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 |
 |
|
| 1. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 3. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
Canto the Second. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3-4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
 | The works of Sr William Davenant |  |
Canto the Second.
So runs the nible Snaile, in slimy track,
Hast'ning with all his Tenement on's back,
And so, on goodly Cabidge leafe, the fleet,
Swift-Caterpiller moves with eager feet,
As this sad Courtier now; whose mighty Steed
May for an easie amble, or for speed,
Compare with gentle Bull in Yoke: But O!
Here now begins a Canticle of woe!
Chide cruel Fate, whose business in the Spheares,
Wise Jeffery notes, is but to cause our Teares:
Their rule, and pow'r (quoth he) is understood,
More in the harm they do us, than the good:
And this he said, because he scarce had driven
Along that Coast, the length of Inches seven,
But down his Izeland fell; some Authors say
A burley Oake, lay there disguis'd in's way;
Others a Rush; and from report, his steed
Did stumble, at the splinter of a Reed;
And some (far more authentick) say agin,
'Twas at a haire, that drop'd some humane chin?
But though, the Sage Historians are at strife,
How to resolve this point, his Coursers life
They hold lost in the fall, whilst the discreet
Jeffery was forc'd, to wander on his Feet.
Old wives, that saw the sorrows of this Spy,
Their wither'd Lips (thinner then lids of Eye)
Strait opened wide; and tickled with his wrongs;
Did laugh, as if t'were lech'ry to their Lungs:
And Diego too, whose grave, and solemn Brow,
Was ever knit, grew loud, and wanton now:
O for a Guard (quoth he) of Switzers here,
To heave that Giant up! but come not near:
For now enrag'd, he may perchance so tosse us,
As you would think, you toucht alive Colossus!
This Jeffery heard; and it did stir his Gall,
More than his Coursers death, or his own fall.
Hast'ning with all his Tenement on's back,
And so, on goodly Cabidge leafe, the fleet,
Swift-Caterpiller moves with eager feet,
As this sad Courtier now; whose mighty Steed
May for an easie amble, or for speed,
Compare with gentle Bull in Yoke: But O!
Here now begins a Canticle of woe!
Chide cruel Fate, whose business in the Spheares,
Wise Jeffery notes, is but to cause our Teares:
227
More in the harm they do us, than the good:
And this he said, because he scarce had driven
Along that Coast, the length of Inches seven,
But down his Izeland fell; some Authors say
A burley Oake, lay there disguis'd in's way;
Others a Rush; and from report, his steed
Did stumble, at the splinter of a Reed;
And some (far more authentick) say agin,
'Twas at a haire, that drop'd some humane chin?
But though, the Sage Historians are at strife,
How to resolve this point, his Coursers life
They hold lost in the fall, whilst the discreet
Jeffery was forc'd, to wander on his Feet.
Old wives, that saw the sorrows of this Spy,
Their wither'd Lips (thinner then lids of Eye)
Strait opened wide; and tickled with his wrongs;
Did laugh, as if t'were lech'ry to their Lungs:
And Diego too, whose grave, and solemn Brow,
Was ever knit, grew loud, and wanton now:
O for a Guard (quoth he) of Switzers here,
To heave that Giant up! but come not near:
For now enrag'd, he may perchance so tosse us,
As you would think, you toucht alive Colossus!
This Jeffery heard; and it did stir his Gall,
More than his Coursers death, or his own fall.
Sorrowes that hasten to us, are but slow,
In their departure, as the learn'd may know
By this sad story, since new cause was given;
For which our deep Platonick questions Heaven.
O cruel Starres! (quoth he) will you still so
Officious be, to trouble us below?
'Tis said your care doth govern us, d'ye call
That care, to let Ambassadors thus fall?
Nay, and permit worse dangers to ensue?
Though all your rule, and influence be true;
I had as leefe (since mortals thus you handle)
Be govern'd by the influence of a Candle.
This he had cause to say; for now behold
A Foule of spatious wings bloody, and bold
In his aspect; haughty in gate, and stiffe on
His large spread Claves he stood, as any Griffon:
Though by a kind, a Turkey; whose plot that way
Was like a subtile Scowt to watch for prey;
Such as is blown about by ev'ry wind:
But here's the dire mistake; this Foule (half blinde)
At Jefferey pecks, and with intent to eat
Him up, instead of a large graine of Wheat:
Jefferey in mighty rage ne're thinks upon't,
As th' Turkeys hunger, but as an affront.
His sword he drew; a better none alive
E're got from Spanish Foe, for Shillings Five,
And now the Battaile doth begin: sound high
Your Oaten Reeds, t' encourage Victorie!
Strike up the wrathful Tabor! and the Githern;
The loud Jew's-trump! and Spirit-stirring-Cittherne!
Jeffery the bold, as if he had o'reheard
These Instruments of War, his Arme uprear'd,
Then cryes St. George for England! and with that word
He mischief'd (what I pray?) nought but his sword:
Though some report, he noch'd the Foes left wing;
And Poets too who faithfully did sing
This Battaile in Low-Dutch, till of a few
Small Feathers there, which at the first charge flew
About the field; but do not strictly know
That they were shed by fury of that blow.
This they affirme; the Turkey in his look
Express'd how much, he it unkindly took
That wanting food; our Jeffery would not let him,
Enjoy a while the priviledge to eat him:
His Tayle he spreads, jets back; then turns agen;
And fought, as if, for th'honour of his Hen:
Jeffery retorts each stroke; and then cryes, Mauger
Thy strength, I will dissect thee like an Augure!
But who of mortal race deserves to write
The next encounter in this bloody fight?
Wisely didst thou (O Poet of Anchusin;)
Stay here thy Pen, and leur thy eager Muse in;
Envoking Mars, some half an houre at least,
To help thy fury onward with the rest:
For Jefferey strait was throwne; whilst faint and weak,
The cruel Foe, assaults him with his Beak,
A Lady-Midwife now, he there by chance
Espy'd, that came along with him from France:
A heart nours'd up in War; that n're before
This time (quoth he) could bow, now doth implore:
Thou that delivered'st hast so many, be
So kinde of nature, to deliver me!
But stay: for though the learn'd Chronologer
Of Dunkerk, doth confess him freed by her;
The subt'ler Poets yet, whom we translate
In all this Epick Ode, do not relate
The manner how; and we are loth at all
To vary from the Dutch Original.
Deeds they report, of greater height than these;
Wonders and truth; which if the Court-wits please,
A little help from Nature, lesse from Art,
May happily produce in a Third part.
In their departure, as the learn'd may know
By this sad story, since new cause was given;
For which our deep Platonick questions Heaven.
O cruel Starres! (quoth he) will you still so
Officious be, to trouble us below?
'Tis said your care doth govern us, d'ye call
That care, to let Ambassadors thus fall?
Nay, and permit worse dangers to ensue?
Though all your rule, and influence be true;
I had as leefe (since mortals thus you handle)
Be govern'd by the influence of a Candle.
This he had cause to say; for now behold
A Foule of spatious wings bloody, and bold
In his aspect; haughty in gate, and stiffe on
His large spread Claves he stood, as any Griffon:
Though by a kind, a Turkey; whose plot that way
Was like a subtile Scowt to watch for prey;
Such as is blown about by ev'ry wind:
But here's the dire mistake; this Foule (half blinde)
At Jefferey pecks, and with intent to eat
Him up, instead of a large graine of Wheat:
Jefferey in mighty rage ne're thinks upon't,
As th' Turkeys hunger, but as an affront.
His sword he drew; a better none alive
E're got from Spanish Foe, for Shillings Five,
228
Your Oaten Reeds, t' encourage Victorie!
Strike up the wrathful Tabor! and the Githern;
The loud Jew's-trump! and Spirit-stirring-Cittherne!
Jeffery the bold, as if he had o'reheard
These Instruments of War, his Arme uprear'd,
Then cryes St. George for England! and with that word
He mischief'd (what I pray?) nought but his sword:
Though some report, he noch'd the Foes left wing;
And Poets too who faithfully did sing
This Battaile in Low-Dutch, till of a few
Small Feathers there, which at the first charge flew
About the field; but do not strictly know
That they were shed by fury of that blow.
This they affirme; the Turkey in his look
Express'd how much, he it unkindly took
That wanting food; our Jeffery would not let him,
Enjoy a while the priviledge to eat him:
His Tayle he spreads, jets back; then turns agen;
And fought, as if, for th'honour of his Hen:
Jeffery retorts each stroke; and then cryes, Mauger
Thy strength, I will dissect thee like an Augure!
But who of mortal race deserves to write
The next encounter in this bloody fight?
Wisely didst thou (O Poet of Anchusin;)
Stay here thy Pen, and leur thy eager Muse in;
Envoking Mars, some half an houre at least,
To help thy fury onward with the rest:
For Jefferey strait was throwne; whilst faint and weak,
The cruel Foe, assaults him with his Beak,
A Lady-Midwife now, he there by chance
Espy'd, that came along with him from France:
A heart nours'd up in War; that n're before
This time (quoth he) could bow, now doth implore:
Thou that delivered'st hast so many, be
So kinde of nature, to deliver me!
But stay: for though the learn'd Chronologer
Of Dunkerk, doth confess him freed by her;
The subt'ler Poets yet, whom we translate
In all this Epick Ode, do not relate
The manner how; and we are loth at all
To vary from the Dutch Original.
Deeds they report, of greater height than these;
Wonders and truth; which if the Court-wits please,
A little help from Nature, lesse from Art,
May happily produce in a Third part.
| The works of Sr William Davenant | |