Sivut kuvina

Rules to make courtiers, he being understood Fair Law's white revend name be strumpeted,
May make good courtiers, but who courtiers good? To warrant thefts: she is established
Frees from the sting of jests, all, who in extreme Recorder to Destiny on Earth, and she
Are wretched or wicked, of these two a theme, Speaks Fate's words, and tells who must be
Charity and liberty, give me. What is he Rich, who poor, who in chains, and who in jails;
Who officer's rage, and suitor's misery

She is all fair, but yet hath foul long nails,
Can write in jest? If all things be in all,

With which she scratcheth suitors. In bodies As I think; since all, which were, are, and shall Of men, so in law, nails are extremities; Be, be made of the same elements :

So officers stretch to more than law can do, Each thing each tbing implies or represents. As our nails reach what no else part comes to. Then, man is a world; in which officers

Why barst thou to yon officer? Pool, hath he Are the vast ravishing seas, and suitors

Got those goods, for which erst men bar'd to thee? Springs, now full, now shallow, now dry, which to Fool, twice, thrice, thou hast bought wrong, and nos That, which drowns them, run; these self reasons do

hungerly Prove the world a man, in which officers

Begg'st right, but that dole comes not till these die. Are the devouring stomach, and suitors

Thou had'st much, and Law's urim and thummim try Th’excrements, which they void. All men are dust, Thou would’st for more ; and for all hast paper How much worse are suitors, who to men's lust Enough to clothe all the great Charrick's pepper. Are made preys ? O worse than dust or worms' Sell that, and by that thou much more shali leese meat!

Than Hammon, when be sold 's antiquities.
For they eat you now, whose selves worms shall eat. O, wretch! that thy fortunes should moralize
They are the mills which grind you; yet you are Esop's fables, and make tales prophecies.
The wind which drives them; a wastful war Tou art the swimming dog, whom shadows cozened,
Is fought against you, and you fight it; they Which div'st, near drowning, for what vanished.
Adulterate law, and you prepare the way,
Like wittals, th' issue your own ruin is.
Greatest and fairest empress, know you this?

Alas! no more than Thames' calm head doth know,
Whose meads her arms drown, or whose corn o'er- Sleer dext, society and true friendship,

Man's best contentment, doth securely slip. You, sir, whose righteousness she loves, whom h His passions and the world's troubles rock me. By having leave to serve, am most richly

O sleep, wean'd from thy dear friend's company, For service paid authoriz'd, now begin

In a cradle free from dreams or thoughts, there To know and weed out this enormous sin.

Where poor men lie, for kings asleep do fear. O age of rusty iron! Some better wit

Here Sleep's house by famous Ariosto, Call it some worse name, if ought equal it.

By silver-tongu'd Ovid, and many moe, Th' iron age was, when justice was sold; now Perhaps by golden-mouth'd Spencer, too pardy, Injustice is sold dearer far; allow

(Which builded was some dozen stories high) All claim'd fees and duties, gamesters, anon I had repair'd, but that it was too rotten, The money, which you sweat and swear for, 's gone As Sleep awak'd by rats from thence was gotten: Into other hands : so controverted lands

And I will build no new, for by my will, Scape, like Avgelica, the striver's hands.

Thy father's house shall be the fairest still, If law be in the judge's heart, and he

In Excester. Yet, methinks, for all their wit, Have no heart to resist letter or fee,

Those wits that say nothing, best describe it.
Where wilt thou appeal? power of the courts below Without it there is no sense, only in this
Flows from the first main head, and these can throw Sleep is unlike a long parenthesis,
Thee, if they suck thee in, to misery,

Not to save charges, but would I had slept
To fetters, halters. But if th' injnry

The time I spent in London, when I kept Steel thee to dare complain, alas ! thou go'st Fighting and untrust gallants' company, Against the stream upwards, when thou art most In which Natta, the new knight, seized on me, Heavy and most faint; and in these labours they, And offered me the experience he had bought 'Gainst whom thou should'st complain, will in thy With great expense. I found bim throughly taught way

In curing burns. His thing had had more scars Become great seas, o'er which when thou shalt be Than T........ himself; like Epps it often wars, Forc'd to make golden bridges, thou shalt see And still is hurt. For his body and state That all thy gold was drown'd in them before. The physic and counsel (which came too late All things follow their like, only who have may have 'ainst whores and dice) he now on me bestows :

Most superficially he speaks of those. Judges are gods; and he who made them so, I found, by him, least sound him who most knows Meant not men should be forc'd to them to go He swears well, speaks ill, but best of clothes, By means of angels. When supplications

What fit summer,what what winter, what the spring. We send to God, to dominations,

He had living, but now these ways come in Powers, cherubins, and all Heaven's courts, if we His whole revenues. Where his whore now dwells, Should pay fees, as here, daily bread would be Aud hath dwelt, sjuce his father's death, he tells. Scarce to kings; so 't is. Would it not anger Yea he tells most cunningly each hid cause A stoic, a coward, yea a martyr,

Why whores forsake their bawds. To these some To see a pursuivant come in, and call

He knows of the duel, and on his skill [laws All his clothes, copes, books, primers, and all The least jot in that or these he quarrel will, His plate, chalices; and mistake them away, Though sober, but ne'er fought. I know And ask a fee for coming ? Oh! ne'er may What made his valour undubb’d windmill go.


Withio a point at most: yet for all this

So they their greatness hide, and greatness show, (Which is most strange) Natta thinks no man is By giving them that which to worth they owe: More honest than himself. Thus men may want What treason is, and what did Essex kill? Conscience, whilst being brought up ignorant, Not true treason, but treason handled ill: They use themselves to vice. And besides those And which of them stood for their country's good ? Wiberal arts forenam'd, no vicar knows,

Or what might be the cause of so much blood ? Nor other captain less than he, his schools He said she stunk, and men might not bave said Are ordinaries, where civil men seem fools,

That she was old before that she was dead. Or are for being there; his best books, plays, His case was hard to do or suffer; loath Where, meeting godly scenes, perhaps he prays. To do, he made it harder, and did both : His first set prayer was for his father's ill,

Too much preparing lost them all their lives, And sick, that he might die: that had, until Like some in plagues kill'd with preservatives. The lands were gone he troubled God no more ;

Priends, like land-soldiers in a storm at sea, And then ask'd him but his right, that the whore Not knowing what to do, for him did pray. Whom he had kept, might now keep him: she spent, They told it all the world; where was their wit ? They left each other on even terms; she went Cuffs putting on a sword, might have told it. To Bridewell, he unto the wars, where want And princes must fear favourites more than foes, Hat? nade him valiant, and a lieutenant

For still beyond revenge ambition goes. He is become: where, as they pass apace, How since her death, with sumpter horse that Scot He steps aside, and for his captain's place

Hath rid, who, at his coming up, had not
He prays again : tells God, he will confess A sumpter-dog. But till that I can write
His sins, swear, drink, dice, and whore thenceforth | Things worth thy tenth reading, dear Nick, good
On this condition, that if his captain die [less,

And he succeed, but his prayer did not ; they
Both cashier'd came home, and be is braver now
Than his captain : all men wonder, few know how,
Can be rob No;-Cheat? No;-or doth he spend

His own? No. Pidus, he is thy dear friend,
That keeps him up. I would thou wert thine own, MEN write, that love and reason disagree,
Or thou had'st as good a friend as thou art one. But I ne'er saw 't express'd as 't is in thee.
No present want nor future hope made me Well, I may lead thee, God must make thee see ;
Desire (as once I did) thy friend to be:

But thine eyes blind too, there's no hope for thee. But he had cruelly possess'd thee then,

Thou say'st, she's wise and witty, fair and free; And as our neighbours the Low-Country men, All these are reasons why she should scorn thee. Being (whilst they were loyal, with tyranny Thou dost protest thy love, and would'st it show Oppress'd) broke loose, have since refus'd to be By matching her, as she would match her foe: Subject to good kings, I found even so

And would'st persuade her to a worse offence Wert thou well rid of him, thou 't have no moe. Than that, whereof thou didst accuse her wench. Could'st thou but choose as well as love, to none Reason there's none for thee; but thou may'st vex Thou should'st be second : turtle and demon Her with example. Say, for fear her sex Should give the place in songs, and lovers sick Shun her, she needs must change; I do not see Should make thee only Love's hieroglypbic: How reason e'er can bring that must to thee. Thy impress should be the loving elm and vine, Thou art a match a justice to rejoice, Where now an ancient oak with ivy twine, Fit to be his, and not his daughter's choice. Destroy'd thy symbol is. O dire mischance ! Dry'd with his threats, she'd scarcely stay with thee, And, O vile verse! And yet our Abraham France And would'st th’have this to choose, thee being free? Writes thus, and jests not. Good Fidus for this Go then and punish some soon gotten stuff ; Must pardon me: satires bite when they kiss. For her dead husband this hath mourn'd enough, But as for Natta, we have since fall'n out:

In hating thee. Thou may'st one like this meet; Here on his knees he pray'd, else we had fought. Por spite take her, prove kind, make thy breath And because God would not be should be winner,

Sweet: Nor yet would have the death of such a sinner, Let her see she 'th cause, and to bring to thee At his seeking, our quarrel is deferr'd,

Honest children, let her dishonest be. I'll leave him at his prayers, and as I heard, If she be a widow, I'll warrant her His last; and, Fidus, you and I do know

She 'll thee before her first husband prefer ; I was bis friend, and durst have been his foe, And will wish thou had'st had her maidenhead; And would be either yet; but he dares be (She'll love thee so) for then thou had'st been dead. Neither yet. Sleep blots him out and takes in thée. But thou such strong love and weak reasons hast, " The mind, you know, is like a table-book, Thou must thrive there, or ever live disgrac'd. The old unwip'd new writing never took."

Yet pause awhile, and thou may'st live to see Hear how the husber's checks, cupboard and fire A time to come, wherein she may beg thee. I pass'd: (by which degrees young men aspire If thou 'lt not pause nor change, she 'll beg thee In court) and how that idle and she-state

now, (When as my judgment clear'd) my soul did hate, Do what she can, love for nothing allow. llow I found there (if that my trißling pen Besides, here were too much gain and merchandise; Durst take so hard a task) kings were but men, And when thou art rewarded, desert dies. And by their place more noted, if they err; Now thou hast odds of him she loves, he may doubt How they and their lords unworthy men prefer; Her constancy, but none can put thee ont. And, as unthrifts, had rather give away

Again, be thy love true, she 'll prove divine, Great sumns to flatterers, than small debts pay; And in the end the good on 't will be thine: VOL. V.



For though thou must ne'er think of other love, With a salt dropsy clogg'd, and our tacklings
And so wilt advance her as high above

Snapping, like to too high-stretch'd treble strings. Virtue, as cause above effect can be ;

And from our tatter'd sails rags drop down so,
T is virtue to be chaste, which she 'll make thee. As from one hang'd in chains a year ago.

Yea even our ordnance, plac'd for our defence,
Strives to break loose, and 'scape away from thenet.

Pumping hath tir'd our men, and what 's the gain ?

Seas into seas thrown we suck in again:

Hearing hath deaf'd our sailors, and if they

Knew how to hear, there 's none knows what to say.
Compar'd to these storms, death is but a qualm,

Hell somewbat lightsome, the Bermuda's calm. TO MR. CHRISTOPHER BROOK, FROM THE ISLAND VOYAGE Darkness, Light's eldest brother, his birth-right

Claims o'er the world, and to Heav'n hath chased

light. THE STORM.

All things are one; and that one none can be, Tuou, which art I, ('t is nothing to be so)

Since all forms uniform deformity
Thou, which art still thyself, by this shalt know Doth cover; so that we, except God say
Part of our passage; and a hand, or eye,

Another fiat, shall have no more day,
By Hilliard drawn, is worth a history

So violent, yet long these furies be,
By a worse painter made; and (without pride) That though thine absence starve me, I wish pot
When by thy judgment they are dignify'd,

My lines are such. 'T is the pre-eminence
Of friendship only t'impute excellence.
England, to whom we owe what we be, and have,

Sad that her sons did seek a foreign grave,
(For Fate's or Fortune's drifts none can gainsay,

Our storm is past, and that storm's tyrannous rage Honour and misery have one face, one way), A stupid calm, but nothing it doth swage. From out her pregnant entrails sigh'd a wind, The fable is inverted, and far more Which at th' air's middle marble room did find A block afflicts now, than a stork before. Such strong resistance, that itself it threw

Storms chafe, and soon wear out themselves or us; Downward again; and so when it did view In calms, Heaven laughs to see us languish thus. How in the port our fleet dear time did leese, As steady as I could wish my thoughts were, Withering like prisoners, which lie but for fees, Smooth as thy mistress' glass, or what shines there, Mildly it kiss'd our sails, and fresh and sweet, The sea is now, and as the işles which we As to a stomach starv'd, whose insides meet, Seek, when we can move, our ships rooted be. Meat comes, it came; and swoleour sails, when we As water did in storms, now pitch runs out; So joy'd, as Sarah her swelling joy'd to see : As lead, when a fir'd church becomes one spout ; But 't was but so kind, as our countrymen, (then. And all our beauty and our trim decays, Which bring friends one day's way, and leave them Like courts removing, or like ending plays. Then like two mighty kings, which dwelling far The fighting place now seamens' rage supply; Asunder, meet against a third to war,

And all the tackling is a frippery. The south and west winds join'd, and, as they blew, No use of lanthorns; and in one place lay Waves like a rolling trench before them threw. Feathers and dust, to day and yesterday. Sooner than you read this line, did the gale, Earth's hollownesses, which the world's lungs are, Like shot not fear'd till felt, our sails assail ; Have no more wind than th' upper vault of air. And what at first was call'd a gust, the same We can nor lost friends nor sought foes recover, Hath now a storm's, anon a tempest's name. But, meteor-like, save that we move not, hover. Jonas, I pity thee, and cune those men,

Only the calenture together draws Who, when the storm rag'd most, did wake thee Dear friends, which meet dead in great fish's maws; Sleep is pain's easiest salve, and doth fulfil (then: And on the hatches, as on altars, lies All offices of death, except to kill.

Each one, his own priest, and own sacrifice. But when I wak’d, I saw that I saw not.

Who live, that miracle do multiply, I and the Sun, which should teach thee, had forgot Where walkers in hot ovens do not die. East, west, day, night; and I could only say, If in despite of these we swim, that hath Had the world lasted, that it had been day. No more refreshing than a brimstone bath; Thousands our noises were, yet we 'mongst all But from the sea into the ship we turn, Could none by his right name, but thunder call: Like parboyl'd wretches, on the coals to buto. Lightning was all our light, and it rain'd more Like Bajazet encag'd, the sbepherd's scoff ; Than if the Sun had drunk the sea before.

Or like slack-sinew'd Sampson, his hair off, Some coffin'd in their cabins lie, equally

Languish our ships. Now as a myriad Oriev'd that they are not dead, and yet must die: Of ants durst th emperor's lov'd snake invade: And as sin-burden'd souls from graves will creep The crawling galleys, sea-gulls, finny chips, At the last day, some forth their cabbins peep: Might brave our pinnaces, our bed-rid ships : And treinbling ask what news, and do hear so Whether a rotten state and hope of gain, As jealous husbands, what they would not know. Or to disuse me from the queasy pain Some, sitting on the hatches, would seem there Of being belor'd and loving, or the thirst With hideous gazing to fear away fear.

Of honour, or fair death, out-push'd me first; There note they the ship's sicknesses, the mast I lose my end: for here as well as I Shak'd with an ague, and the hold and waste A desperate may live, and coward die.

Stag, dog, and all, which from or towards flies, And in the world's sea do not like cork sleep Is paid with life or prey, or doing dies:

Upon the water's face, nor in the deep Fate grudges us all, and doth subtily lay

Sink like a lead without a line: but as A scourge, 'gainst which we all forgot to pray. Fishes glide, leaving no print where they pass, He that at sea prays for more wind, as well Nor making sound: so closely thy course go, Under the poles may beg cold, heat in Hell. Let men dispute whether thou breathe or no; What are we then? How little more, alas !

Only in this be no Galenist. To make Is man now, than, before he was, he was?

Court's hot ambitions wholesome, do not take Nothing; for us, we are for nothing fit ;

A dram of country's dullness; do not add
Chance or ourselves still disproportion it;

Correctives, but as chymics purge the bad.
We have no power, no will, no sense : I lie, But, sir, I advise not you, I rather do
I should not then thus feel this misery.

Say o'er those lessons which I learn'd of you :
Whom, free from Germany's schisms, and lightness
Of France, and fair Italy's faithlessness,

Having from these suck'd all they had of worth,

And brought home that faith which you carry'd

Sir, more than kisses, letters mingle souls, I throughly love: but if myself I've won
For thus friends absent speak. This ease controls To know my rules, I bave, and you have Donne.
The tediousness of my life: but for these,
I could invent nothing at all to please;
But I should wither in one day, and pass
To a lock of hay, that am a bottle of grass.

Life is a voyage, and in our life's ways,
Countries, courts, towns, are rocks or remoras;

Who makes the last a pattern for next year,
They break or stop all ships, yet our state's such

Turns no new leaf, but still the same things reads; That (though than pitch they stain worse) we must Seen things he sees again, heard things doth hear, touch.

And makes his life but like a pair of beads. If in the furnace of the even line, Or under th' adverse icy pole thou pine,

A palace, when 't is that which it should be, Thou know'st, two temperate regions girded in

Leaves growing, and stands such, or else decays: Dwell there: but, oh! what refuge can'st thou win But he which dwells there, is not so; for he Parch'd in the court, and in the country frozen? Strives to urge upward, and his fortune raise. Shall cities built of both extremes be chosen? Can dung or garlic be a perfume ? Or can

So had your body her morning, hath her noon, A scorpion or torpedo cure a man?

And shall not better, her next change is night : Cities are worst of all three: of all three?

But her fair larger guest, t' whom Sun and Moon (O knotty riddle !) each is worst equally.

Are sparks, and short livd, claims another right,
Cities are sepulchres; they who dwell there
Are carcases, as if none such there were.

The noble sout by age grows lustier,
And courts are theatres, where some men play Her appetite and her digestion mend ;
Princes, some slaves, and all end in one day.

We must not starve, nor hope to pamper her The country is a desert, where the good

With woman's milk and pap unto the end.
Gain'd inhabits not; born, 's not understood.
There men become beasts, and prone to all evils ; Provide you manlier diet ; you have seen
In cities, blocks; and in a lewd court, devils.

All libraries, which are schools, camps, and courts; As in the first chaos confusedly

But ask your garners, if you have not been
Each element's qualities were in th' other three:

In harvest too indulgent to your sports.
So pride, lust, covetize, being several
To these three places, yet all are in all,

Would you redeem it? Then yourself transplant And mingled thus, their issue is incestuous :

A while from hence. Perchance outlandish ground Falsehood is denizon'd; virtue is barbarous.

Bears no more wit than ours; but yet more scant Let no man say there, virtue's flinty wall

Are those diversions there which here abound. Shall lock vice in me; I 'Il do none, but know all. Men are spunges, which, to pour out, receive: To be a stranger hath that benefit, Who know false play, rather than lose, deceive. We can beginnings, but not habits choke. Por in best understandings, sin began;

Go. Whither? Hence. You get, if you forget ; Angels sinn'd first, then devils, and then man. New faults, till they prescribe to us, are smoke, Only perchance beasts sín not ; wretched we Are beasts in all, but white integrity.

Our soul, whose country 's Heav'n, and God her I think if men, which in these places live,

Durst look in themselves, and themselves retrieve, Into this world, corruption's sink, is sent;
They would like strangers greet themselves, seeing Yet so much in her travail she doth gather,
Utopian youth grown old Italian.

[then That she returns home wiser than she went.
Be then thine own home, and in thyself dwell;
Inn any where; continuance maketh Hell. It pays you well, if it teach you to spare,
And seeing thesnail, which every where doth roam, And make you asham'd to make your hawk's
Carrying his own house still, still is at home:

praise yours, Follow (for he's easy pac'd) this snail,

Which when herself she lessens in the air, Be thine own palace, or the world 's thy jail. You then first say, that high enough she tow'rs.

However, keep the lively taste you hold

Of God, love him now, but fear him more: And in your afternoons think what you told

TO SIR AENRY WOOTTON. And promis'd him at morning prayer before.

HERE 's no more news than virtue; I inay as well Let falsehood like a discord anger you,

Tell you Calais, or Saint Michael's Mount, as tell Else be not froward. But why do I touch

That vice doth here habitually dwell.
Things, of which none is in your practice new,
And tables and fruit-trenchers, teach as much?

Yet as, to get stomachs, we walk up and down,
And toil to sweeten rest; so, may God frown,

If but to loath both, I haunt court and town. But thus I make you keep your promise, sir;

Riding I had you, though you still stay'd there, For here no one is from th’extremity And in these thoughts, although you never stir,

Of vice by any other reason free, You came with me to Micham, and are here.

But that the next to bim still's worse than he.

In this world's warfare they, whom rugged Fate,

(God's comınissary) doth so throughly hate, TO MR. ROWLAND WOODWARD.

As in th' court's squadron to marshal their state; Like one, who in her third widowhood doth profess If they stand arm'd with silly honesty, Herself a nun, ty'd to retiredness,

With wishing, prayers, and neat integrity, So affects my Muse now a chaste fallowness.

Like Indians 'gainst Spanish hosts they be. Since she to few, yet to too many, hath shown

Suspicious boldness to this place belongs, How love-song weeds and satiric thorns are grown,

And t' have as many ears as all have tongues ; Where seeds of better arts are early sown!

Tender to know, tough to acknowledge wrongs.

Believe me, sir, in my youth's giddiest days, Though to use and love poetry, to me,

When to be like the court was a player's praise, Betroth'd to no one art, be no adultery;

Plays were not so like courts, as courts like plays. Omissions of good, ill, as ill deeds, be.

Then let us at these mimic antics jest, For though to us it seem bat light and thin, Whose deepest projects and egregious guests Yet in those faithful scales, where God throws in Are but dull morals at a game at chess. Men's works, vanity weighs as much as sin.

But 't is an incongruity to smile, If our souls have stain'd their first white, yet we

Therefore I end ; and bid farewell awhile May clothe them with faith and dear bonesty,

At court, though from court were the better style. Which God imputes as native purity.

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