A Medicinable Morall that is, the two Bookes of Horace his Satyres, Englyshed accordyng to the prescription of saint Hierome. The Wailynges of the Prophet Hieremiah, done into Englyshe verse. Also Epigrammes. T. Drant |
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The firste Satyre.
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 | A Medicinable Morall |  |
The firste Satyre.
THE POET IS AT ALTERCATION with him selfe, and reasoneth if he should any further procede, in indityng of Satyres, sithens he was thought of some enuious persones to be sharpe spoken, and in dede a backbyter. He demandeth counsayle of the lawyer Trebatius: he defendeth his owne dede, and conuinceth his misiudgers.
Some
thynke my satyres too to tarte,
to kepe no constant lawe,
And some haue thought it lously pende
what so of myne they sawe.
And weane a thousand such lyke rimes,
one myght within a daye,
Write and dispatch: (old frend Trebate)
what should I doo? a way
To me prescribe, you byd me reste,
my Musies to appall.
Na, truste me truly by my thryfte,
that were the best of all.
But I muste nedes be doyng styll,
you byd me, I knowe not what,
To swymme in Tyber all the daye
at nyght to keepe a chat.
To drynke for lyfe, to quasse carouse,
to loade my tottye noule,
And by suche meanes restrayne my pen,
and to surcharge my soule.
Or yf I haue suche vrgent luste,
and lykyng to indite,
That then I should of Cesars fraies
and passyng triumphes write.
For that woulde fetche vs in the pence,
and healpe me for to lyue.
Alas (God knowes) full fayne woulde I,
my courage wyll not geue
Me so to doo. Not euery man
the warlyke troupes so gaye,
To morishe pykes, and brochyng speares.
the frenchemen slayne in fray,
The puissaunt Percie pluckte from horse,
prayse worthie can display.
Why myght I not iust Scipio,
thy martiall feates haue praysed,
As learned Lusille once tofore,
suche bloodie bankets blased?
I will assay, as tyme shall serue,
Onlesse I wayte my tyme,
It is in vayne, to exhibite,
to Cesar any ryme.
Whome, yf a man attempte to clawe,
inflexible he standes,
Yet, better were so to presume,
then, for to fyle our handes.
With bankroute slaue Pantobolus,
and Nomentanus prankes.
Sithe causeles all mystrust them selues,
and cannes me litle thankes.
What way for me? they say that I,
am subiecte vnto drinke,
And shotishely vppon excesse,
laye out what so I thynke:
Like dronken folke that hoppe and skippe,
when lickour lodes their braine,
And when through ill affected eie,
one candell semeth twayne.
Borne of one egge, Pollux on foote,
and Castor loues to ryde,
Eche man his mynde. In studyinge
howe many waies be tryde?
I kepe one staie of writing (they saie)
in melancholie moode,
Like Lusill, sauyng that my witte,
is not all out so good.
Lusill, as to his very frende,
so woulde he to his booke,
His secretes good or bad bewray,
looke on them, who woulde looke.
Hym followe I in Lucanie,
or bred in Appulie
I wote not: For Uenuce my towne
betwixte them bothe dothe lye.
They Romayns Uenucine possesse,
so sente into that place,
Leste people nygh aborderyng,
myght wyn the same in space.
And therby noy the Romyshe wealthe,
what so my countrey is:
What so my wytte, my bytter style,
strikes not a whytte amis.
It maye bee lykened to a sworde,
In sheathe for my defence.
Synce no false lofels hurte me then,
why doo I drawe it thence?
O kyng, O father Iupiter,
Woulde God the tymes were so,
That ruste myght well deuoure this sworde,
that none woulde worke me wo.
But worke they doo, but who so does,
though he be diuelyshe fell,
I blason farre and nere his armes,
and wanton touches tell.
He may go howle and pule for wo,
the citizens will scorne hym,
And cause hym wyshe full many a tyme,
his damme had neuer borne hym.
The Lawyer when that he is chaft,
will threaten iudgement fell:
So Canadie our sorceresse
with poyson will vs quell:
Eche officer dothe menace eke,
the worste that they can doe:
All bragge of that, whiche is theyr best,
and therwith feare their foe.
And that nature allowes of this
marke thou these notes with me:
The wolfe with toothe, the bull with horne
and howe this same myght be,
Dame Nature teacheth inwardly.
thou doste agayne replye,
Stronge Sheua, wold not with his sworde,
hys mother cause to dye,
Though she had wrought him much mischief
No meruayle, for the oxe
Strikes not with tooth, nor wolfe with hele,
strong poyson vsde this foxe.
So he and they, the good and lewde
theyr weapons haue by kynde,
And vse the same to worke theyr weale:
The gyftes therfore of mynde
Shall be my beste artillerie:
For whether quiete age,
Abydeth me, or blacke, wyngde deathe
encompasse me in rage,
Come wealthe or want, at home, or els
perchaunce an exilde man,
I wyll not fayle, to write my state,
if possibly I can.
Trebate.
to kepe no constant lawe,
And some haue thought it lously pende
what so of myne they sawe.
And weane a thousand such lyke rimes,
one myght within a daye,
Write and dispatch: (old frend Trebate)
what should I doo? a way
To me prescribe, you byd me reste,
my Musies to appall.
Na, truste me truly by my thryfte,
that were the best of all.
But I muste nedes be doyng styll,
you byd me, I knowe not what,
at nyght to keepe a chat.
To drynke for lyfe, to quasse carouse,
to loade my tottye noule,
And by suche meanes restrayne my pen,
and to surcharge my soule.
Or yf I haue suche vrgent luste,
and lykyng to indite,
That then I should of Cesars fraies
and passyng triumphes write.
For that woulde fetche vs in the pence,
and healpe me for to lyue.
Alas (God knowes) full fayne woulde I,
my courage wyll not geue
Me so to doo. Not euery man
the warlyke troupes so gaye,
To morishe pykes, and brochyng speares.
the frenchemen slayne in fray,
The puissaunt Percie pluckte from horse,
prayse worthie can display.
Why myght I not iust Scipio,
thy martiall feates haue praysed,
As learned Lusille once tofore,
suche bloodie bankets blased?
I will assay, as tyme shall serue,
Onlesse I wayte my tyme,
It is in vayne, to exhibite,
to Cesar any ryme.
Whome, yf a man attempte to clawe,
inflexible he standes,
Yet, better were so to presume,
then, for to fyle our handes.
With bankroute slaue Pantobolus,
and Nomentanus prankes.
Sithe causeles all mystrust them selues,
and cannes me litle thankes.
What way for me? they say that I,
And shotishely vppon excesse,
laye out what so I thynke:
Like dronken folke that hoppe and skippe,
when lickour lodes their braine,
And when through ill affected eie,
one candell semeth twayne.
Borne of one egge, Pollux on foote,
and Castor loues to ryde,
Eche man his mynde. In studyinge
howe many waies be tryde?
I kepe one staie of writing (they saie)
in melancholie moode,
Like Lusill, sauyng that my witte,
is not all out so good.
Lusill, as to his very frende,
so woulde he to his booke,
His secretes good or bad bewray,
looke on them, who woulde looke.
Hym followe I in Lucanie,
or bred in Appulie
I wote not: For Uenuce my towne
betwixte them bothe dothe lye.
They Romayns Uenucine possesse,
so sente into that place,
Leste people nygh aborderyng,
myght wyn the same in space.
And therby noy the Romyshe wealthe,
what so my countrey is:
What so my wytte, my bytter style,
strikes not a whytte amis.
It maye bee lykened to a sworde,
In sheathe for my defence.
Synce no false lofels hurte me then,
why doo I drawe it thence?
O kyng, O father Iupiter,
Woulde God the tymes were so,
that none woulde worke me wo.
But worke they doo, but who so does,
though he be diuelyshe fell,
I blason farre and nere his armes,
and wanton touches tell.
He may go howle and pule for wo,
the citizens will scorne hym,
And cause hym wyshe full many a tyme,
his damme had neuer borne hym.
The Lawyer when that he is chaft,
will threaten iudgement fell:
So Canadie our sorceresse
with poyson will vs quell:
Eche officer dothe menace eke,
the worste that they can doe:
All bragge of that, whiche is theyr best,
and therwith feare their foe.
And that nature allowes of this
marke thou these notes with me:
The wolfe with toothe, the bull with horne
and howe this same myght be,
Dame Nature teacheth inwardly.
thou doste agayne replye,
Stronge Sheua, wold not with his sworde,
hys mother cause to dye,
Though she had wrought him much mischief
No meruayle, for the oxe
Strikes not with tooth, nor wolfe with hele,
strong poyson vsde this foxe.
So he and they, the good and lewde
theyr weapons haue by kynde,
And vse the same to worke theyr weale:
The gyftes therfore of mynde
Shall be my beste artillerie:
For whether quiete age,
encompasse me in rage,
Come wealthe or want, at home, or els
perchaunce an exilde man,
I wyll not fayle, to write my state,
if possibly I can.
My sonne, if that thou write to sharpe,
no doubte thou shalte not lyue,
Some one or other, wyll to thee
Thy fatall wounde ygeue.
Horace,
Why? Lusill lyude, who euer vsde,
all fayners to detect,
With satyres sharpe, and quippies rounde,
of deathe he neuer reckt.
But blamed those, whiche outwardly
doo geue a shynynge shoe,
And inwardly are chargde with synne,
that vnnethes they can goe.
Good Lelie dyd not hate his witte,
nor he that got renown
For pollicie, and pruice too,
For beatyng Carthage downe.
I say they were not myscontent,
That lewde Metellus once,
And lowtishe Lupus were reformde,
with Satyres for the nonce.
He woulde not spare the officers,
nor priuate men to blame.
A frende to none saue honestie,
and those that vsde the same.
With doughtie stoute duke Scipio,
and Lelie learnde and wyse,
He woulde ieste very iocundly,
and frankly in his guyse,
At meales, when he sequestred was
frome the vnlettred sorte.
from Lusils witte and porse.
Yet enuie selfe can not denye,
but I haue ledde my life,
Amongst the best, though some men thynke
me dedicate to stryfe:
Me thynks my grounde, is good and sure,
excepte you frende Trebate,
By lawe, doo disalowe of it,
I will pursue my state.
Trebate.
Beware, beware, the warinde may lyue,
be circumspect and slawe,
Leste you by wordes vndoo your selfe,
through ignorance of lawe.
For who that writeth slaundrously,
we lawyers muste amende hym:
Horace.
And who that wryteth true and well,
our Cesar muste defende hym,
If that a man speake of a zeale,
And blame the bad alone,
Dispatche youre rowles, there is no gayne,
the Lawyer may be gone.
| A Medicinable Morall | |