Batrachomyomachia, or, the wonderfull and bloudy Battell betweene Frogs and Mice/To his Cousin, Master Ambrose Hargreves health
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To his Cousin, Master Ambrose Hargreves health.
Whether a secret influence from above,
Or supernaturall motion of the mind,
May seeme good-liking, and affection move,
Among those men whom kindred had combind:
Or whether nature, Cousin, us inclin'd,
So highly to esteeme affinitie,
I cannot easly judge, nor causes finde,
Why we so favour consanguinity.
But cert's the worke is from divinitie.
Or supernaturall motion of the mind,
May seeme good-liking, and affection move,
Among those men whom kindred had combind:
Or whether nature, Cousin, us inclin'd,
So highly to esteeme affinitie,
I cannot easly judge, nor causes finde,
Why we so favour consanguinity.
But cert's the worke is from divinitie.
And whence this inward motion doth arise,
Is for my purpose needlesse to decide,
Sithence we finde it true, whom bloud alies,
In league of friendship commonly abide,
And in the band of love are nearer ty'de:
Nethlesse when other causes beare a sway,
To move good will, it cannot be denide,
But then it is more firme, as is the day,
Brighter when Phœbus doth his beames display.
Is for my purpose needlesse to decide,
Sithence we finde it true, whom bloud alies,
In league of friendship commonly abide,
And in the band of love are nearer ty'de:
Nethlesse when other causes beare a sway,
To move good will, it cannot be denide,
But then it is more firme, as is the day,
Brighter when Phœbus doth his beames display.
Yet since first kindred doth command as due,
An interchange of amity and love,
Much, I confesse, for this I favour you,
In whom the gifts of wit and learning move,
Which more confirme what here I seeke to prove:
But that you live old Hargreves onely sonne,
Whose blessed soule rests in the armes of Iove,
And in the bosome of the Holy one;
This hath the key of my affection.
An interchange of amity and love,
Much, I confesse, for this I favour you,
In whom the gifts of wit and learning move,
Which more confirme what here I seeke to prove:
But that you live old Hargreves onely sonne,
Whose blessed soule rests in the armes of Iove,
And in the bosome of the Holy one;
This hath the key of my affection.
This hath the greatest intrest in my heart,
And deeper stands infixed in my brest,
Then either kindred, or the gifts of art,
Or what blinde Nature doth esteeme as best:
For though I held him deare, I doe protest,
Before his passage from this vale of woe,
Yet now enthron'd in everlasting rest,
Much more I love; we seldome fully know
True Vertues worth, till vertue we forgoe.
And deeper stands infixed in my brest,
Then either kindred, or the gifts of art,
Or what blinde Nature doth esteeme as best:
For though I held him deare, I doe protest,
Before his passage from this vale of woe,
Yet now enthron'd in everlasting rest,
Much more I love; we seldome fully know
True Vertues worth, till vertue we forgoe.
Gone is the starre, whose lustre beautifide
Each twinkling light that Northren climats bred,
Yet though that clouds obscure Apollo's pride,
With greater glory soone he shewes his head:
So though we thinke renowned Hargreve dead,
His life eclipsed by the clouds of fate,
No myst or darknesse can so overspread
His lives true honour, or his praise abate,
But still it shines abroad in fresher state.
Each twinkling light that Northren climats bred,
Yet though that clouds obscure Apollo's pride,
With greater glory soone he shewes his head:
So though we thinke renowned Hargreve dead,
His life eclipsed by the clouds of fate,
No myst or darknesse can so overspread
His lives true honour, or his praise abate,
But still it shines abroad in fresher state.
What should I thinke to set his praises forth,
Which farre exceeds the compasse of my braine?
Too lofty subject for my simple worth,
Nor can I easly reach so high a strayne,
Which never tasted that immortall vayne,
Flowing with Nectar downe the sacred hill,
Where those nine virgin-Muses aye remaine,
Which learned heads with heavenly fury fill,
⟨And⟩ drop arts drearyment into their quill.
Which farre exceeds the compasse of my braine?
Too lofty subject for my simple worth,
Nor can I easly reach so high a strayne,
Which never tasted that immortall vayne,
Flowing with Nectar downe the sacred hill,
Where those nine virgin-Muses aye remaine,
Which learned heads with heavenly fury fill,
⟨And⟩ drop arts drearyment into their quill.
Nethlesse, although so many tongues I had,
As [1]Briareus had hands great Homer sayes,
In habit of sweet eloquence yclad,
To blazon to the world his vertuous dayes,
I should but give an Eccho to his praise,
And much abridge the volume of his story:
Vertue is best to crowne her selfe with Bayes,
And Hargreves worth to register his glory,
Which still survives, though life be transitorie.
As [1]Briareus had hands great Homer sayes,
In habit of sweet eloquence yclad,
To blazon to the world his vertuous dayes,
I should but give an Eccho to his praise,
And much abridge the volume of his story:
Vertue is best to crowne her selfe with Bayes,
And Hargreves worth to register his glory,
Which still survives, though life be transitorie.
In spite of envy, slander, death and hell.
Hargreve revives from prison of the grave;
Above the bankes of Fame his praises swell,
Since hissing Serpents sought him to deprave:
When Vertue most is spurn'd, he growes most brave.
Yet he which in his life was unrevil'd,
In whom vile Malice could no vantage have,
After his death by slander is defil'd:
But Vertues meed hath infamy beguild:
Hargreve revives from prison of the grave;
Above the bankes of Fame his praises swell,
Since hissing Serpents sought him to deprave:
When Vertue most is spurn'd, he growes most brave.
Yet he which in his life was unrevil'd,
In whom vile Malice could no vantage have,
After his death by slander is defil'd:
But Vertues meed hath infamy beguild:
For forth the ashes of foule Obloquie,
Burn'd with the firebrands of slandrous lyes,
This peerelesse Phœnix, crown'd with victory,
Still doth renue himselfe and never dyes,
And on the wings of Honour mounts the skies,
Whereas his soule rests in Iehovah's arme,
Scorning the checks of dunghill Scarabies,
And all the bitings of that viprous swarme,
Whose tongues are ever prest to worke his harme.
Burn'd with the firebrands of slandrous lyes,
This peerelesse Phœnix, crown'd with victory,
Still doth renue himselfe and never dyes,
And on the wings of Honour mounts the skies,
Whereas his soule rests in Iehovah's arme,
Scorning the checks of dunghill Scarabies,
And all the bitings of that viprous swarme,
Whose tongues are ever prest to worke his harme.
Cousin, me thinkes the mysterie is deepe,
That they which Shepheards doe in shew appeare,
Clad in the habite of a simple sheepe,
Whom neither pride nor envy commeth neere,
Should be transformed to an ugly Beare,
And play the Wolfe so fitly in the end,
As a dead man asunder for to teare,
Whom in their life they never durst offend,
Proving a savage Vulture to their friend.
That they which Shepheards doe in shew appeare,
Clad in the habite of a simple sheepe,
Whom neither pride nor envy commeth neere,
Should be transformed to an ugly Beare,
And play the Wolfe so fitly in the end,
As a dead man asunder for to teare,
Whom in their life they never durst offend,
Proving a savage Vulture to their friend.
Yet thus, we see, somes Cookes are wont to use
The silly sheep, which whilst be breathes the ayre,
They never dare adventure to abuse,
Or seeke the harmelesse creature to impayre:
But when the bloudy Butcher doth not spare
Within his throte to sheath the murdring blade,
They streight disioynt his members without care,
And cut and mangle him before them layd,
More cruell then the Butcher by their trade.
The silly sheep, which whilst be breathes the ayre,
They never dare adventure to abuse,
Or seeke the harmelesse creature to impayre:
But when the bloudy Butcher doth not spare
Within his throte to sheath the murdring blade,
They streight disioynt his members without care,
And cut and mangle him before them layd,
More cruell then the Butcher by their trade.
Needlesse it is my meaning to unfold:
Your Eagles eyes will quickly see the Sunne;
All that shewes faire, is not refined gold;
Nor all pure vestals which in cloysters wonne:
Sometimes a Wolfe a Shepheards weed will don:
And starved Snakes, as Esope wisely told,
Preserv'd through pity from destruction.
When fire hath freed their joynts benum'd with cold,
Will hisse their friend, like Serpents from his hold.
Your Eagles eyes will quickly see the Sunne;
All that shewes faire, is not refined gold;
Nor all pure vestals which in cloysters wonne:
Sometimes a Wolfe a Shepheards weed will don:
And starved Snakes, as Esope wisely told,
Preserv'd through pity from destruction.
When fire hath freed their joynts benum'd with cold,
Will hisse their friend, like Serpents from his hold.
Pardon me, Cousin, though I seeme too bold,
T'unrip the Cankers of a festred sore,
Too much I grieve to heare him thus controld,
And falsly slandred by a grunting Bore,
And by a heard of swine, which erst before,
When famous Hargreve liv'd, like dogs did flatter
Yet heav'n I hope, which iudgements hath in store,
Will first or last reward them for this matter:
And turne the case on shore when tydes want water.
T'unrip the Cankers of a festred sore,
Too much I grieve to heare him thus controld,
And falsly slandred by a grunting Bore,
And by a heard of swine, which erst before,
When famous Hargreve liv'd, like dogs did flatter
Yet heav'n I hope, which iudgements hath in store,
Will first or last reward them for this matter:
And turne the case on shore when tydes want water.
Longer I will not agravate their shame,
Broaching the caske of their unnat'rall sinne:
Well can the world testifie the same,
How thankelesse and ungratefull they have bin,
And how iniurious still they dealt herein:
But since the world neglects a dead mans wrong,
My Muse, albe't she be both bare and thin,
Is not afraid, though envies part be strong,
To let them know th'abuses of their tongue.
Broaching the caske of their unnat'rall sinne:
Well can the world testifie the same,
How thankelesse and ungratefull they have bin,
And how iniurious still they dealt herein:
But since the world neglects a dead mans wrong,
My Muse, albe't she be both bare and thin,
Is not afraid, though envies part be strong,
To let them know th'abuses of their tongue.
But let the wicked band themselves in one,
To worke true vertues ruine and decay:
Tread you the path your father erst hath gone,
And feare not what the proud can doe or say:
For though ambition seeme to beare a sway,
And envies sting procure the just mans smart,
Truth will advance her cause as cleare as day,
And turne the scandall of detractions dart,
Upon themselves, with shame and griefe of heart.
To worke true vertues ruine and decay:
Tread you the path your father erst hath gone,
And feare not what the proud can doe or say:
For though ambition seeme to beare a sway,
And envies sting procure the just mans smart,
Truth will advance her cause as cleare as day,
And turne the scandall of detractions dart,
Upon themselves, with shame and griefe of heart.
Well could you beate (I know) the billowes backe,
Which seeke t'orewhelme the Bark of Hargreves name:
But never tempest can his vessell cracke,
Since Vertue serves as Anchor to his fame:
Deigne therefore, Cousin, to protect from blame
This simple worke, that like as Hargreves friend
Stands in the front to patronize the same;
So Hargreves sonne in fine will it defend,
Lest Curres doe bite behind what I have pend.
Which seeke t'orewhelme the Bark of Hargreves name:
But never tempest can his vessell cracke,
Since Vertue serves as Anchor to his fame:
Deigne therefore, Cousin, to protect from blame
This simple worke, that like as Hargreves friend
Stands in the front to patronize the same;
So Hargreves sonne in fine will it defend,
Lest Curres doe bite behind what I have pend.
FINIS.
- ↑ A Giant with a hundred hands.