Minerva Britanna Or A Garden of Heroical Deuises, furnished, and adorned with Emblemes and Impresa's of sundry natures, Newly devised, moralized, and published, By Henry Peacham |
 |
| I. |
| II. |
Rura mihi et silentium.
|
 | Minerva Britanna |  |
185
Rura mihi et silentium.
Wert thou thy life at libertie to choose,
And as thy birth, so hadst thy beeing free,
The Citie thou shouldst bid adieu, my Muse,
And from her streetes, as her infection flee:
Where CHAOS and CONFVSION wee see,
A swell of language, as of differing heartes,
A bodie severed in a thousand parts.
And as thy birth, so hadst thy beeing free,
The Citie thou shouldst bid adieu, my Muse,
And from her streetes, as her infection flee:
Where CHAOS and CONFVSION wee see,
A swell of language, as of differing heartes,
A bodie severed in a thousand parts.
Thy solitarie
Academe should be
Some shadie groue, vpon the THAMES faire side,
Such as we may neere princely RICHMOND see,
Or where a long doth siluer SEVERNE slide,
Or AVON courtes, faire FLORA in her pride:
There shouldst thou sit at long desired rest,
And thinke thy selfe, aboue a Monarch blest,
Some shadie groue, vpon the THAMES faire side,
Such as we may neere princely RICHMOND see,
Or where a long doth siluer SEVERNE slide,
Or AVON courtes, faire FLORA in her pride:
There shouldst thou sit at long desired rest,
And thinke thy selfe, aboue a Monarch blest,
186
There moughtst thou sing thy sweete Creators praise,
And turne at quiet ore some holy booke;
Or tune the Accent of thy harmelesse laies
Vnto the murmur of the gentle brooke:
Whiles round about thy greedy eie doth looke,
Obseruing wonders in some flower by,
This bent, that leafe, this worme, that butterflie.
And turne at quiet ore some holy booke;
Or tune the Accent of thy harmelesse laies
Vnto the murmur of the gentle brooke:
Whiles round about thy greedy eie doth looke,
Obseruing wonders in some flower by,
This bent, that leafe, this worme, that butterflie.
Where mightst thou view at full the Hemisphære
On some faire Mountaine, in a Summers night,
In spangles there embraudered is the BEARE,
And here the FISH, there THESEVS louer bright,
The watry HYADS, here deceiue our sight,
ERIDANOS, and there ORION bound,
Another way the silver SWANNE is found.
On some faire Mountaine, in a Summers night,
In spangles there embraudered is the BEARE,
And here the FISH, there THESEVS louer bright,
The watry HYADS, here deceiue our sight,
ERIDANOS, and there ORION bound,
Another way the silver SWANNE is found.
Or wouldst thou Musick to delight thine eare,
Step but aside into the neighbour spring,
Thou shalt a thousand wing'd Musitians heare,
Each praising in his kind the heauenly King:
Here PHILOMEL, doth her shrill Treble sing,
The THRVSH a Tenor, off a little space,
Some matelesse DOVE, doth murmur out the Base.
Step but aside into the neighbour spring,
Thou shalt a thousand wing'd Musitians heare,
Each praising in his kind the heauenly King:
Here PHILOMEL, doth her shrill Treble sing,
The THRVSH a Tenor, off a little space,
Some matelesse DOVE, doth murmur out the Base.
Geometry or wishest thou to learne,
Obserue the Mill, the Crane, or Country Cart,
Wherein with pleasure, soone thou shalt discerne
The groundes, and vse of this admired Art,
The rules of NVMBRING, for the greatest part,
As they were first devis'd by Country Swaines,
So still the Art with them entire remaines.
Obserue the Mill, the Crane, or Country Cart,
Wherein with pleasure, soone thou shalt discerne
The groundes, and vse of this admired Art,
The rules of NVMBRING, for the greatest part,
As they were first devis'd by Country Swaines,
So still the Art with them entire remaines.
If lou'st thy health, preferre the Country Aire,
Thy Garden fore the Pothecaries shoppe,
Where wholesome herbes, shall it at full repaire,
Before a Quint'sence, or an oily droppe:
There groweth the Balme, there shooteth Endiue vp:
Here Pæonte for th' Epilepsie good,
There Dill, and Hysope, best to stanch the bloud.
Thy Garden fore the Pothecaries shoppe,
Where wholesome herbes, shall it at full repaire,
Before a Quint'sence, or an oily droppe:
There groweth the Balme, there shooteth Endiue vp:
Here Pæonte for th' Epilepsie good,
There Dill, and Hysope, best to stanch the bloud.
187
The cooling Sorrell, and the Perslie whot,
The Smallage, for a bruise, or swelling best,
The Mercurie, the formost in the Pot,
The Lavander, beloued for the Chest,
The Costmarie, to entertaine the guest,
The Rosemarie, and Fenel, seldome set,
The lowlie Daisie, and sweete Violet.
The Smallage, for a bruise, or swelling best,
The Mercurie, the formost in the Pot,
The Lavander, beloued for the Chest,
The Costmarie, to entertaine the guest,
The Rosemarie, and Fenel, seldome set,
The lowlie Daisie, and sweete Violet.
Nor Princes richest Arras may compare
With some small plot, where Natures skill is showen,
Perfuming sweetely all the neighbour aire,
While thousand cullors in a night are blowne:
Here's a light Crimson, there a deeper one,
A Maidens blush, here Purples, there a white,
Then all commingled for our more delight.
With some small plot, where Natures skill is showen,
Perfuming sweetely all the neighbour aire,
While thousand cullors in a night are blowne:
Here's a light Crimson, there a deeper one,
A Maidens blush, here Purples, there a white,
Then all commingled for our more delight.
Withall (as in some rare limn'd booke) we find,
Here, painted Lectures of Gods sacred will,
The Daisie, teacheth lowlines of mind,
The Camomill, we should be patient still,
The Rue, our hate of vices poison ill,
The Woodbine, that we should our frendship hold,
Our Hope, the Sav'rie, in the bitterst cold.
Here, painted Lectures of Gods sacred will,
The Daisie, teacheth lowlines of mind,
The Camomill, we should be patient still,
The Rue, our hate of vices poison ill,
The Woodbine, that we should our frendship hold,
Our Hope, the Sav'rie, in the bitterst cold.
Yet loue the Citie, as the kindly Nurse
Of all good Artes, and faire Civillitie:
Where though with good, be intermix't the worse,
That most disturbe our sweete Tranquillitie:
Content thy selfe, till thine Abillitie,
And better hap, shall answere thy desire,
But Muse beware, least we too high aspire.
Of all good Artes, and faire Civillitie:
Where though with good, be intermix't the worse,
That most disturbe our sweete Tranquillitie:
Content thy selfe, till thine Abillitie,
And better hap, shall answere thy desire,
But Muse beware, least we too high aspire.
| Minerva Britanna | |