Why dost thou, Marcus, in thy misery Rail and blaspheme, and call the heavens unkind? The heavens do owe[563] no kindness unto thee, Thou hast the heavens so little in thy mind; For in thy life thou never usest prayer But at primero, to encounter fair. FOOTNOTES: [563] So eds. B, C.--Ed. A "draw" (Epigram xlv.-xlviii. are not in the MS.) MEDITATIONS OF A GULL. XLVII. See, yonder melancholy gentleman, Which, hood-wink'd with his hat, alone doth sit! Think what he thinks, and tell me, if you can, What great affairs trouble his little wit. He thinks not of the war 'twixt France and Spain,[564] Whether it be for Europe's good or ill, Nor whether the Empire can itself maintain Against the Turkish power encroaching still;[565] Nor what great town in all the Netherlands The States determine to besiege this spring, 10 Nor how the Scottish policy now stands, Nor what becomes of the Irish mutining.[566] But he doth seriously bethink him whether Of the gull'd people he be more esteem'd For his long cloak or for[567] his great black feather By which each gull is now a gallant deem'd; Or of a journey he deliberates To Paris-garden, Cock-pit, or the play; Or how to steal a dog he meditates, Or what he shall unto his mistress say. Yet with these thoughts he thinks himself most fit To be of counsel with a king for wit. FOOTNOTES: [564] Ended in 1598 by the peace of Vervins. [565] The war between Austria and Turkey was brought to a close in 1606. [566] A reference to Tyrone's insurrection, 1595-1602. [567] So Isham copy.--Not in other eds. AD MUSAM. XLVIII. Peace, idle Muse, have done! for it is time, Since lousy Ponticus envies my fame, And swears the better sort are much to blame To make me so well known for my ill rhyme. Yet Banks his horse[568] is better known than he; So are the camels and the western hog, And so is Lepidus his printed dog[569]: Why doth not Ponticus their fames envy? Besides, this Muse of mine and the black feather Grew both together fresh in estimation; 10 And both, grown stale, were cast away together: What fame is this that scarce lasts out a fashion? Only this last in credit doth remain, That from henceforth each bastard cast-forth rhyme, Which doth but savour of a libel vein, Shall call me father, and be thought my crime; So dull, and with so little sense endued, Is my gross-headed judge the multitude. J. D. FOOTNOTES: [568] See note, p. 232.