6l*( ^f 3o '■' '/ t l-^r A.r^t> s*s+. *S /Z <& **^££zt£2Z~ "- * 4^ ^yjfl ^ v. /j ,< , ^ r FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON. D. D. BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY ion 3C~j£ xaraxa^toy are. Despise not this, whate'er I seem in show ; A fool to purpose speaks sometime, you kno\V0 THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY. To Himself G. JF. tciskelk all happiness. Thoi?, even myself, whom next God, my Prince and Country, I am most engaged unto, it is not un- likely but some will wonder why, contrary to the world's Custom, I have made choice of thy patronage for this book, rather than the protection of such whose mightiness might seem better able to defend it ; espe- cially considering such a gigantic troop of adversaries have banded themselves against Virtue, that one of them, Goliah-like* dares rail upon an whole host of Israel. It may be, I say, some will wonder, and some scoff at me for it : for which cause (though to answer them with sic volo had been sufficient : yet to shew I wiM not, like our great ones, stand so much upon my authority as to make my will my reason) I here let you know why, and for what causes I have done k. The first is this : I could not amongst all men find any man, in my opinion, so fitting for this purpose, but either my work was unworthy or too worthy his patro- nage. Secondly, it is said, obsequium amicos, veritas odium patit: and I doubting my free speech would hardly make a diapason pleasing to the ear of a com- mon Mecaenas, thought it best to hold my tongue, or speak to myself, whose disposition I am better ac- A2 IV. quainted with. Thirdly, seeing I know but what men appear, and not what they are, I had rather endure the kite's tyranny, than with uEsop's doves make the sparrow-hawk my champion. Fourthly, if I have spoken truth, it is able to defend itself; if not, who- ever be my patron, it is I must answer for it. Fifthly, for-as-much as I know mine own mind best, I purpose, if need be, to become mine own advocate. Sixthly, for my own sake I first made it, and therefore certain I am, myself have most right unto it. But seventhly, and lastly, (which is indeed the principal reason) I have made this dedication to my own self, even to put thee in mind, seeing thou hast here boldly bid de- fiance to the flesh, and upon just causes quarrelled with the world, that thou take heed to thine own words, and not through baseness of mind or untoward- ness of fortuner to thy everlasting disgrace, faintly give over so noble a combat. If ever adversity (as it is likely enough) oppress thee, yet remember thine own sayings, and in despite of outward destinies, have a care to keep an undejected heart still free for virtue. Or on the contrary, if ever (as it is unlikely) unexpected prosperity be cast upon thee, then look to thyself, take to thee this poor book of thine, where- in thou shalt see the danger of it; and be, perhaps, thereby stayed from many a perilous enterprize, which that estate might else drive thee into. Read it weekly, daily, yea, and hourly too. What though it be thy own ? Thou knowest man's nature to be so uncertain and prone to forgetfulness, even in the best things, that thou canst not have too many memorandums. — The wisest fall, and therefore was every day Philip de- sirous to be remembered that he was a man. Thov ihinkest, I know, still to remain what thou art; I de- sire in some things thou mayest : but unless thou labour it with diligent watchfulness thy affection, it is at lea;t much to be doubted, if not altogether to be despaired of. For thou hast seen many, by an alteration in their estate, been so metamorphosed, as if they were neither the same men, nor of that nation. Nay, (remember it) thou thyself, and that but upon a bare hope or imagination of some preferment, hast been puffed up and exalted above measure. Consider now, then, how much more thou hadst been so, and what had become -of thee, if God had not, by dashing those hopes, called thee to thyself again. Alas ! if he had answered thy ambitious expectations to thy desire, thou hadst been by this time past recovery, and not thought of this ; but delighted in villany, been over- mastered by passion, rushed into all vanity and pre- sumption ; yet never felt any danger, till it were too late to prevent it. Thou hast oft wished thou hadst been born to the like means that others are; which, might it have been so, now thou seest, thou shouldest hardly or never have come to the knowledge of those things, that are now shown thee. It is true, thou hast lamented to be crossed in thy preferments, but thou seest since, that it might have been thy undoing if it had not been so; and mayest persuade thyself, whe- ther it be now or never, it will be to thy good. For tell me, hast thou not often felt, even when thou wert busiest to prevent them, fond-love, ambition, revenge, covetousness, and such- like passions, then to invade A3 VI. Ihee ? I see thou hast perceived it. How much more then, would they have been ready to assail thee, when quite forgetting them, thou hadst wholly addicted thy- self to the things of this world ! Let me advise thee} my dear self, then, to make use of tins thine own work ; it will be better to thee than all the world : for this good it may do thee, and to this end I made both it and the dedication thereof to thee, that if ever here- after the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil, cr any occasion should make thee to forget this mind which thou art now in, or so blind thy under- standing, thou shouldest not perceive thine own and the world's follies as thou dost ; that if thou shouldest be in that miserable state (as many are) to have no feeling of thy danger ; that if thou shouldest be wofully flattered, and have no friend that dares, or loves thee so well, to put thee in mind of thy transgressions; That, then this may shew thee what once thou wert; touch thee again with the feeling of thy mise- ries i and be unto thee thai, true friend, which, free from all feigning, shall plainly tell thee, what perhaps should else have never been brought again to thy re- membrance. Look then, that for thy own sake thou respect this, however to others it may seem a trifle. — Be careful of thy actions ; for seeing thou knowest the dangerous passions whereunto man is subject, hast shown his vanities, laid open his weakness, and sharply taxed his presumption : if now thou wouldest wilfully run thyself into the same evils, the world would upbraid thee, this book, yea, thy conscience accuse thee, God and good men hate thee, thy fault be more odious and inexcusable, thy judgement more severe, and (which is worst) thy punishment most in- tolerable. 1 say seek, therefore (if for no other cause) so to carry thyself, that at least thou mayest have a good conscience before God ; for, si Dens tociwiy guis contra tc ? But if now having made the world thine enemy, exposed thyself to the malice thereof, and hav- ing so many legions of foes without thee, thou should- est a.h>u, t>y thy negligence, suffiu the invincible for- tress of a sound conscience to be crazed within thee, the devil, that i> always watching such advantages, would quickly possess it with so unmerciful a troop of horrors, fears and desperations, that without God's miraculous assistance, thou wouldest grow wholly past either comfort or recovery. For all the world cannot defend thee against thy conscience; but that being with thee, thou mayes prevail against all the world. Beware then, do not like the Zebilhum, yield a perfume to sweeten others, and be thyself a stinking vermin ; but let this thy own work be confirmed by thine own life and conversation; yea, let it be a precedent to thyself: for, tanti erit aliis quant i tibi fuerit. But if not, I say, if the world mis-esteem either it or thee, yet do not thou therefore esteem the less either of thy book or of thyself ; but rather let them know, That thou hast learned, still thy care shall be A ru6h for him, that cares a straw for thee, *vift. But now, though for these and divers other reasons I have to thee, my own-self, committed the protection and made the dedication of this book, yet my meaning is, not that thou shouldest keep it wholly to thine own use, but rather, seeing it is honorable to give, I have bestowed this on thee, that if thou canst in this cor- rupted age find any whom desert and thy love may make so dear to thee; or whom thou art persuaded will gratify (or but think well of thy honest endeavors) thou mayest be liberal to them, both of these thy la- bours and expences. But this I conjure thee, be they ever so great, yet flatter not; or if he be a man whom thou knowest the world speaks any way justly ill of, either tell him his fault, or leave him wholly out of thy catalogue. But because I begin to grow tedious to my own-self, since therefore I shall have opportunity enough to consider with thee what is further needful without an epistle, with my prayers for my Prince, my Country and my Friends, and my own prosperity, without any leave- taking, or commendations of myself, I heartily wish my own soul to farewell. Thy Prince's, thy Country's, thy Friend's, Thine Own, Whilst reason masters affection, GEORGE WITHER* THE OCCASION of this WORK. When nimble time, that all things over-runs, Made me forsake my tops aud eldren guns, Reaching those years in which the school-boys brag, In leaving off the bottle and the bag ; The very spring before I grew so old, That I had almost thrice rive winters told; Noting my other fellow-pupils haste, That to our English Athens flock'd so fast, Lest others for a truant should suspect me; That had the self-same tutor to direct me, And in a manner counting it a shame To undergo so long a school-boy's name, Thither went I. For though I'll not compare With many of them that my fellows were, Yet, to my teacher's praise (I speak it now) I all the forms in school had quite run through, And was no whit for grammar-rules to seek In Lillie's latin, nor in Camden's greek ; But so well grounded, that another day I could not with our idle students say For my excuse, I was not enter'd well ; For that I was so, can my fellows tell. And therefore since I came no wiser thence, I must confess it was my rtegligence ; Yet daily longing to behold and see The places where the sacred sisters be, I was so happy to that Ford I came, Which of the labouring Ox doth bear the name. It is a spring of knowledge that imparts A thousand several sciences and arts, A pure, clear fount, whose water is by odds Far sweeter than the nectar of the gods ; Or rather (truly to entitle it) It is the wholesome nursery of wit. There once arriv'd, in years and knowledge raw, I fell to wond'ring at each thing I saw ; And for my learning made a month's vacation, In noting of the place's situation, The palaces and temples that were due Unto the wise Minerva's hallow'd crew, Their cloisters, walks and groves ; all which sur- vev'd, And in my new admittance well a-paid ; I did (as other idle freshmen do) Long to go see the bell of Osney too ; And yet for certainty I cannot tell That e'er I drank at Aristotle's well ; And that perhaps may be the reason why I know so little in philosophy. Yet old Sir Harry Bath was not forgoL XI, In the remembrance of whose vvondVous shot, The forest by (believe it they that will) Was nam'd Shot-over, as we call it still. But having this experience, and withall Atclriev'd some cunning at the tennis-ball, My tutor (telling me I was not sent To have my time there vain aud idly spent) From childish humours gently calTd me in, And with his brave instructions did begin To teach, and by his good persuasion sought To bring me to a love of what he taught. Then after that he labour'd to impart The hidden secrets of the logic art; Instead of grammar-rules, he read me theu Old Scotus, Seton, and new Keckerman. He shew'd me which the pncdicables be, As genus, species, and the other three : So having said enough of their contents, Handles in order the ten pr&dicampnts; Next post-pradicamenta with priorum, Perhermenias and posteriorum. He with the topics opens, and descries Elenchi, full of subtle fallacies. These to unfold, indeed, he took much pain, But to my dull capacity in vain ; For all he spake was to as little pass As in old time,, unto the vulgar was Xll. The latin mass, which, whether bad or good, The poor unlearned never understood, But of the meaning were as far to seek, As Coriat's horse was of his master's Greek, When in that tongue he made a speech unto him, That he the greatness of his strength might shew him. For I his reading did no more conjecture Than if he had been reading Hebrew lecture. His infinites , individuities, Contraries, and subcontrarieties, Divisions, sub -divisions, and a crew Of terms and words, such as I never knew, My shallow understanding so confounded, That I was gravell'd, like a ship that's grounded; And in despair the mystery to gain, Neglecting all, took neither heed nor pain : Yea, I remain'd in that amazed plight, Til Cynthia six times lost her borrowed light. But then asham'd to find myself still mute, And other little dandiprats dispute, That could distinguish upon rationale, Yet scarcely heard of verbum personate ; Or could by heart (like parrots) in the schools, Stand prattling, those (methought) were pretty fools : And therefore in some hope to profit so, That I like them (at least) might make a show ; Xlii. I reach 'd my books that I had cast about, To see if I could pick his meaning out; And prying on them with some diligence, At length I felt my dull intelligence Begin to open, and perceived more In half an hour, than half a year before. And (which is strange) the things I had forgot, And 'til that very day rcmcinber'd not, Since my first tutor read them; those did then Return into my memory again : So, that with which I had so much to do, A week made easy, yea, and pleasing too. And then not therewith thoroughly content, I practis'd to mantain an argument ; And having waded thorough sophistry, A little look'd into philosophy, And thinking there the ethicks not enough, i had a further longing yet to know The cause of snow, hail, thunder, frost and rain, The lightnings^ meteors, and what here 'twere vain For me to speak of, since I shall but show it To those that better than myself do know it. Then from the causes of things natural, I went to matters metaphysical ; Of which when I a little news could tell, I with the rest in schools, to wrangling fell; And (as example taught me) to disgrace her, When I oppos'd the truth; I could out-face her> XIV. But now ensues the worst; I getting foot, And thus digesting learning's bitter root, Was ready to have reach'd the fruit, and thought I should a calling in that place have sought; I found that I, for other ends ordain'd, Was from that course perforce to be constraint ; For fortune, that full many a boon hath lost me, Thus in the reaping my contentment, crost rne* You, sir (quoth she) thai I must make my slave, For whom in store a thousand plagues I have, Come home, I pray, and learn to hold the plough, For you have read philosophy enough. If wrangling in the schools be such a sport, Go fee those Ploydens at the inns of court ; For (ask your parish neighbours, who can tell) Those fellows do maintain contentions well. For art in numbers, you no coil need keep ; A little skill shall serve to tell your sheep. Seek not the stars thy evils should relate, Lest when thou know them, thou grow desperate; And let alone geometry ('tis vain) I'll find you work enough to mar your brain ; Or would you study music ? else 'twere pity, And yet it needs not, you shall find I'll fit ye ; I'll teach you how to frame a song, and will- Provide you cares to be the subject still. XV. This, fortune or my fate did seem to tell me, And such a chance, indeed, e'er long befell me ; For e'er my years would suifer me to be Admitted to require the low'st degree, By fate's appointment (that no stay can brook) The paradise of England I forsook. To art and study both, I bade farewell, With all that good ray thoughts did once foretell. The sweetest of my hopes I left, and went In quest of care, despair and discontent. For seeing I was fore'd to leave those mountains, Fine groves, fair walks, and sweet delightful fountains ; And saw it might not unto me be granted To keep those places where the muses haunted, I home returned fomewhat discontent, And to our Bentworth beechy shadows went, Bewailing these my first endeavors lost, And so to be by angry fortune crost^ Who though she daily doth much mischief tome, Can never whilst I live a greater do me. Yet there, «'er she on me procur'd her will, I learn'd enough to scorn at fortune still ; Yea, use had made her envy seem so vain, That I grew almost proud of her disdain ; And having thorough her first malice worn5 Began to take a pleasure in her scorn. But after I returned, as is said, And had a season in tlie country staid, I there perceiv'd (as I had long suspected) Myself of some unjustly ill-affected : And that e'en those whom I had truly loved, Had foes unto my good ungently proved; I found, though they in shew my friends had been, (And kept their hidden malice long unseen, With such fair shews as if they sought my good,) None my advancement with more spite withstood, For, (seeming kind) they often did persuade My friends to learn me some mechanic trade, Urging expence, perhaps, and telling how That learning is but little made of now ; When 'twas through malice, 'cause they fear'd that I Might come to understand myself thereby, Exceed their knowledge, and attain to do M}"self more good than they would wish me to. Some such, or worse, at best a wicked end, Thus mov'd this self-conceited crew to bend Their spiteful heads, by secret means to cross My wish'd desire and propagate my loss. But having noted this their hollowness, And finding that mere country business Was not my calling, to avoid the spite (Which at that season was not shewn outright) ML And to escape the over-dangerous smiles Of those new-found up-!andish crocodiles. Upon some hopes I soon forsook again The shady grove and sweet delightful plain, To see the place of this great isle's resort, And try if either there or at the court, I might by good endeavor adlion find, Agreeing with the nature of my mind. But there I view'd another world, methought. And little hope or none of that I sought. I saw, I must (if there I aught would do) First learn new fashions and new language too. If I should hang'd have been, I knew not how To teach my body how to cringe or bow, Or to embrace a fellow's hinder quarters, As if I meant to steal away his garters ; When any stoop'd to me with conges trim, All I could do, was stand and laugli at him. Bless me ! thought I, what will this coxcomb do, When I perceiv'd one reaching at my shoe ; But when I heard him speak, why, I was fully Possess'd, we learn'd but barbarism in Tully. There was nor street, nor lane, but had a wench, That at once coming could have learn'd them French. Grecians had little there to do (poor souls !) Unless to talk with beggar-men in Paul's. All ouv school -latin would not serve to draw XV11I. An instrument, adjudged good in law. Nay, which is more, they would have taught m« fain To go new learn my English tongue again ; As if there had been reason to suspect Our ancient-used Hampshire dialed. There I perceiv'd those brutish thronging swarms, That were transformed by lewd Cyrce's charms 9 There heard I wanton Syrens tune the lay, That work th' unwary traveller's decay. The cruel Lycanthropi walk'd in sight, So did the beastly loose Hermaphrodite. I saw Chimeras, Furies, fearful things, And fiends, whose tongues are such envenoin'd stings, As plague not only bodies that have breath, But make a wound, that, oft uncur'd by death, The next in blood doth poison, and goes nigh To ruin a man's posterity. There I saw gulls, that have no brain at all, And certain monsters, which they gallants call ; New broods of centaurs, that were only proud Of having their beginning from a cloud. These, with a thousand other creatures more, Such as I never saw the like before, In stranger shapes, and more deform'd and vile, Than ever yet appeared to Mandevile, Flock'd there j that I almost to doubt began, XI v. How I had pass'd the streights of Magalan, Or gotten on the sudden (witli such ease) To see the wonders at th' Antipodes. 0 Lord, thought I, what do I mean to run Out of God's blessi?ig, thus, into the sun ! What comfort or what goodness here can I Expeel:, among these Anthropophagi, Where like the droves of Neptune in the water, The less are made a prey to feed the greater ■ Certain it is, I never shall be able To make my humour suit to please this rabble; Better it were I liv'd at home with wants, Than here with all these strange inhabitants, Whose natures do with me so disagree, 1 shall scoff at them though they ruin me. Yet being loth to turn 'til I had tried What fate my new adventure would betide, I staid for my experience, and withall Flatter' d myself with hope there would befall Something unto my share well worth my suite, Which honesty might serve to execute, Without respecting how to please the riide And apish humours of this multitude. But all in vain I that preferment sought, 111 fortune still my hope's confusion wrought. Which though for ominous some understood, Yet I presum'd upon some future good ; And (though I scarce am wish'd so well of some) Believe there is a happy time to come ; B2 XX, Which, when I have most need of comfort, shaft Send me true joy, to make amends for all. But say, it be not whilst I draw this air, I have a heart, I hope, shall ne'er despair ; Because there is a God, with whom, I trust, My soul shall triumph when my body's dust. Yet when I found that my endeavors still Fell out as they would hav't, that wish'd me ill ; And when I saw the world was grown so coy, To curb me as too young then to employ ; And that her greatness, though she did not want me, Or found no calling bad enough to grant me ; (And having 'scap'd some envies which to touch Unto this purpose appertains not much) Weighing both that and therewith also this; How great a shame, and what reproach it is To be still idle ; and because I spied How glad they would be that my state envied, To find me so, although the world doth scorn T' allow me action, as if I were born Before my time ; yet e'en to let her see In spite of fortune I'd employed be ; Casting preferments too much care aside, And leaving that to God, that can provide ; The actions of the present time I ey'd, And all her secret viilanies descry 'd ; I stripp'd Abuse from all her colours quite, And laid her ugly face to open sight. XXI. I labour'd to observe her ways, and then In general the state and tricks of men. Wherein, although my labour were not seen. Yet (trust me) the discovery hath been My great content ; and I have for my pain, Although no outward, yet an inward gain. In which, because I can with all my heart Allow my countrymen to share my part, And 'cause I think it may do some a pleasure, One opportunity I'll now take leisure, And summon up my muse to make relation ; I may b' employ 'd e'er long — novv's my vacation, B 2 AN INTRODUCTION. Come then, invention, and call judgment in; Knowledge and reason ; fie ! where have you been: Go whistle of my muse that wanton plays, With epigrams, love-sonnets, roundelays, And such-like trifling gain ; bid her come on, I have found braver prey to seize upon. Some new inspired power warms my heart, And adds fresh courage unto every part ; New blood hath fill'd up all my love-dried veins ; A sacred fury hath possess'd my brains ; Something there is swells in my troubled breast, 'Til it be utter'd I expect no rest ; For full with matter, like a Sibyl nun, I shall grow furious if 't be long undone. Then rouse thee, muse, each little hobby plies At scarabes and painted butterflies ; Leave thou such trash, it is not now for us To fly for pleasure, we'll in earnest truss ; Leave base attempts to buzzards or the kite, And check the bravest in their proudest flight. XXIV. But thou, methinks, seem'st sickly feathered, As if thy sprightly heart extinguished, Had left thee nothing of the same thou wert ; Dejection hath possessed every part, And thou look'st dull, unfit for lofty things, As if thy wanton flight had tir'd thy wings. Lest therefore thou should'st faint, forsake the first, And turn thyself into a sat)rrist ; jNTot of the roughest nor the mildest sort : Be most in earnest, but sometimes in sport. Whate'er thou find to speak, be not afraid, Biit for assistance crave th' Almighty's aid ; And to that grace and power which he shall deign, Add all thy best endeavors, to attain So thriving an event, that men may see, Heaven hath decreed to help and favor thee. Look to thy task, for know thou must unfold The strangest nature that was ever told ; Lance that foul, deep, imposthumated sore, Which shameless time hath so well skinned o'er ; As ripping up thereof some smart will be, Yet strike it home, and none shall hinder thee. Search, if thou canst, 'til thou the bottom sound, Yet not loo far, lest thou thyself confound, And (by too near enquiry) smother'd lie In the unfathom'd depths of villany ; For (do not mis-conceive what I intend) No message to th' Antipodes I send : XXV. Nor liavc I any meaning thou should'st go To search th' earth's centre, what lies hid below, Or undermine it for rich minerals ; Thou shalt not have to do with vegetals. Strange natures have both stone, tree, herb, and plant, Which let them seek for, that employment want. There is a herb, some say, whose virtue's such, It in the pasture only with a touch Unshoes the new-shod steed. Within the north, The Scottish isles call'd Orcades, bring forth Trees, (or else writers feign it) from whose seeds A certain kind of water-fowl proceeds. The loadstone also draws the steel unto it, Yet hath no gin nor instrument to do it ; Hare powers of nature ; and yet none of these, Nor what lies hidden in the vast wild seas, Mean I to speak of: I no knowledge have What monsters play with Neptune's, boisterous wave ; Nor quality of birds or beasts I sound ; For soon their open natures may be found. Man's wisdom may, with little inquisition, Find out the brutish creatures true condition. For by experience, we for certain know, The elephant much love to man will show. The tigers, wolves and lions, we do find Aje ravenous, fierce and cruel even by kind, We know at carrion wc shall find the crows, And that the cock the time of midnight knows; By a few days experience we may see Whether the mastiff curst or gentle be ; And many other natures we find out, Of which we have no cause at all to doubt : But there's another creature, called Man, Note him who will, and tell me if he can, What his condition is ; observe his deeds, His speech, his raiment, yea, and how he feeds; Try him a month, a year, an age, and when You have so tried him, say, what is he then ? Retains he either unto Praester John, Or else unto the Whore of Babylon ? If that you know not which of them to grant, Is he a Brownist or a Protestant ? If in an age you cannot find out whether, Are you so much as sure that he is either ? Is his heart proud or humble ? Know you where, Or when he hates, or loves, or stands in fear ? Or who can say, (in conscience I think none) That this man's* words and deeds and thoughts are one ? Where shall you him so well resolved find, That wants a wandering and a wavering mind ; Nay, he of whom you have most trial, when You see him dying, will you trust him then ? Perhaps you may, yet questionless he leaves you A mind misdoubting, still that he deceives you. xxvu. And no great wonder, for lie's such an elf, That ever is uncertain of himself; He is not semper idem in his will, JNor stands on this or that opinion still, But varies j he both will and will not too ; Yea, even the thing he thinks and swears to do, He many times omits, and not alone Hath from another's expectation gone, But lest to any one he should prove just, Himself he guiles, if in himself lie trust. But this same diverse and inconstant creature, That is so contrary in his own nature, ?Tis he that now my Muse must here devise, Whilst he is living to anatomize ; 'Tis his abusive and ill-taught condition (Although it be beyond all definition) She must discover with the boundless rage Of the unbridled humours of this age. Yet 'tis a mighty task, whose undertaking Would make all Argus' eyes forget their waking; And I do fear I may attempt as well To drag again to light the dog of hell. For all Alcides' toils had not been more, Though his twice-six had been twice sixty score. So infinite is this I must unfold, That I might write and speak 'til I were old ; I know, that I should leave unspoken then Most of those humours, I have seen in man; XXVlii. And still confess in liim that hidden be Thousands of humours more than I can see; Somewhat lie hath to do would trace him out In every action that he goes about ; Or but look after him and see the path He treads, what contrarieties it hath. To find him by his words, were to assay To seek a fish out by his watery way, Or chace the swallow to her home at night, Through all the pathless windings in her flight. But to observe him in his thoughts were more Than all the labours mentioned before. The never-ending, winding, turning way, That the unbounded mind of man doth stray, So full of wonder is, that admiration Hath nigh confounded my imagination With too much musing thereupon ; but yet Since either want of years or want of wit, Or lack of work, or lack of all, hath brought me To be more heedful than a number thought me ; Since it some time and study too hath cost me, And many a humour of mine own hath lost me; Since it hurts none, and since perhaps some may Be benefitted by't another day; Though as I said, the task be not alone Too huge to be perform'd by any one, But more than all the world can well dispatch -x Look what I could by observation catch, And my weak memory well bear away xXix. I regist'ied against another day. Nor will I auglit that I rememher spare, Save things unfit, and such as needless are. Here I will teacli my rough satyric rhymes To be as mad and idle as the times. Freely I will discover what I spy, And in despite of curiosity, Mask in a homely phrase as simply plain, As other meu are mystically vain. I'll break the closet of man's private sin, Search out the villanies conceal'd therein ; And if their sight may not infectious be, Draw them to view in spite of secrecy. Greatness and custom shall not have their will Without controul so to authorise ill, That though much be amiss, yet no man dare Seem to take notice that offences are. We'll brand them, and so brand them, all shajl sefe We durst not only say such faults there be, But startle those who had securely long Slept, senseless of all shame and others wrong. None will I spare for favor or degree. My verse, like death, shall so impartial be, If that my father or my brother halt, Though I spare them, I will not spare their fault i No, mine own follies, that are most belov'd. Shall not escape their censure unreprov'd. Now some will say, fit 'twere I held my tongue. For such a task as this I am too young ; I ne'er had dealings in the world with men, How can I speak of their conditions then? I cannot, they conclude ; strong reason, why ? Know none how market goes, but such as buy. We find, that it is oft and daily seen, When a deceitful shifting knave hath been Playing at cards with some unskilful gull, Whose purse is lin'd with crowns, and pennyfull, He by some nimble passage may deceive; Which though the simple gamester ne'er perceive, Another may the cheater's craft espy, That is no player, but a stander by. So I aloof may view without suspicion, Men's idle humours and their weak condition, Plainer, perhaps, than many that have seen More days, and on earth's stage have actors tycen. And 'tis no marvel, for employments take them Quite from themselves, and so dim-sighted make them, They cannot see the fooleries they do, Nor what ill passions they are subject to. Then whoe'er carp, the course I have begun, if God assist me, spite of them I'll run ; And lest the exordium hath too tedious been, What I intended, lo, I now begin. Of MA N. JVlOUNTED aloft on contemplation's wing.-, And noting with myself' the state of things, I plainly did perceiye, as on a stage, The confus'd actions of this present age; I view'd the world, and viewing, saw my fill. Because that all I saw therein was ill. I weigh 'd it well, and found it was the scene Of villany, of lust, of all unclean And loath'd corruption. Seeing which, my mind (That by some inspiration, 'gan to find The place was not in fault for this) search'd on To find the cause of this confusion. And noting every creature there, I found That only man was the chief spring and ground Of all this uproar ; yea, I soon did see He there was all in all, and none but he. Then having also a desire to know Plan's true condition, I began to grow Yet more inquisitive. An old record At last, I happ'd upon, which did afford Much sacred light. It shew'd, He was a creature First made by God; just and upright by nature. That in his likeness f ram' d, lie was compounded Of soul and body ; that this last was founded Of earth ; the first infus'd by inspiration ; And that the final cause of his creation Was to set forth the glory of his Maker ; And with him to be made a joint partaker Of endless happiness, — Grown much amaz'd To read this of him, for a time I paus'd, And finding now in man no mark or sign That e'er he was a creature so divine, I knew not what to think, unless the same Should mean some other creature of that name But prying further on, I there found out The resolution of my present doubt. I saw the cause of 's fall, how with ^rec kill He fell from his first goodness unto ill. I saw how he from happiness did slide, Through disobedience and unthankful pride: Yea, and I found how by that cursed fall He was bereaved and quite stripp'd of all That so adorn'd him. His first holiness Was changed to a corrupted filthiness. Then he began to draw a painful breath, And was a slave, made captive unto death ; His body was expos'd to labour, sweat, And much disquieting ; he got his meat With sorrow, care, and many perturbations, And then his soul grew subject unto passions And strange distemperatures. Moreover, he So perfect miserable grew to be, That if he had not a regeneration, Nothing was left him but mere desperation, This having seen, I made no question than But it was spoken of that creature, man ; Which I sought after. Searching further yet> On some apocriphal records I hit, The works of wise philosophers ; from whence I yet received more intelligence Concerning him : for there they do unfold Each part about his body, and have told Secrets of nature very rare to find. They have considered also of the mind, The understanding part, and do relate The nature of his soul, and her estate. Peep mysteries they be ; but seeing, I Have never searched that philosophy So far as those, and sith I shall but tell Such things as no man can explain so well As they themselves, I leave you to their books In which whoe'er with good advisement looks, Shall find it largely handled. As for me, I mean to speak but what I know and see c By try'd experience, which perhaps may give (Although I have hut now hegun to live) Some profitable notes. — First, I avow, Whatever man hath been, that he is now A reasonable living creature, who Consisteth of a soul and body too : His body Jlesh and blood, to sin subjected, And from his very birth therewith infetltd, Grows riper in imcleanness. Then his soul, A pure and. lasting substance, is made foul Through tfcothersjiltkiness, and much supprest By divers hurtful passions, which molest And hinder her proceedings ; yea, he's this : A creature that exceeding wretched is. And that he may be sure no fault to want, Vain, fickle, weak, and wond'rous arrogant. And though his nature heretofore was pure, Now nothing is more fading or unsure. But I'll omit at this time to relate The courses I've observed in's outward state; For though the body, that before the fall Sustain'd no sorrow, were it ne'er so small, Doth now feel hunger, with heat, thirst and cold; A feeble birth, defects in being old, With thousands more ; and though each gasp of breath In misery he draws, until his death, Yet all this outward change which I do find, Is nothing when I do behold the mind ; For there inordinate and brutish passion Keeps umpire, and hath got predomination. Pull many a pensive thought doth now molest His troubled mind, whose conscience slept in rest. His best contents but discontentments are; His chief of pleasures are so mix'd with care, And with so little comfort he obtains them, Or with such smart and danger he retains them ; Or with such fear of losing them enjoys them ; That those distastings in the taste destroys them. Amongst his own desires doth hourly rise So many wond'rons contrarieties, And vain repentings of what's done before, As all his good makes but his ill the more. This day he's cheerful, aud to-morrow sad ; E'en from the same occasion he's made glad. The mind, which sometime harbour'd so much good, That evil but in name was understood, Knows ill so well, as of that gdod bereft, The name of goodness, now, is scarcely left. And unto me a wonder 'tis become, To see what glories man is fallen from. The best are bad, yet I observed still There are degrees amongst men in their ill. The basest creatures that here breath on earth (Inheriting corruption by their birth) In the condition of their life, are far c2 0 Less different from what the worst men are, Than they are from the best. Perhaps the shapes (Unless it be some strange disguised apes) Remain alike ; but their poor souls are quite Exchanged to that which we call appetite. For who can name of reasonable give To what is made but merely sensitive ? It was a throne where virtue ruling sate, Jointly with reason, her beloved mate ; And they two, under sweet obedience then, Kept that fair place, th' unblemish'd Isle of Man : But since with good we've learn'd to know the ill^ Instead of reason we have set up will. The mind is nothing but a mint of jars, Or little world of mad domestic wars ; Virtue's deposed thence, and vice rule obtains, Yea, vice from vice there by succession reigns ; Expelling those whom virtue's presence graceth, And in their steads these hurtful monsters placeth ; Fond love, and lust, ambition, enmity, Foolish compassion, joy and jealousy, Fear, hope, despair and sadness, with the vice Call'd hate, revenge, and greedy avarice, Choler, and cruelty : which I perceiv'd To be the only causes man's bereav'd Of quietness and rest. Yea, these I found To be the principal and only ground Of all pernicious mischiefs that now rage, Or have disturbed him in any age. These I Ming reason, their true prince, began To breed disturbance in the heart of man. Each laid a several claim, forsooth, and he Would be the monarch of this empcrie. Ruin had got the upper hand, and they Would be commanders, that were made t'obey. Love, (when as reason rul'd) you would have thought Would never have been fore'd or drawn to nought. When God the chaos did divide, then he Set it to look things should not disagree ; And taught it sweetly how to move the mind, Both for increasing and preserving kind. But now, the bound it had, contenteth not, A vein of domineering it hath got ; And the whole man is held in slavery, Within the compass of that tyranny. Such apishness it now hath entertain'd, That all the credit which it had is stain'd. Yea, 'tis as far from what it was, as we From our more honor'd ancient English be, And so unlike unto itself doth prove, We scarce dare give it now the name of Love. Ambition, that erst gently mov'd desire To nought else but to good things to aspire ; c 3 B Now must be lord of mis-rule, and will force Tbe mind beyond her bound,, from bad to worse. Revenge doth claim a princedom, and will be The sole commander in this seignorie. That cruel ruffian, that in vain doth strive His offspring from true valour to derive. Despair and fear, (two rake-hells more) that man Had never knowledge of, 'til sin began ; With mighty troops of terrors, play their part, To overthrow th' weak fortress of the heart. Yea, every passion strives that only he Might ruler in that microcosmos be. E'en hope, (that when this discord first fell out, Was sent to keep despair's rude forces out, And be a comfort to this troubled state) Becomes an aclor in this foul debate. And when she had got footing in his breast, Under the colour of procuring rest, Built castles in the air, from whence did grow Another means of reason's overthrow: Yea, cholcr, jealousy, black envy, hate, And bloody cruelty, aim'd at this state, Joy (though fair shew it made of discontent) And kind compassion (though she weeping went) Made private means to sway all to their wills, Without the least care of ensuing ills. That by their diseord (I perceive) began All whatsoever is amiss in man. And therefore I do here intend to show E'er I go farther, what ill humours flow From these fore-named ; and I will declare To what abuses most men subject are, Through every of them ; for, when I took view, Although I saw not all, I found a few. And here, because I will not order break, I will asunder of each Passion speak. Of the Passion of LOVE. Satire I. X* IRST, Love ; the same I here the first do call, Because that passion is most natural; And of itself could not be discommended, Wer't not with many a foul abuse attended, Or so much out of measure, as we see By those in whom it reigns it oft will be : For, look where't grows into extremity, It soon becometh virtues lethargy ; Makes them set light by reason's sound direction, And bears them headlong by untam'd affection. Counsel's in vain ; cause when this fit doth take them, Reason and understanding both forsake them ; It makes them sometimes merry, sometimes sad; Untam'd men mild, and many a mild man mad. To fools it wisdom gives, and makes the witty To shew themselves most fools (the more's the pity.) Some it makes purblind, that they do not know The snow-white cygnet from the cole-black crow. 12 And one to gold compares liis mistress' hair, When 'tis like fox-fur; and doth think she's fair, Though she in beauty be not far before The swart' West-Indian, or the tawny Moor. u Oh those fair star-like eyes of thine !" one says, When to my thinking, she hath look'd nine ways ; " And that sweec breath," when I think (out upon't !) 'Twould blast a flower if she breathed on't. Another, having got a dainty piece, (Prouder than Jason with his golden fleece) Commends her virtues (that must needs have many Because she never maketh use of any;) Yea, swears she's chaste, and takes her for no less, When all that know her, know her fickleness. Another groweth careless of his health, Neglects his credit, and consumes his wealth ; Hath found a pretty peat, procur'd her favour, And swears that he, in spite of all, will have her. Well let him take her, since they are contented, But such rash matches are the soon'st repented. Then there is one, who having found a peere In all things worthy to be counted dear, Wanting both art and heart his mind to break, Sits sighing, " woe in me !" and will not speak. All company he hates, is oft alone, 13 Grows melancholy, weeps, rcspecicth noi And in despair seeks out a way to die, When lie might live and find a remedy. But how now ; wa'st not you (says one) tha So humbly begg'd a boon at beauty's gate ? Was it not you that to a female saint Indited your Phil'arete's complaint, With many doleful sonnets r was't not you ? Sure 'twas, says he : but then how comes it now You carp at love thus in a satyr's vein : Take heed you fall not int'her hands again : Sure if you do you shall in open court, Be fore'd to sing a palinodia for't. What ! are your brains dry, or your blood grown cold. Or are you on a sudden waxen old, To flout at love, which men of greatest wit Allow in youth as natural and lit ? What reason have you for't else ? what pretence Have you to make excuse for this offence : To him I answer; that indeed, even I ' Was lately subject to this malady : Lik'd what I now dislike ; employ 'd good times In the composing of such idle rhimes As are objected : from my heart I scut Full many a heavy sigh, and sometimes spent Unmanly tears. I thought, I must con I 14 If she I lov'd had smil'd, no happiness Mi slit equalize it, and her frown much worse (O God forgive me !) than the church's curse. I did (as some do) not much matter make To hazard soul and body for her sake. Having no hope., sometime I did despair, Sometime (too much) build castles in the air. Iti many a foolish humour I have been As well as others. Look where I hate seen Her (whom I lov'd) to walk, when she was gone; Thither I often have repaired alone, As if I thought the places did contain Some poor contentment (Oh exceeding vain !) Yet, what if I have been thus idly bent, Shall I be now ashamed to repent r Moreover, I was in my childhood then, And am scarce yet reputed for a man ; And therefore neither cold, nor old, nor dry, ~Sor cloy'd with any foul disease am I, "Whereby the strength of nature is declin'd. ?Tis no such cause that made me change my mind . But my affection, that before was blind, Rash, and unruly, now begins to find That it had run a large and fruitless race, And thereupon hath given reason place. So that by reason, what no reason might Persuade me from before, 1 have outright 13 Justly forsaken ; for because I see Twas vain, absurd, and nought but foolery. Yet for all this, look where I lov'd of late, I have not turn'il it in a spleen to hate; No, for 'twas first her virtue and her wit Taught me to see how much I wanted it. Then as for love, I do allow it still, I never did dislik't, nor never will, So it be virtuous, and contain'd within The bounds of reason ; but when 'twill begin To run at random, and her limits break, 1 must, because I cannot chuse but speak. But I forget myself; wherefore am I So tedious in my own apology ? It needed not at all ; I'll on again, And shew what kind of lovers yet remain. One sort I find yet, of this loving crew, Whose quality I think is known to few; These seek by all the means they can to gain Each virgin's liking; sometime not in vain. The thing they would, they have, but when '4m Sorry they are, and wish they had it not; For peradventure they have plac'd their love So as it cannot, or it must not move : And yet if they should fail but to procure it, 'TwouLd grieve them so they hardly would en- dure it. — r-T 16 Yea, though in show (at least) they have said nav, Their loves with like affection to repay., If they perceiv't abate, as it will do, Both this and that will make them sorrv too. I>ut such as do into that weakness fall, Unsteady and unconstant I may call. Moreover, some such humours do infect, That the same man doth diversly affect ; Now he the fair approves, anon the grace Appears not in the colour of a face. He spies the brown, and then that most esteems, Cause the proportion much more pleasant seems. Then he the wanton likes, then modest eyes, Then loves the simple lass, and then the wise ; One for her pace, and for her gesture one [Must be the mistress he adores alone; Yet, peradventure, e'er a little while Another wins her from him with a smile. This, with a look nigh languishing, moves pitv; That he commends because she's bold and witty j And longs for what anon again he loaths, Because she seem'd fair in her gaudy cloaths. True worth moves few, but sure I am not many Have for bare Virtue's sake affected any. Wealth wins the most, yet they by trial prove Though it breeds liking, yet it gains not love. 17 The? to obtain bis mistress, one man irk* How lie can strain bis wits to poetize; His passion to relate, bis skill be proves, But in this blockish age it little moves. Nor do I wonder mueb true meaning tails, And wit so little in this ease avails, Since dunces can have sonnets fram'd, and send them As their inventions, when some others p them. Another seeks by valour to obtain His wished prize, but now that trial's vain. The third brings wealth, and if he do not spcc-l. The woman's worth the suing for indeed. Then he that's neither valorous nor wise, Comes ruffling in with shameless brags and lie-, Making a stately, proud, vain -glorious sbow Of much good matter, when 'tis nothing so. Instead of lands, to which he ne'er was heir, He tells her tales of castles in the air; For martial matters, he relates of frays Where many drew their swords, and ran ways. His poetry is such as he can cull From plays he heard at curtain or at bulL 13 And yet his fine coy mistress, Mary MufTe, The soonest taken with such broken stuff. Another shallow brain hath no device, But prates of some strange casts he had at dice ; Brags of his play, yea, sure it doth befall, He vaunts oft times of that which marreth all. But some I note (now fie on such a man !) That make themselves as like them as they can, Thereby to win their loves ; they feign their pace, Order their looks, and strive to set their face To be demure. Some woo by nods and looks, Some by their sighs, and others by their books. Some have a nature must not be denaid, And will grow furious if they be delay'd. Other again have such a fancy got, If they soon speed, then they esteem them not. When women woo some men doth most affect them, And some again for wantons do suspecl them ; Besides, we see that fools themselves they make, What toys they count of for their wenches sake. One, for some certain months, or weeks, or days, Wears in his hat a branch of wither'd bays -7 Or iweareth to employ his utmost power, But to preserve sonic stale neglected Bower. He wears such colours as for lovers he, Drinks vowed healths upon his bared knee; Sues mainly for a shoe-string, or doth crave her To grant him hut a husk-point for a favor; And then to note (as I have seen) an ass That by her window whom he loves must pass, Willi what a feigned paee the woodcoek stalks, How scurvily he fleareth as lie walks: And if he ride, how he rebounds and trots, As if the horse were troubled with the hots ; Twould make one swell with laughing. In a day He makes more errands than he needs that way, Bearing himself as if she still espied him ; When as perhaps she flouts or looks beside him. Nay, should I tell you all the vanity I have observed in t(iis malady, I should shame lovers: but I'll now be hush'd, For had I said more, 1 myself had blush'd. Yet know, although this passion 1 have tied To love of women, it concludes beside All whatsoever kind of loves there be, Unless they keep the mind from troubles free, And yield to reason ; but of such-like lovers, INIy muse hereafter other feats discovers. Of DESIRE, or LUST. Satire II. JL With costly gifts, and forced to abide Imperious scoffs, with many scornful words, Such as the humour they are in affords. And yet for these they'll venture honours, lives, If they command it ; when on their poor wives (Though they in beauty, love, and true delight, Exceed them more than day-time doth the night) Those common courtesies they'll scarce bestow, Which they to every stranger use to show ; Yea, and their lust doth wrap them in such blind- ness, They cannot give them one poor look in kindness. Moreover, for their lusts they have not laid Base plots alone, like him that was convey 'd In a close trunk, because in secrecy. He would, unseen, enjoy his venerv. I say not only therein have they reach 'd Their damn'd inventions ; it hath also stretch'd 27 Unto strange Imts, of which I will not speak, Because I may oil end the mind that's weak ; Or lest I to some simple one should show Those sins, by naming, he did never know. Then here I'll leave ; there's lurking holes such store, This stinking vermin I will hunt no more. Of HATE. Satire III. X)UT I have rous'd another here as bad, They call it Hate; a worse I never had Before in chace; I scarce can keep (in sooth) Myself from danger of his venom'd tooth. This is the passion that doth use to move The mind a clean contrary way to love. It is an inspiration of the devil, That makes men long for one another's evil. It cankers in the heart, and plagueth most, Not him that's hated, but the hateful host ; And yet there's too too many I do know, Whose hearts with this foul poison overflow; Of which I have a true intelligence, By the sharp scoffs and slanders springing thence. But where it rules, they cannot well conceal it, For either words or deeds, or both, reveal it. Were it just causes that did still engender This passion in them, or if they could render A reason for't, 'twere somewhat ; but their will Carries them on in spite of reason still. These are their humours : for a slight offence 30 They'll hate the offender, for a recoinpence. Some malice all that any way excel I, Although they know it far from doing well. And many have abhorred (God amend them !) The stranger that did never yet offend them ; Which they are not ashamed to confess, Yet in their hate continue ne'ertheless : But though that they can yield no reason why They bear them causeless malice, yet can I. Their hearts are ill, and it is seldom known That a sweet brook from bitter springs hath flown. There's some, too, when they see a man re-1 specled, Though they are nothing by that means neglecled, They'll inly grudge, and outwardly disdain, Being alike-condition'd as was Cain. Some hate their friends, that love and count them dear, As by the sequel plainly shall appear. One that a seeming friendship had profest me, Upon a time did earnestly request me That I would plainly my opinion shew, What I of his conditions thought or knew ; And that I would without exceptions tell What things in him did not become him well I scorning flattery, with a simple heart, 3i Twixt him and me uiy mind did ^oon impart; And as a friend that is unfeigned on Left nothing unreveal'd of that I thought : Yea, without soothing, him I reprehended, If I pereeiv'd he any way offended ; Provided always, that I did not swerve From a decorum fitting to observe. But mark man's nature; he perceiving I Had taken note of some infirmity He would not have unripp'd ; and seeing I Saw more than he wish'd any man should spy Of his ill humours ; (though I must confess. Being my friend, I lov'd him nothing less) Instead of thanks and liking for my pains, My company and sight he now refrains ; And for my kindness, like a thankless mate, Doth ill repay me with a loathing hate. This one I know, and by that one I find That there be many bear as bad a mind. But let us for their true conversion pray, For never age could this more justly say, Truth hatred gets, (she of such gain is sped) AVhile love and charity to Heaven are fled. Again, the wicked hate beyond all measure The righteous man that contradicts their pleasure; And that's the fundamental cause I know, That many men do hate their teachers so. ^— 3-2 These common humours arc observ'd of few, Yet may a young experience find them true ; And boldly say, that all in whom they're found, Have poison'd hearts, polluted and unsound. Yet they are more corrupt than all the rest, Who hate their friends they should account of best. But let men strive and study to remove This passion from their hearts, and graft on love ; Let them not harbour such a hellish sin, Which being enter'd, marreth all within. Nor let them think my counsel merits laughter, Since scripture says, to hate our brother's daugh- ter. Of EXIT. Satire IV. A HEX some, envenom'd with an envious touch, Think everything their neighbour hath too much. " O lord/' say they, (it* in the field they be) " What goodly corn and well-fed beasts hath he!' If in the house, (t they never in their lives " Saw fairer women than their neighbours wives ; " Tis pity she, a lass of such renown, " Should be embraced by so rude a clown. " That house is too well furnish'd, or doth stand " Better than his; or it hath finer land. " This farm he thinkcth more commodious much, u For wood and water he had never such." Yea, so he grudges inwardly and frets At every good thing that his neighbour gets. Of these besides there are, that when they see Any beloved or in favor be, Especially in courts and great men's houses, Then the heart swelleth and the envious rouses; Ne'er resting 'til that like a spiteful elf, He do displace them or disgrace himself. 34 Now some are in the mind that hate and this Still go together, and one passion is. Indeed, they foul injurious humours he, So like, they seem to have affinity; And yet they differ (as oft kindred do) Enough at least, I'm sure, to make them two. Hate many times from wrongs receiv'd hath grown ; Envy is seen where injuries are none. Her malice also is more general ; For hate to some extends, and she to aM. Yet envious men do least spite such as he Of ill report, or of a low degree ; But rather they do take their aim at such Who either well-beloved are or rich ; And therefore some do fitly liken these Unto those flies we call cantharides ; Since for the most part they alight on none But on the flowers that are fairest blown ; Or to the boisterous wind, which sooner grubs The stately cedar than the humble shrubs. Yet I have known it shake the bush below, And move the leaf that's wither'd long ago ; As if it had not shown suflicient spite Unless it also could o'erwhelm it quite, Or bury it in earth. Yea, I have found The blast of envy fly as low's the ground. And when it hath already brought a man 33 f'.vt n to the very meanest state it can, Yet 'tis not satisti'd, but still devising A\ Inch way it also may disturb liis rising. This is most true, or else it could not be That any man should hate or envy me, Being a creature (one would think) that's plac't Too far below the touch of envy 's blast. And yet they do ; I see men have cspy'd Something in me too that may be envy'd. But I have found it now, and know the matter, The reason's, they are great, and Vll not flatter. Or else because they see that I do scorn To be their slave, whose equal I am born. I heard (although 'twere spoken in a cloud) They censure, that my knowledge makes me proud ; And that I teach so far beyond my calling, That every hour they expect my falling ; With many a prayer and prognostication, To shew their love not worthy revelation. But what care I ! To quit their good surmising, 1 do desire my fall may be their rising. Which say should once be, as I hope 'twill never, My hope is sure it shall not be for ever ; Or, else because I know it cannot be Much lower than it is, it grieves not me. 36 And where they say my wit augments my pride. My conscience tells me that I am belied. For that poor dram which Heaven on me bestows Such lack (of what is yet more needful) shows, That I am sad to think how much I come Short of those gifts, which are bestow'd on some And knowledge of that want doth grieve me so, I have no joy to boast of that 1 know. But let them scandal, as I hear they do, And see whose lot the shame will fall unto. The shafts are aim'd at me, but I reject them, And on the shooters may perhaps reflect them. I care not for their envy, since they show it, Nor do I fear their malice now I know it. For to prevent the venom of their throat, I'll of the poison make an antidote ; And their presaging (though it be abuse) I hope will serve me to an excellent use ; For where before I should have took no heed, Their words shall make me circumspect indeed. Yea, I will be more careful to do well, Which were a plague for tliem as bad as hell. Some I do know, yea, too too well I know them, And in this place do a remembrance owe them ; These men, when through their envy they intend To bring one out of favor with his friend, 37 Will make as though they some great vices kn _\s That he is guilty of (and not a lew ;) They'll shake their heads, as it' they did detest The course he follows ; and that not in jest. If to the father they dispraise the son, It shall be slyly, indirectly done ; As thus, (I hope there's some will understand) " He lives, — I tell you at a second hand ; " Should I say all I know, 'twould much ofTend you, u But more such children, I pray God, ne'er " send you !" With other words of doubt to breed suspicion, But dare not (being of a base condition) To name them any fault; and good cause why, It should be prov'd, unto their shames, a lie. Now 'tis a quality I do despise, As such an one doth him whom he envies ; If any, therefore, do that love profess me, Lordjrom their friendship I beseech thee bless me. Some crafty ones, will honor to their face Those whom they dare not openly disgrace, Yet underhaud their fames they'll undermine, As lately did a seeming friend of mine. They'll sow their slander, as if they with grief Were fore'd to speak it, or that their belief Were loth to credit it ; when 'tis well known That damn'd invention was at first their own. 38 Some do not care how grossly they dispraise, Or how unlikely a report they raise, Because they know, if 't be so false and ill, That one believes it not, another will : And so their envy very seldom fails, But one way or another still prevails. Oh, villanous conceit! an engine bent To overthrow the truest innocent ; For well they know, when once a slander's sown, And that a false report abroad is blown, Though they would wipe it out, yet they can never, Because some scar will stick behind for ever. But what is this, that men are so inclin'd And subject to it ? How may't be defm'd ? Sure if the same be rightly understood, 'Tis but a grief that springs from others good. Tormenting them whenever they hear tell, That other men's endeavors prosper well ; It makes them grieve if any man be friended, Or in their hearing praised or commended, Contrar'wise, again such is their spite, In other men's misfortunes they delight ; Yea, notwithstanding it be not a whit Unto their profits or their benefit. Others prosperity doth make them lean ; It nigh devoureth or consumes them clean ; 39 But if they see them in much grief, why that Doth only make them jocund, full and fat. Of kingdom's ruins they best love to hear, And tragical reports do only cheer Their hellish thoughts; and then their bleared eyes Can look on nothing but black infamies, Reproachful actions, and the foulest deed9 Of shame, that man's corrupted nature breeds : But they must wink when virtue shineth bright,, For fear her lustre mar their weaken'd sight. They do not love encomiastic stories, Nor books that shew their predecessors glories ; For good report to all men they deny, And both the living and the dead envy. Yea, many of them I do think had rather Lose all good fame, than share it with their fa- ther. The biting satire they do only like, And that at some particulars must strike, Or all's worth nothing. If they can apply Some part of this to him they do envy (As well perhaps they may) then they'll commend it, And (spite of their ill natures) I that penn'd it, Shall have some thank. But why ? Not 'cause they deem Me or my writing either worth esteem, E 3 40 No, here's the reason they my labour like, They think I mean him they suppose to strike; So shall my well-meant lines become to be A wrong to others, and a snare to me. Heaven, shield me from such monsters ! for their breath Is worse than blasting, and their praise is death. And let them find no matter here, but what May tend unto their glories whom they hate ; To make them either this ill passion fly, Or swoln with their own venom, burst and die. Foul hag of envy ! let thy snaky elves Keep hell with thee, and there torment themselves ; Your poison'd conversation fitteth men For no society but some grim den, Where nothing can be heard nor seen appear But groans and sighs of misery and fear. Who have you yet possess'd, that pleased stood With any private or with public good ? What man's endeavors, think you, prosper should, If the event of things were as these would ? (None can resolve me that, for 'tis unknown) Nor parents, no nor children, scarce their own ; I say, their own-hand works are seldom free, But subject to their proper envies be. Witness a certain rich man, who of late Much pitying a neighbour's woeful state, Put to his helping hand, and set him clear 41 From all his former misery anil tear; Bat when be saw that through his thrift and heed, He had well eur'd again his former need, And grew to pretty means, though he no whit Unthankful was for that his benefit; Yet being: of a nature that did Ions: And joy to see another's ease go wrong, Having no eause, but a repining now That he once help'd him, all his study's how To ruinate the poor man's state again, And make (through envy) his own labour vain. Oh ! that a man should so from reason range, Or entertain an humour that's so strange And so unprofitable ! Tell me, why Should we the honors or the wealth envy Of other men ? If we delight to see Our brethren when in evil case they be, Let's wish them riches, titles and promotion ; Twill make them greedy, proud, and choak de- votion ; Twill plunge them in a flood of misery, In the respect of which, the beggary We think so vile, is heaven. Yea, I know It is a thousand more men's overthrow Than poverty can be. That if we hate, Or would envy who are in happy state, In my opiuion they must not be such That titles have attain'd, or to be rich 42 But poor men rather, who are cumbered less, And have indeed the truest happiness. But be they rich or poor, I pass not whether, for my part, I am sure I envy neither ; So I but reach the glory I desire, I do not care how many mount up higher ; And if I want not, what hurt is't to me, If I the poorest in the kingdom be ? Yet from this passion, I believe, not many Can be exempted, if there may be any ; But sure more mischief alway doth betide To th' envious, than to him that is envy'd : And they have often (who would them bemoan !) Lost both their eyes to lose their neighbour one. Yea, there is many a perjur'd envious noddy, Damns his own soul to hurt his neighbour's body. But now such men may best by this be known, They'll speak to no man's honor but their own j And in their presence if you praise a man, They'll from his worth detract e'en all they can. Such dogs as these are the detracting Homes, And he whose eyes on each new treatise roams, To feed his humour by disgracing it, More than for his delight or benefit ; But the most commonly do disallow What they would ineud themselves if they knew how. 43 But what are they that keep the critic's court ? Not any, doubtless, of the wiser sort ; But such poor pedants as would fain appear A great deal abler than indeed they are. Yea, such as (when among the learn'd they chance) Are often set by for their ignorance; For, howsoever their insinuation I lath gain'd a little vulgar reputation, They are but glow-worms, that are brisk by night, And never can be seen when sun gives light. Jll-tongu'd and envious, ignorant of shame, And vile detractors of another's fame ; But let them carp on, what need any care, Since they are known for fools without compare ? But think, O think, to know and shun this evil, This matchless inspiration of the devil ; Remember, 'tis a known apparent foe To charity, and friendship's overthrow ; A vicious humour that with hell acquaints, And hinders the communion of saints. Consider that, and how it makes unable To be partaker of the holy table. Do so — survey yourselves — and if you find Such guests within you, root them from your mind. Banish that gnawing fury from your heart ; And as one wisely counsels, lay apart 44 mbling — envy — slander — malice — guile, With evil-speaking, as most bad and vile, In those men chiefly, whose religion saith, Hci mainest pillar is true-love, next faith. Of REVESGE. Satire V. XvOOM for Revenge, lie's no comedian That ac~ts for pleasure, but a grim tragedian ; A foul, stern monster, which if we displease him, Death, wounds, and blood, or nothing, can ap- pease him. This most inhuman passion, now and then, With violence and fury hurries man So far from that sweet mildness, wherewith he, Being himself, should ever temper'd be; That man nor devil can we term him well, For part he hath of earth, and part of hell. \ et this (so much of all good men disdain'd) Many there are have rashly entertain'd, And hugg'd as a sweet contenting passion, Though in a various and unlikely fashion. Some are so staid they can their purpose keep Long time conceal'd, to make the wound more deep; And these it is not heat of blood that blind, But rather the fell canker of the mind. Some by respect to time and place are staid. 4(5 And some again by nothing are allay'd ; But them mad rage oft furiously will carry, Without respect of friends or sanctuary. Then some of them are fearful, some are bolder, Some are too hot, and some again are colder. O I have seen, and laugh 'd at heart to see't, Some of our hot-spurs drawing in the street, As though they could not passion's rage withstand, But must betake them to it out of hand. But why i' th' street ? Oh, coinp'ny doth heart them, And men may see their valorous acts, and part them. And yet that humour rather I commend, Than their'* whose fury hath no stay nor end, Til of their lives they have bereft their foes ; The only way to both their overthrows. O poor revenge ! behold, he thou hast slain, Sleeping in rest, lies free from care and pain. Death is the good man's refuge, which his God Ordain'd to be his sorrows period ; And he, perhaps, thou in revenge didst slay, Enjoys more bliss than thou could'st take away; Whilst thou surviving feel'st the horrid smart Of many thousand tortures in thy heart. For say thou 'scape the rigour of the law, Thy wounded conscience will have many a flaw; Fears thou shalt pass by day, and then at night 47 Dreams all of terror tliy scar'd soul affright. Orphans and widows' curses thou shalt have, To bring thee with confusion to thy grave. Which if in mercy God do shield thee from, Justice hath set this unavoided doom, The plague of bloodshed on thy stock shall lie, Till she be quit in thy posterity. Poor world ! if these thy best contentments be, Seek blood and vengeance you that list for me. If this be sweet, Heav'n grant I may forgive, And never seek for vengeance whilst I live. But now, methinks, I hear our hacksters tell me, With thundVing words, as if their breath would fell me, I am a coward if I will not fight, — True, cavalieros, you have spoken right ; And if upon good terms you urge me to it, T have both strength and heart enough to do it, Which you should find ; yet minded am I still (Though I am mov'd) to punish, not to kill. Yet breathes there to my knowledge manv a man, That in his bloody actions glory can ; He thinks it honor to be said that h<" Was the destruction of some two or three. A brave tall man, I promise ye, and ra Take Tyburn for preferment in his way. 4S What poor renown is there in such a deed, Tor which a good man's heart would inly bleed! What valour's in't, since a poor fly or gnat Doth many times perform as much as that ! But [ perceive the chiefest cause of this, The opinion of the rascal vulgar is; They pufTmen up with their infectious breath, Til swoln, it break out to their shame or death. But though they think that he, which kills his foe, Is most courageous, reason tells them, no; For he that hath a heart that fact to do, Is both a tyrant and a coward too. But how is he a coward (some will say) That takes iu fight another's life away : Thus he is one : he having by his might A power on him with whom he haps to fight, Thinks if he spare his life in such a case, He one day may revenge his foul disgrace ; And that with fear of future dangers rills him., Which to prevent, he like a coward kills him. Yet those whose present safety cannot be Without the ruin of their enemy, Blameless I count, since nature gives us way, Things violent by violence to stay. Yet thou, whate'er thou be, that hast a foe, Seek not to be his wilful overthrow; Since life's a matter of the greatest'weight. If there be any way, though ne'er so strait, Whereby thou may'st from such an act be free., 40 Part not such friends as soul and body bo. Kather if 't may be, keep him living still, For foes oft prove a necessary ill. And for thy mercy thou shalt one day find Much comfort and contentment in thy mind. Foes I have some, whose lives I do not grutch, For they have done me service very much, And will do still. These, wheresoe'er I go, Do make me careful what I speak or do ; And if I step aside, have so much grace To tell me all my folly to my face : Whereas my friend, ;til I were quite undone, Would let me still in my own vainness run ; Or if he warn me, it is so in sport, That I am scarce a whit the better for't. But this good evil few of us can use, For we do better things than these abuse. Man's nature's ill, and I have noted this, If we upbraided be with what's amiss, We cannot brook it ; but are readier still To hate them that reprove, than mend what's ilL Nay, to the mildest sort men know not how To speak their minds without exceptions now ; We must not our mad lusty-bloods gain-say, No, not so much as in a yea or nay ; But presently we die fort (if we will) They have both hand and heart prepared to kill. Let them but think a man to them injurious, 50 Although he be not so, they'll strait grow furious And are so quickly up in a bravado, They are for nothing but the imbrocado ; And in this humour they respect not whether They be unto them friends or foes, or neither ; All are alike, and their hot choler ends Not only love and friendship, but their friends. I know 'twere vain if I should tell to these The peaceful mind of ancient Socrates; Or if I should Lycurgus' vengeance shew, How he behav'd himself unto his foe. Twere but much labour lost, for there's no doubt Our Bedlam gallants would but grin and flout At their well-temper'd passions, since they deem Nought but their brainless humours worth esteem. The small discretion that doth guide this age, Hath left them so to their unbridled rage, That men most foolish, desperate, who care For nought, but little wit enough to dare Some beast-like combat (without lawful ground) Are now the only men that are renown'd Amongst the vulgar. And forsooth, to gain A little fame that way, though ne'er so vain, They'll put their lives in danger ; nay, there's some Had rather have it than the life to come. Alas, poor men ! what hath bewitcli'd your mind ? 51 How are you grown so senseless and so blind, Thus to affect vain shadows, and let slide The truer substance as a thing unspicd ? Is reason in you grown so great a stranger, To suffer an affection of such danger To settle in you ? Banish't from your breast, And there let mercy and forgiveness rest ; It is a token of a humane mildness : But vengeance is a sign of brutish wildness, Not fitting any but the tyger, bear, Or such-like creatures, that remorseless tear Whate'er they light on. Cast it from you, then, Be in condition, as in shape y'are men, And stand unmov'd, for innocence, e'er long, Will shew herself abroad in spite of wrong ; When of your patience you shall not repent, But be avenged to your own content. Yet some may say, the counsel I have given Is hard to follow, strict, and too uneven ; And whatsoever show I seem to make, Such as myself would hardly undertake. Know you that think so, I am not afraid If that it be a burthen 1 have laid, To bear't myself; nay, I have undergone, If this be hard, a more uneasy one. For, but of late a friend of mine in show, Being, indeed, a spiteful secret foe, I know not why, for I did ne'er in aught i 52 Wrong him so much as in a word or thought; Yet this man having wisely watch'd his time, When I (a stranger in another clime) Left mine own country, did meanwhile repair To my hest friends, and with dissemhlings fair, And shows of love and grief, did there unfold The grossest slander ever villain told. A damn'd invention, so exceeding vile, That, gallants, 'twould have made your blood to boil, And out of your abused bodies start, I know it would have broken veins or heart. If you had felt that tongue's envenom'd sting, You would have fret, fum'd, stamp'd, done any thing ; Or angry, rag'd like mad-men in your fit, 'Til merciless revenge had quenched it. And what did I ? At first, I must confess, I was extremely mov'd. Who could be less ? But when I felt my troubled thoughts begin To join with brutish passion's force within, And raise disquiet humours in my breast, I fear'd if I should yield 'twould mar my rest ; And therefore to myself I patience took, Which whilst I have about me, I can brook Any misfortune. Then that patience Grew so much stronger through my innocence, That I, as much as flesh and blood could do, Forgot both injury and vengeance too. 53 Yet, might I wanted not to do him ill ; All the defect that was, was in my will. It is well known the coward dares not stand T'abide the vengeance of my wronged hand, Were his strength tripled ; nay, were I in bands Of impotency wrapt, and had no hands, Yet I have friends (whom if I had not pray'd, And begg'd unto to have their fury stay'd) Had heap'd confusion on him for my sake. Yea, I am half persuaded he would quake A twelve-month after ; had he but the daring To think upon the vengeance was preparing For that lewd sland'rous tale of his, which he As well might raise on one unborn as me. But when that course my reason did gain-say, I was allow'd revenge a better way. Both law and justice proffer'd me the scourge, To whip him for it; which though friends did urge, (Shewing me motives to allure me to it) Yet was I much unwilling still to do it ; For though I might (beside submission) gain No little sums, my heart doth much disdain To add unto my substance through his shame,, Or raise it with the ruin of his fame. Yet 'cause, perhaps, there's some may think I feign, Or speak a matter fram'd out of my brain ; ? 2 54 Know, this back-biter Jives, and may do long To do me more, and many others wrong. And but that I am loth to stain my verse, The name of such a monster to rehearse, For others satisfaction (to disgrace it) Upon the margent here my pen should place it ; Yet that, perhaps, would vengeance counted be. For that shall never be reveng'd by me. Nor had I thus much said, but to make known So truly these opinions are mine own, That I do wish no other men unto More than I gladly of myself would do. Thus was I wronged, and I thus withstood My own mad passion in the heat of blood ; Yet think myself in as good case as those, That have reveng'd themselves with stabs and blows. In my opinion, it is now as well As if that I should pack his soul to hell, With danger of mine own, and here remain To grieve and wish he were alive again ; Nay, now 'tis best ; for why ? he may repent, Whilst I with a safe conscience live content. But grant, that some misdeem'd my innocence, (Because they saw that I with patience Endur'd the wrong) by thinking I did know Myself in fault, because I took it so ; 55 What's that to me? Indeed, if all my care. Hut to make shew of what I should be, were, I might be much displeased, when I sec Men think me not what I would seem to be. But he whose only aim is virtue's path, And that true aim by his endeavor hath (Which God grant me !) so much sweet comfort ^ains Within his conscience, that he nought complains Of men's opinions; but above them borne, Doth both their censures and supposings scorn. And why should I do less, who never weigh'd My innocence by that which others said ? Whether I patient were, or storm'd at it, It quits me of the slander ne'er a whit. He that condemns my mild and gentle course, May in his wisdom light upon a worse. I must confess I let his error pass, Nor have I done amiss ; for say, an ass Had struck me with his heels : how should I quit The harm he doth me ? You would blame my wit If I should kill him. If I went to law, Who would not count me the most ass — a daw — ■ Or worst of fools ? And pray, what were I less, If I had done't to his unworthiness .? One that's so ignorant of his offence, He seems as if he had no spark nor sense Of understanding : one, whom if I touch 55 Or offer to lay bands on, 'tis as much As if I in my anger would begin To break the stool that erst had broke my shin. In this and that I found the cause was one, And therefore did I let revenge alone ; Only I mark'd him (for this cause indeed) That other men might (knowing him) take heed; And he himself, with a repining shame, Reading his folly's emblem in his name, Might grieve he did into that error run. Which hoping he by this time now hath done, I cease to braud him, and forgive him too : Others might thus by my example do. But to thy task, my muse; foi1 there remain Mad humours many more yet to explain ;• Such as are theirs, who use to take in hand A lawless pilgrimage to Calice sand, And think if they by tricks can blind the law Of God, they never need to stand in awe. These only deal in blows. But there be other Who their revengeful minds as ill can smother; Yet 'cause they have not hearts to deal with swords, Like valiant champions fight it out with words. Such frays have made me oftentimes to smile, And yet they prove shrew'd combats other-while: for from such brawls do sudden stabs arise, 57 And sometimes in revenge the quart-pot flies; Join'd stools and glasses make a bustling rumour,, "i ai, tins is grown a gentleman-like humour; But in my mind, lie that so well can light, Deserveth to he dubb'd an ale-house knight. Is't not a shame that men should at their meet- Welcome each other with a friendly greeting, As I have seen, and yet before they part Bandy their swords at one another's heart ? Wond'rous inhumane ! O, the savage boar, Or wild Armenian herds can do no more. But such believe not it is God hath said, Vengeance is mine, and I uill see't repaid. For if they did, they would not dare to be Such carvers for themselves, as now we see. No good remains, if long this fit endure, Friendship is quite extinguished, and sure The devil doth so much possess them, than They have no honest thought of God or man ; "Which you may note, if you do ever see Two hare-brain ruffians when at odds they be ; All th' one's ambition is the other's fall, Without compassion or respect at all. AVhicli fury so unlimited doth prove, They have to man-ward not; a spark of love ; Nor no regard of God shall you espy, 53 If you observe their damned blasphemy, When standers-by would stop their bloody will ; Stark mad with rage, the Heavens wide ears they fill With horrid, bloody, fearful canon-oaths, Such as no honest Christian man but loaths Almost to hear them nam'd. Yea, seem to tear Christ's manhood piece-meal from him, when they swear For foot, heart, nails, still using God withall, Their foul-mouth'd rackets, like a tennis-ball, Do bandy to and fro : His blood and wounds Add to their hellish bravings such strange sounds, As if the powers of Heav'n they did contemn, And meant in this wild fit to challenge them. Oh, base, proud clay ! who by their deeds can gather These men believe a Power above ? But rather That they are viler than the brutest creature ; For that is taught more reverence by nature. But these bold champions dare him ; yea, when they Cannot have vengeance their desired way (As if they scorn'd the threat'ning of his rod) Thus think they to avenge themselves on God ; Who were he not as merciful as just, Might with a blast consume them into dust. Of C HOLER, Satire VI. JDUT now, the cause of man's revengeful thirst, Proceeds from rash, unbridled Choler first ; Which passion flows from imbecility, And bring us unto much absurdity : Yea, those that are infected with this crime, Are (in a manner) mad-men for the time. "lis a short fury, wherewith man possess't Resembles most a wild untamed beast. It makes the wisest so beside their wit, They speak and practice many a thing unfit; Yea, those in whom I find this passion reign, I have oft seen to storm for things but vain 9 And chafing fret at poor halfpenny losses, As if for some intolerable crosses. In a slight trifle, or some slender toy, You would suppose consisted all their joy ; For should a wise man every sorrow prove This world could heap, it would not so much move His settled patience, as one rascal fit Would on no ground in these distemper it. Co There is this weakness, which in chokric men I have observed reigning now and then ; They are not only ready to believe The least report that may occasion give Of discontents, but so doth anger blind them, As if no causes be, they'll seek to find them, And (in light matters, if they should contend) Would pick a quarrel with their dearest friend. Yea, I have seen where friends, nay more, where brothers That be, or should be, dearer far than others, Have in their heat of anger turned foes, And mixed strange words with far sharper blows. Nor do, nor can they, in this humour spare Any degree; for reverence nor care Doth them remain, although they be most sure Their heedless words not foes alone procure, But lose their friends ; nor do they in that case Respect the time, nor company, nor place. Besides, there is this over-sight in some, (Where choler doth the reason overcome) They do not only blame him that offends, But are displeas'd e'en with their dearest friends ; And with the like displeasure do pursue All that are in their presence or their view. Yet if that any should but tell these men Such anger were without just reason, then 01 Although it be so, and they know it right, Their fury would the more increase with spite. They cannot bear controul, neither can they Brook him aught better that doth nothing say ; Tor then indeed, they presently suspecl, He carelessly their anger doth neglect. Some masters and some tutors I espy Too much o'ercome with this infirmity ; They are so hot and confident in this, That all their anger still with reason is; As if they think their servants do oflend, They must not their suspected crimes defend, Guilty or no ; but yield to all they say, Whatever shame or wrong betide them may; And so be sure to make it an offence, Though but by wronging their own innocence, Which is mere tyranny. And he that can Force to such slavery the mind of man, By my opinion shall for ever pass For an imperious, foolish, wayward ass, Who looks so much what duties others owe, That he himself doth scarcely manners know. This anger is a wond'rous head-strong passion, And hath a beastly frantic operation ; From which how can we any man release, When we must neither speak nor hold our peace: 62 Some will be angry if they cannot make All others their opinions undertake ; But let them keep from me, or I should chaufe them, For out of that fond humour I should laugh them. Others have meanings, but they cannot show them ; And therefore fret at all that do not know them. And I have seen (that anger may be holy) A good man moved for another's folly. The hurt that through this passion doth ensue Is great, although observ'd by very few ; Por that which hath ensu'd on one man's spleen, The ruin of a state hath often been. And therefore (though I none excuse the while) I hold it much less seemly and more vile In men authoris'd, than in those that be Born to a lower fortune or degree ; Por when this fit possesseth private men, They trouble but themselves, or now and then Their private families ; when if it seizes On eminent and mighty personages, It doth distemper thousands, and thereby Whole provinces do oft oppressed lie. In my opinion, he's unfit to wield The sword of justice, that doth basely yield To such a brutish passion, howsoe'er In other things he most sufficient were ; 63 Though some in places of esteem there be, Whom therewith strangely overcame we see. Oh ! why should they to govern others sit, Who know not how to rule themselves as yet? The angry and incensed magistrate, On them to be aveng'd whom he doth hate For private causes, draws the public sword, And all extremity the laws afford, He makes to serve his rage. And if that fail, He'll strain his conscience but he will prevail. But diver9 think, that such as hasty b# (For so they title this infirmity) Best natur'd are. But yet 1 see not how, I that position may for truth allow ; For (whosoe'er 'twas first that saying taught) If they are best, I'll swear the best is nought. Moreover, there be many do suppose, It is a sign of courage. What mean those ? Where is ' their judgment ? They, methinks, should gather That it were weakness did produce it rather; Or else, why should the feeble and the sick, Women and children be most choleric ? Again, there's some whose judgment is as rude As to suppose it quickens fortitude. Which cannot be, for they must grant me then. 64 That vice assist to perfecl virtue can; Which 1 cannot believe nor come to see, How fortitude and anger can agree : For one a resolution is that's steady, And rul'd by reason ; th' other rash and heady. Yea, the one doth nothing but on consultation ; The other cannot take deliberation, But head-long, unadvisedly doth tend, 'Til it in sorrow, shame or ruin end. And though some thence much help would seem to gather, To whet true valour on, it hinders rather : Yea, so unreasonable is this passion, It overthrows in man all seemly fashion ; Making him speak if aught but discontent him, Yea, do the thing of which he shall repent him: And such a dangerous kind of lunatic Is he who useth to be choleric, That of a friend if I might chuser be, I'd rather have a man that's mad than he. Yet men do rarely seek to stop this ill, But as they grow in years that groweth still, As if it were a humour whence could rise Not any thing which them might prejudice. And they so yield themselves to the invasion Of this strange frenzy on the least occasion, That when they think the fury to suppress Of this disease, they can do nothing less. Tor he that will a certain med'eine End 63 For snch a malady, must have I mind Settled in good, and an unfeign'd intent To prosecute what he in shew hath meant. Light trust he must not give to all reports, Nor take too much delight in idle sports 5 On toys his love should never he so set, To make him for their absence grieve or fret. He must be wary still not to adore Treasure or honors (heap'd upon him) more Than will befit such things as needs must perish, For oft that folly doth this passion cherish. Let dogs, nor hawks, nor any pleasure move, But as it doth indifferent things behove. At no time let him rashly speak or do What self-conceit doth urge or prompt him to, And not alone this my advice embrace, But learn of Cotis, that wise king of Thrace, Who having many precious vessels sent Of brittle metal, fearing discontent Might for their loss another day arise, The messenger he richly gratifies ; And then before his face, against the stones Dashes the costly present for the nones, To shew that those, who anger's flames would hinder, Must first remove the fuel and the tinder* fc- Of JEALOUSY. Satire VII. XjUT though these angry ones soon breed ; brawl, And are pernicious to converse withal, Not one jot better is this jealous head, That ever fears his wife hath wrong'd his bed. Sometime this passion, as it may appear, Proceeds out of a too much love, with fear ; Sometime, again, the mischief doth arise When he that worth in his beloved spies, Is forced that deserving to confess, And privy to a self-unworthiness ; Which is indeed the cause that brings the smart Of Jealousy upon the greatest part. The first is seldomest, and it is sent Of God, as a peculiar punishment To those who do the creature so affect, As thereby their Creator they neglect Love is the highest and the noblest bliss That for mankind on earth ordained is; But when true measure it exceeds, and gets 68 Beyond the decent bounds that reason sets, God turns it to a plague, whereby he will Shew them their folly, and correct the ill. He adds a fear of losing of their joy In that they love, which quickly doth destroy All their delight, and strewing good with ill, Makes things seem lost though they are with them still. Thus doth it oftentimes with that man prove, Who keeps not moderation in his love. He having got a wife not only fair, But modest, honest, wise and debonaire, At first so wond'rous meritorious deems her, As worthy all affection he esteems her, And waxeth so assur'd, he dares be bold She will not be allur'd to ill by gold, Honor, nor beauty ; but as she is chast, So is persuaded will be to the last ; And to himself so well doth seem to thrive, He thinks his own the happiest choice alive. All which is good, and if no more I tell, You cannot say wherein he does not well. But there he doth not his affection stay, Further it tends, and it will further stray. This man not having learned to possess With temperance, so great a happiness, Oft his affections grow to that extreme, As well he knows not, if he wake or dream ; Then doth hi- \ore (such love ^ ill ever do it) For a companion take in^^r unto it; A fear of'losing what he loves so much. And then the nature of this fear is such, That it begets suspect ; which creeping in, Doth by a little at the first begin To make him doubt his spouse may loosely live. But then her well-known virtuous mind doth give Such blameless testimony of her good, As that surmise is for a time withstood, Til this disease upon him grows more strong, Then he begins to think she doth him wrong; Which if he do, that one false thought's enough To give all former truths the overthrow. And why ? Suspecl grows thereupon so great, She thrusts true judgment quite beside her seat. Which being done, then straight begins to wane The good conceit he of his bliss had ta'en. His only labour's how to bring't about, To be assur'd of what he seeketh out. A cuckold he esteems himself, and he Were e'en as good indeed a cuckold be ; Nay, rather than he'll be deceiv'd, the elf Will try to make a cuckold of himself. In boiTow'd shapes, to bed her he will try, Sometimes he courts her by a deputy ; And if all fail to tempt her unto ill, Yet he remains himself a coxcomb still. For if his friends do to his house repair, g2 70 He thinks 'tis only 'cause his wife is fair. Or if a stranger come, he'll pawn his life All his intent is to corrupt his wife. Yea, though the husiness to himself he find, He thinks 'tis but a hood to keep him blind. Thus all the sweet he had is turn'd to sower; Tain would he think well, but hath not the power ; Much care torments his heart, and yet he will Be prying farther to increase it still. Yea, he will seek, although he truly know, The more he seeks, the more he finds his woe. Besides,. suspeel reviveth in the head All things that may be misinterpreted, And the best thought her virtue's like to win It only this — It serv'd to cloak her sin. In brief, his former love he marreth quite, And there he loaths where once he took delight. But wherefore ? Only 'cause he doth mistrust, And not on any proof that she's unjust. Unhappy man ! thus thy ill nature shall Convert the honey of thy life to gall. And hapless woman she, that comes to wed So mere a sot, and such a jealous head ! An owl-ey'd buzzard, that by day is blind, And sees not things apparent, yet can find That out which never was. The fear to lose 71 The jewel be above all gems did choose; That fear, I say, or' wit doth so bereave him, He thinks that's gone which means not yet to leave him. Oh, foolish man ! that having gain'd a bliss, Dost make't a curse, by using it amiss ; If judgment be not blinded in thee, look, Try if thou hast not all this while mistook ? Is not thy wife still fair ; and to the eye Seems she not yet to have that modesty Thou didst commend her for ? Is she not wary With whom she walks, or speaks, or where to tarry ? Is she not still as careful how to please, As loving too as in her former days ? In shew he sees it, but he thinks 'tis feign'd. Out, blockish dolt ! that art most justly pain'd : Thou but a few supposed shadows hast, That make thee to account thy wife unchaste ; But many firm, substantial proofs make clear That she's unstain'd, and ought to be as dear As e'er she was. Why then should faults in thee Make her seem evil, until such she be ? A woman that is fair shall much be view'd, And have perhaps unlook'd-for favors shew'd. She shall be courted whe'er she will or no ; Nay, be resorted to ; and though she show Scarcely so much as common courtesies, o 2 72 She shall be censur'd by misjudging eyes, And false reports will fly ; but what of this? Wilt thou, that hast had trial what she is, And never knew'st her err — wilt thou, I say, Cast all the good conceit thou hadst away, And strait grow jealous ; trusting the surmise Of the lewd vulgar, more than thine own eyes ? It were mad folly ; and yet I do know Some that are thus besotted ; more's their woe. And pity 'twere but they had horned him, Were't not a greater pity so to sin. Should you but sit with such an one at table, To hold from laughter you were scarcely able, To see what note the jealous woodcock takes Of his wife's words, and every look she makes ; In what a fear he eats his meat, and drinks, What signs he uses, how he nods and winks, With twenty scurvy gestures, though he see No reason he should so suspicious be. Now some have cause enough, and I believe Such seem to have a colour why they grieve. But yet there's no just reason any one Should over-strive to hold what will be gone, Vexing himself so for another's ill, Which he can never help. Let him that will. This I know true, to seek much to restrain A woman's will, is labour spent in vain ; And he that tries to do it might have feeea 73 One of the crew, that hedg'd the cuckow in. Why should a man go put himself to pain, Ai some have done, a business to feign ; And then at night come lurk about his house, Where be it but the stirring of a mouse, He doth observe it? Wherefore doth he so ; Since if thereby he aught amiss do know, The greatest good that he shall hereby find Is more vexation to molest his mind : For then the mischief he but fear'd before, He's certain of, and need not doubt it more ? A goodly meed ! but sure those wtetched elves, Take pleasure in tormenting of themselves. They hearken, watch, set spies, and alway long To hear some tales or inkling of their wrong; And he that can but whisper some such fable, Shall be the welcom'st guest that sits at table. (Though it be ne'er so false) they love so well To feel the torture of this earthly hell. But I do muse what devil keeps their heart, They should affecl: the causers of their smart ; Those ever-buzzing, deadly-stinging flies, Those that of echoes only can devise A slander gainst thyself. Whate'er they say, Thy love from her thou must not draw away On bare reports. Thou must behold the crime, Or keep her, as thy best-belov'd, her time. Better or worse, thou surely must abide her, Til from thyself the death of one divide her. 7-i Then tell me, were it not (by much) less pain A good opinion of her to retain r Could'st iliou not be contented by thy will, .At least, to think that she were honest still? Yes, in thy heart I know thou would'st be glad, Unless that thou wer't void of sense, or mad. Why, shake off all these claw-backs, then, that use Thy soon-believing nature to abuse ; For, trust me, they are but some spiteful elves, Who, 'cause they have not the like bliss them- selves, Would fain mar thine ; or else I dare be bold, If thou the truth could'st warily unfold, They are some lust-stung villains, that did court Thy honest wife to some unlawful sport ; And finding her too chaste to serve their turn, Whose evil hearts with foul desires did burn, To spite her (being far more evil doers Than Daniel's elders, fair Susanna's wooers) To thee they do accuse her of an ill, Whereto they labour'd to allure her will. Let me advise thee, then, whate'er he be That of such dealings first informeth thee, Believe him not, what proofs soe'er he bring, - Do not give ear to him for any thing. And though he be the nearest friend thou hast, From such-like knowledge shut all sense up fast. 75 Fly and avoid him, as thou would't the devil> Or one that brings thee messages of evil. Let him be to thee as thy deadliest foe, A fury, or some one thou loath'st to know; And be assured, whatsoe'er he shews, lie is no friend of thine that brings that news; Since if that thou wert his most deadly foe, For any wrong it were revenge enough. Now some men I have noted love as well The husband's faults unto the wife to tell, And aggravate them too; as if thereby They either meant to feed their jealousy, Or else stir up their unbeseeming hates, Against their guiltless, well-beloved mates. But of these monsters, fairest sex, beware, Of their insinuations have a care ; Believe them not, they will coin tale3 untrue, To sow foul strife betwixt your loves and you Out of ill will ; or else here is my doom, They hope to get into your husband's room, Through the advantage of the discontent They would work in you. But this their intent They'll so disguise, that you shall never spy it, Til you're ensnar'd too surely to deny it. But oh ! consider you, whose excellence Had reason able once for difference, This passion well ; if ill your spouses do, 7G Amend yourselves, and they'll grow better too. Look not upon them wiih o'erblinded eyes, Nor grieve you them with causeless jealousies; For most of them have ever this condition, Though they are bad, they cannot brook sus- picion. Strive not with them too much. For as the powder, Being fast stopp'd, makes the report the louder, Sending the bullet with the greater force, So he that seeks to bar a woman's course, Makes her more eager, and can ne'er out-strivc her, But on she will, because the devil doth drive her. Let those, then, that thus matched are, begin By love and gentle means their wives to win ; And though no hope they see, yet patience take, So there is none shall know their heads do ake. And let all wary be that no surmises, Or flying tale some envious head devises, Make them to wrong their chaste and modest wives, Who have with virtue led unspotted lives ; For though they stand uninov'd, yet that's the way To make a woman soonest go astray. 77 And bo I n ill conclude those jealous humours Which,, part I found b' experience, part by ru- mours; I fed it not, yet know it is a smart That plagues the mind, and doth torment the heart. And I could wish but for the others sake, Their thoughts-tormenting pain might never slake; For, none's so jealous, I durst pawn my life, As he that hath defil'd another's wife. . Of COFETOUSNESS. Satire VIIL B UT how I miss'd of Avarice to tell, Whose longing is as infinite as hell. There is no passion that's more vile and base, And yet as common as to have a face, I muse it 'scap'd so long ; for I'll be plain — I nowhere look for't but I see it reign. In all this spacious round I know so few That can this slavish dung-hill vice eschew ; I neither will excuse sex nor degree, Young folks, nor such as middle-aged be. Nay, I perceive them given most to crave, When they had need to dig themselves a grave. Like earth-bred moles, still scrambling in the dust, Not for the treasure that shall never rust, But for vile canker'd dross is all their care, As if the same their summum bonum were; When all that they have with their labor bought, (If well consider'd) is not worth a thought. I have known chuffes, that having well to live, Sufficient also both to lend and give, Yet ne eithelcss toil, moil, and take more paiu 80 Than Jews' bond-slave or a Moor in Spain. All day they brook the rain, hail, frost and snow, And then, as if they had not drudg'd enough, They lie and think all night with care and sorrow, How they may take as little rest to-morrow. 'Tis strange their minds so much for gold doth itch, And being gotten, that it should bewitch ; For 'tis by nature in a prison pent, Under our feet, i' th' basest element. Ard should we pluck't from dungeon, filth, and mire, To giv't the chiefest seat in our desire ? Twere want of judgment, which brave spirits know, Counting it base with those that prize it so. I have heard those say, that travel to the west, Whence this beloved metal is encreast, That in the places where such minerals be, Is neither grass, nor herb, nor plant, nor tree. And like enough, for this at home I find, Those who too earnestly employ the mind About that trash, have hearts (I dare uphold) As barren as the place where men dig gold. This humour hath no bounds ; 'tis a desire (Or disease rather) nothing can expire ; 'Tis hell, for had it all the world, why yet 81 Twould long as much as if 't liad ne'er a whit; And I with pity do lament tin ir pain, Who bate tins never-quenched thirst of gain; Tins ever-gaping whirlpool, that receives Still, yet the-self same room still empty leaves. He's mad that food to such a vulture gives, That's never full; and e'en as good fill sieves, Or vessels bottomless, as still endeavour To gorge a monster that will hunger ever. All that men can perform will be in vain, And longing will for evermore remain, Like those foul issuses, that must have vent, 'Til strength of nature and the life be spent. It makes men tire themselves, like he that drinks Brine or salt-water, and still thereby thinks To slake his thirst, although he feel it more Augmented at each draught than 'twas before. Yea, wealth does as much lessen this desire, Of avarice in men, as flames of fire Allay the heat. Besides, though they have store, This makes them to themselves exceeding poor; And howsoe'er they may seem, yet such Until their dying day are never rich. They very seldom have respeel; or care To promise or religion; they'll not spare To wrong their neighbour, friend, or God him- self, Thereby to add unto their cursed pelf. 82 They neither reverence the right of laws, Nor are they touched with the poor man's cause. They could be well content to shed their bloods, Lose soul and Heaven, but to save their goods. To talk to them of better things, 'twere vain, For they are only capable of gain. They never live in true society, Nor know they friendship, love, or piety ; And in a word, those that are thereby led, Never do good 'til they be sick or dead ; And therefore with those vermin we may place them, That serve us to no use 'til we uncase them. And I've observ'd that such men's children be Born many times to greatest misery ; For they have neither means nor education According to their kindred, state, or nation ; Whereby we see that they do often run Into vile actions, and are quite undone : And then, perhaps, the parent grieves at this, But ne'er considers that his fault it is. Tis greediness that makes a man a slave To that which for his servant he should have ; And teaches him oft to esteem of more The vicious rich man, than the honest poor. How many in the world now could I name Injurious villains^ that but to defame 83 Or spite their neighbour, would their God for- swear As if they thought that no damnation were ! (Provided when they thus their eonseienee strain It be out of a hatred, or for gain.) \ ea, there be idle, thieving drones a many, That have no virtue (nor will ne'er have any) That for their wealth bhall highly be respected, When honest men (their betters) are negle&ed ; And then we also see that most men do Impose such worthy titles on them too, That such base scums shall oft intreated be, With " Good, your Worship/' and with cap and knee. But sure the world is now become a They'll bring to help your cause, and God knows who. And for your benefit they can afford Many a foolish, senseless, idle word ; 177 Which they I know will not account as vain, SuM that 'tis, with a vengeance, brings them gain. Besides, as I suppose, their laws are penn'd Id their old Pedler's French, unto this end, The vulgar should no farther knowledge reach Than what shall please their masterships to teach; Or else they have the self-same policy That inov'd those patrons of the Papacy, Who sacred writ in foreign tongues conceal'd, Lest that their knavish tricks should be reveal'd. But can they not in our own language find Words of sufficient force t'express their mind ? That cannot be denied, but 'tis a trouble So easily to counterfeit and double In a known tongue ; when th' other but a few Can understand, but that obstreperous crew. These make the laws almost to none effect, Their courses are so wondVous indirect. To them they favor, they delays can grant, Though justice her due expedition want. Sometimes upon one matter we may see, That sundry judgments shall pronounced be; Now there's a motion granted, next day crost, So fee and labours, to no purpose, lost ; And still the client shall be so deluded, That when he hopes all's done, there's nought concluded, 378 Nay, though we hear the utmost sentence past, Which by all course of law should be the last, Why then, I say, though all seem wholly ended, Yet may the execution be suspended, And for some trifle, to the poor man's terror, Be call'd in question by a " writ of error." So that the right oft yields uuto the stronger, When poor men's purses can hold out no longer. Oh, miserable state ! What should we say ? May not the country think themselves a prey These ravens live on ? May we not suppose By their delays, and some such tricks as those, They practise only how to cheat and gull, And on our ruins fill their gorges full ? Yes, questionless, for they themselves do raise Unto this height on other men's decays, Not their own virtues. Oh ! though 't be too late, Yet let me wish that we had kept the state And simple innocence we once retain'd ! For then we had not of this ill complain'd \ Nor yet those movers of sedition known (Now to a many-headed monster grown) But since that time is past, we may complain, Yet must ne'er look to see those days again. We have good laws, but they, too, seem in vain, Since they, according to each lawyer's brain. 179 May now be wrested to and fro, to make The matter good that he doth undertake. I'll say it plainly, and yet not belie them, There's few but rich men can have justice by them And pray you judge, if that law be not vain, Which when it is enacted (to restrain Some privilege or custom that hath stood As a great hind'rance to the public good) Should of its virtue be so slightly gull'd, As by a licence to be disannull'd. Moreover, there be some too much to blame, Or penal laws are only made in vain ; Made in terrorem tantum, to affright, And not for execution of the right. And I may liken them unto those logs That Jupiter threw down to rule the frogs ; At first thev come forth with such thund'rimr terror, That we do tremble to commit an error ; But in a day or two they are so still, For aught I see, we may do what we will, Unless that we be poor, or some despite us ; Then, perad venture, they'll go near to fright us A twelve-month after. If so long they last, Twenty to one then all the fury's past. Did you but note it, yon would much admire To see how stri&ly justices enquire, 1 80 On days of sitting, what abuses reign ; How those they threat that slackly do complain ; How they will rail, and fume, and chafe, and storm ; As if all evils they will quite reform Within a moment. But things violent Cannot, you know, be long time permanent. Nor is their zeal, for surely (God amend it!) One twice-twelve hours will both begin and end it. But why are they so earnest then ? O, know, That the small springs within the dales below Glide gently on, until a land-flood fills Their empty channels from the higher hills, And then they'll swell until they can discharge Their burthens in some plain, to run at large. So these low magistrates would gladly sleep, And their own easy, crooked channels keep ; But when that any stream of justice showers, And comes down to them from the higher powers, Then, peradventure, they'll grow big a day, And justice shall have course the nearest way ; Then in a little space she must be fain To run within her winding banks again. Some falsely have affirmed justice blind, Yet I am sure she knoweth where to find (If that she be disposed there to look) Who gives her day-works by her counting-book. 181 Nay, she knows capon, turkey, goose and swan. And thee, I warrant, from another man, Whate'er thou be; but whilst she sees so plain, It is no wonder we have laws in vain. Also when officers do undertake Their charge at first, Lord, what a quoil they make ! A drunkard caunot, with his cap'ring feet, Cut out indentures as he walks the street, But he's straight stock'd for it ; or for his offence, By fining to the poor he must dispense. Then those, perhaps, that slackly do frequent God's divine service, somewhat shall be shent; And many other goodly deeds they'll do, But these grow quickly weary of them too. Again, sometimes comes out a proclamation, Which threatens, on the pain of confiscation, That no rcscusant do presume to stay Within ten miles o'th' court, from such a day. Yet sure 'tis, notwithstanding, meant that some Should daily to the presence-chamber come ; And shrowd within a furlong on't or two. Some great ones may ; and so I hope they do. And by their own authority, no doubt, May keep the rest from danger thereabout. Pish ! they at such a matter will but scoff. 182 'Cause they know surely how to put it off. Yet I'll not say it is in vain, for why ? The people's heads are set on work thereby ; And 'tis moreover for our satisfaction, Who else might think the state were out of action. But O you noble English senators, Our kingdom's guard, and prince's counsellors, How can you see your labours so misus'd, Or brook to have your sov'reign so abus'd ? Do you suppose that it deserves no blame, To make a scar-crow of the regal name, And to erect it on some common stall, There to be gaz'd on to no end at all ? Respect it more, and use it not for course Or fashion's sake, but shew it hath some force. Pluck out those vipers, that for fear of harm, Their chilled spirits in your bosoms warm. Perceive you not their stings ? No danger fear ye? Oh ! 'tis apparent, let them not shroud near ye j For if they do, 'tis doubtless the conclusion, If God prevent not, will be your confusion. Yet all (for aught I see) should still remain, Were there not some, who (out of zeal to gain More than religion or their country's weal) Their scurvy base conditions to reveal, In begging and in rifling of some few. But they their own corruptions rather shew 183 Than redress any. More I here could utter, But I, methinks, already hear some mutter, As if I should be sure of Rome's great curse ; But then I'm sure I shall be ne'er the worse. Yea, let them go to Rome, curse, ban and spare not, I'll sit at home and laugh, because I care not. But why do I of laws alone complain, Since all man deals in, is in some sort vain ? Religion is with ceremonies stuff 'd, And with vain-glory and presumption puff'd. 2sTow our alms-deeds, and gifts of charity, Are done for shew, and with hypocrisy. Yea, all's made vain ; for if you would but view Our universities (indeed 'tis true) There you may see, how that heretofore, In better days, have been erected store Of palaces (which curious built are still A fair remembrance of the workmen's skill) Which, lest that knowledge in the land should fade, Were by the patrons of good learning made, That there the muses (shelter'd from the rages Of former, present, and succeeding ages) Might safely live, and not beholding be To Pyren for his hospitality. Tis also true, there wants not to sustain 0 3 184 Their proper needs, nor yet to entertain Such as desire knowledge. There's enough ; The worthy founders have provided so. But of these profits why now make they stay ? Best sell't, or let some courtier begg't away. For public gifts are turn'd to private uses, Fair colleges are full of foul abuses ; And their revenues I account as vain, Because they lazy dunces do maintain, Who to themselves do claim the profits, by Nothing but witless seniority ; Such as have beard, (with rev'rence be it spoken ) Of profound learning have nor mark nor token. Good founders, dreaming not of these abuses, Gave them at first to charitable uses ; But we find now all alter'd, and the due Which should, by right, upon desert ensue, Like offices in court, is bought and sold ; And places may be had, but how ? for gold. There, as elsewhere, they now are grown so bad, Without quid dabis nothing can be had. Tis strange to see what avarice can do. But are the muses taken with it too ? On, no : for they esteem such gain a loss, And their high spirits scorn such earthly dross. How then ? There are some cormorants crept in, Who in their youth pretended to have been 165 Addiclecl unto knowledge; when, ala* 1 Tis well seen since, that all their purpose wa To snort in case ; augmenting still their store, Til they grew wealthy and their bouses poor. Foul drones! whose voices must be hir'd with money, Starving the bees while they devour the hon< -\. But O, you birds of Athens, clear your halls, And drive those lazy hornets from your stalls; Through them it is men think you covetous, They make your groves and walks grow scanda- lous. But how will you discern them ? Marry, thus, Since they have made themselves notorious, I'll point them out; and though their heads they shrowd, As Venus did /Eneas in a cloud, I'll so unmask them, if their ears they show, You shall be able to say, — there they go. First note them ; there are some, by bribes and fees, Can soon pass thorough two or three degrees ; And if they sue for aught, are not deny'd it, When better 6tudents must be put beside it. Then there be others, who their nests to feather, Can keep an office nineteen years together; 186 Enforcing many unto penury, To have therewith to feed their luxury. Note you not some at fifty winters study, That have their wits so thin and brains so muddy, They must procure of other men to do Those exercises they were call'd unto ? And sit there not of dunces pretty store, From sun to sun, at every tradesman's door, Huge fat curmudgeons ? Tell me (1 think no) Do commons of three-halfpence feed them so? Or can such puffs, so humberkin-like set, Into a pulpit once in seven years get ? Sure if they do, their memory's so weak, When they come there, they know not what to speak. Nor are they half so fit, if 't came to proof, To serve for pastors, as to hang at roof. It is no marvel, then, that blockish rout Retain their places, and keep better out; For no good patron that doth conscience make, Will unto them the charge of souls betake ; Because, if such the flock of Christ should keep, No question they would make but carrion sheep. Then they must stay ; yet in their sta}' they'll be A plague unto the university; For over and above the mischiefs nam'd, The vice for which the younger sort is blam'd 187 They are most guilty of. For forc'd to tarry Through want, and by the laws forbid to marry, Thence springs it that the townsmen are reputed, Thus by a common voice to be cornuted ; For I have known that such have daily been Where vouns:er scholars never durst be seen. And all (unless that they have eyes like moles) May see those foxes use the badger's holes. Nor hath their lewdness in that action staid. But on the place a fouler blemish laid, Which here indeed I do forbear to name, Lest it be to the place I love, a shame; And for because I fear some spiteful mate May tax them with it who such dealing hate, Brought in by them ; for who is so impure. But he that liveth like an epicure ? O muses ! seek in time to root these weeds, That mar your gardens and corrupt your seeds, And you that are appointed visitors, Who ought to have been strict inquisitors To search the foul abuses of these times, And see them punish'd ; O let these my rhimrs Move you to help reform this villany, Or let the hate of damned perjury Stir up your zeal these evils to restrain, If not for love of good, for fear of pain. Which else (though you set light as at 3rour heel) As sure u God is just your souls shall feel. 188 Do you not see now, all the wond'rous cost Of worthy benefactors vainly lost? The lands, revenues, customs, charters, rents, Which they have left for divers good intents, Vainly employ'd ? See the student poor, For whom it was ordain'd, stands at the door And may not enter ; whilst the golden ass Is quietly admitted in to pass, And shroud himself within those sacred gates, Which were't not for commodity, he hates. You sacred genii, that did once attend Those well-devoted patrons to their end, Although your bodies be entomb'd in clay, Since you survive (because you live, for aye) Look down on your abused gifts, and see What odds 'twixt th' use and your good mean- ings be ! Come and behold how the laborious sits Sharing some hungry commons, scarce two bits 5 (And that but when a double gauday haps, Full glad, alas ! at other times with scraps) While that the lazy dunce on dainties feeds. O come, I say, if you respect your deeds, And fright them with some ghastly visions thence, They may have more remorse for their offence ! If I could take on me some hideous form, I'd either make them their bad lives reform, -» I « Iff Or fear them quick to hell. But I am vain To call for your assistance or complain, Because I doubt this fault will ne'er be mended Until all evil with the world be ended. Learning is vain too, or so made at least ; Consider it, I speak it not in jest ; Do we not see that those, who have consumed Half a man's age in schools, and have assum'd Degrees of art, and hourly overlook Many a leaf, many a wise man's book, Still studying to know ; fellows that can, As they themselves think, put down any man That dares of praedicables to dispute ; Yea, such as can too, if need be, refute Known truths, and that in metaphysical, Much more, I think, in matters natural Seem greatly read ; do we not see, I say I That these from study being ta'en away, For some employments in the public weal, Are such as it might shame them to reveal Their simple carriage ; sooner they'll speak treason Than any thing that shall be law or reason. Ask their opinion but of this or that, They'll tell a tale they scarcely know of what ; And at the last you must be well apaid With « This the poet," or " This Tully said," So other men's opinions shall be shown, But very seldom any of their own. 1§0 What ib't to heap up a great multitude Of words and sayings, like a chaos rude; To say a Latin distich out of Cato, Cite Aristotle or some piece of Plato, And divers more; yet like a blockish elf, Be able to say nought at all himself? As if it were all well, and he had pay'd it, If he can once say, u Such a man hath said it.' Then by their actions who gather can, They have more knowledge than another man, Since they do worse absurdities commit Than those that seem their juniors in wit? As if they thought it were enough to know, And not with knowledge unto practice go. Those may be learned, and of learning prate ; But for affairs of country or of state, In my conceit, they are as far unfit As fools and madmen that have lost their wit. And notwithstanding all their studious pain, 1 count their learning and their knowledge vain. But think not that I knowledge fruitless deem, Or count those men, who in the academe Do spend their times, unfitting men to deal About employments of the common weal. No, for I ever this account did make, That there are those know best to undertake Great offices, and surely such as have iQi Both knowledge and desert ; yet shall they save But their own credits. Th'other, who are known To bate no gifts of nature of their own, For all their knowledge gotten in the schools, Are worse by much odds than unlearned fools. Now thou, that would'st know rightly these men's state, Go but awhile and talk with Coriate, And thou wilt soon be able to maintain And say with me, that learning's somewhere vain. Then if there were ordain'd no other place, Where now despised virtue should have grace, She were vain too ; and those that lov'd her best, Were to be counted vain above the rest; For they be sure of all these worldly crosses, That whosoever gain, their's must be the losses, Justice is wanting so ; for if that men Commit an ill, the law gives smart ; but when They do perform a virtuous deed ('tis hard !) There's no law here that gives them a reward. Nay, if a man by wrong suspicion be Brought into any woeful misery, If he be rack'd and tortur'd so, that death May pleasure him by stopping of his breath j And if at last by proofs it doth appear, That he of the suspecled crime i? clear, 192 Only he may his life by that means save, But shall no other satisfaction have : Yea, and he must be glad and well content He hath his life for being innocent ; Wheroof he would full glad have ridden been, To 'scape the torments they had plung'd him in. "Tis mere injustice ; and I say again. In this age to be good it were in vain ; But that it one day shall rewarded be By Heaven's Chief Justice, with eternity. I will not here endeavor to reveal The vain trades crept into our common weal ; Only I say (and so I think will any) Would less there were, for such there be too many. But I must needs declare their vanity, Who build their treasure and felicity On things mere frivolous, as honor, strength, Pleasure, and wealth, and beauty ; which at length, Yea, in short time must fade. High titles plac'd Without desert, are not alone disgrac'd And lose that reputation of their own, But shame them too, on whom they are bestow n. What's nobleness of birth but merely vain, Unless that in the lineage there remain Some noble qualities, which in them bred, They have deriv'd from predecessors dead ? -- 193 \\ hat's honour, but c'cn smoke and idle fame A thing consisting only in a name ! Which if you take away, then you take all. For Alexander's glory was not small, Yet were he nameless, what would then remain His honorable titles to retain, Since that his best part from the earth is fled, And th' other, though remaining here, now dead ? Then if that honour no advantage bring To soul nor body, but doth wholly cling Unto the name ; who care or pains would take, (If he be wise) a trophy vain to make Unto the same, which may enjoyed be By many thousand other men, whilst he Rots; and which three men's virtues (I'll main- tain) Grace not so much as one man's vice shall staiu J Were't only for a name that men did well, And strove in virtues others to excel 1, What good had Simon the apostle gain'd More than the wicked sorcerer obtain'd ? And how should we give each of them his fame. Who living, being two, had but one name ? Were outward honor all that virtue got, He were a wise man that esteem'd it not. But she's the body's comfort 'til it die, And soul's companion to eternity. 194 Vulgar repute, what is thereby acquired ? Why is't so glorious, and so much desir'd t But I do chiefly marvel what they meant, That have preferr'd it before their content. I hold it vain and wond'rous frivolous, Extremely foolish and ridiculous, That any man should stand in greater fear What he doth unto other men appear, Than to himself; or strive so much" (poor elves !) To seem to others, gods ; when to themselves They're worse than devils. Why, I say, should they With vain repute be so much borne away ? And why boast men of strength, that lasts no longer ; And seeing the brute creatures are far stronger ? A woman may bind Sampson with her charms, And little David slay a man at arms; For God doth make, as holy scriptures speak, " Strong tilings to be confounded by the weak.1' Then some are vain in pleasures, like to him Who for because he in delights would swim, (In these our days) to please his bestial senses, Made twenty hundred crowns one night's ex- pences ; I only do forbear to tell his name, Lest he should hap to vaunt upon the same. 105 But why in beauty should men glory so, As well we may perceive there's many do; Since 'tis no better than a fading flower, That flourishes and withers in an hour ? It would not save the good king David's son From being justly by his foes uudone ; Nay, there's scarce any that enjoy the same, Can keep unto themselves an honest name. We see, moreover, men vain-glorious grow In buitditig and apparel; all's for show ; .And yet the prince that's gorgeous't in array, Must lie as naked as his groom, in clay. And though that men to build so curious be., How worthy of contempt it is we see, Since the Arch King of Heaven, earth and all, Was very well contented with a stall ! What mind are they in, who suppose to raise By such a vanity an endless praise, When as they daily see by observation, Time utterly decays the strong'st foundation ? Where are those wond'rous high pyramides That were admir'd at in former days ? And of those huge colossi, what remains ? (Which to erect now were an endless pains) Nothing almost; not scarce his name, that spenc The pain and cost of such a monument. If that be so, how much more vanity 196 Js it to hope for fame's eternity, By such slight trifles, whose ground-work neecfc mending, Before the roof be brought unto an ending ! Again, some think howe'er their lives they spend, Yet if they can attain to in the end A glorious/wwera/, and be interr'd With idle pomp and show, or be preferred In a bald sermon, for some one good deed They did the commonwealth, for their own need ; Or by their own or friends procurement, have On their unworthy, scarce-deserved grave A goodly epitaph, they think all's well. Alas ! poor silly men ! What, can they tell How long 'twill stand before't be razed down r But say it bide awhile ; what fair renown Can in a piece of carved marble be ? What can a gilded tomb then profit thee ? Preserve thy fame, I know it cannot pass The wond'rous heap that once erected was, And yet e'en at this present doth remain, Not far from Sarum, on the western plain ; Yet who can say diredly (or what story Doth absolutely mention) for whose glory That first was founded — or by whom — or why ? And if a deed of such great wonder die, Dost thou suppose, by a few carved stones, 197 (Scarcely enough to cover o'er tliy bones) To be immortal ? It' thou long to live After thy death, let noble virtue giw And add that living glory to thy name. Let her sound forth the trumpet of thy fame, And it shall last; for she knows how to place it, Where time nor envy shall have power to rase it. I say, endeavor to be virtuous here, So shall thy sacred memory be dear To those that live ; and whilst thy body lies Entomb'd on earth, thy soul shall mount the skies. But if in pleasure thou hast lived long, And took delight in seeking blood and wrong, When that the evil day shall come to end thee, The curse of the oppressed shall attend thee ; Thy soul shall pay for't, and the self-same grave Thou for thy honor didst suppose to have, Shall be thy shame; for those that travel by it, Shall often curse it, yea, deride, defy it ; And to each other say, " There doth he lie " That acted such or such a villany." Then why should gay clothes be delighted in, Since they're but a badge of our first sin ? And yet 'tis strange to know how many fashions We borrow now-a-days from other nations. Some we have seen in Irish trouzes go, P2 198 And they must make it with a cod-piece too ; Some (as the fashion they best like) have chose The spruce diminutive neat Frenchman's hose. Another lik'd it once, but now he chops That fashion for the drunken Switzer's slops. And 'cause sometimes the fashions we disdain Of Italy, France, Netherland and Spain, We'll fetch them farther off; for by your leaves, We have Morisco gowns, Barbarian sleeves, Polonian shoes, with divers far-fetch'd trifles, Such as the wand'ring English gallant rifles Strange countries for. Besides, our taylors know How best to set apparel out for show ; It either shall be gather'd, stich'd or lac'd, Else plaited, printed, jagg'd, or cut and rac'd, Or any way according to your will, For we have now-a-days learn'd much vain skill. But note you, when these gew-gaws once be made, And that this cunning master of his trade Must bring it home ; for, there lies all the jest, To see, when the poor slave hath done his best To mend what faults he can (for by his trade, He can set right what nature crooked made) When he hath fitted to his power, and trick'd Whom he would please, when he hath brush'd and pick'd E'en 'til he sweat again ; yet, though he spies Scarce any fault, u You rogue," the gallant cries, u A plague confound thee ; look here, how this " sits j " Zounds ! 'tis a mile too wide ; — where were thy u wits ? u Sec, this is half too long, that half too short ; u 'Sblood ! I could find in heart to knock thee " for't." Then for the faults behind he looks in glass, Strait raves again, and calls his taylor ass, Villain, and all the court-like names he can. u Why I'll be judg'd," says he, " here by my " man, "If my left shoulder seem yet, in his sight, " For all this bombast, half so big's the right." How is he serv'd? This day he should have went With such a lord or lady into Kent ; To Hampton Court, to-morrow, comes the queen, And there should he with certain friends have been. " Villain !" he cries, u go instantly and mend it, " And see with all the speed you can, you send it; " Or by his sword the gallant swears, he will u Make thee to wait twice-twelve months with '" thy bill, w If e'er he pay thee." Then the other takes it, r 3 200 Carries it home again, turns, rubs and shakes it, Lets it lie still an hour or so, and then As if 'twere alter'd, bears it back again ; Then Vis so fit, our gallant cannot tell That e'er he had apparel made so well. " E'erwhile," saith he, " faith I was anger'd sore, " Why could'st thou not have done it thus « afore r" With many gentle speeches in amends ; And so these two, vain fools! grow quickly friends. What shall I say of our superfluous fare, Our beastly vain, and too excessive care To please the belly ? We, that once did feed On homely roots and herbs, do now exceed The Persian kings for dainties. In those cotes, A man would think they liv'd on hay and oats. The diet they are grown unto of late, Excels the feasts that men of high estate Had in times past; for there's both flesh and fish, With many a dainty new-devised dish ; For bread they can compare with lord and knight, They have both ravel'd, manchet, brown and white Of finest wheat ; their drinks are good and stale, Of perry, cyder, mead, metheglin, ale Or beer, they have abundantly. But then This must not serve the richer sort of men ; They* with all sorts of foreign wine are sped, 2CU Their cellars are oft fraught with white and red; Be't French) Italian, Spanish, if they crave it, Nay, Grecian or Canarian, they may have it; Cats, Puuient, Vervage (if they i\o desire) Or Romney, Bastard, Capricke. Osey, Tire, Muscadell, Malmsey, Clarey ; what they will, Both head and belly each may have their fill. Then if their stomachs do disdain to eat Beef, mutton, lamb, or such-like butcher's meat; If that they cannot feed of capon, swan, Duck, goose, or common household poultry; then Their store-house will not very often fail To yield them partridge, pheasant, plover, quail, Or any dainty fowl that may delight Their gluttonous and beastly appetite. So they arepamper'd whilst the poor man starves! Yet there's not all ; for custards, tarts, conserves, Must follow too, and yet they are no let For suckets, march-paues, nor for marmalet, Fruit, florentines, sweet sugar-meats, and spices, (With many other idle fond devices) Such as I cannot name, nor care to know. And then besides the taste, 'tis made for show ; For they must have it colour'd, gilded, printed, With shapes of beasts and fowls, cut, pinch'd, indented So idly, that in my conceit 'tis plain, 202 They are both foolish and exceeding vain. And howsoe'er they of religion boast, Their " belly is the god" they honor most. But see whereto this daintiness hath brought us . The time hath been that if a famine caught us, And left us neither sheep, nor ox, nor corn, Yet unto such a diet were we born (Were we not in our towns kept in by th' foe) The woods and fields had yielded us enough To content nature; and then in our needs Had we found either leaves, or grass, or weeds, We could have liv'd, as now there doth and can With good contentment, many an Irishman. But in this age, if only wheat doth rise To any extraordinary price ; Or if we have but cheese or butter scant (Though almost nothing else that is we want) Lord, how we murmur, grumble, fret and pine, As if we would upbraid the Powers Divine ! Yea, daily to provoke God, as the Jews Did in the wilderness, is now do news. But you are so like to starve in plenties, Because you are a little barr'd your dainties. Leave off your luxury, let me intreat, Or there will come a famine shall be great, When soul nor body neither shall have food, Or any thing to comfort them that's good. 203 We talk of scarcity, yet here there came No want these twenty ages worth the name Of famine, but our gentle Goo bath been Exceeding merciful unto our sin. Wheat at ten shillings makes no dearth of bread Like their's, where once (we read) an ass's head Cost fourscore silver pieces, dove's dung Was highly priz'd, and mothers ate their young. There famine reign'd. Pray in the like we fall not. If we can fast, with Nineve, we shall not. But truly much I fear the same, unless We do leave off our gluttonous excess; For though we quaff and swill much time away, Yet three set meals will scarce suffice a day To satisfy our lust ; whereas but one SufhVd our predecessors, sometime none. It were a work too tedious here to quote The sundry vanities that we may note Sprung from this greediness ; as our long sitting, A custom rather, in my mind, befitting Pagans and epicures, than honest men. But 'tis a use now common grown ; and then, This foolery we have : we nothing deem That merits our desiring or esteem, Save that which we have either dearly bought, Or far away from foreign kingdoms brought ; Yea, notwithstanding here in this our land, 'i hose things be better, and more near at hand, ^ et we, out of an idle humour, are 204 So much more pleased with all foreign ware, Than with our own, that we the same detest -y And this our vainness doth not only rest In meats and in apparel, but 'tis shown In many things we least affect our own. Our home-made cloth is now too coarse a ware, For China and for Indian stuffs we are ; For Turky grow-grains, chamblets, silken rash, And such-like new-devised foreign trash. Yea, though our native countrymen excell In any trade, we like them not so well As we do strangers ; and (in very deed) I think for vain inventions they exceed. And then, moreover, when we do not want Any good wholesome herb, or fruit, or plant, That may be necessary, fit or good, Either to serve for physic or for food, Yet those we slight, as if we did abhor them, And send to seek in other kingdoms for them. So, while we only make our use of them, Our better home-bred simples we contemn. Oh, Vanity ! our country j'ields enough ; What need we Grecian or Arabian stuff? Why send we for them to those countries thus: 'Twas planted there for them, and not for us. What though it help them of diseases there ; The climate, yea and our complexions are C03 So different (,tbr aught that I can gather) Heie't may nut help our griefs, but poison rather. That opium which a Turk in safety will Devour at once, two Englishmen would kill; And as I've heard experiene'd men to say, That which will salve their wouuds within a dav Who of the farthest eastern countries be, Will not re-enre an Englishman in three. Then sure if we should use that ined'eine here, It would not help nor cure us in a year. Trust me, I think 'tis over-much respecting Of foreign drugs, and foolishly neglecting Our native simples, is the cause that we So little better for our physic be. Some in their writings praise tobacco much ; Perhaps the virtue of it may be such As they have said, where first the simple grew ; But if it be re-planted here anew, From its own soil where nature's hand did place it, I dare not with those properties to grace it Which there it had ; nor can the virtue bide When 'tis transported to our region dried. Yet 'tis almost a wronder to behold How generally now, both young and old Suck on that foreign weed ; for so they use it, Or rather, to speak right, so they abuse it In too oft taking, that a man would think It were more needful than their meat or drink : 206 But what's their reason ? Do not ask them why. For neither can they tell you that, nor I, Unless't be this, — so they have seen some do, And therefore they, forsooth, must use it too. Nay, wonder not ; the sun lights not a nation That more affedleth apish imitation, Than do we English. Should we some man see To wear his doublet where his hose should be, Pluck gloves on's feet, & put his hands in's shoes, Or wear his rings or jewels on his toes ; And come so 'tir'd to our English court, Attended in some strange prepost'rous sort ; Some of our courtiers would make much ado, But they would get into that fashion too. For they so idle are, that if they see Those that with rhume a little troubled be, Wear on their faces a round mastick patch, Their fondness I perceive is apt to catch That for a fashion ; nay, we cannot name That thing so full of barbarism and shame That they'll not imitate ; witness this snioak, Which though at first it was enough to choak Or stifle up the sense ; though 'twere unpleasing In taste and savour ; oftentimes diseasing The takers' bodies ; yet, like men half mad, (Not knowing neither what effect it had) Only because a rude and savage nation 207 Took't for some unknown need, they'll make't a fashion. Alas ! what profit, England, at thy need, Hast thou attain'd to by this Indian weed ? What ! hath it lengthen'd life, or maintained health, Or hath it brought thee more inerease of wealth P It dries superfluous moisture, doth'tr indeed, Ta'en with discretion it may stand id need ; And surely it deserves to be exeus'd, Being with honest moderation us'd. But I greatly wonder what they meant, That first did take't by way of compliment; For now it is as common at each meeting, As " How'd ye," or " God save ye," for a greeting. He's no good fellow that's without the pox, Burnt pipes, tobacco, and his tinder-box. And therefore, there be some, who scarce abide it, Yet always will for company provide it; With whom (though they alone the same eschew) They'll take it 'til they spet, and cough, and spue. Methinks they may as well, since this they'll do, At all their meetings take purgations too. There's not a tinker, cobler, shepherd now. Or rascal ragamuffin, that knows how In a blind ale-house to carouse a pot, Or swagger kindlv, if he have it not. 20$ You shall have some among them will not stick To swear that they are for tobacco sick ; When by their ragged out-sides, you would gather Tt were for want of bread and victuals rather. And so I tak't. But now, if you deny Th' affecting foreign drugs, a vanity, Yet you I hope will grant (because 'tis plain) The using of tobacco thus, is vain : I mean in those that daily sit and smoak Ale-house and tavern, Jtil the windows roake. And you must yield, that we now justly may E'en as the old verse says, Jios,fcenum} fumus. Some vainly much acquaintance seek to get, And often in a stranger's cause will sweat ; Yet these, where their best services are due, So much their charity will scarcely shew. The love of men some labour to attain, And they have just the travel for their pain ; For what's the favor or the love of men ? " A thing long getting, and soon lost again." Him I have known, whose company hath seem'd In the appearance, to be so esteem'd By many, that in show he hath appear'd To be more nearly to their souls endear'd Than their own blood ; and surely for the time He hath been so ; for when he hath departed, As if his absence inwardly had smarted, . 209 Out of their eyes, full oft against their will, I have seen sorrow look and tears to trill. And yet again, hath my experience seen, The self-same man that hath so made of been, Even of those men hath been so respected, After some absence, either much neglected, Wholly forgotten, or they so estranged, As if their love and good conceit were changed ; Which having found, I weighed well the end, And thought them vain that on the like depend. Also, methinks, it makes me pretty sport, To note the vaimiess of the greater sort ; How full of congees, courtesies and greetings, Einbracements, and kind words, they are at meetings ; And oft what memorandums pass between, Of great good turns, that ne'er perhaps have been ; What commendations and joys there be, For one another's good prosperity ; When howsoever they their malice smother, They care not what becomes of one another. " To see me well, he's glad at heart," one cries, When 'tis well known that in his heart he lies. Another bids me welcome, to my face, When he would leave my presence for my place. Yea, and to swear it too, he will not tremble, Although he knows I know he doth dissemble. L. Which in my judgment is a vanity 210 Too full of shameless gross absurdity ; And I much wonder men delight to spend Time that's so precious, to so little end, As to consum't in idle compliment, And not so much as to a good intent; Crouching and kneeling, when each peasant knows, ff Much courtesy, much craft," the proverb goes, A quality beseeming men, I deem't, Aye, to be courteous, and I much esteem't ; Yet sure, without good meaning 'tis unfit, And extreme vain, when men are cloy'd with it. When some man's table's furnished with store Of dainties, that a prince can have no more, He'll bid you welcome, though that by your cheer It doth not (as he'll say himself) appear ; And yet he sees and knows well that his board Hath what the water, earth and air afford. With « Pray ye eat," " I drink t'ye," nay, « Be " merry," And such-like words ; I oft have been as weary ; To thank, to pledge, and say " I do not spare," As e'er was Sommers of his trotting mare. I often have observed in our feasts A vanity which each free mind detests, And this it is ; when any one intends "For merriment to entertain his friends, 211 And for them all things needful doth prepare* That they may perceive they welcome are; lie mars the bounty of his loving (cast, By his ill chilling some untasteful guest; For so it often haps he doth invite Some lofty statesman, or proud neighbouring knight, "Who mars their freedom by his expectation Of more than necessary observation : And he must be a slave unto that guest, Contenting him, though he displease the rest. This folly is ; were 1 as he, my board Should never entertain the knight or lord In way of feasting, that allow'd not rne To be as merry and as blith as he ; Or that through his disdain would think amiss To bear some jests of mine, as 1 bear his : For who but fools would, while their guest is baiting, Stand with bare heads, like ale-house keepers waiting, (As if they were some strangers, wanted cheering) In their own houses, while they, domineering, Say what they list? Be therefore rul'd by me; Bid none but equals if you'll merry be, At least let them be such as can abide To lay superiority aside. Moreover (if they have the providence 212 To bid their friends and keep their mar-feasts thence) They are too lavish and do much devise How they the appetite may best suffice ; But 'tis a sign their understanding's small, That can afford them no discourse at all ; It shews a shallow pate and muddy brain When men have nothing else to entertain Their friends withal, but whiffs of smoke or drink, Or curious fare ; as if that they did think, They could not show their honest love unless They did abound in gluttonou excess. But there be many greedy-guts indeed, That will find fault unless their cates exceed. Such Socrates shews how to answer best ; Who having for his friends prepar'd a feast, And hearing one to discommend his store, Told him directly, te Friend, there needs no more ; " For be they virtuous, here's enough for such ; u If otherwise (quoth he) there is too much." A fitter answer we can never find For such nice gluttons, differing in mind From certain dear and learned friends of mine ; Whom, when I late requested had to dine Or sup with me one night, would not agree, Unless I dress'd what they appointed me. 213 " I will," said I, " and not a bit beside." " Why then," quoth they, * we charge thee to " provide a One dish, no more ; we love not him that crams ; " And let our second course be epigrams." So much they found, with more good mirth and laughing Than those that had their dainties and their quaffing. Who can declare what 'canity man shews In hearing and reporting idle news? The foolish tales, and lies that he doth fain, Are more than any numbers can contain. And now I think on that same lying evil (A mischief first invented by the devil) I cannot chuse but greatly wonder why Men should delight so in that vanity. It is not only vicious and base, But also doth their credits quite deface*; And truth out of their mouths is misesteem'd Because, oft lying, they are liars deem'd. I mean not any falsehoods to maintain, No, though they be officious, or for gain ; Yet worse do like them, who their wits do bend To coin new tales, unto no other end But to provide the company some talk, And 'cause they love to hear their own tongues walk, <*2 214 Some I have known (judge of their vanity) That have told tales to their own infamy, And yet untrue ; 'tis like they have small care Of others' credits, when they will not spare To wrong themselves. Another crew beside Among these liars, I have also spied, Who, as it may appear, did like so well Strange news and matters past belief to tell, That notwithstanding they do surely know It makes not only modest ears to glow, But that 'tis known they lie, yet still they dare 'Gainst truth, their own and all men's knowledge swear ; Yea, when they may as well, and speak as right, Swear that each man is blind and all crows white ; Which is a daring and a lewd offence, Sprung from a brazen, hellish impudence. Then there's a number too, that do suppose All that beyond their little reason grows Is surely false; and vainly do uphold, That all reports which travellers unfold Of foreign lands, are lies ; because they see No such strange things in their own parish be. If that I may not term such fellows vain, I'll say they're dull, and of a shallow brain ; And him I count no wise man that imparts To men of such base, misconceiving hearts, Any rare matter ; for their brutish wit atia Will very quiefcly wrong both him and it. For thus the laying goes, and I hold so, Ignorance only is true wisdom's foe.? Then thou art vain, that wilt vouchsafe to spend Thy breatli with witless people to contend In weighty matters, when it is well known They'll like of no opinions but their own ; Ever disabling what thou didst recite, Yea* notwithstanding it be ne'er so right; And be their own case false, and all amiss, They'll prove it true. How? " Because it is." So if there be no more wise men in place, Thou bear'st the shame, and they'll have all the grace. And yet the mischief hath not there an end ; For tell me, you that ever did contend With such, is not their wayward disputation A mere confusion and a strong vexation ? I know 'tis so, for I myself have try'd it, And since that time could never yet abide it. But let those follow vanity, together With pur-blind ignorance, and I'll send thither To keep them company, those that take pleasure In tedious discourse ; they be at leisure : And those that love to hear their own tongues walk, Still seeking opportunity of talk, 23 216 Shall not stay from them. Yet I have beheld More vanities, which must not be conceal'd, — As foolish wishes. Many a silly ass Covets those things that cannot come to pass. Another, that in wishing is as heedless, Desires some trifling baubles which are needless. Nay, 1 have heard, without regard or shame Such beastly wishes, as I blush to name. What damn'd infernal curses can each brother, In every angry fit, wish one another ! When such as these, their jesting words, they'll make ye, " A pox — a pestilence — and a murraine take ye." Which if the Lord should, in his justice, send them, Their own vain wishes would, ere long time, end them. Some free-born men, I have observed too, Who are thought wise, yet very vainly do. These, as if they lack'd troubles of their own, For other men are slaves and drudges grown. I tax not such as honestly have stood In the maintaining a poor neighbour's good ; But rather those who are so out of measure Innur'd to be for other men at leisure, That they can find almost no time to be Employ'd about their own commodity. Others there are more knavish, and as vain, 217 W ho seeming careful of another's gain, Intrude themselves into their actions ; when Tis not tor any good they wish the men. But for this cause, and sure for nothing more, In each man's boat they love to have an oar. Tis good to look to their affairs, but yet I hold it for a MM thing, and unfit "We should be vexed with such extreme care In following them, as many times we are ; For unto me it seems, the greatest part Take business not in hand now, but in heart. What mean our wealthy usurers to hoard More up for others can they can afford Unto themselves ; whereas they do not know Whether it shall be for a friend or foe ? Sure such, methinks, should be deservedly Recorded for their sottish vanity. Now, as the most of wealth too well do deem, So others make thereof too small esteem, As of a thing whose use were of no weight ; But both are led away with vain conceit. Then some man's care is, that when this life ends, He dying, may be buried with his friends ; As if he fear'd his foes had not forgotten To do him mischief, tho' their bones were rotten. Others extremely are distempered, 218 To think what men will do when they are dead ; And vainly sit (more wit God one day send !) Lamenting what they know not how to mend. For worthless matters some are wond'rous sad, Whom it" I call not vain, I must term mad ; If that their noses bleed some certain drops, And then again upon the sudden stops ; Or if the babbling fowl we call a jay, A squirrel, or a hare but cross the way ; Or if the salt fall towards them at table, Or any such-like superstitious babble, Their mirth is spoil'd, because they hold it true That some mischance must thereupon ensue. But I do know no little numbers be Seduced with this foolish vanity; And questionless, although I discommend it, There want not some that stoutly will defend it ; But all their proof is only this, I know, By daily trial they do find it so : Indeed 'tis true, God often by permission, To see if they will trust to superstition More than to him, doth willingly supply What they so look'd for by their augury. Then some, to be esteemed men of state, Of nothing but the court affairs do prate; If they but come amongst us countrymen, Lord, what magnificoes they will be then ! •219 Yea, though they blow but the king's organ- bellows, We must suppose them earU and barons' fellows, Or else we wrong them. Twas my chance to light In a friend's house, where one of these that night Took up his lodging ; at the first I deern'd him A man of some great place, and so esteem'd him ; And he took me for some soft country gull, Thinking my wit (as 'tis indeed) but dull; But I perceiv'd his pride, I must confess, And seem'd as if I had a great deal less ; I made him more fine congees by a score Than ere he had at court in's life before ; The " worship" and the " honour" too I gave him, But from the charge of either I dare save him. Yet my high terms so pleas'd the courtier's vein, That up he rips the news of France and Spain, Of Germany, of Denmark, and of Swede ; And he had French store, therefore I took heed. The next he tells me all their life at court, Relates St. George's shows and Christmas sport, With such-like talk, which I in shew desir'd, And (as I ne'er had seen't before) admir'd ; Which he perceiving, falleth to devise More strange reports, and tells me sundry lies, Which still I wonder'd at; and in his talk I noted, though his tongue did ever walk, He never spake of others than the best; For earls, and lords, and ladies were the least 220 T heard him mentioning. When sure the fool Is but some servant to the groom 'o th' stool. But howsoever, for this once he passes, To shew the nature of his fellow asses. I am afraid 'twill be to little end, If I should words and precious leisure spend To tell our gallants what vain, frivolous Discourse they have, and how ridiculous They are at meetings ; I have been for laughter Often beholding to them a week after; And trust me, I'll not give a cue so soon To see an ape, a monkey, or baboon Play his forc'd tricks, as I would give a tester To come and view them and their apish gesture, When they are either frolic in their cans, Or courting of the light-heel'd courtezans. They think themselves fine men (I know they do) What will they give me, and I'll think so too ? And yet I shall not, sure, do what I can, They have so little in them that is man ; For my few years have noted many fruits Produ&ed in fine silks and satin suits, Worth observation ; I could now recite Their brave behaviour in their mistress' sight ; But sure they'll ne'er endur't, they cannot do't ; Yet if I list now, I could force them to't; But lo, I spare them; they're beholding to me. And may, perhaps, as great a favor do me. But faith ! I may not, nor I cannot hold. To keep in all their zanitits untold; At least one humourous trick 1 must not miss. Which lately I observ'd, and that was this : Two lads of late, disposed to be merry, Met at a town not far from Canterbury ; "Where, though their business scarce would let them stay, They'd frolic out a night, and then away. So there they supp'd and slept ; where, I let pass, To tell their mirth, in what good fashion 'twas ; But, as I heard, the parish clock struck one Before their merry mad-conceits were done; And then they went to bed, where I dare say They'd more devotion to go sleep than pray. Next morn th' one waking, suddenly upstart, And lightly girt out such a boist'rous , It wak'd his fellow, who surpriz'd with wonder, Leap'd up amaz'd, and swore he heard it thunder. Now whether storm or no there were, 'twas said, The chamber-pot o'erflow'd and drown'd the bed. But having pray'd a curse or two, th' one rises, Then of his business with himself advises, And thereupon doth, like a careful man, Swear he will thence with all the speed he can, 222 " Come, prithee," quoth he, " and let's be gone.v u Yes, yes," quoth th' other, u I will come anon. " Zounds! hark, I think the clock strikes eight/' " Why, when ? " O soon enough to break my fast by ten." u Then chamberlain," one calls aloud, " dost " hear ? " Come, bring us up a double-jug of beer." So either having drank a good carouse, Down come the gallants to discharge the house. But taking leave, O what d'ye think they miss'd ? Their hostess, pretty woman, must be kiss'd. Then up she's call d, and in her night attire, Down claps she on a stool before the fire ; Where having bid her welcome from her nest, u Come, say," quoth one, " what wine is't you " like best." " Truly," quoth she, " I use to drink no wine, u Yet your best morning's draught is muscadine." "With that the drawer's call'd to fill a quart, (O 'tis a wholesome liquor next the heart.) And having drank it whilst their heads were steady, They bad the hostler make their horses ready. " Nay," quoth the hostess, " what needs all this " haste ? " In faith you shall not go 'til dinner's past. " I have a dish prepared for the nones, use tliem^ 'til they hold their peace again. Now, if tlic world do frown upon me for't, Shall I be son v - No, 'twill mend my sport, l>ut what if I myself should hap to stray Out of my bounds into my satire's way ? Why then (and that's as much as I need do) 1*11 give him leave to come and lash me too. So now my muse a resting time requires, For she's o'erwearied, and her spirit tires. IIcc v tots 3&fa ©:£. »ttf)ers JHotto, Nee habeO) nee careo, nee euro. Nor have I, nor want I, nor care I, TO ANY BODY. TO recreate myself after some more serious studies, I took occasion to exercise my invention in the illus- tration of my Motto; which being thus finished, my friends made me believe it was worth the preserving, and grew so importunate for copies thereof, that I could not deny them. But doubting, lest by often transcribing, it might be much lamed through the scribe's insufficiency (as many things of this nature are) I thought fitting rather to exemplify the same, by the press than by the pen : and to that end, delivered it over to some stationers, to have only so many copies as I intended to bestow. Yet considering that other men (to whom ,1 meant them not) might peradventure come to the view of those lines, I thought it not amiss, by way of preven- tion, to remove such cavils as may be made against me, by those unto whom I am unknown. Not that I care to give every idle reader an account of my inten- tions ; but to shew the ingenuous that the carelessness expressed in this motto, proceeds from an undisturbed care, to make all my actions, as near as I can, such as may be decent, warrantable, and becoming an honest man ; and that those who shall foolishly seek, from A a ccclvi. thence, to pick advantages against me, may know I am too well advised to write any thing which they shall be justly able to interpret, either to my hinder- ance or disparagement. Let me want esteem among all good men, if I pur- posed (or have any secret desire in me) that any part of this should be applied to any particular man, but so as every one ought to apply things unto his own con- science ; and he that believes me not, I fear is guilty. My intent was to draw the true picture of mine own heart, that my friends, who knew me outwardly, might have some representation of my inside also ; — and that if they liked the former of it, they might (wherein they were defective) fashion their own minds thereunto. But my principal intention was, by re- cording those thoughts, to confirm my own resolution, and to prevent such alterations, as time and infirmities may work upon me. And if there be no more reason inferred against me, to remove my opinion, than I am yet apprehensive of, I am confidently persuaded, that neither fear nor force shall compel me to deny any thing which I have affirmed in this poem; for I had rather be degraded from the greatest title of honor that could be given me, than constrained to deny this motto. Proud arrogance, I know, and enough too, will be laid to my charge ; but those who both know me, and the necessity of this resolution, will excuse me of it. — The rest (if they mis-censure me) are part of those things / care not for. ccclvii. The language is but indifferent, for I affected nut- ter more than words. The method IS none at all, for 1 w.i> loth to make a business of a recreation ; ami we know, he that rides abroad for his pleasure, i> not tied so strictly to keep highways, as he that takes a journey. If the intermixing of slight and weighty things to- gether, be offensive to any ; let them understand, that if they well observe it, they shall find a seriousness, even in that which they imagine least momentary ; — and if they had as well observed the conditions of men, as I have done, they would perceive that the greatest number (like children which are allured to school with points and apples) must be drawn on with some frivolous expressions, or else will never listen to the grave precepts of virtue ; which when they once hear, do many times beget a delight in them, before they be aware. Many dishes of meat which we affect not, may be so cooked, that we shall have a good appetite unto them. So many men, who take no pleasure to seek virtue in grave treatises of morality, may, perhaps, finding her unlook'd for, masked under the habit of a light poem, grow enamoured on her beauty. The foolish Canterbury tale, in my scourge of Va- nity (which I am now almost ashamed to read over) even that hath been by some praised for a witty pas- sage ; and I have heard divers seriously protest, that they have much more feelingly been informed, and moved to detest the vanity of the humour there scoffed Ccclviii, at, by that rude tale, than they were by the most grave precepts of philosophy : and that makes me of- tentimes affect some things, in regard of their useful- ness, which being considered according to the method of art, and rules of scholarship, would seem ridiculous. But I use more words for my apology than needs. If this will not give you satisfaction, I am sorry I have said so much ; and if you know which way, satisfy yourselves ; for how I am resolved (if you think it worth the taking notice of) the book will tell you.— Farewell. GEORGE WITHER. WITHERS MOTTO. Nee habco, nee Cureo. nee Curo. Hot have I, nor want I, nor care I. XjLII ! will they storm ? why let them, who needs care, Or who dares frown on what the muses dare, Who when they list, can for a tempest call, Which thunder louder than their fury shall : And if men causelesly their power contemn, Will more than mortal vengeance fling on them. With thine own trembling spirit, thou didst view These free-born lines, that doubt'st what ensue ; For if thou felt'st the temper of my soul, And knew'st my heart, thou would'st not fear controul. Do not I know, my honest thoughts are clear From any private spleen, or malice here ? Do not I know, that none will frown at this, But such as have apparent guiltiness ; Or such, as must to shame and ruin run, As some, once aiming at my fall have done ? 300 And can I fear those idle scar-crows then, Those hug-bear perils, those mere shades of men, At whose displeasure they for terror sweat, Whose heart upon the world's vain love is set. No, when this motto first I mine did make, To me I took it not for fashion's sake ; But that it might express me as I am, And keep me mindful to be still the same, Which I resolve to be ; for, could the eye Of other men within my breast espy My resolution, and the cause thereof, They durst not at this boldness make a scoff. Shall I be fearful of myself to speak, For doubt some other may exceptions take ? If this age hold, ere long we shall go near Of every word of our to stand in fear ; And, five to one, if any should confess Those sins in public, which his soul oppress, Some guilty fellow, mov'd thereat, would take it Unto himself, and so a libel make it. Nay, we shall hardly be allow'd to pray Against a crying sin, lest great men may Suspect, that by a figure, we intend To point out them ; and how they do offend. As I have hope to prosper, ere I'll fall To such a bondage, I'll adventure all, And make the whole world mad, to hear how I Will fearless write, and rail at villany. 36] I Jut 0 beware ' (grey«hair'd discretion say9) The dog fights well that out of danger plays; now these guilty times so captious be, That such as love in speaking to be live, Majr tor their freedom to their cost be shent, How harmless ere they be in their intent; And such as of their future peace have care, Unto the times a little servile are. Pish ! tell not me of times or danger thus ; To do a villan v is dangerous : But in an honest action, my heart knows No more of fear, than dead men do of blows ; And to be slave to times, is worse to me Than to be that which most men fear to be. I tell thee, critic, whatsoever thou, Or any man, of me shall censure now, They, who for aught here written do accuse, Or with a mind malicious tax my muse, Shall not by day awake, nor sleep by night With more contentment, in their glory's height, Than I will do, though they should lay me w here I must, in darkness, bolts of iron wear ; For I am not so ignorant, but that I partly know what things I may relate ; And what an honest man should still conceal, I know as well as what he may reveal. 362 If they be poor and base, that fear my strain, These poor base fellows are afraid in vain. I scorn to spurn a dog, or strike a fly, Or with such grooms to soil my poesy. If great they were, and fallen, let them know I do abhor to touch a wounded foe : If on the top of honor yet they be, Tis poor weak honor, if aught done by me May blot or shake the same ; yea, whatsoe'er Their titles cost, or they would fain appear, They are ignoble, and beneath me far, If with these measures they distemper'd are ; For if they had true greatness, they would know The spite of all the world were far below The seat of noblest honor ; and that he, In whom true worth and real virtues be, So well is arm'd, as that he fears no wrong From any tyrant's hand or villain's tongue : Much less be startled at those numbers would, Where virtue's praised, and proud vice controlled. Is any man the worse if I express My wants, my riches, or my carelesness ? Or can my honest thoughts, or my content, Be turn'd to any man's disparagement, If he be honest ? Nay, those men will find A pleasure in this picture of my mind, Who honor virtue ; and instead of blame, Will, as they have done, love me for the same. 363 You are deceived, it* the Bohemia* stale You think I touch, or the Palatinate ; Or that this aught of Eighty-eight contains, The powder-plot, or any thing of Spain's, That their ambassador need question me, Or bring me justly for it on my knee. The state of those occurrences I know Too well, my raptures that way to bestow. Nor need you doubt, but any friend you have May play the fool, and if he list, the knave, For aught here written ; for it is not such As you suppose, nor what you fear so much. If I had been dispos'd to satirize, Would I have tam'd my numbers in this wise ? ISo, I have furies that lie tied in chains, Bold (English mastiff like) ad vent'rous strains ; AVho fearless, dare on any monster fly, That wears a body of mortality ; And I had let them loose, if I had list, To play again the sharp-fang'd satirist. That therefore, you no more mis-title this, I say it is my motto ; and it is ; I'll have it so : for, if it please not me, It shall not be a satire, though it be. What is't to you, or any man, if I This little poem term as foolishly, As some men do their children r is it not Mine own Minerva, of my brains begot.3 304 For aught I know, I never did intrude To name your whelps; and if you be so rude, To meddle with my kitling, though in sport, Tis odds but she'll go near to scratch you for't. Play with your monkey then, and let it lie, Or (if you be not angry) take it, pray, And read it over. — So, the critic's gone, Who at these numbers carp'd, and we alone Proceed we to the matter.— — — Nee Ilabeo, nee Carco, nee Cvro. Some having seen where I this motto writ Beneath my picture, ask'd what ineaned it ; And many in my absence do assay What by these words they best conjecture may. Some have supposed that it doth express An unadvised, desperate carelesness. Some others do imagine that I meant In little, to set forth a great content. Some on each member of the sentence dwell, And (first) will, what / haze not, seem to tell; What things I want not, they will next declare ; And then they guess for what 1 do not care. But that they might not from nay meaning err, I'll now become my own interpreter. Some things / have, which here I will not show; Some things / want, which you shall never know; And sometime I, perchance, do careful grow ; But we with that will nothing have to do. If good occasion be thereof to speak, Another time we may the pleasure take. That which to treat of, I now purpose, therefore, Is what I neither have, nor want, nor care for. NEC HABEC. And first, that no man else may censure me, For vaunting what belongeth not to me j Hear what I have not, for TO not deny- To make confession of my poverty. I have not of myself, the power or grace To be, or not to be, one minute space. I have not strength another word to write, Or tell you what I purpose to indite ; Or think out half a thought before my death, But by the leave of Him that gave me breath. / have no native goodness in my soul, But I was over all corrupt and foul ; And 'til another cleans'd me, 1 had nought That was not stain'd within me ; not a thought. I have no proper merit, neither will, Or to resolve or act but what is ill. X have no means of safety or content, In aught which mine own wisdom can invent ; Nor have I reason to be desperate though, Because for this a remedy I know, 3<5S I hate no portion in the world like this, That I may breath the air which common is; JSur have I seen within this spacious round, What I have worth my joy or sorrow found, Except it hath for these that follow been, — The love of my Redeemer, and my sin. I ?wne of those great privileges have, Which make the minions of the time so brave, / have 7io sumptuous palaces or bovvers That over-top my neighbours with their towers. 1 have no large demeans, or princely rents, Like those heroes, nor their discontents. 1 have no glories from mine ancestors, For want of real worth, to brag of theirs ; Nor hate I baseness in my pedigree, Tor it is noble, though obscure it be. J have no gold those honors to obtain, Which men might heretofore by virtue gain ; Nor have I wit, if wealth were given me, To think bought place or title honor'd me. I (yet) have no belief that they are wise, AVho for base ends can basely temporize : Or that it will at length be ill for me, That I liv'd poor to keep my spirit free. 1 have no causes in our pleading courts, Nor start I at our chancery reports ; ;1 bill hath yet affrighted rt \o motion, order, judgment, or dec Nor have 1 forced been to tedious jownies Betwixt my counsellors and mv altornies. I have no need of those long-downed warriors, Who play at Westminster, unann'd, at barriers; Nor gamester for those common pleas am J, Whose sport is marred by the chancery. J have wo juggling hand, no double tongue ; Nor any mind to take or do a wrong. 1 have no shifts or cunning slights, on which I feed myself, with hope of being rich ; Nor have I one of these, to make me poor, Hounds, humours, running horses, hawks, ot whore. I have no pleasure in acquaintance, where The rules of state and ceremony are Observ'd so seriously, that 1 must dance And a6i o'er all the compliments of France, And Spain, and Italy, before I can Be taken for a well-bred Englishman ; And every time wre meet be fore'd again To put in adion that most idle scene. 'Mongst these, much precious time, unto my cost, And much true-hearty meaning have I lost ; Which having found, I do resolve therefore, To lose my time and friendship so no more. 370 I have no compliments but what may show That I do manners and good breeding know; For much I hate the forced apish tricks Of those our home-disdaining politics; Who to the foreign guise are so affected, That English honesty is quite rejected, And in the stead thereof they furnish'd home With shadows of humanity do come. 0 how judicious in their own esteem, And how completely travelled they seem, If in the place of real kindnesses (Which nature could have taught them to express) They can with gestures, looks and language sweet, Fawn like a courtezan on all they meet; And vie in humble and kind speeches, when, They do most proudly, and most falsely mean. On this, too many falsely set their face, Of courtship and of wisdom ; but 'tis base. For servile, unto me it doth appear, When we descend to sooth and flatter, where We want affection ; yea, I hate it more Than to be born a slave, or to be poor. 1 have no pleasure or delight in aught That by dissembling, must to pass be brought. If I dislike, I'll sooner tell them so Than hide my face beneath a friendly show : For he who to be just hath an intent, Needs not dissemble nor a lie invent. I rather wish to fail with honesty, 371 Than to prevail in aught hy treachery. And with this mind, I'll safer sleep than all Our Maehiavillian politicians shall. I have no mind to flatter, though I might Be made some lord's companion, or a knight ; Nor shall my verse for me on hegging go, Though I might starve, unless it did do so. I have no muses that will serve the turn At every triumph, and rejoice or mourn, Upon a minute's warning, for their hire, If with old sherry they themselves inspire. I am not of a temper like to those, That can provide a hour's sad talk in prose For any funeral, and then go dine And choke my grief with sugar-plumbs and wine. I cannot at the claret sit and laugh, And then, half tipsy, write an epitaph ; Or howl an epicoedium for each groom, That is by fraud or nigardize become A wealthy alderman ; nor, for each gull That hath acquir'd the stile of, worshipful. I cannot for reward adorn the hearse Of some old rotten miser with my verse ; Nor, like the poetasters of the time, Go howl a doleful elegy in rhyme For every lord or ladyship that dies, And then perplex their heirs, to patronize Bb 372 That muddy poesy. O ! how T scorn Those raptures, which are free and nobly born, Should, fidler-like, for entertainment scrape At strangers' windows, and go play the ape, In counterfeiting passion, when there's none, Or in good earnest, foolishly bemoan (In hope of cursed bounty) their just death, Who (living) merit not a minute's breath To keep their fame alive, unless to blow Some trumpet, which their black disgrace may show. I cannot, for my life, my pen compel Upon the praise of any man to dwell, Unless I know, or think at least, his worth To be the same which I had blazed forth. Had I some honest suit, the gain of which Would make me noble, eminent and rich, And that to compass it no means there were, Unless I basely flattered some great peer, Would with that suit my ruin I might get, If on those terms I would endeavor it ! / have not been to their condition born, Who are inclined to respect and scorn, As men in their estates do rise and fall ; Or rich, or poor, I virtue love in all ; And where I find it not, I do despise To fawn on them, how high soe'er they rise ; 373 For where proud greatness without worth I see, Old Bfordecai had uot a stiller knee. I cannot give a plaudit, I protest, When as his lordship thinks, he breaks a jest, Unless it moves me 5 neither can I grin When he a causeless laughter doth besrin. I cannot swear him truly honorable, Because he once receiv'd me to his table, And talk'd as it' the muses glad might be That he vouchsafed such a grace to me. His slender worth I could not blaze on so, By strange hyperboles, as some would do ; Or wonder at it, as if none had been His equal, since king William first came in. Nor can I think true virtue ever car'd To give or take, for praise, what I have heard. For if we peyze them well, what goodly grace Have outward beauties, riches, titles, place, Or such, that we the owners should commend, When no true virtues do on these attend ? If beautiful he be, what honor's that ? As fair as he is many a beggar's brat. If we his noble titles would extol, Those titles he may have, and be a fool. If seats of justice he hath climb'd, we say, So tyrants and corrupt oppressors may. If for a large estate his praise we tell, Bb2 374 A thousand villains may be prais'd as well. If he his prince's good esteem be in, Why so hath many a bloody traitor been. And if in these things he alone excell, Let those, that list, upon his praises dwell : "Some other worth I find, ere I have sense Of any praise-deserving excellence. I have no friends, that once affected were, But to my heart, they sit this day as near As when I most endear'd them (though they seem To fall from my opinion or esteem) For precious time in idle would be spent, If I with all should always compliment; And 'til my love I may to purpose show, I care not wher' they think I love or no. For sure 1 am, if any find me chang'd, Their greatness nor their meanness me estrang'd. I have not priz'd men's loves the less or more Because I saw them either rich or poor, But as their love and virtues did appear I such esteem'd them, whosoe'er they were. I have no trust or confidence in friends That seek to know me, merely for their ends ; Nor have I ever said I loved yet, Where I expected more than love for it ; And let me fail of that where most I lov'd, 375 If that with greater joy I be not rnovM By twenty-fold, when I my kindness show, Than when their favors they on me bestow. I have not that vile mind, nor shall my breast For ever with such baseness be possest, As in my anger (be it ne'er so just) To utter aught committed to my trust In time of friendship ; though constrained so, That want of telling it should me undo : For, whosoe'er hath trust repos'd in me, Shall ever find me true, though false lie be. I have no love to country, prince or friend, That can be more, or less, or have an end ; For whatsoever state they rais'd me to, I would not love them better than I do. Nor can I hate them, though on me they should Heap all the scorn and injury they could. I have no doting humour, to affect Where love I find rewarded with neglect. I never was with melancholy fit Oppressed in such stupid manner yet, As that ungently to my friends I spake, Or heed to their contentment did not take; Nor have I felt my anger so inflam'd, But that with gentle speech it might be tam'd. 8b3 376 I Iiave no private cause of discontent, Nor grudge against the public government, / have no spite or envy in my breast, Nor doth another's peace disturb my rest. / have not, yet, that dunghill humour, which Some great men have, who, so they may be rich, Think all gain sweet, and nought ashamed are, In vile and rascal suits to have a share ; For I their baseness scorn, and ever loth'd By wronging others, to be fed or cloth'd ; Much more to have my pride or lust maintain'd With what by proud oppression had been gain'd. J have not been enamour'd on the fate Of men to great advancements fortunate ; I never yet a favorite did see So happy, that I wished to be he ; Nor would I, whatsoe'er of me became, Be any other man, but who I am. For, though I am assur'd the destiny Of millions tendeth to felicity, Yet those dear secret comforts, which I find, Unseen, within the closet of my mind, Give more assurance of true happiness, Than any outward glories can express. And 'tis so hard (what shews soe'er they be) The inward plight of other men to see, That my estate with none exchange I dare, Although my fortunes more despised were. 377 / have not hitherto divulged aught Wherein my wordl dissented from my thought; Nor would 1 tail, it' L might able be To make my manners and my words agree. I have not been ashamed to eon My lowest fortunes, or the kindne> Of poorest men ; nor have 1 proud been made By any favor from a great man had. I have not plac'd so much of my content Upon the goods of fortune, to lament The loss of them, more than may seemly be, To grieve for things, which are no part of me ; For I have known the worst of being poor; Yea lost, when I to lose have had no more ; And though the coward world more quakes for fear Of poverty, than any plagues that arc, Yet he that minds his end, observes his ward, The means pursues, and keeps a heart prepaid, Dares scorn, and poverty as boldly meet. As others gladly fame and riches greet. For those, who on the stage of this proud world, Into the paws of want and scorn are hurl'd, Are in the master-prize that trieth men, And virtue fighteth her brav'st combat then. 1 no antipathy, as yet have had 'Twixt me and any creature God hath made ; 378 For if they do not scratch, nor bite, nor sting, Snakes, serpents, toads, or cats, or any thing I can endure to touch or look upon, (So cannot every one whom I have known.) I have no nation on the earth abhorr'd, But with a Jew or Spaniard can accord As well as with my brother, if I find He bear a virtuous and heroic mind. Yet, T confess, of all men I most hate Such, as their manners do adulterate ; Those lindsy-woolsy people, who are neither French, English, Scotch, nor Dutch, but alto- gether. Those, 1 affect not, rather wish I could, That they were fish, or flesh, or hot or cold ; But none among all them, worse brook I, than Our mere Hispanioliz'd Englishmen. And if we 'scape their treacheries at home, I'll fear no mischiefs wheresoe'er I come. I have not fear'd who my religion knows, Nor ever for preferment made I shows Of what I was not ; for although I may Through want, be fore'd, to put on worse array Upon my body, I will ever find Means to maintain a habit for my mind, Of truth in grain ; and wear it in the sight Of all the world j in all the world's despite. 379 I their presumption have not, who dare blame A fault in Others, and correct the same With grievous punishments ; yet guilty be Of those offences in more high degree. For, O how bold and impudent a face (And what unmoved hearts of flint and brass) Have those corrupted magistrates, who dare Upon the seat of judgment sit, and there Without an inward horror, preach abroad The guilt of sin, and heavy wrath of God (Against offenders pleading at the bar) Yet know what plots within their bosoms are? Who (when enthron'd for justice) they behold A reverend magistrate, both grave and old, And hear how sternly he doth aggravate Each little crime offenders perpetrate ; How much the fact he seemeth to abhor; How he a just correction labours for; How he admires, and wonders that among A people where the faith hath flourish'd long, Such wickedness should reign, which (he hath heard) The heathen to commit hath been afeard. Who, that observes all this, would think that he Did but an hour before receive a fee, Some innocent (by law) to murder there ; Or else from children fatherless to tear Their just inheritance ; and that when this 380 Were done (as if that nought had been amiss) He could go sleep upon a deed so foul, And neither think on man's or God's controul? J have not a stupidity so mad ; And this presumption, I would no man had. I have no question made, but some there are Who, when of this my motto they shall hear, Will have a better stomach, to procure That I may check or punishment endure, Than their own evil manners to amend; For that's a work they cannot }ret intend. And though they many view (before their face) Fall'n, and each minute falling to disgrace, (For less offences far than they commit) Without remorse and penitence they sit ; As if that they (and they all one) had been Without the compass or reproof of sin. I have no great opinion of their wit, Nor ever saw their actions prosper yet, Who wedded to their own devices be;. And will not counsel hear, nor danger see, That is foretold them by their truest friends ; But rather list to them, who for their ends Do sooth their fancies ; and the best excuse That such men can, to hide their folly use, (When all their idle projects come to nought) Are these words of the fool, " I had not thought.' 381 I have not their delight, who pleasure take At nature's imperfections scotls to make; Nor have I bitterness against that sin Which thorough weakness hath committed been, (For I myself am to offences prone, And every day commit L many a one) But at their hateful crimes I only glance That sin of pleasure, pride and arrogance. i" have not so much knowledge as to call The arts in question, neither wit so small To waste my spirits those things to attain, Which all the world hath labour'd for in vain. J have not so much beauty, to attract The eyes of ladies; neither have I lack't Of that proportion which doth well suffice To make me gracious in good people's eyes. I have not done so many a holy deed As that of Jesus Christ, I have no need. And my good works 1 hope are not so few, But that in me a living faith they shew. I have not found ability so much To carry millstones, yea, and were it such, I should not greatly vaunt it ; for in this A scurvy pack-horse for my better is. I love his manly strength that can resist 382 His own desires, force passage when he list Through all his strong affections, and subdue The stout attempts of that rebellious crew. This were a braver strength than Sampson got, And this I covet, but 1 have it not. I have not so much heedlesness of things Which appertain unto the courts of kings, But that from my low station I can see A prince's love may oft abused be ; For many men their country injure dare At home, where all our eyes upon them are ; And (of the world's Protector) I implore, The trust abroad be not abused more. I have no brother, but of younger age, Nor have I birth-right without heritage ; And with that land let me inherit shame, Unless 1 grieve when I possess the same. The value of a penny have I not, That was by brib'ry or extortion got. I have no lands that from the church were pil'd, To bring hereafter ruin to my child. And hitherto I think I have been free From widows or from orphans cursing me. The spleen, the cholic, or the lethargy, Gouts, palsies, dropsies, or a lunacy, 3S3 I {by inheritance) ferae none of tin Nor raging sin, nor any foul disease. J have no debts, but such as (when I can) I mean to pay ; nor is there any man (To whom I stand engag'd by aught I borrow) Shall loss sustain, though I should die to-morrow. And if they should (so much my friends they be) Their greatest loss they'll think the loss of me. And well they know, I took not what they lent, To wrong their loves, or to be idly spent. Except the devil, and that cursed brood Which have dependence on his devil-hood, I know no foes I have; for, if there be In none more malice than I find in me, The earth that man, at this time, doth not bear, Who would not, if some just occasions were, (E'en in his height of spleen) my life to save, Adventure with one foot into his grave. To make me careful, children I have none ; Nor have I any wife to get them on ; Nor have I (yet to keep her) had I one. Nor can this spoil my marriage, being known ; Since I am sure I was not born for her That shall before my worth her wealth prefer : For I do set my virtues at a rate As high as any prize their riches at, 384 And if all count the venture too much cost, In keeping it myself there's nothing lost. For, she I wed shall somewhat think in me More worthy love than great revenues be. And if I find not one of such a mind (As such indeed are jewels rare to find) I'll clasped in mine own embraces lye, And never touch a woman 'til I die. For, shall a fellow, whom (the usurer) His father, by extortion did prefer Unto an heritage, in value clear Above four times a thousand pounds a-year, So worthily or so confident become, (By means of that his goodly annual sum Which may be lost to-morrow) as to dare Attempt a nymph of honor for his fare ? Shall he, that hath with those four thousand pounds A gaming vein, a deep-mouth'd cry of hounds, Three cast of hawks, of whores as many brace. Six hunting nags, and five more for the race, (Perhaps a numerous brood of fighting cocks) Physicians, barbers, surgeons for the pox, And twenty other humours to maintain (Beside the yearly charges of his train) With this revenue, — most of which, or all To mortgage must be set ; perhaps to sale, To pay his creditors, and yet all fail 385 To keep his crazy body from the jail ; — Shall this dull fool, with his uncertain store, (And in all honesty and virtues poor) Hope for a mistress noble, rich, and fair? And is it likely that I can despair To be as happy, if I seek it would, Who such a matchless fortune have in hold, That though the world my ruin, plot, and threat, I can in spite of it be rich and great ? A silly girl no sooner understands That she is left in portion or in lands, So large a fortune, that it doth excell The greatest part who near about her dwell, But strait begins to rate and prize herself According to the value of her pelf; And though to gentry nor good breeding bom, Can all that have estates beneath her scorn. This wit a woman hath, and shall not I Who know I have a wealth which none can buy For all the world, expecl; a nobler fare Than suits unto a hundred pounds a year ? Shall love of truth and virtue make of me A match no better worthy, than is he Who knows not what they mean, and doth pos- sess In outward fortunes neither more nor less? 386 Have I oft heard so many fair ones plain How fruitless titles are ; — how poor and vain They found rich greatness, where they did not find True love, and the endowments of the mind ? Have fairest ladies often sworn to me That if they might but only mistress be Of true affection, they would prize it more Than all those glories which the most adore ? Have I observ'd how hard it is to find A constant heart, a just and honest mind ? How few good natures in the world there are ; How scanty true affection is ; how rare ? And shall I pass as true a heart away As hath conceiv'd an honest thought to-day, As if in value to no more it came Than would endear me to a vulgar dame On equal terms ; or else undo me with Some old rich croan that hath outliv'd her teeth ? I'll rather break it with proud scorn, that dead, The worms may rifle for my maidenhead. 1 hare no love to beauties, which are gone Much like a rose in June, as soon as blown. Those painted cabinets, and nought within, Have little power my respect to win. Nor have I, yet, that stupid love to pelf, As for the hope thereof, to yoke myself With any female/ betwixt whom and me 387 There could not in the soul a marriage be. For whosoever join without that care, Fools, and accursed in their marriage are ; And so are you, that either hear or view What I aver, unless you think it true. / have no meaning, whensoe'er I wed, That my companion shall become my head ; Nor would I (if I meant to keep my right) So much as say so, though that win her might. Not though a duchess, for the means I'll use To keep my worth, though my reward I lose. Yea, from a prison had she raised me, Lord of her fortunes and herself to be, I that respect would still ex peel; to have, Which might become her husband, not her slave. And should I spouse a beggar, I would shew What love and honor to a wife were due. i" have not yet of any scorned been, Whose good opinion I have sought to win ; Nor have I (when I mean to woo) a fear That any man shall make me willow wear. 1 have not eyes so excellent, to see Things (as some men can do) before they be ; Nor purblind sight, which crimes far off can mark, Yet seem no faults which are more near me, dark, I have not ears for every tale that's told, 38S Nor memory things frivolous to hold. J have not their credulity, that dare Give credit unto all reports they hear. Nor have I subject to their dullness been, Who can believe no more than they have seen. I have 110 feeling of those wrongs that be By base unworthy fellows offer'd me ; For my contentment and my glory lies Above the pitch their spite or malice flies. 7 have not need enough, as yet, to serve, Nor impudence to crave 'til I deserve. I have no hope the world's esteem to get, Nor could a fool or knave e'er brook me yet. I have not villany enough, to prey Upon the weak, or friendship to betray. Nor have 1 so much love to life, that I Would seek to save it by dishonesty. I have not cowardice enough to fear In honest actions, though my death be there. Nor heart to perpetrate a wilful sin, Though I with safety large renown might win ; And for omitting it were sure to die, Ne'er to be thought on but with infamy. I have not their base cruelty, who can Insult upon an over-grieved man, 389 Or tread on him that at rny feet doth bow ; For I protest, no villany I know That could be done me ; but if I perceiv'd (Or thought) the doer without feigning griev'd, I truly could forgive him, as if he Had never in a thought abused me. And if my love to mercy I belie, Let God deny me mercy when I die. I have not that unhappiness to be A rich man's son, for he had trained me In some vain path., and I had never sought That knowledge which my poverty hath taught, I have no inclination to respect Each vulgar compliment, nor yet neglect An honest shew of friendship; for, I swear, I rather wish that I deceived were, Than of so base a disposition be As to distrust, 'til cause were given me. I have no constitution to accord To aught dishonest, sooner for a lord Than for his meanest groom, and hopes there be It never will be otherwise with me. J have no politics, to make me seem A man well worthy of the world's esteem. 390 Nor have I hope, I shall hereafter grow To any more regard for saying so. / have no doubt, though here a slighted thing, But I am favorite to Heaven's great king. Nor have I fear, but all that's good in me, Shall in my life or death rewarded be. But yet i" have not that attained, for which Those who account this nothing, think me rich j Nor that which they do reckon worth esteem, To whom the riches of the mind do seem A scornful poverty ; but let that go ; Men cannot prize the pearls they do not know. Nor have I power to teach them, for, if I Should here consume my gift of poesy, (And wholly waste my spirits, to express What rich contents a poor estate may bless) It were impossible to move the sense Of those brave things in their intelligence. J have not found on what I may rely, Unless it carry some divinity To make me confident, for, all the glory, And all hopes fail, in things mere transitory. What man is there among us doth not know, A thousand men this night to bed will go, Of many a hundred goodly things possest, 3()1 That shall have nought to-morrow but a chest And one poor sheet to lie in : What I may Next morning have, I know not; but to-day A friend, meat, drink, and litting clothes to wear. Some books and papers, which my jewels are, A servant and a horse ; all this I have, And when I die, one promis'd me a grave ; A grave, that quiet closet of content j — And I have built myself a monument. But, as I live, excepting only this, (Which of my wealth the inventory is) I have so little, I my oath might save, If I should take it, that / nothing have. pc3 NEC CAREO. And yet what want I? or who knoweth how, I may be richer made than I am now ? Or what great peer or wealthy alderman, Bequeath his son so great a fortune can ? / nothing want that needful is to have ; Sought I no more than nature bids me crave. For, as we see the smallest phials may As full as greatest glasses be, though they Much less contain ; so my small portion gives That full content to me, in which he lives, Who most possesseth ; and with larger store I might fill others, but myself no more. I want not temperance, to rest content With what the providence of God hath lent; Nor want I a sufficiency, to know Which way to use it, if he more bestow. For, as when me one horse would easier bear, To ride on two at once it madness were : And as when one small bowl might quench my thirst, To lift a vessel that my back might burst, Were wond'rous folly. So absurd a thing 394 It were in trie, should I neglect a spring (Whose plenty may a country's want supply) To dwell by some small pool that would be dry. If therefore aught do happen in the way, Which on a just occasion seek I may, / want not resolution to make trial, Nor want I patience if I have denial. Men ask me what preferment I have gain'd, What riches by my studies are attain'd, And those that fed and fatten'd are with draff For their destruction, please themselves to laugh At my low fate ; as if I nought had got (For my enriching) 'cause they saw it not. Alas ! that mole-ey'd issue cannot see What patrimonies are bestow'd on me. There is a braver wealthiness, than what They (by abundance) have arrived at. Had I their wealth, I should not sleep the more Securely for it ; and were I as poor In outward fortunes, as men shipwreck'd are, I should (of poverty) have no more fear Than if I had the riches and the powers Of all the eastern kings and emperors. For grass, though trod into the earth, may grow, And highest cedars have an overthrow; Yea, I have seen as many beggar 'd by Their father's wealth and much prosperity, As have by want misdone ; and for each one, 3Q3 Whom by his riches I advane'd have known, 1 three could reckon, who through being poor, Have rais'd their fortunes and their friends the more. To what contents do men most wealthy mount, Which I enjoy not, if their cares we count ? My clothing keeps me full as warm as their; My meats unto my taste as pleasing are ; I feed enough my hunger to suffice ; I sleep 'til I myself am pleas'd to rise ; My dreams as sweet and full of quiet be; My waking cares as seldom trouble me ; I have as oftentimes a sunny day, And sport, and laugh, and sing as well as they; I breath as wholesome and as sweet an air, As loving is my mistress, and as fair; My body is as healthy, and I find As little cause of sickness in my mind ; I am as wise, I think, as some of those, And oft myself as foolishly dispose ; For, of the wisest, I am none (as yet) And I have nigh as little hair as wit; Of neither have I aught to let to farm, Nor so much want I as may keep me warm. I find my liver sound, my joints well knit, Youth and good diet are my doctors yet. Not on potatoes or eringoea feed I, 39 443 As that (although he know mc innocent, And how those miseries I underwent In love to him) he yet deny me should One gentle look, though that sutliee me could ; And (truly griev'd, to make me) bring in place My well-known foe, to scorn me to my face. Let this befall me ; and with this, beside, Let me be for the faulty friend beli'd ; Let my religion and my honesty Be counted 'til my death hypocrisy; And when I die, let, 'til the general doom, My name each hour into question come, For sins I never did ; and if to this You aught can add, which yet more grievous is, Let that befall me too ; so that in me Those comforts may increase, that springing be, To help me bear it ; let that grace descend, Of which I now some portion apprehend ; And then, as I already heretofore (Upon my Maker's strength relying) swore, So now I swear again, — if aught it could God's glory further, that I suffer should, Those miseries recited, J nor care How soon they seiz'd me, nor how long they were ; For he can make them pleasures, and I know As long as he inflicts them, will do so. 444 Nor unto this assurance am I come, By ony apothegmes gathered from Our old and much-admir'd philosophers. My sayings are mine own as well as their's: For whatsoe'er account of them is made, I have as good experience of them had ; Yea, when I die (though now they slighted be) The times to come for them shall honor me, And praise that mind of mine, which now, per- chance, Shall be reputed foolish arrogance. O that my lines were able to express The cause and ground of this my carelessness ; That I might show you what brave things they be, Which at this instant are a fire in me ! Fools may deride me, and suppose that this No more but some vain-glorious humour is, Or such-like idle motion, as may rise From furious and distemper'd phantasies. But let their thoughts be free, I know the flame That is within me, and from whence it came ; Such things have fill'd me, that I feel my brain Wax giddy those high raptures to contain. They raise my spirits, which now whirling be, As if they meant to take their leave of me ; And could these strains of contemplation stay To lift me higher still but half a day, 444 By that time they would mount to such a height, That all my cares would have an end to-night. But, oh ! I feel the fumes of flesh and blood To clog those spirits in me, and, like mud, They sink again ; more dimly burn my fires ; To her low pitch my muse again retires ; And as her heavenly flames extinguished be, The more I find my cares to burthen me. Yet, I believe I was enlighten'd so, That never shall my spirit stoop so low To let the servile thoughts and dunghill cares Of common minds entrap me in their snares. For still I value not those things of nought, For which the greatest part take greatest thought Much for the world I care not, and confess, Desire I do my care for it were less. I do not care (for aught they me could harm) If with more mischiefs this last age did swarm ; Yea, such poor joy I have, or care to see The best contents these times can promise me ; And that small fear of any plague at all, Or miseries, which on this age may fall ; That, but for charity, 1 did not care If all those coming storms, which some do fear, Were now descending down ; for hell can make No uproar which my peaceful thoughts may shake, 446 I founded have my hopes on him that hath A shelter for me in the day of wrath ; And I have trust I shall, without amaze, Look up, when all burns round me in a blaze. And if to have these thoughts and this mind known, Shall spread God's praise no further than mine own; Or if this shall no more instructive be To others, than it glory is to me, Here let it perish, and be hurled by Into oblivion everlastingly : For with this mind I can be pleas'd as much, Though none but I myself did know it such ; And he that hath contentment needs not care What other men's opinions of it are. I care not, though for many griefs to come, To live a hundred years it were my doom ; Nor care 1, though I summon'd be away At night, to-morrow morning, or to-day. I care not whether this you read or no ; Nor whether you believe it, if you do. I care not whether any man suppose All this from judgment or from rashness flows; Nor mean I to take care what any man Will think thereof, or comment on it can. 447 I care not who shall fondly censure it, Because it was not with more method writ, Or tram'd in imitation of the strain In some deep Grecian or old Roman vein ; Yea, though that all men living should despise These thoughts in me, to heed or patronize, I vow, J care not ; and I vow, no less 1 care not, who dislikes this careksness. My mind's my kingdom, and I will permit No other's will to have the rule of it; For I am free, and no man's power, I know, Did make me thus, nor shall unmake me now. But through a spirit none can quench in me, This mind I got ; and this my mind shall be. To EN FY. Now look upon ine, Envy, if thou dare, Part all thy malice, shoot me everywhere; Try all the ways thou canst to make me feel The cruel sharpness of thy poison'd steel ; For I am envy-proof, and scorn I do The worst thy canker'd spite can urge thee to. This word, J cart not, is so strong a charm, That he who speaks it truly fears no harm, Which thy accursed rancour harbour may, Or his perversest fortunes on him lay. Go, hateful fury, hag ! go hide thou then, Thy snaky head in thy abhorred den ; And since thou canst not have thy will of me, There, damned fiend, thine own tormentress be ; Thy forked stings upon thy body turn; With hellish flames thy scorched entrails burn ; From thy lean carcase thy black sinews tear ; With thine own venom burst and perish there. Nee Habeo, ncc Carco> nee Cure, A POSTSCRIPT. Quite through this island hath my motto rung, And twenty days are past since up L hung My bold impreza ; which defiance throws At all the malice of fair Virtue's foes. The good approve it, and so crown the cause Of this my resolution with applause, That such as spite it dare not to appear In opposition to the challenger. Their malice would enforce them, but it lies Oppressed yet with fearful cowardice ; For they so arm'd have found me, that they fear I may (in spite of all their envy) bear The conquest from them, and upon the face Of their bespotted fame stick more disgrace. This makes them storm in private, slander, rail, Threat, libel, rhime, detract ; and to prevail Upon my patience, try their utmost art; But I still mind my motto's latter part, And care not for it; which more makes them chafT, And still the more they fret, the more I laugh. 450 But now their envies have so well conspir'd, That they have fram'd the project they desir'd ; .And took such course, that (if their word you take) Shall move my choler and my patience shake. Forsooth, some rhymers they have hir'd, to chew Their rancour into balladry, and spew Their black despite, which to a drunken note, They, in a hundred taverns have, by rote, Already belch'd unto that auditory, Who are the fittest trumpets of their story. When their inventions (by the power divine Of much-inspiring sack and claret wine) Are ripen'd to the highest, then, they say The stationer expecls it every day ; And that he may a saving bargain make, Aforehand doth his customers bespeak. But when these brain-worms crawling forth you spy (As pity 'twere such wit should smother'd lie) They will bewray the sires, and make't appear That ignorance and envy parents were To that despiteful issue ; so that he, Who shall a rush the less esteem of me For aught there writ, even he, is one of them Whose hate and whose affeclion I contemn, The instruments tlicy get to serve the turn, Arc those that arc unworthy of my scorn, And if contend or answer them I should, It more might wrong me, than their rh iming could. As therefore, when an armed soldier feels A testy cur, in vain to gnaw his heels, He minds not him, but spends his blows upon Those churlish peasants that did set him on. So I, that know these dogs do but their kind ; Well, let them bark and snarl, and spend their wind. Til they grow weary ; but let them sit strong That urge the in to it, or I lay along Their high top-gallant, where each groom shall see How worthy scorn and infamy they be. For they who are their patrons, are such foes, As I may somewhat worthily oppose ; And I'll unmask them so, that you shall spy In them, detraction's true anatomy; Yea, whereas they have by their malice thought To have on me their spiteful pleasures wrought, I'll from their censures an occasion take To shew, how other men a sport shall make At all detractions ; so those slaves undo, Who that base pra&ice are inclin'd unto. eg 452 Rail, they that list; far those men know not yet What mind I have, who think the man that writ This Motto can be ever brought to fear Such poor fond things as idle carpers are ; Nay, rather from those slanders they shall raise, I will advantage gather for my praise ; While they that in my shame would take delight, Shall gnaw their flesh through vengeance ajid de- spite, To see how I unmov'd their envy mock, And make of them this age's laughing-stock. For, lest to have prevailed they should seem, And so grow wise men in their own esteem, (Or by their foolish brags dishearten such W'hose resolutions are not grown so much) When I at leisure am, for recreation, I'll merry make myself, to their vexation ; Yet shall my mirth from malice be so free, That though I bitter to the guilty be, It shall appear that I in love do scourge them, That of their foul corruptions I may purge them : And that it may be known how virtue hath A sting to punish, though not mov'd to wrath. But go, and for the pamphlet seek about, For yet, ere night, 'tis thought, it will come out. Yet, when you find it, do not look for there 453 I (is wit alone, whose name you see it bear, (For though you nothing can colled from thence, But foal-mouth'd language, rhime and impudence) Yet there expect, since 'tis the common cause Of all crow-poets and poetic-daws Which I have touch 'd, that all the brotherhood Will lend their wits to make the quarrel good ; For to that purpose they are all combin'd. Yea, to their strong confederacy are join'd That corporation, by whose patronage Such poetry hath flourish'd in this age ; And some beside, that dare not yet be known, Have favor to this goodly project shown. But let them join their force, for I had rather Ten millions should themselves against me gather (And plot and practice for my overthrow) Than be the conqueror of one base foe. For, as mine enemies increasing be, So resolution doth increase in me ; And if I must have foes, my fates shall friend me, If great and noble enemies they send me. But whether on mean foes or great I light, My spirit will be greater than their spite. Og2 AX EPIGRAM Written by the Author, on his own Picture, where this Motto was inscribed. Thus other's loves have set my shadow forth, To fill a room, with names of greater worth ; And me amongst the rest they set to show ; Yet what I am, I pray mistake not, though. Imagine me nor earl, nor lord, nor knight, Nor any new-advanced favorite ; For, you would swear, if this well pi&ur'd me, That such an one I ne'er was like to be. No child of purblind fortune was I born, For all that issue holdeth me in scorn ; Yet, He that made me hath assur'd me too, Fortune can make no such, nor such undo ; And bids me in no favors take delight, But what 1 shall acquire in her despite. Which mind, in rags, I rather wish to bear, Than rise, through baseness, bravest robes to wear. Part of my outside hath the picture shown ; Part of my inside by these lines is known : And 'tis no matter of a rush to me, How this or that shall now esteemed be. ! rt rt _ -^ .£ 5§Q a 1 a o n Q- y. -— pa en to 9 P 3" — — El 0 o c pa — 3 P3 orq H 3" O C/i n