The Philosophers Second Satyr Of Saturne Poem by Robert Anton

The next aboue this kingly Planets place,
Highest of all, is Saturn's sullen face:
Pale, and of ashie colour, male content;
A Catelline, to mortall temperament:
That would blow vp the Capitol of man
With enuious influence; melencholy, wan,
And much resembling, a deepe plodding pate,
Whose sallow iawbones, sinke with wasting hate
At others streames of fortunes; whil'st alone
His shallow current dries with lasting moane:
And if there hate be in a heauenly brest,
This Plannet with that furie is possest;
Suspending our propention, with bad fate,
Inspiring Tragick plots, of death and hate;
Torturing our inclinations (like a wrack)
To dismal proiects, ominous, and black
Prodigious thoughts, and deepe--fetcht treacheries,
Beating the skul with sullen phantasies.
And marke what downe--cast looks we see in Nature,
This Planet fathers for a fatall creature:
And each profound plot, drawne from sullen earth,
From Saturn's spirit, is inspir'd with birth:
And yet Philosophers affirmed thus,
That Saturnists were most ingenious;

Who long retaine their great Italian--hate,
Wittie in nothing, but things desperate;
To glut reuenge, with studious memorie
Of shallow wrongs, or some slight iniurie.
VVhich if this be his wit to study ill,
Take my wits mad--man, leaue me simple still:
Vnder this dogged starre, th'infected moode
Of discontented Graduates, hatch their broode,
Flying like swallowes from the winters frost
To warme preferment, in a forren coast;
And there vent all their long digested hate
In scandalous volumes gainst the King and State.
Flying from Tarsus to proud Niniuie,
Recusants both in faith and loyaltie;
Apostates in religion when they please,
Brauely to mount the Crosse, they crosse the Seaes.
These from this humerous Planet suck their birth,
Leauing deepe wounds vpon their mother earth:
What cause hath mou'd thee, thou deep malecontent,
To change thy faith with the aires Element?
If Angli, are cald Angeli: Oh, tell,
Why hath their pride, thrown these fro heauen to hel?
Is it, because thou hast sung sweete in all
The liberal Arts, and now through want doost fall?
Or doost thou wonder at pluralities,
Impropriations, or absurdities
Of a lay Patron, that doth still present
An asse, before a grand proficient?
Why, maruell not at these preposterous crimes,
That very Heathen men in former times
Haue scoft at, in excesse of bitter iest,
And like true prophets thus these times exprest:
Giue to thy Cooke (saith th'one) full twenty pound;
To thy foole ten: but to a man profound,
As thy Physitian, ten groates shall suffice:
Thus, thus appeares a Scholers miseries.
For should blind Homer come to sing his song,
With Lyrick sweetnesse, or the Muses tongue;
Had he all languages that first began,
At the confusion to astonish man;
Yet with a Coachman, he durst not contend
For wages, though Apollo stood his friend,
For thriue they cannot by the sacred Arts.
A Coachman, Taylor, or the Faulkeners parts,
Dwell in the breast of greatnesse: but indeed
Time must haue changes, though all vertue bleede:
Yet I could wish to turne the sullen tide,
Of their dull Planet, to a rectified
And more calme motion; and a while restraine
The turbulent billowes of their sullen vaine,
VVith temperat moderation; to appease
In Halcion--smoothenes, all those rougher seaes
Of passion, and sequesterd discontent,
No aire so sweet as their owne Element:
As death to fish, torne from their naturall place,
Expires their waterie spirits: in like case,
That man, that from his naturall mother flies,
Buried in strangers earth, his dutie dies;
Yet time may calme that hot--spur'd violence
Of fugitiue Saturnists, as in naturall sense
We see in heauie bodies, throwne by force,
By strong compulsion, thwarting natures course;

Chasing the aire, with strong actiuitie,
Yet towards his end, the moouing facultie,
Chast with precedent motion, faints and dies,
And in consumption, to his center hies.
VVhich is the cause, why motions violent,
(Their spirits spent) creepe to their Element,
Which first were made of motion, sith at last
That vertue dies, by which he first was cast
As farre from his beginning. So time shall change
Their violent passions, who are borne to range;
Transported with a furious discontent,
When all their Romish witchcrafts hath neere spent
Their violent motion, then with deere--bought paine,
They moue vnto their sweete--aire once againe.
Yet trust not to the mercie of the yeeres,
To reconcile, by time, that which appeares
Times shame, in thy originall despaire;
Once fall'n, heauens may (but wondrously) repaire:
For though relapses, are not cured with ease,
He's safe, that meetes his first spice of disease:
Which to preuent, leaue of that surgerie,
That makes your soule a bare Anatomie;
And cuts the flesh, of your more bleeding land,
With Lions hearts, not with a Ladies hand.
In poysons, counterpoysons doe contend,
Rather liue here poore, then at Rome offend;
Vse learning as a looking--glasse, to see
What others are in thy infirmitie:
But not as burning--glasses gainst the Sunne,
To force a fire to thy ambition:
But as Archimedes his cunning plies,
That by reflection, burnt whole Argos eies
With artificiall glasses: so from each hart,
His Countries good, tithes the most punctuall part
Of Art and Nature, whose diuided ends,
Shares euerie man, to Countrie, Kings, and Friends.
The seuen wise Sages of Philosophie,
Whom golden pages, keepe in memorie,
In spight of Enuy, crownd Art with this praise,
Their countreys wore the Oliue, they the Bayes:
Which showes, that Monarchies or Policy
Diuided into this triplicity,

Then on a sollid base, did firmly stand,
When Art was pure restoratiue to their land:
And prickt no veine, of their owne natiue clime,
But gaue a temperet dyet to the time:
Vrging no forraine nations, to enforce
Their naturall tempers, crosse to natures course:
Then learning florisht, without Sophistry,
Or mixture of selfe--pleasing phantasie:
Reason, did checke an high opinion'd minde.
And Schollers, like some wealthy men definde,
To be but simplex animall: that then,
Like citizens now, were held the surest men:
Vertue was then a habit of the minde
Without equiuocation: and confinde,
To his true obiect of beatitude,
Diuided from the world, or multitude
Of popular prayses: Arts did then despise,
The secular habits of great vanities:
Liu'd richly reuerent, in poore simple weeds,
Without Monasticke hoods, did Saint--like deeds:
Had neither pride, to enuie, whom doth rise,
Nor Patron, to bestow a benefice:
And did supply poore nature with poore clothes,
Dranke when a thirst, and eate when hunger growes;
Gaue no gratuities, but to present
A worthlesse Dunce, (to schollers discontent
And hire a simple Curate, scarcely paide,
With as much wages, as a laundry--mayde:
Liu'd without grumbling, or ambitious hate,
And slept contented with an humble fate;
The Arts contemn'd men of high swelling rankes,
And scarce to Alexander would giue thankes,
For visiting their tub: so much their hate
Scorn'd the prowd painted sepulchers of state.
Learning did then liue pure in Paradice;
But since her fall, to pride and auarice,
And al diseases that infect, the Arts
Do rot and putrifie their knowing parts:
Since these contagions, learning is possest;
These make the musicke of a learned brest,
Iarre in harsh discords, and vnrellisht straines;
And do corrupt the most refined braines,
With Saturnes snarling spirit, grosse and dull,
Inspiring rage into a patient skull;
For when we see, that in the Muses chaire,
Midas is Iudge, and vertue must despaire
Of a right worthy Patron; Faunius preach,
Where once Apollo did sweet musicke teach:
Arachne, with Minerua doth compare;
Dunces with Doctors, and their betters farre:
This makes the worthy Artist, dull and sad,
And rare deserts, most melancholy mad:
Yet thus much know you, whose deep Genius clames
The honor of a Scholler, not the names:
When Iupiter tooke all the Arts of price,
To heauen with vertue: and left onely vice
Instead of iustice, and white chastitie;
Vnto the earth left bribes and symonie:
Yet in a boxe, he onely hope did spare,
To wretched man, that neuer leaues him bare.
Another sort of these dull sectarists,
Are our most supercilious Humorists:
Who Saturnisde with this vnkinde aspect,
Goes (as a plodding Lawyer) circumspect,
As though his braine--pan thro'd of some great strain,
To ride from Yorke, to London backe againe;
His eyes looke like two soyled tablebookes,
In which are written most obseruant lookes:
His formall brow, contracted to a frowne;
Lookes like the Maior of some Puritan towne,
Spic'd with austeerest schisme; that scarce will see
A Maypole, to be nearer heauen then hee:
As sterne as Socrates, or Catoes grace,
That ne're was seene, to change their sullen face:
As crabtree brow'd as Iudges at a Size,
That dart their hanging terrors from their eyes:
Profest deepe politicians, these we call;
Yet farre from state, and depth politicall:
Although their trauels, well do vnderstand
Sweete Sion: and the blessed holy--land:
Iudeas ruines, and the raced Towers
Of great Ierusalem, by Titus powers:
The sacred relickes of that tombe, they made,
VVherein our Sauiours body Ioseph laide:
The worlds seuen wonders, whom all times prefer
To be Mausolus stately sepulcher.
Egypts Pyramides the second is:
The third the Obeliske of Semiramis:
The fourth, the rich Colossi of the Sonne,
At Rhodes: the fifth the wails of Babylon:
The sixth, Dianaes temple (as appeares)
That was in building two and twentie yeares:
The seuenth and last, was that most curious frame,
Of Iupiter Olympus, knowne by Fame.
All which because they can with points relate,
They boldly challenge eminence in state:
And walke with mumbling, and a grim neglect,
As if each stone were bound to giue respect,
With notice of their trauells, that haue runne,
Their progresse through the world from sunne, to sun:
As if the state (like Gray--hounds) thought men fit,
For footmenship, and not for searching wit:
A horse of Barberie, that scowers the ground,
Or Drake's fleete Pinnis, that did dance the round,
About the world, in trauell can compare
With the most proudest traueller, that dare
Cut the burnt line: or with Trans--alpine state,
Contend in pilgrimage with Coryat.
T'is not bare trauell that can make men wise,
But this from man, not from the Climates rise:
Gold makes not India rich, but India poore,
Sith their men want, although their mines haue store:
Though Alchimy do beare a glorious glosse,
Compar'd with gold, t'is bullion, and base drosse:
Things superficiall, in state ne're agree,
Without dimension of profunditie:
Desert, and not opinion of their merit,
Shall grace a Sceane of state: when as the spirit
Of a true information personates
In liuely actions, both to kings and states
Abilitie to shew how kingdomes thriue,
And to be practicke, not contemplatiue,
Like Caesar's Parrat, these can only sound,
Aue to Caesar; but in talke profound,
And mazes of true politicks of State,
That towse graue heads with windings intricate:
Th'are like the gates of Myndus, built so wide,
As if Diogenes aloud had cride;
Ho, fooles of Myndus, keepe you in those straites,
Lest that your citie doe runne through your gates;
Lord--like, these trauell, and doe spend the time
Onely for fashions in a forraine Clime,
Without obseruant searching of the hart,
Of nations, customes, or the rationall part
Of fundamentall pollicie; and with fashion
Are more transform'd, then form'd in their creatio
Yet, like an antick mountibanck commends
The vertue of his drugges: and then pretends
Experience of his oyles farre fetcht from hence;
How forraine States admired his excellence,
when he (perhaps) this taske did entertaine
For three to one at his returne againe:
Yet these Italionated antick shapes,
Transform'd from men to immitationes Apes,
Like Hyppocentaures, or some monstrous creature,
Chang'd from pure English, to outlandish nature:
Or rather, in both sexes take delight,
Diuided halfe, like an Hermophrodite,
From their owne fashions, most doe alienate,
Like monstrous births, and kindes degenerate:
When their fond trauell at the deerest price,
Brought nothing home, but their ill fashioned vice:
Fond--medling--fooles, that beare the character,
Of that poore--carping, and base--shoomaker,
That checks Apelles in his curious frame;
Goe not beyond your last, lest to your shame,
Your sullen humors to that Orbe aspire,
Where your pride burnes you in your pollitick fire.
Packe to the center you dull--pated slaues,
And there in grosse and melancholly caues,
vie mischiefes with your Planet, and let state
Be left to him, that shares a worthier fate:
Those, whom bright honour and intelligence
Of their high secrets, crownes with reuerence
Of age and sollide iudgement: those whose paines
(Like Chimes at midnight seasons) strikes their braines
With vigilantest motion; whose desire,
Like to a Glassehouse, keepes continuall fire
Of zealous flames, whose stately honours rise,
Euen from the ashes of that sacrifice:
That in whose Hecatombes of loyall blood,
Their Noble houses euer haue made good,
Vnto their Prince and Countrie; such shall ride,
Like Ariadnes honours stellified,
Throughout the milke--white circle, and there shine,
To forraine nations in that golden line
Of Roman Curtius; till the marble hart
Of enuie and detraction breake and part
From his staru'd karcas; and times Almanack,
With golden Epacts and new Moones doe crack
The sturdie ioynts of Ephemerides,
With yeerely Sunnes, and annuall compasses:
Whose merit, euen the voice of God proclaimes,
With voice of all the people, in the names
Of our most reuerent Senate; in which place
Our graue Patricians, more then th'outward grace,
Stands like a Center, from whose point diuine,
To Brittanis Circle comes an equal line
Of state and conscience; which but drawne fro hence,
Makes vp an honor'd state--circumference.
'Tis not quick siluer'd--spirits that can run,
Throughout the vaine of earth with motion
Of vnconcockted trauels, that can merit
The name of a State--mettall; till the spirit,
By which his actiue nature still goes round,
Be tempered with more massie stuffe and sound,
That in the winding Laberynth of state,
Iudicious eares may rightly terminate
The most large bodies of the ranging time,
To a confin'd and superficiall line:
Not trauell, but the minds graue residence,
That, like the Sunnes vnited excellence,
Collected to the center of the glasse:
With greater vertue doth the obiect passe,
Makes a true States--man: as in natures course,
Not euery motion can produce a force

To be the cause of heate, as in the Sunne
We feele more heate, when his hot beames doe runne
vnited, not disperst: so fit for state
Are iudgements setled, and most temperate,
Not errant like a Planet, but at rest
Like the Polestarre with in his constant brest.
Then thou that snarl'st at their transcendent ranke,
And art thy selfe like some poore Mountibanke
Made vp of drugges and tongues of euery land,
More fit for Ordinaries, then command
In the Abysse of state: that with profound
And perpendicular iudgements, plumbes the ground
Of euery scruple, with deepe beames diuine,
Euen to th'vnmeasured bottom of each Mine,
The infinite thought creates: repent thus farre,
Curse thy Dog--daies, and rate thy sullen starre;
Packe foole to French--Baloone, and there at play,
Consume the progresse of thy sullen day:
For such light pastimes suite a giddy braine;
Or if thy muddy and grosse feeding vaine,
Must needs be spic'd with Saturne: walke More--fields,
The shades of malecontents; whose causes yeelds
Whole sholes of trauellers: there may thine eies
Surfet, to see thy dull aspect arise,
And Planet--strike the Organ of thy sence,
With grosse and melancholly influence,
Cast here and there with enuious characters,
On lymping Souldiers, and wild trauellers,
That sit a Sunning vnder some greene tree,
VVondring what riches are, or rich men be.
But leauing these vnto the silent night,
Raw aires and hayecockes: and the best delight
Of such poore Grasshoppers, that onely sing
The Summer of their yeares with wandring,
Of fruitlesse voiages. Next we present
A gratious starre, faire, and beneuolent:
Drope Saturne with thy sullens to the earth,
VVhil'st Ioues bright star gets more auspicious birth.