Well known, and practised borrowers on their
Give thanks by stealth, and whispering in the ear, For what they straight would to the world for
And speaking worst of those from whom they
But then fist-filled, to put me off the scent. Now damn me, sir, if you shall not command My sword ('tis but a poor sword, understand) As far as any poor sword in the land;
Then turning unto him is next at hand,
Damns whom he damned too, is the veriest gull,
Has feathers, and will serve a man to pull.
Are they not worthy to be answered so,
That to such natures let their full hands flow,
And seek not wants to succor; but inquire,
Like money-brokers, after names, and hire
Their bounties forth to him that last was made,
Or stands to be in commission o' the blade?
Still, still the hunters of false fame apply
Their thoughts and means to making loud the cry,
But one is bitten by the dog he fed,
And hurt seeks cure, the surgeon bids take bread,
And sponge-like with it dry up the blood quite,
Then give it to the hound that did him bite:
Pardon, says he, that were a way to see
All the town-curs take each their snatch at me.
O, is it so? knows he so much? and will
Feed those at whom the table points at still?
I not deny it, but to help the need
Of any, is a great and generous deed;
Yea, of th' ingrateful: and he forth must tell Many a pound, and piece, will pace one well. But these men ever want: their very trade
Is borrowing; that but stopped, they do invade All as their prize, turn pirates here at land, Have their Bermudas, 14 and their Straits i' th' Strand
Man out of their boats to the Temple, and not
Now, but command; make tribute, what was
And it is paid 'em with a trembling zeal,
And superstition, I dare scarce reveal
If it were clear; but being so in cloud
Carried and wrapt, I only am allowed
My wonder, why the taking a clown's purse,
Or robbing the poor market-folks, should nurse
Such a religious horror in the breasts
Of our town-gallantry! or why there rests
Such worship due to kicking of a punk,
Or swaggering with the watch, or drawer drunk;
Or feats of darkness acted in mid-sun,
And told of with more license than th' were done!
Sure there is mystery in it I not know,
That men such reverence to such actions show,
And almost deify the authors! make
14 Cant names for disreputable quarters of London off the Strand.
Loud sacrifice of drink, for their health's sake; Rear suppers in their names, and spend whole
Unto their praise in certain swearing rites!
Cannot a man be reckoned in the state
Of valor, but at this idolatrous rate?
I thought that fortitude had been a mean
"Twixt fear and rashness; not a lust obscene,
Or appetite of offending, but a skill,
Or science of a discerning good and ill.
And you, sir, know it well, to whom I write,
That with these mixtures we put out her light;
Her ends are honesty, and public good;
And where they want, she is not understood;
No more are these of us; let them then go!
I have the list of mine own faults to know,
Look to, and cure: he's not a man hath none;
But like to be, that every day mends one,
And feels it; else he tarries by the beast.
Can I discern how shadows are decreased,
Or grown, by height or lowness of the sun,
And can I less of substance? when I run,
Ride, sail, am coached, know I how far I have
And my mind's motion not? or have I none? No! he must feel and know, that will advance. Men have been great, but never good by chance, Or on the sudden. It were strange that he Who was this morning such a one, should be Sidney ere night; or that did go to bed.
Coryat,15 should rise the most sufficient head
Of Christendom; and neither of these know,
Were the rack offered them, how they came so!
'Tis by degrees that men arrive at glad
Profit in aught; each day some little add,
In time 'twill be a heap; this is not true
Alone in money, but in manners too.
Yet we must more than move still, or go on;
We must accomplish; 'tis the last key-stone
That makes the arch; the rest that there were
put
Are nothing till that comes to bind and shut.
Then stands it a triumphal mark! then men
Observe the strength, the height, the why, and
when
It was erected; and still walking under
Meet some new matter to look up and wonder!
Such notes are virtuous men! they live as fast
As they are high; are rooted, and will last;
They need no stilts, nor rise upon their toes,
As if they would belie their stature; those
Are dwarfs of honor, and have neither weight
Nor fashion; if they chance aspire to height,
'Tis like light canes, that first rise big and brave,
Shoot forth in smooth and comely spaces, have
But few and fair divisions, but being got
Aloft, grow less and straightened, full of knot,
And, last, go out in nothing. You that see
Their difference, cannot choose which you will be.
You know, without my flattering you, too much
For me to be your indice. Keep you such,
That I may love your person, as I do,
Without your gift, though I can rate that too,
By thanking thus the courtesy to life,
Which you will bury; but therein, the strife
May grow so great to be example, when,
As their true rule or lesson, either men,
Donors or donees, to their practice shall
Find you to reckon nothing, me owe all.
AN EPISTLE TO MASTER JOHN SELDEN.1
I know to whom I write. Here, I am sure,
Though I be short, I cannot be obscure:
Less shall I for the art or dressing care,
Truth and the Graces best when naked are.
Your book, my Selden, I have read; and much
Was trusted, that you thought my judgment
16 Prefixed to Titles of Honor, 1614. "Selden was a person," says Clarendon, "whom no character can flatter, or transmit in any expressions equal to his merit and virtue. He was of such stupendous learning in all kinds, and in all languages, as may appear from his excellent and transcendent writings, that a man would have thought he had been entirely conversant among books, and had never spent an hour but in reading and writing." Selden and Jonson were close friends, and their regard for each other never suffered an interruption. "Selden," said Jonson, "liveth on his own, is the Law Book of the Judges of England, and the bravest man in all languages." ― B.
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