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 |  |
But now our Leaders want; those Vessels lye
Rotting, like houses through ill husbandry;
And on their Masts where oft the Ship-boy stood,
Or siluer Trumpets charm'd the brackish Flood,
Some wearied Crow it set; and daily seene
Their sides instead of pitch calk'd o're with greene:
Ill hap (alas) haue you that once were knowne
By reaping what was by Iberia sowne.
By bringing yealow sheaues from out their plaine,
Making our Barnes the store-house for their graine:
When now as if we wanted land to till,
Wherewith we might our vselesse Souldiers fill:
Vpon their Hatches where halfe-pikes were borne,
In euery chinke rise stems of bearded corne:
Mocking our idle times that so haue wrought vs,
Or putting vs in minde what once they brought vs.
Beare with me Shepherds if I doe digresse,
And speake of what our selues doe not professe:
Can I behold a man that in the field,
Or at a breach hath taken on his Shield
More Darts then euer Roman; that hath spent
Many a cold December in no Tent
But such as Earth and Heauen make; that hath beene
Except in Iron Plates not long time seene;
Vpon whose body may be plainly told
More wounds then his lanke purse doth almes-deeds hold.
O! can I see this man (aduentring all)
Be onely grac'd with some poore Hospitall,
Or may be worse, intreating at his doore
For some reliefe whom he secur'd before,
And yet not shew my griefe? First may I learne
To see, and yet forget how to discerne;
My hands neglectfull be at any need,
Or to defend my body, or to feed,
Ere I respect those times that rather giue him
Hundreds to punish, then one to relieue him.
As in an Euening when the gentle ayre
Breathes to the sullen night a soft repaire,
I oft haue set on Thames sweet banke to heare
My Friend with his sweet touch to charme mine eare,
When he hath plaid (as well he can) some straine
That likes me, streight I aske the same againe,
And he as gladly granting, strikes it o're
With some sweet relish was forgot before:
I would haue beene content if he would play
In that one straine to passe the night away;
But fearing much to doe his patience wrong,
Vnwillingly haue ask'd some other song.
So in this diffring Key, though I could well
A many houres but as few minutes tell,
Yet lest mine owne delight might iniure you
(Though loath so soone) I take my Song anew.
Rotting, like houses through ill husbandry;
And on their Masts where oft the Ship-boy stood,
Or siluer Trumpets charm'd the brackish Flood,
66
Their sides instead of pitch calk'd o're with greene:
Ill hap (alas) haue you that once were knowne
By reaping what was by Iberia sowne.
By bringing yealow sheaues from out their plaine,
Making our Barnes the store-house for their graine:
When now as if we wanted land to till,
Wherewith we might our vselesse Souldiers fill:
Vpon their Hatches where halfe-pikes were borne,
In euery chinke rise stems of bearded corne:
Mocking our idle times that so haue wrought vs,
Or putting vs in minde what once they brought vs.
Beare with me Shepherds if I doe digresse,
And speake of what our selues doe not professe:
Can I behold a man that in the field,
Or at a breach hath taken on his Shield
More Darts then euer Roman; that hath spent
Many a cold December in no Tent
But such as Earth and Heauen make; that hath beene
Except in Iron Plates not long time seene;
Vpon whose body may be plainly told
More wounds then his lanke purse doth almes-deeds hold.
O! can I see this man (aduentring all)
Be onely grac'd with some poore Hospitall,
Or may be worse, intreating at his doore
For some reliefe whom he secur'd before,
And yet not shew my griefe? First may I learne
To see, and yet forget how to discerne;
My hands neglectfull be at any need,
Or to defend my body, or to feed,
Ere I respect those times that rather giue him
Hundreds to punish, then one to relieue him.
As in an Euening when the gentle ayre
Breathes to the sullen night a soft repaire,
I oft haue set on Thames sweet banke to heare
My Friend with his sweet touch to charme mine eare,
67
That likes me, streight I aske the same againe,
And he as gladly granting, strikes it o're
With some sweet relish was forgot before:
I would haue beene content if he would play
In that one straine to passe the night away;
But fearing much to doe his patience wrong,
Vnwillingly haue ask'd some other song.
So in this diffring Key, though I could well
A many houres but as few minutes tell,
Yet lest mine owne delight might iniure you
(Though loath so soone) I take my Song anew.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |