University of Virginia Library

To his ingenious friend. R. A.

Deesert and praise are Twins. The first being quicke,
The second still is so; or if it die,
Then is the first too sound, or else too sicke,
And so may dye in grace, or Enuies eye.
But this with wonder in my stomacke stickes,
That Satyrs wrapt but in base Balladrie
Are praisd beyond the moone (of lunatickes)
As being sun-begot; so cannot die.
Needs must I hugge the Muse, and praise the pen
Of him, that makes his Satires dance a brall
Vnto the musicke of the spheares, euen then
When as the planets footed it withall:
Thou sharply singst, but he the burden beares,
That would haue songe more sharpe but for his eares.

TO THE AVTHOR.

THE PHILOSOPHERS SEVEN Satyrs, aluding to the seuen Planets. And first of his Section of heauen.

THE PHILOSOPHERS FIRST Satyre of the Sunne.

Great heart, of this great world, that do'st inspire
Each vegetable, with a vitall fire:
Monarch of mines, confessor to the day.
By whom the rheumes of night dissolue away
By their Cimmerian pennance; that bids good morne
To euery wren that sings, or man that's borne:
Thou, that bestow'st a pension of thy light,
(Like a true noble master, to whose might
An actiue will concurrs) to euery groome,
That serues in office of a Planets roome:
Thou, whose attendants, are fixt radiant stars,
Well quallified; not enuious followers
Of thy great fortunes, more then they admire
The vertues, not the greatnesse of thy fire:
Vnlike most great-men, poore in rich degrees;
When their men loue his fortunes; more his fees:
And most attend (as doth a weathercockes vaine)
A gale of sutes, then a right noble traine:
Such as the glorious Sunne (the worlds bright eie),
Rides circuit, with his guard of maiestie:
Which since his Kingly beames all things create,
Of Kings weele sing, and moralize his state:
If busie Bees, in Hieroglyphicks sing,
Platoes great common-wealth: and teach a King,
The politicks of state, that from their hiue,
Distill sweet maximes, how great Kingdomes thriue,
Their stinglesse King, that raignes in sweete increase,
Swarming in Nectard prouinces of peace:
Which when his honie-grace, in progresse flies,
A busie guard, with Argus iealous eies,
Attends their dailie-King: in which we see,
Kings supreame heads, what subiects ought to bee:
If then this sillie emblem, in disguise,
And more sententious clouds can moralize,
Such high occurrences, and intricate,
To tutor Solon in affaires of State:
What fearefull palsie should my pen confine,
Since the sunne's like a King: Kings, Sunne-like shine?
For, marke; the more this kingly planet goes
To his meridian Zenith, the more he throwes
His warmth vpon vs; and the more erect,
In his bright Noone-carreer, he doth reflect
His beames in double lines, the more doth spring
And prosper Mines, Plants, each vegetiue thing:
Likewise to Kings, such vertue we applie,
Whose Royall progresse of true Regencie,
In his meridian lustre, is desir'd
Still to runne higher, and to rule admir'd,
Not fear'd, but lou'd; a happie prop of state;

Cic. Odimus quos timemus

Loue ties allegeance; feare, (but to God) is hate:
Yet godly feare and loue to Kings we owne;
Who feares not them, for iustice can loue none:
Eu'n Apes at full-moone dance; then why not more,
Subiects at fuller glory, Kings adore:
He whose fox't sense, of innouations dreames,
May he wish lightlight; but die in darke extreames:
No longer shall our peacefull shadowes runne,
When in an equall circle, rides our Sunne:
Which, while there is a Sunne to measure time,
May our Sunne shine, within this Brittish Clime:
And with his Royall race, run through the Signes
Of Enuy and blacke treason, of the times:
As at his birth, Dame nature hath exprest,
Bearing the Signe of Leo in his Crest:
For by old sawes in prophecies foretold
The comming of this Northerne Lion bold:
The Signe of Scorpio, and the Vipers-brood,
Gowries blacke treason euer shal make good:
And that, which last, this fatall signe doth tell,
Was that Sulphureous practice, hatcht in hell,
Which since our Sun hath past; swimme Peters keies
In Tibers flood of your damn'd treacheries.
Since in the voice of God, the people crie,

Uox populi vox Dei.

Liue still our radiant Sunne of Maiestie:
And measure out the Autum, Winter, Spring,
In Libra's Signe: 'tis Iustice crownes a King:
Giue light and motion, vnto each degree,
Onely retaine thy influence vprightly.
But those, like Artelesse masters, doe commence
Masters of Art, though not Arts excellence:
Yet, like the Sunne, Kings may their beames disperse,
With generall freenesse to the vniuerse:
And shine on common weedes, and fragrant flowers,
Poore ruin'd houses: and more loftie Towers:
Giue life to insect creatures, and create,
Of things corrupted, things to generate:

Corruptio vnius, generatio alterius.

There's not a Flie, a Waspe, a Scarabee,
But shares the Sunne, with Cæsars maiestie:
Since then, the Sunne-beames are diffus'd to all,
And to the barbarous Moore, and Christian fall
In direct equall lines: what foole, precise,
Can question his free beautie how to rise:
If Oracles on Socrates bestow
A golden Triuet: who dare answere no.
Princes are Oracles, from whom no cause,
Can be demanded, onely willes are lawes:
Sunnes vnconfin'd, to shine where they shall please,
To hide-scorcht Indians: or the Antipodes:
Yet were they Gods, and infinite to sense,
Vntide to circles; or circumference
Of mortall limitation: being diuine,
Yet there are some things, that eu'n them confine
From absolute freedome: as not to haue a will,
To couet contradictions, or doe ill;
Both which, so stint the vniuersall grace
To perfect actions: that it leaues no place
To vnproportion'd freedome: which in Kings,
Infinite in power, finite conditions brings:
Besides; the Sunne, doth grace this Hemispheare
With Orientall beautie, bright and cleare:
So, when our Brittish Sunne, rose from his East,
His Kingly beames, with triple honours blest,
Burnisht our mufled darknesse, with such rayes,
As gaue a spritefull length, to our blacke dayes:
The troubled ayre, ingrost with Icie-feares,
Daun'st at the musick, of the iocund Spheares:
That then, if er'e Pythagoras did not lie,
In Diapasons, kept true harmonie:
Full constellations, in his issue shine,
Whose sweete reflection, euen to wealthie Rhine:
So dazels admirations feeble sense,
As if the Sunne paid vse for influence
From this bright treasure: and so, bankrout, runne,
That yeeres, and daies, exchang'd for such a Sunne:
Whose beames, so, furnisht forraine climes with light,
That there our morning-starre, chaste vgly night

The beautious Princesse Elizabeth.

To his first blacke confusion: and the morne
Laught with a roasie-cheeke: when first was borne
Light, from our light: still may our new hopes shine,
Like fixed starres orbd in the Palatine:
Here could my Muse turne Courtier, and direct,
Her motion, to their motion and aspect:
And with a glozing quill insinuate,
Into the breast of greatnesse, and of state:
And (Ianus-like) with complementall grace,
Gaze on these sunne-beames, with a dubble face.
But that my dutie, bids me shew my hart;
Ladies, not Subiects faces, studie Art:
Which in this zealous Morall, I haue done,
By Iacobs-staffe, to looke on Iacobs Sonne:
But from the King of light I now decline,
To sing of lights, that by his lights doe shine:
Lest in this ticklish point of State I treade
To much: such feares saue many a noble head.

THE PHILOSOPHERS SECOND Satyr of Saturne.

The next aboue this kingly Planets place,
Highest of all, is Saturn's sullen face:
Pale, and of ashie colour, male content;
A Catelline, to mortall temperament:
That would blow vp the Capitol of man
With enuious influence; melencholy, wan,
And much resembling, a deepe plodding pate,
Whose sallow iawbones, sinke with wasting hate
At others streames of fortunes; whil'st alone
His shallow current dries with lasting moane:
And if there hate be in a heauenly brest,
This Plannet with that furie is possest;
Suspending our propention, with bad fate,
Inspiring Tragick plots, of death and hate;
Torturing our inclinations (like a wrack)
To dismal proiects, ominous, and black
Prodigious thoughts, and deepe-fetcht treacheries,
Beating the skul with sullen phantasies.
And marke what downe-cast looks we see in Nature,
This Planet fathers for a fatall creature:
And each profound plot, drawne from sullen earth,
From Saturn's spirit, is inspir'd with birth:
And yet Philosophers affirmed thus,
That Saturnists were most ingenious;

Arist. l. 4. probl. 15.

Who long retaine their great Italian-hate,
Wittie in nothing, but things desperate;
To glut reuenge, with studious memorie
Of shallow wrongs, or some slight iniurie.
VVhich if this be his wit to study ill,
Take my wits mad-man, leaue me simple still:
Vnder this dogged starre, th'infected moode
Of discontented Graduates, hatch their broode,
Flying like swallowes from the winters frost
To warme preferment, in a forren coast;
And there vent all their long digested hate
In scandalous volumes gainst the King and State.
Flying from Tarsus to proud Niniuie,
Recusants both in faith and loyaltie;
Apostates in religion when they please,
Brauely to mount the Crosse, they crosse the Seaes.
These from this humerous Planet suck their birth,
Leauing deepe wounds vpon their mother earth:
What cause hath mou'd thee, thou deep malecontent,

Animum cum cœlo mutant.

To change thy faith with the aires Element?
If Angli, are cald Angeli: Oh, tell,
Why hath their pride, thrown these frō heauen to hel?
Is it, because thou hast sung sweete in all
The liberal Arts, and now through want doost fall?
Or doost thou wonder at pluralities,
Impropriations, or absurdities
Of a lay Patron, that doth still present
An asse, before a grand proficient?
Why, maruell not at these preposterous crimes,
That very Heathen men in former times
Haue scoft at, in excesse of bitter iest,
And like true prophets thus these times exprest:
Giue to thy Cooke (saith th'one) full twenty pound;
To thy foole ten: but to a man profound,
As thy Physitian, ten groates shall suffice:
Thus, thus appeares a Scholers miseries.
For should blind Homer come to sing his song,
With Lyrick sweetnesse, or the Muses tongue;
Had he all languages that first began,
At the confusion to astonish man;
Yet with a Coachman, he durst not contend
For wages, though Apollo stood his friend,
For thriue they cannot by the sacred Arts.
A Coachman, Taylor, or the Faulkeners parts,
Dwell in the breast of greatnesse: but indeed
Time must haue changes, though all vertue bleede:
Yet I could wish to turne the sullen tide,
Of their dull Planet, to a rectified
And more calme motion; and a while restraine
The turbulent billowes of their sullen vaine,
VVith temperat moderation; to appease
In Halcion-smoothenes, all those rougher seaes
Of passion, and sequesterd discontent,
No aire so sweet as their owne Element:
As death to fish, torne from their naturall place,
Expires their waterie spirits: in like case,
That man, that from his naturall mother flies,
Buried in strangers earth, his dutie dies;
Yet time may calme that hot-spur'd violence
Of fugitiue Saturnists, as in naturall sense
We see in heauie bodies, throwne by force,
By strong compulsion, thwarting natures course;

Zabarell lib. 1. de motu grauium & leuium.

Chasing the aire, with strong actiuitie,
Yet towards his end, the moouing facultie,
Chast with precedent motion, faints and dies,
And in consumption, to his center hies.
VVhich is the cause, why motions violent,
(Their spirits spent) creepe to their Element,
Which first were made of motion, sith at last
That vertue dies, by which he first was cast
As farre from his beginning. So time shall change
Their violent passions, who are borne to range;
Transported with a furious discontent,
When all their Romish witchcrafts hath neere spent
Their violent motion, then with deere-bought paine,
They moue vnto their sweete-aire once againe.
Yet trust not to the mercie of the yeeres,
To reconcile, by time, that which appeares
Times shame, in thy originall despaire;
Once fall'n, heauens may (but wondrously) repaire:
For though relapses, are not cured with ease,
He's safe, that meetes his first spice of disease:

Uenienti occurrite morbo.

Which to preuent, leaue of that surgerie,
That makes your soule a bare Anatomie;
And cuts the flesh, of your more bleeding land,
With Lions hearts, not with a Ladies hand.
In poysons, counterpoysons doe contend,
Rather liue here poore, then at Rome offend;
Vse learning as a looking-glasse, to see
What others are in thy infirmitie:
But not as burning-glasses gainst the Sunne,
To force a fire to thy ambition:
But as Archimedes his cunning plies,
That by reflection, burnt whole Argos eies
With artificiall glasses: so from each hart,
His Countries good, tithes the most punctuall part

Non nobis solum nati.

Of Art and Nature, whose diuided ends,
Shares euerie man, to Countrie, Kings, and Friends.
The seuen wise Sages of Philosophie,
Whom golden pages, keepe in memorie,
In spight of Enuy, crownd Art with this praise,
Their countreys wore the Oliue, they the Bayes:
Which showes, that Monarchies or Policy
Diuided into this triplicity,

Aristocratta. Democratia. Monarchia.

Then on a sollid base, did firmly stand,
When Art was pure restoratiue to their land:
And prickt no veine, of their owne natiue clime,
But gaue a temperet dyet to the time:
Vrging no forraine nations, to enforce
Their naturall tempers, crosse to natures course:
Then learning florisht, without Sophistry,
Or mixture of selfe-pleasing phantasie:
Reason, did checke an high opinion'd minde.
And Schollers, like some wealthy men definde,
To be but simplex animall: that then,
Like citizens now, were held the surest men:
Vertue was then a habit of the minde
Without equiuocation: and confinde,
To his true obiect of beatitude,
Diuided from the world, or multitude
Of popular prayses: Arts did then despise,
The secular habits of great vanities:
Liu'd richly reuerent, in poore simple weeds,
Without Monasticke hoods, did Saint-like deeds:
Had neither pride, to enuie, whom doth rise,
Nor Patron, to bestow a benefice:
And did supply poore nature with poore clothes,
Dranke when a thirst, and eate when hunger growes;
Gaue no gratuities, but to present
A worthlesse Dunce, (to schollers discontent:)
And hire a simple Curate, scarcely paide,
With as much wages, as a laundry-mayde:
Liu'd without grumbling, or ambitious hate,
And slept contented with an humble fate;
The Arts contemn'd men of high swelling rankes,
And scarce to Alexander would giue thankes,
For visiting their tub: so much their hate
Scorn'd the prowd painted sepulchers of state.
Learning did then liue pure in Paradice;
But since her fall, to pride and auarice,
And al diseases that infect, the Arts
Do rot and putrifie their knowing parts:
Since these contagions, learning is possest;
These make the musicke of a learned brest,
Iarre in harsh discords, and vnrellisht straines;
And do corrupt the most refined braines,
With Saturnes snarling spirit, grosse and dull,
Inspiring rage into a patient skull;
For when we see, that in the Muses chaire,
Midas is Iudge, and vertue must despaire
Of a right worthy Patron; Faunius preach,
Where once Apollo did sweet musicke teach:
Arachne, with Minerua doth compare;
Dunces with Doctors, and their betters farre:
This makes the worthy Artist, dull and sad,
And rare deserts, most melancholy mad:
Yet thus much know you, whose deep Genius clames
The honor of a Scholler, not the names:
When Iupiter tooke all the Arts of price,
To heauen with vertue: and left onely vice
Instead of iustice, and white chastitie;
Vnto the earth left bribes and symonie:
Yet in a boxe, he onely hope did spare,
To wretched man, that neuer leaues him bare.
Another sort of these dull sectarists,
Are our most supercilious Humorists:
Who Saturnisde with this vnkinde aspect,
Goes (as a plodding Lawyer) circumspect,
As though his braine-pan thro'd of some great strain,
To ride from Yorke, to London backe againe;
His eyes looke like two soyled tablebookes,
In which are written most obseruant lookes:
His formall brow, contracted to a frowne;
Lookes like the Maior of some Puritan towne,
Spic'd with austeerest schisme; that scarce will see
A Maypole, to be nearer heauen then hee:
As sterne as Socrates, or Catoes grace,
That ne're was seene, to change their sullen face:
As crabtree brow'd as Iudges at a Size,
That dart their hanging terrors from their eyes:
Profest deepe politicians, these we call;
Yet farre from state, and depth politicall:
Although their trauels, well do vnderstand
Sweete Sion: and the blessed holy-land:
Iudeas ruines, and the raced Towers
Of great Ierusalem, by Titus powers:
The sacred relickes of that tombe, they made,
VVherein our Sauiours body Ioseph laide:
The worlds seuen wonders, whom all times prefer
To be Mausolus stately sepulcher.
Egypts Pyramides the second is:
The third the Obeliske of Semiramis:
The fourth, the rich Colossi of the Sonne,
At Rhodes: the fifth the wails of Babylon:
The sixth, Dianaes temple (as appeares)
That was in building two and twentie yeares:
The seuenth and last, was that most curious frame,
Of Iupiter Olympus, knowne by Fame.
All which because they can with points relate,
They boldly challenge eminence in state:
And walke with mumbling, and a grim neglect,
As if each stone were bound to giue respect,
With notice of their trauells, that haue runne,
Their progresse through the world from sunne, to sun:
As if the state (like Gray-hounds) thought men fit,
For footmenship, and not for searching wit:
A horse of Barberie, that scowers the ground,
Or Drake's fleete Pinnis, that did dance the round,
About the world, in trauell can compare
With the most proudest traueller, that dare
Cut the burnt line: or with Trans-alpine state,
Contend in pilgrimage with Coryat.
T'is not bare trauell that can make men wise,
But this from man, not from the Climates rise:
Gold makes not India rich, but India poore,
Sith their men want, although their mines haue store:
Though Alchimy do beare a glorious glosse,
Compar'd with gold, t'is bullion, and base drosse:
Things superficiall, in state ne're agree,
Without dimension of profunditie:
Desert, and not opinion of their merit,
Shall grace a Sceane of state: when as the spirit
Of a true information personates
In liuely actions, both to kings and states
Abilitie to shew how kingdomes thriue,
And to be practicke, not contemplatiue,
Like Cæsar's Parrat, these can only sound,
Aue to Cæsar; but in talke profound,
And mazes of true politicks of State,
That towse graue heads with windings intricate:
Th'are like the gates of Myndus, built so wide,
As if Diogenes aloud had cride;
Ho, fooles of Myndus, keepe you in those straites,
Lest that your citie doe runne through your gates;
Lord-like, these trauell, and doe spend the time
Onely for fashions in a forraine Clime,
Without obseruant searching of the hart,
Of nations, customes, or the rationall part
Of fundamentall pollicie; and with fashion
Are more transform'd, then form'd in their creatiō
Yet, like an antick mountibanck commends
The vertue of his drugges: and then pretends
Experience of his oyles farre fetcht from hence;
How forraine States admired his excellence,
when he (perhaps) this taske did entertaine
For three to one at his returne againe:
Yet these Italionated antick shapes,
Transform'd from men to immitationes Apes,
Like Hyppocentaures, or some monstrous creature,
Chang'd from pure English, to outlandish nature:
Or rather, in both sexes take delight,
Diuided halfe, like an Hermophrodite,
From their owne fashions, most doe alienate,
Like monstrous births, and kindes degenerate:
When their fond trauell at the deerest price,
Brought nothing home, but their ill fashioned vice:
Fond-medling-fooles, that beare the character,
Of that poore-carping, and base-shoomaker,
That checks Apelles in his curious frame;
Goe not beyond your last, lest to your shame,
Your sullen humors to that Orbe aspire,
Where your pride burnes you in your pollitick fire.
Packe to the center you dull-pated slaues,
And there in grosse and melancholly caues,
vie mischiefes with your Planet, and let state
Be left to him, that shares a worthier fate:
Those, whom bright honour and intelligence
Of their high secrets, crownes with reuerence
Of age and sollide iudgement: those whose paines
(Like Chimes at midnight seasons) strikes their braines
With vigilantest motion; whose desire,
Like to a Glassehouse, keepes continuall fire
Of zealous flames, whose stately honours rise,
Euen from the ashes of that sacrifice:
That in whose Hecatombes of loyall blood,
Their Noble houses euer haue made good,
Vnto their Prince and Countrie; such shall ride,
Like Ariadnes honours stellified,
Throughout the milke-white circle, and there shine,
To forraine nations in that golden line
Of Roman Curtius; till the marble hart
Of enuie and detraction breake and part
From his staru'd karcas; and times Almanack,
With golden Epacts and new Moones doe crack
The sturdie ioynts of Ephemerides,
With yeerely Sunnes, and annuall compasses:
Whose merit, euen the voice of God proclaimes,
With voice of all the people, in the names
Of our most reuerent Senate; in which place
Our graue Patricians, more then th'outward grace,
Stands like a Center, from whose point diuine,
To Brittanis Circle comes an equal line
Of state and conscience; which but drawne frō hence,
Makes vp an honor'd state-circumference.
'Tis not quick siluer'd-spirits that can run,
Throughout the vaine of earth with motion
Of vnconcockted trauels, that can merit
The name of a State-mettall; till the spirit,
By which his actiue nature still goes round,
Be tempered with more massie stuffe and sound,
That in the winding Laberynth of state,
Iudicious eares may rightly terminate
The most large bodies of the ranging time,
To a confin'd and superficiall line:
Not trauell, but the minds graue residence,
That, like the Sunnes vnited excellence,
Collected to the center of the glasse:
With greater vertue doth the obiect passe,
Makes a true States-man: as in natures course,
Not euery motion can produce a force

Omnis motus non est causa calorss. Scaliger.

To be the cause of heate, as in the Sunne
We feele more heate, when his hot beames doe runne
vnited, not disperst: so fit for state
Are iudgements setled, and most temperate,
Not errant like a Planet, but at rest
Like the Polestarre with in his constant brest.
Then thou that snarl'st at their transcendent ranke,
And art thy selfe like some poore Mountibanke
Made vp of drugges and tongues of euery land,
More fit for Ordinaries, then command
In the Abysse of state: that with profound
And perpendicular iudgements, plumbes the ground
Of euery scruple, with deepe beames diuine,
Euen to th'vnmeasured bottom of each Mine,
The infinite thought creates: repent thus farre,
Curse thy Dog-daies, and rate thy sullen starre;
Packe foole to French-Baloone, and there at play,
Consume the progresse of thy sullen day:
For such light pastimes suite a giddy braine;
Or if thy muddy and grosse feeding vaine,
Must needs be spic'd with Saturne: walke More-fields,
The shades of malecontents; whose causes yeelds
Whole sholes of trauellers: there may thine eies
Surfet, to see thy dull aspect arise,
And Planet-strike the Organ of thy sence,
With grosse and melancholly influence,
Cast here and there with enuious characters,
On lymping Souldiers, and wild trauellers,
That sit a Sunning vnder some greene tree,
VVondring what riches are, or rich men be.
But leauing these vnto the silent night,
Raw aires and hayecockes: and the best delight
Of such poore Grasshoppers, that onely sing
The Summer of their yeares with wandring,
Of fruitlesse voiages. Next we present
A gratious starre, faire, and beneuolent:
Drope Saturne with thy sullens to the earth,
VVhil'st Ioues bright star gets more auspicious birth

Of Iubiter.

To you sweet Prince I sacrifice these lines,
Princes should liue by princely disciplines:
'Tis most collaterall Manna, Angels foode,
It's not so princely to bee great as good.
Planets rule man: but Princes, as they are
Cald gods, sway vs; by vertue rule their starre,
What almanaks haue written in their praise
In you haue greater power, that oreswaies
The doubt of art: for certainely we know
The full Moones of your vertues, how they grow:
I wish your life may runne, as doth your starre
Orbd noblie, and most nobly regular,
Or rather more: for heauenly things aboue
If they but crosse vs, haue more hate, then loue
The teeming plowman thus will curse their powers,
When starres doe promise more in shew, then showers:
But you are farre more prosprous, and shall shine
Blest in your influence, mortall and diuine.
Enough is said, in fine, this booke shall tell.
Tis good to be borne great, best to doe well.

THE PHILOSOPHERS THIRD Satyr of Iupiter.

Not Iupiter, transform'd to many shapes,
His transmutations, or celestiall scapes;
Amorous imbracings, and adulterate fires,
Hot scalding passions, and vnchast desires:
Nor of his tri-form'd thunder we describe,
That mauld th'aspiring Giants for their pride:
But of a heauenly bodie, from whose merit,
Heroick actions drawe a noble spirit.
Vnder this stately and maiesticke starre,
Made happie by the raigne of Iupiter;
Are all those royall actions sweetly sung
By our Welch Bards: or the poettick tongue
Of rauishing Lyrickes; whose high Muses sings
Starre-kissing Poems, of the state of Kings:
The swelling tide of time, whose mightie flood,
Like to an Ocean, curl'd the streames of blood
Of Kings and Worthies, with true honour died,
Vnder this Princely Planet stellified.
True noble sparkes, that can the soule define
In honord persons, in this Planet shine;
And giues essentiall formes to royall bloods,
Eternall to their names, more then their goods
Or fortunes can distinguish; and deriues
True honor not in name, but in their liues.
Gentilitie from hence so riches bred,
That like a silke-worme, it spinnes out his web,
That others might giue armes, and weare his good,
More rich in vertues, then blaz'd forth in blood.
Young Alexander (whose triumphant hand,
Like some great earthquake shooke the sollid land,
With warlike rufflings of his princely mind,
By this aspect was at his birth assigned
To honord enterprices: and from hence,
Imperiall scepters draw their eminence;
And euery noble action of high fame,
That giues to honor an immortall name:
To Chronicles and times, this starre doth blesse,
With an eternall Trophie of successe.
Which since his Princely flames scornes common men,
In a heroicke furie chafes our pen:
Tell me, thou Royall States man to the Sunne,
Great signior of the worlds perfection;
High Treasurer, for honourable brests,
That with imperiall wreathes adornes their crests:
Where are those Heroes, whom Iupiter
Did canonize, euen in their Sepulcher:
And after death blest with thy influence,
Enspheard their soules with thy intelligence.
Crane vp true honor through the horned Moone
That now vsurpes the day, and shames bright noone,
With their confused actions: where are those
That had more honour in their minds then clothes;
Great Cæsars Court did shine with warlick hands,
Ieer Atlas. Ieer, and laugh at yellow bands,
That now do staine the times. Tell Iupiter
The worlds mad after Safforn: and preferre,
A most sur-reuerence fashion (like a purge),
Before the conquest of the worlds large verge:
Gentilitie lookes like some painted whoore,
Whom wise men pittie, though times-Bands adore:
Rather bright starre of heauen drop from thy place,
And kisse the Chaos, then thy smiles disgrace
On their natiuities, that doe pretend
Their linage from the Sunne, which loath doth lend
His beames to such corruptions purified,
As that most noisome muckhill of their prides
Whose vapors stuffe the organ of mans sense
With such mortalitie of pestilence,
That each phantastick corner of the land,
Stinkes with infection of a yellow band:
And yet can boast their gentry from a starre
Kinde in coniunction, and familiar
To their high Fates. Laugh, Laugh Democritus,
Heer's a right Comedie, though vicious,
To stretch foorth all thy powers to excesse,
And fat thy heart with mortall foolishnesse:
These are those atomes of nobilitie,
Which in thy schoole thou taugh'st erroneously,
To be the worlds beginning. Laugh fond Sir:
Such moates of gentrie makes a Vsurer.
Raile foule-mouth'd Cinick, lend thy lanthorne here,
That to thy candles brightnesse may appeare
These Scums of gentrie; turne my beagle-Muse
To lash these Butterflies, that doe abuse
The name of that bright Planet, that shootes forth
More virtue, then their Tailors-billes are worth:
And if my Satyr, gently letting blood,
Might of true nobler brests be vnderstood,
What we call honor or Nobilitie;
Who knowes not vertue is gentilitie:

Uirtus vera nobiletas.

An habit of the minde, not of the clothes,
Which euery poore Logician truly knowes;
To be in diuers Categories plac'd,
The one in qualitie, the other grac'd
With Art and Scituation: Courtiers then
Would scorne such gaudy Gallifoists of men:
And rather fill their honord traine with starres,
Such whose vnspotted vertues weares no Scarres
Of banker out Citizens, that weares his owne,

Omnia mea mecum porte.

Like Byas still about him, and not growne
To surfets with excesse in sates of trust,
Filling his hot veines with insatiat lust,
To formes of alteration: yet at last
Is alwaies poore in vertue, rich in wast.
The honor of this Planet shewes the minde,
And not the cast-clothes of some fawning hinde,
That by obseruance to his mightie Lord,
Hath crept into good outsides by a word,
Bought afore mou'd. For some poore office feede,
That now is fallen to helpe the busie neede,
Of some poore Groome. Great Iupiter forbeare,
To hurle thy influence from thy princely Spheare,
That these may claime their most abortiue birth,
Vpon this least all of this noisome earth.
From thy heroick flames, as from their sire:
But to right noble brests, giue nobler fire.
Let such adore thy rising in thy East,
That feele an honord furie in their brest,
Charme all ignoble-thoughts; and with the age,
Leaue reliques of his honord pilgrimage,
Euen to his speaking-marble, that his stone
May swet with memorie, and his dust bemone,
The liuelesse forme of his dead Element,
Hearst vp in death: whose liuing-Monument,
Can, with this heauenly Ecco, thus resound,
Prince (Henries) steps hath taught vs the same groūd
Of noble buildings: and since him succeds,
A Princely Iupiter in noble-deeds,
And honord hopes: how then can honour er,
That shares the spirits of this Iupiter,
And Princely beames: whose motion most direct,
Treads worthie of so bright and faire aspect,
That trobled at his birth his princely rayes.
Behold great Prince, what in these Antick dayes,
May make true honor currant, and exclude
The ends of high blouds from the multitude
And fire of baser ranckes; that when your age
Shall come to vnderstand the Bedlame rage
Of this distracted time, and ripely see
That not by reason, but base phantasie,
Reflext from our opinions: we define
Honours to be the fashion of the time:
Like coloured Rainebowes that deceiue our eies
With superficiall shapes of vanities,
And with mature and clearer beames of sight
Distinguish of all obiects of the light,
In your perspicuous iudgement; then your sense
Shall in one point vnite the difference
Of what a long time, your too tender eie,
Your Organ not dispos'd, could ne're discrie:
Then all things rightly set, the Medium faire,
And the most grosse parts of this sinfull aire,
Diaphanall and cleare, your eie shall see,
That the true species of nobilitie
Is not th'extreame and outward visible part,
But the profound concealement of the hart,
Exempt from outward fashions so appli'd,
As it is truly noble, without pride,
Or forraine imitation, but intire
To his owne fashion; made not to admire,
But to attire poore nature, and to draw
The peoples hearts, with an obsequious awe,
Vnto the Commons loue: not common gaze
Of Player-like-fashions: for true honors praise,
Is like the blessed Hebrew tongue so strange,
That in confusions it did neuer change
His primitiue purenesse; and how vnlike we be
To heauenly bodies in simplicitie,
In motion and in formes: speake heauens in thunder,
And rate this mad world in a peale of wonder:
That euer since the order of thy frame,
Keepes still one fashion, and moues still the same:

Pithagoras has opinion.

Nor is the soule (as fond Pithagoras said)
Of a true noble man; to be conuai'd
By transmigration, or phantastick shapes,
Into the bodies of such Zainie-Apes,
As fashions make the English: but assigned
To the immortall vertue of the mind:
That's not traduc'd, or mixt of elements,
But of the most infused temperaments,
Subiect to no mortalitie of Fate,
Except base actions doe degenerate,
From that immortall and pure quintessense,
That vertue giues vs in our innocence;
From which, if honor by relapse digresse,
We lose that paradice of happinesse,
Where honor was created: and that place,
Where vertue did infuse originall grace
Into a great mans soule: Princes may eate
Of euery tree, that vertue made for meate.
Onely that tree, in midd'st of Eden spred,
The tree of vice: a touch of that strikes dead:
Thinke what it is, great Prince, that makes you liue
Greater, then you were borne: when worth shall giue
Vnto your actions such a long-liu'd fame,
As to all ages shall enrowle your name:
And such is vertue, that can ne're exspire,
But like a Salamander liues in fire,
And furie of the times; and there ne're burnes.
After the funerall ashes of our Vrnes;
For 'tis not that great title that you weare
Of princely greatnes, and a future feare:
That can make you controler of the starres,
Or write your name in endlesse Characters
To all posterities: nor ist applause,
Or popularitie, that can giue cause,
To make you liue for euer: but in fine,
'Tis vertue giues a Godhead, makes diuine;
Not Cæsars birth made Cæsar to suruiue,
But Cæsars vertues, that are yet aliue.
Great Alexander Homers Iliades read,
Whose vertues made him liue, when he was dead.
A great mans vices dammes his fame so deepe,
Ther's no redemption, when his vertues sleepe:
Actions crowne vertues, and like Pulses prooue,
Whether the soule of greatnesse sweetly mooue
With Natures harmony: which standing still,
Or faintly beating, shewes them dead or ill:
All this (sweet Prince) is to instruct your youth,
Without equiuocation to the truth,
Of honourable actions, that doe rise
And mount by vertue, to possesse the skies:
For marke but that diuorce, that time hath sude
From such a Kingly troope and multitude,
Of memorie and fame, and with their toombe,
Buried their honours with an equall doome.
In silence and obliuion, you shall see,
That vertue reades the Art of memorie;
And can doe miracles euen from the dead,
To raise true worth by time canonized:
And fetch new breath in princes, when our shame
And vice in Lymbo shall ramine vp our name,
What pen shall blaze that Epicures dam'd vaine
That wisht his licorish pallate like a Crane
In surfets, and high sparklings healthes of wine.
Vnlesse some Satyr with his lashing line,
Flea his abuse: or else the stage hath stung
His life and vice with some base Players tongue;
When vertue shall command, like Orpheus strings,
Euen senselesse stones to follow when he singes.
The musicke of the soule, that sweetly sounds
The meanes of honor, and the vertuous grounds
Of our well fingered actions; and shall tell
In Oracles, how our best acts excell
The worst of enuie; though her toadelike wombe,
Burst in her venom, euen within our tombe.
Then since great Prince, that time must bring you rage.
To act one part vpon this earthly stage:
Oh let your vertuous actions keepe such meane,
As Angels may applaud your lifes best Sceane:
Which you shall doe, by acting what is good,
That when your riper yeeres haue vnderstood,
That the chiefe seate of honour is the hart,
Diffusing motion to each princely part.
And like the soule, whom Schooles hold all in all,

Anima est tota in toto & in qualibet parte.

In euery member is essentiall,
Compleate and vndiuided: not begot
Of Thales element to die and rot:

Thales opinion of water to be the mother of all things.

Then your experience with confession ioynd,
Shall hold that practick vertue of the mind,
Is your best summum bonum: and not stroule
To Platoes fain'd Ideas of the soule:
Or Epicures sect, whose happinesse,
Their Schooles maintain'd to be voluptuousnesse:
And not in fortune, that all power can,
Or Stoicall necessitie in man:
Or in this later heresie that growes,
That the best bonum countes the best of clothes.
But vertue put to action, which doth keepe,
And put awaking difference from sleepe,
And drowsinesse in vertue: which though good,
If ne're in action, ne're is vnderstood.
These cautions make you worthy of this starre,
When others onely heare of Iupiter:
That your bright honour euer may appeare,
And moue within an vnecclipsed Spheare
But now I mount vnto the Souldiers starre,
Some Cannon fire my pen to rage and warre.

THE PHILOSOPHERS FOVRTH Satyr of Mars.

What by his nature moues, and would aspire
Vnder this Planet borrowes his hot fire:
What horrid furie bursts his chaines in hell,
And frights the earth, doth in this Planet dwell:
Blood, death and, tragick stories Mars doth yeeld.
A Golgotha of graues: whose purple field,
Died crimson with his fatall massacres,
Craues bloodie inke, and Scarlet Characters:
A pen, that like a bullets force would reele
A marble conscience, or a hart of steele:
But not of battels, or that Sanguine flood,
That at Phillipi Brutus stain'd with blood.
Nor of that cruell, and Barbarian warre,
Wherein two Kings sign'd by a blazing starre
To a prodigeous death, such horror wonne,
As with amazement, frighted Christendome.
Nor of that bloodie siege, and tragicall,
Made famous by our English Generall,
That in our age fell in the Belgian warres,
When like an Ocean, with red Massacres,
The moorish earth did tide vp ore the brim,
As if the center did 'gainst nature swim:
But to another Posterne, drils our Muse,
Marching in martiall Satyrs of abuse.
Tell me thou ragged man of Armes, that weares
Onely thy Passe for seruice many yeeres;
And by each pettie Constable conueide,
As if thy wounds in peace were greater made
With Headboroughes and Beadles, then grim warre
Could through a groue of Pikes launch in so farre.
Why are thy scars bought with such pretious cost,
So tortured by a sencelesse whipping post:
But a more grosser time, that cannot see
In peacefull times, what want of Souldiers be.
The dull Athenians offered sacrifice
To Mars, when warres began to tyranize:
But when the furie of stearne warre did cease,
His hallowed Altars lay vntoucht with peace.
Souldiers are Saints in steele, Gods in their beauers,
Ador'd like Esculapius in hot Feauers
Of blood and warre: but when their steele-coates rust,
And their bright armes ore-cast with peacefull dust.
Behould you sonnes of thunder, th'end of all
Are Vsurers almes, and a poore Hospitall.
Let Sacars, Culuerings, and Cannons sound
In honour of their bones, and rock the ground
With all your deafning terrors: for behold
The Balsum for your wounds, are rich mens gold,
Powder the world with wonder, and thus crie,
The Camel now may passe the needles eie.
The Iewish age growes holy and precise,
And builds a Sinagogue to sacrifice
Their charitable surfets, when they die,
That liuing, whipt away bright charitie.
You hacksters flesht in bleeding Massacres,
Thinke on your maimed stumpes: your powerfull stars,
That worke this operation in prowde man.
Misers liue Iewes, and die as Christian,
That else in peace had laid, as if forlorne,
The bitter subiect of the ages scorne.
The Stockfish to seuerest Iustices
Beaten to death with warrants of the peace
And good behauiour, martred with the rage
Of Constables, whose furie can asswage
Nothing but night and wine, that all things steepe
In the deepe Lethe of the god of sleepe:
For seest thou not, thou man of othes and harmes,
When Mars makes holliday, and all th' Allarmes
Of your Rock-braining Engins are strooke dumb
By bright Astreas charmes, and Vnion;
How armes are banisht to his yron Mines,
And time growne banquerout of those disciplines,
That martial Pyrrhus to his Souldiers red,
Or'e the braue Romans in Phalanges led,
That then who cares for Souldiers, but forgot
In warres they lose their limbes, in peace they rot,
As if our blessings had so sure a Creed
Ne're to vse Souldiers, for we scorne their need.
Or doth our carelesse peace, like Scipio deeme
Neuer lesse sole, then when it sole doth seeme
Without a Souldiers strong Atlantick power,
That on his shoulders props that starrie bower
And fabrick of a State, as if a Lethargy
Had silence't vp th'eternall memory
Of Norris, Veare, and valiant Willobee,
That like three Commets bearded prodigie,
Amaz'd the world: besides the register
Of those Sea-Gods, Drake, Candish, Furbusher,
That like three Neptunes on the curled maine,
Danc't with their Tritons in a martiall vaine
Who to a Tragick Muse hath left their fame,
Scorning a Commick seckt to score their name
The temple of the bifront God's not ope,
As if the earth had vniuersall hope
Of a most mild Augustus to sway th' earth,
In whose great raigne the King of Peace tooke birth:
Then vanish all your furies to blacke hell,
Duelles, combates to the loathsome Cell,
of burning Ambriscadoes, crueltie,
Rape, ruine, horror and impietie,
Seconds in combats, challenges in wine;
Giuing the lie, and all vilde discipline
Of sences, desperate distance; quarrels common,
For some damn'd Cockatrice, or Strumpet woman.
And all those rasors, that made France to bleed;
And England sad, in peace be well agreed:
For loe, an Oliue Scepter swayes our land,
Not crusht to powder with an yron hand:
Which sooner may the Seaes forsake their bound,
Fire from the concaue lepp, and the fixt ground,
Be tumbled from the center: all that's made
Rome from his orderd fashion retrograde;
Eagles be finn'd, and swimme the Oceans deepe,
Whales mount the ayre, & Ducks with Dolphins keepe,
Before this peace fall, and vnited-calme
Forsake the vertue of his soueraigne Balme:
Souldiers turne Maunderers, and liue to shame,
By Souldiers base attempts, a Souldiers name:
Riot vpon this happie time of truse,
With pursing, cheating, and all base abuse,
Till millions of these Roarers, sise by sise,
Drop through the hang-mans budget, and so dies,
Before our Oliue-Scepter change his bud,
And graft it in a scarlet stock of blood.
Yet I could wish, that in this golden time,
A golden meane were kept, that in this clime,
Where the Hesperides of peace doth dwell,
Though guarded with a power that doth expell,
The doubt of ciuill and outragious iarres,
Men liu'd, as if their very liues made warres
Against that peace, the heauens doth earth assure,
Vpon condition, that no man is secure:
Nor are our best of blessings but so lent,
As heau'n may change, what men in peace mispent:
For time may come, ah, may it neuer come,
When the loud thunder of our yet mute drumme,
May raile in martiall marches, and their armes
May scarre this peacefull Iland with Alarmes:
Inuasion may rouse horror from his den;
And Souldiers then thought rather Gods then men,
That now art barkt at by each dogged Sir.
Poore fooles, your selues may need a Souldier,
To chace hostilitie and hell-borne spirits
Of warre and blood, by their triumphant merits
From your Percullic'd gates: oh then take heed,
He that scornes Souldiers, may a Souldier neede:
For though all things in peace doe symbolize,
As with a blessing, where all contraries
Are leagued with Gordion knots of amitie,
And liue in one vnited harmonie:
The rauening Wolfe, and the poore sheepe,
Combin'd by supernaturall blessings silly sleepe,
Like two faith-plighted friends: the fruitfull vine,
That neere the Colewort is obserued to pine,
Troubles the God of surfets sparkling iuyce:
The Oake and Oliue kisse in calmes of truce:
The Mastiue, feares not the Hyanaes sight.
The Mouse the Elephant doth not afright:
The poysond-Henbane, whose cold iuice doth kill
His meate vnto the Thrush, when warres grow still.
And all things that beares naturall enmitie,
Conioyne their indiuiduall Simpathie:
In a most blest coherence of their formes:
Yet such a time may come, when nature stormes
And Plants, and sencelesse things grow discontent,
Their factious formes scorning this sweet consent,
Familiar concord turn'd to qualities
Of proud exceptions, and hot contraries,
And mutinous nature all things turnes to hate,
That in sweete peace did most participate.
And if that old Phylosophy hould sure,
That the Soule tracktes the bodies temperature,

Himmasequitur iemperamentum corporis opino Galen.

Although all naturall causes we confine
To the great Mouers power, and will diuine;
Yet neuer had our temperaments more fire,
Nor neuer apter to the hot desire
Of warres and innouations; when our age
In Tauerns shew the stabbing signes of rage.
Neuer more cholericke constitutions knowne
So practick in reuenge, as now are showne.
Hot bloods in euery Courtyer boyles to fight:
No sooner grac't, but he dares barke and bite,
New hot-spurre humors euery day arise,
In cutting Ruffines borne to pandarize,
Fierie distempers in our bloods exceed,
Whch great Hypocrates could neuer reade:
Each base Mechanick hath a Fencers diuell,
And faine would fight, although the cause be euill.
Ther's scarce a Coward borne to the times curse,
But hauing suckt he roares, and, kickes his Nurse:
Man from his Cradle now like Hercules,
Is borne to strangle, not to liue at ease:
When euery Royster his twelue labours slight,
And hand to hand dares with his Lions fight:
Or tugge with that three headed dogge of hell,
Or in a single Mona-machy quell
The hundred headed Hydra to conclude,
By whom we moralize the multitude.
If then, by naturall causes we descrie
How our corrupted tempers do applie
Themselues to bloody proiects, and hot iarres:
Spurning at peace, inflamed still to warres:
Our blessings ought thus much to know in feares,
That Mine and Thine may set kings by the eares:
Which two poore words, as they haue set on fire
The world with law, so to the world inspire
A quarrelsome nature, that euen France and Spaine,
By these poore syllables lost thousands slaine:
And seuen-hill'd-Rome, whose victories haue wonne,
Eu'n time to canonize, what she hath donne:
Onely with these two words, so pamperd fame,
That like a Iennet of a prowd-trust frame,
It pac'd the ample earth with such large pride,
As if 'twere made not to be rid, but ride:
Peace is not of an indiuidual size,
Like to a Phœnix, from whose ashes rise
Another of that kinde, that can restore,
Succession to that peace, that went before:
And it may be the vtmost date she beares,
Shall be confin'd within these peacefull yeeres,
Wherein her Ioes merily we sing,
Neuer was such a time, and such a King:
Or whether the great Genius of these daies,
Hath left to him the glorie of that praise,
Sphynx cannot well vnridle or define:
For it may be, in him it may resigne
Her vtmost Royalties: then why d'we liue,
Like the fond Megarenses, who did giue
Such cost vnto their houses, as if neuer
They thought of changes, but to liue for euer?
Not like the wise Egyptians, who still gaue
Lesse cost vnto their house, more to their graue:
Since then these changes follow times aspect,
And peace like to the Moone doth but reflect
His beames from others: who can then presume
That still her quarters hold full Pleni-lune:
Commit not then such fierce Idolatrie
Vnto this Saint: more then the Deitie,
That gaue her those bright vertues, though diuine:
For Angels may fall from their blessed Shrine:
But now we sound a Parle and Retreate
From bloodie Mars his Planet to the Seate
Of the bright day-Starre: rise bright Venus, rise,
Whilest Citie wiues prepare thy Sacrifice.

Of Venus.

Madam , behold, your vertues doe intice
The best of art to write the worst of vice,
That as the beautious forme of christall light,
Opposde to darknesse seemes more richly-bright:
So from the times worst obiects you may spie,
How vertue shines best by her contrarie,
And best doth edifie, when to our sense,
She seemes to vertue in her innocence,
Like some cleare liquid cloud against the Sunne
In proudest formes of opposition,
Heere shall you see the Anatomie of times
And imperfections bowelld with the crimes
Of brazen impudence condemn'd to death,
Like Traytors breathing an infectious breath.
From your sweet fauours I began this booke:
And hope a faire successe from your faire looke:
As earth to heauen presented to our sense
Seemes but a point to the circumference,
Compar'd to his large bodie: so in show
Are these my studies vnto that Iowe,
Vnto your Ladiship: this mite shall speake
My Art and Hart both gratefull, although weake,
As Dwarfes seeme gracious, so may proue this elfe.
This booke, though small, may teach great time it selfe.

THE PHYLOSOPHERS FIFT Satyr of Venus.

Next vnto blood and death, the Paphian queene
Of the inferiour-planets first is seene:
The harbinger of faire Auroras light,
Bright day-starre, sliking the rough brow of night,
Faire Citharæa: amorous flame of loue,
That next vnto the glorious sunne doth moue:
Goddesse of generation, that dost giue
A father to each Bastard how to liue:
Make my Muse ramble, that it truly tell
The scapes of lust, that in thy influence dwell:
Appeare you horned-monsters, that do swell
With high-brow-Antlers, that gainst heau'n rebell:
And stumble against Taurus with your hornes.
Behold the lustfull Planet of your scornes:
By whose insatiate and hot lustfull fire,
Your wiues are strumpets, & your brows rear'd higher
Vnder this starre bright Helena was bred,
That made her husband higher by the head.
And Messalina by this planets power
Wife to great Claudius, Romes high Emperour,
Fall two and twentie times in one sole day,
Comuted Cæsar with her lustfull play:
Here may thy Satyr riot with thy pen,
And lash to blood this crooked fate of men,
Whose shameles wiues, o'rwarmd with bastard wine
Like Messalina breakes that sacred signe,
That holy wedlocke in their vowes hath made,
By that lasciuious and insatiate trade:
That nature growes so horrid and so full,
That, like Pasiphae, amored of a Bull
In any forme of incest, or hot rape,
The sensuall appetite affects his shape:
Preposterous motions in this planet raigne,
Mothers turne Bawdes vnto their Daughters gaine:
Husbands haue sold their wiues like Gallislaues
Vnto a strangers bed: whole streets of knaues,
Deepe red in hot Adulterie so confounds
The reputation of our honest grounds,
As if the world and Iustices agreede,
To make a Chaos of their bastard seede.
Why frownes not Minos at that ciuill whore,
That in a Puritans habit dwells next doore,
Vnto his warship and with Saintlike motion,
Minces the pauement with her pure deuotion:
Whom some hot Tradesman keeps, & doth disguise,
In Angels robes to gull the iealous eies
Of shallow iudgement, following Machauell
Cunning in sinne treads warily to hell.
Why Carts not iustice that old Dipsas Baude,
That with her sorcerous charmes disperst abroad
Among the vestall Virgins holy bred,
Hath betrai'd many a well-borne Maidenhead,
To the luxurious hands of riotous heyres;
Drowning their mothers happinesse in teares?
Why doe our lustfull Theaters entice,
And personate in liuely action vice:
Draw to the Cities shame, with guilded clothes,
Such swarmes of wines to breake their nuptiall othes;
Or why are women rather growne so mad,
That their immodest feete like planets gad
With such irregular motion to base Playes,
Where all the deadly sinnes keepe bollidaies.
There shall they see the vices of the times,
Orestes incest, Cleopatres crimes,
Lucullus surfets, and Poppeas pride.
Virgineaes rape, and wanton Lais hide
Her Sirens charmes in such eare charming sense;
As it would turne a modest audience,
To brazen-fac'et profession of a whore.
Their histories perswade, but action more,
Vices well coucht in pleasing Sceanes present,
More will to act, then action can inuent.
And this the reason, vnlesse heauen preuent,
Why women most at Playes turne impudent,
And yet not to their sexe doe we applie,
A Stoicall and stout necessitie,
Of shamefull sinne to women in this kind.
But I could wish their modestie confin'd,
To a more ciuill and graue libertie,
Of will and free election: carefullie
Hating this hellish confluence of the stage,
That breeds more grosse infections to the age
Of separations, and religious bonds,
Then e're religion with her hallowed hands
Can reunite: rather renew thy web,
With chast Penelope, then staine thy bed
With such base incantations: But why in vaine,
Doe I confound the musicke of my straine
With such vnrellisht Pantomimmicke slaues,
Whose liues prophane a lashing Satyr craues?
Oh yet my graue muse be not to profuse,
Applaud their good, scourge onely their abuse,
No, rather my keene pen with art diffect,
The Anotomie of woman, whose defect,
May reade such Physicke to their longing sexe,
As what most horrid guilt of lust detects,
And cast aspersions on their Angels faces,
May salue their burning feauers of disgraces:
Not in a squibbing vaine my pen shall taske
Your feeble imperfections, but vnmaske
With far more reuerent hand your slippery natures,
Since your first fall proues you backsliding creatures;
When heauen and earth from his confusion tooke
Proportion firme, and a more gracious looke
Of order and creation, then was crown'd
Man, the imperiall Monarch of this Round:
Which being made of a grosse element,
Vnfit alone for Kingly gouernment.
Woman as his adiutor was assign'd,
That to their powers the earth might be confin'd.
And man, then one in number, therefore none,
In her might be more perfect then alone.
When she was made in that prime innocence,
Each element bestowed the quintessence
Of his best qualities: fire then was more remisse
With out hot lust, that now more ex'lent is.
Water did temper his moyst qualitie,
Without the swetting palmes of venerie;
The subtill parts of aire did not inspire
A lightnesse to their body or desire.
The sollid parts of earth vpheld their frame,
That now falls back to ruinate the same:
Her harmonie of nature most refin'd
From the dull Mans, an Angell in her kind.
Her face as beautious as the Crysped Morne,
Strooke from smudg'dnight: created and not borne,
To keepe grosse-pated Adams from foule sin,
With adoration like some Cherubin.
Which not alone that naked Sill could doe:
Except the mightie mouer had made two;
Both which had kept faire Edens royalties,
To their succession and posterities:
And then vncensur'd had the woman ben,
From th'originall cause of mortall sinne,
Had not that Hel-bred Politician
Beguil'd the woman, and the woman man:
But since her sacred reason was beguil'd,
And she for him, and he for both exild
From that foure-riuer-running-Paradice,
To the large cursed center of their vice:
Behold this rare Idea of a woman
Made to admire beyond an obiect common,
Transform'd into a loathsome masse of dust,
Salt tides of passions, and hot foming lust,
Keepe their high floods, and waite on appetite;
As flowing Seaes attend the Queene of night,
Inconstant flames glow in their skittish brest,
And chastitie runnes like a man possest
With Legion and his diuels; and so raues,
As it scornes life in streetes, but liues in graues,
As if all vertues vnto heauen were fled,
And women scarce thought honest, although dead.
Nature is now growne monstrous to the earth,
That in excesse creates this creatures birth:
Or those prime elementall-qualities,
That giue our constitutions properties;
Turne pandars in the action of their life,
To make a faire face a dishonest wife:
Or else imaginations deepely wrought
By strong impression makes the age so nought:
As when some lustfull bloud swolne high with wine,
And stirring delicates, beares still in mind.
The obiect of her dalliance, to exchange
Her sacred bridall bed for sheetes more strange:
Since the most simple essense of her soule,
Immortall and diuine, now blacke and foule,
With more then Ethiopian gracelesse slaine,
Ne'r blushing at her sinfull die in graine,
Tasted the Philtre compounds of sins harmes,
VVith the sweete magick of her pleasing charmes,
Since all their passions, that kept golden meanes,
VVithout the amorous flames of loues extreames,
Since women did corrupt their naturall graces,
And by complexion did create new faces,
Since their proud sex did studie to repaire,
Robbing the dead their owne more comely haire,
Since their Apostate sexe began to slide
From faith to supersttoion, and to pride,
Since all this metamorphosis began
Wo-man, you make a locall hell for man:
The miserie of man affords but this,
An Aristippus, and Semiramis:
Murder and lust like two insatiate twinnes,
Reuels in surfets of our noble sinnes.
VVell vnto Cato, this the world did giue:
“Oh Cato thou alone know'st how to liue,
“That not in pallaces, and princely bowers,
“Didst spend the last glasse of thy aged bowers,
“Where Venus sports are like to tennis balles,
“Bandied from one to tother: till it falles
“Into the hazards of their honord names,
“The chases lost are rumors and defames:
“Nor in the scalding Suburbes didst thou dwell,
“Where lust appeares in his hot shape of hell,
“The Diuels whores, and the tormenting fire.
“The stewing steame of sulphured hot desire:
“Nor in that great Metropolis of Dames,
“That like to Dog-daies burne the earth with flames,
“As hot in their lasciuious appetites,
“As Munkeyes: more luxurious in delights,
“Then amorous Flora, that Italian whore,
“That proudly writ vpon her painted dore,
“Let none but Kings here enter: and as vild
In their loose purges of their bed defil'd
With their adulterate louers, as if trades
Did neither marry widowes, wiues, or maides.
Sooner may shamelesse wiues hate Braindford feasts,
Albertus Magnus, or the pilfred Iests
Of some spruce Skipiack Citizen from Playes,
A Coach, the secret Baudihouse for waies,
And riotous waste of some new Freeman made,
That in one yeere to peices breakes his trade,
Then wash the toadlike speckles of defame,
That swell the world with poyson of their shame:
What Comedies of errors swell the stage
With your most publike vices, when the age
Dares personate in action, for, your eies
Ranke Sceanes of your lust-sweating qualities:
Why are your ciuill and domestick names,
Question'd by euery Page, or grauer Dames
Censur'd by euery Courtier in your streetes,
Vnlesse the speaking-figures of your Sheets
Could number one, two, three; and tell that tricke,
Whereby you multiplie Arithmatick,
And cast your false accounts in others beds,
VVhilest hornes like siphers only shew their heads
Of your neglected Pheares: or rather why
Are grauer heads so rich in pollicie,
Industrious and so cunning in their wares:
VVretched in nothing but in doubtfull heires:
And yet see not with what immodest croudes,
Their Turtles lie with Centaures in the cloudes,
VVhy scowres the shallow Marchant the deep Ocean,
Euen to the burnt line with his three yeeres motion:
Leauing his daintie Pinnis on the land,
Like to a man of warre well rigg'd and mann'd
By other cunning Pilots: Pirates rather
That robbes him of the honor of a father:
And nailes not his profession to the Burss,
To saue her shipwrackt honor dangerous,
From Rouers hands and lustfull pyracie
Of this hot rutting age: whose luxurie,
Eu'n from the hoarie graybeard to the bold
And youthfull beardlesse boy-wench we behold
Priapus Altars reake with smoke and fire
Of quenchlesse passions and vntam'd desire.
The baudie times tutor their Goatish sense
In ribawld sciences, and do commence
Proficients in the art of Midwifetrie.
Pages can non-plus deepe obcenitie
In Aristotles Problemes: and in fine,
He's best, that best disputes in Aretine.
And I much wonder that this lustie time,
That women can both sing and sigh in rime,
Weepe and dissemble both in baudie meetre,
Laugh in luxurious pamphlets, like a creature
Whose very breath, some Ouid did create
With prouocations, and a longing fate
After some stirring meates: wiues couet bookes,
Not penn'd by Artists, but the fruits of Cookes
Prescribing lustie dishes, to enflame
Their lustie fighting broode vnto their game
Confections with infections of their kinde,
Rot both their body, and corrupts the minde.
Ladies are turned Musk-cats, and do sent,
As if perfumers bought their excrement:
As though their imperfections so did smel,
As without Ciuet it would poyson hell.
Ther's scarce a face, as it was first baptiz'd,
That keepes his Christian colour: but disguiz'd
With Lozinges and lotions: as if their hate
Found fault with God, and could regenerate
A better face with painting; when their formes,
May poyson men, but neuer poyson wormes:
All these, as if an Academick sect,
Had studied new opinions to infect
The soule with fond mortalitie, define
The soule organicall and not diuine:
And of a physick-bodie the best part,
Misconstring physick for the Doctors art:
These vices flesh the hot rain'd time with lust,
And bake cold Phlegme to humors more adust
And hotter slipps of wedlock: the Romans Guise
To lillie-vesta, offered Sacrifice.
To Esculapius a cock they gaue:
But now for Venus all our Henns we saue.
Looke you fond Doues chain'd to your goddesse carre,
Those Roman sonnes, that haue out-prim'd your starre
In chaster beames, and with their motion runne:
Til maides turne Turkes, and leaue their Christendome:
Hypsicratæa, and chaste Liuia score
For your examples, and with zeale adore
The memorable tombe of Portias name,
That eate hot fluming coales to keepe her fame,
From the rough surgerie of scandalous tongues,
That time might sing with praise her funerall songs.
Which Antiquaries in a golden page
May name the gelded: not the guilded age,
Sweet meats and al your delicates of vice:
Packe to the Comfit-makers, there intice
The baudy midwife, and the pifering nurse
To rotten teeth and tatling: but thy curse
Light not vpon the thrift of Cittie wiues
Life's sweet, good nam's farre sweeter thē their liues:
Perfumes and powders that make faces looke
Like Sculs in Church-yards, that but late was tooke
From gastly bones, as if the world did lust
Like Sextons to appeare in deadmens dust:
As if their periwigs to death they gaue,
To meale it in some gastly dead mens graue:
And thus like Ghosts appeare to humane sight:
As if a resurrection should affright
The weakenesse of our natures: which (indeed)
Should with diuiner vse the morrall reade
Of their owne frailties: and like Phillips slaue
Ring a memento of their ashy graue,
Iust of that colour: for in such a face
I reade the horrors of that deadly place,
VVhere Golgotha was found: this must I tell:
Nor Schrichowles, nor the fatall passing-bell,
Makes me remember pale necessitie,
Eternall silence of mortalitie,
Nore oft then powdred faces: oh ther's grace,
Th'are liuing graues, and haue a sauing face.
Hence then yon horrid drugs that do consume
The noble rankes like graues: and yet perfume,
Your vglinesse with pleasure to the sense,
Chasing their bloods with your hot excellence
Of lust and amorous charmes: begon, growe dull,
And decke the forehead of one gastly scull:
That our faire formes may in their beauties rise
Admir'd, for red and whites simplicities.
But now from Venus Nunnerie of Loue,
Vnto the god of shifts our spheare we moue:
Charme earth great Hermes with thy Snaky rod,
VVhilest Englands Ioy adores the shifting God.

THE PHILOSOPHERS SIXTH Satyr of Mercurie.

When I obserue how Alcumists disclose
The fallacie of art, with onely shewes
Of Minerall spirits, and with cheates present,
The alterations of each element,
And with their tricks like some most powerfull iet,
Draw greedy fooles to kisse the counterfet,
Of the Elixar, as if art had done,
And made more gold, then nature or the sunne:
Or their purse-purging-misterie of fire,
Could finde more wealth, then Crassus could desire,
When I behold rich sweating Clownes bemone,
The losse of lands for the Philosophers stone:
Men of good worship gulld with oyles and glasses,
Pawning their plate in hope of gold like asses:
Oh then, thou God of crochets, and slie trickes.
My yerking Muse adores thy politickes,
When I behold a peasant rich in clothes
Clad in a Tirian-die, and skarlet hose,
Obscure in parentage, and base in friends,
Hauing no lands to helpe, but fingers ends,
And a false bale of dice, and yet so roares
In Ordinaries with his band of scoares
And librarie of reckonings brauely payed
With a high festiuall-surfet, though displayed.
Then wittie Hermes, tell, the age permits,
How many gallants onely liue by wits,
When I obserue some Lawyer shift a case,
With Angels from his right from place to place,
Iuggle with by-clarkes, and with counterfees,
Of either partie, stretch their practises
Vnto an Ambodexter course of right,
Smooth vp the weake, and fawne on men of might,
Then winged Mercurie I doe admire,
The actiue flames of thy most subtill fire,
When I behold so many slights of men,
Eu'n from the scraping and rough Citizen,
Vnto the loftie-climing-dignitie
Of some smooth Courtiers crauing subtiltie:
Then thou deepe charmer of quick Argus eies,
Thy art with thy bright planet doe arise,
When I behold a Vsurer ensnare,
The lauish issue of some hopefull heire,
Wrapt vp in bonds for some commodities,
With his damn'd broker by his policies,
Procures for composition, then my braine
Adores the Engins of thy wittie traine,
But tell me (thou acute ingenious man)
That nam'st thy selfe a slie Mercurian:
Thou that like Scenica in memorie,
Transcends the vulgar in capacitie.
Thou whose rare vertues are vnparaleld,
VVhose words, like Delphos Oracles are held)
Thou that do'st censure Homer to be blind,
Both in his mole-eied sense, and in his minde,
And call'st thy selfe a wit at euery feast,
That cares to loose thy friends more then thy iest,
Keep'st company at Tauernes, and canst write
A baudie-pamphlet for a baudes delight,
Art criticall on stages, and think'st Art,
To be diffus'd through euery sencelesse part
Of thy weake iudgement, like some great mans sonne,
Sent onely vnto Cambridge to begon,
Afore he reades his elements aright,
A great mans learning onely rests in sight.
Know'st thou not fond vsurper of sharpeman,
How art defines a true Mercurian:
Not euery Brazier (though his art be rare)
Can equall skilfull Mirons molten mare,
VVhose brazen frame liue Stalions vs'd to couer,
As if to art proud nature were a louer:
Not euery limmer of phantastick shapes
Can weare the name of Zeuxes for his grapes:

Zeuxis an excellent Painter.

Not euery slash of ayres most subtill spirit,
Shall weare this planets influence with his merit:
Not euery brickel Poet, that aspires,
And faine would flie with Sidneys noble fires
Into the brest of greatnesse, we insert
Into the laureat Chorus of quick art.
And though the Kalends of these daies permits,
That euery man will companie the wits;
Scipio will haue his Ennius to indite,
And great Mecænas baudy Horrace write
A Pamphlet to Idolatrize their name.
Yet in the passage of immortall fame,
Tis not the stirring motion of the pen,
Nor the phantasticke humors of those men,
No, nor their flames begot in smoke and wine,
That can inspire their blockheads with diuine,
And most inuentions straines of rauishing fits:
Vnlesse great Hermes charme their apish wits
VVith arts and deeper skill, then that which wine,
Brings forth to shame good byrthes with bastard rime:
Nor euery Almanack-maker, that can tell,
How euery Planet in his house doth dwell,
The quarters of the Moone, and giue the reason
To plow, to purge, to lib in euery season:
No, nor a Gipses trickes in Palmestrie,
Can merit a true birth from Mercurie.
No, nor a plodding Graduat, deepe in art,
That searches euen the center and the hart
Of euery scruple, that with Snake-like twinnes,
Circles the earth with winding disciplines,
We call a right Mercurian, that so lookes,
As if his soule were nail'd vnto his bookes,
Except his practick studies well doe show,
Experience in the age more then to know
The literall sense of arts: for out of schooles,
Your meerest scholers are the meerest fooles.
Not he, that taken from his Colledge teates,
And wean'd from schooles vnto the nobler seates
Of Lordly houses: can sharpe Hermes boast
The God of wits to be his sire and hoast:
If to his formall and more sollid vaine,
He ioyne not sprightfull carriage to his braine
To apprehend the times grosse ignorance,
By application of each circumstance
Vnto his noble charge he takes in hand,
That not a tricke, but he can vnderstand
Within his actiue spirit, and still tries
With his owne Test the best of subtilties,
That can prooue fatall: as for others then
They may teach scholers, but not Gentlemen,
Monastick-walkes, and circumscriptiue walls,
Are fit for plodding wits; when Lordly Halls
And noble Pupils, fit men of those parts,
That know the world, and are more then the arts:

Singularia sensus vniuersalia intellectus. Aris. Topi. lib. prim.

For singularities best please our sense,
But vniuersals giue intelligence
In the whole kinde of learning: such as these
Are right Mercurians in their practises,
That ioyne with nature, art; and with their art
Experience, as a quintessentiall part:
Nor nature, nor experience ioyn'd in one,
Giues a Mercurian true perfection:
Except deepe art doe helpe to loade his braine:
For both without some learning are in vaine,
And farre from politicke influence: but he's best
That hath all three ioyn'd in a compleate breast:
For if instinct of nature make a man
With subtill trickes a right Mercurian:
I see not but the Ichnumon, Memphis God,

Ichnumon or Pharoahs rat

Should challenge in his kinde slie Hermes rod:
For in his naturall guifts, he doth excell
All other slights that men or stories tell:
For on his coate he wraps an earthen cake,
Which by reflection of the sunne doth bake
His hardned armor, and with such a slight,
Impenetrable he begins to fight
Against the Crocodile, and with a Wren
He showes more craft then most Fox-like men
Can patterne in the triumph of their foe:
For both with conquest ioyne in ouerthrow
Of Nylus monsier, and if onely art,
Architas wooden Doue shall beare a part,
Of a most slie Mercurian; or that Flie,
That late a German made most curiously,
With busie motion and with yron wings,

Regdomontanus made a Flie of Iron like a natural Flie.

Venting forth buzzing, and lowd whisperings:
And if alone experience make such men.
I see no reason, but our saylers then,
Such as haue towsde the seas with change of land,
And seene all fashions: but should vnderstand
The Mazes of slie Mercurie, who on shore
Are ruder then the winds their Sayles haue bore:
No, all those three ioyn'd in their sweete consents:
Like the sweet Musicke of the elements,
That do agree together in the frame
Of a sound constitution giues the name,
Of a most right Mercurian: and not fier,
Or water by themselues, without the quier
Of their sweet harmony distinctly fixt:
Can giue a forme vnto a body mixt:
As neither Autumne, nor the spring alone
Can make a full yeares reuolution:
Vnlesse the frostie winter do conspire
To make it perfect with the Summers fire.
Nor art, nor nature makes our subtlest wits,
Except in one triplicitie it fits
Experience to them both: for in the minde
Those two like tougher Diamonds are resignd,
And pollisht by experience: and all three must
Like Diamonds cut themselues with their owne dust:
Which nothing else can perfect but their owne:
Diamonds being parted, neuer cut alone
Their proper bodies: and thus mans perfection:
Shines like a full-pact constellation:
Inuention is an action of the soule,
Whose essence starres nor influence can controule:
Which Mercurie himselfe can neuer carrie,
Or take away but prosperously may varie:
In giuing inclinations to our vaines,
But art and ripe experience quicks our braines,
Or rather all three, like three faculties
Of sense increase: and reasons properties:
As in a foure-square figure may be wrought,
A triangle from the same bodie brought:
Rests so in man, and do include each other,
Nature with art, experience as their mother:
All which, if euer they did iumpe in one.
Or blest mans reason with infusion:
Great Iulius Scaliger in thy spectacle
I reade no wonder but a miracle,
That with these three so blest thy subtilties.
Scilfull in thirteene seuerall languages,
That time shall sing thy sharpe natiuitie,
Not vnder, but beyond bright Mercurie.
Besides the mixture of the elements,
That sweetly play vpon our temperaments.
Either in higher, or in base degrees
Of actiue or their passiue qualities,
May adde vnto the temper of the scull.
Quicke winding Sceanes or plots more grosse and dull:
The airie sanguine temper quickly stirrs,
And apprehends, like busie Scribelers,
That in a Tearme time, like to vintners lads,
Vp staires and downe with nimble motion gads,
Subiect to agitation, yet consumes
His slight impressions in his ayerie fumes:
Such are the idle motion of those men,
That with poetick furie of their pen.
Snatch at each shadow of a sodaine wit,
Like Esops dog; that in the sun-shine bit
The shadow of the flesh: like Oares or Souls
That crie the first man, and so drags and puls
At sight of a conceite: that scare their sense.
Losing their fare by offring violence.
The chollericke complexion hot and drie,
Writes with a Seriants hand most gripingly.
The Phlegmaticke in such a waterie vaine,
As if some (riming-Sculler) got his straine.
But the sound melancholicke mixt of earth,
Plowes with his wits, and brings a sollid birth:
The labor'd lines of some deepe reaching Scull,
Is like some Indian ship or stately hull,
That three yeares progresse furrows vp the maine,
Bringing rich Ingots from his loaden braine:
His art the sunne, his labors are the mines,
His sollid stuffe the treasure of his lines:
Mongst which most massiue Mettals I admire
The most iudicious Beaumont, and his fire.
The euer Colum builder of his fame,
Sound searching-Spencer with his Faierie-frame:
The labor'd Muse of Iohnson, in whose loome
His silke-worme stile shall build an honor'd toombe
In his owne worke: though his long curious twins
Hang in the roofe of time with daintie lines:
Greeke-thundring Chapman beaten to the age
With a deepe furie and a sollid rage.
And Morrall Daniell with his pleasing phrase,
Filing the rockie methode of these daies.
As for those Dromidarie wits, that flie
With swifter motion, then swift Time can tie
To a more snaile-like progresse, slow and sure,
May their bold becham Muse the curse indure,
Of a waste-paper Pesthouse, and so rise,
As like the sunnes proud flower it daily dies.
Besides, another cause of wits rarieties,
Consists vpon the climates form'd varieties.
That from the Articke, to the southerne Cape,
Alters our humors to a diuerse shape,
The Northerne Tike is faire, grosse, dull and hard.
The Southerne man more pliant doth regard
The witty layes, and madrigals of arts:
But from the North, are men of tuffer parts,
Brawnie labourious Hinds for labour fit,
Come from that Pole, from tother men of wit:
Rough-hewne vntutord Groomes come from the North,
But vertues frō the South of milder worth.
And from each Climates variation,
Proceedes the changes of both men and nation.
The Alman rutter in his wit more cold,
The French more sudden, and the Italian bold,
The Spaniard subtill, though with much delay,
Craftie in vengeance, wittie to betray.
The Dutch potwittie, and the Irish man,
A most dissembling politician:
The Scotch man poore in wit, yet very thriuing,
Of a broad speech, yet subtill in contriuing.
The Englishman more poore then he is knowne
For wit and clothes, for neither are his owne.
But here from Mercurie againe I runne,
Bearing the pillers of Alemenaes sonne
With ne plus vltra, in this planets praise,
Leauing the learned trophees of greene Bayes
To Ioues owne nuncius winged Mercurie,
To crowne more worthier browes in memorie
Of a more curious modell, then my pen
Can limme out to the life in other men:
For not like Phœton I doe aspire,
To melt my selfe in this cœlestiall fire,
Or like vaine Poets, listen to the aire
Of fond opinion, what it holds for rare:
But if this Satyr haue err'd ought in matter,
May his tongue blister, that will speake to flatter,
Yet thus much boldly to the contrary
I boldly speake, by leaue of Mercury,
That though no wayes, I can his influence merit,
My Muse beyond his starres shall mount in spirit.
And to a holier Hierarchie flie,
To sing a more diuiner hystorie:
But now of Cynthia and her beames I writ,
Tis now full-Moone, Apes daunce in such a night.

THE PHILOSOPHERS SEVENTH Satyr of the Moone.

Of all the Planets, this appeares most strange
In apparitions and inconstant change:
Sometime she like a sithe her face doth show,
That barbes the fields, when they vnciuill grow:
Sometimes againe she like a rounded-ball:
Her crumped hornes appeare most sphæricall:
Which forms the bright Sun (heauens imperial starre)
Prints in her pale cheeke with his golden carre:
Sometimes approaching with his stately head
But once a month, Lordlike his Ladies bed:
Which is the reason why her plumpe fac't Rheumes
Swell man and beast, plants, mines in pleni-lunes,
As she is neere or distant from the sunne:
So diuers in aspects her courses runne,
Empresse of floods, that swelst as thou dost please
The fluxe, and refluxe of the sturdie Seas:
Whisper to Nature that deepe misterie
Of Neptunes mightie tides, whose sophistrie
Made that great probleme maister dash his braine,
Against the billowes of the curled maine,
Making the Ocean, with his spatious roome,
At once his graue, his coffin, sheete and tombe.
His double motion (as some vnderstand)
Was not receiued from Gods eternall hand:
Although his bounds the Mouer hath assign'd,
To which the headstrong Ocean is confin'd,
But from that glorious siluer-fronted starre.
That giues high floods, or ebs, as pleaseth her:
But why, my Nectared Muse dost thou distill
Such Rosie-adors from thy bitter quill:
And cease to aduance vnto thy Satyrs reede:
To nettle time and make abuses bleede.
Lanch the impostumed age vnto the quicke,
And (Dutchman-like) with desperate fencing sticke.
Among all things that subiect are to change,

Copernicus his opinion.

There's nothing fixt, but is inclinde to range:
Which made Copernicus this Maxime proue,
That the fixt earth did from his center moue:
If nothing then in earth, in seas, or skies:
But (Proteus-like) to change it selfe applies.
Bright weather-cocke of heauen, let me vnstrip
The changing influence of thy Ladyship.
Woman, I could like bels thy changes ring,
And like a foule-mouthd Mantuan raile and sing
“Of thy inconstant words, vncertaine vowes:
“Change of thy smiles, thy passions, and thy browes:
“Change of thy heart, hand, tongue, and rowling eye:
“Change both in loue, and hate setremitie:
“Change to all changes, and if more change may
“From Saint to diuell, change euen when you pray.
But I enough haue dwelt vpon your starre,
Let it suffise, the world knowes what you are,
A Bit-borne curse, an Eele, a Bee to sting:
A Cockatrice to kill, Syren to sing.
But leauing you for mans eternall bane:
Bright Cynthia, let me sing th'inconstant vaine
Of these vncertaine times, and truly show
How all things change, and with thy beames do flow:
Nor woman, nor the change of elements,
Nor the Moones changes do more change present;
Then the inconstant monstrous multitude:
Whose giddy Hydra-beads all formes include,
Marke how the winds breaking their brazen-guard,
Changes each point of compasse, or of card:
Sometimes full East, sometimes againe full west.
So change the furies of the poopels brest:
A great-mans fortune, that like full-Moones rise
Like Dolphins, these adore; but when it dies,
And wants from fuller influence of Respect.
When his ambitious beames no more reflect.
Vpon the baser bodies; then their tide
In shallow ebbes, and falling currents aside:
As greatmens miserie, that like the Sun
Attended with twelue-signes their progresse run,
when their bright honors do ascend the skie
Like Aries then they beare him companie,
In comfort of his spring-tide and high state.
Adore the high Solstitiall of his fate:
But when his rising honors do decline,
Then with his fall fals the dissembling signe
Into Aquarius, and from their eyes
Drop onely teares to shrowd him, when he dies.
The Peacooketraine of heauens all-colourd bow,
Paints not more colours then these Iayes do show
That haue the falling-sicknesse: when such fall,
Moores at their East, Dogs at their funerall.
Oh Popularitie that cost more heads
Then there are worms within their shamed beds,
To eate their treasons with their honord bones
To their first elements, or weeping stones,
To wash their shame in teares: how haue your charms
Betrayed the nobler parts of Arts and Armes
To an vntimely graue, which time shall write
In bleeding characters to after-fight.
How many stately Cedars haue you lopt,
VVhose state cloud-kissing-branches ouertopt
The humble shrub, whose ruin'd timber lies
To build new hopes to their dead families.
Here could my Muse with history conclude
The fatall changes of the multitude.
And like a vizard to Nobilitie,
Fright their depending popularitie.
But this in breefe true subiects shall suffise,
“He's wisest, that by others harmes growes wise,
When I behold the Queene of seas and night,
Shifting her formes in changes to our sight.
I see the world (Cameleon-like) pursue
Her changing humors and her diuers hue.
Sometimes me thinks I see a peasant ride,
In his full-moone, of surfet and of pride,
As if he tilted gainst authoritie,
Defied his Taylors importunitie,
Scornd his poore Saffron-laundresse and his hoast,
Beat his poore Shoomaker, and rid in post
To dicing-Tauerns, next day without faile
His moone is chang'd, he damned in a Iayle.
Sometimes I see some sacred reliques turnd
To Theaters prophane, and tapers burnd
For damned Comedies, where singing quires
At midnight cast their odoriferous fires:
Which to a diuell would appeare a change
Of most vnchristian toleration strange:
Sometimes I see more then mine eyes would see
Steeples to stables turn'd, and Sanctitie,
Chang'd into rauenous Roabes of pollicie.
That I more wonder at this transmutation,
Then at the Moones alturnate alteration:
Againe, reflect mine eye vpon the age
That was and is, I see times pilgrimage
Corrupted with such pestilence of euill,
That man to man turnes wolfe: nay more a diuell.
I see ambition begging innocence
Well-landed, for a foole; as if all sense
Were tied to pompe or policie of state
That our best landed men are fooles by fate:
Which makes me count a Scholler blest in Schooles,
Which though they begge: the'r seldom begd for fools
He's got in an Eclipse, so weake by birth,
He liues by th'aire; hath not a foote of earth:
This is a fatall thing, prodigious chance:
Great fortunes fauour grossest ignorance.
Sometimes I see the euer-turning spheare
Of man and fortune like new-Moones appeare.
Still waxing to a full increase of light,
Till it seeme round full-circled and most bright
To all men eyes: till by the darkesome shade
Of some mischance, a blacke eclipse be made.
Thus haue I seene inconstant Tradesmen floate
Now rich, to morrow broake not worth a groate.
Tis the condition of this glorious frame,
And all things that beneath the Moone we name:
Nay, eu'n the things aboue her orbed-face,
Do couet changes from their naturall place.
Till with mutations, all things thinke it best,
To melt vnto their Chaos, and so rest.
When man is borne, and (speechlesse) prophesies
Of times successions, and his miseries:
He first begins to waxe; then wanes to worse,
Sees many Moones, and then begins to curse
The changes of the times: which many yeares.
His vexed soule hath markt the swift careeres
Of Sunne and Moone, and notes the age turnd Iew,
With tedious howers: then he bids adeiw
Vnto his golden daies, when in his rage,
His long liu'd tongue speakes of the wicked age,
Tels what a braue world twas, when Bullens towers,
Trembled like Aspen leaues at Henries powres:
Obseruing not the world the same to stand.
VVhen tis mens manners change and not the land:
Here could I sing the changes of all states,
Eu'n from the conquering and victorious gates
Of Tyber-grasping Roome, tell of her storie,
VVrite of her changes and her waning glorie.
Euen to this mightie Westerne Monarchie.
Since first the Danes subdude her libertie.
But more then I can write, all things perswade.
What euer were, or is to be, shall fade.
And though the world were euiternall thought,
Tis not eternall, but shall change to nought:
But now I turne my sailes from seas to land.
Here's more then men will reade or vnderstand:
Though orderly next to the firmament,
These wandring planets do themselues present:
And next to them earth, water, aire, and fire:
Succeed in place my spirit to inspire,
VVith matter of diuine Philosophie,
To tell of euerie primate qualitie:
That with predomination doth present
The Lordly pride of euerie Element
In bodies mixt: and first I should repaire
To the three Regions of the subtill Aire:
Tell of the fearefull Comets in the skie,
Whose diuers formes giue to the prodigie
Ten fearefull seuerall kinds: which so we name
As they are diuers in their formes or flame:
Of thunder, lightning, and their blasting might,
Of haile, snow, raine, and tempests of the night,
Of Fiers, that haunt Churchyards and forlorne graues:
Of Winds by which our ships dance on the waues:
Of earthquakes, and the veines of euerie mine.
Of gold, for which we cut the burning line:
Of plants, of trees, and of their qualities,
How in their formes and place they simbolize.
And how againe for enuie and despight,
The vine and Colewort neuer do delight
To grow one by another: then to sing,
Of glistering Iewels, and each pretious thing:
To tell the vertue of the Chrysolite,
The sparkling Carbuncle that shines by night,
The purple Hyacinth, whose stone imparts
Sollace and mirth to our griefe-nummed harts:
The heauenly Azure Saphirs qualitie,
Whom Authors say, preserueth chastitie,
The greene Smaragdus, foe to Venus reakes,
Whose stone in hot coniunction blushing breakes,
And many more, that by the glorious Sunne
In the earths wombe take their conception,
These in their order should my pen incite
Of Natures vniuersall workes to write,
And in sweet morall lectures to applie
The worlds abuses to their misterie:
But that I hardly can be brought, to thinke
The time loues gaull, by which I make mine inke,
Or haue so much wit in their shallow braines.
To reade and vnderstand me for my paines.
For by this plague we euer are outstript,
When we whip others we our selues are whipt
By Carters, and poore silly senslesse hinds;
Whose grosser bodies carry grosser minds
For vnderstanding: such lend onely lookes,
And thinke of Poems as of coniuring bookes:
Where in they see braue circles to the eye,
But more admire then know the misteriee
Of Arts profunditie: I feare none but such:
My selfe hath liu'd too long, and writ too much.