Withers Motto, Postscript – Epigram
A Postscript.
QVite through this Iland hath my Motto rung,
And twenty dayes are past, since vp I hung
My bold Impreza: which defiance throwes,
At all the malice of faire Vertues foes.
The Good approue it; and so crowne the Cause
Of this my Resolution, with applause:
That such as spight it, dare not to appeare,
In opposition to the Challenger.
Their Malice would enforce them; but, it lyes
Oppressed yet, with fearefull Cowardize;
For, they so arm'd hauehave found me, that they feare,
I may (in spight of all their Enuy) beare
The Conquest from them: and vponupon the Face,
Of their be-spotted Fame, stick more disgrace.
This, makes them Storme in priuate, Slander, Raile,
Threat, Libell, Ryme, Detract; and to preuaile
VponUpon my Patience, try their vtmost Art,
But, I still mind my Motto's latter-part,
And Care not for it: which more makes them cha…e;
And still the more they fret, the more I laugh.
But, now their Enuies hauehave so well conspir'd,
That they hauehave … the Proiect they desir'd;
And tooke such course, that (if their word you take)
Shall mooue my Choller, and my Patience shake.
Forsooth, some Rimers they hauehave hyr'd, to chew
Their Rankor into Balladry, and spew
Their blacke Despight, which to a drunken note,
They, in a hundred Tauerns, hauehave by roate
Already belcht vntounto that Auditory,
Who are the fittest Trumpets of their Story.
When their Inuentions (by the powre Diuine
Of much-inspiring Sacke and Claret-wine)
Are ripened to the highest; then, they say
The Stationer expects it eu'ry day:
And that he may a sauing bargaine make,
(A forehand) doth his Customers bespeake.
But when these Braine-wormes crawling forth you
(As pity twere, such wit should smotherd lie)
They will bewray the Sires; and mak't appeare, spie
That Ignorance, and Enuy Parents were
To that despightfull Issue: So, that he
Who shall a Rush the lesse, esteeme of Me,
For ought there Writ: eu'n (He) is one of Them,
Whose Hate, and whose Affection I contemne.
The Instruments they get to serue the turne,
Are those, that are vnworthy of my Scorne:
And if contend, or answere them I should;
It more might wrong me, then their Riming could.
As therefore, when an armed Souldier feeles
A testy Curre, in vaine to gnaw his Heeles;
He mindes not Him: but spends his blowes vponupon
Those churlish Peasants, that did set him on.
So; I, that know these Dogges doe but their kind;
Well, let them barke, & f…arle, & spend their wind,
Till they grow weary. But, let them sit strong.
That vrge them to it; or I lay along
Their high Top-gallant; where each Groome shall see
How worthy Scorne, and infamy they be.
For, they who are their Patrons are such Foes,
As I may somewhat worthyly oppose:
And Ile vnmaske them so, that you shall spie
In them, Detractions true Anatomy.
Yea, whereas they hauehave by their malice, thought
To hauehave on me their spightfull pleasures wrought;
Ile from their Censures, an occasion take
To shew how other men a sport shall make
At all Detractions; So, those slaues vndoe,
Who that base practise are enclin'd vntounto.
Raile they that list: for, those men know not yet,
What mind I hauehave; who thinke the man that writ
This Motto, can be euer brought to feare
Such poore fond things, as idle Carpers are;
Nay rather, from those Slanders they shall raise,
I will aduantage gather for my praise:
While they that in my shame would take delight,
Shal gnaw their flesh through vengance, & despight
To see how I, vnmou'd their enuy mocke,
And make of them this Ages laughing-stocke.
For, lest to hauehave preuailed they should seeme;
And so grow wise men in their owne esteeme:
(Or, by their foolish brags, dishearten such,
Whose resolutions are not growne so much)
When I at leasure am; for Recreation,
…e merry make my selfe, to their vexation;
Yet shall my Mirth from Malice be so free,
That though I bitter to the guiltie be.
It shall appeare that I in louelove doe scourge them;
That of their foule Corruptions I may purge them.
And that it may be knowne how Vertue hath
A sting to punish, though not moou'd to wrath.
But goe; and for the Pamphlet seeke about,
For, yet ere night (tis thought) it will come out.
Yet, when you finde it; Doe not looke for there
His wit alone, whose Name you see it beare:
(For though you nothing can collect from thence,
But foul-mouthd Language, Rime and Impudence)
Yet there expect, (since tis the common cause
Of all Crowe-Poets, and Poeticke-Dawes,
Which I hauehave toucht) that all the Brotherhood,
Will lend their wits to make the Quarrell good.
For, to that purpose they are all combind;
Yea, to their strong Confed'racy are ioynd,
That Corporation, by whose Patronage,
Such Poetry hath flourisht in this Age:
And some beside, that dare not yet be knowne,
HaueHave fauour, to this goodly Proiect showne.
But, let them ioyne their force; For I had rather
Ten Millions should themselues against Me gather…
(And blot and practise for my ouerthrow)
Then be the Conqueror of one base Foe.
For, as mine enemies encreasing be;
So, Resolution doth encrease in mee:
And if I must hauehave foes, my Fates shall friend me;
If great and noble enemies they send me.
But, whether on meane Foes, or great I light,
My Spirit will be greater then their spight.
An Epigram, written by the Author on his owne Picture; where this Motto was inscribed.
THus, others Loues, hauehave set my shadow forth,
To fill a Roome, with Names of greater worth:
And Me, among the rest, they set to show.
Yet, what I am, I pray mistake not, tho.
Imagine me, nor Earle, nor Lord, nor Knight;
Nor any new aduanced Fauorite.
For, you would sweare; if This well pictur'd me,
That such a One I ne'r were like to bee.
No child of purblind Fortun's was I borne;
For all that issue holdeth Me in scorne.
Yet, He that made Me hath assur'd Me to,
Fortune can make no such; nor such vndo.
And bids me, in no Fauours take delight;
But what I shall acquire, in Her despight.
Which Mind, in Raggs, I rather wish to beare,
Then rise through basenes, brauest Robes to wear…
Part of my Outside hath the Picture showne;
Part of my Inside, by these Lines is knowne:
And tis no matter of a rush to me,
How This, or That, shall now esteemed be.
FINIS.
End of the text · George Wither, Withers Motto (1621)