All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet Being Sixty and three in Number. Collected into one Volume by the Author [i.e. John Taylor]: With sundry new Additions, corrected, reuised, and newly Imprinted |
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 55. |
| 56. |
| 57. |
| 58. |
| 59. |
| 60. |
| 61. |
| 62. |
| 63. |
| 64. |
| 65. |
| 66. |
| 67. |
| 68. |
| 69. |
| 70. |
| 71. |
| 72. |
| 73. |
| 74. |
| 75. |
| 76. |
| 77. |
| 78. |
| 79. |
| 120. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet |  |
16
To the Honour of the Noble CAPTAINE O TOOLE
AN ENCOMIVM OR ENCO-MI-ASS-TRICK, DEDICATED TO THE VNLIMITED
memory of Arthur O Toole, or O Toole the Great: Being the Sonne and Heire
of Brian O Toole, Lord of Poores Court and farre Collen, in the County of Dublin, in
the Kingdome of Ireland. The Mars and Mercury, the Agamemnon and Ulisses
both for Wisdome and Valour, in the Kingdomes of Great Britaine and Ireland.
THE ARGVMENT AND MEANING of this following History.
In all Ages and Countries, it hath euer bin knowne, that Famous men haue florished, whose worthy Actions, and Eminency of place, haue euer beene as conspicuous Beacons Burning and blazing to the Spectators view: the sparkes and flames whereof hath sometimes kindled Courage in the most coldest and Effeminate Cowards; as Thersites amongst the Grecians, Amadis de Gaule, & Sir Huon of Burdeaux in France: Sir Beuis, Gogmag og, Chinon, Palmerin, Lancelot, and Sir Tristram amongst vs here in England: Sir Degre, Sir Grime, and Sir Gray Steele in Scotland; Don Quixot with the Spaniards, Gargantua almost no where, Sir Dagonet and Sir Triamore any where: all these, and many more of the like Ranke haue fill'd whole Volumes, with the ayrie Imaginations of their vnknowne and vnmatchable worths: So Ireland amongst the rest, had the Honor to produce and breed a sparke of Valour, Wisedome, and Magnanimity, to whom all the Nations of the world must giue place. The Great O Toole, is the toole that my Muse takes in hand, whose praises (if they should be set forth to the full) would make Apollo and the Muses Barren; To whom the nine Worthies were neuer to be compared: betwixt whom, and Haniball, Scipio, the Great Pompey, or Tamberlaine, was such oddes, that it was vnfit the best of them should hold his stirrop, and who (by his owne Report) in whom Ireland may reioyce, and England be merry, whose Youth was Dedicated to Mars, and his Age to Westminster, which ancient Cittie, is now honour'd with his beloued Residence.
Prologue.
Braue Vsquebough that fierce Hibernian liquor,Assist my braine, and make my wit run quicker:
To heat my Muse like to a well warm'd Chimney,
I beg thy merry ayde kinde Polyhimny.
I list not to call Fables into question,
Nor of Baboones, or idle bables jest I on:
And yet if Sence or reason heere you looke for,
For neither, or for either read this Booke for,
And if perchance I doe in any word lye,
Doe, as I writ it, reade it o'r absurdly:
Though in these daies there are a Crew of fond men,
That for inuention striue to goe beyond men,
And write so humerous Dogmaticall,
To please my Lord and Lady what d'ee Call,
With Inkehorne tearms stiffe quilted & bumbasted,
And (though not vnderstood) yet are well tasted.
And therefore I'l not reach beyond the bounds of
My weake capacity, nor search the sounds of
Deepe Natures secrets, or Arts spacious cirquit:
My Muse is free from those, my selfe will her quit.
But leauing idle toyes, with toyle endure I on,
To write the praise of this braue bold Centurion.
17
Thou
Famous man, East, West, and North, and Southward,
From Boreas cold rump, t' Austers flauering mouthward,
I call Apolloes daughters all, to witnes,
Much would I praise thee, but my Wit wants fitnes.
But thou thy selfe (of thy selfe) canst speake so-well,
That though my Rimes not altogether goe-well,
Yet if the worlds applause would not attēd thee
Were al tongus mute, thy own tongue wold cōmend thee
Thy selfe (vnto thy selfe) art Fames Trump blasting,
To make thy name (like Buffe) tough, long & lasting.
(Yet grāt me, thou braue man, that ne'r feard colors)
T'accept the poore Lines of an Artlesse Scullers:
Thy Bilboe oft bath'd in the blood of Foe mans,
Like Caius Marius, Consull of the Romans:
When thou hast seem'd more dreadfull in thy harnesse,
Then Babels Generall great Holophernes:
More in command then was Nabuchadnezzar,
And more renownd then Cayus Iulius Cæsar:
Vpon thy foes brest thou hast often troad free,
As on the Pagans did braue Boloignes Godfrey.
Fierce Methridates the stout King of Pontus,
If thou dost lead vs, dares not to confront vs:
Thy matchlesse valour ten to one more tride is,
Then euer was the Libian strong Alcides:
And all men know that neuer such an od piece
Of fighting mettle, sprung from Mars his Codpiece.
Vpon the maine land and the raging Ocean,
Thy courage hath attaind thee high promotion:
Thou neuer fear'dst to combate with Garganto,
Thy fam's beyond the battaile of Lepanto:
The mighty Alexander of Macedo,
Ne'r fought as thou hast done with thy Toledo.
We hold thee for a worthy, and no base one,
But one that could haue won the fleece from Iason:
Thou durst oppose 'gainst Bore, Beare, Wolfe or Lion,
And from the torturing wheele to fetch Ixion:
And I acknowledge that thy matchlesse vallour is,
To kill Pasiphaes or the Bull of Phalleris:
Though age hath ouertaine thee, yet thy will is,
To grapple with an Aiax or Achilles,
Or with Hells Monarch enuious ill fac'd Pluto,
And proue him by his hornes a dambd Cornuto.
Thou fearst no Diuell, nor no Demogorgon,
Nor yet the valiant Welchman Shon a Morgan:
So that most Wizards, and most fortune tellers,
Approue thee for the greatst of Monster quellers:
And absolute and potent Dominator,
For War or Counsell both by land and Water:
In times of tumult thou amongst the Irish,
Hast made them skip o'r bogs and quagmires mirish,
Whilst in the pursuit, like an angry Dragon,
Thou mad'st them runne away with not a rag on.
For had thy foes bin Thousands, with thy Pistall,
And thy good sword, thou brauely, wouldst resist all.
Thou wast to vs, as vnto Rome was Titus,
And stoutly sent our foes to blacke Cocitus.
To kill, and cut throats, thou art skild in that trick,
As if thou wert the Champion to Saint Patricke:
I know not to which worthy to compare thee,
For were they liuing, they could not out-dare thee.
To thee what was great Tamberlaine the Tartar,
Or matcht with thee what was our Britain Arthur?
Great Haniball, that famous Carthaginian,
Was not a mate for thee in mine opinion;
And all Seuerus vertues sum'd vp totall,
Remaine in thee, if this blind Age would note all:
Thou shewdst thy selfe a doughty wight at Dublin,
When Irish Rebells madly brought the trouble in:
At Baltimore, Kinsale, at Corke, and Yoghall,
Thou with thy power hast made them oft cry fogh all:
Oft in thy rage, thou hast most madly ran on,
The burning mouth of the combustious Cannon.
For in thy fury, thou hast oft beene hotter,
More swifter then an Ambler, or a Trotter,
As witnesse can the bounds of fierce Tirconnel,
And the rough Bickerings with the stout Odonnell.
The slaues did scud before thee o'r the Quagmires:
Where many a warlike Horse, & many a Nagmires:
Thou kildst the gammon visag'd poore Westphalians,
The Al-to-totterd, torne Tatterdemalians:
The broaging, roaging, brawling, base Bazonians:
The swift-foot, light-heeld, run-away Slauonians,
Thou letst thē haue no ground to stand or walke on,
But made them flye as Doues doe from a Falcon.
For if thou list in fight to lead a Band on,
Thy slaughtering sword, if thou but layst thy hand on,
Thy fearefull foes would strait the place abandon,
Without or hose, or shooes, shirt, or a band on:
Thou letst them haue no quiet place to stand on.
By tongue or pen it cannot well be verifide,
How many hundred thousands thou hast terrifide,
For thou hast rac'd more Castles, forts & Garrisons,
Beyond Arithmeticke, and past comparisons:
The Prouerbe sayes, Comparisons are odious,
I'l therefore leaue them being incommodious.
In all thy actions thou hast beene impartiall,
Accommodating thy designes as Martiall,
In mortall battels and in bruising battery,
Thy eares would entertain no smooth-tongu'd flattery.
That though to all men thy exploits seem'd very od,
Thou brought'st them still to an auspitious Period,
And as thy valour durst out-dare bold Hector,
Like wise Vlisses thou canst speake a Lector:
Such policies thy wits mint could deuise on,
Which wiser pates could neuer once surmise on:
With many a hundred neuer heard of Stratagem,
Thou hast got precious honour, is not that a Iem?
What trickes, or slights of war so ere the foe meant,
Thou canst descry and frustrate in a moment.
From Boreas cold rump, t' Austers flauering mouthward,
I call Apolloes daughters all, to witnes,
Much would I praise thee, but my Wit wants fitnes.
But thou thy selfe (of thy selfe) canst speake so-well,
That though my Rimes not altogether goe-well,
Yet if the worlds applause would not attēd thee
Were al tongus mute, thy own tongue wold cōmend thee
Thy selfe (vnto thy selfe) art Fames Trump blasting,
To make thy name (like Buffe) tough, long & lasting.
(Yet grāt me, thou braue man, that ne'r feard colors)
T'accept the poore Lines of an Artlesse Scullers:
Thy Bilboe oft bath'd in the blood of Foe mans,
Like Caius Marius, Consull of the Romans:
When thou hast seem'd more dreadfull in thy harnesse,
Then Babels Generall great Holophernes:
More in command then was Nabuchadnezzar,
And more renownd then Cayus Iulius Cæsar:
Vpon thy foes brest thou hast often troad free,
As on the Pagans did braue Boloignes Godfrey.
Fierce Methridates the stout King of Pontus,
If thou dost lead vs, dares not to confront vs:
Thy matchlesse valour ten to one more tride is,
Then euer was the Libian strong Alcides:
And all men know that neuer such an od piece
Of fighting mettle, sprung from Mars his Codpiece.
Vpon the maine land and the raging Ocean,
Thy courage hath attaind thee high promotion:
Thou neuer fear'dst to combate with Garganto,
Thy fam's beyond the battaile of Lepanto:
The mighty Alexander of Macedo,
Ne'r fought as thou hast done with thy Toledo.
We hold thee for a worthy, and no base one,
But one that could haue won the fleece from Iason:
Thou durst oppose 'gainst Bore, Beare, Wolfe or Lion,
And from the torturing wheele to fetch Ixion:
And I acknowledge that thy matchlesse vallour is,
To kill Pasiphaes or the Bull of Phalleris:
Though age hath ouertaine thee, yet thy will is,
To grapple with an Aiax or Achilles,
Or with Hells Monarch enuious ill fac'd Pluto,
And proue him by his hornes a dambd Cornuto.
Thou fearst no Diuell, nor no Demogorgon,
Nor yet the valiant Welchman Shon a Morgan:
So that most Wizards, and most fortune tellers,
Approue thee for the greatst of Monster quellers:
And absolute and potent Dominator,
For War or Counsell both by land and Water:
In times of tumult thou amongst the Irish,
Hast made them skip o'r bogs and quagmires mirish,
Whilst in the pursuit, like an angry Dragon,
Thou mad'st them runne away with not a rag on.
For had thy foes bin Thousands, with thy Pistall,
And thy good sword, thou brauely, wouldst resist all.
Thou wast to vs, as vnto Rome was Titus,
And stoutly sent our foes to blacke Cocitus.
To kill, and cut throats, thou art skild in that trick,
As if thou wert the Champion to Saint Patricke:
I know not to which worthy to compare thee,
For were they liuing, they could not out-dare thee.
To thee what was great Tamberlaine the Tartar,
Or matcht with thee what was our Britain Arthur?
Great Haniball, that famous Carthaginian,
Was not a mate for thee in mine opinion;
And all Seuerus vertues sum'd vp totall,
Remaine in thee, if this blind Age would note all:
Thou shewdst thy selfe a doughty wight at Dublin,
When Irish Rebells madly brought the trouble in:
At Baltimore, Kinsale, at Corke, and Yoghall,
Thou with thy power hast made them oft cry fogh all:
Oft in thy rage, thou hast most madly ran on,
The burning mouth of the combustious Cannon.
For in thy fury, thou hast oft beene hotter,
More swifter then an Ambler, or a Trotter,
As witnesse can the bounds of fierce Tirconnel,
And the rough Bickerings with the stout Odonnell.
The slaues did scud before thee o'r the Quagmires:
Where many a warlike Horse, & many a Nagmires:
Thou kildst the gammon visag'd poore Westphalians,
The Al-to-totterd, torne Tatterdemalians:
The broaging, roaging, brawling, base Bazonians:
18
Thou letst thē haue no ground to stand or walke on,
But made them flye as Doues doe from a Falcon.
For if thou list in fight to lead a Band on,
Thy slaughtering sword, if thou but layst thy hand on,
Thy fearefull foes would strait the place abandon,
Without or hose, or shooes, shirt, or a band on:
Thou letst them haue no quiet place to stand on.
By tongue or pen it cannot well be verifide,
How many hundred thousands thou hast terrifide,
For thou hast rac'd more Castles, forts & Garrisons,
Beyond Arithmeticke, and past comparisons:
The Prouerbe sayes, Comparisons are odious,
I'l therefore leaue them being incommodious.
In all thy actions thou hast beene impartiall,
Accommodating thy designes as Martiall,
In mortall battels and in bruising battery,
Thy eares would entertain no smooth-tongu'd flattery.
That though to all men thy exploits seem'd very od,
Thou brought'st them still to an auspitious Period,
And as thy valour durst out-dare bold Hector,
Like wise Vlisses thou canst speake a Lector:
Such policies thy wits mint could deuise on,
Which wiser pates could neuer once surmise on:
With many a hundred neuer heard of Stratagem,
Thou hast got precious honour, is not that a Iem?
What trickes, or slights of war so ere the foe meant,
Thou canst descry and frustrate in a moment.
Upon his Wisedome, and Policie.
Of thy Heroick acts, there might be more said,For sure they are but slightly toucht aforesaid,
But Gods or Muses, Men, or Fiends infernall,
To blaze thee to thy worth, can ne'r discerne all:
And should I write but halfe that I know of thee,
Some Criticks would perswade thee I did scoffe thee.
Thus hauing shewd thy valor, now I'l expound
Part of thy policies, and wisedome profound.
Vnfellowed, and vnfollowed, and vnmatched,
Are the rare slights that in thy pate were hatched:
Of Engines, Mines, of Counterscarphs and Trenches,
And to keep clear the Camp from whoring wēches:
To teach the Soldiers eat frogs, snailes and vermine.
Such Stratagems as these thou couldst determine.
That Cato, Plato, or Aurelius Marcus,
Wise Socrates, or reuerend Aristarchus,
Diogenes, or wise Pithagoras,
Licurgus, Pliny, Anaxagoras,
Archidamus of Greece, or Romane Tully,
Could ne'r demonstrate Sapience more fully;
And specially when there was any trouble like,
To vexe, molest, or trouble the Republike:
That wit with valour, valour ioynd with wisdome,
From all the world thou hast attained this doome:
To be wars Abstract, Counsels Catechizer,
That canst direct all, and all scarce the wiser.
A Complaint and a Petition to him.
Thus thou of Yore hast followed great Belona,And shin'd in Arms like twins of bright Latona:
But now those manly martiall dayes are gone. A
Time of Cheating, swearing, drinking drabbing,
Of burst-gut feeding and inhumane stabbing,
The Spanish Pip, or else the Gallian Morbus,
Bone-bred diseases, mainely doe disturbe vs:
That now more men by ryot are confounded,
Then valiant Souldiers in the wars were wounded.
Mars yeelds to Venus, Gown-men rule the rost now,
And men of War may fait, or kisse the post now.
The thundring Cannon & the rumbling Drum now,
The Instruments of War are mute and dumbe now,
And stout experienc't valiant Commanders,
Are turn'd Saint Nicholas Clarks, & high-way standers.
And some (through want) are turn'd base Pimps and Panders,
The watchfull Corporall, and the Lansprezado
Are Marchants turn'd, of smoaky Trinidado.
His shop, (a fadome compasse) now containes him,
Where midst the misty vapours he complaines him,
That he who hath made Forts and Castles caper,
Liues now Camelion-like, by Ayre & Vaper.
Whilst fools & flatterers thriue, it greatly grieues him,
When all Trades fayle, Tobacco last relieues him,
Besides each day some hound-like senting Sergeant
Scoutes, gapes, pries, preyes, and tires him out for argeant:
And Longlane Dogditch, dambd soule wanting Brokers
The Cómon wealths bane & poore mens vnclokers,
The Countries Spunges, and the Cities soakers,
The Peaces Pestilence, and Warriours choakers.
These beate their hogs-heads all, to try conclusions,
By base extorting, working our confusions.
The Souldier's naked, by the broakers bribing,
The Scriuener liues braue by sophisticke scribing,
The slaues grow rich (and 'tis not to be wondred)
By taking Forty intrest for a hundred.
And nasty beadles with their breath contaminous,
With What are you? & Who goes there? examinvs:
With hums & hawes, Sir reuerence, nods & becking,
With sensles nonsence, checks & Counter checking:
The brownbild Rug-gound bēch do think it fitting,
To exercise their Office by committing.
Where our expence, with Ale their faces varnish,
19
And Tyburne, Wapping, and S. Thomas Watrings,
Poor Soldiers ends, to euery neighboring State rings,
Whilest lowzy Ballad-mongers gape and look out,
To set some riming song, or Roguing Booke out.
Where more then all is 'gainst the dead imputed,
By which meanes men are doubly executed;
That sure the Gallowes hath eat vp more pe**ople,
Then would subdue and win Constantinople.
O rouze thee, rouze thee, then braue man of Action,
Make Fur-gown'd peace burst into Armed faction:
Thou hast a pate that canst the State vnsettle:
Be as thou hast beene then, a Man of mettle:
And now base Cowardize doth seeme to rust vs,
Into some worthy busines, quickly thrust vs,
Now shew thy selfe a noble Ahashucrus,
And once more make our brauing foes to feare vs,
Doe thou but lead vs on, and looke but grimly,
And make no doubt, we'l doe the busines trimly.
Mongst all the tooles of war, be thou great O Toole,
And neuer let the world esteeme thee no Foole.
O make the wheele of reeling State, and Fate turne,
In spight of sullen melancholly Saturne,
To Armes, but from the Armes of lustfull Uenus
I doe intreat thy warlike care to weane vs.
Let not the prick-eard power of proud Priapus,
In bonds of painted Curtezans intrap vs,
And rouze vs from our Acts & thoughts libidinous,
That (Traytor-like) in ambush doe lye hid in vs.
Let not thy Tents of worthles Martiall discipline,
Be turn'd to stinking Tap-houses to tipple in:
But make the freezing pot of num-cold war-boyle,
And bubble to a hurly burly Garboyle:
Doe as thou hast done oft, most noble Spartan,
Strike silken peace into a feauer Quartane;
Or else like Phœbus in his hot Meridian,
Astonish all the world with a Quotidian,
I know thy worth the world doth all admire on,
Then clad thy selfe in burnisht steele and Yron.
I know that all men knows thou hast bin tri'd well,
Discreetly thou canst talke, fight, run and ride well,
I know, the reach of thy politike skull can
Plucke rugged Mars from out the bed of Uulcan,
To make warre roare more loud then any Bull can,
I know thou canst doe more then any Gull can.
I know thou hold'st it Valours ignominy.
To spend thy dayes in peacefull whip her Ginny.
Thy name & voice, more fear'd then Guy of Warwick,
Or the rough rumbling, roaring Meg of Barwicke.
We should do somewhat, if we once were rouzed,
And (being Lowsie) we might then be Lowsed.
Encourage Souldiers to demeane them like men,
And measure Veluet with their Pikes braue Pikemē.
Let shouts & clamors, woods, groues, dales, & hils fil
With dredful noise & cries of follow, follow, kil, kil,
Let Drums cry dub, dub, and let Cannons thunder,
Tantara Trumpets, and let Cowards wonder:
Let Musquets bounce, bounce, let the Welkin rumble,
Let Townes, Turrets, topsituruy tumble,
Doe this (as well I know thou canst doo't wisely)
Exceeding carelesse, fearelesse and precisely.
And then thy Fame shall farther farre be noysed,
Then Titans rayes, or Iustice scales are poysed.
And since thou knowest mans time on earth is short all,
Let mortall Actions make thy name Immortall.
Lenuoy.
Ivdge O you Gentiles, what is writ is probable,And though it seeme a bable, yet 'tis no bable.
Doome amongst ill things, that the best is ment all,
And what's amisse, pray take as accidentall:
For like a puny practizing Astronomy,
And knows no grounds nor rules, so far o'rgon am I,
In diuing to his valours whirlepit bottome,
That like the reuerend Sages of old Gotam,
I now perceiue how much I ouershot am:
I'l wade no further in't, but in briefe breuity,
Abrupt, absurd, abiect, thus cast, thus leaue it I.
These forc'd Rimes, fully stuft with fruitlesse labor,
Hath Curried my poore braine-pan like a Tabor:
And to recure me from this strange quandary,
Hence Usquebaugh, and welcome sweet Canary.
FJNJS.
| All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet | |