Crants to such brave loves will not be enthrall’d,
But loves her only who at Geneva ’s call’d
Religion, plain, simple, sullen, young,
Contemptuous yet unhandsome; as among
Lecherous humours, there is one that judges
No wenches wholesome, but coarse country drudges.
Graius stays still at home here, and because
Some preachers, vile ambitious bawds, and laws,
Still new, like fashions, bid him think that she
Which dwells with us, is only perfect, he
Embraceth her, whom his godfathers will
Tender to him, being tender; as wards still
Take such wives as their guardians offer, or
Pay values. Careless Phrygius doth abhor
All, because all cannot be good; as one,
Knowing some women whores, dares marry none.
Gracchus loves all as one, and thinks that so
As women do in divers countries go
In divers habits, yet are still one kind,
So doth, so is religion; and this blind—
Ness too much light breeds. But unmovèd thou
Of force must one, and forced but one allow;
And the right. Ask thy father which is she;
Let him ask his. Though Truth and Falsehood be
Near twins, yet Truth a little elder is.
Be busy to seek her; believe me this,
He’s not of none, nor worst, that seeks the best.
To adore, or scorn an image, or protest,
May all be bad. Doubt wisely; in strange way,
To stand inquiring right, is not to stray;
To sleep, or run wrong, is. On a huge hill,
Cragged and steep, Truth stands, and he that will
Reach her, about must and about must go,
And what th’ hill’s suddenness resists, win so.
Yet strive so, that before age, death’s twilight,
Thy soul rest, for none can work in that night.
To will implies delay, therefore now do
Hard deeds, the body’s pains; hard knowledge to
The mind’s endeavours reach; and mysteries
Are like the sun, dazzling, yet plain to all eyes.
Keep the truth which thou hast found; men do not stand
In so ill case, that God hath with His hand
Signed kings blank-charters, to kill whom they hate;
Nor are they vicars, but hangmen to fate.
Fool and wretch, wilt thou let thy soul be tied
To man’s laws, by which she shall not be tried
At the last day? or will it then boot thee
To say a Philip or a Gregory,
A Harry or a Martin, taught thee this?
Is not this excuse for mere contraries
Equally strong? cannot both sides say so?
That thou mayst rightly obey power, her bounds know;
Those past, her nature and name is changed; to be
Then humble to her is idolatry.
As streams are, power is; those blest flowers, that dwell
At the rough stream’s calm head, thrive and do well,
But having left their roots, and themselves given
To the stream’s tyrannous rage, alas, are driven
Through mills, rocks, and woods, and at last, almost
Consumed in going, in the sea are lost.
So perish souls, which more choose men’s unjust
Power from God claim’d, than God Himself to trust.
Satire IV
Well; I may now receive, and die. My sin
Indeed is great, but yet I have been in
A purgatory, such as fear’d hell is
A recreation and scant map of this.
My mind, nor with pride’s itch, nor yet hath been
Poison’d with love to see, or to be seen.
I had no suit there, nor new suit to show,
Yet went to court; but as Glaze which did go
To mass in jest, catch’d, was fain to disburse
The hundred marks, which is the statute’s curse,
Before he ’scaped; so ’t pleased my destiny—
Guilty of my sin in going—to think me
As prone to all ill, and of good as forget—
Full, as proud, lustful, and as much in debt,
As vain, as witless, and as false as they
Which dwell in court, for once going that way.
Therefore I suffer’d this; towards me did run
A thing more strange, than on Nile’s slime the sun
E’er bred, or all which into Noah’s ark came;
A thing which would have posed Adam to name;
Stranger than seven antiquaries’ studies,
Than Afric’s monsters, Guiana’s rarities;
Stranger than strangers; one, who for a Dane,
In the Danes’ massacre had sure been slain,
If he had lived then; and without help dies,
When next the ’prentices ’gainst strangers rise;
One, whom the watch, at noon, lets scarce go by;
One, to whom th’ examining justice sure would cry,
“Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are.”
His clothes were strange, though coarse, and black, though bare;
Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been
Velvet, but ’twas now—so much ground was seen—
Become tufftaffaty; and our children shall
See it plain rash awhile, then nought at all.
The thing hath travell’d, and, faith, speaks all tongues,
And only knoweth what to all states belongs.
Made of th’ accents and best phrase of all these,
He speaks one language. If strange meats displease,
Art can deceive, or hunger force my taste,
But pedants’ motley tongue, soldiers’ bombast,
Mountebanks’ drug-tongue, nor the terms of law
Are strong enough preparatives, to draw
Me to bear this, yet I must be content
With his tongue, in his tongue, called compliment;
In which he can win widows, and pay scores,
Make men speak treason, cozen subtlest whores,
Outflatter favourites, or outlie either
Jovius, or Surius, or both together.
He names me, and comes to me; I whisper, “God!
How have I sinn’d, that Thy wrath’s furious rod,
This fellow, chooseth me?” He saith, “Sir,
I love your judgment; whom do you prefer,
For the best linguist?” And I sillily
Said, that I thought Calepine’s dictionary.
“Nay, but of men, most sweet Sir;” Beza then,
Some Jesuits, and two reverend men
Of our two Academies I named. Here
He stopped me, and said; were “Nay, your apostles were
Good pretty linguists, and so Panurge was;
Yet a poor gentleman all these may pass
By travel.” Then, as if he would have sold
His tongue, he praised it, and such wonders told,
That I was fain to say, “If you’d lived, sir,
Time enough to have been interpreter
To Babel’s bricklayers, sure the tower had stood.”
He adds, “If of court life you knew the good,
You would leave loneness.” I said, “Not alone
My loneness is; but Spartan’s fashion,
To teach by painting drunkards, doth not taste
Now; Aretine’s pictures have made few chaste;
No more can princes’ courts—though there be few
Better pictures of vice—teach me virtue.”
He, like to a high-stretched lute-string, squeak’d, “O sir,
’Tis sweet to talk of kings.” “At Westminster,”
Said I, “the man that keeps the abbey tombs,
And for his price doth with whoever comes
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