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 the Duke of Richmond, in the Year 1639.
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 | The works of Sr William Davenant |  |
To the Duke of Richmond, in the Year 1639.
My Lord,
The Court does seem a Ship, where all are still,
Busie by office, or imploy'd for skill;
And active grow through stirring hope or fear:
For Courts breed stormes, and stormes are lasting there.
VVhere he that feeds a wild ambitious spirit,
And nourishes desires above his merit,
Is lost when he imagines to prevail;
Because his little ship bears too much sayl:
VVhilst cunning Statesmen (safe from envious checks)
Move carelesly, as Seamen walk on Decks;
VVearing their faces often to the VVest,
VVhen bownd and sayling to the rising East.
Busie by office, or imploy'd for skill;
And active grow through stirring hope or fear:
For Courts breed stormes, and stormes are lasting there.
VVhere he that feeds a wild ambitious spirit,
And nourishes desires above his merit,
Is lost when he imagines to prevail;
Because his little ship bears too much sayl:
VVhilst cunning Statesmen (safe from envious checks)
Move carelesly, as Seamen walk on Decks;
VVearing their faces often to the VVest,
VVhen bownd and sayling to the rising East.
And in the Court, as in a Ship we find,
That in some factious sodain VVar of VVind,
The very Ballast we were poized by,
(VVeighty Discretion and Integrity,
The helps which Time and Nature best afford)
VVe for our safety, oft throw over-Board.
That in some factious sodain VVar of VVind,
The very Ballast we were poized by,
(VVeighty Discretion and Integrity,
The helps which Time and Nature best afford)
VVe for our safety, oft throw over-Board.
And, as in Ships, so when the Storm grows high
At Court, we oft on Couz'ning Hope rely;
Our Anchor in uncertain Quick-Sands cast,
VVhere wanting steady hold to make it fast,
The Anchor Hope (alas) we vainly spend,
Like men expos'd to trust a faithless friend.
At Court, we oft on Couz'ning Hope rely;
Our Anchor in uncertain Quick-Sands cast,
VVhere wanting steady hold to make it fast,
The Anchor Hope (alas) we vainly spend,
Like men expos'd to trust a faithless friend.
Informers are the Pumps, which useful grow,
By voyding ills that secretly o'reflow;
On whose distastful mischiefs Pow'r must wink,
And still endure them active though they stink.
By voyding ills that secretly o'reflow;
On whose distastful mischiefs Pow'r must wink,
And still endure them active though they stink.
And, as in Ships, so in a Palace all,
Proceed by Aids that are collateral.
The way to highest Pow'r is still oblique;
VVhich when we strive to move, we, Seamen-like,
Must hand a lesser string, untill it stir
A distant Cord which does our force prefer,
Whilst Money, like the Boatsens whistle, calls,
Each helper till through haste most hazard falls.
Proceed by Aids that are collateral.
The way to highest Pow'r is still oblique;
VVhich when we strive to move, we, Seamen-like,
Must hand a lesser string, untill it stir
A distant Cord which does our force prefer,
294
Each helper till through haste most hazard falls.
But this great Ship, the Court, takes dayly in
Poor Traficquers who with small Stocks begin:
They Trade with Fortune, and her false VVares buy:
One of this slight neglected Crowd am I.
My little venture I saw safely stow'd:
Both VVind and Tyde serv'd outward from the Road;
But making way, and bearing ev'ry Sayle,
Proudly as if I still could chuse my Gale;
Strait I beheld (amaz'd as with a wrack)
The sheets all rumpled and the Cordage slack;
Sure some perverse and undiscover'd hand,
Pulls an odd Rope that by oblique Command,
Doth straine another, till by secret skill,
It makes a turning or a standing still.
But you, my noble Lord, (who sit so near
The busie Helm, and wisely help to steer)
Must be my princely Pilot, and you may,
Reform the ship till she can ride her way.
If then my Voyage prosper (though I am
Now hardly grown to bear a Factors name)
Yet who dares boldly doubt that I shall be,
In time a mighty Burgher of the Sea.
My Bark may Multiply, and grow a Fleet,
And I lay yearly Customs at your Feet.
Poor Traficquers who with small Stocks begin:
They Trade with Fortune, and her false VVares buy:
One of this slight neglected Crowd am I.
My little venture I saw safely stow'd:
Both VVind and Tyde serv'd outward from the Road;
But making way, and bearing ev'ry Sayle,
Proudly as if I still could chuse my Gale;
Strait I beheld (amaz'd as with a wrack)
The sheets all rumpled and the Cordage slack;
Sure some perverse and undiscover'd hand,
Pulls an odd Rope that by oblique Command,
Doth straine another, till by secret skill,
It makes a turning or a standing still.
But you, my noble Lord, (who sit so near
The busie Helm, and wisely help to steer)
Must be my princely Pilot, and you may,
Reform the ship till she can ride her way.
If then my Voyage prosper (though I am
Now hardly grown to bear a Factors name)
Yet who dares boldly doubt that I shall be,
In time a mighty Burgher of the Sea.
My Bark may Multiply, and grow a Fleet,
And I lay yearly Customs at your Feet.
| The works of Sr William Davenant | |