University of Virginia Library

A Dialogue between an Oak, and a Man Cutting it down.

Oak.
Why cut you off my Bows, which largely bend,
And from the scorching Sun you do defend?
Which did refresh your fainting Limbs from sweat,
And kept you free from Thund'ring Rains and Wet;
When on my Bark your weary Head you'ld lay,
Where quiet Sleep did take all Cares away;
The whilst my Leaves a gentle Noise did make,
And blew cool Winds that you fresh Air might take?
Besides, I did invite the Birds to Sing,
That their sweet Voice might you some pleasure bring,
Where every one did strive to do their best,
Oft chang'd their Notes and strain'd their tender Breast;
In Winter time my Shoulders broad did hold
Off blustering Storms, that wounded with sharp Cold;
And on my Head the Flakes of Snow did fall,
Whilst you under my Bows sat free from all:
And shall thus be requited my good will,
That you will take my Life, and Body kill?
For all my Care and Service I have past,
Must I be Cut and laid on Fire at last?
See how true Love you Cruelly have slain,
And try'd all ways to Torture me with pain;
First you do peel my Bark, and flay my Skin,
Chop off my Limbs, and leave me nak'd and thin,
With wedges you do peirce my Sides to wound,
And with your Hatchet knock me to the ground;
I minc'd shall be in Chips and Pieces small,
And this doth Man reward good Deeds withall.

Man.
Why grumble you old Oak, when you have stood
This hundred Years, as King of all the Wood?
Would you for ever Live, and not resign
Your place to one that is of your own Line?
Your Acorns young, when you grow big and tall,
Long for your Crown, and wish to see your fall,
Think every Minute lost, whilst you do Live,
And grumble at each Office you do give;
Ambition doth fly High, and is above
All sorts of Friendship and of Nat'ral Love:
Besides, all Subjects do in Change delight,
When Kings grow Old, their Government they slight,
Although in ease, and peace, and wealth they Live,
Yet all those Happy times for Change they'l give,
Grow discontent, and Factions still do make,
What Good so'ere he doth, as Evil take;
Were he as wise, as ever Nature made,
As pious, good, as ever Heav'n has Sav'd,
Yet when he Dyes, such Joy is in their Face,
As if the Devil had gone from that place;
With shouts of Joy they run a new to Crown,
Although next day they strive to pull him down.

Oak.
Why, said the Oak, because that they are mad,
Shall I rejoyce, for my own Death be glad?
Because my Subjects all Ingratefull are,
Shall I therefore my Health and Life impair?
Good Kings, who Govern justly at all times,
Examine not Men's Humours but their Crimes;
For when their Crimes appear, 'tis time to strike,
Not to examine Thoughts what they do like;
Though Kings are never Lov'd till they do Dye,
Nor wisht to Live, till in the Grave they lye,
Yet he that Loves himself the less, because
He cannot get every Man's high Applause,
Shall by my Judgement be Condemn'd to wear
The Asses Ears, and Burdens for to bear:
But let me Live the Life that Nature gave,
And not to please my Subjects, Dig my Grave.

Man.
But here, poor Oak, you Live in Ignorance,
And never seek your Knowledge to advance,
I'l Cut you down, that Knowledge you may gain,
Shalt be a Ship to traffick on the Main;
There shall you Swim and Cut the Seas in two,
And trample down each Wave as you do go,
Though they do rise, and big are swell'd with pride,
You on their Shoulders broad and Back shall Ride,
And bow their lofty Heads, their Pride to check,
Shall set your steddy Foot upon their Neck;
They on their Breast your stately Ship shall bear,
Till your sharp Keel the wat'ry Womb doth tear:
Thus shall you round the World, new Land to find,
That from the rest is of another Kind.

Oak.
O! said the Oak, I am contented well,
VVithout that Knowledge in my Wood to dwell;
For I had rather Live, and Simple be,
Than run in Danger, some strange Sight to see;
Perchance my Ship against a Rock may hit,
Then am I strait in sundry pieces Split:
Besides, no rest nor quiet shall I have,
The Winds will toss me on each troubled Wave,
The billows Rough will beat on every side,
My Breast will ake, to swim against the Tide;
And greedy Merchants may me Over-fraight,
Then should I Drowned be with my own weight;
With Sails and Ropes men will my Body tye,
And I a Prisoner have no Liberty,
And being always wet, such Colds shall take,
My Ship may get a Pose, through Holes, and Leak,
Which they to mend, will put me to great pain,
Besides all patch'd and piec'd I shall remain;
I care not for that VVealth, wherein the Pains
And Troubles are far greater than the Gains;
I am contented with what Nature gave,
I'l not repine, but one poor wish I'ld have,
VVhich is, that you my Aged Life would save.

Man.
To Build a stately House, I'l cut you down,
Wherein shall Princes Live of great Renown,
There shall you Live with the best Company,
All their Delight and Pastime you shall see;
Where Plays, and Masques, and Beauties bright will shine,
Your wood all Oyl'd with smoak of Meat & Wine;
There shall you hear both Men and VVomen sing,
Far pleasanter than Nightingales i'th' Spring;
Like to a Ball there Echoes shall rebound
Against the VVall, and yet no Voice be found.

Oak.
Alas, what Musick shall I care to hear,
VVhen on my Shoulders I such Burdens bear?
Both Brick and Tiles upon my Head are laid,
Of this preferment I am sore afraid;
VVith Nails and Hammers they will often wound,
And peirce my Sides to hang their Pictures round;
My Face is Smutch'd with smoak of Candle lights,
In danger to be Burnt in VVinter Nights.
No, let me here a poor Old Oak still grow,
Such vain Delights I matter not to know;
For fruitless Promises I do not care,
More honour 'tis, my own green Leaves to bear;
More honour 'tis, to be in Natures dress,
Than any Shape that Men by Art express:
I am not like to Men would praises have,
And for Opinion make my Self a Slave.

Man.
VVhy do you wish to Live, and not to Dye,
Since you no Pleasure have, but Misery?
Here you the Sun with scorching Heat doth burn,
And all your Leaves so Green to Driness turn;
Also with Winters Cold you quake and shake,
And in no Time or Season rest can take.

Oak.
I'm happier far, said th'Oak, than you Mankind,
For I Content in my Condition find;
Man nothing Loves, but what he cannot get,
And soon doth Surfet of one Dish of Meat,
Dislikes all Company, Displeas'd alone,
Makes Grief himself, if Fortune gives him none;
And as his Mind is restless, never pleas'd,
So is his Body Sick and oft Diseas'd;
His Gouts and Pains do make him sigh and cry,
Yet in the midst of them would Live, not Dye.

Man.
Alas, poor Oak, you do not know, nor can
Imagine half the Misery of Man;
All other Creatures only in Sense joyn,
But man has something more which is Divine;
He hath a Mind, and doth to Heav'n aspire,
For Curiosities he doth inquire;
A Wit, that nimble is, and runs about
In every Corner, to seek Nature out;
For she doth hide her Self, afraid to show
Man all her Works, lest he too powerfull grow;
Like as a King, his Favourite waxing great,
May well suspect, that he his Pow'r will get;
And what Creates desire in a Man's breast,
That Nature is Divine, which seeks the best;
For no Perfection he at all doth prize,
Till he therein the Gods doth Equalize:
If you, as Man, desire like Gods to be,
I'l spare your Life, and not Cut down your Tree.