A Paen Triumphall
To the vaste skies whilst shoutes and cries rebound,
And buildings eccho with reverberate sound,
Strugling to thrust out of the peopled throng,
Panting for breath flies our elaborate song
That time the day brake from her wonted guise,
The Sunne in haste before his houre did rise,
And drave the fleet-foote posting houres so fast,
Which were afeard young Phaeton that was cast
From his Siers Chariot, reobtain'd the Carre,
To set the neighboring Elements at warre.
But whilst sweete Zephyre gently spreads his wings,
Curles the sleeke bosomes of th'enamoured springs.
With Baulmie spices so perfumes each place,
Breathing such odors in the mornings face,
That the day seem'd all former daies to scorne,
And (to compare it) ever should be borne.
Saturne whose grim face clad in Icie haire,
Thrust his bleake visage through the Northerne aire,
That long had low'rd upon the drouping spring,
With Frosts, Hailes, Snowes and Tempests minacing,
Suddenly calm'd, and his harsh rage resignes
To smooth Favonius and milde Libick windes,
Whil'st Templesstand even trembling as afeard,
To see proud Pageants on their Arches reard
Above their Turrets, whilest the concourse meete,
Like boysterous tides in every publike streete.
Windowes of eyes, the houses scorn'd their glasse,
On every side their Majesties should passe:
Roomes with rich beauties furnished about,
Arras but serves to hang the walles without.
Who lov'd in works of ancient times to prie,
Hangings compleate with curious Imagrie,
Glutting his eyes here lively might behold,
Faces whose numbers figures never told,
Walling the houses, in whose severall eyes
Joye shewes itselfe in more varieties,
Then be their mindes, the objects that they see,
Which are as various as their features bee.
The hie-reard spires shake with the peoples crie,
Bending their tops seeme wondring to espie
Streets pav'd with heads, for such the numbers bee,
The loftiest Tower no ground at all can see.
Banners, Flags, Streamers, in such numbers borne,
And stood so thick that one might soone have sworne,
Nature of late some noveltie had brought,
Groaves leav'd with silke in curious manner wrought,
Bearing such fruite th' Atlantides did keepe,
By that fierce Dragon that did never sleepe.
When now approched glorious Majestie,
Under a gold-wrought sumptuous Canopie.
Before him went his goodly glittering traine,
Which though as late wash'd in a golden raine.
All so embraudered that to those behold,
Horses as men, seem'd to be made of Gold:
With the faire Prince, in whom appear'd in glory,
As in th'abridgement of some famous story,
Ev'ry rare vertue of each famous King
Since Norman Williams happie conquering:
Where might be seene in his fresh blooming hopes,
Henry the fifth leading his warlike troupes,
When the proud French fell on that conquered land,
As the full Corne before the labourers hand.
Ushering so bright and Angellike a Queene,
Whose gallant carridge had but Cynthia seene,
She might have learnd her silver brow to beare,
And to have shin'd and sparckl'd in her spheare,
Leading her Ladies on their milkie Steedes,
With such aspect that each beholder feedes,
As though the lights and beauties of the skies,
Transcending dwelt and twinckled in their eies.
Here might you see what passion wonder wrought,
As it invades the temper of the thought:
One weepes for joy, he laughs and claps his hands,
Another still and looking sadly stands:
Others that seemed to be moved lesse,
Shew'd more then these in action could expresse.
None ther's could judge a witnesse of this sight,
Whether of two did take the more delight,
They that in triumph rode or they that stand,
To view the pompe and glorie of the land,
Each unto other such reflection sent,
Either so sumptuous, so magnificent:
Nor are the duties that thy subjects owe,
Only compriz'd in this externall show.
For harts are heap'd with those innumered hoords,
That tongues by uttrance cannot vent in words:
Nor is it all Invention here devises,
That thy hie worth and Majestie comprizes,
And we not last of those glad harts that prove,
To shew our Soveraigne our unspotted love.
The first a Maiors name worthely did grace,
Marrying that title and Pretorian place,
Was of our freedome, purchasing thereby
That primate honor to our Livery.
Native our love as needfull is our trade,
By which no kingdome ever was decaide,
To bring sleight gauds and womanish devices,
Of little use and of excessive prices.
Good home-made things with trifles to suppresse,
To feede luxurious riot, and excesse,
Sound Bullion is our subject, whose sure rate
Seal'd by his selfeworth, such the Goldsmiths state,
Which peace and happie government doth nourish,
And with a kingdome doth both fade and florish.
Natures perfection, that great wonder Gold,
Of which the first note of our name we hold,
Phaebus his God that triply doth implie,
To medicen, Musicke, and sweete Poesie,
To us his hie divinitie imparts,
As he is knowne and glorified in Arts:
For that invention studie doth befit,
That is the crowne and puritie of wit,
What doth belong and's proper to the muse,
We of all other mysteries doe use,
Moulds and insculpturs framing by the head,
Formes and proportions strangely varied.
The lumpe as likes the workman best to frame,
To wedge, to ingot, or what other name,
That by the sight and knowledge of our trade,
Into rich Plate, and Utensils is made
Within thy land, for ornament doth stay,
Angels have wings and fleeting still away,
And by eschanging virtuously doth flie
That cankerd, base, and idle Usurie:
For when the banck once subtilie is plac'd,
Th'exacted use comes hourely in so fast,
That whil'st the lender on the borrower praies,
Good and industrious facultie decaies.
Foule Avarice that triple Dog of Hell,
That when Joves sonne emperiously did quell,
And from his hand receiv'd that fatall wound,
His poysoned foame he driv'ld on the ground,
From which they say as in the earths despite,
Did spring that black and poysoned Aconite:
For they by fire that mettals use to trie,
And finde wise Natures secresies thereby,
When they prepare industriously to shed
Silver, dispos'd adulteratly with lead,
Prove this base Courser from the other fine,
Being so cleere and aptly femenine,
Steales from her purenes in his boystrous fixure,
By the corruption of his earthly mixure,
Which if Gold helping her infeebled might,
As a kind brother in his sisters right,
By him her spirit is perfect and compacted,
Which that grosse body enviously detracted.
Conscience like Gold which Hell cannot intice,
Nor winne from weake man by his avarice:
Which if infus'd such vertue doth impart,
As doth conforme and rectifie the hart.
For as the Indians by experience know,
That like a Tree it in the ground doth grow,
And as it still approcheth to the day,
His curled branches bravely doth display,
Then in the bulke and body of the mine,
More neat, contracted, rarifi'd, and fine:
So truth from darknes spreading doth appeare,
And shewes it selfe more luculent and cleere.
Dunstan our Patron that religious man,
(That great and famous Metropolitan,
That in his time ascended by degrees,
To Worster, London, Canturburies Sees,
That was in ancient Glastenbury bred,
Foure Saxons raignes that living flourished,
Whose deeds the world unto this time containeth,
And sainted in our Kalenders remaineth
Gave) what not time our Brotherhood denies,
Ancient endowments and immunities:
And for our station and our generall heape,
Recides in Lombard or in goodly Cheape.
We have an Adage which though very old,
Tis not the worse that it hath oft been told,
(Though the despising ancient things and holie,
Too much betraies our ignorance and follie)
That England yeelds to goodly London this,
That she her chiefe and soveraine Citie is:
London will graunt her goodly Cheape the grace,
To be her first and absolutest place:
Dare I proclaime then with a constant hand,
Cheape is the Starre and Jewell of thy land.
The Trophie that we reare unto thy praise,
This gold-drop'd Lawrell, this life-giving bayes,
No power lends immortalitie to men,
Like the hie spirit of an industrious pen,
Which stems times tumults with a full-spread saile,
When proud reard piles and monuments doe faile,
And in their cinders when great Courts doe lie,
That shall confront and justle with the skie:
Live ever mightie, happely, and long,
Living admir'd, and dead be highly song.
And buildings eccho with reverberate sound,
Strugling to thrust out of the peopled throng,
Panting for breath flies our elaborate song
That time the day brake from her wonted guise,
The Sunne in haste before his houre did rise,
And drave the fleet-foote posting houres so fast,
Which were afeard young Phaeton that was cast
From his Siers Chariot, reobtain'd the Carre,
To set the neighboring Elements at warre.
But whilst sweete Zephyre gently spreads his wings,
Curles the sleeke bosomes of th'enamoured springs.
With Baulmie spices so perfumes each place,
Breathing such odors in the mornings face,
That the day seem'd all former daies to scorne,
And (to compare it) ever should be borne.
Saturne whose grim face clad in Icie haire,
Thrust his bleake visage through the Northerne aire,
That long had low'rd upon the drouping spring,
With Frosts, Hailes, Snowes and Tempests minacing,
Suddenly calm'd, and his harsh rage resignes
To smooth Favonius and milde Libick windes,
Whil'st Templesstand even trembling as afeard,
To see proud Pageants on their Arches reard
Above their Turrets, whilest the concourse meete,
Like boysterous tides in every publike streete.
Windowes of eyes, the houses scorn'd their glasse,
On every side their Majesties should passe:
Roomes with rich beauties furnished about,
Arras but serves to hang the walles without.
Who lov'd in works of ancient times to prie,
Hangings compleate with curious Imagrie,
Glutting his eyes here lively might behold,
Faces whose numbers figures never told,
Walling the houses, in whose severall eyes
Joye shewes itselfe in more varieties,
Then be their mindes, the objects that they see,
Which are as various as their features bee.
The hie-reard spires shake with the peoples crie,
Bending their tops seeme wondring to espie
Streets pav'd with heads, for such the numbers bee,
The loftiest Tower no ground at all can see.
Banners, Flags, Streamers, in such numbers borne,
And stood so thick that one might soone have sworne,
Nature of late some noveltie had brought,
Groaves leav'd with silke in curious manner wrought,
Bearing such fruite th' Atlantides did keepe,
By that fierce Dragon that did never sleepe.
When now approched glorious Majestie,
Under a gold-wrought sumptuous Canopie.
Before him went his goodly glittering traine,
Which though as late wash'd in a golden raine.
All so embraudered that to those behold,
Horses as men, seem'd to be made of Gold:
With the faire Prince, in whom appear'd in glory,
As in th'abridgement of some famous story,
Ev'ry rare vertue of each famous King
Since Norman Williams happie conquering:
Where might be seene in his fresh blooming hopes,
Henry the fifth leading his warlike troupes,
When the proud French fell on that conquered land,
As the full Corne before the labourers hand.
Ushering so bright and Angellike a Queene,
Whose gallant carridge had but Cynthia seene,
She might have learnd her silver brow to beare,
And to have shin'd and sparckl'd in her spheare,
Leading her Ladies on their milkie Steedes,
With such aspect that each beholder feedes,
As though the lights and beauties of the skies,
Transcending dwelt and twinckled in their eies.
Here might you see what passion wonder wrought,
As it invades the temper of the thought:
One weepes for joy, he laughs and claps his hands,
Another still and looking sadly stands:
Others that seemed to be moved lesse,
Shew'd more then these in action could expresse.
None ther's could judge a witnesse of this sight,
Whether of two did take the more delight,
They that in triumph rode or they that stand,
To view the pompe and glorie of the land,
Each unto other such reflection sent,
Either so sumptuous, so magnificent:
Nor are the duties that thy subjects owe,
Only compriz'd in this externall show.
For harts are heap'd with those innumered hoords,
That tongues by uttrance cannot vent in words:
Nor is it all Invention here devises,
That thy hie worth and Majestie comprizes,
And we not last of those glad harts that prove,
To shew our Soveraigne our unspotted love.
The first a Maiors name worthely did grace,
Marrying that title and Pretorian place,
Was of our freedome, purchasing thereby
That primate honor to our Livery.
Native our love as needfull is our trade,
By which no kingdome ever was decaide,
To bring sleight gauds and womanish devices,
Of little use and of excessive prices.
Good home-made things with trifles to suppresse,
To feede luxurious riot, and excesse,
Sound Bullion is our subject, whose sure rate
Seal'd by his selfeworth, such the Goldsmiths state,
Which peace and happie government doth nourish,
And with a kingdome doth both fade and florish.
Natures perfection, that great wonder Gold,
Of which the first note of our name we hold,
Phaebus his God that triply doth implie,
To medicen, Musicke, and sweete Poesie,
To us his hie divinitie imparts,
As he is knowne and glorified in Arts:
For that invention studie doth befit,
That is the crowne and puritie of wit,
What doth belong and's proper to the muse,
We of all other mysteries doe use,
Moulds and insculpturs framing by the head,
Formes and proportions strangely varied.
The lumpe as likes the workman best to frame,
To wedge, to ingot, or what other name,
That by the sight and knowledge of our trade,
Into rich Plate, and Utensils is made
Within thy land, for ornament doth stay,
Angels have wings and fleeting still away,
And by eschanging virtuously doth flie
That cankerd, base, and idle Usurie:
For when the banck once subtilie is plac'd,
Th'exacted use comes hourely in so fast,
That whil'st the lender on the borrower praies,
Good and industrious facultie decaies.
Foule Avarice that triple Dog of Hell,
That when Joves sonne emperiously did quell,
And from his hand receiv'd that fatall wound,
His poysoned foame he driv'ld on the ground,
From which they say as in the earths despite,
Did spring that black and poysoned Aconite:
For they by fire that mettals use to trie,
And finde wise Natures secresies thereby,
When they prepare industriously to shed
Silver, dispos'd adulteratly with lead,
Prove this base Courser from the other fine,
Being so cleere and aptly femenine,
Steales from her purenes in his boystrous fixure,
By the corruption of his earthly mixure,
Which if Gold helping her infeebled might,
As a kind brother in his sisters right,
By him her spirit is perfect and compacted,
Which that grosse body enviously detracted.
Conscience like Gold which Hell cannot intice,
Nor winne from weake man by his avarice:
Which if infus'd such vertue doth impart,
As doth conforme and rectifie the hart.
For as the Indians by experience know,
That like a Tree it in the ground doth grow,
And as it still approcheth to the day,
His curled branches bravely doth display,
Then in the bulke and body of the mine,
More neat, contracted, rarifi'd, and fine:
So truth from darknes spreading doth appeare,
And shewes it selfe more luculent and cleere.
Dunstan our Patron that religious man,
(That great and famous Metropolitan,
That in his time ascended by degrees,
To Worster, London, Canturburies Sees,
That was in ancient Glastenbury bred,
Foure Saxons raignes that living flourished,
Whose deeds the world unto this time containeth,
And sainted in our Kalenders remaineth
Gave) what not time our Brotherhood denies,
Ancient endowments and immunities:
And for our station and our generall heape,
Recides in Lombard or in goodly Cheape.
We have an Adage which though very old,
Tis not the worse that it hath oft been told,
(Though the despising ancient things and holie,
Too much betraies our ignorance and follie)
That England yeelds to goodly London this,
That she her chiefe and soveraine Citie is:
London will graunt her goodly Cheape the grace,
To be her first and absolutest place:
Dare I proclaime then with a constant hand,
Cheape is the Starre and Jewell of thy land.
The Trophie that we reare unto thy praise,
This gold-drop'd Lawrell, this life-giving bayes,
No power lends immortalitie to men,
Like the hie spirit of an industrious pen,
Which stems times tumults with a full-spread saile,
When proud reard piles and monuments doe faile,
And in their cinders when great Courts doe lie,
That shall confront and justle with the skie:
Live ever mightie, happely, and long,
Living admir'd, and dead be highly song.
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