EUTHYMIAES RAPTUS; OR The Tears of PEACE: With Interlocutions. By GEO. CHAPMAN.  
AT LONDON, Printed by H. L. for Rich. ●onian, and H. Walle●: and are to be sold at the spread-eagle, near the great North-door of S. Paul's Church. 1609.   

TO THE HIGH BORN PRINCE OF MEN, HENRY, THRICE-ROYALL INHERITOR TO THE UNITED KINGDOMS OF GREAT BRITANNE.   

THE TEARS OF PEACE.  

INDUCTIO.  
NOw that our Sovereign, the great King of Peace,  
Hath (in her grace) outlaboured Hercules;  
And, past his Pillars, stretched her victories;  
Since (as he were sole Soul, t'all Royalties)  
He moves all Kings, in this vast Universe,  
To cast chaste Nets, on th'impious lust of Mars;  
See, All; and imitate his goodness still;  
That (having cleared so well, wars outward ill)  
He, Godlike, still employs his firm desires,  
To cast learned ink upon those inward fires,  
That kindle worse War, in the minds of men,  
Like to incense the outward War again:  
Self-love, inflaming so, men's sensual blood,  
That all good, public, drowns in private good;  
And that, sinks under, his own over-freight;  
men's Reasons, and their Learnings, shipwrecked quite;  
And their Religion, that should still be One,  
taketh shape's so many, that most know't in none.  
Which, I admiring (since, in each man shined  
A light so clear, that by it, all might find  
(Being well informed) their object perfect Peace,  
Which keeps the narrow path to Happiness)  
In that discourse; I shunned, (as is my use)  
The jarring press, and all their times abuse;  
T'enjoy least trodden fields, and fre'est shades;  
Wherein (of all the pleasure that invades  
The life of man, and flies all vulgar feet,  
Since silent meditation is most sweet)  
I sat to it; discoursing what main want  
So ransacked man; that it did quite supplant  
The inward Peace I spoke of; letting in  
(At his loose veins) sad war, and all his sin.  
When, suddenly, a comfortable light  
Broke through the shade; and, after it, the sight  
Of a most grave, and goodly person shined;  
With eyes turned upwards, & was outward, blind;  
But, inward; past, and future things, he saw;  
And was to both, and present times, their law.  
His sacred bosom was so full of fire,  
That 'twas transparent; and made him expire  
His breath in flames, that did instruct (me thought)  
And (as my soul were then at full) they wrought.  
At which, I casting down my humble eyes,  
Not daring to attempt their fervencies;  
He thus bespoke me; Dear mind, do not fear  
My strange appearance; Now 'tis time t'outweare  
Thy bashful disposition, and put on  
As confident a countenance, as the Sun.  
For what hast thou to look on, more divine,  
And horrid, than man is; as he should shine,  
And as he doth? what, freed from this world's strife;  
What he is entering; and what, ending life?  
All which, thou only studiest, and clost know;  
And, more than which, is only sought for show.  
Thou must not undervalue what thou hast,  
In weighing it with that, which more is graced;  
The worth that weigheth in ward, should not long  
For outward prices. This should make thee strong  
In thy close value; Nought so good can be  
As that which lasts good, betwixt God, and thee.  
Remember thine own verse— Should Heaven turn Hell,  
For deeds well done, I would do ever well.  
This heard, with joy enough, to break the twine  
Of life and soul, so apt to break as mine;  
I broke into a trance, and then remained  
(Like him) an only soul; and so obtained  
Such boldness, by the sense he did control;  
That I set look, to look; and soul to soul.  
I viewed him at his brightest; though, alas,  
With all acknowledgement, of what he was  
Beyond what I found habited in me;  
And thus I spoke; O thou that (blind) dost see  
My heart, and soul; what may I reckon thee?  
Whose heavenly look shows not; nor voice sounds man▪  
I am (said he) that spirit Elysian,  
That (in thy native air; and on the hill  
Next Hitchins left hand) did thy bosom fill,  
With such a flood of soul; that thou wert fain  
(With exclamations of her Rapture then)  
To vent it, to the Echoes of the vale;  
When (meditating of me) a sweet gale  
Brought me upon thee; and thou didst inherit  
My true sense (for the time then) in my spirit;  
And I, invisibly, went prompting thee,  
To those fair Green's, where thou didst english me.  
Scarce he had uttered this, when well I knew  
It was my Princes Homer; whose dear view  
Renewed my grateful memory of the grace  
His Highness did me for him: which, in face,  
Me thought the Spirit showed, was his delight;  
And added glory to his heavenly plight:  
Who told me, he brought stay to all my state;  
That he was Angel to me; Star, and Fate;  
Advancing Colours of good hope to me;  
And told me, my retired age should see  
heavens blessing, in a free, and harmless life,  
Conduct me, through Earth's peace-pretending strife,  
To that true Peace, whose search I still intent,  
And to the calm Shore of a loved end.  
But now, as I cast round my ravished eye,  
To see, if this free Soul had company;  
Or that, alone, he lovingly pursued  
The hidden places of my Solitude;  
He rend a Cloud down, with his burning hand  
That at his back hung, twixt me, and a Land  
Never inhabited; and said; Now, behold  
What main defect it is that doth enfold  
The World, in ominious flatteries of a Peace  
So full of worse than war; whose stern increase  
Devours her issue. With which words, I viewed  
A Lady, like a Deity endued;  
(But weeping, like a woman) and made way  
Out of one Thicket, that saw never day,  
Towards another; bearing underneath  
Her arm, a Coffin, for some prize of death;  
And after her (in funeral form) did go  
The woods four-footed Beasts, by two, and two;  
A Male, and Female, matched, of every kind;  
And after them; with like instinct inclined,  
The airy Nation felt her sorrows stings;  
Fell on the earth, kept rank, and hung their wings.  
Which sight I much did pity, and admire;  
And longed to know the dame that could inspire  
Those Bestials, with such human Form, and ruth;  
And how I now should know, the hidden Truth  
(As Homer promised) of that main defect  
That makes men, all their inward Peace reject  
For name of outward: Then he took my hand;  
Led to her; and would make myself demand,  
(Though he could have resolved me) what she was?  
And from what cause, those strange effects had pass?  
For whom, She bore that Coffin? and so mourned?  
To all which; with all mildensse, she returned  
Answer; that she was Peace; sent down from heaven  
With charge, from the Almighty Deity given,  
T'attend on men; who now had banished her  
From their societies, and made her err  
In that wild desert; only human love  
(Banished in like sort) did a longtime prove  
That life with her; but now, alas, was dead,  
And lay in that wood to be buried;  
For whom she bore that Coffin, and did mourn;  
And that those Beasts were so much human, borne,  
That they, in nature, felt a love to Peace;  
For which, they followed her, when men did cease.  
This went so near her heart, it left her tongue;  
And (silent) the gave time, to note whence sprung  
men's want of Peace, which was from want of love:  
And I observed now, what that peace did prove  
That men made shift with, & did so much please.  
For now, the Sun declining to the Seas,  
Made long misshapen shadows; and true Peace  
(Here walking in his Beams) cast such increase  
Of shadow from her; that I saw it glide  
Through Cities, Courts, and Countries; and descried,  
How, in her shadow only, men there lived,  
While she walked here i'th' Sun: and all that thrived  
Hid in that shade their thrift; nought but her shade  
Was Bulwark 'gainst all war that might invade  
Their Countries, or their Consciences; since Love  
(That should give Peace, her substance) now they drove  
Into the Deserts; where he suffered Fate,  
And whose sad Funerals Beasts must celebrate.  
With whom, I freely wished, I had been nursed;  
Because they follow Nature, at their worst;  
And at their best, did teach her. As we went  
I felt a scruple, which I durst not vent,  
No not to Peace herself, whom it concerned,  
For fear to wrong her; So well I have learned,  
To shun injustice, even to doves, or flies;  
But, to the Devil, or the Destinies,  
Where I am just, and know I honour Truth,  
I'll speak my thoughts, in scorn of what ensu'th.  
Yet (not resolved in th'other) there did shine  
A Beam of Homer's fre'er soul, in mine,  
That made me see, I might propose my doubt;  
Which was; If this were true Peace I found out,  
That felt such passion? I proved her sad part;  
And prayed her call, her voice out of her heart  
(There, kept a wrongful prisoner to her woe)  
To answer, why she was afflicted so.  
Or how, in her, such contraries could fall;  
That taught all joy, and was the life of all?  
She answered; Homer told me that there are  
Passions, in which corruption hath no share;  
There is a joy of soul; and why not then  
A grief of soul, that is no scathe to men?  
For both are Passions, though not such as reign  
In blood, and humour, that engender pain.  
Free sufferance for the truth, makes sorrow sing,  
And mourning far more sweet, then banqueting.  
Good, that deserveth joy (receiving ill)  
Doth merit justly, as much sorrow still:  
And is it a corruption to do right?  
Grief, that dischargeth Conscience, is delight:  
One sets the other off. To stand at gaze  
In one position, is a stupid maze,  
Fit for a Statue. This resolved me well,  
That Grief, in Peace, and Peace in Grief might dwell.  
And now fell all things from their natural Birth:  
Passion in Heaven; Stupidity, in Earth,  
Inverted all; the Muses, Virtues, Graces,  
Now suffer● rude, and miserable chases  
From men's societies, to that desert heath;  
And after them, Religion (chased by death)  
Came weeping, bleeding to the Funeral:  
Sought her dear Mother Peace; and down did fall,  
Before her, fainting, on her horned knees;  
Turned horn, with praying for the miseries▪  
She left the world in; desperate in their sin;  
Marble, her knees pierced; but heaven could not win  
To stay the weighty ruin of his Glory  
In her sad Exile; all the memory  
Of heaven, and heavenly things, raced of all hands;  
Heaven moves so far off, that men say it stands;  
And Earth is turned the true, and moving Heaven;  
And so 'tis left; and so is all Truth driven  
From her false bosom; all is left alone,  
Till all be ordered with confusion.  
Thus the poor brood of Peace; driven, & distressed,  
Lay brooded all beneath their mother's breast;  
Who fell upon them weeping, as they fell:  
All were so pined, that she contained them well.  
And in this Chaos, the digestion  
And beauty of the world, lay thrust and thrown.  
In this dejection, Peace poured out her Tears,  
Worded (with some pause) in my wounded Ears.   

INVOCATIO.  
O ye three-times-thrice sacred Choristers,  
Of God's great Temple; the small Universe  
Of ruinous man: (thus prostrate as ye lie  
Brooded, and Loaded with Calamity,  
Contempt, and shame, in your true mother, Peace)  
As you make sad my soul, with your misease:  
So make her able fitly to disperse  
Your sadness, and her own, in sadder verse.  
Now (old, and freely banished with yourselves  
From men's societies; as from rocks, and shelves)  
Help me to sing, and die, on our Thames shore;  
And let her lend me, her waves to deplore  
(In yours, and your most holy Sisters falls)  
Heavens fall, and human Loves, last funerals.  
And thou, great Prince of men; let thy sweet graces  
Shine on these tears; and dry, at length, the faces  
Of Peace, and all her heaven-allyed brood;  
From whose Doves eyes, is shed the precious blood  
Of heavens dear Lamb, that freshly bleeds in them.  
Make these no toys then; gird the Diadem  
Of thrice great Britain, with their Palm and Bayes:  
And with thy Eagles feathers, deign to raise  
The heavy body of my humble Muse;  
That thy great Homer's spirit in her may use  
Her topless flight, and bear thy Fame above  
The reach of Mortals, and their earthy love;  
To that high honour, his Achilles won,  
And make thy glory far outshine the Sun.  
While this small time gave Peace (in her kind Throes)  
Vent for the violence of her sudden woes;  
She turned on her right side, and (leaning on  
Her tragic daughter's bosom) looked upon  
My heavy looks, drowned in imploring tears  
For her, and that so wronged dear Race of hers.  
At which, even Peace, expressed a kind of Spleen.  
And, as a careful Mother, I have seen  
Chide her loved Child, snatched with some fear from danger:  
So Peace chid me; and first shed tears of anger.   

The Tears of Peace.  Peace. 
THou wretched man, whom I discover, borne  
To want, and sorrow, and the Vulgars' scorn:  
Why hauntest thou freely, these unhaunted places,  
Empty of pleasures? empty of all Graces,  
Fashions, and Riches; by the best pursued  
With broken Sleep, Toil, Love, Zeal, Servitude;  
With fear and trembling, with whole lives, and Souls?  
While thou break'st sleeps, digst under Earth, like moules,  
To live, to seek me out, whom all men fly:  
And think'st to find, light in obscurity,  
Eternity, in this deep vale of death:  
Look'st ever upwards, and liv'st still beneath;  
Fill'st all thy actions, with strife, what to think,  
Thy Brain with Air, and skatterst it in ink:  
Of which thou mak'st weeds for thy soul to wear,  
As out of fashion, as the bodies are.  Interlo. 
I grant their strangeness, and their too ill grace,  
And too much wretchedness, to bear the face  
Or any likeness of my soul in them:  
Whose Instruments, I rue with many a Stream  
Of secret Tears for their extreme defects,  
In uttering her true forms: but their respects  
Need not be lessened, for their being strange,  
Or not so vulgar, as the rest that range  
With headlong Raptures, through the multitude:  
Of whom they get grace, for their being rude.  
Nought is so shunned by Virtue, thrown from Truth,  
As that which draws the vulgar Dames▪ and Youth.  Pea. 
Truth must confess it: for where l●ues there one,  
That Truth or Virtue, for themselves alone,  
Or seeks, or not contemns? All, all pursue  
Wealth, Glory, Greatness, Pleasure, Fashions new.  
Who studies, studies these: who studies not  
And sees that study, lays the vulgar Plot;  
That all the Learning he gets living by,  
Men but for form, or humour dignify  
(As himself studies, but for form, and show,  
And never makes his special end, to know)  
And that an idle, airy man of News,  
A standing Face; a property to use  
In all things vil●, makes Booke-wormes, creep to him:  
How scorns he books, and booke-worms! O how dim  
Burns a true Souls light, in his Bastard eyes!  
And, as a Forest overgrown breeds Flies,  
Toads, Adders, Savadges, that all men shun;  
When, on the Southside, in a fresh May Sun,  
In varied Herds, the Beasts lie out, and sleep,  
The busy Gnatts, in swarms a buzzing keep,  
And gild their empty bodies (lift aloft)  
In beams, that though they see all, difference nought:  
So, in men's merely outward, and false Peace,  
Instead of polished men, and true increase,  
She brings forth men, with vices overgrown:  
Women, so light, and like, few know their own:  
For mild and human tongues, tongue's forked that sting:  
And all these (while they may) take Sun, and spring,  
To help them sleep, and flourish: on whose beams,  
And branches, up they climb, in such extremes  
Of proud confusion, from just Laws so far,  
That in their Peace, the long rob sweeps like war;  Int. 
That rob serves great men: why are great so rude,  Pea. 
Since great, and mean, are all but multitude?  
For regular Learning, that should difference set  
Twixt all men's worths, and make the mean, or great,  
As that is mean or great (or chief stroke strike)  
Serves the Plebeian and the Lord alike.  
Their objects, show their learn are all one;  Int. 
Their lives, their objects; Learning loved by none.  
You mean, for most part: nor would it displease  
That most part, if they heard; since they profess,  
Contempt of learning: Nor esteem it fit,  
Noblesse should study, see, or countenance it.  Pea. 
Can men in blood be Noble, not in soul?  
Reason abhors it; since what doth control  
The rudeness of the blood, and makes it Noble  
(Or hath chief means, high birthright to redouble,  
In making manners soft, and manlike mild,  
Not suffering humans to run proud, or wild)  
Is Soul, and learning; (or in love, or act)  
In blood where both fail then, lies noblesse wracked,  Interlo. 
It cannot be denied: but could you prove,  
As well, that th'act of learning, or the love,  
(Love being the act in will) should difference set,  
Twixt all men's worths, and make the mean or great,  
As learning is, or great, or mean in them;  
Then clear, her Right, stood to man's Diadem,  Pea. 
To prove that Learning (the soul's actual frame;  
Without which, 'tis a blank; a smoke-hid flame)  
Should sit great Arbitress, of all things done,  
And in your souls, (like Gnomon in the Sun)  
Give Rules to all the circles of your lives▪  
I prove it, by the Regiment God gives  
To man, of all things; to the soul, of man;  
To Learning, of the Soul. If then it can  
Rule, live; of all things best, is it not best?  
O who, what god makes greatest, dares make least?  
But, to use their terms; Life is Root and Crest  
To all man's Coat of noblesse; his soul is,  
Field to that Coat; and learning differences  
All his degrees in honour, being the Coat.  Simi. 
And as a Statuary, having got  
An Alabaster, big enough to cut  
A human image in: till he hath put  
His tools, and art to it; hewn, formed, left none  
Of the redundant matter in the Stone;  
It bears the image of a man, no more,  
Then of a Wolf, a Camel, or a Boar:  
So when the Soul is to the body given;  
(Being substance of God's Image, sent from heaven)  
It is not his true Image, till it take  
Into the Substance, those fit forms that make  
His perfect Image; which are then impressed  
By Learning and impulsion; tha invest  
Man with God's form in living Holiness,  
By cutting from his Body the excess  
Of Humours, perturbations and Affects;  
Which Nature (without Art) no more ejects,  
Then without tools, a naked Artisan  
Can, in rude stone, cut th'Image of a man.  
How then do Ignorants? who, oft, we try,  Int. 
Rule perturbations, live more humanly  
Than men held learned?  Pea. 
Who are not learned indeed;  
More than a house framed loose, (that still doth need  
The haling up, and joining) is a house:  
Nor can you call, men mere Religious,  
(That have good-wills, to knowledge) Ignorant;  
For, virtuous knowledge hath two ways to plant;  
By power infused, and Acquisition;  
The first of which, those good men, grafted upon;  
For good life is th'effect, of learning's Act;  
Which th'action of the mind, did first compact  
By infused love to Learning 'gainst all ill,  
Conquests first step, is to all good, the will.  Int. 
If Learning then, in love or act must be,  
Mean to good life, and true humanity;  
Where are our Scarecrows now, or men of rags,  
Of Titles merely, Places, Fortunes, Brags,  
That want and scorn both? Those inverted men?  
Those dungeons; whose souls no more contain  
The actual light of Reason, then dark beasts?  
Those Clouds, driven still, twixt God's beam and their breasts?  
Those Giants, throwing golden hills 'gainst heaven?  
To no one spice of true humanity given?  Peace. 
Of men, there are three sorts, that most foes be  
To Learning and her love; themselves and me:  
Active, Passive, and Intellective men:  
Whose selfe-loves; Learning, and her love disdain.  
Your Active men, consume their whole life's fire,  
In thirst of State-height, higher still and higher,  
(Like seeled Pigeons) mounting, to make sport,  
To lower lookers on; in seeing how short  
They come of that they seek, and with what trouble;  
Lamely, and far from Nature, they redouble  
Their pains in flying, more than humbler wits,  
To reach death, more direct. For Death that sits,  
Upon the fist of Fate, past highest Air,  
(Since she commands all lives, within that Sphere)  
The higher men advance; the nearer finds  
Her seeled Quarries; when, in bitterest winds,  
Lightnings, and thunders, and in sharpest hails  
Fate casts her off at States; when lower Sails  
Slide calmly to their ends▪ Your Passive men  
(So called of only passing time in vain)  
Pass it, in no good exercise; but are  
In meats, and cups laborious; and take care  
To lose without all care their Soule-spent Time;  
And since they have no means, nor Spirits to climb,  
Like Fowls of Prey, in any high affair;  
See how like Kites they bangle in the Air,  
To stoop at scraps, and garbage; in respect,  
Of that which men of true peace should select;  
And how they troth out, in their lives, the Ring;  
With idly iterating oft one thing,  
A new-fought Combat, an affair at Sea;  
A Marriage, or a Progress, or a Plea.  
No News, but fits them, as if made for them,  
Though it be forged, but of a woman's dream;  
And stuff with, such stolen ends, their manless breasts,  
(Sticks, rags, and mud) they seem mere puttock's nests:  
Curious in all men's actions, but their own;  
All men, and all things censure, though know none.  
Your Intellective men, they study hard  
Not to get knowledge, but for mere reward.  
And therefore that true knowledge that should be  
Their study's end, and is in Nature free,  
Will not be made their Broker; having power  
(With her sole self) to bring both Bride, and dower.  
They have some shadows of her (as of me,  
Adulterate outward Peace) but never see  
Her true, and heavenly face. Yet those shades serve  
(Like errant Knights, that by enchantments swerver,  
From their true Ladies being; and embrace  
An ugly Witch, with her fantastic face)  
To make them think, Truth's substance in their arms:  
Which that they have not, but her shadows charms,  
See if my proofs, be like their Arguments  
That leave Opinion still, her free dissents.  
They have not me with them; that all men know  
The highest fruit that doth of knowledge grow;  
The Bound of all true forms, and only Act;  
If they be true, they rest; nor can be racked  
Out of their posture, by Times utmost strength;  
But last the more of force, the more of length;  
For they become one substance with the Soul;  
Which Time with all his adjuncts shall control.  
But since, men wilful may believe perchance  
(In part of Errors twofold Ignorance,  
Ill disposition) their skills look as high  
And rest in that divine Security;  
See if their lives make proof of such a Peace,  
For Learning's Truth makes all life's vain war cease;  
It making peace with God, and joins to God;  
Whose information drives her Period  
Through all the Bodies passive Instruments;  
And by reflection gives them Soule-contents,  
Besides, from perfect Learning you can never  
Wisdom (with her fair Reign of Passions) sever;  
For Wisdom is nought else, then Learning fined,  
And with the understanding power combined;  
That is, a habit of both habits standing;  
The Bloods vain humours, ever countermaunding.  
But, if these show, more humour then th'unlearned;  
If in them more vain passion be discerned;  
More mad Ambition; more lust; more deceit;  
More show of gold, than gold; then dross, less weight;  
If Flattery, Avarice have their souls so given,  
Headlong, and with such devilish furies driven;  
That fools may laugh at their imprudency,  
And Villains blush at their dishonesty;  
Where is true Learning, proved to separate these  
And seat all forms in her Souls height, in peace?  
Raging Euripus, that (in all their Pride)  
Drives Ships 'gainst roughest winds, with his fierce Tide,  
And ebbs and flows, seven times in every day;  
Toils not on Earth with more irregulare sway,  
Nor is more turbulent, and mad than they.  
And shine; like gould-worms, whom you hardly find,  
By their own, light; not seen; but heard like wind.  
But this is Learning; To have skill to throw  
Reigns on your body's powers, that nothing know;  
And fill the soul's powers, so with act, and art,  
That she can curb the bodies angry part;  
All preturbations; all affects that stray  
From their one object; which is to obey  
Her Sovereign Empire; as herself should force  
Their functions only, to serve her discourse;  
And, that; to beat the straight path of one end  
Which is, to make her substance still contend,  
To be God's Image; in informing it,  
With knowledge; holy thoughts, and all forms fit  
For that eternity, ye seek in way  
Of his sole imitation; and to sway,  
Your life's love so, that he may still be Centre  
To all your pleasures; and you, (here) may enter  
The next life's peace; in governing so well  
Your sensual parts, that you, as free may dwell  
Of vulgar Raptures, here; as when calm death  
Dissolves that learned Empire, with your Breath.  
To teach, and live thus, is the only use,  
And end of Learning. Skill that doth produce  
But terms, and tongues, and Parrating of Art,  
Without that power to rule the errant part;  
Is that which some call, learned ignorance;  
A serious trifle; error in a trance.  
And let a Scholar, all earth's volumes carry,  
He will be but a walking dictionary:  
A mere articulate Clock, that doth but speak  
By others arts; when wheels wear, or springs break,  
Or any fault is in him; he can mend  
No more than clocks; but at set hours must spend  
His mouth, as clocks do; If too fast, speech go  
He cannot stay it; nor haste if too slow.  
So that, as travailers, seek their peace through storms,  
In passing many Seas, for many forms,  
Of foreign government; endure the pain  
Of many faces seeing; and the gain  
That Strangers make, of their strange-loving humours;  
Learn tongues; keep note books; all to feed the tumours  
Of vain discourse at home; or serve the course  
Of State employment, never having force  
T'employ themselves; but idle compliments  
Must pay their pains, costs, slaveries, all their Rents;  
And, though they many men know, get few friends:  
So covetous Readers; setting many ends  
To their much skill to talk; studiers of Phrase;  
Shifters in Art; to flutter in the Blaze  
Of ignorant countenance; to obtain degrees  
And lie in Learning's bottom, like the Lees,  
To be accounted deep by shallow men;  
And carve all Language, in one glorious Pen;  
May have much fame for learning: but th'effect  
Proper to perfect Learning; to direct  
Reason in such an Art, as that it can  
Turn blood to soul, and make both, one calm man;  
So making peace with God; doth differ far  
From clerk that go with God & man to war.  Int. 
But may this Peace, and man's true Empire then,  
By learning be obtained? and taught to men?  Pea. 
Let all men judge; who is it can deny,  
That the rich crown of old Humanity,  
Is still your birthright? and was ne'er let down  
From heaven, for rule of Beasts lives, but your own?  
You learn the depth of Arts; and (curious) dare  
By them (in Nature's counterfeits) compare  
Almost with God; to make perpetually  
Motion like heavens; to hang sad Rivers by  
The air, in air; and earth, twixt earth and heaven  
By his own poise. And are these virtues given  
To powerful Art, and virtue's self denied?  
This proves the other, vain, and falsified.  
Wealth, Honour, and the Rule of Realms doth fall  
In less than Reason's compass; yet, what all  
Those things are given for (which is living well)  
Wants discipline, and reason to compel.  
O foolish men! how many ways ye vex  
Your lives with pleasing them? and still perplex  
Your liberties, with licence? every way  
Casting your eyes, and faculties astray  
From their sole object? If some few bring forth  
(In Nature, freely) something of some worth;  
Much rude and worthless humour runs betwixt;  
(Like fruit in deserts) with vile matter mixed.  
Nor (since they flatter flesh so) they are bold  
(As a most noble spectacle) to behold  
Their own lives; and (like sacred light) to bear  
There Reason inward: for the Soul (in fear  
Of every sort of vice, she there contains)  
Flies out; and wanders about other men's;  
Feeding, and fatting, her infirmities.  
And as in ancient Cities, 'twas the guise  
To have some Ports of sad, and hapless vent,  
Through which, all executed men they sent;  
All filth; all off all, cast from what purged sin;  
Nought, chaste, or sacred, there going out, or in:  
So, through men's refuse ears, will nothing pierce  
That's good, or elegant; but the sword; the hearse;  
And all that doth abhor, from man's pure use,  
Is each man's only Siren; only Muse.  
And thus, for one God; one fit good; they prize  
These idle, foolish, vile varieties.  Int. 
Wretched estate of men, by fortune blest;  
That being ever idle, never rest;  
That have goods, ere they earn them; and for that,  
Want art to use them. To be wondered at  
Is justice; for Proportion, Ornament;  
None of the Graces, is so excellent.  
Vile things, adorn her: me thought, once I saw  
How, by the Seas shore, she sat giving law  
Even to the streams, and fish (most loose, and wild)  
And was (to my thoughts) wondrous sweet and mild;  
Yet fire flew from her that dissolved Rocks;  
Her looks, to Pearl turned pebble; and her locks,  
The rough, and sandy banks, to burnished gold;  
Her white left hand, did golden bridles hold;  
And, with her right, she wealthy gifts did give;  
Which with their left hands, men did still receive;  
Upon a world in her chaste lap, did lie,  
A little ivory Book, that showed mine eye,  
But one Page only; that one verse contained,  
Where all Arts, were contracted, and explainde;  
All policies of Princes, all their forces;  
Rules for their fears, cares, dangers, pleasures, purses,  
All the fair progress of their happiness here,  
justice converted, and composed there.  
All which I thought on, when I had expressed  
Why great men, of the great states they possessed,  
Enjoyed so little; and I now must note  
The large strain of a verse, I long since wrote.  
Which (me thought) much joy, to men poor presented;  
God hath made none (that all might be) contented.  Peace. 
It might (for the capacity it bears)  
Be that concealed and expressive verse,  
That justice, in her ivory Manuel writ;  
Since all Lines to man's Peace, are drawn in it.  
For great men; though such ample stuff they have  
To shape contentment; yet, since (like a wave)  
It flits, and takes all forms, retaining none;  
(Not fitted to their pattern, which is one)  
They may content themselves; God hath not given,  
To men mere earthly, the true joys of heaven;  
And so their wild ambitions either stay;  
Or turn their headstrong course, the better way.  
For poor men; their cares may be richly eased;  
Since rich (with all they have) live as displeased.  Int. 
You teach me to be plain. But what's the cause,  
That great, and rich, whose stars win such applause;  
With such enforced, and vile varieties,  
Spend time; nor give their lives glad sacrifice;  
But when they eat, and drink, with tales, jests, sounds;  
As if (like frantic men, that feel no wounds)  
They would expire in laughters? and so err  
From their right way; that like a travailer,  
(Weariest when nearest to his journeys end)  
Time best spent ever, with most pain they spend?  Pea. 
The cause, is want of Learning; which (being right)  
Makes idleness a pain; and pain delight.  
It makes men know, that they (of all things borne  
Beneath the silver Moon, and golden Morn)  
Being only forms of God; should only fix  
One form of life to those forms; and not mix  
With Beasts in forms of their lives. It doth teach,  
To give the soul her Empire; and so reach  
To rule of all the bodies mutinous Realm;  
In which (once feared▪ She than takes the Helm,  
And governs freely; stirring to one Port.  
Then, (like a man in health) the whole consort  
Of his tuned body, sings; which otherwise,  
Is like one full of weiward maladies,  
Still out of tune; and (like to Spirits raised  
Without a Circle) never is appaisde.  
And then, they have no strength, but weakens them;  
No greatness, but doth crush them into stream;  
No liberty, but turns into their snare;  
Their learn then, do light them but to err;  
Their ornaments, are burdens; their delights,  
Are mercenary, servile Parasites,  
Betraying, laughing; Fiends, that raised in fears,  
At parting, shake their Roofs about their ears;  
Th'imprisoned thirst, the fortunes of the Free;  
The Free, of Rich; Rich, of Nobility;  
Nobility, of Kings; and Kings, God's thrones;  
Even to their lightning flames; and thunder-stones.  
O liberal Learning, that well used, gives use  
To all things good; how bad is thy abuse!  
When, only thy divine reflection can  
(Th●● lights but to thy love) make good a man;  
How can the regular Body of thy light,  
Inform, and deck him? the Ills infinite,  
That (like beheaded Hydra's in that Fen  
Of blood, and flesh, in lewd illiterate men)  
Answer their amputations, with supplies  
That twist their heads, and ever double rise;  
Herculean Learning conquers; And O see  
How many, and of what fowl forms they be?  
Unquiet, wicked thoughts; unnumbered passions;  
Poorness of Counsels; hourly fluctuations;  
(In intercourse) of woes, and false delights;  
Impotent wills to goodness; Appetites  
That never will be bridled; satisfied;  
Nor know how, or with what to be supplied;  
Fears, and distractions, mixed with greediness;  
Stupidities of those things ye possess;  
Furies for what ye lose; wrongs done for nonce;  
For present, past, and future things, at once  
Cares vast, and endless; miseries, wolne with pride;  
Virtues despised, and vices glorified.  
All these, true Learning calms, and can subdue:  
But who turns learning this way? All pursue  
War with each other, that exasperates these;  
For things without; whose ends are inward peace;  
And yet those inward Rebels they maintain.  
And as your curious sort of Passive men,  
Thrust their heads through the Roofs of Rich & Poor;  
Through all their lives, and fortunes, and explore  
Foreign, and home-affayres; their Prince's Courts,  
Their Counsel, and Bedchambers for reports;  
And (like freebooters) wander out, to win  
Matter to feed their mutinous Rout within;  
(Which are the greedier still) and overshoot  
Their true-sought inward Peace, for outward boot;  
So Learned men, in controversies spend  
(Of tongues, and terms, readings, and labours penned)  
Their whole lives studies; Glory, Riches, Place,  
In full cry, with the vulgar giving Chase;  
And never, with their learning's true use strive  
To bridle strifes within them; and to live  
Like men of Peace, whom Art of Peace begat:  
But, as their deeds, are most adulterate,  
And show them false Sons, to their Peaceful Mother,  
In those wars; so their Arts, are proved no other.  
And let the best of them, a search impose  
Upon his Art: for all the things she knows  
(All being referred, to all, to her unknown)  
They will obtain the same proportion  
That doth a little brook that never ran  
Through Summer's Sun; compared with th'Ocean.  
But, could he Oracles speak; and wright to charm  
A wild of Savadges; take Nature's Arm,  
And pluck into his search, the Circuit  
Of Earth, and Heaven; the Seas space, and the spirit  
Of every Star: the Powers of Herbs, and Stones;  
Yet touch not, at his perturbations;  
Nor give them Rule, and temper, to obey  
Imperial Reason; in whose Sovereign sway,  
Learning is wholly used, and dignified;  
To what end serves he? is his learning tried  
That comforting, and that creating Fire  
That fashions men? or that which doth inspire  
Cities with civil conflagrations,  
Countries, and kingdoms? That Art that atones  
All opposition to good life, is all;  
Live well ye learned; and all men ye enthrall.  Interly. 
Alas they are discouraged in their courses,  
And (like surprised Forts) beaten from their forces.  
Bodies, on Rights of Souls did never grow  
With ruder Rage, then barbarous Torrents flow  
Over their sacred Pastures; bringing in  
Weeds, and all rapine; Temples now begin  
To suffer second deluge; Sinne-drownde Beasts,  
Making their Altars crack; and the filled Nests  
Of vulturous Fowls, filling their holy places;  
For wont Ornaments, and Religious graces.  Pea. 
The chief cause is, since they themselves betray;  
Take their Foes baits, for some particular sway  
T'invert their universal; and this still,  
Is cause of all ills else; their living ill.  Int. 
Alas! that men should strive for others sway;  
But first to rule themselves: And that being way  
To all men's Bliss; why is it trod by none?  
And why are rules so dully looked upon  
That teach that lively Rule?  Pea. 
O horrid thing!  
'tis Custom powers into your common spring  
Such poison of Example, in things vain;  
That Reason nor Religion can constrain  
men's sights of serious things; and th'only cause  
That neither human nor celestial laws  
Draw man more compass; is his own slack bent  
T'intend no more his proper Regiment.  
Where; if your Active men (or men of action)  
Their Policy, Avarice, Ambition, Faction,  
Would turn to making strong, their rule of Passion,  
To search, and settle them, in Approbation  
Of what they are, and shallbe (which may be  
By Reason, in despite of Policy)  
And in one true course, couch their whole Affairs  
To one true bliss, worth all the spawn of theirs;  
If half the idle speech, men Passive spend,  
At sensual meetings, when they recommend  
Their sanguine Souls, in laughters, to their Peace,  
Were spent in Counsels how they might decrease  
That frantic humour of ridiculous blood  
(Which adds, they vainly think, to their lives flood)  
And so converted, in true human mirth,  
To speech, what they shall be (dissolved from Earth)  
In bridling it in flesh; with all the scope  
Of their own knowledge here; and future hope:  
If (last of all) your Intellective men  
Would mix the streams of every jarring Penne.  
In one calm Current; that like land floods, now  
Make all Zeals bounded Rivers overflow;  
Firm Truth, with question, every hour pursue;  
And yet will have no question, all is true:  
Search in that troubled Ocean, for a Ford  
That by itself runs; and must bear accord  
In each man's self; by banishing falsehood there,  
Wrath, lust, pride, earthy thoughts; before elsewhere.  
(For, as in one man, is the world enclosed,  
So to form one, it should be all disposed:)  
If all these would concur to this one end,  
It would ask all their powers; and all would spend  
Life with that real sweetness, which they dream  
Comes in with objects that are mere extreme:  
And make them outward pleasures still apply  
Which never can come in, but by that key;  
Others advancements, others Fames desiring;  
Thirsting, exploring, praising, and admiring;  
Like lewd adultererers, that their own wives scorn,  
And other men's, with all their wealth, adorn.  
Why, in all outraying, varied joys, and courses,  
That in these errant times, tyre all men's forces,  
Is this so common wonder of our days?  
That in poor foretimes, such a few could raise  
So many wealthy Temples, and these none?  
All were devout then; all devotions one;  
And to one end converted; and when men  
Give up themselves to God; all theirs goes then:  
A few well-given, are worth a world of ill;  
And worlds of power, not worth one poor goodwill.  
And what's the cause, that (being but one Truth) spreads  
About the world so many thousand heads,  
Of false Opinions, all self-loved as true?  
Only affection, to things more than due:  
One Error kissed, begetteth infinite.  
How can men find truth, in ways opposite?  
And with what force, they must take opposite ways  
When all have opposite objects? Truth displays  
One coloured ensign; and the world pursues  
Ten thousand colours: see (to judge, who use  
Truth in their Arts;) what light their lives do give:  
For wherefore do they study, but to live?  
See I Eternity's straight milk-white way,  
And One, in this life's crooked vanities stray;  
And, shall I think he knows Truth, following Error?  
This; only this; is the infallible mirror,  
To show, why Ignorants, with learned men vaunt,  
And why your learned men, are so ignorant.  
Why every Youth, in one hour will be old  
In every knowledge; and why Age doth mould.  
Then; As in Rules of true Philosophy  
There must be ever due Analogy  
Betwixt the power that knows, and that is known,  
So surely joined that they are ever one;  
The understanding part transcending still  
To that it understands, that, to his skill;  
All, offering to the Soul, the Soul to God;  
(By which do all things make their Period  
In his high power; and make him, All in All;  
So, to ascend, the high-heaven-reaching Scale  
Of man's true Peace; and make his Art entire,  
By calming all his Errors in desire;  
(Which must precede, that higher happiness)  
Proportion still, must traverse her access  
Betwixt his power, and will; his Sense and Soul;  
And evermore th'exorbitance control  
Of all forms, passing through the bodies power,  
Till in the soul they rest, as in their Tower.  Int. 
But; as Earth's gross and elemental fire,  
Cannot maintain itself; but doth require  
Fresh matter still, to give it heat, and light;  
And, when it is inflamed; mounts not upright;  
But struggles in his lame impure ascent;  
Now this way works, and then is that way bend,  
Not able, strait, t'aspire to his true Sphere  
Where burns the fire, eternal, and sincere;  
So, best souls here; with heartiest zeals inflamed  
In their high flight for heaven; earth-broosed and lamed)  
Make many faint approaches; and are fain,  
With much unworthy matter, to sustain  
Their holiest fire; and with sick feathers, driven,  
And broken Pinions, flutter towards heaven.  Peace 
The cause is, that you never will bestow  
Your best, t'enclose your lives, twixt God, and you;  
To count the world's Love, Fame, joy, Honour, nothing;  
But life, (with all your love to it) betrothing  
To his love; his recomfort; his reward;  
Since no good thought calls to him, but is heard.  
Nor need you, think this strange; since he is there,  
Present: within you; ever, every where  
Where good thoughts are; for Good hath no estate  
Without him; nor himself is, without That:  
If then, this Commerce stand twixt you entire;  
Try, if he either, grant not each desire;  
Or so conform it, to his will, in stay;  
That you shall find him, there, in the delay,  
As well as th'instant grant; And so prove, right  
How easy, his dear yoke is; and how light  
His equal burden: whether this Commerce  
Twixt God and man, be so hard, or perverse  
(In composition); as, the Rarity,  
Or no-where-patterne of it, doth imply?  
Or if, in worthy contemplation  
It do not tempt, beyond comparison  
Of all things worldly? Sensuality,  
Nothing so easy; all Earth's Company,  
(Like Rhubarb, or the drugs of Thessaly)  
Compared, in taste with that sweet? O try then  
If, that contraction (by the God of men)  
Of all the law, and Prophets, laid upon  
The tempting Lawyer; were a load, that None  
Had power to stand beneath? If Gods dear love,  
Thy Conscience do not, at first sight approve  
Dear, above all things? And, so pass this shelf;  
To love (withal) thy Neighbour as thyself?  
Not, love as much; but as thyself; in this,  
To let it be as free, as thine own is;  
Without respect of profit, or reward,  
Deceit, or flattery; politic regard,  
Or any thing, but naked Charity.  Interlo. 
I call, even God, himself; to testify  
(For men, I know but few) that far above  
All to be here desired; I rate his love.  
Thanks to his still-kist-hand, that so hath framed  
My poor, and abject life; and so, inflamed  
My soul with his sweet, all-want-seasoning love;  
In studying to supply, though not remove,  
My desert fortunes, and unworthiness,  
With some wished grace from him; that might express  
His presence with me; and so dignify,  
My life, to creep on earth; behold the sky,  
And give it means enough, for this low plight;  
Though, hitherto, with no one hours delight,  
Hearty or worthy; but in him alone;  
Who, like a careful guide, hath haled me on;  
And (every minute, sinking) made we swim,  
To this calm Shore; hid, with his Son, in him:  
And here, ay me! (as trembling, I look back)  
I fall again, and, in my haven, wrack;  
Still being persuaded (by the shameless light)  
That these are dreams, of my retired Night;  
That, all my Reading; Writing; all my pains  
Are serious trifles; and the idle veins  
Of an unthrifty Angel, that deludes  
My simple fancy; and, by Fate, extends  
My Birth-accurst life, from the bliss of men:  
And then; my hands I wring; my bosom, then  
Beat, and could break open; fill th'enraged Air;  
And knock at heaven, with sighs; invoke Despair,  
At once, to free the tired Earth of my load;  
That these recoils, (that, Reason doth explode;  
Religion damns; and my armed Soul defies;  
Wrestles with Angels; telling Heaven it lies,  
If it deny the truth, his Spirit hath writ,  
graven, in my soul, and there eternized it)  
Should beat me from that rest; and that is this;  
That these prodigious Securities  
That all men snore-in (drowning in vice lives  
The Souls of men, because the body thrives)  
Are Witchcrafts damnable; That all learnings are  
Foolish, and false, that with those vile lives square;  
That these sour wizards, that so gravely scorn  
Learning with good life; kind 'gainst kind suborn;  
And are no more wise, than their shades, are men;  
Which (as my finger, can go to my Pen)  
I can demonstrate; that our knowledges, 
* Knowledge of ourselves.   
(Which we must learn, if ever we profess  
Knowledge of God; or have one Notion true)  
Are those, which first, and most we should pursue;  
That, in their searches, all men's active lives,  
Are so far short of their contemplatives;  
As Bodies are of Souls; This life, of Next:  
And, so much doth the Form, and whole Context  
Of matter, serving one; exceed the other;  
That Heaven, our Father is; as Earth our Mother.  
And therefore; in resemblance to approve,  
Who are the true bred; fathered by his love;  
(As Heaven itself, doth only, virtually  
Mix with the Earth; his Course still keeping high,  
And Substance, undisparaged; (though his Beams  
Are drowned in many dunghills; and their Steames,  
(To us) obscure him; yet he ever shines:)  
So though our soul's beams, dig in bodies Mines,  
To find them rich discourses, through their Senses;  
And meet with many myddins of offences,  
Whose Vapours choke their Organs; yet should they  
Disperse them by degrees; because their sway  
(In power) is absolute; And (in that power) shine  
As firm as heaven; heaven, nothing so divine.  
All this, I hold; and since, that all truth else,  
That all else know, or can hold; stays and dwells  
On these grounds uses; and should all contend  
(Knowing our birth here, serves but for this end  
To make true means, and ways, t'our second life)  
To ply those studies; and hold every strife  
To other ends (more than to amplify,  
Adorn, and sweeten these) deservedly)  
As balls cast in our Race; and but grass knit  
From both sides of our Path; t'ensnare our wit:  
And thus, because, the gaudy vulgar light  
Burns up my good thoughts, formed in temperate Night,  
Rising to see, the good Moon oftentimes  
(Like the poor virtues of these vicious times)  
Labour as much to lose her light; as when  
She fills her waning horns; And how (like men  
Raised to high Places) Exhalations fall  
That would be thought Stars; I'll retire from all  
The hot glades of Ambition; Company,  
That (with their vainness) make this vanity;  
And cool to death, in shadows of this vale:  
To which end, I will cast this Serpent's scale;  
This load of life, in life; this fleshy stone;  
This bond, and bundle of corruption;  
This breathing Sepulchre; this spundge of grief;  
This smiling Enemy; this household-thiefe;  
This glass of air; broken with less than breath;  
This Slave, bound face to face, to death, till death;  
And consecreate my life, to you, and yours:  
In which objection; if that power of Powers  
That hath relieved me thus far; with a hand  
Direct, and most immediate; still will stand  
Betwixt me, and the Rapines of the Earth;  
And give my poor pains, but such gracious birth,  
As may sustain me, in my desert Age,  
With some power, to my will; I still will wage  
War with that false Peace, that exileth you;  
And (in my prayed for freedom) ever vow,  
Tears in these shades, for your tears; till mine eyes  
Pour out my soul in better sacrifice.  Peace. 
Nor doubt (good friend) but God, to whom I see  
Your friendless life converted; still will be  
A rich supply for friends; And still be you  
Sure Convertite to him. This, this way row  
All to their Country. Think how he hath show'd  
You ways, and by ways; what to be pursewed,  
And what avoided. Still, in his hands be,  
If you desire to live, or safe, or free.  
No longer days take; Nature doth exact  
This resolution of thee, and this fact:  
The Foe hails on thy head; and in thy Face  
Insults, and trenches; leaves thee, no world's grace;  
The walls, in which thou art besieged, shake.  
Have done; Resist no more: but if you take  
Firm notice of our speech, and, what you see;  
And will add pains to write all; let it be  
Divulged too. Perhaps, of all, some one  
May find some good: But might it touch upon  
Your gracious Princes liking; he might do  
Good to himself, and all his kingdoms too:  
So virtuous, a great Example is;  
And that, hath thanked, as small a thing as this;  
Here being stuff, and form, for all true Peace;  
And so, of all men's perfect Happiness.  
To which, if he shall lend his Princely ear,  
And give commandment (from yourself) to hear  
My state; tell him you know me; and that I,  
That am the Crown of Principality,  
(Though thus cast off by Princes) ever vow  
Attendance at his foot; till I may grow  
Up to his bosom; which (being dewed in time  
With these my Tears) may to my comforts climb:  
Which (when all Pleasures, into Palsies turn,  
And sun-like Pomp; in his own clouds shall mourn)  
Will be acceptive. Mean space I will pray,  
That he may turn, some toward thought this way;  
While the round whirlwinds, of the earth's delights  
Dust betwixt him and me; and blind the sights  
Of all men ravished with them; whose increase  
(You well may tell him) fashions not true Peace.  
The Peace that they inform; learns but to squat,  
While the sly legal foe (that levels at  
War, through those false lights) suddenly runs by  
Betwixt you, and your strength; and while you lie,  
Couching your ears; and flatting every limb  
So close to earth, that you would seem to him  
The Earth itself: yet he knows who you are;  
And, in that vantage, pours on, ready war.   

Conclusio.  
THus, by the way, to human Loves interring,  
These marginal, and secret tears referring  
To my disposure (having all this hour  
Of our unwordly conference, given power  
To her late-fainting issue, to arise)  
She raised herself, and them; The Progenies  
Of that so civil Desert, rising all;  
Who fell with her; and to the Funeral  
(She bearing still the Coffin) all went on.  
And, now gives Time, her state's description.  
Before her flew Affliction, girt in storms,  
Gashed all with gushing wounds; and all the forms  
Of bane, and misery, frowning in her face;  
Whom Tyranny, and Injustice, had in Chase;  
Grim Persecution, Poverty, and Shame;  
Detraction, Envy, foul Mishap and lame;  
Scruple of Conscience; Fear, Deceit, Despair;  
Slander, and Clamour, that rend all the Air;  
Hate, War▪ and Massacre; uncrowned Toil;  
And Sickness (t'all the ●est, the Base, and Foil)  
Crept after; and his deadly weight, trod down  
Wealth, Beauty, and the glory of a Crown.  
These usherd her far of; as figures given,  
To show, these Crosses borne, make peace with heaven▪  
But now (made free from them) next her, before;  
Peaceful, and young, Herculean silence bore  
His craggy Club; which up, aloft, he held;  
With which, and his forefingers charm he stilled  
All sounds in air; and left so free, mine ears,  
That I might hear, the music of the Spheres,  
And all the Angels, singing, out of heaven;  
Whose tunes were solemn (as to Passion given)  
For now, that justice was the Happiness there  
For all the wrongs to Right, inflicted here.  
Such was the Passion that Peace now put on;  
And on, all went; when soudainely was gone  
All light of heaven before us; from a wood  
Whose sight, foreseen (now lost) amazed we stood,  
The Sun still gracing us; when now (the Air  
Inflamed with Meteors) we discovered, fair,  
The skipping Goat; the Horse's flaming Mane;  
Bearded, and trained Comets; Stars in wane;  
The burning sword; the Firebrand, flying Snake;  
The Lance; the Torch; the Licking fire; the Drake:  
And all else Meteors, that did ill abode;  
The thunder chid; the lightning leapt abroad;  
And yet, when Peace came in, all heaven was clear;  
And then, did all the horrid wood appear;  
Where mortal dangers, more than leaves did grow;  
In which we could not, one free step bestow;  
For treading on some murdered Passenger,  
Who thither, was by witchcraft, forced to err.  
Whose face, the bird hid, that loves Humans best;  
That hath the bugle eyes, and Rosy Breast;  
And is the yellow Autumn's Nightingale;  
Peace made us enter here secure of all;  
Where, in a Cave, that through a Rock did eat  
The monster, Murder, held his impious Seat:  
A heap of panting Hearts, supported him;  
On which, he sat, gnawing a reeking limb,  
Of some man newly murdered. As he eat  
His graue-digged Brows, like stormy Eaves did sweat,  
Which, like incensed Fens, with mists did smoke;  
His hide was rugged, as an aged Oak  
With heathie Leprosies; that still he said  
With hot raw limbs, of men late murdered.  
His Face was like a Meteor flashing blood;  
His head all bristled, like a thorny wood;  
His neck cast wrinkles, like a Sea enraged;  
And, in his vast Arms, was the world engaged,  
Bathing his hands in every cruel deed;  
Whose Palms were hell-deep lakes of boiling lead;  
His thighs were mines of poison, torment, grief;  
In which digged Fraud, and Treachery, for relief;  
Religions Butcher, Policy; and Pride;  
Oppression, Slavery, Flattery glorified;  
Atheism, and Tyranny, and gain unjust;  
Frantic Ambition, Envy, shagge-heard Lust;  
Both sorts of Ignorance; and Knowledge swelled;  
And over these, the old wolf Avarice held  
A golden Scourge, that dropped, with blood and vapour;  
With which, he whipped them to their endless labour.  
From under heaps, cast from his fruitful thighs,  
(As ground, to all their damned Impieties)  
The mournful Goddess, drew dead human Love▪  
Nor could they let her entry, though they strove;  
And furnaced on her, all their venomous breath;  
(For; though all outrage breaks the Peace of death)  
She Coffined him; and forth to Funeral  
All helped to bear him: But to sound it all,  
My Trumpet fails; and all my forces shrink.  
Who can enact to life, what kills to think?  
Nor can the Souls beams beat, through blood & flesh,  
Forms of such woe, and height, as now, afresh,  
Flowed from these Objects: to see Poesy  
Prepared to do the special obsequy,  
And sing the Funeral Oration;  
How it did show, to see her tread upon  
The breast of Death; and on a Fury lean;  
How, to her Fist, (as rites of service then)  
A Cast of Ravens flew; On her shoulders, how  
The Fowls, that to the Muse's Queen we vow,  
(The Owl, and Heronshawe) ●a●e how, for her hair,  
A hapless Comet, hurled about the Air  
Her curled Beams: whence sparks, like falling stars,  
Vanished about her; and with winds adverse,  
Were still blown back; To which the Phoenix flew;  
And (burning on her head) would not renew:  
How her divine Oration did move,  
For th' unredeemed loss of human Love;  
Object man's future state to reason's eye;  
The soul's infusion; Immortality;  
And prove her forms firm, that are here impressed;  
How her admired strains, wrought on every Beast;  
And made the woods cast their immanity,  
Up to the Air; that did to Cities fly  
In Fuel for them: and, in Clouds of smoke,  
Ever hang over them; cannot be spoke;  
Nor how to human love (to Earth now given)  
A lightning stooped, and ravished him to heaven,  
And with him Peace, with all her heavenly seed:  
Whose outward Rapture, made me inward bleed;  
Nor can I therefore, my Intention keep;  
Since Tears want words, & words want tears to weep.   

Corollarium ad Principem.  
THus shook I this abortive from my Brain;  
Which, with it, lay in this unworthy pain:  
Yet since your HOMER had his worthy hand  
In venturing this delay of your Command,  
To end his Iliads; deign (Great Prince of men)  
To hold before it your great Shield; and than  
It may, do service, worthy this delay,  
To your more worthy Pleasure; and I may  
Regather the spersed fragments of my spirits,  
And march with HOMER through his deathless merits,  
To your undying graces. Nor did he  
Vanish with this slight vision; but brought me  
Home to my Cabin; and did all the way  
Assure me of your Graces constant stay  
To his souls Being, wholly naturalized  
And made your highness subject; which he prized,  
Past all his honours held in other Lands;  
And that (because a Prince's main state stands  
In his own knowledge, and his power within)  
These works that had chief virtue to begin  
Those informations; you would hold most dear;  
Since false joys, have their seasons to appear  
Just as they are; but these delights were ever  
Perfect and needful, and would irk you never.  
I praying for this happy work of heaven  
In your sweet disposition; the calm Even  
took me to rest; and he with wings of Fire,  
To soft Airs supreme Region did aspire.  
By the ever most humbly and truly dedicated to your most Princely graces. GEO. CHAPMAN.