Part 5

And here I might a just digression make, Whilst of some foure particular knightes I spake, To whome I owe my thankes; but twere not best, By praysing two or three, t’ accuse the rest; Nor can I sing that order, or those men, That are aboue the maistery of my pen; And private fingers may not touch those things Whose authors princes are, whose parents kings: Wherefore unburnt I will refraine that fire, Least, daring such a theame, I should aspire T’ include my king and prince, and soe rehearse Names fitter for my prayer then my verse: “Hee that will speake of princes, let him use More grace then witt, know God’s aboue his muse.” Noe more of councell: Harke! the trumpetts sound, And the grave organ’s with the antheme drown’d The Church hath said amen to all their rites, And now the Trojan horse sets loose his knightes; The triumph moues: O what could added bee, Save your accesse, to this solemnitye? Which I expect, and doubt not but to see ’t, When the kings favour and your worth shall meete. I thinke the robes would now become you soe, St. George himselfe could scarce his owne knights know From the lord Mordant: Pardon mee that preach A doctrine which king James can only teach; To whome I leaue you, who alone hath right To make knightes lords, and then a lord a knight. Imagine now the sceane lyes in the hall; (For at high noone we are recusants all) The church is empty, as the bellyes were Of the spectators, which had languish’d there: And now the favorites of the clarke of th’ checke, Who oft haue yaun’d, and strech’t out many a neck Twixt noone and morning; the dull feeders on Fresh patience, and raisins of the sunne, They, who had liv’d in th’ hall seaven houres at least, As if twere an arraignment, not a feast; And look’t soe like the hangings they stood nere, None could discerne which the true pictures were; These now shall be refresh’t, while the bold drumme Strikes up his frollick, through the hall they come. Here might I end, my lord, and here subscribe Your honours to his power: But Oh, what bribe, What feare or mulct can make my muse refraine, When shee is urg’d of nature and disdaine? Not all the guard shall hold mee, I must write, Though they should sweare and lye how they would fight, If I procede: nay, though the captaine say, Hold him, or else you shall not eate to day; Those goodly yeomen shall not scape my pen; ’Twas dinner-time, and I must speake of men; So to the hall made I, with little care To praise the dishes, or to tast the fare; Much lesse t’ endanger the least tart, or pye By any waiter there stolne, or sett by; But to compute the valew of the meate, Which was for glory, not for hunger eate; Nor did I feare, (stand back) who went before The presence, or the privy-chamber doore. And woe is mee, the guard, those men of warre, Who but two weapons use, beife, and the barre, Began to gripe mee, knowing not in truth, That I had sung John Dory in my youth; Or that I knew the day when I could chaunt Chevy, and Arthur, and the Seige of Gaunt. And though these be the vertues which must try Who are most worthy of their curtesy, They profited mee nothing: for no notes Will move them now, they’re deafe in their new coates: Wherefore on mee afresh they fall, and show Themselves more active then before, as though They had some wager lay’d, and did contend Who should abuse mee furthest at armes end. One I remember with a grisly beard, And better growne then any of the heard; One, were he well examin’d, and made looke His name in his owne parish and church booke, Could hardly prove his christendome; and yet It seem’d he had two names, for there were writt On a white canvasse doublett that he wore, Two capitall letters of a name before; Letters belike which hee had spew’d and spilt, When the great bumbard leak’t, or was a tilt. This Ironside tooke hold, and sodainly Hurled mee, by judgment of the standers by, Some twelve foote by the square; takes mee againe, Out-throwes it halfe a bar; and thus wee twaine At this hot exercise an hower had spent, Hee the feirce agent, I the instrument. My man began to rage, but I cry’d, Peace, When he is dry or hungry he will cease: Hold, for the Lords sake, Nicholas, lest they take us, And use us worse then Hercules us’d Cacus.

And now I breath, my lord, now have I time To tell the cause, and to confesse the crime: I was in black; a scholler straite they guest; Indeed I colour’d for it at the least. I spake them faire, desir’d to see the hall, And gave them reasons for it, this was all; By which I learne it is a maine offence, So neere the clark of th’ check to utter sense: Talk of your emblemes, maisters, and relate How Æsope hath it, and how Alciate; The Cock and Pearle, the Dunghill and the Jemme, This passeth all to talke sence amongst them. Much more good service was committed yet, Which I in such a tumult must forget; But shall I smother that prodigious fitt, Which pass’d Heons invention, and pure witt? As this: A nimble knave, but something fatt, Strikes at my head, and fairly steales my hatt: Another breakes a jest, (well, Windsor, well, What will ensue thereof there’s none can tell, When they spend witt, serve God) yet twas not much, Although the clamours and applause were such, As when salt Archy or Garret doth provoke them[62], And with wide laughter and a cheat-loafe choake them. What was the jest doe you aske? I dare repeate it, And put it home before you shall entreat it; He call’d mee Bloxford-man: confesse I must ’Twas bitter; and it griev’d mee, in a thrust That most ungratefull word (Bloxford) to heare From him, whose breath yet stunk of Oxford beere: But let it passe; for I have now passd throw Their halberds, and worse weapons, their teeth, too: And of a worthy officer was invited To dine; who all their rudeness hath requited: Where wee had mirth and meat, and a large board Furnish’t with all the kitchin could afford. But to conclude, to wipe of from before yee All this which is noe better then a story; Had this affront bin done mee by command Of noble Fenton[63], had their captaines hand Directed them to this, I should beleive I had no cause to jeast, but much to greive: Or had discerning Pembrooke[64] seene this done, And thought it well bestow’d, I would have run Where no good man had dwelt, nor learn’d would fly, Where noe disease would keepe mee company, Where it should be preferment to endure To teach a schoole, or else to starve a cure.

But as it stands, the persons and the cause Consider well, their manners and their lawes, Tis no affliction to mee, for even thus Saint Paul hath fought with beasts at Ephesus, And I at Windsor. Let this comfort then Rest with all able and deserving men: Hee that will please the guard, and not provoke Court-witts, must suite his learning by a cloake: “For at all feasts and masques the doome hath bin, “A man thrust out and a gay cloake let in.”

_Quid immerentes hospites vexas canis,_ _Ignavus adversus lupos?_

TO THE PRINCE.

(AFTERWARDS CHARLES THE FIRST.)

Born at Dumferling, November the 19th, 1600; crowned 27th March 1625; beheaded 30th January 1648-9.

(From a Manuscript in Ashmole’s Museum.)

For ever dear, for ever dreaded prince, You read some verse of mine a little since, And so pronounced each word and every letter Your gratious reading made my verse the better: Since that your highness doth by gifte exceeding Make what you read the better for your reading, Let my poor muse thus far your grace importune To leave to reade my verse, and read my fortune.

A NEW-YEARES GIFT TO MY LORDE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.

(Born 28th August 1592; assassinated by Felton, 23d August 1628.)

When I can pay my parents, or my king, For life, or peace, or any dearer thing; Then, dearest lord, expect my debt to you Shall bee as truly paid, as it is due. But, as no other price or recompence Serves them, but love, and my obedience; So nothing payes my lord, but whats above The reach of hands, ’tis vertue, and my love. “For, when as goodnesse doth so overflow, “The conscience bindes not to restore, but owe:” Requitall were presumption; and you may Call mee ungratefull, while I strive to pay. Nor with a morall lesson doe I shift, Like one that meant to save a better gift; Like very poore, or counterfeite poore men, Who, to preserve their turky or their hen, Doe offer up themselves: No; I have sent A kind of guift, will last by being spent, Thankes sterling: far above the bullion rate Of horses, hangings, jewells, or of plate. O you that know the choosing of that one, Know a true diamond from a Bristow stone: You know, those men alwaies are not the best In their intent, that lowdest can protest: But that a prayer from the convocation, Is better than the commons protestation. Trust those that at the test their lives will lay, And know no arts, but to deserve, and pray: Whilst they, that buy preferment without praying, Begin with broyles, and finish with betraying.

SIR THOMAS AYLESBURY,

A Londoner born, was second son of William Aylesbury by Anne his wife, daughter of John Poole, esq., and from Westminster School removed to Christ-Church, Oxford, in 1598, where he became a fellow-student with Corbet, and where, on the 9th of June 1605, they took the degree of master of arts together.

Aylesbury, after he had left Oxford, became secretary to Charles Howard, earl of Nottingham, lord high admiral of England, and in 1618, when the latter resigned his office, was continued in the same employment under Howard’s successor, George Villiers, then marquis, and afterwards duke of Buckingham. Under the patronage of Villiers he was appointed one of the masters of the requests, and on the 19th of April 1627 created a baronet, and soon afterwards obtained the office of master of the mint. He retained his places until the breaking out of the civil wars in 1642, and faithfully adhering to the cause of Charles the First, retired with his family, in 1649, after the execution of that unfortunate monarch, to Antwerp in Brabant, and continued there until 1652, when he removed to Breda, where he died in 1657, aged 81, and was buried in the great church.

He was “a learned man, and as great a lover and encourager of learning and learned men, especially of mathematicians, (he being one himself) as any man in his time.”

He had a son, William, who was a man of learning, and tutor to the two sons of his father’s patron, Villiers, but died issueless in Jamaica in the service of Cromwell in the same year with his father: and a daughter, Frances, (sole heir of her father and brother) who, in 1634, became the wife of Edward Hyde, afterwards earl of Clarendon, and was grandmother to queen Mary the Second, and to queen Anne.

I have been the more particular in noticing what relates to sir Thomas Aylesbury, since bishop Corbet’s advancement at court followed, though it trode close upon the heels of, that of Aylesbury, which leads me to presume that the latter was in some degree Corbet’s patron as well as friend and companion.

A LETTER SENT FROM DR. CORBET TO SIR THOMAS AILESBURY, December the 9th, 1618. ON THE OCCASION OF A BLAZING STAR.

My brother and much more, hadst thou been mine, Hadst thou in one rich present of a line Inclos’d sir Francis, for in all this store No gift can cost thee less, or binde me more; Hadst thou (dear churle) imparted his return, I should not with a tardy welcome burn; But had let loose my joy at him long since, Which now will seem but studied negligence: But I forgive thee, two things kept thee from it, First such a friend to gaze on, next a comet; Which comet we discern, though not so true As you at Sion, as long tayl’d as you; We know already how will stand the case, With Barnavelt[65] of universal grace, Though Spain deserve the whole star, if the fall Be true of Lerma duke and cardinal[66]: Marry, in France we fear no blood, but wine; Less danger’s in her sword, than in her vine. And thus we leave the blazers coming over, For our portents are wise, and end at Dover: And though we use no forward censuring, Nor send our learned proctors to the king, Yet every morning when the star doth rise, There is no black for three hours in our eyes; But like a Puritan dreamer, towards this light All eyes turn upward, all are zeal and white: More it is doubtful that this prodigy Will turn ten schools to one astronomy: And the analysis we justly fear, Since every art doth seek for rescue there; Physicians, lawyers, glovers on the stall, The shopkeepers speak mathematics all; And though men read no gospels in these signes, Yet all professions are become divines; All weapons from the bodkin to the pike, The masons rule and taylors yard alike Take altitudes, and th’ early fidling knaves On fluits and hoboyes made them Jacobs-staves; Lastly of fingers, glasses we contrive, And every fist is made a prospective: Burton to Gunter cants[67], and Burton hears From Gunter, and th’ exchange both tongue and ears By carriage: thus doth mired Guy complain, His waggon in their letters bears Charles-Wain, Charles-Wain, to which they say the tayl will reach; And at this distance they both hear and teach. Now, for the peace of God and men, advise (Thou that hast where-withal to make us wise) Thine own rich studies, and deep Harriots mine[68], In which there is no dross, but all refine: O tell us what to trust to, lest we wax All stiff and stupid with his parallax: Say, shall the old philosophy be true? Or doth he ride above the moon, think you? Is he a meteor forced by the sun? Or a first body from creation? Hath the same star been object of the wonder Of our forefathers? Shall the same come under The sentence of our nephews? Write and send, Or else this star a quarrel doth portend.

DR. CORBET’S JOURNEY INTO FRANCE.

I went from England into France, Nor yet to learn to cringe nor dance, Nor yet to ride or fence; Nor did I go like one of those That do return with half a nose They carried from hence.

But I to Paris rode along, Much like John Dory in the song[69], Upon a holy tide. I on an ambling nag did jet, I trust he is not paid for yet; And spur’d him on each side.

And to Saint Dennis fast we came, To see the sights of Nostre Dame, The man that shews them snaffles: Where who is apt for to beleeve, May see our Ladies right-arm sleeve, And eke her old pantofles;

Her breast, her milk, her very gown That she did wear in Bethlehem town, When in the inn she lay. Yet all the world knows that’s a fable, For so good clothes ne’re lay in stable Upon a lock of hay.

No carpenter could by his trade Gain so much coyn as to have made A gown of so rich stuff. Yet they, poor fools, think, for their credit, They may believe old Joseph did it, ’Cause he deserv’d enough.

There is one of the crosses nails, Which whoso sees, his bonnet vails, And if he will, may kneel. Some say ’twas false, ’twas never so, Yet, feeling it, thus much I know, It is as true as steel.

There is a lanthorn which the Jews, When Judas led them forth, did use, It weighs my weight downright: But to believe it, you must think The Jews did put a candle in ’t, And then ’twas very light.

There’s one saint there hath lost his nose; Another’s head, but not his toes, His elbow and his thumb. But when that we had seen the rags We went to th’ inn and took our nags, And so away did come.

We came to Paris on the Seine, ’Tis wondrous fair, ’tis nothing clean, ’Tis Europes greatest town. How strong it is I need not tell it, For all the world may easily smell it, That walk it up and down.

There many strange things are to see, The Palace and great Gallery, The Place Royal doth excel: The New Bridge, and the Statues there, At Nostre Dame, Saint Q. Pater, The Steeple bears the bell.

For learning, th’ Universitie; And for old clothes, the Frippery; The House the Queen did build. Saint Innocents, whose earth devours Dead corps in four and twenty hours, And there the King was kill’d:

The Bastile and Saint Dennis-street, The Shafflenist, like London-Fleet, The Arsenal, no toy. But if you’ll see the prettiest thing, Go to the court and see the King, O ’tis a hopeful boy.

He is of all his dukes and peers Reverenc’d for much wit at ’s years, Nor must you think it much; For he with little switch doth play, And make fine dirty pyes of clay, O never king made such!

A bird that can but kill a fly, Or prate, doth please his majesty, ’Tis known to every one. The duke of Guise gave him a parret, And he had twenty cannons for it For his new galeon.

O that I ere might have the hap To get the bird which in the map Is called the Indian Ruck! I’de give it him, and hope to be As rich as Guise, or Livine, Or else I had ill luck.

Birds round about his chamber stand, And he them feeds with his own hand; ’Tis his humility. And if they do want any thing, They need but whistle for their king, And he comes presently.

But now then, for these parts he must Be enstiled Lewis the Just[70], Great Henry’s lawful heir; When to his stile to add more words, They’d better call him King of Birds, Than of the great Navarre.

He hath besides a pretty quirk, Taught him by Nature, how to work In iron with much ease. Sometimes to the forge he goes, There he knocks, and there he blows, And makes both locks and keys:

Which puts a doubt in every one, Whether he be Mars or Vulcan’s son, Some few believe his mother. But let them all say what they will, I came resolv’d, and so think still, As much the one as th’ other.

The people, too, dislike the youth, Alledging reasons, for, in truth, Mothers should honour’d be: Yet others say, he loves her rather As well as ere she lov’d his father, And that’s notoriously.

His queen, a pretty little wench, Was born in Spain, speaks little French, She’s nere like to be mother: For her incestuous house could not Have children which were not begot By uncle or by brother.

Now why should Lewis, being so just, Content himself to take his lust With his Lucina’s mate; And suffer his little pretty queen, From all her race that yet hath been, So to degenerate?

’Twere charity for to be known To love others children as his own, And why? It is no shame; Unless that he would greater be Than was his father Henery, Who, men thought, did the same.

JOHN HAMMON.

John Hammon, M.A., to whom the following “Exhortation” is addressed, was instituted to the rectory of Bibbesford and chapel of Bewdley in Worcestershire the 2d of March 1614, on the presentation of sir William Cook. The new zeal with which he was inspired arose most probably from the intrusion of the “Book of Sports,” by James, in 1618[71], in which the king’s pleasure is declared, “that, after the end of divine service, our good people be not disturbed, letted or discouraged from any lawfull recreation; such as dauncing, either men or women; archerie for men, leaping, vaulting, or any other such harmlesse recreation; nor from having of May games, Witson ales, and Morris dances, and the _setting up of Maypoles and other sports therein used_; and that women shall have leave to carry rushes to the church for the decoring of it, according to their old custome.”

AN EXHORTATION TO MR. JOHN HAMMON, MINISTER IN THE PARISH OF BEWDLY,

_For the battering downe of the Vanityes of the Gentiles, which are comprehended in a Maypole_.

Written by a Zealous Brother from the Black-fryers.