[603] Ed. 1598 “slave.”
[604] “Remors de l’estromac, The upbraiding of the stomacke.”—Cotgrave.
[605] Snubbed.
TO EVERLASTING OBLIVION.[606]
Thou mighty gulf, insatiate cormorant!
Deride me not, though I seem petulant
To fall into thy chops. Let others pray
For ever their fair poems flourish may;
But as for me, hungry Oblivion,
Devour me quick, accept my orison,
My earnest prayers, which do importune thee,
With gloomy shade of thy still empery,
To veil both me and my rude poesy.
Far worthier lines, in silence of thy state, 10
Do sleep securely, free from love or hate;
From which this living ne’er can be exempt,
But whilst it breathes will hate and fury tempt:
Then close his eyes with thy all-dimming hand,
Which not right glorious actions can withstand.
Peace, hateful tongues, I now in silence pace,
Unless some hound do wake me from my place,
I with this sharp, yet well-meant poesy,
Will sleep secure, right free from injury
Of canker’d hate, or rankest villainy. 20
[606] Compare “The Author’s Charge to his Satires” prefixed to Hall’s Virgedemiarum, The three last Books.
TO HIM THAT HATH PERUSED ME.
Gentle or ungentle hand that holdest me, let not thine eye be cast upon privateness, for I protest I glance not on it. If thou hast perused me, what lesser favour canst thou grant than not to abuse me with unjust application? Yet, I fear me, I shall be much, much injuried[607] by two sorts of readers: the one being ignorant, not knowing the nature of a satire (which is, under feigned private names to note general vices), will needs wrest each feigned name to a private unfeigned person: the other, too subtile, bearing a private malice to some greater personage than he dare, in his own person, seem to malign, will strive, by a forced application of my general reproofs, to
broach his private hatred,—than the which I know not a greater injury can be offered to a satirist. I durst presume, knew they how guiltless and how free I were from prying into privateness, they would blush to think how much they wrong themselves in seeking to injure me. Let this protestation satisfy our curious searchers; so may I obtain my best hopes, as I am free from endeavouring to blast any private man’s good name. If any one (forced with his own guilt) will turn it home and say, “’Tis I,” I cannot hinder him; neither do I injure him. For other faults of poesy, I crave no[608] pardon, in that I scorn all penance the bitterest censurer can impose upon me. Thus (wishing each man to leave inquiring whom I am, and learn to know himself) I take a solemn congee of this fusty world.