The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  Great Ben: J knowe that this is Jn thy hand,

  And how thou fixt on heauens fixt starre dost stand

  Jn all mens Admirations and Comande.

  For all that can be scribled gainst the sortes

  Of thy drad Repurcussions and Reportes,

  The Kingdome yeldes not such another man:

  Wounder of men hee is; the player Cann

  And bookeseller proue true; yf thay could knowe

  Onlye on dropp, that driues Jn such A flowe.

  Are thay not learned beasts, the better farr

  Theire drossie exhalations, A starr

  Theire brainles Admirations may render.

  For Learning Jn the wise sort is but Lender

  Of mens Prime Notions Doctrine; theire owne way

  Of all skills preciptible formes A key

  Forging to wealth, and Honor soothed sence,

  Neuer exploring truth or Consequence,

  Jnforming any vertue or good Life,

  And therfore Plaier, Bookseller, or wife

  Of eyther, (needing no such curiouse key)

  All men and things, may knowe their owne rude way;

  Jmagination and our appetite

  Forming our speach no easier then thay lighte

  All letterles Companions; t’all thay know

  Here or here after that like earths sonns plowe

  All vnderworlds and euer downewards growe.

  Nor lett your learnings thinck egredious Ben:

  Thes letterles Companions are not men

  With all the Arts and sciences Jndued,

  Jf of mans true and worthiest knowledge rude,

  Which is to knowe and be, one Compleat man,

  And that not all the swelling Ocean

  Of Artes and sciences, cann poure both Jn;

  Jf that braue skill, then when thou didst begine

  To studdye letters, thy great witt had plide

  Freelye and onlye thy Disease of pride

  Jn vulgar praise, had neuer bound thy,...

  More then this neuer came to my

  hands, but lost in his sickenes.

  POEMS PREFATORY AND DEDICATORY TO THE ILIADS, ODYSSEYS, AND HYMNS OF HOMER.

  TO M. HARRIOTS, ACCOMPANYING ACHILLES SHIELD.

  TO MY ADMIRED AND SOVLELOVED FRIEND

  Mayster of all essentiall and true knowledge, M. Harriots.

  TO you whose depth of soule measures the height,

  And all dimensions of all workes of weight,

  Reason being ground, structure and ornament,

  To all inuentions, graue and permanent,

  And your cleare eyes the Spheres where Reason moues;

  This Artizan, this God of rationall loues

  Blind Homer; in this shield, and in the rest

  Of his seuen bookes, which my hard hand hath drest,

  In rough integuments I send for censure,

  That my long time and labours deepe extensure

  Spent to conduct him to our enuious light,

  In your allowance may receiue some right

  To their endeuours; and take vertuous heart

  From your applause, crownd with their owne desert.

  Such crownes suffice the free and royall mind,

  But these subiected hangbyes of our kind,

  These children that will neuer stand alone,

  But must be nourisht with corruption,

  Which are our bodies; that are traitors borne,

  To their owne crownes their soules: betraid to scorne,

  To gaudie insolence and ignorance:

  By their base fleshes frailties, that must daunce,

  Prophane attendance at their states and birth,

  That are meere seruants to this seruile earth,

  These must haue other crownes for meedes then merits,

  Or sterue themselues, and quench their fierie spirits.

  Thus as the soule vpon the flesh depends,

  Vertue must wait on wealth; we must make friends,

  Of the vnrighteous Mammon, and our sleights,

  Must beare the formes of fooles or Parasites.

  Rich mine of knowledge, ô that my strange muse

  Without this bodies nourishment could vse,

  Her zealous faculties, onely t’aspire,

  Instructiue light from your whole Sphere of fire:

  But woe is me, what zeale or power soeuer

  My free soule hath, my body will be neuer

  Able t’attend: neuer shal I enioy,

  Th’end of my happles birth: neuer employ

  That smotherd feruour that in lothed embers,

  Lyes swept from light, and no cleare howre remembers.

  O had your perfect eye Organs to pierce

  Into that Chaos whence this stiffled verse

  By violence breakes: where Gloweworme like doth shine

  In nights of sorrow, this hid soule of mine:

  And how her genuine formes struggle for birth,

  Vnder the clawes of this fowle Panther earth;

  Then vnder all those formes you should discerne

  My loue to you, in my desire to learne.

  Skill and the loue of skill do euer kisse:

  No band of loue so stronge as knowledge is;

  Which who is he that may not learne of you,

  Whom learning doth with his lights throne endow?

  What learned fields pay not their flowers t’adorne

  Your odorous wreathe? compact, put on and worne,

  By apt and Adamantine industrie,

  Proposing still demonstrate veritie,

  For your great obiect, farre from plodding gaine,

  Or thirst of glorie; when absurd and vayne,

  Most students in their whole instruction are,

  But in traditions meere particular:

  Leaning like rotten howses, on out beames,

  And with true light fade in themselues like dreames.

  True learning hath a body absolute,

  That in apparant sence it selfe can suite,

  Not hid in ayrie termes as if it were

  Like spirits fantastike that put men in feare,

  And are but bugs form’d in their fowle conceites,

  Nor made for sale glas’d with sophistique sleights;

  But wrought for all times proofe, strong to bide prease,

  And shiuer ignorants like Hercules,

  On their owne dunghils; but our formall Clearkes

  Blowne for profession, spend their soûles in sparkes,

  Fram’de of dismembred parts that make most show,

  And like to broken limmes of knowledge goe.

  When thy true wisedome by thy learning wonne

  Shall honour learning while there shines a Sunne;

  And thine owne name in merite; farre aboue,

  Their Timpanies of state that armes of loue,

  Fortune or blood shall lift to dignitie;

  Whome though you reuerence, and your emperie

  Of spirit and soule, be seruitude they thinke

  And but a beame of light broke through a chink

  To all their watrish splendor: and much more

  To the great Sunne, and all thinges they adore,

  In staring ignorance: yet your selfe shall shine

  Aboue all this in knowledge most diuine,

  And all shall homage to your true-worth owe,

  You comprehending all, that all, not you.

  And when thy writings that now errors Night

  Chokes earth with mistes, breake forth like easterne light,

  Showing to euery comprehensiue eye,

  High fectious brawles becalmde by vnitie,

  Nature made all transparent, and her hart

  Gripte in thy hand, crushing digested Art

  In flames vnmeasurde, measurde out of it,

  On whose head for her crowne thy soule shall sitte,

  Crownd with Heauens inward brightnes shewing cleare

  What true man is, and how like gnats appear
e:

  O fortune-glossed Pompists, and proud Misers,

  That are of Arts such impudent despisers;

  Then past anticipating doomes and skornes,

  Which for selfe grace ech ignorant subornes,

  Their glowing and amazed eyes shall see

  How short of thy soules strength my weake words be,

  And that I do not like our Poets preferre

  For profit, praise, and keepe a squeaking stirre

  With cald on muses to vnchilde their braines

  Of winde and vapor: lying still in paynes,

  Of worthy issue; but as one protest

  In nought but truthes deare loue the soules true rest.

  Continue then your sweet iudiciall kindnesse,

  To your true friend, that though this lumpe of blindnes,

  This skornefull, this despisde, inuerted world,

  Whose head is furie-like with Adders curlde,

  And all her bulke a poysoned Porcupine,

  Her stings and quilles darting at worthes deuine,

  Keepe vnder my estate with all contempt,

  And make me liue euen from my selfe exempt,

  Yet if you see some gleames of wrastling fire,

  Breake from my spirits oppression, shewing desire

  To become worthy to pertake your skill,

  (Since vertues first and chiefe steppe is to will)

  Comfort me with it and proue you affect me,

  Though all the rotten spawne of earth reiect me.

  For though I now consume in poesie,

  Yet Homer being my roote I can not die.

  But lest to vse all Poesie in the sight,

  Of graue philosophie shew braines too light

  To comprehend her depth of misterie,

  I vow t’is onely strong necessitie

  Gouernes my paines herein, which yet may vse

  A mans whole life without the least abuse.

  And though to rime and giue a verse smooth feet,

  Vttering to vulgar pallattes passions sweet

  Chaunce often in such weake capriccious spirits,

  As in nought else haue tollerable merits,

  Yet where high Poesies natiue habite shines,

  From whose reflections flow eternall lines:

  Philosophy retirde to darkest caues

  She can discouer: and the proud worldes braues

  Answere in any thing but impudence,

  With circle of her general excellence.

  For ample instance Homer more then serueth,

  And what his graue and learned Muse deserueth,

  Since it is made a Courtly question now,

  His competent and parties iudge be you;

  If these vaine lines and his deserts arise

  To the high serches of your serious eyes

  As he is English: and I could not chuse

  But to your Name this short inscription vse,

  As well assurde you would approue my payne

  In my traduction; and besides this vayne

  Excuse my thoughts as bent to others ames:

  Might my will rule me, and when any flames

  Of my prest soule break forth to their own show,

  Thinke they must hold engrauen regard of you.

  Of you in whom the worth of all the Graces,

  Due to the mindes giftes, might embrew the faces

  Of such as skorne them, and with tiranous eye

  Contemne the sweat of vertuous industrie.

  But as ill lines new fild with incke vndryed,

  An empty Pen with their owne stuffe applied

  Can blot them out: so shall their wealth-burst wombes

  Be made with emptie Penne their honours tombes.

  FINIS.

  EPISTLE DEDICATORY: THE ILIADS.

  TO THE HIGH BORNE PRINCE OF MEN, HENRIE THRICE

  Royall inheritor to the united kingdoms

  of Great Brittaine, &c.

  SINCE perfect happinesse, by Princes sought,

  Is not with birth, borne, nor Exchequers bought;

  Nor followes in great Traînes; nor is possest

  With any outward State; but makes him blest

  That gouernes inward; and beholdeth theare,

  All his affections stand about him bare;

  That by his power can send to Towre, and death,

  All traitrous passions; marshalling beneath

  His iustice, his meere will; and in his minde

  Holds such a scepter, as can keepe confinde

  His whole lifes actions in the royall bounds

  Of Vertue and Religion; and their grounds

  Takes in, to sow his honours, his delights,

  And complete empire: you should learne these rights

  (Great Prince of men) by Princely presidents;

  Which here, in all kinds, my true zeale presents

  To furnish your youths groundworke, and first State;

  And let you see, one Godlike man create

  All sorts of worthiest men; to be contriu’d

  In your worth onely; giuing him reuiu’d,

  For whose life, Alexander would haue giuen

  One of his kingdomes: who (as sent from heauen,

  And thinking well, that so diuine a creature

  Would neuer more enrich the race of Nature)

  Kept as his Crowne his workes; and thought them still

  His Angels; in all power, to rule his will;

  And would affirme that Homers poesie

  Did more aduance his Asian victorie,

  Then all his Armies. O! tis wondrous much

  (Though nothing prisde) that the right vertuous touch

  Of a well written soule, to vertue moues.

  Nor haue we soules to purpose, if their loues

  Of fitting obiects be not so inflam’d.

  How much then, were this kingdomes maine soule maim’d,

  To want this great inflamer of all powers

  That moue in humane soules? All Realmes but yours,

  Are honor’d with him; and hold blest that State

  That haue his workes to reade and contemplate.

  In which, Humanitie to her height is raisde;

  Which all the world (yet, none enough) hath praisde.

  Seas, earth, and heauen, he did in verse comprise;

  Out-sung the Muses, and did equalise

  Their king Apollo; being so farre from cause

  Of Princes light thoughts, that their grauest lawes

  May finde stuffe to be fashioned by his lines.

  Through all the pompe of kingdomes still he shines,

  And graceth all his gracers. Then let lie

  Your Lutes, and Viols, and more loftily

  Make the Heroiques of your Homer sung,

  To Drums and Trumpets set his Angels tongue:

  And with the Princely sport of Haukes you vse,

  Behold the kingly flight of his high Muse:

  And see how like the Phoenix she renues

  Her age, and starrie feathers in your sunne;

  Thousands of yeares attending; euerie one

  Blowing the holy fire, and throwing in

  Their seasons, kingdomes, nations that haue bin

  Subuerted in them; lawes, religions, all

  Offerd to Change, and greedie Funerall;

  Yet still your Homer lasting, liuing, raigning;

  And proues, how firme Truth builds in Poets faining.

  A Princes statue, or in Marble earn’d,

  Or steele, or gold, and shrin’d (to be preseru’d)

  Aloft on Pillars, or Pyramides;

  Time into lowest ruines may depresse:

  But, drawne with all his vertues in learn’d verse,

  Fame shall resound them on Obliuions herse,

  Till graues gaspe with her blasts, and dead men rise.

  No gold can follow, where true Poesie flies.

  Then let not this Diuinitie in earth

  (Deare Prince) be sleighted, as she were the birth
r />   Of idle Fancie; since she workes so hie:

  Nor let her poore disposer (Learning) lie

  Stil bed-rid. Both which, being in men defac’t;

  In men (with them) is Gods bright image rac’t.

  For, as the Sunne, and Moone, are figures giuen

  Of his refulgent Deitie in Heauen:

  So, Learning, and her Lightner, Poesie,

  In earth present his fierie Maiestie.

  Nor are Kings like him, since their Diademes

  Thunder, and lighten, and proiect braue beames;

  But since they his cleare vertues emulate;

  In Truth and Iustice, imaging his State;

  In Bountie, and Humanitie since they shine;

  Then which, is nothing (like him) more diuine:

  Not Fire, not Light; the Sunnes admired course;

  The Rise, nor Set of Starres; nor all their force

  In vs, and all this Cope beneath the Skie;

  Nor great Existence, term’d his Treasurie;

  Since not, for being greatest, he is blest;

  But being lust, and in all vertues best.

  What sets his Iustice, and his Truth, best forth,

  (Best Prince) then vse best; which is Poesies worth.

  For, as great Princes, well inform’d and deckt

  With gracious vertue, giue more sure effect

  To her perswasions, pleasures, reall worth,

  Then all th’inferiour subiects she sets forth;

  Since there, she shines at full; hath birth, wealth, state,

  Power, fortune, honor, fit to eleuate

  Her heauenly merits; and so fit they are

  Since she was made for them, and they for her:

  So, Truth, with Poesie grac’t, is fairer farre,

  More proper, mouing, chaste, and regular,

  Then when she runnes away with vntruss’t Prose;

  Proportion, that doth orderly dispose

  Her vertuous treasure, and is Queene of Graces;

  In Poesie, decking her with choicest Phrases,

  Figures and numbers: when loose Prose puts on

  Plaine letter-habits; makes her trot, vpon

  Dull earthly businesse (she being meere diuine:)

  Holds her to homely Cates, and harsh hedge-wine,

  That should drinke Poesies Nectar; euerie way

  One made for other, as the Sunne and Day,

  Princes and vertues. And, as in a spring,

  The plyant water, mou’d with any thing

  Let fall into it, puts her motion out

  In perfect circles, that moue round about

  The gentle fountaine, one another, raising:

  So Truth, and Poesie worke; so Poesie blazing,

  All subiects falne in her exhaustlesse fount,

  Works most exactly; makes a true account

  Of all things to her high discharges giuen,