My Soule, this Winter, hath beene twice aboutTo shift her narrow Mansion, and looke out;To aire her yet unpractis'd wings, and trieWhere Soules are entertain'd when Bodyes die:For this intended journey was to cleereSome subtle humane doubts, that vex her here,And for no other cause; how ere the CourtBeleeve (whose cruell wits turne all to sport)'Twas not to better my philosophieThat I would mount, and travell through the Skie,As if I went, on Natures embassie;Whose Legate there, Religion termes a Spie.But these sick offers to depart, they callA wearinesse of life, each Spring, and Fall:And this beliefe (though well resolv'd before)Made mee so sullen, that I'le die no moreThan old Chaldean Prophets in their sleepe;Who still some reliques of their Soules, would keepe,As gage for the returne of what they sent,For visions to the starry Firmament.Thus in a dreame, I did adventure outJust so much Soule, as Sinners giv'n to doubtOf after usage, dare forgoe a while:And this swift Pilot steer'd unto an Isle,Betweene the Southern Tropick and the Line;Which (noble Prince) my prophecie cals thine:There on a Christall Rock I sate, and sawThe empire of the Winds, new kept in awe,By things, so large, and weighty as did presseWaves to Bubbles, or what unswell'd to lesse:The Sea, for shelter hastned to the shore;Sought harbor for it selfe, not what it bore:So well these Ships could rule; where ev'ry Saile,The subdu'd Winds, court with so milde a gale,As if the spacious Navy lay adrift;Sayles swell'd, to make them comely more than swift:And then I spi'd (as cause of this command)Thy mighty Uncles Trident in thy hand;By which mysterious figure I did callThee chiefe, and universall Admirall!For well our northerne Monarch knowes; howereThe Sea is dully held, the proper spheareWherein that Trident swayes, yet, in his hand•t turnes strait to a Scepter when on land:And soone this wise assertion prov'd a truth;For when thy selfe, with thy advent'rous YouthWere disimbarqu'd; strait with one lib'rall minde,That long-lost, scatter'd-parcell of mankinde,Who from the first disorder'd throng did strayAnd then fix heere, now yeeld unto thy sway:On Olive trees, their Quivers empty hung,Their Arrowes were unplum'd, their Bowes unstrung:But some from farr, with jealous Opticks traceLines of thy Mothers beauty in thy face:By which, so much thou seem'st the God of love,That with tumultuous haste they strait remove,And hide, their Magazin of Archerie;Lest what was their defence, might now supplyThy Godhead, which is harmelesse yet; but knowWhen thou shalt head a Shaft, and draw a Bow,Each then thou conquerst, must a Lover be;The worst estate of their captivitie.What sound is that! whose concord makes a jarre'Tis noise in peace, though harmonie in warre:The Drumme; whose doubtfull Musick doth delightThe willing eare, and the unwilling fright.Had wet Orion chosen to lamentHis griefs at Sea, on such an Instrument;Perhaps the martiall Musick might inciteThe Sword-fish, Thrasher, and the Whale to fight,But not to dance; the Dolphin he should lack,Who to delight his eare, did load his back:And now as Thunder, calls ere Stormes doe rise;Yet not forewarnes, 'till just they may surprise;Till the assembling clouds are met, to powreTheir long provided furie in one showre;Even so this little thunder of the Drumme,Foretold a danger just when it was come:When strait mine Eye, might ratifie mine Eare;And see that true, which heard, was but my feare:For in a firme well order'd body stood,Erected Pikes, like a young leavelesse Wood;And that shew'd dark, they were so close combin'd;And ev'ry narrow File was double lin'd;But with such nimble Ministers of fire,That could so quickly charge, so soone retire,That shot so fast; to say it lightned wereNo praise, unto a Gunners motion there;Nor yet to say, it lightned ev'ry where;Their number thence, not swiftnesse would appeare;Since so incessant swift; that in mine eye,Lightning seem'd slow, and might be taught to flie!Tis lawfull then to say, thou didst appeareTo wonder much, although thou couldst not feare:Thy knowledge (Prince) were younger than thy time,If not amaz'd; to see in such a clime,Where Science is so new, men so exact,In Tactick Arts, both to designe, and act.These from unwieldy Ships (the day before)The weary Seas disburdned on the shore:In envy of thy hopes they hither came;And Envy men in warr Ambition name;Ambition, Valor; but 'tis valor's shameWhen Envy feeds it more than noble Fame:Strait I discern'd by what their Ensigne weares,They are of those ambitious Wanderers;Whose avaritious thoughts would teach them runne,As long continu'd journeys as the Sunne;And make the title of their strength, not right,As knowne, and universall as his light:For they beleeve their Monarch hath subdu'dAlready such a spacious latitude;That sure, the good old Planet's bus'nesse isOf late, only to visit what is his:And those faire beames, which he did think his owneAre tribute now, and he, his subject growne;Yet not impair'd in title, since they callHim kindly, his Surveyor-Generall.Now give mee Wine! and let my fury rise,That what my travail'd Soul's immortall eiesWith joy, and wonder saw, I may reherseTo curious Eares, in high, immortall verse!Two of this furious Squadron did advance;Commanded to comprise the publique chanceIn their peculiar fates: Their Swords they drew;And two, whose large renowne their Nation knew,Two of thy party (Prince) they call'd to tryBy equall duell such a victory,As gives the Victor's side a full commandOf what possess'd by both, is neithers Land.And this to save the Peoples common blood;By whom although no cause is understood;Yet Princes being vex'd they must take careTo doe not what they ought, but what they dare:Their reason on their courage must rely;Though they alike the quarrell justifie,And in their Princes kinde indiff'rent eieAre dutious fooles, that either kill, or die.This safe agreement by the gen'rall voyceWas ratifi'd with vowes; then strait thy choiceFor the encounter (Prince) with greedy eyeI did intirely view; and both I spieMarch to the List; whilst eithers cheerefull lookeFore-told glad hopes, of what they undertooke.Their lookes; where forc'd-state-clouds, nere strive to lowre,As if sweet feature, bus'nesse could makesowre:Where solemne sadnesse of a new court face,Nere meant to signifie their pow'r, or place.You may esteeme them Lovers by their haire;The colour warnes no Lady to despaire;And Nature seem'd to prove their stature such,As tooke not scantly from her, nor too much:So tall, wee can't mis-name their stature length,Nor think't lesse made for comlinesse, than strength.Their hearts are more, than what wee noble call,And still make Envy weary of her Gall.So gentle soft; their valours with more ease,Might be betrai'd to suffer than displease:Compar'd to Lovers, Lovers were undone;Since still the best gaine by comparison.Of these, the God-like Sidney was a Type,Whose fame still growes, and yet is ever ripe;Like fruits of Paradise, which nought could blastBut ignorance; for a desire to taste,And know, produc'd no curse; but neut'rall will,When knowledge made indiff'rent, good, and ill.So whilst our judgement keepes unmix'd, and pure,Our Sidney's full-growne Fame will still endure:Sidney, like whom these Champions strive to grace,The silenc'd remnant of poore Orpheus race.First those, whom mighty Numbers shall inspire;Then those, whose easier art can touch his Lyre.And they protect, those who with wealthier fare,Old Zeuxis lucky Pensill imitate,And those, who teach Lysippus Imag'rie;Formes, that if once alive, would never die!Which though no offices of life they taste,Yet, like th'Elements (life's preservers) last!An Art, that travailes much, deriv'd to usFrom pregnant Rome, to Rome from Ephesus!But whither am I fled? A Poets Song,When love directs his praise, is ever long.The Challenge was aloud; whilst ev'ry whereMen strive to shew their hopes; and hide their feare.They now stood opposite, and neer: awhileTheir Eyes encounter'd, then in scorne they smile.Each did disguise the fury of his heart,By safe, and temp'rate exercise of Art.Seem'd to invite those thrusts they most decline,Receive and then returne in one true line:As if, all Archymedes science wereIn duell both express'd, and better'd there.Each strove the others judgement to surpasse;Stood stiffe, as if their postures were in brasse.But who can keepe his cold wise temper long,When honours warmes him, and his blood is young?Those subtle figures, they in judgement choseAs guards secure, in rage they discompose:Now Hazard is the play, Courage the Maine,Which if it hits at first, assur's the gaine:But Honor throwes at all; and in this strife,When Honor playes, how poore a stake is life?Which soone (alas!) the adverse Second found;Made wise, by the example of a wound:But Gamsters wisdome ever comes too late;So deare 'tis bought, of that false Merchant Fate:For our bold Second by that wound had woneThe treasure of his strength; whilst quite undone,He shrunke from this unlucky sport: but nowMore angry wrinckles on his Rivals browAppear'd, than hunted Lions weare; and allHis strength, hee ventures on our Principall:Who entertain'd his streame of fury soAs Seas meet Rivers whom they force to flow:It is repulse makes Rivers swell, and heForc'd back, got courage from our victorie:Rivers, that Seas doe teach to rage, are tost,And troubled for their pride, then quickly lost:So he was taught that anger, which he spentTo make the others wrath more prevalent.For in the next assault he felt the best,First part of Man (the Monarch of his brest)To sicken in its warme, and narrow Throne,His Rivals hasty Soule, to shades unknowneWas newly fled; but his made greater haste,His feares had so much sense of suff'rings past:Such danger he discern'd in's Victors eye;Whom he beleev'd, so skill'd in victorie;As if his Soule should neere his body stay,The cruell heavens, would teach him finde a wayTo kill that too; by which, no pride (wee see)Can make us so prophane as miserie?This when their Campe beheld, they strait abjureThat pitty in their vow; which to secureThe publique bloud, ventur'd their hopes, and fame,On Two, cause they could dye, were censur'd tame:And to exhort, such vex'd, and various Minds,Were in a storme, to reconcile the Winds,With whisper'd precepts of philosophy;Armes, and Religion, seldome can comply.Their faith they break, and in a Body drawTheir looser strength, to give the Victors law.Charge! charge! the battaile is begun! and nowI saw, thy Vncles anger in thy brow:Which like Heavens fire, doth seldom force assume,Or kindle till tis fit, it should consume:Heavens slow, unwilling fire; that would not fall,'Till Two injurious Cities seem'd to callWith their loud sinnes; and when t'was time it mustDestroy; although it was severely justTo those, so much perverted in their will;The righteous saw the fire, yet fear'd no ill.So carelesse safe, here all the Natives were,Who stood, as if too innocent to feare.As if they knew, they Uncle bred thy Fate,And his just anger thou didst imitate.But thy proud Foes, who thought the Morne did rise,For no chiefe cause, but to salute their Eies;Are now enform'd by Death, it may grow NightWith them, yet others still enjoy the light:For strait (me thought) their perish'd Bodies layTo soyle the Ground, they conquer'd yesterday.O, why is valour priz'd at such a rate?Or if a Vertue, why so fool'd by Fate?That Land, achiev'd with patient toyle, and mightOf emulous encounter in the fight,They must not only yeeld, when they must dy,But dead, it for the Victor fructifie.And now our Drummes so fill each adverse Eare,Their fellowes groanes, want roome to enter there;Like Ships neere Rocks, when stormes are growne so high,They cannot warne each other with their cry:Ev'n so, not hearing what would make them flye,All stay'd, and sunke, for sad societie:Their wounds are such, the Neighb'ring Rivers needNo Springs to make them flow, but what they bleed:Where Fishes wonder at their red-dy'd flood,And by long nourishment on humane blood,May grow so neere a kin to men, that hewho feeds on them hereafter, needs must beEsteem'd as true a Caniball, as thoseWhose luscious diet is their conquer'd Foes.Sure Adam when himselfe he first did spieSo singular, and onely in his eye;Yet knew, all to that single selfe pertain'd,Which the Sunne saw, or Elements sustain'd;He not beleev'd, a race from him might comeSo num'rous, that to make new off-spring roome,Is now the best excuse of Nature, whyMen long in growth, so easily must die.Eden, which God did this first Prince allow,But as his Privie-garden then, is nowA spacious Country found; else wee supplieWith dreames, not truth, long lost Geographie:And each high Island then (though nere so wide)Was but his Mount, by Nature fortifi'd;And every Sea, wherein those Islands float,Most aptly then, he might have call'd his Moat.Parts, and divisions were computed small,When rated by his measure that had all:And all was Adams when the world was new;Then strait that all, succeeded to a few;Whilst men were in their size, not number strong;But since, each Couple is become a Throng:Which is the cause wee busie ev'ry winde(That studious Pilots in their compasse finde)For Lands unknowne: where those who first doe comeAre not held strangers, but arrive at home:Yet he that next shall make his visit there,Is punish'd for a Spie and Wanderer:Not that Man's nature is a verse from peace;But all are wisely jealous of increase:For Eaters grow so fast, that wee must driveOur friends away to keepe our selves alive:And Warr would be lesse needfull, if to die,Had bin as pleasant as to multiplie.Forgive mee Prince, that this aspiring flame(First kindled as a light, to shew thy fame)Consumes so fast, and is mis-spent so long,Ere my chiefe Vision is become my Song,Thy selfe I saw, quite tir'd with victorie;As weary growne to kill, as they to die:Whilst some at last, thy mercy did enjoy'Cause t'was lesse paines, to pardon than destroy;And thy compassion did thy Army please,In meere beleefe, it gave thy Valour ease.Here in a calme began thy regall sway;Which with such cheerefull hearts, all did obey,As if no Law, were juster than thy word;Thy Scepter still were safe, without a Sword.And here Chronologers pronounce thy stile;The first true Monarch of the Golden Isle:An Isle, so seated for predominance,Where Navall strength, its power can so advance,That it may tribute take, of what the EastShall ever send in traffique to the West.He that from cursed Mahomet derivesHis sinfull blood: the Sophy too, that strivesTo prove, he keepes that very Chaire in's Throne,The Macedonian Youth last sate upon:And hee, whose wilder pride, makes him abhorAll but the Sunne, for his Progenitor;Whose Mother sure, was ravish'd in a dreame,By somes o're hot, lascivious Noone-day-beame;From whence, he cals himselfe, The wealth of sight,The Morn's Executor, the Heire of Light:And he, that thinks his rule extends so farre,He hopes, the former Three his Vassailes are:Compar'd to him, in Warre hee rates them lesse,Than Corporals; than Constables in peace:And hopes the mighty Presbiter stands bareIn rev'rence of his name, and will not dareTo weare (though sick) his purple Turband onWithin a hundred Leagues, of his bright Throne.These Mortall Gods, for traffique still disperseTheir envy'd wealth, throughout the universe;In Caracks, built so wide, that they want roomeIn narrow Seas; or in a Iunck, whose wombeSo swels, as could our wonder be so mad,To thinke that Boats, or Ships their sexes had;Who them beheld, would simply say; sure theseAre neere their time, and big with Pinnaces:Yet though so large, and populous, they allMust tribute pay, unto thy Admirall.Now Wealth (the cause, and the reward of War)Is greedily explor'd: some busie areIn virgin Mines; where shining gold they spie,That darkens the Celestiall Chymicks eye:I wish'd my Soule had brought my body here,Not as a Poet, but a Pioner.Some neere the deepest shore are sent to dive;Whilst with their long retentive breath they striveTo root up Corall Trees, where Mermaids lie,Sighing beneath those Precious boughs, and dieFor absence of their scaly Lovers lostIn midnight stormes, about the Indian coast.Some finde old Oysters, that lay gapeing thereFor ev'ry new, fresh flood, a hundred yeare;From these they rifle Pearles whose pond'rous sizeSinks weaker Divors when they strive to rise:So big, on Carckonets were never scene,But where some well truss'd Giantesse is Queene;For though th'are Orient, and design'd to deck,Their weight would yoke a tender Ladies Neck.Some climbe, and search the Rocks, till each have foundA Saphyr, Ruby, and a Diamond:That which the Sultan's glistrings Bride doth weare,To these would but a Glowormes eie appeare:The Tuscan Duk's compar'd, shewes sick, and dark;These living Starres, and his a dying spark.And now I saw (what urg'd my wonder more)Black Suds of Ambar-Greece, float to the shore:Whilst rude'dull Mariners, who hardly canDistinguish Buffe, or Hides, from Cordovan,(Since gloves they never weare) this Oyntment useNot to perfume, but supple their parch'd Shooes.Now others hasten to the woods, and thereSuch fruits for taste and odor, ev'ry whereAre seene; that the Merabolan by someIs slighted as a course sowre winter-Plumme.Then new temptations make them all in loveWith wand'ring, till invited to a Grove,They strait those silken litle Weavers spie,That worke so fast on leaves of Mulberie:The Persian worme (whose weary sommer toylesSo long hath beene the rusling Courtiers spoyles)Compar'd to these, lives ever lazily,And for neat spinning is a bungling Flie!Such hopes of wealth discern'd, tis hard to sayHow gladly reason did my faith obey;As if that miracle would now appeare,Which turnes a Poet to an Usurer:But reason soone will with our faith conspire,To make that easie which wee much desire:Nor, Prince, will I despaire; though all is thine,That Pioners now dig from ev'ry Mine;Though all, for which on slipp'ry Rocks they strive,Or gather when in Seas they breathlesse dive;Though Poets such unlucky Prophets are,As still foretell more blessings than they shareYet when thy noble choyce appear'd, that byTheir Combat first prepar'd thy victorie;Endimion, and Arigo; who delightIn Numbers and make strong my Muses flight!These when I saw; my hopes could not abstaine,To think it likely I might twirle a ChaineOn a judiciall Bench: learne to demurre,And sleepe out trials in a gowne of Furre;Then reconcile the rich, for Gold-fring'd-gloves,The poore, for God-sake, or for Sugar-loaves!When I perceiv'd, that cares on wealth rely;That I was destin'd for authoritie,And early Gowts; my Soule in a strange frightFrom this rich Isle began her hasty flight;And to my halfe dead Body did returne,Which new inspir'd, rose cheerefull as the Morne.Heroique Prince, may still thy acts, and name,Become the wonder and discourse of Fame;May ev'ry Laurell, ev'ry Mirtle bough,Be strip'd for Wreaths, t'adorne, and load thy brow;Triumphant Wreaths, which cause they never fade,Wise elder times, for Kings and Poets made:And I deserve a little sprig of Bay,To weare in Greece on Homers Holy-day;Since I assume, when I thy Battailes write,That very flame, which warm'd thee in the fight.
