University of Virginia Library

Upon Sejanus.

So brings the wealth-contracting jeweller
Pearles and deare stones, from richest shores and streames,
As thy accomplisht travaile doth confer
From skill-inriched soules, their wealthyer gems;
So doth his hand enchase in ammeld gold,
Cut, and adorn'd beyond their native merits,
His solid flames, as thine hath here inrold
In more than golden verse, those better'd spirits;
So hee entreasures Princes cabinets,
As thy wealth will their wished libraries;
So, on the throat of the rude sea, he sets
His ventrous foot, for his illustrous prise;
And through wilde desarts, arm'd with wilder beasts;
As thou adventur'st on the multitude,
Vpon the boggie, and engulfed brests
Of hyrelings, sworne to finde most right, most rude:
And hee, in stormes at sea, doth not endure,
Nor in vast desarts, amongst wolves, more danger;
Than we, that would with vertue live secure,
Sustaine for her in every vices anger.
Nor is this Allegorie unjustly rackt,
To this strange length: Onely, that jewels are,
In estimation meerely, so exact:
And thy worke, in it selfe, is deare and rare;
Wherein Minerva had beene vanquished,
Had shee, by it, her sacred loomes advanc't,
And through thy subject woven her graphick thred,
Contending therein, to be more entranc't;
For, though thy hand was scarce addrest to draw
The semi-circle of Sejanus life,
Thy Muse yet makes it the whole spheare, and law
To all State-lives: and bounds ambition's strife.
And as a little brooke creepes from his spring,
With shallow tremblings, through the lowest vales,
As if he fear'd his streame abroad to bring,
Lest prophane feet should wrong it, and rude gales;
But finding happie channels, and supplyes
Of other foords mixt with his modest course,
He growes a goodly river, and descryes
The strength, that man'd him, since he left his source;
Then takes he in delightsome meades, and groves,
And, with his two-edg'd waters, flourishes
Before great palaces, and all mens loves
Build by his shores, to greet his passages:
So thy chaste Muse, by vertuous selfe-mistrust,
Which is a true marke of the truest merit;
In virgin feare of mens illiterate lust,
Shut her soft wings, and durst not shew her spirit;
Till, nobly cherisht, now thou lett'st her flie,
Singing the sable Orgies of the Muses,
And in the highest pitch of Tragœdie,
Mak'st her command, all things thy ground produces.
Besides, thy Poëme hath this due respect,
That it lets passe nothing, without observing,
Worthy instruction; or that might correct
Rude manners, and renowne the well deserving:
Performing such a lively evidence
In thy narrations, that thy hearers still
Thou turn'st to thy spectators; and the sense
That thy spectators have of good or ill,
Thou inject'st joyntly to thy readers soules.
So deare is held, so deckt thy numerous taske,
As thou putt'st handles to the Thespian boules,
Or stuck'st rich plumes in the Palladian caske:
All thy worth, yet, thy selfe must patronise,
By quaffing more of the Castalian head;
In expiscation of whose mysteries,
Our nets must still be clogg'd, with heavie lead,
To make them sinke, and catch: For chearefull gold
Was never found in the Pierian streames,
But wants, and scornes, and shames for silver sold.
What? what shall we elect in these extreames?
Now by the shafts of the great Cyrrhan Poet,
That beare all light, that is, about the world;
I would all dull Poet-haters know it,
They shall be soule-bound, and in darknesse hurld,
A thousand yeares (as Satan was, their sire)
Ere any, worthy the poetique name,
(Might I, that warme but at the Muses fire,
Presume to guard it) should let deathlesse Fame
Light halfe a beame of all her hundred eyes,
At his dimme taper, in their memories.
Flie, flie, you are too neere; so, odorous flowers
Being held too neere the sensor of our sense,
Render not pure, nor so sincere their powers,
As being held a little distance thence.
O could the world but feele how sweet a touch
The Knowledge hath, which is in love with goodnesse,
(If Poesie were not ravished so much,
And her compos'd rage, held the simplest woodnesse,
Though of all heats, that temper humane braines,
Hers ever was most subtle, high, and holy,
First binding savage lives, in civill chaines:
Solely religious, and adored solely;
If men felt this) they would not think a love,
That gives it selfe, in her, did vanities give;
Who is (in earth, though low) in worth above,
Most able t' honour life, though least to live.
And so good Friend, safe passage to thy freight,
To thee a long peace, through a vertuous strife,
In which, let's both contend to Vertues height,
Not making Fame our object, but good life.