Classic Poem

I have been studying, what bold hardie foole
Invented fishers art, that tir'd with safety,
Would needs go play with waves, winds, death and hell;
The summe of fishers life is quickly found,
To sweate, freeze, watch, fast, toyle, be starvd or drownd.
Well had my Mistris found no better trade,
I would ere this have left these dabling deities,
But she while other fishers fish on the seas,
Sends me a fishing on the Land for flesh:
No game arrives amisse unto her net,
For shees not borne among the cliffs and rockes,
But from Messena comes to sport herselfe
And fish for fooles along these craggie shores;
I tooke her for a Nymph, but shees a woman,
A very woman, loveth all she sees,
This for his sprightly wit, and that for Musicke,
Him cause hee's faire, another for his blacknesse,
Some for their bashfulnes, more for their boldnesse,
The wiseman for his silence, the foole for his bibble babble;
And now she longs in haste for another fat cods-head,
A good fat so[p], and I must snare one for her.
She has (let me see I have the tallie)
Some hundred lovers, yet still desires another:
The first that passeth all the rest in love
Is called Pas : Hah know you your cue so well?

He is a malum collum , alas poore foole;
He would engrosse my Mistris to himselfe;
He would have her all alone, let her alone for that;
And for that it will not be, he raves and sweares
And chides and fights, but what neede I describe him?
Hee'l doe't himselfe, come, [come,] begin, begin.

Pas. Who sowes the se[a], or plowes the easy shore?
Yet I, fond I, more fond, and sencelesse more:
Who strives in nets to prison in the winde?
Yet I in love a woman thought to bind:
Fond, too fond thoughts, that thought in love to tie
One more inconstant then inconstancy:
Looke as it is with some true Aprill day,
The sunne his glorious beames doth fayre display,
And straight a clowd breakes into fluent showres,
Then shines and raines, and cleares and straight it lowres:
And twenty changinges in one houre do prove,
So, and more changing is a womans love.
Fond then my thoughts, that thought a thing so vaine,
Fond love, to love what could not love againe.
Fond hopes, that anchor on so false a ground,
Fond thoughts that fir'd with love, in hope thus drownd:
Fond thoughts, fond hope, fond heart, but fondest I,
To graspe the winde, and love inconstancy.
Ah Cosma, Cosma .

Con. Ah Pas , asse, passing asse; hah, ha, he:
Fond thoughts, fond hope, fond heart, but fondest I,
To graspe the winde, and love inconstancy; ha, ha, he,
This foole would have I know not what, the sea
To stand still like a pond, the Moone never to change,
A woman true to one, hee knowes not what:
She that to one all her affections brings
Cages herselfe and pinions Cupids wings.
Let's see whose the second; O the second
Is an old dotard who though now foure-score,
Yet nature having [left some] few hot embers
Rack't up in cold ashes, thinkes himselfe
All fire and flame, and therefore like the dwarfes
Who, though neere so old, yet still consort with boyes,
So he among the freshest youth[s] in dancing,
In songs and sporting, spends his fadish time.
When snow on's head, show[r]es in his eye,
With winter lookes gives summer words the lye.
His name is Fredocaldo ; he knowes his name,
No sooner cald but com[e]! what i[s't] he reads?
Upon my life some sonnet, Ile stand and heare.

Fre. I[F] I am silver white, so is thy cheeke,
Yet who for whitenes will condemne it?
If wrinkled, of[t] thy forehead is not sleeke,
Yet who for frowning dare contemne it?
Boys full of folly, youth of rage,
Both but a journey to old age.
I am not yet fayre Nymph to old to love,
And yet woemen love old lovers:
Nor yet to wa[ver]ing light, as false to prove,
Youth a foule inside fairely covers.
Yet when my light is in the waine
Thy sunnes renew my spring againe.

Pretty very pretty, why yet I see
My braine is still as fresh as in my youth.
And quicke invention springs as currantly
As in the greenest head: this little disticke
I made this morne, to send unto my love.
See, here's a legge how full, how little waining,
My [nimble] limbs are still accompanied
With their kind fellow heate, no shaking palsie
Nor cramp has tane possession, my swift bloud streames
Runs quicke and speedie, through their burning channells.
Pish I am young, he is not antient
That hath a silver badge of hoarie haires
But he that in sweete love is dead and cold:
So old men oft are young, and young men old.
I'le take my farewell of this prettie verse,
It is a [very] prettie verse, I'le reade it againe:
If I am silver white and — O ho my spectacles.
Ah naughtie boy, alas my spectacles.
Con. Ha ha he, your eyes Fredocaldo take up your eyes, hah, ha, he.
Fre. Ah naughtie boy, alas my spectacles.
Whether is he gone? O if I finde him.
Con. Find mee without eyes? hah, ha, he.
Fre. O my verses my verses.
Con. A verie prettie verse: how fresh a braine that made it.
If I am silver white and —
Nay if you'l trie your [nimble] limbs come on.

Farewell frost: how? Perindus : oh how fitly
After warme winter comes a chill could summer.
This youth in all things is that old mans contrarie,
This a cold May , that a hot Januarie:
All my [Mrs] art cannot blowe up one sparkle;
If I should stay hee'd blast mee, adue sol in Pis[c]es ,
Farewell good Caldofredo , I must after Fredocaldo .

Per. Bles't is that fisher swane that sancke i'th flood
Hee's food for them whom he would make his food.
But I most wretched, who so many yeares
Liv['d] safe in waters to be drownd in feares.
In f[ea]re and sorrow like Titius is my life
A coverd table furnisht still for griefe.
Hell love your paines, for all poore soules can prove
Is felt and spoke but thus c[u]relesse I love.

Alcip. Phaebus write thou this glorious victory
And grave it on thy shining axel-tree
That all may see a fisher hath done more
Then any age hereafter or before.
Per. Alcippus what newes? me thinks I plaine descry
Joy mixt with wonder in thy doubtfull eye.
Alcip. Perindus most happy have I found thee here.
Per. I[s']t good? ah tell me, yet my grounded feare
Pleads hope impossible.
Alcip. Were you away
To the Ecco I had told it, as griefe, so joy
Prest downe is burthensome, for now I see
Joy is no joy if bard from company.
Olinda by the Priests enchained-fast
Unto the fatall rocke downe to the wast
Was naked left, which thus was better dreast:
Beauty when most uncloth'd is clothed best:
And now the Priest all rites had finished
And those last words and hidden verses sayd:
Then thus he loud proclaimes, who dare adventure
Against this monstrous beast, now let him enter
And if he conquer by his bold endeavour
This goodly maid shall bee his prize forever
Straight was the monster loos'd, whose ugly sight
Strooke every trembling heart with cold affright
Some sweate, some freeze, some shreike, some silent weare,
The eye durst neyther winke nor see for feare:
Heaven hid his light, the fearefull sunne did shrowd
His glorious eye under a jetty cloud.
Per. Saw'st thou the Orke?
Alcip. Yes, and my panting heart
To thinke I saw it in my brest doth start.
Per. Can'st thou describe it?
Alcip. Never tongue can tell
What to it selfe no thought can pourtray well.
More bigge then monstrous Python , whom men faine
By Phaebus first was bred, by Phaebus slaine.
His teeth thicke rankt in many a double band
Like to an armed battell ready stand;
His eyes sunke in's head, more fearefull stood
Like bloodie flame or like to flaming blood;
Not any eare upon his head appeares,
No plaint nor prayer, no threat nor charme he [h]eares,
In sea and land he lives and takes from both
Each monsters part which most we feare and loath;
Soone as he felt him loose, he shakes his crest
And hungry posteth to his ready feast,
And as through seas his oares a passage teare
The thronging waves fly fast, and roare for feare.
Per. Me thinks I see him and th' unhappy lover
Strook through with fright.
Alcip. In all their shreiks he smiles,
Stretching his armes, to fight himselfe composes,
And nothing fear'd his body enterposes:
Shaking a dart the monster he defies
Who scorning such a foe to's banquet flyes:
But he with certaine aime his Javelin drives
Which as the sender bad at's eye arrives;
And fixt in's hollow sight, deepe drenched stood
Quenching the bloody fire with fiery blood.
The wounded monster lowdly gins to yell,
If Hell doe speake such is the voyce of Hell,
And to revenge his hurt he flies apace.
The other dart met him i'th' middle race,
And as along he blindly fast doth post
His way and t[o]ther eye together lost:
Thus blinde he quickly dies, and being dead
Leaves to his foe his spoiles, his pawes, his head.
Per. Hercules thy twelve works with this one conferd
This one before thy twelve might be preferd.
Alcip. Perindus then mightst thou have seene how love
Is not more bold then fearefull, he that strove
And conquered such a monster with a dart
To her faire eyes yeelds up his [conquered] heart:
Ah hadst thou seene how fearefull modestie
Joynd with chast love did chide the hungry eye
Which having long abstaind and long time fasted
Some of those dainties now would faine have tasted.
Ah ha[d]st thou seene wh[en] such fit time he got
How love to much remembring love forgot;
How th' eye which such a monster did outface
Durst not looke up upon her eie to gaze;
How th' hand which such a bould fight undertooke
When her it toucht as with a palsie shooke.
As all that saw it thou wouldst soone have sayd
That never liv'd so fortunate a maid.
Most happy such a danger to recover
More happy farre by having such a lover.
And harke the Fishers home the victor bringing
Chant lowd his conquest, his due praises singing.

Song.

Olinda if thou yeeld not now
The Orke lesse monstrous was then thou;
No monster to the eye more hatefull
Then beauty to desert ungratefull.
Yeeld then thy heart and hand
And sing along this sand
Love rule heaven, sea, and land.

Per. Atyches how farest thou? O let these armes inlace thee
Methinks I hold halfe heaven when I imbrace thee.
Atych. Will Perindus goe with us to the temple?
Per. Most willingly and when thou once art there
Then 'tis a temple I may justly sweare.

Scr. Yet more larboord! hol[d] up against that wave! now starboord!
Can. I thinke we are upon the shallow.
Scr. Hold in Cancrone , I smell the shore.
Can. Nay by your leave 'twas I that smelt it, for I am sure my nose kist it.
Scr. Take hold of the stretcher, and then fasten the rope.
Can. A rope stretch all such bottle-head botemen, had it been my lot to have bene Master at sea as 'tis yours, wee had neere taken such a journey in such a fly-boate, such a sowseare, such an egge-shell.
Scro. Come helpe to lave her.
Can. Its a true shee bo[a]te I warrant, shee leakes brackish all the yeare long.
Scr. Will you come Sir? you are yet in my jurisdiction on the water.
Can. Will you scale the fish sir, will you bring forth the nets sir, will you spread them upon the rocks sir? you are at my demand Sir upon the land, wee'l be knowne in our place: is that your laving?
Scro. Ah ha this is something fresher then Neptuns salt potion, seest not what a pickle I am in? but O those Scyllaes bandogs! [how] our boate bepist her selfe for feare.
Can. I and thou thy selfe for companie; faith wee were almost in Thetis powdring tub, but now Scrocca lets off with our liquor: Sirrah [heer's] halfe [this to] blew-beard Neptune , but he gets not one drop on't.
Scr. I and withall remember the roaring boy Boreas : hold: you beare your poope too high Cancrone , y'ad neede goe pumpe.
Can. So mee thinks my braine is somewhat warmer now my wi[t]t gear's on.
Let Neptune rage and roare and fome
For now Cancrone's safe at home.
Scr. How now Cancrone ! what? poefied?
Can. Why Scrocca is it such a matter for a waterman to be a poet now a daies?
Scro. I but I wonder that in all thy Poems thou never madst an Epitaph for thy grandsire that was eaten up by the Cyclops.
Can. Ah Scrocca I prethee doe not ming my grand-sire, thou'lt spoile my poetry presently; those hungry side slops; they eate him up crust and crum, and then kild him too and that which grieues me most: hee never sent mee word who it was that bit of's head, yet fayth, one draught more and have at him.
Scr. Nay if one draught will serve, he shall never starve for an Epitaph.
Can. So: it's comming I have it Scrocca .
Here lies Cancrones grandsire, who sans boate,
Sa[ns] winde, sans seas saild downe the Cyclops throate.
Scr. Here lies? Why will you grave an Epitaph on the Cyclops belly? I'me sure hee lies yonder.
Can. Masse thou sayst true, but all our late writers begin so.
Scr. Well sir will you walke home and warme your poeticall vaine at the kitchin fire?
Can. Yes I care not if I doe, for I shall nere be well till I have got the chimney corner over my head.
Farewell ye rockes and seas, I thinke yee'l shew it
That Sicelie affords a water-Poet.
Hah, ha, he; I have laught my selfe weary: i[s']t possible
That fire and frost should thus keepe house together?
Sure age did much mistake him, when it set
His snowie badge on his blew riveld chin.
Were not his faces furrowes fild with snow,
His hams unstrung, his head so straightly bound,
His eyes so rainy, and his skinne so drie,
He were a pretty youth.
Con. What old acquaintance? lie by Mistris a little; I'le fish a while, I may chaunce to catch a Cods-head; Ile stand and heare them.
S[c]r. Did not I tell you we were wrong sir?
Can. Me thought, we were at land vile soone.
S[c]r. I prethee on which hand was the cape of Peloro, when wee left Syllaes bandogs?
Can. That did belong to thy water office to marke, but sure it stood straight before a little o'th' on[e] side, right upon the left and then it left the right, and turned west by East, and then stood still North, North, by South.
Con. Well bould woodcocke without a bias.
Scr. Come looke about you to your land office. I'le hold a ped of oysters the rocke stands on yonder side; looke this way: I prethee is not this Circe's rocke?
Can. I like thy reasons wondrous well: it is her rocke and her distaffe too.
Con. I'le spine some thred out of this distaffe.
Scr. Then I sweare by Circes jugling box wee [are] come in o' th' wrong side.
Can. Looke into my poll, canst thou not perceive by the colour of my braines that I have unlac't her knavery? thou knowst Circ[e] is a plaguie witch.
Scr. I, she did translate a good father of mine into an hogge.
Can. She with her whisking white wand, has given this rocke a box o the eare, & set it [on] the other side of the country.
Scr. I care not where Circ[e] dwells, but I am sure we dwell on this side, and wee have pusht in the cleane contrary way, and wat you what, wee have leapt through Hell-mouth: O strange how —
Can. O the Orke the huge huntie, puntie.
Scr. Up Cancrone I tell thee wee have scap't him.
Can. I tell thee Scrocca wee have not scap't him, he has eate us up.
Con. These fishers are new returnd from fishing, and know not that Atyches has slaine the Orke, I'le Orke them.
Can. Ah Scrocca I would this Orke were in Neptunes bellie, that will suffer such a worme to live in his dominions, I am a very macherell if the very name be not worse to mee then three nights cold fishing.
S[c]r. Mee thinks I am colder too then I was before.
Con. Let mee strike then before the iron be key cold. What hardie fishers dare approch this shore
Untrod by men this twenty years and more?
Can. Good now Conchylia doe not [tell] the [ O ] rke .
Scr. Wee did [not] eate the golden apples; wee.
Con. What old Cancrone ? I am sorrie for your chance. The best that I advise you is that you returne round about the Cape presently before the O[r]ke smell you (if he were within twelve score he might wind them, foh.)
Can. Nay I shall be devourd.
Con. Plucke out a good heart man.
Can. If I could doe so I might save the Orke a labour; that will be done to my hand; I know I shall be devourd.
Con. Why man?
Can. Why my grandsire was deflourd, and they say deflouring goes in a blood.
Con. If I ridde you both of this feare will you worship mee?
Can. O worshipfull water-wight.
Scr. O Neptunes father.
Can. O Glaucus Mother.
Con. Why then thus; my deities oracle gives you answer thus:
When 2 famous fishers fall upon this sand
Let them for feare of mightie Orke, leave seas, saile home by land.
I have not pincht them for measure, I have given them Oracle up to the elbowes.
Can. Saile, ther's your office Scrocca , you must goe.
Scr. By land, there's your office, goe you.
Con. What, can you not expound?
Dragge up your bote and home-ward crosse this shore.
Can. Wee are all made; I understood you sir, but I did not know your meaning.
Scr. Pull you the bote at nose, i'le lift at the arse.
Can. Manners Jacke this is a land voyage, I am master.
Con. Hoh; roh; droh; Horka, Corca, Suga ponto ; the monster coms, downe under the boate, turne it over: Ile helpe. Retire thou sacred monster (creepe on). These sweet soules are no food for thee (on on): 'tis time these soules were spent, they begin to stink; retire thou great god Neptunes scourg.
Retire I say while this twinne tortoise passes
And dare not once to touch these fish flesh asses.
Hah, ha, he, farewell good tortoise, what good foutch? Haddocke Flare and Cod? you shall walke with me, Ile be your Orke: yet ile carry the Cod to my mistris Cosma , I know she loves it well: let Conchilio be turn'd into an Oyster if hee would not play the Orke every day for such sport, it shall go hard but ile [meete] with my friend Cancrone yet once againe.

CHORUS.

Happy happie Fishers swaine [ s ]
If that yee knew your happines;
Your sport tasts sweeter by your paines,
Sure hope your labour relishes;
Your net your living, when you eate
Labour finds appetite and meat.

When the seas and tempest roare
You eyther sleepe or pipe or play,
And dance along the golden shore:
Thus you spend the night and day;
Shrill windes a pipe, hoarse seas a taber
To fit your sports or ease your labour.

First ah first the holy Muse
Rap't my soules most happy eyes,
Who in those holy groves doe use
And learne those sacred misteries,
The yeares and months, old age and birth,
The palsies of the trembling earth.

The flowing of the sea and Moone
And ebbe of bath, and how the tides
Sinke in themselves and backward run.
How palled Cynthia closely slides,
Stealing her brother from our sight,
So robs herselfe and him of light.

But if cold natures frozen parts,
My dull slow heart and cloudie braine,
Cannot reach those heavenly [ar]ts,
Next happie is the fishers paine
Whose lo[w] roofes peace doe safely hide
And shut out fortune, want and pride.

There shall I quiet fearelesse raigne,
My boyes my subjects taught submission,
[A b]o[a]t my court, my sonnes my traine,
Nets my purvaiors of provision,
The steere my septer, pipe musition,
Labour my Phisicke, no Phisitian.

So shall I laugh the angry seas and skie:
Thus singing may I live, and singing die.