 | The honest ghost |  |
How should I taste ought well, since I am place
Where I can relish nothing but distaste?
For here in this vast Cave where I doe live,
My very Consorts no contentment give:
Not the least beame of comfort shines upon me,
But like the Plague-sore all my friends do shun mee.
The language of rude officers beside,
Whose base condition sticks not to deride
My hard mishap, and twit mee to my face,
Saying, my wit brought mee to this disgrace.
When feeble nature craves some small repast,
Though I be hungrie, I had rather fast;
For my weake stomach cannot well digest
The meate I have so sluttishly addrest.
Which makes me muse and wonder much at these,
Who waste their state in superfluities,
Storing their luscious Epicureall boord
With forain cakes to feast some forain Lord;
Who will accept their love, as well hee may,
And, with a french shrug, laugh and go his way.
Now by my hopes, there's nought distasts me wors,
Then see a grand gull thus abuse his purse,
To gratifie a Mounseur and his trayne,
Whom hee perchance shall never see againe.
For this Vitellian Lord, that he may please
That great-mans palat with varieties
Of all delicious meats, by Land and Sea
Sends his Purveiors out, who stor'd must be
What e're provision cost them, 'tis no matter,
Their Lord will sell his Land to fish the water.
Yet it is brave to sport and spend the time
In luscious fare, choice consorts, and rich wine;
To take delight in meats that best do please,
Fill Poland Salmons full of ambergreece;
And like that Prince of prodigall expence,
To please his Humor rather then his Sense,
When far from Sea, would only feed on fish,
But neer the Sea, made flesh his only dish.
To revell unto midnight, and come home
A sleepie Sibarite, a heavie drone:
Next day addresse himselfe to some new taske,
As make a set speech to his mistresse maske;
Go see a Play, and when each Act doth end,
Rise from his Stoole to commune with his friend,
Of purpose to induce those that sit neer
To think it's State that they discourse of there;
When 'las, poor Stage-gulls, they'r so far from that,
As they ne're knew what such things aymed at:
Then to make choice where they will sup that night
And make their life a progresse of delight.
Next day invite some honorable guest,
A favorite, or follower at least,
To make the world take notice of him then,
That hee'll grow great by means of such great men.
Or at his own charge some Court-shew to frame,
And make the Ladies think it was his braine
That did contrive it, when, Some neer him know it,
His purse and not his pate did play the Poet.
Or in his entertainment of some State,
Make Gonduits run with Rhenish at his gate.
True; this is brave indeed and princely too,
Which Some may better far then others doe,
Who racket it abroad and keep a table
Free for all commers, when they are unable
To feed themselves; the Cock on hoop is set
Hoping to drink their Lordships out a debt.
I heard of late a Millener complaine
Of a great Lord that's prodigally vaine,
Who run upon his score within three quarters,
Five hundred pounds, for sho-ties, points & garters;
Yet runs he on and feeds him with delay,
And eyther cannot pay or will not pay.
Yet is his mind good, for he doth afford
A gracefull presence and a gratefull word
Where ere he stands engag'd, & it doth grieve him
To be so long in debt, if they'll believe him.
But th' Suite, thus he pretends, he last obtain'd
(And this's his grief) comes short of that he aim'd,
Or else hee's out of cash, or who collects
His rents, detains them more then hee expects.
But howsoere hee shroud it with his wit,
Nor this nor that is any cause of it;
“His luscious palat and delicious Cook
Withhold him from discharging of the Book.
His many Items daily so much spend him,
As eyther must some Patentees defend him,
Or all his ancient Manors are forgone,
Which may be soone, for he had never none,
Only some few he got since he came hither,
Which with himselfe are shrinking both together.
But stay; me thinks there's nought distasts me more
Than to behold a rude uncivil Bore
Whom nurture, nor good nature ever had,
Whose father liv'd by nought but selling Woad,
By means of better fortune to obtaine
More grace then men of more deserts may gaine;
His honor is his purchase, and his fate
To raise himself to greatnesse by his state:
For merit who esteems it? When men crave
To know not what we are, but what we have?
Now by those hopes I have of future blisse,
There's nothing mads me half so much as this;
For who can brook to see a groundling rise
To titles of such honor and high prize,
Doing no worthy act in all his time,
Unlesse it were the gelding of a Swine,
As I heard once a mad-conceited Jig,
Of one made Knight for rosting of a Pig:
And Dietloph Brand obtain'd (some say) as much
With Rostock Beare who overthrew the Dutch.
Which story made me laugh, for on a time
A boon-Companion and a friend of mine
Telling this tale, one of a light conceit
(Which made the jest more full) replied streight
By thus retorting it; Now by this light,
I wonder much why you'r not made a Knight;
For if to healths such knightly vailes befall,
You's drinke a health with any of them all.
But to the purpose; though I force a smile,
I'd rather mone th'abuses of our Ile.
Again, to see those who have well deserv'd,
How they can shew their warlike bodies carv'd,
Their arms disjoynted, or their legs cut off,
Yet for all this rewarded with a scoff;
Their service wants least solace, for our Peace
Makes us conceive small pitty toward these:
Yet their designes were glorious, and the cause
For which they fought deserv'd no lesse applause,
But see their end, for all the time they serv'd,
The most of these are eyther hang'd or starv'd.
Now to propose some due reward to these,
Nought were more fit, if it the State would please,
Than to injoyne the miserable Chrone
(I meane the usurous oppressing one)
Whose only sport it is, and recreation,
To see a dearth of grain in all our Nation;
Who grates, regrates, grinds and engrosseth all,
Laughs when our markets rise, grives when they fall,
Who will not sell his Corn if men should die;
But stops his eare against their ruthfull crye:
Then to injoyn (I say) his stonie heart,
Some portion of his substance to impart
To a deserving Souldier, and know
My reason's this why I would have it so.
This earth-adoring and admiring wretch,
Who craves no more then that he may be rich,
Lives safe at home, his family attend him,
But all this while the Souldier doth defend him:
Snayle-like at home hee ever makes aboad,
And little feels the dangers are abroad;
While the encamped Souldier doth endure
The worst extremes the Miser to secure:
From sleep hee wakes, with noyse of least alarm,
Surveys the Campe, prevents ensuing harm;
Rampiers he reares, Fortes, Bulwarks, Palisadoes,
Mures, Countermures, stores his wel-rig'd Armadoes:
The key-cold ground, the field-bed, wher he rests him
Where not one minute but some fear molests him:
All which he beares with patience for this Elfe,
Who cares not who fall so he save himselfe.
Now ought not he to share in his encrease,
Who by his danger doth secure his peace?
Do wee not see each one relieve his Cur,
Who on the night-time barks and makes a stur
To shield his masters house from those would venter
But for fear of discovery, to enter?
And shall a Cur so kindly be entreated,
And a poor Souldier of his right defeated?
Can one delight so much a Cur to cherish.
And suffer one, endow'd with reason, perish?
Nor for my self do I this comfort seek,
For (as I think, I'm in for all the week)
Although perchance I have as great delight,
In a good cause, as any one to fight,
And would be loth to spare my dearest blood,
If shedding it might do my Countrey good:
But diverse means are form'd for diverse men,
Some are to fight with pike and some with pen;
Eyther of which requires aspirit stout,
To vanquish fiends within, or foes without.
But say, can neither eye, eare, taste, nor smell
Afford thee ought that may content thee well?
Can no choice object to thy eye appeare,
Nor no melodious accent to thy eare,
No fragrant perfume to refresh thy Scent
While thou art here in lists of thraldom pent;
No sense-affecting-solacing repast
That may delight or relish thy distast?
Can none of these thy drooping spirit cheere,
Or ease thy griefe while thou art lodged here?
Yes, yes, in every faculty I find
Somthing to give contentment to my mind;
For thus I argue; If these breed such loathing,
I must infer, on earth there can be nothing,
Bee't nere so pleasant-seeming or so moving,
That may in any measure merit loving.
Which to confirme, as I conceiv'd distast
In all those former Senses that are past,
Now, for my love I bear the Commonweale,
Heare but the griefs I for her sake do feele.
Where I can relish nothing but distaste?
For here in this vast Cave where I doe live,
My very Consorts no contentment give:
Not the least beame of comfort shines upon me,
But like the Plague-sore all my friends do shun mee.
The language of rude officers beside,
Whose base condition sticks not to deride
My hard mishap, and twit mee to my face,
Saying, my wit brought mee to this disgrace.
When feeble nature craves some small repast,
Though I be hungrie, I had rather fast;
For my weake stomach cannot well digest
The meate I have so sluttishly addrest.
Which makes me muse and wonder much at these,
Who waste their state in superfluities,
Storing their luscious Epicureall boord
With forain cakes to feast some forain Lord;
Who will accept their love, as well hee may,
And, with a french shrug, laugh and go his way.
Now by my hopes, there's nought distasts me wors,
Then see a grand gull thus abuse his purse,
To gratifie a Mounseur and his trayne,
Whom hee perchance shall never see againe.
25
That great-mans palat with varieties
Of all delicious meats, by Land and Sea
Sends his Purveiors out, who stor'd must be
What e're provision cost them, 'tis no matter,
Their Lord will sell his Land to fish the water.
Yet it is brave to sport and spend the time
In luscious fare, choice consorts, and rich wine;
To take delight in meats that best do please,
Fill Poland Salmons full of ambergreece;
And like that Prince of prodigall expence,
To please his Humor rather then his Sense,
When far from Sea, would only feed on fish,
But neer the Sea, made flesh his only dish.
To revell unto midnight, and come home
A sleepie Sibarite, a heavie drone:
Next day addresse himselfe to some new taske,
As make a set speech to his mistresse maske;
Go see a Play, and when each Act doth end,
Rise from his Stoole to commune with his friend,
Of purpose to induce those that sit neer
To think it's State that they discourse of there;
When 'las, poor Stage-gulls, they'r so far from that,
As they ne're knew what such things aymed at:
Then to make choice where they will sup that night
And make their life a progresse of delight.
Next day invite some honorable guest,
A favorite, or follower at least,
To make the world take notice of him then,
That hee'll grow great by means of such great men.
26
And make the Ladies think it was his braine
That did contrive it, when, Some neer him know it,
His purse and not his pate did play the Poet.
Or in his entertainment of some State,
Make Gonduits run with Rhenish at his gate.
True; this is brave indeed and princely too,
Which Some may better far then others doe,
Who racket it abroad and keep a table
Free for all commers, when they are unable
To feed themselves; the Cock on hoop is set
Hoping to drink their Lordships out a debt.
I heard of late a Millener complaine
Of a great Lord that's prodigally vaine,
Who run upon his score within three quarters,
Five hundred pounds, for sho-ties, points & garters;
Yet runs he on and feeds him with delay,
And eyther cannot pay or will not pay.
Yet is his mind good, for he doth afford
A gracefull presence and a gratefull word
Where ere he stands engag'd, & it doth grieve him
To be so long in debt, if they'll believe him.
But th' Suite, thus he pretends, he last obtain'd
(And this's his grief) comes short of that he aim'd,
Or else hee's out of cash, or who collects
His rents, detains them more then hee expects.
But howsoere hee shroud it with his wit,
Nor this nor that is any cause of it;
“His luscious palat and delicious Cook
Withhold him from discharging of the Book.
27
As eyther must some Patentees defend him,
Or all his ancient Manors are forgone,
Which may be soone, for he had never none,
Only some few he got since he came hither,
Which with himselfe are shrinking both together.
But stay; me thinks there's nought distasts me more
Than to behold a rude uncivil Bore
Whom nurture, nor good nature ever had,
Whose father liv'd by nought but selling Woad,
By means of better fortune to obtaine
More grace then men of more deserts may gaine;
His honor is his purchase, and his fate
To raise himself to greatnesse by his state:
For merit who esteems it? When men crave
To know not what we are, but what we have?
Now by those hopes I have of future blisse,
There's nothing mads me half so much as this;
For who can brook to see a groundling rise
To titles of such honor and high prize,
Doing no worthy act in all his time,
Unlesse it were the gelding of a Swine,
As I heard once a mad-conceited Jig,
Of one made Knight for rosting of a Pig:
And Dietloph Brand obtain'd (some say) as much
With Rostock Beare who overthrew the Dutch.
Which story made me laugh, for on a time
A boon-Companion and a friend of mine
Telling this tale, one of a light conceit
(Which made the jest more full) replied streight
28
I wonder much why you'r not made a Knight;
For if to healths such knightly vailes befall,
You's drinke a health with any of them all.
But to the purpose; though I force a smile,
I'd rather mone th'abuses of our Ile.
Again, to see those who have well deserv'd,
How they can shew their warlike bodies carv'd,
Their arms disjoynted, or their legs cut off,
Yet for all this rewarded with a scoff;
Their service wants least solace, for our Peace
Makes us conceive small pitty toward these:
Yet their designes were glorious, and the cause
For which they fought deserv'd no lesse applause,
But see their end, for all the time they serv'd,
The most of these are eyther hang'd or starv'd.
Now to propose some due reward to these,
Nought were more fit, if it the State would please,
Than to injoyne the miserable Chrone
(I meane the usurous oppressing one)
Whose only sport it is, and recreation,
To see a dearth of grain in all our Nation;
Who grates, regrates, grinds and engrosseth all,
Laughs when our markets rise, grives when they fall,
Who will not sell his Corn if men should die;
But stops his eare against their ruthfull crye:
Then to injoyn (I say) his stonie heart,
Some portion of his substance to impart
To a deserving Souldier, and know
My reason's this why I would have it so.
29
Who craves no more then that he may be rich,
Lives safe at home, his family attend him,
But all this while the Souldier doth defend him:
Snayle-like at home hee ever makes aboad,
And little feels the dangers are abroad;
While the encamped Souldier doth endure
The worst extremes the Miser to secure:
From sleep hee wakes, with noyse of least alarm,
Surveys the Campe, prevents ensuing harm;
Rampiers he reares, Fortes, Bulwarks, Palisadoes,
Mures, Countermures, stores his wel-rig'd Armadoes:
The key-cold ground, the field-bed, wher he rests him
Where not one minute but some fear molests him:
All which he beares with patience for this Elfe,
Who cares not who fall so he save himselfe.
Now ought not he to share in his encrease,
Who by his danger doth secure his peace?
Do wee not see each one relieve his Cur,
Who on the night-time barks and makes a stur
To shield his masters house from those would venter
But for fear of discovery, to enter?
And shall a Cur so kindly be entreated,
And a poor Souldier of his right defeated?
Can one delight so much a Cur to cherish.
And suffer one, endow'd with reason, perish?
Nor for my self do I this comfort seek,
For (as I think, I'm in for all the week)
Although perchance I have as great delight,
In a good cause, as any one to fight,
30
If shedding it might do my Countrey good:
But diverse means are form'd for diverse men,
Some are to fight with pike and some with pen;
Eyther of which requires aspirit stout,
To vanquish fiends within, or foes without.
But say, can neither eye, eare, taste, nor smell
Afford thee ought that may content thee well?
Can no choice object to thy eye appeare,
Nor no melodious accent to thy eare,
No fragrant perfume to refresh thy Scent
While thou art here in lists of thraldom pent;
No sense-affecting-solacing repast
That may delight or relish thy distast?
Can none of these thy drooping spirit cheere,
Or ease thy griefe while thou art lodged here?
Yes, yes, in every faculty I find
Somthing to give contentment to my mind;
For thus I argue; If these breed such loathing,
I must infer, on earth there can be nothing,
Bee't nere so pleasant-seeming or so moving,
That may in any measure merit loving.
Which to confirme, as I conceiv'd distast
In all those former Senses that are past,
Now, for my love I bear the Commonweale,
Heare but the griefs I for her sake do feele.
| The honest ghost | |