Not in thy beames, but in thy Bosome is.
Nor can their hands fast, their harts ioyes make sweet;
Their harts, in brests are; and their Brests must meete.
Let, there be Peace, yet Murmur: and that noise,
Beget of peace, the Nuptial] battailes ioyes.
Let Peace grow cruell, and take wrake of all,
The warres delay brought thy full Festiuall.
Harke, harke, O now the sweete Twyn murmur sounds;
Hymen is come, and all his heate abounds;
Shut all Dores; None, but Hymens lights aduance;
No sound styr, let, dumb Ioy, enioy a trance.
Sing, sing a Rapture to all Nuptiall eares,
Bright Hymens Torches drunke vp Parcaes teares.
FINIS.
TO CHRISTOPHER BROOKE ON HIS GHOST OF RICHARD THE THIRD.
To his Ingenuous, and much
lou’d Friend, the Author.
You now amids our Muses Smithfield are
To sell your Pegasus, where Hackney ware
(Rid by the swish swash Rippiers of the Time,
Pamper’d and fronted with a Ribband Ryme)
Though but some halfe Houre soundly try’d, they tyre,
Yet sell, as quickned with Eternall Fire.
All things are made for sale; sell man and all
For sale, to Hell: There is no Soule, to sale.
Your flippant sence-delighter, smooth, and fine,
Fyr’d with his Bush Muse, and his sharpe Hedge Wine,
Will sell like good old Gascoine. What does then
Thy Purple in graine, with these Red-Oker men?
Swarth Chimney sweepe, that to his Horne doth sing,
More Custome gets; then in the Thespian Spring,
The thrice bath’d Singer to the Delphian Lyre,
Though all must needs be rid heere; yet t’aspire
To common sale, with all turne-seruing lades,
Fits Pandars, and the strong voic’t Fish-wife Trades.
Affect not that then, and come welcome forth,
Though to some few, whose welcom’s somthing worth:
Not one, not one (sayes Perseus) will reade mine;
Or two, or none;’Tis Pageant Orsadine
That goes for gold in your Barbarian Rate,
You must be pleas’d then to change gold for that.
Might I be Patterne to the meanest few
Euen now when hayres of Women-hated-hew
Are wither’d on me; I delight to see
My Lines thus desolately liue like me,
Not any thing I doe, but is like Nuts
At th’ends of Meales left; when each Appetite gluts.
Some Poet yet can leuell you a Verse
At the Receipt of Custome; that shall Pierce
A sale Assister; as if with one Eye
He went a Burding; strikes Fowles as they fly,
And has the very Art of Foulerie. —
Which Art you must not enuie; be you pleas’d
To hit Desert; fly others, as diseas’d,
Whose being pierst, is but to be infected;
And as bold Puritans (esteem’d elected)
Keep from no common Plague, which so encreases;
So these feed all Poeticall Diseases.
Best Ayre, lest dwellers hath; yet thinke not I
Fore-speake the sale of thy sound Poesie;
But would in one so worth encouragement
The care of what is counted worst, preuent;
And with thy cheerefull going forth with this;
Thy Muse in first Ranke of our Muses is.
Non datur ad Musas currere lata via.
Geor: Chapman.
TO GRIMESTONE ON HIS TRANSLATION OF COEFFETAU’S TABLE OF HUMAINE PASSIONS.
To his long-lou’d and worthy
friend, Mr. Edward Grimeston,
Sergeant at Armes; of his vnwearied and honored labors.
Such is the vnequall, and inhumane vice
Of these vile Times, that each man sets his price
On others Labors; And the lasiest Drone
That neuer drop of honey, of his owne
Brought to the publique Hiue, distasts all ours
And (in the worlds wit) feeds far worthier Powers.
Tis Noble to be idle; Base to be
Of any Art, Good Mind, or Industry.
Another sort of dull Opinionists,
Consume their stupid liues in learned mists;
Yet would be seene (poore soules) beyond the Sun;
But that like Dolon, in the darke they run,
Other Explorers fearing. And these men
Like Cheaters, foyst in false dice to their Den,
To win mens thoughts of th’onely truly learnd,
And feede on that conceit, before tis earnd.
To strengthen which, their Markets are the Marts
Where sounds and Names of Artsmen, & all Arts
They stufie their windy memories withall;
And then when ere their Creditors shall call
They pay them, with these Tokens, all they owe;
Then, Honest men they are, then all things know.
When all employd in priuate conference;
They count all rude that are of open braines
Feare to be fooles in print, though in their Cels
(In Learn’d mens vizards) they are little else.
They that for feare of being cald fooles, hide,
Like hid men more they stir the more are spied,
Whose learnings are as ignorantly applied,
As those illiterate Peripaticke soules,
That all their liues, do nought but measure Poules;
Yet neuer know how short or long it is,
More then their liues, or all their idle blisse.
In short, All men that least deseruings haue,
Men of most merit euer most depraue.
How euer (friend) tis in vs must assure
Our outward Acts; and signe their passe secure.
Nor feare to find your Noble paines impeacht,
But write as long as Foxe, or Nowell preacht:
For when all wizards haue their bolts let fly,
There’s no such proofe of worth, as Industry.
E merito solers Industria reddat honorent.
George Chapman.
ON THE TRAGIC HISTORY OF HIPOLITO AND ISABELLA.
To the Volume
By sale of all things, humane and diuine,
Since all sorts liue; what selles lifes sacred line,
And with that life, the soule puts vnder Presse;
Me thinkes should render rich Men, Midasses:
Here then th’Immortall soule is sold, with life
Of two, by Loue made one, in Man and Wife.
Loue breedes Opinion, and Opinion, Loue,
In whose Orbs, all the liberall Sciences mooue:
All which contracted in one Tragedy,
Sell (great Octauius;) and Augustus be,
In all worth, for thy sale commoditie.
VERSES FROM ENGLAND’S PARNASSVS AND FROM MANUSCRIPT.
UNTRACED QUOTATIONS IN ENGLAND’S PARNASSVS, 1600.
Many vse temples to set godly faces
On impious hearts; those sinnes vse most excesse,
That seeke their shrowdes in fained holinesse.
G. Chapman. Vide. Dissimulation.
— The gentle humorous night,
Implyes her middle course, and the sharpe east,
Breathes on my spirit with his fierie steedes.
G. Chapman.
See where she issues in her beauties pompe,
As Flora to salute the morning sunne:
Who when she shakes her tresses in the ayre,
Raines on the earth dissolued pearle in showres,
Which with his beames the sunne exhales to heauen:
She holdes the spring and sommer in her armes,
And euery plant puts on his freshest robes
To daunce attendance on her princely steps,
Springing and fading as she comes and goes.
G. Chapman.
Her hayre was loose, & bout her shoulders hung,
Vpon her browes did Venus naked lye,
And in her eyes did all the Graces swim.
Her cheekes that showd the temper of the mind,
Were beauties mornings where she euer rose,
Her lyps were loues rich altars where she makes
Her hart a neuer-ceasing sacrifice:
Her teeth stoode like a ranke of Dians maydes
When naked in a secrete bower they bathe;
Her long round necke was Cupids quiuer calld,
And her sweet words that flew from her, his shafts,
Her soft round brests were his sole trauaild Alpes,
Where snow that thawed with sunne did euer lye,
Her fingers bounds to her rich deitie.
Idem.
EPICVRES FRVGALLITIE:
Frugallitie is no philosophie
That is not gelte of pride and miserie,
That hang hym like A nastie bore behynde,
And grunt hym out of all the human kynd;
That dares assume to free A man of god
Without whome he’s A rogue past période,
A spawne of lust, Jn sacke and Johnson sodd.
Ge: Chapman.
AN JNVECTIVE WRIGHTEN BY MR. GEORGE CHAPMAN AGAINST MR. BEN: JOHNSON.
Greate-Learned wittie-Ben: be pleasd to light
The world with that three-forked fire; Nor fright
All vs thy sublearn’d with Luciferous Boast
That thou art most-greate-most-learn’d-wittie most
Of all the kingdome; nay of all the earth,
As being a thing betwixtt a humane birth
And an Jnfernall; No humanitye
Of the deuine soule shewing Man Jn the,
Being all of pride Composde and surcudrie.
Thus ytt might Argue; yf thy petulant will
May Flieblowe all men with thy great swans Quill,
Jf itt Cann wright noe playes; yf thy plaies faile,
All the Earnests of our kingdome straight must vaile
To thy wilde furie; that, as yf a feinde
Had sleipte his Cirkell; showste thy brest is splend,
Frisking so madly that gaynst Towne and Courte
Thou plant’st thy battrie Jn most hedious Sorte.
Jf thy pied humours suffer least empaire,
And any vapour vex thy virulent Aire,
The Dunkerkes keepe not our Cole ships Jn Awe
More then thy Moods are thy Admires Law —
All eles, as well the graffters of thy pawes
With panicke Terrors flie bedrid of cause,
And lett the swinish Jtche of thy fell wreake
Rub gainst the presence Royall without Checke.
How must state vse the yf thy vaines thus leake? J
Thou must bee Muzzelde Ringd and lett Jn Chaines,
Lest dames with childe a bide vntymely paynes
And Children perrish: didst thou not put out
A boies Right eye that Croste thy mankind poute?
If all this yett find perdone Fee and grace,
The happiest outlaw th’art that euer was.
Goodnes to virtue is a godlike thinge,
And man with god Joynes in a good doing kinge.
But to giue vice hur Name; and on all his
(As her puer Merritts) to confer all this,
Who will not argue itt redounds? what euer
Vice is sustaynd withall, turnes pestilent feuer.
What norishes vertue, euer more Conuerts
To blood and sperritts of nothing but deserts.
And shall a viper hanging on hur hand
By his owne poyson his full swindge Commande?
How shall graue virtue sperritt her honord fame,
Yf Mottlye mockerye maie dispose her shame
Neuer soe dully? nor with such a dust
And Clouted Choller? tis the foulest lust
That euer yett did violate actions Just. J
But yf this weighd, proud vile and saucie sperritt,
Depraueing euerye exemplarye merritt,
May itt nought lesse all his fatt hopes Jnherritt.
When men turne Harpies, theire bloods standing lakes,
Greene bellied Serpents, and blacke freckled Snakes
Crawling Jn their vnwelldye Clottered waues,
Their tongues growne forked, and thair sorcerous pens
Like pickturs prickt, and hid Jn smoaking dunghills
Vext with the Sunn, tis tyme J thinke to banish
And Cast out such vnhallowedly disloyall
From bloods thrice Sacred and deuinely Royall.
Thers an Jnuention Mountibancke enough
To make petars to blow vpp men’s good names,
Virties and Dignities for vices pleasure;
Take but an Jdle and Rediculous Crew
Of base back biters that ytt neuer knew
Virtue or worth to manage; great flesh flies
Slight all the Clere and sound partes whear thay pass
And dwell vppon the soares; and Call to them
The Common learned, gatherer of poysons
For enuied Merritts that hee Cannott aequall,
And lett hym gleane from Malice and foule mouthes
Deuices long since donn and sett them downe
With splene stupide and dead as bruitish restes,
Transforming all most wrathfull fumes to Jests,
Letting the king his Royall eare allowe;
And thers a reputation, broke as smale
And with as maygtye Arguments lett fall
As the Greeke Mans’ pure bodies Genitall.
So that yf scandalls false beare free their sprite,
All guiltles formes, are forc’t with rape and flight.
And shall all other Raisers of their names
T’aires highest Region, buy such short-wingd fames,
Hould not their titles, and whole states like tenures?
May wee not humblest things with highest rate
And least with greatest, whear right must Moderate?
Now to your parts Calde good; your sacred deske
(The wooden fountayne of the Mightye Muses)
(Alas) is burned; and ther all their wealth faylde
(That neuer Cann with all tyme be retaylde
Why then as good not name them) yes, O yes,
Tenn tymes repeated will all braue things please,
Not with theire Titles yett, and pore selfe prayses.
Hee liues yett (heauen be praysed) that Can wright
Jn his ripe yeares much better, and new borne
Jn spight of Vulcan, whome all true pens scorne.
Yett lett me name them in meane tyme to Chere
His greddie followers with a prickt vpp eare;
Jtt does him selfe ease and why them no good?
Come serue ytt in then giue hime goulden food.
Noe Bodie (hee dares saie) yet haue sound parts
Of profound search and Mastrie Jn the artes;
And perfect then his English Grammare too
To teach some what thayr nurses could not doe,
The puritie of Language, and Amonge
The rest; his Journye Jnto Scotland songe,
And twice twelue years storde vpp humanitie,
With humble gleanings Jn Deuenytye,
After the fathers and those wiser guides
That faction had not drawne to steddie sides.
Canst thou lose theise by fire; and liue yet able
To wright past Joues wrath, fier and Ayre things stable,
Yet Curse as thou wert lost for euerye bable?
Some pore thinge wright new; a Riche Caskett Ben
All of riche Jems t’adorne most learned men,
Or a Reclaime of most Jacete supposes
To teach fu
ll habited-men to blowe their noses,
Make the king merrie; would’st thou now be knowne
The Deuill and the Vice, and both Jn one?
Thow doest things backwards, are men thought to knowe
Mastries in th’arts with saying thay doe soe,
And criing fire out Jn a dreame to kings.
Burne things vnborne, and that way generate things?
Wright some new Lactean way to thy highe presence,
And make not euer thy strong fancie essence
To all thou wouldst be thought on all worlds worth;
Or eles like Hercules Furens breaking forth,
Biting the grene-clothe, as a doge a stone,
And for ridiculous shaddow of the bone
Hazard the substance; will thy fortune still
(Spight of all learning) backe the witt thy will,
Though thy playe genius, hange his broken wings
Full of sicke feathers, and with forced things
Jmp thy scaenes, Labord and Vnnaturall?
And nothing good Comes with thy thrice vext Call
Comes thou not yet: nor yet? O no, Nor yett,
Yet are thy learnd Admires soe deep sett
Jn thy preferment aboue all that Cite
The sunn in challendge for the heate and light
Of bothe heauens Jnfluences which of you two knewe
And haue most power Jn them; Greate Ben tis you. J
Examine hime some truely Judging sperritt,
That pride nor fortune hath to blind his merritt.
Hee matcht with all booke-fiers hee euer read;
His Deske poore Candle Rents; his owne fat head
With all the learnd worlds; Alexanders flame
That Caesars Conquest Cowd, and stript his fame,
He shames Not to giue reckoning Jn with his:
As yf the king perdoning his petulencies
Should paie his huge loss to in such a skore
As all earths learned fiers hee gather’d for.
What thinkest thow (Just frind) equalde not this pride
All yet that euer, Hell or heauen defied?
And yet for all this, this Clube will Jnflict
His faultfull paine, and him enough Conuicte.
Hee onlye reading showed; Learning, nor witt;
Onlye Dame Gilians fier his Deske will fitt.
But for his shift by her to saue the Lose
Of his vast Learning; this may proue ytt grose:
True Muses euer, vent breathes mixt with her,
Which, formed Jn Numbers, they Jn flames expire,
Not onlye flames kindl’d with thayr owne blest breath
That giue the vnborne Life; and eternise death.
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 40