The History of the Holy War, Dedication – Errata
To the Honourable
EDWARD MONTAGU,
Sr JOHN POWLET,
Sonnes and Heirs to the Right Honourable
EDWARD Lord MONTAGU of Boughton.
JOHN Lord POWLET of Hinton-St-George.
WHen I observe the severall alterations in Nobilitie, I find foure principall actours on the theatres of great Families; the Beginner, Advancer, Continuer, and Ruiner. The Beginner is he who by his vertues refineth himself from the drosse of the vulgar, and layeth the foundation of his house: An excellent workman indeed, as who not onelyonly bringeth his tools, but maketh his materialls. The Advancer, who improveth the patrimonie of Honour he receiveth; and what his Father found glasse and made crystall, he findeth crystall and maketh it pearl. The Continuer, who keepeth his Nobilitie alive, and passeth it along neither marring nor mending it; but sendeth it to his Sonne as he received it from his Father. The Ruiner, who basely degenerateth from his Ancestours; so that in him Nobilitie hath runne so farre from its first starting, that it is tired: and whilest he liveth he is no better then his Grandfathers tombe; without, carved over with honourable titles; within, full of emptinesse, or what is worse, corruption.
Now to apply. You cannot be Beginners of your Families; that care was cared for before your nurses were chosen, or your cradles provided. Your Fathers, though of late yeares fixed in a higher Sphear, were bright Starres long before. None can go on in our English Chronicles, but they must meet with a Montagu and a Powlet, either in peace in their gowns, or in warre in their armour. Yea, when I go backward by the streams of your Paternall Nobilitie, (not to speak of the tributarie brooks of their matches) I can never find the first fountain; and hope none shall ever find the last fall. For as for the ruiners of houses, I should rend that thought out with my heart, if it should conceive that of you. Nay, let me tell you; if you be but bare continuers of your Honour, you deceive both the desires and hopes of your friends. Good is not good when proceeding from them from whom farre better is expected. Your youthfull vertues are so promising, that you cannot come off in your riper age with credit without performing what may redound to the advancing of the honour of your family, and without building your houses one storie higher in the English Historie.
Now know, next Religion, there is nothing accomplisheth a man more then Learning. Learning in a Lord, is as a diamond in gold. And if you fear to hurt your tender hands with thornie School-questions, there is no danger in meddling with History, which is a velvet-study, & recreation-work. What a pitie is it to see a proper Gentleman to have such a crick in his neck that he cannot look backward! yet no better is he who cannot see behind him the actions which long since were performed. History maketh a young man to be old, without either wrinkles or gray hairs; priviledging him with the experience of age, without either the infirmities or inconveniences thereof. Yea, it not onelyonly maketh things past, present; but inableth one to make a rationall conjecture of things to come. For this world affordeth no new accidents, but in the same sense wherein we call it a new Moon, which is the old one in another shape, and yet no other then what hath been formerly. Old actions return again, furbished over with some new and different circumstances.
Now amongst all particular histories (I may say) none is more generall then this of the Holy warre, which now I present to your Honours. Some will condemn me for an ill husband, in lavishing two Noble Patrones on one book, whereas one of them might have served to have patronized many volumes. But first, I did it in the weak expression of my thankfulnesse unto you, being deeply indebted to you both; and I thought it dishonestie to pay all to one creditour and none to another; and therefore conceived it best, to share my estate joyntly betwixt you, as farre forth as it would extend. Secondly, considering the weaknesse of this Work, now being to walk abroad in the world, I thought it must be led by both arms, and needed a double supporter. And now I am sure this Holy warre, which was unhappie heretofore, when acted; will be happie hereafter, now written and related, because dedicated to your Honours. So resteth
Your Honours in all service THO. FULLER. Broad-windsor, March 6. 1638.
To the Reader.
IN this work I can challenge nothing to my self, but the composing of it. The materialls were found to my hand: which if any Historian will make, let him not be commended for wit, but shamed for falshood. If every-where I have not charged the margin with the Authours names, it is either because the storie is authour for it self (I mean, generally received) or to avoyd the often citing of the same place. Where I could not go abroad my self, there I have taken aire at the window, and have cited Authours on others citations; yet so that the stream may direct to the fountain.
If the reader may reap in few houres what cost me more moneths, just cause have I to rejoyce, and he (I hope) none to complain. Thus may the faults of this book redound to my self, the profit to others, the glory to God.
To his worthily deare friend, THOMAS FVLLER, B. D. upon his excellent work, the HOLY WARRE.
PEace is thy Calling, friend; thy Title, Warre:
What, doth thy Title with thy Calling jarre?
The Holy warre! this makes the wonder cease:
An holy warre becomes a man of peace.
Tasso, be silent; my friend speaks: his Storie
Hath robb'd thy poeme of its long-liv'd glorie.
So rich his vein, his lines of so high state,
Thou canst not feigne so well as he relate.
Godfrey first entred on this warre, to free
His Saviours Tombe from Turks captivitie:
And too-too meanly of himself he deems,
If thus he his Redeemer not redeems.
A glorious end! nor did he fear to erre,
In losing life, to gain Christs Sepulchre.
But I dare say, were Godfrey now alive,
(Godfrey, who by thy penne must needs survive)
He would again act o're his noble toil,
Doing such deeds as should the former foil;
If for no other reason, yet to be
Deliver'd unto time and fame by thee:
Nor would he fear in such exploits to bleed;
Then to regain a Tombe, now not to need.
ROBERT GOMERSALL, Vicar of Thorncombe in Devon.
OF this our Authours book I'le say but this,
(For that is praise ample enough) 'Tis his:
Nor all the Muses nor Apollo's layes
Can sing his worth; be his own lines his bayes.
ROBERT TYRLING.
On Mr FULLERS Historie of the HOLY WARRE.
THen, Christians, rest secure: ye need not band
Henceforth in Holy leagues for th' Holy land,
To conquer and recover't from the Turk:
'Tis done already: FVLLERS learned work
And penne more honour to the cause doth bring,
Then did Great Godfrey or our Lion-King.
Ierusalem with darknesse long beset,
Captiv'd to time more then to Mahomet,
Inthrall'd to silence and oblivion
(A bondage worse then that of Babylon)
Is now redeem'd. Lo, by this sacred Story
How she revives into her ancient glory!
Look, how her bury'd pinnacles 'gin to peep
Out of their venerable dust and sleep!
See, how the Temple and the Sepulchre,
Wak'd with the trumpet of this Holy warre
From their own grave and ruines, do resent
A resurrection by this monument!
Stay, Pilgrimes, stay; wander not hence so farre;
Set up your rest here in this Holy warre.
Here you may visit and adore the Shrine
For which so many Saints in arms combine.
Behold the zealous squadrons, how they stand
Arm'd with devotion for the Holy land.
They'l take you, if not it: while ye admire
Their zeal, your love will kindle at this fire.
Thus learned FVLLER a full conquest makes,
Triumphs o're time, and mens affections, takes
Captive both it and them; his historie
Me thinks is not a Warre, but Victorie:
Where every line does crown (such strength it bears)
The Authour Laureate, and a trophey rears.
JAMES DUPORT, B. D. T. C.
To his worthy and learned friend Mr THO. FULLER, upon his excellently composed Historie of the HOLY WARRE.
CAptain of Arts, in this thy Holy warre
My Muse desires to be thy Trumpeter,
In thy just praise to spend a blast or two:
For this is all that she (poore thing) can do.
Peter the Hermite, like an angry owl,
Would needs go fight all armed in his cowl.
What, had the Holy man nought else to do,
But thus to lose his bloud and credit too?
Seeking to winne Christs Sepulchre, God wot,
He found his own: This was the ground he got.
Except he got more ground, when he one day
Besieging Antioch fiercely ran away.
Much wiser was the Pope: At home he stay'd,
And made the world beleeve he wept and pray'd.
Mean while (behold the fruit of feigned tears)
He sets the world together by the cares.
His head serves him, whil'st others use their hands:
Whil'st Princes lose their lives, he gets their lands.
To winne the Holy land what need Kings roam?
The Pope can make an Holy land at home
By making it his own: Then for a fashion,
'Tis said to come by Constantines donation.
For all this Fox-craft, I have leave (I hope)
To think my friend farre wiser then the Pope
And Hermite both: He deals in Holy warres
Not as a stickler in those fruitlesse jarres,
But a composer rather. Hence this book;
Whereon whil'st I with greedie eyes do look,
Me thinks I travel through the Holy land,
Viewing the sacred objects on each hand.
Here mounts (me thinks) like Olivet, brave sense;
There flows a Iordan of pure eloquence:
A Temple rich in ornament I find
Presented here to my admiring mind.
Strange force of Art! The ruin'd Holy citie
Breeds admiration in me now, not pitie.
To testifie her liking, here my Muse
Makes solemn Vows, as Holy Pilgrimes use.
I vow, deare friend, the Holy warre is here
Farre better writ then ever fought elsewhere.
Thousands have fought and died: But all this while,
I vow, there nothing triumphs but thy style.
Thy wit hath vanquisht Barbarisme more
Then ever Godfrey's valour did before.
Might I but choose, I rather would be farre
Be authour of thy Book then of that Warre.
Let others fight; I vow to reade thy works,
Prizing thy ink before the bloud of Turks.
J. BOOTH, B. D. C. C. C.
On the Title of this book.
HOw comes stern Warre to be accounted holy,
By nature fierce, complexion melancholy?
Ile tell you how: Sh'as been at Rome of late,
And gain'd an indulgence to expiate
Her massacres; and by the Popes command
Sh'as bin a Pilgrime to the Holy land,
Where freeing Christians by a sacred plot,
She for her pains this Epithet hath got.
HUGO ATKINS.
NOr need Ierusalem that holy mother
Envy old Troy; since she has found another
To write her battels, and her warres rehearse
In prose as elegant as Homers verse.
Let Sueton's name august as Cesars be;
Curtius more worlds then Alexander see;
Let Joseph in his countreys siege survive,
And Phenix-like in his own ashes thrive:
Thy work, great FVLLER, will out-live their glory,
And make thy memorie sacred as thy Storie.
Thy style is clear and white: thy very name
Speaks purenesse, and addes lustre to the frame.
All men could wish, nay long, the world would jarre,
So thou'dst be pleas'd to write, compose the Warre.
H. HUTTON, M. A. C. Jes.
To my friend Mr THOMAS FULLER, on his book The Holy Warre.
WHile of thy book I speak, Friend, Ile t…ink on
Thy Iordan for my purest Helicon,
And for bifork'd Parnassus, I will set
My phansie on the sacred Olivet.
'Tis holy ground which now my measur'd feet
Must tread on; then (as in due right 'tis meet)
Let them be bare and plain: for qu…inter art
May sacrifice to thee without a heart;
And while it praiseth this thy work, may preach
His glory, rather then thy merits reach.
Here, Reader, thou may'st judge and well compare
Who most in madnesse, Iew or Romane, share:
This not so blind, yet in the clearest day
Does stumble still on stocks, on stones, on clay;
The other will in bright and highest noon
Choose still to walk by glimmering light o'th' Moon.
Here thou may'st represented see the fight
Between our earthly Flesh and heavenly Sp'rit.
Lo, how the Turk doth drive with flaming sword
Salvation from him and Gods holy word,
As once the angel did rebellious vice
With Adam force from blessed paradise.
And this in style diamond-like doth shine,
Which firmest parts and clearest do combine,
And o're the sad ground of the Iewish storie
As light embroidrie explayes its glorie.
The Temple ras'd and ruin'd seems more high
In his strong phrase, then when it kiss'd the skie;
And as the Viper by those pretious tears
Which Phaeton bemon'd, of Amber wears
A rich (though fatall) coat; so here inclos'd
With words so rare, so splendent, so compos'd
Ev'n Mahomet has found a tombe, which shall
Last when the fainting Loadstone lets him fall.
HENRY VINTENER.
To his old friend Mr FULLER.
I Love no warres,
I love no jarres,
Nor strifes fire:
May discords cease;
Let's live in peace;
This I desire.
If it must be
Warre we must see
(So Fates conspire)
May we not feel
The force of steel;
This I desire:
But in thy book
When I do look
And it admire;
Let Warre be there,
But Peace elswhere;
This I desire.
Tho. Jackson.
To his worthy Friend Mr THOMAS FULLER on his book, The Holy Warre.
THere's not a storie, Friend, in thy book told,
But is a jewell; each line a thred of gold:
Though Warre sound harsh, and doth our minds affright,
Yet cloth'd in well-wrought language doth delight;
Such is thy gilded phrase, I joy to reade
In thee massacres, and to see men bleed.
Oft have I seen in hangings on a wall
The ruines of great Troy, and Priams fall:
A storie in it self so full of woe,
T'would make the Graecian weep that was the foe;
But being wrought in arras, and made gay
With rich embroydery makes th'beholder say,
I like it well; This flame, that scarre is good;
And then commends this wound, that stream of blood.
Things in themselves distastfull are by art
Made pleasant, and do much delight the heart:
Such is thy book: Though it of bloud relate,
And horrid Warre whose very name we hate,
Yet clad in arras-language; and thy phrase
Doth not affright, but with delight amaze,
And with such power upon our senses seise,
That makes Warre, dreadfull in it self, to please.
WILLIAM JOHNSON, Q. Coll.
To his deare Friend Mr FULLER.
WE need not now those zealous vot'ries meet,
Or pilgrimes turn; but on our verses feet.
Thy quill hath wing'd the earth; the Holy land
Doth visit us, commanded by thy hand.
If envy make thy labours prove thy losse,
No marvel, if a Croisade wear the Crosse.
CLEMENT BRETTON, Sidn. Coll.
Errata.
Page
10 Sabell. Aen. Reade Sabell. Enn.
12 Sabell. Aen. Reade Sabell. Enn.
72 For Paulinus, Reade Pontius.
114 For Charatux, Reade Characux.
155 For Noradine, Reade Coradine.
205 For Nanse, Reade Nuise.
243 For Burbant, Reade Bourbon.
264 For foure Albergies, Reade seven Albergies.
267 For necessarie security, Reade necessarie severity.
275 For offertures, Reade offers.
Last page of the Chronol. For Peter Belius, Reade Peter Belvise.
In the Table For Charatux, Reade Characux.