Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN APOLOGY FOR HIS FALSE PREDICTION THAT HIS AUNT LANE ... A SON, by THOMAS RANDOLPH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AN APOLOGY FOR HIS FALSE PREDICTION THAT HIS AUNT LANE ... A SON, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Are then the sybils dead? What is become
Last Line: I meant the right by mental reservation.
Subject(s): Birth; Prophecy & Prophets; Child Birth; Midwifery


ARE then the Sybils dead? what is become
Of the loud oracles? are the augurs dumb?
Live not the Magi, that so oft reveal'd
Nature's intents? is Gipsism quite repeal'd?
Is Friar Bacon nothing but a name?
Or is all witchcraft brain'd with Doctor Lamb?
Does none the learned Bungay's soul inherit?
Has Madam Davers dispossess'd her spirit?
Or will the Welshmen give me leave to say,
There is no faith in Merlin? none, though they
Dare swear each letter creed, and pawn their blood
He prophesied an age before the flood
Of holy Dee, which was, as some have said,
Ten generations, ere the ark was made.
All your predictions but impostures are,
And you but prophesy of things that were.
And you, celestial jugglers, that pretend
You are acquainted with the stars, and send
Your spies to search what's done in every sphere,
Keeping your state intelligencers there:
Your art is all deceit, for now I see
Against the rules of deep astrology,
Girls may be got when Mars his power doth vaunt,
And boys when Venus is predominant.
Nor doth the moon, though moist and cold she be,
Always at full work to produce the she.
Had this been true, I had foretold no lie:
It was the art was in the wrong, not I.
Thence I so dully err'd in my belief,
As to mistake an Adam for an Eve.
O gross mistake! and in the civil pleas
Error personoe, Master Doctor says,
And may admit divorce, but farewell now,
You hungry, star-fed tribe! henceforth I vow
Talmud, Albumazar, and Ptolemy,
With Erra Pater shall no gospel be.
Nor will I ever after this, I swear,
Throw dice upon the Shepherd's Calendar,
But why do I t' excuse my ignorance,
Lay blame upon the art? no, no, perchance
I have lost all my skill, for well I know
My physiognomy two years ago
By the small-pox was marr'd, and, it may be,
A finger's loss hath spoil'd my palmistry.
But why should I a gross mistake confess?
No, I am confident I did but guess
The very truth; it was a male child then,
But, aunt, you stay'd till 'twas a wench again.
To see th' unconstancy of human things,
How little time great alteration brings!
All things are subject unto change, we know,
And if all things, then why not sexes too?
Tyresias, we read, a man was born,
Yet after did into a woman turn,
Lovinus, a physician of great fame,
Reports that one at Paris did the same.
And devout Papists say certain it is,
One of their popes by metamorphosis
Endur'd the same; else how could Joan be heir
To the succession of Saint Peter's Chair?
So I at Charing Cross have beheld one,
A statue cut out of the Parian stone,
To figure great Alcides, which when well
The artist saw it was not like to sell,
He takes his chisel, and away he pares
Part of his sinewy neck: shaving the hairs
Of his rough beard and face: smoothing the brow
And making that look amorous, which but now
Stood wrinkled with his anger; from his head
He polls the shaggy locks, that had o'erspread
His brawny shoulders with a fleece of hair,
And works instead more gentle tresses there;
And thus, his skill exactly to express,
Soon makes a Venus of an Hercules.
And can it then impossible appear,
That such a change as this might happen here?
For this cause therefore (gentle aunt), I pray,
Blame not my prophecy, but your delay.
But this will not excuse me; that I may
Directly clear myself, there is no way
Unless the Jesuits will to me impart
The secret depth of their mysterious art,
Who from their halting patriot learn to frame
A crutch for every word that falls out lame.
That can the subtle difference descry
Betwixt equivocation and a lie.
And a rare scape by sly distinction find
To swear the tongue, and yet not swear the mind.
Now (arm'd with arguments) I nothing dread,
But my own cause thus confidently plead.
I said there was a boy within your womb,
Not actually, but one in time to come.
Or by antiphrasis my words might be
That ever understands the contrary:
Or when I said you should a man-child bear,
You understood of the sex, I fear,
When I did mean the mind, and thus define
A woman, but of spirit masculine.
Or had I said it should a girl have been,
And it had proved a boy, you should have seen
Me solve it thus; I meant a boy by fate,
But one that would have been effeminate.
Or thus I had my just excuse begun,
I said my aunt would surely bring a son,
If not a daughter; what we seers foresee
Is a certain truth, unless it falsehood be.
Or I affirm, because she brought forth one,
That will bring boys, she hath brought forth a son:
For do not we call Father Adam thus,
Because that he got those that have got us,
Whate'er I said by simple affirmation,
I meant the right by mental reservation.





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