The Crowne of All Homers Workes/To My Ever Most-Worthie-To-Be-Most Honor'd Lord, the Earle of Somerset, &c

by Homer

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TO

MY EVER

MOST-WORTHIE-TO-

BE-MOST HONOR'D LORD,

THE EARLE OF SOMERSET, &c.

$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$ot forc't by fortune; but since your free minde(Made by affliction) rests in choice resign'dTo calme Retreate; laid quite beneath the windeOf Grace, and Glory: I well know, my Lord,You would not be entitl'd to a word$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$That might a thought remoue from your Repose,To thunder and spit Flames, as Greatnesse does;For all the Trumps, that still tell where he goes.Of which Trumps, Dedication being One,Me thinks I see you start to heare it blowne.But this is no such Trump as summons Lords, Gainst Enuies steele, to draw their leaden swords,Or gainst Hare-lipt Detraction, Contempt,All which, from all Resistance stand exempt,It being as hard to seuer Wrong from Merit,As meate-indude, from blood; or blood from spirit.Nor in the spirits Chariot rides the souleIn bodies chaste, with more diuine controule;Nor virtue shines more in a louely Face;Then true desert, is stuck off with Disgrace.And therefore truth it selfe that had to blesseThe merit of it all, Almightinesse;Would not protect it, from the Bane and BanOf all Moodes most distraught, and Stygian;As counting it the Crowne of all Desert,Borne to Heauen, to take of Earth, no partOf false Ioy here, for Ioyes-there-endlesse troth,Nor sell his Birthright for a messe of Broth.But stay and still sustaine, and his Blisse bring,Like to the hatching of the Black-thornes spring,With bitter frosts, and smarting haile-stormes forth;Fates loue Bees labors; onely Paine crownes Worth.This Dedication calls no Greatnes then,To patrone this Greatnes-creating Penn;$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Nor you to add to your dead calme a breath;For those arm'd Angells, that in spight of deathInspir'd those flowrs that wrought this poets wreathShall keepe it euer, Poesies steepest Starr,As, in Earths flaming wals, Heauens seuenfold Carr, (From all the windes of Neptunes watrie sphere)For euer guards the Erymanthian Beare.Since then your Lordship, settles in your shadeA life retir'd; and no Retreate is madeBut to some strength; (for else, tis no Retreate,But rudely running from your Battailes heate)I giue this, as your strength: your strength, my Lord,In Counsailes and Examples, that affordMore Guard, then whole Hosts of corporeal powre,And more deliuerance, teach the fatall Howre.$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Turne not your medcine then, to your disease,By your too set, and sleight repulse of these,The Adiuncts of your matchlesse Odysses;Since on that wisest minde of Man, reliesRefuge from all Liues Infelicities.Nor sing these, such diuision from them;But that these spinn the thred of the same streame,From one selfe Distaffs stuff: for Poesies Pen(Through al theames) is t'informe the liues of Men:All whose Retreates, neede strengths of all degrees;Without which; (had you euen Herculean knees;)Your foes fresh Charges, would, at length preuaile,To leaue your Noblest suff'rance, no least saile.Strength then, the Obiect is of all Retreates;Strength needes no friends trust; strength, your foes defeates.Retire to strength then, of eternall things,And y'are eternall; for our knowing Spring'sFlow into those things that we truely know; Which (being Eternall) we are render'd so.And though your high-fixt Light passe infinite farrTh'aduicefull Guide, of my still-trembling Starr;Yet heare what my dischardg'd Peece must foretell,Standing your Poore, and Perdue Sentinell.Kings may perhaps wish, euen your Beggars VoiceTo their Eternities; how skorn'd a choiceSoeuer, now it lies; And (dead I) mayExtend your life to lights extreamest Raie.If not; your Homer yet, past doubt shall make,Immortall, like himselfe, your Bounties stakePut in my hands, to propagate your Fame,Such virtue reigns in such vnited Name.Retire to him then, for aduice, and skillTo know, things call'd worst, Best; and Best most ill.^[1]Which knowne; truths best chuse; and retire to still.And as our English Generall, (whose NameShall equall interest finde in T'House of Fame,With all Earths great'st Commanders) in RetreateTo Belgian Gant, stood all Spaines Armies heate,By Parma led; though but one thousand strong:Three miles together thrusting through the throng$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Of Th'Enimies Horse, (still pouring on their FallTwixt him & home) & thunderd through them al:The Gallick Monsiour standing on the wall,And wondring at his dreadfull Discipline;Fir'd with a Valor, that spit spirit Diuine:In fiue Battaillons randging all his Men; Bristl'd with Pikes, and flanck't with Flanckers ten;Gaue fire still in his Rere, retir'd and wrought,Downe to his fixt strength still: retir'd and fought;All the Battaillons of the Enemies HorseStorming vpon him still, their fieriest Force;Charge vpon Charge laid fresh: he fresh as dayRepulsing all; and forcing glorious wayInto the Gates; that gaspt (as swounes for Ayre)And tooke their life in, with vntoucht Repaire:So fight out (sweet Earle) your Retreate in Peace;No ope-warr equalls that, where priuie Prease$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Of neuer-numberd odds of EnimieArm'd all by Enuie, in blinde Ambush lie,To rush out, like an open threatning skie,Broke al in Meteors round about your eares.Gainst which, (though far frō hēce) through al your ReresHaue fires prepar'd; wisdome, with wisdome flanck,And all your forces randge in present ranck;Retiring as you now fought in your strength,From all the Force laid, in times vtmost length,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$To charge, and basely, come on you behind.The Doctrine of all which, you here shall finde,And, in the true Glasse of a humane Minde.Your Odysses; the Body letting seeAll his life past, through Infelicitie,And manage of it all. In which to friend,The full Muse brings you both the prime and endOf all Arts ambient in the Orbe of Man; Which neuer darknesse most CimmerianCan giue Eclipse; since (blinde) He all things saweAnd to all, euer since, liu'd Lord, and Lawe.$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$And though our mere-learn'd mē; & Modern wiseTaste not poore Poesies Ingenuities,Being crusted with their couetous Leprosies;But hold her paines, worse then the spiders worke,And lighter then the shadowe of a Corke;Yet th'ancient learn'd; heat with celestiall fire,Affirmes her flames so sacred and entire;^[2]That, not without Gods greatest grace she canFall in the wid'st Capacitie of Man.$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$If yet, the vile Soule of this Verminous time;Loue more the Sale-Muse; and the Squirrels chime,Then this full sphere of Poesies sweetest Prime;Giue them vnenuied, their vaine veine, and vent;And rest your wings, in his approu'd ascentThat yet was neuer reacht; nor euer fellInto affections bought with things that sellBeing the Sunns Flowre; and wrapt so in his skie,He cannot yeeld to euery Candles eye.

 

Whose most worthy Discoueries, to your
Lordships Iudiciall Perspectiue in most
subdude Humilitie submitteth,

George Chapman.

1. A simile illustrating the most renownd seruice of Generall Norris in his Retreate before Gant, neuer before made sacred to Memorie.
2. Ut non sine maximo favore Dei comparari niqueat. Pla in Ione.