The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  And he, in stormes at Sea, doth not endure,

  Nor in vast Desarts, amongst Woolues, more danger;

  Then we, that would with Vertue liue secure,

  Sustaine for her in euery Vices anger.

  Nor is this Allégorie vniustly rackt,

  To this strange length; Onely that Iewels are,

  In estimation meerely, so exact:

  And thy worke, in it selfe, is deare and Rare.

  Wherein Minerua had beene vanquished,

  Had she, by it, her sacred Loomes aduanc’t,

  And through thy subiect wouen her graphicke Thread,

  Contending therein, to be more entranc’t;

  For, though thy hand was scarce addrest to drawe

  The Semi-circle of Seianus life,

  Thy Muse yet makes it the whole Sphaere, and La we

  To all State Liues: and bounds Ambitions strife.

  And as a little Brooke creepes from his Spring,

  With shallow tremblings, through the lowest Vales,

  As if he feard his streame abroad to bring,

  Least prophane Feete should wrong it, and rude Gales;

  But finding happy Channels, and supplies

  Of other Fordes mixe with his modest course,

  He growes a goodly Riuer, and descries

  The strength, that mannd him, since he left his Source;

  Then takes he in delightsome Meades, and Groues,

  And, with his two-edg’d waters, flourishes

  Before great Palaces, and all Mens Loues

  Build by his shores, to greete his Passages:

  So thy chaste Muse, by vertuous selfe-mistrust,

  Which is a true Marke of the truest Merit,

  In Virgin feare of Mens illiterate Lust,

  Shut her soft wings, and durst not showe her spirit;

  Till, nobly cherisht, now thou lett’st her flie,

  Singing the sable Orgies of the Muses,

  And in the highest Pitche of Tragedie,

  Mak’st her command, al things thy Ground produces.

  But, as it is a Signe of Loues first firing,

  Not Pleasure by a louely Presence taken,

  And Bouldnesse to attempt; but close Retiring,

  To places desolate, and Feuer-shaken;

  So, when the loue of Knowledge first affects vs,

  Our Tongues doe falter, and the Flame doth roue

  Through our thinne spirits, and of feare detects vs

  T’attaine her Truth, whom we so truely loue.

  Nor can (saith Æschilus) a faire young Dame,

  Kept long without a Husband, more containe

  Her amorous eye, from breaking forth in flame,

  When she beholds a Youth that fits her vaine;

  Then any mans first taste of Knowledge truly

  Can bridle the affection she inspireth:

  But let it flie on Men, that most vnduly

  Haunt her with hate, and all the Loues she fireth.

  If our Teeth, Head, or but our Finger ake,

  We straight seeke the Phisitian; If a Feuer,

  Or any curefull maladie we take,

  The graue Phisitian is desired euer:

  But if proud Melancholie, Lunacie,

  Or direct Madnesse ouer-heate our braines,

  We Rage, Beate out, or the Phisitian flie,

  Loosing with vehemence, euen the sense of Paines.

  So of Offenders, they are past recure,

  That with a tyranous spleene, their stings extend

  Gainst their Reprouers; They that will endure

  All discreete Discipline, are not said t’offend.

  Though Others qualified, then, with Naturall skill,

  (More sweete mouthd, and affecting shrewder wits)

  Blanche Coles, call Illnesse, good, and Goodnesse ill,

  Breath thou the fire, that true-spoke Knowledge fits.

  Thou canst not then be Great? yes. Who is he,

  (Said the good Spartane King) greater then I,

  That is not likewise iuster? No degree

  Can boast of emminence, or Emperie,

  (As the great Stagerite held) in any One

  Beyond Another, whose Soule farther sees,

  And in whose Life the Gods are better knowne:

  Degrees of Knowledge difference all Degrees.

  Thy Poëme, therefore, hath this due respect,

  That it lets passe nothing, without obseruing,

  Worthy Instruction; or that might correct

  Rude manners, and renowme the well deseruing:

  Performing, such a liuely Euidence

  In thy Narrations, that thy Hearers still

  Thou turnst to thy Spectators; and the sense

  That thy Spectators haue of good or ill,

  Thou iniect’st ioyntly to thy Readers soules.

  So deare is held, so deckt thy numerous Taske,

  As thou putt’st handles to the Thespian Boules,

  Or stuckst rich Plumes in the Palladian Caske.

  All thy worth, yet, thy selfe must Patronise,

  By quaffing more of the Castalian Head;

  In expiscation of whose Mysteries,

  Our Netts must still be clogd, with heauy Lead,

  To make them sincke, and catche: For cheerefull Gould,

  Was neuer found in the Pierian Streames,

  But Wants, and Scornes, and Shames for siluer sould.

  What, what shall we elect in these extreames?

  Now by the Shafts of the great CYRRHAN Poet,

  That beare all light, that is, about the world;

  I would haue all dull Poet-Haters know it,

  They shall be soule-bound, and in darknesse hurld,

  A thousand yeares, (as Sathan was, their Syre)

  Ere Any worthy, the Poétique Name,

  (Might I, that warme but, at the Muses fire,

  Presume to guard it) should let Deathlesse Fame

  Light halfe a beame of all her hundred Eyes,

  At his dimme Taper, in their memories.

  Flie, Hie, you are to neare; so odorous Flowers

  Being held too neere the Sensor of our Sense,

  Render not pure, nor so sincere their powers,

  As being held a little distance thence;

  Because much troubled Earthy parts improue them:

  Which mixed with the Odors we exhall,

  Do vitiate what we drawe in. But remooue them

  A little space, the Earthy parts do fall,

  And what is pure, and hote by his tenuitye,

  Is to our powers of Sauor purely borne.

  But flie, or staie; Vse thou the assiduitie,

  Fit for a true Contemner of their scorne.

  Our Phoebus may, with his exampling Beames,

  Burne out the webs from their Arachnean eyes,

  Whose Knowledge (Day-star to all Diadems,)

  Should banish knowledge-hating Policies:

  So others, great in the Scientiall grace,

  His Chancelor, fautor of all humane Skits;

  His Treasurer, taking thèm into his Place,

  Northumber, that, with them, his Crescent fils,

  Graue Wore’s ter, in whose Nerues they guard their fire,

  Northampton, that to all his height in bloud,

  Heightens his soule, with them, And Deuonshire,

  In whom their Streams, ebd to their Spring, are Floud,

  Oraculous Salisburie, whose inspired voice,

  In State proportions, sings their misteries,

  And (though last Namd) first, in whom They reioyce,

  To whose true worth, They vow most obsequies,

  Most Noble Suffolke, who by Nature Noble,

  And iudgement vertuous, cannot fall by Fortune,

  Who when our Hearde, came not to drinke, but trouble

  The Muses waters, did a Wall importune,

  (Midst of assaults) about their sacred Riuer;

  In whose behalfes, my poore Soule, (consecrate

 
To poorest Vertue) to the longest Liuer,

  His Name, in spight of Death, shall propagate.

  O could the World but feele how sweete a touch

  A good Deed hath in one in loue with Goodnesse,

  (If Poesie were not rauished so much,

  And her composde Rage, held the simplest Woodnesse,

  Though of all heates, that temper humane braines,

  Hers euer was most subtle, high, and holy,

  First binding sauadge Liues, in ciuile Chaînes:

  Solely religious, and adored solely,)

  If men felt this, they would not thinke a Loue,

  That giues it selfe, in her, did vanities giue;

  Who is (in Earth, though lowe) in Worth aboue,

  Most able t’honour Life, though least to liue.

  And so good Friend, safe passage to thy Freight,

  To thee a long Peace, through a vertuous strife,

  In which, lets both contend to Vertues height,

  Not making Fame our Obiect, but good life.

  Come forth SEIANVS, fall before this Booke,

  And of thy Faites Remuer, aske forgiuenesse,

  That thy lowe Birth and Merits, durst to looke

  A Fortune in the face, of such vneuennesse;

  For so his feruent loue to Vertue, hates,

  That her pluckt plumes should wing Vice to such calling,

  That he presents thee to all marking States,

  As if thou hadst beene all this while in falling.

  His strong Arme plucking, from the Midle-world,

  Fames Brazen House, and layes her Towre as lowe,

  As HOMERS Barathrum; that, from Heauen hurld,

  Thou might’st fall on it: and thy Ruines growe

  To all Posterities, from his worke, the Ground,

  And vnder Heau’n, nought but his Song might sound.

  Hæc Commentatus est

  Georgius Chapmannus.

  TO HIS DEARE FRIEND, BENIAMIN IONSON HIS VOLPONE.

  Come, yet, more forth, VOLPONE, and thy chase

  Performe to al length, for thy breath wil serue thee;

  The Vsurer shal, neuer, weare thy case:

  Men do not hunt to kill, but to preserue thee.

  Before the bést houndes, thou dost, still, but play;

  And, for our whelpes, alasse, they yelp in vaine:

  Thou hast no earth; thou hunt’st the Milke-white way;

  And, through th’Elisian feilds, dost make thy traine.

  And as the Symbole of lifes Guard, the HARE,

  That, sleeping, wakes; and, for her feare, was saf’t:

  So, thou shalt be aduanc’d, and made a Starre,

  Pole to all witts, beleeu’d in, for thy craft.

  In which, the Scenes both Marke, and Mystery

  Is hit, and sounded, to please best, and worst;

  To all which, since thou mak’st so sweete a cry,

  Take all thy best fare, and be nothing curst.

  G. C.

  TO HIS LOUING FRIEND M. JO. FLETCHER CONCERNING HIS PASTORALL, BEING BOTH A POEME AND A PLAY.

  There are no sureties (good friend) Will be taken

  For workes that vulgar-good-name hath forsaken:

  A Poeme and a play too! why tis like

  A scholler that’s a Poet: their names strike

  i Their pestilence inward, when they take the aire;

  And kill out right: one cannot both fates beare.

  But, as a Poet thats no scholler, makes

  Vulgarity his whiffler, and so takes

  Passage with ease, & state through both sides prease

  Of Pageant seers: or as schollers please

  That are no Poets; more then Poets learnd;

  Since their art solely, is by soules discernd;

  The others fais within the common sence

  And sheds (like common light) her influence:

  So, were your play no Poeme, but a thing

  That euery Cobler to his patch might sing:

  A rout of nifles (like the multitude)

  With no one limme of any art indude:

  Like would to like, and praise you: but because,

  Your poeme onely hath by vs applause,

  Renews the golden world; and holds through all

  The holy lawes of homely pastorall;

  Where flowers, and founts, and Nimphs, & semi-Gods,

  And all the Graces finde their old abods:

  Where forrests flourish but in endlesse verse;

  And meddowes, nothing fit for purchasers:

  This Iron age that eates it selfe, will neuer

  Bite at your golden world; that others, euer

  Lou’d as it selfe: then like your Booke do you

  Liue in ould peace: and that for praise allow.

  G Chapman.

  TO BYRD, BULL, AND GIBBONS ON PARTHENIA.

  MR: GEO: CHAPMAN

  In worthye loue of this new worck,

  and the most Autenticall Aucthors.

  By theis choice lessons of theise Musique Masters;

  Ancient, and heightn’d with the Arts full Bowles,

  Let all our moderne, mere Phantastique Tasters,

  (Whose Art but forreigne Noueltie extolls)

  Rule and confine theyr fancies; and prefer

  The constant right, & depthe Art should produce;

  To all lite flashes, by whose light they err;

  This wittie Age, hath wisedome least in use;

  The World, ould growing, Ould, with it, grow Men;

  Theyr skylls decaying, like theyr bodies strengthe;

  Yonge Men, to oulde are now but Childeren:

  First Rules of Art, encrease still with theyr lengthe.

  Which see in this new worcke, yet neuer seene:

  Art, the more oulde, growes euer the more greene.

  TO HIS LOVED SONNE, NAT. FIELD, AND HIS WETHERCOCKE WOMAN.

  To many formes, as well as many waies,

  Thy Actiue Muse, turnes like thy Acted woman:

  In which, disprais’d inconstancie, turnes praise;

  Th’ Addition being, and grace of Homers Sea-man,

  In this life’s rough Seas tost, yet still the same:

  So turns thy wit, Inconstancy to stay,

  And stay t’lnconstancy: And as swift Fame

  Growes as she goes, in Fame so thriue thy Play,

  And thus to standing, turne thy womans fall,

  Wit turn’d to euerie thing, prooues stay in all.

  George Chapman.

  A HYMNE TO HYMEN FOR THE MOST TIME-FITTED NVPTIALLS

  of our thrice gratious

  Princesse Elizabeth, &c.

  Sing, Sing a Rapture to all Nuptiall eares,

  Bright Hymens torches, drunke vp Parcaes teares:

  Sweet Hymen; Hymen, Mightiest of Gods,

  Attoning of all-taming blood the odds;

  Two into One, contracting; One to Two

  Dilating; which no other God can doe.

  Mak’st sure, with change, and lett’st the married try,

  Of Man and woman, the Variety.

  And as a flower, halfe scorcht with daies long heate

  Thirsts for refreshing, with Nights cooling sweate,

  The wings of Zephire, fanning still her face,

  No chere can ad to her heart-thirsty grace;

  Yet weares she gainst those fires that make her fade,

  Her thicke hayrs proofe, all hyd, in Mid-nights shade;

  Her Helth, is all in dews; Hope, all in showres,

  Whose want bewailde, she pines in all her powres:

  So Loue-scorch’t Virgines, nourish quenchles fires;

  The Fathers cares; the Mothers kind desires.

  Their Gould, and Garments, of the newest guise,

  Can nothing comfort their scorcht Phantasies,

  But, taken rauish’t vp, in Hymens armes,

  His Circkle holds, for all their anguish, charms:

  Then, as a glad Graft, in the spring Sunne shines,

&
nbsp; That all the helps, of Earth, and Heauen combines

  In Her sweet grouth: Puts in the Morning on

  Her cheerefull ayres; the Sunnes rich fires, at Noone;

  At Euen the sweete deaws, and at Night with starrs,

  In all their vertuous influences shares;

  So, in the Bridegroomes sweet embrace; the Bride,

  All varied Ioies tasts, in their naked pride:

  To which the richest weedes; are weedes, to flowres;

  Come Hymen then; come close these Nuptiall howres

  With all yeares comforts. Come; each virgin keepes

  Her odorous kisses for thee; Goulden sleepes

  Will, in their humors, neuer steepe an eie,

  Till thou inuit’st them with thy Harmony.

  Why staiest thou? see each Virgin doth prepare

  Embraces for thee; Her white brests laies bare

  To tempt thy soft hand; let’s such glances flie

  As make starres shoote, to imitate her eye.

  Puts Arts attires on, that put Natures doune:

  Singes, Dances, sets on euery foote a Crowne,

  Sighes, in her songs, and dances; kisseth Ayre

  Till Rites, and words past, thou in deedes repaire;

  The whole court Io sings: Io the Ayre:

  Io, the flouds, and fields: Io, most faire,

  Most sweet, most happy Hymen; Come: away;

  With all thy Comforts come; old Matrons pray,

  With young Maides Languors; Birds bill, build, and breed

  To teach thee thy kinde, euery flowre & weed

  Looks vp to gratulate thy long’d for fruités;

  Thrice giuen, are free, and timely-granted suites:

  There is a seed by thee now to be sowne,

  In whose fruit Earth, shall see her glories show’n,

  At all parts perfect; and must therefore loose

  No minutes time; from times vse all fruité flowes;

  And as the tender Hyacinth, that growes

  Where Phoebus most his golden beames bestowes,

  Is propt with care; is water’d euery howre;

  The sweet windes adding their encreasing powre,

  The scattered drops of Nights refreshing dew,

  Hasting the full grace, of his glorious hew,

  Which once disclosing, must be gatherd straight,

  Or hew, and Odor both, will lose their height;

  So, of a Virgine, high, and richly kept,

  The grace and sweetnes full growne must be reap’t,

  Or, forth her spirits fly, in empty Ayre;

  The sooner fading; the more sweete and faire.

  Gentle, O Gentle Hymen, be not then

  Cruell, That kindest art to Maids, and Men;

  These two, One Twyn are; and their mutuall blisse,