The Life and Death of Mary Magdalene A Legendary Poem in Two Parts, About A.D. 1620, By Thomas Robinson. Edited from the only known manuscripts in the British Museum and Bodleian Libraries, with an introduction, a life of the author, and notes, by H. Oskar Sommer |
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To the right honourable and truly Noble gentleman, Lord Hen: Clifford, Lord Liuetenent Of the midle shires Of Westmorland, Cumberland, and Northumberland T : R : wisheth all happinesse and encrease of honour.
Where should a Poet nowe a Patron finde,To please his own, and please his Patrons minnde?
Some, Satyres; others, Epigrammes, desire;
Some, Cronicles and Warlicke strains admire;
Others, a deepe conceited Pastorall,
Or Elegiacks at a funerall:
Some are halfe rauish'd with a Tragicke style,
Others affect the gentler Comicke smile:
Some one perhaps (and not without desart)
Likes Heros hand and yonge Læanders heart,
Sung by diuine Musæus in a story
Of loue-sicke passion, worthy of all glory:
Others, an Emblem or quaint Epitaphe,
Or merry mad conceipts, to make one laugh:
Some loue diuiner poems, and in this,
Deserue to be commended; but they misse
In makinge a iudicious choyce: For why,
With painted flowers of Ethnicke Poetry,
Good matters (say they) must not be endited,
But rather in plaine easy termes recited:
Others, regardlesse of the Muses dity,
With Plato banish Poets from their city,
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Of Poetry whats'e'r can please their minde:
In faire Encomiasticks to commend,
They count it flattery; to reprehend
In sharpe-fang'd Satyres, is to libellize,
To raise vile slaunders, and false infamies:
Base, the Comœdian's witty mirth they deeme,
And Epigrammes, phantasticall doe seeme:
Thees are a sect, of which most men partake,
That litle reckonning of the Muses make.
The brazen age is nowe return'd agen,
And hath defac'd the Poets siluer pen;
Whereas in former time, the greatest men
Were not asham'd to be call'd Poets then:
Witnesse Augustus, in whose Laureat time,
Learning and liberall arts were in their prime,
And Poets flourish'd: Persius (though a Knight)
Was not ashamed, Satyres to recite;
Propertius, borne of enobled race,
T'indite Elegies, thought it no disgrace.
And sweet Amphion, sonne to princely Ioue,
With his shrill Musicke made the stones to moue.
Nor did this art moue onely in their sphœre:
An Helicon hath not been wanting heere.
Then sent forth Cydney, glory of his time,
And Chaucer, auld, who for his auntient rythme
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That kept his memory to thees our dayes.
What should I speake of those of latter yeares?
Of Harrington among our noble Peares?
Or of thy selfe (great Earle) the Poets grace?
Why then should Poets be esteem'd so base?—
Because their pouerty o'rcloudes their witt,
And makes men rather scorne, then pity it?
Shall vertue, which in riche men we adore,
Be e'r the worse esteemed in the poore?
Or can not some mens honours credite lend,
To that, which others meannesse doth offend?—
Beside, I might recount in ample wise,
The profites that from Poetry arrise.
Where each thinge, truly acted, we may see,
As in a theatre: Aratus, he
Shewes vs the p[re]s[ences] of spangled starres;
And Lucan singes the broyles of ciuill warres;
Of loue, and louers trickes, Catullus tells:
With warlicke stratagems, grave Virgill swells,
And makes his verse each circumstance betoken,
That one would thinke the matter done, not spoken.
Ovid is various, and in nimble paces,
The love of Gods, the flight of nymphes, he traces,
And well he calls it transformation,
For he [reuiues] again the [antique] fashion,
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So to delight the mindes of the vnstable:
His seas of sorrowe, holy dayes, and rites,
Letters of passion, arte of loues delights,
In eu'ry kinde may teach the rude some skill.
Hesiod giues instructions to till;
And Homers lofty style would make one doubt,
Whether he better sung, or Hector fought.
Martiall lends witt; Horace, in sharpe essayes,
Against the vices of his time inveighes.
Empedocles, in verses did attire
Secrets of Nature; and the Samian Sire,
Morall Philosophy could grauely teach.
But Chrysostome had a farre higher reach:
And wise Prudentius, with other Sages,
Haue writt diuinely in thees latter ages.
What should I bringe Poets antiquity?
From Deborah, and Moses victory?
What should I tell of Simeon, and Mary?
Of Salomon, and Dauid, that could vary
Musicall notes vpon his well-tun'd stringe:
When the Angellique troopes doe praises singe,
And harmony, that nowe is brought to ground,
Seemes to begin amid the sphœres so round?
Much might I speake in praise of Poet's dity,
And make my gates farre larger then my city.
I may commend, not mend them with my pen,
For Patronage belonges to greatest men.
And more to saye were vaine: For Poetry
Liues of it selfe, though Poets helplesse be.
Yet some Mœcenases this age hath left vs,
(Though of Mœcenas, time long since bereft vs,)
That fauour learning, and accept a lay,
Though ne'r so mean, though clad in simple grey.
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Accept (great Peare) this ruder rapsodie.
And though no Muse I am of great desart,
Yet fauour graunt; because I loue the arte!
Thy better iudgement happily may spie
The slender twist of my sleight Poetry:
Yet fauourably take it in good part,
(If there want wordes, be sure there wants no heart,)
And shine vpon my Muse with gracious rayes,
So shall it muse to sonnet out thy prayse.
Your Honours in all duty, and
Seruice to Commaund,
Thomas Robinson.
| The Life and Death of Mary Magdalene | |