Horace His arte of Poetrie, Epistles, and Satyrs Englished and to the Earle of Ormounte By Tho. Drant addressed |
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The fifthe Satyre [of Horace]
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 | Horace His arte of Poetrie, Epistles, and Satyrs Englished |  |
The fifthe Satyre [of Horace]
The fifte Satire, whiche the Poet had vvritten of his iorneying to and fro, wholye altered by the translator.
Frende
Horace thoughe you maye me vse
as to translate your verse,
Yet your exployte I do refuse,
at this tyme to reherse.
Not euery tricke nor euery toye,
that floeth from your braine
Are incident into my pen,
nor worthie of my payne
If all be true, that sum surmise,
for diuers thincke it good,
To haue discriude the clatteringe broyles,
of Mauors raging wood:
Or for to know the climats hye,
to clym vnto the skyes
To view the starres their placing eeke
and how they set and ryse.
Or for to reade the quiddityes
and queerks of logique darke,
To heare the babbling sophisters,
how they for naught can harke,
Or for to write thinges naturall,
things mistical and geason:
The harmonie of elements
how they accorde by reason.
To stert vp in astrologie,
the casuals of men
To limit, and forlote by arte,
to shew by whom and when,
Things were conueyde: and to erect
through what aspect, and why
Pompey abrode, Cesar at home,
were fortuned to dye.
To tel how man a creature,
of reasonable minde
Is sociable, apt, and fit
to companie by kinde.
To reade the sacred histories
of man how he began:
How first he fel, through whom he fel,
what of himselfe he can.
To learne the helpes of holy tongue,
the doctors to peruse:
To course the scholemen, as they lye,
and Horace to refuse.
Those cackling pyes, that vse to prate
so much against humanytie.
Are commonly the lewdest dawes,
and skillesse in diuinitie.
The antique fathers vsde it much
th' apostle doth the same:
Now al must downe in pulling downe
that fooles may get a name.
Som innouation must be made,
or chaunge of vsed things
Needes must there be: when al would passe,
and all woulde needes be kynges.
Moyses in writing his fyue bookes
confearde with prophane tyme,
Yet fewe or none, that I haue harde,
appeached him of cryme.
From Egipt we may borow stil,
it neuer was forbod,
So it be for the weale of man,
and glory of our God.
To reade sole scriptures is, I graunt,
a thing of lesser paynes,
And those that fayne would haue it so,
would haue it so for gaines:
Unable for to get of toungues,
or scyences a skyll,
Then crye they sole diuinity,
as though the rest were ill.
Diuinitye is gloriouse,
and they but idle praters,
Gainste whose outrage a man mighte well
wryte forty godlye Satyres.
The wise can reade humanitye,
and beautifye their witt,
Whilste fooles syt tatlyng to and fro
in talking against it.
A good diuyne might the translate
(Horace) I can it proue:
Who so denyes, I do not doubte
to caste him downe my gloue.
And yet such is the matter now
wheron thou dost indyte,
That I must play the poet needes,
and wots not what to write.
Thy lawrell greene betake to me,
thy gowne of scarlet reade,
And proue a nouice howe I can
in after steppes I treade.
Feigne me to haue a Poets arte,
a natyue Poets brayne:
A veray Poete, sauyng that
I vse not for to fayne.
Dames of Pernas of Helicon,
whence Pægas horse dyd flye:
(If yours it be) graunt this to me,
in processe not to lye.
Nay, thou O truth, both God and man
of whom I stand in awe:
Rule ore my wordes, that I ne passe
the compasse of thy lawe.
What should I wryte gaynste wickednes
how synne hath all the hyre:
How wyghtes are wed to wretchednes,
captiues to their desyre?
The Prophets haue bewayled that,
and he whose voyce so shryll:
Bothe heauen and earthe with plaintife tune,
and dolours deepe dyd fil.
The truthe himselfe when he was here
did truly thinges foretel:
And wept to see the sorye plagues,
that afterward befell.
If they moude few, if fewe would marke
the wordes of such like men:
How may the silly Satyrists
hope for amendment then?
In vaine for me to styrre or kepe
a racket with my rymes:
The sonnes of men, will styl be men
and plyaunt to the times.
What should I wryte, against wickednesse?
the worlde by her aduyce
Hath brought to passe, that most beleue,
there is no kind of vice.
For couetyse is coloured,
and though the Prophet king
Damne vsurers, yet stil we see
more practise of the thing.
Dame Gluttony is to to hye:
she kepes in stately halls,
And gurmundise is fellowship,
for so the world it calls.
So lust is now a lordly thing,
and swearing hath a grace,
Forswearinge couerde vnder zeale,
(alas) the cursed case.
What should one write, dissembling dawes
(a wondrous tale to tell)
The better birdes of noble price
by creaking would expell.
The popish dawes, whom all men knowes,
To be still blacke of hue,
Doo sweare themselues best protestants,
and birdes thats only true.
What should I write? by colour all
true tytles they do steale,
And couer thousande trecheries,
vnder pretensed zeale.
To know the matter perfectly,
to vnderstand it well:
Marke here what precise Commodus
to Pertinax doth tell.
Thinke Commodus to be such one,
as couertly in hert
Doth worship all Idolatrie,
and mindes not to conuert.
And yet through shewe of godly zeale,
our church would quite deface.
To helpe the popishe kyngdome vp,
and to reteyne his place.
Thynke Pertinax a peuishe impe,
an impe of popyshe lyne,
Who styll will be a Catholike,
though all the bookes diuine,
Doo proue his churche an heretike.
Sir Commodus kepes styll
In Englande for commoditie:
Syr Pertinax he wyl
To Louayne, to the mother churche,
but howe they bothe haue sped,
Perceaue that by theyr proper talkes,
and what lyues they haue led.
The hunger waxeth sharpe and keene,
in Flemmishe bareyn lande,
And Pertinax bet home with pyne,
takes Commodus by the hande.
Pertinax.
as to translate your verse,
Yet your exployte I do refuse,
at this tyme to reherse.
Not euery tricke nor euery toye,
that floeth from your braine
Are incident into my pen,
nor worthie of my payne
If all be true, that sum surmise,
for diuers thincke it good,
To haue discriude the clatteringe broyles,
of Mauors raging wood:
Or for to know the climats hye,
to clym vnto the skyes
To view the starres their placing eeke
and how they set and ryse.
Or for to reade the quiddityes
and queerks of logique darke,
how they for naught can harke,
Or for to write thinges naturall,
things mistical and geason:
The harmonie of elements
how they accorde by reason.
To stert vp in astrologie,
the casuals of men
To limit, and forlote by arte,
to shew by whom and when,
Things were conueyde: and to erect
through what aspect, and why
Pompey abrode, Cesar at home,
were fortuned to dye.
To tel how man a creature,
of reasonable minde
Is sociable, apt, and fit
to companie by kinde.
To reade the sacred histories
of man how he began:
How first he fel, through whom he fel,
what of himselfe he can.
To learne the helpes of holy tongue,
the doctors to peruse:
To course the scholemen, as they lye,
and Horace to refuse.
Those cackling pyes, that vse to prate
so much against humanytie.
Are commonly the lewdest dawes,
and skillesse in diuinitie.
The antique fathers vsde it much
th' apostle doth the same:
Now al must downe in pulling downe
that fooles may get a name.
Som innouation must be made,
or chaunge of vsed things
and all woulde needes be kynges.
Moyses in writing his fyue bookes
confearde with prophane tyme,
Yet fewe or none, that I haue harde,
appeached him of cryme.
From Egipt we may borow stil,
it neuer was forbod,
So it be for the weale of man,
and glory of our God.
To reade sole scriptures is, I graunt,
a thing of lesser paynes,
And those that fayne would haue it so,
would haue it so for gaines:
Unable for to get of toungues,
or scyences a skyll,
Then crye they sole diuinity,
as though the rest were ill.
Diuinitye is gloriouse,
and they but idle praters,
Gainste whose outrage a man mighte well
wryte forty godlye Satyres.
The wise can reade humanitye,
and beautifye their witt,
Whilste fooles syt tatlyng to and fro
in talking against it.
A good diuyne might the translate
(Horace) I can it proue:
Who so denyes, I do not doubte
to caste him downe my gloue.
And yet such is the matter now
wheron thou dost indyte,
That I must play the poet needes,
and wots not what to write.
Thy lawrell greene betake to me,
thy gowne of scarlet reade,
in after steppes I treade.
Feigne me to haue a Poets arte,
a natyue Poets brayne:
A veray Poete, sauyng that
I vse not for to fayne.
Dames of Pernas of Helicon,
whence Pægas horse dyd flye:
(If yours it be) graunt this to me,
in processe not to lye.
Nay, thou O truth, both God and man
of whom I stand in awe:
Rule ore my wordes, that I ne passe
the compasse of thy lawe.
What should I wryte gaynste wickednes
how synne hath all the hyre:
How wyghtes are wed to wretchednes,
captiues to their desyre?
The Prophets haue bewayled that,
and he whose voyce so shryll:
Bothe heauen and earthe with plaintife tune,
and dolours deepe dyd fil.
The truthe himselfe when he was here
did truly thinges foretel:
And wept to see the sorye plagues,
that afterward befell.
If they moude few, if fewe would marke
the wordes of such like men:
How may the silly Satyrists
hope for amendment then?
In vaine for me to styrre or kepe
a racket with my rymes:
The sonnes of men, will styl be men
and plyaunt to the times.
What should I wryte, against wickednesse?
the worlde by her aduyce
there is no kind of vice.
For couetyse is coloured,
and though the Prophet king
Damne vsurers, yet stil we see
more practise of the thing.
Dame Gluttony is to to hye:
she kepes in stately halls,
And gurmundise is fellowship,
for so the world it calls.
So lust is now a lordly thing,
and swearing hath a grace,
Forswearinge couerde vnder zeale,
(alas) the cursed case.
What should one write, dissembling dawes
(a wondrous tale to tell)
The better birdes of noble price
by creaking would expell.
The popish dawes, whom all men knowes,
To be still blacke of hue,
Doo sweare themselues best protestants,
and birdes thats only true.
What should I write? by colour all
true tytles they do steale,
And couer thousande trecheries,
vnder pretensed zeale.
To know the matter perfectly,
to vnderstand it well:
Marke here what precise Commodus
to Pertinax doth tell.
Thinke Commodus to be such one,
as couertly in hert
Doth worship all Idolatrie,
and mindes not to conuert.
And yet through shewe of godly zeale,
our church would quite deface.
and to reteyne his place.
Thynke Pertinax a peuishe impe,
an impe of popyshe lyne,
Who styll will be a Catholike,
though all the bookes diuine,
Doo proue his churche an heretike.
Sir Commodus kepes styll
In Englande for commoditie:
Syr Pertinax he wyl
To Louayne, to the mother churche,
but howe they bothe haue sped,
Perceaue that by theyr proper talkes,
and what lyues they haue led.
The hunger waxeth sharpe and keene,
in Flemmishe bareyn lande,
And Pertinax bet home with pyne,
takes Commodus by the hande.
God saue you gentyll Commodus,
howe haue you fared longe
Commodus.
Nay veryly euen as you see.
well lykyng fatte, and strong,
Of credite neuer better I:
what vrgent cause doothe make
You at this tyme from sacred soyle,
your iourney for to take?
Pertinax.
When we went to the holy towne,
from Englishe flocke infecte,
Our want was wealth, and coyne at wyll,
we were an happye secte.
But our long staye was oure decaye,
men grudgd to geue vs more:
And Sarum with hys subtile booke
hath cropte our credite sore.
Before, we gaue a countenaunce,
to all the worlde so wyde:
to haue our quarell tryde.
Suche cautels had we to beare of,
that who gainst vs did wryte,
We swore he was falne from the Churche,
of gyddynesse or spyte.
We bare them down that they were nought
rashe, raylyng, and yll spoken,
Lewde, and vnlearnde: but nowe our stythe
of forgery is broken.
Sarum hath walkde so waryly,
(it greuethe me to name hym)
That moste of men doo see his truthe,
we wote not why to blame hym.
Nowe they dispaire oure prostrate cause,
and of our safe retourne:
And suffer vs in beggery,
(Ah silly case) to mourne.
Commodus.
Ah silly case, nay silly fooles,
you myght haue lyued here,
In wealth and blisse, and euen as there,
haue kepte your conscience clere.
Pertinax.
In deede your letter writ to me,
dyd signifye no lesse:
But howe that you can vse it so,
I woulde you should expresse.
Synce I came laste into the realme,
it was toulde me of trouthe,
That you aboue the rest of men,
vse to be freattynge wrothe
With ceremonies, is it so?
Iesu, what shoulde one hope,
They say that you doo caste them of,
as brought in by the Pope.
Can you speake so precisely here:
and beare vs so in hande?
as now the case doth stande.
No Catholyke: Ah Pertinax
thou arte a mery man.
Commodus
I speake, I graunte against the pope,
and speake the worste I can,
And profitte him, yet more then you,
(perhappes ye gin to muse)
But harke to me, and listen well
what practise I doe vse.
When you did cut the salt sea fome,
with framed timbre borde,
And yeade to Louaine there to heare,
the Latine Romishe worde,
Then storminge in my thoughtfull breste,
and sharpe beset with cares,
In mortall waues I wandred still,
in maze of my affayres.
Feare caste in all extremities.
what shoulde I do, thoughte I?
To sanctuarie of papistes
to Louaine shoulde I flye?
That were away to begger me
to bringe me vnto neede:
And in so doinge, I shoulde woorke,
the mother churche smalle meede.
Æneas came into my mynde,
that feynde him selfe a greeke,
And by that meanes made manye soules,
Lord Dytis hall to seeke.
He can not hurte his foe the moste
that kepes the furst away:
I was resolude to kepe me close,
and see a furder stay,
I sayde my wounded conscience
did prickle more and more,
to remedye my sore.
I sayde my doubte was dangerous,
and therfore fayne woulde haue
Some clarkly man, of insight deepe,
within the same to raue.
Thys was the tenour of my tale,
that I woulde common fayne,
If some learnde man on thother syde,
woulde take on hym the payne.
The Protestants be mercyfull,
and glad to wyn vs all:
In brefe the chiefe woulde me at length
to common with them call.
Theyr reasonyng was to and fro,
to wyn me yf they coulde:
And I began as debonayre,
to render vp the houlde.
Now hearken (oulde frende Pertinax)
what was the spedy key:
To ope the locke of credits forte,
for me to beare a swey.
He that was counted too to fearse
and angry wyth the Pope,
I went to him, and prayde him ofte
my conscience for to grope.
Parted from hym, I woulde proteste,
and openly woulde say:
That suche one was the greatest clarke
that was on lyue thys daye.
He that was holden moste of zeale,
and to the worlde the best:
Hym woulde I prayse aboue the sonne,
and so I purchast reste.
No more demaunde made of my faythe.
I faynde me very ielous
drawebackes, and nothing zealous.
And still I praysde my confessours,
and made them so to swell,
Such pulpit hornetts by my meanes,
That none durst with them mel.
And what that they to feede theyr minde,
Or cholor ells would speake:
I maintaynde it with toothe and nayle,
in all that I coulde creake.
Then was I dubde as true precise,
and faythfull by and by,
And none was compted hoate enough,
saue he, and he, and I.
I whysperde to and fro a pace,
and playde my parte so free:
That quarells stept vp fast and fast,
A noble game to see.
And that the rest might learne to stoupe,
and I might grow vp still:
An other fetche by peecemeale, I
into them dyd instil.
My mayster lysten well (quod I)
take kepe, what I shal say.
Me thinks this church, this englishe churche
is clogged at this daye
With ceremonies, more then needes,
to tell you at a word,
I would haue all things iust, as they
were left vs by the Lord
This knew I was the deyntye dishe,
that so their passions fed:
I am not now to learne I trow,
to bring a babe to bed.
Now whether for true conscience,
or els that they might seeme
might so of them esteme:
Or els through our suggestions,
they gnawed so this bone,
That O good God, I would to God
they had bene let alone.
Nay trust me truly Pertinax
men would haue bene ful fayne,
To thrust out all those gospellers,
and sende for you agayne.
How say you, was not this a drift.
and that a drift of hope?
Am I not now, as lege as you,
to our good Lord the pope?
If there were talke of gospels grace,
of francknesse of our lybertie,
Then would I whet my tongue to speake,
agaynst the gift of pollicye.
And that our seruice was consumde
onlye in adoracion:
Wheras the pryme church vsde one prayer,
the rest in exhortacion.
That ministers, (why should they not?)
might goe euen like the rest.
In suits of silke, in theynes of goldd,
apparelde with the best.
That ministers might take and leaue
their orders when they would:
I went aboute to make al naught
by al the meanes I coulde.
This was my greatest anchoure hold,
I euer caste it thus:
The worse it fared with their churche,
the better much for vs.
Untoward case vnluckye case,
Ah Pertinax I say
was caste downe in our waye.
And he that caste it, hath surueyde.
and markde our cardes so well,
That al oure driftes is nowe fordone,
and you abrode must dwel.
As for my selfe, who but my selfe
I neuer felte lyke ease:
Not stoutest of the protestants
dare me in ought displease.
I made my matche I trowe with suche,
as dare not but vpbeare me:
What if I knowe their giltie prankes,
and therevppon they feare me?
Those wryng, and wrest the meaner sorte,
whose myndes and tongues are free,
And so imbecill all theyr strengthe,
that they are naught to me.
I nowe can dubbe a protestant,
and eke disdubbe agayne:
And make a Papiste graduate,
if he wyll quite my payne.
Liuings are myne, geuynges are myne,
the countenance is myne:
Promotions come to me alone,
or where I will assygne.
Yea Pertinax if thou wilte come,
of Laberinth ne drede,
I can conducte thee safe and sounde,
by vertue of a threde
I knowe who plaies the catte, and howe
her ioly kittles mouses,
I and my patrons leaue small lore,
in some right famous houses.
And if there be not speedie healpe.
against me and my fooles.
and learnyng from the Schooles.
In deede I studye harde my selfe,
but to what ende or why?
That I myght gette the greatest fee,
and put all others by.
As nowe I am, I coulde not wyshe
almoste a better staye:
If the precyse crepe vp agayns,
I knowe my wonted playe
In the meane tyme I tell them playne
they are the greatest clarkes,
And that for theyr greate constancie,
the totall worlde them markes.
Yea, I can tell them clawyngly
(but that is in their eare.)
That those whyche haue deposde them thus,
are persecuters cleare.
And if that some by pollicie,
in time doo not preuent them,
Ile egge them on to speake some thyng.
whiche spoken may repent them.
Well yf that those get vp agayne,
I kepe my iolly stay:
And if sir Pertinax you come,
I wyll not go away.
So that come papist, or precyse,
or formall conformable,
The precisde Papist kepe his roume,
lyke promontorie stable.
And yet, yf thou as palpable,
my conscience couldst grope,
Of honestie, I am full true,
vnto my lorde the Pope.
May happs when I haue filde my purse,
with takyng all this payne.
to Pertinax agayne.
Pertinax
What Commodus, thou turnes thy selfe
as one shoulde turne the groate,
Turne rounde, or else thou will be spyde
in turninge ofte thy coate.
Becawse you talked of gropinge erste,
howe chauncde it heretofore,
That you agaynst the blessed Pope,
so solemnlye haue swore.
Speake oute man, are you in a dumpe?
howe durste you so farre go?
Iuraui lingua, sed mentem
non iuratam gero.
Commodus
I tould them then, I spoke with tongue.
but neuer mente it so.
Pertinax
Why do you heare their seruice still,
a thing of such abusion?
Commodus,
I could not els abyde with them,
to helpe them to confusion.
Pertinax.
What say you to the precyse flocke,
are they resolude that waye?
Commodus
Sum parte of them is like my selfe,
the conformable say
That halfe of those whiche busylye
against those orders clatter,
Are Papistes ranke: as those may see
whiche will suruey the matter.
Pertinax
Why doo they make so straite accompt
of thynges that bee but meane?
Commodus
Pythagoras, why dyd he put
mans soule within a beane?
Pertinax
What if your selfe for not wearyng
hereafter may be wrounge?
Commodus
Tushe man I made them longe ago,
a verey Aesops tongue
Synce you against these churchly rites
so longe and sore dyd wynche,
Howe coulde you nowe resume agayne
so bucksome at a pynche?
Commodus
I sayde (as ofte I vse to say)
that I was very poore,
Nathlesse woulde geue tone halfe I had
that I myght weare no more.
Pertinax.
I go to healpe a papist nowe,
that ginnes for to recant,
And I go nowe, for to moleste
a silly protestant.
Commodus
O noble force of flattery,
Farewell olde fellowe myne,
But so farewell that you kepe close
and come to me do dyne.
Translatour.
Farewell a payre of hellyshe impes
of cankred Sathans race:
For you are enmies vnto God,
And his in euery place.
The true precise, none doo despise,
but all men knowe it well,
That they in learnynge and good lyfe,
moste commonly excell.
Not one of vs, but wylls them well
to keepe their godly name.
Nor euer thought to preiudice,
or to eclips the same.
Some be so wyse by Papistes guile,
they can not be abusde:
Yet Commodus hath fonded some,
it can not be excusde.
If I shoulde wryte of Commodus,
the craftes of suche lyke men,
The tricklynge teares for hearty griefe
woulde ouerlode my pen.
he beares the bell awaye,
Some guerdon due for his deserte,
The Lorde wyl sende one day.
The worlde is blearde with duskyng shoes,
and daselde with a glose:
But I appeale vnto the wyse,
and craue redresse of those.
Come what can come, howe muche can come,
I am at staye in mynde:
Theyr net of zeale, wherwith they steale,
for euer to vnwynde
Since God and our liege Soueraigne
bulwarkes to Truthe doo stande:
We feare not Commodus his crafte,
nor Pertinax his hande.
| Horace His arte of Poetrie, Epistles, and Satyrs Englished | |