A fig for Momus Containing Pleasant varietie, included in Satyres, Eclogues, and Epistles, by T. L. [i.e. Thomas Lodge] |
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To Rowland.
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 | A fig for Momus |  |
To Rowland.
Eclogue. 3.
VVagrin. Golde.VVagrin.
VVhie sings not Golde as he whilome did
In sacred numbers, and diuiner vaine,
Such hymnes, as from bace-humor'd braines are hid?
For shame reuiue thy mated Muse againe,
Let not ambitious ignorance forbid
Thy worthfull stile immortall praise to gaine,
Liue thou to after age, and let thy fame,
Eternise thy deserts, and tell their shame.
In sacred numbers, and diuiner vaine,
Such hymnes, as from bace-humor'd braines are hid?
For shame reuiue thy mated Muse againe,
Let not ambitious ignorance forbid
Thy worthfull stile immortall praise to gaine,
Liue thou to after age, and let thy fame,
Eternise thy deserts, and tell their shame.
Golde.
Why should I make mine industrie a slaue,
To day, and night? why should I dwell on thought
When as some scoffing ideot shall depraue
That which with trauaile learning forth hath brought:
Proud Aristarchus will the credit haue,
And beare that palme, the happier muse hath bought,
And though in furnace of true art I trie
My labor'd lines, yet scape not obloquie.
To day, and night? why should I dwell on thought
When as some scoffing ideot shall depraue
That which with trauaile learning forth hath brought:
Proud Aristarchus will the credit haue,
And beare that palme, the happier muse hath bought,
My labor'd lines, yet scape not obloquie.
In such a world where worth, hath no rewarde,
Where all the gods, want shrines, but greedie gaine,
Where science sleepes; and ignorance is hard,
Why should I loose my sleepe, or breake my braine?
Can vertue spring that wanteth true regarde?
No VVagrin no: tis wisdome to refraine
In such an age, where learning hath no laude,
Or needie Homer welcome, or applaude.
Where all the gods, want shrines, but greedie gaine,
Where science sleepes; and ignorance is hard,
Why should I loose my sleepe, or breake my braine?
Can vertue spring that wanteth true regarde?
No VVagrin no: tis wisdome to refraine
In such an age, where learning hath no laude,
Or needie Homer welcome, or applaude.
Sweete Muses, my companions, and repose,
Tir'd with contempts in silence now record
Your pleasures past; disdaining to disclose
Your worth to them, who wisdome haue abhord:
Make me the Iudge, and writer of your woes:
Whil'st senceles walles, (where I your treasures hord)
Doe heare such griefe, as were they ought but stone,
Hewd in this age, they might consume with mone.
Tir'd with contempts in silence now record
Your pleasures past; disdaining to disclose
Your worth to them, who wisdome haue abhord:
Make me the Iudge, and writer of your woes:
Whil'st senceles walles, (where I your treasures hord)
Doe heare such griefe, as were they ought but stone,
Hewd in this age, they might consume with mone.
VVagrin.
Fie Golde, blame not all men for a few,
The Muses haue some friends, who will esteeme
A man of worth, and giue desert his dewe:
Did Mircurie (as many wisemen deeme)
Surcease the wauering Cynthia to pursue,
His crosse aspects to arts, more sweete would seeme:
There are some fewe, (alas that they were more)
That honour poesie, and wit adore.
The Muses haue some friends, who will esteeme
A man of worth, and giue desert his dewe:
Did Mircurie (as many wisemen deeme)
His crosse aspects to arts, more sweete would seeme:
There are some fewe, (alas that they were more)
That honour poesie, and wit adore.
To these firme oakes (who boldlie can resist
The tempest of lewd tongues,) thy selfe applie,
Like Iuie, round about their bodies twist,
And liue to them, whose fame should neuer die:
Sweeten their eares, and glut them when they list
With such nice numbers of sweete poetrie:
That reading, they may thinke, that euerie line
Refines their wits, and makes them more diuine.
The tempest of lewd tongues,) thy selfe applie,
Like Iuie, round about their bodies twist,
And liue to them, whose fame should neuer die:
Sweeten their eares, and glut them when they list
With such nice numbers of sweete poetrie:
That reading, they may thinke, that euerie line
Refines their wits, and makes them more diuine.
Golde.
On these strong pillars (VVagrin) haue I built,
And liu'd a while in sunne-shine of their grace,
But time (sweete friend) beleeue me if thou wilt,
Hath made them worldlie, couetous, and base,
Their niggard mindes, with golden words they gilt,
They are not as they seeme, in outward face,
To liue in hope of that they meane to giue,
Is to deceiue our selues, and not to liue.
And liu'd a while in sunne-shine of their grace,
But time (sweete friend) beleeue me if thou wilt,
Hath made them worldlie, couetous, and base,
Their niggard mindes, with golden words they gilt,
They are not as they seeme, in outward face,
To liue in hope of that they meane to giue,
Is to deceiue our selues, and not to liue.
Arts perish, wanting honour, and applause,
And where imperious neede doth tyrannise,
The holie heate, through worldly cares doth pause,
The minde, (with-drawne to studie for supplies)
Is soyld with earthlie thoughts, and downward drawes;
Hence come those dull conceits amongst the wise,
Which coy-eard readers censure to proceede,
From ignorance, whereas they grow by neede.
And where imperious neede doth tyrannise,
The minde, (with-drawne to studie for supplies)
Is soyld with earthlie thoughts, and downward drawes;
Hence come those dull conceits amongst the wise,
Which coy-eard readers censure to proceede,
From ignorance, whereas they grow by neede.
Oh were the world so forward to affect
The high conceits of artists as of yore,
When least deserts, were held in high respect;
Did wise Mæcenas flourish still t'adore
The heauenly lines his Virgil did erect,
Or he whom Rome admir'd for wisdomes store;
Want, should not wring good wits, and this our age
For science, should with theirs, the battaile wage.
The high conceits of artists as of yore,
When least deserts, were held in high respect;
Did wise Mæcenas flourish still t'adore
The heauenly lines his Virgil did erect,
Or he whom Rome admir'd for wisdomes store;
Want, should not wring good wits, and this our age
For science, should with theirs, the battaile wage.
But now, these frugall patrons, who begin
To skantle learning with a seruile pay,
Make Poets count their negligence, no sinne:
The colde conceit of recompence doth lay
Their fierie furie when they should begin,
The priest vnpaid, can neither sing, nor say:
Nor Poets sweetlie write, except they meete
With sound rewards, for sermoning so sweete.
To skantle learning with a seruile pay,
Make Poets count their negligence, no sinne:
The colde conceit of recompence doth lay
Their fierie furie when they should begin,
The priest vnpaid, can neither sing, nor say:
Nor Poets sweetlie write, except they meete
With sound rewards, for sermoning so sweete.
Which sound rewards, since this neglectful time
Repines to yeeld to men of high desart,
Ile cease to reuel out my wits in rime,
For such who make so base account of art:
And since by wit there is no meanes to clime,
Ile hould the plough a while, and plie the cart,
And if my muse to wonted course returne,
Ile write, and iudge, peruse, commend and burne.
Repines to yeeld to men of high desart,
Ile cease to reuel out my wits in rime,
For such who make so base account of art:
And since by wit there is no meanes to clime,
Ile hould the plough a while, and plie the cart,
And if my muse to wonted course returne,
Ile write, and iudge, peruse, commend and burne.
VVagrin.
A better mind God send thee, or more meanes,
Oh woudst thou but conuerse with Charles the kind,
Or follow haruest, where thy Donroy gleanes,
These thoughts would cease: with thē thy muse should find
A sweet conuerse: then this conceit which weanes
Thy pen from writing, should be soone resignd.
Golde.
I rest resolu'd, if bountie will, I wright,
If not, why then my muse shall flie the light.
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