The works of Sr William Davenant ... Consisting of Those which were formerly Printed, and Those which he design'd for the Press: Now published Out of the Authors Originall Copies |
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A Journey into Worcestershire.
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 | The works of Sr William Davenant |  |
A Journey into Worcestershire.
These who (if kinder Destinies shall please)May all dye rich, though they love Wit and ease;
And I, whom some odd hum'rous Planets bid
To register the doughty acts they did,
Took horse; leaving ith'Town, ill Plays, sowre Wines
Fierce Serjeants and the plague; besides of mine
An Ethnick Taylor too, that was far worse
Than these, or what just Heaven did ever curse.
Scarce was the busie City left behind,
But from the South arose a busier Winde;
Which sent us so much raine, each man did wish,
His Hands and Legs were Finnes, his Horse a Fish,
Dull as a thick-skull'd-Justice, drunk with Sloth;
Or Alderman, (far gone in Capon broth)
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But like a silent Traytor in a Vault,
Digg'd on our way; or as we Traytors were
T'our selves, and jealous of each others Eare:
And as i'th Worlds great Showre, some that did spie
(Hors'd on the Plaines) Rivers, and Seas drew nigh;
Spurr'd on apace; in fear all lost their time,
That could not reach a ground where they might climbe;
So we did never think us safe, until
We had attain'd the Top o'th first high Hill:
And now it clear'd so to my travail'd Eie,
Looks a round yellow Dane, when he doth spie
Neer his puissant Arme, a boule so full,
That it may fill his Bladder, and his skull,
As Phoebus at this moysture falne; who laught,
To see such plenty for his morning draught:
But like Chamelions Colours that decay
But seemingly to give new colours way;
So our false griefs, had not themselves outworn,
But step'd aside, to vary in returne.
Bear witness World! for now my tir'd Horse stood,
As I, a Vaulter were, and he were Wood:
As if some Student fierce, the day before
Had spur'd his full half Crown from him, or more.
Endimion cryes away! what make we here?
To draw a Map, or gather Juniper?
More cruel then Shrove-Prentices, when they
(Drunk in a Brothel House) are bid to pay;
Or than the Bawd at Sessions, to that vilde
Indicted Rout, which first her House until'de,
Is now the Captaine, who laughing swore; thus,
Each puny Poet rides his Pegasus.
But what's the cause my Lord spurs on amaine,
As if t'outride a Tartar, not the Raine;
Some such swift Tartar as might safely say,
To an inviting friend, that tempts his stay;
Farewell, thou seest the Sun declin'd long since,
And I'm to sup a Hundred miles from hence.
My Lord (methought) as he had thought this same,
Rod post, to eat that supper ere he came.
And now, my Mule moves too; but with such speed,
As Pris'ners to a Psalme, that cannot read:
Yet we reach'd Wickham, with the early night:
Which to describe to Eares, or draw to sight;
For scituation, or for forme, for height,
For strength, or magnitude, (would in good faith)
But stale the price o'th Map, small credit be
T'our Poem, less to our Geographie:
Or as your riding Academicks use,
To toyle, and vex, a long fed mutton-Muse,
With taking the circumference of mine Host,
Of his Wives sumitrie, were time worst lost;
Since nor Taurentius, nor Van-dike, have yet
Command to draw them for the King in great.
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Gave to the pallat of each Ear a Feast;
With joy of pledges made our sowre wind sweet,
And nymble as the leaping juyce of Crete;
Was brave Endimion, whose triumphs clear,
From cruel Tyranny, or too nice fear;
Having wit still ready, and no huge sinne
To cause a sadness that might keep it in,
Let fly at all; the shafts were keene; and when
They miss'd to pierce, he strongly drew agen.
But sleep, whom Constables obey, though they
Have twenty Bills to keep him off till day:
Sleep, whom th'high tun'd Cloth-worker, Weaver call,
Nor Cobler shril, with Catches or his Aule,
Knowes to resist, seal'd up our lips, and sight;
Making us blind, and silent as the Night.
Our other Sallies, and th'adventures we
Achiev'd, deserve new braine, new Historie.
| The works of Sr William Davenant | |