The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  (1609)

  TO OUR ENGLISH ATHENIA, CHASTE ARBITRESSE OF VERTUE AND LEARNING, THE LADIE ARBELLA

  reuiu’d HOMER submits cause of renewing her former conference with his original spirit; and prayes her iudiciall grace to his English Conuersion.

  What to the learn’d Athenia can be giuen

  (As offering) fitter, then this Fount of Learning?

  Of Wisedome, Fortitude; all gifts of Heauen?

  That by them, both the height, bredth, depth discerning

  Of this diuine soule, when of old he liv’d;

  (Like his great Pallas, leading through his wars)

  Her faire hand, through his spirit thus reuiv’d,

  May lead the Reader; showe his Commentars;

  All that haue turnd him into any tongue:

  And iudge if ours reueale not Mysteries,

  That others neuer knew, since neuer sung;

  Not in opinion; but that satisfies.

  Grace then (great Lady) his so gracious Muse,

  And to his whole worke his whole spirit infuse.

  TO THE RIGHT NOBLE, AND BY THE GREAT ETERNIZER OF VERTUE, SIR P. SYDNEY

  long since, eterniz’d, Right vertuous, the accomplisht Lord WOTTON, &c.

  Your friend (great SYDNEY) my long honor’d Lord,

  (Since friendship is the bond of two, in one)

  Tels vs, that you (his quicke part) doe afforde

  Our Land the liuing minde that in him shone.

  To whom there neuer came a richer gift

  Then the Soules riches; from men ne’re so poore:

  And that makes me, the soule of Homer lift

  To your acceptance; since one minde both bore.

  Our Prince vouchsafes it: and of his high Traine

  I wish you, with the Noblest of our Time.

  See here, if Poesie be so slight and vaine

  As men esteeme her in our moderne Rime.

  The great’st, and wisest men that euer were,

  Haue giuen her grace: and (I hope) you will, here.

  (Odysseys.)

  TO THE MOST WORTHILY HONORED, MY SINGVLAR GOOD LORD, ROBERT, EARLE OF SOMERSET, LORD CHAMBERLAINE, &C.

  I haue aduentured (Right Noble Earle) out of my vtmost, and euer-vowed seruice to your Vertues, to entitle their Merits to the Patronage of Homers English life: whose wisht naturall life, the great MACEDON would haue protected, as the spirit of his Empire,

  That he to his vnmeasur’d mightie Acts,

  Might adde a Fame as vast; and their extracts,

  In fires as bright, and endlesse as the starres,

  His breast might breathe; and thunder out his warres.

  But that great Monarks loue of fame and praise,

  Receiues an enuious Cloud in our foule daies:

  For since our Great ones, ceasse themselues to do

  Deeds worth their praise; they hold it folly too,

  To feed their praise in others. But what can

  (Of all the gifts that are) be giuen to man,

  More precious then Eternitie and Glorie,

  Singing their praises, in vnsilenc’t storie?

  Which No blacke Day, No nation, nor no Age;

  No change of Time or Fortune, Force, nor Rage,

  Shall euer race? All which, the Monarch knew,

  Where Homer liu’d entitl’d, would ensew:

  Cuius de gurgite viuo

  Combibit arcanos vatum omnis turba furores, &c.

  From whose deepe Fount of life, the thirstie rout

  Of Thespian Prophets, haue lien sucking out

  Their sacred rages. And as th’influent stone

  Of Father loues great and laborious Sonne,

  Lifts high the heauie Iron; and farre implies

  The wide Orbs; that the Needle rectifies,

  In vertuous guide of euerv sea-driuen course,

  To all aspiring, his one boundlesse force:

  So from one Homer, all the holy fire,

  That euer did the hidden heate inspire

  In each true Muse, came cleerly sparkling downe,

  And must for him, compose one flaming Crowne.

  He, at loues Table set, fils out to vs,

  Cups that repaire Age, sad and ruinous;

  And giues it Built, of an eternall stand,

  With his all-sinewie Odyssæan hand.

  Shifts Time, and Fate; puts Death in Lifes free state;

  And Life doth into Ages propagate.

  He doth in Men, the Gods affects inflame;

  His fuell Vertue, blowne by Praise and Fame:

  And with the high soules, first impulsions driuen,

  Breakes through rude Chaos, Earth, the Seas, and Heauen.

  The Nerues of all things hid in Nature, lie

  Naked before him; all their Harmonie

  Tun’d to his Accents; that in Beasts breathe Minds.

  What Fowles, what Floods, what Earth, what Aire, what Winds,

  What fires Æthereall; what the Gods conclude

  In all their Counsels, his Muse makes indude

  With varied voices, that euen rockes haue mou’d.

  And yet for all this, (naked Vertue lou’d)

  Honors without her, he, as abiect, prises;

  And foolish Fame, deriu’d from thence, despises.

  When from the vulgar, taking glorious bound,

  Vp to the Mountaine, where the Muse is crownd;

  He sits and laughs, to see the iaded Rabble,

  Toile to his hard heights, t’all accesse vnable. &c.

  And that your Lordship may in his Face, take view of his Mind: the first word of his Iliads, is wrath: the first word of his Odysses, Man: contracting in either word, his each workes Proposition. In one, Predominant Perturbation; in the other, ouer-ruling Wisedome: in one, the Bodies feruour and fashion of outward Fortitude, to all possible height of Heroicall Action; in the other, the Minds inward, constant, and vnconquerd Empire; vnbroken, vnalterd, with any most insolent, and tyrannous infliction. To many most soueraigne praises is this Poeme entitled; but to that Grace in chiefe, which sets on the Crowne, both of Poets and Orators; TO that is, Parua magné dicere; peruulgata noué, ieiuna plenè: To speake things litle, greatly; things commune, rarely; things barren and emptie, fruitfully and fully. The returne of a man into his Countrie, is his whole scope and obiect; which, in it selfe, your Lordship may well say, is ieiune and fruitlesse enough; affoording nothing feastfull, nothing magnificent. And yet euen this, doth the diuine inspiration, render vast, illustrous, and of miraculous composure. And for this (my Lord) is this Poeme preferred to his Iliads: for therein much magnificence, both of person and action, giues great aide to his industrie; but in this, are these helpes, exceeding sparing, or nothing; and yet is the Structure so elaborate, and pompous, that the poore plaine Groundworke (considered together) may seeme the naturally rich wombe to it, and produce it needfully. Much wondered at therefore, is the Censure of Dionysius Longinus (a man otherwise affirmed, graue, and of elegant iudgement) comparing Homer in his Iliads, to the Sunne rising; in his Odysses, to his descent or setting. Or to the Ocean robd of his aesture; many tributorie flouds and riuers of excellent ornament, withheld from their obseruance. When this his worke so farre exceeds the Ocean, with all his Court and concourse; that all his Sea, is onely a seruiceable streame to it. Nor can it be compared to any One power to be named in nature; being an entirely wel-sorted and digested Confluence of all. Where the most solide and graue, is made as nimble and fluent, as the most airie and firie; the nimble and fluent, as firme and well bounded as the most graue and solid. And (taking all together) of so tender impression, and of such Command to the voice of the Muse; that they knocke heauen with her breath, and discouer their foundations as low as hell. Nor is this all-comprising Poesie, phantastique, or meere fictiue; but the most material, and doctrinall illations of Truth; both for all manly information of Manners in the yong; all prescription of Iustice, and euen Christian pie tie, in the most graue and high-gouernd. To illustrate both wh
ich, in both kinds, with all height of expression, the Poet creates both a Bodie and a Soule in them. Wherein, if the Bodie (being the letter, or historie) seemes fictiue, and beyond Possibilitie to bring into Act: the sence then and Allegorie (which is the soule) is to be sought: which intends a more eminent expressure of Vertue, for her louelinesse; and of Vice for her vglinesse, in their seuerall effects; going beyond the life, then any Art within life, can possibly delineate. Why then is Fiction, to this end, so hatefull to our true Ignorants? Or why should a poore Chronicler of a Lord Maiors naked Truth, (that peraduenture will last his yeare) include more worth with our moderne wizerds, then Homer for his naked Vlysses, clad in eternall Fiction? But this Prozer Dionysius, and the rest of these graue, and reputatiuely learned, (that dare vndertake for their grauities, the headstrong censure of all things; and challenge the vnderstanding of these Toyes in their childhoods: when euen these childish vanities, retaine deepe and most necessarie learning enough in them, to make them children in their ages, and teach them while they liue) are not in these absolutely diuine Infusions, allowd either voice or relish: for, Qui Poeticas ad fores accedit b°c. (sayes the Diuine Philosopher) he that knocks at the Gates of the Muses; sine Musarum furore, is neither to be admitted entrie, nor a touch at their Thresholds: his opinion of entrie, ridiculous, and his presumption impious. Nor must Poets themselues (might I a litle insist on these contempts; not tempting too farre your Lordships Vlyssean patience) presume to these doores, without the truly genuine, and peculiar induction: There being in Poesie a twofold rapture, (or alienation of soule, as the abouesaid Teacher termes it) one Insania, a disease of the mind, and a meere madnesse, by which the infected is thrust beneath all the degrees of humanitie: & ex homine, Brutum quodammodo redditur: (for which, poore Poesie, in this diseasd and impostorous age, is so barbarously vilified) the other is, Diuinus furor; by which the sound and diuinely healthfull, supra hominis naturam erigitur, & in Deum transit. One a perfection directly infused from God: the other an infection, obliquely and degenerately proceeding from man. Of the diuine Furie (my Lord) your Homer hath euer bene, both first and last Instance; being pronounced absolutely, the most wise and most diuine Poet. Against whom, whosoeuer shall open his prophane mouth, may worthily receiue answer, with this of his diuine defender; (Empedocles, Heraclitus, Protagoras, Epichar: àrc being of Homers part) ns ovv, &c who against such an Armie, and the Generali Homer dares attempt the assault, but he must be reputed ridiculous? And yet against this hoast, and this inuincible Commander, shall we haue every Besogne and foole a Leader. The common herd (I assure my self) readie to receiue it on their homes. Their infected Leaders,

  Such men, as sideling ride the ambling Muse;

  Whose saddle is as frequent as the stuse;

  Whose Raptures are in euery Pageant seene,

  In euery Wassail rime, and Dancing greene:

  When he that writes by any beame of Truth,

  Must diue as deepe as he; past shallow youth.

  Truth dwels in Gulphs, whose Deepes hide shades so rich,

  That Night sits muffl’d there, in clouds of pitch:

  More Darke then Nature made her; and requires

  (To cleare her tough mists) Heauens great fire of fires;

  To whom, the Sunne it selfe is but a Beame.

  For sicke soules then (but rapt in foolish Dreame)

  To wrestle with these Heau’n-strong mysteries;

  What madnesse is it? when their light, serues eies

  That are not worldly, in their least aspect;

  But truly pure; and aime at Heauen, direct.

  Yet these, none like; but what the brazen head

  Blatters abroad; no sooner borne, but dead.

  Holding then in eternal contempt (my Lord) those shortliued Bubbles; eternize your vertue and iudgement with the Grecian Monark; esteeming, not as the least of your Newyeares Presents,

  Homer (three thousand yeares dead) now reuiu’d,

  Euen from that dull Death, that in life he liu’d;

  When none conceited him; none vnderstood,

  That so much life, in so much death as blood

  Conueys about it, could mixe. But when Death

  Drunke vp the bloudie Mist, that humane breath

  Pour’d round about him (Pouertie and Spight,

  Thickning the haplesse vapor) then Truths light

  Glimmerd about his Poeme: the pincht soule,

  (Amidst the Mysteries it did enroule)

  Brake powrefully abroad. And as we see

  The Sunne all hid in clouds, at length’got free,

  Through some forc’t couert, ouer all the wayes,

  Neare and beneath him, shootes his vented rayes

  Farre off, and stickes them in some litle Glade;

  All woods, fields, riuers, left besides in shade:

  So your Apollo, from that world of light,

  Closde in his Poems bodie; shot to sight

  Some few forc’t Beames; which neare him, were not seene,

  (As in his life or countrie) Fate and Spleene,

  Clouding their radiance; which when Death had clear’d;

  To farre off Regions, his free beames appear’d:

  In which, all stood and wonderd; striuing which,

  His Birth and Rapture, should in right enrich.

  Twelue Labours of your Thespian Hercules,

  I now present your Lordship; Do but please

  To lend Life meanes, till th’other Twelue receaue

  Equall atchieuement; and let Death then reaue

  My life now lost in our Patrician Loues,

  That knocke heads with the herd: in whom there moues

  One blood, one soule: both drownd in one set height

  Of stupid Enuie, and meere popular Spight.

  Whose loues, with no good, did my least veine fill;

  And from their hates, I feare as little ill.

  Their Bounties nourish not, when most they feed,

  But where there is no Merit, or no Need:

  Raine into riuers still; and are such showres,

  As bubbles spring, and ouerflow the flowres.

  Their worse parts, and worst men, their Best subornes,

  Like winter Cowes, whose milke runnes to their homes.

  And as litigious Clients bookes of Law,

  Cost infinitely; taste of all the Awe,

  Bencht in our kingdomes Policie, Pietie, State;

  Earne all their deepe explorings; satiate

  All sorts there thrust together by the heart,

  With thirst of wisedome, spent on either part:

  Horrid examples made of Life and Death,

  From their fine stuffe wouen: yet when once the breath

  Of sentence leaues them, all their worth is drawne

  As drie as dust; and weares like Cobweb Lawne:

  So these men set a price vpon their worth,

  That no man giues, but those that trot it forth,

  Through Needs foule wayes; feed Humors, with all cost,

  Though Iudgement sterues in them: Rout: State engiost

  (At all Tabacco benches, solemne Tables,

  Where all that crosse their Enuies, are their fables)

  In their ranke faction: Shame, and Death approu’d

  Fit Penance for their Opposites: none lou’d

  But those that rub them: not a Reason heard,

  That doth not sooth and glorifie their preferd

  Bitter Opinions. When, would Truth resume

  The cause to his hands; all would flie in fume

  Before his sentence; since the innocent mind,

  lust God makes good; to whom their worst is wind.

  For, that I freely all my Thoughts expresse,

  My Conscience is my Thousand witnesses:

  And to this stay, my constant Comforts vow;

  You for the world I haue, or God for you.

  CERTAINE ANCIENT GREEKE EPIGRAMMES TRANSLATED.

  All starres are drunke vp by the firie Sunne;

&nb
sp; And in so much a flame, lies shrunke the Moone::

  Homers all-liu’d Name, all Names leaues in.Death;

  Whose splendor onely, Muses Bosomes breath.

  Another.

  Heau’ns fires shall first fall darkn’d from his Sphere;

  Graue Night, the light weed of the Day shall weare:

  Fresh streames shall chace the Sea; tough Plowes shall teare

  Her fishie bottomes: Men, in long date dead,

  Shall rise, and liue; before Obliuion shed

  Those still-greene leaues, that crowne great Homers head.

  Another.

  The great Maeonides doth onely write;

  And to him dictates, the great God of Light.

  Another.

  Seuen kingdomes stroue, in which should swell the wombe

  That bore great Homer; whom Fame freed from Tombe:

  Argos, Chius, Pylos, Smyrna, Colophone;

  The learn’d Athenian, and Vlyssean Throne.

  Another.

  Art thou of Chius? No. Of Salamine?

  As little. Was the Smyrnean Countrie thine?

  Nor so. Which then? Was Cumasf Colophone?

  Nor one, nor other. Art thou then of none,

  That Fame proclames thee? None. Thy Reason call:

  If I confesse of one, I anger all.

  (Epilogue to the Odysses.)

  So wrought diuine Vlysses through his woes:

  So, croun’d the Light with him; His Mothers Throes;

  As through his great Renowner, I haue wrought;

  And my safe saile, to sacred Anchor brought.

  Nor did the Argiue ship, more burthen feele,

  That bore the Care of all men, in her Keele;

  Then my aduenturous Barke: The Colchean Fleece,

  Not halfe so precious, as this soule of Greece,

  In whose songs I haue made our shores reioyce,

  And Greeke it selfe veile, to our English voyce.

  Yet this inestimable Pearle, wil all

  Our Dunghil Chanticheres, but obuious call;

  Each Moderne scraper, this Gem scratching by;

  His Oate preferring far. Let such, let ly:

  So scorne the stars the clouds; as true-soul’d men

  Despise Deceiuers. For, as Clouds would faine

  Obscure the Stars yet (Regions left below

  With all their enuies) bar them but of show;

  For they shine euer, and wil shine, when they