Poems and translations amorous, lusory, morall, divine [collected and translated] by Edvvard Sherburne ...

Ausonii Ludus septum Sa∣pientum.

The Prologue.

THe seven Wisemen, (that Name Times past apply'd To them, nor hath Posterity deny'd) Themselves this Day unto your view present. Why dost thou blush Gown'd Roman? discontent That such grave Men should on the Stage be brought! Is't shame to us! 'twas none to Athens thought: Whose Councell-Chamber was their Theater. True; here for Busines sev'rall Places are Assign'd, the Cirque for Meetings, Courts to take Enrollments, Forums in which Pleas to make: But in old Athens, and all Greece, was known No other Place for Busines, but this* 1.1 One, Which later Luxury in Rome did raise. The Aedile heretofore did build for Playes A Scaffold-stage, No work of Carved stone; So Galbus and Murena did, 'tis known: But after, when great Men not sparing Cost, Thought it the highest Glory they could boast, To build for Playes a Scene more eminent, The Theater grew to this vast Extent;

Which Pompey, Balbus, Caesar, did inlarge; Vying, which should exceed for State and Charge. But to what End all this? We came not here To tell you who first built the Theater Or Forum, or who rais'd this Gallery; But as the Prologue to a Comedy, In which act Heaven-lov'd Sages; who in Verse Their own Judicious Sentences reherse, Known to the Learned, and perhaps to you: But if your Mem'ries shall not well renue Things spoke so long since; the Comedian shall, Who better than I knows them, tell you all.

Enter Comedian.

A Thenian Solon, Fame sings, wrote at Delphis 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉; whose sense, Know thy self, is. But this for Spartan Chilons many take. Whether this Chilons be, some question make, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉: Is't hard? Wee'l english't; Th' End of a long Life regard. But this (say some) to Craesus Solon sung. From Lesbian Pittacus this Motto sprung, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉; that's Know-Time: But He By 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 here means Opportunitie. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, Bias, did proceed From thee; that is, Most Men are Ill. Take heed You not mistake him; for by Ill Men here He means the Ignorant: the next you hear Is Periander's 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉; That is, Thought's All in All; a Thought-full Man! But Lyndian Cleobulus does protest 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉; Mean in All is best.

Thales, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 cries. Upon a Surety present Damage lies. But this, 'fore those who gain by it, to tell, May 'chance displease: Now Solon comes, farwell.

Exit.

Enter Solon.

LOe! on the Roman Stage is Solon come, Clad in his Graecian Ornaments: To whom Fame gave the Prize of Wisdome from the rest; But Fame is not of Censure the strict Test. Nor first nor last I take my self to be, ••or there's no Order in Equalitie. Well did the Delphick Prophet sport with him Who ask'd, which first of the VVise-men might seem, ••ying; if on a Globe their Names he writ, ••one first, or lowest he should find in it. ••••om midd'st of that learn'd Round come I; that so, ••Vhat once I spake to Craesus, All here now ••ight take as spoken to themselves; 'Tis this: 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉; which is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 English, Mark of a long life the End; ••ill then your Censure of All Men suspend: ••or Miserable These, nor happy Those ••steem; for None are such till their last Close. ••he Ground of this wee'l in few Words display. ••Craesus, the Tyrant King of Lydia, ••••ppy, and rich even to Excesse! (who wall'd ••he Temples of his Gods with pure Gold) call'd ••e from my Country to him: We obey ••is Royall Summons, went to Lydia, ••illing his Subjects by our means might find ••heir King improv'd, and better'd in his Mind.

He asks Me whom I thought the happiest Man? I said Telana the Athenian, Who his life nobly for his Country gave; He pishes at it, will another have. I told him then Aglaus who the Bounds Ne'r past in all his life of his own grounds; Smiling, he sayes, what think you then of Me? Esteem'd the happyest in the whole World? We Reply'd, his End could only make that known. He takes this Ill: I, willing to be gon, Kisse his hand, and so leave him: For some Ends Meantime, 'gainst Persia he a War intends; And all Things ready, does in Person goe. How speeds? hee's vanquish'd, Prisoner to his foe, And ready now to yeeld his latest Breath, (For by the Victor he was doom'd to death) Upon the Funerall Pile rounded with Flames And smoak, he thus with a loud voice exclames. O Solon! Solon! now I plainly see Th'art a true Prophet! thrice thus naming Me. Mov'd with which words, Cyrus, (the Conquerour) Commands the Fire be quencht; which, by a showre Of Rain then falling, happily was layd. Thence to the King by a choice Guard convay'd, And question'd who that Solon was? and why He call'd so on his Name? He, for Reply, In Order all declares: Pitty at this The Heart of Cyrus moves; and Craesus is Receiv'd to grace, who in a Princely Port Liv'd after, honour'd in the Persian Court. Both Kings approv'd, and prais'd Me; but what I Said then to one, let each Man here apply As spoke t'himself; 'twas for that end I came. Farewell: your liking let your hands proclame.

Exit Solon.

Enter Chilon.

MY Hips with sitting, Eyes with seeing ake, Expecting when Solon an End would make. How little, and how long you Atticks prate! Scarce in three hundred Lines one word of Weight, Or a grave Sentence! how he lookt on me At going off?—Now Spartan Chilon see! Who with Laconian Brevity commends To you the Knowledge of your selves, kind Frends! 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, carv'd in Delphos Fane. 'Tis a hard Work, but recompenc'd with Gain. Try your own strength; examine what 'tis you Have done already, what you ought to doe. All Duties of our Life, as Modestie, Honour, and Constancie, included be In this; and Glory th' Idoll of these dayes. I've said: Farewell: I stay not for your Praise.

Exit▪

Enter Cleobulus.

I Cleobulus, though my Native Seat Be a small Isle, am Author of a great And glorious Sentence; 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉; A Mean is best; You Sirs that sit upon The fourteen middle Benches next unto Th' Orchestra, best may judge if this be true. Your Nodd shows your Assent: We thank you; but We shall proceed in Order: Was it not Your Afer, (though a Man he of late Time is) That said once in this Place, Ut ne quid Nimis?

And hither does our 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 aime. The Dorick and the Latine mean the same. In speaking, being silent, or in sleep, In good Turns, or in bad, a mean still keep. In study, Labour, or what else so e'r. I've said: and that a Mean I keep, end here.

Exit▪

Enter Thales.

I'm Thales, who maintain (as Pindar sings) VVater to be th' originall of Things, * 1.2 And on the Stage (as those before) am come T' assert the Truth of my own Axiom. Perhaps by some 't may be offensive thought: But not by those by sad experience taught. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, say we, Be Surety, and be sure a loser be. A thousand Instances I could produce To prove Repentance is the only use That can be made of it, but that We here Examples by their Names to cite, forbear. Make your own Application, and conceive The Damage, Men by this sole Act receive. Nor this our good Intention take amiss. You that like, clap, you that dislike it, hiss.

Exit.

Enter Bias.

I Am Priaenean Bias, who once taught 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, That most men are naught.

I wish t' had been unspoke; for Truth gains Hate. But by bad Men, I meant Illitterate, And those who barbarously all Laws confound, Religion, Justice; for within this Round I see none but are good: believe all those Whom I proclame for bad amongst your Foes: Yet there is none so partially apply'd To favour Vice but with the good will side: VVhether he truly be such, or would fain Of a good man the Reputation gain: The hated name of an ill Man, there's none But flies: if y'are all good, your praise: I'm gone.

Exit.

Enter Pittacus.

I'm Pittacus, who once this Maxime penn'd, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, That's Time apprehend. But by Time we meant Time in Season, as, In tempore veni is your Roman Phrase. And your own Comick Poet Terence, he, Chief of all things makes opportunity, Where Dromo comes unto Antiphila I'th'nick of Time: consider what I say, And mark how many Inconvenience Sustain, for want of this sole Providence! But now 'tis more than Time we should be gone; Farewell: and give your Approbation.

Exit.

Enter Periander.

NOw on the Stage see Periander move! He who once said, and what he said will prove 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. Thought is all in all. Since him a perfect Agent we may call Who first considers what he undergoes; For we should still forecast▪ as Terence shows, Th' Event of Business, whether good, or bad, E'r w'undertake it: where may best be had Conveniency for Planting, where to build, When to wage War, and where to pitch a Field: Nor unconsiderately take in hand Or great or small Things; for that makes a stand In the free Progress of all new designs; In which, there's nothing Policy injoyns Like Consultation; hence it is that they Who use it not, Chance does, not Counsell, sway. But I retire; whilst you with better Fate Imploy your Thoughts how to uphold your State.

Notes

• * 1.1

  viz. the Theater.
• * 1.2

  〈◊〉〈◊〉 me Ver∣•••••• because ••erfect in Original, ••••••ted.