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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To him who Prophecy'd a Succesles end of the Parliament, in the Year 1630.
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 | The works of Sr William Davenant |  |
287
To him who Prophecy'd a Succesles end of the Parliament, in the Year 1630.
Frantick and foolish too! can any curse,
Which dying Men still give thee make thee worse?
Madmen sometimes on suddain flashes hit
Of Sence, which seem remote, and sound like Wit.
But thou, most piteously, art Madd and Dull:
Thy Braines did ly in parcels in thy Skull;
Then with a fright together clung, and lay
Like Curds, but now are melted into Whay.
Froward with Age, thou seem'st more hum'rous than
A begger'd Chymist, or rich Curtizan:
Thou strikst at publick peace, whilst thy chief care,
Has ever been to hide thy self in War.
And through defect of Courage dost present,
Thy false fear to the fearless Parliament,
Like him whose Quæries did some few distract;
Who were too wise to suffer, and too tame to act.
Keep in a Cage thy ever flying Fear;
Which Nests would build in ev'ry open Eare,
Or find out Men whose needless care contrives,
New slender paths through narrow Perspectives;
Where jealous sight draws smallest things from far,
To make them seem much greater than they are.
These Men would from the Bosome of the State
Chase Truth, or there distract her with debate.
Which dying Men still give thee make thee worse?
Madmen sometimes on suddain flashes hit
Of Sence, which seem remote, and sound like Wit.
But thou, most piteously, art Madd and Dull:
Thy Braines did ly in parcels in thy Skull;
Then with a fright together clung, and lay
Like Curds, but now are melted into Whay.
Froward with Age, thou seem'st more hum'rous than
A begger'd Chymist, or rich Curtizan:
Thou strikst at publick peace, whilst thy chief care,
Has ever been to hide thy self in War.
And through defect of Courage dost present,
Thy false fear to the fearless Parliament,
Like him whose Quæries did some few distract;
Who were too wise to suffer, and too tame to act.
Keep in a Cage thy ever flying Fear;
Which Nests would build in ev'ry open Eare,
Or find out Men whose needless care contrives,
New slender paths through narrow Perspectives;
Where jealous sight draws smallest things from far,
To make them seem much greater than they are.
These Men would from the Bosome of the State
Chase Truth, or there distract her with debate.
Canst thou believe, who dost a Storm foretell,
That it will come because thy passions swell?
The causes of a Storm thou dost mistake,
And only blow'st to make thine own cheecks ake.
He who esteems thy Northern Prophesie,
Does but encourage Fools to learn to lie.
Swet out thy Blood! in a hot Feaver vext,
By striving to interpret this dark Text.
Thou great Informer, canst thou hope I wou'd,
By dang'rous thee, be plainly understood;
Whom all, through all thy State disguises know;
Towards thee, Satyrick numbers must not flow,
Like Lovers Sonnets, in a soft smooth pace,
They must be rugged as thy Mistress face.
Whom with false prayses thou hast long bely'd.
I mount like Perseus when he did bestride
The Poets prancing Horse; who ambled not,
But roughly mov'd in this Majestick Trot.
That it will come because thy passions swell?
The causes of a Storm thou dost mistake,
And only blow'st to make thine own cheecks ake.
He who esteems thy Northern Prophesie,
Does but encourage Fools to learn to lie.
Swet out thy Blood! in a hot Feaver vext,
By striving to interpret this dark Text.
Thou great Informer, canst thou hope I wou'd,
By dang'rous thee, be plainly understood;
Whom all, through all thy State disguises know;
Towards thee, Satyrick numbers must not flow,
Like Lovers Sonnets, in a soft smooth pace,
They must be rugged as thy Mistress face.
Whom with false prayses thou hast long bely'd.
I mount like Perseus when he did bestride
The Poets prancing Horse; who ambled not,
But roughly mov'd in this Majestick Trot.
Why should this Wisard make with Prophecies,
The People fearful and their Rulers Wise?
Must all, like Ethnicks to this Divel bow?
Great Senate know, I am your Prophet now.
Since you may warm you at my Delphick flame,
Dismiss this common Messenger of Fame.
My Mistick art, with joy already findes,
The noble purpose of your mighty mindes.
You have of Monarchs wants a tender sence,
Meaning to shorten your Lov'd Eloquence;
And not the fulness of your Loves express,
By mourning for your Purses emptiness.
When Thrones are rich, the People richer grow;
As Rivers gain by Seas to which they flow.
And this the People quickly would believe,
But that their Oratours must them deceive:
Who Pyramids of Wit by talking raise;
Which last as seldom as the Peoples praise.
For though by help of ev'ry vulgar hand,
These Piles rise fast, yet they are made of Sand.
The People fearful and their Rulers Wise?
Must all, like Ethnicks to this Divel bow?
Great Senate know, I am your Prophet now.
Since you may warm you at my Delphick flame,
Dismiss this common Messenger of Fame.
My Mistick art, with joy already findes,
The noble purpose of your mighty mindes.
288
Meaning to shorten your Lov'd Eloquence;
And not the fulness of your Loves express,
By mourning for your Purses emptiness.
When Thrones are rich, the People richer grow;
As Rivers gain by Seas to which they flow.
And this the People quickly would believe,
But that their Oratours must them deceive:
Who Pyramids of Wit by talking raise;
Which last as seldom as the Peoples praise.
For though by help of ev'ry vulgar hand,
These Piles rise fast, yet they are made of Sand.
Look up! You Sons of mighty Ancestors!
Who never bownded were by their own shores.
Your fighting Fathers were abroad renown'd;
Their Kings in France, and distant Jewry crown'd.
See o're your Heads the Western Eagle fly;
First towring up, then compassing the Sky.
Unless our Royal Falcon strait prepare,
To struggle with him in his Native Ayre,
He will inlarge his growth, new imp his VVings;
And make the Hague an Hospital for Kings.
Who never bownded were by their own shores.
Your fighting Fathers were abroad renown'd;
Their Kings in France, and distant Jewry crown'd.
See o're your Heads the Western Eagle fly;
First towring up, then compassing the Sky.
Unless our Royal Falcon strait prepare,
To struggle with him in his Native Ayre,
He will inlarge his growth, new imp his VVings;
And make the Hague an Hospital for Kings.
| The works of Sr William Davenant | |