A Medicinable Morall that is, the two Bookes of Horace his Satyres, Englyshed accordyng to the prescription of saint Hierome. The Wailynges of the Prophet Hieremiah, done into Englyshe verse. Also Epigrammes. T. Drant |
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The sixte Satyre.
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 | A Medicinable Morall |  |
The sixte Satyre.
MODERAT AND SPARING Liuinge highlye commended the Countrey muche Preferred before the Citie: the pleasure of the one, and the trouble of thother.
This
, was the thinge, I wished for,
an hansum roume of grounde,
An orcharde place, a fountayne bryghte,
with stones empounded rounde.
Sume trees, to ouer shade the same,
the goddes, this good beheste
Haue graunted me: they haue fulfilde,
and betterde my requeste.
Content. Graunte this, frende Mercurie,
(for nothinge elles I craue)
Graunte this good god, for tearme of lyfe,
this lyuelod I maye haue.
If I got not my goodes by fraude,
nor pore man did oppresse,
Nor thorough ryot, on negligence,
do meane tomake it lesse?
And, do not vse to wishe, so vaine,
as foolishe worldlings do.
O that yond peece of grounde, were myne
it mames myne orcharde so.
O that it were myne happie chaunce,
to fynde a pot of goulde,
To purchesse fearmes, such worthy fermes
as now are to be soulde.
As some haue done, as he to whome,
God hercules did bringe,
A gubbe of goulde, who sence hath bought,
a woorthie wealthie thinge.
A manor, here and now dothe till
his grounde, and cherelie singe.
If god haue lente me anie thinge,
I thanke him much for that.
And praye him, for to make my sheepe,
and cattle verye fatte.
And, for to fatten all I haue,
excepte my witte alone:
If that be fatte, adew good lorde,
our musies maye be gone.
Synce I am cumde from cyty now,
into the countrye towne,
What shall be done (my ryming muse?)
shall I in satyres frowne?
Not lewde ambition vexethe here,
nor washye southerne wynde:
Nor fruitlesse harueste, burninge tyme
vnto the feeldes vnkynde.
Thou father of the morninge tyde
god Ianus, by thy name,
In whom, men take in hande their woorkes
and sett vppon the same:
O Ianus, helpe thou on my verse,
thou knowes the cruell coyle
In Citie kepte, as eeke the eases
of quiet countrie soyle.
In Rome, I needes muste ryse bytime,
to be some suretie,
To speake to him, and him for them
they still do call on me.
Though whiskinge wyndes, do shaue the earth,
and though the snawishe day,
Be shorte, and sharpe, I muste abrode
they wil not let me stay.
If that I speake not pleasinglye,
but vprighte in my mynde,
Then sure I am in places all,
ynough of foes to fynde.
I muste be crowded in the throng,
and staie, when I woulde walke,
What ayls this foole? how shoues he one
suche is their angrie talke.
Or if we to Mecenas walke
(for that is all in all,)
That makes our greate vnquietnesse
to seme to vs so small.
(I make no lye) as sone as I
draw neare the Pallace place,
An hundreth suiters call to me,
to speake vnto his grace.
One cals on me, at two a clocke,
to moute hall for to go.
The scribes pray me, for maine affayres
to haste the moute hal fro.
If there be any grauntes drawne out,
that tarrye for the seale,
They cry on me, vnto my lorde
the thinge for to reueale.
A seuen, or eyght yeares, now it is,
synce that Mecene my lorde,
Did dub me his, and bad me cum
aye welcom to his borde.
Not to debate of graunde affaires:
in waggen, for to ryde,
To tell, or heare sum tryfled thing,
I placed by his syde.
As thus, how that the day doth spende,
in maygames, and in play
The Tracian, or the Serian,
whiche bare the pryse away.
And of the season of the yeare,
and how the morning coulde,
Did nip the foole, in summer tyde,
that looke to nothinge woulde.
Suche talke, as into eares of drabbes,
safelye man mighte power.
Through this, mine hatred, quickned firste
and kyndled euerye hower.
For if in case the noble duke,
did solace hym abrode,
(Lo) yonder (sayde they) fortunes whelpe,
and mokde me where I rode.
If from the preeuie councell cum,
sum muttring of the warre,
Then, who that meetes me, questions me,
and greetes me fayre from farre.
People.
an hansum roume of grounde,
An orcharde place, a fountayne bryghte,
with stones empounded rounde.
Sume trees, to ouer shade the same,
the goddes, this good beheste
Haue graunted me: they haue fulfilde,
and betterde my requeste.
Content. Graunte this, frende Mercurie,
(for nothinge elles I craue)
Graunte this good god, for tearme of lyfe,
this lyuelod I maye haue.
If I got not my goodes by fraude,
nor pore man did oppresse,
do meane tomake it lesse?
And, do not vse to wishe, so vaine,
as foolishe worldlings do.
O that yond peece of grounde, were myne
it mames myne orcharde so.
O that it were myne happie chaunce,
to fynde a pot of goulde,
To purchesse fearmes, such worthy fermes
as now are to be soulde.
As some haue done, as he to whome,
God hercules did bringe,
A gubbe of goulde, who sence hath bought,
a woorthie wealthie thinge.
A manor, here and now dothe till
his grounde, and cherelie singe.
If god haue lente me anie thinge,
I thanke him much for that.
And praye him, for to make my sheepe,
and cattle verye fatte.
And, for to fatten all I haue,
excepte my witte alone:
If that be fatte, adew good lorde,
our musies maye be gone.
Synce I am cumde from cyty now,
into the countrye towne,
What shall be done (my ryming muse?)
shall I in satyres frowne?
Not lewde ambition vexethe here,
nor washye southerne wynde:
Nor fruitlesse harueste, burninge tyme
vnto the feeldes vnkynde.
Thou father of the morninge tyde
god Ianus, by thy name,
In whom, men take in hande their woorkes
and sett vppon the same:
thou knowes the cruell coyle
In Citie kepte, as eeke the eases
of quiet countrie soyle.
In Rome, I needes muste ryse bytime,
to be some suretie,
To speake to him, and him for them
they still do call on me.
Though whiskinge wyndes, do shaue the earth,
and though the snawishe day,
Be shorte, and sharpe, I muste abrode
they wil not let me stay.
If that I speake not pleasinglye,
but vprighte in my mynde,
Then sure I am in places all,
ynough of foes to fynde.
I muste be crowded in the throng,
and staie, when I woulde walke,
What ayls this foole? how shoues he one
suche is their angrie talke.
Or if we to Mecenas walke
(for that is all in all,)
That makes our greate vnquietnesse
to seme to vs so small.
(I make no lye) as sone as I
draw neare the Pallace place,
An hundreth suiters call to me,
to speake vnto his grace.
One cals on me, at two a clocke,
to moute hall for to go.
The scribes pray me, for maine affayres
to haste the moute hal fro.
If there be any grauntes drawne out,
that tarrye for the seale,
They cry on me, vnto my lorde
the thinge for to reueale.
synce that Mecene my lorde,
Did dub me his, and bad me cum
aye welcom to his borde.
Not to debate of graunde affaires:
in waggen, for to ryde,
To tell, or heare sum tryfled thing,
I placed by his syde.
As thus, how that the day doth spende,
in maygames, and in play
The Tracian, or the Serian,
whiche bare the pryse away.
And of the season of the yeare,
and how the morning coulde,
Did nip the foole, in summer tyde,
that looke to nothinge woulde.
Suche talke, as into eares of drabbes,
safelye man mighte power.
Through this, mine hatred, quickned firste
and kyndled euerye hower.
For if in case the noble duke,
did solace hym abrode,
(Lo) yonder (sayde they) fortunes whelpe,
and mokde me where I rode.
If from the preeuie councell cum,
sum muttring of the warre,
Then, who that meetes me, questions me,
and greetes me fayre from farre.
Good master, (you do know those goddes
because of neare accesse)
Must we to warre on Dasia,
our selues in armoure dresse?
Horace.
I harde it not.
Peo.
By gisse, (Horace)
you wil not leave your mockinge:
Hor.
Then on my heade (in stiddie wyse,)
let all the goddes be knocking.
Cesar, made promisse he woulde geue
his souldiers grounde to tyll:
In Scycilie, or Italie?
Sir, what is Cesars will?
Horace.
Me swearinge, that I know nothinge,
they maruaile, as at one,
Of famouse taciturnitie,
and secret gyfte alone.
In cile, thus I spende my dayes,
in muche recourse of care:
O manor place, when shall I see,
thy groues so freshe, and fayre?
When shall I soundlye plye my booke,
and at my vacante howers
C (ut from the worlde) profoundlye sleepe,
amid the fragraunte flowers?
Pithagoras, when shall thy beanes,
or colewoorte sybbe of kynde,
Refreshe, my hungry appetyte.
whilste I haue supte or dynde?
O nightes, and suppers of the goddes,
in whiche both I and myne.
Make cheare, at home: my iollie men
do feede so cleane, and fyne?
Of all the townishe delicates,
of what, so lykes them beste,
My straungers francklye take repaste,
with lyuelye harte, at reste.
When, that our sobre companye,
begins to warme with drincke,
Of purchasinge, or supplantinge,
we do not eftsones thinke:
In trothe, our talke it multyplyes,
but not of baude, or queane,
Or who dothe friske it beste in daunce,
no, it is chaste, and cleane.
as if in ryches be,
Or in vertue, the chefest good,
(I clepde felicitie.)
If frendship springe of vse, or gaine,
or do to vertue tende
What is the good calde soueraigne,
what is her verye ende.
If any praysinge hurtefull goodes,
of ignoraunce do fayle,
Our neyghbour Seruie, hearing that,
steppes in to tell his tale:
Full gosseplike, the father sage,
beginnes his fable then:
The countrye mouse, did enterteyne,
within her homelie den,
The citie mouse, the olde hostesse,
her olde acquainted frende,
Doth welcum, loth to sparple muche:
and yet for to vnbynde,
The corsey anguishe of her geste,
with syghtes of daintie fare:
Not hurded pulfe, nor longe stalkd otes,
(the prodigal) doth spare.
She serues in mouth the curnell drye,
the gobbets chewde of larde,
To please her geste, with cheefeste meates,
was cheeflie her regarde:
(Her geste that tasted on eche thinge
with toth of muche disdaine)
The rurall mouse eate new thrushde chaffe,
and put her selfe to paine:
Reseruing wheate, and cockle flower,
(two dishes of muche ioy)
Unto the fyne fed citizen,
a straunger all to coy.
my frende why lyke you still,
To lyue in countrye fastynglye,
vppon a craggie hill?
How say you? can you fynde in hearte
to haunte, and set more by
The citie, then the saluage woodes?
marche on, be boulde to trye.
Our earthelie soule is ruinouse,
not possible to flye,
From dinte of death, by any meanes,
the longeste liude muste dye.
Wherfore good sister, whilste thou maiste,
do bayth they selfe in blisse,
Remember aye, how shadowye,
and shorte this lyfe tyme is.
These sayings, moued the rusticall,
full lightlie leapeth she,
They both begin this gay exployte,
the citye for to see.
Benighted cum they to the towne:
(for, midnighte then did hyde
The midle parte of roumie skye)
when both at equall tyde,
Did presse their foote, in pallas proude:
where scarlet vestures reade,
On Iuery beddes, did glose with gleames,
as it were glowing gleade.
Muche was the noble remainder,
or gorgiouse supper paste,
Whiche was bestowed in baskets shutte,
not clasped very faste.
Therfore, this straunger (countrie mouse)
on purple quishion set,
The townishe dame (as nurturde well,)
her noble cattes doth fette.
she like a seruinge page,
Dyd daine to go to bring, to taste,
in proper personage.
The trauailer, dothe lyke her chaunge,
and quyte deuoyde of feare,
As dedicate to feaste, and wealthe,
doth glade her selfe with cheare.
All sodeynly, the clappynge dore,
doth fraye them into flore,
Affrighted sore, a rounde they trip,
Dismayed more, and more.
Also the vaste, and ample house,
of mastie dogges did sounde,
The mowse, beset in sorye wyse,
doth shape her answere rounde:
Farewell. I neade not suche a lyfe:
the harmelesse wood, and caue,
Can comforte me, with fatche, and tare,
and so my bodye saue.
| A Medicinable Morall | |