Now come we to the wonderment
Of Christendom, and eke of Kent,
The Trinity; which to surpass,
Doth deck her spokesman" by a glass:
Who, clad in gay and silken weeds,
Thus opes his mouth, hark how he speeds.
"I wonder what your grace doth here,
Who have expected been twelve year,
And this your son, fair Carolus,
That is so Jacobissimus 12:
Here's none, of all, your grace refuses,
You are most welcome to our Muses.
"Although we have no bells to jangle,
Yet can we shew a faire quadrangle,
Which, though it ne're was grac'd with king,
Yet sure it is a goodly thing:
My warning's short no more I'le say,
Soon you shall see a gallant play."
But nothing was so much admir'd,
As were their playes so well attir'd;
Nothing did win more praise of mine,
Then did their actors most divine13:
So did they drink their healths divinely;
So did they dance and skip so finely.
Their plays had sundry grave wise factors,
A perfect diocess of actors
Upon the stage; for I am sure that
There was both bishop, pastor, curat:
Nor was their labour light, or small,
The charge of some was pastoral.
Our playes were certainly much worse,
For they had a brave hobby-horse,
Which did present unto his grace
A wondrous witty ambling pace:
But we were chiefly spoyl'd by that
Which was six hours of God knows what1.
His lordship then was in a rage,
His lordship lay upon the stage,
His lordship cry'd, all would be marr'd:
His lordship lov'd a-life the guard,
And did invite those mighty men,
To what think you? even to a Hen.
He knew he was to use their might
To help to keep the door at night,
And well bestow'd be thought his Hen,
That they might Tolebooth 15 Oxford men:
He thought it did become a lord
To threaten with that bug-bear word.
11 Nethersoli Cant. orator, qui per speculum sesum solet ornari.
12 Orator hoc usus est vocabulo in oratione ad gem.
Actores omnes fuere theologi.
14 Ludus dicebatur Ignoramus, qui durabat per -atium sex horarum,
Idem quod Bocardo apud Oxon.
Then flies he to our comedies,
And there he doth professe
He saw among our actors
A perfect diocess.
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
'T was no such witty fiction, For since you leave the vicar out, You spoile the jurisdiction.
Next that he backes the hobby-horse,
And with a scholler's grace,
Not able to endure the trott,
He'd bring him to the pase:
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
For you will hardly do it, Since all the riders in your muse Could never bring him to it.
Polonia land can tell,
Through which he oft did trace,
And bore a fardell at his back,
He nere went other pace.
But leave him, scholler, leave him,
He learned it of his sire,
And if you put him from his trott
He 'I lay you in the myre.
Our horse has thrown his rider;
But now he meanes to shame us,
And in the censuring of our play
Conspires with Ignoramus.
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
And call 't not "God knows what,"
Your head was making ballads
When you should mark the plot.
His fantasie still working,
Finds out another crotchet;
Then runs he to the bishop,
And rides upon his rotchet.
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
And take it not in snuff,
For he that weares no picadell
By law may weare a ruffe.
Next that he goes to dinner,
And like an hardy guest,
When he had cramm'd his belly full
He railes against the feast.
But leave it, scholler, leave it;
For, since you eat his roast,
It argues want of manners
To raile upon the host.
Now listen, masters, listen,
That tax us for our riot,
For here two men went to a hen,
So slender was the diet.
Then leave him, scholler, leave him,
Ye yieldes himself your debtor,
And next time he 's vice-chancellor
Your table shall be better.
Then goes he to the regent-house,
And there he sits and sees
How lackeys and subsisers press
And scramble for degrees.
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
'T was much against our mind, But when the prison doors are ope Noe thief will stay behind.
Adibat ad comœdiam
Et cuncta circumspexit, Actorum diocesin
Completam hic detexit: Sed parce, precor, parcito, Hæc cogitare mente Non valet jurisdictio Vicario absente.
Fictitio equo subdidit
Calcaria, sperans fore
Ut eum ire cogeret
Gradu submissiore:
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Hoc non efficietur
Si iste stabularius
Habenis moderetur.
Testis est Polonia,
Quam sæpe is transivit,
Et oneratus sarcina
Eodem gradu ivit.
Tum parce, precor, parcito,
Et credas hoc futurum,
Si Brutum regat Asinus
Gradatim non iturum.
Comœdiam Ignoramus
Eum spectare libet,
Et hujus delicatulo
Structura non arridet.
At parce, precor, parcito,
Tum aliter versatus
In faciendis canticis
Fuisti occupatus.
Tum pergit maledicere
Cicestriensi patri,
Et vestes etiam vellicat
Episcopi barbati.
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Et nos tu sales pone,
Ne tanti patris careas
Benedictione.
Tum cibo se ingurgitans
Abunde saginatur,
Et venter cum expletus est,
Danti convitiatur.
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Nam illud verum erit,
Quicquid ingrato infecerit
Oxoniensi, perit.
At ecce nos videmur
Tenaces nimis esse,
Gallinam unam quod spectasset
Duos comedisse.
O parce, precor, parcito,
Hæc culpa corrigetur
Cum rursus Cantabrigia
Episcopo regetur.
Sed novo in sacello
Pedisse quos aspexit,
Quos nostra Academia
Honoribus erexit.
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Nam ipse es expertus,
Effugiunt omnes protinus
Cum carcer est apertus.
Behold, more anger yet:
He threatens us ere long,
When as the king comes back againe, To make another song.
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
Your weakness you disclose; For "Bonny Nell" doth plainly tell Your wit lies all in prose.
Nor can you make the world
Of Cambridge praise to ringe, A mouth so foul no market eare Will stand to hear it sing. Then leave it, scholler, leave it, For yet you cannot say,
The king did go from you in March And come again in May.
At nobis minitatur,
Si rex sit rediturus, Tunc iste (Phobo duce) est
Tela resumpturus.
Sed parce, precor, parcito, Piscator ictus sapit, Fugatus namque miles iners Arma nunquam capit.
Et Cantabrigiam non
Lædi hinc speramus, Ex ore tam spurcidico
Nil damni expectamus. O parce, ergo, parcito, Oxonia nunquam dicit, Cum Martio princeps abiens In Maio nos revisit.
ADDITAMENTA SUPERIORI CANTICO.
Ingenij amplitudinem
Jam satis ostendisti,
Et eloquentiæ fructus
Abundè protulisti :
Sed parce, tibi, parcito,
Ne omne absumatur,
Ne tandem tibi arido
Nil suavi relinquatur.
Jam satis oppugnasti,
O Polyyhemi proles !
Et tanquam taurus gregis
Nos oppugnare soles.
Sed parce, tandem, parcito,
Tuis laudatus eris,
Et nunc inultus tanquam stultus
A nobis dimitteris.
(THE UNFORTUNATE LADY ARABELLA STUART WHO DIED IN THE TOWER SEPT. 27, 1615.)
How do I thanke thee, Death, and blesse thy power
That I have past the guard, and scaped the Tower!
And now my pardon is my epitaph,
And a small coffin my poore carkasse hath.
For at thy charge both soule and body were
Enlarged at last, secured from hope and feare;
That among saints, this amongst kings is laid,
And what my birth did claim, my death hath paid.
AN UNHANDSOME GENTLEWOMAN WHO MADE LOVE UNTO
HIM.
HAVE I renounc't my faith, or basely sold
Salvation, and iny loyalty, for gold?
1 For this vehement attack upon the weakness of an infatuated woman, the author must be screened
Have I some forreigne practice undertooke
By poysou, short, sharp-knife, or sharper booke
To kill my king? have I betray'd the state
To fire and fury, or some newer fate,
Which learned murderers, those grand destinies,
The Jesuites, have nurc'd? if of all these
I guilty am, proceed; I am content
That Mallet take me for my punishment.
For never sinne was of so high a rate,
But one night's hell with her might expiate.
Although the law with Garnet 2, and the rest,
Dealt farr more mildly; hauging 's but a jest
To this immortali torture. Had she bin then
In Mary's torrid dayes engend'red, when
Cruelty was witty, and invention free
Did live by blood, and thrive by crueltye,
She would have bin more horrid engines farre
Than fire or famine, racks and halters are.
Whether her witt, forme, talke, smile, tire I name,
Each is a stock of tyranny and shame ;
But for her breath, spectatours come not nigh,
That layes about; God blesse the company!
The man in a beare's skin baited to death,
Would chose the doggs much rather then ber
breath;
One kisse of hers, and eighteene wordes alone
Put downe the Spanish inquisition.
"Thrice happy we" (quoth I, thinking thereon)
"That see no dayes of persecution;
For were it free to kill, this grisly elfe
Wold martyrs make in compasse of herselfe:
And were she not prevented by our prayer,
By this time she corrupted had the aire."
And am I innocent? and is it true,
That thing (which poet Plinye never knew,
under the example of Horace, Ep. viii. and xii. G. But are we sure that her character and manner of making love to him might not have justified his severity? If he could have treated an innocent and virtuous women in this manner, his character must have been despicably inhuman, which we have DO reason to think it was. C.
2 Henry Garnet, provincial of the order of Jesuits in England, who was arraigned and executed at the west end of St. Paul's, for his connivance at, rather than for any active participation in the gunpowder plot, May 3, 1605. See State Trials. G.
Nor Africk, Nile, nor ever Hackluyt's eyes
Descry'd in all his east, west-voyages;
That thing which poets were afrayd to feigne,
For feare her shadowe should infect their bra'ne;
This spouse of antichrist, and his alone,
She's drest so like the whore of Babylon;)
Should doate on me? as if they did contrive
The Devill and she, to damne a man alive.
Why doth not Welcome rather purchase her,
And beare about this rare familiar?
Sixe markett dayes, a wake, and a fayre too 't,
Would save his charges and the ale to bout.
No tyger's like her; she feedes upon man
Worse than a tygresse or a leopard can.
Let me go pray, and thinke upon some spell,
At once to bid the Devill and her farwell.
Remembring him. An epitaph would last
Were such a trophee, such a banner placed
Upon his corse as this: Here a man lyes
Was slaine by Henrye's dart, not Destinie's.
Why this were med'cinable, and would heale,
Though the whole languish'd, halfe the common-
But for a cobler to goe burn his cappe, [weale.
And cry, "The prince, the prince! O dire mishappe!"
Or a Geneva-bridegroom, after grace,
To throw his spouse i' th' fire; or scratch her face
To the tune of the Lamentation; or delay
His Friday capon till the sabbath day:
Or an old popish lady half vow'd dead
To fast away the day in gingerbread:
For him to write such annals; all these things
Do open laughter's and shutt up griefe's springs.
Tell me what juster or more congruous peere
Than ale, to judge of workes begott of beere?
Wherefore forbeare-or, if thou print the next,
Bring better notes, or take a meaner text.
ANNIVERSARIORUM SCRIPTOREM1.
Ter circum Iliacos raptaverat Hectora muros. Virg. Æn. i. 483.
EVEN SO dead Hector thrice was triumph'd on The walls of Troy, thrice slain when Fates had done: So did the barbarous Greekes before their boast Torment his ashes and profane his ghost: As Henrye's vault, his peace, his sacred hearse, Are torne and batter'd by thine Anniverse. Was 't not enough nature and strength were foes, But thou must yearly murther him in prose? Or dost thou thinke thy raving phrase can make A lowder eccho then the Almanake? Good friend, our general tie to him that 's gone Should love the man that yearlie doth him moane: The author's zeal and place he now doth hold, His love and duty makes him be thus bold To offer this poor mite, his anniverse Unto his good great master's sacred hearse; The which he doth with privilege of name, Whilst others, 'midst their ale, in corners blame. A pennyworth in print they never made, Yet think themselves as good as Pond or Dade. One anniverse, when thou hast done thus twice, Thy words among the best will be of Price.
EXAUCTORATUM ET EMERITUM.
Nor is it griev'd, grave youth, the memory
Of such a story, such a booke as he,
That such a copy through the world were read;
Henry yet lives, though he be buried.
It could be wish'd that every eye might beare
His eare good witnesse that he still were here:
That sorrowe ruled the yeare, and by that sunne
Each man could tell you how the day bad runne:
O't were an honest boast, for him could say
have been busy, and wept out the day
1 Dr. Daniel Price, who used to preach anniverary sermons on the death of Henry prince of Wales. C.
He that hath such acuteness and such wit
As would aske ten good heads to husband it;
He that can write so well, that no man dare
Refuse it for the best, let him beware:
Beaumont is dead! by whose sole death appears
Wit's a disease consumes men in few yeares.
ON THE LATE LORD WILLIAM HOWARD, BARON OF
EFFINGHAM.
I DID not know thee, lord, nor do I strive
To win access or grace with lords alive:
The dead I serve, froin whence nor faction can
Move me, nor favour; nor a greater man.
To whom no vice commends me, nor bribe sent,
From whom no penance warns, nor portion spent;
To these 1 dedicate as much of me,
As I can spare from my own husbandry:
And till ghosts walk as they were wont to do,
I trade for some, and do these errands too.
But first I do enquire, and am assur'd,
What tryals in their journeys they endur'd;
What certainties of honour and of worth
Their most uncertain life-times have brought forth;
And who so did least hurt of this small store,
He is my patron, dy'd he rich or poor.
First I will know of Fame (after his peace,
When flattery aud envy both do cease)
Who rul'd his actions: reason, or my lord?
Did the whole man rely upon a word,
A badge of title? or, above all chance,
Seem'd he as ancient as his cognizance ?
This poem, for what reason does not appear, is printed before some of the later editions of sir Thomas Overbury's "Wife." G.
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