Our age's wonder; by thy birth the fame
Of Belgia , by thy banishment the shame;
Who to more knowledge younger didst arrive
Than forward Glaucias , yet art still alive.
Whose masters oft (for suddenly you grew
To equal and pass those, and need no new)
To see how soon how far thy wit could reach,
Sat down to wonder when they came to teach.
Oft then would Scaliger contented be
To leave to mend all times to polish thee,
And of that pain's effect did highlier boast
Than had he gain'd all that his fathers lost.
When thy Capella read (which till thy hand
Had clear'd, few grave and learn'd did understand,
Though well thou might'st at such a tender age
Have made ten lessons of the plainest page)
That king of critics stood amaz'd to see
A work so like his own set forth by thee:
Nor with less wonder on that work did look
Than if the bridegroom had begot the book.
To whom thy age and act seem'd to unite
At once the youth of Phaebus and the light:
Thence lov'd thee with a never-dying flame,
As the adopted heir to all his fame;
For which care, wonder, love, thy riper days
Paid him with just and with eternal praise.
Who gain'd more honour from one verse of thine,
Than all the Canes of his princely line:
In that he joy'd, and that oppos'd to all,
To Titius ' spite, to hungry Schoppius ' gall,
To what (with cause disguis'd) Bonarccius writes,
To Delrio's rage, and all his Loyolites
But though to thee each tongue, each art be known,
As all thy time that had employ'd alone;
Though truth do naked to thy sight appear,
And scarce can we doubt more than thou canst clear;
Though thou at once dost different glories join,
A lofty poet and a deep divine;
Canst in the purest phrase clothe solid sense,
Scevola's law in Tully's eloquence;
Though thy employments have excell'd thy pen,
Show'd thee much skill'd in books, but more in men,
And prov'd thou canst, at the same easy rate,
Correct an author and uphold a state;
Though this rare praise do a full truth appear
To Spain and Germany , who more do fear
(Since thou thy aid did'st to that state afford)
The Swedish councils than the Swedish sword:
All this yet of thy worth makes but a part,
And we admire thy head less than thy heart;
Which (when in want) yet was too brave to close
(Though woo'd) with thy ungrateful country's foes;
When their chief ministers strove to entice
And would have bought thee at whatever price.
Since all our praise and wonder is too small
For each of these, what shall we give for all?
All that we can, we do: a pen divine,
And differing only in the tongue from thine,
Doth thy choice labours with success rehearse,
And to another world transplants thy verse,
At the same height to which before they rose,
When they forc'd wonder from unwilling foes.
Now Thames with Ganges may thy labours praise,
Which there breed faith, and here devotion raise.
Though your acquaintance all of worth pursue,
And count it honour to be known to you,
I dare affirm your catalogue does grace
No one who better doth deserve a place;
None hath a larger heart, a fuller head,
For he hath seen as much as you have read.
The nearer countries pass'd, his steps have press'd
The new-found world, and trod the sacred East,
Where, his brows' due, the lofty palms do rise,
Where the proud Pyramids invade the skies;
And, as all think who his rare friendship own,
Deserves no less a journey to be known.
Ulysses , if we trust the Grecian song,
Travell'd not far, but was a prisoner long,
To that by tempest forc'd; nor did his voice
Relate his fate: his travels were his choice,
And all those numerous realms, return'd again,
Anew he travell'd over with his pen,
And, Homer to himself, doth entertain
With truths more useful than his muse could fain.
Next Ovid's Transformations he translates
With so rare art, that those which he relates
Yield to this transmutation, and the change
Of men to birds and trees appears not strange.
Next the Poetic parts of Scripture on
His loom he weaves, and Job and Solomon
His pen restores with all that heav'nly quire,
And shakes the dust from David's solemn lyre:
For which from all with just consent he wan
The title of the English Buchanan .
Now to you both, great pair, indebted thus,
And like to be, be pleas'd to succour us
With some instructions, that it may be said,
Though nothing cross'd, we would that all were paid.
Let us, at least, be honest bankrouts thought,
For now we are so far from off'ring aught
Which from our mighty debt some part might take,
Alas! we cannot tell what wish to make:
For though you boast not of the wealth of Ind ,
And though no diadems your temples bind,
No pow'r or riches equals your renown,
And they which wear such wreaths need not a crown.
Souls which your high and sacred raptures know,
Nor by sin humbled to our thoughts below,
Who, whilst of Heav'n the glories they recite,
Find it within, and feel the joys they write,
Above the reach or stroke of fortune live,
Not valuing what she can inflict or give;
For low desires depress the loftiest state,
But who looks down on vice looks down on fate.
Of Belgia , by thy banishment the shame;
Who to more knowledge younger didst arrive
Than forward Glaucias , yet art still alive.
Whose masters oft (for suddenly you grew
To equal and pass those, and need no new)
To see how soon how far thy wit could reach,
Sat down to wonder when they came to teach.
Oft then would Scaliger contented be
To leave to mend all times to polish thee,
And of that pain's effect did highlier boast
Than had he gain'd all that his fathers lost.
When thy Capella read (which till thy hand
Had clear'd, few grave and learn'd did understand,
Though well thou might'st at such a tender age
Have made ten lessons of the plainest page)
That king of critics stood amaz'd to see
A work so like his own set forth by thee:
Nor with less wonder on that work did look
Than if the bridegroom had begot the book.
To whom thy age and act seem'd to unite
At once the youth of Phaebus and the light:
Thence lov'd thee with a never-dying flame,
As the adopted heir to all his fame;
For which care, wonder, love, thy riper days
Paid him with just and with eternal praise.
Who gain'd more honour from one verse of thine,
Than all the Canes of his princely line:
In that he joy'd, and that oppos'd to all,
To Titius ' spite, to hungry Schoppius ' gall,
To what (with cause disguis'd) Bonarccius writes,
To Delrio's rage, and all his Loyolites
But though to thee each tongue, each art be known,
As all thy time that had employ'd alone;
Though truth do naked to thy sight appear,
And scarce can we doubt more than thou canst clear;
Though thou at once dost different glories join,
A lofty poet and a deep divine;
Canst in the purest phrase clothe solid sense,
Scevola's law in Tully's eloquence;
Though thy employments have excell'd thy pen,
Show'd thee much skill'd in books, but more in men,
And prov'd thou canst, at the same easy rate,
Correct an author and uphold a state;
Though this rare praise do a full truth appear
To Spain and Germany , who more do fear
(Since thou thy aid did'st to that state afford)
The Swedish councils than the Swedish sword:
All this yet of thy worth makes but a part,
And we admire thy head less than thy heart;
Which (when in want) yet was too brave to close
(Though woo'd) with thy ungrateful country's foes;
When their chief ministers strove to entice
And would have bought thee at whatever price.
Since all our praise and wonder is too small
For each of these, what shall we give for all?
All that we can, we do: a pen divine,
And differing only in the tongue from thine,
Doth thy choice labours with success rehearse,
And to another world transplants thy verse,
At the same height to which before they rose,
When they forc'd wonder from unwilling foes.
Now Thames with Ganges may thy labours praise,
Which there breed faith, and here devotion raise.
Though your acquaintance all of worth pursue,
And count it honour to be known to you,
I dare affirm your catalogue does grace
No one who better doth deserve a place;
None hath a larger heart, a fuller head,
For he hath seen as much as you have read.
The nearer countries pass'd, his steps have press'd
The new-found world, and trod the sacred East,
Where, his brows' due, the lofty palms do rise,
Where the proud Pyramids invade the skies;
And, as all think who his rare friendship own,
Deserves no less a journey to be known.
Ulysses , if we trust the Grecian song,
Travell'd not far, but was a prisoner long,
To that by tempest forc'd; nor did his voice
Relate his fate: his travels were his choice,
And all those numerous realms, return'd again,
Anew he travell'd over with his pen,
And, Homer to himself, doth entertain
With truths more useful than his muse could fain.
Next Ovid's Transformations he translates
With so rare art, that those which he relates
Yield to this transmutation, and the change
Of men to birds and trees appears not strange.
Next the Poetic parts of Scripture on
His loom he weaves, and Job and Solomon
His pen restores with all that heav'nly quire,
And shakes the dust from David's solemn lyre:
For which from all with just consent he wan
The title of the English Buchanan .
Now to you both, great pair, indebted thus,
And like to be, be pleas'd to succour us
With some instructions, that it may be said,
Though nothing cross'd, we would that all were paid.
Let us, at least, be honest bankrouts thought,
For now we are so far from off'ring aught
Which from our mighty debt some part might take,
Alas! we cannot tell what wish to make:
For though you boast not of the wealth of Ind ,
And though no diadems your temples bind,
No pow'r or riches equals your renown,
And they which wear such wreaths need not a crown.
Souls which your high and sacred raptures know,
Nor by sin humbled to our thoughts below,
Who, whilst of Heav'n the glories they recite,
Find it within, and feel the joys they write,
Above the reach or stroke of fortune live,
Not valuing what she can inflict or give;
For low desires depress the loftiest state,
But who looks down on vice looks down on fate.