JACOMO

Happy be your arrival, Noble friends; You are the first, that Like to Doves repair To my new building; you are my firstborn guests, My eldest sons of hospitality; Here's to my hearty welcomes. 'Tis finished, and the cost stands on no score, None can for want of payment, at my door, Curse my foundation, praying the roof may fallen On the proud builders head, seeing the smoke go Out of those Chimneys, for whose bricks I owe. Pray call it not so: The humble shrub, no Cedar here shall grow; You see Three hundred Doric pillars stand About one square, Three hundred Noble friends Laid (in their loves) at raising of those Columns, A piece of gold under each Pedestal, With his name graved upon the bottom stone, Except that cost, all other was mine own; See here, each days expenses are so great, They make a volume, for in this appears, It was no task of weeks, or months, but years: I trust my steward only with the key, Which keeps that secret; here's Arithmetic For churls to cast up, there's nhe root of all; If you have skill in numbers, number that. To what? Thou vain vainglorious fool, go burn that Book, No Herald needs to blazon Charities Arms; Go burn it presently. Away, I launch not forth a ship, with drums and guns, And Trumpets, to proclaim my gallantry; He that will read the wasting of my gold, Shall find it writ in ashes, which the wind Will scatter ere he spends it; Another day, The wheel may turn, and I that built thus high, May by the storms of want, be driven to dwell In a thatched Cottage; Rancour shall not then Spit poison at me, pinning on my back This carded; He that spent thus much, now does lack. My gates fill up the number of seven days, At which, of guests, seven several sorts I'll welcome: On Monday, Knights whose Fortune's are sunk low; On Tuesday, those that all their life-long read The huge voluminous wonders of the deep, Seamen (I mean) and so on other days, Others shall take their turns. For the years twelve moons; In each of which, twelve Tables shall be spread; At them, such whom the world scorns, shall be fed, The windows of my building, which each morn, Are Porters, to let in men comfort (light) Are numbered just three hundred sixty five, And in so many days the sun does drive His chariot stuck with beams of Burnished gold, My Alms shall such diurnal progress make As doe's the sun in his bright- Zodiac. Such Lords eat men, but men shall eat up me, My uncle the Lord Abbot had a soul Subtle and quick, and searching as the fire, By Magic-stayers he went as deep as hell, And if in devils possession gold be kept, He brought some sure from thence, it's hid in caves Known (save to me) to none, and Like a spring The more it's drawn, the more it still does rise, The more my heap wastes, more it multiplies. Now whither (as most rich-men do) he pawned His soul for that deer purchase none can tell, But by his bedside when he saw death stand Fetching a deep groan, me he catch't-by'th hand Called me his heir, and charged me well to spend What he had God ill, deal (quoth he) a dole which round (with good men's prayers) may guard my soul Now at her setting forth: let none feel want That knock but at thy gates: do wrong to none, And what request to thee so ear is made, If honest, see it never be denayed. Fair & upright, As are the strict vows of and Anchorite: A benefit given by a Niggards hand Is and gravily bred, the hunger-sterv'd Takes it, but cannot eat it; I'll give none such. Who with free heart shakes out but crumbs, gives much. A wife? when I shall have one hand in heaven, To write my happiness in leaves of stars; A wife wo'd pluck me by the other down: This Bark hath thus long sailed about the world, My soul the Pilot, and yet never listened To such a Mare-maids song: a wife, o fetters, To men blessed liberty! All this world's a prison, Heaven the high wall about it, sin the jalour, But the iron-shackles weighing down our heals, Are only women, those light Angels turn us, To fleshly devils, I that Sex admire, But never will fit near their wanton fire. My heirs shall be poor children fed on alms, Soldiers that want limbs, scholars poor and scorned. And these will be a sure inheritance; Not to decay: Manors and Towns will fallen, Lordships and Parks, Pastures and woods be sold; But this Land still continues to the Lord: No subtle tricks of law, can me beguile of this. But of the beggars-dish, I shall drink healths To last for ever; whilst I live, my roof Shall cover naked wretches; when I die, It's dedicated to St. Charity. Pray return my duty to the Duke, tell him I valve his love beyond all jewels in the world. He shall be welcome when he comes, that's all; Not to a Palace, but my hospital. My best thoughts go with you: My Steward? Is the Book fired? Keep safe that Jewel, and leave me; letters! from whom? O sir, I know the business: yes, yes, it's the same; Cuidanes lives amongst my bosom friends: He writes to have me entertain you sir. What Qualities are you furnished with? Have you any skill in song, or Instrument? Barber! no sir, I think it; Are you a Linguist? What skill ha'you in horsemanship? Can you write and read then? I see you are a dealer, give me thy hand, I'll entertain thee howsoever, because in thee I keep half a score Gentlemen; thy name. I entertain thee, good Buzardo. This fellow's a stark fool, or too wise, The trial will be with what wing he flies. What sounds this trumpet for? To feast whom this day are my tables spread? Cheer them with hearty welcomes in my name, Attend them as great Lords, let no man dare, To send'em sad hence, bounty shall be placed At the boards upper end; For Mariners Are clocks of danger that do never stand still, Their dialls-hand ere points to'th stroke of death, And (albeit seldom windless) lose their breath; I love'em, for they eat the dearest bred, That life can buy, when the elements make wars; Water and air, they are said by their good stars. And for the galleyslaves, make much of those, love that man Who suffers only for being christian; What suitors wait? Show me some proof of this. What wodst have me do? Steward deliver him a 100. l. Nay kneel not Sir, but hear me. Faces are speaking pictures, thine a book, Which if the leaf be truly printed shows A page of close dissembling. But say thou art such, yet the money's thine, Which I to Charity give, not to her shrine; If thou cheatest me, thou art cheated? how? th'hast God (Being licorish) ratsbane from a galley-pot, Taking it for sugar; thou art now my debtor, I am not hurt, nor thou I fear, much better; farewell. What noise is that? My friend, what is he? Suppose all this, what hurt hath he done thee? Unheard of villain! Broker, is this true? Soldier, what is't thou now cravest at my hands? How? Broaker, my soul foresaw goods thus ill God, Would as ill thrive, you asked a hundred pound, It's yours; but crafty Broaker, you played the knave To beg, not needing. This man now must have His request too, it's honest, fair, and just, Take hence that varlet therefore, and on his shins, In ready payment, give him and hundred blows. I will not ravill out time; Broaker, I offer you A hundred for a hundred. A hundred pound, or else a hundred blows, Give him that money, he shall release you those. What next? What party sir? If honest, speak, I love no whisperer. In a Longbow? how far shoots he? Umph; what spy you in my face, that I shoed buy Your drugs and drenches? bears not my cheek a colour As fresh as any old men? do my bones Ache with youth's ryotts? or my blood boil hight With seavers? or is't num'd with dropsies, cold Coughs, Rheums, Catarrhs, Gowts, Apoplexy fits? The common soars of age, on me never ran, Nor Galenist, nor Paracelsian, Shall ere read Physical Lecture upon me. I honour their profession, What the Creator does, they in partly do, For a Phisician's a man-maker too,—but honest friend, My kitchen is my Doctor, and my Garden, Trusty Apothecary; when they give me pills, So gently work they, I'm not choked with bills, Which aream stronger purge then the disease. Sir, I believe you, bills nor pills I'll take; (down. I stand on sickness shore, and see men tossed From one disease to another, at last lost; But to such seas of surfetts, where they're drowned, I never venturing, am ever found. It's their own fault, if they fear springs or falls, Wineglasses filled too fast, make urynalls; Man was at first born found, and he grows ill Seldom by course of nature, but by will— Distempers are not ours, there should be then (Were we our selves) no Physic, men to men Are both diseases cause, and the disease, I'm free from (thanks good fate) either of these. Him a Purge, why? My health is bought and sold sir then by you, A Doctor baits you next, whose mesh of potions Striking me full of ulcers, a gibberish Surgeon, For 50. Crowns more, comes to draw my will, For money, slaves their Sovereigns thus kill; Nay, nay, so God, so keep it; for his Fifty, Give him a 100. Crowns, because his will Aimed at my health I know, and not at ill: Fare you well sir. What fellow sir? So. You did. What money had he upon this Jewel of you? Else you had bought it, And been the thieves receiver, y'ar a varlet, Go to, a saucy knave; if I want money; And send my servants servant (cause the world Shall not take notice of it) to pawn, or fell Jewels, or Plate, though I lose half in half, Must you sir, play the Marshal, and commit him, As if he were a rogue; go and release him, Send him home presently, and pay his fees, do you see sir. Least by the Innocent fellow, I lay you fast byth' heals, do this you're best; You may be gone. Hark you, the Duke of Florence sent me once A Jewel, have ye'it? For you laid it up. Are you sure you have it? Why change you colour? Know you this? do you know Your man, you sent to fell it? You belike Thought in my memory it had been dead, And so your honesty too came buried, It's well, out of mine eye; what wo'd you with me? Your birth? Name them, they shall be forced to thy relief. To steal compassion from them Like a thief, Good my Lord pardon me, under your noble wing, I had rather fit, then on the highest tree sing, That shadows their gay buildings. Young man I do commend thee, where's my steward? Give me thy hand, I entertain thee mine, Make perfect your accounts, and see the books delivered To this Gentleman. Thou art a villain, so to term the man, Whom I to liking take; Sir I discharge you; I regard no men outside, it's the linings Which I take care for, Cast not thy scorn upon him, prove thou but just, I'll raise the Cedars spring out first from dust. That's more then the whole debt comes to, Never saw I tables crowned with braver store; I know no man that spends my nor gives more, And yet a fu l sea still: why yonder fellow, The brave more k-prodigall has spent all indeed, He that made beggars proud, begs now himself for needs. But who relieves him now? none, for I know He that in riotous feasting, wastes his store, Is Like a fair tree which in summer boar Boughs laden till they cracked, with leaves and fruit; Whose plenty lasting, all men came unto it; And plucked and filled their laps and carry away; But when the boughs grow bore, and leaves decay: And the great tree stands sapless, withered dry, Then each one casts on it a scornful eye, And grieves to see it stand, nay do not grieve, Albeit the Axe down to the root it cleave; The fallen of such a tree, will I beware, I know both when to spend, and when to spare. What makes thee sorry? All that he had is burned.