Philomythie, or, Philomythologie wherin outlandish birds, beasts, and fishes, are taught to speake true English plainely / by Tho: Scot ...

SOLARIƲM.

DEDICATED. To the absolute and open enemies of Ignorance and Darknesse, and the true Louers and Followers of Light and Knowledge, Sr. Iohn Crofts and his happy LADY.

THe Clock that chim'de your praise, went right for still The Diall rulde his tongue the Sunne his Will. And as these led him right, you follow may, To heauenly glory, through the Milk-white-way.

IN some part of the World, I know not where, But sure S••. Thomas Mard••uile was there. Betwixt a Clocke and a Sunne-dyall fell A difference which I with sorrow tell. With sorrow, for this error calls to minde Th' vncertainty, which we in Story finde;

Where computations crosse, and make vs doubt * 1.1 Of what we all seeke, cannot one finde out. How to agree, and reconcile th' obscure, The fabulous, and c••rtain•• Age of our. The Age obscure; is that before the Floud: The Fabulous, on fained Wonders stood The race of gods, on gold••n Legends told, Where for sad truths, mad ••ictions were enrold. This latter Age more plaine and cleere, we call The certaine Age, or th' Age Historicall. Yet houres, and day••s, and yeeres haue sure been lost In some of these, which our accounts haue crost. And so they easily might, when from the Sunne To lying Clocks for our accounts we runne.

This tale makes all apparant, or at least, Makes probable, what some haue thought a ieast. Within a Churchyard once a Dyall stood Vpon a square hewne Marble, which the Flood In vaine with enuious waues had often sought To spoile, when it the whole world vnder brought. But Seth's wise sonnes had fastned it so sure, It could all stormes•• and stre••••e of times endure. And thereon they had caru'd the Art, and lore They learned of their Grandsire long before••

Vpon a Church or steeples side neere hand A goodly Clocke of curious worke did stand; Which ouer paysde with lead or out of frame, Did time miscall, and euery houre misname. Th•• Dyall hearing this, aloud gan cry Kinde neighbour Clocke your glib tongue tells a lye. Reforme your error, for my Gnomon ••aith You gad too fast, and misse an houres faith.

Foole (quoth the Clocke) reforme thy selfe by me, The fault may rather in thy Gnomon be. Had'st thou tould euer truth, to what end then Was I plac'de here, by th' art of cunning Men?

The weather-Cocke vpon the steeple standing And with his sharpe eye all about commanding, Heard their contention, wil'd them to appeale * 1.2 To him the Chiefe of all that Common-weale. Told them that he was set to Ouersee And to appease, to guide and to agree All diff'rence in that place; and whatso'ere He setteth downe from Iustice cannot erre. For from the winde he information takes Which searcheth through the world, & swiftly make•• A true suruay of euery proofe and cause, And doth of Reason know the ground, and lawes. He bids them boldly speake, and bring their pleas, And hee'le define th' infallible truth with ease.

The Dial then beginnes. The globe-like world From Center to Circumf rence being whorl'd In neuer-resting motion, maketh ••ime In sundry reuolutions fall and clime. This Time the measure of all mutable things Comes with lead-heeles, flies hence with fiery wings; Sleepes with two eyes, hath two eyes euer waking, Twixt minuts, hours, daies, nights, distinction making And though the diff'rence and degrees of change, In seuerall yeares, be wonderfull and strange; Some by the Moone, some reckoning by the Sunne, And some the great yeare, whē th' heauens hauing ru•• Their compleat course, doe to that point arriue Whence the first mouer, them did motion giue;

Yet the most generall certaine count of all * 1.3 Is measur'd by the Sunne, whose rise and fall Makes day, and night, and noone, and midnight too, Spring, Summer, Winter, Autumne, and the two Solsticiums, Equinoctials, and the houres Now naked, and then deck't in gaudy flowers. This Adam to his Grandsons hauing told, With other Arts, and wonders manifold, How all the world both fire and flood should try; They plac'd me here, to tell posterity Such hidden mysteries; And to direct The wiser Soules deep-diuing intellect. About me they haue grau'd seauen liberall Arts, The Sciences, with their diuiner parts, A circle and a Gnomon set aboue With Characters; which as the Sunne doth moue In his ascent, or low declension, tells The certaine houre, degree, and all things else. But for my speech was slow, and cause the Sunne Did often vnder clouds for pleasure runne, Succeeding ages did this C••ocke out finde T'attend on me, and to declare my minde, From me intelligence and rules ro gather * 1.4 To measure night, close stormes, and cloudy weather: And in the Morne, finding his reckoning wrong, By my straight rule, to tune and set his song. But this forgetfull Clocke at randome strikes, Not as I bid, but fondly what it likes: Robs short-liu'de Man of his most precious time, And orderlesse, doth others orders chime. It will not follow me, but wanting wit, VVould haue the Sunne and Me to waite on it.

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* 1.5 This matter so apparant, though I might Wild Weather-Cocke, except against your right To iudge, and thinke you partiall at the least, Since you o're-cloude me when the Sun comes West, And will take part with it, that's in the name, In nature, and in sight, almost the same With you; yet know I'l•• not refuse Thy censure, but high place with honour vse.

Thus did the Dyal end, and then the Clocke Low-louting to the powder Weather-Cocke, Began his pl••a. Thou mighty Soueraigne VVhich doest the vniuer••all ••udge remaine In all those places, where thy pearcing eye Can see, or my shrill voice be he••rd to cry. Behold this impudent, poore, negl••ct••d post How it gainst me, and gainst thy sta•••• doth bost Embasingthy great wo••th, n••gl••cting mine; As if the glorious Sunne did n••uer shine, Nor his sweet influence on vs l••t fall, But that the Dial had ingrost vp all. VVhen all the world knowes thou wer't placed there The sleepy Hind•• vp to his worke to reare, * 1.6 To call the Scholler to his booke, and wake The The••••e which at thy shrill voice gins to shake. Thou art the cheerefull dayes Embassador, In whose praise once these lines composed were.

A crowned King, a compleat Knight, An armed Captaine, fit to fight, A plumed Courtier, fairely clad, A louer that was neuer sad, A Trumpetter•• the house wifes Mate, Who riseth early, sleepeth late,

A Querister, the poore mans Clocke, All this is our great Weather-Cocke.

This sacred Antheme all the world doth sing•• To thee the Suns bird, ••ho doth tidings bring, O•• his approch and rising: as for me I heere was seated, next thee in degree To giue thee ease, to tell the wondring people What thou discouer'st from that lo••tie steeple, The whil'st thou keep'st thy voice from ••ub••les, And art for silence honour'd with large fees. The Dial is my ward, first placed there That Common Persons who presume not neere Thy hallow'd thron••, may haue intelligence And learne from me the close and hidden sence Of all those Characters, and not expound As list themselues, darke riddles, so profound: Nor contradict, nor yet correct by force, According to the Gnomon, my true course; But the false Gnomon rather to correct By my aduice, whose way is still direct. Who knowes not, that the Sun in his round race, Many degr••es is gone from his first place, And like a drunkard reeling to and fro, With giddy steps doth shift his circle so; That where he was euen now, he comes no more, His course is all confusde, behin'ds before? Needs must the Dial then deceiued be, Which trusts a Guide that doth so disagree Within it selfe, and without iudgement shines Alike on all, making of fooles Diuines. And teaching Fishermen to see as farre, As learned Shepheards, without other starre.

Too common in this Guide, to guide aright; Or if he could, where is the Guide for night? I then am present still at euery neede Poore erring man, in ignorant night to leade. Then why should this bold Dial, dare to speake Against my greatnesse, or the orders breake Of custome and consent? since all make choice To feede, fast, pray, or play, led by my voice? And that all bargaines made, all wagers laide, Not by the Dial but the Clocke are paide? Which truth, whilst all the world dare neuer doubt, This Dial seemes to question, and (growne stout) Exc••pts against thy iudgement too, that thus He might be free and seeme to gouerne vs. But since our causes are so neere of kinne, Let that respect some grace and fauour winne With thy high holinesse, that thou maist see To giue iust sentence for your selfe and me.

The weather-Cocke thrice turn'd himselfe about, As taking care to minde the matter out; And thrice return'd, as if he were as free From preiudice, as from integritie. Then thrice hee claps his wings (which courage showes) And thrice aloude his senslesse sentence crowes.

To giue a reason, wherefore, how, and what, When, where, by whom, or fondly this or that, Might argue reference to higher power; But what is he whose place doth equall our? We are the rule of reason, truths cleare law. Heare then with reuerence, and obey with awe. Without more question, argument, or triall, The iudgement I pronounce against the Dial.

The Dial shall be guided by the Clock•• This is the sentence of the weather-Cock. Which when the Cl••ck had heard (puftvp withp••ide) He ginnes the wronged Dial to deride; And sits his tongue at large, too much, too soone; Twelu times he fetch'd his breath, & laugh'd out none.

The Dial then with indignation moued By this inuectiue speech their fault reproued. Poore silly Clock (quoth he) reioyce thy ••ill, Time will reforme thy ignorant zeale with s••ill, Stay thy distempered course, which hurried now, By mad-braind humor, goes it knowes not how. Time that's my pupill, shall thy Tutor be, And teach a diff'rence twixt thy selfe and me; Then thou wilt know thy error, and recant That euer thou wert proud of so much want. But as for thee (thou iudge corrupt and base, Who bindst all knowledge Prentise to thy place) Know this, th' all-seeing Sunne thy folly knowes, And to each vulgar eye thy shaddow showes, That they may plainly see how poore thou at Thy head deform'd, defectiue euery part. And that those high prerogatines of state You challenge proper to your selfe, are late Vpstart intrusions, vsurpations new; Forg'd by the force or flattery of some few. The promise which you boast, to haue the winde Blow where you list, and alte•• when you minde, Is false, and foolish; but 'twas promisde still To blow and guide you right, if that you will. And so it doth, so it doth others too, If they consent, not whether they will or no.

For when they would the point and quarter know Where it doth breath, on me they looke; I show The truth to them and thee, if you looke right, If not, you are misled by your owne sight. But how can'st thou others from error keepe When as thy selfe foulded in error deepe, Shun'st reformation, and wilt neither minde, My graue directions, nor the powerfull wind?

I can remember, long before thou Wert When wise Alcedo stood where as thou art. He calm'd all stormes, and pacified the wind To patient sufferance, bent his humble minde. He to the fisher, and the Seaman gaue Directions, how their storme-tost barke to saue. When by the Lee-shore, when to lanch the Maine, And when to lie at Hull, when to remaine In harbour Anchor-fast, and when to saile With a full winde, and when againe to vaile: How, where and when, to cast their nets, and lay Their hidden hookes, where all the skull do play. Some of each kinde, yet at each corner stand, Who still loue truth; in spite of thy command: Their heads look south, because the wind blows there, Thy taile stands south, thy head the winde doth feare•• Ill might he fare that in Alcedos place, Set thee, who springest from a bloudy rac••. His error, and thy pedigree behold As it in ancient story is inrould.

* 1.7 A trayt'rous Slaue, his Master hauing slaine Did sole Commander of the world remaine. * 1.8 But whilst he slept; a chickin of that Cocke Which Cephas check't when he denyde the rocke,

And forc't him to repent, to sigh, and weep, Did with his voyce the murtherer wake from sleep, And would not suffer him to rest in sin, But he would rouse his conscience still within•• This Murtherer, a Cocke of kinde did get, And him to kill this kinder Cocke did set, Who soone perform'd the taske he tooke in hand: For Chauntecleer would ••uffer, not withstand. He watchfull was and tended his vocation, To stirre vp others to their occupation: He lou'd the pearle more then the barley corne; To crow, and not to quarrell he was borne. So he was slam••, and slaine by one of those From whence thy proud succession strangely rose Who hight Alectrion, and while-ere had bin The Pandor vnto Mars and Venus sin, * 1.9 And then (being Captaine of great Mars his guard), Stood Sentinel, and kept both watch and ward, For feare that Phoebus all discouering eye, Should them vnwares at their stolne pleasure spie. But ouert'ane with sleep, he did not wake Till Vulcans net did both the lechers take; For which the angry God (inrag••d and mad) His sleeping souldier, all in feathers clad, His sword turn'd spurr••s, himselfe a Cocke of kinde, His armes and body changde, but not his minde; That's bloody still, and too far prone to sight Without respect of persons, cause, or right. Els•• would he ne're haue been so mad to kill, A harmeles Cocke, who had no thought of ill.

* 1.10 But him he falsely slew, and hauing ••••aine Did for this murther, of a murtherer gaine Too great preferment, to be set vp heere In t iumph t'ouersee all, farre and neere; To be ador'de with vniuersall praise And triple crownd with Oliue, Oake, and Bayes.

Him thou succeed'st both in thy minde and place, An armed Champion, of that yron race, A Souldier, none of his whose badge thou bear'st; But rather one of his whose crowne thou wear'st; Thy narrow heeles are sharpe, thy tongue is short: To prey, and not to prayer fit t'exhort. Thou wilt not crow to ro••se the world from sleep, But with thy silent charmes, it drunken keepe. * 1.11 When thou most seruant-like thy head dost beare Downe to the ground, then Cockes their crownes ma•• feare. Thou seek'st a fained quarrell then to pick, And wilt with both wings mount, with both heeles strick•• At euery feather come, stab either spur Vp to the hilts; and furiously bestur Thy ready parts, t'attaine thy bloody end, And all the world to thy owne scope to bend. Thou trumpet'st warres and curses ouer all, And ouer-c••owes, but wilt not crow to call Thy selfe and others of thy ranke, and place, * 1.12 From looking on the Earth, to view the f••ce Of the all-searching Sunne, and by his light To measure truly what is wrong and right. The Cock is kil'd that Peter caus de to weepe, Th•• Petrean Pastor now may safely sleep.

••leepe though he hath deni'd his master too; ••or none t••admonish him hath ought to doo. Crauen awake, behold how I deride ••••y mutabilitie, thy sloth, thy pride, ••••ou stand'st where he stood who claim'd all the world, * 1.13 ••••d shalt with him from that steep heigh•• be hurld. ••bout thy head each prating bird that perks, ••a••e take the name and place of learned Clerks, And vn••o royall Eagles offer lawes, ••Vhen each eye sees, they are but iangling dawes. And though all Lyons in the desart feare, And crouch, when they thy crowing voice do heare•• Our Lyon scornes thee, when he heares thee crow; And with his ••oaring voice the world doth show, How poore thou art, how cowardly, how weake, Who shak'st & trēblest when thou hear'st him speak. And yet how proud art thou, t'vsurpe a place Of iudgement ouer me, in this darke case, And to prefer the Clock for want of wit, VVhen I should be the iudge of thee and it?

The Sexton comes, hee'le mend all this anone. VVith that the angry Clocke in rage strooke one. The Sexton came indeed, and one did tell, Look't on the Diall, saw all was not well. For that said twelue, the Clock said one and past. He tooke the weights off, which caus••d too much hast, Suruaide the wheeles, for there the fault might be, And found some cog supply the place of three. Some whe••les were taken off, and borne to Court, To trundle vp and downe, and there make sport. And some with dust, and rust, were duld and foild, And some stood vselesse, so the Clocke was spoild.

Which to reforme, he mends the wheels forthwit•• Files, oyles, and beats them throughly on a stith: Makes weights and wyere fit, then by the Sunne Sets the new course, which it doth truly runne. Then going vp the steeples top he spies The weather-cocke how palpably it lies. For at each Corner the Kings-fishers stood, Full South; and that the Dial prooued good. But the fond Weather-cocke (being w••ather-wise) From the Calme blast turn'd his scornefull eyes. The Sexton tooke him downe, and straight did see An easie way how he might mended be, His head was too too great, with 3. combes crownde Which euer when the wind blew turn'd him round. His taile was too too weake, when euery feather Was bent with storms, and broken with the weather The Sexton cut his crownes, and gaue more saile With them and with the spurs vnto his tayle So humbled now in habite, looke and minde, He waites with due obedience on the winde: Knowes his high place was not to rule, but serue, And means no more from this strict course to swerue••

* 1.14 This tale no mortall needs, it is not darke, But points a worke fit for our learned Clarke Who by the Dyal may reforme the Clocke, And by kings fishers turne the Weather-cocke. We haue the winde to helpe vs and the Sunne, And works are halfe accomplisht when begun. Then who'le begin? who is on our side, who? Where words, winde, writings faile, resolue to Doe.

I had thought this Tale should haue needed no other ••ongue then its owne to bee rightly vnderstood. But because I see it too misty for some apprehensions, whose wills are as desirous as others to know truth, I haue added this by way of illustration to enlighten such as accept well of my good meaning, which is to informe others according to that which I haue recei∣••ed, and to be reformed where I erre my selfe.

1. First the teaching part of the militant Church, which consists of the Clergie, I haue vayled vnder the Cl••cke••. The wheeles are the distinct degrees and of∣fices they en••oy of superioritie, and inferioritie; wherein the Harmonie of the whole consisteth. The weights are the priuiledges, immunities, prerogatiues and donations of seuerall kinds, bestowed vpon the Church in seuerall ages, by good Kings, liberall pro∣fessors and benefactors. The challenge the Clocke seemes to make h••ere to rule the Dyal, resembleth the controuersie the Church of Rome raiseth in the Catholicke Church about the exposition, the restray∣ning or publishing of the Scriptures.

2. The Dyal is the written word, which is of it selfe dead and vnprofitable, without farther illumination. Since none of the Philosophers, nor Salomon himselfe by the me••re strength of Nature, could from thence draw sauing knowledge, without sauing grace. But as the Dyal hath reference to the Sunne; so hath this to the Sonne of righteousnesse. Neither am I without warrant for vsing this bold Allegorie, since the sweet * 1.15Singer of Israel compares the same word to a lanterne, and the spirit to a light, when he saith elegantly, and like a Diuine POET, Thy word is a lanterne vnto my feet, and a light vnto my path.

Now as it is absurd that the Dyal should bee set by the vncertaine gadding of the Clock: So is it more absurd that the Clergy should so iudge of the Scrip∣tures, as to conclude o•• teach any thing by w•••••• pre∣tence soeuer against it, or to vouch vnwritten veri••••es (as some call them) or traditions contradictorie to the written word. But much rather as the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ought to be set by the Dyal; so ought the Church to subiect it selfe to bee directed by the Scriptures. and to prooue and examine it selfe by the same rule whe∣ther it be in the faith or no. And finding i•• sel•••• in the right, it ought by manifest proofes and arg••••ents from thence to shew forth the same faith 〈…〉〈…〉

3. Thirdly, the Weather-cocke who 〈◊〉〈◊〉 himselfe as iudge in this controuersie betweene the Dyal and the Clocke, is that Pope of Rome, who chal∣lengeth the same prerogatiue iure diuino, oue•• the Church and Scriptures. How falsely he doth this, and yet how impudently, is well knowne to all.

For I know not what the Pope hath more to doe with the rule of the Catholique Church, then the Wea∣ther-cocke (because he stands vpon the top of the stee∣ple) hath to doe with the gouernment of the Clock and Dyal. I haue heard and read the reasons vpon which the contrary opinion is grounded, but for my owne part can see no strength in them able to turne any but Weather-cock••. The prioritie of place, the whole Church perhaps would bee content to yeeld him for the generall peace, and to expresse the true humilitie of holy Pastors, who follow the example and doctrine of their master Christ. But for him (that turnes and returnes as vncertainely with euery

blast of humor or occasion, as any Weathercocke at ••e change of the winde) to challenge not onely the ••mmunitie from errors, and the infallibilitie of iudge∣••ent, but also to be Christs Vicar Generall vpon earth, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Peters Successor, the Apostolicall Prince, and Vniuer∣sall Bishop of the whole Church, to haue all power in Heauen and on Earth, and all iurisdiction both tem∣porall and spirituall, impropriated to his Cha••re, and ••nnexed to his place, this seemes strange; and they ••ustly deny it him, who are not giddy with standing ••oo neere him, or troubled with the same vertigo, by ••eason of the height of place, from whence they looke ••pon the rest of the poore afflicted and distressed ••ocke of Christ Iesus. But for this proud challenge ••hey know truly how to style him the great Anti∣christ, and crowne him with this triple Crowne; the Man of sinne, the Whore of Babylon, the Vicar Generall of HELL.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Cambden in his Brit. Alluding to the ages of the ••hurch. 1. The Pri∣n••••tiue, by ••••ason of ou••ward•• persecuti∣on, being obscure. 2. The se∣cond vnder the Spiritu∣••ll persecu∣tion of An∣tichrist, be∣ing fabu∣lous. 3. The third being our Age, where Cō∣trouersies are tried by the cleare Sun-shine of Gods Word, and so certaine and Histo∣••icall. Pol. Virg. Rer. ••nuen. Cap. 14. lib. 1.
• * 1.2

  Motus ••raec••d••t e••pus ••aturali••er, & Tempus consequi∣••u•• mot••m. A••ist. Ph••∣sic. lib. 4. Causatur autem mo∣tus primo & princ••∣pal••ter à circum∣uolutione Coel••. A••ist. Motus est transitus à termino ad termi∣num. Tem¦••us ••st re∣••um mu∣••abilium men••u••••. A••ist.
• * 1.3

  Vigila•• tempus cum dor∣mire vide∣tur: dum∣que vigilat s••mul dor∣mire Idem. que cum si•• stit, volat; & cum vo∣lat, consi∣stit. Vince Chartari∣us. Sunt an∣no••um di∣uersa gene∣ra. 1. Annus Lunaris. 2. Annus Solarus. 3. Annus Magnus.
• * 1.4

  Persecuti∣ons are l••ke clouds and stormes, which be∣night the Gospel•• The Mor∣ning is de∣liueranc•• from e••••o••.
• * 1.5

  and dark∣nesse by the Gos∣pel; which obtaines free pas∣sage, and cleares and reformes the abuses of supersti∣tious times.
• * 1.6

  Pausanias ••cribit Grae cos gallu•••• generatos e••••e, vt A∣pollini sa∣crum; Is e∣nim ca••tu mane ••olis aduentum anuncia•• Vin. Cha••••.
• * 1.7

  ••hocas.
• * 1.8

  Luk. 22. 〈◊〉〈◊〉.
• * 1.9

  Luc••an.
• * 1.10

  Pho••as ha∣••ing slaine Mauritiu•• ga•••• the ti∣tle of vni∣uer••all Bi∣shop to Boni∣face then Bishop of Rome. The Crosse•• Omnia haec tibi d••bo. Math. 4. 9••
• * 1.11

  Servus Seruorum.
• * 1.12

  Culpas hu∣ius redar∣guere prae∣••umit mor∣••••lium nul∣lus••
• * 1.13

  Diabolus st••tit su∣per pinnas Templi. Math. 4. 5.
• * 1.14

  Epimythi∣um. Prin••ipi∣um plus ••st quam di∣midium totius. Ari••t. ••. 5. Pol. 2. King. 9. 32.
• * 1.15

  Psal. ••16. v. 105.