The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  Tell his high deeds, his wonders, which the deepes,

  Of pouertie, and humblesse, most expresse,

  And weepe out (for kinde ioy) his holinesse.

  Pleasd with thy place.

  God hath the whole world perfect made, & free;

  His parts to th’vse of all. Men then, that be

  Parts of that all, must as the generall sway

  Of that importeth, willingly obay

  In euerie thing, without their powres to change.

  He that (vnpleasd to hold his place) will range,

  Can in no other be containd, thats fit:

  And so resisting all, is crusht with it.

  But he that knowing how diuine a frame

  The whole world is, and of it all can name

  (Without selfe flatterie) no part so diuine

  As he himselfe, and therefore will confine

  Freely, his whole powres, in his proper part:

  Goes on most god-like. He that striues t’inuert

  The vniuersall course, with his poore way:

  Not onely, dustlike, shiuers with the sway;

  But (crossing God in his great worke) all earth

  Beares not so cursed, and so damn’d a birth.

  This then the vniuersall discipline

  Of manners comprehends: a man to ioyne

  Himselfe with th’vniuerse, and wish to be

  Made all with it, and go on, round as he.

  Not plucking from the whole his wretched part,

  And into streights, or into nought reuert:

  Wishing the complete vniuerse might be

  Subiect to such a ragge of it, as he.

  But to consider great necessitie,

  All things, as well refract, as voluntarie

  Reduceth to the high celestiall cause:

  Which he that yeelds to, with a mans applause,

  And cheeke by cheeke goes, crossing it, no breath,

  But like Gods image followes to the death:

  That man is perfect wise, and euerie thing,

  (Each cause and euerie part distinguishing)

  In nature, with enough Art vnderstands,

  And that full glorie merits at all hands,

  That doth the whole world, at all parts adorne,

  And appertaines to one celestiall borne.

  Of sodaine Death.

  What action wouldst thou wish to haue in hand,

  If sodain death shold come for his command?

  I would be doing good to most good men

  That most did need, or to their childeren,

  And in aduice (to make them their true heires)

  I would be giuing vp my soule to theirs.

  To which effect if Death should find me giuen,

  I would with both my hands held vp to heauen,

  Make these my last words to my deitie:

  Those faculties thou hast bestowd on me

  To vnderstand thy gouernment and will

  I haue, in all fit actions offerd still

  To thy diuine acceptance, and as farre

  As I had influence from thy bounties starre,

  I haue made good thy forme infusde in me:

  Th’anticipations giuen me naturally,

  I haue with all my studie, art, and prayre

  Fitted to euerie obiect, and affaire

  My life presented, and my knowledge taught.

  My poore saile, as it hath bene euer fraught

  With thy free goodnesse, hath bene ballast to

  With all my gratitude. What is to do,

  Supply it sacred Sauiour: thy high grace

  In my poore gifts, receiue againe, and place

  Where it shall please thee: thy gifts neuer die

  But, hauing brought one to felicitie,

  Descend againe, and helpe another vp, &c.

  Height in Humilitie.

  Why should I speak imperious courtiers faire?

  Lest they exclude thee, at thy Court repaire.

  If they shall see me enter willingly,

  Let them exclude me. If necessitie

  Driue me amongst them, and they shut the dore,

  I do my best, and they can do no more.

  Gods will, and mine, then weigh’d: I his preferre,

  Being his vow’d lackey, and poore sufferer:

  I trie what his will is, and will with it:

  No gate is shut to me; that shame must fit

  Shamelesse intruders. Why feare I disgrace

  To beare ill censure by a man of face?

  Will any thinke that impudence can be

  An equal demonstration of me?

  Tis kingly, Cyrus (said Antisthenes)

  When thou doest well, to heare this ill of these.

  But many pitie thy defects in thee.

  I mocke them euer that so pittie me.

  Strangers they are, and know not what I am;

  Where I place good and ill, nor euer came

  Where my course lies: but theirs the world may know:

  They lay it out, onely to name and show.

  If comfort follow truth of knowledge still,

  They meete with little truth; for if their skill

  Get not applause, their comfort comes to nought.

  I studie still to be, they to be thought.

  Are they lesse frustrate of their ends then I?

  Or fall they lesse into the ils they flie?

  Are they industrious more? lesse passionate?

  Lesse faltring in their course? more celebrate

  Truth in their comforts? But they get before

  Much in opinion. True, they seeke it more.

  For stay in competence.

  Thou that enioyst onely enough to liue,

  Why grieu’st thou that the giuer does not giue

  Foode with the fullest, when as much as thou

  He thinkes him emptie? Tis a state so low

  That I am fearefull euerie howre to sinke.

  Well said. Vnthankfull fearefull, eate and drinke,

  And feare to sterue still. Knowst thou not who sings

  Before the theefe? The penurie of things

  Whither conferres it? Drawes it not one breath

  With great satietie? End not both in death?

  Thy entrailes, with thy want, together shrinke;

  He bursts with cruditie, and too much drinke.

  Will not thy want then with a chearefull eye

  Make thee expect death? whom sterne tyrannie,

  Empire, and all the glut of thirstie store,

  Shun with pale cheekes affrighted euermore?

  Earth is a whore, and brings vp all her brats

  With her insatiate gadflie: euen her flats

  High as her hils looke; lusting, lusting still,

  No earthly pleasure euer hath her fill.

  Turne a new leafe then: thirst for things past death;

  And thou shalt neuer thinke of things beneath.

  How should I thirst so, hauing no such heate?

  Fast, pray, to haue it: better neuer eate,

  Then still the more thou eatst the more desire.

  But wilt thou quench this ouerneedie fire?

  Canst thou not write, nor reade, nor keepe a gate,

  Teach children, be a porter? That poore state

  Were base and hatefull. Is that base to thee,

  That is not thy worke? That necessitie

  Inflicts vpon thee? that inuades thee to

  Onely as head-aches and agues do?

  That the great Ordrer of th’vniuerse sees

  So good, he puts it in his master peece?

  But men will scorn me. Let them then go by,

  They will not touch thee: he that shifts his eye

  To others eye-browes, must himselfe be blind.

  Leau’st thou thy selfe for others? tis the mind

  Of all that God and euery good forsakes.

  If he goes thy way, follow: if he takes

  An opposite course, canst thou still go along,
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br />   And end thy course? Go right, though all else wrong.

  But you are learn’d, and know Philosophie

  To be a shift to salue necessitie:

  Loue syllogismes, figures, and to make

  All men admire how excellent you spake.

  Your caution is to keepe a studious eye,

  Lest you be caught with carpes of sophistrie:

  To be a man of reading, when alas,

  All these are caught in a Plebeians case.

  None such poore fooles, incontinent, couetous,

  Atheisticall, deceitfull, villanous.

  Shew me thy studies end, and what may be

  Those weights and measures, that are vsde by thee,

  To mete these ashes barreld vp in man.

  Is not the wreath his, that most truly can

  Make a man happie? And (in short) is that

  Any way wrought more, then in teaching what

  Will make a man most ioyfully embrace

  The course his end holds, and his proper place?

  Not suffering his affections to disperse,

  But fit the maine sway of the vniuerse.

  Of the Will.

  The empire of the Will is euer sau’d,

  Except lost by it selfe, when tis deprau’d.

  Of Man.

  Man is so soueraigne and diuine a state,

  That not contracted and elaborate,

  The world he beares about with him alone,

  But euen the Maker makes his breast his throne.

  Of a Philosopher.

  Does a Philosopher inuite, or pray

  Any to heare him? or not make his way,

  As meate and drinke doth? or the Sunne excite

  Onely by vertue of his heate and light?

  Of Ambition.

  Who, others loues and honors goes about,

  Would haue things outward, not to be without.

  Of Friendship.

  Now I am old, my old friends loues I wish,

  As I am good, & more old, grow more fresh.

  Friends constant, not like lakes are standing euer,

  But like sweet streames, euer the same, yet neuer

  Still, profiting themselues, and perfecting.

  And as a riuer furthest from his spring,

  Takes vertue of his course, and all the way

  Greater and greater growes, till with the sea

  He combats for his empire, and gets in,

  Curling his billowes, till his stile he win:

  So worthy men should make good to their ends,

  Increase of goodness; such men make thy friends.

  Such nobler are, the poorer was their source;

  And though with crooks & turns, yet keep their course,

  Though still their strength, they did some weaknesse show,

  (All thankes to God yet) now it is not so.

  Will is the garden first, then Knowledge plants;

  Who knowes and wils well, neuer vertue wants:

  Though oft he faile in good, he nought neglects;

  The affect, not the effect, God respects.

  But as the Academickes euer rate

  A man for learning, with that estimate

  They made of him, when in the schooles he liu’d;

  And how so ere he scatter’d since, or thriu’d,

  Still they esteeme him as they held him then:

  So fares it with the doomes of vulgar men;

  If once they knew a man defectiue, still

  The staine stickes by him; better he his skill,

  His life and parts, till quite refin’d from him

  He was at first; good drownes, ill still doth swim:

  Best men are long in making: he that soone

  Sparkles and flourishes, as soone is gone.

  A wretched thing it is, when nature giues

  A man good gifts, that still the more he Hues,

  The more they die. And where the complete man

  (Much lesse esteem’d) is long before he can

  The passage cleare, betwixt his soule and sense,

  And of his body gaine such eminence,

  That all his organs open are, and fit

  To serue their Empresse; th’other man of wit,

  At first is seru’d with all those instruments:

  Open they are, and full, and free euents

  All he can thinke obtaines, and forth there flies

  Flashes from him, thicke as the Meteord skies,

  Like which he lookes, and vp drawes all mens eies,

  Euen to amaze: yet like those Meteors,

  (Onely in ayre imprest) away he soares,

  His organs shut: and twixt his life and soule,

  Sue a diuorce aliue. Such ne’re enroule

  In thy brasse booke of Friendship: such are made

  To please light spirits, not to grow but fade.

  Nor friends for old acquaintance chuse, but faith,

  Discretion, good life, and contempt of death:

  That foes wrongs beare with Christian patience,

  Against which fighting, Reason hath no fence:

  That lay their fingers on their lips the more,

  The more their wrong’d simplicities deplore,

  And stop their mouthes to euery enemies ill,

  With th’ill he does them. Thus good men do still,

  And onely good men friends are: make no friend

  Of fleshie-beast-men, friendships of the mind.

  Not to haue want, what riches doth exceed?

  Not to be subiect, what superior thing?

  He that to nought aspires, doth nothing need: Resp.

  Who breakes no law, is subiect to no King.

  Of Attention.

  When for the least time, thou lett’st fall thine eare

  From still attending, things still fit to heare,

  And giu’st thy mind way to thy bodies will:

  Imagine not thou hold’st the raines so still,

  That at thy pleasure thou canst turne her in:

  But be assur’d that one dayes soothed sinne,

  Will aske thee many to amend and mourne:

  And make thy mind so willing to adiourne

  That instant-due amendment, that twill breed

  A custome to do ill; and that will need

  A new birth to reforme. What? May I then

  (By any diligence, or powre in men)

  Auoid transgression? No, tis past thy powre:

  But this thou maist do; euery day and houre,

  In that be labouring still, that lets transgression:

  And worth my counsell tis, that this impression

  Fixt in thy mind, and all meanes vsde in man,

  He may transgresse as little as he can.

  If still thou saist, To morrow I will win

  My mind to this attention: therein

  Thou saist as much, as this day I will be

  Abiect and impudent: it shall be free

  This day for others to liue Lords of me,

  To leade and rule me: this day I will giue

  Reines to my passions, I will enuious liue,

  Wrathfull and lustfull: I will leaue the state

  Man holds in me, and turne adulterate,

  Vulgar and beastly. See to how much ill

  Thou stand’st indulgent. But all this thy will

  Shall mend to morrow: how much better twere

  This day thou shouldst mans godlike scepter beare:

  For if to morrow, in thy strengths neglect,

  Much more to day, while tis vncounter-checkt.

  To liue with little.

  When thou seest any honour’d by the king,

  Oppose thou this, thou thirsts for no such thing.

  When thou seest any rich, see what in sted

  Of those his riches thou hast purchased.

  If nothing, nothing fits such idle wretches.

  If thou hast that, that makes thee need no riches,

  Know thou hast more, and of a greater price,
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  And that which is to God a sacrifice.

  When thou seest one linkt with a louely wife,

  Thou canst containe, and leade a single life.

  Seeme these things smal to thee? O how much more

  Do euen those great ones, and those men of store

  Desire those small things, then their greatest owne:

  That they could scorn their states so bladder-blown,

  Their riches, and euen those delicious Dames,

  That feast their blood with such enchanted flames?

  For haue not yet thy wits the difference found,

  Betwixt a feu’rie mans thirst, and one sound?

  He hauing drunke is pleasd: the other lies

  Fretting and lothing, vomits out his eyes:

  His drinke to choler turnes, and ten parts more

  His vicious heate inflames him, then before.

  So while the long fit of his drie desire

  Lasts in a rich man, such insatiate fire

  He feeles within him. While the like fit lasts

  In one ambitious, so he thirsts, and wasts.

  While the fit lasts, and lust hath any fewell;

  So fares the fond venerean with his iewell,

  There being linkt to euery one of these

  Feares, emulations, sleeplesse Ielosies,

  Foule cogitations, foule words, fouler deeds.

  Enough be that then, that may serue thy needs,

  What thou canst keepe in thy free powre alone,

  Others affect, and thou reiect’st thine owne.

  Both will not draw in one yoke: one release

  And th’other vse, or neither keepe in peace

  Twixt both distracted. Things within thee prise:

  Onely within, thy helpe and ruine lies.

  What wall so fencefull? what possession

  So constant, and so properly our owne?

  What dignitie so expert of deceipts?

  All trade-like beggarly, and full of sleights.

  On which who sets his mind, is sure to grieue,

  Feed on faint hopes, neuer his ends atcheeue,

  Fall into that he shuns, and neuer rest,

  But bad esteeme his state, when tis at best.

  Serue but thy minde with obiects fit for her,

  And for things outward thou shalt neuer care.

  Obtaine but her true, and particular vse

  And obtaine all things. Nor let doubt, abuse

  Thy will to winne her, as being coy enclind,

  Nought is so pliant as a humane mind.

  And what shall I obtaine, obtaining her,

  Not wishing all, but some particular?

  What wouldst thou wish for her dowre more then these?

  To make thee pleasant, of one hard to please?

  To make thee modest, of one impudent;

  Temperate, and chast, of one incontinent:

  Faithfull, being faithlesse. Fit not these thy will?

  Affect’st thou greater? What thou dost, do still: