Microcosmos :: :: University of Virginia Library

That heavenly Sparke, from which th'immotall Soule
Had her first being, striveth to enroule
Her wondrous Guifts in characters of Brasse,
That when (dissolved from this earthie Masse)
Shee mounts aloft, her never-dying Glorie
May fill the Volumes of a learned Storie;
VVhich after-Ages, reading, may admire,
And (inly burning with the like desire)
To rare Atcheiuements (emulous of Fame
Striving t'immortalize their dying Name)
May bend their Practise, dedicate their Daies;
And, so excited, purchase datelesse Praise.

Our actiue Soule feeles never wearinesse,

But her true loue to Fame doth best expresse
In hating Idlenesse: whence comes this notion,
Her working Faculties are still in motion.

Ore some then others, greater Soveraigntie
This divine Essence of Humanitie
Hath power to exercise: For baser Swaines
Abhor the check of her immortall Raignes.
Frō whence it is, that Midas brood possesse
The greater Share in earthly Happinesse;
VVhile those pure Mindes, who most submissiue stand
At the least wrentch of her almighty Hand
(Obscurely hidd in Corners at their Booke)
Are hardly grace't so much as with a looke
Of this iniurious World. O wretched Age
VVherein the sacred Artes to Vassalage
Subiected are! while muddy Mindes aspire,
VVhile greater Heroes daine but to admire
And praise (with bootlesse breath) the polisht Lines,
VVherin, Cōceipt hath traveld through the Mines
Of rich Invention, manie a wearie hower
(Spent with the Muses in a gloomie Bower)
To times swift feathers imping greater store,
VVhilst thus they plough the barrain fruictles Shore

Earths brightest Angels, these, ô these be they
VVhose Corps are fram'd of fire, and not of clay!
VVhose either Part, both mortall, and divine
So sweete a Symphonie doth intertwine,
That both accord to prosequute that Fame
VVhich, but for Vertue, stellifies our Name.

Among which Number (famous by Desart)
The Lawrel Crowne be his, whose every Part

To th'intellectiue Soule (their Soveraigne)
Pay true Subiectiue Dutie, and doe gaine
By restlesse labour that perfection
Which, saue by him, hath bin attain'd by none;
By him (the Subiect of these worthles Rimes)
Whose Art lends luster to our English climes,
Davies, discoverer of hidden Deepes,
True Microcosme, whose peircing Spirit creeps
Into the darkest Cavernes, in-most Denne
Where Wit inhabits mong the sons of Men,
And plucks out Knowledg (by the goldēlocks)
From where shee long had slept within the Rocks
Of hard Obscurity, whence every Eie
May iudge it selfe; ô wondrous Mysterie!
Whence we our selues, our selues may truly know,
Which is indeede most hard, how ere in show.

But endlesse were it, and impossible
(Vnlesse my Muse to his were sutable)
Here to delate that Grace in Poesie
VVhich his witt-fraughted workes can testifie.
Cast backe thine Eie, reade, and (admiring) see
The Quintessence of humane Ingenie,
VVay well the rich Conceipt; so shalt thou know
That few, (if any) could haue written so.

Descend we then from that internall Flame,
To Qualities externall: whence the name
Of Excellence hath purchast beene of manie,
But, as of Davies, never yet of anie.

In praising whom, the best my Lines can say
VVill, for his VVorth, be worthlesse every way:
Yet, for I loue his Name, admire his Skill,

Out of the heate and fervour of Good-will
These colder Lines this frozen passage found,
Force't by the League wherin al Frendes are bound:
And reason tis, those Men that merit Fame
Aboue the rest, should franckly haue the same.

And be it farr from every gentle Hart
To deeme that, Soothing, or a glosing part
VVhen one good Freind an other shal commend
More then that, Hatred, when our speeches tend
In whom we loue, some fault to rectifie
VVhich wrongs himselfe, defames his Progenie.
Praise is the guerdon of a due Desart
Making vs better act the praised Part.

There never Man deserved Memorie
For perfect Science in his Facultie,
If Dauies Name deserue to be forgott,
If, when his mortall Part in earth shall rott,
The riches of his Soule (mans greatest treasure)
Shalbe made subiect to the greedie seasure
Of darke Obliuion, if such Perfection
Shall frō the Graves rude hand haue no protection.

Maugre the Gripe of Time, in spight of Fates
And ought beside that, Fame, determinates,
His Name would liue to all Posteritie
In the fayre lines of his Characterie,
Could any Hand the

A steele Instrument.

graver so commaund,
As can, the penne, his vvonder-writing Hand.

But, for no Graver, or stampt Letter can
(Or ought els framed by the Witt of Man)
Shew Times future true proose of such rare Skill

By demonstration, mine Artlesse Quill
Striues to commende to lasting Memorie
A glimps (though darkely) of that Qualitie.
For (if mine aime Loue hath not much betraid)
This Booke must liue till Time his course hath staid:
So that, to those not yet conceiv'd, I send
This poore effect which my loues cause hath pend,
Neglecting Art, affecting to descrie
Loue to my friend, and to his Qualitie.

Whose Matchlesse Art in managing the Penne
Time neuer equaliz'd; and Times agen
(When his diurnal Howërglasse hath ranne
The dated Minutes of a mortall Man)
Will hardly paralel: for such true Skill
May scarce be purchased by paine, or Will:
Hee that as Davies would as fairely vvrite,
Must of necessitie haue Davies spright.

Who knows not that this wondrous Facultie
Is not conceiu'd by coorse Capacitie,
But maketh there her only Habitation
Where shee doth finde a strong Imagination!
For none habitually can her possesse
That is not made of fire and liuelynesse.

Could neuer Hand so curiously convay
The nice Delineaments, so every vvay
In iust proportion (purest Sumetrie)
Vnlesse directed by a perfect Eie,
And first imprinted in the Phantasie:
Which, weaker Braines can never apprehend,
Much lesse an Actiue Demonstration lend.

The strange Meanders, and the Gordian knots
Now straight, now larger, as the Hand alots;
The curious VVorkemanshippe in every letter,
This pleasing best, that other pleasing better,
A third exceeding both, when euery one
For perfect shape is singular alone;
The rare Diversitie which one selfe-hand
Can, with that little Instrument command,
Doth so bewitch th'amaz'd Beholders eie,
And so delight th'invegled Phantasie,
That vvhat our eies behold our Tongues commend,
Nor, wondring, can admit or meane, or end.

Come lend, yee Lovers of this sacred Art,
Your voice with mine, to celebrate a part
In his deserued Praise, whose matchlesse Skill
To blazon perfectlie, vvould tire the Quill
Of Hermes selfe: for rightly to commende
This Art of VVriting, vvere to comprehende
Within our Numbers her Antiquitie,
And, how through her, the living Memorie
Of famous Worthies hath preserued beene;
Whose VVorkes these latter Ages had not seene,
But (rake't in Darknesse with their Authors head)
VVithout her helpe, had euer perished.
Nor should we slightly touch the Praises Due
Which, through this Art, to Learning still accrue;
Without whose aide, in vaine were Sapience,
In vaine were every other Excellence;
Sith Strangers might not then participate
VVhat Reading, VVit, and Labour had begat,
But greatest Clarks should vainely spend their daies,
Leaving, with Life, their Glory, Name, and praise:

Her dayly Vse, her pure Necessitie
May tell the Vertue of this Mysterie;
Sufficeth me, to runne (though slightly) over
Part of his Parts, whose Penne can best discover
Her fairest Beauty; such, as doth excite
In All that view Her, wonder and delight.

All Characters that ere the Graver wrought
Are obvious to him, and quicklie brought
To decke the Triumph of the golden Penne
VVhich he long since hath merited: for when
(T'approue his Excellence) he challeng'd All
Or English bred, or forraine Nationall
To striue for glorie, and a golden Price
(Which one or both might every sort entise)
Vnanswered, hee Monarchiz'd alone;
What greater Conquest than withstood by None?

The Germanes, skill'd in every curious Art
(VVhose practick Hand doth to the World impart
Such quaint Devises) giving Right his due,
Extoll our Davies, and his Fame pursue
With printed lines, writ in the Latine tongue,
As loth to doe his Cunning so much wrong
In the distastiue Germane Idiom
To leaue that Monument for Times to come,
Because they knew their Dialect too lame
To beare the vvaight of his immortall fame.

O you thrise famoused for Raritie,
The grace and beautie of yont

Faire writing.

Qualitie,
That breathe the Aire of Italie, and France,
Come, doe your Homage and Allegiance

To him whose Pen raignes in faire Paper Reames,
(Content therewith as Kinges with Diadems)
VVhose Subiects Letters are of every Suite
Made all aright by rule most absolute.

To him, from Paris, moue thine antique station
Beauchene, the perfectst Pen-man of thy Nation;
To him, from Venice, bring those Guifts of thine,
Renoun'd for wondrous writing, Camerine;
VVarne thou the Romanes that thou must be gone
To visite England, curious Curion;
Come all at once, that all at once may learne
To mend your Hands, and rightly to discerne
Betweene the Good, and most most-Excellent;
Nor will (perhapps) your Travaile be mispent,
Sith each, in's Natiue Hand, may gaine perfection
By practising His Counsell and Direction.

In former Times, ere wiser Times begatt
(That which for ever Men shall wonder at)
The Printing Mysterie, that curious Hand
VVhich could the Pen most perfectly commaund
Had not a Finger vnbegirt with Gold,
Such meede had Merit in the daies of old:
Had Dauies liu'd, when such Preheminence
VVas onely given to Men of exellence,
The scribling VVriters of that golden Time
Had (wādring) sought some more auspicious Clime;
For none, save He alone, had thriv'd in this,
The guift of Exellence beeing onely his.

To him, from Heaven, descends this Quality:
For, VVill, Desire, all-gaining Industrie,
Time, Promptitude, VVitt, Steadinesse of Hand,

Swift apprehension, Fingers at command,
Strongest Conceipt, Art Geometricall,
Or ought attain'd by Science naturall,
Poetick Furie, and the Muses ayd,
(All which are Propps whereon this Art is stayd)
Nor these, nor other Adiuments haue power
To purchase that (with manie a toyling hower)
VVhich from aboue, by pure Instinct was sent
To grace our Dauies, Englands

For writing.

Wonderment.

In whose deserved Praise, if ardent Zeale
(Striving my neere Affection to reveale)
Hath larger beene then well becomes the Place,
This short Apologie may purchase Grace;
In Vertues praise can nere bee said too much;
Such is our Subiect, his Demeanour such.

Nicholas Deeble.