JUPITER

What would our Daughter? 'Tis more then Jupiter Can do to please 'vm, unsatisfied man Has in his ends no end, not hels Abyss Is deeper gulfed then greedy Avarice, Ambition finds no Mountain high enough, For his aspiring Foot to stand upon. One drinks out all his blessings into surfeits, Another throws um out as all were his, And the Gods bound for prodigal supply, What is he lives content in any kind? That long incensed nature is now ready To turn all back into the fruitless Chaos. How can it be, but they have both abused, And would (for their ills) make our Justice guilty? Show them their shames, Minerva: what the young world In her unstable youth did then produce: She should grow graver now, more sage, more wise, Know Concord, and the harmony of goodness: But if her old age strike with harsher notes, We may then think she is too old, and dotes, Strike by white Art, a Theomanticke power, Magic Divine, not the Devils horror, But the delicious Music of the Spheres, The thrice three Worthies summon back to life: There let um see what arts and Arms commixed (For they had both) did in the world's broad face Those that did propagate and beget their fame's, And (for posterity) left lasting names. Were not these presidents for all future ages? The Fates below, The gods arms are not shortened, nor do we shine With fainter influence; who conquers now, Makes it his Tyrants Prize, and not his Honours, Abusing all the blessings of the gods. Learning's and Arts are Theories, no practiques; To understand is all they study too: Men strive to know too much, too little do. I tell thee, glorious Daughter: and you things Shut up in wretchedness, the world knew once His age of happiness; blessed times ownde him, Till those two ugly ills, Deceit, and Pride, Made it a perished substance: Pride brought in Forgetfulness of goodness, Merit, Virtue, And placed ridiculous Officers in life; Vainglory, Fashion, Humour, and such toys That shame to be produced. The frenzy of Apparel, that's run mad, And knows not where to settle Masculine painting; And the five Starches, mocking the five Senses, All in their different and ridiculous colours, Which for their apish and fantastic follies, I summon to make odious, and will fit um With flames of their own colours. These are the youngest Daughters of deceit, With which the precious time of life's beguiled, Fooled, and abused; I'll show you straight their Father, His shapes, his labours, that has vexed the world From age to age, and tossed it from his first and simple state, To the foul Centre where it now abides; Look back but into Times, here shall be shown, How many strange Removes the world has known. Music. Simplicity: he that had first possession; one that stumbled upon the world, and never minded it. Stay, beguiled thing, this time Is many ages discrepant from thine, This was the season when desert was stooped to, By greatness stooped to, and acknowledged greatest; But in thy time now, desert stoops it self To every baseness, and makes Saints of Shadows: Be patient, and observe, how times are wrought, Till it comes down to thine that rewards nought. Now sons of vexation. Envy, and discontent, what blame lay you Upon these times now? Which do's merit most To be condemned, your dulness, or the Age? If now you thrive not, Mercury shall proclaim You're undeservers, and cry down your Fame: Be poor still, Scholar, and thou wretch despised, If in this glorious time thou canst not prosper: Upon whose breast Noble employments fit, By Honours hand, in golden Letters writ: Nay, where the Prince of Nobleness Himself, Proves ou Minerva's valiantest hopefullest Son, And early in his Spring puts Armour on. Unite your worth's, and make of two, one brother, And be each one perfection to the other. Scholar and Soldier must both shut in one, That makes the absolute and complete man: So, now into the World, which if hereafter You ever tax of foul ingrateful crimes, Your dulness I must punish, not the times.