Natures Embassie :: :: University of Virginia Library

Natures Embassie

Or, The Wilde-mans Measvres: Danced naked by twelve Satyres, with sundry others continued in the next Section [by Richard Brathwait]

Brathwait, Richard (1588?-1673)

[section]

[Section I.]

THE SECOND SECTION OF DIVINE AND MORALL SATYRES:

THE SHEPHEARDS TALES.

[subsection]

[dedication]

OMPHALE,

A Poem describing the leuitie of a woman: reseruing all generous respect to the vertuously affected of that Sexe.

HIS ODES:

[Danc'd are my Measures, now I must repose]

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THE SECOND SECTION OF DIVINE AND MORALL SATYRES:

With AN ADIVNCT VPON THE PRECEDENT; WHEREBY THE Argument with the first cause of publishing these Satyres, be euidently related.

Disce & doce.

TO THE WORTHIE CHERISHER AND NOVRISHER OF ALL GENEROUS studies, S. W. C. Knight R. B. His affectionate Country-man wisheth the increase of all honour, health, and happinesse.

Sir,

When I had compos'd these raged lines,
Much like the Beare who brings her young ones forth,
In no one part well featurd, she repines,
That such a lumpe of flesh should haue a birth:
Which to reforme, she's said to undertake
A second taske, and licks them into shape.

So I producing these unriper seedes,
Scarce growne to their perfection, knew not how,
(Since different humour, different censure breeds)
How they should come to ripenesse, but by you:

Whose faire accept once may such count'nance show,
As you may others moue to grace them too.

Nor do I doubt but these shall purchase grace,
'Mongst such as honour vertue, for how low
So 'ere the style be, Subiect is not base,
But full of Diuine matter; and I know,
The Sunne giues life, as well to simple weeds,
As unto flowers or other fruitfull seeds.

Vpon the Dedicatorie.

Though he (and happie he) bereft by fate,
To whom I meant this worke to dedicate,
This shall find shelter in his liuing name,
He's chang'd indeed, but I am still the same.

THE FIRST SATYRE. [OF SLOTH.]

Elpenor groueling in his duskie caue,
Secure of God or Gods high prouidence,
Nought but luxurious dishes seemes to craue,
To satisfie the appetite of sence.
He spurnes at heauen, contemnes all supreme power,
Priding in that will perish in an houre.

God is of no respect with Epicures,
Sencelesse of of heauen or minds tranquilitie,
Sencelesse of Hell, which euermore endures,
Glad to receiue earths ioyes satietie:
Where rape with Obiects of deceiuing Pleasure,
They liue to sin, but to repent at leasure.

Is not that Statue (say Elpenor) thine,
With eyes-inflam'd and palsie-shaking hand,
Vpon whose fore-head's writ, Abuse of time?
I know it is, for I do see it stand
Neare Baccus shrine, where either drinkes to other,
Healths to Eryca, their lasciuious Mother.

Where Syren voyces so apply the eare,
With an affected melodie, that earth

Might a phantasticke Paradise appeare,
Through consort of an vniuersall mirth,
Which these inchanting harmonists did vse,
To th' wofull friends of wandring Ithacus.

But who is He that seemes to challenge thee,
Yet staggers in his challenge? O I know him,
It's Hans the Dutch-man, new arriu'd from Sea,
Stand fast Elpenor, if thou'lt ouerthrow him,
But why enioyne I that thou canst not do,
Halfe of a stand were well betwixt you two.

And much I doubt, lest Cripple-like you grow,
So long it is, as it is out of mind,
Since you were seene by any man to go,
Which makes me heare your legs are hard to find:
For vse brings on Perfection, and I feare
Your dropsie-legs are out of vse to beare.

See thou vnweldy wretch, that fatall shelfe,
To which thou art declining, being growne
A heauie vselesse burthen to thy selfe,
In whom no glimpse of vertue may be showne:
A Barmie leaking vessell (which in troth)
For want of reason is fill'd vp with froth.

Aged Turpilio grones at mispent time,
Wishing he had his youth to passe againe:
For then He would not vse't as thou doest thine,
But mone the houres which He hath spent in vaine.
But Time runs on, and will not make returne,
When Death succeeds, whom no man can adiourne.

And seest thou this, and wilt thou not prouide
For Deaths arrest, whose sad approch will be
So full of horror, as thou scarce shalt bide,
So grim he is, that He should looke on thee?
And yet He will, for he no diffrence makes,
Twixt rich and poore, but whom He likes he takes.

Thy Prince thou seest, whose vertues are so pure
He cannot breath on vice, hath thee exil'd,
Forth of his royall confines, to secure
His Realme the more, lest it should be defil'd
By thy deprau'd example, which once stain'd,
(So ranke is vice) would hardly be reclaim'd.

Trunke of Confusion, which deriues thy being
From no supernall essence for with it,
Thy works, words, motions haue but small agreeing,
But from securitie, where thou doest sit;
Feeding thy vast-insatiate appetite,
With euery day new dishes of delight.

O rouse thy selfe from that obscurest vale,
And sing a thankefull Hymne vnto thy Maker,
Creepe not vpon thy bellie like the Snaile,
But like the Larke mount vp to thy Creator;
Adorning thee with reason, sense and forme,
All lost in thee, through want of Grace forlorne.

Honour doth ill become the slothfull man,
Who Zanie-like becomes a slaue to pleasure,
For He, when vrgent causes moue Him, than
Neglects Occasion, and reserues that leasure,

Which might haue bene employd in cares of state,
For his delights, bought at too high a rate.

This thy experience tells thee, whose estate
Once high, now low, made subiect to disgrace,
Shewes thou art chang'd from what thou was of late,
Yet to my iudgement in a better case:
So thou consider th' state from whence thou came,
And leaue that vice which did procure the same.

But doubt I must, (ô that my doubts were vaine)
Such great expence is made of precious time,
As 'twill be much to do to wash the staine
Of that enormious loathsome life of thine.
Yet Teares haue power, and they are soueraigne too,
And may do more then any else can do.

Then comfort-take, yet comfort mixe with teares,
Thou

Cadmos a hill by Laodicea out of which issueth the Riuer Lycus, it taketh this name from Cadmus sonne to Agenor king of Phænicia.

Cadmos leaues, and it's thy natiue soile;
Suppose it be, each coast or clime appeares
The good-mans wished Country, which blest style,
Exceeds all worldly comfort, which thou had,
For this is passing good, that passing bad.

I do not speake, as those whose guilded breath,
Traines on the vicious with deceiptfull hope;
For I haue set before thee life and death,
And this I aim'd to make my chiefest scope:
That if reward of life could no way gaine thee,
The feare of death & vengeance might reclaime thee.

Life as a Crowne or Diadem is due,

To such whose wayes are not in Error led,
Death as a guerdon doth to such accrue,
Whose carnall hearts with pleasures captiued,
Thinke not on Death, till Death his flag display,
And now secure shall take their life away.

Turne then vnto the coast of Arcadie,
From whence thou wast exil'd, and there suruey
The vertues of that Prince did banish thee,
And weigh the cause why there thou might not stay:
Which done, seeke to regaine thy Princes loue,
But chiefly His, that is thy Prince aboue.

THE SECOND SATYRE. [OF CORRUPTION.]

Pompey the Great no sooner was interr'd,
But poore Cornelia his distressed wife,
To her deceassed Lords estate preferr'd,
Was drawne by Consul Asper into strife:
And so opprest by hote pursuite of foes,
That she deuoid of friends was fraught with woes.

She, wofull she, lest she should lose her state,
Makes meanes to

A prodigall Courtier, but in great fauour with Cæsar,

Cælius to preferre her suite,
Which he's content to do, but at such rate,
As 'twill cost deare to bring the cause about:
Yet she remedilesse, to worke her peace,
Stood not much on't, but did the Courtier please.

Cælius possest of his iniurious fee,
Which he consum'd in riotous expence,
Forgot the widdows cause dishonestlie,
Without remorse or touch of conscience:

For vnder hand (as Courtiers vse to do)
He takes a priuate bribe of Asper too.

Cornelia now in hope of good successe,
Comes vnto Cælius as her purchas'd friend,
And humbly craues to know what's her redresse,
Or in what sort her suite is like to end:
Where He as strangely answers her demand,
And say's, her suite came neuer to his hand.

No suite! (thus did this Matron streight reply)
O Rome where is thy

Iustice may be aptly compared to the Celedonie stone, which retaineth her vertue no longer then it is rubbed with gold.

Iustice now enthron'd,
Thou that didst vse to heare a widdow crie,
And right her cause as thou her wrongs bemon'd!
But spare Cornelia, what reliefe can come
Frō corrupt Courts, where gold makes Consuls dumbe?

If my much-honor'd Lord, whose Country loue
Reft him of breath, should see this present time,
How gifts can limit Iustice, would't not moue
His Royall spirit, seeing me and mine,
Whose onely comfort's this, we may repose,
And ioy in this, we haue no more to lose?

Whilest wrong'd Cornelia sat thus pensiuely,

One of especiall esteeme with Pompey before his ouerthrow.

Tuberculus a Courtier past that way,
Who in compassion of her miserie,
Knowne to her selfe not to her grieues, did stay;
For generous minds are neuer more exprest,
Then in applying comfort to th' distrest.

Ladie (quoth he) if I could ease your griefe,

The loue I owe vnto your familie,
Me thinks might promise to your selfe reliefe,
Impart them then, what ere your sorrowes be:
Cures haue bene wrought where little was expected,
For where the mind is willing, ought's effected.

She hearing him so vertuously inclin'd,
Prone vnto pittie, sighing did declare,
How that her sonne young Pompey was confin'd,
Which was the greatest subiect of her care:
Whom if He would make meanes for to release,
The current of her sorrowes soone would ceasse.

Another suite I haue, which Asper moues,
To force me from my right of widdowhood,
Wherein his worser cause the better proues,
For mightie men can hardly be withstood:
In these I must intreate your Lordships care,
In lieu whereof I'le gratifie with prayer.

Tuberculus did answer her demands,
But he expected

Like Verconius in the time of Alexander Seuerus, who pretending familiaritie with the Emperour, tooke mens mony for preferring their suites, abused them, & did them no good at all: at last conuented before the Emperour, he was iudged to be hanged vp in a chimney, and so perish with smoke, for that he sold smoke to the people. Lamprid. in Seu. Verco.

ointment, and delaying,
To giue her further comfort, there He stands,
He for his fee, she for her cause stood praying.
Cornelia well perceiuing what He would,
Good gods (quoth she) is Iustice wholly sould?

How do you meane (quoth he) it is our meanes,
Could we be thus enameld euery day,
Or in such port maintaine our fauning friends,
If we receiu'd not profit by delay?
No Ladie, no, who in these dayes do liue,

And would haue Iustice, must not sticke to giue.

Thus was Cornelia crost, her meanes preuented,
No comfort now remaining saue despaire;
Wherefore (perforce) she rests hope-reft, contented
To lose the sight of her confined heire,
Who liues restrain'd: Asper her state hath got,
And poore Cornelia with her cause forgot.

THE THIRD SATYRE. [OF ATHEISME.]

Ingenious Lucian, ripe in poesie,
Apt to compose, and pregnant to inuent,
Well read in secrets of Phylosophie,
And in all Morall knowledge excellent;
For all these rarer parts vnto him giuen,
Ceass'd not to barke against the power of heauen.

This snarling Curre, for he detracted God,
As profest enemie to pietie,
Chanced to trauell, where Gods irefull rod
Made him a witnesse to posteritie;
For this same

Thus as he bark'd against the God of heauen, To barking currs he for a prey was giuen.

wretch who bark'd against heauens power,
Did barking currs (such was heauens doome) deuoure.

Soile to his soule, and so to Christs profession,
For He no Christ profest, but thought't a scorne
That God made man, from God should haue cōmission,
Without mans helpe to be of Uirgin borne:
Yet see his fall, who did himselfe deceiue,
Unpitied dies, and dying ha's no graue.

What's Sions peace (sayes He) there's no such place;

The Atheists opinion.

Earth hath her Sion, if we ayme our care
At any other Mansion, it's a chase

So fruitlesse, as if we should beate the ayre,
Or plant our hope in things which cannot be,
And such's our trust in fained Deitie.

Thou vglie visard, that with faire pretence
Of Morall discipline shadowes thy sin,
Reclaime thy selfe by timely penitence,
And loath that horrid Caue thou wallowest in:
Thy sin's deepe-dide, yet not of that deepe staine,
But Teares & Prayers may make them white againe.

Hast thou no Anchor to relie vpon?
No Refuge nor no Recluse for thy hope?
Behold thy Iesus he's thy corner stone,
Make him thy ayme, thy succour, shelter, scope,
And he'le receiue thee in the Throne of blesse,
The boundlesse Ocean of all happinesse.

Returne thou wicked Lucian, make thy verse
Thy Retractation, be not ouerbold,
Lest when good-men shall view thy forlorne hearse,
In thy reproch they cause this to be told
To after-ages: Here he lies interr'd,
Who erring knew, and in his knowledge err'd.

Sweete and delightfull Poems canst thou make,
Of Hymen rites, or Venus dalliance,
And pleasant seemes the labour thou doest take,
While to thy Pipe deluded Louers dance:
But in such sacred measures thou art slow,
As teach men how to liue, and what to know.

Mirrha the wanton mother of a wanton,
Gamesome the Mother and the Daughter too,
Giues a fit subiect for thy Muse to chant on,
Relating what a Louer ought to do;
In which lasciuious straine, fond Loue is brought
To hate what's good, but to affect what's naught.

Thou canst report how Romanes ioyned were,
First with the Sabines, and what strange delights
Tooke their inuention from those feasts were there,
Duly solemniz'd on their nuptiall nights;
Of Sphinx, Charybdis, Scilla, Ctesiphon,
With Prœtus letters against

Who slue the two monsters Chymera and Solymos in Lycia.

Bellerophon.

These thou canst feature as Apelles, He
The Prince of painters could not better show
Their formes, then thou their natures, which may be
Portrayers of thy wit and learning too:
But what are these but shadowes, if thou moue
Thy eye to those blest obiects are aboue?

Lend but thy eare to aerie warbling Birds,
Which day by day sing pleasant madrigals;
And thou shalt heare what praise the Larke affoords,

Larke.

Whilest with sweete Hymnes she on her maker cals,
Where each repayes their due in their degree,
And much abashd do rest asham'd of thee.

The flower which hath no sense, nor hath no feeling,
Nor apprehends the difference of things,
Performes her office in delight of smelling,
Likewise the tree most fruitfull blossoms brings:

The Serpent, Adder, and each crauling worme,
Haue mutuall duties giuen them with their forme.

The Basiliske the

The Pisraire and Locust (of all other creatures) haue no king nor leader. vid. AElian, & Plin. in natur. Hist.

king of Serpents is,
The Lion of all beasts, the Cedar tree
Is chiefe of Trees, Leuiathan of fish,
And man ore these hath sole supremacie:
Thus euery Creature in her seuerall kind,
Hath seuerall Lords and limits her assign'd.

Thou Lucian art endu'd with what at these want,
And canst distinguish betwixt good and ill,
Yet thou denies what other Creatures grant,
And which is worse, thou so continuest still:
Thou laughs at Adams fall, and thinks't a shame,
Man should auouch an Apple caus'd the same.

Wo worth that fruite that had so bitter taste,
Bringing Perdition to the soule of man,
That free-borne Creature, which so farre surpast
Mans fraile condition when it first began;
That was an Apple that too dearely cost,
Which made so many soules for euer lost.

If I should Catechise thee Lucian,
And tell the vertue of each seuerall thing;
How reason first was distribute to man,
And how the earth globe-like in aire doth hing,
The secret grouth of Plants which daily grow,
Yet how or when no humane sense can know.

The

That starrie Gallerie embost with gold, fretted with orbs of Christall, Siluer'd ouer, with pearle pau'd, roofed with an Agget couer.

Fabrick of the heauen, whose eminence
Shewes admiration to vs that behold
Her glorious Bodies sacred influence,
Whose distinct Motion, who is't can vnfold?
None but the Author and the founder can,
For it exceedes the reach of any man.

If I should question thee, whence these deriue
Their proper Motion, it would thee behooue
To yeeld, that some to these do Motion giue,
Since what se're moues doth by another moue:
Which thou confirmes and adds, nought vnder Sunne
Is done in these, but is by Nature done.

So thou

Holding with Albumazar that his leading the children of Israel ouer the Red sea, was no more but obseruing the influence of Starres, and waining season of the Moone that withdraweth the tides; and that miraculous issuing of water out of the rocke, by the stroke of a rod was no more, but noting those spring-heads, whereto the wild asses resorted to quench their thirst.

referrs that wonderfull Creation,
After the Deluge to a mortall wight,
Discoursing vainly how Deucalion,
Refurnish'd earth which was vnpeopled quite;
But thou deceiued art, it's nothing so,
For it was God that gaue increase to Noe.

We are his clay, we must confesse his power,
He is our Potter, whose deuine command
Can dash vs earthen vessels in one

Whom th' morning sees so proudly go, ere euening come may lie full low. Senec.

houre,
Subiect vnto the iudgement of his hand;
For he no sooner shall withdraw his breath,
Then Man leaues to be Man, and welcomes death.

Heauens power to which no Mortall can extend,
(Not to be argued or disputed on,)
Because it's not in Man to comprehend,
The radiant Splendor of the glorious Sunne:

Much lesse profounder secrets, which were fram'd,
For admiration, not to be prophan'd.

We haue heard of diuerse, exemplarily punished euen in that wherein they cōtemptuously profaned; as Iulian, Herodias, Balthasar, and Thymelicus the enterlude-plaier; who dancing vpon the scaffold in a Cope (a robe of the Church) fell downe dead. Thymelico saltatori, &c. Vid. Val. Maxi. lib. 1. cap. 2.

Prophan'd, if nam'd without due reuerence,
To that Supreme all-working Maiestie,
Whose Palme containes this Earths circumference,
Whose praise takes accent from heauens Hierarchie.
Let not, O let not him who gaue man tongue,
To yeeld him praise, for silence make it dumbe.

Thou canst compose a song of Shepheards liues,
Spent in a pleasant veine of Recreation,
How they sit chatting with their wanton wiues,
Tricking and toying in a Shepheards fashion:
This thou canst do, and it's done pretily,
For it shews wit, yet spent vnfittingly.

O if thou would confine thy selfe in reason,
And leaue fond Poems of a doting Louer,
Obseruing Natures tone, tune, time, and season,
How well would these seeme to that powerfull mouer;
Whose eyes are pure, and of that piercing sight,
As they loue light, but hate such works are light.

But O too vaine's the current of thy vaine,
Soild with the Motiues of vntamed lust,
Which layes vpon thy Name that endlesse shame,
As shall suruiue, when thou return'd to dust,
Shalt much lament those Poems thou hast writ,
Through th' light conceit of thy licentious wit.

Nor is it gaine mou's thee to prostitute,

That precious talent which thou doest possesse;
No, it's delight thou hast to gaine repute,
'Mongst men made beasts through their voluptuousnes
O hate that affectation, lest this shelfe,
Of vaine applause do ruinate thy selfe!

For such esteeme, what honour wil't afford,
What comfort in the graue, where thou lies dead;
When thy lasciuious

By those studies, which I affected, am I condemned, by those I praised, am I disparraged. Aug.

works shall beare record,
Of what was by thee writ or published?
Nay 'twill preiudice thee, it cannot chuse,
Uaine's that opinion ill-men haue of vs.

Thus thou sustaines the height of miserie,
To see a

Two brothers, sonnes to Argie a Prophetesse in the temple of Iuno.

Cleobes and Biton grac'd,
With honour, fame, desertfull dignitie,
Thy glory prun'd, thy laurell-wreath defac'd:
The triumphs of thy wit so quite forgot,
As if (so fickle's fame) thou flourish'd not.

Nor can we say those flourish, whose renowne
Consists in praise of vice, for though they seeme
Vnto the worlds eye so fully knowne,
Yet they shall be as if they had not bene;
When vice, which to aduance was their desire,
Shall melt away as waxe before the fire.

Rest not, but labour Lucian to preferre
The sage contents of sacred Mysteries,
Before such Rithms as teach men how to erre,
Whose best instructions are but vanities;
Which if thou do, wits Treasure shall increase,

And crowne thee Laureat in the Land of peace.

Yet reade not so, as not to vnderstand
The graue remainders of Times ancient Booke;
For what a follie is't to haue in hand
Bookes nere red ouer! This, that Sage forsooke,
When in his course of reading He did vse,
The choycest flowers in euery worke to chuse.

Thus Lucian haue I warn'd thee to forbeare,
That snarling humour, of detracting such
Whose vertues shine as Starres in highest Sphære,
Whose worthie Liues can well abide the tutch;
Defame not vertue, rather emulate,
Good-mens example, that's a vertuous hate.

THE FOVRTH SATYRE. [OF SINGVLARITIE.]

Stesichorus

A lyrick Poet, famous for his sweete and pleasing veine.

like Zeuxes cannot paint,
Nor like Lysippus can delineate;
For then He would giue that accomplishment
To Hellens beautie, as might propagate
Her fame to following times, when Ages passe,
Which by Record might shew what Hellen was.

Blind Byard now, see how thy iudgement err'd,
By gazing long on beautie thou art blind,
Recanting all too late what thou auerr'd,
So diffrent is th' opinion of that mind,
Where onely selfe-conceit drawes men to shew
Their priuate iudgement, giuen they care not how.

Was she not faire that made all Troy to burne,
That made Prince Paris wander to and fro,
That made Queene Hecuba so sore to mourne,
Both for her selfe and for her Issue too?
Yes she was faire, how ere thy eye esteeme her,
Nor can conceit of one make beauty meaner.

What made stout Menelaus passe the Sea?
What Telamon to rig his well-mann'd ship,
What Aiax, what Achylles? It was she,
Whose sweete ambrosiacke breath and cherri-lip,
Relish'd of Nectar, and infus'd a spirit,
In Cowards breasts, to gaine true fame by merit.

Old subtill Sinon can prepare assault,

Against the strongest battlements of Troy,
Whilest armed Grecians in that ribbed vault,
Prest for encounter, purpos'd to destroy,
Issue from Pallas horse, so aptly

Jt was made by Phereclus, who was after slaine by Merion in the siege of Troy.

made,
As Troy had cause to curse the cunning Iade.

Art thou perswaded yet to praise her beautie,
Sith Nature hath surpast Her selfe in skill,
As one ingag'd in some respect of dutie,
Unto her sex, to make them honor'd still?
O be perswaded, to her shrine repaire,
For howsoere thou saies, thou thinks Her faire!

Faire in proportion, motiue in her pace,
An eye as chearefull as the morning-Sunne,
Her haire, her smile, her well-beseeming grace,
By which so many Troians were vndone
In briefe, examine Her from top to toe,
And then admire each part accomplish'd so.

Such admiration as like Linceus eyes,
Transparent Brightnesse seemes to penetrate:
For if Apollo seeing Daphnes thighes,
Wau'd by the Easterne winde, forgot his state,
Himselfe and all, Proportion well may moue,
Since gods themselues were tost by gusts of loue.

Did not faire Phyllis; dote vpon a Swaine,
She passing faire, and he a witherd lad,
Whence we may reason, none can loue restraine,
Nor set it limits which it neuer had:
For when we haue done all that we can do,

It will haue th' course and readie passage too.

Yet Loue's so pure it can endure no staine,
Stain'd Loue is lust, which is not in her brest:
Spotlesse content she seekes, which if she gaine,
She freely liues, and fairely takes her rest:
But barr'd of this, without repose she lies,
And dying liues, and liuing loathed dies.

It is not Venus mole nor Hellens scarre,
Adds fuell to affection, for though these
Gaue beautie summons to commence Loues warre,
Yet outward graces do but onely please,
As Obiects do the eye; where Loues best part
Consists not in the eye, but in the Heart.

But now to thee, who did dispraise that faire,
Whose beautie ruin'd Cities, now disclaime
Thy purblind iudgement, and withall compare
Hellen with Hero, or some choicer Dame:
And then it may be Cupid will restore
Thine eyes to thee, which He put out before.

THE FIFT SATYRE. [OF DOTAGE.]

Pigmalion rare, in rare Proportions making,
Yet not in quickning that which He had framed,
So exquisite in artfull curious shaping,
In nought (if Zeuxes iudgd) could He be blamed:
Yet skillfull though He were in formes contriuing,
Yet not so skilfull in those formes reuiuing.

100

Reuiu'd! I wrote amisse, they neuer liued:
Improper then to say, they were reuiued.

He builds him

Like those Pulminaria erected by the heathen for their Pagan images.

Temples for his Image-gods,
And much besotted with their faire aspect,
In admiration of his worke, He nods,
And shakes his Head, and tenders them respect;
I cannot tell (quoth He) what passion moues me,
But sure I am (quoth He) faire Saint I loue thee,
Thou art my handie-worke, I wish my wife,
If to thy faire Proportion thou hadst life.

Canst thou Pigmalion dote so on shrines,
On liuelesse Pictures, that was neuer rapt
With any beautie Cyprus Ile confines?
These (foolish man) be for thy Loue vnapt;
They cannot answer Loue for Loue againe,
Then fond Pigmalion do thy Loue restraine;
Such senslesse creatures as haue onely being,
Haue with embraces but an harsh agreeing.

They haue no moysture in their key cold lips,
No pleasure in their smile, their colour stands;
Whilest youthfull Ladies on the pauement trips,
They stand as Pictures should, with saplesse hands;
And well thou knowes, if Passiue be not mouing,
The Actiue part can yeeld small fruits of louing:
Why art thou so besotted still with woing,
Since there's no comfort when it comes to doing?

Can any idle Idoll without breath,
Giue thee a gracefull answer to thy suite?

101

Nay rather like dead corps surpriz'd by death,
It answers silence when thou speakes vnto't.
Desist then (fond Pigmalion) and restraine
To loue that Creature cannot loue againe;
What will it pleasure thee a shrine to wed,
That can afford no pleasure in thy bed?

Thou art not so bewitcht with any beautie,
How faire soere within thy Natiue Ile,
No Nimph can moue thy Loue, or force thy dutie,
As doth this Picture, whose art-forcing smile
Can giue thee small content, and wherefore then
Should painted Statues so entangle men?
It's loue thou sayest, Pigmalion, that doth moue thee,
But thou loues such as cannot say they loue thee.

Turne thee vnto leud Pasyphaes lust,
Wife to a braue and valiant

Minos king of Crete.

Champion,
Who on a Bull (see how affection must
Passe Reasons limit) fondly dotes vpon;

Non frustra dictus Bos ouis Imber Olor, Whence our English Poet as properly annexed this Disticke, imitating the former in matter and manner: In vaine Ioue was not stil'd right sure I am, From th' shape he tooke of Bull, sheepe, shower, and swan. vid. Ouid. in Metamorph.

Ioue on a Heifer, Danae of a shower,
Such is the vertue of loues-working power:
No time, place, obiect, subiect, circumstance,
Can still Loues pipe, when Cupid leades the dance.

Then who will aske the reason of thy Loue,
Which shewes most strength when she can shew least reason,
And cannot Proteus-like with each blast moue,
Nor free her selfe from soule-deluding treason!
She like the Moone is not each month in waine,
For th' obiect of her loue is of that straine,
Nor land, nor sea, nor tempests though they thwart her

102

Can from her Sphere by Opposition part her.

Do but torment Her with the sight of woe,
Uexe her with anguish and with discontent,
She will not make her friend in heart, her foe;
No, if she were with depth of sorrowes spent;
Yet like

Which is elegantly expressed by our moderne Poet. Whose fall (Antheus-like) prouok'd him more, And made him stronger then he was before.

Anthæus, when she's most cast downe,
She gathers strength, and is not ouerthrowne:
She cannot breake her vow, her legall oath,
But meanes (if life permit) to keepe them both.

Then (honour'd Picture) let me thee embrace;
With that He hugd it in his lustfull armes,
And now and then He smeer'd the Pictures face,
Praying the gods to keepe it from all harmes:
And prayed (a senslesse prayer) Ioue to defend,
His Picture from diseases to the end;
So to enioy her dalliance with more pleasure,
Whose presence He esteem'd the precious't Treasure.

Each euen he vs'd to dresse it for his bed,
For in a gowne of Tissue was it clothed,
And put a night-tyre on it's iuorie head,
And when night came He made it be vnclothed;
Where, lest He should his lustfull fauours hide,
He vs'd to lay the Picture by his side,
Where He drew to it as He saw it lie,
But when it would not be, He wish'd to die.

Ungratefull Creature (would Pigmalion say)
That neuer doest afford one smile on me,
That dallies thus with thee, each night, each day;

103

Faire Saint, what needes this curiositie?
While with a kisse He oft his speech would breake,
By threats or faire intreats to make it speake:
And when He had his fruitlesse pratling done,
He would in rage call it an Idoll dumbe.

But angrie with himselfe, He streight would blame
His too rash furie, crauing pardon too,
That he should stile it with so harsh a Name,
And wish'd him powre to die, or it to do,
Swearing by heauen, if sheete did chance to moue,
It was the nimble action of his Loue.
Coy-toying Girle (quoth He) what meaneth this,
Is it your modestie, you will not kisse?

Nought though it answer'd, he would prosecute
His wooing taske, as if it stood denying,
And thus would vrge it; Deare accept my suite,
Be not so fearefull, feare thou not espying,
I haue excuses store, then listen me;
For I will vow I was enam'ling thee:
Then sport thee wench, securely frolick it,
That I on thee a Niobe may get.

Thus whilest He vainely pratled to his Shrine,
Aurora with her radiant beames appeared,
And blushing red, as if she tax'd the time,
For such licentious motions, slilie peered
In at a chinke, whereby she did discouer
An idoll courted by an idle Louer:
And scarce Aurora now had time to show her,
But fond Pigmalion made this speech vnto her:

104

What haue I done (thou iealous light) said He,
That I should thus depriued be of louing?
What couldst thou do, to adde more miserie,
Then in thy speedie rising, hastie mouing?
Thou might haue spar'd one day, and hid thy light,
Enioyning Earth to haue a double night,
Where ghastly furies in obliuion sit,
For darke misdeeds for darknesse be most fit.

But He cut off his speech with many grone,
Hastning to rise, yet went to bed againe,
And as He goes, He sees the darknesse gone,
And Phæbus coursers galloping amaine:
Which seene, at last He rose with much adoe,
And being vp, began afresh to woe;
Yet hauing so much sense as to perceiue,
How he had err'd, He ceasseth now to craue.

For He intends to worke another way,
By Inuocation on some heauenly power,
The onely meanes his passion to allay;
Which to performe, retiring to his bower,
He made these Orisons: Venus faire Queene,
Then whom in heauen or earth nere like was seene,
Be thou propitious to my prayers, my teares,
Which at thy Throne and Pedestall appeares.

I whom nor Swaine nor Nimph could ere inchant,
Am now besotted with a senslesse creature,
Whom though I do possesse, yet do I want,
Wanting life breathing in her comely feature,
Which by infusing life if thou supplie,

105

Ile liue to

By offring sacrifice to Venus in the Ile of Cyprus.

honour thee, if not, I die;
For what is life where discontent doth raigne,
But such a farme as we would faine disclaime?

Venus much mou'd with his obsequious prayers,
And liquid teares, his suite did satisfie,
Infusing breath into her senslesse veines,
Now full of iuyce, life, and agilitie;
Which being done, the Picture mou'd, not missing
To lure Pigmalion to her lips with kissing,
Reaping great ioy and comfort in their toying,
Depriu'd before of blisse, blest now enioying.

Blest in enioying and possessing that,
Which doth include true Loues felicitie,
Where two are made ioynt owners of one state,
And though distinct, made one by vnitie;
Happie then I, (Pigmalion did reply,)
That haue possession of this Deitie,
No humane creature but a Parragon,
Whose liuelesse forme once Nimphs admired on.

This said, she streight retires vnto the place,
Where she her moulding had, by whom she now
(I meane Pigmalion) obtain'd such grace,
As He her maker and her husband too,
Tooke such content in his now-breathing wife,
As they scaree differ'd once in all their life,
But this was then: Let this suffice for praise,
Few wiues be of her temper now adaies.

The faire and fruitfull daughter He begat,

106

Of this same liuely Image had to name,
Papho the faire, a wench of Princely state,
From whence Ile Paphos appellation came,
Consecrate vnto Venus, beauties Queene,
By whose aspect that Ile is euer greene;
Wherein there is a pleasant Mirtle-groue,
Where a shrine stands to shew Pigmalions loue.

THE SIXT SATYRE. [OF PARTIALITIE.]

Pytheas a Lawyer of no small respect,
Garded, regarded, dips his tongue in gold,

107

And culls his phrase, the better to effect
What He and his penurious Client would;
Upon his backe for all his anticke showes,
More clothes He weares then how to pay He knowes.

And what's the reason; he hath Law at will,
Making a good face of an euill matter,
And euery day his thirstie purse can fill;
With gold thou liest; with nought but wind and water:
Ile tell thee why, Platoes new Commonweale,
Makes Pytheas leaue off pleading, and go steale.

What Pytheas, steale? is't possible, that He
That had a Pomander still at his nose,
That was perfum'd with balls so fragrantly,
Should now another trade of liuing choose?
He must and will, nor dare He show his face
Halfe casement-wide, that open'd many a case.

The other day but walking on the streete,
I saw his veluet gerkin layd to pawne,
His graue Gregorian, for his head more meete,
Then Brokers shop, and his best pleading gowne;
Nay which was more, marke Pytheas conscience,
There lay to pawne his Clients euidence.

But it's no maruell, Pride must haue a fall,
Who was on Cockhorse borne through Fortunes streame,
Is now cashier'd from th' Areopagites Hall,
And on each bulke becomes a common theame:
O blest vacation, may thou neuer cease,
But still haue power to silence such as these!

108

Well, farewell Law, if Lawyers can be poore,
For I esteem'd them onely blest in this,
That Danaes lap with gold-distilling shower,
Had made them line all heires to earthly blisse:
But since these conscript fathers we adore,
Feele want of wealth, we'le worship them no more.

109

THE SEVENTH SATYRE. [OF INGRATITVDE.]

Vngrateful Greece, that scornes a man made poore
Respecting not the treasure of his mind,
Whose want of wealth must shut him out of doore;
The world's no friend to him that cannot find
A masse of gold within their mouldred cell,
No matter how they get it, ill or well.

This I experienc'd of, may well perceiue,
Euen

Whose fathers was Cypselus, descending from the Heraclyd familie.

Periander I, of late a Sage
Of stately Greece, whom now she'le not receiue,
Because opprest with want, surpriz'd with age;
Euen I, that of the

Ephorus was among the Lacedemonians as Tribunus among the Romans.

Ephori was one,
One of the chief'st, but now retires alone.

Yet not alone, though none resort to me,
For wisedome will haue sociats to frequent her:
And though proud Greece frō hence should banish thee,
Friends thou hast store, will knocke and knocking enter:
And firme friends too, whose vertues are so pure,
Uice may assay, but cannot them allure.

110

With what respect was I once grac'd by you,
You gorgeous outsides, Fortunes painted wall,
When rich; but poore, you bid my rags adue,
Which did at first my troubled mind appall;
But noting well the

Be not afraid (saith Petrarch) though the house (the bodie be shaken) so the soule, (the guest of the body) farewell. Petrarch. de Remed. vtriusque fortunæ.

worlds inconstant course,
I thought her scorne could make me little worse.

Remorcelesse Greece, wert thou of marble made,
Thou might shed teares to see thy Sage dismaide,
By whose direction thou hast oft bene stayd,
When both thy hope decreast, and fame decaid;
Both which restor'd by Him, got that report,
To Him and his, as thou admir'd him for't.

Yet canst thou not discerne, twixt wisedomes straine,
And those discording tones of vanitie,
For all thy ayme is benefite and gaine,
And these are they thou makes thy Deitie;
To second which, this caution thou doest giue,
Who know not to dissemble, cannot liue.

I know thy follies, and will brute them too,
For thou hast mou'd my splene, and I must speake,

Demæmadis saying was, that Dracoes lawes were written with bloud and not with inke.

Since thou applies no salue to cure my woe,
I must complaine perforce, or heart-strings breake;
Iustice is turn'd to wormewood in your land,
And corrupt dealing gets the vpper hand.

You itch (and out of measure) with desire
Of hearing nouelties, and strange deuices,
And scorch'd with heate of lusts-enraged fire,
Set marks of Loue, make sale of Venus prizes:

111

Broad-spreading vice, how deare so'ere it cost,
To purchase it, you'le vye with who bids most.

You Hydra-headed monsters full of poyson,
Infecting euery place with stinking breath,
What ere proceeds from you is very noysome,
And like the Basiliske procuring death:
I care not for your hatred, if your loue
Like Tritons ball, with such inconstance moue.

These fleering flies which flicker to and fro,
And beate the vaine ayre with their rusling wings,
Be their owne foes, and they professe them so,
When they their wings with flames of furie cinge;
For they whose hate pursues a guiltlesse one,
With

Ixions wheele, Tantalus apples, and Sysiphus stone: peculiar punishments inflicted on these persons for their lust, auarice, & crueltie, as the Poets faine.

Sysiphus do role his restlesse stone.

You cannot grieue me with your enmitie,
Nor much offend me with your hatefull breath,
For ill-mens loue and hate, are equally
Priz'd by the good, whose chiefest aime is death,
And how to die: for much it doth not skill,
What ill-men speake of vs, or good or ill.

What golden promises did I receiue,
Yet see their issue; base contempt and scorne
Ore my deiected state triumphed haue:
So as proud Greece vnmindfull to performe
What merit craues, and what she's bound to do,
Neglects my want, and glories in it too.

Bias my Brother-sage I now remember,

112

Shipwrack'd in Priene Ile, whose wofull case
Seemes to resemble fate-crost Periander,
Like Ianus statue, shewing face to face;
Let's then, since equall fortune frownes on either,
(Kind Bias) sound our wofull plaints together.

Let Priene Ile relate thy hard mischance,
Let

Or Corinth in Greece.

Greece bewaile my fall, my ruin'd state,
Thou while on Sea thy exil'd ship doth lance,
Thou lightly weighes th' inconstancie of fate:
Rouze Periander then, that't may be said,
Thy patience hath thy fortune conquered.

Get thee to Schooles, where pure Phylosophie
In publicke places is sincerely taught,
And thou shalt heare, there's no calamitie,
Can dant a spirit resolu'd to droupe with nought
That want or woe can menace, for though woe,
Make good-men wretched seeme, they are not so.

Well may misfortunes fall on our estate,
Yet they're no blemish to our inward worth,
For these are but the gifts of purblind fate,
That domineers sole soueraignesse on earth;
But we are placed in an higher seate,
Then to lie prostrate at Dame Fortunes feete.

Her palsie hand wherewith she holds her ball,
Moues with each blast of mutabilitie,
And in whose lap she lists, she lets it fall,
Thus mocks she man with her inconstancie;
Then who is he (if wise) esteemes her treasure,

113

No sooner giuen, then tane when we displease her.

She faunes, she frownes, she lasts not out a Moone,
But waines each month, and waining doth decrease:
Those whom she did aduance, she now throwes downe,
And those which lik'd Her once, do now displease:
Thou reeling wheele, that moues so oft a day,
That weaues thy weft, and takes thy web away.

Titus that Prince so much admir'd by men,
Stiled Mans Darling for his curtuous mind,
Did thinke all powers by fate to haue their raigne,
As if she had no limits Her assign'd,
But (though deuinely-learn'd) did erre in this,
For fates be rul'd by supreme Deities.

Then why should I (fond man) so much depend,
Vpon a Creature, which hath her existing
In a Superiour power, and doth extend
No further then heauens please? for her subsisting,
Essence, power, Empire, soueraigne command,
Hath her direction from Iehouahs hand.

Rest thee then Periander, and despise
Uulgar opinion swaide by multitude,
Thou was esteemed once for to be wise,
Shew it in publicke; let liues enterlude
Acted by thee vpon this worlds stage,
Contemne that Greece which scornes distressed age.

119

THE EIGHTH SATYRE. [OF FLATTERIE.]

Terpnus Musician to a tyrant Prince,
Nero by name, did in the funeralls
Which were solemniz'd on his mothers hearse,
Sing on his Lute these wofull tragicalls:
Where euery straine he strooke vpon his string,
Did vexe the conscience of the tyrant king.

Incestuous Oedipus who flue his father,
Married his mother, and did violate
The law of nature, which aduis'd him rather
Single to liue, then take to such a state,
Becomes a subiect fit, for this sad hearse,
Where inke giues place to bloud to write her verse.

Cruell Orestes bath'd his ruthlesse sword,
Estrang'd from strangers, in his mothers blood,
So little pittie did the child afford
To Her, that was the parent of the brood;
Yet some excuse for this Orestes had,
Mad men exemption haue, and He was mad.

Sphinx subtile Giant, who did riddles put
Unto each passenger He met withall,
Which, who could not resolue He peece-meale cut,
Throwing them frō steepe rocks whence they should fall,
Whereby their members broke and crush'd in peeces,
Remain'd as food in Sea to sillie fishes.

Yet this he did vpon mature aduice,

120

For who so'ere He were assoil'd this question,
Was not opprest by him in any wise,
But might with safest conduct trauell on;
Where thou foule Matricide doest infants vex,
Without respect of person, state, or sex.

There is no sex which may exempted be,
From thy insatiate hand embrew'd in blood,
But waxing proud in others miserie,
Doest tyrannize vpon poore womanhood:
Blood-thirsty Tyrant there's prepar'd a doome,
To startle thee that rip'd thy mothers wombe.

Rauing Orestes heard a furious crie,
Which did attend his phrensie to his graue,
And did disturbe his restlesse sleepe thereby,
So as saue troubled dreames He nought could haue:
With many broken sleepes. to shew his guilt,
Of his deare mothers bloud, which He had spilt.

Which poore Orestes had no sooner heard,
Then to his pillow in a dismall sort,
Streight He retir'd, and being much afeard,
Lest hell and horror should conuent him for't,
With hands lift vp to heauen and hideous crie,
He oft would curse himselfe, and wish to die.

Turne me (ye gods) quoth he, to some wild beast,

Orestes imprecation.

Some sauage Lion, or some Tyger fierce,
Since I delight so much in bloud to feast,
For who can with remorse my deeds rehearse?
Which if time should with her obliuion smother,

121

Bloud cries reuenge, reuenge me cries my mother.

Worse then the beasts thou art, they cherish them,
And bring their parents food when they grow old:
Who then can daigne to looke on thee for shame,
That hast defac'd that forme that gaue thee mold?
The tender

Basilius hom. 8. 9.

Storke that sees her parents lack,
Will bring them food, and beare them on her back.

But thou a mirrour of impietie,
Depriues thy parent of her vitall breath,
And makes her subiect to thy cruelty,
Thus she that gaue thee life, thou giues her death:
A sweete reward; O then ashamed be,
Thou staine of Greece, that Greece should harbor thee.

Thus would Orestes frame his sad discourse,
With words as vile as were his actions foule,
To moue his phrenticke passions to remorse,
Which long (too long) had triumpht ore his soule;
Nor could he find vnto his woes reliefe,
Till

He was so vexed with furies (the revengers of his mothers bloud) that he wandered mad vp and downe till he came to Taurica, where he found an end of his troubles.

death did end his life, and cure his griefe.

If all his teares and ruthfull miseries,
Could neuer expiate his mothers death,
To what extent shall thy calamities
Grow to in time, that stops thy mothers breath,
Euen Agrippinaes breath, whose cursed birth,
Maks her to curse the wombe that brought thee forth?

This Nero notes, and noting shewes his ire,
By outward passions, yet concealeth it,

122

Resolu'd ere long to pay the minstrels hire,
When time and opportunitie should fit;
For tyrants haue this propertie 'boue other,
They meane reuenge, yet their reuenge cā smother

And so did Nero, whose perplexed mind,
Guilty of what was ill, seem'd to admire
His Art in Musicke, rather then to find
Any distast, lest He should shew the fire,
Which lay rak'd vp in ashes, and display
What time might sleight, but could not take away.

Yet he began to scoule and shake the head,
With eyes as fierie-red as Ætnaes hill,
Willing him streight to other acts proceed,
And silence them that parents bloud did spill:
Sing to thy Lute (quoth he) straines of delight,
To cheare th' attendants of this wofull

Agrippinaes funerals.

sight.

Terpnus did passe vnto another theame,
Yet still relates He in the end of all,
The facts of Oedipus, Orestes shame,
How and by what effects succeed'd their fall;
Whereby (as well it was by all perceiued)
Nero the tyrant inwardly was grieued.

Terpnus continu'd in his Lyricke ode,
So long as Nero in his throne remained,
But now impatient longer of abode,
Wearied with audience (for so he feined)
Terpnus left off from prosecuting further,
The sad relation of this cruell

For which no law amongst the Pagans was enacted: imagining, none could be so brutish as commit such vnnaturall cruelty.

murther.

123

But see the Tyrant, who before delighted
More with the musicke of good Terpnus lyre,
Then any thing which ere his soule affected,
Neuer more straines of Terpnus did require;
For being grieu'd, each day his grieues increased,
Till Terpnus exile made his grieues appeased.

Yet not

For hauing slaine his mother, he saw in his sleepe a ship, the rudder whereof was wrested from him guiding it, whence he was baled by Octan. to most hideous darknesse. ibid.

appeased, for each day each night,
He heard the hideous cries of Furies shriking:
Oft would He turne himselfe before day-light,
But got no rest, his bodie out of liking,
Yet tyranniz'd in spilling bloud apace,
Act vpon act as one bereft of grace.

Sometimes He saw his mother haling him,
With wombe new-rip'd; there Sporus who He sought,
To make of man a woman drag him in;
Here sundrie Matrons whom he forc'd to nought,

Like the vision appeared to Tiberius crying out —Redde Germanicum.

And slue defil'd, which fix'd on Him their eye,
Which seene, He fled, but flying could not flie,

O conscience, what a witnesses thou brings,
'Gainst Him that iniures thee, where no content
Can giue houres respite to the state of kings,
Thou of thy selfe art sole-sufficient,
To hale or heale, to hale from life to death,
Or heale the wound of which he languisheth?

Behold here Terpnus courage, to correct
The great abuses of his Princes mind,
Whose pompe, port, power, He lightly doth respect,
To taxe those crimes to which He is inclin'd:

124

He's no Court-Adder that will winde him in,
To Princes grace by praising of his sinne.

O I could wish we had such Terpni many,
Who would not sooth nor flatter, but auouch,
Blacke to be blacke: but there's I feare not any,
Too few at least, I doubt me rightly such;
And yet me thinks such Phœnix's might build here,
Within this Ile, as well as other where.

Seianus, let him bloome in other coasts,
And purchase honour with his flatterie,
Let his aspiring thoughts make priuate boasts,
To raise his Fortunes to a monarchie,
He cannot prosper here, for why, we know,
State-ruine from Court-parasites may grow.

So Seian thought (what haue not Traitors thought)
To currie fauour with the Senators,
The better to atchieue what He had wrought,
By secret plots with his conspirators;
Faire-tong'd false-heart, whose deepe-cōtriuing braine
Gaue way to ruine, where He thought to raigne.

But He's well gone, Rome is dispatch'd of one
That would haue made combustion in the state,
Whose death made Hers reioyce, but His to mone,
Who on his fall built their vnhappie fate;
For Treason like a linked chaine doth show,
Which broke in one, doth breake in others too.

Next whom Perennius, whose affected grace,

125

Italian-like, seem'd as compos'd by art,
May for his smoothing humour take the place,
Who sole-possessor of a Princes heart,
The youthfull Commodus, did so allure him,
As his aduice seemes onely to secure him.

Faire Prince (quoth he) if any worldly wight,

A Parasite-pandar.

May solace those faire corps fram'd curiously,
Expresse Her onely when she comes in sight,
And I your pleasure soone will satisfie;
Your Unckle he's too strict, he's too seuere,
To coupe you vp in silence alwaies here.

What priuiledge haue Princes more then we,
If they depriued be of open aire?
What comfort reape they in their Empirie,
If Nestor-like, they still sit in their chaire?
No, no, deare Prince, you know a Prince is borne
To be his subiects terror, not their scorne.

No Theater rear'd in your royall Court,
Turney, lust, Barrier, should solemniz'd be,
To which a Romane Prince should not resort,
Amazing Ladies with his maiestie;
O then it is a shame for your estate,
To seeme in ought for to degenerate!

How gorgeously did Rome demeane her then,
When young Vitellius did

Banketting ouer three times, and now and then foure times aday. in vit. Vitell.

banket it,
Seruing at table miriads of men,
With lustie Ladies which did reuell it?
Yet you more high in state, more ripe in wit,

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Must Hermit-like in cell retired sit.

Shake off these Sages which do now attend you,
For they like fetters do restraine your pace;
Giue lustfull youth in euery part his due,
Let sprightly gallants take the Sages place,
By which enthron'd secure, you may command,
As Ioue erst did, with Io in his hand.

This did Perennius moue, and tooke effect,
Greene thoughts receiue too aptly wanton seede,
Remaining with the Prince in chiefe respect,
As they are wont, who Princes humours feed;
Till He conspiring to vsurpe the crowne,
Amidst his honours was cast headlong downe.

Where he receiu'd a doome that seru'd for all,
(Like doome still breath on such infectious breath)
For soring thoughts must haue as low a fall,
Whose fauning liues play prologue to their death:
For well I know no bane on earth can be
Worse to the State then rust of flatterie.

Then should these last-ensuing times beware,
Lest they commit offences of like kind,
Which in the common wealth procure that iarre,
As by their proiects we subuersion find:
For they depraue the vertues of the best,
And in the highest Cedars build their nest.

Sycites, he whose sycophants pretence,
Made wofull hauocke of his Common weale,

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Abusing much his Princes innocence,
At last by time (as time will all reueale)
Became displeasde, who as He was a fo
Vnto the state, the state adiudg'd him so.

AN ADMONITION.

Be thou a Terpnus to restraine abuse,
Sin-training pleasures fraught with vanitie;
Be thou no Seian, no Perennius,
To humour vice to gaine a Monarchie;
Be not Sycites, let examples moue thee,
And thou wilt cause the Commonweale to loue thee.

129

THE NINTH SATYRE. [OF EPICVRISME.]

That Epicurus who of late remained
Subiect to euery fowle impietie,
Now with distempers and night-surfets pained,
Bids mirth adue, his sole felicitie:
His vrine stopt wants passage from his vaines,
Which giues increase to his incessant paines.

Yet feeles He not his soules-afflicted woe,
Unmindfull (wretched man) of her distresse,
But pampers that which is his greatest foe,
And first procur'd his soules vnhappinesse:
He cannot weepe, He cannot shed a teare,

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But dying laughs, as when He liued here.

His Bon-companions drinking healths in wine,
Carousing flagons to his health receiuing,
Whose sparkling noses taper-like do shine,
Offer him drinke whose

Resembling one Elderton, on whom this inscription was writ: here lieth drunken Elderton, in earth now thrust: what said I thrust? nay rather here lies thirst. In Rem. of a greater worke.

thirstie mind is crauing:
For though He cannot drinke, yet his desire
Is to see others wallow in the mire.

Turne him to heauen He cannot, for He knowes not
Where heauens blest mansion hath her situation:
Tell him of heauens fruition, and he shewes not
The least desire to such a contemplation:
His sphere inferiour is, whose vanitie
Will suite no court so well as Tartarie.

He hath no comfort while He liueth here,
For He's orewhelmed with a sea of griefe,
And in his death as little ioy appeares,
For death will yeeld him small or no reliefe:
He thought no pleasure after life was ended,
Which past, his fading comforts be extended.

Horror appeares euen in his ghastly face,
And summons (wofull summons) troups of diuels,
Whilst He benumn'd with sinne reiecteth grace,
The best receit to cure soule-wounding euils:
Forlorne He liues, and liues because He breaths,
But in his death sustaines a thousand deaths.

Ungratefull viper, borne of vipers brood,
That hates thy parent, braues ore thy Protector,

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Whose seruile life did neuer any good;
But hugging vice, and spurne Him did correct her;
See how each plant renewes and giues increase,
By him, whom stones would praise, if man should ceasse.

Nor plant, nor worme, nor any senslesse creature,
Will derogate from Gods high Maiestie,
Since they from him, as from the supreme Nature,
Receiue their vigour, grouth, maturitie,
Substance, subsistence, essence, all in one,
From Angels forme vnto the senslesse stone.

But time hath hardn'd thy depraued thoughts,
Custome of sin hath made thy sin, no sin;
Thus hast thou reap'd the fruite thy labours sought,
And dig'd a caue in which thou wall west in;

The Epicures Cave.

The Porter of which caue, is reproch and shame,
Which layes a lasting scandall on thy name.

A swine in mind, though Angell-like in forme,
Preposterous end to such a faire beginning,
That Thou, whom such a feature doth adorne
As Gods owne Image, should be soild with sinning;
Who well may say of it thus drown'd in pleasures,
This Superscription is not mine but Cæsars.

Thou wantest grace, and wanting, neuer callest,
Nessled in mischiefe and in discontent;
Thou who from light to darknesse headlong fallest,
Hauing the platforme of thy life mispent,
Rouse thee Thou canst not, for securitie
Hath brought thy long sleepe to a Lethargie.

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Dull Dormouse, sleeping all the winter time,
Cannot endure the breath of aire or winde,
But euer loues to make the Sunne to shine
Vpon her rurall Cabbin; that same mind
Art Thou endew'd withall, All winter keeping
Thy drunken cell, spends halfe thy life in sleeping.

Thou when thou read'st in stories of the Ant,
The painfull Be, the early-mounting Larke,
Thou cals them fooles, for Thou hadst rather want,
Pine, droupe, and die in pouertie then carke:
Thou thinks there is no

According to that of the Poet.—No pleasure but to swill, And full, to emptie, and being emptie, fill.

pleasure, but to dwell
In that vast Tophet Epicurean cell.

Art thou so sotted with earths worldly wealth,
That thou expects no life when this is ended?
Do'st thou conceiue no happinesse in health,
If health in healths be not profanely spended?
Well there's small hope of thee, and thou shalt find,
Sinne goes before, but vengeance dogs behind.

Thou canst not tell by thy Philosophie,
Where th' glorious Synod of the Angels sit,
Nor canst thou thinke soules immortalitie,
Should any mortall creature well befit:
Unfit thou art for such a prize as this,
Which Saints haue wish'd to gaine, and gain'd their wish.

Thou sings strange Hymnes of loue of shepeard-swains,
How Amarillis and Pelargus woed,
Where in loue measures thou employes some paines,
To make thy works by wanton eares allow'd;

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For loues encounter loose wits can expresse it,
But for diuine power they will scarce confesse it.

Thus should each sinne of thine vnmasked be,
Each crime deblazon'd in her natiue colour:
There would appeare such a deformitie,
As th' Greeke Thersites shape was neuer fowler;
Which if compar'd to th' powerfull works of grace,
Would looke agast, asham'd to show their face.

If I should moue thee, rectifie thy cares,
I know twere fruitlesse, all thy care's to sinne,
Whose barren haruest intersowne with tares,
Endeth farre worse then when it did begin;
A ranke indurate vlcerous hard'ned ill,
Can ill be bett'red till it haue her fill.

And yet when as this phrenticke mood shall leaue thee,
There is some hope of gaine-recouerie,
When thy offensiue life mispent shall grieue thee;
Thy wound's not mortall, looke for remedie;
But if like Epicure thou still doest lie,
As thou liues ill, so doubt I thou must die.

134

THE TENTH SATYRE. [OF BRIBERIE.]

Diagoras was once to pleade a cause,
Which th' aduerse partie hauing well obserued,
Claps me a guilded goblet in his clawes,
Which He as priuately (forsooth) reserued;
Speake (quoth this client) either nought at all,
Or else absent you from the sessions hall.

Absent He would not be, and yet as good,
For his mute tongue was absent in the cause,
Saying, the cause he had not vnderstood,
And therefore wish'd that he a while might pause;
But hauing paus'd too long, through his delay
The Court dismist, the Senat went away.

Seeing the Senate gone, good gods (quoth he)
Can we not haue our causes heard, whose truth
Is manifest as light? ô thus we see
Our Clients wrong'd, whose wrongs afford much ruth:

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I would not answer this before Ioues throne,
If I thereby might make the world mine owne.

Nought to a conscience pure and void of blame,
Which (Ioue be prais'd) is in this spotlesse brest,
For no foule act could blemish ere my name,
No corrupt bribe did ere enrich my chest;
Yes one (the Clyent answer'd) you know when:
It's true indeed (my friend) and nere but then.

Yes once you know (another answer'd) more,
When you protested the Angina pain'd you,
For which corruption, you had gold in store,
That silent speech of yours abundance gain'd you:
It's true indeed, yet there's none can conuict me,
That ere my conscience for these did afflict me.

Nay that He sweare (quoth one) I neuer knew
Remorce of conscience or relenting teare:
That heart of yours aid nere repentance shew,
But could take more, if that you did not feare
You should detected be, and your offence,
As

There were certaine images of Iudges (by report) set vp at Athens, hauing neither hands, nor eyes: implying that Rulers and Magistrates should neither be infected with bribes, nor any otherway drawne from that which was lawfull and right. But most happiest were those dayes wherein Basil the Emperour of Constantinople liued, that whensoeuer he came to his iudgment seate, he found neither partie to accuse, nor defendant to answer.

iustice craues, should giue you recompence.

Thus as they talk'd, thus as they did discourse,
In came a Senatour, which did reueale,
His corrupt dealings, for He did enforce
Himselfe to publish what He did conceale:
Whose crimes diuulg'd, He presently was led
To Coos hauen, whence He was banished.

Thus was a corrupt Orator conuicted,

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Pressing himselfe with his owne obloquie,
Whose selfe-detection made his state afflicted,
His hands the weauers of his tragedie;
Which I could wish to all of like desert,
Whose good profession's made a guilefull art.

THE ELEVENTH SATYRE ELEGIACK. [OF INUENTION.]

Aged Triptolemus father of our field,
That teacheth vs thy children rare effects;
We do vnto thy sacred Temple yeeld
The fruits we reape, and tender all respects

137

To thee, that hast this rare inuention found,
And gaue first light of tillage to our ground.

Describe we cannot in exact discourse,
Those rarer secrets which proceed from thee,
For polish'd words with vs haue little force,
That are inured to Rusticitie;
But what we can we'le do, and to that end,
To thee (as Patron) we our fields commend.

By thee we till the wilde vntempered soile,
Make rising hillocks champion and plaine;
Where though with early labour we do toile,
Yet labour's light where there is hope of gaine:
We thinke no hurt, but trauell all the day,
And take our rest, our trauels to allay.

No proiect we intend against the State,
But cuts the bosome of our Mother earth;
We giue no way to passion or debate;
By labour we preuent our Countries dearth:
Yet this ascribe we not to our owne part,
But vnto thee, that did inuent this art.

Those glorious Trophies which Menander set,
In honour of the sacred Deities,
Would be too long a subiect to repeate,
Rear'd in such state with such solemnities;
Yet these to ours, inferiour be in worth,
Those were of earth, these tell vs vse of earth.

We ope the closet of our mothers breast,

138

And till the sedgie ground with crooked plough,
And in the euening take our quiet rest,
When we the heate of day haue passed through:
Thus do we sow, thus reape, and reaping we
Do consecrate our first fruites vnto thee.

And with our fruites our wonted Orisons,
With solemne vowes to thy obsequious shrine,
Whose dedication merits heauenly songs,
Will we protest what's ours is euer thine;
For what we haue came from thy deuine wit,
Or from His power that first infused it.

By thee we plant the Uine and Oliue tree,
Contriue coole harbors to repose and lie:
By thee our Uine sends grapes forth fruitfully,
The Almond, Chestnut, and the Mulberrie;
Thus Saturns golden age approcheth neare,
And (Flora-like) makes spring-time all the yeare.

The pleasant banks of faire Parnassus mount,
With trees rank-set and branchie armes broad-spred,
The Mirtle-trees hard by Castalias fount,
With flowrie wreaths thy shrine haue honoured;
'Mongst which, no Iland's more oblig'd to thee,
Then this same Ile of famous Britannie.

As in some parts of Egypt, which (though elsewhere exceeding fruitfull) through extremitie of heate become to the people inhabitable.

Others intemporate through parching heate,
Haue their fruites blasted ere they come to light,

As in Scythia, which region in most places is so cold, as fruites can come to no ripenesse. For as the Astrologers are of opinion, there is a certaine breadth in the heauen, on earth from North to South, bounded out by some of the principall Circles, of the which are 3 in all: one fierie betweene the two Tropicks which is called Zona Torrida: two extreme cold, betweene the Polare circles and the Poles of the wold: and two temporate betweene either of the Polare circles and his next Tropicke.

Others are planted in a colder seate,

139

Whereby the Sun-beames seldome show their might;
But we (and therein blest) inhabite one,
Which as it's fruitfull, it's a temp'rate Zone.

How can we then if we do ought, do lesse
Then labour to requite as we receiue?
For such a burning wind's vnthankefulnesse,
As by it we do lose that which we haue:
Let each then in his ranke obserue his measure,
And giue Him thanks that gaue Him such a treasure.

How many regions haue their fruites deuoured,
By th' Caterpiller, Canker, Palmerworme?
Whil'st by thy grace so richly on vs powred,
Our fields reioyce, and yeeld increase of corne;
O then admire we this great worke of thine,
Whereby all regions at our state repine!

Repine they may, for we surpasse their state,
In power, in riches, sinewes of sharpe warre;
They led in blindnesse attribute to fate,
What ere befall, we to the morning starre,
By which we are directed euery day,
Or else like wandring sheepe might loose our way.

Hesiod relates seuen fortunate reposes,
Ilands, which Fortune fauours for their seate,
Adorn'd with fruitfull plants sent-chafing roses;
Where there breaths euer a soile-cherishiag heate,
By which the plants receiue their budding power,
And needs no other dew, no other shower.

140

Iles in the ocean foure hundred miles frō Spaine

These fruitfull Ilands which this Poet shewes,
Were seated farre within the Ocean,
And neuer warr'd as other Ilands vse,
Being in peacefull league with euery man:
Confer now these together, and then see
If this blest Iland be not Brittannie.

Blest were those Ilanders that did possesse
The fertile borders of those healthfull Iles.
And we as blest haue no lesse happinesse,
In this our Ile, not stretch'd to many miles;
Though when those

The two vniversities

streames of Hellicon appeares,
It doubles fruites in doubling of her yeares.

Thames full as pleasant as Euphrates flood,
Though she containe not in her precious nauell,
The

Tagus, Ganges, and Pacteolus three riuers famous for their golden oare or grauell.

golden oare of Ganges, yet as good
As any gold or any golden grauell,
Transporting hence, and bringing here againe,
Gaine to the Citie by their fraught of graine.

Thus water, ayre, and earth, and all vnite
Their powers in one, to benefit our state,
So as conferring profit with delight,
Well may we tearme this Iland fortunate;
For we more blest then other Iles haue bin,
Enioy both peace without and peace within.

Vnto his altar let vs then repaire,
That hath conferd these blessings on our land,
And sure we are to find him present there,
Apt to accept this offring at our hand;

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Where, as He hath remembred vs in peace,
We'le yeeld him fruites of soules and soiles increase.

To thee then (blessed Deitie) is meant,

The true explanation of this Elegie.

This vot all sacrifice, how ere we speake,
Of old Triptolemus thy instrument;
For midst inuentions we will euer seeke
To raise thy praise, who hast thy Throne aboue vs,
And daily shewes that thou doest dearely loue vs.

142

THE TWELFTH SATYRE. [OF DISDAINE.]

Melonomus a worthie shepheard swaine,
Besotted with faire Cynthia's amorous face,
Beseeched Her to loue for loue againe,
And take compassion on his wofull case;
Which she halfe-yeelding to, dissembling too,
Did moue the swaine more eagerly to woo.

And that with gifts most powerfull to ensnare
The minds of maids, whose curious appetite,
Desires as they be faire to haue things faire,
To adde fresh fuell vnto loues delight;
Which to effect, each morne a flowrie wreath,
Compos'd the swaine, to breath on Cynthia's breath.

Fine comely bracelets of refined Amber,
Vsed this Shepheard swaine to tender her,
And euery morne resorting to her chamber,
Would there appeare ere Phœbus could appeare,
Where telling tales as shepheards vse to tell,
She forc'd a smile, as though she lik'd Him well.

Thus poore Melonomus continued long,

Thus at Loues barre this Client doubtfull stands, And weepes, & wipes, & wrings and wreathes his hands.

Hoping for resolution at her hands,
Whilest with delayes He mixed gifts among,
Which (as He thought) were fancies strongest bands;
And still He craues dispatch of his request,
And to performe what she in show profest.

143

But she, from day to day puts off, replying,
She scarce resolued was to marrie yet:
But when his gifts surceast, she flat denying,
Answer'd, A swaine was for a Queene vnfit;
He rurall, homely, bred of meane descent,
She royall-borne, of purer Element.

Melonomus thus answer'd, wisely fram'd
This graue reply: And is it so indeed?
Be all those gifts I gaue (all which He nam'd)
To no effect? why then returne and feed

A sudden resolution requiting her sudden disdaine.

Thy want on flocke, surceasse thy bootlesse suite,
Since she consum'd thy flocke with all their fruite.

Aged Alomænon who my father was,

I cānot trull is I, nor fancie all I see, if she be faire, wise and an heire, that girle liketh me.

And as I guesse knew well the shepheards guise,
Thought scorne to set his loue on euery lasse,
Aye me vnhappie, of a sire so wise;
But this disdaine that lowres on beauties brow,
Shall teach me, swaines with swaines know best to do.

The skipping Rams that butt with ragged hornes,
And brouz vpon each banke with sweeter repast,
Shall not my iealous head with wreathes adorne,
(But heauen forgiue my follie that is past;)
I will not fancie Cynthia, since she
In my distresse scornes to conuerse with me.

145

THE THIRTEENTH SATYRE. [OF IDOLATRIE.]

Protagoras both wicked and profane,
Wicked in life, profane in worshipping,
Adored stones: (see Pagans, see your shame)
And thought them worthie too of reuerencing;
For if the gods be honoured, said He,
Needs must the stones whereof their Temples be.

The like conceit He had of altars too,
And of the stones whereof they were erected,
To which He oft would solemne worship doe,

146

And taxe such men by whom they were neglected;
Wishing sometime He were an altar stone,
That to himselfe like honour might be done.

A iust reproofe to all Idolaters.

Thou senslesse man depriu'd of reasons lore,
What grace art thou (forlorne) endewd withall,
That thou shouldst shrines and senslesse stones adore,
That haue no eares to heare when thou doest call?
Thou deemes these relikes happie, when god wot,
If they were happie, yet they know it not.

The Altar is the shrine thou offrest to,
Thy incense, sacrifice, and fat of beasts,
Which on the altar thou art wont to do,
Not to the altar where thou makes request;
For it's enioynd thee by expresse command,
To kneele to nothing fashion'd by mans hand.

The Manuall artist sets vp heapes of stones,
Erecting curious Statues to adore,
But what are these, can they attend our mones?
No, they haue eares to heare, but heare no more
Then rubbish, clay, or stone, whereof they'r said,
(And such were Pagan Idols) to be made.

Turne thee vnto the East, from whence the Sunne
Hath his arising, whence He doth proceed,
As Bridegroome from his chamber, and doth run
His spacious course with such a passing speed,
As twentie foure houres He doth onely borrow,
To post the world from end to end quite thorow.

147

Each plant on earth, each creature in the sea,
From whence haue they their grouth, I pray thee say?
Do they deriue't from stones or imagerie?
Nay, I must tell thee, thou art by the way,
It's no inferiour power brings this to passe,
But his, who is, shall be, and euer was.

And he it is who notes thy errors past,
And can reuenge, though He the time adiourne,
Whose loue vnto his sheepe doth euer last,
And still expects and waits for thy returne;
But how can He to thee in kindnesse shew him,
That giues thee hands, yet will not lift them to him?

Ungratefull thou to haue that ill conceit,
Of his all-being and all-seeing power,
Whose blest tuition guards vs and our state,
Whose surest hold is like a fading flower,
That springs and dies, such is the pompe of man,
As there He ends in earth where He began.

Horror of men, contempt to thy beginning,
Shame to the world, wherein thou doest suruiue.
Whose best religion is an act of sinning,
In which thou meanes to die, and loues to liue;
What shall these shrines affoord thee after death,
The breath of life? no, for they haue no breath.

Then here Ile leaue thee, yet with sorrow too,
Thy Image moues compassion, though't may be,
Thou'lt aske the reason why I should do so,
Since sorrowes source hath lost her course in thee;

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To which, I may in reason thus reply,
My eyes are wet, because thy eyes are dry.

Yet will I to the altar, not t'adore it,
But offer incense to assoile thy sin;
Where full of teares I'le weepe, and weeping ore it,
Wish thy returne, that thou may honour him,
Whose worship thou prophan'd (as was vnfit)
Entitling any creature vnto it.

Three other Satyres composed by the same Author, treating of these three distinct subiects.

1. Tyrannie, personated in Eurystheus.

2. Securitie, in Alcibiades.

3. Reuenge, in Perillus.

With an Embleme of Mortalitie, in Agathocles.

150

THE SATYRE. [OF TYRANNIE.]

Hoe Euristheus, I am hither sent,
From Iunoes Princely pallace to thy Court,
To tell thee, thou must be her instrument,
(And to that purpose she hath chus'd thee for't)
To chastise Hercules, growne eminent
By his renowned conquests: do not show
Thy selfe remisse, Iuno will haue it so.

And Iuno shall; I will such taskes impose,
That earth shall wonder how they were inuented,
So as his life he shall be sure to lose,
What do I care, so Iuno be contented,
Darknesse shall not my secresies disclose?
Her will is my command, nor must I aske
Whence's her distast; come yong man heare your taske

A fruitfull garden, full of choyce delights,
Enricht with sprayes of gold and apples too,
Which by three sisters watch'd both dayes and nights,

151

Yeeld no accesse vnto th' inuading foe,
Is thy first progresse; where with doubtfull sight,
Thou must performe thy taske: this is the first,
Which if it proue too easie, next is worst.

For in this first thou art to deale with women,
And reape a glorious prize when thou hast done;
And such an enterprize (I know) is common,
Crowning vs great by th' triumph we haue wonne:
Gold is so strange a baite, as there is no man,
But he will hazard life to gaine that prize,
Which makes men fooles that are supposed wise.

But next taske shall be of another kind,
No golden apples pluckt from Hesperie:
For in this worke thou nought but dong shalt find,
Augean stables must thy labour be,
Which if thou cleare not, as I haue assign'd,
Death shall attend thee: tis in vaine to come,
By prayers or teares to change my fatall doome.

The third, that hideous Hydra, which doth breed
Increase of heads, for one being cut away,
Another springs vp streight way in her stead:
Hence then away, and make me no delay,
Delay breeds danger, do what I haue said,
Which done thou liues, which vnperform'd thou dies,

He coucheth all his labours (infinite in number and nature) in these three.

This said; Alcydes to his labour hies.

Alas (poore man) how well it may be said,
So many are the perils he must passe,
That he with dangers is inuironed?

152

So hopelesse and so haplesse is his case,
As he by death is so encompassed,
That howsoere his power he meanes to trie,
Poore is his power, he must be forc'd to die.

Imperious tyrant, couldst thou wreake thy rage
On none but such whose valour hath bene showne,
As a victorious Mirror to this age,
And hath bene blaz'd where thou wer't neuer knowne!
Must thou his person to such taskes engage,
As flesh and bloud did neuer yet sustaine?
Well, he must trie, although he trie in vaine.

Yes, he will trie, and act what he doth try,
He'le tug and tew, and striue and stoope to ought,
Yea die, if so with honour he may die,
Yet know, that those who haue his life thus sought,
Are but insulting types of tyrannie,
Whose boundlesse splene, when He hath past these shelues,
Will be disgorg'd, and fall vpon themselues.

For see, thou cruell sauage, whose desire
Extends to bloud, how this aduentr'ous Knight,
Gaines him renowne, and scorneth to retire,
Till he hath got a conquest by his fight:
So high heroick thoughts vse to aspire,
As when extremest dangers do enclose them,
They sleight those foes that labour to oppose them.

Here see those taskes which thy imperious power,
Impos'd this Noble champion, finished;
The Serpent, Hydra, which of heads had store,

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Now headlesse lies by valour conquered,
The stables purg'd from th' filth they had before,
The golden Apples Trophies of his glorie,
Dilate their ends vnto an endlesse storie.

Here see th' euent where vertue is the aime,
Here see the issue of a glorious mind,
Here see how martiall honour makes her claime,
Here see the crowne to diligence assign'd,
Here see what all may see, a souldiers fame,
Not tipt with fruitlesse titles, but made great,
More by true worth, then by a glorious seate.

For such, whose natiue merit hath attain'd
Renowne 'mongst men, should aduerse gusts assaile thē
In such an Orbe rest their resolues contain'd,
As well they may inuade but not appall them,
For from esteeme of earth they'r wholly wain'd,
Planting their mounting thoughts vpon that sphere,
Which frees such minds as are infranchis'd there.

Hence learne ye Great-ones, who esteeme it good
Sufficient to be great, and thinke't well done,
Be't right or wrong, what's done in heate of blood,
Hence learne your state, lest ye decline too soone,
For few ere firmely stood, that proudly stood.
But specially ye men that are in place,
Iudge others as your selues were in same case.

Here haue you had a mirror to direct
Your wayes, and forme your actions all the better,
Which president if carelesse, ye neglect,

154

And walke not by this line, liue by this letter,
Hows'ere the world may tender you respect,
Ye are but gorgeous paintings daubed ouer,
Clothing your vice with some more precious couer.

Hence likewise learne ye whom the frowne of fate,
Hath so deprest, as not one beame doth shine
Vpon the forlorne mansion of your state,
To beare with patience and giue way to time,
So shall ye vie with Fortune in her hate;
And prize all earths contents as bitter-sweete,
Which armes you 'gainst all fortunes ye can meete.

This great Alcydes did, who did with ease
(For what's vneasie to a mind prepard)
Discomfit th' Hydra and th' Stymphalides,
With whom he cop'd, encountred long and warr'd,
And gain'd him glory by such acts as these.
Obserue this Morall (for right sure I am)
The imitation shewes a perfect man.

The last not least, which may obserued be,
Is to suppresse splene or conceiued hate,
Which in perfidious Nessus you may see,
Fully portraid, who meerely through deceit,
Practis'd Alcydes wofull Tragedy:
For of all passions, there's noone that hath
More soueraignty ore man, then boundlesse wrath.

Which to restraine, (for wherein may man show
Himselfe more manly, then in this restraint)
That there is nought more generous, you should know,

155

Then true compassion to the indigent,
Which euen humanitie faith, that we owe
One to another, while we vse to tender
Loue to our Maker, in him to each member.

Thus if ye do, how low soere ye be,
Your actions make you noble, and shall liue
After your summons of Mortalitie,
And from your ashes such a perfume giue,
As shall eternize your blest memorie:
If otherwise ye liue, ye are at best
But guilded gulls, and by opinion blest.

156

THE SATYRE. [OF SECVRITIE.]

Awake , thou noble Greeke! how should desire,
Of sensuall shame (soules staine) so dull thy wit.

157

Or cloud those glorious thoughts which did aspire,
Once to exploits which greatnesse might befit?
Where now the beamlins of that sacred fire,
Lie rak't in ashes, and of late do seeme
(So ranke is vice) as if they had not bene.

Can a faith-breaking leering Curtizan,
Whose face is glaz'd with frontlesse impudence,
Depresse the spirit of a Noble man,
And make him lose his reason for his fence?
O span thy life (for life is but a span)
And thou shalt find the scantling is so small,
For vaine delights there is no time at all!

Shall azur'd breast, sleeke skin, or painted checke,
Gorgeous attire, locks braided, wandring eye,
Gaine thee delight, when thou delights should seeke
In a more glorious obiect? O relie
On a more firme foundation, lest thou breake,
Credit with Him who long hath giuen thee trust,
Which thou must pay be sure, for he is iust.

O do not then admire, what thy desire
Should most contemne, if reason were thy guide;
Let thy erected thoughts extend farre higher,
Then to these wormelins that like shadowes glide,
Whose borrowed beautie melts with heate of fire.
Their shape from shop is bought and brought; ô art
What canst thou promise to a knowing heart!

A knowing heart, which plants her choicest blisse
In what it sees not, but doth comprehend

158

By eye of faith! not what terrestriall is,
But what affoordeth comfort without end,
Where we enioy whats euer we did wish;
Who then, if he partake but common sence,
Will ere reioyce, till he depart from hence?

Yet see the blindnesse of distracted man,
How he prefers one moment of delight,
(Which cheares not much when it does all it can)
Before delights in nature infinite,
Whose iuyce (yeelds perfect fulnesse, sure I am:)
O times! when men loue that they should neglect,
Disualuing that which they should most respect.

For note how many haue aduentured
Their liues (and happy they if that were all)
And for a painted trunke haue perished;
O England, I thy selfe to witnesse call,
For many hopefull plants haue withered
Within thy bosome, cause whereof did spring,
Mearely from lust, and from no other thing!

How many promising youths, whose precious bloud
Shed by too resolute hazard, might haue done
Their gracious Prince and natiue Countrie good,
In heate of bloud haue to their ruine gone,
While they on termes of reputation stood,
Preferring titles (see the heate of strife)
Before the loue and safetie of their life?

O Gentlemen, know that those eyes of yours,
Which should be piercing like the Eagles eyes,

159

Are not to view these Dalilahs of ours,
But to eye heauen and sullen earth despise,
And so increase in honours as in houres.
O ye should find more happinesse in this,
Then spend the day in courting for a kisse!

Were time as easie purchas'd as is land,
Ye better might dispense with losse of time;
Or 'twere in you to make the Sunne to stand,
So many points t'ascend or to decline,
I'de say ye had the world at command:
But as time past, is none of yours, once gone,
So that time is not yours, which is to come.

Addresse yours selues then to that glorious place,
Where there's no time, no limit to confine,
No alteration: but where such a grace,
Or perfect lustre beautifies the clime,
Where ye'r to liue, as th' choisest chearefullst face,
Ye ere beheld on earth, were't nere so faire,
Shall seeme deformitie to beautie there.

But this shall serue for you! now in a word,
Heare me Timandra (for I must be heard;)
Thou whose light shop all vanities affoord,
Reclaime thy sensuall life, which hath appear'd
As odious and offensiue to thy Lord,
As those lasciuious robes (robes suiting night)
Are in disgrace, when good men are in fight.

More to enlarge my selfe were not so good,
Perhaps this litle's more then thou wilt reade:

160

But if thou reade, I wish't may stirre thy blood,
And moue thee henceforth to take better heed,
Then to transgresse the bounds of womanhood:
Whose chiefest essence in these foure appeare,
In gate, looke, speech, and in the robes you weare.

161

THE SATYRE. [OF REVENGE.]

Braue Enginer, you whose more curious hand
Hath fram'd a Bull of brasse by choycest art,
That as a Trophie it might euer stand,
And be an Embleme of thy cruell heart:
Hearke what's thy tyrant Phalaris command,

162

Whose will's a law; and hauing heard it well,
Thy censure to succeeding ages tell.

Thou must (as it is iust) be first presented
A sacrifice vnto the brazen Bull,
And feele that torture which thy art inuented,
That thou maist be rewarded to the full;
No remedy, it cannot be preuented.
Thus, thus reuenge appeares which long did smother,
He must be catcht, that aimes to catch another.

Iust was thy iudgement, Princely Phalaris,
Thy censure most impartiall; that he
Whose artfull hand that first contriued this,
To torture others, and to humour thee,
Should in himselfe feele what this torture is.
Which great or small, he must be forc'd to go,
May such

For so Diogenes the Cynicke tearmes all humering Timists or temporizing sycophants. Laert.

tame-beasts be euer vsed so.

Like fate befell vnhappie

Who built Pallas horse, and after perished in the siege of Troy. Homer, in Niad.

Phereclus,
Who first contriu'd by cunning more then force,
To make once glorious Troy as ruinous
As spoile could make it: therefore rear'd a Horse,
Framed by Pallas art, as curious,
As art could forme, or cunning could inuent,
To weaue his end, which art could not preuent.

See ye braue state-proiectors, what's the gaine
Ye reape by courses that are indirect:
See these, who first contriu'd, and first were slaine,
May mirrors be of what ye most affect!
These labour'd much, yet labour'd they in vaine;

163

For there's no wit how quicke soere can do it,
If powers diuine shall make

Witnesse that matchlesse Powder plot, no lesse miraculously reuealed, then mischieuously contriued, no less happily preuented, then hatefully practised. Of which cruell Agents (being his owne subiects) our gracious Soueraigne might iustly take vp the complaint of that Princely Prophet Dauid My familiar friends, whō I trusted, which did eate of my bread haue lifted vp their heeles against me. Psal. 51. and 55.

resistance to it.

And can ye thinke that heauen, whose glorious eye
Surueyes this Uniuerse, will daigne to view
Men that are giuen to all impietie?
You say, he will; he will indeed, it's true;
But this is to your further misery.
For that same eye which viewes what you commit,
Hath sight to see, and power to punish it.

To punish it, if hoording sin on sin,
Ye loath Repentance, and bestow your labour,
Onely to gaine esteeme, or else to win
By your pernicious plots some great mans fauour;
O I do see the state that you are in,
Which cannot be redeem'd, vnlesse betime
With sighs for sins, you wipe away your crime!

For shew me one, (if one to shew you haue)
Who built his fortunes on this sandie ground,
That euer went gray-headed to his graue,
Or neare his end was not distressed found,
Or put not trust in that which did deceiue!
Sure few there be, if any such there be,
But shew me one, and it sufficeth me.

I grant indeed, that for a time these may
Flourish like to a Bay tree, and increase,
Like Oliue branches, but this lasts not aye,
Their Halcyon dayes shall in a moment ceasse,

164

When night (sad night) shall take their soules away.
Then will they tune their strings to this sad song,
Short was our sun-shine, but our night-shade long

Ye then, I say, whose youth-deceiuing prime,
Promise successe, beleeue's from me, that this,
When time shall come (as what more swift then time)
Shall be conuerted to a painted blisse,
Whose gilded outside beautifide your crime;
Which once displaide, cleare shall it shew as light,
Your Sommer-day's become a winter night.

Beware then ye, who practise and inuent,
To humour greatnesse; for there's one more great,
Who hath pronounc'd, like sinne, like punishment;
Whom at that day ye hardly may intreat,
When death and horror shall be eminent:
Then will ye say vnto the Mountaines thus,
And shadie groues, Come downe and couer vs.

But were ye great as earthly pompe could make ye,
Weake is the arme of flesh, or

The priuiledge of greatnesse, must be no subterfuge for guiltinesse.

mightinesse,
For all these feeble hopes shall then forsake ye,
With the false flourish of your happinesse,
When ye vnto your field-bed must betake ye;
Where ye for all your shapes and glozed formes,
Might deceiue men, but cannot deceiue wormes.

166

THE EMBLEME. [OF MORTALITIE.]

Agathocles, me thinkes I might compare thee,
(So rare thou art) to some choice statuarie,
Who doth portray with Pencile he doth take,
Himselfe to th' image which he's wont to make;
How artfull thou, and gracefull too by birth,
A King, yet shewes that thou art made of earth,
Not glorying in thy greatnesse, but would seeme,
Made of the same mould other men haue bene!
A head of gold, as thou art chiefe of men,
So chiefe of mettalls makes thy Diadem;
Uictorious armes of purest iuorie,
Which intimates the persons puritie;
The other liniments compos'd of brasse,
Imply th' vndaunted strength of which thou was;
But feete of earth, shew th' ground whereon we stand,
That we're cast downe in turning of a hand.
Of which, that we might make the better vse,
Me thinkes I could dilate the Morall thus.
Man made of earth, no surer footing can
Presume vpon, then earth from whence be came,
Where firmenesse is infirmenesse, and the stay
On which he builds his strongest hopes, is clay.
And yet how strangely confident he growes,
In heauen-confronting boldnesse and in showes,
Bearing a Giants spirit, when in length,
Height, breadth, and pitch he is of Pigmeis strength.
Yea I haue knowne a very Dwarfe in sight,
Conceit himselfe a Pyramis in height,
Ietting so stately, as't were in his power

167

To mount aloft vnto the airie tower.
But when Man's proud, I should esteeme't more meete
Not to presume on's strength, but looke on's feete:
Which nature (we obserue) hath taught the Swan,
And ought in reason to be done in Man.
Weake are foundations that are rer'd on sand,
And on as weake grounds may we seeme to stand,
Both subiect to be ruin'd, split and raz't,
One billow shakes the first, one griefe the last.
Whence then or how subsists this earthly frame,
That merits in it selfe no other name,
Then shell of base corruption! it's not brasse,
Marble, or iuory, which when times passe,
And our expired fates surceasse to be,
Reserue in them our liuing memorie.
No, no, this mettall is not of that proofe,
We liue as those vnder a shaking roofe,
Where euery moment makes apparent show,
For want of props of finall ouerthrow.
Thus then, me thinkes you may (if so you please)
Apply this Statue of Agathocles;
As he compos'd his royall Head of gold,
The pur'st of mettals, you are thereby told,
That th' Head whence reason and right iudgement springs,
Should not be pesterd with inferior things;
And as his actiue sinnewes, armes are said,
To shew their purenesse, to be iuored,
Like Pelops milke-white shoulders; we are giuen
To vnderstand, our armes should be to heauen,
As to their proper orbe enlarg'd, that we
Might there be made the Saints of puritie;
By rest of th' parts which were compos'd of brasse,

168

(Being of bigger bone then others was)
We may collect, men made of selfe-same clay,
May in their strength do more then others may.
Lastly on earth, as men subsistence haue,
Their earthly feete do hasten to their graue.

[IN IVRIDICVM.] A short Satyre of a corrupt Lawyer.

THE XIIII. SATYRE.

Naso is sicke of late, but how canst tell?
He hath a swelling in his throate I feare;
I iudg'd as much, me thought He spake not well,
In his poore clients cause: nay more I heare,
His tumour's growne so dang'rous, as some say,
He was absolued but the t'other day.

And what confest He? not a sinne I trow,
Those He reseru'd within a leatherne bag,
And that's his conscience; did He mercy show
Unto the poore? not one old rotten rag
Would he affoord them, or with teares bemone them,
Saying, that—forma pauperis had vndone them.

Did He not wish to be dissolu'd from hence?
No, when you talk'd of finall Dissolution,

169

He with a sea of teares his face would drench,
Wishing He might but make another motion,
And He would be dissolu'd when He had done:
But His forg'd motion each tearme day begun.

Had He some matter laid vpon his heart?
Abundance of corruption, foule infection.
Did He no secret treasure there impart?
Nought but a boxe containing his complexion,
What was it Sir, some precious oyle of grace?
No, but an oyle to smeere his brazen face.

I haue heard much of his attractiue nose,
How He could draw white Riols with his breath;
It's true indeed, and therefore did He choose
To drinke Aurum potabile at his death,
Nor car'd He greatly if He were to lose
His soule, so that He might enioy his nose.

It was a wonder in his greatest paine,
How He should haue remorse; for well I know,
In his successiue fortunes nought could straine
His hardned conscience, which He would not do
For hope of gaine, so as in time no sinne
So great, but grew familiar with him.

O Sir, the many fees He had receiu'd,
And hood-winck'd bribes which at his death opprest him,
The forged deeds his wicked braine contriu'd,
And that blacke buckram bag which did arrest him,
Commencing suite in one, surcharg'd Him so,
That He was plung'd into a gulph of wo.

170

O what a smoke of powder there appeared
At the dissoluing of his vglie soule;
All that were present there to see Him feared,
His case vncas'd did show so grim, so foule:
Yet there were some had hope He would do well,
Make but one motion, and come out of hell.

But others fear'd that motion would be long,
If it should answer motions He made here:
Besides, that place of motions is so throng,
That one will scarce haue end a thousand yeare.
Then Naso fare thee well, for I do see,
Earth sends to hell thy mittimus with thee.

Two short moderne Satyres.

[A Walking Hypocrite there was, whose pace]

In Ambulantem.
Hypocritam.
Pseudophilia.

A Walking Hypocrite there was, whose pace,
Trunkhose, small ruffe, deminutiue in forme,
Shew'd to each man He was the child of grace,
Such were the vertues did his life adorne;
Nought could He heare that did of lightnesse come,
But He would stop his eares, or leaue the roome.

Discourse (thus would He say) of things deuine,
Soyle not your soules with such lasciuiousnesse:

171

Your vessels should with precious vertues shine,
As lamps of grace and lights of godlinesse;
But lasse for wo, sin's such a fruitfull weed,
Still as one dies another doth succeed.

Here one doth beate his braine 'bout practises,
There is another plotting wickednesse;
O how long Lord wilt thou blindfold their eyes,
In suffering them to worke vnrighteousnesse?
Well, I will pray for them, and Syons peace,
The prayers of Saints can no way chuse but please

Thus did this mirror of deuotion walke,
Inspir'd it seem'd with some Angelicke gift,
So holy was his life, so pure his talke,
As if the spirit of zeale had Ely left,
And lodg'd within his breast, it could not be,
Fuller of godly feruor then was He,

But see what end these false pretences haue,
Where zeale is made a cloke to couer sinne,
This whited wall to th' eye so seeming graue,
Like varnish'd tombes had nought but filth within,
For though of zeale He made a formall show,
In Fortune Alley was his Rendeuow.

There He repos'd there He his solace tooke,
Shrin'd neare his Saint, his female-puritan,
In place so priuate as no eye could looke,
To what they did, to manifest their shame;
But see heauens will, those eyes they least suspected,
First ey'd their shame, whereby they were detected.

172

Thus did his speech and practise disagree
In one exemplar, formall, regular,
In th' other loose through carnall libertie,
Which two when they do meete, so different are,
As there's no discord worse in any song,
Then twixt a hollow heart and holy tongue.

For He that doth pretend, and think't enough,
To make a shew of what He least intends,
Shall ere the period of his dayes run through,
Beshrew himselfe for his mischieuous ends;
For he that is not good but would be thought,
Is worse by odds then this plaine dealing nought.

[Drusus, what makes thee take no trade in hand]

In Drusum meretri-
cium Adiutorem.
Poligonia.

Drusus, what makes thee take no trade in hand,
But like Hermaphrodite, halfe man halfe womā
Pandors thy selfe, and stands at whoores command,
To play the bolt for euery Haxter common?
Spend not thy houres with whoores, lest thou confesse,
There is no life to thy obduratenesse.

Obdurate villaine hard'ned in ill,
That takes delight in seeing Nature naked,
Whose pleasure drawne from selfe-licentious will,
Makes thee of God, of men, and all forsaked;

173

Shame is thy chaine, thy fetters linkes of sinne,
Whence to escape is hard, being once lock'd in.

What newes from Babell, where that purple whoore,
With seared marrow charmes deluded man,
So lull'd a sleepe, as He forgets heauens power,
And serues that hireling-Neapolitan?
I'le tell thee Drusus, sad and heauie newes,
Death vnto Drusus while he hants the stewes.

An Admonition to the Reader vpon the precedent Satyres.

Who will not be reprou'd, it's to be fear'd,
Scornes to amend, or to redeeme the time;
For spotlesse Vertue neuer there appear'd,
Where true Humility, that fruitfull vine
Hath no plantation, for it cannot be,
Grace should haue growth but by Humilitie.

Let each man then into his errors looke,
And with a free acknowledgement confesse;
That there are more Errataes in his booke,
Then th' crabbedst Satyre can in lines expresse:
For this will better Him, and make Him grow
In grace with Vertue, whom He knowes not now.

172

These my vnpolish'd Satyres I commend,
To thy protection, not that I do feare
Thy censure otherwise then as a friend,
For I am secure of censure I may sweare,
But for forme sake: if shou't accept them do,
If not, I care not how the world go.

Thine if thine owne, Musophilus.

Silentio culpa crescit.