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THE SIXTH SESTYAD.
The Argument.
Apollo rageth that the noble bayIs worn by those that do not merit it,
He and the Muses an amer cement lay
On some, that trusting to their sordid mit
Do undertake, of things most high to say,
Yet cannot words unto the matter fit:
Mean time Urania doth in tears deplore
Her Poets losse, whose like shal be no more.
1
He that doth bear the silver shining bowWhose musick doth surpass, that of the sphears
VVho slew great Python, and did Vulcan show
VVhere Mars and Venus, were, to increase his fears,
Jove and Latenas son, whom Readers know
In heaven he of Sol the title bears:
In earth he Liber Pater called is,
And eke Apollo in the shades of Dis.
2
One time, as on the spire of 's Temple heeDid sit, he cast his most refulgent eye
Towards Pernassus Mount, where he might see
The sacred Nine, not now melodiously
As they were wont, to chaunt in Jollitie
Apolloes praise, and the great Diety,
That turnd I O to a Cow, but now they were
VVith sorrow overcome, did joy forbeare.
3
VVith speed to Hellicon he took his flight,VVhere being come, the Muses did arise
And made obeaysance, as was requisite,
To whom said Sminthus, why, with downcast eys,
Are your fair Aspects clouded, and why dight
In sable weeds, the reason I surmise,
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By those unruly Steeds, to death was done.
4
Shal part of her, whom once I lovd so dear,Be worn by those whose sordid minds I hate;
Why do I, for to shoot, the slaves forbear,
And with my Arrows, their brests penetrate;
Who for to claim the Lawrel do not fear,
Due only unto those, whose happy fate
Hath raised them, my Prophets for to bee,
Or else can claim the same by victorie.
5
Each fellow now, that hath but had a viewOf the learnd Phrygians Fables, groweth bold,
And name of Poet doth to himself accrew;
That Ballad maker too, is now extold
With the great name of Poet, He that knew
Better far how to row, then pen to hold,
His sordid lines, are sweld to such a weight,
Theyre able for to make, his Boat afreight.
6
The god of waves hath been my enemy,Else that base Fool, had Haddocks fed ere now,
And Fennor might have Wrote his Ellegy,
(Another coxcomb) that his wit to show
Wrote many things, the best not worth the eye
Of any schoolboy, doth his genders know;
But while the Fools I rate, let me not be
Forgetful of those Writers lovd by me.
7
Although the Bard, whose lines unequalled,Who only did deserve a Poets name
To my Eternal grief, be long since dead,
His lines for ever shal-preserve his Fame.
So his who did so neer his foot paths tread
Whose lines as neer as Virgils Homers came,
Do equal Spencers, who the soul of verse
In his admired Poems doth rehearse.
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8
But ah whose this whose shade before me standsO tis the Man, whose Fame the earth doth fil,
VVhose vertue is the talk of Forraign Lands
VVhile they admire his Feats of Arms his skil
In Poesie, while he bove all commands
The Muses, who so waited on his Quil
That like to Sidney; none ere wrote before
His birth, nor now hees dead shal ere write more.
9
See him whose Tragick Sceans EURIPIDESDoth equal, and with SOPHOCLES we may
Compare great SHAKESPEAR ARISTOPHANES
Never like him, his Fancy could display,
VVitness the Prince of Tyre, his Pericles,
His sweet and his to be admired lay
He wrote of lustful Tarquins Rape shews he
Did understand the depth of Poesie.
10
But thou dear soul, whose lines when I beholdI do astonisht stand, of whom Fame says
By after times, Thy songs shal be extold
And mentiond be as equalling my lays
Thou who so sweetly EDVVARDS woes hast told
VVhen other Poems, though of worth decays,
Thine shal be honord, and shal aye subsist
In spight of dark oblions hiding mist.
11
So His that Divine PLAUTUS equalledWhose Commick vain MENANDER nere could hit,
Whose tragick sceans shal be with wonder Read
By after ages for unto his wit
My selfe gave personal ayd I dictated
To him when as Sejanus fall he writ,
And yet on earth some foolish sots there bee
That dare make Randolf his Rival in degree.
12
All hail eke unto thee that didst translateMy loved LUCAN into thine own tongue,
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Thou hast compleated his ingenuous song
Thy Fame with his shal nere be out of date
Nor shal base Momus carps thy glory wrong,
But of mine own tree, Ile a garland frame
For thee, and mongst my Propets rank thy name,
13
So thine whose rural quil so high doth soundTheocritus or Mantuans ere could bee
So sweet and so sententious ever found
As are thy Pastorals of Britanie,
Thy fame for aye shal to the skies resound,
And I pronounce Thy fluent Poesie
Singing of shepherds is the best ere wit
Invented, and none ere yet equalled it.
14
Nor thine O Heywood worthy to be readBy Kings, whose books of eloquence are such
Enough in praise of thee, can nere be fed
Nor can my Verses, ere extoll too much
Thy reall worth, whose lines unparaled
Although some envious criticks seem to grutch
Shall live on earth to thy eternall Fame
When theirs in grave shall rot, without a name.
15
So eke shall yours, great Davenant, Sherley andThine learned Goffe, Baumont, and Fletchers to
With his that the sweet Renegaddo pend
With his who Cressey sang, and Poycters to
Your works, your names for ever shal commend
Joyned with his, that wrot how Scipio,
Orethrew great Hanniball, his ingenious lines
Shall be a pattern, for the after times.
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Nor will I thee forget whose PoesieIs pure, whose Emblems, Satyrs Pastoralls
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Nor Thee whose Poems loudly on me cals
For my applause, which here I give, and I
Pronounce his merit, that so high Instals
The Muses, in his Night-watch, great to bee,
And times to come shal hugg his Poesie.
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But why, Urania, hangst thou so thy head,What grievous loss hath rest thy joys away;
Quoth she, knows not Apollo QUARLES is dead
That next to BARTAS, sang the heavenlist lay,
And who is he on earth, his steps can tread,
So shal my glory come unto decay;
At this she wept, and wailing wrung her hands,
The Muses mourning round about her stands.
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Quoth then Apollo, lay this grief aside,I do assure thee, that thy honor shal
Not fade, but be far greater Amplified;
Theres one who now upon thy name doth cal,
Who hath by Clio formerly been tried,
And by her wel approvd; He surely shal
Succeed great Quarles, if thou not fâte to inspire
And warm his Bosome with thy hottest fire.
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Hereat she cheared was, and now as earstApollo in the midst, the Muses Nine
Began to sing, CLIO, Joves Deeds rehearst
VVhen he the Gyants pasht, her song Divine
Apollo shapt his tyre unto, where first
I did set forth I must again decline:
What shallow fools shal prate I do not care,
Fly Thou my Book to those that Learned ate.
Nunquam me Impune lacessit.
The end of the sixth and last Sestyad. FINIS.
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