Time's out of tune, plaid upon however in XX satyres / by Thomas Bancroft.
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- Title
- Time's out of tune, plaid upon however in XX satyres / by Thomas Bancroft.
- Author
- Bancroft, Thomas, fl. 1633-1658.
- Publication
- London :: Printed by W. Godbid,
- 1658.
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http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A30828.0001.001
- Cite this Item
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"Time's out of tune, plaid upon however in XX satyres / by Thomas Bancroft." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A30828.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 17, 2024.
Pages
Page 125
Do speak thy grievance, or great friends thou find,
That in our wars to th' winning side inclin'd.
Though thou beest nere so honest, and the sky
No clearer then thy hearts integrity;
And though the wrongs for which thou dost implead
Another, in the Laws full view be laid;
Yet if withal thou under Hatches be,
And (being tost in straits of poverty)
Canst to no harbour of great friendship get,
Thou'lt fare no better then an over-set
Ship in a storm, thy labour, and thy cost,
And hope of recompence, will all be lost.
Many that might law-quarrels well decide,
Are like to hungry Kites that far and wide
Seek for a prey, and build their nests on high
With meer acquists of their rapacity.
If thou beest troubled with a plethry
Of a full fortune (as we daily see
That vices and vexations wait upon
Wealth,) be some Lawyer thy Physician,
And thou wilt find he soon will macerate
The corpulency of thy great estate,
Attenuate its bulk, contract its size,
Pare to the quick its proud excrescencies,
And when thy golden plumes are pluckt in law,
Be one to laugh at thee like AEsops Daw.
What brought Caninio to an ebb so low
In his estate, but that he still let flow••
His wealth among, the pettifogging sort,
That which long bills of charges did cut short
His large intrado? who was high (they say)
In Fortunes favour, as most apt to play
The fool, in turning still the point of law
On men almost for th' wagging of a straw.
At least three hundred Crowns he once let fly
After a Goose, that was too waggishly
Page 126
Took from his Coop, his choler so to move,
Who as his life did wrangling ever love,
But could from such a suit expect small gains,
To compensate his charges and his pains.
Some wits derided him, and said that Fowl
Might well be one that sav'd the Capitol,
And if the man to wars did ever goe,
Would in his helmet make a goodly show,
And when the bustling winds their strength did try,
Would seem to hiss, and threat his enemy.
My task were endless, should I undertake
To tell what small account the most did make
Of noble justice in the stormy dayes
Of our late war, when many men did raise
Themselves by rapine, and from poor and low
Estates to wealth and eminence did grow.
One such a strangely metamorphos'd man
Is that imperious varlet, Putean,
Who till wild discord soft her sparkling brands,
And fir'd our hearts, bestirr'd his brawny hands,
Digg'd in a quarry for his daily bread,
And hardly was with fruits of labour fed,
All ratter'd like a shaggy Satyre went,
Was despicably low and indigent;
But when loud drums and trumpets did awake
Our drowzy spirits, he resolv'd to take
Another course, new fortunes would assay,
In the next Army took a Souldiers pay,
Nothing at all regarded wrong nor right,
Nor yet for conquest, but for coin, did fight.
Fight did I say? nay, rather Mercury
The Mars he serv'd, of fraud and theevery
Upheld the trades, rang'd all about for prey,
Plunder'd in towns, and robb'd upon the way;
Hence rak'd he up much wealth in little time,
To high preferment wickedly did climb;
Page 127
And in a fair house, whence he did expell
His fathers Landlord, does the Pagan dwell.
But as we see a little ball of snow
To a great Globe by volutation grow,
Then quickly to dissolve: so may we say
That such mens heap'd-up riches will decay
In a small tract of time, and that they shall
Sink in the gulph of sudden Funeral.
Those vast Sicilian monsters, Polypheme
And others, whom old Poets made their theme,
What were they but great Robbers, that did spoil
All those they met with in their fruitful Ile?
But as the vengeful hand of Heaven ere long
Repaid them for their violence and wrong:
So will all those that are unjustly bent,
Be taught their duty by just punishment.
For very pensiveness my heart doth ake,
And all my bowels with sad horrour quake,
To thick how frequently with fatal blowes
Our Martialists ore-turn'd their fellowes (those
Of the same side I mean,) when secret spight
Or sudden passion made them bold to smite:
Yet some were scarcely question'd, very few
Felt deadly punishment for murder due;
Justice was seldome set awork among
Rude blades, the hasty instruments of wrong.
Methinks some Comet in the troubled air
Should now appear with bloudy streaming hair
Like to a fiery Scourge, t' upbraid thereby
Our horrid murders and harsh cruelty,
And threat with sharper punishments to smite
Such Monsters as in mischief most delight.
O for stout Theseus, or strong Hercules!
That would adventure (for immorral praise)
To pave our Cities with the heads of those
That both by fraud and force all right oppose.
Page 128
With juggling hands their gainful games do play,
O' th' very house of prayer make a prey;
Both Church and Academies dare despoil,
And on their ruines raise a losty pile
Of wealth and dignity. The sons of great
Phoebus have small encouragement to beat
Their brains in studies, or to change their looks
T' a pale and wan complexion like their books,
When almost all rewards (except the Bay,
T' adorn their brows withal) are forc'd away,
And as much honour to Gads hill is done
As to Parnassus or fair Helicon.
When justice does pretend to th' greatest sway,
She yet acts little in the nobler way
Of compensation: Sometime she's severe,
When men that shew more guilt then gold, appear
Before her; or her busie servants wait
Till some great person forfeits his estate,
She readily will punish such; but when
Does she propose rewards for worthier men?
With what rich guerdons does she gratifie
Brave souls, that for their Countreys liberty
Have serv'd stern Mars, or happily have hit
On some rare means of publique benefit?
What had the Chymist for his guns? or he
That blest the Muses with Typography?
He that devis'd the Compass? or the man
That brought the Spaniard with th' American
Acquainted first, and shew'd him whence he might
Fetch gold enough to glut his appetite?
If such desertful Patriots do obtain
Some shadowy honour, 'tis the onely gain
They can expect: no real fruits of dear
Respect and gratitude are gather'd here;
But he that does with warm affection serve
His Countrey, may (to his cold comfort) starve.
Page 129
True justice should begin like charity,
At home; then look at others equally,
Like the worlds chearful eye: but men do quite
Neglect their welfare in the wayes of right,
Do to themselves a world of injury,
And seem to bear a kind of enmity
To their own lives. Do they not let them slide
At all adventures without Helm or Guide,
And range as wildly as the Steeds of great
Phoebios, when Phaeton had lost his seat?
Do they not make this life a term of space
To follow trifles in, a fruitless race
Of idle courses? do they not let fly
Their precious hours almost insensibly?
And may they not more properly be said
T' have lively motions, then a life to lead,
When rude distempers toss them, and the sway
Of humorous passions rapts them every way?
They taste not lifes dear sweetness, till with fate
They ready be to meet; and then (too late)
Weep they their loss, and dye in their conceit,
Ere sickly Nature sound her sad retreat
Into the grave. To my late grief and pain
I heard an aged Prodigal complain
In these sad words. 'Ah! wo is me (said he)
'Is this the fruit of all my jollity,
'To lye and languish on a restless bed,
'Whereto the knotty Gout hath fettered
'My strengthless limbs? how have I gull'd & wrong'd
'My self and those that to my charge belong'd!
'How have I blasted all my flowery prime
'With heats of lust, and lavisht out my time!
'How have I been as in a silken chain
'Of pleasure led, that hath procur'd my pain!
'How, when I graspt at honours, have I caught
'Clouds like Ixion, vanishing to nought!
Page 130
'O that Medea's art, that once retriv'd
'Old Aesons youthful dayes, were now reviv'd,
'And back again mine ages wheel would drive
'Unto its vernal point! I then would strive
'My life to manage as a thing of weight,
'Frame all mine actions regular and straight,
'Not live tumultuously (as here and there
'Wild beasts do range,) but by discretion steer
'An even course, my passions keep in awe,
'And give mine appetite so strict a law,
'That like Cornarus the Venetian, I
'Would feed by weight, and serve necessity;
'I, like Ulysses fastned to his Mast,
'Would pass by Sirens, and be ever chaste;
'Vertue should be my Mistress, and I would
'Value her beauties above mounts of gold.
'But ah! my words are weak, my wishes vain;
'Nothing's of force with me save grief and pain.
These plaints did move my pity; and though I,
If men will wrong themselves so wretchedly,
What wonder is it that they prove unjust
To others, and so oft betray their trust?
They break their faith, the band of amity,
As Samson did his cords; yea, oft we see
Great Princes (to th' dishonour of their State)
Most solemn Leagues to slight and violate,
And where they did fair amity profess,
Fall foul with vile persidious practices,
Causing the Carthaginians not to be
Condemn'd alone for impious treachery.
Then comes that bloudy-mouthed Monster, War,
And threatning mischiefs like a blazing star,
Hasts to inflict the same, and wretched makes
Whole nations for their wicked Rulers sakes.
These haply may secure themselves indeed,
But sure enough their Subjects are to bleed
Page 131
'Mongst sharp contentions, sure enough to lye
(Like drown'd Aegyptians) in deep misery.