MISCELLANEOUS AND COMMEMORATIVE. NEVER BEFORE PRINTED. NOTE. Once more the Sancroft MS. furnishes the Poems of this division, all hitherto unprinted. In this section I have again been largely and finely aided in the translations by my already-named friend the Rev. Richard Wilton, as before. G.
TRANSLATION. THE BEAUTIFUL NOT LASTING. Alas, how brief and grudg'd our Spring!
Ah, flow'ry days how vanishing!
E'en so ye hasten on and on
With an unceasing motion.
And thou, sweet Beauty, brightly flashing,
But all too soon thy fairness dashing,
To depths of lowest Night must go:
Ah, losing there thy hasty glow;
Dark'ning mists around thee clinging,
And thy loveliness swift-winging:
A love that brightens to deceive;
A dream-shadow, fugitive.
Ye therefore o'er whom Life's young Day
Shineth still with golden ray,
Seize—Fate's harsh distaff makes appeal,
And hoary Time's quick-whirling wheel,
As round and round the circle spins,
And to furthest distance wins—
Seize ye the gliding seasons fleet,
And dews of vernal Phosphor sweet,
And new-blown flowers' brightness meet.
O, what to tender loves ye owe,
Waste not on Chaos dark below,
Where pallid ghosts dim-gleaming go.
Though, Beauty, on thy starry cheeks,
Where snow's white pureness ever breaks,
And where gazing, we see born
Roses fresh without all thorn,
Buds intertwining undefil'd,
Spotless as e'er a grace-born child:
Though thou with everlasting faith
Fosterest with thy nectar'd breath
Myriad Loves, and dost them feed
With honey'd feast of heavenly mead
In gentle draughts; and they roam round
In thy realms, and aye are found
Surfeiting themselves with play
In one amorous holiday;
Happy in the drenching dew,
And seeking ever to renew
Their torch-flames at thy fair eyes,
And whet blunt arrows' ecstasies
With sweet juice that in honey lies:
And so, with their flame relumÈd,
Deftly hover, airy-plumÈd;
Waving higher still and higher
Their torches that raise soft desire;
Menacing the very stars,
Yea the old heavens i' their wars:
Although beneath thy high-arch'd brow
Sits Majesty, nor doth allow
To wanton loves such liberty
As mocks the Ruler of the sky;
But in their wild career gives pause,
Imposing on them Love's sweet laws:
Though thy whole frame in every part
Sets forth the sky as in a chart;
Though thy fair face in every look
Shows heaven in page of living book;
To Earth reveals the starry skies
In the bright glances of thine eyes:
Yet, alas, on these fair cheeks,
Where the rose all-blushing speaks,
There shall come the snow's sad whiteness,
And the red, heart-breaking brightness:
On the 'human face divine,'
That as a star doth radiant shine,
There shall come the deep'ning shadow,
As clouds across the dappl'd meadow.
On the high state of the brow
To-morrow Death may make his blow;
And all of Nature's bravery
Gone, in the Grave's cavern lie.
Alas, the fairest is the fleetest!
Alas, how short-liv'd is the sweetest!
Alas, the richest is the rarest!
Alas, that Death doth spoil the fairest! G.
HYMNUS VENERI, DUM IN ILLIUS TUTELAM TRANSEUNT VIRGINES. Tu tuis adsis, Venus alme, sacris:
Rideas blandum, Venus, et benignum,
Quale cum Martem premis, aureoque
Frangis ocello.
Rideas Ô tum neque flamma Phoebum,
Nec juvent Phoeben sua tela; gestat
Te satis contra tuus ille tantum
Tela Cupido.
Saepe in ipsius pharetra Dianae
Hic suas ridens posuit sagittas,
Ausus et flammae Dominum magistris
Urere flammis.
Virginum te orat chorus—esse longum
Virgines nollent—modo servientum
Tot columbarum tibi passerumque augere catervam.
Dedicant quicquid labra vel rosarum
Colla, vel servant tibi liliorum;
Dedicant totum tibi ver genarum,
Ver oculorum.
Hinc tuo sumas licet arma nato,
Seu novas his ex oculis sagittas;
Seu faces flamma velit acriori
Flave comatas.
Sume, et Ô discant quid amica, quid nox,
Quid bene et blande vigilata nox sit;
Quid sibi dulcis furor, et protervus
Poscat amator.
Sume per quae tot tibi corda flagrant,
Per quod arcanum tua cestus halat,
Per tuus quicquid tibi dixit olim aut
Fecit Adonis.
TRANSLATION. A HYMN TO VENUS, WHILE THE VIRGINS PASS UNDER HER PROTECTION. Be thou, sweet Venus, present now,
Whilst at thy sacred rites we vow;
Smile, Venus, with the smile that charms
When Mars enfolds thee in his arms,
O'ercome with glance as sunshine golden,
RenownÈd from the ages olden.
Smile; then Phoebus' flame shall fail,
Nor Phoebe her own darts avail.
Thy Cupid only against thee
Wields successful weaponry.
Oft and oft the laughing Boy
In the wildness of his joy
Has slipt into Diana's quiver
His keen arrows, that a shiver
Pleasant-painful send through all,
When he, trickster, doth enthral.
Yea, he has dar'd the Lord of Fire
With flames more burning, in his ire.
The arm-link'd Virgins to thee pray,
Seeking thou wouldst near them stay;
Were it but to offer here,
In the flock that hovers near,
More doves and sparrows lightly-flying:
To their prayer there's no denying.
Lo, they dedicate in posies
All their lips supply of roses;
All their necks, of lilies, white
As the dewy stainless light;
Yea, the whole Spring of each cheek,
And that which from their eyes doth break.
Hence, Venus, arms thou mayest take
For thy wanton Boy to make
Arrows from their fire-darting eyes,
Or torches flame-tipp'd that surprise
With Love's delicious agonies.
Take them, and see thou lett'st them know
What means a 'mistress;' and then show
What the Night all-wakeful is
In the rapture of its bliss;
What the bold lover shall demand
When all charms he doth command.
Take them: by all the hearts that burn,
And passionate unto thee turn!
By all the mysteries that are breath'd,
Or in thine own girdle sheath'd!
By all to thee Adonis e'er
Or said or did, when he would swear,
Ne'er i' the world was one so fair! G.
VERIS DESCRIPTIO. Tempus adest, placidis quo sol novus auctior horis
Purpureos mulcere dies, et sidere verno
Floridus, augusto solet ire per aethera vultu,
Naturae communis amor; spes aurea mundi;
Virgineum decus, et dulcis lascivia rerum,
Ver tenerum, ver molle subit; jam pulchrior annus
Pube nova, roseaeque recens in flore juventae
Felici fragrat gremio, et laxatur odora
Prole parens; per aquas, perque arva, per omnia late
Ipse suas miratur opes, miratur honores.
Jam Zephyro resoluta suo tumet ebria tellus,
Et crebro bibit imbre Jovem, sub frondibus altis
Flora sedens, audit, felix! quo murmure lapsis
Fons patrius minitetur aquis, quae vertice crispo
Respiciunt tantum, et strepero procul agmine pergunt.
Audit, et arboreis siquid gemebunda recurrens
Garriat aura comis, audit, quibus ipsa susurris
Annuit, et facili cervice remurmurat arbor.
Quin audit querulas, audit quodcunque per umbras
Flebilibus Philomela modis miserabile narrat.
Tum quoque praecipue blandis Cytherea per orbem
Spargitur imperiis; molles tum major habenas
Incutit increpitans, cestus magis ignea rores
Ingeminat, tumidosque sinus flagrantior ambit;
Nympharum incedit late, Charitumque corona
Amplior, et plures curru jam nectit olores:
Quin ipsos quoque tum campis emittit apricis
Venus Laeta parens gremioque omnes effundit Amores.
Mille ruunt equites blandi, peditumque protervae
Mille ruunt acies: levium pars terga ferarum
Insiliunt, gaudentque suis stimulare sagittis;
Pars optans gemino multum properare volatu
AËrios conscendit equos; hic passere blando
Subsiliens leve ludit iter; micat huc, micat illuc
Hospitio levis incerto, et vagus omnibus umbris:
Verum alter gravidis insurgens major habenis
Maternas molitur aves: illi improbus acrem
Versat apem similis, seseque agnoscit in illo.
Et brevibus miscere vias ac frangere gyris:
Pars leviter per prata vagi sua lilia dignis
Contendunt sociare rosis; tum floreus ordo
Consilio fragrante venit; lascivit in omni
Germine laeta manus; nitidis nova gloria pennis
Additur; illustri gremio sedet aurea messis;
Gaudet odoratas coma blandior ire sub umbras.
Excutiunt solitas, immitia tela, sagittas,
Ridentesque aliis pharetrae spectantur in armis.
Flore manus, et flore sinus, flore omnia lucent.
Undique jam flos est. Vitreas hic pronus ad undas
Ingenium illudentis aquae, fluitantiaque ora,
Et vaga miratur tremulae mendacia formae.
Inde suos probat explorans, et judice nympha
Informat radios, ne non satis igne protervo
Ora tremant, agilesque docet nova fulgura vultus,
Atque suo vibrare jubet petulantius astro.
TRANSLATION. A DESCRIPTION OF SPRING. The time is come, when, lord of milder hours,
The Sun, ascending fresh with larger powers,
Is wont to woo and soothe the purple Day,
And, brilliant with its beaming vernal ray,
To climb with face august the heavenly way;
All Nature's love, Earth's hope and glory golden,
To which for garlands virgins are beholden.
With a glad plenty of all living things
Sweet tender Spring approaches on soft wings.
The Year, more beauteous now with offspring new,
And crown'd with Youth's fresh flowers of every hue,
Delicious odours pours from happy breast,
Of fragrant progeny the parent blest:
O'er verdant fields, blue waters, everywhere,
At his own wealth he wonders, large and fair.
By her own Zephyr thirsty Earth unbound
Drinks eagerly the showers which fall all round;
While Flora, sitting where tall trees appear,
Lists, O how happily! as, murmuring near,
A father-fountain chides its gliding waters,
Which with curl'd head—alas, unduteous daughters—
Only look back, and then a garrulous band
Pursue their laughing way o'er all the land;
Lists how the sighing, oft-returning air
Soft prattles to the leafy tresses fair;
With what sweet whispers it accosts the tree,
Which with bow'd head makes answer murmuringly;
Lists, lists again, while through the mournful shade
Sad Philomel's pathetic plaint is made.
Now chiefly Venus spreads her empire sweet,
And calls the world to worship at her feet;
Now mightier her soft reins shakes to and fro,
Chiding, and makes her chariot faster go;
More fiery bids her cestus' powers abound,
And her warm swelling bosom girds around;
More glorious now, circl'd by Nymphs and Graces,
She marches forth, and to her chariot-traces
She yokes more swans. Nay, freer than before,
Her Loves themselves, the sunny meadows o'er,
From her maternal bosom see her pour;
A thousand horsemen sweet career around,
Ten thousand wanton footmen scour the ground;
Part mount the backs of wild beasts as they run,
And their own goad-like arrows ply in fun;
Part seek wing'd flight to urge with double speed,
And so ascend each one an airy steed;
One, vaulting on a sparrow, flits away;
Here see him lightly shine, there brightly play,
In no place long; now resting here, now yonder,
Wherever shadows woo them, lo, they wander.
One, rising mightier than her heavy reins,
His Mother's birds attempts with lighter chains.
One, bee-like, brave o'erthrows an angry bee,
Only another self in him to see;
In tiny circles they awhile revolve,
But soon their interlacing flight dissolve.
Part, lightly flitting o'er the meadows fair,
Strive their own lilies with meet rose to pair.
Now flowery tribes in fragrant counsel stand,
Amid the buds wantons the joyous band.
New glory on their shining pinions rests,
A golden harvest settles on their breasts;
With sweeten'd locks to odorous shades they go,
Their arrows, weapons harsh, away they throw,
While other arms their smiling quivers show.
Flowers in their hand, flowers in their breast, are seen,
On every side appears a flowery sheen.
One Love, reclin'd beside a glassy stream,
Admires the nature of the illusive gleam,
The liquid likeness of his wavering face,
And tremulous deceit of imag'd grace.
Thence, his own rays examining, he tries
And fashions, as the Nymph may chance advise,
That braver fires may tremble in his eyes;
His mobile face new lightnings flashes far,
With rays more wanton, bickering like a star. R. Wi.
PRISCIANUS VERBERANS ET VAPULANS. The two following poems—somewhat out of character, so to say, with Crashaw—were probably prepared for a tractate, which it has been our good fortune to hap on in the Bodleian. It is a Latin burlesque Poem, filling a small 4to of 20 pages, with this title: En
Priscianus
Verberans
et
Vapulans.
Jam publicato verberans aures stylo
Qua penis iterum vapulet, metuit crisin.
Londini Excudebat Augustinus Mathewes impensis
Roberti Mulbourne ad insigne
Canis venatici in coemeterio Paulino. 1632.
The words 'Priscianus Verberans et Vapulans' remind us of the once-famous 'Comoedia' of Nicodemus Freschlin; but the later poem shows no reminiscence of the earlier. These details will doubtless interest and amuse in relation to Crashaw's pieces. Priscianus, otherwise Nisus, a schoolmaster, whips a boy who broke and dirtied his whipping-horse, and the boy's parents bring an action against him for assault. The place is evidently Aldborough in Suffolk—illumined by the genius of Crabbe—and the name of the boy's family Coleman. The poem thus begins and proceeds—the marginal notes being placed at the bottom of our pages: Pinguibus in populi, qui dicitur Austricus,[101] arvis
Praeturam, fasces, lictores nuper adepta
Villa[102] antiqua, novo jam Burgi turget honore.
He describes the school: Vicinae senior Carbonius[103] incola villae,
'Lingua vernacula idem quod ??????a?d???,
sends his son as a scholar: the stipend 20s. a year: De stipe[103] consentit genitor: Carbunculus intrat.
He describes the whipping-block, the judicious use of which saves boys from the gallows: Iste caballus
the Trojan Non in perniciem, non urbis ut ille ruinam
Sed curam imberbis populi, regimenque salubre:
A triplici ligno[104] lignum hoc penate tuetur
Praecipitem aetatem.
Young Coleman plays truant from school, and one day, when the school is empty, breaks and defiles the horse. He openly boasts of his feat, and returning another day to repeat his misdeed, is caught by Nisus, who mounts him on the injured horse, which, by poetical license, is made to whinny with content. The youth expects twenty cuts, and receives four: Quattuor[105] inflixit tantum mediocriter ictus,
Plures optet equus, plures daret arbiter aequus.
Coleman senior calls on the Schoolmaster, who remarks that payment for his son's schooling is in arrear. Coleman returns with Mrs. Coleman, and demands a receipt for the payment, which he makes, as Nisus discovers, lest a counter-action be brought against him: Vult sibi ut absolvens[106] accepti latio detur
Consignata manu Nisi, atque a teste probata.
Then Mrs. Coleman shows herself deserving of the cucking-stool: ..... bona Carbonissa
Inque caput Nisi cumulata opprobria plaustro
Digna et rixivomas sub aquis mersante[107] cathedra,
Quinetiam manibus quasi pugnatura lacessit.
They bring their action for assault. (The English words in the marginal notes, placed below, are in black-letter:) Nulla mora est, juristam adhibent, de fonte dicarum
Qui populo Placita ad Communia[108] panditur, exit
Schedula quod vulgo[109] Regis Breve dicitur: illo
Mox capitur Nisus, geminoque sub obside spondet
In responsurum praescripto tempore: tempus
Cunctarum[110] lux est animarum crastini. Verum
Actor quis?[111] Puer ipse, virum qui provocat, annos
Nondum bis-senos superans. Sed et actio quaenam?
Quid crimen? Pravus atque atrox injuria, tristes
Et tragicae ambages, ampullae sesquipedales,
Quod[112] Regis contra pacem vi Nisus, et armis
Insultum fecit, male tractans verbere saevo
Verberibus diris adeo, plenisque pericli
De pueri vita ut desperaretur.
The poem ends, leaving poor Nisus in the midst of his first law-suit: Ecce
Nisus, jam primum Nisus miser ambulat in jus:
and the marginal note is 'In causis litigiosis sive casibus inscriptionum stylus Johannes de Stiles versus Johannem de Nokes.' A concluding chronogram gives the year 1629: LVDI MagIster LIte VeXatVr forI.
The Schoolmaster's friends have written him complimentary epigrams, which are prefixed to his poem. One is worth reproducing, ae it has an echo of Crashaw's: Ad ??p?????s???ta
Suavia nonnulli lutulento carmine narrant:
Turpia tu nitido, Nise poeta, places.
In black-letter, as follows: Some cloath faire tales in sluttish eloquence:
Thy tale is foule, thy verse is frankincense.
T. Lovering Artium Ludiq. Magister. There seems little doubt that Crashaw's two poems were born of this anonymous tractate. Cf. 'rixivomas' (p. 310) with 'vomitivam' and 'rixosa volumina linguae.' Biographically they and others secular have a special interest and value. My good friend Rev. Richard Wilton, as before, has very happily translated these playthings. G.
Quid facis? ah, tam perversa quid volvitur ira?
Quid parat iste tuus, posterus iste furor?
Ah, truculente puer, tam foedo parce furori.
Nec rapiat tragicas tam gravis ira nates.
Ecce fremit, fremit ecce indignabundus Apollo.
Castalides fugiunt, et procul ora tegunt.
Sic igitur sacrum, sic insedisse caballum
Quaeris? et, ah, fieri tam male notus eques?
Ille igitur phaleris nitidus lucebit in istis?
Haec erit ad solidum turpis habena latus?
His ille, haud nimium rigidis, dabit ora lupatis?
Haec fluet in miseris sordida vitta jubis?
Sic erit ista tui, sic aurea pompa triumphi?
Ille sub imperiis ibit olentis heri?
Ille tamen neque terribili stat spumeus ira;
Ungula nec celso fervida calce tonat.
O merito spectatur equi patientia nostri!
Dicite Io, tantum quis toleravit equus?
Pegasus iste ferox, mortales spretus habenas.
Bellerophontaea non tulit ire manu.
Noster equus tamen exemplo non turget in isto:
Stat bonus, et solito se pede certus habet.
Imo licet tantos de te tulit ille pudores,
Te tulit ille iterum, sed meliore modo.
Tunc rubor in scapulas O quam bene transiit iste,
Qui satis in vultus noluit ire tuos!
At mater centum in furias abit, et vomit iram
Mille modis rabidam jura, forumque fremit.
Quin fera tu taceas; aut jura forumque tacebunt:
Tu legi vocem non sinis esse suam.
O male vibratae rixosa volumina linguae,
Et satis in nullo verba tonanda foro!
Causidicos, vesana! tuos tua fulmina terrent.
Ecce stupent miseri, ah, nec meminere loqui.
Hinc tua, foede puer, foedati hinc terga caballi
Exercent querulo jurgia lenta foro.
Obscaenas lites, et olentia jurgia ridet
Turpiter in causam sollicitata Themis.
Juridicus lites quisquis tractaverit istas,
O satis emuncta nare sit ille, precor,
At tu de misero quid vis, truculente, caballo?
Cur premis insultans, saeve, tyranne puer!
Tene igitur fugiet? fugiet sacer iste caballus?
Non fugiet, sed, si vis, tibi terga dabit.[113]
TRANSLATION. PRISCIANUS BEATING AND BEING BEATEN. What wouldest thou? why rolls thy wayward ire?
What means that rage of thine dirty and dire?
Ah, savage boy, such fury foul forbear,
Nor let thy wrath those tragic buttocks tear.
Apollo, all indignant, groans and sighs;
The Muses flee, and hide them from thine eyes.
Thus dost thou seek to sit the sacred steed?
Thus to become a horseman fam'd indeed!
In such adornment shall he brightly shine?
His firm flank lash'd by this base whip of thine?
His mouth to this loose bit shall he deliver?
O'er his poor mane this filthy fillet quiver?
In golden triumph thus shalt thou proceed,
So rank a lord bestriding such a steed?
Yet foaming with dire rage he does not stand,
Nor with hot hoof go thundering o'er the land.
Our horse's patience is a wond'rous sight!
O, say, what horse before endur'd such wight?
Old Pegasus, despising mortal sway,
Bellerophon's strong hand disdain'd to obey:
And yet with no such rage swells this our horse;
Quiet he stands, and holds his wonted course.
Nay, though he bore such shame from thee that day,
Again he bore thee—in a better way!
Then to thy shoulders fitly pass'd the blush,
Which to thy countenance refus'd to rush.
His mother furious raves and wildly splutters
A thousand spites, and of the law-courts mutters.
Peace, woman! or the law-courts thou wilt awe;
Thou dost not leave its own voice to the Law.
O fractious eddies of the brandish'd tongue,
Such words as in no law-court ever rung.
Thy very lawyers from thy thunders hide:
Lo, they forget to speak, as stupefied.
Thus, thus, foul boy, thy fouled horse's hide
By wrangling law-court's tedious strife is plied.
While Justice, summon'd to a cause so vile,
Views the rank strife obscene with scornful smile.
Whatever judge such nasty action tries,
See that he blow his nose well, I advise.
But why wouldst thou, cruel, tyrannic boy,
With thy insulting weight that horse annoy?
That sacred steed, will it, then, from thee flee?—
'Twill not turn tail, but lend its back to thee! R. Wi.
AD LIBRUM SUPER HAC RE AB IPSO LUDI MAGISTRO EDITUM, QUI DICITUR 'PRISCIANUS VERBERANS ET VAPULANS.' Sordes Ô tibi gratulamur istas,
O Musa aurea, blanda, delicata;
O Musa, Ô tibi candidas, suoque
Jam nec nomine, jam nec ore notas:
Sacro carmine quippe delinitae
Se nunc, Ô bene nesciunt, novaque
Mirantur facie novum nitorem.
Ipsas tu facis Ô nitere sordes.
Sordes Ô tibi gratulamur ipsas.
Si non hic natibus procax malignis
Foedo fulmine turpis intonasset,
Unde insurgeret haec querela vindex,
Docto et murmure carminis severi
Dulces fortiter aggregaret iras?
Ipsae Ô te faciunt nitere sordes:
Sordes Ô tibi gratulamur ipsas.
Quam pulchre tua migrat Hippocrene!
Turpi quam bene degener parenti!
Foedi filia tam serena fontis.
Has de stercore quis putaret undas?
Sic Ô lactea surge, Musa, surge;
Surge inter medias serena sordes.
Spumis qualiter in suis Dione,
Cum prompsit latus aureum, atque primas
Ortu purpureo movebat undas.
Sic Ô lactea surge, Musa, surge:
Enni stercus erit Maronis aurum.
TRANSLATION. TO A TRACTATE ON THIS SUBJECT PUBLISHED BY THE MASTER OF THE SCHOOL HIMSELF, WHICH IS CALLED 'PRISCIANUS VERBERANS ET VAPULANS.' On this vile theme thee we congratulate,
O golden Muse, pleasing and delicate;
This fair white vileness, Muse, which by its own
Or name or face is now no longer known.
For, charm'd by thy poetic sacred strain,
It knows not, happily, itself again;
But with new face wonders at its new splendour—
For splendid e'en a vile theme thou canst render:
Congratulations for vile theme we tender.
For had not he,[114] with headlong buttocks base,
Gone flashing foully on with thunderous pace,
From whence would this avenging plant have sprung,
This solemn strain with polish'd music rung?
And whence had gather'd these brave angers tender?
O Muse, the vilest theme can bring thee splendour,
For which congratulations now we render.
Thy HippocrenÈ comes with a fair face,
Finely unworthy of its father base;
Of a foul fountain so serene a daughter:
From dunghill, who would dream such crystal water?
Thus rise, O Muse, O rise, a milk-white queen,
Out of the midst of vileness rise serene.
Even as Venus rising from her spray,
When she discover'd to the light of day
Her golden limbs, the billowy waves surprising
With the first glory of her purple rising;
So rise, O Muse, thy milk-white grace unfold;
Ennius' dunghill will be Virgil's gold! R. Wi.
MELIUS PURGATUR STOMACHUS PER VOMITUM QUAM PER SECESSUM. Dum vires refero vomitus et nobile munus,
Da mini de vomitu, grandis Homere, tuo.
Nempe olim, multi cum carminis anxia moles
Vexabat stomachum, magne Poeta, tuum;
Aegraque jejuno tenuebat pectora morsu,
Jussit et in crudam semper hiare famem:
Phoebus, ut est medicus, vomitoria pocula praebens,
Morbum omnem longos expulit in vomitus.
Protinus et centum incumbunt toto ore Poetae,
Certantes sacras lambere relliquias.
Quod vix fecissent, scio, si medicamen ineptum
Venisset misere posteriore via.
Quippe per anfractus caecique volumina ventris
Sacra, putas, hostem vult medicina sequi?
Tam turpes tenebras haec non dignatur, at ipsum
Sedibus ex imis imperiosa trahit.
ERGO:
Per vomitum stomachus melius purgabitur, alvus
Quam qua secretis exit opaca viis.
NOTE. While we do not deem it expedient to translate this somewhat coarse jeu d'esprit, its sentiment and allusions will be found anticipated in the lines 'To the Reader, upon the Author his Kins-man,' prefixed to 'Follie's Anatomie; or Satyres and Satyricall Epigrams; with a compendious History of Ixion's Wheele. Compiled by Henry Hutton, Dunelmensis.' London, 1619 (pp. 3-4)—which we give here: Old Homer in his time made a great feast,
And every Poet was thereat a guest:
All had their welcome, yet not all one fare;
To them above the salt (his chiefest care)
He spread a banquet of choice Poesie,
Whereon they fed even to satietie.
The lower end had from that end their cates;
For Homer, setting open his dung-gates,
Delivered from that dresser excrement,
Whereon they glutted, and returned in print.
Let no man wonder that I this rehearse;
Nought came from Homer but it turned to verse.
Now where our Author was, at this good cheere,
Where was his place, or whether he were there;
Whether he waited, or he tooke away,
Of this same point I cannot soothly say.
But this I ghesse: being then a dandiprat,
Some witty Poet took him on his lap,
And fed him, from above, with some choice bit.
Hence his acumen, and a ready wit.
But prayers from a friendly pen ill thrive,
And truth's scarce truth, spoke by a relative.
Let envy, therefore, give her vote herein:
Envy and th' Author sure are nought akin.
He personate bad Envy; yet say so,
He lickt at Homer's mouth, not from below. R[alph] H[utton].
Percy Society edit. (Rimbault), 1842. Both Hutton and Crashaw remind us of the like sportiveness (rough) in Dryden and Byron. G.
CUM HORUM ALIQUA DEDICARAM PRAECEPTORI MEO COLENDISSIMO, AMICO AMICISSIMO, R. BROOKE.[115] En tibi Musam, Praeceptor colendissime, quas ex tuis modo scholis, quasi ex Apollinis officina, accepit alas timide adhuc, nec aliter quam sub oculis tuis jactitantem. Quod tibi enim haec feram, vir ornatissime, non ambitio dantis est, sed justitia reddentis; neque te libelli mei tam elegi patronum, quam dominum agnosco. Tua sane sunt haec et mea; neque tamen ita mea sunt, quin si quid in illis boni est, tuum hoc sit totum, neque interim in tantum tua, ut quantumcumque est in illis mali, illud non sit ex integro meum. Ita medio quodam et misto jure utriusque sunt, ne vel mihi, dum me in societatem tuarum laudum elevarem, invidiam facerem; vel injuriam tibi, ut qui te in tenuitatis meae consortium deducere conarer. Ego enim de meo nihil ausim boni mecum agnoscere, nedum profiteri palam, praeter hoc unum, quo tamen nihil melius, animum nempe non ingratum tuorum beneficiorum historiam religiosissima fide in se reponentem. Hoc quibuscumque testibus coram, hoc palam in os coeli meaeque conscientiae meum jacto effero me in hoc ultra aemuli patientiam. Enim vero elegantiore obsequio venerentur te, et venerantur scio, tuorum alii: nemo me sincero magis vel ingenuo poterit. Horum denique rivulorum, tenuium utcunque nulliusque nominis, haec saltem laus erit propria, quod suum nempe norint Oceanum. TRANSLATION. WHEN I HAD DEDICATED CERTAIN OF MY POEMS TO MY MOST ESTIMABLE PRECEPTOR AND MOST FRIENDLY FRIEND, R. BROOKE. 'Well done, Muse!' was thy encouraging word, most estimable PrÆceptor; 'Well done, Muse!' fluttering its wings, which it received from thy School of late, as from Apollo's workshop, timidly as yet, nor otherwise than beneath thine eyes. Like as a nestling, feather'd gaily o'er,
Is meditating towards the stars to soar,
And in ambitious flights already vies
With the wing'd chiefs that skim along the skies:
What though he never has essay'd the air,
And needs must trust in plumes untried to bear
Unwonted burden heavenward? yet he quivers
To stretch his wings, and his fair plumage shivers
Round his light shoulders till he flits away,
While whispering airs against his pinions play;
Nor dreams he will suspend his wandering flight
Anywhere short of regions starry bright.
But when exhausted by the spaces high
And the immeasurable void of sky,
Hovering in empty air, far off he sees
The fields and hedges and familiar trees—
O, how far off!—which used his sight to please;
Then sudden overpower'd behold him sink,
And from his hopes and lofty soarings shrink:
To his dear mother his whole soul looks back,
And down he flutters on the homeward track.
That I offer thee these poems, most honourable Sir, is not the ambitious desire to give, but the righteous wish to restore what is due. And I have not chosen thee so much the patron of my little book, as I recognise thee to be its owner. Thine indeed these things are, and mine: nor yet are they so much mine, but that if there is anything good in them, this is wholly thine; nor at the same time are they so far thine, that everything bad in them is not entirely mine. Thus, by a sort of common and joint right, they belong to each of us; lest either I should bring envy to myself, while I presumed to a share of thy praises, or injury to thee, by endeavouring to drag thee down to association with my feebleness. For concerning anything belonging to me, I should not venture even to myself to admit any merit, much less to proclaim it openly, except this one thing, than which there is nothing more excellent—namely, a mind not ungrateful, and cherishing in itself with most punctilious fidelity the record of thy kindnesses. This in the presence of any witnesses, this openly in the face of heaven and to my own conscience, I boast of as my own. I proclaim myself in this particular incapable of enduring a rival; for others of thy admirers [pupils] may venerate thee, and do venerate thee, with more polite attention, but none will be able to do so with observance more sincere and felt. In conclusion; of these rivulets, however slender they may be and of no name, this at least will be the fitting praise—that at all events they know their own Ocean. R. Wi. IN OBITUM REV. V. Dris MANSELL, COLL. REGIN. Mri QUI VEN. Ds BROOKE [Mri COLL. TRIN.], INTERITUM PROXIME SECUTUS EST.[116] Ergo iterum in lacrymas et saevi murmura planctus
Ire jubet tragica mors iterata manu;
Scilicet illa novas quae jam fert dextra sagittas,
Dextra priore recens sanguine stillat adhuc.
Vos Ô, quos socia Lachesis prope miscuit urna,
Et vicina colus vix sinit esse duos;
Ite Ô, quos nostri jungunt consortia damni;
Per nostras lacrymas Ô nimis ite pares;
Ite per Elysias felici tramite valles,
Et sociis animos conciliate viis.
Illic ingentes ultro confundite manes,
Noscat et aeternam mutua dextra fidem.
Communes eadem spargantur in otia curae,
Atque idem felix poscat utrumque labor.
Nectarae simul ite vagis sermonibus horae;
Nox trahat alternas continuata vices.
Una cibos ferat, una suas vocet arbor in umbras;
Ambobus faciles herba det una toros.
Certum erit interea quanto sit major habenda
Quam quae per vitam est, mortis amicitia.
TRANSLATION. ON THE DEATH OF REV. DR. MANSELL, MASTER OF QUEEN'S COLLEGE, WHICH FOLLOWED VERY CLOSELY THE DECEASE OF REV. DR. BROOKE.[117] In tears once more and sighs of cruel woe
Death's tragic stroke repeated bids us go;
That fatal hand, which now bears arrows new,
Still freshly drips with former crimson dew.
Ye whom Fate almost mingl'd in one urn,
Whom to be two, close threads forbid discern;
Go ye, who equally our sorrows share,
By reason of our tears too much a pair;
Go where Elysian vales your steps invite,
In social paths your happy souls unite;
There mix your mighty shades with willing mind,
Eternal faith your blended right-hands find.
Let common cares be lost in the same joys,
While the same happy labour both employs;
Through nectar'd hours in talk together range,
And night continue the sweet interchange:
One tree bear fruit for both, one tree yield shade,
On the same turf your pleasant couch be made;
Thus how much better will be plainly seen
Friendship of Death than that of life, I ween. R. Wi.
HONORATISSIMO DR. ROBERTO HEATH, SUMMO JUSTIT. DE COM. BANCO, GRATULATIO.[118] Ignitum latus et sacrum tibi gratulor ostrum,
O amor atque tuae gloria magna togae:
Nam video Themis ecce humeris, Themis ardet in istis,
Inque tuos gaudet tota venire sinus.
O ibi purpureo quam se bene porrigit astro,
Et docet hic radios luxuriare suos.
Imo eat aeterna sic Ô Themis aurea pompa;
Hic velit Ô sidus semper habere suum.
Sic flagret, et nunquam tua purpura palleat intus;
O nunquam in vultus digna sit ire tuos.
Sanguine ab innocuo nullos bibat illa rubores;
Nec tam crudeli murice proficiat.
Quaeque tibi est (nam quae non est tibi?) candida virtus
Fortunam placide ducat in alta tuam.
Nullius viduae lacrymas tua marmora sudent;
Nec sit, quae inclamet te, tibi facta domus.
Non gemat ulla suam pinus tibi scissa ruinam,
Ceu cadat in domini murmure maesta sui.
Fama suas subter pennas tibi sternat eunti;
Illa tubae faciat te melioris opus.
Thura tuo, quacunque meat, cum nomine migrent;
Quaeque vehit felix te, vehat aura rosas.
Vive tuis, nec enim non sunt aequissima, votis
Aequalis, quae te sidera cunque vocant.
Haec donec niveae cedat tua purpura pallae,
Lilium ibi fuerit, quae rosa vestis erat.
TRANSLATION. TO THE RIGHT HON. LORD ROBERT HEATH, ON HIS BEING MADE A JUDGE: A CONGRATULATION.[119] Upon thy sacred purple, barr'd with fire,
I gratulate thee—glorious, lov'd attire!
For on those shoulders I see Justice shine,
And glad to hide within those folds of thine.
O finely there she shoots her purple beam,
And teaches here her rays brightly to gleam.
May Justice thus in pomp eternal go,
Here always wish her golden star to glow!
Thus blaze, and ne'er thy purple pale its blush,
And never need into thy face to flush.
From innocent blood ne'er drink a deeper dye,
And turn more crimson from such cruelty.
Let all fair virtues—for thou ownest all—
Calmly to heaven above thy footsteps call.
No widows' tears thy marble halls distil,
No house cry out against thee, built by ill;
No timber cut for thee its downfall groan,
'Mid its lord's murmurs sadly overthrown.
May Fame spread out her wings beneath thy feet,
And thee with loud applause her trumpet greet!
May incense waft thy name where'er it goes,
The happy gale which bears thee bear the rose!
Live equal to thy prayers, most just are they,
Whatever stars direct thee on thy way,
Till this thy purple turn to robe of snow,
And where the rose had been, the lily glow! R. Wi.
Decoration B
Decoration F
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