A

DEFIANCE TO ENVY.

NAY; let the prouder pines of Ida feare

The sudden fires of Heaven, and decline Their yielding tops that dar'd the skies whilere : And shake your sturdy trunks, ye prouder pines, Whose swelling grains are like begall❜d alone, With the deep furrows of the thunder-stone.

Stand ye secure, ye safer shrubs below,

In humble dales, whom Heav'ns do not despight; Nor angry clouds conspire your overthrow, Envying at your too disdainful height.

Let high attempts dread envy and ill tongues,
And cow'rdly shrinke for feare of causelesse wrongs,

So wont big oaks feare winding ivy weed:
So soaring eagles fear the neighbour Sunne :
So golden Mazor wont suspicion breed,
Of deadly hemloc's poisoned potion:

So adders shroud themselves in fairest leaves :
So fouler fate the fairer thing bereaves.

Nor the low bush feares climbing ivy twine:
Nor lowly bustard dreads the distant rays:
Nor earthen pot wont secret death to shrine:
Nor subtle snake doth lurk in pathed ways.
Nor baser deed dreads envy and ill tongues,
Nor shrinks so soon for fear of causelesse wrongs.
VOL. IV.

Needs me then hope, or doth me need mis-dread: Hope for that honour, dread that wrongful spite : Spite of the party, honour of the deed,

Which wont alone on lofty objects light. That envy should accost my Muse and me, For this so rude and recklesse poesy.

Would she but shade her tender browes with bay,
That now lye bare in carelesse wilful rage,
And trance herself in that sweet extacy

That rouseth drooping thoughts of bashful age. (Though now those bays and that aspired thought, In carelesse rage, she sets at worse than nought.)

Or would we loose her plumy pineon,

Manacled long with bonds of modest feare, Soone might she have those kestrels proud outgone, Whose flighty wings are dew'd with wetter aire. And hopen now to shoulder from above The eagle from the stairs of friendly Jove.

Or list she rather in late triumph reare
Eternal trophies to some conquerour,
Whose dead deserts slept in his sepulcher,

And never saw, nor life, nor light before :
To lead sad Pluto captive with my song,
To grace the triumphs he obscur❜d so long.

Or scoure the rusted swords of elvish knights,
Bathed in Pagan blood, or sheath them new
In misty moral types; or tell their fights,

Who mighty giants, or who monsters slew :
And by some strange enchanted speare and shield,
Vanquish'd their foe, and won the doubtful field.

May-be she might in stately stanzas frame
Stories of ladies, and advent'rous knights,
To raise her silent and inglorious name

Unto a reachlesse pitch of praises hight,
And somewhat say, as more unworthy done,
Worthy of brasse, and hoary marble stone.

Then might vain Envy waste her duller wing,
To trace the airy steps she spiteing sees,
And vainly faint in hopelesse following

The clouded paths her native drosse denies.
But now such lowly satires here I sing,
Not worth our Muse, not worth her envying.

Too good (if ill) to be expos'd to blame :
Too good, if worse, to shadow shamelesse vice.
Ill, if too good, not answering their name:
So good and ill in fickle censure lies.
Since in our satire lies both good and ill,
And they and it in varying readers will.

Witnesse, ye Muses, how I wilful sung

These heady rhimes, withouten second care; And wish'd them worse, my guilty thoughts among; The ruder satire should go ragg'd and bare, And show his rougher and his hairy hide, [pride. Though mine be smooth, and deck'd in carelesse

Would we but breathe within a wax-bound quill,
Pan's seven-fold pipe, some plaintive pastoral;
To teach each hollow grove, and shrubby hill,
Each murmuring brook, each solitary vale,
To sound our love, and to our song accord,
Wearying Echo with one changelesse word.

Or list us make two striving shepherds sing,
With costly wagers for the victory,

Under Menalcas judge; while one doth bring
A carven bowl well wrought of beechen tree,
Praising it by the story, or the frame,

Or want of use, or skilful maker's name.

Another layeth a well-marked lamb,

Or spotted kid, or some more forward steere, And from the paile doth praise their fertile dam; So do they strive in doubt, in hope, in feare, Awaiting for their trusty umpire's doome, Faulted as false by him that's overcome.

Whether so me list my lovely thought to sing,
Come dance, ye nimble Dryads, by my side,
Ye gentle wood-nymphs, come; and with you bring

The willing fawns that mought your music guide. Come, nymphs and fawns, that haunt those shady While I report my fortunes or my loves. [groves,

Or whether list me sing so personate,

My striving selfe to conquer with my verse,
Speake, ye attentive swains that heard me late,
Needs me give grasse unto the conquerours.
At Colin's feet I throw my yielding reed,
But let the rest win homage by their deed.

But now (ye Muses) sith your sacred hests
Profaned are by each presuming tongue;
In scornful rage I vow this silent rest,

That never field nor grove shall heare my song. Only these refuse rhimes I here mis-spend

To chide the world, that did my thoughts offend.