Time's out of tune, plaid upon however in XX satyres / by Thomas Bancroft.

SATYRE XVIII. Against Injustice.

I Have been still so blest (I thank my Stars) As not to raise nor soment any jars, But rather patiently would put up wrong, Then hire the service of a claim'rous tongue To plead my right, I see in suit prevails None but the rich, gold ever turns the Scales, And (as an Atlas to our motions) here Carries all causes, all the sway doth bear, Upholds all factions, sets awork all hands, And leads all hearts as in triumphal bands, As Sabine Souldiers on Tarpeia cast Their bracelets and their bucklers, till at last Under their deadly weight her life was spent: So greater persons fatally torment Fair justice under wealths oppressive load, Upon such mischief-workers worst bestow'd. It is a just complaint that long ago Justice forlook these regions here below Replete with wickedness, and to the skies Went, where she might mans insolence despise; Yet some resemblance of old equity She left; and that the same's so wretchedly With bloud disfigur'd, is the too well known Cause of our present grief and endless mone. Thou that art wrong'd, and any thing dost lose (Except thy wits) be wise, and rather choose To sit down with thy loss, then go to law; Whence on thy self thou shalt be sure to draw Fresh injuries, nor ever have redress, Unless thy purse in Angels languages

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

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;

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.

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.

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!

'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

'Mongst sharp contentions, sure enough to lye (Like drown'd Aegyptians) in deep misery.