The noble arte of venerie or hvnting VVherein is handled and set out the Vertues, Nature, and Properties of fiuetene sundrie Chaces togither, with the order and maner how to Hunte and kill euery one of them. Translated and collected for the pleasure of all Noblemen and Gentlemen, out of the best approued Authors, which haue written anything concerning the same: And reduced into such order and proper termes as are vsed here, in this noble Realme of England [by George Turbervile] |
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The wofull wordes of the Hart to the Hunter.
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 | The noble arte of venerie or hvnting |  |
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The wofull wordes of the Hart to the Hunter.
Since I in deepest dread, do yelde my selfe to Man,And stand full still betwene his legs, which earst full wildly ran:
Since I to him appeale, when hounds pursue me sore,
As who should say (Now saue me man, for else I may no more.)
Why dost thou then (ô Man) (ô Hunter) me pursue,
With cry of hounds, with blast of horne, with hallow, and with hue?
Or why dost thou deuise, such nets and instruments,
Such toyles & toyes, as hunters vse, to bring me to their bents?
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Holde downe my head (as who should say, lo Man I yeelde me here.)
Why arte thou not content, (ô murdryng cruell minde)
Thy selfe alone to hunte me so, which arte my foe by kynde,
But that thou must enstruct, with wordes in skilfull writte,
All other men to hunte me eke? O wicked wylie witte.
Thou here hast set to shew, within this busie booke,
A looking Glasse of lessons lewde, wherein all Huntes may looke:
And so whyles world doth last, they may be taught to bryng,
The harmelesse Hart vnto his bane, with many a wilye thing.
Is it bycause thy minde, doth seeke thereby some gaynes?
Canst thou in death take suche delight? breedes pleasure so in paynes?
Oh cruell, be content, to take in worth my teares,
Whiche growe to gumme, and fall from me: content thee with my heares,
Content thee with my hornes, which euery yeare I mew,
Since all these three make medicines, some sicknesse to eschew.
My teares congeald to gumme, by peeces from me fall,
And thee preserue from Pestilence, in Pomander or Ball.
Such wholesome teares shedde I, when thou pursewest me so,
Thou (not content) doest seeke my death, and then thou getst no moe.
My heare is medicine burnt, all venemous wormes to kill,
The Snake hirselfe will yeeld thereto, such was my makers will.
My hornes (whiche aye renew) as many medicines make
As there be Troches on their Toppes, and all (Man) for thy sake.
As first they heale the head, from turning of the brayne,
A dramme thereof in powder drunke, doth quickly ease the payne:
They skinne a kybed heele, they fret an anguayle off,
Lo thus I skippe from toppe to toe, yet neyther scorne nor skoffe.
They comfort Feeuers faynte, and lingryng long disease,
Distilld when they be tender buddes, they sundry greeues appease:
They mayster and correct, both humours, hote and colde,
Which striue to conquere bloud: and breede, diseases manyfold.
They bryng downe womens termes, and stoppe them to, for neede,
They keepe the meane tweene both extreemes, & serue bothe turnes in deede:
They cleare the dimmie sight, they kill both webbe and pinne,
They soone restore the milt or spleene, which putrifies within.
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Which grypes the wombe with colliques panges, such is their noble kinde:
They quenche the skaldyng fire, which skorched with his heate,
And skinne the skalt full cleane agayne, and heale it trimme and neate.
They poyson do expell, from Keysar, King, or Queene,
When it by chaunce or deepe deceypt, is swallowed vp vnseene.
But wherefore spend I time in vayne at large to prayse,
The vertues of my harmelesse hornes, which heape my harme alwayes?
And yet such hornes, such heare, such teares as I haue tolde,
I mew and cast for mans auayle, more worth to him than golde.
But he to quyte the same, (ô Murdring Man therewhyles)
Pursewes me still and trappes me ofte, with sundrie snares and guyles.
Alas so now I feele colde feare within my bones,
Whiche hangs hyr winges vpon my heeles, to hasten for the nones
My swiftest starting steppes, me thinkes she biddes me byde,
In thickest Tuftes of couerts close, and so my selfe to hyde.
Ah rewfull remedie, so shall I (as it were)
Euen teare my lyfe out of the teeth of houndes whiche make me feare.
And from those cruell curres, and braynesicke bauling Tikes,
Which vowe foote hote to followe me, bothe ouer hedge and dykes.
Me thinkes I heare the Horne, whiche rendes the restlesse ayre,
With shryllest sounde of bloudie blast, and makes me to despayre.
Me thinkes I see the Toyle, the tanglings and the stall,
Which are prepared and set full sure, to compasse me withall:
Me thinkes the Foster standes full close in bushe or Tree,
And takes his leuell streyght and true, me thinkes he shootes at me.
And hittes the harmelesse Harte, of me vnhappie Harte,
Which must needes please him by my death, I may it not astarte.
Ahlas and well away, me thinkes I see the hunte,
Which takes the measure of my Slottes, where I to treade was wont:
Bycause I shall not misse, at last to please his minde,
Ahlas I see him where he seekes my latest layre to finde.
He takes my fewmets vp, and puts them in his horne,
Alas me thinkes he leapes for ioye, and laugheth me to scorne.
Harke, harke, alas giue eare, This geare goeth well (sayeth he)
This Harte beares deyntie venison, in Princes dishe to be.
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Alas, alas, he blowes a seeke, alas yet blowes he more:
He ieopardes and rechates, ahlas he blowes the Fall,
And soundes that deadly dolefull Mote, whiche I muste die withall.
What should the cruell meane? perhappes he hopes to finde,
As many medicines me within to satisfie his minde.
May be) he seekes to haue my Sewet for himselfe,
Whiche sooner heales a merrygald, then Pothecaries pelfe.
(May be) his ioyntes be numme, as Synewes shronke with colde,
And that he knowes my Sewet wyll, the same full soone vnfolde.
(May be) his wife doth feare to come before hyr time,
And in my mawe he hopes to finde, (amongst the slutte and slime)
A Stone to help his wife, that she may bryng to light,
A bloudie babe lyke bloudie Syre, to put poore Hartes to flight:
Perchance with sicknesse he hath troubled bene of late,
And with my marow thinketh to restore his former state.
(May be) his hart doth quake, and therefore seekes the bone,
Whiche Huntesmen finde within my heart, when I poore Hart) am gone.
(It may be) that he meanes my fleshe for to present,
Unto his Prince for delicates, such may be his entent.
Yea more than this (may be), he thinkes such nouriture,
Will still prolong mens dayes on earth, since mine so long endure.
But oh mischieuous man, although I thee outliue,
By due degrees of age vnseene, whiche Nature doth me giue:
Must thou therefore procure my death? for to prolong
Thy lingryng life in lustie wise? alas thou doest me wrong.
Must I with mine owne fleshe, his hatefull fleshe so feede,
Whiche me disdaynes one bitte of grasse, or corne in tyme of neede?
Alas (Man) do not so, some other beastes go kill,
Whiche worke thy harme by sundrie meanes: and so content thy will.
Which yeelde thee no such gaynes, (in lyfe) as I renew,
When from my head my stately hornes, (to thy behoofe) I mew.
But since thou arte vnkinde, vngracious and vniust,
Lo here I craue of mightie Gods, whiche are bothe good and iust:
That Mars may reygne with Man, that stryfe and cruell warre,
May set mans murdryng minde on worke, with many a bloudy Iarre.
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Which they with hornes haue blowen ful lowde, to make my minde agast.
That shot as thicke as Hayle, may stande for Crossebowe shootes,
That Cuysses, Greues, and suche may serue, in steade of Hunters bootes.
That gyrte with siege full sure, they may theyr toyles repent,
That Embuskadoes stand for nettes, which they agaynst me bent.
That when they see a spie, which watcheth them to trappe,
They may remember ring walkes made, in herbor me to happe.
That when theyr busie braynes, are exercised so,
Hartes may lie safe within theyr layre, and neuer feare theyr foe.
But if so chaunce there be, some dastard dreadfull mome,
Whome Trumpettes cannot well entyse, nor call him once from home:
And yet will play the man, in killyng harmelesse Deare,
I craue of God that such a ghoste, and such a fearefull pheare,
May see Dyana nakt: and she (to venge hir skornes)
May soone transforme his harmefull head, into my harmelesse hornes:
Untill his houndes may teare, that hart of his in twayne,
Which thus torments vs harmelesse Harts, and puttes our hartes to payne.
| The noble arte of venerie or hvnting | |