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A04841
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An halfe-penny-worth of vvit, in a penny-worth of paper. Or, The hermites tale
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King, Humphrey.
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1613
(1613)
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STC 14973; ESTC S109260
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12,208
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48
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haue about with you beare it off with the head and shoulders how you can But if you do vpon all the Cannes and quart-pots about London I will be sworne all Wine-pots from this generall rule excepted for them I haue for-sworne till Michelmas vnlesse the new wine of Peru that is made of no Grape but a strange fruite in the VVest-indies and is more comfortable to the braine and the stomacke then any restoratiue or cordiall whatsoeuer vpon them I say I will abiure and renounce all claime or interest I haue had in that wicked word of Poetry and bind my selfe and my heires neuer more to be publicans and sinners or sinners in publique in that vnfortunate Art of Printing It hath bene told mee that those that are slaine with the Indians poysoned arrowes die with their mouthes shut and how the Butchers in Germany kill their sheep after the selfe-same order by tying a cord about their mouthes and so strangling them that their flesh may be more swolne and puft vp so would I die by my good will if this my labour mis-carry and haue my mouth closed vp from euer speaking or writing hence-forward Had I had learning enough I would haue framed an inuectiue against learning because I know none saue the learned will finde fault with me but seeing I haue it not I must heere end my Epistle and desire such as descend to deepely into my shallownesse no otherwise to esteeme of my writings then of Drummes and Trumpets in warre which are not vsed so much to stir vp men to fury as to teach them to march in measure Yours as you conceite me HVMPHREY KING HOW dares the Author passe vnto the Presse Where Satyres Essayes Epigrams do swarme The Comicke and the stately Tragicke verse And Caltha metamorphos'd with a charme A strong imagination wrought this thing His name being King he thinkes himselfe a King In discommendation of the Author IT is no Tale the Hermite is beli'd The Author ouer-aw'd or much beguild Time past spoke plaine and did no vices hide Time present must be pleased like a child Christen thy booke anew then do'st thou well And call it Truth a Tale's an Infidell KIng neuer prou'd more King in any thing Then in this plaine-song freedome of a King Plaine vnaffected stile yet vices sting Why King I see y faith thou l't needs be King Conueniunt rebus nomina saepe suis TO grace the man whom all the Graces fauour Lies not within the compasse of my quill Suffice it his most plausible behauiour Drawes all the happy choise of wits and skill To loue admire affect and dignifie Himselfe and these his labours pleasing lines Mongst whom my zeale presumes to signifie Some loue to him in whom such vertue shines An Hermits Tale an Hermits Heart declareth Sincere the one so spotlesse pure the other That with the vertues euermore it shareth By no meanes suffering ill the good to smother Go then sweet Hermits Tale and tell the wisest Perfection liues not still in the precisest Vincor non vinco THat I haue lou'd and most respected thee True-honest Humphrey I do heere protest And that the world shall witnesse it with me Embrace this signe of loue amongst the rest Wilt thou haue more my word I will engage Nay further yet I l'e take a solemne oath By the Red-herring thy true Patronage And famous Nash so deere vnto vs both By all the Bowers that we haue reueld in Our merry times that gallop hence so fast By all the houres we haue together bin By all our vowes of friendship that haue past By these I sweare my loue and thy worke graced On her rich worth and honour'd Titles placed LAtely the Muses from their forked hill Descending downe into our humbler vale To taste the fruits of Industrie and Skill In makers of this time Beheld thy Tale. Which though it did appeare emptie of Art As that thy modestie hath still profest Yet this faire censure they did all impart Thy loue to Arts therein was well exprest But when they saw to whom it was design'd A Ladie of her graces so inspir'd With euery bountie both of forme and mind As of the Muses selues she is admir'd They vow'd thy worke should liue and with one voyce Approu'd thy Iudgement in so sweet a choyce Suus cuique mos. AN Halfe-peny-worth of Wit in a Peny-worth of Paper ALIAS ¶ The Hermites Tale. VVAlking by a Forrest side An ancient Hermite I espide White was his head old was his face Pale were his lookes obscure his place And in his hand I might behold A booke all torne and very old I willing both to see and know His place and why he liued so Went to salute him as vnknowne To be a partner of his moane He being of an humble spirit As one that heauen would inherite A friendly welcome to me gaue And brought me to his homely Caue VVhere he had liu'd full twenty yeares And for his sinnes shed many teares Thinking euery howre to die Knowing the worlds vnconstancie Then sate he downe and to me told I once was yong but now am old And welcome is mine age to mee That no more changes I may see For I haue seene from time to time The highest fall the lowest clime Contray to that we expect To make vs know the worlds defect How time and death doth still presage The ficklenesse of euery age Like to the Moone that hath no power Louing to change both day and howre Vnhappy men that liue therein VVhere nought is found but death and sin Then gentle youth if you would know Heauens delight the world forgoe For wordlings very seldome can Two Maisters serue both God and man For if a man your Maister bee You then must sinne as well as hee To smooth his taste and please his vaine How much so ere the sinne containe If he a Tyrant do professe Then must his seruant be no lesse Or if an Athiest hee bee knowne So must you be or else be gone For I haue heard a prouerbe old Be rul'd by him that hath the gold Such are the errours of our age VVhen soules for gold are laid to gage A substance that wise men besot A pleasure full of paine God wot VVhen I was yong as you are now I spent my youth I know not how Rating my pleasure at such a price More worth then Heauens Paradice These worldly pleasures are but toies Vnto the high celestiall ioyes Where God doth sit on Syon hill To giue the doome of good and ill Then if you knew how sweete it is To meditate on heauens blisse You sure would leaue all worldly strife And liue with me an Hermites life Answere FAther or friend what ere you bee A happy man you seeme to mee The happiest man this day on earth Blest in your age and at your birth Whose heauenly words my heart hath wonne To liue with you and be your sonne Leauing the world too full of woes VVhere