PANEGYRICK VERSES
Now seeing there is thus much Paper here to [III.95.] spare, that you should not be altogether cloyed with Prose; such Verses as my worthy Friends bestowed upon New England, I here present you, because with honestie I can neither reject, nor omit their courtesies.
In the deserved Honour of the Author, Captaine John Smith, and his Worke.
Damn'd Envie is a sp'rite, that ever haunts Beasts, mis-nam'd Men; Cowards, or Ignorants. But, onely such shee followes, whose deare worth (Maugre her malice) sets their glory forth. If this faire Overture, then, take not; It Is Envie's spight (deare friend) in men of wit; Or Feare, lest morsels, which our mouths possesse, Might fall from thence; or else, tis Sottishnesse. If either; (I hope neither) thee they raise; Thy Letters [FN] are as Letters in thy praise; Who, by their vice, improve (when they reproove.) Thy vertue; so, in hate, procure thee Love. Then, On firme Worth: this Monument I frame; Scorning for any Smith to forge such fame. John Davies, Heref:
[FN] Hinderers.
To his worthy Captaine the Author.
That which wee call the subject of all Storie, Is Truth: which in this Worke of thine gives glorie To all that thou hast done. Then, scorne the spight Of Envie; which doth no mans Merits right. My sword may helpe the rest: my Pen no more Can doe, but this; I'ave said enough before. Your sometime Souldier, J. Codrinton, now Templer.
To my Worthy Friend and Cosen, Captaine John Smith.
It over-joyes my heart, when as thy Words Of these designes, with deeds I doe compare. Here is a Booke, such worthy truth affords, None should the due desert thereof impare: Sith thou, the man, deserving of these Ages, Much paine hast ta'en for this our Kingdomes good, In Climes unknowne, 'Mongst Turks and Salvages, T'inlarge our bounds; though with thy losse of blood. Hence damn'd Detraction: stand not in our way. Envie, it selfe, will not the Truth gainesay. N. Smith.
In the deserved Honour of my honest and worthy Captaine, John Smith, and his Worke.
Captaine and friend; when I peruse thy Booke (With Judgements eyes) into my heart I looke: And there I finde (what sometimes Albion knew) A Souldier, to his Countries-honour, true. Some fight for wealth; and some for emptie praise; But thou alone thy Countries Fame to raise. [III. 96.] With due discretion, and undanted heart, I (oft) so well have seene thee act thy Part In deepest plunge of hard extreamitie, As forc't the troups of proudest foes to flie. Though men of greater Ranke and lesse desert Would Pish-away thy Praise, it can not start From the true Owner: for, all good mens tongues Shall keepe the same. To them that Part belongs. If, then, Wit, Courage, and Successe should get Thee Fame; the Muse for that is in thy debt: Apart whereof (least able though I be) Thus here I doe disburse, to honor Thee. Raleigh Crashaw.
Michael Phettiplace, Wil: Phettiplace, and Richard Wiffing, Gentlemen, and Souldiers under Captaine Smiths command: In his deserved honour for his Worke, and Worth.
Why may not wee in this Worke have our Mite, That had our share in each black day and night, When thou Virginia foild'st, yet kept'st unstaind; And held'st the King of Paspeheh enchaind. Thou all alone this Salvage sterne didst take. Pamaunkees King wee saw thee captive make Among seaven hundred of his stoutest men, To murther thee and us resolved; when Fast by the hayre thou ledst this Salvage grim, Thy Pistoll at his breast to governe him: Which did infuse such awe in all the rest (Sith their drad Soveraigne thou had'st so distrest) That thou and wee (poore sixteene) safe retir'd Unto our helplesse Ships. Thou (thus admir'd) Didst make proud Powhatan, his subjects send To James his Towne, thy censure to attend: And all Virginia's Lords, and pettie Kings, Aw'd by thy vertue, crouch, and Presents brings To gaine thy grace; so dreaded thou hast beene: And yet a heart more milde is seldome seene; So, making Valour Vertue, really; Who hast nought in thee counterfeit, or slie; If in the sleight be not the truest Art, That makes men famoused for faire desert. Who saith of thee, this savors of vaine glorie, Mistakes both thee and us, and this true Storie. If it be ill in Thee, so well to doe; Then, is ill in Us, to praise thee too. But, if the first be well done; it is well, To say it doth (if so it doth) excell. Praise is the guerdon of each deare desert Making the praised act the praised part With more alacritie: Honours Spurre is Praise; Without which, it (regardlesse) soone decaies. And for this paines of thine wee praise thee rather, That future Times may know who was the father Of that rare Worke (New England) which may bring, Praise to thy God, and profit to thy King.