Wars, War Wars. Arma Virumque Cano. Into the Field I bring, Soldiers and Battles: Both their Fames I sing. Imprinted at London for ●. G. 1628. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HUGH HAMERSLEY, Lord Mayor of this Renowned City of London: And Colonel of the Artillery Garden. THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL, AND WORTHY GENTLEMEN, Sr MAURICE ABBOT, Knight; and Mr HENRY GARRAWAY, Shreive's of the same City. Honourable Praetor: Worthy Consuls. THose Titles (taking both Descension and Derivation from the Ancient Roman, Praetorian, and Consular Dignities) are happy Honours, in that they are lent unto you, from the noblest Nation, that ever carried Arms in the World. Your Places are High, Offices Great; yet give me leave to sit at the Root of your Glories, (like a Passenger on the way) and to lift up mine eyes to your spreading Branches, leaving this poor Tablet hid amongst your Leaves, containing nothing but an Inscription of my Love.. It was some joy to me, to be employed in the Praesentation of your Triumphs, on the day of your Lordship's Inauguration; and it shallbe as great a happiness to me now, if this my second Praesentation, may from your Hands receive a free entertainment. What I offered up then, was a Sacrifice Ex officio: Custom took my Bond for the Performance: And on the Day of Ceremony, I hope the Debt was fully discharged. This Oblation is voluntary, and shall prosper well enough, if it meet acceptance. A brave Company of Gentlemen in Arms, were Additions of much splendour, to that Day, (which of itself was bright enough) to grace your Lordship, being at this Time their Sole and Worthy Colonel: I come to you now, speaking still in their Warlike Language. Drums, Fifes, Ensigns, Pikes, and Shot, Marched before you, to your Gates: Drums, Fifes, Ensigns, Pikes, and Shot, do now come Marching into your Parlours: I know not how to handle either; yet I handle all. Trumpets here sound a Charge, yet no noise heard: A Battle is fought, but without Blood shed: I am no Herald, yet I Cry, Wars, Wars, Wars: No Soldier, yet my Pen plays the Captain, and Drills a Company of Verses on Foot, in a Field of white Paper. The Discipline I teach them, is so Printed in their Memories, that unless their Limbs be torn in pieces, the World cannot choose but take notice of their Postures. What scorn, other men (out of Malice, rather than judgement) shall throw upon these my Martial dare, I will put by, with an Odi prophanum Vulgus, and not care what Canons they Plant against me, so I may lie safely Entrenched, Sub Triplici Clipeo, Of your Three noble Defences. To which I prostrate, my Love, Labour, and Service: Resting, Devoted ever To your Lordship, And Worships. THO. DEKKER. To all Noble Soldiers. IF (noble Spirits) as well you may, you wonder How I, who ne'er fired Cannon, speak in Thunder; Your pardon easily thus unties my Charms. He that wants legs, may be in love, with Arms. Wars, Wars, Wars. Arma virumque Cano. Brave Music! hark: The rattling Drum beats high, And with the scolding Fife, deaffens the sky, The Brazen Herald in a shrill Tone, tells We shall have Wars, (ring out for joy, your Bells:) We shall have Wars, when Kingdoms are at odds, Pitched Fields those theatres are, at which the Gods Look down from their high Galleries of Heaven, Where Battles, Tragedies are, to which are given Plaudits from Cannons, Buskined Actors tread Knee deep in blood, and trample on the Dead: Death, the grave ●●●ame, of which is writ the story, Keen Swords the Pens, texting (at large) the glory Of Generals, Colonels; Captains, and Commanders, With common fight Men, (the hardy standers Against all Hellish Horrors.) Soldiers all, And Fellows (in that name,) to'th General. O War! thou Shoole where honour takes degrees▪ (Nobler than those are bought for Herald's Fees,) Thou Hive of Bees industrious, bringing 〈◊〉 Thighs laden with rich spoils, which may become The King of Bees to carry: Thou Refiner Of drossy states; Mischiefs rare underminer! Thou great Magi●●●●, whose enchanted rounds Have spirits, can bind Ambition within bounds. Thou sovereign Chemist that art sent from heaven, To cleanse the rancke-world, for to thee is given The skill of Minerals, (lead, iron and steel,) Which can set Realms upright when they do reel. By a strange Powders help, which strikes it dead, What e'er the Soare be, or how ever Bred. O teach me (all unskilful) how to sing Some of thy Wonders on my untuned string: For, my heart danceth sprightly, when I see (Old as I am) our English Gallantry (Albeit no silken Down plays with their Chin, Being fardo like women, yet all man within,) With new bloomed Roses blushing on each cheek, To Plough up seas, bright Fame (abroad) to seek, And (found) never to leave her, till she sets) Plumes, rich and glorious in their Burgonets; Whose acts, them breaking forth in generous flames. Mongst Turks or Spanish, each his worth proclaims, Else writes his fair deserts with his own hands, In bloody letters amongst the Netherlands, So folly, that their Stories shallbe read, Whilst the proud German Eagle rears a Head. These men I love, O these! who high Prefer Before all styles, the name of Soldier: Which Title in a Diadem being set, Adds glittering Diamonds to the Coronet. O see● the Armies glorious body moves, In whose proud front match up so many Ioues: As there are Leaders: How the Sun, envies That from bright armours, and men's sparkling eyes, Beams far more dazzling through the air are thrown Than all those golden Rays, which are his own. What sight i'th' world (but Navies on proud Seas, Is so stupendious rare? or can so please? Had Memphis closed her wonders, all in One, 'Las! they had lacked that sweet Proportion, Which a main Army carries, that can fall Into all Figures, Geometrical, At turning of a Hand, to check all storms, And yet, not Order break, nor lose their Forms. Faces about, the Captain cries; they do't In an eyes twinkling, changing scarce a Foot: Then, as you were; 'tis done; double your Files, To note the quickness, Time himself beguiles. Come up in main Battalia; up they come▪ In a proud dance, to'th Music of the Drum: Divide yourselves in Squadrons; fly out in wings; Now a half Moon; the word (but spoken) brings Men into decent Postures, fit to fight 'Gainst horse or foot; the left hand, or the Right: All move like wheels in clocks, some great, some less, And numerous strings, do but one tune express. But this is nothing, did they (but thus) still● O hark! the Fight begins, for loud shouts fill Heaven with rebounding Echoes. Trumpets sound A charge; Drums rattle, noise doth noise counfound, Yet 'tis all-musicall: Barbed Horses beat Their hooves through madness, & their Rider's sweat With rage, because That moving wall (of Pikes) They cannot enter, for it guards and strikes, Yet groves of Pikes, by groves of Pikes are shiverd Ten thousand Bullets from iron wombs deliver d, Fly whurrying in the Air: steel Targets clatter, Sword's clash, whilst Battleaxes, Helmets batter, The Cannon roars; by thousands, men die groaning, But Drums so cheer the rest; none minds their moaning: Gold lacde Buffe-ierkins drop; Feathers look pale, Whilst tottered de sperue●wes, all storms of Hail Stand like tough Briers: Heads are for footballs tossed: Arms fly to seek their Masters, yet both lost, Whose mangled Carcases (besmeeted in gore;) Troops of Carbines in Triumph trample o'er. Here may you see, hot spirits as fiercely meet, As Whirlwinds do, whilst rocks or oaks they greet; Yet by strong tugging when their Flames are spent, Lie like dear friends (though into wounds all rent,) Whose streams gush out so fast, they o●● are found Suffering two deaths, and are both killed and drowned. A thousand windings, and a thousand ways The General beats (even whilst the ordnance plays) To win the Wind, the Sun, the Wood, the Hell, None know what cares the noble Soldier fill. Black fate! there's dropped a Leader to the ground, Courage he cries yet (Soldiers) slights the wound; And though death stare in's face, death him doth fear, To fall (saith he) is Fortune de la Guerre. As when a Ph●●nix, to her deathbed comes, She builds a nest of spice, and odorous gums, Then in the Sun's hot flames, clapping her wings She burns to Death: out of whose ashes springs A second Phoenix▪ So, when Leaders fall, (ere the last gasp) about them quick they call Their soldiers, whom they heat with their own fire To fight it out, who seeing their souls retire To heavenly Tents: Ten thousand Leaders rise From them; and, On, a main On, each man cries, A farewell volleyed loud from one to one, Thus Epitaph'd; There's a brave fellow gone. Nor, (though a hundred Captains should lie slain) Run the rest headlong on: 'twere poor and vain, By quitting others Deaths, to meet their Own, No, every Soldier when the Dice are thrown Waits his own Cast and wa●ebe● his own Game, The upshot of all fairplay being true Fame. For, as young flowers make garlands for the spring, As Coronets of Lilies, honour bring To amorous Rivers: As those smells are rare, Which Summers warm hand throws into the air: As Incense, from the Tyrannising Fire Breaks in sweet clouds and more the flames conspire To choke her odorous breath, with richer sent Her Roseal wings fan all the Firmament: So moves a Soldier in his constant Sphere, His great Desires still burning, sweet and clear. Nor seeks he blood but high deeds: rather Fame Than a fought Battle; for a nobler Name Is graven upon the sword, that's dipped in Oil Than that in blood, which does all brightness foil When horror will spare none, 'tis Law, to Kill: But Honour says, 'tis better save than spill. Who then with lips profane dare curses lay On War, who to all Glory beats the way, Nay to all goodness? Down the Court pride falls, When He's in place, Church-Simony, no man calls To a fat Benefice: Bribery dares not feel The Lawyer's pulse; nor Usuries golden wheel Whirl in the City: Country Foxes hide Their ill got spoils, which War can soon divide. Break then (thou thunder) that foul bed of snakes. Which a Luxurious peace, her darling makes, Dandling the Plump Brood on her wanton knees. Whose Brains War would beat out, & from the Lees Rack the pure wine, whose heat should kindle fires For deeds Heroical. War, more admires One Bethlem Gabor, or one Spinola, Than all the brave men on St. George his Day. But why do I Outlandish coin thus raise, When our own English stamps deserve more praise! Give me a stout Southampton and hi● Son, A fiery Oxford who toth' Top would run Of the most dangerous, hottest, high design, An Essex, which does even himself cut shine In noble Dare: would I had a Pen, To set the worths down of the best of Men The far famed Warwick, Holland, Willoughby, Whose Acts too high a Pitch for me do fly: I am no Eagle to behold such Suns, My humble Muse in her own circle runs. And that's in thee (O Troynonant:) Old Rome, Couldst thou thy grey head, lift up from thy Tomb Glorious, as when thy Brows were decked with Bays, Higher in fame, thy Sons thou couldst not raise, Then London now can here: Thy Citizens Had not more honours from the Roman pens Than ours now merit: Like a brazen well She (should War thunder) up brave spirits can call To guard her towers and pinnacles, sons here bred, Under her wing, and by her cherished. Nor needs she send to Foreign shores for men To lead her Troops: How many a Citizen (Stood horror at the Gates) could fairly steer, And in a rough storm, guide both Van and Rear: But (above all the rest) why should not I, The Fames sing of our twice Decemviri, (Our twenty City Captains,) Bond, Leate, Fen. (A chief, yet Gound amongst our Aldermen:) Stiles, Williams, Smith, & Andrew's, march up here. Lasher, and Henshaw, i'th' next Front appear: Walker and Halsey then, with Rowdon lead Their Companies stoutly on: lies Milward dead! No, with a brow up-reard to'th Field He hies; waller's and Langhams' Drums, deafening the skies: Lee, Fen, and Dichfield, come in brave array, Whilst Wild, and Marshal, strive to win the Day; Winifrid may they, other notes our Muse must sing, And to the Sun, play on a louder string▪ War and the Sun Compared. WAr and the Sun are Twins; as the Sun rides In's chariot (all of flames) which himself guides Through heaven, the vast earth measuring inon day, And of all Countries (so) takes full survey; Cheering all Nations, which his godlike eyes, Who sets as he sets; rise as he does rise. And in a year this princely Bridegroom shines, Twelve times, in his 12. houses, (the 12 Signs.) So War holds the whole world in Sovereign awe, (His not the Common, but the Cannon Law.) What Kingdoms are not glad to see him ride On thunder, (lightning lackeying by his side? Turks, Tartars, Persians, Indians, all adore The god of War; all dance to hear him roar: The Pole, Russee, Hunger, Sweve, and yellow Dane, English, French, Spanish, Dutch, wait on Wars train, And to such height, their Empires ne'er had brought, But for the brave old battles they have Fought. War and the Sun you see then, may be Twins, For they being borne, War's teeming Birth begins: Nay, one perpetual motion, they both keep, The Sun still wakes and War can never sleep. Last, of the Sun, that he no point may lack, War has found out a rare new Zodiac, With signs of selfsame names, in which the Sun Does in his everlasting Progress run. War his Zodiac. 1. Aries. WHen into horned Moons the Squadrons change, Then the Battalia does in Aries Range: Here the brave Van comes up, (a Soldier's pride,) Who die here, Win a Death that's dignified. 2. Taurus. WHen like two stiffnecked Bulls, fell Armies meet, Being gored quite through with wounds, from head to feet, The bellowing Taurus is a lusty sign, That soldiers, then, in Scarlet-triumphes shine. 3. Gemini. Honour and warlike Anger, single forth, Troops against Troops, and Wings to show their worth: Men then with men, their masculine valours try, Which makes the Battle move in Gemini. 4. Cancer. HOt grows the Day, the strong, the weaker Beat; Which seen, the wearied Van with soft Retreat Gives back; and in this politic Retire, Cancer wins time to kindle fresher Fire. 5. Leo. LIghtning and Thunder then, bring up the Rear, And with it, Death, who plays the Murderer: Hells Furies are the Marshals for the Day, For, Leo roars, and does his fangs display. 6. Virgo. STill to be Killing, is a Belluine Rage, The thirst of Vengeance therefore to assuage. Mercy puts forth a Hand and Prisoners takes, And then mild Virgo from her Tent awakes. 7. Libra. AS when two Dragons, breathless through deep wounds, 'tis doubtful, which the others life confounds: So, 'twixt two Armies whilst coy Victory hovers, The hopes and fears of both, Libra discovers. 8. Scorpio. PEl-mell, then to't again; the chain-shot flies, And sweeps down lanes of Men; tossing i'th' Skies Armours and limbs, to show that Scorpio throws His rancorous breath forth, poisoning where it goes 9 Sagitarius. O Thou old English Archer, (Sagitary) Now laughed at is the Bow which thou dost carry; Thy grey Goose wing, which once brave battles won, Hangs loose; for bullets on thy errands run. 10. Capricornus. WHat Coward flies the field! and wounds does feign, To save himself out of Wars sulphurous rain, For a few drops! off is the Peasant borne! His sign shallbe the skipping Capricorn. 11. Aquarius. WInter now comes, Heaven's sluices pour out rain; Or, Fields are standing pools through Armies slain: Else, a torn Country swims in her own tears, And then Aquarius up his Standard rears. 12. Pisces. But, when Pay slacks; and health with Victuals) ●on, Soldiers being forced to live on dry poor john; Ye●, two by two (like sharks) themselves combine For booties; Pisces, is this luckless Sign. To All. THus, Home at last, the Soldier comes, As useless as the Hung-up Drums: And (but by Noble hands being Fed, May beg hard; hardly yet get Bread. Nulla salus Bello, THough thus of War, a Paradox I write, War is a Kingdom's dark and gloomy night, Eclipsing all her face: Peace is bright day, That Sun shine send us, keeps the ●ight away. Pacem, te posci nus on nes. Because mention is made before of the City Captains; their Lieutenants at that time not being in place. Here behold them. The 20 City Lieutenants. Captains without Lieutenants are like men Borne with one hand (the right) Lieutenants then, Serve for the Left, and when that Right is lame, The Left works hard to rear an Army's Fame: In dangers they with Captains cry half parts, These, are their seconds, nay, are half their hearts: Lieutenants are the Ushers in War's school, Captains, head-masters; and they bear such rule, As Viceroys under Kings: Then, under these (Our twenty London-leaders,) who so please To reckon their Lieutenants, here they stand, The Captains them, these honouring their Command. Bring up your wings, your squadrons then, & files, And read what Story your own worth compiles. Lieutenant Tompson comes by order first; Then Pierce, (a son under Bellona nursed;) Young lifts his head up in the thickest throng: Davies, and Hanson, I should do you wrong, Did not you step in here, and claim your due; Mannering, and Smart, the next voice cries up you: Covel, and adam's, walk their warlike Round, Whilst Parker soldierlike, makes good his ground. Close to him, Cuthbert labours to win Fame: Forster, will nothing lose in Wars great Game. Loud peals of Muskets, Slavey loves to hear; Midst groves of Pikes does Normington appear: Cruso's heart dances, when the proud Drum beats; Travers cries on; and scorns all base retreats: Shepherd is like a Lion in the Field; Gawthorne, for skill and heart, to none will yield: Manby (though last but one) in worth not least, With Phillips, marches up with manly breast. These Chiefs, and these Lieutenants, are the Ring, Their Troops, the Diamonds, fit to serve a King. FINIS.