Slumbring I lay in melancholy bed,Before the dawning of the sanguin light:When Eccho Shrill, or some Familiar SprightBuzzed an Epitaph into my hed.
Magnifique Mindes, bred of Gargantuas race,In grisly weedes His Obsequies waiment,Whose Corps on Powles, whose mind triumph'd on Kent,Scorning to bate Sir Rodomont an ace.
I mus'd awhile: and hauing mus'd awhile,Iesu, (quoth I) is that Gargantua mindeConquerd, and left no Scanderbeg behinde ?Vowed he not to Powles A Second bile?
What bile, or kibe? (quoth that same early Spright)Haue you forgot the Scanderbegging wight?
Glosse.
Is it a Dreame? or is the Highest minde,That euer haunted Powles, or hunted winde,Bereaft of that same sky-surmounting breath,That breath, that taught the Timpany to swell?
He, and the Plague contended for the game:The hawty man extolles his hideous thoughtes,And gloriously insultes vpon poore soules,That plague themselues: for faint harts plague themselues.The tyrant Sicknesse of base-minded slauesOh how it dominer's in Coward Lane?So Surquidry rang-out his larum bell,When he had girn'd at many a dolefull knell.
The graund Dissease disdain'd his toade Conceit,And smiling at his tamberlaine contempt,Sternely struck-home the peremptory stroke.He that nor feared God, nor dreaded Diu'll,Nor ought admired, but his wondrous selfe:Like Iunos gawdy Bird, that prowdly staresOn glittring fan of his triumphant taile:Or like the ugly Bugg, that scorn'd to dy,And mountes of Glory rear'd in towring witt:Alas: but Babell Pride must kisse the pitt.
L'enuoy.
Powles steeple, and a hugyer thing is downe:Beware the next Bull-beggar of the towne.
-- -- -- -- -- -- Fata immatura vagantur.
