My Lord,<159>

            Touching our matters here, and what hath fallen out since you departed, may perchance not be unpleasant to you to hear. Many have been the madcaps rejoicing at our new King's coming, and who (in good troth) dared not have set forth their good affection to him a month or two ago: but, alas! what availeth truth, when profit is in quest? You were true and leige bondsman to her late Highness, and felt her sweet bounties in full force and good favour. Nor did I my poor self unexperience her love and kindness on many occasions; but I cannot forbear remembering my dread at her frowns in the Irish affair, when I followed my general (and what should a captain do better?) to England a little before his time. If Essex had met his "appointed time" (as David saith) to die, it had fared better, than to meet his folly and his fate too.

            But enough of old tales; a new King will have new soldiers, and God knoweth what men they will be. One saith he will serve him by day, another by night; the women (who love to talk as they like) are for serving him both day and night. It pleaseth me to think I am not under their command, who offer so bountifully what perchance they would be glad to receive at others' hands: but I am a cripple, and not made for sports in new courts. Sir Robert Cary<160> was prime in his Scottish intelligence of the Queen's death. Some will say that bad tidings travel fast; but I may call Sir Robert's no ill burden to Edinburgh.—St. Paul hath said, that "the race is not alway given to the swift:"—I doubt Sir Robert will give the Saint the lie, for he is like to get both race and prize, and (as fame goeth) creepeth not a little into favour.

            I am now setting forth for the country, where I will read Petrarch, Ariosto, Horace, and such wise ones. I will make verses on the maidens, and give my wine to the masters; but it shall be such as I do love, and do love me. I do much delight to meet my good friends, and discourse of getting rid of our foes. Each night do I spend, or much better part thereof, in council with the ancient examples of learning; I con over their histories, their poetry, their instructions, and thence glean my own proper conduct in matters both of merriment or discretion; otherwise, my good Lord, I ne'er had overcome the rugged paths of Ariosto, nor won the high palm of glory, which you brought unto me, (I venture to say it) namely, our late Queen's approbation, esteem, and reward. How my poetry may be relished in time to come, I will not hazard to say. Thus much I have lived to see, and (in good sooth) feel too, that honest prose will never better a man's purse at court; and, had not my fortune been in terra firma, I might, even for my verses, have danced barefoot with Clio and her school-fellows until I did sweat, and then have gotten nothing, to slake my thirst, but a pitcher of Helicon's well. E'en let the beardless god Apollo dip his own chin in such drink; a hair of my face shall have better entertainment.

            I have made some friends to further my suit of favour with the King, and hope you will not be slack in forwarding my being noticed in proper season: but, my good Lord, I will walk fair, though a cripple; I will copy no man's steps so close as to tread on his heel; if I go at all, it shall be verily uprightly, and shall better myself in thus saying, Sequar—sed passibus æquis.<161>—Now, my Lord, farewell and trust his word who ventureth to honour himself in the name of
            Your friend,
            JOHN HARINGTON.

            When you can fairly get occasion, I entreat a word touching your doings at Court. I will point out to you a special conveyance, for, in these times, discretion must stand at our doors, and even at our lips too. Good caution never cometh better, than when a man is climbing; it is a pitiful thing to set a wrong foot, and, instead of raising one's head, to fall to the ground and show one's baser parts.

Prev Next