Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE THIRD ADVICE TO A PAINTER, by ANDREW MARVELL


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THE THIRD ADVICE TO A PAINTER, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Sandwich in spain now, and the duke in love
Last Line: To woods and groves what once she painted sings.
Subject(s): Great Britain - Dutch War (1664-1667); Paintings And Painters; Politics & Government; Sea Battles; Naval Warfare


Sandwich in Spain now, and the Duke in Love,
Let's with new Gen'ralls a new Painter prove.
Lilly's a Dutchman, danger in his Art:
His Pencills may intelligence impart.
Thou Gibson, that among thy Navy small
Of marshall'd Shells commandest Admirall,
Thy self so Slender that thou show'st no more
Than Barnacle new hatcht of them before,
Come, mix thy water colours, and expresse,
Drawing in little, how we do yet lesse.
First, paint me George and Rupert, ratling far
Within one box, like the two Dice of War:
And let the terrour of their linked Name
Fly through the aire like chainshot, tearing Fame.
Jove in one cloud did scarsely ever wrap
Lightning so fierce, but never such a Clap.
United Gen'ralls! sure the only spell
Wherewith United Provinces to quell.
Alas, ev'n they, though shell'd in treble Oake
Will prove an addle Egge with double Yolke.
And therefore next uncouple either Hound,
And loo them at two Hares ere one be found.
Rupert to Beaufort hollow: "Ay there, Rupert!"
Like the phantastick hunting of St. Hubert,
When he with airy Hounds, and Horn of aire,
Pursues by Fountainbleau the witchy Hare.
Deep Providence of State, that could so soon
Fight Beaufort here ere he had quit Toulon!
So have I seen, ere humane quarrells rise,
Foreboding Meteors combate with the Skyes.
But let the Prince to fight with rumour goe:
The Gen'rall meets a more substantiall Foe.
Ruyter he spyes, and, full of youthful heat,
Though half their Number, thinks his odds too great.
The Fowler so watches the watry spot
And, more the Fowle, hopes for the better shot.
Though such a Limbe were from his Navy torn,
He found no weaknesse yet, like Samson shorn,
But swoln with sense of former Glory won,
Thought Monk must be by Albemarle outdon.
Little he knew, with the Same Arm and Sword,
How far the Gentleman outcuts the Lord.
Ruyter, inferior unto none for Heart,
Superior now in Number and in Art,
Askt if he thought (as once our rebell Nation)
To conquer theirs too by a Declaration.
And threatens, though he now so proudly saile,
He shall tread back his Iter Boreale.
This said, he the short Period, ere it ends,
With iron words from brazen mouths extends.
Monk yet prevents him ere the Navyes meet,
And charges in, himself alone a Fleet.
And with so quick and frequent motion wound
His murd'ring sides about, the Ship seem'd round,
And the Exchanges of his circling Tire
Like Whirling hoopes show'd of triumphall Fire.
Single he does at their whole Navy aime,
And shoots them through, a Porcupine of Flame.
He plays with danger, and his Bullets trowles,
As 'twere at Trou Madam, through all their Howles.
In noyse so regular his Cannon met,
You'd think that Thunder were to Musick set.
Ah, had the rest but kept a time as true,
What Age could such a Martiall Consort shew?
The listning aire, unto the distant shoare,
Through secret Pipes conveys the tuned roare:
Till, as the Echoes vanishing abate,
Men feel a deaf sound, like the Pulse of Fate.
If Fate expire, let Monk her place supply:
His Gunns determine who shall live or dye.
But Victory does always hate a Rant:
Valour her Brave, but Skill is her Galant.
Ruyter no lesse with virtuous envy burns,
And Prodigyes for Miracles returns.
Yet Shee observ'd how still his iron Balls
Bricold in vain against our oaken Walls,
And the hard Pellets fell away, as dead,
Which our enchanted timber fillipped.
"Leave then," said she, "th' invulnerable Keele:
We'll find their foible, like Achilles' heele."
He, quickly taught, pours in continuall clowds
Of chaind Dilemmas through our sinewy Shrowds.
Forrests of Masts fall with their rude embrace:
Our stiffe Sailes masht are netted into Lace,
Till our whole Navy lay their wanton Marke,
Nor any Ship could saile but as the Arke.
Shot in the wing, so, at the Powders call
The disappointed Bird does flutt'ring fall.
Yet Monk, disabled, still such Courage shows
That none into his mortall gripe durst close.
So an old Bustard, maim'd, yet loath to yeild,
Duells the Fowler in Newmarket Field.
But soon he found 'twas now in vain to fight
And imps his Plumes the best he may for Flight.
This, Painter, were a noble task, to tell
What indignation his great Breast did swell.
Not vertuous Men unworthily abus'd,
Not constant Lovers without cause refus'd,
Not honest Merchant broke, not skillfull Play'r
Hist off the Stage, not Sinner in despayre,
Not losing Rookes, not Favourites disgrac't,
Not Rump by Oliver or Monk displac't,
Not Kings depos'd, not Prelates ere they dye,
Feele half the rage of Gen'ralls when they fly.
Ah, rather than transmit our scorn to Fame
Draw Curtains, gentle Artist, o'er this Shame.
Cashiere the Mem'ry of Dutell, raisd up
To taste in stead of Death's, his Highnesse' Cup.
And, if the thing were true, yet paint it not:
How Barclay, as he long deserv'd, was shot,
Though others, that surveyd the Corpse so clear,
Say he was only petrify'd with Fear,
And the hard Statue, mummy'd without Gumme,
Might the Dutch Balm have spar'd and English Tombe.
Yet if thou wilt, paint Mings turn'd all to Soule;
And the great Harman chark'd almost to coale:
And fordan old, thy Pencills worthy paine,
Who all the way held up the Ducall Traine.
But in a dark cloud cover Askue, when
He quit the Prince t' imbarke in Loovesten,
And wounded Ships, which we immortall Boast,
Now first led captive to an hostile Coast.
But most, with story of his Hand or Thum,
Conceale, as honour would, his Grace's Bum.
When the rude Bullet a large Collop tore
Out of that Buttock, never turn'd before.
Fortune it seem'd would give him, by that lash,
Gentle correction for his Fight so rash.
But should the Rump perceive't, they'd say that Mars
Had now reveng'd them upon Aumarle's Arse.
The long disaster better o're to veile,
Paint only Fonas three days in the Whale,
Then draw the youthfull Perseus, all in haste,
From a Sea-Beast to free the Virgin chaste:
But neither riding Pegasus for speed,
Nor with the Gorgon sheilded at his need.
For no lesse time did conqu'ring Ruyter chaw
Our flying Gen'rall in his spungy Jaw.
So Rupert the Sea-dragon did invade,
But to save George himself, and not the Maid,
And so, arriving late, he quickly mist
Ev'n Sailes to fly, unable to resist.
Not Greenland Seamen, that survive the fright
Of the cold Chaos, and half-eternall Night,
So gladly the returning Sun adore,
Or run to spy their next years Fleet from Shoare,
Hoping, yet once, within the oyly side
Of the fat Whale againe their Spears to hide,
As our glad Fleet, with universall shout,
Salute the Prince, and wish the second bout.
Nor Winds, long Pris'ners in Earth's hollow Vault,
The fallow Seas so eagerly assault,
As firy Rupert, with revengefull Joy,
Does on the Dutch his hungry Courage cloy.
But, soon unrigg'd, lay like an uselesse board,
As wounded in the wrist men drop the Sword;
When a propitious Clowd betwixt us stept
And in our aid did Ruyter intercept.
Old Homer yet did never introduce,
To save his Heroes, Mist of better use.
Worship the Sun, who dwell where he does rise:
This Mist does more deserve our Sacrifice.
Now joyfull Fires, and the exalted Bell,
And Court-gazets our empty Triumph tell;
Alas: the time draws near, when overturn'd
The lying Bells shall through the tongue be burn'd;
Paper shall want to print that Lye of State,
And our false Fires true Fires shall expiate.
Stay, Painter, here awhile, and I will stay:
Nor vex the future Times with nice survey.
Sees't not the Monkey Dutchesse, all undrest?
Paint thou but her, and she will paint the rest.
The sad Tale found her in her outer Roome
Nailing up Hangings, not of Persian loome,
Like chaste Penelope, that ne'r did rome,
But made all fine against her George came home;
Upon a Ladder, in her coat most shorter,
She stood, with Groome and Porter for Supporter.
And carelesse what they saw, or what they thought,
With Hony pensy honestly shee wrought.
For in She-Gen'rall's Britch, none could (she knows)
Carry away the piece with Eyes or Nose.
One Tenter drove, to lose no time nor place,
At once the Ladder they remove and Grace.
While thus they her translate from North to East,
In posture just of a foure-footed Beast,
She heard the News: but alter'd yet no more
Than that what was behind she turn'd before;
Nor would come down; but with an hankecher,
Which pocket foule did to her neck prefer,
She dry'd no Tears, for she was too viraginous:
But only snuffing her Trunk cartilaginous,
From scaling Ladder she began a Story,
Worthy to be had in me (mento) mory,
Arraigning past, and present, and futury;
With a prophetick (if not spirit) Fury.
Her Haire began to creep, her Belly sound,
Her Eyes to startle, and her Udder bound.
Half Witch, half Prophet, thus she-Albermarle,
Like Presbyterian Sibyll, out did Snarle.
"Traytors both to my Lord and to the King,
Nay now it grows beyond all suffering:
One valiant Man on land, and he must be
Commanded out to stop their leaks at Sea!
Yet send him Rupert, as an helper meet:
First the command dividing, ere the Fleet.
One may, if they be beat, or both be hit,
Or if they overcome, yet Honour's split;
But reck'ning George already knockt o' th' head,
They cut him out like Beef, ere he be dead.
Each for a quarter hopes: the first does skip,
But shall snap short though, at the Gen'ralship:
Next they for Master of the Horse agree:
A third the Cockpit begs; not any mee.
But they shall know, ay, marry shall they do,
That who the Cockpit has shall have me too.
"I told George first, as Calamy did me,
If the King these brought over, how 'twould be:
Men, that there pickt his Pocket to his Face,
To sell intelligence or buy a Place,
That their Religion pawn'd for Clothes; nor care
('T has run so long) now to redeem't, nor dare.
O what egregious Loyalty to cheat!
O what Fidelity it was to eat!
While Langdales, Hoptons, Glenhams Starv'd abroad,
And here true Royalists sunk beneath the load.
Men that did there affront, defame, betray
The King, and do so here, now who but they?
What, say I Men? nay rather Monsters: Men
Only in Bed, nor (to my knowledge) then.
"See how they home return, in revell rout,
With the same Measures that they first went out.
Nor better grown, nor wiser all this while,
Renew the causes of their first Exile,
As if (to show you Fooles what 'tis I mean)
I chose a foule Smock, when I might have clean.
"First, they for Fear disband the Army tame
And leave good George a Gen'ralls empty Name,
Then Bishops must revive, and all unfix
With discontent to content twenty six.
The Lords House drains the Houses of the Lord,
For Bishops voices silencing the Word.
O Bartlemew, Saint of their Calender!
What's worse? thy Ejection or thy Massacre?
Then Culp'per, Gloster, ere the Princesse, dy'd:
Nothing can live that interrupts an Hide.
O more than human Gloster! Fate did shew
Thee but to Earth, and back againe withdrew.
Then the fat Scriv'ner durst begin to think
'Twas time to mix the royall Blood with ink.
Barclay, that swore, as oft as she had Toes
Does, kneeling, now her chastity depose,
Just as the first French Card'nall could restore
Maidenhead to his Widdow-Niece and Whore.
For Portion, if she should prove light when weigh'd,
Four Millions shall within three years be paid.
To raise it, we must have a Navall War:
As if 'twere nothing but Tara-tan-tar.
Abroad all Princes disobliging first,
At home, all Partyes but the very worst.
"To tell of Ireland, Scotland, Dunkirk's sad,
Or the Kings Marriage; but he thinks I'm mad.
And sweeter creature never saw the Sun,
If we the King wisht Monk, or Queen a Nun.
But a Dutch war shall all these rumours still,
Bleed out these Humours, and our Purses spill.
Yet, after one Dayes trembling Fight, they saw
'Twas too much danger for a Son-in-Law.
Hire him to leave with six score thousand pound;
As with the Kings Drumms men for sleep compound.
Then modest Sandwith thought it might agree
With the State-prudence, to do lesse than he,
And, to excuse their timrousnesse and sloth,
They've found how George might now do lesse than both.
"First, Smith must for Legorn, with Force enough
To venture back againe, but not go through.
Beaufort is there, and, to their dazeling Eyes,
The distance more the object magnifyes.
Yet this they gain, that Smith his time shall lose
Herewith assembles the supream Divan,
"But fearing that our Navy, George to break,
Might yet not be sufficiently weake,
The Secretary that had never yet
Intelligence but from his own gazett,
Discovers a great secret, fit to sell,
And pays himself for't ere he would it tell.
Beaufort is in the Chanell. Hixy, here:
Doxy, Toulon: Beaufort is ev'ry where!
Herewith assembles the supream Divan,
Where enters none but Devill, Ned, and Nan:
And, upon this pretence, they streight design'd
The Fleet to sep'rate, and the world to blind.
Monk to the Dutch, and Rupert (here the Wench
Could not but smile) is destin'd to the French.
To write the order Bristoll's Clerke they chose;
(One slit in's Pen, another in his Nose)
For he first brought the News, and 'tis his Place:
He'll see the Fleet devided like his Face,
And through that cranny in his gristly part,
To the Dutch chink intelligence may start.
The Plot succeeds: the Dutch in haste prepare,
And poore pilgarlick George's Arse they share.
And now, presuming of his certaine wrack,
To help him late they write for Rupert back.
Officious Will seem'd fittest, as afraid
Lest George should looke too far into his Trade.
On the first draught they pause with Statesmen's care,
Then write it faire, then copy't out as faire,
Then they compare them; when at last 'tis sign'd,
Will soon his purstrings but no seale could find.
At night he sends it by the common Post
To save the King of an Expresse the cost.
Lord what adoe to pack one letter hence!
Some Patents passe with lesse circumference.
"Well, George, in spight of them thou safe dost ride,
Lessen'd, I hope, in nought but thy Back-side.
For as to reputation, this retreat
Of thine exceeds their Victoryes so great.
Nor shalt thou stirre from thence, by my consent,
Till thou hast made the Dutch and them repent.
'Tis true I want so long the nuptiall gift,
But, as I oft have don, I'l make a Shift.
Nor with vain Pomp will I accost the Shore
To try thy Valour at the Buoy-i'th'-nore.
Fall to thy worke there, George, as I do here:
Cherish the valiant up, the cow'rd cashiere.
See that the Men have Pay and Beef and Beere;
Find out the cheats of the foure-millioneer.
Out of the very Beer they steale the Malt,
Powder out of Powder, from powder'd Beef the Salt.
Put thy hand to the Tub: instead of Ox,
They victuall with French Pork that has the Pox.
Never such Cotqueans by small arts to wring:
Ne'r such ill Huswives in the managing.
Pursers at Sea know fewer cheats than they:
Mar'ners on Shore lesse madly spend their Pay.
See that thou hast new Sailes thy self, and spoyle
All their Sea-market and their cable-coyle.
Tell the King all, how him they countermine;
Trust not, till don, him with thy own designe.
Looke that good Chaplains on each Ship do wait,
Nor the Sea-Diocesse be impropriate.
Looke to the Pris'ners, sick, and wounded; all
Is Prize: they rob even the Hospitall.
Recover back the Prizes too: in vain
Wee fight if all be taken that is ta'en.
"Now by our Coast the Dutchmen, like a flight
Of feeding Ducks, morning and ev'ning light.
How our Land Hectors tremble, voyd of sense!
As if they came streight to transport them hence.
Some Sheep are stoln, the Kingdome's all array'd:
And ev'n Presbit'ry's now call'd out for aid.
They wish ev'n George divided to command;
One half of him the Sea, and one the Land.
"What's that I see? ha! 'tis my George agen:
It seems they in sev'n weeks have rigg'd him then.
The curious Heav'n with Lightning him surrounds
To view him, and his name in Thunder sounds,
But with the same shaft gores their Navy near,
As ere we hunt, the Keeper shoots the Deere.
Stay Heav'n a while, and thou shalt see him saile,
And how George too can lighten, thunder, haile.
Happy the time that I thee wedded, George,
The Sword of England, and of Holland scourge.
Avant Rotterdam-dog, Ruyter, avant!
Thou Water-rat, thou shark, thou Cormorant:
I'll teach thee to shoot scizzers! I'll repaire
Each rope thou losest, George, out of this haire.
Ere thou shalt lack a saile and lye a drift
('Tis strong and course enough) I'll cut this Shift.
Bring home the old ones, I again will sew,
And darn them up to be as good as new.
What twice disabled? Never such a thing!
Now, Souveraigne, help him that brought in the King;
Guard thy Posteriour left, lest all be gone:
Though Jury-Masts, th' hast Jury-buttocks none.
Courage! How bravely, whet with this disgrace,
He turns, and Bullets spits in Ruyter's Face!
They fly, they fly! Their Fleet does now divide:
But they discard their Trump; our Trump is Hide.
"Where are you now, De Ruyter, with your bears?
See how your Merchants burn about your ears.
Fire out the wasps, George, from their hollow trees,
Cramm'd with the honey of our English Bees.
Ay, now they're paid for Guiny: ere they steere
To the gold coast, they find it hotter here.
Turn theyr ships all to Stoves, ere they set forth
To warm their traffick in the frozen North.
Ah Sandwich! had thy conduct been the same,
Bergen had seen a lesse, but richer Flame,
Nor Ruyter liv'd new Battell to repeat,
And oftner beaten be than we can beat.
"Scarse has George leisure, after all this pain,
To tye his Briches: Ruyter's out againe.
Thrice in one year! why sure the man is wood:
Beat him like Stockfish, or he'll ne'r be good.
I see them both prepar'd againe to try:
They first shoot through each other with the Eye;
Then -- But that ruling Providence that must
With humane Projects play as Winds with dust,
Raises a Storm, (so Constables a fray
Knock down) and sends them both well cuft away.
Plant now Virginian Firrs in English Oke,
Build your Ship-ribbs proof to the Cannon's stroke,
To get a Fleet to Sea, exhaust the Land,
Let longing Princes pine for the Command:
Strong Marchpanes! Wafers light! so thin a puffe
Of angry aire can ruine all that huffe!
So Champions having shar'd the Lists and Sun,
The Judge throws down his Warder and they've done.
For shame come home, George: 'tis, for thee, too much
To fight at once with Heaven and the Dutch.
"Woe's me, what see I next? Alas the Fate
I see of England, and its utmost date.
Those flames of theirs, at which we fondly smile,
Kindled, like Torches, our Sepulchrall Pile.
Warre, Fire, and Plague against us all conspire:
We the Warre, God the Plague, who rais'd the Fire?
See how Men all, like Ghosts, while London burns,
Wander and each over his ashes mourns!
Dear George, sad Fate, vain Mind that me didst please
To meet thine with far other Flames than these!
"Curst be the Man that first begot this Warre,
In an ill houre, under a blazing Starre.
For other's sport, two Nations fight a Prize:
Between them both Religion wounded dyes.
So of first Troy, the angry Gods unpaid,
Ras'd the foundations which themselves had lay'd.
"Welcome, though late, dear George: here hadst thou been,
We'd scap'd (let Rupert bring the Navy in!)
Thou still must help them out when in the mire:
Gen'rall at Land, at Sea, at Plague, at Fire.
Now thou art gone, see, Beaufort dares approach:
And our whole Fleet, angling, has catcht a Roach."
Gibson, farewell, till next we put to Sea:
Faith thou hast drawn her in effigie!

To the King
Great Prince, and so much greater as more wise,
Sweet as our Life, and dearer than our Eyes:
What Servants will conceale, and Couns'lours spare
To tell, the Painter and the Poet dare.
And the assistance of an heavn'ly Muse
And Pencill represents the Crimes abstruse.
Here needs no Sword, no Fleet, no foraine Foe;
Only let Vice be damm'd, and Justice flow.
Shake but like Jove, thy locks divine, and frowne;
Thy Scepter will suffice to guard thy Crowne.
Hark to Cassandra's Song, ere Fate destroy,
By thy own Navy's wooden horse, thy Troy.
Us our Apollo, from the Tumult's wave,
And gentle gales, though but in Oares, will save.
So Philomel her sad embroyd'ry strung,
And vocall silks tun'd with her Needle's tongue.
(The Picture dumbe, in colours lowd, reveal'd
The tragedy's of Court, so long conceal'd.)
But, when restor'd to voice, increas'd with Wings,
To Woods and Groves what once she painted sings.





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