Troia Brittanica: or, Great Britaines Troy A Poem Deuided into XVII. seuerall Cantons, intermixed with many pleasant Poeticall Tales. Concluding with an Vniuersall Chronicle from the Creation, untill these present Times. Written by Tho. Heywood |
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 | Troia Brittanica: or, Great Britaines Troy |  |
To the Right Honourable Edward Earle of Worcester, Lord of Chepstoll, Ragland, and Gower, Knight of the most Noble order of the Garter, Mayster of the Horse, and one of the Kinges most Honourable Priuy Councell.
To you, whose Fauour gaue my Muse first breath,
To try in th' Ayre her weake vnable wing,
And soare this pitch, who else had tasted death
Euen in her byrth, from the Castalian spring
She dedicates her labours (as they are)
Though as you see, poore, featherlesse, and bare.
To try in th' Ayre her weake vnable wing,
And soare this pitch, who else had tasted death
Euen in her byrth, from the Castalian spring
She dedicates her labours (as they are)
Though as you see, poore, featherlesse, and bare.
Your Noble hand, to her, supportance gaue,
Euen in her Pen-lesse Age about to fall,
Her Cradle then had beene her Infant graue,
Had not your power and Grace kept her from thrall:
Then by the Muse, by your hie bounty raisde,
Y'are by your Merit and my duty praisde.
Euen in her Pen-lesse Age about to fall,
Her Cradle then had beene her Infant graue,
Had not your power and Grace kept her from thrall:
Then by the Muse, by your hie bounty raisde,
Y'are by your Merit and my duty praisde.
Her power (though weake) yet to her sickly strength
Is willing, your past Graces to record,
Though smothered long, yet she findes time at length
To shew her office to her Patron-Lord,
Wishing (for your sake) that vpholds her still,
Her worth, had correspondence to her will.
Is willing, your past Graces to record,
Though smothered long, yet she findes time at length
To shew her office to her Patron-Lord,
Wishing (for your sake) that vpholds her still,
Her worth, had correspondence to her will.
Then had her Theame, that treats of forren deeds,
Beene only tunde to your desert and Merit,
And you, from whom her nonage Art proceeds,
Should by her Pen, Eternity inherit:
But since (great Lord) her best fruites are but words,
Prise what her hart, not what her Art affoords.
Beene only tunde to your desert and Merit,
And you, from whom her nonage Art proceeds,
Should by her Pen, Eternity inherit:
Prise what her hart, not what her Art affoords.
Tis fit those Lordes which we from Troy deriue,
Should in the Fate of Troy remembred be,
For since their Graund-sire vertues now suruiue,
And with the Spirits of this Age agree,
It makes vs fill our Cantons with such men,
As liuing now, equald theyr vertues then.
Should in the Fate of Troy remembred be,
For since their Graund-sire vertues now suruiue,
And with the Spirits of this Age agree,
It makes vs fill our Cantons with such men,
As liuing now, equald theyr vertues then.
Homer (long since) a Chronicler Diuine,
And Virgill, haue redeemd olde Troy from fire,
Whose memory had with her buildings line
In desolate ruyne, had not theyr desire
Snatcht her fayre Tytle from the burning flame,
Which with the Towne had else consumde her name.
And Virgill, haue redeemd olde Troy from fire,
Whose memory had with her buildings line
In desolate ruyne, had not theyr desire
Snatcht her fayre Tytle from the burning flame,
Which with the Towne had else consumde her name.
Had they surviude in these our flourishing daies,
Your vertues from the auncient Heroes drawne,
In spight of death or blacke obliuions rage,
Should liue for euer in Fames glorious fawne,
Rankt next to Troy, our Troy-novant should be,
And next the Troyan Peeres, your places free.
Your vertues from the auncient Heroes drawne,
In spight of death or blacke obliuions rage,
Should liue for euer in Fames glorious fawne,
Rankt next to Troy, our Troy-novant should be,
And next the Troyan Peeres, your places free.
Nor let your Honour my weake stile despise,
That striues to Register your names with theirs;
For could my numbers like blinde Homers rise,
I would create you, Fames eternall heyres:
Accept my strength, (my weaknesse I bewray)
Had I like Art, I would as much as they.
That striues to Register your names with theirs;
For could my numbers like blinde Homers rise,
I would create you, Fames eternall heyres:
Accept my strength, (my weaknesse I bewray)
Had I like Art, I would as much as they.
Your Honours euer faithfully deuoted, Tho. Heywood.
| Troia Brittanica: or, Great Britaines Troy | |