done,

46

Good gammer Gurton; and as we begun,
So you conclude: 'tis time we parted now;
But first of my morality allow.

The common that you speak of here, say I,
Is nothing else but want and beggary,
In the world common; and the beasts that go
Upon the same, which oft are famish'd so,
Are the poor, bred in scarcity. The mule,
The other cattle that doth seem to rule,
Some crafty fellow that hath slily found
A way to thrive by. And the fruitful ground
Is wealth, which he by subtilty doth win;
In his possession which not long hath been,
But he with riot and excess doth waste,
For goods ill-gotten do consume as fast;
And with the law they lastly do contend,
Till at the last the prison is the end."

Steering my compass by this wand'ring stream, Whose flight preach'd to me time's swift-posting hours,

Delighted thus, as with some pretty dream, Where pleasure wholly had possess'd my pow'rs,' And looking back on London's stately tow'rs;

So Troy, thought I, her stately head did rear,
Whose crazed ribs the furrowing plough doth eyre.
Weary, at length a willow tree I found,
Which on the bank of this brave river stood,
Whose root with rich grass greatly did abound,
Forc'd by the fluxure of the swelling flood,
Ordain'd (it seem'd) to sport his nymphish brood;
Whose curled top envy'd the Heav'n's great eyè
Should view the stock it was maintained by.

The lark, that holds observance to the Sun,
Quaver'd her clear notes in the quiet air,
And on the river's murmuring base did run,
Whilst the pleas'd Heav'n her fairest liv'ry ware,
The place such pleasure gently did prepare;

The flow'rs my smell, the flood my taste to

steep,

And the much softness lulled me asleep.

When in a vision as it seem'd to me, Triumphal music from the flood arose, As when the sov'reign we embarged sce,

By this the dawn usurp'd upon the night, And at the window biddeth them good day, When they departed each their several way.

THE LEGEND OF ROBERT DUKE OF NORMANDY.

WHAT time soft night had silently begun
To steal by minutes on the long-liv'd days,
The furious dog star following the bright Sun,
With noisome heat infests his cheerful rays,
Filling the Earth with many a sad disease;
Which then inflan'd with their intemp'rate fires,
Herself in light habiliments attires.

And the rathe morning newly but awake,
Was with fresh beauty burnishing her brows,
Herself beholding in the gen'ral lake,
To which she pays her never ceasing vows,
With the new day me willingly to rouse,

Down to fair Thames I gently took my way,
With whom the winds continually do play,
Striving to fancy his chaste breast to move,
Whereas all pleasures plentifully flow,
When him along the wanton tide doth shove,
And to keep back, they easily do blow,
Or else force forward, thinking him too slow;
Who with his waves would check the winds'
embrace,

Whilst they fan air upon his crystal face.
Still forward sallying from his bounteous source,
Along the shores lasciviously doth strain,
Making such strange meanders in his course,
As to his fountain he would back again,
Or turn'd about to look upon his train;

Whose sundry soils with coy regard he greets,
Till with clear Medway happily he meets.

Whose tender welcome the glad city shows:

The people swarming on the pester'd shores,
And the curl'd waters over-spread with oars.
A troop of nymphs came suddenly on land,
In the full end of this triumphal sound,
And me incompass'd, taking hand in hand,
Casting themselves about me in a round,
And so down set them on the easy ground,

Bending their clear eyes with a modest grace
Upon my swart and melancholy face.

Next, 'twixt two ladies, came a goodly knight,
As newly brought from some distressful place,
To me who seined some right worthy wight,
Though his attire were miserably base,
And time had worn deep furrows in his face;
Yet, though cold age had frosted his fair hairs,
It rather seem'd with sorrow than with years.
The one a lady of a princely port,
Leading this sad lord, scarcely that could stand;
The other fleering in disdainful sort,
With scornful gestures drew him by the hand,
Who lame and blind, yet bound with many a band:
When I perceived nearer as they came,
This fool was Fortune, and the braver Fame.
Fame had the right hand in a robe of gold,
(Whose train old Time obsequiously did bear)
Whereon in rich embroid'ry was enroll'd
The names of all that worthies ever were,
Which all might read depainted lively there,
Set down in lofty well-composed verse,
Fitt'st the great deeds of heroes to rehearse.
On her fair breast she two broad tablets wore,
Of crystal one, the other ebony;
On which engraven were all names of yore
In the clear tomb of living memory,
Or the black book of endless obloquy :
The first with poets and with conqu❜rors pil'd,
That with base worldling's ev'ry where defil'd.

And in her words appeared (as a wonder)
Her present force and after during might,
Which softly spoke, far off were heard to thunder
About the world, that quickly took their flight,
And brought the most obscurest things to light;
That still the farther off, the greater still
Did make our good, or manifest our ill.
Fortune, as blind as he whom she did lead,
Changing her feature often in an hour,
Fantastically carrying her head,

Soon would she stnile, and suddenly would lour,
And with one breath her words were sweet and

sour:

Upon stark fools she amorously would glance,
And upon wise men coyly look ascance.

About her neck, in manner of a chain,
Torn diadems and broken scepters hung;
If any on her stedfastly did lean,
Them to the ground despitefully she flung:
And in this posture as she pass'd along;

She bags of gold out of her bosom drew,
Which she to sots and arrant ideots threw.

A dusky veil did hide her sightless eyes,
Like clouds that cover our uncertain lives,
Whereon were pourtray'd direful tragedies,
Fools wearing crowns, and wise men clogg'd in
gyves;

How all things she preposterously contrives,
Which, as a map, her regency discovers
In camps, in courts, and in the way of lovers.

An easy bank near to this place there was,
A seat fair Flora us'd to sit upon,
Curling her clear locks in this liquid glass,
Putting her rich gems and attirings on,
Fitter than this about us there was none:
Where they set down that poor distressed man,
Where to the purpose Fortune thus began.
Behold this duke of Normandy," quoth she,
"The heir of William conqueror of this isle,
Appealing to be justify'd by thee,
(Whose tragedy this poet must compile)
He whom I have ever esteemed vile,

Marking his birth with an unlucky brand;
And yet for him thou com'st prepar'd to stand.

"What art thou, but a tumour of the mind,
A bubble, blown up by deceitful breath?
Which never yet exactly were defin'd,
In whom no wise man e'er reposed faith,
Speaking of few well, until after death,

That from loose humour hast thy timeless birth,
Unknown to Heaven, not much esteem'd on Earth.

First, by opinion had'st thou thy creation, On whom thon still dost servilely attend, And like whom, long thou keep'st not any fashion; But with the world uncertainly do'st wend, Which as a post thee up and down doth send : Without profane tongues thou canst never rise, Nor be upholden, be it not with lies.

"In ev'ry corner prying like a thief, And through each cranny like the wind dost creep, Apt to report, as easy of belief:

What's he, whose counsel thou dost ever keep? Yet into closets saucily dar'st peep,

Telling for truth what thou canst but suppose, Divulging that which thou should'st not disclose.

"With extreme toil and labour thou art sought, Death is the way which leadeth to thy cell, Only with blood thy favour must be bought, And who will have thee, fetcheth thee from Hell, Where thou impal'd with fire and sword do'st dwell;

And when thou art in all this peril found, What art thou? only but a tinkling sound. "Such as the world doth hold to be but base, Of human creatures and the most doth scorn, That amongst men sit in the servil'st place, These for the most part thou dost most suborn, Those follow Fame, whose weeds are nearly

worn:

Yet those poor wretches cannot come to thee, Unless preferr'd and dignify'd by me. "Thy trumpet such supposed to advance, Is but as those fantastically deem, Whom folly, youth, or frenzy doth intrance; Nor doth it sound, but only so doth seem, (Which the wise sort a dotage but esteem)

Only thereby the humorous abusing, Fondly their errour and thy fault excusing. "Except in peril thou dost not appear; Yet scarcely then, but with entreats and wooing, Flying far off when as thou should'st be near, At hand diminish'd, and augmented going, Upon slight toys the greatest cost bestowing, Oft promising men's losses to repair, Yet the performance but a little air. "On baleful herses (as the fittest grounds) Written with blood thy sad memorials lie, Whose letters are immedicable wounds, Only fit objects for the weeping eye; Thou from the dust men's worths dost only try, And what before thou falsely didst deprave, Thou dost acknowledge only in the grave. "The world itself is witness of my pow'r, O'er whom I reign with the eternal Fates, With whom I sit in council every hour, On th' alterations of all times and states, Setting them down their changes and their dates, In fore-appointing ev'ry thing to come, Until the great and universal doom.

The stars to me an everlasting book, In that eternal register, the sky, Whose mighty volumes I oft overlook, Still turning o'er the leaves of Destiny, Which man I too inviolate deny,

And his frail will thereby I see control'd, By such strong clauses as are there enroll'd. "Predestination giving me a being, Whose depth man's wisdom never yet could sound, Into whose secrets only I have seeing, Wherein wise reason doth herself confound, Searching where doubts do more thereby abound: For sacred texts unlock the way to me, To lighten those that will my glory see. "Those names th' old poets to their gods did give Were only figures to express my might, To show the virtues that in Fortune live, And my much pow'r in this all-moving wight, Who all their altars to my godhead dight; Which alterations upon Earth do bring, And give them matter still whercon to sing.

[sort,

Which sett'st thy state out in such wond'rous
Which, but thy self, none ever could report?

"For what is Fortune only, but event
Breeding in some a transitory terrour?
A what men will, that falls by accident,
And only named to excuse their errour.
What else is Fortune? or who doth prefer her?
Or who to her so foolish is to lean,

Which weak tradition only doth maintain?
"A toy, whereon the doating world doth dream,
First soothed by uncertain observation,
Of men's attempts that being the extreme,
Fast'neth thereby on weak imagination;
Yet notwithstanding all this usurpation,
Must to thyself be incidently loathing,
Most when thou would'st be, that art rightly
nothing.

"And with the world insinuating thus,
And under so allowable pretence,
Closely incroachest on man's genius,
In good and evil taking residence:
And having got this small preheminence,
When to thyself a being thou would'st frame,
Art in conclusion only but a name.

"Those ignorant, which made a god of Nature,
And Nature's God divinely never knew,
Were those to Fortune that first built a stature,
From whom thy worship ignorantly grew,
Which being ador'd foolishly by few,

Grounded thy looser and uncertain laws
Upon so weak and indigent a cause.

"First Sloth did hatch thee in her sleepy cell,
And thee with Ease dishonourably fed,
Deliv'ring thee with Cowardice to dwell,
Which with base thoughts continually thee bred;
By Superstition idly being led,

It an imposture after did thee make,
Whom for a goddess fools do only take.

"Nor never dost thou any thing forecast,
And this most wicked property thou hast,
But as thou art improvident, so light;
That against Virtue thou bend'st all thy might,
With whom thou wagest a continual fight;
The yielding spirit in fetters thou dost bind,
But art a mere slave to the constant mind.
"Such is thy froward and malignant kind,
That what thou do'st, thou still do'st in despite,
And art enamour'd of the barbarous hind,
Whom thou dost make thy only favourite:
None but the base in baseness do delight;

For wert thou heavenly, thou in love would'st be
With that which nearest doth resemble thee.
"But I alone the herald am of Heaven,
Whose spacious kingdom stretcheth far and wide,
Through ev'ry coast upon the lightning driven,
As on the sun-beams gloriously I ride,

By them I mount, and down by them I slide,
I register the world's long during hours,
And know the high will of th' immortal pow'rs.
"Men to the stars me guiding them do climb,
That all dimensions perfectly express,

I am alone the vanquisher of Time,
Bearing those sweets which cure death's bitterness:
I all good labours plentifully bless,

Yea, all abstruse profundities impart,
Leading men through the tedious ways of art.

My palace placed betwixt Earth and skies,
Which many a tower ambitiously up bears,
Whereof the windows are all glaz'd with eyes,
The walls as neatly builded are of ears,
Where ev'ry thing in Heaven and Earth appears;
Nothing so softly whisper'd in the round,
But through my palace presently doth sound.
"And under foot floor'd all about with drums,
The rafters trumpets admirably clear,
Sounding aloud each name that thither comes,
The crannies tongues, and talking ev'ry where,
And all things past in memory do bear:

The doors unlock with ev'ry little breath,
Nay, open wide with each word which man
saith,

"And hung about with arms and conquer'd spoils;
The posts whercon the goodly roof doth stand,
Are pillars graven with Herculean toils :
Th' achievements great of many a warlike hand,
As well in christ'ned, as in heathen land,

Done by those nobles that are most renown'd,
That there by me immortally are crown'd.
"Here, in the body's likeness whilst it lives,
Appear the thoughts proceeding from the mind,
To which the place a glorious habit gives,
When once to me they freely are resign'd,
To be preserv'd here: and are so refin'd,

That when the corpse by death doth lastly perish, Then doth this place the mind's true image cherish.

'My beauty never fades, but still new-born, As years increase, so ever waxing young, My strength is not diminished, nor worn, Time weak'ning all things, only makes me strong. Nor am I subject to base worldly wrong: The power of kings. I utterly defy, Nor am I aw'd by all their tyranny.

"Thus, in the habit of a faithful friend,
I drew into him a most dang'rous foe,
His wit that used to no other end,
But to clothe treason in a virtuous show,
Which he for current so contriv'd to go,
As he in secret hurt duke Robert more
By this soft peace, than in the war before.
"And to thee, Fame, I then my pow'r address'd,
Nay, thee mine only instrument I made,
That whilst these brothers at this point did rest,
Robert to war I won thee to persuade,
With those that went the Soldan to invade,
With great duke Godfrey's pressing forth his
bands,

From his proud pow'r to free the Holy Lands.
"Thus by thee, Fame, did I his humour feed,
The only way to draw this duke abroad,
That whilst at home his presence most should need
In foreign parts to fasten his abode,
Him in this manner wisely I bestow'd;

That William dying, Robert being gone,
Henry might seat him on the English throne.
"His ear so seas'ning with the sound of arms,
As in aught else no music it could find,
Neither had any feeling of his harms,
On Palestine so placed he his mind,
(Clearly that show'd the greatness of his kind)
And him so high and with such force did bear,
As when he had most cause, he least did fear.

"Thus was he thrown into his endless thrall,
Which though the mean devised was by me,
And ev'ry thing was fitted to his fall,
Which none could hinder, tho' the most foresee,
Yet here I made an instrument of thee:

For where destruction I do once pretend,
All that man doth, still sorteth to that end.
"He gone, and Rufus being robb'd of breath,
And Henry Beauclerk coveting to reign,
Offer'd so fairly by king William's death,
Whilst Robert doth in Palestine remain,
Whereby a kingdom he might eas❜ly gain;
What by his pow'r and science to persuade,
Himself a monarch absolutely made.

"Whilst this great duke embraced was by thee,
Which thou as thine dost absolutely claim,
But finds mere shadows, only missing me,
And idle castles in the air doth frame;
Lo, such a mighty monarchess is Fame,

That what she gives, so easy is to bear,
As none therefore needs violence to fear.
"Till Robert safely from the holy wars
Returning, honour'd by the Pagans' flight,
From foreign battles into civil jars,
From getting others, for his own to fight,
Enforc'd to use the utmost of his might,
With that brave sword, in Pagan blood im-
bru'd,

To save himself, by his own friends pursu'd. "When wanting sums, the sinews of a force, (Which his high spirit too quickly came to find, Ere he could put himself into his course) Most strangely seem'd to mollify his mind; And on the sudden Henry seeming kind, Offer'd his love at any rate to buy,

So that fast to him he the duke might tie.

"Thus of duke Robert wisely did he win,
Not then so well establish'd as he would,
Till he by craft had closely cropen in,
Setting himself substantially to hold,
Off'ring him great sums of bewitching gold,
As yearly tribute from this realm to rise,
Quite to blot out all former injuries.
"Which to the poor duke yielding much relief,
Henry to pass his purposes so brought,
Whilst Robert yet suspected not that thief,
Which under-hand so cunningly him caught:
Of whom, the least when princely Robert thought,
Ev'n in a moment did annoy him more,
Than all those ills that happ'd to him before.
"Which to this lord (believing well) unknown,
And he not finding eas'ly could not fly,
For it a bait into his way was thrown,
Which to avoid, duke Robert look'd too high:
(Into good minds craft can eas'liest pry :)

For in his pliant nature, as a mould,
Well could I cast what form soe'er I would.
"For by this tribute cutting off the claim,
Which he, the elder, to his England made;
His former hopes he forcibly did maim,
Which for a while by Henry being paid,
But after by him fraudulently stay'd,

As from a fountain, plenteously did spring
Th' efficient cause of Robert's raining.
"When as his friends, so well to him that meant,
To take his part and did their force prepare,
Finding him thus their purpose to prevent,
And how thereby 'twas like with him to fare;
Upon king Henry planted all their care,

Giving their pow'rs, their peace with him to make,

Gather'd at first the Norman part to take.
"And I, that friendly evermore had been
To the stout Normans, which by me had wow,
To prove myself the Earth's imperious queen,
And show the world by me what can be done,
To spite this Robert, William Conq'ror's son,
With England against Normandy do stand,
Conquer'd but lately by the Norman hand.
"Their issue, which were conqu'rors of this isle,
At Hastings which the Englishmen did tame,
Here natives, graced with the English stile,
To their first country carry back their claim,
Conquest returning whence it lately came;

That once as England felt Nuestria's stroke,
To make Nuestria to bear England's yoke.

"Those angry brothers in the field of arms, Than whom there were not two more deadly

foes,

Each seeking other in the hott'st alarms,
And at their meeting changing deadly blows,
Quickly that meant to win, or soon to lose:

Robert would fain release himself of thrall;
Henry again doth hotly put for all.

"On him, which late in Palestine I smil'd,
Return'd, at fatal Tenachbray I frown,
And from his dukedom him that day exil'd,
Which had he won it, might have worn a crown:
And to be sure him in mishap to drown,

Lastly himself he in the fight did lose,
Taken a prisoner by his trait'rous foes