To The Bovntifvll Poem by John Andrewes

If on the waters you shall cast your bread
it is not lost, but if your pearles you throw
Vnto these swine, be sure the same they'l tread
vnder their feete; good seed in good ground sowen,
Fauours ill plac'd, are numbred with ill deeds;
for if that hand which liberally bestowes,
(Though it (in giuing) other mens exceedes)
not the true vse of Bountie rightly knowes,
'Twere better be more sparing, for to giue
is proper to all creatures in their kinde:
The meanest thing which we can say doth liue,
in some respect we beneficiall finde.
But vnto man is only giuen the powre
to limit Bounty, know when, how, on whom,
Best to bestowe; not like a heedlesse showre
to let faire flowers die in their mothers wombe
For lacke of moisture, whil'st vpon vild weedes
it (in aboundance) poures refreshing droppes;
This kinde of giuing naturally proceedes
from partiall hands, which in the course soone stoppes.
Nor should your bountie (like the sunne) runne round.
and shine on all alike, though (like the beames)
The same should seldome in the eclipse be found;
the truest Bountie liues betweene extreames.
Your hand should neuer be so lockt from all,
as to deserue a couetous report:
Nor still in action like your Prodigall,
who makes expence his most delightfull sport:
Long since were none then Good-men held more fit
to taste your Bountie (then 'twas rightly vs'd);
But in those daies, such men must naked sit:
thus is true liberality abus'd.
He that can now most temporize, best thriues,
and great men, more then good men, Bounty taste;
Honie is brought vnto the fullest hiues,
small riuers giue vnto the sea (in waste.)
Many (againe) like Husband-men doe lay
their seede in th'bosome of the fattest ground;
Whose richnesse will with much aduantage paie,
where for each graine there shall an eare be found:
And some of you, to gaine a knaues good word;
orby a Iester to be highly prais'd
Will giue with both handes, place them at your boord;
when good-men are not ore your threshold rais'd.
Bounties pure current in this muddie time,
is by the fogges of Prodigalitie
So steinch't, with stinking ayres, so're-spread with slime,
that (as it were not) no such thing we see.
Wee finde the streame as contrary to runne,
vnto that course which it should rightly hold:
As is the West to th'rising of the sunne,
or Southerne heate vnto the Northerne cold.
Nay more, this Uertue suffers so much wrong,
as to be made a subiect nay a slaue;
Euen vnto such whose hase malitious tongue
the Giuers reputation dare depraue:
Yet haue they still gift after gift receiu'd,
euen to the full of their desires. Shall I
Say this was bounty? I might seeme bereav'd
(in saying so) of sence and honesty.
If a curst dogge (fed at your table) bites you,
you'le kick him (if not hang him) at the least:
And in a man (which doggedly requires you)
reward you that, you punish in a Beast?
I know not what to tear me this kinde of giuing:
nor will I make my braine a minte for phrase;
But wish that men (whil'st their faire fame is liuing,
would manifest it comes of Vertues race:
Whose true-borne children should relieue her friends;
but Vertue starues, they so degenerate
In sucking base ones, for their priuate ends
whil'st she and hers (though prais'd) are desolate.
Alas poore Vertue, (onely poore to such,
as do not know thy worth, who liue and die
Without all sence of goodnes, or a touch,
of ought but Beast-like sensualitie):
Or rather let me pittie them then thee.
for though the strange deformed Brats of vice
Be richly clad now, thine in pouertie;
they valued high, but thine at meanest price;
The time may come, when Bountie shall appeare
pure, like it selfe, and like faire Vertues friend.
When Ostentation shall not dare come neere,
nor Prodigalitie perswade her spend,
But vpon such as merite more then craue;
then shall no bauling foole, no wit-bare Iester,
No fawning base insinuating slaue
presume, the place where Bountie liues to pester.
And you that now it thus abuse, shall then
curse your much-giuing, and mis-giuing hand.
When you shall see the deeds of other men,
grauen in brasse, yours written in the sand.
Such mettle are mens hearts, the thankfull part
cannot forget the good it doth receiue,
But (as in brasse) record it in his heart,
of which no time can ere the same bereaue.
Th'ingratefull Nature (sand-like) doth retaine
th'impression of your hand, and more perceiues
An aptnesse in it selfe to take againe,
then to make shew it any thing receiues.