University of Virginia Library

A defence of Curiosity: an unsetled mind in unseled times; to weak Calumnie and proud ignorance.

The world is but a Theater of ill;
Knaves, Fools, and madmen do the stage up fill;
Religion the vizard is which most put on
To act their parts; parts done, the vizards gone.
Which mimick gesture, and affected tone,
Few personate the part that is their own.
The shriveld's old wretch, acts the Gyants part:
And the pent scul must th' magazine be of art.
He's more then an Apollo that can show,
T'en talk, preach, scribe of the things they know.
For birds sure 'tis strange happinesse to be hedg'd,
There chirp and make a noise, before thei'r fledg'd;
What though to pillory'd truth I rescue go,
I this day books, the next I men would know;
Undo my self lest I might be undone;
There's Parthian like by flight, some victory won.
What though I laugh at all, all laugh me:
Democritus blind, more then an age could see.
Eyes bloodshot red, Ictericks yellow spy;
VVho thinks the stars twinckle, 'tis his own weak eie,
Thus I read men and books, and have a key
To each mans breasts, which is my Library.
All natures giddy imperfections read
Me lectures, and confirm in virtues Creed.
More then the gam'ster, sees the stander by;
This lifes an art of casting of the die:
The world's the Inne, in which the cheaters meet,
Scarce life a passage hath without deceit.
If Proteus-like I each day vary shapes;
To learn their natures 'tis, not imitate apes.
Spunges with error swol'n I use to squeese,
To know their filth, not drink in their disease.
Though heat 'bove dogdaies revels in my blood
To quench the lust-scorch'd Lecher lend a flood.
Orecharg'd with liquor nere a spung can spy
That I with liquor want an orecharg'd eye.
Yet none lesse then a Merlin must I fall?
Fools bolts are soon shot, must they wound me all?
VVhen pride and folly do in judgement sit,
Can they vote lesse then treason in a wit?
See the silly herd of animals raise a cry!
Are pleas'd with th' noise they make, yet know not why;
The birds which do in fortunes sunshine play,
A storm impending, Croak and fly away.
Dogs which with clamor flying heels pursue,
Turn and their tails shall complement with you.
I change my friend, oft as I change my cloths;
Who'd not love rags, which thus can take these moths.
VVho's gay without, thought only rich within;
Knowledge and follies shrine's no veniall sin.
Plato's to me for all hence giddy croud,
Under whose wings folly must onely shroud.
Vant wretch, whom nature hudled up in hast,
And all thy wisdom in thy riches plac'd;
At knowledge tryal let her have her peers;
Know justice some paint blind, none without ears.
VVould you in long Coats have all peep up sages;
In gravity and wisdom bafling ages?
I am too wise already, if that you
To understand me gain not wisdom to.
Plato's a friend, and Socrates is one,
But truth is more a friend, who leaves me none.
Could Bias that was wise deformed be?
Or could be poor, that had Philosophie?
Empedocles knowledge would to Heav'n ally;
I'l into stars for new alliance pry.
Yet Thales-like, while I the stars do view,
Not fall ith well, to make your proverbs true.
Plato saies, reason man discerns from beast;
Must, Gryphin-like, I gold pile in a nest?
VVhereof thou hast no use, wretch hoard up pelf:
He nothing hath, hath all, and not himself.
To's Son, if wise, the Cynick nothing gave;
Wisemen all natures treasuries open have.
What though a rouling stone gathers no mosse?
For to be clog'd with dirt's not gain, but losse.
I make the way to truth smooth, while I roul;
To keep dirt down, not gather'st use of soul,
The creeping things of th' world are all below
A wise mans thoughts, whose onely end's to know;
Not curious it desires, that he may know;
Nor vain to flash; and to the world it show.
Nor covetous knowledge doth for profit seek,
But edifie himself, and build up th' week;
Inth' Sea of th' world can he to steer right know,
Hath onely learn'd in some poor pond to row?
Thus a rash Pilot doth to Sea resort,
In winds, and waves of error to make sport;
While the wise balanc'd with a richer fraight,
'Gainst storms of errors, counterpois'd by weight.
He should be wise a troubled Sea must enter,
And well pois'd too all in one bark doth venter,
But oh ith' world no other art I find,
Beside the tacking round with every wind.