Petrarchs seven penitentiall psalms paraphrastically translated: With other Philosophicall Poems, and a Hymne to Christ vpon the Crosse. Written by George Chapman |
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A great Man.
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 | Petrarchs seven penitentiall psalms |  |
A great Man.
A great and politicke man (which I oppose
To good and wise) is neuer as he showes.
Neuer explores himselfe to find his faults:
But cloaking them, before his conscience halts.
Flatters himselfe, and others flatteries buyes,
Seemes made of truth, and is a forge of lies.
Breeds bawdes and sycophants, and traitors makes
To betray traitors; playes, and keepes the stakes,
Is iudge and iuror, goes on life and death:
And damns before the fault hath any breath.
Weighs faith in falsehoods ballance; iustice does
To cloake oppression; taile-like downward groes:
Earth his whole end is: heauen he mockes, and hell:
And thinkes that is not, that in him doth dwell.
Good, with Gods right hand giuē, his left takes t'euil:
When holy most he seemes, he most is euill.
Ill vpon ill he layes: th' embroderie
Wrought on his state, is like a leprosie,
The whiter, still the fouler. What his like,
What ill in all the bodie politike
Thriues in, and most is curst: his most blisse fires:
And of two ils, still to the worst aspires.
When his thrift feeds, iustice and mercie feare him:
And ( Wolf-like fed) he gnars at all men nere him.
Neuer is chearefull, but when flatterie trailes
On squatting profite; or when Policie vailes
Some vile corruption: that lookes red with anguish
Like wauing reeds, his windshook cōforts languish.
Paies neuer debt, but what he should not ow;
Is sure and swift to hurt, yet thinks him slow.
His bountie is most rare, but when it comes,
'Tis most superfluous, and with strook-vp drums.
Lest any true good pierce him, with such good
As ill breeds in him, Mortar, made with blood
Heapes stone-wals in his heart, to keepe it out.
His sensuall faith, his soules truth keepes in doubt,
And like a rude, vnlearn'd Plebeian,
Without him seekes his whole insulting man.
Nor can endure, as a most deare prospect,
To looke into his owne life, and reflect
Reason vpon it, like a Sunne still shining,
To giue it comfort, ripening, and refining:
But his blacke soule, being so deformd with sinne,
He still abhorres; with all things hid within:
And forth he wanders, with the outward fashion,
Feeding, and fatting vp his reprobation.
Disorderly he sets foorth euerie deed,
Good neuer doing, but where is no need.
If any ill he does, (and hunts through blood,
For shame, ruth, right, religion) be withstood,
The markt withstander, his race, kin, least friend,
That neuer did, in least degree offend,
He prosecutes, with hir'd intelligence
To fate, defying God and conscience,
And to the vtmost mite, he rauisheth
All they can yeeld him, rackt past life and death.
In all his acts, he this doth verifie,
The greater man, the lesse humanitie.
To good and wise) is neuer as he showes.
Neuer explores himselfe to find his faults:
But cloaking them, before his conscience halts.
Flatters himselfe, and others flatteries buyes,
Seemes made of truth, and is a forge of lies.
Breeds bawdes and sycophants, and traitors makes
To betray traitors; playes, and keepes the stakes,
Is iudge and iuror, goes on life and death:
And damns before the fault hath any breath.
Weighs faith in falsehoods ballance; iustice does
To cloake oppression; taile-like downward groes:
Earth his whole end is: heauen he mockes, and hell:
And thinkes that is not, that in him doth dwell.
Good, with Gods right hand giuē, his left takes t'euil:
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Ill vpon ill he layes: th' embroderie
Wrought on his state, is like a leprosie,
The whiter, still the fouler. What his like,
What ill in all the bodie politike
Thriues in, and most is curst: his most blisse fires:
And of two ils, still to the worst aspires.
When his thrift feeds, iustice and mercie feare him:
And ( Wolf-like fed) he gnars at all men nere him.
Neuer is chearefull, but when flatterie trailes
On squatting profite; or when Policie vailes
Some vile corruption: that lookes red with anguish
Like wauing reeds, his windshook cōforts languish.
Paies neuer debt, but what he should not ow;
Is sure and swift to hurt, yet thinks him slow.
His bountie is most rare, but when it comes,
'Tis most superfluous, and with strook-vp drums.
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As ill breeds in him, Mortar, made with blood
Heapes stone-wals in his heart, to keepe it out.
His sensuall faith, his soules truth keepes in doubt,
And like a rude, vnlearn'd Plebeian,
Without him seekes his whole insulting man.
Nor can endure, as a most deare prospect,
To looke into his owne life, and reflect
Reason vpon it, like a Sunne still shining,
To giue it comfort, ripening, and refining:
But his blacke soule, being so deformd with sinne,
He still abhorres; with all things hid within:
And forth he wanders, with the outward fashion,
Feeding, and fatting vp his reprobation.
Disorderly he sets foorth euerie deed,
Good neuer doing, but where is no need.
If any ill he does, (and hunts through blood,
For shame, ruth, right, religion) be withstood,
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That neuer did, in least degree offend,
He prosecutes, with hir'd intelligence
To fate, defying God and conscience,
And to the vtmost mite, he rauisheth
All they can yeeld him, rackt past life and death.
In all his acts, he this doth verifie,
The greater man, the lesse humanitie.
While
Phebus runs his course through all the signes,
He neuer studies; but he vndermines,
Blowes vp, and ruines, with pretext to saue:
Plots treason, and lies hid in th' actors graue.
Vast crannies gaspe in him, as wide as hell,
And angles, gibbet-like, about him swell:
Yet seemes he smooth and polisht, but no more
Solide within, then is a Medlars core.
The kings frown fels him, like a gun-strooke fowle:
When downe he lies, and casts the calfe his soule.
He neuer sleepes but being tir'd with lust:
Examines what past, not enough vniust;
Not bringing wealth enough, not state, not grace:
Not shewing miserie bedrid in his face:
Not skorning vertue, not deprauing her,
Whose ruth so flies him, that her Bane's his cheare.
In short, exploring all that passe his guards,
Each good he plagues, and euerie ill rewards.
He neuer studies; but he vndermines,
Blowes vp, and ruines, with pretext to saue:
Plots treason, and lies hid in th' actors graue.
Vast crannies gaspe in him, as wide as hell,
And angles, gibbet-like, about him swell:
Yet seemes he smooth and polisht, but no more
Solide within, then is a Medlars core.
The kings frown fels him, like a gun-strooke fowle:
When downe he lies, and casts the calfe his soule.
He neuer sleepes but being tir'd with lust:
Examines what past, not enough vniust;
Not bringing wealth enough, not state, not grace:
Not shewing miserie bedrid in his face:
Not skorning vertue, not deprauing her,
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In short, exploring all that passe his guards,
Each good he plagues, and euerie ill rewards.
As Wolues and Tigers horribly gnarre, in their feeding: so these zealous, and giuen-ouer great ones to their own lusts and ambitions: in aspiriring to them, and their ends, fare, to all that come nere them in competencie: or that resist their deuouring.
This alludeth to hounds vpon the traile of a squat Hare, and making a chearefull crie about her, is applyed to the forced cheare or flatterie this great man sheweth, when he hunts for his profite.
| Petrarchs seven penitentiall psalms | |