Natures Embassie Or, The Wilde-mans Measvres: Danced naked by twelve Satyres, with sundry others continued in the next Section [by Richard Brathwait] |
 |
| 1. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
THE NINTH SATYRE.
[OF EPICVRISME.]
|
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
|
| 14. |
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
 | Natures Embassie |  |
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.
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,
But dying laughs, as when He liued here.
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,
130
His Bon-companions drinking healths in wine,
Carousing flagons to his health receiuing,
Whose sparkling noses taper-like do shine,
Offer him drinke whose thirstie mind is crauing:
For though He cannot drinke, yet his desire
Is to see others wallow in the mire.
Carousing flagons to his health receiuing,
Whose sparkling noses taper-like do shine,
Offer him drinke whose 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.
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.
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.
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,
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.
That hates thy parent, braues ore thy Protector,
131
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.
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 Porter of which caue, is reproch and shame,
Which layes a lasting scandall on thy name.
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 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.
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.
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.
132
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.
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 pleasure, but to dwell
In that vast Tophet Epicurean cell.
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 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.
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.
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;
For loues encounter loose wits can expresse it,
But for diuine power they will scarce confesse it.
How Amarillis and Pelargus woed,
Where in loue measures thou employes some paines,
To make thy works by wanton eares allow'd;
133
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.
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.
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.
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.
| Natures Embassie | |