University of Virginia Library

[Up, up Philisides, let sorrowes goe]

Geron. Philisides.
Geron.
Up, up Philisides, let sorrowes goe,
Who yelds to woe, doth but encrease his smart.
Do not thy hart, to plaintfull custome bring,
But let us sing, sweet tunes do passions ease,
An olde man heare, who would thy fancies raise.

Philisides.
Who minds to please the minde drownd in annoyes
With outward joyes, which inly cannot sincke,
As well may thincke with oyle to coole the fire:
Or with desire to make such foe a frend,
Who doth his soule to endlesse malice bend.

Geron.
Yet sure an end, to each thing time doth give,
Though woes now live, at length thy woes must dye.
Then vertue try, if she can worke in thee
That which we see in many time hath wrought,
And weakest harts to constant temper brought.

Philisides.
Who ever taught a skillesse man to teach,
Or stop a breach, that never Cannon sawe?
Sweet vertues lawe barres not a causefull mone.
Time shall in one my life and sorrowes end,
And me perchaunce your constant temper lend.

Geron.
What can amend where physick is refusde?
The witts abusde with will no counsayle take.
Yet for my sake discover us thy griefe.
Oft comes reliefe when most we seeme in trappe.
The starres thy state, fortune may change thy happe.

Philisides.
If fortunes lappe became my dwelling place,
And all the starres conspired to my good,
Still were I one, this still should be my case,
Ruines relique, cares web, and sorrowes foode:
Since she faire fierce to such a state me calls,
Whose wit the starres, whose fortune fortune thralls.

Geron.
Alas what falls are falne unto thy minde?
That there where thou confest thy mischiefe lyes
Thy wit dost use still still more harmes to finde.
Whome wit makes vaine, or blinded with his eyes,
What counsell can prevaile, or light give light?
Since all his force against himselfe he tries.
Then each conceit that enters in his sight,
Is made, forsooth, a Jurate of his woes,
Earth, sea, ayre, fire, heav'n, hell, and gastly sprite.
Then cries to sencelesse things, which neither knowes
What ayleth thee, and if they knew thy minde
Would scorne in man (their king) such feeble show's.
Rebell, Rebell, in golden fetters binde
This tyran Love; or rather do suppresse
Those rebell thoughts which are thy slaves by kinde.
Let not a glittring name thy fancie dresse
In painted clothes, because they call it love.
There is no hate that can thee more oppresse.
Begin (and halfe the worke is done) to prove
By rising up, upon thy selfe to stand.
And thinck she is a she, that doth thee move.
He water plowes, and soweth in the sand,
And hopes the flickring winde with net to holde
Who hath his hopes laid up in womans hand.
What man is he that hath his freedome solde?
Is he a manlike man, that doth not know man
Hath power that Sex with bridle to withhold?
A fickle Sex, and trew in trust to no man,
A servant Sex, soone prowde if they be coi'de
And to conclude thy mistresse is a woman.

Philisides.
O gods, how long this old foole hath annoi'd
My wearied eares! O gods yet graunt me this,
That soone the world of his false tong be void.
O noble age who place their only blisse
In being heard untill the hearer dye
Uttring a serpents minde with serpents hisse.
Then who will heare a well autoris'd lye,
(And pacience hath) let him goe learne of him
What swarmes of vertues did in his youth flye
Such hartes of brasse, wise heads, and garments trim
Were in his dayes: which heard, one nothing heares,
If from his words the falshood he do skim.
And herein most their folly vaine appeares
That since they still alledge, When they were yong:
It shews they fetch their wit from youthfull yeares
Like beast for sacrifice, where save the tong
And belly nought is left, such sure is he,
This life-deadman in this old dungeon flong.
Olde houses are throwne downe for new we see:
The oldest Rammes are culled from the flocke:
No man doth wish his horse should aged bee.
The ancient oke well makes a fired blocke:
Old men themselves, doe love young wives to choose:
Only fond youth admires a rotten stocke.
Who once a white long beard, well handle does,
(As his beard him, not he his beard did beare)
Though cradle witted, must not honnor loose.
Oh when will men leave off to judge by haire,
And thinke them olde, that have the oldest minde,
With vertue fraught and full of holy feare!

Geron.
If that thy face were hid, or I were blinde,
I yet should know a young man speaketh now,
Such wandring reasons in thy speech I finde.
He is a beast, that beastes use will allowe
For proofe of man, who sprong of heav'nly fire
Hath strongest soule, when most his raynes do bowe.
But fondlings fonde, know not your owne desire
Loth to dye young, and then you must be olde,
Fondly blame that to which your selves aspire.
But this light choller that doth make you bolde,
Rather to wrong then unto just defence,
Is past with me, my bloud is waxen colde.
Thy words, though full of malapert offence,
I way them not, but still will thee advize
How thou from foolish love maist purge thy sense.
First thinke they erre, that thinke them gayly wise,
Who well can set a passion out to show:
Such sight have they that see with goggling eyes.
Passion beares high when puffing with doth blowe,
But is indeed a toy, if not a toy,
True cause of evils, and cause of causelesse woe.
If once thou maist that fancie glosse destroy
Within thy selfe, thou soone wilt be ashamed
To be a player of thine owne annoy.
Then let thy minde with better bookes be tamed,
Seeke to espie her faultes as well as praise,
And let thine eyes to other sports be framed.
In hunting fearefull beastes, do spend some dayes,
Or catch the birds with pitfalls, or with lyme,
Or trayne the fox that traines so crafty laies.
Ly but to sleepe, and in the earely prime
Seeke skill of hearbes in hills, haunt brookes neere night,
And try with bayt how fish will bite sometime.
Goe graft againe, and seeke to graft them right,
Those pleasant plants, those sweete and frutefull trees,
Which both the pallate, and the eyes delight.
Cherish the hives of wisely painfull Bees:
Let speciall care upon thy flock be staid,
Such active minde but seldome passion sees.

Philisides.
Hath any man heard what this old man said?
Truly not I, who did my thoughts engage,
Where all my paines one looke of her hath paid.