The Occasion of This Epigram

Singing my catch, if you be not my friend,
For all my catch, I shall be catcht ith'end.

Not in a durance suite remaine I here,
Yet in a suite like durance hemm'd with feare
Retir'd I am: confinement makes me thrall
Vnto my selfe, which grieues me most of all:
If I but see the shadow of a man,
Or th'tinkling of a Braziers copper pan,
I feare a Sergeant, shadow saies its he,
And th'Brazier saies, such like his buttons be.
Where shall I flie to? 'lasse I know not where:
For Milford-lane is growne too monstrous deere.
No, there I must not goe; for know you how
That place is stil'd? The Gallants Rand-uou.
Well, some-where I must flie: O now I see't:
Philosophers say; heate is expel'd by heate.
Moisture by moisture; Colds extremity
By cold, deriu'd from passions natiuely
Concurring in vs: if this then be trew,
Who should I flie to (Sir?) but vnto you
That are a Sergeant, and has power to place
Your God-sonne free from any Sergiants Mace?
To you ile flie pursu'de by impudence,
(A Courtiers garbe) crauing safe residence
Vnder your wings: and know (kinde Sir) from me,
To doe for Orphanes its a charity.
Little I am possest of well you know,
And of that little, little doe I owe
To any man: yet for all this am I,
Made a fit obiect for a Sergeants eie.
I could not beg if that my cause were bad,
But to disburse for that I neuer had.
Nor anie for me, 'lasse it seemes to me,
The cause might pleade it selfe without a fee.
Pray Sir (at least) if'th Courtier needes will craue it.
Let him pursue such, where 'has hope to haue it:
For me theres none: but this his wit God wot
To sue his bond, wheres nothing to be goe.
Yet for the reputation which I beare
To my vnblemisht credit, I must feare
Not our iust cause, nor any such pretence,
But brazen-face, and guilded conscience.
" For dangers felt are worse then others feard,
" Which makes me now conceald which once appear'd.
'Lasse Sir, my studies cannot brooke restraint,
" Since times obseruance giues me argument.
Of writing what I write: so smal's the store
Of Là'er I haue, that if I knew not more
By obseruation, then by reading, men
Might iustly say, I knew not what I pen.
But Iustice whose pure eie lookes euer right,
And can admit of none that cloudes her sight,
Will shield my cause: its trues I know she will,
Yet in meane time I am be-leagred still,
With thse iniurious burres, these tenterhookes,
That euen afright me with their gastly looks.
These engines of despaire, agents of euill,
Factors for Mammon, Viceroyes for the diuell
These that lay hold like bird lime: these be they,
That must be soundly brib'd, or we must pay;
I haue no hope then but your vertuous selfe
To saue my crasie vessell from this shelfe,
Or ship-wrack rather, and so sure am I
Of your best helpe, that I see safety
Appearing midst of daunger: for my trust
So well repos'd in one that is so iust,
Cannot be frustrate, but must needes receiue
What you may graunt, and I may iustly haue.
And well I know that actions of this kinde,
Keepe best concordance with your generous minde,
Whose natiue vertues haue been still exprest,
In giuing breath to causes that are best.
A great prerogatiue, as't seemes to me,
Haue you ore such as onely take their fee,
Witthout obseruance or discussion had,
Of what the cause is: whether good or bad.
These like to spiders, weaue ore iustice throne
A web, to make their actions lie vnknowne,
But all in vaine: their vices time descries:
For time has many eares and many eies.
Ripe was his wit, and well he vnderstood,
Who rous't Westminster Hal with Irish wood.
That Iustice there profest', should like appeare,
Suffring no venemous creature to come neere
Her sacred throne: no Spider, worme, nor moth,
But that like vertue should accrew to both.
Which makes me muse: sith Irish wood can show,
Such pure effects, why Ireland does not see,
O no it were too much to be the same,
In title, temper nature, and in name.
But whit her wanders my confined Muse?
Lament thine owne, care not for times abse,
It yields thee matter ro expresse thy spleene,
Which otherwise would be extinguish't cleane.
Thou mai'st retire, ther's one will see thee pla'st
In safe repose, till all these stormes be past:
Which past, may I my conning quite forget,
If better numbers doe not defcant it.

From me and mine
to you and yours,
From time to time
our praiers like showers
Diffused be
incessantlie.