The Whole Works of William Browne of Tavistock ... Now first collected and edited, with a memoir of the poet, and notes, by W. Carew Hazlitt, of the Inner Temple |
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
The first night that he left her in his den,
He got to shore, and neere th' abodes of men
That liue as we by tending of their flockes,
To enterchange for Ceres golden lockes,
Or with the Neat-herd for his milke and creame,
Things we respect more then the Diademe:
His choise made-dishes. O! the golden age
Met all contentment in no surplusage
Of dainty viands, but (as we doe still)
Dranke the pure water of the crystall rill,
Fed on no other meats then those they fed,
Labour the salad that their stomacks bred.
Nor sought they for the downe of siluer Swans,
Nor those Sow-thistle lockes each small gale fans,
But hydes of Beasts, which when they liu'd they kept,
Seru'd them for bed and cou'ring when they slept.
If any softer lay, 'twas (by the losse
Of some rocks warmth) on thicke and spungy mosse,
Or on the ground: some simple wall of clay
Parting their beds from where their cattle lay.
And on such pallats one man clipped then
More golden slumbers then this age agen.
That time Physitians thriu'd not: or, if any,
I dare say all: yet then were thrice as many
As now profess't, and more; for euery man
Was his owne Patient and Physitian.
None had a body then so weake and thin,
Bankrout of natures store, to feed the sinne
Of an insatiate female, in whose wombe
Could nature all hers past, and all to come
Infuse, with vertue of all drugs beside,
She might be tyr'd, but neuer satisfied.
To please which Orke her husbands weakned peece
Must haue his Cullis mixt with Amber-greece:
Phesant and Partridge into ielly turn'd,
Grated with gold, seuen times refin'd and burn'd
With dust of Orient Pearle, richer the East
Yet ne're beheld: (O Epicurian feast!)
This is his breakfast; and his meale at night
Possets no lesse prouoking appetite,
Whose deare ingredients valu'd are at more
Then all his Ancestors were worth before.
When such as we by poore and simple fare
More able liu'd, and di'd not without heire,
Sprung from our owne loines, and a spotlesse bed
Of any other powre vnseconded:
When th' others issue (like a man falne sicke,
Or through the Feuer, Gout, or Lunaticke,
Changing his Doctors oft, each as his notion
Prescribes a seu'rall dyet, seu'rall potion,
Meeting his friend (who meet we now adayes
That hath not some receit for each disease?)
He tels him of a plaister, which he takes;
And finding after that, his torment slakes,
(Whether because the humour is out-wrought,
Or by the skill which his Physitian brought,
It makes no matter:) for he surely thinkes
None of their purges nor their diet drinkes
Haue made him sound; but his beleefe is fast
That med'cine was his health which he tooke last.
So (by a mother) being taught to call
One for his Father, though a Sonne to all,
His mothers often scapes (though truly knowne)
Cannot diuert him; but will euer owne
For his begetter him, whose name and rents
He must inherit. Such are the descents
Of these men; to make vp whose limber heyre
As many as in him must haue a share;
When he that keepes the last yet least adoe,
Fathers the peoples childe, and gladly too.
He got to shore, and neere th' abodes of men
That liue as we by tending of their flockes,
To enterchange for Ceres golden lockes,
Or with the Neat-herd for his milke and creame,
Things we respect more then the Diademe:
His choise made-dishes. O! the golden age
Met all contentment in no surplusage
Of dainty viands, but (as we doe still)
Dranke the pure water of the crystall rill,
Fed on no other meats then those they fed,
Labour the salad that their stomacks bred.
Nor sought they for the downe of siluer Swans,
Nor those Sow-thistle lockes each small gale fans,
But hydes of Beasts, which when they liu'd they kept,
Seru'd them for bed and cou'ring when they slept.
33
Of some rocks warmth) on thicke and spungy mosse,
Or on the ground: some simple wall of clay
Parting their beds from where their cattle lay.
And on such pallats one man clipped then
More golden slumbers then this age agen.
That time Physitians thriu'd not: or, if any,
I dare say all: yet then were thrice as many
As now profess't, and more; for euery man
Was his owne Patient and Physitian.
None had a body then so weake and thin,
Bankrout of natures store, to feed the sinne
Of an insatiate female, in whose wombe
Could nature all hers past, and all to come
Infuse, with vertue of all drugs beside,
She might be tyr'd, but neuer satisfied.
To please which Orke her husbands weakned peece
Must haue his Cullis mixt with Amber-greece:
Phesant and Partridge into ielly turn'd,
Grated with gold, seuen times refin'd and burn'd
With dust of Orient Pearle, richer the East
Yet ne're beheld: (O Epicurian feast!)
This is his breakfast; and his meale at night
Possets no lesse prouoking appetite,
Whose deare ingredients valu'd are at more
Then all his Ancestors were worth before.
When such as we by poore and simple fare
More able liu'd, and di'd not without heire,
Sprung from our owne loines, and a spotlesse bed
Of any other powre vnseconded:
When th' others issue (like a man falne sicke,
Or through the Feuer, Gout, or Lunaticke,
Changing his Doctors oft, each as his notion
Prescribes a seu'rall dyet, seu'rall potion,
Meeting his friend (who meet we now adayes
That hath not some receit for each disease?)
34
And finding after that, his torment slakes,
(Whether because the humour is out-wrought,
Or by the skill which his Physitian brought,
It makes no matter:) for he surely thinkes
None of their purges nor their diet drinkes
Haue made him sound; but his beleefe is fast
That med'cine was his health which he tooke last.
So (by a mother) being taught to call
One for his Father, though a Sonne to all,
His mothers often scapes (though truly knowne)
Cannot diuert him; but will euer owne
For his begetter him, whose name and rents
He must inherit. Such are the descents
Of these men; to make vp whose limber heyre
As many as in him must haue a share;
When he that keepes the last yet least adoe,
Fathers the peoples childe, and gladly too.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |