VIRGIDEMIAE: HIS DEFIANCE TO ENUIE by JOSEPH HALL

@3Nay: let the prouder@1 Pines @3of@1 Ida @3feare@1
@3The sudden fires of heauen: and decline
Their yeelding tops, that dar'd the skies whilere:
And shake your sturdy trunks ye prouder@1 Pines,
@3Whose swelling graines are like be gald alone,
With the deepe furrowes of the thunderstone.@1

@3Stand ye secure, ye safer shrubs below,
In humble dales, whom heauens do not despight:
Nor angry clouds conspire your ouerthrow,
Enuying at your too-disdainfull hight.
Let high attemps dread Enuy and ill tongues
And cowardly shrink for feare of causelesse wrongs.@1

@3So wont big Okes feare winding Yuy-weed:
So soaring Egles feare the neighbour Sonne:
So golden@1 Mazor @3wont suspicion breed,
Of deadly@1 Hemlocks @3poysoned Potion.
So Adders shroud themselues in fayrest leaues:
So fouler Fate the fayrer thing bereaues.@1

@3Nor the low bush feares climbing Yuy twine:
Nor lowly Bustard dreads the distant rayes,
Nor earthen Pot wont secret death to shrine:
Nor suttle Snake doth lurke in pathed waies.
Nor baser deed dreads Enuie and ill tongues,
Nor shrinks so soone for feare of causlesse wrongs.@1

@3Needs me then hope, or doth me need mis-dread:
Hope for that honor, dread that wrongfull spight:
Spight of the partie, honor of the deed,
Which wont alone on loftie obiectes light.
That Enuy should accost my Muse and mee,
For this so rude, and recklesse Poesie.@1

@3Would she but shade her tender Brows with Bay,
That now lye bare in carelesse wilfull rage:
And trance her selfe in that sweet Extasie,
That rouseth drouping thoughts of bashfull age.
(Tho now those Bays, and that aspired thought,
In carelesse rage, she sets at worse then nought.)@1

@3Or would we loose her plumy pineon,
Manicled long with bands of modest feare:
Soone might she haue those Kestrels proud out gone
Whose flightty wings are dew'd with weeter ayre,
And hopen now to shoulder from aboue
The Eagle from the stayrs of friendly Ioue.@1

@3Or list she rather in late Triumph reare
Eternall@1 Trophees @3to some Conqueror,
Whose dead desarts slept in his Sepulcher,
And neuer saw, nor life, nor light before:
To lead sad@1 Pluto @3captiue with my song,
To grace the Triumphs he obscur'd so long.@1

@3Or scoure the rusted swords of Eluish knights,
Bathed in Pagan blood: or sheath them new
In misty morall Types: or tell their fights,
Who mighty Giants, or who Monsters slew.
And by some strange inchanted speare and shield,
Vanquisht their foe, & wan the doubtfull field.@1

@3May be she might in stately@1 Stanzaes @3frame
Stories of Ladies, and aduenturous knights:
To raise her silent and inglorious name,
Vnto a reach-lesse pitch of praises hight:
And somewhat say, as more vnworthy done,
Worthy of Brasse, and hoary Marble stone.@1

@3Then might vaine Enuy waft her duller wing,
To trace the aerie steps, she spiting sees:
And vainely faint in hopelesse following
The clouded paths her natiue drosse denies,
But now such lowly@1 Satyres @3here I sing,
Not worth our@1 Muse, @3not worth their enuying.@1

@3Too good (if ill) to be expos'd to blame:
Too good, if worse, to shadowe shamelesse vice.
Ill, if too good, not answering their name:
So good and ill in fickle censure lies.
Since in our@1 Satyre @3lyes both good and ill,
And they and it, in varying readers will.@1

@3Witnesse ye@1 Muses @3how I wilfull song
These heddy rymes, withouten second care:
And wish't them worse, my guilty thoughts emong:
The ruder@1 Satyre @3should goe rag'd and bare:
And show his rougher and his hairy hide:
Tho mine be smooth, and deckt in carelesse pride.@1

@3Would we but breath within a wax-bound quill,@1
Pans @3seuenfold Pipe, some plaintiue Pastorall:
To teach each hollow groue, and shrubby hill,
Ech murmuring brooke, ech solitary vale
To sound our loue, and to our song accord,
Wearying Eccho with one changelesse word.@1

@3Or list vs make two striuing shepheards sing,
With costly wagers for the victory,
Vnder@1 Menalcas @3iudge: whiles one doth bring
A caruen Bole well wrought of Beechen tree:
Praising it by the story, or the frame,
Or want of vse, or skilfull makers name.@1

@3Another layeth a well-marked Lambe,
Or spotted Kid, or some more forward Steere;
And from the payle doth praise their fertile dam:
So do they striue in doubt, in hope, in feare,
Awaiting for their trustie@1 Vmpires @3doome,
Faulted as false, by him that's ouercome.@1

@3Whether so me list my lonely thought to sing,
Come dance ye nimble@1 Dryads @3by my side:
Ye gentle wood@1-Nymphs @3come: & with you bring
The willing Fauns that mought your musick guide.
Come Nimphs & Faunes, that haunt those shadie Groues,
Whiles I report my fortunes or my loues.@1

@3Or whether list me sing so personate,
My striuing selfe to conquer with my verse:
Speake ye attentiue swaynes that heard me late,
Needs me giue grasse vnto the Conquerers.
At@1 Colins @3feete I throw my yeelding reed:
But let the rest win homage by their deed.@1

@3But now (ye@1 Muses) @3sith your sacred hests
Profaned are by each presuming tongue:
In scornfull rage I vow this silent rest,
That neuer field nor groue shall here my song.
Onely these refuse rimes I here mispend,
To chide the world, that did my thoughts offend.@1

De suis Satyris.

@3Dum Satyrae dixi, videor dixisse Sat irae,
Corripio; aut istaec non satis est Satyra.@1

@3Ira facit Satyram, reliquum Sat temperat iram:
Pinge tuo Satyram sanguine, tum Satyra est.@1

@3Ecce nouam Satyram: Satyrum sine cornibus! Euge
Monstra noui monstri haec, & Satyri & Satyrae.@1

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