Q: HORATIVS FLACCUS, his Art of POETRY. Englisht by Ben: Jonson.
London. Printed for J. Benson and are sold by W. Ley at Paules-Chayne. 1640.
Q. Horatius Flaccus: His Art of Poetry.
ENGLISHED By Ben: Jonson.
With other Workes of the Author, never Printed before.
LONDON: Printed by J. Okes, for John Benson. 1640.
¶ To the Right Honourable THOMAS Lord WINDSORE.
My Lord:
THe Extension of your Noble Favours Commands, and my Gratitude no lesse binds [Page] me to present this Elaborate Peece, of our learned and judicious Poet Ben Ionson his Translation of Horace de Arte Poetica, to your Lordships perusall: which Book amongst the rest of his Strenuous and Sinewy Labours, for its rare profundity, may challenge a just admiration of the Learned in this and future Ages, and crowne his name with a lasting memory of never [Page] dying glory! You rightly knew (my Lord) the worth and true esteeme both of the Author and his Learning, being more perspicuous in the candid judgement of Your Lordship, and other sublime Spirits that rightly knew him, then my capacity can describe. But there is from me a iust duty and service due to your Honour, which makes me assume this boldnesse, [Page] yet in some good assurance that your Goodnesse will be pleas'd to accept of this as a true acknowledgment, and profession of my most humble thankfulnesse, by which my Lord you shall dignifie the purpose of him who shall alwayes study to be accounted
Your Honours most observant and affectionate servant. I. B.
Sir Edward Herbert Knight of the Bath, Ordinary Embassadour for His Majesty of Great Brittaine with the French King. Upon his Friend Mr. Ben: Ionson, and his Translation,
TWas not enough, Ben: Ionson to be thought
Of English Poets best, but to have brought
In greater state, to their acquaintance, one
Made equall to himselfe and thee; that none
Might be thy second: while thy glory is
To be the Horace of our times, and his.
BARTON HOLYDAY, to BEN JONSON.
EPODE.
TIs dangerous to praise; besides the taske,
Which to do't well, will aske
An age of time and judgement; who can then
Be prais'd, and by what pen?
Yet, I know both, whilst thee I safely chuse
My subject, and my Muse.
For sure, henceforth our Poets shall implore
Thy aid, which lends them more,
Then can their tyr'd Apollo, or the nine
She wits, or mighty wine.
These Deities are banquerupts, and must be
Glad to beg art of thee.
Some they might once perchance on thee bestow:
But, now, to thee they owe:
Who dost in daily bounty more wit spend,
Then they could ever lend.
Thus thou, didst build the globe, which, but for thee,
Should want its Axle-tree:
And, like a carefull founder, thou dost now
Leave Rules for ever, how
To keep't in reparations, which will doe
More good, than to build two.
It was an able stock, thou gav'st before;
Yet, loe, a richer store!
Which doth, by a prevention, make us quit
With a deare yeare of wit:
Come when it will, by this thy name shall last
Untill Fames utmost blast.
Thou art a wealthy Epigram, which spends
Most vigour when it ends.
This ful Epiphonema of thy best
Wit, out-speaks all the rest.
Me thinkes, I see our after Nephewes gaze,
And all their time to praise
Is taken up in wonder; whilst they see
Ages of wit, in thee
Collected, and well judg'd: Charons stout heart
Feeles thy new power of Art,
And, his obedient armes labour amaine,
Whilst he wafts back againe
What Poets shadow, thou dost please to call
To this thy judgement hall:
Whiles, at these frightning Sessions, thou dost fit,
The searching Judge of wit,
O how the Ghosts do shuffle one behind
Another, left thou find
Them, and their errours: but, in vaine, they flie
Thy persecuting eye.
Bold Aristophanes, shrewd whotfon, now
More feares thy threatning brow,
Then his owne guilt of libelling, and prayes
He may new write his playes.
Plautus so quakes, that he had rather still
Grind on in his old mill.
Terence would borrow his owne Eunuchs shape,
By the disguise to scape.
The Greek Tragoedians droop, as if they plaid
The persons whom they made:
Fearing thou'lt bid them adde with more expence
Of braine, wit to their sence:
Or whilst their murdered wits thou maist contemne.
Write Tragoedies of them.
Seneca, would with Hercules be glad
To scape, by running mad:
Or at the least, he feares as lesse a hurt,
To weare his burning shirt.
They'd all take care, and if thy Flaccus too
Writ now, he'd write all new.
Yet all at once confesse Flaccus doe's well,
But thou makst him excell.
The Morning Sunne viewing a silver stream,
So guilds it with his beame.
Master of Art, and Fame! who here makst knowne
To all, how all thine owne
Well-bodied works were fram'd, whilst here we see
Their fine Anatomee.
Each nerve and vaine of Art, each slender string,
Thou to our eye dost bring:
Thus, what thou didst before so well collect,
Thou dost as well dissect.
For which skill, Poëms now thy censure waie,
And thence receive their Fate.
Thou needst not seek for thē, to thee they're brought,
And so held good, or nought.
Thus, doth the eye disdaine, with an extreame
Scorne to send forth a beame:
But scaly formes from the glad object flow
By which the eye doth know
Its subtle image: thus the eye keeps state,
Thus doth the object wait.
But here, at this, perchance some one stands by,
and drawes his mouth awry;
As if his mouth (his mouth he doth so teare)
Would whisper in his eare;
When thy soft pitty, if it see his spight,
But saies, set your mouth right.
Yet in mild truth, this worke hath some defect,
As now I dare object:
Thou err'st against a workmans rarest part,
Which is to hide his Art.
Next, all thy rules fall short, since none can teach
A verse, thy worth to reach.
For which, Ile now judge thee: know thy estate
Of wit must beare this fate:
Till Ionson teach some Muse a straine yet new,
Ionson shall want his due,
To Mr. Jonson.
BEn: the world is much in debt and though it may
Some petty reck'nings to small Poets pay:
Pardon if a [...] [...]hy glorious summe they stick,
Being too large for their Arithmeticke.
If they could prize the Genius of a Scene,
The learned sweat that makes a language cleane,
Or understand the faith of ancient skill,
Drawn from the Tragick, Comick, Lyrick quille
The Greek and Roman denison'd by thee,
And both made richer in thy Poetry.
This they may know, and knowing this still grudge
That yet they are not fit of thee to judge.
I prophesie more strength to after time,
Whose joy shall call this Isle the Poets Clime,
Because 'twas thine, and unto thee returne
The borrowed flames, with which thy Muse shal burn.
Then when the stocke of others Fam [...] is spent,
Thy Poetry shall keep its owne old rent.
Zouch Tounley.
ODE. To BEN JONSON Upon his Ode to himselfe.
I.
PRoceed in thy brave rage,
Which hath rais'd up our Stage
Unto that height, as Rome in all her state,
Or Greece might emulate:
Whose greatest Senators did silent fit,
Heare and applaud the wit,
Which those more temperate Times,
Us'd when it tax'd their Crimes:
Socrates stood, and heard with true delight,
All that the sharpe Athenian Muse could write.
II.
Against his suppos'd fault;
And did digest the salt
That from that full vaine did so freely flow:
And though that we doe know
The Graces joyntly strove to make that brest
A Temple for their rest,
We must not make thee lesse
Than Aristophanes:
He got the start of thee in time and place,
But thou hast gain'd the Goale in Art and Grace.
III.
But if thou make thy feasts
For the high relish'd guests,
And that a Cloud of shadowes shall break in,
It were almost a sinne
To think that thou shouldst equally delight
Each severall appetite:
Though Art, and Nature strive
Thy banquets to contrive:
Like the old Greek: think then but on hisו Cook.
What is his usuall fare:
What Country man is he:
These things 'tis meet the Cook should scan:
For such nice guests as in the Isles are bred,
With various sorts of fresh-fish nourished,
In salt meat take little or no delight,
But taste them with fastidious appetite.
IV.
If thou thy full cups bring
Out of the Muses spring,
And there are some foule mouthes had rather drink
Out of the common sink:
There let 'hem seek to quench th'Hydropick thirst,
Till the swolne humour burst.
Let him who daily steales
From thy most precious meales.
(Since thy strange plenty findes no losse by it)
Feed himselfe with the fragments of thy wit.
V.
And let those silken men
(That know not how, or when
To spend their money, or their time) maintaine
With their consum'd no-braine,
Their barbarous feeding on such grosse base stuffe
As onely serves to puffe-
Up the weak empty mind,
Like bubbles, full with wind,
And strive t'ingage the scene with their damn'd oaths,
As they doe with the priviledge of their cloaths.
VI.
VVhilst thou tak'st that high spirit,
VVell purchas'd by thy merit,
Great Prince of Poets, though thy head be gray,
Crowne it with Delphick Bay,
And from the chiefe in Apollo's quire,
Take downe thy best tun d Lire,
VVhose sound shall pierce so farre
It shall strike out the starre,
VVhich fabulous Greece durst fixe in heaven, whilst thine
VVith all due glory here on earth shall shine.
VII.
Sing English Horace, sing
The wonder of thy King;
VVhilst his triumphant Chariot runs his whole
Bright course about each Pole:
Sing downe the Roman Harper; he shall raine
His bounties on thy vaine:
And with his golden Rayes,
So guild thy glorious Bayes:
That Fame shall beare on her unwearied wing,
VVhat the best Poet sung of the best King.
I. C.
Quintus Horatius Flaccus his Book of the Art of Poetry to the PISO'S.
IF to a womans head, a painter would
A horse neck joyn, & sundry plumes or [...]-fold
On every limb, ta'ne from a several creature,
Presenting upwards a fair female feature,
5 Which in a blacke foule fish uncomely ends:
Admitted to the sight, although his friends,
Could you containe your laughter? credit me,
That Book, my Piso's, and this piece agree,
Whose shapes like sick mēs dreams are form'd so vain,
10 As neither head, nor foot, one forme retain [...]
But equall power to Painter, and to Poet,
Of daring ought, hath still bin given we know it:
And both doe crave, and give again this leave:
Yet not as therefore cruell things should cleave
15 To gentle; not that we should Serpents see
With Doves; or Lambs with Tigres coupled be.
In grave beginnings, and great things profest
You have oft-times, that may out-shine the rest,
A purple piece, or two stitch'd in: when either
20 Diana's Grove, and Altar, with the nether
Bouts of fleet waters, that doe intertwine
The pleasant grounds, or when the River Rhine,
Or Rain-bow is describ'd; but here was now
No place for these: And Painter haply thou
25 Knowst well alone to paint a Cypresse Tree,
What's this, if he whose mony hireth thee
To paint him, hath by swimming, hopelesse, scap'd,
The whole Fleet wrack'd? a great jarre to be shap'd
Was meant at first, why, forcing still about
30 Thy labouring wheel, comes scarce a pitcher out?
Heare, me conclude; let what thou workst upon
Be simple quite throughout, and alwayes one.
The greater part, that boast the Muses fire
Father, and sons right worthy of your Sire,
35 Are with the likenesse of the truth beguil'd:
My selfe for shortnesse labour, and am stil'd
Obscure. Another striving smooth to runne,
Wants strength, and sinewes, as his spirits were done;
His Muse professing height, and greatnesse, swells;
40 Downe close by shore, this other creeping steales,
Being over-safe, and fearing of the flaw:
So he that varying still affects to draw
One thing prodigiously, paints in the woods
A Dolphin and a Boare amidst the floods:
45 The shunning vice, to greater vice doth lead,
If in th'escape an artlesse path we tread.
The worst of statuaries, here about
Th' Aemilian Schoole, in Brasse can figure out
The nailes, and every gentle haire disclose;
50 Yet in the main work haplesse: since he knowes
Not to designe the whole. Should I aspire
To frame a worke, I would no more desire
To be that fellow, then to be markt out
With faire blacke eyes, and hair, and some vile snout.
55 Take therefore, you that write a subject fit
Vnto your strength, and long be turning it:
Prove what your shoulders will, or will not beare,
His choise, who's matter to his power doth reare,
Nor language nor cleare order will forsake:
60 The vertue and grace of which, or I mistake,
Is now to speak, and even now to differ
Much that mought now be spoke, omitted here
Till fitter season; now to like of this,
Lay that aside, the Epicks office is,
[Page 4]65 In using also of new words, to be
Right spare, and wary: then thou speak'st to me
Most worthy praise, when words that vulgar grew
Are by thy cunning placing made meer new.
Yet, if by chance in uttering things abstruse,
70 Thou need new termes; thou maist without excuse,
Feigne words un-heard of to the girded Race
Of the Cethegi; and all men will grace
And give, being taken modestly, this leave,
And those thy new, and late-coyn'd words receive,
75 So they full gently from the Grecian spring,
And came not too much wrested. What's that thing
A Roman to Coecilius will allow,
Or Plautus, and in Virgil disavow,
Or Varius? Why am I now envy'd so,
80 If I can give some small encrease? when, loe,
Cato's, and Ennius tongues have lent much worth
And wealth unto our Language; and brought forth
New names of things. It hath beene ever free,
And ever will, to utter termes that be
85 Stampt to the time. As woods whose change appears
Still in their leavs, throughout the sliding years,
The first borne dying; so the aged Fate
Of words decay, and phrases borne but late
Like tender Buds shoot up, and freshly grow.
90 Our selves, and all thats ours, to death we owe:
Whether the Sea receiv'd into the shore,
That from the North the Navy safe doth store,
A Kingly work; or that long barren Fen
Once rowable, but now doth nourish men
95 In neigbour-towns, and feels the weighty plough:
Or the wild River, who hath changed now
His course, so hurtfull both to grain and seeds,
Being taught a better way. All mortall deeds
Shall perish: so farre of it is, the Fate
100 Or grace of speech, should hope a lasting date,
Much phrase that now is dead shall be reviv'd,
And much shall dye, that now is nobly liv'd
If custome please, with whom both choyse, and will
Power, Art, and rule of speaking resteth still.
105 The deeds of Kings, great Captains, & sad wars,
What number best can fit, Homer declares,
In verse unequal match'd, first sowre laments,
After mens wishes, crown'd in their events
Were also clos'd: but who the man should be,
110 That first sent forth the dapper Elegie
All the Grammarians strive: and yet in Court
Before the Judge it hangs, and waits report.
Unto the Lyrick strings, the Muse gave grace,
To chant the gods, and all their god like race.
The conquering champion, the prime horse in course,
Fresh Lovers businesse, and the winds free source.
The Iambicke arm'd Archilochus to rave,
This foot the socks tooke up, and Buskins grave
As fit t'exchange discourse, and quell the rings
120 Of popular noyses, borne to actuate things.
If now the changes, and the severall hues
Of Poëms here describ'd, I can nor use,
Nor know t'observe; why (i'the Muses name)
Am I cald Poet? wherefore with wrong shame
125 Perversely modest had I rather owe
To ignorance still, then yet to learne, or know.
Yet Comick matter shunnes to be exprest
In Tragick verse, no lesse Thyestes feast
Abhorres low numbers, and the private straine
130 Fit for the Sock: Each subject should retaine
The place allotted it, with decent praise:
Yet sometime both the Comoedy doth raise
Her voyce, and angry Chremes chafes out-right,
With swelling throat: and, oft, the Tragick wight
135 Complaines in humble phrase. Both Telephus
And Peleus, if he seek to heart-strike us
That are spectators, with his misery,
When he is poore, and banisht, must throw by
His Bombard phrase, and foot-and-half-foot words:
140 Tis not enough the labouring Muse affords
Her Poëms beauty, but a sweet delight,
To worke the hearers minds, still to the plight.
Mens count'nances, with such as laugh, are prone
To laughter: so they grieve with those that mone:
145 If thou wouldst have mee weep, bee thou first dround
Thy selfe in tears, then me thy harms will wound,
Peleus, or Telephus. If thou speak vile
And ill-pen'd things, I shall or sleep, or smile.
Sad language fits sad looks; stuft menacings,
150 The angry brow: the sportive, wanton things;
And the severe, speech ever serious:
For nature first within doth fashion us
To every Fortunes habit; she helps on,
155 Or urgeth us to anger; and anon
With weighty woes she hurles us all along;
And tortures us, and after by the tongue,
Her Truck-man, she reports the minds each throe;
If now the phrase of him that speaks, shall flow
In sound, quite from his fortune; both the rout,
160 And Roman Gentry, will with laughter shout.
It much will sway whether a god speak, than;
Or an Heroe: If a ripe old man,
Or some hot youth, yet in his flourishing course;
Whe'r some great Lady, or her diligent Nurse;
165 A ventring Merchant, or the husband free
Of some small thankfull land: whether he be
Of Colchis borne: or in Assyria bred;
Or with the Milke of Thebes, or Argus fed:
Or follow fame, thou that dost write, or faine
170 Things in themselves agreeing: if againe
Honour'd Achilles chance by thee be seiz'd;
Keepe him still active, angry, unappeas'd,
Sharp, & contemning Lawes at him should aime,
Be nought so 'bove him, but his bold sword claime.
175 Medea make wild, fierce, impetuous:
Ino bewaild; Ixion trecherous;
Io still wandring; griev'd Orestes sad:
If something fresh, that never yet was had,
Unto the Stage thou bringst, and dar'st create
180 A meer new person, lock he keep his state
Unto the last, as when he first went forth,
Still to be like him selfe, and hold his worth.
'Tis hard, to speake things common-properly:
And thou maist better bring a Rhapsody
185 Of Homers forth in Acts, then of thine owne
First publish things unspoken, and unknowne.
Yet, common matter thou thine owne maist make,
If thou the vile, broad-troden ring forsake.
For, being a Poet, thou maist feigne, create,
190 Not care, as thou wouldst faithfully translate,
To reader word for word: nor with thy sleight
Of imitation, leape into a streight
From whence thy modesty, or Poëms Law
Forbids thee forth againe thy foot to draw.
195 Nor so begin, as did that Circler, late,
I sing a noble warre, and Priams fate.
What doth this promiser, such great gaping worth
Afford? the Mountains travail'd, and brought forth
A trifling Mouse! O how much better this
200 Who nought assaies, unaptly, or amisse?
Speak to me, Muse, the man, who after Troy was sackt
Saw many towns, & men, & could their māners tract,
He thinks not how to give you smoak from light,
But light from smoak, that he may draw his bright
205 Wonders forth after: As Antiphates,
Scylla, Charybdis, Polypheme, with these.
Nor from the brand with which the life did burne
Of Meleager, brings he the returne
Of Diomede, nor Troyes sad wars begins
210 From the two Egges, that did disclose the twins.
He ever hastens to the end, and so
(As if he knew it) rapp's his hearer to
The middle of his matter: letting goe
What he [...]espaires being handled might not show.
215 And so well faines, so mixeth cunningly
Falshood and truth, as no man can espy
Where the midst differs from the first, or where
The last doth from the midst dis-joyn'd appeare.
[...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...]
Heare, what it is the people, and I desire.
220 If such a ones applause thou dost require,
That tarries till the Hangings be tane downe,
And sits till the Epilogue sayes clap, or crowne:
The customes of each age thou must observe,
And give their years and natures as they swerve,
225 Fit dues. The child that now knows how to say,
And can tread firme, longs with like lads to play.
Soone angry, and soone pleas'd, is sweet, or soure,
He knowes not why, and changeth every houre.
The unbearded youth, his Guardian being gone,
230 Loves Dogs, and Horses; and is ever one
I'th open field; is waxe-like to be wrought
To every vice: as hardly to be brought
To endure Counsell: a provider slow
For his owne good, a carelesse letter-goe
235 Of Mony, haughty, to desire soone mov'd,
And then as swift to leave what he hath lov'd.
These Studies alter now, in one growne Man;
His betterd mind seeks wealth, and friendships than,
Looks after honours, and bewares to act
240 What straightway he must labour to retract.
The old man many evills doe girt round;
Either because he seeks, and having found,
Doth, wretchedly the use of things forbeare,
Or does all businesse coldly, and with feare:
[Page 11]245 A great differrer, long in hope, grown numbe
With sloth, yet greedy still of whats to come:
Froward, complaining; a commender glad
Of the times past, when he was a young lad,
And still correcting youth, and censuring.
250 Mans comming yeares much good with them doe bring,
At his departing take much thence: lest then
The parts of age to youth be given, or men
To children, we must alwayes dwell, and stay,
In fitting proper adjuncts to each day.
255 The businesse either on the stage is done,
Or acted told: but, ever, things that runne
In at the eare, doe stirre the mind more slow
Than those that faithfull eyes take in by show,
And the beholder to himselfe doth render.
260 Yet to the Stage at all thou maist not tender
Things worthy to be done within, but take
Much from the sight, which faire Report will make
Present anon. Medea must not kill
Her Sons before the people: or the ill-
265 Natur'd, and wicked Atreus cooke to the eye
His Nephews intrailes: nor must Progne flye
Into a Swallow there: nor Cadmus take
Upon the stage, the figure of a Snake.
What so is shewne, I not beleeve, and hate.
270 Nor must the Fable, that would hope the fate
Once seene, to be againe call'd for, and play'd;
Have more, or lesse than just five Acts: nor lay'd
To have a god come in; except a knot
Worth his untying happen there: and not
275 Any fourth man to speak at all desire.
An Actors part, and office too, the quire
Must manly keep, and not be heard to sing
Between the Acts a quite cleane other thing
Than to the purpose leads, and fitly agrees.
280 It still must favour good men, and to these
Be wonne a friend; it must both sway and bend
The angry, and love those that fear t'offend.
Praise the spare dyet, wholsome Justice, Lawes,
The open ports, and sports that peace doth cause,
285 Hide faults, and pray to th' gods, and wish aloud
Fortune would love the poore, and leave the proud.
The Han-boy, not as now with Latten bound,
And rivall with the Trumpet for his sound,
But soft and simple, at few holes breath'd time,
290 And tune too, fitted to the Chorus Rime,
As loud enough to fill the Seats, not yet
So over-thick, but where the people met,
They might with case be numbred, being a few
Chast, thrifty, modest folk, that came to view.
[Page 13]295 But as they conquer'd, and inlarg'd their bound,
The wider walls imbrac't their City round,
And they un-censur'd might at feasts, and playes,
Steep the glad Genius in the Wine, whole dayes,
Both in their Tunes the license greater grew,
300 And in their Numbers; for alas, what knew
The Idiot, keeping holy day, or drudge,
Clowne, townsman, base, and noble, mixt to judge:
Thus to his ancient art the piper lent
Gesture, and Riot, whilst he wandring went
305 In his train'd Gown, about the stage, thus grew
To the grave Harp, and Violl voyces new;
The rash and headlong eloquence brought forth,
Unwonted language; and that sense of worth
That found out profit, and fore-told each thing,
310 Now differ'd not from Delphick ridling.
He too, that did in Tragicke Verse contend
For the vile Goat, soone after forth did send
The rough rude Satyrs naked, and would trye,
Though sower, with safety of his gravity,
315 How he could jest; because he mark't & saw
The free spectators subject to no law,
Having well eate and drunke: the Rites being done,
Were to be staid with softnesses, and wonne
With something, that was acceptably new.
Yet so the scoffing Satyrs to mens view,
And so their pratling to present were best,
And so to turne our earnest into jest,
As neither any god, be brought in there,
Or semi-god, that late was seene to weare
325 A royall Crown, and Scarlet, be made hop
With poore base termes, through every baser shop:
Or, whilst he shuns the earth, to catch the aire,
And empty clouds. For Tragedy is faire,
And farre unworthy to blurt out light Rimes;
330 But, as a Matron drawne at solemne times
To dance, so she should, shame-fac'd, differ farre
From what th'obsceene, and petulant Satyres are.
Nor I, when I write Satyres, will so love
Plaine phrase, my Piso's, as alone t'approve
335 Meere raigning words: nor will I labour so
Quite from all face of Tragedy to goe,
As not make difference whether Davus speake,
And the bold Pythias, having cheated weake
Simo, and of a talent cleans'd his purse;
340 Or old Silenus, Bacchus Guard, and nurse.
I can, out of knowne stuffe, a Fable frame,
And so, as every man may hope the same:
Yet he that offers at it, may sweat much,
And toyle in vaine: the excellence is such
345 Of order, and connexion; so much grace
There comes sometimes to things of meanest place;
But let the Faunes, drawne from the groves beware,
Be I their judge, they doe at no time dare,
Like men Town-born, and neare the place rehearse,
350 Or play young tricks in over-wanton verse;
Or cracke out shamefull speeches, or uncleane.
The Roman Gentry; men of birth, and meane,
Take just offence at this: nor, though it strike
Him that buyes Pulse there, or perhaps may like
355 The nut-crackers throughout, will they therfore
Receive, or give it any Crowne the more.
Two rests, a short & long, th'Iambicke frame,
A foote, whose swiftnesse gave the verse the name
Of Trimeter, when yet it was sixe-pac'd,
360 But meere Iambicks all, from first to last.
Nor is't long since they did with patience take
Into their Birth-right, and for fitnesse sake,
The steady Spondoees; so themselves to beare
More slow, and come more weighty to the eare:
365 Provided, ne're to yield, in any case
Of fellowship, the fourth, or second place.
This foote yet in the famous Trimeters
Of Accius, and Ennius, rare appeares;
So rare as with some taxe it doth engage
370 Those heavy verses sent so to the stage
Of too much hast, and negligence in part,
Or a worse crime, the ignorance of art:
But every Judge hath not the faculty
To note, in Poëms breach of harmony;
375 And there is given too unworthy leave
To Roman Poets: shall I therefore weave
My verse at randome, and licentiously?
Or rather thinking all my faults may spy,
Grow a safe Writer, and be wary-driven
380 Within the hope of having all forgiven.
'Tis cleare, this way I have got off from blame,
But in conclusion merited no fame.
Take you the Greeks examples, for your light,
In hand, and turne them over, day, and night:
385 Your Ancestors, old Plautus numbers prais'd,
And jests, and both to admiration rais'd;
Too patiently, that I not fondly say;
If either you, or I know any way.
To part scurrility from wit: or can
390 A lawfull Verse, by th' eare, or finger scan.
Thespis is said to be the first, found out
The Tragoedy, and carried it about,
Till then unknowne, in Carts, wherein did ride
Those that did sing, and act: their faces dy'd
395 With lees of Wine. Next Aeschilus more late
Brought in the visor, and the robe of state,
Built a small timber'd stage, and taught them talke
Lofty, and great; and in the [...]uskin walk.
To these succeeded the old Comoedy,
400 And not without much praise; till liberty
Fell into fault so farre, as now they saw
Her force was fit to be restrain'd by law:
Which law receiv'd, the Chorus held his peace,
His power of fowly hurting made to cease.
405 Our Poets, too, left nought unproved here:
Nor did they merit the lesse Crowne to weare,
In daring to forsake the Graecian Tracts,
And celebrating their owne home-born facts:
Whether the guarded Tragoedy they wrought,
410 Or 'twere the gowned Comoedy they taught.
Nor had our Italy more glorious bin
In vertue, and renowne of Armes, than in
Her language, if the stay, and care t'have mended
Had not our every Poet like offended.
415 But you, Pompilius off-spring spare you not
To taxe that Verse, which many a day and blot
Have not kept in, and (least perfection faile)
Not, ten times o're, corrected to the naile.
Because Democritus believes a wit
420 Happier than wretched Art, and doth by it
Exclude all sober Poets from their share
In Helicon; a great sort will not pare
Their nails, nor shave their beards, but seek by-paths
In secret places, flee the publick baths.
[Page 18]425 For so, they shall not onely gaine the worth,
But fame of Poets, if they can come forth,
And from the Barber Licinus conceale
The head that three Anticira's cannot heale.
O [...], left-witted, that purge every spring
430 For Choler! if I did not, none could bring
Our better Poems: but I cannot buy
My title at their rate. I had rather, I,
Be like a whetstone, that an edge can put
On steele, though't selfe be dull, and cannot cut.
435 I, writing nought my selfe, will teach them yet
Their charge, and office, whence their wealth to fit:
What nourisheth, what formed, what begot
The Poet, what becommeth, and what not:
Whether truth will, and whether errour bring.
440 The very root of writing well, and spring
Is to be wise, thy matter first to know,
Which the Socratick writing best can show:
And, where the matter is provided still,
There words will never follow 'gainst their will.
445 He, that hath studied well the debt, and knowes
What to his Country, what his friends he owes,
What height of love a Parent will fit best,
What brethren, what a stranger, and his guest,
Can tell a States-mans duty, what the Arts
450 And office of a Judge are, what the parts
Of a brave Chiefe sent to the warres, he can
Indeed give fitting dues to every man.
And I still bid the learned maker look
On life, and manners, and make those his booke:
455 Thence draw forth true expressiōs, for somtimes,
A Poëm, of no grace, waight, art in Rimes
With specious places, and being humour'd right,
More strongly takes the people with delight,
And better stayes them there than all fine noyse
460 Of empty Verses, and meere tinckling toyes.
The Muse that onely gave the Greeks a wit
But a well compass'd mouth to utter it,
Being men were covetous of nought but praise.
Our Roman youthes they learne more thriving wayes
465 How to divide into a hundred parts,
A pound, or piece, by their long counting Arts;
There's Albin's sonne will say, substract an ounce
From the five ounces, what remaines? pronounce
A third of twelve, you may: foure ounces: Glad,
470 He cryes, good boy, thou'lt keep thine owne: now adde
An Ounce, what makes it then? the halfe pound just,
Sixe ounces: O, when once the canker'd rust,
And care of getting thus our minds hath stain'd
Thinke we, or hope, there can be verses feign'd
[Page 20]475 In juyce of Caedar worthy to be steep'd,
And in smooth Cypresse boxes to be keep'd?
Poets would either profit, or delight,
Or mixing sweet, and fit, teach life the right.
Be briefe in what thou wouldst command, that so.
480 The docill mind may soon thy precepts know,
And hold them faithfully; for nothing rests
But flowes out, that ore swelleth in full brests.
Let what thou feign'st for pleasure sake, be neare
The truth; nor let thy Fable think, what e're
485 It would, must be: lest it alive would draw
The child, when Lamia' has din'd, out of her maw,
The Poëms voyd of profit, our grave men
Cast out by voyces; want they pleasure, then
Our gallants give them none, but passe them by:
490 But he hath every suffrage can apply
Sweet mix'd with foure, to his reader, so
As doctrine and delight together goe.
This book will get thee Socij money; this
Will passe the Seas; and long as Nature is
495 With honour make the far-known Author live.
There are yet faults, which we would well forgive,
For, neither doth the string still yield that sound,
The hand, and mind would; but it will rebound
Oft-times a sharp, when we require a flat:
500 Nor alwayes doth the loosed bow hit that
Which it doth threaten: Therefore, where I see
Much in a Poëm shine, I will not be
Offended with few spots, which negligence
Hath shed, or humane frailty not kept thence.
505 How then? why, as a Scrivener, if h'offend
Still in the same, and warned, will not mend,
Deserves no pardon; or who'd play and sing
Is laught at, that still jarreth in one string:
So he that flaggeth much, becomes to me
510 A Choerilus, in whom if I but see
Twice, or thrice good, I wonder: but am more
Angry, if once I heare good Homer snore.
Though I confesse, that, in a long work, sleep
May, with some right, upon an Author creep.
515 As Painting, so is Poësie: some mans hand
Will take you more, the nearer that you stand;
As some the farther off: this loves the dark.
This, fearing not the subtlest Judges mark
Will in the light be view'd: this, once, the sight
520 Doth please, this ten times over will delight.
You Sir, the elder brother, though you are
Informed rightly, by your Fathers care,
And, of your selfe too understand; yet mind
This saying: to some things there is assign'd
525 A meane, and tolleration, which doth well,
There may a Lawyer be, may not excell;
Or pleader at the Barre; that may come short
Of eloquent Mesalla's powers in Court;
Or knowes not what Cassellius Aulus can
530 Yet, there's a value given to this man.
But neither men, nor gods, not Pillars meant
Poets should ever be indifferent.
As jarring Musick doth at jolly feasts,
Or thick grosse oyntment but offend the guests.
535 Poppy, with hony of Sardus; 'cause without
These, the glad Meal, might have bin wel drawn out;
So any Poëm fancy'd, or forth-brought
To bettering of the mind of man in ought,
If ne're so little it depart the first,
540 And highest; it sinketh to the lowest, & worst.
He that not knowes the games, nor how to use
The Armes in Mars, his field, he doth refuse;
Or who's unskilfull at the Coyt, or Ball,
Or trundling wheele, he can sit still from all:
545 Lest the thrōg'd rings should a free laughter take:
Yet who's most ignorant, dares Verses make.
Why not; being honest, and free-borne, doth hate
Vice, and is knowne to have a Knights estate.
Thou, such thy judgement is, thy knowledge too,
Wilt nothing against Nature speak, or doe:
But, if hereafter thou shalt write, not feare
To send it to be judg'd by Metius care,
And to your fathers, and to mine; thought be
Nine yeares kept by: your papers in, y'are free
555 To change, & mend, what you not forth do set.
The word once out, never returned yet.
Orpheus, a Priest, and speaker for the gods,
First frighted men, that wildly liv'd in woods,
From slaughters, and foule life; and for the same
Was Tygers said, and Lyons fierce to tame:
560 Amphion too, that built the Theban towers,
Was said to move the stones by his Lutes powers,
And lead them with his soft songs, where he would:
This was the wisedome that they had of old,
Things sacred from prophane to separate;
565 The publicke from the private; to abate
Wild ranging lusts, prescribe the marriage good,
Build townes, and carve the lawes in leaves of wood.
And thus at first, an honour, and a name
To divine Poets, and their verses came.
570 Next these, great Homer, and Tyrtaeus set
On edge the Masculine spirits, and did whet
Their minds to wars, with rimes they did rehearse:
The Oracles too were given out in verse;
All way of life was shewn; the grace of Kings
575 Attempted by the Muses tunes, and strings:
Playes were found out; the rest, the end, & crowne
Of their long labours, was in verse set downe.
Lest of the finger Apollo, and Muses fam'd
Upon the Lyre, thou chance to be asham'd.
580 'Tis now inquir'd which makes the nobler verses
Nature, or Art. My judgement will not pierce
Into the profits, what a meer rude braine
Can, or all toyle, without a wealthy vaine:
So doth the one, the others helpe require,
585 And friendly should unto their end conspire.
He that's ambitious in the race to touch
The wished Goale, both did and suffered much
While he was young: he sweat, and freez'd again,
And both from wine and women did abstaine.
590 Who now to sing the Pythian Rites is heard,
Did learne them first, and once a Master feard.
But, now, it is enough to say, I make
An admirable verse: the great Scab take
Him that is last, I scorne to be behind,
595 Or, of the things, that ne're came in my mind,
Once say I'me ignorant: just as a Cryer,
That to the sale of wares calls every buyer,
So doth the Poet, that is rich in Land,
Or wealthy in monyes out at use, command
600 His praisers to their gaine: but say he can
Make a greate Supper, or for some poore man
Will be a surety, or can helpe him out
Of an intangling suit, or bring't about,
I wonder how this happy man should know,
605 Whether his soothing friend speake truth, or no.
But, you, my Piso, carefully beware,
Whether y'are given to, or giver are,
You doe not bring to judge your verses one
With joy of what is given him over-gone:
610 For he'le cry good, brave, better, excellent!
Look pale, distill a dew was never meant
Out at his friendly eyes, leap, beat the ground!
As those that hir'd to weep at funeralls sound,
Cry, and doe more than the true mourners, so
615 The scoffer, the true prayser doth out-goe.
Great men are said with many cups to plye,
And rack with wine the man whom they would try,
If of their friendship to be worthy, or no;
When you make verses, with your judge doe so:
Looke through him, and be sure you take no mocks
620 For praises, where the mind harbours a Fo [...]e.
If to Quinctilius you recited ought,
He'd say mend this my friend, and this, 'tis nought.
If you deny'd, you had no better straine,
625 And twice, or thrice assay'd it, but in vain;
He'd bid blot all; and to the Anvill bring
Those ill-torn'd verses to new hammering.
Then, if your fault you rather had defend
Then change; no word nor work more would he spend
[Page 26]630 In vaine, but you, and yours you should love still
Alone, without a rivall at your will.
A good and wise man will crye open shame
On artlesse Verse; the hard ones he will blame:
Blot out the carelesse with his turned pen;
635 Cut off superfluous ornaments; and, when
They're dark, bid cleare 'hem; al thats doubtful wrote
Dispute; and what is to be changed, note:
Become an Aristarchus: And, not say,
Why should I grieve a friend this trifling way?
These trifles into serious mischiefs lead
The man once mock'd, and suffered wrong to tread.
Those that are wise, a furious Poet feare,
And flye to touch him, as a man that were
Infected with the Leprosie, or had
645 The yellow jaundis, or were truely mad,
Under the angry Moon: but then the boyes
They vexe, and carelesse follow him with noise.
This, while he belcheth lofty Verses out,
And stalketh, like a Fowler, round about,
650 Busie to catch a Black-bird; if he fall
Into a pit, or hole, although he call
And crye aloud, helpe gentle Country-men;
There's none will take the care to help him, then,
For, if one should, and with a rope make hast
655 To let it downe, who knowes, if he did cast
Himselfe there purposely, or no; and would
Not thence be sav'd, although indeed he could;
Ile tell you but the death, and the disease
Of the Sycilian Poet, Empedocles;
660 He, while he labour'd to be thought a god,
Immortall, took a melancholick, odd
Conceipt, and into burning Aetna leap't:
Let Poets perish that will not be kept.
He that preserves a man against his will,
Doth the same thing with him that would him kill.
Nor did he doe this, once; if yet you can
Now, bring him backe, he'le be no more a man,
Or love of this his famous death lay by.
Here's one makes verses, but there's none knows why:
670 Whether h hath pissed upon his Fathers grave:
Or the sad thunder-strucken thing he have,
Polluted, touch't: but certainly he's mad:
And as a Beare, if he the strength but had
To force the Grates that hold him in, would fright
675 All; so this grievous writer puts to flight
Learn'd, and unlearn'd; holdeth whom once he takes;
And there an end of him with reading makes:
Not letting goe the skin, where he drawes food,
Till, horse-leech like, he drop off, full of blood.
FINIS.
Ben: Ionson's Execration AGAINST VVLCAN.
ANd why to me this; (thou lame god of fire)
What have I done, that might call on thin ire?
Or urge thy greedy flames, thus to devoure
So many my years labours in one houre!
I ne're attempted ought against thy life,
Nor made least line of love to thy loose wife:
Or in remembrance of thy affront and scorne,
With clowns and tradesmen kept thee clos'd in horne:
'Twas Jupiter that hurl'd thee headlong downe,
And Mars that gave thee a Lanthorne for a Crowne.
Was it because thou wert of old deny'd,
By Jove, to have Minerva for thy Bride,
That since thou tak'st all envious care and paine,
To ruine every issue of her braine?
Had I wrot Treason there, or Heresie,
Impostures, Witch-craft, Charmes, or Blasphemy,
I had deserv'd then thy consuming looks,
Perhaps to have beene burned with my books:
But on thy malice tell me, didst thou spye.
Any least loose, or scurrill paper lye
Conceal'd, or kept there; that was fit to be,
By thy owne vote, a Sacrifice to thee?
Did I there wound the honour of the Crowne?
Or taxe the glory of the Church, or Gowne?
Itch to defame the State, or brand the Times,
And my selfe most in lewd selfe-boasting Rimes?
If none of these, why then this fire? or find
A cause before, or leave me one behind,
Had I compil'd from Amadis de Gaule
Th' Esplandians, Arthurs, Palmarins, and all
The learned Library of Don Quixot,
And so some goodlier Monster had begot:
Or spunne out Riddles, or weav'd fifty Tomes
Of Logographes, or curious Palindromes;
Or pump'd for those hard trifles, Anagrams,
Or Ecrosticks, or your finer flames
Of Egges, and Halbards, Cradles, and a Herse,
A paire of Sizers, and a Combe in verse;
Acrosticks, and Tellesticks, or jumpe names,
Thou then hadst had some colour for thy flames,
On such my serious follies: But thou'lt say,
There were some pieces of as base a Lay,
And as false stampe there: parcells of a Play.
Fitter to see the fire-light, than the day:
Adulterate moneys, such as would not goe,
Thou shouldst have stay'd, till publicke Fame said so.
She is the Judge, thou Executioner:
Or if thou needs wilt trench upon her power,
Thou mightst have yet enjoy'd thy cruelty,
With some more thirst, and more variety!
Thou mightst, have had me perish piece by piece,
To light Tobacco, or save roasted Geese,
Sing'd Capons, or crispe Pigges, dropping their eyes,
Condemn'd them to the Ovens with the Pies;
And so have kept me dying a whole age,
Not ravish'd all hence in a minuts rage:
But that s the mark whereof thy right doth boast,
To sow Consumption every where thou go'st.
Had I fore-knowne of this thy least desire,
T'have held a triumph, or a feast of fire;
Especially in paper, that that steame
Had tickled thy large nostrills, many a Reame,
To redeem mine, I had sent in, enough
Thou shouldst have cryed, and all beene proper stuffe.
The Talmond and the Alcaron had come
With pieces of the Legend: the whole summe
Of Errant Knight-hood, with their Dames and Dwarffes,
The charmed Boats, and their inchanted Wharffes:
The Tristrams, Lancelots, Turpins, and the Peeres,
All the mad Rowlands, and sweet Olivers,
With Merlins Marvailes, and his Caballs Losse,
With the Chimera, of the Rosie Crosse,
Their Charmes, their Characters, Hermetick Rings,
Their Jems of Riches, and bright stone that brings
Invisibility, and Strength, and Tongues,
The art of kindling the true Cole be Lungs.
With Nicholas Pasquills, meddle with your match,
And the strong Lines that doe the times so catch:
Our Captaine Pamphlets Horse and foot that salley,
Upon the Exchange still out of Popes-head Alley,
The weekly Currants, with Pauls Seale, and all
The admir'd Discourses of the Prophet Baal:
These (hadst thou pleas'd either to dine, or sup)
Had made a meale for Vulcan to licke up.
But in my Desk, what was there to excite
So ravenous and vast an appetite?
I dare not say a Body, but some parts
There were of search and mystery in the Arts:
And the old Venusine in Poëtry,
And lighted by the Stagarite, could spy,
Was there made English, with a Grammer too,
To teach some that, their Nurses could not doe;
The purity of Language: and (among
The rest) my journey into Scotland Sung,
With all the adventures: three Books not afraid
To speak the Fate of the Sycilian maid
For our owne Ladyes: And in story there
Of our fift Henry, eight of his nine yeare.
In which was Oyle, besides the succours spent,
Which Noble Cotton, Carew, Selden sent.
And twice twelve years Stor'd-up-humanitie,
And humble gleanings in Divinitie,
After the Fathers; and those wiser guides,
Whom Faction had not drawne to study sides.
How in these ruines Vulcan dost thou lurke:
All [...]oot and Embers, odious, as thy worke?
I now begin to doubt, if ever grace
Or goddesse could be patient at thy face.
Thou woe Minerva, or to wit aspire,
Cause thou canst halt with us in Art, and Fire.
Son of the Wind; for so thy Mother gone
With Lust conceiv'd thee, Father thou hadst none:
When thou wert borne, and that thou lookst at best,
She durst not kisse, but flung thee from her brest.
And so did Jove, who ne're meant thee his cup:
No mar'le the Clowns of Lemnos took thee up.
For none but Smiths would have made thee a god,
Some Alchymist there may be yet, or odd:
Squire of the Squibs against the Pageant day,
May to thy name a Vulcanale say,
And for it lose his eyes by Gun-powder,
As the other may his brains by Quick-silver:
Well fare the wise men yet on the Banks-side,
(Our friends the Water-men) they could provide
Against thy fury, when to serve their needs,
They made a Vulcan on a sheafe of Reeds.
Whom they durst handle in their holy-day coats,
And safely trust to dresse, not burne their Boats:
But oh these Reeds, thy meere disdaine of them,
Made thee beget that cruell stratagem:
(Which some are pleas'd to stile, but thy mad pranke)
Against the Globe, the glory of the banke,
Which though it were the Fort of the whole parish,
Fenc'd with a ditch, and forc'd out of a Marish:
I saw with two poore Chambers taken in,
And rais'd e're thought could urge: this might have bin.
See the Worlds ruines, nothing but the piles
Left, and wit since to cover it with tiles;
The brethren they straight nos'd it out for newes,
'T was verily some relique of the Stewes:
And this a sparkle of that fire let loose,
That was rak'd up in th' Winchestrian Goose,
Bred on the banke in time of Popery,
When Venus there maintain'd the mystery:
But others fell with that conceit by th' eares,
'Twas verily a threatning to the Beares;
And that accursed ground, the Paris Garden:
Nay, (sigh'd a sister) 'twas the Nun Kate Arden
Kindled the fire: but then did one returne;
No foole would his owne harvest spoile, or burne;
If that were so, thou rather wouldst advance
The place that was thy wives inheritance.
O no, cry'd all, Fortune, for being a whore,
Scapt not his justice any jot the more.
He burnt that Idoll of the Revells too:
Nay let White-hall with Revells have to doe,
Though but in Dances, it shall know thy power,
There was a judgement too shew'd in an houre;
He was right Vulcan still, he did not spare
Troy, though it were so much thy Venus care:
Foole wilt thou let that in example come?
Did she not save from thence to build a Rome?
And what hast thou done in these petty spights,
More than advanc'd the houses, and their Rites,
I will not argue thee from them of guilt,
For they were burnt but to be better built:
Tis true, that in thy wish they were destroy'd,
Which thou hast onely vented, not enjoy'd.
So wouldst th' have run upon the Roles by stealth,
And didst invade part of the Common-wealth:
In those Records (which were our Chroniclers gone)
Would be remembred by sixe Clerks to one.
But say all sixe good men, what answer yee,
Lye [...] there no Writ out of the Chancerie
Against this Vulcan? no Injunction?
No Orders? No Decree? though we be gone
At Common Law, me thinks in his despight,
A Court of Equity should doe us right.
But to confine him to the Brew-houses,
The Glasse-house: Dye-fats, and their Furnaces:
To live in Sea-coale; and goe out in smoak:
Or least that vapour might the City choak,
Confine him to some Brickhills, or some Hill.
Foot out in Sussex to an Iron-mill:
Or in small Faggots have him blaze about
Vile Taverns, and the drunkards pisse him out:
Or in the Bell-mans Lanthorne, like a spye,
Waste to a snuffe, and then stink out and dye:
I could invent a sentence yet more worse,
But Ile conclude all in a civill curse:
Pox on your Flame-ship (Vulcan) if it be
To all as fatall as t'hath bin to me,
And to Pauls steeple, which had bin to us
'Bove all your fire-works, had at Ephesus,
Or Alexandria, which (though a Divine
Losse, yet) remains as unrepair'd as mine:
Would you had kept your Forge at Aetna still,
And there made Swords, Bills, Glaves, and Armes your fill;
Maintain'd a trade at Bilbo, or elsewhere.
Struck in at Millane with the Cutlers there:
And staid but where the Frier and you first met,
That from the Devills Arse did Guns beget:
Or fixt in the Low-Countries, where you might
On both sides doe your mischiefs with delight:
Blow up and ruine, Mine, and Counter-mine,
Use your Petards, and Granads, all your fine
Engines of murther, and enjoy the praise
Of Massacring Man-kind so many wayes:
We aske your absence here, we all love peace
And pray the fruits thereof, and the increase;
So doth the King, and most of the Kings men
That have good places: therefore once agen
Poxe on thee Vulcan; thy Pandora's poxe,
And all the ills that flew out of her Boxe
Light on thee: or if those plagues will not doe,
Thy wives poxe take thee, and Besse Braughtons too.
FINIS.
The Masque of THE GYPSIES.
At the Kings Entrance.
IF for our thoughts there could but speech be found,
And all that speech be uttred in one sound,
So that some power above us would afford
The meanes to make a language of a word,
It should be welcome; in that onely voyce
We would receive, reteine, enjoy, rejoyce,
And all affects of love, and life, dispence,
Till it were cald a copious eloquence;
For should we vent our spirits, now you are come
In other sillables, were as be dumbe.
Welcome, O welcome then, and enter here
The house your bounty built, and still doth reare,
With those high favours, and those heap't increases,
Which shews a hand not griev'd, but when it ceases.
The Master is your creature; as the place;
And every good about him is your grace:
Whom, though he stand by silent, think not rude,
But as a man turn'd all to gratitude,
For what he ne're can hope how to restore,
Since while he meditates one, you poure on more.
Vouchsafe to thinke he onely is opprest
With their abundance, not that in his brest
His powers are stupid grown; for please you enter
Him, and his house, and search him to the center,
You'l find within, no thanks, or vowes, there shorter,
For having trusted thus much to his Porter.
The GYPSIES Metamorphos'd.
Enter a GYPSIE, leading a Horse laden with five little Children, bound in a trace of Scarffes upon
him: a second leading another horse, laden with stolne Poultry, &c. The first leading
Gypsy speaks, being the
JACKMAN.
ROome for the five Princes of Aegypt, mounted all upon one horse, like the four sons of Ammon, to make the miracle the more by a head, if it may be: Gaze upon them, as on the Off-spring of Ptolemy, begotten upon severall Cleopatra's in their severall Countyes; especially on this brave sparke, strook out of Flint-shire, upon Iustice Juggs daughter, then Sheriffe of the County, who running away with a Kinsman of our Captains, and her Father pursuing to the marches, he great with Iustice, she with Iuggling, they were both for the same time turn'd stone, upon the sight of each other in Chester, till at the last (see the Wonder) a Iugg of the Towne Ale reconciling [Page 48] them, the memoriall of both their gravities, his in beard, and hers in belly, hath remained ever since preserv'd in picture, upon the most stone Iuggs in the Kingdome. The famous Impe yet grew a wretchocke, and though for seven yeares together he was carefully carried at his Mothers back, rock'd in a Cradle of Welch Cheese, like a Maggot, and there fed with broken Beer, and blown wine of the best, daily, yet lookes he as if he never saw his Quinguinever: 'tis true, he can thred Needles on horse-backe, or draw a yard of Inkle through his nose; but what's that to a growne Gypsie, one of the blood, and of his time, if he had thriv'd? Therefore (till with his painfull Progenitors, he be able to beate it on the hoofe to the bene bouse, or the stauling Ken, to nip a lan, or clye the Tarke) 'tis thought fit he march in the Infants Equipage,
With the Convoy, Cheats, and pe [...]kage,
Out of clutch of Harman-beckages
To the Libkins at the Cruckmans,
O [...] some skipper of the Black-mans.
2 GYPSIE.
[Page 49]WHere the Cacklers, but no Grunters
Shall uncas'd be for the Hunters;
Those we still must keep alive,
I, and put them forth to thrive,
In the Parkes and in the Chases,
And the finer walled places,
As St. Jamses, Greenwitch, Tibals,
Where the Akorns plumpe as Chiballs,
Soone shall change both kind and name,
And proclaime 'hem the Kings game;
So the act no harme may be
Unto their keeper Barnabee:
It will prove as good a service
As did ever Gypsie Gervice,
Or our Captaine Charles, the tall man,
And a part too of our Salmon.
JACKMAN.
[Page 50]IF here we be a little obscure, it is our pleasure, for rather than we will offer to be our owne Interpreters, we are resolv'd not to bee understood: yet if any man doe doubt of the significancy of the Language, we referre him to the third Volume of reports: set forth by the learned in the Lawes of Canting, and published in the Gypsie tongue. Give me my Guittara: and roome for our Chiefe.
Dance 1.
The Captaine danceth forth with sixe more to a stand. After which the Jackman Sings.
Song. 1.
FRom the famous Peak of Darby,
And the Devills-Arse there hard by,
Where we yearely keep our musters,
Thus th' Aegyptians throng in clusters.
Be not frighted with our fashion,
Though we seeme a tatter'd Nation;
We account our ragges our riches,
So our tricks exceed our stitches.
Give us Bacon, rinds of Walnuts,
Shells of Cockles, or of small-nuts,
Ribbands, Bells, and Saffron'd Linnen,
All the world is ours to winne in.
Knacks we have that will delight you,
Slights of hand that will invite you,
To endure our tawny faces,
And not cause you cut your laces.
All your fortunes we can tell yee,
Be they for the backe, or belly:
In the Moods too, and the Tenses,
That may fit your fine five sences.
Draw but then your Gloves we pray you,
And sit still, we will not fray you,
For though we be here at Burly,
We'd be loath to make a Hurly.
PATRICO.
STay my sweet singer,
The touch of thy finger
A little, and linger
For me, that am bringer
Of bound to the border
The Rule, and Recorder,
And mouth of your order:
As Priest of the game,
And Prelate of the same.
There's a Gentry Cove here,
Is the top of the shire,
Of the Beaver-Ken,
A man amongst men:
Yee neede not to feare,
I've an eye, and an eare,
That turnes here and there,
To looke to our geere:
Some say that there be
One or two, if not three,
That are greater than he.
And for the Room-morts,
I know by their Ports,
And jolly resorts
They are of the sorts
That love the true sports,
Of King Ptolomaeus,
Our great Coryphaeus,
And Queen Cleopatra,
The Gypsies grand-matra,
Then if we shall sharke it,
Here Faire is, and Market.
Leave Pig by, and Goose,
And play fast, and loose,
A short cut, and long,
With (ever and among)
Some inch of a Song,
Pythagoras lot,
Drawne out of a pot;
With what sayes Alchindus,
And Pharaotes Indus.
Iohn de Indagine,
With all their Pagina,
Faces and Palmistry,
And this is all mystery.
Lay by your wimbles,
Your boring for thimbles,
Or using your nimbles
In diving the Pockets,
And sounding the sockets
Of semper-the-Cockets,
Or angling the purses
Of such as will curse us.
But in the strict duell
Be merry, and cruell,
Strike faire at some Jewell,
That mint may accrue well,
For that is the fuell
To make the Tuns brew'ell,
And the pot ring well,
And the Braine sing well,
Which we may bring, well
About, by a string well,
And doe the thing well.
It is but a straine
Of true Legerdemaine,
Once, twice, and againe.
Or what will you say now,
If with our fine play now,
Our Knackets, and Dances,
We worke on the fancies
Of some o' these Nancies,
These Trickets, and Tripsies,
And make 'hem turn Gipsies.
Here's no Justice Lippus
Will seeke for to nip us
In Crampring, or Cippus,
And then for to strip us,
And after to whip us.
His Iustice to varry,
While here we doe tarry.
But be wise and wary
And we may both carry
The Kate, and the Mary,
And all the bright Aery
Away to the Quarry,
If our brave Ptolomee
Will but say follow me.
3 GYPSIE.
CAptaine, if ever at the bouzing Ken,
You have in drops of Darby drill'd your men;
And we have serv'd thee armed all in Ale,
With the brown bowle, and charged in Bragot stale:
If muster'd thus, and disciplin'd in drink,
In our strict watches we did never wink,
But, so commanded by you, kept our station,
As we preserv'd our selves a loyall nation:
And never did yet branch of statute break,
Made in your famous Palace of the Peak:
If we have deem'd that Mutton, Lamb, or Veale,
Chick, Capon, Turkey, sweetest we did steale,
As being by our Magna Charta taught,
To judge no viands wholsome that are bought:
If for our Linnen we still us'd the lift,
And with the hedge, (our trades-increase) made shift,
And ever at your solemne feasts and calls,
We have beene ready with th' Aegyptian brawles,
To set Kit Callot forth in Prose or Rime,
Or who was Cleopatra for the time:
If we have done this, that, more, such, or so;
Now lend your eare but to the Patrico.
CAPTAINE.
Well, dance another straine, and we'le think how,
1 GYPSIE.
Meane time in song doe you conceive some vow,
Dance 2.
Song 2.
THe faiery beame upon you,
The starres to glister on you,
A Moone of light,
In the Noone of night,
Till the Fire-Drake hath o're-gone you.
The Wheele of Fortune guide you,
The Boy with the Bow beside you,
Runne aye in the way
Till the Bird of day,
And the luckyer lot betide you.
[Page 58] Captaine goes up to the King.
BLesse my sweet Masters, the old and the yong
From the gall of the heart, and the stroak of the tongue.
With you, lucky bird, I begin; let me see,
I aime [...] the best, and I troe you are hee.
Here's some luck already; if I understand
The grounds of my art, here's a gentlemans hand,
Ile kisse it for lucks sake; you should by this time
Love a horse, and a hound, but no part of a swine,
To hunt the brave Stagge, not so much for the food,
As the weale of the body, & the health of the blood.
You are a man of good means, and have Territorie store,
Both by sea; and by land, but were born sir to more.
Which you like a Lord, and the Prince of your peace,
Content with your havings, despise to encrease.
You are no great wencher, I see by your Table,
Although your mons veneris sayes you are able.
You live chast, and single, and have buried your wife,
And meane not to marry by the line of your life;
Whence he that conjecture your quality, learns,
You are an honest good man, and have care of your Barnes.
Your Mercuries hill too, a wit doth betoken.
Some book-craft you have, & are pretty wel spoken.
But stay in your Iupiters mount, what's here?
A King a Monarch; what wonders appeare!
High, Bountifu l Just: a Iove for your parts,
A Master of men, and that Reigne in their hearts
Ile tell it my traine,
And come to you againe.
Song 3.
TO the old, long life and treasure,
To the young, all health and pleasure
To the faire their face
With eternall grace,
And the foule to be lov'd at leisure.
To the witty all cleare mirrours,
To the foolish their darke errours;
To the loving sprite,
A secure delight,
To the jealous his owne false terrours.
After which the Kings fortune is pursued by the Captaine.
COuld any doubt that saw this hand,
Or who you are, or what command
You have upon the fate of things,
Or would not say you were let downe
From Heaven, on earth to be the Crowne,
And top of all your neighbour Kings.
To see the wayes of truth you take,
To ballance businesse, and to make
All Christian differences cease,
Or till the quarrell, and the cause
You can compose to give them lawes,
As Arbiter of warre and Peace.
For this, of all the world you shall
Be stiled Iames the just and all
Their states dispose, their sons & daughters,
And for your fortunes you alone,
Among them all shall worke your owne,
By peace, and not by humane slaughters.
But why doe I presume, though true,
To tell a fortune sir, unto you,
Who are the maker here of all;
Where none doe stand, or sit in view,
But owe their Forrune unto you,
At least what they good fortunes call?
My selfe a Gipsie here doe shine,
Yet are you maker sir, of mine.
Oh that confession could content
So high a bounty that doth know
No part of motion, but to flow,
And giving never to repent.
May still the matter waite your hand,
That it not feele, or stay, or stand,
But all desert still over-charge.
And may your goodnesse ever finde,
In me whom you have made, a minde,
As thankfull as your owne is large.
Dance 3. 2 Straine.
After which, the Princes Fortune is offered at by the
2 GYPSIE.
AS my Captaine hath begun
With the Sire, I take the Son,
Your hand Sir.
Of your fortune be secure,
Love, and she, are both at your
Command Sir.
And a fitter for a man,
Then is offer'd here, you can-
Not have one.
She is sister of a Starre,
One the noblest now that are,
Bright Hesper.
Whom the Indians in the East,
Phosphore call, and in the West,
Hight Vesper.
Courses even with the Sunne,
Doth her mighty brother runne,
For splendor.
What can to the marriage night,
More then morne, and evening light
Attend her?
Save the promise before day,
Of a little Iames to play
Hereafter.
Whil'st with care you strive to please,
In your giving his cares ease,
And labours;
And by being long the ayd
Of the Empire, make afrayd
Ill neighbours.
Till your selfe shall come to see
What we wish, yet farre to be
Attending.
For it skills not when, or where
That beginnes, which cannot feare
An ending
Since your name in peace, or warres,
Nought shall bound untill the starres
up take you.
2 Dance. Straine 3.
After which, the Lady Marquesse Buckinghams by the
3 GYPSIE.
HUrle after an old shooe,
Ile be merry what e're I doe,
Though I keepe no time,
My words shall chyme,
Ile overtake the sense with a rime.
Face of a Rose,
I pray thee d [...]pose
Some smal piece of silver: It shal be no losse,
But onely to make the signe of the Crosse;
If your hand you hollow,
Good fortune will follow.
I sweare by these ten,
You shall have it agen,
I doe not say when.
Blush not Dame Kate,
For early, or late,
I doe assure you it will be your fate;
Nor need you be once asham'd of it Madam,
He's as handsome a Man as ever was Adam,
A man out of waxe,
As a Lady would axe;
Yet he's not to wed yee,
H'has enjoy'd you alreadie,
And I hope he has sped yee.
A dainty young fellow,
And though you looke yellow,
He never will be jealous,
But love you most zealous.
Ther's never a line in your hand, but doth tell us,
And you are a soule, so white, and so chaste,
A table so smooth, and so newly ra'ste,
As nothing cald foule,
Dare approach with a blot,
Or any least spot;
But still you controule,
Or make your owne lot,
Preserving love pure as it first was begot:
But Dame I must tell yee,
The fruit of your bellie,
Is that you must tender,
And care so to render;
That as your selfe came
In blood, and in name,
From one house of fame,
So that may remaine
The glory of twaine.
2 Dance. Strain 4.
After which, the Countesse of Rutlands, by the
3 GYPSIE.
YOu sweet Lady have a hand too,
And a fortune you may stand too,
Both your brav'ry, and your bounty,
Stile you Mistris of the County;
[Page 67]You will finde it from this night,
Fortune shall forget her spight,
And heape all the blessings on you,
That she can poure out upon you:
To be lov'd, where most you love,
Is the worst that you shall prove;
And by him to be imbrac't,
Who so long hath knowne you chaste,
Wise, and faire; whil'st you renew
Joyes to him, and he to you:
And when both your yeares are told,
Neither thinke the other old.
And the Countesse of Exeters by the
PATRICO.
MAdam we know of your comming so late,
We could not well fit you a nobler fate,
Then what you have ready made;
An old mans wife,
Is the light of his life,
A young one is but his shade.
You will not importune,
The change of your fortune;
For if you dare trust to my forecasting,
'Tis presently good; and will be lasting.
Dance 2. Straine 5.
After which, the Countesse of Buckinghams, by the
4 GYPSIE.
YOur pardon Lady, here you stand,
If some should judge you by your hand,
The greatest Fellon in the Land
Detected:
I cannot tell you by what Arts,
But you have stolne so many hearts,
As they would make you at all parts
Suspected.
Your very face first, such a one,
As being view'd it was alone,
Too slippery to be lookt upon;
And threw men.
But then your graces they were such,
As none could e're behold too much;
Both ev'ry taste, and ev'ry touch
So drew men.
Still blest in all you thinke, or doe,
Two of your sonnes are Gypsies too,
You shall our Queene be, and he who
Importunes
The heart of either yours, or you;
And doth not wish both George, and Sue,
And every Barne besides, all new
Good fortunes.
The Lady Purbecks, by the
2 GYPSIE.
HElpe me wonder, here's a booke,
Where I would for ever look;
Never yet did Gypsie trace,
Smoother lines in hand, or face:
Venus here doth Saturne move,
That you should be Queen of Love;
And the other starres consent,
Onely Cupid's not content;
For though you the theft disguise,
You have told him of his eyes:
And to shew his envy further,
Here he chargeth you with murther;
Sayes, although that at your fight
He must all his torches light,
Though your either cheeke discloses,
Mingled bathes of Milke and Roses,
Though your lips be bankes of blisses,
Where he plants, and gathers kisses;
And your selfe the reason why,
Wisest men for love may dye;
You will turne all hearts to tinder
And shall make the world one Cinder.
5 GYPSIE.
MIstris of a fairer Table,
Hath no History, nor Fable;
Others Fortunes may be showne,
You are builder of your owne,
And what ever Heav'n hath given you,
You preserve the state still in you,
That which time would have depart,
Youth without the helpe of Art,
You doe keepe still, and the glory
Of your Sexe, is but your story.
The Lord Chamberlaine, by the
IACKMAN.
THough you sir be Chamberlaine, I have a Key
To open your Fortune a little by the way:
You are a good man,
Deny it that can;
And faithfull you are
Deny it that dare.
You know how to use your sword and your pen,
And you love not alone the arts, but the men;
The Graces and Muses ev'ry where follow
You, as you were their second Apollo;
Onely your hand here tells you to your face
You have wanted one grace
To performe, what has bin a right of your place;
For by this Line, which is Mars his Trench,
You never yet help'd your Master to a Wench:
is wel for your honour, he's pious & chaste,
Or you had most certainely bin displaste.
Dance 2. Straine 3.
The Lord Keepers Fortune, by the
PATRJCO.
AS happy a Palme sir, as most i'the Land,
It should be a pure, & an innocent hand;
And worthy the trust,
For it sayes you'll be just,
And carry the purse,
Without any curse
Of the Publicke-weale,
When you take out the Seale,
You doe not appeare,
A Judge of a yeare.
Ile venture my life,
You never had wise,
But Ile venture my skill,
You may when you will.
You have the Kings Conscience too in your brest,
More then by truth your selfe forth to bring,
The man that you are, for God, and the King.
The Lord Treasurers fortune, by the
3 GYPSIE.
I Come to borrow, and you'll grant my demand sir;
Since tis for no money, pray lend mee your hand sir;
And yet this good hand; if you please to stretch it,
Had the Errant beene money, could easily fetch it;
You command the Kings Treasure, and yet on my soule
You handle not much, for your palme is not foule,
Your fortune is good, and will be to set
The Office upright, and the King out of debt;
To put all that have Pensions soone out their paine,
By bringing th'Exchequer in credit again.
The Lord Privy-Seales,
2 GYPSIE.
HOnest, and old,
In those the good part of a fortune is
God send you your health,
The rest is provided; honour, and we
All which you possesse,
Without the making of any man lesse,
Nor neede you my warrant, enjoy it shall,
For you haue a good Privy-Seale for it all
[Page 76] The Earle Marshalls,
3 GYPSIE,
NExt the great Master, who is the Donor,
I read you here the preserver of honour,
And spye it in all your singular parts,
What a Father you are, and a Nurse of the Arts.
By cherishing which, a way you have found,
How the free to all, to one may be bound,
And they againe love their bonds; for to be
Obliged to you, is the way to be free:
But this is their fortune: Hark to your own,
Yours shall be to make true Gentry knowne
From the fictitious, not to prize blood
So much by the greatnesse, as by the good:
To shew and to open cleare vertue the way,
Both whither she should, and how farre she may;
And whilst you doe judge twixt valour, and noyse,
T'extinguish the race of the roaring boyes.
The Lord Stewards, by the
4 GYPSIE.
I Finde by this hand,
You have the command
Of the very best mans house i'the Land:
Our Captaine, and wee,
Ere long will see
If you keepe a good table;
Your Master's able.
And here be bountifull Lines, that say,
You'll keep no part of his bounty away.
Thus written to Franke,
On your Venus banke;
To prove a false steward you'll finde much adoe,
Being a true one by blood, and by office too
3 GYPSIE.
ONely your Hand, and welcome to Court,
Here is a man both for earnest, and sport.
You were lately imploy'd,
And your Master is joy'd,
To have such in his traine,
So well can sustaine
His person abroad;
And not shrinke for the load:
But had you beene here,
You should have been a Gipsie I swear,
Our Captaine had summon'd you by a Doxie,
To whom you would not have answerd by Proxie,
One, had shee come in the way of your Scepter,
Tis oddes, you had laid it by to have leapt her.
The Earle of Buckclougs, by the
PATRICO.
A Hunter you have bin heretofore,
And had game good store;
But ever you went
Upon a new scent,
And shifted your loves
As often as they did their Smocks, or their Gloves.
But since that your brave intendments are
Now bent for the Warre,
The world shall see
You can constant bee,
One Mistris to prove,
And court her for your love.
Pallas, shall be both your Sword, and your Gage;
Truth, beare your Shield, and fortune your Page.
Patr.
WHy this is a sport,
See it North, see it South,
For the taste of the Court,
Iack.
For the Courts owne mouth.
Come Windsor the Towne,
With the Major, and oppose,
Wee'll put them all downe,
Patr.
Do—do—downe like my hose.
A Gypsie in his shape,
More calls the beholder,
Then the fellow with the Ape.
Iack.
Or the Ape on his shoulder.
H'is a sight that will take
[Page 81]An old Judge from his wench,
I, and keep him awake,
Pat.
Yes, awake on the Bench:
And has so much worth,
Though he sit i'the stocks,
He will draw the Girles forth,
Iack.
I, forth i'their smocks.
Tut, a man's a man;
Let the Clownes with their Sluts,
Come mend us if they can,
Pat.
If they can for their guts.
Come mend us, come lend us, their shouts,
and their noyse,
Both.
Like Thunder, and wonder at Ptolomies Boyes.
2 Dance. 6 Straine, which leads into Dance 3.
During which, enter the Clownes, Cockrell, Clod, Townshed, to them PƲPPY.
Cock.
O The Lord! what bee these Tom! dost thou know? come hither, come hither Dick, didst thou ever see such? the finest Olive-coloured spirits: they have so danced and gingled here, as if they had bin a set of over-growne Fayries.
Clod.
They should bee Morris dancers by their gingle, but they have no Napkins.
Cock.
No, nor a Hobby horse.
Clod.
O, he's often forgotten, that's no rule, but there is no Maid-marrian, nor Friar amongst them, which is the surer marke.
Cock.
Nor a foole, that I see.
Clod.
Vnlesse they be all fooles.
Town.
Well said Tom Foole, why thou simple parish Asse thou, didst thou never see [Page 69] any Gypsies: these are a Covy of Gypsies, and the bravest new Covy that ever Constable flew at: Goodly! Game Gypsies! they are Gypsies o' this yeare, o' this Moone in my Conscience.
Clod.
O they are called the Moon-men, I remember now.
Cock.
One shall hardly see such Gentleman-like Gypsies, though under a hedge in a whole Summers day, if they be Gypsies.
Clod.
Male-Gypsies all! not a Mort amongst them.
Pup.
VVhere, where, I could never endure the sight of one of these rogue Gypsies, which be they? I would faine see 'hem.
Clod.
Yonder they are.
Pup.
They can Cant, and Mill, are they Masters in their Arts?
Town.
No Batchellours these, they cannot have proceeded so farre, they have scarce had the time to be lowsie yet.
Pup.
All the better, I would be acquainted with them while they are in cleane life, they will doe their tricks the cleanlier.
Cock.
VVe must have some musick then.
Pup.
Musick! we'll have a whole poverty of Pipers, call Cheeks upon the Bag-pipes, & Tom Ticklefoot with his Tabor; he could have [Page 70] mustred up the smocks o'th two shires; and set the Cod pieces and they by the eares, I wusse, here's my two-pence towards it: Clod will you gather the Pipe money?
Clod.
Ile gather't an you will, but Ile give none.
Pup.
Why well said; claw a Churle by the Arse, and he will shite in your fift.
Cock.
I, or whistle to a Jade, and he'le pay you with a fart.
Clod.
That's all one, I have a wife, and a child in reversion, you know it well enough, & I cannot fat Pidgeons with Cherry-stones: Ile venture my penny with you.
Cock.
Well, theres my two-pence; Ile bee jovy: my name's Cockrell, and I am true bred.
Town.
Come, there's my groat, never stand drawing Indentures for the matter; we'le make a Bolt, or a Shaft on't now.
Clod.
Let me see, here's nine-pence in the whole.
Pup.
Why there's a whole nine-pence for it: put it all in a piece for memory, and strike up for mirth sake.
Town.
Doe, and they'le presently come about us for lucke sake. But look to our pockets and purses for our own sake.
Clod.
[Page 71]That's warning for me, I have the greatest charge I am sure.
PIPERS.
A Country Dance. During which the Gypsies come about them prying: and after the
PATRICO.
SWeet Doxes and Dells,
My Roses and Nells,
Your hands, nothing ells,
We ring you no knells
With our Ptolemy Bells;
Though we come from the fells,
And bring you good spells,
And tell you some chances
In midst of your Dances,
That Fortune advances▪
To Prudence or Francis,
To Sisley or Harry,
To Roger, or Mary,
Or Meg of the Dary.
[Page 72]To Maudlin, or Thomas,
Then doe not runne from us,
Although we look tawny,
VVe are healthy and brawny,
VVhat e're your demand is,
VVe'le give you no Iaundis.
Pup.
Say you so old Gypsie? 'slid these go to't in Rime, this is better then Canting by t'one halfe.
Town.
Nay, you shall heare them, peace! they begin with Prudence, marke that.
Pup.
The wiser Gypsies they
Town.
Are you advised.
Pup.
Yes, and Ile stand to't, that a w [...] Gypsie (take him i'th time o'th' yeare) politicke a piece of Flesh, as most Iustices i [...] the County where he maunds.
3 GYPSJE.
To love a Keeper your fortune will be.
But the Dowcets better than him or his fee.
Town.
Ha, Pru', has he hit you in the teeth with the sweet bit?
Pup.
[Page 73]Let it alone; she'll swallow it well enough: a learned Gypsie.
Town.
You'll heare more hereafter.
Pup.
Marry and Ile listen, who's next, Jack Cockrell.
2 GYPSJE:
You'l steal your selfe drunk, I find it here true,
As you rob the pot, the pot will rob you.
Pup.
A Prophet, a Prophet: no Gypsie, or if he must be a Gypsie, a divine Gypsie.
Town.
Marke Frances now; she's going to't, the virginity of the parish.
PATRICO.
Feare not, in hell you'll never lead Apes,
A mortifi'd maiden of five escapes.
Pup.
Bir-Lady he toucht the Virgin string there a little too hard, they are arrant learned men all I see. What say they upon Tom Clod: list.
4. GYPSIE.
Clods feet in Christmas will goe neare to be bare,
When he has lost all his Hobnails at post and pare.
Pup.
[...]'has hit the Hobnaile o'the head, his own ga [...]
Town.
[Page 74]And the very mettle he deales in at play, if you marke it.
Pup.
Peace, who's this Long Meg?
Town.
Long and foule Meg, if she be a Meg, as ever I saw of her Inches: Pray God they fit her with a faire Fortune, shee hangs an Arse terribly.
PATRICO.
She'l have a Tailer take measure of her britch.
And ever after be troubled with a stitch.
Town.
That's as homely as she.
Pup.
The better: a Turd's as good for a Sow as a Pan-cake.
Town.
Harke, now they treat upon Tickle-foot.
4 GYPSIE.
On Sundayes you rob the poores boxe with your Tabor,
The Collecters would doe it, you save them a labour.
Pup.
Faith but little, they doe it notwithstanding. Here's my little Christian forgot, [Page 75] ha you any fortune left for her, a strait lac'd Christian of sixteene?
PATRICO.
Christian shall get her a loose bodyed Gown,
In trying how a Gentleman differs from a Clowne.
Pup.
Is that a fortune for a Christian? a Turke Gypsie could not have told her worse.
Town.
Come, Ile stand my selfe, and once venture the poore head o'th' Towne. Doe your worst, my name is Townshead, and heres my hand Ile not be angry.
2 GYPSIE.
A Cuckold you must be, & that for three lives,
Your owne, the Parsons, and your wives.
Town.
I sweare Ile never marry for that, an't be but to give Fortune my foe the lye: Come Paul Puppy you must in too.
Pup.
No, I am well enough: I would have no good Fortune an I might.
4 GYPSIE.
Yet look to your selfe, you'l ha' some ill luck
And shortly, for I have his purse with a pluck,
Away Birds mum,
I heare by the hum,
If Beck-Harman come,
He'le strike us all dumbe,
With a noyse like a drum.
Lets give him our roome
Here, this way some,
And that way others,
We are not all brothers:
Leave me to the cheats,
Ile shew 'hem some feats.
Pup.
What are they gone, flowne all of a suddaine; this is fine y'faith: a Covy call yee 'hem? they are a Covy soone scattered me thinks, who sprung 'hem I mar'le?
Town.
Marry your selfe Puppy for ought I know, you quested last.
Clod.
Would hee had quested first, and sprung 'hem an houre agoe for me.
Town.
Why, what's the matter?
Clod.
'Slid, they sprung my purse and all I had about me.
Town.
They ha' not, ha' they?
Clod.
[Page 77]As I am true Tom Clod ha' they, and ransackled me of every peny: out cept I were with child of an Owle (as they say) I never saw such luck: Its enough to make a man a whore.
Pup.
Hold thy peace, thou talkst as if thou hadst a Licence to lofe thy purse alone in this company: 'slid here be those can lose a purse in honour of the Gypsies, as well as thou for thy heart, and never make word of it: I ha' lost my purse too, and more in it that Ile speak of, but e're I'de crye for't as thou dost— Much good doe 'hem with all my heart, I doe reverence 'hem for't.
Cock.
What was there i'thy purse? was the Lease of thy house in it?
Pup.
Or thy Granams silver Ring?
Clod.
No, but a Mill-sixpence of my Mothers, I loved as dearely—and two pence I had to spend over and above, beside the Harper that was gathered amongst us, to pay the Piper.
Town.
Our whole stock, is that gone? how will Tom Ticklefoot do to whet his whistle then?
Pup.
Marry a new Collection, there's no Musick else: Masters he can ill pipe that wants his upper lip.
Town.
[Page 78]Yes, a Bag-piper may want both.
Cock.
Why they have rob'd Prudence of a Race of Ginger, and a jet ring she had to draw Iack Straw hither a holy-dayes.
Town.
Is't possible, fine fingred Gypsies y'faith.
Cock.
And Maudlin has lost an inchanted Nutmeg, all guilded over, she had to put in her Sweet-hearts Ale a mornings; with a row of pins, which pricks the poore soule to the heart, the losse of 'hem.
Clod.
And I have lost (beside my purse) my best Bridelace, and a halpworth of Hobnails, and Francis her thimble, with a skeane of Coventry blew she had to work Will: Litchfields Handkerchiffe.
Cock.
And Christian her Practice of Piety, with a bow'd Groat, and the Ballad of whoop Barnabee, which grieves her worst of all.
Clod.
And Ticklefoote has lost his Clout he sayes, with a three-pence and foure tokens in it, beside his Tabouring stick, even now.
Cock
And I my knife and sheath, and a pair of Dogs leather gloves.
Town.
Have we left ne're a Dog amongst us? where's Puppy gone?
Pup.
Here goodman Townshead: you ha nothing to lose it seemes but the Townes Braines you're trusted with.
PATRICO.
[Page 79]O My deare Marrowes,
No shooting of arrowes,
Or shafts of your wit,
Each oth'r to hit,
In your skirmishing fit:
Your store is but small,
Then venture not all;
Remember each mock
Doth spend o' the stock;
And what was here done,
Being under the Moone,
And at afternoone,
Will prove right soone
Deceptio visus,
Done gratia risus.
There's no such thing,
As the losse of a Ring,
Or what yee count worse,
The misse of a purse:
But, hey for the maine,
And passe o'the straine,
[Page 80]Here's both come againe.
And there's an old twinger,
Can shew you the Ginger:
The Pins and the Nutmeg,
Are safe here with Slutmeg.
Then strike up your Tabour,
And there's for your labour.
The sheath and the knife,
Ile venture my life,
Shall breed you no strife,
But like man and wife,
Or sister and brother,
Keep one with another,
And light as a feather,
Make hast to come hether.
The Coventry blew
Hangs there upon Prue.
And here one opens
The clout and the Tokens;
Deny the bow'd groat,
And you lye in your throat,
Or the Tabourers nine-pence,
[Page 81]Or the sixe fine pence.
As for the Ballet,
Or Book what ye call it,
Alas our Society
Mells not with Piety:
Himselfe hath forsooke it,
That first undertooke it.
For thimble or bridelace,
Search yonder side-lasse.
All's to be found,
If you looke your selves round:
VVe scorne to take from yee,
We'd rather spend on yee:
If any man wrong yee,
The thiefe's among yee.
Town.
Excellent y'faith, a most restorative Gypsie: all's here againe, and yet by his learning of Legerdemaine he would make us believe we had rob'd our selves, for the Hobnailes are come to me.
Coc.
May be he knew whose shooes lackt clouting.
Pup.
I, hee knowes more then that, or [Page 82] Ile ne're trust my judgement in a Gypsie againe.
Cock.
A Gypsie of quality believe it, one of the Kings Gypsies this: a Drink [...]lian, or a Drinkebragatan, aske him: the King hath a noyse of Gypsies, as well as of Bearewards.
Pup.
What sort or order of Gipsies I pray Sir?
PATRICO.
A Flagonfcakian,
A Divells Arse a Peakian:
Borne first at Ninglington,
Bred up at Filchington.
Boorded at Tappington.
Bedded at Wappington.
Town.
Fore me a dainty deriv'd Gypsie.
Pup.
But I pray sir, if a man might aske on you, how came your Captaines place first to be cald the Devills Arse?
PATRICO.
For that take my word,
We have a record
That doth it afford,
And sayes our first Lord,
[Page 83]Cock lorrell he hight,
On a time did invite
The Devill to a feast;
The taile of the jeast,
Though since it be long,
Lives yet in a Song,
Which if you would heare,
Shall plainly appeare.
Ile call in my Clarke
Shall sing like a Larke,
Come in my long sharke,
With thy face browne and darke;
With thy tricks and thy toyes,
Make a merry merry noise,
To those mad Country boyes.
And chant out the fart of the Grand-devills Arse.
SONG.
COck-lorrel would needs have the Devill his guest,
And bad him once into the Peak to dinner.
Where never the Fiend had such a feast,
Provided him yet at the charge of a sinner.
His stomacke was queasie (for comming there Coacht)
The jogging had caus'd some crudities rise;
To help it he call'd for a Puritan poacht,
That used to turne up the egg's of his eyes.
And so recover'd unto his wish,
He sate him downe, and he fell to eate;
Promooter in Plum-broth was the first dish,
His owne privy Kitchin had no such meate.
Yet though with this he much were taken,
Vpon a suddaine he snifted his trencher,
As soone as he spy'd the Bawd, and Bacon,
By which you may note the devil's a wencher.
Sixe pickl'd Taylers sliced and cut,
Sempsters, Tyre-women, fit for his pallet,
With Feathermen, and Perfumers put,
Some 12 in a Charger to make a grand sallet.
A rich fat Vsurer stew'd in his marrow,
And by him a Lawyers head and Green-sawce
Both which his belly took in like a Barrow,
As if till then he had never seene sawce.
Then Carbonado'd, and Cook't with paines,
Was brought up a cloven Serjeants face;
The sauce was made of his Yeomans braines,
That had beene beaten out with his owne mace.
Two roasted Sheriffes came whole to the boord,
(The feast had nothing bin without 'him)
Both living, and dead, they were foxt and fur'd,
Their Chaines-like Sawsages hung about 'him.
The very next dish was a Major of a Towne,
With a pudding of maintenāce thrust in his belly,
Like a Goose in the Feathers drest in his gowne,
And his couple of Hinch-boyes boyld to a jelly.
A London Cuckold, hot from the spit,
And when the Carver up had broke him;
The Devill chopt up his head at a bit,
But the hornes were very neere like to have choakt him.
The Chine of a Lecher too there was roasted,
With a plumpe Harlots haunch and garlicke;
A Panders Pettitoes, that had boasted
Himselfe for a Captaine, yet never was warlick.
A large fat pasty of a Midwife hot,
And for a cold bak't meate into the story,
A reverend painted Lady was brought,
And coffin'd in crust, till now she was hoary.
To these an over-growne Iustice of peace,
With a Clarke like a gizzard thrust under each arme;
And warrants for sippets, laid in his own grease,
Set o're a Chaffing-dish to be kept warme.
The joule of a Iaylor serv'd for fish,
A Constable sous'd with vinegar by;
Two Aldermen Lobsters a sleepe in a dish,
A D [...]puty Tart, a Churchwarden Pye.
All which devour'd, he then for a close,
Did for a full draught of Darby call;
He heav'd the huge vessell up to his nose,
And left not till he had drunke up all.
Then from the table he gave a start,
Where banquet, and wine were nothing scarce;
All which he fli [...]ted away with a fart,
From whence it was called the Devills Arse.
And there he made such a breach with the wind,
The hole too standing open the while,
That the scent of the vapour, before, & behinde,
Hath fouly perfumed most part of the Isle.
And this was Tobacco, the learned suppose;
Which since in Country, Court, and Towne,
Jn the Devils Glister-pipe smoakes at the nose
Of Polcat, and Madam, of Gallant, and Clown.
From which wicked weed, with Swines flesh, & Ling,
Or any thing else that's feast for the Fiend:
Our Captaine and wee, cry God save the King,
And send him good meate, & mirth without end.
PVPPY.
[Page 88]AN excellent Song, and a sweet Songster, and would have done rarely in a Cage, with a dish of water, and Hempseed; a fine breast of his owne: Sir you are a Prelate of the Order I understand, and I have a terrible grudging upon me to be one of your Company: will your Captaine take a Prentise Sir? I would binde my selfe to him body and soul, either for one and twenty yeares, or as many lives as he would.
Clo.
I, and put in my life for one, for I am come about too: I am sorry I had no more mony i' my purse when you came first upon us sir: If I had knowne you would have pickt my pocket so like a gentleman, I would have beene better provided; I shall bee glad to venture a purse with your worship any time you'll appoynt, so you would preferre mee to your Captain; Ile put in security for my truth, and serve out my time, though I dye to morrow.
Cock
I, upon those termes sir, and in hope your Captaine keeps better cheere than hee made for the Devill, for my stomacke will [Page 89] ne're agree with that dyet, we'll be all his followers: Ile goe home and fetch a little money sir, all I have, and you shall pick my pocket to my face, and Ile avouch it: A man would not desire to have his pocket pickt in better company.
Pup.
Tut, they have other manner of gifts, than telling Fortunes, or picking pockets.
Cock.
I, and they would bee pleased to shew 'hem, or thought us poor mortall country folkes worthy of them.
Pup.
What might a man doe to be a gentleman of your company sir?
Cock.
I, a Gypsie in ordinary, or nothing.
PATRICO.
FRiends not to refell yee,
Or any way quell yee,
To buy or to sell yee,
I onely must tell yee,
You aime at a mystery,
Worthy a History.
There's much to be done,
E're yee can be a sonne,
[Page 90]Or brother o'the Moone,
'Tis not so soone
Acquir'd as desir'd;
You must be beane-bowzy,
And sleepy and drouzy,
And lazy, and louzy,
Before yee can rouze yee,
In shape that avowes yee,
And then yee may stalke
The Gypsies walke:
To the Coopes and the Pens,
And bring in the Hens,
Though the Cocke be left sullen,
For losse of the Pullen,
Take Turkey and Capon,
And Gammons of Bacon:
Let nought be forsaken,
We'll let you goe loose,
Like a Foxe to a Goose,
And shew you the Stye
Where the little pigges lye,
Whence if you can take
[Page 91]One, two, and not wake
The Sow in her dreames,
But by the Moone-beames,
So warily hye,
As neither doe crye,
You shall the next day
Have a Licence to play
At the hedge a flirt,
For a sheet, or a shirt.
If your hand be light,
Ile shew you the slight
Of our Ptolomies knot,
It is, and tis not.
To change your Complexion,
With the noble confection,
Of Wall-nuts and Hogges-grease:
Better then Dogs grease:
And milke the Kine,
Ere the Milke-maid fine,
Have opened her eyne.
Or if you desire
To spit or fart fire,
[Page 92]Ile teach you the knacks
Of eating of Flaxe,
And out of your noses,
Draw Ribbons for Posies,
As for example,
Mine owne is as ample,
And fruitfull a nose,
As wit can suppose.
Yet it shall goe hard,
But there will be spar'd
Each of you a yard,
And worth your regard,
When the colour and size,
Arrive at your eyes:
And if you incline
To a cup of good wine,
When you sup or dine:
If you chance it to lacke,
Be it Clarret or [...]ack,
Ile make this snout,
To deale it about,
Or this to runne out,
As it were from a spout.
Town.
[Page 93]Admirable tricks, and he does 'hem all se d [...]fen [...]endo, as if he would not be taken in the tr [...]p of authority by a fraile fleshy Constable.
Clod.
Without the aid of a Cheese.
Pup.
Or helpe of a Fl [...]tch of Bacon.
Cock.
O hee would chirpe in a paire of Stocks sumptuously: I'de give any thing to see him play loose with his hands, when his feet are fast.
Pup.
O' my conscience he feares not that an the Marshall himselfe were here: I protest I admire him.
PATRICO.
IS this worth your wonder?
Nay then you shall under-
Stand more of my skill,
For I can (for I will)
Here at Burlye o'th' Hill,
Give you all your fill,
Each Iack with his Gill,
And shew you the King,
[Page 94]The Prince too and bring,
The Gypsies were here,
Like Lords to appeare,
And such their attenders,
As you thought offenders,
Who now become new men,
Youle know 'hem for true men;
For he we call chiefe,
(Ile tell you in briefe)
Is so farre from a thiefe,
He gives you reliefe,
With his Beere and his Biefe,
And tis not long sine
Yee dranke of his wine,
And it made you fine,
Both Clarret and Sherry;
Then let us be merry,
And help with your call,
For a Hall, a Hall,
Stand up to the wall,
Both good men and tall,
We are one mans all;
BEVER.
[Page 95]THe fift of August,
VVill not let Saw dust
Lie in your throats,
Or cob-webs, or oates;
But helpe to scoure yee,
This is no Gowrie
Has drawne Iames hither.
But the good man of Beve,
Our Buckinghams Father;
Then so much the rather
Make it a jolly night,
For tis a holy night,
Spight of the Constable,
Or Mas Deane of Dunstable.
All.
A Hall, a hall, a hall.
The Gypsies chang'd. Dance.
PATRICO.
WHy now yee behold,
Twas truth that I told,
And no devise;
They are chang'd in a trice,
And so will I,
Be my selfe by and by.
I onely now
Must study how
To come off with a grace,
With my Patrico's place:
Some short kinde of blessing,
It selfe addressing
Unto my good Master,
Which light on him faster.
Than wishes can flye,
And you that stand by
Be as jocund as I;
Each man with his voyce,
Give his heart to rejoyce,
Which Ile requite,
If my heart hit right,
Though late now at night,
Each Clowne here in sight,
Before day light,
Shall prove a good Knight:
And your Lasses Pages,
Worthy their wages,
Where fancy engages
Girles to their ages.
Clow.
Oh any thing for the Patrico, what is't? what is't?
Pat.
Nothing but bear the bob of the close,
It will be no burthen, you well may suppose.
But blesse the Sov'raigne, and his sences,
And to wish away offences.
Clow.
Let us alone, blesse the Sov'raigne, and his sences
Pat.
We'll take them in order, as they have being: And first of seeing.
Pat.
1.
FRom a Gypsie in the morning,
Or a paire of squint-eyes turning:
From the Goblin, and the Spectre,
Or a Drunkard, though with Nectar;
From a woman true to no man,
which is ugly, besides common;
A smocke rampant, and the itches,
To be putting on the breeches;
Wheresoere they ha' their being,
Blesse the Sov'raigne and his seeing.
2
From a foole, and serious toyes;
From a Lawyer, three parts noyse;
From impertinence, like a Drum
Beate at dinner in his roome:
From a tongue without a file,
Heapes of Phrases, and no Stile.
From a Fiddle out of tune,
As the Cuckow is in Iune.
From the Candlesticks of Lothbury,
And the loud pure wives of Banbury:
Or a long pretended fit,
Meant for mirth, but is not it:
Onely time, and cares out-wearing,
Blesse the Sov'raigne, and his hearing.
3
From a strolling Tinkers sheete,
Or a paire of Carriers feet:
From a Lady that doth breath,
Worse above than underneath.
From the Diet, and the knowledge
Of the Students in Beares Colledge▪
From Tobacco, with the tipe
Of the Devills Glister-pipe;
Or a stinke all stinks excelling
A Fish-mongers dwelling,
Blesse the Sov'raigne, and his smelling.
4
From an Oyster, and Fry'd fish,
A Sowes Baby in a dish:
From any portion of a Swine.
From bad Venison, and worse wine.
Ling, what Cooke soe're it boyle,
Though with Mustard sauc'd and oyle,
Or what else would keepe man fasting,
Blesse the Sov'raigne, and his tasting.
5
Both from Bird lime, and from pitch,
From a Doxie and her itch.
From the Brisles of a Hogge,
Or the ring-worme in a Dogge.
From the courtship of a bryer,
Or St. Anthonies old fier.
From a Needle, or a Thorne;
It be bed at Ev'n, or Morne.
Or from any Gowts least grutching,
Blesse the Sov'raigne, and his touching.
6
Blesse him too from all offences,
In his sports, as in his sences.
From a Boy to crosse his way,
From a fall, or a foule day.
Blesse him, ô blesse him heav'n, and lend him long
To be the sacred burthen of al song;
The acts, and years, of all our Kings t'out-go,
And while he's mortall we not think him so.
After which, ascending up, the Jackman sings.
Song 1.
THe sports are done, yet doe not let
Your joyes in suddaine silence set:
Delight and dumbnesse never met.
In one selfe subject yet.
If things oppos'd must mixt appeare,
Then adde a boldnesse to your feare,
And speake a hymne to him,
Where all your duties doe of right b [...]long,
Which I will sweeten with an under song.
Captaine.
Glory of ours, and grace of all the earth,
How wel your figure doth become your birth.
As if your forme, and fortune equall stood,
And onely vertue got above your blood.
Song. 2.
Ʋertue; his Kingly vertue which did merit
This Isle entire, and you are to inherit.
4 Gypsie.
How right he doth confesse him in his face?
His brow, his eye, and ev'ry marke of state;
As if he were the issue of each grace,
And bore about him both his fame, and fate.
Song 3.
Looke, looke, is he not faire,
And fresh, and fragrant too,
As Summer skie, or purged aire,
And lookes as Lillies doe,
That were this morning blowne.
4 Gyp.
Oh more! that more of him were knowne.
3 Gypsie.
Look how the winds upon the waves grown tame,
Take up Land sounds upon their purple wings;
And catching each from other, bear the same
To ev'ry angle of their sacred springs:
So wil we take his praise, and hurle his name
About the Globe, in thousand ay'ry rings,
If his great vertue be in love with fame,
For that contemn'd, both are neglected things.
Song 4.
Good Princes soare above their fame,
And in their worth,
Come greater forth,
Then in their name.
Such, such the Father is,
Whom ev'ry title strives to kisse:
Who on his Royall grounds unto himselfe doth raise,
The worke to trouble fame, & to astonish praise.
4 Gypsie.
[Page 102]Indeed he's not Lord alone of all the State,
But of the love of men, & of the Empires fate.
The Muses Arts, the Schooles commerce, our Honours lawes,
And Vertues hang on him, as on their working cause.
2 Gip.
His Hand-maid Iustice is.
3 Gip.
Wisedome his Wife:
4 Gip.
His Mistresse, Mercy:
5 Gip.
Temperance his life.
2 Gip.
His Pages bounty, and grace, which many prove,
3 Gip.
His Guards are magnanimity & love.
4
His Ushers, Counsell, Truth, and Piety.
5 Gip.
And all that followes him, Felicity.
Song 5
Oh that we understood
Our good;
There's happinesse indeed in blood,
And st [...]re,
But how much more,
When vertu's flood
In the same streame doth hit?
As that growes high with yeares, so happinesse with it.
Captaine.
[Page 103]Love, love his fortune then, & vertues known,
Who is the top of men,
But makes the happinesse our owne;
Since where the Prince for goodnesse is renown'd,
The Subject with felicity is Crown'd.
The Epilogue.
AT Burley, Bever, and now last at Windsor,
Which shews we are Gipsies of no common kind sir.
You have beheld (& with delight) their change,
And how they came trāsform'd, may think it strange.
It being a thing not toucht at by our Poet,
Good Ben slept there, or else forgot to shew it;
But least it prove like wonder to the sight,
To see a Gypsie, as an Aethiope, white:
Know, that what dy'd our faces was an oyntment
Made, and laid on by Mr. Woolfes appoyntment;
The Court Licanthropos yet without spells,
By [...] meere Barber, and no Magicke ells:
It was setcht off with water and a Ball,
And to our transformation this is all,
Save what the Master Fashioner calls his,
For [...]o Gypsies Metamorphosis;
Who doth disguise his habit, and his face,
And takes on a false person by his place:
The power of Poetry can ever faile her,
Assisted by a Barber, and a Tayler.
FINIS.
EPIGRAMS TO Severall Noble Personages in this Kingdome.
Upon King CHARLES his Birth-day.
THis is King Charles his birth day, speake it the Tower
Unto the ships, & they from Tire to Tire;
Discharging 'bout the Island in an houre,
As loud as thunder, and as swift as fire.
Let Ireland meet it out at Sea halfe way,
Repeating al great Brittaines joy and more,
Adding her owne glad accents to this day,
Like eccho playing from another shore.
What Drums, or Trumpets, or great Ordnance can,
The Poetry of Steeples with the Bells.
Three Kingdomes mirth in light and ayery man,
Made loftier by the winds all noyses els.
At Bone-fires, squibs, and mirth, with all their shouts,
That crie the gladnesse which their hearts would pray,
If they had leasure, at these lawfull routs,
The often comming of this Holy day:
And then noyse forth the burthen of their song;
Still to have such a Charles, but this Charles long.
To the Queen on her Birth-day.
UP publicke joy, remember
The sixteenth of November,
Some brave uncommon way.
And though the parish Steeple
Be silent to the people,
Ring thou it Holy day.
What though the thirsty Towre,
And Guns there spare to powre
Their noyses out in thunder:
As fearefull to awake
The City, as to shake
Their guarded gates asunder.
Yet let the Trumpets sound,
And shake both aire and ground
With beating of their Drums:
Let every Lire be strung,
Harpe, Lute, Theorbo sprung
With touch of learned thumbs:
That when the Quite is full.
The harmony may pull
The Angels from their spheares:
And each intelligence,
May wish it selfe a sence,
Whilst it the Ditty heares.
Behold the royall Mary,
The daughter of great Harry,
And sister to just Le [...]ia,
Comes in the pompe and glory
Of all her fathers story,
And of her brothers Prowis.
She shewes so farre above
The feigned Queen of Love,
This Sea-girt ground upon,
As here no Venus were,
But that she reigning here,
Had put the Ceston on.
See, see our active King,
Hath taken twice the Ring
Upon the poynted Lance,
Whilst all the ravish't rout,
Doe mingle in a shout,
Hey for the floure of France.
This day the Court doth measure
Her joy in state and pleasure:
And with a reverend feare,
The revells and the play
Make up this Crowned day
Her one and twenty yeare.
An Epgram to the Queens Health.
HAile MARY, full of grace, it once was said,
And by an Angell, to the blessed Maid,
The mother of our Lord: and why not I,
Without prophanenesse, as a Poet, crye,
Haile Mary full of honours, to my Queene,
The Mother of our Prince? when was there seene
(Except the joy that the first Mary brought,
Whereby the safety of the world was wrought)
So generall a gladnesse to an Isle,
To make the hearts of a whole Nation smile,
As in this Prince? let it be lawfull so
To compare small with great, as still we owe
Our thanks to God; then haile to Mary spring
Of so much health, both to our Land and King.
On the Princes Birth-day. An Epigram.
ANd art thou born, brave babe? blest be thy birth
That so hath crown'd our hopes, our spring on earth;
The bed of the chast Lilly, and the Rose,
What month than May was fitter to disclose
This Prince of flowers? soon shoot thou up, & grow
The same that thou art promis'd; but be slow
And long in changing: let our Nephews see
Thee quickly come, the Gardens eye to bee,
And still to stand so: Haste now envious Moone,
And interpose thy selfe, care not how soone,
And threat the great Eclips, two houres but runne,
Sol will reshine; if not, Charles hath a Sonne.
—Non Displicuisse meretur,
Festinat Caesar, qui placuisse tibi.
Another on the Birth of the Prince.
ANother Phoenix, though the first is dead,
A second's flowne from his Immortall bed,
To make this our Arabia to be
The nest of an eternal progeny.
Choise nature fram'd the former, but to find,
What error might be mended in Man-kind:
Like some industrious workmen, which affect
Their first endeavours onely to correct:
So this the buildings, that the Modell was,
The type of all that now as come to passe:
That but the shadow, this the substance is,
All that was but the prophesie of this:
And when it did this after birth fore-runne,
'Twas but the morning starre unto this Sunne;
The dawning of this day, when Sol did thinke,
We having such a light, that he might winke,
And we ne're misse his lustre: nay so soone
As Charles was borne, he, and the pale fac'd Moone,
With envy then did copulate, to try
If such a birth might be produc'd ith' sky.
What heavenly favour made a starre appeare,
To bid wise Kings to doe their homage here,
And prove him truely Christian? long remaine
On earth, sweet Prince, that when great Charles shall reigne
In heaven above, our little Charles may be
As great on earth, because as good as he.
A Parallel of the Prince to the King.
SO Peleus, whom he faire The [...] got,
As thou thy Sea Queen; so to him she brought.
A blessed Babe, as thine hath done to thee:
His worthiest prov'd of those times, ours may be
Of these; his had a Pallas for his guide,
Thy wisedome will as well for ours provide:
His conquered Countries, Cities, Castles, Towers,
A worthy foe; hereafter so may ours.
His all his time but once Patroclus finds,
But this of ours a world of faithfull friends
He's vulnerable in no place but one,
And this of ours (we hope) be hurt of none.
His had his Phoenix, ours no teacher needs,
But the example of thy life and deeds.
His Nestor knew, in armes his fellow was,
But not in yeares, (too soone runne out his glasse)
Ours, though not Nestor knew, we trust, shall bee
As wise in Armes, as old in yeares as he.
His, after death, had Homer his reviver:
And ours may better merit to live ever,
By Deeds farre-passing: but (oh sad dispaire)
No hope of Homer, his wit left no heire.
An Elegy on the Lady Jane Paulet, Marchionesse of Winchester.
WHat goodly Ghost, besprint with Aprill dew,
Hale's me so solemnly to yonder Yew?
And beckoning, wooes me, from the fatall Tree,
To pluck a Garland for her selfe, or me,
I doe obey you beauty; for in death
You seeme a faire one; O that I had breath
To give your shade a name! stay! stay! I feele
A horrour in me, all my blood is steele,
Stiffe starke; my joynts 'gainst one another knock:
Whose daughter? ha! great Savage of the Rock!
He's good, as great! I am almost a stone,
And ere I can aske more of her she's gone!
Alas I am all Marble: write the rest,
Thou wouldst have written Fame upon my brest,
It is a large faire Table, and a true,
And the disposure will be somewhat new:
When I, who would her Poet have become,
At least may beare th'inscription to her Tombe:
She was the Lady Iane, and Marchionesse
Of Winchester; the Heralds can tell this:
Earle Rivers grand-child, serve not titles, fame
Sound thou her vertues, give her soule a name.
Had I a thousand mouthes, as many tongues,
And voyce to raise them from my brasen Lungs,
I durst not aime at, the Dotes thereof were such,
No Nation can expresse how much
Their Charact was: I or my trump must break,
But rather I, should I of that part speake,
It is too neare of kin to God; the soule
To be describ'd, Fames fingers are too foule
To touch those mysteries; we may admire
The heat and splendor, but not handle fire:
What she did by a great example well,
T'inlive posterity, her fame may tell;
And calling truth to witnesse, make it good
From the inherent graces in her blood.
Else who doth praise a person by a new,
But a feign'd way doth spoyle it of the true:
Her sweetnesse, softnesse, her faire courtesie,
Her wary guards, her wise simplicity,
Were like a ring of vertues 'bout her set,
And piety the Center where all met:
A reverend state she had, an awfull eye;
A darling (yet inviting) Majesty;
What Nature, Fortune, Institution, Fact,
Could heap to a perfection, was her act:
How did she leave the world, with what contempt?
Just as she in it liv'd, and so exempt
From all affection: when they urg'd the Cure
Of her disease, how did her soule assure
Het sufferings, as the body had bin away:
And to the torturers, her Doctors say,
Stick on your Cupping-glasses, feare not, put
Your hottest Causticks to burne, lance, or cut:
Tis but a body which you can torment,
And I into the world with my soule was sent.
Then comforted her Lord, and blest her sonne,
Cheer'd her faire sisters, in her race to runne.
Which gladnesse temper'd her sad parents teares,
Made her friends joyes to get above their feares.
And in her lust act caught the standers by,
With admiration and applause to dye:
Let Angels sing her glories, who did call
Her spirit home to her originall;
That saw the way was made it, and were sene
To carry and conduct the Complement
'Twixt death and life: where her mortality
Became her birth-day to eternity.
And now through circumfused lights she looks
On Natures secrets there, as her owne books;
Speaks heavens language, and discourses free
To every Order, every Hierarchy.
Beholds her Maker, and in him doth see
What the beginning of all beauties be:
And all beatitudes that thence doth flow,
Which the Elect of God are sure to know.
Goe now her happy parents, and be sad,
If yee not understand what child you had;
If you dare quarrell heaven, and repent
To have paid againe a blessing was but lent:
And trusted so, as it deposited lay
At pleasure to be cald for every day.
If you can envy your owne daughters blisse;
And wish her state lesse happy than it is;
If you can cast about your eyther eye,
And see all dead here, or about to dye:
The Starres that are the jewells of the night,
The day deceasing with the Prince of light,
The Sunne. Great Kings, and mightiest Kingdomes fall,
Whole Nations; nay, Man kinde, the VVorld and all
That ever had beginning to have end;
With what injustice can one soule pretend
T'escape this common knowne necessity,
When we were all borne, we beganne to dye:
And but for that brave contention and strife,
The Christian hath to enjoy a future life,
He were the wretchedst of the race of men;
But as he soares at that, he br [...]eth then
The serpents head; gets above death and Sinne,
And sure of heaven rides triumphing in.
ODE PINDARICK To the Noble Sir Lucius Cary.
The turne of ten.
BRave Infant of Saguntum cleare,
Thy comming forth in that great yeare,
When the prodigious Hanibal did Crowne
His rage, with razing your immortall Towne.
Thou looking then about,
E're thou wert halfe got out:
Wise child didst hastily returne,
And madst thy Mothers wombe thine Urne,
How sum'd a Circle didst thou leave man-kind,
Of deepest lore, could we the center find.
The Counter-turne of ten.
Did wiser nature draw thee backe,
From out the horrour of that sacke?
Where shame, faith, honour, and regard of right,
Lay trampled on the deeds of death and night.
Urg'd, hurried forth, and hurld
Upon th'affrighted world:
Sword, fire, famine, with full fury mee,
And all on utmost ruine set:
As could they but lives miseries fore-see,
No doubt all Infants would returne like thee.
The Stand, of twelve.
For what is life, if measur'd by the space,
Not by the Act?
Or masked man, if valued by his face,
Above his Fact?
Here's one out-liv'd his Peeres,
And told forth fourescore yeeres,
He vexed time, and busied the whole State,
Troubled both foes and friends,
But ever to no ends:
What did this stirrer but dye late?
How well at twenty had he falne or stood,
For three of his foure-score he did no good.
The second turne of ten.
He entred well by vertuous parts,
Got up and thriv'd with honest Arts,
He purchas'd friends, and fame, and honours then,
And had his noble Name advanc'd with men.
But weary of that flight,
He stoop'd in all mens sight
To sordid flatteries, acts of strife,
And sunke in that dead Sea of life
Too deep: as he did then deaths waters sup,
But that the Corke of title, boy'd him up.
The second Counter-turne, of ten.
Alas, but Morison fell young;
He never fell, thou tripst my tongue:
He stood a souldier to the last night end,
A perfect Patriot, and a noble friend.
But most a vertuous son,
All Offices were done
By him so ample, full and round,
In weight, and measure number sound,
As though his age imperfect might appeare,
His life was of humanity the Spheare.
The second Stand of twelve.
Goe now and tell out dayes, sum'd up with feares,
And make them yeares:
Produce thy masse of miseries on the stage,
To swell thine Age;
Repeate of things a throng,
To shew thou hast beene long,
Not liv'd: for life doth her great actions spell,
By what was done, and wrought
In season, and so brought
To light: her measures are how well:
Each sillib' answer'd, and was form'd how faire;
These make the lines of life, and that's her aire.
The third turne of ten.
It is not growing, like a Tree,
In bulke, doth make man better bee,
Or standing long an Oake, three hundred yeare,
To fall a Log at last, drye, bald, and seare:
A Lilly of a day,
Is fairer farre in May,
Although it fall and dye at night,
It was the plant and flower of light;
In small proportions we just beauty see,
And in short measures life may perfect be.
The third Counter-turne of ten.
Call noble Lucius then for Wine,
And let thy looks with gladnesse shine,
Accept this Garland, plant it on thy head,
And thinke, nay know thy Morison's not dead:
He leap'd the present age,
Possest with holy rage,
To see the bright eternall day,
Of which we Priests and Poets say
Such truths as we expect for happy men,
And there he lives with memory: and Ben:
The third Stand of twelve.
Ionson! who sung this of him e're he went
Himselfe to rest:
Or taste a part of that full joy he meant
To have exprest,
In this bright Asterisme,
Where it was friendships schisme.
Were not his Lucius long with us to tarry,
To seperate these twi-
Lights, the Dioscuri,
And keep the one halfe from his Harry;
But fate doth so alternate the designe,
Whilst that in heaven, this light on earth must shine.
The fourth turne of ten.
And shine as you exalted are,
Two names of friendship, but one starre
Of hearts the union: and those not by chance
Made or indentur'd, or leas'd out t'advance
The profits for a time,
No pleasures vaine, did chime
Of Rimes, or Ryots at your feasts.
Orgies of drinke, or feign'd protests;
But simple love, of greatnesse and of good,
That knits brave minds & mannersmore than blood.
The fourth Counter-turne of ten.
This made you first to know the why
You lik'd, than after to apply
That liking; and approach so one the tother,
Till either grew a portion of the other;
Each stiled by his end,
The coppy of his fiend;
You liv'd to be the great sirnames,
And titles by which all made claimes
Unto the vertue: nothing perfect done,
But as a Cary, or a Morison.
The fourth, and last Stand, of twelve.
And such a force the faire example had,
As they that saw
The good, and durst not practise it, were glad
That such a Law
Was left yet to man-kind,
Where they might read, and find
Friendship indeed was written not in words:
And with the heart, not pen,
Of two so earely men,
Whose Lines her Rowles were, and records
Who e're the first downe, bloomed on the Chin,
Had sowed these fruits, and got the harvest in.
To Hierom Lord Weston, upon his returne from his Embassie.
SUch pleasures as the teeming earth
Doth take in easie Natures birth,
When she puts forth the life of every thing,
And in a dew of sweetest raine,
She lies deliver'd without paine,
Of the prime beauty of the yeare and spring.
That Rivers in their shores doe runne,
The clouds rack cleare before the Sunne,
The rudest winds obey the calmestaire;
Rate plants from every banke doe rise,
And every plant the sence surprise,
Because the order of the whole is faire.
The very verdure of her nest,
Wherein she sits so richly drest,
As all the wealth of season there were spread,
Have shew'd the graces, and the houres,
Have multiply'd their arts and powers,
In making soft her Aromaticke bed.
Such joyes, such sweets doth your returne
Bring all your friends, faire Lord, that burne
With joy to heare your modesty relate
The businesse of your blooming wit,
With all the fruits that follow it,
Both to the honour of the King, and state.
O how will the Court be pleas'd,
To see great CHARLES of travell eas'd:
When he beholds a graft of his owne hand,
Spring up an Olive, fruitfull, faire,
To be a shadow of the aire;
And both a strength and beauty to the Land.
To the Right Honourable the Lord Treasurer. An Epigram.
IF to my minde, great Lord, I had a state,
I would present you with some curious Plate
Of Norimberg, or Turkie; hang your rooms,
Not from the Arras, but the Persian Looms:
I would (if price or prayer could them get)
Send in what Romans famous Tintaret,
Titian, or Raphaell, Michaell Angelo,
Have left in Fame, to equall, or out-goe
The old Greeke hands in picture or in stone;
This would I doe, could I thinke Weston one
Catch'd with these Arts; wherein the judge is wise,
As farre as sence, and onely by his eyes.
But you I know, my Lord, and know you can
Discerne betweene a Statue, and a Man:
Can doe the things that Statue doe deserve,
And act the businesse which these paint or carve.
What you have studied are the Arts of life,
To compose men and manners, stint the strife
Of froward Citizens; make Nations know
What world of blessings to good Kings they owe;
And mightiest Monarchs feele what large increase
Of fame and honour you possesse by peace.
These looke I up at with a measuring eye,
And strike Religion in the standers by.
Which though I cannot, like as an Architect,
In glorious Piles and Pyramids erect
Unto your honour; I can voyce in song
Aloud; and (haply) it may last as long.
To Mr. Jonson upon these Verses.
YOur Verses were commended, as 'tis true,
That they were very good, I meane to you:
For they return'd you Ben I have beene told,
The seld seen summe of forty pound in gold.
These Verses then, being rightly understood.
His Lordship, not Ben: Ionson, made them good.
To my Detractor.
MY Verses were commended, thou didst say,
And they were very good; yet thou thinkst nay.
For thou objectest, as thou hast beene told,
Th' envy'd returne of forty pound in gold.
Foole doe not rate my rimes, I have found thy vice
Is to make cheap the Lord, the Lines, the Price:
But barke thou on; I pitty thee poore Cur,
That thou shouldst lose thy noise, thy foam, thy stur,
To be knowne what thou art, thou blatent beast:
But writing against me, thou thinkst at least
I now would write on thee: no wretch, thy name
Cannot worke out unto it such a fame:
No man will tarry by thee as he goes
To aske thy name, if he have halfe a nose;
But flye thee like the Pest. Walk not the street
Out in the Dog-dayes, least the Killer meet
Thy Noddle with his Club; and dashing forth
Thy dirty braines, men see thy want of worth.
To William Earle of New-Castle on the backing of his Horse.
WHen first, my Lord, I saw you back your horse,
Provoke his mettle, and command his force
To all the uses of the field and race,
Me thought I read the ancient Art of Thrace,
And saw a Centaure past those tales of Greece;
So seem'd your horse and You, both of a peece:
You shew'd like Perseus upon Pegasus,
Or Castor mounted on his Cillarus:
Or what we heare our home-borne Legend tell,
Of bold Sir Bevis, and his Arundell,
And so your seat his beauties did endorse,
As I beganne to wish my selfe a horse.
And surely had I but your stable seene
Before, I thinke my wish absolv d had beene:
For never saw I yet the Muses dwell,
Nor any of their houshold halfe so well.
So well! as when I saw the floore and roome,
I look'd for Hercules to be the groome.
And cry'd, away with the Caesarian bread,
At these immortall Mangers Virgil fed.
To William Earle of New-Castle. An Epigram on his Fencing.
THey talke of Fencing, and the use of Armes,
The Art of urging, and avoyding harmes;
The Noble Science, and the mastring skill
Of making just approaches, how to kill,
To hit in Angles, and to clash with time,
As all defence, or offence, were a Chime.
I hate this measur'd: give me metled fire,
That trembles i'the blaze, but then mounts-higher
A swift and darling motion, when a paire
Of men doe meet like rarified aire:
Their weapons darted with that flame and force,
As they out-did the lightning in the course,
This were a spectacle, a sight to draw
Wonder to valour; no, it is a Law
Of daring, not to doe a wrong: tis true,
Next to despise, it being done to you:
To know all heads of danger: where tis fit
To bend, to breake, provoke, or suffer it:
And this my Lord is valour: this is yours,
And was your fathers, and your Ancestours;
Who durst live great, when death appear'd, or bands,
And valiant were with, or without, their hands.
To Sir Kenelme Digby. An Epigram.
THough happy Muse thou know my Digby well,
Yet take him in these Lines: he doth excell
In Honours, Courtesie, and all the parts
Court can call hers, or man would call his Arts:
He's prudent, valiant, just, and temperate,
In him all action is beheld in state.
And he is built, like some Imperiall roome,
For those to dwell in, and be still at home.
His breast is a brave Pallas, a broad street,
Where all heroicke ample thoughts doe meet.
Where nature such a large surveigh hath tane,
As others soules, to his, dwell in a lane:
Witnesse his birth-day, the eleventh of Iune,
And his great action done at Scanderoone.
That day, which I predestin'd am to sing,
For Brittains honour, and to Charles my King
Goe Muse in, and salute him, say he be
Busie, or frowne at first, when he sees thee,
He will cheare up his fore-head, think thou bring'st
Good fortune to him in the Note thou sing'st:
For he doth love my verses, and will looke
Upon them, next to Spencers noble booke;
And praise them too: O what a Fame 'twill be?
What reputation to my lines, and me,
When he doth read them at the Treasurers board,
The knowing Weston, and that learned Lord
Allowes them? then what Copies will be had?
What transcripts made? how cry'd up, and how glad
Wilt thou be Muse, when this shall then be fall,
Being sent to one, they will be read of all.
His Mistresse Drawne.
SItting, and ready to be drawne,
What make these Velvets, Silks, & Lawn?
Imbroyderies, Feathers, Fringe and Lace,
When every limbe takes like a face?
Send these suspected helpes to aid
Some forme defective, and decay'd:
This beauty without falsehood faire,
Needs nought to cloath it but the aire.
Yet something to the Painters view,
Were fitly interpos'd, so new
He shall (if he can understand)
Worke by my fancy with his hand.
Draw first a Cloud, all save her necke,
And out of that make day to break:
Till like her face it doe appeare,
And men may think all light rose there.
Then let the beames of that disperse
The Cloud, and shew the Universe:
But at such distance, as the eye
May rather it adore than spye.
The heavens design'd, draw next a spring,
With all that youth, or it may bring:
Foure Rivers branching forth like seas,
And Paradise confin'd in these.
Last draw the circle of this Globe,
And let there be a starry Robe
Of Constellations 'bout her hurl'd,
And thou hast painted beauties world.
But Painter, see you doe not sell
A Coppy of this Piece nor tell
Whose 'tis: but if it favour find,
Next sitting we will draw her mind.
Her Minde.
PAinter y'are come, but may be gone,
Now I have better thought thereon,
This worke I can performe alone,
And give you reasons more than one:
Not that your Art I doe refuse,
But here I may no colours use;
Besides, your hand will never hit
To draw the thing that cannot sit.
You could make shift to paint an eye,
An Eagle towring in the skye,
A Sunne, a Sea, a soundlesse pit;
But these are like a Mind, not it.
No, to expresse a minde to sence,
Would aske a heavens intelligence,
Since nothing can report that flame,
But what's of kin to whence it came:
Sweet Mind then speake your selfe, and say
As you goe on, by what brave way,
Our sence you doe with knowledge fill,
And yet remaine our wonder still.
I call you Muse, now make it true,
Henceforth may every line be you,
That all may say that see the frame,
This is no picture, but the same.
A Mind? so pure, so perfect fine,
As 'tis not radiant, but divine:
And so disdaining any tryer,
'Tis got where it can trye the fire.
There (high exalted in the Spheare,
As it another nature were)
It moveth all, and makes a flight,
As circular as infinite,
Whose Notions when it will expresse
In speech, it is with that excesse
Of grace and musicke to the eare,
As what it spake it planted there.
The voyce so sweet, the words so faire,
As some soft chime had stroak'd the Aire:
And though the sound were parted thence.
Still left an eccho in the sence.
But that a mind so rapt, so high,
So swift, so pure, should yet apply
It selfe to us, and come so nigh
Earths grossenesse! there's the how, & why?
Is it because it sees us dull,
And stucke in Clay here; it would pull
Vs forth by some Celestiall slight,
Vp to her owne sublimed height.
Or hath she here upon the ground,
Some Paradise or Pallace found
In all the bounds of beauty, fit
For hert' inhabit? there is it.
Thrice happy house that hast receipt
For this so softly forme, so streight,
So polish'd, perfect, and so even,
As it slid moulded off from Heaven.
Not swelling like the Ocean proud,
But stooping gently as a Cloud;
As smooth as Oyle powr'd forth and calme
As showres, and sweet as drops of Balme:
Smooth, soft, and sweet, in all a flood,
Where it may run to any good,
And where it stayes it there becomes,
A nest of Odours, Spice, and Gummes.
In action winged as the wind,
In rest like spirits left behind
Upon a banke or field of flowres,
Begotten by the wind and showres.
In thee faire mansion let it rest,
Yet know with what thou art possest,
Thou entertaining in thy breast,
But such a mind mak'st God thy Guest.
Sir WILLIAM BURLASE The Painter to the Poet.
TO paint thy worth, if rightly I did know it,
And were but Painter halfe like thee a Poet,
Ben: I would shew it.
But in this art my unskillfull pen will tire;
Thou and thy worth will still be found farre higher,
And I a lyer.
Then what a Painter's here? and what an eater
Of great attempts? whereas his skill's no greater,
And he a Cheater.
Then what a Poet's here, whom by confession
Of all with me, to paint without digression,
There's no expression.
BEN: JONSON The Poet to the Painter.
WHy though I seeme of a prodigious waste,
I am not so voluminous, and vast,
But there are lines, wherewith I might b'embrast.
Tis true, as my wombe swells, so my back stoops,
And the whole part growes round, deform'd, and droops,
But yet the Tun at Heidleberg had hoops.
You were not ty'd by any Painters Law,
To square my Circle, (I confesse) but draw
My superficies, that was all you saw.
Which if in compasse of no Art it came,
To be described by a Monogram,
With one great blot y'had form'd me as I am.
But since you curious were to have it be
An Archetype for all the world to see,
You made it a brave peece, but not like me.
O had I now your Manner, Majesty, Might,
Your power of handling, shadow, aire, and sprite,
How I could draw, and take hold, and delight!
But you are he can paint, I can but write,
A Poet hath no more than blacke, and white;
Ne knowes he flattering colours, or false light.
But when of friendship, I would draw the face,
A letter'd minde, and a large heart would place,
To all posterity, I would write Burlase.
Upon my Picture left in Scotland.
I Now think Love is rather deafe than blind,
For else it could not bee
That shee.
Whom I adore so much, should so flight me,
And cast my suit behind.
I'me sure my Language to her was as sweet,
And every close did meet,
In sentence of as subtle feet,
As hath the wisest he,
That sits in shadow of Apollo's tree.
O but my conscious feares that flie my thoughts betweene,
Tells me that she hath seene
My hundreds of gray haires,
Told sixe and forty yeares,
Read so much waste, as she could not imbrace
My mountaine belly, and my rocky face.
And all these through her eyes have stopt her eares.
On a Gentlewoman working by an Houre-Glasse.
DOe but consider this small dust,
Here running in the Glasse,
By Atomes mov'd:
Would you believe that it the body was
Of one that lov'd?
And in his Mistris flames playing like a flye,
Was turned into Cynders by her eye?
Yes; as in life, so in their deaths unblest:
A Lovers ashes never can find rest.
To the Ladies of the Court. An Ode.
COme Noble Nymphs, and doe not hid:
The joyes for which you so provide;
If not to mingle with us men,
What doe you here? goe home agen:
Your dressings doe confesse,
By what we see, so curious arts,
Of Pallas and Arachnes Arts,
That you could meane no lesse.
Why doe you weare the Silke-worms toyles?
Or glory in the shell-fish spoyles?
Or strive to shew the grains of Ore,
That you have gathered long before,
Whereof to make a stocke
To graft the green Emerald on,
Or any better water'd stone,
Or Ruby of the Rock?
Why doe you smell of Ambergreece?
Whereof was formed Neptunes Neece,
The Queen of Love, unlesse you can
Like Sea-borne Venus love a man?
Try, put your selves unto't.
Your looks, your smiles, and thoughts that meet:
Ambrosian hands, and silver feet,
Doe promise you will do't.
ODE To himselfe.
I.
COme leave the loathed Stage,
And the more loathsome age,
Where pride and Impudence in faction knit,
Usurpe the chaire of wit:
Inditing and arraigning every day,
Something they call a play.
Let their fastidious vaine
Commission of the braine,
Runne on, and rage, sweat, censure, and condemn,
They were not made for thee, lesse thou for them.
II.
Say that pour'st 'hem wheat,
And they would Akornes eat:
Twere simple fury still thy selfe to waste
On such as have no taste:
To offer them a surfeit of pure bread;
Whose appetites are dead:
No, give them graines their fill,
Huskes, Draffe to drinke, and swill:
If they love Lees, and leave the lusty Wine,
Envy them not, their pallat's with the swine.
III.
No doubt a mouldy Tale,
Like Pericles, and Stale
As the Shrieves crusts, and nasty as his fish,
Scraps out of every Dish,
Throwne forth and rak'd into the common Tub,
May keep up the Play Club.
Brooms sweepings doe as well
There, as his Masters meale:
For who the relish of these guests will fit,
Needs set them but the Almes-basket of wit.
IV.
And much good do't ye then,
Brave Plush and Velvet men
Can feed on Orts; and safe in your sceene cloathes,
Dare quit upon your Oathes
The Stagers, and the stage-writes too; your Peers,
Of stuffing your large eares
With rage of Comick socks,
Wrought upon twenty blocks;
Which if they're torne, & foule, and patch'd enough,
The Gamsters share your gilt, and you their stuffe.
V.
Leave things so prostitute,
And take th' Alcaike Lute;
Or thine owne Horace; or Anacreons Lyre;
Warme thee by Pindars fire;
And though thy nerves be shrunk, and blood be cold
Ere yeares have made thee old,
Strike that disdainfull heat
Throughout, to their defeat:
As curious fooles, and envious of thy straine,
May blushing sweare, no Palsie's in thy brain.
VI.
But when they heare thee sing
The glories of thy King;
His zeale to God, and his just awe of men,
They may be blood shaken, then
Feele such a flesh-quake to possesse their powers,
That no tun'd Harpe like ours,
In sound of peace or wars,
Shall truely hit the stars:
When they shall read the Acts of Charles his reigne,
And see his Chariot triumph 'bove his waine.
A Sonnet.
THough I am young, and cannot tell
Either what death, or Love is well,
Yet I have heard they both beare Darts,
And both doe aime at humane hearts:
And then againe I have beene told,
Love wounds with heat, and death with cold;
So that I feare they doe but bring
Extreams, to touch and meane one thing.
As in a ruine we it call,
One thing to be blowne up and fall;
Or to our end like way may have
By a flash of lightning, or a wave:
So Loves inflamed shaft, or band,
Will kill as soone as deaths cold hand:
Except loves fires the vertue have
To fright the frost out of the grave.
FINIS.