Bosworth-field With a Taste of the Variety of Other Poems, Left by Sir John Beaumont ... Set Forth by his Sonne, Sir Iohn Beaumont |
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Horat. Lib. 2. Sat. 6.
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Horat. Lib. 2. Sat. 6.
This was my wish: no ample space of ground,T'include my Garden with a mod rate bound,
And neere my house a Fountaine neuer dry,
A little VVood, which might my wants supply,
The gods haue made me blest with larger store:
It is sufficient, I desire no more,
O sonne of Maia, but this grant alone,
That quiet vse may make these gifts mine owne.
If I increase them by no lawlesse way,
Nor through my fault will cause them to decay.
If not to these fond hopes my thoughts decline,
O that this ioyning corner could be mine,
VVhich with disgrace deformes, and maimes my sield,
Or Fortune would a pot of siluer yeeld,
(As vnto him who being hir'd to worke,
Discouer'd treasure, which in mold did lurke,
And bought the Land, which he before had till'd,
Since friendly Hercules his bosome fill'd)
If I with thankfull minde these blessings take,
Disdaine not this petition which I make.
Let sat in all things, but my wit, be seene,
And be my safest guard as thou hast been.
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Vp to the hills, as to a towre aboue,
I find no fitter labours, nor delights
Then Satyres, which my lowly Muse indites.
No foule ambition can me there expose
To danger, nor the leaden wind that blowes
From Southerne parts, nor Autumnes grieuous raine,
Whence bitter Libitina reapes her gaine.
O father of the mornings purple light!
Or if thou rather would'st be Ianus hight,
From whose diuine beginning, mortalls draw
The paines of life, according to the law,
Which is appointed by the Gods decree,
Thou shalt the entrance of my verses be.
At Rome thou driu'st me, as a pledge to goe,
That none himselfe may more officious show.
Although the fury of the Northerne blast
Shall sweepe the earth; or Winter force hath cast
The snowy day, into a narrow Sphere,
I must proceede, and hauing spoken cleare
And certaine truth, must wrestle in the throng,
Where by my haste, the slower suffer wrong,
And crie, VVhat ayles the mad man? whither tend
His speedy steps? while mine imperious frend
Intreates, and chafes, admitting no delay,
And I must beate all those, that stop my way.
The glad remembrance of Mecænas lends
A sweete content: but when my iourney bends,
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Of strangers causes presse my head and sides.
You must, before the second houre, appeare
In Court to morrow, and for Roscius sweare.
The Scribes desire you would to them repaire,
About a publike, great, and new affaire,
Procure such fauour, from Mecænas hand,
As that his seale may on this paper stand.
I answer, I will trie: he vrgeth still,
I know you can performe it if you will
Seu'n yeeres are fled, the eighth is almost gone,
Since first Mecænas tooke me for his owne,
That I with him might in his chariot sit,
And onely then would to my trust commit
Such toyes as these: what is the time of day?
The Thracian is the Syrians match in play.
Now carelesse men are nipt with morning cold:
And words which open eares may safely hold.
In all this space for eu'ry day and houre
I grew more subiect to pale enuies pow'r
This sonne of Fortune to the Stage resorts,
And with the fau'rite in the field disports.
Fame from the pulpits runnes through eu'ry streete,
And I am strictly askt by all I meete:
Good Sir (you needes must know, for you are neare
Vnto the Gods) doe you no tidings heare
Concerning Dacian troubles? Nothing I.
You allwayes loue your friends with scoffes to try,
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But where will Cæsar giue his souldiers ground,
In Italie, or the Trinacrian Ile?
I sweare I know not, they admire the while,
And thinke me full of silence, graue and deepe,
The onely man that should high secrets keepe,
For these respects (poore wretch) I lose the light,
And longing thus repine: when shall my sight
Againe bee happy in beholding thee
My countrey farme? or when shall I be free
To reade in bookes what ancient writers speake,
To rest in sleepe, which others may not breake,
To taste (in houres secure from courtly strife)
The soft obliuion of a carefull life?
O when shall beanes vpon my boord appeare,
Which wise Pythagoras esteem'd so deare?
Or when shall fatnesse of the Lard anoint
The herbes, which for my table I appoint?
O suppers of the Gods! O nights diuine!
When I before our Lar might feast with mine,
And feede my prating slaues with tasted meate,
As eu'ry one should haue desire to eate.
The frolike guest not bound with heauy lawes,
The liquor from vnequall measures drawes:
Some being strong delight in larger draughts,
Some call for lesser cups to cleere their thoughts.
Of others house and lands no speaches grow,
Nor whether Lepos danceth well or no.
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Which not to know would be a sinfull staine.
Are men by riches or by vertue blest?
Of friendships ends is vse or right the best?
Of good what is the nature, what excells?
My neighbour Ceruius old wiues fables tells,
When any one Arellius wealth admires,
And little knowes what troubles it requires.
He thus beginnes: Long since a countrey Mouse
Receau'd into his low and homely house
A Citty Mouse, his friend and guest before;
The host was sharpe and sparing of his store,
Yet much to hospitality inclin'd:
For such occasions could dilate his mind.
He Chiches giues for winter layd aside,
Nor are the long and slender Otes deny'd:
Dry Grapes he in his lib'rall mouth doth beare,
And bits of Bacon which halfe eaten were:
With various meates to please the strangers pride,
Whose dainty teeth through all the dishes slide.
The Father of the family in straw
Lies stretcht along, disdaigning not to gnaw
Base corne or darnell, and reserues the best,
To make a perfect banquet for his guest.
To him at last the Citizen thus spake,
My friend, I muse what pleasure thou canst take,
Or how thou canst endure to spend thy time
In shady Groues, and vp steepe hills to clime.
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Goe to the City, there to dwell with men.
Begin this happy iourney, trust to me,
I will thee guide, thou shalt my fellow be.
Since earthly things are ty'd to mortall liues,
And eu'ry great, and little creature striues,
In vaine the certaine stroke of death to flie,
Stay not till moments past thy ioyes denie.
Liue in rich plenty, and perpetuall sport:
Liue euer mindfull, that thine age is short.
The rauisht field-mouse holds these words so sweet
That from his home he leapes with nimble feet.
They to the Citie trauaile with delight,
And vnderneath the walles they creepe at night.
Now darkenesse had possest heau'ns middle space,
VVhen these two friends their weary steps did place
VVithin a wealthy Palace, where was spred
A scarlet cou'ring on an Iu'ry bed:
The baskets (set farre off aside) contain'd
The meates, which after plenteous meales remain'd
The Citie Mouse with courtly phrase intreates
His Country friend to rest in purple seates;
VVith ready care the Master of the feast
Runnes vp and downe to see the store increast:
He all the duties of a seruant showes,
And tastes of eu'ry dish, that he bestowes.
The poore plaine Mouse, exalted thus in state,
Glad of the change, his former life doth hate,
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With what contentment he receiues this fare.
But straight the sudden creaking of a doore
Shakes both these Mice from beds into the floore.
They runne about the roome halfe dead with feare,
Through all the house the noise of dogs they heare.
The stranger now counts not the place so good,
He bids farewell, and saith, The silent VVood
Shall me hereafter from these dangers saue,
VVell pleas'd with simple Vetches in my Caue.
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