The Ant and the Nightingale or, Father Hubburds Tales [by Thomas Middleton] |
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The Ant, and the Nightingale.
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 | The Ant and the Nightingale |  |
The Ant, and the Nightingale.
The west-Seas Goddesse in a crimson Robe,
Her Temples circled with a currall wreathe,
Waighted her Loue, the lightner of Earths Globe,
The wanton winde did on her bosome breathe;
The Nimphs of Springs did hollowed water power,
What ere was cold, helpt to make coole her Bower.
Her Temples circled with a currall wreathe,
Waighted her Loue, the lightner of Earths Globe,
The wanton winde did on her bosome breathe;
The Nimphs of Springs did hollowed water power,
What ere was cold, helpt to make coole her Bower.
And now the fiery Horses of the Sun
Were from their golden-flaming Car vntrac'de,
And all the Glorie of the day was done,
Saue here and there some Lightmoone-clouds in chac'de,
A partie-coloured-Canopie did spread
Ouer the Sun and Thetis amorous bed.
Were from their golden-flaming Car vntrac'de,
And all the Glorie of the day was done,
Saue here and there some Lightmoone-clouds in chac'de,
A partie-coloured-Canopie did spread
Ouer the Sun and Thetis amorous bed.
Now had the Shepheards folded in their Flocks
The sweating Teemes vncoupled from their yokes;
The wolfe sought pray, and the slie-murdring Foxe
Attempts to steale; fearelesse of rurall stroakes
All beasts tooke rest that liued by labouring Toile,
Onely such rang'de as had delight in spoile.
The sweating Teemes vncoupled from their yokes;
The wolfe sought pray, and the slie-murdring Foxe
Attempts to steale; fearelesse of rurall stroakes
All beasts tooke rest that liued by labouring Toile,
Onely such rang'de as had delight in spoile.
Now in the Pathlesse region of the Ayre,
The winged passengers had left to soare:
Except the Bat and Owle who bode sad care,
And Philomel that nightly doth deplore
In soule-contenting tunes her change of shape,
Wrought first by perfidy and lustfull Rape.
The winged passengers had left to soare:
Except the Bat and Owle who bode sad care,
And Philomel that nightly doth deplore
In soule-contenting tunes her change of shape,
Wrought first by perfidy and lustfull Rape.
This poore Musitian sitting all alone
On a greene Hawthorne, from the thunder blest
Carolls in varied notes her antique mone,
Keeping a sharpned Brier against her brest:
Her innocence this watchfull payne doth take,
To shun the Adder and the speckled Snake.
On a greene Hawthorne, from the thunder blest
Carolls in varied notes her antique mone,
Keeping a sharpned Brier against her brest:
Her innocence this watchfull payne doth take,
To shun the Adder and the speckled Snake.
These two like her old foe the Lord of Thrace,
Regardlesse of her dulcet changing song,
To serue their owne lust haue her life in chace:
Vertue by vice is offred endlesse wrong.
Beasts are not all to blame, for now and then
We see the like attempted amongst men.
Regardlesse of her dulcet changing song,
To serue their owne lust haue her life in chace:
Vertue by vice is offred endlesse wrong.
Beasts are not all to blame, for now and then
We see the like attempted amongst men.
Vnder the tree whereon the poore Bird sate,
There was a Bed of busie-toyling Ants,
That in their Sommer, winters comfort gat,
Teaching poore men how to shun after wants:
Whose Rules if sluggards could be learnt to keepe,
They should not starue awake, lye cold asleepe.
There was a Bed of busie-toyling Ants,
That in their Sommer, winters comfort gat,
Teaching poore men how to shun after wants:
Whose Rules if sluggards could be learnt to keepe,
They should not starue awake, lye cold asleepe.
One of these busy Brethren hauing donne
His dayes true Labour got vpon the tree:
And with his litle nimble Legs did runne,
Pleasde with the hearing, he desirde to see
What wondrous Creature Nature had composde,
In whome such Gratious Musick was enclosde.
His dayes true Labour got vpon the tree:
And with his litle nimble Legs did runne,
Pleasde with the hearing, he desirde to see
What wondrous Creature Nature had composde,
In whome such Gratious Musick was enclosde.
He got too neare: for the mistrustfull bird
Gest him to be a spye from her knowne foe:
Suspition argues not to heare a word,
What wiseman feares not that's invr'de to woe?
Then blame not her, she caught him in her beake,
About to kill him ere the worme could speake.
Gest him to be a spye from her knowne foe:
Suspition argues not to heare a word,
What wiseman feares not that's invr'de to woe?
Then blame not her, she caught him in her beake,
About to kill him ere the worme could speake.
But yet her mercy was aboue her heate
She did not as a many silken men
Cald by much wealth, smal wit, to Iudgements seate,
Condemne at random; but she pittyed then
When she might spoyle, would great ones would do so
Who often kill, before the Cause they know.
She did not as a many silken men
Cald by much wealth, smal wit, to Iudgements seate,
Condemne at random; but she pittyed then
When she might spoyle, would great ones would do so
Who often kill, before the Cause they know.
O if they would as did this little Fowle,
Looke on their lesser Captiues with euen Ruth:
They should not heare so many sentencde, Howle,
Complayning Iustice is not friend to truth:
But they would thinke vpon this Antient Theame,
Each Right extreame, is Iniury extreame!
Looke on their lesser Captiues with euen Ruth:
They should not heare so many sentencde, Howle,
Complayning Iustice is not friend to truth:
But they would thinke vpon this Antient Theame,
Each Right extreame, is Iniury extreame!
Passe them to mend, for none can them amend,
But heauens Leiftenant, and earths-Iustice King,
Sterne will, hath will; no great-one wants a friend,
Some are ordaynde to sorrow, some to sing;
And with their sentence let thy Griefes all close
Who ere are wrongd, are happier then their foes.
But heauens Leiftenant, and earths-Iustice King,
Sterne will, hath will; no great-one wants a friend,
Some are ordaynde to sorrow, some to sing;
And with their sentence let thy Griefes all close
Who ere are wrongd, are happier then their foes.
So much for such, now to the little Ant
In the Birds beake and at the point to die:
Alas for woe, friends in distresse are scant,
None of his Fellowes to his Helpe did hie:
They keepe them safe, they heare and are afraid:
Tis vaine to trust in the Base numbers aide:
In the Birds beake and at the point to die:
Alas for woe, friends in distresse are scant,
None of his Fellowes to his Helpe did hie:
They keepe them safe, they heare and are afraid:
Tis vaine to trust in the Base numbers aide:
Onely himselfe vnto himselfe is friend,
With a faint voice his Foe he thus bespake:
Why seekes your gentlenes a poore wormes end;
O ere you kill, heare the excuse I make:
I come to wonder, not to worke offence:
There is no Glorie to spoile Innocence!
With a faint voice his Foe he thus bespake:
Why seekes your gentlenes a poore wormes end;
O ere you kill, heare the excuse I make:
I come to wonder, not to worke offence:
There is no Glorie to spoile Innocence!
Perchance you take me for a soothing Spye,
By the slie Snake or enuious Adder feede:
Alas I know not how to faine and lye,
Or win a base Intelligencers meede,
That now are Christians, sometime Turks, then Iewes,
Liuing by leauing Heauen for earthly Newes!
By the slie Snake or enuious Adder feede:
Alas I know not how to faine and lye,
Or win a base Intelligencers meede,
That now are Christians, sometime Turks, then Iewes,
Liuing by leauing Heauen for earthly Newes!
Trust me: I am a little Emmet borne to worke,
Oft times a man, as you were once a maide:
Vnder the name of man much ill doth hirke,
Yet of poore men you neede not be afraid:
Meane men are wormes on whom the mightye tread,
Greatnes and strength your Vertue iniured.
Oft times a man, as you were once a maide:
Vnder the name of man much ill doth hirke,
Yet of poore men you neede not be afraid:
Meane men are wormes on whom the mightye tread,
Greatnes and strength your Vertue iniured.
With that she opend wide her hornie Bill,
The prison where this poore submissant lay:
And seeing the poore Ant lie quiuering still,
Goe wretch, quoth she: I giue thee life and way:
The worthy will not pray on yeelding things,
Pittie's inscoffed to the bloud of Kings!
The prison where this poore submissant lay:
And seeing the poore Ant lie quiuering still,
Goe wretch, quoth she: I giue thee life and way:
The worthy will not pray on yeelding things,
Pittie's inscoffed to the bloud of Kings!
For I was once, though now a featherde vaile
Couer my wronged Bodie Queenelike clad
This downe about my neck was earst a Raile
Of Bisse embrodered, fie on that we had
Vnthrifts and Fooles and wronged once Complaine
Rich things were theirs, must nere be theirs againe.
Couer my wronged Bodie Queenelike clad
This downe about my neck was earst a Raile
Of Bisse embrodered, fie on that we had
Vnthrifts and Fooles and wronged once Complaine
Rich things were theirs, must nere be theirs againe.
I was thou know'st the Daughter to a King,
Had pallaces and pleasures in my time:
Now mine owne songs I am enforc'd to sing,
Poets forget me in their pleasing rime,
Like chaffe they fly tost with each windie breath
Omitting my fore'st Rape by Tereus death!
Had pallaces and pleasures in my time:
Now mine owne songs I am enforc'd to sing,
Poets forget me in their pleasing rime,
Like chaffe they fly tost with each windie breath
Omitting my fore'st Rape by Tereus death!
But tis no matter: I my selfe can sing
Sufficient straines to witnesse mine owne worth,
They that forget a Queene, sooth with a King,
Flatterie's still barren, yet still bringeth forth,
Their workes are dewes, shed when the day is donne
But suckt vp drie by the next mornings Sun!
Sufficient straines to witnesse mine owne worth,
They that forget a Queene, sooth with a King,
Flatterie's still barren, yet still bringeth forth,
Their workes are dewes, shed when the day is donne
But suckt vp drie by the next mornings Sun!
What more of them? they are like Iris throne,
Commixt with many Colours in moyst time:
Such lines portend what's in that circle showne:
Cleere weather followes showers in euery Clime,
Auerring no Prognosticator lyes
That sayes, some Great ones fall, their Riualls rise!
Commixt with many Colours in moyst time:
Such lines portend what's in that circle showne:
Cleere weather followes showers in euery Clime,
Auerring no Prognosticator lyes
That sayes, some Great ones fall, their Riualls rise!
Passe such for Bubbles, let their bladder-prayse
Shine and sinck with them in a moments change:
They thinke to rise, when they the Riser rayse
But regall wisedome knowes it is not strange
For Curs to fawne, base things are euer lowe,
The vulgar Eye feeds onely on the showe:
Shine and sinck with them in a moments change:
They thinke to rise, when they the Riser rayse
But regall wisedome knowes it is not strange
For Curs to fawne, base things are euer lowe,
The vulgar Eye feeds onely on the showe:
Else would not soothing Glosers oyle the Sonne,
Who, while his Father liude his Acts did hate:
They know all earthly day with man is donne
When he is circled in the Night of Fate,
So the deceased they thinke on no more,
But whom they iuiur de late they now adore.
Who, while his Father liude his Acts did hate:
They know all earthly day with man is donne
When he is circled in the Night of Fate,
So the deceased they thinke on no more,
But whom they iuiur de late they now adore.
But there's a Manly Lion now can Rore,
Thunder more dreaded then the Lionesse:
Of him let simple beasts his ayde implore,
For he conceiues more, then they can expresse.
The vertuous Politick, is truly man,
Diuell, the Atheist, Polititian.
Thunder more dreaded then the Lionesse:
Of him let simple beasts his ayde implore,
For he conceiues more, then they can expresse.
The vertuous Politick, is truly man,
Diuell, the Atheist, Polititian.
I gest thee such a one: but tell thy tale,
If thou be simple as thou hast exprest:
Doe not with Coyned words set wit to sale;
Nor with the Flattring world vse vayne protest.
Sith man thou fayst thou wert, I prethee tell
While thou wert man, what mischiefs thee befell?
If thou be simple as thou hast exprest:
Doe not with Coyned words set wit to sale;
Nor with the Flattring world vse vayne protest.
Sith man thou fayst thou wert, I prethee tell
While thou wert man, what mischiefs thee befell?
Princess! you bid me buried cares reuiue,
Quoth the poore Ant; yet sith by you I liue:
So let me in my dayly labrings thriue,
As I my selfe doe to your seruice giue:
I haue bene oft a man, and so to be,
Is often to be thrall to misery.
Quoth the poore Ant; yet sith by you I liue:
So let me in my dayly labrings thriue,
As I my selfe doe to your seruice giue:
I haue bene oft a man, and so to be,
Is often to be thrall to misery.
But if you will haue me my mind disclose,
I must entreat you that I may set downe
The tales of my black fortunes in sad prose:
Rime is vneuen, fashiond by a Clowne:
I first was such a one, I Tild the Ground,
And amongst Ruralls verse is scarcely found.
I must entreat you that I may set downe
The tales of my black fortunes in sad prose:
Rime is vneuen, fashiond by a Clowne:
I first was such a one, I Tild the Ground,
And amongst Ruralls verse is scarcely found.
Well, tell thy tales: but see thy prose be good:
For if thou Euphuize which once was rare,
And of all English Phrase the life and blood,
In those times for the fashion past compare,
Ile say thou borrowest, and condemne thy Stile:
As our new fooles, that count all following vile.
For if thou Euphuize which once was rare,
And of all English Phrase the life and blood,
In those times for the fashion past compare,
Ile say thou borrowest, and condemne thy Stile:
As our new fooles, that count all following vile.
Or if in Bitternes thou raile like Nash,
Forgiue me honest Soule, that tearme thy phrase
Rayling, for in thy workes thou wert not rash,
Nor didst affect in youth thy priuate praise,
Thou hadst a strife with that Trigemius
Thou hurtst not them till they had iniurde thee.
Forgiue me honest Soule, that tearme thy phrase
Rayling, for in thy workes thou wert not rash,
Nor didst affect in youth thy priuate praise,
Thou hadst a strife with that Trigemius
Thou hurtst not them till they had iniurde thee.
Thou wast indeede too slothfull to thy selfe,
Hiding thy better tallent in thy Spleene:
True spirits are not couetous in pelfe,
Youths wit is euer ready quick and keene:
Thou didst not liue thy ripened Autumne day,
But wert cut off in thy best blooming may.
Hiding thy better tallent in thy Spleene:
True spirits are not couetous in pelfe,
Youths wit is euer ready quick and keene:
Thou didst not liue thy ripened Autumne day,
But wert cut off in thy best blooming may.
Else hadst thou left as thou indeede hast left
Sufficient Test, though now in others Chests
T'improue the basenes of that humorous theft
Which seemes to flow from selfe-conceiuing Brests:
Thy name they burie, hauing buried thee
Drones eate thy Honnie, thou wert the true Bee.
Sufficient Test, though now in others Chests
T'improue the basenes of that humorous theft
Which seemes to flow from selfe-conceiuing Brests:
Thy name they burie, hauing buried thee
Drones eate thy Honnie, thou wert the true Bee.
Peace keepe thy Soule: And now to you Sir Ant,
On with your Prose, be neither rude nor nise,
In your discourse let no Decorum want:
See that you be sententious and concise,
And as I like the matter, I will sing
A Canzonet to close vp euery thing.
On with your Prose, be neither rude nor nise,
In your discourse let no Decorum want:
See that you be sententious and concise,
And as I like the matter, I will sing
A Canzonet to close vp euery thing.
| The Ant and the Nightingale | |