« EdellinenJatka »
That stirres my genius, which should excite
Those pow'rfull wits : to doe a pious right
To noble vertue, and by verse connay
By strong example, how in mortall state
And make thy brest their seate for soft retire, At naming of the Muses, he will streight
And place from whence they fetch'd Prometheat Tell of thy workes, where sharpe and bigh conceit,
While pedant poetasters of this age,
(Who stile their saucý rimes, poëtique rage) By poems of his owne ; for that might bee, Loose humours vent, and ballad-lines extrude, Had he no Muse, by force of knowing thee. Which grieue the wise, captiue the multitude. This maketh me (who in the Muses' quire
And that thy poems might the better take, Sing but a meane) thus boldly to aspire,
Nor with vaine sound, or for the author's sake, To pay sad duties to thy honor'd herse,
Which often is by seruile spirits tryde, With my vnpolish'd lines, and ruder verse. Whilst heau’n-bred soules are left vnsatisfyde ; Yet dreame I not of raysing amongst men
Like to the bee, thou didd'st those flow'rs select, A lasting fame to thee by my fraile pen :
That most the tastefull palate might affect, But rather hope, something may liue of me, With pious relishes of things diuine, (Perhaps this paper) hauing mention'd thee. And discomposed sence with peace combine.
Which (in thy Crown of Thorns) we may discerne,
And minds with natiue force to good dispose,
Deuotion stirre, and quicken cold desires,
To entertaine the warmth of holy fires. DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF HIS MUCH HONOURED
There may we see thy soule exspaciale, FRIEND, SIR JOEN BEAUMONT, KNIGHT AND BARONET.
And with true feruor sweetly meditate I WRITE not elegies, nor tune my verse,
Vpon our Sauiour's sufferings; that while To waite in mourning notes vpon thy herse Thou seek'st his painefull torments to beguile, For vaine applause, or with desire to rank
With well-tun'd accents of thy zealous song, My slender Muse 'mongst those, who on the bank Breath'd from a soule transfix'd, a passion strong, of Aganippe's streame can better sing,
We better knowledge of his woes attaine, And to their words more sence of sorrow bring. Fall into teares with thee, and then againe,
Rise with thy verse to celebrate the flood To haue of him? Perhaps an empty voyce,
While him we wrong with our contentlesse choyce:
By none but you could these bright fires be
Prometheus is not from the rocke vnbound;
Since then such goxilike pow'rs in you remaine,
His spirit of sweet musicke, and infuse
But yon, perhaps, that all your pow'r may speake,
V PON THE FOLLOWING POEMS OF MY DEARE FATHER
TO THE WORTHY MUSE OF HIS NOBLE FRIEND,
A CONGRATULATION TO THE MUSES,
THE SACRED VERTUE OF POETRY.
SIR JOHN BEAUMONT,
Expect no flatt'ring prayses to reberse,
But onely here in these few lines, behold
Who, though I cannot his true worth ynfold,
For should I striue to decke the vertues bigh,
Since eu'ry line is with such beauties grac'd,
And that deare name which on the front is plac'de
That name, I say, in whom the Muses meete,
That kings admire his verse, wbil'st at his feetea
Yet maruell pot it from the fun'rall rites
For from the corne arise not fruitfull eares,
Nor those rich odours which Arabia beares,
time runneth, be shall neuer dye,
To which, this verse alone I humbly giug;
VYON THESE POÈMS OF HIS DEAREST BRO THER, And have already had this curse from vs,
That in their pride they should grow barbarous, SIR IOHN BEAUMONT, BARONET.
There is no splendour, that our pens can giue Woen lines are drawn greater than nature, art
By our most labor'd lines, can make thee liue Commands the object and the eye to part,
Like to thine owne, which able is to raise Bids them to keepe at distance, know their place,
So lasting pillars to prop vp thy prayse, Where to receive, and where to giue their grace;
As time shall hardly shake, vntill it shall I am too neere thee, Beaumont, to define
Ruine those things, that with it selfe must fall. Which of those lineaments is most diuine,
MÍ, DRAYTOX And to stand farther off from thee, I chuse In silence rather to applaude thy Muse, And lose my censure ; 'tis enough for mee
AD POSTHUMUM OPUS D. To ioy, my pen was taught to moue by thee.
10. BELLO-MONTIJ, GEORGE FORTESCUE.
EQUITIS AURATI ET BARONETTI, VIRI NOSLISSIMI,
Lectum discubui ; biceps gemello ON THE HONORED POEMS OP HIS HONORED FRIEND,
Parnassus bijugo imminebat : vnde SIR IOHN BEAUMONT, BARONET.
Fontes desiliunt leues, loquaces;
Pellucent vitreo liquore fontes.
Sudo sub loue, sydere & secundo
Vnguento Ambrosio has & bas refectas,
Quas inter Philomela cantitillat When they doe sweat to fortifie a Muse.
Præpes, blandula, mellilinguis ales. Though I confesse a Beaumont's booke to bee
Quas inter volitant Apollinesque, The bound, and frontier of our poëtrie ;
Et Musæ Veneresque mille, mille.
Insomne hoc sibi somnium quid audet ?
Effatum euge ! Poëma Bello-monti est
? Decurrens velut amnis alti monte
Beauinontus latice. Altiùs resultat This fort of so impregnable accesse,
Fertur, nec tenui nec vsitatâ But higher power, as spight could not make lesse,
Pennâ per liquidam ætheram, biformis. Nor flatt'ry! but secur'd, by the author's name, Hic Phæbi deus est, decus cohortis
Defies, what's crosse to piety, or good fame. Summum Palladiæ, iubar sororum, And like a hallow'd temple, free from taint Ipse & fos Venerum, resurgo; legi. Of ethnicisme, makes his Muse a saint.
V PON THE HONORED POEMS OF HIS VNKNOWNE FRIEND, TO THE DEARE REMEMBRANCE OF HIS NOBLE FRIEND, SIR IOHN BEAUMONT, BARONET. SIR IOHN BEAUMONT, BARONET.
I KNEW thee not, I speake it to my shame: This Posthumus, from the braue parents' name, which (with the Sunne's bright course) did iogntly
But by that cleare, and equall voyce of fame, Likely to be the heire of so much fame, Can haue at all no portion by my prayse :
Thy glorious name about each hemisphere. [beare Onely this poor branch of my with’ring bayes
Whiles I, who had confin’d my selfe to dwell I offer to it; and am very glad,
Withiu the straite bounds of an obscure cell, I yet haue this; which if I better had,
Tooke in those pleasing beames of wit and worth, My loue should build an altar, and thereon Which, where the Sunne could neuer shine, breake Should offer vp such wreaths as long agone,
Wherewith I did refresh my weaker sight, (forth : Those daring Grecians, and proud Romans, crown'd; When others bath'd themselues in thy full light. Giving that honour to their most renown'd.
But when the dismall rumour was once spred, But that braue world is past, and we are light,
That struck all knowing soules, of Beaumont dead: After those glorious dayes, into the night
Abone thy best friends 'twas my benefit, Of these base times, which not one heröe haue,
To know thee onely by thy liuing wit ; Onely an empty title, which the graue
And whereas others might their losse deplore, Shall soone deuoure; whence it no more shall sound, Thou liu'st to me just as thou didst before. Which neuer got vp higher than the ground.
In all that we can value great or good, Thy care for that which was not worth thy breath,
Which were not in these cloai hes of flesh and blood, Brought on too soone thy much lamented death.
Thou now hast laid aside, but in that mind, But Heau'n was kind, and would not let thee see
That onely by it selfe could be confin'd, The plagues that must vpon this nation be,
Thou liu'st to me, and shalt for euer raine, By whom the Muses haue neglected bin,
both the issues of thy blood and braine. Which sball adde weight and measure to their simpe;
Replies : “ I should haue been asham'd to tell
Fond dreames to wise men: whether Heau'n or
Seeme great farre off, but lessen comming neare.
The king (whose eyes were neuer fully clos'd, Thus being chear'd, he calls aloud for armes, Whose minde opprest, with feareful dreames sup- and bids that all should rise, whom Morpheus pos'd,
Hath felt the batıries of a ciuill strife,
print : That I their rotten carkases might see?”
This stirres remembrance of his heinous guilt, The wretch, astonisht, bastes a way to slide, When he that prince's blood so foulely spilt. (As damned ghosts themselues in darkenesse hide) Now fully arm’d, he takes his helmet bright, And calles vp three, whose counsels could asswage Which, like a twinkling starre, with trembling light The sudden swellings of the prince's rage:
Sends radiant lustre through the darksome aire; Ambitious Louell, who, to gaine his grace,
This maske will make his wrinkled visage faire. Had stain'd the honour of his noble race:
But when his head is couer'd with the steele, Perfidious Catesby, by whose curious skill,
He telles his seruants, that his temples feele
The sharpe conclusion of a sad successe.
The silent doores of euerlasting sleepe."