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In honour of the Translator.
THe PEN unspoild, though worne beyond a Pen, The HAND unwearied, though with toile opprest: The HEAD diseas'd for ease of Englishmen, (Yet still hold out) in motion heere doe rest. They rest in motion; restlesse nest is that; Yet that's the rest thy Pen, thy Hand, thy Head Deere HOLLAND hath; which all (untir'd) translate The greatest Volumes, greatest Braines have bred. Life being so short as from the Birth to Beere Is but a span; all times may well admire How so much may be onely written here, Where toile makes that short life more soone expire. Had I an Angels tongue, or else a Pen Made of his Pinion (might I judge of thee) I should so speake and write that Gods and Men Should see a Miracle of thee through me. For, NATVRE workes but still to hold her state; And for that worke alone neglecteth all: But thy workes doe her power in thee abate, For others good; that's supernaturall. So th'art a Miracle of Men, for Men; Yet if this Miracle be thought untrue To thy good HEART, from thy Head, Hand, and Pen Give what is right, and then all is but due. To count the Volumes most voluminous, Which thou translated hast with care (past care) And Art (past Art) were but superfluous: For, all doe know them, sith they famous are. NATVRES great Secretarie thou didst teach To speake such English, as (though he be high In cloudy-matter) English eies may reach, His highest Pitch: that tries the Eagles eie. The Roman most renown'd Historian Trajans great MASTER•• Moralls (boundlesse bookes) Smooth Tranquill, and the rugged Ammian, Thou mad'st as smooth to speake, as Venus lookes. And, for thy last, (but so it cannot be If life doe last, for still thou wilt be doing) Here is a WORKE translated now by thee, For which we long the Learned have beene wooing. In this, through thee, wee see (as in a Glasse) The wrinckled Face of grave ANTIQVITIE: Thy passing Autor here himselfe doth passe Or'e whom thou raign'st while he doth subject lie. Camden, whose Fame nor Seas, nor Lands can bound (Yet they best know him farthest from our ken; For, English least doe know his voices sound) Is made more famous by thy famous Pen For, now the English knowes his worthinesse: His Countrimen now see him as he is: Before, they at his vertue could but guesse; And guesse by Artlesse Aimes, that often misse. Yet, Man of Art, behold! for all this All How thou art subject (that deseru'st to raigne In all mens loves) to hate of great and small, That to be learn'd alone, take envious paine; Who seeke, for Knowledge onely to be knowne: ("For, who know most, are knowne still most of all) They deeme Wit, Folly; that to all is showne; And Goodnesse, Badnesse hold, if generall. Who knows the voice of Envy, theirs doe know; For, Envy speakes but onely by their tongues, Who being a devill speakes (she cares not how) By borrow'd Organs which to them belongs. Alas poore Snakes! (base Envies Instruments) Poore in your Wit, and way-ward in your Will) Yee little learne, so, hate the Ornaments Of Arte in greater Wits of lesser skill. Did ye not doubt your owne defect of Wit You would all Artes should still be showne to all▪ And let the best Wit make best use of it, For Wits renowne, and letters liberall. Yea, you would wish the Babylonian towre Were yet to build, while all one tongue impart▪ That so, sole Wit might be Arts Governour, Not tongues, that are the Essence of no Art. But were yee good, and would all Good should know. Who Envy this more learn'd, lesse-envious man, You would the frankest praise on him bestow That makes th'unlearn'd a learn'd Historian. Shall English be so poore, and rudely-base As not be able (through meere penury) To tell what French hath said with gallant grace, And most tongues else of lesse facunditie? God shield it should; and Heav'n foresend that we Should so debase our owne deere mother-tongue▪ That shewes our thoughts (how ever high they be) With higher tearmes, and el••quence among, Then, let me muzzle those so d••gged mouthes That byte and barke at what they should defend: They lies doe love, that hidden would have Truthes: And he is Vertues foe that's Errors friend. But, kind Philêmon, let thine active Muse Still mount above these base detracting spirits: Looke not so low as Snakes that men abuse, And highest Fame shall crowne thy lowest merits. Goe forward (maugre backward Envies ••rabs, That still goe backe) thy paines give others pleasure: They play proud Miriams part, thou Ionada••s▪ They skant our learnings lists, thou giv'st us measure. This Camdens-Britaine, that on wings of Art Flies or'e the World, knowne least where most it ough••, There thy free Pen to all doth it impart, And mak'st them learn'd that almost are untaugh••. For, Camden (whose all time out-wearing fame, Sith he the learned hath so often gladded) Hath, by thy Pen, now multipli'd his Name: For, now to Camdens Britaine, Holland's added Then, pregnant HOLLAND, Britaine fertile mak••▪ With learnings compost; till the croppe of Art Be ready for our neighbours Sithe, and Rake, That have lesse skill, than will to take our part▪ So shall this soile (when thou art soile or sand) Call Camdens-Britaine, Hollands richest land▪The unfaired honourer of thee and thine indeavours. JOHN DAVI••S of Hereford.