Tixall Poetry/To Cononell Plater, upon His Easterne Voyage

by unknown author

To

Cononell Plater,

upon His Easterne Voyage.

 

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Now that the Thracean moones have left ther waine
Of peace, increasing up to warr againe,
Threatning (at full) an universall floud,
And swelling tyde with us of Christian blond;
Now every rustick hind, and every boore,
Forgoes his spade, and takes him to his oare;
Forsakes his teame, and getts the sterne in hand,
And plowes at sea, that us'd to steer at land.
Now every shepheard, every reaper dare
Turne hooke and sickle to a semitar.
Now every foolish janizary braggs
To cutt his painted turbants into flaggs,
And knitts and bends his meeting brow and bow,
As arch'd and horned as his cressents doe.
Some trembling, stand amaz'd, and gazing seeme
Rather to Wellcome then resist the streaxne:
Some eager to revenge ther private wronge,
Grow weake the while the common foe grows strong.
You only dare arise i' th' watchfull East,
When all the world thus setts with drousy West;
You in your morne can face the triple moone,
And may ecclipse it ere your age is noone.
You that have traveld ore, and seene, and knowne
That perfect microcosme of your owne,
And all your passions to subjection brought,
And settled all the houshould of each thought;
You, you may safely other worlds descrye,
And other thoughts and other passions spye.
Goe then, and gett acquaintance with your foe,
And all his stratagems and enginns know:
Goe then, and whilst, by your example, wee
Shall worke our factions to an unitye,
And then with full consenting votes declare
You captayne of our holy league and warr;
Goe you, but take my Normington along,
Who'le equal! your great action with his song;
Whose pen can match your sword, and he out doe
As much of Tasso's fame as Godfry's you;
Who, whilst you choose new sceans for every fray,
Will a new plott for every canto lay.
You'le shew him Phlegra, wher the gyants fought,
And Ossa, with its pile to heaven wrought;
He'le Tempe show, wher Graces dance ther ring,
And fork'd Parnassus, wher the Muses sing:
In Eagypt youle of Pharo monsters tell,
And sigh wher fairest Cleopatra fell;
He'le weepe upon the shrine of Ptolomye,
And Phylodelphus' buried library:
Whilst you with Perseus and Darius taulke,
With Zoroaster he'le and Cadmus walke:
Youle teach where Ninus first contrived the warrs,
He where Promethius observed the starrs.
Goe then, and take him with you, syr, and when
You've seene as many, both of townes and men,
In monthes no more then were Ulisses' yeares,
Returne againe, and quitt us of our feares:
Returne with shining conquest in your face,
Unto your sad Penelopy's imbrace;
And lett him to our academy turne,
Which, ah! till then must heere in silence murne.