A Satire, Title page – Satire 2
A SATYRE: DEDICATED TO HIS MOST EXCELLENT MAIESTIE. BY GEORGE VVITHER, Gentleman.
Rebus in aduersis Crescit.
LONDON: Printed for GEORGE NORTON, and are to be solde at the signe of the red-Bull, neere Temple-barre. 1614.
THE SATYRE TO THE MEERE COVRTIERS.
SIrs, I doe know your mindes, you looke for fees,
For more respect then needes, for caps and knees:
But be content, I hauehave not for you now,
Nor will I hauehave at all to doe with you.
For though I seeme opprest, and you suppos…
I must be faine to crouch to Vertues foes;
Yet know, your fauours I doe now slight more
In this distress…, then er'e I did befor….
Here to my Liege a message I must tell,
If you will let me passe, yo… shall doe well;
If you de…i… admittance, why then know,
I meane to hauehave it where you will or no.
Your formall wisedomes which hath neuer beene
In ought yet (saue in venting fashions) seene,
And deemes that man wa… borne to no intent
But to be train'd in Apish complement,
Doth now (perhaps) suppose me vndiscreet,
And such vn-vsed messages vnmeet.
But what of that? Shall I goe sute my matter
VntoUnto your wits, that hauehave but wit to flatter?
Shall I, of your opinions so much prize
To loose my will, to hauehave you thinke me wise,
Who neuer yet to any liking had,
Vnlesse he were a Knaue, a Foole, or mad?
You Mushromes know, so much I weigh your powers
I neither value you, nor what is yours.
Nay, though my crosses had me quite out-worne,
Spirit enough Id'e finde your spight to scorne:
Of which resolu'd, to further my aduenter,
VntoUnto my KING, without your leaues I enter.
TO THE HONEST COVRTIERS.
BVt You, whose onelyonly worth doth colour giuegive
To them, that they doe worthy seeme to liue,
Kinde Gentlemen; your ayde I craue, to bring
A SATYRE to the presence of his King:
A show of rudenesse doth my forehead Arme,
Yet you may trust me, I will doe no harme:
He that hath sent me, is a subiect true,
And one whose louelove (I know) is much to you:
But now he lies bound to a narrow scope,
Almost beyond the Cape of all good hope,
Long hath he sought to free himselfe, but failes:
And therefore seeing nothing else preuailes,
Me, to acquaint my Soueraigne, here he sends,
As one despayring of all other friends.
I doe presume that you will fauour shew me,
Now that a Messenger from him you know me:
For many thousands that his face nere knew
Blame his Accusers, and his Fortune rue:
And by the helpe which your good word may d….
He hopes for pitty from his Soueraigne to.
Then in his presence with your fauours grace me,
And there's no Vice so great, shall dare out-face me.