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Times iourney to seeke his Daughter Truth

And Truths Letter to Fame of Englands Excellencie [by Peter Pett]
 

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TIMES IOVRNEY TO SEEKE HIS DAVGHTER TRVETH.
 
 



TIMES IOVRNEY TO SEEKE HIS DAVGHTER TRVETH.

Amidst some grauer studies taking pause,
To giue my tyred spirits some delight,
And to refresh my wearie minde, because
Sometime repose is very requisite:
That I might take a little breathing flight,
I left a while to trace Philosophie,
To please my selfe with harmlesse Poetrie.
With harmlesse Poetrie, not otherwise,
Lasciuious writing doth not please my vaine;
For vaine it is, such matters to deuise,
As nothing else but note of folly gaine,
A bootlesse labour, and a fruitlesse paine,
Offensiue to the wise, and likte of none,
But those which in their hearts make Follies throne.
Disgrace to Poets commendable Art,
Making that loath'd, which euery man would loue,
If loue, and Cupids arrowes wanton smart,
Were not the greatest motiue that doth moue
Poets their wits, in sugred verse to proue.
Ah, that to proue their wits most excellent,
To such base meanes their wils should so be bent.


Loue is too base a Subiect, now to write of,
Common to euery ballad-makers time,
And farre vnfit for Scholers to indite of,
For they should holde more pretious their time;
And sure there cannot be a greater crime,
Then to mispend time in so lewd a wise,
As if we did the price thereof despise.
For doe not men the pretions time mispend,
Whilst they discourse of loues and louers mone?
That cannot sort to any other end,
Then make the hart of man soule Vices throne,
That of it selfe to lewdnesse is so prone:
Adding to smoaking flaxe a burning flame,
Which at first touch doth set on fire the same.
Not such was my intent or purposde drift,
Pleasing to me was alwayes Poesi:
A soule-infused faire celestiall gift,
In rauishing with heauenly harmony.
But Loue vntunes that pleasant melody,
Makes sweetest tunes to iarre and disagree,
Makes Art a thrall, but Arte loues to be free.
And therefore when I meant in measur'd style,
To please my selfe and other not offend,
I thought loue-matters ouer base and vyle,
Nor of such toyes to write I did intend,
But other wayes my cogitations bend,
Three speciall sorts of writ I then did find,
All which I well approued in my mind.


The first is morall, and that sort indeed
To carpe at Vices profitable is:
To shew amongst good corne the noysome weed,
And tell the World wherein it doth amis:
For though the VVorld doth little count of this,
Yet he that herein well imployes his pen,
Well pleaseth God, and merits prayse with men.
The second sorte is call'd historicall,
That tells of sundry lamentable fates,
Declares the life, the death, the pompe, the fall,
Of Emperours, and mghty Potentates,
Of Princes, and of other Magistrates:
And this in it much profit doth contayne,
By others harmes to warne them that remayne.
The third sort that is allegoricall;
Which vnder Metaphors, and couert phrase,
Proposeth Vertue to the vew of all,
Clad in a rich attyre: that whilst men gase
Vpon the same, and on her beauties blase:
Vnwares they learne to know fayre Vertues price,
And see the foule deformity of Vice.
And he that in this kynd can temper well
Profit with sweet delight: vnto his prayse
Well may we yeeld, and say he doth excell,
And for his skill his fame to heauen vp rayse.
So may we speake of Spensers golden layes,
Whome neuer any man could equall yet,
That in our tongue hath as a Poet writ.


On these three sorts whilst I did ruminate,
As taking respite which of them to chuse,
That (when I should my selfe thus recreate)
That little time I might not vainely vse,
Nor such a pretious gift of God abuse:
I found my wit more dull then it was wont,
And myne inuention seemed very blunt.
Therefore I left my melancholy cell,
To set an edge on myne inuention,
Streight went I to a walke that likte me well,
That I might make some disposition
In order, of those things I thought vpon.
For many thoughts (Maze-lyke) the mynd inclose
Confusedly, till order them dispose.
No sooner to this walke I entred then,
But that a Subiect for my Muse I found,
And presently gan fit it for my pen:
For when I markt how chearefully the ground,
The herbes, the plants, the trees about me round,
Praysd their creator in their seuerall kynd,
Thus I began to reason in my mynd:
All creatures of th'Eternall God but man,
In seuerall sorts doe glorify his name:
Things dumbe, and meerely sencelesse (as they can)
Yet seeme to prayse and magnify the same.
Is it not then an ignominious shame,
That man should be to them inferiour,
Of whome God made him Lord and gouernour.


Each tree doth seeme tenne thousand tongues to haue,
With them to laude the Lord omnipotent:
Each leafe, that with Windes gentle breath doth waue,
Seemes as a tongue to speake to this intent,
In language admirably excellent.
Leaues better tongues, then tongues that leaue their duty,
And loue to talke of nothing but of beauty.
The sundry sorts of fragrant floures doe seeme,
Sundry discourses God to glorify,
Far sweeter volumes may we them esteeme,
Then such as handle with diuersity,
The traynes and stratagems of fantasy:
For all these creatures in their seuerall sorte,
Prayse God, and man vnto the same exhort.
But man (his nature is so strangely dull,
And yet so prone to wickednes and sinne)
As that (vnlesse God forcibly him pull,
And plucke him from himselfe) h'will nere begin
To thinke on God, that doth inclose him in
With hourely blessings, (for man is so rude,
He renders nothing but ingratitude.)
On this I thought to set my Muse on worke,
And on this matter largely to dilate:
To shew how in mans hatt this vice doth lurke,
And to vpbrayde each sorte and each estate,
That for Gods benefits are so ingrate.
As thus I thought, I playne me thought did heare,
A voyce that seemed to be vtterd neare.


Distinct it was, and thus it playnely spake:
Take hold of Time when Time approacheth nye,
For Time doth very little tariance make,
VVith soaring wings he soone from thee will fly.
No sooner was this spoke, but by and by
Time stood by me, and least he should be gone,
I stayd him with this sodayne question.
Time whether doest thou hast? tell me I pray,
And (if thou wilt) I'le thee accompany:
No (answered he) for Time must not delay,
Thou wantest wings with aged Time to fly.
This sayd, away he turnd: but sodaynly,
I tooke fast hould vpon his front of hayre,
And straight he mounted me into the Ayre.
Wherein I was deceiued: for I thought
Onely by force, to make him intermit
A while his course: but that auayled nought,
Nought forceth it him to inforce a whit;
For Time doth alwayes hould delay vnfit.
But when I saw my selfe deluded so,
I prayd ould Time, that he would let me go.
No (answered Time) for sith I haue thee heere,
Thou shalt be now ould Times companion:
And Time shall make vnto thy Muse appeare,
A Subiect fit for her to vary on:
Then seate thy selfe myne aged backe vpon,
And take thou note of that which thou shalt see,
As in this iourney thou shalt passe with mee.


Content (sayd I) and vp my selfe I reared,
In hope to see some accident most strange:
Time had so cheard me that I no thing feared,
And therefore car'd not whether Time did range:
Nor did it grieue me, that he made me change
My first intent to write in former strayne,
For that I meant it to resume agayne
But now I meane to tell what then I saw,
(Laying aside that purpose for a while.)
Things that perhaps might admiration draw,
If I could cunningly compose my stile,
Or eloquently my designements file;
Herein my want I freely doe confesse,
But from the matter I too much digresse.
Already had we left fayre Europes clyme,
And lost the sight of Englands watry sands:
Now o're the Oceans mayne gan flitter Time,
And straight we were in vew of other lands,
Perceauing kenne of other sundry strands,
Aswell of Ilands as of continent;
The sight whereof my mind did much content.
Of sundry wonders I could make report,
That in these places Time did shew to me:
Of sauage men, and of a thousand sort
Of monsters, which (but that I them did see)
I would haue thought impossible to bee.
Some brutish beasts I saw in forme of men,
Of stranger shape then can be shewd by pen.


But one thing did I marke especiallie:
As Time flew on with swift and winged speede,
Great multitudes did still together hie,
With such vnwonted sight their eyes to feede:
And many knew not what Time was in deede,
But as they gaz'd on him, they changed were:
The maner how you presently shall heare.
Young babes that sucked at their mothers breast,
That late in tender wombe did them conceaue,
Could in their laps no longer take their rest,
But presently their mothers bosome leaue;
And in a moment doe they strength receiue,
That but euen now could neither goe nor stand,
And were inwrapped in their cradle band.
And streight they grow vnto perfection,
In Wit, in strength, and euery other thing:
But this their prime is very quickly gon;
Time vnto them a suddaine change doth bring.
For as he further flies with nimble wing,
Their glorie presently begins to quaile,
Their sences to decay, their strength to faile.
And then become they as they were at first:
For ere that Time was yet gone out of sight,
Children againe, and fitter to be nurst;
Then otherwise they were, bereft of might;
Nothing was left them for their lifes delight.
And Time no sooner was quite fled away,
But presently they were transformd to clay.


Some also lost the sight of flying Time
In chiefest strength: for Time oft made such hast,
That when they were amidst their chiefest prime,
He left them: then their glorie was disgraste,
Their life was perioded, their strength defaste.
Their springing flowres, Time cropt vncourteouslie,
As he did from them so vntimely flie.
So haue I seene a lillie-colourd rose;
(A bud at morne, more beautifull at noone)
Clad in as glorious vestures as are those,
That doe inrobe the siluer-cloathed Moone:
When as the same is plucked ouer soone,
The beautie fades, it withereth and dyes,
Though clad in Floraes fairest liueries.
And euery sort of men (what ere they were,
Of what so ere condition or estate)
That thus on Time stood gazing euery where,
When Time was fled, then came their dreery fate,
For to recall him then it was too late:
And many knew him not, till he was gone,
When for his want they made their dying mone.
This seemed strange to me, and made me aske
Of aged Time how these things came to passe:
Time answering sayd, it's my appointed taske.
And, for all flesh is like to fading grasse,
And mans state farre more brittle then is glasse:
In me life doth begin, in me it ends,
And on me as my seruant it attends.


For euer since the euer-liuing God
Gaue me beginning at the first to be,
He charged me no where to make abod,
And charged Life that it should follow me:
Hence doe proceed the changes that you see.
Time being fled, Life is concluded euer,
Longer then Time stayes, Life continues neuer.
Yet thousand thousands are, that doe not know
The mighty power God to Time doth giue:
Though Time be able soon to ouerthrow
The strongest thing, that on the earth doth liue.
But that which principally doth me greiue
Is mans contempt of me: and this indeed
Makes me to fly from them with swifter speed.
For otherwise perhaps I would aduise me,
And though I needs must hast, yet would I not
Make so much hast, if they did not dispise me:
But when I see on them contempts foule blot,
So great a stayne, and such a gracelesse spot,
The hare ne're faster fleeth when she's pursude,
Then I doe fly from those that are so rude.
By this, Time hauing left our hemispheare,
With Phœbus fiery steeds kept equall pace:
Now to myne eyes another did appeare,
Wherein the Sun did take another race,
As in this our Horison he doth trace:
Nor doth he euer rest as Poets faigne;
That course once done, he straight returnes agayne.


All this time, had I not of Time inquired,
Toward what place his winged course he bent:
Which thing because to know I much desyred,
I gan to question him of his intent,
And prayd him tell mee to what place he went:
I long (sayd I) good father Time to know,
Whether thou flyest now, and hastest so.
I fly (said Time) and restlesse neuer cease,
About the World, and as thou seest the Sonne,
Euen so my sonne doth Time: nor doth decrease
His force, but as when first his course begonne,
It shall continue till his course be donne.
For time shall come, when Time himselfe must dy,
And that time now approacheth very ny.
But vntill then, this course I still must keep:
For to this day I nere repose did take,
Nor since the world began did euer sleep,
(For then my charge imposde I should forsake)
Vntill my death I euer must awake.
Thus haue I done fiue thousand yeares, and more,
And till I leaue to be, thus must I sore.
But when I thee did my companion take,
I meant to leade thee to the house of Fame,
Where I must shortly inquisition make,
For a pure virgin of vnblemisht name:
Whose great perfection (though some dare to blame)
Is admirable, and beyond compare,
Most excellent, most exquisite, and rare.


I meane vnspotted Truth, whom many deeme
My daughter: and because when she was yong
I fostred her, they therefore doe esteeme,
(Yet falsely) that from my loynes she is sprong.
But Truth (though wicked men she liue among)
Is of no mortall powers borne or bred;
Bur calld my child, cause I her nourished.
And though her foster-father Time must dy,
When once his race appointed is expired;
Yet Truth shall euer liue immortally.
And shortly shall her beauty be admired,
And euery where the same shall be desired.
Then they which haue so much prophan'd her name,
Shall reape disgrace, & well deserued shame.
And for I know that Fame can well declare,
To me where my supposed daughrer is:
To her I therefore now doe make repaire.
And when Fame hath acquainted me with this,
I thinke thou then wilt nothing thinke amis,
Thou camst with me: that thou mayst make it known,
Where Truth remaynes, and where her face is shown.
But loe, I now discerne farre of the ken,
Of Fames great castle; whence she takes her flight,
To trumpet sundry newes in eares of men,
Some of great moment, others of delight,
And others tragicall, which doe affright.
Then gan we nearer to the {same} to draw,
And I will tell you what I further saw.


Amongst th'Antipodes there is a hill,
Which farre beyond the cloudes it selfe doth stretch.
And farre beyond that region, which still
Is fild with vapors which the Sun-beames fetch,
And from the earth exhale. That monstrous wretch,
Which gainst the heauens did wage persumptuous warre,
Is not orewhelmd with such an hill by farre.
No not Olimpus may with it compare,
Which farre aboue the middle region goes,
And penetrates the liquid cloudes that are
About the same, and doe the same inclose:
Though on the same (as Plinie sayth) there growes,
Of tender plants, and fruitfull trees great store;
That are so high, no cold can make them hore.
On highest top of this great hill there stood,
A goodly Pallace framed large and wide:
At foot of this same hill, a spatious wood,
That hemd this mountaine in on euery side.
Moreouer in this Pallace I espyde,
A thousand windowes open euery way,
And many doores nere shut by night or day.
At euery one of which there thrungd a prease,
Of rumours, and reports: Some of debates,
Some told of warres, and others blabd of peace.
Some talk tof Empyers, and of ruind states;
And some of men whome Fortunes malice mates,
Such a confusion neuer did I see,
In one conclusion did not two agree.


Vpon this castles toppe of christall glasse
Stood a fayre turret: where Fame had her throne.
There sate shee, and in hand a trompe of brasse
Shee held, and therewith to the world made knowne,
The sundry newes, and tales of euery one
Of those Reportes, that to her castle came;
And as they brought them, shee disperst the same.
Her trumpets sound was loud, and very shrill:
Reporting euery matter very cleare;
Which when it once was sounded forth, did fill
The wood which to that hill adioyned neare;
In which a thousand tatling Ecchoes were,
That iterated euery vttered sound,
And made the same throughout the world rebound.
And euen as many streames (that ioyne at last)
From many sundry parts doe meet together,
Till all in selfe same current run on fast,
Vnto the wide vast boundlesse Ocean; whether
Their course them leades (for they are charged thether)
So all reports flow swiftly vnto Fame,
Who to the worlds great Sea straight sends the fame,
Now aged Time nigh to this castle drew,
Where all these things I orderly did note,
(As in so short a space I could them vew,
For else I might haue had more things to quote)
And now that Time about the fame did flote,
He asked some Reportes that thronged there,
If they could tell where Truth his daughter were.


One answered, shee was of late in Spayne:
Another sayd, shee was exilde from Fraunce:
Another sayd, shee no where did remayne:
Another sayd, some her did countenaunce:
Another sayd, so tragicke was her chaunce,
Her sacred body was of life bereauen,
And her sweet soule fled vnto God in heauen.
When Time saw in them such vncertainty,
Of them no longer would he thus inquire:
But (soaring vp) he vnto Fame did hye,
Who at his sudden comming did admire.
But her Time earnestly did then desire,
To fly with him, because he might not stay,
And many things he must vnto her say.
Straight Fame attyr'd her in her wingd array,
And from her backe layd downe her costly weed:
And for Time would admit of no delay,
Time flew before, Fame followed with speed;
And as shee flew, it seemed shee did reed,
What you shall heare anon; meane time giue eare,
And what first past you shall in order heare.
At last Fame ouertooke vs, and then sayd,
God saue thee Time: what wouldst thou Fame command?
(Regreeting made) Time instantly her prayd,
That shee would make knowne to him out of hand,
Where Truth his daughter was, and in what land
Shee now remayn'd: I haue not seen her long,
And I doe feare (saith he) shee suffreth wrong.


Knowest thou not that (then answerd to him Fame)
Which throughout euery land my trumpets rore,
Hath sounded forth, and hath disperst the same:
No accident that hapned hertofore,
What ere it were, haue I reported more.
Doth Truth her face so much in England maske,
That Time of me should such a question aske?
No (Time) her beautyes are not hid I know,
No more then is the Sun in clearest Sky:
When as no gloomy cloud lets him to show
His goulden light; but thou so swift doest fly,
As that Trueths mansion thou canst not descry,
Marke and Ile tell thee where thy daughter is,
And make thee glad to heare thy daughters blisse.
When Henry liu'd Truths farre-renowned frend,
In England highly then she honourd was:
And so continu'd she till thou didst end
His life, and worthy Edwards life alas.
Then Enuy so her purpose brought to passe,
England disgraced all her glory, and
Misled by Enuy banisht truth her land.
All comfortlesse, sad and disconsolate,
Poore Truth opprest to take her passage hyde:
She tooke her barke alone, and (scorning mate,
Where she was so abu'sd) was brought with tyde.
At last into the Ocean gulfe so wyde:
Where many waues her little barke did crosse,
And many billowes bitterly it tosse.


And fayne she would swift flying Time haue seene,
To him of this her sorrow to complaine
(Now banished, late honoured as a Queene)
But when she saw her wishes were but vayne,
She left to wish, yet could not greife restrayne.
At last I chauncing nigh that way to fly,
Her thus oppressed did I then espy.
Her cheekes were blubbered, her hayre was torne
Her garments rent, and all besprent with teares,
Her hands she wrung, and looked all forlorne,
Her heart was full of agonyes and feares,
And euery while her eyes to heauen she reares.
Soone as she saw me, she did comfort take:
And from her passions did her selfe awake.
She askt if I could tell her, where Time were:
I answerd, that I had not seen him long;
But that I merueiled to see her there.
Fayre Lady Truth, who hath done you this wrong,
(Sayd I) but griefe then fettered her tongue.
At last she (sobbing) sayd she was misused,
Iniustly, and iniuriously abused.
Then offred I my selfe on her t'attend,
That if I could, I might her some what cheare:
But on the suddayne did from heauen descend
A glorious Angel, bright and very cleare,
Whome God (for that he houldeth Truth most deare)
Did send to comfort her in this distresse,
Least too much griefe, would her too much oppresse.


And thus he spake: sweet Goddesse without spot,
Feare not fayre virgin, be not so dismayd:
Thinke not that God hath sacred Truth forgot,
Or that h'will suffer thee to be betrayd:
Cheare vp thy selfe let passion be allayd.
Most pleasing newes, God now by me hath sent thee,
Which when thou knowest, I know it will content thee.
Thine enemies in England now are dead;
(For thy sake God hath made their liues but short)
And Englands crowne set on a virgins head,
In whome of graces such a sort consort,
That no tongue her perfections can report.
Hast thither, and though England wronged thee,
Thy wrongs redresse Elizabeth will see.
This sayd, he takes the guiding of the helme:
And Truth reioyc'd that shee such comfort had,
(Whome late a Sea of griefe seemd to orewhelme)
And now shee was as ioyfull, and as glad,
As shee before was comfortlesse and sad:
Shee thanked God for this great benefit,
And backe to Englands shore her barke doth flit.
I flew before, as swift as roules the Sky:
And on my trumpet did I sound aloud,
That Truth approached: presently did hy,
To euery shore, a prease, and thronging croud,
To see where Truths barke would it selfe inshroude.
Elizabeth no sooner heard of this,
But that shee sayd shee had obtaynd her wish.


For when Truth was arriv'd, matchlesse Queene,
Did her imbrace, and welcome graciously:
The people which not long her face had seene,
Witnest their ioy by an applauding cry,
And fayre Eliza thank't God hartily,
That Truth againe in safety was retourned,
For whose long absence shee so long had mourned.
And as when Tully was recal'd agayne
From wrongfull banishment, Rome did reioyce:
In euery street there followd him a trayne,
To welcome him with glad and ioyfull voyce,
Of whome they thought their Gods made speciall choyce
To doe Rome good; so England weclom'd Truth,
And made her quite forget her former ruth.
And now with chast Elizabeth shee dwels,
Highly adored, and admir'd of all:
My trompe abroad her rare perfection tels,
Whereby in many lands shee holds the ball,
And multitudes are subiect to her call:
For though in England shee hath residence,
In other lands shee hath prehemince.
And thus good Time I vnto thee haue tolde,
Where sacred Truth thy daughter's intertayned:
No point in this my tale can be controlde;
No sentence in the same is false or fayned;
Vpon sure grounds the same is all sustayned.
And that no place of doubting may remayne,
Behold a witnesse to confirme it playne.


See here a letter from thy daughters selfe:
Who for she heard of slaunderous report,
The brood of Enuy that most loathsome else,
Did spread of England in malicious sort:
That shee might me from blasing it dehort:
(Least I should giue them credence, to preuent me)
Of Englands Excellence, this writ shee sent me.
Wherein thou mayst confirmed playnly see,
By testimonie of Truths sacred pen,
All which I now haue vttered to thee,
And daily sounds my trompe in eares of men.
Heare thou this letter read good Time, and then
Iudge thou of Fame, as thou shalt find iust cause,
Fault her, if shee haue spoke one faulty clause.
This was the letter which I sayd before,
It seemed Fame did read on as shee flew,
And to o're take swift-paced Time did so're:
And here in following termes it doth insue,
Declaring Fames report to be most true,
And with it witnessing the great renowne.
Of glorious England and Elizaes crowne.