Madagascar WITH OTHER Poems BY W. DAVENANT LONDON Printed by John Haviland for Thomas Walkly and are to be sold at his shop at the Flying Horse neare Yorke house 1638. Imprimatur Feb. 26. 1637. MATTH CLAY IF THESE POEMS LIVE MAY THEIR MEMORIES BY WHOM THEY WERE CHERISH'D END PORTER H. IARMYN LIVE WITH THEM TO My worthy Friend Mr. William Davenant upon his Poem of Madagascar which he writ to the most Illustrions Prince RUPERT I Am compell'd by your commands to write I' th Frontis-peece of this and sure I might With quaint conceirs here to the World set forth The merit of the Poem and your worth Had I well fancy'd reasons to begin And a choyce Mould to cast good verses in But wanting these what pow'r alas have I To write of any thing will men rely On my opinion which in Verse or Prose Hath just that credit which we give to those That sagely whisper secrets of the Court Having but Lees for Essence from Report And that 's the knowledge which belongs to mee For by what 's said I guesse at Poetrie As when I heare them read strong-lines I cry Th' are rare but cannot tell you rightly why And now I finde this quality was it That made some Poet eite mee for a wit Now God forgive him for that huge mistake If hee did know but with what paines I make A Verse hee ld pittie then my wretched case For at the birth of each I twist my Face As if I drew a Tooth I blot and write Then looke as pale as some that goe to fight With the whole Kennell of the Alphabet I hunt sometimes an houre one Rime to get What I approv'd of once I streight deny Like an unconstant Prince then give the lye To my owne invention which is so poore As here I 'de kisse your hands and say no more Had I not seene a childe with Siâ—ors cut A folded Paper unto which was put More chance than skill yet when you open it You 'd thinke it had beene done by Art and Wit So I perhaps may light upon some straine Which may in this your good opinion gaine And howsoever if it be a plot You may be certaine that in this y'have got A foyle to set your Jewell off which comes From Madagascar scenting of rich gummes Before the which my lay conceits will smell Like an abortive Chick destroy'd i' th shell Yet something I must say may it prove fit I 'le doe the best I can and this is it What lofty fancie was 't possest your braine And caus'd you soare into so high a straine Did all the Muses joyne to make this Peece Excell what wee have had from Romo or Greece Or did you strive to leave it as a Friend To speake your prayses when there is an end Of your mortalitie If you did so Enâ—y will then scarce finde you out a Foe But let me tell you Friend the heightning came From the reflection of Prince Rupert's name Whose glorious Genius cast into your soule Divine conceits such as are fit t'inroule In great Apollo's court there to remaine For future ages to transcribe againe For such a Poem in so sweet a stile As yet was never landed on this Isle And could I speake your prayses at each Pore T were little for the worke it merits more Endimion Porter TO MY FRIEND Will. Davenant upon his Poem of Madagascar WHat mighty Princes Poets are those things The great ones stick at and our very Kings Lay downe they venter on and with great ease Discover conquer what and where they please Some Flegmatick Sea-Captaine would have staid For money now or Victualls not have waid Anchor without 'em Thou will do'st not stay So much as for a Wind but go'st away Land'st View'st the Country fight'st put'st all to rout Before another cou'd be putting out And now the newes in towne is Dav'nant's come From Madagascar Fraught with Laurell home And welcome will for the first time but prithee In thy next Voyage bring the Gold too with thee I. Suckling On his other Poems THou hast redeem'd us will and future Times Shall not account unto the Age's crimes Dearth of pure Wit since the great Lord of iâ— Donne parted hence no Man has ever writ So neere him in 's owne way I would-commend Particulars but then how should I end Without a Volume Ev'ry Line of thine Would aske to praise it right Twenty of mine I. Suckling To Will. Davenant my Friend WHen I behold by warrant from thy Pen A Prince rigging our Fleets arming our Men Conducting to remotest shores our force Without a Dido to retard his course And thence repelling in successe-full fight Th'usurping Foe whose strength was all his Right By two brave Heroes whom wee justly may By Homer's Ajax or Achilles lay I doubt the Author of the Tale of Troy With him that makes his Fugitive enjoy The Carthage Queene and thinke thy Poem may Impose upon Posteritie as they Have done on us What though Romances lye Thus blended with more faithfull Historie Wee of th'adult'rate mixture not complaine But thence more Characters of Vertue gaine More pregnant Patterns of transcedent Worth Than barren and insipid Truth brings forth So oft the Bastard nobler fortune meets Than the dull Issue of the lawfull sheets Thomas Carew TO MY FRIEND Will. Davenant I Crouded ' mongst the first to see the Stage Inspir'd by thee strike wonder in our Age By thy bright fancie dazled Where each Sceane Wrought like a charme and forc't the Audience leane To t'h ' passion of thy Pen Thence Ladies went Whose absence Lovers sigh'd for to repent Their unkind scorne And Courtiers who by art Made love before with a converted hart To wed those Virgins whom they woo'd t' abuse Both renderd Hymen's pros'lits by thy Muse But others who were proofe ' gainst Love did sit To learne the subtle Dictats of thy Wit And as each profited tooke his degree Master or Batchelor in Comedie Who on the Stage though since they venter'd not Yet on some Lord or Lady had their plot Of gaine or favour Ev'ry nimble jest They spake of thine b'ing th' entrance to a Feast Or neerer whisper Most thought fit to be So farre concluded Wits as they knew thee But here the Stage thy limit was Kings may Find proud ambition humbled at the sea Which bounds dominion But the nobler flight Of Poesie hath a supremer right To Empire and extends her large command Where ere th' invading Sea assaults the land Ev'n Madagascar which so oft hath been Like a proud Virgin tempted yet still seen Th' Enemy Court the Wind for flight doth lie A trophie now of thy Wits Victorie Nor yet disdaines destruction to her state Encompast with thy Laurell in her fate William Habington Madagascar A Poem written to Prince RUPERT MY Soule this Winter hath beene twice about To shift her narrow Mansion and looke out To aire her yet unpractis'd wings and trie Where Soules are entertain'd when
they strove enough for Fame that sought To have their Batailes better told than fought There I a Vestal's Shadow first did spy Who when a live with holy huswifry Trick'd up in lawne and flow'ry Wreaths each hand Cleane as her thoughts did'fore the Altar stand So busie still strewing her Spice and then Removing Coales vexing the Fire agen As if some queasie Goddesse had profess'd To taste no smoak that day but what she dress'd This holy coyle she living kept but farre More busie now with more delightfull care Than when she watch'd the consecrated Flame Sh'attends the Shade of gentle Buckingham Who there unenvi'd sits with Chaplets crownd And with wise scorne smiles on the Peoples wound He call'd it so for though it touch'd his heart His Nation feeles the rancour and the smart TO The Lord D. L. upon his Mariage WEe that are Orpheus Sons and can inherit By that great title nought but 's num'rous spirit His broaken Harpe and when w' are tir'd with moane A few small Trees of Bay to hang it on Wee that successively can claime no more From such a poore unlucky Ancestor Must now my noble Lord take thrifty care To know what moderne wealth the Muses share Or how it is dispos'd and strait wee finde Great pow'rfall Love hath bount'ously resign'd Into your happy Armes the chiefe and best Of all that our ambitious hopes possest Your noble Bride to whose eternall Eies Wee daily offer'd Wreaths in Sacrifice Whose warmth gave Laurell growth whose ev'ry beame Was first our influence and then our theame Whose brest too narrow for her heart was still Her reasons Throne and prison to her will And since this is your willing faith t is fit What all the kinde and wiser Starres commit Unto your charge be with such eager love And soft indeerements us'd as well may prove They meant when first they taught you how to wooâ— She should be happy and the Muses too Live still the pleasure of each others sight To each a new made wonder and delight Though two yet both so much one constant minde That t' will be art and mystery to finde Your thoughts and wishes being still the same From which of eithers loving heart they came A Journey into Worcestershire THree who if kinder Destinies shall please May all dye rich though they love Wit and ease And I whom some odde hum'rous Planet bid To register the doughty acts they did Tooke horse leaving i th' Town ill Playes sowre Wine Fierce Serjeants and the plague besides of mine An Ethnick Taylor too that was farre worse Than these or what just Heaven did ever curse Scarce was the busie Citie left behind But from the South arose a busier Winde Which sent us so much raine each man did wish His hands and leggs were Finnes his Horse a Fish Dull as a thick-skull'd Iustice drunke with Sloth Or Alderman farre gone in Capon Broth Wee all appear'd no man gave breath to thought But like to silent Traytors in a Vault Digg'd on our way or as wee Traytors were T' our selves and jealous of each others Eare And as i' th Worlds great Showre some that did spie Hors'd on the Plaines Rivers and Seas draw nigh Spurr'd on apace in feare all lost their time That could not reach a ground where they might climbe So wee did never thinke us safe untill Wee had attain'd the Top o' th first high Hill And now it cleer'd so to my travail'd Eie Lookes a round yellow Dane when he doth spie Neere to his puissant Arme a Bowle so full That it may fill his Bladder and his Skull As Phebus at this moysture falne who laught To see such plenty for his mornings draught But like Chamelions Colours that decay But seemingly to give new colours way So our false griefs had not themselves outworne But step'd aside to vary in returne Beare witnesse World for now my tir'd Horse stood As I a Vaulter were and himselfe Wood As if some Student fierce the day before Had spurr'd his full halfe Crowne from him and more Endimion cryes away What make wee here To draw a Map or gather Juniper More cruell than Shrove-Prentices when they Drunk in a Brothell House are bid to pay Or than the Bawd at Sessions to that vilde Indicted Rout which first her house until'de Is now the Captaine who laughing swore thus Each puny Poet rides his Pegasus But what 's the cause my Lord spurs on amaine As if t'outride a Tartar not the Raine Some such swift Tartar as might safely say To an inviting friend that tempts his stay Farwell thou seest the Sunne declin'd long since And I 'm to sup a Hundred miles from hence My Lord me thought as he had heard this same Rod post to eat that supper ere he came And now my Mule moves too but with such speed As Pris'ners to a Psalme that cannot read Yet wee reach'd Wickham with the early Night Which to describe to Eares or draw to Sight For scituation or for forme for heighth For strength or magnitude would in good faith But stale the price o' th Map small credit be T' our Poem lesse to our Geographie Or as your riding Academicks use To toyle and vex a long fed mutton-Muse With taking the circumference of mine Host Or his Wives sumitrie were time worse lost Since nor Taurentius nor Van-dike have yet Command to draw them for the King in great He that to night rul'd each delighted breast Gave to the pallat of each Eare a feast With joy of pledges made our sowre wine sweet And nimble as the leaping juice of Creet Was the brave Endimion whose triumphs cleere From cruell tyranny or too nice feare Having wit still ready and no huge sinne To cause a sadnesse that might keepe it in Let flye at all the Shafts were keene and when They miss'd to pierce he strongly drew agen But Sleep whom Constables obey though they Have twenty Bills to keepe him off till day Sleepe whom th' high tun'd Cloth-worker Weaver tall Nor Cobler shrill with Catches or his Aule Knowes to resist seal'd up our lips and sight Making us blind and silent as the Night Our other Sallies and th'adventures wee Achiev'd deserve new braine new Historie To Endimion Porter I Gave when last I was about to die The Poets of this Isle a Legacie Each so much wealth as a long union brings T'industrious States or Victorie to Kings So much as Hope 's clos'd Eies could wish to see Or tall Ambition reach I gave them thee But as rich Men who in their sicknesse mourne That they must goe and never more returne To be glad Heires unto themselves to take Againe what they unwillingly forsake As these bequeath their treasure when they dye Not out of love but sad necessitie So I they thought did cunningly resigne Rather than give what could no more be mine And they receiv'd thee not from bounteous Chance Or mee but as their owne inheritance This when I heard I
Too strict to flesh and blood I might infuse A Schisme in your Religion and my Muse Yet this would be excus'd since all wee gaine By griefe is but the licence to complaine TO THE QVEENE upon a New-yeares day YOu of the Guard make way and you that keepe The Presence warme and quiet whilst you sleep Permit me passe and then if any where Imploy'd you Angels that are busi'st here And are the strongest Guard although unseene Conduct me neere the Chamber of the Queene Where with such reverence as Hermits use At richest Shrines I may present my Muse Awake salute and satisfie thy sight Not with the fainting Sun's but thine owne Light Let this Day breake from thine owne Silken spheare This Day the birth and Infant of the yeare Nor is there need of Purple or of Lawne To vest thee in were but thy Curtaines drawne Men might securely say that it is morne Thy Garments serve to hide not to adorne Now she appeares whilst ev'ry looke and smile Dispences warmth and beauty through our Isle Whilst from their wealthiest Caskets Princes pay Her gifts as the glad tribute of this Day This Day which Time shall owe to her not Fate Because her early Eies did it create But O! poore Poets Where are you why bring You not your Goddesse now an Offering Who makes your Numbers Swift when they mov'd slow And when they ebb'd her influence made them flow Alas I know your wealth The Laurell bough Wreath'd into Circles to adorne the Brow Is all you have But goe these strew and spread In sacrifice where ever shee shall tread And ere this day grow old know you shall see Each Leafe become a Sprig each Sprig a Tree Elegie On Francis Earle of RUTLAND CAll not the Winds nor bid the Rivers stay For though the sighs the teares they could repay Which injur'd Lovers Mourners for the Dead Captives and Saints have breath'd away and shed Yet wee should want to make our sorrow fit For such a cause as now doth silence it Rutland the noble and the just whose name Already is all History all Fame Whom like brave Ancestors in Battaile lost Wee mention not in pitty but in boast How did'st thoâ— smile to see the solemne sport Which vexes busie greatnesse in the Court T' observe their lawes of faction place and Time Their precepts how and where and when to climbe Their rules to know if the sage meaning lies In the deepe Breast i' th shallow Brow or Eyes Though Titles and thy blood made thee appeare Oft'gainst thy ease where these state-Rabbins were Yet their philosophie thou knew'st was fit For thee to pitty more than study it Safely thou valu'dst Cunning as ' thad bin Wisdome long since distemper'd into Sin And knew'st the actions of th' Ambitious are But as the fal'se Al'armes in running warre Like forlorne Scowts that raise the coyle they keepe Themselves awake to hinder others sleepe And all they gaine by vex'd expence of breath Unquietnesse and guilt is at their death Wonder and mighty noyse whilst things that be Most deare and pretious to Mortalitie Time and thy Selfe impatient here of stay With a grave silence seeme to steale away Depart from us unheard and wee still mourne In vaine though piously for their returne Thy Bounties if I name I 'le not admit Kings when they love or wooe to equall â—â— It shew'd like Nature's selfe when she doth bring All she can promise by an early Spring Or when she payes that promise where she best Makes Summers for Mankind in the rich East And as the wise Sunne silently imployes His lib'rall Beames and ripens without Noyse As precious Dewes doe undiscover'd fall And growth insensibly doth steale on all So what he gave conceal'd in private came As in the dark from one that had no name Like Fayries wealth not given to restore Or if reveal'd it visited no more If these live and be read as who shall dare Suspect Truth and thy Fame immortall are What need thy noble Brother or faire She That is thy selfe in purest imagrie Whose breath and Eyes the â—un'rall-spice and flame Continue still of gentle Buckingham What need they send poore Pioners to grone In lower Quarries for Corinthian stone To dig in Parian Hills since Statues must And Monuments turne like our selves to dust Verse to all ages can our deeds declare Tombs but a while shew where our Bodies are To Endimion Porter WOuld thou wert dead so strictly dead to me That nor my sight nor my vex'd memorie Could reach thee more so dead that but to name Thou wert might give the sawcie lie to Fame That the bold Sonnes of Honour and the milde Race of Lovers both thy disciples stil'd Might aske who could the first example bee To all their good yet none should mention thee Knocking at my Brest when this hou'r is come I hope I once shall finde my heart at home Say thou art dead yet whisper 't but to me For should thy so well-spent mortalitie End to the world and that sad end be knowne I might perhaps still live but live alone The better world would follow thee and all That I should gaine by that large Funerall Would be the wanton vanitâ—e to boast What they enjoy was from my plenty lost To the Countesse of Carlile on the death of the Earle her Husband THis Cypresse folded here in steed of Lawne These Tapers winking and these Curtaines drawne What may they meane unlesse to qualifie And check the lusture of your Eyes you 'll trie To honour darknesse and adorne the Night So strive thus with your Lord to bury Light Call back your absent Beauties to your care Though clouded and conceal'd wee know you are The Morning's early'st Beame life of the Day The Ev'ns last comfort and her parting Ray But why these Teares that give him no reliefe For whom you waste the virtue of your griefe Such as might be prescrib'd the Earth to drinke For cure of her old Curse Teares you would thinke Too rich to water if you knew their price The chiefest Plant deriv'd from Paradise But O! where is a Poets faith how farre We are miss-led how false we Lords of Numbers are Our Love is passion our Religion rage Since to secure that mighty heritage Entail'd upon the Bay see how I strive To keepe the glory of your looks alive And to perswade your gloomy Sorrows thence As subt'ly knowing your kind influence Is all the pretious Stock left us t' inspire And feed the flame of our eternall fire But I recant 'T is fit you mourne a while And winke untill you darken all this Isle More fit the Bay should wither too and be Quite lost than he depriv'd your obsequie He that was once your Lord who strove to get That title cause nought else could make him great A stile by which his name he did preferre To have a day i' th Poets Kalender His youth was gentle and dispos'd to win Had so much courtship
fond surmise Of one who when but mortall was so Wise As if betimes they hastned to a Tombe Lest he b'ing borne they had been overcome ARIGO. Neere him the wondrous Roman doth appeare Majestick as if made Dictator there Where now the philosophick Lord would heale The wound he gave him for the Publique Weale Which he more strives to hide as sham'd his Eye Should finde that any wound could make him die ENDIMION If thou by the wise Poets Card or Starre Canst bring us where these alter'd Monarchs are Shift all thy Sayles to husband ev'ry Winde 'Till by a short swift passage we may finde Where Sidney's ever-blooming-Throne is spred For now since one renown'd as he is dead Goring the still lamented and belov'd He hath enlarg'd his Bow'r and farre remov'd His lesse heroique Neighbours that gave place To him the last of that soone number'd Race ARIGO. Whom he must needs delight to celebrate Because himselfe in manners and in Fate Was his undoubted Type Goring whose name Though early up will stay the last with Fame ENDIMION Though Sidney was his Type fulfill'd above What he foretaught of Valour Bounty Love Who dy'd like him even there where he mistooke The People and the Cause he undertooke Betray'd by Pitty then to their defence Whose povertie was all their innocence And sure if to their helpe a Third could come Beguild by Honour to such Martyrdome Susficient like these Two in braine as blood The World in time would thinke their cause is good ARIGO. Thus he forsooke his glories being young The Warriour is unlucky who lives long And brings his courage in suspect for he That aymes at honour i' th supreme degree Permits his Valour ' to be over-bold Which then ne're keepes him safe 'till he be old ENDIMION His Bounty like his Valour unconfin'd As if not borne to Treasure but assign'd The Rents of lucky Warre each Day to be Allow'd the profits of a Victorie Not of poore Farmes but of the World the Lord Heire to intestate Nations by his Sword ARIGO. In Valour thus and bounty rays'd above The vulgar height so in designes of Love For onely gentle Love could him subdue A noble crime which snew'd his Valour true It is the Souldier's test for just so far He yeelds to Love he overcomes in War ENDIMION But why Arigo doe wee strive to rayse The Story of our lâ—sse with helplesse praise Why to this Pilot mourne whose Eares can reach Nothing lesâ—â— loud than Winds or Waters breach Or thinke that he can guide us to a Coast Where wee may finde what all the World hath lost ARIGO. About then Lee the Helme Endimion â—see Loose Wreaths not of the Bay but Cypresse Tree Our Poet weares and on the Shore doth mourne Fearing t' Elizium bound wee can't returne Steere back his Verse may make those Sorrowes last Which here wee ' mongst unhallow'd Sea-men waste TO THE LORD Cary of Lepington upon his translation of MALVEZZI SO swift is Thought this Morne I tooke my flight To ruin'd Babell and return'd to Night So strong that Time whose course no pow'r could slack I have enforc'd some Forty ages back To me that great disorder and decay Was both begun and consummate to Day My selfe some strong Chaldean Mason there Still sore with massie Stones they made me beare Just now me thinkes I 'm struck for some command Mistooke in words I could not understand So lasting are great Griefes wee still retaine Remembrance of them though wee lose the paine And that Confusion did a griefe comprise Greatest in that in most concern'd the Wise For these who best deserve the care of Fate The first great Curse much lesse did penetrate Which makes us labour for our Food so long Than that which mix'd or cancell'd ev'ry Tongue ' Cause now wee toyle and swet for knowledge more Than for the Body's nourishment before Knowledge ere it did practise to controle No Weapon was but Diet of the Soule Which as her nourishment she might enjoy Not like Controverts others to destroy And this her Food like Milke did nourish best ' Cause it was safe and easie to digest Which Milke that Curse on Languages turn'd sowre For Men scarce taste what they could erst devoure Since now we are preparing to be dead Ereâ—we can holfe interpret what wee read Yet he that for our Bodyes tooke such care That to each Wound there sev'rall Meâ—'cins are In nobler pitty surely hath assign'd A cure for ev'ry mischiefe of the Minde So this revenge perhaps was but to trie Our patience first and then our industrie Since hee ordain'd that beautious Truth should still Be overcast and hid from humane skill Sure he affects that Warre which Schoole-men wage When to know Truth doth make their knowledge rage So Truth is much more precious than our peace Though some fond Politicks esteeme her lesse Lazy obedience is to them devout And those rebellious that dispute or doubt But you my Lord must Valiantly despise Their threats that would keep Knowledge in disguise And toyle with Languages to make her cleere Which is to be a just Interpreter And this selected Peece which you translate Foretells your Studies may communicate From darker Dialects of a strange Land Wisdome that here th'unlearn'd shall understand What noble wonders may in time appeare When all that 's forreigne growes domestick here When all the scattâ—â—'d World you reconcile Unto the Speech and Idiom of this Isle How like a gen'rall Scepter rules that Pen Which Mankind makes one kind of Country-men To Henry Jarmin HOw wicked am I now no Man can grow More wicked till he swears I am not so Since Wealth which doth authorize Men to erre Since Hope that is the lawfull'st Flatterer Were never mine one houre yet I am loth To have lesse pride than Men possess'd of both Fuller of glory than old Victors be That thanke themselves not Heav'n for Victorie Prouder than Kings first Mistresses who thinke Their Eies gazing on Stars would make Stars winke That hope they rule not by imperiall place But by some beautious Charter in the Face Yet this my pride and glory I thinke lost Unlesse declar'd and heightned with a boast Am I not bravely wicked then and still Shail worse appeare in Nature as in will When with my Malice the grave Wit of Sinne T' excuse my selfe I draw the whole World in Prove all in pride in triviall glory share Though not so harmelesse in 't as Poets are When Battailes joyne alas what is' t doth move ' Gainst all Celestiall harmony of Love The Gallant Warriour to assault his Foe Whose Vices and whose Face he ne're did know Why would he kill or why for Princes fight They quarrell more for glory than for right The pride then he defends he 'ld punish too As if more Just in him than in the Foe Th' Ambitious States-man not himselfe admires For what he hath but what his pride desires Doth inwardly confesse he covets sway Because he