Collection of Poems
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The source of this document is the Early English Books Online (EEBO-TCP) website. Those books were transcribed in a character for character manner and can be very cumbersome to read since there was no standard spelling during that time. Many spelling variations such as "unlesse", "vnlesse", and "vnles" regularly appear.
This project was conceived to clean up those books as much as possible and make them more accessible to the interested reader, leading to the creation of a massive list of variant spellings and their corrections. This was used to clean up the text, but is of course only as complete as the list itself. Because of the nature of the original transcription, some words have missing characters or places where the original language (e.g., Greek) was not transcribed. This effort does not change that. Be aware that the original transcription can also be faulty and in some cases entire sentences may be missing.
Although this is no substitute for a properly compared, proofed, and scholarly edition, I believe that the result is a document which is far more accessible, particularly for searching for terms using standard spelling. The document has been cleaned and presented in what I hope is a pleasing and useful format for the vast majority of Christian brothers and sisters who just want access to read these spiritually nourishing works.
However, a word of warning: The Puritans were a very diverse group of people and their age was characterized with godliness, but also much upheaval, disputation and strife. They disagreed on many doctrines and some of these works contain less orthodox or Scriptural views than others. The reader is strongly advised to read with discernment, particularly if it is unknown whether author is trustworthy.
This project took a huge amount of time and skill to bring to fruition. I would particularly like to thank David Jonescue for the initial list of Puritans he found on EEBO and the concept behind this project as well as the continuous, unceasing efforts toward seeing this complete. Without his labor, this would not be available. Alex Sarrouf was invaluable in providing the initial list of over 7,000 spelling variations he had identified and corrected, as well as continuing to review more than 16,000 additions to that list for any typos.
Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org
A SATYRE, Written to the KINGS most Excellent Majesty, BY GEORGE WITHER, When he was Prisoner in the Marshallsey, for his first BOOKE.
[illustration]
LONDON: Printed by T.S. for John Budge, dwelling in Paul's -Church-yard, at the sign of the Green Dragon, 1622.
The Satire to the mere Courtiers.
S
Irs; I do know your minds; You look for fees,
For more respect then needs, for caps and knees.
But be content, I have not for you now;
Nor will I have at all to do with you.
For, though I seem oppressed, and you suppose
I must be fain to crouch to Virtues foes;
Yet know, your favors I do sleight them more
In this distress, then ere I did before.
Here to my
Liege
a message I must tell;
If you will let me pass, you shall do well;
If you deny admittance, why then know,
I mean to have it where you will or no,
Your formal wisdom which hath never been
In ought but in some fond invention seen,
And you that think men borne to no intent,
But to be trained in Apish complement;
Doth now (perhaps) suppose me indiscreet,
And such unused messages unmeet.
But what of that? Shall I go suit my matter
Unto your wits, that have but wit to flatter?
Shall I, of your opinions so much prize
To lose my will that you may think me wise,
Who never yet to any liking had,
Unless he were a
Knaue,
a
Fool,
or
mad?
You
Mushroms
know, so much I weigh your powers,
I neither value
you,
nor what is yours.
Nay, though my crosses had me quite out-worn,
Spirit enough
I'd
find your spite to scorn:
Of which resolu'd, to further my adventure,
Unto my
King,
without your leaves I enter.
To the Honest Courtiers.
B
Vt
You,
whose only worth doth color give.
To
Them,
that they do worthy seem to live,
Kind
Gentlemen,
your aid I crave, to bring
A
Satire
to the presence of his King:
A show of rudeness doth my fore-head arm,
Yet you may trust him; he intends no harm.
He that hath sent him, loyal is, and true,
And one, whose love (I know) is much to you:
But now, he lies bound to a narrow scope;
Almost beyond the
Cape of all good Hope.
Long hath he sought to free himself, but fails:
And therefore seeing nothing else prevails,
Me,
to acquaint his
Sovereign,
here he sends,
As one despairing of all other friends.
I do presume that you will favor show him,
Now that a Messenger from thence you know him.
For many thousands that his face never knew,
Blame his Accusers, and his
Fortune
rue:
And by the help which your good word may do,
He hopes for pity from his
Sovereign
to.
Then in
his
presence with your favors grace him,
And there's no
Vice
so great, shall dare out-face him.
To the Kings most Excellent MAIESTIE. A SATYRE.
Quid tu, si pereo?
W
Hat once the
Poet
said, I may avow,
'It is a hard thing not to write Satyrs,
now,
Since, what we speak (abuse reigns so in all)
Spight of our hearts, will be
Satirical.
Let it not therefore now be deemed strange,
My vnsmooth'd lines their rudeness do not change;
Nor be distasteful to my gracious
King,
That in the
Cage,
my old harsh notes I sing:
And rudely, make a
Satire
here unfold,
What others would in neater terms have told.
And why? my friends and means in
Court
are scant,
Knowledge of curious phrase, and form I want.
I cannot bearit to run myself in debt,
To hire the
Groome,
to bid the
Page
entreat,
Some
fauourd Follower
to vouchsafe his word
To get me a cold comfort from his
Lord.
I cannot sooth, (though it my life might save,)
Each
Fauourite,
nor crouch to every
Knaue.
I cannot brook delays as some men do,
With scoffs, and scorns, and takit in kindness to.
For ere I'd bind myself for some slight grace,
To one that hath no more worth then his
place.
Or, by a
base mean
free myself from trouble,
I rather would endure my penance double:
Cause to be forced to what my mind disdains,
Is worse to me then
tortures, racks,
and
chains.
And therefore unto
thee
I only fly,
To whom there needs no mean but
Honesty.
To
thee,
that lou'st nor
Parasite
or
Minion,
Should ere I speak possess thee with opinion.
To
thee,
that doest what thou wilt undertake,
For love of
Justice,
not the
persons
sake.
To
thee,
that knowest how vain all fair shows be,
That flow not from the hearts sincerity;
And canst, though shadowed in the simplest veil,
Discerne both
Love
and
Truth,
and where they fail.
To
thee
do I appeal; in whom Heaven knows,
I next to God my confidence repose.
For, can it be thy Grace should ever shine,
And not enlighten such a Cause as mine?
Can my hopes (fixed in thee great
King)
be dead;
Or thou those
Satyrs
hate thy
Forrests
bred?
Where shall my second hopes be founded then,
If ever I have heart to hope agen?
Can I suppose a favor may be got
In any place, when thy
Court
yields it not?
Or that I may obtain it in the land,
When I shall be denied it at thy hand?
And if I might, could I delighted be,
To takit of others, when I mist of thee?
Or if I were, could I have comfort by it,
When I should think my
Sovereign
did deny it?
No; were I sure, I to thy hate were borne,
To seek for others favors, I would scorn.
For, if the beft-worth-loves I could not gain,
To labor for the rest I would disdain.
But why should I thy favor here distrust,
That have a
cause
so known, and known so just?
Which not alone my inward comfort doubles,
But all suppose me wronged that hear my troubles.
Nay, though my fault were Real, I believe
Thou art so Royal, that thou wouldst forgive.
For, well I know, thy sacred
Majesty
Hath ever been admired for Clemency,
And at thy gentleness the world hath wondered,
For making Sun-shine, where thou mightest have thundered.
Yea, thou in mercy, life to them didst give
That could not be content to see
thee
live.
And can I think that thou wilt make me, then,
The most unhappy of all other men?
Or let thy loyal Subject, against reason,
Be punished more for
Love,
then some for
Treason?
No, thou didst never yet thy glory stain
With an injustice to the meanest
Swain.
'It is not thy will I am wronged, nor dost thou know,
If I have suffered injuries or no.
For if I have not heard false
Rumours
fly,
Th'ast grac'st me with the style of
Honesty,
And if it were so (as some think it was)
I cannot see how it should come to pass
That
thou,
from whose free
tongue
proceedeth naught
Which is not correspondent with thy thought.
Those thoughts to, being framed in
Reasons
mould,
Should speak that once, which should not ever hold.
But passing it as an uncertainty,
I humbly beggethee, by that
Majesty,
Whose sacred
Glory
strikes a loving-fear
Into the hearts of all, to whom 'tis dear:
To deign me so much favor, without merit,
As read this plaint of a distempered spirit:
And think, unless I saw some hideous storm,
Too great to be endured by such a
worm,
I had not thus presumed unto a
King,
With
Aesop's Fly,
to seek an
Eagles
wing:
Know I am he, that entered once the list,
Gainst all the world to play the
Satirist:
T was I, that made my measures rough and rude,
Dance armed with whips amidst the multitude,
And vnappalled with my charmed
Scrowles,
Teaz'd angry
Monsters
in their lurking holes.
I'ue plaid with
Wasps
and
Hornets
without fears,
Till mad they grew, and swarm'd about my ears.
I'ue done it, and me thinks tis such brave sport,
I may be stung, but nere be sorry for it.
For, all my grief is, that I was so sparing,
And had no more init, worth the name of daring.
He that will tax these times must be more bitter,
Tart lines of
Vinegar
and
Gall
are fitter.
My fingers and my spirits were benumbed,
My
inck
ran forth too smooth, twas two much gum'd;
I'd have my
Pen
so paint it, where it traces,
Each accent, should draw blood into their faces.
And make them, when their
Villanies
are blazed,
Shudder
and
startle,
as men half amazed,
For fear my
Verse
should make so loud a din,
Heaven hearing might rain vengeance on their sin.
Oh now, for such a strain! would
Art
could teach it.
Though half my spirits I consumed to reach it.
I de learn my
Muse
so brave a course to fly,
Men should admire the power of
Poosie.
And those that dared her greatness to resist,
Quake even at naming of a
Satirist.
But when his scourging numbers flowed with wonder,
Should cry,
God bless us,
as they did at thunder.
Alas! my lines came from me too-too dully,
They did not fill a
Satyrs
mouth up fully.
Hot blood, and youth, enraged with passions store,
Taught me to reach a
strain
nere touched before.
But it was coldly done, I thoroughly
〈◊〉
not:
And somewhat there is yet to do, I did not.
More soundly could my scourge have yerked many,
Which I omitted not for fear of any.
For
want of action, discontentments rage,
Base
dis-respect of Virtue
(in this age)
With other things which were to Goodness wrong,
Made me so fearless in my careless Song:
That, had not reason within compass won me,
I had told
Truth
enough to have undone me.
(Nay, have already, if that her Divine
And unseen power, can do no more then mine.)
For though fore-seeing wariness was good,
I framed my style unto a milder mood;
And clogging her high-towering wings with mire,
Made her half earth, that was before all fire.
Though (as you saw) in a disguised show
I brought my
Satires
to the open view:
Hoping (their out-sides, being mis-esteemed)
They might have passed, but for what they seemed:
Yet
some
whose
Comments
jump not with my mind,
In that low phrase, a higher reach would find,
And out of their deep judgments seem to know,
What 'tis uncertain if I meant or no:
Aiming thereby, out of some private hate,
To work my shame, or over-throw my state.
For, amongst many wrongs my
foe
doth do me,
And diverse imputations laid unto me,
(Deceiued in his aim) he doth mis-conster
That which I have enstil'd a
Man-like Monster,
To mean some private person in the State,
Whose worth I sought to wrong out of my hate;
Vpbraiding
me,
I from my word do start,
Either for want of better
Ground,
or
Heart.
Cause from his expectation I did vary
In the denying of his
Commentary,
Whereas tis known I meant
Abuse
the while,
Not thinking any
one
could be so vile
To merit all those
Epithites
of shame,
How ever many do deserve much blame.
But say, (I grant) that I had an intent
To have it so (as he interprets) meant,
And let my gracious
Liege
suppose there were
One whom the
State
may have just cause to fear;
Or think there were a man (and great in
Court)
That had more faults then I could well report;
Suppose I knew him, and had gone about
By some particular marks to paint him out,
That
he
best knowing his own faults, might see,
He was the
Man
I would should noted be:
Imagine now such doings in this
Age,
And that
this man
so pointed at, should rage,
Call me in question, and by his much threatening,
By long imprisonment, and ill-entreating
Urge a
Confession,
wert not a mad part
For me to tell
him,
what lay in my heart?
Do not I know a great man's
Power
and
Might;
In spite of
Innocence,
can smother
Right,
Colour his
Villanies,
to get esteem,
And make the
honest man
the
Villaine
seem?
And that the truth I told should in conclusion,
For want of
Power
and
Friends
be my confusion?
I know it, and the world doth know tis true,
Yet, I protest, if such a man I knew,
That might my
Country
prejudice, or
Thee,
Were he the greatest or the proudest
He
That breathes this day: (if so it might be found,
That any good to
either
might redound.)
So far I will be (though
Fate
against me run)
From starting off from that I have begun,
I vn-appalled dare in such a case
Rip up his foulest
Crimes
before his face,
Though for my
labor
I were sure to drop
Into the mouth of
Ruin
without hope.
But such strange far-fetched meanings they have sought,
As I was never privy to in thought;
And that unto particulars would tie
Which I intended universally.
Whereat
some
with displeasure over-gone,
(Those I scarce dreamed of, saw, or thought upon)
Maugre those caveats on my
Satyrs
brow,
Their honest and just passage disallow.
And on their heads so many censures rake,
That spite of
me,
themselves they will guilty make.
Nor isit enough, to swage their discontent,
To say
I am
(or to be)
innocent.
For as, when once the
Lyon
made decree,
No
horned beast
should nigh his presence be,
That, on whose fore-head only did appear
A
bunch of flesh,
or but some
tuft of hair,
Was even as far in danger as the rest,
If he but said, it was a
horned beast:
So, there be now, who think in that their power
Is of much force, or greater far then our;
It is enough to prove a guilt in me,
Because (mistaking) they so thinkit to be.
Yet 'tis my comfort, they are not so high,
But they must stoop to
Thee
and
Equity.
And this I know, though pricked; they storm agen,
The world doth deem them never the better men.
To stir in filth, makes not the stench the less,
Nor doth
Truth
fear the frown of
Mightinesse.
Because those numbers she doth deign to grace,
Men may suppress a while, but never deface.
I wonder, and 'tis wondered at by many,
My harmless lines should breed distaste in any:
And so, that (whereas most
good men
approve
My labor to be worthy thanks, and love)
I as a
Villaine,
and my
Countries foe,
Should be imprisoned, and so strictly to,
That not alone my liberty is bar'd.
But the resort of friends (which is more hard.)
And whilst each wanton, or loose
Rimers
Pen,
With oyly words, sleekes over the sins of men,
Vayling his wits to every
Puppets
beck,
Which ere I will do, I will joy to break my neck.
(I say) while such as they in every place
Can find protection, patronage and grace;
If any look on me, 'tis but a skaunce
Or if I get a favor, 'tis by chance.
I must protect myself: poor
Truth
and
I
Can have scarce
one
speak for our
honesty.
Then whereas they can gold and gifts attain,
Malitious
Hate,
and
Envy
is my gain,
And not alone have here my
Freedom
lost,
Whereby my
best hope
's likely to be crossed:
But have been put to more charge in one day.
Then all my
Patrons
bounties yet will pay.
What I have done, was not for thirst of
gain,
Or out of hope
preferments
to attain.
Since to contemn them, would more profit me,
Then all the
glories
in the world that be:
Yet they are helps to
Virtue,
us'd aright,
And when they wanting be, she wants her might.
For Eagles minds never fit a Ravens feather,
To dare, and to be able, suit together.
But what isit I have done so worthy blame,
That some so eagerly pursue my fame?
Vouchsafe to viewit with thine own eyes, and try
(Save want of
Art)
what fault thou canst espy.
I have not sought to scandalize the State,
Nor sown sedition, nor made public bate:
I have not aim'd at any good man's fame,
Nor taxed (directly) any one by name.
I am not he that am grown discontent
With the Religion; or the Gouernement.
I meant no Ceremonies to protect,
Nor do I favor any new-sprung Sect;
But to my
Satires
gave this only warrant,
To apprehend and punish
Vice
apparent.
Who aiming in particular at none,
In general upbraided everyone:
That each (vnshamed of himself) might view
That in himself, which no man dares to show.
And hath this
Age
bred up neat
Vice
so tenderly,
She cannot brook it to be touched so slenderly?
Will she not bide my gentle
Satires
bites?
Harme take her then,
what makes she in their sights?
If with impatience she my
Whip-cord
feel,
How had she raged at my lash of
Steele?
But am I called in question for her cause?
Isit
Vice
that these afflictions on me draws?
And need I now thus to Apologize,
Only because I scourged
Villanies?
Must I be fain to give a reason why,
And how I dare allow of
Honesty?
Whilst that each fleering
Parasite
is bold
Thy Royal brow undaunted to hehold:
And every
Temporizer
strikes a string,
That's Music for the hearing of a King?
Shall not
he
reach out to obtain as much,
Who dares more for thee then a hundred such?
Heaven grant her
patience,
my
Muse
takesit so badly,
I fear she'le lose her wits, for she raues madly.
Yet let not my
dread Sovereign
too much blame her,
Whose awful presence, now hath made her tamer.
For if there be no
Fly
but hath her spleen,
Nor a poor
Pismire,
but will wreak her teene;
How shall I then, that have both spleen and gall,
Being unjustly dealt with, bear with all?
I yet with
patience
take what I have borne,
And all the worlds ensuing hate can
scorn:
But 't were in me as much stupidity,
Not to have feeling of an injury,
As it were weakness not to brook it well:
What others therefore think I cannot tell;
But he that's less then
mad,
is more then
Man,
Who sees when he hath done the best he can,
To keep within the bounds of
Innocence:
Sought to discharge his due to
God
and
Prince.
That he, whilst
Villanies
unreproved go,
Scoffing, to see him over-taken so,
Should have his
good endeavors
misconceiu'd,
Be of his
dearest liberty
bereau'd;
And which is worse, without reason why,
Be frowned on by
Authorities
grim eye.
By that great
Power
my soul so much doth fear,
She scorns the stearn'st frowns of a mortal
Peer,
But that I
Virtue
love, for her own sake,
It were enough to make me undertake
To speak as much in praise of
Vice
agen.
And practice some to plague these
shames of men.
I mean those my
Accusers,
who mistaking
My aims, do frame conceits of their own making.
But if I list, I need not buy so deer
The just
revenge
might be inflicted here.
Now could I
measures
frame in this just fury,
Should sooner find some guilty then a
Jury:
The
words,
like
swords
(tempered with
Art)
should pierce
And hang, and draw, and quarter them in verse.
Or I could rack them on the wings of
Fame,
(And he's half hanged
(they say)
hath an ill name)
Yea, l'de go near to make those guilty Elues,
Lycambes-
like, be glad to hang themselves:
And though this
Age
will not abide to hear
The faults reprou'd, that
Custom
hath made dear;
Yet, if I pleased, I could write their
crimes,
And pile them up in walls for after-times:
For they will be glad (perhaps) that shall ensue,
To see some story of their Fathers true.
Or should I smothered be in darkness still,
I might not use the freedom of a quill:
'T would raise up
brauer spirits
then mine own,
To make my cause, and this their guilt more known.
Who by that subject should get Love and Fame,
Unto my foes disgrace, and endless shame:
Those I do mean, whose
Comments
have mis-used me:
And to those Peers I honor, have accused me:
Making against
my Innocence
their batteries,
And wronging
them
by their base flatteries:
But of revenge I am not yet so fain,
To put myself unto that needless pain:
Because I know a greater
Power
there is,
That noteth smaller injuries then this;
And being still as just as it is strong,
Apportions due revenge for every wrong.
But why (some say) should his too fancy Rimes
Thus tax the wise and great ones of our times?
It suites not with his years to be so bold,
Nor fits it us by him to be controlled.
I must confess ('tis very true indeed)
Such should not of my censure stand in need.
But blame me not, I saw good
Virtue
poor,
Desert,
among the most, thrust out of door,
Honesty
hated,
Curtesie
banished,
Rich men
excessive,
poor men
famished:
Coldnesse in
Zeal,
in
Laws
partiality,
Friendship
but
Complement,
and vain
Formalitie,
Art
I perceive contem'd, while most advance
(To offices of worth)
Rich Ignorance:
And those that should our
Lights
and
Teachers
be
Live (if not worse) as wantonly as we.
Yea, I saw
Nature
from her course run back,
Disorders
grow,
Good Orders
go to wrack.
So to increase what all the rest began,
I to this current of
confusion
ran.
And seeing Age, left off the place of guiding,
Thus plaid the fancy wag, and fell to chiding.
Wherein, how ever some (perhaps) may deem,
I am not so much faulty as I seem:
For when the
Elders
wronged
Susanna's
honer,
And none withstood the Shame they laid upon her;
A
Child
rose up to stand in her defense,
And spite of wrong confirmed her
Innocence:
To show,
those must not, that good undertake,
Straine curt'sie, who shall do'
•
, for manners sake.
Nor do I know, whether to me God gave
A boldness more then many others have,
That I might show the world what shameful blot
Virtue
by her lasciurous
Elders
got.
Nor isit a wonder, as some do suppose,
My
Youth
so much corruption can disclose;
Since every day the Sun doth light mine eyes,
I am informed of new villainies:
But it is rather to be wondered how
I either can, or dare be honest now.
And though again there be some others rage
That I should dare (so much above mine age)
Thus censure each degree, both young and old,
I see not wherein I am over-bold.
For if I have been plain with
Vice,
I care not,
There's naught that I know good, and can, and dare not.
Only this one thing doth my mind deter,
Even a fear (through ignorance) to err.
But oh knew I, what thou wouldest well approve,
Or might the small'st respect within thee move;
So in the sight of God it might be good,
And with the quiet of my conscience stood:
(As well I know thy true integrity
Would command nothing against Piety:)
There's naught so dangerous, or full of fear,
That for my
Sovereigns
sake I would not dare.
Which good belief, would it did not possess thee;
Provided some just trial might reblesse me:
Yea, though a while I did endure the gall
Of thy displeasure in this loathsome thrall.
For notwithstanding in this
place
I lie
By the command of that
Authority,
Of which I have so much respective care.
That in mine
own
(and just) defense I fear
To use the free speech that I do intend,
Lest
Ignorance,
or
Rashness
should offend.
Yet is my meaning and my thought as free
From willful wronging of thy
Laws
or
Thee,
As he
•
o whom thy
Place
and
Persons
dearest,
Or to himself that finds his conscience cle aest.
If there be
wrong,
'tis not my making it,
All the offense is some's mistaking it.
And is there any Justice borne of late,
Makes those faults mine, which others perpetrate?
What man could ever any Age yet find,
That spent his spirits in this thankelesse kind,
Showing his meaning, to such words could tie it,
That none could either wrong, or mis-apply it.
Nay, your own
Laws,
which (as you do intend)
In plain'st and most effectual words are pen'd,
Cannot be framed so well to your intent,
But some there be will err from what you meant.
And yet (alas) I must be ty'de unto
What never any man before could do?
Must all I speak, or write, so well be done
That none may pick more meanings thence then one?
Then all the world (I hope) will leave dis-union,
And every man become of one opinion.
But since some may, what care soe're we take,
Divers constructions of our Writings make,
The honest
Readers
ever will conceive
The best intention's, and all others leave:
Chiefly in
that,
where I fore-hand protest
My meaning ever was the honestest,
And if I say so, what is he may know
So much as to affirm it was not so?
Sit other men so near my thoughts to show it,
Or is my
heart
so open that all know it?
Sure if it were, they would no such things see,
As those whereof some have accused me.
But I care less how it be understood,
Because the heavens know my intent was good.
And if it be so, that my too-free
Rimes
Do much displease the world, and these bad times;
'It is not my fault, for had I been employ'd
In something else, all this had now been void.
Or if the world would but have granted me
Wealth, or Affaires, whereon to busy me,
I now unheard of, peradventure than,
Had been as mute as some rich
Clergy-man.
But they are much deceiu'd that think my mind
Will ere be still, while it can doing find;
Or that unto the world so much it leans,
As to be curtold for default of means.
No, though most be, all
Spirits
are not earth,
Nor suiting with the fortunes of their birth,
My
body
's subject unto many Powers:
But my
soul
's as free, as is the
Emperors:
And though to curb her in, I oft assay,
She'le break int' action spite of dirt and clay.
And isit not better then to take this course,
Then fall to study mischiefs and do worse?
I say she must have action, and she shall:
For if she will, how can I do withal?
And let those that over-busy think me, know,
He made me, that knew, why he made me so.
And though there's some that say my thoughts do fly
A pitch beyond my states sufficiency;
My humble mind, I give my
Savior
thank
Aspires naught yet, above my fortunes rank.
But say it did, wilit not befit a man
To raise his thoughts as near
Heaven
as he can?
Must the
free spirit
tied and curbed be
According to the bodies poverty?
Or can it ever be so subject to
Base
Change,
to rise, and fall, as fortunes do?
Men borne to noble means, and vulgar minds
Enioy their wealth; and there's no Law that binds
Such to abate their substance, though their Pates
Want
Brains,
and they
worth,
to possess such states.
So God to some, doth only
great minds
give,
And little other means, whereon to live.
What law or conscience then shall make them smother
Their
Spirit,
which is their life, more then other
To bate their substance? since if 'twere confessed,
That a brave mind could ever be suppressed,
Wereit reason any should himself deprive
Of what the whole world hath not power to give?
For wealth is common, and fools get it to,
When to give spirit's more then
Kings
can do.
I speak not this, because I think there be
More then the ordinarest gifts in me;
But against those, who think I do presume
On more then doth befit me to assume:
Or would have all, whom
Fortune
bars from store,
Make themselves wretched, as she makes them poor.
And' cause in other things she is unkind,
Smother the matchless blessings of their mind:
Whereas (although her favors do forsake them)
Their
minds
are richer then the world can make them.
Why should a good attempt disgraced seem,
Because the person is of mean esteem?
Virtue's
a chaste Queen,
and yet doth not scorn
To be embraced by him that's meanest borne,
She is the prop, that
Majesty's
support,
Yet one whom
Slaues
as well as
Kings
may court.
She loveth all that bear affection to her,
And yields to any that hath heart to woo her.
So
Vice,
how high so e're she be in place,
Is that which
Groomes
may spit at in disgrace:
She is a strumpet, and may be abhor'd,
Yea, spurn'd at in the bosom of a
Lord.
Yet had I spoke her fair, I had been free,
As many others of her Lovers be.
If her escapes I had not chanced to tell,
I might have been a
villain,
and done well:
Gotten some special favor, and not sat
As now I do, shut up within a
grate.
Or if I could have hapit on some loose strain,
That might have pleased the wanton Readers vain:
Or but claw'd
Pride,
I now had been vnblam'd,
(Or else at least there's some would not have shamed
To plead my cause:) but see my fatal curse,
Sure I was either mad, or somewhat worse:
For I saw
Vices
followers bravely kept,
In
Silks
they walked, on beds of
Down
they slept,
Richly they fed on dainties evermore,
They had their pleasure, they had all things store,
(Whilst
Virtue
beg'd) yea, favors had so many,
I knew they brookit not to be touched of any:
Yet could not I, like other men, be wise,
Nor learn (for all this) how to temporize;
But must (with too much honesty made blind)
Vpbraid this loved darling of mankind:
Whereas I might have better thriu'd by feigning:
Or if I could not choose, but be complaining,
More safe I might have rail'd on
Virtue
sure,
Because her lovers and her friends are fewer.
I might have brought some other things to pass,
Made
Fiddlers Songs,
or
Ballads,
like an Ass,
Or anything almost indeed but this.
Yet since 'tis thus, l'me glad 'tis so amiss;
Because if I am guilty of a crime,
'It is that, wherein the best of every time,
Hath been found faulty (if they faulty be)
That do reprove
Abuse
and
villainy.
For what I am taxed, I can examples show,
In such old
Authors
as this State allow:
And I would fain once learn a reason why
They can have kinder usage here then I?
I muse men do not now in question call
Seneca, Horace, Persius, Inuenall,
And such as they? Or why did not that Age
In which they lived, put them in a
Cage?
If I should say, that men were iuster then,
I should near hand be made vnsayit agen:
And therefore sure I think I were as good
Leave it to others to be understood.
Yet I as well may speak, as deem amiss,
For such this
Ages
curious cunning is,
I scarcely dare to let mine heart think ought,
For there be some will seem to know my thought,
Who may out-face me that I think awry,
When there's no witness, but my
Conscience
by:
And then I likely am as ill to speed,
As if I spake, or did amiss indeed.
Yet lest those who (perhaps) may malice this,
Interpret also these few lines amiss,
Let them that after
thee,
shall read or hear,
From a rash censure of my thoughts forbear.
Let them not mold the sense that this contains
According to the forming of their brains,
Or think I dare, or can, here tax those
Peers,
Whose
Worths,
their
Honors,
to my soul endeares,
(Those by whose loved-feared
Authority)
I am restrained of my liberty:
For lest there yet may be a man so ill,
To haunt my lines with his black
Coment
still,
(In hope my luck again may be so good,
To have my words once rightly understood)
This I protest, that
I do not condemn
Ought as unjust, that hath been done by them;
For though my honest heart not guilty be
Of the least thought, that may disparage me;
Yet when
such men
as
I,
shall have
such foes,
Accuse me of
such crimes,
to
such as those,
Till I had means my
Innocence
to show,
Their
Justice
could have done no less then so.
Nor have I such a proud conceited wit,
Or self-opinion of my knowledge yet,
To think it may not be that I have run
Upon some
Errors
in what I have done,
Worthy this punishment which I endure;
(I say I cannot so myself assure)
For 'tis no wonder if their
Wisedomes
can
Discouer
Imperfections
in a man
So weak as I, (more then himself doth see)
Since my
sight
dull with
insufficiency,
In men more grave, and wiser far then I,
Innumerable
Errors
doth espy,
Which they with all their knowledge I will be bold,
Cannot (or will not) in themselves behold.
But ere I will
myself
accuse my
Song,
Or keep a
Tongue
shall do my
Heart
that wrong,
To say I willingly in what I pen'd,
Did ought that might a
Goodmans
sight offend;
Or with my knowledge did insert one word,
That might disparage a true
Honor'd Lord;
Let it be in my mouth a helpless sore,
And never speak to be believed more.
Yet
man
irresolute is, unconstant, weak,
And doth his purpose oft through frallty break,
Lest therefore I by force hereafter may
Be brought from this mind, and these words unsay,
Here to the
World
I do proclaim before,
If e're my resolution be so poor,
T'is not the
Right,
but
Might
that makes me do it;
Yea, naught but
fearful baseuesse
brings me to it;
Which if I still hate, as I now detest,
Never can come to harbor in my breast.
Thus my fault then (if they a fault imply)
Is not alone an ill unwillingly,
But also, might I know it, I intend,
Not only to acknowledge, but amend:
Hoping that
thou
wilt not be so severe,
To punish me above all other here.
But for m'intents sake, and my love to
Truth,
Impute my
Errors
to the heat of
Youth,
Or rather
Ignorance;
then to my
Will,
Which sure I am was
good,
what e're be
ill,
And like to him now, in whose place thou art,
What e're the residue be, accept the
Heart.
But I grow tedious, and my love abusd,
Disturbs my thoughts, and makes my lines confused,
Yet pardon me, and deign a gracious eye
On this my rude, vnfil'd
Apology.
Let not the bluntnesse of my phrase offend,
Weight but the
matter,
and not how 'tis
pen'd,
By these abrupt lines in my just defense,
Judge what I might say for my innocence.
And think, I more could speak, that here I spare,
Because my power suites not to what I dare.
My vnaffected
style
retains (you see)
Her old
Frize-Cloake
of young
Rusticitiê:
If others will use neater terms, they may,
Ruder I am, yet love as well as they:
And
(though if I would smoothit I cannot dooit)
My humbel heart I bend beneath thy foot:
While here my Muse her discontent doth sing
To thee her great
Apollo,
and my
King:
Emploring thee by that high sacred
Name,
By
Justice,
by those
Powers
that I could name:
By whatsoever may move, entreat I
thee,
To be what thou art unto all, to me;
I fear it not, yet give me leave to pray,
I may have foes, whose power doth bear such sway;
If they but say I am guilty of offense,
'Twere vain for me to plead my innocence.
But as the Name of God thou bear'st, I trust
Thou imitat'st him to, in being just:
That when the right of
Truth
thou comm'st to scan,
Thoulit not respect the person of the man:
For if thou do, then is my hope undone;
The head-long-way to ruin I must run.
For whilst that they have all the helps which may
Procure their pleasure with my soon decay:
How is it like that I my peace can win me,
When all the aid I have, comes from within me?
Therefore
(good King)
that makst thy bounty shine
Sometime on those whose worths are small as mine;
Oh save me now from
Enuies
dangerous shelf,
Or make me able, and I will save myself.
Let not the want of that make me a scorn,
To which there are more
Fools
then
Wise-men
borne.
Let me not for my
Meannesse
be dispis'd,
Nor others
greatness
make their words more prized,
For whatsoever my outward
Fate
appears,
My
Soul
's as good, my
Heart
as great as theirs.
My love unto my
Country
and to
thee,
As much as his that more would seem to be.
And would this Age allow but means to show it,
Those that misdoubt it, should ere long time know it.
Pitty my youth then, and let me not lie
Wasting my time in fruitless misery.
Though I am mean, I may be borne unto
That service, which another cannot do.
In vain the little Mouse the Lyon spared not,
She did him pleasure, when a greater dared not.
If ought that I have done, do
thee
displease,
Thy misconceiued wrath I will appease,
Or sacrifice my heart; but why should I
Suffer for God knows whom, I know not why?
If that my words through
some
mistake offends,
Let them conceive them right and make amends.
Or were I guilty of offense indeed,
One fault
(they say)
doth but one pardon need:
Yet one I had, and now I want one more;
For once I stood accused for this before.
As I remember I so long agon,
Sung
Thame,
and
Rhynes Epithalamion:
When SHE that from thy Royal self derives
Those gracious virtues that best
Title
gives:
She
that makes
Rhine
proud of her excellence,
And me oft mind her reverence;
Daign'd in her
great good-nature
to incline
Her gentle care to such a cause as mine;
And which is more, vouchsafed her word, to clear
Me from all dangers (if there any were,)
So that I do not now entreat, or sue
For any great boone, or request that's new:
But only this (though absent from the Land)
Her former favor still in force might stand:
And that her word (who present was so deer)
Might be as powerful, as when she was here.
Which if I find, and with thy favor may
Have leave to shake my loathed
bands
away,
(As I do hope I shall) and be set free
From all the troubles, this hath brought on me,
Ple make her
Name
give life unto a
Song,
Whose never-dying note shall last as long
As there is either
River, Groue
or
Spring,
Or
Down
for
Sheep,
or
Shepherds Lad
to sing.
Yea, I will teach my
Muse
to touch a strain,
That was never reachit to yet by any
Swain.
For though that many deem my years unripe,
Yet I have learned to tune an Oaten Pipe,
Whereon I will try what music I can make me,
(Until
Bellona
with her Trump awake me.)
And since the world will not have
Vice
thus shown,
By blazing
Virtue
I will make it known.
Then if the
Court
will not my lines approve
I will go unto some
Mountain,
or thick
Groue:
There to my fellow
Shepherds
will I sing,
Tuning my
Reede
unto some dancing
Spring,
In such a note, that none should dare to trouble it,
Till the
Hills
answer, and the
Woods
redouble it.
And peradventure I may then go near
To speak of something thoulit be pleased to hear:
And that which
those
who now my tunes abhor,
Shall read, and like, and deign to love me for:
But the mean while, oh pass not this suite by,
Let thy
free hand
sign me my
liberty:
And if my love may move thee more to do,
Good King
consider this my trouble to.
Others have found thy favor in distress,
Whose love to thee and thine I think was less.
And I might fitter for thy
service live
On what would not be much for
thee
to give.
And yet I ask it not for that I fear
The outward means of life should fail me here:
For though I want to compass those
good ends
Iaime at for my
Country
and my
Friends,
In this
poor state
I can as well content me,
As if that I had
Wealth
and
Honors
lent me,
Nor for my
own sake
do I seek to shun
This
thralldom,
wherein now I seem undone:
For though I prize my
Freedom
more then
Gold,
And use the means to free myself from hold,
Yet with a mind (I hope) vnchang'd and free,
Here can I live, and play with misery:
Yea, in despite of want and slavery,
Laugh at the world in all her bravery.
Here have I learned to make my greatest
Wrongs
Matter of
Mirth,
and subjects but for
Songs:
Here can I smile to see myself neglected,
And how the mean man's suite is dis-respected;
Whilst those that are more rich, and better friended,
Can have twice greater
faults
thrice sooner ended.
All this, yea more, I see and suffer to,
Yet live content midst discontents I do.
Which whilst I can, it is all one to me,
Whether in
Prison
or
abroad
it be.
For should I still lie here
distrest
and
poor,
It shall not make me breathe a sigh the more;
Since to myself it is indifferent,
Where the small remnant of my days be spent,
But for
Thy
sake, my
Countries,
and my
Friends,
For whom, more then myself,
God
this life lends,
I would not, could I help it, be a scorn,
But (if I might) live free, as I was borne:
Or rather for my Mistress
virtues
sake,
Faire Virtue,
of whom most account I make,
If I can choose, I will not be debas'd
In this last action, lest
She
be disgraced:
For 'twas the love of her that brought me to,
What
Spleene
nor
Envy
could not make me do.
And if her
servants
be no more regarded;
If enemies of
Vice
be thus rewarded,
And I should also
Virtues
wrongs conceal,
And if none lived to whom she dared appeal:
Will they that do not yet her
worth
approve,
Be ever drawn to entertain her
love,
When they shall see him plagu'd as an
Offender,
Who for the love he bears her, doth commend her?
This may to others more offensive be,
Then prejudicial any way to me:
For who will his endeavors ever bend
To follow her, whom there is none will friend?
Some I do hope there be that nothing may
From love of
Truth
and
Honesty
dismay.
But who will (that shall see my evil
Fortune)
The
remedy
of
Times Abuse
importune?
Who will again, when they have smothered me,
Dare to oppose the face of
Villany?
Whereas he must be fain to undertake
A
Combat
with a second
Lernean
Snake;
Whose ever-growing heads when as he crops,
Not only two springs, for each one he lops,
But also he shall see in midst of dangers,
Those he thought
friends
turn
foes,
at least-wise
stranger:
More I could speak, but sure if this do fail me,
I never shall do ought that will avail me;
Nor care to speak again, unless it be
To him that knows how
heart
and
tongue agree;
No, nor to live, when none dares undertake
To speak one word for honest
Virtues
sake.
But let
his will be done,
that best knows what
Will be my
future
good, and what will not.
Hap
well
or
ill,
my spotless
meaning
's fair,
And for
thee,
this shall ever be my prayer,
That thou mayest here enjoy a long-blest Rain,
And dying, be in Heaven re-crowned again.
SO now, if thou hast daign'd my
Lines
to hear,
There's nothing can befall
me
that I fear:
For if
thou
hast compassion on my trouble,
The
Joy
I shall receive will be made double;
And if I fall, it may some
Glory
be,
That none but
IOVE
himself did ruin me.
Your Majesty's most loyal Subject, and yet Prisoner in the Marshalsey, GEORGE WITHER.
Epithalamia: OR NVPTIALL POEMS UPON THE MOST BLESSED AND HAPPY MARRIAGE between the High and Mighty Prince Frederick the fifth, Count Palatine of the Rhine, Duke of Bauier, &c. AND THE MOST VERTVOVS, Gracious, and thrice Excellent Princesse, Elizabeth, Sole Daughter to our dread Sovereign, James, by the grace of God King of Great Britain, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, &c. Celebrated at White-Hall the fourteenth of February. 1612.
Written by George Wither.
LONDON, Printed by T. S. for John Budge, dwelling in Paul's- Church-yard, at the sign of the Green Dragon, 1622.
TO THE ALL-VERTVOVS AND THRICE EXCELLENT PRINCESSE Elizabeth, sole daughter to our dread Sovereign, James by the grace of God, King of Great Britain, France and Ireland, &c. AND WIFE TO THE HIGH AND MIGHTY PRINCE, FREDERICK the fifth, Count Palatine of the Rheine, Duke of Bauier, &c. Elector, and Arch-s • w er to the sacred Roman Empire, during the vacancy Vicar of the same, and Knight of the most honorable Order of the Garter.
George Wither wisheth all the Health; Ioyes, Honors, and Felicities of this World, in this life, and the perfections of eternity in the World to come.
To the Christian Readers.
R Eaders; for that in my book of Satirical Essays, I have been deemed over Cynicall; to show, that I am not wholly inclined to that Vain: But indeed especially, out of the love which in duty I owe to those incomparable Princes, I have in honor of their Royal Solemnities, published these short Epithalamiaes. By which you may perceive (how ever the world think of me) I am not of such a Churlish Constitution, but I can afford Virtue her deserved honor; and have as well an affable look to encourage Honesty; as a stern frown to cast on Villanie: If the Times would suffer me, I could be as pleasing as others; and perhaps ere long I will make you amends for my former rigor; Mean while I commit this unto your censures; and bid you farewell.
G. W.
Epithalamion.
B
Right
Northern
Star, and great
Mineruaes
peer,
Sweet
Lady
of this
Day: Great Britain's
deer.
Loe thy poor
Vassall,
that was erst so rude,
With his most
Rusticke Satyrs
to intrude,
Once more like a poor
Siluan
now draws near;
And in thy sacred
Presence
dares appear.
Oh let not that sweet
Bowe
thy
Brow
be bent,
To scar him with a
Shaft
of discontent:
One look with
Anger,
nay thy gentlest
Frowne,
Is twice enough to cast a
Greater
down.
My
Will
is ever, never to offend,
These that are good; and what I here intend,
Your
Worth
compels me to. For lately greeu'd,
More then can be expressed, or well believed;
Minding forever to abandon sport,
And live exilde from places of resort;
Carelesse of all, I yielding to security,
Thought to shut up my
Muse
in dark obscurity:
And in content, the better to repose,
A lonely
Groue
upon a
Mountain
chose.
East from
Caer Winn,
mid-way twixt
Arle
and
Dis,
True
Springs,
where
Britain's
true
Arcadia
is.
But ere I entered my intended course,
Great Aeolus
began to offer force.
That all the Earth, was but his furies stage.
Fire, Air, Earth, Sea,
were intermixt in one:
Yet
Fire,
through
Water, Earth
and
Air
shone.
The
Sea,
as if she meant to whelme them under,
Beat on the
Cliffes,
and rag'd more loud then thunder:
And whilst the
vales
she with salt waves did fill,
The
Air
shower'd
floods,
that drenched our highest hill;
And the proud trees, that would no duty know;
Lay over-turned, twenties in a Row.
Yea, every Man for fear, fell to
Devotion;
Lest the whole
I will
should have been drenched in th'Ocean.
Which I perceiving, coniur'd up my
Muse,
The
Spirit,
whose good help I sometime use:
And though I meant to break her rest no more,
I was then fain her aide for to implore.
And by her help indeed, I came to know,
Why, both the
Air
and
Seas
were troubled so.
For having vrg'd her, that she would unfold
What cause she knew: Thus much at last she told.
Of late
(quoth she)
there is by powers Divine;
A match concluded, twixt Great
Thame
and
Rhine.
Two famous
Rivers,
equal both to
Nile:
The one, the pride of
Europes
greatest I will.
Th'other disdaining to be closely pent;
Washes a great part of the
Continent.
Yet with abundance, doth the
Wants
supply,
Of the still-thirsting
Sea,
that's never dry.
And now,
these,
being not alone endeared,
To mighty
Neptune,
and his watery
Heard:
But also to the great and dreadful
Jove,
With all his sacred Companies above,
Both have assented by their
Loves
inviting:
To grace (with their own presence) this
Uniting.
Jove
called a
Summons
to the
Worlds
great wonder,
A thousand
Legions
he intends to send them,
Of
Cherubims
and
Angels
to attend them:
And those strong
Winds,
that did such blustering keep,
Were but the
Tritons,
sounding in the
Deepe;
To warn each
River,
petty
Streame
and
Spring,
Their aide unto their
Sovereign
to bring.
The
Floods
and
Showres
that came so plenteous down,
And lay entrencht in every
Field
and
Town,
Were but retainers to the Nobler sort,
That owe their Homage at the
Watrie Court:
Or else the
Streames
not pleased with their own store,
To grace the
Thames,
their
Mistress,
borrowed more.
Exacting from their neighbouring
Dales
and
Hills,
But by consent all (naught against their wills.)
Yet now, since in this stir are brought to ground
Many fair buildings, many hundreds drowned,
And daily found of broken Ships great store,
That lie dismembered upon every shore:
With diverse other mischiefs known to all,
This is the cause that those great harms befall.
Whilst other, things in readiness, did make,
And spighting at this hopeful match, began
To wreak their wrath on
Air, Earth, Sea,
and
Man.
Some having shapes of
Romish
shavelings got,
Spew'd out their venom; and began to plot
Which way to thwart it: others made their way
With much diffraction thorough
Land
and
Sea
Extreamely raging. But
Almighty Jove
Perceiues their
Hate
and
Envy
from above:
He'le check their fury, and in irons chained,
Their liberty abused, shall be restrained:
He'le shut them up, from coming to molest
The Meriments of
Hymens
holy feast.
Where shall be knit that sacred
Gordian
knot,
Which in no age to come shall be forgot.
Which
Policy
nor
Force
shall nere untie,
But must continue to eternity:
Which for the whole
Worlds
good was fore-decree'd,
With
Hope
expected long; now come indeed.
And of whose future
glory, worth,
and
merit
Much I could speak with a
prophetike spirit.
Thus by my
Muses
dear assistance, finding
The cause of this disturbance, with more minding
•
nd longing to behold this
Tales
event:
My lonely life I suddenly forsook,
•
nd to the
Court
again my lourney took.
Mean-while I saw the furious
Winds
were laid;
The risings of the swelling
Waters
staid.
The
Winter
gan to change in everything.
And seemed to borrow mildness of the
Spring.
The
Violet
and
Primrose
fresh did grow;
And as in
April,
trimmed both
Cops
and
row.
The
City,
that I left in mourning clad,
•
rouping, as if it would have still been sad.
•
found decked up in robes so neat and trim,
•
air
Iris
would have looked but stale and dim
〈◊〉
her best colors, had she there appeared,
The
Sorrowes
of the
Court
I found well clear'd,
Their woeful habits quite cast off, and ty'rd
All her chief
Peers
and choicest
beauties
to,
〈◊〉
greater pomp, then
Mortals
use to do,
Wait as attendants.
Juno
's come to see;
•
ecause she hears that this solemnity
•
xceeds fair
Hippodamia's
(where the strife
Twixt
her, Minerva,
and lame
Vulcans
wife
•
id first arise,) and with her leads along
〈◊〉
noble, stately, and a mighty throng.
Venus,
(attended with her rarest features,
Sweet lovely-smiling, and heart-moving creatures,
The very fairest
Jewels
of her treasure,
Able to move the senceles stones to pleasure.)
Of all her sweetest
Saints,
hath robbed their shrines;
And brings them for the Courtiers
Valentines.
Nor doth Dame
Pallas,
from these triumphs lurk;
Her noblest wits, she freely sets on work.
Of late she summond them unto this place,
To do your maskes and
Reuels
better grace.
Hath shown his fury in a bloodless fight;
And both on land and water, sternely dressed,
Acted his bloody
Stratagems
in jest:
Which (to the people, frighted by their error,)
With seeming wounds and death did ad more terror,
Besides, to give the greater cause of wonder,
Jove
did vouchsafe a rattling peal of thunder:
Were from the
Middle-Region
lately called;
And to a place appointed made repair,
To show their fiery Friscols in the air,
People innumerable do resort,
As if all
Europe
here would keep one Court:
Yea,
Hymen
in his Safferon-coloured weed,
To celebrate his rites is full agreed.
All this I see: which seeing, makes me borrow
Some of their mirth a while, and lay down sorrow.
And yet not this: but rather the delight
My heart doth taken in the much hoped sight
Of these thy glories, long already due;
And this sweet comfort, that my eyes do view
Thy happy Bridegroom,
Prince Count Palatine,
Now thy best friend and truest
Valentine.
Upon whose brow, my mind doth read the story
Of mighty
fame,
and a true future glory.
Me thinks I do foresee already, how
Princes
and
Monarchs
at his stirrup how:
I see him shine in steel; the bloody fields
Already won, and how his proud
foe
yields.
God hath ordained him happiness great store:
And yet in nothing is he happy more,
Then in thy love (fair
Princesse:)
For (unless
Heaven,
like to
Man,
be prone to fickleness)
Thy
Fortunes
must be greater in effect,
Then
time
makes show of, or
men
can expect.
Yet, notwithstanding all those goods of
fate,
Thy
Mind
shall ever be above thy
state:
For over and beside thy proper merit,
Our last
Eliza
grants her Noble spirit
To be re-doubled on thee; and your
names
Being both one, shall give you both one fames.
Oh blessed thou! and they to whom thou giu'st
The leave for to be attendants where thou liu'st:
And haplesse we, that must of force let go,
The matchless treasure we esteem of so.
But yet we trust 'tis for our good and thine;
Or else thou shouldst not change thy
Thame
for
Rhyne.
We hope that this will the uniting prove
Of
Countries
and of
Nations
by your
love:
And that from out your blessed loins, shall come
Another terror to the
Whore of Rome:
And such a stout
Achilles,
as shall make
Her tottering Walls and weak foundation shake:
For
Thetis-
like, thy fortunes do require,
Thy
Issue
should be greater then his
fire.
But
(Gracious Princesse)
now since thus it fares,
And God so well for you and us prepares:
Since he hath daign'd such honors for to do you,
And shown himself so favorable to you:
Since he hath changed your sorrows, and your sadness,
Into such great and unexpected gladness:
Oh now remember you to be at leisure,
Sometime to think on him amidst your pleasure:
Let not these glories of the
world
deceive you,
Nor her vain favors of yourself bereave you.
Consider yet for all this Iollitie,
Y'are mortal, and must feel mortality:
And that God can in midst of all your Ioyes,
Quite dash this pomp, and fill you with annoys.
Triumphes
are fit for
Princes;
yet we find
They ought not wholly to take up the mind,
Nor yet to be let pass; as things in vain:
For out of all things, wit will knowledge gain.
Musique
may teach of difference in degree,
The best tuned
Common-Weales
will framed be:
And that he moves, and lives with greatest grace,
That unto
Time
and
Measure
ties his pace.
Your mind with a more lasting true content.
When you behold the infinite resort,
The glory and the splendor of the Court;
What wondrous favors God doth here bequeath you,
How many hundred thousands are beneath you;
And view with admiration your great bliss,
Then with yourself you may imagine this.
'It is but a blast, or transitory shade,
Which in the turning of a hand may fade.
Honors, which you yourself did never win,
And might (had God been pleased) another's binne.
And think, if shadows have such majesty,
What are the glories of eternity;
Then by this image of a
fight on Sea,
Wherein you heard the thundering Canons plea;
And saw flames breaking from their murthering throts,
Which in true skirmish, fling resistlesse shots;
Your wisdom may (and will no doubt) begin,
To cast what peril a poor
Soldiers
in:
You will conceive his miseries and cares,
How many dangers, deaths, and wounds he shares:
Then though the most passit over, and neglect them,
That
Rethoricke
will move you to respect them.
And if hereafter, you should hap to see
Such
Mimick Apes
(that Courts disgraces be:)
I mean such Chamber-combatants; who never
Weare other Helmet, then a Hat of
Beuer:
Or nere board
Pinnace
but in silken sails;
And in the steed of boisterous shirts of maile,
Go armed in
Cambrick:
If that such a
Kite
(I say) should scorn an
Eagle
in your sight;
Your
wisdom
judge (by this experience) can,
Which hath most worth,
Hermaphrodite,
or
Man.
With Artfull fires, mounted in the skies:
Graced with horred claps of sulphury thunders;
May make you mind th' Almighty's greater wonders.
Nor is there anything, but you may thence
Reape inward gain; as well as please the
Sense.
But pardon me
(oh fairest)
that am bold,
My heart thus freely, plainly, to unfold.
What though I know, you knew all this before:
My love
this
shows, and that is something more.
Do not my honest service here disdain,
I am a faithful, though an humble Swain.
I am none of those that have the means or place,
With shows of cost to do your
Nuptials
grace:
But only master of mine own desire,
Am hither come with others to admire.
I am not of those
Heliconian
wits;
Whose pleasing strains the
Courts
known humor fits.
But a poor rural
Shepherd,
that for need,
Can make sheep Musique on an
Oaten
reed:
Yet for my
love
(I will this be bold to boast)
It is as much to you, as his that's most.
Which, since I no way else can now explain,
If you will in midst of all these
glories
deign,
To lend your ears unto my
Muse
so long,
She shall declare it in a
Wedding song.
Epithalamion.
Love and service both I owe thee:
And would wait upon thy pleasure;
But I cannot be at leisure:
For, I owe this
day
as debtor,
To (a thousand times) thy better.
Hymen
now will have effected
What hath been so long expected:
Thame
thy
Mistress,
now vnwedded;
Soone, must with a
Prince
be bedded.
If thou wilt see her
Virgin
ever,
Come, and do it now, or never.
Where art thou, oh fair
Aurora?
Call in
Ver
and Lady
Flora:
And you daughters of the
Morning,
In your near'st, and fear'st adorning:
Clear your fore-heads, and be sprightfull,
That this
day
may seem delightful.
All you
Nimphs
that use the Mountains,
Or delight in groves and fountains;
Shepheardesses,
you that dally,
Either upon Hill or Valley:
And you daughters of the
Bower,
That acknowledge
Vestaes
power.
Oh you sleep too long; awake ye,
See how
Time
doth overtake ye.
Harke, the
Lark
is up and singeth,
And the house with echoes ringeth.
Pretious hours, why neglect ye,
Whilst affairs thus expect ye?
Come away upon my blessing,
The
Bride-chamber
lies to dressing:
Strow the ways with leaves of
Roses,
Some make
garlands,
some make
poses:
'It is a favor, andit may joy you,
That your
Mistress
will employ you.
That do sport about her waters:
Those that with their locks of
Amber,
We must have to fill the number.
All the
Nimphs
of
Trent
and
Humber.
Fie, your haste is scarce sufficing,
For the
Bride
's awake and rising.
Enter beauties, and attend her;
All your helps and service lend her:
With your quaintst and new'st devises,
Trim your Lady, fair
Thamisis.
See; she's ready: with
Ioyes
greet her,
Lads, go bid the
Bride-groome
meet her:
But from rash approach advise him,
Lest a too much Joy surprise him,
None I ere knew yet, that dared,
View an
Angel
unprepared.
Now unto the
Church
she hies her;
Envy
bursts, if she espies her:
In her gestures as she paces,
Are united all the
Graces:
Which who sees and hath his senses,
Loves in spite of all defences.
O most true maiestick creature!
Nobles
did you note her feature?
Felt you not an inward motion,
Tempting
Love
to yield devotion;
And as you were even desiring,
Something check you for aspiring?
That's her
Virtue
which still tameth
Loose desires, and bad thoughts blameth:
For whilst others were unruly,
She observed
Diana
truly:
And hath by that means obtained
Gifts of her that none have gained.
Yon's the
Bride-groome,
d'ye not spy him?
See how all the
Ladies
eye him.
Venus
his perfection findeth,
And no more
Adonis
mindeth.
Much of him my heart diuineth:
On whose brow all
Virtue
shineth.
Two such
Creatures Nature
would not
Let one place long keep: she should not:
One she'l have (she cares not whether,)
But our
Loves
can spare her neither.
Therefore ere we'le so be spighted,
They in one shall be united.
Natures
self is well contented,
By that means to be prevented.
And behold they are retired,
So conioyn'd, as we desired:
Hand in hand, not only fixed,
But their hearts, are intermixed.
Happy they and we that see it,
For the good of
Europe
be it.
And hear
Heaven
my devotion,
Make this
Rhyne
and
Thame
an
Ocean:
That it may with might and wonder,
Whither all this people croudeth:
There they feasted are with plenty,
Sweet
Ambrosia
is no deinty.
Groomes quaffe
Nectar;
for theres meeter,
Yea, more costly wines and sweeter.
Young men all,
for joy go ring ye,
And your merriest
Carols
sing ye.
Here's of
Damzels
many choices,
Let them tune their sweetest voices.
Fet the
Muses
to, to cheare them;
They can ravish all that hear them.
Ladies,
'tis their
Highness
pleasures,
To behold you foot the
Measures:
Louely gestures addeth graces,
To your bright and
Angel
faces.
Give your active minds the bridle:
Nothing worse then to be idle.
Worthies,
your affairs forbear ye,
For the
State
a while may spare ye:
Time
was, that you loved sporting,
Have you quite forgot your Courting?
Joy
the heart of
Cares
beguileth:
Follow Shepherds,
how I pray you,
Can your
flocks
at this time stay you?
Let us also hie us thither,
Let's lay all our wits together,
And some
Pastoral
invent them,
That may show the
love
we meant them.
I myself
though meanest stated,
And in
Court
now almost hated,
In the midst of them to enter;
For I know, there's no disdaining,
Where I look for entertaining.
See, me thinks the very
season,
As if capable of Reason,
Hath lain by her native rigor,
The fair
Sun-beams
have more vigor.
They are
Aeols
most endeared:
For the
Air
's stilled and cleared.
Fawnes,
and
Lambs
and
Kidds
do play,
In the honor of this
day:
The shrill
Black-Bird,
and the
Thrush
Hops about in every bush:
And among the tender twigs,
Chaunt their sweet harmonious ijgs.
They do make each
Groue
a
temple:
Where their
time
the best way using,
They their
Summer loves
are choosing.
And unless some
Churl
do wrong them,
There's not an od bird among them.
Yet I heard as I was walking,
Groues and hills by
Ecchoes
talking:
Reeds unto the small brooks whistling,
Whilst they dancit with pretty rushling.
Then for
us
to sleep 'twere pity;
Since
dumb creatures
are so witty.
But oh
Titan,
thou dost dally,
Hie thee to thy
Western Valley:
Let this night one hour borrow:
She shall payit again tomorrow:
And if thou'st that favor do them,
Send thy sister
Phabe
to them.
But she's come her self unasked,
None yet saw, or heard in story,
Such immortal, mortal glory.
View not, without
preparation;
Lest you faint in
admiration.
Say my
Lord's,
and speak truth barely,
Mou'd they not exceeding rarely?
Did they not such praises merit,
As if
flesh
had all been
spirit?
True indeed, yet I must tell them,
There was
One
did far excel them.
But (alas) this is ill dealing,
Night
unawares away is stealing:
Their delay the poor
bed
wrongeth,
That for
Bride
with
Bride-groome
longeth:
And above all other places,
Must be blest with their embraces.
Reuellers,
then now forbear ye,
And unto your rests prepare ye:
Let's a while your absence borrow,
Sleep
to night, and
dance
tomorrow.
We could well allow your Courting:
But 'twill hinder better sporting.
They are gone, and
Night
all lonely,
Leaues the
Bride
with
Bridegroom
only.
Muse
now tell; (for thou hast power
To fly thorough wall or tower:)
What contentments their hearts cheereth;
And how lovely she appeareth.
And yet do not; tell it no man,
Rare conceits
may so grow common:
Do not to the
Vulgar
show them,
('It is enough that
thou
dost know them.)
Their ill hearts are but the
Center,
Where all misconceiuings enter.
But thou
Luna
that dost lightly,
Haunt our downes and forests nightly:
Thou that fauourst generation,
And art help to procreation:
See their
issue
thou so cherish,
I may live to see it flourish.
And you
Planets,
in whose power
Doth consist these lives of our;
You that teach us
Diuinations.
Help with all your
Constellations,
How to frame in
Her,
a creature,
Blest in
Fortune, Wit,
and
Feature.
Lastly, oh you
Angels
ward them,
Set your sacred
Spels
to gard them;
Chase away such fears or terrors,
As not being, seem through errors:
Yea, let not a
dreams
molesting,
Make them start when they are resting.
But THOU chiefly, most adored,
That shouldst only be implored:
Thou
to whom my meaning tendeth,
Whether ere in show it bendeth:
Let them rest to night from sorrow,
And awake with joy tomorrow.
Oh, to my
request
be heedful,
Grant them
that,
and all things needful.
Let not these my strains of
Folly,
Make
true prayer
be unholy:
But if I have here offended:
Help, forgive, and Ice it mended.
Daigne me
this.
And if my
Muses
Hastie issue; she peruses;
Make it unto her seem grateful,
Though to all the
World
else hateful.
But how ere, yet
Soul
persevere
Thus to wish her good forever.
THus ends the
Day,
together with my Song;
Oh may the Ioyes there of continue long!
Let
Heavens
just, all-seeing, sacred power,
Favor this happy marriage day of your;
And bless you in your chaste embraces so,
We
Britain's
may behold before you go
The hopeful Issue we shall count so dear,
And whom (unborn) his foes already fear.
Yea, I desire, that all your sorrows may
Never be more, then they have been today.
Which hoping; for acceptance now I sue,
And humbly bid your
Grace
and
Court
adue.
I saw the sight I came for; which I know
Was more then all, the world beside could show.
But if amongst
Apolloes
Lays, you can
Be pleased to lend a gentle ear to
Pan;
Or think your Country
Shepherd
loves as dear,
As if he were a
Courtier,
or a
Peer:
Then I, that else must to my
Cell
of pain,
Will joyful turn unto my
flock
again:
And there unto my fellow
shepherds
tell,
Why
you
are loved; wherein
you
do excel.
And when we drive our
flocks
a field to graze them,
So chaunt your praises, that it shall amaze them.
And think that
Fate
hath new recald from death
Their still-lamented, sweet
Elizabeth.
For though they see the
Court
but now and then,
They know
desert
as well as
Greater
men:
And honord
Fame
in them doth live or die,
As well as in the mouth of
Majesty.
But taking granted what I here entreat;
At heaven for you my
devotions
beat:
And though I fear,
fate
will not suffer me
To do you service, where your
Fortunes
be:
How ere my skill hath yet despised seemed,
(And my vnripened wit been misesteem'd:)
When all this costly
Showe
away shall flit,
And not one live that doth remember it;
If
Enuies
trouble let not to persevere;
I will find a means to make it known forever.
CERTAINE EPIGRAMS CONCERNING MARRIAGE.
Epigram 1.
T
Is said; in Marriage above all the rest
The children of a King find comforts least,
Because without respect of Love or Hate
They must, and oft be, ruled by the State:
But if
contented Love, Religions care,
Equalitie in State,
and
years
declare
A happy Match (as I suppose no less)
Then rare and great's
Elizaes
Happiness.
Epigram. 2.
GOd was the first that Marriage did ordain,
By making One, Two; and Two, One again,
Epigram. 3.
SOuldier; of thee I ask, for thou canst best,
Having known sorrow, judge of Joy and Rest:
What greater bliss, then after all thy harms,
To have a wife that's fair, and lawful thine;
And lying prison'd 'twixt her Ivory arms,
There tell what thou hast scapt by powers divine?
How many round thee thou hast murdered seen;
How oft thy soul hath been near hand expiring,
How many times thy flesh hath wounded been:
Whilst she thy fortune, and thy worth admiring,
With joy of health, and pity of thy pain;
Doth weep and kiss, and kiss and weep again.
Epigram. 4.
FAire
Helen
having stained her husbands bed,
And mortal hatred 'twixt two Kingdoms bred;
Had still remaining in her so much good,
That
Heroes
for her lost their dearest blood:
Then if with all that ill, such worth may last,
Oh what is she worth, that's as fair, and chaste!
Epigram. 5.
OLd
Orpheus
know a good
wives
worth so well,
That when his died, he followed her to hell,
And for her loss, at the
Elizean
Groue,
He did not only Ghosts to pity move,
But the sad Poet breathed his sighs so deep;
'It is said, the Devils could not choose but weep.
Epigram. 6.
LOng did I wonder, and I wonder much,
Rome's Church should from her Clergy take that due:
Thought I, why should she that contentment grutch?
What, doth she all with continence indue?
No: But why then are they debarred that state?
Is she become a foe unto her own?
Doth she the members of her body hate?
Or is it for some other cause vnshowne?
Oh yes:
they find a woman's lips so dainty:
They tie themselves from one, cause they'll have twenty.
Epigram. 7.
WOmen, as some men say▪ unconstant be;
'It is like enough, and so no doubt are men:
Nay, if their scapes we could so plainly see,
I fear that scarce there will be one for ten.
Men have but their own lusts that tempt to ill:
Women have lusts, and men's allurements to:
Alas, if their strengths cannot curb their will;
What should poor women that are weaker do?
Oh they had need be chaste and look about them,
That strive 'gainst lust within, and knaves without them.
FINIS.
THE SHEPHEARDS HVNTING: Being certain Eglogues written during the time of the Authors Imprisonment in the Marshalsey.
By George Wither, Gentleman.
[illustration]
LONDON, Printed by T. S. for John Budge, dwelling in Paul's- Church-yard, at the sign of the Green Dragon, 1622.
To those Honoured, Noble, and right Virtuous Friends, my Visitants in the Marshalsey: And to all other my unknown Fauourers, who either privately, or publicly wished me well in my imprisonment.
N Oble Friends; you whose virtues made me first in love with Virtue; and whose worths made me be thought worthy of your loves: I have now at last (you see) by God's assistance, and your encouragement, run through the Purgatory of imprisonment; and by the worthy favor of a just Prince, stand free again, without the least touch of dejected baseness. Seeing therefore I was grown beyond my Hope so fortunate (after acknowledgement of my Creators love, together with the unequal'd Clemency of so gracious a Sovereign) I was troubled to think, by what means I might express my thankfulness to so many well-deserving friends: No way I found to my desire, neither yet ability to perform when I found it. But at length considering with myself what you were (that is) such, who favor honesty for no second reason, but because you yourselves are good; and aim at no other reward, but the witness of a sound conscience that you do well, I found, that thankfulness would prove the acceptablest present to suit with your dispositions; and that I imagined could be no way better expressed, then in manifesting your courtesies, and giving consent to your reasonable demands. For the first, I confess (with thanks to the disposer of all things, and a true grateful heart towards you) so many were the unexpected Visitations, and vnhoped kindnesses received, both from some among you of my Acquaintance, and many other unknown Well-willers of my Cause, that I was persuaded to entertain a much better conceit of the Times, then I lately conceived, and assured myself, that Virtue had far more followers then I supposed.
Somewhat it disturbed me to behold our ages Fauourites, whilst they frowned on my honest enterprises, to take unto their protections the egregiousts fopperies: yet much more was my contentment, in that I was respected by so many of You, amongst whō there are some, who can and may as much dis-esteem these, as they neglect me: nor could I fear their Malice or Contempt, whilst I enjoyed your favors, who (howsoever you are under-valued by Fools for a time) shall leave unto your posterity so noble a memory, that your names shall be reverenced by Kings, when many of these who now flourish with a show of usurped Greatness, shall either wear out of being, or despoiled of all their patched reputation, grow contemptible in the eyes of their beloved Mistress the World. Your Love it is that (enabling me with patience to endure what is already past) hath made me also careful better to prepare myself for all future misaduentures, by bringing to my consideration, what the passion of my just discontentments had almost quite banished from my remembrance.
Further, to declare my thankfulness, in making apparent my willing mind to be commanded in any services of love, which you shall think fit (though I want ability to perform great matters) yet I have according to some of your requests, been contented to give way to the printing of these Eglogues; which though it to many seem a sleight matter, yet being well considered of, may prove a strong argument of my readiness to give you content in a greater matter: for they being (as you well know) begotten with little care, and preserved with less respect, gave sufficient evidence, that I meant (rather then any way to deceive your trust) to give the world occasion of calling my discretion in question, as I now assure myself this will: and the sooner, because such expectations (I perceive) there are (of I know not what Inuentions) as would have been frustrated, though I had employed the utmost and very best of my endeavors.
Notwithstanding for your sakes, I have here adventured once again to make trial of the Worlds censures: and what hath received being from your Loves, I here re-dedicated to your Worths, which if your noble dispositions will like well of; or if you will but reasonably respect what yourselves drew me unto, I shall be nothing displeased at others cavils, but resting myself contented with your good opinions, scorn all the rabble of uncharitable detractors: For none, I know, will malign it, except those, who either particularly malice my person, or profess themselves enemies to my former Books; who (saving those that were incensed on others speeches) as diverse of you (according to your protestations) have observed, are either open enemies of our Church; men notoriously guilty of some particular Abuses therein taxed, such malicious Critics who have the repute of being judicious, by detracting from others; or at best, such Guls, as never approve anything good, or learned, but either that which their shallow apprehensions can apply to the soothing of their own opinions, or what (indeed rather) they understand not.
Trust me, how ill soever it hath been rewarded, my love to my Country is inuiolate: my thankfulness to you unfeigned, my endeavor to do every man good; all my aim, content with honesty: and this my pains (if it may be so termed) more to avoid idleness, then for affectation of praise: and if notwithstanding all this, I must yet not only rest myself content that my innocence hath escaped with strict imprisonment (to the impairing of my state, and hindrance of my fortunes) but also be constrained to see my guiltless lines, suffer the despite of ill tongues: yet for my further encouragement, let me entreat the continuance of your first respect, wherein I shall find that comfort as will be sufficient to make me set light, and so much contemn all the malice of my adversaries, that ready to burst with the venom of their own hearts, they shall see
My Mind enamored on fair
Virtues
light,
Transcends the limits of their bleared sight,
And placed above their
Envy
doth contemn,
Nay, sit and laugh at, their disdain, and them.
But Noble Friends, I make question neither of yours, nor any honest man's respect, and therefore will no further urge it, nor trouble your patience: only this I will say, that you may not think me too well conceited of myself; though the Time were to blame, in ill requiting my honest endeavors, which in the eyes of the World deserved better; yet some what I am assured there was in me worthy that punishment, which when God shall give me grace to see and amend, I doubt not but to find that regard as will be fitting for so much merit as my endeavors may justly challenge. Mean while, the better to hold myself in esteem with you, and amend the worlds opinion of Virtue, I will study to amend myself, that I may be yet more worthy to be called
Your Friend, GEO: WITHER.
The Shepherds Hunting.
The first Eglogue.
THE ARGUMENT.
Willy
leaves his Flock a while,
To lament his
Friends
exile;
Where, though prison'd, he doth find,
He's still free that's free in Mind:
And that there is no defense
Halfe so firm as Innocence.
PHILARETE. WILLIE.
Philarete.
W
Illy,
thou now full
jolly
tun'st thy
Reedes,
Making the
Nymphs
enamor'd on thy strain,
And whilst thy harmless flock vnscarred feeds,
Hast the contentment, of hills, groves, & plains:
Trust me, I
joy
thou and thy
Muse
so speedes
In such an Age, where so much mischief reigns:
And to my
Care
it some redress will be,
Fortune
hath so much
grace
to smile on thee.
Willy.
To smile on me? I nere yet knew her smile,
Unless 'twere when she purposed to deceive me;
Many a
Traine,
and many a
painted Wile
She casts, in hope of
Freedom
to bereave me:
Yet now, because she sees I scorn her guile
To fawn on sooles, she for my
Muse
doth leave me.
And here of late, her wonted
Spite
doth tend,
To work me
Care,
by frowning on my
friend.
Philarete.
Why then I see her
Copper-coin
's no starling,
'Twill not be
currant
still, for all the gilding)
A
Knaue,
or
Fool,
must ever be her
Darling,
For they have minds to all occasions yielding:
If we get anything by all our parling.
It seems an
Apple,
but it proves a
Weilding:
But let that pass: sweet
Shepherd
tell me this,
For what beloved
Friend
thy sorrow is.
Willy.
Art thou,
Philarete,
in durance here,
And dost thou ask me for what
Friend
I grieve?
Can I suppose thy love to me is deer,
Or this thy
joy
for my
content
believe?
When thou thinkest thy
cares
touch not me as near:
Or that I pin thy
Sorrowes
at my sleeve?
I have in thee reposed so much trust,
I never thought, to find thee so unjust.
Philarete.
WIL, why
Willy?
Prethee do not ask me why?
Doth it diminish any of thy
care,
That I in freedom maken
melody;
And thinkest I cannot as well somewhat spare
From my
delight,
to mone thy
misery?
'It is time our
Loves
should these suspects forbear:
Thou art that friend, which thou vnnam'd shouldest know,
And not have drawn my love in question so.
Philarete.
Forgive me, and I will pardon thy mistake,
And so let this thy
gentle-anger
cease,
(I never of thy love will question make)
Whilst that the number of our days increase,
Yet to myself I much might seem to take,
And something near unto presumption press:
To think me worthy
love
from such a
spirit,
But that I know thy kindness past my merit.
Besides; me thought thou spak'st now of a friend,
That seemed more grievous discontents to bear,
Some things I find that do in show offend,
Which to my Patience little trouble are,
And they ere long I hope will have an end;
Or though they have not, much I do not care:
So this it was, made me that question move,
And not suspect of honest
Willies
love.
Willie.
Alas, thou art exiled from thy Flock,
And quite beyond the
Desarts
here confined,
Hast nothing to converse with but a
Rock:
Or at least
Out laws
in their
Caues
half pin'd:
And doest thou at thy own mis-fortune mock,
Making thyself to, to thyself unkind?
When heretofore we talkit we did embrace:
But now I scarce can come to see thy face.
Philarete.
Yet all that
Willy,
is not worth thy sorrow,
For I have
Mirth
here thou wouldest not believe,
From deepest
cares
the highest
joys
I borrow.
If ought chance out this day, may make me grieve
I will lcarne to mend, or scorn it by tomorrow.
This barren place yields somewhat to relieve:
For, I have found sufficient to content me,
And more true bliss then ever freedom lent me.
Willie.
Are
Prisons
then grown places of delight?
Philarete.
'It is as the
conscience
of the
Prisoner
is,
Thevery
Grates
are able to affright
The guilty Man, that knows his deeds amiss;
All outward
Pleasures
are exiled quite,
And it is nothing (of it self) but this:
Abhorred loanenesse, darkness, sadness, pains,
Num'n-cold, sharp-hunger, schorcning thirst and chains.
Willie.
And these are nothing?—
Philarete.
—Nothing yet to me.
Only my friends restraint is all my
pain.
And since I truly find my
conscience
free
From that my
loanenesse
to, I reap some gain.
Willie.
But grant in this no discontentment be▪
It doth thy wished liberty restrain:
And to thy
soul
I think there's nothing nearer,
For I could never hear thee prize ought dearer.
Philarete.
True, I did ever set it at a Rate
Too dear for any
Mortals
worth to buy,
'It is not our greatest
Shepherds
whole estate,
Shall purchase from me, my least
liberty:
But I am subject to the powers of
Fate,
And to obey them is no
slavery:
They may do much, but when they have done all,
Only my
body
they may bring in
thrall.
And 'tis not that (my
Willy)
'tis my
mind,
My
mind
's more precious, freedom I so weigh
A thousand ways they may my
body
bind,
In thousand
thrals,
but never my mind betray:
And thence it is that I
contentment
find,
And bear with
Patience
this my load away:
I am still myself,
and that I'd rather be,
Then to be Lord of all
these Downes
in fee.
Willie.
Nobly resolu'd,
and I do joy to hearit,
For 'tis the
mind
of
Man
indeed that's all.
There's naught so hard but a
brave
heart will bearit,
The
guiltless men
count great
afflictions
small,
They'le look on
Death
and
Torment,
yet not fearit,
Because they know
'tis rising so to fall:
Tyrants
may boast they to much
power
are borne,
Yet he hath more that
Tyranies
can scorn.
Philarete.
•
is right, but I no
Tyranies
endure,
•
or have I suffered ought worth name of care
Willie.
What e're thou wilt called, thou mayest, but I am sure,
Many more pine that much less pained are:
Thy look me thinks doth say thy meaning's pure
And by this past I find what thou doest dare:
But I could never yet the
reason
know,
Why thou art lodged in this house of woe.
Philarete.
Nor I by
Pan,
nor never hope to do,
But thus it pleases some; and I do guess
Partly a
cause
that moves them thereunto,
Which neither will avail me to express,
Nor thee to hear, and therefore let it go,
We must not say, they do so that oppress:
Yet I shall never to sooth
them
or
the times,
Iniure myself, by bearing others
crimes.
Willie.
Then now thou mayest speak freely, there's none hears,
But he, whom I do hope thou doest not doubt.
Philarete.
True: but if
doors
and
walls
have gotten
ears,
And
Closet-whisperings
may be spread about:
Do not blame him that in such
causes
fears
What in his
Passion
he may blunder out:
In such a place, and such strict
times
as these,
Where what we speak is took as
others
please.
But yet tomorrow, if thou come this way,
I will tell thee all my story to the end,
'It is long, and now I fear thou canst not stay,
Because thy Flock must watered be and pend,
And
Night
begins to muffle up the day,
Which to inform thee how alone I spend,
I will only sing a sorry
Prisoners Lay,
I framed this
Morne,
which though it suits no fields,
Is such as fits me, and sad
Thraldome
yields.
Willie.
Well, I will set my
Kit
another string,
And play unto it whilst that thou doest sing.
Sonnet.
Philarete.
N
Ow that my body dead alive,
Bereau'd of comfort, lies in thrall.
Do thou my soul begin to thrive,
And unto Honey, turn this Gall:
So shall we both through outward we,
The way to inward comfort know.
As to the Flesh we food do give;
To keep in us this Mortall breath:
So Seules on Meditations live,
And shun thereby immortal death:
Nor art thou ever nearer rest,
Then when thou find'st me most oppressed.
First think my
Soul;
If I have Foes
That take a pleasure in my care,
And to procure these outward woes,
Have thus entrapt me vnaware:
Thou shouldest by much more careful be,
Since greater foes lay wait for thee.
Then when Mew'd up in grates of steel,
Minding those joys mine eyes do miss,
Thou find'st no torment thou doest feel,
So grievous as Priuation is:
Muse how the Damn'd in flames that glow,
Pine in the loss of bliss they know.
Thou seest there's given so great might
To some that are but clay as I,
Their very anger can affright,
Which, if in any thou espy.
Thus think; If Mortals frowns strike fear,
How dreadful will God's wrath appear?
By my late hopes that now are crossed,
Consider those that firmer be:
And make the freedom I have lost,
A means that may remember thee:
Had
Christ,
not thy Redeemer been,
What horrid thrall thou hadst been in.
These iron chains, these bolts of steel,
Which other poor offenders grind,
The wants and cares which they do feel,
May bring some greater thing to mind:
For by their grief thou shalt do well,
To think upon the pains of Hell.
Or, when through me thou seest a Man
Condemn'd unto a mortal death,
How sad he looks, how pale, how wan,
Drawing with fear his panting breath:
Think, if in that such grief thou see,
How sad will,
Go ye cursed be.
Again, when he that feared to Dye
(Past hope) doth see his Pardon brought,
Read but the joy that's in his eye,
And then convey it to thy thought:
There think, betwixt thy heart and thee,
How sweet will,
Come ye blessed,
be.
Thus if thou do, though closed here,
My bondage I shall deem the less,
I neither shall have cause to fear,
Nor yet bewail my sad distress:
For whether live, or pine, or die,
We shall have bliss eternally.
Willy.
Trust me I see the
Cage
doth some
Birds
good,
And if they do not suffer too much wrong,
Will teach them sweeter descants then the wood:
Beleeueit, I like the subject of thy
Song,
It shows thou art in no distempred mood:
But cause to hear the residue I long,
My Sheep tomorrow I will nearer bring,
And spend the day to hear thee talk and sing.
Yet e're we part,
Philarete,
areed,
Of whom thou learned'st to make such songs as these,
I never yet heard any Shepherds reed
Tune in mishap, a strain that more could please;
Surely,
Thou
doest inuoke at this thy need
Some power, that we neglect in other lays:
For here's a Name, and words, that but few swaines
Have mentioned at their meeting on the Plaines.
Philarete.
Indeed 'tis true; and they are sore to blame,
They do so much neglect it in their Songs,
For, thence proceedeth such a worthy fame,
As is not subject unto Enuies wrongs:
That, is the most to be respected
name
Of our true
Pan,
whose worth sits on all tongues:
And what the ancient Shepherds use to praise
In sacred
Anthems,
upon Holy-days.
He that first taught his Music such a strain
Was that sweet Shepherd, who (until a King)
Kept Sheep upon the honey-milky Plain,
That is inrichit by
Iordans
watering;
He in his troubles eased the bodies pains,
By measures raised to the Souls ravishing:
And his sweet numbers only most divine,
Gaue first the being to this Song of mine.
Willy.
Let his good spirit ever with thee dwell,
That I might hear such Music every day.
Philarete.
Thanks,
Swain:
but hark, thy
Weather
rings his Bell.
And
Swaines
to fold, or homeward drive away.
Willy.
And you goes
Cuddy,
therefore fare thou well:
I will make his Sheep for me a little stay;
And, if thou think it fit, I will bring him to,
Next morning hither.—
Philarete.
—Prethee,
Willy,
do.
FINIS.
The Shepherds Hunting.
The second Eglogue.
THE ARGUMENT.
Cuddy
here relates, how all
Pitty
Philarete's
thrall.
Who requested, doth relate
The true cause of his estate;
Which broke off, because 'twas long,
They begin, a three man Song.
WILLY. CVDDY. PHILARETE.
Willy.
LO,
Philaret,
thy old friend here, and I,
Are come to visit thee in these thy Bands,
Whilst both our Flocks in an
Inclosure
by,
Do pick the thin grass from the fallowed lands.
He tells me thy restraint of liberty,
Each one throughout the Country understands:
And there is not a gentle-natured
Lad
On all these
Downes,
but for thy sake is sad.
Cuddy.
Not thy acquaintance, and thy friends alone,
Pitty thy close restraint, as friends should do:
But some that have but seen thee, for thee moan:
Yea, many that did never see thee to.
Some deem thee in a fault, and most in none;
So diverse ways do diverse
Rumors
go
And at all meetings where our
Shepherds
be,
Now the main News that's extant, is of thee.
Philarete.
Why, this is somewhat yet: had I but kept
Sheep on the
Mountains,
till the day of doom,
My
name
should in obscurity have slept
In
Brakes,
in
Briars, shrubbed Furze
and
Broome.
Into the Worlds wide ear it had not crept,
Nor in so many men's thoughts found a room:
But what cause of my sufferings do they know?
Good
Cuddy,
tell me, how doth
rumour
go?
Cuddy.
Faith 'tis uncertain; some speak this, some that:
Some dare say naught, yet seem to think a cause,
And many a one prating he knows not what;
Comes out with
Proverbs
and
old ancient sawes,
As if he thought thee guiltless, and yet not:
Then doth he speak half
Sentences,
then pause:
That what the most would say, we may suppose;
But, what to say, the
Rumour
is, none knows.
Philarete.
Nor care I greatly; for, it skills not much,
What the vnsteady common-people deemes,
His
Conscience
doth not always feel least touch,
That blameless in the sight of others seems:
My cause is honest, and because 'tis such,
I hold it so, and not for men's esteems:
If they speak justly well of me, I am glad;
If falsely evil, it never makes me sad.
Willy.
I like that mind: but,
Shepherd,
you are quite
Beside the matter that I long to hear:
Remember what you promised yester-night,
Youl'd put us off with other talk, I fear;
Thou knowest that honest
Cuddies
heart's upright;
And none but he, except myself, is near:
Come therefore, and betwixt us two relate,
The true occasion of thy present state.
Philarete.
My Friends I will: You know I am a
Swain,
The kept a poor Flock on a barren
Plain:
Who though it seems, I could do nothing less,
Can make a
Song,
and woe a
Shepheardesse.
And not alone the fairest where I live,
Have heard me sing, and favors daign'd to give:
But, though I sayit, the
noblest Nymph
of
Thame,
Hath graced my
Verse,
unto my greater fame.
Yet, being young, and not much seeking praise,
I was not noted out for
Shepherds lays:
Nor feeding Flocks, as, you know, others be:
For the delight that most possessed me
Was hunting
Foxes, Wolves,
and
Beasts
of
Prey:
That spoil our
Foulds,
and bear our
Lambs
away.
For this, as also for the love I bear
Unto my
Country,
I laid by all
care
Of
gain,
or of
preferment,
with
desire
Only to keep that state I had entire.
And like a true grown
Huntsman
sought to speed
My self with
Hounds
of rare and choicest breed,
Whose
Names
and
Natures
ere I further go,
Because you are my friends I will let you know.
My first esteemed Dog that I did find,
Was by
descent
of old
Acteons
kind;
A
Brache,
which if I do not aim amiss,
For all the world is just like one of his:
She's named
Love,
and scarce yet knows her duty;
Her Damme's my Ladies pretty
Beagle, Beauty.
I bred her up myself with wondrous charge,
Until she grew to be exceeding large,
And waxt so wanton, that I did abhor it,
And put her out amongst my neighbors for it.
The next is
Lust,
a Hound that's kept abroad
Mongst some of mine acquaintance, but a Toad
Is not more loathsome: 'tis a Curr will range
Extreamely, and is ever full of mange:
And cause it is infectious, she's not wunt
To come among the rest, but when they hunt.
Hate
is the third, a Hound both deep and long:
His
Sire
is
True,
or else supposed
Wrong.
He'le have a snap at all that pass him by,
And yet pursues his game most eagerly.
With him goes
Envy
coupled, a lean Curr,
And yet she'le hold out, hunt we never so far:
She pineth much, and feedeth little to,
Yet stands and snarleth at the rest that do.
Then there's
Reuenge,
a wondrous deep-mouthed dog,
So fleet, I am fain to hunt him with a clog,
Yet many times he will much out-strip his bounds,
And hunts not closely with the other Hounds:
He'le venter on a
Lyon
in his
ire;
Curst
Choller
was his
Damme,
and
Wrong
his
Sire.
This
Choller,
is a
Brache,
that's very old,
And spends her mouth too-much to have it hold:
She's very teasty; an unpleasing Curr.
That bites the very Stones, if they but stir:
Or when that ought but her displeasure moves,
She'le bite and snap at any one she loves.
But my quick scented'st Dog is
Iaelousie,
The truest of this breed's in
Italy.
The
Damme
of mine would hardly fill a Gloue,
It was a
Ladies
little Dog, called
Love:
The
Sire
a poor deformed Curr, named
Fear;
As shagged and as rough as is a
Bear:
And yet the Whelpe turned after neither kind,
For he is very large, and nere-hand blind,
Far off, he seemeth of a pretty culler,
But doth not prove so, when you view him fuller.
A vile suspicious Beast; whose looks are bad,
And I do fear in time he will grow mad.
To him I couple
Avarice,
still poor;
Yet she devours as much as twenty more:
A thousand Horse she in her paunch can put,
Yet whine, as if she had an empty gut;
And having gorg'd what might a Land have found,
She'le catch for more, and, hide it in the ground.
Ambition
is a Hound as greedy full;
But he for all the daintiest bits doth cull:
He scorns to lick up Crumbs beneath the Table,
He'le fetched from boards and shelues, if he be able:
Nay, he can climb, if need be; and for that
With him I hunt the
Martin,
and the
Cat:
And yet sometimes in mounting, he's so quick,
I see fetches falls, are like to break his neck.
Fear
is well-mouthed, but subject to
Distrust;
A Stranger cannot make him take a Crust:
A little thing will soon his courage quail,
And 'twixt his legs he ever claps his Taile.
With him,
Despair,
now, often coupled goes,
Which by his roaring mouth each
hunts man
knows.
None hath a better mind unto the game;
But he gives off, and always seemeth lame.
My blood-hound
Cruelty,
as swift as wind,
Hunts to the death, and never comes behind;
Who, but she's strapt, and musled to, withal,
Would eat her fellows and the prey and all.
And yet, she cares not much for any food;
Unless it be the purest harmless blood.
All these are kept abroad at charge of meny,
They do not cost me in a year a penny.
But there's two couple of a middling size,
That seldom pass the sight of my own eyes.
Hope,
on whose head I'ue laid my life to pawn;
Compassion,
that on everyone will fawn.
This would, when 'twas a whelp, with
Rabets
play
Or
Lambes,
and let them go unhurt away:
Nay, now she is of growth, she'le now and then
Catch you a
Hare,
and let her go agen.
The two last,
Joy,
and
Sorrow;
make me wonder,
For they can never agree, nor bide asunder.
Joy
's ever wanton and no order knows,
She'le run at
Larkes,
or stand and bark at
Crowes.
Sorrow
goes by her, and never moves his eye:
Yet both do serve to help make up the cry:
Then comes behind all these to bear the base,
Two couple more of a far larger Race,
Such wide-mouthed
Trollops,
that 'twould do you good,
To hear their loud-loud
Ecchoes
tear the Wood:
There's
Vanity,
who by her gaudy
Hide,
May far away from all the rest be spide,
Though huge, yet quick, for she's now here, now there;
Nay, look about you, and she's everywhere:
Yet ever with the rest, and still in chace,
Right so,
Inconstancy
fills every place;
And yet so strange a fickle natured Hound,
Look for her, and she's nowhere to be found.
Weakenesse
is no fair Dog unto the eye,
And yet she hath her proper quality.
But there's
Presumption,
when he heat hath got,
He drowns the
Thunder,
and the
Cannon-shot:
And when at Start, he his full roaring makes,
The Earth doth tremble, and the Heaven shakes:
These were my Dogs, ten couple just in all,
Whom by the name of
Satires
I do call:
Mad Curs they be, and I can never come nigh them,
But I am in danger to be bitten by them.
Much pains I took, and spent days not a few,
To make them kept together, and hunt true:
Which yet I do suppose had never been,
But that I had a
Scourge
to keep them in.
Now when that I this Kennell first had got,
Out of mine own Demeanes I hunted not,
Save on these Downes, or among yonder
Rocks,
After those beasts that spoil'd our Parish Flocks:
Nor during that time, was I ever wont,
With all my Kennell in one day to hunt:
Nor had done yet, but that this other year,
Some Beasts of
Prey
that haunt the
Deserts
here,
Did not alone for many
Nights
together
Deuoure, sometime a
Lamb,
sometime a
Weather:
And so disquiet many a poor man's Heard,
But thereof loosing all were much afeard.
Yea, I among the rest, did fare as bad,
(Whose breed should be my means of life and gain,
Were in one Euening by these
Monsters
slain:
Which mischief I resolved to repay,
Or else grow desperate and hunt all away.
For in a fury such as you shall see
Hunts-men,
in missing of their sport will be)
I vowed a
Monster
should not lurk about
In all this
Province,
but I'd find him out.
And thereupon without respect or
care,
How
lame,
how
full,
or how
unfit
they were,
In hast vnkennell'd all my roaring crew,
Who were as mad, as if my mind they knew;
And e're they trail'd a flight-shot, the fierce Curres,
Had rous'd a
Hart,
and through
Brakes, Briars,
and
Furres
Follow'd at gaze so close, that
Love
and
Fear
Got in together, and had surely, there
Quite overthrown him, but that
Hope
thrust in
'Twixt both, and sau'd the pinching of his skin.
Whereby he scapit, till coursing ouerth wart,
Despair
came in, and gripit him to the heart.
I hallowed in the resdue to the fall,
And for an entrance, there I fleshit them all:
Which having done, I dipped my staff in blood
And onward led my
Thunder
to the Wood;
Where what they did, I will tell you out anon,
My keeper calls me, and I must be gone.
Go, if you please a while, attend your Flocks,
And when the
Sun
is over yonder Rocks,
Come to this
Cave
again, where I will be,
If that my
Guardian,
so much favor me.
Yet if you please, let us three sing a strain,
Before you turn your sheep into the Plain.
Willie.
I am content.—
Cuddy.
—As well content am I.
Philarete.
Then
Will
begin, and we'le the rest supply.
Song.
Willie.
SHepheard, would these Gates were ope,
Thou mightest take with us thy fortunes.
Philarete.
No, I will make this narrow scope,
(Since my Fate doth so importune)
Means unto a wider Hope.
Cuddy.
Would thy Shepheardesse were here,
Who beloved, loves so dearly?
Philarete.
Not for both your Flocks, Isweare,
And the gain they yield you yearly,
Would I so much wrong my Deare.
Yet, to me, nor to this Place,
Would she now be long a stranger:
She would hold it in disgrace,
(If she feared not more my danger)
Where I am to show her face.
Willie.
Shepherd, we would wish no harms,
But something that might content thee.
Philarete.
Wish me then within her arms;
And that wish will never repent me,
If your mishes might prove charms.
Willie.
Be thy Prison her embrace,
Be thy air her sweetest breathing.
Cuddy.
Be thy prospect her sweet Face,
For each look a kiss bequeathing,
And appoint thyself the place.
Philarete.
Nay pray, hold there, for I should scantly then,
Come meet you here this afternoon agen:
But fare you well since wishes have no power,
Let us depart and keep the pointed hour.
The Shepherds Hunting.
The third Eglogue.
THE ARGUMENT.
Philarete
with his three Friends,
Hear his hunting story ends.
Kind
Alexis
with much ruth,
Wailes the banishit Shepherds youth:
But he slighteth Fortunes stings,
And in spite of Thraldom
•
sings.
PHILARETE. CVDDY. ALEXIS. WILLY.
Philarete.
SO, now I see y'are
Shepherds
of your word,
Thus were you wont to promise, and to do.
Cuddy.
More then our promise is, we can afford,
We come our selves, and bring another to:
Alexis,
whom thou knowest well is no foe:
Who loves thee much: and I do know that he
Would fain a hearer of thy Hunting be.
Philarete.
Alexis
you are welcome, for you know
You cannot be but welcome where I am;
You ever were a friend of mine in show,
And I have found you are indeed the same:
Upon my first restraint you hither came,
And proffered me more tokens of your love,
Then it were fit my small deserts should prove.
Alexis.
'It is still your use to vnderprise your merit;
Be not so coy to take my proffered love,
'Twill neither vnbeseeme your
worth
nor
spirit.
To offer court'sie doth thy friend behoove:
And which are so, this is a place to prove.
Then once again I say, if
cause
there be.
First makea
trial,
if thou please, of me.
Philarete.
Thanks good
Alexis;
sit down by me here,
I have a task, these
Shepherds
know, to do;
A
Tale
already told this Morne well near,
With which I very fain would forward go,
And am as willing thou shouldest hear it to:
But thou canst never understand this last,
Till I have also told thee what is past.
Willy.
It shall not need, for I so much presumed,
I on your mutual friendships, might be bold,
That I a freedom to myself assumed,
To make him know, what is already told.
If I have done amiss, then you may scold.
But in my telling I preuised this,
He knew not whose, nor to what end it is.
Philarete.
Well, now he may, for here my Tale goes on:
My eager Dogs and I to Wood are gone.
Where, beating through the
Conuerts,
every Hound
A several
Game
had in a moment found:
I rated them, but they pursued their pray,
And as it fell (by hap) took all one way.
Then I began with quicker speed to follow,
And teaz'd them on, with a more cheerful hallow:
That soon we passed many weary miles,
Tracing the subtle game through all their wiles.
These doubl'd, those re-doubled on the scent,
Still keeping in full chase where ere they went.
Up
Hills,
down
Cliffes,
through
Bogs,
and over
Plaines,
Stretching their
Music
to the highest strains.
That when some Thicket hid them from mine eye,
My ear was ravished with their melody.
Nor crossed we only Ditches, Hedges, Furrowes,
But Hamlets, Tithings, Parishes, and Burrowes:
They followed where so eu'r the game did go,
Through Kitchen, Parlor, Hall, and Chamber to.
And, as they passed the
City,
and the
Court,
My
Prince
looked out, and daign'd to view my sport.
Which then (although I suffer for it now)
(If some say true) he liking did allow;
And so much (had I had but wit to stay)
I might myself (perhaps) have heard him say.
But I, that time, as much as any daring,
More for my pleasure then my safety caring;
Seeing fresh game from every covert rise,
(Crossing by thousands still before their eyes)
Rush'd in, and then following close my
Hounds,
Some beasts I found lie dead, some full of wounds,
Among the willows, scarce with strength to move,
One I found here, another there, whom
Love
Had grip'd to death: and, in the self-same state,
Lay one devoured by
Envy,
one by
Hate;
Lust
had bit some, but I soon past beside them,
Their festr'd wounds so stuncke, none could abide them.
Choller
hurt diverse, but
Reuenge
killed more:
Fear
frighted all, behind him and before.
Despair
drave on a huge and mighty heap,
Forcing some down from
Rocks
and
Hills
to leap:
Some into water, some into the fire,
So on themselves he made them wreak his
ire.
But I remember, as I passed that way,
Where the great
King
and
Prince
of
Shepherds lay,
About the walls were hid, some (once more known)
That my fell Curr
Ambition
had o'rethrowne:
Many I heard, pursued by
Pitty,
cry;
And oft I saw my
Blood-Hound, Cruelty,
Eating her passage even to the heart,
Whither once gotten, she is loath to part.
All pli'd it well, and made so loud a cry,
'Twas heard beyond the Shores of
Britany.
Some rated them, some stormed, some liked the
game,
Some thought
me worthy praise,
some
worthy blame.
But I, not fearing the one, mis-steeming toother,
Both, in shrill hallowes and loud yernings smother.
Yea, the strong mettled, and my long-breathed crew,
Seeing the
game
increasing in their view,
Grew the more frolic, and the courses length
Gaue better breath, and added to their strength.
Which
Jove
perceiving, for
Jove
heard their cries
Rumbling amongst the
Spheres concauities:
He marked their
course,
and
courages
increase,
Saying, 'twere pity such a chase should cease.
And therewith swore their mouths should never wast,
But hunt as long's mortality did last.
Soone did they feel the power of his great gift,
And I began to find their pace more swift:
I followed, and I rated, but in vain
Striu'd to o'retake, or take them up again.
They never stayed since, nor nights nor days,
But to and fro still run a thousand wayest
Yea, often to this place where now I lie,
They'l wheel about to cheare me with their cry;
And one day in good time will vengeance take
On some offenders, for their Masters sake:
For know, my Friends, my freedom in this sort
For them I lose, and making myself sport.
Willy.
Why? was there any harm at all in this?
Philarete.
No,
Willy,
and I hope yet none there is.
Willy.
How comes it then?—
Philarete.
—Note, and I will tell thee how?
Thou knowest that
Truth
and
Innocency
now,
If placed with meanness, suffers more despite
Then
Villainies,
accompan'ed with might.
But thus it fell, while that my
Hounds
pursued
Their noisome prey, and every field lay strewed
With
Monsters,
hurt and slain; upon a beast,
More subtle, and more noisome then the rest,
My lean-flanckt Bitch, called
Envy,
hapt to light:
And, as her wont is, did so surely bite,
That, though she left behind small outward smart,
The wounds were deep, and rankled to the heart.
This, joining to some other, that of late,
Were very eagerly pursued by
Hate,
(To fit their purpose having taken leisure)
Did thus conspire to work me a displeasure.
For imitation, farresurpassing
Apes,
They laid aside their
Fox
and
Woluish shapes,
And shrouded in the skins of harmless Sheep
Into by-ways, and open paths did creep;
Where, they (as hardly drawing breath) didly,
Showing their wounds to every passer by;
To make them think that they were sheep so foil'd,
And by my Dogs, in their late hunting, spoil'd.
Beside, some other that envy'd my game,
And, for their pastime, kept such
Monsters
tame:
As, you do know, there's many for their pleasure
Keep Foxes, Bears, & Wolves, as some great treasure:
Yea, many get their living by them to,
And so did store of these, I speak of, do.
Who, seeing that my
Kennell
had affrighted,
Or hurt some
Vermin
wherein they delighted;
And finding their own power by much to weak,
Their
Malice
on my
Innocence
to wreak,
Swolne with the deepest rancor of despite,
Some of our greatest
Shepherds
Folds by night
They closely entered; and there having stained
Their hands in
villainy,
of me they plain'd,
Affirming, (without
shame,
or
honesty,)
I, and my Dogs, had done it purposely.
Whereat they stormed, and called me to a
trial,
Where
Innocence
prevails not, nor
denial:
But for that
cause,
here in this place I lie,
Where none so merry as my dogs, and I.
Cuddy.
Believe it, here's a
Tale
will suten well,
For
Shepherds
in another
Age
to tell.
Willy.
And thou shalt be remembered with delight,
By this, hereafter, many a
Winters night.
For, of this sport another
Age
will ring;
Yea,
Nymphes
that are unborn thereof shall sing,
And not a
Beauty
on our Greenes shall play,
That hath not heard of this thy hunting day.
Philarete.
It may be so, for if that gentle
Swain,
Who wonnes by
Tauy,
on the
Western plain,
Would make the
Song,
such life his
Verse
can give,
Then I do know my
Name
might ever live.
Alexis.
But tell me; are our
Plaines
and
Nymphs
forgot,
And canst thou frolic in thy trouble be?
Philarete.
Can I,
Alexis,
sayst thou? Can I not,
That am resolu'd to scorn more misery?
Alexis.
Oh, but that youth's yet green, and young blood hot,
And
liberty
must needs be sweet to thee.
But, now most sweet whilst every bushy
Vale,
And
Groue,
and
Hill,
rings of the
Nightingale.
Me thinks, when thou rememberest those
sweet lays
Which thou wouldest lead thy
Shepheardesse
to hear,
Each Euening tide among the
Leauy sprayes,
The thought of that should make thy freedom dear:
For now, whilst every
Nymph
on
Holy-days
Sports with some
jolly Lad,
and maketh cheer,
Thine, sighs for thee, and mew'd up from resort,
Will neither play her self, nor see their sport.
Those
Shepherds
that were many a Morning wont,
Unto their Boys to leave the tender
Heard;
And bear thee company when thou didst hunt;
Me thinks the sport thou hast so gladly shar'd
Among those
Swaynes
should make thee think vponit,
Forit seems all vain, now, that was once indear'd.
It cannot be: since I could make relation,
How for less
cause
thou hast been deep in
passion.
Philarete.
'It is true: my tender heart was ever yet
Too capable of such conceits as these;
I never saw that
Object,
but from it,
The
Passions
of my
Love
I could increase.
Those things which move not other men a whit,
I can, and do make use of, if I please:
When I am sad, to sadness I apply,
Each
Bird,
and
Tree,
and
Flowre
that I pass by.
So, when I will be merry, I as well
Something for mirth from everything can draw,
From
Miserie,
from
Prisons,
nay from
Hell:
And as when to my
mind, grief
gives a flaw,
Best comforts do but make my woes more fell:
So when I am bent to
Mirth,
from mischiefs paw.
(Though ceased upon me) I would something cull,
That spite of
care,
should make my
joys
more full.
I feel those wants,
Alexis,
thou doest name,
Which spite of youths affections I sustain;
Or else, for what isit I have gotten
Fame,
And am more known then many an
elder Swain?
I
•
such desires I had not learned to tame,
(Since many pipe much better on this
Plain:)
But tune your
Reedes,
and I will in a
Song,
Express my
Care,
and how I take this
Wrong.
Sonnet.
I That ere'st-while the worlds sweet Air did draw,
(Grac'd by the fairest ever Mortall saw;)
Now closely pent, with walls of Ruth-less stone.
Consume my Days, and Nights and all alone.
When I was wont to sing of Shepherds loves,
My walks were Fields, and Downes, and Hills, and Groues:
But now (alas) so strict is my hard doom,
Fields, Downes, Hills, Groues, and all's but one pooreroome.
Each Morne, as soon as Day-light did appear,
With Natures Music Birds would charm mine ear:
Which now (instead) of their melodious strains,
Hear, rattling Shackles, Gyues, and Boults, and Chaines.
But, though that all the world's delight forsake me,
I have a
Muse,
and she shall Music make me:
Whose airy Notes, in spite of closest cages,
Shall give content to me, and after ages.
Nor do I pass for all this outward ill.
My hearts the same, and undeiected still;
And which is more then some in freedom win,
I have truerest, and peace, and joy within.
And then my Mind, that spite of prison's free,
When ere she pleases anywhere can be;
She's in an hour, in
France, Rome, Turkey, Spain,
In Earth, in Hell, in Heaven, and here again.
Yet there's another comfort in my woe,
My cause is spread, and all the world may know,
My fault's no more, but speaking Truth, and Reason;
No Debt, nor Theft, nor Murder, Rape, or Treason.
Nor shall my foes with all their Might and Power,
Wipe out their shame, nor yet this fame of our:
Which when they find, they shall my fate envy,
Till they grow lean, and sick, and mad, and die.
Then though my Body here in Prison rot,
And my wronged
Satires
seem a while forgot:
Yet, when both Fame, and life hath left those men,
My Verse and I will revive, and live agen.
So thus enclosed, I bear afflictions load,
But with more true content then some abroad;
For whilst their thoughts, do feel my Scourges sting,
In bands I will leap, and dance, and laugh, and sing.
Alexis.
Why now I see thou droup'st not with thy care,
Neither exclaim'st thou on thy hunting day;
But dost with vnchang'd resolution bear,
The heavy burden of exile away.
All that did truly know thee, did conceive,
Thy actions with thy spirit still agree'd;
Their good conceit thou doest no whit bereave,
But showest that thou art still thyself indeed.
If that thy mind to baseness now descends,
Thou'lt injure
Virtue,
and deceive thy friends.
Willie.
Alexis,
he will injure
Virtue
much,
But more his friends, and most of all himself,
If on that common bar his mind but touch,
It wracks his fame upon disgraces shelf.
Whereas if thou steer on that happy course,
Which in thy just adventure is begun;
No thwarting Tide, nor adverse blast shall force
Thy
Bark
without the
Channels
bounds to run.
Thou art the same thou wert, for ought I see,
When thou didst freely on the Mountains hunt,
In nothing changed yet, unless it be
More merrily disposed then thou wert wont.
Still keep thee thus, so other shall know,
Virtue
can give content in midst of woe.
And she (though
mightines
with frowns doth threat)
That, to be
Innocent,
is to be
great.
Thriue and farewell.—
Alexis.
—In this thy trouble flourish.
Cuddy.
While those that wish thee ill, fret, pine, and perish.
The Shepherds Hunting.
The fourth Eglogue.
THE ARGUMENT.
Philaret
on
Willy
calls,
To sing out his Pastorals:
Warrants
Fame
shall grace his Rimes,
Spight of
Envy
and the Times;
And shows how in care he uses,
To take comfort from his Muses.
PHILARETE. WILLIE.
Philarete.
PRethee,
Willy
tell me this,
What new accident there is,
That thou (once the blythest Lad)
Art become so wondrous sad?
And so careless of thy quill,
As if thou hadst lost thy skill?
Thou wert wont to charm thy flocks,
And among the massy rocks
Hast so cheered me with thy Song,
That I have forgot my wrong.
Something hath thee surely crossed,
That thy old wont thou hast lost.
Tell me: Have I ought mis-said
That hath made thee ill-apaid?
Hath some Churl done thee a spite?
Dost thou miss a Lamb to night?
Frowns thy fairest
Shepherds
Lasse?
Or how comes this ill to pass?
Is there any discontent
Worse then this my banishment?
Willie.
Why, doth that so evil seem
That thou nothing worst dost deem?
Shepherds, there full many be,
That will change
Contents
with thee.
Those that choose their Walkes at will,
On the Valley or the Hill.
Or those pleasures boast of can,
Groues or Fields may yield to man:
Never come to know the rest,
Wherewithall thy mind is blest.
Many a one that oft resorts
To make up the troop at sports.
And in company some while,
Happens to strain forth a smile:
Feeles more want, and outward smart,
And more inward grief of heart
Then this place can bring to thee,
While thy mind remaineth free.
Thou bewail'st my want of mirth,
But what find'st thou in this earth,
Wherein ought may be believed
Worth to make me Joy'd; or grieu'd?
And yet feel I (naithelesse)
Part of both I must confess.
Sometime, I of mirth do borrow,
Otherwhile as much of sorrow;
But, my present state is such,
As, nor Joy, nor grieve I much.
Philarete.
Why, hath
Willy
then so long
Thus forborne his wonted Song?
Wherefore doth he now let fall,
His well tuned
Pastoral?
And my ears that music bar,
Which I more long after far,
Then the liberty I want.
Willy.
That, were very much to grant,
But, doth this hold always lad,
Those that sing not, must be sad?
Did'st thou ever that Bird hear
Sing well; that sings all the year?
Tom
the
Piper
doth not play
Till he wears his Pipe away:
There's a time to slack the string,
And a time to leave to sing.
Philarete.
Yea; but no man now is still,
That can sing, or tune a quill.
Now to chant it, were but reason;
Song
and
Music
are in season.
Now in this sweet jolly tide,
Is the earth in all her pride:
The fair Lady of the
May
Trim'd up in her best array;
Hath invited all the Swaines,
With the Lasses of the Plaines,
To attend upon her sport
At the places of resort.
Coridon
(with his bold Rout)
Hath already been about
For the elder Shepherds dole,
And fetched in the
Summer-Pole:
Whilst the rest have built a
Bower,
To defend them from a shower;
Seil'd so close, with boughs all green,
Tytan
cannot pry between.
Now the
Dayrie-Wenches
dream
Of their Strawberries and Creame:
And each doth her self advance
To be taken in, to dance:
Everyone that knows to sing,
Fits him for his Carrolling:
So do those that hope for meede,
Either by the Pipe or Reede:
And though I am kept away,
I do hear (this very day)
Many learned Groomes do wend,
For the Garlands to contend.
Which a Nimph that hight
Desert,
(Long a stranger in this part)
With her own fair hand hath wrought
A rare work (they say) past thought,
As appeareth by the name,
For she calls them
Wreathes of Fame.
She hath set in their due place
Eu'ry flower that may grace;
And among a thousand moe,
(Whereof some but serve for show)
She hath woue in
Daphnes
tree,
That they may not blasted be.
Which with
Time
she edge'd about,
Least the work should rauell out.
And that it might wither never,
I intermixt it with
Live-ever.
These are to be shar'd among,
Those that do excel for song:
Or their passions can rehearse
In the smooth'st and sweetest verse.
Then, for those among the rest,
That can play and pipe the best.
There's a Kidling with the Damme,
A fat Weather, and a Lamb.
And for those that leapen far,
Wrastle, Run, and throw the Barre,
There's appointed guerdons to.
He, that best, the first can do,
Shall, for his reward, be paid,
With a
Sheep-hook,
fair in-laid
With fine Bone, of a strange Beast
That men bring out of the West.
For the next, a
Scrip
of red,
Tassel'd with fine coloured Thred,
There's prepared for their meed,
That in running make most speed,
(Or the cunning Measures foot)
Cups
of turned
Maple-root:
Whereupon the skillful man
Hath ingrau'd the
Loves
of
Pan:
And the last hath for his due,
A fine Napkin wrought with blew.
Then, my
Willy,
why art thou
Carelesse of thy merit now?
What dost thou here, with a wight
That is shut up from delight,
In a solitary den,
As not fit to live with men?
Go, my
Willy,
get thee gone,
Leave me in exile alone.
Hye thee to that merry throng,
And amaze them with thy
Song.
Thou art young, yet such a
Lay
Never graced the month of May,
As (if they provoke thy skill)
Thou canst fit unto thy
Quill,
I with wonder heard thee sing,
At our last years Reuelling.
Then I with the rest was free,
When unknown I noted thee:
And perceived the ruder Swaines,
Envy thy far sweeter strains.
Yea, I saw the
Lasses
cling
Round about thee in a Ring:
As if each one jealous were,
Any but her self should hear.
And I know they yet do long
For the res'due of thy song.
Hast thee then to sing it forth;
Take the benefit of worth.
And
Desert
will sure bequeath
Fames
fair Garland for thy wreath,
Hye thee,
Willy,
hye away.
Willy.
Phila,
rather let me stay,
And be desolate with thee,
Then at those their
Reuels
be,
Nought such is my skill I wis,
As indeed thou deem'st it is.
But what ere it be, I must
Be content, and shall I trust.
For a Song I do not pass,
Mong'st my friends, but what (alas)
Should I have to do with them
That my Music do contemn?
Some there are, as well I wot,
That the same yet favor not:
Yet I cannot well avow,
They my Carrols disallow:
But such malice I have spid,
'It is as much as if they did.
Philarete.
Willy,
What may those men be,
Are so ill, to malice thee?
Willy.
Some are worthy-well esteemed,
Some without worth are so deemed.
Others of so base a spirit,
They have nor esteem, nor merit.
Philarete.
What's the wrong?—
Willy.
—A slight offense,
Wherewithall I can dispence;
But hereafter for their sake.
To myself I will music make.
Philarete.
What, because some Clowne offends,
Wilt thou punish all thy friends?
Willy.
Do not,
Phill,
mis-understand me,
Those that love me may command me,
But, thou knowest, I am but young,
And the
Pastoral
I sung,
Is by some supposed to be,
(By a strain) too high for me:
So they kindly let me gain,
Not my labor for my pain.
Trust me, I do wonder why
They should me my own deny.
Though I am young, I scorn to flit
On the wings of borrowed wit.
I will make my own feathers rear me,
Whither others cannot bear me.
Yet I will keep my skill in store,
Till I'ue seen some Winters more
Pillarete.
But, in earnest, mean'st thou so?
Then thou art not wise, I trow:
Better shall advise thee
Pan,
For thou dost not rightly than:
That's the ready way to blot
All the credit thou hast got.
Rather in thy Ages prime,
Get another start of Time:
And make those that so fond be,
(Spight of their own dullness) see,
That the sacred
Muses
can
Make a child in years, a man.
It is known what thou canst do,
For it is not long ago,
When that
Cuddy, Thou,
and
I,
Each the others skill to try,
At Saint
Dunstanes
charmed well,
(As some present there can tell)
Sang upon a sudden Theame,
Sitting by the Crimson stream.
Where, if thou didst well or no,
Yet remains the Song to show,
Much experience more I'ue had,
Of thy skill (thou happy Lad)
And would make the world to know it;
But that time will further show it.
Envy
makes their tongues now run
More then doubt of what is done.
For that needs must be thy own,
Or to be some others known:
But how then wilit suit unto
What thou shalt hereafter do?
Or I wonder where is he,
Would with that song part to thee.
Nay, were there so mad a Swain,
Could such glory sell for gain;
Phoebus
would not have combined,
That gift with so base a mind.
Never did the
Nine
impart
The sweet secrets of their Art,
Unto any that did scorn,
We should see their favors worn.
Therefore unto those that say,
Where they pleased to sing a Lay.
They could dooit, and will not though;
This I speak, for this I know:
None ere drunk the
Thespian spring,
And knew how, but he did sing.
For, that once infused in man.
Makes him shewit do what he can.
Nay, those that do only sip,
Or, but eu'n their fingers dip
In that sacred
Fount
(poor Elues)
Of that brood will show themselves.
Yea, in hope to get them fame,
They will speak, though to their shame.
Let those then at thee repine,
That by their wits measure thine;
Needs those Songs must be thine own,
And that one day will be known.
That poor imputation to,
I myself do undergo:
But it will appear ere long,
That 'twas Envy sought our wrong.
Who at twice-ten have sung more,
Then some will do, at fourscore,
Cheere thee (honest
Willy)
then,
And begin thy Song agen.
Willy.
Faine I would, but I do fear
When again my Lines they hear,
If they yield they are my Rimes,
They will fain some other Crimes;
And 'tis no safe ventring-by
Where we see
Detraction
lie.
For do what I can, I doubt,
She will pick some quarrel out;
And I oft have heard defended,
Little said, is soon amended.
Philarete.
See'st thou not in clearest days,
Oft thick fogs cloud Heavens rays.
And that vapors which do breath
From the earths gross womb beneath,
Seeme not to us with black steams,
To pollute the Suns bright beams,
And yet vanish into air,
Leauing it (vnblemisht) fair?
So (my
Willy)
shall it be
With
Detractions
breath on thee.
It shall never rise so hie,
As to stain thy Poesie.
As that Sun doth oft exhale
Vapours from each rotten Vale;
Poesie so sometime draines,
Grosse conceits from muddy brains;
Mists of Envy, fogs of spite,
Twixt men's judgments and her light:
But so much her power may do,
That she can dissolve them to.
If thy Verse do bravely tower,
As she makes wing, she gets power:
Yet the higher she doth sore,
She's affronted still the more:
Till she to the high'st hath past,
Then she rests with fame at last,
Let naught therefore, thee affright:
But make forward in thy flight:
For if I could match thy Rime,
To the very Stars I'd clime.
There begin again, and fly,
Till I reached Aeternity.
But (alas) my Muse is slow:
For thy place she flags too low:
Yea, the more's her haplesse fate,
Her short wings were clipt of late.
And poor I, her fortune ruing,
Am myself put up a muing.
But if I my Cage can rid,
I will fly where I never did.
And though for her sake I am crossed,
Though my best hopes I have lost,
And knew she would make my trouble
Ten times more then ten times double:
I should love and keep her to,
Spight of all the world could do.
For though banishit from my flocks,
And confined within these rocks,
Here I waste away the light,
And consume the sullen Night,
She doth for my comfort stay,
And keeps many cares away.
Though I misle the flowery Fields,
With those sweets the Spring-tide yields,
Though I may not see those Groues,
Where the Shepherds chant their Loves,
(And the Lasses more excel,
Then the sweet voiced
Philomel)
Though of all those pleasures past,
Nothing now remains at last,
But
Remembrance
(poor relief)
That more makes, then mends my grief:
She's my minds companion still,
Maugre Enuies evil will.
(Whence she should be driven to,
Werit in mortals power to do.)
She doth tell me where to borrow
Comfort in the midst of sorrow;
Makes the desolatest place
To her presence be a grace;
And the blackest discontents
To be pleasing ornaments.
In my former days of bliss,
Her divine skill taught me this,
That from everything I saw,
I could some invention draw:
And raise pleasure to her height,
Through the meanest objects sight.
By the murmur of a spring,
Or the least boughs rusteling.
By a Dazie whose leaves spread,
Shut when
Tytan
goes to bed;
Or a shady bush or tree,
She could more infuse in me,
Then all Natures beauties can,
In some other wiser man.
By her help I also now,
Make this churlish place allow
Some things that may sweeten gladness,
In the very gall of sadness.
The dull loannesse, the black shade,
That these hanging vaults have made,
The strange Music of the waves,
Beating on these hollow Caues,
This black Den which Rocks embosse
Ouer-grown with eldest Mosse.
The rude Portals that give light,
More to
Terror
then
Delight.
This my Chamber of
Neglect,
Wall'd about with
Disrespect,
From all these and this dull air,
A fit object for
Despair,
She hath taught me by her might
To draw comfort and delight.
Therefore
thou best earthly bliss,
I will cherish thee for this.
Poesie;
thou sweetest content
That e're Heaven to mortals lent:
Though they as a trifle leave thee
Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee,
Though thou be to them a scorn,
That to naught but earth are borne:
Let my life no longer be
Then I am in love with thee.
Though our wise ones call thee madness
Let me never taste of gladness.
If I love not thy madest fits,
More then all their greatest wits.
And though some too seeming holy,
Do account thy raptures folly:
Thou dost teach me to contemn,
What make
Knaues
and
Fools
of them.
Oh high power! that oft doth carry
Men above—
Willie.
—Good
Philarete
tarry,
I do fear thou wilt be gone,
Quite above my reach anon.
The kind flames of Poesie
Have now borne thy thoughts so high,
That they up in Heaven be,
And have quite forgotten me.
Call thyself to mind again,
Are these Raptures for a Swain,
That attends on lowly Sheep,
And with simple Heards doth keep?
Philarete.
Thanks my
Willie;
I had run
Till that Time had lodged the Sun,
If thou hadst not made me stay;
But thy pardon here I pray.
Lou'd
Apolo's
sacred sire
Had raised up my spirits higher
Through the love of Poesie,
Then indeed they use to fly.
But as I said, I say still,
If that I had
Willi's
skill,
Envy nor Detractions tongue,
Should ere make me leave my song:
But I'd sing it every day
Till they pin'd themselves away.
Be thou then aduis'd in this,
Which both just and sitting is:
Finish what thou hast begun,
Or at least still forward run.
Hail and Thunder ill he 'l bear
That a blast of wind doth fear:
And if words will thus afray thee,
Prethee how will deeds dismay thee?
Do not think so rathe a
Song
Can pass through the vulgar throng,
And escape without a touch,
Or that they can hurt it much:
Frosts we see do nip that thing
Which is forward'st in the Spring:
Yet at last for all such lets
Somewhat of the rest it gets.
And l'me sure that so mayest thou,
Therefore my kind
Willie
now.
Since thy folding time draws on
And I see thou must be gone,
Thee I earnestly beseech
To remember this my speech
And some little counsel take,
For
Philarete
his sake:
And I more of this will say,
If thou come next Holy-day.
FINIS.
The Shepherds Hunting.
The fifth Eglogue.
THE ARGUMENT.
Philaret Alexis
moves,
To embrace the
Muses
loves;
Bids him never careful seem,
Of another's dis-esteem:
Since to them it may suffice,
They themselves can justly prize.
PHILARETE. ALEXIS.
Philarete.
ALexis,
if thy worth do not disdain
The humble friendship of a meaner Swain,
Or some more needful business of the day,
Urge thee to be too hasty on thy way;
Come (gentle Shepherd) rest thee here by me,
Beneath the shadow of this broad leave'd tree:
For though I seem a stranger, yet mine eye
Obserues in thee the marks of courtesy:
And if my judgment err not, noted to,
More then in those that more would seem to do.
Such
Virtues
thy rare modesty doth hide.
Which by their proper luster I espy'd;
And though long maskt in silence they have been,
I have a Wisdom through that silence seen,
Yea, I have learned knowledge from thy tongue,
And heard when thou hast in concealment sung.
Which me the bolder and more willing made
Thus to invite thee to this homely shade.
And though (it may be) thou couldst never spy,
Such worth in me, I might be known thereby:
In thee I do; for here my neighbouring Sheep
Upon the border of these Downes I keep:
Where often thou at Pastorals and Plays,
Hast graced our Wakes on Summer Holy-days:
And many a time with thee at this cold spring
Met I, to hear your learned shepherds sing,
Saw them disporting in the shady Groues,
And in chaste Sonnets woo their chaster Loves:
When I, endued with the meanest skill,
Mongst others have been vrg'd to tune my quill.
But, (cause but little cunning I had got)
Perhaps thou saw'st me, though thou knew'st me not.
Alexis.
Yes
Philaret,
I know thee, and thy name.
Nor is my knowledge grounded all on fame.
Art thou not he, that but this other year,
Seard'st all the Wolves and Foxes in the Sheere?
And in a match at Foot-ball lately tried
(Having scarce twenty Satyrs on thy side)
Held'st play: and though assailed kept'st thy stand
Gainst all the best-tried Ruffians in the Land?
Did'st thou not then in doleful Sonnets mone,
When the beloved of great
Pan
was gone?
And at the wedding of fair
Thame
and
Rhine,
Sing of their glories to thy Valentine?
I know it, and I must confess that long
In one thing I did do thy nature wrong:
For, till I marked the aim thy Satyrs had,
I thought them over-bold, and thee half mad.
But, since I did more nearly on thee look,
I soon perceived that I all had mistook;
I saw that of a
Cynicke
thou madest show,
Where since, I find, that thou wert nothing so;
And that of many thou much blame hadst got,
When as thy
Innocency
deseru'd it not.
But that too good opinion thou hast seemed
To have of me (not so to be esteemed,)
Preuailes not ought to stay him who doth fear,
He rather should reproofs then praises hear.
'It is true, I found thee plain and honest to,
Which made me like, then love, as now I do;
And,
Phila,
though a stranger, this to the I will say,
Where I do love, I am not coy to stay.
Philarete.
Thanks, gentle Swain, that dost so soon unfold
What I to thee as gladly would have told▪
And thus thy wonted courtesy expressed
In kindly entertaining this request.
Sure, I should injure much my own content,
Or wrong thy love to stand on complement:
Who hast acquaintance in one word begun,
As well as I could in an age have done.
Or by an over-weaning slowness mar
What thy more wisdom hath brought on so far.
Then sit thou down, and I will my mind declare,
As freely, as if we familiars were:
And if thou wilt but deign to give me ear,
Something thou mayst for thy more profit hear.
Alexis.
Philarete,
I willingly obey.
Philarete.
Then know,
Alexis,
from that very day,
When as I saw thee at thy Shepherds Coat,
Where each (I think) of other took first note;
I mean that Pastor who by
Tauies
springs,
Chaste Shepherds loves in sweetest numbers sings,
And with his Music (to his greater fame)
Hath late made proud the fairest
Nymphs
of Thame.
E'ne then (me thought) I did espy in thee
Some vnperceiu'd and hidden worth to be:
Which, in thy more apparent virtues, shined;
And, among many, I (in thought) deuin'd,
By something my conceit had understood,
That thou wert marked one of the
Muses
brood,
That, made me love thee: and that Love I bear
Begat a Pitty, and that Pitty, Care:
Pitty I had to see good parts concealed,
Care I had how to have that good reueal'd,
Since 'tis a fault admitteth no excuse,
To possess much, and yet put naught in use.
Hereon I vowed (if we two ever met)
The first request that I would strive to get,
Should be but this, that thou wouldest show thy skill,
How thou couldest tune thy Verses to thy quill:
And teach thy
Muse
in some well-framed Song,
To show the
Art
thou hast suppressed so long:
Which if my new-acquaintance may obtain,
I will forever honor this days gain.
Alexis.
Alas! my small experience scarce can tell,
So much as where those
Nymphs,
the
Muses,
dwell;
Nor (though my
•
low conceit still travels on)
Shall I ere reach to drink of
Hellicon.
Or, if I might so favored be to taste
What those sweet streams but over-flow in waste,
And touch
Parnassus,
where
〈◊〉
•
ow'st doth lie,
I fear my skill would hardly flag so hie.
Philarete.
Despair not Man, the God's have prized naught
So deer, that may not be with labor bought:
Nor need thy pain be great, since
Fate
and
Heaven,
That (as a blessing) at thy birth have given.
Alexis.
Why, say they had?—
Philarete.
—Then use their gifts thou must.
Or be ungrateful, and so be unjust:
For if it cannot truly be denied,
Ingratitude men's benefits do hide;
Then more ungrateful must he be by ods,
Who doth conceal the bounty of the God's.
Alexis.
That's true indeed, but
Envy
haunteth those
Who seeking Fame, their hidden skill disclose:
Where else they might (obscured) from her espying,
Escape the blasts and danger of envying:
Cryticks
will censure our best strains of Wit,
And pur-blind
Ignorance
misconster it.
And which is bad, (yet worse then this doth follow)
Most hate the
Muses,
and contemn
Apollo.
Philarete.
So let them: why should we their hate esteem?
Isit not enough we of our selves can deem?
'It is more to their disgrace that we scorn them,
Then unto us that they our Art contemn.
Can we have better pastime then to see
Their gross heads may so much deceived be,
As to allow those doings best, where wholly
We scoff them to their face, and flout their folly?
Or to behold black
Envy
in her prime,
••
e self-consumed, whilst we vie lives with time:
And, in despite of her, more same attain,
Then all her malice can wipe out again?
Alexis.
Yea, but if I applied me to those strains,
Who should drive forth my Flocks unto the plains,
Which, whilst the
Muses
rest, and leisure crave,
Must watering, folding, and attendance have?
For if I leave with wonted care to cherish
Those tender
herds,
both I and they should perish.
Philarete.
Alexis,
now I see thou dost mistake,
There is no meaning thou thy Charge forsake;
Nor would I wish thee so thyself abuse,
As to neglect thy calling for thy
Muse.
But, let these two, so each of other borrow,
That they may season mirth, and lessen sorrow.
Thy Flock will help thy charges to defray,
Thy
Muse
to pass the long and tedious day:
Or whilst thou tun'st sweet measures to thy
Reed,
Thy Sheep, to listen, will more near thee feed;
The Wolves will shun them, birds above thee sing,
And Lamkins dance about thee in a Ring.
Nay, which is more; in this thy low estate,
Thou in contentment shalt with Monarks mate:
For mighty
Pan,
and
Ceres,
to us grants,
Our Fields and Flocks shall help our outward wants:
The
Muses
teach us Songs to put off cares,
Grac'd with as rare and sweet conceits as theirs:
And we can think our Lasses on the Greenes
As fair, or fairer, then the fairest Queens:
Or, what is more then most of them shall do,
We'le make their iuster fames last longer to,
And have our Lines by greatest Princes graced
When both their name and memori's defaced.
Therefore,
Alexis,
though that some disdain
The heavenly Music of the Rurall plain,
What isit to us, if they (o'reseene) contemn
The dainties which were nere ordained for them?
And though that there be other-some envy
The praises due to sacred Poesie,
Let them disdain, and fret till they are weary,
We in our selves have that shall make us merry:
Which, he that wants, and had the power to know it,
Would give his life that he might die a Poet.
Alexis:
A brave persuasion.—
Philarete.
—Here thou see'st me pent
Within the jaws of strict imprisonment;
A fore-lorne
Shepherd,
void of all the means.
Whereon Mans common hope in danger leans,
Weak in myself, exposed to the
Hate
Of those whose
Enuies
are insatiate:
Shut from my friends, banished from all delights;
Nay worse, excluded from the sacred
Rites.
Here I do live mongst out-laws marked for death.
As one unfit to draw the common breath,
Where those who to be good did never know,
Are barred from the means should make them so▪
I suffer, cause I wished my Country well,
And what I more must bear I cannot tell.
I am sure they give my Body little scope,
And would allow my
Mind
as little
Hope:
I waste my Means, which of it self is slender,
Consume my Time (perhaps my fortunes hinder)
And many Crosses have, which those that can
Conceive no wrong that hurts another man,
Will not take note of; though if half so much
Should light on them, or their own person touch,
Some that themselves (I fear) most worthy think,
With all their helps would into baseness shrink.
But, spite of
Hate,
and all that Spight can do,
I can be patient yet, and merry to.
That slender
Muse
of mine, by which my
Name,
Though scarce deseru'd, hath gained a little fame,
Hath made me unto such a Fortune borne,
That all misfortunes I know how to scorn;
Yea, midst these bands can sleight the
Great'st
that be,
As much as their disdain misteemes of me.
This Cave, whose very presence some affrights,
I have oft made to Echo forth delights,
And hope to turn, if any Justice be,
Both shame and care on those that wished it me.
For while the World rank villainies affords,
I will not spare to paint them out in words;
Although I still should into troubles run,
I knew what man could act, ere I begun;
And I will fulfill what my
Muse
draws me to,
Maugre all
Iayles,
and
Purgatories
to.
For whilst she sets me honest task's about,
Virtue,
or she, (I know) will bear me out:
And if, by
Fate,
th'abused power of some
Must, in the worlds-eye, leave me overcome,
They shall find one Fort yet. so fenc'd I trow,
It cannot fear a Mortals over-throw.
This
Hope,
and
Trust,
that great power did infuse,
That first inspired into my breast a
Muse,
By whom I do, and ever will contemn
All those ill haps, my foes despite, and them.
Alexis.
Th'hast so well (young
Philaret)
plaid thy part,
I am almost in love with that sweet Art:
And if some power will but inspire my song,
Alexis
will not be obscured long.
Philarete.
Enough kind Pastor: But oh! yonder see
Two honest Shepherds walking hither, be
Cuddy
and
Willy,
that so dearly love,
Who are repairing unto yonder Groue:
Let's follow them: for never brauer Swaines
Made music to their flocks upon these Plaines.
They are more worthy, and can better tell
What rare contents do with a Poet dwell.
Then whiles our sheep the short sweet grass do sheare
And till the long shade of the hills appear,
We'le hear them sing: for though the one be young,
Never was any that more sweetly sung.
A Postscript.
To the Reader.
I F you have read this, and received any content, I am glad, (though it be not so much as I could wish you) if you think it idle, why then I see we are not likely to fall out; for I am just of your minds; yet weigh it well before you run too far in your censures, lest this prove less barren of Wit, then you of courtesy. It is very true (I know not by what chance) that I have of late been so highly beholding to Opinion, that I wonder how I crept so much into her favor, and if I did think it worthy the fearing) I should be afraid that she having so undeservedly befriended me beyond my Hope or expectation, will, upon as little cause, ere long, again pick some quarrel against me; and it may be, means to make use of this, which I know must needs come far short of their expectation, who by their earnest desire of it, seemed to be fore-possessed with a far better conceit, then I can believe it proves worthy of. So much at least I doubted, and therefore loath to deceive the world (though it often beguile me) I kept it to myself, indeed, not dreaming ever to see it published: But now, by the overmuch persuasion of some friends, I have been constrained to expose it to the general view. Which seeing I have done, some things I desire thee to take notice of. First, that I am He, who to pleasure my friend, have framed myself a content out of that which would otherwise discontent me. Secondly, that I have coveted more to effect what I think truly honest in it self, then by a seeming show of Art, to catch the vain blasts of uncertain Opinion. This that I have here written, was no part of my study, but only a recreation in imprisonment: and a trifle, neither in my conceit fitting, nor by me intended to be made common; yet some, who it should seem esteemed it worthy more respect then I did, took pains to coppy it out, unknown to me, and in my absence got it both Authorized and prepared for the Press; so that if I had not hindered it, last Michaelmas-Tearme had been troubled with it. I was much blamed by some Friends for withstanding it, to whose request I should more easily have consented, but that I thought (as indeed I yet do) I should thereby more disparage myself, then content them. For I doubt J shall be supposed one of those, who out of their arrogant desire of a little preposterous Fame, thrust into the world every unseasoned trifle that drops out of their unsettled brains; whose baseness how much I hate, those that know me can witness, for if I were so affected, I might perhaps present the World with as many several Poems, as I have seen years; and justly make myself appear to be the Author of some things that others have shamefully usurped and made use of as their own. But I will be content other men should own some of those Issues of the Brain, for J would be loath to confess all that might in that kind call me Father. Neither shall anymore of them, by my consent, in hast again trouble the world, unless I know which way to benefit it with less prejudice to my own estate. And therefore if any of those less serious Poems which are already dispersed into my friends hands, come amongst you, let not their publication be imputed to me, nor their lightness be any disparagement to what hath been since more serious written, seeing it is but such stuff as riper judgments have in their far elder years been much more guilty of.
I know an indifferent Crittick may find many faults, as well in the slightnesse of this present Subject, as in the erring from the true nature of an Eglogue: moreover, it altogether concerns myself, which diverse may dislike. But neither can be done on just cause: The first hath been answered already: The last might consider that I was there where my own estate was chiefly to be looked unto, and all the comfort I could minister unto myself, little enough.
If any man deem it worthy his reading I shall be glad: if he think his pains ill bestowed, let him blame himself for meddling with that concerned him not: I neither commended it to him, neither cared whether he read it or no; because I know those that were desirous of it, will esteem the same as much as I expect they should.
But it is not unlikely, some will think I have in diverse places been more wanton (as they take it) then befitting a Satirict; yet their severity I fear not, because J am assured all that I ever yet did, was free from Obscaenity: neither am I so Cynical, but that I think a modest expression of such amorous conceits as suit with Reason, will yet very well become my years; in which not to have feeling of the power of Love, were as great an argument of much stupidity, as an ouersottish affection were of extreme folly. Lastly, if you think it hath not well answered the Title of the Shepherds Hunting, go quarrel with the Stationer, who bid himself God-Father, and imposed the Name according to his own liking; and if you, or he, find any faults, pray mend them.
Valete.
FINIS.
FIDELIA: BY GEORGE WITHER. GENT:
[illustration]
LONDON, Printed by T. S. for John Budge, dwelling in Paul's- Church-yard, at the sign of the Green Dragon, 1622.
An Elegiacall Epistle of Fidelia, to her unconstant Friend.
THE ARGUMENT.
This Elegiacall Epistle, being a fragment of some greater Poem, discovers the modest affections of a discreet and constant Woman, shadowed under the name of Fidelia ; wherein you may perceive the height of their Passions, so far as they seem to agree with reason, and keep within such decent bounds as beseemeth their Sex, but further it meddles not. The occasion seems to proceed from some mutability in her friend, whose objections she here presupposing, confuteth, and in the person of him justly upbraideth all that are subject to the like change, or sicklenesse in mind. Among the rest, some more weighty Arguments then are (perhaps) expected in such a subject, are briefly, and yet somewhat seriously handled.
O
Ft I have heard tell, and now for truth I find,
Once out of sight, and quickly out of mind.
And that it hath been rightly said of old,
Love that's soon'st hot, is ever soonest cold.
Or else my tears at this time had not stained
The spotless paper, nor my lines complained.
I had not now, been forced to have sent
These lines for
Nuncio's
of my discontent;
Nor thus, exchanged, so unhappily,
My songs of Mirth, to write an Elegy.
But, now I must; and, since I must do so,
Let me but crave, thou wilt not flout my woe:
Nor entertain my sorrows with a scoff,
But, read (at least) before thou cast them off.
And, though thy heart's too hard to have compassion,
Oh blame not, if thou pity not my
Passion,
For well thou knowest (alas, that ere 'twas known)
There was a time (although that time be gone)
I, that for this, scarce dare a beggar be,
Presum'd for more to have commanded thee.
Yea, the
Day
was, (but see how things may change)
When thou, and I, have not been half so strange;
But oft embraced each other, gently greeting,
With such kind words, as
Turtle, Dove,
or
Sweeting.
Yea, had thy meaning, and those vows of thine,
Prov'd but as faithful, and as true as mine,
It still had been so: for (I do not fain)
I should rejoice it might be so again.
But, since thy
Love
grows cold, and thou unkind,
Be not displeased I somewhat breath my mind;
I am in hope, my words may prove a mirror,
Whereon thou looking, mayest behold thine error.
And yet, the
Heaven,
and my sad heart doth know,
How griu'd I am, and with what feeling woe
My mind is tortured, to think that I
Should be the brand of thy disloyalty:
Or, live to be the Author of a line
That shall be printed with a fault of thine;
(Since if that thou but slightly touched be,
Deepe wounds of grief, and shame, it strikes in me:)
And yet I must; ill hap compels me to
What I nere thought to have had cause to do.
And therefore, seeing that some angry
Fate
Imposes on me, what I so much hate:
Or, since it is so, that the Powers divine
Mee (miserable) to such cares assign;
Oh that
Loves
patron, or some sacred
Muse,
Amongst my
Passions,
would such Art infuse,
My well-framed words, and aiery sighs might prove
The happy blasts to re-inflame thy love.
Or, at least, touch thee with thy fault so near,
That thou mightest see thou wrong'st, who held thee deer:
Seeing, confess the same, and so abhor it,
Abhorring, pity, and repent thee for it.
But
(Deare)
I hope that I may call thee so,
(For thou art dear to me, although a foe)
Tell me, isit true, that I do hear of thee,
And, by thy absence, true appears to be?
Can such abuse be in the Court of
Love,
False and inconstant now, thou
He
shouldest prove?
He, that so woeful, and so pensive sat,
Vowing his service at my feet of late?
Art thou that
quondam
lover, whose sad eye
I seldom saw yet, in my presence dry?
And from whose gentle-seeming tongue I know
So many pity-moving words could flow?
Wasit thou, so soughtst my love, so seeking that
As if it had been all th'hadst aimed at?
Making me think thy
Passion
without stain,
And gently quite thee with my love again?
With this persuasion I so fairly placed it,
Nor
Time,
nor
Envy,
should have ere defaced it?
Isit so? have I done thus much? and art thou
So over-cloyed with my favors now?
Art wearsed since with loving, and estranged
So far? Is thy affection so much changed,
That I of all my hopes must be deceived,
And all good thoughts of thee be quite bereaved?
Then true I find, which long before this day
I feared myself, and heard some wiser say;
That there is naught on earth so sweet, that can
Long relish with the curious taste of Man.
Happy was I; yea, well it was with me,
Before I came to be bewitched by thee.
I joy'd the sweet'st content that ever
Maid
Possessed yet; and truly well-a-paid,
Made to myself (alone) as pleasant mirth
As ever any
Virgin
did on earth.
The melody I us'd was free, and such
As that Bird makes, whom never hand did touch;
But, vn-allured, (with
Fowlers
whistling) flies
Above the reach of human treacheries.
And (well I do remember) often then
Could I read over the policies of men;
Discouer what uncertainties they were;
How they would sigh, look sad, protest, and swear;
Nay, fain to die, when they did never prove
The slendrest touch of a right-worthy love:
But had chil'd hearts, whose dullness understood
No more of
Passion,
then they did of good.
All which I noted well, and in my mind
(A general humor amongst women-kind)
This vow I made; (thinking to keep it than)
That never the fair tongue of any man,
Nor his complaint, though never so much grieu'd,
Should move my heart to liking whilst I lived.
But, who can say, what she shall live to do?
I have believed, and let in liking to,
And that so far, I cannot yet see how
I may so much as hope, to help it now;
Which makes me think, what e're we
women
say,
Another mind will come another day.
And that men may to things vnhop'd for clime,
Who watch but
Opportunity
and
Time.
For 'tis well known, we were not made of clay,
Or such course, and ill-tempered stuff as they.
For he that framed us of their flesh, did deign
When 'twas at best, to new refineit again.
Which makes us ever since the kinder
Creatures,
Of far more flexible, and yielding
Natures.
And as we oft excel in outward parts,
So we have nobler and more gentle hearts.
Which, you well knowing, daily do devise
How to imprint on them your
Cruelties.
But do I find my cause thus bad indeed?
Or else on things imaginary feed?
Am I the lasse that late so truly jolly,
Made myself merry oft, at others folly?
Am I the Nymph that
Cupids
fancies blamed,
That was so cold, so hard to be inflamed?
Am I myself? or is myself that
She
Who from this
Thraldome,
or such falsehoods free,
Late owned mine own heart, and full merry then,
Did fore-warn others to beware of Men?
And could not, having taught them what to do,
Now learn myself, to take heed of you to?
Fool
that I am, I fear my guerdon's just,
In that I knew this, and presumed to trust.
And yet (alas) for ought that I could tell,
One spark of goodness in the world might dwell:
And then, I thought, If such a thing might be,
Why might not that one spark remain in thee?
For thy fair outside, and thy fairer tongue,
Did
promise
much, although thy years were young.
And
Virtue
(wheresoever she be now)
Seem'd then, to sit enthron'd upon thy brow.
Yea, sure it was: but, whether 'twere or no,
Certain I am, and was persuaded so.
Which made me loath to think, that words of fashion,
Could be so framed, so over-laid with
Passion;
Or sighs so feeling, feigned from any breast.
Nay, say thou hadst been false in all the rest;
Yet from thy eye, my heart such notice took,
Me thought, guile could not fain so sad a look.
But now I'ue tried, my bought experience knows,
They oft are worst that make the fairest shows.
And howsoe're men fain an outward grieving,
'It is neither worth respecting, nor believing:
For, she that doth one to her mercy take,
Warmes in her bosom but a frozen snake:
Which heated with her favors, gather sense,
And stings her to the heart in recompense.
But tell me why, and for what secret spite
You in poor women's miseries delight?
For so it seems; else why d'ye labor for
That, which when 'tis obtained, you abhor?
Or to what end do you endure such pain
To win our love, and cast it off again?
Oh that we either your hard hearts could borrow,
Or else your strengths, to help us bear our sorrow:
But we are cause of all this grief and shame,
And we have none but our own selves to blame:
For still we see your falsehood for our learning.
Yet never can have power to takit for warning;
But (as if borne to be deluded by you)
We know you trustlesse, and yet still we try you.
(Alas) what wrong was in my power to do thee?
Or what despite have I ere done unto thee?
That thou shouldst choose Me, above all the rest,
To bethy scorn, and thus be made a jest?
Must men's il natures such true villains prove them,
To make thē wrong those most that most do love them;
Couldst thou find none in
Country, Town
or
Court,
But only Me, to make thy
Fool,
thy sport?
Thou knowest I have no wanton courses run,
Nor seemed easy unto lewdness won.
And (though I cannot boast me of much wit,)
Thou saw'st no sign of fondness in me yet.
Nor did ill nature ever so ore-sway me,
To flout at any that did woe or pray me,
But grant I had been guilty of abusage,
Of thee I am sure I never deseru'd such usage.
But thou wert grieved to behold my smilings.
When I was free from love, and thy beguilings.
Or to what purpose else didst thou bestow
Thy time, and study to delude me so?
Hast thou good parts? and dost thou bend them all
To bring those that never hated thee in thrall?
Prethee take heed, although thou yet enjoy'st them
They'l be took from thee, if thou so employ'st them.
For though I wish not the least harm to thee,
I fear, the just
Heavens
will revenged be.
Oh! what of
Mee
by this time had become,
If my desires with thine had hapt to rome,
Or I, unwisely, had consented to
What (shameless) once thou didst attempt to do?
I might have fallen, by those immodest tricks,
Had not some power been stronger then my Sex.
And if I should have so been drawn to folly,
I saw thee apt enough to be unholy.
Or if my weakness had been prone to sin,
I poorly by thy strength had succor'd been.
You Men make us believe you do but try,
And that's your part, (you say) ours to deny.
Yet I much fear, if we through frailty stray,
There's few of you within your bounds will stay;
But, maugre all your seeming
Virtue,
be
As ready to forget yourselves, as we.
I might have feared thy part of love not strong,
When thou didst offer me so base a wrong:
And that I after loathed thee not, did prove
In me some extraordinary
Love.
For sure had any other but in thought,
Presum'd unworthily what thou hast sought,
Might it appear, I should do thus much for him,
With a scarce reconciled hate abhor him.
My young experience never yet did know
Whether desire might range so far, or no,
To make true
Lovers
carelessly request,
What rash enjoining makes them most vnblest,
Or blindly thorough frailty give consenting
To that, which done brings nothing but repenting.
But in my judgment it doth rather prove
That they are fired with lust, then warmed with love.
And if it be for proof men so proceed,
It shows a doubt, else what do trials need?
And where is that man living ever knew
That false distrust, could be with love that's true?
Since the mere cause of that vnblam'd effect,
Such an opinion is, that hates suspect.
And yet, thee and thy love I will excuse,
If thou wilt neither me, nor mine abuse.
For, I will suppose thy passion made thee proffer
That unto me, thou to none else wouldst offer,
And so, think thou, if I have thee denied,
Whom I more loved then all men else beside;
What hope have they such favor to obtain,
That never half so much respect could gain?
Such was my love, that I did value thee
Above all things below eternity.
Nothing on
Earth
unto my heart was nearer
No Joy so prized, nor no Jewel dearer.
Nay: I do fear I did
Idolatrize;
For which
Heavens
wrath inflicts these miseries,
And makes the things which were for blessings lent,
To be renewers of my discontent.
Where was there any of the
Naiades,
The
Dryad's,
or the
Hamadryades?
Which of the
British
shires can yield again,
A mistress of the Springs, or Wood, or Plain?
Whose eye enjoyed more sweet contents then mine,
Till I received my overthrow by thine?
Where's she did more delight in Springs and Rils?
Where's she that walked more Groues, or Downs, or Hills?
Or could by such fair artless prospect, more
Add by conceit, to her contentments store
Then I; whilst thou wert true, and with thy Graces
Didst give a pleasing presence to those places?
But now
What is? What was
hath overthrown,
My Rose decked allies, now with Rue are strowne;
And from those flowers that honyed use to be,
I suck naught now but juice to poison me.
For eu'n as she, whose gentle spirit can raise,
To apprehend
Loves
noble mysteries,
Spying a precious
Jewel
richly set,
Shine in some corner of her
Cabenet,
Taketh delight at first to gaze upon
The pretty luster of the sparkling stone,
(And pleased in mind, by that doth seem to see
How virtue shines through base obscurity;)
But prying nearer, seeing it doth prove
Some relique of her deer deceased
Love,
Which to her sad remembrance doth lay ope,
What she most sought, and sees most far from hope:
Fainting almost beneath her
Passions
weight,
And quite forgetful of her first conceit:
Looking vponit again, from thence she borrows
Sad melancholy thoughts to feed her sorrows.
So I beholding
Natures
curious bowers,
Seel'd, strow'd, and trimmed up with leaves, herbs, and flowers.
Walk pleased on a while, and do deuize,
How on each object I may moralize.
But ere I pace on many steps, I see
There stands a
Hawthorne
that was trimmed by thee:
Here thou didst once slip off the virgin sprayes,
To crown me with a wreath of living Bayes.
On such a Bank I see how thou didst lie,
When viewing of a shady
Muthery,
The hard mishap thou didst to me discuss
Of loving
Thysbe,
and young
Piramus:
And oh (think I) how pleasing was it then,
Or would be yet, might he return agen.
But if some neighbouring
Row
do draw me to
Those
Arbors,
where the shadows seem to woo
The weary love-sick
Passenger,
to sit
And view the beauties
Nature
strowes on it;
How fair (think I) would this sweet place appear,
If he I love, were present with me here.
Nay, every several object that I see,
Doth severally (me thinks) remember thee.
But the delight I us'd from thence to gather,
I now exchange for ears, and seek them rather.
But those whose dull and gross affections can
Extend but only to desire a
Man,
Cannot the depth of these rare
Passions
know:
For their imaginations flag too low.
And cause their base
Conceits
do apprehend
Nothing but that whereto the flesh doth tend;
In
Loves
embraces they near reach unto
More of content than the brute
Creatures
do.
Neither can any judge of this, but such
Whose brauer minds for brauer thoughts do touch.
And having spirits of a nobler frame,
Feele the true heat of
Loves
vnquenched flame.
They may conceive aright what smarting sting
To their
Remembrances
the place will bring,
Where they did once enjoy, and then do miss,
What to their souls most deer and precious is.
With me 'tis so; for those walks that once seemed
Pleasing, when I of thee was more esteemed,
To me appear most desolate and lonely,
And are the places now of torment only.
Where I the highest of contents did borrow,
There am I paid it home with deepest sorrow.
Unto one place, I do remember well,
We walked the eu'nings to hear
Phylomel:
And that seems now to want the light it had,
The shadow of the
Groue's
more dull and sad,
As if it were a place but fit for Fowls,
That screech ill-luck; as melancholy
Owls,
Or fatal
Ravens,
that seld' boding good,
•••
ke their black
Auguries
from some dark wood.
Then if from thence I half despairing go,
Another place begins another woe:
For thus unto my thought it semes to say,
Hither thou saw'st him riding once that way:
Thither to meet him thou didst nimbly hast thee,
You he alighted, and eu'n there embraced thee:
Which whilst I sighing wish to do again,
Another object brings another pain.
For passing by that
Green,
which (could it speak)
Would tell it saw us run at
Barly-break;
There I beheld, what on a thin rin'd tree
Thou hadst engraven for the love of me;
When we two, all one in heat of day,
With chaste embraces drave swift hours away.
Then I remember to (unto my smart)
How loath we were, when time compelled to part;
How cunningly thy
Passions
thou couldst fain,
In taking leave, and coming back again:
So oft, until (as seeming to forget
We were departing) down again we set?
And freshly in that sweet discourse went on,
Which now I almost faint to think upon.
Viewing again those other walks and Groues
That have been witnesses of our chaste loves;
When I beheld those Trees whose tender skin
Hath that cut out, which still cuts me within.
Or come, by chance, unto that pretty Rill
Where thou wouldst fit, and teach the neighbouring hill
To answer, in an Echo, unto those
Rare
Problems
which thou often didst propose.
When I come there (think I) if these could take
That use of words and speech which we partake,
They might unfold a thousand pleasures then
Which I shall never live to taste agen.
And thereupon,
Remembrance
doth so rack
My thoughts, with representing what I lack,
That in my mind those Clerks do argue well,
Which hold
Priuation
the greatest plague of hell.
For there's no torment gripes me half so bad,
As the
Remembrance
of those joys I had.
Oh hast thou quite forgot, when sitting by
The banks of
Thame,
beholding how the
Fry
Play'd on the silver-waves? There where I first
Granted to make my
Fortune
thus accurst;
There where thy too-too earnest suit compelled
My over-soon believing heart to yield
One favor first, which then another drew
To get another, till (alas) I rue
That day and hour, thinking I nere should need
(As now) to grieve for doing such a deed.
So freely I my curtesies bestowed,
That whose I was unwarily I showed:
And to my heart such passage made for thee,
Thou canst not to this day removed be,
And what breast could resist it, having seen
How true thy love had in appearance been?
For (I shall never forget) when thou hadst there
Laid open every discontent and care,
Wherewith thou deeply seem'dst to me oppressed,
When thou (as much as any could protest)
Had'st vowed and sworn, and yet perceiu'dst no sign
Of pity-moving in this breast of mine:
Well Love (sald'st thou) since neither sigh nor vow,
Nor any service may avail me now:
Since neither the recital of my smart,
Nor those strong
Passions
that assail my heart;
Nor anything may move thee to belief
Of these my sufferings, or to grant relief:
Since there's no comfort, nor desert, that may
Get me so much as
Hope
of what I pray;
Sweet
Love
farewell; farewell fair beauties light,
And every pleasing object of the sight:
My poor despayring heart here biddeth you,
And all Content, for evermore, adue.
Then eu'n as thou seemed'st ready to depart;
Reaching that hand, which after gave my heart,
(And thinking this sad
Farewell
did proceed
From a sound breast, but truly moved indeed)
I stayed thy departing from me so,
Whilst I stood mute with sorrow, thou for show.
And the mean while as I beheld thy look,
My eye th'impression of such
Pitty
took,
That, with the strength of
Passion
overcome,
A deep-fetched sigh my heart came breathing from:
Whereat thou (ever wisely using this
To take advantage when it offered is)
Renewd'st thy suit to me, who did afford
Consent, in silence first, and then in word.
So that for yielding thou mayest thank thy wit,
And yet when ever I remember it,
Trust me, I muse, and often (wondering) think,
Thorough what craney, or what secret chinke
That
Love,
unawares so like a sly close Else,
Did to my heart insinuate it self.
Gallants I had, before thou camest to woo,
Could as much love, and as well court me to;
And, though they had not learned so the fashion,
Of acting such well counterfeited
Passion;
In wit, and person, they did equal thee,
And worthier seemed, unless thoulit faithful be.
Yet still vnmou'd, vnconquer'd I remained:
No, not one thought of love was entertained:
Nor could they brag of the least favor to them,
Save what mere courtesy enioyn'd to do them.
Hard was my heart: But wouldit had harder been,
And then, perhaps, I had not let thee in;
Thou,
Tyrant,
that art so imperious there,
And only take'st delight to
Dominere.
But held I out such strong, such oft assailing,
And ever kept the honor of prevailing?
Was this poor breast from loves allurings free,
Cruel to all, and gentle unto thee?
Did I unlock that strong affections door,
That never could be broken ope before,
Only to thee? and, at thy intercession,
So freely give up all my hearts possession:
That to myself I left not one poor vein,
Nor power, nor will, to put thee fromit again?
Did I do this, (and all on thy bare vow)
And wilt thou thus requite my kindness now?
Oh that thou either hadst not learned to fain,
Or I had power to cast thee off again!
How is it that thou art become so rude,
And over-blinded by
Ingratitude?
Swar'st thou so deeply that thou wouldst persevere.
That I might thus be cast away forever?
Well, then 'as true, that Lovers perjuries,
Among some men, are thought no injuries:
And that she only hath least cause of grief,
Who of your words hath small'st, or no belief.
Had I the wooer been, or fondly won,
This had been more though, then thou couldst have don;
But, neither being so, what Reason is
On thy side, that should make thee offer this?
I know, had I been false, or my faith failed,
Thou wouldst at women's fickleness have rail'd;
And if in me it had an error been,
In thee shall the same fault be thought no sin?
Rather I hold that which is bad in me,
Will be a greater blemish unto thee:
Because, by
Nature,
thou art made more strong,
And therefore abler to endure a wrong.
But 'tis our
Fortune,
you'le have all the power,
Only the
Care
and
Burden
must be our.
Nor can you be content a wrong to do,
Unless you say the blame upon us to.
Oh that there were some gentle minded
Poet
That knew my heart, as well as now I know it;
And would endear me to his love so much,
To give the world (though but) a slender touch
Of that sad
Passion
which now clogs my heart,
And show my truth, and thee how false thou art:
That all might know, what is believed by no man,
There's fickleness in men, and faith in woman.
Thou saw'st I first let
Pitty
in, then liking,
And lastly, that which was thy only seeking:
And, when I might have scorned that love of thine,
(As now vngently thou despisest mine,)
Among the inmost Angles of my breast,
To lodge it by my heart I thought it best:
Which thou hast stolen to, like a thankelesse Mate,
And left me nothing but a black self hate.
What canst thou say for this, to stand contending?
What color hast thou left for thy offending?
Thy wit, perhaps, can some excuse devise,
And fain a color for those injuries;
But well I know, if thou excuse this treason,
It must be by some greater thing then reason.
Are any of those
virtues
yet defaced,
On which thy first affection seemed placed?
Hath any secret foe my true faith wronged,
To rob the bliss that to my heart belonged?
What then? shall I condemned be unheard,
Before thou knowest how I may be cleared?
Thou art acquainted with the times condition,
Know'st it is full of envy, and suspicion,
So that the war'est in thought, word, and action,
Shall oft be iniur'd, by foul-mouthed datraction:
And therefore thou (me-thinks) shouldest wisely pause
Before thou credit rumors without cause.
But I have gotten such a confidence
In thy opinion, of my innocence:
It is not that, I know, with-holds thee now,
Sweet,
tell me then; is it some sacred vow?
Hast thou resolved, not to join thy hand
With any one in
Hymens
holy band?
Thou shouldst have done it then, when thou wert free,
Before thou hadst bequeathed thyself to me.
What vow dost deem more pleasing unto
Heaven,
Then what is by unfeigned lovers given?
If any be, yet sure it frowneth at
Those that are made for contradicting that.
But, if thou wouldst live chastely all thy life,
That thou mayest do, though we be
man
and
wife:
Or, if thou longest a
Virgin-
death to die,
Why (if it be thy pleasure) so do I.
Make me but thine, and I will (contented) be
A
Virgin
still, yet live and lie with thee.
Then let not thy inventing brain assay
To mock, and still delude me every way;
But call to mind, how thou hast deeply sworn
Nor to neglect, nor leave me thus forlorn.
And if thou wilt not be to me as when
We first did love, do but come see me then.
Vouchsafe that I may sometime with thee walk,
Or sit and look on thee, or hear thee talk;
And I that most content once aimed at,
Will think there is a world of bliss in that.
Dost thou suppose that my
Desires
denies
With thy affections well to sympathize?
Or such perverseness hast thou found in me,
May make our
Natures
disagreeing be?
Thou knowest when thou didst wake I could not sleep;
And if thou wert but sad, that I should weep.
Yet (even when the tears my cheek did stain)
If thou didst smile, why I could smile again:
I never did contrary thee in ought:
Nay, thou canst tell, I oft have spake thy thought.
Waking; the self-same course with thee I run,
And sleeping, oftentimes our dreams were one.
The Dial-needle, though it sense doth want,
Still bends to the beloved
Adamant;
Lift the one up, the other upward tends;
If this fall down, that presently descends:
Turn but about the stone, the steel turns to;
Then straight returns, if so the other do;
And, if it stay, with trembling keeps one place,
As if it (panting) longed for an embrace.
So wasit with me: for, if thou merry wert,
That mirth of thine, moved joy within my heart:
I sighed to, when thou didst sigh or frown:
When thou wert sick, thou hast perceived me swoon;
And being sad, have oft, with forced delight,
Striu'd to give thee content beyond my might.
When thou wouldst talk, then have I talked with thee,
And silent been, when thou wouldst silent be.
If thou abroad didst go, with joy I went;
If home thou lou'dst, at home was my content:
Yea, what did to my
Nature
disagree,
I could make pleasing, cause it pleased thee.
But, ifit be either my weak Sex, or youth,
Makes thee misdoubt my vndistained truth,
Know this; as none (till that unhappy hour,
When I was first madethine,) had ever power
To move my heart, by vows, or tears expense;
No more (I swear) could any
Creature
since.
No looks but thine, though aimed with
Passions
Art,
Could pierce so deep to penetrate my heart.
No name but thine, was welcome to my care;
No word did I so soon, so gladly hear:
Nor ever could my eyes behold or see,
What I was since delighted in, but thee.
And sure thou wouldst believe it to be so,
If I could tell, or words might make thee know,
How many a weary night my tumbled bed
Hath known me sleepelesse: what salt-tears I'ue shed;
What scalding-sighs, the marks of souls oppressed,
Have hourly breathed from my careful breast.
Nor wouldst thou deem those waking sorrows
〈◊〉
If thou mightest see how sleeping I am pained.
For if sometimes I chance to take a slumber,
Vnwelcome dreams my broken rest doth cumber.
Which dreaming makes me start, starting with fears
Wakes; and so by waking I renew my cares:
Until my eyes ore-tired with watch and weeping,
Drownd in their own floods fall again to sleeping.
Oh! that thou couldst but think, when last we parted,
How much I, grieving for thy absence, smarted:
My very soul fell sick, my heart to aking,
As if they had their last
Farewels
been taking;
Or feared by some secret Diuination,
This thy revolt, and causeless alteration.
Didst thou not feel how loath that hand of mine,
Was to let go the hold it had of thine?
And with what heavy, what unwilling look
I leave of thee, and then of comfort took?
I know thou didst; and though now thus thou do,
I am deceiu'd, but then it grieu'd thee to.
Then, if I so with
Loves
fell passion vext
For thy departure only was perplexed,
When I had left to strengthen me some trust;
And hope, that thou wouldst nere have prou'd unjust:
What was my torture then, and hard endurance,
When of thy falsehood I received assurance.
Alas, my Tongue, a-while, with grief was dumb,
And a cold shuddering did my joints benumb,
Amazement seized my thought, and so prevailed,
I found me ill, but knew not what I ailed.
Nor can I yet tell, since my suffering then
Was more then could be shown by
Poets
Pen;
Or well conceived by any other heart
Then that which in such care hath borne a part.
Oh me; how loath was I to have believed
That to be true, for which so much I grieu'd?
How gladly would I have persuaded been,
There had been no such matter, no such sin.
I would have had my heart think that (I knew
To be the very truth) not to be true.
Why may not this, thought I, some vision be,
Some sleeping dream, or waking fantasy,
Begotten by my over-blinded folly,
Or else engendered through my
Melancholy?
But finding it so real (thought I) then
Must I be cast from all my hopes agen?
What are become of all those fading blisses,
Which late my hope had, and now so much misses?
Where is that future fickle happiness
Which I so long expected to possess?
And, thought I to; where are his dying
Passions,
His honeyed words, his bitter lamentations?
To what end were his
Sonnets, Epigrams,
His pretty
Posies,
witty
Anagrams?
I could not think, all that might have been feigned,
Nor any faith, I thought so firm, been stained.
Nay, I do sure and confidently know,
It is not possible it should be so:
If that rare Art and
Passion
was thine own,
Which in my presence thou hast often shown.
But, since thy change, my much-presaging heart
Is half afraid, thou some impostor wert:
Or that thou didst but (Player-like addrest)
Act that which flowed from some more gentle breast.
Thy puffed invention, with worse matter swollen,
Those thy conceits from better wits hath stolen:
Or else (I know) it could not be, that thou
Shouldst be so over-cold as thou art now;
Since those, who have that, feelingly, their own,
Euer possess more worth concealed, then known.
And if
Love
ever any Mortals touch,
To make a brave impression, 'tis in such,
Who sworn loves Chaplains, will not violate
That, whereunto themselves they consecrate.
But oh you noble brood, on whom the World
The slighted burden of neglect hath hurled,
(Because your thoughts for higher objects borne,
Their groveling humors and affection scorn)
You, whom the
God's,
to hear your strains, will follow,
Whilst you do court the sisters of
Apollo.
You, whom there's none that's worthy, can neglect,
Or any that unworthy is, affect.
Oh let not those that seek to do you shame,
Bewitch us with those songs they cannot frame:
The noblest of our Sexe, and fairest to,
Do ever love and honor such as you.
Then wrong us not so much to give your
Passion
To those that have it but in imitation:
And in their dull breasts never feel the power
Of such deep thoughts as sweetly move in your.
As well as you, they us thereby abuse,
For (many times) when we our
Lovers
choose,
Where we think
Nature,
that rich
Jewel,
sets
Which shines in you, we light on counterfeits.
But see, see whither discontentment bears me,
And to what vncoth strains my
Passion
rears me:
Yet pardon me, I here, again repent,
If I have erred through that discontent.
Be what thou wilt, be counterfeit or right,
Be constant, serious, or be vain, or light,
My love remains inuiolate the same,
Thou canst be nothing that can quench this flame,
But it will burn as long as thou hast breath
To keep it kindled (if not after death)
Nere was there one more true, then I to thee,
And though my faith must now despised be,
Vnpriz'd, vnualued at the lowest rate,
Yet this I will tell thee, 'tis not all thy state,
Nor all that better-seeming worth of thine,
Can buy thee such another
Love
as mine:
Liking it may, but oh there's as much odds,
Twixt love and that, as between men and God's.
It is a purchase not procured with treasure,
As some fools think, nor to be gaind at pleasure:
For were it so, and any could assure it,
What would not some men part with, to procure it?
But though thou weighit not, as thou ought'st to do,
Thou knowest I love; and once didst love me to.
Then where's the cause of this dislike in thee?
Survey thyself, I hope there's none in me.
Yet look on her from whom thou art estranged?
See, is my person, or my beauty changed?
Once thou didst praise it, prithee viewit agen,
And mark ift be not still the same twas then:
No false
Vermilion-
die my cheek distaines,
'It is the poor blood dispersed through pores and veins,
Which thou hast oft seen through my fore-head flushing,
To show no dawby-color hid my blushing:
Nor never shall:
Virtue,
I hope, will save me,
Contented with that beauty
Nature
gave me.
Or, ift seem less, for that griefs-veil had hid it,
Thou threwst it on me, 'twas not I that did it,
And canst again restore, what may repair
All that's decayed, and make me far more fair.
Which if thou do, I will be more wary than
To keepit for thee vnblemisht, what I can:
And cause at best 'twill want much of perfection,
The rest shall be supplied with true affection.
But I do fear, it is some others riches,
Whose more abundance that thy mind bewitches,
That baser object, that too general aim,
Makes thee my lesser
Fortune
to disclaim.
Fie, canst thou so degenerate in spirit,
As to prefer the means before the merit?
(A though I cannot say it is in me)
Such worth sometimes with poverty may be
To equalize the match she takes upon her;
Tho the other vaunt of
Birth, Wealth, Beauty, Honor:
And many a one that did for greatness wed,
Would gladly change it for a meaner bed.
Yet are my
Fortunes
known indifferent,
Not basely mean, but such as may content:
And though I yield the better to be thine,
I may be bold to say thus much, for mine;
That if thou couldst of them and me esteem,
Neither thy state, nor birth, would mis-beseem:
Or if it did; how can I helpit (alas)
Thou, not alone, before knew'st what it was.
But I (although not fearing so to speed)
Did also disinableit more than need,
And yet thou woo'dst, and wooing didst persevere,
As if thou hadst intended
Love
forever:
Yea, thy account of wealth thou madest so small,
Thou hadst not any question ofit at all;
But hating much that peasant-like condition,
Did'st seem displeased I held it in suspicion.
Whereby I think, if nothing else do thwart us,
It cannot be the want of that will part us.
Yea, I do rather doubt indeed, that this
The needless fear of friends displeasure is.
Yes, that's the bar which stops out my delight,
And all my hope and joy confoundeth quite,
But bears there any in thy heart such sway
To shut me thence, and wipe thy love away?
Can there be any friend that hath the power,
To disvnite hearts so conioyn'd as our?
E're I would have so done by thee; I'd rather
Have parted with one dearer then my father.
For though the will of our Creator binds
Each Child to learn and know his Parents minds;
Yet sure I am, so just a
Deity,
Commandeth nothing against
Piety.
Nor doth that band of duty give them leave,
To violate their faith, or to deceive.
And though that
Parents
have authority,
To rule their children in minority:
Yet they are never granted such power on them,
That will allow to tyrannize upon them;
Or use them under their command so ill,
To force them, without reason, to their will.
For who hath read in all the Sacred-writ,
Of any one compelled to marriage (yet?)
What father so unkind (thereto required)
Denide his
Child
the match that he desired,
So that he found the Laws did not forbid it?
I think those gentler ages no men did it.
In those days therefore for them to have been
Contracted without license had been sin?
Since there was more good
Nature
among men,
And everyone more truly loving then.
But now (although we stand obliged still
To labor for their liking, and good-will)
There is no duty whereby they may tie us
From ought which without reason they deny us:
For I do think, it is not only meant,
Children should ask, but
Parents
should consent:
And that they err, their duty as much breaking,
For not consenting, as we not for speaking.
"It is no marvel many matches be
"Concluded now without their priuity;
"Since they, through greedy
Avarice
misled,
"Their interest in that have forfeited.
For, some respectlesse of all care, do marry
Hot youthful
-May,
to cold old
-January.
Some, for a greedy end, do basely tie
The sweetest-fair, to soul-deformity.
Forcing a love from where 'twas placed late,
To re-engraff it where it turns to hate.
It seems no cause of hindrance in their eyes,
Though manners nor affections sympathize.
And two Religions by their rules of state,
They may in one made body tolerate;
As if they did desire that double stem,
Should fruitful bear but
Neuters
like to them.
Alas, how many numbers of both kinds
By that have ever discontented minds:
And live (though seeming unto others well)
In the next torments unto those of hell?
How many, desprate grown by this their sin,
Have both undone themselves and all their kin?
Many a one, we see, it makes to fall
With the too-late repenting
Prodigal.
Thousands (though else by nature gentler given,)
To act the horridest murders oft are driven.
And (which is worse) there's many a careless else,
(Unless Heaven pity) kills and damns his self.
Oh what hard heart, or what vnpittying eyes,
Could hold from tears to see those Tragedies,
Parents,
by their neglect in this, have hurld
Upon the Stage of this respectlesse World?
'It is not one
Man,
one
Family,
one
Kin,
No nor one
Country
that hath ruined been
By such their
folly,
which the cause hath prou'd,
That foreign oft, and civil wars were moved
By such beginnings many a City lies
Now in the dust, whose
Turrets
brau'd the skies:
And diverse
Monarchs
by such fortunes crossed,
Have seen their Kingdoms fired, and spoiled, and lost▪
Yet all this while, thou seest, I mention not,
The ruin, shame, and chastity hath got;
For 'tis a task too infinite to tell
How many thousands that would have done well,
Do, by the means of this, suffer desires
To kindle in their hearts unlawful fires:
Nay some, in whose could breast nere flame had been,
Have only for mere vengeance fallen to sin.
My self have seen, and my heart bled to seeit,
A wit-less Clowne enjoy a match unmeet.
She was a Lasse that had a look to move
The heart of cold
Diogenes
to love:
Her eye was such, whose every glance did know
To kindle flames upon the hills of Snow;
And by her powerful piercings could imprint,
Or sparkle fire into a heart of flint:
And yet (unless I much deceived be)
In very thought did hate immodestie.
And (had sh'enioyd the man she could have loved)
Might, to this day, have lived vn-reprou'd:
But, being forced, perforce, by seeming▪ friends,
With her consent, she her contentment ends.
In that, compelled, her-self to him she gave,
Whose Bed, she rather could have with
•
her Grave;
And since, I hear, what I much fear is true,
That she hath hidden shame and fame adue.
Such are the causes now that
Parents
quite
Are put beside much of their ancient right:
Their fear of this, makes children to with-hold
From giving them those dues which else they would:
And these thou see'st are the too-fruitful ils,
Which daily spring from their unbridled wills.
Yet they, forsooth, will have it understood,
That all their study, is their children's good.
A seeming
-Love
shall cover all they do:
When, if the matter were well looked into,
Their careful reach is chiefly to fulfill
Their own foul, greedy, and insatiate will:
Who, quite forgetting they were ever young,
Would have the Children dote, with them, on dung.
Grant, betwixt two, there be true love, content,
Birth not mis seeming, wealth sufficient,
Equality in years, an honest fame,
In every-side the person without blame,
And they obedient too: What can you gather
Of Love, or of affection, in that father,
That but a little to augment his treasure,
(Perhaps, no more but only for his pleasure,)
Shall force his Child to one he doth abhor,
From her he loves, and justly seeketh for;
Compelling him (for such mis-fortune grieu'd)
To die with care, that might with joy have lived?
This you may say is
Love,
and swear as well,
There's pains in
Heaven,
and delights in
Hell:
Or, that the Devils fury and austerity
Proceeds out of his care of our posterity.
Would
Parents
(in this age) have us begin
To take by their eyes, our affections in?
Or do they think we bear them in our fist,
That we may still remove them as we list?
It is impossible it should be thus,
For we are ruled by
Love,
not Love by us:
And so our power so much ner'e reached to,
To know where we shall love, until we do.
And when it comes, hide it awhile we may,
But 'tis not in our strengths to driuit away.
Either mine own eye should my chuser be,
Or I would ner'e wear
Hymens
Livery.
For who is he so near my heart doth rest,
To know what 'tis, that mine approved best?
I have myself beheld those men, whose frame
And outward personages had naught of blame:
They had (what might their good proportion grace)
The much more moving part, a comely face,
With many of those complements, which we
In common men, of the best breeding see.
They had discourse, and wit enough to carry
Themselves in fashion, at an
Ordinary;
Gallants they were, loved company and sport,
Wore favors, and had
Mistresses
in
Court.
And every way were such as well might seem
Worthy of note, respect, and much esteem;
Yet hath my eye more cause of liking seen,
Where naught perhaps by some hath noted been:
And I have there found more content, by far,
Where some of those perfections wanting are;
Yea so much, that their beauties were a blot
To them (me thought) because he had them not.
There some peculiar thing innated,
That bears an vncontrouled sway in this;
And nothing but itself knows how to fit
The mind with that which best shall suit with it.
Then why should
Parents
thrust themselves into
What they want warrant for, and power to do?
How is it they are so forgetful grown,
Of those conditions, that were once their own?
Do they so dote amidst their wits perfection,
To think that age and youth hath like affection?
(When they do see 'mong those of equal years,
One hateth what another most endeares.)
Or do they think their wisdoms can invent
A thing to give, that's greater than Content?
No, neither shall they wrap us in such blindness,
To make us think the spite they do, is kindness.
For as I would advise no child to stray
From the least duty that he ought to pay:
So would I also have him wisely know,
How much that duty is which he doth owe:
That knowing what doth unto both belong,
He may do them their right, himself no wrong.
For if my
Parents
him I loath should choose,
It is lawful, yea my duty to refuse:
Else, how shall I lead so upright a life,
As is enjoined to the
Man
and
Wife?
Since that we see sometime there are repentings,
Even where there are the most, and best contentings.
What, though that by our
Parents
first we live?
Is not life misery enough to give;
Which at their births the children doth undo,
Unless they add some other mischief to?
Cause they gave being to this flesh of our,
Must we be therefore slaves unto their power?
We nere desired it, for how could we tell,
Not being, but that not to be was well:
Nor know they whom they profit by it, seeing
Happy were some, if they had had no being.
Indeed, had they produced us without sin,
Had all our duty to have pleased them been:
Of the next life, could they assure the state,
And both beget us and regenerate;
There were no reason then we should withstand
To undergo their tyrannou'st command:
In hope that either for our hard endurance,
We should, at last, have comfort in assurance:
Or, if in our endeavors we mis-sped,
At least feel nothing when we should be dead.
But what's the
Reason
for it that we shall be
Inthral'd so much unto Mortality?
Our souls on will of any
Men
to tie
Unto an everlasting misery.
So far, perhaps to, from the good of either,
We ruin them, our selves, and altogether.
Children owe much, I must confess 'tis true,
And a great debt is to the
Parents
due:
Yet if they have not so much power to crave
But in their own defense the lives they gave:
How much less then, should they become so cruel
As to take from them the high-prized Jewel
Of liberty in choice, whereon depends
The main contentment that the heaven here lends?
Worth life, or wealth, nay far more worth then either
Or twenty thousand lives put all together.
Then howsoever some, severer bent,
May deem of my opinion, or intent,
With that which follows thus conclude I do:
(And I have Reason for it, and Conscience to)
No Parent may his Childes just suit deny
On his bare will, without a reason why:
Nor he so us'd, be disobedient thought,
If vnapprou'd, he take the match he sought.
So then if that thy faith vncrazed be,
Thy friends dislike shall be no stop to me:
For, if their will be not of force to do it,
They shall have no cause else to drive them to it.
What is it they against us can allege?
Both young we are, and of the fittest age,
If thou dissembledst not, both love; and both
To admit hindrance in our loves are loath.
'It is prejudicial unto none that lives;
And God's, and human Law our warrant gives.
Nor are we much unequal in degree,
Perhaps our
Fortunes
somewhat different be.
But say that little means, which is, were not,
The want of wealth may not dissolve this knot.
For though some such preposterous courses wend,
Prescribing to themselves no other end,
Marr'age was not ordained toenrich men by,
Unless it were in their posterity.
And he that doth for other causes wed,
Nere knows the true sweetes of a marriage bed:
Nor shall he by my will, for 'tis unfit
He should have bliss that never aim'd at it.
Though that bewitching gold the
Rabble
blinds,
And is the object of all
Vulgar
minds:
Yet those, me-thinks, that graced seem to be,
With so much good as doth appear in thee,
Should scorn their better-taught desires to tie
To that, which fools do get their honor by.
I can like of the wealth (I must confess)
Yet more I prize the man, though money-less.
I am not of their humor yet, that can
For Title, or Estate, affect a
Man;
Or of myself, one body, deign to make
With him I loath, for his possessions sake.
Nor wish I ever to have that mind bred
In me, that is in those; who, when they wed,
Think it enough, they do attain the grace
Of some new honor, to fare well, take place,
Weare costly clothes, in others sights agree,
Or happy in opinion seem to be.
I weigh not this: for were I sure before
Of
Spencers
wealth, or our rich
Suttons
store;
Had I therewith a man, whom
Nature
lent,
Person
enough to give the eye content:
If I no outward due, nor right did want,
Which the best Husbands in appearance grant:
Nay, though alone we had no private jars
But merry lived from all domestic cares;
Unless I thought his
Nature
so incline,
That it might also sympathize with mine,
(And yield such correspondence with my mind
•
Our souls might mutually contentment find,
By adding unto these which went before,
Some certain vnexpressed pleasures more,
Such as exceed the straight and curbed dimensions
Of common minds, and vulgar apprehensions)
I would not care for such a match, but tarry
In this estate I am, and never marry.
Such were the sweets I hoped to have possessed,
When
Fortune
should with thee have made me bless
•…
My heart could hardly think of that content,
To apprehend it without rauishment.
Each word of thine (me-thought) was to my ears
More pleasing then that music, which the
Spheres
(They say) do make the gods, when in their chime,
Their motions
Diapason
with the time,
In my conceit, the opening of thine eye.
Seem'd to give light to every object by,
And shed a kind of life unto my show,
On everything that was within it view.
More joy I'ue felt to have thee but in place,
Then many do in the most close embrace
Of their beloved'st friend, which well doth prove,
Not to thy body only tends my love:
But mounting a true height, grows so divine,
It makes my soul to fall in love with thine.
And sure now whatsoever thy body do,
Thy soul loves mine, and oft they visit too.
For late I dreamed they went I know not whither,
Unless to
Heaven,
and there played together;
And to this day I nere could know or see,
'Twixt them or us the least
Antipathy,
Then what should make thee keep thy person hence,
Or leave to love, or hold it in suspense?
If to offend thee I unawares was driven,
Isit such a fault as may not be forgiven?
Or if by frowns of
Fate,
I have been checked,
So that I seem not worth thy first respect,
Shall I be therefore blamed and upbraided,
With what could not be holpen, or avoided?
It is not my fault: yet cause my
Fortunes
do,
Wilt thou be so unkind to wrong me too?
Not unto
Thine,
but thee I set my heart,
So naught can wipe my love out while thou art:
Though thou wert poorer both of house and meat,
Then he that knows not where to sleep or eat:
Though thou wert sunk into obscurity.
Become an abject in the worlds proud eye,
Though by perverseness of thy
Fortune
crossed,
Thou wert deformed or some limb hadst lost,
That love which
Admiration
first begot,
Pitty
would strengthen, that it failed not:
Yea, I should love thee still, and without blame,
As long as thou couldst keep thy mind the same;
Which is of
Virtues
so compact (I take it)
No mortal change shall have the power to shake it.
This may, and will (I know) seem strange to those
That cannot the
Abyss
of love disclose,
Nor must they think, whom but the outside moves
Euer to apprehend such noble
Loves;
Or more conjecture their vnsounded measure,
Then can we mortals of immortal pleasure.
Then let not those dull vnconceiuing brains,
Who shall hereafter come to read these strains,
Suppose that no loves fire can be so great,
Because it gives not their cold Clime such heat;
Or think m'invention could have reached here
Unto such thoughts, unless such love there were:
For then they shall but show their knowledge weak,
And injure me, that feel of what I speak.
But now my lines grow tedious, like my wrong,
And as I thought that, thou thinkest this too long.
Or some may deem, I thrust myself into
More then beseemeth modesty to do.
But of the difference I am not unwitting,
Betwixt a peevish coynesse, and things fitting:
Nothing respect I, who pries ore my doing:
For here's no vain allurements, nor sond wooing,
To train some wanton stranger to my lure;
But with a thought that's honest, chaste, and pure,
I make my cause unto thy conscience known,
Suing for that which is by right my own.
In which complaint, if thou do hap to find
Any such word, as seems to be unkind:
Mistake me not, it but from
Passion
sprung,
And not from an intent to do thee wrong.
Or if among these doubts my sad thoughts breed,
Some (peradventure) may be more then need
They are to let thee know, might we dispute,
Theres no objections but I could refute;
And spite of
Envy
such defences make,
Thou shouldst embrace that love thou dost forsake.
Then do not (oh forgetful man) now deem,
That 'tis ought less then I have made it seem.
Or that I am unto this
Passion
moved,
Because I cannot else-where be beloved:
Or that it is thy state, whose greatness known,
Makes me become a suitor for my own:
Suppose not so; for know this day there be
Some that woo hard for what I offer thee:
And I have ever yet contented been
With that estate I first was placed in.
Banish those thoughts, and turn thee to my heart;
Come once again, and be what once thou wert.
Reuiue me by those wonted joys repairing,
That am nigh dead with sorrows and despairing:
So shall the memory of this annoy,
But add more sweetness to my future joy;
Yea, make me think thou meantst not to deny me,
But only wert estranged thus, to try me.
And lastly, for that loves sake thou once bar'st me,
By that right hand thou gau'st, that oath thouswar'st me,
By all the
Passions,
and (if any be)
For her dear sake that makes thee injure me;
I here conjure thee; no entreat and sue,
That if these lines do over-reach thy view,
Thou wouldst afford me so much favor for them,
As to accept, or at least not abhor them.
So though thou wholly cloak not thy disdain,
I shall have somewhat the less cause to plain:
Or if thou needs must scoff at this, or me,
Doit by thyself, that none may witness be.
Not that I fear 'twill bring me any blame,
Only I am loath the world should know my shame.
For all that shall this plaint with reason view,
Will judge me faithful, and thee most untrue.
But if
Obliuion,
that thy love bereft,
Hath not so much good nature in thee left,
But that thou must, as most of you men do,
When you have conquered, tyrannize it too:
Know this before, that it is praise to no man
To wrong so frail a
Creature
as a woman.
And to insult or'e one, so much made thine,
Will more be thy disparagement then mine.
But oh (I pray that it portend no harms)
A cheering heat my chilled senses warms:
Just now I flashing feel into my breast,
A sudden comfort, not to be expressed;
Which to my thinking, doth again begin
To warn my heart, to let some hope come in;
It tells me 'tis impossible that thou
Shouldst live not to be mine, it whispers how
My former fears and doubts have, been in vain,
And that thou mean'st yet to return again.
It says thy absence from some cause did grow,
Which, or I should not, or I could not know.
It tells me now, that all those proofs, whereby
I seemed assured of thy disloyalty,
May be but treacherous plots of some base foes,
That in thy absence sought our overthrows.
Which if it prove; as yet me thinks it may,
Oh, what a burden shall I cast away?
What cares shall I say by? and to what height
Tower in my new ascension to delight?
Sure ere the full of it I come to try,
I shall eu'n surfeit in my joy and die.
But such a loss might well be called a thriving
Since more is got by dying so, then living.
Come kill me then, my dear, if thou think fit,
With that which never killed woman yet:
Or write to me before, so shalt thou give
Content more moderate that I may live:
And when I see my staff of trust unbroken,
I will vnspeake again what is mis-spoken.
What I have written in dispraise of
Men,
I will recant, and praife as much agen;
In recompense I will add unto their Stories,
Encomiasticke
lines to ymp their glories.
And for those wrongs my love to thee hath done,
Both I and it unto thy
Pitty
run:
In whom, if the least guilt thou find to be,
For ever let thine arms imprison me.
Mean while I will try if misery will spare
Me so much respite, to take truce with care.
And patiently await the doubtful doom,
Which I expect from thee should shortly come
Much longing that I one way may be sped,
And not still linger 'twixt alive and dead.
For I can neither live yet as I should,
Because I least enjoy of that I would;
Nor quiet die, because (indeed) I first
Would see some better days, or know the worst.
Then hasten
Deare,
if to my end it be,
It shall be welcome, cause it comes from thee.
If to renew my
Comfort
ought be sent,
Let me not loose a minute of
Content.
The precious
Time
is short, and will away,
Let us enjoy each other while we may.
Cares
thrive,
Age
creepeth on,
Men
are but shades,
Ioyes
lessen,
Youth
decays, and
Beauty
fades;
New turns come on, the old returneth never,
If we let our go past, 'tis past forever.
FINIS.
A Metricall Paraphrase upon the CREEDE.
S
Ince it befits, that I account should give
What way unto salvation
I believe;
Of my profession here the sum I gather.
First, I confess a Faith
in God the Father:
In God, who (without Helper or Pertaker)
Was of himself the Worlds
Almighty Maker,
And first gave Time his being: who gave birth
To all the Creatures, both
of Heaven and Earth.
Our everlasting well-fare doth consist
In his great mercies,
and in Jesus Christ:
(The second person of that Three in one)
The Father's equal, and
his only Son;
That ever-blessed, and incarnate Word,
Which our Redeemer is, our life,
Our Lord.
For when by Satan's guile we were deceived,
Christ was that means of help,
which was conceived;
Yea, (when we were in danger to be lost)
Conceiued for Vs,
by the Holy Ghost.
And that we might not ever be for-lorne,
For our eternal safety he was
Borne;
Borne as a Man (that Man might not miseary)
Even of the substance
of the Virgin Mary,
And loe, a greater mercy, and a wonder;
He that can make All, suffer,
suffered under
The Jewish spite (which all the world revile at)
And Romish tyrannies of
Pontius Pilate.
In him do I believe, who was envied,
Who with extremist hate
was Crucified:
Who being Life it self (to make assured
Our souls of safety) was both
dead, and buried;
And that no servile fear in us might dwell,
To conquer,
He descended into Hell:
Where no infernal Power had power to lay
Command upon him; but on
the third day
The force of Death and Hell he did contstrain,
And so in Triumph,
He arose again.
Yea, the Almighty power advanced his head,
Aswell above all things, as
from the dead.
Then, that from thence gifts might to men be given,
With glory,
He ascended into Heaven:
Where, that supreme and everlasting throne,
Which was prepared, he climb'd;
and sitteth on
That blessed seat, where he shall make abode
To plead for us, at
the right hand of God.
And nowhere should he be enthroned rather,
Then there: for, he is God, as is
the Father.
And therefore, with an equal love delight I
To praise and serve them both, as one
Almighty:
•
et in their office there's a difference.
And I believe, that Jesus Christ,
from thence,
Shall in the great and universal doom,
Return; and that with Angels
He shall come,
To question such as at his Empire grudge;
Even those who have presumed him to
judge.
And that black day shall be so Catholic,
As I believe not only that
the quick
To that assise shall all be summoned;
But, he will both adjudge them,
and the dead.
Moreover, in the Godhead I conceive
Another Person, in whom
I believe:
For all my hope of blessedness were lost,
If I believed not
in the holy Ghost.
And though vain Schismatics through pride & folly
Contemne her power, I do believe
the holy
Chast Spouse of Christ (for whom so many search
By marks uncertain) the true
Cath'like Church.
I do believe (God keep us in this union,)
That there shall be forever
the Communion
Of God's Elect: and that he still acquaints
His Children in the fellowship
of Saints.
Though damned be Mans natural condition,
By grace in Christ I look for
the remission
Of all my foul misdeeds; for, there begins
Deaths end, which is the punishment
of sins.
Moreover, I the
Sadducees
infection
Abhor, and do believe
the Resurrection:
Yea, though I turn to dust; yet through God, I
Expect a glorious rising
of the body;
And that, exempted from the cares here rise,
I shall enjoy perfection
and the life
That is not subject unto change or wasting;
But ever blessed, and for
everlasting.
This is my Faith, which that it fail not when
It most should steed me, let God say,
Amen.
A Metricall Paraphase upon the Lord's Prayer
To whom, that he so much vouchsafe me may,
Thus as a member of his Church, I pray:
L
Ord, at thy Mercy-seat, ourselves we gather,
To do our duties unto thee,
Our Father.
To whom all praise, all honor, should be given:
For, thou art that great God
which art in heavē.
Thou by thy wisdom rul'st the worlds whole frame,
For ever, therefore,
Hallowed be thy Name.
Let never more delays divide us from
Thy glories view, but let
Thy Kingdom come.
Let thy commands opposed be by none,
But thy good pleasure, and
Thy will be done.
And let our promptness to obey, be even
The very same
in earth, as 'tis in heaven.
Then, for our selves, O Lord, we also pray,
Thou wouldst be pleased to
Give us this day,
That food of life wherewith our souls are fed,
Contented raiment, and
our daily bread.
With every needful thing do thou relieve us:
And, of thy mercy, pity
And forgive us
All our misdeeds, in him whom thou didst please,
To take in offering for
our trespasses.
And for as much, O Lord, as we believe,
Thou so wilt pardon us,
as we forgive;
Let that love teach us, wherewith thou acquaints us,
To pardon all
them, that trespass against us.
And though sometime thou findst we have forgot
This Love, or thee; yet help,
And lead us not
Through Soul or bodies want, to desperation
Let not the soul of any true Believer,
Fall in the time of trial:
But deliver
Yea, save him from the malice of the Devil;
And both in life and death keep
us from evil.
Thus pray we Lord: And but of thee, from whom
Can this be had?
For thine is the Kingdom.
The world is of thy works the graven story,
To thee belongs
the power, and the glory.
And this thy happiness hath ending never:
But shall remain
forever, and forever.
This we confess; and will confess agen,
Till we shall say eternally,
Amen.
Thou shalt write them upon the posts of thy house, and upon thy Gates.
Deut. 6. 9.
Deut. 6. 9.
FINIS.