The philosophers satyrs, written by M. Robert Anton, of Magdelen Colledge in Cambridge

[illustration]

TO THE RIGHT HONOVRABLE THE EARLE OF ESSEX, BARON OF EWE: R. A. wisheth all grace with hea∣uen and earth.

Of Mars. ♂

NOble Lord, Themistccles desired the art of obliuion. I the practick of memorie, whose hell and heauen pre∣sentiue facultie cannot produce a fai∣rer forme of eternitie, then in the vnimitable Idea of your Mars borne honourable Father, the best of his fortunes I could wish were traduced to you, and the best of his actions deseruing a fixt constellation, as totally diffused through euery noble veine of your Honour as the best part of your essence is in your bodie the con∣templatiue part of time admits not a fairer prospectiue of Honour. The character of Mars is but his counterseit, and I could wish it yours by adoption, Arts and Armes should be like hypocrates twinnes reciprocall in their first

ingredience, and borne together with a most sweet and lo∣uing sympathie. The merit of a Souldier and a Scholer hates poligamie, and are but one flesh. I know you are no∣bly tutored in the one, and I could wish you Laurcated in the other. The poyson of the times hath no better. Anti∣dote then vertue: the least doze of it makes honor nobly preseruatiue. I haue here prescribed it, and may it worke in you his phisicall operation: my dutie bound to the strick∣test, and most peremptorie remembrance of your Honour: administers this diet: disgest, and be a long liude pa∣tient, it is the Souldiers cordiall, and a Noble restoratiue.

Your Honours humble deuoted, Robert Anton.

THE PHILOSOPHERS FOVRTH Satyr of Mars. ♂

WHat by his nature moues, and would aspire Vnder this Planet borrowes his hot fire: What horrid furie bursts his chaines in hell, And frights the earth, doth in this Planet dwell: Blood, death and, tragick stories Mars doth yeeld. A Golgotha of graues: whose purple field, Died crimson with his fatall massacres, Craues bloodie inke, and Scarlet Characters: A pen, that like a bullets force would reele A marble conscience, or a hart of steele: But not of battels, or that Sanguine flood, That at Phillipi Brutus stain'd with blood. Nor of that cruell, and Barbarian warre, Wherein two Kings sign'd by a blazing starre To a prodigeous death, such horror wonne, As with amazement, frighted Christendome. Nor of that bloodie siege, and tragicall, Made famous by our English Generall, That in our age fell in the Belgian warres, When like an Ocean, with red Massacres, The moorish earth did tide vp ore the brim, As if the center did 'gainst nature swim: But to another Posterne, drils our Muse, Marching in martiall Satyrs of abuse. Tell me thou ragged man of Armes, that weares Onely thy Passe for seruice many yeeres; And by each pettie Constable conueide, As if thy wounds in peace were greater made

With Headboughes and Beadles, then grim warre Could through a groue of Pikes launch in so farre. Why are thy scars bought with such pretious cost. So tortured by a sencelesse whipping post: But a more grosser time, that cannot see In peacefull times, what want of Souldiers be. The dull Athenians offered sacrifice To Mars, when warres began to tyranize: But when the furie of stearne warre did cease, His hallowed Altars lay vntoucht with peace. Souldiers are Saints in steele, Gods in their beauers, Ador'd like Esculapius in hot Feauers Of blood and warre: but when their steele-coates rust, And their bright armes ore-cast with peacefull dust. Behould you sonnes of thunder, th'end of all Are Vsurers almes, and a poore Hospitall. Let Sacars, Culuerings, and Cannons sound In honour of their bones, and rock the ground With all your deafning terrors: for behold The Balsum for your wounds, are rich mens gold, Powder the world with wonder, and thus crie, The Camel now may passe the needles eie. The Iewish age growes holy and precise, And builds a Sinagogue to sacrifice Their charitable surfets, when they die, That liuing, whipt away bright charitie. You hacksters flesht in bleeding Massacres, Thinke on your maimed stumpes: your powerfull stars, That worke this operation in prowde man. Misers liue Iewes, and die as Christian, That el e in peace had laid, as if forlorne, The bitter subiect of the ages scorne.

The Stockfish to seuerest Iustices Beaten to death with warrants of the peace And good behauiour, martred with the rage Of Constables, whose furie can asswage Nothing but night and wine, that all things steepe In the deepe Lethe of the god of sleepe: For seest thou not, thou man of othes and harmes, When Mars makes holliday, and allth' Allarmes Of your Rock-braining Engins are strooke dumb By bright Astreas charmes, and Vnion; How armes are banisht to his yron Mines, And time growne banquerout of those disciplines, That martial Pyrrhus to his Souldiers red, Or'e the braue Romans in Phalanges led, That then who cares for Souldiers, but forgot In warres they lose their limbes, in peace they rot, As if our blessings had so sure a Creed Ne're to vse Souldiers, for we scorne their need. Or doth our carelesse peace, like Scipio deeme Neuer lesse sole, then when it sole doth seeme Without a Souldiers strong Atlantick power, That on his shoulders props that starrie bower And fabrick of a State, as if a Lethargy Had silence't vp th' eternall memory Of Norris, Veare, and valiant Willobee, That like three Commets bearded prodigie, Amaz'd the world: besides the register Of those Sea-Gods, Drake, Candish, Furbusher, That like three Neptunes on the curled maine, Danc't with their Tritons in a martiall vaine Who to a Tragick Muse hath left their fame, Scorning a Commick seckt to score their name,

The temple of the bifront God's not ope, As if the earth had vniuersall hope Of a most mild Augustus to sway th' earth, In whose great raigne the King of Peace tooke birth: Then vanish all your furies to blacke hell, Duelloes, combates to the loathsome Cell, of burning Ambriscadoes, crueltie, Rape, ruine, horror and impietie, Seconds in combats, challenges in wine; Giuing the lie, and all vilde discipline Of sences, desperate distance; quarrels common, For some damn'd Cockatrice, or Strumpet woman. And all those rasors, that made France to bleed; And England sad, in peace be well agreed: For loe, an Oliue Scepter swayes our land, Not crusht to powder with an yron hand: Which sooner may the Seaes forsake their bound, Fire from the concaue lepp, and the fixt ground, Be tumbled from the center: all that's made Rome from his orderd fashion retrograde; Eagles be finn'd, and swimme the Oceans deepe, Whales mount the ayre, & Ducks with Dolphins keepe, Before this peace fall, and vnited-calme Forsake the vertue of his soueraigne Balme: Souldiers turne Maunderers, and liue to shame, By Souldiers base attempts, a Souldiers name: Riot vpon this happie time of truse, With pursing, cheating, and all base abuse, Till millions of these Roarers, sise by sise, Drop through the hang-mans budget, and so dies, Before our Oliue-Scepter change his bud, And graft it in a scarlet stock of blood.

Yet I could wish, that in this golden time, A golden meane were kept, that in this clime, Where the Hesperides of peace doth dwell, Though guarded with a power that doth expell, The doubt of ciuill and outragious iarres, Men liu'd, as if their very liues made warres Against that peace, the heauens doth earth assure, Vpon condition, that no man is secure: Nor are our best of blessings but so lent, As heau'n may change, what men in peace mispent: For time may come, ah, may it neuer come, When the loud thunder of our yet mute drumme, May raile in martiall marches, and their armes May scarre this peacefull Iland with Alarmes: Inuasion may rouse horror from his den; And Souldiers then thought rather Gods then men, That now art barkt at by each dogged Sir. Poore fooles, your selues may need a Souldier, To chace hostilitie and hell-borne spirits Of warre and blood, by their triumphant merits From your Percullic'd gates: oh then take heed, He that scornes Souldiers, may a Souldier neede: For though all things in peace doe symbolize, As with a blessing, where all contraries Are leagued with Gordion knots of amitie, And liue in one vnited harmonie: The rauening Wolfe, and the poore sheepe, Combin'd by supernaturall blessings silly sleepe, Like two faith-plighted friends: the fruitfull vine, That neere the Colewort is obserued to pine, Troubles the God of surfets sparkling iuyce: The Oake and Oliue kisse in calmes of truce:

The Masuue, scares not the Hyanaes sight. The Mouse the Elephant doth not afright: The poysond-Henbane, whose cold iuice doth kill His meate vnto the Thrush, when warres grow still. And all things that beares naturall emnitie, Conioyne their indiuiduall Simpathie: In a most blest coherence of their formes: Yet such a time may come, when nature stormes And Plants, and sencelesse things grow discontent, Their factious formes scorning this sweet consent, Familiar concord turn'd to qualities Of proud exceptions, and hot contraries, And mutinous nature all things turnes to hate, That in sweete peace did most participate. And if that old Phylosophy hould sure, That the Soule tracktes the bodies temperature, Although all naturall causes we confine To the great Mouers power, and will diuine; Yet neuer had our temperaments more fire, Nor neuer apter to the hot desire Of warres and innouations; when our age In Tauerns shew the stabbing signes of rage. Neuer more cholericke constitutions knowne So practick in reuenge, as now are showne. Hot bloods in euery Courtyer boyles to fight: No sooner grac't, but he dares barke and bite, New hot-spurre humors euery day arise, In cutting Ruffines borne to pandarize, Fierie distempers in our bloods exceed, Whch great Hypocrates could neuer reade: Each base Mechanick hath a Fencers diuell, And faine would fight, although the cause be euill.

Ther's scarce a Coward borne to the times curse, But hauing suckt he roares, and kickes his Nurse: Man from his Cradle now like Hercules, Is borne to strangle, not to liue at case: When euery Royster his twelue labours slight, And hand to hand dares with his Lions fight: Or tugge with that three headed dogge of hell, Or in a single Mona-machy quell The hundred headed Hydra to conclude, By whom we moralize the multitude. If then, by naturall causes we descrie How our corrupted tempers do applie Themselues to bloody proiects, and hot iarres: Spurning at peace, inflamed still to warres: Our blessings ought thus much to know in feares, That Mine and Thine may set kings by the eares: Which two poore words, as they haue set on fire The world with law, so to the world inspire A quarrelsome nature, that euen France and Spaine, By these poore syllables lost thousands slaine: And seuen-hill'd-Rome, whose victories haue wonne, Eu'n time to canonize, what she hath donne: Onely with these two words, so pamperd fame, That like a Iennet of a prowd-trust frame, It pac'd the ample earth with such large pride, As if 'twere made not to be rid, but ride: Peace is not of an indiuidual size, Like to a Phoenix, from whose ashes rise Another of that kinde, that can restore, Succession to that peace, that went before:

And it may be the vtmost date she beares, Shall be confin'd within these peacefull yeeres, Wherein her Iocs merily we sing, Neuer was such a time, and such a King: Or whether the great Genius of these daies, Hath left to him the glorie of that praise, Sphynx cannot well vnridle or define: For it may be, in him it may resigne Her vtmost Royalties: then why d'we liue, Like the fond Megarenses, who did giue Such cost vnto their houses, as if neuer They thought of changes, but to liue for euer? Not like the wise Egyptians, who still gaue Lesse cost vnto their house, more to their graue: Since then these changes follow times aspect, And peace like to the Moone doth but reflect His beames from others: who can then presume That still her quarters hold full Pleni-lune: Commit not then such fierce Idolatrie Vnto this Saint: more then the Deitie, That gaue her those bright vertues, though diuine: For Angels may fall from their blessed Shrine: But now we sound a Parle and Rereate From bloo ie Mars his Planet to the Seate Of the bright day-Starre: rise bright Venus, rise, Whilest Citie wiues prepare thy Sacrifice.

Notes

• Himmase∣quitur tem∣peramentum corporis opi∣no Galen.