Selected quad for the lemma: king_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A95566
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Of alterations strange, of various signes, heere are compos'd a few poetick lines heere you may finde, when you this book have read, the crowne tranform'd into the poets head : read well, be merry and wise / written by John Taylor.
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Taylor, John, 1580-1653.
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1651
(1651)
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Wing T493A; ESTC R42369
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7,408
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21
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mould The other everlasting permanent Thus when old time hath wasted Tomb and Hearse True Honour is preserv'd by lasting Verse Time Tomb and black oblivion will devoure Their Honours that dares slight a Poets power 'T was not Achilles Sword but Homers Pen Made Worthy Hector chiefest Man of Men. Who had e're heard of Alexanders fame If Quintus Curtius had not wrote the same A Poets love is lovely but his hate Can strike great Kings beneath the foot of Fate The sword cuts sharp kills Sires and spares the sons The Pens keene stroke a generation runs Two men nam'd Hypponax and Bibullus Poet and Painter dwelt in Ephesus The Poet had th' ill favouredst face and feature That scarce the like had any two-leg'd creature And he such sharpe satyrick lines could write Which would both smart and rankle where they bite The Painter made the Picture of the Poet So ill shap'd that all men that did but know it Did every one poore Hipponax much jeare With scornes and scoffes and many a flout and jeare The Poet on revenge did meditate And from the Limbeck of 's distilling pate He ' gainst the Painter wrote harsh lines so furious That Buballus did hang himselfe most curious And I do wish all that are Poet haters Were as that Painter or his Imitaters So I that am a Poet old forlorne Lov'd by the learn'd and ignorances scorne Worne from my waxing to the lowest weine Though time tread on me I dare turne againe As doth a worme but I perceive and see My Muse and Pen both curb'd and muzled bee That over us there 's Lincean watch That we poore sooles dare neither bite or scratch Yet had I all free liberty I hate To meddle with Authority or State Or write a line that scandall may produce Or be the present Governments abuse For States are men no State so perfect is But some things many things are oft amisse For 't is a maxime all men have receiv'd To be deceivers and to be deceived I serv'd two Kings full five and forty yeare Am now growne old bald with some hoary haire Besides seven times Elizabeth I served At Sea and from my Loyalty ne'r swerved Now Kingly Government expulsed is I must live in obedience under This From those two Kings I had such meanes to live And with those means a willing minde to give But now I am a Taker and no Giver From which poore state good Jesus me deliver Ten yeares are past since penny pay I had For my unlucky fortune is so bad That though I was a Yeoman of the Guard And that my fellowes some poore pay have shar'd Though as a Waterman much pay is due Yet not one groat will unto me accrew Though no man in a poorer state then I Aged 72. in extreame poverty Since first these wofull cruel wars began I ne'r bare armes I was no martiall man I ne'r saw slaughtring swords drawn from their sheaths Or mangled men destroyd with various deaths A paire of Crutches all my weapons were Wherewith I crawl'd in Oxford nigh three yeere For I was lame and my Imposthum'd leg My Patent was with priviledge to beg Thus Lamenesse was my fault my griefe my blame And this did get me a Malignants name Petitions there hath been two hundred given To shew to what extream want we are driven Whereby few of us some reliefe have got But not one crosse to my unlucky lot Necessity and I both married bee In love and fellowship we both agree Shee made m' a Merchant now most Trades do faile A Trade in Ale and sell it by retaile My Signe was once the Crowne but now it is Chang'd by asudden Metamorphosis The Crowne was taken down and in the stead Is plac'd John Taylors or the Poets Head Indeed these are the dayes of Transformation In ten years time hath fall'n some alteration For Charing-Crosse that had stood times and lives Is turn'd to Salt-sellers and hephts for Knives A Tavern where Saint Martins Picture was Is turn'd t' a Goat that ne're eat hay or grasse The Salutation or Annunciation Is made two Gallants with sweet salutation Signes subject are to mutability And seldome are the things they signifie The Signes of Kings heads are not heads of Kings The Signes of Fountains are no watry Springs Blew Bores Black Swans and Maiden-heads are signes Grapes are but Signes 't is pressing makes 'em Wines So is a Poet with oppression prest Want squeeseth him and then he writeth best The Painter hath his fancy I did see And looking on two Loggerheads made three And I have seen Saints Heads for Signes hang'd up And Sir John Oldcastle with a quaffing Cup The Signes of many a Kings Head many a Queene Popes Bishops Arius Taurus I have seene Their Heads set up for Signes likewise I have Seen Goats heads with their beards like Townsmen Grave Rams heads Boares heads Bulls heads all heads that are The Painters Art describes them neare and far The Sun and Moon are Gods signs but yet they 1. Gen. Are Tavern Signes where men waste time away I Knew a Time when times were not so evill There was a famous Taverne call'd the Devill But 't was a nick-name that the house did beare For I have found good entertainment there In great Apollo no man seem'd to gull us My father Ben and I far'd like Lucullus M. Johnson Thus Poetry and painting in commixion Do correspond in fancy and in fiction Both lik'd alike alike disliked both As various humours like to like or loath Of Poets I have somewhat sayd before And now of Painters I le say somewhat more The Painters cheated for I am acquainted With sundry Signes that never yet were painted The crooked Billet who e're painted who The Gridir'ne Paint who did the Horse-shooe doe Or tell mee honest Reader if you can What man 's so mad to paint a Frying-Pan A Painter seldome doâ—h paint Whores for they Themselves do with a Pox paint every day A Painter right is like a Poet true Ultra Maria is the chiefest Blew They in their Art are downrighâ— just and plaine True honesty they have dy'd deep in graine A painter did my Picture Gratis make And for a Signe I hang'd it for his sake One De la Roche here many yeares hath bin Fam'd for Teeth-drawing out and setting in He dwells close by Fleet Bridge and there I saw His Picture hang'd which was a Signe to draw Such as were griev'd with tooth tormenting paine He drew and in their place set new againe My Picture likewise hangs to draw but not Teeth but Ale nappy as e're came in Pot Now if my Pictures drawing can prevayle 'T will draw my friends to me and I 'le draw Ale Two strings are beter to a Bow then one And Poetry doth me small good alone So Ale alone yields but small meanes to me Except it have some spice of Poesie Take of a spark of wit some pretty Cantle And toaste it