Keep the truth, which thou hast found; men do not In so il! case, that God hath with his hand [stand Sign'd kings blank-charters, to kill whom they hate, Nor are thy vicars, but hangmen, to fate. Fool and wretch, wilt thou let thy soul be ty'd To man's laws, by which she shall not be try'd At the last day? Or will it then boot thee To say a Philip or a Gregory,
A Harry or a Martin taught me this? Is not this excuse for mere contraries, Equally strong? cannot both sides say so? [know; That thou may'st rightly obey power, her bounds Those past her nature and name's chang'd; to be Then humble to her is idolatry.
As streams are, power is; those bless'd 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 Consum'd 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.
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.
Me to hear this, yet I must be content With his tongue, in his tongue call'd compliment: In which he can win widows, and pay scores, Make men speak treason, cozen subtlest whores, Out-flatter 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 nam'd; here He stopp'd me, and said: "Nay, your apostles were Good pretty linguists, so Panurgus was; Yet a poor gentleman; all these may pass By travel;" then, as if he would have sold His tongue, he prais'd it, and such wonders told, That I was fain to say, " If you had liv'd, sir, Time enough to have been interpreter
To Babel's bricklayers, sure the tow'r 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 last Now; Aretine's pictures have made few chaste; No more can princes' courts, though there be few Better pictures of vice, teach me virtue." ["O, sir, He, like to a high-stretch'd lute-string, squeak'd,
My mind, neither with pride's itch, nor yet hath been "T is sweet to talk of kings."—" At Westminster," 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 Glare, which did go To mass in jest, catch'd, was fain to disburse The hundred marks, which is the statute's curse, Before he scap'd; so 't pleas'd my destiny (Guilty of my sin of going) to think me As prone to all ill, and of good as forget- Ful, 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 pos'd 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 Dane's massacre had sure been slain, If he had liv'd then; and without help dies, When next the 'prentices 'gainst strangers rise; One, whom the watch at noon lets scarce go by; One, t' 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 't was 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 t' 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 pedant's motley tongue, soldiers bombast, Mountebank's drug-tongue, nor the terms of law, Are strong enough preparatives to draw
Said I, "the man that keeps the abbey tombs, And for his price doth, with whoever comes, Of all our Harrys and our Edwards talk, From king to king, and all their kin can walk: Your ears shall hear nought but kings; your eyes Kings only; the way to it is King's Street." [meet He smack'd, and cry'd, "He's base, mechanic
So 're all your English men in their discourse. Are not your Frenchmen neat?" "Mine, as you I have but one, sir, look, he follows me." "Certes they 're neatly cloth'd. I of this mind am, Your only wearing is your grogaram." "Not so, sir, I have more." Under this pitch He would not fly; I chaf'd him: but as itch Scratch'd into smart, and as blunt iron ground Into an edge, burts worse: so I, fool, found, Crossing hurt me. To fit my sullenness, He to another key his style doth dress : And asks, what news; I tell him of new plays, He takes my hand, and as a still which stays A semibrief 'twixt each drop, he niggardly, As lothe to enrich me, so tells many a lie, More than ten Hollensbeads, or Halls, or Stows, Of trivial household trash he knows; he knows When the queen frown'd or smil'd, and he knows what
A subtle statesman may gather of that; He knows who loves whom; and who by poison Hastes to an office's reversion;
He knows who 'hath sold his land, and now doth beg A licence old iron, boots, and shoes, and egg- Shells to transport; shortly boys shall not play At span-counter or blow point, but shall pay Toil to some courtier; and, wiser than all us, He knows, what lady is not painted. Thus He with home meats cloys me. I belch, spew, spit, Look pale and sickly, like a patient, yet
He thrusts on more; and as he 'd undertook To say Gallo-Belgicus without book, Speaks of all states and deeds that have been since Them next week to the theatre to sell.
The fields they sold to buy them. Those hose are," cry the flatterers; and bring
The Spaniards came to th' loss of Amyens. Like a big wife, at sight of loathed meat, Ready to travail: so I sigh, and sweat To hear this macaron talk in vain; for yet, Either my honour or his own to fit,
He, like a privileg'd spy, whom nothing can Discredit, libels now 'gainst each great man. He names a price for every office paid; He saith, our wars thrive ill, because delay'd; That offices are entail'd, and that there are Perpetuities of them, lasting as far
As the last day; and that great officers Do with the pirates share, and Dunkirkers. Who wastes in meat, in clothes, in horse he notes; Who loves whores, * * * **
Wants reach all states. Me seems they do as well At stage, as court: all are players; whoe'er looks (For themselves dare not go) o'er Cheapside books, Shall find their wardrobe's inventory. Now
The ladies come. As pirates, which do know That there came weak ships fraught with cochineal, The men board them; and praise (as they think) well [bought.
Their beauties; they the men's wits; both are Why good wits ne'er wear scarlet gowns, I thought This cause: these men men's wits for speeches buy, And women buy all reds, which scarlets dye. He call'd her beauty lime-twigs, her hair net: She fears her drugs ill laid, her hair loose set. Would n't Heraclitus laugh to see Macrine From hat to shoe, himself at door refine, As if the presence were a Moschite; and lift His skirts and hose, and call his clothes to shrift, Making them confess not only mortal
I, more amaz'd than Circe's prisoners, when They felt themselves turn beasts, felt myself then Becoming traitor, and methought I saw One of our giant statues ope his jaw To suck me in, for hearing him; I found That as burnt venomous leachers do grow sound By giving others their sores, I might grow Guilty, and he free: therefore I did show All signs of loathing; but since I am in, I must pay mine and my forefather's sin To the last farthing. Therefore to my power Toughly and stubbornly I bear this cross; but th' Of mercy now was come: he tries to bring [hour Me to pay a fine to 'scape his torturing, [lingly;" And says, "Sir, can you spare me?" I said, "Wil- "Nay, sir, can you spare me a crown?" Thank- Gave it, as ransom; but as fiddlers still, [fully I Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will Thrust one more jig upon you; so did he With his long complemental thanks vex me. But he is gone, thanks to his needy want, And the prerogative of my crown: scant His thanks were ended when I (which did see All the court fill'd with such strange things as he) Ran from thence with such, or more haste than one, Who fears more actions, doth haste from prison. At home in wholesome solitariness My piteous soul began the wretchedness Of suitors at court to mourn, and a trance Like his, who dreamt he saw Hell, did advance Itself o'er me: such men as he saw there I saw at court, and worse, and more. Low fear Becomes the guilty, not th' accuser. Then Shall I, none's slave, of high born or rais'd men Fear frowns? and, my mistress Truth, betray thee To th' huffing, braggart, puff'd nobility? No, no; thou, which since yesterday hast been Almost about the whole world, hast thou seen, O Sun, in all thy journey, vanity,
Such as swells the bladder of our court? I Think, he which made your waxen garden, and Transported it from Italy, to stand
With us at London, flouts our courtiers, for Just such gay painted things, which no sap nor Taste have in them, ours are; and natural Some of the stocks are, their fruits bastard all. 'T is ten o'clock and past; all whom the Meuse, Baloun, tennis, diet, or the stews
Had all the morning held, now the second Time made ready, that day in flocks are found In the presence, and I, (God pardon me) As fresh and sweet their apparels be, as be
Great stains and holes in them, but venial Feathers and dust, wherewith they fornicate: And then by Durer's rules survey the state Of his each limb, and with strings the odds tries Of his neck to his leg, and waste to thighs. So in immaculate clothes and symmetry Perfect as circles, with such nicety, As a young preacher at his first time goes To preach, he enters; and a lady, which owes Him not so much as good will, he arrests, And unto her protests, protests, protests; So much as at Rome would serve to 've thrown Ten cardinals into the Inquisition; And whispers by Jesu so oft, that a Pursuivant would have ravish'd him away, For saying our lady's psalter. But 't is fit That they each other plague, they merit it. But here comes Glorious, that will plague them both, Who in the other extreme only doth Call a rough carelessness good fashion; Whose cloak his spurs tear, or whom he spits on, He cares not, he. His ill words do no harm To him, he rushes in, as if, Arm, Arm, He meant to cry; and though his face be as ill As theirs, which in old hangings whip Christ, still He strives to look worse, he keeps all in awe; Jests like a licens'd fool, commands like law. Tird now I leave this place, and but pleas'd so, As men from jails to execution go,
Go through the great chamber (why is it hung With the seven deadly sins?) being among Those Askaparts, men big enough to throw Charing-cross for a bar, men that do know No token of worth, but queen's man, and fine Living, barrels of beef, and flaggons of wine. I shook like a spy'd spy. Preachers, which are Seas of wit and arts, you can, then dare Drown the sins of this place, for, for me, Which am but a scant brook, it enough shall be To wash the stains away: although I yet (With Machabee, modesty) the known merit Of my work lessen: yet some wise men shall, I hope, esteem my wits canonical.
THOU shalt not laugh in this leaf, Muse, nor they, Whom any pity warms. He which did lay
Rules to make courtiers, he being understood May make good courtiers, but who courtiers good? Frees from the sting of jests, all, who in extreme Are wretched or wicked, of these two a theme, Charity and liberty, give me. What is he Who officer's rage, and suitor's misery Can write in jest? If all things be in all,
As I think; since all, which were, are, and shall Be, be made of the same elements: Each thing each thing implies or represents. Then, man is a world; in which officers Are the vast ravishing seas, and suitors Springs, now full, now shallow, now dry, which to That, which drowns them, run: these self reasons do Prove the world a man, in which officers Are the devouring stomach, and suitors Th' excrements, which they void. All men are dust, How much worse are suitors, who to men's lust Are made preys? O worse than dust or worms' meat!
For they eat you now, whose selves worms shall eat. They are the mills which grind you; yet you are The wind which drives them; a wastful war Is fought against you, and you fight it; they Adulterate law, and you prepare the way, Like wittals, th' issue your own ruin is. Greatest and fairest empress, know you this? Alas! no more than Thames' calm bead doth know, Whose meads her arms drown, or whose corn o'er- flow.
You, sir, whose righteousness she loves, whom I By having leave to serve, am most richly For service paid authoriz'd, now begin To know and weed out this enormous sin. O age of rusty iron! Some better wit Call it some worse name, if ought equal it. Th' iron age was, when justice was sold; now Injustice is sold dearer far; allow
All claim'd fees and duties, gamesters, anon The money, which you sweat and swear for, 's gone Into other hands: so controverted lands Scape, like Angelica, the striver's hands. If law be in the judge's heart, and he Have no heart to resist letter or fee, Where wilt thou appeal? power of the courts below Flows from the first main bead, and these can throw Thee, if they suck thee in, to misery, To fetters, halters. But if th' injury Steel thee to dare complain, alas! thou go'st Against the stream upwards, when thou art most Heavy and most faint; and in these labours they, 'Gainst whom thou should'st complain, will in thy way
Become great seas, o'er which when thou shalt be Forc'd to make golden bridges, thou shalt see That all thy gold was drown'd in them before. All things follow their like, only who have may have
Judges are gods; and he who made them so, Meant note men should be forc'd to them to go By means of angels. When supplications We send to God, to dominations, Powers, cherubins, and all Heaven's courts, if we Should pay fees, as here, daily bread would be Scarce to kings; so't is. Would it not anger A stoic, a coward, yea a martyr, To see a pursuivant come in, and call All his clothes, copes, books, primers, and all His plate, chalices; and mistake them away,... And ask a fee for coming? Oh! ne'er may
Fair Law's white fevend name be strumpeted, To warrant thefts: she is established Recorder to Destiny on Earth, and she Speaks Fate's words, and tells who must be Rich, who poor, who in chains, and who in jails ; She is all fair, but yet hath foul long nails, With which she scratcheth suitors. In bodies Of men, so in law, nails are extremities; So officers stretch to more than law can do, As our nails reach what no else part comes to. Why bar'st thou to yon officer? Fool, hath he Got those goods, for which erst men bar'd to thee? Fool, twice, thrice, thou hast bought wrong, and now hungerly
Begg'st right, but that dole comes not till these die. Thou had'st much, and Law's urim and thummim try Thou would'st for more; and for all hast paper Enough to clothe all the great Charrick's pepper. Sell that, and by that thou much more shalt leese Than Hammon, when he sold 's antiquities. O, wretch! that thy fortunes should moralize Esop's fables, and make tales prophecies. Tou art the swimming dog, whom shadows cozened, Which div'st, near drowning, for what vanished.
SLEEP next, society and true friendship, Man's best contentment, doth securely slip. His passions and the world's troubles rock me.> O sleep, wean'd from thy dear friend's company, In a cradle free from dreams of thoughts, there Where poor men lie, for kings asleep do fear. Here Sleep's house by famous Ariosto, By silver-tongu'd Ovid, and many moe, Perhaps by golden-mouth'd Spencer, too pardy, (Which builded was some dozen stories high) I had repair'd, but that it was too rotten, As Sleep awak'd by rats from thence was gotten: And I will build no new, for by my will, Thy father's house.shall be the fairest still, In Excester. Yet, methinks, for all their wit, Those wits that say nothing, best describe it. Without it there is no sense, only in this Sleep is unlike a long parenthesis, Not to save charges, but would I had slept The time I spent in London, when I kept Fighting and untrust gallants' company, In which Natta, the new knight, seized on me, And offered me the experience he had bought With great expense. I found him throughly taught In curing burns. His thing had had more scars Than T......... himself; like Epps it often wars, And still is hurt. For his body and state The physic and counsel (which came too late "Gainst whores and dice) he now on me bestows Most superficially he speaks of those.
I found, by him, least sound him who most knows. He swears well, speaks ill, but best of clothes, What fit summer, what what winter, what the spring. He had living, but now these ways come in His whole revenues. Where his whore now dwells, And hath dwelt, since his father's death, he tells. Yea he tells most cunningly each hid cause Why whores forsake their bawds. To these some He knows of the duel, and on his skill [laws The least jot in that or these he quarrel will, Though sober, but ne'er fought. I know. What made his valour undubb'd windmill go.
Within a point at most: yet for all this (Which is most strange) Natta thinks no man is More honest than himself. Thus men may want Conscience, whilst being brought up ignorant, They use themselves to vice. And besides those Illiberal arts forenam'd, no vicar knows, Nor other captain less than he, his schools Are ordinaries, where civil men seem fools, Or are for being there; his best books, plays, Where, meeting godly scenes, perhaps he prays. His first set prayer was for his father's ill, And sick, that he might die: that had, until The lands were gone he troubled God no more; And then ask'd him but his right, that the whore Whom he had kept, might now keep him: she spent, They left each other on even terms; she went To Bridewell, he unto the wars, where want Hath made him valiant, and a lieutenant' He is become: where, as they pass apace, He steps aside, and for his captain's place He prays again: tells God, he will confess His sins, swear, drink, dice, and whore thenceforth On this condition, that if his captain die And he succeed, but his prayer did not; they Both cashier'd came home, and he is braver now Than his captain: all men wonder, few know how, Can he rob? No;-Cheat? No;-or doth he spend His own? No. Fidus, he is thy dear friend, That keeps him up. I would thou wert thine own, Or thou had'st as good a friend as thou art one. No present want nor future hope made me Desire (as once I did) thy friend to be: But he had cruelly possess'd thee then, And as our neighbours the Low-Country men, Being (whilst they were loyal, with tyranny Oppress'd) broke loose, have since refus'd to be Subject to good kings, I found even so
Wert thou well rid of him, thou 't have no moe. Could'st thou but choose as well as love, to none Thou should'st be second: turtle and demon Should give the place in songs, and lovers sick Should make thee only Love's bieroglyphic: Thy impress should be the loving elm and vine, Where now an ancient oak with ivy twine, Destroy'd thy symbol is. O dire mischance! And, O vile verse! And yet our Abraham France Writes thus, and jests not. Good Fidus for this Must pardon me: satires bite when they kiss. But as for Natta, we have since fall'n out: Here on his knees he pray'd, else we had fought. And because God would not he should be winner, Nor yet would have the death of such a sinner, At his seeking, our quarrel is deferr'd, I'll leave him at his prayers, and as I heard, His last; and, Fidus, you and I do know I was his friend, and durst have been his foe, And would be either yet; but he dares be Neither yet. Sleep blots him out and takes in thee. "The mind, you know, is like a table-book, The old unwip'd new writing never took." Hear how the husher's checks, cupboard and fire I pass'd: (by which degrees young men aspire In court) and how that idle and she-state (When as my judgment clear'd) my soul did hate, How I found there (if that my trifling pen Darst take so hard a task) kings were but men, And by their place more noted, if they err; How they and their lords unworthy men prefer; And, as unthrifts, had rather give away Great sums to flatterers, than small debts pay; VOL. V.
So they their greatness hide, and greatness show, By giving them that which to worth they owe: What treason is, and what did Essex kill? Not true treason, but treason handled ill: And which of them stood for their country's good?" Or what might be the cause of so much blood? He said she stunk, and men might not have said That she was old before that she was dead. His case was hard to do or suffer; loath To do, he made it harder, and did both : Too much preparing lost them all their lives, Like some in plagues kill'd with preservatives. Friends, like land-soldiers in a storm at sea, Not knowing what to do, for him did pray. They told it all the world; where was their wit? Cuffs putting on a sword, might have told it. And princes must fear favourites more than foes, For still beyond revenge ambition goes. How since her death, with sumpter horse that Scot Hath rid, who, at his coming up, had not A sumpter-dog. But till that I can write Things worth thy tenth reading, dear Nick, good night.
MEN write, that love and reason disagree, But I ne'er saw 't express'd as 't is in thee. Well, I may lead thee, God must make thee see; But thine eyes blind too, there's no hope for thee. Thou say'st, she 's wise and witty, fair and free; All these are reasons why she should scorn thee. Thou dost protest thy love, and would'st it show By matching her, as she would match her foe: And would'st persuade her to a worse offence Than that, whereof thou didst accuse her wench. Reason there's none for thee; but thou may'st vex Her with example. Say, for fear her sex Shun her, she needs must change; I do not see How reason e'er can bring that must to thee. Thou art a match a justice to rejoice, Fit to be his, and not his daughter's choice. Dry'd with his threats, she'd scarcely stay with thee, And would'st th' have this to choose, thee being free? Go then and punish some soon gotten stuff; For her dead husband this hath mourn'd enough, In hating thee. Thou may'st one like this meet; For spite take her, prove kind, make thy breath
Let her see she 'th cause, and to bring to thee Honest children, let her dishonest be.
If she be a widow, I'll warrant her She 'll thee before her first husband prefer ; And will wish thou had'st had her maidenhead; (She 'll love thee so) for then thou had'st been dead. But thou such strong love and weak reasons hast, Thou must thrive there, or ever live disgrac'd. Yet pause awhile, and thou may'st live to see A time to come, wherein she may beg thee. If thou 'It not pause nor change, she 'll beg thee
Do what she can, love for nothing allow. Besides, here were too much gain and merchandise; And when thou art rewarded, desert dies. Now thou hast odds of him she loves, he may doubt Her constancy, but none can put thee out. Again, be thy love true, she 'll prove divine, And in the end the good on 't will be thine: M
For though thou must ne'er think of other love, And so wilt advance her as high above Virtue, as cause above effect can be ;
T is virtue to be chaste, which she 'll make thee.
TO MR. CHRISTOPHER BROOK, FROM THE ISLAND VOYAGE WITH THE EARL OF ESSEX.
THOU, which art I, ('t is nothing to be so) Thou, which art still thyself, by this shalt know Part of our passage; and a hand, or eye, By Hilliard drawn, is worth a history By a worse painter made; and (without pride) When by thy judgment they are dignify'd, My lines are such. 'T is the pre-eminence Of friendship only t' impute excellence. England, to whom we owe what we be, and have, Sad that her sons did seek a foreign grave, (For Fate's or Fortune's drifts none can gainsay, Honour and misery have one face, one way) From out her pregnant entrails sigh'd a wind, Which at th' air's middle marble room did find Such strong resistance, that itself it threw Downward again; and so when it did view How in the port our fleet dear time did leese, Withering like prisoners, which lie but for fees, Mildly it kiss'd our sails, and fresh and sweet, As to a stomach starv'd, whose insides meet, Meat comes, it came; and swole our sails, when we So joy'd, as Sarah her swelling joy'd to see: But 't was but so kind, as our countrymen, [then. Which bring friends one day's way, and leave them Then like two mighty kings, which dwelling far Asunder, meet against a third to war,
The south and west winds join'd, and, as they blew, Waves like a rolling trench before them threw. Sooner than you read this line, did the gale, Like shot not fear'd till felt, our sails assail ; And what at first was call'd a gust, the same Hath now a storm's, anon a tempest's name. Jonas, I pity thee, and curse those men, Who, when the storm rag'd most, did wake thee Sleep is pain's easiest salve, and doth fulfil [then: All offices of death, except to kill.
But when I wak'd, I saw that I saw not.
I and the Sun, which should teach thee, had forgot East, west, day, night; and I could only say, Had the world lasted, that it had been day. Thousands our noises were, yet we 'mongst all Could none by his right name, but thunder call: Lightning was all our light, and it rain'd more Than, if the Sun had drunk the sea before. Some coffin'd in their cabins lie, equally Griev'd that they are not dead, and yet must die: And as sin-burden'd souls from graves will creep At the last day, some forth their cabbins peep: And trembling ask what news, and do hear so As jealous husbands, what they would not know. Some, sitting on the hatches, would seem there With hideous gazing to fear away fear. There note they the ship's sicknesses, the mast Shak'd with an ague, and the hold and waste
With a salt dropsy clogg'd, and our tacklings Snapping, like to too high-stretch'd treble strings. And from our tatter'd sails rags drop down so, As from one hang'd in chains a year ago. Yea even our ordnance, plac'd for our defence, Strives to break loose, and 'scape away from thence. Pumping hath tir'd our men, and what's the gain? Seas into seas thrown we suck in again: Hearing hath deaf'd our sailors, and if they Knew how to hear, there's none knows what to say. Compar'd to these storms, death is but a qualm, Hell somewhat lightsome, the Bermuda's calm. * Darkness, Light's eldest brother, his birth-right Claims o'er the world, and to Heav'n hath chased light.
All things are one; and that one none can be, Since all forms uniform deformity
Doth cover; so that we, except God say. Another fiat, shall have no more day,
So violent, yet long these furies be,
That though thine absence starve me, I wish not thee.
OUR storm is past, and that storm's tyrannous rage A stupid calm, but nothing it doth swage. The fable is inverted, and far more
A block afflicts now, than a stork before. Storms chafe, and soon wear out themselves or us; In calms, Heaven laughs to see us languish thus. As steady as I could wish my thoughts were, Smooth as thy mistress' glass, or what shines there, The sea is now, and as the isles which we Seek, when we can move, our ships rooted be. As water did in storms, now pitch runs out; As lead, when a fir'd church becomes one spout; And all our beauty and our trim decays, Like courts removing, or like ending plays. The fighting place now seamens' rage supply; And all the tackling is a frippery.
No use of lanthorns; and in one place lay Feathers and dust, to day and yesterday. Earth's hollownesses, which the world's lungs are, Have no more wind than th' upper vault of air. We can nor lost friends nor sought foes recover, But, meteor-like, save that we move not, hover, Only the calenture together draws
Dear friends, which meet dead in great fish's maws; And on the hatches, as on altars, lies Each one, his own priest, and own sacrifice. Who live, that miracle do multiply, Where walkers in hot ovens do not die. If in despite of these we swim, that hath No more refreshing than a brimstone bath; But from the sea into the ship we turn, Like parboyl'd wretches, on the coals to burn. Like Bajazet encag'd, the shepherd's scoff; Or like slack sinew'd Sampson, his hair off, Languish our ships. Now as a myriad Of ants durst th' emperor's lov'd snake invades The crawling galleys, sea-gulls, finny chips, Might brave our pinnaces, our bed-rid ships: Whether a rotten state and hope of gain, Or to disuse me from the queasy pain Of being belov'd and loving, or the thirst Of honour, or fair death, out-push'd me first;
I lose my end: for here as well as I A desperate may live, and coward die.
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