, Menippus, and Mercury, p. 130
A thirteenth betwixt Menippus, Aeacus, Pythagoras, Empedocles, and Socrates, p. 133
[Page] A fourteenth betwixt Nireus, Thersites, and Menippus, p. 138
A Dialogue called Deorum Iudicium, betwixt Iupiter, Mercurie, Iuno, Pallas, Venus, and Paris, p. 140
A Drama from Ovid, called Iupiter and Io, p. 155
A second from Ovid called Apollo and Daphne, p. 177
A Pastorall Drama called Amphrisa, or the Forsaken Shepheardesse. p 192
Forty sixe Emblems interpreted from the most excellent Emblematist, Iacobus Catsius. The Argument, A discourse betwixt Anna and Phillis, p 203
Divers Speeches spoken before their two sacred Majesties, and before sundry other Noble persons upon severall occasions, p. 231 &c.
A Maske presented at Hunsdon House, p 245
Prologues and Epilogues upon other occasions, p 247
Funer all Elegies and Epitaphs, p. 250
Epithalamions, or Nuptiall Songs, p. 260
Acrosticks, p. 202
Epigrams from Beza, Bucanan, and other Italian and Latine Authers, p. 267
Cum multis aliis, &c.
Tabulae Finis.
The Argument of Erasmus his Dialogue called NAIAGAION, or Naufragium.
HEre you may reade an accurate Narration
Of dangers incident to Navigation:
With diuers foolish superstitions us'd
[...]y Mariners, (some not to be excus'd)
Here is describ'd a Tempest
to the height,
With casting out of Goods,
to case their freight;
And severall humors (to the life exprest)
Of men in danger, and by sea distrest:
[...]ome, to the blessed Virgin
call for aid:
[...]y others, Vowes to seuerall Saints
are made.
But this our Author
will approue of none
To be invok't, but the Great God alone.
The Interlocutors or Speakers,
Antonius and
Adolphos.
The DIALOGUE.
Anthon.
THou tel'st me wondrous things; Is that to saile,
Where humane helpe so little can preuaile?
Forbid it Heav'n, to come into my thought,
That euer Wit so dearely should be bought.
Adol.
[Page 2]
What hath as yet been spoke are trifles meere,
If to what I shall speake thou lend an eare.
Anth.
So much from thee I haue already had,
That I still tremble, and it makes me sad,
As I had then been present.
Adol.
Dangers past
Are vnto me of much more pleasing tast:
That night there hapned what much tooke away
All comfort from the Pilot.
Anth.
What, I pray?
Adol.
Dark was the night; when by the top-mast stand
(Got thither by the help of feet and hands)
One of the ship-men, and as from a
It is commonly called the Bowland.
looverHe lookt from thence, if so he might discouer
Some part of land: when on the instant, neare
Vnto his side was seen a fiery Spheare;
To Sea-men a sad
Omen, if it shine
Single: but twinnes, they better lucke divine:
And in the times of old they call'd such too
Castor and
Pollux.
Anth.
What had they to do
With Mariners? since those we understand
Were Champions both, and vs'd to fight on land.
Adol.
The Poets so would haue it. He at th' sterne
Casting his eye vp did the light discerne:
Who calling said, My
Mate (It is a word
That Sailers interchangeably afford
To one another) speake, dost thou not see
The fire aboue that clings so close to thee?
Who answer'd thus: I do, and I pray God
That vnto vs it no misfortune boad.
The flaming Globe straight by the tackles slid,
And came close to the Pilot.
Anth.
I! But did
Not he sinke downe with feare?
Adol.
The fright he' endur'd,
[Page 3] They being to such prodigies inur'd.
There hauing staid a while, by the ship sides
It rowles it selfe, but there not long abides,
But leaping from the hatches, vanisht so.
Towards mid-day the tempest 'gan to grow
More and more raging. Didst thou euer see
The Alps?
Anth.
I haue.
Adol.
Those hills appeare to bee
But warts to such sea billowes, (if compar'd:)
Be judge then, how with us it that time far'd;
How often were we lifted vp so high,
Till to the very Moone we came so nigh,
To touch it with our fingers. Then againe
So low cast, that the Channell rent in twaine,
To let vs downe to Hell.
Anth.
Mad men, no doubt,
Who leaue the land, to seeke such dangers out.
Adol.
The Sailers striuing with the Storme some space,
(But all in vaine) the Pilot with a face
Like ashes, came to vs.
Anth.
And now I feare,
By his wan colour, some strange mischiefe neare.
Adol.
I am no more your Pilot now
(saith he)
My friends, the Windes command both ship and me:
Prepare for all extremes, there's now no hope
Saue in our God, no trust in Saile or Rope.
Anth.
('Twas an hard speech.)
Adol.
First therefore let vs ease
Our ship
(saith he)
by casting in the seasHer weighty lading; for so now commands
Necessitie: It with more safety stands,
By losse of goods, death present to preuent,
Than with them perish here incontinent.
The truth persuades them; Instantly they hoise
[...]nto the Maine, rich Wares, and Vessels choise,
And those in plenty.
Anth.
[Page 4]
This a Wracke indeed
May well be call'd.
Adol.
Silence till I proceed.
Amongst the rest, a rich Italian there,
Imployd in Embassy, who was to beare
Some Presents into Scotland, and this Lord
Had coffers, caskets, and stuft trunks abord,
With plate, rings, Iewels, change of garments.
Anth.
Say,
Was that man willing to cast all away?
Adol.
No: but being askt that question, made reply,
He with his wealth would liue, or with it dy;
And therefore storm'd.
Anth.
What said the Pilot then?
Adol.
Better it were, of these despairing men,
That he alone should perish, than (to saue
His proper wealth) all suffer in the waue:
And therefore told him plainly, But if hee
Vnto the generall safety would agree,
(Need so compeld) that without further plea,
Him and his wealth they'd tosse into the sea.
Anth.
A very Sailers speech.
Adol.
So, forc't at last,
With his owne hands his goods away he cast,
With many bitter curses; much inrag'd
With gods and divels, that he had ingag'd
Himselfe to such a barbarous element.
Anth.
A meere Italians pray'r.
Adol.
Obserue th'euent:
(These our free-offrings notwithstanding) neither
The windes nor waues were sated, but together
Conspir'd: Our tackles were asunder blowne,
And our torne sailes into the Ocean throwne,
Anth.
Distresse indeed.
Adol.
The Pilot comes againe.
Anth.
To preach as at the first?
Adol.
[Page 5]
In a sad straine
He thus salutes vs: Friends, as the case stands,
I wish you would commend you to heav'ns hands,
And so prepare for death. Some who had been
At sea before, and in that Art well seen,
Askt him, How long he thought he could maintaine
His ship to liue? who briefely said againe,
Not full three houres, (as being then at worst)
Anth.
Why this was harder doctrine than the first.
Adol.
Which hauing said, the Sailers he straight bid
To cut the cords asunder: which they did.
And next, To saw the main-Mast by the root:
Who instantly apply themselues vntoo't;
Which, with the saile and saile-yard, they soone threw
Into the sea.
Anth.
Why so?
Adol.
Because they knew,
Bee'ng torne, a burthen they might rather call
Their sailes, than helpe, (now of no vse at all)
For all their hope was in the helme,
Anth.
Meane space,
What did the passengers?
Adol.
A wretched face
Of things you now might see: Some then in place
Began to sing,
Haile Mary
full of Grace;
And the blest Virgin Mother to implore:
She, who plaine
Mary had been call'd before,
They now stile,
The Seas Star,
The Queen of heav'n,
The Lady of the world: Titles not giv'n
To her in sacred Scriptures.
Anth.
I indeed
Neuer that she at sea was yet could reed.
Adol.
But
Venus (I haue heard) once tooke no scorne
To haue the charge of Sailers, (as sea-borne.)
But thinking she had quite giv'n vp her care;
All their Devotions now directed are
In stead of her, a mother, and no maid,
[Page 6] Her that was Maid and Mother, to persuade.
Anth.
Come now you jest.
Adol.
Some of them prostrat lie
Vpon the hatches, and for succor crie
Vnto the
Storme, and (as had they been mad)
pour'd out into the Maine what oile they had;
Flattring the raging billowes of the seas,
As if some angry pow'r they would appease.
Anth.
What did they say?
Adol.
O Sea most mercifull,
O generous Sea, ô Sea most beautifull,
O you the most rich Channels of the Deepe
Saue vs, haue mercy, vs preserue and keepe.
Anth.
Ridiculous superstition. What the rest?
Adol.
Their stomacks some disgorg'd; one in his brest
Was meditating Vowes. An English man
(I well remember) said, O if I can
But get to land safe, Pilgrimage I'l frame
Vnto the blessed Maid of
Walsinghame;
And promis'd golden mountaines. Others vow'd
To such a Crosse: but that some disallow'd.
And nam'd another in a remoat place
Thence many countries distant. In like case
They with the Virgin
Mary dealt, who raignes
In sundry Regions: and since need constraines,
They pray to her, but thinke they are not heard,
Vnlesse they name some Temple to her rear'd.
Anth.
Vaine were such Orisons, since the Saints dwell
In heav'n aboue.
Adol.
Some said, If they came well
And safe to shore, Carthusians they would bee.
One promis'd, If the sea he once could free,
Bare foot and bare head, naked saue his shirt,
And that of male close to his body girt,
Nay, begging all the way, vow'd, steps hee'd tell
To where Saint
Iames yet liues in Compostell.
Anth.
[Page 7]
Did none thinke of Saint
Christopher?
Adol.
I heard
Not without laughter) one to him indear'd:
He in the chiefe Church of
Or Pari
Lutetia stands,More like a mountaine than a man) his hands
Lift vp: who with a voice strep'rous and loud
That all they in the ship might heare him) vow'd
To set before that Saint a waxen Light
Big as himselfe. To whom one that fore-right
Before him sate, (well knowne to him) reply'd,
After he first had jogg'd him on the side)
Take heed friend what you promise; should you sell
Your whole estate, which is to me knowne well,
You cannot make it good. He then in feare,
Lest him perchance S.
Christopher might heart)
Answer'd in a low voice, Peace foole be still,
Think'st thou my words are suting to my will;
[...]f once I finde safe landing may be had,
I'l of a farthing candle make him glad.
Anth.
O stupid braine! Some Hollander?
Adol.
None such:
He was of Zeeland sure.
Anth.
I wonder much,
None that time of th' Apostle
Paul did thinke;
For he was wrackt, and when the ship did sinke,
Got to the shore) who knowing shipwracke best,
Would soone haue helpt them in that kinde distrest.
Adol.
Of him there was no mention.
Anth.
Did they pray?
Adol.
Yes; and at once some sung, and some did say
Haile Virgin: others, their Beleefe: some mutter'd
Certaine peculiar pray'rs, as had they vtter'd
Soft Magicke spells' gainst danger.
Anth.
How distresse
Makes men deuout? when they thinke nothing lesse
Than of their God, if fortune seeme to smile,
[Page 8] Or of his Saints. But what didst thou the while?
Vowd'st thou to none of them?
Adol.
No.
Anth.
Why?
Adol.
Because
Cov'nants with Saints made, are still with some clause
After the forme of Contract:
This I giue,
If thou performe: If at this time I liue,
Then such a thing I'l do; I'l at thy Shrine
Offer a Taper, if I scape the Brine;
Or if thou keepst me, vnto Rome I'l go
On Pilgrimage.
Anth.
But to none prayd'st thou?
Adol.
No.
Anth.
Shew me the cause?
Adol.
I thought, Heav'n far extended:
To any one Saint should I haue commended
My safety, say Saint
Peter, who bee'ng neare
Vnto the doore, most likely was to heare;
Before he could haue left the gate, to finde
where God was, or deliver'd him my minde,
I might haue perisht.
Anth.
What then didst thou do?
Adol.
Tooke the next course, and did direct vnto
The
Father my Deuotions, and began,
Father which art in heav'n, &c. I perceiv'd than,
None of the Saints could sooner heare, nor any
Abler to saue or helpe, though they be many.
Anth.
Did not thy conscience pricke thee the mean time
Remembring with how many an hainous crime
Thou hadst offended him?
Adol.
Shall I speake true?
Part of my confident boldnesse it withdrew;
But straight it thus in my conception runne:
No Father is so angry with his Sonne,
But if he spy him in a brooke or lake,
[Page 9] Ready to drowne, hee'l by the haire him take,
And plucke him from the danger. 'Mongst the rest,
A woman who a childe had at her brest
Then sucking, in that feare seem'd troubled least.
Anth.
And what did she?
Adol.
Nor clamor loud, nor weepe;
Nor promise what she neuer meant to keepe:
Only embrac'd her infant, softly pray'd
Vnto her selfe, none hearing what she sayd.
Meane time the Barke inclining neere the shore,
The Master fearing lest she would be tore
And split to pieces; her with cables bound
From helme to the fore-decke.
Anth.
Comfort vnsound.
Adol.
Vp then a sacrificing Priest arose,
Ag'd sixty yeares, through doublet and through hose
His torne shirt seene,
(call'd
Adam)
who his shooesThat had no soles) cast off, and 'gins to vnloose
His wretched habit; bidding all prepare
Themselues to swim, who of their liues had care.
And standing on the decke, begins to preach
Alowd to vs, and out of
Gerson teach
Five truths; what profit from Confession growes,
Wishing we would make ready to dispose
Our selues to life or death. Then present there
Was a Dominican Frier of looke austere,
To whom some few confest themselues.
Anth.
But what
didst thou mean space?
Adol.
I well perceiuing, that
All things were full of tumult, soone confest
My selfe to God, 'gainst whom I had transgrest;
Blaming mine owne injustice, and commended
My selfe to him, whom I had most offended.
Anth.
Hadst thou then perisht, whither hadst thou gon?
Adol.
That I committed vnto God alone,
[Page 10] As most vnwilling mine owne judge to be:
And yet a faire hope did still comfort me.
Whilst these things past, the Pilot came againe,
With his cies full of teares, and saith, In vaine
We striue 'gainst heav'n: each man himselfe prepare;
The shaken ship in which distrest we are
Cannot the fourth part of an houre well last,
At sundry leaks the water poures so fast.
Soone after he brings newes he did descry
A Chappell afar off: bids vs apply
Our pray'rs, the small space that the ship still floated,
Vnto that Saint to whom it was deuoted:
When suddenly most part are groueling throwne,
Deuoutly praying to the Saint vnknowne.
Anth.
Had they but nam'd him, he would sure haue heard
Adol.
But that they knew not. Then the Pilot steard
His torne ship that way, ready now to sinke,
(Such quantitie of water forc't to drinke)
And split she had in pieces in that weather,
Had not the cables bound her fast together.
Anth.
'Twas an hard case.
Adol.
It drawing now towards even,
Vpon the sudden we so far were driven
Towards the coast, that vs th' inhabitants spy'de,
And seeing our extremes, call'd out and cry'de;
And with their hats vpon their staues end, stand
Pointing to vs the safest place to land:
Then with their armes stretcht out, seeme to deplore
Our wretched case, distrest so neare the shore.
Anth.
I long to know what happen'd.
Adol.
Our Barke now
Had tooke in so much water, that I vow
There hardly any diffrence could be knowne,
Because the ship and sea appear'd all one.
Anth.
To th' holy Anchor it was time to flye.
Adol.
And yet small comfort, seeing death so nye.
[Page 11] The Sailers hoise the boat, and let it downe
[...]to the Sea: then there's a tumult growne,
[...]ho should presse soonest in. Some gan t' exclaime,
[...]rying, Why throng you thus? Be rul'd for shame;
[...]he Boat's but small, and were you not thus rude,
[...]ncapable of such a multitude.
They bid them search, and what came neerest, get
[...]o saue themselues. When now there was no let,
[...]ut ev'ry one, that which came next him snatches:
One lights vpon a piece of the torne hatches:
[...]n empty barrell he: another takes
[...] planke: that man a pole: and none but makes
[...]ome shift or other: so themselues commit
[...]nto the sea.
Anth.
You haue not told me yet,
What of the woman and the childe became,
[...]he only that was heard not to exclaime.
Adol.
She got to shore first.
Anth.
Tell me how that past?
Adol.
Her to a crooked planke we ty'de so fast,
That hardly she could slide thence: in whose hand
We put a boord (such as she might command)
[...]n stead of a small oare: then hauing prayd
[...]or her successe, as she was thereon layd,
Expos'd her to the waues, and with a speare,
Thrust her from off the ship, which now was neare
Hid in the sea, her infant she bestow'd
[...]n her left arme, and with her right hand row'd.
Anth.
A stout Virago.
Adol.
When nought else remain'd,
One snatcheth an old Image, blur'd and stain'd,
Part of it eat with rats, which once presented
The mother Virgin: and with that contented,
Begins to swim.
Anth.
But came the boat to shore?
Adol.
They were the first that perisht, none before;
[Page 12] For thirty had therein together got.
Anth.
By what ill chance was that?
Adol.
'Twas their hard lot;
For e're they from the ship themselues could free,
The weake boat split, and sunke immediatly.
Anth.
A sad disaster: But what then?
Adol.
I cherisht
Others, and had my selfe like to haue perisht.
Anth.
As how?
Adol.
I stayd till nothing did appeare
Helpfull to swim.
Anth.
Corke had been vsefull there.
Adol.
I tell thee Friend, iust at that instant space
I'de rather had a Corke tree to embrace,
Than a rich golden Candlesticke. About
Looking, to spy what best I could finde out,
I soone bethought me of the poore remaine
Of the split Mast, at which I tugg'd in vaine;
And therefore call'd an helper. We combine
Our double strength, and both to it incline,
Trusting our selues to sea; and in that fright
He by the left part holds: I take the right.
Thus by the billowes tost, the Predicant, whom
I nam'd before, iust at our backs did come,
And threw himselfe vpon vs: like an hulke
To us he seem'd, being of a mighty bulke.
Wherewith much troubled, both aloud 'gan call,
Who is that third who meanes to drowne vs all?
He gently vs bespake, and bad vs bee
Of comfort, there was roome enough for three.
Anth.
But wherefore did he leaue the ship so late?
Adol.
He purpos'd in the boat to try his fate
With the Dominican Frier; the rest to grace
Their Orders, willing to afford them place.
But though they both were in the ship confest,
Belike forgetting some word 'mongst the rest,
[Page 13] They fell to it againe, and somewhat s'ed
[...]aying ones hand vpon the others head:
[...]eane time the boat sunke, by the waues controld:
For so much, after, to me
Adam told.)
Anth.
But what of the Dominican became?
[...]e, first invoking sundry Saints by name.
So
Adam said) did strip himselfe to th' skin;
And hauing left his cloathes behinde, leapt in.
Anth.
What Saints did he invoke?
[...]e named (thick,
[...]s fast as he could speake) S.
Dominick,
[...]aint
Thomas, and Saint
Vincent, and one
Peter,
I know not which) but one she-Saint, with sweeter
[...]nd fairer words hee'ntreated; and her name,
[...]atherine Senensis, she, it seem'd, the same
To whom he trusted most.
Anth.
I, but Christs aid
[...]mplor'd he not at all?
Adol.
So the Priest said.
Anth.
Me thinks he better might haue far'd that day,
Had he not cast his holy hood away.
For being naked like another man,
[...]ow could the Saint know the Dominican?
Touching thy selfe proceed.
Adol.
Whilst we were tost
Neere to the barke, still fearing to be lost,
Part of the sterne then floating, burst his thigh,
Who held the left part of the mast, whilst I
Made good the right: who soone his hold lets slip,
And so was drown'd. Into whose place doth skip
Adam the Priest, repeating a short prayer
That his soule (then departing) well might fare;
Exhorting me to be of courage bold,
[...]tretch out my legs, and with my hands keepe hold:
Mean time we drunke much brine out of the Ocean,
Twas not a salt bath only, but salt potion.
[Page 14] (So
Neptune then would haue it) for which he
(Adam I meane) would shew a remedie.
Anth.
And what was that?
Adol.
Still as he spy'de the waue
To come vpon vs, he himselfe to saue,
Oppos'd it with the hinde part of his head,
Keeping his mouth fast shut.
Anth.
I neuer read
Of a more stout old fellow.
Adol.
Floating long,
And mouing somewhat onward, he bee'ng strong,
And wondrous tall, saith to me, Be of cheare,
For by my foot I finde the ground is neare.
But I that time more timerous and afraid,
(Hoping no such good fortune) to him said,
Most certaine we are farther from the shore,
Than to hope land. He now incourag'd more,
Saith to me, With my foot I touch the sand.
Perhaps, said I, some chest driv'n neere the land,
Wrought thither by the sea. He affirmes No,
And saith, the ground he toucheth with his to.
We still were tost, and he againe feeles shore:
Do what thou wilt
(then said)
for here no moreI'le trust my selfe, but towards land make hast;
So farewell, for I'le leaue thee to thy mast.
Then watching when the waue began to breake,
With speed pursues it, and no more would speake:
But as the billow (shrinking backe) he sees,
With either hand embracing both his knees,
He waits for it, drencht ouer head and eares,
(As Ducks or sea-Birds) and againe appeares
When the waue's past, and runnes. Finding his fate
So well succeed, I thought to imitate
Him in his course: There stood vpon the sands
Some people with long javelins in their hands,
Men strong and vs'd to stormes; these reacht their sta
[...]
[Page 15] To ev'ry faint hand that their succor craues.
[...]ho catching hold, some by that means they drew
[...]fe to the shore.
Anth.
How many of that Crew?
Adol.
Seven only, of which, two brought to the fire,
[...]ut feeling warmth, did instantly expire.
Anth.
How many were i'th ship?
Adol.
Iust fifty eight.
Anth.
O cruell sea, to ruine such a freight.
I might with the tenths at most haue been suffis'd,
[...]riests aske no more when they are best advis'd.
[...]ut of so great a number did so few
Escape the Wracke?
Adol.
I speake it who best knew:
And there we found a remarkt approbation
Of a most generous and indulgent Nation;
Who with alacritie and much cheare gaue
[...]arbor, meat, drinke, with all things we could craue.
Anth.
What country?
Adol.
Holland.
Anth.
None I take to bee
More generous, fuller of humanitie,
Though girt with barbarous countries. But I feare
Thou'lt not to sea in haste.
Adol.
Troth not this yeare,
No nor the next: I'le be no more such pray,
Vnlesse (quite mad) Heav'n take my wits away.
Anth.
For such discourses I so little loue them,
That I had rather heare them far, than proue them.
The Argument to Erasmus his Dialogue, entituled PROCVS & PVELLA.
ERASMVS
in this Colloquie
Expresseth what pure modestie
There ought to be 'twixt Man
and Maid,
When there's a firme foundation laid
Of their affections. His intent
Was, how to leaue a president,
All wanton Toyes
to intercept,
That chast Vowes
might be made and kept.
As well the Prince
as Peasant
hence
May take aduice of consequence.
It showes how true Loue
should be plac't,
Forbidding Marriage
made in hast:
And that the Choice is not confin'd
Vnto the Body,
but the Minde.
His Project further doth imply
The honour of the Nuptiall
Ty,
Which is not lawfull to proceed
Before the Parents first agreed.
Of the sincere alternate life
Which ought to be 'twixt Man
and Wife.
Next, how their Children
should be bred,
As both by good Example led,
And Precept taught. What ioy, what care
The Good and Bad to Parents
are.
Wedlocke
with Single life
compar'd,
I, and preferr'd in some regard.
[Page 17]
That in the choice of any Bride
'T is Reason
ought to be the Guide,
And not Affection.
Here's commixt
Sport, with Philosophie: betwixt,
Various discourse. The matter's ground
Worthy an Author so renown'd.
The Speakers, PAMPHILVS and MARY.
The DIALOGVE. The ANNOTATIONS upon PROCUS and PUELLA.
Pam.
HAile to thee, ô thou Cruel, who canst vant
Of nothing else saue iron and Adamant.
Mar.
Haile to thee too (at length) ô
Pamphilus,
[...]ow, and as oft as thou shalt please: but thus
Therfore You should salute me, know I not,
[...]eemes to me my name you haue forgot.
[...]ria I am call'd.
[...].
Hadst thou thy right,
[...]ou
Martia hadst been nam'd.
[...].
I cannot fight,
Or know I what
Mars meanes: Pray wherefore then
[...]ke you me with that murtherer of men?
[...].
Because I hold thee more obdurat far,
[...] thirsting bloud, than is the god of War.
[...]kills for sport, (but such as he doth hate)
[...] thou thy Louers, (Cruell and ingrate.)
[...].
Good words I pray; to make me better skil'd.
[...]v me the strage of those whom I haue kil'd?
where's the bloud?
[...].
One Corse liuelesse and cold
[...]ou look'st vpon when thou dost me behold.
Mar.
[Page 18]
What do I heare? Did any euer know
A dead man (like thee) both to speake and go?
Should no more terrible Ghosts to me appeare,
Trust me I neuer should be strooke with feare.
Pa.
Thou jest'st with me, and mean time strik'st me dead
And by degrees I'm hourely massacred,
Worse than if thou with steele shouldst pierce my brest
For now with lingring death I am opprest.
Mar.
How many childing women with wet eies
Were present to lament your obsequies?
Pam.
And yet my palenesse argues (to my cost)
I am more bloudlesse than a walking Ghost.
Mar.
And yet that palenesse hath a violets hew:
You so looke pale, as we in Summer view
The ripening Cherry, and your cheeke is dy'de
Like th' Autumne Grape that's purpled on one side.
Pam.
In sooth you do not well to jeere and flam
Me, knowing in what wretched case I am.
Mar.
If thou beleev'st me not, there's a glasse by,
Reach it, and that will speake as much as I.
No glasse I wish, no Mirror can allow,
Saue that in which I do behold me now.
Mar.
What Mirror's that you speake of?
Pam.
Your cleare eies.
Mar.
You'ar the same Sophister, and still so wise
As you were euer: but I pray make't plaine,
How you are liuelesse? and by me how slaine?
Or is't the use of Shadowes to take meat?
Pam.
They do (like me) but taste not what they eat.
Mar.
What is their food?
Pam.
Leekes, Mallowes, Pulse.
Mar.
Indeed?
But sometimes you on Cocke and Partridge feed.
Pam.
But to my pallat are as much default
As should I feed on sallads without salt.
Mar.
O miserable man! yet by this light
[Page 19] To me Y'appeare fat, fresh, and in good plight:
But can the Dead discourse?
Pam.
Yes, they may speake,
But with a voice (like me) low, faint, and weake.
Mar.
And yet (but lately) when reuenge you vow'd
Vpon your Riuall, you spake shrill and lowd.
But tell me further, as the Shadowes talke,
Are they (like you) apparel'd? Can they walke?
Or do they sleepe?
Pam.
They do, such is their fate:
Nay more than that, sometimes subagitate
After their kinde.
Mar.
You trisle finely now:
Pam.
But will you in your judgement yeeld and bow,
If it by
Achillcan proofes be try'de,
That I am dead, and you the homicide?
Mar.
Far be that Omen from vs: But proceed
With that your Sophisme.
Pam.
First then 'tis agreed,
Death's nothing but the absence of the Soule
From the fraile body: (none can this controule)
And that you'l grant.
Mar.
Well.
Pam.
That which you agree,
You'l not recall hereafter.
Mar.
'T shall not bee.
Pam.
You'l not deny, That such as take a life
From any other, kill?
Mar.
'Tis without strife.
Pam.
You'l likewise yeeld to that approv'd long since
By Authors, such as no man can convince,
Namely, That from the body the soule moues,
And is not where it liues, but where it loues.
Mar.
Therein th'advantage you of me haue got;
Pray make't more plaine, I vnderstand it not.
Pam.
In that I'm most vnhappy, since I see
[Page 20] You are not alike sensible with mee.
Mar.
Then make me so.
Pam.
You might with like pretence
Bid me to teach the Adamant to haue sence.
Mar.
I am a Maid, not stone.
Pam.
And yet most sure,
Than th' hardest Adamant y'are more obdure,
Mar.
Well, recollect your selfe.
Pam.
(Though to be' admir'd)
All that with divine Raptures are inspir'd.
'Tis said, nor heare, nor smell, nor see, nor feele,
Although you wound them with transpiercing steele.
Mar.
So I haue heard.
Pam.
Know you the cause?
Mar.
Not I:
Explaine it you who reade Philosophy.
Pam.
Because the Soule's in heav'n, when't doth affect,
And absent from the flesh in that respect.
Mar.
What then?
Pam.
What then? thou Cruel? why this makes it plain,
Thou art the Murdresse: I the man new slain.
Mar.
Where's then thy soule?
Pam.
Why where it loues?
Mar.
But who
Hath tooke it from thee? Wherefore sigh'sts thou so?
Speake freely, and vncheckt?
Pam.
One cruell, yet
She whom in death I neuer shall forget.
Mar.
Y' are witty: But (my rare Philosopher)
Why likewise take you not a soule from her,
Repaying like with like?
Pam.
Nor thinke it strange;
Nothing could proue more happy than such change,
And make me more essentially blest,
Then myne in hers, if hers in myne would rest.
Mar.
Shall I haue leaue (as thou but late with me)
[Page 21] That I may play the Sophister with thee?
Pam.
The Sophistresse.
Mar.
Can it with probabilitie be sed,
That the same body is alive and dead?
Pam.
But not at the same time.
Mar.
The soule confine,
The bodie's dead, nor canst thou call it thine.
Pam.
I grant.
Mar.
Nor quickens but when 'tis in place.
Pam.
Well, be it so.
Mar.
Speake then, how stands the case?
That being where it liues, in former state,
It keepes the body, whence it shifted late;
Or where it elsewhere liues, if it giue breath,
How can it (whilst it liues) be taxt of death?
Pam.
In Sophistrie I see well skil'd you are,
Yet can I easily euade this snare,
The Soule which doth the liuing body sway,
[...]nproperly (me thinks) title you may
[...] soule, when those that do the men controule,
[...]re truly some small reliques of the soule,
[...]nd nothing else. As when you take a Rose,
[...]nd smell to it, howeuer you dispose
[...]f the floure after: being gon againe,
[...]he sent thereof will on your hand remaine,
Mar.
I see they onely shall lost labor win,
[...]ho seeke to catch an old Fox in a gin:
[...]t there is one thing more that I demand,
[...]nd I from you would gladly vnderstand;
[...]th not he act, that's staind with murthers gilt?
[...]d suffer not all such whose blouds are spilt?
Pam.
Most true.
Mar.
How comes it then, when as the Wooer
This case may be said to be the doer,
[...] she that's woo'd, the Patient (which is plaine,
[...] stiffely to oppose it were but vaine)
that's belov'd, no such intent pursuing,
[Page 22] Should not be that? he cause of his owne ruin.
Pam.
Quite contrarie: he (we see daily prov'd)
Suffer, who loues: she acts that is belov'd.
Mar.
The
(a) Areopagitae (Grammar-skil'd)
In this cannot evince me.
Pam.
Y'are selfe-will'd:
Yet shal
(b) th'
Amphictriones by Logicke doo't.
Mar.
There's one doubt, prethee answer me untoo't;
Whether is this your loue free, or constrain'd?
Pam.
Most willingly I loue, though thus disdain'd.
Mar.
Since not to loue, men likewise haue free-will,
Who euer loues, doth aime himselfe to kill:
And the inditement well against him laid,
'Twere great injustice to accuse the Maid.
Pam.
She is not said the Louer to haue slaine,
Because belov'd, but not to loue againe.
For all such persons may be said to slay,
Who can preserue, and will not when they may.
Mar.
Say a yong man vnlawfully should dote
Vpon a Vestall, from the world remote;
Or cast his eye vpon anothers wife:
Must these lie prostrat, to preserve his life?
Pam.
But where this yong man his affection vowes,
The act both Law and Pietie allowes,
And yet is slaine. But if that murther hee
A sinne that doth appeare so sleight to thee.
I can of Witchcraft challenge thoe.
Mar.
O fie!
Witchcraft? Forbid it you blest Pow'rs on hye:
Wouldst thou make me a
Circes?
Pam.
I divine,
Thou art worse far, because a Beare or Swine
I'de rather bee, than as thou seest me now,
Sencelesse and without life.
Mar.
Pray tell me how,
Or by what kinde of Witchcraft do I kill?
Pam.
[Page 23]
By fascination.
Mar.
Is it then thy will
[...] turne my noxious eies from thee?
Pam.
Not so,
[...]ut rather let them still dwell here.
Mar.
Fie no.
[...] in myne eies there be effascination,
[...]ow comes it there is no such alteration
[...]n others I behold? Now I diuine,
[...]he witchcraft's not in mine eies, but in thine.
Pam.
Is't not enough, thy vow'd friend to transperse,
[...]ut thou wilt still insult upon his herse?
Mar.
O pleasant dead man, that can talke so free:
[...]ut I pray speake, When shall thy funerall bee?
Pam.
Sooner than thou do'st deeme, (I am afraid)
Vnlesse thou suddenly afford'st me aid.
Mar.
Can I worke such a wonder?
Pam.
Thou mayst doo
A greater act, and with small labour too,
[...]estore the Dead to life.
Mar.
Had I the weed
Call'd
(c) Panaces.
Pam.
Of Simples there's no need:
Onely repay my loue, that's void of lust,
(Than which, what thing more easie, or more iust)
[...]here's nothing else can thee of murther cleere.
Mar.
But at what bar shall I be call'd to appeare?
Before the
Areopagitae?
Pam.
No,
But at the bar of
Venus.
Mar.
Those that know
That goddesse, say shee's placable.
Pam.
So ye'haue heard;
[...]ut there is none to be more dread and feard.
Mar.
Carrieth she lightning?
Pam.
Not.
Mar.
[Page 24]
Or doth she beare
A Trident?
Pam.
Neither.
Mar.
Doth she vse a speare?
Pam.
Not any: but shee's goddesse of the seas.
Mar.
I do not vse to saile.
Pam.
But more than these;
She hath a Boy.
Mar.
His age can none affright.
Pam.
But hee's peruerse, reuengefull, and of might.
Mar.
What can he do to me?
Pam.
What can he? All
The gods forbid, that you should prostrat fall
Beneath his fury: loth would I presage
Ill vnto her, to whom my selfe I'engage.
Mar.
I am not superstitious, speake thy minde.
Pam.
I shall: If thou hereafter prov'st vnkinde,
Or shalt appeare so peevish or so fond
To one whose loue with thine may correspond:
Should such a sute to
Venus be commenc'd
By her the Boy would be so much insenc'd,
To aime a shaft in
(e) Stiptick poison dipt,
By which thy hard brest on the sudden ript,
It shall besot thee on some sordid Swaine,
Which shall thy loue repay with cold disdaine.
Mar.
An horrid punishment thou talkst of, I
A thousand times had rather wish to die,
Than perditly to'affect one base and vile,
And he his heart towards me not reconcile.
Pam.
Yet of a Virgin subiect to like fate
There hath been knowne a sad example late.
Mar.
What place?
Pam.
Aurelia.
Mar.
Since how many yeares?
Pam.
How many moneths you would say, Still appeare
The lamentable ruine, and the fame
[Page 25] I loud and frequent.
Mar.
Speake, what was her name?
Why dost thou pause?
Pam.
I know her even as well
[...]s I do thee.
Mar.
Then why dost thou not tell
What her name is?
Pam.
'Tis for the Omens sake.
Which doth not please me: I wish she could take
[...]ome other name vpon her. You may gather
What hers is, by your owne.
Mar.
Who was her father?
Pam.
A man of qualitie, and one that liues
[...]mongst the Lawyers, vnto whom he giues
No common luster.
Mar.
I am now ambitious
[...]o know what his name is.
Pam.
Hee's cal'd
Mauritius:
Mar.
But his syrname?
Pam.
Aglaius.
Mar.
Liues her mother?
Pam.
No, but of late chang'd this life for another.
Mar.
But of what sicknesse dy'de she?
Pam.
Wouldst thou know?
[...]f sorrow, that her childe was shipwrackt so.
[...]er father too, of valour prov'd and try'de,
[...]id little want but of conceit had dy'de.
Mar.
How was her mother styl'd, pray tell me true?
Pam.
I will:
Sopbronia: one that none but knew.
[...]ut what meane all these questions? do you thinke
speake a thing that's forg'd?
Mar.
It cannot sinke
[...]to my head: you rather may suspect
[...]ur fex for that, since fables we affect.
[...]t say, what hapned to her then?
Pam.
The Maid
[Page 26] Was borne in honest place, as I then said,
Of happy dower, and amiable feature:
Why should I hold you long? She was a creature
Fit for a Princes bed; and sought by one
Then euery way her equall: there was none
More meriting.
Mar.
How call'd?
Pam.
The Omen doth offend: yet thus
Receiue his name, he was calld
Pamphilus:
Who though he prov'd all possible waies to win her,
Yet save disdaine, when he found nothing in her,
Griefe wasted him away: when she soone after
Doated vpon a Groome compos'd for laughter;
Whom you might rather call an Ape than Man.
Mar.
What is't you say?
Pam.
So poorely, that I can
Scarce giue thereof expression.
Mar.
She so faire,
To dote on one deformed?
Pam.
Thin his haire,
Besides, disorderd and vnkembd, his crowne
Picked, made steeple-wise, and ouergrowne
With scurfe and dandruffe; bald he was beside,
Extremely squint-eyd, and his nosthrils wide
And bending vpward, with a mouth most spacious,
His teeth both gagg'd and furr'd, his tongue vngratious
Stammering at every word; a scabbed chin,
And easily seene, because his beard was thin;
Crookt-backt, gow-bellied, bending at the knee
His legs.
Mar.
Thersites thou describ'st to me.
Pam.
Nay more; They say he hath but one eare lost.
Mar.
Perhaps the tother was in war bereft.
Pam.
Most sure 'twas lost in peace.
Mar.
Such an affront
What's he durst giue him?
Pam.
[Page 27]
Now I thinke vpon't,
was the hangman.
Mar
Notwithstanding this,
[...]rhaps what in his feature is amisse,
[...]s substance may make good.
Pam.
But hee's no better
[...]an a meere Bankrupt, one that is a debter
[...] his owne soule, and he hath pawnd it oft.
[...]nd yet she that's so tender, smooth, and soft,
[...]oth with this Monster bosome, drinke, and eat;
[...]ay, at his churlish hands is oft times beat.
Mar.
A wretched tale, if truly understood.
Pam.
And yet so
Venus.
Nemesis hath thought it good.
[...]ost true it is, nor could the goddesse long
[...]efer due vengeance for the yong mans wrong.
Mar.
Than such a monster of a man to brooke,
rather wish here to be thunder-strooke.
Pam.
Then let not
Nemesis be iustly mov'd,
[...]rovoke her not, love where thou art belo'vd.
Mar.
Would that suffice, with all my soule I'de doo't.
Pam.
Speake not the word, vnlesse thou stand vntoo't.
[...] wish moreouer, That your love may be
[...]asting, and only proper vnto me.
A wife, no mistresse, I haue now in chase.
Mar.
I do not doubt it: yet in such a case,
When as our vowes continue with our fate,
Behooues vs long time to deliberate.
Pam.
I haue long enough consider'd.
Mar.
Lest you erre,
Take heed, for Love's but a bad Counseller,
And as they say, hee's blinde.
Pam.
Blinde love I scorne;
But that love sees, which is of judgement borne.
Thou dost not therefore seeme to me so faire,
Because I loue thee; but I therefore dare
To love thee, since thou art as thou appear'st.
Mar.
[Page 28]
And yet beware how you esteeme me dearest:
When you pull on your shoo you best may tel
In what part it doth chiefely pinch you.
Pam.
Well,
Dice must be cast for that, I and the rather,
Because by many Auguries I gather.
Things better may succeed.
Mar.
An Augur too?
Pam.
I am.
Mar.
But what can your sooth-saying doo?
Saw you the night-Crow flie?
Pam.
'Thad been in vaine;
Shee onely flies to such as haue no braine.
Mar.
Or did you see two Turtles take their flight
Either vpon the left hand or the right?
Pam.
Tush these are toyes: yet one thing I haue seene,
And long time markt; The goodnesse that hath beene
Deriv'd vnto you, nor doth it foretell
Any bad Omen, to be borne so well;
Nor forreigne vnto me were their conditions,
Or with how many wholsome admonitions
Thy education from the first hath bin,
With faire examples free from sight of sin.
"And better 'tis (the Dowrre to adorne)
"To haue one well instructed, than well borne.
There is another Augurie beside:
My Ancestors (I speake it not in pride)
Are not of meanest ranke, and in times past
With thine made league, which to this day doth last.
And that, not vulgar, from our cradles wee
Haue knowne each other; but to disagree
Were neuer knowne: there is a parity
In our two yeares; in the nobility,
Riches, and honour of our parents. More,
(Which in this match I should haue plac'd before)
Your sweet indowments and behauior rare
[Page 29] Did in all points with my condition square:
But whether myne with yours haue suted well
In correspondence, that I cannot tell.
These are the Birds which I observ'd to flie,
Predicting only by their Augurie.
And these presage a marriage to ensue,
Happy and blest, nay alwaies seeming new.
Vnlesse from your most delicate warbling throat
Should now proceed some harsh vnpleasing noar
To erosse my hopes.
Mar.
Say, What song do you wish?
Pam.
I will begin, now answer you to this,
Tis but two words, and they soone learnd;
I am thine:
Now echo vnto me, and sing,
Thou myne.
Mar.
'Tis a short song, and hath as short a theme,
And yet it beares a long
(f) Epiphoneme.
Pam.
What matters it how long, so it be sweet.
Mar.
And yet I should be loth, as we now meet,
That I to any motion should consent,
Of which perhaps in time you may repent.
Pam.
O cease to boad vs ill.
Mar.
I may grow strange,
When age or sicknesse shall my beauty change.
Pam
Craz'd or in health, thou shalt to me be one,
Equall in both, so deare vnto me none.
gaze not on this building, rare and near;
The guest within I loue.
Mar.
What guest Pentreat?
[...].
Thy mind, whose splendor with thy yeres doth grow.
Mar.
He had need of more than
(g) Lynceus eyes, that so
Can through so many roofes at once espy.
Pam.
Thy minde by myne I see perspicuously.
To adde to these, we in our children may,
[...]s we wax old, grow yonger euery day.
Mar.
I, but Virginitie meane time is lost.
Pam.
Tell me, if you your selfe had layd great cost
[Page 30] Vpon an Orchard, you would thinke it sin,
Should nothing else but bare floures grow therein:
Had you not rather (all the floures bee'ng cropt)
To see the trees full branches vnderpropt,
Laden with ripe fruit?
Mar.
O, you argue fine.
Pam.
Or answer me: To see a drooping Vine
Falne, and there putrifying where 'tis laid?
Or see one by her owne kinde claspings staid;
And round about some faire growne Elme to run,
Whilst her full clusters ripen 'gainst the Sun?
Which is the goodlier sight?
Mar.
Now answer me:
Which of the two sights had you rather see:
A milke white Rose still shining in its thorne:
Or cropt, and in some durty bosome worne,
To lose her faire leaves?
Pam.
As I vnderstand,
That Rose is happier, gatherd by the hand,
And withers, after it doth both delight
The nose with the sweet smell, the eye with sight.
Rather than that which giues no more content,
Than to the Brier forfeit both leaues and sent.
It grew for use, first to be gathered, then
To wither after So the wine that men
At merry meetings jovially downe poure,
Is happier far, than what (vndrunke) growes soure.
Nor is the Virgin floure maturely growne,
Blasted as soone as cropt. Some I haue knowne,
Before their marriage languish and looke sickly,
Who after congresse haue recover'd quickly,
As if they had but then begun to spring.
Mar.
And yet Virginitie (you know's a thing)
Gracious and plausible to all.
Pam.
'Tis true,
Than a yong Virgin, nothing to the view
[Page 31] More gratefull: but what object can there bee
[...]orse, than an old and wrinkled maid to see?
[...]nlesse thy mother had let fall her floure,
[...]hy blossome had not flourisht at this houre.
[...]nd if our future marriage (as I hope)
Do not proue barren, we shall then haue scope,
Though that Virginitie be lost and gone,
To yeeld the world a many for that one.
Mar.
And yet pure chastitie's a thing
(they say)
To God most gratefull.
Pam.
And I therefore pray,
Hee'l send me a chast Virgin to my wife,
With whom to leade a chast vnquestion'd life:
And by that means shall grow the greater Tye,
Of mindes, then bodies; so shall you and I
Get to the publique weale, to Christ beget,
Then how far distant is this wedlocke set
From true Virginitie: it may so fall,
That we in time may proue as conjugall
As
Ioseph liv'd with
Mary. Meane time wee
Shall practise 'twixt our selues a chastitie,
To whose sublimitie none can come neare,
Vpon the sudden.
Mar.
What is this I heare?
Must chastitie be violated, and
Then after learnd?
Pam.
What else? (Pray vnderstand)
As when by drinking of a lesser draught,
We, by degrees, abstemiousnesse are taught:
In this affaire with vs so stands the state.
Which of the two hold you more temperate;
He at a full and furnisht table plac't,
And of no tempting delicate will tast;
Than he, remov'd from all that might accite,
Or any way prouoke his appetite?
Mar.
I hold him of a temp'rance far more great,
[Page 32] Who, when beset with dainties, will not eat.
Pam.
In case of Chastitie which stand you for?
Him that hath made himselfe an Eunuch; or
One that is able bodied, strong, and sound,
And yet in whom there's no intemperance found?
Mar.
Vpon the last I dare bestow the Bayes;
On the first, madnesse, and no other praise.
Pam.
All such as by the strictnesse of their Vow,
No matrimoniall Contract will allow,
What do they else but gueld themselues?
Mar.
You say't.
Pam.
It is not vertue, not to copulate.
Mar.
How is it not?
Pam.
Obserue me: If it were
A vertue in itselfe, not to cohere;
It must be then a vice to haue congresse.
But that to be most lawfull we may guesse,
By mutuall consocietie. Againe,
Marriage is honorable.
Mar.
Make it more plaine,
Why you infer this?
Pam.
Since so oft it falls:
As, to the louing wife the husband calls
For due benevolence; it only beeing
For issues sake.
Mar.
But say there's disagreeing,
When it proceeds from wantonnesse and lust;
Then, to deny him, is't not right and iust?
Pam.
Rather admonish and intreat him faire;
That you may do: howeuer, bound you are
To yeeld to him, beeing instant. In that straine
Scarce heare I husbands of their wives complaine.
Mar.
But libertie is sweet.
Pam.
Yet further heare;
Virginitie's a weighty load to beare.
But I thy King, and thou my Queen shalt bee;
[Page 33] Wee'l rule and reigne in our owne family:
[...]an that appeare to thee a servitude?
Mar.
But I haue oft heard marriage, by the rude
[...]nd Vulgar, calld an Halter that fast ties.
Pam.
All those that sacred mariage so despise,
[...]re of an halter worthy. This decide:
[...] not thy Minde vnto thy Body ty'de?
Mar.
It seemes to be so.
Pam.
Even iust as you see
Bird incage'd; whom aske to be set free,
[...]e will deny't: and wherefore? Can you tell?
[...]ecause her bondage doth content her well.
Mar.
Our means are but indifferent.
Pam.
Therefore more
[...]fe. The best way then to encrease our store,
your good houswifery at home, whilst I
broad will vse my vtmost industry.
Mar.
But many children still bring many cares.
Pam.
And many pleasures too: I haue knowne heires,
or all the troubles and vncessant feares,
[...]he cost and charge that in their tender yeares
[...]hey haue put their parents to; being growne men,
[...]aue payd them backe with double vse agen.
Mar.
A miserable thing it were, I vow,
[...]o haue had children, then to lose them.
Pam.
Now,
[...]e you not childelesse? But at no good rate,
[...] doubtfull things thus ill you ominate.
[...]hich wish you rather to your lot might fall,
[...] borne to die, or not be borne at all?
Mar.
Why of the two, borne (as I am) to die,
Pam.
So much more wretched is that Orbitie
[...]d deprivation, which yet never had,
[...] euer shall haue issue; (to make glad)
they more happy are, borne to the earth,
[...]an they, nor borne, nor euer to haue birth.
Mar.
[Page 34]
But who are they that are not, nor shall be?
Nay heare me yet a little further: He
Who humane frailties shall refuse to beare,
(To which even all men while they sojourne here,
Are equally obnoxious; keepe the State,
Or be they low degreed) must yeeld to Fate.
But as for thee, let come what can betide;
For thou shalt beare but halfe, I will divide
The burthen with thee: nay, the greater share
I'le cast on myne owne shoulders, (in my care)
But so, that in each joyfull accident
Doubled shall be thy pleasure in th'event.
If ought disastrous; my societie may
Take (of the griefe) the greatest part away:
And for your selfe (did but the Fates so please)
I wish on me no greater joy might sease,
Nor would I further happinesse desire,
Than in thy sweet embraces to expire.
M.
That which by Natures common course doth chance
You men disgest with easiest countenance.
But I see with some parents how it fares,
In whom their childrens manners breed more cares,
Than can their deaths.
Pam.
But please you be content,
It lies in vs that danger to prevent.
Mar.
As how?
Pam.
I'le make it plaine; because we see
Neuer bad Fruit proceed from a good Tree,
As touching the condition, Nor is 't read,
That ravenous Kytes of gentle Doves are bred.
Let vs first study goodnesse; then provide,
That from the milke we may their youth so guide,
By holy precepts and good admonitions,
That we may rectifie their bad conditions:
'Tis of great consequence, what is infus'd
Into a Vessell when it first is vs'd.
[Page 35] A
[...]de to the rest, in our domesticke state,
[...]xamples, such as they may imitate.
Mar.
'Tis hard you speake.
Pam.
No wonder, because faire;
[...]d that's some reason why so hard you are,
[...]t the more difficult it seemes to be,
will aske from vs the greater industry.
Mar.
Me of a pliant mettall you shall finde;
[...] then you cast and shape me to your minde.
Pam.
Pronounce three words in th' interim.
Mar.
'Twere small paine;
[...] words once past, fly neuer backe againe.
[...] giue you counsell, and consider of it,
[...]hich may no doubt redownd to both our profit.
[...]ic to you our parents to this match,
[...]ey once agreed, we would make quicke dispatch.
Pam.
You would haue me, the bush to beat about,
[...]en in three words you may resolue this doubt.
Mar.
Whether I can, is yet to me vnknowne,
cause I am my parents, not myne owne:
other did Contracts in times past proceed,
[...]esse by th' Elders they were first agreed.
[...] howsoever, I presume, 'twixt us
is match will proue the more auspitious,
[...]e casuall too, to both, and much more sweet.
[...]y our parents free consents we meet.
[...] move them in't, your office 'tis, you know,
[...]use in me it comely would not show:
[...]ginitie loves to be forc't; maids still,
[...]t they giue freely, grant against their will.
Before I moue them, shall I thus indent;
I presume I haue your free consent?
Thou hast, my
Pamphilus, then be of cheare.
Y'are now to me religiously deare.
But your owne voice I'de wish you stil suspend,
e're begin, consider first the end.
[Page 36] Do not
Affection vnto Counsell call,
But summon
Reason, which should governe all:
For what
Affection swayes is apt to vary,
And is (indeed) no more than temporarie:
But that which
Reason dictates, be thou sure,
Is permanent, and euer shall endure.
Pam.
How sweetly play you the Philosopher?
And I shall no way from your counsels err.
Mar.
It shall not much repent you. But againe,
There is one doubt that much distracts my braine.
Pam.
Now let all scruples vanish.
Mar.
Is't your will
I marry to a dead man?
Pam.
I live still,
Reviv'd by you.
Mar.
The scruple is remov'd;
And now at length, farewell my best Belov'd.
Pam.
Be that your care.
Mar.
I wish you a glad night.
Whence came that deepe suspire?
Pam.
From no affright.
A glad night did you say? Now as I live,
What you last wisht, would you had will to giue.
Mar.
It is not fit that too much haste be made,
For yet you see your harvest's in the blade.
Pam.
Shall I beare nothing from you?
Mar.
This sweet-Ball,
Take it to cheare your heart.
Pam.
A kisse withall.
Mar.
By no meanes, since to bring thee, I desire,
A chastitie vnblemisht and intire.
Pam.
Can that detract from modestie?
Mar.
Desist:
Or would you I by others should be kist?
Pam.
Reserue them then, as these you solely owe
To me and to my use.
Mar.
[Page 37]
I'le keepe them so:
[...]et I could tell you of another cause
Wherefore I dare not kisse.
Pam.
Speake't without pause.
Mar.
You say, your whole soule, or the greater part
[...] fled into my body; and your heart
[...]mpty'd of vitall heate, (or little there
[...]emaining still) it therefore is my feare,
[...]est by a kisse, the little which is left,
[...]drawing, you be quite of life bereft.
[...]ut take this hand, symbole of that affection
[...]hich mutually confirmes our free election.
[...]o once againe farewell: be for my sake
[...]arefull (I intreat) in that you undertake.
[...]ean time I'le pray, what yet remaines vndone,
[...]ay in a faire and prosp'rous course be run.
The Argument of the Dialogue betwixt EARTH and AGE.
IN EARTH
and AGE
is to the life exprest,
How bad all Men are, when they are at best:
How fraile, how fading, and in their greet'st glory
Unsettled, wretched, vaine, and transitory.
It shewes all Learning, Beauty, Youth, and Strength,
All Pompe, all Wealth to nothing comes at length:
No Statue, Structure. Trophee, so sublime,
Which is not quite lost and defac't by Time.
O who can then our common
EAR
[...]
I arent blame,
Since all things she produceth that haue name,
As they haue birth from her still-teeming wombe,
So the same place is likewise made their tombe.
No wonder then her griefe so far exceeds,
Since she is forc't to bury all she breeds.
The DIALOGUE. Annotations upon the Dialogue of EARTH and AGE.
Earth.
WHat's he so many tongues can m
[...] low,
As he had eies who watch:
(a) Pharian Cow?
So many mouthes to me who's he can give,
As Fame reports the
(b) Sybels yeares did live?
[Page 39]
[...]ad I as many words my thoughts to expresse,
[...]s (by th'
(c) Ascraean Poet) we may guesse,
[...]he antient gods liv'd dayes? Had I beside,
[...]s many brasen throats open and wide,
[...]s
Xerxes shot darts, (after fight begun)
Whose number from the earth shadow'd the Sun?
[...]o many rivulets of teares what's hee
[...]an to myne eyes infuse, as was by thee
[...]rus (if we may trust antiquity)
[...]et into Ganges drops, thereby to breed
[...]ry waste vnto that
(d) Channell drown'd his steed?
Who can my clamorous words supply with sorrow?
[...]o many deepe suspires where shall I borrow;
[...]s Valiant Roman Spirits (scorning to yeeld)
[...]ell in one fatall day at
(e) Canna's field?
O my great griefe, which in the height appeares,
Not to be calm'd with words, nor washt with teares.
When
(f) Phaeton fell from the
Sunnes bright throne,
[...]ow did his mournfull sisters him bemoane?
Who from their rough rindes where they be inclos'd,
Weepe pretious Amber still.
Phoebus, oppos'd
Gainst
(g) Niobe, (her children hauing slaine)
O how she still in marble doth complaine?
What sorrow, musicall
Orpheus, didst thou feele,
When thy
Euridice, stung in the heele,
[...]nd dying, borne vnto th' infernall shade,
Thou with thy harp through hell free passage made?
What more than madnesse did corrode thy brest,
Andromache? when
(Hector layd to rest)
[...]hou saw'st thy
(i) sonne, the hope of Troy and thee,
Dropt from a tower: what sorrow might this bee?
[...]'n such was thine,
(k) Aegaeus, to behold
Thy sonnes blacke sailes returning: which so cold
crook to thy heart, thou thinking
Theseus slaine,
[...]eapt from a rocke, and gav'st the sea thy name.
The torment of a mighty passion thou
[Page 40]
(l) Iocasta felt, to see thy two sonnes vow
Their mutuall ruines by revengefull Armes?
Sad
(m) Daedalus, what pittifull alarmes
Were in thy brest giv'n, to behold from hye,
Thy sonne with his feint wings drop from the skie?
There to be food for fishes, and to adde
A name vnto that sea, it neuer had?
Or should I speake how much
(n) Progne lamented
Her husbands spowse-breach? or how discontented
(o) Anthonoë was after
Actaeon torne?
Or of
(p) Antigone, sad and forlorne,
Leading blinde
Oedipus o're rocks along?
Within the compasse of my passionate song
Bring all the torments of the former age,
Gyves, Manacles, and Fetters, all that Rage
Or Fury can inflict; want, hunger, thirst,
Whip, post, or prison, labor, or what's worst,
The melancholy dungeon, gallows, racke,
The forke or stake, what on the homicides backe
Law can impose, the Traitor or the Theefe;
All these are toyes, if rated at my griefe.
By stings of Serpents, or their teeth, to die;
Rough winter gusts, where
Boreas blowes most hye:
A thousand wounds were nothing to endure,
Or mounted on a gybbet, there chain'd sure,
And liue to gorge the Ravens, or to bleed
Beneath the Lyons jawes; after to feed
Her whe
[...]ps, were nothing.
Age.
Of the gods high straine.
What, or whence are you, that so loud exclaime?
Earth.
EARTH, Parent of all things.
Age.
Why weepe you?
Earth.
Why?
Haue I not just cause? (who so great as I?
Be
[...]ng a Mother) in this wretched state,
To see my Sons hourely snatcht hence by Fate,
Age.
[Page 41]
You haue iust cause to doo't.
Earth.
I pray what lesse
[...]rceiue you in the vntam'd Lionesse,
[...]hen she but one whelp misseth from her den?
Age.
She mournes.
Earth.
What of the ravenous Tygre then,
[...] lose her yong she tender'd with such care?
Age.
She grieves and raves.
Earth.
How doth the poore Hen fare,
[...]ocking amidst her brood, when in her sight
[...]he Chicken is snatcht from her by the Kite?
Age.
She sorrowes.
Earth.
What doth the fleece-bearing Dam,
[...]hen 'fore her face the Wolfe deuours her Lamb?
Age.
Laments.
Earth.
Doth not the Cow with bellowing teare
[...]he aire, to finde her Calfe spoyld by the Beare?
Age.
Alas she lowes.
Earth.
What doth the Sow, to spy
[...]ut any of her Pigs stolne from her stie?
Age.
She calls loud after.
Earth.
O then what should I?
whatsoever I produce or cherish,
[...]ocreate or beare, I see before me perish?
[...]t not wondrous, Forrests should at length
[...]e putrifaction, rot, and lose their strength?
[...]e shadowie tree Time of her beauty 'reaves,
spoiling her both of her fruit and leaves.
Age.
'Tis wondrous I confesse, but so 't must bee.
Earth.
What is it then, that I behold and see
[...]e brazen statues of the gods decay,
[...]e monuments of Princes turne to clay;
[...]ghty
(q) Colossi, Temples deckt with Vaines,
[...]ported with rich Columnes (by the braines
the best Architects) made wide and large,
[...]th spacious arches, sacred, in the charge
[Page 42] Of many a golden Relique: these to fall,
And in a few short seasons perish all.
Age.
So it hath pleas'd the gods.
Earth.
The gods are then
Too cruell and austere to vs and men;
Since whatsoeuer the Earths fertile wombe
Brings forth to aire, and in the world to have roome;
Whatever in her bosome she hath ta'ne
To feed and foster: what doth now remaine,
Or shall hereafter be? That all these must
Needs be involv'd in rottennesse and dust.
Age.
'Tis fit.
Earth.
O anguish never to abate,
Or have cessation!
Age.
So the gods will ha't.
Earth.
Then, as I said before, th'are too severe,
And mercilesly in this kinde austere.
Is't not enough strong walls are beaten downe,
And lofty turrets level'd with the ground;
Cities are sackt, to ruine made a pray,
The famous statues of the gods decay;
That rust the iron doth consume and waste,
And pleasant Orchards of corruption taste;
But Man must perish too, and cannot shun
Times fearefull havocke, but to ruine run?
Age.
The Fates so will.
Earth.
What pitty can there be
Ascrib'd to any pow'rfull deity?
But what art thou? What goddesse? or how styl'd?
Age.
AGE I am call'd.
Earth.
Hence false Virage, vyld
Infernall Fury; for 'tis thou alone
Bringst all my Issue to confusion:
Swift feather-footed TIME and ravenous AGE
Devour all things in their remorselesse rage.
Age.
What's sublunarie, Fate will haue to fall.
Earth.
[Page 43]
Say Tyrannesse, thou AGE, consuming all,
[...]here be those high
Pyramides so fam'd,
[...] which the barbarous
(r) Memphis first was nam'd,
[...]ar'd by so many workmens sweat and toile?
Age.
As all things else, even these have suffer'd spoile.
Earth.
Where's Pharos Isle? the Sepulchre renownd
[...]f King
(s) Mausolus? where's the Image crownd
[...]f chast
(t) Diana? Strumpet tell me.
Age.
Gone.
Earth.
Where's the
(u) Tarpeian Masse, a structure none
[...]ore famous? where's the hundred gated Towne
[...]alld
Thebes? or strong immur'd
Babylon?
Where's populous
Ninive? what's
Romes sublime
[...]ast Theatre by
Caesar built? by TIME
[...]onfounded all; where's the Colosse of
Rhods?
Age.
Their ruins all were foreseen by the gods.
Earth.
What's
Troy? old
Sparta? or
Corinthus hye?
What's
Solomons Temple, Harlot?
Age.
All these lye
[...]n darke oblivion buried; and in vaine
You fret, chide, wrangle, and perplex your braine,
Deare Mother EARTH; weepe riuers from thine eies,
With clamors cleave thy jawes, make thy lungs rise
Consume thy marrow, breake thy backe, and teare
Thy intrals out; the Fates are so severe,
Thou canst not breake their order, their strict lawes
[...]nviolate are, and will admit no clause:
[...]or them the mightiest Kings cannot oppose,
[...]he Souldiers shield hath no defence 'gainst those;
The rich mans purse, the learning of the Wise,
No nor the Poets Verse (let that suffice.)
Earth.
If then with such ferocitie they bee
[...]o deeply incenst; and that the gods agree
[...]n such inclemencie: advise me how
[...] shall demeane me?
Age.
You of force must bow
[Page 44] To their eternall doome, though you complaine,
Grieve, sorrow, and lament, all is but vaine.
Earth.
I will not therefore.
Age.
Your best is to advise
Man to leave th'earth, and looke vp to the skies:
To put no confidence in Mundane
Glory,
Which (like himselfe) is meerly transitory.
Not to grow proud of Beauty, Wisdome, Wealth,
Nor of his Strength, since Age by silent stealth
Will rifle him of all. To him relate,
Of far fam'd men the most vnhappy state.
Earth.
Your consolable words have given reliefe
To my suspence, and now exil'd all griefe.
Age.
That's all.
Earth.
I will obey. Man, answer me.
Man.
Who's that?
Earth.
Thy Mother.
Man.
Mine? It cannot be.
Earth.
Thy mother
Earth.
Man.
Deare mother then All haile;
What seeke you?
Earth.
I lament.
Man.
Can teares prevaile?
Deare Parent cease to grieve: lies it in mee
To give least ease to your calamity?
Earth.
No, Sonne.
Man.
Why mourne you?
Earth.
Have not all things birth
From me thy wretched and sad mother
Earth?
Man.
I know it well.
Earth.
Dost thou not see how I
Give to the woods production as they lie?
Sap to the Trees, Increase vnto the Graine;
Hug in my fertile bosome stones? Againe,
Afford the Vine Grapes, and the tough Oke Mast;
Food to the Fish, and to the Birds repast:
[Page 45] 'Tis I that to th' embroider'd medowes yeeld
[...]y, to the Gardens Floures, Grasse to the Field:
[...]d last, as to the best of all my brood,
[...]th unto Man; and after bearing food.
Man.
I do confesse it, Mother.
Earth.
I much lament,
[...]are Childe, and from hence growes my discontent,
[...]at hauing such a fertile wombe, so free,
[...]d ever-teeming; only that by mee
[...] many shapes and bodies hourely grow,
[...]firme in substance, and so faire in show,
[...]hat nothing can her ravenous throat asswage,
[...]t all must die and be consum'd by Age:
[...]e ruines Forrests, the hard marble weares,
[...]ets iron, wasts Palaces, strong bulwarks teares,
[...]ciles Camps, doth Citadels demolish quite;
[...]en the gods sacred statues takes from sight.
[...]e not high consecrated Temples spares,
[...]t that which teares and torments to my cares
[...]ll addes, That Man she ruthlesly deuoures,
[...]nd makes him perish at vncertaine houres:
[...]herefore beware, my sweetest Childe, take heed,
[...]st tympanous pride within thy bosome breed,
[...]f this beware, my sonne.
Man.
Mother I shall.
Earth.
Then first, lest warlike glory thee assaile,
[...]nd make thee to forget thou art but Dust;
[...]eare vnto what the god-like Heroes trust,
Whom Age hath worne out of all memorie.
[...]ector.
Lest any in his potencie rely,
[...]r in his militarie armes take pride,
[...]r powerfull skill in
(w) Geticke weapons tryde,
[...]et him consider me, puissant indeed,
[...]ector the strongest of all
Priams Seed,
[...]otent in battell, and whilst I did stand,
[...]um was safe, secur'd by sea and land:
[Page 46] (In borrow'd armes) 'twas I
Patroclus slew;
Before me, Legions of the Grecians flew,
When I came arm'd in fury: Troy opprest
With ten yeares siege, I garded with this brest,
I whom alone
Achilles quak't to see,
Have yeelded vnto Fate, and vnto thee
Andromache (a widow) left my sonne.
Thus AGE ends all things an the earth begun.
Achilles.
The Trojans terror, Great
Achilles, I
In sinewie strength excelling, and thereby
Famous of old, the only hope and stay
Of the Greeke Heroes, who alone made way
Th
[...]ough all the Dardan host. 'Twas I alone
Was dreaded in the field, and but me none.
Alone of far-fam'd
Hector was I fear'd,
And
Priam quak't when he my name but heard:
Able my nerves, and matchlesse might my grace,
In body mighty, terrible my face,
Big shoulderd and broad brested, sterne my brow;
Yet to
(x) Minerva's Altar as I bow,
Paris behinde me steales, and with his dart
Wounds me i'th heele, which rankles to my heart.
And thus the Valiant perish, and thus AGE
All things consumes in her devouring rage.
Alexander.
What's life but frailtie, bubble, or a blast,
A cloud, a smoke, no sooner-seene than past?
Yeares, like a ball, are voluble, and run;
Houres, like false Vowes, no sooner spoke than done:
Time quickly wasteth by vnwary dayes,
Nothing can bribe the Sisters to delayes.
The horrid sword of Death whoso would fly,
Let him but looke into myne age, how I
Am gon and spent; I that was calld and knowne
By name of
Alexander Macedon:
Whose fame hath from the Suns vprise been heard
Beyond the place
Ioves Sonne his pillars reard.
[Page 47] Through Hespery and all the Easterne lands
[...]ave I been fam'd, whom none (oppos'd) withstands.
[...]he populous city Thebes my arme o'rethrew,
many thousand Persian souldiers slew;
[...]hoenicians, Ciclicks, Paphlagonians, all
[...]y sword subdu'd: thrice did
Darius fall
[...] neath my potencie: great Babylon,
[...]ighty in walls, I sieg'd, and seised on.
[...]nd after, golden-wav'd Hidaspes past;
[...]orus (foure cubits high) I queld at last,
Whom, conquer'd, I set free. This done, I then
[...]rom India saild, to Babylon agen.
[...]eturning, I fell sicke, soone after dyde;
Thus Time and ravenous AGE shall all things hide,
Sampson.
Let Fame, th' admirer of all Ancestrie,
And such as are renown'd for Chivalrie,
Here shew her selfe, and in her shape divine;
[...]urveigh all places where the Sun doth shine,
[...]n which large progresse let her see the head
Of flowing Nile: or say that she be fled
Vnto the Sun-burnt
(y) Garamanti, there
To enquire newes, or what she else can heare
From the Numidians or remoat estates
Of (the oft-shifting place) the
(z) Sanzonats.
Search Thetis Empire through, or further go
To what the fabricke of the world can show,
She shall not finde that mortall wight that dare
With me in nerves or strength of armes compare,
I am the mighty
Sampson, famous yet,
To whom for strength
Alcides would submit:
To strangle Lions was no more than play,
Or to out-run swift Tygres on the way.
What though I with the jaw-bone of an asse
A thousand slew, and through their army passe?
What though the city gates I rend and teare,
And (after) them vpon my shoulders beare?
[Page 48] Yet notwithstanding my great power and strength,
I yeeld to death, Age swallowes all at length.
Earth.
Know now my Son, that such most happy are,
Whom others harmes can teach how to beware.
See, whatsoeuer I produce or bring,
Nurse or giue fostring to, even every thing
Devouring Age consumes. Dost thou not see
Renowned
Hector yeeld to Destinie?
How great
Achilles, after wars rough stormes,
Despoil'd of life, to be the food for wormes?
Sampson and
Alexander in their prime,
Though strong, yet they both perisht: This can Time.
Now lest faire Feature should in thee breed pride,
Natures indowments, or ought else beside;
See women next, in face and forme excelling,
Swallow'd in dust; all Beauty Age expelling.
Hellen.
O you blind men, with feminine shape oretaken
Whose amorous hearts are with their culture shaken,
Now do I finde too late, and grieve to thinke,
All mortall beauty must in
Lethe sinke.
We kembe these haires, and trim them vp in gold.
(Our curled tresses with rich gems inrol'd)
Our fronts we burnish, and there cannot passe
One blemish, but corrected by the glasse.
By art we adorne our heads, and by art wee
Dispose the face and haire; by art we see.
And yet these haires, this head, these eies, this face,
Vanish like moving waves which flote apace.
Behold! I that was faire, am wormes meat made,
My flesh corrupt, and buried in the shade.
Behold (I say) that Grecian
Hellen, shee
Rap't,
Menelaus, in her prime from thee:
Me
(a) Theseus ravisht first, and left me so,
That saving kisses I did nothing know.
False
Paris last (by Fate or Fury led)
Hosting with me, made stealth into my bed:
[Page 49] Foole that he was, he little then did know,
[...]his snare for me was Troys sad overthrow.
This putrified Coarse by him so bought,
was after by a thousand ships re-sought.
O Greece, what preparation didst thou make,
To fetch that flesh which now the wormes forsake?
What broiles? what strage? what slaughter to destroy,
Did this loath'd carkasse breed 'twixt Greece and Troy?
Became it thee, friend Paris, to forsake
Thy houshold gods, and such a journey take,
To hazard seas, only to fetch away
[...]rom Greece this rottennesse, this putrid Clay?
[...]nd you the
(b) Atrides, would you saile so far,
[...]nd for this dust maintaine a ten yeares war?
[...]hat this vile earth, this stench you might returne,
To close these ashes in my fathers urne?
[...]ais. If any fables haue bin sung in praise
Of Prostitutes, what fame their shapes could raise;
[...] the Corinthian
Lais, choice and best,
[...]aue been the crowne and grace to all the rest.
[...]y chin the Ivorie stain'd, Lillies my brow,
[...]o match myne eies the world then knew not how:
[...]y necke was long and straight, and my veins blew,
oft lips, in my cleare cheekes fresh roses grew;
[...]y nose was neither crooked, long, nor flat,
[...]y visage it became, it graced that:
[...]y wanton paps like two round hillocks grow,
[...]om which moist springs two milky rivers flow.
[...]y belly comely sweld, for it became
[...]ike a plumpe Peacocks, soft as the yong lambe:
[...]y stomacke like the temperat Turtles feeding;
[...]odest my dyet, and no surfets breeding;
[...]y armes much whiter than the Lillies shwoing,
[...]r floures,
(d) Alcinous, in thy garden growing.
[...]ho that my leg did looke on, but did thinke
[...]e burnt in flames, or in the seas did sinke?
[Page 50] Or who my backe parts did behold, but sed,
O that I were a flea in
Lais bed.
Or who my foot, but wisht himselfe a stone,
With vpward eies for me to tread vpon.
And yet this face, these cheeks, these lips, these eies,
This necke, these haires, these temples, legs and thighes,
This stomacke, belly, backe, armes, hands, and feet
Are wormes meat now, and with corruption meet.
Learne yong man then, that which we trust in most
Is dust and filth; in Age are all things lost.
Thisbe. The Babylonian
Thisbe is my name,
Noble my birth, my beauty great in fame;
No lovely Maid that had in th' Orient place,
But with much envy gaz'd me in the face.
Inraged
Iove I with a smile could please,
Or pull his threatning thunder backe with ease.
Iuno her selfe of me hath jealous bin,
And fear'd lest
Iove in Babylon would sin.
The white
(d) Caistrian Bird to me did yeeld,
And to my blush the Roses of the field.
Yet not this feature, not this front or face,
Nor these myne eyes, to which the stars gave place,
Could ransome me from the wormes fearefull rage,
Or the rude phangs of all-devouring
Age.
Lucretia.
Who the divining Sybels shall commend,
Or thee,
(e) Penelope, and not offend?
Of
(f) Dido's feature who shall smoothly write?
Or the
(g) Leucadian sisters beauty cite?
Behold me
Lucrece, softer than the downe,
Or the swans brest, and whiter: who was knowne
More tractable than wax; fresh as the aire,
Softer my skin than the ripe Melons are.
With this faire body I the wormes haue fed,
And a small urne containes me being dead.
These paps, that
(h) Cato the Severe would turne,
Or chaste
(i) Hippolitus in ardor burne.
[Page 51] This pretious flesh, this shape is chang'd to dust
[...]nd putrifaction, to which all may trust.
[...] him, the earth brings forth, but
Age can wast,
[...] and the same fate meets with all at last.
Earth.
Consider then, my Sonne, these shapes you haue,
[...] endor nor feature, ransoms from the Grave:
That all things suffer change, necke, brest, and throat,
[...]ips, cheeks, brow, stomacke, all on which we doat,
[...]onvert to ashes. Yet lest thou be won,
Thinking to scape by other gifts; my son
[...]trend with prepar'd eares, heare what the Learnd,
[...]he Rich and others have 'tofore discernd;
These and the rest haue the same accent sung:
[...]ow whilst they speake, thou still suppresse thy tongue.
Virgil.
If Learning from himselfe shall man divide,
[...]nd make him like the Peacocke strut with pride,
[...]e offends in madnesse, sencelesly is vaine.
[...]e hold, I
Virgil, of the learned straine,
[...]f Poets Prince, their glory and their grace,
[...]o whom
Apollo did afford prime place;
[...]e the most sacred Muses favor'd still,
[...]or me the
(k) Driades their laps would fill
With various floures, and the
Napaec bring
[...]haplets of Bayes to crowne me when I sing.
[...]o th' Palaces of Emperors accited,
[...]nd to the banquets of great Kings invited:
[...]nd yet I dy'de. What profit did it breed,
[...]hat I first taught the wanton Goats to feed,
[...]o till, to sow and reape; or be sam'd far
[...]or the rude slaughters of a ten yeares war?
[...]et was I food for wormes. What's Poesie then?
[...]stable
Age ends what she will, and when.
Xerxes.
Lest opulencie should elate man high,
[...]nd make him set his face against the skie,
[...]ust to his youth, or what his riches brings,
[...]ehold me
Xerxes, mightiest of all Kings,
[Page 52] And most magnipotent, I that haue bin
Possest of such an infinite Magozin
Of gold and treasure, so immense a store,
As neuer Persian King enjoyd before;
That when my pride toward Grecia'gan to aspire,
Gave to so many souldiers food and hire;
So many legions from the Orient brought,
That in the first great battell which we fought,
Such store of shafts and darts my campe did yeeld,
As kept the Suns bright lustre from the field:
So many ships of mine the Ocean swayd,
As made astonisht
Neptune fly, afraid,
And hide him in his Deeps, What's plenty then?
Or what doth Pompe or Greatnesse profit men?
We vanish all like shadowes: and even thus
Dy'de
(l) Croesus, (m) Crassus, (n) Midas, (o) Priamus,
(p) Pigmalion, whom both Age and Death constraines
To walke with
Xerxes in th' Elysian plaines.
Nero.
If any aire to Tyrants breathing gives;
If any
(q) Catiline or
(r) Marius lives;
Or if there any sterne
(s) Mezentius be,
Contemner of the gods: these looke on me,
I the base sinke of sin, the ship of shame,
Quaffer of humane bloud,
Nero, the same
Whose murthers have been bruted over all,
From the Suns uprise, to his Westerne fall:
Whose gluttonies and lusts
Nilus knew plaine,
And
(t) Calpes, to the farthest parts of Spaine.
To rip my mothers wombe was my desire:
Who knowes not too, I set great Rome on fire?
Who knowes not, that my fury did betray
The lives of
Lucian and wise
Seneca?
Who knowes not, that Saint
Paul and
Peter tryde
My sword, by which most of the Senat dy'de?
But what was then my miserable fate?
Prest by my feares, and by the peoples hate,
[Page 53] Scornd by each sex, abhorr'd in myne owne land,
Contemn'd of all, I fell by myne owne hand:
Thus
Nero dy'de, thus none can AGE withstand.
Sardanapal.
Lest soft effeminacie, lust, and abuse
Of Natures gifts, might pleade the least excuse;
I am that Sensuallist
Sardanapal,
Who to my selfe thinking to ingrosse all
Voluptuousnesse, deckt in their womanish sutes,
I spent my time 'mongst common Prostitutes;
False periwigs vpon my head I wore,
And being man, the shape of woman bore.
Yet this ranke body a small urne containes;
To this we must, to this, AGE all constraines.
Earth.
Son dost thou see how all things
Age outweares?
How the Strong perish, with the prime in yeares?
How the Faire falls, and how the Learn'd decay?
And how the Rich consume and fade away?
How Tyrants dye? How death the Wanton tasts?
And, to conclude, how swift
Time all things wasts?
Man.
What (Mother) shall I do? If I liue chast,
I am not therefore safe: or if I wast
My houres in
Venus sports, I am not free:
If ever weepe, what shall become of me?
If ever sport, what profit can it bring?
And though I ever mourne, or ever sing,
All's one, for die I must. Since Death ends all,
Let my corrupted body die and fall
To dust, to earth or wormes, pleasure's my store,
Let me enioy that, I desire no more.
Earth.
Thus I conclude; Though mans life be vnstayd,
And as we see, by Custome hourely fade,
Even as the parched leaues by Autumne change
And fall to nothing; yet (which is most strange)
Of his owne fruit he is vnmindefull still,
And followes what proves to himselfe most ill.
The Argument of the Dialogue intituled MISANTHROPOS, or the Man-Hater.
This Dialogue of Riches doth entreat;
Of their true use: how they with lucre great
Are long acquir'd, and how soone lost. The cause
Of this Discourse is grounded from th' applause
Timon
first had in Athens, where he sway'd,
For his wealths sake, being honor'd and obay'd.
Who after a most riotous expence,
Having consum'd his state, and growne to sence
Of Povertie; such as he rais'd he tries,
But findes them now his person to despise.
He seeing how base avarice did blinde
The world that time, in hate of all Mankinde,
So devious from Vertue, did propose
A new name to himselfe, MISANTHROPOS;
Which gives this Tractat name. Th' Authors intent
Being to shew, how proud and insolent
Riches make men: and have it understood,
How they pursue the Bad, but fly the Good.
Reade and observe, this Dialogue affords
Much excellent matter, coucht up in few words.
The DIALOGVE. Illustrations upon Timon Misanthropos.
Timon.
O
Iupiter, loving and sociable,
That art domesticall and hospitable,
The lightning-blaster, Oath and Iury-shaker,
Cloud-gathering god, and the great Thunder-maker:
Or if thou any other syr-name hast,
[...]uch as by th' antient Poets in times past
Hath to thy deitie been madly given,
To patch their halting Verse, and make 't run even,
For thee a thousand nick-names are pursuing,
[...]o helpe their Lines, and keep their Rymes from ruin)
Where's now thy all-fear'd lightning, breeding wonder?
Where's thyne high streperous and loud voic'd thunder?
Thy radiant and bright burning bolts (once dreaded)
What, are thy late keen pointed darts unheaded?
[...]ll these, since thou with-heldst thy terrible stroke,
[...]ppeare vaine trifles, and Poeticke smoke,
[...]nd of thy great power nothing else proclaimes,
[...]ave meere verbositie, and noise of Names,
[...]or these thy Poetised tooles for war,
Which being drawne, both reacht and wounded far;
[...] know not by what means, but now at length,
[...]unt is their chastning edge, and lost their strength;
[...]o cold and frozen they about thee lie,
That of thy wrath no sparke we can espie
[...]ndled against the Nocent. These perjurers
[...]esting at sufferance) make themselves assurers
Of their owne safety: being no more afraid
[...]f thy unquenchable lightning, than dismaid
[...]t common fire extinguisht: it shewes l
[...]ke
[...]o them, as if thou shouldst some
Tition strike,
[...]nd they looke on; dreading no more thine ire,
[...]han his whose strugling breathes forth Aetna's fire:
[Page 56] Presuming no more wound belongs vnto't,
Than only to be smudg'd and grim'd with soot.
From hence it comes, that
(a) Salmoneus dare
With thee in thy loud thunders to compare:
Nor strange; he a man that bold and daring is,
And thou a god so sufferant and remisse:
What could he lesse do than such revels keepe,
Since thou hast drunke
(b) Mandragora, to sleepe
And snort away thy time? even still forbearing
Such as blaspheme and neuer cease forswearing.
Besides, like one that such misdoers tenders,
Not plaguing them, thou plumpst up great offendors.
Some hold thee blinde, and cannot see what's done:
Some, easie to be foold: like rumors runne,
That thou art deafe on both sides: others hold,
Thou art decrepit, and of late growne old.
When thou wast in thy former youth and prime,
Thou didst not sloathfully mis-spend thy time;
Then thou hadst spleen, and vnto wrath wast prone,
Vengeance and iust infliction grac'd thy throne,
And wast indeed such an all-dreaded god,
No male factor could escape thy rod:
Thou heldst with such no covenant, but thy darts
Were still in action to amase their hearts;
Thy invulnerable arme advancing hye,
Whilst through the earth thy flashing lightnings flye,
Drawne from thy quiver, where they late did sticke,
Shot as from warring Archers, swift and thicke.
Besides these, fearefull earthquakes, which were man
such as her reverend brest tare vp and cranny
Mountaines of snow by drifts made, haile in such
Aboundance, that of late we see none such:
Impetuous showres of raine made torrents rise.
And riuers o're their banks to tyrannise.
It hath been said, In good
(c) Deucalions age
Such sudden inundations 'gan to rage,
[Page 57] That all mankinde being drownd in one account,
[...]arse was one skyffe sav'd on
(d) Licoris Mount;
[...] that, Humanities small seeds reserving:
[...]om whence a generation lesse deserving,
[...]nd much more impious grew: they imitating
[...]hat's bad, and worse and worse stil propagating.
Nor is there cause thou shouldst with them be wroth;
[...]eceiving but the guerdon of thy sloath.
[...]ho now vnto thy Altars offerings bring?
[...]r to thy dreadfull name loud Poems sing?
[...]hou now hast neither sacrifice nor praise,
[...]or is thy ruinous Temple hung with Bayes;
[...]nlesse by chance some by Olympus passe,
[...]nd call to minde that such a god once was,
And rather too for fashion sake, than feare)
[...]erhaps some thrifty Offering may leaue there:
[...]ike
Saturne they would deale with thee (I tell thee)
[...]nd (as thou him) so from thy throne expell thee.
I here omit, whilst thou hast elsewhere trifled,
[...]ow often thy great Temple hath been rifled,
[...]ansackt and spoild, whilst thou the loud tongu'd Crier
O'regrowne with sloath, as if thou didst desire
Thine owne vndoing) not once wake nor call
The dogs there kenel'd, make them barke and ball,
Nor raise the drowsie neighbours, sleeping fast,
[...]o present rescue, till the theeues were past:
[...]ut thou the generous Gyant tamer, who
[...]ost boast in the great Gyants overthrow,
Didst like a sot sit neither grac't nor fear'd,
Whilst from thy chin they shav'd away thy beard:
Yet thou even at that instant wert so strong,
[...]o hold a dart that was ten cubits long.
O thou so famous, what wilt thou endure
[...]n th' end, if still thou wilt be thus secure?
Or at what time wilt thou extirp the seeds
By thy just vengeance) of those grosse misdeeds?
[Page 58] How many bold aspiring
Phaetons, or
Deucalions canst thou finde? Hie expiat for
This inexhausted wickednesse still flowing
From corrupt mankinde, and thou all this knowing
Impertinent things I will submit to Fate,
And passe in silence: only now relate
Myne owne particular wrongs. How many great
And mighty of th' Athenians, to the seat
Of knowne sublimitie hath
Timon rais'd,
Creating them from beggars? whilst they prais'd
And magnify'd my bountie. Vnto all
I spred my open hand and liberall;
In which most men (before me) I exceeded,
As generally supplying such as needed,
My riches' mongst my friends parced and given,
Till I my selfe to penurie was driven.
Then suddenly a stranger I was growne,
And to my most familiar friends not known:
Those (when I past them) that would croutch and ben
[...]
In adoration: those that did depend
Vpon my grace, my presence cannot brooke,
Nor on my wants so much as daigne a looke.
If (as sometimes) I chance to crosse the street,
And any one of these my Creatures meet.
"As of some statue, by long time decaid,
"They shun my shadow, of my fall afraid.
And others likewise that from far espy me,
Into some by-lane skrew themselves, so fly me,
Make me an ominous spectacle of Fate,
As if malevolent and vnfortunate:
Who in my better daies was their Director,
Styl'd by themselves, their Father and Protector.
These mischiefes growing, to be made so vile,
My owne deep counsels I'gan reconcile,
Snatcht vp this mattocke, chus'd a field out, where
The Earths faire brest I am forc'd to wound and ear
[...]
[Page 59] And thus my time in labor weare away,
[...]ng hyr'd for some foure halfe pence by the day.
[...]us with my spade in solitude here I
[...]de to my selfe myne owne Philosophy.
[...]e profit reapt hence is, to be remoat,
[...]d live out of the sight of such as doat
[...] smoky vanities, those that inherit
[...]nty of all things, and yet nothing merit;
[...]d that doth most torment me. Now at length,
Iupiter
[...]aturn and
Rheas off-spring shew thy strength;
[...]y profound sleepe shake off, for thou indeed
sloath dost
(e) Epimenides exceed.
[...]nd once againe thy Trisulk, and retire
[...] Oeta, and there kindle 't with new fire:
[...]ng full of flames, when they most hotly glow,
[...]rt of that vengefull indignation show
[...]hich to thyne high Tribunal did belong,
[...]hen thou wert
Iupiter the yong and strong:
[...]e still to those reproches subject be,
[...]e Cretans cast vpon thy Tombe and thee.
Iupiter.
What is he, so vociferously exclaimes,
Mercury, and Vs so often names?
[...]s tedious clamors in myne eares sound shrill
[...]eere vnto Athens) from Himettus hill,
[...] at the mountaines foot, deject and sad,
[...]e, meager, lame, and in a goats skin clad?
seemes to me that delving is his trade,
[...]s eies cast downe, he leanes vpon his spade:
is a bold speaking fellow, confident too
what he saith. After this sort to doo
[...]losophers were wont, and they alone,
[...]d 'tis a wonder but this fellow's one,
[...]at dares against our deitie devise
[...]h impious and vnheard of blasphemies.
Mercury.
Do you not know him (Father) thus forlorne,
[...]n to
Echicratides, in Collite borne;
Timon
[Page 60]
his name, with whom we both haue guested,
And in our annuall Sacreds often feasted:
He on the sudden with such plenty fill'd,
Who at the altars of the gods hath kild
Whole Hecatombs, and in his height of wealth
Hath quaft vnto vs many a gratefull health.
Iupiter.
Whence comes this sudden change? But is this
The honest rich man that was knowne so free,
Whom Athens with her loud encomiums grac'd,
And such a multitude of friends embrac'd?
How happens it he is so poorely arrayd,
So miserably dejected and dismaid?
I guesse him by the spade on which he leanes,
Some painfull labourer that works for meanes.
Merc.
You see how his humanitie hath chang'd him
And freenesse, from his dearest friends estrang'd him:
His mercy vnto others, being so kinde,
And then amongst so many not to finde
One gratefull, hath distraction in him bred,
Still to be living, but to them thought dead.
Considering next how he is scorn'd, derided,
And his revenue and estate divided,
Not amongst Crowes and Wolves, but worser far,
Ravenous and tearing vultures, who still ar
[...]
Gnawing vpon his liver; those whom he
His friends and best familiars thought to be.
For they who now in his aboundance swim,
Were more delighted in his feasts than him:
Nay, those who at his table did applaud him;
When even unto the bare bones they had gnawne him
They suckt his very marrow, and then fled;
So to the world gaue him both lost and dead:
Being so far, from miserie to free him,
They would not seeme to know him when they see
[...]
These brought him to this base despised trade,
And hurld him from the Scepter to the Spade;
[Page 61]
[...]'d him out of his purple, here to sweat
[...] hardly earne his meat before he eat:
which hee's so possest with mortall spleen
[...]nst mankinde that so ingrate hath been;
[...]e whom his bounty rais'd and brought to fame,
[...]se now remember
Timon had a name.
[...].
Yet one (beleeve me) not to be rejected,
[...] for his former pietie respected.
[...] blame I him his anger to be such,
[...]en ingratefull to endure so much.
[...]s zealous and good man not to redeeme,
favor his afflictions we might seeme:
we much pitty him, who to maintaine
[...] adoration, hath before us slaine
many Goats and Bulls, and those the best
at his flocks yeelded; so that I protest,
[...]d approve them for my service meet,
[...]ose savor in my nosthrils still smells sweet.
[...]s for the boldnesse of that infinite Crew
[...]ase perjurers, who forsware what's true;
[...]ikewise those in selfe-conceit so strong,
[...]y make no conscience of what's right or wrong;
[...] as insult by rapine and rude force,
pressing without mercie or remorse,
Sacrilegious too, such as forbeare
[...]eir publique robberies, not through love but feare;
many th' are in number, (though I strive)
their misdeeds I no way can connive.
[...]t myne eye of late on Athens, where
many strange Duels and fencings were,
[...]
Pro's and
Contra's, quarrels in the schooles,
[...]e mad men railing, some; others like fooles
[...]ing: in vprore all, shrill acclamations
[...]colding Disputants; such vociferations,
I those so loudly thundred in myne eare,
[...] suppliants plaints I could by no means heare.
[Page 62] Therefore with stopt eares I must silent sit,
Or with their confus'd noise be tortur'd yet.
There's a new toy imagin'd by these Nodies,
Of things essentiall, and yet wanting bodies;
Meere fantasies, which they with might and maine
(Though nothing) to have being would maintaine:
Which is the cause I have been so vnkinde,
As this well meaning man not once to minde.
It now remaines his goodnesse to requite:
Hye therefore
Mercury, Plutus accite,
With all speed possible command him hither,
And bring with you a magozin togither
Of new coin'd gold, more than the man can tell.
He with his treasure shall with
Timon dwell.
Nor shall they easily be remov'd from thence,
Though by his bounty and too large expence,
He would expell them from him. For those Chattere
[...]
Parrots and Pyes, with other oily flatterers
And Parasits that have ingratefull bin,
I now will study to chastise their sin,
So soone as I my vengefull darts have viewd,
And my three-forked thunder stone renew'd:
Some of the raies are broke, others rebated,
Which with all speed I must have inst
[...]urated:
The points are dull'd, since I insenced was
Against the Sophist
Anaxagoras,
Who to his Schollers openly profest,
The gods or were not, or were naught at least:
But I through error mist,
Pe
[...]icles bestrid him,
And with his body from my vengeance hid him.
The bolt averted light upon the phane
Where the two brothers deify'de remaine,
(Castor and
Pollux) burnt it to the ground.
And not one stone was left about it sound.
But what a punishment will this appeare
Vnto those envious wretches, when they heare,
[Page 63]
Timon, in whose oppression they agreed,
[...]all them in wealth and potencie exceed;
Mercury.
O but much more availes it for a man
[...]o stretch his throat with all the power he can,
[...]o be obstreperous and heard from far;
[...]o not meane the balling at the Bar,
[...]ud railing for fat fees and gaine of gold;
[...]t those like
Timon, clamorous and bold,
[...]ho in his Orisons hath been so shrill,
[...] make great
Iove attentive 'gainst his will;
[...]ho had he (smothering griefe) sate still and mute,
[...]ght have long labor'd in a thred-bare su
[...]e.
Plutus.
To him, ô
Iupiter, I will not go.
Iupiter.
Tell me, ô excellent
Plutus, wherefore so?
[...]pecially when thou by us art sent.
Plutus.
Because I have a fearefull president:
[...] he with many injuries afflicted,
[...]hen I was wholly to his love adicted,
[...]e shooke me off, as one that did deride me,
[...]nd into mamocks and small bits divide me,
[...]en cut me into pieces: would not sell me,
[...]t being his domesticke friend expell me
[...]ith forks and prongs, as one insenc'd with ire,
[...] casting from his hand hot coles of fire.
[...]nd shall I once again enter his dores,
[...] be consum'd on Sycophants and whores,
[...]atterers and such? Send me, ô
Iove, I entreat,
[...]o some that vnderstand a gift so great,
[...]m that to incorporat and hug me strives,
[...] such as prize me dearer than their lives.
[...]his stupid fellow hath a covenant made
[...]ith
Povertie, preferring a poore trade:
mattocke and a skin-coat from her tooke,
fore my golden and all-tempting looke:
no now with foure small halfe-pence can make shift,
[...]d yet hath given ten talents at a gift.
Iupiter.
[Page 64]
But
Timon no such thing hereafter dares
Against thy person: rather he prepares
To honour thee, as one whom Toile and paine
Hath reconcil'd, to welcome thee againe;
His intrals with long fast and hunger clung,
Hath with his minde now likewise chang'd his tongue
But thou art too complaintive, who accuses
First
Timon to me for his late abuses,
Because he with his gates set open wide,
Gave thee free-leaue, there or elsewhere t' abide;
Not keeping thee in obscure prison fast,
(As being jealous of thee) where thou hast
Thy liberty. Againe, thou art inrag'd
Against those Cormorants that haue incag'd
And shut thee up; complaining, Beneath locks,
Keyes, bolts, and seales th'art kept as in the stocks,
From whence thou canst not move, from light exclud
[...]
Living in dungeons and darke holes contruded:
Of such thou hast complaind to me, and wept,
To be so long, so close in darknesse kept;
Looking withall so meager, pale, and wan,
Opprest with care as hadst thou been a man,
Starv'd and shrunke vp, thy sinues drawne together,
Thy fingers clutcht and lam'd; I know not whether
Hoording vp gold this Apoplex compelling,
Or numnesse, made by thy assiduat telling;
Willing to stay with them by no persuasion,
But apt to leave them on the least occasion.
And what above thought makes thee ill bested,
Is, in an iron or a brasen bed
(As thou hast heard of
Danae) to be laid,
As there for ever to be kept a maid,
By impious overseers schoold and taught,
Who save in gaine and usurie know nought.
Their grosse absurdities I haue heard thee note,
Who on thy person aboue reason dote;
[Page 65] And being in their power, dare not employ them,
Or lying prostrat to their lust, enjoy them:
They all the while strict vigilancie keeping,
With gard vpon the place where thou art sleeping,
[...]ying the bolts and bars, and winking never,
[...]s in great hope thou wilt supply them ever,
[...]nd haue much profit from thee. Not that they
[...]ean to make blest vse of thee though they may,
[...]ut only keep thee in such strict tuition,
[...]ecause none else of thee should have fruition.
[...]st like a dog that in the manger lies,
[...]ho though himselfe the provender despise,
[...]s to his pallat a distastefull meat,
[...]et will not suffer the poore horse to eat.
I likewise have observ'd thee laugh at those,
Who though they have thee at their free dispose,
[...]ost gripple are in sparing. In a word,
[...]hou holdst it most radiculous and absurd,
[...]hat such (mean time) should starue themselves, not knowing
[...]o whom (their floure being wither'd) thou art growing:
[...]o what Executor, Servant, or Page,
[...]eward or Pedagogue, who their spent age
[...]aue not bestow'd on thee, but on thy come,
[...]o seise by force, or else by stealth purloine;
[...]nd then for his safe hoording and close hiding,
[...]he wretched Master (new deceast) deriding,
[...]ho did so charily in his life time locke it,
[...]nd with a snuffe halfe burnt within the sockit,
[...]r dry rush light, keepe wakefull his faint eies
[...]pon his (now) all-forfeit vsuries.
[...]t not therefore,
Plutus, ill in thee,
[...]hat hast of these so oft complain'd to me;
[...]hy fickle thoughts so suddenly to vary,
[...]nd blame in
Timon the clean contrary?
Plutus.
Yet if my cause to censure be refer'd,
[...]e shall confesse that I haue no way err'd:
[Page 66] Nor is there reason why I should dispense
With
Timons lightnesse, rather negligence,
In stead of study, care, and that good-will,
Respect, and love, that should attend me still.
Nor of the adverse part do I approve,
Those that embrace me with an over-love,
Imprisoning and obtruding me so close,
To make me every day more huge and grosse;
Franking me up, to fat me, with intent
I may appeare to them more corpulent;
Yet they themselves, nor vse me in my neatnesse,
Nor shew me vnto others in my greatnesse.
All such I contumelious hold and mad,
Who notwithstanding all good from me had,
Put me in shackles, where I starving ly,
Opprest with hunger, and with thirst still dry:
Not understanding they must shortly leave me
To such as stand wide gaping to receive me.
Nor do I of those Prodigass allow,
Apt to part with me, and not caring how:
Such only I approve amongst the rest,
Who hold a mediocritie the best;
That neither vow to keep an absolute fast,
Or hauing plenty, are inclin'd to wast.
Consider this, ô
Iove, Say that a man
Finde for his choice the fairest Maid he can,
To make his Bride; and when the Nuptiall night
Invites them both to rest, he sets her light,
Neither observes her, nor is tender o're her,
But sets his dores and gates broad wide before her,
To gad and wander at her pleasure, trusts
Her night and day to prostrate where she lusts:
The man that gives such libertie to vice,
What doth he (not preventing) but intice
To lewdnesse? as inviting folke to prove her:
Can such an one be said truly to love her?
Againe, If any shall a Faire one wive,
And bring her to his house; when he should strive
To play the husband, and to procreate
Children as hopefull as legitimate:
Even then of all due Mariage-sweets should grutch her,
Nor in her flourishing prime of beauty touch her;
Vnwilling from a loathsome Gaole to free her,
Where nor himselfe nor any else may see her.
But thus secluded, barren, and depriv'd,
Shall keepe her still a virgin, though long liv'd:
And then, That all this was for love pretend,
Preferring her thus old and neere her end,
With an exhausted body, colour pale,
Deep wrinkled cheeks, and sunk-in eies that faile;
Would you not thinke that man quite from his sences,
Who when by lawfull and most iust pretences
He might have hopefull Issue, and possesse
A goodly sweet yong woman, and no lesse
Amorous, yet suffers her in care and anguish,
[...]adly like one of
Ceres Priests to languish?
Thus us'd and I abus'd, am sometimes torne,
[...]fled and pluckt in pieces, and in scorne
[...]affled and kickt: by others kept alive,
[...]mprison'd like some branded fugitive.
Iupiter.
Why fretst thou against those made to endure
[...]trange punishments for sinnes blacke and impure?
Or wherefore art thou at such slaves astonisht,
Who in themselves seest their owne vices punisht:
The one like
(h) Tantalus, in sight of meat,
And alwaies gaping, but forbid to eat:
With such dry chaps they gape vpon their gold,
Hot with that sated which they still behold.
The other, though they have it in their pawes,
[...]eady to glut themselves; from their starv'd jawes
The Harpies snatch it, as from
(g) Phineus, spoiling
[...]hose dainties for which he so long was toiling.
[Page 68] Go thou from Vs to
Timon without feare,
To whom (no doubt) thou wilt be henceforth deare.
Plutus.
But thinke you that at length he will forbeare
To poure me into leaking vessels, where
Though with great labor you maintaine it still,
The liquor runs out faster than you fill;
Sooner exhausting me, to draw me dry,
Than I my selfe can with my selfe supply:
He fearing when I shall with plenty crowne him,
I haue but meerly laid a plot to drowne him.
I shall be as in
(i) Danaus daughters tunnes,
No sooner ought pour'd in, but out it runnes;
So many holes being in the bottom drild,
That it draines faster than it can be fild.
Iupiter.
But though the liquor through the vessel breaks,
And that he hath no will to stop these leaks,
But by perpetuall dropping and effusion,
All must of force be wasted in conclusion:
Yet 'mongst the lees and dregs no doubt hee'l finde
His leathern pelt and spade still left behinde.
Go you mean time and see the man possest
Of treasure in aboundance, and the best.
That done, ô
Hermes, call at Aetna, where
The
(k) Cyclops are at worke, and (dost thou heare?)
Bid them repaire to me at my first sending,
For tell them that my three tynd bolt wants mending.
Both edge and point is dull'd and in my spleene
I now must have it sharpen'd and made keene.
Merc.
Plutus let's walke. But stay (thou of such fame)
Tell me how on the sudden cam'st thou lame?
What, and blinde too?
Plutus.
These imperfections lye
Not alwaies,
Hermes, in my foot or eye;
Only at some set times. For being sent
By
Iove, I am thus lame incontinent,
I know not by what means compeld vntoo't,
[Page 69] But instantly I halt on either foot,
And ere the place before me reach I can,
I am growne a lame decrepit weake old man.
But if I be to part from such, I fly
Swifter than birds make way beneath the sky;
No bars can stop me, furlongs are no more
To me, than narrow strides, I strip before
The windes swift wings, and can deceiue the eye
With my unparaleld velocitie:
Nay even the publique Criers have agreed
To crowne me Victor for my pace and speed.
Merc.
I now perceive thou
Plutus idlely pratest,
Since all things are not true that thou relatest:
How many have I knowne but yesterday
Ready to hang themselues, that could not pay
One single halfpenny downe vpon the naile,
To buy an halter with: yet now they saile
In gold and purple; some in Chariots ride,
That had not late a poore Asse to bestride,
Wealth flowing on them in so swift a streame,
That they themselves haue thought it but a dreame.
Plutus.
A thing quite contrarie it is, I vow,
Of which, ô
Mercurie, thou twitst me now:
For know, I walke not on myne owne legs when
I am sent by
Iove to honest and good men.
But if god
(l) Dis shall once command, I run,
For his behest is in an instant don.
He of the great gift-Giuer beares the name,
His Magozin's in hell, whence gold first came:
And therefore when I shift from man to man,
With all the industry and care they can,
They take me, wrapt and swath'd in Bonds and Bills,
Where one conveyance a whole sheep-skin fills:
So, sign'd and seald, me in some box they smother,
And tosse me 'twixt one party and another.
The owner dead, left in some obscure place,
[Page 70] Where Dogs and Cats may pisse upon his face.
Those that have hope to enjoy me are soon found
I'th Courts, and those hot sented as the hound,
Yawning like to the Swallowes infant brood,
When the dam fluttering to their nest brings food.
Now when the seale's discover'd on the Will.
And the string cut that bound the rowle vp, still
They gape to see the parchment op't and read,
To know th' Executor to the late Dead.
Then instantly a new heire is proclaim'd.
And either, there, some greasie kinsman nam'd,
Some Sycophant or fawning Parasite,
Or else perhaps a debosht Catamite.
He with a new shav'd chin, being of this treasure
Possest, then studies noveltie and pleasure,
With all rarieties at the height rated,
Which the dead hoorder in his life time hated.
He must be then a gentleman at least,
And with his wealth his Title (needs) encreast,
With change of name: for he that was before
Knowne by the name of
(m) Pyrrhias, Drono, or
Tibias; although the man be still the same,
Must either
Megabyzus have to name,
Megacles or
Protarchus: his minde swelling
With vaine ostent to gaine a stile excelling.
Even those that did not yawne with deepe inspection
(Though at the first in like state and election)
Into these hidden Mines; now all dis-jointed,
When they behold each other disappointed,
Although they truly mourne, seen but to feet,
To see the small fish Tuny scape the net;
Who as he living did but little eat,
So being dead could not afford much meat.
Now he that groveling falls vpon this Masse,
(Some fat fed Budget, or dull witted Asse,
Who of no good parts or clean life hath bin)
[Page 71] Enters upon it with an unwasht skin:
None treads so softly by him, but he feares,
And like a curre then starts up with prickt eares,
His fellow footmen he despiseth now,
To th' Temple and the Horse-mill doth allow
An adoration equall. Who to dispence
[...]s able now with his great insolence?
[...]nsufferable he growes, the Good despising,
And o're his Like and equals tyrannising;
Vaunting in mighty things, till Lust, incited
With some faire whore, or otherwise delighted
[...]n keeping Dogs and Horses, or by hearing
His trencher-Flies about his table jearing,
And whispering to him, He is growne more faire
Than the Greeke
(n) Nereus, Homer made so rare:
The mischiefe's, he beleeves it; their verbositie
Persuading him, That in true generositie
[...]
Cecrops and
Codrus come behinde him. One
Tells him,
Vlisses unto him alone
[...]ubmits in wisdome, and persuades the Beast
To be more rich than
Croesus was, at least
[...]y sixteen fold: exhausting by this meane,
And in one breath of time consuming clean
What was by piecemeale gather'd, and did rise
From base extortions, thefts, and perjuries.
Merc.
These are no question true: but when thou go'st
On thine owne feet (being blinde) say how thou know'st
The way thou art to take? how canst thou finde
[...]uch men as are of good and honest minde?
To whom (as now) my father oft times sends thee,
[...]nd in his care and providence commends thee.
Plutus.
Thinkst thou I finde those I am sent unto?
Merc.
By
Iove not I: if so, how didst thou do,
When lately being to
Aristides sent,
[...]hou to
Hipponicus and
Callius went,
[...]nd other base Athenians, scarce worth thought,
[Page 72] Or a poore single halfpenny, to be bought?
What is the course thou tak'st vpon the way?
Plutus.
Now high, now low, in each blinde path I stray,
Till unawares upon some one I fall,
And be he what he will, that man gets all:
He that is next me and can first catch hold,
To fasten on me, having seis'd my gold,
Secludes me to some obscure place, possessing
What he long wisht, then openly confessing,
In prayers and vowes, he is to
Hermes bound,
By whose assistance this great fortune's found.
Merc.
Is
Iove deceiv'd, presuming that thou go'st
To inr
[...]ch such as he affecteth most,
And thinks them worthy of his largesse?
Plutus.
Right,
O
Mercurie, and justly too, my sight
Being defective, and at such times blinde;
And sending me to seeke that, which to finde
So difficult is, and scarcely hath a Being,
Is that a taske with my dim sight agreeing?
In which had quick eyd
Argus in my sted
been his inquisitor, he scarce had sped:
The path so narrow and obscure, beside,
It being so rare to see a good man guide
A Cities weale; for those corrupt still sway,
And those in numbers flocking in my way:
I groping, can I possibly eschew
To avoid the many, and select the few?
The wicked alwaies yawning after gaines,
(The others not) how can I scape their traines?
Merc.
I but how comes it, when th'art to forsake
These wretches, thou such voluble speed dost make?
And without rub or the least stumbling, when
Thou canst not see the path before thee?
Plutus.
Then
Both eies and feet assist, and then alone,
[Page 73] When Time invites and calls me to be gone.
Merc.
Another thing resolue me: Tell me how
[...]comes to passe (ô god of Wealth) that thou
[...]rst being blinde, next, of a pale complexion,
[...]st, crippled in thy feet, canst gaine th' affection
[...]f so many great friends and lovers, such
[...] thinke they cannot gaze on thee too much?
[...]or can imagin they are truly blest.
[...]fore of thee undoubtedly possest?
[...]gaine, If he that after thee enquires,
[...]ance to be frustrat in his hot desires;
[...]or such I haue knowne many, and some noted,
[...]hat so debashtly on thy person doted,
[...]hat at their courting if thou seem'dst but coy,
[...]ave ready been their owne lives to destroy:
Who when they saw they
Plutus could not please,
[...]hemselves from hye rocks cast into the seas.
[...]nd yet I know, and thou must needs confesse,
View but thy selfe as I do) thou wilt guesse,
[...] not conclude, it is not love, but madnesse
[...]akes them despaire in doating on thy badnesse.
Plutus.
But thinkst thou,
Mercurie, I to them appeare
[...] the same forme as thou beholdst me here,
Or lame or blinde, with such defects about me?
Merc.
O by no means, for I should then misdoubt me
[...]hat they were blind as thou art.
Plutus.
But not quite,
[...]
Mercury, like me depriv'd of sight:
[...]nd yet there falls on them, as by some chance,
[...] kinde of error or blinde ignorance,
Which occupies them all, over their eies
[...]asting a shadowie filme, which doth disguise
[...]y deform'd parts; so I appeare to them
a golden habit, stucke with many a gem:
[...] pictur'd vesture I seem, passing by,
[...]nd thousand colours, to deceive the eye.
[Page 74] These fooles imagining, what I present,
To be my sole and native ornament:
And therefore being enamor'd on my forme,
If not eniov me, then they rage and storme.
But should I be before them naked laid,
And my mis-shapen ouglinesse displaid,
No doubt they would condemne themselves, pursuing
A seeming good, which leades them to their ruin:
Th' are only apt themselves to reconcile
To things their owne nature base and vile.
Merc.
But when it comes vnto such passe that they
Are filld with wealth, and supply'd every way;
When they have hedg'd, nay walld their riches in,
Some notwithstanding looke so bare and thin,
Withall so gripple, you may sooner teare
Head from the body, than impart what's there?
Besides, it is not probable, but such
As haue with greedy eies perus'd thee much,
Must needly know, (howe're they proudly boast,
Thy outside tin-foild, or but guilt at most?
Plut.
These my defaults (with others) to supply,
I have many ready helps, ô
Mercury.
Merc.
Name them I prethee.
Plut.
They no sooner fasten
With greedinesse vpon me, but they hasten
To ope their gates wide, then with me by stealth
Enter (for alwaies they attend on wealth)
Hawtinesse, Boasting, with the mindes destraction,
Effoeminacie, and to make vp the faction,
Oppression and Deceit, with th' interest
Of thousand more; with which the heart possest,
Is suddenly subjected and brought under,
To admire toyes which are not worth the wonder,
And covet that which they ought most to fly.
Now with this band of Pensioners garded, I
When thus attended they my state behold,
[Page 75] Thy never dreame of other god than Gold:
with such adoration they respect me,
endure all torments, rather than reject me.
Merc.
How smooth and slick thou art, no where abiding,
when men thinke thee safest, swiftly gliding
[...]row their fingers, neither can I spy
[...]andle or an haft to stay thee by,
we hold pots and glasses; they slip through
[...] hand as snakes and serpents use to doo.
When
Poverty, to thee quite contrary,
[...]ere e're she takes her Inne is apt to tarry:
[...]mmy cleaves like Bird-lime, uncompeld,
[...] to be seis'd, and easie to be held;
[...]ing a thousand catching hooks, and so
out her plac'd, that hardly she lets go.
[...] whilst we trifle here, there's one maine thing
[...] had forgot.
Plut.
What?
Merc.
That we did not bring
[...]asure along, it being
Ioves intent,
[...] the chiefe businesse about which we are sent.
[...].
For that take thou no care: I do not enter
on the earth, (being calld, and leave my Center,
I have still a care upon my store,
my departure to shut fast my dore,
[...]ich only opens to me when I call.
Merc.
Let's thither then, and
Plutus lest thou fall,
[...]d by my cloake, and follow till we come
[...]o the place assign'd.
Hermes well done,
leade me thus; for if thou shouldst forsake
as I am, I might perchance mistake
way, and wandring, through my want of sight,
Hyperbolus or on
Cleon light.
stay, What noise is that? I heare some one
[...]ith his pick-axe striking against stone.
Merc.
[Page 76]
'Tis
Timon, who laboriously doth wound
A piece of mountainous and stony ground.
O wondrous!
Poverty by him fast stands,
And the rough fellow
Labor, with galld hands.
Here's
Wisedome, Health, and with them
Fortitude,
And besides these, a populous multitude
Of such like Groomes,
Need them to worke compelli
[...]
And yet a troupe (me-thinks) thy Gard excelling.
Plut.
Therefore let's post hence with what speed we
For,
Hermes, how shall we invade a man
Girt with so great an army?
Merc.
Be not afraid,
'Tis
Ioves command, whose will must be obayd.
Pov.
O whether lead'st thou
Plutus?
Merc.
To inlarge
Timon from hence; for so
Iove gave in charge.
Poverty.
Comes he againe to
Timon, whom (bereav'd
Of health by many surfets) I receiv'd,
To Wisedome and to Industry commended,
And in his cure so far my skill extended,
I soone restor'd him (as he still doth finde)
Sound in his body, and vpright in minde.
Have I deserv'd such scorne, or do I merit
A wrong, what is myne owne not to inherit?
That you are come, with colorable pretence,
Him (now my sole possession) to take hence?
Whose ruin'd vertues with exactest care
I have much toyld and labor'd to repaire.
Being againe in that blinde gods protection,
Hee'l bring them vassald to their late subjection,
Fill him with arrogance, disdaine, and pride,
And every ill that Goodnesse can mis-guide;
And when all hope of faire amendment's past,
Returne him backe as I receiv'd him last,
Essoeminate, sloathfull, franticke, or what not,
A thing of nothing, a meere brainlesse Sot.
[...].
[Page 77]
Thou hear'st
Ioves will.
Poverty.
And I to it agree.
[...]wledge and
Laber doe you follow me,
[...] all my traine: hee'l shortly to his cost
He what a mother he (in me) hath lost;
[...]t a good helper, what a true instructer.
[...]ll good arts a tutresse and conducter:
whilst with me he had commerce, was still
[...]e and healthfull, having strength at will,
[...]ding a manly life, turning his eies
[...]n his brest, and of proud vanities
[...] gawdy frailties had at all no care,
[...]held them trifles, as indeed they are.
Merc.
They now are gone, let us approch more neare.
Timon.
What slaves be these that to myne eies appeare?
[...]y are you come? what would you? what require?
[...]a poore laboring man that works for hire?
[...] shall not part hence laughing, for know, I
[...]e store of stones that round about me ly.
Merc.
Assault us not, ô
Timon, for in vaine
[...]ou shalt do so, we are not of the straine
[...]mortall race, but gods: I,
Mercury:
[...]is,
Plutus, sent from the great Deity,
[...]o doth at length commiser at thy state,
[...]h purpose now to make thee fortunate:
[...] shall be well, we come to ease thy paine,
[...]ave off thy worke, henceforth be rich againe.
[...] Though to your selves the name of gods you borrow,
[...]pe off, or I shall give you cause of sorrow:
[...]me not too neere me, I at random strike,
[...] gods and men I now hate both alike:
for that blinde slave, him I'le first invade,
[...]ow to rap him soundly with my spade.
[...].
Let vs be gone, ô
Mercurie, hee's mad,
[...]t some sad mischiefe from his hand be had.
Merc.
This barbarous spleen good
Timon strive to hide,
[Page 78] And thy ferocitie cast quite aside.
With gratitude receive what
Iove hath sent,
I strike thee lucke, be rich incontinent:
Prince of th' Athenians thou shalt henceforth bee,
And to contemne them that disdained thee,
Punish their base ingratitude, bee't their griefe
To see thee rais'd, live happy, and their Chiefe.
Plut.
I have no need of you, pray give me leave
To use my labor, and at night receive
My competent wages, 'tis a gainfull trade,
I have wealth enough in using this my spade:
I should be happy if you would forbeare me,
But then most blest if no man would come neere me.
Merc.
Thou speakst too inhumanely;
Timon I
This thy harsh language and absurd reply
Will tell my father: Say that from mans brest
Th'hast had more wrongs than thou canst well disgest
Yet 'tis not good the gods thou shouldst despise,
Who as thou seest all for thy good devise.
Tim.
To thee, ô
Mercury, Iove, and the rest
Of the Coelestiall gods, I here protest,
I hold my selfe much bound, and thanke them for
Their care of me, but
Plutus I abhor,
And him I'le not receive.
Merc.
Why?
Tim.
Because I guesse
Him the fole author of my great distresse
And mischiefes manifold, as first betraying me
To oily smooth-tongu'd flatterers, and then laying m
[...]
Open to those insidiated my state.
Envy and hate he first did propagate,
Corrupted me with vices, then disclos'd me
To all reproch, and after that expos'd me
To spleen and canker'd malice which exceeded,
And last of all left me when most I needed.
Excellent
Povertie contrariwise
[Page 79]
[...] me unto paines and exercise
[...]comming Man; truly and freely wee
[...]gether liv'd in consocietie,
[...]pplying me with all things, garments, meat,
[...]ich tasted best, being season'd by my sweat.
[...] vulgar things she taught me to despise,
[...]d looke on frailties with unpartiall eies;
[...]rsuading me, that Hope hath stedfast root,
[...]ere mans owne industrie's assistant too't:
[...]wing what Riches should be our delight,
[...]h namely as no soothing Parasite,
[...] fawning Sycophant, no mad and rude,
[...]y stupid and seditious multitude;
[...] Orator that gathers from lewd tongues
[...]d tales, and heraulds them to others wrongs:
[...] Tyrant that lies craftily in wait:
[...]en none of these can undermine our state,
[...]en we are truly rich. Labor hath made
[...] able-bodied, whilst I daily trade
this small field, from whence I cannot see
thousand ills that in the City bee.
[...]e tooles I worke with plenteously supplying
[...]th needfull things, vprising and down lying.
[...]d therefore
Mercury returne I entreat,
[...]re with thee
Plutus backe to
Ioves high seat;
[...]th fond delirements let him others charme,
[...] for my part he never more shall harme.
Merc.
Not so, good man, let me advise the best,
[...]dy thyne owne peace, and let others rest.
[...]is peevish (rather childish) spleen forbeare,
[...]d from myne hand receive god
Plutus here.
man 'tis prophanation to despise
[...]h blessings as
Iove sends the Iust and Wise.
Plut.
Wilt thou, ô
Timon, heare me to the end,
[...]ilst I against thee myne owne cause defend,
[...]d suffer me with patience?
Timon.
[Page 80]
Speake, but briefly,
Avoiding Proëms and preambles, chiefly
Vs'd by damn'd Orators: see thou be'st short,
I'le listen to thee, but thanke
Hermes for't.
Plut.
More liberty by right I ought to claime,
Whom thou of wrongs injuriously dost blame;
Thy invective is with bitternesse extended,
Yet innocent I in nothing have offended,
Who thee of all delicious things prouided,
At thy free will to be dispos'd and guided:
I was the author and chiefe instrument
Of thy authoritie and gouernment;
I gave thee crownes, and furnisht thee with treasure,
Made thee conspicuous, to abound in pleasure.
In all rarieties I thee instated:
By me thou wert observ'd, and celebrated.
If since, ought ill have unto thee betided,
(Cause thou perhaps my goodnesse hast misguided)
By seeming friends or servants, canst thou blame
Plutus for this? I rather should exclaime
On thee, for many contumelies past,
Powring me out mongst sordid knaves so fast:
Who only sweld thee with vain-glorious pride,
Devising strange prestigious tricks beside,
Only to draw me from thee. I'th last place
Where thou hast utter'd to my foule disgrace,
I left thee in thy want to starve and pine,
Be witnesse
Hermes if the fault were myne:
Who after injuries not to be borne,
Didst cast me from thee in contempt and scorne,
Hence comes it, for thy cloake of purple die,
Thy late beloved Mistresse
Poverty
Hath wrapt thee in this skin coat. I attest
Thee,
Mercury, how much I was opprest:
And but that
Iove commands, by no facilitie
Could I be woon to attone this our hostilitie.
Merc.
[Page 81]
But
Plutus thou now find'st how he is chang'd,
[...]nd from his former humor quite estrang'd.
[...]herefore have free commerce, dig
Timon still,
[...]nd in the mean time
Plutus vse thy skill,
[...]hat as by
Ioves behest thou art assign'd,
[...] delving deep he may this treasure finde.
Timon.
Well
Hermes, I obey, and am prepar'd
[...]o be againe made rich: For man 'tis hard
[...]o wrestle with the gods. Observe, I'ntreat,
[...]to what miseries and mischiefs great
[...]hou hast headlong cast me, who (I vow) vntill
[...]his houre liv'd happy, as I might do still.
[...]hat ill have I deserv'd, now to be vext,
[...]d once againe with infinite cares perplext,
[...] fastning on this treasure?
Merc.
And yet take
[...]l, I intreat, in good part for my sake;
[...]are it, however weighty and indeed
[...]most intolerable, bee't but to breed
[...]vy in those base Claw-backs: I mean time
[...]ving past Aetna, must Olympus clime.
Plut.
Hee's mounted, hauing left us, making way
[...]ith his swift wings: but thou, ô
Timon, stay
Il I depart, and to thy power commit
[...]masse of wealth, solely to manage it.
[...]t strike hard, harder yet; and now to thee
[...]peake, ô Treasure, most observant bee
[...]to this
Timon, with what speed thou hast,
[...]fer thy selfe by him to be embrac't;
[...]g
Timon lustily, thy stroke fetch higher,
[...]d worke apace, 'tis time that I retyre.
[...]o't, my good spade, use both thy edge and strength,
[...]d be not too soone dull'd, till I at length
[...]ve from the Earths deep intrals brought aloft
[...]y hidden lustre, and here coucht thee soft
[...]on this grassy verdure. O
Iove, father
[Page 82] Of prodigies, or what we else may gather
From thy Divine Pow'r: ô my dearest friends
The
(f) Caribanthes, how your love extends?
And thou light-bearing
Mercury, behold,
And freely tell me, Whence is all this gold?
It is some dreame, I am deceiv'd, I feare,
These are quicke glowing coles new waked here.
No sure, 'tis excellent gold yellow and bright,
Most ravishing, all-pleasing to the sight,
Beautifull Coine: O let me hug thee then,
Thou art the goddesse of Good-lucke to men:
It flames like fire compact, in this huge cluster
Both night and day it keeps it's glorious luster.
Approach to me my Dearest, how to misse thee
I know not now: Most Amorous let me kisse thee.
Till now I did not credit what was told
Long since, That
Iove himselfe was chang'd to gold.
What precise Virgin could retaine the power
Not to hold vp to such a golden shower?
Or being the chastest of all humane daughters,
Not meet him dropping through the tiles and rafters.
Take
Midas, Croesus, and the Magozine
Heapt by the offrings made at Delphos shrine;
Compar'd with this Masse they are nothing too't,
And take the Persian Monarchy to boot.
O Spade, ô Skin-coat, late to me most deere,
To
Pan the rurall god I leave you heere.
I'le buy a field remote hence, and obscure,
Where having built a strong tower to secure.
This mountainous heape, I'le study (being gone)
How I may best live to my selfe alone.
There will I build my tombe too, e're I dye,
That none may know where
Timons ashes lye.
I have decreed, and 'tis establisht in me,
That none from this sequester'd life shall win me,
Nor hate 'gainst all mankinde. Henceforth a guest,
[Page 83] A friend, or a companion, I protest,
Are names forgot in me: Th' Altar of
Pitty,
So much esteem'd and honor'd in the City,
I'le hold as a meere trifle. Commiseration
On those that grieve or make loud acclamation,
To give the Needy, or their wants supply,
Shall be to me as blacke iniquitie.
Subversion of good manners I'le allow,
A sad and solitarie life I vow,
Such as Wolves leade, bloud-thirsty to the end,
For only
Timon shall be
Timons friend;
All else my foes, with whom I am at strife,
As those that still insidiate my life:
To intercourse with any that hath bin
Before my friend, I le hold a capitall sin,
Deserving expiation: and the day
I hat I incounter Kinsman in my way,
I'le thinke unprosp'rous: for no more I passe
For Man, than statues made of stone or brasse;
With such I'le hold no covenant. Solitude
Be thou myne aime and end: as for those rude
Of myne owne Tribe, Cousins and Nephewes, or
Myne owne domesticke servants I abhor;
My Country likewise: I to all their shames
[...]hall count them as meere cold and barren names.
Th' are mad mens Saints, but trifles to the Wise;
Be thou alone rich,
Timon, and despise
All else: Thy selfe on y thy selfe delight,
And separated live from the loath'd sight
Of Sycophants, (the remnant of thy daies)
Who only swell thee vp with tympanous praise.
Offer thy gifts unto the go
[...]s alone,
Feast with thy selfe, be thine owne neighbor, none
Neere thee: whate're is thine partic pate
Vnto thy proper ends, 'nd Rivals hate.
It likewise is decreed, That
Timon will
[Page 84] Himselfe use gently and humanely still,
Be his owne page and servant, when his breath
Leaves him, his owne eies he will close in death.
If love vain-glory, hee'l himselfe renowne;
On his owne head his owne hand place a crowne:
No stile of honor be to him so sweet,
As to be call'd
Misanthropos, 'tis meet,
Because he hates Mankinde: the Character
That in all ages I desire to weare,
Is Difficultie and Asperitie,
Fiercenesse, Rage, Wrath, and Inhumanitie:
For should I see a poore wretch wrapt in fire,
And he to quench him should my helpe desire,
I would but laugh to see him fry and broile,
Seeking to feed the flame with pitch and oile.
Againe, f passing by a rivers brinke,
And spying one falne in, ready to sinke,
And holding out his hand imploring aid,
Craving to be supported up and staid;
What in this case thinke you would
Timon do?
Even dive his head downe to the bottome too.
There are no other lawes confirm'd, than these,
By
Timon, son to
Echecratides,
Even
Timon of
Collytte, with his hand
Subscribes to them, which hee'l not countermand.
O now at what a deare rate would I buy,
That present newes might into Athens fly,
And all of them vpon the sudden know
What store I have, how little to bestow.
What noise was that? See, multitudes come posting,
Clouded in dust, and breathlesse, this way coasting?
I wonder how they smelt my gold? Were't best
I clime up to yon hill, from whose high crest
I with more ease with stones may palt them hence?
Or shall I rather for this once dispence
With my harsh lawes? to shew them all my store,
[Page 85] With the bare sight thereof to vex them more?
I hold that best; their comming here I'le stay:
But soft, what's he that's formost on the way?
Gnatonides the Flatterer, who but late
When I was in my miserable estate,
And beg'd of him some food for charitie,
Cast me an halter: yet ingratefull hee
A thousand times hath at my table eaten,
I am glad yet he comes first, first to be beaten.
Gnaton.
Did I not ever thinke the gods above
Could not neglect, but still this good man love?
Haile
Timon, thou most faire, most sweet, most kinde,
Bounteous, and alwaies of a generous minde.
Tim.
Haile too
Gnatonides, (the corruptest slave
That ever gourmandis'd) what wouldst thou have,
Thou more than many Vultures still devouring?
Gnaton.
It was his custome alwaies to be pouring
Harsh jeasts vpon his friends; his quicke dicacitie
Would evermore be taunting my voracitie,
And it becomes him well. Where shall we dine,
Or whether go to quaffe thy health in wine?
I have a new song got into my pate,
Out of quaint
(p) Dythirambs I learn'd it late.
Timon.
But at this time I rather could advise
That thou wouldst study dolefull Elegies,
Such as this spade can teach.
Gnaton.
O
Hercules!
Strikes
Timon then? with thee, I witnesse these,
Before the
Arcopagitae I
Will have thee call'd in Court: ô I shall die,
See, thou hast wounded me.
Timon.
Nay be not gone;
Two labors thou mayst save me so in one:
Thou shalt complaine of murther.
Gnat.
Timon No:
But rather on my broken pate bestow
[Page 86] Some of thy gold to apply too't, and be sure,
It's both a speedy and miraculous Cure.
Tim.
Still stay'st thou?
Gnat.
I am gon. Wondring hee's growne
Of late so rude, that was so civill knowne.
Tim
Who's he comes next, all bare and bald before?
Philiades:
I know him of the store
Of Sycophants most execrable, who wound
Me in not long since for a piece of ground,
Besides two talents for his daughters dower,
And all that substance did the slave devour,
Because he prais'd my singing: when the rest
Were silent all, he only did protest
And sware, that I did admiration breed,
Nay, dying Swans in sweetnesse much exceed.
I since being sicke, desiring him to have care
Over my health, the Villein did not spare
To spurne me from his gate.
Philiades.
Ingratefull age,
Dost thou at length know
Timon, he, the sage
And wise good man: full well did he requite
Gnatonides the soothing Parasite,
And Temporiser, who is only friend
To such as of their wealth can know no end.
But he hath what he merits, a just fate
Depending on th' Vnthankfull and Ingrate:
But we that have been table-guests of old,
Equals, and fellow Citisens, enrold;
Who' twixt us interchang'd the name of brother,
And were not chargeable one to another,
We should renew acquaintance: Sir, God save you,
And beware henceforth how you do be have you
To sacrilegious Parasits that appeare
Alwaies at banquets and abundant cheare:
They are only Smell-feasts, waiting on the Cooks,
But little differing from base Crowes and Rooks,
[Page 87] Men are of late so'bnoxious vnto crimes,
[...]here is no trust to any of these times;
[...]nthankfull they are all, and bad: but I
[...]nowing thy wants, and willing to supply
[...]hy present uses, purpos'd to have brought
[...] talent with me; fearing thou hadst owght
To some harsh Creditor; or might have need
[...]or other ends: but by the way indeed,
learing to what a surplusage of gaine,
[...]hou hast arriv'd, I held it a thing vaine.
[...]et cam I of thy bounty to make proofe,
[...]nd counsell thee of things for thy behoofe:
[...]ut needlesse were it,
Timon being so wise,
That (if he liv'd) he
Nestor might advise.
Tim
'Twas kindely done,
Philiades, come neere
[...]nd see what welcome I have for thee heere.
Phil.
Thou wretched churle; what vndeserved punishment
[...]ast thou repaid me for my late admonishment?
[...] feare he hath broke my necke.
Tim.
Behold a third,
Demeas the Orator; indeed a Bird
Of the same feather: he hath bills, records,
[...]ables, a man meerly compos'd of words.
[...]e calls himselfe my kinsman; who in one day
Of myne) to th' Cities Chamber had to pay
[...]xteen whole talents, he then in execution:
[...]et I redeem'd him, and made full solution
Of all his debts; when he was fast in hold,
[...]freed him thence: yet was the slave so bold,
That comming after unto eminent place,
Where he with
Erichtheiades had grace,
Who had the charge of the whole Treasurie,
[...]nd mony by account then due to mee)
[...]e being my feed Advocate as then,
[...]rotested that I was no Citisen;
Therefore not capable my due to claime:
[Page 88] Most loudly lying without feare or shame.
Demeas.
Save thee, ô
Timon, thou, of all thy race
The greatest ornament and the prime grace,
Of the whole State the Columne and the stay,
By whom protected and supported, they
Live safe: thou art the stay of Greece, we know,
The people frequently pronounce thee so,
With either Court: but heare what I have writ
In thy great praise, and then consider it.
Timon, of
Echecratides the son,
Borne in
Collytte, who hath never don
But what became him well; who as he was
Of unstain'd life, in wisedome did surpasse
The Grecian Sages; who from himselfe did steale
His pretious houres, to benefit the Weale.
He was so good a Patriot, besides strong,
And from th' Olympicke wrestling brought along
Great honors by his swiftnesse, by his force,
The foure wheeld Chariot and the single horse.
Tim.
I have not so much as spectator bin
Of what thou sayst I am so eminent in.
Demeas.
All's one for that, we Orators are free,
And what's not yet done may hereafter be:
These are but things of course, and aptly fitted,
I see no reason they should be omitted.
But the last yeare, no longer since, how well
Did he demeane himselfe, nay how excell,
When he against the
Achernenses fought,
And their great army vnto ruin brought?
The Spartans in two battels he subdu'd.
Timon.
How can these be? Do not my sence delude:
I never being souldier, nor had minde,
Or the least purpose to be so inclin'd.
Demeas.
'Tis modestie in you, I must confesse,
To be so sparing of your worthinesse.
But as for us, we should be most ingrate,
[Page 89]
[...] we your great worth did not celebrate.
[...]esides, in Lawes, which (truly understood)
[...]ave been inacted for the publique good;
[...]n privat consultations about war
Or peace, he did transcend all others far,
And brought unto the publique State such profit,
That there is none can speake too loudly of it.
[...]or these just causes it is held convenient,
[...]nd by the Lords and Commons thought expedient,
Being a man so generally respected)
To have a golden statue erected
To this great Commonwealths man
Timon, grac'd
[...]o far, as to be next
Minerva plac'd,
[...]n her owne Temple, shaking in his hand
As imitating
Iove) a fulminous brand,
Bright raies about his head, and at the least,
Deckt with seven Crownes, to have his name inereast.
Next, to have all his glories open laide
[...]n the new Tragedies to
Bacchus made.
These solemne Sacreds must be kept this day,
And who more fit than he to act them, pray?
[...]emect to this decree doth first subscribe,
Because he counts himselfe of
Timons tribe,
His neere Ally and kinsman, or indeed
His scholler rather, for he doth exceed
[...]n learning the superlative degree,
As being all what he can wish to bee.
This is the generall suffrage, and thy due:
But how had I forgot? that to thy view
I did not bring my son and heire, the same
Whom I have since calld
Timon, by thy name.
Tim.
How can that be, ô
Demeas, when thou hast
No wife at all, pretending to live chast?
Thou art a Batchelor.
Dem.
Tush, do not feare,
My purpose is to marry the next yeare.
[Page 90] If heaven permit, and thou shalt heare relation,
That all my study shall be procreation.
Then my first Borne (a boy it shall be sure)
I'le
Timon call, to make thy name endure.
Tim.
But if in this sad stroke I not miscarry,
'Twill be a doubt if euer thou shalt marry.
Demeas.
O me, what means this out-rage? art thou wise
That dost upon thy friends thus tyrannise?
To beat him hence, that hath more quicke conceit
And apprehension in this broken pate,
Than thou in thy great Mazard: neither can
This iustifie thee for an honest man,
Or a good Citisen: This out-rage don,
Shall question thee before the setting Sun;
For I dare justifie, thou durst aspire
To set the Cities Citadel on fire.
Tim.
That calumny will to thyne owne shame turne,
Because the place hath not been seen to burne.
Dem.
But being rich, it may suspected bee,
That thou hast robd the common Treasurie.
Tim.
The bolts and locks are whole, and 'twill appeare
Most vile to such as shall thy scandals heare.
Dem.
It may be rob'd hereafter; i'th mean time
Thou thus possest art guilty of that crime.
Tim.
Mean time take that, 'twill speed thee if 't hit righ
Dem.
O me; that blow 'twixt neck and shoulders light
Tim.
Sh
[...]eeke not so loud, ô
Demeas, if thou dost,
Here's a third for thee. Me-thinks it were most
Ridiculous, that being unweapon'd, I
Two mighty Spartan armies made to fly,
And one poore snake not vanquish: so in vain
The honors from Olympus I should gaine,
To championise and wrestle. Soft, what's he?
Grave
Thrasicles the Sophist it should be:
The same; I know him by his promisse beard,
And beetle browes: Some things that are not heard
[Page 91]
[...] mutters to himselfe, and his squint eye
[...]sts towards the Moone, as should his wits there lye:
[...]s unshorne haire beneath his shoulders flowing,
[...]bout him scatter'd with continuall blowing:
[...]ke
Boreas or some
Tryton he appeares;
[...]t such as
Zeuxes (since not many yeares)
[...] tables us'd to figure them. Now hee,
[...] habit rare and thin, makes toward mee,
[...]cing a modest, but affected gate,
[...] if he had new crochets in his pate.
[...]e
[...]useth too: wonder you would to heare
in every morning, with a looke austere,
[...]spute of Vertue and her excellent qualitie,
[...]eproving all delights, only frugalitie,
Which he affects) extolling. His first care
[...] first to wash, then instantly prepare
[...]imselfe to meat, but at some others charge.
[...] soone as set, the boy brings him a large
[...]nd brim-filld bowle; no liquor him can scape,
[...] it be strong and prest from the pure Grape,
[...]ike
Lethe's water, downe the wine he poures
[...]is yawning throat; talks, At his early houres
[...]hat his Positions were and Disputations;
[...]roubling the hearers with his vain narrations.
[...]ow he begins to gourmandise, and sits
[...]ouering vppon the choice and fattest bits,
As if the table could not roome afford)
[...]e strikes his neighbors elbow from the bord,
[...] earnest feeding; crums hang on his beard;
[...]ith severall saucers all his chaps are smear'd.
[...]eing almost gorg'd, vpon the fruits he flies,
[...]nd almost groveling o're the platters lies;
[...]umbling and searching with insatiat minde,
[...]s if in them he vertue hop'd to finde.
[...]ith his long finger having scrap'd the dish,
[...]nd slapt up all the sauce of flesh or fish,
[Page 92] So cleane, that not a waiter, sparelier fed,
Shall have ought left wherein to dip his bread:
Still sits he as his greasie fists have shap'd him,
Vext, that some glorious morsell hath escap'd him;
Though he alone whole custards hath devour'd,
And his wide throat with tarts and marchpanes scour'd
Yet hee's not satisfy'd, although at least
He hath gormandiz'd a whole hog at a feast.
Now the best fruits that grow from this voracitie,
Is to be loud, and prate with great audacitie.
His guts full stuft, and braines well toxt with wine,
Himselfe he spruceth, studieth to be fine;
Either prepares his squealing voice to sing,
Or dancing, hops about as he would fling
His gouty legs off from his rotten thighes.
Wearied with these, againe he doth devise
Of new discourse, and that must chiefly bee
Of temperance and grave sobrietie.
Now is he made a sport to all the Bord,
Stammers and lisps, speaks not a ready word;
Then drinks even unto vomit: Last of all,
To take the nasty fellow thence they call.
Then there's with both hands lifting; loth he leaves
The place, and unto some she Minstrell cleaves,
Ready to ravish her in all their view,
To shew that Lust doth Drunkennesse pursue;
Nay in his best sobrietie applying
Himselfe to boldnesse, avarice, and lying;
In which none can out-match him, hee's a Chiefe
Both with the soothing flatterer and Thiefe:
For perjurie there's no man that transcends him,
Imposture ushers, Impudence attends him.
He is an Object of meere obseruation,
Or (truly lookt into) of admiration;
A spectacle of scorne, that wonder brings,
Being made complete from meere imperfect things:
[Page 93]
[...]ll his imperfections, more or lesse,
[...]ming a kinde of modesty to expresse.
Most strange! O
Thrasicles, What make you here?
Thrasicles.
Not with the minde of others I appeare,
Timon, who come flocking to behold
[...]ee and thy mighty Magozin of gold,
[...]haps to steale and pilpher, to be guests
[...]usive to thy table and thy feasts;
[...]o daub thee with pyde flatteries, that indeed
[...] a man simple, and dost Counsell need;
[...]rainlesse Prodigall, wholly given to wast,
[...]ily parting with what coine thou hast.
Besides, thou art not ignorant, I am sure,
[...]at spare and thirfty dyet I endure,
[...]e Chop or Fragment best with me agreeing,
[...]n just so much as will maintaine a Beeing:
[...] onion is a meat to taste my pallat,
[...] a few water Cresses a choice sallat;
[...]ttle salt cast on them, then 'tis rare,
[...] I account it most delicious fare.
[...] thirst th' Athenian fountaine sates and fills,
[...]ich by seven cocks it plenteously distills.
[...]s thred-bare cloake by me is prizd more hye
[...]an the best robe dipt in the Tyrian dye:
[...] Gold, thou knowst that I esteem't no more
[...]n I do pebbles scatter'd on the shore.
[...]et for thy sake I hither made accesse,
[...]ing thy wealth, thy goodnesse might oppresse;
[...]g corrupt and vile in it's owne beeing,
[...] no way with thy temperature agreeing,
[...] rout of irrecoverable ills,
[...]ich seeming most to comfort, soonest kills.
[...]ul'd by me, Go instantly and cast
[...] the Ocean all the wealth thou hast:
at need of Gold, when all things we supply
contemplation of Philosophy?
[Page 94] But cast it not into the depth I prethes,
But neere the shore, when only I am with thee;
Enough 'tis if the wave but overflow it,
To cover it, and (save my selfe) none know it.
If this dislike thee, that thou holdst it vaine,
I have another project in my braine,
And 't may prove the best course; From forth thy do
[...]
Precipitate and tumble all thy store;
And to expresse a pure abstemious minde,
Of all thy Masse leave not a piece behinde.
There is a third way (like the second) speedy,
Namely, by distributing to the needy;
Who in all eares shall thy donation sound:
To him fiue drachma's, give that man a pound,
A talent to another. If by chance,
Philosophers of austere countenance
Hither to taste thy largesse shall repaire,
Give such a double, nay a treble share,
As to the men most worthy. This (alasse)
I for myne owne part speake not, but to passe
Thy bounty unto others that more need,
And would be thankfull, of thy gift to feed.
For my particular use I crave no more
Than so much at this present from thy store
As would but fill my Scrip, the bulke being small,
Holds two Aegina bushels, and that's all:
To be content with little, moderation
And temperance becomes men of my fashion:
We Sophists, that in wisedome all out-strip,
Should aime at nothing further than our Scrip.
Tim.
All that thou speakst I
(Thrasicles) allow;
Yet e're I fill thy wallet, heare me now,
I'le stuffe thy head with tumors, having made
True measure of thy skull with this my spade.
Thrasic.
O Liberty! ô Lawes! neere a free City,
Thus to be us'd by one devoid of pitty!
Tim.
[Page 95]
Why,
Thrasicles, thus angry dost thou show thee?
[...]ave I not paid thee the full debt I owe thee?
[...]ay but a little, and t' expresse my love,
[...]ure measures thou shalt have o're and above.
[...]hat further businesse have we now in breeding?
[...]ultitudes hither flocke, in throngs exceeding;
[...]ere's
Blepsias, Laches, Cniphon, and in brief,
thousand more that hasten to their grief,
[...] if they ran for blowes; see how they flocke:
[...]herefore I'le clyme to th' highest part of this rocke,
[...]old that course is for the present best,
[...]nd to my wearied spade to give some rest:
[...]f scatter'd stones I'le gather me an heape,
[...]nd from that place I'le make them skip and leape,
[...]uring my haile on them.
Bleps.
Hurle not, we pray,
Timon, instantly wee'l trudge away.
Tim.
And yet thou shalt with difficultie doo't,
[...]ithout some bloud-shed and deep wounds to boot.
The Argument of the Dialogue intituled IVPITER and GANIMEDE.
IOves Masculine love this Fable reprehends,
And wanton dotage on the Trojan Boy.
Shap'd like an Eagle, he from th'earth ascends,
And beares through th'aire his new Delight
and Ioy.
In Ganimed's
exprest a simple Swaine,
Who would leave Heaven, to live on Earth againe.
The DIALOGVE.
Iupiter.
NOw kisse me, lovely
Ganimed, for see,
Wee are at length arriv'd where w
[...] would bee:
I have no crooked beak, no tallons ke
[...]
No wings or feathers are about me seen;
I am not such as I but late appear'd.
Ganimed.
But were not you that Eagle who late fear'd
And snatcht me from my flocke? where is become
That shape? you speake now, who but late were dumb
Iupit.
I am no man, faire Youth, as I appeare,
Nor Eagle, to astonish thee with feare:
But King of all the gods, who for some reason
Have by my power transhap't me for a season.
Ganim.
[Page 97]
What's that you say? you are not
Pan, I know:
[...]here's thē your pipe? or where your horns, should grow
[...]on your temples? where your hairy thighes?
Iupiter.
Thinks
Ganimed that godhood only lies rurall
Pan?
Ganim.
Why not? I know him one:
[...]e Shepheards sacrifice to him alone.
spotted Goat into some cave we drive,
[...]d then he seiseth on the beast alive.
[...]ou art but some Childe-stealer, that's thy best.
Iupit.
Hast thou not heard of any man contest
Ioves great Name? nor his rich Altar view'd
Gargarus, with plenteous showres bedew'd?
here seen his fire and thunder?
Ganim.
Do you then
[...]ffirme your selfe the same, who on us men
[...] late pour'd haile-stones? he that dwells above us,
[...]d there makes noise; yet some will say doth love vs?
[...] whom my Father did observance yeeld,
[...]d sacrific'd the best Ram in the field.
[...]y then (if you of all the gods be chiefe)
[...]ve you, by stealing me, thus play'd the thiefe;
[...]en in my absence the poore sheep may stray,
the wilde ravenous Wolves snatch them away?
Iupit.
Yet hast thou care of Lambs, of Folds, of sheep,
[...]at now art made immortall, and must keep
[...]ietie with Vs?
Ganim.
I no way can
[...]nceive you. Will you play the honest man,
[...]d beare me backe to Ida?
[...].
So in vaine
[...]ap'd me like an Eagle, if againe
[...]ould returne thee backe.
Ganim.
My father, he
this hath made inquirie after me;
[...]d if the least of all the flocke be eaten,
[Page 98] I in his rage am most sure to be beat.
Iup.
Where shall he finde thee?
Ganim.
That's the thing I feare,
He never can clime up to meet me here,
But if thou beest a good god, let me passe
Into the mount of Ida where I was:
And then I le offer, in my thankfull piety,
Another well fed Goat unto thy diety,
(As price of my redemption) three yeares old,
And now the chiefe and prime in all the fold.
Iup.
How simple is this innocent Lad? a meere
Innocuous childe. But
Ganimed now heare.
Bury the thoughts of all such terren drosse,
Thinke Ida and thy fathers flocks no losse:
Thou now art heavenly, and much grace mayst do
Vnto thy father and thy country too.
No more of cheese and milke from henceforth thinke,
Ambrosia thou shalt eat, and Nectar drinke,
Which thy faire hands in flowing cups shalt fill
To me and others, but atte
[...]d us still;
And (that which most should moove thee) make thy' abo
[...]
Where thou art now, thou shalt be made a god,
No more be mortall, and thy glorious star
Shine with refulgence, and be seen from far.
Here thou art ever happy.
Ganim.
But I pray,
When I would sport me; who is here to play?
For when in Ida I did call for any,
Both of my age and growth it yeelded many.
Iup.
Play-fellowes for thee I will likewise finde,
Cupid, with divers others to thy minde,
And such as are both of thy yeares and sise,
To sport with thee all what thou canst devise:
Only be bold and pleasant, and then know
Thou shalt have need of nothing that's below.
Ganim.
But here no service I can do indeed,
[Page 99] Vnlesse in heaven you had some flocks to feed.
Iup.
Yes, thou to me shalt fill celestiall wine,
[...]nd wait upon me when in state I dine:
[...]hen learne to serve in banquets.
Ganim
That I can
[...]ready, without help of any man:
[...]r I use ever when we dine or sup,
[...]o poure out milke, and crowne the pastorall cup.
Iup.
Fie, how thou still remember'st milke and beasts,
if thou wert to serve at mortall Feasts:
[...]ow, this is heaven, be merry then and laugh;
[...]hen thou art thirsty thou shalt Nectar quaffe.
Ganim.
Is it so sweet as milke?
[...]
Pris'd far before,
[...]hich tasted once, milke thou wilt aske no more.
Ganim.
Where shall I sleep a nights? what, must I ly
[...]h my companion
Cupid?
[...].
So then I
[...]vaine had rap'd thee: but I from thy sheep
[...] purpose stole thee, by my side to sleep.
Ganim.
Can you not lie alone? but will your rest
[...]me sweeter, if I nuzzle on your brest?
[...].
Yes, being a childe so faire:
Ganim.
How can you thinke
beauty, whil'st you close your eies and winke?
[...].
It is a sweet inticement, to increase
[...]ntented rest, when our desire's at peace.
Ganim.
I, but my father every morne would chide,
[...]d say, those nights he lodg'd me by his side
[...]uch disturb'd his rest; tumbling and
[...]ossing
[...]wart the bed, my little legs still crossing
[...] either kicking this way, that way sprawling,
[...]f hee but remov'd me, straitwaies yawling:
[...] grumbling in my dreams, (for so he sed)
oft times sent me to my mothers bed:
then would she complaine vpon me worse.
[Page 100] Then if for that you stole me, the best course
Is even to send me backe againe; for I
Am ever so unruly where I lie,
Wallowing and tumbling, and such coile I keep,
That I shall but disturb you in your sleep.
Iupit.
In that the greater pleasure I shall take,
Because I love still to be kept awake.
I shall embrace and kisse thee then the ofter,
And by that means my bed seem much the softer.
Ganim.
But whilst you wake I'le sleepe.
Iup.
Mercury, see
This Lad straight taste of immortalitie;
And making him of service capable,
Let him be brought to wait on us at table.
IVPITER and IVNO.
The Argument of the Dialogue.
IVno
of Ganimed
is iealous growne,
And much vpbraids Iove
with the Phrygian Swaine;
[...]illing (before him) to prefer her owne:
[...]d therefore blames her husband, but in vaine.
Although this Fable to the gods extends,
Base sordid lust in man it reprehends.
The DIALOGUE. Annotations upon Iupiter and Io.
[...]o.
SInce this yong Trojan Swain to heav'n thou hast brought,
O
Iupiter, thou set'st thy Wife at nought.
Jupit.
Of him too art thou jealous, a poore Swaine,
[...]ough beautifull, yet innocent and plaine?
[...]s in hope thou only hadst a spleen
women, such as I before have been
[...]miliar with.
[...].
Nor hast thou made expression
thy great deitie in such transgression,
[...]r done such things as have thee well beseem'd;
[...]o being a god above the rest esteem'd,
[Page 102] Descendest downe to earth, making it full
Of thy Adulteries: som imes like a Bull;
Then like a golden Showre, and keeping still
Those Prostitutes below to s
[...]te thy will.
But now againe, Thou, mightiest of the dieties,
Lest that there should be end of thy impieties;
Being now inflam'd with an unheard desire,
Hast this yong Phrygian Lad snatcht from his Sire,
Brought hither to out-brave me, and set ods
Betwixt us, filling Nect
[...]r to the gods.
Is there such want of Cup bearers? or weary
Is
Hebe yet, or
Vulcan, to make merry
Thy Gu
[...]sts inv
[...]ed? that no so
[...]ner thou
Tak'st from his hand the bowle, but straight to bow
And kisse his sweet lip, nay in all our sight:
In that kisse seeming to take more delight,
Than in the Nectar drunke: but which is worst,
Oft callst for drinke when there's no cause of thirst;
And as in sport (but sipping) thy arme stretchest,
And the full Chalice to the Wanton reachest,
And he but tasting, as shall please him best,
Then to his health carowsest all the rest;
And in the same place where his lip did touch,
Thou tak'st thy draught, thy lewd desire is such,
With heedfulnesse and care noting the brim,
So, at once kissing both the cup and him.
Not long since too, this King and potent Father
Of men and all mortalitie, the rather
To sport with him, his Scepter laid aside,
And thunders, with which late he terrify'de
The lower world. And speake, was not this wrong
To a Brow so great? a Beard so full and long?
All this I have seen, all these I have endur'd,
And nothing's done that is to me obscur'd.
Iupiter.
Why's this to thee so grievous, ô my wife,
That it should raise betwixt us the least strife?
[Page 103] That a yong Lad, so f
[...]ire and sweet as this,
[...]hould please me both with Nectar and a kisse?
[...]houldst thou but taste those lips (which I am Ioth)
[...]hou wouldst not blame me to prefer them both
[...]efore all Nectar and Ambrosia too;
[...]ay, if thou didst, even so thy selfe would doo.
Iuno.
These are the words of masculine love, much hated,
[...] or am I mad, to be degenerated
[...] base effeminacies as to take delight
[...] the loath'd kisses of a Catamite.
Iup.
Pray (you most generous) do not so deprave
[...]hose loves and pleasures I am pleas'd to have:
[...]his pretty sweet effeminat Lad to me
[...] dearer far—but I'le not anger thee.
Iuno.
I wish in my place you had that Lad wedded,
[...]ith whom you ofter than with me have bedded
[...]nce his arrive: your loath'd wife shall bethinke her,
[...]ow better to behave her toward your Skinker.
Iup.
Is't only fit,
Vulcan thy son should fill
[...]ectar, who being lame is apt to spell;
[...]nd bluntly running from the furnace, smells
[...] smoke, dust, sweat, and what I know not else,
[...]ith sparks scarce quencht, before the gods to stand,
[...]s sooty tongs new laid out of his hand,
[...]o take from him the goblet? which being done,
[...]o embrace, then kisse thy most deformed sonne;
[...]hom scarcely thou his mother wouldst so grace,
[...]aring his smudg'd lips should begrime thy face.
[...]he that only sweet Youth must adorne
[...]he gods high banquets, being made their scorne?
[...]d therefore must this Phrygian be confin'd,
[...]cause hee's cleare in looks, as pure in mind?
[...]hose face so smooth, whose tongue doth so excell,
[...]d in all points becomes the place so well.
[...]t that which most torments thee, since his kisse
[...]ny degrees more sweet than Nectar is:
Iuno.
[Page 104]
Now
Vulcan vnto thee (ô
Iove) seems lame,
His forge, his apron, tongs, and tooles, thy shame:
What nastinesse? What loathsomnesse? but hee
Now at this instant doth appeare to thee
Infected with; whilst thou before thee hast
That faire fac'd Trojan Lad? but in times past,
None of this foule deformitie was seen,
No sparks, no soot, no dust to move thy spleen:
His furnace in those daies did not affright thee,
But then his filling Nectar much delight thee.
Iupit.
Thou mak'st thy selfe sicke of thine old disease,
O
Iuno, and this Trojan doth more please,
Because of him th'art jealous: if thou scorne
From him to take the Cup; of thy selfe borne
Thou hast to fill thee,
Vulcan, one so smug,
As if he gap'd still for his mothers dug.
But thou, ô
Ganimed, to me alone
Reach the rich bowle. Two kisses for that one
I'le give thee still, when I receive it first,
And when returne it, having quencht my thirst,
Why weep'st thou? feare not, they that mean thee harm
Mischiefe are sure to taste. Sweet boy thyne arme.
IVPITER and CVPID.
The Argument.
GReat Iupiter
on wanton Love
hath seis'd,
Ripping up iniuries before time done;
And hardly is the Thunderers rage appeas'd,
[...]ut holds him fast that is about to runne.
[...]he childish wag submissive language useth,
[...]nd with what art he can himselfe excuseth.
The DIALOGVE. Annotations upon the DialogueIntituled Iupiter and Cupid.
Cupid.
WHerein have I, ô
Iupiter, transgrest;
That by thy pow'r I should be thus opprest?
Being a childe, and therefore simple?
Iupiter.
Thou
[...] childe at these yeares,
Cupid? who I vow,
[...]rt older than
Iapetus, hop'st thou to win
[...]avor, because no haire vpon thy chin
[...]ppeares? and thou art beardlesse? but beguild
[...]ust we be still in holding thee a childe?
[...]eing both old and crasie?
Cup.
I pray tell
[...]his subtill old man, whom you know so well,
[...]hat wrong he'hath done, that you would bind him?
Iup.
See,
[Page 106] Thou wretch, dost thinke it a small injurie,
To make me such a mockerie and a jest
To all men: that a god should to a beast
Transhape himselfe: into a Satyre, than
Into a Bull, an Eagle, and a Swan:
Next to a golden Showre? all these th'hast made me.
But that wherein thou chiefely hast betrayd me,
My will by force or sleight I must obtaine,
But never love, to be belov'd againe:
Nor by thy power have I more gratious been
To my wife
Iuno the celestiall Queen;
But forc'd to use prestigious strange disguise,
In all my scapes to hide me from her eies.
Besides, our mutuall pleasures are not full,
They only kisse an Eagle or a Bull:
But should I in my personall shape appeare,
Even at my sight (poore things) they die with feare.
Cupid.
That only shewes thy power and divine might,
Since mortall eies cannot endure thy sight.
Iup.
How comes it,
Hyacinthus is so deare,
And
Branchus. to
Apollo? Is his Spheare
More bright than ours? yet they about him cling,
In his owne shape.
Cup.
But
Daphne that coy thing,
Though he shew'd yong and beardlesse, his cheeks red,
And each way lovely, his embraces fled.
If
love then would be amorous, and apply
Himselfe to Love, his shield he must lay by,
And fearefull thunders, smoothly kembe his haire,
And part it both waies, to appeare more faire:
Weare on h
[...]s head a Chaplet for a Crowne,
And flowing from his shoulders a loose gowne
Dy'd in Sidonian purple: on his feet
Sandals, whose the with golden buckles meet:
Vnto the Pipe and Timbrell learne to dance,
And foot it to them finely: so by chance
[Page 107] More glorious Beauties may to him incline,
Than
Menades attend the god of Wine.
Iup.
Away: I more esteeme my regall state,
Than to appeare so poorely effeminate:
Cup.
Love not at all, and that's more easie far.
Iup.
Yes, love I must, whil'st here such Beauties ar,
And gaine them with lesse trouble, mauger thee.
[...]o for this time be gon.
Cup.
I now am free.
VULCAN and APOLLO
The Argument.
'Twixt Vulcan
and Apollo
speech is held
Of yong Cillenius, Maia's
new-borne son;
How he in cheats and theevings hath exceld:
Relating strange things in his cradle done.
Since whom, all infants borne beneath his star,
In craft and guile exceed all others far.
The DIALOGVE.
Vulcan.
HAst thou not seen
(Apollo) the yong Brat
[...]
So late brought forth by lovely
Maia? tha
[...]
Looks in his swathes so beautifully faire
Snarling on all such as about him are;
Whom no one that beholds him, but surmises
That he is borne for some great enterprises?
Apollo.
Shall I (ô
Vulcan) him an infant call?
Or thinke him borne for any good at all?
Who for his craft and subtiltie (I vow)
Is than
Iapetus older.
Vulcan.
Tell me how?
What wrong can this yong Baby do, I pray,
Who came into the world but yesterday?
Apollo.
[Page 109]
Aske
Neptune that, whose Trident he hath stolne:
Demand of
Mars, (with rage and anger swolne)
Whether his braine least subtiltie afford?
Out of whose scabberd he hath stolne his sword?
Or let me speake what by my selfe I know:
From me unwares my quiver and my bow
He slily snatcht.
Vulcan.
How can it be, his hands
Being ty'd up so close in swathing bands.
Apollo.
Yet be not thou too confident, I intreat thee,
For come he neere thy shop, hee'l likewise heat thee.
Vulcan.
He was with me but now.
Apollo.
Dost thou misdoubt thee
Of nothing lost? hast all thy tooles about thee?
What, not one wanting?
Vulc.
None.
Apollo.
Free from his wrongs
Art thou alone?
Vulc.
By
Jove I misse my tongs,
Th'are stolne out of my forge.
Apoll.
These thou shalt finde
About him hid, do but his swathes unbinde.
Vulc.
Hath he such catching fingers? (past beleeving)
[...]ure in his mothers wombe he studied theeving.
Apollo.
Didst thou not heare him,
Vulcan, talke and prate
With voluble tongue, and phrases accurate?
Now in his infancie, so yong, so small,
Offering to be a servant to us all.
[...]o sooner borne, but
Cupid he did dare
To try a fall with him, and threw him faire.
[...]im
Venus for his victorie embrac't,
[...]or which he steales her girdle from her wast.
Iove smiling at the theft, and therewith pleas'd,
[...]ean time the crafty wag his Scepter seis'd:
[...]o steale his Trisulke he had made a shift,
[...]ut 'twas too heavy for his strength to lift.
Vulc.
[Page 110]
Thou telst me of a Lad active and daring,
A nimble jugling Iack.
Apollo.
Nay, hee's not sparing
To professe Musicke too.
vulc.
How is that knowne?
Apoll.
Th' invention too he seekes to make his owne:
Having the shell of a dead Tortoise found,
He makes an instrument thereof for sound;
To which a crooked necke he first made fast,
Boring therein round holes, and in them plac't
Pinnes to winde up the cords by: to th' Shells backe
A belly frames: seven strings, which he doth slacke,
And sometimes stretch, he fixeth; which but touch,
They yeeld a sweet sound that delighteth much.
Whose notes I envy, be they flat or sharpe.
Since he contends to exceed me in my Harpe.
Even
Maia's selfe I oft have heard complaine,
She cannot in the heavens her son containe:
His ever-waking braine, in action still,
Can take no rest: by night (against her will)
In silence he conveyes himselfe to hell,
Whether to steale ought thence she cannot tell.
Besides, he hath wings, a
Caducaeus too
Of a miraculous power, and force to doo
Things wonderfull, by which he can bestow
Soules hence departed, in the fields below,
Or thence convey them hither.
Vulc.
Most sure I will
Adde something to encourage his rare skill.
Apoll.
Which he hath well requited; for to day
(No longer since) he stole thy tongs away.
Vulc.
'Twas well done to remember me of this,
Because my tongs are tooles I cannot misse.
Somewhere about him they are still, no doubt:
But first the fire I'le in my forge put out.
MERCVRY and APOLLO.
The Argument.
OF Iove
and of Alcmena:
The long night
In which the great Alcides
was begot,
[...]his Fable speakes. And if I guesse aright,
[...] this the Author much profaned not,
To tax the heathen Idols his pretence is,
Since men are punisht for the gods offences.
The DIALOGVE.
Mercury.
TO thee, ô
Phoebus, Iupiter doth say,
Forbear to mount thy Chariot for this day;
The next too, and the third, disclose no light,
[...]t for that time make it continuall night.
[...]epe in, command the Houres thy steeds to untrace,
[...]nd thy bright Sun beams plucke from off thy face.
[...]r, without intermission being opprest
[...]ith such long paines, 'tis fit thou shouldst have rest,
Apollo.
Thou telst me a new thing, unheard till now;
[...]ve I transgrest my course, or been too slow,
[...] over-swift? that
Iove should prove a way
[...] make the night thrice longer than the day.
[Page 112] There's no such thing; he only hath intent
At some one aime on which his minde is bent,
And this time only (but not still to bee)
To have this one night made as long as three.
Apollo.
Where is he now, or from whence art thou sent To tell me this?
Merc.
Boetia's continent;
And from (If I shall make a true confession)
Amphitrio's wife, with whom he hath congression.
Apoll.
With her his courage then and strength he tries
But for his lust will not one night suffice?
Merc.
O by no means, since in this copulation
Must be begot one that shall awe each Nation;
Of a most potent arme, and daring much,
And therefore 'tis not possible that such
A mighty worke as making up
Ioves son,
Should in one night be perfected and don.
Apollo.
Well, I but little have to say unto him,
But with this great worke much good may it do him.
These things, ô
Mercury (we are alone)
I'th antient daies of
Saturne were not knowne;
He did not turne from
Rhea, nor mis-led
Could he be to adulterat her chast bed:
Nor did he leave the heavens, in Thebes to sleepe;
The day was then day, and true course did keepe,
The night within her certaine houres was bounded,
No times, no seasons in his reigne confounded:
He had with mortall creatures no congresse.
But now for one poore womans sake (I guesse)
All things are topside-turn'd, and must be made
Prepostrous henceforth, and run retrograde.
My Steeds with rest will grow more fierce and hot:
The way more hard and difficult, because not
In three daies past: Men miserably dwell
Here on the earth in darknesse, as in hell.
And these are the faire fruits of his foule lust,
[Page 113] That sublunarie creatures suffer must;
Warning at once the absence of the Sun,
[...]nd waiting till this mighty worke be don.
Merc.
Phoebus no more: had
Iove intelligence
[...]f what thou speakst, his rage it would incense.
[...]e to the
Moone and
Sleep, and what in charge
[...]ad from him, deliver them at large:
[...]o her, to change the course she late did keepe:
[...]o him, to setter them in bonds of sleepe,
[...]o fast, they may not dreame of that great wrong,
[...]o have been kept from sight of day so long.
MERCVRY and MAIA.
The Argument.
HErmes
his tedious labors doth complaine,
As troubled more than all the gods besides,
Not able his imployments to sustaine,
As one that in no certaine place abides.
Yet by his mother he at length is swayd,
Who tells him Ioves
bests must be still obayd.
The DIALOGVE. Vpon Mercury and Maia.
Merc.
IS there amongst the gods (ô Mother) any So wretched as my self, though there be ma
[...]
Maia.
Take heed, my son, what thou spea
[...] rashly.
Merc.
Why?
Can you name one that hath such cause as I?
Who have so many businesses in hand,
And those so great I scarce beneath them stand;
Into so many services divided,
I am tyr'd and spent, and for my paines derided.
For in the morning, e're I can devise
Of what my dreams were, I betimes must rise,
[Page 115] Then my first office is to sweep the house
Where all the gods must banquet and carouse
That done, I next prepare the Consistorie,
Whereas the Deities in all their glory
[...]ppoint their meetings: all things I make fit,
That they in ease as well as state may sit.
Then at
Ioves elbow I attend, where he
[...]till sends me on his errands: I must be
[...]ere, there, and every where, and these too all
[...]urrying together; for hee'l sometimes call
[...]s soon as I am sent. When the whole day
[...] have toild, not having time to wipe away
The dust and sweat, new labor I begin,
[...]upper comes on, and I must then serve in
Ambrosia: e're the Phrygian had to doo
With
Ioves crownd Cup, I filld him Nectar too.
[...]ut what of all's most tedious, and accites
[...]e to this spleen, I cannot rest a nights;
[...]or whil'st each other god upon his bed
[...]akes due repose, even then I of the Dead
[...]nd new deceast have charge, and through the shade
[...]o
Pluto's Court I see them safe convay'd.
[...]hese done, I cannot rest me where I list,
[...]ut at their generall Sessions I assist,
[...]or nothing's done without me. 'Tmight suffice,
[...]hat I all dayly businesse enterprise:
[...] Wrestlings I am present, at the Bar,
[...]here Causes and Law-Suits determin'd ar',
[...]struct such Orators as Fees desire;
[...]metimes supply the place of common Crier.
[...]or would these things appeare so great a trouble,
[...]t that th' affaires of hell make them seeme double.
[...]e sonnes of
Laeda much more happy bee,
[...]hey interchangeably have leave to see
[...]he heaven and hell by turnes; while one doth show
[...]mselfe above, the other stayes below.
[Page 116] Than these how much more miserable am I,
That in one person both their paines supply?
Alcmena and
Semele (of mortall seed
Descended both) have free accesse to feed
Amongst the Deities: yet I on these
(Being son of
Maia Atlantiades)
Am forc'd to' attend, I came from Sidon late,
As sent from
Iove, to know in what estate
Cadmus faire daughter was. Almost quite spent,
Not having time to breathe, but I was sent
To Argos and faire
Danae, in that tower
Where he was welcom'd in his golden shower.
In thy returne come by Boetia backe,
(Saith
Iupiter) ô
Hermes do not slacke
To visit faire
Antiope by th'way.
My resolution is no more t' obay
Vnto his busie hests: To gaine myne ease,
I had much rather (did the Fates so please)
My selfe for ever to the earth retyre,
As a day-Laborer, and worke for hire.
Maia.
No more, my son, for thou too much hast said;
Thy father must in all things be obay'd.
Able and yong thou art, prepare agen,
To Argos first, and to Boetia then:
Hazard not stripes of him that swayes above:
Such are most angry that are crost in love.
VULCAN and IUPITER.
The Argument.
VVlcan
obeying to Ioves
high designe,
With his keen hatchet cleaves his head in twaine:
[...]rm'd Pallas,
who there full ten months had lain,
[...]t this incision leaps out of his braine;
[...]hen entring first the world. Whence we may gather,
[...]nowledge
and Arts
had birth from Iove
their Father.
The DIALOGVE.
Vulcan.
WHat must I do,
Iove? Prethee let me know:
See, I am come, for thou commandedst so;
[...]d brought with me an Axe sharp above wonder,
[...]hose very edge will cleave a rocke in sunder.
Iupiter.
'Tis well done,
Vulcan, 't must be thus apply'de,
[...]ou with that hatchet must my head divide.
Vulc.
Wouldst thou persuade me unto madnesse? say
[...]at's to be done, or packe me hence away.
[...] pleasure is, with a strong blow and full,
[...]th all thy force thou part in two my skull.
[Page 118] If thou refuse to doo't, as fearing skath,
Thy timerousnesse will but increase my wrath
And deep displeasure: therefore strike I say,
Instantly, boldly, and without delay:
Quickly deliuer me, I am full of paine,
A thousand throwes are laboring in my braine.
Vulc.
Well looke too't
Iupiter, my axe is keen,
Nor can this birth be without bloud-shed seen.
'Twill be a dangerous wound made in thy head;
Beleeve't,
Lucina brings not thus to bed.
Iupit.
Strike boldly then, ô
Vulcan, feare not blood,
For I know best what for my selfe is good.
Vulc.
Though 'gainst my will, I shall, who dares withstand
When
Iupiter himselfe shall give command.
What's here? A woman arm'd leaps on the Plain:
O
Iove, thou hadst much mischiefe in thy brain.
No marvell thou wert angry and much paind,
When in thy
Pia mater was containd
A live
Virago, arm'd, and having spread
Castles and townes and towers about her head;
She leaps and capers, topt with rage divine,
And danceth (as she treads) the Matachine,
Shakes her steele-pointed Lance, and strikes her Tardge
As if she had the god of War in charge.
Nay, which is more, she is exceeding faire,
And ripe for mariage, made in all parts rare,
And amiable, onely she hath blew eies,
But those her gracefull helme doth well disguise:
And therefore
Iupiter, because I have
Thus playd the mid-wife for thee, what I crave,
Grant me for my reward, namely that she
May be my wife, this day espous'd to me.
Jupit.
Thou demandst that which cannot be allow'd,
For this
Minerva is a Virgin vow'd,
Nay, a perpetuall Votary: but if I
In this could do thee any courtesie,
[Page 119] Thou mightst presume't.
Vulc.
It is my great desire,
[...]nd to my best of wishes I'le aspire
[...] waiting time to rape her.
[...]upit.
O my sonne,
[...]hou aimst at that which neuer can be done:
[...]e vowes to live a Virgin, let that guide thee,
[...]rsue not things which never can betide thee.
NEPTVNE and MERCVRY.
The Argument.
TH' abortive Infant from the wombe tooke late
Of dying Semele, Iove
doth translate
Into his owne thigh: but the time expir'd
For mature birth, which (pregnant) he desir'd;
This childe, by one conceiv'd, borne of another,
Bacchus,
enioyes the name of
Bacchus bimater
[...]
double Mother.The DIALOGVE.
Nep.
MAy I not see my brother?
Merc.
Neptune, no.
Nep.
I do intreat thee, Nephew, let b
[...] know
That I attend without.
Merc.
It cannot be,
And therefore leave this importunitie;
You must not at this present be admitted.
Nep.
Hee's then in bed with
Iano?
No, (Grosse witted.)
Or
Ganimed? Prethee resolve me quickly.
Merc.
Neither; but
Iove at this time's weake and sic
[...]
Nep.
[Page 121]
How comes it that thou likewise lookst not well?
Merc.
There is a cause in't, which I blush to tell.
Nep.
What e're it be, the secret do not hide
From me thine Vncle, and so neere ally'de.
Mer.
Hee's newly brought to bed.
Nep.
Mercury fie,
Not possible; it is a thing that I
Cannot beleeve: it would have come to light
[...]re now, had Iove been an Hermaphrodite.
Besides, I ne're perceiv'd his wombe to swell.
Merc.
'Tis true, in that (ô
Neptune) thou sayst well:
His childing burthen did not lie within.
Nep.
Now to conceive thee better I begin;
[...]ome other
Pallas from his skull is ta'ne;
My Brother ever had a teeming braine.
Merc.
Not so; this burthen in his thigh was bred,
Tooke from the wombe of
Semele, late dead.
Nep.
Wondrous! This generous god, by thy relation,
Will teach to us new waies of procreation.
But what's that
Semele?
Merc.
Of
Cadmus race,
A Theban Damsell, in whom
Iove had place,
And left her great.
Nep.
Most kindely it was done,
To spare her throes, himselfe to beare her son.
Merc.
Ghest somwhat neere; not altogether, tho,
[...]umping with truth. But wonders wilt thou know,
From thee yet forrein?
Iuno (jealous still)
By strange deceit seeks means the wench to kill;
Persuades her (their united loves to sunder)
To beg of
Iove, to bed with her in thunder
And blasting lightning (cause of all her griefe.)
To her the credulous Wanton gives beleefe;
The craves,
Iove grants, descends in glorious fire,
And in these flames the poore Girle doth expire.
Who grieving the faire Theban so should die,
[Page 122] Caus'd me to rip her wombe vp instantly,
And bring the Infant, now seven moneths conceiv'd,
Whom from my hand he gratefully receiv'd:
Not knowing better how to make provision
For this Abortive, he made deep incision
In his owne thigh, and there it three moneths lay,
Till (now mature) it for it selfe made way.
This day he is deliver'd, and now growes
Somewhat distemperd by his painfull throwes.
Nep.
But where's the Infant?
Mere.
Him I did transport
To Nisa late, where the faire Nymphs resort,
By them with great care to be educated,
And by the name of
Bacchus celebrated,
Or
Dionysius.
Nep.
Then of this thy brother,
As
Iove the father is, so hee's the mother.
Mere:
It so appeares: but
Neptune I am gon,
For other things I now have thought vpon;
I must go fetch him Lotion for his wound,
Yet green, and will in few dayes scarce be sound.
There's nothing but to him we must apply,
That's done to women that in childe-bed lie.
DIOGENES and MAUSOLUS.
The Argument.
THe dead Mausolus
doth himselfe advance
Before all others of the buried Throng:
And therefore he erects his countenance,
Because on earth he was so faire and strong.
Diogenes
derides his boastings vaine,
And proves himselfe more happy of the twaine.
The DIALOGUE.
Diog.
ATtend, ô
Carion, what is thiue intent
To be even still so proud and insolent?
Prating of thy great worth, others to brave,
As if thou for some great desert wouldst have
Before us all precedence.
Maus.
I first claime
Prioritie, rais'd from a kingdomes name,
(O Synopesian) for I empir'd o're
All Caria: next, I pierc'd the Lydian shore,
There govern'd Nations barbarous and rude:
Besides, I many other Isles subdu'd.
[Page 124] The great'st part of Ionia I laid wast,
And my great army to Miletum past.
Nay more, I was of beautifull aspect,
Tall and well shap'd, and (what I much affect)
In power (before me) I exceeded all.
But that which made me most majesticall,
Of costly marble from the rocke dissected,
I have a stately monument erected
In Halicarnassus, fam'd for magnitude,
With rare and never equal'd pulchritude,
So faire, so large, that all that see it know,
No King that ere deceast the like can show.
Statues of men and horses 'bout it stand,
Graven and carv'd by a most elaborat hand;
In which expression Artists were at strife,
Not one of them but imitating life;
Of such admired height and spatious roome,
It rather seemes a Temple, than a Toome.
What wrong is't then, my glories not to smother,
And to claime a precedence before other?
Diogenes.
Is't potencie? is't beauty? or rich stones
In such huge number heap'd upon thy bones,
That swells thee with such pride?
Maus.
By
Iove the same.
Diog.
And yet
Mausolus, thou that hast the name
Of Beautifull, thy strength is not all one,
Nor face that was; both now are past and gone:
For an unpartiall Vmpire should we chuse
To point the Fairer out; let him but use
An unsway'd eye, not squinted with affections,
Shall finde small difference in our two complexions:
For both our heads are bald and alike bare,
Having no lips, our teeth apparant are;
Neither of us a nosthrill hath to show,
But through these empty holes alike we blow.
This being granted, if because thy shroud
[Page 125] Beneath so great a Structure make thee proud,
And that thy countrymen that Mole retaine,
Boasting of it with ostentations vaine,
To shew to strangers the rare excellence
Of polisht stone; what profit reapst thou thence,
Thou exquisite man? unlesse thy shallow wit
Account thy greatest hurt a benefit;
To have of huge stones, wondrously convay'd,
Agreater heape than others on thee layd.
Maus.
Am I no whit the better then for these?
[...]s
Mausolus one with
Diogenes?
Diog.
Not so, good man, no paritie's confest;
The Carian King shall be with griefe opprest,
Excruciated and perplext in minde,
To thinke of his great pleasures left behinde,
Honors and wealth:
Diogenes the while
At thy vexation stand aloofe and smile.
Thou in thy lasting memorie shalt have
The art and charge bestow'd upon thy grave,
By thy faire sister and thy widdowed Queene,
[...]n Halicarnassus still to be seene.
When as
Diogenes yet doth not know
Whether on earth he have a grave or no;
Therefore can take no care for't. My fame lies
Tomb'd in the bosomes of the Iust and Wise.
Stories to future times deliver can,
[...] lead a life that did become a man.
Time shall thy Structure wast, but never myne,
Thou impure Carian) for 'tis made divine:
[...]ly monument growes neerer to the skye,
[...]s built in place much more sublime and hye.
CRATES and DIOGENES
The Argument.
NAture with too much darknesse overcast,
Is maskt and blinded with the worlds affaires,
Still doating upon things that cannot last,
As on vaine frailties fixing all their cares.
"
Man that on mundane things himselfe assures,
"
Cheats all his hopes; 'tis Vertue
sole endures.
The DIALOGVE. Vpon Crates and Diogenes.
Crat.
TEll me
Diogenes, hast thou not knowne
Rich
Moerichus, the man so overgrowne
With wealth superfluous, that from Corinth came
With ships so richly fraught? the very same,
Cousin to
Aristaeus thought to be,
By computation full as rich as he:
Tkese two betwixt themselves use
Homers phrase,
Claw me, I'le claw thee; Let's live many dayes.
Diog.
What was the reason,
Crates, first did move
These monied men to enterchange such love?
Crat.
[Page 127]
The cause they were intyr'd so, and calld brother,
Was, aiming to be heire to one another,
Being equally possest: and therefore they
Publisht their Wills; If
Moerichus his day
Should before
Aristaeus chance to fall,
He the succeeder then should enioy all.
So
Aristaeus, If he dy'de before,
Then
Moerichus was heire to all his store.
This by Indenture seald, they cog, speake faire,
Flatter, in hope to be each others heire,
With gifts and presents mutually contending,
Yet still one gaping for the others ending.
Insomuch that Diviners (whether skild
I'th stars or no I know not) all have fild
Their itching eares with Novels. Dreamers too
Like the Chaldaeans) have enough to doo
To mocke them with vain hopes, and at high rate
Having betwixt them cast so even a fate,
Phoebus himselfe was pusled: first agreeing,
That
Aristaeus should have longest beeing;
And then again, That
Moerichus the Old
Should count new daies when he had all his told:
Not knowing whose ambition should prevaile,
Their Fates being ballanc'd in so even a skale.
Diog.
But what's become of this their time out-wearing?
[...]peake freely
Crates, 'tis a tale worth hearing.
Crat.
Those that each others state sought to betray
[...]y bribes and flatteries, both dy'de in one day;
[...]nd that huge Magozin did chance to arrive
To those whom they scarce thought of, being alive,
Thrasicles and
Eunomius their Allyance:
[...]et the Diviners in their great pre-science
Ne're spake of them. Now the two rich men, they,
[...]earelesse, still hoping with the Fates to play,
[...]eing from Sycion unto Cyrra bound,
[...]ere in the mid way neere Iapygium drownd.
Diog.
[Page 128]
No matter,
Crates, but when we were living,
There was no emulation, no such striving
To be each others heire; never did I
Desire of heaven,
Antisthenes should die,
To be made his Executor; or summe
His dayes, in hope his staffe to me might come.
Nor do I thinke thou ever didst desire
(O
Crates) I the sooner might expire,
To inherit my possessions, and to strip
Me from my Tun, and pulse left in my scrip.
Crat.
I had no need of them, nor thou to claime
His staffe for legacie, since thou didst aime
At a much fairer heritage, to bee
Better'd by him, as I have bin by thee;
And that in treasures richer and more hye,
Such as the Persian Empire cannot buy.
Diog.
And what be those?
Crat.
Wisedome, frugalitie,
Truth and good life, in all these libertie.
Diog.
By
Iove, I well remember I had store
Of these from him, but thou (ô
Crates) more.
Crat.
Yet others that have thought themselves more wise
All such inheritances much despise;
Nor sycophant they us, such things to attaine
By us, as we from him were proud to gaine,
They only thirst and hunger after gold.
Diog.
No marvell, since they all of them have sold
Themselves to Ignorance, not capable
Of Knowledge and instructions profitable;
Having their mindes with dissolute lusts infected,
Like foule and loathsome dishes long neglected,
Grow fur'd and sluttish with voluptuous sin,
Corrupting the most choice Cates serv'd therein.
Th' are full of rifts and cranies, every houre
Greater than other: therefore should we poure
Into these leaking Vessels, Iudgement sound,
[Page 129] Or Truth, or Freedome, all drop to the ground,
Through their craz'd bottomes, and lie spilt and wasted,
Much with their putrid noisomnesse distasted:
So
Danaus daughters here in hell are said,
[...]aboring with Sives a flowing Spring to unlade)
And yet even those that can no goodnesse keep,
Will watch gold falling from them, and shun sleep,
Hoording it with all care.
Crat.
And so 'tis best
We do those vertues we in life possest.
[...]ocke they their stuft bags in chests ne're so strong,
They shall but one poore halfe-penny bring along,
[...]nd that no further than to
Charons barge;
The Ferriman will ease them of that charge.
CHARON, MENIPPVS, MERCVRY
The Argument.
CHaron
the Ferriman exclaimes vpon
Menippus,
for not paying him his fare,
By him being wafted ouer Phlegeton;
For which these two at great dissention are.
Charon
is forc'd to pardon it in the end;
For he that nothing hath must nothing spend.
The DIALOGVE.
Char.
PAy me my fare, thou wretch.
Menip.
Nay, scold outright,
If thou to heare thy selfe speake tak'st light.
Char.
My due for thy trajection downe here lay.
Menip.
I prethee how can he that hath not, pay?
Char.
Is't possible there any one can be
That is not worth a single halfpenny?
Menip.
I know not to whom else thou pratest here,
But for myne owne part I have none I sweare.
Char.
I'le bast thee with this ship-rope, if my hire
Thou tendrest not.
Menip.
Then shall my staffe aspire
[Page 131] To fly about thine eares.
Char.
So long a cut
Must I take paines to waft thee, and thou put
To no expence at all?
Menip.
Let
Hermes stand
[...]ngag'd for me, who gave me to thine hand.
Merc.
By
Iove, in time I shall be ill bested,
[...]f I be put to pay fares for the dead.
Char.
He shall not so passe from me,
Men.
For his sake
[...]ontinue still thy course, and quickly make
[...]owards the shore; What to thy share can fall
[...]om him who (as thou seest) hath nought at all?
Char.
Didst thou not know what thou shouldst bring along?
Menip.
'Tis true I did, but can excuse the wrong;
[...]ad it not, because I want to give,
[...]t therefore fit that I should ever live?
Char.
Wilt thou be he then, who alone canst boast
[...] have ferried this great river without cost?
Menip.
Not so, ô
Charon, wanting to defray,
[...]hou hast my paines, I pumpt part of the way,
[...]en tug'd at th' oare, being that only soule
[...]ho in thy barge did neither mourne nor houle.
Char.
Tush, these are nothing to my fare that's due,
[...]y downe my halfpenny, my fare, in view.
Men.
Not having it, best way to end this strife,
That thou
Charon beare me backe to life.
Char.
For that Gramercy, so I might be sure,
[...]om
Aeacus a beating to endure.
[...]his base Ghost would persuade me to the whip.
Men.
Be not so peevish then.
Char.
What's in that scrip
[...]ou keepst so close about thee?
Men.
A small cheat,
[...]ittle pulse for
Hecate to eat.
Char,
Tell me, ô
Mercury, whence hast thou brought
[Page 132] This Dog to us? a wretch that mindeth nought.
What strange things talkt he by the way, I guiding
The helme, whilest he was all the while deriding
The passengers? what a loud coile he kept,
He only singing whilest the other wept?
Merc.
Knowst thou not him? he hath a spirit daring,
Hee's bold, free spoken, and for nothing caring:
This is
Menippus, (Foole.)
Char.
Well, if againe
I take him here,—
Men.
Thou threatnest me in vain:
This passage, though not for 'twixt shore and shore,
Yet once being past, cannot be traveld more.
MENIPPVS, AEACVS, PYTHAGORAS, EMPEDOCLES, and SOCRATES.
The Argument.
IVdge Aeacus
doth to Menippus
show
The obscure Ghosts and Sulphur Vaults below.
And after that he brings him to the Plaine
Where both the Valiant and the Wise remaine:
[...]ho as the freenesse of his tongue him guides,
(Wretched himselfe) their sorrowes he derides.
The DIALOGVE. Vpon Menippus, Aeacus, Pythagoras.
Menip.
NOw even by
Pluto I entreat thee show
(O
Aeacus) to me the Vaults below.
Aeac.
Not all,
Menippus, that were hard to do:
[...]ut such especially as belongs vnto
[...]hy late demand, namely the prime and choice;
[...] these content, I'le listen to thy voice.
[...]hou knowst that to be
Cerberus, and him
[...]he ferriman, who from the rivers brim
[...]ajected thee: this,
Periphlegeton:
[...]hat the Lake
Styx, thine eyes now dwell upon.
Men.
[Page 134]
I know both thee and these,
Aeacus the Great,
Who in this portch hath a determin'd seat.
To observe all entrance, I have likewise seen
The Furies, with th' internall King and Queen.
The men of old I now desire to see,
Precelling others in nobilitie.
Aeac.
This
Agamemnon is,
Achilles hee,
That
Idomen, a third rankt in degree,
And next them plac'd: The fourth discovered,
Ulysses, Ajax then, next
Diomed.
The rest, the far fam'd Grecian Hero's are.
Menip.
O thou ingenious
Homer, see how bare,
How groveling and how dejected lie,
How low the heads of thy great Rapsodie:
Ignoble and obscure they now are all,
Ashes and dust, trifles in value small;
For (as thy selfe said) nothing hath production,
But's mutable and subiect to corruption.
Now
Aeacus what's he?
Aeac.
Cyrus hee's cal'd.
Now he that next him sits so much appal'd,
Croesus the Rich;
Sardanapalus then,
Who was the most effeminate of men:
Beyond these
Midas, and that
Xerxes,
Menip.
How?
Is it my fortune then to meet thee now
(Thou wickedest of wretches) in this plight,
Who once didst put whole Greece into affright?
That o're the raging Hellespont mad'st bridges,
And with thy fleet hadst purpose o're the ridges
Of mighty mountaines to have saild ('tis knowne.)
But what a poore Snake is that
Croesus growne?
Pardon me,
Aeacus, for above all,
I have a great minde with
Sardanapal
To go to present buffets.
Aeac.
Do not so.
[Page 135] He is so weake and womanish, the least blow
Will breake his skull to pieces.
Men.
As I can
I'le gripe him tho, halfe woman and halfe man.
Aeac.
Wilt thou see those in wisedome did surpasse?
Menip.
By any means.
Aeac.
Behold
Pythagoras.
Men.
Haile, thou
Euphorbus, or
Apollo, or what
Thou wouldst be calld by else, I give thee that.
Pythag.
Haile to thee likewise.
Men.
Speake and do not lie,
Hast thou about thee still thy golden thigh?
Pythag.
I have it not. But tell me, I intreat,
If thou hast ought within thy scrip to eat?
Men.
Pulse, nothing else: Thy words are meerly wast,
For that I know thy pallat cannot taste.
Pythag.
Yet give me part; amongst us here below
Doctrines are taught which then we did not know.
As namely, That there nothing is to boot
Between a Bean and a Satyrion root.
Aeac.
Cast thyne eyes further now, for besides these,
Here's
Solon, son to
Ercecestides,
[...]ales and
Pittachus, With th' other Sages,
Whose memories shall live to after-Ages:
[...]nd these alone seem pleasant 'mongst the rest,
[...]econd and free, as with no cares opprest.
Menip.
Cover'd with ashes from the toe to th' head
[...]hat might he be, that looks so like to bread
[...]k'd on an hearth unswept, blister'd beside,
[...]s if he late had rosted been, or fry'de?
Aeac.
Empedocles.
Men.
He that from Aetna came,
[...]alfe broild of late, I know him for the same:
[...]hou excellent of foot, what was the cause
[...]hou threwst thee headlong into Aetna's jawes?
[...]ped.
Madnesse it was,
Menippus.
Menip.
[Page 136]
Not, by
Iove;
But a vain arrogance, pride, and selfe-love,
With madnesse added, though thou didst not see't:
These scorcht thee, with the sandals on thy feet.
Thou Worthlesse, what have all thy feignings bred,
Being now as others thrust amongst the Dead.
But
Socrates, ô
Aeacus, where's hee?
The only man I now desire to see.
Aeac.
With
Nestor and
Palamedes consorting,
And those with whom he best loves to be sporting.
Menip.
Yet were he here, I would salute him faine.
Aeac.
Behold then that bald Fellow.
Menip.
All are plaine
And without haire: it is an equall note,
As well amongst these, as in place remote.
Aeac.
He without nose.
Menip.
Why, amongst great and small,
I cannot spy one wise amongst them all.
Socrat.
Dost thou seeke me,
Menippus?
Menip.
Thee alone.
Socr.
How stand all things in Athens? long agone
It is since I came thence.
Menip.
Many yong men,
Puny and junior Sophists, such as then
Durst not have talkt in publique, now looke hye,
and openly professe Philosophie.
Nay, who their habits shall observe, the gate
Must needs confesse that they still imitate
The old Philosophers. Th'hast seen, I know,
How
Aristippus to these Vaults below,
And
Plato came: daubd with sweet unguents, th' one:
The other in smooth flatteries, cast upon
The Tyrant of Sicilia.
Socrat.
But of me
What censure they?
Menip.
A blessed Ghost to be,
[Page 137] And one, in those daies, whose predicting tongue
Spake of all things that to this place belong.
And therefore they admire thee, hold thee rare,
With whom none of the Sages might compare;
Above them skild, of such things speaking truest,
Yet (sooth to say) I thinke more than thou knewest.
Socr.
I spake of these things as my skill enabled,
Which they held dreams, and that I meerly fabled.
Menip.
What are these three about thee?
Socr.
In a word,
Charmides, Phedrus, Clima's son the third.
Menip.
'Tis well done (here too) to professe thy Sect,
And use those thy faire followers with respect.
Socr.
What can I better do, my selfe to please?
Come then, sit downe, and by us take thine ease.
Menip.
Not I, by
Jove, but instantly returne,
To heare
Sardanapal and
Croesus mourne:
Next to these two my mansion I will keepe,
Of purpose to deride them when they weepe.
Aeac.
I must be gon too, and have speciall care
Lest some ghost steale hence whil'st we absent are.
My place is where thou foundst me, next the dore;
When next we meet, I'le shew thee ten times more.
Menip.
I thanke thee
Aeacus, even with my heart:
We have seen enough at one time, now let's part.
NEREVS, THERSITES, MENIPPVS.
The Argument.
BEtwixt Thersites
and Aglaia's
Son
A sudden emulation is begun,
Which of them both (being dead) is now most faire.
The Morall shewes, In death alike we are.
The DIALOGVE. Annotations upon Nireus, Thersites, &c.
Ner.
TO end this new borne strife,
Thersites see
Here comes
Menippus, he shal Vmpire be.
Prethee thou Cynick thy free censure tel
Which of us two in beauty most excell.
Menip.
Resolve me first, Who are you that thus seeke
To make me judge?
Ner.
I
Nereus the faire Greeke.
Thers.
Deform'd
Thersites I.
Men.
But tell me now,
Which
(a) Nereus, which
(b) Thersites? for I vow
I cannot guesse.
Thers.
In this thou art o'recome,
Nereus:
Menippus cannot give his doome,
[Page 139] We are so like. What though blinde
Homer boast,
And stile thee fairest of the Grecian host?
What though my thin and unkemb'd scattered haire
Fell in long Elfe-locks from my scalpe, now bare?
Do not my living ouglinesse revile,
Death ranks us now together in one file.
Therefore to have this difference quickly ended,
Now iudge
(c) Menippus.
Ner.
Am not I descended
From
Charopes and
Aglaia, fam'd so far
Bove all that came vnto the Trojan war,
For my rare beauty?
Menip.
But
Nereus know,
None bring their beauty to these Vaults below.
Of the fine flesh thou bragst of, wormes have fed,
Leaving thee nought save bones, like us now dead.
Ner.
Aske
Homer, of what fame
Nereus was then,
And he will answer, The most faire of men;
Ascribing Beauties praise fully to mee.
Men.
Thou tellst me dreames: I iudge by what I see.
If amongst them that knew thee in those daies
Thou wert so famous, seeke from them thy praise.
Ner.
Am I not then the fair'st?
Menip.
Nor he, nor thou,
Nor any one that is amongst us now,
Can claime precedence: for equalitie
Reignes 'mongst the Dead.
Thers.
And that's enough for me.
IVPITER, MERCVRY, IVNO, PALLAS, VENVS, and PARIS.
The Argument of the Dialogue, entituled Deorum Iudicium.
THe Troian Paris,
being yet a Swaine,
Is made the Iudge of Ates
golden Ball.
Three goddesses contend, but two in vaine;
Venus
(faire Beauties Queene) prevailes 'bove all.
With Youth,
her fraile gifts are more potent charmes,
Than Iuno's
state, than Pallas
Arts or Armes.
The DIALOGVE.
Iupit.
TAke
(Mercury) this Apple, and make speed
To Phrygia, there where
Priams son doth feed
His herds of Cattell; thou art sure to find him
In Ida mount, the part that's now assign'd him
Call'd Gargarus: and thus much to him say
From
Jupiter, That we command him stay
All other his affaires; for being yong,
And beautifull withall, of a quicke tongue,
[Page 141] Whom most for amatorious things commend,
Him we appoint this doubtfull cause to end,
And he alone shall the prime Vmpier bee,
To tell which goddesse is the fair'st of three:
She that's crownd Victresse by the Trojan Boy,
For meed this golden Apple shall enioy.
This is the houre that calls you to be gon:
I am no competent judge to take upon
Me this arbitrement, since I approve,
They all have equall portion in my love;
And, were it possible, I would renowne
Each severall Beauty with a Victors Crowne,
As bee'ng to me like deare. Whoso shall give
The Palme to one, he cannot chuse but live
In envy of the other: therefore I
Allow me no fit Iudge. Go then, apply
Your selves in haste unto that Phrygian Swaine,
Who is descended of a regall straine,
And Cousin to my
Ganimed; a Youth
Simple, (as mountain-bred) who nought save truth
Knowes, and there's none that hath beheld his face,
But would esteeme him worthy this great grace.
Venus.
For my part,
Iupiter, what would I care,
If in this censure, Which should be most faire,
Thou wouldst us instantly to
Minos send,
What can he finde in me to reprehend?
However I am confident, yet these
'Tis likewise fitting the yong man should please.
Iuno.
Neither have we, ô
Venus, cause to feare,
Should
Mars your Sweet-heart be made Vmpier here.
But to this Youth selected we assent,
And (be he what he will) we rest content.
Iup.
Is this your minde, my lovely
Pallas? Tush,
I now perceive you turne your eies and blush:
Such bashfulnesse becomes chaste Virgins still;
I take thy silence for consent, thy will
[Page 142] I finde with theirs hath correspondence: Go,
And from yong
Paris thy precedence know;
But take this charge from me, In those that speed not,
Malice or spleen against the Iudge it breed not,
Nor the yong man with any mischiefes threat,
Since all of you alike cannot be great.
Merc.
Proceed we then: this path directly leades
Vnto those Phrygian pastures and faire Meads;
I'le shew the way, you follow me apace,
Be all of courage, I both know the place,
And
Paris too, a beautifull yong man,
And in these amorous contentions can
As much as any; fit to undergo
This charge, and will not iudge amisse, I know.
Venus.
All this is as it should be: I delight
In one not partiall, that will censure right.
But is he yet a Bachelor, canst tell,
Or doth some Wife or Damsell with him dwell?
Merc.
I cannot say hee's altogether cleare
And free from women.
Ven.
How's that? let me heare.
Merc.
There lives with him a smug Idaean Lasse,
Sufficiently faire, and one may passe
Amongst the rest, but rusticall, as bred
In the same mountaine where his herd is fed:
Oft in familiar conference I have seen them,
But tooke no note of any love between them.
Why aske you
Venus?
Ven.
For no ill intent;
It came into my thoughts by accident.
Miner.
Ill dost thou,
Mercury, and us much wrong,
To hold us in fad conference so long.
Merc.
Not so
Minerva, lovely
Venus spake
Nothing 'gainst you; only she chanc'd to make
A question, if this
Paris had a Bride.
Mincrv.
If nothing else, why didst thou closely hide
[Page 143] Such talke from us?
Merc.
She spake the word by chance;
To keep't from you was but my ignorance.
Miner.
Hath he none then?
Merc.
It seemes not.
Miner.
Doth he incline
To militarie Arts and discipline?
Is he of warlike spirit, from a straine
Ambitious after glory? or meere Swaine?
Merc.
In that you plunge me; but as I can guesse,
Being yong and strong, what can he promise lesse,
Than prove a hopefull souldier?
Ven.
Well, you see
I'plaine me not, nor is it griefe to mee,
That you two spake in privat; these complaints
Fit jealous heads, but none of
Uenus Saints.
Merc.
Take nothing ill, faire
Venus, I beseech,
For truly to resolve you, her late speech
To yours had reference: Then (as you are wise)
Presume this, nought can bate you of your prise;
The selfe same answer that to you I made,
I gave to her. I'th mean time whil'st we trade
In this discourse, the greatest part assign'd us
Of this our way we haue past, and left behind us
The stars already; Phrygia is not far,
For in our view Ida and Gargarus ar';
And if I be not much deceiv'd, I spy
Paris the Iudge that must your beauties try.
Iuno.
But I see no such man.
Merc.
Close by me stand,
And cast your eye that way, toward the left hand,
Not to the mountain top, but to the side,
Where you may spy a caves mouth gaping wide,
By which a faire herd's grasing.
Iuno.
No such sight myne eies are guilty of.
Merc.
Looke here forth-right,
Merc.
[Page 144]
Iust as my finger points, and in your sight
Will fall a goodly herd of Beeves and Cowes;
Not where the rocke unto the steepest growes,
But towards the middle part, somewhat descending,
Behinde them comes a Swaine, it seemes, intending
To keepe them close together, lest they stray,
Downe from the rocks he makes his speediest way;
Holding withall a sharpe goad in his hand.
Iuno.
Now
Hermes I begin to understand:
If that be he, I spy him.
Merc.
'Tis confest:
But being now so neere the earth, 'tis best
(If so you thinke it fitting) we descend.
And towards him a moderat pace extend;
Lest sousing on the sudden from an hye,
The frighted Swaine may take his heeles and fly.
Iuno.
Hermes speakes well: Let's all at once alight,
You
(Venus) in this way have best insight,
As she therein best skild, who (as Fame tells)
Vpon this mountaine oft in caves and cells,
To satiate your lust, and pay Loves debt,
In
Vulcans absence with
Anchises met.
Venus.
Iuno, your scoffes and taunts are ill apply'de,
Nor do they move me.
Merc.
Come, I'le be your Guide,
These well knowne paths I did of custome tread,
When
Iupiter first lov'd his
Ganimed;
They were then frequent with me, as being sent
Still to and fro, to accomplish his intent:
When hither like an Egle he descended,
I present was, (for alwaies I attended,
And in his rape assisted) at what time
He snatcht him hence, unto you place sublime.
The Lad by chance close by his Fold was fitting,
Voice to the pipe, the pipe to his voice fitting.
Iove soaring high, downe on the sudden shifteth,
[Page 145] Behinde him falls, and at an instant lifteth
Him gently from the earth, his crooked bill
Fastning vpon the wreath the Lad kept still
About his browes, griping and holding fast
Yet (without harme) th' affrighted Youth, who' agast,
Turneth his head the clean contrary way,
Not knowing what to thinke, much lesse to say:
His oten pipe he then let fall through feare.
But leaving this discourse, we now draw neere
The Iudge we came to seek for. Herdsman God save thee.
Paris.
The like to thee yong man: I only crave thee
To be resolv'd, What art thou? and to tell
What are these faire ones that in shape excell?
They are not such as daily we behold
Vpon these hills their flocks to graze and fold,
But fairer much.
Merc.
Know, these no women be,
But of more high strain and sublimitie;
That,
Iuno; that
Minerva; Venus shee,
And I the son of
Maia, Mercurie.
Iove greets thee thus: Why do thy spirits faile?
Why trembl'st, and so suddenly lookst pale?
[...]eare not, there is no danger, his command
[...]s, Thou 'twixt these the vnpartiall Vmpire stand,
Of their choice features: Thus he bad me say,
[...]ince thou thy selfe art beautifull, and may
Though in this Ida there be Louers many)
Yet in these complements compare with any.
Therefore to thee this iudgement I commit,
As vnto him that best can censure it:
[...]ehold this
Golden Apple, and advise,
[...]Tis of the choicest beauty, the rare prise.
Paris.
Pray give me leave, what's there inserib'd to view;
[...]ive to the Fairest this as Beauties due.
[...]ow can I, my Lord
Mercury, bee'ng humane,
[...]nd least of Mortals, a meere rustick swaine,
[Page 146] Be a sufficient judge? that
Iove should prove me
In matters weighty and so far above me?
Such desceptations would be better try'de
In cities wall'd, where men are solely apply'de
To delicacies: what more can you expect
From me, than censure those that I protect;
To say, that she Goat is than this more faire,
And that this Heifer may with that compare:
To iudge of such I may perhaps have skill;
But these are beautifull alike, and still
The more my ravisht eies vpon them dwell,
The more they seem in beauty to excell:
Such admirable parts in all I spye,
From none of them I can retract myne eye;
Where first it fastens it insists, and thence
I hardly can withdraw myne Optick sence:
How am I then distracted severall waies,
Where still the present Object I must praise?
Where having dwelt with pleasure, if by chance,
Vpon a second I shall hap to glance,
Myne eye's took captive and surpris'd again,
For thence I strive to ransom it in vain.
What judgement can I give, when I protest,
The beauty that is neerest will shew best:
Then what a tumult it within me breeds,
When as by birth-right each of them succeeds?
In briefe, who to my true sence can restore me,
Their pulchritudes being circumfus'd all o're me?
As if my weake conceivements to confound,
At once they circle and involve me round;
Now I could wish I'had eies behinde, before,
And that I were like
Argos, (eies all o're)
Iust, only I shall then my iudgement call,
When I this
Apple can dispose to all.
Let me collect my selfe! This is the Wife
And Sister to Great
Iove, with whom to have strife
[Page 147] Were dangerous. These two his daughters, and
'Gainst them how can my opposition stand,
Without much prejudice?
Merc.
All I can say,
'Tis
Joves command, thou must perforce obey.
Paris.
One thing persuade them,
Mercury, I intreat,
That the two Vanquisht would nor rage nor threat;
But to impute it, if they lose the prise,
To the fraile weaknesse of a Mortals eies.
Merc.
They so haue promis'd: but the time drawes on,
That now thy sentence must be call'd vpon.
Par.
Then to please one, I'le dare the spleen of two,
For in this straight what lesse can
Paris do?
Yet one thing,
Hermes, I with leave would know,
Is it enough to judge by th' outward shew,
Perusing them thus habited and clad?
Or wert not fit a nearer course were had?
To have them all stript naked, that myne eye
May view them with more curiositie?
Merc.
A question that from sound discretion growes,
And being Iudge, they are at thy dispose.
Paris.
At my dispose? Then I will haue all three
Stript to their skinnes.
Merc.
He'hath spoke; so it must be.
Vnbrace your selues, put off, and nothing hide;
Whilst he surveighs each part, I'le turne aside.
Iuno.
Well apprehended,
Paris, and see, I
Disrobe me first: Now this way turne thine eye,
Behold my white wrists, and my arms quite bare,
And are not these incomparably rare?
I am nor staring, nor yet narrow ey'de,
These two the marks of Cowardise or Pride;
Where e're thy curious eye shall now invade,
I'am equally and vniformly made.
Paris.
Disrobe you likewise,
Venus.
Minerva.
Not in haste,
[Page 148] Till she hath ta'ne her girdle from her waste,
And cast it by; that first thing let her grant thee,
For,
Paris, shee's a Witch, and will inchant thee,
Being long studied in prestigious guiles,
And apt to circumvent thee with her smiles.
Nor was it meet she should have come thus gay,
Trickt vp in colours and such rich array,
Her cheeks with sundry paintings plaistred o're,
Like to some Prostitute or obscoene Whore:
When nothing but bare form and feature true
Should be expos'd vnto the Iudges view.
Paris.
Of that inchanted Belt you well advise;
Cast it away.
Venus.
Why doth not she likewise
Her glorious plumed helmet cast aside,
Or heave the brim that doth her forehead hide,
Displaying her uncover'd face and brest,
But with her truncheon strikes vpon her crest,
As if she meant the Iudge to terrifie,
That he th'upright cause might not verifie?
Or else (her threatning Burgaret cast hence)
Her blew faint eies might give the Iudge offence.
Miner.
There lies myne helmet.
Venus.
There my girdle by.
Iuno.
We now all bare to thine inspection ly.
Paris.
O
Iove, thou Wonder-maker, make me bold.
What glorious objects do I now behold!
What pulchritude? What extasy'de delight?
What a rare Virgin's that? how faire, how bright?
But she, how venerable? nay, divine?
What royall power within her front doth shine?
What majestie? yet intermixt with love,
She alone worthy to be wife to
Iove
How lovely shines the tother in my face?
With what a moving irresistable grace?
Her tempting lips, so paralleld in meetnesse,
[Page 149] Whisper to me all blandishment and sweetnesse.
Of this vnbounded surplusage of pleasure,
I am now sated in abundant measure:
Therefore so please them to my will attone,
I gladly would peruse them one by one;
Being ambiguous in my selfe, and doubt,
(Distracted thus) I shall not long hold out:
How can my brain or eye be truly guided,
Being at once so many waies divided.
Venus.
So let us do.
Paris.
You two your selves retyre;
But
Iuno stay.
Iuno.
It is my sole desire.
And when thou hast with thy acutest eyes.
Perus'd this feature, void of all disguise,
And with thy most inquisitive eyes made way
Through all that thou canst possibly display,
I'le give the rest place. Great is my donation,
If I prevaile by thee: make proclamation,
That I am Vict'resse, and take
Iuno's word,
I'le of all Asia make thee King and Lord.
Paris.
I am not sway'd with gifts; but be you gon,
What's right and iust must now be thought vpon.
Draw neere,
Minerva.
Miner.
See, I am at hand:
If in this strife of Beauty first I stand,
And thou pronounce me fairest; from thy cattell,
I'le bring thee vnto many a glorious battell,
From whence thou, vanquisht never shalt retyre;
I'le make thee a prime Generall, and aspire
To deeds of fame and honor, in all which
Thou shalt be conqueror, crown'd with triumphs rich.
Paris.
Of thundring wars I
(Pallas) have no feare;
Peace (as you see) is publisht every where,
Phrygia and Lydia are now both at rest,
Neither with forrein nor home-broiles opprest,
[Page 150] My fathers Empire is in quiet: yet
Thinke not that I your noble gifts forget;
You may hope well, yet know me thus far stayd,
I being Iudge must not with bribes be swayd:
Take up your garments, put your Helmet on,
I'have seen sufficient, you may now be gon.
Now your time calls you,
Uenus.
Venus.
I am here,
And be not sparing,
Paris, with eies cleere
Contemplate me in all and every member,
Passe nothing cursorily, but still remember
What now thou seest; fix both thine eies and heart
Not in one place, but all and every part,
And where the object pleaseth let them dwell;
Then truly iudge if I the rest excell.
Whilst th'other sences are full feasted here,
Lend me (ô Faire one) for a while thine eare;
I'have seen thee oft, and have observ'd thee long
To be a Youth more beautifull and strong
Than any other here in Phrygia bred;
So I have thought, so I have often sed.
Yet as I for thy curious parts commend thee,
For some things I of force must reprehend thee;
Who 'mongst these crags and rocks consum'st thy prime
Spending thy beauty, which will fade by time,
In solitudes, with beasts that peopled are,
And not in cities, who can judge what's rare:
What (prethee) in these mountaines canst thou gain?
Thy Beeves and Cowes shall censure thee in vain,
Thou' art lost amongst them: it should be thy pride,
(Richly arrayd) to seeke thee out a Bride,
No Shepherdesse or rustick Damsell, such
As Ida in aboundance yeelds too much.
I would haue thee finde out some Crecian Queen,
Such as in Argos are, or Corinth seen,
Or in Lacena. Now I call to minde,
[Page 151] There's Spartan
Hellen; ô that thou couldst finde
And compasse her: to thee I make confession,
Shee's yong and beautifull beyond expression,
Nay in all parts both outward and interior,
(Still view me) no way to this shape inferior;
And what above these should inflame thy minde,
She is not coy, but affable and kinde:
Who had she seen, as I behold thee now
(All fortunes quite relinquisht) would, I vow,
As knowing no way to be better sped,
Fly to thine armes, thy bosome, and thy bed.
Perhaps of such an one you have heard tell.
Paris.
Never, ô
Venus, but you please me well
In her description: on: to whatsoe're
You speake of her, I'le give attentive eare.
Uenus.
She was the childe of
Laeda, than her mother,
(
[...]ill she outstript her) liv'd not such another.
For
Laeda was
Ioves Paramor, who then
To have of her fruition, like a swan,
Downe sowsing came from heaven, by whose congression
Hellen, is
Ioves owne daughter, by succession.
Paris.
Of what aspect is she?
Venus.
White without spot;
And needs she must, being 'twixt two Swans begot:
That she is soft and tender, agrees well;
Conceiv'd and born too in a smooth white shell;
Naked she wrestles oft for exercise,
And from these games returnes with many a prise:
[...]utors from all parts have come thronging to her,
And happy he could finde the grace to woo her.
Nay, such as have bin forc'd to go without her,
Not only threatned, but rais'd war about her.
Even
Theseus held her choice of all his blisses,
Nor could he stay till she were ripe for kisses,
[...]ut ravisht her yet yong: but when she came
[...]o a full feather, her unequal'd fame
[Page 152] Grew with her feature: then the Optimates,
Princes, and of the Argives the chiefe States
Solicited her Nuptials: the prime man
Was
Menelaus the Pelopidan,
He wood and woon; and yet if thou agree,
Her and her Dower I will confer on thee.
Paris.
What's this you speake? wil you your pains imploy
To give me, whom another doth enioy?
Venus.
Is that a thing which difficult appeares?
Thou art as yong in knowledge as in yeares.
I promise what I can performe with ease.
Paris.
Shew me the means how, and it well shall please,
Venus.
Then thus; Thou shalt a voyage vndertake
To travell through all populous Greece, and make
That thy designe. Now when thou shalt arrive
At Lacedemon,
Helena will strive
To give thee welcome. What shall then succeed
Leave to my care, for thine it shall not need.
Paris.
But this appeares incredible to me,
Impossible and meerly absurd, that she
Should leave a husband, kingdome, and a Crowne,
Subjects and servants, and all these her owne,
Forsaking land, to hazard the seas danger,
To follow me, a rude guest and a stranger.
Venus.
Be thou of courage; for the same intent
I have two lovely children shall be sent
Thy Guides and Captaines, who with all facilitie
Shall worke my ends:
(Cupid and
Amabilitie)
Cupid shall altogether undermine her,
And to thy selfe impulsively combine her.
With thee shall
Amabilitie persever,
At all occasions be about thee ever;
By whose infusion thou shalt be inspir'd
To' appeare to her much lovely, most desir'd.
I will be present there, the more to friend thee,
And will entreat the Graces to attend thee,
[Page 153] Who shall be thy companions; all together,
What cannot we compell her to? and whether?
Paris.
And yet, faire
Venus, I am still in doubt,
By what safe means this may be brought about.
I love that
Hellen, though as yet unknowne,
And (by what means I know not) I am growne
Inamor'd of her; for beholding thee,
(O
Venus) now me-thinks I
Hellen see.
Me-thinks for Greece I now am vnder saile,
In Sparta am safe landed, and prevaile;
That I behold her in her beauties pride,
And bring from thence a bright and glorious Bride.
Why, e're begin, do I applaud the end?
I grieve I act not what I apprehend.
Venus.
Be not too forward in thy love, I prethee,
But (ô thou fair'st of Near heards) take me with thee;
Doat not too soone, nor be thou over-speedy,
Till I my selfe thy Bride bed have made ready,
Having first reconcil'd you: with condition
That I of this great prise may have fruition.
'Twill grace your mariag
[...] when as Victresse I
Shall present be at that Solemnitie,
And after all such busie pain and toile,
Vnto my triumph adde thy glorious spoile.
Do but thou make this golden Apple mine,
Shee with her love and bride-bed are all thine.
Paris.
And yet perhaps when you have gain'd this prise,
You may neglect, and me (a Swaine) despise.
Venus.
Shall I sweare to thee?
Paris.
No, it shall suffice,
That you have past your promise.
Venus.
Heare me then,
(O thou most faire and beautifull of men)
[...] vow, all lets and cavils set aside,
This hand shall give thee
Hellen for thy Bride;
That from all future dangers I'le defend thee,
[Page 154] And in thy journey carefully attend thee,
That she shall follow thee, and prostitute
Both will and body to thine amorous smile:
That I'le be there to see howall things stand,
And have in all these an assistant hand.
Paris.
But will you bring along rankt in their places
Cupid and
Amabilitie, with the
Graces?
Venus.
Doubt not I will, and to make quick dispatch,
Desire and
Hymen, to conclude the match.
Paris.
For these, and these alone, as fair'st of all,
Uenus, to thee I give the golden Ball.
IVPITER and IO.
The Argument.
IO,
of whom we next discusse,
Daughter toth' River Inachus,
(The fairest Nymph that liv'd that time,
As being in her youth and prime)
Was seen by Iove
lov'd, and comprest.
Queen
Iuno, Her, as of the rest,
Growne Jealous o're, doth project lay,
How in their sports them to betray.
Whom to prevent (J know not how)
But Iove
transhapes her to a Cow.
The Goddesse knowing how indeard
She was to him, comes to the Heard,
And begs this Heifer. He not dar'd
(However the request seem'd hard)
Her to deny. Shee's now her charge,
And nought her freedome can inlarge.
The passages that hence may grow,
The sequell will hereafter show.
Enter 16,
Daphne, with other Nymphs called
Naiades, the Daughters of the Rivers neere adjacent.
Io.
HEre,
Daphne, by your father
Peneus streams
(which falling from the top of Pindus mount,
Waters
Hemonian Tempe) let us sit,
[Page 156] All daughters to the Rivers flowing neere:
There old
Apidanus steales (murmuring) by;
Next, Poplar-shadowed
Enipeus glides:
Not far,
Amphrisus, Aeas, and 'mongst these,
(Not least) my father, good old
Inachus
Lifts up his reverend head, with fresh floures crown'd,
Prescribing lawes and limits to his streams,
To bound them in their channels, curb their torrent,
Lest in their pride they should o'reswell their banks;
Commanding them, through thousand strange indents
To pay his plenteous tribute to the seas.
Daphne.
And how much are we bound vnto the gods,
(Faire
Io) to be Nymphs, not generated
From marish Meares, nor yet from standing Lakes,
From sedgy brooks, thick pooles, or shallow foords,
Nor yet from violent and robustuous seas.
Their waters keep a smooth and gentle course,
Not mov'd to fury by the warring windes;
Nor when loud fluxes fall to swell their bounds,
And make deep inundations on the meads:
Nor can the parching drought so dry their springs,
But that their channels keep a temperature:
Their modest shallowes serve us for coole baths
In summer time to play and wanton in:
Their depths, to bate our hookes with wormes and flies
Fastned to lines made of small twisted silke,
And so betray the creatures of the floud.
Their chrystall waves are Myrrhors, in the which
We dresse our heads, and put these curles in forme,
Sometimes so cunningly, as if that Art
Had power to exceed Nature: and againe,
With carelesse, but so curious a neglect,
As if meere Chance did antecede them both.
This makes us of the Satyrs so admir'd,
And of the Faunes and Swaines so much belov'd.
Io.
Why, have you Sutors,
Daphne?
Daphne.
[Page 157]
Besides such,
For these my father, by whose will I am swayd)
Accounts as mean) of Gallants I have change;
[...]oth City and the Court.
[...].
But I may claim
Prioritie above all water Nymphs,
Nor can the
Naiades compare with me;
No,
Daphne, not your selfe. The rurall Swaines,
[...]hey gather from these banks mellifluous floures,
[...]nd make you chaplets to adorn your browes,
[...]nd shadow your choice beauty from the Sun,
[...]ay thinke them costly Presents: but I'am one
To whom the gods themselves have offred gifts.
Then before all the daughters of these flouds
[...] claim a just precedence.
Daph.
By what dream,
[...]r rather by what brain-sicke fantasie
[...]ath
Io been deluded?
[...].
My apprehensions
[...]e no weake fantoms to beguile the sence,
[...]t reall, and in action; with their form
[...]hey beare a being substance.
Daph.
Hath your Beauty
[...]d amongst men such long and strange neglect,
[...]at
Io would to colour such disgrace,
[...]ccuse the gods of weaknesse?
[...]
Let earths Beauties
[...]ensure of Earth, meere terren as yours be,
[...]d aime no further: the while this of myne
[...]all be new question'd by the Powers Divine.
Daph.
Now by what gods, for Heav'ns sake?
[...]
Not the meanest,
[...] such as we call under-deities,
[...] melancholy
Saturn, (by his son
[...]il'd and banisht from the supreme rule)
Phoebus, a meere Vassal to the earth,
[Page 158] And forc'd each naturall day to measure heaven;
As
Neptune, Soveraign o're the Seas, to whom
Our tributary rivers hourely pay:
As
Mercury, though son to
Iove himselfe,
No better than his Foot-boy or his Page,
Compeld at every summons to his speed:
But of the potent Thunderer.
Daph.
He of whom
You have learn'd to thunder these impossible braves.
Io, I am asham'd.
Io.
Yes, that your beauty's
Composed of the grosser elements,
Want that attraction to call
Iove himselfe
Downe from his heavenly Fabrick, to behold
Vs in our eminence.
Daph.
Strange wonder sure,
To looke vpon that face in which we Mortals,
And value it at best, can nothing spy,
Breed admiration in a Deity!
A noise of thunder. Enter Iupiter
in his glory, his Trisull in h
[...] hand burning; at sight of whom they stand afrighted.
Io.
Appeare,
Iove, in thy glory, let them know
Ei, sham'd confesse their fond surmises vain,
And what it is, thy god-head to prophane.
Daph.
Fly, fly, lest we be thunder-strooke, away;
Let's seeke our safety, danger's in our stay.
[...]
Iup.
Thou
Daphne, who
Ioves presence now dost shun,
Swifter ere long shalt from,
Apollo run.
But there lie that which makes us terrible,
Affrighting gods and men.
Io to thee
In calmes I come, and Faire one make me proud,
To seale the love which I so long have vow'd.
Io.
What steale? what vow?
Iup.
[Page 159]
Both thou shalt finde imprest
On thy smooth cheeke, soft lip, and Ivory brest,
Io.
Forbeare to handle; yet I never knew
A man so bold and rude: Can gods dispence,
To teach us Women unknowne impudence?
Iup.
Nay rather we solicit you to prove
What yet you have not try'de, the sweets of love.
Io.
Things that I would not learn.
Iup.
A Truant still?
If you want art,
Io, I can teach you skill:
Give me your hand, your lip: why these but are
The Prologue to a pastime much more rare.
Women by nature are ambitious, and
Long to know what they do not understand.
I'le practise you in that which you before
Ne're knew.
Io.
In all this lip-sport? or what more
Is in these kisses meant? I am so dull,—
Iup.
All these my Comment shall explain at full.
In vain you strive.
Io.
Should I do ought save well,
I were vndone, my fathers flouds would tell;
These are his banks, they'l blab: What mean you? fie;
They swell above their bounds, only to spie
And see what we are doing. Pish, away,
Such deeds of darknesse can you do by day?
Besides, shall I consent to what you mean,
Not all these silver drops can wash me clean.
Iup.
Where I doe stain I can again make pure:
And that Day shall not hinder us, be sure:
Arise you fogs and damps, your vapors gather,
To shroud us both from
Iuno and thy father.
Io.
You make me blush.
A great damp ariseth.
Iup.
These blushes none shall see;
Behold these mists, to curtain us and thee.
Io.
Well, when what most you sue for, you have won,
[Page 160] My comfort is, I see not what is done,
Iup.
And Io now I'le teach thee sports untry'de,
In darknesse best a Virgins blush to hide.
Exeunt
Enter Iuno.
Iuno.
Not in the heav'ns? where then? In vain it were
To search the seas; the blew vein'd
Nor
[...]ae,
And green hair'd
Dorides with all their brats,
Styl'd by the names of water goddesses,
(Though Prostitutes to
Neptune) 'mongst them all
Yeeld not a face to please his curious eye.
Where then? The earth? I that, if any place,
Yeelds choice of tempting Beauties: Argos bred
A golden
Danaë, Thebes afforded an
Alcmena and a wanton
Semele;
Pelagia, a
Calisto; Sparta nurst
A swan-like
Laeda, (Strumpets) of all which
I sought a sure, but found a vain revenge.
Why may not then Thessalian Tempe yeeld
Like fascination, since their impudence
Is more and more encourag'd by my wrongs:
Here then I make inquiry. The day's cleare;
Whence come these foggy mysts that choke the aire,
In so serene and bright an hemisphere?
Aut ego fall
[...]r, aut ego ledar.
If from the earth, this sudden overcast
Would smell of thicke and suffocating damps:
If from the aire, or any sulph'rous fire,
It would be found by their caliditie.
If from the Rivers, or these moorish fennes,
Humiditie would tell vs whence they were.
No, these are forc'd, and by some god-like power,
Created for a more peculiaruse:
And now my jealousie most truly prompts me.
'Tis some illusion, made to blinde myne eies
From a new injury; which if I finde,
On this one Strumpet I will study more,
[Page 161] Than all that have my vengeance scap'd before.
Exit.
Enter Iupiter,
and Io
transformed into a Cow.
Iup.
The clamorous Queen's descended from the Spheres,
To finde the cause of this illusive Fog:
But
Io I have so transhap'd thee now,
That she by no means can discover thee;
And in that confidence I'le front her boldly.
Iun.
Jove heare? my jelousies are then not vain,
Howe're I'le give him gentle entertaine,
Concealing what's within.
Iup.
My lovely
Iuno?
Iun.
My Brother and my Husband
Iupiter?
Iup.
What make you here on earth?
Iun.
What other reason,
But that I mist my soveraign Lord in heaven;
And then I yoakt my Peacocks, to their bills
Ty'd silken bridles, and in my light chariot
Made of fine gold, and deckt with Estrich plumes,
Descended as you see. But what affaire
Might
Iuno be so bold to aske her Lord)
Detaines you now in Tempe?
Iup.
Though it fits not
Your Sex to aske a thing that ill beseemes,
Or pry into the counsels of the gods;
Yet thus much I'le resolve you? I came downe
To censure here some causes amongst men,
And set things crooked upright.
Iun.
Now I spy
That which hath drawne him headlong from the sky,
And I will make th' Adulterer himselfe
[...]uthor of my iust vengeance.
Iup.
Thou once gon,
Spoken aside.
[...]e were again transhap'd, and we both one.
[...]weet
Iuno will you once more mount your Chariot,
[...]nd keep your state above My designes ended,
[...] will not long be from you.
Iun.
[Page 162]
My craft now
Shall match his cunning; if there be in me
A godhead, I have cast her destiny.
Deare loving Lord, since 'twas my kindenesse drew me
To see vnto your safety (though I know
The Deities in every place secure)
Give me some gift on earth, that I in heaven
May applaud your royall bounty.
Iup.
Be it bred
Beneath the Moon, 'tis my
Saturnia's.
Iun.
I have not seen so sweet and lovely a Beast
White without spot or stain; Is she of the herd
Belonging to these Medowes?
Iup.
She is, no doubt.
Why doth my
Iuno aske?
Jun.
To make her myne.
Iup.
A gift too small for
Juno to entreat,
Or
Iove to grant; Demand some greater boon.
Iun.
This Cow or nothing.
Iup.
Shee's not for thy use;
What would my Love do with her?
Iun.
Only this,
(Being above the rest most beautifull)
To sacrifice her to your Deity.
(Iupiter starts.)
Iup.
Not for the triple world: What was it, Sweet,
That you of me demanded?
Iuno.
Now to know
(Aside)
What put you in this feare? Nay I have beg'd,
And must not be deny'd. And have I found you?
Iup.
In what a streight am I? her to betray,
And give her up into her enemies hand,
In man would prove a savage cruelty,
Much more in us: and to deny a gift
Appearing of so small a consequence,
Would but augment her too much jelousie,
And open that which is as yet conceal'd.
Iuno.
[Page 163]
What hope have I to enioy greater things,
That am deny'd a trifle?
Iup.
Say I will not,
(Aside)
And give no reason; it may then appeare,
This Heifer to be no such as she seems.
Well, she is yours; but how will you dispose her?
Iun.
So carefully, because she is your gift,
My seruant
Argus with a hundred eyes
Shall guard her from all dangers.
Iup.
'Tis enough,
In that, to us you shall expresse your love.
But prove he to her churlish or vnkinde,
(Aside.
There's one, at once his hundred eies shall blind.
So, she is now your charge.
Exit.
Jun.
And being myne,
I'le teach base Earth to injure what's divine.
Where is my seruant
Argus?
Enter
Argus with a hundred eyes.
Argus.
Who's that calls?
The sacred goddesse
Iuno? What new service
Will you command your vassal?
Jun.
Tak't in briefe;
Beholdst thou This? This? This no matter what,
Not worth a name; only a thing I loath;
Out on thee: But I'le spare my railing words,
To expresse my hate in action.
Arg.
What's the cause
The poore beast trembles that?
Jun.
A Beast indeed:
Like such she shall be us'd; behold her,
Argus;
Are these lips fitting for a god to kisse?
These hoofes apt palms to gripe? these tears fit pillowes?
On which a Deity should brest himselfe?
These, eyes to tempt? or this an hide to touch?
[Page 164] These hornes? (ô me) in myne owne heraldry
She mocks me without blushing.
Argus.
In all this
How will you use my service?
Iuno.
As a Spy:
An hundred eyes thou hast, of all which number
I will allow thee two to sleep by turnes;
The rest to watch this Strumpet; and of all,
But two to winke, the rest to gaze at full:
Behinde thee thou hast eyes, both sides, before;
Which way soe're thou turnst shee's in thy view.
"A thousand he had need, all piercing bright,
"To watch a Lover from his choice delight.
Arg.
And is this all?
Iuno.
Something I had forgot:
Thou art an Herdsman,
Argus, and thou know'st
To tame vnruly cattell; she is such:
In some unworthy halter binde her neck,
For such a Beauty the first Ca
[...]kanet.
Her browsing be the Brakes and bitter couche,
For dainties feed her with the sourest herbs;
Lead her through briers & brambles, which may scratch
Her itching skin even till her soft sides bleed,
Raise vp the mud in cleare springs when she drinks,
Keep her from shadow, in the parching Sun,
Till she be stung with horse flies, and the brees:
Let her not rest but where the ground's still bare;
Feather her bed with thistles and sharp thornes;
And for her footing chuse the barren paths
Strow'd with loose pointed flints to gall her hoofes.
Argus farewell, I leave her to thy trust,
A sweet reuenge for her insatiate lust.
Exit.
Argus.
Drawing this piece of Beasts flesh thus along,
Me-thinks I looke like Lybian
Hercules
Leading the Dog of hell: nay I shall fit her
According to my charge, and I will keep thee
[Page 165] (Calfe with the white face) safe enough from bulling,
The longest day that I haue eye to see.
What do you hang an arse? Ptrow, come along,
I'le leade you to bare feeding, and finde sallets
To take downe your full flanks and these plump cheeks.
Along, I'le watch thee well enough from shrinking
Necke out of collar. Nay, on; thou shalt finde,
Though my face from thee, I have eyes behinde.
Exit.
Enter Inachus
the father of Io, Peneus, Appidanus, Amphrisus,
(all Riuers) Daphne,
and the other Nymphs, &c.
Inachus.
Speake not to me of comfort,
Jo's lost!
Had she miscarried on the earth, her body
Would have given instance of her timelesse fate:
Or had she been by savage beasts devour'd,
Her garments stain'd with bloud would tell her death.
Had she in myne or these my neighbour floods
Perisht, they would have borne her gently vp,
And cast her on some banke for buriall.
Peneus.
Deare
Inachus do not torment your selfe,
Nothing so lost, but may be found at length:
For hauing seen no token of her death,
There's of her life some hope.
Amphr.
Behold,
Amphrisus
With this your antient neighbour
Appidan,
Peneus and others, as we moane your losse,
So in our pitty come to comfort you.
Appid.
O, brackish not your waters with your teares,
That yet run pure and fresh; but be of comfort.
Inach.
In vain you speake of what you cannot give,
As I in vaine lament myne
Io's losse.
Enter Argus
leading in Io.
Arg.
How now, curst Cow? What, start you at that name?
I'le make your long hornes shorter.
Jnac.
Io, where?
If under earth, I'le send my springs in search
As low as to the Centre,
Io, where?
If snatcht vp in the aire, like dew exhal'd,
[Page 166] With eyes fixt vpward I will still thus gaze,
Till from the bosome of some gentle cloud,
Thou drop into myne armes. Faire
Io, where?
Arg.
I thinke the beast hath breezes in her taile,
She cannot keepe her still.
Inach.
But stay, what's hee
That leads the fairest Heifer tether'd fast,
That e're drunke of my streames; for
Io's sake
I loue all creatures that are beautifull.
Arg.
How now you Harlatry?
Inach.
Thou churlish heardsman,
I know thee,
Argus, jealous
Iuno's Spy,
Why canst thou be so fierce to one so faire?
Arg.
What's that to thee, or any of you all.
Pen.
Amongst all creatures Nature ever made,
Some to have native beauty 'bove the rest,
Commanding soft affection, this is such.
Arg.
With all myne eyes I spy no difference,
But love all beasts as beasts.
Inach.
The more beast thou.
Pen.
But why should this, the fairest of all heards,
Cast such a pitteous moving eye on you,
As wooing your acquaintance?
Inach.
And 'tis true,
Where ere I go, her sad eye followes me,
So she too, did not
Argus keepe her backe:
See, see, how gently she endures my touch,
And makes an offer (had shee power) to speake.
Heare, take these floures, and now she kist myne hand,
Whilest pitteous teares drop down her tender cheeks.
What should I say? poore beast I pitty thee,
And all the good I can do is to grieve,
Th' hast such a churlish Keeper.
Pen.
Inachus, I feare
There's something greater in't.
Inach.
What greater can be,
[Page 167] Vnlesse there live some vnderstanding spirit
In this irrationall and savage shape:
What wouldst thou have, that in this bestiall figure
Beg'st humane pitty? what intends she, thinke you,
By pawing on the ground? Observe her, brethren,
It seemes she hath writ somthing in the dust,
And see, two letters are imprinted faire,
As if it were my
Io's Character, And here I reade
Io.
Pen.
Io: and see, in every step she hath trod,
That word imprest.
Inach.
This she? whom I so long in vain have sought,
Through forrests, groves, and mountains, fields & floods?
This she, whom I in finding shall most lose?
O miserable wretched
Inachus,
More miserable
Io, thus transform'd:
I terme thee lovely, till I knew thee such;
But when thy former beauty I record,
Thou ougly art, mishap'd, and terrible.
Can the gods suffer this?
Arg.
Leave this your howling.
Forbeare, or in this cord I leade her forth,
Ile strangle her. Dare not to follow me,
There's danger in me both waies; she shall perish,
And you must bleed. Come, Minion we will clime
You craggy mountain top, a prospect fit
For
Argus only, who (not moving) can
Behold at once from whence the foure winds blow,
And there with her I'le like a Beacon stand,
To watch and to give warning. Will you drive?
I say pursue me not, for if you do,
Ile make her sure, and you repent it too.
Why ptrow there.
(Exeunt Argus
and Io.
Amph.
With what a pitteous action, wailing tongue,
She gave a loving, but a loath farewell.
Apid.
But that the high Powers are not limitable,
Who vvould beleeve this wonder possible.
Pen.
[Page 168]
We must not question what the gods can do,
Yet in th' extremitie of all extremes,
And worst of bads, despaire not,
Inachus.
Inach.
How easie 'tis for those that tast not griefe,
Bid others be of comfort.
Amph.
Reverend Sir,—
Inach.
There is no reverence due: not to the gods,
If this be seen and suffer'd: O my
Io.
With acclamations I will fill the Meades:
In stead of prayers, Ile execrate and curse,
And to the burthen of myne untun'd shreeks
The rocks and caves shall echo to thy name.
Pen.
But
Inachus.—
Inach.
But when your Chanels swell,
You can have dammes and sluces to discharge
Superfluous waters, lest your torrents rage;
And will you bar the conduits of myne eies
To ease the flux of my surcharged heart?
My care was,
Io, to provide a man
To be thine husband; but I now must finde
One of the bellowing heard to cal me sonne:
To have some pretty infant draw thy brest,
But now must some py'de urchin sucke thy teats.
But that I am immortall, and the dores
And gate to death against me are debar'd,
I'de weepe my selfe to nothing, and this Beeing
Scatter amongst my flouds, that mixt with them,
They might (in lesse than drops) amongst their waves,
Convey me to the all-devouring seas,
To mix my brine with his, and be so lost;
And lost, forgotten: But I am still the same,
And
Io, I'le still call vpon thy name.
I xeunt.
Enter Iupiter
and Mercury.
Iupit.
How am I mov'd with
Inachus exclaimes?
Why are the eares of gods kept open still,
But first to heare, then pitty? hast thou not,
Mercury,
[Page 169] Seene
Io's teares? Perceiv'd her scalding sighs,
And even thus far heard her suspires and grones,
Tortur'd beneath that Neatherd churlish groome,
More savage than the beasts he feeds?
Merc.
I have.
Iup.
How oft hath she, thinking to heave her hands
For divine pitty; when she spy'de her hoofes
Cast them to th' earth, with them her head with shame,
And bellowing when she would complain her griefe,
Started at her owne sound?
How oft, when grazing on her fathers banks,
(These fruitfull banks on which she vs'd to sport)
Offring to drinke, when in his Crystall streams,
In which so often she with pride hath lookt,
On her white brow, red cheeke, and golden curles:
Now when she spies those lips a god hath kist,
Stretcht to so vast a widenesse, penthous'd o're
With inlarg'd nosthrils; looking on those eyes,
(In which 'twas once my sole delight to looke)
To see them broad and glaring; her cleare brow
Late deckt with shining jewels, prest with hornes.
How oft hath she (more frighted than asham'd)
Thought, from her selfe, in vaine, to hide her selfe?
Merc.
This can you see? not study how to helpe?
Iup.
I do, and will, by thyne aid,
Mercury;
Hye therefore to the top of Pindus mount,
(There
Argus keepes his watch) in some disguise;
Thy
Caduceus and thy wings layd by,
Finde with the slave some conference, till by cunning
Thou charm'st his waking eies, and being fast,
Cut off his head, and with one blow extinguish
So many lights at once.
Merc.
Great
Iove I will:
But thus condition'd, you will interpose
Your awfull power 'twixt me and
Iuno's hate.
Iupit.
Presume th' art safe in vs.
Merc.
[Page 170]
Then
Argus dies;
One fatal stroke shall shut an hundred eies.
Exit
Enter Argus
leading Io
in an halter.
Argus.
How dost thou like thyne usage, madam
Cow?
Your lodging and your dyet? How dost thinke
This hempen chaine becomes thee? Will you see
Your sweet face in the riuer once againe?
Or how doth your faire beastship feele your selfe?
Wouldst thou not haue some Bulchin from the herd
To physicke thee of this venereall itch?
If not, I'le see what Nettles muddy streams,
Couch-grasse and weeds, thornes, briers, & flints can d
[...]
These failing, here's a goad to prick your sides.
If all these medicines will not tame your lust,
I'le muster new inventions. Nay, I know
You looke for pitty, but it lives not here.
In this high watch-tower stand I sentinel,
To spy who comes and goes. I am made thy gardian,
Ile gard thee both from danger and from rest;
'Twas in thy hearing,
Iuno's late behest.
Enter Mercury
like a yong formal Shepheard.
Merc.
This shape may prove suspectlesse, and the fittest
To cloud a godhead in; my plumed hat
And fether'd sandals, by the which I am knowne,
I have left at foot of this descending hill:
My snaky Rod I have to this sheephooke turn'd.
Accommodated thus, to
Argus now,
Aristors sonne: behooves him keepe good watch,
Whom
Mercury (Ioves son) intends to catch.
But Many-eyes have spy'de me.
Arg.
How now shepheard,
There's none who in that simpl shape or name
Needs treason feare. Should any come prepar'd
For mischiefe, I have lights about me shine
Sufficient to prevent it: but thou seem'st
None of such ranke. Come sit by me and talke.
Merc.
[Page 171]
The servant to the great
Saturnia
Doth me no common grace.
Arg.
Thou know'st me then?
Merc.
What shepheard but not only knowes your name,
[...]ut feares your strength?
Arg.
Nay sit (by me th'art safe)
And tell some pretty tales to make me laugh:
[...] have not long been merry.
Merc.
First resolve me;
[...]s that faire heifer of some neighbour herd,
You drag thus in an halter?
Arg.
Shee's my charge,
A witty Brute, a most ingenious beast,
A very apprehensiue
Animal,
That can do tricks: she hath been taught, I tell thee,
To write and reade.
Merc.
Argus, not possible.
Argus.
'Tis as I said before: but having her,
Some pretty tale, I prethee.
Merc.
But what if
Some goddesse should live in this shape disguis'd,
To whom you are so churlish. I could tell you
A story to that end.
Arg.
Such toyes I love.
Merc.
Thus the
Pierides report: The Gyants
Assembled and made war against the gods,
Heape Ossa upon Pelion, Caucasus
Vpon Pernassus, Pindus above them;
Hill upon mountain, mountain vpon hill,
Till they had made a scale that reache to heaven.
The conflict then began: the monstrous
Typhon
Was Captain of the Gyants: Of the gods
Great
Iove, Archduke. The Generals met and fought.
In briefe (to cut off circumstance) the earth
Prevaild 'gainst heauen. The gods are forc't to fly:
Iove, chac'd by
Typhon into Egypt, chang'd
[Page 172] Himselfe into a Ram:
Apollo, frighted,
Turnes to a Crow,
Bacchus into a Goat,
Iuno a Cow,
Diana to a Cat;
Venus into a Fish, and tooke the sea;
Mars to a Pigmy, lest he should be knowne:
And
Mercury, syrnam'd the crafty god,
Into a Fox.
Arg.
A Fox? But I would meet
That craft which could beguile
Argus bright eyes.
Proceed, proceed, good shepheard.
Merc.
Why may not then
Some goddesse be included in this shape?
Arg
A goddesse, saist thou? thinke me equall then
With one of these huge Gyants, if not greater,
That have the power and potencie to leade
A god-head in a string. But ha, what musick
(Musicke
Was that strooke vp? 'Twas sweet and delicat,
Nor have I heard the like.
Merc.
My fellow shepheards
Behinde that rocke (from whence an echo growes)
For the more grace have chus'd that place as fittest,
Prest to bestow their cunning vpon you,
Whom they havé heard, much tyr'd with watching long
Arg.
And shall we have some merry Madrigall
To passe away the time with?
Merc.
What you please.
Arg.
I fame would know how first these Pipes came up
That make this dainty musicke?
Merc.
First from
Pan
The god of Shepheards. In the memory
Of the Nymph
Syrinz, Musicke strike and tell,
How in th' Arcadian plaines it once befell.
Mercuries Song.
Syrinx,
one of Dian's
traine,
Hunting with her on the plaine,
Arm'd alike with shafts and bow;
[Page 173]
Each from other would you know?
Which from which could not be told,
Saue ones was horne, the others gold.
Arg.
Hey ho; very fine musicke I promise you.
Merc.
Now it begins to worke.
Pan
he sees himselfe makes fine,
In his cap he pricks a Pine:
Now growes carelesse of his heard,
Sits by brookes to prune his beard,
Meets her, and hath minde to wooe,
Much he speakes, and more would doe.
Arg.
'Tis pleasing, but it makes me melancholy,
And drowsie too withall.
Merc.
'Twill do anon.
(A side.
Still he profers, she denies;
He pursues (for Syrinx
flies.)
Past her knees her coats vp flew,
He would faine see something new:
By the leg and thigh he guest
(It seemes) the vertue of the rest.
Arg.
Were it not for my charge I'de take a nap.
Merc.
This addes wings vnto his pace,
The goale for which he is in chace.
She addes feathers to her speed;
Now it was no more than need.
Almost caught, Alas she cries,
Some chaste god my shape disguise.
Arg.
The rest may sleepe secure, so I can keepe
But two eyes waking.
Merc.
Here's a charme for them.
Laedon
heares, and girts her round,
Spies a reed that makes sweet sound:
Such is Syrinx.
Wondring Pan
Puts it to his mouth anon:
Yet Syrinx
thou art myne he said,
And so of her his first pipe made.
[Page 174] My charm hath tooke effect; with these thyne eyes
Take thy last sleepe, thou hast not one to see;
My taske is done, and
Jo thou now free.
(Cuts off his head. Exit.
Enter Iuno.
Iuno.
The dying groans of
Argus call'd down,
To know what of his lustre is become.
What, all extinct? and is no memorie
Extant of their knowne brightnesse? hath one night
(Whose nature should be to be proud of stars)
Shut at one time an hundred? nay at once?
Should euery piece of time deprive so many,
How shortly would these lights innumerable
Be vanisht into nothing? But deare
Argus,
That all may know thou hadst a louing mistresse,
Grieuing thou shouldst thus perish for her sake;
And that these eies (now blinde) in after-times
May giue a light to perpetuitie,
And memorize thy name, thy faith and fall,
Thy hundred eyes (who wast for
Iuno slain)
I will transport into my Peacocks traine;
Whilst such a bird hath breeding, and can bee,
Her painted feathers shall remember thee.
Enter Iupiter
and Mercury.
Jup.
And whilest an heifer graseth on the plaine,
Io, her hoofe shall still imprint thy name.
My
Iuno are we friends? Let her long divorce,
My faire intreats, with
Inachus exclaimes
Invoke thy love and pitty, by my life.
Iuno.
You vse me like a sister, not a wife,
My bed is still so empty.
Iup.
Now by Styx,
An oath no god was ever knowne to breake,
Signe her release, she shall hereafter be
To
Iove as a meere stranger.
Iuno.
Since by that you sweare,
What's past is lost, it cuts off future feare,
Saving my quarrell,
Mercury, to you.
Merc.
[Page 175]
Madam, I did your seruant no great wrong,
[...]ave teaching him to relish a new song.
Iuno
Where jars are mediated, vain it were
Call injuries in question. As with
Iupiter,
With you we are atton'd.
Iup.
Now
Mercury,
[...]ince
Iuno is appeas'd, fetch
Io hither,
[...] her owne native beauty, whom we will
Restore vnto her father.
Merc.
Sir I shall.
Enter Inachus
with the other Riuers,
&c.
Inach.
O
Iupiter! ô
Iuno!
Iup.
Inachus,
[...]rcease exclaimes, thy prayers have had accesse,
[...]hy teares been pittied, and thy losse bemoan'd;
Argus is slain, and faire
Saturnia pleas'd,
[...]nd
Io to her pristine shape restor'd.
Enter Mercury
with Io.
Inach.
Thanks you immortall gods.
Merc.
No sooner was this mighty Queene appeas'd,
[...]t the rough haire dropt from her tender skin,
[...]er hornes fell off, her eies appeard to shine
[...] a lesse orbe, her mouth and lips contracted
[...]oth into compasse, and their native sweetnesse,
[...]r shoulders are restor'd, fingers and hands;
[...]r parted hoofe diuided into five,
[...]ow with two feet contented, for on them
[...]e straightway stood erect, and of a Cow,
[...]ve whitenesse, nought retaining, and even yet
[...]e feares to speake, lest she in stead of words
[...]ould bellow forth her minde.
[...].
Yet will I dare
[...]s give my father greeting.
Inach.
O my childe.
[...].
I am still jealous of that face: What's he
[...]hat makes but a mean sport of wedlocks breach,
[Page 176] But thinkes to violate an oath no sin,
Though calling testates all the Stygian gods?
Great King and Lord, Brother and Husband too,
If I be worthy of those attributes
Yourself have daignd, and all the gods approve,
Grant me a second boon.
Iup.
For thy remisnesse
In
Io's late affliction, speake, 'tis granted.
Iuno.
Then from these fields of Tempe banish her,
As far as into Egypt.
Inach.
From her father?
Iup.
Be you pleas'd,
And
Iuno shall, I hope, be satisfied.
Io, you shall to Egypt be confin'd,
Be that your punishment for
Iuno's hate:
Which executed you shall taste our love.
In Egypt held a goddesse thou shalt be,
Ador'd and worshipt in thine heifers shape;
Oblations shall be daily offer'd thee,
And Incense burnt to thy divinitie,
And this for ever.
Iuno, in vain you sorrow,
Ioves word is past, and cannot be revok'd.
And now with this one Maxim we conclude;
Where lust is punisht, though the bloud be tainted,
It (after such long Penance) may be sainted.
Exeunt
FINIS.
APOLLO and DAPHNE.
The Argument.
AFter many a louing greeting,
Mars
and Venus
point a meeting;
And that Vulcan
might not haue
Least note thereof, they chuse a Cave
Obscure and darke, to which they trust,
Intending there to sate their lust.
But when themselues most safe they thinke,
The rising Sun
pries through a chinke,
Sees all, and what hee sees discovers
To Vulcan,
touching these two Lovers.
Th' inraged Smith taking foule scorne
To be affronted with the horne,
Provides for them a subtill
[...],
In hope to take them both therein.
His plot prevail'd, and now being fiery
In iust reuenge, by strict inquiry,
To finde where these by custome met,
He by his art contrives a Net,
More fine than is the Spiders thred,
And yet of wire; which he so spred
About the place, all things compact
So well, he tooke them in the act:
And then doth all the gods invite,
Who came at once to view that sight.
[Page 178]
Some jeer'd, some pitty'd their disgrace,
One wisht himselfe in Mars
his place.
Tet for all this, the churlish Sir
So kept them that they could not stir.
Mars
chafes and threats, and strugling keeps:
But Venus
blushes first, then weeps.
And when tho gods could laugh no more,
Then Vulcan
freed them, not before.
Now Venus
knowing all this done
Was first discover'd by the Sun;
Against him open war proclaimes,
And at him her revenge she aimes:
Cupid
she vseth as her instrument.
And that's of our Scoene the sole argument.
Enter the riuer
Peneus the father of
Daphne, Daphne, Amphrisus and
Apidanus two Riuers that were Suiters un
[...] her; two Nymphs Attendants on
Daphne.
Peneus.
WHy lovely
Daphne, will you lose yo
[...] Youth,
And let your best houres passe yo
[...] Well you know,
Beautie's a Floure, which not being cropt in time,
Soone withers on the stalke, and then (alas)
Will neither serve for vse nor ornament.
You owe me sweet grand-children, pretty babes,
Even for your birth you do: it is a debt
That I would see discharg'd: I to my parents
Paid it in thee; it is a Bond stands firme,
'till canceld in thy sweet posteritie.
See, I have brought thee Suitors, choise ones too,
Two noble Rivers, both residing neere,
Amphrisus, and still-flowing
Appidans,
Yong, and of means, both active and of strength
To wrestle against barrennesse, and give
[Page 179] The hugge the foile. Being dead, I live in thee:
Live thou too in thine issue; so successively
Our Line and memory shall never perish,
But last as long as Time.
Amph.
Your father
(Daphne)
Counsels with iudgement, and this argument
I could by many reasons amplifie.
As, That without succession (one age past)
Mankinde should cease to be. O what a punishment
Deserve they from the gods, that would destroy
[...]o glorious a creation, and to leave
[...]o wonderfull a fabricke as the world is,
To no admirers?
Appid.
Save the Plants and Beasts;
And what can they distinguish?
[...].
Therefore, Daughter
Make vse of time: a season being past,
Can never be recall'd, no, not a moneth.
A moneth? no day, no houre, no minute can:
[...]herefore make use of opportunitie
Which throwes it selfe vpon thee: but being streightned,
Will after prove a stranger; the least instant
[...]y long repentance cannot be redeem'd.
Daphne.
To you I bow in duty, as to a father;
And these affront in noble courtesie,
Not wronging him, to shew my breeding base,
[...]coffing your profer'd love with womanish scorne.
[...]is counsels, your persuasions, I commend,
[...]nowing both fitting, were they seasonable.
[...]hat Maids should love men I am not ignorant,
[...] that the breeding world should still encrease;
[...]hat Progenie should reach from age to age,
[...]nd that the gods make't a necessitie,
[...]o have all their miraculous works admir'd:
[...]l this I know; but
[...]ph.
I'le proceed: But what
[Page 180] Can you produce against this?
Daph.
Heare me out:
But when I in my best considerat thoughts
Ponder my youth, and what it is to loue;
That vowes are tyes not easie to be loos'd,
And that the smallest finger can pluck on
What not the hand and arme can well put off:
That Mariage is a Maze, which enter'd in,
The line is snatcht thence which should guide us out.
Ere hazard then that vnknowne labyrinth,
Much blame me not to pause.
Pen.
What needst thou feare?
Fond timerous Girle, did not thy mother this
Long time before thee?
Appid.
Nay, hereafter too
May not your daughter do so?
Daph.
I'le resolve you
That, when I have a daughter of my yeares,
And tutor'd by her mother.
Amph.
Excellent Nymph,
These are evasions meere vnnecessarie;
We know you to be ripe, and our selves grown,
Betwixt us is equalitie in state,
And paritie in yeares: nor is our course
Irregular or indirect, we come
Admitted by your father, as a way
Plain, and not interdicted: nor is our suit
So far with cradle it may childish seem;
Nor so old, to appeare decrepit: we are two
Rivals, yet friends; so you chuse one of either,
Even he that is despis'd rests satisfied,
Nor is our love divided.
Daph.
I commend you:
There is of you lesse danger, and least feare
That you should die of love; when both of you
Come with like premeditation to disgest
[Page 181] A rigorous answer.
Appid.
Pray what should we do?
Our service we have offer'd equally:
The world is wide, and if we speed not here,
We must provide us elsewhere.
Daph.
Worthy friends.
To be most plain, to me most pleasing is:
Then take as plain an answer; I confesse me
Weake as I am) vnworthy of your love.
And yet not so low pris'd, but have bin courted
Both by as great and good. Nor can you blame me,
If I in adding to your worths, shall spare
From mine, in the least kinde to derogate.
To you then, as my equals, I entreat;
Or if you shall deny me,
Daphne then
Proclaimes it as her will. I must retyre me
For some few moneths, in them to meditate
What mariage is, and truly study man,
(A booke in which I yet have truanted.)
Now, if I in my more maturitie,
And after some cessation of your suits,
Can ground this Maxime, Man is worthy us,
And we of him; wee'l breviat your long motions
Within a few short termes.
Amph.
You speake but reason:
And so long wee'l attend you.
Appid.
Most fit, that such as bargain for their lives,
[...]hould reade us o're and o're, before they set
Their hands to that Indenture. We are pleas'd.
Daph.
And I that you are so. Nor can my father
At this be discontented.
[...]nach.
Not I, Childe;
I would not hurry on my ioyes too fast,
Having such hope of them. And yet, sweet
Daphne,
The more thou hasts their harvest, the ripe crop
Shall be to them more welcome. For this time
[Page 182] 'Tis best to leave her to her privacie:
More leisure that she hath to meditate,
Lesse time you have in which to be resolv'd,
'Twill shorten expectation.
Amph.
May these houres
That adde vnto your yeares, still as you grow,
Increase toward us your love.
Appid.
Friend you pray well,
And in that hope I take a loving leave,
By kissing your faire hand.
Exit.
Daph.
You understand a curtesie as well,
Once being done, as she that knowes to do't.
Farewell. Where be my maids?
1
Nymph.
My Lady, at hand.
Daph. Doth either of you know what this love is,
That men so much affect it?
2
Nymph.
Trust me, not I: I never lookt so far into man
and most sure I am, man never yet entred so farre in
[...]
me, that I should know how to define it. But can y
[...]
tell the reason why this little god is still portraid like
childe?
Daph.
I think, because that dotage which he breeds
Only belongs to children. 1
Nymph. But why naked
Daph.
Either t' affright the Modest; or to such
As vow to him, to expresse their impudence.
2
Nymph.
But why with bow and arrowes?
Daph.
That denotes
Inconstancie, because the shafts of love
Are ever shot at random.
1
Nymph.
Wherefore hood winkt?
Daph.
Howe're his shafts are aim'd, it shewes his kind
Because they strike the eies of Reason blinde.
2
Nymp.
Then am I with Love quite out of love, beca
[...]
at these yeres I should be loath to have one to lead
[...]
Daph.
Yet do I love the beauty of the spring,
To listen to the birds, with various layes
[Page 183] To welcome in his comming. I affect
The pride and warmth of Summer, to behold
Aboundant Autumne poure his harvest forth
In plenteous sheafes; to see the presses bleed
A flowing vintage. But I most admire
The glory of the Sun who comforts these:
For without him, what were the earth? what heaven?
If all were darknesse, who should then discerne
The lustre of the one or of the other,
The fresh fertilitie proudly adorn'd
With choise and change of all discolour'd floures?
More than a cas'd up Iewell, what were Beauty,
Without the Sun to give a brightnesse to 't?
What's ornament, without the Sun to iudge it?
What to be faire or foule, without the Sun,
To censure and distinguish which is best?
The Sun's the deity which I adore.
Here then upon this verdure cast your selves,
And rest a while; not long 'tis e're he will
In all his glory mount the Eastern hill.
They lay themselues downe, then enter Venus
and Cupid.
Venus.
Here on the top of the mount Ericine
Ambush thy selfe, (a place sacred to me)
Where thou mayst boldly front the god of Light,
Who hath by this already chac'd hence night.
I'le leave thee now: strike, but strike home, my son,
I'le in these shades absent me whil'st 'tis done.
Cupid.
He mocks my bow, but
Phoebus soon shall finde
Cupid hath power to strike the Sun-god blinde.
Enter Apollo
with his glittering beames.
Apollo.
The stars are frighted from the firmament,
And at the sight of our illustrious beams
Darknesse vnto the blacke
Cymmerians fled.
Now to our daily progresse through the Signes.
But stay, what's he that with our honors, arm'd,
(The Bow and quiver, proper sole to us)
[Page 184] Braves us upon high
Erix Promontorie?
I know him now, 'tis Paphian
Venus son,
To whom some fooles have vow'd a deity.
I'le know the reason why the bastard brat
Dares thus assume my trophies. 'Morrow
Cupid.
Cupid.
As much to
Phoebus.
Phoeb.
Weake brat resolue me,
By whose inticement thou hast bin so bold
To take to thee the embleme of my power?
Is't not sufficient, thou with brain-sicke toyes
Canst fill the heads of mad men and of fooles,
Who'ascribe to thee a god-head, meerly usurpt?
But thou must weare my due
Impresa insculpt,
And ('bout thy shoulders) those known ornaments,
Apollinis insignia? (Apollo's Ensignes)
Cupid.
And why thine?
Apoll.
Because I am styl'd the god of Archerie;
And where I aime I hit, my prey or enemy,
Kill neere or far. The monstrous serpent
Python
(Whose bulke being slaine, an hundred acres spred)
Had from this bow his wounds, and I my honors:
And shall a childe boast eminence with me?
Cup.
Phoebus, thy bow hath monsters strooke to ground,
But myne hath power the gods themselves to wound,
Of which thou art not least. Mother he's sped,
He shoot
I have pierc'd him home with my shafts golden head.
Ven.
Thou art myne own sweet boy, thy darts ne're fail
[...]
And now
Apollo languish and looke pale,
More wan than did thy sister
Moon once prove,
When for
Endymion she was sicke of love,
Whil'st I laugh and reioyce. Now make all sure,
And strike faire
Daphne whil'st she sleepes secure,
But with contempt and hate.
Cup.
My arrow flies,
And as it hits, sicke of disdain she lies.
Now mother let's away.
Ven.
[Page 185]
Phoebus, I divine,
Thou'It say his shafts can wound as deep as thine.
Exit.
Apoll.
What alteration's this I feele? a heate
Beyond myne owne fire, kindled at myne eye.
Daphne
starts up.
Daph.
All sleep is still in darknesse, yet our soules
See when our eies are shut. My brest's in uprore;
And yet a dream tels me, the morning gray
Sayes the Sun's up, I shame to looke on day.
Apoll.
What Beautie's this on earth, transpiercing more,
Than can the beams from my celestial Orbe?
Daph.
The Sun is up; Awake: What, shame you not
That he should finde you sleeping?
Apol.
Sweet Nymph stay.
Daph.
The shades best please me, I in them will play;
The Sun's too hot and sultry.
Apol.
I am hee
That measures out the yeare; and shun you me
Fair'st of thy sex, behold the Suns bright eye,
That all things sees, by whom you all things spy.
Will you in everlasting darknesse dwell?
Light is heavens emblem, and becomes it well:
Where I appeare, I comfort and make glad;
Be comforted in me, why are you sad?
Would you in blindnesse live? these raies of myne
Give that reflect by which your Beauties shine,
For what are artificial lights? when I
Appeare in fulnesse they soon faint and die.
They only put on counterfeits: my rayes
False colours finde, and give the true the praise.
If yours be such, then prove them by my light,
The world will censure they are pure and right.
Daph.
His piercing beams I never shall endure,
They sicke me of a fatall Calenture.
Apol.
What are you better to be lovely born,
If not beheld? What's state, if not observ'd?
[Page 186] Or wherefore before Cottages do we
Prefer the stately Palace, and the sumptuous roofe?
What vertue were in jewels without me?
Else should they be with pibbles equall pris'd.
Wherefore did Nature make you with bright eies,
Which profit not in night without my beams?
Why should the Rose be red? the Lilly white?
The Violet purple? and the Holly greene?
All rhese my creatures. But when I decline,
And night usurps upon the Vniverse,
Their tincture's not discern'd: but white and red
Which in your peerlesse cheeks exceed all floures,
What lustre beare they? When my beams are gone,
The faire and foule in darknesse seem all one.
Daph.
That darknesse doth best please me: let's away,
My beauty will be sun burnt if I stay,
Hee'l blast me like an Ethiope.
Exit running.
Apol.
Dost thou fly me?
Love bids me follow, and I must pursue:
No vault, no cave or cavern so obscure,
Through which I will not pierce, to finde thee out,
Th' Antipodes for ever want my rayes:
To gaze on her, I'le this Meridian keepe,
And till attain the saint that I adore,
Here ever shine, where night shall be no more.
Exit.
Enter Venus
and Cupid.
Venus.
Laugh
Cupid, laugh, for I am halfe reveng'd,
And shall e're long be fully, when this Blab
Shall in his course, or too much lag or speed
Post somtimes, and again run retrograde.
Where by his too long presence th' earth is scortcht,
Or by his absence th' other world shall freeze:
And all that lies beneath the Moon complaine:
And that the gods at mans request shall call
Disorder into question. What can then
Both heaven and earth conclude when this is done,
[Page 187] But this thou didst to avenge me of the Sun.
Cup.
Will not
Mars thanke me for't?
Uen.
And kisse thee too.
O still by his example punish those
That shal our sweet adulterate sports disclose.
Exeunt.
Enter Daphne
flying, and Apollo
pursuing her.
Apollo.
Why flies my
Daphne, knowing 'tis in vaine:
Love makes me swifter than thy feare can thee.
Daph.
O me, I am so tortur'd with the Sun,
I hate my very shadow.
Apol.
I pursue not
As Eagles, Doves do; or the Lions, Harts;
Or Wolves, the Lambe. Love is my cause of hast:
Run not so fast, lest thou shouldst trip perhaps,
And do thy selfe some dammage: the ground's rough,
Shouldst thou but slide, and I the Author on't,
How much would it offend me? To preuent which,
Stay but thy hast, and I will slack my speed.
Daph.
I am almost breathlesse.
Apoll.
See, I am no Satyre,
Shepheard, or such as live by grazing herds,
Delphos is myne, Pharos, and Tenedos:
Thou know'st not who thou fly'st, I am
Apollo,
The only god that speakes by Oracle:
Iove is my father, and the
Muses nine
Are all my daughters: I am Patron held
Of Numbers, Raptures, and sweet Poesie.
My shafts are ever certain where they aime,
(Yet one more certain, which hath pierc't me deep)
Physicke is myne, I first devis'd that Art,
And could it help me, I were then assur'd:
But Love is by no Simples to be cur'd.
Daph.
O now I am quite spent; help, goddesse
Iuno,
(Queene of chaste marriage) bright
Diana, help
One of thy true vow'd Virgins: change my shape,
That I this hot adulterous Sun may scape.
[Page 188] Sudden Musicke, and she is turned into a Lawrel tree.
Thanks, ô ye Powers divine: the Spheres assent
To my chaste prayer: your heavenly dooms are iust.
Here grow I fixt against all powers of lust.
Apoll.
Strange prodigie! Lesse hope is in her stay,
Than in her speed: her bodie's round incompast
With a rough rinde, in which her warm heart beats.
Her haire is all grown vpward into boughes,
Here milke white fingers and her armes advanc'd
To great and lesser branches: her faire feet
But late so swift, fast rooted in the earth:
And I, whom Love late blinded, now may see
My
Daphne turn'd into a Laurel tree.
Her life still struggles in the churlish barke,
And from her lips I feele her breath still flow.
One blessed kisse at parting, but in vain,
The very tree shrinks from me in disdain.
And yet in lasting memory of thee
And of my love, thou shalt be ever myne:
In all ovatious triumphs and rich shewes
The Laurel shall ingirt the Conquerors browes.
All eminence shall thinke it grac'd in thee.
Poets, the Muses darlings, shall from thee
Receive their honor, and the best esteem'd
Be crowned Laureat, and no excellence
But have it's noble estimate from hence.
Emperors shall prise thy leaves above pure gold:
For thou shalt ever wait on victorie;
And as my youthfull and still unshorne haires
(Vnchanging) of this golden hew are seen,
So shall the boughes and branches still be greene,
And arme against
Ioves lightning. And all these
Shall be for our sake by the gods approv'd,
In memory that
Daphne we once lov'd.
Exit.
Enter Aurora
attended by the Houres.
1
Houre.
How comes it, faire
Aurora, we the
Houres
[Page 189] Are thus disturb'd?
2
Houre.
One halts, whilest th' other runs;
Somtimes made longer by a many minutes,
Somtimes not full three quarters?
Aurora.
Am not I
As much distemper'd, being forc'd to rise
So oft before my time? which makes my husband
Old
Tython jealous (for he bed-rid lies)
I have light on some new Love.
1
Houre.
All's out of order.
Enter the foure Seasons, Spring, Summer, Autumne, Winter.
Spring.
How comes this strange confusion rise of late?
My spring to grow so forward by the Sun?
Summer complaines that I usurpe on her.
Sum.
As much as I on thee, Autumne on me,
And saith, that in my ripening I include
His harvest, and so rob him of his due.
Aut.
Have I not cause? when thou not only claimst
The honor of my crop: But frozen Winter,
Hee keeps a coile too, swearing, I intrude
Into his bounded limits.
Wint.
This I am sure
I am curtaild of my right; my snow is melted,
And hath not time to cloath the mountain tops:
September is like May, Ianuary as Iune:
And all my bright and pretious Isicles
Melting to nothing: What's the reason trow we?
2
Houre.
'Tis the Suns slacknesse, or his too much speed,
That breeds all this distraction.
1
Houre.
The Sun, say you?
Breake he, or not directly keepe his day,
Seasons and Houres all out of order stray.
Enter Day.
Som.
Behold her whom you speak of,
Day, whence come ye?
Day.
I parted now with Night, who had bin here,
But that both must not in one place appeare.
Auror.
[Page 190]
And what saith she?
Day.
Like you, railes on the Sun,
And saith he doth her wrong: nor blame her, when
Being full twelve houres, he scarce affords her ten.
Autumne.
Day, you are the Suns mistresse, hath he not
Reveald the cause to you?
Day.
No, his known brightnesse
Hath unto me been only darke in that.
Nor am I of his counsell.
Winter.
Fine world grown,
When every drunken Sexton hath the skill
To make his giddy clocke go truer far
Than can the best Sun dyall.
Enter Apollo.
Apollo.
What are you
That murmure thus against our Deitie?
Are you not all our creatures? though we give you
Full sailes on earth, do not we steere the helme?
Disposing you both where and how we please;
And dare you thus rebell?
Omnes.
The god of Light
Is our great Lord and Soveraigne.
Apoll.
This submission
Hath somewhat calm'd us: had you still stood out,
Disorder, we had to Confusion turn'd,
And so you all been ruin'd. But henceforth
Morning shall keep her houre, Houres measure day,
In a true scope the Day proportion Weekes,
Weekes, Moneths; Moneths, seasons; to sum up the yeare.
And wee our course in that, perfecting time:
That nothing in this concordance appeare
Either preposterous or vnseasonable.
For which our grace, where-ever you shall finde
This new sprung Laurel, you
Aurora I charge,
With your moist teares bathe her green tender boughes:
From whence I will exhale them with my beams.
[Page 191]
Houres, do you wait vpon her gentle growth.
Day comfort her:
Ver cheere her with thy spring.
Thou
Summer give her warmth: and
Autumne, thou
Dare not to spoile her of her plenteous leaves:
Nor
Winter thou with thy robustuous gusts,
To blait her lasting verdure. These observ'd,
Still flourish under us. And that this unitie
May last amongst you many fortunate yeres,
End in a Hymne tun'd to the chiming Spheres.
The Song.
HOwsoe're the Minutes go,
Run the houres or swift or slow:
Seem the Months or short or long,
Passe the seasons right or wrong:
All we sing that Phoebus
follow,
Semel in anno ridet Apollo.
Early fall the Spring or not,
Prove the Summer cold or hot:
Autumne be it faire or foule,
Let the Winter smile or skowle:
Still we sing, that Phoebus
follow,
Semel in anno ridet Apollo.
FINIS.
The Argument of AMPHRISA the forsaken Shepheardesse.
THe innocence, truth, and simplicitie
Of countrey Damsels: What felicitie
They arrive to in their low estate;
What freedoms they participate,
What ioy, what solace, what content
To their innocuous life is lent.
The humble shed and cottage held
More safe than gorgeous houses, swell'd
With pompe and wealth. It likewise proves
More simple truth in their chaste loves,
Than greater Ladies, tympany' de
With much more honour, state, and pride.
Here's of the Willow wreath dispute,
How, and why worne. What best doth sute
Forsaken Virgins, reade and finde
Their characters who prove vnkinde.
Enter two Shepheardesses,
Pelopoea and
Alope.
Pel.
GOod morrow.
Alop.
So to you, faire Shepheardesse.
Iel.
What newes in our Arcadia?
Alop.
I know none:
For well you wot it is no newes with us,
That men should prove inconstant.
Pel.
Thinke you so?
Alop.
Thought's free.
Pel.
I pray can you define me Thought?
Alop.
[Page 193]
Let me bethinke my selfe, I thinke I can:
For I have thought of many things e're now.
Pel.
But can you guesse what I thinke?
Alop.
I (perhaps)
May jumpe with your conceit, come neere't at least.
Of colours there are none so opposite
As white and blacke: and of the Elements
Than fire and water none more contrary:
Nor is there ought so antipathy' de in men,
As what they thinke and speake.
Pelop.
Now let me helpe you:
Mens thoughts like Courtiers clokes are often shifted,
And change as oft as they are truly sifted.
Alop.
This then hath been the cause of womens sorrow;
Men thinke to day ill, to do worse to morrow:
Witnesse
Amphrisa's servant.
Pel.
Pitty 'tis,
[...]o faire a body, and so sweet a soule
[...]hould be so foulely dealt with. Her false Lover
[...]nkindely hath forsooke her.
Alop.
That's the reason
[...]hee's growne into so deepe a melancholy.
[...] wonder any woman dare trust man,
[...]nce, like as the Chamelions change themselves
[...]nto all perfect colours saving white;
[...] they can to all humors frame their speech,
[...]e only to prove honest.
Pel.
You say well.
[...]t as no wormes breed where they feele no warmth,
[...]o Vultures watch where they can finde no prey;
[...]o Pirat roves but where he hopes for spoile:
[...] none of these false servants wait, but where
[...]hey finde a yeelding Mistresse.
Alop.
Indeed light minds are catcht with little things,
[...]nd Phancie smels to Fennell.
Pel.
But
Amphrisa
[Page 194] Is held to be the wisest shepheardesse
That lives in our Arcadia.
Alop.
But I have heard,
Late wit and cheated wisedome to be counted
Next neighbours unto folly. Shepheards now,
The holier that they seeme in outward shew,
The hollower are their hearts. By subtill sophistry
(As I have heard) the best Philosophy
May be perverted. And mens flatteries
Are iust like
Circes riches, which can turne
Vain glorious fooles to Asses, credulous Fooles
To Woodcocks, pretty wanton Fooles to Apes,
And proud Fooles into Peacocks.
Pel
But amongst these,
Amphrisa had no place.
Enter Amphrisa
seeming discontented.
Alop.
See, here she comes
That for her selfe can answer.
Pelop.
But 'twere sinne
In us, not to be answer'd, thus to suffer her
To pale the cheerefull bloud in her farre cheeks,
Through wilfull passion. Which I'le not endure.
Alop.
Then rowse her from these dumps.
Pel.
You'r sad,
Amphrisa:
Sweet may we know the cause?
Amphrisa. You have prevented
A strange conceit which somewhat troubled me;
But by your interruption almost lost.
Pel.
Nay recollect your selfe, pray let us hear't.
Amph.
I was thinking, why
Parrasius, drawing Youth,
Made Love to tickle one side with a feather,
To move a smile; and with the other hand
To sting it with a Scorpion.
Pel.
You'r stung then.
But I was thinking on
Praxiteles,
Who drew his mistresse thus: Looke on her one way,
[Page 195] She laught upon him: Strait before, she wept:
But change the side, and cast your eye adverse,
And then she appear'd sleeping. And so you,
Fit but your phansies unto such a face,
You'l ne're complain of servant.
Amph.
Then it seems,
My storie's told aforehand.
Alop.
Yes, and rumor'd
Through all Arcadia.
Amph.
And none pitty me?
Pel.
There's none so marble brested, but doth melt
To heare of your disaster.
Amph.
Is there one,
To whom the cause of my disease is knowne,
That can prescribe me cure for't?
Pelop.
Without feeling
Your pulse, I know the nature of your griefe:
You have an heate, on which a coldnesse waits,
A paine that is endur'd with pleasantnesse,
And makes those sweets you eat have bitter taste:
[...] puts eies in your thoughts, eares in your heart:
[...]Twas by desire first bred, by delight nurst,
And hath of late been wean'd by jelousie.
Amp.
But how can these disgusts be remedy'd,
Which Reason never yet could comprehend?
Pel.
By patience.
Amp.
That's a physicke all prescribe,
But few or none doth follow. Pray what is't?
Pel.
It is the best receit that can be tooke
Both against love and fortune (Crost in both.)
Alop.
To wish the best, to thinke vpon the worst,
And all contingents brooke with patience.
[...]s a most soveraigne medicine.
Pelop.
And moreover;
What cannot be redrest with peevishnesse,
Ought to bee borne with patience.
Alop.
Patience?
[...]he is so like to Fortitude herselfe,
That by her sweet aspect she appeares to be
Her sister or her daughter.
Pel.
[Page 196]
The onely remedy for injuries, is
By patience to forget them. And more noble
It is to yeeld your selfe in triumph to't
Then to be drawne by force.
Amp.
You have prevaild,
For I am now your Patient; and intreat you,
Like skild Phisitians, study for my health.
Alop
From their Doctors
The sick expect more art then eloquence:
And therefore what defect you find in words,
Expect in our Prescriptions.
Enter their Queene and two Nymphs.
Queen
I never was with pastime better pleas'd;
So cleare a morning, and such temperate ayre;
The Sun so bright, yet sparing of his heat,
Made all the toyle we tooke (to chace the Stag)
To seeme no labour, but an exercise.
The wily beast to shun our swift pursute,
Forsooke the Plaines, to take the mountaine tops.
Yet maugre the opposure of the Rocks
And clifts depending to molest our speed
Our well-tride Nymphs, like wild Kids clim'd those hils
And thrild their arrowie Iavelins after him:
Nor left the chace, till all those golden heads
Were new stain'd in his blood.
1.
Nymph.
It prov'd, great Queene
Your active Nymphs were better breath'd than he,
For whom we could not overtake, we tyr'd:
That done, we toucht our Beagles, and so made
Both hills and vallies eccho to his death.
2.
Nymph.
He stood so long, and made us stray so far,
Amongst the Swaines and lovely Shepheardesses,
That use to graze their Flocks upon these downes;
The Sun must needs passe the Meridian,
E're we can reach the Lodge.
Qu.
The Arcadian Girles
Are of no common beauty; as their habits
[Page 197] Much grace the fields; so many of those features
Mine eye by chance hath glanc't on in the Chace,
In mine opinion would become the Court.
They say, these virgins are acute in wit,
And fluent in conceit, to speake or sing;
As having oft drunke from the Muses spring.
1.
Nym.
See, Royall Queene, where three (not of the meanest
Or least to be respected) are retyr'd.
Qu.
Be not too lowd, These bowes will shelter us;
Let's l
[...]sten how they fashion their discourse,
And how far short the Folds and Cottages
Come of the Court or City.
Amp.
Nay pray prescribe. 'Tis said of all Physitians
What good comes by their Physick, the Sun sees:
But in their art, if they have bad successe,
That the earth covers. Howsoe're I suffer,
You blamelesse are.
Alop.
All those that are unskilfull
Will flatter griefe 'till it grow desperate.
But though you know the use of Physick sweet,
To taste it is unsavory.
Amp.
Howsoever I am prepar'd.
Pel.
Imagin first, You never had a servant.
Alop.
Not so: for who can know the sweet of ease,
That never was in paine?
Pel.
Or say she had,
Thinke that he ne're playd false.
Alop.
A meere relapse,
Before the first be cur'd, to thinke him faithfull,
Were but to enter her disease anew,
To make her griefe more violent.
Amp.
But one speake:
The medicine that's propos'd of contraries,
Can ne're breed peace of mind.
(Qu.
All, solid sence.)
For I perceive, those that are sound themselves,
[Page 198] Have still more will to help, than skill to cure.
Pel.
Well, Mistresse Doctor I'le give way to you.
Alop.
Thinke then you had a servant, and he false;
For whose sake never more trust per jur'd man.
And though some say
Iove winks at Dovers Oathes,
'Tis (after) with broad eyes to punish them.
Words should not credit men, but men their words:
For he that breaks his promise lies to heaven;
And whom Heaven hates, who but would feare to love
Most cursed 'tis to flatter and forsweare;
And dearth of oathes is blessed barrennesse.
You'r sicke at heart: the only help for that
Is, Let your heart abhorre his trecherie,
And him, for it. You'r pain'd too in the head,
She present a wrea
[...] of will
[...]
For that here's balm made or a willow wreath.
Let this charm'd c
[...] ele but impale your brows,
'Tis present help for both.
Amp.
Make this apparant.
Alop.
Thus: All th' Arcadian Swains & Nymphs that
[...]
Your browes ingirt with this for saken wreath
Will take note of his falshood, and your faith;
Your innocence, and his inconstancie:
And those that weare teares in their eies for you,
Of love and pitty, to be thus abus'd,
Will steep their tongues in wormwood and in gall,
To brand him for his open perjury;
Their pitty, with your patience join'd,
(With this to boot) will prove an absolute cure.
Amph.
Some ease I finde already, crowne me then.
She is crowned with Willow.
Alop.
May, wheresoe're your head you softly pillow,
Be ne're more troubled, whil'st thus wreath'd in willow
Amph.
Nor shall it,
Alope, for from this houre,
Hearts griefe nor heads paine shall of me have power.
I now have chac'd hence sorrow.
Queen.
This conceit
[Page 199] Hath tooke me highly; and great pitty 'tis,
That such choice wits should finde no other eares
Than those that Swains, and flocks, and fowls have. Wit
So spent, is only treasur'd in the aire.
The earth hath least part on't. Virgins, Good day.
Nay, do not fall too low.
Pel.
You are our Queen.
Alop.
And Lady of our fortunes.
Qu.
By that title
I do command you then to spare your knees.
Nay rise.
Amp.
'Tis only by your Grace and goodnesse
We breathe and live.
Qu.
It is enough to me,
That you present us such acknowledgement.
And as for you, faire Virgin, I could wish
Your Willow were a Lawrel. Nay, so 'tis:
Because all such may be styl'd Conquerors,
That can subdue the ir passions.
Alop.
Our feare is,
That if our rude discourse have toucht your eare,
The coursenesse might offend you.
Qu.
Pleas'd us highly:
Which that you may perceive in mee's vnfeignd,
I charge you, as I am your Soveraignesse,
All coynesse and evasion set apart,
To be most free in language.
Pel.
Imposition
That comes from you is vnto us a Law,
Which ought to be kept sacred.
Qu.
I'le as freely
Command then, as you willing are t'obey,
For were I not a Queen, I'de wish to be
As one of you, a witty Shepheardesse.
Pray sing me somthing of your countrey life,
To make me more in love with't.
Amp.
[Page 200]
Tis our feare; A life that is so meane, so ill exprest
As needs it must bee, (if impos'd on us)
May make you rather loath it.
Qu.
I had thought
Courts onely had beene fill'd with complement,
Of which I see, the cottage is not cleare.
Amp.
Give not our simple truth, and feare to offend,
A character we know not (gratious Queene)
But howsoever, if you make us faulty,
You have the power to pardon.
Qu.
And presume
That's granted, e're the offence be.
Amp.
Then thus, Madam.
She sings.
The Song.
We that have knowne no greater state
Than this we live in, praise our fate:
For Courtly silkes in cares are spent,
When Countries russet breeds content.
The power of Scepters we admire;
But sheep-bookes for our use desire.
Simple and low is our condition;
For here with us is no ambition.
We with the Sunne our flockes unfold,
Whose rising makes their fleeces gold.
"Our musick from the birds we borrow;
"They bidding us, we them, good morrow.
These last two lines twice
Qu.
Nay, faire ones, what you have begun in song,
Continue in discourse: Wee would heare more
Of your pleas'd life.
Amp.
Your highnesse may command.
Our habits are but course and plaine,
Yet they defend from wind and raine.
As warme too, in an equall eye
As those be, stain'd in Scarlet dye.
Those that have plenty weare (we see)
But one at once; and so doe we.
Alop.
[Page 201]
The Shepheard with his home-spun Lasse
As many merry houres doth passe,
As Courtiers with their costly Girles,
Though richly deckt in gold and pearles:
And though but plaine, to purpose woo,
Nay oft-times with lesse danger too.
Pel.
Those that delight in dainties store,
One stomack feed at once, no more.
And when with homely fare we feast,
With us it doth as well digest:
And many times wee better speed;
For our wild fruits no surfets breed,
Amp.
If we sometimes the Willow weare,
By subtill Swaines that dare forsweare.
We wonder whence it comes, and feare,
Th' have beene at Court, and learn'd it there.
If any Lady then shall please,
Whose cheeke lookes pale through my disease,
By any faithlesse servant, or false friend,
(Being cur'd myselfe) this I can give or lend.
She offers the willow.
Qu.
Beleeve't, a sweet conclusion: for oft-times
Such things fall out. But we have further heard
(Besides what now our eares are witnesse to)
That as your words keepe time, your voices tune;
So hath the curious motion of your feet
Beene taught to know true measure. You can dance?
Amp.
Yes royall Princesse, as we sing and speake,
After such rurall fashion.
Qu.
If no worse,
It may become a Theatre of eyes,
Yet wrest no blushes from you. Will you then,
Since that we parallell in number thus,
Helpe us to fill a measure?
Pelop.
So wee thought
There might no jarring discords grow from us,
To spoile your better musick.
Qu.
[Page 202]
No such feare.
Come then, such musicke as the place will yeeld,
Wee'l instantly make vse of.
Musicke sounds, and they dance the measure.
Qu.
Compleat in all: You have made us now Eie-witnes
Of what, Relation sparingly hath spoke.
To encourage which, and that so great a merit
Passe not without some meed, receive these favors,
And weare them for our sake.
Jewels given.
Time bids us part.
Greater than these we have for you in store,
And mean hereafter to employ you more.
FINIS.
An Emblematicall Dialogue, interpreted from the Excellent and most learned D. Iac. Catzius; which sheweth how Virgins in their chaste loves ought to beare themselves.
1. The Argument.
TWo modest Virgins, of unequall time,
Th'one past, the other growing to her prime,
(Anna
and Phillis)
interchange some chat
Of Love, of Mariage, and I know not what.
2. The Argument.
ANne
hearing Phillis
her rude Love relate,
(Whose tender brest was free from all deceit)
Feares lest her youth to lust she might ingage,
And bids her to be couns
[...]l'd by her age.
A Virgins office, and how Maids be caught,
(Saith she) three times vine Winters have me taught:
Take me thy Guide, and no way thou canst
[...]re,
Who before Venus
sweets, chaste love prefer.
Which in alternate language whil'st they plead,
In view and presence of the Marriage bed,
Phillis,
whom youth and fresh love doth possesse,
Her amorous thoughts begins thus to expresse.
We, when in health, for sicke folks counsel finde,
But sicke our selves; we quickly change our minde.
Without Marriage there is no courage.
Phi.
Whilst neere my Fathers house I observ'd but late
Two Turtles bill, and either court it's mate,
I cald to minde the palme which I might spy
Drooping, because the male plant was not nye,
Whom with erected lookes when she beheld,
She buds, she bloome, with fruit her branches sweld,
At which I said (O
Venus) were I dead,
But that I thinke it a sweet thing to wed!
Which as I spake, (and more would have exprest)
I felt soft love to steale into my brest.
Trees have their Ardor, and the birds their flame,
The Mountaine bo
[...]es, and wild beasts have the same
Nor doth the scaly fish want their desire,
Why then should onely Virgins shun this fire?
Concerning which the Poet Lucretius is thus read.
Each generation that on earth abides,
Whether of beasts, or men, (whom reason guides,
Horses or Cattle, what's beneath the Sunne,
Into this firy ardor madly runne.)
Most things unprov'd cannot content us,
Which being tryde they oft repent us.
An.
Into the Brides yoake wilt thou madly fly,
Thinking there Roses, and sweet. Apples lie?
If such a thing as pleasure be? search round;
In mans rude armes it never can be found.
What is this snare to which young Virgins haste,
But like the Osier weel in rivers plac't?
The fish yet free, to enter wind about,
Whilst they within are labouring to get out.
Boyes in their first heate, want the wit to tarry,
And Girles (not ripe) are mad untill they marry;
When scarce the one hath warm'd the others side,
But they wish beds and houses to divide.
[Page 205] Diog Laert tells us that it was a saying of Socrates, that young batchelers desirous of marriage were like to fishes who play about the weele, and gladly would get in, when on the contrary they that are within strive how they should get out.
The family of the unmarried is lame.
Phi.
Though you say, Wedlock doth such troubles breed,
Love bids, and
Hymen prompts me to proceed.
The tedious silence of a forlorne bed
To me is hatefull, therefore must I wed:
Looke how the Ducks mourne when they misse the male,
No one but droopes her wings, and flags her tayle,
But he once come, the pond with clamour rings,
And you then see another face of things.
The good man absent: then the fire doth freeze,
The house is sad, the wife her mirth doth leese.
(They all are troubled,) when the maide doth aske
To goe to rest, shee's put to some new taske.
A beard's the houses prop, (besides is none)
There can be no delight to sleepe alone.
‘Impose the burthen of virginity on none (saith Ignatius the ancient Theologist) being a yoake which even the Vrgin Vestal? (of old) in Rome were not able to beare, to whom onely five yeares were injoyned to abstaine from marriage, and to keepe the holy fire from going out.’
Binde in thy flames.
An
Though thou hast such a will to change thy state,
Yet gently heare me what I shall relate,
The flame (too raging) that by heate is blowne,
To fit the marriage bed was never knowne.
Observe the Cooper when he joynes his tunne,
That the con racted planks may evenly runne,
(The sury of the violent heat to tame)
In a round Iron cradle keepes his flame,
By his example thine hot fires suppresse,
[Page 206] Lest this or that way fondly it digresse.
With amorous tales let not thine eares be tainted.
Before thy mother be therewith acquainted;
Shee'l tell thy Father; so take off thy care,
They well provide to keepe thee from the snare.
Cicero tells us that it is fit, men should be brought within the compasse of reason and learning
And Cipri. that the tutors or guardians, namely, the Father, Grand-father, or Brother, were woont of old to contract young Virgins, which ancient custome is upon great consideration observed in these dayes, And amongst other causes, especially in regard of the weaknesse, and bashfulnesse of the sex: and wee read in Euripides that when Orestes sollicited Hermione for marriage, Her answere was, My espousals remaine in my Fathers power, and not mine.
By the finger, not the tongue.
Phi
Shall I then clamour for an husband? no,
My virgin shame forbids me to doe so,
Three lusters, and three yeares ore past, I pray,
Is't not enough? what more can virgins say?
Looke how that watch doth the swift houres divide,
And with its hand doth to the figures guide,
It nothing speakes, yet points (early and late
To what it meanes, such is our virgins state,
Although the mind be silent, and sit mute,
Her mature age (though tongueles) moves her suit.
It shewes her to be enterd in her prime,
And tells the parents that shee loseth time.
Her round brests speak, fresh cheeks & brows so faye
Thus the whole girle's dissoly'd to silent prayer.
That Father is much to bee blamed, who when h [...] Daughter is in her full maturity provideth her not [...] Husband. Well therefore said Ignatius, A ripe Virgin to prevent the wrinckles of age, may speake to her Father in private, to dispose of her in marriage.
[Page 207] And wee read Claudian thus:
The virgins ripe age breeds the fathers cares,
Who, for her sake neglects his Lords affaires.
The Colony is to bee removed elsewhere.
Phi.
When the earth helpes the Vine her sprigs to beare,
Tis fit they should transplanted be elsewhere.
The dresser calls and sayes these same will bud,
And prosper bravely if the soyle be good.
I have two swelling brests that twins can feed,
A lap besides to dandle those I breed:
And my virginity (say what you can)
Proclaimes me now that I am ripe for man.
I looke on Wives, and wish that I were such,
But grieve my Father will not see so much:
Yet long he shall not barre me from that blisse
Which law allowes, or I am taught amisse.
That daughter who hath past the age of five and twenty, if she marry without her fathers consent, by the law of some Nations cannot be deprived of her dowry, because the father ought to consider in time convenient to provide his daughter of an husband, and himselfe of a Son-in-law: but when our Phillis professeth her selfe not to bee much above fifteene, it is ridiculous in the maide longing for marriage, to wrest the law, and apply it unto her owne purpose.
After the wound, in vaine is warning.
An.
What's shame to speake, is it not sinne to act,
To blush at words, and not to blame the fact.
No girle that's wise to lovers will incline,
The choyse should be thy parents, and not thine.
Courtship inchaunts, when lovers vow they faigne,
And enterd once, there's no way back againe.
Vaine is it for the wounded Whale to fly,
Who carelesse earst before the stroke did lye.
Loves arrowes to remove, or ease their smart,
As vaine it is, if once they touch the heart.
[Page 208] Then of thy parents counsell first be sure
Before thy choise: once wounded there's no cure.
If regard be to be had of dignity, comlines or honesty; then in the contracting of marriages, it is more decent and seemely, if the parents troth plight their daughters to their husbands, and tye them together with their owne tongues, than if they themselves immodestly in their owne language subject themselves to one anothers power. Cypr.
They that in gathering
Venus flowers are free,
Say daily, these to morrow such will bee.
Meane time soft fires into our bosomes creepe,
And the worst trees still root themselves most deepe.
Ovid.
The more haste, the worse speed.
An.
In hast's no helpe: if follow love, 'twill fly,
Lovers hate such as come to every cry.
Of any sudden conquest they are sick,
Nor what they covet, would have come too quick.
When the Lord sends to bid the Cooke make haste,
He straight gives charge the spit turne not too fast,
Lesse speed is made, the meat's the sooner ready.
Hee hinders and not hasts that is too speedy.
Shee that in
Cupids Kitchin would command
Must have dull motion, and a tardy hand:
Tis speed that spoyles all, spurres are in delay,
No lover stoopes unto a yeelding prey.
All delay is odious, yet it brings on wisdome.
Sen.
You that would marry, though you both make speed,
Delay't awhile, small stay great gaine may breed.
‘Delayes oftentimes bring to passe that hee who should have dyed, hath killed him who might have lived.’ Clem. Alexand.
For what wee can, wee care not
An.
Wee see in birds for whom the pitfall's set,
Such as would faine be tooke, escape the net.
Others that would fly thence, the strings combine,
[Page 209] Their captive legges intangling in their twine.
She that first craves deserves a scornefull smile,
As both in maid or woman hold most vile.
Shee's onely certaine to be caught that flies,
Shee teacheth to bee su'd to that denies.
Coy Dames the brests of lovers most besot,
The sweetest kisses are by struggling got.
That game best pleaseth which is sur'st in chace,
Not that being swolne, and lies dead in the place.
What I most wish may for a time be spar'd,
Nor pleaseth me the conquest that's prepar'd.
Petron.
To this purpose is that of Sencea the Philosopher, it [...]ameth me to enter conflict with a man prepared to bee [...]vercome. The sword-player holdeth it a great indignity [...] bee matched with his inferiour, as knowing it can bee [...]o glory to him to subdue that man, who is vanquisht without danger.
Presse occasion.
[...]i.
What means this
Ann? thinkst thou me mad, that I
What my heart thinks should with my tongue deny?
Past loves, in vaine she studieth to recall,
Who to her friend hath shewed no grace at all,
Whilst golden
Venus with a cheerefull face
Smiles on our acts, let's lose nor time nor place.
The wary
Ospray whilst the fishes play
Above the wave, stoopes downe to cease her prey.
That Bird for our example is we knowe,
Who slips no time, parts conquerour from his foe.
Catch at occasions, looke e're he passe by thee,
Let him escape, and
Venus too will flie thee.
‘If in the very moment of occasion the opportunity [...]ere of by thy delay or negligence thou hast o'reslipt, in [...]ne it is to complaine upon it being past.’ Liv.
The honour of virginity perisheth in the lasting
While th'envious Rose, wrapt in new leaves we find,
She hides her beauty in a thorny rinde.
[Page 210] Forbeare your hand (boyes) for their pricks are found
Nor can you crop the bud without a wound.
But stay the time, the flower it selfe will spred,
But if not gathered then, the leaves will shed.
Sweet are young maides to lovers in their prime,
And pleasant love rejoyceth in that time.
She that is long a maid, scarce such appeares,
Virginity still wasteth with her yeares.
Let
Cupid have our vigor, and youths fire,
Maides young deny, what old, they most desire.
‘Standing streames gather mud, but running rive [...] are fresh and sweet.’
‘Such as resist love, must either have no braine, or [...] eyes.’ Protogenes.
‘Ambition and love are impatient of delay: li [...] gring growes loathsome where necessity craves has [...]’ Quintilian.
No prize if not provok't.
An.
A deeper Sea I now perforce must saile,
And lay my sheats ope to a freer gale.
Such as the subtle traines of love would fly,
Let them upon this embleme cast their eye.
Thou seest that net which hangeth in the glade,
A traine for Woodcocks by the Fowler made;
He doth not touch the strings, but remote stands,
Whilst her owne weight compels her into bands.
If took or not, the traveller scarce knowes,
Because the net inforc't about her flowes.
Virgins beware by this, if tooke at all,
Catch not thy selfe, but by thy suiter fall.
Draw not upon thy selfe that subtle frame,
So shalt thou make the Fowler his owne game.
Many virgins at their contractings rather com [...] then speake, especially if their parents bee then presence, lest they should appeare to desire a husb [...] which in maids is not seemely, and Baldus observes, [Page 211] it is ingrafted in the nature of women to bee silent, especially at the time when there is a treaty of their marriage; moreover it is a great signe of virginall modesty, to blush when marriage is but named: according with that of the Poet.
Quale coloratum
Tithoni conjuge Coelum
Subrubet, aut sponso visa puella novo.
Like to the coloured Heaven, by' the morning dyde,
Or blushing maide by her new husband spyde.
It lights, but leads not.
An.
If to more proper rules a minde thou hast,
Take these: and more, Ile not allow thee chast.
On the vast Seas the Beacon doth display
Its light: directing ships their safest way.
The flame doth show the harbour to be neare,
Yet doth not helpe the Mariner to steare:
'Tis they must guide the Sayles, and ply the Oare,
Save light from it, they can expect no more.
If thy face, speake thee not of
Cynthias traine,
And thou the Vestals modest dresse disdaine:
Thou onely on the shore, to light them, stand,
But let the Sayler labour how to land.
‘It much behoveth a virgin to be very circumspect in cases of matrimony, that for the honour of her sex, she neither seeme to offer her selfe, or to doe any thing against modesty: lest it happen unto her, as (wee read) it did to Icasin a noble and learned virgin, who when she became so gracious in the eyes of Theophilus Emperour of Constantinople, that he seemed to offer her a golden apple as a pledge of nuptiall faith and contract: She was taxed for her too ready answer and acception thereof, and for griefe of mind confinde her selfe into a Monastery.’ Cypri.
No play without some pray.
Phi.
If it be harmefull then for maides to woo,
[Page 212] What we are bar'd may not our Fathers doe?
Trust me, to tardy louers sport it lends,
And love hath often growne from bare commends.
The Latian King would needs
Aeneas draw,
To take his daughter, whom (before he saw)
The Trojan lov'd: but fathers that are wise
With better art these contracts may disguise.
More private slights there are: by agents, best
Where many are, still one may helpe the rest.
By Birds, the Fowler to his net, birds drew,
Yet in the act, seem'd as he nothing knew.
Parents of old made proffer of their Daughters to Husbands before they sought after them, neither did they imagine in that to have done any thing uncomly or undecent. Wee read in the first of Kings, chapter eighteenth, Saul offred his Daughter unto David Homer reports that Alcinous did the like to Vlysses. Virgil that Latinus did the same to Aeneas: Terence, that Chreme [...] did it to Pamphilus. Herodotus, that it was done by Megacles to Pisistratus, and Zonoras and others, that Darius did as much to Alexander, &c.
Try ere you trust.
An.
Wary's thine art, but not from danger sure,
For dost thou thinke that craft can be secure?
Wretch th'art deceiv'd. We live in corrupt times,
Nor can craft long conceale her subtile crimes.
Adde that the profferd bride few humors fits,
As fearing there be baites laid in their bits.
Whilst aged
Priam to
Achilles sues
To take his child, he doth the match refuse.
Let Fathers pause untill their minds they know,
and whether they be well dispos'd or no.
The Foxe his eare unto the Ice doth lay
E're venter on; if heare them crack, hee'l stay.
Whilst Darius to Alexander, Priamus to Achilles [...] Alcinous to Ulysses, without due circumspection made [Page 213] offer of their daughters, they were altogether frustrate in their hopes and expectations, therefore the wiser are of opinion: that nothing ought to be profferd, which hath not before beene proved.
Too much light dimmes the sight.
An.
Concerning
Habit, which in Love's not least,
Receive these few rules fit to be imprest.
Cost (within compasse) doth the young man taste,
Neatnesse best pleaseth love, where there's no waste.
When once thy virgins habit is laid by,
And th'art a wife, thy gifts will then grow high.
If thou (before) in princely jemmes shalt shine,
He'l say; my gifts are sleight, shee needs not mine.
Rich vesture I have seene Lovers to'affright,
Youth starts at Iewels when they shine too bright,
Much oyle chokes lampes. The Lysard when he lies
Too open to the hot Sunne, faints and dies.
‘A cleanlinesse is to bee used by women, neither despised, nor too exquisit, onely let it avoid clownish and sordid negligence.’ Cicero.
‘She that hath too much care over her attire, sheweth she hath little regard of her vertue.’ Cato Cens.
Husbandmen praise best those eares of corne which bow down, and make the stalk crooked, more then such as grow straight and up right, as being assured to find more grain in the one than in the other. Humblenes in heart & habit, is both pleasing to God, and acceptable with man.
Cheekes oft painted, are soone tainted.
An.
A grave man supping with my Father said,
(What in my brest, I ever since have laid)
Then Peach trees (when they flower) nothing more faire,
And none more sordid when their bowes are bare.
That wife growes often loathsome by neglect,
Who (yet a Maid) her selfe too nicely deckt.
How comes this too much liberty of dresse?
When a whole day is spent in't (and no lesse)
[Page 214] Too curious trimming maides hath oft mis-led,
Nor did it ever suite the marriage bed.
It oft falls out, such as most leasure find,
To paint their cheekes, their husbands do not mind:
But from all ages, this a maxime was,
None loves her distaffe, who admires her glasse.
Let not thy habit be too rich nor too base, make it neither for admiration, nor contempt; their ornament is cald womanly neatnesse, by which is meant modest handsomnesse, free from curiosity or cost: and Vives in the same place proceeds thus: in thy garments it is injoyned thee that they be not over nise or precious, but without spot or staine. For I cannot imagine how much the purity of the mind rejoyceth at the matronlike neatnesse of the body.
Fire from Frost.
An.
But say the reine be given up to thine hands,
And the sad suiter at thy mercy stands;
Though burne within, perswade him thou dost freeze
For still to smile, will much advantage leese.
The Sunne shines clearest breaking from a cloud,
Sweet is the North-wind when it breaths not lowd.
Heat flies, love bates, and suiters weary grow,
When the fond Girle doth too much favour show.
Water doth make the lime-chalk scortch with heat,
And the Smiths flame by water grows more great.
Learne to say nay, love heightens by deniall,
And hath through wounds and difficult things best triall
Better the Bee on flowers doth feed,
Having first tasted on a weed.
The starres of greater lustre show,
After the North-wind leaves to blow.
When
Lucifer hath chac't hence night,
The blushing morning showes more bright.
Boeth.
‘It may be called a disease rather than mirth, ever to smile on them who alwaies laugh at thee, or to frame the countenance unto every mans humour.’ Seneca.
The light to keepe,
snuffe not too deepe.
Ph.
Too strict thy rules are, golden
Venus cries,
To no such lawes she tender virgins ties.
If like the Sabines we contract the brow,
Give them bad words, use them we care not how;
We shall our loves make weary of their lives,
As farre more fit to be made Souldiers wives.
Cupid inur'd to lie soft and secure
In
Venus shades, no hardnesse can endure.
Say, brittle be his shafts, that their points turne,
Flashie his fire, and cannot ever burne.
To cleare the taper, if you snuffe too deepe,
Out goes the lighr, i'th darke you may goe sleepe.
‘When one churneth milke he bringeth forth butter: and hee that wringeth his nose causeth bloud to come out: so he that forceth wrath bringeth forth strife.’ Pro. 30.
Thy secure pastime should be mixt with feare,
Or else thy favours he'l not hold so deare.
Passions too high, will speaking lie.
An.
If chide; 'tis nothing, there's no danger, know:
(I speake strange things) love doth by brauling grow:
He first retyres and must goe back some step,
Who hath a mind to make the stronger leap.
The further
Cupid drawes his elbow back,
He deeper strikes, and makes the greater wrack.
Warre begets peace, jarre to atonement tends,
Thus
Mars and
Venus quarreld, and were friends.
Adde this: his wrath up to the height to wind,
To search what gall thou in his breast canst find.
Anger will lay his heart wide ope, and bare,
In rage, (for men to hide their thoughts) 'tis rare.
Those Doves, who late, each other sought to wound,
Now joyne their bills with murmure and sweet sound.
Ovid.
Lovers stray, where there's no way.
[...].
Court, kisse, drinke deepe, strow roses when you meet,
And let your banquets be of junkets sweet.
[Page 216] In little, little space, unhappy thou,
With a sad soule beneath his feet shalt bow.
The beane-stalke by a slender wand doth clime,
Shooting his head up to the ayre in time.
The top it aimes at, having reacht unto't,
He bowes his wanton head downe to the root.
Lovers rash heat unto the utmost aimes,
And though thou grant it much, yet more it claimes.
Give all; 'tis not enough, unlesse thou grant
(Of what hee hath) He to his friend may vaunt.
‘This also is to bee admonished them, that virgins smile not on all such as laugh upon them: which indeed is not seene in any but such as are rather immodest on madde, shee ought not also to suffer her selfe to bee tugged or over want only toucht, but rather to shunne the place, or forbeare the company. If shee cannot otherwise avoide it.’ Vives.
They care nor feare, For what they sweare.
An.
Let neither promise, nor complaint perswade,
Nor his laments thy tender brest invade.
Seest thou that Reed, which when the North winde blowes
Bowes downe it's head, and like a suppliant showes;
But the gust past, it growes straight as a line,
And of the former storme remaines no signe.
The Bee makes honey till his sting be gone,
But that once lost, he soone becomes a Drone.
The sutor sues, and seekes, and gives good words,
Whilst she stands off, and no kind grace affoords:
But with contempt and scoffing he'l retire,
When he hath once obtain'd his wisht desire.
Rash oathes by raging lovers uttered, bind
Like words inscrib'd on water, or in wind.
Hot love groweth soone cold; and faith plighted with feigned vowes as it is tyed without conscience, so for the most part it is broken without care.
Touch it with salt,
it turnes to nothing.
An.
That thy prime age, thou without staine mayst weare,
See thou to no obscene talke lend thine eare,
When wanton youth 'gainst modesty makes warre
To make it captive, such their weapons are.
Therefore, if any with a blushlesse face,
And talke uncomely, presse into the place;
Grace nothing, but a brow censorious take
And answer him, as if some Matron spake.
Observe the snaile, on which if salt you cast,
To water first it turnes, to naught at last.
Let but thy words into lowd thunder breake,
And instantly, hee'l have no word to speake.
‘ Posthumia the vestall, because shee was free in laughter, and more liberall in discourse with men, then became her order, was cald in question about incest: but being acquitted of that crime by Spurius Minutius, then High Priest or Flamin, he admonished her that thenceforward shee should conforme her language to her life.’ Plutarch.
‘As the North-wind driveth away the raine, so doth an angry countenance, the slandering tongue.’ Prov. 25. 23.
There's much danger, to trust a stranger.
Phi.
To marry, in my thoughts much better were,
It strengthens bashfull shame, preventing feare.
An.
But light and hasty will, doth fraud provoke,
Who eates with too much speed may hap to choake.
When
Palamedes birds the rusticks take,
They snares of paper, daub'd with birdlime, make.
The meate the fowle loves, in the midst is plac't,
Which whilst the hungry bird desires to taste,
The slimy paper blinding both her eyes,
She now a pray before the fowler lies.
Most justly they the Cities scorne are made,
Who will be caught, yet see the traine that's laid.
The way to marriage is doubtfull and double, the one [Page 218] leadeth to misery, the other to happinesse: therefore before thou givest thy selfe into that way, it behoveth thee to be of that solicitous deliberation which is reported of Hercules travelling where two wayes met: for if once in marriage, it hath hapned unto thee ill, there is no art by which thou canst correct it; for thou art falne into the number of those, of whom the proverb speakes, Hee deserveth no pitty, that chuseth to doe twice amisse.
It is more honest after thou hast once determined, to love, rather than begin to determin when thou hast loved
Sometimes faire words, wound worse than swords.
An.
If any one unworthy seeke thy bed,
From thy chaste house let him be banished:
Admit him not, so much as to be jeer'd,
Some scoft at first, have after prov'd indeer'd.
If he have any wit at all, he'l show it,
And prove in sundry straines to let thee know it,
Imbracing first, strive a forc't kisse to win,
Such kisses have to virgins fatall beene.
So by degrees into thy brest love steales
And wanders round, but his soft steps conceales;
Whilst Fowlers play upon their pipes, and sing,
Th'unwary fowle into their nets they bring.
Wonder not that thou art deceived by him that speakes thee faire and flatters thee, but rather wonder how thou hast escaped from not being deceived by him Demosthenes.
Sic avidis fallax indulget piscibus Hamus,
Callida sic stultas decipit esca feras.
So the deceitfull hooke the fish betrayes,
So beasts, by crafty baits, a thousand wayes.
Spare for no cost, where nothing's lost
Phi.
To imbrace, or kisse, why should a maid deny?
Since neither shame, nor fame we lose thereby.
Who can beleeve a soft kisse can ecclipse
Our honor, comming from a young mans lips.
[Page 219] The Bee the violet kist, and the Sunnes flower,
And laden with sweet juice, hies to her bower,
Yet neither one nor other is since dride,
But both still flourish in their wonted pride.
What with compulsive strength the young man tooke,
The maide wipes off, and keepes her former looke.
If it be lawfull light from light to take,
Why should we maides to kisse, such scruple make?
Why swelst thou Satyrist, kisses are vaine,
And thine owne spit will wash them off againe.
Ex Gr, Ep.
‘True honour is so pure, It will no touch indure.’
An.
Kisses, soft gripes, and blandishing perswades,
From amorous sutors; harme not those young maides.
No Poet (howsoever his vaine please)
Shall sway me; but there's poison in all these.
Touch not the purple grape: for then 'tis ripe,
And that pure colour cannot brooke the gripe.
'Tis fresh, now the Vines grace, and hath affinity
Vnto the
Genius of untoucht virginity;
Shun them, they have sweet poison mixt among:
The lip but toucht, doth weare the impresse long:
For wash thy face a thousand times, the sinne
Thou canst not wipe thence, for that lies within.
‘Nothing is more tender than the fame and reputation of women, or more subject to injury: in so much that it may be properly said to hang by the small thread of a Spider.’ Vives.
‘No Father can have too great a care of preserving his daughters chastity.’ Plaut, in Epidic.
Once sham'd, ever blam'd.
[...].
Not sinne alone, but what may such appeare,
If thou beest wise (maide) studdy to forbeare,
Tis not enough, thine acts are free from blame,
Since thou (meanetime) maist suffer in thy fame.
If the Nuts-shels, thou shalt asunder draw,
Doe what thou canst, there wil remaine the flaw.
[Page 220] Thy fame once toucht, bee thy mind ne're so pure,
Yet scandall shall thy chastity indure.
Though thou the ruine studiest to repaire,
Thou canst not make it good with all thy care.
How-ever joyne the shells, the breach is seene,
Though hide thy wounds, yet will they still be greene
Her modesty once blam'd,
She is for ever sham'd.
Remember still thy fame to cherish,
That lost, thy selfe doth likewise perish.
Ovid.
‘It behoveth the chast one, not onely to abstain from crime, but also to avoyd the sordid aspersion o [...] blame.’ Dion.
His slave shee lives, to whom she gives.
An.
Bee't then the virgins care and labour still,
That of her carriage, no tongue can speake ill.
Heare me with patience and Ile teach thee then,
What dangerous rocks t' avoide, both where & when
Part to thy Love with nothing that thou haste,
Farre be free hands to virgins that are chaste.
If give but trifles, hee'l for greater looke:
Part hath beene offerd, when the whole was tooke.
Besides, thy gifts to every one hee'l show,
Speaking them thine, to all whom he doth know.
Fat spilt in frying, makes the flame so great,
That it both wasts it selfe, and spoiles the meat.
‘Let the woman give nothing to the man: for who soever she bee that presents a gift, prostrateth her selfe’ Vives.
‘And there may bee reason rendred, that whosoever gives may bee thought to insinuate himselfe into the mans favour to whom hee giveth; alluding to that a’ Martial.
Thou sent'st me presents, oh but why?
Because with thee I should comply.
All things by Gold,
are bought and sold.
An.
Give not said I?
Now, doe not take, I say,
Gripple we are, gifts will our sexe betray:
They weaken us: she that hath long out-held
(A gift receiv'd) to yeeld hath beene compeld.
The baser coyne they to the Seas commend,
But the choise Gold, to the white bosome send.
Where steele can force no entrance, Gold is free,
Let
Danaes brazen Tower witnesse for mee.
Then Steele give place, to Gold thy strength resigne,
(Woe me) that choller, hath a power divine.
By Iron some few; Their number, who by Gold
Have beene made prostrate: never can be told.
‘There is nothing so sacred which is not to bee viola [...]ed and prophaned, nothing so defenced, which is not to be scaled, and entred by money.’ Cicero.
Gods, Chastity, and Faith have faild,
Gold onely, over them prevaild.
Receive no gifts, (a hooke lies in the meate)
None but have birdlime, and their poison's great.
M. Verinus.
Trust none in the giving vaine;
Lovers give not but to gaine.
[...].
Bee't then thy care, (if care thou hast to stand
Vpright) from Lovers gifts to keepe thine hand.
Seest thou Love painted naked in all drafts
With quiver onely, and some few small shafts?
He weares no pocket, but hates all their tribe,
Who in Loves free converse expect a bribe.
Can Diamond, Iemme, or golden chaine beguile
Thy modesty so farre; to become vile?
The gaping Oyster, intertaining stones,
By'th Crab injected, is dispoild at once.
Once guilty of a gift [if put to triall)
Thou hast not power to make the least denyall.
[...]o receive a gift, is to sell thy liberty. Seneca.
Often by too much play,
Virgins themselves betray.
An
Now trifles I injoyne, and I confesse
They 're such, yet worthy to be read,
(no lesse)
To tumble on the grasse, urge them to try
Maistries: These fit for chaste ones I deny.
A Bee's hid in the flower, a maide doth come,
To crop it 'tweene her finger and her thum.
No stayes, no rest, her tender flesh it stings,
It smarts, it swels, she cryes, her hands she wrings,
And saith, why Bee, thus seek'st thou me to kill,
I came to sport, and purpos'd thee no ill.
When maides with youngmen try, they doe not we
But oft catch stings, which make their flesh to swell.
‘Sporting hath beene the occasion of many evils, we may read. Horace.’
Sport hath begot both sudden strife and rage,
Anger, contention, warre, commixt with strage.
In pastime & sport, womens brests are easily discovere according with that of the Poet.
We are carelesse then of what we doe or say,
Our very mindes lie open in our play.
Most hold such bad, as love to gad.
An.
In all things
Ovids booke I cannot praise,
For he allowes the virgins foot that strayes,
He doth advise the Romane girles to meet
In I heatres, and gad about the street,
In my opinion, he amisse perswades,
If I be judge; it is no worke for maides.
In streets lust rageth, there thou canst not be
Safe; then keepe home, that's the best place for th
[...]
The sheepe that through the briers and thornes do
[...]str
[...]
Much of his wooll, oft loseth by the way:
Neither can she her modesty keepe long,
Who much frequents the *
Dionaean throng.
‘The ornament of women is to flourish in hon [...] and elegancy of manners: and for the most pa [...] [Page 223] keepe within at home: to prescribe limits to her lips, eyes, and cheekes, and not often to put her foot over her owne threshold. Greg. Nazian.’
There's danger, strictly to confine
Either young wenches, or new wine.
Phi.
Must we be then in lasting darknesse tyde,
As in close houses ever to abide?
Is it enough that we a mistresse feare,
And from her teasty fingers blowes oft beare?
Our mind's now stronger grown, love bids us play,
And of the City take a free surveigh.
Locks cannot let,
Venus sets wide the dore,
When lovers entrance to clos'd maides implore:
Love hates all durance, he was ever free,
And
Bacchus too delights in liberty,
New wine: young maides: by too strict keeping still,
Hazard the caske, and house: Both apt to spill.
No woman can be restrain'd against her will.
Lib. Amor. 3.
That which is most kept from us, most we crave,
The prey calls theeves, few love what they can have.
Id.
Such as have leave to sinne, commit least ill,
The power to offend, oft takes away the will.
Id.
That lesse pleaseth us to which wee are most perswaded: that rather wee desire from which wee are most disswaded.
There can bee given no strong security,
For Maiden heads in their nativity.
Phi.
Maides, if you looke to rost your Chestnuts well,
Observe first with a knife to wound the shell:
If with unbroken skin it touch the fire,
'Twill break in pieces, and with noise retire.
Who to chaste love shall make her brest obdure,
From
Venus, oh what panges shall she procure?
She burnes, nor can her youth take least content,
That's cloistred, and at home in prison pent.
The bridle once tooke off, she growes untame,
[Page 224] And then, with greater fury burnes her flame.
Some I have seene at lawfull love repine,
And after, madly to base lust incline.
Dangerous is the custody of a virginity, and most difficultly is she to be restraind, to whom 'the yoke of virginity is imposed. Egn.
That which Tacitus spake of the plebe or multitude, may not unfitly be construed upon young virgins, vid. They are altogether impatient of meere servitude, or absolute liberty.
To free thy selfe from danger cleane,
Shun the extremes, and keepe the meane.
An.
I doe not prisons on young Maides conferre,
Onely would curbe their feet lest they should erre.
Phi.
You charg'd me to no sutor lend an eare,
What Husband shal I have then? let me heare.
An.
Marry one grave, of masculine vertue, who
No loose veneriall sports is pleas'd to know,
On whom
Apollo smiles,
Themis doth grace,
He will direct thy path, secure thy place.
If rude (thy selfe) one ruder thou shalt try,
Neither the nuptiall office can supply.
Ioyne two unlighted Tapers without flame,
(How so thou wilt,) the darknesse is the same.
What profiteth it thee to grate one tooth against another. Martial.
Young Maides fancies are inclind,
To'affect the shape, neglect the mind.
Phi.
Wouldst have a maide to take into her bed,
A Sophist of sterne brow, like
Cato bred,
Whom, courts by day; by night, his bookes afflict,
In curtaine businesse, will not he be strict?
Whilst he his clients cause doth onely mind,
Small right (alas) the bed is like to finde.
The gowne the loadstones braine hath, hard things drawes,
But in soft amours cannot plead a cause.
The austeere brow I have no will to prove.
Give me the man that's deepely read in kisses,
And sure my love aimes at no further blisses.
‘Let us remember that the sexe in its owne nature is weake, as not in body, so neither in minde being able to under goe things serious and weighty, therefore we must allow them retirement, and relaxation from their cares, and give them some liberty of sporting, and telling tales amongst their friends and neighbours: provided, no curiosity be used, &c. Vives.’
Merry Suiters, make mad Husbands.
An.
What madnesse is't of kissing thus to prate,
When thou a sacred bed shouldst intimate?
Leave lusts to
Venus, Husbands are a treasure,
And holy
Hymen hates the name of pleasure.
No groome or squire of
Venus can be fit
To take a houses charge and mannage it.
These
The Sun of the morning.
Memnons statue follow (in their suite)Who when the Sun shines, clamor, else are mute.
Whilst thy choise
He was slaine at Troy.
Paris in his first love rag'd,'Twixt you a thousand kisses were ingadg'd.
But that heat past, thou (to thy griefe) hast tryd,
Th' art onely an unworthy souldiers bride.
It is hard to maintaine credit where truth is suspe [...]ed: but howsoever suspition may enter a false action, [...] truth will never bring in her plea, to suspect where [...]ere is cause is sufferable: but where there is no cause, it [...] intolerable. Octavius Caesar Domum suam non solum cri [...]e, sed suspitione criminis, vacare voluit. i. Augustus Caesar, [...]ould have his house not onely free from fault, but even [...]m the very suspition of crime.
Sorrow treads, where folly leads.
[...].
On the bright fire whilst some fish too much gaze,
Fixing their eyes upon the tapers blaze:
They neither mind the fishers nor their boats,
[Page 226] Nor their sharpe knives prepar'd to rip their throats.
Whilst the young man, whom mad love doth surprise
Admires his mistresse front, and star-like eyes:
Or whilst the girle whom childish folly blinds,
His new sprung beard and feature onely minds.
All faults lie hid, there is no further stay,
'Tis now enough if they can kisse and play.
T'wixt these where itching makes such quick dispatc
[...]
'Tis often seene
Megaera spoiles the match.
‘As Circe injoy'd not those whom she transform'd in to Swine, Lions, &c. but affected Ulysses in his owne perfectnesse aboue all others: So those women who by a morous potions (too which I adde whorish blandishments) have got their husbands, for the most part lead with them an unquiet life, through madnesse. Plutarch.’
Where vertue tyes, love never dyes.
An.
The Rose doth yeeld a savour sweet and strong,
After 'tis shed, or in the Sunne laine long.
Fond is the love of feature, which doth fade,
And putrid growes, when age doth once invade,
Agues deface, and cares the beauty staine,
And these in young men often breed disdaine.
But wit's more stedfast; 'twill to age indure,
A thousand waies that, favour can procure.
Gray haires, nor wrinckles, can such ardor quench,
Nor love (on vertue built) in
Lethe drench.
If match with one, whose mind his shape excels,
That love, till death lasts onely, and none else.
In us we nought immortall find,
Saving the goods of brest and mind.
Ovid.
An
If love thy selfe, doe not an old man wed,
Lest thou lie frozen in a desolate bed.
If any; thou a
posthume birth shalt beare.
He, if thy child call father, cannot heare.
Or should he have choice whom to make his heire,
[Page 227] Fame, to speake largely of thee will not spare.
Meane time the faire flower of thy youth is spent,
And thy best dayes thou sadly shalt lament.
Why doth the Ivie 'bout the Elme so cling?
'Las; one must perish, if the other spring,
Whilst it (ambitious) 'bout the top branch twines,
The drooping Tree hangs downe the head and pines.
‘Matrimonium ita demum tranquillè exigi potest, si mulier [...]ca, maritus surdus fiat, &c.’
‘Then marriage may be said to be past in all quietnesse, [...]hen the wife is blind, and the husband deafe. The na [...]e of women is subject to jealousie, from whence grows [...]amour and noise, and the wives garrulity and prating [...]sends the husband, which he should bee farre from, if [...] wanted his hearing, &c.’
Children in law, breed may a flaw.
[...]
Hence brats in law? maides, mothers the first day,
What mak'st thou in a widdowed bed I pray?
When
Hymen joynes you single: these are bred
Are the best pledges of thy maidenhead.
To graft a branch with ripe fruits if thou strive,
[...]Tis a meere burden, and it cannot thrive.
The withered apples fall (unfit to taste)
For both the stock and graft indure like waste,
Slyps without fruit, transpose unto thy tree,
So shall thy fruit in
Autumne better bee.
Do't whilst the gumme in the greene rind doth swell,
Plants without mutuall sap ne're prosper well.
‘A small benefit may arise to a great profit, if it be sea [...]ably confer'd, saith Curtius.’
Time is the best counsellor, and the chiefe president counsels, saith Antisthenes, and Cicero calleth it the most sect Herald of truth.
To have thy will, be humble still.
Now thy injunctions please: but, woon with gold,
My father aymes me at a man that's old.
[Page 228] What shall I doe? my love I will not slave
To an old King, (though he my love should crave.)
An.
If he to one unworthy would thee tye,
What ere he urge, let not thy voyce sound hye,
Prayers arme the virgin, If intreat; 'tis done,
Sterne fathers, by no other art are woon.
Smooth foreheads more prevaile, than these averse
Hard hearts, submission, and not feare can pierce.
The Pine-tree Nut thou canst not break with blow
But a soft fire, the shels wide open throws.
Mild power doth compasse that which rough violence never can. Claud.
Where men by favour strive to git
Gods favour, and incourage it,
But the same gods when force is us'd,
(As angry) thinke themselves abus'd.
1.
An.
We are in har bour, thou shalt be a bride,
Heare something in that state thy selfe to guide.
The grafter, all the native sprigs doth strip,
That the whole sap may feed th' adopted slip.
All wandring fancies she must quite expell,
Who in a lawfull match would prosper well.
No sooner shall thy nuptiall Tead take fire,
But thou on him must fixe thy whole desire.
Not thy old play-fellow must thine house frequen
[...]
Nor he with whom (before) thine houres thou sp
[...]
Let mother and thy sister now goe by,
Lest former love the adopted sap should dry.
Let men obey the lawes, and women their husband Socrates. Silence and patience maketh concord betw [...] married couples. A good husband ought to be wise words, wary in conversation, carefull in provision, [...] gent in ordering: a discreet master, a carefull fat [...] A good wife must bee grave abroad, well govern'd home, patient to suffer, constant to love, to her neighbours [Page 229] friendly, courteous to her servants, carefull of her children. Theophrastus.
2.
An.
Am I deceiv'd? or more else should be spoke,
To such as newly enter
Hymens yoake.
The stock which late had branches of his owne,
Must now by a strange leafe and fruit be knowne,
The top cut off, it boasts not its owne seed,
But beareth what another branch did breed.
When married; thou thy selfe wilt then withdraw,
For now thy husband is to thee a law.
What he prescribes: to that thou must agree,
(If wise) so partner of his counsels be.
By his direction, all thine actions sway,
To yeeld's to conquer, and (to rule) to obey.
A chaste Matron by obeying her husbands will, get [...]eth command over him, Bias. But give thy wife no pow [...] over thee, for if this day thou sufferest her to tread upon thy foot, she will be ready by to morrow to spurne at [...]y head, &c.
3.
[...].
Grafting hath more on which thy mind may rest,
Graft then these precepts likewise in thy brest.
Tree's grace the graft, by sap themselves do spend,
And their owne ornament to others lend.
If with thy golden dower thy house shine bright,
And swell his coffers which before were light:
Be not thou proud, nor thine owne wealth proclaime,
Let all thine house rest in thine husbands name.
Who would not thinke that clamorous woman mad,
To cry
This, That, from me, my husband had.
These were, and are still mine. It is not knowne
How wives can bost of ought that is their owne.
That the law make men lords, there is no doubt,
And 'tis a right, that goes the world throughout.
Marriage teacheth, that a woman should hold her [Page 230] husband to be all things unto her, and that he alone shal [...] succeed in all loving and deare nominations, which (a [...] we read in Homer) the most vertuous Andromache confer [...] upon her husband Hector.
What father, mother, brother, else can be,
Thou, thou, sweet husband art all these to me.
The Epilogue.
Proceeding further we were strooke with feare,
Because of noise which
Anna first did heare:
Enough if not too much, come now let's breake,
This having said, she blusht, and ceast to speake.
FINIS.
Sundry Fancies writ upon severall occasions. By the same Author.
The Queene feasting the King at Somerset
house, upon his Birth day, hers falling in the same weeke, this was there spoken unto them.
VVEE cannot read in any flourishing state,
Whether by King sward or by optimate,
A greater blessing hapning to one Nation,
By two such births beneath one constellation.
For being in one moneth, one weeke; small let
October.
There was, these two blest birth-dayes had not met:
Yet hath the powerfull hand of heaven so guided,
(Though) by small distance of two dayes divided:
These starres who then, their influence had alone
Are now combin'd, fixt in one glorious Throne:
From whosē joynt rayes another's risen since,
(Lusterd from both) a sweet and hopefull Prince.
O may be from your vertues so much gaine,
That little
Charles may prove our
Charlemaine.
To them both at parting.
The Romanes of their birth-dayes had such care,
They kept them sacred, and not one might dare,
In all their families to worke, but play,
Observing that, as an high festivall day.
[Page 232] The Emperours birth-dayes were cald
Albae, white,
As the sole lustre, and their Kingdomes light.
In you: how much doth heaven your Nations blesse,
To enjoy two such: the greater, and the lesse.
A speech spoken to their two excellent Majesties, at the first Play play'd by the Queenes Servants, in the new Theater at White Hall.
When Greece, the chiefe priority might claime
For Arts, and Armes, and held the eminent name
Of Monarchie; They erected divers places,
Some to the Muses, others to the Graces:
Where Actors strove, and Poets did devise
With tongue and pen, to please the eares and eyes
Of Princely Auditors; The time was, when
To heare, the rapture of one Poets pen,
A Theater hath beene built, By the fates doome,
When th' Empire was removed from thence to
Rome.
The potent
Caesars had their
Circi, and
Large Amphitheaters: in which might stand
And sit, full fourescore thousand, all in view,
And touch of voice: This great
Augustus knew.
Nay
Rome, it's wealth, and potency injoyd,
Till by the barbarous Gothes these were destroy'd.
But may this structure last, and you be seene
Here a spectator, with your Princely Queene,
In your old age, as in your flourishing prime,
To out-strip
Augustus both in fame and time.
To the King and Queene upon a New-yeares day at night: to Two-fac't Ianus with a great golden Key in his hand, the Presenter.
Where is my Sonne
December? yong'st and last
Of twelve? what sleeping now? now snorting fast?
In this joyes festivall? from yeares agone,
Solemnis'd one thousand sixe hundred thirty one.
[Page 233] Can neither musick, sport, nor myrth awake thee,
But to eleven moneths sleep must thou betake thee?
Why doth not
January then appeare,
Before old
Janus father of the yeare?
My eldest boy? now I remember. Hee,
Is busied in this annuall
Iubilee.
And still the one hand with the other shifts,
In giving and receiving New-yeares gifts.
But stay; two faces
Ianus? one to view
The past yeare; th' other, that which shall insue.
Shal't be imputed to thine age or sloath
Meaning their 2.
Majesties.
To neglect these; the glory of them both?
No; fall thus low, to celebrate that throne
In which the two great lights are met in one
Without ecclipse; This key commands the screw,
That lockes the past yeare up, and opes the new,
This shuts up all disaster, dearth, disease,
Opening to you all glad things that may please,
To crowne your blessednesse, and as that gone.
Hath crown'd you with an Heire (as yet alone)
There's by auspitious
Iove a second breeding,
Our hope, and honour of the yeare succeeding.
As in the last, may Heaven in this defend them,
Whilst
Ianus with his twelve sonnes shall attend them.
The Epilogue spoken by the same Ianus.
Health, strength, and many a glad new yeare,
A constant solace, joyfull cheere,
Waite ever on that awfull throne,
Where rest two Princely hearts, made one.
From which blest union, may supply
Of issue to eternity
Grace and become it: These presages
Prove fortunate to after ages,
Which long succession hence may see,
Till time and houres shall cease to bee.
A Prologue spoke before the King, when her Majesty was great with child.
Health, joy, peace, plenty, and a flourishing state,
A
dexter omen; an auspitious fate,
Attend you ever, like
Hiperion shine
In his meridian, never to decline.
And may your royall
Cynthia who hath run
Sixe annuall courses with you, and begun,
Now on the seventh, who to your Kingdomes Cheere
And your great joy, at this time fills her sphere,
In a most hopefull plenitude: so waine
After blest issue, that your glorious raigne,
May see your Sonnes Sonnes Princes of such name,
That the whole world may eccho to their fame.
From her chast wombe may such faire daughters spring,
That each may prove the consort to a King.
And both survive to see't: this we intreat
May come from her who is so good, so great.
The Epilogue.
Those heavenly Guardians that with patents large,
Have in tuition Kings and Kingdomes charge,
Protect you both, that as we daily see
Nations, that farre remote and forraigne be
Send hither as to an Oracle to know,
What's for their safety best: you may still grow
In wisedome and in power, till your command
May extend it selfe so farre by Sea and Land,
That through the Christian world it may be said,
All begge of
Charles, but he needs no mans ayd.
Another spoken at White Hall before their sacred Majesties.
Exuberant joyes, delights transcending waite
About the orbe of this illustrious state.
All sad disasters flie beyond those Seas
That ebbe and flow unto th'
Antipodes.
Or if they chance to linger by the way,
But never in these Climes find place of rest
Or shelter, where the sacred truth's profest,
But in their stead, prosperity and peace,
Aboundance, health, with numerous increase
Of royall issue 'bout your throne be seene,
To glad my soveraigne, and rejoyce his Queene:
So shall your Nations in bright lustre shine,
Figuring in these your Persons, powers divine.
The Epilogue.
Miriads of joyes your royall he arts surprise,
Yea more than any rapture can devise,
The heart of man conceive, or tongue expresse,
That in your more than common happinesse,
All your true subjects with unanimous voice,
May both in you, and your blest seed rejoyce.
A Prologue spoken to their sacred Majesties at Hampton Court.
If
Caesar, greatest in great
Pompeis fall,
As being made the soveraigne over all
The (then knowne) world; or if
Augustus; Hee
Who left his ample name Hereditarie
To all succeeding Emperours; If to th' last
Of the twelve
Caesars, Theaters were grac't,
And when the Iulian family expir'd
In many ages after were admir'd?
And the more fame from forraigne parts to win,
Adornd without, and beautified within.
If by succession we can draw them downe
Through nations, realmes and tongues, even to our own,
Proving these flourishing Kingdomes prosperd well,
And never faild before these structures fell:
Or were supprest; for 'tis a bad presage,
(All mirth exil'd) still followes wrack and strage.
If then a factious peevish male-content,
Envying a blest state; shall his malice vent
[Page 236] In bald unlicenc't papers? so much daring
As neither Soveraigne, nor the subject sparing:
Assuming in a strange libellious straine,
To thinke all wisedome treasur'd in his braine?
Be all such frustrate in their vaine indeavour,
Whilst you oh Royall
Caesar live for ever.
The Epilogue.
Ioves Influent Planet boading power and state
For ever, on this high tribunall waite.
Apolloe's fire, add verdure, to your dayes,
And crown your long raigne with his
Daphnes bayes.
Hermes attend you with his peaceful starre,
And
Mars protect you in all menacing warre.
May
Venus and the Moones bright constellations,
With their best fulgence smile on all your Nations:
But on all male-contents let
Saturne lower,
Such as maligne your glory and your power.
Spoken to their two Majesties at Hampton Court. Prologue.
Amongst the Greecians there were annuall feasts,
To which none were invited as chiefe gests,
Save Princes and their wives: Amongst the men
No argument could be desputed then
But who best govern'd; and (as't did appeare)
He was proclaim'd sole Soveraigne for that yeare,
The Queenes and Ladies argued at that time
For beauty and for vertue, who was prime.
And she had the like honour. Two here be,
For Beauty one, the other Majesty.
Most worthy, did that custome still persever,
Not for one yeare, but to be soveraignes ever.
Epilogue.
Still the more glorious that the creatures bee,
They in their native goodnesse are more free
To things below them: so the sunne wee find
Vnpartially to shine on all mankind,
[Page 237] Denying light to none, and you we may
Great King, most justly call our light, our day,
Whose glorious course may never be quite runne,
Whilst earth hath soveraigne, or the Heavens a Sunne.
Spoken to their two Majesties at White Hall. Prologue.
Whom Heaven with all choice graces hath indowed,
Whom even the Angels praise and men admire!
On whom your Maker hath his bounty showed,
Where nothing wants that mans heart can desire,
Your peoples joy, your Peeres selected pleasure.
Your Kingdomes admiration, Nations wonder,
Of forraigne climes the praise, of ours the treasure.
O never may that sacred union sunder.
That whilst we daily of high heaven importune,
You may be in your royall issue blest,
You may still grow in greatnesse, fame and fortune,
All which at seeming height, be still increast.
Prove thou a prophet muse, say 'tis decreed,
All Christendome shall flourish in your seed.
The Epilogue.
Could we all Panegyries put in one,
That have beene on the ancient
Heroes writ,
They might all be conferd on you alone,
And you great Princes justly merit it.
O may you in your happy loves persever,
Diurnally augment, but not decline,
That this your people may admire you ever,
Till heaven that gave you us make you divine.
And that which we of aged
Nestor read,
May of you two be chronicled indeed.
Spoken to their excellent Majesties upon the like occasion. Prologue.
Excellent Princes may you ever bee,
As great as good, each yeare a Iubilee.
That as heavens bounty crownes you with th' increase
[Page 238] Of honour, glory, and domestick peace.
You, with like liberall hands instated here,
May to each subject and deserving Peere:
Like the bright Sunne your glorious favours throw,
To comfort and make flourish what's below.
Whilst we like the woods Quiristers still sing
Loud Hymnes to you the Lord of this our spring.
The Epilogue.
You that are Emblemes of that light divine,
Which equally on all estates doth shine,
The Palace and the Cottage, flower and weed,
Of whose bright luster all have use, and need,
Even from the Scarlet, to the Russet: Gray
As well as Purple: Had we power, as they
That are in eminent place; there could not be
Those, should expresse more gratitude than we.
The rich may pay in gold, that which he owes,
But we our debt, onely in words and showes.
Spoken to the King and Queene, at the second time of the Authors Play cald Cupids Mistresse or Cupid and Psiche, presented before them. Cupid, the Prologue.
Yes; sure 'twas here, where some few houres I past
The very time that I descended last.
Yes; here it was, I know it by a face,
To which my Mistresse
Psiche must give place.
A presence; that from
Venus takes all power,
And makes each place she comes in,
Cupids bower.
Though in their severall spheres each Planet tride,
(With all the Gods) to feast me and my bride,
With
Nector and
Ambrosia, yet that waste
Of god-like fare, could not my palate taste,
But I must all celestiall sweets forbeare,
To review earthly
Jove and
Juno here.
Whom having seene; Haile to you once againe.
[Page 239] Long as the Spheres continue may you raigne
In Majesty, in power, with issue blest
Be all these, with your fortunate yeares increase,
Till
Cupid ever young, with time grow old,
And you this Iron age changing to gold,
Repur'd by your two vertues, These, Ethereall
May change to brighter chayres in th' heavens Imperiall
The speech spoken to their two Majesties, eight dayes before, being the Kings birth-day: presented at Somerset house, by the Queenes appointment, she then feasting the King. Cupid, the Prologue.
Who so unread; doth not of
Plato heare
His
Annus magnus, and his vertent yeare?
In which the Starres and Planets, Moone and Sunne,
Tyr'd with continuall labour, having runne
So many ages long peregrination,
Each returnes fresh and new to their first station.
This is the yeare sure; rather this the day
Able to turne November into May.
This day's in heaven a Iubilee of joy,
Where Angels sing in quires
Vive la Roy.
This is the royall birth-day of a King,
Then Men with Angels, Iô Poean sing.
I'had almost lost my selfe: when my intent
Was to tell why I come; and from whom sent;
From one, to whom I'm but a shadow; shee
The very soule of amabilitie.
One that without my quiver and my bow,
Commands the hearts, and eyes of high and low.
Whose name inscrib'd here did you but behold,
I'would change the sooty Inke to liquid gold.
Of fulgent beauty, but so pure a mind,
As if tinctur'd from heaven, and so divin'd.
[...] Love from Love am sent, but she the right,
Then grace great King the Triumphs of loves night.
The Maske concluding with a stately measure, of the Gods and Planets, Cupid (they all standing about him bending) the Epilogue thus concludes.
Now royall Princes let me turne to you,
Daigne from loves mouth to take this nights adieu.
Thinke all these Planets that on earth here move,
(Shadowes of these celestiall ones above)
Breath on you their best influences:
Vulcan, Hee
Shall henceforth take charge of your Armorie.
Iuno the marriage Queene, shall blesse your bed,
The Sunne shall take the bright beames from his head,
To increase your glorious luster, and the Moone
Attend on you, to make your midnight noone.
Cores with plenty shall in rich your store,
And
Mercury shall flie from shore to shore
Vpon your errands: prove your happy ranger,
Homebred to espy, and foresee forraigne danger.
Venus with sweets, and I, with love will charme you,
And after all these
Jove with power shall arme you.
I'have kept you waking long: good night, 'tis late.
Many such birth-dayes may you celebrate.
Spoken to his Majesty upon a New yeares day at night. The Prologue.
Renowned King, we to your eares commend
These our unpolisht labours, harsh and low,
Hoping your grace will like the Sunne extend,
Those glorious beames that make the Cedars grow,
Shine on the basest shrubs, his vertue's seene
As well in weeds as flowers, for both are greene.
Then let your Majesty by whose aspect
All these sweetgarden flowers, these Trees still flourish
The least part of your glorious shine reflect
On us: your beames great
Brittaines land doth nourish.
Still moving in this bright and luminous sphere,
To joy your Court with many a glad New-yeare.
[Page 241] Mongst other presents, high and sacred King,
This solemne day presented at your seat
Their tribute love, your humble vassals bring.
But though our gifts be small, our wills are great,
We come, though naked of desert or merit,
Yet arm'd with wishes, and devoutest prayer,
Trusting you many ages may inherit
That high Tribunall, peace and love prepare,
That this first day which enters a new yeare,
On which the two fac't
Ianus lookes with joy,
May many seasons hence, with gladsome cheare,
Be hallowed still, that heavens hand may destroy
Your enemies: and so your friends maintaine.
They many yeares hence may admire your raigne
Another spoken at the Court to the like purpose. Prologue.
As all small rivers to the ocean runne,
As to the soveraigne of their silver streames,
As all lesse lights doe borrow of the Sunne,
From whom alone they take their golden beames.
So to this glorious Sunne we pay our light,
Without whose face we live in endlesse night.
O you, on your owne earth soly divine,
Who fill your faire Court with your beames of grace,
With one small glimmering on our pastimes shine,
The Sun barres none the beauty of his face.
Poets that have like Larkes already sung,
Vnto the morning of your prosperous raigne,
Shall with an Angels quill and Cherubs tongue,
Your grace and goodnesse through the world proclaime.
But when you reach the noontyde point, then stay,
And in the height of glory shine for aye.
Epilogue.
Most high and sacred Sir, we now are cast
[...]ow as the earth, strook mute with feare and terror,
[Page 242] Lest through our want of judgement we have past
Words rudely plac't: or duty mixt with error.
The Shepheards Pipe made of an Oaten Reed,
Cannot compare with great
Apollos lyre:
Nor should our Muse, that no delight can breed
Vnto your high and Princely eares aspire.
We bring a mite that would present a mine,
Our loves we pay, to whom our lives we owe,
Water we bring, who could affoord it wine,
Our art you see, our hearts we cannot show.
O if we could! we would inrich this place
With joyes essentiall, blessings above measure.
Heaven, Earth, Ayre, Sea, all powre upon your grace,
Their speciall bounties, and their richest treasure.
In our last wish all your desires attaine,
Life, safety, health, with a long-lasting raigne.
A Prologue spoken at the right Honourable the Earle of Dover house in Broadstreet, at a Play in a most bountifull Christmas hee kept there; the Speaker Hospitality a frollick old fellow: A Coller of Brawne in one hand, and a deepe Bowle of Muscadel in the other.
Where is that rich mans Minion, cal'd
Frugality?
What hath he quite hence banisht
Hospitality?
In dayes of old, when yea and nay did passe
For currant troth, I and old
Christenmasse
Were of acquaintance; but of late I find
Frugality quick sighted, my selfe blind.
He goes through Court, through Country, City, and
Findes entertainment, for each frugall hand
Still bids him welcome: yet a novice hee:
But I, that am of more antiquity
Than
Pauls (alas) by time and age decayd,
Nay almost since this Cities ground-sills layd,
Walke up and downe and knock at each mans dore,
And finde the same cold welcome as before.
[Page 243] But harke, a Cock crowd, and I heard a Swan
Ecchoing to him, that here did live a man,
Noble, and of that high and ancient straine,
To call back
Hospitality againe.
Then by the good Lords and kind Ladies leave,
Since their wide Gates stand ready to receive
So great a stranger, and (in me) these guests
[...]o oft invited to their annuall feasts.
This blessing take, oh whether in this place,
Or where so else this blest time you so grace,
May your warme Chimneyes smoke, and hot fires glow,
Whilst
Thames breeds Swans, or Cocks 'gainst Christmas crow.
It is to be observed that the Earle in Heraldry gives the Swan, and the Countesse the Cocke, &c. The Epilogue presented by delight.
[...]e see bright day succeeds darke night,
[...]isaster past, then comes delight,
[...]rom seeming death reviv'd to tell,
[...]hat here she henceforth meanes to dwell,
[...]hen hospitality hath grace,
[...]elight should ever there finde place.
[...]eceive her then your houshold guest,
[...]his night to attend you to your rest:
[...]nd when your quiet sleepe is spent,
[...]wake you to your more content,
[...]home, abroad, handmaid, and guide:
[...]ether you sit, lye, walke or ride,
[...]ort, purpose serious meditation,
[...]d thought, still have to me relation,
[...]d so for ever, as this night,
[...]waited on by choise delight.
Spoken to the right Honourable the Earle of Dover, at his house in Broadstreet upon a Candlemas night. The Prologue.
[...] downy Swan though yoakt in
Venus Teame,
[Page 244] Yet of all birds that ever lov'd the streame,
Is held to be the chiefest:
Pallas Owle
In
Athens fam'd for many a learned scrowle,
Compos'd in Inke and Oyle, th' embleme of watch,
By which the most laborious students catch
At Arts (howe're, benighted) was not more
Famous, in Greece, then on Caister shore
Your sacred Bird, which the nine Sisters strove
To make the symbole of conjugall love,
With which the Cock, the Bird of
Mars combin'd,
A double gardian knot, to be untwin'd
Never: 'Tis now made fast, so intricate,
Not
Alexanders sword, not time, not fate
Can e'ver untye, for what's in vertue laid,
Envie can never blast, nor age invade.
In this blest state both you, and yours, now stand
As first dispos'd, so strengthened by that hand,
Which as it makes, protects; you have begun
To grace the City with your presence: run
That happy course still: you and your lov'd wife
Have to dead hospitality given new life.
Still cherish it: old Christenmasse almost starv'd
Through base neglect, by you hath beene preserv'd.
O give him still like welcome, that whilst he
Hath name on earth, you may his harbourer be.
Epilogue.
What man can wish his blisse to crowne,
Or in abundance heaven powre downe.
Health, plenty, solace, all delights
That lengthen dayes, or shorten nights.
Heavens favour, and the Courts best grace,
Attend the great Lord of this place.
Old Christenmasse hunger-starv'd and dry,
Who earst did drinke deepe and far'd hye
You welcome, and with Princely cheere,
Feast
Ianus father of the yeare.
[Page 245] The sparing Chuff could be content
To thrust the twelve dayes into Lent.
You
Englands custome, wake from sleepe,
Which all the Christian world still keepe:
For which may you thus stor'd with guests
Long celebrate these annuall feasts,
That you and your good Lady may
Together, many a New-yeares day,
Rejoyce in your blest Issue till
The houres shall faile, and time stand still.
A speech spoken before the right Honourable the Earle of Dover, at his House at Hunsden, as a preparation to a Maske, which consisted of nine Ladyes. Presented the last New-yeares night.
The silver
Swan soft gliding in the streame,
Cald to the
Cocke then pearching on a beame,
And said to him; why,
Chanticleere, when I
Move on the waves so low, thou sit'st so high?
The
Cocke replide: O thou my best lov'd Sister
Well knowne in
Poe, Meander, and
Caister,
But, best in
Thamesis; Dost thou not know
The reason, why we in
December crow?
More than before, or after? who againe
Thus answer'd: we of nothing can complaine
Being of all the birds that are, most white,
Loyall and chaste, and taking our delight
In rivers onely, bathing there our feete
To make our rare-heard musick sound more sweet.
Yet one thing to resolve, would make me proud,
To tell why at this time thou sing'st so lowd?
Who said: none of our ancestors but knew
That ever since Saint
Peters Cock first crew,
We are injoyn'd to make lowd proclamation,
Of our most blessed Saviours Incarnation.
[...]o which the Swan, (then in a Tone much higher)
[Page 246] Said, in this Caroll I will fill the quire:
Which being voyc't, did sound so sweet and shrill,
That where the
Swan and
Cock were heard, did fill
The ayre with such an eccho, thither came
Vpon that summons, both the blind and lame,
Hungry and thirsty, poore, of all estates,
And none but fully sated at these gates.
Long may your bounty last, and we rejoyce,
To heare both City and the Country voyce
Your Hospitality, to your loud fame,
Whilst Time indures, or
Christmas beares a name.
And now great Lord and Lady both prepare,
To know what
Sports in agitation are.
Truth presenting the Maskers.
Plaine
Truth who onely hath the power
To steare the way to
vertues bower,
By these cleare Tapers shining bright,
Doth celebrate this joviall night.
But by the Bird of
Mars that crowes,
I now perceive the morning growes.
Her love to
Phoebus to expresse,
And put his steeds in glorious dresse
Who shewes you what chaste virgins dwell,
Within the bosome of this Cell,
Appeare then O thou treble Trine
Of number, with the
Muses nine.
(Appolloes sacred daughters) still
Frequent about
Pernassus hill.
Or if you number them by Threes,
The first are the three
Charitces,
Handmaides to
Venus, Graces stil'd,
On whom their Father
Iove still smil'd.
The second
Chorus doth containe
Those beauties, by the
Trojan swaine
On
Ida judg'd: The third we call
The
Vertues Theologicall,
To crowne the parting of the yeare,
With Roses fresh of
Swan-like hew,
Which from a royall Stemme first grew,
And the brave
Yorkists long since bore,
These
vertues bower, doe best decore,
Flowers redolent, which Heralds say,
Ianus doth weare, as well as
May.
Farre may they spread, be ever seene,
With milke white leaves, and branches greene,
Folded in amorous twines together,
Which
Winter ne're may blast or wither.
A young witty Lad playing the part of Richard the third: at the Red Bull: the Author because hee was interessed in the Play to incourage him, wrot him this Prologue and Epilogue. The Boy the Speaker.
If any wonder by what magick charme,
Richard the third is shrunke up like his arme:
And where in fulnesse you expected him,
You see me onely crawling, like a limme
Or piece of that knowne fabrick, and no more,
(When he so often hath beene view'd before.)
Let all such know: a Rundlet ne're so small
[...]s call'd a vessell: being a Tunne; that's all.
Hee's tearm'd a man, that showes a dwarfish thing,
No more's the Guard, or Porter to the King.
[...]o Pictures in small compasse I have seene
Drawne to the life, as neare, as those have beene
Ten times their bignesse: Christenmas loaves are bread,
So's your least Manchet: have you never read
Large folio Sheets which Printers over-looke,
And cast in small, to make a pocket booke?
[...]o
Richard is transform'd: if this disguise
[...]how me so small a letter for your eyes,
[Page 248] You cannot in this letter read me plaine,
Hee'l next appeare, in texted hand againe.
The Epilogue.
Great I confesse your patience hath now beene,
To see a little
Richard: who can win,
Or praise, or credit? eye, or thinke to excell,
By doing after what was done so well?
It was not my ambition to compare,
No envie, or detraction: such things are
In men of more growne livers, greater spleene,
But in such lads as I am, seldome seene.
I doe, but like a child, who sees one swim,
And (glad to learne) will venter after him
Though he be soundly duckt for't, or to tell
My mind more plainely, one that faine would spell,
In hope to read more perfect: all the gaines
I expect for these unprofitable paines,
Is, that you would at parting from this place
Doe but unto my littlenesse that grace
To spie my worth, as I have seene dimme eyes
To looke through spectacles, or perspectives,
That in your gracious view I may appeare,
Of small, more great; of coming far off, neare.
A Prologue to the Play of Queene Elizabeth as it was last revived at the Cock-pit, in which the Author taxeth the most corrupted copynow imprinted, which was published without his consent. I rologue.
Playes have a fate in their conception lent,
Some so short liv'd, no sooner shew'd, than spent;
But borne to day, to morrow buried, and
Though taught to speake, neither to goe nor stand.
This: (by what fare I know not) sure no merit,
That it disclaimes, may for the age inherit.
[Page 249] Writing 'bove one and twenty; but ill nurst,
And yet receiv'd, as well perform'd at first,
Grac't and frequented, for the cradle age,
Did throng the Seates, the Boxes, and the Stage
So much; that some by Stenography drew
The plot: put it in print: (scarce one word trew:)
And in that lamenesse it hath limp't so long,
The Author now to vindicate that wrong
Hath tooke the paines, upright upon its feete
To teach it walke, so please you sit, and see't.
Epilogue.
The Princesse young
Elizabeth y'have seene
In her minority, and since a Queene.
A Subject, and a Soveraigne: in th' one
A pittied Lady: in the royall Throne
A potent Queene. It now in you doth rest
To know, in which she hath demeand her best.
Vpon his Majesties last birth-night, he being then thirty five yeares of age, and the Queene great with child.
A Star appearing of bright constellation,
More luminous than those of the same station,
The powers Coelestiall much amaz'd there at
To knovv the cause thereof, in Councell sate,
And summond
Mercury the winged god
To search and find what wonder it might bode,
Who brought them word that
Lachesis then drew
A thread from
Clothoes distaffe, which to' his view
Was of such splendor, and withall so fine,
The substance gold) and of so close a twine,
No edge could sunder, and that Star (so bright)
Rose five and thirty yeares since, as this night.
You are (if time we may compute) by story
In the meridian of your age and glory.
Your
Cynthia too that shines by you so neare,
And now with such rare splendor fills her sphere,
[Page 250] Whose birth-dayes almost meete, as if that fate
Would adde a double lustre to your state.
Never may your two golden threds be spun.
Whilst the Moone guides the night, or day the Sun.
Epilogue.
What Muse so mute, but both with voice and strings
Will strive to celebrate the births of Kings.
Kings birth-dayes, of such goodnesse and renowne.
Ceres should fill with plenty,
Bacchus Crowne.
Mirth should exceed it's limite, Ioyes abound,
And (after praise to heaven giv'n) Healths go round.
No other language then let this night coyne,
But
Vive, vive la Roy, vive la Royne.
Spoken to the Palsgrave at his first comming over, in the presence of his Majesty, &c.
The bright hayr'd Comets are of all the best,
Boading most good, when ayming towards the West.
(So Astrologians say) and when such shine,
Grosse clowds they scatter, and the ayre refine.
Now such an one appeares; a glorious thing,
As if the
Eagle from her spatious wing
Had her prime feather dropt, which to regaine,
She (almost) would give
Almaigne, Rome, and
Spaine.
A feather to be stuck in
Venus fanne.
The like to it, not
Iunoes Peacock can
In all her moon'd traine boast: may your fame flie,
Mounted upon those plumes that soare most hie:
Of which, make two rare presidents, We intreat,
One of
Charles little, th' other
Charles the Great.
Epilogus.
A numerous fruit, sprung from a golden Tree,
Such (as old
Atlas, was ne're-seene by thee
[Page 251] In thine
Hesperian orchard) long t' indure
And prosper in the world: now growes mature.
And the faire blossoms ready even to spread
Their leaves abroad, and top the
Eagles Head
(The Roote still safe) where-ever shall bee seene
Scient, transplanted, may it still grow greene,
So may none issuing from King
Iames his Stemme,
But be thought fit to weare a Diadem.
Would you a president by which to steare
So faire a course? you may behold it here.
If you to Honours
Apex would attaine,
Let the bright
Starres that guide you be
Charles waine.
Funerall ELEGIES and EPITAPHS.
A Funerall Elegie upon the death of the thrice noble Gentleman Sir George Saint Poole of Lincolne -shire my Country-man.
IT is a maxime, neither birth nor state,
Honour nor goodnesse can divert our fate.
If these, or more, that did in him accrew
(For these with his gifts valewd were but few)
Could doe't; St. Poole had liv'd to
Englands good,
Since all these did nobilitate his blood.
Antiquity; which though it cannot save
From death, yet helpes to decorate the grave,
Heralds his gentry, and doth highly advance
His pedegree from the
St. Pooles of
France,
Which, from the Norman Innovation till
His expiration hath beene eminent still.
That was his least, though some extoll it most.
Of that which is not ours why should we boast?
That's our best noblenesse which our vertues win,
Not that, to which w' are borne, and claime by kin.
He was possest of both, and in full measure,
Did in his bosome many vertues treasure,
Which on the earth hee did but put to lone,
He now in heaven receives them ten for one.
Vpheld he hath, and husbanded that fame
Which from his ancient Predecessors came.
Being much in him augmented: his revenue
Grac't, and ennobled by that faire retenue.
[Page 253] He kept about him still not like this age,
Changing his traine, to a Foot-boy or a Page.
Free hospitality exil'd the Reame,
He tooke in charge, which like a plenteous streame
On his full tables flow'd (now a strange thing)
It rather seem'd a torrent than a spring,
His hand was ever open, but before
All others, to the vertuous and the poore;
Not as most men are bounteous now; to those
That either need not, or with cunning glose.
They that were nearest bosom'd, knew, his heart,
Beyond all favour still preferd desert.
Religious zeale with which he was inspir'd
Bove common measure, made him both admir'd,
And lov'd: besides upon that honour'd place
Where he had voice, alwayes the poore mans case
He would first heare, and howsoe re the rest
That sate with him were swaid, favour'd th'opprest.
In all moralities, as courtesie,
Bounty, love, generous affability,
And other of like kind, each way so rare,
He hath left few, that may with him compare.
Of Arts, a Patron to the learned, still
A knowne
Moecena's, and to all of skill
A favourer, witnesse that annuall fee,
Which
(Oxford) in his death he bequeath'd thee.
But wherefore should my duller Muse aspire,
To expresse what I better should admire,
Which rather may extenuate, then with praise
Condigne, and worthy his high vertues raise.
Then, with the Country who his death deplore,
With these, whom he still patroniz'd, the poore,
The wrong'd, who misse his justice, with the weale,
Which will soone want him, with the men of zeale,
And most religious; with the nobler spirits
With whom he was companion, Lords and Knights,
[Page 254] With his Allyes and friends; and with his traine
(Of servants, who have most cause to complaine
The losse of such a Master, in's best yeares
Snatcht from the earth) my Muse concludes in teares.
A Funerall Elegie upon a vertuous Maide, who dyed the very day on which shee should have beene married.
O
Hymen change thy saffron weeds,
To habit black and sable:
Change joyfull Acts, to Funerall deeds,
Since nothing's firme or stable.
My bridals are to burials turn'd,
My day of mirth to sorrow:
Show me the man who most hath mourn'd?
From him my griefe Ile borrow.
In stead of love and second life
A dead corps I imbraced:
Receiv'd a Coffin for a wife,
With hearbs and flowers inchaced.
Her beauty better had becom'd
A Bride-bed than a grave:
But envious fates her dayes have sum'd
And crost what I did crave.
All lovers that Have truely lov'd,
Beare part in my laments:
'Mongst thousands scarcely one hath prov'd
My tragick discontents.
Heaven mourne her death in stormy clouds,
Seas, weepe for her in brine.
Thou earth which now her body shrouds,
Lament though she be thine.
That musick which with merry Tones
Should to a bridall sound,
Sigh out my griefe and passionate grones,
Since she is toomb'd in ground.
An Epitaph upon the death of Sir Philip Woodhouse Knight Baronet.
[...]rom valiant
John this
Philip Woodhouse springs
[...]ee (of the Chamber to the greatest Kings
[...]enry the fift) who'at famous
Agincourt
[...]oon that eternis'd Motto,
Frappe fort,
[...]natcht from a noble Frenchman, when by force
[...] the mid-field, he beat him from his horse,
[...]nd brought him prisoner, for which warlike deed,
As Souldiers still deserve their valours meed)
[...]ll Heraldry hath to his Crest allow'd
[...] Hand and Club extended from a cloud.
This
John had issue
Edward: Edward then
Thomas: and
Thomas, Roger: He agen
Thomas, and
Thomas, Roger, who was father
To this Sir
Philip, Him, whose dust we gather,
[...]o mixe with his brave Ancestors, the last
[...]f sixe successive Knights whose fates are cast;
[...]hus was he borne, thus lineally descended,
[...]or whom this pious Sacred is commended.
Ag'd sixty one, Knighted in
Spaine, and hee
[...]f Baronets in ranck the fortieth three,
[...]y order and precedence, here now sleepes,
[...]or whom this monumentall Marble weepes.
Reader, who e're thou beest, conceive this done
By the due office of a gratefull sonne.
[...] Epitaph upon one Mr. Robert Honywood and his Mother, and of their numerous Issue.
[...]crease and multiply God said: to thee
[...]o doubt he spake O Honywood: for we
[...]now, thou as Sire and Grandsire, hast to Heaven
[...]dded, of soules one hundred twenty seven,
[...]d yet thy mother did thee farre surmount
[...]hree hundred sixty seven, her age could count.
Sacrum Amoris. Perpetuitati memoriae Katharinae Skip: obijt Anno salutis mille simo Sexcentesimo Tricesimo. A [...]tatis suae, Vicesimo nono.
Can foure weake lines comprise her vertues? no,
Not volumes can, here lyes beneath this stone,
All that her sex since
Eve could learne or know,
(Alas) where shall they harbour now shee's gone?
Of Mr. Thomas Skipp her husband since deceased, and buried in the same Tombe, whose Statue is plac't in a circle of Bookes, for the great love he bore to learning.
What stronger circle can Art-magick find
Wherein a Scholers spirit can be confind,
Then this of Bookes? next how he spent his time,
Scorning earths droffe to looke on things sublime.
So long thy love to learning shall be read,
Whilst fame shall last, or Statues for the dead.
An Epitaph upon a worthy Gentlewoman whose name was Patience.
Impatience, why from Patience shouldst thou grow?
Or why such sorrow raise from sweet content?
From pleasures spring, why should displeasure flow?
Or our late joyes turne to such sad lament?
But that we see, as time to death is hasting,
Nothing on earth is permanent and lasting
Saving Impatience, sorrow and displeasure,
Laments and strange disasters that still fall,
The losse of solace, comfort and of treasure,
And of these nam'd this losse includeth all.
A losse indeed this
Grizels losse implyes,
Since here with her all womens patience lyes.
An Epitaph upon a vertuous young Gentlewoman, who after seven yeares marriage expired.
Well borne, well bred, brought up with cost and care,
Sweet Infant, hopefull child, and virgin chaste.
Marriage which makes up women, made her rare,
Matron and maide, with all choise vertues grac't,
Loving and lov'd of all (her husband chiefe)
Liv'd to our great joy, dyde to all our griefe.
Vpon a Toomb-stone which covereth the body of a worthy Citizen, on which is ingraven a white hand pointing to a Starre.
Pure
Heart, white
hand, one shadowed, th'other seene,
[...]oints to a Starre, to show what both have beene.
The
Heart devout: in life a constant giver,
The
Hand that gift, as ready to deliver,
[...] such alternate goodnesse, both agreeing,
[...]s seldome to be matcht when they had being.
The
Heart bequeath'd, the
Hand did still bestow,
[...]oth reape in
Heaven, what they on earth did sow.
Funerall Elegie upon the death of Mistris Mary Littleboyes, Daughter to Master George Littleboyes of Ashburnham in Sussex, Esquire.
[...]e was a virgin tall, as towards Heaven growing,
[...]ho had she by Emergent
Venus stood,
[...]er dewy locks about her shoulders flowing,
[...]nd
Cupid viewde them both at once) He woo'd
Not able to distinguish one from th' other)
[...]ave leapt into her lap, there toyde and plaid,
[...]d (though a maide) mistooke her for his mother.
[...]faire she was; But thus all beauties fade.
[...] the choice vertues, morall and divine,
[...]hat ever grac't the sex, compris'd in one,
[Page 258] Did in her faire brest mutually combine,
And where shall they find harbour now shee's gone?
Whom heaven did love, who merited mans praise,
Modest, wise, pious, charitable, chaste,
Whose vertues did in number passe her dayes,
Now (woe the while) in darknesse sleepes her last.
Well borne, well bred, brought up with cost and care,
Of singular parts; the sole admir'd 'mongst many,
In all her gracefull carriage, choise and rare.
But what of these? we see death spares not any.
Besides all other rich decorements she
So sweetly sung, her voice did rapture breed,
No spring-tide bird to her compar'd might be,
Who
Orpheus did, and
Thamiras exceed.
And what's of rare remarke; even all that day,
(The saddest to her friends that ever came)
When she (sweet soule) upon her death-bed lay,
She to choise musicall notes her voice did frame.
Her Funerall Dirge the dying Swan so sings,
Then Angels waited to make up the Guire,
And beare her soule on their celestiall wings,
Vnto that place shee living did desire.
Were all the pens of Poets joyn'd in one,
Dipt in like Inke, and sworne, to write her true;
Let them spend all their spirits on her alone,
Yet can they not ascribe to her her due.
Apollo write thy selfe, for this doth aske
No humane skill, to give her merited praise.
Thy
Daphne dead, now take in hand this taske,
Do't as it ought, and ever weare thy bayes.
The Inscription upon her Tombe-stone lying in Clerkenwell Church.
Hereunder lyes a Casket, that containd
A life unspotted, and a soule unstaind,
A virgin chaste, beyond example faire,
[Page 259]
[...]or outward gifts remark't, for inward, rare,
Of natures pieces, one the prime and choice,
[...]o nurturd, that for needle, booke and voice
[...]re was unpeer'd: matchles in mind and face,
[...]nd all the vertues that her sex most grace.
[...]ho after twenty yeares scarce fully expird,
[...]rriv'd at that safe port she most desird:
[...] life, to friends and parents fresh joyes bringing:
[...] death; to God sweet
Halelujaes singing.
Obijt Die Mart. 8. Anno Aetat. 20. An. salutis. 1636.
Epithalamions or Nuptiall Songs.
An Epithalamion or Nuptiall Song upon a you sweet vertuous Gentlewoman. F. L.
An Acrostick upon her name.
Flame
Himens torch with luster cleere and bright,
Rare starres breake from thee, such as still affright
All cloudy Omen hence: may you appeare
Not aged to your selves; though time each yeare
Charge houres upon you, live together long,
Ever (though old) still to each other young.
Smile O thou marriage Queene on this sweet payre
Lucina when her throwes of child-birth are,
Offer thy best helpe; Issue procreate
Numerous, and happy, free from all sad fate,
Grow great, and good, and both these still ascending
Ever to last, and never to have ending.
Himens blessing upon the same.
Faelice
[...]ter & Amplius
quos Irrupta tenet Copulae.
I bring you
Himens blessing, hearts intire,
First warm'd, then kindled at his holy fire.
The Grecian Ladies kept these nights to mirth
Sacred, and from their marriage, not their birth
Counted their age; This knot so doubly tyde
May no disaster, or sad fate divide.
May peace and love in all your lookes be read,
A plentious table, and a fruitfull bed
Be never wanting, jealousie and strife
[Page 261] Be farre exil'd, that a contented life
May sweeten all those houres that are t'ensue.
And as your Parents now rejoyce in you,
May you in your blest Issue, and spread name,
That when to them I kindle a new flame,
As at this feast, where like occasions meet,
Both Sires and Grandsires may be proud to see't.
And this to many generations prove,
As the best fruits of true conjugall love.
To a vertuous Gentlewoman at the parting from her own Fathers house, to live with her husband at her Father-in-lawes.
May it please you thinke I am the place which now
You ready are to part from, which whilst you
Were present, seem'd a paradise, and full
Of all delights, but now growne sad, and dull.
Me thinkes it stands, as by an Earthquake shaken,
When it perceives it is by you forsaken,
And though it selfe all mute and silent be,
Thinke that it's
Genius doth speake thus in me.
Farewell sweet Lady; all the choise delights,
The comforts of the day, the joy of nights,
The friendly houres (the handmaides unto time.)
The seasons: Winter, August, Summer, prime;
[...]y day, the cheerefull Sun; by night, the Moone,
[...]eepe or awake, at midnight, or at noone,
Protect you: All things happen to you well,
[...]o please your eye, your eare, touch, taste, and smell.
Where e're you walke, the ayre fresh breath bequeath you,
The earth on which you tread, prove smooth beneath you.
[...] stand, time stand still with you, or seeme slow;
[...] move, may Angels wheresoe're you goe
[...]ttend you; or if sit; the chaire to ease you
[...]ove soft, as
Iunoes throne. If ride, to please you
[...]ay your Caroch wheeles run as swift and faire,
[...]
Venus Chariot mounted in the ayre.
[Page 262] If lye to rest, then gently may yee sleepe;
Whom, He that made you sweet, as sweetly keepe.
Your dreames be such; that waking, you may say
Darknesse to me as pleasing was as day.
So sleepe, so wake, so walke, so ride, so rest,
With all contentments, treasur'd in your brest,
Till this sad house, which now you leave, to mourne,
May be made joyfull in your quick returne.
A nuptiall song, devoted to the Celebration of a Marriage betwixt Master Iames, and Mistresse An. W. An Acrostick.
Illustrious
Himen, let this bridall feast
Abound in plenty of all choice delights,
Make it a lasting Iubilee, not least
Ennobled by thee; all their tedious nights
Shorten in pleasure; To their future dayes
Adde length and light without eclipse or cloud,
No unkind breath betwixt them tempest raise,
No word be heard too silent, or too loud.
And when the full time of her Issue growes,
(Which may they prove as numerous as blest)
Awake
Lucina to her painfull throwes,
And summon
Juno to prepare her rest.
Dispose their boord, their bed; that they may find
Each in their age, as in their youth like kind.
A Song at their uprising.
Pack clouds away, and welcome day,
With night we banish sorrow:
Sweet ayre blow soft, mount Larks aloft,
To give my love good morrow.
Wings from the wind to please her mind,
Notes from the Larke Ile borrow:
Bird prune thy wing, Nightingale sing,
To give my love good morrow,
To give my love good morrow,
Notes from them both Ile borrow.
[Page 263] Wake from thy nest Robin red brest,
Sing birds in ev'ry furrow:
[...]nd from each Bill let musick shrill
Give my faire love good morrow.
[...]lackbird and Thrush, in every bush,
Stare, Linet, and Cock-sparrow:
[...]ou pretty Elves, amongst your selves,
Sing my faire love good morrow.
To give my love good morrow,
Sing Birds in every furrow.
[...] Anagram upon the name of the right honourable Sir Thomas Coventry, Lord Keeper of the great Seale, &c.
THOMAS COVENTRY.
To charme out sinne.
An Acrostick upon the Anagram.
[...]o charme out sinne, to you the power is given,
[...]aving your
Caducaeus lent from heaven;
[...] may your
Mace, the Emblem of that power
[...]akes good, and great: even to your latest houre
[...]ble them both in you: May you appeare
[...]till Pilote to that Helme, which you now steare.
[...]onscience your Court; in constancy persever,
[...]pposing what you have affronted ever,
[...]yce, howsoe're disguis'd in vertues weeds.
[...]nd as you have begun: so shall your deeds
[...]ot unremembred in the grave forsake you,
[...]ime (here so spent) shall there immortall make you.
[...]ecorded it shall be what you have bin,
[...] our justice being made
To charme out sinne.
Another of the same.
THOMAS COVENTRY.
O Hye constant Mure.
An Acrostick upon the Anagram.
The
Hye and constant Mure girt you about,
Hedging your person in, from all detraction.
Open you lye not to the vulgar rowt,
Maligning goodnesse, and inclin'd to faction.
AFort you are, built on the Rock, not Sand,
Stable, all stormes of envie to withstand.
Continue in your justice, mercy, piety,
Oppression and extortion still keepe under,
Vertue, in which man comes most neere a Diety,
(Excellent Sir) shall your best merits wonder.
Never shall your uprightnesse be forgot;
Never; a conscience so unstain'd and pure
Time shall to
Lethe leave, or scandall spot.
Remaine it shall, whilst Moone or Starres indure,
You guarded still, with an
Hye constant Mure.
Of the right Honourable Sir Henry Carey, Lord Hunsden, Earle of Dover, &c.
HENRY CAREY: The Anagram. Rayne Rich. An Acrostick upon the Anagram.
Honored Sir, If content a Kingdome be,
Ever raigne rich, grac't with that inward crowne,
None is (then you) in true nobility
Richer; in vertue, issue, or renowne,
You need not feare fortunes inconstant frowne.
Conscience unstain'd, justice, integrity
A bound in you, by all which you are knowne.
Remarkt you are for your sincerity,
Ennobled Sir, and in your blest posterity
You shall raigne rich, still making these your owne.
Of Sir Ranoulphe Crewe, once Lord Chiefe Iustice of England.
The Anagram. Now Helper, Crave. An Acrostick upon the Anagram.
Rare 'tis such as have helpt, now helpe to crave,
A president of this, in you we have,
None ever in your place of Iustice sate,
Or graver, or more wise to arbitrate,
Vowes you have kept made to the Iudge on hie,
Lystned, (as he doth) to the poore mans cry,
Protecting Widowes, Orphans, and indeed,
Helping all such as did your justice need.
Eminent Sir, your vertues are your shield,
Conquering base envie who hath lost the field,
Reproacht, for so maligning your renowne,
Eternity shall all your actions crowne,
Whilst those that sought your goodnes to deprave,
Ever shall need your helping hand to crave.
Of the most excellent Lady, the Lady Anna Carre, sole daughter to the right Honourable Robert Earle of Somerset, Knight of the Garter, &c,
ROBERT ANNA CARRE.
The Anagram, Rarer cannot beare.
An Acrostick upon the Anagram.
Rarer than you either for brest or braine,
O can the earth beare? or shall it againe
[...]ud a more hopefull bloome? with this new yeare
Entring, by
Janus leave, may you appeare
[...] are Lady like bright
Cinthia in her
Carre,
That's alwayes seene with some conspicuous starre.
[Page 266] Amply, Heaven hath indow'd you for a Bride,
None of your age more nobly qualifide.
None (than your selfe) more vertuous, chaste and faire,
And therefore worthy to be counted rare.
Challenge you may amongst the vertues place,
And to the former three, adde a fourth grace.
Raptur'd I am, and I presume,
Iove would
Rayne in your lap, a liquid showre of Gold
Even now: did he your sweet aspect behold.
Of that worthy and most religious Knight, Sir Paul Pindar. His Anagram.
Prayer in D. divus vel Sanctus. D. Pauls.
An Acrostick upon the Anagram.
Sir
Paul, of all that ever boare that name,
You to Saint
Paul most deare are, and may claime
Rare priviledge; (I might say) above all
Priority, that beare the name of
Paul.
A course like yours, how to continue prayers
Vnto succession, who hath left his heyres?
Let this your piety proceed to 'th full,
Pursue your good worke, and bring on the dull
Insensible grosse Earth-wormes, such as prise
No god but gold, nor will be heavenly wise.
Dedicate on; make others like sincere,
A noble president you shall appeare,
Read, whilst old
Ianus ushers the new yeare.
A Distick.
Saint
Paul, Sir
Paul, both traveld: one with care
To build Christs Church:
Pauls th' other to repaire.
EPIGRAMS.
Epig. ex THEOD. BEZA.
1. To his Library having beene sometime absent thence.
Salvete incolumes mei Libelli,
Meae deliciae, mei lepores, &c.
HAyle to my bookes safe and in sight.
You, all my mirth; my choice delight.
My
Cicero and
Plinies both,
All haile to you; whom I was loath
To leave one minut:
Cato, Columel,
My
Varro, Livy, all are well.
Hayle to my
Plautus, Terence too,
And
Ovid say, how dost thou doe?
My
Fabius, my
Propertius,
And those not least belov'd of us,
Greeke Authors, exquisite all o're,
And whom I should have nam'd before,
Because of their Cothurnat straine,
And
Homer then, whom not in vaine,
The people stil'd great: next I see
My
Aristotle, hayle to thee
Plato, Tymaus, and the rest
Of you who cannot be exprest
In a phaleucik number; all,
Hayle to my Bookes in generall
Againe, and thrice, againe all hayle,
[Page 268] And may my prayer thus far prevaile,
O you my best lov'd bookes I pray,
(For I have beene sixe dayes away)
My absence yee will not distaste,
But with this love I left you last
You will receive me, which I vow,
Was fervent and sincere to you,
And if you grant this small request,
I further unto you protest,
Henceforth from you Ile be away
No weeke, no weeke said I? no day,
No day? no houre shall loose my care,
No minutes space that I can spare.
2. Of Erasmus, pictured but from the girdle upwards.
Ingens ingentem, quem personat orbis, Erasmum,
Haec tibi dimidium picta tabella refert, &c.
This painted table to thy view,
But halfe
Erasmus lends.
Of great
Erasmus, whose loud fame
Through the great world extends,
But why not his whole portraiture?
Cease Reader to complaine,
He was so great that the vast earth
His fame cannot containe.
3. Of Lucrece.
Si fuit ille tibi Lucretia, gratus adulter,
Immerito merita praemia morte petis, &c.
If to thy bed the adulterer welcome came,
O
Lucrece, then thy death deserves no fame.
If force were offred, give true reason why,
Being cleare thyselfe thou for his fault wouldst dye?
Therefore in vaine thou seekst thy fame to cherish,
Since mad thou fal'st, or for thy sinne dost perish.
4. Vpon the Venetian History written by Petrus Bembus.
Clarae urbi Venetum, Debes natalia Bembe,
vrbs eadem clara est munere Bembe tuo.
O
Bembus Venice in thy birth is fam'd,
And in thy worth the Cities worth proclaim'd,
Thou happy in that Citty, and agen,
It happy to have thee a Citizen;
Yet thou O
Bembus by thy learned booke,
Gav'st back more to it, than from it thou tooke.
What thou receiv'st, was mortall, and must dy;
What thou returnst, shall live eternally.
5. Of Helionora the French Queene.
Nil Helena vidit Phoebus formosius una,
Te regina nihil pulchrius orbis habet.
Then
Hellen Phoebus could no rarer view,
Nor all the world a fairer yeeld than you.
Both beautifull! yet you in this excell;
She brocht dissention, discord you expell.
6. Of Iohannes Secundus an excellent Poet of the Hage in Holland.
Excelsum seu condis opus magnique Maronis,
luminibus offerre studes, &c.
If an high worke thou undertak'st; to rise
In
Virgils straine, and looke out with his eyes;
Or if light Elegies art pleas'd to sing,
Such as from
Ovids veyne were knowne to spring;
If to the ly'r of
Pindarus thou fit
Thy various notes, to make him blush at it;
If thou make
Belbulus his browes contort,
To see how he in Epigrams can sport;
These foure thou shalt excell: even thou alone
Secundus, who art second unto none.
7. Against Philenus who carpt at Erasmus.
Erasmus ille, quo fatentur plurimi,
Nihil fuisse nec futurum doctius, &c.
Erasmus whom as many say,
[Page 270] None shall or hath beene to this day
More learned: yet to thee thou gull,
Most stupid he appeares and dull,
And what aspersions thou canst frame
To calumnise his noble name,
By thee or others are collected,
In hope to make him disrespected.
Barke still
Philenus with the rest,
Since 'tis apparant to the best,
That learn'd
Erasmus much more knew,
Than is unknowne to all of you.
8. To Lodovick Masurus of his verses made of the fall of Babylon.
Dum Masuri rudiore tonas Babylona ruentem, Cantata est quanta Troja nec ipsa tuba, &c.
Whilst
Masurus thou with a lowder tongue
Soundst
Babels fall, then ever
Troyes was song,
Thou hast given cause
Homer should thee envie,
Or
Maro (greater) that thou writ'st so hye,
Yet
Masurus one error may be found
In thy brave worke for all its stentors sound,
That in so great a verse thy fame pursuing
Thou buildst for ever what thou striv'st to ruin.
9. Vpon three the most excellent Divines of France then living.
Gallica mirata est Calvinum ecclesia nuper quo nemo docuit doctius, &c.
The Church of
France, late
Calvin did admire,
Then whom no one more learn'd could teach.
Turellus, who to thunder did aspire,
Then whom none could more strongly preach.
The Honey tongud
Viretus, He who still
Nothing save sweetnes doth deliver.
France, thou by these maist sav'd be if thou will,
Or else be lost for ever.
10. A comparison betwixt Poets and Monkes.
Accipe Francisco cur componamus Homerum,
Et Monachos, credo vatibus esse pares, &c.
Receive, why the Franciscan I compare
To
Homer: and thinke Monkes and Poets are
Both like.
Francis (we read of old) was blind,
And so was
Homer, as we written find;
He of his eyes, the other in his mind.
A begger
Francis was,
Homer was poore,
And both sung Hymnes at every rich mans dore.
The vast world both their rapsodies admires,
From the one's Poets, from the others Friers.
Poets at first in remote woods did dwell,
The Monkes at first chus'd out the Cave and Cell.
The Woods forsooke, the Monkes themselves betake
Vnto the Townes, and Poets then forsake
The Groves to live in Cities: Night and day
The Poet sings, and so the Monke doth bray,
And in their musick both alike delight.
The Muse the wanton Poet doth accite,
To have his
Cinthia, and the shaven Frier
Not one alone, but many doth desire.
With water if the Poet chance to meet
In stead of Wine, his verse comes off unsweet.
And if unto the Monke you water bring
When he would drinke, he will but sadly sing.
The Poet when his Harpe's about him tyde,
His pleasant notes most sweetly will divide:
And so the Monke too will sound nothing dull,
When as the Flagon at his girdle's full.
Th' one in an Atheists fury doth exclaime,
Th' other an Enthean rapture doth inflame,
And still the Thvrsian favor he doth weare,
As th' other crosses doth about him beare.
The victor Poets Mirtles and Bayes renowne,
And the Monkes honour is his shaven crowne.
The excellent Poet George Buchanan, upon a Diamond cut like an Hart, and sent from Mary Queene of Scots, to the most excellent Lady Queene Elizabeth.
Non me materies facit superbum,
Quod ferro Insuperabilis quod igni, &c.
Not that my substance neither can be bow'd,
Or flaw'd by fire or steele, doth make me proud,
Nor clearnes wanting staine, not that I still
Shine with perspicuous light, not th' Artists skill
Who gave me forme, and cloath'd me thus in gold,
That I might seeme more glorious to behold:
But if in me appeare the least ostent,
It is because I'am made to represent
The heart of my sweet Mistresse, and so neare,
That if the same Heart in her bosome were,
With eyes to bee survey'd, more constant none,
More cleare, more spotlesse could be look't upon,
Both splenderous alike, and without staine,
In all things equall, save there doth remaine
A difference in our hardnesse: but to me
A second favour's lent, a hope to see
Of you Heroick Lady, the bright face:
Then which there cannot bee a greater grace.
Hope of which grace I almost was bereft,
After I once had my deare mistresse left.
O that my fate so much to me would daine,
That I might in an adamantine chaine
Linke your two hearts, in such a strong condition,
As that no emulation, no suspition,
Nor spleene, nor age, nor hate, could break asunder,
So should I of all stones be held the wonder.
So I more blest were than all stones by far,
So I more bright were than all stones that are.
So then all stones I were more deare indeed,
As I in hardnesse doe all stones exceed.
Of Chrisalus.
Flava Ceres longi spes interceperat amti,
Aruerat pigro vin
[...] t
[...]ll
[...] gel
[...].
Graine the long yeares hope in the eare doth pine,
The tedious frost doth pinch thy forward kine:
Rot kills thy sheepe, theeves steale thy gotes; and now
Thy labouring Oxen perish at the plow.
Losse after losse when
Chrisalus had found,
And he himselfe unwilling to be found
Alone: when his whole state was ceas'd, bethought
To hang himselfe so he might do't for nought.
But soone that purpose in his mind was lost,
When he considerd what a rope would cost,
For he would die of free-cost: he thinks then
To kill himselfe with a sharpe sword, but when
He lookt about and saw none, nay saith he,
To buy a sword were too much charge for me.
Hee then saith to himselfe: doubtlesse that knave
The Sexton expects something for my grave,
And somewhat those that put me in my shroud,
And somewhat must the bearers' be allowd.
The Priest, the candles, ringing of the bell:
And prayers too, must cost somewhat I know well.
Therefore to save all charges, this I say,
[...]le drowne my selfe, and that's the cheapest way.
He did so, And thus speaking in his fall,
[...]ee thus for nothing I discharge them all.
In Romum.
Non ego Romulea miror quòd pastor in urbe
Sceptra gerat: pastor conditor urbi
[...] erat.
[...] wonder not a Shepheard
Rome should sway,
[...] Shepheard
Romes foundation first did lay,
My wonder is since,
Romulus the first
That reard the same, was by a shee-wolfe nurst,
That even to these dayes as we plainely see,
[...]o many raging Wolves in
Rome should be.
[Page 274] This onely doth my admiration breed,
A Wolfe should keepe the fould, and the sheepe feed.
An Epitaph upon Iacobus Sylvius.
Silvius hic situs est gratis qui nil dedit unquam
Mortuus, & gratis quod legis ista dolet.
Here
Sylvius lies, who when he liv'd
Gave nothing, and being dead,
He yet laments, that what's writ here,
For nothing should be read.
Ex Angelo Politiano. Epigram In Pamphilum.
Mittis vina mihi, mihi Pamphile vina supersunt,
Vis mage, quod placeat mittere? mitte sitim.
Thou sendst me wine O
Pamphilus.
I had enough at first.
Wilt send me what shall better please?
Then prethee send me thirst.
Against Mabilius a bitter rayling Poet.
Ore tibi pauci, sed nulli in carmine dentes
quum sint, atque illi sunt putridi & veteres, &c.
There be but few teeth in thy jawes,
But in thy verse are none,
And those thou hast be rotten, or
Their use by age is gone.
And though thou canst not bite at all,
Yet barke thou dost meane space.
Which showes thee (though in shape a man,)
Yet of a dogged race.
Ex Accij sinceri sannazarij Neopolitani viri patricij. Epigram. Of the admirable City Venice.
Viderat Adriacis Venetam Neptunus in undis,
Stare urbem & toto p
[...]nere jura Mari, &c.
Neptune in th' Adriatick maine saw stand
[Page 275]
Venice whose power did all the Sea command,
And saith, now
Iove show thy Tarpeian Towers
And walls of
Mars, unto this scite, now ours.
If thou before the mighty Ocean dare
The petty River
Tiber to compare,
Behold both Cities there give up this doome,
The
Gods built
Venice, Men erected
Rome.
Ex M. Anthonij Fla [...]inij. Epigram. Of Cardinall Pooles Picture.
Si velut egregia pictura maxime Pole,
Est expressa tui corporis effigies, &c.
Great
Poole, as in that excellent Table wee
The picture of thy body plaine may see,
So could one paint the beauty of thy mind,
No rarer thing, we on the earth could find.
Of a faire gilt Bowle sent unto him from Benedict Accoltus Cardinall.
Hanc pateram Chio spumantem autoque nitentem
Accoltus vati donat habere suo, &c.
This golden Cup swelling with Chios juyce,
Given by Accoltus to his Poets use,
Part of this wine
Bacchus to thee I send,
And part to thee
Apollo, I commend.
Now Muses take the Cup, and it brim-fill
With Nectar, which may to my braine distill,
That worthy thankes I may
Accoltus give,
In such high verse as may for ever live.
Ex Mario Molsa. Of the City Rome being late wasted by the Germanes.
Flagrati cineres si nunc Catilina videret,
Imperij & Latium consenuisse decus.
Th' Empires burnt ashes didst thou now behold
O
Catiline, and her glory waxt so old,
The Capitoll, and high Tarpeian spires,
[Page 276] Couldst thou but view defac't by forraigne fires,
Now coverd in long ruines, thou wouldst run,
And loudly cry, This by the gods was done.
For amongst mortall men, what's he once durst
Doe this to
Rome, which I had menac't first?
O how much better had it beene that I
Had beene the cause of all thy misery!
Whil'st buried
Rome from darknes thou dost strive
To raise (O
Blondus) and keepe still alive
Dead
Romulus and
Remus: by thy wit,
They a rude City did erect, but it
Thy labour hath re-built, making it shine
So to the world, tis almost held divine.
And though the barbarous Foe it overthrew,
Thy lasting verse, hath still repaird it new.
A Tombe to thee, triumphant
Rome did give,
That it to thee, and thou to it maist live.
Ex Antonio Titaldeo. An Epitath upon Joannes Mirandula.
Ioannes jacet hic Mirandula, caeter
[...] norunt.
Et Tagus & Ganges, forsan & Antipodes.
Mirandula here tombed lies;
Wouldst thou know more? aske these,
Tagus and
Ganges best knows, and
Perhaps the
Antipodes.
Ex Benedicti Theocreni. Epigram. Upon a Comet which Lewes of Savoy saw a little before his death.
In festum sibi cum sciret Ludovica Cometam,
Seque peti: Illius crinibus horrificis, &c.
A bearded star when
Lewes did espy,
With horrible aspect his life to threat,
Loe here, a Torch saith he that from on high
Lights me to heaven, (his spirit was so great.
Ex Joanne secundo Hagiensi. Of one Charinus who had married a deformed wife.
Nuper Charine conjugem,
Vidi tuam, tam candidam, &c.
Charinus I beheld of late,
Thy wife so sweet, so delicate,
So faire, so chaste, so neat, so fine,
That almost I could wish her mine.
And if great
Iove would give me three,
In all respects but such as shee
I two would unto
Pluto grant,
To take away that paravant.
Ex Henrici Stephani Epigram. Of Phillis who was delivered within five moneths after her marriage.
Ante legitimum statumque tempus,
Cum puerpera facta Phillis est.
Phillis late married as 'tis sed,
Before her time was brought a bed;
The noise of which, (to her disgrace)
Was spoken of in every place.
Which brought to her by one she knew,
Who told her how such rumor grew,
She smil'd, and thus excus'd the crime,
The vulgar mis-compute the time:
Nine moneths I know they will allow
A teeming woman, and I now
Exceed that limit; Five months hee
Tis well knowne, hath beene wed to mee,
[...]o five moneths I to him have beene
[...]n wedlock joyn'd, then where's the sinne?
Adde five moneths unto five, and then
Who knowes not but they make up ten?
Upon Pompe's death.
Dux Pharia quamvis jacu Inhumatus arena,
Non ideo fati est saevior ira tui, &c.
Though thou great Duke inhum'd dost lie
Vpon the Pharian shore,
Blame not the fates who thought thereby
To honor thee the more.
Vnworthy was the earth thy bones,
Which thou subdude by force;
Onely the Heavens, and they alone
Were worthy of thy Coarse.
Ex Ioanne Colta. Of the City Verona.
Verona, qui te vider it,
Et non amârit protinus
A more perditissimo, &c.
Verona whatsoere hee be,
Who when he first shall looke on thee,
It doth not his affection move
To dote on thee with perdit love,
I thinke he not himselfe respects;
And that he wants true loves affects,
His sences are not in good state,
Nay all the graces he doth hate.
Ex Petro Bo [...]bo. An Epitaph upon one Thebaldaeus an excellent Musitian.
Qui ripis te saepe suis stupuere Canentom,
Eridanus Tiberisque; parens ille, hic tuus Hospes, &c.
Eridanus and
Tiberis flood,
Who when upon their bankes thou stood,
Admir'd thee singing (in one bred
And by the other nurst and fed)
Most credible it is that thou
In the Elysian fields singst now,
And mak'st such musicke with thy tongue,
That all the Gods about thee throng.
Ex Baltasser Castlli [...]ne. An Epitaph upon a Virgin whose name was Gratia.
Siste viator, dum proper as hoc aspice marmor,
Et leg
[...], ni plores, tu quoque marmor eris, &c.
Stay Travailer, and looke upon
This Marble ere thou part.
Read here, and if thou dropst no teares,
Thou likewise marble art.
Sweet
Grace is dead, for cruell death
Takes both the faire and wise,
(Alas the while) and here beneath
This stone, intombed lyes,
She both her sisters tooke along,
So that we now may say
All the three graces in her death
Did perish in one day.
Ex Antonio Casanova. Of Lucrece.
Dicite, cum melius cadere unte Lucretia posset,
Cur potius voluit post scelus illa mori.
Why
Lucrece better might her selfe have slaine
Before the act, than after her black staine,
Can any tell? no crime she did commit,
For of all guile, her hand did her acquit.
Her ravisher she slew by that brave stroke,
And from her Countries neck tooke off the yoke.
From thine owne hand thy death most willing came,
To save thy Country, and preserve thy fame.
In praise of Archery.
BRave Archery what rapture shall I raise.
In giving thee thy merit, and due praise?
Divine thou art, as from the Gods begot:
Apollo with an arrow
Python shot,
And
Cupid the faire
Venus sonne we know
Is alway figured with his shafts and Bow.
The chaste
Dlana with her Nimphes in chase,
Will with no other armes their shoulders grace.
A mighty Bow the great
Alcides drew,
When he (to save his bride) the Centaur slew.
It is the powerfull hand of Heaven that bends
The all-coloured Rainbow that so farre extends,
Before the Tormentary art was found,
The jarring string did make the dreadfulst sound.
And that invulner'd Greeke unskard, by steele
Was shot, and slaine by
Paris in the heele.
The naked Indian doth on armor lack
His bow being bent, and quiver at his back.
And the wild Tartar doth no danger feare,
His arrow nockt, and string drawne to his eare.
The Parthian in this practise hath such skill,
That when he flies he can shoot back and kill.
For us; What forraigne Chronicles, but sing
Our honours purchast by the Gray-goose wing?
Brave
Cordelion with a feathered band
Beat the proud Soldan from the holy Land.
O what an honour did the Black Prince gaine,
When he with English Archers conquerd
Spaine!
So ancient, so divine, so nobly fam'd;
(Yet for the bodies health there's nothing nam'd.)
It is an exercise (by proofe) we see
Whose practise doth with nature best agree.
Obstructions from the liver it prevents,
Stretching the Nerves and Arty'rs gives extents
[Page 281] To the spleenes oppilations, cleares the brest
And spungy lungs: It is a foe profest
To all consumptions: More, what need I name?
The State approves it for a lawfull game.
What woon our honour, is now made our sport,
Witnes
Poicteirs, Cressy, and
Agincourt.
Upon a Booke late published by one Bird a Coachman, calld Byrds businesse.
Reader, who ere thou beest; approach man,
And heare the Iornall of a Coachman,
(In which he is not too prolix)
Who with two Horses, foure, or six,
If let him have a good Postillion,
Shall drive with any for a Million.
We read in Stories long agon,
That there was one
Antomedon,
Great
Hectors Charioter, Another
Who of the same trade was a brother
Whom
Archeptolemus men name,
And hee,
Achilles steeds did tame.
These could their Horses turne, and wind,
And check, and curb them to their mind,
Wheeling with many a strange
Meander,
In the most famous field
Scamander.
I wonder
Homer was so rash
To praise those expert in the lash,
But he was ignorant and blind,
Who knew not
Byrd should come behind.
Who had he liv'd then; might King
[...]
Have served, or great
Agamemnon,
And taught their Palphre yes how to draw,
But they alas to him were raw.
I must confesse they had the braines,
In the day time to guide the raines,
And in plaine ground to use the whip,
And one another to outstrip.
[Page 282] But this our Bird, although no Owle,
His Horse is able to controule,
And them to governe I dare say,
(And guide) as well by night as day,
As in his travels may appeare,
Which largely are discoursed there.
And though I know not how, or when,
Yet all describ'd by his owne pen.
In which to exceed so much he strives
That whether he better writes or drives
May well be questioned; Reader judge,
Pay for thy Booke, and doe not grudge.
And now if any question make
In this worke he did undertake,
Why he in number or in rime,
Should so much faile? observe the time
And place withall, where these were writ.
And he no doubt will both remit.
Neither doth it the Author, wrong,
To make one verse short, the other long,
As you may find oft in his booke,
He suites them to the way he tooke.
If any line against his will
Goe lagging on: he drove up-hill.
Againe: If any passe it's length,
Downe hill he ran, and had not strength,
Though take unto him all his force,
Either to stop it, or his horse.
I will appeale to all who use
The trade, and they will that excuse.
When he was driving in even way,
The verse runs smooth (perceive you may)
But being rough, then thinke he feeles
Some deepe foule slough to clogge his wheeles.
Here in his praise my sayle I strike,
Let any Coachman doe the like.
Against a base and infamous Balladder, who disperst a scandalous riming Libell, in which hee malitiously traduced the noble exercises weekely practised in the Artillery Garden.
What mightst thou be I wonder? whose bald rime
Thus railes against the vertues of our time,
Of what birth? name? what nation? what degree?
Since thou conceal'st these from the world and me,
I will enquire: well-bred thou art not sure;
No generous spirit could ever yet indure
To heare a Souldier branded: Such love Armes,
And grace the practise of our loud alarmes,
Our quick and active postures they admire,
Which teach us when to charge, and when retire.
This proves thee borne out of some dunghill race,
That nere durst looke a Souldier in the face.
Then of what name? I'st so dark and obscure,
Or else so blur'd, it dares not now indure
The Sunne and Day? but Owle-like is it gone,
And forfeited to night? or hast thou none?
Or wast once good? let this afflict thee most,
Thou art halfe hang'd, for thy good name is lost.
Then of what Country? Didst thou never heare
Of
Talbot, Norris, Essex, Sidney, Vere?
Or hast thou of our conquering Princes read,
And durst affirme thou wert in
England bred,
Scotland or
Ireland? Kingdomes, that still affoord
Armes Nursery, and Souldiers of the sword?
Sure th'art not French; unlesse thou wert begot
In their disease, the pock
[...], and therefore not
Sound in thy joynts, and that's the cause, thou here
Rayl'st 'gainst these Armes thou hast not limbs to beare.
Then from what Country, nation? from what straine
Canst thou derive thy being? not from
Spaine,
For all their prid's in Armes, a Souldiers name
[Page 284] As the earths glory, at which most they ayme.
To
Italy for birth-right shouldst thou flye,
Caesar himselfe would give thee then the lye,
With thousand valiant Romanes, and all sweare
A Groome so base had never breeding there.
So of all others; Nay thy impudent worke
Would blush the very person of a Turke.
Their Bashaes and their Ianisaries be
Bold Leaders, and approv'd for Chivalree.
Were not the Worthies Souldiers? (worthles slave,)
A title that antiquity first gave,
To eternize them; and others to aspire
To the like height; That we might ours admire,
As former ages them: For thy degree
I cannot thinke how I may censure thee.
Art thou a Citizen? and canst repine
At practise of such needfull discipline?
If so; thou art some bastard, and 'twere pitty
But all like thee were spew'd out of the City.
Thou art no Scholler; Arts and Armes conspire.
Schollers praise Armes, we Souldiers Arts admire.
Nay art thou Christian? that with rymes so vaine
Durst taske the divine Pulpit? O prophane
And irreligious wretch: good subject? No
Such thou art not, whose obscene meeters flow
To'th jangling Musick of each Fidlers string,
Gainst that which Patrons Country, peace, and King.
Since neither then good Subject, Christian; nor
One that loves Arts; whom City doth abhor,
And Country hath disclaim'd, one whom no clime
But is asham'd to challenge, whose base ryme
Hath forfeited his name, and obscure birth
From every language, Nation, from all earth;
I thus conclude. To which sound Drum and Fife
He' hath lost his name, why should hee keepe his life?
FINIS.
The ANNOTATIONS upon PROCUS and PUELLA.
IN this Dialogue (to whose Author I am not able to give a meriting character) I presume there is nothing conteined which doth deviate either from modesty or good manners. It is onely a meere expression, of what is, or ought to be, betwixt a young man and a maide, in the initiating of their affection, the prosecution of their love, and the perfecting of their contract. Here is neither childish discourse, loose language, or any impertinency, which is not agreeable, with wholsome instance, and commendable example. For in all marriages there is to bee observ'd, Parity in birth. For as Dion saith: Disparity in Wedlock is a great enemie to love: then conformity in education, and lastly equality in state. The first begetteth acquaintance, the second confirmeth it, and for the last we read Euripides thus: women without dowry cannot claime the priviledge to speake their owne thoughts: And Menander saith: That man is most unhappy who marrieth being poore, and raiseth his fortunes by a rich maide or widdow. But howsoever marriage in itselfe is honorable: in so much that Homer informeth us, That the Ladyes of Greece, used to count their yeares from the time of their Nuptials, not the day of their Nativity, as forgetting all the time of their virginity, and intimating, they were never to bee said truely to live, till they came to that state, legally to lend life unto others, which was by lawfull wedlock. Imagine then this our Pamphilus prov'd an happy husband, and Maria a fortunate wife: He a provident Father, and shee the fruitfull mother of [Page] a numerous and thriving issue. They blest in their children, and their children alternatly in them: For so i [...] (for the most part) hapneth in all such contracts. Where vertue over-ruleth vanity, and reason swayeth passion and affection. Of him I may say with Boethius, lib. 2. Metr. 8.
Hic & conjugij sacrum
Castis nectit amoribus.
With the sacred Nuptiall tye,
His chast love did well comply.
And to doe her the best right I can, I make bold to borrow thus much from the Poet Statius, lib. Silvar. 5.
Si Babylonis opes, Lydae si pondera gaza
Indorumque dares, &c.
If thou the Babylonian wealth shouldst proffer,
Or rifle (for her) the rich Lydians coffer;
The potent wealth couldst thou before her lay,
From
India brought; or that from
Affrica?
Yet rather then transgresse her nuptiall vow,
She would choose death not caring where, nor how.
Et quo non possum corpore, mente feror.
Annotations upon the Dialogue of EARTH and AGE.
(a) MEaning Io transformed into a Cow, by Iupiter (who had before stuprated her) to conceale her from the jealousie of his wife Iuno: the whole story you may [Page] read in the Dialogue intituled Iupiter and Io: shee lived in the yeare of the world 2200. according to Hel.
(b) The Sibils were in number ten. Persica, Libyca, Delphica, Erithraea, Samia, Hellesponti [...]ca, Tiburtina, Albinces, [...], Cumana: of these you may read Varro, Gellius, Augustin, Suidas, and Lactantius. And of the long life of Cumana, Uirgil in his Aeneids.
(c) Ascraean, so titled from Ascra a Towne in Boetia, neare unto the mount Helicon, where the famous Poet Hesiod was borne, from which place hee had the sirname Ascraeus.
(d) King Cyrus, because he had a Steed whom he much loved, drowned in the river Ganges: to be revenged therof, caused so many currents to bee cut, that hee dryed the Channell.
(e) It hath reference to the great battaile fought by Hannibal against the Romanes neare unto the Village Cannas, where he slew 80. thousand in that one conflict: from thence the people of Italy are call'd Cannenses.
(f) Concerning the History of Phaeton, and his sisters, I referre you to the reading of Ovid, where it is with great elegancy described. Metamorph.
(g) You may read the like of Niobe the daughter of Tantalus, and wife to Pelops: who had sixe Sonnes, and sixe Daughters, all which Latona the mother to Apollo and Diana, (in whom are figured the Sunne and the Moone) caused to be slaine, for the pride of Niobe, who presumed to compare with her: for griefe whereof shee lost her speech, and remained stupid and without motion, which gave the Poets occasion to feigne that she was changed into a marble statue. Calvis. reporteth that shee lived in the yeare of the world, 2240.
(h) Euridice was the wife of Orpheus, who flying from Aristheus who would have ravished her, was stung with a Serpent, of which she dyed. Orpheus tooke his harpe, And went to Hell for her, and by his excellent Musick so far [Page] wrought with Pluto and Proserpine, that they suffered him to beare her thence, but upon condition, that he should not looke backe upon her till hee had past the infernall shades, and came to the upper light, which through his over love hee breaking, so lost her. The fable is thus moralliz'd, Euridice signifieth the soule of man, and Orpheus the body to which the soule is married. Aristaus is true happinesse which would gladly ravish the soule, but shee flying through grassy fields and medowes, is at length stung to death by a Serpent, that is, by the blandishments of immoderate pleasure: she then descends into Hell, which implyes dull and deepe melancholy, with the trouble of a perplext conscience, where shee is rescued by comfortable musick. But so, that unlesse shee submit herselfe to the rule of reason, shee shall quickly fall againe into the same agony: she lived in the yeare 1700. according to Natal Comes.
(i) Astianax was the Sonne of Hector and Andromache, who after the taking of Troy, was by the Grecians precipitated from an high tower and so slaine.
(k) Aegaeus was the Sonne of Neotune, and King of Athens, in whose raigne King Minos of Creete to revenge the death of his Sonne Androgous, made most cruell warre on the Athenians, forcing them yearely to send seven Noblemens Sonnes into Creete to bee devoured by the monster Minotaurus. Three yeares this continued, and in the fourth the lot (amongst others fell upon Thesius, the elect Sonne of the King, who being of a noble and heroick courage, put them in great hope that he was able to kill the monster: At his departure his father in joyn'd him, that if the ship hee went in returned prosperously he should set up a white flagge in token of victory, and pluck downe the black one which they then bore in signe of mourning. But after when Theseus by the counsell of Ardiane daughter to King Minos had overcome the monster, and with a clew of thread escaped the labyrinth, [Page] sayling homewards againe with joy towards his Country, he forgot his fathers commandement concerning the white flagge. The old King much longing to see the safe returne of his sonne, used every day to ascend an high promontory, which overlooked the Sea, to take view of all such ships as past that way, at length knowing his sons shippe, and seeing the same sable flagge in the top, with which they first launched from that shoare, supposed hee had beene dead, and therefore surcharged with griefe, cast himselfe headlong from the rocke into the Sea, which was after cald by his name Aegeum mare. He lived in the 48. yeere after Athens was first made a Kingdome; and in the yeare of the world 2680. about the time that Gideon judged Israel.
(l) Iocaste was the mother of Oedipus, who after her first husbands death marryed with him, being her owne naturall sonne, (but not knowing so much) by him shee had Eteocles and Polynices, who in a single combat slew one another, and they also dyed miserably.
(m) Dedalus was the sonne of Micion borne in Athens, the most excellent Artificer of these times. He made the Labyrinth into which Minos put him, and his sonne Icarus, at length having got feathers and wax, he made thereof artificiall wings for himselfe and his sonne, and so flew from Crete into Sardinia, and thence to Cuma, where he built a Temple to Apollo, but Icarus in the way soared so high, that the beames of the Sunne, melted the wax, and his wings failing him, by that disaster he fell into the Sea, from it hath still retained the name of Mare Icarium, the Icarian Sea, according to that of Ovid.
Icarus Icarijs nomina fecit aquis.
(n) Progne was the daughter to King Pandion, who because her husband Tereus King of Thrace, had ravished her sister Philomela, and after cut out her tongue, she having notice thereof, in a barbarous revenge, at a [Page] feast dedicated to Bacchus: slew her son Itis, and after drest his limbs, and served them up to her husbands table, &c. She lived about the yeare of the world 2510. according to Helv.
(o) Autonoe, was the daughter of Cadmus and Hermione, who much lamented the death of Acteon.
(p) Antigone, was daughter of Oedipus King of Thebes, who when her blind father was banished, tooke upon her to leade him, and afterwards being at the buriall of her two brothers Eteocles and Polynices with Argia, was slaine by the command of King Creon, whose murder Theseus soone after revenged.
(q) Colossae vel Colossis, was a towne of Phrygia, neare unto Laodicea, which was demolisht by an earth-quake in the time of Nero.
(r) Memphis was built by King Ogdous, and tooke name of his daughter (so called) it is a great and spacious City in Egypt, famous for the Pyramides and stately scpulchers of King there set up: it is at this day called Alcayrum, or Grand-Cayre.
(s) Mausolus, was King of Caria, to whose memory his wife Artimesia reared a most sumptuous Tombe which was reckoned one of the seven wonders of the world, this Monument was reared in the yeare of the world 3590.
(t) It hath reference to the stately Temple of Diana in the City of Ephesus: which was afterwards maliciously burnt downe by Herostratus.
(v) Tarpeian alludeth to Tarpeia, a Vestall virgin in Rome, who covenanting with the Sabines their enemies, to betray the Capitoll, for the bracelets they wore on their left armes, when they entred the City, and she stood ready to receive that which she had contracted for, in stead of their bracelets, they cast their Targets upon her, by which she was smothered and pressed to death: this happened in the yeare of the world 3205. The Tarpeian [Page] Mount was so called because she was there buried, and Jupiter was sirnamed Tarpeius, because there worshipped.
(w) By Getick weapons are meant these which the Getae used, a people of Scythia in Europe, Aelius Spartan. From them derives the Nation of the Goths, who after conquered Italy and Rome.
(x) By Minerva's Altar, is intended that which stood in the Temple of Pallas within the City of Troy, where Achilles at his marriage to Polyxena daughter to King Priam and Hecuba was slaine by Paris.
(y) They were called Garamantes of Garamus, a King of Lybia, who built a City there, which he called after his owne name: their Country lyeth along by the banke of Numidia, in a tract of ground from the Atlanticke Ocean, by the river Nilus. They were held in old time to be the farthest people Southward.
(z) The Sauromat's are a Septentrionall Nation which some Authors, as Ortelius and Scaliger held to be the inhabitants of Russia and Tartaria.
(a) Helena was in her Nonage first rap't by Theseus before her mariage to Menclaus King of Sparta, and after by Paris ravisht, and carried to Troy.
(b) Atrides, were the two brothers, Agamemnon and Menelaus, so called from their father Atreus.
(c) Alcinous was King of the Phoeacians, and lived in Corcyra, who much delighted in Orchards and Gardens. (d) The Swans are cald Caistrian birds, from the river Caister, where they are said to breed in great number.
(e) Penelope the wife of Vlysses, famous for her beauty and constancy.
(f) Dido was otherwise called Elisa, the daughter of Belus King of Tyre, and espoused to Sychaeus, one of Hercules Priests, whom her brother Pigmalion slue for his wealth, she after built the famous Citty Carthage, and [Page] in the end (as Virgil relates) kild herselfe for the love of Aeneas.
(g) Leucades two beautifull sisters, rapt by the two famous brothers Castor and Pollux, the sonnes of Laed [...] the mother of Helen, who was comprest by Jupiter.
(h) Cato, for his austerity cald Censorius.
(i) Hippolitus, the sonne of Theseus and Hyppolita the Amazon, who when his father was abroad, his stepmother Phaedra sollicited him to incestuou love, which he refusing, she accused him to his father that he would have forced her, but when hee perceived him to give credit to her false information, he tooke his Chariot and horses to flie his fury, but by the way his steeds being frighted with Sea-calves, ran with him to the mountaines, and dashed the Coach in pieces, and him also, he lived in the yeare of the world, 2743.
(k) The Driades were Nymphae, or Sylvarum Dea, that is Wood-fayries or Druides.
(l) Croesus a rich King of Lydia.
(m) Crassus surnamed Marcus, therichest man amongst the Romanes, who held no man worthy to be cald rich, who could not within his yearely revenue maintaine an Army: hee was extremely covetous, and managed warre against the Parthians, by whom, both hee and thirty thousand Romanes were slaine, and because the barbarous enemy conjectured that hee made an assault upon them for their gold: therefore they melted a great quantity, and powred it into his dead body, to sate him with that, with which in his life time; hee could never be satisfied. He lived in the yeare of Romes foundation 693. and before the Incarnation 57.
(n) Midas, a rich King of Phrygia who asked of Bacchus whom he feasted, that whatsoever he touched might be turned into gold, &c. He lived in the yeare of the world 2648. about the time that Debora judged Israel.
(o) Priam King of Troy potent in wealth, and strength, [Page] but after slaine, and his Citty utterly subverted by the Grecians.
(p) Pigmalion, an avaritious King (before spoken of) brother to Queene Dido.
(q) Catiline, a seditious Conspiratour of Rome whose plots were brought to light by Marc Cicero then Consull of Rome with Antonius.
(r) Marius, one that was seven times Consull of Rome, and after much pestered the Citty, by the division betwixt him and Sylla: He lived the yeare before the Incarnation 65.
(s) Mezentius, was King of the Tyrenians, remembred by Virgil in his Aeneids, to be a great contemner of the gods.
(t) Calpe, is one of the hills in Spaine, called Hercules Pillars.
Illustrations upon Timon Misanthropos.
(a) SAlmoneus, was said to be the sonne of Eolus, not he whom the Poets feigne to be the god of the winds, but one of that name, who raigned in the Citty of Elis in Greece. He willing to appeare unto his subjects to be a God, and no man, and so to assume unto himselfe divine adoration, made a bridge of brasse over a great part of the Citty, over which he used to hurry his Chariot, whose wheeles were shod with rough iron, thinking therby to imitate Joves thunder, for which insolence, Iupiter being justly incenst against him, stroke him with a true thunder-bolt, and sent him quicke to hell. [Page] A type of pride, justly punished.
(b) Mandragora, an herbe so called, because it beareth Apples sweet smelling, of an extraordinary greatnes, the Latines call it Malum terrae, id est, the Apple of the earth It is that which we call the Mandrake.
(c) Deucalion, was the sonne of Prometheus, and married Pyrrha the daughter of Epimetheus. Whilst he raigned in Thessaly came the universall Deluge, which drowned all the world, only he and his wife, got into a ship and saved themselves: their vessell first touching on the hill Pernassus, where the dry land first appeared, which was meerely a fiction of the Poets, who had heard or read of the generall Innundation, in him figuring Noah and his Arke. Others thinke that this floud happened onely in Greece and Italy, and that in the yeare of the world 2440. after Noahs floud 744.
(d) Lycoris Mount, by which Lucian intends no other than the two topt Pernassus, before spoken of.
(e) Epimenides, was a Poet of Creet, whom Saint Paul in his Epistle (as Beza is of opinion) cited. It is reported of him, that his father sending him into the field to keep his Cattell, by chance he light into a Cave where he slept 75. yeares, whence a Proverb against all sloathfull men grew, Vltra Epimenidis somnum dormisti, id est, Thou hast slept beyond the sleep of Epimenides. At his returne he found his brother a very old man, by whom he understood, all that happened in his absence, and was after worshipped as a god. He lived in the yeare of the world 3370. much about the time of the destruction of H [...]erusalem, &c.
(f) Cibels Priests, they were called Corybantes, of one Corybantus, the prime of her first attendants. They in all the celebrations of her feasts, used to dance madly, beating upon brazen Cimbals, making a confused noise, from whence such Instruments were called, Aera Corybantia: when they danced about the streets their custome [Page] was to begge mony of the people, from whence they tooke the denomination of Collectores Cibeles, or Circulatores, id est. Iuglers: these first inhabited the mount Ida in Phrygia &c.
(g) Phineus, was a King of Arcadia, and the Harpia were the daughters of Pontus and Terra, dwelling in Ilands, partly by Sea, partly by land, so called, â rapiende, or ravening: they are feigned to be fowles, with faces like virgins, and hands like tallons or clawes. Some call them Iupiters dogs: and these, whatsoever the forenamed King provided to eate, snatcht from his table, and greedily devoured: they were after destroyed by Hercules.
(h) Tantalus, was the sonne of Jupiter and Plota, the Nymph, grandfather to Agamemnon, and Menelaus, who entertaining certaine of the gods at a banquet, to make tryall of their divinity, killed, dressed, and served his son Pelops at the feast; which fact, the gods after they had discovered, so abhorr'd, that for the loathsome banquet he made them, they provided him another as distastfull, for being confined to hell, they set him in water up to the chin, and ripe Apples above his head touching his lips, yet gave him not power to stoope to the one to quench his thirst, nor reach to the other, to satisfie his hungry appetite. But for Pelops his sonne, so miserably massacred, Iupiter revived him, and for his shoulder which Ceres unadvisedly had eaten up, he made him one of Ivory; who after this went and sojourned with Oenomaus the father of Meleager, and Deianira, which as Helv. re'ports, was about the yeare of the world 2650.
(i) Danaus daughters: This Danaus was a King of the Argives, and dwelt in the City Argus. He called the Country, formerly called Achaia, Danaae, and the generall Nation of the Grecians, Danai. He had fifty daughters, whom he caused to slay in one night the fifty sons of his brother Aegyptus, to whom they were wedded, for whch theywere punished by the gods with a perpetual I [Page] corment, namely that with bottomlesse pales, they were to fill a tunne without a bottome. They lived in the yeare of the world, 2510.
(k) Cyclopes, they were so called because they had but one eye, and that was orbicular and round, they were Vulcans ministers, and forg'd or fram'd his thunderbolts, there are three amongst them themost eminent, according to the Poets, namely, Brontis, Sterope, and Pirachmon, they were mighty great men, and called Giants, &c.
(l) Dis, is the god Pluto, who taketh that denomination â divitijs, of riches, because they are dig'd and torne from the bowels of lower parts of the earth.
(m) These names, Pythias, Dromus, Tibias, Hyperbolus, and the like, are given according to the Authours fancy, or perhaps aiming at some particular men of like condition then living.
(n) Nireus, a faire young man, whom Homer loved, and whose beauty he much extolled.
(o) Cecrops, was also called Biformis; he was the first King of Athens, and first invented amongst them marriage; he found out Images, builded Altars, and offered Sacrifices amongst the Greekes. He erected the Citty of Athens, and called it after his owne name Cecropia, he flourish'd in the yeare of the world 2394. soone after the birth of Moses.
(p) Dithy [...]ams, were songs sung in honour of Bacchus.
(q) Areopagitae. Iudges or Senatours amongst the Athernians, so called of the place where they sate.
(r) Erictbeides, whom some think to be Ericthonius, or Ericthaeus, the fourth King of Athens; he first found one the use of Coaches, because his seet were deformed. Hs lived in the yeare of the world 2463. about eleven yeare after Israels departure out of Egypt.
Annotations upon Nireus, Thersites, &c.
(a) NIreus was a young man amongst the Greekes who came to the warres of Troy, whose beauty and feature Homer in his Iliades mightily commended: to whom I referre such as desire to be more fully satisfied of him.
(b) Thersites, a mishapen and deformed Captaine in the Grecian Host, as crooked in minde as body, who bitterly railing against Achilles, he being mightily inraged against him, slue him with a blow under the eare; his deformity was so great, that from thence arose a Proverbe which hath continued even to this day, Thersite foedior, asperst upon any stigmatick, and crooked fellow; you shall reade him fully described and characterd by Homer in his first and second booke of Iliads.
(c) Menippus was a Poet, and master to Cicero the famous Oratour: but by this personated by Lucian, is intended a Cynick Philosopher, dogged both in his behaviour and writings, in imitation of whom, Varro the Orator writ a Satyr, and intitled it Satyra Menippea. It is reported of him, that such money as he had hoorded together by usury and the like fordid meanes, was so deare unto him, that being robbed thereof, he grew into despaire, and miserably hanged himselfe. His whole life ye may reade described at large by Diogenes L [...]rtius.
Annotations upon Iupiter and Io.
(a) SPaerchius, a River whose banks were round beset with Poplar trees, and therefore called Popuifer, [Page] Enipoeus, Apidanus, Amphisus, and Aeas, &c. only the names of Rivers, whose currents and chanels were famous in those parts of Greece: for your better satisfaction, I refer you to Ovid his Metamorph. lib. 1. upon the same argument.
(b) Pindus, was a mountaine in Thessaly, sacred to Apollo and the Muses, &c.
(c) Hemonian Tempe, Tempe was a pleasant valley flourishing with trees, herbes, and flowers, scituate in Thessaly at the foot of the hill Hemus. It was much celebrated by the Muses, as lying betwixt Ossa and Olympus. The River Peneus, Larisa, and the Aegean Sea, &c.
(d) Naiades, were Nymphs or Fayries of the wells, and fountaines.
(e) Pierides, were the Muses, so called from Pierus, or else a mountaine in Greece of that name: this Pierus had nine daughters, who contended with the Muses in singing, and being vanquished by them, were transformed into chattering Pyes: in glory of which victory the Muses would be called by their names.
(f) Syrinx, an Arcadian Nymph, who flying from the embraces of Pan, the god of the Shepheards, at her intercession to the gods changed into a Reed, her prayer being to preserve her virginity.
(g) Styx, a certaine well in Arcadia, the water of which is so cold and venemous, that whosoever drinketh thereof, immediatly dyeth. It eateth and wasteth yron or brasse, neither can it be contained in any thing, but the hoof of a Mule; some say Alexander the Great was poisoned with the water of this river, by Antipater, at the persuasion of Aristotle, the great Philosopher, and Tutor to Alexander. The Poets feigne it to be a river in hell, and so sacred to the gods, that if any of them sweare by it, and breake his oath, he shall be deprived of his god head, and drinke no Nectar for an hundred yeares after.
Annotations upon the Dialogue
Intituled
Iupiter and Cupid.
(a) GArgarus, so called of Gargarus, the son of Jupiter, it is commonly taken for the top or Apex of the high hill Ida, where the said god had an Altar consecrateunto him, it is situate betwixt the [...]ropontis Abidos, and the Hellespont in Greece, in ongitude 55. in latitude 42. It is also a towne under the hill so called.
Vpon Mercury and Maia.
(a) ALcmena, the wife of Amphytrio the Theban, in whose absence Iupiter came in the shape of her husband, comprest her and begot Hercules.
(b) Semele, the mother of Bacchus, begot on her by Iupiter, from whence he tooke the denomination of Semeleius.
(c) Maia, the daughter of Atlas, and Pleiones, and therefore Atlantiades, of whom Iupiter begot Mercury.
(d) By Cadmus faire daughter is intended Semele before spoken of.
Vpon Crates and Diogenes.
(a) MOcricus, Aristaeus, Thrasicles, &c. are names of men whome the Author aimed at (living in those times) according to his fancy.
(b) IApygium, or Iapyges, these derived their names from [...]apyx the sonne of Dedalus, and were said to be Cretenses [Page] by their originall, and wandring abroad to seeke C [...]laurus, sonne of Min [...]is, came unto the same place, where after they inhabited, these in time grew to such a profuse riotise, intemperance and wantonnes, that forgetting their Country modesty and honesty, they painted their faces, and wore other folkes haire, and were never seene abroade but sumptuously, and richly appareld; their houses were as beautifull as the Temples of the gods. At length they came to such a height of pride and insolence, that they cast off all religion, entring and seasing on the ornaments, revenues and donaries of the Churches. And at length were all consumed by firy globes falling from heaven, &c.
Vpon Menippus, Aeacus, Pythagoras.
(a) EVphorbus, was a noble Trojane, the sonne of Panthus, who wounded Patroclus, and was after flaine by Achilles, being hurt in the thigh; he was said to have one made him of gold. Pythagoras said, that his soule was in him in that time of the Troian warre, that hee might better perswade his Scholars. Concerning the opinion which he held concerning the transmigration of mens soules, from one body to another.
What other difficulties you shall finde in these short Dialogues, you shall find in some or other fully explicated.
(a) CImmerians, were people dwelling in Italy, betweene the Baiae and Cumae, so invironed with hills, that the Sunne never appeared unto them, hence came the Proverb Tene [...]ra Cimmeria, the Cimmerian darknesse.
[Page] (b) Erix, Promontory: Erix was the sonne of Venus, slaine by Hercules, and buried in a mountaine of Cicilia, so called after him, in which place Venus had a Temple erected unto her, and from that she had the denomination of Eriana, &c.
(c) Python, was a mighty hugé Serpent, which Iuno sent unto Latona when she was with child by Iupiter, to devoure her, but she went to her sister Astrea, who protected her, and she was after delivered of two twins, Apollo and Diana.
(d) Endymion, was beloved by the Moone, who courted him upon Latmus hill; and therefore said to looke pale by reason of the great affection which she bore unto him.
(e) Tithon, or Tithonus, was the sonne of Laomedon, who desiring long life, was so wasted with old age, that the Poets faigned him to be turned into a Grashopper: he was also said to be beloved of Aurora, the mornings because he used to rise early, which was thought to be the reason why he preserved his life so long.
I conclude this Worke, suiting with the present, concerning the worth of Physick, and Physitians, deriving my president from a worthy Gentleman called M. Perisaulus Faustinus.
THere is a gift that's sacred, lent to man
By God and Nature, by which Art he can
Of all diseases know the perfect ground,
And render the cras'd body, whole and sound.
If this Art please thee then, whose hight to gaine
Must be the labour of a polisht braine;
Thou into Natures secrets must inquire,
And (farre as humane wisedome can) aspire.
From best approved Authours seeke direction,
Till thou into all medcines hast inspection:
And when thou shalt be frequent in all these,
Thou shalt be held a new
Hippocrates,
Exc
[...]ed
Machaon, and
Phillerides,
With th'
Epidaurian, godlike skill impart,
And bright
Apollo, Patron of that Art.
Thou shalt be health to Nations, people save,
And such as are expired, keep from grave.
To animate the dead thou shalt have skill,
'Tis at thy pleasure whom to save or kill:
Hence shall great sums of wealth to thee arise,
With fame, and honour, such as never dyes.
But as we see in diverse flowers and weeds,
Where sweetnes is, thence bitternes proceeds,
And from one stalke how many thousand ills
From the same Lymbeck drop, that good distills,
How many discommodities attend
Vpon this Art, which all so much commend;
On it, how many thousand labours waite,
By turning over Bookes, earely and late,
[Page] Assiduate study, with an infinite care,
For all the sundry maladies that are,
To provide wholesome medcines, how to please
The sicke mans taste, and find th'unknowne disease,
To know what hurts, what helps; his care being such
Not to prescribe too little, nor too much.
No night in which thou downe to rest shalt lye,
But ere sleepe fastens on thy tender eye,
Lowd at thy gate, some one or other knocks,
As if he meant, to force both bolts and locks,
Calls for the Doctor to get up in hast,
The patient's ready to expire his last.
His bowels ake, or he complaines his head,
Tossing and tumbling on his restlesse bed,
Still clamoring till he perforce must rise:
Thus (be it night or day) in post he flies.
He feeles his pulse, to know how slowe they beate,
Then must he make conjecture from his sweate,
And to find out where the disease doth dwell,
Forc't sometimes at his chamber-pot to swell,
Then Antidotes are suddenly prepard
With Amulets, and Pills, made round and hard,
Emplasters are to such a place applyde,
Vnguents, and Salves to this or to that side.
Suppositories, Clisters, fomentations,
Pultesses, opening veines, boxing, frications,
Electuaries, sweating, and what not?
According to the Fever, cold or hot.
He searcheth where the paine lyes most extreame,
Whether it rise from Choler, or from flegme.
The Megrim, Pleurisies, great or small Pox,
The Measils, Wormes, the Scouring, or the Flocks.
Consumption, Ptysick, laundies, black or yellow,
Convulsion (or what scarce can find a fellow
For suddaine killing Squinsy in the throat,
Obstructions, Dropsies: each disease of note
[Page] Is knowne unto him how and whence it grows,
The Ague, Cough, the Pyony, the Pose.
Aches within, and accidents without,
Strangurian, collick, Apoplex, the gowte,
Ruptures, the fretting of the guts, the Stone,
Who's troubled with the Spleene, who Liver-growne,
Cramps, numnes in the joyntures, Inflamations;
Swelling i'th secret parts, Impostumations,
Warts, Blisters, Tumours, Pimples, Tetters, Wheales,
Even Leprosie itselfe, his medcine heales.
And yet when he hath used all his Art;
If suddenly, the patient doe not start
From his cras'd couch, and instantly head-strong,
The vulgar murmur, and the Artist wrong,
And say; who first begot this superstition,
That the sick-man should seeke to the Physition?
What madnes ist, their trifling Art to trust?
If they could keepe themselves from being dust,
And their owne bodies free from all disease,
Not yeeld to death, when so the
Parcae please,
As all else doe; I should approve their skills,
And yeeld to taste their Potions and their Pills.
Till then; I hold them made up of abuses,
Meere cheating with their Cordials, and their Iuices.
Thus, though they oft redeeme men from the grave;
This, for their merit is the meed they have.
To adde to these: the Doctor is still tyde
Amongst sad folkes, and mourners to abide.
Where nothing's heard but sighing for the sicke,
And most contagious maladios raigne thicke,
Nay, though the Plague, or pest itselfe be there,
In him there must be found no cause of feare:
Such are the hazards and the toyles we know,
Best Artists still are forc't to undergoe.
FINIS.