Her lou'd I most,By thee that 's lost,Though she were wonne with leasure;She was my gaine,But to my paine,Thou spoyl'st me of my Treasure.The Ship full fraughtWith Gold, farre sought,Though ne'r so wisely helmed,10May suffer wrackeIn sayling backe,By Tempest ouer-whelmed.But shee, good Sir,Did not preferreYou, for that I was ranging;But for that sheeFound faith in mee,And she lou'd to be changing.Therefore boast not20Your happy Lot,Be silent now you haue her;The time I knewShe slighted you,When I was in her fauour.None stands so fast,But may be castBy Fortune, and disgraced:Once did I weareHer Garter there,30Where you her Gloue haue placed.I had the VowThat thou hast now,And Glances to discouerHer Loue to mee,And she to theeReades but old Lessons ouer.She hath no SmileThat can beguile,But as my Thought I know it;40Yea, to a Hayre,Both when and where,And how she will bestow it.What now is thine,Was onely mine,And first to me was giuen;Thou laugh'st at mee,I laugh at thee,And thus we two are euen.But Ile not mourne,50But stay my Turne,The Wind may come about, Sir,And once againeMay bring me in,And help to beare you out, Sir.
Her lou'd I most,By thee that 's lost,Though she were wonne with leasure;She was my gaine,But to my paine,Thou spoyl'st me of my Treasure.
The Ship full fraughtWith Gold, farre sought,Though ne'r so wisely helmed,10May suffer wrackeIn sayling backe,By Tempest ouer-whelmed.
But shee, good Sir,Did not preferreYou, for that I was ranging;But for that sheeFound faith in mee,And she lou'd to be changing.
Therefore boast not20Your happy Lot,Be silent now you haue her;The time I knewShe slighted you,When I was in her fauour.
None stands so fast,But may be castBy Fortune, and disgraced:Once did I weareHer Garter there,30Where you her Gloue haue placed.
I had the VowThat thou hast now,And Glances to discouerHer Loue to mee,And she to theeReades but old Lessons ouer.
She hath no SmileThat can beguile,But as my Thought I know it;40Yea, to a Hayre,Both when and where,And how she will bestow it.
What now is thine,Was onely mine,And first to me was giuen;Thou laugh'st at mee,I laugh at thee,And thus we two are euen.
But Ile not mourne,50But stay my Turne,The Wind may come about, Sir,And once againeMay bring me in,And help to beare you out, Sir.
The Muse should be sprightly,Yet not handling lightlyThings graue; as much loath,Things that be slight, to cloathCuriously: To retayneThe Comelinesse in meane,Is true Knowledge and Wit.Not me forc'd Rage doth fit,That I thereto should lacke10Tabacco, or need Sacke,Which to the colder BraineIs the trueHyppocrene;Nor did I euer careFor great Fooles, nor them spare.Vertue, though neglected,Is not so deiected,As vilely to descendTo low Basenesse their end;Neyther each ryming Slaue20Deserues the Name to haueOf Poet: so the RabbleOf Fooles, for the Table,That haue their Iests by Heart,As an Actor his Part,Might assume them ChayresAmongst the Muses Heyres.Parnassusis not clomeBy euery such Mome;Vp whose steep side who swerues,30It behoues t' haue strong Nerues:My Resolution such,How well, and not how muchTo write, thus doe I fare,Like some few good that care(The euill sort among)How well to liue, and not how long.
The Muse should be sprightly,Yet not handling lightlyThings graue; as much loath,Things that be slight, to cloathCuriously: To retayneThe Comelinesse in meane,Is true Knowledge and Wit.Not me forc'd Rage doth fit,That I thereto should lacke10Tabacco, or need Sacke,Which to the colder BraineIs the trueHyppocrene;Nor did I euer careFor great Fooles, nor them spare.Vertue, though neglected,Is not so deiected,As vilely to descendTo low Basenesse their end;Neyther each ryming Slaue20Deserues the Name to haueOf Poet: so the RabbleOf Fooles, for the Table,That haue their Iests by Heart,As an Actor his Part,Might assume them ChayresAmongst the Muses Heyres.Parnassusis not clomeBy euery such Mome;Vp whose steep side who swerues,30It behoues t' haue strong Nerues:My Resolution such,How well, and not how muchTo write, thus doe I fare,Like some few good that care(The euill sort among)How well to liue, and not how long.
Good Folke, for Gold or Hyre,But helpe me to a Cryer;For my poore Heart is runne astrayAfter two Eyes, that pass'd this way.O yes, O yes, O yes,If there be any Man,In Towne or Countrey, canBring me my Heart againe,Ile please him for his paine;10And by these Marks I will you show,That onely I this Heart doe owe.It is a wounded Heart,Wherein yet sticks the Dart,Eu'ry piece sore hurt throughout it,Faith, and Troth, writ round about it:It was a tame Heart, and a deare,And neuer vs'd to roame;But hauing got this Haunt, I feare'Twill hardly stay at home.20For Gods sake, walking by the way,If you my Heart doe see,Either impound it for a Stray,Or send it backe to me.
Good Folke, for Gold or Hyre,But helpe me to a Cryer;For my poore Heart is runne astrayAfter two Eyes, that pass'd this way.O yes, O yes, O yes,If there be any Man,In Towne or Countrey, canBring me my Heart againe,Ile please him for his paine;10And by these Marks I will you show,That onely I this Heart doe owe.It is a wounded Heart,Wherein yet sticks the Dart,Eu'ry piece sore hurt throughout it,Faith, and Troth, writ round about it:It was a tame Heart, and a deare,And neuer vs'd to roame;But hauing got this Haunt, I feare'Twill hardly stay at home.20For Gods sake, walking by the way,If you my Heart doe see,Either impound it for a Stray,Or send it backe to me.
I pray thee leaue, loue me no more,Call home the Heart you gaue me,I but in vaine that Saint adore,That can, but will not saue me:These poore halfe Kisses kill me quite;Was euer man thus serued?Amidst an Ocean of Delight,For Pleasure to be sterued.Shew me no more those Snowie Brests,10With Azure Riuerets branched,Where whilst mine Eye with Plentie feasts,Yet is my Thirst not stanched.OTantalvs, thy Paines n'er tell,By me thou art preuented;'Tis nothing to be plagu'd in Hell,But thus in Heauen tormented.Clip me no more in those deare Armes,Nor thy Life's Comfort call me;O, these are but too pow'rfull Charmes,20And doe but more inthrall me.But see, how patient I am growne,In all this coyle about thee;Come nice thing, let my Heart alone,I cannot liue without thee.
I pray thee leaue, loue me no more,Call home the Heart you gaue me,I but in vaine that Saint adore,That can, but will not saue me:These poore halfe Kisses kill me quite;Was euer man thus serued?Amidst an Ocean of Delight,For Pleasure to be sterued.
Shew me no more those Snowie Brests,10With Azure Riuerets branched,Where whilst mine Eye with Plentie feasts,Yet is my Thirst not stanched.OTantalvs, thy Paines n'er tell,By me thou art preuented;'Tis nothing to be plagu'd in Hell,But thus in Heauen tormented.
Clip me no more in those deare Armes,Nor thy Life's Comfort call me;O, these are but too pow'rfull Charmes,20And doe but more inthrall me.But see, how patient I am growne,In all this coyle about thee;Come nice thing, let my Heart alone,I cannot liue without thee.
Couentry, that do'st adorneThe Countrey wherein I was borne,Yet therein lyes not thy prayseWhy I should crowne thy Tow'rs with Bayes:Couentry finely walled.'Tis not thy Wall, me to thee wedsThy Ports, nor thy proud Pyrameds,The Shoulder-bone of a hare of mighty bignesse.Nor thy Trophies of the Bore,But that Shee which I adore,Which scarce Goodnesse selfe can payre,10First their breathing blest thy Ayre;Idea, in which Name I hideHer, in my heart Deifi'd,For what good, Man's mind can see,Onely herIdeasbe;She, in whom the Vertues cameIn Womans shape, and tooke her Name,She so farre past Imitation,As but Nature our CreationCould not alter, she had aymed,20More then Woman to haue framed:She, whose truely written Story,To thy poore Name shall adde more glory,Then if it should haue beene thy Chance,T' haue bred our Kings that Conquer'dFrance.Had She beene borne the former Age,Two famous Pilgrimages, the one inNorfolk,the other inKent.That house had beene a Pilgrimage,And reputed more Diuine,ThenWalsinghamorBecketsShrine.That Princesse, to whom thou do'st owe30Thy Freedome, whose Cleere blushing snow,Godiua,DukeLeofrickswife, who obtained the Freedome of the city, of her husband, by riding thorow it naked.The enuious Sunne saw, when as sheNaked rode to make Thee free,Was but her Type, as to foretell,Thou should'st bring forth one, should excellHer Bounty, by whom thou should'st haueMore Honour, then she Freedome gaue;QueeneElizabeth.And that great Queene, which but of lateRul'd this Land in Peace and State,Had not beene, but Heauen had sworne,40A Maide should raigne, when she was borne.A noted Streete inCouentry.Of thy Streets, which thou hold'st best,And most frequent of the rest,HappyMich-Parkeeu'ry yeere,His Mistresse birth-day.On the fourth ofAugustthere,Let thy Maides fromFlora'sbowers,With their Choyce and daintiest flowersDecke Thee vp, and from their store,With braue Garlands crowne that dore.The old Man passing by that way,50To his Sonne in time shall say,There was that Lady borne, which longTo after-Ages shall be sung;Who vnawares being passed by,Back to that House shall cast his Eye,Speaking my Verses as he goes,And with a Sigh shut eu'ry Close.Deare Citie, trauelling by thee,When thy rising Spyres I see,Destined her place of Birth;60Yet me thinkes the very EarthHallowed is, so farre as ICan thee possibly descry:Then thou dwelling in this place,Hearing some rude Hinde disgraceThy Citie with some scuruy thing,Which some Iester forth did bring,Speake these Lines where thou do'st come,And strike the Slaue for euer dumbe.
Couentry, that do'st adorneThe Countrey wherein I was borne,Yet therein lyes not thy prayseWhy I should crowne thy Tow'rs with Bayes:Couentry finely walled.'Tis not thy Wall, me to thee wedsThy Ports, nor thy proud Pyrameds,The Shoulder-bone of a hare of mighty bignesse.Nor thy Trophies of the Bore,But that Shee which I adore,Which scarce Goodnesse selfe can payre,10First their breathing blest thy Ayre;Idea, in which Name I hideHer, in my heart Deifi'd,For what good, Man's mind can see,Onely herIdeasbe;She, in whom the Vertues cameIn Womans shape, and tooke her Name,She so farre past Imitation,As but Nature our CreationCould not alter, she had aymed,20More then Woman to haue framed:She, whose truely written Story,To thy poore Name shall adde more glory,Then if it should haue beene thy Chance,T' haue bred our Kings that Conquer'dFrance.Had She beene borne the former Age,Two famous Pilgrimages, the one inNorfolk,the other inKent.That house had beene a Pilgrimage,And reputed more Diuine,ThenWalsinghamorBecketsShrine.That Princesse, to whom thou do'st owe30Thy Freedome, whose Cleere blushing snow,Godiua,DukeLeofrickswife, who obtained the Freedome of the city, of her husband, by riding thorow it naked.The enuious Sunne saw, when as sheNaked rode to make Thee free,Was but her Type, as to foretell,Thou should'st bring forth one, should excellHer Bounty, by whom thou should'st haueMore Honour, then she Freedome gaue;QueeneElizabeth.And that great Queene, which but of lateRul'd this Land in Peace and State,Had not beene, but Heauen had sworne,40A Maide should raigne, when she was borne.A noted Streete inCouentry.Of thy Streets, which thou hold'st best,And most frequent of the rest,HappyMich-Parkeeu'ry yeere,His Mistresse birth-day.On the fourth ofAugustthere,Let thy Maides fromFlora'sbowers,With their Choyce and daintiest flowersDecke Thee vp, and from their store,With braue Garlands crowne that dore.The old Man passing by that way,50To his Sonne in time shall say,There was that Lady borne, which longTo after-Ages shall be sung;Who vnawares being passed by,Back to that House shall cast his Eye,Speaking my Verses as he goes,And with a Sigh shut eu'ry Close.Deare Citie, trauelling by thee,When thy rising Spyres I see,Destined her place of Birth;60Yet me thinkes the very EarthHallowed is, so farre as ICan thee possibly descry:Then thou dwelling in this place,Hearing some rude Hinde disgraceThy Citie with some scuruy thing,Which some Iester forth did bring,Speake these Lines where thou do'st come,And strike the Slaue for euer dumbe.
Couentry finely walled.
The Shoulder-bone of a hare of mighty bignesse.
Two famous Pilgrimages, the one inNorfolk,the other inKent.
Godiua,DukeLeofrickswife, who obtained the Freedome of the city, of her husband, by riding thorow it naked.
QueeneElizabeth.
A noted Streete inCouentry.
His Mistresse birth-day.
Faire stood the Wind forFrance,When we our Sayles aduance,Nor now to proue our chance,Longer will tarry;But putting to the Mayne,AtKaux, the Mouth ofSene,With all his Martiall Trayne,Landed KingHarry.And taking many a Fort,10Furnish'd in Warlike sort,Marcheth tow'rdsAgincourt,In happy howre;Skirmishing day by day,With those that stop'd his way,Where theFrenchGen'rall lay,With all his Power.Which in his Hight of Pride,KingHenryto deride,His Ransome to prouide20To the King sending.Which he neglects the while,As from a Nation vile,Yet with an angry smile,Their fall portending.And turning to his Men,Quoth our braueHenrythen,Though they to one be ten,Be not amazed.Yet haue we well begunne,30Battels so brauely wonne,Haue euer to the Sonne,By Fame beene raysed.And, for my Selfe (quoth he),This my full rest shall be,Englandne'r mourne for Me,Nor more esteeme me.Victor I will remaine,Or on this Earth lie slaine,Neuer shall Shee sustaine,40Losse to redeeme me.PoitersandCressytell,When most their Pride did swell,Vnder our Swords they fell,No lesse our skill is,Than when our Grandsire Great,Clayming the Regall Seate,By many a Warlike feate,Lop'd theFrenchLillies.The Duke ofYorkeso dread,50The eager Vaward led;With the maine,Henrysped,Among'st his Hench-men.Excesterhad the Rere,A Brauer man not there,O Lord, how hot they were,On the falseFrench-men!They now to fight are gone,Armour on Armour shone,Drumme now to Drumme did grone,60To heare, was wonder;That with the Cryes they make,The very Earth did shake,Trumpet to Trumpet spake,Thunder to Thunder.Well it thine Age became,O NobleErpingham,Which didst the Signall ayme,To our hid Forces;When from a Medow by,70Like a Storme suddenly,TheEnglishArcheryStuck theFrenchHorses,WithSpanishEwgh so strong,Arrowes a Cloth-yard long,That like to Serpents stung,Piercing the Weather;None from his fellow starts,But playing Manly parts,And like trueEnglishhearts,80Stuck close together.When downe their Bowes they threw,And forth their Bilbowes drew,And on the French they flew,Not one was tardie;Armes were from shoulders sent,Scalpes to the Teeth were rent,Downe theFrenchPesants went,Our Men were hardie.This while our Noble King,90His broad Sword brandishing,Downe theFrenchHoast did ding,As to o'r-whelme it;And many a deepe Wound lent,His Armes with Bloud besprent,And many a cruell DentBruised his Helmet.Gloster, that Duke so good,Next of the Royall Blood,For famousEnglandstood,100With his braue Brother;Clarence, in Steele so bright,Though but a Maiden Knight,Yet in that furious Fight,Scarce such another,Warwickin Bloud did wade,Oxfordthe Foe inuade,And cruell slaughter made,Still as they ran vp;Svffolkehis Axe did ply,110BeavmontandWillovghbyBare them right doughtily,FerrersandFanhope.Vpon SaintCrispin'sdayFought was this Noble Fray,Which Fame did not delay,ToEnglandto carry;O, when shallEnglishMenWith such Acts fill a Pen,OrEnglandbreed againe,120Such a KingHarry?
Faire stood the Wind forFrance,When we our Sayles aduance,Nor now to proue our chance,Longer will tarry;But putting to the Mayne,AtKaux, the Mouth ofSene,With all his Martiall Trayne,Landed KingHarry.
And taking many a Fort,10Furnish'd in Warlike sort,Marcheth tow'rdsAgincourt,In happy howre;Skirmishing day by day,With those that stop'd his way,Where theFrenchGen'rall lay,With all his Power.
Which in his Hight of Pride,KingHenryto deride,His Ransome to prouide20To the King sending.Which he neglects the while,As from a Nation vile,Yet with an angry smile,Their fall portending.
And turning to his Men,Quoth our braueHenrythen,Though they to one be ten,Be not amazed.Yet haue we well begunne,30Battels so brauely wonne,Haue euer to the Sonne,By Fame beene raysed.
And, for my Selfe (quoth he),This my full rest shall be,Englandne'r mourne for Me,Nor more esteeme me.Victor I will remaine,Or on this Earth lie slaine,Neuer shall Shee sustaine,40Losse to redeeme me.
PoitersandCressytell,When most their Pride did swell,Vnder our Swords they fell,No lesse our skill is,Than when our Grandsire Great,Clayming the Regall Seate,By many a Warlike feate,Lop'd theFrenchLillies.
The Duke ofYorkeso dread,50The eager Vaward led;With the maine,Henrysped,Among'st his Hench-men.Excesterhad the Rere,A Brauer man not there,O Lord, how hot they were,On the falseFrench-men!
They now to fight are gone,Armour on Armour shone,Drumme now to Drumme did grone,60To heare, was wonder;That with the Cryes they make,The very Earth did shake,Trumpet to Trumpet spake,Thunder to Thunder.
Well it thine Age became,O NobleErpingham,Which didst the Signall ayme,To our hid Forces;When from a Medow by,70Like a Storme suddenly,TheEnglishArcheryStuck theFrenchHorses,
WithSpanishEwgh so strong,Arrowes a Cloth-yard long,That like to Serpents stung,Piercing the Weather;None from his fellow starts,But playing Manly parts,And like trueEnglishhearts,80Stuck close together.
When downe their Bowes they threw,And forth their Bilbowes drew,And on the French they flew,Not one was tardie;Armes were from shoulders sent,Scalpes to the Teeth were rent,Downe theFrenchPesants went,Our Men were hardie.
This while our Noble King,90His broad Sword brandishing,Downe theFrenchHoast did ding,As to o'r-whelme it;And many a deepe Wound lent,His Armes with Bloud besprent,And many a cruell DentBruised his Helmet.
Gloster, that Duke so good,Next of the Royall Blood,For famousEnglandstood,100With his braue Brother;Clarence, in Steele so bright,Though but a Maiden Knight,Yet in that furious Fight,Scarce such another,
Warwickin Bloud did wade,Oxfordthe Foe inuade,And cruell slaughter made,Still as they ran vp;Svffolkehis Axe did ply,110BeavmontandWillovghbyBare them right doughtily,FerrersandFanhope.
Vpon SaintCrispin'sdayFought was this Noble Fray,Which Fame did not delay,ToEnglandto carry;O, when shallEnglishMenWith such Acts fill a Pen,OrEnglandbreed againe,120Such a KingHarry?
Decorative
Vppon this sinfull earthIf man can happy be,And higher then his birth,(Frend) take him thus from me.Whome promise not deceiuesThat he the breach should rue,Nor constant reason leauesOpinion to pursue.To rayse his mean estate10That sooths no wanton's sinne,Doth that preferment hateThat virtue doth not winne.Nor brauery doth admire,Nor doth more loue professeTo that he doth desire,Then that he doth possesse.Loose humor nor to please,That neither spares nor spends,But by discretion weyes20What is to needfull ends.To him deseruing notNot yeelding, nor doth houldWhat is not his, doing whatHe ought not what he could.Whome the base tyrants willSoe much could neuer aweAs him for good or illFrom honesty to drawe.Whose constancy doth rise30'Boue vndeserued spightWhose valewr's to despiseThat most doth him delight.That earely leaue doth takeOf th' world though to his payneFor virtues onely sakeAnd not till need constrayne.Noe man can be so freeThough in imperiall seateNor Eminent as he40That deemeth nothing greate.
Vppon this sinfull earthIf man can happy be,And higher then his birth,(Frend) take him thus from me.
Whome promise not deceiuesThat he the breach should rue,Nor constant reason leauesOpinion to pursue.
To rayse his mean estate10That sooths no wanton's sinne,Doth that preferment hateThat virtue doth not winne.
Nor brauery doth admire,Nor doth more loue professeTo that he doth desire,Then that he doth possesse.
Loose humor nor to please,That neither spares nor spends,But by discretion weyes20What is to needfull ends.
To him deseruing notNot yeelding, nor doth houldWhat is not his, doing whatHe ought not what he could.
Whome the base tyrants willSoe much could neuer aweAs him for good or illFrom honesty to drawe.
Whose constancy doth rise30'Boue vndeserued spightWhose valewr's to despiseThat most doth him delight.
That earely leaue doth takeOf th' world though to his payneFor virtues onely sakeAnd not till need constrayne.
Noe man can be so freeThough in imperiall seateNor Eminent as he40That deemeth nothing greate.
Singe wee the RoseThen which no flower there growesIs sweeter:And aptly her compareWith what in that is rareA parallel none meeter.Or made poses,Of this that inclosesSuche blisses,10That naturally flushethAs she blushethWhen she is robd of kisses.Or if strew'dWhen with the morning dew'dOr stilling,Or howe to sense expos'dAll which in her inclos'd,Ech place with sweetnes filling.That most renown'd20By Nature richly crowndWith yellow,Of that delitious layreAnd as pure, her hayreVnto the same the fellowe,Fearing of harmeNature that flower doth armeFrom danger,The touch giues her offenceBut with reuerence30Vnto her selfe a stranger.That redde, or white,Or mixt, the sence delyteBehoulding,In her complexionAll which perfectionSuch harmony infouldinge.That deuydedEre it was descidedWhich most pure,40Began the greeuous warOfYorkandLancaster,That did many yeeres indure.Conflicts as greateAs were in all that heateI sustaine:By her, as many hartsAs men on either partsThat with her eies hath slaine.The Primrose flower50The first ofFlora'sbowerIs placed,Soo is shee first as bestThough excellent the rest,All gracing, by none graced.
Singe wee the RoseThen which no flower there growesIs sweeter:And aptly her compareWith what in that is rareA parallel none meeter.
Or made poses,Of this that inclosesSuche blisses,10That naturally flushethAs she blushethWhen she is robd of kisses.
Or if strew'dWhen with the morning dew'dOr stilling,Or howe to sense expos'dAll which in her inclos'd,Ech place with sweetnes filling.
That most renown'd20By Nature richly crowndWith yellow,Of that delitious layreAnd as pure, her hayreVnto the same the fellowe,
Fearing of harmeNature that flower doth armeFrom danger,The touch giues her offenceBut with reuerence30Vnto her selfe a stranger.
That redde, or white,Or mixt, the sence delyteBehoulding,In her complexionAll which perfectionSuch harmony infouldinge.
That deuydedEre it was descidedWhich most pure,40Began the greeuous warOfYorkandLancaster,That did many yeeres indure.
Conflicts as greateAs were in all that heateI sustaine:By her, as many hartsAs men on either partsThat with her eies hath slaine.
The Primrose flower50The first ofFlora'sbowerIs placed,Soo is shee first as bestThough excellent the rest,All gracing, by none graced.
Decorative
That ten-yeares-trauell'dGreekereturn'd from SeaNe'r ioyd so much to see hisIthaca,As I should you, who are alone to me,More then wideGreececould to that wanderer be.The winter windes still Easterly doe keepe,And with keene Frosts haue chained vp the deepe,The Sunne's to vs a niggard of his Rayes,But reuelleth with ourAntipodes;And seldome to vs when he shewes his head,10Muffled in vapours, he straight hies to bed.In those bleake mountaines can you liue where snoweMaketh the vales vp to the hilles to growe;Whereas mens breathes doe instantly congeale,And attom'd mists turne instantly to hayle;Belike you thinke, from this more temperate cost,My sighes may haue the power to thawe the frost,Which I from hence should swiftly send you thither,Yet not so swift, as you come slowly hither.How many a time, hathPhebefrom her wayne,20WithPhœbusfires fill'd vp her hornes againe;Shee through her Orbe, still on her course doth range,But you keep yours still, nor for me will change.The Sunne that mounted the sterne Lions back,Shall with the Fishes shortly diue the Brack,But still you keepe your station, which confinesYou, nor regard him trauelling the signes.Those ships which when you went, put out to Sea,Both to ourGroenland, andVirginia,Are now return'd, and Custom'd haue their fraught,30Yet you arriue not, nor returne me ought.The Thames was not so frozen yet this yeare,As is my bosome, with the chilly feareOf your not comming, which on me doth light,As on those Climes, where halfe the world is night.Of euery tedious houre you haue made two,All this long Winter here, by missing you:Minutes are months, and when the houre is past,A yeare is ended since the Clocke strooke last,When your Remembrance puts me on the Racke,40And I should Swound to see anAlmanacke,To reade what silent weekes away are slid,Since the dire Fates you from my sight haue hid.I hate him who the first Deuisor wasOf this same foolish thing, the Hower-glasse,And of the Watch, whose dribbling sands and Wheele,With their slow stroakes, make mee too much to feeleYour slackenesse hither, O how I doe ban,Him that these Dialls against walles began,Whose Snayly motion of the moouing hand,50(Although it goe) yet seeme to me to stand;As though atAdamit had first set outAnd had been stealing all this while about,And when it backe to the first point should come,It shall be then iust at the generall Doome.The Seas into themselues retract their flowes.The changing Winde from euery quarter blowes,Declining Winter in the Spring doth call,The Starrs rise to vs, as from vs they fall;Those Birdes we see, that leaue vs in the Prime,60Againe in Autumne re-salute our Clime.Sure, either Nature you from kinde hath made,Or you delight else to be Retrograde.But I perceiue by your attractiue powers,Like an Inchantresse you haue charm'd the bowersInto short minutes, and haue drawne them back,So that of vs atLondon, you doe lackAlmost a yeare, the Spring is scarce begonneThere where you liue, and Autumne almost done.With vs more Eastward, surely you deuise,70By your strong Magicke, that the Sunne shall riseWhere now it setts, and that in some few yearesYou'l alter quite the Motion of the Spheares.Yes, and you meane, I shall complaine my loueTo grauell'd Walkes, or to a stupid Groue,Now your companions; and that you the while(As you are cruell) will sit by and smile,To make me write to these, while Passers by,Sleightly looke in your louely face, where ISee Beauties heauen, whilst silly blockheads, they80Like laden Asses, plod vpon their way,And wonder not, as you should point a ClowneVp to theGuards, orAriadnesCrowne;Of Constellations, and his dulnesse tell.Hee'd thinke your words were certainly a Spell;Or him some piece fromCreet, orMarcusshow,In all his life which till that time ne'r sawPainting: except in Alehouse or old HallDone by some Druzzler, of the Prodigall.Nay doe, stay still, whilst time away shall steale90Your youth, and beautie, and your selfe concealeFrom me I pray you, you haue now inur'dMe to your absence, and I haue endur'dYour want this long, whilst I haue starued bineFor your short Letters, as you helde it sinneTo write to me, that to appease my woe,I reade ore those, you writ a yeare agoe,Which are to me, as though they had bin made,Long time before the firstOlympiad.For thankes and curt'sies sell your presence then100To tatling Women, and to things like men,And be more foolish then theIndiansareFor Bells, for Kniues, for Glasses, and such ware,That sell their Pearle and Gold, but here I stay,So I would not haue you but come away.
That ten-yeares-trauell'dGreekereturn'd from SeaNe'r ioyd so much to see hisIthaca,As I should you, who are alone to me,More then wideGreececould to that wanderer be.The winter windes still Easterly doe keepe,And with keene Frosts haue chained vp the deepe,The Sunne's to vs a niggard of his Rayes,But reuelleth with ourAntipodes;And seldome to vs when he shewes his head,10Muffled in vapours, he straight hies to bed.In those bleake mountaines can you liue where snoweMaketh the vales vp to the hilles to growe;Whereas mens breathes doe instantly congeale,And attom'd mists turne instantly to hayle;Belike you thinke, from this more temperate cost,My sighes may haue the power to thawe the frost,Which I from hence should swiftly send you thither,Yet not so swift, as you come slowly hither.How many a time, hathPhebefrom her wayne,20WithPhœbusfires fill'd vp her hornes againe;Shee through her Orbe, still on her course doth range,But you keep yours still, nor for me will change.The Sunne that mounted the sterne Lions back,Shall with the Fishes shortly diue the Brack,But still you keepe your station, which confinesYou, nor regard him trauelling the signes.Those ships which when you went, put out to Sea,Both to ourGroenland, andVirginia,Are now return'd, and Custom'd haue their fraught,30Yet you arriue not, nor returne me ought.The Thames was not so frozen yet this yeare,As is my bosome, with the chilly feareOf your not comming, which on me doth light,As on those Climes, where halfe the world is night.Of euery tedious houre you haue made two,All this long Winter here, by missing you:Minutes are months, and when the houre is past,A yeare is ended since the Clocke strooke last,When your Remembrance puts me on the Racke,40And I should Swound to see anAlmanacke,To reade what silent weekes away are slid,Since the dire Fates you from my sight haue hid.I hate him who the first Deuisor wasOf this same foolish thing, the Hower-glasse,And of the Watch, whose dribbling sands and Wheele,With their slow stroakes, make mee too much to feeleYour slackenesse hither, O how I doe ban,Him that these Dialls against walles began,Whose Snayly motion of the moouing hand,50(Although it goe) yet seeme to me to stand;As though atAdamit had first set outAnd had been stealing all this while about,And when it backe to the first point should come,It shall be then iust at the generall Doome.The Seas into themselues retract their flowes.The changing Winde from euery quarter blowes,Declining Winter in the Spring doth call,The Starrs rise to vs, as from vs they fall;Those Birdes we see, that leaue vs in the Prime,60Againe in Autumne re-salute our Clime.Sure, either Nature you from kinde hath made,Or you delight else to be Retrograde.But I perceiue by your attractiue powers,Like an Inchantresse you haue charm'd the bowersInto short minutes, and haue drawne them back,So that of vs atLondon, you doe lackAlmost a yeare, the Spring is scarce begonneThere where you liue, and Autumne almost done.With vs more Eastward, surely you deuise,70By your strong Magicke, that the Sunne shall riseWhere now it setts, and that in some few yearesYou'l alter quite the Motion of the Spheares.Yes, and you meane, I shall complaine my loueTo grauell'd Walkes, or to a stupid Groue,Now your companions; and that you the while(As you are cruell) will sit by and smile,To make me write to these, while Passers by,Sleightly looke in your louely face, where ISee Beauties heauen, whilst silly blockheads, they80Like laden Asses, plod vpon their way,And wonder not, as you should point a ClowneVp to theGuards, orAriadnesCrowne;Of Constellations, and his dulnesse tell.Hee'd thinke your words were certainly a Spell;Or him some piece fromCreet, orMarcusshow,In all his life which till that time ne'r sawPainting: except in Alehouse or old HallDone by some Druzzler, of the Prodigall.Nay doe, stay still, whilst time away shall steale90Your youth, and beautie, and your selfe concealeFrom me I pray you, you haue now inur'dMe to your absence, and I haue endur'dYour want this long, whilst I haue starued bineFor your short Letters, as you helde it sinneTo write to me, that to appease my woe,I reade ore those, you writ a yeare agoe,Which are to me, as though they had bin made,Long time before the firstOlympiad.For thankes and curt'sies sell your presence then100To tatling Women, and to things like men,And be more foolish then theIndiansareFor Bells, for Kniues, for Glasses, and such ware,That sell their Pearle and Gold, but here I stay,So I would not haue you but come away.
Friend, if you thinke my Papers may supplieYou, with some strange omitted Noueltie,Which others Letters yet haue left vntould,You take me off, before I can take houldOf you at all; I put not thus to Sea,For two monthes Voyage toVirginia,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,10I dare not speake of thePalatinate,Although some men make it their hourely theame,And talke what's done inAustria, and inBeame,I may not so; whatSpinolaintends,Nor with hisDutch, which way PrinceMauricebends;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 men20To suffer shipwrack by my forward pen:When KingIamesentred; at which ioyfull timeI taught his title to this Ile in rime:And to my part did all the Muses win,With high-pitchPæansto 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,30Me aboue earth and her afflictions borne;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'sbrood must be couragious still,Let Pies, and Dawes, sit dumb before their death,Onely the Swan sings at the parting breath.And (worthyGeorge) by industry and vse,Let's see what linesVirginiawill produce;Goe on withOvid, as you haue begunne,40With the first fiue Bookes; let your numbers runGlib as the former, so shall it liue long,And doe much honour to theEnglishtongue: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:50The driery fates prefixed haue the day,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 holyIohnBeheld inPathmosin his vision.As th'Englishnow, so did the stiff-necktIewes,60Their noble Prophets vtterly refuse,And of these men such poore opinions had;They countedEsayandEzechielmad;WhenIeremyhis 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 famousGreecewhere learning flourisht most,70Hath of her muses long since left to boast,Th' vnletteredTurke, and rudeBarbariantrades,WhereHomersang his loftyIliads;And this vaste volume of the world hath taught,Much may to passe in little time be brought.As if toSymptomswe may credit giue,This very time, wherein we two now liue,Shall in the compasse, wound the Muses more,Then all the oldEnglishignorance before;Base Balatry is so belou'd and sought,80And those braue numbers are put by for naught,Which rarely read, were able to awake,Bodyes from graues, and to the ground to shakeThe 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,90But let blind Gothish Barbarisme deuoureThese feuerous Dogdays, blest by no record,But to be euerlastingly abhord.If you vouchsafe rescription, stuffe your quillWith naturall bountyes, and impart your skill,In the description of the place, that I,May become learned in the soyle thereby;Of nobleWyatshealth, and let me heare,The Gouernour; and how our people there,Increase and labour, what supplyes are sent,100Which I confesse shall giue me much content;But you may saue your labour if you please,To write to me ought of your Sauages.As sauage slaues be in greatBritainehere,As any one that you can shew me thereAnd though for this, Ile say I doe not thirst,Yet I should like it well to be the first,Whose numbers hence intoVirginiaflew,So (nobleSandis) for this time adue.
Friend, if you thinke my Papers may supplieYou, with some strange omitted Noueltie,Which others Letters yet haue left vntould,You take me off, before I can take houldOf you at all; I put not thus to Sea,For two monthes Voyage toVirginia,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,10I dare not speake of thePalatinate,Although some men make it their hourely theame,And talke what's done inAustria, and inBeame,I may not so; whatSpinolaintends,Nor with hisDutch, which way PrinceMauricebends;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 men20To suffer shipwrack by my forward pen:When KingIamesentred; at which ioyfull timeI taught his title to this Ile in rime:And to my part did all the Muses win,With high-pitchPæansto 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,30Me aboue earth and her afflictions borne;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'sbrood must be couragious still,Let Pies, and Dawes, sit dumb before their death,Onely the Swan sings at the parting breath.And (worthyGeorge) by industry and vse,Let's see what linesVirginiawill produce;Goe on withOvid, as you haue begunne,40With the first fiue Bookes; let your numbers runGlib as the former, so shall it liue long,And doe much honour to theEnglishtongue: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:50The driery fates prefixed haue the day,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 holyIohnBeheld inPathmosin his vision.As th'Englishnow, so did the stiff-necktIewes,60Their noble Prophets vtterly refuse,And of these men such poore opinions had;They countedEsayandEzechielmad;WhenIeremyhis 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 famousGreecewhere learning flourisht most,70Hath of her muses long since left to boast,Th' vnletteredTurke, and rudeBarbariantrades,WhereHomersang his loftyIliads;And this vaste volume of the world hath taught,Much may to passe in little time be brought.As if toSymptomswe may credit giue,This very time, wherein we two now liue,Shall in the compasse, wound the Muses more,Then all the oldEnglishignorance before;Base Balatry is so belou'd and sought,80And those braue numbers are put by for naught,Which rarely read, were able to awake,Bodyes from graues, and to the ground to shakeThe 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,90But let blind Gothish Barbarisme deuoureThese feuerous Dogdays, blest by no record,But to be euerlastingly abhord.If you vouchsafe rescription, stuffe your quillWith naturall bountyes, and impart your skill,In the description of the place, that I,May become learned in the soyle thereby;Of nobleWyatshealth, and let me heare,The Gouernour; and how our people there,Increase and labour, what supplyes are sent,100Which I confesse shall giue me much content;But you may saue your labour if you please,To write to me ought of your Sauages.As sauage slaues be in greatBritainehere,As any one that you can shew me thereAnd though for this, Ile say I doe not thirst,Yet I should like it well to be the first,Whose numbers hence intoVirginiaflew,So (nobleSandis) for this time adue.
Deare friend, be silent and with patience see,What this mad times Catastrophe will be;The worlds first Wisemen certainly mistookeThemselues, 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,10Who doth (alone) the maddest thing of all;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,20Set on the head, bolt vpright with her heeles;Which makes me thinke of what theEthnickstoldTh' opinion, the Pythagorists vphold,Wander From body to body.That the immortall soule doth transmigrate;Then I suppose by the strong power of fate,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.30For certainely there's scarse one found that now,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;40Which doth inforce me partly to prefer,Zeno.The opinion of that mad Philosopher,Who taught, that those all-framing powers aboue,(As 'tis suppos'd) made man not out of loueTo him at all, but only as a thing,To make them sport with, which they vse to bringAs men doe munkeys, puppets, and such toolesOf laughter: so men are but the Gods fooles.Such are by titles lifted to the sky,As wherefore no man knowes, God scarcely why;50The vertuous man depressed like a stone,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 getHim fame with men: or higher might him setThen the base begger (rightly if compar'd;)This Drone yet neuer braue attempt that dar'd,Yet dares be knighted, and from thence dares growTo any title Empire can bestow;60For this beleeue, that Impudence is nowA Cardinall vertue, and men it allowReuerence, nay more, men study and inuentNew 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 crew70Of base Plebeians, which no sooner light,Vpon the earth, but with a suddaine flight,They spread this Ile, and asDeucaliononceOuer his shoulder backe, by throwing stonesThey 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 runThis man as he some glorious acte had done,80With some great pension, or rich guift releeu'd,When he that hath by industry atchieu'dSome noble thing, contemned and disgrac'd,In the forlorne hope of the times is plac'd,As though that God had carelessely left allThat being hath on this terrestriall ball,To fortunes guiding, nor would haue to doeWith man, nor aught that doth belong him to,Or at the least God hauing giuen morePower to the Deuill, then he did of yore,90Ouer this world: the feind as he doth hateThe 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 vexeAll worthy men, and strangely to perplexeTheir 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;100Where that which lately blasphemy hath bin,Now godlinesse, much lesse accounted sin;And a long while I greatly meruail'd whyBuffoons and Bawdes should hourely multiply,Till that of late I construed it that theyTo 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 theyHap to behold some strange thing in their play,110To see them on the suddaine strucken sad,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 learneTo see the wonder which they so discerne:So the celestiall powers doe sit and smileAt innocent and vertuous men the while,They stand amazed at the world ore-gone,So farre beyond imagination,120With slauish basenesse, that the silent sitPointing like children in describing it.Then noble friend the next way to controuleThese worldly crosses, is to arme thy souleWith constant patience: and with thoughts as highAs these be lowe, and poore, winged to flyeTo that exalted stand, whether yet theyAre got with paine, that sit out of the wayOf this ignoble age, which raiseth noneBut such as thinke their black damnation130To be a trifle; such, so ill, that whenThey are aduanc'd, those few poore honest menThat yet are liuing, into search doe runneTo 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.
Deare friend, be silent and with patience see,What this mad times Catastrophe will be;The worlds first Wisemen certainly mistookeThemselues, 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,10Who doth (alone) the maddest thing of all;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,20Set on the head, bolt vpright with her heeles;Which makes me thinke of what theEthnickstoldTh' opinion, the Pythagorists vphold,Wander From body to body.That the immortall soule doth transmigrate;Then I suppose by the strong power of fate,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.30For certainely there's scarse one found that now,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;40Which doth inforce me partly to prefer,Zeno.The opinion of that mad Philosopher,Who taught, that those all-framing powers aboue,(As 'tis suppos'd) made man not out of loueTo him at all, but only as a thing,To make them sport with, which they vse to bringAs men doe munkeys, puppets, and such toolesOf laughter: so men are but the Gods fooles.Such are by titles lifted to the sky,As wherefore no man knowes, God scarcely why;50The vertuous man depressed like a stone,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 getHim fame with men: or higher might him setThen the base begger (rightly if compar'd;)This Drone yet neuer braue attempt that dar'd,Yet dares be knighted, and from thence dares growTo any title Empire can bestow;60For this beleeue, that Impudence is nowA Cardinall vertue, and men it allowReuerence, nay more, men study and inuentNew 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 crew70Of base Plebeians, which no sooner light,Vpon the earth, but with a suddaine flight,They spread this Ile, and asDeucaliononceOuer his shoulder backe, by throwing stonesThey 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 runThis man as he some glorious acte had done,80With some great pension, or rich guift releeu'd,When he that hath by industry atchieu'dSome noble thing, contemned and disgrac'd,In the forlorne hope of the times is plac'd,As though that God had carelessely left allThat being hath on this terrestriall ball,To fortunes guiding, nor would haue to doeWith man, nor aught that doth belong him to,Or at the least God hauing giuen morePower to the Deuill, then he did of yore,90Ouer this world: the feind as he doth hateThe 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 vexeAll worthy men, and strangely to perplexeTheir 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;100Where that which lately blasphemy hath bin,Now godlinesse, much lesse accounted sin;And a long while I greatly meruail'd whyBuffoons and Bawdes should hourely multiply,Till that of late I construed it that theyTo 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 theyHap to behold some strange thing in their play,110To see them on the suddaine strucken sad,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 learneTo see the wonder which they so discerne:So the celestiall powers doe sit and smileAt innocent and vertuous men the while,They stand amazed at the world ore-gone,So farre beyond imagination,120With slauish basenesse, that the silent sitPointing like children in describing it.Then noble friend the next way to controuleThese worldly crosses, is to arme thy souleWith constant patience: and with thoughts as highAs these be lowe, and poore, winged to flyeTo that exalted stand, whether yet theyAre got with paine, that sit out of the wayOf this ignoble age, which raiseth noneBut such as thinke their black damnation130To be a trifle; such, so ill, that whenThey are aduanc'd, those few poore honest menThat yet are liuing, into search doe runneTo 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.
Wander From body to body.
Zeno.