Which is to live to conscience, not to show.
He that, but living half his age, dies such,
Makes the whole longer than 'twas given him,
much.

CXX. AN EPITAPH ON SALATHIEL PAVY, A CHILD
OF QUEEN ELIZABETH'S CHAPEL.

Weep with me, all you that read

This little story:

And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry.

'Twas a child that so did thrive

In grace and feature,

As heaven and nature seem'd to strive Which own'd the creature.

Years he number'd scarce thirteen When fates turn'd cruel, Yet three fill'd zodiacs had he been The stage's jewel;

And did act, what now we moan,

Old men so duly,

As, sooth, the Parcæ thought him one,
He play'd so truly.

So, by error to his fate

They all consented;

But viewing him since, alas, too late!
They have repented;

And have sought, to give new birth,
In baths to steep him;

But being so much too good for earth,
Heaven vows to keep him.

CXXI. TO BENJAMIN RUDYERD.

RUDYERD, as lesser dames to great ones use,
My lighter comes to kiss thy learned muse;
Whose better studies while she emulates,
She learns to know long difference of their

states.

CXXIII. TO THE SAME.

Writing thyself, or judging others writ,

I know not which thou'st most, candor, or wit;
But both thou hast so, as who affects the state
Of the best writer and judge, should emulate.

CXXIV. EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH, L. H.
Would'st thou hear what man can say
In a little? reader, stay.

Underneath this stone doth lie
As much beauty as could die :
Which in life did harbor give
To more virtue than doth live.

If at all she had a fault,
Leave it buried in this vault.

One name was ELIZABETH,
The other let it sleep with death:
Fitter, where it died, to tell,

Than that it lived at all. Farewell!

CXXV. TO SIR WILLIAM UVEDALE.

UVEDALE, thou piece of the first times, a mar
Made for what nature could, or virtue can;
Both whose dimensions lost, the world migh
Restored in thy body, and thy mind! find
Who sees a soul in such a body set,
Might love the treasure for the cabinet.
But I, no child, no fool, respect the kind,
The full, the flowing graces there enshrined;
Which, would the world not miscall't flattery,
I could adore almost to idolatry!

CXXVI. TO HIS LADY, THEN MISTRESS CARY.

Retired, with purpose your fair worth to praise, Mongst Hampton shades, and Phoebus' grove of bays,

I pluck'd a branch; the jealous god did frown,
And bade me lay th' usurped laurel down;
Said I wrong'd him, and, which was more, his

love.

I answer'd, Daphne now no pain can prove
Phœbus replied, Bold head, it is not sho
CARY my love is, Daphne but my tree.

CXXVII. TO ESME LORD AUBIGNY.

Is there a hope that man would thankful be,
If I should fail in gratitude to thee,
To whom I am so bound, loved AUBIGNY?
No, I do therefore call posterity

Into the debt; and reckon on her head,
How full of want, how swallow'd up, how dead
I and this muse had been, if thou hadst not
Lent timely succors, and new life begot:
So all reward or name, that grows to me
By her attempt, shall still be owing thec.
And than this same I know no abler way
To thank thy benefits: which is, to par

CXXVIII. TO WILLIAM ROE.

ROE, and my joy to name, thou'rt now to go, Countries and climes, manners and men to know, To extract and choose the best of all these known, And those to turn to blood, and make thine own. May winds as soft as breath of kissing friends, Attend thee hence; and there may all thy ends, As the beginnings here, prove purely sweet, And perfect in a circle always meet!

So when we blest with thy return, shall see Thyself, with thy first thoughts brought home by thee;

We each to other may this voice inspire;
That is that good neas, past through fire,
Through seas, storms, tempests; and, embark'd
for hell,

Came back untouch'd. This man hath travell'd well.

CXXIX. TO MIME.

That not a pair of friends each other see,
But the first question is, When one saw thee?
That there's no journey set or thought upon,
To Brentford, Hackney, Bow, but thou mak'st

one;

That scarce the town designeth any feast
To which thou'rt not a week bespoke a guest;
That still thou'rt made the supper's flag, the

drum,

CXXX. TO ALPHONSO FERRABOSCO, ON HIS BOOK.

To urge, my loved ALPHONSO, that bold fame
Of building towns, and making wild beasts tame,
Which music had; or speak her own effects,
That she removeth cares, sadness ejects,
Declineth anger, persuades clemency,
Doth sweeten mirth, and heighten piety,
And is to a body, often, ill inclined,

No less a sovereign cure, than to the mind;
T' allege, that greatest men were not asham'd,
Of old, even by her practice to be fam'd;
To say indeed, she were the soul of heaven,
That the eighth sphere, no less than planets

seven,

Moved by her order, and the ninth more high,
Including all, were thence call'd harmony;
I yet had utter'd nothing on thy part,
When these were but the praises of the art:
But when I have said, the proofs of all these be
Shed in thy songs; 'tis true: but short of thee.

CXXXI. - ΤΟ THE SAME.

When we do give, ALPHONSO, to the light,
A work of ours, we part with our own right;
For then, all mouths will judge, and their own
way:

The learn'd have no more privilege than the lay.
And though we could all men, all censures hear,
We ought not give them taste we had an car.
For if the humorous world will talk at large,
They should be fools, for me, at their own
charge.

Say this or that man they to thee prefer;
Even those for whom they do this, know they err:
And would (being ask'd the truth) ashamed say,
They were not to be nam'd on the same day.
Then stand unto thyself, nor seek without
For fame, with breath soon kindled, soon blown
out.

CXXXII TO MR. JOSHUA SILVESTER.

If to admire were to commend, my praise
Might then both thee, thy work and merit raise:
But as it is, (the child of ignorance,
And utter stranger to all air of France,)
How can I speak of thy great pains, but err?
Since they can only judge, that can confer.
Behold! the reverend shade of BARTAS stands
Before my thought, and, in thy right, commands
That to the world I publish for him, this;
Bartas doth wish thy English now were his.
So well in that are his inventions wrought,
As his will now be the translation thought,
Thine the original; and France shall boast,
No more those maiden glories she hath lost.

CXXXIII. ON THE FAMOUS VOYAGE,

No more let Greece her bolder fables tell
Of Hercules, or Theseus going to hell,
Orpheus, Ulysses; or the Latin muse,
With tales of Troy's just knight, our faith abuse
We have a SHELTON, and a HEYDEN got,
Had power to act, what they to feign had not.
All that they boast of Styx, of Acheron,
Cocytus, Phlegethon, ours have proved in one;
The filth, stench, noise: save only what was
there

Subtly distinguish'd, was confused here.
Their wherry had no sail too; ours had ne'er one.
And in it, two more horrid knaves than Charon.
Arses were heard to croak instead of frogs;
And for one Cerberus, the whole coast was dogs.
Furies there wanted not; each scold was ten,
And for the cries of ghosts, women and men,
Laden with plague-sores, and their sins, were
heard,

Lash'd by their consciences, to die affeard.
Then let the former age with this content her.
She brought the poets forth, but ours th' ad

venter.

THE VOYAGE ITSELF.

I sing the brave adventure of two wights,
And pity 'tis, I cannot call them knights:
One was; and he for brawn and brain right able
To have been styled of king Arthur's table.
The other was a squire, of fair degree:
But, in the action, greater man than he,
His three for one. Now, lordlings, listen well.
Who gave, to take at his return from hell,

It was the day, what time the powerful moon
Makes the poor Bankside creature wet its shoon,
In its own hall; when these, (in worthy scora
Of those, that put out monies, on return
From Venice, Paris, or some inland passage
Of six times to and fro, without embassage,
Or him that backward went to Berwick, or which
Did dance the famous morris unto Norwich)
At Bread-street's Mermaid having dined, and
merry,

[ho'.

Proposed to go to Holborn in a wherry:
A harder task, than either his to Bristo',
Or his to Antwerp. Therefore, once more, list

A dock there is, that called is Avernus,
Of some Bridewell, and may, in time concern us
All, that are readers: but, methinks, 'tis odd,
That all this while I have forgot some god,
Or goddess to invoke, to stuff my verse;
And with both bombast style and phrase, re-
hearse

To this dire passage. Say, thou stop thy nose; "Tis but light pains: indeed, this dock's no rose.

In the first jaws appear'd that ugly monster, Yeleped mud, which, when their oars did once stir,

Belch'd forth an air as hot, as at the muster
Of all your night-tubs, when the carts do cluster,
Who shall discharge first his merd-urinous load:
Thorough her womb they make their famous
road,
[men,
Between two walls; where, on one side, to scare
Were seen your ugly centaurs, ye call carmen,
Gorgonian scolds, and harpies: on the other
Hung stench, diseases, and old filth, their mother,
With famine, wants, and sorrows many a dozen,
The least of which was to the plague a cousin.
But they unfrighted pass, though many a privy
Spake to them louder, than the ox in Livy;
And many a sink pour'd out her rage anenst
'em,

But still their valor and their virtue fenc'd 'em,
And on they went, like Castor brave and Pollux,
Ploughing the main. When, see (the worst of
all lucks)

They met the second prodigy, would fear a
Man, that had never heard of a Chimæra.
One said, 'twas bold Briareus, or the beadle,
Who hath the hundred hands when he doth
meddle,

her.

The other thought it Hydra, or the rock
Made of the trull that cut her father's lock:
But coming near, they found it but a li'ter,
So huge, it seem'd they could by no means quite
[No,
Back, cried their brace of Charons: they cried,
No going back; on still, you rogues, and row.
How hight the place? A voice was heard,
Cocytus.
[us.
Row close then, slaves. Alas! they will beshite
No matter, stinkards, row. What croaking sound
Is this we hear? of frogs? No, guts wind-bound,
Over your heads: well, row. At this a loud
Crack did report itself, as if a cloud
Had burst with storm, and down fell, ab excelsis,
Poor Mercury, crying out on Paracelsus,
And all his followers, that had so abused him;
And in so shitten sort, so long had used him:
For (where he was the god of eloquence,
And subtilty of metals) they dispense
His spirits now in pills, and eke in potions,
Suppositories, cataplasms, and lotions.-
But many moons there shall not wane, quoth he
In the mean time, let them imprison me,
But I will speak, and know I shall be heard,
Touching this cause, where they will be affeard
To answer me: and sure, it was the intent
Of the grave fart, late let in parliament,
Had it been seconded, and not in fume
Vanish'd away as you must all presume
Their Mercury did now. By this, the stem
Of the hulk touch'd, and, as by Polypheme
The sly Ulysses stole in a sheep-skin,
The well-greased wherry now had got between,
And bade her farewell sough unto the lurden:
Never did bottom more betray her burden;
The meat-boat of bear's-college, Paris-garden,
Stunk not so ill; nor, when she kiss'd, Kate
Arden.

About the shore, of farts but late departed, White, black, blue, green, and in more forms outstarted,

Than all those atomi ridiculous
Whereof old Democrite, and Hill Nicholas,
One said, the other swore, the world consists.
These be the cause of those thick frequent mists
Arising in that place, through which, who goes,
Must try the unused valor of a nose: [tainted,
And that ours did. For, yet, no nare was
Nor thumb, nor finger to the stop acquainted,
But open, and unarm'd, encounter'd all :
Whether it languishing stuck upon the wa"
Or were precipitated down the jakes,
And after, swam abroad in ample flakes,
Or that it lay heap'd like an usurer's mass,
All was to them the same, they were to pass.
And so they did, from Styx to Acheron,
The ever-boiling flood; whose banks upon
Your Fleet-lane Furics, and hot cooks do dwell,
That with still-scalding steams, make the place
hell.

The sinks ran grease, and hair of meazled hogs, The heads, houghs, entrails, and the hides of dogs:

For, to say truth, what scullion is so nasty,
To put the skins and offal in a pasty?
Cats there lay divers had beer. flea'd and roasted,
And after mouldy grown, again were toasted,
Then selling not, a dish was ta'en to mince 'em,
But still, it seem'd, the rankness did convince
[pewter,

'em.

For, here they were thrown in with th melted Yet drown'd they not: they had five lives in future.

But 'mongst these Tiberts, who do you think there was?

Old Banks the juggler, our Pythagoras,
Grave tutor to the learned horse; both which,
Being, beyond sea, burned for one witch,
Their spirits transmigrated to a cat:
And now, above the pool, a face right fat,
With great gray eyes, it lifted up, and mew'd:
Thrice did it spit; thrice dived: at last it view'd
Our brave heroes with a milder glare,
And in a piteous tune, began. How dare
Your dainty nostrils, in so hot a season,
When every clerk eats artichokes and peason,
Laxative lettuce, and such windy meat,
Tempt such a passage? When each privy's seat
Is fill'd with buttock, and the walls do sweat
Urine and plaisters, when the noise doth beat
Upon your ears, of discords so unsweet,
And outcries of the damned in the Fleet?

Cannot the Plague-bill keep you back, nor bells
Of loud Sepulchre's, with their hourly knells,
But you will visit grisly Pluto's hall?
Behold where Cerberus, rear'd on the wall
Of Holborn-height (three serjeants' heads) looks
o'er,

And stays but till you come unto the door!
Tempt not his fury, Pluto is away:
And madam Cæsar, great Proserpina,
Is now from home; you lose your labors quite,
Were you Jove's sons, or had Alcides' might.
They cry'd out, Puss. He told them he was
Banks,

That had so often shew'd them merry pranks.
They laugh'd, at his laugh-worthy fate; and
The triple-head without a sop. At last, [past
Calling for Rhadamanthus, that dwelt by,

J. WHY I WRITE NOT OF LOVE. SOME act of LOVE's bound to rehearse, I thought to bind him in my verse: Which when he felt, Away, quoth he, Can poets hope to fetter me? It is enough, they once did get Mars and my mother, in their net: I wear not these my wings in vain. With which he fled me; and again, Into my rhymes could ne'er be got By any art: then wonder not, That since, my numbers are so cold, When Love is fled, and I grow old.

II. TO PENSHURST.

Thou art not, PENSHURST, built to envious show
Of touch or marble; nor canst boast a row
Of polish'd pillars, or a roof of gold:
Thou hast no lantern, whereof tales are told;
Or stair, or courts; but stand'st an ancient pile,
And these grudg'd at, art reverenced the while.
Thou joy'st in better marks, of soil, of air,
Of wood, of water; therein thou art fair.
Thou hast thy walks for health, as well as sport:
Thy mount, to which thy Dryads do resort,
Where Pan and Bacchus their high feasts have
made,
[shade;
Beneath the broad beech, and the chestnut
That taller tree, which of a nut was set,
At his great birth, where all the Muses met.
There, in the writhed bark, are cut the names
Of many a sylvan, taken with his flames;
And thence the ruddy satyrs oft provoke
The ligher fauns, to reach thy lady's oak.
Thy copse too, named of Gamage, thou hast
there,

That never fails to serve thee season'd deer,
When thou wouldst feast or exercise thy friends.
The lower land, that to the river bends,
Thy sheep, thy bullocks, kine, and calves do

feed;

The middle grounds thy mares and horses breed.
Each bank doth yield thee conies; and the tops
Fertile of wood, Ashore and Sydneys copp's,
To crown thy open table, doth provide
The purpled pheasant, with the speckled side:
The painted partridge lies in ev'ry field,
And for thy mess is willing to be kill'd.
And if the high-swoln Medway fail thy dish,
Thou hast thy ponds, that pay thee tribute fish,
Fat aged carps that run into thy net,
And pikes, now weary their own kind to eat,
As loth the second draught or cast to stay,
Officiously at first themselves betray.
Bright eels that emulate them, and leap on land,
Before the fisher, or into his hand,
Then hath thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers,
Fresh as the air, and new as are the hours.
The early cherry, with the later plum, [come:
Fig, grape, and quince, each in his time doth
The blushing apricot, and woolly peach

This way to husbands; and whose baskets bear
An emblem of themselves in plum, or pear.
But what can this (more than express their love)
Add to thy free provisions, far above [flow
The need of such? whose liberal board doth
With all that hospitality doth know!
Where comes no guest, but is allow'd to eat,
Without his fear, and of thy lord's own meat:
Where the same beer and bread, and self-same
That is his lordship's, shall be also mine. [wine,
And I not fain to sit (as some this day,
At great men's tables) and yet dine away.
Here no man tells my cups; nor standing by,
A waiter, doth my gluttony envý :
But gives me what I call, and lets me eat,
He knows, below, he shall find plenty of meat ;
Thy tables hoard not up for the next day,
Nor, when I take my lodging, need I pray
For fire, or lights, or livery; all is there;
As if thou then wert mine, or I reign'd here:
There's nothing I can wish, for which I stay.
That found king JAMES, when hunting late, this

way,

[fires
With his brave son, the prince; they saw thy
Shine bright on every hearth, as the desires
Of thy Penates had been set on flame,
To entertain them; or the country came,
With all their zeal, to warm their welcome here.
What (great, I will not say, but) sudden chear
Didst thou then make 'em! and what praise was
heap'd

On thy good lady, then! who therein reap'd
The just reward of her high huswifry;
To have her linen, plate, and all things nigh,
When she was far; and not a room, but drest,
As if it had expected such a guest!
These, Penshurst, are thy praise, and yet not all.
Thy lady's noble, fruitful, chaste withal.
His children thy great lord may call his own;
A fortune, in this age, but rarely known.
They are, and have been taught religion; thence
Their gentler spirits have suck'd innocence.
Each morn, and even, they are taught to pray,
With the whole household, and may, every day,
Read in their virtuous parents' noble parts,
The mysteries of manners, arms, and arts.
Now, Penshurst, they that will proportion thes
With other edifices, when they see