The Incomparable Poem, Poem 1 – Poem 11
THE Incomparable POEM GONDIBERT, VINDICATED From the VVit-Combats OF Four ESQUIRES, Clinias, Dametas, Sancho, and Iack Pudding.
foreign.
Vatum quoque gratia rara est.
Anglicè,
One Wit-Brother,
Envies another.
Printed in the Year, 1655.
To Sir William Davenant.
PArdon (fam'd Sir) if in th' Adventures
Against these Cyclops, & Wit-Centaures,
(Or Hydra's rather, for they can
Spring at a Club each man his man,
Seconds in Draull, and Seconds unto none.)
Thy yet unhurt Reputation▪
By me than them should suffer farther,
There, by Wit-slaugher, here, Wit-murder.
Of small aquaintance as e're writ,
I am onelyonly known unto thy wit;
That's small enough, will Denham say,
And Iack Donne swear, upon the day,
When at the arraignment of the Wits,
There spleen 'gainst D'avenant pasquils spits.
There sits Iack Straw as eldest Bencher,
And spends no money but his censure;
He layes the Book, sets Sack and Clarret,
And with his Quibbles doth pay for it.
Not thy Book onelyonly, but each Poem,
This Wit-Committee doth cite to 'em;
Thy Hot-cockler for something written,
By these Bumme-bayliffs hath been bitten.
But you, my friend, (not Gondiberts)
Forbear your Sarcasmes and your flirts;
For if you play the Cynick still,
And bite so hard my Knighted Will,
My Woodstreet Doctor, (not a Wooden)
A sure dissecter, and a good one,
With hand accustom'd to knife keen,
Shall quaintly firk away your Spleen.
So that you shall not bite, nor raile,
But like kinde Puppies shake your taile.
This may be Donne, for I have seen
A Barker's, that's a Cynicks Spleen
I'th' Doctors box. (Snarlers) 'tis true,
The Curre's as crank as any of you,
And frisks and fitchets up and down,
As you, to all the Clubbs o'th' Town.
All alike living by mishaps,
(What falls from table) poor Wit-scraps.
Will shew thy face (be't what it will)
We'l push 'um yet a quill for quill,
And let the world at latter loose,
Judge which was taken for a Goose.
Upon the misplaced Answer upon the Preface of Gondibert.
Lasciva est nobis Pagina, vita proba.
I Know the reason, and 'tis pat,
Why none of you do english that.
Nor will I, friends, for all our wrongs
Should be objected in hard tongues.
Ergo, Lasciva est vobis Pagina, vita probra.
—You have found it; pro in probra (if there be any such Adjective) is long, it was a purpose made so, it is according to your life, so it is all your life long.
Now after that note in Prose, to the Verses.
Just at the threshold pray you look,
Preface, you say, is nose to Book:
Very familar sure are those
We suffer to play with our nose,
But chief at sharp with pin, or prickle:
Yet these are Strawes, but Strawes will tickle.
On the Preface.
Room for the best of Poets—jolt,
(This is the first Wit-thunder-bolt.)
The Sheriff's Verses must amate us,
They are the Posse comitatus.
And those that follow in this List-all,
Are all his men, with nere a Pistoll.
Unlesse for Cases wide as Poulton's,
Perchance each man may have Paul Coulton's.
What, doth he baffle Hobs the Nathan?
Hook in, old boy, thy Levi-athan.
The Wits they grant, though one turnes Coat,
And writes now Contra, that Pro wrote,
We do not take that much in snuff,
He's still oth' weakest, Penne, or Buffe.
But what if VVill a censure made-a
O'th' Poets? he but did as Strada.
So did old Ben, our grand Wits master,
In this Play called Poetaster.
The odds is ours, we are the higher,
We are Knight Lauriat, Ben the Squire.
Upon my conscience you wrong
Out Knight, that he should hate the Tongue
Of either Author, for 'tis sed
Those Languages ne're hurt his head.
You know full well the Latian
Is routed in our Nation:
And why such stir for heathen Greek?
Is't not enough brisk French to speak?
Italian brave, my Signiora,
If sounds as high as you can rore a.
He never miss'd at nose of Ovid,
But lov'd the nose so well approved
Of the Court-Ladies. Handy, dandy,
They both were spoyl'd by Art D'Amandi:
You think they feign, that is, they lie,
That spake of Gondibert so high.
If that their Verses were much taller,
Waller hath since out-Gondid VValler.
Why do you bite, you men of Fangs?
(That is, of Teeth that forward hangs)
And charge my dear Ephestion
With want of Meat? you want Digestion.
We Poets use not so to do,
To find men Meat, and Stomachs too.
That is a good capacity,
If you want that the more's the pity.
You have the Book▪ you have the House,
And mumme (good Iack) and catch the Mouse.
The Knight's return'd, your censures vanish,
And takes no Dungus, but good Spanish.
The Author doth not put in Mun— because it is the abreviation, or nick of his own name.
Now with Virginia twit's no more.
The Slaves are dead, we do deplore:
And leave I pray, your fierce Bravados,
'Slife you will end else in Barbados.
To Sir William D'avenant.
AFter so many poorer scraps
Of Playes, which nere had the mishaps,
To passe the Stage without their claps.
2.
When thou hadst past the Pikes, and wert
Thy self a royall Gondibert,
A Soldate, then a Statesman pert.
3.
There so improv'd, and grown so able,
Thou'rt fit for War, or Council-table,
Could'st thou be brought to penne a Fable?
4.
Could (Knight) thy emerited fancy,
After so high dispatch beyond-sea,
Stoop to contrive this rare Romancy?
5.
Which all Romances must adore,
Arcadia bow, and Eglamore,
And all since written, and before.
6.
Thy first penn'd Albovin must lie,
Forgotten in his Lumbardy,
For Gondibert is onelyonly high.
7.
This Gondibert, and so the Author,
Is lik'd by King, and by King's daughter,
It makes them serious, and makes laughter.
8.
He that hath swing'd the Prince of Condi,
And beat him to a hole, like Lundie,
(Better imployment send him one day.)
9.
When that he's weary of the Launce,
And hunting Rebels out of France,
In Gondibert his thoughts advance.
10.
And sighs, perchance, with watry sluces,
To see the Red-rose serve the Luces,
But (Will) the world is all abuses.
11.
Thou'rt read translated in French Court,
The Divel himself doth well report,
All but these Quiblers thank thee for't.
12.
When Princes Battel joyn, and hurt,
Are farre remov'd from friends at Court,
Their Chirurgion then is Gondibert.
13.
A leaf of thee but read, will stench
The blood as well as any French
Chi'rgion, or Chirurgion's wench.
14.
Here Ladies may a simpling go,
Iohnson, Gerrard do not shew
A greater Betany to view.
15.
Translate no longer for our Leahs,
(Good Peppers) our Pharmacopaeas,
Of Herbals here's the prime Ideas.
16.
Thou art the publique Icon mornm,
The Ladies lay the Book before um,
And Polexander's not o'th' Quorum.
17.
Before they treat a Lord, a part
Of thee is read, or got by heart,
They'r catechis'd in Gondibert.
18.
And if they lose the Virgin-name,
They onelyonly say in joyfull shame,
Sweet Gondibert thou wert to blame.
19.
Their paines and throwes in this do please,
When that in Parsley-bed it sees.
Bully-Gondibertiades.
20.
Then let these Rimers now approve,
And say thou art their lash above.
Princes fight by thee, and Queens love.
Upon the continuation of Gondibert.
OVid to Patmos pris'ner sent,
His Book to Rome without him went:
And though that D'avenant was confin'd,
The world to Gondibert was kind;
And by his worth so pleaded we,
See Gondibert set D'avenant free.
The power that laid the man by th'heeles,
Took bayle of's feet for all the ills.
His Habe as Corpus now is granted;
(Prethee no more of a nose scanted.)
And why good Knight are we severe,
Because we would the Stages cleare
Of Gods invoak'd; and Pegasus?
Abuse us still good Poet thus.
How gallant Massey grown of late,
As if the man were Massey-plate?
But how could ever Gyges ring,
Have hoysted Davenant on the wing,
When that the ring did not convey,
But keep invisible, we say,
The person on the place, 'tis worse,
The rings mistook for Pacolets horse.
He lay not there, no not an houre,
No sooner was thy work at Tower,
But Davenant was releas'd, we know it,
The man was pardon'd for the Poet.
But how comes Daphne in? It followes,
Daphnes are alwayes neere Apollos.
The Muses, we know are such
The Tower can't hold, but that do's much.
Nay the Muse holds our Muses now,
Scarce your prime Wit can scape; yet how,
Ile tell you, may be safe from danger,
Write as you doe sans wit in anger.
Friend, If you have indeed abus'd,
Homer and Virgil as accus'd,
Let these withdraw the action,
And make them satisfaction,
(For Gondibert, I nere did see;
The Book, my friends, too dear for me.)
How come you now to offend the Bard
Of lofty fame, and name full hard?
Bold Britaines, they, and won't indure,
But my Lord Bard is for thee sure.
Let all the mountaines meet upon't,
They'l yeild to Bard and Bellamont.
I thought that Nose must be i'th' Verse,
Though i'th' fag end, i'th' very A—.
Wash thee in Avon, if thou flie,
My wary Davenant so high,
Yet Hypernaso now you shall
O're-fly this Goose so Capitall.
Your colours will not hold the rather,
Expung'd by one that drinks of neither:
And yet no kin to John Taylor:
The Author upon himself.
FAlse as foolish! What turn felo de me?
Davenant kill Davenant?
No, the whole world doth see
My Gondibert,
To be a piece of Art.
Waller and Cowley true have prais'd my book,
And deservedly,
Nay I did for it look;
He both us robbs,
That blames for this old Hobs.
Write on (jeer'd Will) and write in Pantofle,
That's over Pumpho,
And for Will Crofts his baffle,
Thou maist long write,
That wri…'st to them that shite.
Knight hold thy nose at this.
One Tetrastich to wipe his versifyer▪
Met at the Common shoar, thee & Will Crofts,
I send you Ieffery to cleanse what's soft:
Be it in head, can't he poor dwarf assaile,
But he will reach, to whip you in the taile.
Room, room for a leather flinger,
Pretends to be a triple singer,
On three feet, or to a third finger.
Who can Sufficiently prepare 'um
'Gainst men of trium literarum?
Who'l fall like those that rose at Sarū ▪
1.
In triple rimes I thank a Kater,
Who writes as if he were my Mater,
But proves a most Fraterrimus Frater.
2.
You erre my Cautious friend in Planets,
As in abusing of my Sonnets.
The Swanns above, Geese vaile your Bonnets.
3.
'Tis right (you say) 'twas hard in France,
Ten pound for a good work t'advance,
You got it friend, (but for a dance.)
4.
What like thy selfe, still souc'd in Ale,
Abhorring all that's sharp and stale?
You'l find me salt both head and taile.
Indors'd Tih-he, and seal'd with the caelature of the four-tassel'd Cap.
Upon fighting Will.
MUst all be Fighters that do follow Camps,
It was not so, my friends, not at Ea'Tamps.
He that bought Armes, and boldly cross'd the Maine
Did honour, sure, in that adventure gain.
Who deserves most, the man that is well bang'd
For King? or he that ventures to be hang'd?
Now Impudence, thou'rt up with old disgrace,
Better to want some nose, than want a face.
Caro de carne mine is still as 'twas,
When thine of flesh is batter'd into brasse.
Where Kings have favour'd do not thou blaspheme,
I onelyonly do amand that Sacred Theme.
Will, like a Basilisk, did ride and flie,
And like a Regulus, bold Will will die.
In Pugnacem Daphnem. Num Latin—as hîc?
PEr mare, per terras, Regi obsequiosus aravi,
Neptunus ceduces, Arma verum que vehit.
Belgia me sensit, retuli unde ipse Leones.
Sensit Bombardus Anglica terra meus.
Hinc ordo (nam gaudet equo Neptunus) equestris,
Et poterat Parmum nobilitare Leo.
Scilicet—— & verus Campi Basiliscus ad ibam,
Bombardet genus ah tum Basiliscus erat.
Test is abest Fateor, jam Functo feste Meipso,
Calcar adest tamen, & Fama superstes erit.
Ad eundem, Law Case.
Leye ulpianum inter Io: Oakum vel Quercenū &
Io: Novi stili. ff. ff. ff. ff. tit. De abluendo
Cerebro parag. Tuenim, vel Codrus.
Crambe bis repetitae nolo reponere Scribe nova.
In Daphnen Causidicum.
ALl are not Martyr-Soldiers, blood & goar,
To will to fight is Soldier-confessor,
And does defie his sawcy hand and pen,
That saies he ere turn'd back to any men.
The Nose again! ô how they plunge that scoff!
If th'ad been whole; they would have rubb'd it off.
A little man, a man you may suppose,
As much in justice to a (little) Nose.
For, with the honour'd remnant that he beares
We take in snuff, these often crambed jeeres,
Ile give you (Pokins) leave to be nasute,
It is enough for us to be acute.
And 'cause I will in equity dispose,
You shall Ana—eares unto your nose.
The Poet is angry, because censur'd by one he knowes not.
Some men have known some man, some men before:
Ha well done Iack, 'twas like be seen no more.
'Tis special to be known, not know agen.
But prethee tell, who was Iack Pudding then?
Titulus Compitis Londini cum Licentia imponendus.
Quid dignum tanto feret hic promissor hiatu?
QUantum ad Epistolae sonum videtur esse exhibitoris Tumulorum apud Westmonasteriū, adeo illi digitus Mercurialis, & vox Stentoria, quid ni rude Donati…s! Tune Monstrorum remonstrator. Monumentis ipsis statua major es, & praeter teipsum (id est) magistrum spectaculorum grandius monstrum nulla aetas iterum videbit: Quid Castrum Backsterianum nominas? abi ad ripam, & cum simiâ (Die quolibet Iovis) te ostenta. Tune Elephantos, Tigridasque loqueris? Cedunt miracula, Asinus locutus est.
Suscitasti (stipes) Cetum pro naribus sales, ignem sulphur evomentem: Abite Pelamides. (Ne forte non intelligeretur vocabulum) Anglice, (Plaise-mouth'd fellowes.)
Adest Leviathan sed Hobbianus, non Hobgoblianus.
Americae datum 13. mense Anni Platonici. 1666. Anno Bestiae. Bis Tibi vale.
Upon the Author.
Daphne secure of the buff,
Prethee laugh,
Yet at these four, and their riff raff:
Who can hold,
When so bold?
And the trim wit of Coopers green hill,
Should piss now in every commō squirters quill,
And his old prais'd Fancies kill,
Denham thou'lt be shrewdly shent,
To invent
Such Drawlery for merriment;
And tak'st a heart
To bear a part,
With three of most unequal pitiful fire,
Not fit to be enter'd in the grave Wit-quire,
A drawing Donne out of the mire.