Page:The muses threnodie (Adamson, 1638).djvu/49
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
The third muse
29
And if they please to change their tune or note,
They'le mak mens names on earth to stink and rote.
Who did fixe Hercules amongst the stars?
And Diomedes for his wit in wars
Made equall to the gods? But odious
For vice Thersites vile, and Sisyphus?
These were th'immortall muses, who do sing,
As vice and vertue do their subjects bring,
Therefore this counsell wisedome doth impart you,
Flee filthie vice and intertaine fair vertue.
Yet 'tis not so that everie spirit fell
Whose wicked tongue is set on fire of Hell,
Nor everie Momus, nor Archilochus,
Whose mouths do vomite venome poysonous,
Hath inspiration of the sacred Muses,
Such wickednesse th'Aonian band refuses:
But he who vice most gravely censure can,
And vertues praise advance in any man
With perfect numbers, such one is a Poet,
But in thir dayes, alace, few men do know it,
Like my dear Gall: who gravely did reply
A good Mecaenas lets not Poets die,
Poets make men on gold wing'd fame to flie
When lands with losse; life chang'd with death shall be.
As we thus talk'd our berge did sweetly passe
By Scones fair pallace, sometimes Abbay was:
Strange change indeed, yet is it no new guyse,
Both spirituall lands and more to temporise.
But pallace fair, which doth so richly stand,
Where gardens, orchards, parks on either hand,
They'le mak mens names on earth to stink and rote.
Who did fixe Hercules amongst the stars?
And Diomedes for his wit in wars
Made equall to the gods? But odious
For vice Thersites vile, and Sisyphus?
These were th'immortall muses, who do sing,
As vice and vertue do their subjects bring,
Therefore this counsell wisedome doth impart you,
Flee filthie vice and intertaine fair vertue.
Yet 'tis not so that everie spirit fell
Whose wicked tongue is set on fire of Hell,
Nor everie Momus, nor Archilochus,
Whose mouths do vomite venome poysonous,
Hath inspiration of the sacred Muses,
Such wickednesse th'Aonian band refuses:
But he who vice most gravely censure can,
And vertues praise advance in any man
With perfect numbers, such one is a Poet,
But in thir dayes, alace, few men do know it,
Like my dear Gall: who gravely did reply
A good Mecaenas lets not Poets die,
Poets make men on gold wing'd fame to flie
When lands with losse; life chang'd with death shall be.
As we thus talk'd our berge did sweetly passe
By Scones fair pallace, sometimes Abbay was:
Strange change indeed, yet is it no new guyse,
Both spirituall lands and more to temporise.
But pallace fair, which doth so richly stand,
Where gardens, orchards, parks on either hand,
Where