Author: liza.blake

¹

1 Opinion
Who knows, but that man’s soul in fame delights²
After the body and it disunites?³
If we allow the soul shall live, not die,
Although the body in the grave doth lie,
And that some knowledge still it doth retain,                         5
Why may not then some love of fame remain?

2 Opinion
There doth no vanity in souls then dwell;
When separate, they go to Heaven or Hell.

1 Opinion
Fame’s Virtue’s child,⁴ or else⁵ ought to be;
What comes not from her is an infamy.                                  10

2 Opinion
Souls of the world remember nought at all;
All that is⁶ past into oblivion fall.

1 Opinion
Why may not souls, as well as angels, know,
And hear and see what’s done i’th’world below?

2 Opinion
Souls neither have ambition nor desire                                   15
When once in Heav’n,⁷ nor after fame inquire.

1 Opinion
Who can tell that? Since Heav’n doth love⁸ good deeds,
And fame of piety from grace proceeds.

¹

1 Opinion
To desire fame, it² is a³ noble thought
Which Nature in the best of minds hath wrought.

2 Opinion
Alas, when men do die, all motion’s gone;
If motion none, all thought of fame is done.⁴

1 Opinion
What if the motion of the body die?                                      5
The motion of the mind may live on high,
And in the airy elements may lie—
Although⁵ we know it not—about may⁶ fly.
And thus by Nature may the mind aspire⁷
Its fame to hear, its pyramid desire,⁸                                    10
Or grieve and mourn when she⁹ doth see and know
Her acts and fame do to oblivion go.

Nature a talent gives to every one,
As Heav’n¹ gives grace to work salvation.²
This talent given is³ a noble mind,
Where actions good are minted current coin,⁴
On which each virtue stamps its⁵ image so,                         5
That all the world each several piece may know.
If man⁶ be lazy, let this talent lie,
Seek no occasion to improve it by,
Who knows, but Nature’s punishment may be
To make his⁷ mind to grieve eternally?                                 10
That when his spirit’s fled and body rot,
He knows⁸ himself of friends and world⁹ forgot.
But when he hath used all his¹⁰ industry,
Yet cannot get a fame to live thereby;
Then may his mind rest fully satisfied¹¹                                15
That he hath¹² left no means or ways untried.

A company of poets strove to buy
Parnassus Hill, upon which Fame¹ doth lie,
And Helicon, a well that runs below,
Of which all² those that drink straight³ poets grow.
But money they had none (for poets all are poor),⁴                  5
And fancy, which is wit, is all their store.
Thinking which way this purchase they might make,⁵
They all agreed they would some counsel take.⁶
Knowing that Fame was owner⁷ to the well,
And that she always on the hill did dwell,                                   10
They did conclude to tell her their desire,
That they might⁸ know what price she did require.
Then up the hill they got, the⁹ journey long;
Some nimbler feet¹⁰ had,¹¹ and their breath¹² more strong,
Which made them get before by going fast,                                15
But all did meet upon the hill at last.
And when she heard them all what they could say,
She asked them where their money was to pay.¹³
They told her money they had none to give,
But they had wit, by which they all did live,                              20
And though they knew sometimes she bribes would take,
Yet wit in Honor’s court did¹⁴ greatness make.
Said she, “This Hill I’ll neither sell nor give,
But they that have most wit shall with me live.
Then go you down, and get what friends you can                     25
That will be bound or plead for every man.”
Straight¹⁵ every poet was ’twixt hope and doubt,
And envy strove¹⁶ to put each other out.

Homer, the first of poets, did begin,
Brought Greece and Troy for to be bound for him.¹⁷               30
Virgil brought¹⁸ Aeneas, he all Rome,
For Horace all the countrymen did come.¹⁹
For Juv’nal and Catull’²⁰ all satyrs joined,
And in firm bonds they all themselves did bind.
And for Tibullus, Venus and her son²¹                                         35
Would needs be bound,²² ’cause wanton verse he sung.²³
Pythagoras his transmigration brings
Ovid, who seals the²⁴ bond with several things.
Lucan brought Pompey, th’Senate²⁵ all in arms,
And Caesar’s army with their²⁶ hot alarms,                               40
Who mustered all i’th’Parthian fields; their hand²⁷
And seal did freely set to Lucan’s band.²⁸
Poets which epitaphs o’th’²⁹ dead had made,
Their ghosts did rise, fair Fame for to³⁰ persuade
To take their bonds, that they might live—though dead—     45
To after ages when their names were read.
The Muses nine came all at³¹ bar to plead,
Which³² partial were, according as th’were feed.³³
At last all poets were cast out but three,
Who did dispute which should Fame’s³⁴ husband be.             50
Pythagoras for Ovid first did speak,³⁵
And said his³⁶ numbers smooth, and words were sweet.
“Variety,” said he, “doth ladies please;³⁷
They³⁸ change as oft as he makes beasts, birds, trees,
As many several shapes and forms they take;                            55
Some goddesses, and some do devils make.
Then let fair Fame sweet Ovid’s lady be;
Since change doth please that sex, none’s fit but he.”
Then spoke Aeneas on brave Virgil’s side,
Declared he was the glory and the pride                                     60
Of all the Romans, who from him did spring,
And whose high praise he in his verse³⁹ did sing.
“Then let him speed, even for Venus’s⁴⁰ sake,
And for your husband no other may you⁴¹ take.”
Then wise Ulysses⁴² in a rhet’ric⁴³ style                                      65
Began his speech—his⁴⁴ tongue was smooth as oil—
Bowing his head down low,⁴⁵ to Fame did speak:
“I come to plead, although my wit is weak.
But since my cause is just and truth my guide,
The way is plain; I shall not err aside.                                        70
Homer’s lofty verse doth reach the heavens high,⁴⁶
And brings the gods down from the airy sky,
And makes them side in factions for mankind,
As⁴⁷ now for Troy, then Greece, as pleased his mind.
So⁴⁸ walks he down to the⁴⁹ infernals deep,                              75
And wakes the furies out of their dead sleep.
With fancy’s candle⁵⁰ seeks about⁵¹ all Hell,
Where every place and corner he knows well.
Opening the gates where sleepy dreams do lie,
Walking into th’Elysium⁵² fields hard by,                                  80
There tells you how lovers⁵³ their time employ,
And how⁵⁴ pure souls in one another joy.
As painters shadows make by⁵⁵ mixing colors,
So souls do⁵⁶ mix of Platonic lovers,
Shows how heroic spirits there do play                                     85
Th’⁵⁷Olympic games to pass the time away,
As how they run, leap, wrestle, swim, and ride,⁵⁸
With exercises many oth’r⁵⁹ beside.
What poet, ever did before him⁶⁰ tell
The names of all the gods, and devils in Hell?⁶¹                      90
Their mansions and their pleasures he describes,
Their powers and authorities divides.
Their chronologies, which were before all⁶² time,
And their adulteries, he puts in rhyme.
Besides, great Fame, thy court he hath filled full                     95
Of brave reports, which else⁶³ an empty skull
It⁶⁴ would appear, and not like Heaven’s throne,
Nor like the firmament with stars thick strown,
Makes Hell appear with a majestic face,
Because there are so many in that place.                                  100
Fame never could so great a queen have been
If wits invention had not arts brought⁶⁵ in.
Your court by poets’ fire is⁶⁶ made light;
Quenched out, you⁶⁷ dwell as in perpetual night.
It heats the spirits of men, inflames⁶⁸ their blood,                   105
And makes them seek for actions great and good.
Then be you just, since you the balance hold;
Let not the leaden weights weigh down the gold.
It were injustice, Fame, for you to make
A servant low his master’s place to take.⁶⁹                                 110
Or should you thieves that pick the purse⁷⁰ prefer
Before the owner, when⁷¹ condemned they were?
His are not servant-lines,⁷² but what he leaves
Thieves steal,⁷³ and with the same⁷⁴ the world deceives.
If so, great Fame, ’twill be a heinous fact⁷⁵                                115
To worship you, if you from right detract.⁷⁶
Then let the best of poets find such grace
In your fair eyes, to choose him first in place.
Let all the rest come offer at thy⁷⁷ shrine,
And show thyself⁷⁸ a goddess that’s divine.”                             120
“Then⁷⁹ at your word, I’ll⁸⁰ Homer take,” said Fame,
And if he prove⁸¹ not good, be you to blame.”
Ulysses bowed, and Homer kissed her hands,
And they were⁸² joined in matrimonial bands.
And Mercury from all the gods was sent                                   125
To give her joy and wish her much content,
And all the poets were invited round,
All that were known or in the world were⁸³ found.
Then did they dance with measure and in time;⁸⁴
Each in their turn took out the Muses nine.⁸⁵                          130
In numbers smooth did run their nimble feet⁸⁶
Whilst music played, and songs were sung most sweet.⁸⁷
At last the⁸⁸ bride and bridegroom went to bed,
And there did⁸⁹ Homer get⁹⁰ Fame’s maidenhead.

Man
’Tis¹ strange,
How we do change.²
First to live, and then to die,
Is a great³ misery.

To give us sense, great⁴ pains to feel!⁵                                         5
To make⁶ our lives to be⁷ Death’s wheel,⁸
To give us sense and reason too,⁹
Yet know not what we’re made to do.¹⁰
Whether to atoms turn, or to Heav’n¹¹ fly,
Or change into new forms¹² and never die,                               10
Or else to matter prime to¹³ fall again,
Thence¹⁴ take new forms, and so always¹⁵ remain.
Nature gives no such knowledge to mankind,
But strong desires to torment the¹⁶ mind,
And senses, which like hounds do run about,                           15
Yet never can the perfect truth find out.
O Nature—Nature!—¹⁷cruel to mankind,
Gives knowledge none, but misery to find.

Nature
Why doth mankind complain and make such moan?¹⁸
May not I work my will with what’s my own?                           20
But men amongst¹⁹ themselves contract and make
A bargain for my tree; that tree they²⁰ take,
Which²¹ cruelly they²² chop in pieces small,
And form²³ it as they²⁴ please, then build²⁵ withal,
Although that tree by me was made to stand²⁶                         25
Just as it grows, not to be cut by man.²⁷

Man
O Nature,²⁸ trees are dull and have no sense,
And therefore feel no²⁹ pain, nor take offense.

Nature
But beasts have life and sense, and passions³⁰ strong,³¹
Yet cruel man doth kill, and doth them wrong.                         30
To take that life I gave before the time³²
I did ordain, the injury is mine.³³

Man
What ill man doth, Nature did make him do,³⁴
For³⁵ he by Nature is prompt thereunto.
For it was in great Nature’s power and will                               35
To make him as she pleased, either good³⁶ or ill.
Though beasts have³⁷ sense, feel³⁸ pain, yet whilst they live,
They reason want for to dispute or grieve.
Beasts have³⁹ no pain but what in sense doth lie,
Nor troubled thoughts to think how they shall die.                  40
Reason doth stretch man’s mind upon the rack,
With hopes and⁴⁰ joys pulled up, with fear pulled back.
Desire whips him forward, makes him run;⁴¹
Despair doth wound, and pulls him back again.
For Nature, thou mad’st man betwixt extremes,                       45
Wants perfect knowledge, yet⁴² thereof he dreams.
For had he been like to a stock or stone,
Or like a beast, to live with sense alone.
Then might he eat, or⁴³ drink, or lie stone-still,⁴⁴
Ne’er troubled be, neither for Heav’n nor⁴⁵ Hell.                     50
Man knowledge hath enough for to inquire,
Ambition great enough for to aspire.
He hath this knowledge: that⁴⁶ he knows not all,
And that himself he knoweth least of all,⁴⁷
Which makes him wonder, and think there are mixed⁴⁸        55
Two several qualities in nature fixed.
The one like love, the other like to hate,
And⁴⁹ striving both they do shut out wise fate.⁵⁰
And then sometimes, man thinks as one they be,
Which makes contrariety⁵¹ so well agree,                                  60
That though the world was⁵² made by love and hate,
Yet all is ruled and governèd by Fate.
These are man’s fears; man’s hopes run smooth and high,
Who⁵³ thinks his mind is some great deity.
For though the body is of low degree,                                         65
In sense like beasts, their souls⁵⁴ like gods shall be.

Nature⁵⁵
Says Nature: Why doth man complain and cry,
If he believes his soul shall never die?

Body
What bodies else but man’s did Nature make
To join with such a mind, no rest can take,¹
That ebbs and flows with full and falling tide,²
As minds dejected fall, or swell with pride,
In waves of passion roll to billows high,                                    5
Always in motion, never quiet lie,
Where thoughts like fishes swim the mind about,
And greater³ thoughts the smaller thoughts eat out.
My body the bark⁴ rows in mind’s ocean wide,
Whose⁵ waves of passions⁶ beat on every side.                        10
When that dark cloud of ignorance hangs low,
And winds of vain opinions strong do blow,
Then showers⁷ of doubts into the mind rain down;
In deep vast studies⁸ my bark of flesh is drowned.⁹

Mind
Why doth the body thus complain, when I                                15
Do help it forth of every misery?
For in the world your bark is bound to swim;¹⁰
Nature hath rigged it¹¹ out to traffic in.
Against hard rocks you¹² break in pieces small,
If my invention help¹³ you not in all.                                          20
The loadstone of attraction I find out;
The card of observation guides about;
The needle of discretion points the way,
Which makes that¹⁴ bark get safe into each bay.

Body
If I ’scape drowning in the¹⁵ wat’ry main,                                  25
Yet in great mighty battles I am slain.
By your ambition I am forced to fight,
When many wounds upon my body light.
For you care not, so you a fame may have
To live, if I be buried in a grave.                                                   30

Mind
If bodies fight and kingdoms win, then you
Take all the pleasure that belongs thereto.
Upon that head a glorious crown you bear,¹⁶
And on that body you rich jewels wear.¹⁷
All things are sought to please your senses five,                      35
No drug unpractised to keep you alive.
And I, to set you up in high degree,
Invent all engines used in wars¹⁸ to be.
’Tis I that make you in great triumph sit,¹⁹
Above all other creatures high to get.²⁰                                      40
By the industrious arts, which I do find,
You other creatures in subjection bind:
You eat their flesh, and then you use²¹ their skin,
When winter comes, to²² lap your bodies in.
And so in everything Nature doth make,²³                                45
By my direction you great pleasure take.²⁴

Body
What though my senses all do take delight?²⁵
Yet you upon my entrails always bite,
My flesh eat²⁶ up, and leave my bones all²⁷ bare,
With the sharp teeth of sorrow, grief, and care.                       50
You draw²⁸ my blood from th’veins²⁹ with envious spite,
Decay³⁰ my strength with shame, or extreme fright.
Often with³¹ love extremely sick I lie,
And with a³² cruel hate you make me die.

Mind
Care keeps you from all hurt, or falling low;                            55
Sorrow and grief are debts to friends we owe;
Fear makes man just, to give each one his own;
Shame makes civility; without there’s none;
Hate makes good laws, that all may live in peace;
Love brings society, and gets increase.                                       60
Besides, with joy I make the eyes look gay;
With pleasing smiles they dart forth every way.
With mirth the cheeks are fat, smooth, rosy-red;
Speech flows with³³ wit when fancies fill the head.
If I were gone, you’d miss my company,                                     65
Wish we were join’d again, or you might die.

Moisture to Earth¹
There’s none hath such an enemy as I;
The sun doth drink me up when he is² dry;
He sucks me out of every hole I lie,

Draws me up high, from whence I down do fall
In showers of rain; I’m³ broke in pieces small,                 5
Where I am forced to Earth⁴ for help to call.

Straight Earth her porous doors sets⁵ open wide,
And takes⁶ me in with haste on every side,
Then joins⁷ my limbs fast in a flowing tide.⁸

Earth to Moisture
Alas, dear friend,⁹ the sun’s¹⁰ my greatest foe,                  10
Doth blast my tender buds¹¹ as they do grow.
He burns my face and makes it parched and dry;
He sucks my breast, and¹² starves my young thereby.
Thus I and all my young for thirst were slain,
But that with wet you fill my breast again.                         15

Air to Earth and Moisture
The sun doth use me ill, as all the rest,
For his hot sultry beams¹³ do me molest,
Melts me into a thin and flowing flame,
To make him light when men it day do name.
Corrupts me, makes me full of plaguey sores,                    20
Which¹⁴ putrefaction on men’s bodies pours,
Or else with subtile¹⁵ flame into men’s spirits run,¹⁶
Which makes them raging or stark mad become.¹⁷
Draws me into a length and breadth, till I
Become so thin, with windy wings do fly.                           25
He never leaves,¹⁸ till all my spirits’re¹⁹ spent,
And then I die, and leave no monument.

The Sun to Earth
O most unkind and most ungrateful Earth!²⁰
I am thy midwife, bring thy²¹ young to birth;
I with my heat do cause thy²² young to grow,                   30
And with my light I teach them how to go.
My shining beams²³ are strings whereon to hold,
For fear they fall and break their limbs on cold.
All to maturity I²⁴ bring, and give
Youth, beauty, strength, and make old age to live.           35

The Sun to Water
Dull moisture I do light and active²⁵ make,
And from it all corrupt, gross humours²⁶ take.
All superfluities²⁷ I dry up clean,
That nothing but pure crystal water’s²⁸ seen.
The hardbound cold I loosen and untie,                             40
When you in icy chains²⁹ a prisoner lie.
Your limbs when nipped with frost³⁰ and bit with cold,
Your smooth and glassy face grows³¹ wrinkled, old.
I³² make you nimble, soft, and fair,
Liquid, and nourishing,³³ and debonair.                            45

The Sun to Air
Air I do³⁴ purge, and make it clear and bright,
Black clouds dissolve, which make the day seem night.
The crude, raw vapors I digest and strain,
The thicker part all into showers of rain.
The thinnest part I turn all into wind,³⁵                              50
Which, like a broom, sweeps out all dirt it finds.³⁶
The clearest part I turn to³⁷ azure sky,
Hanged all with stars. Thus³⁸ next the gods you lie.

Earth
O cruel Cold, to life an enemy,¹
A misery to man and² posterity!³
Most envious Cold, to stupify man’s⁴ brain,
Destroys⁵ that monarchy where wit should reign.
Tyrant thou art,⁶ and make⁷ the waters clear                      5
In chains of ice lie fettered half the year,
Imprisoning each⁸ thing that dwells in me,
Shutting my porous doors, no light to⁹ see.
I¹⁰ smothered am, and almost at death’s door;¹¹
Each hole is stopped and I can breathe no more,¹²            10
Congeal¹³ the air to massy clouds of snow,
And like great mountains¹⁴ on my body throw.
And all my plants and strong, great, fruitful trees
You nip to death, or clothe them in coarse frieze.
My fresh green robes, which make me fine and gay,         15
You strip me of, or change to black or gray.
For fear of cold, my moisture shrinks so low
My head wears bald; no hair thereon will grow.
You break the sunbeams, do¹⁵ their heat destroy,
Which takes¹⁶ away my comfort and my joy.                      20
You make my body stiff, and numb it so¹⁷
That nothing fluid in my veins can go.¹⁸

Cold
Why do you thus complain, poor Earth, and grieve?
I give you strength and make you long to live.
I do refresh¹⁹ you from the scorching sun;²⁰                       25
I give you breath, which makes you strong become.²¹
I clothe you from the cold with milk-white snow,
Send down your sap to nourish you below.
If heat with you²² should dwell, and long time stay,
His thirst would drink your moisture all away.                  30
I take nought from you, nor do make you poor,
But, like a husband good, do keep your store.
My ice are locks and bars, all safe to keep;
From busy motion’t²³ gives you quiet sleep.
For heat is active, and doth you molest,                                35
Doth²⁴ make you work, and never lets²⁵ you rest.
Heat spends your spirits, makes you cracked and dry,
Drinks all himself; with thirst you almost die.
With sweating labor²⁶ you grow weak and faint—
I wonder why you make such great complaint.²⁷               40

Earth
Both heat and cold, in each²⁸ extreme degree,
Two hells they are, though contrary they be.
Two devils they are,²⁹ and vex³⁰ me with great pains;
One shoots hot arrows, th’other ties in chains.

Earth
O horrid Darkness,¹ and you powers of night,²
You direful³ shades, made by obstructed light,⁴
Why so cruel? What evil have I done⁵
To part me from my husband, the bright sun?⁶

Darkness⁷
I do not part you; he me hither sends                                         5
Whilst he rides round⁸ to visit all his friends.
Besides, he hath more wives to love than you;
He never constant is to one, nor true.

Earth
You do him wrong, for though he journeys makes⁹
For exercise, yet care he for me takes.¹⁰                                    10
He leaves his stars and’s sister in his place
To comfort me whilst he doth run his race.
But you do come, most wicked, thievish Night,
And rob me of that fair and silver light.

Darkness¹¹
The moon and stars, they are but shadows thin,                     15
Small cobweb lawn they from his light do spin,
Which they in scorn do make, you to disgrace,
As a thin veil to cover your ill face.
For moon and¹² stars have no strong light¹³ to show¹⁴
A color true, nor how you bud or grow.                                     20
Only some ghosts do rise, and take delight
To walk about, whenas¹⁵ the moon shines bright.

Earth
You are deceived; they cast no such disguise,
But strive to please me,¹⁶ twinkling in the skies.
The¹⁷ ghosts my children are, which, being¹⁸ weak                25
And tender eyed, help from the moon do¹⁹ seek,
For why,²⁰ her light being²¹ gentle, moist, and cold,
Doth ease their eyes when they do it behold.
But you with shadows fright, delude the sight,
Like ghosts²² appear in²³ gloomy shades of night.                   30
And you with clouds do cast upon my back
A mourning mantle of the deepest black,
That²⁴ covers me with dark obscurity,
That none of my dear children I can see.
Their lovely faces mask’st thou²⁵ from my sight,                     35
Which show most beautiful in the daylight.
They take delight each other’s face to see,²⁶
And with each other’s form in love they be,²⁷
By which kind sympathy they bring me store
Of children young, which,²⁸ when grown up, bring²⁹ more. 40
But you are spiteful to those lovers kind;
Muffling their faces makes³⁰ their eyes quite blind.

Darkness³¹
Is this my thanks for all my love and care,
And for the³² great respect to you I bear?
I am thy kind, true,³³ and constant lover;                                  45
I all your faults and imperfections cover;³⁴
I take you in my gentle arms of rest;
With cool fresh dews I bathe your dry, hot breast.
The children which you by the sun did bear
I lay to sleep, and rest them from their³⁵ care.                         50
In beds of silence, where they take no harm,³⁶
With blankets soft, though black, I keep them warm,³⁷
Then shut them close from the disturbing light,
And yet you rail against your lover, Night.
Besides, if you had light through all the year,                           55
Though beauty great, ’twould not so well appear.
For what is common hath³⁸ not such respect,
Nor such regard, for use doth bring neglect.
Nought is admired³⁹ but what’s⁴⁰ seldom seen,
And black, for change, delights as well as green.                     60
Yet I should constant be if I might stay,
But the bright sun doth beat me quite away.
For he is active, and runs all about,
Ne’er dwells with one, but seeks new lovers out.
He spiteful is to other lovers, since                                             65
He by his light doth give intelligence.
I am Love’s confidant, and shady bow’r,⁴¹
Where lovers meet and whisper many an hour.⁴²
Thus am I faithful, kind to lovers true,
And all is for your⁴³ sake, and love to you.                               70
I’m melancholy, yet my love’s as true⁴⁴
As that great light’s⁴⁵ which is so dear to you.⁴⁶
Then slight me not, nor do my suit disdain,
But when the sun is gone, me entertain.
Take me, sweet love, with joy into your bed,                            75
And on your fresh green breast lay my black head.

¹

Oak
Why cut you off my boughs, which largely bend,²
And from the scorching sun do you defend,³
Which⁴ did refresh your fainting limbs from sweat,⁵
And kept you free from thund’ring rains and⁶ wet,
When on my bark your weary head you’d⁷ lay,                        5
Where quiet sleep did take all cares away,
The whilst my leaves a gentle noise did make,
And blew cool winds that you fresh air might take?⁸
Besides, I did invite the birds to sing,
That their sweet voice might you some pleasure bring,         10
Where everyone did strive to do their best,
Oft changed their notes, and strained their tender breast.
In winter-time,⁹ my shoulders broad did hold
Off blust’ring storms, that wounded with sharp cold.
And on my head the flakes of snow did fall,                             15
Whilst you under my boughs sat¹⁰ free from all.
And will you thus requite my love,¹¹ good will,
To take away my life, and body kill?¹²
For all my care and service I have passed,
Must I be cut and laid on fire at last?                                          20
See how¹³ true love you cruelly have slain,
Invent all ways¹⁴ to torture me with pain.
First you do peel my bark, and flay my skin,
Hew down my boughs, so chops off every limb.¹⁵
With wedges you do pierce my sides to wound,                       25
And with your hatchet knock me to the ground.
I minced shall be in chips and pieces small,
And thus¹⁶ doth man reward good deeds withal.

Man¹⁷
Why grumble you¹⁸, old Oak, when you have¹⁹ stood
This hundred years as king of all the wood?²⁰                          30
Would you forever live, and not resign
Your place to one that is of your own line?
Your acorns young, when they grow big and tall,
Long for your crown, and wish to see your fall,
Think every minute lost whilst you do live,                              35
And grumble at each office you do give.
Ambition doth fly²¹ high, and is above
All sorts of friendship and of nat’ral²² love.
Besides, all subjects do²³ in change delight;
When kings grow old, their government they slight.              40
Although in ease, and peace, and wealth they²⁴ live,
Yet all those happy times for change they’ll²⁵ give,
Grow²⁶ discontent, and factions still do make,
What good so e’er he doth, as evil take.
Were he as wise as ever Nature made,                                       45
As pious, good, as ever Heav’n has saved,²⁷
Yet when they die²⁸ such joy is in their face,
As if the Devil had gone from that place.
With shouts of joy they run a new to crown,
Although next day they strive to pull him down.                     50

Oak
Why, said the Oak, because that they are mad,
Shall I rejoice,²⁹ for my own death be glad?
Because my subjects all ungrateful³⁰ are,
Shall I therefore my health and life impair?
Good kings govern justly at all times,³¹                                      55
Examine not men’s humours, but their crimes,³²
For when their crimes appear, ’tis time to strike,
Not to examine thoughts how³³ they do like.
Though³⁴ kings are never loved till they do die,
Nor wished to live till in the grave they lie,                               60
Yet he that loves himself³⁵ the less because
He cannot get every man’s high applause
Shall by my judgment be condemned to wear
The asses ears, and burdens for to bear.
But let me live the life that Nature gave,                                    65
And not to please my subjects dig my grave.

Man
But here, poor Oak, you live³⁶ in ignorance,
And never seek your³⁷ knowledge to advance.
I’ll cut you down, that knowledge you may³⁸ gain,
And³⁹ be a ship to traffic on the main.                                        70
There shall you⁴⁰ swim, and cut the seas in two,
And trample down each wave as you do⁴¹ go.
Though they rise high,⁴² and big are swelled with pride,
You⁴³ on their shoulders broad, and back, shall⁴⁴ ride,
And bow their lofty heads, their pride to check,⁴⁵                   75
Shall set your steady foot upon their neck.⁴⁶
They on their breast your⁴⁷ stately ship shall⁴⁸ bear
Till your⁴⁹ sharp keel the wat’ry womb doth tear.
Thus shall you⁵⁰ round the world, new land to find,
That from the rest is of another kind.                                         80

Oak
O!⁵¹ said the Oak, I am contented well
Without that knowledge in my wood to dwell.
For I had rather live and simple be
Than run in danger,⁵² some strange⁵³ sight to see.
Perchance my ship against a rock may hit;                               85
Then were⁵⁴ I straight in sundry pieces split.
Besides, no rest, nor quiet shall I⁵⁵ have:
The winds will⁵⁶ toss me on each troubled wave;
The billows rough will beat on every side;
My breast will ache to swim against the tide.                           90
And greedy merchants may me overfreight;
Then⁵⁷ should I drownèd be with my own weight.
With⁵⁸ sails and ropes men will my⁵⁹ body tie,
And I,⁶⁰ a prisoner, have no liberty.
And being always wet, shall take such colds,⁶¹                         95
My ship may get a pose, and leak through holes,⁶²
Which they to mend, will put me to great pain;
Besides, all patched and pieced I shall remain.
I care not for that wealth, wherein the pains
And troubles are⁶³ far greater than the gains.                           100
I am contented with what Nature gave;
I’d⁶⁴ not repine, but one poor wish would have,⁶⁵
Which is, that you my agèd life would save.

Man
To build a stately house I’ll cut you⁶⁶ down,
Wherein shall princes live of great renown.                             105
There shall you⁶⁷ live with the best company;
All their delight and pastime you shall⁶⁸ see.
Where plays, and masques, and beauties bright will shine,
Your⁶⁹ wood all oiled with smoke of meat and wine.
There shall you⁷⁰ hear both men and women sing,                 110
Far pleasanter than nightingales in⁷¹ spring.
Like to a ball, their echoes shall rebound
Against the wall, yet can no⁷² voice be found.

Oak
Alas,⁷³ what music shall I care to hear,
When on my shoulders I such burthens bear?                         115
Both brick and tiles upon my head are laid—
Of this preferment I am sore afraid—
And many times with nails and hammers strong⁷⁴
They⁷⁵ pierce my sides, to hang their pictures on.⁷⁶
My face is smutched with smoke of candle lights,                   120
In danger to be burnt in winter nights.
No, let me here, a poor old oak, still grow;
I care not for these vain delights⁷⁷ to know.
For fruitless promises I do not care;
More honor ’tis my own green leaves to bear.                         125
More honor ’tis to be in Nature’s dress
Than any shape that men by art express.
I am not like to man, would praises have,
And for opinion make myself a slave.

Man
Why do you wish to live and not to die,                                    130
Since you no pleasure have, but misery?
Here you the sun with scorching heat doth burn,⁷⁸
And all your leaves so green to dryness turn.⁷⁹
Also⁸⁰ with winter’s cold you quake and shake;
Thus in no time or season rest can take.                                   135

Oak
I’m happier far, said th’Oak, than you mankind,⁸¹
For I content in my condition find;⁸²
Man⁸³ nothing loves but what he cannot get,
And soon doth surfeit of one dish of meat,
Dislikes all company, displeased alone,                                     140
Makes grief himself if fortune gives him none.
And as his mind is restless, never pleased,
So is his body sick and oft diseased.
His gouts and pains do make him sigh and cry,
Yet in the midst of pains⁸⁴ would live, not die.                         145

Man
Alas, poor Oak,⁸⁵ you do not know,⁸⁶ nor can
Imagine half the misery of man.
All other creatures only in sense join,
But man hath⁸⁷ something more, which is divine.
He hath a mind, doth⁸⁸ to Heav’n⁸⁹ aspire;                               150
For curiosities he doth⁹⁰ inquire;
A wit that nimble is, which⁹¹ runs about,
In every corner to seek Nature out.
For she doth hide herself, afraid⁹² to show
Man all her works, lest he too powerful grow,                         155
Like as⁹³ a king, his favorite waxing⁹⁴ great,
May well suspect that he his pow’r will⁹⁵ get.
And what creates desire in⁹⁶ man’s breast,
That⁹⁷ nature is divine, which seeks the best,
And never can be satisfied, until⁹⁸                                              160
He, like a god, doth in perfection dwell.⁹⁹
If you, as man, desire like gods to be,
I’ll spare your life, and not cut down your tree.