The Golden Fleece Divided into three Parts, Under Which are discouered the Errours of Religion, the Vices and Decayes of the Kingdome, and lastly the wayes to get wealth, and to restore Trading so much complayned of. Transported from Cambrioll Colchos, out of the Southermost Part of the Iland, commonly called the Newfoundland, By Orpheus Iunior [i.e.William Vaughan], For the generall and perpetuall Good of Great Britaine |
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Chap. 12. The Golden Fleece |  |
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Chap. 12.
84
[I long to sing of Charles his Waine]
St. Dauid.I long to sing of Charles his Waine,
And with due praise to raise
The Flowre deluce of Charle-le-maine.
New dayes bring forth new Layes.
O happy Starre! O hopefull daies!
Braue Iasons Golden Age!
Kinde Courtiers, heare S. Dauids Layes,
Free from wiles, farre from rage.
Who Cambriaes Ioyes then Cambers Son,
Should for this match expresse?
This match, whose Beames doe strike vpon
Towers, Fields, and Wildernesse?
Scoggins interruption.
What wilt thou proue a Phaeton?Stand backe, and doe not presse:
Among our wits a Coridon,
Thy selfe a Swaine confesse.
Base is thy tune, so seemes thy state
In Courtlie Eagles eyes;
None may come in at heauens Gate
Without S. Peters Keyes.
Without great meanes none out of Wales
Shall greete our Noble King.
Dar'st thou then come with Newfound tales?
And them before him sing?
Thy Cambria is a barren land
For Goates and Satyres fram'd:
Like to the Alpes, or that wild Strand,
85
Thy Nation meete to be still gull'd
With Lawyers quirks and quips:
Thy Muse vnholy, too much dull'd,
No drop of life she sips.
No Wedding Robe, hast thou on, Foole,
Yet look'st here wedding Cheere:
A Guest vnbid must bring his Stoole;
Stand backe and draw not neere.
Stand backe thy selfe, thou greedy Elfe,
Shall Slugges the Hauen hold?
And merry Greekes runne on a Shelfe
From Colchos bearing Gold?
Both Sea and Land in league conspire
Rich Cambrioll to deface,
If Argonautickes thou aspire
To keepe from Courtly Grace.
O how thy Midriffe swelles with Gall
Against an Antient Race!
Wee are no Slaues, true Britaines all
May see his Highnesse face.
If Cats may looke vpon a King,
And Curres barke at the Moone:
Arcadian Swaines like Swannes may sing,
And Dauy begge one Boone.
That Dauid which made Pagans bow
To Christ, though Fiends repine.
That man which made Polagians know
Their faults, and truth to shine:
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The first of March doth ring:
If not; the fame of Newfound land
Shall lead me to our King:
Whose Heart I faine with Orpheus straine
Would cheere; and then salute
The Queene, which Fates for him ordaine
With Violl and the Lute.
The sacred Muses sent me heere,
And, if Might quells not Right,
I will draw neere, (O doe not ieere)
The Light, their Angels sight.
To whom Ile show what's yet vnshowne,
My Countries griefe and neede;
And in thy eare (although a Clowne)
Ile whisper through a Reed.
Our Cambria is a fertile soile
Abounding with all store;
Else would not her Hells-brokers spoile,
And sucke her blood so sore.
Had Cambria not more Drones then need,
Her shoares would yeeld good ships:
Her Land more wealth, where now we feed
With honey needlesse lips.
Till Hydra suits bee well restraind,
Our Iarres will neuer cease:
Our meanes grow meane, our honour stain'd,
Voyd of Grace, voyd of peace.
But if our King play Hercules,
And daunt them with his Mace:
Old Cambria shall with Cumbers lesse
Sustaine new Cambriols case.
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More store then Peru's Oare,
Which at his feete they'll yearely lay,
With some in hand before.
S. George did kill, as Legends say,
A Dragon fierce of prey:
Next vnder God this Monster may
None but our Soueraigne slay.
Marke well my words, whose Pedegree
Is fetch't from Cambers line;
And with our Leekes who do'st agree
Thy Roses to Combine.
Take wares vnbought, a thing that's strange,
Fish, Iron, Salt, and Pitch,
Trayne, Skinnes, and Masts: or in Exchange
Fruit, Wine, Gold, Silkes most rich.
Our Seuerne goes not farre behinde
The Thames for fruitfull ground:
Nor this my Muse shall any finde
Vnrelisht or vnsound.
Let Friends or Fiends, or Momes accurst
Taxe her for want of life:
With sweet the best, with sowre the worst
She payes to end the strife.
I'st not folly? and vnholy
For Bayards to discerne
Of doubtfull colours suddenly,
Before the right they learne?
Although I am no Puritane,
Pure kisses I commend.
Pure iests I praise in any man,
So they to goodnesse tend.
88
Those bookes cald Lutherane:
And thine, O Wickliffe, haue I lesse;
Yet am not I profane.
These Mysteries I leaue to such,
Who pale with study teach:
Or vnto such, whom ouermuch
Wants Feare commands to preach.
Skeltons interruption.
Why dost thou smite, O busie wight,Our eares with thy discourse?
Art thou a Iew, or Rome-a-Night,
A bruitish Turke, or worse?
Thy Song some Welsh Sidanens Loue
May gaine to thy desire:
But Courtly Dames will thee reproue,
Fly from high beauties fire.
Haunt thou Bride-Cakes, and Country cheere
As fits a Cambrian Peere.
Thy Mumsimus, thy murmurs here
None will but dizzards heare.
Bray there aloud, and roare complete
Amidst thy Pipes and Ale:
From Babels seat springs thy conceit,
Thy sonnet is so stale.
I come not here for Belly-cheere,
Nor for Tobaccoes fume.
With mirth for mirrh my Soueraigne deare,
To perfume, I presume.
Whom mighty Ioue meanes to destroy,
He lets them quaffe a while:
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Themselues till they beguile.
Bayte thou those Beasts: and Ile take leaue,
To greet our Charles his waine:
Whose rayes shoot on, as I conceaue,
The stocke of Charle le-maine.
Their Starre I saw from Cambria West:
Which made me Gifts prepare,
Leekes crownd with Pearles; yet to contest
Against me still you dare.
You gape for Fees, but a Gold Ring
Suits not a Meazells snout.
A Lambe shall wring your Adders sting
And canuase all your rout.
Rather then you should terme me Iew,
Leane Bacon I will eat:
Or Pudding nere so blacke of hew,
or Hare, though beauties meat.
But if you please and stand precise,
Vpon those Iewish Lawes:
Your double tongue Ile Circumcise,
Which marres your Clyents cause.
I worship not false Mahomet,
Who barres the Ivy signe,
As ignorant, how some haue met
In wine the sisters nine.
Nor Romes good will seeke I to winne,
Which orders me to plow
Red furrowes vp in naked skinne,
And merits seed to sow.
Such Grace let Popes graue on themselues,
And leaue me as I am;
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The Diuell, or his Dam.
I count that Church Baudes Pedlery,
Which all for money cares;
Sells Masses, Pardons, Letchery,
Soules, Beads. ô precious wares!
Though lack a dandy, when he houles,
Frights children from the dugges:
Will men giue bribes to keepe their soules
From Purgatories bugges?
Though Apes weare coates, and some birds prate,
Not knowing weale from woe:
Yet sober men (though somewhat late)
Owles Mattins should forgoe.
I hunt not for more miracles,
The Gospell to confirme:
Nor outward shewes, Gulls Spectacles,
To hold my Inside firme.
The Golden Calfe old Iewes averr'd
With manly voice to crake:
Christs body some are not afeard,
From Gods right hand to rake:
I like as ill the Cloister life,
Vnlesse a Nunne I schoole.
Let him that hates an honest wife
Be gelt, or beg'd a foole.
No Priest shall cozen me to fast
To pull my courage downe,
If once of Shrift my Wife had tast,
Or lou'd a grasse-greene gowne.
At Tombes and Shrines I dare not call,
On Saints this match to guide:
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Lye from this mariage wide.
But vnto ONE, that's alway prone
To pardon humane vice,
I vow them both in Christ alone
A liuing Sacrifice.
The Stony-heart who can deny
But vnion tender makes?
Of diffring Tunes an Harmony,
In spight of Hellish Snakes?
No venome shall their soules defile,
No dreames, no magicke spells:
Nor Crocodile tempt them with guile.
So sweet Loues Posie smells!
No Beast shall touch their honey flowres,
No flashing curse them sindge,
What God hath set he weedes at houres;
Gods knot let none infringe.
With Oile of Gladnesse, Bathes of blisse
Dipt shines free Maiestie
In Albions Throne, where Thamesis
Extolls their Amitie.
The Crownes they weare, no Fiends can teare;
S. Michaell guards his owne.
The Golden Scepter which they beare
With Lawes swayes Field and Towne.
With might & maine their mind contends
The Dragon to put by,
Who red with blood at last intends
The westerne Monarchy.
Yet let him reckon with his Oast
For his warre-fares wages:
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Will pay th' arrerages.
Let none wonder, if God Thunder
Vengeance for our Iarres:
While we vnder Sathan wander,
Himselfe with Dauid warres.
But reconcil'd he wils to fight
His Battells valiantly.
Though Dauids might Goliah slight,
On God all Conquests lye.
Couragious King, then bid vs smite
Tyrants downe, Gyants growne;
Downe with those Dons, which Britaines spight,
Tara tantara downe.
Me thinkes Lisbon I see now wonne,
Th' Iles ransack't, th' Indies sack't,
And sweet Eliza thought vndone;
Rein-stald by vs awakt.
In March, like Iune, their springs first light
Reuiues our Garden beds
With louely Roses, red and white,
And Leekes with siluer'd heads.
The Spirits Gardner will keepe greene
With Buddes perpetually,
Our Rosie King and Lillies Queene,
On him if we relye.
Whom last I pray, as Pageants gay,
As Maskes, or Gemmes in Gold,
My Muse to prize, though clad in gray,
My Will, though too too bold.
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Chap. 12. The Golden Fleece | |