Natures Embassie Or, The Wilde-mans Measvres: Danced naked by twelve Satyres, with sundry others continued in the next Section [by Richard Brathwait] |
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| 6. | THE SWALLOW.
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 | Natures Embassie |  |
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THE SWALLOW.
6. ODE.
You chatt'ring Fleere, you Faune, you sommer-friend,
Not following vs, but our successe,
Will this your flatt'ring humour nere haue end,
Of all other meritlesse?
Flie I say, flie, be gone,
Haunt not here to Albion:
She should be spotlesse, as imports her name,
But such as you are borne to do her shame.
Not following vs, but our successe,
Will this your flatt'ring humour nere haue end,
Of all other meritlesse?
Flie I say, flie, be gone,
Haunt not here to Albion:
She should be spotlesse, as imports her name,
But such as you are borne to do her shame.
How many faire protests and solemne vowes,
Can your hatefull consorts make,
Wheras (heauen knows these are but only shows
Which you do for profit-sake?
O then leaue our coast and vs,
Blemish'd by your foule abuse,
Vertue can haue no being, nor could euer,
Where th' Parasite is deem'd a happy liner.
Can your hatefull consorts make,
Wheras (heauen knows these are but only shows
Which you do for profit-sake?
O then leaue our coast and vs,
Blemish'd by your foule abuse,
Vertue can haue no being, nor could euer,
Where th' Parasite is deem'd a happy liner.
Tale-tattling gossip, prone to carrie newes,
And such newes are euer worst,
Where false report finds matter, and renewes
Her itching humour till it burst,
Where each euen finds tale's enough,
All the gloomie winter, through,
To passe the night away, and oft-times tries,
That truth gets friendship seldomer then lies.
And such newes are euer worst,
Where false report finds matter, and renewes
Her itching humour till it burst,
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All the gloomie winter, through,
To passe the night away, and oft-times tries,
That truth gets friendship seldomer then lies.
Spring-time when flowers adorne the chearefull mede,
And each bird sings on her spray,
When flowry groues with blossoms checkered,
And each day seemes a marriage day,
Chattiring Swallow thou canst chuse.
Then a time to visit vs;
Such are these fained friends make much vpon vs,
When we are rich, but being poore they shun vs.
And each bird sings on her spray,
When flowry groues with blossoms checkered,
And each day seemes a marriage day,
Chattiring Swallow thou canst chuse.
Then a time to visit vs;
Such are these fained friends make much vpon vs,
When we are rich, but being poore they shun vs.
The stormie winter with his hoarie locks,
When each branch hangs downe his head,
And icie flawes candies the ragged rocks,
Making fields discoloured,
Driues thee from vs and our coast,
Where in spring-time thou repo'st;
Thus thou remaines with vs in our delight,
But in our discontent th' art out of sight.
When each branch hangs downe his head,
And icie flawes candies the ragged rocks,
Making fields discoloured,
Driues thee from vs and our coast,
Where in spring-time thou repo'st;
Thus thou remaines with vs in our delight,
But in our discontent th' art out of sight.
Time-seruing humorist that faunes on Time,
And no merit doest respect,
Who will not loath that sees that vaine of thine,
Where deserts are in neglect,
And the good is priz'd no more
Then the ill, if he be poore?
Thou art the rich mans claw-backe, and depends
No more on men, then as their trencher-friends.
And no merit doest respect,
Who will not loath that sees that vaine of thine,
Where deserts are in neglect,
And the good is priz'd no more
Then the ill, if he be poore?
Thou art the rich mans claw-backe, and depends
No more on men, then as their trencher-friends.
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Go turne-taile go, we haue not here a Spring
For such temporizing mates,
Pan's in our Ile, and he scornes flattering;
So those Guardians of our States,
Who are early vp and late,
And of all, this vice doth hate:
Flie tell-tale, flie, and if thou wilt, complaine thee,
That Albyon's harsh and will not entertaine thee.
For such temporizing mates,
Pan's in our Ile, and he scornes flattering;
So those Guardians of our States,
Who are early vp and late,
And of all, this vice doth hate:
Flie tell-tale, flie, and if thou wilt, complaine thee,
That Albyon's harsh and will not entertaine thee.
| Natures Embassie | |