THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.
Of the romantic expedition to Spain of “Baby Charles and Stennie” an account is given by Clarendon, and a more minute narrative by Arthur Wilson in his Life of James. The voyage was conducted with great secrecy, and very few attendants: but it is worthy remark, that Archee “the princes fool-man” was one of the party. Howell, who was at Madrid at the time, says, “Our cousin Archy hath more privilege than any, for he often goes with his fool’s-coat where the Infanta is with her Meninas and ladies of honour, and keeps a blowing and blustering amongst them, and flurts out what he list.” One of his “flurts” at the Spaniards is related in the same page[75].
The poem, as far as it describes the various rumours during the absence of the parties, a period of great consternation, is curious: the report of Buckingham’s “difference with the Cond’ Olivares” rests upon better authority than the then opinion of the poet.
They left the court Feb. 17th, and returned to England the 5th Oct. 1623.
A LETTER
TO
THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM,
BEING WITH THE PRINCE IN SPAINE.
I’ve read of ilands floating and remov’d
In Ovids time, but never heard it prov’d
Till now: that fable, by the prince and you,
By your transporting England, is made true.
Wee are not where wee were; the dog-starr raignes
No cooler in our climate, then in Spaines;
The selfe-same breath, same ayre, same heate, same burning,
Is here, as there; will be, till your returning:
Come, e’re the card be alter’d, lest perhaps
Your stay may make an errour in our mapps;
Lest England should be found, when you shall passe,
A thousand miles more southward then it was.
Oh that you were, my lord, oh that you were
Now in Blackfryers, in a disguis’d haire;
That you were Smith againe, two houres to bee
In Paules next Sunday, at full sea at three;
There you should heare the legend of each day,
The perills of your inne, and of your way;
Your enterprises, accidents, untill
You did arrive at court, and reach Madrill.
There you should heare how the State-grandees flout you,
With their twice-double diligence about you;
How our environ’d prince walkes with a guard
Of Spanish spies, and his owne servants barr’d;
How not a chaplaine of his owne may stay
When hee would heare a sermon preach’d, or pray.
You would be hungry, having din’d, to heare
The price of victuailes, and the scarcity, there;
As if the prince had ventur’d there his life
To make a famine, not to fetch a wife.
Your eggs (which might be addle too) are deare
As English capons; capons as sheepe, here;
No grasse neither for cattle; for they say
It is not cutt and made, grasse there growes hay:
That ’tis soe seething hott in Spaine, they sweare
They never heard of a raw oyster there:
Your cold meate comes in reaking, and your wine
Is all burnt sack, the fire was in the vine;
Item, your pullets are distinguish’t there
Into foure quarters, as wee carve the yeare,
And are a weeke a wasting: Munday noone
A wing; at supper something with a spoone;
Tuesday a legg, and soe forth; Sunday more,
The liver and a gizard betweene foure:
And for your mutton, in the best houshoulder
’Tis felony to cheapen a whole shoulder.
Lord! how our stomackes come to us againe,
When wee conceive what snatching is in Spaine!
I, whilst I write, and doe the newes repeate,
Am forc’t to call for breakfast in, and eate:
And doe you wonder at the dearth the while?
The flouds that make it run in th’ middle ile,
Poets of Paules, those of duke Humfryes messe,
That feede on nought but graves and emptinesse.
But heark you, noble sir, in one crosse weeke
My lord hath lost a thowsand pound at gleeke;
And though they doe allow but little meate,
They are content your losses should be great.
False, on my deanery! falser then your fare is;
Or then your difference with Cond’ de Olivares,
Which was reported strongly for one tyde,
But, after six houres floating, ebb’d and dyde.
If God would not this great designe should be
Perfect and round without some knavery,
Nor that our prince should end this enterprize,
But for soe many miles, soe many lyes:
If for a good event the Heav’ns doe please
Mens tongues should become rougher then the seas,
And that th’ expence of paper shall be such,
First written, then translated out of Dutch:
Corantoes, diets, packets, newes, more newes,
Which soe much innocent whitenesse doth abuse;
If first the Belgicke[76] pismire must be seene,
Before the Spanish lady be our queene;
With such successe, and such an end at last,
All’s wellcome, pleasant, gratefull, that is past.
And such an end wee pray that you should see,
A type of that which mother Zebedee
Wisht for her sonnes in heav’n; the prince and you
At either hand of James, (you need not sue)
Hee on the right, you on the left, the king
Safe in the mids’t, you both invironing.
Then shall I tell my lord, his word and band
Are forfeit, till I kisse the princes hand;
Then shall I tell the duke, your royall friend
Gave all the other honours, this you earn’d;
This you have wrought for; this you hammer’d out
Like a strong Smith, good workman and a stout.
In this I have a part, in this I see
Some new addition smiling upon mee:
Who, in an humble distance, claime a share
In all your greatnesse, what soe ere you are.
RICHARD,
THE THIRD EARL OF DORSET,
Is described by his wife, the celebrated lady Anne Clifford, daughter of George earl of Cumberland, in the manuscript memoirs of her life, as a man “in his own nature of a just mind, of a sweet disposition, and very valiant in his own person. He had a great advantage in his breeding, by the wisdom and devotion of his grandfather, Thomas Sackville, earl of Dorset, and lord high treasurer of England, who was then held one of the wisest of that time; by which means he was so good a scholar in all manner of learning, that, in his youth, when he was at the university, there was none of the young nobility then students there that excelled him. He was also a good patriot to his country, and generally well beloved in it; much esteemed in all the parliaments that sat in his time, and so great a lover of scholars and soldiers, as that, with an excessive bounty towards them, or indeed any of worth that were in distress, he did much diminish his estate; and also with excessive prodigality in house-keeping, and other noble ways at court, as tilting, masking, and the like; prince Henry being then alive, who was much addicted to those noble exercises, and of whom he was much beloved.” He died at the age of 35, March 28th, 1624.
I should be very unwilling to deprive Corbet of the praise due to a poem of so much intrinsic merit; but as the following epitaph is printed among the poems of his contemporary, King, bishop of Chichester, and again attributed to the latter in MS. Ashmole, A 35, Corbet’s claim to the composition of it is rendered very disputable.
ON
THE EARL OF DORSETS DEATH.
Let no prophane, ignoble foot tread here,
This hallowed piece of earth, Dorset lyes there:
A small poor relique of a noble spirit,
Free as the air, and ample as his merit:
A soul refin’d, no proud forgetting lord,
But mindful of mean names, and of his word:
Who lov’d men for his honour, not his ends,
And had the noblest way of getting friends
By loving first, and yet who knew the court,
But understood it better by report
Than practice: he nothing took from thence
But the kings favour for his recompence.
Who, for religion or his countreys good,
Neither his honour valued, nor his blood.
Rich in the worlds opinion, and mens praise,
And full in all we could desire, but days.
He that is warn’d of this, and shall forbear
To vent a sigh for him, or shed a tear,
May he live long scorn’d, and unpitied fall,
And want a mourner at his funeral!
TO THE
NEW-BORNE PRINCE,
AFTERWARDS CHARLES II.
(Born May 29th[77], 1630; died 6th of February, 1684-5.)
UPON THE APPARITION OF A STARR, AND THE FOLLOWING ECCLYPSE.
Was heav’ne afray’d to be out-done on earth
When thou wert borne, great prince, that it brought forth
Another light to helpe the aged sunn,
Lest by thy luster he might be out-shone?
Or were th’ obsequious starres so joy’d to view
Thee, that they thought their countlesse eyes too few
For such an object; and would needes create
A better influence to attend thy state?
Or would the Fates thereby shew to the earth
A Cæsars birth, as once a Cæsars death?
And was ’t that newes that made pale Cynthia run
In so great hast to intercept the sunn;
And, enviously, so shee might gaine thy sight,
Would darken him from whome shee had her light?
Mysterious prodigies yet sure they bee,
Prognosticks of a rare prosperity:
For, can thy life promise lesse good to men,
Whose birth was th’ envy, and the care of heav’ne?
ON
THE BIRTH
OF
THE YOUNG PRINCE CHARLES.
When private men gett sonnes they get a spoone[78],
Without ecclypse, or any starr at noone:
When kings gett sonnes, they get withall supplyes
And succours, farr beyond all subsedyes.
Wellcome, Gods loane! thou tribute to the State,
Thou mony newly coyn’d, thou fleete of plate!
Thrice happy childe! whome God thy father sent
To make him rich without a parliament!