NOTHING FOR A Newyears gift.  Nihil est ex omni part beatum. 
By W. L.  Sit voluisse sat valuisse. 
LONDON Printed by T. C. for William Lugger, and are to be sold at the sign of the blind Knight, over against S. Andrew's Church in Holborn. 1603.   

TO THE RIGHT Worshipful his dearly respected Patron, Sir William Hide Knight.  

TO you that deign my ditties to peruse,  
And gild the temper of my brazen quill,  
You that give strength unto my weakened Muse,  
To clamber up the height of learned skill.  
You that for nothing show this generous mind,  
(A perfect token of true Nobleness)  
You that to bounty have your souls inclined,  
(Which shows the world your world of worthiness)  
Nothing I send you for a newyear's gift,  
The faint endeavours of my sickly spirit,   

Measure my meaning and my virtuous drift,  
My love, zeal, duty, and your own demerit.  
You looked for Nothing, Nothing I impart,  
With the poor remnant of my broken heart.   
Your worthy virtues ever vowed: W. L.   

Nothing for a newyears gift.  

Out from the sadness of my grieved spirit,  
And from the depth of serious contemplation,  
Why blooming Virtue should black Envy merit,  
My troubled thoughts recall the first creation.  
Searching Arts secrets, at the last I found,  
Nothing to be of every thing the ground.   

Excess of study in a trance denies  
My ravished soul her Angel-winged flight:  
Struggling with Nothing, thus my body lies  
Panting for breath, deprived of senses might.  
At length recovered by this pleasant slumber,  
The strange effects from Nothing, thus I wonder.   

That power of powers, great, good, pure, bodilesses,  
Who uncontaind, yet in himself confined:  
That lively word, which no word can express,  
Who footstool earth, who rides upon the wind.  
Over whose throne the Cherubins do hover,  
With flaming wings his starry face to cover.   

He that is good, yet void of quality,  
In his own essence, fully excellent:  
He that is great, beyond all quantity,  
All pure in substance, free from accident.  
But I grow senseless, when I seek by sense  
To sound his infinite omnipotence.   

Then he that far surmounts all comprehending,  
Whose mightiness is all inexplicable:  
Whose several glories, by his seat attending,  
Like to his name, are all unutterable.  
Though accommaundement every thing he had,  
Each thing that be of Nothing, yet he made.   

The glimpse of God's great glory, our pure soul,  
Which like a prince within his kingdom seated,  
The motions of the body to control,  
By heavens high hand of Nothing was created.  
Thus God doth stamp; though past our sense of seeing,  
His wisdom in his works, to prove his being.   

The world of nothing made, doth seem an Instrument  
True-strung, well-tuned, resounding sweetly shrill,  
The praises of the great Omnipotent,  
Whose Alleluiaes, all the heavens did fill.  
And God yet smiling on his paramour,  
Still in her lap, did Mel and Manna pour.   

To nurse this league, all creatures seemed to strive,  
In sweet accord, the base with high reioist,  
The lifeless clipping mutually the live,  
The hot with cold, the solid with the moist.  
But Adam being chief of all the strings,  
All out of tune, ore-retched quickly brings.   

Rebellious man, thus from his God revolted,  
The troubled Sea, the air with tempest driven:  
Which were his subjects 'gainst himself insulted,  
Thorne-bristled earth, the sad and lowering heaven,  
As from the oath of their allegiance free,  
Revenge on him, th'Almighties injury.   

So since his sin, the woeful wretch finds none,  
Herb, garden, grove, field, Fountain, shore, or haven,  
Beast, mountain, valley, Seagate, stream, or stone,  
But bears his death's doom, openly engraven.  
In brief, the whole scope this round Centre hath,  
Is a true storehouse of heavens righteous wrath.   

First Dearth assaults man, in the form of Death,  
With hollow eyes, lank meager cheeks and chin:  
Still yawning wide, with loathsome stinking breath,  
With sharp lean bones piercing her sable skin.  
And brings beside from hell for to assist her,  
Rage, Feebleness, and Thirst, her ruthless sister.   

Next marcheth War, the mistress of enormity,  
Laws, Manners, Arts, she breaks, she mars, she chases,  
Mother of mischief, monster of deformity,  
Blood tears, bowers, towers, she spills, swills, burns and races,  
Sack, Sacrilege, Rape, Ruin, Discord, Pride,  
Are still stern consorts, by her barbarous side.   

Then as a man that frunts in single fight,  
His sudden for the best advantage spies,  
Thrusts, wards, avoids, his ground doth travers light,  
At last to daze his Rivals sparkling eyes,  
He casts his cloak, and then with coward knife,  
In crimson streams, he makes him strain his life.   

So sickness Adam to subdue the better,  
Brings to the field the faithless Ophthalmy,  
(Whom thousand lines already justly fetter)  
With scalding blood to blind her enemy:  
Having for aids, cough, casting, yawning, shaking,  
Fantastic, raving, and continual aching.   

And then four Captains, far more fierce and eager  
Then any sickness, which the body seizes,  
On every side, the spirit doth beleaguer,  
Alas these are far worse than death diseases.  
Excessive joy, Fear, Sorrow, and Desire,  
Striving with Treason often to aspire.   

But God (as thee forgetting Adam's fall)  
From the main ocean of his boundless love,  
With streams of mercy overfloweth all,  
In that excess of kindness man to prove.  
So sent his Son to be our best Physician,  
Which at this day received Circumcision.   

His head is launst to work the body's cure,  
With angry salve it smarts to heal our wound,  
To faultless Son, from all offences pure,  
The faulty vassals scourges do redound.  
The judge is cast, the guilty to acquit,  
The Son defaced, to lend the stars his light.   

Our Rock gives issue, to an heavenly spring,  
Tears from his eyes, blood runs from wounded place:  
Which showers to branch of joy an harvest bring,  
The vine of life, distilleth drops of grace.  
This sacred dew, let Angels gather up,  
Such dainty drops, best fit their Nactan cup.   

With weeping eyes, his mother rued his smart,  
If blood from him, tears came from her as fast,  
The knife that cut his flesh, did pierce her heart,  
The pain that jesus felt, did Mary taste.  
His life and hers, hung by one fatal twist,  
No blow that hit the Son, the mother mist.   

Man sprung from Nothing, if thine humble soul  
Did inly see her ill misgoverned life:  
With Mary thou wouldst spend whole years in dole,  
Only to think that Christ endured this strife.  
Then eyes, heart, tongue, would power, breath out, & send  
Tears, sighs, and plaints, until their joys they find.   

But man's ambitious thoughts (like eves aspiring)  
So wantonlike, are weaned to each wrong:  
Giving still bridle to his selfe-desiring,  
All free to fleshly will hath lived so long.  
That those fresh springs whence penitent hearts should flow,  
Presumption hath so stopped that none will show.   

If Sorrow knock, Remorse is Mercies porter,  
And ever opens to let Sorrow in:  
Man to that door should be a quick resorter,  
'tis much to save that loss which comes by sin.  
He that of Sarrowe is true mournful taster,  
Doth feel sins smart, and find sins salving plaster.   

Else nothing can recure sins festered wound,  
The souls seven doubled shield it will assail:  
Nay Nothing for to ease it will be found,  
And Circumsition Nothing will avail.  
And so we shall approve the Heathenish writ  
Of Aristotle, Ex nihilo Nihil fit.   
FINIS.   

THE Effects proceeding from Nothing. W. L.  In rebus humanis Nihil est eternum.  

TO THE RIGHT Worshipful his dearly respected Patron. Sir William Hide, Knight.  

Mr Virgin Muse, leaves Nothing she can find,  
Which may agree with your Heroic mind.  
Pleasing herself, to lay before your sight,  
The generous pastimes wherein you delight:  
From Nothing first, how many things were framed  
She tells, who first the fiery Courser tamed,  
How astively to back him he begins,  
And by what means to gentleness him wins.  
Mistake me not, I do not write to teach you,  
For in this Art, he lives not that can reach you.   

My running Pen must make a little boasting.  
What skill she gained of you, in her swift posting.  
Take all in worth, with my well▪ meaning heart▪  
I want a Horse, well may I want the Art.   
Your Worships ever earnestly affected. W. L.   

The effects proceeding from Nothing.  

FRom Paradise our rebel Elders driven,  
(From that sweet Eden, earthly type of heaven)  
Lie languishing near Tigris grassy side,  
With numbed limbs, and spirits stupefied:  
Till powerful need did make them seek their living,  
Among the mountains to their greater grieving.   

For Summer garments, they the Vine unleave,  
The Palm and Fig tree, of his branch bereave:  
Eve growing wise among the Forests gathers,  
The Parrots, Peacocks, Ostrich scattered feathers:  
With white Horse hairs she sows them all in one,  
And gives to Adam this Mandilion.   

But when the Winter's keener breath began,  
With Icy fetters waters all to chain,  
To glaze the Lakes, and bridle up the floods,  
And periwig with wool, the baldpate woods,  
Our grandsire Adam 'gan to shake and shiver,  
His teeth to chatter, and his beard to quiver.   

Spying therefore, a flock of muttons coming,  
He takes the fairest, and with a fish bones cunning,  
He cuts the throat, flaies it, and spreads the fell,  
Then dries it, pares it, and he scrapes it well:  
Then clothes his wife therewith, and of such hides,  
Slops, hats, and doublets, he himself provides.   

Yet fire they lacked, Adam sat musing down  
Upon a steep Rocks craggy forked crown,  
A foaming beast come toward him he spies,  
Within whose head stood burning coals for eyes:  
Then suddenly, with boisterous arm he throws  
A knobby flint, that hummeth as it goes.   

Hence flies the beast, th'll'aimed flint shaft grounding,  
Against the Rock, and on it oft rebounding  
shivers to Cinders, whence there issued  
Small sparks of fire, no sooner borne then dead.  
This happy chance, made Adam leap for glee,  
And quickly calling his cold company.   

In his left hand, a shining flint he locks,  
Which with another in his right he knocks:  
So up and down, that from the coldest stone,  
At every stroke small fiery sparkles shone.  
Then with the dry leaves of a withered bay,  
The which together handsomely they lay,  
They took the falling fire, which like a Sun  
Shines clear, and smoaklesse in the leaf begun.   

And now mankind with fruitful race began,  
A little corner of the world to man:  
First Cain is borne, to tillage most addicted,  
Then Abel, most to keeping flocks affected,  
Cain tames a Heifer, and on either side,  
On either horn, a three▪ fold twist he tie,  
Of Ozear twigs, and for a plough, he got  
The horn or tooth of some Rhinocerot.   

Now th'one in Cattle, th'other rich in grain,  
On two steep mountains, build they Altars twain,  
Where humble sacred, th'one with zealous cry  
Cleaves bright olympus starry Canopy.  
With feigned lips the other loud resounded,  
heart wanting hymns, on self deserving founded.   

Rein-searching God. Thought-sounding judge that tries,  
The will and heart, more than the work or guise,  
Accepts good Abel's gift, but hates the other  
Profane oblation of his furious brother:  
Who feeling deep, th'effects of God's displeasure,  
Raves, frets, & fumes, and murmurs out of measure.   

So one day drawing with dissembled love,  
His harmless brother far into a grove:  
With both his hands he takes a stone so huge,  
That in our age three men could hardly budge,  
And just upon his tender brother's crown,  
With all his might he cruel casts it down.   

The murdered face lies printed in the mind,  
And loud for vengeance cries the martir'd blood:  
All day Cain hides him, wanders all the night,  
Flies his own friends, of his own shade affright,  
Scard with a leaf, and starting at a Sparrow,  
And all the world seems for his fear too narrow.   

Cain as they say by his deep fear disturbed,  
Then first of all the untamed Courser kerbed,  
That while about on others feet he run,  
With dusty speed, he might his deaths man's shun,  
Among a hundred brave light lusty horses,  
(With curious eye marking there comely forces.)   

He chooseth one for his industrious proof,  
with round, high, hollow, smooth, brown, jetty hoof,  
With pasterous short, upright, but yet in mean,  
Dry sinewed shanks, strong fleshless knees, and lean,  
with hartlike legs, broad breast, and large behind,  
with body large, smooth flanks, and double chinned.   

A crested neck▪ bow like a half bend bow,  
Whereon a long thin curled Mane doth grow,  
A firm full Tail, touching the lowly ground,  
With Dock between two fair fat buttocks drowned.  
A pricked Ear that rests as little space,  
As his light foot, a leane-bare bony face.   

Thin choule, and head, but of a middling size,  
Full lively flaming, quickly rolling eyes,  
Great foaming mouth, hot fuming nostrils wide,  
Of chest-nut hair, his forehead starrified:  
Three milk white feet, a feather on his breast,  
Whom seven years old, at the next grass he guest.   

This goodly jennet, gently first he wins,  
And then to back him, actively begins:  
Steedie, and strait, he fits, turning his sight  
Still to the forepart, of his palphray light.  
The chafed horse, such thrall ill suffering,  
Begins to snuff, and snort, and leap, and fling.   

And flying swift, his fearful Rider makes  
Like some unskilful Lad, that undertakes  
To hold some ship helm, while the head▪ long tide  
Carries away the vessel and her guide.  
Who near devoured in the jaws of death,  
Pale, fearful, shivering, faint, and out of bretah,  
A thousand times with heaven-erected eyes,  
Reputes him of so bold an enterprise.   

But sitting fast, less hurt than feared Cain,  
Boldens himself, and his brave beast again,  
Brings him to pace, from pacing to the trot,  
From trot, to gallop, after runs him hot,  
In full career, and at his courage smiles,  
And sitting still to run so many miles.   

His pace is fair, and free, his trot as light  
As Tiger's course, or Swallows nimble flight:  
And his brave gallop, seems as swift to go  
As Irish darts, or shafts from English bow.  
Born whirl wind like, he makes the trampled ground  
Shrink under him, and shake with doubling sound.   

The roaring Cannon from his smoking throat,  
Never so speedy spews the thundering shot,  
That in an Army mows whole squadrons down,  
And batters bulwarks; of a summoned Town.  
Then this light horse seuddes, if he do but feel  
His bridle slack, and his side the heel.   

Shunning himself, his sinews strength he stretches,  
Flying the earth, the flying air he catches:  
And when the fight no more pursue him may,  
In fieldie clouds he vanisheth away.  
But Cain waxed wise, esteems it not the best,  
To take too much now of this lusty beast.   

Restrainig fury, then with learned hand,  
The triple Curvet makes him understand:  
And on his neck his flattering palm doth slide,  
With skilful voice, he gently cheers his pride.  
He stops him steady still, new breath to take,  
And in the same path brings him softly back.   

But th' angry steed, rising and reigning proudly;  
Striking the stones, stamping, and naighing loudly,  
Calls for the Combat, plunges, leaps, and prances,  
befoams the path, with sparkling eyes he glances.  
Champs on his burnished bit, and gloriously  
His nimble fetlocks lifteth belly-high,   

All sidelong iaunts, on either side he justles,  
And waving crest, courageously he bristles,  
Making the gazer's glad on every side,  
To give more room unto his portly pride:  
Cain gently strokes him, and now sure in seat,  
Ambitiously still seeks some fresher feat.   

One while (to be more famous) trots the ring,  
Another while, he doth him backward bring:  
Then of all four, he makes him lightly bound,  
And to each hand, to manage rightly round:  
To stoop, to stop, to caper, and to swim,  
To dance, to leap, to hold up any limb.   

And all so done with time-grace-ordred skill,  
As both had but one body, and one will:  
Th' one for his Art no little glory gains,  
Th' other throrough practice, by degrees attains  
Grace in his gallop, in his pace agility,  
Lightness of head, and in his stop facility:  
Strength in his leap, and steadfast managings,  
Aptness in all, and in his course new wings.   

Cain named his Courser, Gallant Bellarmin,  
And in his name he built a gallant Tower.  
So Alexander, in his Horse's name  
A City called Bucephala did frame.  
So Bevis built the Castle Arundel  
In his Horse's fame, as ancient stories tell.  
So least Grey Gallant loose his glistering same,  
You must erect some monument in's name.   

The use of Horses thus discovered,  
Each to his work more cheerly settled,  
Each plies his Trade and travels for his age,  
Following the paths of painful Tubal sage.  
And now the way to thousand works revealed,  
Which long shall live maugre the rage of Eld.   

They build Towns, Cities, Castles, and huge Towers,  
Occasion gives me leave to speak of yours:  
Of ancient Hides seated on a hill,  
For to command the Country at her will.  
But afterward my Muse must show her power  
In the description of that famous Tower.   

Here might I show the pleasures I have seen  
On the Tower hill (where pleasures ever been)  
There I beheld in what a piteous case  
The trembling Stag was long pursued in chase:  
Flying for succour to some neighborwood,  
Sinks on the sudden, in the yielding mud.   

And sticking fast amid the rotten grounds,  
Is overtaken by the eager hounds:  
One bites his back, his neck another nips,  
One pulls his breast, at's throat another skips.  
One tugs his flank, his haunch another tears,  
Another tugs him by the bleeding ear.  
And last of all, the woodman with his knife  
Cuts off his head, and so concludes his life.   

And how I saw the Bull, whose horned crest  
Awakes fell Hornets, from their drowsy nest:  
With fisking 〈◊〉, with forked head and foot,  
Himself th' air, th' earth, all beating to no boot.  
Flying through woods, hills, dales, & roaring rivers,  
His place of grief, but not his painful grivers.   

Forth of his way yet many makes to tr●dge,  
Some to the 〈…〉 odds, and some towards the Lodge.  
Some one behind an aged Elder flees,  
Someone for haste climbs up the youngest trees.  
Some under hedges, some to holes would 〈◊〉,  
This way and that, the best the beast to shun.   

Stitched full of stings when on the ground he lies,  
Lest any more the cruel beast should rise,  
I might behold a company of slaves  
Thrashing the dead Bull with their grained staves:  
Thinking they were (for this act) champions stout,  
They lay their heads together make a shout.   

My forward tongue did give my soul in charge,  
When first your troops to Boland made resort,  
That spacious Forest to describe at large,  
With all our Summer progress and disport:  
In this I promise break above all other,  
With my dear friend, & with your nearest brother.   

For now the virtue of my sprights decayed,  
The inspiration of my Muse allayed,  
My memory which meetly hath been good,  
Is now (with grief) much like the fleeting flood.  
Whereon no sooner have we drawn a line,  
But's canceled strait, and Nothing left for sign.   
FINIS.