Sivut kuvina


your fill.

And for it lose bis eyes with gan-powder,

Pox on your flameship, Vulcan; if it be As th’ other may his braines with quicksilver. To all as fatall as 't hath beene to me, Well-fare the wise-men yet, on the Banekside, And to Paul's steeple; which was unto its My friends, the watermen! they could provide 'Bove all your fire-workes had at Ephesus, Against thy furie, when, to serve their needs, Or Alexandria; and though a divine They made a Vulcan of a sheafe of reedes, Losse, remaines yet, as unrepair'd as mine. Whom they durst handle in their boly-day coates, Would you had kept your forge at Ætna still, And safely trust to dresse, not burne their boates. And there made swords, bills, glaves, and arms But, O those reeds! thy meere disdaiue of them, Made thee beget that cruell stratagem, (pranck) Maintain'd the trade at Bilbo; or else-where; (Which, some are pleas'd to stile buţ thy madde Strooke in at Millan with the cutlers there; Against the Globe, the glory of the Banke: Or stay'd but where tbe fryar and you first met, Which, though it were the fort of the whole parish, Who from the Devil's arse did guns beget, Flanck'd with a ditch, and forc'd out of a marish, Or fixt in the Low-Countreys, where you might I saw with two poore chambers taken in [beene! On both sides doe your mischiefes with delight; And raz'd; e're thought could urge, this might have Blow up, and ruine, myne, and countermyne, See the world's ruines! nothing but the piles Make your petards, and granats, all your fine Left ! and wit since to cover it with tiles.

Engines of murder, and receive the praise The brethren, they streight nois'd it out for newes, of massacring man-kind so many wayes. 'T was verily some relique of the stewes ;

We aske your absence here, we all love peace, And this a sparkle of that fire let loose

And pray the fruites thereof, and the increase; That was lock'd up in the Winchestrian goose, So doth the king, and most of the king's men Bred on the Banck in time of poperie,

That have good places: therefore once agen, When Venus there maintain'd her misterie. Pox on thee Vulcan, thy Pandora's pox, But others fell, with that conceipt, by the eares, And all the evils that fler out her box And cry'd, it was a threatning to the beares; Light on thee: or if those plagues will not doo, And that accursed ground, the Paris-Garden: Thy wire's pox on thee, and B. B—'s too. Nay, sigh'd a sister, 't was the nun, Kate Arden Kindled the fire; but, then did one returne, No foole would bis owne harvest spoile, or burne! If that were so, thou rather would'st advance The place, that was thy wive's inheritance.

SPEACH ACCORDING TO HORACE. O no, cry'd all. Fortune, for being a whore, Scap'd not bis justice any jot the more:

Why yet, my noble hearts, they cannot say, He burnt that idoll of the revels too:

But we have powder still for the king's day, Nay, let White-Hall with revels have to doe, And ord'nance too: so much as from the tower Though but in daunces, it shall know his power; t' have wak’d, if sleeping, Spaine's ambassador, There was a judgement shown too in an houre. Old Æsope Gundomar: the French can tell, He is true Vulcan still ! he did not spare

For they did see it the last tilting well, Troy, though it were so much his Venus' care. That we have trumpets, armour, and great horse, Foole, wilt tbou let that in example come? Lances, and men, and some a breaking force. Did not she save from thence, to build a Rome? They saw too store of feathers, and more may, And what hast thou done in these pettie spights, If they stay here but till Saint George's day. More then advanc'd the houses, and their rites? All ensignes of a warre, are not yet dead, I will not argue thee, from those of guilt,

Nor markes of wealth so from our nation fled, For they were burnt, but to be better built. But they may see gold-chaines, and pearle vorne *T is true, that in thy wish they were destroy'd,

then, Which thou hast only vented, not enjoy'd.

Lent by the London dames, to the lords men; So would'st th' have run upon the Rolls by stealth, Withall, the dirtie paines those citizens take And didst invade part of the common-wealth, To see the pride at court, their wives doe make: In those records, which, were all chronicles gone, And the returne those thankfull courtiers yeeld Will be remembred by six clerkes, to one.

To have their husbands drawne forth to the field, But say all six, good men, what answer yee? And comming home, to tell what acts were done Lyes there no writ, out of the Chancerie

Under the auspice of young Swynnerton. Against this Vulcan? po injunction?

What a strong fort old Pimblicoe had beene! No order? no decree? though we be gone How it held out! how (last) 't was taken in! At common-law, me thinkes in his despight Well, I say thrive, thrive brave artillerie yard, À court of equitie should doe us right.

Thou seed-plot of the warre, that hast not spar'd But to confine him to the brew-houses,

Powder, or paper, to bring up the youth The glasse-house, dye-fats, and their fornaces; Of London, in the militarie truth, To live in sea-coale, and goe forth in smoake; These ten yeares day; as all may sweare that looke Or lest that vapour might the citie choake, But on thy practise, and the posture booke: Condemne him to the brick-kills, or some hill- He that but saw thy curious captaines drill, Foot (out in Sussex) to an iron mill;

Would thinke no more of Vlushing, or the Brill: Or in small fagots have him blaze about

But give them over to the common eare, Vile tavernes, and the drunkards pisse him out; For that unnecessarie charge they were. Or in the bell-man's lanthorne, like a spie, Well did thy craftie clerke, and knight, sir Hugh, Burne to a snuffe, and then stinke out, and die: Supplant bold Panton ; and brought there to view I could invent a sentence, yet were worse; Translated Ælian's tactickes to be read, But I'le conclude all in a civill curse.

And the Greeke discipline (with the moderne) shed


So, in that ground, as soone it grew to be

The cittie-question, whether Tilly, or he,
Were now the greater captaine? for they saw
The Berghen siege, and taking in Breda,

What I am not, and what I fajne would be,
So acted to the life, as Maurice might,

Whilst I informe my selfe, I would teach thee, And Spinola have blushed at the sight.

My gentle Arthur; that it might be said O happ'e art! and wise epitome

One lesson we have both learu'd, and well read; Of bearing armes! most civill soldierie !

I neither am, nor art thou one of those Thou canst draw forth thy forces, and fight drie

That hearkens to a jack's puise, when it goes. The battells of thy aldermanitie;

Nor ever trusted to that friendship yet Without the hazard of a drop of blood:

Was issue of the taverne, or the spit: More then the surfets in thee that day stood. Much lesse a name would we bring up, or nurse, Gue on, increast in vertue and in fame,

That could but claime a kindred from the purse, And keepe the glorie of the English name

Those are poore ties depend on those false ends, Up among nations. In the stead of bold

'T is vertue alone, or nothing, that knits friends : Beauchamps, and Nevills, Cliffords, Audleys old; And as within your office, you doe take Insert thy Hodges', and those newer men,

No piece of money, but you know, or make As Stiles, Dike, Ditchfield, Millar, Crips, and Fen:

Inquirie of the worth : so must we doe, That keepe the warre, though now 't be growne First weigh a friend, then touch, and trie him too: more tame,

Por there are many slips, and counterfeits. Alive yet, in the noise, and still the same,

Deceit is fruitfull. Men have masques and nets, And could (if our great men would let their sonnes

But these with wearing will themselves unfold: Come to their schooles) show 'hem the use of guns; They cannot last. No lie grew ever old, And there instruct the noble English heires

Turne him, and see his threds: looke, if he be In politique, and militar affaires;

Friend to himselfe, that would be friend to thee. But he that should perswade, to have this done

For that is first requir'd, a man be his owne: For education of our lordings, soone

But he that 's too-much that, is friend of none. Should he heare of billow, wind, and storme,

Then rest, and a friend's value understand
From the tempestuous grandlings, who 'll informe

It is a richer purchase then of land.
l's, in our bearing, that are thus, and thus,
Borne, bred, allied? what 's he dare tutor us?
Are we by booke-wormes to be awde? must we

Live by their scale, that dare doe nothing free?
Why are we rich, or great, except to show

All licence in our lives? what need we know?

WHEN HE WAS LORD CHIEFE IUSTICE OF ENGLAND. More then to praise a dog? or horse? or speakc The hawking language? or our day to breake

He that should search all glories of the gowne, With citizens ? let clownes and tradesmen breed

And steps of all rais'd servants of the crowne, Their sonnes to studie arts, the lawes, the creed:

He could not find then thee, of all that store, We will beleeve like men of our owne ranke,

Whom fortune aided lesse, or vertue more, In so much land a yeare, or such a banke, Such, Coke, were thy beginnings, when thy good That tomes us so much moneys, at which rate

In others' evill best was understood: (aide, Our ancestors impos'd on prince and state.

When, being the stranger's helpe, the poore man's Let poore nobilitie be vertuous: we,

Thy just defences made th' oppressor afraid. Descended in a rope of titles, be

Such was thy processe, when integritie, From Guy, or Bevis, Arthur, or from whom

And skill in thee, now grew authoritie; The herald will. Our blood is now become

That clients strove, in question of the lawes, Past any need of vertue. Let them care,

More for thy patronage, then for their cause, That in the cradle of their gentrie are,

And that thy strong and manly eloquence To serve the state by conncels, and by armes :

Stood up thy nation's fame, her crowne's defence; We neither love the troubles, nor the barmes.

And now such is thy stand, while thou dost deale What love you then your whore? what study? | Desired justice to the publique weale Carriage, and dressing. There is up of late (gaite, Like Solon's selfe; explat'st the knottie lawes The academie, where the gallants meet

With endlesse labours, whilst thy learning drawes What, to make legs? yes, and to smell most sweet,

No lesse of praise, then readers in all kinds All that they doe at playes. O, but first here

Of worthiest knowledge, that can take men's minds. They learne and studie; and then practise there.

Such is thy all; that (as f'sung before) But why are all these irons i'the fire

None fortone aided lesse, or vertue more. Of severall makings ? helps, helps, t'attire

Or if chance must to each man that doth rise His lordship. That is for his band, his haire

Needs lend an aide, to thine she had her eyes. This, and that box his beautie to repaire; This other for his eye-browes: hence, away, I may no longer on these pictures stay,

AN EPISTLE These carkasses of honour: taylors' blocks,

Cover'd with tissue, whose prosperitie mocks
The fate of things: whilst totter'd vertue holds
Her broken armes up, to their emptie moulds.

Mes that are safe, and sure, in all they doe,
Care not what trials they are put unto;

They meet the fire, the test, as martyrs would ; " Waller.

And though opinion stampe them not, are gold.



I could say more of such, but that I flie

Are asked to climbe. First give me faith, wholoon To speake my selfe out too ambitiously,

My selfe a little. I will take you so,
And showing so weake an act to vulgar eyes, As you have writ your selfe. Now stand, and then
Put conscience and my right to comprimise. Sir, you are sealed of the tribe of Ben.
Let those that meerely talke, and never thinke,
That live in the wild anarchie of drinke,
Subject to quarrell only; or else such
As make it their proficiencie, how much
They ’ave glutted in, and letcher'd out that weeke,

That never yet did friend, or friendship seeke
But for a sealing: let these men protest.

Or th' other on their borders, that will jest
On all soules that are absent; even the dead,

Like flies, or wormes, which man's corrupt parts fed :
That to speake well, thinke it above all sinne,

Srnce, Bacchus, thou art father
Of any companie but that they are in,

Of wines, to thee the rather Call every night to supper in these fitts,

We dedicate this cellar,
And are receiv'd for the covey of witts ;

Where new, thou art made dweller;
That censure all the towne, and all th' affaires, And seale thee thy commission :
And know whose ignorance is more then theirs ; But 't is with a condition,
Let these men have their wayes, and take their times That thou remaine here taster
To vent their libels, and to issue rimes,

Of all to the great master.
I have no portion in them, nor their deale

And looke unto their faces,
Of newes they get, to strew out the long meale ; Their qualities, and races,
I studie other friendships, and more one,

That both their odour take him,
Then these can ever be; or else wish none.

And relish merry make him. What is 't to me, whether the French designe

For, Bacchus, thou art freer Be, or be not, to get the Val-telline?

Of cares, and over-seer Or the state's ships sent forth belike to meet

Of feast, and merry meeting,
Some hopes of Spaine in their West-Indian fleet? And still begin'st the greeting:
Whether the dispensation yet be sent,

See then thou dost attend bim,
Or that the match from Spaine was ever meant? Lyæus, and defend him,
I wish all well, and pray high Heaven conspire By all the arts of gladoesse,
My prince's safetie, and my king's desire;

From any thought like sadnesse.
But if for honour we must draw the gword,

So mayst thou still be younger And force back that, which will not be restor'd, Then Phæbus; and much stronger I have a body yet, that spirit drawes

To give mankind their eases, To live, or fall, a carkasse in the cause.

And cure the world's diseases: So farre without inquirie what the states,

So may the Muses follow Brunsfield, and Mansfield doe this yeare, my fates Thee still, and leave Apollo Shall carry me at call; and I'le be well,

And thinke thy streame more quicker
Though I doe neither heare these newes, nor tell

Then Hippocrenes liquor :
Of Spaine or France; or were not prick'd downe one And thou make many a poet,
Of the late mysterie of reception,

Before his braine doe know it;
Although my fame, to his, not under-heares,

So may there never quarrell That guides the motions, and directs the beares. Have issue from the barrell; But that's a blow, by which in time I may

But Venus and the Graces Lose all my credit with my Christmas clay,

Pursue thee in all places, And animated porc'lane of the court,

And not a song be other I, and for this neglect, the courser sort

Then Cupid, and his mother.
Of earthen jarres there may molest me too:

That when king James above here
Well, with mine owne fraile pitcher what to doe Shall feast it, thou maist love there
I have decreed; keepe it from waves, and presse; The causes and the guests too,
Lest it be justled, crack'd, made nought, or lesse : And have thy tales and jests too,
Live to that point I will, for which I am man,

Thy circuits, and thy rounds free,
And dwell as in my center as I can,

As sball the feast's faire grounds be. Still looking to, and ever loving Heaven;

Be it he hold communion With reverence using all the gifts thence given. In great saint George's union; 'Mongst which, if I have any friendships sent

Or gratulates the passage
Such as are square, wel-tagde, and permanent, Of some wel-wrought embassage:
Not built with canvasse, paper, and false lights, Whereby he may knit sure up
As are the glorious scenes at the great sights;

The wished peace of Enrope: and that there be no fev'ry heats, nor colds,

Or else a health advances, Oylie expansions, or shrunke durtie folds,

To put bis court in dances, Bat all so cleare, and led by reason's flame,

And set us all on skipping, As but to stumble in ber sight were shame.

When with his roy all shipping These I will honour, love, embrace, and serve :

The narrow seas are shadie,
And free it from all question to preserve.

And Charles brings home the ladie.
So short you read my character, and theirs
I would call mine, to which not many staires

Accessit fervor capiti

, numerusque lucernis

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And though all praise bring nothing to your name, AN EPIGRAM

Who (herein studying conscience, and not fame)

Are in your selfe rewarded; yet 't will be

A cheerefull worke to all good eyes, to see
Does the Court-Pucell then so censure me,

Among the daily ruines that fall foule

Of state, of fame, of body, and of soule, And thinkes I dare not her? let the world see.

So great a vertue stand upright to view, What though her chamber be the very pit

As makes Penelope's old fable true, Where fight the prime cocks of the game, for wit?

Whilst your Ulisses hath taʼne leave to goe, And that as any are strooke, her breath creates Countries and climes, manners and men to know. New in their stead, out of the candidates ?

Only your time you better entertaine, What though with tribade lust she force a Muse, Then the great Homer's wit for her could faine; And in an epicæne fury can write newes

For you admit no companie but good, Equall with that, which for the best newes goes, And when you want those friends, or neere in blood, As aërie light, and as like wit as those ?

Or your allies, you make your bookes your friends, What though she talke, and can at once with them, and studie them unto the noblest ends, Make state, religion, bawdrie, all a theame.

Searching for knowledge, and to keepe your mind
And, as lip-thirstie, in each word's expense, The same it was inspir'd, rich, and refin'd.
Doth labour with the phrase more then the sense ? These graces, when the rest of ladyes view
What though she ride two mile on holy-dayes Not boasted in your life, but practis'd true,
To church, as others doe to feasts and playes, As they are hard for them to make their owne,
To shew their tires to view, and to be view'd ?

Su are they profitable to be knowne:
What though she be with velvet gownes indu'd, For when they find so many meet in one,
And spangled petticotes brought forth to eye, It will be shame for them if they have none.
As new rewards of her old secrecie!
What though she hath won on trust, as many doe,
And that her truster feares her? must I too?
I never stood for any place: my wit
Thinkes it selfe nought, though she should valew it. LORD BACON'S BIRTH-DAY.
I am nu states-man, and inuch lesse divine
for bawdry, 't is her language, and not mine. Haile happie Genius of this antient pile!
Parthest I am from the idolatrie

How comes it all things so about the smile?
To stuffes and laces, those my man can buy. The fire, the wine, the men ! and in the midst
And trust her I would least, that hath forswore Thou stand'st as if some mysterie thou did'st!
In contract twice; what can she perjure more? Pardon, I read it in thy face, the day
Indeed, her dressing some maņ might delight, For whose returnes, and many, all these pray:
Her face there 's done can like by candle light. And so doe I. This is the sixtieth yeare
Not he, that should the body have, for case Since Bacon, and thy lord was born, and here;
To his poore instrument, now out of grace.

Sonne to the grave wise keeper of the seale, Shall I advise thee, Pucell? steale away [day; Fame and foundation of the English weale. From court, while yet thy fame hath some small What then his father was, that since is he, The wits will leave you, if they once perceive Now with a title more to the degree; You cling to lords; and lords, if them you leave England's bigh chancellor: the destin'd heire For sermoneeres; of which now, one, now other, In his soft cradle to his father's chaire, They say, you weekly invite with fits o'th' mother, Whose even thred the Fates spione ronnd and full, And practise for a miracle; take heed

Out of their choysest, and their whitest wooll. This age would lend no faith to Dorrel's deed; 'T is a brave cause of joy, let it be knowne, Or if it would, the court is the worst place,

For 't were a narrow gladnesse, kept thine owne. Both for the mothers, and the babes of grace, Give me a deep-crown'd-bowle, that I may sing For there the wicked in the chaire of scorne, In raysing him the wisdome of my king. Will call 't a bastard, when a prophet's borne.




The wisdome, madam, of your private life,
Where with this while you live a widowed wife, 'To paint thy worth, if rigbtly I did know it,
And the right wayes you take unto the right, And were but painter halfe like thee a poët,
To conquer rumour, and triumph on spight;

Ben, I would show it:
Not only shunning by your act, to doe
Ought that is ill, but the suspition too,

But in this skill, m'unskilfull pen will tire, Is of so brave example, as he were

Thou, and thy worth, will still be found farre higher ; No friend to vertue, could be silent here.

And I a lier. The rather when the vices of the time Are growne so fruitfull, and false pleasures climbe Then, what a painter's here? or what an eater By all oblique degrees, that killing height [weight. Of great attempts! when as his skill's no greater, From whence they fall, cast downe with their owne

And he a cheater i VOL. V.


Then what a poet's here! whom, by confession
Of all with me, to paint without digression

There 's no expression.





Wur? though I seeme of a prodigious wast,
I am not so voluminous and vast,
But there are lines wherewith I might b' embrac'd.

'Tis true, as my wombe swells, so my backe stoupes,
And the whole lumpe growes round, deform’d, and

But yet the tun at Heidelberg had houpes.
You were not tied by any painter's law
To square my circle, I confesse; but draw
My superficies : that was all you saw.


Am to diue, friend, where I must be weigh'd
Por a just wager, and that wager paid
If I doe lose it: and, without a tale,
A merchant's wife is regent of the scale.
Who when she heard the match, concluded streight,
An ill commoditie ! 't must make good weight.
So that upon the point my corporall feare
Is, she will play dame justice too serere;
And hold me to it close; to stand upright
Within the ballance, and not want a mite;
But rather with advantage to be found
Full twentie stone, of which I lack two pound:
That's six in silver; now within the socket
Stinketh my credit, if into the pocket
It doe not come: one piece I have in store,
Lend me, deare Arthur, for a weeke five more,
And you shall make me good, in weight, and fashion,
And then to be return'd; or protestation
To goe out after till when take this letter
For your securitie. I can no better.

Which if in compass of no art it came
To be described by a monogram,
With one great blot yo' had form'd me as I am.

But whilst you curious were to have it be
An archetipe for all the world to see,

You made it a brave piece, but not like me.

Would God, my Burges, I could thinke O, had I now your manner, maistry, might,

Thoughts worthy of thy gift, this inke, Your power of handling, shadow, ayre, and spright, Then would I promise here to give How I would draw, and take hold and delight.

Verse that should thee and me out-live.

But since the wine hath steep'd my braine, But, you are he can paint; I can but write:

I only can the paper staine;
A poet hath no more but black and white,

Yet with a dye that feares no moth,
Ne knowes he fatt'ring colours, or false light. But scarlet-like ont-lasts the cloth.
Yet when of friendship I would draw the face,
A letter'd mind, and a large heart would place
To all posteritie ; I will write Burlase.





When first, my lord, I saw you backe your horse,
Provoke his mettall, and command his force
To all the vises of the field and race,
Me thought I read the ancient art of Thrace,
And saw a centaure, past those tales of Greece,
So scem'd your horse and you both of a peece!
You show'd like Perseus upon Pegasus;
Or Castor inounted on bis Cyllarus :
Or what we heare our home-borne legend tell
Of bold sir Bevis and his Arundell:
Nay, so your seate bis beauties did endorse,
As I began to wish my selfe a horse;
And surely, had I but your stable scene
Before, I thinke my wish absolv'd had beene.
For never saw I yet the Muses dwell,
Nor any of their houshold halfe so well.
So well! as when I saw the floore and roome,
I look'd for Hercules to be the groome:
And cri'd, away with the Cæsarian bread,
At these immortall mangers Virgil fed.

You won not verses, madam, you won me,
When you would play so nobly, and so free.
A booke to a few lynes : but it was fit
You won them too, your oddes did merit it:
So have you gaind a servant, and a Muse:
The first of which I feare you will refuse;
And you may justly, being a tardie, cold,
Unprofitable chattell, fat and old,
Laden with bellie, and doth bardly approach
His friends, but to breake chaires, or cracke a coach.
His weight is twenty stone within two pound;
And that's made up as doth the purse abound.
Marrie, the Muse is one can tread the aire,
And stroke the water, nimble, chast, and faire,
Sleepe in a virgin's bosome without feare,
Run all the rounds in a soft ladye's eare,
Widow or wife, without the jealousie
Of either suitor, or a servant by.
Such (if her manners like you) I doe send,
And can for other graces her commend,
To make you merry on the dressing stoole
A mornings, and at afternoones to foole
Away ill company, and helpe in rime,
Your Joane to passe her melancholie time.

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