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EPISTLE TO SIR EDWARD SACKVILE,
NOW EARLE OF DORSET.
OR scorne, or pittie on me take,
I am undone to night;
Hath both my heart and me surpriz'd, Whom never yet he durst attempt t'awake ; Nor will he tell me for wbose sake
He did me the delight,
Of sleepe againe; who was his aid,
And sleepe so guiltie and afraid, As since he dares not come within my sight.
EPITAPH ON MASTER VINCENT CORBET.
I have my pietie too, which could
Would say as much, as both have done
Before me here, the friend and sonne ; For I both lost a friend and father, Of him whose bones this grave doth gather ;
Deare Vincent Corbet, who so long
Had wrestled with diseases strong, That though they did possess each limbe, Yet he broke them, e're they could him,
With the just canon of his life,
A life that knew nor noise, nor strife ;
His mind as pure, and neatly kept,
As were his nourceries; and swept
And adde his actions unto these,
They were as specious as his trees.
They were so even, grave, and holy ;
No stubbornnesse so stiffe, nor folly
His lookes would so correct it, when
It chid the vice, yet uot the men.
But that I understood him scant,
Now I conceive him by my want,
For truly, since he left to be,
If Sackvile, all that have the power to doe
Can I owe thankes, for courtesies receiv'd Against his will that does 'hem? that hath weav'd Excuses, or delayes ? or done 'hem scant, That they have more opprest me, then my want? Or if he did it not to succour me, But by meere chance for interest? or to free Himselfe of farther trouble, or the weight Of pressure, like one taken in a streight? All this corrupts the thankes, lesse hath he wonne, That puts it in his debt-booke e're 't be done ; Or that doth sound a trumpet, and doth call His groomes to witnesse; or else lets it fall In that proud manner: as a good so gain'd, Must make me sad for what I have obtain'd. [face,
No! gifts and thankes should have one cheerefull So each, that's done, and tane, becomes a brace. He neither gives, or does, that doth delay A benefit, or that doth throw't away, No more then he doth thanke, that will receive Nought but in corners; and is loath to leave, Lest ayre, or print, but flies it: such men would Run from the conscience of it if they could.
As I have seene some infants of the sword Well knowne, and practiz'd borrowers on their word, Give thankes by stealth, and whispering in the eare, For what they straight would to the world forsweare; And speaking worst of those from whom they went But then fist fill'd, to put me off the sent. Now dam'mee, sir, if you shall not command My sword ('tis but a poore sword understand) As farre as any poore sword i' the land : Then turning unto him is next at hand, Damns whom he damn'd too, is the veriest gull, H’as feathers, and will serve a man to pull.
Are they not worthy to be answer'd so, That to such natures let their full hands flow, And seeke not wants to succour: but inquire, Like money-brokers, after names, and bire
Reader, whose life, and name, did e're become
An epitaph, deserv'd a tombe:
Who makes the one, so't be first makes both.
Their bounties forth to him that last was made, In time 'twill be a beape; this is not true
Yet we must more then move still, or goe on, Theirthoughts and meanes to making loude the cry; We must accomplish; 'tis the last key-stone But one is bitten by the dog he fed,
That makes the arch, the rest that there were put And hurt, seeks cure; the surgeon bids take bread, Are nothing till that comes to bind and shut. And spunge-like with it dry up the blood quite, Then stands it a triumphall marke! then men Then give it to the hound that did him bite: Observe the strength, the height, the why, and when, Pardon, sayes he, that were a way to see
It was erected; and still walking under All the towne-curs take each their snatch at me. Meet some new matter to looke up and wonder! . O, is it so ? knowes he so much ? and will
Such notes are vertuous men! they live as fast Feed those, at whom the table points at still? As they are high; are rooted and will last. I not deny it, but to helpe the need
They need no stilts, nor rise upon their toes, Of any, is a great and generous deed:
As if they would belie their stature, those Yea, of th' ingratefull: and lie forth must tell Are dwarfes of bononr, and have neither weight Many a pound and piece will place one well; Nor fashion; if they chance aspire to height, But these men ever want : their very trade "Tis like light canes, that first rise big and brave, Is borrowing; that but stopt, they doe invade Shoot forth in smooth and comely spaces; have All as their prize, turne pyrats here at land, But few and fair divisions : but being got Ha’their Bermudas, and their Streights i' th’Strand; Aloft, grow lesse and streightned, full of knot, Man out of their boates th' Temple, and not shil And last, goe out in nothing: you that see Now, but command; make tribute what was gift; Their difference, cannot choose which you will be. And it is paid 'hem with a trembling zeale You know (without my flatt'ring you) too much And superstition, I dare scarce reveale
Por me to be your indice. Keep you such, If it were cleare, but being so in cloud
That I may love your person (as I doe) Carryed and wrapt, I only am aloud
Without your gift, though I can rate that too, My wonder! why? the taking a clownes purse, By thanking thus the courtesie to life, Or robbing the poore market-folkes, should nurse Which you will bury, but therein, the strife Such a religious horroar in the brests
May grow so great to be example, when Of our towne gallantry! or why there rests (As their true rule or lesson) either men, Such worship due to kicking of a punck!
Donnors or donnees, to their practise shall Or swaggering with the watch, or drawer drunke; Find you to reckon nothing, me owe all. Or feats of darknesse acted in mid-sun, And told of with more licence then th' were done! Sure there is misterie in it, I not know That men such reverence to such actions show! And almost deifie the authors ! make Lowd sacrifice of drinke, for their health-sake; Reare suppers in their names! and spend whole nights EPISTLE TO MASTER JOIN SELDEN. Unto their praise, in certaine swearing rites: Cannot a man be reck'ned in the state
I KNOW to whom I write here, I am sure, Of valour, but at this idolatrous rate?
Though I am short, I cannot be obscure: I thought that fortitude had beene a meane Lesse shall I for the art or dressing care, 'Twixt feare and rashnesse: not a lust obscene, Truth and the Graces best when naked are. Or appetite of offending, but a skill
Your booke, my Selden, I have read, and much Or science of a discerning good and ill.
Was trusted, that you thought ny judgement such And you, sir, know it well, to whom I write, To aske it: though in most of workes it be That with these mixtures we put out her light; A pennance, where a man may not be free, Her ends are honestie, and publike good!
Rather then office, when it doth or may And where they want, she is not understood. Chance that the friend's affection proves allay No more are these of us, then let them goe, Unto the censure. Yours all need doth flie I have the lyst of mine owne faults to know, Of this so vitious humanitie, Looke to and cure; he's not a man hath none, Then wbich there is not unto studie a more But like to be that every day mends one,
Perpitious enemie. We see before And feeles it; else he tarries by the beast.
A many of bookes, even good judgements wound Can I discerne how shadowes are decreast, Themselves throngh favouring what is there not Or growne, by height or lownesse of the sunne? But I on yours farre otherwise shall doe, (found : And can 1 lesse of substance? when I runne, Not flie the crime, but the suspition too: Ride, saile, am coach’d, know I how farre I have gone, Though I confesse (as every Muse hath err'd, And my minds motion not? or have 1 none: And mine not least) I have too oft preferrid (much, No! he must feele and know, that will advance; Men, past their termes, and prais'd some pames too Men have been great, but never good by chance, But 'twas with purpose to have made them such, Or on the sudden. It were strange that he Since being deceiv'd, I tumne a sbarper eye Who was this morning such a one, should be Upon my selfe, and aske to whom? and why? Sydney e'er night? or that did goe to bed And what I write? and vexe it many dayes Coriat, should rise the most sufficient head Before men get a verse, much lesse a praise; Of Christendome? And neither of these know, So that my reader is assur'd, I now Were the rack offer'd them, how they came so; Meane what I speake, and still will keepe that row. 'Tis by degrees that men arrive at glad
Stand forth my object, then, you that have beenie Profit; in ought each day some little adde, Ever at home, yet have all countries seene :
And like a compasse, keeping one foot still It is a call to keepe the spirits alive,
That gaspe for action, and would yet revive
Looke on the false and cunning man, that loves Whatblots and errours, have you watch'd and purg'd No person, nor is lov’d; what wayes he proves Records and authors of! how rectified
To gaine upon his belly; and at last Times, manners, customes ! innovations spide ! Crush'd in the snakie brakes, that he had past! Sought out the fountaines, sources, creekes, paths, See, the grave, sower, and supercilious sir And noted the beginnings and decayes! (wayes, In outward face, but inward, light as furre, Where is that nominall marke, or reall rite,
Or feathers, lay his fortune out to show, Forme, act, or ensigne, that hath scap'd your sight? Till envie wound, or maime it at a blow! How are traditions there examin'd! how
See him that's call’d, and thought the happiest man, Conjectures retriev'd ! and a storie now
Honour'd at once, and envi’d (if it can And then of times (besides the bare conduct Be honour is so mixt) by such as would, Of what it tells us) weav'd in to instruct.
For all their spight, be like him if they could: I wonder'd at the richnesse, but am lost,
No part or corner man can looke upon, To see the workmanship so 'xceed the cost ! But there are objects bid him to be gode To marke the excellent seas’ning of your stile ! As farre as he can flie, or follow day, And manly elocution, not one while
Rather then here so bogg'd in vices stas: With horrour rough, then rioting with wit! The whole world here leaven'd with madnesse swells; But to the subject still the colours fit,
And being a thing blowne out of nought, rebells In sharpnesse of all search, wisdome of choise, Against his Maker; high alone with weeds, Newnesse of sense, antiquitie of voice !
Aud impious ranknesse of all sects and seeds: I yeeld, 1 yeeld, the matter of your praise Not to be checkt, or frighted now with fate, Flowes in upon me, and I cannot raise
But more licentious made, and desperate! A banke against it. Nothing but the round Our delicacies are growne capitall, Large claspe of nature, such a wit can bound. And even our sports are dangers! what we call Monarch in letters ! 'mongst the titles showne
Friendship is now mask'd hatred! justice fled, Of others honours, thus, enjoy thy owne.
And shamefastnesse together! all lawes dead I first salute thee so; and gratulate
That kept man living ! pleasures only sought! With that thy stile, thy keeping of thy state;
Honour and honestie, as poore things thought In offering this thy worke to no great name, (same, As they are made! pride and stiffe clownage mixt That would, perhaps, have prais’d, and thank'd thé To make up greatnesse! and man's whole good fix'd But nought beyond. He thou hast given it to, In bravery, in gluttony, or coyne, Thy learned chamber-fellow, knowes to doe All which he makes the servants of the groine, It true respects. He will not only love,
Thither it flowes: how much did Stallion spend Embrace, and cherish ; but he can approve To have his court-bred-lillie there commend And estimate thy paines; as having wrought
His lace and starch; and fall upon her back In the same mines of knowledge; and thence brought In admiration, stretch'd upon the rack Humanitie enough to be a friend,
Of lust, to his rich suit, and title, lord ? And strength to be a champion, and defend 1, that's a charme and halfe! she must afford Thy gift 'gainst envie. O how I doe count That all respect; she must lie downe: pay more Among my commings in, and see it mount, 'Tis there civilitie to be a whore; The graine of your two friendships! Hayward and He's one of blood, and fashion and with these Selden! two names that so much understand! The bravery makes, she can no honour leese: On whom I could take up, and ne're abuse To do't with cloth, or stuffes, lust's name might merit; The credit, what would furnish a tenth Mose! With velvet, plush, and tissues, it is spirit. But here's no time, nor place, my wealth to te!),
O, these so ignorant monsters! light, as proud, You both are modest. So am I. Farewell.
Who can bebold their manners, and not clowd-
And every dressing for a pitfall set
To catch the flesh in, and to pound a
Be at their visits, see 'hem squemish, sick, TO PERSWADE HIM TO THE WARRES. Ready to cast, at one, whose band sits ill,
And then leape mad on a neat pickardill; Wake, friend, from forth thy lethargie: the drum As if a brize were gotten i' their tayle, Beats brave, and loude in Europe, and bids come And firke, and jerkc, and for the coach-man raile, All that dare rowse: or are not loth to quit And jealous of each other, yet thinke long Their vitious ease, and be u'rewhelm'd with it. To be abroad chanting some baudie song,
And langh, and measure thighes, then squeake, | In this, and like, an itch of vanitie, spring, itch,
That scratching now's our best felicitie? Doc all the tricks of a saut lady bitch;
Well, let it goe. Yet this is better, then For t’ other pound of sweet-meats, be shall feele To lose the formes, and dignities of men, That payes, or what he will. The dame is steele: To flatter my good lord, and cry his boule For these with her young companie she'll enter, Runs sweetly, as it had his lordship's soule: Whore Pittes, or Wright, or Modet would not venter, Although perhaps it has, what's that to me, And comes by these degrees, the stile tinherit That may stand by, and hold my peace? will he Of woman of fashion, and a lady of spirit: When I am hoarse, with praising his each cast, Nor is the title question’d with our proud,
Give me but that againe, that I must wast Great, brave, and fashion'd folke, these are allow'd: In sugar candide, or in butter'd beere, Adulteries now, are not so hid, or strange,
for the recovery of my voyce? No, there They 're growne commoditie upon exchange; Pardon his lordship. Flattry's growne so cheape He that will follow but another's wife,
With him, for he is followed with that heape Is lov'd, though he let out his owne for life: That watch, and catch, at what they may applaud, The husband now's call'd churlish, or a poore As a poore single flatterer, without band Nature, that will not let his wife be a whore; Is vothing, such scarce meat and drinke ke'le give, Or use all arts, or haunt all companies
But he that's both, and slave to both, shall live, That may corrupt her, even in his eyes.
And be below'd, while the whores last. O times ! The brother trades a sister; and the friend Friend, flie from hence; and let these kindled rimes Lives to thé lord, but to the ladie's end.
Light thee from Hell on Earth: where fatterers, Lesse must not be thought on then mistresse: or
spies, If it be thought, kild like her embrions ; for, Informers, masters both of arts and lies, Whom no great mistresse hath as yet infam'd, Lewd slanderers, soft whisperers, that let blood A fellow of course letcherie is nam’d,
The life, and fame-vaynes (yet not understood The servant of the serving-woman in scorne, Of the poore sufferers) where the envious, proud, Ne're eame to taste the plenteous mariage-horne. Ambitious, factious, superstitious, lowd
Thus they doe talke. And are these objects fit Boasters, and perjur'd, with the infinite more For man to spend his money on? his wit? Prevaricators swarme: of which the store, Histime? health? soule? will he for these goe throw (Because th' are every where amongst man-kind Those thousands on his back, shall after blow Spread through the world) is easier farre to fiud, His body to the Counters, or the Fleete?
Then once to number, or bring forth to hand, Is it for these that fine man meets the street Though thou wert muster-master of the land. Coach'd, or on foot-cloth, thrice chang'd every day, Goe quit 'hem all. And take along with thee, To teach each suit, be has the ready way
Thy true friend's wishes, Colby, which shall be, From Hide-Parke to the stage, where at the last That thine be just, and honest, that thy deeds His deare and borrow'd bravery he must cast ? Not wound thy conscience, when thy body bleeds ; When not his combes, bis curling-irons, his glasse, That thou dost all things more for truth, then glory, Sweet bags, sweet powders, norsweet words will passe And never but for doing wrong be sory; For lesse securitie? 0 - for these
That by commanding first thy selfe, thou mak'st Is it that man pulls on himselfe disease ?
Thy person fit for any charge thou tak’st; Surfet ? and quarrell? driukes the tother health ? That fortune never make thee to complaine, Or by damnation voids it? or by stealth ? But what she gives, thou dar'st give her againe ; What furie of late is crept into our feasts? That whatsoever face thy fate puts on, What honour given to the drunkennest guests? Thou shrinke or start not, but be alwayes one; What reputation to beare one glasse more? That thou thinke nothing great, but what is good, When oft the bearer is borne out of dore ?
And from that thought strive to be understood. This hath our ill-us'd freedome, and soft peace So, 'live or dead, thou wilt preserve a fame Brought on us, and will every houre increase; Still pretious, with the odour of thy name. Our vices, doe not tarry in a place,
And last, blaspheme not; we did never heare But being in motion still (or rather in race) Man thought the valianter,'cause he durst sweare, Tilt one upon another, and now beare
No more, then we should thinke a lord bad had This way, now that, as if their number were More honour in him, 'cause we'ave knowne him mad: More then themselves, or then our lives could take, These take, and now goe seeke thy peace in warre, But both fell prest under the load they make. Who falls for love of God, shall rise a starre.
I'le bid thee looke no more, but fee, flee friend,
EPITAPH ON MASTER PHILIP GRAY. He that no more for age, cramps, palsies, can Now use the bones, we see doth hire a man
Reader stay, To take the box up for him ; and pursues
And if I had no more to say,
But here doth lie till the last day,
It might thy patience richly pay:
What suretie of life bare thou, and I.
You blush, but doe not: friends are either none, EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.
(Though they may number bodyes) or but one.
l'le therefore aske no more, but bid you love; They are not, sir, worst owers, that doe pay
And so, that either may example prove Debts when they can: good men may breake their Unto the other ; and live patternes, how day;
Others, in time, may love, as we doe now. And yet the noble nature never grudge,
Slip no occasion ; as tiine stands not still, 'T is then a crime, when the usurer is judge :
know no beautie, nor no youth that will. And he is not in friendship. Nothing there
To use the present, then, is not abuse, Is done for gaine: if 't be, 't is not sincere.
You have a husband is the just excuse Nor should i at this time protested be,
Of all that can be done him; such a one But that some greater names have broke with me,
As would make shift, to make himselfe alone And their words too, where I but breake my band :' That which we can; who both in you, his wife, I adde that (but) because I understand
His issue, and all circumstance of life That as the lesser breach: for he that takes
As in his place, because he would not varie,
Is constant to be extraordinarie.
A SATYRICALL SHRUB.
A woman's friendship! God, whom I trust in,
No more, I am sorry for so fond cause, say
At fifty yeares, almost, to value it,
That ne're was knowne to last above a fit, Can beantie, that did prompt me first to write,
Or have the least of good, but what it must Now threaten, with those meanes sbe did invite:
Put on for fashion, aod take up on trust ; Did her perfections call me on to gaze!
Knew I all this afore? had I perceiv'd, Then like, then love; and now would they amaze! That their whole life was wickednesse, though weard Or was she gracious a-farre off? but neere
Of many colours; outward, fresh from spots, A terrour? or is all this but my feare?
But their whole inside full of ends, and knots ? 'That as the water makes things, put in 't, streight, Were such as I will now relate, or worse.
Knew 1, that all their dialogues, and discourse, Crooked appeare; so that doth my conceipt: I can helpe that with boldnesse ; and love sware, And fortune once, t' assist the spirits that dare.
(Here, something is wanting.)
How penitent I am, or I should be.
And that pour'd out upon man-kind, can be !
I could forgive ber being proud ! a whore ! If it be thus; come love, and fortune goe,
Perjur’d! and painted ! if she were no more, l'le lead you on; or if my fate will so,
But she is such, as she might, yet forestall That I must send one first, my choyce assignes, The Devill; and be the damning of us all. Love to my heart, and fortune to my lines,
LITTLE SHRUB GROWING BY, By those bright eyes, at whose immortall fires
Aske not to know this man. If Fame should speake Love lights his torches to inflame desires;
His name in any mettall, it would breake. By that faire stand, your forehead, whence he bends
Two letters were enough the plague to teare His double bow, and round his arrowes sends;
Out of his grave, and poyson every eare. By that tall grove, your haire, whose globy rings
A parcell of court-durt, a heape, and masse He flying curles, and crispeth with his wings;
Of all vice hurld together, there he was,
Of putrid flesh alive! of blood, the sinke!