Part 8

Friend, if you thinke my Papers may supplie You, with some strange omitted Noueltie, Which others Letters yet haue left vntould, You take me off, before I can take hould Of you at all; I put not thus to Sea, For two monthes Voyage to _Virginia_, With newes which now, a little something here, But will be nothing ere it can come there. I feare, as I doe Stabbing; this word, State, I dare not speake of the _Palatinate_, 10 Although some men make it their hourely theame, And talke what's done in _Austria_, and in _Beame_, I may not so; what _Spinola_ intends, Nor with his _Dutch_, which way Prince _Maurice_ bends; To other men, although these things be free, Yet (GEORGE) they must be misteries to mee. I scarce dare praise a vertuous friend that's dead, Lest for my lines he should be censured; It was my hap before all other men To suffer shipwrack by my forward pen: 20 When King IAMES entred; at which ioyfull time I taught his title to this Ile in rime: And to my part did all the Muses win, With high-pitch _Pæans_ to applaud him in: When cowardise had tyed vp euery tongue, And all stood silent, yet for him I sung; And when before by danger I was dar'd, I kick'd her from me, nor a iot I spar'd. Yet had not my cleere spirit in Fortunes scorne, Me aboue earth and her afflictions borne; 30 He next my God on whom I built my trust, Had left me troden lower then the dust: But let this passe; in the extreamest ill, _Apollo's_ brood must be couragious still, Let Pies, and Dawes, sit dumb before their death, Onely the Swan sings at the parting breath. And (worthy GEORGE) by industry and vse, Let's see what lines _Virginia_ will produce; Goe on with OVID, as you haue begunne, With the first fiue Bookes; let your numbers run 40 Glib as the former, so shall it liue long, And doe much honour to the _English_ tongue: Intice the Muses thither to repaire, Intreat them gently, trayne them to that ayre, For they from hence may thither hap to fly, T'wards the sad time which but to fast doth hie, For Poesie is follow'd with such spight, By groueling drones that neuer raught her height, That she must hence, she may no longer staye: The driery fates prefixed haue the day, 50 Of her departure, which is now come on, And they command her straight wayes to be gon; That bestiall heard so hotly her pursue, And to her succour, there be very few, Nay none at all, her wrongs that will redresse, But she must wander in the wildernesse, Like to the woman, which that holy IOHN Beheld in _Pathmos_ in his vision. As th' _English_ now, so did the stiff-neckt _Iewes_, Their noble Prophets vtterly refuse, 60 And of these men such poore opinions had; They counted _Esay_ and _Ezechiel_ mad; When _Ieremy_ his Lamentations writ, They thought the Wizard quite out of his wit, Such sots they were, as worthily to ly, Lock't in the chaines of their captiuity, Knowledge hath still her Eddy in her Flow, So it hath beene, and it will still be so. That famous _Greece_ where learning flourisht most, Hath of her muses long since left to boast, 70 Th' vnlettered _Turke_, and rude _Barbarian_ trades, Where HOMER sang his lofty _Iliads_; And this vaste volume of the world hath taught, Much may to passe in little time be brought. As if to _Symptoms_ we may credit giue, This very time, wherein we two now liue, Shall in the compasse, wound the Muses more, Then all the old _English_ ignorance before; Base Balatry is so belou'd and sought, And those braue numbers are put by for naught, 80 Which rarely read, were able to awake, Bodyes from graues, and to the ground to shake The wandring clouds, and to our men at armes, 'Gainst pikes and muskets were most powerfull charmes. That, but I know, insuing ages shall, Raise her againe, who now is in her fall; And out of dust reduce our scattered rimes, Th' reiected iewels of these slothfull times, Who with the Muses would misspend an hower, But let blind Gothish Barbarisme deuoure 90 These feuerous Dogdays, blest by no record, But to be euerlastingly abhord. If you vouchsafe rescription, stuffe your quill With naturall bountyes, and impart your skill, In the description of the place, that I, May become learned in the soyle thereby; Of noble _Wyats_ health, and let me heare, The Gouernour; and how our people there, Increase and labour, what supplyes are sent, Which I confesse shall giue me much content; 100 But you may saue your labour if you please, To write to me ought of your Sauages. As sauage slaues be in great _Britaine_ here, As any one that you can shew me there And though for this, Ile say I doe not thirst, Yet I should like it well to be the first, Whose numbers hence into _Virginia_ flew, So (noble _Sandis_) for this time adue.

To my noble friend Master WILLIAM BROWNE, _of the euill time_

Deare friend, be silent and with patience see, What this mad times Catastrophe will be; The worlds first Wisemen certainly mistooke Themselues, and spoke things quite beside the booke, And that which they haue of said of God, vntrue, Or else expect strange iudgement to insue. This Isle is a meere Bedlam, and therein, We all lye rauing, mad in euery sinne, And him the wisest most men use to call, Who doth (alone) the maddest thing of all; 10 He whom the master of all wisedome found, For a marckt foole, and so did him propound, The time we liue in, to that passe is brought, That only he a Censor now is thought; And that base villaine, (not an age yet gone,) Which a good man would not haue look'd vpon; Now like a God, with diuine worship follow'd, And all his actions are accounted hollow'd. This world of ours, thus runneth vpon wheeles, Set on the head, bolt vpright with her heeles; 20 Which makes me thinke of what the _Ethnicks_ told Th' opinion, the Pythagorists vphold, Wander That the immortall soule doth transmigrate; From body Then I suppose by the strong power of fate, to body. And since that time now many a lingering yeare, Through fools, and beasts, and lunatiques haue past, Are heere imbodyed in this age at last, And though so long we from that time be gone, Yet taste we still of that confusion. For certainely there's scarse one found that now, 30 Knowes what t' approoue, or what to disallow, All arsey varsey, nothing is it's owne, But to our prouerbe, all turnd vpside downe; To doe in time, is to doe out of season, And that speeds best, thats done the farth'st from reason, Hee 's high'st that 's low'st, hee 's surest in that 's out, He hits the next way that goes farth'st about, He getteth vp vnlike to rise at all, He slips to ground as much vnlike to fall; Which doth inforce me partly to prefer, 40 _Zeno._ The opinion of that mad Philosopher, Who taught, that those all-framing powers aboue, (As 'tis suppos'd) made man not out of loue To him at all, but only as a thing, To make them sport with, which they vse to bring As men doe munkeys, puppets, and such tooles Of laughter: so men are but the Gods fooles. Such are by titles lifted to the sky, As wherefore no man knowes, God scarcely why; The vertuous man depressed like a stone, 50 For that dull Sot to raise himselfe vpon; He who ne're thing yet worthy man durst doe, Neuer durst looke vpon his countrey's foe, Nor durst attempt that action which might get Him fame with men: or higher might him set Then the base begger (rightly if compar'd;) This Drone yet neuer braue attempt that dar'd, Yet dares be knighted, and from thence dares grow To any title Empire can bestow; For this beleeue, that Impudence is now 60 A Cardinall vertue, and men it allow Reuerence, nay more, men study and inuent New wayes, nay, glory to be impudent. Into the clouds the Deuill lately got, And by the moisture doubting much the rot, A medicine tooke to make him purge and cast; Which in short time began to worke so fast, That he fell too 't, and from his backeside flew, A rout of rascall a rude ribauld crew Of base Plebeians, which no sooner light, 70 Vpon the earth, but with a suddaine flight, They spread this Ile, and as _Deucalion_ once Ouer his shoulder backe, by throwing stones They became men, euen so these beasts became, Owners of titles from an obscure name. He that by riot, of a mighty rent, Hath his late goodly Patrimony spent, And into base and wilfull beggery run This man as he some glorious acte had done, With some great pension, or rich guift releeu'd, 80 When he that hath by industry atchieu'd Some noble thing, contemned and disgrac'd, In the forlorne hope of the times is plac'd, As though that God had carelessely left all That being hath on this terrestriall ball, To fortunes guiding, nor would haue to doe With man, nor aught that doth belong him to, Or at the least God hauing giuen more Power to the Deuill, then he did of yore, Ouer this world: the feind as he doth hate 90 The vertuous man; maligning his estate, All noble things, and would haue by his will, To be damn'd with him, vsing all his skill, By his blacke hellish ministers to vexe All worthy men, and strangely to perplexe Their constancie, there by them so to fright, That they should yeeld them wholely to his might. But of these things I vainely doe but tell, Where hell is heauen, and heau'n is now turn'd hell; Where that which lately blasphemy hath bin, 100 Now godlinesse, much lesse accounted sin; And a long while I greatly meruail'd why Buffoons and Bawdes should hourely multiply, Till that of late I construed it that they To present thrift had got the perfect way, When I concluded by their odious crimes, It was for vs no thriuing in these times. As men oft laugh at little Babes, when they Hap to behold some strange thing in their play, To see them on the suddaine strucken sad, 110 As in their fancie some strange formes they had, Which they by pointing with their fingers showe, Angry at our capacities so slowe, That by their countenance we no sooner learne To see the wonder which they so discerne: So the celestiall powers doe sit and smile At innocent and vertuous men the while, They stand amazed at the world ore-gone, So farre beyond imagination, With slauish basenesse, that the silent sit 120 Pointing like children in describing it. Then noble friend the next way to controule These worldly crosses, is to arme thy soule With constant patience: and with thoughts as high As these be lowe, and poore, winged to flye To that exalted stand, whether yet they Are got with paine, that sit out of the way Of this ignoble age, which raiseth none But such as thinke their black damnation To be a trifle; such, so ill, that when 130 They are aduanc'd, those few poore honest men That yet are liuing, into search doe runne To finde what mischiefe they haue lately done, Which so preferres them; say thou he doth rise, That maketh vertue his chiefe exercise. And in this base world come what euer shall, Hees worth lamenting, that for her doth fall.

Vpon the three Sonnes of the Lord SHEFFIELD, _drowned in HVMBER_

Light Sonnets hence, and to loose Louers flie, And mournfull Maydens sing an Elegie On those three SHEFFIELDS, ouer-whelm'd with waues, Whose losse the teares of all the Muses craues; A thing so full of pitty as this was, Me thinkes for nothing should not slightly passe. Treble this losse was, why should it not borrowe, Through this Iles treble parts, a treble sorrowe: But Fate did this, to let the world to knowe, That sorrowes which from common causes growe, 10 Are not worth mourning for, the losse to beare, But of one onely sonne, 's not worth one teare. Some tender-hearted man, as I, may spend Some drops (perhaps) for a deceased friend. Some men (perhaps) their Wifes late death may rue; Or Wifes their Husbands, but such be but fewe. Cares that haue vs'd the hearts of men to tuch So oft, and deepely, will not now be such; Who'll care for loss of maintenance, or place, Fame, liberty, or of the Princes grace; 20 Or sutes in law, by base corruption crost, When he shall finde, that this which he hath lost, Alas, is nothing to his, which did lose, Three sonnes at once so excellent as those: Nay, it is feard that this in time may breed Hard hearts in men to their owne naturall seed; That in respect of this great losse of theirs, Men will scarce mourne the death of their owne heires. Through all this Ile their losse so publique is, That euery man doth take them to be his, 30 And as a plague which had beginning there, So catching is, and raigning euery where, That those the farthest off as much doe rue them, As those the most familiarly that knew them; Children with this disaster are wext sage, And like to men that strucken are in age; Talke what it is, three children at one time Thus to haue drown'd, and in their very prime; Yea, and doe learne to act the same so well, That then olde folke, they better can it tell. 40 Inuention, oft that Passion vs'd to faine, In sorrowes of themselves but slight, and meane, To make them seeme great, here it shall not need, For that this Subiect doth so farre exceed All forc'd Expression, that what Poesie shall Happily thinke to grace it selfe withall, Falls so belowe it, that it rather borrowes Grace from their griefe, then addeth to their sorrowes, For sad mischance thus in the losse of three, To shewe it selfe the vtmost it could bee: 50 Exacting also by the selfe same lawe, The vtmost teares that sorrowe had to drawe All future times hath vtterly preuented Of a more losse, or more to be lamented. Whilst in faire youth they liuely flourish'd here, To their kinde Parents they were onely deere: But being dead, now euery one doth take Them for their owne, and doe like sorrowe make: As for their owne begot, as they pretended Hope in the issue, which should haue discended 60 From them againe; nor here doth end our sorrow, But those of vs, that shall be borne to morrowe Still shall lament them, and when time shall count, To what vast number passed yeares shall mount, They from their death shall duly reckon so, As from the Deluge, former vs'd to doe. O cruell _Humber_ guilty of their gore, I now beleeue more then I did before The _Brittish_ Story, whence thy name begun Of Kingly _Humber_, an inuading _Hun_, 70 By thee deuoured, for't is likely thou With blood wert Christned, bloud-thirsty till now. The _Ouse_, the _Done_, and thou farre clearer _Trent_, To drowne the SHEFFIELDS as you gaue consent, Shall curse the time, that ere you were infus'd, Which haue your waters basely thus abus'd. The groueling Boore yee hinder not to goe, And at his pleasure Ferry to and fro. The very best part of whose soule, and bloud, Compared with theirs, is viler then your mud. 80 But wherefore paper, doe I idely spend, On those deafe waters to so little end, And vp to starry heauen doe I not looke, In which, as in an euerlasting booke, Our ends are written; O let times rehearse Their fatall losse, in their sad Aniuerse.

To the noble Lady, the Lady I.S. _of worldly crosses_

Madame, to shew the smoothnesse of my vaine, Neither that I would haue you entertaine The time in reading me, which you would spend In faire discourse with some knowne honest friend, I write not to you. Nay, and which is more, My powerfull verses striue not to restore, What time and sicknesse haue in you impair'd, To other ends my Elegie is squar'd. Your beauty, sweetnesse, and your gracefull parts That haue drawne many eyes, wonne many hearts, 10 Of me get little, I am so much man, That let them doe their vtmost that they can, I will resist their forces: and they be Though great to others, yet not so to me. The first time I beheld you, I then sawe That (in it selfe) which had the power to drawe My stayd affection, and thought to allowe You some deale of my heart; but you have now Got farre into it, and you haue the skill (For ought I see) to winne vpon me still. 20 When I doe thinke how brauely you haue borne Your many crosses, as in Fortunes scorne, And how neglectfull you have seem'd to be, Of that which hath seem'd terrible to me, I thought you stupid, nor that you had felt Those griefes which (often) I haue scene to melt Another woman into sighes and teares, A thing but seldome in your sexe and yeares, But when in you I haue perceiu'd agen, (Noted by me, more then by other men) 30 How feeling and how sensible you are Of your friends sorrowes, and with how much care You seeke to cure them, then my selfe I blame, That I your patience should so much misname, Which to my vnderstanding maketh knowne Who feeles anothers griefe, can feele their owne. When straight me thinkes, I heare your patience say, Are you the man that studied _Seneca_: _Plinies_ most learned letters; and must I Read you a Lecture in Philosophie, 40 T'auoid the afflictions that haue vs'd to reach you; I'le learne you more, Sir, then your bookes can teach you. Of all your sex, yet neuer did I knowe, Any that yet so actually could showe Such rules for patience, such an easie way, That who so sees it, shall be forc'd to say, Loe what before seem'd hard to be discern'd, Is of this Lady, in an instant learn'd. It is heauens will that you should wronged be By the malicious, that the world might see 50 Your Doue-like meekenesse; for had the base scumme, The spawne of Fiends, beene in your slander dumbe, Your vertue then had perish'd, neuer priz'd, For that the same you had not exercised; And you had lost the Crowne you haue, and glory, Nor had you beene the subiect of my Story. Whilst they feele Hell, being damned in their hate, Their thoughts like Deuils them excruciate, Which by your noble suffrings doe torment Them with new paines, and giues you this content 60 To see your soule an Innocent, hath suffred, And vp to heauen before your eyes be offred: Your like we in a burning Glasse may see, When the Sunnes rayes therein contracted be Bent on some obiect, which is purely white, We finde that colour doth dispierce the light, And stands vntainted: but if it hath got Some little sully; or the least small spot, Then it soon fiers it; so you still remaine Free, because in you they can finde no staine. 70 God doth not loue them least, on whom he layes The great'st afflictions; but that he will praise Himselfe most in them, and will make them fit, Near'st to himselfe who is the Lambe to sit: For by that touch, like perfect gold he tries them, Who are not his, vntill the world denies them. And your example may work such effect, That it may be the beginning of a Sect Of patient women; and that many a day All Husbands may for you their Founder pray. 80 Nor is to me your Innocence the lesse, In that I see you striue not to suppresse Their barbarous malice; but your noble heart Prepar'd to act so difficult a part, With vnremoued constancie is still The same it was, that of your proper ill, The effect proceeds from your owne selfe the cause, Like some iust Prince, who to establish lawes, Suffers the breach at his best lou'd to strike, To learne the vulgar to endure the like. 90 You are a Martir thus, nor can you be Lesse to the world so valued by me: If as you haue begun, you still perseuer Be euer good, that I may loue you euer.

An Elegie vpon the death of the Lady PENELOPE CLIFTON