A Sayle! a sayle! cry'd they, who did consent Once more to break the eighth Commandement For a few Coles; of which by theft so well Th'are stor'd; they have enow to furnish Hell With penall heat; though each sad Devill there A frozen Muscovite, or Russian were: The chase grew swift; whilst an old weary Pinke, Not us'd to fly, and somewhat loth to sinke, Did yeeld unto the Foe; who boards her strait; And having rifled all her precious Freight; A trembling Britaine kneeles, and did beseech Each composition there, of Tarre and Pitch, That they would heare him speake: 'tis not (quoth he) Our kinde respect to wealth, or libertie, Begets this feare; but lest blind Fortune may Unto some fierce, unruly hand betray, The truest Servant to a State, that cou'd Be giv'n a Nation out of flesh and bloud: And hee tall Ieff'ry height! who not much us'd To fights at Sea, and loth to be abus'd, Resolv'd to hide him, where they sooner might Discover him, with smelling than with sight. Each Eye was now imploy'd; no man could thinke Of any uncouth Nooke, or narrow Chinke, But strait they sought him there; in holes not deep But small, where slender Magots us'd to creep: At last, they found him close, beneath a spick And almost span-new-pewter-Candlestick. A sapient Diego, that had now command Of Ships and Victorie, tooke him in hand: Peis'd him twise, tasted his discourse; at length Beleev'd, that he dissembled wit, and strength: Quoth he, Victors, and Vanquished! I bid You all give care, to wisdome of Madrid! This that appeares to you, a walking-Thumbe, May prove, the gen'rall Spie of Christendome: Then calls for Chaines, but such as fitting seeme, For Elephants, when manag'd in a Teeme. Whilst puissant Ieff'ry 'gins to wish (in vaine) He had long since contriv'd a truce with Spaine. His Sinewes faile him now; nor doth hee yeeld Much trust unto his Buckler, or his Shield; Yet threatens like a second Tamberlaine, To bring them 'fore the Queenes Lord-Chamberlaine; Because without the leave, of him, or her, They keepe her Houshold-Servant prisoner. Diego, that study'd wrath, more than remorse, Commands, that they to Dunkerk steere their course: Whilst Captive-Ieffr'y shewes to wiser sight, Just like a melancholy Isralite, In midst of's journey unto Babylon; Melt marble hearts, that chance to thinke thereon! The Winds are guilty too; for now behold Already landed this our Brittaine bold! The People view him round; some take their oath He's humane Issue, but not yet of growth: And others (that more sub'tly did conferre) Thinke him a small, contracted Conjurer: Then Diego, Bredro names! Hemskerk! and cryes, Hans van Geulick! Derick too! place your Thighs On this judiciall Bench; that wee may sit T'undoe, this short-Embassadour with wit. One, faine would know's discent: Thou Pirat-Dogge (The wrathfull Captive then reply'd) not Ogge (The Bashan King) was my Progenitor; Nor doe I strive, to fetch my Ancestor From Anack's Sonnes, nor from the Genitals Of wrastling-Cacus, who gave many falls. No matter for his birth, sayd Diego then; Bring hither strait the Rack! for it is Ten To one, this will enforce from out his Pate, Some secrets, that concerne the English State. But O! true, loyall Heart! he'ld not one word Reveale, that he had heard at Councell-bord. Some ask'd him then, his bus'nesse late in France; What Instruments lay there conceal'd t'advance The Brittish cause? when they perceiv'd his heart; Was bigge, and whilst enforc'd, would nought impart; Diego arose; and said, Sir, I beseech you, Acquaint us if the Cardinall de Richelieu Intend a warre, in Italy, or no? (Most noble Ieff'ry still!) hee seemes to know Nought of that point; though divers think, when there; The Cardinall did whisper in his eare The Scheame of all his plots; and sought to gaine His company along with him to Spaine; For thither he'll march, if he can byth' way Sweep a few durty Nations into th' Sea. A solemne Monke, that silent stood close by, Beleev'd this little Captive, a Church-Spie! Quoth he, that shrivled face, hath Schysme in it; And lately there's a learned volumne writ, Wherein Ben-Iharky, and Ben-Ezra too, And Rabin Kimky eke, a learned Jew, Are cited all; it labours to make good, That there were Protestants before the Flood; And thou its Author art: Ieff'ry swore then, He never knew those Hebrew Gentlemen! When they perceiv'd, nor threats, nor kindnesse sought From love, could get him to discover ought; Diego leaves the Table; sweares by his Skarffe; The thing, they doubted thus, was a meere Dwarffe. The fleetest Izeland-Shock, they then provide; On which they mount him strait, and bid him ride: He weepes a teare or two, for's Jewells lost; And so, with heavy heart, to Bruxels post.
Ieffereidos, Or the Captivitie of Jeffery.
Canto the second.
So runs the nimble Snayle, in slimy track, Hast'ning with all his Tenement on's back; And so, on goodly Cabidge-leafe, the fleet Swift-Caterpiller moves with eager feet, As this sad Courtier now; whose mighty Steed May for an easie amble, or for speed, Compare with gentle Bull in Yoke: But O! Here now begins a Canticle of woe! Chide cruell Fate, whose buisnesse in the Spheares, Wise Ieff'ry notes, is but to cause our Teares: Their rule, and pow'r (quoth he) is understood, More in the harme they doe us, than the good: And this hee say'd, because he scarce had driven Along that Coast, the length of Inches Seven, But downe his Izeland fell; some Authors say A burly Oake, lay there disguis'd in's way; Others a Rush; and some report, his Steed Did stumble, at the splinter of a Reed; And some (far more authentick) say agin, 'Twas at a haire, that drop'd from humane Chin: But though, the sage Historians are at strife, How to resolve this point; his Coursers life They hold lost in the fall; whilst the discreet Ieff'ry was forc'd, to wander on his Feet. Old wives, that saw the sorrowes of this Spy, Their wither'd Lips (thinner than Lids of Eye) Strait opened wide; and tickled with his wrongs, Did laugh, as if t'were •ech'ry to their Lungs; And Diego too, whose grave, and solemne Brow, Was ever knit, grew loud, and wanton now: O for a Guard (quoth he) of Switzers here, To heave that Giant up! but come not neere; For now enrag'd, he may perchance so tosse us, As you would thinke, you touch'd a live Colossus! This Ieff'ry heard; and it did stir his gall, More than his Coursers death, or his owne fall. Sorrowes, that hasten to us, are but slow In their departure; as the learn'd may know By this sad Story; since new cause was given; For which our deepe Platonick questions Heaven. O cruell Starres (quoth he) will you still so Officious be, to trouble us below? 'Tis say'd your care doth governe us; d'ye call That care, to let Ambassadours thus fall? Nay, and permit worse dangers to ensue? Though all your rule, and influence be true; I had as leefe (since mortals thus you handle) Be govern'd by the influence of a Candle. This he had cause to say; for now behold A Foule of spatious wing, bloody, and bold In his aspect; haughty in gate, and stiffe on His large spread Clawes he stood, as any Griffon; Though, by kinde, a Turkey; whose plot that way Was like a subtle Scowt to watch for prey; Such as is blowne about by ev'ry wind; But here's the dire mistake; this Foule (halfe blinde) At Ieff'ry pecks, and with intent to eat Him up, in stead of a large graine of Wheat: Ieff'ry (in duell nice) ne're thinks upon't, As the Turkeys hunger, but an affront. His sword he drew; a better none alive E're got from Spanish Foe, for Shillings Five. And now, the Battaile doth begin: sound high Your Oaten Reeds, t'encourage Victorie! Strike up the wrathfull Tabor! and the Gitthern; The loud Jew's-trump! and Spirit-stirring-Cittherne! Ieff'ry the bold, as if he had o'reheard These Instruments of Warre, his Arme uprear'd, Then cryes St. George for England! and with that word He mischief'd (what I pray?) nought but his sword: Though some report, he noch'd the Foes left wing; And Poets too, who faithfully did sing This Battaile in Low-Dutch, tell of a few Small Feathers there, which at the first charge flew About the field; but doe not strictly know That they were shed by fury of that blow. This they affirme; the Turkey in his looke Express'd how much, he it unkindly tooke, That wanting food; our Ieff'ry would not let him, Enjoy awhile the privilege to eat him: His Taile he spreads, jets back; then turnes agen; And fought, as if, for th'honour of his Hen: Ieff'ry retorts each stroke; and then cryes; Mauger Thy strength, I will dissect thee like an Augure! But who of mortall race, deserves to write The next encounter in this bloudy fight? Wisely didst thou (O Poet of Anchusin;) Stay here thy Pen, and lure thy eager Muse in; Envoking Mars, some halfe an houre at least, To helpe thy fury onward with the rest: For Ieff'ry strait was throwne; whilst saint, and weake, The cruell Foe, assaults him with his Beake. A Lady-Midwife now, he there by chance Espy'd, that came along with him from France: A heart nours'd up in War; that ne're before This time (quoth he) could bow, now doth implore: Thou that deliver'd hast so many, be So kinde of nature, to deliver me! But stay: for though the learn'd Chronologer Of Dunkerk, doth confesse him freed by her; The subt'ler Poets yet, whom wee translate In all this Epick Ode, doe not relate The manner how; and wee are loth at all To vary from the Dutch Originall. Deeds they report, of greater height than these; Wonders, and truth; which if the Court-wits please, A little helpe from Nature, lesse from Art, May happily produce in a Third part.
