OVID'S WALNVT-TREE transplanted.
LONDON, Printed for Robert Milbourne 1627.
TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFVLL his euer honored Mother the Ladie MARIE HATTON.
THe natiue soyle of this tree is Italie, wherby the hands of the Latine Muses it was planted aboue sixteene [Page] hundred yeeres agoe: being of so excellent vigour and durance, that no reuolution of time could bring it to decay. It seemes the Nymphs of the woods gaue to it a speciall boone of protection against old age, more than they haue afforded to the okes of Hauering Parke, [Page] Which, when I walk among them, seeme from their doted tops and emptie trunks to say to moe, that heart of ak [...] is no armour of proofe against the sithe of Father Time.
This our tree, standing in open and vnfenced ground, I haue made bold to seise vpon [Page] and remoue hither: By which transplanting of a stocke so growne and conueyed so farre, it is no maruell if it now droope in our cold English soyle; especially by reason of the vnskilfulnesse of the gardner, Who being but a fresh apprentice to the translating trade, may [Page] iustly feare that this Latine plant will bee thought more rudely battered by his rough English penne, then euer it was by the staues of Rustick Passengers.
Thus with presentment of all filiall dutie, I craue acceptation of you, my deare [Page] Mother: in hope that you will vouchsafe to look vpon this tree, set in our fields at home, on purpose for your owne view: though you are like to finde very little fruit vpon it worthie your tasting.
So wishing an happie [Page] New yeare to you; & humbly crauing your Motherly blessing, I alwaies rest
Lambith this
first of Ianuarie, 1624.
Your obedient eldest Sonne, though but a poore planter in this kind, RICHARD HATTON.
OVIDS WALNVTTREE transplanted.
I The poore nuttree, ioyning to the way,
Offend not any: and yet euery day
By idle trauailers, that passe along,
Each stone or cudgell at my pate is flong.
Theeues lead to hanging oft are ston'd, they say,
When peoples furie brooks not lawes delay:
I ne're offend, vnlesse it seeme a crime
To yeeld my owner yeerely fruit in time.
[Page 2]But heretofore, when fruit was more respected,
Good trees were cherisht, barren ones reiected:
Good planters then, when store of fruit was borne,
Were wont their Gods with garlands to adorne.
Thy grapes O
Bacchus oft thou didst admire,
Myneruas oliues were admi'rd by hir:
And apples had their mothers limbs downe torne,
If props and shores had not her armes vpborne.
All wiues did then by our example beare,
And in those dayes all matrons mothers were.
But when the fruitlesse sycamores were held
The best of all the trees dame earth did yeeld,
Wee bearers (if my selfe I may so call)
Brought them broad leaues but little fruit at all.
Our bearing now scarce holds two yeares together:
And that which comes is blasted by the weather.
To beare a child by her that would seeme faire,
Is thought too base: true mothers now are rare.
[Page 3]If fruitlesse; then thus haplesse were I not
In wretched mother
Clytemuestra's lot.
If vines knew this, no grapes then would they bring,
Nor from
Mineruas tree would oliues spring:
Tell this but to the peare, or apple-tree,
They then will stint, and alwayes barren bee:
The cherrie tree, that beares blush-coloured fruit,
Would bee a barren stocke, if that she knew't.
Nor doe I enuie them, though barren stocks
Stand fast and are not hurt with any knocks.
Behold that row of trees stands whole and sound,
Which nothing bear for which men shold the wound.
But I am hurt, no man my boughes doth spare,
My barke is slayed, my wood and heart lyes bare.
Hate is no cause of this, but hope of gaine:
Let other trees beare fruit, and they'le complaine.
Halfe hang'd is he, that hath much wealth & ground:
Who hath no fleece, will scarce be guiltie found.
[Page 4]Theeues he may feare, that loaden is with gold,
An emptie purse makes Iourney safe and bold.
So am I set vpon, because I bring
Good store of fruit: leafe bearers safely spring.
Nay and poore shrubs sometime, that neighbour mee,
Are bang'd and
[...]orne, as pittie is to see.
Yet to be beaten for, they fruit haue none▪
Ill neighbourhood doth send them many a stone.
And trust me not, if proofe doe not it show:
For other trees stand sound which farther grow.
If trees were wise and knew where best to root,
They would be sure to stand hence fortie foot.
Wretch that I am, who thus with losse abused
Am hatefully for neighbourhood accused.
But see, my owners care and bounteous hand,
Who giues me but the ground in which I stand.
I without setting spring and grow apace,
And next the way is oft my homely place.
[Page 5]The fruitfull fields doe me so harmefull thinke,
That I am shouldred out to th'vtmost brinke:
My shadie branches neuer prun'd hang rude
And at my roote this soile is nere renude.
Though by the sunne I often scorched bee,
Ther's none with watring that refresheth mee.
But when my nut with ripenesse cleanes her hull,
Then comes the Pole and threats my crowne to pull.
And least of stones I onely might complaine,
With staues my loaden boughes they bruise againe.
My pulpe for second course men vse to haue.
A thriftie housewife doth my choice nuts saue.
These are the tooles of boyes-play,
Cockvpall,
Cobnut, and
Fiue holes trundling like a ball:
And
Castle nut, where one on three doth sit,
He winnes the foure, that any one can hit:
Another downe a steepe set board doth throw,
And winnes by hitting any nut below:
[Page 6]Another
Odde or euen playes a game,
At which he winnes that can the number name.
Others chalke figures in triangle fashion,
Much like great
Deltas starrie constellation,
In which, the walnuts set in distance like,
One throwes and winnes all that his stick doth strike.
Sometime in distance set a part doth stand.
In which one throwes a nut with luckie hand.
Happie that tree, that growes in priuate fields:
Shee all her tribute to her master yeelds,
She neither out-cryes heares, nor rumbling wheeles,
Nor from the neighbouring way the dust shee feeles.
All that shee beares must for her master bee.
Which shee at once in compleat troope can see.
But I ner'e keepe my fruit till it grow ripe:
To soone they rob my boughes with many a stripe.
My shell but soft, my kernell milke as yet,
My nuts for any vse can ner'e be fit:
[...]My fruit is common, some perhaps will say,
Get it who can, it borders on the way.
If this be law, your neighbours barley mow,
Plucke oliues, let not his poore pothearbs grow:
Let forragers inuade your Citie gates,
And rattle
London walls vpon your pates:
Let it bee lawfull made, or thought a trifle,
To rob your Goldsmiths shops and Iewels rifle:
Let roisters snatch your coyne, and precious stones,
Or what goods else they can, and make no bones.
But all is well: God blesse our good Kings life,
Who keepes vs safe from robberie and strife:
His awfull scepter doth our Citie guide
In blessed peace, and all his Realmes beside.
What good get I poore nut by this, though peace
Be o're the world, if my blowes cannot cease.
Therefore the frighted birds dare build no nest
Vpon my armes, nor pearch here for their rest.
[Page 10]If on my forked boughes there rest a stone,
He sits as if he thought the towne his owne.
They that for other faults are oft accused,
Will stand in't twas not they, they are abused:
But they that rob me, cannot well denie it:
Written vpon their fingers you may spie it.
That which I brand them with, is my deare bloud;
Wash while they will, their washing does no good.
Wearie of loathed life how oft haue I
Wisht my root withered and my branches dry!
How oft with whirlewinds to be ouerturned,
Or with a flash of lightning to be burned!
O that a storme would dash them to the earth
Or could I cast them by abortiue birth.
The cause withdrawne, past is all dangerous doubt.
The hunted Beauer so his stones bites out.
What heart haue I when clownes doe cudgels take,
And prye where they their battry best may make.