UNTO the tender youth of those faire eies
The light of judgement can arise but new,
And yong, the world appeares t' a yong conceit,
Whil'st thorow the unacquainted faculties
The late invested soule doth rawly view
Those objects which on that discretion wait.
Yet you that such a faire advantage have Both by your birth and happy pow'rs, t'out go, And be before your yeeres can fairely guesse What hue of life holdes surest without staine, Having your well-wrought heart full furnish't so With all the images of worthinesse,
As there is left no roome at all t' invest Figures of other forme but sanctitie :
Whilst yet those cleane-created thoughts, within
The garden of your innocencies rest,
Where are no motions of deformitie,
Nor any doore at all to let them in.
TO THE LADIE MARGARET, COUNTESSE OF CUMBERLAND.
HE that of such a height hath built his minde,
And rear'd the dwelling of his thoughts so strong,
As neither feare nor hope can shake the frame
Of his resolved pow'rs, nor all the winde
Of vanitie or malice pierce to wrong
His setled peace, or to disturbe the same;
What a faire seate hath he, from whence he may
The boundlesse wastes and weilds of man survay.
And with how free an eye doth he looke downe
Upon these lower regions of turmoyle,
Where all the stormes of passions mainly beat
On flesh and bloud, where honour, pow'r, renowne
Are onely gay afflictions, golden toyle,
Where greatnesse stands upon as feeble feet
As frailty doth, and onely great doth seeme
To little minds, who doe it so esteeme.
He lookes upon the mightiest monarchs warres But onely as on stately robberies,
Where evermore the fortune that prevailes
Must be the right, the ill-succeeding marres
The fairest and the best-fac't enterprize:
Great pirat Pompey lesser pirats quailes,
Justice, he sees, as if seduced, still
Conspires with pow'r, whose cause must not be ill.
He sees the face of right t' appeare as manifolde
As are the passions of uncertaine man,
Who puts it in all colours, all attires,
To serve his ends and make his courses holde:
He sees, that let deceit worke what it can,
Plot and contrive base wayes to high desires,
That the all-guiding Providence doth yet
All disappoint, and mocks this smoake of wit.
Nor is he mov'd with all the thunder-cracks
Of tyrant's threats, or with the surly brow
Of Power, that proudly sits on others crimes,
Charg'd with more crying sinnes then those he checks;
The stormes of sad confusion, that may grow
Up in the present, for the comming times,
Appall not him, that hath no side at all
But of himselfe, and knowes the worst can fall.
Although his heart so neere allied to earth,
Cannot but pitty the perplexed state
Of troublous and distrest mortalitie,
That thus make way unto the ougly birth
Of their owne sorrowes, and doe still beget
Affliction upon imbecillitie:
Yet seeing thus the course of things must runne,
He lookes thereon, not strange; but as foredone.
And whilst distraught ambition compasses
And is incompast, whil'st as craft deceives
And is deceived, whil'st man doth ransacke man,
And builds on bloud, and rises by distresse,
And th' inheritance of desolation leaves
To great expecting hopes, he lookes thereon
As from the shore of peace with unwet eie,
And beares no venture in impietie.
Thus, madam, fares that man that hath prepar'd
A rest for his desires, and sees all things
Beneath him, and hath learn'd this booke of man,
Full of the notes of frailty, and compar'd
The best of glory with her sufferings,
By whom I see you labour all you can
To plant your heart, and set your thoughts as neare
His glorious mansion as your pow'rs can beare.
Which, madam, are so soundly fashioned
By that cleere judgement that hath carryed you
Beyond the feeble limits of your kinde,
As they can stand against the strongest head
Passion can make, inur'd to any hue
The world can cast, that cannot cast that minde
Out of her forme of goodnesse, that doth see
Both what the best and worst of earth can be.
Which makes, that whatsoever here befalles
You in the region of your selfe remaine,
Where no vaine breath of th' impudent molests,
That hath secur'd within the brasen walles
Of a cleere conscience, that without all staine
Rises in peace, in innocencie rests,
Whilst all what Malice from without procures,
Shewes her owne ougly heart, but hurts not yours.
And whereas none rejoyce more in revenge
Then women use to doe, yet you well know,
That wrong is better checkt, by being contemn'd
Then being pursu'd leaving to him t' avenge
To whom it appertaines; wherein you show
How worthily your cleerenesse hath condemn'd
Base Malediction, living in the darke,
That at the raies of goodnesse still doth barke.
Knowing the heart of man is set to be
The centre of this world, about the which
These revolutions of disturbances
Still roule, where all th' aspects of miserie
Predominate, whose strong effects are such
As he must beare, being pow'rlesse to redresse;
And that unlesse above himselfe he can
Erect himselfe, how poore a thing is man!
And how turmoyl'd they are, that levell lie
With earth, and cannot lift themselves from thence;
That never are at peace with their desires,
But worke beyond their yeeres, and even denie
Dotage her rest, and hardly will dispence
With death that when ability expires,
Desire lives still so much delight they have
To carry toyle and travell to the grave.
Whose ends you see, and what can be the best
They reach unto, when they have cast the summe
And reckonings of their glory, and you know
This floting life hath but this port of rest,
A heart prepar'd, that feares no ill to come:
And that mans greatnesse rests but in his show,
The best of all whose dayes consumed are
Either in warre, or peace conceiving warre.
This concord, madame, of a well-tun'd minde
Hath beene so set, by that all-working hand
Of Heaven, that though the world hath done his worst
To put it out, by discords most unkinde,
Yet doth it still in perfect union stand
With God and man, nor ever will be forc't
From that most sweet accord, but still agree
Equall in fortunes inequalitie.
And this note (madame) of your worthinesse
Remaines recorded in so many hearts,
As time nor malice cannot wrong your right
In th' inheritance of fame you must possesse,
You that have built you by your great deserts,
Out of small meanes, a farre more exquisit
And glorious dwelling for your honoured name
Then all the gold that leaden minds can frame.
TO HENRY WRIOTHESLY, EARLE OF SOUTHAMPTON.
He who hath never warr'd with miserie,
Nor ever tugg'd with fortune and distresse,
Hath had n'occasion nor no field to trie
The strength and forces of his worthinesse :
Those parts of judgement which felicitie
Keepes as conceal'd, affliction must expresse;
And onely men shew their abilities,
And what they are, in their extremities.
The world had never taken so full note
Of what thou art, hadst thou not beene undone,
And onely thy affliction hath begot
More fame, then thy best fortunes could have done; For ever, by adversitie are wrought
The greatest workes of admiration.
And all the faire examples of renowne
Out of distresse and miserie are growne.
Mutius the fire, the tortures Regulus,
Did make the miracles of faith and zeale,
Exile renown'd, and grac'd Rutilius;
Imprisonment and poyson did reveale
The worth of Socrates; Fabritius
Povertie did grace that common-weale
More then all Syllaes riches got with strife;
And Catoes death did vie with Cæsars life.
Not to b'unhappy is unhappynesse;
And misery not t' have knowne miserie:
For the best way unto discretion, is
The way that leades us by adversitie.
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