University of Virginia Library



TO THE RIGHT Worshipfull his dearely respected Patron, Syr VVilliam Hide Knight.

To you that daine my ditties to peruse,
And gild the temper of my brazen quill,
You that giue strength vnto my weakned Muse,
To clamber vp the height of learned skill.
You that for nothing shewe this generous minde,
(A perfect token of true Noblenes)
You that to bountie haue your soules inclinde,
(VVhich shewes the world your world of worthines)
Nothing I send you for a Newyeares gift,
The faint endeuours of my sickly spirit,


Measure my meaning and my vertuous drift,
My loue, zeale, dutie, and your owne demerit.
You lookt for Nothing, Nothing I impart,
VVith the poore remnant of my broken hart.
Your worthy vertues euer vowed: VV. L.


Nothing for a New-yeares gift.

Ovt from the sadnesse of my greeued spirit,
And from the depth of serious contemplation,
Why blooming Vertue should black Enuy merit,
My troubled thoughts recall the first creation.
Searching Arts secrets, at the last I found,
Nothing to be of euery thing the ground.
Excesse of studie in a traunce denies
My rauisht soule her Angel-winged flight:
Strugling with Nothing, thus my bodie lies
Panting for breath, depriu'd of sences might.
At length recouered by this pleasant slumber,
The straunge effects from Nothing, thus I wonder.


That power of powers, great, good, pure, bodiles,
Who vncontaind, yet in himselfe confinde:
That liuely word, which no word can expresse,
Who foote-stoole earth, who rides vpon the winde.
Ouer whose throne the Cherubins do houer,
With flaming wings his starry face to couer.
He that is good, yet voide of qualitie,
In his owne essence, fully excellent:
He that is great, beyond all quantitie,
All pure in substance, free from accident.
But I grow senceles, when I seeke by sence
To sound his infinite omnipotence.
Then he that farre surmounts all comprehending,
Whose mightines is all inexplicable:
Whose seuerall glories, by his seate attending,
Like to his name, are all vnvtterable.
Though at commaundement euery thing he had,
Each thing that be of Nothing, yet he made.


The glimpse of Gods great glorie, our pure soule,
Which like a prince within his kingdome seated,
The motions of the bodie to controule,
By heauens high hand of Nothing was created.
Thus God doth stamp; tho past our sence of seeing,
His wisedome in his workes, to proue his beeing.
The world of nothing made, doth seeme an Instrument
True-strung, well-tun'd, resounding sweetly shrill,
The praises of the great Omnipotent,
Whose Alleluiaes, all the heauens did fill.
And God yet smiling on his paramoure,
Still in her lap, did Mel and Manna poure.
To nurse this league, all creatures seem'd to striue,
In sweet accord, the base with high reioist,
The liueles clipping mutually the liue,
The hot with cold, the solide with the moist.
But Adam being chiefe of all the strings,
All out of tune, ore-retched quickly brings.


Rebellious man, thus from his God reuolted,
The troubled Sea, the aire with tempest driuen:
Which were his subiects gainst himselfe insulted,
Thorne-bristled earth, the sad and lowring heauen,
As from the oath of their alleageance free,
Reuenge on him, th' Almighties iniurie.
So since his sinne, the wofull wretch findes none,
Hearbe, garden, groaue, field, Fountain, shore, or hauen,
Beast, mountain, valley, Seagate, streame, or stone,
But beares his deaths doombe, openly ingrauen.
In briefe, the whole scope this round Center hath,
Is a true store-house of heauens righteous wrath.
First Dearth assaults man, in the forme of Death,
With hollow eies, lanke meager cheeks and chinne:
Still yawning wide, with loathsome stinking breath,
With sharpe leane bones piercing his sable skinne.
And brings besides from hell for to assist her,
Rage, Feeblenes, and Thirst, her ruthlesse sister.


Next marcheth Warre, the mistres of enormitie,
Lawes, Manners, Arts, she breaks, she marres, she chases,
Mother of mischiefe, monster of deformitie,
Bloud, teares, bowers, towers, she spils, swils, burnes and rases,
Sack, Sacriledge, Rape, Ruine, Discord, Pride,
Are stil sterne consorts, by her barbarous side.
Then as a man that frunts in single fight,
His suddain for the best aduantage spies,
Thrusts, wards, auoids, his ground doth trauers light,
At last to daze his Riualls sparkling eies,
He casts his cloake, and then with coward knife,
In crimson streames, he makes him straine his life.
So sicknes Adam to subdue the better,
Brings to the field the faithlesse Opthalmie,
(Whom thousand liues alreadie iustly fetter)
With scalding blood to blind her enemie:
Hauing for aides, cough, casting, yawning, shaking,
Fantastick, rauing, and continuall aking.


And then foure Captaines, farre more fierce and egar
Then any sicknes, which the bodie seases,
On euery side, the spirit doth beleager,
Alas these are farre worse then death diseases.
Excessiue Ioy, Feare, Sorrow, and Desire,
Striuing with Treason often to aspire.
But God (as thoe forgetting Adams fall)
From the maine ocean of his boundles loue,
With streames of mercy ouerfloweth all,
In that excesse of kindnes man to proue.
So sent his Sonne to be our best Phisition,
Which at this day receiued Circumcision.
His head is launst to worke the bodies cure,
With angry salue it smarts to heale our wound,
To faultlesse Sonne, from all offences pure,
The faultie vassalls scourges do redound.
The Iudge is cast, the guiltie to acquite,
The Sonne defac'd, to lend the starres his light.


Our Rock giues issue, to an heauenly spring,
Teares from his eyes, blood runs from wounded place:
Which showers to branch of ioy an haruest bring,
The vine of life, distilleth drops of grace.
This sacred deawe, let Angels gather vp,
Such daintie drops, best fit their Nactan cup.
With weeping eyes, his mother rewd his smart,
If blood from him, teares came from her as fast,
The knife that cut his flesh, did pierce her hart,
The paine that Iesus felt, did Mary taste.
His life and hers, hung by one fatall twist,
No blow that hit the Sonne, the mother mist.
Man sprung from Nothing, if thine humble soule
Did inly see her ill misgouernd life:
With Mary thou wouldst spend whole yeares in dole,
Only to thinke that Christ endur'd this strife.
Thē eyes, hart, tong, would powre, breath out, & send
Teares, sighes, and plaints, vntill their ioyes they find.


But mans ambitious thoughts (like Eues aspiring)
So wanton-like, are weaned to each wrong:
Giuing stil bridle to his selfe-desiring,
All free to fleshly wil hath liu'd so long.
That those fresh springs whēce penitent harts should flowe,
Presumption hath so stopt that none wil showe.
If Sorrow knock, Remorce is Mercies porter,
And euer opens to let Sorrowe in:
Man to that doore should be a quicke resorter,
Tis much to saue that losse which comes by sin.
He that of Sorrowe is true mournful taster,
Doth feele sins smart, and finde sinnes saluing plaster.
Els nothing can recure sinnes festred wound,
The soules seuen doubled shield it wil assaile:
Nay Nothing for to ease it wil be found,
And Circumsition Nothing wil auaile.
And so we shall approue the Heathnish writ
Of Aristotle, Exnihilo Nihil fit.
FINIS.


THE Effects proceeding from Nothing.

W. L.
In rebus humanis Nihil est eternum.



TO THE RIGHT Worshipfull his dearely respected Patron Syr VVilliam Hide, Knight.

My Virgine Muse, leaues Nothing she can finde,
Which may agree with your Heroick minde.
Pleasing her selfe, to lay before your sight,
The generous pastimes wherein you delight:
From Nothing first, how many things were fram'd
Shee tells, who first the fierie Courser tam'd,
How astiuely to backe him he beginnes,
And by what meanes to gentlenes him winnes.
Mistake me not, I do not write to teach you,
For in this Art, he liues not that can reach you.


My running Pen must make a litle boasting,
What skill she gaind of you, in her swift poasting.
Take all in worth, with my well-meaning hart,
I want a Horse, well may I want the Art.
Your Worships euer earnestly affected. VV. L.


The effects proceeding from Nothing.

From Paradise our rebell Elders driuen,
(From that sweet Eden, earthly ripe of heauen)
Lie languishing neare Tigris grassie side,
With numbd limbs, and spirits stupifide:
Till powerfull need did make them seek their liuing,
Among the mountaines to their greater greeuing.
For Sommer garments, they the Vine vnleaue,
The Palme and Figge-tree, of his branch bereaue:
Eue growing wise among the Forrests gethers,
The Parrots, Peacocks, Estrich scattred feathers:
With white Horse haires she sowes them all in one,
And giues to Adam this Mandilion.
But when the Winters keener breath began,
With Isie fetters waters all to chaine,
To glaze the Lakes, and bridle vp the floods,
And perrywig with wooll, the bald-pate woods,
Our grandsire Adam gan to shake and shiuer,
His teeth to chatter, and his beard to quiuer.


Spying therefore, a flocke of muttons comming,
He takes the fairst, and with a fish bones cunning,
He cuttes the throat, slaies it, and spreds the fell,
Then dries it, pares it, and he scrapes it well:
Then cloathes his wife therewith, and of such hides,
Slops, hats, and doublets, he himselfe prouides.
Yet fire they lackt, Adam sate musing downe
Vpon a steepe Rocks craggie forked crowne,
A foaming beast come toward him he spies,
Within whose head stood burning coales for eies:
Then suddenly, with boisterous arme he throwes
A knobby flint, that hummeth as it goes.
Hence flies the beast, th'll'aimed flint shaft grounding,
Against the Rock, and on it oft rebounding
Shiuers to Cindars, whence there issued
Small sparkes of fire, no sooner borne then dead.
This happie chance, made Adam leape for glee,
And quickly calling his cold company.


In his left hand, a shining flint he lockes,
Which with another in his right he knockes:
So vp and downe, that from the coldest stone,
At euery stroake small fierie sparkles shone.
Then with the drie leaues of a withered bay,
The which togither handsomely they lay,
They tooke the falling fire, which like a Sun
Shines cleare, and smoaklesse in the leafe begun.
And now mankinde with fruitfull race began,
A litle corner of the world to man:
First Caine is borne, to tillage most addicted,
Then Abel, most to keeping flockes affected,
Caine tames a Heyfer, and on either side,
On either horne, a three-fold twist he tide,
Of Ozear twigges, and for a plough, he got
The horne or tooth of some Rhinocerot.


Now th' one in Cattle, th' other rich in graine,
On two steep mountaines, build they Altars twaine,
Where humble sacred, th' one with zealous crie
Cleaues bright Olimpus starry Canopie.
With faigned lippes the other loudere sounded,
Hart wanting himnes, on selfe deseruing founded.
Rein-searching God. Thought-sounding Iudge that tries,
The will and heart, more then the work or guise,
Accepts good Abels gift, but hates the other
Prophane oblation of his furious brother:
Who feeling deepe, th' effects of Gods displeasure,
Raues, frets, & fumes, and murmures out of measure.
So one day drawing with dissembled loue,
His harmelesse brother farre into a groue:
With both his hands he takes a stone so huge,
That in our age three men could hardly bouge,
And iust vpon his tender brothers crowne,
With all his might he cruel casts it downe.


The murdred face lyes printed in the minde,
And loude for vengeance cries the martir'd blood:
All day Cain hides him, wanders all the night,
Flies his owne friends, of his owne shade affright,
Scard with a leafe, and starting at a Sparrow,
And all the world seemes for his feare too narrow.
Cain as they say by his deepe feare disturbed,
Then first of all the vntamed Courser curbed,
That while about on others feete he run,
With dustie speed, he might his deaths mans shun,
Among a hundred braue light lustie horses,
(VVith curious eye marking there comely forces.)
He chooseth one for his industrious proofe,
with round, high, hollow, smooth, brown, Ietty hoofe,
VVith pasterous short, vpright, but yet in meane,
Dry sinewed shankes, strong fleshles knees, and leane,
with hart-like legges, broad brest, and large behind,
with bodie large, smooth flankes, and double chind.


A crested necke, bowde like a halfe bent bowe,
Whereon a long thin curled Mane doth growe,
A firme full Tayle, touching the lowly ground,
With Dock betweene two faire fat buttocks drownd.
A pricked Eare that rests as litle space,
As his light foote, a leane-beare bony face.
Thin choule, and head, but of a midling size,
Full liuely flaming, quickly rowling eies,
Great foaming mouth, hot fuming nostrils wide,
Of chest-nut haire, his forehead starrified:
Three milke white feete, a feather on his brest,
Whom seuen yeares old, at the next grasse he guest.
This goodly Iennet, gently first he winnes,
And then to backe him, actiuely beginnes:
Steedie, and straight, he sits, turning his sight
Stil to the forepart, of his palphray light.
The chafed horse, such thrall ill suffring,
Begins to snuffe, and snort, and leape, and fling.


And flying swift, his fearefull Rider makes
Like some vnskilfull Lad, that vndertakes
To hold some ship helme, while the head-long tide
Carries away the vessell and her guide.
Who neere deuowred in the iawes of death,
Pale, fearefull, shiuering, faint, and out of bretah,
A thousand times with heauen-erected eies,
Repents him of so bold an enterprise.
But sitting fast, lesse hurt then fear'd Caine,
Boldens himselfe, and his braue beast againe,
Brings him to pace, from pacing to the trot,
From trot, to gallop, after runnes him hot,
In full carere, and at his courage smiles,
And sitting stil to runne so many miles.
His pace is faire, and free, his trot as light
As Tigers course, or Swallowes nimble flight:
And his braue gallop, seemes as swift to goe
As Irish darts, or shafts from English bowe.
Born whirle wind like, he makes the trampled ground
Shrinke vnder him, and shake with doubling sound.


The roaring Cannon from his smoaking throat,
Neuer so speedie spewes the thundring shot,
That in an Armie mowes whole squadrons downe,
And batters bulwarkes, of a sommond Towne.
Then this light horse scuddes, if he do but feele
His bridle slacke, and his side the heele.
Shunning himselfe, his sinewes strength he stretches,
Flying the earth, the flying aire he catches:
And when the sight no more pursue him may,
In fieldie cloudes he vanisheth away.
But Cain waxt wise, esteemes it not the best,
To take too much now of this lustie beast.
Restrainig fury, then with learned hand,
The triple Coruet makes him vnderstand:
And on his necke his flattering palme doth slide,
With skilful voice, he gently cheares his pride.
He stops him steddie still, new breath to take,
And in the same path brings him softly backe.


But th' angry steed, rising and raigning proudly,
Striking the stones, stamping, and naighing loudly.
Calls for the Combat, plunges, leapes, and prances.
Befoames the path, with sparkling eyes he glances.
Champs on his burnisht bit, and gloriously
His nimble fetlocks lifteth belly-high.
All side-long iaunts, on either side he iustles,
And wauing crest, coragiously he bristles,
Making the gazers glad on euery side,
To giue more roome vnto his portly pride:
Cain gently stroakes him, and now suer in seate.
Ambitiously stil seekes some fresher feate.
One while (to be more famous) trots the ring,
Another while, he doth him backward bring:
Then of all foure, he makes him lightly bound,
And to each hand, to mannage rightly round:
To stoope, to stop, to caper, and to swim,
To daunce, to leape, to hold vp any lim.


And all so done with time-grace-ordred skill,
As both had but one bodie, and one will:
Th' one for his Art no little glorie gaines,
Th' other throrough practise, by degrees attaines
Grace in his gallop, in his pace agilitie,
Lightnes of head, and in his stop facilitie:
Strength in his leape, and stedfast managings,
Aptnesse in all, and in his course new wings.
Cain nam'd his Courser, Gallant Bellamour,
And in his name he built a gallant Towre.
So Alexander, in his Horses name
A Citie calld Bucephala did frame.
So Beuis built the Castle Arundell
In his Horses fame, as auncient stories tell.
So least Gray Gallant loose his glistring fame,
You must erect some monument in's name.


The vse of Horses thus discouered,
Each to his worke more cheerly setteled,
Each plies his Trade, and trauels for his age,
Following the pathes of painfull Tuball sage.
And now the way to thousand workes reueald,
Which long shall liue maugre the rage of Eld.
They build Townes, Cities, Castles, and huge Towers,
Occasion giues me leaue to speake of yours:
Of ancient Hides seated on a hill,
For to commaund the Country at her will.
But afterward my Muse must show her power
In the description of that famous Tower.
Here might I shew the pleasures I haue seene
On the Tower hill (where pleasures euerbeene)
There I beheld in what a pittious case
The trembling Stagge was long pursude in chase:
Flying for succour to some neighbor wood,
Sinkes on the suddaine, in the yeekling mud.


And sticking fast amid the rotten grounds,
Is ouertaken by the eager hounds:
One bites his backe, his necke another nippes,
One pulls his brest, at's throat another skippes.
One tugges his flancke, his hanch another teares,
Another tugges him by the bleeding eare.
And last of all, the wood-man with his knife
Cutts off his head, and so concludes his life.
And how I sawe the Bull, whose horned crest
Awakes fell Hornets, from their drowsie nest:
With fisking traine, with forked head and foote,
Himselfe th' aire, th' earth, all beating to no boote.
Flying thorough woods, hills, dales, & roaring riuers,
His place of griefe, but not his painful griuers.
Forth of his way yet many makes to trudge,
Some to the woods, and some towards the Lodge.
Someone behind an aged Elder flees,
Someone for haste climbes vp the yongest trees.
Some vnder hedges, some to holes would run,
This way and that, the best the beast to shun.


Stitchtfull of stings when on the ground he lies,
Least any more the cruel beast should rise,
I might behold a company of slaues
Thrashing the dead Bull with their grained slaues:
Thinking they were (for this act) champions stout,
They laie their heads togither make a shout.
My forward tongue did giue my soule in charge,
When first your troupes to Boland made resort,
That spatious Forrest to describe at large,
With all our Sommer progresse and disport:
In this I promise breake aboue all other,
With my deare friend, & with your nearest brother.
For now the vertue of my sprights decaide,
The inspiration of my Muse allaide,
My memorie which meetly hath bene good,
Is now (with griefe) much like the fleeting flood.
Whereon no sooner haue we drawne a line,
But's canceld straight, and Nothing left for signe.
FINIS.