COMMENDATORY AND OCCASIONAL VERSES.
TO THE AUTHOR OF NENNIO.
G. Chapman to the Author.
ACCEPT thrice Noble Nennio at his hand
That cannot bid himselfe welcome at home,
A thrice due welcome to our natiue strand,
Italian, French, and English now become.
Thrice Noble, not in that vsde Epethite,
But Noble first, to know whence Noblesse sprung,
Then in thy labour bringing it to light,
Thirdly, in being adorned with our tung.
And since so (like it selfe) thy Land affoords
The right of Noblesse to all noble parts,
I wish our friend, giuing thee English words,
With much desert of Loue in English harts,
As he hath made one strange an Englishman,
May make our mindes in this, Italian.
Ex tenebris.
DE GUIANA, CARMEN EPICUM.
What worke of honour and eternall name,
For all the worlde t’enuie and vs t’atchieue,
Filles me with furie, and giues armed handes
To my heartes peace, that els would gladlie turne
My limmes and euery sence into my thoughtes
Rapt with the thirsted action of my mind?
O Clio, Honors Muse, sing in my voyce,
Tell the attempt, and prophecie th’exploit
Of his jEZiza-consecrated sworde,
That in this peacefull charme of Englanis sleepe,
Opens most tenderlie her aged throte,
Offring to poure fresh youth through all her vaines,
That flesh of brasse, and ribs of steele retaines.
Riches, and Conquest, and Renowme I sing,
Riches with honour, Conquest without bloud,
Enough to seat the Monarchie of earth,
Like to loues Eagle, on Elizas hand.
Guiana, whose rich feet are mines of golde,
Whose forehead knockes against the roofe of Starres,
Stands on her tip-toes at faire England looking,
Kissing her hand, bowing her mightie breast,
And euery signe of all submission making,
To be her sister, and the daughter both
Of our most sacred Maide: whose barrennesse
Is the true fruité of vertue, that may get,
Beare and bring foorth anew in all perfection,
What heretofore sauage corruption held
In barbarous Chaos; and in this affaire
Become her father, mother, and her heire.
Then most admired Soueraigne, let your breath
Goe foorth vpon the waters, and create
A golden worlde in this our yron age,
And be the prosperous forewind to a Fleet,
That seconding your last, may goe before it
In all successe of profite and renowme:
Doubt not but your election was diuine,
(As well by Fate as your high iudgement ordred)
To raise him with choise Bounties, that could adde
Height to his height; and like a liberall vine,
Not onelie beare his vertuous fruit aloft,
Free from the Presse of squint-eyd Enuies feet,
But decke his gracious Proppe with golden bunches,
And shroude it with broad leaues of Rule oregrowne
From all blacke tempestes of inuasion.
Those Conquests that like generall earthquakes shooke
The solid world, and made it fall before them,
Built all their braue attemptes on weaker groundes,
And lesse persuasiue likelihoods then this;
Nor was there euer princelie Fount so long
Powr’d foorth a sea of Rule with so free course,
And such ascending Maiestie as you:
Then be not like a rough and violent wind,
That in the morning rends the Forrestes downe,
Shoues vp the seas to heauen, makes earth to tremble,
And toombes his wastfull brauerie in the Euen:
But as a riuer from a mountaine running,
The further he extends, the greater growes,
And by his thriftie race strengthens his streame,
Euen to ioyne battale with th’imperious sea
Disdaining his repulse, and in despight
Of his proud furie, mixeth with his maine,
Taking on him his titles and commandes:
So let thy soueraigne Empire be encreast,
And with Iberian Neptune part the stake,
Whose Trident he the triple worlde would make.
You then that would be wise in Wisdomes spight,
Directing with discrédité of direction,
And hunt for honour, hunting him to death,
With whome before you will inherite gold,
You will loose golde, for which you loose your soules;
You that choose nought for right, but certaintie,
And feare that value will get onlie blowes,
Placing your faith in Incredulities
Sit till you see a woonder, Vertue rich:
Till Honour hauing golde, rob golde of honour;
Till as men hate desert that getteth nought,
They loath all getting that deserues not ought,
And vse you gold-made men, as dregges of men;
And till your poysoned soules, like Spiders lurking
In sluttish chinckes, in mystes of Cobwebs hide
Your foggie bodies, and your dunghill pride.
O Incredulitie, the wit of Fooles,
That slouenlie will spit on all thinges faire,
The Cowards castle, and the Sluggards cradle,
How easie t’is to be an Infidell?
But you Patrician Spirites that refine
Your flesh to fire, and issue like a flame
On braue endeuours, knowing that in them
The tract of heauen in morne-like glorie opens,
That know you cannot be the Kinges of earth,
(Claiming the Rightes of your creation)
And let the Mynes of earth be Kinges of you;
That are so farre from doubting likelie driftes,
That in things hardest y’are most confident;
You that know death Hues, where power liues vnusde,
Ioying to shine in waues that burie you,
And so make way for life euen through your graues;
That will not be content like horse to hold
A thread-bare beaten waie to home affaires:
But where the sea in enuie of your raigne,
Closeth her wombe, as fast as tis disclosde,
That she like Auarice might swallowe all,
And let none find right passage through her rage:
There your wise soules as swift as Eurus lead
Your Bodies through, to profit and renowne,
And skorne to let your bodies chooke your soules,
In the rude breath and prisoned life of beastes:
You that heerein renounce the course of earth,
And lift your eies for guidance to the starres,
That liue not for your selues, but to possesse
Your honour’d countrey of a generall store;
In pitie of the spoyle rude self-loue makes,
Of them whose liues and yours one aire doth feede,
One soile doeth nourish, and one strength combine;
You that are blest with sence of all things noble
In this attempt your compleat woorthes redouble.
But how is Nature at her heart corrupted,
(I meane euen in her most ennobled birth?)
How in excesse of Sence is Sence bereft her?
That her most lightening-like effectes of lust
Wound through her flesh, her soule, her flesh vnwounded;
And she must neede incitements to her good,
Euen from that part she hurtes. O how most like
Art thou (he
roike Author of this Act)
To this wrong’d soule of Nature: that sustainst
Paine, charge, and perill for thy countreys good,
And she much like a bodie numb’d with surfets,
Feeles not thy gentle applications
For the health, vse, & honor of her powers.
Yet shall my verse through all her ease-lockt eares
Trumpet the Noblesse of thy high intent,
And if it cannot into act proceed,
The fault and bitter pennance of the fault
Make red some others eyes with penitence,
For thine are cleare; and what more nimble spirites
Apter to byte at such vnhooked baytes,
Gaine by our losse; that must we needs confesse
Thy princelie valure would haue purchast vs.
Which shall be fame eternall to thy name,
Though thy contentment in thy graue desires,
Of our aduancement, faile deseru’d effect,
O how I feare thy glorie which I loue,
Least it should dearelie growe by our decrease.
Natures that stick in golden-graueld springs,
In mucke-pits cannot scape their swallowings.
But we shall foorth I know; Golde is our Fate,
Which all our actes doeth fashion and create.
Then in the Thespiads bright Propheticke Fount,
Me thinkes I see our Liege rise from her throne,
Her eares and thoughtes in steepe amaze erected,
At the most rare endeuour of her power.
And now she blesseth with her woonted Graces
Th’industrious Knight, the soule of this exploit,
Dismissing him to conuoy of his starres.
And now for loue and honour of his woorth,
Our twise-borne Nobles bring him Bridegroome-like,
That is espousde for vertue to his loue
With feastes and musicke, rauishing the aire,
To his Argolian Fleet, where round about
His bating Colours English valure swarmes
In haste, as if Guianian Orenoque
With his Fell waters fell vpon our shore.
And now a wind as forward as their spirits,
Sets their glad feet on smooth Guianas breast,
Where (as if ech man were an Orpheus)
A world of Sauadges fall tame before them,
Storing their theft-free treasuries with golde,
And there doth plentie crowne their wealthie fieldes,
There Learning eates no more his thriftlesse books,
Nor Valure Estridge-like his yron armes.
There Beautie is no strumpet for her wantes,
Nor Gallique humours putrifie her bloud:
But all our Youth take Hymens lightes in hand,
And fill each roofe with honor’d progenie.
There makes Societie Adamantine chaînes,
And ioins their harts with wealth, whom wealth disioyn’d.
There healthfull Recreations strowe their meades,
And make their mansions daunce with neighborhood,
That here were drown’d in churlish Auarice.
And there do Pallaces and temples rise
Out of the earth, and kisse th’enamored skies,
Where new Britania, humblie kneeles to heauen,
The world to her, and both at her blest feete,
In whom the Circles of all Empire meet.
G C.
PERISTEROS: OR THE MALE TURTLE.
Not like that loose and partie-liuer’d Sect
Of idle Louers, that (as different Lights,
On colour’d subiects, different hewes reflect;)
Change their Affections with their Mistris Sights,
That with her Praise, or Dispraise, drowne, or flote,
And must be fed with fresh Conceits, and Fashions;
Neuer waxe cold, but die: loue not, but dote:
“(Louesfires, staid Iudgements blow, not humorous Passions,)
Whose Loues vpon their Louers pomp depend,
And quench as fast as her Eyes sparkle twinkles,
“(Nought lasts that doth to outward worth contend,
“Al Loue in smooth browes born is tomb’d in wrinkles.)
But like the consecrated Bird of loue,
Whose whole lifes hap to his sole-mate alluded,
Whome no prowd flockes of other Foules could moue,
But in her selfe all companie concluded.
She was to him th’Analisde World of Pleasure,
Her firmenesse cloth’d him in varietie;
Excesse of all things, he ioyd in her measure,
Mourn’d when she mourn’d, and dieth when she dies,
Like him I bound th’instinct of all my powres,
In her that bounds the Empire of desert,
And Time nor Change (that all things else deuoures,
But truth eterniz’d in a constant heart)
Can change me more from her, then her from merit,
That is my forme, and giues my being, spirit.
George Chapman.
(Sonnet to Walsingham: All Fools.)
TO MY LONG LOU’D AND HONOURABLE FRIEND, SIR THOMAS WALSINGHAM KNIGHT.
Should I expose to euery common eye,
The least allow’d birth of my shaken braine;
And not entitle it perticulerly
To your acceptance, I were wurse then vaine.
And though I am most loth to passe your sight
with any such light marke of vanitie,
Being markt with Age for Aimes of greater weight,
and drownd in darke Death-vshering melancholy,
Yet least by others stealth it be imprest,
without my passport, patcht with others wit,
Of two enforst ills I elect the least;
and so desire your loue will censure it;
Though my old fortune keepe me still obscure,
The light shall still bewray my ould loue sure.
IN SEIANVM BEN. IONSONI ET MUSIS, ET SIBI IN DELICIJS.
So brings the wealth-contracting Ieweller
Pearles and deare Stones, from richest shores & streames,
As thy accomplisht Trauaile doth confer
From skill-inriched soules, their wealthier Gems;
So doth his hand enchase in ammeld Gould,
Cut, and adornd beyond their Natiue Merits,
His solid Flames, as thine hath here inrould
In more then Goulden Verse, those betterd spirits;
So he entreasures Princes Cabinets,
As thy Wealth will their wished Libraries;
So, on the throate of the rude Sea, he sets
His ventrous foote, for his illustrous Prise;
And through wilde Desarts, armd with wilder Beasts,
As thou aduenturst on the Multitude,
Vpon the boggy, and engulfed brests
Of Hyrelings, sworne to finde most Right, most rude:
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 38