Vpon Mr. Thomas Coryats Crudities

Oh to what height will love of greatnesse driveThy leavened spirit, Sesqui-superlative?Venice vast lake thou hadst seen, and would seek thanSome vaster thing, and found'st a Curtizan.That inland Sea having discovered well,A Cellar gulfe, where one might saile to hellFrom Heydelberg, thou longdst to see: And thouThis Booke, greater then all, producest now.Infinite worke, which doth so far extend,That none can study it to any end.'Tis no one thing, it is not fruit nor roote;Nor poorely limited with head or foot.If man be therefore man, because he canReason, and laugh, thy booke doth halfe make man.One halfe being made, thy modestie was such,That thou on th'other half wouldst never touch.When wilt thou be at full, great Lunatique?Not till thou exceed the world? Canst thou be likeA prosperous nose-borne wenne, which sometimes growesTo be farre greater then the Mother-nose?Goe then; and as to thee, when thou didst go,Munster did Townes, and Gesner Authors show,Mount now to Gallo-belgicus; appearAs deepe a States-man, as a Gazettier.Homely and familiarly, when thou com'st back,Talke of Will. Conquerour, and Prester Iack.Go bashfull man, lest here thou blush to lookeVpon the progresse of thy glorious booke,To which both Indies sacrifices send;The West sent gold, which thou didst freely spend,(Meaning to see't no more) upon the presse.The East sends hither her deliciousnesse;And thy leaves must imbrace what comes from thence,The Myrrhe, the Pepper, and the Frankincense.This magnifies thy leaves; but if they stoopeTo neighbour wares, when Merchants do unhoopeVoluminous barrels; if thy leaves do thenConvey these wares in parcels unto men;If for vast Tons of Currans, and of Figs,Of Medicinall and Aromatique twigs,Thy leaves a better method do provide,Divide to pounds, and ounces sub-divide;If they stoope lower yet, and vent our wares,Home-manufactures, to thick popular Faires,If omni-praegnant there, upon warme stalls,They hatch all wares for which the buyer calls;Then thus thy leaves we justly may commend,That they all kinde of matter comprehend.Thus thou, by means which th'Ancients never took,A Pandect makest, and Vniversall Booke.The bravest Heroes, for publike good,Scattered in divers Lands their limbs and blood.Worst malefactors, to whom men are prize,Do publike good, cut in Anatomies;So will thy booke in peeces; for a LordWhich casts at Portescues, and all the board,Provide whole books; each leafe enough will beFor friends to passe time, and keep company.Can all carouse up thee? no, thou must fitMeasures; and fill out for the half-pint wit:Some shall wrap pils, and save a friends life so,Some shall stop muskets, and so kill a foe.Thou shalt not ease the Criticks of next ageSo much, at once their hunger to asswage:Nor shall wit-pirats hope to finde thee lyeAll in one bottome, in one Librarie.Some Leaves may paste strings there in other books,And so one may, which on another looks,Pilfer, alas, a little wit from you;one page which shall pasteBut hardly much; and yet I think this true;As Sibyls was, your booke is mysticall,For every peece is as much worth as all.Therefore mine impotency I confesse,The healths which my braine bears must be far lesse:Thy Gyant-wit'orethrowes me, I am gone;And rather then read all, I would reade none.