IKL -V-J-
THE POETICAL WORKS OF
WILLIAM STRODE
(l 600*1645)
THE POETICAL WORKS OF
WILLIAM STRODE
NOW FIRST COLLECTED FROM MANUSCRIPT AND
PRINTED SOURCES » TO WHICH IS ADDED
THE FLOATING ISLAND
A TRAGICOMEDY
NOW FIRST REPRINTED FROM THE ORIGINAL
EDITION OF 1655
EDITED BY BERTRAM DOBELL
WITH A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR
His body sleeps, but not his better part,
And death is vanquished by victorious art
PUBLISHED BY THE EDITOR
CHARING CROSS ROAD, LONDON, W.C.
1907
FEE - 9 1949
TO
PERCY SIMPSON, M.A.
Dear Mr. Simpson,
This book owes so much to your zealous
and disinterested services in the collection and
revision of its materials that I should be un-
grateful indeed if I did not dedicate it to you,
in default of any better method of expressing
my thanks.
Tours faithfully,
BERTRAM DOBELL
CONTENTS
[In the following: list those poems which have never before been
printed (so far as the editor has been able to ascertain) are
distinguished by a *]
Dedication ........... v
Contents ... vii
Introduction xiii
Lyrics :
Song: "When Orpheus sweetly did complayne" . . i
„ In commendation of Musick ..... 2
,, " Keepe on your maske " ...... 3
,, Another version ........ 4
* ,, " O when will Cupid shew such arte "... 6
„ " O tell mee, tell, thou god of wynde "... 7
* ,, On the Baths 9
* ,, " As I out of a casement sent ". n
* ,, On a Friend's Absence ...... 13
,, Melancholly 14
„ Opposite to Melancholly 15
*A Translation of the Nightingale out of Strada 16
Miscellaneous Poems :
*On Westwell Downes 20
*On a great hollow Tree 2I
On Fayrford Windowes 25
On a Gentlewoman's blistred lipp 28
vii
PAGE
To a Gentlewoman for a Friend 29
For a Gentleman, who, kissing his Friend at his departure,
left a sign of blood on her ...... 32
On a Dissembler 33
*On Gray Eyes . 35
*On a Gentlewoman's Watch that wanted a key ... 36
A Watch sent home to Mrs. Eliz. King .... 38
*On a watch made by a Blacksmith 38
On a Gentlewoman that sung and play'd upon a Lute . 39
Upon the blush of a faire Ladie 39
On a Gentlewoman walking in the Snowe .... 41
On Chloris standing by the Fire 42
To a Valentine 42
*A Superscription on Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia . . 43
* Posies 43
On the Picture of two Dolphins in a Fountayne ... 46
Sonnet : " My love and I for kisses play'd " ... 47
To his Mistress " In your sterne beauty I can see " . . 47
A Lover to his Mistress 48
*A Riddle : on a Kiss 48
On a Gentlewoman that had had the small poxe . . 49
*On Jealousy 49
Religious Poems :
Of Death & Resurrection ....... 50
On the Bible 51
*On a Register for the Bible 52
*Another ........... 53
Anthem for Good Fryday 53
*An Antheme 54
Justification 55
On the Life of Man ......... 55
Elegies : «
On the death of of Mrs. Mary Neudham ... • 57
viii
PAGE
*On the Death of Mistress Mary Prideaux ... 58
*On the same M. M. P. . .... 59
*Consolatorium, Ad Parentes . . . . . . 61
Her Epitaph 62
On the Death of Sir Tho. Peltham 64
On the Death of a Twin .66
*On the yong Baronett Portman 66
On the Death of Dr. Lancton 68
*On Dr. Lancton's death 70
On the Death of Sir Thomas Lea 71
*An Epitaph on Sr. John Walter 73
Remembrances cf the renowned Knight, Sir Rowland
Cotton 75
On the death of Sir Rowland Cotton, seconding that of Sir
Robert ......... 76
To the Right Honourable the Lady Penelope, Dowager
of the late Viscount Bayning ..... 77
On the death of the Right Honourable the Lord Viscount
Bayning . .... 77
*On the Death of the Ladie Caesar 80
*An Epitaph on Mr. Fishborne ...... 82
*On the Death of Mr. James Van Otton .... 85
*On Sir Thomas Savill dying of the small pox ... 86
*Epitaph on Mr. Bridgman ...... 87
Epistles :
To his Sister 88
*To Sir Jo. Ferrars 88
*To the same 90
*To the same ........ 92
*To Sir Edm. Ling 93
*To the Lady Knighton 94
To Mr. Rives uppon his Recovery .... 95
*A New Year's Gift . 98
To a Friend 99
b ix
PAGE
A Letter 100
With Penne, Inke, and Paper to a distressed Friend . . 101
Thanks for a Welcome . ... 102
Humourous Poems :
A Paralell between Bowling and Preferment . . .103
The Capps . .104
On a good legg and foot . 108
On John Dawson (Butler of C.C.) . .110
Jacke-on-both-sides . . . . . .111
*Chimney-Sweeper's Song . . . . .111
A Devonshire Song . .114
Upon the Sheriffs Beere . 118
Love compared to a game of tables . 119
On a butcher Marrying a Tanner's Daughter . . . 119
^Inscription and Epitaphs on the Monument of Sir William
Strode . . 120
Doubtful Pieces :
A Sonnet : " Mourne, mourne, yee lovers " . .123
„ " Sing aloud, harmonious sphears " . . 124
Obsequies 125
Upon Heaven's best Image, his faire and vertuous Mistress 126
On his Mistress, " Gaze not on Swans " . . . .128
Song : " As I my flocks lay keeping " ... 130
„ " Thoughts do not vexe me whilst I sleepe " . . 130
Upon a Gentlewoman's Entertainment of him . . 131
On Alma's Voyce 132
Upon a Picture ........ 133
" Come let us howle some heavy note " . . . . 134
*To his Paper 135
*To the same 136
PAGE
THE FLOATING ISLAND 137
Additional Notes to the Poems ...... 241
Notes to " The Floating Island " 254
Strada's Nightingale : the original poem ..... 264
List of Strode's Latin verses . 268
INTRODUCTION
FOUR years since I was fortunate enough to discover and
make known a seventeenth-century poet of remarkable gifts,
whose works, it was generally acknowledged, were not merely
well worthy of being rescued from the oblivion which had
enshrouded them, but were destined henceforth to take their
place beside those of such poets as Herbert, Crashaw, and
Vaughan. Only one thing in my life ever gave me more
pleasure than this, namely, the discovery whilst he was
living, and whilst it was within my power to help him, of
the author of " The City of Dreadful Night." A service
rendered to the living must needs be a source of greater
gratification than one rendered to the dead. But since I
cannot hope to have the pleasure of befriending a second
James Thomson it gives me much delight to rescue from
oblivion another undeservedly forgotten poet. For nearly
three hundred years WILLIAM STRODE has waited to receive
the recognition which is due to him ; henceforth I believe it
will be impossible to pass him over when reviewing the
literary history of the generation which succeeded that of
the great Shakespearean epoch.
Excepting the case of Thomas Campion, who was so
c xiii
fortunately rescued from obscurity or oblivion by Mr. A. H.
Bullen, I know of no parallel in English literature to the way
in which fate or chance has treated William Strode. The
case of Traherne, strange as it is, differs from that of Strode,
since the former, until the discovery of his manuscripts, never
had a name as a poet, whereas the latter had, at any rate
during his lifetime, a considerable reputation as a fine artist
in verse.
Strode's Play entitled " The Floating Island" was pub.
lished at London in 1655. An interesting address " To the
Reader " is prefixed to it, from which I will now quote only
the last sentence : "If you bid this welcome, you'll be gainers
by it, you'l encourage us to publish other Pieces of this
Authors, which (we dare say) will convince you to say (what
the best and most knowing of this nation have confessed) that
our Author was one of the most judicious wits of England."
It would seem that the play did not receive the welcome
which was solicited for it, for it did not lead to the publica-
tion of its author's other works. It is evident, however, from
the sentence I have quoted, and from other indications, that
he had a very high reputation with his contemporaries. An
! advertisement of " The Floating Island " at the end of
Selden's " eEANeponos : or God made Man," describes
him as " that renowned wit " — a phrase that meant more then
than it means now. The poems of no author of the time
were more frequently copied into the manuscript common-
place books of the first half of the seventeenth century, and
many of his pieces found their way into print through the
medium of such miscellanies as " Musarum Deliciaj," "Par-
nassus Biceps," and " "Wit Restor'd," though as no name was
xiv
appended to them he gained no credit from their publication.
But before going further it will be best to record the events
of his life, so far as we know them, and so far as they can be
gathered from the various authorities.
William Strode was a scion of a good old Devonshire
family which traces its descent from one Adam, who in the
reign of King Henry III. added Strode to his name because
he then had an habitation so-called in the parish of Erming-
ton, near Modbury in Devonshire. "When King Edward I.
sent his herald into Devonshire to summon gentlemen to his
assistance in the war against the King of Scotland, Adam
Strode, of Strode, Esq., as appears from the Rolls in the
Tower, was amongst those who were summoned.
There is no proper genealogical account of the Strode
family or families — or at least I have not succeeded in finding
one. They appear to have been a remarkably prolific race ;
and it is hard, if not impossible, to disentangle the truth from
the various records which we have of them.* There were
Strodes in Dorset and Somerset, as well as in Devon, and the
name "William was a favourite one with all of them. This
multiplicity of "Williams has created much confusion. In the
first half of the seventeenth century there were five or six
"William Strodes, most of whom were men of mark, and
between whom it is often difficult to distinguish.
* One of the earliest Strodes of whom we have any account was
Ralph Strode, schoolman and fellow of Merton College, Oxford,
where he had John Wycliffe for a colleague. To him, together with
John Gower, Chaucer dedicated his"Troylus and Cryseide." He
was a man of remarkable ability and character : but whether he was
in any way related to the Devonshire Strodes does not appear.
xv
According to Wood, in his " Athenae Oxonienses," William
Strode was "the only son of Philip Strode, sometimes living
near Plimpton, and he a younger son of Sir Rich. Strode, of
Newenham or Newinham in Devonshire." Prince, however,
in his " Worthies of Devon " gives a different account. The
poet, he says, — " received'his first breath about the year of
our Lord, 1600, and was the only son of Philip, by Wilmot, his
wife, daughter of Hanton, fourth son of William (not Sir
Richard Strode, as a certain author tells us) of Newnham,
near Plymouth, Esq. ; by Elizabeth, his wife, daughter and
heir to William Courtenay, of Loughtor, near adjoining to
Newnham." Whether Wood or Prince is right on this matter
I have not been able to ascertain ; though we may perhaps
assume that Prince would not have spoken so positively if he
had not carefully investigated the matter. However, the
point is not of the first importance : we may be sure that
the poet, like the rest of us, had a grandfather ; and not
many, I suppose, will concern themselves very much as to
who that grandfather may have been. All authorities,
however, are agreed that the poet's father was Philip Strode,
and that he was an only son, though he had certainly one
sister, if no more.
We cannot tell precisely when William Strode was born.
It was probably late in the year 1600, or early in 1601, that
that event occurred. Nor do we know where he was born,
though we may infer that it was at or near Plympton, in
Devon.
As usual in the case of almost all persons, however fa-
mous, born before the eighteenth century, we have practi-
cally no account of Strode's boyhood and youth. The only
xvi
writer who gives us any information on the subject is
Prince : and as his account, though not very illuminating, is
the only one available, I will quote it, rather than para-
phrase it : —
"His relations observing in him a great vivacity of parts, and
a genius inclining him to books and learning, kept him close
at school in the country for some years : until at length they
found an opportunity of sending him to the college-school at
Westminister ; which to them who are able to accomplish it
in behalf of their sons, is like to prove doubly advantageous,
for there, from a better method and discipline than what is
generally observed in country schools boys learn better ; and
also, that thence they are in a fairer way of preferment, as
being likely to be chosen into one or other of those noble
societies and famous nurseries of learning and vertue, Christ-
Church in Oxford, or Trinity-College in Cambridge. From this
school accordingly was William Strode (now excellently im-
proved in the tongues and classick authors) elected a student
of Christ-Church aforesaid. The author of the History and
Antiquities of the University of Oxford tells us it was in
the year of our Lord 1621, and of his age the 19th ; but the
same author, having better considered it, tells us elsewhere
it was in the sixteenth year of his age, and of our Lord 1617 :
Which last account seems the most probable. Being now
placed in his proper sphere, Mr. Strode soon began to display
the bright and warm beams of his wit and learning, as well to
an happy influence on others, as to his own great credit and
reputation : For even his younger and more juvenile years
were not spent without great usefulness and advantage
especially upon account of his extraordinary performances
xvii
both in poetry and oratory : Faculties which seldom occur in
perfection in one and the same person. In the year 1621,
December 6th he took his first degree of arts ; and June
17th, 1624, he proceeded master. Soon after this he took
holy orders, and became a most florid preacher in the uni-
versity. In the year 1629, he was chosen one of the proctors
thereof ; and for his great eloquence, the publick orator : a
gentile and reputable post ; whose office it is, in the name of
the university, to entertain princes and other great personages,
with set orations, as their occasions or inclinations shall invite
them thither ; to write the publick letters and the like. So that
he may be called the mouth of the university ; according to his
own expression in a letter congratulatory sent in her name to
his Majesty King Charles I., which thus began, ' Cum in
corpore Academic sim ipse lingua.' A place that requires as
well parts as prudence, to honour it aright with honour and
reputation ; yet herein did Mr. Strode acquit himself to a
general satisfaction."
To the above account of Strode's early career at the Uni-
versity there is not much to be added. It is evident that he
was eminently well fitted for his chosen career, and that no
other way of life would have suited him so well. He made
Oxford his home, and it seems apparent that he never left it
willingly, and that when he was compelled to do so he always
returned to it as soon as possible. He entered fully into the
life of the University, and certainly gained the respect if not
the affection of all who were connected with it. Very early
after becoming an Oxford student he became known as an
excellent writer of Latin and English verse, and few of the
collections of poems which it was then the fashion for the
xviii
members of the University to publish upon the occurrence of
any important event of the time appeared without some con-
tribution from his pen. His earliest appearance in print —
or the earliest which I can trace — was in " Annae Funebria
Sacra," 1619, to which he contributed some Latin verses.
Judging from some of Strode's Epistles in verse it would
seem that in the early period of his residence at Oxford his
means were somewhat straitened. This may have been
owing to the fact that his father, being a member of a very
numerous family, was himself comparatively poor, and hence
was not able to provide very liberally for him. The grati-
tude which the poet expresses for pecuniary assistance
rendered to him seems to show that such assistance was very
welcome, even if it was not absolutely necessary, to him. I
cannot find that he had any settled means of subsistence before
1628, in which year Richard Corbet — a thoroughly congenial
spirit, who must have rejoiced in the opportunity of doing a
good turn to his friend — became Bishop of Oxon, and made
Strode his chaplain. They remained, there is every reason
to believe, friends and comrades until the death of Corbet in
1635. Few men of the period were more in sympathy in
tastes and aspirations than Corbet and Strode. Both were
excellent poets,* both were gifted with wit and humour ;
and both were very well fitted to play their parts in the
more cultivated circles of the time. Both Corbet and Strode,
* Whether Corbet, in fact, deserves the name of poet may perhaps
be questioned. He was certainly not a great poet, nor so good a one
as Strode; but unless we accept a definition of the term which would
exclude many more considerable writers than Corbet, we need not
deny the title of poet to him.
xix
though they wrote much verse, were alike careless of their
productions, and took no steps to preserve them, beyond
giving manuscript copies to their friends. One consequence
of this is that in two or three cases it is difficult to tell
whether a particular piece is by Corbet or Strode. The
Bishop's poems were not collected until twelve years after
his death; while Strode's, as I have said, have remained
uncollected unto the present day. Perhaps it will be as well
to insert here the formal record of Strode's career at the
University. He graduated B.A. on December 6, 1621, M.A.
on June 17, 1624, and B.D. on December 10, 1631. " In 1629,"
says Wood, " he was chosen the Public Orator of the Uni-
versity, being then one of the Proctors of it, and two years
afterwards was admitted to the reading of the Sentences."
In 1633 he became Rector of East Bradenham, Norfolk ;
ut nevertheless seems to have continued to reside at Oxford,
n 1636 the University was visited by King Charles I. and
ueen Henrietta, and they were welcomed at the gate of
Christ Church by Strode in a Latin oration. On August 29
of the same year Strode's play, entitled "The Floating
Island," * which he had been specially requested to write,
was performed before the King, Queen, and Court by the
students of Christ Church. The play seems hardly to have
pleased the spectators, who appear to have thought that
there was more morality than entertainment in it. The King,
however, highly commended it, which is not to be wondered
at when it is realised that the play was evidently written in
* The play seems to have been originally entitled, " The Passions
Calm'd, or the Settling of the Floating Island " : but the printed copy
is called simply "The Floating Island."
XX
the interest of the royal cause. I shall speak further of the
play when I come to review the author's works.
In 1638 Strode was made a Canon of Christ Church, and
Vicar of Blackbourton, Oxford ; and in the same year he
proceeded to the degree of D.D. From 1639 to 1642 he was
Vicar of Badley, Northamptonshire.
In 1642, when the Civil War was raging, the King came to
Oxford and made a speech before the University. This
speech was published at Oxford, and reprinted at London.
Perhaps it is worth while to quote the title-page of it : " The
Kings Majesties Speech as it was delivered the Second of
November before the University and City of Oxford. To-
gether with a gratulatory Replication expressed by that
learned man Doctor William Strode, Orator for the famous
University of Oxford."
The King's speech need not be dwelt upon here ; * but
* I will, however, quote a passage from it because of its curious
resemblance to the sort of oratory with which a monarch of the
present day, whom it is not necessary to name, periodically favours
his subjects :
" Deleave me on the word of a Prince, on the word of your Sove-
raigne, there is nothing more deare unto me than Religion, the
Religion of my Father and the Royal Queen, his predecessor, a
religion which ever from her owne flame hath arised more pure, and
multiplied. This is my businesse to you, in which I shall satisfie
both God and you. And since I have left the warre behind me, take
peace and the day while you see it, I see the clouds make hast to
overcome it. The Scepter is and must bee mine. Unite yourselves
to maintaine so honourable, so just a cause, and what one hand can-
not infringe let many maintaine : You have God for your cause, you
have me for his second ; and since both are together who can oppose
us ? "
XX
Strode's reply to it is worth quoting, as a specimen, though
not perhaps a very favourable one, of his style of oratory :
" High words cannot reach the joy that your presence hath
created in our hearts, which doe blesse our eyes for so desired
an object. Learning doth acknowledge the mercy of Heaven
in bringing your Majesty to give voyce to the dumbe
Academy, and renue the Muses slaine by that Briareus of
ignorance which breathes nothing but Religions destruction.
Our Oxford hath now throwne off all clouds of discontents,
and stands cleare, guided by the beames of your Majesties
Royall presence. The burden cast on me is my joy, or rather
the joy of the Academy, extaside into a learned amazement,
and raptured into speech to see your Majesty. All gratula-
tion cannot comply with our thoughts, to shew the pleasure
our fancy takes to behold your Majesty. See, Royall King,
how Oxford, beauteous in her age doth kneele, making teares
of joy a Sacrifice, and begging to be protected from threatened
ruine. Shall the Spring of learning bee dam'd up ? while
ignorance doth teare and rend the Muses Garlands, as would
both contemne and destroy Schollers : For no enemy can
learning have unlesse it bee the ignorant. Your Royall
Majesty is by descent a protector of learning, and borne (as
your Father was) to bee the glory and defender of the Muse.
This may strongly invite your love : wherein wee are already
happy in some degree. But wee feare a malignant enemy
should violate our cleare Minerva, and banish from her both
maintenance and glory. Pure zeale doth make them seeke
with one blow to destroy both learning and Religion, now
bleeding and wounded by schismaticall heads, and expecting
cure from your Royall Majesty. Yet our feares are great,
xxii
and grounded upon the unhappy fate of learning, which is
despised of precise Schollers that weare black only to mourne
for the decease of learning. But joy cannot imagine the time
discreet for a just reproof e, and therefore I must tell what
pleasure doth refresh and water our thirsty garden, rather
than complaine of scorching heate of persecution. Our
memory must not be active in striving to manifest sorrow
incompatible with our present joy. Enlarge thyselfe there-
fore Oxford : and let not any greife so blind thy heart to a
stupid peace, but let loud gratulations wound the aire
with reporting welcome to our Gracious King Charles."
At this point it is worth mentioning that while the subject
of this biography, as the above speech shows, was a most
zealous royalist, he had two namesakes who were equally
zealous parliamentarians. One of them indeed played a
very prominent part in opposition to the king, he being one
of the five members whose attempted seizure had so great an
influence in hastening on, if not in causing, the great Civil
War. This gentleman was a near relative of the poet.
Another William Strode, known as " Colonel " Strode, who
has often been confounded with the one just mentioned, also
played a considerable part in the great struggle. Two or
three other William Strodes were living at the same time,
but these were quite undistinguished persons.
Of our William Strode there is little more to be recorded,
so far as his personal history is concerned. He married a
daughter of Dr. Simpson, Prebendary of Canterbury, by
whom he had an only daughter, who became the wife of
Henry Langley, Master of Arts, of Wadham College. The
poet died on March 10, 1644, at Oxford, and was buried in
xxiii
the Divinity Chapel of Christ Church Cathedral ; but (owing
perhaps to the still-raging Civil War) no memorial marked
his place of interment. He does not appear to have left any
will : at least none has been discovered.*
Wood states that Strode left behind him, fairly written in
several volumes, his Orations, Speeches, Epistles, Sermons,
etc. These fell into the hands of Dr. Gardiner, Canon of
Christ Church ; f and afterwards of Richard Davies, an
Oxford bookseller. Possibly they still exist, and may some
day be recovered.
Reviewing the poet's career in the light of the above-
recorded facts we see that it was a more than usually success-
* Perhaps it should be mentioned that there is, in the Bodleian
library, a curious letter, unsigned and undated, addressed apparently
to the father or other near relative of a certain William Strode, who
had, it seems, when very young contracted an imprudent marriage,
at Oxford, with a young woman of a station inferior to his own.
This young man had (apparently by constraint of his parent or
parents) deserted his wife, leaving her in necessitous circumstances.
The writer of the letter pleads in her favour, urging that she is a
well-conducted and respectable person, and well fitted to be received
as the young man's wife. It is altogether unlikely that this letter
can refer to our William Strode. As I have shown there were several
namesakes of the poet living in the first half of the seventeenth cen-
tury, and it is doubtless to one of these that the letter refers.
t Prince, in his " Worthies of Devon," says that Strode's Orations,
&c., "came to be published under Dr. Gardiner's name by this title,
'Specimen Oratorium.'" But this appears to be an error. Dr.
Gardiner himself published the book in question. It contains some
Orations which the Dr. claims for himself; but as regards most of
the contents he claims no more than to be the collector or publisher
of them. Some of the pieces in the volume may be by Strode, but
none of them can be attributed to him with any degree of certainty,
xxiv
ful one. He had a great reputation with his contemporaries,
who looked upon him as "a pithy and sententious Preacher^
an exquisite Orator, and eminent Poet." It seems certain
that he was a pleasant and witty companion, with that power
of adapting himself to whatever company he might chance to
be in, which is so valuable in a world wherein dullards and
bores are, if not in a majority, at least far too numerous. No
doubt the latter part of his life was saddened by the civil
conflict, of which he did not live to see the end ; and possibly
his grief at the spectacle may have had some influence in
hastening his early death. But saving this, and assuming (as
we certainly may) that his disposition was not of that per-
verse kind which prevents a man from being happy or con-
tented, however circumstances may favour him, he was
surely far more fortunate than poets usually are. Placed in
the very milieu that was best suited to his character and
abilities ; having almost all he could desire in the way of
honours and dignities ; and convinced (as no doubt he was)
that in exercising his clerical functions he was fulfilling a
high and sacred duty, he could hardly have had a more
enviable lot. And though his name has since remained
for upwards of two centuries and a half in almost total
obscurity, that perhaps is only what has happened to other
men of equal abilities who are never likely to be rescued
from the entire oblivion into which they have fallen.
It is evident from many indications that Strode was what
we now term a High Churchman, and that he had very
exalted notions of the value and importance of the clerical
calling.* He was undoubtedly an eloquent and popular
* In Archbishop Laud's History of the University of Oxford,
XXV
preacher. Three only of his sermons have been printed.
From one of these entitled " A Sermon preached at a Visita-
tion held at Lin, in Norfolk, June the 24th, Anno 1633, being
an Admonition to the Clergy to remember and keep those
severall Oaths, Promises, and Subscriptions, which they
solemnly have made, etc." I make the following extract, in
order to afford the reader an idea of the style of Strode's
pulpit exhortations :
" O the perjur'd condition of many an hasty Prophet, and
outwardly demure Saint ! who without any preparative con-
sideration, having solemnly plighted his Faith, having done it
with Mouth, Hand, and Knee, twice or thrice in Academicall
during the time that he was Chancellor thereof (Laud's Works, vol,
5, Library of Anglo -Catholic Theology), there is a Latin letter of
Strode's to the Archbishop in which he professes his complete
devotion and fidelity to him. In the same work there are a number
of Latin letters addressed to Laud on the affairs of the University,
which are signed " Acad. Oxon." These letters were probably
written by Strode, whose duty, as public orator, was to write such
epistles.
From Laud's Account of his Troubles and Trials (Works, vol. 4),
we learn that Strode was to some extent involved in the Arch-
bishop's misfortunes. When the Parliament put Laud upon his
trial, one of the charges against him was that in his zeal for Roman-
ism he had assumed papal titles. I extract the following passage
from Laud's Diary :
" The last [charge] which I remember is, Quo rectior non stat regula,
&c. And this is no more than an absolute hyperbole ; a high one I
confess, yet as high are found in all rhetorical authors : and what
should make that blasphemy in an University orator which is every-
where common, and not only allowed but commendable, I know not.
.... And if I had assumed any to myself, which I am and ever
was far from doing; yet 'tis one thing to assume papal title, and
xxvi
degrees, twice in Ordinations, and as oft in his Institutions as
he can, doth presently go forth with resolution to break it ;
charges his wit to invent fallacy against his Duty, and to
Preach against that vow that enables him to Preach. Can
there be any Atheism more hideously contemptuous ! Hand
and Seal given to man will tie us to our Word, or to the Jayl ;
only God can have no fair dealing, no sufficient redresse.
In point of holy Promise (God be mercifull to us) we have
lost all conscience, the conscience that is runs clean contrary
to our promise, whereby if we stand bound, we think our-
selves bound to break it ; the faster tied, the looser we play ;
and that which was Duty before it was vow'd is by vowing
another thing to assume papal power, which is the thing charged ;
though I thank God I did neither. . . . And as I told Mr. Browne,
when he charged this on me, Dr. Strowd, the University orator, who
writ those letters, and gave those titles was called up before a Com-
mittee of this Parliament, examined about them, acquitted, and
dismissed."
Laud, it appears, paid the expenses of the production of Strode'^
" Floating Island " ; and it seems likely that the play was written
at his request. The Archbishop, in his History of the University,
says that Strode's play "was very well penned, but yet did not
take the Court so well." The next day Cartwright's "Royal
Slave " was performed at St. John's College, and this was highly
approved of.
It is perhaps worth while to mention that Strode's name appears
among those of a number of heads of houses and other Oxford
officials, who, in consequence of rumours having been spread abroad
of their inclinations towards Popery, signed a declaration to the
effect that " so far from conniving at the celebration of mass here, or
knowing of any such matter, that we neither know nor can probably
suspect any member of our University to be a papist, or popishly
addicted."
xxvii
esteem'd unlawfull. If God make a Promise to us, though it
be but Conditional, we claim it as Absolute : no disobedience
of ours can set Him free, we allow not his Majesty so much
Mutability, as on our change to be constant to Justice : but when
ourselves have dedicated a Promise to Him, whether by our
Governours, or also in our own persons, be it never so full and
absolute, any or no condition shall suffice to cancel it ; and
we that deny ourselves the liberty of Vowing, will take an
unmeasur'd liberty of Disannulling, or perchance feign a
necessity of undoing what indeed we would not do."
One has not to read many pages of Strode before it
becomes evident to what class of poets he belongs. His place
is with the generation which succeeded Shakespeare and the
great Elizabethan writers, not only by birth, but by choice
and temperament. It was, indeed, a generation inferior to
its predecessor, but hardly to any other save that which
only fell short of the Elizabethans because it could not boast,
among its many great figures, one which could compare with
the greatest of all poets and dramatists.* No poet of the
first half of the seventeenth century belonged more entirely
and completely to it than did Strode. He neither sought to
enter into rivalry with his great predecessors, nor to find
new sources of inspiration, as other poets have done, in the
vision of a transfigured humanity, freed from its baser
* I say ' poets and dramatists ' advisedly — for while I believe that
two at least of the poets of the first quarter of the last century were
equal to Shakespeare as poets, none of them could approach within
measurable distance of him as a dramatist. Great poets are com-
paratively numerous : great dramatists who are also great poets are
few indeed,
xxviii
elements, and rising to the height of its magnificent destiny.
Unlike Traherne, who anticipated so wonderfully the philo-
sophical and poetic ideas of writers born long after his time,
he was content JcLtk the current theories of life and thought,
and did not seek to transcend them. His temperament in
short was that of a conservative, not that of an innovator
or reformer. Therefore we must not expect to find in him
any great originality of thought, or novelty of presentation.
In his writings he keeps to the beaten track, and is content to
shew his skill in playing variations upon the ancient themes,
rather than in attempting to invent new and previously
unheard harmonies. He could hold his own with the best
of his contemporaries, but he did not seek to rival the deeper
melodies of the poets of the past, nor did he try to anticipate
the music of the future.
It is obvious to the reader of Strode's poems wherein his
chief strength lay. It is in the lyric and the elegy that he is
most happy. Probably he was aware of this himself, and
therefore refrained from attempting to write any long or
ambitious poem. The fact, however, may be otherwise
accounted for by supposing that he regarded his poetical
essays simply as recreations into which he only cared to put
so much thought and energy as could be spared from his
more serious pursuits. His play shows that he was not
destitute of the power to plan and execute a work of con-
siderable length and difficulty ; but it seems to have been
more in accordance with his genius to attempt only such
short lyric or elegiac pieces as could be created by a single
effort of will, or a sudden access of inspiration.
" A jest's prosperity lies in the ear of him that hears it "—
d xxix
and it is much the same with a lyric. It is hit or miss with
it : if it does not at once approve itself to the reader it is at
once condemned. It may be otherwise with other kinds of
poetry ; but with the lyric it is a rule, almost or quite with-
out exceptions. It is at once the easiest, and the most difficult
of poetic achievements : the easiest, that is, to the born singer,
and the hardest to those whose music, instead of springing
upwards as from a fountain, has to be drawn up painfully as
from a well. And it is hard to explain why a lyric is beauti-
ful, or for what quality it should be admired. To have no
liking for the lyrics of Campion or Herrick, or of the many
other lyrical poets of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries
is to confess oneself to be without a taste for poetry at all ;
but one is no more called upon to explain why he admires
these things than why he admires the nightingale's song.
Therefore I shall not attempt to prove that Strode's lyrical
( poems are worthy of admiration. If the reader does not at
the first reading appreciate the beauty of " When Orpheus
Sweetly did Complayne," "In Commendation of Musick,"
"O tell me, tell, thou God of Wynde," and "As I out of a
Casement Sent," it is not likely that anything I can say will
enable him to do so. Of the famous lyric on Melancholy,
which, as I shall show later on, is probably Strode's and not
Fletcher's, I will not now speak. It is to be wished that our
poet had devoted more of his time to the writing of lyrics
rather than to the composition of the many occasional pieces
which are to be found in the present volume ; for these,
though always ingenious and subtle, and sometimes witty and
humorous, would have been well exchanged for a few more
of his lyrics. He has left enough of them, however (if I am
xxx
not much mistaken), to assure him a permanent place beside
Herrick, Carew, Randolph, and Waller.
" On West well Downes " is a poem of a kind of which we
have few examples in our early poets ; indeed I cannot at
this moment recall even one which resembles it. Of course
there are in Shakespeare and his contemporaries plenty of
references to country life and scenery, but these are com-
monly only brief and passing allusions, and are generally
introduced not for their own sake, but because of some rela-
tion which they have to the feelings or thoughts of those who
look upon them or recall them to memory. It was left to the
poets of a much later date to describe a scene simply for its
own sake, and without reference to anything that might
chance to be happening there. Therefore, without making
too much of this poem, I think we may claim for Strode that
he was one of the very few poets of his time who gave
expression to that feeling for and delight in nature for itself,
the full exposition of which was to form the peculiar glory of
the singers of the last century. The same praise may be
bestowed upon the verses " On a Great Hollow Tree," a
poem which deals with its subject simply and naturally, not
seeking (as Wordsworth would have done) to draw any moral
lesson from it, but only to record in a vivid and picturesque
manner the various thoughts and images which the object
described awakened in the poet's mind.
Though it is in his lyrics, taking them all together, that
Strode is at his best, it is not amongst them that we meet with
his finest and most highly-wrought work. Although his
elegies are not so uniformly excellent as his lyrics, there is at
least one of them which is not only, as I conceive, his highest
xxxi
achievement, but is also a poem of quite remarkable beauty
and pathos. If the longer of the two elegies on Mary Prideaux
is not a masterpiece, such as any poet might be proud of
having written, I must be content to be considered as an
uncritical and undiscriminating enthusiast. Surely if any
poem was ever written with profound grief in the heart,
infinite tenderness in the soul, and eyes dimmed with tears,
this beautiful, this most pathetic, and yet most consolatory
and most tranquillising elegy, was thus composed. If there
is any more beautiful poem of its kind I have not been so
fortunate as to meet with it ; indeed I cannot now recall to
mind any other equally tender and touching poem. To me
it seems to stand alone, a thing done perfectly and once for
all ; to be admired and envied by other singers, but never to
be equalled or excelled. If Strode had written nothing else,
this poem would alone suffice to place him in the front rank
of elegiac poets. That (excepting the third section) it should
have remained in manuscript for upwards of two and a half
centuries, and that of those who have seen and read it during
that period, not one should have recognised its surpassing
excellence is surely one of the marvels of literature.* Pos-
sibly some of my readers may be disposed to think that my
praise is too unmeasured, and that the poem is not really
worthy of such fervent commendation. But if they think so
* It may be thought, perhaps, that I have no warrant for such a
sweeping statement as this; but could any one who had realised
the beauty of the poem have refrained from proclaiming his admira-
tion of it ? When Dr. Grosart issued his proposals for the publica-
tion of his " Literary Finds " he drew special attention to an elegy on
the death of a child, by Cecill Turner (whom he identified without
xxxii
after a first perusal, I will ask them to give it a second, or
even a third reading, when I believe they will come round
to my opinion. For myself I only feel regret that I cannot
speak with the authority, the eloquence, and the inspiration
of a Swinburne, that I might thus fitly eulogise this divinely
beautiful elegy.
Of the other elegy on Mary Prideaux, and of that on Mary
Neudham, no true critic will, I think, deny the beauty.
Perhaps they would seem more beautiful than they do now
were they not outshone by their greater companion. Yet
they are well worthy to stand by its side. Finely imagined,
deeply felt, and nobly expressed, they satisfy at once the
judgment and the feelings. They have the perfection of a
cameo, or of a finely-wrought medallion.
Of the remainder of the elegies it must be confessed that
warrant, as Cyril Tourneur), which he described as " a literary jewel.'
Here it is :
ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD BUT ONE YEAR OLD.
How can Heaven's voyage long or hard appear ?
This feeble infant went it in a year.
Yet Reader, let not strength secure delay :
For many die before they are on the way.
Here contemplation thy journey fit ;
This blest one was her whole life going it.
To say nothing of the clumsy and meaningless fifth line (which may,
however, have been misread by the transcriber), this is at the best
a poor and commonplace production. If we call it a " literary
jewel," what terms of praise can we find that are fit to be applied to
the elegy on Mary Prideaux ? Yet Dr. Grosart, though he must have
been well acquainted with the elegy, since he includes it in his list
of Strode's poems, had no word of commendation for it.
xxxiii
they fall far below the level of those I have just mentioned.
As the best is the enemy of the good, so Strode, in writing
these, set up so high a standard that his other elegies inevit-
ably suffer by comparison with them. The secret of the
excellence of the elegies on Mary Neudham and Mary Prideaux
: is that the author's feelings were, in these cases, deeply
stirred, and he wrote therefore rather from the promptings
of his heart than of his head. In his other elegies the case
was reversed — partially, at least, if not wholly. In them he
was rather exercising his fancy than expressing his emotions,
and they are therefore to be judged, not according to the
effect which they produce on the feelings, but by the amount
of satisfaction which they afford to the intellect. The writer's
object is to discourse as eloquently, and with as much in-
genuity as he can, on his chosen theme. If he succeeds in
making upon the reader's mind the same sort of impression
that the feats of a gymnast make upon it — namely, a feeling
of wonder at the skill and resource of the performer — his
aim is accomplished. We may regret that Strode did not
more often allow his feelings, rather than his fancy, to guide
his pen ; but we must not censure him for not accomplishing
what he did not attempt.
What has been said of the elegies will apply also to Strode's
epistles, which, however, have not amongst them, like the
elegies, any of greatly superior excellence. They are very
good in their way, and it should be remembered that few, if
any, of them were intended for publication. They move
easily along ; the expression is well fitted to the matter, and
the thought is not without dignity and elevation. More than
this cannot, and need not, be claimed for them,
xxxiv
The miscellaneous and religious poems do not require much
comment. They are always ingenious, gracefully turned, and
full of fanciful wit. "Whatever else Strode may be he is never
dull. He knows exactly how much elaboration a thought
will bear, and he knows also how to express it in the most
effective way. Few authors of the time have so light a touch,
or so sure an instinct for the right word or phrase. To say
of him that he is not free from fantastic conceits, quaintnesses
of expression, and misplaced wit, is but to say that he was a
man of his time, and therefore was not free from the faults
of the metaphysical school of poets, as Johnson termed it,
though a better designation for it, I think, would be the fan-
tastic or artificial school. For the aim of these poets was
certainly not to expound or discuss metaphysical ideas, but
to look at all things through the medium of the fancy or
phantasy — not to see things as they actually are, while yet
seeing also their underlying wonder and mystery ; but to view
them as material on which to exercise an ingenious fancy
alert to detect the most remote analogies, and to invent the
most surprising paradoxes.* However mistaken may have
been the aims and methods of this school, it was at any rate
required from all its members that they should possess a
more than ordinary degree of wit, knowledge, ingenious fancy,
and subtlety of mind. Without these qualities failure was
inevitable. Writers who possess them — and most of those
* Probably Mr. Bernard Shaw and Mr. G. K. Chesterton would
deny that they have anything in common with this school of poets :
yet a little reflection will show that their qualities (or some of them
at least) are essentially the same, though they are manifested in a
different way,
XXXV
who followed in Donne's footsteps did possess them— can
hardly fail to interest us, however much we may dislike their
methods. And Strode, though he may certainly be reckoned
as one of Donne's disciples, is not too much infected with the
mannerisms of the school, and seldom indulges in its more
outrl conceits and extravagances.
Such pieces as " The Capps," " A Paralell between Bowling
and Preferment," " Jacke-on-both-sides," and "A Devonshire
Song " show that Strode had a considerable vein of humour,
which it may be regretted that he did not more sedulously
cultivate. The " Devonshire Song " is, I believe, the first
poem which we have in that dialect ; at all events I do not
know of any earlier example.
The poems which I have grouped together under the head-
ing " Doubtful Pieces " can hardly be taken into account here.
I should be very glad indeed if I could positively attribute
some of them to Strode. Such beautiful " relishes of rhyme "
as "Mourne, mourne, ye lovers," and "Sing aloud, har-
monious sphears," may be fairly given to him, though on
slender evidence, in the absence of other claimants : while it
is at least permissible to assign to him those fine poems,
" Upon Heaven's best Image, his faire and vertuous
mistresse," and " Gaze not on Swans," provided we note the
fact that his claim to them is not indisputable.
There are few things in the present volume which it gives
me more pleasure to include than the translation of the poem,
usually attributed to Strada, on the contest between the
nightingale and the musician. It is strange indeed that it
has never before been given to the world. The poem is, of
course, familiar enough to English readers from the beautiful
xxxvi
renderings of Ford and Crashaw. Yet it might be plausibly
maintainedf that it is now first made known in its true cha-
racter to the English reader ; for Ford abridged it, while
Crashaw expanded and glorified it, as FitzGerald glorified
his Omar. In Strode's translation we have a third English
poem, quite worthy to set beside the others, but differing
from them in that it is a close and faithful rendering of the
sense and spirit of its original. The translations are few
indeed which, without losing the charm and poetry of their
original, reproduce so exactly its form and meaning.
It will probably surprise some readers to find the well-
known verses on Melancholy, which have so long been
assigned, almost without question, to Fletcher, attributed
here to Strode. Some even may feel rather indignant that an
attempt should be made to deprive Fletcher of a poem which
has become so thoroughly identified with his name. But the
fact is that there is no really valid evidence in Fletcher's
favour, while the evidence for Strode's authorship, though I
own that it is not altogether conclusive, is at least much
stronger than it is for the famous dramatist. The history of
the verses, so far as known, is rather curious. They were
first printed in a little booklet of twelve leaves, entitled " A
Description of the King and Queene of Fayries, their habit,
fare, their abode, pompe and state. . . . London. 1635."
This booklet contains also one of Herrick's fairy poems.
Supposing there was no evidence of any sort as to the author-
ship of the verses now under consideration, to whom would
it seem most natural to attribute them ? To Herrick, I think,
since they surely resemble his manner more than they do
that of any other poet. They cannot, however, be claimed
xxxvii
for him, since he never claimed them for himself, which he
would surely have done had they been really his. It was
not till 1647 that the verses were ascribed to Fletcher. They
occur in the play of " The Nice Valour," which is only partly
Fletcher's. The verses, therefore, may have been written
by Fletcher's co-author, whoever he was. Moreover, it was
a frequent practice of the time to insert in plays songs which
had become popular ; and this may have been the case in
the present instance. So much for the evidence in favour of
Fletcher. Let us now see what sort of a case can be made
out in favour of Strode. As we have seen, the poem must
have been written before 1635 ; and my own opinion is that
it was written at some time between 1630 and 1633. At all
events I have in my possession two poetical manuscript
volumes in which the poem appears, both of which date
about 1632. This does not prove that the poem was not
written before that date, but at any rate I do not believe that
there is any proof of its existence before that time. Fletcher
died in 1625, and therefore, if my assumed date for the poem
is correct, he could not have written it. There is, so far as
I know, no manuscript authority whatever for ascribing the
poem to Fletcher ; whereas I know of at least three early
manuscripts in which it is ascribed to Strode.* In the
" Maloniana " (consisting of anecdotes and extracts from
Malone's papers) which is found in Sir James Prior's " Life
of Malone" the following passage occurs :
11 Song in ye Praise of Melancholy.— F. 80 Bod. * Hence
* I am speaking of manuscripts dating earlier than 1647 ; after that
date there may be manuscripts in which it is ascribed to Fletcher,
although I do not know of any.
xxxviii
all your vain delights/ The author of this beautiful piece
(Dr. Strode), part of which has been ascribed unjustly to
Fletcher, because it is sung in his ' Nice Valour,' was born
about the year 1600, and died Canon of Christ Church in 1644.
Milton evidently took the hint of his ' L' Allegro' and '//
Penseroso ' from it."
Malone, it is thus seen, speaks positively on the matter,
and it is to be presumed, therefore, that he had good evidence
for his statement, for he must have been aware that it is
hardly safe to rely upon the evidence of a single manuscript
in a case of disputed authorship. It is evident also that
Malone considered " Melancholy " and " Opposite to Melan-
choly " together formed a single poem, which is no more the
case than it is with Milton's " L' Allegro " and " II Penseroso.''
I must, however, be quite candid and unreserved with the
reader on this matter. Let me say then that it is possible
that the writers of the various manuscript volumes, knowing
Strode to be the writer of " Opposite to Melancholy," may
have jumped to the conclusion that he was also the author
of the poem to which it is a reply. Upon the whole I prefer
to think that it was not so, and that the writers had good
grounds for ascribing the poem to Strode ; but I am quite
willing to own that the matter is not one upon which it is
possible to attain complete certainty.*
* In " Notes and Queries," First Series, vol. i. p. 146, there is a
note on this subject by Edward F. Rimbault, which seems still
further to confirm Strode's claim to the verses. The writer says :
" I have now before me a curious musical MS. in the hand-writing
of the celebrated Henry Lawes, containing the music to Dr. Strode's
play of ' The Floatmg~lsland.' ... It is followed by the two songs
xxxix
Our author's longest and most ambitious performance has
now to be considered. It should be remembered, whenever
" The Floating Island " is referred to, that it was not a work
undertaken from the author's own choice, but at the request
of those whose wishes were practically commands.* There-
fore if the play needed excuse it might be found in this fact.
But I do not think it requires any apology ; only the reader
should bear in mind that as it was intended for a royal and
courtly audience, some flattery of its hearers was hardly to
be avoided. Any reader of the play will see at once that
Prudentius was intended to represent King Charles ; his
minister (Intellectus Agens) was perhaps intended for Laud :
while the various passions which are represented as rebelling
against their rule are intended to shadow forth the opponents
of the royal policy. Of course the author and his audience
could not, and did not, see that it was really a bitter satire
upon the king to represent him as an embodiment of prudence
and wisdom.
" The Floating Island " is not perhaps a play which makes
a very favourable impression upon a first perusal. The
author's design is not seen very clearly at first ; it requires a
in question : and although the name of the author is not given, the
fact of their being written at the end of Dr. Strode's ' tragi-comedy '
in some measure confirms Malone's statement."
On the other hand, it is perhaps only fair to mention that in " Wit
Restor'd" the two poems are given, the first without any author's
name, while the second is headed "The answer, by Dr. Stroad."
* " The Floating Island " and two other plays were expressly
written to entertain Charles I. and his queen on their visit to Oxford
in 1636. Archbishop Laud was probably the intermediary at whose
request Strode's play was written.
xl
second or even a third reading before one fully grasps the
various threads of the plot. But the readers who give it
this second or third perusal will be very well rewarded for
their pains. There is mind and thought in every line of it.
The auditors who disliked it because they thought it contained
less entertainment than morality were surely somewhat un-
reasonable. It is true that the author throughout the play
keeps his purpose steadily in view ; but it is not unduly
obtruded upon the reader, who may, if he likes, disregard it
altogether. Its morality to a reader of the present day will
not seem to be any too austere ; indeed there are some scenes
in the play which might be thought a little too free for our
modern taste. The real objections which told against the
work when it was first produced, and which may perhaps
tell against it now, are that its characters are abstractions
rather than human beings, and that its plot is too obviously
framed to enforce a preconceived moral. But an author must
always be allowed to choose his own method of appeal, and
he is to be judged according to the degree of success with
which he has executed his design. Of course, if he chooses
a subject with which his hearers or readers are out of
sympathy, it is useless for him to complain of want of appre-
ciation on their part.
A short resume of the plot and design of the play will
perhaps help the reader to derive more pleasure from a per-
usal of it than he would otherwise gain. " The Floating
Island," in which the events of the drama take place, symbolises
a kingdom distracted by the contending passions ^6T its in-
habitants, and reduced to anarchy by their dissensions.*
* A true emblem of the state of England during the latter part of
Xfi
The King, Prudentius, and his minister, Intellectus Agens,
have in vain attempted to control their disorders ; and at
the opening of the play we find them ready to break out into
rebellion. All the passions are chafing at the restraints which
have been laid upon them, though they are only such
as are necessary to preserve the kingdom's order and pros-
perity. The chief mutineers are Audax, Irato, Desperate,
Sir Amorous, and Hilario. At a meeting of the conspirators
it is arranged that Audax, Irato, and Desperate shall assas-
sinate the king ; and they attempt to carry out their design.
Prudentius, however, has received timely warning of their
purpose, and retired out of their reach, leaving the passions
to work their will, unguided and unchecked. Left to them-
selves the conspirators elect Fancie for their queen, expecting
her to be pliant to all their humours, which, however, they
soon discover she is by means disposed to be. No sooner is
the new order constituted than the various passions, no longer
under the control of prudence and wisdom, begin to quarrel
among themselves ; and their dissensions finally bring them
and the kingdom to the verge of ruin, I need not recount
here the train of events by which this result is brought about ;
let it suffice to say that the author shows much ingenuity in
the development of his plot. All that I need add is that the
the reign of Charles I. ! Herein Strode was something of a prophet,
for he foretold the deposition of Charles, though not his execution.
Nor was he mistaken in foretelling also that the nation, weary of the
strife between its contending factions, would revert to its former
condition. But poets are often wiser than they know : and this, as
we shall see later on, was the case with Strode on more than one
occasion.
xlii
passions, growing weary of their own excesses, willingly place
themselves once more under the rule of prudence and wisdom*
and submit to those restraints against which they rebelled'
but which they now see are necessary to the well-being of
the state. The play ends with the return of Prudentius and
the restoration of the old order.
No one, I imagine, would now contend that Strode in thus
stating the case of Charles I. against his subjects was giving
a true or impartial account of the origin of the contention
between them. Nevertheless his case, from his own point of
view, and that of the royalists, was a good one, and we need
not quarrel with him for advocating it. However defective
as a political argument, it formed at any rate an excellent
groundwork for his play. Not many dramas have a leading
motive at once so philosophically sound and so capable of
effective scenic development. A great dramatist could hardly
fail to find his account in making use of such a good idea ;
for Strode, well as he treated it, by no means exhausted its
possibilities.* Allowing then that the drama is based upon
a sufficiently sound ethical idea, it remains to be asked
whether it is in fact a good play. To this question I answer,
Yes ! it is at least a good play, if not a great one. We must
not condemn it because it wants passion, sublimity, and
pathos, since those qualities would have been out of place in
it. Its appeal is not to the heart but to the head ; and if it
succeeds — as I believe it does — in satisfying the requirements
* Perhaps Strode may have got the first hint for his play from
" Measure for Measure," in which also we behold a contest between
lawlessness and legality; and the moral of which is that passion un-
controlled by prudence inevitably leads to disaster.
xliii
of the intellect, it hits the mark it aims at. In this respect it
in some degree resembles " Troilusand Cressida," which also
appeals chiefly to the intellect and not to the feelings. Thought
and reflection in both of them predominate so much over the
more usual elements of a play that it is no wonder that neither
of them attained popularity.
The strongest critical objection which can be urged against
41 The Floating Island " is (as I have already remarked) that
its author has chosen to make the characters of his play, not
human beings but abstract passions ; and has thus debarred
himself from awakening the sympathies of the reader or
spectator with them in their good or evil fortunes. Without
denying that there is some force in this objection, I do not
think that it is so strong as it appears to be. The passions
of Strode's play are at any rate human passions. Now, men
and women are made up of passions ; and often enough one
passion so predominates in them over all others that they
become little more than embodiments of it. It is true enough
that abstractions on the stage usually excite only a languid
interest; but this is not always the case. "Everyman" is
an instance in point ; and in some of the Elizabethan and
Jacobean masques we find allegorical characters and repre-
sentatives of the virtues and vices made effective and interest-
ing figures. The truth is that in the hands of great authors
abstractions assume the semblance of realities, whereas
realities in the hands of inferior writers fade into abstractions.
However impalpable an^ idea he may seek to symbolise,
Bunyan never fails to invest it with life and animation. And
Strode has something of Bunyan's power of vitalising abstrac-
tions. He erred, perhaps, in giving his characters names
xliv
which so nearly denote the passions they are intended to
embody. Had he given them less significant appellations,
and allowed himself a little more freedom in their delineation,
not many would have suspected that their author intended
them for anything but human beings, under the domination,
it is true, of overmastering passions, but not to a greater
degree than is often the case in real life. But after all,
Strode's method needs no apology ; it will prove no stumbling-
block to any intelligent reader, and it was for such alone that
the play was written.
Like most of the poets of the latter part of the sixteenth
and the earlier part of the seventeenth centuries, Strode had
learned the secret, since almost lost, of writing easy and
natural-seeming blank verse, equally excellent in colloquial
discourse, and in the more exalted language of passion and
imagination. Either he had, like Shakespeare, such an entire
mastery of words that any conception which entered his
mind found immediately its appropriate form of expression ;
or he must have laboured hard and long to attain this ap-
pearance of spontaneity. That he had the gift of natural
fluency I feel certain ; for I hold that what is written with
difficulty will almost always show some signs of the labour
which accompanied its birth-pangs.* I see no signs of such
* I do not think that any person of ordinary intelligence can read
a page of Walter Pater without becoming aware of the fact that it is
the result of much laborious thought, and was moulded into shape
at the expense of much severe mental effort. " Easy writing," it is
true, sometimes makes "damned hard reading"; but hard writing
nevertheless does not always make easy reading. Pater's readers
have to undergo — of course in a much smaller degree — the same pro-
cess of mental effort that he himself underwent j a process, I hasten
e xlv
labour in Strode's verse. Always easy and flowing, though
never careless or diffuse, it nowhere suggests a great expendi-
ture of midnight oil, or a painful effort to fit the word to the
thought. It runs on very evenly, not often rising, it is true,
to any great height of inspiration, but never falling into weak-
ness or insipidity.
Something more in the way of criticism might be said about
" The Floating Island " were I not fearful that I have already
taxed the reader's patience rather too severely. A few notes
upon some other points in it will be found appended to the
text of the play. But one very remarkable passage must be
noticed here. This is the speech in Act III., Sc. 3, in which
Queen Fancie, expressing her discontent at the slow progress
of invention and discovery, proceeds to prophesy the wonders
of future ages :
Thus first ourselves must whet our own Invention ;
Else other will not stir. Men do not strive
Methinkes to please me as they ought to do.
No other rarities these many Ages
to add, which is very well worth going through. The truth is that
temperament in this, as in all other matters, is the chief factor, and
authors write with ease or difficulty according to their natural
endowments. Shakespeare, we know, wrote with much ease and
facility, while Ben Jonson toiled and sweated over his works ; but
we do not exalt the latter above the former on that account. To sum
up the matter, we may say, I think, that while it will be found that
whatever has been written with pain and difficulty will, in most
cases, prove to be better than that which has been easily composed,
there are plenty of exceptions to the rule. Some lands are naturally
rich and fertile and require little cultivation : others require much
labour to be spent upon them ; but the products of each may be of
equal value in quality, if not in quantity.
xlvi
But Powder, Printing, Seaman Card, and Watches ?
So much vain dotage for the fond Elixir ?
Why are not yet my Christals malleable,
To make our Gold no Gold, and foile the Di'mond ?
Why want I Instruments to measure out
The Year, the Day, the Houre, without the help
Of Sun, or turning of these tedious wheels ?
Nothing to carry me but Barges, Coaches ?
Sedans and Litters ? through the Aire I'd passe
By some new waftage. I must have my house
Convey'd by wheels and sailes and plummets hung
In some deep pit, deep as the way is distant,
To hurry me, my Family, and it
Whether I please. He travel like the Snaile
With all my house ; but swifter then the Faulcon.
Fuga. Rare Lady!
Cone. Ravishing Inventions !
Fan. Why have not I my Beds stuffd all with wind,
Baths fill'd with Maydew, Flowers preserv'd till winter,
As well as Snow till Summer : choisest Fruits
Growing and ripe in midst of January ?
Why have not I Ponds running through my Cellars,
For Bottles and for Fish call'd by their names ?
Why not in drought an Artificial rain,
Scattered by spowtes, to cheer my Paradise ?
Mem. I wish you had these things : I nere saw such.
Fan. Cheape I can have ^Eoiian bellowes made
Within the Bowles of Andirons, where the water
Shall blow the fire by which 'tis rarified.
T will have Vaults which shall convey my whispers
In steed of Embasies to forreign Nations ;
Places for Ecchoes to pronounce a speech.
Or give a Suffrage like a multitude :
Consorts well play'd by water ; Pictures taught
By secret Organs both to move and speak :
xlvii
We spend ourselves too much upon the Taylour :
I rather would new mold, new fashion Nature.
If there is anywhere in the writings of any other poet or
philosopher a passage to compare with this I have yet to
make its acquaintance. The more it is considered the more
remarkable it becomes. It forms indeed an almost complete
summing up of the most wonderful achievements of science
and invention since the writer's time. It may not be strange
that Strode should have foretold the invention of the navig-
able balloon, since that is an idea which might have occurred,
and perhaps did occur, to previous thinkers ; but few of the
other marvels which Fancie enumerates can have suggested
themselves to other writers or speculators. Not all the
things, indeed, which Fancie foretells have come to pass as
yet ; but since so many of them are now accomplished facts,
we may expect with some confidence the fulfilment of the
rest of her forecasts.
There are a few dark sayings in the speech which require
perhaps a little elucidation, as, for instance :
Why are not yet my Christals malleable,
To make our Gold no Gold, and foile the Di'mond ?
May we not fairly see in this a forecast of the discovery of
radium ? I think we may ; and something more indeed than
a mere oracular utterance which might be made to apply to
half a dozen different discoveries.
As to the instruments to measure out years, days, and
hours, though they have not (so far as I am aware) been yet
devised, who, after the discovery of so many much more
wonderful things, can doubt that they will in due time be
xlviii
invented ? And though no house has yet been conveyed
through the bowels of the earth, the possibility of the feat —
though not perhaps exactly in the way indicated — has at
least been demonstrated. Then ,'either the lines beginning —
Cheape I can have /Eolian bellowes made —
are a forecast of the discovery of the uses of the power of
steam ; or they are, so far as I can see, meaningless, unless,
indeed, they refer to some future and as yet unimagined in-
vention. In the " Vaults which shall convey my whispers,"
we have evidently the telephone ; while in " Places for echo
to pronounce a speech," we have no less evidently the phono-
graph. The various minor wonders which Fancie mentions
need no commentary : upon the whole, may we not say that
the new moulding and new-fashioning of nature, which Fancie
expressed her desire for, has come about pretty much in the
way she prophesied, and by the means which she fore-
shadowed ? Surely we may. Did Strode write the speech
as a mere flight of his own fancy ? Not altogether, I think.
I believe that some at least of the anticipations of the future
which he puts into the mouth of Fancie were such as he had
himself speculated upon as scientific possibilities. But no
matter whether Strode was merely exercising his imagination
in order to satirise the vain extravagance of human wishes,
or whether he was making a conscious effort to foretell the
progress of invention and discovery, the speech of Fancie is
and must remain one of the most remarkable — if not the
most remarkable — of all attempts to forecast the wonders of
the future.*
* See the notes appended to the play for some other instances of
Strode's power of prophetic insight.
xlix
" Something too much of this," perhaps. The prologue
must not be allowed to tire out the audience before the play
begins. Let me say then, in conclusion, that I have en-
deavoured, as far as I could, to speak of Strode quite candidly
and impartially ; and indeed I almost fear that in trying to
avoid any overstatement of his claims I have erred on the
other side. But whatever the final verdict upon him may
be, I shall continue to think that he was a poet of very con-
siderable gifts ; and one who well deserved to be rescued
from the obscurity which had so long enshrouded him. It
makes me proud and happy to think that I have had the
good fortune to introduce to my countrymen two such poets
as Traherne and Strode. It is a piece of vanity, I know, for
me to say this — but so let it be ! It is not a kind of vanity
with which any generous or kindly critic will reproach me ;
and as for those of another sort their censures cannot touch
me. I am not so arrogant as Ben Jonson, and will not repeat
his famous asseveration — would not indeed make any as-
severation respecting a work of my own — but with regard to
Traherne and Strode, I do not hesitate to say
Approve them or condemn as you will,
I know they're good, and must believe so still.
Something remains to be said concerning the manner in
which the present volume has come into existence. About
four years ago I had the good fortune to purchase, at the sale
of the Phillipps Manuscripts, a volume containing a valuable
collection of poems, mostly by authors of the early part of
the seventeenth century. Two or three weeks later I bought
at Messrs. Hodgson's sale-rooms a still more valuable manu-
script volume of about the same date as the one just men-
1
tioned. Both volumes contain numerous pieces which are,
so far as I can discover, unknown and unprinted ; and both
of them contain many of Strode's poems. Until these books
fell into my hands I knew hardly more of Strode than his
mere name. "WTien I came to read his poems my surprise
was great at finding how excellent they were, and I at once
determined that I would, if possible, become his first editor.
I soon found that it was no easy task which I had undertaken.
Not much more than half of the poems which are here col-
lected were contained in the MS. volumes which I have
mentioned. It was necessary, therefore, to undertake a
search for the remainder of Strode's poems.* This was no
easy task for me, since I am far from having the leisure and
the freedom from other occupations which are favourable to
such researches. I do not know, indeed, how I could ever
have accomplished the task had I not found willing and
altogether disinterested co-workers, who at the expense of
much time and trouble aided me wherever aid was necessary
To Mr. Percy Simpson I have already expressed my obliga-
* Here it is only just to the late Dr. Grosart that I should mention
that he issued in 1895 proposals for the publication of a volume of
" Literary Finds," among which were to be included as many of
Strode's poems as he had been able to discover. He did not, how-
ever, receive sufficient promises of support to enable him to go on
with his project, as he confessed in 1899 in an article which he con-
tributed to the German magazine " Englische Studien." In that
article he gave a list of Strode's poems, so far as he then knew them.
This list comprises about sixty pieces, whereas there are in the pre-
sent volume upwards of a hundred. Dr. Grosart was not an ideal
editor ; but he did much work which, but for him, would have
remained undone. It is a pity that so much of his work needs to be
done again by more competent and critical hands.
li
tions in the dedication ; but I must add here that most of the
necessary researches at the British Museum and at Oxford
were undertaken by him ; and that it is from his transcripts
that many of the poems included in this volume have been
printed. Without his co-operation this volume must have
been a far more imperfect achievement than it is ; and I
sincerely hope that if it should be recognised that a good
work has been accomplished in its publication Mr. Simpson's
share in it will not be forgotten. I must also express my
deep sense of obligation to my friend, Mr. Thorn Drury, of
whose knowledge, taste, and good advice I have throughout
availed myself. I must say — why indeed should I not say ?
— that I regard as one of the most fortunate events of my life
the fact that in this, as in many other things, I have been
able to profit by his wise counsel and critical discernment.
How much life has been sweetened to my taste by the
friendship of the two gentlemen I have named words fail me
to express.
To the Rev. Charles Plummer, M.A., and to Mr. R. W.
Livingston, B.A., the past and present librarians of Corpus
Christi College, Oxon, the heartiest thanks are due for the
permission which they gave Mr. Simpson to copy and print
the Strode MSS. which were or are under their care.
I must also express my thanks to Mr. Arthur H. Bullen,
from whom, in a task which should have fallen to his own
lot, I have received the friendliest help and encouragement.
Nor must I neglect to mention Miss Louise Imogen Guiney,
who took much trouble in searching the Bodleian records
and documents. Thanks also are due to Professor Gollancz,
who placed his collection of materials relating to the history
lii
of the Strode family at my disposal. Other helpers whom I
must name are Mr. Gordon Goodwin and Mr. G. E. K.
Arkwright.
I must, in conclusion, make some further remarks as to the
sources, manuscript and printed, from which the contents of
this volume have been derived. Leaving " The Floating
Island " out of consideration, and speaking roughly, I think
that about one- third of the poems contained in this book now
make their first appearance in print. Of the greater part of
the whole number I possess manuscript copies, and as those
which got into print abound in errors and misreadings these
manuscripts have been most useful in clearing and settling
the text. It is an error to suppose that a printed text (except,
of course, in cases where the author has supervised the pub-
lication of his works) is necessarily better than a manuscript
copy. It is an equal chance, I think, as to which will prove
the better ; and therefore the editor of a sixteenth or seven-
teenth century author should, as far as possible, consult
manuscript as well as printed sources. In the present
instance it was necessary to begin with the manuscripts, since
they alone gave the author's name or initials. The poems,
as printed in the various poetical miscellanies of the time,
(" Parnassus Biceps," " Musarum Deliciae," &c.), are almost
invariably anonymous. In dealing with manuscripts, how-
ever, it is necessary to exercise a good deal of caution. It
cannot be denied that the writers of some (not all) of them
indulged in a great deal of guess-work in affixing names or
initials to the various poems. Therefore it is rarely possible
to accept the evidence of a single manuscript as decisive of
the authorship of a poem. Unless it exhibits unmistakeable
/ 1
tokens of its parentage it is necessary (or at least desirable)
to seek for corroborative evidence. When, however, two or
three manuscripts are found to agree in assigning a poem to
one and the same author, their evidence may be accepted as
conclusive, providing there is no valid evidence to the con-
trary. Usually no great difficulty is experienced in coming
to a conclusion as to the authorship of any particular poem.
In cases where poems are attributed in different manuscripts
to different authors, the editor's duty is rather to set forth
the facts fairly and impartially than to decide in favour of
one or the other claimant. Not even in the case of a writer
with so strong an individuality as Donne, is it always possible
to judge from internal evidence whether a poem is or is not
to be attributed to him ; since his style was so generally, and
often so closely imitated that it is very difficult to distinguish
between the original and the copy. In the case of the pre-
sent volume I do not think that anything (excepting some of
the pieces which I have classed as "doubtful") has been
attributed to Strode without sufficient evidence to justify the
attribution. "Whenever I have had any doubt I have not
hesitated to express it. I shall be much surprised if any of
the poems here positively assigned to Strode (save, perhaps,
two or three of the smaller pieces) are challenged as being
wrongly attributed to him. I think that a careful and critical
reading of the book will convince most readers that through-
out it there is the stamp of the same kind and quality of
intellectual power : a power which, though manifested in
many diverse ways, always exhibits an essential unity of spirit.
Though I have already mentioned informally the various
sources from which the materials of the present volume have
liv
been derived, it will be well perhaps to recapitulate them
here. They are derived then from — (1) two poetical manu-
script volumes in my own possession ; (2) various poetical
manuscript volumes in the British Museum and the Bodleian
Library ; (3) manuscripts in the library of Corpus Christ!
College, Oxford ; (4) many printed books, including " Par-
nassus Biceps," 1656, "Wit Restor'd," 1658, "Musarum
Deliciae," 1656, Sec. &c. That the gathering together and
collation of these materials has entailed a good deal of pains-
taking research the reader, I suppose, will readily imagine ;
nor will he, perhaps, fail to reflect that what costs him but a
few shillings and a few pleasantly-occupied hours, has — not
to speak of the author's own labour — cost the writer many
months of diligent application. But, let me add, it was a task
willingly undertaken and continued with pleasure ; and my
only regret during its progress has been that I could not,
owing to my other occupations, bring it to a speedier conclu-
sion. But it is now happily accomplished, and whatever fate
it may meet with, I am sure of one thing — namely, that it
will always be a source of satisfaction to me that I have had
the good fortune to be the first to set forth the claims of
WILLIAM STRODE to a place in that pantheon of her poets
which the English nation will surely, sooner or later,
establish*
* Here are a few more crumbs of information relating to Strode,
gathered partly from " Athenae Oxonsienses," and partly from " The
Life and Times of Anthony Wood, Edited by Andrew Clark," 1891.
In addition to the various published works of Strode, which I have
already mentioned, Wood names the following :
lv
Speech made to Queen Mary at Oxon at her return out of Holland.
Oxon, 1643, 4to.
Sermon concerning Swearing, on Matth. 3, 37, Oxon, 1644, 4to.
Sermon concerning Death and the Resurrection, preached at S.
Mary's in Oxon on Low Sunday, 28 April, 1644. Oxon, 1644, 4to.
The following note is from "The Life and Times" mentioned
above, vol. i. p. 116 :
"In Wood MS.E.4, he cites several speeches spoken by
William Strode to King Charles I. and great personages while he
was Orator, 1629- 164$; some of them are in a MS. Collection of
speeches and letters [made by Richard Saunders of Oriel] in Francis
Barrye's hand, rector of Kingsey, near Thame. One speech which he
spoke to the King at Woodstock, anno 1633, when the heads of the
Universitie went to congratulate him, hath this beginning : Augus-
tissime et Christo proxime Homo-Deus ! quales pro te ad aras
sanctissimas, tales accedimus ad te, non oculari officio, non genubus
tantum provoluti, "sed animis devoti, gratulationis, laudum, et
gratiarum effusissime pleni," etc. The parallel in Acts xii. 22, 23,
suggests itself. See Macray's Annals of the Bodleian (ed. 1890),
p. 73; Coxe's Cat. Codd. MSS. Coll. C.C. Oxon, no. ccci., fol. 129.
Ivi
SONG
"When Orpheus sweetly did complayne
Upon his lute with heavy strayne
How his Euridice was slayne,
The trees to heare
Obtayn'd an eare,
And after left it off againe.
At every stroake and every stay
The boughs kept time, and nodding lay,
And listened bending all one way :
The aspen tree
As well as hee
Began to shake and learn'd to play.
If wood could speake, a tree might heare,
If wood could sound true greife so neare
A tree might dropp an amber teare :
If wood so well
Could ring a knell
The Cipres might condole the beare.
The standing nobles of the grove
Hearing dead wood so speak and move
A
The fatall axe beganne to love :
They envyde death
That gave such breath
As men alive doe saints above.
[I have two MS. copies of the above poem in my
possession. There are some variations in the texts, but
with one exception they are of little importance. In one
copy lines 9-11 read as follows :
At every shake
The leaves did quake :
The aspin tree thence learn'd to play.]
IN COMMENDATION OF MUSICK
When whispering straynes doe softly steale
"With creeping passion through the hart,
And when at every touch wee feele
Our pulses beate and beare a part ;
"When thredds can make
A hartstring shake
Philosophic
Can scarce deny
The soule consists of harmony.
"When unto heavenly joy wee feyne
"Whatere the soule affecteth most,
Which onely thus wee can explayne
By musick of the winged hoast,
Whose layes wee think
Make starres to winke,
2
Philosophic
Can scarce deny
Our soules consist of harmony.
O lull mee, lull mee, charming ayre,
My senses rock with wonder sweete ;
Like snowe on wooll thy fallings are,
Soft, like a spiritts, are thy feete :
Greife who need f eare
That hath an eare ?
Down lett him lye
And slumbring dye,
And change his soule for harmony.
[Printed from a manuscript copy in my possession.
The song was printed in " Wit Restor'd," 1658. The text
varies somewhat from that given above, but not in any
important point.]
SONG
Keepe on your maske, and hide your eye,
For with beholding you I dye :
Your fatall beauty, Gorgon-like,
Dead with astonishment will strike ;
Your piercing eyes if them I see
Are worse than basilisks to mee.
Shutt from mine eyes those hills of snowe,
Their melting valleys doe not showe ;
Their azure paths lead to dispaire,
O vex me not, forbeare, forbeare ;
For while I thus in torments dwell
The sight of heaven is worse than hell.
Your dayntie voyce and warbling breath
Sound like a sentence pass'd for death ;
Your dangling tresses are become
Like instruments of finall doome.
O if an Angell torture so,
When life is done where shall I goe ?
ANOTHER VERSION
TO HIS MISTRESSE
Keepe on your mask and hide your eye
For in beholding you I dye.
Your f atall beauty Gorgon-like
Dead with astonishment doth strike.
Your piercing eyes that now I see
Are worse than Basilisks to me.
Shut from mine eyes those hills of snow,
Their melting vally do not shew :
Those azure paths lead to despaire,
O vex me not, forbear, forbear ;
For while I thus in torments dwell
The sight of Heaven is worse than Hell.
In those f aire cheeks two pits doe lye
To bury those slaine by your eye :
4
So this at length doth comfort me
That fairely buried I shall be :
My grave with Roses, Lillies, spread,
Methinks tis life for to be dead :
Come then and kill me with your eye,
For if you let me live I dye.
"When I perceive your lips againe
Recover those your eyes have slaine,
With kisses that (like balsome pure)
Deep wounds as soone as made doe cure,
Methinks tis sicknesse to be sound,
And there's no health to such a wound.
"When in your bosome I behold
Two hills of snow yet never cold,
"Which lovers, whom your beauty kills,
Revive by climing those your hills,
Methinks there's life in such a death
That gives a hope of sweeter breath :
Then since one death prevails not where
So many antidotes are nere,
And your bright eyes doe but in vaine
Kill those who live as fast as slaine ;
That I no more such death survive
Your way's to bury me alive
In place unknown, and so that I
Being dead may live and living dye.
[The above is from "Parnassus Biceps." Curiously
enough, it is evidently made up of two poems. The second,
beginning with :
In those faire cheekes two pits do lye,
5
has always been attributed to Carew, and is probably his,
though it might be claimed for Strode on the ground of its
great resemblance to his style. There are many variations
in text between the above version, and that printed in
Carew's poems, which, however, as they may easily be seen
in the Muses' Library edition of that poet, I will not here
record.
The reader will have noticed that the third stanza of
Strode's Song is omitted in the " Parnassus Biceps " version.
How the two poems came thus to be tacked together it
would be vain to conjecture.]
SONG
O when will Cupid shew such arte
To strike two lovers with one darte ?
I'm ice to him or hee to mee ;
Two hearts alike there seldome bee.
If thrice ten thousand meete together
How scarce one face is like another !
If scarce two faces can agree
Two hearts alike there seldome bee.
[The last line in one of my manuscripts reads
Two harts alike thou seldome see.]
A SONG ON A SIGH.
O tell mee, tell, thou god of wynde,
In all thy cavernes canst thou finde
6
A vapor, fume, a gale or blast
Like to a sigh which love doth cast ?
Can any whirlwynde in thy vault
Plough upp earth's breast with like assault ?
Goe wynde and blowe thou where thou please,
Yea breathles leave mee to my ease.
If thou be wynde, O then refrayne
From wracking whiles I thus complayne :
If thou be wynde then light thou art,
Yet O ! how heavy is my hart !
If thou be wynde then purge thy way,
Lett cares that clogge thy force obey.
Goe wynde and blow thou where thou please,
Yea breathles leave mee to my ease.
Those blasts of sighing raised are
By influence of my bright starre ;
Their ^olus from whom they came
Is love that straynes to blow his flame,
The powerfull sway of whose behest
Makes hearth and bellowes of my breast.
Goe wynde and blowe then where thou please,
Yea breathles leave mee to my ease.
Know 'tis a wynde that longs to blowe
Upon my Saint wherere shee goe,
And stealing through her fanne it beares
Soft errands to her lippes and eares,
And then perhapps a passage makes
Downe to her heart when breath shee takes.
Goe wynde and blowe then where thou please,
Yea breathles leave mee to my ease.
Yes, gentle gale, trye that againe,
O doe not passe from mee in vayne,
Goe mingle with her soule divine
Ingendring spiritts like to mine :
Yea take my soule along with thee
To worke a stronger sympathie :
Goe wynde and blowe thou where thou please,
Yea breathles leave mee to my ease.
My soule, before my grosser part,
Thus to her heaven should departe,
And where the body cannott lye
On wings of wynde my soule shall flye :
If not one soule our bodies joyne,
One body shall our soules confine,
Goe wynde and blowe thou where thou please,
Yea breathles leave mee to my ease.
[I have two copies of the above poem in my possession.
There are a good many variations in them, though they are
mostly unimportant. I give below those that seem worth
recording :
Line 10. From wracking mee, while I complayne
,, 20. One MS. reads 'fame' instead of flame '
,, 26. Where shee doth goe
„ 29. And thence
Line 30. One MS. reads ' breast ' instead of « heart '
,, 41. ,, ,, ,, ' her ' instead of 'my '
,, 43. ,, „ ,, ' And when the body down doth lye'
45. „ „ „ 'Though not']
A SONG ON THE BATHS
What Angel stirrs this happy Well,
Some Muse from thence come shew't me,
One of those naked Graces tell
That Angels are for beauty :
The Lame themselves that enter here
Come Angels out againe,
And Bodies turne to Soules all cleere,
All made for joy, noe payne.
Heate never was so sweetely mett
With moist as in this shower :
Old men are borne anew by swett
Of its restoring pow'r :
When crippl'd joynts we suppl'd see,
And second lives new come,
Who can deny this Font to be
The Bodies Christendome ?
One Bath so fiery is you'l thinke
The Water is all Spirit,
Whose quick'ning streames are like the drink
Whereby we Life inheritt :
The second Poole of middle straine
Can wive Virginity,
Tempting the blood to such a vayne
One sexe is He and She.
The third where horses plunge may bring
A Pegasus to reare us,
And call for pens from Bladud's wing
For legging those that beare us.
Why should Physitians thither fly
Where Waters med'cines be,
Physitians come to cure thereby,
And are more cur'd than we.
[This Song is from a much corrected copy in the library
of Corpus Christi College, Oxford. The above follows the
original text : but some of the corrections should be recorded.
The seventh line of the second stanza is thus corrected:
The Cross [ ? here ] shewes this Font to be.
The third stanza is so much corrected that it had better be
given in full :
Bring hear your physick faith and live,
The water is all Spirit ;
[PHere] fire and water joyne to give
A double cleansing for itt.
It gives the barren fruitfull straine,
It wives Virginity,
Tempting the blood to such a Vayne
One sexe is He and She.
The first four lines of the fourth stanza are,altered thus :
My steede new foal'd from hence doth spring
Like Pegasus to reare me,
Or tooke Pens pluck'd from Bladud's wing
For legging those which beare me.
10
I suppose I need hardly say that the poem celebrates the
famous springs of the town which has taken its name from
them. I believe it is the earliest poem on the subject : at all
events I know of no earlier one].
SONG
A STRANGE GENTLEWOMAN PASSING BY
HIS WINDOW
As I out of a casement sent
Mine eyes as wand'ring as my thought,
Upon no certayne object bent,
But only what occasion brought,
A sight surpriz'd my hart at last,
Nor knewe I well what made it burne ;
Amazement held me then so fast
I had no leasure to discerne.
Sure 'twas a Mortall, but her name,
Or happy parentage or place,
Or (that which did mee most inflame)
I cannot tell her very Face :
No ; 'twere prophane to think I could,
And I should pitch my thoughts too lowe
If ever sett my love I should
On that which Art or Words can shewe.
Was ever man so vext before,
Or ever love so blind as this,
Which vows and wishes to implore,
And yet not knows for what to wish ?
11
Thus children spend theyr wayward cryes,
Not knowing why they doe complayne ;
Thus sicke men long for remedyes,
Not knowing what would ease theyr payne.
Some god call backe againe that sight ;
He suffer double payne to boote,
For griefe and anger in mee fight
So strongly at no marke to shoote !
Not only meanes to winne her grace,
But meanes to seeke are barr'd from mee ;
Despayre enforc't by such a case
Is not a sinne but miserie.
Pygmalion hold thine Image fast,
'Tis something to enjoy Love so :
Narcissus thou a shaddowe hast,
At least thereby to cheate thy woe ;
But I no likenesse can inferre
My pyning fancy to supply ;
Nothing to love instead of her
For feare of some idolatry.
[I have two copies of the above poem in MS., a few varia-
tions between which may be noted. The second line of the
second stanza reads thus in one version :
Or patronage or happy place.
In the third line of the third stanza one MS. reads 'With
vows' instead of 'Which vows.' The last line of stanza
four reads in one version for ' Is not a sinne ' ' Is made no
sinne.' The fourth line of the last stanza reads in one MS.
' wherby ' instead of < thereby '].
12
SONG
ON A FRIENDS ABSENCE
Come, come, I faint : thy heavy stay
Doubles each houre of the day :
The winged hast of nimble love
Makes aged Time not seeme to move :
Did not the light,
And then the night
Instruct my sight
I should believe the Sunne forgot his flight.
Show not the drooping marygold
"Whose leaves like grieving amber fold :
My longing nothing can explain
But soule and body rent in twain :
Did I not moane,
And sigh and groane,
And talk alone,
I should believe my soul was gone from home.
She's gone, she's gone, away she's fled,
"Within my breast to make her bed,
In me there dwels her tenant woe,
And sighs are all the breath I blow :
Then come to me,
One touch of thee
"Will make me see
If loving thee I live or dead I be.
13
MELANCHOLLY
Hence, hence, all you vaine delights,
As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly :
Ther's nought in this life sweete,
If men were wise to see'te
But only Melancholly :
O sweetest Melancholly !
"Welcome folded armes and fixed eyes,
A sigh that piercing mortifies,
A looke that's fastned to the ground,
A tongue chayned upp without a sound.
Fountains heads, and pathlesse groves,
Places which pale Passion loves :
Moonlike wakes, when all the Fowles
Are warmly housde, save Batts and Owles :
A midnight knell : a parting groane :
These are the sounds wee feede upon.
Then, stretch your bones in a still gloomy vally,
Ther's nothing daynty, sweete, save Melancholly.
[See Introduction for a discussion as to the authorship of
this lyric. The above version is copied from one of my
MS. volumes. It differs in a few instances from the printed
version. Thus we have in the fourteenth line * Moonlight
Walks ' instead of ' Moonlike wakes ' ; in line eighteen « our '
instead of ' your ' ; while the last line reads as follows :
1 Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.']
14
OPPOSITE TO MELANCHOLY
Returne my joyes, and hither bring
A tongue not made to speake but sing,
A jolly spleene, an inward feast,
A causelesse laugh without a jest,
A face which gladnesse doth anoynt,
An arm that springs out of his joynt,
A sprightfull gate that leaves no print,
And makes a feather of a flint,
A heart that's lighter than the ayre,
An eye still dancing in his spheare,
Strong mirth which nothing can controule,
A body nimbler than the soule,
Free wandring thoughts not tyde to muse
Which thinke on all things, nothing choose,
Which ere we see them come are gone ;
These life itselfe doth feede upon.
15
A TRANSLATION OF THE NIGHTINGALE
OUT OF STRADA
Now the declining sun 'gan downwards bend
From higher heavens, and from his locks did send
A milder flame, when near to Tiber's flow
A lutinist allay'd his careful woe
"With sounding charms, and in a greeny seat
Of shady oake took shelter from the heat.
A Nightingale oreheard him, that did use
To sojourn in the neighbour groves, the muse
That fill'd the place, the Syren of the wood ;
Poore harmless Syren, stealing neare she stood
Close lurking in the leaves attentively
Recording that unwonted melody :
Shee cons it to herselfe and every strayne
His finger playes her throat return'd again.
The lutinist perceives an answeare sent
From th' imitating bird and was content
To shewe her play ; more fully then in hast
He tries his lute, and (giving her a tast
Of the ensuing quarrel) nimbly beats
On all his strings ; as nimbly she repeats,
And (wildely ranging ore a thousand keys)
Sends a shrill warning of her after-lay es.
16
With rolling hand the Lutinist then plies
His trembling threads ; sometimes in scornful wise
He brushes down the strings and keemes them all
With one even stroke ; then takes them severall
And culles them ore again. His sparkling joynts
(With busy descant mincing on the points)
Reach back with busy touch : that done hee stayes,
The bird replies, and art with art repayes,
Sometimes as one unexpert or in doubt
How she might wield her voice, shee draweth out
Her tone at large and doth at first prepare
A solemne strayne not weav'd with sounding ayre,
But with an equall pitch and constant throate
Makes clear the passage of her gliding noate ;
Then crosse division diversly shee playes,
And loudly chanting out her quickest layes
Poises the sounds, and with a quivering voice
Falls back again : he (wondering how so choise,
So various harmony should issue out
From such a little throate) doth go about
Some harder lessons, and with wondrous art
Changing the strings, doth upp the treble dart,
And downwards smites the base ; with painefull stroke
Hee beats, and as the trumpet doth provoke
Sluggards to fight, even so his wanton skill
With mingled discords joynes the hoarse and shrill :
The Bird this also tunes, and while she cutts
Sharp notes with melting voice, and mingled putts
Measures of middle sound, then suddenly
Shee thunders deepe, and juggs it inwardly,
B 17
With gentle murmurs, cleare and dull shee sings,
By course, as when the martial warning rings :
Beleev't the minstrel blusht ; with angry mood
Inflam'd, quoth hee, thou chauntresse of the wood,
Either from thee lie beare the prize away,
Or vanquisht break my lute without delay.
Inimitable accents then hee straynes ;
His hand flyes ore the strings : in one hee chaynes
Four different numbers, chasing here and there,
And all the strings belabour'd everywhere :
Both flatt and sharpe hee strikes, and stately grows
To prouder straynes, and backwards as he goes
Doubly divides, and closing upp his layes
Like a full quire a shouting consort playes ;
Then pausing stood in expectation
If his corrival now dares answeare on ;
But shee when practice long her throate had whett,
Induring not to yield, at once doth sett
Her spiritt all of worke, and all in vayne ;
For while shee labours to express againe
With nature's simple touch such diverse keyes,
"With slender pipes such lofty noates as these,
Orematcht with high designes, orematcht with woe,
Just at the last encounter of her foe
Shee faintes, shee dies, falls on his instrument
That conquer'd her ; a fitting monument.
So far even little soules are driven on,
Struck with a vertuous emulation.
[The above is from a manuscript copy in my possession.
The text is apparently a very good and correct one. In the
18
library of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, there is aix>ther
copy, which Mr. Percy Simpson has collated for me. This
gives some variations which should be noted. They are as
follows :
Line 9. ' fits ' instead of 'fill'd*
„ 13. «conde' instead of 'cons'
,, 14. * fingers playde ' instead of ' finger playes '
,, 23. * cordes ' instead of ' threads '
,, 25. 'keemes* (i.e. combes). My own MS. reads
' kennes ' ; but as this is obviously wrong I
have adopted the reading of the C.C.C. MS.
„ 36. The C.C.C. MS. reads 'Makes a cleare passage
for her gliding note.'
„ 39. 'straine' instead of 'sounds.'
„ 46. 'Cowards' instead of 'sluggards
„ 52. 'roundeth* instead of 'juggs it'
,, 55. ' The Minstrell surely blusht' instead of 'Beleev't
the Minstrell blush't '
„ 62. ' belabours ' instead of ' belabour'd '
„ 66. 'of 'instead of 'a'
» 73- 'voyce' instead of ' touch'
n 74. 'deepe octaves like to these' instead of 'such
lofty noates as these '
See Appendix for the Latin text of the poem.]
19
ON WESTWELL DOWNES
When Westwell Downes I gan to tread,
Where cleanely wynds the greene did sweepe,
Methought a landskipp there was spread,
Here a bush and there a sheepe :
The pleated wrinkles of the face
Of wave-swolne earth did lend such grace,
As shadowings in Imag'ry
Which both deceive and please the eye.
The sheepe sometymes did tread the maze
By often wynding in and in,
And sometymes round about they trace
Which milkmayds call a Fairie ring :
Such semicircles have they runne,
Such lynes acrosse so trymly spunne
That sheppeards learne whenere they please
A new Geometry with ease.
The slender food upon the downe
Is allwayes even, allwayes bare,
Which neither spring nor winter's frowne
Can ought improve or ought impayre :
20
Such is the barren Eunuches chynne,
Which thus doth evermore begynne
With tender downe to be orecast
Which never comes to haire at last.
Here and there twoe hilly crests
Amiddst them hugg a pleasant greene,
And these are like twoe swelling breasts
That close a tender fall betweene.
Here would I sleepe, or read, or pray
From early morne till flight of day :
But harke ! a sheepe-bell calls mee upp,
Like Oxford colledge bells, to supp.
[There are two Westwells, one in Kent, and the other in
Oxfordshire. It seems more probable that the latter is the
subject of this poem. The " great hollow tree," which is the
subject of the next poem, was one of the notable things at or
near Westwell. I suppose it no longer exists ; but it would
be interesting to know if any tradition about it still survives
in the neighbourhood.]
ON A GREAT HOLLOW TREE.
Preethee stand still awhile, and view this tree
Renown'd and honour'd for antiquitie
By all the neighbour twiggs ; for such are all
The trees adjoyning, bee they nere so tall,
Comparde to this : if here Jacke Maypole stood
All men would sweare 'twere but a fishing rodde.
21
Mark but the gyant trunk, which when you see
You see how many woods and groves there bee
Compris'd within one elme. The hardy stocke
Is knotted like a clubb, and who dares mocke
His strength by shaking it ? Each brawny limbe
Could pose the centaure Monychus, or him
That wav'de a hundred hands ere hee could wield
That sturdy waight, whose large extent might shield
A poore man's tenement. Greate Ceres' oake
Which Erisichthon feld, could not provoke
Halfe so much hunger for his punishment
As hewing this would doe by consequent.
Nothing but age could tame it : Age came on,
And loe a lingering consumption
Devour'd the entrails, where an hollow cave
Without the workman's helpe beganne to have
The figure of a Tent : a pretty cell
Where grand Silenus might not scorne to dwell,
And owles might feare to harbour, though they brought
Minerva's warrant for to bear them out
In this their bold attempt. Looke down into
The twisted curies, the wreathing to and fro
Contrived by nature : where you may descry
How hall and parlour, how the chambers lie.
And wer't not strange to see men stand alone
On leggs of skinne without or flesh or bone ?
Or that the self e same creature should survive
After the heart is dead ? This tree can thrive
Thus maym'd and thus impayr'd : no other proppe,
But only barke remayns to keep it uppe.
22
Yet thus supported it doth firmly stand,
Scorning the saw-pitt, though so neere at hand.
No yawning grave this grandsire Elme can fright,
Whilst yongling trees are martyr'd in his sight.
O learne the thrift of Nature, that maintaines
With needy my re stolne upp in hidden veynes
So great a bulke of wood. Three columes rest
Upon the rotten trunke, wherof the least
Were mast for Argos. Th' open backe below
And three long leggs alone doe make it shew
Like a huge trivett, or a monstrous chayre
With the heeles turn'd upward. How proper, 6 how fayre
A seate were this for old Diogenes
To grumble in and barke out oracles,
And answere to the Raven's augury
That builds above. Why grew not this strange tree
Neere Delphos ? had this wooden majesty
Stood in Dodona forrest, then would Jove
Foregoe his oake, and only this approve.
Had those old Germans that did once admire
Deformed Groves ; and worshipping with fire
Burnt men unto theyr gods : had they but seene
These horrid stumps, they canonizde had beene,
And highly too. This tree would calme more gods
Than they had men to sacrifice by odds.
You Hamadryades, that wood-borne bee,
Tell mee the causes, how this portly tree
Grew to this haughty stature ? Was it then
Because the mummys of so many men
Fattned the ground ? or cause the neighbor spring
23
Conduits of water to the roote did bring ?
Was it with "Whitsun sweat, or ample snuffes
Of my Lord's beere that such a bignesse stuffes
And breaks the barke ? O this it is, no doubt :
This tree, I warrant you, can number out
Your Westwell annals, & distinctly tell
The progresse of this hundred years, as well
By Lords and Ladies, as ere Rome could doe
By Consulships. These boughes can witnesse too
How goodman Berry tript it in his youth,
And how his daughter Joane, of late forsooth
Became her place. It might as well have grown,
If Pan had pleas'd, on toppe of "Westwell downe,
Instead of that proud Ash ; and easily
Have given ayme to travellers passing by
"With wider armes. But see, it more desirde
Here to bee lov'd at home than there admirde :
And porter-like it here defends the gate,
As if it once had beene greate Askapate.
Had warlike Arthur's dayes enjoy'd this Elme
Sir Tristram's blade and good Sir Lancelot's helme
Had then bedeckt his locks, with fertile store
Of votive reliques which those champions wore :
Untill perhaps (as 'tis with great men found)
Those burdenous honours crusht it to the ground :
But in these merry times 'twere farre more trimme
If pipes and citterns hung on every limbe ;
And since the fidlers it hath heard so long,
I'me sure by this time it deserves my song.
[The above is from a copy in one of my MS. books. The
24
text appears, on the whole, to be very correct. I have,
however, made one correction. In line 58 the MS. reads:
' Burnt gods unto their gods ; ' — an evident mistake.]
ON FAYRFORD WINDOWES
I know no paynt of poetry
Can mend such colourd Imag'ry
In sullen inke : yet Fayrford, I
May relish thy fayre memory.
Such is the Ecchoes faynter sound,
Such is the light when sunne is drownd ;
So did the fancy looke upon
The worke before it was begunne :
Yet when those shewes are out of sight
My weaker colours may delight.
Those Images so faythfully
Report true feature to the eye
As you may thinke each picture was
Some visage in a looking-glasse ;
Not a glasse-window face, unlesse
Such as Cheapside hath : where a presse
Of paynted gallants looking out
Bedecke the Casement round about :
But these have holy physnomy :
Each pane instructs the Laity
With silent eloquence : for here
Devotion leads the eye, not eare,
25
To note the catechising paynt,
Whose easy phrase doth so acquaint
Our sense with Gospell that the Creede
In such a hand the weake may reade :
Such types even yet of vertue bee,
And Christ, as in a glasse wee see.
Behold two turtles in one cage,
"With such a lovely equipage,
As they who knew them long may doubt
Some yong ones have bin stollen out.
"When with a fishing rodde the clarke
Saint Peters draught of fish doth marke,
Such is the scale, the eye, the finne,
Youd thinke they strive and leape within ;
But if the nett, which holds them breake,
Hee with his angle some would take.
But would you walke a turne in Pauls ?
Looke uppe ; one little pane inroules
A fayrer temple : fling a stone
The Church is out o' the windowes throwne.
Consider, but not aske your eyes,
And ghosts at midday seeme to rise :
The Saynts there, striving to descend,
Are past the glasse, and downward bend.
Looke there ! The Divell ! all would cry
Did they not see that Christ was by :
See where he suffers for thee : see
His body taken from the Tree :
Had ever death such life before ?
The limber corps, besullyd ore
26
With meager palenesse, doth display
A middle state twixt Flesh and Clay :
His armes and leggs, his head and crowne,
Like a true Lambskinne dangling downe,
Who can forbeare, the Grave being nigh,
To bring fresh oyntment in his eye ?
The wondrous art hath equall fate,
Unfencd and yet unviolate :
The Puritans were sure deceivd,
And thought those shadowes movde and heavde,
So held from stoning Christ : the winde
And boystrous tempests were so kinde
As on his Image not to prey,
Whom both the winds and seas obey.
At Momus wish bee not amazd ;
For if each Christian heart were glazde
With such a window, then each breast
Might bee his owne Evangelist.
[I have two MS. copies of the above in my possession.
The text in each is substantially the same, and differs only
in a few unimportant points. Fairford is a small market
town in Gloucestershire, eight miles east of Cirencester, and
twenty-five miles from Gloucester. Concerning the famous
windows and their history, see an article by Tom Taylor in
the Gentleman's Magazine, vol. i., new series, 1868. In that
article Mr. Taylor argues strongly in favour of the theory
that the windows were designed by Albert Durer ; but this
opinion, I believe, is not generally accepted, though the
designs are quite worthy of the great German artist.]
27
ON A GENTLEWOMAN'S BLISTRED LIPP
Hide not that sprouting lipp, nor kill
The juicy bloome with bashfull skill :
Know it is an amorous dewe
That swells to court thy corall hewe,
And what a blemish you esteeme
To other eyes a pearle may seeme
"Whose watery growth is not above
The thrifty seize that pearles doe love,
And doth so well become that part
That chance may seeme a secret art.
Doth any judge that face lesse fayre
Whose tender silke a mole doth beare ?
Or will a diamond shine less cleare
If in the midst a soil appeare ?
Or else that eye a finer nett
Whose glasse is ring'd about with jett ?
Or is an apple thought more sweete
When hony specks and redde doe meete ?
Then is the lipp made fayrer by
Such sweetness of deformitie.
The nectar which men strive to sipp
Springs like a well upon your lipp,
Nor doth it shew immodesty,
But overflowing chastity.
O who will blame the fruitfull trees
When too much sapp and gumme hee sees ?
Here nature from her store doth send
Only what other parts can lend ;
28
The budde of love which here doth growe
Were too too sweete if pluckt belowe ;
When lovely buddes ascend so high
The roote belowe cannot be drye.
TO A GENTLEWOMAN FOR A FRIEND
No marvell if the Sunne's bright eye
Shower downe hott flames ; that qualitie
Still waytes on light ; but when wee see
Those sparkling balles of ebony
Distil such heat, the gazer straight
Stands so amazed at the sight
As when the lightning makes a breach
Through pitchie clouds : can lightning reach
The marrowe hurting not the skynne ?
Your eyes to me the same have byn ;
Can jett invite the loving strawe
With secrett fire ? so those can draw,
And can, where ere they glance a dart,
Make stubble of the strongest hart.
Oft when I looke I may descry
A little face peep through your eye ;
Sure 'tis the boy, who wisely chose
His throne among such rayes as those,
Which, if his quiver chance to fail,
May serve for darts to kill withal :
If to such powerful shafts I yeild,
If with so many wounds I bleed,
29
Think me noe coward, though I lye
Thus prostrate with your charming eye :
Did I say but your eye ? I sweare
Death's in your beauty everywhere.
Your waxen hands when I recall,
Your lily breasts, their melting vale,
Your damaske cheeks, your lilly skynne,
Your corral lipp and dainty chynne,
Your shining locks and amber breath,
All pleasing instruments of death,
Your eye may spare itselfe : mine owne
When all your parts are duly knowne
From any part may fetch a dart
To wound itselfe. Kill not my hart,
By saying that I will dispise
The parentage from which you rise :
I know it well, and likewise knowe
That I my myselfe my breath doe owe
To Woolsey's roofe, and can it bee
I should disdayne your pedigree ?
Or is your Sire a butcher found ?
The fitter you to make a wound ;
Wound mee againe and more and more,
So you againe will mee restore,
But if resemblance tell the father
I think hee was an Angell rather.
[The MS. copies of the above poem are rather numerous,
and differ very considerably from each other. The above
is from a copy in my own possession. In C.C.C., Oxford,
there are two copies, which vary very considerably in their
30
readings from each other, and from my own. The most
curious divergence between my own copy, and all others
known to me is that mine alone has the last thirteen lines as
printed above. Indeed the C.C.C. copies end quite differently.
One of them finishes thus :
To wound itselfe. Nay more my heart
Though I like Cupid blind should goe
Might feele a dart by touching you.
This is from MS. book 325. In MS. book 328 the poem ends
thus:
to wounde itselfe, & yr ye heart,*
are with a thousand arrowes filled,
cannot say this or that hath killd,
noe more can I, but sure I am
yt yu art shee yt wrought ye same :
wound me again & more & more
so you againe will mee restore.
It may be noted that this version appears to be signed
' W. Sh.', so that if any one feels disposed to claim the poem
for William Shakespeare, he will have some excuse for
doing so.
It does not seem necessary to record all the variations
between the three MSS. which are now under consideration ;
but perhaps two or three of them should be noted. Thus for
line 22 as given above MS. 328 reads as follows :
If wounded soe I grant the field.
And lines 27-32 in the same MS. read :
your hill of snow when I recall
ye azure paths and meltinge vale,
your shining tresses, lilly skinne,
your damask cheek & silken chinne
your corrall lips & amber breath,
all pleasing instruments of death.
Thus in MS. but doubtless there is some error here.
31
In Trinity College, Dublin, there is another copy of the poem,
or rather of the first 24 lines of it. In this the variations are
slight, and need not be noted: but, curiously enough, four-
teen lines from the verses in praise of gray eyes are tacked on
to the poem, of course without reason or relevance.
Finally it should be noted that the six lines beginning
Oft when I looke I may descry
have been attributed to Carew, and are in fact printed as his
in all editions of his poems.]
FOR A GENTLEMAN, WHO, KISSINGE HIS FRIEND
AT HIS DEPARTURE LEFT A SIGNE OF
BLOOD ON HER
What mystery was this ; that I should finde
My blood in kissing you to stay behinde ?
'Twas not for want of color that requirde
My blood for paynt : No dye could be desirde
On that fayre silke, where scarlett were a spott
And where the juice of lillies but a blotte.
'Twas not the signe of murther that did taynt
The harmlesse beauty of so pure a saynt :
Yes, of a loving murther, which rough steele
Could never worke ; such as we joy to feele :
Wherby the ravisht soule though dying lives,
Since life and death the selfsame object gives.
If at the presence of a murtherer
The wound will bleede and tell the cause is ther,
A touch will doe much more, and thus my heart,
When secretly it felt the killing darte,
32
Shew'd it in blood : which yet doth more complayne
Because it cannot be so touched againe.
This wounded heart, to shew its love most true,
Sent forth a droppe and writ its minde on you.
Never was paper halfe so white as this,
Nor waxe so yeelding to the printed kisse,
Nor seal'd so strong. Noe letter ere was writt
That could the author's minde so truly hitt.
For though myselfe to foreigne countries flie,
My blood desires to keepe you company.
Here could I spill it all : thus I can free
Mine enemy from blood, though slayne I be :
But slayne I cannot bee, nor meete with ill,
Since but by you I have no blood to spill.
[This poem is found in " Parnassus Biceps" and in " J.
Cleaveland Revived," 1659. There are a good many varia-
tions in the text of these ; and in both of them lines 7-12, as
printed above, are omitted.]
ON A DISSEMBLER
Could any shewe where Plynyes people dwell
Whose head stands in their breast ; who cannot tell
A smoothing lye because their open hart
And lippes are joyn'd so neare, I would depart
As quick as thought, and there forgett the wrongs
Which I have suffer'd by deceitfull tongues.
I should depart where soules departed bee,
Who being freed from cloudy flesh, can see
c 33
Each other so immediately, so cleare
That none needs tongue to speak, nor ears to hear.
Were tongues intended to express the soule,
And can wee better doe't with none at all ?
"Were words first made our meaning to reveale,
And are they usde our meaning to conceale ?
The ayre by which wee see, will that turne fogg ?
Our breath turne mist ? Will that become a clogg
That should unload the mynde ? Fall we upon
Another BabelTs sub-confusion ?
And in the self-same language must wee finde
A diverse faction of the words and minde ?
Dull as I am, that hugg'd such emptie ayre,
And never mark't the deede (a phrase more f aire,
More trusty and univocall) : joyne well
Three or foure actions, we may quickly spell
A hollow hart : if those no light can lend
Read the whole sentence, and observe the end :
I will not wayte so long : the guilded man
On whom I ground my speech, no longer can
Delude my sense ; nor can the gracefull arte
Of kind dissembling button upp his hart.
His well-spoke wrongs are such as hurtfull words
Writt in a comely hand ; or bloody swords
Sheath' d upp in velvett ; if hee draw on mee
My armour proofe is incredulity.
[From a copy in one of my MS. volumes. The poem was
printed in " Wit Restor'd " ; but the text in that volume is
inferior to that given above.]
ON GRAY EYES
Looke how the russet morne exceeds the night,
How sleekest Jett yields to the di'monds light,
So farr the glory of the gray-bright eye
Out-vyes the black in lovely majesty.
A morning mantl'd with a fleece of gray
Laughs from her brow and shewes a spotlesse day :
This di'mond-like doth not his lustre owe
To borrowed helpe, as black thinges cast a show,
It needs noe day besides itselfe, and can
Make a Cimmeria seeme meridian :
Light sees, tis seen, tis that whereby wee see
When darknesse in the opticke facultie
Is but a single element : then tell
Is not that eye the best wherein doth dwell
More plenteous light ? that organ is divine,
And more than eye that is all chrystalline,
All rich of sight : oh that perspicuous glasse
That lets in light, and lets a light forth passe
Tis Lustre's thoroughfare where rayes doe thronge,
A burning glasse that fires the lookers-on.
Black eies sett off coarse beauties which they grace
But as a beard smutch' d on a swarthy face.
Why should the seat of life be dull'd with shade,
Or that be darke for which the day was made ?
The learned Pallas, who had witt to choose,
And power to take, did other eyes refuse,
And wore the gray : each country painter blotts
His goddesse eyeballs with two smutty spotts.
35
Corruption layes on blacke ; give me the eye
Whose lustre dazles paynt and poetrie,
That's day unto itselfe ; which like the sun
Seemes all one flame. They that his beames will shun
Here dye like flyes : when eyes of every kind
Faint at the sun, at these the sun growes blind,
And skipps behind a cloud, that all may say
The Eye of all the world loves to be gray.
[There are two versions of the above poem in C.C.C.,
Oxford. There are many textual variations in them ; but
they are mostly unimportant. I have selected from each of
them what seemed to be the best readings.
I believe that what our ancestors called gray eyes we
should ourselves call blue. At all events I cannot recall an
instance in any of our old poets in which blue eyes are
praised, or even alluded to, while the allusions to gray are
very frequent.]
ON A GENTLEWOMAN'S WATCH THAT
WANTED A KEY
Thou pretty heav'n whose great and lesser spheares
With constant wheelings measure hours and yeares
Soe faithfully that thou couldst solve the doubt
Of erring Time if Nature should be out,
Where's thy intelligence ? thy Soule ? the Key
That gives thee Life and Motion ? must thou stay
Thus cramp'd with rusty Sloth ? and shall each wheele
Disorganis'd confess it is but steele ?
36
Art's Living Creature, is thy thread all spent ?
Thy Pulse quite dead ? hath Time a period sent
To his owne Sister ? slaine his Eeven Match ?
That when we looke 'tis doomesday by the Watch.
Prithee sweete Watch be marri'd, joyne thy side
Unto an active key, and then abide
A frequent screwing, till successively
More and more Time beget Eternity.
Knowe as a Woman never lock'd and key'd
Once in twice twelve growes faint and is downe- weighed
From Nature's full intent, and cannot live
Beyond her natural span, unlesse Man give
His vanish'd bone a quick'ning, unless Man
Doe adde an Ell unto her now shrunk span,
Unless he lengthen out posteritie
Her secret orbes will faint and She all die ;
Soe will thy wheeles decay, and finde their date
Unless a Key their houres doe propagate :
Then gett a key and live ; my life He gage
Each minute then shall grow into an age ;
Then lett thy Mistresse looking smile on Thee,
And say 'tis time my Watch and I agree.
[A copy of this poem in a C.C.C. MS. vol., gives a good
many various readings, but they are mostly inferior. It may
be noted however that line 12 in this version reads :
And when shee lookt tis doomsday with the watch ?
and line 22
Her secret orbes growe fainte & she growes drye.j
37
A WATCH SENT HOME TO MRS. ELIZ :
KING, WRAPT IN THEIS VERSES
Goe and count her better houres ;
They more happie are than ours.
The day that gives her any blisse
Make it as long againe as tis :
The houre shee smiles in lett it bee
By thy art increas'd to three :
But if shee frowne on thee or mee
Know night is made by her not thee :
Bee swift in such an houre, and soon
Make it night though it bee noone :
Obey her tymes, who is the free
Fayre sun that governes thee and mee.
ON A WATCH MADE BY A BLACKSMITH
A Vulcan and a Venus seldom part.
A blacksmith never us'd to filinge art
Beyond a lock and key, for Venus' sake
Hath cut a watch soe small that sence will ake
In searching every wire, and subtile sphere
Which his industrious skill hath order'd theire :
It scarce outswells a nut, and is soe light
A Ladies eare might well indure the weight.
Twas for a Mistrisse : pitty not his owne,
And yet not pitty when her worth is knowne,
Or els his love that ownes her : Either's name
Is carv'd within the plates : the witty frame
38
Hath made their letters kiss for them, while they
Have like the watch one pulse, one sympathy.
ON A GENTLEWOMAN THAT SUNG AND
PLAY'D UPON A LUTE
Be silent you still musique of the Sphears,
And every sense make haste to be all ears,
And give devout attention to her aires,
To which the Gods doe listen as to prayers
Of pious votaries ; the which to heare
Tumult would be attentive, and would swear
To keep lesse noise at Nile, if there she sing,
Or with a happy touch grace but the string.
Among so many auditors, such throngs
Of Gods and men that presse to hear her songs,
O let me have an unespied room,
And die with such an anthem ore my tomb.
[This poem is printed in " Parnassus Biceps," and in
"Wits Interpreter," 1655 It is attributed to Strode in at
least two manuscripts, and I am not aware that it has ever
been claimed for anyone else.
In the ninth line I have ventured to substitute ' such
throngs ' for « so many throngs ' which is the reading of the
printed copies.]
UPON THE BLUSH OF A FAIRE LADIE
Stay lusty blood ! where canst thou seeke
So blest a seat as in her cheeke ?
39
How dar'st thou from her face retire
Whose beauty doth command desire ?
But if thou wilt not stay, then flowe
Downe to her panting pappes belowe :
There take thou glory to distayne
With azure blewe each swelling veyne,
From thence run boyling through each part
Till thou hast warm'd her frozen hart,
Which, if from love thou find'st entire,
O martyr it with gentle fire.
[The above is from a MS. vol. in my possession. In " Wit
Restor'd," 1658, there is a version which differs from this in
so many points that it will be best to give it in full :
A BLUSH
Stay hasty blood ! where canst thou seek
So blest a place as in her cheek ?
How canst thou from the place retire
Where beauty doth command desire ?
But if thou canst not stay, then show;
Downe to her painting papps below
Flow like a deluge from her breast
Where Venus Swannes have built their nest.
And so take glory to disteine
The azure of each swelling vaine ;
Thence run thou boyling through each part
Till thou hast warm'd her frozen heart ;
But if from love she would retire
Then martyr her with gentle fire,
And having search't each secret place
Fly back againe into her face,
Where blessed live in changing those
White lilyes to a Ruddy rose.]
40
ON A GENTLEWOMAN WALKING IN THE SNOWE
I saw faire Cloris walke alone
Where feather'd rayne came softly downe,
And Jove descended from his tower
To court her in a silver shower ;
The wanton snowe flewe to her breast
Like little birds into their nest,
And overcome with whiteness there
For greife it thaw'd into a teare,
Thence falling on her garment's hemme
For greife it freez'd into a gemme.
[The above is from one of my MS. volumes. In " Parnassus
Biceps," there is a version which is nearly the same as this,
except in the last two lines, which read thus :
Which trickling down her garments hemme
To deck her freezd into a gemme.
This poem, judging from the frequency with which it was
reprinted, must have been very popular during the seven-
teenth century.
In " Wits Recreations," 1640, there is a poem evidently
modelled upon Strode's. It is as follows :
ON HIS MISTRESS
I saw faire Flora take the aire,
When Phoebus shin'd, and it was faire ;
The heavens to allay the heat
Sent drops of raine, which gently beat,
The sun retires, asham'd to see
That he was barr'd from kissing thee:
Then Boreas took such high disdaine,
That soon he dri'd those drops again :
Ah cunning plot and most divine!
Thus to mix his breath with thine.
41
It is perhaps worth mentioning that Swedenborg, during
his residence in England, translated Strode's poem into
Latin verse. His version was believed to be an original
poem, and was, after his death, printed as such.]
ON CHLORIS STANDING BY THE FIRE
Faire Chloris, standing by the Fire,
An amorous coale with hot desire
Leapt on her breast, but could not melt
The chaste snow there — which when it felt
For shame it blusht ; and then it died
There where resistance did abide,
And lest she should take it unkind
Repentant ashes left behind.
TO A VALENTINE
Faire Valentine, since once your welcome hand
Did cull mee out wrapt in a paper band,
Vouchsafe the same hand still, to shew thereby
That Fortune did your will no injury :
"What though a knife I give, your beauty's charme
Will keepe the edge from doing any harme :
"Wool deads the sternest blade ; and will not such
A weake edge turne, meeting a softer touch ?
42
A SUPERSCRIPTION ON SIR PHILIP SIDNEY'S
ARCADIA, SENT FOR A TOKEN
Whatever in Philoclea the fair
Or the discreet Pamela figur'd are,
Change but the name the virtues are your owne,
And for a fiction there a truth is knowne :
If any service here perform'd you see,
If duty and affection paynted bee
Within these leaves : may you be pleas'd to know
They only shadow what I truly owe
To your desart : thus I a glasse have sent
Which both myself and you doth represent.
POSIES
BRACELETS
This keepes my hands
From Cupid's bands.
Goe, keepe that hand
From Hymen's band.
Silke though thou bee
More soft is -f1^6
\shee
That weareth thee.
Vouchsafe my prisoners thus to bee —
Shee | ?s *aster bound that sent it thee.
43
"When you putt on this little band
Think then I take you by the hand,
AN EARE-STRINGE
'Tis vayne to add a ring or gemme,
Your eare itselfe outpassetb them.
When idle words are passing here,
I warne and pull you by the eare.
This silken chayne stands wayting here
For golden tongues to tye on there.
Here silken twynes, there locks you see —
Now tell me which the softer bee ?
A WATCH-STRING
Tyme's picture here invites your eyes,
See with how running wheeles it flyes !
These strings can do what no man could-
The tyme they fast in prison hold.
A PURSE-STRING
"We hugg, imprison, hang, and save,
This foe, this friend, our Lord, our slave.
44
While thus I hang, you threatned see
The fate of him that stealeth mee.
A NECKLACE
These veines are nature's nett,
These cords by art are sett.
If love himselfe flye here,
Love is intangled here.
Loe ! on my neck this twist I bind,
For to hang him that steales my mynde
Unless hee hang alive in chaynes
I hang and dye in lingring paynes.
Theis threads enjoy a double grace,
Both by the gemme and by the place.
A GIRDLE
Whene'er the wast makes too much hast,
That hast againe makes too much wast.
I here stand keeper while 'tis light,
'Tis theft to enter when 'tis night.
This girdle doth the wast embrace
To keepe all others from that place.
45
This circle here is drawne about
To keepe all tempting spiritts out.
Whoe'er the girdle doth undoe
Hee quite undoes the owner too.
A PAIR OF GLOVES
If that from glove you take the letter g,
Then glove is love, and that I send to thee,
[All the above — the last excepted — are from one of my
MS. volumes. I believe most of them are now printed for
the first time.]
ON THE PICTURE OF TWO DOLPHINS IN A
FOUNT AYNE
These dolphins twisting each on either side
For joy leapt upp, and gazing there abide ;
And whereas other waters fish doe bring,
Here from the fishes doe the waters spring,
Who think it is more glorious to give
Than to receive the juice whereby they live :
And by this milk-white bason learne you may
That pure hands you should bring or beare away,
For which the bason wants no furniture,
Each dolphin wayting makes his mouth an ewer,
Your welcome then you well may understande
When fish themselves give water to your hand.
46
SONNETT
My love and I for kisses play'd,
Shee would keepe stake, I was content,
But when I wonne shee would be paid ;
This made mee aske her what she meant.
Pray, since I see (quoth shee) your wrangling vayne,
Take your owne kisses, give me myne againe.
[In "New Court-Songs and Poems, by R. V. Gent." 1672,
this poem is printed, with three additional stanzas, which
are, however, not worth quoting.]
TO HIS MISTRESSE
In your sterne beauty I can see
Whatere in Aetna wonders bee ;
If coales out of the topp doe flye
Hott flames doe gush out of your eye ;
If frost lye on the ground belowe
Your breast is white and cold as snowe :
The sparkes that sett my hart on fire
Refuse to melt your owne desire :
The frost that byndes your chilly breast
With double fire hath mee opprest :
Both heate and cold a league have made,
And leaving you they mee invade :
The hearth its proper flame withstands
When ice itself e heates others hands.
47
[I have two MS. copies of this poem, which differ but
little in their texts. One, however, is headed " For a
Gentleman," so that it would seem that Strode wrote the
poem, not on his own account, but for a friend.]
A LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS
lie tell you how the Rose did first grow redde,
And whence the Lilly whitenesse borrowed :
You blusht, and then the Rose with redde was dight :
The Lillies kissde your hands, and so came white :
Before that time each Rose had but a stayne,
The Lilly nought but palenesse did containe :
You have the native colour, these the dye ;
They flourish only in your livery.
[There is a version of this poem, differing slightly from
the above, in " Wits Recreations," 1640. Strode's claim to
the poem seems to be pretty clear: at all events I have
never seen it attributed to any other author.]
A RIDDLE : ON A KISS
What thing is that, nor felt nor scene
Till it bee given ? a present for a Queene :
A fine conceite to give and take the like :
The giver yet is farther for to seeke ;
The taker doth possesse nothing the more,
The giver hee hath nothing lesse in store :
48
And given once that nature hath it still,
You cannot keepe or leave it if you will :
The workmanshippe is counted very small,
The labour is esteemed naught at all :
But to conclude, this gift is such indeede,
That, if some see't 'twill make theyr hearts to bleede.
ON A GENTLEWOMAN
THAT HAD HAD THE SMALL POXE
A Beauty smoother than the Ivory playne
Late by the Poxe injuriously was slayne :
Twas not the Poxe : Love shott a thousand darts,
And made those pitts for graves to bury hearts :
But since that Beauty hath regaynde her light,
Those hearts are double slayne, it shines so bright.
ON JEALOUSY
There is a thing that nothing is,
A foolish wanton, sober wise ;
It hath noe wings, noe eyes, noe eares,
And yet it flies, it sees, it heares ;
It lives by losse, it feeds on smart,
It joyes hi woe, it liveth not ;
Yet evermore this hungry elfe
Doth feed on nothing but itselfe.
OF DEATH & RESURRECTION.
Like to the rowling of an eye,
Or like a starre shott from the skye,
Or like a hand upon a clock,
Or like a wave upon a rock,
Or like a winde, or like a flame,
Or like false newes which people frame,
Even such is man, of equall stay,
Whose very growth leades to decay.
The eye is turn'd, the starre down bendeth
The hand doth steale, the wave descendeth,
The winde is spent, the flame unfir'd,
The newes disprov'd, man's life expir'd.
Like to an eye which sleepe doth chayne,
Or like a starre whose fall we f ayne ,
Or like the shade on Ahaz watch,
Or like a wave which gulfes doe snatch
Or like a winde or flame that's past,
Or smother'd newes confirm'd at last ;
Even so man's life, pawn'd in the grave,
Wayts for a riseing it must have.
50
The eye still sees, the starre still blazeth,
The shade goes back, the wave escapeth,
The winde is turn'd, the flame reviv'd,
The newes renew'd, and man new liv'd.
[I have two MS. copies of the above, both of which are
signed ' W. S.' They vary slightly from each other in the
text, but not in any important points.
The subject of this poem was a favourite one with the
poets of the seventeenth century. Whether Strode originated
it I do not know, but it seems most probable that his poem
is only a variation on a familiar theme. There is a very
similar poem in Dr. Henry King's works.]
ON THE BIBLE.
Behold this little volume here inrolde :
'Tis the Almighty's present to the world :
Hearken earth's earth ; each sencelesse thing can heare
His Maker's thunder, though it want an eare :
God's word is senior to his works, nay rather
If rightly weigh'd the world may call it father ;
God spake, 'twas done ; this great foundation
Is the Creator's Exhalation
Breath'd out in speaking. The best work of man
Is better than his word ; but if wee scanne
God's word aright, his works far short doe fall ;
The word is God, the works are creatures all.
The sundry peeces of this generall frame
Are dimmer letters, all which spell the same
51
Eternal word ; But these cannot expresse
His greatnesse with such easy readinesse,
And therefore yeild. The Heavens shall pass away,
The sun and moone and stars shall all obey
To light one general bonfire ; but his word,
His builder-upp, his all-destroying sworde,
That still survives ; no jott of that can dye,
Each tittle measures immortalitie.
The word's owne mother, on whose breast did hang
The world's upholder drawne into a span,
Shee, shee was not so blest because she bare him
As cause herselfe was new-born, and did hear him.
Before she had brought forth she heard her Son
First speaking in the Annunciation :
And then, even then, before she brought forth child,
By name of Blessed shee herselfe instilde.
Once more this mighty word his people greets,
Thus lapt and thus swath' d upp in paper sheets :
Read here God's Image with a zealous eye,
The legible and written Deity.
ON A REGISTER FOR THE BIBLE
I am the faythfull deputy
Unto your fading memory.
Your Index long in search doth hold ;
Your folded wrinkles make books olde :
But I the Scripture open plaine,
And what you heard soone teach againe :
52
By mee the Welchman well may bring
Himselfe to Heaven in a string.
ANOTHER
I, your memories recorder,
Keepe my charge in watchfull order :
My strings divide the word aright,
Pressing the text both day and night :
And what the hand of God hath writt
Behold my fingers poynt at it :
Nor can Saint Peter with his keyes
Unlocke Heavens gate so soone as these.
[I have two MS. copies of these poems, in both of which
the text is substantially the same.]
ANTHEM FOR GOOD FRYDAY
See sinfull soul thy Saviours suffering see,
His Blessed hands and feet fix't fast to tree :
Observe what Rivulets of blood stream forth
His painful pierced side, each drop more worth
Than tongue of men and Angels can express :
Hast to him, cursed Caitiffe, and confess
All thy misdeeds, and sighing say, 'Twas I
That caus'd thee thus, my Lord, my Christ, to dye.
O let thy Death secure my soul from fears,
And I will wash thy wounds with brinish tears :
53
Grant me, sweet Jesu, from thy pretious store
One cleansing drop, with grace to sin no more.
[The above anthem, which was very kindly copied for me
by Mr. Godfrey E. P. Arkwright, is from "The Divine
Services and Anthems usually sung in the Cathedrals and
Collegiate choires in the Church of England. Collected by
J. C . . . [Clifford] London . . . 1663" (Second edition,
1664). The music was composed by Richard Gibbs, Organist
of Christ Church, Norwich. There are a few slight varia-
tions in the words of the anthem, as they appear in the first
and second editions of Clifford's book; but they are not of
sufficient importance to need to be recorded here.]
AN ANTHEME
O sing a new song to the Lord,
Praise in the hight and deeper strayne ;
Come beare your parts with one accord,
"Which you in Heaven may sing againe.
Yee elders all, and all the crowd
That in white robes apparrell'd stands
Like Saints on earth, sing out aloud,
Think now the palmes are in your hands.
Yee living pipes, whose stormy layes
Have borrowed breath to praise our king,
A well-tun'd thunder loudly raise :
All that have breath his honor sing.
54
JUSTIFICATION
See how the Rainbow in the skie
Seems gaudy through the Suns bright eye ;
Harke how an Eccho answere makes,
Feele how a board is smooth'd with waxe,
Smell how a glove putts on perfume,
Tast how theyr sweetnesse pills assume :
So by imputed Justice, Clay
Seemes faire, well spoke, smooth, sweet, each way,-
The eye doth gaze on robes appearing,
The prompted Eccho takes our hearing,
The board our touch, the sent our smell,
The pill our tast : Man, God as well.
[This is attributed to Strode in two MSS. in my posses-
sion; and I think it may be regarded as certainly his.]
ON THE LIFE OF MAN
What is our life ? a play of passion ;
Our mirth the musick of division :
Our mother's wombes the tyring houses bee
Where wee are drest for tyme's short comedy :
The earth's the stage, heaven the spectator is,
Who marketh still whoere doth act amisse :
Our graves that hide us from the burning sunne
Are but drawne curtaynes when the play is done.
[I have two MS. copies of this poem. The second copy
55
differs so much from the above that it had better be quoted
in full :
What is our life, but a play of derision ?
Our Mirth, what but the musick of division ?
Our mothers wombs the tyring houses bee
Where wee are drest for times short comedy.
The earth the stage : Heaven the spectator is,
Who still doth marke who ere doth act amisse.
Our graves that hides us from the scorching Sun,
Are but drawn curtains when the play is done.
The poem has been attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh and
other authors, and therefore it cannot be positively assigned
to Strode.]
56
ON THE DEATH OF MRS. MARY NEUDHAM
As sinn makes gross the soule and thickens it
To fleshy dulness, so the spotless white
Of virgin pureness made thy flesh as cleere
As others soules : thou couldst not tarry heere
All soule in both parts : and what could it bee
The Resurrection could bestow on thee,
Allready glorious ? thine Innocence
(Thy better shroude) sent thee as pure from hence
As saints shall rise : but hee whose bounty may
Enlighten the greate sunn with double day,
And make it more outshine itselfe than now
It can the moone, shall crowne thy varnish'd brow
With light above that sunn : when thou shalt bee
No lower in thy place than Majesty :
Crown'd with a Virgin's wreath, outshining there
The Saints as much as thou did'st mortalls heere.
Bee this thy hope ; and whilst thy ashes ly
Asleepe in death, dreame of Eternity.
[This most beautiful poem is taken from the MS. book of
poems of Catherine Anwill, which was discovered by
Mr. E. V. Lucas, and printed in a charming form by him.
Dr. Grosart informed Mr. Lucas that an original version in
57
Strode's handwriting is to be found at Oxford. The assign-
ment of the poem therefore rests upon Dr. Grosart's authority,
which is not always to be depended upon; but the evidences
of style and sentiment in this case seem to tell conclusively
in Strode's favour. It is worth noting perhaps that in a copy
of the poem in the British Museum the name is given as
1 Nedham ' instead of ' Neudham.']
ON THE DEATH OF MISTRESS MARY PRIDEAUX
Weep not because this childe hath dyed so yong,
But weepe because yourselves have livde so long :
Age is not fild by growth of time, for then
"What old man lives to see th' estate of men ?
Who sees the age of grande Methusalem ?
Ten years make us as old as hundreds him.
Ripenesse is from ourselves : and then wee dye
When nature hath obteynde maturity.
Summer and winter fruits there bee, and all
Not at one time, but being ripe, must fall.
Death did not erre : your mourners are beguilde ;
She dyed more like a mother than a childe.
Weigh the composure of her pretty partes :
Her gravity in childhood ; all her artes
Of womanly behaviour ; weigh her tongue
So wisely measurde, not too short nor long ;
And to her youth adde some few riches more,
She tooke upp now what due was at threescore.
She livde seven years, our age's first degree ;
Journeys at first time ended happy bee ;
58
Yet take her stature with the age of man,
They well are fitted : both are but a span.
[I have two MS. copies of this poem, which vary but little
in their text. There is another MS. copy at Oxford, which
has some variations that are perhaps worth noting. They
are as follows :
Line 4. What old men live to see the state of men ?
„ 5. Who reach the youth
„ 14. womanlike
„ 17. Add only to the growth some inches more
„ 19. first stepp
The reading * inches ' instead of ' riches ' in line 17 seems
to be certainly right.]
ON THE SAME M. M. P.
Sleepe pretty one : oh sleepe while I
Sing thee thy latest Lullaby :
And may my song be but as shee,
Nere was sweeter Harmonic :
Thou werte all musicke : all thy limbes
"Were but so many well sett hymnes
To prayse thy Maker. In thy browe
I read thy soule, and and know not how
To tell which whiter was or smoother,
Or more spotlesse, one or th' other.
Noe jarre, no harshnesse in thee : all
Thy passions were at peace : noe gall,
No rough behaviour ; but even such
In disposition as in touch.
Yet Heaven, poore Soule, was harsh to thee :
Death usde thee not halfe orderly :
If thou must needs goe, must thy way
Needs be by torture ? must thy Day
Ende in the Morning ? and thy Night
Come with such horrour and affright ?
Death might have ceizd thee gentlyer, and
Embrac'te thee with a softer hand.
Thou werte not sure so loath to goe
That thou needst be dragged so,
For thou wert all obedience, and hadst witt
To doe Heaven's will and not dispute with it.
Yet twere a heard heart, a dead eye
That sighlesse, tearlesse, could stand by,
While thy poore Mother felt each groane
As much as ere shee did her owne
"When shee groan 'd for thee : and thy cries
Marrde not our eares more than her Eyes.
Yet if thou tookst some truce with payne,
Then was shee melted more againe
To heare thy sweete words, whilst thy breath
Faintly did strive to sweeten Death,
Calldst for the Musicke of thy knell,
And crydst, 'twas It must make thee well :
Thus whilst your prayers were at strife,
Thine for thy death, Hers for thy life,
Thine did prevayle, and on theyr wings
Mounted thy soul ; where now it sings,
And never shall complayne no more,
But for not being there before.
60
CONSOLATORIUM, AD PARENTES
Lett her parents then confesse
That they beleeve her happinesse,
Which now they question. Thinke as you
Lent her the world, Heaven lent her you :
And is it just then to complayne
When each hath but his owne againe ?
Then thinke what both your glories are
In her preferment : for tis f arre
Nobler to gett a Saint, and beare
A childe to Heaven than an Heyre
To a large Empire. Thinke beside
Shee dyde not yong, but livde a Bride.
Your best wishes for her good
Were but to see her well bestowde :
Was shee not so ? Shee marryed to
The heyre of all things : who did owe
Her infant Soule, and bought it too.
Nor was shee barren : markt you not
Those pretty little Graces, that
Play'd round about her sicke bedde ; three
Th' eldst Faith, Hope, & Charity.
Twere pretty bigge ones, and the same
That cryde so on theyr Fathers name.
The yongst is gone with Her : the two
Eldest stay to comfort you,
And little though they bee, they can
Master the biggest foes of man.
Lastly thinke that Hir abode
With you was some fewe years boarde ;
61
After hir marriage : now shee's gone
Home, royally attended on :
And if you had Elisha's sight
To see the number of her bright
Attendants thither ; or Paul's rapt sprite
To see her Welcome there ; why then,
"Wish if you could Her here agen.
Ime sure you could not : but all passion
Would loose itselfe in admiration,
And strong longings to be there
"Where, cause shee is, you mourn for Her.
HER EPITAPH
Happy Grave, thou dost enshrine
That which makes thee a rich mine :
Remember yet, 'tis but a loane ;
And wee must have it back, Her owne,
The very same ; Marke mee, the same :
Thou canst not cheat us with a lame
Deformed Carcase ; Shee was fayre,
Fresh as Morning, sweete as Ayre :
Purer than other flesh as farre
As other Soules than Bodies are :
And that thou mayst the better see
To finde her out : two stars there bee
Eclipsed now ; uncloude but those
And they will poynt thee to the Rose
That dyde each cheeke, now pale and wan,
But will bee when shee wakes againe
62
Fresher than ever : And howere
Her long sleepe may alter Her
Her Soule will know her Body streight,
Twas made so fitt for't. Noe deceite
Can suite another to it : none
Cloath it so neatly as its owne.
[This beautiful poem is now first printed (excepting the
third section, which appeared in " Musarum Deliciae," 1656)
from a manuscript volume in my own possession. There are
other MS. copies, but none, I think, better than my own. In
one of the Poetical MS. volumes in the Rawlinson collection
at Oxford there is a copy of the poem which has some varia-
tions that are worth noting. These are as follows :
Line 2. « thee' is omitted
„ 40-1. Thou whilst our prayers were at strife,
Thine for thy death, ours for thy life.
,, 43. Transport thy soule
» 33-6. (Consolatorium) Were you to see her
numbers bright
Attendants thither; or the ears
Of ravisht Paul amongst the spheres,
To know her welcome thither then —
In these lines both versions are, I think, a little wrong.
Perhaps the passage should read :
And if you had Elisha's sight
To see the number of her bright
Attendants thither; or the ears
Of ravisht Paul, amongst the spheares
To know her welcome thither, then
Wish, if you could, her here agen.
Line 4. (Epitaph) have back our owne
., 8. ,, soft as ayre
63
It should be noted also that in this version several lines
are omitted which appear in my own copy. The " Epitaph"
as printed in " Musarum Deliciae" has a few variations from
my own copy, but as these readings are inferior to those
which appear above I do not quote them.
I suspect that line 22 (" Consolatorium ") « Twere pretty
bigge ones, &c.' is in some way corrupt. One MS. reads
* begge ' instead of ' bigge,' but this is no improvement. It
might also be suspected that the heroic couplet in the first
section, being in a different measure from the rest, is also in
some way corrupt, were it not that it fits perfectly into its
place, without producing any jarring effect.]
ON THE DEATH OF SIR THO : PELTHAM
Meerly for man's death to mourne
Were to repine that man was borne.
When weake old age doth fall asleepe
Twere foule ingratitude to weepe :
Those threads alone should pull out tears
Whose sodayne cracke breaks off some years.
Heere tis not so : full distance heere
Sunders the cradle from the beere.
A fellow-traveller he hath beene
So long with Time : so worne to skinne,
That were hee not just now bereft,
His Body first his soule had left.
Threescore and tenne is Nature's date,
Our journey when wee come in late .
Beyond that time the overplus
Was granted not to him, but us.
64
For his own sake the Sun nere stood,
But only for the peoples good.
Even so his breath held out by aire
"Which poore men uttered in theyr prayer :
And as his goods were lent to give,
So were his dayes that they might live,
Soe ten years more to him were told
Enough to make another olde.
O that Death would still doe soe ;
Or else on good men would bestow
That wast of years which unthrifts fling
Away by theyr distempering,
That some might thrive by this decay
As well as that of land and clay.
'Twas now well done : no cause to moane
On such a seasonable stone.
Where death is but an Host, we sinne
Not bidding welcome to his Inne.
Sleepe, sleepe, thy rest, good man, embrace ;
Sleepe, sleepe, th'ast trode a weary race.
[I have two MS. copies of this poem, which differ slightly
in their texts, but not in any important points. It is printed
in " Parnassus Biceps " ; but the text given there is inferior
to that printed above. It is perhaps worth mentioning that
in the printed version the name appears as ' Pelham ' : in
one of my MS. copies it is « Pelltham,' in the other
1 Peltham'.]
65
ON THE DEATH OF A TWIN
Where are yee now, Astrologers, that looke
For petty accidents in Heavens booke ?
Two Twins, to whom one Influence gave breath,
Differ in more than Fortune, Life and Death.
"While both were warme (for that was all they were
Unlesse some feeble cry sayd Life was there :)
By wavering change of health they seem'd to trie
Which of the two should live, for one must die.
As if one Soule, allotted to susteine
The lumpe, which afterwards was cutt in twain,
Now servde them both : whose limited restraynt
From double vertue made them both to faynt :
But when that common Soule away should flie,
Death killing one, expected both should die :
Shee hitt, and was deceivde : that other parte
Went to supply the weake survivers heart :
So Death, where shee was cruell, seemde most milde
She aymed at two, and killde but halfe a childe.
ON THE YONG BARONETT PORTMAN DYING OF
AN IMPOSTUME IN'S HEAD
Is Death so cunning now that all her blowe
Aymes at the heade ? Doth now her wary Bowe
Make surer worke than heertofore ? The steele
Slew warlike heroes onely in the heele.
New found out slights, when men themselves begin
To be theyr proper Fates by new found sinne.
66
Tis cowardize to make a wound so sure ;
No Art in killing where no Art can cure.
Was it for hate of learning that she smote
This upper shoppe where all the Muses wrought ?
Learning shall crosse her drift, and duly trie
All wayes and meanes of immortalitie.
Because her heade was crusht, doth shee desire
Our equall shame ? In vayne she doth aspire.
No : noe : Wee know where ere shee make a breach
Her poysened Sting onely the Heele can reach.
Looke on the Soule of man, the very Heart ;
The Head itselfe is but a lower parte :
Yet hath shee straynde her utmost tyranny,
And done her worst in that she came so high.
Had she reservde this stroke for haughty men,
For politique Contrivers ; justly then
The Punishment were matcht with the offence :
But when Humility and Innocence
So indiscreetly in the Heade are hitt,
Death hath done Murther, and shall die for itt :
Thinke it no Favour showne because the Braine
Is voyde of sence, and therefore free from payne.
Thinke it noe kindness when so stealingly
He rather seemde to jest away than die,
And like that Innocent, the Widdows childe
Cryde out, My head, my head : and so it dyde,
Thinke it was rather double cruelty,
Slaughter intended on his Name, that Hee
Whose thoughts were nothing taynted, nothing vayne,
Might seeme to hide Corruption in his brayne.
67
How easy might this Blott bee wipte away
If any Pen his worth could open lay ?
For which those Harlott-prayses, which wee reare
In common dust, as much too slender are
As great for others. Boasting Elegies
Must here bee dumbe. Desert that over weighs
All our Reward stoppes all our Prayse : lest wee
Might seeme to give alike to Them and Thee :
Wherfore an humble Verse, and such a strayne
As mine will hide the truth while others fayne.
[The above is copied from one of my MS. books : I do not
know of any other copy of the poem. There seems to be
some corruption in the fifth and sixth lines, which, should
another copy of the poem be discovered, we may hope to
correct.]
ON THE DEATH OF DR. LANCTON
PRESIDENT OF MAUDLIN COLLEGE
When men for injuryes unsatisfy'd,
For hopes cutt off, for debts not fully payd,
For legacies in vain expected, mourne
Over theyr owne respects within the urne,
Races of tears all striveing first to fall
As frequent are as eye and funerall ;
Then high swolne sighes drawne in and sent out strong
Seeme to call back the soule or goe along.
Goodness is seldome such a theam of woe
Unless to her owne tribe some one or two ;
68
But here's a man, (alas a shell of man ! )
Whose innocence, more white than silver swan,
Now finds a streame of teares ; such perfect greif
That in the traine of mourners hee is cheife
Who lives the greatest gainer ; and would faine
Bee now prefer'd unto his loss againe.
The webb of nerves with subtill branches spred
Over the little world, are in theyr head
Scarce so united as in him were knitt
All his dependants : Hee that strives to sitt
So lov'd of all must bee a man as square
As vertues selfe ; which those that fly and feare
Can never hate. How seldome have we scene
Such store of flesh joyn'd with so little sin ?
His body was not greater than his soule,
Whose limbs were vertues able to controule
All grudg of sloth : and as the body's weight
Hal'd to the centre ; so the soule as light
Heav'd upward to her goale. This civill jarre
Could not hold out, but made them part as farre
As earth and heaven : from whence the one shall come
To make her mate more fresh, less cumbersome.
After so sound a sleepe, so sweet a rest,
And both shall then appeare so trimly drest
As freinds that goe to meet : the body shall
Then seeme a soule, the soule Angellicall :
A beautious smile shall passe from that to this,
The joyning soule shall then the body kisse
With its owne lipps : so great shall be the store
Of joy and love that now thei'l part no more ;
69
Such hope hath dust ! besides which happines
Death hath not made his earthly share the lesse,
Or quite bereft him of his honors here,
But added more ; for liveing hee did steere
The fellowes only ; but since hee is dead
Hee's made a president unto theyr head.
ON DR. LANCTON'S DEATH
Because of fleshly mould wee bee
Subject unto mortality,
Let noe man wonder at his death,
More flesh he had, and then lesse breath.
But if you question how he died,
'Twas not the fall of swelling pride ;
'Twas noe ambition to ascend
Heaven in humility : his end
Assur'd us that his God did make
This peece for our example's sake.
Had you but scene him in his way
To Church, his last blest Sabbath day ;
His struggling soule did make such hast
As if each breath would bee his last.
Each bricke hee trod on, shrinking strove
To make his grave and shew its love.
O how his sweating body wept
Knowing how soone it should bee swept
In mould : but while hee kneels to pray
His weighty members long to stay ;
70
Each word doth bring a breathlesse teare
As if he'd leave his spirit there.
Hee gone, looks back, as if to see
The place where he should buried bee,
Bowing as if hee did desire
At the same time for to expire :
Which being done, he long shall dwell
"Within the place hee lov'd so well,
"Where night and morning hundreds come
A Pilgrimage unto his tomb.
[From a MS. in my possession. There is also a copy in a
manuscript volume in the British Museum. The poem is
printed in " Parnassus Biceps." There are many small
variations in these three texts, but none which it seems
necessary to record.]
ON THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS LEA
You that affright with lamentable notes
The servants from their beef, whose hungry throats
Vex the grume porter's surly conscience :
That blesse the mint for coyning lesse than pence :
You whose unknown and meanly payd desarts
Begge silently within, and knocke at hearts :
You whose commanding worth makes men beleeve
That you a kindnesse give when you receave :
All sorts of them that want, your tears now lend :
A House-keeper, a Patron, and a Friend
71
Is lodged in clay. The man whose table fedde
So many while he lived, since hee is dead,
Himself e is turn'd to food : whose chimney burn'd
So freely then, is now to ashes turn'd.
The man which life unto the Muses gave
Seeks life of them, a lasting Epitaph :
And hee from whose esteeme all vertues found
A just reward, now prostrate in the ground,
(Like some huge ancient oake, that ere it fell,
Could not be measur'd by the rule so well)
Desires a faythfull comment on his dayes,
Such as shall neither lye to wrong or prayse :
But oh ! what Muse is halfe so pure, so strong,
What marble sheets can keepe his name so long
As onely hee hath lived ? then who can tell
A perfect story of his living well ?
The noble fire that spur'd and whetted on
His bravely vertuous resolution
Could not so soone be quencht as weaker soules
Whose feebler sparke an ach or thought controuls.
His life burnt to the snuffe ; a snuffe that needs
No socket to conceale the stench, but feeds
Our sence like costly fumes : his manly breath
Felt no disease but age ; and call'd for Death
Before it durst intrude, or thought to try
That strength of limbs, that soules integrity.
Looke on his silver hayres, his graceful browe*
And Gravity itselfe might Lea avowe
Her father : Time, his schoolmate. Fifty years
Once wedlocke he embrac't : a date that bears
72
Fayre scope, if Soule and Body chance to bee
So long a couple as his wife and hee.
But number you his deeds, they so outpasse
The largest size of any mortal glasse,
That though hee liv'd a thousand, some would crye
Alas ! he dyde in his minority.
His dayes and deeds would nere be counted even
"Without Eternity, which now is given.
Such descants poore men make ; who miss him more
Than sixe great men, that keeping house before
After a spurt unconstantly are fledd
Away to London. But the man that's dead
Is gone unto a place more populous,
And tarries longer there, and waites for us.
AN EPITAPH ON SR JOHN WALTER,
LORD CHEIFE BARON
Farewell Example, Living Rule farewell ;
Whose practise shew'd goodness was possible,
Who reach' d the full outstretch'd perfection
Of Man, of Lawyer, and of Christian.
Suppose a Man more streight than Reason is,
Whose grounded Habit could not tread amisse
Though Reason slepd ; a Man who still esteein'd
His wife his Bone ; who still his children deem'd
His Limbes and future Selfe ; Servants trayn'd friends ;
Lov'd his Familiars for Themselves not ends :
73
Soe wise and Provident that dayes orepast
He ne're wish'd backe again ; by whose forecast
Time's Locke, Time's Baldness, Future Time were one,
Since nought could mende nor marre one Action,
That man was He.
Suppose an Advocate
In whose all-conquering tong true right was Fate ;
That could not pleade among the gounded throng
Wrong Causes right nor rightfull causes wrong,
But made the burnish'd Truth to shine more bright
Than could the witnesses or Act in sight.
Who did soe breifely, soe perspicuously
Untie the knots of darke perplexity
That words appear'd like thoughts, and might derive
To dull Eares Knowledge most Intuitive.
A Judge soe weigh'd that Freinde and one of Us
Were heard like Titius and Sempronius.
All Eare, no Eie, noe Hande ; oft* being par'd
The Eies Affections and the Hands Reward.
Whose Barre and Conscience were but two in Name,
Sentence and Closet-Censure still the Same :
That Advocate, that judge was He.
Suppose
A sound and setled Christian, not like those
That stande by fitts, but of that Sanctity
As by Repent ence might scarce better 'd be :
Whose Life was like his latest Houre, whose way
Outwent the Journey's Ende where others stay :
* (?) Off.
74
Who slighted not the Gospel for his Lawe,
But lov'd the Church more than the Bench, and sawe
That all his Righteousnes had yet neede fee
One Advocate beyond himself e. 'Twas He.
To this Good Man, Judge, Christian, now is given
Faire Memory, noe Judgment, and blest Heaven.
REMEMBRANCES OF THE RENOWNED KNIGHT,
SIR ROWLAND COTTON, OF BELLAPORT IN
SHROPSHIRE, CONCERNING HIS AGILITY OF
BODY, TONGUE, AND MIND
Renowned Champion full of wrestling Art,
And made for victory in every part,
Whose active Limbes, oyl'd Tongue, and vertuous Mind,
Subdu'd both Foe and Friend, the Rough and Kind,
Yea, ev'n Thy-selfe, and thy Diseases too,
And all but Death (which won with much adoe
And shall at last be vanquish'd,) where are now
Those brawny Armes that crush'd the Dane ? and how
Doe all thy Languages to Silence turne ?
Babel's undifferenc'd by the speechlesse Urne.
What use of Wisedome now to mold the state
Where All are Equall ? to appease debate
Where All doe sleepe ? sowre dangers to fore-fend
When Spite hath done her worst and dangers end ?
Had Death a Body, like the Dane's or thine,
Th'adst beene Her death ; if humane Eares like mine,
75
Thy tongues had charm'd them ; if a heart to love,
Each quality of thine a dart might prove.
One Beame thou living hadst of Eminence,
And still in Use, left heere and carried hence,
Immortall Love ; as busie now as then ;
There fixt on God yet heere intwin'd with Men ;
That makes Thee pray for Us, Us write for Thee,
Joynes Heaven and Earth in one Fraternity.
Love sayes thy Fall's not desparate : a Fall ?
That hopes for Rising. Waite but for a Call,
And thou shalt rise, summon'd with Champion sound,
Antaeus-like, more strong from under Ground.
ON THE DEATH OF SIR ROWLAND COTTON
SECONDING THAT OF SIR ROBERT
More Cottons yet ? O let not envious Fate
Attempt the Ruine of our growing State.
O had it spar'd Sir Rowland, then might wee
Have almost spar'd Sir Robert's Library.
His Life and th' others bookes taught but the same ;
Death kils us twice in blotting twice one Name.
Give Him, and take those Reliques with consent ;
Sir Rowland was a Living Monument.
[These poems are from " Parentalia, Spectatissimo
Rolando Cottono, Equiti Aurato Salopiensi . . . Londini . . .
1635." *n tne same volume there is a Latin poem by Strode,
headed " In omnigenam qua claruit Linguarum Peritiam,
prsecipue Orientalium."]
76
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LADY
PENELOPE DOWAGER OF THE LATE VIS-COUNT
BAYNING
Great Lady,
Humble partners of like griefe
In bringing Comfort may deserve belief e,
Because they Feele and Feyne not : Thus we say
Unto Ourselves, Lord Bayning, though away,
Is still of Christ-Church ; somewhat out of sight,
As when he travel'd, or did bid good night,
And was not seen long after ; now he stands
Remov'd in Worlds, as heretofore in Lands ;
But is not lost. The spight of Death can never
Divide the Christian, though the Man it sever.
The like we say to You : He's still at home,
Though out of reach ; as in some upper roome,
Or Study : for His Place is very high,
His Thought is Vision ; now most properly
Return'd he's Yours as sure, as e're hath been
The Jewell in Your Cask, safe though unseen.
You know that Friends have Eares as well as Eyes,
We heare Hee's well and Living, that well dies.
ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
THE LORD VISCOUNT BAYNING
Though after Death, Thanks lessen into Praise,
And Worthies be not crown' d with gold, but bayes ;
77
Shall we not thank ? To praise Thee all agree ;
"We Debtors must out doe it, heartily.
Deserved Nobility of True Descent,
Though not so old in Thee grew Ancient :
"We number not the Tree of Branched Birth,
But genealogie of Vertue, spreading forth
To many Births in value. Piety,
True Valour, Bounty, Meeknesse, Modesty,
These noble off-springs swell Thy Name as much,
As Richards, Edwards, three, foure, twenty such :
For in thy Person's linage surnam'd are
The great, the good, the wise, the just, the faire.
One of these stiles innobles a whole stemme ;
If all be found in One, what race like him !
Long stayres of birth, unlesse they likewise grow
To higher vertue, must descend more low.
"When water comes through numerous veins of lead,
'Tis water still ; Thy blood, from One pipe's head,
Grew Aqua-mice streight, with spirits fill'd,
As not traduc'd, but rais'd, sublim'd, distill'd.
Nobility farre spread, I may behold,
Like the expanded skie, or dissolv'd gold,
Much rarified ; I see't contracted here
Into a starre, the strength of all the spheare ;
Extracted like the Elixir from the mine,
And highten'd so that 'tis too soone divine.
Divinity continues not beneath ;
Alas nor He ; but though He passe by death,
He that for many liv'd, gaines many lives
After hee's dead : Each friend and servant strives
78
To give him breath in praise ; this Hospital,
That Prison, Colledge, Church, must needs recall
To mind their Patron ; whose rich legacies
In forreigne lands, and under other skies
To them assign'd, shew that his heart did even
In France love England, as in England Heaven :
Heav'n well perceiv'd this double pious love,
Both to his Country here, and that above :
Therefore the day, that saw Him landed here,
Hath seen him landed in his Haven there ;
The selfe^same day (but two yeares interpos'd)
Saw Sun and Him round shining twice & clos'd.
No Citizen so covetous could be
Of getting wealth, as of bestowing, He ;
His Body and Estate went as they came,
Stript of Appendix Both, and left the same
But in th' Originall ; Necessity
Devested one, the other Charity.
It cost him more to clothe his soule in death,
Than e're to cloth his flesh for short-liv'd breath ;
And whereas Lawes exact from Niggards dead
A Portion for the Poore, they now are said
To moderate His Bounty ; never such
"Was known but once, that men should give too much :
A Tabernacle then was built, and now
The like in heav'n is purchas'd : Learn you how ;
Partly by building Men, and partly by
Erecting walls, by new-found Chymistry,
Turning of Gold to Stones. Our Christ-Church Pile,
Great Henries Monument, shall grow awhile
79
With Bayning's Treasure ; who a way hath took.
Like those at Westminster, to fill a nook
'Mongst beds of Kings. Thus speak, speak while we may
For Stones will speak when We are hush'd in Clay.
W. STRODE, D.D. Canon of Ch. C.
[The two foregoing poems are taken from " Death Repeal'd,
by a Thankfull Memoriall sent from Christ-Church in Oxford,
celebrating the noble deserts of the Right Honourable Paule,
late Lord Vis-count Bayning of Sudbury, who changed his
Earthly Honours, June the n, 1638. Oxford . . . 1638."
The second poem, as the reader will have noticed, is
signed, while the first has no signature. I think, however,
that both poems are Strode's, though as regards the first no
positive proof of his authorship of it can be advanced. Every
other poem in the volume but this is signed. It is the first
poem in the book and forms an introduction to the rest. My
belief (right or wrong) is that Strode edited the whole collec-
tion, and hence was the proper person to write the intro-
ductory poem. Strode's Elegy follows immediately after the
dedicatory poem.
The book is an interesting one, and contains several note-
worthy poems. Among the contributors were William Cart-
wright, R. Burton, Jasper Mayne, Tho. Isham, Martin
Llewellin, &c.]
ON THE DEATH OF LADIE CAESAR
Though Death to good men be the greatest boone,
I dare not think this Lady dyde so soone.
She should have livde for others : Poor mens want
Should make her stande, though she herselfe should faynt.
What though her vertuous deeds did make her seeme
Of equall age with old Methusalem ?
80
Shee should have livde the more, and ere she fell
Have stretcht her little Span unto an Ell.
May wee not thinke her in a sleep or sowne,
Or that shee only tries her bedde of grounde?
Besides the life of Fame, is shee all deade ?
As deade as Vertue, which together fledde :
As dead as men without it : and as cold
As Charity, that long ago grewe old.
Those eyes of pearle are under marble sett,
And now the Grave is made the Cabinett.
Tenne or an hundred doe not loose by this,
But all mankinde doth an Example misse.
A little earth cast upp betweene her sight
And us eclypseth all the world with night.
"What ere Disease, to flatter greedy Death,
Hath stopt the organ of such harmlesse breath,
May it bee knowne by a more hatefull name
Then now the Plague : and for to quell the same
May all Physitians have an honest will :
May Pothecaries learne the Doctors skill :
May wandring Mountebanks, and which is worse
May an old womans medicine have the force
To vanquish it, and make it often flie,
Till Destiny on's servant learne to die.
May death itselfe, and all its Armory
Bee overmatcht with one poore Recipe.
What need I curse it ? for, ere Death will kill
Another such, so farre estrang'd from ill,
So fayre, so kinde, so wisely temperate,
Time will cutt off the very life of Fate.
F 81
To make a perfect Lady was espyde
No want in her of anything but Pride :
And as for wantonnesse, her modesty
Was still as coole as now her ashes bee.
Seldome hath any Daughter lesse than her
Favourde the stampe of Eve her grandmother.
Her soule was like her body ; both so cleare
As that a brighter eye than mans must peere
To finde a Blott ; nor can wee yet suspect
But only by her Death the least defect :
And were not that the wages due to Sinne
Wee might beleeve that spotlesse she had bin.
[The above is from one of my MS. volumes. There is a
copy in the British Museum (Add. MS. 22118, f. 196) which
has no signature appended to it ; but I do not think there
can be any doubt that the poem is Strode's.]
AN EPITAPH ON MR. FISHBORNE THE GREAT
LONDON BENEFACTOR, AND HIS EXECUTOR
What are thy gaines, O death, if one man ly
Stretch'd in a bed of clay, whose charity
Doth hereby get occasion to redeeme
Thousands out of the grave : though cold hee seeme
He keepes those warme that else would sue to thee,
Even thee, to ease them of theyr penury.
Sorrow I would, but cannot thinke him dead,
Whose parts are rather all distributed
82
To those that live ; His pitty lendeth eyes
Unto the blind, and to the cripple thighes,
Bones to the shatter'd corps, his hand doth make
Long armes for those that begg and cannot take :
All are supply'd with limbs, and to his freind
Hee leaves his heart, the selfe-same heart behind ;
Scarce man and wife so much one flesh are found
As these one soule ; the mutuall ty that bound
The first prefer'd in heav'n to pay on earth
Those happy fees which made them strive for death,
Made them both doners of each others store,
And each of them his own executor :
Those hearty summes are twice confer'd by either,
And yet so given as if confer'd by neither.
Lest some incroching governour might pare
Those almes and damne himselfe with pooremens share,
Lameing once more the lame, and killing quite
Those halfe-dead carcases, by due foresight
His partner is become the hand to act
Theyr joynt decree, who else would fain have lackt
This longer date that so hee might avoyd
The praise wherewith good eares would not be cloy'd,
For praises taint our charity, and steale
From Heav'ns reward ; this caus'd them to conceale
Theyr great intendment till the grave must needs
Both hide the Author and reveale the deeds.
His widdow-freind still lives to take the care
Of children left behind ; "Why is it rare
That they who never tied the marriage knott,
And but good deeds no issue ever gott,
83
Should have a troupe of children ? All mankind
Beget them heyres, heyres by theyr freinds resign' d
Back into nature's keepeinge. Th' aged head
Turn'd creeping child of them is borne and bredd ;
The prisons are theyr cradles where they hush
Those piercing cryes. "When other parents blush
To see a crooked birth, by these the maim'd
Deform'd weake offcasts are sought out and claim'd
To rayse a Progeny : before on death
Thus they renew mens lives with double breath,
And whereas others gett but half e a man
Theyr nobler art of generation can
Repay r the soule itself e, and see that none
Bee cripled more in that then in a bone,
For which the Cleargy being hartned on
"Weake soules are cur'd in theyr Physition,
Whose superannuat hatt or threadbare cloake
Now doth not make his words so vainly spoke
To people's laughter : this munificence
At once hath giv'n them ears, him eloquence.
Now Henryes sacriledge is found to bee
The ground that sets off Fishborne's charity,
"Who from lay owners rescueing church lands,
Buys out the injury of wrongfull hands,
And shewes the blackness of the other's night
By lustre of his day that shines so bright.
Sweet bee thy rest until in heav'n thou see
Those thankefull soules on earth preserv'd by thee,
"Whose russet liv'ryes shall a Robe repay
That by reflex makes white the milky way.
84
Then shall those feeble limbs which as thine owne
Thou here didst cherish, then indeed bee known
To bee thy fellow limbs, all joyn'd in one ;
For temples here renew'd the corner stone
Shall yeild thee thanks, when thou shall wonder at
The churches glory, but so poore of late,
Glad of thy almes ! Because thy tender eare
"Was never stop'd at cryes, it there shall heare
The Angells quire. In all things thou shalt see
Thy gifts were but religious Usury.
[Richard Fishburne, a wealthy cloth merchant, died in
1625, leaving by his will a great part of his fortune for the
benefit of the poor. He left considerable sums to improve
the circumstances of the poorer clergy of London. These
facts I learn from a Funeral Sermon on him preached by
Nat. Shute, Rector of St. Mildred in the Poultry.
The poem, as printed above, is taken from a manuscript
volume in Corpus Christi College, where it is attributed to
Strode. I know of no reason why it should not be his ; yet
I must confess that I am not altogether sure that he was the
author of it. I do not think the verses have ever been printed
before.]
ON THE DEATH OF MR. JAMES VAN OTTON
The first day of this month the last hath bin
To that deare soule. March never did come in
So lyonlike as now : our lives are made
As fickle as the weather or the shade.
March dust growes plenty now, while wasting fate
Strike heare to dust, well worth the proverbs rate.
85
I could be angry with the fates that they
This man of men so soone have stole away.
Meane they a kingdome to undoe, or make
The universe a Cripple while they take
From us so cheife a part, whose art knew how
To make a man a man, nor would allow
Nature an Heteroclite still to remaine
Irregular, but with a jugling paine
Deceive men of their greife, and make them know
That he could cure more than ere chance or foe
Dare to instring. Death now growes politique :
While Otton liv'd herselfe was weake and sicke
For want of food, therefore at him she aimde
Who bar'd her of her purpose. All is maimde,
All's out of joint, for in this fatall crosse
Behold Death's triumph and our fatall losse.
[There are two MS. copies of this poem in the British
Museum, both of which are rather unsatisfactory in their
texts. The above gives the best readings that can be derived
from them. One MS. reads 'infring* instead of 'instring'
in line 17, and that is probably the right word.]
ON SIR THOMAS SAVILL DYING OF THE
SMALL POX
Take, greedy death, a body here entomd
That by a thousand stroakes was made one wound,
Where all thy shafts were stuck with fatall ayme
Untill a quiver this thy marke became,
86
Had Caesar fifty wounds to let in thee
Because a troop of men might seeme to bee
Comprised in that great Spirit, this had more
Whose deaths were equalld with the fruitfull store
Of hopefull vertues, though each wound did reach
The very heart, yet none could make a breach
Into his soule, a soule more fully drest
"With vertuous gemmes than was his body prest
With hatefull spotts, and therefore every scarr
When death itselfe is dead shall be a starre.
[There are two copies of this poem in the C.C.C. library.
There are a few variations of text in them ; but none which it
seems necessary to record.]
EPITAPH ON MR. BRIDGEMAN
One pitt containes him now that could not dye
Before a thousand pitts in him did lye ;
Soe many spotts upon his flesh were shewne
'Cause on his soule sinne fastned almost none.
[The reading of the MS. in the second line is 'pills,' but
as this is apparently a mistake I have substituted 'pitts/
Mr. Bridgman, I suppose, died of the small pox : hence the
wretched punning conceit. The verses may or may not be
Strode's : they are attributed to him (so far as I know) in one
MS. only.]
87
TO HIS SISTER
Loving Sister : every line
Of your last letter was so fine
With the best mettle, that the grayne
Of Scrivener's pindust were but vayne :
The touch of Gold did sure instill
Some vertue more than did the Quill.
And since you write noe cleanly hand
Your token bids mee understand
Mine eyes have here a remedy
Wherby to reade more easily.
I doe but jeast : your love alone
Is my interpretation :
My words I will recant, and sweare
I know your hand is wondrous faire.
TO SIR JO. FERRERS
Gold is restorative : how can I then
Choose but restore you Thanks at least ? But when
I weigh your meritt, and then try the Scale
What correspondence I can make withall
88
My thanks as farre beneath your worth I hold
As this light pindust valued with your Gold.
Gold is a mettle of most heate and weight,
And well deserves like thanks, not cold nor light :
But if my Thanks had so much literall
And proper weight, as metaphoricall,
Then should the Carryer earne his penny better,
And soone might loade a Waggon with one Letter :
But since they have but vertuall thanks alone
"Which must depende on Estimation,
Accept, I pray, this Bill of thankfulnesse,
In manner of a Bill : whose nature is
Itself e noe actuall substance ; but doth tie
To all performance in Futuritie.
Some men whose Penne outruns theyr mind as farre
As any Courtyers tongue may thinke they are
Fay rely dischargde by theyr Confession,
.Like one that hath bin shrivde : 'tis ten to one
But when they send theyr Thanks they send away
Thankfulnesse too. True thanks, the more wee pay
The more they grow at home : the Letter sent
Is but an Earnest of what else is meant.
Why pleade I thus against myselfe ? I knowe
Noe other Argument of making showe
Of thankes but barren words ; and this I call
The Schollers treasure ; and his coyne is all
One stampe ; Thanks good and sterling : Wee restore
This for small Courtesies : we have no more
To pay for greater Benefits. Then grant
Your kinde Acceptance to supply this want,
89
Until! Occasion serves mee to performe
Some reall Service ; when that houre is borne
I shall bee fortunate : for know that still
My utmost power your Tenant is at will.
Meane while may all good Happ upon you shine
So as it may exceed your wish and mine.
Now my Apostrophe should humbly bowe
To speake unto my Lady : but I know
Twere but an idle Repitition
To write asunder, seeing both are one :
Twere prophanation of my penne and witt
If I should separate what so is knitt.
TO THE SAME
If empty vessells can resounde
Farre more than those that doe abounde,
Or if a Pumpe orechargde with store,
Lesse water yeelds than being poore,
No wonder if my thanks so long
Have Silence kept : they were too strong
My Breast untill some time were spent
Was too too full to gett a vent.
Had your ore-comming Bounty beene
Lesse noble ; had it onely seene
The way to give, not give by arte,
I quickly had transcribde my heart
In ready phrase ; and soone had payde
The debt which now I have delayde.
90
The Manner, not the Benefitt
Amazde my thankes and dulld my witt.
Eight golden faces closely rolde
Within eight verses, did enfolde
Some mystery, which thus I reade,
You square alike your Word and Deede.
Each verse was truly golden there,
And with the Pieces numbred were :
The lines so just that every one
Became a new Inscription.
Was't not enough my heart to binde
With gifts alone ; but you must finde
Verses to way mee downe, and soe
Stopping the way where I should goe,
Prevent all thanks ? I then desire
In steade of thanks I may admire.
Thinke how the boasting Hypocrite
Setts out his gift in open sight,
And guilds the outside of his deede
Trading for prayse, which others neede :
Then looke upon your secrecie,
Your shamefacte Liberalitie,
And pay yourselfe with that Reward
Which Conscience onely can aff oord :
Such prayse the best men seeke, but you
Sought to avoyde such prayses too.
To say the left hand could not reade
What from the right hand did proceede
Were to detract : I think the hand
That gave did scarcely understande
91
Her secrett gifts : I'm sure twas so
That the receiver did not knowe :
Nor must I know till I were gone,
That so your ears may scape my tongue.
I have your Blushing therefore sparde,
I have indeede ; and since you fearde
So to be thankt, who did not feare
So to deserve : I did forbeare ;
I did awhile ; but now I speake :
To hold in still I am too weake.
TO THE SAME
It grieves mee that I thus due thanks retayne
For, that which I receivde the last King's raigne ;
It grieves mee that the Lent is fully past ;
That all the Usurers accounts are cast,
Theyr use already taken : and that I
Noe tribute sende, noe thankfull usury.
I envy that each Tree and petty shrubs
Breaking the barke peepe out with timely buds,
And paying all the duties of the spring
Theyr yearly Rents to Nature freely bring,
Whilst I in barren Silence still remayne,
Not yeelding for increase one leafe agayne,
One leafe of Paper ; Leaves are signes of fruit,
So Words of what full time should execute :
They are no more : for shall I thinke I pay
When, that I am your Depter, I but say ?
92
Confession is noe payment, but with God,
And some fewe of his Schollers, two or odde :
Of which small number, though you would be one,
Yet of such Depters I would fayne be none.
Till I can choose, with patience thinke that man
"Who nothing pays, pays all ; if what he can.
TO SIR EDM. LING
Sir : I had writt in Lattin : but I f eare
You thinke tis durty still : and then it were
Unworthy of your hand. If Truth were tolde
Twas cause you turnde my Lattin all to gold.
But yet I hope the payment is as good
In English thankes. "When hardly understood
"Wee speake outlandish phrase, and thanks by arte,
Wee speake but Tongue-deepe : now tis from the heart.
May I want tongue and heart if I forgett
A thing so rare, a strangers benefitt.
In writing to a Stranger, men are bent
To make a flourish with nice Complement.
Should I by you, as by a Stranger doe,
Your gift would sweare mee downe you were not so.
Yet give mee leave, Sir, but to darte one worde
From that full store-house where my Thanks I horde :
May every houre that travells through the glasse
Number a new content before it passe :
May you neere wish wherby to want true blisse,
Nor ever want wherby to cause a wish.
93
[The word 'durty' in the second line is the reading of the
MS., but it is probably an error for « duety.']
TO THE LADY KNIGHTON
Madam : due thanks are lodgde within my breast
As close as when your enigmatique chest
Embracde the hidden Angell, which I found
Like Danae, or like to Rosamonde
"Wrapt in a winding labirynth. But then
I thought mine eyes a prodigy had seene,
Two Angells joynd in one ; the first a badd one,
The other good : twas Michael and the Dragon.
This is the morall if wee reade it well,
The selfe same Gold contains both heaven and hell :
To good men tis an Angell : but the evill
"While they possesse it treasure upp the Divell.
O may that valiant Angell, whose bright face
"Was figurde in your Golde, whose glory was
No lesse exprest in the materiall
Than in the stampe it was informde withall ;
May he still guard your side and where you dwell
May still your Champion bee Saynt Michaell.
What though that frayle Disease long siege hath layde
Unto your body ? Never be dismay de.
The Languisher breaths long oft times wee see :
So soddayn blasts blow downe a sturdy Tree
"When shivering Shrubs holi out : the firme and strong
Are strucke with casuall blows : the weake live long
94
In heavenly expectation of theyr last,
And fayrly pace, whilst others runne in hast.
Thinke when your palsy and the night is fledde
Twas part of Death ; and when you rise from bed
Thinke that of all your limbs, the weakest one
Hath tasted of the Resurrection.
Thanks was my Theame : but let me thank or pray
It issues from one head, what ere I say.
O, may your dayes bee all as good as long ;
May no ill happe or passion dare to wrong
Your quiet peace with the least griefe or feare,
And may your Heart keepe Christmas all the year.
TO MR. RIVES UPPON HIS RECOVERY
Welcome abroad, O welcome from your bedd,
I joy to see you thus delivered :
After fower yeares in travell, issues forth,
A birth of lasting wonder, whereat truth
Might well suspect herselfe ; a new disease
Borne to advance the Surgeons of our dayes
Above all others : a perfidious bone
Eaten and underminde by humours growne
Lodg'd in the captive thigh, which first of any
Halted, though furnisht with a bone too many.
No Golgotha, nor Charnell house, nor feild,
If all were searcht, could such another yeild ;
A bone so lockt and hugg'd in as a barr
That back and forwards may be wrested farr,
95
But not pull'd out at either hole ; nor could
The cunning workman come to't as hee would :
Crosse veynes did guard the soare, a hollow cave
Must wade into the flesh : the surgeon's grave
Thus being digg'd the file with harshe delay
Must grate the bone, and carve those chippes away.
Blest be the midmen, whose dexteritie
Pull'd out a birth, like Bacchus, from the thigh ;
Tutors of nature, whose well guided arte
Can rectifie her wants in every part ;
"Who by preserving others pay the debt
They owe to nature, and doe re-begett
Her strength growne ruinate. I could be gladd
Such liv'd the dayes which they to others add.
I cannot rightly tell the happier man,
The patient or the surgeon ; doe but scan
His praise, thy ease : twas sure an Extasie
That kill'd Van-Otto, not a Lethargic ;
Striving to crowne his worke, he mainly tryde
His last and greatest case, then gladly dyde.
Bernard must tarry longer, should hee flye
After his brother all the world must dye,
Or live a Cripple. Griffith's happie fate
Requires the same hands still to itterate
No lesse a miracle : the Joyners skill
Could never mend his carved pate so well
As hee hath heald a naturall ; the stout
And boasting Paracelsus who gives out
His rules can give man's life eternitie
"Would faintly doubt of this recovery.
96
Hee that hath wrought their cures I thinke hee can
As well of scrappes make upp a perfect man.
O had you scene his marrowe dropp away,
Or the others brayne start out, then would you say
Nothing could cure this fracture or that bone
Save Bernard or the Ressurection.
Stand, honest Rives, stand up and looke about,
Behold thine enemie, the bone, is out :
Now smile upon thy torment, pretty thing,
How will you use it ? Carry 't in a ring
Like a death's head, or send it to the grave,
An earnest of the body it must have ;
Or if you will you may the same translate
Into a dye because twas fortunate.
The ring were best ; tis like a Dyamond borne
Out of a Rock, soe was it hewne and torne
Out of your thigh : the gemme worth nothing is
Untill it be cutt out, no more was this.
Happie are they that knowe what treasure tis
To finde lost health, they onely feele true blisse.
Thou that hast felt these panges maist well mayntaine
Man's greatest pleasure is but want of payne :
Enjoy thyselfe, for nothing worse can come
To one so schoold and versd in martyrdome.
[The text of this poem is chiefly derived from a manuscript
copy in my possession. In that copy, however, it is headed
"To Doctor Griffith heald by a strange cure by Barnard
Wright, Chirurgion in Oxon, by W. Stroud." There is a
printed copy of the poem with a very similar heading in
" Parnassus Biceps." Nevertheless it seems that this head-
G 97
ing was in both cases affixed to the poem in error. In the
British Museum (Sloane MS. 1446, fol. 21) there is a copy
from which I have taken my own heading. This contains
two lines which are not in the other copies : viz., the follow-
ing :—
Stand, honest Rives, stand up and looke about,
Behold thine enemie, the bone, is out.
This seems to show decisively that the poem was addressed
to Mr. Rives, and not to Dr. Griffiths. The verses evidently
refer to two remarkable cures, that of a diseased bone in the
case of Mr. Rives, and of a fractured skull in that of Dr.
Griffiths. Apparently both the cures were effected by Dr.
Wright.
In " Parnassus Biceps " and in my own MS. copy the fif-
teenth line runs thus—
But not pull'd out at the keyhole ; neither could —
This is evidently an impossible line, and I have therefore
adopted the reading of the Sloane MS. Other variations are
found between the different texts, though it hardly seems
necessary to record them. One small emendation I have
made solely on my own responsibility. In the fifth line
from the end I have substituted ' true blisse ' for * the blisse,'
feeling sure that the latter cannot be right.]
A NEW YEAR'S GIFT
We are prevented ; you whose Presence is
A Publick New-yeares gift, a Common bliss
To all that Love or Feare, give no man leave
To vie a Gift but first he shall receave ;
Like as the Persian Sun with golden Eies
First shines upon the Priest and Sacrifice.
98
He on howere ; May this yeare happier prove
Than all the Golden Age when Vertue strove
With nothing but with Vertue ; may it bee
Such as the Dayes of Saturnes Infancy.
May every Tide and Season joyntly fitt
All your Intents and your Occasions hitt :
May every Grayne of Sand within your Glass
Number a fresh content before it pass.
And when success comes on, stand then each howre
Like Josuah's Day, & grow to three or fowre :
At last when this yeare rounds and wheeles away,
Bee still the next yeare like the old yeares Day.
[This is from a C.C.C. MS. Two or three passages in the
MS. have slight corrections which I have followed. There
is nothing to show on what occasion the verses were
written. ]
TO A FRIEND
Like to the hande which hath bin usde to play
One lesson long, still runs the usuall way,
And waites not what the hearers bid it strike,
But doth presume by custome, this will like :
So runne my thoughts, which are so perfect growne,
So well acquainted with my passion,
That now they dare prevent mee with their hast,
And ere I thinke to sigh my sigh is past :
Tis past, and flowne to you, for you alone
Are all the object that I thinke upon,
99
And did not you supply my soule with thought
For want of action it to none were brought.
What though our absent armes may not enfold
Reall embraces, yet wee firmely hold
Each other in possession. Thus wee see
The Lord enjoy his Lands where ere hee bee :
If Kings possesst no more than where they sate
What were they greater than a mean estate ?
This makes mee firmly yours, you firmly mine,
That somthing more than bodies us combine.
[This poem has been attributed to Donne and also to
Carew; but I believe that Strode has the best title to it.]
A LETTER
Goe happy Paper : by command
Take liberty to kisse her hand,
More white than any part of thee,
Although with spots thou graced bee.
The glory of the clearest day,
The morning ayre perfumd in May,
The first borne rose of all the Spring,
The downe beneath a Turtle's wing,
A lute just reaching to the eare ;
What ere is soft, or sweete, or fayre,
Are but her shreds, who fills the place
And some of every single grace.
As in a child the nurse descryes
The mother's lippes, the father's eyes,
100
The uncle's nose ; and doth apply
An owner to each part ; so I
In her could analyze the store
Of all the Choyce ere nature bore.
Each private peece to minde may call
Some worth ; but none can match it all.
Poore emblems ! they can but expresse
One element of comelinesse :
None are so rich to shew in one
All simples of perfection :
Nor can the Pencill represent
More than the outward lineament.
Then who can limbe the portrayture
Of beauties live behavior ?
Or what can figure every kinde
Of Jewells that adorne her minde ?
Thought cannot draw her picture full :
Even Thought to her is grosse and dull.
WITH PENNE, INKE, AND PAPER
TO A DISTRESSED FRIEND
Here is paper, pen, and inke,
That your heart and seale may sinke
Into such markes as may expresse
A Soule much blest in heavinesse.
May your paper seeme as fayre
As yourselfe when you appeare :
101
May the Letters which you write
Looke like black eye-lids on white.
May your penne such fancies bring
As one new puld from Cupid's wing :
That your paper, hand, and seale
His favour, heart, and Soule may steale,
THANKS FOR A WELCOME
For your good lookes and your clarrett,
For oft bidding doe not spare it :
For tossing glasses to the toppe,
And after sucking off a droppe,
When scarce a droppe was left behinde,
Or that which nicknames wine, even winde :
For healthy mirth and lusty sherry
Such as made old Cato merry ;
Such are our thanks that you may have
In blood the clarrett which you gave,
And in your service shall be spent
The spirits which your sacke hath lent.
102
A PARALELL BETWEEN BOWLING AND
PREFERMENT
Preferment, like a Game at bowles,
To feede our hope with diverse play
Heer quick it runnes, there soft it rowles :
The Betters make and shew the way.
As upper ground, so great Allies
Doe many cast on theyr desire :
Some uppe are thrust, and forc't to rise,
When those are stopt that would aspire.
Some whose heate and zeale exceed
Thrive well by Rubbs that curb theyr hast
Some that languish in theyr speede
Are cherisht by a gentle blast.
Some rest : and others cutting out
The same by whome themselves were made :
Some fetch a compasse farre about
And secretly the marke invade.
Some gett by knocke, and so advance
Theyr fortune by a boystrous ayme :
103
And some who have the sweetest chance
Theyr mistresse hitt, and winne the game.
The fayrest casts are those that owe
No thanks to Fortunes giddy sway :
Such honest men good bowles doe throw,
Wliose owne true Byass cutts the way.
THE CAPPS
The witt hath long beholden bin
Unto the Cappe to keepe it in :
Lett now the witt fly out amayne
In prayse to quitt the Cappe againe.
The Cappe that ownes the highest part
Obtaynd that place by due desart :
For every Cappe, what ere it bee
Is still the signe of some degree.
The Cappe doth stand, each head can show,
Above the Crowne ; but Kings below :
The Cappe is neerer heaven than wee,
A greater signe of majesty.
"When off the Cappe wee chance to take
Both head and f eete obeysance make :
For every Cappe, &c.
The Munmoth cappe, the Saylors thrumme,
And that wherin poore Tradesmen come,
104
The Physick, Law, and Cappe divine,
And that which crownes the Muses nine :
The Cappe that Fools doth countenance,
The goodly Cappe of maintenance :
For every Cappe, &c.
The sickly Cappe both playne and wrought
The fudling Cappe, however bought ;
The Quilted, Furrd, the Velvet, Satin,
For which so many f ooles learne Latin ;
The Cruell Cappe, the fustian pate,
The Periwigge, a Cappe of late :
And every Cappe, &c.
The souldiers that the Munmoth weare,
On castle toppes theyr ensignes reare :
The Seaman with his thrumme doth stand
In higher parts than all the land :
The Tradesmans Cappe aloft is borne
By vantage of (some say) a Home.
Thus every Cappe, &c.
The Physicke Cappe to dust can bring,
Without controule, the greatest King :
The Lawyers Cappe hath heavenly might
To make a crooked action right,
Which being round and endlesse knowes
To make as endlesse any cause :
Thus every Cappe, &c.
105
Both East and West, both North and South,
Where ere the Gospell findes a mouth,
The Cappe divine doth thither looke ;
Tis square, like Scholars and theyr booke ;
The rest are round, but this is square
To shew theyr heads more stable are ;
Thus every Cappe, &c.
The sickly Cappe, not wrought with silke,
Is like Repentance, white as milke :
When hatts in Church droppe off in hast
This Cappe neere leaves the head uncast :
The sicke mans Cappe, thats wrought, can tell
Though hee bee sicke, his state is well.
Thus every Cappe, &c.
The fudling Cappe, god Bacchus might,
Turnes night to day, and day to night :
It godlike makes proud heads to bende,
And lowly f eete makes to ascend :
It makes men richer than before
By seeing double all theyr store.
It rounds the world within the brayne,
And makes a monarch of a swayne :
The Furrd and Quilted Cappe of age
Can make a mouldy Proverbe sage.
Thus every Cappe, &c.
The Sattin and the Velvett hive
Unto a Bishoprick doth drive :
106
Nay, when a file of Caps you're seen in,
A square Capp, this, and next a linnen :
This triple Cappe may rayse some hope,
If fortune smile, to be a Pope :
For every Cappe, &c.
Though fustian capps bee slender weare,
The head is of no better geare :
The cruell Cappe is knitt, like hose
For them whose zeale takes cold i' th' nose :
Whose parity doth thinke it meete
To cloath alike the head and f eete :
This Cappe would fayne, but cannot bee :
The only signe of noe degree.
The Periwigg, oh that declares
The rise of flesh, but fall of hayres :
And none but Grandos can proceede
So farre in sinne that this they neede
Before theyr Prince, which covered are,
And only to themselves goe bare :
This Cappe of all the Capps that bee
Is now the signe of high degree.
[The above is from one of my MS. volumes. Collier
printed the poem in his " Book of Roxburgh Ballads " 1847 ;
and it was also printed in " Satirical Songs and Poems on
Costume," edited by F. W. Fairholt, for the Percy Society.
Collier printed his copy from an undated broadside printed
by John Trundle. There seems to be good authority for
attributing the poem to Strode, since it is given to him in
several manuscripts, while it has not, I believe, ever been
claimed for any other author.
107
The version printed by Collier and Fairholt differs in some
respects from that given above. It has an additional stanza,
which is not in my copy.
It is as follows: —
The motley-man a cap doth weare,
Which makes him fellow to a peere,
And 'tis no slender part of wit
To act the fool where great men sit ,-
For folly is in such request
That each man strives to do his best.
Thus any cap, &c.
Stanza 9 in Collier's version reads thus : —
The Fuddling cap, by Bacchus might,
Turns night to day, and day to night ;
Yet spenders it prefer to more,
Seeming to double all their store.
The Furr'd and quilted cap of age
Can make a musty proverb sage.
There are many other small variations : but all it seems
necessary to mention are the following :
Stanza xi, line 4, 'parity ' is 'purity' in Collier
,» 12, „ 3, « grandos ' is < graduates ' in Collier.]
ON A GOOD LEGG AND FOOT
If Hercules tall stature might bee guest
But by his thumbe, wherby to make the rest
In due proportion ; the best rule that I
"Would choose to measure Venus' beauty by
Should bee her legg and foot. If husbandmen
Measure theyr timber by the foot, why then
108
Not we our wives ? Whether wee goe or stride
Those native compasses are seldome wide
Of telling true : the round and slender foot
Is a sure index, and a secrett note
Of hidden parts ; and well this way may lead
Unto the closett of a maydenheade :
Here, Emblemes of our youth, we roses tye,
And here the garter, love's deare mystery :
For want of beauty here the peacock's pride
Letts fall her trayne, and fearing to bee spide
Shutts upp her paynted witnesses to lett
Those eyes from view which are but counterfeit .
Who looks not if this part be good or evill
May meet with cloven feet and match the divell,
For this doth make the difference betweene
The more unhallowed creatures and the cleane,
Well may you judge her other stepps are lighte,
Her thoughts awry that doth not tread aright :
But then there's true perfection when wee see
Those parts more absolute that hidden bee :
Nature nere layd a fayre foundation
For an unworthy frame to rest upon.
Lett others view the topp and limbes throughout,
The deeper knowledge is to know the roote :
And reading of the face the weakest know,
What beauty is ; the learned looke below ;
Who, looking there, doe all the rest, descrie
As in a poole the moon we use to spie :
Pardon (sweetehart) the pride of my desire
If but to kisse your toe it should aspire.
109
ON JOHN DAWSON, BUTLER OF C.C.
Dawson the Butler's dead : Although I think
Poets were ne'er infusde with single drinke
He spend a farthing muse ; some watry verse
"Will serve the turne to cast upon his hearse ;
If any cannot weepe amongst us here
Take off his pott, and so squeeze out a tear :
"Weepe, O his cheeses, weepe till yee bee good,
Yee that are dry or in the sun have stood ;
In mossy coats und rusty liveries mourne,
Untill like him to ashes you shall turne :
Weep, O ye barrells, lett your drippings fall
In trickling streams : make waste more prodigal
Than when our drinke is badde, that John may flote
To Styx in beere, and lift upp Charon's boate
"With wholesome waves. And as our conduits run
With clarett at a Coronation,
So lett our channells flow with single tiffe,
For John, I hope, is crownde : take off your whiffe,
Yee men of Rosemary : Now drinke off all,
Remembring 'tis a Butler's funeral :
Had he bin master of good double beere,
My life for his, John Dawson had beene here.
[This poem is sometimes attributed to Strode, and some-
times to Corbet. I am rather inclined to think, judging
solely from its style, that the latter has the better claim to
it.]
110
JACKE-ON-BOTH-SIDES
I hold as fayth What England's Church allows
What Rome's Church sayth My Conscience disavowes ;
Where the King's head, That Church can have no seame ;
That flock's misled That holdes the Pope supreme ;
Where th' Altar's drest There's service scarce divine ;
That People's blest With table, bread and wine ;
Who shuns the Masse Hee's Catholique and wise ;
Hee's but an Asse Who the Communion flyes ;
Who Charity preach That Church with schismes fraught ;
They Heav'n soone reach Where only fayth is taught ;
On Fayth t' rely, Noe matter for good workes,
'Tis heresy Makes Christians worse thanTurkes.
[This piece of humour is from a manuscript copy at Oxford.
In "Wits Recreations," 1640, it appears under the title of
" The Church Papist." I have little doubt that Strode was
the author of it : at all events there does not appear to be any
other claimant.]
CHIMNEY-SWEEPER'S SONG.
Hath Christmas furr'd your Chimneys,
Or have the maides neglected,
Doe Fire-balls droppe from your Chimney's toppe,
The Pidgin is respected,
Looke up with feare and horror,
O how my mistresse wonders !
The streete doth crie, the newes doth flie,
The boyes they thinke it thunders.
Ill
Then up I rush with my pole and brush,
I scowre the chimney's Jacket,
I make it shine as bright as mine,
When I have rub'd and rak'd it.
Take heed, ten groates you'le forfeit,
The Maior will not have under,
In vain is dung, so is your gun
When brickes doe flie asunder :
Let not each faggot fright ye,
When threepence will me call in,
The Bishopps foote is not worse than soote
If ever it should fall in.
Up will I rush, etc.
The sent, the smoake ne're hurts me,
The dust is never minded,
Mine Eyes are glasse men sweare as I passe
Or else I had bin blinded,
For in the midst of Chimneys
I laugh, I sing, I hollow,
I chant my layes in Vulcan's praise
As merry as the swallow.
Still up I rush, etc.
With Engines and devices
I scale the proudest chimney,
The Prince's throne to mine alone
Gives place, the Starrs I climb ny.
112
I scorne all men beneath me
"While there I stand a scowring,
All they below looke like a Crow,
Or men on Paules a tow'ring.
Then downe I rush, etc.
And as I downeward rumble
What thinke you is my lott then ?
A good neat's tongue in the inside hung,
The maide hath it forgotten :
If e're the wanton mingled
My inke with soote I wist not,
Howere the neate and harmless cheate
Is worth a penny, is't not ?
Still doe I rush, etc.
Then cloth'd in soote and ashes
I catch the maides that hast out,
Whos'ere I meete with smutt I greete,
And pounse their lipps and wastcote :
But on the Sunday morning
I looke not like a widgin,
Soe brave I stand with a point in my bande
Men ask if I be Pidgin.
Yet will I rush, etc.
Mulsacke I dare encounter
For all his home and feather,
He lay him a crowne He roare him downe,
I thinke heale ne'er come hether.
H 113
The Boyes that climbe like Crickets
And steale my trade, lie strippe them,
By priviledge I, growne Chimney hy,
Soone out of towne will whippe them.
Then will I rush, etc.
The above is from a manuscript volume in C. C. C., Oxford.
I know of no other copy. In the fifth stanza there would
seem to be some error : at any rate the meaning of the last
four lines is far from clear. Mulsacke or Mulled- Sacke was
a notorious chimney-sweeper of the time. Allusions to him
are very frequent in the poems and plays of the early part
of the seventeenth century. See "Additional Notes" for a
reference to him by Taylor, the Water-poet.]
A DEVONSHIRE SONG
Thou ne're wutt riddle, neighbour Jan
Where Ich a late ha been-a ?
Why ich ha been at Plymoth, Man,
The leeke was yet ne're zeen-a.
Zutch streetes, zutch men, zutch hugeous zeas,
Zutch things with guns there tumbling.
Thy zelfe leeke me thoudst blesse to see,
Zutch overmonstrous grumbling.
The towne orelaid with shindle stone
Doth glissen like the skee-a :
Brave shopps stand ope, and all yeare long
I thinke a Faire there bee-a :
114
A many gallant man there goth
In gold that zaw the King-a ;
The King zome zweare himzelfe was there,
A man or zome zutch thing-a.
Voole thou that hast noe water past,
But thicka in the Moore-a,
To zee the zea would be agast,
It doth zoe rage and roar-a :
Zoe zalt it tasts thy tongue will thinke
The vier is in the water ;
It is zoe wide noe lande is spide,
Looke ne're zoe long thereafter.
The Water vrom the Element
None can dezeave cha vore-a,
It semmeth low, yet all consent
Tis higher than the Moore-a.
Tis strang how looking down the Cliffe
Men looke mere upward rather ;
If these same Eene had it not zeen
Chud scarce beleeve my Vather.
Amid the water woodden birds,
And vlying houses zwimme-a,
All vull of goods as ich have heard
And men up to the brimm-a :
115
They venter to another world
Desiring to conquier-a,
Vor which their guns, vowle develish ons,
Doe dunder and spitt vier-a.
Good neighbour Tom, how farre is that ?
This meazell towne chill leave-a ;
Chill mope noe longer here, that's vlatt
To watch a Sheepe or Sheare-a :
Though it as varre as London be,
Which ten mile ich imagin,
Chill thither hie for this place I
Doe take in greate indudgin.
[The above version is from Corpus Christ! College MS.
book 325. In Rawlinson Poetical MS. book, No. 142, there
is another version which differs in so many points from the
above that it will be easier to quote it in full than to mark the
variations in the usual way. There is still another copy in
C.C.C. MS. 328, which varies in many points from the
version given above. Most of these variations are of little
significance ; but it will be well perhaps to record the more
important of them : —
Line i. Riddle, riddle, neighbour
„ 6, Zutch monstrous thinges by grumling
„ 8, Such bomination rumlinge
„ 9, The streets there set with sheening stones
„ n, Brave shopps stond open all th' yeare
,, 13, And many a gallant gooeth there
,, 14, In gold to bee the King-a
,, 17, But you that never waters past
,, 18, But thoose are in tha
,, 23, It lyeth zo wide
„ 26, discerne chi zwore-a
116
Line 27, zeemeth high it all consent
,, 28, Tis lower a great deale moore-a
,, 29, Tis strange that looking downe the hill
,, 30, Men shud looke upwards rather
,, 34, Vleeing housen swimme
,, 41, neighbour Jan how ever it is
„ 42, Our dusty towne
,, 43, Chill stay at home noe more that's flatt
,, 44, Nor keepe a sheepe to sheare-a
,, 46, That's ten miles
„ 48, Indagine
Here follows the Rawlinson version : —
THE DEVONSHERE TRAVAILER
Riddle, riddle, neighbour Tom,*
Where we a late a bin-a ?
I've a bin at Plymouth, man :
The like was never zeene-a.
Zuch men, zuch streets, zuch monstrous zeas,
As still do lye a-grumbling,
Thyzelfe with me wouldst bless to zee
Zuch bomination rumbling.
The streets are layd with yingle ston,
Doe glister like the sky-a,
And shops stand open all yeere long ;
Thoudst think there were a faire-a !
And many Gallons t goeth there
In gowld that zaw the King-a :
The King, they zweare, himself was there,
A man or zomezuch thing-a.
But thou that never water past
But ligged in the more-a,
To zee the zea wouldst be agast !
It does so rage and roar-a.
* This is probably a mistake for 'Jan.' f Sic.
117
It is zo zalt, thy tongue would thinke
The vire were in the water ;
It is zo wide noe lande that's spide
Lookes ne're so long thereafter.
Amidst thyck waters, wooden birds,
And flying bowses swime-a,
All full of gold, as we have heard,
And man up to the brime-a.
These venter to another world,
Desiring to conqueira-a,
For which theire guns, foule divelish ones,
Doe thunder and spit fire-a.
Good neighbour Tom, how farr is that ?
For thither I must goe-a:
Will thither high, for thyck place I
Doe love cause you zay zoe-a.
Here ends the Rawlinson version.]
UPON THE SHERIFFS BEERE
The Sheriffe of Oxford late is grown so wise
As to repreive his Beere till next assize :
Alas ! twas not so quick , twas not so heady,"
The Jury sate and found it dead already.
[From one of my MS. volumes, in which it is ascribed to
' W. S.' The epigram, with some slight variations, is to be
found in " Parnassus Biceps," where also there is a poem
" On Mr. Sambourne, sometime Sherife of Oxford-shire."
This is on the same subject as the epigram. The opening
lines may be quoted : —
118
Fie, Schollers, fie, have you such thirsty souls
To swill, quaff, and carouse in Sambourns bouls.
Tell me, mad youngsters, what doe you believe
It cost good Sambourne nothing to be Sheriffe ?
To spend so many beeves, so many weathers,
Maintaine so many Caps, so many Feathers.
Againe is malt so cheap, this pinching year,
That you should make such havoc of his bear :
I hear you are so many that you make
Most of his men turne Tapsters for your sake.
[Possibly this poem, as well as the epigram, is by Strode.]
LOVE COMPARED TO A GAME OF TABLES
Love is a game at tables where the dye
Of mayds affections doth by fancie fly :
If once you catch their fancie in a blott
It's tenne to one if then you enter not :
You being a gamester then may boldly venter,
And if you finde the point lye open enter :
But marke them well, for by false playing then,
Doe what you can they will be bearing men.
ON A BUTCHER MARRYING A TANNER'S
DAUGHTER
A fitter match hath never bin —
The flesh is married to the skinne.
119
AN INSCRIPTION AND EPITAPHES ON THE
MONUMENT OF SIR WILLIAM STRODE
Cubiculum
Gulielmi Strode Equitis Aurati,
et in isto ordine tandem Antiquissimi ;
Familia satis clari,
Sed Religione, Integritate Morum, Consilio, Justitia Publica
Generosa Hospitalitate, Rebus probe et faeliciter gestis
Longe clarioris.
Qui 7. Filiarum (5. nuptarum Equitibus) nexu Jugali
Et arctiori nexu plurium Virtutum
Devoniae suas Gluten et Oraculum diu substitit.
Is duarum Vxorum unanimi fretus consortio
Marise ac Dionysias,
Quarum ex Altera 10. suscepit Liberos, ex Altera Senii
Solamen,
Dierum et Operum satur obdormivit ;
In Gremio Terras Matris,
Cum Sorore Vermicula et ultima propinquitate Naturae
decumbens,
(Conquirentibus Amicis,
In Te occidit
Spes omnis et Fortuna nostri Nominis)
Donee Nominis Generosi discrimen
Communi gloria Resurrectionis, et solius affinitate Christi
Evanescat
Occidit Jun. 27. 1637. ^tatis suae 76.
Patri Gulielmo, Matri Mariae et Dionysiae quasi Matri
Monumentum hoc posuit Guil. Strode.
120
Tread soft, for if you wake this Knight alone,
You raise an Hoast : Religions Champion,
His Cuntreys Staffe, Rights bold Distributer,
His Neighbours Guard, the Poor mans Almoner,
Who dyes with Works about him, as did He,
Shall rise attended thus triumphantly.
ON HIS LADY MARIE
Marie, Incarnate Virtue, Soule and Skin
Both pure, whom Death not Life convincd of Sin,
Had Daughters like seven Pleiades ; but She
Was a prime Star of greatest Claritie.
ON HIS LADY DENYS
Denys hath merited no slender praise,
In that She well supplied the Formers daies.
Conceive how Good she was, whose very worst
Unto her Knight was This, that She dyed First.
[The above is from MS. book 325 in C.C.C. library. It is,
like many of the other pieces in that volume, in the hand-
writing of W. Fulman.
This inscription raises a good many problems of which
it is difficult to find the solution. The monument, we are
informed, was erected by William, the son of Sir William
Strode : but which William was this ? It could hardly have
been William Strode, the parliamentarian, unless he was a
child of Sir William's second marriage. Whether the in-
scription was composed by the poet must remain doubtful :
but it seems most likely that he was the author of it.]
121
DOUBTFUL PIECES
[I do not claim for any of the following pieces that they are
certainly by Strode. I think, however, it is probable that
most of them are his. Three of the pieces " Upon a Gentle-
woman's Entertainment," " On Alma's Voice," and " Upon a
Picture," are from " Parnassus Biceps," in which volume
many known poems of Strode's are included. All these appear
to me to be very much in Strode's manner. About the first-
named I feel very confident; as to the others I am not so sure.
Another piece from " Parnassus Biceps," " Upon Heaven's
best Image his faire and vertuous Mistresse," appears to be
attributed to Strode in a manuscript in the British Museum,
and so, in the absence of any other claimant, it may fairly be
credited to him. The only authority for attributing the lines
" Gaze not on Swans " to Strode, is that the poem is men-
tioned in Dr. Grosart's list of his poems. It, however, is
included in Lawes' " Ayres and Dialogues" where it is
assigned to Henry Noel, who would seem therefore to have
the best claim to it. As to the two poems, beginning " Fly
nimble paper " and " Go, happy Paper," I have found them
in one of my manuscript volumes, without signatures or any
other indications of authorship ; and I have printed them
here, not because I have any strong conviction that they are
Strode's but because I think they may be his. As to the
other pieces it must be owned that they cannot be certainly
ascribed to Strode; but they are at any rate assigned to him
in one of my MS. volumes.
Besides the pieces from "Parnassus Biceps" which are
here printed, there are 2ome others which I am inclined to
attribute to Strode in that miscellany. The poem on page 3
122
" In defence of the decent Ornaments of Christ-Church,
Oxon, occasioned by a Banbury brother, who called them
Idolatries," is very much like Strode's work in style and sen-
timent ; but there is a manuscript copy of it in the Bodleian,
which is signed " W. R.," to whom, whoever he may have
been, we must, I suppose, award it. Other pieces which
may be Strode's are as follows : " On a white blemish in his
Mistresse Eye," page 16; "Verses sent to a Lady, which
she sending back unread, were returned with this Inscrip-
tion," page 92; On his Mistresse Eye," page 102; "Upon
the Same" (a poem on the Death of Lord Stafford), page
141.
In one of my manuscript books there is a copy of the well-
known poem, always attributed to Fletcher, beginning
" Care-charmer Sleep, the easer of all woes "
with the signature " W. S.": but as I know of no other
authority for attributing the poem to Strode, I do not print
it here.]
A SONNET
Mourne, mourne, yee lovers : Flowers dying
Live againe, the cold defying,
But Beauties floure once dead dyes ever,
Falls as soone, and riseth never.
Mourne, mourne, yee lovers : sadly singing
Love hath his "Winter, and no springing.
[This beautiful lyric occurs in one of my MS. volumes
among a number of Strode's poems. I think it is probably
his ; though the wish, in this case, is perhaps the father ot
the thought.]
123
A SONNET
Sing aloud, harmonious sphears :
Let your concord reach Jove's eares.
Play your old lessons ore againe,
And keepe time in every strayne,
For now the Gods are listning to your laies
As they are passing through the milky waies.
[This fine lyric is from the same MS. volume as the
preceding; but in this case it is signed ' W. S.' However
there is no other evidence (so far as I know) for assigning it
to Strode.]
OBSEQUIES
Draw not too neare,
Unlesse you droppe a tear
On this stone,
"Where I groane,
And will weepe,
Untill eternall sleepe
Shall charm my weary eyes.
Clora lyes heere,
Embalm'd with many a teare,
Which the swaines
From the plaines
Here have payde,
And many a vestall mayde
Hath mourn' d her obsequies ;
Their snowy breasts they teare,
And rend theyr golden heare,
Casting cries
124
To celestiall dieties,
To returne
Her beauty from the urne,
To raigne
Unparaleld on earth againe :
When straight a sound
From the ground,
Piercing the ayre
Cryed Shee's dead,
Her soule is fledde
Unto a place most rare.
You spirits that doe keepe
The dust of those that sleepe
Under the ground,
Heare the sound
Of a swaine,
That folds his arms in vayne,
Unto the ashes he adores.
For pity do not fright
Him wandering in the night :
Whilst he laves
Virgins graves
With his eyes,
Unto their memoryes
Contributing sad showers :
And when my name is read
In the number of the dead,
Some one may
In Charity repay
125
My sad soul
The tribute which she gave,
And howle
Some requiem on my grave.
Then weepe no more,
Greif e will not restore
Her freed from care.
Though she be dead,
Her soul is fledde
Unto a place more rare.
[The first stanza of the above is from a manuscript volume
in my possession : the second stanza is from " Wit Restor'd,"
1658, wherein alone, so far as I can ascertain, the poem
appears in print. The first stanza of my copy has ' W. S.'
appended to it : but I do not feel at all sure that the poem is
by Strode.]
UPON HEAVENS BEST IMAGE, HIS FAIRE AND
VERTUOUS MISTRESSE, M.S.
The most insulting tyrants can but be
Lords of our bodies ; still our minds are free.
My Mistress thralls my soul, those chains of gold,
Her locks, my very thoughts infettered hold.
Then sure she is a Goddesse, and if I
Should worship her 'tis no Idolatry.
"Within her cheeks a fragrant garden lies
Where Roses mixt with Lillies feast mine eyes :
126
Here's alwayes spring, no winter to annoy
Those heavenly flowers, onely some tears of joy
Doe water them, and sure, if I be wise,
This garden is another Paradice.
Her eyes two heavenly lamps, whose ordered motion
Swayes all my senses, reason, and devotion ;
And yet those beams did then most glorious shine
When passions dark had mask'd this soul of mine :
Now if the night her glory best declare,
What can I deem them but a starry paire.
Her brow is vertues court, where she alone
Triumphants sits in faultlesse beauties throne :
Did you but mark its purenesse you would swear
Diana's come from Heaven to sojourne there :
Onely this Cynthia dims not even at noon,
There wants a man (methinks) in such a Moone.
Her breath is great Jove's incense, sweeter far
Then all Arabian winds & spices are ;
Her voice the sphear's best musick, & those twins
Her armes, a precious paire of Cherubs wings.
In briefe she is a map of Heaven, & there
O would that I a constellation were.
[The above poem follows the version in " Parnassus
Biceps," except in two lines which are evidently corrupt.
These are the two first lines of the third stanza, which read
thus :
Her eyes two heavenly lamps, whose order'd motion
Sways all my reason, my sence, my devotion —
127
which I have corrected from a manuscript copy of the poem
in the British Museum. But there are some variations
which should be noted in " Catherine Anwill : her Book," —
that charming little volume, which Mr. Lucas has published
in so delightful a form. In that version the third stanza
runs thus :
Her eyes two heavenly lamps : whose motion
Sways all my reason, my devotion.
Those glittring beames to mee most glorious shine
When passion darke hath masqu'd this soule of mine
Now iff the night theire glory best declare,
What can I deeme them but a starry paire.
In the fourth stanza, the first two lines read thus :
Her beauty's virtues chaire : where she alone
Triumphant sits in her transparent throne —
and the fifth line thus :
Only this Cynthia gives her light at Noone.
There are a good many other slight variations, which, how-
ever, it does not seem necessary to mention.]
ON HIS MISTRESSE
Gaze not on swans in whose soft breast
A full hatcht beauty seems to rest,
Nor snow which falling from the sky
Hovers in its virginity.
Gaze not on roses though new blown
Grac'd with a fresh complexion,
Nor lilly which no subtle bee
Hath rob'd by kissing chemistry.
128
Gaze not on that pure milky way
Where night vies splendour with the day,
Nor pearls whose silver walls confine
The riches of an Indian mine :
For if my emperesse appears
Swans moultring dy, snows melt to tears,
Roses do blush and hang their heads
Pale lillyes shrink into their beds ;
The milky way rides poast to shrowd
Its baffled glory in a clowd,
And pearls do climb unto her eare
To hang themselves for envy there.
So have I scene stars big with light,
Proud lanthorns to the moone-ey'd night,
Which when Sol's rays were once display 'd
Sunk in their sockets and decay'd.
[This fine poem was evidently formed on the model of
Wotton's verses on the Princess Elizabeth. I do not know
on what authority Dr. Grosart attributed it to Strode, but I
suppose he had seen some MS. in which it was assigned to
him. In a manuscript which was once in my possession it
is headed " Dr. Love on his Mistresse " ; while in Lawes'
" Ayres and Dialogues " it is attributed to Henry Noel.]
129
A SONG
As I my flocks lay keeping
Mine eyes they fell a-sleeping ;
I wott I have neere wakte againe,
For when my head I raysde
I round about gazde
To seeke my love, but sought in vayne,
Let foulnesse now be saynted,
All beauty's tainted ;
Since fayth she has none.
I wayle, I weepe,
I dye, I sleepe,
In sorrowes all alone.
A SONG
Thoughts doe not vexe me whilst I sleep,
Griefe doe not thus disturbe mee :
Smile not false hope, whilst that I weepe,
Alas ! she cannot love mee.
Had I been as cold and nice,
And as often turning,
Then as shee had I been ice,
And shee as I now burning.
Tears flow no more from my sadd eyes,
Sighes do not soe oppresse mee ;
Stoppe not your ears at these my cryes,
But oh ! for shame release mee.
130
Were you but as sadd as I,
And as full of mourning,
Very griefe would make you die,
Or at least cease scorning.
UPON A GENTLEWOMAN'S ENTERTAINMENT
OF HIM
Whether, sweet Mistress, I should most
Commend your music or your cost :
Your well-spread table, or the choise
Banquet of your hand and voyce,
There's none will doubt : for can there be
'Twixt earth and heaven analogy ?
Or shall a trencher or dish stand
In competition with your hand ?
Your hand that turns men all to ear,
Your hand whose every joints a sphere :
For certainly he that shall see
The swiftnesse of your harmony,
Will streightwayes in amazement prove
The spheares to you but slowly move ;
And in that thought confess that thus
The Heavens are come down to us,
As he may well, when he shall hear
Such airs as may be sung even there :
Your sacred Anthems, strains that may
Grace the eternal Quire to play :
131
And certainly they were prepar'd
By Angels only to be heard.
Then happy I that was so blest
To be yours and your music's guest,
For which I'd change all other cheer,
Thinking the best, though given, too dear.
For yours are delicates that fill,
And filling leave us empty still :
Sweetmeats that surfeit to delight,
Whose fullness is mere appetite.
Then farewell all our heavenly fare,
Those singing dainties of the air,
For you to me do seem as good
As all the consorts of the wood ;
And might I but enjoy by choice,
My Quire should be your only voice.
[In line 24 of the above I have substituted 'guest' for
' quest ' ; and in line 28 I have substituted * too ' for « to,'
considering them to be necessary changes. I have also
altered the punctuation, which is very erratic in the original,
in many places.]
ON ALMA'S VOYCE
What magick art
Compells my soul to fly away,
And leave desart
My poor composed trunk of clay ?
Strange violence ! thus pleasingly to teare
The soul forth of the body by the eare.
132
When Alma sings
The pretty chanters of the skie
Doe droop their wings
As in disgrace they meant to die,
Because their tunes which were before so rare
Compar'd to hers doe but distract the air.
Each sensitive
In emulation proudly stands,
Striving to thrive
Under the bliss of her commands,
Whose charming voyce doth bears & tigers tame,
And teach the sphears new melodies to frame.
The Angells all
(Astonisht at her heavenly air)
Would sudden fall
From cold amazement to dispaire,
But that by nimble theft they all conspire
To steal her hence for to enrich their quire.
UPON A PICTURE
Behold those faire eyes, in whose sight
Sparkles a lustre no less bright
Than that of rising Stars when they
Would make the night outshine the day.
To those pure lips the humming be
May as to blooming Roses flee :
133
The wanton wind about doth hurle,
Courting in vain that lovely curie,
And makes a murmur in despaire,
To dally the unmooved haire.
View but the cheeks where the red Rose
And Lilly white a beauty grows,
So orient as might adorne
The flowing of the brightest morne.
Sure 'tis no Picture, nere was made
So much perfection in a shade :
Her shape is soule enough to give
A senseless Marble power to live.
this an Idol be, no eye
Can ever scape Idolatry.
[DEATH-SONG]
Come, let us howle some heavy note,
Some deadly dogged howl,
Sounding as from the crying throate
Of beasts or fatal fowle,
As ravens, scrichowles, bulls, and bears,
"Wee'l bell and bawl our partes :
Till irksome noise hath cloy'd our ears,
And corrosived our hearts,
And last when that our quire wants breth,
Our bodies being blest,
Wee'l sing like Swans to welcome death,
And dye in peace and rest.
134
TO HIS PAPER
Flye nimble paper, light upon those hands
Which have detained mee in perpetual bands :
Go count those ivory palmes whose lilly hewe
May represent thee to immortall view.
Mount upp unto her eyes that there may shine
Impressions of my love in every lyne ;
Expresse with silent eloquence the rare
And true affection allwayes that I bare
To thy sweete reader : lett her there behold
The discontent and zealous payne enrolld
Within a lover's breast. Tell her how I
Am forc't to vent my sighes in poetry,
And pine away with pastime of a verse,
Making thee both my epicede and hearse.
Present unto her an eternal mapp
Of my disastrous fortune and mishapp :
Delineate my passion and my payne
Bredd with a deepe conceyt of her disdayne :
Perhapps her flinty hart will then strike fire,
And equall joyne her flames with my desire :
Perhapps her cheerful brow and starlike eye
Will lend a better aspect e'er I dye :
But if shee frown and thou neglected lye,
Thou know'st (deare paper) thy fowle destiny.
135
TO THE SAME
Goe happie paper and for ever rest
Within the Paradise of Parthenia's breast :
Live there, O never lett thy lynes forsake her,
Tenne thousand times more happie than the maker
Goe kisse her hands and in my name salute her,
And tell her thus that silence is her suitor ;
Tell her that silence acts a sadder story,
Than oathes or vowes or frantic oratory.
The beggar that is dumbe an almes shall have
Greater than hee that hath a tongue to crave :
Be then the dailie object of her eye,
Crowd and gett uppermost wherere thou lye :
If high preferrment call thee as a guest
To lodge in the faire chamber of her breast,
Lye close and lett noe jealous eye behold thee,
If any doe lett none but her unfold thee :
And often as she reads thee smile upon her ;
Tell her her dearest friend is thinking on her :
Tell her if you twoe chance to sleepe together —
(Unfinished.)
136
THE
FLOATING
ISLAND:
A TRAGI-COMEDY,
Acted before his Majesty at OXFORD,
^fug. 29. 1636. By the Students of
CHRIST-CHURCH.
Written by WILLIAM STRODE,
late Orator of the University of
OXFORD.
The e/4Vro and Songs set by Mr. HENRY LAVVES,
servant to his late Majesty in his publick
and private Musick.
LONDON,
Printed by T.C. for H.Twiford in Vine-court Middle-Temple,
N. Brooke at the Angel in Cornhill, and J. Place at Furnivals-
Inne-gate. 1655.
TO THE READER
BEFORE you read so farre as the Prologue, be pleased to
consider this Tragi-comedy was both written and presented
above eighteen years since ; and if now it seem (in Language
or Plot) to fit these times, it must be by Prophesie, the Author
also himselfe having been long dead. He wrote it at the
instance of those who might command him ; else he had
scarce condescended to a Play, his serious thoughts being fill'd
with notions of deeper consideration. 'Tis sufficient for its
worth that the best lik'd it best; the rest (especially those
great ones of the weaker Sect) should claim no lawful
Judicature over it, since it was not written for them, though
they thought themselves too severely dealt with, which yet
was an injury to the Author as well as his Poem. Were this
translated into Latin or Italian, it would be grateful to
foraign Wits ; and if at home it finde lesse welcome, 'tis
because there is not so much true wit among us as was or
ought to be. It is not now inscribed to any for Protection,
but left dedicated (as it was by the Author when it was first
born) to the Authors noble Patron. If you bid this welcome,
you'l be gainers by it ; for then you'l encourage us to publish
other Pieces of this Authors, which (we dare say) will convince
you to say (what the best and most knowing of this Nation
have confessed) that our Author was one of the most judicious
wits of England. Farewell.
139
TO MY MOST HONOURED PATRON,
SIR JOHN HELE, KNIGHT
THIS Draft at once cry'd Up and Down amain
By divers men, up by the same again
At divers times, hath planely found thereby
That it hath censur'd been Tumultuously.
Twixt Actors and Spectators did appear
Small difference ; and through a Jealous fear
The Scaffold play'd the Stage ; to say't I'm loth,
Affection against Reason play'd in both.
Yet Reason at a neerer view gain'd sway,
The Censure ended just as doth the Play.
After this various Fate, because indeed
Of pleasing more then Four there was small heed,
From Court and Oxford home it comes to you,
Secure of Reason and Affection too.
You lent the Author ; and tis therefore just
The work should yeeld you Tribute for your Trust :
If Friends make wits, and wit-wrights Poets be,
Then This is His, and He your Poetry.
Your most Humble
and most affectionate Servant,
WILLIAM STRODE,
140
AUTHORI ILLUSTRI
Mille modis superare Tibi conceditur astra,
Quce solum ccelo splendida sunt nitido :
Dum Tua lux tenebras, et opaca nube recessus
Invenit umbrosos, et sine sole vias.
Gemmula node micans non est vulgaribus apta
Auribus, aspectum Principis ilia decet.
Hand minus ista Tui Comasdia Principe digna,
Nee nisi Regali conspicienda foro,
Transtulit in Scenam quce res penetralibus imi
PecLoris inclusas, implicitumq; nefas.
Ipse oculus mundi nostris valedicit ocellis,
Cum semel occiduos cequore mersit equos :
Ter sex (STRODE) tuus solares splendor in annos
Fulsit, et in dubio lumine fulget adhuc.
Tu tamen ecclipsin pateris, signumq ; futuri
Deliquium nostri funeris illud erat.
J. D.
141
AFTER THE APPEARANCE OF A FLOATING
ISLAND, ENTER THE PROLOGUE, AS COMING
OUT OF THE SEA
To the King and Queenes Majesty.
WHATEVER Element we light upon,
(Great Monarch & bright Queen) *tis yours alone.
Shook from my station on that giddy Shore,
That flotes in Seas, in wretchednesse much more,
I hardly scap'd to tell what stormes arise
Through rage of the Inhabitants : mine eyes
Behold a wonder ; Blustring Tempests there,
Yet Sun and Moon fair shining both so neer.
Should your Land stagger thus, I wish the Age,
Might end such acting sooner then the Stage :
Yet in these Tumults you shall onely see
A tottring Throne held firme by Majestic.
142
TO THE VNIVERSirY
Before whom it was afterwards acted.
WHICH is more waving, yonder Sea, or Land,
Or Passions dwelling there, we doubt ; but stand
Here firm and safe ; for blustring Tempests there
We see in every eye, fair clearnesse here.
The Sun and Moon, more out of sight then minde,
Have for our comfort left these Stars behinde.
We hope to finde Spectatours, and we may,
For you'l not act the Humours of the Play ;
Or fret at Passions e're you read them calm'd
In the next word. Your stomacks feele no Qualm
Rising through smell of rude Philosophy :
Nor shall you finde much more then to descry
An Academick Birth. The Royal race
Of Austria thinks the swelling lip a grace,
And would not lose that mark by which 'tis known ;
Men love the Blot which proves the Childe their own,
Whether you come to see a Play or hear,
Whether your censure sit in th* Eye or Eare,
Phancy or Judgement, Carelesse of Event
We aime at Service ; cannot misse th* Intent.
143
THE PERSONS
Prudentius
Intellectus Agens
Sir Amorous
Hilario
Malevolo
Melancholico
Irato
Audax
Sir Timerous-Fearall
Lively hope
Desperato
Memor
Phancy
Concupiscence
Fuga
Morphe
Morpheus
6 Dreaming Masquers
Groome
Ovidian
Model
Painter
Musitian
Hilario' s boy, and Attendants.
the King deposed.
his Counsellour.
a Courtly Knight.
his Son a merry jovial Gent.
a Malicious contriver.
a Malecontent turn'd Puritan.
an Angry Lord.
a bold Captain.
a Cowardly Knight.
a Favourite.
a desperate Soldier turn'd Physitian,
a Lawyer and Recorder.
the new instated Queen,
the lustful daughter of Amorous.
the coy daughter of Malevolo.
the beautous Mistress of Amorous.
the God of Drearnes.
of the Chamber,
a Poet,
a Tireman.
144
THE FLOATING ISLAND
ACTVS I. SCENA I.
The Scene turns to the Court of Prudentius.
Enter from several wayes Sr. Amorous, and Morphe.
Am. Well met sweet Morphe, Empresse of my heart,
And all hearts else, if made of flesh like mine.
You must not passe untouch'd.
M or. What mean you Sir ?
Am. To print you Mine ;
Mor. Hands off Sir Amorous.
Am. Why should such coynesse wrinkle such a Brow ?
Mor. Why should such boystrous incivility
Defile your Courtship ? All your courtly Arts
Of Singing, Playing, Dancing, Poetry,
Will grow suspected pleaders of meer Lust :
Forbeare for my sake : this rude force in you
May chance to blot a white repute in me.
Am. The blot He thus rub out. (Offers to kisse.
Mor. He wash it thus. (Spits.
Am. How can the eye that sees not love the light ?
Blame your own beauty if you blame my Love.
Mor. I blame th* Expression.
K 145
Am. If the thing be good.
Expression makes it better.
Mor. Yes, if chast,
Am. Chast Love is nothing.
Mor. Nothing to th* unchast.
Forbeare I pray, and feare a neere example.
Do you not know the King hath taught the Passions
Within this Floating Isle more modesty,
By banishing your child Concupiscence ?
Am. Others perhaps shall quickly know I know it,
And that I know it as rough tyranny.
What for a trick of youth such Discipline ?
Doth breeding Subjects call for Banishment ?
Or giving life deserve a civil Death ?
Hold ; stand ; in vain you strive ; I am resolv'd ;
Should now the King look on, and call a Kisse
Treason, should poyson punish this sweet touch,
Thus far I durst presume.
Mor. Shame on your rudeness. (Ex. Mor.
Am. Are not our Eyes and Lipps and touch our own,
Not to be us'd without a special warrant ?
At length we shall not satisfie meere Nature,
Nor spit without a Counsel. If my Girle
Pertake my spirit, then like me she'l try
What fury Love can in the Passions raise,
To shake this Stoick from his chaire of Rule.
He move my Fellows.
146
SCENA II.
Enter to him Irato, Malevolo, Audax.
Ir. How ? not fight this Duel ?
Duel forbidden to the Valiant ?
Am. (aside) Some other cause, it seemes, moves these already.
Mai. Be sure, Irato, by Prudentius law
Personal Valour now is nothing worth.
Hope with his pen, Sr. Timerous with his knife,
Or Desperato's man with single Halter
May passe in equal ranke with you, or me,
Or Captain Audax.
Au. Not with me, I tro.
Mai. Yes, if this Law should stand.
Am. Not so however,
Mai. Not if?
Au. If to a generous passion?
Am. I see these sparkes are glowing. Noble Sparkes,
Let Amorous adde fire. Love burnes with Hate.
Thy Hand Malevolo, and 'gainst the King.
Ir. Why what's your grief ?
Am. My Daughters Banishment.
Mai. Great cause ; yet none need press a single grief :
We finde our selves all pinch'd of liberty :
We walk in chaines, call'd Justice, Temperance,
Such rusty curbs ; and none can further start
Then the strict keeper will allow us length.
Ir. Tis so ; we're us'd like Dogs, or ring'd like Beares ;
Whither Prudentius leades us we must follow :
But if we take a loose, or swell and roar,
147
We must be whip'd for't ; Sirs, Prudent ius whips us.
Am. Can this be brook'd by them that draw the Sword?
Ir. And amongst them, by one that will exact
Life for a word, pay death for crabbed lookes ?
An. And amongst them, by one that scales the wall,
That swims in Armour, flies against the mouth
Of thundring Ordinance ? must also He,
Must He be ordered by a sit still thus ?
Mai. So he hath been. For my part, if I broach
Some biting libel, venomous word or Book
Against some prosprous Object which I hate,
My Eares are questioned. Locks which I have scorn* d
Must hide my Eare stumps.
Ir. And me thinkes I spy
Some want upon your Nose.
Mai. Is your spleene up ?
Rage for your selfe. You also may remember
Brave Lord Irato when you hardly kept
Your Neck. Some fellow Peers, for as few blowes,
Have lost it quite.
Ir. My Veynes will burst.
Mai. And Captaines
Not to be numbred ; All as bold and stout
As Audax here, for undertaking reskues,
And following them too far in open streetes,
Have been casheered of Liberty and Life.
Au. But shall not be again. He hang the Law.
Mai. Then as for you, Sr. Amorous, you may talk
Not onely of your Daughters Banishment,
But of your Sisters whip'd, your carted Aunts,
148
And Mulcts upon your selfe.
Am. The truth to tell,
My hard restraint is worst of all. I live
(If it be life) confin'd to mine own Bed :
Prudentius bridles up my mouth from kissing,
Yea and from speech, and calls that stinting manners.
I cannot cast a faire inviting look,
But he pulls back the Nerve. I scarce dare think,
Or sigh beyond my stint. One Sigh a day
Is all that I must spend for her that keepes
And may command my breath. Prudentius
Locks up my winde like JEolm ; 'tis calm'd,
And may not issue forth to bear a whisper.
Ir. Mend your comparison. Prudentius
Like &olus f No, sEolus sometimes
Permitts a Tempest ; does Prudentius so ?
Au. The Passions cannot stretch beyond his line,
But they are censured, Perturbations call'd,
Breakers of Peace ; if calm'd, they nothing are :
We lose both Name and Nature by restraint.
Ir. For what's a Lord I ask you but his Anger ?
Mai. Or what's a great man but oppression ?
Au. A Captain but his Cutting ?
Am. And a Knight
What but his Pleasure ? O this frost of Reason
Hath numd my Joynts. I that with sprightly vigour
Dancing to please my Mistress, could have rose
To fetch her from the Moon (had she been there)
Or as she stood salute her, now have lost
Those active legs, and not by doing service
149
To any Creature but Prudentius.
I live a Hermite in the Court ; to me
It seemes a Colledg or a Nunnery.
Ir. To me a Prison.
Au. A meer Schoole to me.
Mai. To me an Inquisition : worse : a Hell,
Where Objects still we meet, and may not reach.
You Amorous like Tantalus behold
Two red white Apples in a well made face,
Which you as soon may touch as reach the Sun ;
Which doth but scorch the gazer.
Am. lie to Hell :
Tis lesse to sterve for Apples than for Cheekes.
Mai. You being stir'd Irato thirst for blood,
And thirst you may, but not be satisfied :
You must take blowes and beare'em ; your Reward
(O poor ! ) is to orecome by suffering ;
As now I kick you ; stand : you must not rage,
For this is Patience ; now I pull your Nose ;
You must not fume, least you impatient prove.
Ir. Let me kill thee, or serve Prudentius still.
Mai. You must keep Peace. I speak but as a Friend ;
And onely tell what you have told your selfe.
You Audaxj like Ixion, though you dare
To set on Heaven, must wheele about your selfe
When Reason bids you.
Au. Audax will run on
Though thunder meet him.
Mai. Yes ; but I my selfe
Like Titius vainly feed the Vultur Hate
150
With mine own heart, and wreck it not on others,
Those Favourits which I hate. Shall this be ever ?
Ir. How long shall I like to a painted George
Advance my idle Sword ? What ! must I strike
Like lack o'th' clock-house, never but in season ?
Mai. How long shall I like a grim Statue stand,
Look hatred and use none ? Prudentius
Hath he Medusas head ?
Am. Hey ho, how long !
Au. How long shall I like a fell Mastiff held,
Yelp for the glorious danger that I love !
Water it selfe if bounded in too streight,
Will foame and swell and breake thick bonds of Rock.
I wish we Passions were as strong as water.
SCENA III.
Enter to them Hilario Singing, Dancing and Passing by.
My limbs I will fling
Out of joynt, and sing,
And dancing will shake my haire
Not bow at each beck,
Nor break my neck
With sorrow and deep despair e.
Such a chirpin din
With mirth within,
And a head not needing a clout e,
Is much better far
Then a careful chaire,
And a wreath of t homes without. (Exiturus.
151
Am. The Boy may be our Tutor. Hilario my Boy !
Hit. Sir.
Am. We were taking care how thou may'st be merry thus
alwaies ; never be check'd for drinking, for singing, or for
playing thy prankes.
Hit. I imagin your design : and thereto promise, give,
grant, let, set and submit my full assent and consent : In
witnesse whereof here's my hand with a clap, and my scale
with a kisse ; Your son and servant Hilario.
Am. But stay, whence now ?
Hit. From my blubbering Sister Concupiscence ; who
desired me forsooth to arme and conduct her to Lady Phancy.
Am. And whether bound ?
Hit. I go to be merry with or upon Melancholico and
Desperato, either to quicken their dumps, or by laughing at
their dulnesse to heighten my selfe.
Am. Where are they ?
Hit. Not far ; close by ; here at the Hart.
Mai. Courteous Sir, send them hither.
tiil. I shall or will Sir.
Mai. We must no longer ripe up greivances, (Ex. Hil.
But think of Remedy.
Au. Passions must not stay.
Ir. Why with a murraine do we stay to say so ?
Mai. In brief e do all consent to free themselves
From this oppression ?
Ir. What a Question's that !
Am. Give a Command that it be ask'd no more.
Au. We all consent.
Mai. All are not here.
152
Am. Indeed
We want two serviceable men now sent for.
Ir. Delayes intolerable !
Am. We want besides
Sir Timerous Fear-all.
Au. Wee'l force that dowty Knight
To know his good when all is done ; and so
Prevent his Treason.
Ir. Consultation too.
Ant. And where is LivebyJiope?
Mai. No matter where.
His hopes will make him turn to any side
That shall succeed.
Am. For femal Passions,
Their fortune lies in ours.
Mai. Then to proceed,
The way to free our selves lies, thus, or thus ;
Kill, or dethrone Prudcntius.
Ir. I begin
To think on St. Raviliack, and St. Garnctt.
Au. The boldest way is safest.
Ir. Yes, if bloodiest.
Am. Or if he will escape —
Ir. Let him go far enough.
Mai. Then who shall do the feate ?
Au. 1.
Ir. I, or else
lie kill some other ; what ? should I forget
My ancient Trade of killing ?
Mai. Let him doo't
153
Who first hath opportunity.
Am. To this
We all must sweare. (They lay two Swords across.
Ir. By all the wounds which on my flesh are scor'd,
And all the ghosts I've made ;
Au. By all attempts
And all the mines of Bullets in my Entrals ;
Mai. By all my pangs of hate and black designes ;
Am. By all the goodly Nymphes, and Morphe chief.
SCENA IIII.
Enter to them Prudent ius, Intellectus Agens, and
Livebyhope with Attendents.
Pru. D'ee long for action ? have ye too much Peace ?
Orecloy'd with blessings ? you Malevolo
Bend hate against th* unjust.
Mai. My hand is crampt ;
Strike Audax.
Au. O his brow ! I turn to feare.
Pru. You Amorous love true beauty, Honesty.
Mai. Thy spleene Irato.
Pru. Thou Iralo fight
Meerely for publike peace.
Ir. Sweetnesse !
Mai. Witchcraft !
Pru. Audax, be bold, but stay till I have bid.
(Ex. Pru. & Int. & Lively, following.
Au. S't Livebyhope,
154
Liv. I must attend his Majesty.
Int. Goe back, and secretly oreheare this meeting.
(Liv. returns.
Am. Ha ! What Schooling call you this ?
Mai. What Vision?
That Eye of subtil Intellectus Agens
Troubles me somewhat ; and I doubt of Liveby.
Ir. Now I could kill my selfe.
Au. Now I Prudentius;
He came upon us like the Basilisk,
Or like a Wolfe : but had we seen him first
Mai. You could not do it then : never by day.
Am. Why so ?
Mai. You saw the cause. His flaming Temples
Strike with such charming Power, such secret Spells,
That if you see the Light upon his Face,
Your spirits quaile ; it must be done by night.
And Desperato, he must be the man.
Au. Why He above All Us ?
Mai. Tush, we are foyld ;
Already foyld ; and may be so again.
Besides Irato spends himselfe : hee's now
So full of heat, I doubt hee'l then grow cold.
But Desperato to his mischeif goes
With art and argued resolution,
Strong in cold blood.
Ir. I perfectly abhorr
All Judgement, Plotts, and Consultations
To canvase thoughts, to toile and vexe the head
In weighing meanes, and picking out the best,
155
This is as bad as to have serv'd Prudentius.
Mai. And how thinks Audax f
Au. So. Or else I'm mad.
To plot is base ; and to demurr contrivance
Of things that should be done, as soon as thought,
Is foolish too. What turn our powder up,
Then smother *t under ground, then by degrees
Give fire ! Such creeping mischeife hath no luck.
Ir. Come Martial Law, come Captain Martial Law.
Au. And wise Malevolo, when have you e're heard
Of great attempts without the hand of Audax f
Come wee'l too't presently.
Mai. Even as you please.
Liv. (in secret) I sweat with hearing.
He now run with this
Least I may come too short of telling more.
Am. Onely this word.
Liv. Then yet I'le stay.
Am. Be sure,
If you miscarry we are all undone.
Goe with Ulysses in this night-attempt,
Be each of you to him a Diomed.
Mai. Stay till they come.
Am. Lo here they are. Who else?
156
SCENA V.
Enter to them Melancholico, Desperate and Sr. Timorous.
Ir. What and Sr. Timerous too ? Come, mend your pace,
What ? doth Prudent ius moderate your feet ?
And make you snayles as well as slaves ?
Mai. Free Passions,
(So ye must be) we know your greivances.
Brother Melancholy, discreet you are,
But not expressive ; unprefer'd you are,
Because precise ; but say, would you with State
Infold your armes ; look sad, and feele content ;
Live careful over bags, retire your selfe
To solemn griefe in Temples of delight,
Sigh in a Sisters bosom, and complain
Of Persecution at a plenteous Feast ?
Ir. Yes, yes : Tie answer for him.
Mel. Sooth, you may.
Sadnesse is pleasant, but the cause is not.
Au. And Desperato, once my old Comrad,
Once Noble, and again to be the same,
But now as void of cash as of imployment,
Would you, in Peace forgot, bard of a Pension,
Having no lands but bare high-wayes, now run
All hazards for new Fortune ?
Desp. Yes apace.
Ir. Why parly then ? can he not first draw blood ?
Do Cutters ask what money have you first ?
Tim. Blood and Cutters ? his speech is rough.
157
Mai. Hee's mad.
Say on.
Ir. Nought's done through such long talke.
Mai. Such Choler.
Au. Wouldst thou have power to raise more flames then
To fire the World, prevent his final doome,
Stare awfully, stab others with applause,
Hang, drown thy selfe, to immortality.
Desp. Such change I long for ; rows'd from Lethargy
I am reviv'd.
Au. Thou lyest, thou art not yet. (Desp. offers to draw.
Hold, hold thy hand : I did but tempt thy mettle,
To search the truth.
Desp. And Sir, 'tis well you say so.
Ir. This Bully's right. Why now I'm pleas'd :
Am. Sr. Tim.
My fellow Knight, you know (but do not tremble)
How oft the King hath misimpos'd on you
Those dreadful, those horrible, terrible —
Tim. Good Sir.
Am. Those heart-labouring imployments,
Which Audax beg'd.
Tim. I pray.
Am. He sought thereby
Meerely to vexe and to disgrace your spurr.
But wouldst thou hug thy Pillow or thy Love
Without disturbance, or the noise of danger ?
How say'st ?
Tim. I love to live, and love in safety.
158
Mai. Then in a word —
Au. He first kick hence this Knight,
Hee'l prove a sive through feare ; his trembling humour
Will shake our secrets out.
Am. Which to prevent,
He stirs not from this company.
Mai. Then know,
Our common medicine is Prudentius ruine.
Last comers, do ye twist in full consent ?
Mel.&Desp. We do.
Ir. Then kisse the Sacramental Sword.
Am. Sr. Tim. you came unsought, but being come,
You must consent, or will be beaten too't.
Tim. I, I do consent — but caution must be had ;
This is no common sport : what Engines use ye ?
Au. Not you, be sure. Will Desperato joyne
With me and this brave Count ?
Desp. Yes, and strike home.
Mai. Then for the time : we think close midnight best.
Mel. And fittest ; 'cause the crowned Fox is watchful.
Tim. Be sure you take disguise to passe unknown,
Though^ it be night.
Au. O wit and valour both !
Vizards to Passengers will be but signes
Hang'd out to move suspicion ; and to leave
Him ignorant whom we assault is losse
Unto the glory of our bold revenge.
Mai. What shall be done with Memor the Recorder,
One whom I hate, yet have no reason for't,
Like an old debt-book, or mine own Conscience ;
159
Shall he be blotted out, or shall he stand ?
Am. Alas he's all Record, Example, Custome,
What's done Quadragesima primo Henrici tertii
Tricesimo primo Henrici octavi ;
And these sute more with Passion then with Reason.
Mai. What shall be done with Common sense the Judge ?
Am. He also more inclines to sense then Prudence,
Leanes to the Commons rather then the King.
Au. As for the rest, they ne're shall trouble us ;
Cut off the head, we need not feare the Members.
Mai. Who shall succeed ? I mean, in place, and shew,
Not in the tyranny of strict Command ;
Who shall assemble, lead, incourage us,
And give some fashion to our Commonwealth ?
Am. What say to Fancie? will not Fancie do't ?
Au. No better choice : for Fancie neerest is
To unyoak'd Passion.
Am. And 'tis most proper,
That since by Passion this revolt is made
From Reason unto Sense, the Rule should passe
From man to Woman.
Au. She, she, Fancie she.
Liv. (in secret) O now for wings like thought, this to relate
First to the Agent of Prudentius ;
And then to beare first newes to new Queen Fancie. (Ex. Liv.
Au. She, Fancie's Queen.
Am. She'l be a pleasant Mistresse
Rather then Governesse, leading each Passion
Whether himself e inclines. Nay she'l invent
New Objects for their several content.
160
SCENA VI.
Enter to them Groome of the Chamber.
Groo. Silence through all the Court, the King would rest.
Desp. Let him Eternally.
Mai. The time growes nigh.
You three to th* task of Blood : the rest to Fancy.
(Ex. Passions.
Groo. I doubt this earnest talk portends no good,
The businesse hath been hot.
Enter from the Bedchamber Prudentius Crown* d, and
Intellectus Agens.
Pru. We would be private. (Ex. Groome.
Liveby the Relator is most creditable.
Int. A right ingenuous man.
Pru. And you have sent him
To take advantage of the changing State,
With Caveat to reserve his heart for Us.
Int. The Pinch and my best thoughts did so instruct me.
Pru. Tis well, I dearely thank your sharp observance,
Suspecting Treason by their startled brows ;
And then your art of finding out, and now
Your Providence for our Restablishment. But O,
O this ungrateful Rout, whom I have taught
Both how to Feare and Love, and what to Loath,
Wherefore to Greive and Joy, and in what place
To rouse their anger and audacity
By Rule and Circumstance, and with such Sweetnesse
As might befit a Wooer more then King.
L 161
Have I these Vipers bred within my Brest
With greater Care and Pangs then can a Mother
The Childe within her womb ? have I broke sleep,
Toss'd after slumbers, early rose, and spent
The day from Sun to Sun in painful Counsel ;
Sent Birds about their Coasts, sent Eyes and Tongues
Abroad the world, to watch and guard, and work,
And keep all safe, and make them great, for This,
For This Reward ? Ask Heaven and Earth, if I
Have not with utmost care procured them Bread,
Cloth, Health, Peace, Manners, and Religion !
For Prudence is the womb, and Forg of all
This mortal blisse. What ere I took from Them
Was for their use ; like Vapour now exhal'd,
And soon returned in Showers to fat their Land.
Oft have I bore them under both these wings,
One under each, when they inclin'd to Fury,
Would push each other down a Precipice,
Not steep like th' Alpes, but steep on either side,
There on a narrow ridg, an edg, a Thrid,
(Such is the meane, so plac'd betwixt two Gulfes)
I bore them in their Strife. For this and more
They have not pay'd (what's cheaper ?) Single Duty ;
Nothing but Grudgings, Whispers, Evil words :
These are their Thankes.
Int. The greater glory yours :
What Crown like This to govern out of almes !
Pru. But now they seek the Crown ; my life they seek.
Int. They'l beg hereafter that you'l take the Rule,
Which now they wrest out of your hands.
162
Pru. Perhaps.
Int. Meane while your life is safe.
Pru. And while 'tis safe
Though they forget their Duty, He not leave
A Fathers care, but will be still a King
In love, though not in power.
Int. This is a signe
Of future greatnesse. Then cast off this Crown
As but the sheddings of renewing State,
Now to be burnished. Leave it on your Pillow :
For that they seek. But it returned shall be
With double service both of Heart and Knee.
Pru. Be Thou my Prophet.
Int. Ware ; the Gait iff es come.
SCENA VII.
Enter Audax, Desperato, Irato with swords : the first
bearing a Torch.
Au. This Torch must out, or some must blind their eye :
And look not all at once, least all be struck.
The Chamber's here.
Desp. Come set your Points
And Postures right ; stand sure.
Pru. Why should not I
Step in, and daunt them ?
Int. Tis not safe to tempt
United Impudence too far : withdraw.
Pru. When Folly's ripe, He to my Diligence,
163
Int. And I to serve you with Intelligence.
I'le guide you to some Cloyster.
Ir. Now : there's the Nest. (Ex. Pru. & Int.
Desp. But what ? the Eagle's flowne.
Ir. Damn'd Trechery !
Treason amongst us Traytors !
Desp. Lesse Resolution
Then mine had serv'd this Task.
Au. How'ere my Lads, (Brings forth the Crown.
Our Labour is not lost. Here's what we seek for.
Ir. Thus when the Beaver smells the Hunters aime,
He throwes away the price of his escape.
Au. Now shall I offer what affront I please.
Ir. He stab with honour at what word mislikes me.
Desp. No Peace shall stand unlesse our pleasure make it.
Au. Fancie, we come. Stay, hark, stand, hark. This
sound (Musick begins softly.
The Sirens make, 'cause Fancie shall be crown'd (Ex. Omnes.
Finis actus Primi.
ACTVS II. SCENA I.
The Scene turns to Fancies Court.
Enter Concupiscence and Fuga.
Cone. The Day appears in Scarlet ; and the Sun
Seconds the luster of our rising Queen.
I nere long'd more for night, then for this morning.
164
Fug. Twill be to you a double day, and bring
Your Mistresse Majesty, you Liberty.
Cone. Fuga, the case is alterd ; he that banish'd,
Himself e is vanish'd. Thus the King and I,
Or I and he, are up and down like Buckets.
Ha wench ! these Moral men are taught, I tro,
What 'tis to wrong kind hearts. Return with me
Periwigs, Powders, Fucuses for Ladies,
Chioppiens for short, for crooked Farthingals ;
For tainted, Artificial breath ; Teeth moveable ;
Such as may serve a Family by turns,
To eat, and laugh abroad : now wellcome helps
For all decayes of Nature, Arts for allurement ;
Be licenced Ladies for Variety
Now to mistake your Servant, Usher, Page,
For your own Lords, and without Heresie
In marri'd State.
Fug. Fie Madam how you talk !
Cone. How talk I Madam Simpers ? do not thus
And broader too as mincing Dames as you,
When met together ? Do you see your Servant ?
SCENA II.
Enter to them Sr. Timerous with a Paper.
Cone. Sr. Timerous Fear-all inches and inches to you
lust like a spy.
Fug. And still he comes in secret
Least he be spied.
165
(He steals to Fuga and offers tlie Paper ^ she refuses;
Concup. snatches and reads it.
Cone. What's this ? a silent motion ?
The Bill hung out will shew us what it is :
Lady, I dare not with the praise of arts
With any thing but Love assay your parts ;
Which are so rare, that when I strive to write,
The scant Expression seems not Love but spite.
Well wrot Sr. Tim.
Fug. You cannot say well spoke.
Cone. Can you not use your mouth ? no way, Sr. Tim. f
Why do you love ? you are not fit to love ;
Think me your Mistresse ; now addresse your selfe
In form befitting.
Tim. Hum ! (He offers to Salute and steps back again ;
Cone. I must make up she makes to him.
Your will with my performance.
Tim. Hum — I fear
Fuga will frown.
Cone. Thy Mother was a Fuga.
Nor give nor take ? not in a faire Salute ?
Tongue-tide and Lip-bound too ? O that it were
In fashion for my Sex, my Sex, to wooe.
Fug. Lady, you seem to me in word and action
Too loose and open.
Cone. My Complexion
Is I confesse the same with Messaline's ;
We might have layn together in one Egg
As well as Helena and Clytemnestra.
166
To me no such desire as of our Like,
No Joy like Union. But your eares and age
Want breeding yet ;
I'm sorry for offending ;
I thought I knew my Sex ; but if I do not,
I know my selfe.
SCENA III.
Enter to them Hilario.
Hil. What here ye whirlygigs, while Queen Fancie calls
you ? Where's Concupiscence, where's Concupiscence ? After all
your Starching, Quilling, Turning, Sleeking, Pinning ; after
your Jury of Pedlars, Tire-women, Lacemakers and Semsters,
still where's Concupiscence? Your Lady Fancie findes many
greivous defects ; there wants a Pin or two at least. One of
her ribband Fancies are loose ; a long haire hath unweav'd
it selfe out of its curl'd Spheare, and passionatly broke forth
out of Order. Fly, fly, ye Baggases. (Ex. Cone.
Fug. Baggases ?
Hil. As for my Sister, shee's one I'm sure : She colours for
it ; her willow gowne with ay me forsaken wretch is a
Challeng, a meer Challeng to all pittiful-minded Amoroses :
She's true touch, all the world can tell. Wu'd you were so
too Lady for Sr. Tim's sake. Stay Fuga, you must stay one
minute ; for I must shew on you how Sr. Tim. must wooe.
Fug. I see every one's ready to be a Dunces Teacher.
(Singing and Dancing he drives her to the brink of the
Stage ; She returns to escape. So twice or thrice.
167
\
Hil. Thus Sr. Tim. This is Loves Trenchmore.
Ftig. Fie on you all. (Ex. Fuga.
Hil. A prity wench, Sr. Tim, but that she's sawc'd
With some of her Fathers Humour ; this coyness calls her
Malevolo's Daughter. But what of that ?
Every coy lasse is of Cockeril condition,
And must be woo'd as Cockerils fight, chase and retreate ;
And then sheel love you like your shadow ;
Fly thou, sheel follow ; follow thou, sheel fly,
For I say no, and for her no say I.
Thus when a long time ye have turn'd backs one to another,
Ye may at length turn faces.
Tim. Sr. I shall sometimes
Repaire to your wit for my direction.
Hil. You may — and I shall readily afford it to your folly
For mine own merriment. (Ex. Tim.
Enter Hilario's Boy.
Boy. The Queen's at hand.
Hil. And they not ready yet with their tedious Phantas-
ticalia !
SCENA IIII.
Enter also Fancie, Concupiscence going backward before,
carrying an Umbrella over her, Fuga and Memor following.
After a while the Solemnity.
Mem. lust in that Posture, Madam, as you walk'd,
Horatius kill'd three men.
f68
Cone. Three ? what no more ?
Why, I have kill'd three hundred, would three thousand.
Fan. Where's that appearance which we have expected ?
And where's my glasse ?
Fug. You have one in your watch.
Fan. That's not big enough. Run Fuga ; come hither
Concupiscence, pin this handsomer.
Ir. Au. Desp. (within) He beare
The Crown or nothing.
Mel. (within) I the Crown or nothing.
Liv. (Enters and out again) He fit each Passion to his
own content.
Hil. Boy, fill up the Time with noise.
(Boy Sings.
Hail thou great Queen of various Humours,
Some loving hearts, some raging tumours,
Some sadder soules embracing Rumours ;
Such a mixed crew
None yet ever knew
So steady and true
As these in heaping honours on you.
Enter in the midst of the song Amorous ushering the solemnity,
Irato bearing the Sword, Malevolo the Sceptre ; then six
others bearing six Crowns, two in a rank. First Audax
on the right hand bearing a Crown of Gold, and with him
Poet Ovidian a Lawrel : then Desperate a Turkish Turbant,
and with him Timerous a Persian Cydaris : Lastly Live-
byhope a Crown of all coloured feathers circled at the
bottome with Pearle, and with him Model her Tireman a
169
Coronet of black beaugled wire set with black and Silver
spangles. Having done obeysance, they stand and present
in Order.
Am. Great goddesse, most ador'd of men, behold,
Amorous thy lovingst Passion, brings the rest
To offer at thy Feet Ensignes of State.
Ir. I that unsheath'd my anger with my Sword
To make thee great, present this Sword of Justice.
Mai. 1 that with Plots have wrung this awful Scepter
From other hands, will hold it fast in thine,
lie finde or make new matter of great ruine
To raise thy Throne,
Au. This massy Crown of Gold,
The price of nightly danger, won by Andax,
Left by Prudentius, let it crown thy Temples.
Ovid. Else let thy shining brow recrown this Lawrel,
Worn but by Ccesar Monarch of the world,
And thy Ovidii, makers made of thee.
Desp. Let Desperato wrap thy femal head
With linnin State, the Crown of that grand Seignior
Who worships most these two, Woman and Fate.
Tim. But Timerous brings the Persian Cydaris,
Which drop'd from Xerxes Temples in his flight.
Liv. Liveby a Crown of Feathers here presents
To represent the light and easy yoak,
Which all the Passions hope.
Mod. Model thy Tireman
Offers for company this Crown, not costly,
But yet of prety Fancie, new Invention.
Fan. We thank the wit and paynes of all your service.
170
We'l weare these Crownes in turn, and try them all.
Liveby, reach hither. — Where's Recorder Memor f
(Liv. reaches his feathered Crown.
Mem. Here.
An. First take this, the chief true real Crown.
(Au. reaches the Golden, Mai. the Scepter.
Mai. These were the honours which Prudent ius wore.
Fan. Were those his honours ? they shall ne'er be mine.
Those onely I except.
Ir. Wisely excepted.
Am. Great Lady, say not so : put on this Crown,
And with your Head crown it : then let your Hand
Give Life unto this Scepter, and to Us.
Fan. He rather not be Empresse, then assume
Or that, or this.
Au. Say so ?
Hil. Prettiest of pretties ;
We here would have a Queen, and she'l not weare
The Badg and Ensigne that should make her so.
Fan. Is none a Prince, but she whose head supports
The burden of a Crown ?
Liv. Indeed Authority
Lies not in this : then Kings could do no more
Without the leave of this Authentick toy
Then can a Constable without his staff.
Fan. A Crown would crooke my neck, which for a Realme
I would not marr.
Hil. Nor marr that Ruff for three.
Fan. If this condition needs must be inforc'd,
I willingly resign what you conferr.
171
Mai. Then some of us shall be a gainer by it.
Am. Do not so slight the labour of your Servants,
Who ventur'd far to gain this wreath ; in which
Lies the significance of all the rest.
Ir. Let her refuse once more.
Fan. My Noble friends,
It signifies too much, too great a Care,
Too high Command. Should my free wandring thoughts
Be hoop'd and compass'd in with weight and care,
Or should that staff keep down your sprightly humours,
Fancie might then be stil'd Prudent ia.
No ; though I reign, provide your selves live free.
This onely is my Law, that each man use
His proper humour, be it Vice or Vertue,
Inordinate or stay'd. Who mindes his pleasure
Shall best deserve ; my selfe will teach him how ;
And guide him in't. For your own sakes and mine,
Offer no more that badg of Tyranny.
All but Ir. Mai. Au. & Desp. Fancie beyond all Fancie.
Ir. Plage on Dissemblers ;
First on her selfe ; then on these rascals here ;
Who first perswaded her to take the Crown,
And then admire her for refusing it.
Liv. Pleases your highnesse with your radiant haire
To grace some other badg of Majesty ?
Fan. To shew I do not quite reject your Favours,
Nor slight the proffered Rule, reach me the Lawrel,
(Liv. reaches the Crownes in turn.
And then the glass. — (she lookes.
Mem. Ev'n thus did mighty Cccsar \
172
Fan. Tis too Imperious This.
Mem. Wit beyond Ccesars !
Au. Excellent Lady !
Fan. Tis too Imperious
If rule it mean ; if height of wit, too low :
Tis like a Tavern-Bush and begs for sale,
Which Fancie scornes. Small Poet, take it you.
What's next ? the Turbant. What a Turk am I now !
Had I with this a large Seraglio,
I'de lend them to Sr. Amorous. The next.
This Persian Cydaris hath made some Sophies
That scarce were wise before : when I sit next
In Solemn Counsel, He weare This. But now ;
This feather'd Crown like a Mercurial hat
Shall lift me from the ground ; herein lie grace
The present Fashion. The Tiremans Coronet
May be in Fashion too ; and pitty 'tis not ;
I like it well. But Lively, tis your Favour
That must take place, and give us Majesty.
Set it on firm, and somewhat glancing. — So.
I marry Sir ; why this befits us right.
Hit. Wu'd I had brought my Fooles Cap to present her.
My fooles Cap would have gotten the start of Favour
From Lively for ever.
Fan. Thankes Lively, and He study a Reward.
Liv. Your humblest Creature.
Fan. This fits the Quality
Of our intended Rule, which shall be light,
Light as your Lively said, and soft and sweet,
And various, and pliable to every passion.
173
I'm bound to All, and much to Amorous ,
And most to Lively. For besides this present,
You brought me tidings first of this advancement,
And Crown'd me in my Eare. Who likes the newes,
Must needs regard the teller. One I misse
Amongst the Passions, Melancholico.
Liv. He sullen grew because he might not beare
The massy Crown.
SCENA V.
Enter to them Melancholico bringing Fancies Picture
Crown'd with Gold. Painter and Musitian
Cone. Now he hath brought himselfe.
Ftig. And somewhat else.
Mel. Although I wanted grace
To plant the massy Crown upon your head
In the true substance, yet I found a way
To crown you in this Picture. Here's the Painter ;
And here a try'd Musitian ; men of Arts,
Which Melancholy much affects.
Fan. And I.
But mende your peice. That Crown delights not me,
Some sudden businesse calls me to conferr
With certain Femal Artists ! Liveby,
Take you the keeping of those Ornaments.
(She offers to go forth.
Mai. What ? have we made a shittlecock our Queen ?
(She returns.
174
Fan. Stay, I had quite forgot to strew mine honours
On these deservers. You Malevolo
Be our chief Counsellour ; be you Irato
The Lord Controwler : Livebyhope shall be
The Master of Requests : you Amorous
Shall be the Master of our Ceremonies ;
For which here's Poet, Painter, man of Musick,
And man of Properties : I give you leave
To use them for your selfe in wooing Morphe.
But you my Poet whom I well respect,
Shall be my Secretary, and you shall turn
The long-breath'd stile of Proclamation
To Lyrick Verse.
Liv. Most understanding Queen !
Ir. A prety Curr ! my hands now itch to try
Whether he be true Spaniel breed, or no ;
O I could beate and kick him, and see whether
He'l fawn then to. You were not best to flatter
Your selfe into an Earldom, one degree
Above mine Honour.
Tim. Take heed my Lord : he's likely to be great ;
A Favourite can hurt.
Ir. What then ? must I
Therefore take heed ? bid me take heed again,
And it shall be the last, last Caution,
You ere shall give. What ? give a Lord good Counsel ?
Fan. The rest if they themselves can finde a way
How I may pleasure them, I'm crown'd their servant :
You know your Law ; each man pursue his humour.
He rule by Fancie since I am Queen Fan ;
175
And use as little wisdom as I can.
Au. And so it seems.
(Ex. Fan. with her women. Am. Liv. Mem. Poet,
Mus. Tireman
Hit. Ha ha ha ha ha ha—
How merry shall I live ! (Ex. Hit.
Paint. Sr. Shall I mend
This piece ?
Mel. Mend ! marr, or break it if you will.
Now shall I turn far more precise than ever,
And praise Prudent ius dayes throw discontent.
Au. Slighted ? contemned ? bafled ? fooles preferd ?
I'm well rewarded. (Ex. Mel. and Paint.
Ir. Hark Sr. Timerous,
You gave me Counsel.
Tim. Out of Love indeed Sir.
Ir. You gave Prudentius warning to escape.
Tim. Not I, indeed not I, Sr. Amorous knowes.
Ir. How ere He kick thee now, cause tis my humour ;
lie take thee to be Liveby, tis my Humour.
Tim. The Queen shall know how you have kick'd my
Knighthood.
Ir. 1 kick'd thy breech, two foot above thy Knighthood.
I trust I shall have cause to kill thee too.
Mean while, to stir my choler, He controwle
Roughly, most roughly.
Desp. I to feed my humour,
(For little I shall have to feed my body)
Must run some desperate course. The stream of Favour
Runs crosse from me, to Hope and Amorous. (Ex. Desp.
176
Au. Did we expose our selves to utmost danger
To gain a Crown for Her that more regards
A Cap and Feather ?
Mai. I her Counsellour
Who alters with each puff, more flickering
Then Flag or Streamer ? Then He write on Sand,
Or print the Aire. But still I wonder much,
How Liveby being absent from our Counsels,
Carri'd the first Intelligence, His telling
In Her esteem outweighs our Action.
Au. This shewes what women love, the Tong and
tailing.
Mai. How sayes this man of Fate ? is Livebyhope,
That primrose thing, that forward bud, long liv'd ?
Ir. Ha ! I think no ; unlesse I may controule him
To be no Favourite.
Mai. Men of that calling,
If I might counsel them for their best safety,
Ought not to live too long. For we can hate.
Au. Challeng.
Ir. Or stab.
Au. And call these things our Humours,
SCENA VI.
Enter to them Intellectus Agens.
Int. The safest Armour is unweapon'd boldnesse.
Thus priviledg'd lie trust their savage hands.
M 177
All happinesse, that is, true Liberty
Unto the Passions ; how d'e like your choice ?
Au. First tell us where Prudentius hides himselfe.
Int. Within a Sanctuary, where his thoughts
Are sequestred from earthly cares to heaven.
Au. Our choice we like beyond Prudentius,
Just so, as Fancie Livebys feather'd crown
Beyond my Golden.
Mai. We like the power of chusing
Ir. And some variety though join'd with loosing
(Ex. Passions.
Int. Who ere Usurps, considers not his task,
How he must sooth the lowest of his villaines,
Give highest place and all to every one,
Else all will be displeas'd. The King shall know,
What seeds of discontent and headlong folly
Appeare already in this warring state.
Clos'd in too safe, they broke their hedg ; what lesse
Then wandring now through wretched wildernesse ?
(Ex. Int. Agens.
Finis Actus secun.
ACTVS III. SCENA I.
Enter Memor and Sr. Timerous.
Mem. I think your cause exceeds the Cognisance
Of Common sense. He like a Juryman
Can onely finde and judge the outward fact :
178
As whether now your kicks look white or blew ;
Whether his threatning words were high or low ;
What savour followed, whether sweet or sowre ;
Whether the kicks were Rough or gentle ; (Rough
Your Crinkling sayes.) These with some other notions
Thereto belonging, as the quantity,
The Figure, Number, the swift motion,
Or ceasing of your kicks ; these he can judge of.
But as for higher speculations
Of Passions rising out of meer conceit,
How it was rais'd, what punishment is due,
This properly belongs to Fancie's audience.
Was there no cause ?
Tim. None giv'n, but apprehended.
Mem. The worse for you ; this shewes there was no
malice,
But single heat. Were the kicks thick and many ?
Tim. Six strong ones in one instant.
Mem. Still the worse.
It shewes meer heat. What said he, 'twas his humour ?
Tim. Ev'n so.
Mem. Yet worse. 'Tis Law, that ev'ry Passion
May follow his own humour. Anger's his.
Besides he's writ a Lord : all things considered,
I give you counsel to be patient,
To ask if he be pleas'd to give you more ;
To break a Tooth, pull Haire, strik out an Eye.
Tim. Accept my thankes : I see the Law it selfe
Is very Timerous against great Persons. (Ex. Tim.
Mem. I now can see no use of Law at all,
179
Law is casheer'd : where all things are permitted
What need of plea ? what can be call'd unjust ?
And are not these the Popular dayes we look'd for,
When we expected Cunning should be Soveraigne ?
SCENA II.
Enter to him Malevolo.
Mai. In mischeif we must use the men we hate.
You are the man I seek. Have you consider'd
Those State-projections ?
Mem. Sr. we want some Lawes,
Such as were made for certain Lord Protectors.
Mai. Indeed this lawful murder is an Art
Of Excellence, and yet as easie too
For Statesmen Lawyers as Physitians.
Mem. An Art familiar in the Roman State,
As ancient too as the first Monarchy.
O I could tell you Lawes worth millions to us,
By faire intrapping of the wealthy Clergy.
*' Mai. Have you no model to insnare a Prince?
" Mem. Henry the third, though wise and valiant,
" Was caught in a strong line knit by himselfe,
*4 Here i'th' mad Parliament,
"Mai. As how?
" Mem. Twelve Peers
* 4 Under pretence of evil Officers
" And grand abuses, were selected out,
" Strengthened with Lawes to prune Prerogatives,
180
44 To tutour and reform the State ; to size
** The Kings expence, and to appoint him Servants,
44 Both menial and forinsecal.
"Mai. Is't possible
44 The King should scale to this?
44 Mem. O Poverty,
** She to Obedience is the Lay-mother,
44 As some say Ignorance is the Clarklike.
44 Betwixt Superiours and Inferiours,
44 Look either way, this rule is mutual,
44 The poorer must be servant to the richer.
44 Henry brought low with various Action
44 Could not subsist without their subsidies.
44 Keep thy Prince poor, then thou shalt rule thy Ruler,
41 And subject thy Commander.
44 Mai. This we try'd
44 To fasten on Prudentius : but he
44 Too wise, too frugal was. Now F ancle
44 Through giddinesse of minde, and vast expence,
44 Will prove lesse wary and more Prodigal.
Mem. Let some insnareing Law be once propos'd,
Fancie will yeild, not ponder.
Mai. Well, think you ;
He speak and speed. O 'tis the praise of hate
To practise ruine and pretend the State.
Mem. But Sir, I trust upon your furtherance
(Mai. about to go.
About impropriations.
Mai. You He remember
First, or my selfe I ever shall forget. (Ex. Mai.
181
SCENA III.
Enter Fancie in a Cydaris, Concupiscence, Fuga, Hilario
before them.
Fan. The Cydaris well fits me ; now must I
Answer this Persian Crown with mutual fitnesse.
What thing was proper to the Persian Kings,
Say Memor.
Mem. Persian Kings did wed their Sisters.
Fan. Though in my Person thus I cannot wed,
He licence others. You Hilario
May, if you please, enjoy your lively Sister
Concupiscence.
Hit. I thank your Majesty
Both that I may, and may not ; for to me
Nothing so pleasing as is Liberty.
I would not be bound to that neither, though I love it best ;
If I were, I should long for the prison.
Bind me to be rich, I shall play at Duckes and Drakes with
peices ;
Bind me to my good behaviour, I shall feele an itching desire
to beate the Justice.
0 what a Prentise should I make ! I should run away no
oftner then I came in sight
Of the threshold. And most of the Passions, I think, have a
spice of this humor.
Fan. But can no bond please you like Liberty ?
Hil. Neither bond of Matrimony, nor bond of friendship,
Nor bond of Usury, nor bond of iniquity ;
1 rejoyce in the present, I desire nothing, and therefore would
be tied to nothing.
182
Fan. Concupiscence your Sister's of another minde.
Cone. I could well indure to be bound, so I might be loose
too.
Fan. The Theme which I proposed was Royalty,
No lesse then Persian. Then Concupiscence,
How ist we are so thinly waited on,
By Femal Passions ? are there no more women
Of Passion kind ?
Cone. Of Passionate enough.
But to say Truth, the Femal Passions
As soon as they are born, turn all to sins ;
And they are all my Children.
Mem. Then have you
More Daughters far than Danaus, or Margaret
Countesse of Henneberg : whereof one did equal
The weekes, and th' other the dayes of the year
With numerous issue.
Cone. I have more by thousands.
I'm as Fruitful and quick of Delivery
As any Uermin, spreading as Potatoes ;
My race runs o'er the World.
Fan. Of what age are they ?
Cone. As old as my selfe very neere.
Mem. Then you
Continued a maide no longer then Quartilla.
Cone. O never at all that I can remember.
Mem. You beare your age exceeding well.
Cone. I hope
I shall be young forever ; I have the vertue
Of making old folkes young by touching them.
183
Fan. Are none of those your Children ripe and handsome
And fit for our attendance ?
Cone. Pride my Eldest
She is the likeliest.
Fan. Let her be admitted.
Cone. She's now i'th Spanish Court ; but when she
comes
Hit. Then the Court and her Mother will teach her to fall
both wayes,
Forward and Backward.
Fan. Till she return, is't not in Fancie's power
To change a Sex, and make some Passion Female ?
Mem. The like hath been ; I have heard of a Femal
By meer force of Fancy turn'd Male : So I phis
A Maide, in love with a Maide, was transform'd
Just on the marriage Eve. Tiresias
Was Male and Femal annually by turns ;
Some Hermaphrodites have been both at once.
Cone. Wud I could live and turn Hermaphrodite.
Fug. Wud I could live and be of neither Sex.
Fan. What think ye of transforming Amorous 1
Hil. He's undone then : he cannot shew his legs, nor use
his Postures
Nor Enjoy his Idol Morphe. No, change Sir Timerous,
He's as fearful as a Hare, and may be as changable :
He hath many Symbolical conditions of womanhood already :
He is Femal in every part but one, and half Femal in his
cloathes
Give me but an Inch of Ribband from Fuga, and I'le undertake
to present him
184
The Lady Timida.
Fan. Fuga
Give him one of your changable Fancie's. (Ex. Hit.
Thus first our selves must whet our own Invention ;
Else others will not stir. Men do not strive
Methinkes to please me as they ought to do.
No other rarities these many Ages
But Powder, Printing, Seaman Card, and Watches ?
So much vain dotage for the fond Elixir ?
Why are not yet my Christals malleable,
To make our Gold no Gold, and soile the Di'mond ?
Why want I Instruments to measure out
The Year, the Day, the Houre, without the help
Of Sun, or turning of these tedious wheeles ?
Nothing to carry me but Barges, Coaches ?
Sedans, and Litters ? through the Aire I'd passe
By some new waftage : I must have my house
Convey'd by wheeles and sailes and plummets hung
In some deep pit, deep as the way is distant,
To hurry me, my Family, and it,
Whether I please. lie travel like the Snaile,
With all my house ; but swifter then the Faulcon.
Fug. Rare Lady !
Cone. Ravishing Inventions !
Fan. Why have not I my Beds stuffd all with wind,
Baths fill'd with Maydew, Flowers preserved till winter,
As well as Snow till Summer : choisest Fruits
Growing and ripe in midst of January ?
Why have not I Ponds running through my Cellars,
For Bottles and for Fish call'd by their names ?
185
Why not in drought an Artificial rain,
Scattered by spowtes, to cheer my Paradise ?
Mem. I wish you had these things ; I nere saw such.
Fan. Cheape I can have JEolian bellowes made
Within the Bowles of Andirons, where the water
Shall blow the fire by which 'tis rarified.
I will have Vaults which shall convey my whispers
In steed of Embasies to forreign Nations ;
Places for Ecchoes to pronounce a speech,
Or give a Suffrage like a multitude :
Consorts well play'd by water ; Pictures taught
By secret Organs both to move and speak :
We spend our selves too much upon the Taylour ;
I rather would new mold new fashion Nature.
SCENA IIIL
Enter Amorous and Liveby one way^ Malevolo another way.
After awhile a Shew.
Am. Pleases your Highnesse to behold a Shew,
Wherein some Passions are displayed by Dreams
How they affected are by Day.
Fan. He see it. (Mai. & Mem. whisper.
What means that whisper ?
Mai. Tis an honest project
Thought on by Memor, out of love to Churches,
To buy back saleable impropriations
With charitable money. Doth it please you ?
Fan. This task was fitter for Prudent ius
186
Then Sense or Passion. This although I grant,
Yet take it with condition. Memor knows
Conveyance old and new, the Right and Wrong.
In things not sacred he may use his cunning,
In this he must be just. To you I say,
It was not seasonable to move this business
When Shewes were comming.
Mai. This your selfe did move
By asking.
Mem. Now.
Mai. Then make you here a Law,
That none these three dayes shall prefer a Sute
Or motion under forfeiture of life.
Me you shall finde content ; I'm no Troubler.
Mem. This trap is laid full right.
Liv. Stay, stay great Queen.
This Law will scale my mouth, and tie your hands,
And stop the necessary speed of businesse,
Whereby your Crown may be dissolved.
Fan. Away,
Away Malevolo.
Mai. My snare for Liveby
Is brok, but violence shall it supply. (Ex. Mai. & Mem.
You Memor have your wish.
Enter Amorous with the shew.
Morpheus in a Cloud-coloured Cassock with a wreath of Poppies
and a Caduceus from a black Cell. Then at his call, six
sleeping Persons in their night caps half down their Faces,
and in their wastcoates, representing in their clothes
187
downwards Memor, Malevolo, Irato, Timerous, Hilario,
Desperate. Morpheus shakes his Cadticeus over them sever-
ally as they stand in Couples. Being nwv'd they fall succes-
sively into their proper gestures, and lastly all dance
together in those gestures.
Morp. I Morpheus King of Dreames, whose might
Can equal Fanci's in the night,
Have caused the night six dreames to send :
As I appointed they attend. (They enter from a black Cave.
Now Memor turn thy Books and prate,
Plead with thy hands and fees then take.
Shrug, scratch, Malevolo, and grin,
Grasp thy joule heart and feel thy sin.
Jrato, bend thy fist and draw,
Offer to thrust, keep fear in aw.
Shak Timerous, offer to fly,
Begin to sink, offer to die.
Hilario clap thy hands and laugh,
Skip, leap, and turn, offer to quaff.
Despaire start, stand, and crush thy throat,
Then stab thy breast and groan death's note.
The Dance.
(After the dance, Ex. Masquers.
Fan. Whose labour was this sport ?
Am. Livebys invention and my contriving.
Fan. For this Tie send you to your dearest Morphe.
Goe at what hour you please, and say I want
Her company at Court. You, Hope, for this,
188
And for preventing that pernicious Law,
Ask what you will.
Liv. Grant the Monopoly
Of Watches, or of Beavers.
Fan. Take them both ;
And ask again.
Liv. When woodlands shall be turn'd
To other use, grant me a twelfth as forfeit.
Fan. Be it confirmed.
Liv. I was about to ask
The Patronage of Churches in Sea-towns ;
Where popular choice maintains a Faction
Brought in with Merchandize from foreign parts,
But that were better taken to the Crown.
Fan. Take what thou wilt. Thou begst to give us share*
None can please all, the best the better fare. (Ex. 0 nines.
SCENA V.
The Scene turns to feilds, walkes & scattered houses.
Enter Hilario, and then Sir Timerous with Fuga's
ribband*
Hit. By this way Sir Timerous should come ; whom I as
sent from his wrong'd Lady Fuga have engag'd in a quarvel
against Audax. And yonder comes the pittiful Earthquake
most lovingly trembling.
Tim. What should I do here ? some desperate knave or
other, Desperato himself (it may be) hath rob'd me of my
best weapon. I thought not to have fought with steele, but
with Gold ; and to have brought this needy Captain to an
honourable submission by dint of Cash. What disasters have
I ? That unreasonably wicked, that divlish two fac'd Cutter
knew me too well : for when I drew this harmless blade, he
look'd upon it as slightly as upon a riding wand ; and bad
me familiarly put up that, and draw my purse. Certainly I
have too much of the Mother ; I am that which they call a
Coward, and all the world knows it. Wherefore (O Ribband)
I take it extream scurvily of Fuga, that she being of the
same temper her selfe, doth not consider her temper in me.
Hil. Now this Craven stands as ticklish on the point of
running as a Bowie on the top of a ridg.
Tim. Two steps further I'le move. I have been coming a
quarter of a mile these two houres at least ; and yet I sweat
till the very drops run a race ; my shaking feaver is turn'd to
a cold sweat, and that's a true Prognostication of death.
(Puts on his cap.
Good night to all the world ; for this is that fatal peice of
ground which I shall anon measure with my Carcasse. Never
a Bush nor Hole here ; though it be call'd Champion ground
I shall not fight : perhaps I shall make use of its plainnesse,
and give ground a mile or two ; that shall be my way of
fighting. For if I the Challenger stand still on my guard,
it will not stand with mine honour : And then while I keep
my backsword point still in his face (I have seen the play at
cudgells) he will wheele about me, and falsifying a blow at
the head will strike me just on the legs where my heart lies.
Then shall I be quite spoiled for running away ; which I
think I had best do presently, for I hear him coming. O
190
Hil. Now I see Sir Tim, thou art a Lad of mettle.
Tim. Mettle? I protest Sir I had rather drink this cold
iron fil'd small to dust and be a Lad of mettle so, then to
thrust it whole into any mans flesh whatsoever ; much lesse
into my Enemies. You see then what power Love hath, and
how Fuga is beholding to me.
Hil. Most dreadfully.
Tim. Is not the time yet past ? I think I may retire with
honour, and say he durst not meet me.
Hil. It wants yet halfe an hour. If you hold not out
your time, then he'l assault you openly in Court, and make
your shame publick, which otherwise will be but private. He
stand secretly by you, and if need require will step in and
part you.
Tim. Stand not far off I beseech you for when I am kill'd
I shall not be able to call. O my heart! — the Gyant's
coming O Hilario —
Malevolo passes by.
Mai. Saw you not here Irato ?
Tim. No believe me Sir ; no I thank heaven. Hilario ! —
Now comes Audax. O 1 have but a minute to live.
Irato passes by.
Ir. How now stinkerd, how does thy breech ? sawst thou
not here Malevolo ?
Tim. He past by in hast ; just now in hast. — Well. Two
Furies are past. He not wait for the third, go Love and
Honour whither they will. Hilario! — I fear he hath left me.
He raze my Flesh with a slight cut, and sweare I receiv'd
that wound in fight. But now I think on't better, I have
191
an issue under my left arme ; He force that bigger till it
bleed, and swear that into a wound. For sure a fresh one
would be far greater pain. Soft, I am loath to suffer so much,
if I may chuse. — Hilario ? —
Hit. What a Champion are you ? not dare to look a man
in the face ?
Tim. Sweet Hilariot I consider thou hast no Sword to help
me: stretch thy wit, and invent some speedy way, how I
may escape with honour, and not fight ?
Hit. You cannot possibly escape fighting.
Tim. Sweet Hilario do not kill me before hand with
saying so.
Hit. Why then will you be rul'd by me ?
Tim. In any thing, any thing. Quickly for love of Life.
Hil. I have promis'd to furnish the Queen with a new
Lady attendant.
Tim. What then ?
Hil. Put on Womans apparel, you shall be she ; by name
of Madam Timida.
Tim. Ha ! Say on.
Hil. Then shall you be free, not onely from this quarrel,
but from all future beatings and challenges.
Tim. Safe and sound !
Hil. Then shall you have perpetual accesse to Fuga, bully.
Tim. Safe and delicious !
Hil. Then to steale her affection you may habit your selfe
like her.
Tim. Safe and wise !
Hil. Then as for your honour, who can upbraid you when
you are no where to be found : twill be supposed by your
192
sweet friend, that you died in her quarrel, Audax if he
himself talk will be dangerously questioned.
Tim. But will you be secret ?
Hil. For mine own sake, mine own sake, Sir Tim.
Tim. Dearest Hilario, thou art my preserving Angel.
Hil. Make hast, before you can new cast your selfe He
come to present you. (Ex. Tim.
Poor snake, I delivered no Challeng ; I onely frighted him to
a more willing Metamorphosis.
SCENA VI
Enter by him Concupiscence in a Citizens habit.
Cone. Hey ho for a husband ; Two, three, or more,
As many as I meet ; 'tis fit, that we
Ladies Attendant should be qualified
For three at least.
Hil. What ere the habit be, this is the Face
The Voice and language of Concupiscence,
Why, how now Sister, taking the Aire alone ?
Cone. A safe Conscience never feares any man.
Hil. I think thou fear'st not any, but lov'st all.
Such was thy wont ; and hast thou now a Conscience ?
Cone. Be grave or silent, know I'm rectified.
Hil. Pox on your train : by feigned honesty
You seek to wooe me. Fie unvaile you streight.
What think you of two husbands, three, or more.
As many as you meet ?
Cone. Why didst thou hear me ?
N 193
Hit. Ladies Attendant should be qualified
For three at least.
Cone. That I spoke merrily.
Hit. If thou hadst ten, thou still would'st cry more
Hymens.
Cone. If so you think, think on, I think so too.
" Hit. But when will all thy maidenheads be spent ?
" Tell me sincerely, truly, and bodily.
44 Cone. They come again like Teeth, I'm breeding now.
44 Hit. Then are thy maidenheads like Hydra's heads,
44 Not to be tam'd but by a Hercules.
44 Who has the next ?
44 Cone. I am resolv'd to part it
44 Betwixt a Courtier and a Citizen :
44 The Courtier has the maide, the Citizen
44 Shall have the head.
Hit. Sister, I cannot wed you,
You have too much complexion for my use ;
But He provide you one shal beare the name
Of Husband.
Cone. Let him be honest, quiet.
Hit. Of your own garb, say he be Melancholico.
And so He rid my selfe of Fancies match.
Cone. I care but for his shadow having Servants.
Hil. Farewell Carnality.
Cone. Hilario thinks (Ex. Hil.
He took me, when alas twas my intent
The Boy should overheare, and so become
If not a Husband, such an Officer.
194
SCENA VII.
Enter to her Audax.
Au. What's here ? Concupiscence ?
Cone. Nor stare, nor startle ;
As I hope to look faire, I'm nothing chang'd
In minde or body. No where, but in habit.
Au. And why in This ?
Cone. O for Variety.
Fancy permits all change. This dresse sometimes
Pleases the Courtier better then his Ladies.
Au. Is it but so ? come then my Paphian drum
Fie brace thee close.
Cone. Soft Sir, you march too feircely.
I have a task which first you must perform ;
I fear you will not do't ; you do not love me ;
Promise me first ; the task I can assure you,
Befitts your Valour, and will pay it selfe.
Au. Is it to kill the Queen, that thou may'st reign ?
Cone. No, nor her maide ; thou shalt but use her kindly.
Au. Speak plain, be bold.
Cone. Then thou shalt ravish Fuga.
She twits me with my Servants, Favours, Lookes,
My Words, and scapes : in This you bear a share.
If this to me bring shame, you are not free.
Au. Is this your heavy task ? no more but This ?
Onely to ravish ? is not the work Reward ?
Fie do't effectually ; Her selfe shall thank me.
Cone. But Tie outthank her far ; He ravish thee.
With fast embraces. Take this kisse in earnest
195
Of future payment. Though I seeme a Vestal,
To thee I'm Venus.
Au. Venus, be secur'd. (Ex. Au.
Cone. Then, when her fruit shall swell, and I stand
simpring.
Turn'd to a seeming Saint, O how He triumph
In grave reproofe, and holy Admonition !
This 'tis to be too chast. here come the Stagemen.
SCENA VIII.
Enter to her Malevolo, Ira to, Memor.
Mai. Sir you and we were acted at the Court.
We loosers are made laughing-stocks, and sport
For open Stages.
Ir. Tell my Sword the Author ;
That it may write his doome upon his flesh.
Mai. This Creature can informe us. Who I pray
Were your late witwrights in the Masque ?
Cone. Hope pend it,
My Father Amorous (without offence)
Contrived the Shew. (Ex. Cone.
Mem. This trick Malevolo
Was chiefly meant to you, because your pen
Hath scourged the Stage.
Ir. However Lord Irato
Shall act a red Catastrophe on Liveby : (Ex. Ir. and Mem,
Mai. He watch his haunt and hunt him to his fall ;
You Amorous too. This mirth of theirs at last
196
Shall close their sweetnesse with an Aloed tast.
These once remov'd, who can be great but I ;
Whose word shall sway but mine ? Then power is sweet
When Rubs are made the staires to mount our feet. (Ex. Mai.
Finis Actus 3.
ACTVS IIII. SCENA I.
Enter Desperato in a Physitians habit.
Desp. Whatever chang succeed, still wretchednesse
My old inseparable mate hangs on.
Therefore I seem ridiculous ; my grief
Is others mirth ; Malevolo sayes I'm acted.
Henceforth lie finde new Company : since Fate
Barrs me from others happinesse, lie spread
My misery to others ; and He thrive
Meerely in spite, to make men miserable.
This is my humour ; 'tis begun already.
The Gold I took from Timer ous^ if questioned,
I can defend ; I took it in my humour ;
And that's good law ; I took it in a humour
Most desperatly bent ; and it hath made me
Such as men see, an able man for mischief ;
Clad me in th' outside of a mystery,
Furnish'd my shelves with Pots, with Boxes, Names,
Slight Medicines, and strong Poysons. Time hath been,
When I in War serv'd Death a Prentiship ;
197
There learn'd to open Veynes, to lance and kill
Now I am free o'th* Trade ; a Soldier then,
Physitian now ; He do the selfe same work,
But now more Artificially.
SCENA II.
Enter to him Melancholico.
Mel. The godly
Are in distresse ; the wicked, that usurp
The Childrens right, do here grow fat and prosper :
Wherefore I thought of drowning. Verily
Unlesse that Conscientious Lawyer,
Good Mentor, from Rebought Impropriations
Had thus deducted and distributed
The better part to us oppressed Brethren,
Affliction some, and some Devotion
Had brought me to despaire. Now He not see him.
Desp. Methinkes dejected Melancholico
Should prove fit Timber for my fatal work.
What, Melancholico ? not know your friend,
Whose med'cinal skill cures Body, Minde, and State ?
I trust thou art not over lucky ; art ?
Do'st feel no misery ? I thought ere this
I should have had thy custome.
Mel. Verily
My sicknesse could but little cure your purse.
Desp. It might have brought me practise howsoever,
And that's the onely Fee of new professours.
198
Mel. But are you then indeed a true professour,
And one of Us ? Sooth I professe sincerity.
Desp. Hath not the same which caus'd sincerity,
Caus'd a f oule spleen ? no Hypocondrick Vapours ?
Mel. For that a godly Lawyer gave me physick :
Desp. Then take it next from a Divine.
Mel. That Lawyer
First took it from Divines, then gave it me.
And I can give you counsel to your physick :
You have a fair advantage in mens sicknesse
To prick the Conscience, and to let them know,
Their onely way is to releive the Brethren,
And raise their stock of holy usury
For new Plantations. You shall have a share.
Desp. This is a verier rogue then I my selfe.
Mel. And what I pray mov'd you to turn Physitian ?
Desp. Want set me on, a booty set me up.
Now let me know of mutual curtesie,
What was your Dos ?
Mel. 'Twill buy all yours ; 'twas Gold.
Desp. Why then, thou'lt run unto presumption,
Not to despaire. I heare you are to marry ;
Which if thou dost, then thou wilt come to me,
For Ratsbane, Hensbane, some such wholesome banes,
To cure thy bands of Matrimony.
Mel. Hence. (Ex. Desp.
199
SCENA III.
Enter to him Hilario and Concupiscence.
Hit. Friend Melancholico,
How is't ? Sister, stand by a while. Methinks
Upon a sudden you are grown brisk and eheereful,
Fit company for me, nay for a wife.
Mel. You'l never leave your waggery and jeasting,
44 You callM Peculiars rags of Popery.
Hit. Sometimes you are too sad and solitary :
Is this jeasting ? and solitarinesse
Requires due Recreation ; Is this jeasting ?
And Recreation much consisteth in
The yoak of a meet helper ; you may call
This jeasting too ? but is't not sport in earnest ?
Mel. The Saints allow no sport.
Hil. Then love in earnest.
You know you cannot well converse with men ;
Your lookes are indispos'd, your language sparing,
Your manners different. But to a woman
A long parenthesis of busi'd silence
Does passing well. Then in her company
You have a world, and none to contradict.
And in her Ear you may reform the Church
Or purg the State, as safe, as if you spake
Unto the Aire or whisper d to your selfe,
For so she is. Think on a wife.
Mel. No wife.
Hil. Then on a spouse.
Mel. Now you say somewhat.
Hil. Now.
200
He'l marry words not substance. The word whore
Would have spoil'd all. This blockhead suites with me
As frost with fire. But for your sake He thaw him.
Mel. Have you not injur'd that fair promising Sister
By leaving her alone ?
Hil. She meditates.
Mel. She walketh gravely, turns her eye devoutly.
Hil. The white's pure, the black as full of Adultery
As thou art of Hypocrisie ; she harbours
A good conceit of you. Shall she conceive Further ?
Mel. If that her name be right.
Hil. She was
Concupiscence, now call'd Temperance. Sister
This is your Husband whom I so commended.
Cone. I chuse not for my selfe.
Mel. Sister and Spouse,
If so you please, our hands shall us unite :
Matches are made in Heaven ; few words suffice ;
The Night consummates. As for other rites
I hold them superstitious Ceremonies.
I had forgot her Portion.
Hil. She's a widow,
He shew you her Estate.
Mel. He first retire
And clasp her hand in zeale.
Cone. My Lord and Bridegroome.
Hil. The Divel and his Dam you are. Come Brother.
Mel. Once more. I like your Meditation,
But do not spend your selfe therewith too much.
(Ex. Hil. and Mel.
201
Cone. Now I am double shelter'd in my heat,
With name of Husband, and this formal guise.
SCENA IIIL
Enter to her Audax.
Cone. Now welcome Servant ; have you won the Fort ?
Au. Hell take her, she's a man.
Cone. A man?
Au. Just so
I found, scarce left him so.
Cone. O you mistooke.
Sir Timerous is transform'd to wait at Court :
Twas PhancVs own device. O I could laugh.
Au. I made him so much woman as to cry ;
u Else I had made him woman with my Sword.
Cone. Alas poor Timida.
Au. The thing so trembled,
No leafe nor ague like him.
Cone. Ha ha ha.
Au. Did you intend to put this trick upon me ?
Cone. No by the kisses which shall satisfie
Thy height forthwith, and pay thy errour full.
Besides I'm satisfied with this mistake
As well as with the right. Aspersion
Shall blot the name of Fuga full as much.
202
SCENA V.
Enter to them Sir Tim. as Timida. After a
while Fuga, alike dress'd.
Au. What's this ? the He or She ?
Cone. No matter which.
Au. If it be she, Fie ravish her : if he,
Then thou shalt do't.
Cone. Neither ; tis done enough.
Au. Tim hath a fine time on't.
Cone. Come, you have a better.
Tim. Is this to be a woman ? O I could teare,
(Ex. Cone. & Au.
As timerous as I am, my lawnes to rags,
And scratch my face, and stick my heart with pins,
Or streight turn valiant. Wud my Fuga knew,
What she hath scap'd through me.
And here she comes. (Enter Fuga.
0 Fuga, female habit and strang sufferings
Have lent me tongue enough. Now I can speake ;
And boldly say I have deserved your love.
Fug. Wherein Sir Lady ?
Tim. Now in this your habit
1 sav'd you from a hideous ravishing.
Audax with whom I should have fought, came on me
With love more rude then rage, blasted my face
With breath like brimstone, turn'd my limbs like twigs ;
I live by miracle.
Fug. You came too neere
Unto a Sex from which you should keep further.
203
Tim. Shall I not then be neer and dear unto you ?
Fug. Experience tells you what a boystrous thing
Tis to be ruffled by a man.
Tim. Still so ?
Why I have a been a woman for thy sake ;
I bear within these weedes a minde as tender,
White skin, blue veines, and armes as soft as thine.
Fug. But still you are a man, and I still Fuga.
Tim. Nothing can merit love from peevishnesse.
What shall I do ? Tie streight turn man again,
And suffer for my selfe. Farewel coy woman,
Ungrateful, and unwise. My ravishment
Is fairely past, but yours may be the next.
How ere when I appear my selfe, the noise
Of what is past will light upon your name.
I bore the loathsome suffering for thee,
Now shalt thou bear the foul reproach for me. (Ex. Tim.
Fug. Much I was overseen, too much extreamely ;
I could run after him ; but if he turn
I shall run back again. O I am lost ;
My Honour, Safety, and perhaps some liking,
All these are lost, with these I'm lost, lost Fuga.
SCENA VI.
Enter to her Amorous.
Am. This change of State gaines me small perfect pleasure.
Meer Meditation on Morphe's beauty
Will not suffice. Come Fuga, since thy Ocean
204
Cannot be minish'd by some drops, give freely
What Audax forc'd.
Fug. That I am miserable
Is't not enough, unlesse I bear more burdens
Of common scorn, or (which is worse) true stayning ?
Good Sir, of all the Passions you are gentlest ;
Though you esteem me light, which I am not,
Yet take some weight unto your selfe. Consider
That after this you cannot worthy be
Of Morphe, never woe with confidence.
Am. Thus still a Female Sermon puts me by,
And I gain nothing by my Liberty.
Once more I ask.
Fug. Once was too much before.
Am. Once more.
Fug. First kill me.
Am. Then to make you quick
Is past my cunning. (Ex. Amorous.
SCENA VII.
Enter Hilario, Concupiscence, after a while
Melancholico.
Hit. Joy to you Madam Fuga, you know why. (Ex. Hil.
Cone. If I could give you Joy of what I loath,
And you delight in, this if I could do
Without a sin, I would.
Fug. Is false report
Worse then true guilt ? how is't this filthy Strumpet
205
Lookes like a Saint, and I as foule as hell ?
Cone. Lady, an Eye refin'd sees more then dull ones,
And Holinesse far clearer then Uncleaness.
I wonder what loose words and actions
Have pass'd from you, to give incouragment
To the kind ravisher ; for I have heard
None can be ravish'd without some consent.
Be humbled, know you fault, live chaster Lady. (Enter Mel.
Fug. Sure I should think I'm guilty.
Mel. Out upon thee.
Fie Temperance, what here ? wilt thou have Eggs
And rotten Oranges flung at thee too ?
What can you chuse no other company
But this lewde, crack'd abominable peice ?
Cone. You see your company is scandalous,
I must take leave. (Ex. Mel. and Cone.
Fug. If there be any power
To see and judge, I challeng his assistance.
What have I done, unlesse too stedfast coynesse
Be now accounted loosenesse ? what's my Crime,
That such a general storme of loude disgrace
Conspires to bear down Innocence ? Hold heart,
Hold my weake spirits : for if this continue
I shall grow desperate.
206
SCENA VIIH.
Enter to her Malevolo.
Fug. Pitty me Father,
My name is stain'd beyond all patience.
Sir Timerous having foolishly put on
My shape ; in stead of me was rudely ravish'd
By blustring Audax. The reproach is mine.
You know a darksome cloud can much obscure
The face of water though as pure as Christal.
Mai. Audax shall rue this base attempt, whose shadow
Blots your opinion, and portends more danger
Unto your Person. Cast your cares on me.
Fug. 1 may communicate, not cast them off. (Ex. Fug.
Mai. I thought to use him in a bold design
Gainst Liveby, and I will ; 'tis dangerous
Unto himself e. If combat ruine one,
Vengeance persues the other : thus He make
The vanquish 'd and the victor both my prey,
And whilst they fight, my selfe shall win the day.
SCENA IX.
Enter by him Irato and Audax quarreling.
Ir. What, you that Office ? know your turn ; give place
First to your betters. You be General ?
Au. Yes I. And know, that whilst I hold a Sword
To prove my worth, the Sun beholds none better.
Neither your Lordship nor Controwlership
207
Can dastard me.
Ir. But I shall teach you distance.
Au. Make me draw back one inch, and gain this place,
Then thou gain'st That. Be calmer good Irato.
Ir. Unwing the Lightning, stop Araxes floods,
Then mayst thou stop my wrath, and guard thy selfe
Against my stroke.
Mai. Hold, hold ; what means this Fury ?
May I be Umpire in your difference ?
Au. Know it you may ; this feirce and haughty Lord
Crosses my aime, and stands Competitour
For what he understands not, to be General.
Ir. Not understand ? Give way Malevolo.
Au. You may be fit to quarrel in a Tavern,
But not to lead an Army.
Ir. Give me scope ;
Unlesse thou wouldst be broach'd on the same blade,
And coupled plung in Styx ; open the way.
Mai. Why would you seek this Office ?
Ir. Cause I scorn
That any man should be prefer'd before me.
Mai. And why would you ?
Au. Because I can do service ;
And would gain honour, equal unto His.
Mai. There's yet no Army levi'd, there's no cause,
But doubtful Rumour.
Au. When there is, He lead it.
Mai. Yes, both alike ; while you contend for shadows,
Liveby will bear the substance from you both.
Rid him, then you may talk.
208
Au. What sayes Irato ?
Ir. Agreed.
Mai. Then you shall take him now in th* Evening,
Comming from Intellectus : there's his haunt,
(Ex. Ir. & Au.
Now try your fury on a third ; for I
Stanch'd not this combat out of love, but hate,
To turn them hot, and mad, on Liveby's blood ;
That done, meet seas again ; Tie be no Isthmus ;
But spur their heat, and clap them on the shoulder.
For I my selfe first rais'd this bruite of war,
For fuel of some new commotion ;
Which luckily takes fire betwixt these two.
SCENA X.
Enter by him Amorous and Musitian. Then Morphe.
Mai. Now Amorous; you sit in Fortunes lap,
Your Mistresse sits in yours ; you spend your dayes
In Honour, and Delight.
Am. I shall the more,
If with your liking.
Mai. Mine ? I am your Theme
For mirth at Court ; one of your Hobbyhorses :
And glad of such preferment ; but Tie dash
And poyson your sweet delicates.
Am. Your hate (Ex. Mai.
Shall not break off my Scene of Love. Stand there,
And send thy notes like shafts through Morphe's Eare.
o 209
Musitian Sings.
Sweet Morphe lend a feeling eare
To the soft straines wherein I bear
My sow/, and sigh it out to thee
Composed of sweeter harmony ;
With one kind word or smile
Reprive the man a while,
Who life doth crave
Thy print to save
And feares to make his breast, thy Pictures grave.
Mor. (Above) Why do you trouble both your selfe and me,
With such fond circumstance of open wooing ?
Am. I'm glad at any rate to hear your voice,
Though sent in chiding. But my dearest Morphe,
I have a businesse to you from the Queen,
Besides mine own.
Mor. This you pretend to wrong me.
Though I be loyal, yet my loyalty
Ought not to make me Traytor to my selfe.
Am. If I be false or any way immodest,
Accuse and shun me.
Mor. Shall I then believe you ?
Am. Adde to that curse a greater if you can,
And may it fall upon me.
Mor. Well, I come. (Mor. descends.
Am. Now having liberty to act my will,
No Law but this vain curse to hold me in,
How shall I bear my selfe ?
Mor. What wills the Queen ?
210
Am. She calls you to her company at Court.
She wants your privacy ; you likewise want
Her publick presence. O you wrong your beauty
By shutting such a Jewel from the gaze
Of solemne adoration.
Mor. Pray excuse me ;
If I have beauty, let me keep it well.
The various Fashions, and new Fancies there,
In the opinion of us plainer beauties,
Do but Sophisticate the Elements
Of native Colour, and distort the lines
Of proper figure. What should I do there ?
Say I am sickly, as this news hath made me.
Farewell Sir Amorous.
Am. Nay, tis not Modesty
But blunt stupidity to part so soon.
May I not walk and take you by the arme,
And passe a faire discourse ? what hurt in This ?
May I not feed my spirits with the aire
That fans your cheeks ? lighten mine eye from yours ?
Is this immodest ?
Mor. Hark.
Am. 'Tis the clash of weapons.
211
SCENA XI.
Enter Livebyhope persued by Audax and Irato
They speed him and pass along.
Liv. Help Amorous, help. — O — it comes too late.
Am. Ignoble Swords, and bloody butcherers !
Who would believe that two such Hercules
Should joyn against a single Hylas thus.
It was not manly. Morphe O my life ! (Mor. Sownes.
This hideous sight hath struck her gentle spirits
With frighted numnesse. Water, spirits, help.
Enter Mus. and out again.
Out strip the wind, fly for a physitian.
Fie rub her Temples, rouze her by the name
Which she best knows : Morphe.
Liv. O!
Am. Life there appears ;
Is there none here ? how should I save them both ?
Help there, 'tis but a Sowne. I feele some breath.
Tie bear her hence. O that my armes might clasp
Her living thus, and willing. (Ex. Am,
SCENA XII.
Enter Intellectus Agens.
Int. Hence did thrill
That peircing noise. What's here ? see false mine eyes !
Poor Liveby slaine ? then for thy Soveraignes favour
Thou diedst a Martyr.
212
Liv. O, Intellectus help.
Int. He speaks ; ther's hope of life. If Art can save
A thrid so mangled, thus He bear thee to't.
Although my breast have us'd to bear it's burden
Within ; and not without. — (Ex. Int. bearing Liv.
Am. (above) Looke carefully
Unto your Lady. Let the Physitian
First speak with me. Now to my second loade.
(He descends.
What ? vanishM ? I have heard of walking ghosts,
Never of walking carcasses. Then surely
The Murderers have drag'd him hence. His blood
Will rise upon their cheekes ; arid it shall speak
Lowd on my Tongue.
SCENA XIII.
Enter by him Fancie in a Turbant, Fuga, after a while
Musitian, Desperate.
Fan. Now in my Turkish Turbant
I walk to find Sir Amorous in his heaven.
Be not so deeply discontented Fuga.
Fug. Unlesse you cleare me openly, I die.
Fan. I finde you Amorous somewhat neare your Center.
Your Morphe fittest is to be a Queen.
I go to waite on her, and fetch her home
With me.
Am. Sweet Soul (that's all she is by this)
I cannot tell you in what world she is
213
Nor where I am my selfe.
Fan. And why?
Am. She's dying,
Frighted with such a dismal accident,
That when I tell it, I much fear your highnesse
Will be as weak as she.
Fan. Speak, I am arm'd.
Where's Livebyhopel
Am. The same I faine would know :
Last when I saw him, he was laid for dead.
Fan. How dead ?
Am. Tis so. Just now : not far from hence,
Two bloody Villaines, Audax and Irato,
Persued and sped him with two mortal wounds.
I ran to help ; Morphe felle in a Sownd ;
I bore her hence ; mean while his Corps was gone.
Fan. I am perplex t beyond my power of bearing.
My arme is lopt, my Kingdom is all tumult,
The Passions taking vantage of my Law,
Follow their humours to their mutual ruine ;
And run like Vessels till they quite run out.
(Enter Mus. with Desp. Am. seems to talk with him.
Am. Mix some ingredient to excite her Love.
Doctor, thou shalt be rich.
Desp. Tie fit you all.
Morphe for physick sends, Malevolo
Hath purchased me long since to give her poyson ;
Sir Amorous buyes a Love-pill : I my selfe,
Ev'n I, that will be Master in conclusion,
Intend to mix them all : then fight confusion. (Ex. Desp.
214
SCENA XIIII.
Enter to them Audax and Irato, at length
Malevolo secretly.
Au. Pleases your highnesse to decide by choice,
Or leave it to our Swords, who shall be General ?
Fan. Then I am bound to honour one of them
For their good service. Bloodhounds, have ye murder'd
One worth you both ? and dare to ask reward
Of me ? of me so wrong' d ? So both will joine
In mutual revenge, and fall together,
Fight for't.
Ir. Fond Queen, what if our rage proceed,
To hew Sir Amorous for telling this,
You for distasting ? all will be but humour.
Au. Then give us not occasion to proceed.
Fan. Proceed, I pray you, do. Lo, here's my breast.
Tent it ; to finde the greife which I conceive
For Livebys Death, and your more horrid .Lives.
What, have ye surfeited with blood ? good Amorous^
Do't thou, do't streight : what these refuse as Rebels,
Do as a Friend. Kill me, but kill me gently,
With some sad straine under this spreading Oake.
Am. I hope 'twil ease not kill you. Sing of Venus.
(Musitian Sings.
Once Venus cheekes that sham'd the morn
Their hue let fall ;
Her lipps, that Winter had out born,
In June looked pale :
215
Her heat grew cold, her nectar dry,
No juyce she had but in her eye,
The wonted fire and flames to mortifie.
When was this so dismal sight ?
When Adonis bad good night.
(Ex. Mus.
Fan. The same which turn'd her beauty, turns my Fancy,
Alas poor Liveby. What dee mean to thrust ?
Fie what a presse is here ? stand off ; for I
Am but a Cloud : your Elbowes peirce me through ;
Your hot and angry breaths will streight dissolve me.
(Enter Malevolo secretly.
And I shall crack into a showre of Teares.
Am. Alas she's crak'd indeed, the Queen's distempered.
Fan. Do you not see, and hear a Lamb there bleating ?
Pray kill him not, he bears the head of Liveby.
Au. In a mad world what use of place? what businesse?
Ir. Now had I any anger left, I'd shred
That Fidler into Atomes.
Au. O, I'm struck
(Plague on Malevolo that sets us on !)
I'm struck at heart with leaden heavinesse.
Ir. I feele my veins now curdled ; what successe
But Horror of this Fact ?
Mai. I see and hear (Ex. Ir. & Au.
Enough to grate me. O that plotts well laid
Should thus be dash'd and foyld. (Ex. Mai.
216
SCENA XV.
Enter Melancholico with a Petition, after him Sir Timerous
in mans habit.
Mel. That naughty Boy
Hilario hath match'd me to the Divel.
Hell flames are in her ; she hath stuck a brand
" Into my bones ; I sue for just divorcement.
Am. Did not you snuffle till you match'd my Daughter?
Peace, or you'l shame your selfe.
Fan. A pretty Picture,
Here's Day and Night united in one peice ;
Look here a Swan, look there a foule black Raven.
Tim. Justice great Queen against a multitude.
Am. That's hard to be obtain'd.
Tim. Against Irato,
Hilario, Desperato, Audax :
Some beat, some cheate, some rob, some ravish me.
Fan. What saist ? Go on and still that howling kennel.
I know you well, for all you are a Tortesse,
And have liv'd like a frog in diverse Elements.
Of what Gender are you ? Go learn of Proteus
How to do tricks. If you be dull and blockish,
You must be beaten. Come to me for Justice ?
Judge one another, or get you all to Lively.
Tim. He's in his grave.
Fan. And therefore get ye to him.
Tim. No doing's here : I'm gone.
Mel. And I: but whither? (Ex. Tim. & Mel.
Fan. No Amorous, Liveby sleeps, but Morphe's dead.
217
Am* Heaven help you Lady.
Fan. But I can soon restore her.
44 Take you the sent of a Travellers toes,
44 The sneeze of a Sleeper fresh from his nose ;
" The fat of a Frier well fed with fasting,
44 The lean of a Drunkard consumed with tasting ;
44 The juyce of a Lemmon thats civil at seasons,
44 Twelve dancing Capers, ten lunatick Reasons;
44 Two dying notes of an ancient Swan,
44 Three Sighes a thousand years kept if you can:
44 Some scrapings of Giges his Ring may passe,
44 With the skin of a Shadow caught in a glasse ;
44 Six penyworth of Thoughts untold,
44 The jelly of a Star before it be cold ;
44 One ounce of Courtship from a country-Daughter,
44 A grain of Wit, and a quart of Laughter.
44 Boyle these on the Fire of Zeal or of Lust,
44 With some beech Coales, least the Vessel burst.
If you can get these Ingredients, He compound them for you.
Then when she is perfectly recovered, she shall be married
In a rich cloth of Rainbow lac'd with Sun-beames.
Am. I hope Desperato hath given her other Physick.
Fan. Desperato f is he her Physitian ?
Since hope is dead, we all must to despair.
218
SCENA XVI.
Enter Model bringing a message.
Mod. Pardon the messenger if he relate
What he could wish were false. Morphe once was :
But after physick brought by Desperato,
Raging and crying Amorous, She died.
Fan. Lo now, believe your Cybill next.
Am. If madness (Ex. Fan. Fug. Mod.
Be now so near allied to prophecy,
I shall grow Prophet too. What angry Star
Thus frownes on all the Passions, most on me ?
Ere since Prudentius dayes, we onely toil'd
In wretched mazes of confusion,
Mischeif, and discontent. I have not pass'd
One hour in those delights whereof I dream't ;
And now the object of my happinesse
Is clean extinct. But how ? O there's the torment !
My torment's doubled through my selfe the cause.
Curs'd be my heedlesse Love, which not content
With likely hopes, with honest wayes of wooing,
The wayes to long injoying, headlong ran
To arts forbid. She had such Innocence
Ev'n in her body, Temper so unforc'd,
That violent mixtures tending but to Love
To her were poysons. Yet methinks, sometimes,
There's Death in Desperato's looks ; perchance
He's divel in his dumps, as I in lust.
Where shall we finde the bottom of our woe,
Who but on Passion have no ground to go ! (Ex. Am.
Finis Actus IIII.
219
ACTUS V. SCENA I.
The Scene turnes to the house of Despair. A Table there laid.
Enter Desperate.
Desp. Grow blacker yet my thoughts, grow blacker yet :
Your Plummets have not f adorn 'd the full depth
Of Passions misery. I have invited them ;
But I must chang their Cheere ; and make it stronger
Then food and bare discourse. I onely live
For others death, and then Tie fill the heap
With mine own ruine : rather with mine ease :
For now the Passions flow like shoales of Fish
Into my net ; they sue to me for Counsel ;
Ev'n to me ; whose joy is in their death.
Just so the fearful Deere persu'd with dogs,
Flies to the keepers lodg, a surer Fate.
To poyson is dull art ; my selfe am sorry
For doing ill so poorly ; my design
Is now more glorious ; for Tie make them act
Their death upon themselves, and thank me for't
Amidst their groanings. There have been with me
Fancie herself e, distracted for her Liveby ;
Irato, Audax for massacring him ;
Sir Timerous and Fuga for impatience
Of their abuse. Unlesse Recorder Memor
Skil'd in the Law, have wayes to scape my Noose,
I doubt of none. I've bid them to a Feast,
But such a one, as Tantalus would shun ;
Where I shall feed on all the guests that come.
220
SCENA II.
Enter Sir Amorous.
Am. Black Desperato, did I lay two thrids
Upon thy spindle ? hast thou cut them both,
Morphe's and mine?
Desp. Why Sir, I mix'd your Philtre.
Am. She lives not me to love nor to be lov'd.
Didst thou mix nothing else ?
Desp. You know sometimes
That Death and Cupid do mistake their shaftes :
Had I mix'd Poyson too and serv'd two humours,
Both mine and yours, it might be well digested.
Am. If I had not a dear request unto thee,
To give me of the same, I would exact
Thy life for hers, however it was spilt.
Desp. If I had not design'd to kill some others
Out of meer kindnesse, thou shoulst try my skill
Of letting blood as well as giving physick.
But since I owe thee kindnesse out of hate,
Come to my Banquet, thou shalt have thy sawce.
There thou shalt meet thy friend Malevohj
Who shar'd in this, and gave as much for Poyson
As you did for your Philtre. I dealt honestly,
And pleasured Both. Come, thou shalt have thy sawce.
Am. Divel, I thank thee. — (Ex. Am.
221
SCENA III.
Enter Malevolo.
Desp. Now Malevolo.
Mai. To hate was still my hony : But this gall
Of being hated totally of all,
I cannot bear : for now I cannot hurt,
Having no Credit. Give me from thy store
A dram of Poyson. I have been thy friend,
Let it be strong.
Desp. First shake hands you must
With all the Passions, or at least make shew
Of formal reconcilement : stay a while,
My Guests and Cheer are coming.
SCENA IIII.
Enter to them Irato, Audax.
TV. Have we found
This monster here ? we'l send thy ugly soul
Unto her fellow Feinds for tempting us.
MaL I prompted you to kill. Were not you ready
To do as bad as I could say ? Meane while
I turn'd you from destroying one another.
Au. Twas for thine owne black Ends.
Mai. And say it was :
Might not I hate, as well as you might kill ?
My humour was as lawful.
222
Au. Hadst thou kept it
Home to thy selfe.
Mai. I labour not excuse,
But accusation of your equal Crimes.
Desp. He sayes the right ; and hospitality
Doth now require, ye should deferr your Broyles. (Ex. Desp.
SCENA V.
Enter to them Fancie in the Tiremans Coronet, hair disheveld,
in black and Silver habit. Fuga, Amorous, Timerous.
Fan. Sir, here's a Crown, (and tis the worth of mine )
Not to be matched in all the globe of heaven.
Now shall I feed upon Ambrosia
Most divelishly. What gods are these two Mars-es f
Am. Hell is broke loose ; here are more Feinds then two.
Fug. It shames me to look up ; through griefe I cannot.
Tim. Wud I could die a sleep in some darke hole
Unknown unto my selfe and all the world.
Am. Malevolo th* art damn'd.
Mai. How know you that ?
Am. And thou must sinke to hell now instantly
For killing Morphe. Thou shalt drink the same
That very Poyson.
Mai. Wei, so you'l begin.
223
SCENA VI.
Enter Hilario before Melancholico and Concupiscence,
brought in a Sedan.
Hit. Now Sister you are right : now you can snuffle.
41 As well as Melancholico. Care of fiction
"With help of somewhat else hath brought perfection.
44 None come in Pomp but you : weaknesse is stately.
44 Twere brave if these two beasts that draw without
44 And these two rotten carcasses within
44 Made it not look so Cart-like. My clean couple,
If you would be divorc'd, there's none can do't
Like Desperato ; he can seperate
At a world's distance ; that ye ner'e shall meet
To clamour me or others, or your selves.
44 Fan. A pretty kinde of Coach ; one horse before
44 And one behinde !
Am. Horses ? why, these are Men.
Fan. I see it now ; it is the glass-mans pack.
44 Have you good choice of Glasses, made in Figure
44 Of Guns and Trumpets, or of Rats and Owles?
44 Last time I saw the like, I bid a Gallant
44 Begin a health, and after break his glasse :
4 4 So did the rest ; but do not do so now,
44 Least for a Glasse some should mistake a Lady.
44 Hil. Femals are Venice mettle.
Am. These sad men
Use to be sumptuous in their Feasts.
Hil. And witty.
Tim. I fear 'twill be too great.
224
Ir. Too tedious.
Au. Wellcome and bold Fie be.
SCENA VII.
Enter Desperato before his banquet serv'd in cover'd dishes.
Desp. Aerious Queen,
Here are no Phoenix eggs ; had nature any,
You should have some : and eggs sublim'd with Amber
I thought too mean. I have not now selected
Rare filling meats, but rarely physical,
And swiftly curing all the maladies
Which time can throw upon the face of man.
Each dish containes a general remedy,
Beyond th' Elixir, or the golden Liqueur,
Though it were drunk in th' Antimonial Cup.
Open and try.
Am. What's here ? Knives, Bodkins, Daggers ?
Mai. Ropes, silken, hairy, hempen ?
Tim. Little papers,
Of witty, loving, raging, sleeping poysons ?
Desp. There's Wine to temper them.
Hit. So, where's the Wine ?
I still come somewhat merry to a Feast,
And still go merrier back. This is my messe :
All this to all.
Fan. Is this our entertainment ?
Desp. Could Art invent, or Wealth procure you better ?
The Greatest, Wisest, Stoutest and the fairest
p 225
Have chose these Gates to relish their last palats :
Have you not heard of Mithridates, Cato,
Of Hannibal, and Cleopatra ? These,
These gods on earth have travl'd to their home
With such provision. Tast. One tast of these
Forever frees from Hunger, Thirst, Want, Griefe :
These are receites for immortality.
Tim. But through a mortal way.
Desp. That sleeping Dos
Will steal thy fearful soul insensibly.
Tim. Then that shall bear me hoodwink'd unto Lethe ;
There Tie forget my wrongs.
Hit. Manners however ;
First let the Queen begin. I broke that Rule
My selfe, and therefore mum. Well danc'd yond
Scaffold. (He falls into a chaire.
Desp. These things the most of you desir'd ; All want ;
Y'are wellcome all.
Hit. No, no more I thank you.
Desp. Death to the wretched soul as needful is,
As sleep unto the weary. Why should men
Condemnd to misery thus toile to mend
Their Fates which cannot alter ?
Hil. This DesperatOj
What a gift he has ! he never was at th' University ;
Never took Orders, and yet lectures as good Divinity
As commonly we finde in most Dutch Systems
Or City-conventicles.
Desp. Pleases your Highiiesse
To chuse and give the signal, that we all
226
May waite upon your dying.
Fan. Reach me then
The witty poyson.
Am. Me the loving mixt ;
That when I die, embracing her Idea,
My Soul may keep that print, and bear from hence
A heaven within me. He that stript of flesh
And lust still loves, will shew true love indeed.
But you Malevolo shall take my part.
Mel. My place in heaven is sure ; what need I hast ?
Yes, 'cause I live in hell.
Desp. Then take these banes
Mentioned before.
Hit. Do ; as good he poyson thee
As thou else drown thy selfe.
Mel. Poyson I have too much
Already, and in vain. Reach me your halter.
Hil. Hoh hoh hoh ; a halter ? a dagger, he's so rotten,
He'l ne're hold hanging. Now for my part, sleep
Kills me sufficiently ; He die before hand.
Cone. In lust I liv'd with man ; to kill that sin
Lend me that ponyard, so I'le manly die.
Fug. This Bodkin is my husband ; this alone
Shall know my flesh, and finde I was a Virgin.
Au. Come joyn Irato, as we liv'd lets hang,
Two nooses and one rope will serve us both.
Ir. Tis a dogs death, and therefore not unfit.
Hil. Hoh hoh hoh.
Mai. Choice I neglect, whatever can dispatch
Loath'd life is sweet. My hate would faine turn home,
227
But cannot : Still me thinks I feele content
In seeing such a fruitful race of mischeife,
Because it sprung from me. If Fancies madnesse
Had not unhing'd the course of my design,
And brought remedilesse confusion
On all the Passions here at once ; unseen
Beloved and honor'd, I with Art and Pleasure
Had done what Desperato does by chance.
He onely held the Net ; I hunted in
The store of game : The praise is mine. And now
I die not with remorse of hate, but want
Of objects to be hated. Thus the worme
Having consum'd the Orb wherein it liv'd,
Doth lastly turn its hunger on it selfe.
Should I survive I could not finde more work,
Unlesse I learn'd to pitty what is done.
That's worse then death.
Desp. When I have rid you all,
If I slink off let all the world besides
Fling stones. In such good company to fall,
Must needs be lightsome. And before our death
A Hymne is necessary. Then sing good Fellow.
An Attendant sings in a base.
Come heavy souls oppressed with the weight
Of Crimes, or Pangs, or want of your delight,
Come drown in Lethe's sleepy lake
Whatever makes you ake.
Drink health from poyson'd bowles,
Breathe out your cares together with your souls.
228
Cool Death's a salve
Which all may have
There's no distinction in the grave ;
Lay down your loads before deaths iron dore,
Sigh, and sigh out, groan once, and groan no more.
SCENA VIII.
Enter towards the end of the song Intellectus Agens with a
book. Livebyhope and Morphe.
An. Ha ! thou com'st to challeng : but thou art spirit,
I cannot wound thee. Stay some few short minutes,
Till I have quite undress'd me of my flesh ;
And stand on equal termes, then I will fight.
Else if thou canst, kill me ; and take my flesh ;
Then Tie kill thee again. Thus o're and oVe
We'l kill each other and be ghosts by turnes.
Ir. My anger is not high : I onely guess
He comes to shew the way to following ghosts.
Fan. I gave him once a house, my most remote,
Perchance 'tis in Elysium, he invites me.
Am. But Morphe stands as if she bid me come
Like a clear spirit fitly to salute her.
Mai. Why should that sight fling Ice into this heart ?
Tim. and Fug. O horrid !
Desp. Come what will, I can but die.
Mai. Hath this shrewd Scholer conjur'd up these ghosts ?
Int. I see you are amazd ; the snares of death
Are tangled on your hands : you think these sights
A pair of ghosts ; feel, and when you feel them
229
True flesh, alive and war me, next you must know
They are a token sent from Prudentius.
Am. How ? from Prudentius f hath he rais'd the dead
And wretched both at once ? and sent me Morphe ?
Fan. And giv'n me hope again ? a dainty show,
Who'ere contriv'd it.
Am. Be thou shade or substance,
Since thou appear 'st in such a lovely shap,
My soul lie mingle with thine airy hand,
And strive to suck from thence the hated poyson.
But soft, I may do rashly.
Int. Know once more,
These are not ghosts, nor ever were ; but live
Preserved with care, and sent with love from him,
Whom ye refus'd, your King Prudentius.
Am. By heav'n, true flesh and warme.
Fan. Why speakes not Hope
If he have breath ?
Ir. Speak : free us from thy blood,
For which we have been angry with our selves.
Au. Speak, if thou canst, thou must.
Liv. I fear'd to startle.
Unsettled heads with unexpected speech.
High Mistresse, your distracted grief e for me
Had almost kill'd me when I was recovered.
Fan. I am recovered by this voice. Then tell me
Thy preservation.
Liv. Audax and Irato
Know how they left me.
Au. Kill us for amends :
230
Liv. Alas your death's would profit me no more
Then mine could you : but gracious Intellectus
Found and releiv'd me, while Sir Amorous
Carri'd in Morphe.
Int. Him I took up gasping
Tempered like Ice before it thaw and crack,
In such a glimmering state of doubtful life
As Candles have before they blaze and vanish.
Mai. These ropes will all be mine.
Int. And her I sav'd
By looking on her mixt and poysnous physick.
The simples I extracted, and gave out
The same effect which likely would have follow'd.
Am. Pardon my fault, I nothing mixt but love,
Those villaines added poison.
Mor. Heav'n forgive
As I forgive you all.
Am. Give me some poyson. (Int. Liv. and Mor. stay him.
You stay me too !
Mor. Although I love thee not
Beyond an honest man, I cannot see
Thee die neglected.
Hil. What a coile is here
With ghosts ? I cannot take my rest for ghosts.
People, y'ar wellcome to this world. How fare
My fellow sleepers, ghosts, your Countrymen.
Int. Thank not my care for this, but thank Prudentius ;
Ask not what Genius sent me to releive
Expiring Hope, it was Prudentius :
Ask not what star compell'd my timely visit
231
Of Morphe poyson-trap'd, it was Prudentius.
From him proceeds their preservation ;
And yours in them. Snatch'd from the jawes of death
As lights blown in again you live through him.
This is your cast-away, your drosse, Prudentius.
Ir. I think we wrong'd him in our heedlesse anger.
Au. And yet his love seems payment for desert.
Fan. How shall I rule this craz'd and tottring State ?
Mai. I smell in what half point the wind is turning.
One breath will carry all the Passions
Back to Prudentius sailes. Now for a fetch.
Well, I'le prevent them all. Call back Prudentius, (alowde.
Let's sue to him for grace.
Au. Call back Prudentius. (alowde.
Mai. Tis quickly done. If this way lead to peace
I opend it ; but still I would stand safer.
AudaX) you have a Drum. Now do not you
And Lord Irato end your businesse sneaking.
Fan. Liveby you kept the Crownes : go with him Amorous,
Carry his own : I ne're esteem'd the Golden.
I can be Queen alone, and govern subjects
Of mine own making ; more then Kings can muster
Or Earth bring forth.
Am. I'le take Recorder Memor
To lay our sute in form. Then on our knees
We'l beg to serve him so, ev'n so forever.
Hil. Come, to our old new Sun.
Int. He's in his Court ;
And now me thinks his presence guilds the walls.
(Ex. Int. Liv. Am.
232
Mel. Though weak we'l go along.
Cone. Weake legs can kneel.
Desp. This peice of mine own banquet He assume
And walk in penance of a solemn halter. (Ex. Om. praeter Mai.
Mai. He go some neerer way, and recompence
My forward breach with much more forward duty.
For this Event spun out by Intellectus
Makes me think honesty may weigh with cunning.
Some sheep, some Fox will make a perfect man.
Howe're, me thinkes, these Sword-men might compound
Our Peace in Armes, and plead with violence.
SCENA IX.
The Scene returns to Prudentius his Court.
Enter one way Prudentius, Memor with the Crown, Intellectus,
Livebyhope, Amorous with the Sword. By another way
Malevolo soon after.
Mem. Without a Seizin no possession.
Your Crown is undefil'd, untouch'd.
Pru. Place thou
The world in my ballance, place in theirs
All Levity, then weigh them both. Next tell me
How ended those commotions which arose
Betwixt the third King Henry and his Rebells ?
Mem. He sentenc'd his Metropolis to flames
Their goods to his Exchequer, and their lives
Pru. No more. Should I do so ? do not I know
What doomes have pass'd upon untrusty Lawyers ?
233
Mem. 1 Sink before your mercy, be't like Henries.
Mai. Kneeling is but a Subjects Complement.
I sink.
Am. And I. (a Drum.
Mai. We might have stay'd to hear
What means this Drum.
SCENA X.
Enter Irato, Audax.
Au. We have descri'd a Fleet ;
And therefore call'd to armes.
Ir. Submissively
We prostrate our repentance with a sute,
That I and Audax may decide in Duel,
Who shall be sacrific'd for both to justice,
And the Surviver may be General. »
Pru. The Fleet which you suspect, is your defence ;
Unknown to you I sent it forth to guard
This Island from the dangers you have call'd,
By Tumult, Lust, Debate, and Discontent.
As for your Duel, 'tis a Savadg fury
By us forbid. But you have lately tri'd
A new found Duel, (was it honourable ?)
Two upon one : Or was it Captain-like
To kill a friend ? In any likely way
Hope would have further'd Audax: but when boldnesse
Growes impudent it turns a foe to Hope.
234
SCENA XL
Enter Fancie, Fuga, Hilario, Timerous, Melancholico and
Concupiscence. Soon after Desperate.
Fan. King of Affections. —
Pru. Queen of Inventions. —
Fan. Unlesse you think your selfe beholding to me
You are not fit to be my King. The Passions
I have so suffer'd in absurdity,
That now they beg your reign which they shook off.
Hit. I see there is some mirth in misery.
Fan. I kneel unto your grace to use me so,
As one that hath been Queen, and yet no Queen,
Rather a shew then Soveraign. I walk'd
But in mock majesty. Say it were true,
I sought it not, and what is worth a taking
If not a Kingdom ?
Hil. Down my frolic joynts,
Kneeling is now in fashion. Down, down Fuga ;
Concupiscence and Melancholico
Favour your selves with kneeling.
Mel. I kneel not
To thee, but to thy power ; I kneel to thee
But not adore thee.
Cone. Pardon.
Enter Desperato.
Desp. Thus attir'd
I wear my sentence. Sir, I can but offer
That power of doome which I my selfe might take.
Pru. If you ask pardon, ask it of your Prince ;
235
For I nor am, nor will be.
Au. Royal Sir,
Why have you giv'n us lives, if not to take
Or to preserve them ?
Am. Hope, speak for us Hope.
Liv. Be pleas'd thou god on earth.
Int. I likewise joyn
In this request.
Pru. He send them Epinietheus,
My Brother Afterwit ; and he shall rule them.
Those fooles whom Prudence cannot prerestrain,
The lash of Afterwit brings home again.
Au. We'l die upon this place.
Mai. And each man turn
To his own grave.
Pru. Do, and do not burden
Me with new cares for new Rebellion.
Au. We grone unto you ?
Pru. Why ? for here are many
That would be Kings. Amorous, this gay thing,
(He offers about his crown.
Which overlookes a Kingdom, may command
All choice of pleasure : take it for that use.
No ? then Malevolo to devour your flock,
T'ingrosse the Elements, and let none breath
That may resist, and onely spare a few
That may for fear do service, is't not glorious ?
Work with this Engine. No ? are you grown modest ?
Then Desperato, what a life it is
To have the power of hanging, or of causing
236
Some to prevent the gallowes in their prison.
What, hang your head so dully at a Crown.
Hit. This is to offer Sallets unto dogs.
Pru. Irato, anger is a Kings perfection
As roaring is the Lions. When his eye
Darts lighting, when he snaps his dagger hard
Cries hah and starts, doth he not then seem godlike,
And well deserve the name of Thunderer ?
Be thou that Jove. Not you? Then Captain A uda x.
You took great pains to win, now weare this Crown.
An. Any but yours I would.
Pru. Could ye get Crownes
Abroad as soon as pull off one at home,
Ye should be Kings or Deputies all over.
Now there can be but one : would that be Memor ?
Mem. In all records I finde no Lawyer Crown'd.
Hit. A Lawyer needs it not : to pen the Law,
And then interpret is as much as making.
Pru. Fancie you must be troubled once again
With this bright loade.
Fan. I loath'd it at the first.
Grant me the Soveraignty of changing fashions,
Promotion of new Projects, leave to weare
Such Coronets as these, I ask no more.
Pru. When I am King, be this thy Royalty.
Poor Diadem, since here thou canst not get
A Master, lye thou there for the next commer,
Or sink into thy Oare. None stoop to take thee ?
What all refuse, I, once refus'd of all,
Am fit to wear.
237
All. Long live Prudentius. (Int. & Liv. Crown him.
Pru. Then once more chain'd in Gold, He bear your burden.
Henceforth to awe your folly, be assur'd,
None of your crooked actions words or lookes
Hath scap'd my notice. They came fresh unto me
With tongues of spirits : But He leave the chiding
To your own Conscience. Now, thus reconciled,
I'le pardon your deserts, cannot reward them.
If you expect in sign of peace some matches
You are deceiv'd. Amorous shall not wed
Morphe, without a faire probation.
And Timerous I forbid ; such must not marry
As have no mettle, least they spoile their race.
But Melancolico and Concupiscence
Shall keep their state ; i'th'suburbs, or new-England.
Now rise. For shew of future correspondence,
Rank your selves friendly with your opposites.
Am. I live not by my line of life, but yours.
Mai. Love is a willing Passion, full of sweetnesse,
But not so serviceable as loyal hate ;
This loves with zeal and with comparison,
Works against all for one ; to serve your State
Let others love, whilst I for you shall hate ;
My selfe, if that you please ; and others so,
That hate with vertue hand in hand shall go.
Pru. Tis well, tis very well. Live as you look,
Irato beare the Sword : I'le view them all.
Thus betwixt love of good, and hate of ill,
With flight of this, and chast desire of that,
With sadnesse to be wise, joy for good ends,
238
Boldnesse for just attemps, Feare of unfit ;
Hope for true peace, despair of nothing lesse
Then meer Impossibilities, we'l walk
To Immortality upon those lines
Which a wise Princes breast nought else defines.
(Exeunt Omnes.
A SCHEME OF POSTURE.
Prudentius
F ancle
Intellectus
Memor
Amorous
Malevolo
Concupiscence
Hilario
Fuga
Melancolico
Audax Timerous
Livebyhope Desperate
After the musick ended, the Island appearing Setled.
ENTER THE EPILOGE. TO HIS MAJESTY.
BY this short Model of self-policy,
We find what use of Outward Soveraignty.
The Isle is setled, rage of Passions laid,
And Phancy stoopes to Prudence. Things so staid,
Our Scene which was but Fiction now is true ;
No King so much Prudentius as you :
Whose Rule is Reason, Throne the heart ; And now
No souls so Passionate as we ; that bow
239
Both with the weight of Duty and of Debt.
Henceforth our hearts all motion shall forget
But yours. Your Rule alone is fit to sway ;
Yet we no lesse your benefits obey.
Twixt both, our loyalty will nameless prove ;
That makes it Vertue, these will have it Love.
TO THE UNIVERSITY.
THE Isle is setled, Rage of Passions laid
Pliancy to Prudence bowes. Let all be staid
In your Acceptance too, and then each breast
Will cease its Floating, and as firmly rest
As doth our Scene. One Passion still would prove
An Actor when the Scene is shut, Our Love.
FINIS.
240
ADDITIONAL NOTES
ETCETERA
I
ADDITIONAL NOTES TO
THE POEMS
[For many of the following notes I have to thank my friends,
Mr. Percy Simpson and Mr. Thorn Drury.}
Page 2. In Commendation of Music. This song was printed
in " Parnassus Biceps,'* but the text, as there given,
is very defective. It is found also in " Academy
of Compliments," 1670, and perhaps in the earlier
editions of that book.
Page 3. Song. This song appears in " Wits Interpreter,"
1655: Pembroke and Rudyard's Poems: Lawes*
" Ayres and Dialogues " : and " Westminster
Drollery."
Page 6. A Song on a Sigh. This was printed in " Wit
Restor'd." The text there given is in most cases
inferior to that of my manuscripts: but there are
two variations that should be recorded. In stanza 3,
lines 5, 6, the printed version reads :
The angry sway of whose behest
Makes hearth and bellowes of one brest.
243
In stanza 6, lines 5, 6, the reading is :
Though not one soule our bodies joyne
Our bodies shall our soules combine.
Page 13. Song. This was printed in the Gentleman's Maga-
zine, July 1823. I do not think it had ever been
printed before that time.
Page 22. Lines 6, 7. It is, of course, the giant Briareus
who is here alluded to.
Page 25. On Fay r ford Windowes. This poem has sometimes
been attributed to Bishop Corbet ; but the evi-
dence in favour of Strode's authorship is, I think,
conclusive. Corbet wrote a poem on the same
subject ; but it is much inferior to Strode's.
I believe it is now generally admitted that the
artist who designed the windows was named Aps
or Apes : at all events it is not now considered
possible that Durer could have designed them.
Page 27. Line 15. 'AtMomus wish.' The reference is to
Lucian's Hermotimus, ch. 20, where Momus, the
personification of fault-finding, has to decide a
contest in skill between Athena, who has made
a horse, Poseidon, who has made a bull, and
Hephaestus, who has made a man. He criticised
Hephaestus severely " because he had not made
windows in the man's breast, that by opening
these anybody could see clearly his wishes or
thoughts, and his truth or untruth."
Page 28. On a Gentlewoman's Blistred Lipp. Line 8. Seize
=size. Line u. ' Doth any judge that face more
244
fayre ' is the reading of two MSS. in my possession :
*less fayre' is the reading of the "Parnassus
Biceps " version. There are many other variations
in the latter version: but they are all, I think,
inferior to the readings I have given.
Page 29. To a Gentlewoman for a Friend. Line i. Perhaps
we should read * Sunne-bright eye ' instead of
* Sunnes bright eye/
Page 33. On a Dissembler. This poem is printed in " Wit
Restor'd." The text, as there given, is very de-
fective ; but it may be noted that in the seven-
teenth line we have 4 breathe ' instead of * see ' ;
and in line 29 the reading is 'guilty' not 'guilded.'
Page 38. A Watch Sent Home. This poem is printed in
"The Academy of Compliments," 1670, and also
in " Wits Recreations."
Page 39. On a Gentlewoman, &c. Line 7. * To keepe lesse
noise at Nile.' An allusion to the cataract near
Syene, referred to in Macrobius, Somnium Scipionis,
2, 4, section 14.
Page 42. To a Valentine. This was printed in " The Academy
of Compliments."
Page 43. Posies. A few of these '* Posies " were printed in
" Wits Interpreter," 1655. Some are found in Pem-
broke and Rudyard's Poems.
Page 46. On the Picture of Two Dolphins. This poem is
printed in Pembroke and Rudyard's Poems, 1660.
Page 47. Sonnett. This poem is printed in "The Academy
of Compliments," and also in " Wits Recreations."
245
Page 48. A Lover to his Mistresse. This poem was printed
in the Gentleman's Magazine, July 1823.
Page 49. On a Gentlewoman. This poem appears in " Par-
nassus Biceps" and "Wits Interpreter."
Page 50. Of Death and Resurrection. In the Rev. John
Hannah's edition of Bishop King's "Poems and
Psalmns," 1843, a^tne known pieces written upon
this model are quoted. There are nine poems in
all : though Dr. Hannah seems to think that
Strode's consists of two separate poems. His text
agrees with mine, except that in the third line of
the second stanza his version runs thus :
Or like a shade on Athaz watch.
Page 51. On the Bible. This poem is printed in "Par-
nassus Biceps."
Page 53. Lines i, 2.
By mee the Welchman well may bring
Himselfe to Heaven in a string.
This is a very curious passage, and it is difficult to
sees its precise meaning. But probably it means
only that even a dishonest person (and Welchmen
had then, no doubt undeservedly, an evil reputa-
tion) might, by diligent study of the Scriptures,
be induced to abandon his vicious practices.
Page 55. On the Life of Man. Mr. A. H. Bullen informs
me that this poem is found in Gibbons' " First
Set of Madrigals," 1612, and therefore it cannot
have been written by Strode.
Page 58. On the Death of Mistresse Mary Prideaux. The
246
subject of this elegy was, no doubt, the daughter
of Dr. John Prideaux, afterwards Bishop of Wor-
cester. He was a person of considerable eminence
in his day. He was born in 1578 : was rector of
Exeter College, 1612-42 : vice-chancellor of Oxford
University at various periods : and became Bishop
of Worcester in 1641 : died 1650. He suffered
many bereavements in his private life. In " Mu-
sarum Delicise," page 107 (Hotten's reprint), there
is " An Epitaph upon Doctor Prideaux's Son." It
is as follows :
Here lyes his Parents hopes and fears,
Once all their joyes, now all their tears,
He's now past sence, past fear of paine,
'Twere sin to wish him here againe.
Had it liv'd to have been a Man,
This Inch had grown but to a Span ;
And now he takes up the lesse room,
Rock'd from his Cradle to his Tomb.
'Tis better dye a child, at four,
Than live and dye so at fourscore.
View but the way by which we come,
Thou'lt say, he's best, that's first at home.
Considering the strong resemblances which this
elegy bears to the elegies on Mary Prideaux, it is
hardly possible to doubt that it also is by Strode.
In William Browne's works (Muses Library edi-
tion, vol. 2, p. 287) there is an elegy on another
child of Dr. Prideaux.
247
ON MRS. ANNE PRIDEAUX, DAUGHTER OF MR.
DOCTOR PRIDEAUX, REGIUS PROFESSOR.
She died at the age of six years.
Nature in this small volume was about
To perfect what in woman was left out ;
Yet fearful lest a piece so well begun
Might want preservatives, when she had done,
Ere she could finish what she undertook,
Threw dust upon it, and shut up the book.
Browne has also an elegy " On a Twin at two
years old dead of a consumption," and this, I sus-
pect, was written upon another of Dr. Prideaux's
children, since the author alludes in it to
Two fair sisters, sweet and young,
Minded as a prophet's tongue
Thou hadst kill'd—
whom I take to have been Mary and Anne
Prideaux.
Although Browne nowhere refers to Strode, nor
Strode to Browne (so far as I can discover) they
must have been well acquainted. Browne was by
about ten years the senior of Strode, but they were
both Devonshire men, and both were educated at
Oxford. Both, as we have seen, were friends of
Dr. Prideaux. Browne also, like Strode, wrote an
elegy upon Richard Fishborne.
The following " Epitaph " came to hand too
late to be inserted in its proper place in the text,
and is therefore printed here :
248
EPITAPH
Keepe well this sacred Pawne, thou bed of stone,
For thou must render it a saint ; each bone
Shall bee requir'd, the very shrowd shall rise
Turn'd to a robe of light. Spend not your eyes,
Ye that lov'd her and vertue ; though the mold
Contain them both, though charity grow cold
Since shee is soe, yet know that after sleepe
She'el rise more fresh ; and memory will keepe
Due watch about her to preserve her name.
Untill her nature wake death cannot tame
The life of hope ; bee sure that where she lyes
The grave is but an usher to the skyes.
This was found by Mr. Simpson in Add. MS. book
30982, fol. 124 (British Museum), where it occurs
among a group of Strode's poems. It is unsigned,
but I think there can be no doubt that it is
Strode's. It is in fact a re-setting of the third
section of the elegy on Mary Prideaux, in a
shorter form and in a different measure.
Page 66. On the Death of a Twin. Transcribed from one of
my MS. books.
Page 69. Line 13. * Can never hate ' This is the reading
of the MS., but *hate* does not seem to be the
right word here. Possibly, it should be * have '.
Page 71. On the Death of Sir Thomas Lea. Printed from a
manuscript in my possession.
Page 73. An Epitaph on Sr. John Walter. From a manu-
script in the library of C.C.C., Oxford. See the
249
44 Dictionary of National Biography " for an account
of this gentleman.
Page 75. On Sir Rowland Cotton. Sir Rowland's encounter
with the Dane is alluded to several times in the
volume of " Parentalia " from which Strode 's
poem is taken. He beat the Dane in feats of
activity, including dancing and wrestling. He
was a follower of Prince Henry, who selected him
as the English champion for this match. After
Henry's death he retired from court.
Page 80. On the Death of Ladie Caesar. This lady was
probably the wife of Sir Julius Caesar (1562-1636),
for an account of whom see " Dictionary of National
Biography."
Pages 88-94. The various poems on these pages are all taken
from MSS. in my possession.
Page 89. Line 6. ' And proper weight.' In this line I have
substituted ' weight ' for * thanks ' which is the
reading of the MS. Evidently the writer, as often
happens, having written * thanks ' in the line above
inadvertently repeated it here in the place of the
right word.
Page 97. Line 21. * Thou that hast felt these panges,' etc.
This is a reference to the doctrine of Epicurus that
the summum bonum consists simply in the absence
of pain (non dolere).
Page 100-103. The poems on these pages are all from MSS.
in my possession. * A Letter ' and * Thanks for
a Welcome * are printed in *4 Parnassus Biceps."
250
Page 102. Thanks for a Welcome. Lines 7, 8. Strode is here
echoing Horace, Odes iii., xxi., 11-12.
Narratur et prisci Catonis
Saepe mero caluisse virtus.
Page 104. The Capps. This song appears in "Sportive Wit/*
1656 ; and in " Antidote against Melancholy," 1661.
There are many variations between these texts and
that I have printed. A few of those in «* Antidote
against Melancholy" may be noted here. In
stanza 6, lines 5, 6, the reading is :
And if you'l line him in the fist
The cause hee'l warrant as he list.
In stanza 8, lines 3, 4, the reading is :
When Caps drop off at healths apace,
The Cap doth then your head uncase.
Stanza 10 in this version reads :
The furr'd and quilted Cap of age
Can make a mouldy proverb sage,
The Satin and the Velvet hive
Into a Bishoprick may thrive,
The Triple Cap may raise some hope,
If fortune serve, to be a Pope.
The additional stanza which I have quoted from
Collier and Fairholt differs considerably from the
" Antidote against Melancholy " version :
The Jester he a Cap doth wear
Which makes him fellow for a Peer,
251
And 'tis no slender piece of Wit
To act the Fool where great Men sit,
But O, the Cap of London Town !
I wis 'tis like a goodly Crown.
Of all the different versions not one is entirely
satisfactory ; but it would be easy to form a very
good text by a process of selection from them.
Page 108. On a good legg and foot. From a manuscript in my
possession. It is printed in " Wit Restor'd." The
latter has many variations from my own version :
but it only seems necessary to take notice of lines
5-9, which run thus in the printed text :
Should be her leg and foot : why gaze we so
On th' upper parts, as proud to look below,
(In choosing wives) when 'tis too often known
The colours of their face are not their own.
As for their legs, whether they mince or
stride —
This poem was evidently imitated from, or inspired
by, Donne's Elegy xix.
Page 113. Line 24. * Mulsacke I dare encounter.' There is a
very rare portrait-engraving of Mulsacke, in which
he bears the implements of his trade and the ' home
and feather' of the text. There was besides a
highwayman, named Cottington, who was also
nicknamed ' Mulled Sack ' and who is sometimes
confounded with the chimney-sweep. In "The
Water-Cormorant" (pub. 1622) by Taylor, the
252
Water-poet, the author, after remarking that if our
grandfathers and grandams should rise from the
dead and behold the madness of the times, they
would think that England had become
— a mere babble Babell of confusion ;
That Muld-sack for his most unfashion'd
fashions,
Is the fit patterne of their transformations :
And Mary Frith doth teach them modesty
For she doth keepe one fashion constantly,
And therefore she deserves a nations praise,
In these inconstant Mome-like changing days.
Page 114. A Devonshire Song. Printed in ** Notes and
Queries,** ,Second Series, vol. x. p, 462, with
some variations, of which one — * rumbling * instead
of * tumbling * — in stanza i, line. 6, is clearly the
right reading.
Page 119. Love compared to a Game at Tables. This poem
appears in " Wits Interpreter."
Page 130. The two songs on this page seem to belong to an
earlier time than Strode's : but possibly the author
may have been consciously imitating the simplicity
of style of the older writers. The second song is
printed in " The Academy of Compliments."
Page 134. [Death Song]. This song is without a title in the
MS. from which it is copied. I cannot help thinking
that I have seen it in print somewhere, and most
probably in some play ; but I cannot at present
trace it. It looks much like the work of John
Webster.
253
II
NOTES ON
THE FLOATING ISLAND
Page 139. To the Reader. It may very well be thought
that the chief motive for the publication of the
play was the fact that the course of events in
England had been so prophetically fore-shadowed
in it. Some few passages in the play, it will be
noticed, are marked by inverted commas, as
though to draw special attention to them. It
may even be suspected that one or two of these
passages were after-insertions for which Strode
was not responsible.
It is evident from the passage referring to the
'great ones of the weaker sect* that some ladies
(and possibly the Queen herself) were offended by
the freedom with which Strode (chiefly in the cha-
racter of Concupiscence) had treated some of the
failings of the sex. ' Sect,' curiously enough, is
frequently used by the writers of the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries as a synonym for * sex.'
254
Page 140. Dedication. In the ** Dictionary of National Biog-
raphy" there is an account of Sir John Hele (1565-
1608), who was made queen's sergeant in 1602,
and knighted 1603. He founded the boys' hos-
pital at Plymouth. It was, I suppose, the son of
this gentleman, who was Str ode's friend and
patron.
Lines 5,6. * Twixt Actors and Spectatours
did appear small difference.' — This appears to mean
that the play aroused so much excitement and so
much party feeling among the spectators that
they became actors no less than the represent-
atives of the characters of the drama.
Page 141. Author -i Illustri. These Latin verses, the reader
will have observed, are signed * J. D.' I cannot
help thinking that this signature stands for John
Donne the son of the famous poet. He edited the
first edition of Corbet's poems, as Mr. Thorn
Drury has lately shown in " Notes and Queries,"
and he also edited the poems attributed to the
Earl of Pembroke and Sir Benjamin Ruddier or
Rudyard. He was, it is true, a most incompetent
and careless editor, yet we owe to him the
preservation of many things which might else
have been lost to us. My belief (right or wrong)
is that he edited this play, and that he wrote the
address * To the Reader.'
Page 148. Line 9. * So he hath been. For my part if I
255
broach ' — It is evident from this speech of Malevolo
that the character was intended to be a satirical
portrayal of William Prynne, the author of
" Histriomastix " (printed 1632), for the publica-
tion of which he suffered the loss of his ears.
Page 153. Line 20. St.Raviliack, and St. Garnett. Not all
readers, perhaps, maybe aware that Ravaillac was
the assassin of Henry IV., King of France ;
and that Father Garnett was (or at least was
accused of being) one of the gunpowder plot
conspirators.
Page 154. Scena IIII. Perhaps this scene may have been
suggested by the words of the King in Hamlet,
Act iv. scene v.
There's such divinity doth hedge a king,
That treason can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of his will.
Page 160. Line 6. * What'shall be done with Common sense
the Judge ? ' Does this refer to some particular
judge of the time ? or is ' Common sense ' equiva-
lent to ' popular opinion ' ? Most likely the latter,
I think.
Page 160. Line 23. * O now for wings like thought ' —
Perhaps a reminiscence of the words of Hamlet,
Act i. scene v. —
Haste me to know't, that I with wings as swift
As meditation or the thoughts of love —
256
Page 165. Line 9. 'Chioppiens for short.' Chioppien =
cork shoe. Thus in Hamlet, Act ii. sc. ii. —
By'r lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven
than when I saw you last, by the altitude of a
chopine !
Page 1 66. Line 23. ' In fashion for my Sex, my Sex, to
wooe.' This is the reading of the printed text,
but I believe it should be as follows —
In fashion for my Sex thy Sex to wooe.
Page 167. Scene III. line 3. In this line I have substituted
* sleeking ' for the ' seeking ' of the original,
which cannot, I think, be correct. Jonson, in
Catiline, Act ii. i. has * Shee do's sleeke with
crums of bread, and milke.'
Page 167. Scene III. line 9. 'Fly, fly, ye Baggases.' * Ba-
gasse, a Baggage, Queane ' — Cotgrave.
Page 171. * Au. reaches the Golden, Mai. the Scepter.1 Sic in
original, but evidently we should read Golden
crown.
Page 180. Line ii. *Such as were made for certain Lord
Protectors.* It is hard not to suspect that this line
is a later addition to the play. Though Strode
may have had insight enough to see that if King
Charles were deposed he would be succeeded by a
successful soldier, it is difficult to believe that he
would thus hit upon the exact title which he
would assume. It is possible, however, that the
author may have had the Lord Protector Somerset
in his mind.
R 257
Page 180. Line 19, etc. Why these lines, and a number of
others throughout the play, should have inverted
commas placed before them, it is not easy to
imagine. In some cases they may have been
intended to mark passages to be omitted in the
performance. In this case I am of opinion that
the editor of the play intended by their use to
draw special attention to the present scene ; con-
sidering that Strode had here made a remarkable
forecast of the course of events in the struggle
between King and Commons.
Page 182. Scena III. Perhaps the speeches of Hilario in this
scene should be printed as prose, not verse; but
possibly their irregularity wasintended by theauthor
as being appropriate to the speaker's character. .
Page 183. Line 24. ' Quartilla.' A reference to the Satyricon
of Petronius, section 25.
Page 184. Line 12. 'So Iphist* etc. The tale of Iphis and
lanthe is in Ovid Met. ix. 667 foil. ; and of
Tiresias* change of sex, ib. iii. 316 foil.
Page 185. Line 4. 'Then first ourselves,' etc. See the Intro-
duction for some comments on this very remark-
able passage.
Page 185. Line 25. ' Why have I not my Beds,' etc. A remi-
niscence of the words of Sir Epicure Mammon in
Jonson's Alchemist, Act ii. sc. ii. —
I will have all my beds blowne up ; not
stuft :
Downe is too hard.
258
Page 186. Sc. IIII. line 6.
Tis an honest project
Thought on by Memor.
That Memor, like Malevolo, was intended to
represent (of course satirically) some well-known
person of the time is, I think, certain. And I
also think it probable that all the conspirators
were intended to be recognisable delineations of
various opponents of King Charles's policy. It is
plain at any rate that Melancholico was intended
to caricature some -well-known puritan leader
of the period. Perhaps Sir Edward Coke was
aimed at in the character of Memor.
Page 189. Scena V. It is difficult to avoid the suspicion
that this scene was suggested by the duel scene in
Twelfth Niglit. Sir Timerous Fear-all bears not
a little resemblance to Sir Andrew Aguecheek.
Page 192. Scena VI. It seems rather hard to believe that
Strode, a grave divine, could have written some
of the very free passages in this scene ; or that
they could have been spoken in the performance
before the Court. Perhaps the passages with
inverted commas before them are interpolations.
Page 196. Line 18. ' This trick Malevolo.' This passage is
an additional proof that Prynne was aimed at in
the character of Malevolo.
Page 200. ' " You call'd Peculiars rags of Popery.' This line
as it stands seems to be meaningless, having no
259
relation to what goes before or follows it.
* Peculiar ' is defined in the N.E.D. as * A parish
or church exempt from the jurisdiction of the
ordinary or bishop in whose diocese it lies.'
Page 200. Line 17. 'But to a woman,' etc. Why this pas-
sage should be printed in italics does not appear :
it may have been merely a whim of the printer's.
Page 208. Line 5. * Stop Araxes floods.* A reference to
Virgil Aeneid,vni.72S, *pontem indignatus Araxes,'
upon which Servius has a story of the Emperor
Augustus bridging the river when an earlier bridge
built by Alexander had been swept away. The
river is the modern Aras flowing into the Caspian.
Page 212. Line 2. ' They speed him.9 * Speed ' here signi-
fies * kill.' Its use in this sense is not uncommon
in the old dramatists.
Page 214. Line 16. ' Meanwhile his Corps was gone.' In
all the original copies the reading is ' his corps
were gone '; but as I cannot think that this is the
correct reading, I have substituted ' was ' for
'were '.
Page 219. Line 19. * The wayes to long injoying.' The
original reads * injoyning ', but as this is an
obvious error I have altered it.
Page 221. Line 8. ' Death and Cupid.' See the Elegies of
Secundus, ii. vi.
Page 223. Sc. V, line 4. * What gods are these two
Marses?' This is the reading of the original
text ; but perhaps it should be * What gods are
these ? two Marses ? *
260
Page 224. Line 2. * Care of fiction.' * Care* in the original
is in italics ; but as there seems to be no reason
why it should be so I have altered it.
Page 225. Scena VII. This scene appears to have been sug-
gested by the scene of the mock banquet in
Timon of Athens.
Page 227. Line 4. ' Me the loving mixt.' Perhaps ' mixt
should be ' mixture '; but as the former is possibly
right I have allowed it to stand.
Page 227. Line 23. ' This bodkin is my husband.' Three
out of four copies of the play which have
been collated read * husbands ' instead of 4 hus-
band ' ; but the fourth has the obviously right
reading * husband.' Let me state here that if my
readings do not always agree with those of any
particular copy it is not to be at once assumed
that they are therefore wrong. This play, like so
many others, was corrected whilst it was passing
through the press, and copies therefore differ from
each other in a good many points, though mostly
small and unimportant ones.
Let me say here that though I have, I think, noted
all really important instances in which I have
departed from the original text, I have not thought
it necessary to trouble the reader with every slight
emendation which I have made, or with all the
cases in which I have substituted a comma for a
full stop, or a full stop for a comma. I have
made no alteration without having what seemed
261
to me a very good reason for it ; nor have I made
any changes in what seemed to be doubtful cases.
After all something must be left to an editor's
discretion ; at all events I decline to make myself
a slave to the letter, if I must do so at the expense
of the spirit.
Perhaps it will not be out of place to remark
here that " The Floating Island " is now for the
first time so put before the reader that it is possible
to form a fair judgment of it. Few of our old
plays are even tolerably well printed ; but Strode's
drama, printed as it is in cramped and crowded
double columns on bad paper and with worse
type, is one of the worst ' got-up * of all of them.
It would be difficult to see the merits of Shake-
speare himself through such a medium ; and per-
haps the entire neglect which Strode's play has
met with up to the present time is in no small
degree owing to the wretched typography of the
original edition.
Page 228. Line 3 of the Song. * Come drown, etc.1 All the
copies of the original edition which have been
collated read * down * instead of ' drown,* but
the latter is obviously the right word.
Page 232. Line 10. 'I smell in what half point the wind is
turning.* This is another instance of Strode's power
of forecasting events. Though Prynne (i.e., Male-
volo) had been so strong an opponent of the policy
of Charles I., he became in the latter years of the
Commonwealth one of the strongest advocates for
262
the restoration of the monarchy in the person of
Charles II.
Page 237. Line 18. ' And then interpret is as much as
making.' I have substituted * is ' for ' it ' in this
line, considering that the latter is certainly wrong.
Page 238. Line 15. ' i'th* suburbs, or new-England.' We
know from Measure for Measure what an
evil reputation the suburbs of London then had,
but it seems curious that New England should be
coupled with them. I have in one of my MS.
books " A Song on New England," written in the
Devonshire dialect, and dating about 1630-40,
which relates the experiences of an emigrant who
went out to New England, but found things so
little to his liking there that he speedily returned.
263
Ill
STRADA'S NIGHTINGALE : THE
ORIGINAL POEM
From 'Prolusiones Academicae, Oratoriae, Historicae, Poeticae. . . .
Famiani Stradae.' Cologne 1617. Lib. II. Prolusio vi. Academia ii.
[The Essay quotes some experiments in poetic style ; the following pp. 353-
355 is in the style of Claudian.]
Claudiani
stylus.
Fidicen.
Philomela.
Fidium ex-
ploratio.
264
lam Sol a medio pronus deflexerat orbe
Mitius e radijs vibrans crinalibus ignem,
Cum Fidicen propter Tiberina fluenta, sonanti
Lenibat plectro curas, aestumque leuabat
Ilice defensus nigra scenaque virenti.
Audijt hunc hospes siluse Philomela pro-
pinquae,
Musa loci, nemoris Siren, innoxia Siren.
Et prope succedens stetit abdita frondibus, alte
Accipiens sonitum, secumque remurmurat, et quos
Ille modos variat digitis, hasc gutture reddit.
Sensit se Fidicen Philomela imitante referri,
Et placuit ludum volucri dare, plenius ergo
Explorat citharam, tentamentumque futurse
Praebeat vt pugnae, percurrit protinus omnes
Impulsu pernice fides. Nee segnius ilia Par Philo-
,. T . . melae respon-
Mille per excurrens vanae discnmina vocis Sj0
Venturi specimen praefert argutula cantus.
Tune Fidicen per fila mouens trepidantia
dextram,
Nunc contemnenti similis diuerberat vngue Ad Hispanae
• i i • t • i citharas mo-
Depectitque pan chordas et simplice ductu :
Nunc carptim replicat, digitisque micantibus vrget Minuritio.
Fila minutatim, celerique repercutit ictu.
Mox silet. Ilia modis totidem respondet, et
artem
Arte refert. Nunc ceu rudis, aut incerta canendi Par Philome-
Proijcit in longum, nulloque plicatile flexu lae responsio.
Carmen init, simili serie, iugique tenore
Prsebet iter liquidum labenti e pectore voci :
Nunc caesim variat, modulisque canora minutis
Delibrat vocem, tremuloque reciprocal ore.
Miratur Fidicen paruis e faucibus ire Fidiura varia
,— . jii • alternaque
Tarn varium tarn dulce melos : maioraque tentans percussio.
Alternat mira arte fides : dum torquet acutas,
Inciditque graues, operoso verbere pulsat,
Permiscetque simul certantia rauca sonoris,
Ceu resides in bella viros clangore lacessat.
Hoc etiam Philomela canit dumque ore liquenti
Vibrat acuta sonum, modulisque interplicat aequis ;
Ex inopinato grauis intonat, et leue murmur
Turbinat introrsus, alternantique sonore
Clarat, et infuscat ceu martia classica pulset.
Scilicet erubuit Fidicen, iraque calente,
Aut non hoc, inquit, referes Citharistria siluae,
265
Fidium
omnium
multiplex ac
plena com-
plexio.
Philomelse
responsurae
conatus.
Sed impar.
Eius obitus.
Vis aemula-
tionis.
Aut fracta cedam cithara. Nee plura loquutus
Non imitabilibus plectrum concentibus vrget.
Namque manu per fila volat, simul hos, simul illos
Explorat numeros, chordaque laborat in omni,
Et strepit, et tinnit, crescitque superbius, et se
Multiplicat relegens, plenoque choreumate plaudit.
Turn stetit expectans, si quid paret aemula contra.
Ilia autem, quamquam vox dudum exercita fauces
Asperat, impatiens vinci simul aduocat omnes
Nequidquam vires, nam dum discrimina tanta
Reddere tot fidium natiua et simplice tentat
Voce, canaliculisque imitari grandia paruis ;
Impar magnanimis ausis, imparque dolori
Deficit, et vitam summo in certamine linquens
Victoris cadit in plectrum, par nacta sepulcrum.
Vsque adeo et tenues animas ferit asmula Virtus.
[The Essay is a description of a poetic contest
in which distinguished writers of the day cham-
pioned their favourite poet by composing a piece
modelled on his style. Pope Leo invited them to
his Villa Manliana, on the banks of the Tiber
(* near what was once Caesar's gardens'), and an
artificial Mount Parnassus was constructed as
a stage for the champions. On the highest peak
Jovianus Pontanus as Statius ; on the second
slightly lower, Balthasar Castilio, the well-known
author of " The Courtier/' as Claudian ; Peter
Bembo as Lucretius at the foot, and so on. The
266
* Contention ' is quoted as Castillo's contribution.
Camillo presided over the contest as Arch-poet ;
the Pope looked on. No definite verdict was
given.]
267
IV
STRODE'S LATIN VERSES
I HAVE not thought it expedient to print Strode's Latin verses
in this volume, since very few readers could be expected to
feel any interest in them. However it seems worth while to
give a list of the books and manuscripts wherein they are to
be found. The following table includes all that I have been
able to trace.
BOOKS.
Annas Funebria Sacra, 1619
Ultima Linea Savillii, Oxon., 1622
Carolus Redux, Oxon., 1622
Funerall Elegies upon ... Sir John Stanhope, London,
1624
Camdeni Insignia, 1624
Parentalia Jacobo, 1625
Epithalamia Oxoniensia, 1625
Britanniae Natalis, 1630
Carmen Honorarium, Oxon., 1631
Kinaston's (F.) Amores Troili et Cressidae, 0*ow., 1635
Parentalia Spectatissimo Rolando Cottono, 1635
268
Musarum Oxoniensum Charisteria, 1638
Horti Carolini Rosa Altera, Oxon., 1640
Eucharistica Oxoniensia, 1641
Musarum 'E7rt/3ar^pta, 1643
MANUSCRIPTS.
Translation of English verses by Bishop Corbet " On the
Birth of Prince Henry."
Translation of English verses by Dr. Leonard Hutton on
the same subject.
Translation of Bishop Corbet's verses *' To his sonne
Vincent on his Birthday."
Translation of Corbet's " Certayne true words spoken
concerning one Benet Corbett after her death."
In obitum Gul. Herbert, comitis Pembroke.
In dominam Aliciam Corbet epitaphia.
In electionem Gulielmi episcopi Londinensis in cancellaria-
tum Acad. Oxon.
In sepulturam domini doct. Hutton, praebendarii ex JEde
Christ i.
In eundem caecum.
Epitaphium in mem. Ricardi Swayne.
Religious verse.
In Coll. Lincolniensis sacellum.
In patroni reditum tria.
In obitum M. Carew de Antony, 1621.
In obitum Ricardi Rice, sup. Bedel. Jur., obsonatoris et
lictoris.
In obitum R. Sackvill, comitis Dorset, duo.
269
In magistrum Semester, aulae Lafeport. praesulen.
In obi turn Baronis.
In obitum Gul. Godwin, aed. Christi decani : Jun. n. 1620
In doctoris [Ric]. Kilboei [rect. Lincoln Coll] obitum.
In obitum Henrici Savilii, cl[ari] Mathematici.
In obitum doctoris Rawley, medici peritissimi.
In nobilissimum baronem Chichester de Belfast: circa
1625.
[The above pieces are in MS. vol. 325, in Corpus Christi
College Library, Oxford. Other Latin verses by Strode are
in the same MS., but they are all printed, and have been
noted already as contained in the above-mentioned volumes.]
Translation of Ben Jonson's " Ode to Himself."
[I have a copy of this in one of my own MS. volumes. The
same volume contains also the translation of Corbet's u Verses
to his sonne Vincent.*']
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Strode, Wi 1 1 iam,
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