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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Per. Sat. 2.
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Per. Sat. 2.
Macrinus , let this happy day be knowneAs white, and noted with a better stone,
Which to thine age doth sliding yeeres combine:
Before thy Genius powre forth cups of wine,
Thy pray'rs expect no base and greedy end,
Which to the gods thou closely must commend:
Though most of those whom honours lift on high,
In all their offrings silent Incense frie,
All from the Temple are not apt to take
Soft lowly sounds, and open vowes to make.
The gifts of minde, fame, faith he vtters cleare,
That strangers may farre off his wishes heare:
But this he mumbles vnderneath his tongue;
O that mine Vnkles death expected long,
Would bring a fun'rall which no cost shall lacke!
Ō that a pot of siluer once would cracke
Beneath my harrow by Alcides sent!
Or that I could the Orphanes hopes preuent,
To whom I am next heire, and must succeed!
(Since swelling humours in his body breed,
Which threaten oft the shortnesse of his life.)
How blest is Nerius, thrice to change his wife!
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(When first the morning hath her mantle spred)
Is dipt so many times in Tibers streames,
VVhere running waters purge the nightly dreames.
I thus demand: in answer be not slow,
It is not much that I desire to know:
Of Ioue what think'st thou? if thy iudgement can
Esteeme him iuster then a mortall man?
Then Staius? doubt'st thou which of these is best
To iudge aright the fatherlesse opprest?
The speech with which thine impious wishes dare
Prophane Ioues cares, to Staius now declare:
O Ioue, O good Ioue, he will straight exclaime,
And shall not Ioue crie out on his owne name?
For pardon canst thou hope, because the Oke
Is sooner by the sacred Brimstone broke,
When Thunder teares the Ayre, then thou and thine,
Because thou ly'st not, as a dismall signe
In Woods, while entrailes, and Ergennaes Art,
Bid all from thy sad carkase to depart,
Will therefore Ioue his foolish beard extend,
For thee to pull? what treasure canst thou spend
To make the eares of Gods, by purchase thine?
Can lights and bowels bribe the pow'rs diuine?
Some Grandame, or religious Aunt, whose ioy
Is from the cradle to take out the Boy,
In lustrall spittle her long finger dips,
And expiates his forhead and his lips.
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Then in her armes she dandles him, and sends
Her slender hope, which humble vowes propound
To Crassus house, or to Licinius ground.
Let Kings and Queenes wish him their sonne in law;
Let all the wenches him in pieces draw;
May eu'ry stalke of grasse on which he goes,
Be soone transform'd into a fragrant Rose.
No such request to Nurses I allow,
Ioue (though she pray in white) refuse her vow,
Thou would'st firme sinewes haue, a body strong,
Which may in age continue able long,
But thy grosse meates, and ample dishes stay
The gods from granting this, and Ioue delay.
With hope to raise thy wealth, thou kill'st an Oxe,
Inuoking Hermes: blesse my house and flockes.
How can it be (vaine foole) when in the fires
The melted fat of many Steeres expires?
Yet still thou think'st to ouercome at last,
While many offrings in the flame are cast;
Now shall my fields be large, my sheepe increase;
Now it will come, now, now; nor wilt thou cease,
Vntill deceiu'd, and in thy hopes deprest,
Thou sigh'st to see the bottome of thy chest,
When I to thee haue cups of siluer brought,
Or gifts in solid golden metall wrought,
The left side of thy brest will dropping sweate,
And full of ioy thy trembling heart will beate.
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Thou do'st the faces of the gods adorne,
Among the brazen brethren they that send
Those dreames, where euill humours least extend,
The highest place in mens affections hold,
And for their care receiue a beard of gold:
The glorious name of gold hath put away
The vse of Saturnes brasse, and Numaes clay.
This glitt'ring pride to richer substance turnes
The Tuscan earthen pots, and vestall vrnes.
O crooked soules, declining to the earth,
Whose empty thoughts forget their heau'nly birth:
What end, what profit haue we, when we striue
Our manners to the Temples to deriue?
Can we suppose, that to the gods we bring
Some pleasing good for this corrupted Spring?
This flesh, which Casia doth dissolue and spoyle,
And with that mixture taints the natiue oyle:
This boyles the fish with purple liquor full,
And staines the whitenesse of Calabrian wooll.
This from the shell scrapes out the Pearle, and straines
From raw rude earth the feruent Metals veines.
This sinnes, it sinnes, yet makes some vse of vice:
But tell me, ye great Flamins, can the price
Raise Gold to more account in holy things,
Then Babies, which the maide to Uenus brings?
Nay rather let vs yeeld the gods such gifts,
As great Messallaes off-spring neuer lifts,
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Because degen'rate from his noble race:
A soule, where iust, and pious thoughts are chain'd;
A mind, whose secret corners are vnstain'd:
A brest, in which all gen'rous vertues lie,
And paint it with a neuer-fading die.
Thus to the Temples let me come with zeale,
The gods will heare me, though I offer meale.
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