TO EVERLASTING OBLIVION.[606]

Thou mighty gulf, insatiate cormorant!
Deride me not, though I seem petulant
To fall into thy chops. Let others pray
For ever their fair poems flourish may;
But as for me, hungry Oblivion,
Devour me quick, accept my orison,
My earnest prayers, which do importune thee,
With gloomy shade of thy still empery,
To veil both me and my rude poesy.
Far worthier lines, in silence of thy state,    10
Do sleep securely, free from love or hate;
From which this living ne’er can be exempt,
But whilst it breathes will hate and fury tempt:
Then close his eyes with thy all-dimming hand,
Which not right glorious actions can withstand.
Peace, hateful tongues, I now in silence pace,
Unless some hound do wake me from my place,
I with this sharp, yet well-meant poesy,
Will sleep secure, right free from injury
Of canker’d hate, or rankest villainy.    20

TO HIM THAT HATH PERUSED ME.

Gentle or ungentle hand that holdest me, let not thine eye be cast upon privateness, for I protest I glance not on it. If thou hast perused me, what lesser favour canst thou grant than not to abuse me with unjust application? Yet, I fear me, I shall be much, much injuried[607] by two sorts of readers: the one being ignorant, not knowing the nature of a satire (which is, under feigned private names to note general vices), will needs wrest each feigned name to a private unfeigned person: the other, too subtile, bearing a private malice to some greater personage than he dare, in his own person, seem to malign, will strive, by a forced application of my general reproofs, to broach his private hatred,—than the which I know not a greater injury can be offered to a satirist. I durst presume, knew they how guiltless and how free I were from prying into privateness, they would blush to think how much they wrong themselves in seeking to injure me. Let this protestation satisfy our curious searchers; so may I obtain my best hopes, as I am free from endeavouring to blast any private man’s good name. If any one (forced with his own guilt) will turn it home and say, “’Tis I,” I cannot hinder him; neither do I injure him. For other faults of poesy, I crave no[608] pardon, in that I scorn all penance the bitterest censurer can impose upon me. Thus (wishing each man to leave inquiring whom I am, and learn to know himself) I take a solemn congee of this fusty world.

THERIOMASTIX.

ENTERTAINMENT
OF
ALICE, DOWAGER-COUNTESS OF
DERBY.

The no^ble Lorde & Lady of Huntingdons Entertainement of theire right Noble Mother Alice: Countesse Dowager of Darby the first night of her honors arrivall att the house of Ashby.

The MS. of this Entertainment is preserved at Bridgewater House. Extracts were printed in Halliwell’s Marston, vol. iii.; but the Entertainment was first printed in full by Dr. Grosart. I have not seen the MS.: it seemed unnecessary to go over the ground again, for Dr. Grosart’s transcript was evidently made with great care.[609] “The MS.,” he observes, “fills fifteen leaves. The first leaf, which contains the address to the dowager-duchess of Derby, and leaves fourteen and fifteen, which contain the ‘Epilogue’ (never before printed), are in Marston’s own handwriting. The rest of the MS. is in two hands.... Throughout the MS. there are several corrections made in a darker ink, and apparently by Marston himself. On leaf two is a small blank space and the following words by Marston: ‘as this lame figure demonstrates’—a sketch being evidently intended. But, spite of the author’s supervision, various mistakes of the scribe are left.”

TO THE

RIGHT NOBLE LADY ALICE,

Countess-Dowager of Derby.

When her Ladyship approached the Park corner, a full noise of cornets winded; and when she entered into the Park, treble cornets reported one to another, as giving warning of her Honour’s nearer approach; when presently her eye was saluted with an antique gate, which suddenly was erected in this form. Upon the gate did hang many silver scrolls with this word in them, Tantum uni. Upon the battlements over the gate three gilt shields in diamond-figure, impaled on the top with three coronets purfled with gold, and severally inscribed with silver words; in the first shield, Venisti tandem; in the second, Nostra sera; in the third, Et sola voluptas. Over these, upon a half sphere, stood embossed an antique figure gilt; the slight tower[s] to this gate, which were only raised for show, were set out with battlements, shields, and coronets suitable to the rest. When the Countess came near the gate an old enchantress in crimson velvet, with pale face, black hair, and disliking countenance, affronted her Ladyship, and thus rudely saluted her:—

Woman, Lady, Princess, Nymph, or Goddess,
For more you are not, and you seem no less;
Stay, and attempt not passage through this port,
Here the pale Lord of Sadness keep[s] his court,
Rough-visag’d Saturn, on whose bloodless cheeks,
Dull Melancholy sits, who straightly seeks
To seize on all that enter through this gate.
Grant gracious listening, and I shall relate
The means, the manner, and of all the sense,
Whilst your fair eye enforceth eloquence.
There was a time (and since that time the sun
Hath not yet through nine signs of heaven run)
When the high Sylvan, that commands these woods,
And his bright Nymph, fairer than Queen of Floods,
With most impatient longings hoped to view
Her face to whom their hearts’ dear’st zeal was due.
Youth’s joys to love, sweet light unto the blind,
Beauty to virgins, or what wit can find
Most dearly wished, was not so much desired
As she to them; O my dull soul is fired
To tell their longings, but it is a piece
That would o’erload the famous tongues of Greece.
Yet long they hop’d, till Rumour struck Hope dead,
And showed their wishes were but flatterèd;
For scarce her chariot cut the easy earth,
And journeyed on, when Winter with cold breath
Crosseth her way, her borrowed hair doth shine
With glittering icicles all crystalline;
Her brows were periwigg’d with softer snow,
Her russet mantle, fringed with ice below,
Sat[610] stiffly on her back; she thus came forth,
Ushered with tempest of the frosty North;
And seeing her, she thought she sure had seen
The sweet-breath’d Flora, the bright Summer’s Queen.
So full of cheerful grace she did appear,
That Winter feared her face recalled the year,
And forced untimely springs to seize her right,
Whereat with anger and malicious spite
She vows revenge; straight with tempestuous wings,
From Taurus, Alps, and Scythian rocks she flings
Their covering off, and here their thick fur spread,
That patient earth was almost smotherèd.
Up Boreas mounts, and doth so strongly blow
Athwart her way huge drifts of blinding snow,
That mountain-like, at length heaps rose so high,
Man’s sight might doubt whether Heaven or Earth were sky.
Hereat she turnèd back, and left her way
(Necessity all mortals must obey);
Which was no sooner voiced and hither flown,
It sads me but to think what grief was shown;
Which to augment (mishap ne’er single falls),
The God of Sadness and of Funerals,
Of heavy pensiveness and discontent,
Cold and dull Saturn hither straight was sent.
Myself, Merimna, who still wait upon
Pale Melancholy and Desolation,
Usher’d him in, when straight we strongly seize
All this sad house, and vowed no means should ease
These heavy bands which pensive Saturn tied,
Till with wish’d grace this house was beautified.
Pace then no further, for vouchsafe to know,
Till her approach here can no comfort grow;
’Tis only one can their sad bondage break,
Whose worth I may admire, not dare to speak.
She’s so complete, that her much honoured state
Gives Fortune Virtue, makes Virtue fortunate;
As one in whom three rare mix’d virtues sit
Seen seldom joinèd, Fortune, Beauty, Wit;
To this choice Lady and to her dear state
All hearts do open, as alone this gate;
She only drives away dull Saturn hence,
She whom to praise I need her eloquence!

This speech thus ended, presently Saturn issued from forth the port, and curiously beholding the Countess, spake thus:—

Peace! stay, it is, it is, it is even she!
Hail happy honours of Nobility!
Did never Saturn see, or ne’er see such?
What should I style you? what choice phrase may touch,
Or hopes in words such wondrous grace to suit,
Whose worth doth want an equal attribute.
Let never mortal wondering silence break,
Since to express you Gods themselves must speak.
Sweet glories of your sex, know that your eyes
Makes mild the roughest planet of the skies.
Even we, the Lord that sits on ebon thrones,
Circled with sighs and discontented groans,
Are forced at your fair presence to relent,
At your approach all Saturn’s force is spent.
Now breaks my bands, now sadness leaves their towers,
Now all are turn’d to Flora’s smiling bowers;
Then now give way, now is my bondage due
Only to those who safely envy you.
Hence, solitary Beldam, sink to-night,
I give up all to joy, and to delight.
And now pass on, all-happy-making dame!
O could you but imagine what a flame
Of many joys now in their bosoms shine
Who count it their dear’st honour to be thine,
You would aver, to number[611] them who seeks
Must sure invent some new arithmetics,
For who to cast their reckoning takes in hand
Had need for counters take the ocean-sand.
Their service is your right, your love their due
Who only love themselves for loving you.
Their palace waits you with so hearty gate
Men cannot utter nor Gods scarce relate.

Then passed the whole troop to the house, until the Countess had mounted the stairs to the great chamber; on the top of which, Merimna, having changed her habit all to white, met her, and, whilst a consort softly played, spake thus:—

Madam,
See what a change the spirit of your eyes
Hath wrought in us. Hence dull Saturn flies,
And we that were the ghost of woe and earth
Are all transform’d unto the soul of mirth.
O we are full of joy, no breast more light
But those who owe you theirs by nature’s right;
From whom vouchsafe this present,—’tis a work
Wherein strange miracles and wonders lurk.
For, know, that Lady whose ambition towers
Only to this, to be term’d worthy yours;
Whose forehead I could crown with clearest rays,
But that her praise is she abhors much praise;
Not long since thought she saw in slumb’ring trances
The Queen of Fairies and of moonlight dances
Come tripping in; and with a fairy kiss
She chastely touch’d her and straight gave her this
With this strange charge:—“This piece alone was made
For her in whom no graces e’er shall fade;
For her whose worth is such I dare aver
It fears not satire nor the flatterer;
For her who gave you first most gracing name,
Who loveth goodness for itself, not fame;
For her whom modest virtue doth enfold[612] so
That she had rather be much graced than told so;
For her for whom, had you the whole world’s breast
And of it all gave her sole interest,
You’d judge it slight.” This said, hence straight she flew,
And left it her who only vows it you.
Then whilst our breast with secret welcomes ring,
Vouchsafe acceptance of this offering.

Thus with a song Merimna presented her[613] honour with a very curious and rich waistcoat; which done, the Countess passed on to her chamber.

The Masque presented by four knights and four gentlemen at the right noble Earl of Huntingdon’s house of Ashby in honour of his Lady’s most worthy mother’s arrival, Alice Countess Dowager of Derby.

At the approach of the countesses into the great chamber the hoboys played until the room was marshalled; which once ordered, a traverse[614] slided away; presently a cloud was seen move up and down almost to the top of the great chamber, upon which Cynthia was discovered riding; her habit was blue satin, fairly embroidered with stars and clouds: who looking down and earnestly surveying the ladies, spake thus:—

Cynth. Are not we Cynthia? and shall earth display
Brighter than us and force untimely day?
What daring flames beam such illustrious light,
Enforcing darkness from the claim of night?
Up, Ariadne, thy clear beauty rouse,
Thou Northern Crown to lusty Bacchus’ spouse,
Let’s mix our glories to outblaze your flame;
To be outshone is Heaven’s and great hearts’ shame.
Look down; know’st them? See how their fronts rebate
Splendour like Jove and beauty worth our state!
Hath our bright brother, the fair Lord of days,
Into their eyes shed his us-dark’ning rays?
Or hath some daring spirit forgot Jove’s ire
And to grace them stol’n his celestial fire?
We are not Phœbe, this is not Heaven’s story;
Place gives not worth, but worth gives place his glory.

Ariad. Can our chaste queen, searching Apollo’s sister,
Not know those stars that in yon valley glister?
Is virtue strange to heaven? Can Cynthia
Not know the goodly-form’d Pasithea?
She who loves greatness to be greatly good,
Knowing fair’st worth from virtue springs, not blood;
Whose graceful just proportion is held such
That what may be judge[d] beauty must have touch
And proof from hers: yet this her least of grace
(Which is the most in most)—her beauty’s but the case
Of fairest mind: when Fortune gave her eyes,
Her worth made Fortune judge she once had eyes.
But see a piece that would strike envy blind,
Whose face would Furies tame, make monsters kind.
He gave her mighty praise and yet no other
But that in mind and form she’s like her mother:
Up, raisèd passion, and with pæans follow
Grace of the Muses, daughter of Apollo!
O precious selahs’ praise thy worth is under;
He that would limn thy grace must only wonder.
Then views not Cynthia sweet Sophrosyne,
Long honour of most rare virginity,
But now much happy in her noble choice?
In well-link’d nuptials all the gods rejoice.
Next learn’d Eulogia, bright in gracious rays,
Whose merit faster springeth than my praise;
For whoso strives to give her worth fair due,
Shall find his praise straight old, her merit new.

The clouds descend: while soft music soundeth, Cynthia and Ariadne dismount from their clouds, and, pacing up to the ladies, Cynthia, perceiving Ariadne wanting her crown of stars, speaks thus:—

Music and gentle night,
Beauty, youth’s chief delight,
Pleasures all full invite
Your due attendance to this glorious room;
Then, if you have or wit or virtue, come,
Oh, come! oh, come!

Ariad. Mercurian issue, sons of son of Jove,
By the Cyllenian rod, and by the love
Devotely chaste you vow Pasithea,
Descend: first thou more bright of these
That givest my crown her name, clear Dolopes,
Whose brave descent lets not thy fair heart fall
As born of parents most heroical,
Who vows himself, his life, his sword and fortune
To her whose constant goodness doth importune
More than he is: descend! Next him, Auctolius,
Of nimble spirit slide to honour us;
Faithfull’st Evander; clear-soul’d Erythus;
The hopeful Prilis and sweet Polybus;
And thou, true son of quick-brain’d Mercury,
Dear-loved Myrtillus, with that bright soul mix’d,
Experienced Lares, that at last is fix’d
After much danger in securer sphere.
Here all with wishèd easiness appear,
And O, if ever you were worth the grace
Of viewing majesty in mortal’s face,
If e’er to perfect worth you vow’d heart’s duty,
Show spirit worth your virtues and their beauty.

Stay a little, and now breathe ye,
Whilst these ladies grace bequeath ye;
Then mix fair hands, and gently ease ye,
Cynthia charms hence what may displease ye.
From ladies that are rudely coy,
Barring their loves from modest joy,
From ignorant silence, and proud looks,
From those that answer out of books,
From those that hate our chaste delight,
I bless the fortune of each starry Knight.
From gallants who still court with oaths,
From those whose only grace is clothes,
From bumbast stockings, vile leg-makers,
From beards and great tobacco-takers,
I bless the fortune of each starry dame.
Sing, that my charm may be more strong;
The gods are bound by verse and song.

Cynth. Now pleasing rest; for, see the night
(Wherein pale Cynthia claims her right)
Is almost spent; the morning grows,
The rose and violet she strows
Upon the high celestial floor,
’Gainst Phœbus rise from paramour.
The Fairies, that my shades pursue,
And bathe their feet in my cold dew,
Now leave their ringlets and be quiet,
Lest my brother’s eye should spy it.
Then now let every gracious star
Avoid at sound of Phœbus’ car;
Into your proper place retire,
With bosoms full of beauty’s fire;
Hence must slide the Queen of Floods,
For day begins to gild the woods.
Then whilst we sing, though you depart,
I’ll swear that here you leave your heart.

Nymph. Yes, shepherd, she that hath the heart
And is resolved her life to pass
Neither to love or be beloved.

Shep. Thou’rt mine, Beliza; for behold
All the hopes thy wishes crave,
All the best the world can have,
Here these happy characters unfold;
Which who dares but once deny,
In the most just and fair defence
Of her love’s highest excellence,
I of thousands am the weak’st will die:
From which, O deign to give this touch,
Who gives what he can get, gives much.

CITY PAGEANT.

CITY PAGEANT,[615]

ON THE OCCASION OF THE VISIT PAID BY THE KING
OF DENMARK TO JAMES I. IN 1606.

The argument of the spectacle presented to the sacred Majesties of Great Britain and Denmark as they passed through London.

After that the Recorder in the name of the City had saluted the Majesties of Great Britain and Denmark with this short oration:—

“Serenissime, Augustissime Rex: quid enim Reges dicam, quos non tam conjunctio sanguinis, quam communio pietatis unum fecit? Anni sunt quinquaginta plus minus, a quo Regem vel unum aspeximus; nunc duos simul contemplamur, admiramur: quapropter antiqua civitas London, nova ista condecorata gloria, triumphat gaudio, salutat precibus, Majestatis binam hanc majestatem.

“Sed quid offeremus? Corda non nostra, tua sunt, magne, maxime Jacobe: et quia tua, Regi huic, potentissimo, fraternitatis vinculo majestati vestræ conjunctissimo, amoris ergo hæcque [sic] munusculo dicantur.”

Gentes feroces inter, et crudæ necis
Animos capaces, quibus et ignavum est mori
Paulo coactis, queis et arma civica,
Bellaque leonum paria lacerabant agros,
Nunc pacis almæ mater, et cælo edita,
Et arcuato cælicæ pacis throno
Suffulta, stabilis hic sedeo Concordia.
Sic nempe amorum jubet et armorum Deus,
Presto ut Britannum principi illustri forem.
Religio dextram fulsit, et monet pie
Bonum supremum scire supremum est bonum;
Justitia lævam, voce sancta cognita,
“Servate jus, servate cælicam fidem.”
Nunc itaque, reges, tuque, super omnes mihi
Dilecte, Brutii magne moderator soli,
Et tu, sacrato fœdere et fratris pio
Nexu revinctus, vos in æternum jubet
Salvere missa cælitus Concordia.
Non has inique denuo hostilis furor
Gentes lacessat, neque leonum fortia
Ferro dolove corda pertentet malo.
Quoties in unum junctis [olim] viribus
Coiere Bruti[i], non potuit ulla rabies
Externa quatere, aut noxii vis consilii.
Romana cessit aquila, donec proditor,
Et scelere cœpta civium distractio,
Animam addidisset hostibus, patriæ metum.
Nunc sceptra cum septena vi Normannicæ
Camberque cessit, arma deposuit diu
Indomita Ierne, et insulis centum potens
Magni Getheli accessit antiquum genus.
Fraternum amorem, jus sacrati fœderis
Fideique sanctæ, vinculo astrinxit Jupiter;
Quæ vis lacesset? quod scelus quatiet? quibus
Armis dolisve insanus utetur furor?
En hic frequentes et celebres civium
Turmæ, hic juventæ dulce conspirans cohors,
Matres puellis, juvenibus[616] misti senes,
Vos intuentur: omnis ordo suspicit.
Hæ[617] gratiosa lumina, illi pectora
Generosa pariter et serena prædicant.

(Adventu Regis, Insula Britanniæ sese aperit, Londinumque prodit.)

Totius aperit Insula imperii fores,
Ultroque prodit cana mater urbium.

Sera quidem, at felix, O cælo addenda, sereno
Numina nata solo, illuxit præsentia vestra.
Ecce, domus omnes turgent, plenæque fenestræ
Expectantum oculos, et prospera cuncta precantum.
Invide, Brittannas complexe, Tridentifer,[618] oras,
Cur tam longa piæ mora gaudia distulit urbis?

Neptunus.

Urbs cara nobis, cara supremo patri,
Non aliqua nos invidia, sed zelus tui,
Movit, citatque, ut cursui obstarem ratis.
Ego, cum viderem Principem tantum meo
Sedisse dorso, ac linteis plenis vehi,
Quidnam pararet veritus, et quo tenderet,
Remoras adhibui, fateor, ac per me obsteti,
Ne te moveret, ne tibi damnum daret;
Tibi ut faverem moris antiqui est mihi.
Sed, amore cuncta plena[619] fraterno videns,
Preces benignas ut perimpleret tuas,
Ventum ferentem et maria concessit Jupiter,
Dabuntque Neptunus, et Eolus, et Jupiter.[620]

Londinum.