Ivvenilia :: :: University of Virginia Library

Thou that createdst all things in a Weeke,
Great God (whose favour I do only seek,)
E'en thou by whose desired inspirations
I undertooke to make these observations;
Oh grant, I pray sith thou hast deign'd to show
Thy servant that which thousands doe not know,
That this my noting of mans hum'rous Passion,
May worke within me some good alteration,
And make me so for mine owne follies sorry,
That I may lead a life unto thy glory.

Let not ambition nor a foule desire,
Nor hate, nor envy set my heart on fire:
Revenge, nor Choler, no nor Iealousie;
And keepe me from Despaire and Cruelty,
Fond hope expell; and I beseech thee blesse
My soule from Feare and too much Heavinesse.
But give me speciall grace to shun the vice
That is so common, beastly Avarice:
And grant me power I not only know,
But flye those evils that from passion flow,

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Moreover now inspire my soule with art,
And grant me thy assistance to impart
The rest of mens ill Customes yet remaining,
And their vaine humors; that by my explaining,
They may perceive how odious I can make them,
Blush at the reading, and at last forsake them.
Yea let my muse in this, and things to come,
Sing to thy glory, Lord, or else be dumbe.

121

Of Vanity.

Satyr. 1.

My Muse, that now hath done the best she can
To blaze corrupted Passion bred in man,
Goes further here, and meaneth to undoe
Another knot of ils hee's prone unto.
From which as out of the maine root there growes
All whatsoever evill, Mankind knowes.
With thousands of bad humors; of which some
Such as to minde by observation come;
As also such as are the proper crimes
Of these ungodly and disorder'd times)
She meanes to treat of. The chiefe heads be these,
Consider of them Reader if thou please.)

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First, wanton and light-headed Vanity,
Next that, Chamelion-like Inconstancy;
Then, miserable Weakenesse; lastly this,
Damned Presumption, that so daring is.

But ere I doe begin this worke, that I
May speake to purpose with sincerity,
Lord, I beseeeh thee helpe me to explaine,
And teach me to contemne the thing that's vaine.
I have begun in thee this my endeavour,
And constancy vouchsafe me to persever:
My knowledge I confesse to be but weake,
Yet through thy Strength and Truth I hope to break!
These mires of sin, from which mankinde (kept under)
Must be let loose like beds of Eeles by thunder.

Then that I may mans pride the better see,
From all Presumption Lord deliver me.
Likewise disperse those foggie mists of sin,
That to my purpose have an hindrance bin:
And th' evill by thy wisedome I perceive,
Lord let thy mercy give me grace to leave:
That being free my selfe, I may not coldly
Tax others faults, but reprehend them boldly.

So having for this good assistance prai'd,
My Muse goes forward trusting to thine aide
To guide me through the wildernesse of sin,
Great Vanities Survey: for being in
I see now 'tis an intricate Mæander,
In which (I feare) I shall confus'dly wander.
It is a Labyrinth so full of waies,
And seemes so endlesse if my pen once straies,
As doth the Fisherman amazed stand,
That knoweth not which way to rowe to land,
When all alone in some close misty day,
Farre from the Haven he hath lost his way;

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Knowing we may as well strike up the maine,
As turne unto the wished shore againe:
So I doe feare lest this may carry me
Into an Ocean where no Sea-markes be.
Because what way soere my course I bend,
There Vanity I see without all end.
Which hath not under her subjection gain'd.
Such things alone as are on earth contain'd,
Or underneath the Orbs of Aire and Fire,
But reaches further and encroches higher:
According to his meaning who said plaine,
That all things underneath the Sun were vaine.

But now I thinke it may a question be,
Whether the Sun, the Moon and Stars be free:
For sometimes false predictions they impart,
Or are belied by abused Art.
But of man onely here my Muse must tel's,
Who is by much more vaine than all things else.
For Vanity his reason over-swaies;
Not onely one some certaine Moneths and Daies,
But is at all times in him resident,
As if it were his proper accident.
Neither doth age in which he groweth on,
Any thing lessen the proportion
Of Vanity he had. But in the steed
Of some rejected follies there succeed
Others as bad. For we perceive when Boies
Begin to man (asham'd of childish toyes)
They then leave off their former idle chat,
And foolish games; but what's the cause of that?
For being ill; no rather they contemne
Those bad things, as not bad enough for them.

And as one poore plaies first for points and pins;
Once waxing rich, leaves that game and begins

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To venter crownes, and so from day to day
Growes more and more asham'd of slender play
As he growes abler: So, young men forsake
The rope-ripe tricks, that their first age did take
Chiefe pleasure in; nor cause they wicked deem them,
But being men, they thinke twill not beseeme them.
Then hounds and hawks and whores are their delight
Quarrels and Brawles doe fit their humors right,
Disordred meetings, drunken Revellings,
Consuming Dice, and lavish Banquetings,
Proud costly Robes. This is the Youngmans veine:
Which he that elder is dislikes againe.
Not since ill neither: but because his yeeres
Him unto other Vanities endeares.
As Selfe-conceipt, much care for worldly pelfe,
Heaping up what he neare enjoyes himselfe.
Prone to Contentions, much desiring still,
Be it his weale or woe, to have his will.
Extreamly loving lies, and given to prate,
Yet making shew as if he both did hate.
Yea old men boast of what they did in youth,
Which none disprooving, we must take for truth:
And thousands more (or else they are belide)
Each age is pestred with; And yet beside,
Vanities proper unto each degree,
Millions of thousands I suppose there be.

Princes have these; They very basely can
Suffer themselves that have the rule of Man,
To be o'er-borne by villaines: so insteed
Of Kings they stand, when they are slaves indeed.
By bloud and wrong a heavenly Crown they'l danger
T'assure their State here (often to a stranger.)
They quickly yeeld unto the batteries
Of slie insinuating flatteries;

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Most bountifull to fooles, too full of feare,
And farre too credulous of what they heare;
So given to pleasure, as if in that thing
Consisted all the Office of a King.

But if herein my harmelesse halting Rimes,
Were onely ti'd unto this Place and Times,
And should of none but of my Soveraigne tell,
Spight of her heart she could not speake but well.
For I suppose (the Truth I must confesse)
That Vanity no Prince ere harbor'd lesse
Than he hath done, unlesse corrupted stories
Rob former ages of deserved glories.

If any say, to sooth I now devise,
His heart I know will tell his tongue he lies:
And did not I thinke true what here I sing,
Iustice I would not wrong to please the King.

Great men are vaine too, in much seeking fames,
With Nimrod and his mates; they raise their names
By building Babels. Yea and they suppose,
Honour consists in titles and in showes.
They Thraso-like in Parasites delight,
That doe in presence claw, in absence bite.
They use their pleasures not as pleasures now,
Or recreations as 'twere fit: but how?
'Tis all their care; their chiefe and only joy;
In satisfying which they doe imploy
Both wealth and wit and all. If they would take
Something in hand for recreations sake,
They are with pleasures so o'er-cloid we see,
It must be that which their affaires should be:
A wondrous Vanity! And all their care
Is for rich raiment and the curious fare;
Pampring their flesh when all is but in vaine,
For dust it was and shall to dust againe.

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Then sith their evils we seeme not to see,
(In vaine) they thinke that they well thought of be.
Tush; men doe spare their lewdnesse to repeat;
Why? cause th' are faultlesse; No, because th' are great.
But for their vices, though now none dare show them
Vnlesse they mend, another Age shall know them:
And therefore if they count their Honours deare,
Let them be good as well as great-men here.
Let them leave Vanity, and not suppose
The world will ever blinded be with showes.
For that great mighty Peere that died lately,
Ere while was mighty, powerfull and stately:
He was much croucht unto, and much implor'd;
Yea, almost, like a Demi-god ador'd.
He onely (as my selfe have heard some prate)
Was the upholder of the Britanes State.
And all the wit this Kingdome did containe,
Some thought was harbour'd in his little braine:
And had he liv'd (if all be true men say)
He might have well beene Pater Patriæ.
But now (alas) hee's gone, and all his Fame
You see not able to preserve his Name
From foule reproch: but each one breakes his mind:
Which shewes that though they winkt they were not blind
In spight of all his greatnesse, 'tis well known
That store of rimes and libels now are sown
In his disgrace. But I here divers say.
That they are slanders. (Then the more knaves they
That were the Authors) but if so it be
He were from those vile imputations free;
If that his vertue's paid with such a curse,
What shall they look for, that are ten-times worse

Well Nobles; I'l the Court ere long survay:
And if I finde among you such as stray

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Through vanity or pride (unlesse they be
Offences flowing from infirmity)
If there be no man that dare tax you for't,
My Muse shall doe it; e'en to make me sport.
For though she keepe but a plaine hobbling forme,
She shall have wit enough to make you storme.
I will not spare you thus, till death doth fet yee;
But rub you whilst you are alive to fret yee.
Yet doe not think I meane to blaze your shame
In scattered libels that shall want a name:
No, I hate that: I'l tell the ils you doe,
And put my name for witnesse thereunto.
Then 'tis but fetching me ad Magistratum,
And laying to me Scandalum Magnatum:
Which though you prove not, rather yet than faile
You were best hang or clap me in to Iaile
To stay my tongue, so much you may doe to me,
And that's the worst I know that you can doe me.

But whither runs my over-sawcy pen?
There's vanity besides in Noblemen.
The Gentleman for some repute but vaine,
Beyond his power often times doth straine.
Our Yeomen too, that never Armes have borne.
To Gentilize it makes themselves a scorne:
But their gaine's envy, with a greater charge;
Yet of these fooles the Catalogue is large.

Then ere that lesson be halfe taken forth,
They must adde knight-hood, or 'tis nothing worth.
Mony may get it, therefore many sue it,
Although with shame and beggery they rue it.
And credit they expect in vaine thereby,
For it turnes rather to their infamy;
Because it is bestowed without deserts:
And yet in troth our Knights have done their parts:

128

For most have well deserv'd it; but as how?
Bravely in Field; e'en in a field at plow.

But why looke we in meere humanity,
For that which savours not of vanity;
Sith Divine mattars cannot quite be free,
But with the same must oft corrupted be?
Divines strive not so much how to impart
The truest doctrines; as to shew their art.
They grace their speech, more with vaine words for sound
Than with grave sayings needfull and profound,
But 'tis a vaine thing, wondrous full of shame,
And in my judgement highly merits blame,
To paint o'er that, whose beauty's never fuller
Than when it shines forth in its proper colour.

Againe, on Accidents they arguing sit,
And doe meane while the substance oft omit
Of most essentiall matters. And so they stand
(With many wrangling spirits in this Land)
Vpon such idle questions as they know
'Tis no great matter on which side they goe:
And such as best (in my conceit) befits
None but unquiet and seditious wits.

Here's my opinion: be they not the chiefe
Grounds of Religion, or the same Beliefe
Salvation comes by, that men goe about
By their new-fanglednesse to bring in doubt.
So't be not that they touch (as sure they dare not)
Let all the rest goe which way twill, I care not.

Have not our Lawyers many vaine delaies,
Vnnecessary Writs and idle staies,
To lengthen out mens suits, when they might foyle
The party faulty e'en with halfe that quoyle?
They'l for their fee relate some pretty Tale,
Like the wise story of old Iackei'th vale,

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Which (if they once have thorowly begun)
Vndoes them quite that tarry til't be done,
Iacke Doe, Dicke Roe, with whom y'ad ne'er to doe,
They'l bring to help your cause, and God knows who
And for your benefit they can afford
Many a foolish, senselesse, idle word.
Which they I know will not account as vaine,
Sith that 'tis with a Vengeance brings them gaine.

Besides, as I suppose their Lawes are pend
In their old Pedlers French, unto this end
The Vulgar should no farther knowledge reach,
Than what shall please their Masterships to teach:
Or else they have the selfe-same policie
That mov'd those Patrons of the Papacy
Who Sacred Writ in forraine tongues conceal'd
Lest that their knavish tricks should be reveal'd.
But, can they not in our owne language finde
Words of sufficient force t'expresse their minde?
That cannot be denied: but tis a trouble,
So easie to counterfeit and double
In a knowne tongue; when the other but a few
Can understand, but that obstreperous Crew.

These make the Lawes almost to none effect;
Their courses are so wondrous indirect.
To them they favour they delaies can grant,
Though Iustice her due expedition want.
Sometimes upon one matter we may see,
That sundry judgements shall pronounced be:
Now there's a motion granted, next day crost,
So fee and labours to no purpose lost:
And still the Client shall be so deluded,
That when he hopes al's done, there's nought concluded
Nay though we heare the utmost sentence past,
Which by all course of Law should be the last,

130

Why then I say (though all seeme wholy ended)
Yet may the Execution be suspended:
And for some trifle to the poore mans terror,
Be cald in question by a Writ of Error.
So that the right oft yeelds unto the stronger,
When poore mens purses can hold out no longer.

Oh miserable state! What should we say?
May not the Country thinke themselves a prey
These Ravens live on? May we not suppose
By their delaies, and some such tricks as those,
They practise onely how to cheat and gull;
And on our ruines fill their gorges full?
Yes questionlesse, for they themselves doe raise
Vnto this height on other mens decaies;
Not their owne vertues. Oh, though'it be too late,
Yet let me wish that we had kept the state
And simple Innocence we once retain'd.
For then we had not of this ill complain'd;
Nor yet those movers of sedition knowne
(Now to a many-headed Monster growne.)
But sith that time is past we may complaine,
Yet must ne'er looke to see those daies againe.

We have good Lawes, but they (too) seem in vaine
Sith they according to each Lawyers braine
May be now wrested to and fro, to make
The matter good that he doth undertake.
I'l say it plainely and yet not belie them;
There's few but rich men can have justice by them.
And pray you judge if that Law be not vaine,
Which when it is enacted (to restraine
Some priviledge or custome that hath stood
As a great hindrance to the publike good)
Should of its vertue be so slightly gull'd,
As by a licence to be disanull'd.

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Moreover there be some too much to blame,
Or Pœnall Lawes are onely made in vaine;
Made in terrorem tantum, to affright,
And not for execution of the right.
And I may liken them unto those logs
That Iupiter threw downe to rule the Frogs:
At first they come forth with such thundring terror,
That we doe tremble to commit an error:
But in a day or two they are so still,
For ought I see we may doe what we will:
Vnlesse that we be poore, or some despight us.
Then peradventure they'l go neere to fright us
A twelve-moneth after. If so long they last,
Twenty to one then all the furie's past.

Did you but note it, you would much admire
To see how strictly Iustices enquire
On daies of sitting, what abuses raigne:
How those they threat, that slackly doe complaine;
How they will raile, and fume, and chase, and storme,
As if all evils they will quite reforme
Within a moment. But things violent
Cannot you know be long time permanent.
Nor is their zeale, for surely (God amend it)
One twice-twelve houres will both begin and end it.

But why are they so earnest then? Oh know,
That the small springs within the daies below,
Glide gently on untill a Land-floud fils
Their empty channels from the higher hils,
And then they'l swell untill they can discharge
Their burthens in some plaine to runne at large:
So these low Magistrates would gladly sleepe,
And their owne easie crooked channels keepe;
But when that any streame of Iustice showers,
And comes downe to them from the higher powers,

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Then peradventure they'l grow big a day,
And Iustice shall have course the nearest way:
Then in a little space she must be faine
To run within their winding banks againe.

Some falsely have affirmed Iustice blinde,
Yet I am sure she knoweth where to finde
(If that shee be disposed there to looke)
Who gives her day-workes by her counting-booke.
Nay she knowes Capon, Turkie, Goose and Swan,
And thee I warrant, from another man
What ere thou be. But whilest she sees so plaine,
It is no wonder we have Lawes in vaine.

Also when officers doe undertake
Their charge at first, Lord, what a quoyle they make,
A Drunkard cannot with his capring feet
Cut out indentures as he walkes the street,
But hee's straight stockt for it; or for his offence,
By fining to the poore he must dispence.

Then those perhaps that slackly doe frequent
Gods divine service, somewhat shall be shent;
And many other goodly deeds they'l doe,
But these grow quickly weary of them too.

Againe, sometimes comes out a Proclamation,
Which threatens on the paine of Confiscation,
That no Recusant doe presume to stay
Within ten miles oth' Court, from such a day.
Yet sure 'tis notwithstanding meant that some
Should dayly to the Presence-chamber come;
And shrowd within a furlong on't or two.
Some Great-ones may: and so I hope they doe,
And by their owne Authority no doubt.
May keepe the rest from danger thereabout.
Pish; they at such a matter will but scoff,
Cause they know surely how to put it off,

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Yet I'l not say it is in vaine, for why?
The peoples heads are set on worke thereby:
And 'tis moreover for our satisfaction,
Who else might thinke the State were out of action.

But oh you noble English Senators,
Our Kingdomes Guard, and Princes Counsellors,
How can you see your labours so misus'd?
Or brooke to have your Soveraigne so abus'd;
Doe you suppose that it deserves no blame,
To make a Scar-crow of the Regall Name?
And to erect it on some common stall,
There to be gaz'd on, to no end at all:
Respect it more and use it not for course
Or fashions sake, but shew it hath some force.
Pluck out those vipers that for feare of harme
Their chilled spirits in your bosomes warme.
Perceive you not their stings? No danger feare yee;
Oh 'tis apparent let them not shrowd neare yee;
For if they doe, 'tis doubtlesse the conclusion,
If God prevent not, will be your confusion.
Yet all (for ought I see) should still remaine,
Were there not some, who (out of zeale to gaine
More than Religion, or their Countries weale)
Their scurvy base conditions to reveale,
In begging and in trifling of some few.
But they their owne corruptions rather shew
Than redresse any. More I here could utter
But I me thinks already heare some mutter,
As if I should be sure of Romes great curse:
But then I'me sure I shall be ne'er the worse.
Yea, let them goe to Rome, curse, ban and spare not,
I'l sit at home and laugh; because I care not.

But why do I of Lawes alone complaine,
Sith all man deales in, is in some sort vaine?

134

Religion is with Ceremonies stuft,
And with vaine-glory and presumption puft.
Now our Almes-deeds, and gifts of charity,
Are done for shew and with hypocrisie.

Yea, all's made vaine: for if you would but view
Our Vniversities, indeed 'tis true
There you may yet see, how that heretofore,
In better daies, have beene erected store
Of Palaces; (which curious built are still
A faire remembrance of the worke-mens skill)
Which, lest that knowledge in the land should fade,
Were by the Patrons of good learning made,
That there the Muses (shelter'd from the rages
Of former, present, and succeeding ages)
Might safely live, and not beholding be
To Pyren for his hospitality.
'Tis also true, there wants not to sustaine
Their proper needs, nor yet to entertain
Such as desire knowledge. There's enough;
The worthy Founders have provided so.
But of these profits why now make they stay?
Best sell't, or let some Courtier beg't away.
For publike gifts ere turn'd to private uses,
Faire Colledges are full of foule abuses.
And their Revenues I account as vaine,
Because they lazie Dunces do maintaine,
Who to themselves doe claime the profits, by
Nothing but witlesse Seniority.
Such as have Beard (with reverence be't spoken)
Of profound learning have not marke, nor token.

Good Founders dreaming not of these Abuses,
Gave them at first to charitable uses:
But we finde now all alter'd, and the due
Which should by right upon desert ensue,

135

Like sfioces in Court, is bought and sold:
And places may be had, but how? for gold.
There as elsewhere they now are growne so bad,
Without Quid dabis, nothing can be had.

'Tis strange to see what Avarice can doe.
But, are the Muses taken with it too?
Oh no: for they esteeme such gaine a losse;
And their high spirits scorne such earthly drosse.
How then? There are some Cormorants crept in,
Who in their youth pretended to have bin
Addicted unto knowledge; when alas,
'Tis well seene since that all their purpose was
To snort in ease; augmenting still their store,
Till they grew wealthy and their houses poore.
Foule Droanes whose voices must be hir'd with mony
Starving the bees while they devoure the hony.

But oh you birds of Athens, cleere your hals,
And drive those lazie Hornets from your stals.
Through them it is men thinke you covetous,
They make your groves and walks grow scandalous.
But how will you discerne them? marry thus
Sith they have made themselves notorious,
I'l point them out: And though their heads they shrowd
As Venus did Æneas in a cloud,
I'l so unmaske them; if their eares they show,
You shall be able to say, There they goe.

First note them, there are some by bribes and fees
Can soone passe thorow two or three degrees:
And if they sue for ought are not deni'd it,
When better Students must be put beside it.

Then there be others who their nests to feather,
Can keepe an Office nineteene yeeres together,
Enforcing many unto penury,
To have therewith to feed their luxury.

136

Note you not some at fifty winters study,
That have their wits so thin, and braines so muddy,
They must procure of other men to doe
Those exercises they were cal'd unto?
And sit there not of Dunces pretty store
From Sun to Sun at every Tradesmans dore?
Huge fat curmudgeons? Tell me (I thinke no)
Doe commons of three halfe-pence feed them so?
Or can such puffes so Humberkin-like set,
Into a Pulpet once in seven yeere get?
Sure if they doe, their memories so weake,
When they come there they know not what to speak.
Nor are they halfe so fit if't came to proofe,
To serve for Pastors as to hang at roofe.

It is no marvell then that blockish rout
Retaine their places and keepe better out;
For no good patron that doth conscience raake,
Will unto them the charge of soules betake,
Because, if such the flocke of Christ should keepe,
No question they would make but carrion sheepe.
Then they must stay; yet in their stay they'l be
A plague unto the Vniversitie.
For over and above the mischiefes nam'd,
The Vice for which the younger sort is blam'd
They are most guilty of. For forced to tarry,
Through want, and by their lawes forbid to marry:
Thence springs it that the Townesmen are reputed,
Thus by a common voice to be cornuted.
For I have knowne that such have daily beene
Where younger schollers never durst be seene.
And all (unlesse that they have eies like Moles)
May see those Foxes use the Badgers holes.

Nor hath their lewdnesse in the action staid,
But on the place a fouler blemish laid.

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Which here indeed I doe forbeare to name,
Lest it be to the place I love, a shame.
And for because I feare some spitefull mate
May tax them with it who such dealing hate,
Brought in by them, for who is so impure,
But he that liveth like an Epicure?

Oh Muses, seeke in time to roote these weeds,
That marre your gardens and corrupt your seeds.
And you that are appointed Visitors,
Who ought to have bene strict inquisitors,
To search the foule abuses of these times
And see them punish'd; Oh let these my rimes
Move you to helpe reforme this villanie;
Or let the hate of damned perjurie
Stir up your zeal these evils to restraine,
It not for love of good for feare of paine.
Which else (though you set light as at your heele)
As sure as God is just your soules shall feele.

Doe you not see now, all the wondrous cost
Of worthy Benefactors vainly lost?
The Lands, Revenues, Customs, Charters, Rents
Which they have left for divers good intents,
Vainely imploi'd? See the Student poore
For whom it was ordain'd, stands at the doore
And may not enter; whilst the golden Asse
Is quietly admitted in to passe.
And shroud himselfe within those sacred gates,
Which were't not for commoditie, he hates.

You sacred Genii that did once attend
Those well devoted Patrons to their end;
Although your bodies be entomb'd in clay,
Since you survive (because you live for aye)
Looke downe on your abused gifts, and see
What ods twixt th' use and your good meanings be.

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Come and behold, how the laborious sits
Sharing some hungry Commons, scarce two bits;
(And that but when a double gauday haps,
Full glad alas at other times with scraps)
While that the lazie Dunce on dainties feeds.
Oh come (I say) if you respect your deeds,
And fright them with some ghastly visions thence,
They may have more remorse for their offence.

If I could take on me some hideous forme,
I'de either make them their bad lives reforme,
Or feare them quick to hell. But I am vaine,
To call for your assistance or complaine,
Because I doubt this fault will ne'er be mended
Vntill all evill with the world be ended.

Learning is vaine too; or so made at least,
Consider it, I speake it not in jest:
Doe we not see that those who have consum'd
Halfe a mans age in Schooles, and have assum'd
Degrees of Art, and hourely overlooke
Many a leafe, many a wisemans booke,
Still study to know, fellowes that can,
As they themselves thinke put downe any man
That dares of Prædicables to dispute,
Yea, such as can too if need be, refute
Knowne truths; and that in Metaphysicall,
Much more I think, in matters Naturall
Seeme greatly read, doe we not see, I say?
That these from study being tane away
For some imployments in the Publike-weale,
Are such as it might shame them to reveale
Their simple cariage, sooner they'l speak Treason,
Than any thing that shall be law or reason.
Aske their opinion but of this or that,
They'l tell a tale they scarcely know of what:

139

And at the last, you must be well appaid,
With This the Poet, or This Tully said.
So other mens opinions shall be showne,
But very seldome any of their owne.

What is't to heare up a great multitude
Of words and sayings like a Chaos rude?
To say a Latine Disticke out of Cato,
Cite Aristotle or some peece of Plato.
And divers more, yet like a blockish Elfe,
Be able to say nought at all himselfe?
As if it were all well, and he had plaid it,
If he can once say, Such a man hath said it.

Then by their actions who gather can
They have more knowledge than another man;
Sith they doe worse absurdities commit
Than those that seeme their juniors in wit?
As if they thought it were enough to know,
And not with knowledge unto practise go.
Those may be learned, and of learning prate;
But for affaires of Country or of State,
In my conceipt they are as farre unfit
As fooles and madmen that have lost their wit:
And notwithstanding all their studious paine,
I count their Learning and their Knowledge vaine.

But thinke not that I Knowledge fruitlesse deem,
Or count those men who in the Academe
Doe spend their times, unfitting men to deale
About imployments of the Common-weale.
No; for I ever this account did make,
That there are those know best to undertake
Great Offices; and surely such as have
Both knowledge and desert: yet shall they save
But their owne credits. Th' other who are known
To have no gifts of nature of their own,

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For all their knowledge gotten in the Schooles,
Are worse by much ods than unlearned Fooles.

Now thou that wouldst know rightly these mens state
Goe but a while and talke with Coriate,
And thou wilt soone be able to maintaine,
And say with me, that Learning's some-where vaine,

Then if there were ordain'd no other place,
Where now despised-vertue should have grace,
She were vaine too, and those that lov'd her best,
Were to be counted vaine above the rest.
For they be sure of all these worldly crosses,
That whosoever gaine, their's must be the losses,
Iustice is wanting so: for if that men
Commit an ill the Law gives smart; but when
They doe performe a vertuous deed (tis hard)
There's no Law here that gives them a reward.

Nay, if a man by wrong suspition be
Brought into any wofull misery,
If he be rackt and tortur'd so, that Death
May pleasure him by stopping of his breath:
And if at last by proofes it doth appeare.
That he of the suspected crime is cleare,
Onely he may his life by that meanes save,
But shall no other satisfaction have.
Yea, and he must be glad and well content
He hath his life for being innocent:
Where of he would full glad have ridden bin,
To scape the torments they had plung'd him in.
'Tis meere Injustice. And I say againe,
In this Age to be good it were in vaine.
But that it one day shall rewarded be
By heavens Chiefe-Iustice, with Eternity.
I will not here endeavour to reveale,
The vaine Trades crept into our common-weale:

141

Onely I say (and so I thinke will any,)
Would lesse there were for such there be too many.

But I must needs declare their vanity
Who build their treasure and felicity
On things meere frivolous as honour, strength,
Pleasure and wealth and beauty; which at length,
Yea in short time must fade. High Titles plac'd
Without desert are not alone disgrac'd,
And lose that reputation of their owne;
But shame them too, on whom they are bestowne.

What's Noblenesse of birth but meerely vaine?
Vnlesse that in the linage there remaine
Some noble qualities, which in them bred,
They have deriv'd from predecessors dead?

What's honour, but e'en smoke and idle fame?
A thing consisting onely in a name;
Which if you take away then you take all,
For Alexanders glory was not small:
Yet were he namelesse, what would then remaine,
His honourable Titles to retaine,
Sith that his best part from the earth is fled,
And th' other, though remaining here, now dead?

Then if that honour no advantage bring
To soule nor body, but doth wholly cling
Vnto the name who care or paines would take,
(If he be wise) a Trophie vaine to make
Vnto the same, which may enjoyed be
By many thousand other men; whilst he
Rots. And which three mens vertues (I'l maintaine)
Grace not so much, as one mans vice shall staine?

Were't onely for a name that men did well,
And strove in vertues others to excell,
What good had Simon the Apostle gain'd
More than the wicked Sorcerer obtain'd?

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And how should we give each of them his fame,
Who living, being two, had but one name?
Were outward honour all that vertue got,
He were a wise man that esteem'd it not.
But shee's the bodies comfort till it die,
And soules companion to eternity.

Vulgar Repute; what is thereby acquir'd?
Why is't so glorious, and so much desir'd?
But I doe chiefly marvell what they ment,
That have preferr'd it before their owne content.

I hold it vaine and wondrous frivolous,
Extreamely foolish and ridiculous,
That any man should stand in greater feare
What he doth unto other men appeare
Than to himselfe; or strive so much (poore Elves)
To seeme to other Gods; when to themselves,
Th' are worse than divels. Why, I say, should they
With vaine repute be so much born away?
And why boast men of strength that last no longer
And seeing the bruit creatures are farre stronger.
A woman may blind Sampson with her charmes,
And little David slay a man at armes;
For God doth make (as holy Scriptures speake,)
Strong things to be confounded by the weake.

Then some are vaine in pleasures; like to him
Who for because he in delights would swim,
(In these our daies) to please his bestiall senses,
Made twenty hundred crownes one nights expences,
I onely doe forbeare to tell his name,
Lest he should hap to vaunt upon the same.

But why in Beauty should men glory so;
As well we may perceive there's many do;
Sith 'tis no better than a fading flower,
That flourishes and withers in an hower?

143

It would not save the good King Davids sonne,
From being justly by his foes undone:
Nay there's scarce any that enjoy the same
Can keepe unto themselves an honest Name.

We see moreover men vaine-glorious grow,
In building and apparell; all's for shew;
And yet the Prince that's gorgious in array,
Must lie as naked as his Groome in clay.
And though that men to build so curious be,
How worthy of contempt it is we see,
In that th' arch-King of heaven, earth and all,
Was very well contented with a Stall.
What minde are they in, who suppose to raise
By such a vanity an endlesse praise?
When as they daily see by observation,
Time utterly decaies the strong'st Foundation.

Where are those wonderous high Pyramides,
That were admired at in former daies?
And of those huge Colossi what remaines?
(Which to erect now were an endlesse paines)
Nothing almost; no scarce his name that spent
The paine and cost of such a Monument:
If that be so, how much more vanity
Is it to hope for Fames eternity,
By such slight trifles whose ground-worke needs mending
Before the roofe be brought unto an ending?

Again, some thinke how ere their lives they spend,
Yet if they can attaine to in the end
A glorious Funerall and be interr'd
With idle pompe and show, or be preferr'd
In a bald Sermon for some one good deed
They did the Common-wealth, for their own need:
Or by their owne, or friends procurement have
On their unworthy scarce-deserved grave

144

A goodly Epitaph; they thinke al's well.
Alas poore silly men! what can they tell
How long 'twill stand before't be razed downe?
But say it bide a while; what faire renowne
Can in a peece of Carved Marble be?
What can a gilded Tombe then profit thee?
Preserve thy fame, I know it cannot passe
The wondrous heape that once erected was,
And yet e'en at this present doth remaine
Not farre from Sarum on the Westerne plaine.
Yet who can say directly (or what story
Doth absolutely mention) for whose glory
That first was founded? or by whom? or why?
And if a deed of such great wonder die.
Dost thou suppose by a few carved stones,
(Scarcely enough to cover o'er thy bones)
To be immortall if thou long to live
After thy death, let noble vertue give
And adde that living glory to thy name.
Let her sound forth the trumpet of thy fame,
And it shall last. For she knowes how to place it:
Where Time nor Envy shall have power to race it.
I say, endeavour to be vertuous here,
So shall thy sacred memory be deere
To those that live; and whilst thy body lies
Entomb'd on earth, thy soule shall mount the skies.

But if in pleasure thou hast lived long,
And tooke delight in seeking bloud and wrong:
When that the evill day shall come to end thee,
The curse of the oppressed shall attend thee,
Thy soule shall pray for't, and the selfesame grave
Thou for thy honour didst suppose to have,
Shall be thy shame; for those that travell by it,
Shall often curse it, yea deride, defie it;

145

And to each other say, There doth he lye,
That acted such or such a villany.

Then why should gay clothes be delighted in
Sith they are but a badge of our first sin?
And yet 'tis strange to know how many fashions
We borrow now adaies from other Nations.

Some we have seene in Irish trouzes goe,
And they must make it with a codpeece too,
Some (as the fashion they best like) have chose
The spruce diminutive neat French-mans hose.

Another lik't it once but now he chops,
That fashion for the drunken Switzers slops.
And cause sometimes the fashions we disdaine
Of Italy, France, Netherland and Spaine,
Weele fetch them farther off. For by your leaves,
We have Morisco gownes, Barbarian sleeves,
Polonian shooes, with divers far-fetcht trifles,
Such as the wandring English Gallant rifles
Strange Countries for. Besides our Taylors know
How best to set apparrell out for show.
It either shall be gathered stitcht or lac'd,
Else plaited, printed, jagd, or cut and rac'd,
Or any way according to your will,
For wee have now adaies learn'd much vain skill.

But note you, when these gue-gawes once be made,
And that this cunning Master of his Trade
Must bring it home. For, there lies all the jest,
To see when the poore slave hath done his best
To mend what faults he can (for by his trade,
He can set right what Nature crooked made)
When he hath fitted to his power, and trickt,
Whom he would please when he hath brusht & pickt
E'en till he sweat againe: Yet (though he spies
Scarce any fault) You rogue, the Gallant cries,

146

A plague confound thee; looke here how this sits;
Zounds, 'tis a mile too wide, where were thy wits?
See, this is halfe too long, that halfe too short,
'Sblood I could find in heart to knocke thee for't.
Then for the faults behind he lookes in Glasse:
Strait raves againe; and cals his Taylor Asse,
Villaine, and all the Court-like names he can,
Why I'l be judg'd (saies he) here by my man,
If my left shoulder seeme yet, in his sight,
For all this bumbast, halfe so big's the right.

How is he serv'd? This day he should have went
With such a Lord or Lady into Kent;
To Hampton-Court to morrow comes the Queen,
And there should he with certaine friends have been
Villaine (he cries) goe instantly and mend it:
And see with all the speed you can, you send it:
Or by his sword the Gallant sweares, he will
Make thee to wait twice twelve-months with thy bill
If ere he pay thee. Then the other takes it,
Carries it home againe, turnes, rubs and shakes it,
Lets it lie still an houre or so, and then
As if 'twere alter'd, beares it back againe;
Then 'tis so fit, our Gallant cannot tell,
That ere he had apparell made so well.
Ere while saies he, faith I was angr'd sore,
Why couldst thou not have done it thus afore?
With many gentle speeches in amends,
And so these two, vaine fooles, grow quickly friends

What shall I say of our superfluous fare?
Our beastly veine, and to excessive care
To please the belly? We, that once did feed
On homely roots and hearbs, doe now exceed
The Persian Kings for dainties. In those Cotes
A man would thinke they liv'd with Hay and Oates

147

The Diet they are growne unto of late,
Excels the Feasts that men of high estate
Had in times past. For, there's both flesh and fish;
With many a dainty new devised dish.
For bread, they can compare with Lord and Knight,
They have both, raveld, manchet, browne and white,
Of finest Wheat. Their drinks, are good and stale:
Of Perry, Cider, Mead, Metheglin, Ale,
Or Beere they have abundantly. But then
This must not serve the richer sort of men.
They with all sorts of forraigne Wines are sped;
Their cellars are oft fraught with White and Red,
Be't French, Italian, Spanish, if they crave it:
Nay, Grecian or Canarian, they may have it.
Cate, Pument, Vervage (if they doe desire)
Or Romney, Bastard, Capricke, Osey, Tire,
Muscadell, Malmsey, Clarey; what they will,
Both head and belly each may have their fill.

Then if their stomacks doe disdaine to eate
Beefe, Mutton, Lambe, or such like Butchers meat:
If that they cannot feed of Capon, Swan,
Ducke, Goose, or common houshould Poultry; then
Their store-house will not very often faile,
To yeeld them Partrich, Phesant, Plover, Quaile,
Or any dainty fowle that may delight
Their gluttonous, and beastly appetite.
So they are pampred whilst the pooreman starves.
Yet there's not all; for Custards, Tarts, Conserves,
Must follow too; And yet they are no let
For Suckers, March-panes, nor for Marmalet;
Fruite, Florentines, sweet Sugar-meates and spices,
(With many other idle fond devices)
Such as I cannot name, nor care to know.
And then besides, the taste, this made for show.

148

For they must have it colour'd, gilded, printed,
With shapes of beasts and fowles: cut, pincht, indented
So idlely, that in my conceit 'tis plaine,
They are both foolish and exceeding vaine.
And howsoe'er they of religion boast,
Their belly is the God they honour most.

But see whereto this daintinesse hath brought us,
The time hath beene that if a Famine caught us,
And left us neither sheepe, nor Oxe, nor Corne,
Yet unto such a diet were we borne,
(Were we not in our Townes kept in by th' Foe)
The woods and fields had yeelded us enough
To content Nature: And then in our needs
Had we found either leaves, or grasse, or weeds,
We could have liv'd as now there doth and can
With good contentment many an Irish man.
But in this age if onely wheat doe rise
To any extraordinary prize:
Or if we have but cheese or butter scant,
(Though almost nothing else that is, we want)
Yord how we murmur, grumble, fret and pine,
As if we would upbraide the Powers Divine!
Tea, daily to provoke God, as the Iewes
Did in the wildernesse is now no newes.

But you that are so like to sterve in plenties,
Because you are a little barr'd your dainties:
Leave off your Luxurie, let me intreat;
Or there will come a Famine shall be great;
When soule nor body neither shall have food,
Or any thing to comfort them that's good.

We talke of scarcity: yet here there came
No want this twenty ages worth the name
Of Famine, but our gentle God hath bin
Exceeding mercifull unto our sin,

149

Wheat at ten shillings, makes no dearth of bread,
Like theirs where once (we read) an Asses head
Cost fourescore silver peeces: Doves dung
Was highly priz'd: and Mothers eate their young.
There Famine raign'd. Pray in the like we fall not
If we can fast with Ninivie we shall not.
But truly much I feare the same; unlesse,
We doe leave off our gluttonous excesse.
For though we quaffe and swill much time away,
Yet three set-meales will scarce suffice a day
To satisfie our lust; whereas but one
Suffic'd our Predecessors, sometime none
It were a worke too tedious here to quote
The sundry Vanities that we may note
Sprung from this Greedinesse. As our Long sitting.
A custome, rather, in my minde, befitting
Pagans and Epicures, than honest men,
But 'tis a use now common growne. And then,
This Foolery we have: We nothing deeme
That merits our desiring, or esteeme,
Save that which we have either dearely bought,
Or far-away from forraigne kingdomes brought.
Yea notwithstanding here in this our Land,
Those things be better and more neere at hand;
Yet we out of an idle humour are
So much more pleased with all forraine ware
Than with our owne that we the same detest;
And this our vainenesse doth not onely rest
In meats and in apparell; but 'tis shown
In many things we least affect our owne.

Our home-made cloth, is now too course a ware,
For Chyna and for Indian stuffs we are.
For Turkey Grow-graines Chamblets, silken Rash,
And such like new devised forraine trash.

150

Yea, though our native Country-men excell
In any Trade, we like them not so well
As we doe Strangers: and (in very deed)
I thinke for vaine inventions they exceed.

And then more over; when we doe not want
Any good wholesome, Hearb, or Fruit, or Plant,
That may be necessary, fit or good,
Either to serve for Physick or for food,
Yet, those we sleight, as if we did abhor them,
And send to seeke in other Kingdomes for them,
So, while we onely make our use of them;
Our better home-bred Simples we contemne.
(Oh Vanity) our Country yeelds enough,
What need we Græcian or Arabian stuffe?
Why send we for them to those Countries thus?
'Twas planted there for them, and not for us.
What though it helpe them of diseases there?
The Climate, yea, and our complexions are
So different (for ought that I can gather,)
Here't may not helpe our griefes, but poyson's rather,
That Opium which a Turk in safety will
Devoure at once, two Englishmen would kill.
And as I've heard experienc'd men to say,
That which will salve their wounds within a day
Who of the farthest Easterne Countries be,
Will not re-cure an Englishman in three.
Then sure if we should use that med'cine here,
It would not helpe nor cure us in a yeere.
Trust me; I think, this over-much respecting
Of forraigne drugs, and foolishly neglecting
Our native simples, is the cause that we
So little better for our Physick be.

Some in their writings praise Tobacco much:
Perhaps the vertue of it may be such

151

As they have said; where first the simple grew.
But, if it be re-planted here a new,
From it owne soile where Natures hand did place it;
I dare not with those properties to grace it
Which there it had: Nor can the vertue bide,
When 'tis transported to our Region dri'd.
Yet, 'tis almost a wonder to behold,
How generally now both young and old
Suck on that Foraine weed. For so they use it,
Or rather (to speake right) so they abuse it,
In too oft taking; that a man would thinke
It were more needfull than their meat or drink:
But what's their reason? Doe not aske them why,
For neither can they tell you that, nor I:
Vnlesse't be this: So they have seene some doe:
And therefore they forsooth must use it too.

Nay wonder not: The Sun lights not a Nation
That more affecte hapish imitation,
Than doe we English. Should we some man see
To weare his doublet where his hose should be,
Pluck gloves on's feet, and put his hands in's shooes,
Or weare his Rings or Iewels on his toes;
And come so tired to our English Court,
Attended in some strange prepost'rous sort.
Some of our Courtiers would make much ado,
But they would get into that fashion too.

For they so idle are that if they see
Those that with Rhume a little troubled be,
Weare on their faces a round Mastick patch,
Their fondnesse I perceive is apt to catch
That for a fashion. Nay, we cannot name
That thing so full of Barbarisme and shame
That they'l not imitate. Witnesse this smoake,
Which, though at first it was enough to choake

152

Or stifle up the sense; though twere unpleasing
In tast and savour; oftentimes diseasing
The takers bodies. Yet, like men halfe mad,
(Not knowing neither what effect it had)
Onely because a rude and savage Nation
Took't for some unknowne need, they'l make't a fashion.

Alas, what profit England at thy need
Hast thou attain'd to, by this Indian weed?
What hath it lengthen'd life, or maintain'd health,
Or hath it brought thee more increase of wealth?
It dries superfluous moisture, doth't indeed?
Tane with discretion it may stand in need:
And surely it deserves to be excus'd,
Being with honest moderation us'd.
But I doe greatly wonder what they ment,
That first did tak't in way of Complement.
For now it is as common at each meeting,
As how'd yee, or God save yee, for a greeting.
Hee's no good fellow that's without the Pox,
Burnt pipes, Tobacco and his tinder-box.
And there, there be some who scarce abide it,
Yet alwaies will for company provide it:
With whom (though they alone the same eschew)
They'l take it ill they spet and cough and spue.
Me thinks they may as well sith this they'l doe,
At all their meetings take purgations too.

There's not a Tinker, Cobler, Shepheard now,
Or rascall Ragamuffin that knowes how,
In a blinde Alehouse to carouse a pot,
Or swagger kindly, if he have it not.
You shall have some among them will not sticke
To sweare that they are for Tobacco sick;
When by their raged out-sides you would gather
It were for want of bread or victuals rather.

153

And so I tak't. But now if you deny
Th' affecting forraigne drugs, a vanity,
Yet you I hope will grant (because 'tis plaine)
The using of Tobacco thus is vaine:
I meane in those that daily sit and smoake
Alehouse and Taverne, till the windowes roake.
And you must yeeld that we now justly sumus
E'en as the old verse sayes, flos, fœnum, fumus.

Some vainly much Acquaintance seeke to get,
And often in a Strangers cause will sweat:
Yet these, where their best services are due,
So much their charity will scarsely shew.

The love of men some labour to attaine,
And they have just the travell for their paine.
For what's the favour or the love of Men?
A thing long getting and soone lost agen.
Him I have knowne whose company hath seem'd
In the appearance to be so esteem'd
By many that in shew he hath appear'd
To be more nearely to their soules indear'd
Than their owne bloud. And surely for the time,
(But that Inconstancie's a humane crime)
He hath beene so: For when he hath departed,
As if his absence inwardly had smarted,
Out of their eies full oft against their will,
I have seene sorrow look and teares to trill.
And yet againe hath my Experience seene
The selfe-same Man that hath so made of beene,
Even of those men he hath beene so respected,
After some absence, either much neglected,
Wholly forgotten or they so estranged,
As if their love and good conceit were changed.
Which having found, weighed well the end,
And thought them vaine that on the like depend.

154

Also, me thinks it makes me pretty sport
To note the vainenesse of the greater sort:
How full of congees, courtesies and greetings,
Embracements, and kind words they are at meetings;
And oft what memorandums past betweene,
Of great good turnes, that nere perhaps have been,
What commendations and Ioyes there be,
For one anothers good prosperity;
When howsoever they their malice smother,
They care not what becomes of one another.
To see me well, hee's glad at heart one cries,
When 'tis well known, that in his heart he lies.
Another bids me welcome to my face,
When he would leave my presence for my place.
Yea, and to sweare it too, he will not tremble,
Although he knowes I know he doth dissemble.
Which in my judgement is a vanity
Too full of shamelesse grosse absurdity;
And I much wonder men delight to spend
Time that's so precious, to so little end,
As to consum't in idle complement,
And not so much as to a good intent:
Crouching and kneeling, when each peasant knowes,
Much courtesie, much craft, the Proverb goes.
A quality beseeming men I deeme't,
Ay to be courteous and I much esteem't:
Yet sure, without good meaning 'tis unfit,
And extreame vaine when men are cloyd with it.

When some mans Table's furnished with stole,
Of dainties that a Prince can have no more,
Hee'l bid you welcome, though that by your cheare
It doth not (as hee'l say himselfe) appeare:
And yet he sees and knowes well that his Board.
Have what the Water, Earth and Ayre affords:

155

With Pray ye eate, I drink t'yee, nay be merry,
And such like words; I oft have beene as weary
To thanke, to pledge, and say I doe not spare,
As ere was Sommers of his trotting Mare.

I often have observed in our Feasts,
A vanity which each free minde detests;
And this it is; when any one intends
For merriment to entertaine his friends,
And for them all things needfull doth prepare,
That they may well perceive they welcome are;
He marres the bounty of his loving feast
By his ill chusing some untastefull guest.
For so it often haps he doth invite
Some lofty State-man or proud neighboring-Knight
Who marres their freedome by his expectation
Of more than necessary observation.
And he must be a slave unto that guest,
Contenting him, though he displease the rest.
This folly is: Were I as he; my Board
Should never entertaine the Knight or Lord
In way of feasting, that allow'd not mee
To be as merry and as blith as hee:
Or that through his disdaine would think amisse
To beare some jests of mine, as I beare his:
For who but fools would while their guest is baiting
Stand with bare-heads, like Ale-house keepers waiting
(As if they were some strangers wanted chearing)
In their owne houses, while they domineering
Say what they list. Be therefore rul'd by me,
Bid none but equals if you'l merry be.
At least let them be such as can abide,
To lay Superiority aside.

Moreover (if they have the providence
To bid their friends and keep their Mar-feasts thence)

156

They are too lavish and doe much devise,
How the they appetite may best suffice.
But 'tis a signe their understanding's small
That can afford them no discourse at all,
It shewes a shallow pate and muddy braine,
When men have nothing else to entertaine
Their friends withall, but whiffes of smoke, or drink,
Or curious fare; as if that they did think
They could not shew their honest love unlesse
They did abound in Gluttonons excesse.

But there be many greedy-guts indeed,
That will finde fault unlesse their Cates exceed.
Such Socrates shewes how to answer best;
Who having for his friends prepar'd a feast,
And hearing one to discommend his store,
Told him directly, Friend, there needs no more:
For be they vertuous, here's enough for such;
If otherwise (quoth he) there is too much.

A fitter answer we can never find
For such nice Gluttons; differing in mind
From certaine deare and learned Friends of mine;
Whom when I late requested had to dine
Or sup with we one night would not agree,
Vnlesse I dresse what they appointed me,
I will, said I, and not a bit beside:
Why then (quoth they) we charge thee to provide
One dish, no more. (We love not him that crams:)
And let our second course be Epigrams.
So much they found with more good mirth & laughing
Than those that had their dainties and their quaffing.

Who can declare what vanity man shewes
In hearing and reporting idle newes?
The foolish tales and lies, that he doth faine,
Are more than any numbers can contain.

157

And now I think on that same lying-evill,
(A mischiefe first invented by the Devill)
I cannot chuse but greatly wonder why
Men should delight so in that Vanity.
It is not onely vicious and base,
But also doth their credits quite deface.
And Truth out of their mouthes is mis-esteem'd,
Because, oft lying, they are lyers deem'd.
I mean not any falshoods to maintain,
No though they be Officious or for gain.
Yet worse do like them, who their wits do bend
To coyn new tales unto no other end
But to provide the company some talk,
And cause they love to heare their own tongues walk.

Some I have known (judge of their vanity)
That have told tales to their own infamie,
And yet untrue, 'tis like they have small care
Of others credits, when they will not spare
To wrong themselves. Another crew beside
Among these Lyars I have also spide,
Who (as it may appeare) did like so well
Strange news and matters past beleefe to tell,
That notwithstanding they do surely know
It makes not onely modest eares to glow,
But that 'tis known they lie, yet still they dare
Gainst Truth, their own, & all mens knowledge sweare:
Yea, when they may as well, and speak as right,
Swear that each man is blinde, and all crows white.
Which is a daring and a lew'd offence,
Sprung from a brazen, hellish impudence.

Then there's a number too, that do suppose,
All that beyond their little reason growes
Is surely false; And vainly do uphold,
That all reports which Travellers unfold

158

Of forreigne Lands are lies, because they see
No such strange things in their own Parish be;
If that I may not tearme such fellows vain,
Ile say they're dull, and of a shallow brain:
And him I count no wise man that imparts
To men of such base misconceiving hearts
Any rare matter, for their bruitish wit
Will very quickly wrong both him and it.
For thus the saying goes, and I hold it so,
Ignorance onely is true wisdomes foe.

Then thou art vain that wilt vouchsafe to spend
Thy breath with witlesse people to contend
In weighty matters; when it is well known
They'l like of no opinions but their own:
Ever disabling what thou didst recite,
Yea, notwithstanding it be ne'er so right.
And be their own case false, and all amisse,
They'l prove it true, How? Thus, Because it is.
So if there be no more wise-men in place,
Thou bear'st the shame, and they'l have all the grace

And yet the mischiefe hath not there an end:
For tell me, you that ever did contend
With such; is not their wayward disputation
A meer confusion, and a strong vexation?
I know 'tis so, for I my selfe have tride it,
And since that time could never yet abide it.
But let those follow vanity together
With purblinde ignorance; and Ile send thither
To keep them company those that take pleasure
In tedious discourse; they be at leasure:
And those that love to heare their own tongues walk
Still seeking opportunity of talk,
Shall not stay from them. Yet I have beheld
More vanities which must not be conceal'd:

159

As foolish wishes. Many a silly Asse
Covets those things that cannot come to passe.
Another, that in wishing is as heedlesse,
Desires some trifling bables which are needlesse.
Nay I have heard without regard or shame
Such beastly wishes as I blush to name.
What damn'd infernall curses can each brother
In every angry fit wish one another?
When such as these their jesting words they'l make yee,
A Pox, a Pestilence, and a Murraine take yee.
Which if the Lord should in his justice send them,
Their own vain wishes would e're long time end thē

Some free-born men I have observed too,
Who are thought wise, yet very vainly doe.
These, as if they lack'd troubles of their own,
For other men are slaves and drudges grown.
I tax not such as honestly have stood
In the maintaining a poore neighbours good;
But rather those who are so out of measure
Enur'd to be for other men at leasure,
That they can finde almost no time to be
Employd about their own commoditie.
Others there are more knavish, and as vain,
Who seeming carefull of anothers gain,
Intrude themselves into their actions; when
'Tis not for any good they wish the men,
But for this cause, and sure for nothing more,
In each mans Boat they love to have an Oare.
'Tis good to look to their affaires; but yet
I hold it for a vain thing and unfit
We should be vexed with such extream care
In following them, as many times we are:
For, unto me it seems, the greatest part,
Take businesse not in hand now, but in heart.

160

What mean our wealthy Vsurers to hoord
More up for others than they can afford
Vnto themselves? Whereas they do not know
Whether it shall be for a friend or foe,
Sure such me thinks should be deservedly.
Recorded for their sottish vanity.
Now, as the most of wealth too-well do deem,
So others make thereof too-small esteem,
As of a thing whose use were of no weight,
But both are led away with vain conceit.

Then some mans care is, that when this life ends,
He dying, may be buried with his friends;
As if he fear'd his foes had not forgotten
To do him mischiefe though their bones were rotten

Others extreamly are distempered,
To think what men will do when they are dead;
And vainly sit (more wit God one day send)
Lamenting what they know not how to mend.

For worthlesse matters some are wondrous sad:
Whom if I call not vain, I must terme mad.
If that their noses bleed some certain drops,
And then again upon the sudden stops:
Or if the babling fowl we call a Iay,
A Squirrell, or a Hare but crosse the way:
Or if the salt fall towards them at table,
Or any such like superstitious bable,
Their mirth is spoil'd, because they hold it true
That some mischance must thereupon ensue.
But I do know no little numbers be
Seduced with this foolish vanitie.
And questionlesse although I discommend it,
There want not some that stoutly will defend it!
But all their proofe is onely this I know,
By daily triall they do finde it so,

161

Indeed 'tis true, God often by permission,
To see if they will trust to superstition
More than to him, doth willingly supply
What they so look'd for by their Augurie.

Then some to be esteemed men of state,
Of nothing but the Court affaires do prate
If they but come amongst us Countrey-men,
Lord, what Magnificoes they will be then!
Yea, though they blow but the Kings Organ-bellows,
We must suppose them Earls and Barons fellows
Or else we wrong them. 'Twas my chance to light
In a friends house, where one of these that night
Took up his lodging; at the first I deem'd him
A man of some great place, and so esteem'd him;
And he took me for some soft Countrey gull,
Thinking my wit (as 'tis indeed) but dull.
But I perceiv'd his pride, I must confesse,
And seem'd as if I had a great deale lesse.
I made him more fine Congees by a score,
Than e're he had at Court in's life before,
The worship and the honour too I gave him,
But from the charge of either I dare save him.
Yet my high termes so pleas'd the Courtiers vein,
That up he rips the news of France and Spain,
Of Germany, of Denmark, and of Sweed;
And he had French store, therefore I took heed.
Then next he tells me all their life at Court,
Relates S. Georges showes, and Christmas sport,
With such like talk; which I in shew desir'd,
And (as I ne'er had seen't before) admir'd:
Which he perceiving falleth to devise
More strange reports, and tells me sundry lies,
Which still I wondred at; and in his talk
I noted, though his tongue did ever walk

162

He never spake of others than the best:
For Earls, and Lords, and Ladies were the least
I heard him mentioning; when sure the foole
Is but some servant to the Groom 'oth stoole.
But howsoever for this once he passes,
To shew the nature of his fellow-Asses.

I am afraid 'twill be to little end,
If I should words and precious leasure spend
To tell our Gallants what vain frivolous
Discourse they have, and how ridiculous
They are at meetings. I have been for laughter
Often beholding to them a week after.
And trust me, Ile not give a Cue so soon
To see an Ape, a Monkey, or Baboon
Play his forc'd tricks; as I would give a Tester,
To come and view them and their Apish gesture,
When they are either frolike in their Cans,
Or courting of their light-heel'd Curtezans.

They think themselves fine men (I know they doe)
What will they give me and Ile think so too?
And yet I shall not sure, do what I can,
They have so little in them that is man
For my few yeares have noted many fruits
Producted in fine silks and satten sutes
Worth observation: I could now recite
Their brave behaviour in their Mistresse sight:
But sure they'l ne'er endur't, they cannot do't,
Yet if I list now I could force them to't.
But lo I spare them, th' are beholding to me,
And may (perhaps) as great a favour do me.

But faith I may not, nor I cannot hold:
To keep in all their vanities untold,
At least one humorous trick I must not misse,
Which lately I observ'd, and that was this;

163

Two Lads of late disposed to be merry,
Met at a town not far from Canturbury.
Where though their businesse scarce would let them stay,
They'd frolike out a night and then away.
So there they supt and slept; where I let passe
To tell their mirth in what good fashion 'twas:
But as I heard, the parish-clock strook one
Before their merry-mad-conceits were done:
And then they went to bed, where I dare say
They'd more devotion to go sleep than pray.
Next morn th' one waking suddenly upstart,
And lightly girt out such a boistrous—
It wak'd his fellow, who surpriz'd with wonder,
Leapt up amaz'd, and swore he heard it thunder.
Now whether storme there were or no, 'twas sed,
The Chamberpot o're-flow'd and drown'd the bed.
But, having pray'd a curse or two, th' one rises,
Then of his businesse with himselfe devises,
And thereupon doth like a carefull man,
Sweare he will thence with all the speed he can.
Come prethee rise (quoth he) and let's be gon,
Yes, yes (quoth th' other) I will come anon.
Zounds hark, I think the clock striks eight. Why when!
Oh, soon enough to break my fast by ten.
Then Chamberlain, one call's aloud, do'st heare,
Come, bring us up a double-jug of Beer.
So either having drunk a good carouse,
Down come the Gallants to discharge the house.
But taking leave, oh, what d'ye think they mist
Their Hostesse (pretty woman) must be kist.
Then up shee's call'd, and in her night attire,
Down claps she on a stoole before the fire;
Where having bid her welcome from her nest,
Come say (quoth one) what wine is't you like best?

164

Truely (quoth she) I use to drink no wine,
Yet your best mornings-draught is Muskadine.
With that the Drawer's call'd to fill a quart,
(Oh! 'tis a wholsome liquor next the heart.)
And having drunk it whilst their heads were steady,
They bad the Hostler make their horses ready:
Nay (quoth the Hostesse) what needs all this hast?
In faith you shall not go till dinner's past?
I have a dish prepared for the nones,
A rich Potato-Pie, and Marrow-bones;
Yea, and a bit which Gallants, I protest
I will not part with unto every guest.
With that the Punics lay aside their cloaks,
The glasses walk, and the Tobacco smoaks,
Till dinner comes, with which when they are fraught
To get on horse-back by and by 'tis naught,
As having supp'd, 'tis good to walk a mile,
So after dinner men must sit a while.
But what? will they sit idle? 'twere a shame,
Reach them the Tables, they must play a game,
Yet, set them by again, for now I think
They know not when to leave: they'll rather drink
A health or two to some especiall friend,
And then ifaith they mean to make an end.
Then one calls, Drawer: he cries, What d'yee lack?
Rogue, bring us up a Gallon more of Sack.
When that's turn'd up, Zounds one wil drink no more
But bids the Hostler bring his horse to dore:
The fellow might perform it without stay,
For why? they had been bridl'd up all day.
Then like good husbands without any words,
Again they buckled on their cloaks and swords;
But stepping out of dore their Hostesse meets them,
And with a full-fill'd boule demurely greets them.

165

This was her Pinte, but they'll give her the tother,
Which drew the third down, and the third another
Vntill these Gallants felt their heads so addle,
Their bodies scarce could sit upright i'th saddle.
Then more to settle their unsteady brain,
They fell to their Tobacco once again:
At which they suck'd so long, they thought no more
On the poore jades which they left ty'd at dore:
Till that the Sunne declin'd unto the West.
Then starting up, th' one swore he thought 'twere best
That they went thence; and to his fellow said,
Come, we shall be benighted I'me afraid.
What if we be (quoth tother) by this light,
I know the time when I have rid all night:
By twelve a clock Il'e be at home, I vow,
Yet Hostesse, by this kisse, I'le sup with you.
And so they did; but after Supper th' one
Hastens the other that they may be gone.
Nay, be advised (quoth his copesmate) harke,
Let's stay all night, for it grows pestlence dark.
I marry (quoth the Host) perswaded be,
There's many murthers now, I promise yee.
Ile bid my servants to shut up the gate,
No guests shall go out of my house so late.
No surely (quoth their Hostesse) by Saint Anne
You may be mischieft; stay and save a man.
Well, they'l be rul'd for once; but sweare they'l go
The following morning ere the Cock do crow:
In troth at farthest, e're the day gives light.
Then, having kist their Hostesse over-night,
To bed againe these roystring Youngsters went,
Forgetting whereto they before were bent.
But when the Morn her turne again did take,
And that it grew high time for them to wake;

166

Then up they bustled, and began to lay
The fault from one th' other of their stay.
For this (the first said) we may thank your sloth;
(But I think therein they were guilty both)
Nay (quoth the other) might you have your will,
You'd drink Tabrcco and be quaffing still.
Who I (quoth he) I weigh it not two chips:
I could not get you from my Hostesse lips.
You do me wrong (saith th' other) for I sweare
I seldome touch'd them: but you still hung there.

To beare the burthen he grew discontent,
And swore he would not drink before he went.
But call'd; Our horses Ostler, and our wands,
And, Sirrah Tapster, water for our hands.
Yet (quoth the other) thou'lt be rul'd I think,
Prethee let m'intreat thee now to drink
Before thou wash; Our fathers that were wise,
Were wont to say, 'Twas wholesome for the eyes.

Well; if he drink, a draught shall be the most,
That must be spiced with a nut-brown tost.
And then 'twere good they had a bit beside,
For they considered they had far to ride.
So he that would not drink a-late for haste,
Is now content to stay and break his fast.
Which e'er 'twere ended, up their Host was got;
And then the Drunkard needs must have his pot,
And so he had: but I commend my Cozen,
The Cuckolds one Can, cost the fools a dozen.

But then perceiving they began to stay,
Quoth Guts, My Bullies, bark ye, what d'yee say
Can you this morning on a rasher feed?
Oh, yes, say they, that's kingly meat indeed.
They ask'd it, and they had it, but this cheere
Quickly drew down a dozen more of Beere:

167

Which being drunk they had got out of towne,
But that their Hostesse newly was come down;
With whom they spent e'er they could get away,
In kissing and in quaffing halfe that day.
And five times, as I heard, they took the pain
To get on horseback, and come off again.
But at the last, just as the clock strooke two,
They were the sixt time horst with much adoe.

But then (as 'tis the Drunkards use) they sate
Tipling some hower and a halfe at gate:
So that the night drew on apace, and then
Thither came riding other Gentlemen,
And ment to lodge there. They had friendship shown,
Th' other were stale guests, and their money flown:
Their honest Host for all their large expence,
And former kindenesse quickly got him thence.
Yea, their sweet Hostesse that so worthy deem'd them
Slunk out of sight, as if she nought esteem'd them.
And as most will that meet with such a crew,
Left them old Guls, to enterleague with new;
Who at their parting purpos'd to have kist her,
But were so drunken that they never mist her.
For there they quaft so long they did not know
Which way, nor whither, nor yet when to go;
That some suppose, yea, and they think so still,
Their horses brought them thence against their will.
For, if so be their beasts had wanted wit
To come themselves, the fools had been there yet.

If you 'twas made by read with discontent,
You are too blame; none knows by whō twas meant:
There is no cause you should dislike my rime,
That learns you wit against another time.
When others are thus vain, could you forbeare it,
And note the follies in't, you would forsweare it,

168

And so that those who thus you entertain,
Will flout and use the next as well for gain,

Now what do you unto these Gallants say?
Were they not pretty witty ones, I pray?
It may be they will frown at this to see't,
And I am very sorry for't: but yet
One humour more which I have noted vain,
Here to be told of they must not disdain.
It may annoy them if they do not mend it,
Yea notwithstanding they so much defend it.
'Tis this; They too much of their valour vaunt,
And so extreamly for vain-glory haunt,
That to procure themselves a valiant name,
Or peradventure one halfe houres fame,
They'l hazard life and limb, yea, soule and all,
Rather than in their bravery they'l let fall
A vain repute. Oh silly senselesse men!
What will the breath of fame availe you, when
You lie in dust, and moulded up in clay?
Perhaps you shall be spoken of a day
In some poore Village where your bodies lie:
To all the earth besides your fame shall die.
And it may be whereas you look for glorie,
You shall but serve to make more long the story
Of hair-brain'd fools; & such (how e'er some deem you
Men that have understanding will esteem you.

But yet there is a crew that much annoyes
The Common-weal, some call them Roaring-boyes
London doth harbour many at this time,
And now I think their Order's in the prime
And flourishing estate. Divers are proud
To bee of that base brotherhood allow'd.
And reason too: For why? they are indeed
No common fellows, for they all exceed:

169

They do so, but in what things are they think ye?
In villany, for these be they will drink ye,
From morn till night, from night till morn again,
Emptying themselves like Conduits, and remain
Ready for more still. Earth drinks not the showers
Faster than their infernall throats devours
Wine and strong liquors. These be they will sweare
As if they would the veile of heaven teare,
And compell God to heare their blasphemy.
These are the Patrons of all villany;
Whores Champions: deceit and trecherie,
With the most lothsome vice of lechery
Is all their practice. Thunder when it roars,
Ioyn'd with the raging waves that beat the shoars
Together with the windes most rude intrusion,
Make not a noyse more full of mad confusion
Than do these Hell-hounds where they use to house,
And make their most uncivill Rendevouze:
For a more godlesse crew there cannot well
Be pick'd out of the boundlesse pit of Hell.
Yet these base slaves (whose lewdnesse I confesse
I cannot finde words able to expresse)
Are Great-mens darlings; (as some understand)
The absolutest Gallants in this land,
And onely men of Spirit of our time;
But this opinion's but a vulgar crime;
For they which understanding have, see plain,
That these, and all their favourites are vain:
And sure 'twere good if such were forc'd to give
A strict account by whom and how they live.

Thus have I brought to light as well's I can
Some of the vanities I finde in Man.
But I do feare in taking so much pain,
I have but shown my selfe to be most vain;

170

Because I have spent time and reprehended
That which will ne'er the sooner be amended,
But yet there's hope it may; and therefore I
Say thus much more, that this foule Vanitie
Consisteth not alone in words and works,
It hath tane root within, and also lurks
About the heart: and if it there be sought,
I know it also may be found in thought.
And that is it makes one man sit and plot
What is by trasticke with Virginia got:
What it may cost to furnish him a Fleet
That shall with all the Spanish Navy meet;
Or how he may by art or practice finde
A nearer passage to the Eastern-Inde,
When as perhaps (poore foole) besides his coat,
He is not worth a Portsmouth passage boat:
Nor never means to travell so much Sea,
As from Hith-ferry to South-hampton-key.

Another Woodcock is as fondly vain,
And to no purpose doth molest his brain,
To study if he were a Nobleman,
What kinde of cariage would befit him then.
How, and in what set words he would complain
Of the Abuses that he now sees reigne:
Where he would make his place of residence,
How he would keep his house with providence,
And yet what plenty daily at his doore
Should be distributed unto the poore.
What certain sheep and oxen should be slain,
And what provision weekly to maintain
His Lordly port. How many Servingmen
He meant to keep; and peradventure then
What pleasure he wil have, what hawks, what hounds
What game he will preserve about his grounds.

171

Or else he falls to cast what profits cleare
His gifts and bribes will come to in a yeare;
How hee'l put off his hat, cause people then
Shall say, he is a courteous Nobleman.
Then upon this again he falls to plot,
How when that he the peoples love hath got,
If that the King and all his kindred die,
And if none may be found that will supply
The Regall office, the respect they beare him
Vnto that Princely dignity may reare him.
Then doth his thoughts on that estate so feed,
That he forgetteth what he is indeed.

And if a man could hit so just a time,
To come upon him when his thought's in prime,
And give him unawares a sudden knock,
Conceit his understanding so would lock,
That I suppose (because it stands with reason)
He would go neare to start, and call out Treason:
For oftentimes mens hearts are so annoy'd
With those vain thoughts wheron they are imploy'd,
That for a time they so forgetfull grow,
As what they are or where they do not know.

But now, sith you may see there doth remain
Nothing in man but in some sort is vain;
And sith I must be driven to confesse,
His vanities are great and numberlesse,
Ile go no farther in this large Survay,
For feare discourse should carry me away:
And peradventure so I may become
Lesse pleasing and more tedious unto some.
Which to avoid, though I no end espie,
Yet here I end to treat of Vanity.

172

Of Inconstancie.

Satyre 2.

Yet there's another propertie in Men
That means to set my Muse to work agen,
Inconstancie: and that no other is,
(Vnlesse I understand the same amisse)
But an unsetled humour of the minde,
Which so unstable is, it cannot finde
By any study that Opinion
Which long it dares to be resolved on:
'Tis meere irresolution, and estranging
From what is purpos'd by a fickle changing,

But sith this vice I threaten to detect,
Women I know will earnestly expect
To be sore rail'd on. But Ile gently use them,
Because I see their consciences accuse them,
And notwithstanding they deserve much blame,
Yet I'le not speak of ought unto their shame.
So they will think I mean them also, when
I treat of the inconstancie of Men:
And though their faults I seem not to upbraid,
'Cause nothing is directly of them said,
Yet they I hope will ne'er the more disdain
To be thought fickle, proud, and weak, and vain.

But now for Man; whereas I did complain,
He both in Deed, and Word, and Thought was vain
So I in this (I see) the like may doe,
Sith he in all these is inconstant too.

173

It is a wondrous thing me thinks to see
How variable all his actions be;
He labours now, and's altogether set
Vpon the world, how he much wealth may get;
Vpon a sudden (then he thinks to mend it)
Hee's in an humour and a course to spend it:

Sometime he is consenting with the Devill,
And ready to doe any act that's evill.
Which he (perhaps) repenting, some divine
Or heavenly matter doth his thoughts refine,
So that he is resolv'd to spend that day
In reading what Gods holy Prophets say;
Which in his minde it may be worketh so,
He leaves it and will to a Sermon go;
But by the way a Bill he doth espie,
Which shews there's acted some new Comedy;
Then thither he is full and wholly bent,
There's nothing that shall hinder his intent.
But e'er he to the Theater can come,
He heares perhaps the sounding of a Drum;
Thereat he leaves both Stage-play and Devotion,
And will (forsooth) go see some idle motion.
E'er hee gets in his rowling wandring eyes
Behold some Fencer prest to play his prize,
Faith, then there is no remedy hee'll see't.
But e'er he can get halfe-way o'er the street,
Some very neare acquaintance doth salute him,
Who for a miser would perhaps repute him,
Vnlesse he kindely offer to bestow
The wine, or Beere at least, before he goe:
Well then, he will; but while they do devise
What Wine to have, perhaps they heare the cries
And howling which the eager Mastiffes make,
When they behold a Bull or Beare at stake;

174

Oh, on a sudden then they will be gone,
They'l see that first, and come and drink anon.

But just as he out of the Taverne peeps,
Some gallant Lasse along before him sweeps;
Whose youthfull brow adorn'd with beauty trim,
And lovely making doth so ravish him,
That as if he were bound her to attend,
He leaves Play, Fencer, Wine, Bull, Dogs, and Friend.
By which we see his minde is alwaies varying,
And seldome constant on one object tarrying.
But still that thing with most desire is sought,
Which is presented last unto his thought.

One while he likes best of the Country-sport,
Anon prefers the pleasure of the Court.
Another his mind's travelling to Spain,
Then unto France, and hither straight again.
Now he thinks highly of a single life,
And hates the marriage bed, as full of strife:
And yet e'en in the turning of a hand,
Hee's glad to make a joynture of his land,
And woo with much entreaty to obtain
That wife which he did but of late disdain.

One while he zealously professeth Christ,
Another while becomes an Atheist.
In Turkey he will Mahomet adore,
Among the cursed Pagans can implore
A Carved stone; in Rome he hath profest
The worship of the Antichristian beast;
And yet in England here with us he grants
No sound Religion but the Protestants.

And not alone according to the place,
Can these Camelions alter thus their case;
But for a shift themselves they do apply,
To answer both the Time and Company.

175

Gallants shall finde them formall, Youngmen wilde,
Plain-men shall think them simple, Old-men milde.
And for the time with Edward they will be
(Ile warrant) Protestants as well as he.
And when his Sister Mary comes to reigne,
They can be Papists easily again.
Nay, I do feare me, though we have had teaching,
And almost threescore yeares the Gospels preaching.
(Vnconstant mankinde is so prone to ill,
And to be changing hath so good a will)
Too many both of old men and of youth,
Might soon be drawn for lies to leave the truth.

Lets note it, and it will be strange to see
What contradictions in our actions be:
Sometime that man we doe with Trophies raise
Whom we did but a while before dispraise:
Nor can we alway in one Passion keep,
But often for one thing rejoyce and weep.

Is't not a signe of humane ficklenesse,
And a true note of our unsetlednesse,
When not alone some one, or two, or few,
But a great number, a selected Crew,
Pick'd out of all estates, and they the wisest,
The understanding'st, yea, and the precisest
Of a whole Empire, that when these (I say)
Have argued pro & con from day to day,
From week to week, to have (perhaps) enacted
One Law or Statute, yet when all's compacted,
And every thing seems clearly done and ended,
Then to have something in't to be amended?
Yea, and when this is done, and the Records
Fram'd in the plain'st and most effectuall words,
T'expresse their meaning, and they think it plain;
Yet at next reading 'tis dislik'd again?

176

This yeare they make a law, repeal't the next,
Then re-inact it, and then change the text;
Either by taking from, or adding to,
And so they have an endlesse work to doe.

But some may tell me that thus stands the case,
They must have both respect to time and place,
And that no Law devis'd by humane wit,
Can be for ev'ry place and season fit.
All which I yeeld for truth indeed, but then
Wee must confesse a misery in men,
That they (Camelion-like) must have a minde,
With every object unto change inclin'd.

I might speak of the changes which I see
In mens externall fortunes also be:
For this day he hath friends, to morrow none:
Now he hath wealth, and in an houre 'tis gone.
Some in their youth there be have all things store,
And yet do often live till they are poore.
Again, there's some in youth at beggers states,
Become in age to be great Potentates.
Some are of Kings made slaves, and Kings again,
Whilst others with the contrary complain.
For poore Eumenes, of a Potters sonne,
By fickle Fortunes help a kingdome won;
Who for him such a diet did provide,
That shortly after he of hunger dy'd,

I many such examples might infer,
But that would waste more time and make me erre
From my intent, who purpose to relate,
The ficklenesse of Man, not his estate.
Moreover, hee's a creature knows not how
To do an act which he shall long allow,
Or well himselfe approve. He cannot tell
What he would have, nor what he would not, well.

177

For peradventure he is now content
To doe what he will in an houre repent.
He does and undoes what he did before,
Is discontented, and with no man more
Than with himselfe. In word hee's fickle too,
For he will promise what hee'll never doe.
If that he tell me he will be in Pauls,
Ile go look for him in the Temple-Halls;
For soonest to that place resort doth hee,
Whereas he saies or sweares he will not be.

Oh! had there been in words a constant trust,
I needed not t'have done as now I must;
I should have had no cause to have bewail'd
That which I once thought would have never fail'd:
But sith 'tis thus, at nothing more I grieve,
Than that unconstant words made me beleeve.

Were promises worth trust, what needed then
Such written contracts between Man and Man?
And wherefore should they make so much adoe
To have hands, seales, and witnesse thereunto?
Vnlesse it be for proofes to make it plain,
Their words are both inconstant, false, and vain.

To morrow he will earnestly gain-say
What stoutly is affirm'd by him to day:
Yea, truely hee's so wavering and unjust,
That scarce a word of his deserveth trust,
But as a creature of all good forlorn,
Sweares what's deny'd, and straight denies what's sworn.
That I suppose himselfe he doth but mock,
And is more changing than a Weather-cock.
For e'en the thought that's likliest to remain,
Another that's unlike puts out again.
Meer appetite (not reason) guides him still,
Which makes him so inconstant in his will.

178

Had he a suit at first made but of leather,
And cloathes enough to keep away the weather,
'Twere all his wish; well, so much let us grant,
And ten to one he something else will want;
But swears that he for more would never care,
Than to be able to have cloth to weare;
Which if he get, then would he very fain
Reach to have silks, for cloath he thinks too plain;
And so his wishes seldome would have stay,
Vntill that he hath wish'd for all he may.

But though from this infirmity there's no man
That I can well except, it is so common;
Yet surely I most properly may cal't,
Or tearm't to be the common peoples fault.
Think not I wrong them, for if it may not be
A fault so to digresse, you soon should see
Their nature and condition; but I hate it:
And here in this place I will now relate it.
Let therefore none condemne me if I break
My course awhile; for I of them will speak;
Something, I say, my Muse of them must tell,
She cannot beare it any farther well.
And yet expect not all, for Ile but shew
Of many hundred-thousand-faults a few.

And to be briefe: The vulgar are as rude,
A strange-inconstant-hare-braind multitude:
Born to and fro with every idle Passion;
And by Opinion led beside all fashion.
For novelty they hunt, and to a Song,
Or idle tale they'l listen all day long.
Good things soon tyre them, and they ever try
To all reports how they may adde a lie,
Like that of Scoggins Crows: and with them still
Custome hath born most sway, and ever will.

179

Or good or bad what their forefathers do,
They are resolv'd to put in practise too.

They are seditious, and so given to range
In their opinions, that they thirst for change.
For if their Countrey be turmoyl'd with war,
They think that peace is more commodious farre.
If they be quiet, they would very fain
Begin to set the warres abroach again.
I well remember when an Irish Presse
Had made a Parish but a man the lesse,
Lord, what a hurly-burly there was then!
These warres (say they) hath cost us many a man,
The Countrey is impoverish'd by't, and we
Rob'd of our husbands and our children be;
With many sad complainings: But now peace
Hath made Bellona's bloudy anger cease,
Their ever-discontented natures grutch,
And think this happy peace we have, too much,
Yea, and their wisedomes beares us now in hand,
That it is war that doth enrich the land.

But what are these? not men of any merit,
That speak it from a bold and daring spirit,
But lightly some faint-hearted braving Momes
That rather had be hang'd at their own homes
Than for the welfare of their Countrey stay
The brunt of one pitch'd-battell but a day:
Or such as would distraught with feare become,
To heare the thundring of a martiall Drum.
They cannot keep a mean (a naughty crime)
Nor never are contented with the time;
But better like the state they have been in,
Although the present hath the better bin.
E'en as the Iews that loathing Manna fain
Would be in Ægypt at their flesh again,

180

Though they were there in bondage. So do these
Wish for the world as in Queen Maries dayes,
With all the blindnesse and the trumpery
That was expel'd the Land with Popery.
Why? things were cheap, and 'twas a goodly meny
When we had foure and twenty egges a penny:
But sure they ate them stale for want of wit,
And that hath made them addle-headed yet.

Then this (moreover) I have in them seen,
They alwaies to the good have envious been.
Milde men they reckon fools, and do uphold
Him to be valiant that is over-bold:
When he with wisemen is and ever was
Counted no better than a desperate Asse.
He that doth trust unto their love shall finde
'Tis more unconstant than the wavering winde:
Which since my time a man that many knew,
Relying on it, at his death found true.

Then they have oft unthankfully withstood
Those that have labour'd for the Common good.
And, being basely minded, evermore
Seek lesse the publike than the private store.
Moreover, such a Prince as yet was never,
Of whom the people could speak well of ever.
Nor can a man a Governour invent them,
How good soever that should long content them.
Their honesty as I do plainly finde,
Is not the disposition of their minde;
But they are forc'd unto the same through feare:
As in those villaines it may well appeare,
Who having found some vile ungodly cause,
If there be any means to wrest the Laws
By tricks or shifts to make the matter go
As they would have it, all is well enough:

181

Although the wrong and injury they proffer,
Be too apparant for a Iew to offer.

They know not Iustice; and oft causelesse hate:
Or where they should not, are compassionate.
As at an Execution I have seene,
Where malefactors have rewarded beene,
According to desert; before they know,
If the accused guilty be or no:
They on report, this hasty censure give;
He is a villaine, and unfit to live:
But when that he is once arraign'd and found
Guilty by law, and worthily led bound
Vnto the Scaffold, then they doe relent
And pitty his deserved punishment.

Those that will now brave gallant men be deem'd,
And with the common people be esteem'd,
Let them turne Hacksters as they walke the street,
Quarrell and fight with every one they meet,
Learne a Welsh song to scoffe the British bloud,
Or breake a jest on Scotchmen that's as good:
Or if they would that fools should highly prize them,
They should be Iugglers if I might advise them:
But if they want such feats to make them glorious,
By making Ballads they shall grow notorious.
Yet this is nothing, if they looke for fame,
And meane to have an everlasting name
Amongst the Vulgar, let them seeke for gaine
With Ward the Pirat, on the boisterous Maine;
Or else well-mounted keepe themselves on land,
And bid our wealthy Travellers to stand
Emptying their full-cram'd-bags: for they'l not stick
To speake in honour still of Cutting-dick.

But some may tell me, though that it be such,
It doth not goe against their conscience much:

182

And though there's boldnesse showne in such a case,
Yet Tyburne is a scurvy dying-place:
No, 'tis their credit; for the people then,
Will say, 'Tis pitty, they were proper men,
And with a thousand such like humors naught,
I doe perceive the common-people fraught.

Then by the opinion of some it seemes,
How much the Vulgar sort of men esteemes
Of Art and Learning. Certaine neighbouring swaines
(That think none wise men but whose wisdome gains
Where knowledge be it morall or divine,
Is valued as an Orient Pearle with Swine)
Meeting me in an Evening in my walke.
Being gone past me, thus began to talke:
First an old Chuffe whose roofe I dare be bold,
Hath Bacon hangs in't above five yeeres old,
Said, that's his sonne that's owner of the grounds
That on these pleasant Beechy Mountaine bounds;
D'ye marke me neighbours? This same yong mans vather
(Had a bin my zon, chad a hang'd him rather)
Assoone as he perceiv'd the little voole
Could creepe about the house, putten to schoole:
Whither he went not now and then a spurt,
As't had been good to keepe him from the durt;
Nor yet at leasure times (that's my zonnes stint)
Vor then indeed there had bin reason in't.
But for continuance, and beyond all zesse
A held him too 't six daies a weeke no lesse;
That, by S. Anne, it was a great presumption
It brought him not his end with a consumption.

And then besides he was not so content,
To putten there whereas our childers went,
(To learne the Horne-book and the Abcce through)
No that he thought not learning halfe enough,

183

But we must seeke the Country all about,
Where he might finde a better teacher out.
And then he buyes him (now a pips befall it)
A vlapping booke: (I know not what they call it)
'Tis Latine all; and thus begins: In speech,
And that's in English, Boy, beware your breech.

One day my Dick a leafe on't with him brought,
(Which he out of his fellowes booke had raught)
And to his mother and my selfe did reade it:
But we indeed did so extreamely dread it,
We gave him charge no more thereon to looke,
Vor veare it had beene of a conjuring booke.
But if you thinke I jest, goe aske my Wife,
If ere she heard such gibberish in her life.

But when he yong had cond the same by heart,
And of a meny moe the better part;
He went to Oxford, where he did remaine
Some certaine yeeres, whence hee's return'd again.
Now who can tell (it in my stomacke sticks)
And I doe veare he hath some Oxford tricks
But if't be zo, would he had ne'er come hither,
Vor we shall still be sure of blustering weather.
To what end else is all his vathers cost?
Th' ones charges, and the tothers labour's lost.
I warrant he so long a learning went,
That he almost a brothers portion spent;
And now it nought availes him: By this Holly
I thinke all learning in the world a folly,
And them I take to be the veriest vooles,
That all their lifetime doe frequent the Schooles.

Goe aske him now, and see if all his wits
Can tell you when a Barley season hits;
When Meddowes must be left to spring, when mown,
When Wheat, or Tarcs, or Rye, or Pease be sown:

184

He knowes it not; nor when 'tis meet to fold,
How to manure the ground that's wet and cold:
What Lands are fit for Pasture, what for Corne,
Or how to hearten what is over-worne.

Nay he scarce knowes a Gelding from a Mare,
A Barrow from a Sow, nor takes he care
Of such like things as these. He knowes not whether
There be a difference twixt the Ewe and Wether.
Can he resolve you (No, nor many more)
If Cowes doe want their upper teeth before?
Nay, I durst pawne a groat he cannot tell
How many legs a Sheepe hath very well.
Is't not a wiseman thinke yee? By the Masse
Cham glad at heart my zonne's not zuch an asse:
Why he can tell already all this geare,
As well almost as any of us here.

And neighbours, yet I'l tell you more; my Dick
Hath very pretty skill in Arsemetrick:
Can cast account, write's name, and Dunces daughter
Tought him to spell the hardest words ith Zauter,
And yet the Boy I'l warrant you knowes how
As well as you or I, to hold the Plow:
And this I noted in the V'rchen ever,
Bid him to take a booke he had as lether
All day have drawne a Harrow; truth is so,
I like'd it well although I made no show;
For to my comfort I did plainely see,
That he hereafter would not bookish be.

Then when that having nought at home to doe,
I sometime forc'd him to the Schoole to goe,
You would have griev'd in heart to heare him whine;
And then how glad he was to keepe the swine,
I yet remember, and what tricks the Mome
Would have invented to but stay at home,

185

You would have wondred. But 'tis such another,
A has a wit for all the world like's Mother.
Yet once a moneth although it grieves him then,
Hee'l looke you in a book doe what ye can:
That Mother, Sister, Brother, all we foure
Can scarce perswade him from't in halfe an houre.
But oft I thinke he does it more of spight
To anger us, than any true delight:
Vor why? his Mother thinks as others doe,
(And I am halfe of that opinion too)
Although a little learning be not bad,
Those that are bookish are the soonest mad.
And therefore, sith much wit makes vooles of many,
Chill take an order, mine shall ne'er have any.

Byr Lady, you'r the wiser (quoth the rest)
The course you take in our conceit's the best:
Your zonne may live in any place i'th land
By his industrious and laborious hand;
Whilst he (but that his Parents are his stay)
Hath not the meanes to keepe himselfe a day.
His study to our sight no pleasure gives,
Nor meanes, nor profit, and thereby he lives
So little thing the better, none needs doubt it,
He might have beene a happier man without it:
For though he now can speake a little better,
It is not words you know will free the debter.

Thus some, whose speeches shew well what they be
For want of matter fell to talke of me:
Of whom, though something they have said be true,
Yet sith in stead of giving Art her due,
They have disgrac'd it. Notwithstanding, I
Have not the knowledge that these Dolts envy,
Or can so much without incurring blame,
As take unto my selfe a Schollers name:

186

Yet now my reputation here to save,
(Sith I must make account of what I have)
Ile let you know though they so lightly deeme it,
What gaine's in knowledge, and how I esteeme it.

As often as I call to minde the blisse,
That in my little knowledge heaped is;
The many comforts, of all which the least
More joyes my heart than can be well exprest:
How happy then thinke I, are they whose soules
More wisedome by a thousand part inroules;
Whose understanding hearts are so divine,
They can perceive a million more than mine?
Such have content indeed. And who that's Man,
And should know reason, is so senselesse then
To spurne at Knowledge, Art or Learning, when
That onely showes they are the race of Men?
And what may I then of these peasants deeme,
Which doe of wisedome make so small esteeme;
But that, indeed, such blockish, senselesse logs,
Sprang from those Clownes Latona turn'd to frogs:
Alas! Suppose they nothing can be got
By precious stones, 'cause Swine esteeme them not?
Or doe they thinke because they cannot use it,
That those that may have Knowledge, will refuse it?

Well, if their shallow coxcombes can containe
A reason when 'tis told them; I'l explaine
How that same little knowledge I have got,
Much pleasures me (though they perceive it not,)
For first thereby, though none can here attaine
For to renew their first estate againe,
A part revives (although it be but small)
Of that I lost by my first Fathers fall.
And makes me man; which was before (at least)
As haplesse, if not more, than is the beast,

187

That reason wants: for his condition still,
Remaines according to his Makers will.
They never dreame of that. And then by this,
I finde what godly and what evill is:
That knowing both, I may the best ensue;
And as I ought, the worser part eschew.
Then I have learn'd to count that drosse but vaine,
For which such Boores consume themselves with pain
I can endure all discontentments, crosses,
Be Ioviall in my want and smile at losses;
Keepe under Passions, stop those insurrections,
Rais'd in my Microcosmus by affections,
Be nothing grieved for adversity,
Nor ne'er the prouder for prosperity.
How to respect my Friends I partly know,
And in like manner how to use my Foe.
I can see others lay their Soules to pawne,
Looke upon Great-men, and yet scorne to fawne;
Am still content; and dare whilst God gives grace,
E'en looke my grimmest fortunes in the face.
I feare mens censures as the char-coale sparks,
Or as I doe a toothlesse Dog that barks;
The one frights children, th' other threats to burne;
But sparkes will die, and brawling Curres returne.
Yea, I have learn'd that still my care shall be
A rush for him that cares a straw for me.
Now what would men have more? Are these no pleasures;
Or doe they not deserve the name of treasures?
Sure yes; and he that hath good learning store,
Shall finde these in't, besides a thousand more.

O! but our Chuffs thinke these delights but course,
If we compare them to their Hobby-horse:
And they beleeve not any pleasure can
Make them so merry as Maid-marian.

188

Nor is the Lawyer prouder of his fee,
Than these will of a Cuckooe Lordship be:
Though their sweet Ladies make them father that
Some other at their Whilson-Ales begat.
But he whose carriage is of so good note,
To be thought worthy of their lords fooles coat,
That's a great credit; for because that he
Is ever thought the wisest man to be.
But, as there's vertue where the Divel's precisest,
So ther's much knowledge where a foole's the wisest

But what meane I? let earth content these Moles,
And their high'st pleasure be their Summer-poles;
Round which I leave their Masterships to dance,
And much good doe't them, with their ignorance.
So this I hope will well enough declare
How rude these vulgar sort of people are.

But here upon there's some may question make,
Whether I onely for the vulgar take
Such men as these. To whom I answer, no;
For let them hereby understand and know,
I doe not meane these meaner sort alone
Tradesmen or Labourers; but every one,
Be he Esquire, Knight, Baron, Earle, or more,
For if he have not learn'd of Vertues lore,
But followes vulgar Passions; then e'en he,
Amongst the vulgar shall for one man be
And that poore Groom whom he thinks shold adore him,
Shall for his vertue be preferr'd before him:
For though the world doe such men much despise,
They seeme most noble in a wise-mans eies.

And notwithstanding some doe noblest deeme
Such as are sprung of great and high esteeme,
And those to whom the Country doth afford
The title of a Marquesse or a Lord,

189

Though 'twere atchieved by their fathers merit,
And they themselves men of a dunghill spirit;
Cowards or fooles, (and such as ever be
Prating or boasting of their pedegree)
When they are nothing but a blot or shame,
Vnto the noble house from whence they came:
Yet these (I say) unlesse that they have wit,
To guide the Common-wealth, as it is fit
They should; and as their good fore-fathers did
How ere their faults may seeme by greatnesse hid,
They shall appeare; and that poore Yeomans sonne,
Whose proper vertue hath true honour wonne;
Preferred be; for though Nobility
That comes by birth hath most antiquity;
And though the greater sort, befooled shall,
That new enobled man, an upstart call,
Yet, him most honour I, whose noblenesse
By vertue comes; yea such mens worthinesse
Most ancient is. For that is just the same,
By which all Great-men first obtain'd their fame.
I therefore hope 'twill not offend the Court,
That I count some therewith the Vulgar sort,
And outset others though men thinke me bold,
That this opinion I presume to hold.

But shall I care what others thinke or say?
There is a path besides the beaten way;
Yea and a safer. For here's Christs instruction,
The broadest way leads soonest to Destruction.
And truly no opinions deceive
Sooner than those the Vulgar sort receive:
And therefore, he that would indeed be wise,
Must learne their rude conditions to despise,
And shun their presence; for we have beene taught,
Diseases in a presse are quickly caught.

190

Now Satyr, leave them till another time,
And spare to scourge the Vulgar with thy Rime:
If any thinke thou hast digrest too long,
They may passe over this, and doe no wrong.

But in my former matter to proceed;
Who (being of mans Race) is so much freed
From ficklenesse, that he is sure to find
Himselfe to morrow in that very mind
Hee's in to day? though he not onely know
No reason wherefore he should not be so,
But also though he plainly doe perceive
Much cause he should not that opinion leave.
If no man finde it so, who justly can
Be forced to relye, or trust in Man;
Whose thoughts are changing, and so oft amisse,
That by himselfe, himselfe deceived is:

Who is so sottish as to build Salvation
On such a feeble tottering foundation
As Man? Who is't that having a respect
To his soules safety, will so much neglect
That precious assurance, as to lay
His confidence on that false peece of clay,
Which being fickle, merits farre lesse trust,
Than letters written in the sand or dust:
Doe they not see those they have soundest deem'd,
And for their constantst Writers long esteem'd,
All wavering in assertions? yea, but looke,
And you shall finde in one and the same booke,
Such contradiction in opinion,
As shewes their thoughts are scarce at union.

Where finde you him that dares be absolute,
Or alwaies in his sayings resolute?
There's none; I by mine owne experience speake,
Who have a feeling that we men are weake:

191

Whereon much musing makes me inly mourne,
And grieve almost that I a man was borne.
(Yet hereupon I doe desire that no man,
Would gather that I long to be a woman.)

Alas! how often had I good intendments
And with my whol hart vow'd & swore amendments;
Yea purpos'd that, wherein I once thought never
Ynconstancy should let me to persever?
And yet for all my purpose and my vow,
I am oft altered ere my selfe knowes how.

But therefore, sith it is not I alone,
Or any certaine number that is knowne,
To be unstable, but e'en all that be;
Sith none (I say) is from this frailty free,
Let us confesse it all, and all implore
Our nere-repenting God that evermore
Remaines the same, we may be (as we ought)
More certaine both in word and deed and thought:
That he will keepe us from Inconstancie,
Yea, from all damned, lewd Apostacie;
And howsoever our affections change
And we in slight opinions hap to range;
Yet, pray his Truth in us be so ingraved,
That biding to the end we may be saved.

192

Of Weaknesse.

Satyr. 3.

Bvt, oh looke here; for I have surely found
The maine chiefe roote, the very spring & ground
Of our Inconstancie It is not chance
That so disables our perseverance;
But a base Weakenesse: which to tearme aright,
Is meerely a privation of our might,
Or a detraction from that little power
Which should be in those limbs and mindes of our.
We boast of strength; but tell me, can our daies
Afford a Milo, or a Hercules?
Can all the world (and that is large enough)
A match for Hector or Achilles show?
Have we a Champion strong enough to wield.
His Buckler? or Sir Aiax seven-fold Shield?
I thinke we have not: (but I durst so grant,
There be some living shall with Ajax vaunt.)

Nay, now in these daies it is doubted much,
Whether that any former age had such
As these fore-nam'd; but indeed our faith
Binds us to credit, that as Scripture saith;
There was a Sampson, who could fright whole hosts
And rent downe Gaza's barred gates and posts,
Whose mighty Armes unarm'd could bring to passe
E'en with a rotten Iaw-bone of an Asse,

193

A thousands ruine; and yet 'twill be long
Ere he shall thereby proove that man is strong.
For first, the strength he seem'd to have was known
To be the Spirit of God, and not his own:
And then his proper weaknesse did appeare,
When after his brave act he had wel-neare
Beene dead for thirst, whereas if he in spight
Of Nature had beene able, by his might
Out of that little Bony-rocke to wring,
To quench his present thirst, some flowing spring,
As did a stronger one: or if his power
Could have compel'd the melting clouds to showre
For present need such plenteous drops of raine
He might have had no reason to complaine,
Or crave more aide; Sure then we might at length,
Suppose that men had in themselves a strength,
But ne'r till then. Hee's mighty that can make
The Heavens, Earth and Hell, with's breath to shake
That in his Spheare the Suns swift course can stop,
And Atlas with his burthen under-prop,
He that with ease this Massie Globe can rowle,
And wrap up heaven like a parchment scrowle;
He that for no disease nor paine will droope,
Nor unto any plague infernall stoope:
He that can meate and drinke and sleepe refraine,
O hath the power to die and rise againe;
Hee's strong indeed; but he that can but teare
O, rend in two a Lion or a Beare,
O, doe some such like act, and then goe lie
Himselfe ore-come by some infirmitie,
How ere with vaunts he seemes his deeds to grace,
He is both miserable, weake and base.

What creature is there borne so weake as Man,
And so unable? tell me be that can.

194

Or (if that they could numbred be by any)
Count his diseases, and what hath so many?
Or else what creature is there, if he be
In bone and flesh of the same quantity,
So fraile as Man? or that can worse sustaine
Hunger, or thirst, or cold, or heate, or paine?
Sure none; and yet in Histories we find,
Till Luxury had weakned thus mankind,
They were much stronger; could endure the heat,
Travell a long time without drinke or meat:
And their best dainty was no costlier thing,
Than a wilde roote, or water from the spring.
With which small commons Nature was content;
Yea, in our climate people naked went;
And yet no question felt as little cold,
As we wrapt up in halfe a dozen fold.
They had no wast-coats; night-caps for their heads,
Nor downy pillowes, nor soft feather-beds:
They scornd as much to have such things about them
As we in this Age scorne to be without them.
Their heads some stone bare up: their brawny sides,
With ease the hardnesse of the earth abides.
Gluttonous fare that so the palate pleases,
Nere fild their bodies full of foule diseases;
Nor any pleasing liquors with excesse,
Made them grow weak through beastly drunkennesse
No lust-provoking meats made them unchaste,
Nor unto carnall copulation haste.
For I am in the mind they ne'er requir'd it,
Till Nature, come to her full strength desir'd it:
And that is it alone which made them be
More stout, more strong, and braver men than we:
It was a noble care in them indeed. But how
Are we become such Dwarfes and Pigmies now?

195

How are our limbs so weake and feeble growne?
I think I need not tell it, 'tis well knowne;
Nice tender breeding, which we well might spare,
Much drunkennesse and our luxurious fare?
Which addes not strength, as some doe vainely say,
But rather takes both strength and health away.
Yet chiefly this same imbecility.
Comes by too soon and frequent venery.

A beardlesse boy now cannot keepe his bed,
Vnlesse that he be of his night-geere sped,
And many Giglets I have married seene,
Ere they (forsooth) could reach eleventeene.
Nay 'tis no wonder we are growne so weake,
For now they'r matching brats ere they can speake:
And though we yet say that the men are stronger,
Yet he (I thinke) that lives but so much longer,
The revolution of an Age to see,
Will say that men the weaker vessels be.
But now our strength of body, which indeed,
Deserves no more respect than doth a Reed,
Is not the strength of which I meant to speake,
For we are yet another way too weake.
Our minds have lost their Magnanimity,
And are so feeble through infirmity;
That either to be resolute we care not,
Or else because of some base feare we dare not.

Where can we almost finde a man so hardy,
Who through his weakenesse is not sometime tardy
To speake the truth? or to declare his minde,
Though he doe many just occasions finde?
Hee'l winke at's friends offence, and passe it blindly,
Lest (peradventure) he should take't unkindly.
And if it be a Great man that offends,
Shew me but him that boldly reprehends,

196

And I'l admire him. Nay, wee'l rather now
Bend our endeavour, and our study how
To sooth and fawne; or to their lewdnesse tell
That all they doe (be't ne'er so bad) is well.
Their very lookes and presence we so feare,
As if that they some monstrous Cyclops were;
Which makes them worse. But howsoere they trust
Vnto their might, I'l tell them (for I must)
Although they threaten and can slanders make
Of just reproofes my heart shall never quake
T'informe their Honors, thus 'tis censur'd by men,
If they be Great ones, Tanto majus crimen:

One knowes the truth, but dares not to defend it,
Because he heares another discommend it;
Yea divers follow Vertues waies but coldly,
Because they dare not doe a good thing boldly:
And doe we not perceive that many a man
Fearing to be entituled, Puritan,
Simply neglects the meanes of his salvation,
Much hazarding thereby his soules damnation?

Some cannot well endure this or that;
Others distemper'd with I know not what,
Shew an exceeding frailty: few can brooke
With any patience that men should looke
Into their actions; and though they should love them
They rather hate them for't that doe reprove them.

Is there a man so strong that he forbeares
Choler or Envy, when by chance he heares
Himselfe revil'd, reproached and disgrac'd?
If there be such an one, he shall be plac'd
Amongst the Worthies, with the formost three
For in my judgement none more worthy be
To have renowne for strength than those that can
On their rebellious Passions play the man.

197

This Weakenesse I doe also finde in men,
They know not their owne happinesse till then
When they have lost it: and they doe esteeme
Men for their wealth and doe them blessed deeme
That are most rich; supposing no man more
Accursed or unhappy than the poore.

Some basely do condemne each strange report
To be untrue, because it doth not sort
With their weake reasons. Some againe will be
Astonished at every novelty:
But too much wondering doth discover plaine,
Where ignorance and frailty doth remaine.

Is it not weakenesse, when some petty losses,
Some hindrance in preferment, or such crosses,
Shall make men grieve? Is it not weakenesse, when
Adversity shall so disquiet men,
That they should not with patience sustaine,
Or under-goe a little crosse and paine?
Yes, questionlesse it is; for were they strong,
They would so arme themselves gainst grief & wrong
That no disastrous or ill hap should fright them,
Though fortune did the worst she can to slight them:
Nor would they those as the unworthiest deeme,
To whom Dame Fortune doth most froward seeme;
But rather such as all their lifetime be
In quiet state, and from disturbance free:
For she oft gives what their base longing craves,
Because she scornes to vexe dejected slaves.

I have knowne brave-men, brave at least in show
(And in this Age now that is brave enow)
That in appearance for brave Champions past,
And yet have basely yeelded at the last.

Besides, there's many who thought scorn to droope
By Fortunes power, have beene made to stoope,

198

And with discredit shamefully left undone
What they with honour at the first begun:
And their weake hearts (which frailty I much hate)
Dejected, have growne base with their estate:
Whereas (me thinks) the mind should never be
Subject to Fortunes frownes nor tyranny.

But here through weaknes some offence may take,
That I of Fortune should recitall make:
For they by Fortune say there's nothing done:
But all things ars both ended and begun
By Gods appointment. I confesse indeed
That he knowes all, and all hath fore-decreed,
In the respect of whom, I cannot say
Ought comes by chance: respecting us, I may.

So they are answer'd: but how can men be
So over-borne with this infirmity:
As those who are in every matter led
By Parasites and Apes: Where is their head?
I meane their will, their reason and their sense?
What is become of their intelligence?
How ist that they have such a partiall eare,
They can judge nothing true, but what they heare
Come from the tongue of some slie Sycophant:
But for because they strength of judgement want?

Those that themselves to flatteries inure,
I have perceived basely to endure
Too plainely to be soothed, mockt and flouted,
Made coxcombs to their faces; yet not doubted
That they were highly reverenc'd, respected,
And by those fawning Parasites affected.
And why forsooth? they often here them prate
In commendation of their happy state:
Yes, and they tell them that they vertuous be,
Wise, courteous, strong, and beautifull to see:

199

When if the eie of reason were not lockt,
They plainely might perceive that they were mockt,
For what is't else when they are prais'd for many
Goodly conditions that had never any?

This frailty also merits to be blam'd,
When fearefull of reproach we are asham'd
Our ignorance in those things to explain,
Wherein 'twere fit more knowledge to attain.
'Tis weaknesse also when a bargaine's bought,
Then to dispraise the penniworth, as nought,
And tell what might have been, or fondly prate
Of counsell when he sees it is too late.

Nor is it any lesse to seeke to stay
Him that we know doth hasten on his way;
Or be importunate for that which will
Be nothing for our good, yet others ill.
Also to be affraid for to gain-say
What men doe know untrue: or to delay
The right of any matter to declare;
Because they feare they unbeleeved are:
For notwithstanding Truth doth oft bring blame,
It may be freely spoken without shame.

Divers more waies, of which I needs must speake,
There's many men doe shew themselves but weake.
In some but lately I observed this,
And must needs say, their nature evill is:
If friends to them have any kindnesse showne,
Or entertainments willingly bestowne,
That they confesse they are indebted for it:
Yet such is their condition (I abhorre it)
If then those friends do hap to take the pain:
To come sometime and visite them again
In meere good will, because these great ones see
They cannot then so well provided be

200

To bid them welcome as their loves require,
(Though more than love, their loves did ne'er desire)
A foolish shame so blinds them, that they shal
(For giving them too much) have nought at all:
Yea, for because they want excessive fare,
Or some such things; for which their friends ne'er care
(Though by their will it otherwise had beene)
They neither will be knowne at home, nor seene:
Which doth not onely shew impiety,
But hindereth love, and barres societie.

Yet now the greatest weakenesse that I finde
To be in man, is ignorance of minde:
It makes a poore man, hee's scarce good for ought;
If rich men have it, they are worse than nought.
For having riches store and wanting might
Or strength of minde to use the same aright,
'Tis Arrogancies and Ambitions fuel,
It makes them Covetous, Inconstant, Cruell,
Intemperate, Vnjust and wondrous heady:
Yea, in their actions rude, and so unsteady
They cannot follow any sound direction
But are still carried with a wild affection:
This is their nature; (it is quickly noted)
If they to honour be by hap promoted,
Then they grow insolent beyond all reason,
Apt for Ambition, Quarrels, Murthers, Treason,
Or any villany that followes those
Who doe the summe of happinesse repose
In worldly glory. But if Fortune frowne,
And from her fickle wheele once cast them downe;
Then their dejected hearts againe grew base,
They are impatient of their present case,
Rave or run mad, and can doe nought poore Elves,
Vnlesse it be goe hang or drowne themselves.

201

Moreover, the same weakenesse that proceeds
From ignorance this mischiefe also breeds;
It makes men well conceited of their will,
Which they will follow be it ne'er so ill:
And they thinke all things needs must fall out bad
Wherein their wise advise must not be had.
But here's the hell; to them all counsell's vain,
Cause they all others wisedome do disdain,
And wholly on their own devises rest,
As men perswaded that their owne are best.

But, as all such are weake, e'en so I say
Is every one that rashly doth repay
Vengeance in anger: Or that's male-content
Oft, or oft moved and impatient;
Or those that judge of counsels by th' event;
Or that perswade themselves, if their intent
Be good and honest that it doth not skill
Although the matter of it selfe be ill;
Which were it true, then David might complaine,
That Vzzah for his good intent was slaine.

Others againe thinke superstitious Rites
To be the service wherein God delights:
But sith I'me forc'd my minde of them to speake,
I must needs say their judgements are but weake.
The like I must of them who dis-esteeme
All former customes, and doe onely deeme
Their owne praise-worthy: As also such as doe
Thinke those things best they cannot reach unto;
Yet in the Vulgar this weake humor's bred:
They'l sooner be with idle customes led,
Or fond opinions (such as they have store)
Than learne of reason or of Vertues lore.

We thinke that we are strong; but what alas
Is there that our great might can bring to passe?

202

Sith though we thereto bend e'en all our will,
We neither can be good nor wholly ill.
God gives us needfull blessings for to use them;
Which wanting power to doe, we oft abuse them.

Some hold them wise and vertuous that possesse
An Heremitall solitarinesse:
But it proceeds from Imbicility;
And for because through Non-ability,
Those things they cannot well indure to doe,
Which they indeed should be inur'd unto
Besides they wrong their Country and their Friends;
For Man (saith Tully's) borne to other ends
Than for to please himselfe: a part to have
The Common-wealth doth look; and Parents crave
A part; so doe his friends. Then deales he well,
That closely mew'd up in a carelesse Cell
Keepes all himselfe? and for a little ease,
Can in his conscience find to rob all these?
I say he's weak, and so again I must;
But adde withall, he's slothfull and unjust.

Then as he's vain that precious time doth spend
In fond and idle pleasure to no end:
So are those weake that with contempt disdain
All pleasure and delight on earth as vain;
And though they would be zealous thought, & wise,
I shall but count them foolishly precise:
For man hath cares and pleasures mixt withall
Are needfull; yea, both just and naturall.
We are no Angels, that our recreation
Consist should only in meere contemplation:
But we have bodies too, of whose due pleasure,
The soules must find sometimes to be at leasure,
For to participate. But in this kind,
Though some find fault we are not much behind.

203

Then 'tis through humane weaknes, when that we
Of a good turn will soon forgetfull be;
And readier to revenge a small offence,
Than for that good to make a recompence.
And so 'tis also when that we eschew,
Or shun them unto whom from us is due
Both love and money: this, because their own;
Th' other, 'cause friendship at our need was shown.
But 'tis well seen there's many so abhor
To be in presence with their Creditor,
That (thanklesse Elves) though he be stil their friend,
They rather would desire to see his end.

Hee's weak too, that's not able to withstand
Any unlawfull or unjust demand:
As well as he that knows not to denie
Servingmens kindnesse, or Pot-curtesie.

Some simple fellows, 'cause that silken-Fools
(Who had their bringing up in Bacchus schools)
In shew of love but deign to drink unto them,
Think presently they such a favour do them,
That though they feel their stomack well-nigh sick,
Yet if to pledge these kinde-ones they should stick,
Or for a draught, or two or three refuse them,
They think in conscience they should much abuse thē

Nay, there be some, and wisemen you would think
That are not able to refuse their drink,
Through this their weaknes, though that they be sure
Tis more than their weak stomacks can endure.
And why? Oh 'tis the health of some great Peere,
His Masters, or his Friends he counteth deare.
What then? if so the party vertuous be,
Hee'l not esteem of such a foolery;
If not, who e'ert be, this is my minde still,
A straw for's love, his friendship, or good-will.

204

Some muse to see those that have knowledge gain'd,
And to degrees of Art in Schooles attain'd,
Should have opinions stuft with heresie,
And in their actions such simplicity
As many have. At first, without a pause,
As meere a boy as I, may tell the cause:
Is't not the reason their acquired parts
And knowledge they have reach'd unto by Arts,
Is growne a match too great and farre unfit
For to be joyned with their naturall wit?
'Tis so: and they instead of rightfull using,
Draw from their learning errors by abusing.
Plaine reason shewes, and every man that's wise
Knowes, though that Learning be a dainty prize,
Yet if that fate with such a weakling place it,
Who hath no helps of Nature for to grace it,
Of one whose proper knowledge is so small
Hee is beholding to his booke for all;
It onely breeds (unlesse it be some Treasons)
Crippled opinions and prodigious Reasons:
Which being favour'd, bring, in the conclusion;
Publike dissentions, or their owne confusion.
For I may liken learning to a Shield,
With a strong Armour, lying in a field
Ready for any man that hath the wit
To take it up, and arme himselfe with it.
Now if he be a man of strength and might,
That happens on that furniture to light,
He may doe wonders; As offend his foe,
And keepe himselfe and his from overthrow:
But if a weake and feeble man should take
These instruments of Mars, what would they make
For his advantage? Surely I should gather
They would goe neere to overthrow him rather:

205

For they would load him so, a man more strong,
Although he be unarm'd, may do him wrong.
So he that is depriv'd of natures gifts,
With all his learning, maketh harder shifts,
Through his own weaknesse, and incurs more shames
Than many that want art to write their names.

We have some fellows that would scorn to be
Tearm'd weak I know, especially by me,
Because they see that my ungentle fate
Allow'd me not to be a Graduate;
Yet whatsoever they will say unto it,
For all their scorning I am like to do it.
And to be briefe, they are no simple fools,
But such as have yauld Ergo in the Schooles;
Who being by some men of Worship thought
Fit men by whom their children may be taught,
And learn'd enough, for that they are allow'd
The name of Teachers; whereof growing proud,
Because (perhaps) they heare that now and then
They are admir'd at by the Servingmen;
Or else by reason something they have said,
Hath been applauded by the Chamber-maid;
They thereupon suppose that no man may
Hold any thing for truth but what they say:
And in discourse their tongues so much will walk,
You may not heare a man of reason talk;
They are halfe Preachers; if your question be
Of matters that concern Divinity.
If it be Law, Ile warrant they'l out-face
A dozen Ploydens to maintain their case:
But if it be of Physick you contend,
Old Galen and Hypocrates may send
For their opinion; nay, they dare prosesse
Knowledge in all things, though there's none know lesse:

206

Now I should wonder they prevail'd so much
Did not the Common-people favour such;
But they are known, although their verdit passes,
Proud Dogmatists, and selfe-conceited Asses;
Whom I may term (though I cannot out-scold them)
Weak simple fools, and those that do uphold them.

Moreover, some (but foolishly precise,
And in my judgement far more weak than wise)
Mis-judge of Poetrie, as if the same
Did worthily deserve reproach and blame:
If any Book in verse they hap to spie,
Oh, out upon't, away, prophane, they cry;
Burn't, read it not, for sure it doth contain
Nothing but fables of a lying brain;
All-asse take heed, indeed it oft pollutes
The outside of thy false-vain-glorious-sutes:
And to the blinded people makes it plain,
The colour thou so counterfeits will stain.

Because we see that men are drunk with Wine,
Shall we contemne the liquor of the Vine?
And sith there's some that do this Art misuse,
Wilt therefore thou the Art it selfe abuse?
'Twere meer injustice: For Divinity
Hath with no Science more affinity
Than this; and howsoe'er this scruple rose,
Rime hath exprest as sacred things as Prose;
When both in this age and in former time,
Prose hath bin ten-times more profane than Rime.

But they say still that Poetry is lies
And fables; such as idle heads devise;
Made to please fools: but now we may by this
Perceive their weaknesse plainly what it is:
Yea, this both weak and ignorant doth prove them,
In that they'l censure things that are above them:

207

For if that worthy Poets did not teach
A way beyond their dull conceited reach,
I think their shallow wisdomes would espie,
A Parable did differ from a Lie.
Yea, if their judgement be not quite bereft;
Or if that they had any reason left,
The precious Truthes within their Fables wrapt,
Had not upon so rude a censure hapt.

But though that kinde of teaching some dispraise,
As there's few good things lik't of now adaies:
Yet I dare say, because the Scriptures show it,
The best e'er taught on earth taught like a Poet:
And whereas Poets now are counted base,
And in this worthlesse age in much disgrace;
I of the cause cannot refrain to speak;
And this it is; Mens judgements are grown weak,
They know not true desert; for if they did,
Their well-deservings could not so be hid.

And sure if there be any doth despise
Such as they are, it is cause he envies
Their worthinesse, and is a secret foe
To every one that truely learnes to know:
For of all sorts of men, her's my beliefe,
The Poet is most worthy and the chiefe.
His Science is the absolut'st and best,
And deserves honour above all the rest;
For 'tis no humane knowledge gain'd by Art,
But rather 'tis inspir'd into the heart
By Divine meanes; and I do muse men dare
Twixt it and their professions make compare.
For why should he that's but Philosopher,
Geometrician, or Astrologer,
Paysitian, Lawyer, Rhetorician,
Historian, Arithmetician,

208

Or some such like; why should he (having found
The means but by one art to be renown'd)
Compare with him that claims to have a part
And interest almost in every Art?
And if that men may adde unto their name,
By one of these an everlasting fame,
How much more should it unto them befall,
That have not onely one of these, but all,
As Poets have? For do but search their works
And you shall finde within their writtngs lurks
All knowledge; if they undertake
Of Divine matters any speech to make,
You'll think them Doctors. If they need to tell
The course of Starres, they seem for to excell
Great Ptolomey; intend they to perswade,
You'l think that they were Rhetoricians made.

What Law, what Physick, or what History
Can these not treat of? Nay, what Mysterie
Are they not learn'd in? If of Trades they write,
Have they not all their tearmes and words as right
As if they had serv'd an Apprentiship?
Can they not name all tools for Workmanship?
We see 'tis true. If once he treat of Warres,
Of cruell bloudy fraies, of wounds, of scarres;
Why then he speaks so like a Souldier there,
That he hath been begot in armes thou'lt sweare.
Again, he writes so like a Navigator,
As if he had serv'd Neptune in the water;
And thou wouldst think he might of travell make
As great a volume as our famous Drake.
Old Proteus and Vertumnus are but Apes
Compar'd to these for shifting of their shapes;
There is no humorous Passion so strange,
To which they cannot in a moment change:

209

Note but their Dramaticks and you shall see
They'l speak for every sex, for each degree,
And in all causes; as if they had been
In every thing, or at least all things seen.
If need be they can like a Lawyer prate,
Or talk more gravely like a man of State;
They'l have a Tradesmans tongue to praise their ware,
And counterfeit him right (but they'l not sweare.)
The curioust Physitians (if they please)
Shall not coyne words to give their Patient ease
So well as they; and if occasion urge,
They'l Choler, yea and Melancholy purge,
Onely with Charmes and words; and yet it shall
Be honest means, and meerely naturall:
Are they dispos'd to gossip't like a woman,
They'l shew their tricks so right, that almost no man
But would so think them: Virgins that are purest,
And Matrons that make shew to be demurest,
Speak not so like chast Cynthia as they can,
Nor Newbery so like a Curtezan.
They'l give words either fitting for a Clown,
Or such as shall not unbeseem a Crown.
In shew they will be cholerick, ambitious,
Desperate, jealous, mad, or envious;
In sorrow, or in any Passion be;
But yet remain still from all Passions free:
For they have onely to this end exprest them,
That men may see them plainer, and detest them.

But some will say that these have on the Stage
So painted out the vices of this Age,
That it not onely tells that they have bin
Experienc'd in every kinde of sin;
But that it also doth corrupt and show
How men should act those sinnes they did not know.

210

Oh hatefull saying! not pronounc'd by chance,
But spew'd out of malicious ignorance.
Weigh it, and you will either think these weak,
Or say that they do out of envy speak.
Can none declare th' effect of Drunkennesse,
Vnlesse they used such like beastlinesse?
Are all men ignorant what comes by Lust,
Excepting those that were themselves unjust?
Or think they no man can describe a sin,
But that which he himselfe hath wallowed in?

If they suppose so, I no cause can tell,
But they may also boldly say as well
They are Apprentises to every Trade,
Of which they finde they have descriptions made;
Or else because they see them write those things
That do belong to Rule, best say th' are Kings:
As though that sacred Poesie inspir'd
No other knowledge than might be acquir'd
By the dull outward sense; yes, this is she
That shows us not alone all things that be,
But by her power laies before our view,
Such wondrous things as Nature never knew.

And then whereas they say that men are worse
By reading that these write, 'tis their own curse;
For, is the flower faulty cause we see
The loathsome Spider, and the painfull Bee
Make divers use on't? No, it is the same
Vnto the Spider, though she cannot frame
Like sweetnesse as the Bee thence. But indeed
I must confesse that this bad age doth breed
Too many that without respect presume
This worthy title on them to assume,
And undeserv'd; base fellows, whom meer time
Hath made sufficient to bring forth a Rime.

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A Curtain Iigge, a Libell, or a Ballet,
For Fidlers or some Rogues with staffe and wallet
To sing at doores: men onely wise enough,
Out of some rotten-old-worm-eaten stuffe
To patch up a bald witlesse Comedy,
And trim it here and there with ribauldry
Learn'd at a Bawdy-house? I say there's such,
And they can never be disgrac'd too much.
For though the name of Poet such abuses,
Yet they are enemies to all the Muses,
And dare not sort with them for feare they will
Tumble them headlong down Parnassus hill.

Why then should their usurping of it, wrong
That title which doth not to them belong?
And wherefore should the shame of this lew'd crew
Betide them unto whom true honour's due?
It shall not, for how ere they use the name,
Their works will shew how they do merit fame;
And though it be disgrac'd through ignorance,
The generous will Poesie advance,
As the most antique Science that is found,
And that which hath been the first root and ground
Of every Art; yea, that which onely brings
Content, and hath been the delight of Kings.
Great Iames our King both loves and lives a Poet,
(His books now extant do directly show it)
And that shall adde unto his worthy name
A better glory, and a greater fame
Than Britains Monarchie; for few but he
(I think) will both a King and Poet be;
And for the last, although some fools debase it,
Ime in the minde that Angells do imbrace it:
And though God giv't here but in part to some,
All shall have't perfect in the World to come.

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This in defence of Poesie to say
I am compell'd, because that at this day
Weaknesse and Ignorance have wrong'd it sore:
But what need any man therein speak more
Than Divine Sidney hath already done?
For whom (though he deceas'd e'er I begun)
I have oft sighed and bewaild my fate,
That brought me forth so many yeares too late
To view that Worthy; And now think not you
Oh Daniel, Drayton, Iohnson, Chapman, how
I long to see you, with your fellow Peers,
Sylvester matchlesse, glory of these yeares:
I hitherto have onely heard your fames,
And know you yet but by your Works and Names:
The little time I on the earth have spent,
Would not allow me any more content:
I long to know you better, that's the truth,
I am in hope you'l not disdain my Youth:
For know, you Muses-Darlings, Ile not crave
A fellowship amongst you for to have:
Oh no; for though my ever-willing heart
Hath vow'd to love and praise You and your Art,
And though that I your stile do now assume,
I do not, nor I will not so presume;
I claime not that too-worthy name of Poet;
It is not yet deserv'd by me, I know it:
Grant me I may but on your Muses tend,
And be enrol'd their Servant, or their Friend;
And if desert hereafter worthy make me,
Then for a Fellow (if it please you) take me.

But yet I must not here give off to speak,
To tell men wherein I have found them weak,
And chiefly those which cannot brook to heare
Mention of death, but with much griefe and feare:

213

For many are not able once to take
That thought into them, but their Soules will quake.

Poore feeble spirits, would you ne'er away,
But dwell for ever in a piece of clay?
What finde you here wherein you do delight,
Or what's to seeing that is worth the sight?
What? do the heavens thy endeavours blesse,
And wouldst thou therefore live still to possesse
The joy thou hast? Seek't not; perhaps to morrow
Thou'lt wish t'have di'd to day to scape the sorrow
Thou then shalt see: for shame take stronger hearts,
And adde more courage to your better parts:
For death's not to be fear'd, sith 'tis a friend
That of your sorrows makes a gentle end.

But here a quality I call to minde,
That I amongst the common people finde;
This 'tis, a weak one too; When they perceive
A Friend ne'er death, and ready for to leave
This wretched life; and if they heare him say
Some parting words, as if he might not stay,
Nay, say not so (these Comforters reply)
Take heart, your time's not come, ye shall not die:
What man, and grace of God you shall be stronger,
And live no doubt yet many a fair day longer;
Think not on death; With many such like words,
Such as their understanding best affords:
But where is now become this peoples wit?
What do their knowledges esteem more fit
Than death to think on? chiefly when men be
About to put off their mortalitie.
Me thinks they rather should perswade them then
Fearelesse to be resolv'd to die like men:
For, want of such a resolution stings
At point of death; and dreadfull horrour brings

214

E'en to the Soule; cause wanting preparation,
She lies despairing of her own salvation.
Yea, and moreover this full well know I
He that's at any time afraid to die,
Is in weak case; and whatsoe'er he saith,
Hath but a wavering and a feeble faith.

But what need I go further to relate
The frailty I have seen in Mans estate?
Sith this I have already said makes cleare,
That of all creatures God hath placed here,
(Provided we respect them in their kinde)
Wee cannot any more unable finde;
For of our selves we have not power to speak,
No, nor to frame a thought we are so weak.
Against our bodies every thing prevailes,
And oft our knowledge and our judgement fails:
Yea, if that one mans strength were now no lesse
Than all men do in generall possesse;
Or if he had attain'd to ten times more
Than all Gods creatures joyn'd in one before;
Yet would his power be ev'n then so small
When he stands surest hee's but sure to fall.

'Tis onely weaknesse that doth make us droop,
And unto crosses and diseases stoop;
That makes us vain, inconstant, and unsure,
Vnable any good things to endure:
It brings us to the servile base subjection
Of all loose passion and untam'd affection:
It leads us and compells us oft to stray
Both bsiede truth, and out of Reasons way:
And lastly wee, and that because of this,
Either do nothing, or do all amisse.
Which being so we may with David then
Confesse that we are rather Wormes than Men.

215

Of Presumption.

Satyr. 4.

Soft heedlesse Muse, thou no advisement tak'st;
Wast not of Men that last of all thou spak'st?
It was, and of the weaknesse too of Men:
Come then with shame now and deni't agen:
Recant; for so the matter thou did'st handle,
Thou maist be curst for't with bell, book, and candle.
Is mankinde weak? Who then can by their powers
Into the aire hurle Palaces and Towers?
And with one blast e'en in a moment make
Whole Kingdomes and brave Monarchies to shake?
Or what are they that dare for to aspire
Unto Gods seat, and if it might be, higher:
That forgive sinnes as fast as men can doe them,
And make Iehovah be beholding to them?
I've heard of such; What are they? would I wist;
They can make Saints (they say) of whom they list:
And being made, above the stars can seat them,
Yea, with their own hands make their gods; & eat thē

Ha? Are they men? how dar'st thou then to speak
Such blasphemy, to say, Mankinde is weak?
I tell thee this, Muse, either man is strong,
And through thy babling thou hast done him wrong;
Or else beyond his limits he doth erre,
And for Presumption puts down Lucifer.

216

Is't so? Nay then I prethee Muse go on,
And let us heare of his Presumption:
For I do know, cause I have heard him vaunt,
That hee's a Creature proud and arrogant:
And it may be he is not of such might
As he makes shew for; but usurps some's right.
Ther'e goes indeed: For though he be so base,
So weak, and in such miserable case,
That I want words of a sufficient worth
To paint his most abhorred vildenesse forth;
Yet such is also his detested pride,
That I suppose the Devill is beli'd
By every man that shall affirme or say
He is more proud. For do but mark I pray
This Creature Man: Did Natures powerfull King
(GOD, that of nothing framed every thing)
Mould out of Clay a piece which he had rent
E'en from the Earth, the basest Element?
And whereas he might have been made a Thrall,
Yea, and the very Vnderling of all;
That God with title of Chiefe-Ruler grac'd him,
And as a Steward over all things plac'd him:
Gave him a pleasant Garden for to till,
And leave to eate of ev'ry Tree at will;
Onely of one indeed he did deny him,
And peradventure of that one to try him.
But see his insolence, though God did threat
Death if he eate, and though that God was great,
And so exceeding just, that he well knew
All that he threatned doubtlesse would ensue:
Thogh God were strong, & could, had man bin prouder
(Poor clay-bred worm) have stampt him into pouder;
Yet (notwithstanding all this same) did he
Presume to taste of that Forbidden-tree.

217

A rash beginning, but he sped so ill,
D'yee think he held on this presumption still?
To heare he had left that offence 'twere news;
But Cain and Nimrod, Pharaoh and the Iewes
Shew'd it continued; and grew much more,
Rather than lesser than it was before.
Cain in his murder and his proud reply;
Nimrod, in that he dar'd to build so high;
Pharaoh, by boldly tempting God, to show
His sundry plagues to Ægypts overthrow:
And many waies the last. But what need I
Recite examples of Antiquity?
Or thus to tax old ages of that crime,
Sith there was ne'er a more presumptuous time
Than this that's now. What dare not men to do,
If they have any list or minde thereto?
Their fellow-creatures they do much contemne,
Vaunting that all things were ordain'd for them;
Yea, both the gladsome daies, and quiet nights,
Sun, Moon, and Heaven, with those glorious lights,
Which so bespangle that fair azure roofe:
They think were onely made for their behoofe:
Whenas, alas, their power and weak command,
Cannot extend so far as to withstand
The least Stars force; o're them and their estate,
Sunne, Moon, and Starres too do predominate.

Before our Fall indeed we did excell
All other Creatures that on earth did dwell;
But now I think the very worst that be,
Have just as much to boast upon as wee,
Our Soul's defil'd; And therefore if in Sense
We place our worth and chiefe preheminence,
Tis known that there be divers creatures then
Will have the upper hand; for they passe men:

218

And though we still presume upon't, 'tis vain
To challenge our old Soveraignty again:
For when that we from our obedience fell,
All things against us also did rebell;
Lions, and Beares, and Tygers sought our bloud,
The barren earth deni'd to yeeld us food:
The clouds rain'd plagues, and yet dare we go on,
We take such pleasure in Presumption.

But for because there's some do scarcely know
How we do in that fault offend, Ile show:
First, when that they new worshippings invent,
And cannot hold themselves so well content
With that which God doth in his Word ordain,
As with inventions of their own weak brain;
It seems they think their fancies to fulfill,
Would please him better than to have his will.

Next, I do reckon them that over-bold
Gods sacred Legend have at will controld;
And maugre his grand curse, some places chang'd;
Added to some; and some again estrang'd.

Then those great Masters I presumptuous deem,
That of their knowledge do so well esteem:
They will force others as the Papists do
For to allow of their opinions too;
Yea, though it be a meer imagination,
That neither hath good ground, nor just foundation:

Some will be prying, though they are forbidden,
Into those secrets God meant should be hidden.
So do some Students in Astrologie,
Though they can make a faire Apologie.
And so do those that very vainly trie
To finde our fortunes by their Palmistrie:
These do presume, but much more such as say,
At this or that time comes the judgment-day.

219

Or such as ask, or dare for to relate
What God was doing e'er he did create
Heaven and Earth: or where he did abide,
How and by whom he then was glorifi'd.

But those that into such deep secrets winde,
A slender profit in their labour finde;
For to make known how highly they offend,
A desperate madnesse is oft times their end.
Yet such their nature is, they'll not beware,
But to be prying further still they dare:
For sure that longing can no way be staid:
Which well the Poet seem'd to know, who said;
Man, what he is forbidden, still desires,
And what he is deni'd of most requires.

Rather than many will a man gain-say,
They dare make bold with God; they think they may,
Because it seems they deem him not so strong,
Or so well able to revenge a wrong.

Some such great power to themselves assume,
And on their own strength do so much presume,
They seldome do for Gods assistance crave;
As if it were a needlesse thing to have
Which is the cause that often the conclusion
Proves their own shame, their hindrance, & confusion

In praying men presume, unlesse they be
With every one in love and charitie:
Or if in their Petitions they desire
Such things as are unlawfull to require.

Death's their reward we know, that break the law;
But neither that, nor yet damnations awe
Keeps us from sinne: a thousand God-heads more
Than one we make, and dare for to adore
Our own hand-works: the Sabbath we disdain,
And dreadlesse take the Name of God in vain.

200

If but by his Lords hand an Irish sweare,
To violate that oath he stands in feare;
Lest him both of his lands and goods he spoile,
For making him the instrument of guile:
And yet dare we (poore worms) before his face,
(Respecting whom, the greatest Lords are base)
Both sweare, and forsweare, using that great Name
At pleasure, without any feare of blame.

Why should not we as well suppose that he
Who in our hearts would have no fraud to be;
Will miserable, poore, and naked leave us,
Yea, of those blessings and estates bereave us
We now hold of him, if we thus contemne,
And still abuse his sacred Name, and him?
But men secure in wickednesse persist,
As if they could please God with what they list;
If they can, Lord have mercy on them, say,
And mumble some few praiers once a day,
There needs no more: nay surely, there be such,
That think it is enough, if not too much.
But what's the reason? God made all the man,
Why should he have but part allow'd him then?
He in their service nothing doth delight,
Vnlesse it be with all their strength and might,
With their whole heart and soule, and that way too
As he appoints them in his Word to do.

Some men there are who hope by honesty,
By their Almes-deeds and works of Charitie
To win Gods favour, and so to obtain
Salvation by it; but their hope's in vain.

Others there are, who for because th' have faith
For to beleeve 'tis true the Scripture saith;
Sith they have knowledge in Religion,
And make thereof a strict profession;

221

Or do observe the outward worship duly.
Do think that therein they have pleas'd God truly.

Now these are just as far as th' other wide,
For they Gods worship do by halves divide;
And for his due which is e'en all the heart,
Do dare presume to offer him a part.
But th' one must know he will not pleased be
With a Religion that wants honestie:
And th' other that as little good will doe,
His honest shews without Religion too.

If this be so (as so it is indeed)
How then will those presumptuous fellows speed
Who think (forsooth) because that once a yeare
They can afford the poore some slender cheere,
Observe their Countrey feasts, or Common doles,
And entertain their Christmas Wassaile-bowles
Or else because that for the Churches good,
They in defence of Hock-tide custome stood,
A Whitson-Ale, or some such goodly motion,
The better to procure Youngmens devotion?
What will they do, I say, that think to please
Their mighty God with such vain things as these?
Sure very ill; for though that they can mone,
And say that Love and Charitie is gone,
As old folks do, because their banquettings,
Their ancient Drunken Summer-revellings
Are out of date, though they can say, through teaching
And since the Gospell hath had open preaching,
Men are grown worse; though they can soon espie
A little mote in their own neighbours eye;
Yea, though that they their Pater-noster can,
And call their honest neighbour Puritan;
How e'er they in their own conceits may smile,
Yet sure they are Presumptuous, weak, and vile.

222

Also in this abominable time,
It is amongst us now a common crime,
To flout and scoffe at those which we espie
Willing to shake off humane Vanity;
And those that gladly do themselves enforce
Vnto a strict and more religious course
Than most men do; although they truly know
No men are able to pay halfe they owe
Vnto their God; (as though their wisdomes thought
He might be served better than he ought)
They count precise and curious more than needs,
They try their sayings, and weigh all their deeds:
A thousand things that they well do, shall be
Sleightly past over, as if none did see:
But one thing ill done (though the best does ill)
They shall be certain for to heare of still;
Yea, notwithstanding they can daily smother
Millions of ten-times-greater faults in other.

Who are so hated, or so often blam'd?
Or so revil'd, or scorn'd, or so misnam'd?
To whom do we now our contentions lay?
Who are so much term'd Puritans as they
That feare God most? But 'tis no marvell men
Presume so much to wrong his children, when
As if they fear'd not his revengefull rod,
They can blaspheme, and dare to anger God.

Now by these words to some men it may seem,
That I have Puritanes in high esteem;
Indeed, if by that name you understand
Those whom the vulgar Atheists of this land
Do daily terme so; that is such as are
Fore-named here; and have the greatest care
To know and please their Maker: then 'tis true
I love them well, for love to such is due:

223

But if you mean, The busie-headed sect,
The hollow crew, the counterfeit Elect:
Our Dogmatists, and ever-wrangling spirits,
That do as well contemne good works as merits:
If you mean those that make their care seem great
To get soules food, when 'tis for bodies meat;
Or those, all whose religion doth depend
On this, That they know how to discommend
A May-game, or a Summer-pole defie,
Or shake the head, or else turn up the eye:
If you mean those, however they appear,
This I say of them, (would they all might heare)
Though in a zealous habite they do wander,
Yet they are Gods foes and the Churches slander;
And though they humble be in shew to many,
They are as haughty every way as any.

What need I here the lewd presumptions tell
Of Papists in these daies? 'tis known too well.
For them thereof each Peasant now convinces,
In things as well concerning God as Princes.

Others I finde too that do dare presume,
The office of a Teacher to assume,
And being blinde themselves and gone astray,
Take on them to shew other men the way.

Yea some there be who have small gifts of spirit,
No kinde of knowledge, and as little merit,
That with the world have made a firm conjunction,
Yet dare to undergoe the sacred function
Of Christ his Pastor. Yea, such is their daring,
That (neither for their Charge nor Duty caring)
Instead of giving good and sound instruction,
They lead themselves and others to destruction.

We read that Ieremie and Moses both,
To undertake this charge were wondrous loth.

224

(The greatnesse of the same so much appall'd them)
Yea, though that God himselfe directly call'd them;
But our brave Clarks, as if they did condemne
The too much bashfull backwardnesse of them;
Or else as if themselves they abler thought;
Those Divine callings have not onely sought
Without respect of their ability,
A Christian Conscience or civilitie;
But being of old Simon Magus tribe,
Purchase it often with a hatefull bribe;
Which shewes that they such places do desire,
Not for the good of others, but their hire.

But Patrons, feare ye neither God nor Hell?
Dare ye the Churches patrimony sell
For filthy lucre, in despight of Law
Sacred or humane? Pedants, dare ye? Haw!
Dare ye buy't of them? By Gods help, unlesse
This villanie e'er long have some redresse,
Ile finde a means, or else let me have blame,
To bring some smart, or else eternall shame
Vpon you for't; It may be you do sent it,
But all your policy shall not prevent it.
What do you look for? Hell and your Damnation?
Well, you shall have it by impropriation;
I know now you have entred Simony,
You'll double-damne your Souls with Perjury.
For they as oft together may be seen,
As is the chilling Fever and the Spleen.

But, oh, deare Countreymen, be more advis'd;
Think what God is, he may not be despis'd.
Could you well weigh his justice and his power,
How many infinites it passeth our,
And knew his judgements, you would not dissemble
An outward feigned reverence, but tremble

225

And shake with horror; you'd not dare to venter
Sanctum Sanclorum so unfit to enter.
His Churches good you rather would advance,
Than rob it thus of her inheritance;
Or make the same as men still unbeleeving,
Like to a house of merchandise and theeving.

You to whom deeds of former times are known,
Mark to what passe this age of ours is grown,
Even with us that do strictest seem to be
In the professing of Christianitie;
You know men have been carefull to augment
The Churches portion, and have been content
To adde unto it out of their estate;
And Sacriledge all Nations did so hate,
That the meer Irish, who seem'd not to care
For God nor man, had the respect to spare
The Churches profits; yea, their heed was such,
That in the time of need they would not touch
The known provisions they daily saw
Stor'd up in Churches: in such feare and awe
The places held them; though that they did know
The things therein belonged to their foe;
But now the world and mans good nature's chang'd,
From this opinion most men are estrang'd;
We rob the Church, and what we can attain
By Sacriledge and Theft is our best gain.
In paying dues, the refues of our stock,
The barrenest and leanest of our flock
Shall serve our Pastor: whom for to deceive,
We think no sinne. Nay further (by your leave)
Men seek not to impropriate a part
Vnto themselves; but they can finde in heart
T'engrosse up all: which vile Presumption
Hath broght church-livings to a strange consumption.

226

And if this strong disease do not abate,
'Twill be the poorest member in the state.

No marvell though in stead of learned Preachers,
We have been pester'd with such simple Teachers,
Such poore, mute, tongue-tide Readers, as scarce know
Whether that God made Adam first, or no:
Thence it proceeds, and there's the cause that Place
And Office at this time incurres disgrace.
For men of judgment, or good dispositions
Scorne to be ty'd to any base conditions,
Like to our hungry Pedants, who'l engage
Their soules for any curtail'd Vicarage.
I say, there's none of knowledge wit, or merit,
But such as are of a most servile spirit,
That will so wrong the Church as to presume
Some poore-halfe-demi-Parsonage to assume
In name of all; no, they had rather quite
Be put beside the same, than wrong Gods right.

Well, they must entertain such Pedants then,
Fitter to feed Swine than the soules of men,
But Patrons think such best, for there's no feare
They will speak any thing they loathe to heare:
They may run foolishly to their damnation
Without reproofe, or any disturbation;
To let them see their vice they may be bold,
And yet not stand in doubt to be controld:
Those in their houses may keep private Schooles,
And either serve for jesters or for fools,
And will suppose that they are highly grac'd,
Be they but at their Patrons table plac'd:
And there if they be cal'd but Priests in scoffe,
Straight they duck down, and all their caps come off,
Supposing it for to be done in kindnesse,
Which shews their weaknesse & apparant blindenesse

227

Moreover, 'tis well known that former time
Held it to be a vile presumptuous crime,
Such men in sacred Offices to place
Whom they knew touch'd with any foule disgrace,
Or to allow those whom they did suspect
To have an outward bodily defect:
But be they now not onely crooked, lame,
Dismember'd, and of the unshapeliest frame
That ever Nature form'd; though they be blinde,
Not in sight onely, but as well in minde;
Though they be such, who if they came to shreeving,
Might confesse murther, whordome, slander, theeving,
And all damn'd villany; yet these men will be
Admitted to the sacred Ministrie.

But most of us do now disdain that place,
Accounting it unworthy, mean, and base;
Yea, like to Ieroboams Priests wee see
They of the lowest of the people be;
And though we know the Israelites allow'd
God the First-born for his; we are so proud,
Vnlesse they either do want shape, or wit,
Or seem for worldly businesse unfit,
Few think Gods service worthy the bestowing
Their Childe upon it; or such duty owing
Vnto the same; but rather that vocation
They count a blemish to their reputation.
But where's your understanding, oh you men?
Turn from your brutish dulnesse once agen;
Honour Gods messengers; for why? 'tis true
To them both reverence and honour's due:
Think what they are, and be not still self-minded,
Suffer not reason to be so much blinded;
If not for love that you to justice beare,
Yet follow her (although it be) for feare:

228

And see that this Presumption you amend,
Or look some heavy plague shall be your end.

Then it is also a Presumptuous act,
With knowledge to commit a sinfull fact,
Though ne'er so small: for sinne's a subtle elfe,
That by degrees insinuates it selfe
Into our soules; and in a little space
Becomes too huge a Monster to displace:
Yea, it is certain that one sinne, though small,
Will make an entrance great enough for all;

And what is't but Presumption to abuse,
And without feare and reverence to use
Gods Sacred Word? Yet we that Christ professe
Think it no fault, or that there's no fault lesse:
Else sure we would not in our common talk,
Let our loose tongues so much at randome walk;
We would not dare our jests of that to make,
At uttering where of the heavens shake;
For if God had reveal'd his Gospell news
To us, as heretofore unto the Iews
He did the Law: who heard him to their wonder,
Speaking through fearfull firy flames of Thunder;
We would not dread in any evill fashion,
To use that sacred means of our salvation.

Our cursed Pagan unbeleeving foe,
I meane the Turk, more reverence doth show
In those his damn'd erroneous Rites, than we
In the true Worship: for 'tis known that he
Will not so much as touch his Alcharon,
That doth contain his false Religion,
With unwash'd hands; nor till he hath o'er-went
All that his vain and confus'd rabblement
Of Ceremonies us'd, much lesse dares look
On the Contents of that unhallowed Book:

229

But we in midst of all our villany,
In our Pot-conference and Ribaldrie,
Irreverently can the same apply,
As if't were some of Pasquils-Letany.

But soft, my Muse in her perambulation
Hath hapt upon an Excommunication:
And though that her Commission she wanted,
Yet she made bold to search wherefore 'twas granted;
Which if you would know too; why, it may be
Some were so pleas'd because they lack'd a fee:
For had the Officers been well contented,
They say the matter might have been prevented.
But you that have the wisedomes to discerne
When abuse is, pray tell me, I would learne:
Misuse we not Excommunication?
You know, It is a Separation
From God: and a most fearfull banishment,
From the partaking of his Sacrament,
And good mens fellowship; a sad exile
(Perhaps for ever, at the least a while)
From the true Church, and oh (most horrid evill)
A giving of men over to the Devill.
And therefore was ordain'd in better times
Onely for such, who in their hainous crimes,
With hardned obstinacie did persist,
As may appeare: but now, we at our list,
As if the same but some sleight matter were,
For every trifle to pronounce it dare;
And peradventure too, on such as be
More honest far, and better much than we.

But sith my Muse hath her endeavour done,
To note how men into this fault do run;
I will be bold to let you understand
One strange Presumption noted in our Land,

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Worth the amending: and indeed 'tis this
(Reader, pray judge how dangerous it is.)
We seeing God hath now removed farre,
From this our Country his just plague of warre,
And made us through his mercy so much blest,
We doe in spight of all our foes yet rest
Exempt from danger: by us it appeares
Through the great blessing of these quiet yeares,
We are so fearelesse, carelesse, and secure,
In this our happy peace, and so cock-sure,
As if we did suppose, or heard it said,
Old Mars were strangled, or the Divell dead:
Else can I not beleeve we would so lightly
Esteem our safety, and let passe so slightly
Our former care of Martiall Discipline,
For exercises meerely feminine:
We would not see our Armes so soil'd in dust,
Nor our bright blades eate up with cankerd rust,
As now they be: our Bowes they lye and rot,
Both Musket and Caliver is forgot;
And we lie open to all forraigne dangers
For want of discipline: 'tis known to Strangers,
Though we'l not see't. Alas, will not our pleasure
Let us be once in seven yeeres at leasure
To take a muster, and to give instruction?
No, rather pleasure will be our destruction.
For that first caus'd the law that now prevents
And barres the use of Pouder-instruments
To be enacted. Why? for to preserve
As idle Game, the which I wish might sterve
Amids our plenty, so that with their curse
The Land and People might be nothing worse;
'Cause for that trifle to the Realmes abuse,
The Hand-gun hath beene so much out of use.

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Scarce one in forty, if to proofe it came,
Dares, or knowes well how to discharge the same.

Oh valiant English, we are like to hold
The glory that our fathers had of old:
But sure I thinke some undermining-hand,
That studies for the ruine of the Land,
Is cause of this; in hope thereby at length
To weaken ours, and let in Forraigne strength.

What do we think, cause there's a truce with Spain
That we are safe? alas, that thought is vaine:
Our dangers rather more. For while they dar'd
To proffer wrong they found us still prepar'd:
The profitable feare that we were in
Prevented danger that might else have bin.
But now the cause of forraigne feare is gone,
We have not onely let all care alone,
But also are so drunken with delights,
And drown'd in pleasures that our dulled sprites,
Are so o'er-clogd with Luxury, we droope,
More fit for Venus than for Mars his troope:
That if our foes should now so ventrous be
As to invade the Land, unlesse that we
With speed amend this error here's my minde,
The way to worke our ruine they'l soon finde:
For just the Troians last nights watch we keep,
Who then were buried all in wine and sleepe.

We read, when Cato should a Captaine chuse
For the Pannonian fight, he did refuse
His kinsman Publius, 'cause that from the warre
He often had return'd without a scarre,
And went perfum'd. But if such faults as these
Displeas'd the Censor, sure then in our daies,
He scarcely would in Towne or Country finde
A man with us according to his minde

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Such is our daintinesse. Besides, to strangers
(As if there were no cause to doubt of dangers)
We doe not onely our great riches show,
(A shrewd temptation to allure a foe)
But we moreover plainely doe declare
By fond apparell, too superfluous fare,
Much idlenesse and other wanton parts,
That we have weake effeminated hearts,
Which being known are sure a great perswasion
Vnto our enemies to make invasion.

But we doe say, in God's our only trust,
On him we doe depend: Well, so we must,
And yet we ought not therefore to disdaine
The lawfull meanes by which he doth ordaine
To worke our safety then: for that's a signe
We rather love to tempt the Powers Divine,
Than trust unto them. Worthy Brittaines then,
Leave this presumption, once againe be men,
Not weake Sardanapali; leave those toyes
To idle Women, wanton Girles and Boies:
Vnto our foes I wish you could betake them,
Or unto any, so you would forsake them.

Let Martialists that long have been disgrac'd
Be lov'd again and in our favours plac'd:
Count not them Rogues, out rather such as can
So much degenerate themselves from Man,
In tyre and gesture both to womanize.
Goe call a Parliament, and there devise
An act to have them whipt now: oh 'twere good,
A deed well worthy such a noble brood

Meane while lets trim our rusty Armes and scoure
Those long unused well-steel'd-blades of our;
(We shall not doe the Spiders any wrong,
For they have rent-free held their house-roome long

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In Morains, Helmets, Gauntlets, Bandileeres:
Displace them thence, they have had all their yeeres)
And give them such a lustre that the light
May dimme the Moon-shine in a Winters night;
Away with idle Citherns, Lutes and Tabers,
Let knocks requite the Fidlers for their labours.
Bring in the warlike Drum, 'twill musick make ye,
That from your drousie pleasures will awake ye:
Or else that hartning Trumpet that from farre
May sound unto you all the points of warre.
Let dances turne to marches; you ere long
May know what doth to Ranks and Files belong.
And let your thundering shot so smoke and rore,
Strangers may tremble to behold the shore,
And know you sleepe not. But now to what end,
Doe you suppose that I these words doe spend?
Beleeve me, I'm not male content with peace,
Nor doe desire this happy time might cease;
I would not have you foule seditions make,
Or any unjust warres to undertake:
But I desire you leave those idle fashions,
That have beene the just fall of many Nations.
Looke well unto your selves and not suppose.
'Cause there's a league with Spaine, we have no foes.
For, if Warres ever make this Land complaine,
It will be thought some Truce it had with Spaine.

But here I bid you once againe beware,
Delay not time, but with all speed prepare;
Repaire your Forts again, and man them well,
Place better Captaines in them: I can tell
Some are growne covetous, and there's no trust
To such as they; that vice makes men unjust.
They pocket up the wages of their men,
And one poore Souldier serves alone for ten.

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Looke to the Navy-Royall: were't well scand,
I doubt it would be found but simply man'd:
The Pursers study (if some not belie them)
Onely which way they may have profit by them:
But see unto it you to whom't belongs,
See the abuses done, redresse the wrongs.

And oh! renew the forces of this Land,
For there's a fearefull bloudy day at hand;
Though not fore-seene, a bloudy day for some,
Nor will the same be long before it come.

There is a tempest brewing in the South,
A horrid Vapour forc'd from hels own mouth.
'Tis spread already farre into the West,
And now begins to gather in the East,
When 'tis at full once, it will straight come forth
To showre downe all its vengeance on the North.

But feare not little Ile, thy cause is right;
And if thou hast not cast all care off quite,
Nor art secure, why by that token then
Thou shalt drive backe that threatning storme agen,
Through Gods assistance; even to ruine those;
By and amongst whom first of all it rose.
But if that still thou carelesse snorting lie
In thy presuming blind security,
Take't for a signe that now thy sins are ripe,
And thou shalt surely feele the death-full stripe
Of that ensuing ill, unto thy shame
And extirpation of thy former fame.

But yet I hope, this oversight will end,
And we shall this presumptuous fault amend:
I hope, I say (and yet I hope no harmes)
To see our English youth, trickt up in Armes;
And so well traind that all their foes shall heare
No newes from them, but horror, death and feare:

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Yea, and their March, like Iehu's King of Iury,
Shall shew they come with vengeance, speed and fury.

I would we could as easily forsake
Other presumptions; and that we could take
But halfe the care and diligence to arme
Our soules in danger of a greater harme.
Would we the holy weapons could assume
Of Christian warfare, and not still presume
To leave our better parts all open so,
For the advantage of the greater foe
Than Rome or Spaine. Oh would we could begin
To feele the danger of presumptuous sin!
Which soone would be, if we could once be brought
But to consider, with an equall thought,
Our base beginning and infirmity,
Our wavering and wond'rous misery.
And with this wretched poore estate of our
Gods infinite and all-sufficient power;
His justice, with his hatred unto ill,
And threatnings if we disobey his will:
Or else remember he doth still behold,
And see us when we sin; for who so bold,
Vnlesse depriv'd of grace, then to offend?
But it should seeme, we our endeavours bend
To anger God; for we of sinne complaine,
Yet with our will, sinne in his sight againe.

Say were't not a presumption very great,
If comming to a King, one should intreat
A pardon for some murther and yet bring
The bloudy blade with which he did that thing
He would have mercy for? And whilst he speaking,
Sheath it againe with bloud and gore yet reaking,
In the Kings sonne before his Fathers face;
And yet still bide, as if he hop'd for grace?

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Should we not think him mad? Sure yes; yet we
Cannot that madnesse in our own selves see:
For, we dare come before the almighty King
To sue for pardon for our sins, yet bring
The selfe-same bad mind, still conceiving murther
Against his children to provoke him further:
And look what ill is but in thought begun
With him's all one, as if the same were done.

It is no marvell that no humane law
Can keepe our over-daring hearts in awe;
Sith that we doe so little dread the rod
Of such a powerfull, and so just a God:
And if in mans and Gods own sight we dare
So fearelesse sin without respect or care;
It seemes that we doe little conscience make
What mischiefes by our selves we undertake:
Or thinke it no presumption to commit
Something alone in our owne sight unfit,

Oh grosse and ignorant! why, that's the worst
Of all presumptions the most accurst,
And full'st of danger. Silly man take heed,
Doe not before thy selfe an evill deed;
For when God doth forgive, and man forget,
Thine owne ill conscience will oppose and set
Her selfe against thee, tell thee thine offending,
And keep thee backe from ever apprehending
Grace or forgivenesse; neither will afford
The smallest comfort of the Sacred Word:
But rather to thy sad remembrance call
Each saying that may serve to prove thy fall:
And though that fire wondrous tortures brings
Vnto the body, yet when conscience stings,
Nor fire, nor sword, nor hell it selfe can yeeld
A worser torment. God defend and shield

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Me from the like; and give me grace to feare,
So that I may preserve my conscience cleare
In all my actions: and then I shall be
In better case a thousand fold than he
That unto wealth and honour hath attain'd
With a craz'd conscience that is blurd and stain'd.

Alas how easie were't to clime or mount
To worldly reputation and account?
How soone could I if I had an intention
To plot and to contrive a damn'd invention
Get golden heaps? yea, and so privily;
That though 'twere done by craft and villany,
I by the blinded world would be deemed
Perhaps more honest; but much more esteemed
Than now I am. But God forbid that I
Such base vaine trash and dunghill stuffe should buy
At such a rate. For there's no Iewell dearer,
Nor any losse a man can have goes nearer
Than peace of conscience. Which to be most true,
The ancient Poets very wisely knew,
And therefore fain'd their furies, with intent
So to declare the inward punishment
Of guilty minds, which sure they might do well;
For there are in them Divels, yea and Hell,
With all her torture. What else was the cause
Nero (who knew no God, nor feared lawes)
When he had killed his Mother tooke no rest,
But thought he saw her comming to molest
And plague him for't? What made him to surmise
He was still tortur'd in such hellish wise,
That Furies did to his appearance scorch
Is living body with a burning torch?
Was't not his conscience that had privy beene
Unto the fact? Was not the cause within

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His owne bad selfe? If 'twere, lets to amending
Of our presumptuous sinnes, and bold offending;
If, neither in regard of God nor men,
Oh let's for feare of our owne conscience then.

Yet ther's another thing which wer't well weigh'd
Our rash presumption would be somewhat stai'd.
The end of life with the neere ending paine
God for presumptuous sinners doth ordaine.
Could we note that; with deaths uncertaine times,
And how it takes men acting of their crimes
Even in the very nicke of their offence,
And beares them (ere they can repent them) hence
To such a place where nothing shall appeare,
But all the ghastly objects of grimme feare.
Where every sense shall severally sustaine,
The miserable smart of endlesse paine.
The tender feeling, shall in every part,
Be subject to th' intolerable smart
Of hellish flames, commixt with chilling cold:
Tortures beyond conceit; not to be told.
The dainty mouth that had the curious taste
And of the choisest cates still made repast,
Shall filled be, yea belly, throat, and all,
With filth more loathsome than the bitterest gall:
The once-perfumed nostrill, there shall drink
Foule noysome smels beside the sulphurous stinke
Of choaking flames. And there, the listning eare,
Fed with the sound of pleasant musick here,
Shall change it for the wofull skreeching cry
Of damned soules that in hels tortures lie;
Whose hideous howlings can by no defence,
Be kept from piercing that amazed sense.

And then while they shall trembling think to flie
From those amazements that doe seeme so nie,

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Loe, there the feareful'st object of the sight
Their quite despairing mindes shal more affright:
For garish formes of foule mishapen fiends,
And ugly Bugs for evermore attends,
To thwart each looke. But if this doe not make
Thy over-hardned heart (oh man) to quake:
If this relation be too weake to winne,
Or to reclaime thee from thy wonted sinne;
Reader, if this doe no impression leave,
So that thou canst not any feare conceive
Through this description; think upon't at night,
Soone in thy bed when earth's depriv'd of light:
I say at mid-night when thou wak'st from sleepe,
And lonely darkenesse doth in silence keep
The grim-fac'd night. And but imagine then
Thou wert borne all alone to some darke den,
And there set naked though thou felt no paine,
Yet seeing no way to get out againe,
If thou should'st in that naked lonenesse heare
Some yelling voice, or some strange noise draw neare,
With threatning; or but calling on thy name:
Oh with what patience could'st thou bide the same!
But if withall thy wandering eies should marke,
And now and then see peering through the darke
Some monstrous visages or ugly faces,
Which would make proffer of some rude embraces,
And sometime seeme as if they would begin
With griping pawes to seaze thy trembling skin,
Or but suppose that in thy chamber there,
Where cannot be the hundreth part of feare
Because to thee the place well knowne will be,
And thou maist have therewith to cover thee)
Yet there I say suppose thou shouldst behold,
Not such grim objects as are here foretold,

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But onely heare the dolefull voice of men
Complaining in the darke; And now and then,
Behold the ghastly shape of friends long dead,
Wrapt in their sheets as they were buried;
Or else from out thy chamber floore to rise
A troope of bony, pik'd Anatomies.
Come pointing to thee, as if thou wert he
That must ere long their bare companion be.
Then wouldst thou feare I know, and thinke on him,
Whose might and feareful power thou didst contemn,
Thou wouldst consider better of the feare
And hellish horror I have mention'd here.
Thy dangerous estate thou wouldst conceive,
And somewhat thy presumptuous actions leave;
Thou wouldst not so cast all thy care behind thee,
But watch thy self for feare lest death shold find thee
Doing some ill; nor would'st thou thus delay
Times of Repentance still from day to day.

But oh! how shall I hope that this I pleade,
Will worke in them that shall but barely reade
What I have writ? sith I my selfe that know,
And have some inward feeling of that woe
Forget my selfe. I thinke when I shall be
From such and such like cares and troubles free.
Then will I all my vanities forsake,
A better course of life I'l undertake,
And only seeke the glory of his Name
By whom I live. That day ere long time came,
Then I had other lets, but if that they,
(As I did seeke they might) were once a way,
I would indeed my duty better doe:
Well, so it pleas'd God, I ore-past them too.
Yet something hindred still that I could never
In my intended Christian course persever:

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But ever found unto my griefe and sorrow,
That I was bad to day and worse to morrow:
But oh! thou God that know'st my hearts desire,
Doe not; oh doe at my hands require
My youthfull sins; though this my flesh be fraile.
And my affections often doe prevaile:
Seeing thou know'st the weake estate of man,
And what a little his small power can,
Accept my will, and let thy bloud suffice
To quit the rest of mine iniquities.

But now, because I have observ'd such store,
I needs must tell a few presumptions more.

Some in contemning others wisdome; show
That they presume themselves doe all things know:
But that vile selfe-conceit nere raised any,
Certaine I am it is the fall of many.

Others (and they in this kind too offend)
On their owne memories too much depend:
Such I have heard so confidently speake,
As if they had no thought that men were weake
Yea those; though twenty men have all gain-said
What they affirmed, were not yet affraid
Their owne bare affirmation to out-face
With sundry oathes: such wondrous trust they place
In their remembrance; yea, my selfe ere now
Have beene oft times more ready to avow
What I thought truth; than ere I'l be againe:
For what I deem'd to be so sure and plaine,
That I not onely stood in't to my might,
But would have pawn'd my life't had been the right
That to my shame I have my selfe alone,
Found to be false, when all the rest were gone
Which griev'd me so, that I'l ne'er more relie
Or trust so much to mine owne memorie.

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But what may I tearme those who for a name,
Or else to get some vile preposterous fame,
Will desperately for the nonce begin
To put in action some ungodly sin,
That all men loath; and onely (as they say)
For to be talkt of. What are such I pray?
Presumptuous, vaine or weake or all that's bad:
The last I think; and ten-times more than mad.

Yet we have Gallants and great store of such,
That in their great bravado's care not much
What villanies they doe. But 'tis their humour
Onely to fill mens mouthes with idle rumour;
And cause they know the vulgar sort do deem them
Youthes of great spirit and do much esteeme them.
But amongst wisemen, they are sure to gaine
Reproachfull shame and well deserv'd disdaine;
And yet to adde some fame unto this story,
We will bequeath them Erostratus glory.

Nor have our old men left that humour yet,
For though through feeblenesse they are unfit
To put in practice their old tricks againe:
Yet for to shew they like them and would faine;
They'l often with a lie or two recite them;
And the remembrance doth so much delight them,
That whereas they ought rather to repent,
And with a grieved heart for to lament
Their former folly; they with joy and laughter
Seeme to approv't in those that shall come after.

There's yet another crew, my Muse well knowes,
To whom she here a Memorandum owes,
Although no commendations; for they are
But busie fellowes, and do boldly dare
Take on them in their comments, forth to finde
The secret meaning of each Authors minde;

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And do apply that, in particular,
Which doth extend to all ingenerall:
And in this little Booke perhaps, they can
Say, here I meant one, there another man;
And by their names they will not stick to shew them
When as perhaps I nere so much as knew them.
So from my honest meaning they will reare them
A slander for some private grudge they beare them.

But though these are so bold, yet I beleeve,
Or hope at least, no men of wisdome give
Credit to any such interpretations,
That are but idle false imaginations;
Sith each of these what stile soe'er he crave,
Doth shew himselfe presumptuous foole and knave.

But here all you that are quite voide of care,
What you presume in: chiefly you that dare,
Mauger Gods threats, goe forward to fulfill
Your naughty, rash, unbridled haire-braine will:
As if you thought that you your selves made all,
And that indeed there were no God at all.
Know this, ere long time it shall come to passe,
That you shall howling fit and cry, alas:
Cursing your birth and miserable state,
With sad repentance when it is too late,
Vnlesse you now take time. Oh wormes! oh men!
Forsake your follies, oh forsake them then.
What will ye doe else when once seaz'd by death,
Ready to draw the latest gaspe of breath;
When as you are so weake that you would faine
But cannot move your tongues for to complaine
What would you doe if then there should appeare
The Authors of most miserable feare,
Your guilty consciences, and there unroule
To your remembrances the dreadfull scroule

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Of your presumptions? and withall present
A vision of th' infernall punishment,
Prepar'd for such; and if in that bad case
You should behold him you esteem'd so base
Sit with such power, that at each frown he makes
The earth doth tremble, and the heaven shakes:
What would you doe? oh any thing: I'm sure
No paine there is but you would then endure
To scape his wrath (if you doe not despaire)
Then will you beg, intreat, and promise faire
Or any thing, if so it were you might,
Returne to life againe; then would you quite
Alter your doeings; then forsooth you'l be
A patterne unto all posterity;
You would be humble, meeke, devout and chaste:
But now there's time, and then it may be past.

Yet I my selfe have heard those that have vow'd
Much in their anguish, and God hath allow'd
A longer time, yea, hath vouchsaf'd to save
And give them life againe, e'en at the grave:
And yet have these forgot their former paine,
And turn'd unto their owne ill-waies againe:
Which having seene, this for us men I'l speake,
Not without griefe, though nothing be so weake:
Yet are we in our owne conceipts so tall,
That for presumption we doe out-passe all:
And if so be that this same hardning sin
Doe seaze upon the heart once, and get in;
My minde is this, 'twill ne'er be purg'd thence well,
No, not with all the feares and pangs of Hell.

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EPILOGVS.

So in some measure I have now made knowne
What foule Abuses Time to me hath showne;
And what Man is, I have explain'd some crimes
That I have noted in these present times.
Then though I have by some beene counted idle,
This shewes I have not given Time the bridle
To runne away unmannag'd; but did use it
Then best; when I most seemed to abuse it.

Here sinfull man thou maist behold in part
Thy miserable estate and what thou art.
Thy Passions; thy vanities here see,
In part (I say) for all there cannot be:
Thy waverings and thy frailties I've explain'd,
With thy presumption and have nothing fain'd.
If thou hast read it then I hope thou know'st,
Though thou seem'st bad, thou worse art then thou show'st
And I doe trust thy wretchednesse espide,
Will quell thy most intolerable pride.

I mus'd a while thou wert so prone to sinning,
But 'twas thy fault I see from the beginning:
And as the Lord himselfe once said, so still,
Th' imaginations of thy heart are ill.
That's one maine cause; then to performe an evill,
Thou hast the pronenesse of the flesh; the Divell;

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With bad examples for thy instigation;
Besides in ill the Worlds rash approbation.

But yet would I not have thee think (oh man!)
That I with Tymon the Athenian,
Desire to make thee so much feele: by woe,
To goe and hang thy selfe; I meane not so,
Nor seeke to drive thee thereby to despaire,
'Tis not my purpose my intent's more faire.
This I would have thee doe, sith flesh is fraile,
And Satan will be busie to prevaile,
With heed and care watch over thy affection,
And in thy doings follow this direction.

First, see if't be thy flesh that mooves thee to
Those things thou art so oft about to do.
Next, to consider well it doth behove thee,
What kind of men they are that doe approve thee.
For true it is, (as I have oft beene taught)
What flesh desires and most approves is naught.
And sith to thrust thee forward unto evill,
Thou hast an ill heart, proud flesh, and the devill,
With bad example; learne (oh man) to season
Thy heart with sacred thoughts, with truth and reason
Thy flesh with labour, and with fasting, tame,
And 'twill not be so subject unto blame.
Prevent the divels baits and his temptations
With earnest prayers and good Meditations:
And see thou heed to thy companions giv'st,
Sith thou wilt be as those with whom thou liv'st;
Yea, sith thou art so subject unto sin,
Shun all occasions that may draw thee in.

So when thy God shall see thou hast a will,
And truly dost desire to mend what's ill;
He will accept it (for his sonnes deere sake)
And thee more willing and more able make.

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Yea, should thy sinnes more red than scarlet grow,
Yet he would make them whiter than the snow.
Thy now black soule (were it thrice more defil'd)
As innocent as is the new-borne child:
And thy most miserable body farre
More glorious than is the brightest Starre.
But if thou, without care or heed, dost leane
Vnto those lusts of flesh that are uncleane,
If thou take pleasure and delight to doe them,
Quite giving over thy desires unto them,
They both in soule and body too, will make thee
So foule a Leper that God will forsake thee;
His holy Angels and his Saints abhorre thee,
And onely devils make entreaty for thee;
Yea, thou shalt in Gehynnon, waile with them,
That are excluded new Ierusalem.

The end of the second Book.