[...]
[...]
PLEASVRES VISION: WITH DESERTS COMPLAINT, AND A SHORT DIALOGVE of a Womans Properties, betweene an old Man and a Young.
BY ARTHVR NEWMAN of the Middle Temple Gent:
LONDON, Printed by G. E. for Thomas Bayly, and are to be sold at his Shop in the Middle-row in Holbourne neere Staple Inne. 1619.
TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFVLL, AND truely Worthy, Sir George Newman Knight.
I Haue aduentured this meane worke to your learned Censure, onely with a longing desire to make my loue to you legible: and I was the more incouraged, in that I knew you would read with Patience; for I assure my selfe you will forget no Vertue. Yet since I expect for but a bewraying witnesse of mine idle houres, so great a priuiledge as your graue Patronage, I must acknowledge my selfe guilty of inexcusable [Page]presumption, that so the confession of my fault may plead for some fauour, although not altogether for pardon. I can say little for my selfe but this, that if I haue here done amisse, I promise all my endeuours for amendment hereafter. In the meane time I wish I had done better, and more for your sake, then myne owne. For I honour your worth, and account it a happinesse to preserue your Loue.
Vnfainedly yours, ARTHVR NEVVMAN.
AD AMICVM suum omni laude et obseruantia dignissimum AR: NEWMAN.
NOui tenerum, noui iuneuilibus annis
cùm vox iucundi plena leporis erat,
Et dixs de te mihi semper, Apolline cert
[...]
dignus eris: nec mens haec mihi vana fuit,
Ecce Caballino sitis est nunc fonte lenata:
pocula Castali
[...]s nunc saturantur aquis,
Digna trophaea feres, cingent tua tempera la
[...]i
[...]t patria est meritis grata futura tuis.
PE: LOWER.
PLEASVRES VISION.
VVHen, in the Confines of the silent Night
Refreshing
Sleep seisd on each wearied wight
And did, with gentle Slumbers, and soft Ease,
The raging Motions of sad Care appease;
Husht were the moanes of haples wights opprest:
And harmel
[...]s thoughts were
[...]ill'd in pleasant Rest:
Now, bad, vnquiet, and pernitious mind.
Surceasd to plot their dangerous Designes:
Now, st
[...]ll'd was Strife, and troublesome Debate,
And pining Enuy, now forgot to hate:
And darknesse raign'd, that harmeles Sleepe might be
Hid f
[...]om the Troubles which the Light doth see:
And, in the Bed whereon my selfe was laid,
There, d
[...]ou c Slumbers, for th
[...] Lodging staid:
But me of Rest, deluding
Marpheus
[...]eau
[...]d;
And, in a Dreame my Senses so deceau'd
That, as awak't, I saw, or seem'd to see:
A perfect Man, or Gallant, one was he:
But by the strangenes of his outward show
He seem'd the last, and he was doubtles so.
Light was his cariage, and his Gate affected,
Oay his attire, and manly Shape neglected:
For like a nice Dame that doth Pride affect,
He with vnmanlike Curiousnesse was dect:
In Nations of disguises he was clad,
And euery Limbe a seuerall fashion had:
And euer on himselfe he fondly gas'd,
As, with the strangenesse of himselfe amas'd:
And on himselfe enamoured was he,
As commonly Fantastiques vse to be.
His vnpremeditated words, like wind
Were light, and blustring, and bewraid his minde:
Vnconstant, and still wandring were his lookes,
And, in his face, as in lasciuious bookes
Whole Stories you of lightnesse might haue read;
For there, it wantonly inhabited,
Yet he, of Natures best guifts, plenty had:
And pitty 'twas they were bestow'd so bad,
For those saue Eyes which lewdnes so proclaim'd,
Nature at first for ornament ordain'd:
For she had done her part, and set him forth,
With liuely Shape, and outward signes of worth,
And Hope at first said, this faire seeming Inne
Had no ill guests that harboured within.
His lightnes was not Natures fault, ô no,
It was his mind that those parts sniut'd so:
Then Nature, since thy bounty wrong'd hath beene,
In such againe let it no more be seene.
His youthfull yeares did flowrish in their prime;
And lusty health, chear'd vp his lookes: and Time
On his vntamed will did seeme t'attend,
As though to him a Seruant, and a friend.
Swift Time, that it might be by him well vs'd,
Oft shew'd, that where it idly was abus'd,
There it must vanish, and pe're come againe,
But oft be call'd, and cride for backe, in vaine:
And Fortune looking on him, smooth'd her Brow,
And plai'd the Prodigall that he might know
She hath no bounds to limit her great power,
But where she smiles, she cloies; yet if she lower,
Then, acts a Misery beyond beliefe:
And as the fills with ioy, so kills with griefe.
Then Beauties deckt with Nature, and with Art,
Did all their sweets to his desires impart,
They freely opened to compleate his pleasure,
Their all-alluring, and commanding treasure.
Some had such tempting lookes, and Angell-features,
That, but I saw their frailty, heauenly Creatures
I them had deem'd: they power had to allure
(Without great prouidence) holy, and pure.
And sure there is no man (as I belieue)
That can behold such erre but he must grieue.
Others there were, and of an other kind
Which also fancied his lustfull mind.
Some meanely faire, some foule, others their feature
With Art did helpe, in spight, and scorne of Nature.
With those he wanton'd for variety;
(For all, insatiable Lust must try.)
Thus slept he in this Dreame of false delight,
Still acting shamefull deeds, of shameles Night;
And wasting Plenty, as with Spoyle compounded
In lauishing, and all Excesse abounded:
Banquets were Surfeits, and were nere without
Healths of abused Wine still quaft about.
He in the spoyle of honest thrift did slow;
And none (alas) said, this should not be so
His Eares were slopt when was blam'd by Fame,
And some to adde more fuell to his slame
Falsly protested, pitty 'twas that he
Might not some King, or mighty Monarch be:
And to such height his bounty did aduance,
"That he to his owne musicke seem'd to dance.
None there distinguisht Liberality
From all-consuming Prodigality:
For pledges of their loue, they smooth words pawn'd,
And iust like dirty dogges vpon him fawn'd,
That leaue no loue signe but offen siue Mire.
Others there were, to humor his desire,
That still with new-found Sports his fancy fed,
And him from pleasure vnto pleasure led,
They had the Art, and onely trickes to stray
With all deuises tending to decay.
And, what he lik't, or loathed, none gainsaid,
But good, or bad, his will was still obaid,
Base seruile minds euen ouer humor'd him,
Whilst he in Seas of fleeting ioyes did swim.
The vncontrolled life he did commend,
And dearest deem'd his numor-feeding friend:
And still, Vice-punishing Authority,
He, (outlaw-like) would slight; and brauing try
Desperate Exploits; to shew he nought did feare,
Nor yet his humor could, or would forbeare.
And such as he was, were his company,
That ready alwaies were for Villany.
No care, or griefe did harbour neare his heart,
No crosse did from his Iollity him part.
No want of Pleasure, Liberty, or Fase
Did his contentments any way displease;
For, all delights which might each Sense content,
By Vanity her selfe to him were lent.
But ah, extreames can ne're indure, and Meate
That is most sweet with sowrest Sauce we eate:
For, in a moment all this vanished,
And he himselfe stood strangely altered:
For, where as once he seem'd a blooming Spring,
O're-filld with plenty of each pleasing thing:
Now feeble Age, and now disdained want,
Seem'd in his lookes their dwelling seates to plant.
His Eies waxt hollow, lookes leane, cold his heates,
And cate had folded vp his browes in pleates,
He rent his haire, his face hee bath'd in teares,
For pretious Time mispent in youthfull yeares:
And, as chiefe Cause of his misery,
On pleasures past exclaimed bitterly:
For calling them to mind, he ten times more
Did execiate his Fortune, then before.
Many past by, and laught his woes to scorne:
And some did patty, seeing him for forlorne.
Yet, former friends, but like his shaddow were
That follow'd him in Sun-shine euery where;
But, when a Storme of Trouble commeth on,
They soone fall off; and like to shades are gone:
Yea, each thing else, that he esteemed deare,
But to augment his anguish did appeare.
And, all the flatt'ring Hopes he erst possest,
Forsooke him quite, and he was quite distrest.
These alterations seem'd to me so strange,
That I inquir'd the Cause of all this change.
Whereat his heauy Eies on me he bent,
Through streames of Teares, made thick with languishment,
And, bid me lend his words attentiue eare,
That in my heart I might them better beare.
I silent was; when, loe, this ruthfull Man,
With Sighs, and Sobs his speaches thus began.
In prime of lusty head, when youthfull Spleene,
Had ne're the wiles and guiles of Pleasure seene.
Not dreampt, how pretious is swift winged Time,
Which, as it flees, our Fortunes fall, and climbe:
Nor yet, by othe charmes once taking heed,
But wild delights did wandring Senses feed:
Then, my vaine will vntam'd, vntutored,
Left Reasons Rule, and roau'd as fancy led:
Like to a lost Sheepe, from his Shepheard straid,
Running to wracke without his Keepers aid.
I ne're my owne affections did controule,
For they commanded all within my Soule:
Not I regarded future good, or ill,
Nor had of Pleasure till my fall, my fill.
I did amisse; and now with griefe may say,
Onely for that, I threw my selfe away:
Yet blinded, no familiar dangers knew,
That waited on me; nor till I did rew,
Percen
[...]'d that woe on pleasure did attend,
Which contraries, (too oft) in one doe end.
O! so my thoughts with pleasures spells were charm'd,
That they ore came me gainst their force vnarm'd:
For which, nought but Repentance yeelds reliefe,
And yet (alas) that adds but griefe to griefe:
Yet griefe for gracelesnesse doth much relieue,
Because we ought for gracelesnesse to grieue.
Friends I obai'd not, therefore they me leaue,
Pleasure I follow'd, that did me deceaue:
Fortune, and Time once gently on me smil'd,
I then mistaking both, my selfe beguild,
I Time mispent, and Fortune did neglect,
Therefore with cause they doe me now reiect.
I made the meanes, (for my good onely) lent,
By lauishing, of woe the Instrument.
And then braue Prodigall Vice stil'd my name,
Now therefore, Ruine, and the Map of shame:
And wherein I my selfe thought most secure,
I'me therein for myne Error most vnsure.
If man himselfe can promise ought; 'tis this,
That what he aimes at most, he most shall misse,
For worldly certainty is but althought,
And so it vanisheth, and turnes to nought.
O! of all Creatures breathing vitall Aire,
Man, of his wauering fate may most despaire:
For, there's no danger, misery, nor Care,
But therein destin'd is to him a share.
And his best earthly blisse no longer lasts,
Then Vapors doe, in whirling windy blasts:
If rich, or poore, a Begger, or a King,
His Rose hath prickes, his honey hath a Sting:
His comick-mirth is mixt with tragicke woes,
And Ebbs insue when most he ouerfloes:
He like the Moone may not at full remaine,
But (like her) changing still, must wax, and waine;
He, onely he, is nought but fortunes sport,
The spoyle of Time, and place where Cares resort,
The plant that 'midst great heate, and moisture grow'th,
Now greene, now parcht, now at a stay, 'twixt both.
[...]
The very wheele which Fortune turneth still
Is Man; for him she turnes which way she will:
He seemes of Change a Character, or Map;
Or what is still most subiect to mishap.
Or like a Ship, whose Pilot wanting skill,
(Though far from Rockes) in doubt, and danger still:
For here and there the Fortunes of Man kind,
Are blowne, and tost like Ships in storming wind:
What's past and present is the most that can
By all allowed Art be knowne by Man:
But, what insuing Fate may or will be,
Till past preuention he can neuer see;
Nor yet know when, or where good hap, or ill
May raise, or cast him to the Dale, or Hill
He can but guesse at most, and who doth so,
He nothing truly, but by guesse shall know.
For what of him the Destinies decree,
Because hee's Man, vnknowne must euer be,
Then let not him presume that's fortunate,
Since still vncertaine is his doubtfull state.
Since Pleasures Syrens are, that Ruine sing;
Since Fortunes great doe great misfortunes bring;
Since there's no Earthly welfare or delight,
That with the Morne doth rise, but sets er'e Night.
[...]
And why through dangers, restles cares, and paine,
Should man attempt fraile honors to obtaine?
When got, his puft-vp thoughts so vainely range,
That, what they are, and ô! how soone they change,
He cannot thinke▪ for with a thought they vary,
So, hopes to hold those haps which cannot tarry.
And who sees not, that to none other end
Fortune doth oft to Man her f
[...]uours lend,
But, on poore him her Tiranny to try,
And laugh to see him for her liue, and dye.
For, when in greatest height of best delight,
In thought secure, in honors shining bright;
When rockt, and lul'd in Pleasures charming lap,
Scorning to thinke that ought can breed mishap,
Fortune, to shew her euer-changing power,
Turnes in a Moment, all his sweet to sower,
And from those destin'd Ills, ô how shall he
Poore se
[...]uile bondman manumised be?
To whom shall he appeale? or who hath power?
I'st angry Heauen? Fates? Starres? or some thing lower?
Yea, 'tis himselfe; for he was fram'd by
Ioue,
To be all other Creatu
[...]es far aboue,
Next to his euer-great all seeing Maker,
Of wisdome, and safe prouidence partaker.
But he as subiect to his straying will,
En bracing that for good, which tride is ill,
And weighing not how fraile a thing is man,
Not yet for eseeing what Chance hourely can,
Forgets himselfe, and without meane, or measure,
Wakes to wast I me, yet dreames on nought but pleasure,
And, with his faults so partially doth beate,
That vntill ruin'd, cannot Ruine feare.
He dreads no fire vntill he feele it burne,
Till whipt with his owne Rods doth neuer turne,
Then his misdeeds, and then his Time mispent,
With too late penitence he doth lament.
Thus vnaduiled Neghgence doth bring
Him to be Sorrones helples vnderling.
Thus to himselfe he proues a traiterous foe,
And Vipe: like is Mother of his woe:
For, in his brest hes many a thought, and deed,
That comming forth, doe his destruction breed;
And man, as fearing he should scanted be
Of his forbid destes, so eagerly
Doth all then mottall baites ingurgitate,
Whe therewith should ne're be satiate.
[...] being once to tunne amisse inclin'd,
H
[...] tau
[...]s he fees not, selfe will makes him blind,
And leades him headlong vnto cursed ends,
E
[...]e he can thinke what danger him attends:
And now, youth's heedlesse and vnbridled rage,
And euen some of greene and tender Age.
Vn
[...]cemingly can vaunt how they will drinke,
Quaffe, and carouse; and those themselues doe linke
With men debauth'd, vile, lauith, and prophane,
Which worke their owne, and their Associates bane:
Which, like diseases, doe Society
Corrupt with their infectious Company:
Which daily on the vtter Ruine feed
Of rash youth, which haue neither head nor heed:
And those things which for Comforts we should vse,
Lake wretches, they vnthankefully abuse,
For shame, for pitty, for your selues forbeare,
And
[...]ingsters sly their haunts; the Plague is there.
Then harmes, are by Examples still reueal'd,
To
[...]e we see permits them not conceal'd:
That we may notice take, and safely shun,
The dangers which so many haue vndone.
But now our Corne is ouer growne with weed,
And men euen striue who may in vice exceed.
The truest badge of a true Gallants will,
Is to be dating in attempting Ill.
They must not seeme their Vaniues to hide,
But mount the Pitch where most they may be spide:
I or they are growne to such a monstrous height,
In all they euen glory to delight.
They with braue outward shews much basenesse hide,
And fly aloft with wings of towring pride:
They tage; and quench with blood hot Angers fires,
And coole with Sin their heate of lewd desires,
Or lewd
[...]es, begot of Fancies foule,
That tune health, and wealth, and wit, and Soule.
Ins
[...]ou
[...] to themselues, Sinnes very lees,
And po
[...]soned sweetes, stolne from forbidden Trees,
The fearefull acts of blacke and shamelesse Night,
Honey for Drones, for D
[...]uells the delight,
And we (too true) doe by Experience see,
That great and small by them still ruin'd be.
It is not powe, or golden Vanity,
Still blinding I une, or maskt Hypocrisie,
Or making Iustice from her limns stray
Can s
[...]l
[...]e these crimes, or wash then spots away
'Twere Sin to thinke so for the end it tues,
When the rewards of Vice are miseries,
For come (and none how soone know) must the time,
When knowne and pun
[...] shall be euery Caime.
And those sweet Sins which did the Sense delight,
Shall then their Fosterers with woe, requite.
The fruit that we by Pleasures past shall gaine,
Will be soone s
[...]e
[...]ng ioyes, for lasting paine:
O
[...] all that we shall gaine, will be but this,
And remembrance, that we did amisse,
For tell you
[...]ail
[...]m
[...]s, chaim'd with vanity,
And haples wretches with the memory
To
[...]d of woe, and vengeance-crying ins;
What haue you got? the cheating Diuell wins,
And staling downe but counte
[...]se
[...]ted pleasure,
You to gaine that, doe lose the pricelesse treasure
Of all your grace, your liberty, and bl
[...]le,
And he gets by your wo
[...]ll folly this.
O
[...]
[...] vnto your selues, for your owne sake,
For iust accompt you for your selue
[...]st make.
Recall your thoughts, each fond desire s
[...]ey,
And their fraile motions euer disobey:
M
[...]pend not Time, and spoyle not stower of youth,
Belieue not Pleasure, though her words seeme
[...]
[...]th.
Due
[...] your Steps into none other Tract.
But such as Ve tue treds in shew and act.
That way is safe, and neuer leads amisse,
But crownes your Iournies end with endles blisse.
There are no Traps, there none will you betray,
No Wolues on haimeles I ambes there dare to prey.
Your Guidresse here, whilst you with her doe goe,
Warrants your safety 'gainst your greatest Foe:
And no deuice can make her false to those,
Which confidence in her defence repose.
What she doth game, whilst you with her doe liue,
The profit freely she to you will giue:
She will your Cause 'gainst all the world maintaine
And neuer shame you: but you friends shall gaine
Of all good Men; and such as run astray
Sha l curse the Time, they follow'd not your way
And of your goodnesse, to Posterity,
When dead, you leaue shall happy memory.
Next doe not Parents wary Counsell slight,
Nor make not of t
[...]ue friends aduisings light:
Faults which you see not, nor of them be told
By your Companions, they with griefe behold,
And oft what deere expetience them hath bought,
You may both heare, and learne, and shun for nought.
And then, least like a muddy poole that standeth still,
Filth selfe your body, and corrupt your will,
In some good action euer busied be,
So ne're corrupting Idlenesse shall see
A banefull Oportunity, to draw
Your weakenes to infringe the sacred Law
Of heauenly Vertue, whom the Gods must right,
Maugre all-horrid Hell's infernall might.
And be of Company most circumspect,
That you may good in brace, and bad reiect:
That with good liquor, your new Vessells may
At first be fill'd, that still a tast may stay,
Lest that the Bud in comming forth be blasted,
And so the fruit be all vntimely wasted.
Then your minds forces muster, Sin to foile,
Proclaime Defiance, Peace with it is spoile:
If you want aid, and dare not breake the Truce,
Vertue will help to ruine Times abuse:
And Vice, flee, when Vertue doth appeare,
Like Thieues, that punishment of Iustice feare.
O, thinke on this, and know that if you fight
With Vice, by Vertue, till you kill it quite,
Celestiall Blisse your Victory shall crowne,
And trecherous Vice, with Ruine shall come downe.
For Time will all destroy that Time mispend,
Then weigh your follies, and in time amend.
A Sigh here stopt the passage of his breath,
Whilst in his lookes appeared meagre death:
And as an outward Signe of inward woe,
He smote his Brest, while Teares did ouerfloe,
Then seem'd his lookes, and lift-vp hands to say,
Take heed by me, so vanisht he away.
Whereat such passion did assaile my heart,
That I from Sleepe, amazed, vp did start.
But what this Dreame pre
[...]ag'd I could not guesse,
Or if I could, I cannot well expresse:
For vari
[...]us thoughts, had Arguments so many,
That I
[...]nf
[...]unded, vnderstood not any.
Till, after, viewing Londons stately Streets,
Wherein the Streame of Vanity still fleets;
And swiftly runs away, as hauing beene
Ne're there at all; that more may still be seene.
Then, what I sleeping did but seeme to see,
There, there, I waking found too true to be.
FINIS.
DESERTS COMPLAINT.
LAte, wandting by a Valley side,
Where weeping Streames did sadly glide,
Sith
Soll
[...] bright Raies could not appeare,
The place, or ought therein to cheare,
I saw clad in a mourning Weed
A Man whose griefes, my griefe did breed.
For Desa t desert there (alas)
Vpon his Brow ingrauen was,
And coldly on cold Earth he lay
Like some fra
[...]'d picture of Decay.
Or like an ancient Monument,
Which was erected, to preuent
Th'obliuion of some noble fact:
Which, some dead Worthy once did act;
And being ruin'd, would inforce
All the spectators with remorce
To breath forth helples sighes; and then
To r
[...]ile on Time, and check those men
That let Decay to disinherit
True Worth of what it had by Merit.
Thus did he lye, and like a Swan
Dying, to ease his h
[...]t began
In sad laments to sing his woe,
And thus he sighing on did goe.
Where shall I runne? where shall I fly?
Where shall my plaints find remedy?
Where are mine ancient friends? and where
My followers that held me deare?
Where may my now-lost honors be?
Where is the Time that fauour'd me?
And where and how, and what am I
That in this wretched State here lye?
Of former
[...]oyes am I not reft?
And of the careles World quite left?
Are not my followers distrest,
Di
[...]dain'd, dispis'd, poore, and opprest?
Are not my chiefest friends all dead?
Are not many honors from me fled?
And is not strangely Time disguis'd?
O yes, for by it
[...]me despis'd.
I am an out-cast, and dejected,
And see with griefe my Rites neglected:
And many doe vsurpe my place
Which me, themselues, and it deface,
And vnto such, I plainely see,
The world doth giue what's due to me,
If men dispise, and slight me so,
I cannot thinke where I may goe.
And what to doe, I know not, I,
Vnlesse, I cease to be; and dye.
I am not franticke, for I know
By sad Experience of my woe,
My haplesse words are too too true.
Which they I feare too soone will rue,
If to the Country I retire,
There dull and earthly minds require
Houses, and Acres, by which now
Desert is measur'd, therefore how
Can I, whom Fate hath seem'd t'ordaine,
This Reputations want to plaine,
And all fraile outwards but to slight,
Of them craue fauour, much lesse right?
Of my Complaints, and wrongs appease,
Since dull-besotting Error these
Doth so much blind, that they scarse see
The odds betweene the Droane and Bee?
And yet, if good on Earth doe dwell
'Tis in a simple rustickes Cell.
But let me wander in the Citty,
O! both to her, and gentle pitty,
I am a stranger, and find none
To entertaine me; but alone
I through her babling streets doe passe,
That cry, What lacke ye? when (alasse)
Though I what she hath lacke, and she
Be poore in what abounds in me,
And each might other gladly pleasure,
For each doth want the others treasure:
Yet she, (as 'tis the vse) affecting
Onely her selfe; and me respecting
But like vnto commodities
Not vendable; am of no price.
Thus her wise Ignorance doth slight me:
And ne're, I feare, will learne to right me.
And when the stately Court I view,
Whose glitting, and whose sun-like hew
Dazles the Eyes of euery Wight
That wants a Princelike Eagles sight;
There I lye clouded, and this brightnesse
May not reflex on me it's lightnesse.
I am obscure, and was not taught
To sooth, or by him to be laught,
Th
[...]t sees me striue to gaine esteeme,
And not to be what I would seeme.
I cannot brauing looke, and be
One, into whom could men but see,
They might all basenesse there behold,
Yet those, then Impudence more bold,
Can looke, and vildely will assume
To them great matters; and presume,
When all their Fortunes doe depend
On others, and with others end.
Yet sometimes in the Court I liue,
But want, and therefore none will giue.
From hence, if to the Campe I goe,
There's nothing now for me to doe.
For iusly Peace, although it please,
And in the end must Warre appease,
Yet so it iniures Armes and me,
That to my face, and griefe I see
The Campe's a Market place, or Faire,
Where all to buy and sell, repaire.
Desert gets nothing, not a friend
That might, as 'tis the fashion, send
A letter of Commends to any,
That without me, preferreth many.
Thus all my friends, I feare will fly me,
Sith, now they get so little by me.
Yet since the Campe, Court, Countrey, Citty,
Will not my case, I theirs doe pitty.
O! I so poore, and meane am deem'd,
With few I liue, of few esteem'd:
I had a Time, but now (alasse)
I can but boast that once I was.
O! once I was, now to my griefe,
I cannot be, I want reliefe.
Yet once I ioyd a States-mans Seate,
And such men onely I, made great.
And ô how bright shin'd then their Fame,
Which, well agreed with place and name:
For then without Desert not any
Could rise; though now I feare too many.
When Fathers by my helpe had wonne,
Honor, and Fame: yet if the Sonne,
Did onely house, and name inherit,
And by Desert did nothing merit,
Those illegitmate were deem'd,
And for their greatnesse lesse esteem'd.
Twas not, (ô happy then) as now
When a vild i'easant for the Plow,
And nought else fit, yoakes thee Desert,
And seruile makes which free borne wert.
For his blind earthy mind can see
No happinesse more, then to be
Blest, (as he thinkes) with pretious gold,
For which he findes is bought and sold
All honors, titles, all Earths blisses,
Which are the period of his wishes.
But for the high Contents of mind,
Their Heauen, his grosenesse cannot finde:
Yet this is he whom most men hold
The wisest m
[...]n; a man worth gold.
This must Authority possesse,
That others faults he may redresse,
But knowes not how: and why should he
Blind in his owne, anothers see?
Alasse he doth vsurp his place,
And all the Rues thereof deface:
But, sith by me, men should obtaine it,
If they without me might not gaine it,
Then reason would force some to proue me,
And prouing, all would better loue me.
Besides, preferments would attend
On me that I might be the end,
Whereat Mens wronged thoughts might aime;
And so a world of faults reclaime.
For I ne're vndertooke that thing
That fail'd a blest reward to bring;
Though now to ill, by Times blind Error
The good is turn'd for all Times terror.
Ah, once without me none aspir'd,
For I in greatnes was requir'd;
Which as it sti
[...]ed me to gaine,
So downe on it the Heauens did raine
Showers of honor, that still greene,
I
[...]a
[...]rant, and growing it was seene:
And then all such as me neglected
Could neuer ri e but were defected.
But then I was so lou'd, that he
Was happy, which could follow me.
Sometimes my Studies were deuine,
Wherein deepe knowledge made me shine.
I was a Shepheard, and did keepe
Free from the Fox and Wolfe my Sheepe:
But now my Flocke is lur'd from me,
And Droanes sucke honey from the Bee.
Parnassus Mount I did frequent,
And with the sacred Muses spent
Labour, and Time: they kind, and free
From their owne selues did giue to me.
But they their blest guifts, so deuin'd,
That onely they inricht the mind.
And poore my Body was; and when
I sought reliefe for it of men,
My wants were laught at, made a scorne,
And I, in my distresse forlorne.
And still I saw, and wept to see
How Fortune alwaies ran from me,
Who, with much Care and Labour, sought her,
Whilst those that for her look'd not, caught her.
O 'tis decreed, for such is Fate,
And such a Schollers iniur'd state.
I tedious Trauells did indure,
To make my vnderstanding sure,
And others woes haue seene and knowne,
That I might better shun mine owne:
Yea, forraigne Tongues and manners gain'd,
And deare Experience I obtain'd;
Yet, home-spun Clownes before me farre,
By Times abuse preferred are.
When I returne from bloody warres,
With feebled Limbes, with wounds, and scarres,
Which, for but Truth, and Honors sake,
My prime of yeares did vndertake.
Yet if with odious want distrest,
So slighted, and so vnredrest,
It thousands would inforce to sweare,
Desert must out of fashion weare:
And out of fashion, who'le respect it?
All will for fashions sake neglect it:
This Age is blind, it cannot see
The sweet Content
[...]e
[...] hid in me.
It thinkes not how my Seruants haue,
Which follow'd me, now dead in Graue,
Still liuing honors, and lou'd Fame,
That both Posterity and name
Crownes with Obseruance and regard,
Such is Deserts allow'd Reward.
But Tune and Error now contend,
My Dues and Rights from me to rend:
Preferment now from me is fled,
Which me as Husband once did wed,
And would not lend a glance to any
But onely Me▪ yet now to many
So common, like base Strumpets growne
That all for Coyne make them the
[...] owne.
And still-sought Oportunity,
My once preuailing friend, ô why
Dost thou of help and fauour reaue me,
And me in my distresse thus leaue me?
I ne're did thee neglect, or euer
Did thee from my Achiuements seuer:
But begg'd thy happy aid. But sure
Corruption now doth thee allure.
Thus am I wrong'd, disgrac'd, defam'd,
And yet the world is not asham'd
To see how most vniustly I
The aime am made of iniury.
Yet I ne're sham'd, or wrongd this Land,
But for her honors firme doe stand:
I ne're did seeke to wast her store,
But was the meane to make it more.
I ne're was false, fond, or vniust,
I ne're with selfe-consuming Lust,
Was to my Country blot, or staine,
Nor Fame on me had cause to plaine.
No mifchiefe I did act, or plot,
And States abuser I am not:
No Innocent I ere accus'd,
And no iniustice euer vs'd.
I ne're with bribes was hir'd, or bought,
Not I Authority e're brought
Desertlesly to least disgrace,
By wronging her most sacred place.
Nor am I plague of State, or power,
And yet my Starres on me doe lower.
I no blaspheming Roarer was,
No Bruers beast, good-fellow-Asse.
No bragadochio-brauing-Mate,
No Swasher, no Repent-too-late:
No griefe of Reason, Ape of pride,
No shadow, but a substance tride.
O! I was neuer ought that's vile,
Nor any euer did beguile.
I was plaine-dealing, and did fly
All causes of indignity:
I was not pitch that still defiles
The toucher, I was free from guiles.
My followers yet could neuer say,
I lead them wrong, or to decay.
Yet at the lowest Ebbe am I
Of Want, and scorned misery.
O! tis my Fate, I may not thriue,
Or bring home honey to the hiue.
And why? I am not eminent,
Nor Princes Palaces frequent:
Nor am I complementall matter,
But hate to temporise and flatter.
I am not like the Apes of Time,
That often for a downefall climbe;
I rest content, and striue t'auoid
Ambition, that is still imploid
In her owne ruine; and doth gaine
Nothing but trouble for her paine.
For shadowes I doe neuer striue,
But am alasse too good to thriue.
I cosen none, nor haue deceits,
Nor can I fish with golden baites:
With golden baites, that too too much
Insnare all those, that them but touch.
And right, or wrong are sought for, when
They draw like Loadstones Iron-men,
They doe corrupt, and alwaies where
Man goes, he findes Corruption there:
For wer't not so; and if exil'd
Were fauour, that alasse doth shield
Desertlesse Vpstarts; onely rais'd
That greatnesse might not still be prais'd;
Then well-deseruers well regarded
Would be; the ill, as ill rewarded.
And men in nought, but doing well
Would striue each other to excell,
And in mine ancient honors I
Should be install'd, and mount on high,
I Time ob'curely should not spend,
But whom I serue should me attend,
And Ignorance should neuer bring
Desert to be her Vnder ing:
Her vnderling that stan
[...]eth low,
Lake obscure Shrubs; yet when winds blow
Are
[...]afe, whilest euery stormy gale
Shakes lofty Cedars till they fall.
Then Worldlings come, and loue, and try,
My blisse: I giue se
[...]urity
To all my Creditors; that neuer
Desert shall faile, till Time disseuer
Iustice, and
[...]an: and Wisdome power
Wants; while the Heauens for it lower.
And thou Occasion g aunt thus much,
I may no more thy baldnesse touch;
O let me come before, that I
May but thy lucky fore-locke spy,
And I'le catch at it fast; if not
(As now) let me be still forgot.
And come you mentall Vertues all
Saue me, lest you your selues doe fall▪
You are defended, you reuiue
Onely, by keeping me aliue.
And
ALBION to thee I cry,
Saue me for thy necessity.
And Greatnesse doe thou fauour me,
Then I againe my friends shall see.
Thou m
[...]k'st, or marr'st, then grace me so,
That I for thee may greater grow:
But if thou slightst me, and deny
To doe me right; know I must dye,
That all the Land may mourne for me,
That, seruilizd, first made it free.
Thus said, and being not imploid
In ought, that might dead Sleepe avoid
Forthwith a Drousie slumber sei'd
His senses, and his moanes appeas'd,
And, as of Mans society
The slighted outcast he did lye.
When, loc, a Virgin did arise
From Earth; whom neuer mortall Eies
Beheld; or was by memory
Recorded, to be noted by:
Thought knew her not, she could be found
No where, till now, but vnder ground.
OBLIVION was her dismall name,
Whom all the World may iustly blame:
For, soone she laid (ô dire mishap!)
Desert vpon her fable lap.
There she (alasse) in silent sleep
Him from the blinded world doth keep.
Put stay, awake, awake Desert!
We cannot say thou onely wert.
We dare not thinke so, and much lesse,
Belieue we are in such distresse:
Except we with conceipt would all
Despaire, and hopelesse with thee fall.
But aged Heauens in their care
To vs and thee more gratious are:
For thou art not of all friends rest,
Nor maist thou of thy friends be left.
He that the Scepter of this land
Doth sway, and nought but right command,
Hath place, and being for thee; where
He thee and thine expects; and there
Thy followers are onely plac'd:
And onely by him for thee grac'd.
And though some shamelesse doe intrude,
Which neuer were with thee indude;
Know that the glorious Sunne displaies
On all things his reuiuing Raies:
And to each Creature which doth liue,
He the best nourishment doth giue,
He shines vpon the sweetest flowers,
Which flourish in the choisest bowers:
Yet he alasse, can shine no where,
But lurking weeds will start vp there.
Thou then Desert art not forlorne,
Though weeds sometimes o'regrowne the Corne.
FINIS.
A DIALOGVE of a womans Properties, betweene an old man and a young.
Old Man.
IF gray Experience may deserue beliefe,
Ile tell what Women are; (although with griefe.)
They and their beauties are so vaine and fraile,
That with their dearest friends they most doe faile.
And their quaint Trickes doe so our Iudgements blind,
Their guiles we neuer see, yet euer finde.
Young Man.
[Page]
Must you so hardly
[...]gainst faire women speake,
Because (alasse) then gentle sex is weake,
[...]eele not then frath
[...]es burden they, vnlesse
We
[...] ph
[...]d with their vnhappinesse?
And though they haue some poore shifts, men haue many:
And too much would deceaue them without any.
Old Man.
Woman to shew, what she would be, at first
Made by her frailty, all the world accurst.
And that by her (sure us by Fate concluded)
Man shalbe euer, as at first, deluded.
Then would all seeming Heauen, d
[...]d but allot
That onely man might be, and woman not.
Young Man.
[Page]
For what she did, grieue more, then blame. Alasse,
His fatall subtilty, by which she was
Vnhappily beguil'd was such, that she
By it, if man by her, soone guil'd might be.
Yet Heauen this priuiledge doth women giue,
The world without them stands not, nor men liue.
Old Man.
Yea, woman still remaines our fatall curse,
And will all Vanities for euer nurse:
She rebell is to reason; yet in wiles
So witty, that she wisest men beguiles,
For she is such a strange bewitching thing
Man must her honey haue, though with't a sting.
Young Man.
[Page]
To be our helpes they are, and we doe finde,
Beauty hath made them louely, Nature kinde;
And Vertue being female cannot chuse
But sa
[...]red guift
[...] in her owne Sex infuse:
And their faults cannot be so much their owne,
As tempting mans, if all were rightly knowne.
Old Man.
To gaine their owne wils, pleas
[...]ngly they flatter,
To gather loose loue, they light lookes can scatter:
O▪ they to ruine sweetly can allure,
And are as lustfull, as in loue vnsure.
To where may n
[...]w
Penelope be found,
That chast was tempted: she is vnder ground.
Young Man.
[Page]
She was; and being gone, we still haue new
Which are, dispight all false seducements, true.
And know this pretty family of Loue
Are in affection as the turtle Doue.
Neuer alone, but with vs, and about vs,
And out of question dye they would without vs.
Old Man.
They sport, and toy, dissemble, craue, and faine:
Then frowne, then rage, then hate, and then disdaine.
And can seeme kinde, where most vnkind they proue;
Yet seld or neuer know whom best they loue:
For though they chance with their owne choice to wed,
Yet,
Venus must haue
Mars in
Vulcans Bed.
Yong Man.
[Page]
[...]ld they we e
[...]inty, or remorcelesse, then
They ne
[...] would vnder
[...]e the wrongs of men.
N
[...] le
[...] th
[...]
[...] be in
[...]ed by those,
In whom th
[...] con
[...]idence, and tru
[...] repose.
But they
[...], and are so kind
[...]
[...]sily th
[...]e yeelding soules doe blind.
Old Man.
[...] they
[...]inded are, and ne're will
[...]ee
[...] lo
[...]n
[...]sse be:
[...]
[...]eason
[...]ind
[...] them
[...] rotten find,
And yet
[...] inchanting features,
Th
[...]
[...] them. O b
[...]witching creature.
Young Man.
[Page]
How we, sith they the weaker Vessels are,
To tirannize no forged slanders spare.
And yet (so charitable is their loue)
They cannot from vs their affections moue.
Then leaue, if not for shame, for pitty, thus
To wrong them, if they erre, it is for vs.
Old Man.
Although they seeme vs onely to affect,
'Tis their content, not ours, that they respect:
They for their owne ends cunningly can f ine,
And though they hau't by natu e, yet theile straine.
Sure if on Faith by wiles gain'd might be blisse,
Straight that I were a woman I would wish.
Yong Man.
[Page]
Alasse from subtilty so farre they are
That me
[...]
[...] easily) doe them insnare:
And i
[...] the
[...] wi
[...] haue; we too often see,
They but
[...]hei
[...] gentle
[...]elues to cosen be.
But they would all be spotlesse, did men leaue
Their pittying hearts with fal
[...]ehood to deceaue.
Old Man.
They are so fond, that being flatter'd, will
C
[...]ent to t
[...]ei
[...] owne Infamy and ill,
And
[...]rets vn
[...]dui
[...]edly reuea
[...]e,
And not so much as then ow
[...] thoughts conceale.
Yet they though
[...]ttings
[...]oe beguile them still,
Thei
[...] flatterers make
[...]ooles, and euer will.
Young Man.
[Page]
When men faire speeches vse, but to deceaue,
Wise women them of their intents bereaue:
And those which nought suspect, they doe insnare,
And such still wrong'd for well-belieuing are.
Yet men so shamelesse be, that for the same
Whereof themselues are cause; they women blame.
Old Man.
Women, when as they list, denialls haue;
Yea oft when to betray themselues they craue.
For where's the
Phoe
[...]i
[...], or the sable Swan,
Mirror of women, wonder vnto Man,
But change of pasture greedy is to try,
And of stolne Sin, craues still Variety.
Young Man.
[Page]
Sith thou are wither'd, and thy blood is cold,
And hast no priuiledge to loue, being old,
Thy doating weakenes enuies those that may,
Allow'd by youth, with louely
Venus play.
But do not hinder them of licenc'd Time,
Since 'tis but short, and naturall the Crime.
Old Man.
How counterfeit delights doe blind the Sense
Of such as da
[...]e with Folly to dispence!
Ah I doe know, which would I neuer had
Women are all, (I feare to say how) bad.
What iustly men deserue that them belieue;
The very thought thereof doth make me grieue.
Young Man.
[Page]
Speake on; and if their tempted faults be knowne
To be lesse mans prouoking then their owne;
I
[...]le yeeld:
[...]nd euen blame them cause I see
They so full of delight, and beauty be.
And all aduantage of their weakenesse take;
But then my selfe hard hearted I must make.
Old Man.
Like Crocodiles they moue destroying pitty;
They tune like Syrens a sweet banefull ditty:
And are forgetfully of some commended,
Onely with their loose frailty to be friended.
And their lasciuious sex haue carefull beene
But in this onely, to commit vnscene.
Young Man.
[Page]
Sith thou art wither
[...]d, and thy blood is cold,
And hast no priuiledge to loue, being old,
Thy doating weakenes enuies those that may,
Allow'd by youth, with louely
Venus play.
But do not hinder them of licenc'd Time,
Since 'tis but short, and naturall the Crime.
Old Man.
How counterfeit delights doe blind the Sense
Of such as dare with Folly to dispence!
Ah I doe know, which would I neuer had
Women are all, (I feare to say how) bad.
What iustly men deserue that them belieue;
The very thought thereof doth make me grieue.
Young Man.
[Page]
Speake on; and if their tempted faults be knowne
To be lesse mans prouoking then their owne;
Ile yeeld: and euen blame them cause I see
They so full of delight, and beauty be.
And all aduantage of their weakenesse take;
But then my selfe hard hearted I must make.
Old Man.
Like Crocodiles they moue destroying pitty:
They tune like Syrens a sweet banefull ditty:
And are forgetfully of some commended,
Onely with their loose frailty to be friended.
And there lasciuious sex haue carefull beene
But in this onely, to commit vnseene.
Young Man.
[Page]
If that some one of them doe tread awry;
Must all be naught? ô iudge it Charity.
But since man-kind is subiect to be tempted,
Then from this Crosse they cannot be exempted.
Yet oftentimes, (such abstinence they haue)
They can refuse, what in their hearts they craue.
Old Man.
Thou art a woman sure disguis'd; if not,
Nature that thou should est be one did allot:
And then some Hagge, that once, one man might be
That spake of women well, hath thus chang'd thee.
Else when for such knowne mischiefes I them blame,
Thou ne're wouldst speak, but hold thy peace for shame
Young Man.
[Page]
All know (vnsufferable Man) they are
For beauty and delight beyond compare.
For conference so full of pleasing wit,
For vse so necessary, and so fit,
That man without them, can by no meanes be,
Nor euer will, if he be rul'd by me.
Old Man.
Nay sure these necessary harmes were fram'd
That man, as too too heedlesse might be blam'd.
His weaknesse cannot greatest weaknesse fly,
In her strong-drawing fraile society.
Then happy they, that know what women are,
But happier, which to know them neuer care.
Young Man.
[Page]
Old Father, Ile no more with thee contend,
But must confesse, as we, so they offend.
Many of them are good, and many ill,
Yet all in this erre, all must haue their will.
But for your part, doe you the strife here end,
And for my pray I'le pray they may amend.
FINIS.
TO MY WORthy, and ingenious Friend, M r. Arthur Newman, on his fore-sayd Booke.
NEWMAN, to praise thee to thy face, were not
Friendship, but flattery. T' auoyde which Blot,
My tardy Verse is placed at the end
Of all thy Booke: (as if I did commend
Thee dead, or absent.) Yet, if this my Verse
Had come Before, not Ouer-tâne the Presse,
I had hung (such is thy prouoking wort
[...])
My Bayes vp, with the rest, to set thee
[...]rth.
For, this I prophecy: Thine early Fame
Shall (oldly) proue as New, as (now) thy Name.
Ad Eundem.
QVis
(que) Nouo, Veteri nullus blanditur amico,
Te (mihi qui Nouus es nomine, fronte simul)
Miror, et inuideo. Tibi non (hoc) blandior ipse:
Cum sic inuidiâ Carmina digna tua.
G. Parre, in Art: Mag. Ox:
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