^ ^ °^ \ \.A <.-t<3. !1? 'V. .^ .<.# % >^o^ ^^o^ Q^ '^0 .# r ^ -. ,4°^ » ^.- ^«^ °^ 6 (J ,^ ^ o .^^ ^^0^ J ^ ^1 -. THE POETICAL WORKS DR, JOHN DONNE, WITH A MEMOIR. BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY. 3IDCCCLXIV. RIVERSIDE, CAMBRID&B: PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. STEREOTYPED BY STONE AND SMART By Transfer JUN 5 '907 Lr (71^ TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE WILLIAM LORD CRAVEN, BAKON OP HAMSTED MAESHAM. MY LORD, Many of these poems have, for several im- pressions, wandered up and down, trusting (as well they might) upon the author's reputation: neither do they now complain of any injury, but what may proceed either from the kindness of the printer or the courtesy of the reader ; the one, by adding something too much, lest any spark of this sacred fire might perish undiscerned ; the other, by putting such an estimation upon the wit and fancy they find here, that they are content to use it as their own ; as if a man should dig out the stones of a royal amphitheatre, to build a stage for a country show. Amongst all the mon- sters this unlucky age has teemed with, I find none so prodigious as the poets of these later times, wherein men, as if they would level understand- ings too, as well as estates, acknowledging no inequality of parts and judgments, pretend as indifferently to the chair of wit as to the pulpit, and conceive themselves no less inspired with the 4 DEDICATION. spirit of poetrj, than with that of religion : so it is not only the noise of drums and trumpets, which have drowned the Muses' harmony, or the fear that the church's ruin will destroy the priests likewise, that now frights them from this country, where they have been so ingeniously received ; but these rude pretenders to excellences they unjustly own, who profanely rushing into Miner- va's temple, ^with noisome airs blast the laurel, which thunder cannot hurt. In this sad condition, these learned sisters are fled over to beg your lordship's protection, who have been so certain a patron both to arts and arms, and who, in this general confusion, have so entirely preserved your honor, that in your lordship we may still read a most perfect character of what England was in all her pomp and greatness. So that although these poems were formerly written, upon several occasions, to several persons, they now unite themselves, and are become one pyramid to set your lordship's statue upon ; where you may stand, like armed Apollo, the defender of the Muses, encouraging the poets now alive to celebrate your great acts, by affording your countenance to his poems, that wanted only so noble a subject. My Lord, Your most humble servant, John Donne.* * The eldest son of the poet, and editor of several of his father's works. CONTENTS. Page Life of Donne xi EPISTLES TO SEVERAL PERSONAGES. The Storm. To Mr. Christopher Brook, from the Island Voyage with the Earl of Essex 1 The Calm 4 To Sir Henry Wotton 6 To Sir Henry Goodyere 9 To Mr. Rowland Woodward 11 To Sir Henry Wotton 13 To the Countess of Bedford 15, 17, 22, 26, 47, 56 To Sir Edward Herbert, since Lord Herbert of Cherbury, being at the Siege of Juliers 20 To the Countess of Huntingdon 29, 49 ToMr.LW 32 To Mr. T. W 33, 34 Incerto 35 To Mr. C. B 36 ToMr. S. B * 36 To Mr. B. B 37 To Mr. R. W 38 ToMr. L L 40 ToMr.L P 40 To the Earl of Doncaster, with Six Holy Sonnets 41 To Sir Henry Wotton, at his going Ambassador to Venice 42 To Mrs. M. H 44 A Dialogue between Sir Henry Wotton, and Mr. Donne 54 A letter to the Lady Cary, and Mrs. Essex Rich, from Amiens 67 To the Countess of Salisbury 60 To the Lady Bedford 68 VI CONTENTS. Page Sappho to Philsenis 65 To Ben Jonson 67, 69 To Sir Thomas Kowe, 1603 70 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Anatomy of the World 75, 78 A Funeral Elegy 94 Of the Progress of the Soul 99, 101 An Elegy on the untimely Death of the incomparable Prince Henry 119 To the Countess of Bedford 123 Obsequies to the Lord Harrington's Brother 124 An Elegy on the Lady Markham 133 Elegy on Mistress Boulstred 136, 140 On Himself 139 Elegy on the Lord C 142 To Sir Robert Carr 143 Elegy 144 An Epitaph on Shakspeare . . ; 146 A Hymn to the Saints, and to Marquess Hamilton 147 DIVINE POEMS. Holy Sonnets 151 On the Blessed Virgin Mary 164 The Cross 165 Psalm 137 168 Resurrection, imperfect 171 The Annunciation and Passion 172 Good Friday, 1613, Riding Westward 174 The Litany 176 Upon the Translation of the Psalms by Sir Philip Sydney, and the Countess of Pembroke his Sister 1S7 Ode...., 189 To Mr. Tilman, after he had taken Orders 190 A Hymn to Christ, at the Author's last going into Ger- many 193 On the Sacrament 194 The Lamentations of Jeremy, for the most part according to Tremellius .' 195 Hymn to God, my God, in my Sickness 213 CONTENTS. Vll Page. A Hymn to God the Father 215 To Mr. George Herbert, with his Seal of the Anchor and Christ 216 A Sheaf of Snakes used heretofore to be my Seal, the Crest of our Poor Family 217 THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. Epistle 221 The Progress of the Soul 223 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The Flea 249 The Good-Morrow 250 Song 251 Woman's Constancy 253 The Undertaking 254 The Sun-Rising 255 The Indifferent 257 Love's Usury 258 Canonization 259 The Triple Fool 261 Lover's Infiniteness 262 Song 264 The Legacy 265 A Fever 267 Air and Angels 268 Break of Day 269 The Anniversary ". 271 A Valediction of my Name in the Window 272 Twickenham Garden 275 Valediction to his Book 276 Community 279 Love's Growth 280 Love's Exchange 281 Confined Love 283 Tiie Dream 284 A Valediction of Weeping 285 Love's Alchemy 286 The Curse 287 VUl CONTENTS. Page The Message 289 A Nocturnal upon S. Lucy's Day, being the shortest Day 290 Witchcraft by a Picture 292 The Bait 292 The Apparition 294 The Broken Heart 295 A Valediction forbidding Mourning 296 The Ecstasy 298 Love's Deity 300 Love's Diet 302 The Will 303 The Funeral 305 The Blossom 307 The Primrose, being at Montgomery Castle, upon the Hill, on which it is situate 308 Tlie Kelic 310 The Damp 311 The Dissolution 312 A Jet Ring sent 313 Negative Love 314 The Prohibition 315 The Expiration 316 The Computation 317 The Paradox 317 Song 318 Farewell to Love 319 Song 321 A Lecture upon the Shadow 323 The Token 324 v" He that cannot choose but love " 325 EPIGRAMS. Hero and Leander 326 Pyramus and Thisbe 326 Niobe 326 A Burnt Ship 326 Fall of a Wall 327 A Lame Beggar 327 CONTENTS. IX -Page A Self-accuser 327 A Licentious Person 327 Antiquary ,' 327 Disinherited 327 Phryne 328 An Obscure Writer 328 Kaderus 328 Mercurius Gallo-Belgicus 328 Translated out of Gazseus, vota amico facta 328 ELEGIES. Elegy I. Jealousy 329 Elegy II. The Anagram 331 Elegy III. Change 333 Elegy IV. The Perfume 386 Elegy V. His Picture 338 Elegy VI 339 Elegy VII 341 Elegy VIII. The Comparison 342 Elegy IX. The Autumnal 344 Elegy X. The Dream 347 Elegy XL Upon the Loss of his Mistress's Chain, for which he made Satisfaction 348 Elegy XII 352 Elegy XIIL His Parting from her 355 Elegy XIV. Julia 359 Elegy XV. A Tale of a Citizen and his Wife 360 Elegy XVI. The Expostulation 363 Elegy XVII 365 To his Mistress going to Bed 369 Elegy on his Mistress 371 Upon Mr. Thomas Cory at' s Crudities 373 Elegy 376 EPITHALAMIOXS, OR MARRIAGE SONGS. An Epithalamion on Frederick Count Palatine of the Rhine, and the Lady Elizabeth, being married on St. Valentine's Day 380 X CONTENTS. Page Eclogue 385 Epithalamion made at Lincoln's Inn 395 SATIBES. Satire I 400 Satire H 404 Satire HI 408 Satire IV 413 Satire V 422 Satire VI 425 LATIN POEMS. In Sacram Anchoram Piscatoris, G. Herbert 428 To Mr. George Herbert, sent him -with one of my Seals of the Anchor and Christ 429 Amicissimo et Meritissimo Benj. Jonson 430 De Libro, Cum Mutuaretur, Impress©, Domi a Pueris Frustratim Lacerato, et post Beddito Manuscripto 431 SOME ACCOUNT LIFE OF DR. JOHN DONNE* Dr. John Doxne, the son of an eminent mer- chant, was born in London, in the year 1573 ; by his father descended from an ancient and wor- thy family in Wales, and by his mother from the famous and learned Sir Thomas More, Lord Chancellor of England. The first part of his education was under a private tutor in his father's house ; from whence, in the tenth year of his age, he was removed to Hart-Hall in Oxford, having already given many proofs of his great parts and abilities. Here he continued for the space of four years, with an un- wearied application to the study of the several sciences. In his fourteenth year, he was by his friends transplanted to Trinity College (as I take it) in Cambridge, and thence after three years* stay to Lincoln's-Inn ; in which honorable society he soon gained much esteem and reputation. About this time his studies were somewhat in- * This is an abridgment of Walton's Life, and is taken from the edition of Donne's Poems published in 1719. Xll LIFE OF DONNK. terrupted by the death of an indulgent father. Being by this accident in a manner left to himself, and enabled withal by a handsome fortune of three thousand pounds (a sum in those days very considerable) to improve himself in what manner he pleased, he thought he could not do it better than by travel. Accordingly, he attended the Earl of Essex in the expedition to Cadiz ; and afterwards taking the tour of Italy and Spain, and making himself a thorough master of their languages, he was at his return into England promoted to be chief secretary to the then Lord Chancellor Ellesmere. 'T was here he passionately fell in love with, and privately married, a niece of the Lady EUes- mere's, the daughter of Sir George More, Chan- cellor of the Garter, and Lieutenant of the Tower ; which so much enraged Sir George, that he not only procured Mr. Donne's dismission from his employment under the Lord Chancellor, but never rested till he had caused him likewise to be im- prisoned. Though it was not long before he was enlarged from his confinement, yet his troubles still increased upon him ; for his wife being detained from him, he was constrained to claim her by a trouble- some and expensive lawsuit, which, together with travel, books, and a too liberal disposition, con- tributed to reduce his fortune to a very narrow compass. LIFE OF DONNE. XUl Adversity has its peculiar virtues to exercise and work upon, as well as the most flourishing condition of life ; and Mr. Donne had now an opportunity of showing his patience and submis- sion, which, together with the general approbation he everywhere met with of Mr. Donne's good qualities, with an irresistible kind of persuasion so won upon Sir George, that he began now not wholly to disapprove of his daughter's choice ; and was at length so far reconcile4 as not to deny them his blessing, though he could not yet be prevailed upon to lend them his assisting hand towards their support. In the midst of these Mr. Donne's misfortunes he was happily relieved by his generous kinsman Sir Francis Woolley, of Pilford in Surrey, who entertained both him and his wife at his house for many years with much freedom, and as his family increased, (for he had every year a child,) propor- tionably enlarged his bounty. Here they contin- ued till Sir Francis's death; some time before which the good knight had labored, and so far effected a reconciliation with their father. Sir George, as to engage him under a bond to pay to Mr. Donne eight hundred pounds, or twenty pounds quarterly till it was paid, as a portion with his daughter. Mr. Donne, notwithstanding the many perplex- ities he was now involved in, was not hereby di- verted from his beloved studies ; for, during his XIV LIFE OF DONNE. stay with Sir Francis, he made himself perfectly acquainted with the Body of Civil and Canon Laws. Upon the loss of his worthy benefactor, he hired a house at Micham, in Surrey, for his wife and family, placing them near some friends whose bounty he had often experienced ; but took lodg- ings for himself in London, where his occasions often required him. The reader will be best able to judge of the necessitous state Mr. Donne was now in, from an extract of one of his letters to a friend, which whoever can read without be- ing sensibly affected, must have retained but little of compassion or common humanity. " The reason why I did not send an answer to your last week's letter was because it found me in too great a sadness ; and, at present, 't is thus with me : there is not one person but myself well of my family ; I have already lost half a child, and with that mischance of hers my wife is fallen into such a discomposure as would afflict her too extremely, but that the sickness of all her children stupefies her ; of one of which, in good faith, I have not much hope : and these meet with a fortune so ill provided for physic and such relief, that if God should ease us with burials, I know not how to perform even that. But I flatter myself with this hope, that I am dying too; for I cannot waste faster than by such griefs. From my hospital at Micham, Auof. 10. John Donne.'* LIFE OF DONNE. XV The only alleviation of these his sorrows was his having recourse to books, particularly his studying with much pains and labor the contro- versy between the Reformed and the Roman Church, (which before he had been no stranger to, having but at the age of nineteen carefully examined the works of Bellarmine and other famous writers of that time,) especially the two points, then so remarkably controverted, of Su- premacy and Allegiance. And now, after this gloomy season of affliction, did the dawn of some better fortune begin to appear ; for, upon the advice of some of his friends, he removed himself and his family from Micham to London ; and there, by Sir Robert Drury, was placed rent-free in a handsome house, next his own, in Drury-lane. He had heretofore been well known to and much valued by many of the nobility, by some of whom he was now introduced and recommended to the king. His Majesty needed not much solicita- tion in his behalf, himself soon taking great delight in his company ; insomuch that one day, having talked with him on the Oaths of Suprem- acy and Allegiance, he was much pleased with his discourse, and commanded him to draw up into some form the arguments and objections that had been brought upon those points, with his answers thereto. This he soon did, and delivered them to the king in the jame order they are now printed in his Pseudo-Martyr. h XVI lift: of DONNE. The king, upon reading this book of Mr. Donne's, was so struck with admiration of his learning and abilities that he immediately devoted him to the ministry, and from that time, with much earnestness, persuaded him to take holy orders. 'T is here to be remembered that some time before this, Dr. Morton, (afterwards Bishop of Durham,) upon his being made Dean of Glou- cester, had with the same pious intentions solic- ited him to enter upon that sacred function, promising him to deliver up to him a very valu- able benefice himself was then possessed of; but through Mr. Donne's excessive modesty (though his circumstances were then at the lowest) he could not prevail. But to His Majesty's com- mands Mr. Donne (though not without some unwillingness) did consent ; at the same time requesting he might be allowed to defer it till he had made some further advances in the study of divinity and the learned languages. This being granted, at the end of three years he was by his learned friend. Dr. King, Bishop of London, ordained, with all convenient speed, both deacon and priest. Upon which the king immediately made him one of his chaplains ; and not long after this, the king being at Cambridge, the University, in obedience to His Majesty's command, conferred upon Mr. Donne the degree of Doctor in Divinity. The Lectureship of Lincolns-Inn, about this LIFE OF DONNE. XVU time, happening to be vacant, the Benchers pres- ently made choice of their old fellow-student, Dr. Donne, to be their preacher, provided him with handsome apartments, and expressed their affec- tion to him by sundry other acts of liberality and kindness. In this society he continued three years, till the king, sending over the Earl of Doncaster into Germany to compose the unhappy business of the Palsgrave, was likewise pleased to appoint the Doctor his assistant in that important affair. Within a year after his return into England the Deanery of St. Paul's becoming vacant (by the removal of Dr. Gary to the See of Exeter) the king ordered him to attend him at dinner the next day. When His Majesty was sat down, he said, with his usual pleasantness ; " Dr. Donne ! I have invited you to dinner, and, though you sit not down with me, I will carve to you of a dish I know you love well ; for knowing you love London, I do, therefore, make you Dean of St. Paul's ; and when I have dined, then do you take your beloved dish home to your study ; say grace there to yourself, and much good may it do you." So much did the king esteem Dr. Donne, that when he had been speaking of him, he was heard more than once to say : " I always rejoice when I think that by my means he became a divine." The first thing he set about, after his admission into the deanery, was the repairing and beautify- XVm LIFE OF DONNE. ing the chapel ; he likewise frankly forgave his father-in-law, Sir George More, the quarterly payment of his wife's portion. Not long after fell to him the Vicarage of St. Dunstan's in the West, the advowson of which was given him by the Earl of Dorset; as did soon after anotlier benefice, formerly given him by the Earl of Kent ; and in the next parliament he was chosen pro- locutor of the convocation, on which occasion [he , pronounced a Latin oration] as his inauguration speech. In his fifty-fourth year he fell into a lingering consumption, which grew at last so dangerous as to make his friends despair of his recovery. But it pleased God miraculously to restore him ; nor was he unmindful of -these great mercies, having abundantly acknowledged his thankfulness for them in that admirable book of devotions he wrote in his sickness and published at his recovery. The reader will find the same spirit of religion I have been speaking of in several of the follow- ing pieces ; especially his Hymn to God, the Father, and that which he wrote on his death- bed, bearing this title. An Hymn to God, my God in my Sickness ; the former of which he caused to be set to solemn music, and performed before him in the choir of St. Paul's. As to the more airy part of his poetical com- positions, they were only the innocent amusement and diversion of his youth, being most of them LIFE OP DONNE. XIX written before his twentieth year ; so happy at this age was he in the sprightliness of his wit and the delicacy of his fancy. His poem called The Autumnal, he wrote at Oxford, upon the Lady Herbert, mother of his dear friend, Mr. George Herbert, the author of that excellent book called The Temple. Besides his books already mentioned, he left in writing under his own hand many judicious observations from fourteen hundred authors, be- sides sixscore sermons, and his famous treatise, named Biathanatos ; all which are ample testi- monies as well of his prodigious industry and learning as of his great parts and exquisite judg- ment. From this short account of the Doctor's writ- ings let us now return to himself; who, notwith- standing his being recovered from his late illness, did again relapse into his old distemper ; and finding he began to decay sensibly, and hasten to his end, the week before his death he sent for many of his intimate friends to take his last leave of them. Having done this, and settled his private affairs, with much cheerfulness and resignation he expected his dissolution ; and having steadfastly fixed his thoughts on the approaching happiness he was now in view of, he closed his last breath with saying : Thy kingdom come ; Thy will be done! And having said this, he sweetly fell asleep, the 31st day of March, 1631. XX LIFE OF DONNE. It must not here be omitted, that amongst his other preparations for death he made use of this very remarkable one. He ordered an urn to be cut in wood, on which was to be placed a board of the height of his body. This being done, he caused himself to be tied up in his winding-sheet, in the same manner as dead bodies are. Being thus shrouded, and standing with his eyes shut, with just so much of the sheet put aside as might discover his thin, pale, and deathlike face, he caused a curious painter to take his picture. This piece being finished was placed near his bedside, and there remained as his constant remembrancer to the hour of his death. And from this his exe- cutor, Dr. King, Bishop of Chichester, got a monument carved in white marble, and placed in St. Paul's, where he was buried, with this inscrip- tion of the Doctor's own composing : — JOHANNES DONNE, S. T. P. Post varia Studia, quibus ab annis tenerrimis fideliter, Nee infeliciter, incubuit, Instinctu & impulsu Spiritus Sancti, monitu & hortatu Regis JACOBI, Ordines Sacros amplexus Anno sui Jesu 1614, & suae aetatis 42 : Decanatu hujus Ecclesiae indutus 27 Novembris, 1621 . Exutus morte ultimo die Martii, 1631. Hie, licet in occiduo cinere, aspicit Eum Cujus Nomen est Oriens. I cannot better conclude this brief account of LIFE OF DONNE. XXI Dr. Donne, than in that admirable character of him drawn up by Mr. Isaac Walton, which I shall present to the reader entire as I find it. He was of stature moderately tall, of a straight and well-proportioned body ; to which all his words and actions gave an unexpressible addition of comeliness. The melancholy and pleasant humor were in him so contempered that each gave advantage to the other, and made his company one of the delights of man- kind. His fancy was unimitably high, equalled only by his great wit ; both being made useful by a commanding judgment. His aspect was cheerful, and such as gave a silent testimony of a clear knowing soul, and of a conscience at peace with itself. His melting eye showed that he had a soft heart, full of noble compassion ; of too brave a soul to offer injuries, and too much a Christian not to pardon them in others. He did much contemplate (especially after he had entered into his sacred calling) the mercies of Almighty God, the immortality of the soul, .and the joys of heaven ; and would often say, in a kind of sacred ecstasy. Blessed be God, that he is God only, and divinely like himself. He was by nature highly passionate, but more apt to reluct at the excesses of it ; a great lover of the offices of humanity, and of so merciful a spirit that he never beheld the miseries of mankind without pity and relief. He was earnest and unwearied in the search of XXU LIFE OF DONNE. knowledge ; with which his vigorous soul is now satis- fied, and employed in a continual praise of that God that first breathed it into his active body ; that body which once was a temple of the Holy Ghost, and is now become a small quantity of Christian dust. But I shall see it reanimated. I. W. EPISTLES TO SEVERAL PERSONAGES. THE STORM. TO MR. CHRISTOPHER BROOK, FROM THE ISLAND VOYAGE WITH THE EARL OF ESSEX. Thou, which art I ('tis nothing to be so) Thou, which art still thyself, by this shalt know Part of our passage ; and a hand, or eye, By Hilliard* drawn, is worth a history By a worse painter made ; and (without pride) When by thy judgment they are dignified, My lines are such : 'tis the preeminence Of friendship only to impute excellence. England, to whom we owe what we be and have. Sad that her sons did seek a foreign grave (For Fate's or Fortune's drifts none can sooth- say,! Honour and misery have one face, one way,) From out her pregnant entrails sighed a wind, Which at the air's middle marble room did find * Nicholas Hilliard, bora at Exeter, 1547, died 1619. He imitated Holbein. His portrait of Mary Queen of Scots was much applauded, and Queen Elizabeth sat to him several times. t Var. gainsay. 1 is EPISTLES. Such strong resistance, that itself it threw Downward again ; and so when it did view How in the port our fleet dear time did leese, "Withering like prisoners, which He but for fees, — Mildly it kissed our sails, and fresh and sweet, As to a stomach starved, whose insides meet, Meat comes, it came, and swole our sails, when we So joyed, as Sara her swelling joyed to see : But 'twas but so kind as our countrymen, Which bring friends one day's way, and leave them then. Then like two mighty kings which, dwelling far Asunder, meet against a third to war, The south and west winds joined, and, as they blew, Waves like a rolling trench before them threw. Sooner than you read this line, did the gale, Like shot not feared till felt, our sails assail, And what at first was called a gust, the same Hath now a storm's, anon a tempest's name. Jonas, I pity thee, and curse those men, [then : Who, when the storm raged most, did wake thee Sleep is pain's easiest salve, and doth fulfil All offices of death, except to kill. But when I waked, I saw that I saw not. I and the Sun, which should teach me, 'had forgot East, west, day, night ; and I could only say, If the world lasted, now it had been day.* * Varr. Had the world lasted, that it had been day. If the world had lasted, yet it had been day. — EPISTLES. 3 Thousands our noises were, yet we amongst all Could none by his right name, but thunder call : Lightning was all our light, and it rained more, Than if the sun had drunk the sea before. Some coffined in their cabins lie equally Grieved that they are not dead, and yet must die : And as sin-burdened souls from graves will creep At the last day, some forth their cabins peep, And trembling ask what news, and do hear so As jealous husbands, what they would not know ; Some, sitting on the hatches, would seem there "With hideous gazing to fear away Fear ; There note they the ship's sicknesses, the mast Shaked with an ague, and the hold and waist With a salt dropsy clogged ; and our tacklings Snapping like too high-stretched treble-strings ; And from our tattered sails rags drop down so, As from one hanged in chains a year ago ; Yea ev'n our ordnance, placed for our defence, Strives to break loose, and scape away from thence. Pumping hath tired our men, and what's the gain ? Seas into seas thrown, we suck in again : Hearing hath deafed our sailors, and if they Knew how to hear, there 's none knows what to say. Compared to these storms, death is but a qualm, Hell somewhat lightsome, the Bermudas calm : Darkness, light's eldest brother, his birthright Claims o'er the world, and to heaven hath chased light: 4 EPISTLES. All things are one ; and that one none can be, Since all forms uniform deformity Doth cover ; so that we, except God say Another Fiat, shall have no more day ; So violent, yet long, these furies be. That though thine absence starve me, I wish not thee. THE CALM. Our storm is past, and that storm's tyrannous rage A stupid calm, but nothing it, doth suage. The fable is inverted, and far more A block afflicts now, than a stork before. Storms chase, and soon wear out themselves or us ; In calms Heaven laughs to see us languish thus. As steady as I can wish that my thoughts were, Smooth as thy mistress' glass, or what shines there. The sea is now, and as the isles which we Seek, when we can move, our ships rooted be. As water did in storms, now pitch runs out, As lead when a fired church becomes one spout ; And all our beauty and our trim decays. Like courts removing, or like ended plays. The fighting-place now seamen's rags supply, And all the tackling is a frippery. No use of lanterns ; and in one place lay Feathers and dust, to day and yesterday. EPISTLES. O Earth's hoUownesses, which the world's lungs are, Have no more wind than the upper vault of air ; We can nor lost friends nor sought foes recover, But meteor-like, save that we move not, hover. Only the calenture together draws Dear friends, which meet dead in great fishes* maws ; And on the hatches, as on altars, lies Each one, his own priest, and own sacrifice. Who live, that miracle do multiply Where walkers in hot ovens do not die : If in despite of these we swim, that hath No more refreshing than a brimstone-bath ; But from the sea into the ship we turn. Like parboiled wretches, on the coals to burn. Like Bajazet encaged, the shepherds' scoff, Or like slack-sinewed Samson, his hair off, Languish our ships. Now as a myriad Of ants durst the emperor's loved snake invade, The crawling galley, sea-gulls, finny chips. Might brave our pinnaces,* now bed-rid ships : Whether a rotten state and hope of gain, Or to disuse me from the queasy pain Of being beloved and loving, or the thirst Of honor, or fair death, outpushed me first, I lose my end ; for here as well as I A desperate may live, and coward die. Stag, dog, and all, which from or towards flies. Is paid with life or prey, or doing dies ; * Var. Venices, ed. 1633. 6 EPISTLES. Fate grudges us all, and doth subtly lay A scourge, 'gainst which we all forget to pray. He that at sea prays for more wind, as well Under the poles may beg cold, heat in hell. What are we then ? How little more, alas ! Is man now, than before he was, he was ! Nothing for us, we are for nothing fit ; Chance or ourselves still disproportion it ; We have no power, no will, no sense ; I lie, I should not then thus feel this misery. TO SIR HENRY WOTTON. Sir, more than kisses, letters mingle souls, For thus friends absent speak. This ease controls The tediousness of my life : but for these I could ideate nothing which could please ; * But I should wither in one day, and pass To a bottle of hay, that am a lock of grass. Life is a voyage, and in our life's ways Countries, courts, towns are rocks or remoras ; They break or stop all ships, yet our state's such That (though than pitch they stain worse) we must touch. If in the furnace of the even t Line, Or under the adverse icy Pole thou pine, Thou know'st, two temperate regions girded in Dwell there ; but oh ! what refuge canst thou win * Var. I could invent nothing at all to please, f Var. raging, ed. 1635. EPISTLES. 7 Parched in the court, and in the country frozen ? Shall cities built of both extremes be chosen ? Can dung or garlic be 'a perfume ? Or can A scorpion or torpedo cure a man ? Cities are worst of all three ; of all three ? (0 knotty riddle) each is worst equally. Cities are sepulchres ; they who dwell there Are carcasses, as if none such there were ; And courts are theatres, where some men play Princes, some slaves, all to one end, of one clay.* The country is a desert, where the good Gained, inhabits not ; born 's not understood ; t There men become beasts, and prone to all evils ; In cities, blocks ; and in a lewd court, devils. As in the first Chaos confusedly Each element's qualities were in the other three, So pride, lust, covetise, being several To these three places, yet all are in all ; And mingled thus, their issue is incestuous : Falsehood is denizened ; Virtue is barbarous. Let no man say there, Virtue's flinty wall Shall lock vice in me ; I '11 do none, but know all. Men are sponges, which, to pour out, receive ; Who know false play, rather than lose, deceive. For in best understanding sin began ; Angels sinned first, then devils, and then man. Only perchance beasts sin not ; wretched we Are beasts in all but white integrity. * Var. and all end in one day. t . Var. where no good Gained as habits; nor, born, 's understood. Ed. 1633. 8 EPISTLES. I think if men, which in these places live, Durst look in themselves, and themselves retrieve, They would like strangers greet themselves, seeing than Utopian youth, grown old Italian. Be thou thine own home, and in thyself dwell ; Inn anywhere ; continuance maketh hell. And seeing the snail, which everywhere doth roam, Carrying his own house still, still is at home, Follow (for he is easy-paced) this snail, Be thine own palace, or the world 's thy jail. And in the world's sea, do not like cork sleep * Upon the water's face, nor in the deep Sink like a lead without a line, — but as Fishes glide, leaving no print where they pass, Nor making sound, so closely thy course go, Let men dispute whether thou breathe, or no : Only in this be no Galenist, — to make Court's hot ambitions wholesome, do not take A di'am of country's dulness ; do not add Correctives, but as chymics purge the bad ; But, Sir, I advise not you, I rather do Say o'er those lessons, which I learned of you : Whom, free from Germany's schisms, and lightness Of France, and fair Italy's faithlessness, Having from these sucked all they had of worth. And brought home that faith which you carried forth, I throughly love : but if myself I have won To know my rules, I have, and you have DONNE. EPISTLES. TO SIR HENRY GOODYERE. Who makes the past * a pattern for next year, Turns no new leaf, but still the same things reads. Seen things he sees again, heard things doth hear, And makes his life but like a pair of beads. A palace, when 'tis that which it should be, Leaves growing, and stands such, or else decays ; But he which dwells there is not so ; for he Strives to urge upward, and his fortune raise. So had your body her morning, hath her noon. And shall not better ; her next change is night : But her fair larger guest, to whom sun and moon Are sparks, and short-lived, claims another right. The noble soul by age grows lustier. Her appetite and her digestion mend ; We must not starve, nor hope to pamper her With woman's milk and pap unto the end. Provide you manlier diet ; you have seen All libraries, which are schools, camps and courts ; But ask your garners if you have not been In harvests too indulgent to your sports. * Var. last. 10 EPISTLES. , Would jou redeem it ? Then yourself transplant Awhile from hence. Perchance outlandish ground Bears no more wit than ours ; but yet more scant Are those diversions there, which here abound. To be a stranger hath that benefit, We can beginnings, but not habits choke : Go, whither ? hence ; you get, if you forget ; New faults, till they prescribe in us, are smoke. Our soul, whose country's Heaven, and God her father. Into this world, corruption's sink, is sent ; Yet so much in her travel she doth gather, That she returns home wiser than she went. It pays you well, if it teach you to spare. And make you ashamed to make your hawk's praise yours. Which when herself she lessens in the air. You then first say that high enough she towers. However, keep the lively taste you hold Of God ; love him as now, but fear him more : And in your afternoons think what you told And promised him at morning-prayer before. Let falsehoood like a discord anger you ; Else be not froward : but why do I touch EPISTLES. 11 Things, of which none is in your practice new, And tables or fruit-trenchers teach as much ? But thus I make you keep your promise, Sir ; Riding I had you, though you still stayed there, And in these thoughts, although you never stir, You came with me to Micham, and are here. TO MR. ROWLAND WOODWARD. Like one, who in her third widowhood doth pro- fess Herself a nun, tied to retiredness, So affects my Muse now a chaste fallowness ; Since she to few, yet to too many, hath shown, How love-song weeds and satyric thorns are grown. Where seeds of better arts were early sown. Though to use and love poetry, to me, Betrothed to no one art, be no adultery ; Omissions of good, ill as ill deeds be. 12 EPISTLES. For though to us it seem but* light and thin, Yet in those faithful scales, where God throws in Men's works, vanity weighs as much as sin. If our souls have stained their first white, yet we May clothe them with faith and dear honesty, Which God imputes as native purity. There is no virtue but religion : Wise, valiant, sober, just, are names which none Want, which want not vice-covering discretion. Seek we then ourselves in ourselves ; for as Men force the sun with much more force to pass, By gathering his beams with a crystal glass, So we (if we into ourselves will turn. Blowing our sparks of virtue) may outburn The straw which doth about our hearts sojourn. You know physicians, when they would infuse Into any oil the souls of simples, use Places where they may lie still warm, to choose. So works retiredness in us ; to roam Giddily, and be everywhere but at home. Such freedom doth a banishment become. * Var. and be. Ed. 1633. EPISTLES. 13 We are but termors* of ourselves ; yet may, If we can stock ourselves and thrive, uplay Much, much dear treasure for the great rent-day. Manure thyself then, to thyself be approved,! And with vain outward things be no more moved. But to know that I love thee and would be loved. TO SIR HENRY WOTTON. Here *s no more news than virtue ; I may as well Tell you Calais, or Saint Michael's tales, J as tell That vice doth here habitually dwell. Yet as, to get stomachs, we walk up and down, And toil to sweeten rest ; so, may God frown. If but to loathe both, I haunt court and town. For here no one is from the extremity Of vice by any other reason free. But that the next to him still 's worse than he. * Var. farmers. Ed. 1635. t Var. improved. Ed. 1633. t Var. Mount, for news. Ed. 1633, 14 EPISTLES. In this world's warfare they whom rugged Fate, (God's commissary) doth so throughly hate, As in the Court's squadron to marshal their state ; If they stand armed with seely honesty, With wishing, prayers, and neat integrity, Like Indians 'gainst Spanish hosts they be. Suspicious boldness to this place belongs. And to have as many ears as all have tongues j Tender to know, tough to acknowledge wrongs. Believe me. Sir, in my youth's giddiest days. When to be like the court was a player's praise. Plays were not so like courts, as courts like plays. Then let us at these mimic antics jest. Whose deepest projects and egregious gests Are but dull morals of a game at chests. But now 'tis incongruity to smile, Therefore I end ; and bid farewell a while At court, though from court were the better style. EPISTLES. 15 TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. Madam, Reason is our soul's left hand, Faith her right ; By these we reach divinity, — that's you : Their loves, who have the blessing of your light, Grew from their Reason ; mine from fair Faith grew. But as, although a squint left-handedness Be ungracious, yet we cannot want that hand,- So would I (not to increase, but to express My faith) as I believe, so understand. Therefore I study you first in your saints, Those friends, whom your election glorifies ; Then in your deeds, accesses and restraints, And what you read, and what yourself devise. But soon, the reasons why you 're loved by all, Grow infinite, and so pass Reason's reach. Then back again to implicit Faith I fall, And rest on what the catholic voice* doth teach ; * Var. faith. 16 EPISTLES. That you are good : and not one heretic Denies it ; if he did, yet you are so ; [stick,* For rocks which high-topped and deep-rooted Waves wash, not undermine, nor overthrow. In every thing there naturally grows A balsamum, to keep it fresh and new, If 't were not injured by extrinsic blows ; Your birth and beauty are this balm in you. But you of learning and religion And virtue and such ingredients have made A mithridate, whose operation Keeps off or cures what can be done or said. Yet this is not your physic, but your food, A diet fit for you ; for you are here The first good angel, since the world's frame stood, That ever did in woman's shape appear. Since you are then God's masterpiece, and so His factor for our loves, do as you do ; Make your return home gracious, and bestow This life on that ; so make one life of two : For, so, God help me, I would not miss you there For all the good which you can do me here. * Varr. high do seem, deep-rooted stick, high to sense. EPISTLES. 17 TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. Madam, You have refined me ; and to worthiest things, Virtue, art, beauty, fortune, now I see Rareness or use, not nature, value brings ; And such, as they are circumstanced, they be. Two ills can ne'er perplex us, sin to excuse, But of two good things we may leave or choose. Therefore at court, which is not Virtue's clime, Where a transcendent height (as lowness me) Makes her not be,* or not show, all my rhyme Your virtues challenge, which there rarest be ; For as dark texts need notes, some there must be To usher Virtue, and say. This is she. So in the country's beauty. To this place You are the season (Madam) you the day, 'Tis but a grave of spices, till your face Exhale them, and a thick, close bud display. Widowed and reclused else, her sweets she en- shrines. As China, when the sun at Brazil dines. * Var. see. 18 EPISTLES. Out from your chariot morning breaks at night, And falsifies both computations so ; Since a new world doth rise here from your light, We your new creatures by new reckonings go : This shows that you from nature loathly stray, That suffer not an artificial day. In this you Ve made the court the antipodes, And willed your delegate, the vulgar sun, To do profane autumnal offices. Whilst here- to you we sacrificers run ; And whether priests, or organs, you we obey. We sound your influence, and your dictates say. Yet to that deity which dwells in you. Your virtuous soul, I now not sacrifice ; These are petitions, and not hymns ; they sue But that I may survey the edifice. In all religions as much care hath been Of temples' frames, and beauty, as rites within. As all which go to Rome, do not thereby Esteem religions, and hold fast the best. But serve discourse and curiosity With that which doth religion but invest, And shun the entangling labyrinths of schools, And make it wit to think the wiser fools ; — EPISTLES. 19 So in this pilgrimage I would behold You as you 're Virtue's temple, not as she ; What walls of tender crystal her enfold, What eyes, hands, bosom, her pure altars be, And after this survey oppose to all Babblers of chapels, you, the Escurial. Yet not as consecrate, but merely as fair : On these I cast a lay and country eye. Of past and future stories, which are rare, I find you all record and prophecy. Purge but the book of Fate, that it admit No sad nor guilty legends, — you are it. If good and lovely were not one, of both You were the transcript and original, The elements, the parent, and the growth. And every piece of you is both* their all : So entire are all your deeds and you, that you Must do the same things still ; you cannot two. But these (as nice thin school-divinity Serves heresy to further or repress) Taste of poetic rage, or flattery, And need not, where all hearts one truth profess ; Oft from new proofs and new phrase new doubts grow, As strange attire aliensf the men we know. * Var. worth. Ed. 1636. t Var. alters do. 20 EPISTLES. Leaving them busy praise and all appeal To higher courts, sense's decree is true ; The mine, the magazine, the commonweal, The story of beauty, in Twicknam is and you ; Who hath seen one, would both ; as who hath been In paradise, would seek the Cherubin. SIR EDWARD HERBERT, SINCE LORD HERBERT OF CHERBDRY, BEING AT THE SIEGE or JULIER8. Man is a lump, where all beasts kneaded be, Wisdom makes him an ark where all agree ; The fool, in whom these beasts do live at jar, Is sport to others, and a theatre : Nor scapes he so, but is himself their prey ; All which was man in him, is eat away ; And now his beasts on one another feed, Yet couple in anger, and new monsters breed : How happy is he, which hath due place assigned To his beasts ! and disaforested his mind. Empaled himself to keep them out, not in ; Can sow, and dares trust corn, where they have been ; EPISTLES. 21 Can use his horse, goat, wolf, and every beast, And is not ass himself to all the rest ! Else man not only is the herd of swine, But he 's those devils, too, which did incline Them to a headlong rage and made them worse ; For man can add weight to heaven's heaviest curse. As souls (they say) by our first touch take in The poisonous tincture of original sin, So to the punishments which God doth fling, Our apprehension contributes the sting. To us, as to his chickens, he doth cast Hemlock ; and we, as men, his hemlock taste, We do infuse to what he meant for meat Corrosiveness, or intense cold or heat : For God no such specific poison hath As kills, we know not how ; his fiercest wrath Hath no antipathy, but may be good At least for physic, if not for our food. Thus man, that might be his pleasure, is his rod ; And is his devil, that might be his God. Since then our business is to rectify Nature to what she was, we 're led awry By them who man to us in little show ; Greater than due no form we can bestow On him ; for man into himself can draw All ; all his faith can swallow, or reason chaw ; All that is filled, and all that which doth fill. All the round world, to man is but a pill ; In all it works not, but it is in all Poisonous, or purgative, or cordial. 22 EPISTLES. For knowledge kindles calentures in some, And is to others icy opium. As brave as true is that profession than, Which you do use to make ; that you know man. This makes it credible, you 've dwelt upon All worthy books, and now are such a one ; Actions are authors, and of those in you Your friends find every day a mart of new. TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. T' HAVE written then, when you writ, seemed to me Worst of spiritual vices, simony ; And not to have written then, seems little less Than worst of civil vices, thanklessness. In this my debt * I seemed loath to confess, In that I seemed to shun beholdingness : But 'tis not so : Nothings, as I am, may Pay all they have, and yet have all to pay. Such borrow in their payments, and owe more By having leave to write so, than before. Yet, since rich mines in barren grounds are shown, May not I yield, not gold, but coal or stone ? Temples were not demolished, though profane ; Here Peter Jove's, there Paul hath Dian's fane. * Var. doubt. EPISTLES. 23 So whether my hymns you admit or choose, In me you 've hallowed a pagan muse, And denizened a stranger, who, mistaught By blamers of the times they marred, hath sought Virtues in corners, which now bravely do Shine in the world's best part, or all in you.* I have been told that virtue in courtier's hearts Suffers an ostracism and departs. Profit, ease, fitness, plenty bid it go, But whither, only knowing you, I know ; You, or your virtue, to vast uses serves, It ransoms one sex and one court preserves ; There 's nothing but your worth, which being true Is known to any other, not to you ; And you can never know it ; to admit No knowledge of your worth, is some of it. But since to you your praises discords be, Stoop other's ills to meditate with me. Oh, to confess we know not what we would Is half excuse, we know not what we should. Lightness depresseth us, emptiness fills ; "VVe sweat and faint, yet still go down the hills ; As new philosophy arrests the sun, And bids the passive earth about it run, So we have dulled our mind, it hath no ends ; Only the body is busy and pretends. As dead low earth eclipses and controls The quick high moon, so doth the body souls : In none but us are such mixed engines found, * Var. or all it, — You. 24 EPISTLES. As hands of double office ; for the ground We till with them, and them to heaven we raise ; Who prayerless labours, or without this prays, Doth but one half; that's none; he which said, Plough, And look not back, to look up doth allow. Good seed degenerates, and oft obeys The soil's disease, and into cockle strays : Let the mind's thoughts be but transplanted so Into the body, and bastardly they grow. What hate could hurt our bodies like our love ? We, but no foreign tyrants, could remove These, not engraved, but inborn dignities Caskets of souls, temples and palaces. For bodies shall from death redeemed be. Souls but preserved, born * naturally free ; As men to our prisons now,t souls to us are sent, Which learn vice there, and come in innocent. First seeds of every creature are in us ; Whate'er the world hath bad or precious, Man's body can produce : hence hath it been. That stones, worms, frogs and snakes in man are seen : But who e'er saw, though nature can work so, That pearl, or gold, or corn in man did grow ? We have added to the world Virginia, and sent Two new stars lately to the firmament ; Why grudge we us (not heaven) the dignity To increase with ours those fair souls' company ? * Var. not. t Var. new souls. EPISTLES. 25 But I must end this letter ; though it do Stand on two truths, neither is true to you. Virtue hath some perverseness ; for she will Neither believe her good, nor other's ill. Even in you, virtue's best paradise, Virtue hath some, but wise, degrees of vice. Too many virtues, or too much of one Begets in you unjust suspicion, And ignorance of vice makes virtue less, Quenching compassion of our wretchedness. But these are riddles : some aspersion Of vice becomes well some complexion. Statesmen purge vice with vice, and may corrode The bad with bad, a spider with a toad ; For so ill thralls not them, but they tame ill, And make her do much good against her will ; But in your commonwealth, or world in you. Vice hath no office or good work to do. Take then no vicious purge, but be content With cordial virtue, your known nourishment. 26 FPISTLES. TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. ON new-year's day. This twilight of two years, not past, nor next, Some emblem is of me, or I of this, Who meteor-like, of stuff and form perplext, Whose what and ivhere in disputation is,) If I should call me anything^ should miss. I sum the years and me, and find me not Debtor to the old, nor creditor to the new : That cannot say, my thanks I have forgot ; Nor trust I this with hopes ; and yet scarce true * This bravery is ; since these times showed me you. In recompense I would show future times What you were, and teach them to urge towards such. Verse embalms virtue ; and tombs or thrones of rhymes Preserve frail transitory fame, as much As spice doth bodies from corrupt air's touch. * Var. scarce true, This bravery is since these times showed me, you. EPISTLES. 27 Mine are short-lived ; the tincture of jour name Creates in them, but dissipates as fast, New spirit ; for strong agents with the same Force, that doth warm and cherish us, do waste ; Kept hot with strong extracts no bodies last. So my verse, built of your just praise, might want Reason and likelihood, the firmest base. And, made of miracle, now faith is scant. Will vanish soon, and so possess no place ; And you and it too much grace might disgrace. "When all (as truth commands assent) confess All truth of you, yet they will doubt how I (One corn of one low ant-hill's dust, and less) Should name, know, or express a thing so high, And (not an inch) measure infinity. I cannot tell them, nor myself, nor you. But leave, lest truth be endangered by my praise. And turn to God, who knows I think this true, And useth oft, when such a heart missays. To make it good ; for such a praiser prays. He will best teach you, how you should lay out His stock of beauty, learning, favour, blood ; He will perplex security with doubt. And clear those doubts ; hide from you, and show you good, And so increase your appetite and food. 28 EPISTLES. He will teach you that good and bad have not One latitude in cloisters and in court ; Indifferent* there the greatest space hath got ; Some pity 's not good there, some vain disport, On this side sin, with that place may comport. Yet he, as he bounds seas, will fix your hours, Which pleasure and delight may not ingress ; And though what none else lost, be truliest yours, He will make you, what you did not, possess, By using other's (not vice, but) weakness. He will make you speak truths, and credibly, And make you doubt that others do not so ; He will provide you keys and locks, to spy, And scape spies ; to good ends ; and he will show What you mayf not acknowledge, what not know. For your own conscience he gives innocence. But for your fame a discreet wariness. And (though to 'scape than to revenge offence Be better) he shows both, and to repress Joy, when your state swells, sadness, when 'tis less. From need of tears he will defend your soul. Or make a rebaptizing of one tear ; He cannot (that 's, he will not) disenroU Your name ; and when with active joy we hear This private gospel, then 't is our new year. * Indifference. (?) t Var. will. EPISTLES. 29 TO THE CO.UNTESS OF HUNTINGDON. Madam, Man to God's image, Eve to man's was made, Nor find we that God breathed a soul in her ; Canons will not church-functions you invade, Nor laws to civil office you prefer. Who vagrant transitory comets sees, Wonders because they 're rare ; but a new star Whose motion with the firmament agrees, Is miracle ; for there no new things are. In woman so perchance mild innocence A seldom comet is ; but active good A miracle, which reason scapes and sense ; For Art and Nature this in them withstood. As such a star the Magi led to view The manger-cradled infant, God below, By virtue's beams (by fame derived from you) May apt souls, and the worst may virtue know. If the world's age and death be argued well By the sun's fall, which now towards earth doth bend, Then we might fear that virtue, since she fell So low as woman, should be near her end. 30 EPISTLES. But she 's not stooped, but raised ; exiled by men, She fled to heaven, that's heavenly things, that 's She vvas in all men thinly scattered then [you ; But now a mass contracted in a few. She gilded us, but you are gold ; and she Informed us, but transubstantiates you : Soft dispositions, which ductile be, Elixir-like, she makes not clean, but new. Though you a wife's and mother's name retain, 'Tis not as woman, for all are not so ; But virtue, having made you virtue, is fain To adhere in these names, her and you to show. Else, being alike pure, we should neither see, As water being into air rarefied, Neitlier appear, till in one cloud they be, So for our sakes you do low names abide. Taught by great constellations, (which, being framed Of the most stars, take low names Crab and Bull, When single planets by the gods are named) You covet not great names, of great things full. So you, as woman, one doth comprehend, And in the veil* of kindred others see ; To some you are revealed, as in a friend, And as a virtuous prince far off, to me. * Var. vale. EPISTLES. 31 To whom, because from you all virtues flow, And 'tis not none to dare contemplate you, I, which do so,* as your ti'ue subject owe Some tribute for that ; so these lines are due. If you can think these flatteries, they are ; For then your judgment is below my praise ; If they were so, oft flatteries work as far As counsels, and as far the endeavour raise. So my ill, reaching you, might there grow good, But I remain a poisoned fountain still ; But not your beauty, virtue, knowledge, blood Are more above all flattery than my will. And if I flatter any, 'tis not you, But my own judgment, who did long ago Pronounce that all these praises should be true, And virtue should your beauty and birth out- grow. Now that my prophecies are all fulfilled, Rather than God should not be honoured too. And all these gifts confessed, which he instilled, Yourself were bound to say that which I do. So I but your recorder am in this. Or mouth, and speaker of the universe, A ministerial notary ; for 'tis Not I, but you and fame, that make this verse, * Var. to you. Ed. 1633. 32 EPISTLES. I was your prophet in your younger days, And now your chaplain, God in you to praise. TO MR. I. W. All hail, sweet Poet, more full of more strong fire, Than hath or shall enkindle any spirit ! * I loved what nature gave thee ; but thy merit Of wit and art I love not, but admire ; Who have before or shall write after thee. Their works, though toughly laboured, will be » Like infancy or age to man's firm stay. Or early and late twilights to mid-day. Men say, and truly, that they better be. Which be envied than pitied ; therefore I, Because I wish thee best, do thee envy : O would'st thou by like reason pity me. But care not for me, I, that ever was In Nature's and in Fortune's gifts, alas ! (Before by thy grace got in the Muse's school) A monster and a beggar, am a fool. * Var. .... and full of more strong fire Than hath or shall enkindle my dull spirit. Ed. 1636. EPISTLES. 33 Oh how I grieve, that late-born modesty Hath got such root in easy waxen hearts, That men may not themselves their own good parts Extol, without suspect of surquedry ; For, but thyself, no subject can be found Worthy thy quill, nor any quill resound Thy worth but thine : how good it were to see A poem in thy praise, and writ by thee ! Now if this song be too harsh for rhyme, yet as The painter's bad god made a good devil, 'Twill be good prose, although the verse be evil. If thou forget the rhyme, as thou dost pass, Then write, that I may follow, and so be Thy echo, thy debtor, thy foil, thy zany. I shall be thought (if mine like thine I shape) All the world's lion, though I be thy ape. TO MR. T. W. Haste thee, harsh verse, as fast as thy lame measure Will give thee leave, to him ; my pain and plea- sure I 've given thee, (and yet thou art too weak,) Feet and a reasoning soul, and tongue to speak. 3 34 EPISTLES. Tell him all questions, which men have defended Both of the place and pains of hell are ended ; And 'tis decreed, our hell is but privation Of him, at least in this earth's habitation : And 't is where I am, where in every street Infections follow, overtake and meet. Live I or die, by you my love is sent ; You are my pawns, or else my Testament. TO MR. T. W. Pregnant again with the old twins, Hope and Fear, Oft have I asked for thee, both how and where Thou wert, and what my hopes of letters were ; As in our streets sly beggars narrowly Watch motions of the giver's hand or eye. And evermore conceive some hope thereby. And now thy alms is given, thy letter 's read, The body risen again, the which was dead. And thy poor starveling bountifully fed. After this banquet my soul doth say grace. And praise thee for 't, and zealously embrace EPISTLES. 35 Thy love ; though I think thy love in this case To be as gluttons', which say 'midst their meat, They love that best, of which they most do eat. INCERTO. At once from hence my lines and I depart, I to my soft still walks, they to my heart ; I to the nurse, they to the child of art. Yet as a firm house, though the carpenter Perish, doth stand ; as an ambassador Lies safe, howe'er his king be in danger, So, though I languish, pressed with melancholy, My verse, the strict map of my misery, Shall live to see that, for whose want I die. Therefore I envy them, and do repent, That from unhappy me things happy are sent ; Yet as a picture, or bare sacrament. Accept these lines, and if in them there be Merit of love, bestow that love on me. 86 EPISTLES. TO MR. C. B * Thy friend, whom thy deserts to thee enchain, Urged by this unexcusable occasion, Thee and the saint of his affection Leaving behind, doth of both wants complain ; And let the love I bear to both sustain No blot nor maim by this division ; Strong is this love, which ties our hearts in one. And strong that love pursued with amorous pain : But though beside thyself I leave behind Heaven's liberal and earth's thrice-fair sun, Going to where starvedf winter aye doth won ; Yet love's hot fires, which martyr my sad mind. Do send forth scalding sighs which have the art To melt all ice, but that which walls her heart. TO MR. S. B. O THOU, which to search out the secret parts Of the India, or rather paradise Of knowledge, hast with courage and advice Lately launched into the vast sea of arts, * This and the following poem are probably addressed to Mr. Christopher Brook, and his brother Samuel. See Wal- ton's life of Donne. t Var. stern. EPISTLES. 37 Disdain not in thy constant travelling To do as other voyagers, and make Some turns into less creeks, and wisely take Fresh water at the Heliconian spring. I sing not Siren-like to tempt ; for I Am harsh ; nor as those schismatics with you, Which draw all wits of good hope to their crew ; But seeing in you bright sparks of poetry, I, though I brought no fuel, had desire With these articulate blasts to blow the fire. TO MR. B. B. Is not thy sacred hunger of science Yet satisfied ? is not thy brain's rich hive Fulfilled with honey, which thou dost derive From the art's spirits and their quintessence ? Then wean thyself at last, and thee withdraw From Cambridge, thy old nurse ; and, as the rest, Here toughly chew and sturdily digest The immense vast volumes of our common law ; And begin soon, lest my grief grieve thee too, Which is that that, which I should have begun In my youth's morning, now late must be done ; And I, as giddy travellers must do, Which stray or sleep all day, and having lost Light and strength, dark and tired must then ride post. 38 EPISTLES. If thou unto thy Muse be married, Embrace her ever, ever multiply ; Be far from me that strange adultery To tempt thee, and procure her widowhood ; My Muse* (for I had one) because I 'm cold, Divorced herself, the cause being in me ; That I can take no new in bigamy, Not my will only, but power doth withhold ; Hence comes it that these rhymes, which never had Mother, want matter ; and they only have A little form, the which their father gave : They are profane, imperfect, oh ! too bad To be counted children of poetry, Except confirmed and bishoped by thee. TO MK. K. W. If, as mine is, thy life a slumber be. Seem, when thou read'st these lines, to dream of me ; Never did Morpheus, nor his brother, wear Shapes so like those shapes, whom they would appear, As this my letter is like me ; for it [wit ; Hath my name, words, hand, feet, heart, mind and * All the Editions read nurse. The alteration in the text (clearly the triae reading) is suggested by the Eev. H. Alford in his edition. EPISTLES. dy It is my deed of gift of me to thee, It is my will, myself the legacy. So thy retirings I love, yea, envy, Bred in thee by a wise melancholy, That I rejoice that, unto where thou art, Though I stay here, I can thus send my heart, As kindly as any enamoured patient His picture to his absent love hath sent. All news I think sooner reach thee than me ; Havens are heavens, and ships winged angels be, The which both gospel and stern threatenings bring ; Guiana's harvest is nipt in the spring, I fear ; and with us (methinks) Fate deals so, As with the Jew's guide God did ; he did show Him the rich land, but barred his entry in : Our slowness is our punishment and sin. Perchance, these Spanish businesses being done, (Which, as the earth between the moon and sun. Eclipse the light which Guiana would give,) Our discontinued hopes we shall retrieve : But if (as all the all must) hopes smoke away, Is not almighty Virtue an India ? If men be worlds, there is in every one Something to answer in some proportion All the world's riches : and in good men this Virtue our form's form, and our soul's soul is. 40 EPISTLES. TO MR. I. L. Of that short roll of friends writ in my heart, Which with thy name begins, since their depart, Whether in the English provinces they be. Or drink of Po, Sequan or Danuby, There 's none, that sometimes greets us not ; and yet Your Trent is Lethe, 'that past, us you forget. You do not duties of societies. If from the embrace of a loved wife you rise, View your fat beasts, stretched barns, and laboured fields. Eat, play, ride, take all joys, which all day yields, And then again to your embracements go ; Some hours on us your friends, and some bestow Upon your Muse ; else both we shall repent, I, that my love ; she, that her gifts on you are spent. TO MR. I. P. Blest are your North parts, for all this long time My sun is with you, cold and dark 's our clime. Heaven's sun, which stayed so long from us this year, EPISTLES. 41 Stayed in your North (I think) for she was there, And hither by kind Nature drawn from thence, Here rages, chafes and threatens pestilence ; Yet I, as long as she from hence doth stay, Think this no South, no summer, nor no day. With thee my kind and unkind heart is run. There sacrifice it to that beauteous sun : So may thy pastures with their flowery feasts, As suddenly as lard, fat thy lean beasts ; So may thy woods oft polled yet ever wear A green, and (when she* list) a golden hair ; So may all thy sheep bring forth twins ; and so In chase and race may thy horse all out-go ; So may thy love and courage ne'er be cold ; Thy son ne'er ward ; thy loved wife ne'er seem old ; But may'st thou wish great things, and them attain. As thou tell'st her, and none but her, my pain. TO THE EARL OF DONCASTER WITH SIX HOLY SONNETS. See, Sir, how as the sun's hot masculine flame Begets strange creatures on Nile's dirty slime. In me your fatherly yet lusty rhyme (For these songs are their fruits) have wrought the same ; * Var. thee. 42 EPISTLES. But though the engendering force, from whence they came, Be strong enough, and nature doth admit Seven to be born at once, I send as yet But six; they say the seventh hath still some maim : I choose your judgment, which the same degree Doth with her sister, your invention, hold, As fire these drossy rhymes to purify. Or as elixir to change them to gold ; You are that alchemist, which always had Wit, whose one spark could make goods things of bad. TO SIR HENRY WOTTON, AT HIS GOING AMBASSADOR TO VENICE. After those reverend papers, whose soul is Our good and great king's loved hand and feared name, By which to you he derives much of his, And (how he may) makes you almost the same, A taper of his torch, a copy writ From his original, and a fair beam Of the same warm and dazzling sun, though it Must in another sphere his virtue stream ; EPISTLES. 43 After those learned papers, which your hand Hath stored with notes of use and pleasure too, From which rich treasury you may command Fit matter, whether you will write or do ; After those loving papers, where friends send, With glad grief to your sea-ward steps, farewell, Which thicken on you now, as prayers ascend To heaven in troops at a good man's passing-bell ; Admit this honest paper, and allow It such an audience as yourself would ask ; What you must say at Venice, this means now, And hath for nature, what you have for task, — « To swear much love, not to be changed before Honour alone will to your fortune fit ; Nor shall I then honor your fortune more. Than I have done your honour wanting it.* But 't is an easier load (though both oppress) To want than govern greatness ; for we are In that, our own and only business ; In this, we must for other's vices care. 'T is therefore well your spirits now are placed In their last furnace, in activity ; * Var. noble wanting wit. Ed. 1635. 44 EPISTLES. Which fits them (schools and courts and wars o'erpast) To touch and test in any best degree. For me, (if there be such a thing as I) Fortune (if there be such a thing as she) Spies that I bear so well her tyranny, That she thinks nothing else so fit for me. But though she part us, to hear my oft prayers For your increase, God is as near me here ; And to send you what I shall beg, his stairs In length and ease are alike everywhere. TO MRS. M. H. Mad paper, stay, and grudge not here to burn With all those sons, whom thy brain did create ; At least lie hid with me, till thou return To rags again, which is thy native state. What though thou have enough unworthiness To come unto great place as others do, That's much ; emboldens, pulls, thrusts, I confess ; But 't is not all, thou shouldst be wicked too. EPISTLES. 45 And that thou canst not learn, or not of me ; Yet thou wilt go ; go, since thou goest to her Who lacks but faults to be a prince, for she Truth, whom they dare not pardon, dares prefer. But when thou com'st to that perplexing eye. Which equally claims love and reverence, Thou wilt not long dispute it, thou wilt die. And having little now, have then no sense. Yet when her warm redeeming hand (which is A miracle, and made such to work more) Doth touch thee (sapless leaf) thou grow'st by this Her creature, glorified more than before. Then, as a mother which delights to hear Her early child misspeak half-uttered words, Or, because majesty doth never fear 111 or bold speech, she audience affords. And then, cold speechless wretch, thou diest again. And wisely ; what discourse is left for thee ? From speech of ill and her thou must abstain. And is there any good which is not she ? [her; Yet may'st thou praise her servants, though not And Wit and Virtue and Honor her attend, And since they 're but her clothes, thou shalt not err, [mend. If thou her shape and beauty and grace com- 46 EPISTLES. Who knows thy destiny ? when thou hast done, Perchance her cabinet may harbour thee, Whither all noble ambitious wits do run, A nest almost as full of good as she. When thou art there, if any, whom we know, Were saved before, and did that heaven partake, When she revolves his papers, mark what show Of favour she, alone, to them doth make. Mark if, to get them, she o'erskip the rest ; Mark if she read them twice, or kiss the name ; Mark if she do the same that they protest ; Mark if she mark whither her woman came. Mark if slight things be objected, and o'erblown; Mark if her oaths against him be not still Reserved, and that she grieve she 's not her own, And chides the doctrine that denies free-will. I bid thee not do this to be my spy, Nor to make myself her familiar ; But so much I do love her choice, that I Would fain love him, that shall be loved of her. EPISTLES. 47 TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. Honour is so sublime perfection, And so refined, that when God was alone. And creatureless at first, himself had none ; But as of the elements these which we tread. Produce all things with which we 're joyed or fed, And those are barren both above our head, So from low persons doth all honour flow ; Kings, whom they would have honoured, to us show, And but direct our honour, not bestow. For when from herbs the pure part must be won From gross by stilling, this is better done By despised dung, than by the fire or sun : Care not then. Madam, how low your praises lie ; In labourers' ballads oft more piety God finds, than in Te Deum's melody ; And ordnance raised on towers so many mile Send not their voice, nor last so long a while, As fires from the earth's low vaults in Sicil isle. Should I say I lived darker than were true, Your radiation can all clouds subdue But one ; 't is best light to contemplate you,— 48 ' EPISTLES. You, for whose body God made better clay, Or took soul's stuff, such as shall late decay, Or such as needs small change at the last day. This, as an amber drop enwraps a bee, Covering discovers your quick soul ; that we May in your through-shine front our heart's thought se<3. You teach (though we learn not) a thing unknown To our late times, the use of specular stone. Through which all things within without were shown. Of such were temples ; so, and such you are ; Being and seeming is your equal care ; And Virtue's whole sum is but Know and Dare. Discretion is a wise man's soul, and so Religion is a christian's, and you know How these are one ; her yea is not her no. But, as our souls of growth and souls of sense Have birthright of our reason's soul, yet hence They fly not from that, nor seek precedence, Nature's first lesson so. Discretion, Must not grudge Zeal a place, nor yet keep none, Not banish itself, nor Religion. EPISTLES. 49 Nor may we hope to solder still and knit These two, and dare to break them ; nor must wit Be colleague to Religion, but be it. In those poor types of God (round circles) so Religion's types the pieceless centres flow, And are in all the lines which all ways go. If either ever wrought in you alone, Or principally, then Religion Wrought your ends, and your ways Discretion. Go thither still, go the same way you went ; Whoso would change, doth covet or repent ; Neither can reach you, great and innocent. TO THE COUNTESS OF HUNTINGDON. That unripe side of earth, that heavy clime That gives us man up now, like Adam's time Before he ate ; man's shape, that would yet be (Knew they not it, and feared beasts' company) So naked at this day, as though man there From paradise so great a distance were, As yet the news could not arrivdd be Of Adam's tasting the forbidden tree ; 4 50 EPISTLES. Deprived of that free state which they were in, And wanting the reward, yet bear the sin. But, as from extreme heights who downward looks. Sees men at children's shapes, rivers at brooks, And loseth younger forms, so to your eye These (Madam) that without your distance lie, Must either mist, or nothing seem to be, Who are at home but wit's mere Atomi. But I, who can behold them move and stay. Have found myself to you just their midway ; And now must pity them ; for as they do Seem sick to me, just so must I to you ; Yet neither will I vex your eyes to see A sighing ode, nor cross-armed elegy. I come not to call pity from your heart, Like some white-livered dotard, that would part Else from his slippery soul with a faint groan. And faithfully (without you smile) were gone. I cannot feel the tempest of a frown, I may be raised by love, but not thrown down ; Though I can pity those sigh twice a day, I hate that thing whispers itself away. Yet since all love is fever, who to trees Doth talk, doth yet in love's cold ague freeze. 'Tis love but with such fatal weakness made. That it destroys itself with its own shade. Who first looked sad, grieved, pined and showed his pain. Was he that first taught women to disdain. EPISTLES. 51 As all things were one nothing, dull and weak, Until this raw disordered heap did break, And several desires led parts away, Water declined with earth, the air did stay, Fire rose, and each from other but untied, Themselves unprisoned were and purified ; So was Love first in vast confusion hid, An unripe willingness which nothing did, A thirst, an appetite which had no ease. That found a want, but knew not what would please. What pretty innocence in those days moved ! Man ignorantly walked by her he loved ; Both sighed and interchanged a speaking eye. Both trembled and were sick, both knew not why. That natural fearfulness, that struck man dumb, Might well (those times considered) man become. As all discoverers, whose first essay Finds but the place, after, the nearest way ; So passion is to woman's love, about, Nay, farther oflT, than when we first set out. It is not love, that sues or doth contend ; Love either conquers, or but meets a friend. Man's better part consists of purer fire, And finds itself allowed, ere it desire. Love is wise here, keeps home, gives reason sway. And journeys not till it find summer-way ; A weather-beaten lover, but once known. Is sport for every girl to practise on. [know, Who strives through woman's scorns women to Is lost, and seeks his shadow to outgo ; 52 EPISTLES. It must be sickness,* after one disdain, Though he be called aloud, to look again. Let others sin and grieve ; one cunning sleight Shall freeze my love to crystal in a night. I can love first, and (if I win) love still. And cannot be removed, unless she will. It is her fault, if I unsure remain ; She only can untie, I bind again. The honesties of love with ease I do, But am no porter for a tedious woe. But (Madam) I now think on you ; and here, Where we are at our heights, you but appear ; We are but clouds, you rise from our noon-ray, But a foul shadow, not your break of day. You are at first hand all that 's fair and right. And other's good reflects but back your light. You are a perfectness, so curious hit. That youngest flatteries do scandal it ; For what is more doth what you are restrain ; And though beyond, is down the hill again. We have no next way to you, we cross to 't ; You are the straight line, thing praised, attribute ; Each good in you 's a light ; so many a shade You make, and in them are your motions made. These are your pictures to the life. From far We see you move, and here your zanies are ; So that no fountain good there is doth grow In you, but our dim actions faintly show ; * Var. it is mere sickness. EPISTLES. 53 Then find I, if man's noblest part be Love, Your purest lustre must that shadow move. The soul with body is a heaven combined With earth, and for man's ease but nearer joined. "Where thoughts, the stars of soul, we understand, We guess not their large natures, but command, And love in you that bounty is of light. That gives to all, and yet hath infinite ; Whose heat doth force us thither to intend, But soul we find too earthly to ascend ; 'Till slow access hath made it wholly pure, Able immortal clearness to endure. Who dare aspire this journey with a stain. Hath weight will force him headlong back again ; No more can impure man retain and move In that pure region of a worthy love, Than earthly substance can unforced aspire, And leave his nature to converse with fire. Such may have eye and hand ; may sigh, may speak ; But like swoln bubbles, when they are highest, they break. Though far removed Northern fleets* scarce find The sun's comfort, oihersf think him too kind. There is an equal distance from her eye ; Men perish too far-off, and burn too nigh. But as air takes the sunbeams equal-bright From the first rays to his last opposite, * Var. isles. t ^«''' y^t some. 54 EPISTLES. So able* men, blest with a virtuous love, Remote or near, or howsoe'er they move, Their virtue breaks all clouds, that might annoy ; There is no emptiness, but all is joy. He much profanes (whom valiant heats do move) To style his wandering rage of passion love. Love, that impartsf in every thing delight, Is fancied by the soul, not appetite ; Why love among the virtues is not known, Is, that love is them all contract in one. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN SIR HENRY WOT TON, AND MR. DONNE. If her disdain least change in you can move, You do not love ; For when that hope gives fuel to the fire. You sell desire. Love is not love, but given free ; And so is mine, so should yours be. Her heart, that melts to hear of others' moan, To mine is stone ; Her eyes, that weep a stranger's eyes to see, Joy to wound me : * Var. happy. t Var. imports. EPISTLES. 55 Yet I so well effect each part, As (caused by them) I love my smart. Say her disdainings justly must be graced With name of chaste ; And that she frowns, lest longing should exceed, , And raging breed ; So her disdains can ne'er offend, Unless self-love take private end. 'Tis love breeds love in me, and cold disdain Kills that again ; As water causeth fire to fret and fume. Till all consume. Who can of love more rich gift make, Than to Love's self for Love's own sake ; I '11 never dig in quarry of a heart, To have no part ; Nor roast in fiery eyes, which always are Canicular. Who this way would a lover prove, May show his patience, not his love. A frown may be sometimes for physic good, But not for food ; And for that raging humour there is sure A gentler cure. Why bar you love of private end, Which never should to public tend ? 56 EPISTLES. TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. BEGUN IN FRANCE, BUT NEVER PERFECTED. Though I be dead and buried, yet I have (Living in you) court enough in my grave ; As oft as there I think myself to be, So many resurrections waken me ; That thankfulness your favours have begot In me, embalms me that I do not rot : This season, as 'tis Easter, as 'tis spring, Must both to growth and to confession bring My thoughts disposed unto your influence ; so These verses bud, so these confessions grow ; First I confess I have to others lent Your stock, and over-prodigally spent Your treasure, for since I had never known Virtue and beauty, but as they are grown In you, I should not think or say they shine, (So as I have) in any other mine ; Next I confess this my confession ; For 'tis some fault thus much to touch upon Yout praise to you, where half-rights, seem too much And make your mind's sincere complexion blush. EPISTLES. 57 • Next I confess my impenitence ; for I Can scarce repent my first fault, since thereby Remote low spirits, which shall ne'er read you, May in less lessons find enough to do, By studying copies, not originals ; Desunt ccetera. A LETTER TO THE LADY GARY, AND MRS. ESSEX RICH, FROM AMIENS. Madam. Here, where by all All-saints invoked are, 'T were too much schism to be singular, And 'gainst good practice general to war. Yet turning to saints, should my humility To other saint than you directed be, That were to make my schism heresy. Nor would I be a convertite so cold, As not to tell it ; if this be too bold, Pardons are in this market cheaply sold. Where, because faith is in too low degree, I thought it some apostleship in me To speak things, which by faith alone I see ; 58 EPISTLES. • That is, of you, who are a firmament Of virtues, where no one is grown or spent ; They are your materials, not your ornament. Others, whom we call virtuous, are not so In their whole substance ; but their virtues grow But in their humours, and at seasons show. For when through tasteless flat humility In dough-baked men some harmlessness we see, 'Tis but his phlegm that 's virtuous, and not he : So is the blood sometimes ; who ever ran To danger unimportuned, he was than No better than a sanguine-virtuous man. So cloisteral men, who, in pretence of fear, All contributions to this life forbear, Have virtue in melancholy, and only there. Spiritual choleric critics, which in all Religions find faults, and forgive no fall, Have through this zeal virtue but in their gall. We are thus but parcel-gilt ; to gold we are grown. When virtue is our soul's complexion ; Who knows his virtue's name or place, hath none. EPISTLES. 59 Virtue 's but aguish,* when 'tis several, By occasion waked and circumstantial ; True Virtue is soul, always in all deeds All. This virtue thinking to give dignity To your soul, found there no infirmity ; For your soul was as good Virtue as she. She therefore wrought upon that part of you, Which is scarce less than soul, as she could do, And so hath made your beauty virtue too. Hence comes it, that your beauty wounds not hearts. As others, with profane and sensual darts, But as an influence virtuous thoughts imparts. But if such friends by the honour of your sight Grow capable of this so great a light, As to partake your virtues and their might, What must I think that influence must do, Where it finds sympathy and matter too, Virtue and beauty of the same stuff as you ? Which is your noble worthy sister ; she, Of whom, if what in this my ecstasy And revelation of you both I see, * Var. anguish. 60 EPISTLES. I should write here, (as in short galleries The master at the end large glasses ties, So to present the room twice to our eyes,) So I should give this letter length, and say- That which I said of you ; there is no way From either, but by* the other, not to stray. May therefore this be enough to testify My true devotion, free from flattery ; He that believes himself, doth never lie. TO THE COUNTESS OF SALISBURY AUGUST, 1614. Fair, great, and good, since seeing you we see What Heaven can do, what any earth can be ; Since now your beauty shines, now when the sun, Grown stale, is to so low a value run. That his dishevelled beams and scattered fires Serve but for ladies' periwigs and tiars In lover's sonnets ; you come to repair God's book of creatures, teaching what is fair. * Var. to. EPISTLES. 61 Since now, when all is withered, shrunk and dried. All virtues ebbed out to a dead-low tide, All the world's frame being crumbled into sand, Where every man thinks bj himself to stand, Integrity, friendship and confidence, (Cements of greatness) being vapoured hence, And narrow man being filled with little shares. Courts, city, church, are all shops of small- wares, All having blown to sparks their noble fire. And drawn their sound gold ingot into wire, All trying by a love of littleness To make abridgments and to draw to less Even that nothing which at first we were ; Since in these times your greatness doth appear, And that we learn by it that Man, to get Towards him that 's infinite, must first be great ; Since in an age so ill, as none is fit So much as to accuse, much less mend it, (For who can judge or witness of those times, Where all alike are guilty of the crimes ? Where he, that would be good, is thought by all A monster, or at best fantastical ?) Since now you durst be good, and that I do Discern, by daring to contemplate you, That there may be degrees of fair, great, good. Through your light, largeness, virtue, understood ; If, in this sacrifice of mine, be shown Any small spark of these, call it your own ; And if things like these have been said by me Of others, call not that idolatry. 62 EPISTLES For had God made man first, and man had seen The third day's fruits and flowers, and various green, He might have said the best that he could say Of those fair creatures which were made that day ; And when next day he had admired the birth Of sun, moon, stars, fairer than late praised earth, He might have said the best that he could say. And not be chid for praising yesterday ; So, though some things are not together true, As, that another is worthiest, and that you, Yet to say so doth not condemn a man, If, when he spoke them, they were both true than. How fair a proof of this in our soul grows ! We first have souls of growth, and sense ; and those, When our last soul, our soul immortal, came, Were swallowed into it and have no name ; Nor doth he injure those souls, which doth cast The power and praise of both them on the last ; No more do I wrong any ; I adore The same things now, which I adored before. The subject changed, and measure ; the same thing In a low constable and in the king I reverence, — his power to work on me ; So did I humbly reverence each degree Of fair, great, good ; but more now I am come From having found their walks, to find their home. And, as I owe my first soul's thanks, that they For my last soul did fit and mould my clay, So am I debtor unto them whose worth Enabled me to profit, and take forth EPISTLES. 63 This new great lesson, thus to study you, Which none, not reading others first, could do. Nor lack I light to read this book, though I In a dark cave, yea, in a grave do lie ; For as your fellow-angels, so you do Illustrate them who come to study you. The first, whom we in histories do find To have professed all arts, was one born blind : He lacked those eyes beasts have as well as we, Not those by which angels are seen and see ; So, though I am born without those eyes to live, Which Fortune, who hath none herself, doth give, Which are fit means to see bright courts and you. Yet may I see you thus, as now I do ; I shall by that all goodness have discerned. And, though I burn my library, be learned. TO THE LADY BEDFORD. You that are she and you, that 's double she. In her dead face half of yourself shall see ; She was the other part ; for so they do. Which build them friendships, become one of two ; So two, that but themselves no third can fit, Which were to be so, when they were not yet Twins, though their birth Cuzco and Moscow take, As divers stars one constellation make, 164 EPISTLES. Paired like two eyes, have equal motion, so Both but one means to see, one way to go. Had you died first, a carcase she had been, And we your rich tomb in her face had seen. She like the soul is gone, and you here stay, Not a live friend, but the other half of clay ; And since you act that part, as men say, here Lies such a prince, when but one part is there, And do all honour and devotion due Unto the whole, so we all reverence you ; For such a friendship who would not adore In you, who are all what both were before ? Not all, as if some perished by this, But so, as all in you contracted is ; As of this all though many parts decay, The pure, which elemented them, shall stay. And though diffused and spread in infinite, Shall recollect, and in one all unite : So Madam, as her soul to heaven is fled, Her flesh rests in the earth, as in the bed ; Her virtues do, as to their proper sphere. Return to dwell with you, of whom they were ; As perfect motions are all circular. So they to you, their sea, whence less streams are. She was all spices, you all metals ; so In you two we did both rich Indias know. And as no fire nor rust can spend or waste One dram of gold, but what was first shall last, Though it be forced in water, earth, salt, air, Expansed in infinite, none will impair, EPISTLES. 65 So to yourself you may additions take, But nothing can you less or changed make. Seek not, in seeking new, to seem to doubt That you can match her, or not be without ; But let some faithful book in her room be. Yet but of Judith, no such book as she. SAPPHO TO PHIL^NIS. Where is that holy fire, which verse is said To have ? is that enchanting force decayed ? Verse, that draws nature's works from nature's law, Thee, her best work, to her work cannot draw. Have my tears quenched my old poetic fire? Why quenched they not as well that of desire ? Thoughts, my mind's creatures, often are with thee, But I, their maker, want their liberty : Only thine image in my heart doth sit ; But that is wax, and fires environ it. My fires have driven, thine have drawn it hence, And I am robbed of picture, heart, and sense. Dwells with me still mine irksome memory. Which both to keep and lose grieves equally. That tells how fair thou art ; thou art so fair, As gods, when gods to thee I do compare, Are graced thereby ; and to make blind men see, What things gods are, I say they are like to thee. 5 66 EPISTLES. For if we justly call each silly man A little world, 'what shall we call thee than ? Thou art not soft, and clear, and straif»;ht, and fair, As down, as stars, cedars and lilies are ; ' But thy right hand, and cheek, and eye only Are like thy other hand, and cheek, and eye. Such was my Phao awhile, but shall be never As thou wast, art, and, oh ! may'st thou be ever ! Here lovers swear in their idolatry. That I am such ; but grief discolours me : And yet I grieve the less, lest grief remove My beauty, and make me unworthy of thy love. Plays some soft boy with thee? oh ! there wants yet A mutual feeling, which should sweeten it. His chin a thorny hairy unevenness Doth threaten, and some daily change possess. Thy body is a natural paradise, In whose self^ unmanured, all pleasure lies, Nor needs perfection ; why should'st thou then Admit the tillage of a harsh rough man ? Men leave behind them that, which their sin shows, And are as thieves traced, which rob when it snows ; But of our dalliance no more signs there are, Than fishes leave in streams, or birds in air. And between us all sweetness may be had ; All, all that nature yields, or art can add. My two lips, eyes, thighs differ from thy two, But so, as thine from one another do : And, oh ! no more ; the likeness being such, Why should they not alike in all parts touch ? EPISTLES. 0/ Hand to strange liand, lip to lip none denies ; "Why should they breast to breast, or thighs to thighs ? Likeness begets such strange self-flattery, That touching myself, all seems done to thee. Myself I embrace, and mine own hands I kiss, And amorously thank myself for this. Me in my glass I call thee ; but, alas ! When I would kiss, tears dim mine eyes and glass. O, cure this loving madness, and restore Me to me ; thee my half, my all, my more. So may thy cheek's red outwear scarlet dye, And their white, whiteness of the Galaxy ; So may thy mighty amazing beauty move Envy in all women, and in all men love ; And so be change and sickness far from thee. As thou, by coming near, keep'st them from me. TO BEN JONSON, January 6, 1603. The state and men's affairs are the best plays Next yours ; 'tis not more nor less than due praise ; Write, but touch not the much descending race Of lords' houses, so settled in worth's place, As but themselves none think them usurpers : It is no fault in thee to suffer theirs. 68 EPISTLES. If the Queen masque, or king a-hunting go, Though all the court follow, let them ; we know Like them in goodness that court ne'er will be, For that were virtue, and not flattery. Forget we were thrust out. It is but thus God threatens kings, kings lords, as lords do us. Judge of strangers, trust and believe your friend, And so me ; and when I true friendship end. With guilty conscience let me be worse stung Than with Popham's sentence thieves, or Cook's tongue [tell Traitors are. Friends are ourselves. This I thee As to my friend, and myself as counsel : Let for a while the time's unthrifty rout Contemn learning, and all your studies flout ; Let them scorn hell, they will a sergeant fear, ]\Iore than we tliem ; that ere* long God may for- bear, But creditors will not. Let them increase In riot and excess, as their means cease ; Let tliem scorn him that made them, and still shun His grace, but love the whore who hath undone Them and their souls. But, that they that allow But one God, should have religions enow For the Queen's Masque, and their husbands, for more Than all the Gentiles knew or Atlas bore. Well, let all pass, and trust him, who nor cracks The bruised reed, nor quencheth smoking flax. * ^M. rfe/e " ere " V EPISTLES. 69 TO BEN JONSON, 9 NOVEMBRIS, 1603. If great men wrong me, I will spare myself; If mean, I will spare them ; I know the pelf Which is ill got, the owner doth upbraid ; It may corrupt a judge, make me afraid. And a jury : but 't will revenge in this, That, though himself be judge, he guilty is. What care I though of weakness men tax me ? I 'd rather sufferer than doer be ; That I did trust it was my nature's praise, For breach of word I knew but as a phrase. That judgment is, that surely can comprise The world in precepts, most happy and most wise. What though? though less, yet some of both have we, Who have learned it by use and misery. Poor I, whom every petty cross doth trouble. Who apprehend each hurt, that 's done me, double, Am of this (though it should sink me) careless, It would but force me to a stricter goodness. They have great gain of me, who gain do win (If such gain be not loss) from every sin. The standing of great men's lives would afford A pretty sum, if God would sell his word. 70 ETISTLES. He cannot ; they can theirs, and break them too. How unlike they are that they 're are likened to ? Yet I conclude, they are amidst my evils, If good, like gods ; the naught are so like devils. TO SIR THOMAS ROWE, 1603. Dear Tom, Tell her, if she to hired servants show Dislike, before they take their leave they go, When nobler spirits start at no disgrace ; For who hath but one mind, hath but one face. If then why I take not my leave she ask. Ask her again why she did not unmask. Was she or proud or cruel, or knew she 'T would make my loss more felt, and pitied me ? Or did she fear one kiss might stay for moe ? Or else was she unwilling I should go? I think the best and love so faithfully, I cannot choose but think that she loves me. If this prove not my faith, then let her try How in her service I would fructify. Ladies have boldly loved ; bid her renew That decayed worth, and prove the times past true. Then he, whose wit and verse grows now so lame, With songs to her will the wild Irish tame. EPISTLES. 71 Howe'er I '11 wear the black and white riband ; White for her fortunes, black for mine shall stand. I do esteem her favour, not the stuff; If what I have was given, I 've enough. And all 's well, for had she loved, I had not had All my friend's hate ; for now departing sad I feel not that : Yet as the rack the gout Cures, so hath this worse grief that quite put out : My first disease nought but that worse cureth, Which (I dare foresay) nothing cures but death. Tell her all this before I am forgot, That not too late she grieve she love me not. Burdened with this, I was to depart less Willing than those which die, and not confess. THE END OF THE EPISTLES. FUNERAL ELEGIES. ANATOMY OF THE WORLD. WHEREIN, BY OCCASION OF THE UNTIMELY DEATH OF MISTRESS ELIZABETH DRURY, THE FRAILTY AND THE DECAY OF THIS WHOLE WORLD IS REPRESENTED. THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY. TO THE PRAISE OF THE DEAD, AND THE ANATOMY. Well died the world, that we might live to see This world of wit in his anatomy : No evil wants his good ; so wilder heirs Bedew their fathers' tombs with forced tears, Whose state requites their loss : while thus we gain. Well may we walk in blacks, but not complain. Yet how can I consent the world is dead. While this Muse lives ? which in his spirit's stead Seems to inform a world, and bids it be, In spite of loss or frail mortality ? And thou the subject of this well-born thought. Thrice-noble maid, could'st not have found nor sought 76 FUNERAL ELEGIES. A fitter time to yield to thy sad fate, Than while this spirit lives, that can relate Thy worth so well to our last nephews' eyne, That they shall wonder both at his and thine : Admired match, where strives in mutual grace The cunning pencil and the comely face ! A task, which thy fair goodness made too much For tlie bold pride of vulgar pens to touch : Enough is us* to praise them that praise thee, And say that but enough those praises be. Which, hadst thou lived, had hid their fearful head From the angry checkings of thy modest red : Death bars reward and shame ; when envy's gone, And gain, 'tis safe to give the dead their own. As then the wise Egyptians wont to lay More on their tombs than houses (these of clay, But those of brass or marble were) so we Give more unto thy ghost than unto thee. Yet what we give to thee, thou gavest to us, And may'st but thank thyself, for being thus : Yet what thou gav'st and wert, 0, happy maid. Thy grace professed all due, where 'tis repaid. So these high songs, that to thee suited bin. Serve but to sound thy Maker's praise and thine; Wiiich thy dear soul as sweetly sings to him Amid the choir of saints and seraphim. As any angels' tongues can sing of thee ; The subjects differ, though the skill agree : * Va7\ it is. FUNERAL ELEGIES. (7 For as by infant years men judge of age, Thy early love, thy virtues did presage What high part thou bear'st in thnose best of songs, Whereto no burden, nor no end belongs. Sing on, thou virgin soul, whose lossful gain Thy love-sick parents have bewailed in vain ; Ne'er may thy name be in our songs forgot,* Till we shall sing thy ditty and thy note. * Var. Never may thy name be in songs forgot. IS FUNERAL ELEGIES. AN ANATOMY OF THE WORLD. THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY. When that rich soul, which to her heaven is gone, Whom all do celebrate, who know they 've one, (For who is sure he hath a soul, unless It see and judge and follow worthiness. And by deeds praise it ? he who doth not this, May lodge an inmate soul, but 'tis not his,) When that queen ended here her progress-time, And as to her standing-house to heaven did climb. Where, loth to make the saints attend her long. She 's now a part both of the choir and song ; This world in that great earthquake languished ; For in a common bath of tears it bled, Which drew the strongest vital spirits out, But succoured them with a perplexed doubt. Whether the world did lose, or gain in this; Because (since now no other way there is But goodness, to see her, whom all would see, All must endeavour to be good as she,) This great consumption to a fever turned, And so the world had fits; it joyed, it mourned; And, as men think that agues physic are, And the ague being spent, give over care, FUNERAL ELEGIES. 79 So thou, sick world, mistak'st thyself to be Well, when alas thou art in a lethargy : Her death did wound and tame thee then, and than Thou might'st have better spared the sun, or man, That wound was deep ; but 'tis more misery, That thou hast lost thy sense and memory. 'T was heavy then to hear thy voice of moan, But this is worse, that thou art speechless grown. Thou hast forgot thy name thou hadst ; thou wast Nothing but she, and her thou hast o'erpast. For as a child kept from the font until A prince, expected long, come to fulfil The ceremonies, thou unnamed hadst laid. Had not her coming thee her palace made : Her name defined thee, gave thee form and frame, And thou forget'st to celebrate thy name. Some months she hath been dead (but being dead, Measures of time are all determined) [none But long she hath been away, long, long : yet Offers to tell us, who it is that 's gone ; But as in states doubtful of future heirs, When sickness without remedy impairs The present prince, they 're loth it should be said, The prince doth languish, or the prince is dead, So mankind, feeling now a general thaw, A strong example gone, equal to law. The cement, which did faithfully compact And glue all virtues, now resolved and slacked, Thought it some blasphemy to say she was dead, Or that our weakness was discovered 80 * FUNERAL ELEGIES. In that confession ; therefore spoke no more Than tongues, the soul being gone, the loss deplore But, though it be too late to succour thee, Sick world, yea, dead, yea, putrefied, since she, Thy intrinsic balm and thy preservative, Can never be renewed, thou never live, I (since no man can make thee live) will try What we may gain by thy anatomy. Her death hath taught us dearly that thou art Corrupt and mortal in thy purest part. Let no man say, the world itself being dead, 'Tis labour lost to have discovered The world's infirmities, since there is none Alive to study this dissection ; For there 's a kind of world remaining still ; Though she, which did inanimate and fill The world, be gone, yet in this last long night Her ghost doth walk, that is, a glimmering light, A faint weak love of virtue, and of good Reflects from her on them which understood Her worth ; and though she liave shut in all day, The twilight of her memory doth stay. Which, from the carcase of the old world free. Creates a new world, and new creatures be Produced : the matter and the stuff of this Her virtue, and the form our practice is : And though to be thus elemented arm These creatures from home-born intrinsic harm, (For all assumed unto this dignity, So many weedless paradises be, FUNERAL ELKGIES. 81 Which of themselves produce no venomous sin, Except some foreign serpent bring it in,) Yet, because outward storms the strongest break. And strength itself by confidence grows weak, This new world may be safer, being told The dangers and diseases of the old ; For with due temper men do then forego Or covet things, when they their true worth know. There is no health ; physicians say that we At best enjoy but a neutrality ; And can there be worse sickness than to know. That we are never well, nor can be so ? We are born ruinous : poor mothers cry, That children come not right nor orderly, Except they headlong come and fall upon An ominous precipitation. How witty is ruin, how importunate Upon mankind ! it laboured to frustrate Even God's purpose, and made woman, sent For man's relief, cause of his languishment ; They were to good ends, and they are so still, But accessary, and principal in ill ; For that first marriage was our funeral ; One woman at one blow then killed us all ; And singly one by one they kill us now. We do delightfully ourselves allow To that consumption, and, profusely blind, We kill ourselves to propagate our kind ; And yet we do not that ; we are not men : There is not now that mankind, which was then, 6 82 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Whenas the sun and man did seem to strive, (Joint-tenants of the world) who should survive ; When stag and raven, and the long-lived tree, Compared with man, died in minority ; When, if a slow-paced star had stolen away From the observer's marking, he might stay Two or three hundred years to see it again. And then make up his observation plain ; When, as the age was long, the size was great ; Man's growth confessed and recompensed the So spacious and large, that every soul [meat, Did a fair kingdom and large realm control ; And when the very stature thus erect Did that soul a good way towards heaven direct ; Where is this mankind now ? who lives to age, Fit to be made Methusalera his page ; Alas ! we scarce live long enough to try Whether a true-made clock run right or lie. Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow, And for our children we reserve to-morrow. So short is life, that every peasant strives. In a torn house, or field, to have three lives. And, as in lasting, so in length, is man Contracted to an inch, who was a span ; For had a man at first in forests strayed Or shipwracked in the sea, one would have laid A wager, that an elephant or whale That met him, would not hastily assail A thing so equal to him ; now alas ! The fairies and the pigmies well may pass FUNERAL ELKGIES. 83 As credible ; mankind decays so soon, We 're scarce our fathers' shadows cast at noon : Only death adds to our length ; nor are we grown In stature to be men, till we are none. But this were light, did our less volume hold All the old text, or had we changed to gold Their silver, or disposed into less glass Spirits of virtue, which then scattered was : But 'tis not so : we 're not retired but damped ; And, as our bodies, so our minds are cramped : 'Tis shrinking, not close weaving, that hath thus In mind and body both bedwarfed us. We seem ambitious God's whole work to undo ; Of nothing he made us, and we strive, too. To bring ourselves to nothing back ; and we Do what we can to do it so soon as he : With new diseases on ourselves we war, And with new physic, a worse engine far. This Man, this world's vice-emperor, in whom All faculties, all graces are at home. And if in other creatures they appear. They 're but man's ministers and legates there, To work on their rebellions, and reduce Them to civility and to man's use ; — Tliis man, whom God did woo, and, loth to attend Till man came up, did down to man descend ; This man so great, that all that is is his, Oh what a trifle and poor thing he is ! If man were any thing, he 's nothing now ; Help, or at least some time to waste, allow 84 FUNERAL ELEGIES. To his other wants, yet when he did depart With her whom we lament, he lost his heart. She, of whom the ancients seemed to prophesy, When they called virtues by the name of She ; She, in whom virtue was so much refined, That for alloy unto so pure a mind She took the weaker sex ; she, that could drive The poisonous tincture and the stain of Eve Out of her thoughts and deeds, and purify All by a true religious alchemy ; She, she is dead ; she 's dead : when thou know'st this, Thou know'st how poor a trifling thing man is, And learn'st thus much by our anatomy. The heart being perished, no part can be free, And that except thou feed (not banquet) on The supernatural food, religion, Thy better growth grows withered and scant ; Be more than Man, or thou 'rt less than an ant. Then as mankind, so is the world's whole frame Quite out of joint, almost created lame : For before God had made up all the rest. Corruption entered and depraved the best ; It seized the Angels, and then first of all The world did in her cradle take a fall, And turned her brains, and took a general maim. Wronging each joint of the universal frame. The noblest part, Man, felt it first ; and then Both beasts and plants, curst in the curse of man ; FUNERAL ELEGIES. 8-) So did the world from the first hour decay, That evening was beginning of the day ; And now the springs and summers which we see, Like sons of women after fifty be. And new philosophy calls all in doubt, The element of fire is quite put out ; The sun is lost, and the earth ; and no man's wit Can well direct him where to look for it. And freely men confess that this world 's spent, When in the planets and the firmament They seek so many new ; they see that this Is crumbled out again to his atomies. 'Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone, All just supply, and all relation : Prince, subject, father, son, are things forgot, For every man alone thinks he hath got To be a phoenix, and that there can be None of that kind, of which he is, but he. This is the world's condition now, and now She, that should all parts to reunion bow ; She, that had all magnetic force alone To draw and fasten sundered* parts in one ; She, whom wise nature had invented then, When she observed that every sort of men Did in their voyage in this world's sea stray, And needed a new compass for their way ; She, that was best and first original Of all fair copies, and the general *■ Ed. 1633, hundred. 86 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Steward to fate ; she, whose rich eyes and breast Gilt the West-Indies, and perfumed the East ; Whose having breathed in this world did bestow Spice on those isles, and bade them still smell so; And that rich India which doth gold inter, Is but as single money coined from her ; She, to whom this world must itself refer, As suburbs, or the microcosm of her ; [this She, she is dead ; she 's dead : when thou know'st Thou know'st how lame a cripple this world, is, And learn'st thus much by our anatomy. That this world's general sickness doth not lie In any humour, or one certain part, But as thou saw'st it rotten at the heart, Thou seest a hectic fever hath got hold Of the whole substance, not to be controlled ; And that thou hast but one way not to admit The world's infection, to be none of it. For the world's subtlest immaterial parts Feel this consuming wound, and age's darts. For the world's beauty is decayed or gone, Beauty, that 's colour and proportion. We think the Heavens enjoy their spherical. Their round proportion embracing all, But yet their various and perplexed course, Observed in divers ages, doth enforce Men to find out so many eccentric parts, Such divers downright lines, such overthwarts,- As disproportion that pure form ; it tears The firmament in eight-and-forty shares. FUNERAL ELEGIES. 87 And in these constellations then arise New stars, and old do vanish from our eyes ; As though heaven suffered earthquakes, peace or war. When new towers rise, and old demolished are. They have impaled within a zodiac The free-born sun, and keep twelve signs awake To watch his steps ; the Goat and Crab control And fright him back, who else to either pole (Did not these Tropics fetter him) might run; For his course is not round, nor can the sun Perfect a circle, or maintain his way One inch direct, but where he rose to day He comes no more, but with a cozening line, Steals by that point, and so is serpentine. And seeming weary of his reeling thus. He means to sleep, being now fallen nearer us. So of the stars, which boast that they do run In circle still, none ends where he begun : All their proportion 's lame, it sinks, it swells ; For of meridians and parallels, Man hath weaved out a net, and this net thrown Upon the Heavens ; and now they are his own. Loth to go up the hill, or labour thus To go to heaven, we make heaven come to us ; We spur, we rein the stars, and in their race They 're diversly content to obey our pace. But keeps the earth her round proportion still ? Doth not a Tenarus or higher hill 88 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Rise so high like a rock, that one might think The floating moon would shipwrack there and sink ? Seas are so deep, that whales being struck to-day, Perchance to-morrow scarce at middle way Of their wished journey's end, the bottom, die : And men, to sound depths, so much line untie, As one might justly think that there would rise At end thereof one of the antipodes : If under all a vault infernal be, (Which sure is spacious, except that we Invent another torment, that there must Millions into a strait hot room be thrust) Then solidness and roundness have no place: Are these but warts and pockholes in the face Of the earth ? Think so ; but yet confess, in this The world's proportion disfigured is ; That those two legs whereon it doth rely, Reward and punishment, are bent awry : And, oh ! it can no more be questioned. That beauty's best, proportion, is dead. Since even grief itself, which now alone Is left us, is without proportion. She, by whose lines proportion should be Examined, measure of all symmetry, Whom had that ancient seen, who thought souls made Of harmony, he would at next have said That harmony was she, and thence infer That souls were but resultances from her, FUNERAL ELEGIES. 89 And did from her into our bodies go, As to our eyes the forms from objects flow ; She, who, if those great doctors truly said That the ark to man's proportion was made, Had been a type for that, as that might be A type of her in this, that contrary Both elements and passions lived at peace In her, who caused all civil war to cease ; She, after whom what form soe'er we see, Is discord and rude incongruity ; [this, She, she is dead, she 's dead ! when thou know'st Thou know'st how ugly a monster this world is ; And learn'st thus much by our anatomy. That here is nothing to enamour thee ; And that not only faults in inward parts. Corruptions in our brains, or in our hearts, Poisoning the fountains, whence our actions springs Endanger us ; but that if every thing Be not done fitly and in proportion. To satisfy wise and good lookers on, Since most men be such as most think they be, They are loathsome too by this deformity. For Good and Well must in our actions meet ; Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet. But beauty's other second element. Colour, and lustre, now is as near spent ; And had the world his just proportion. Were it a ring still, yet the stone is gone ; As a compassionate turquoise which doth tell, By looking pale, the wearer is not well, 90 FUNERAL ELEGIES. As gold falls sick, being stung with mercury, All the world';? parts of such complexion be. When nature was most busy, the first week. Swaddling the new-born earth, God seemed to hke That she should sport herself sometimes in play, To min^e and vary colours every day ; And then, as though she could not make enow, Himself his various rainbow did allow. Sight is the noblest sense of any one, Yet sight hath only colour to feed on. And colour is dec£vyed ; summer's robe grows Dusky, and like an oft-died garment shows. Our blushing red, which used in cheeks to spread, Is inward sunk, and only our souls are red. Perchance the world might have recovered, If she, whom we lament, had not been dead ; But she, in whom all white, and red, and blue (Beauty's ingredients) voluntary grew. As in an unvext paradise ; from whom Did all things' verdure and their lustre come ; Whose composition w^as miraculous. Being all colour, all diaphanous, (For air and fire but thick gross bodies were. And liveliest stones but drowsy and pale to her) She, she is dead ; she 's dead : when thou know'st this, Thou know'st how wan a ghost this our world is ; And learn'st thus much by our anatomy. That it should more affright than pleasure thee ; FUNERAL ELEGIES. 9) And that, since all fair colour then did sink, 'Tis now but wicked vanity to think To colour vicious deeds with good pretence, Or with bought colours to illude men's sense. Nor in aught more this world's decay appears, Than that her influence the heaven forbears, Or that the elements do not feel this, The father or the mother barren is. The clouds conceive not rain, or do not pour. In the due birth-time, down the balmy shower; Tlie air doth not motherly sit on the earth, To hatch her seasons, and give all things birth ; Spring-times were common cradles, but are tombs ; And false conceptions fill the general wombs ; The air shows such meteors, as none can see Not only what they mean, but what they be ; Earth such new worms, as would have troubled much The Egyptian Magi to have made more such. What artist now dares boast that he can bring Heaven hither, or constellate any thing, So as the influence of those stars may be Imprisoned in an herb, or charm, or tree. And do by touch all which those stars could do ? The art is lost, and correspondence too ; For heaven gives little, and the earth takes less, And man least knows their trade and purposes. If this commerce 'twixt heaven and earth were not Embarred, and all this traffic quite forgot. 92 FUNERAL ELEGIES. She, for whose loss we have lamented thus. Would Avork more fully and powerfully on us ; Since herbs and roots by dying lose not all, But they, yea ashes too, are medicinal, Death could not quench her virtue so, but that It would be (if not followed) wondered at, And all the world would be one dying swan, To sing her funeral praise, and vanish than. But as some serpents' poison hurteth not, Except it be from the live serpent shot, So doth her virtue need her here, to fit That unto us ; she working more than it. But she, in whom to such maturity Virtue was grown past growth, that it must die; She, from whose influence all impression came, But by receiver's impotences lame ; Who, though she could not transubstantiate All states to gold, yet gilded every state. So that some princes have some temperance, Some counsellors some purpose to advance The common profit, and some people have Some stay, no more than kings should give, to crave. Some women have some taciturnity. Some nunneries some grains of chastity, — She, that did thus much, and much more could do. But that our age was iron, and rusty too ; She, she is dead ; she 's dead ! when thou know'st this, Thou know'st how dry a cinder this world is, FUNERAL ELEGIES. \)o And learn'st thus much by our anatomy, That 'tis in vain to dew or mollify It with thy tears, or sweat, or blood : no thing Is worth our travail, grief, or perishing, But those rich joys, which did possess her heart, Of which she 's now partaker, and a part. But, as in cutting up a man that 's dead, The body will not last out, to have read On every part, and therefore men direct Their speech to parts that are of most effect, So the world's carcase would not last, if I Were punctual in this anatomy ; Nor smells it well to hearers, if one tell Them their disease, who fain would think they are well. Here therefore be the end ; and, blessed maid, Of whom is meant whatever hath been said, Or shall be spoken well by any tongue. Whose name refines coarse lines, and makes prose song. Accept this tribute, and his first year's rent, Who, till his dark short taper's end be spent, As oft as thy feast sees this widowed earth. Will yearly celebrate thy second birth. That is, thy death; for though the soul of man Be got when man is made, 'tis born but than. When man doth die ; our body 's as the womb, And, as a midwife, death directs it home ; And you her creatures, whom she works upon, And have your last and best concoction 94 FUNERAL ELEGIES. From her example and her virtue, if you In reverence to her do think it due, That no one should her praises thus rehearse, As matter fit for chronicle, not verse ; Vouchsafe to call to mind that God did make A last, and lasting'st piece, a song. He spake To Moses to deliver unto all That song, because he knew they would let fall The law, the prophets, and the history. But keep the song still in their memory : Such an opinion in due measure, made Me this great office boldly to invade ; Nor could incomprehensibleness deter Me from thus trying to imprison her ; Which when I saw that a strict grave could do, I saw not why verse might not do so too. Verse hath a middle nature ; heaven keeps souls, The grave keeps bodies, verse the fame enrolls. A FUNERAL ELEGY. 'Tis loss to trust a tomb with such a guest, Or to confine her in a marble chest ; Alas ! what 's marble, jet, or porphyry. Prized with the chrysolite of either eye, FUNERAL ELEGIES. 95 Or with those pearls and rubies which she was ? Join the two Indies In one tomb, 'tis glass ; And so is all to her materials, Though every inch were ten Escurials ; Yet she 's demolished ; can we keep her then In works of hands, or of the wits of men ? Can these memorials, rags of paper, give Life to that name, by which name they must live ? Sickly, alas ! short-lived, abortive be Those carcase verses, whose soul is not she ; And can she, who no longer would be she, (Being such a tabernacle) stoop to be In paper wrapt, or, when she would not lie In such an house, dwell in an elegy ? But 'tis no matter ; we may well allow Verse to live so long as the world will now. For her death wounded it. The world contains Princes for arms, and counsellors for brains ; Lawyers for tongues ; divines for hearts, and more ; The rich for stomachs, and for backs the poor ; The officers for hands ; merchants for feet. By which remote and distant countries meet ; But those fine spirits, which do tune and set This organ, are those pieces which beget Wonder and love ; and these were she ; and she Being spent, the world must needs decrepit be : For since death will proceed to triumph still, He can find nothing after her to kill. Except the world itself, so great was she. Thus brave and confident may nature be ; 96 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Death cannot give her such another blow, Because she cannot such another show. But must we say she 's dead ? may it not be said, That as a sundered clock is piecemeal laid, Not to be lost, but by the maker's hand Repolished, without error then to stand, Or, as the Afric Niger stream enwombs Itself into the earth, and after comes (Having first made a natural bridge, to pass For many leagues) far greater than it was, May it not be said, that her grave shall restore Her greater, purer, firmer than before ? Heaven may say this, and joy in 't ; but can, we, ^ Who live, and lack her here, this 'vantage see ? What is 't to us, alas ! if there have been An Angel made a Throne or Cherubin ? We lose by it ; and, as aged men are glad, Being tasteless grown, to joy in joys they had. So now the sick-starved world must feed upon This joy, that we had her, who now is gone. Rejoice then, Nature and this world, that you, Fearing the last fire's hastening to subdue Your force and vigor, ere it were near gone, Wisely bestowed and laid it all on one ; One, whose clear body was so pure and thin, Because it need disguise no thought within, [roll, 'T was but a through-light scarf her mind to en- Or exhalation breathed out from her soul ; One, whom all men, who durst no more, admired, And whom, who'er had worth enough, desired. FUNERAL ELEGIES. 97 As, when a temple 's built, saints emulate To which of them it shall be consecrate. But as when heaven looks on us with new eyes, Those new stars everj artist exercise ; "What place they should assign to them, they doubt, Argue, and agree not, till those stars go out ; So the world studied whose this piece should be, Till she can be no body's else, nor she : But like a lamp of balsam um, desired Rather to adorn than last, she soon expired. Clothed in her virgin-white integrity ; For marriage, though it doth not stain, doth dye. To 'scape the infirmities which wait upon Woman, she went away before she was one ; And the world's busy noise to overcome, Took so much death as served for opium ; For though she could not, nor could choose to die, She hath yielded to too long an ecstasy. He which, not knowing her sad history. Should come to read the book of destiny, [been, How fair and chaste, humble and high she had Much promised, much performed at not fifteen, And measuring future things by things before, Should turn the leaf to read, and read no more, "Would think that either destiny mistook, Or that some leaves were torn out of the book ; But 'tis not so : Fate did but usher her To years of reason's use, and then infer Her destiny to herself, which liberty She took, but for this much, thus much to die ; 7 98 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Her modesty not suffering her to be Fellow-commissioner with destiny, She did no more but die ; if after her Any shall live, which dare true good prefer, Every such person is her delegate, To accomplish that which should have been her fate. They shall make up that book, and shall have thanks Of fate and her, for filling up their blanks. For future virtuous deeds are legacies. Which from the gift of her example rise ; And 'tis in heaven part of spiritual mirth. To see how well the good play her on earth. FUNERAL ELEGIES. 99 OF THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. WHEREIN BY OCCASION OF THE RELIGIOUS DEATH OF MISTRESS ELIZABETH DRURY, THE INCOMMO- DITIES OF THE SOUL IN THIS LIFE, AND HER EX- ALTATION IN THE NEXT, ARE CONTEMPLATED. THE SECOND ANNIVERSARY. THE HARBINGER TO THE FROGBESS. Two souls move here, and mine (a third) must move Paces of admiration, and of love. Thy soul (dear virgin) whose this tribute is, Moved from this mortal sphere to lively bliss ; And yet moves still, and still aspires to see The world's last day, thy glory's full degree ; Like as those stars, which thou o'erlookest far, Are in their place, and yet still moved are : No soul (whilst with the luggage of this clay It clogged is) can follow thee half way, Or see thy flight, which doth our thoughts outgo So fast, as now the lightning moves but slow. But now thou art as high in heaven flown, As heaven 's from us ; what soul beside thine own Can tell thy joys, or say, he can relate Thy glorious journals in that blessed state ? 100 FUNERAL ELEGIES. I envy thee (rich soul) I envy thee, Although I cannot yet thy glory see : And thou (great spirit) which hers followed hast So fast, as none can follow thine so fast, So far, as none can follow thine so far, (And if this flesh did not the passage bar, Hadst caught her) let me wonder at thy flight, Which long agone hadst lost the vulgar sight. And now mak'st proud the better eyes, that they Can see thee lessened in thine airy way ; So while thou mak'st her soul by progress known, Thou mak'st a noble progress of thine own, From this world's carcase having mounted high To that pure life of immortality ; Since thine aspiring thoughts themselves so raise. That more may not beseem a creature's praise, Yet still thou vow'st her more, and every year Mak'st a new progress, whilst thou wander'st here; Still upward mount ; and let thy Maker's praise Honour thy Laura, and adorn thy lays : And since thy Muse her head in heaven shrouds, Oh, let her never stoop below the clouds ! And if those glorious sainted souls may know Or what we do, or what we sing below, Those acts, those songs shall still content them best, Which praise those awful Powers, that make them blest. FUNERAL ELEGIES. 101 OF THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. THE SECOND ANNIVERSARY. Nothing could make me sooner to confess, That this world had an everlastingness. Than to consider that a year is run, Since both this lower world's and the sun's sun, The lustre and the vigour of this All, Did set, 't were blasphemy to say, did fall. But, as a ship which hath struck sail, doth run By force of that force which before it won ; Or as sometimes in a beheaded man, Though at those two Red Seas, which freely ran, One from the trunk, another from the head, His soul be sailed to her eternal bed. His eyes will twinkle, and his tongue will roll, As though he beckoned and called back his soul, He grasps his hands, and he pulls up his feet. And seems to reach, and to step forth to meet His soul, when all these motions which we saw, Are but as ice which crackles at a thaw ; Or as a lute, which in moist weather rings Her knell alone, by cracking of her strings ; So struggles this dead world, now she is gone : For there is motion in corruption. 102 FUNERAL ELEGIES. As some days are at the creation named, Before the sun, the which framed days, was framed, So after this sun's set some show appears, And orderly vicissitude of years ; Yet a new deluge, and of Lethe flood, Hath drowned us all ; all have forgot all good. Forgetting her, the main reserve of all; Yet in this deluge, gross and general, Thou seestme strive for life ; my life shall be To be hereafter praised for praising thee, Immortal maid, who though thou would'st refuse The name of mother, be unto my Muse A father, since her chaste ambition is Yearly to bring forth such a child as this. These hymns may work on future wits, and so May great grand-children of thy praises grow, And so, though not revive, embalm and spice The world, which else would putrefy with vice. For thus man may extend thy progeny, Until man do but vanish, and not die. These hymns thy issue may increase so long As till God's great Venite change the song. Thirst for that time, O my insatiate soul. And serve thy thirst with God's safe-sealing bowl. Be thirsty still, and drink still, till thou go To the only health ; to be hydroptic so. Forget this rotten world; and unto thee Let thine own times as an old story be ; Be not concerned ; study not why, nor when ; Do not so much as not believe a man ; FUNERAL ELEGIES. 103 For though to err be worst, to try truths forth Is far more business than this world is worth. The world is but a carcase ; thou art fed By it but as a worm that carcase bred ; And why should'st thou, poor worm, consider more When this world will grow better than before, Than those thy fellow-worms do think upon That carcase's last resurrection? Forget this world and scarce think of it so As of old clothes cast off a year ago. To be thus stupid is alacrity ; Men thus lethargic have best memory. Look upward, that 's towards her whose happy state We now lament not, but congratulate. She, to w^hom all this world was but a stage, Where all sat hearkening how her youthful age Should be employed, because in all she did Some figure of the golden times was hid ; Who could not lack whate'er this world could give, Because she was the form that made it live ; Nor could complain that this world was unfit To be stayed in then, when she was in it ; She, that first tried indifferent desires By virtue, and virtue by religious fires ; She, to whose person paradise adhered. As Courts to princes ; she, whose eyes ensphered Star-light enough, to have made the south control (Had she been there) the starful northern pole ; 104 FUNERAL ELEGIES. She, she is gone ; she 's gone : when thou know'st this, What fragmentary rubbish this world is Thou know'st, and that it is not worth a thought ; He honours it too much, that thinks it nought. Think then, my soul, that death is but a groom. Which brings a taper to the outward room. Whence thou spy'st first a little glimmering light, And after brings it nearer to thy sight ; For such approaches doth heaven make in death : Think thyself labouring now with broken breath, And think those broken and soft notes to be Division, and thy happiest harmony ; Think thee laid on tiiy death-bed, loose and slack ; And think that but unbinding of a pack, To take one precious thing, thy soul, from thence ; Think thyself parched with fever's violence ; Anger thine ague more, by calling it Thy physic ; chide the slackness of the fit. [more, Think that thou hear'st thy knell, and think no But that, as bells called thee to church before. So this to the triumphant church calls thee ; Think Satan's sergeants round about thee be, And think that but for legacies they thrust ; Give one thy pride, to another give thy lust ; Give them those sins, which they gave thee before, And trust the immaculate blood to wash thy score ; Think thy friends weeping round, and think that they Weep but because they go not yet thy way ; FUNERAL ELEGIES. 105 Think that they close thine eyes, and think in ihis, That they confess much in the world amiss, Who dare not trust a dead man's eye with that, Which they from God and angels cover not ; Think that they shroud thee up, and think from They re-invest thee in white innocence ; [thence, Think that thy body rots, and (if so low, Thy soul exalted so, thy thoughts can go,) Think thee a prince, who of themselves create Worms which insensibly devour their state ; Think that they bury thee, and think that rite Lays thee to sleep but a saint Lucie's night ; Think these things cheerfully, and if thou be Drowsy or slack, remember then that she, She, whose complexion was so even made. That which of her ingredients should invade The other three, no fear, no art could guess, So far were all removed from more or less ; But as in mithridate, or just perfumes, Where all good things being met, no one presumes To govern, or to triumph on the rest. Only because all were, no part was, best ; And as, though all do know, that quantities Are made of lines, and lines from points arise, None can these lines or quantities unjoint. And say, this is a line, or this a point ; So, though the elements and humours were In her, one could not say, this governs there ; Whose even constitution might have won Any disease to venture on the sun. 106 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Rather than her ; and make a spirit fear, That he to disuniting subject were ; To whose proportions if we would compare Cubes, they 're unstable ; circles, angular ; She, who was such a chain as fate employs To bring mankind all fortunes it enjoys. So fast, so even wrought, as one would think No accident could threaten any link ; She, she embraced a sickness, gave it meat, The purest blood and breath that e'er it eat ; And hath taught us, that though a good man hath Title to heaven, and plead it by his faith. And though he may pretend a conquest, since Heaven was content to suffer violence ; Yea, though he plead a long possession, too, (For they 're in heaven on earth, who heaven's works do) Though he had right, and power, and place before, Yet death must usher and unlock the door ; Think further on thyself, my soul, and think How thou at first wast made but in a sink ; Think, that it argued some infirmity. That those two souls, which then thou found'st in me. Thou fed'st upon, and drew'st into thee both My second soul of sense, and first of growth ; Think but how poor thou wast, how obnoxious, When a small lump of flesh could poison thus : This curdled milk, this poor unlittered whelp, My body, could, beyond escape or help, FUNERAL ELEGIES. 107 Infect thee with original sin, and thou Could'st neither then refuse, nor leave it now ; Think, that no stubborn sullen anchorite, Which fixed to a pillar, or a grave, doth sit Bedded, and bathed in all his ordures, dwells So foully as our souls in their first-built cells ; Think in how poor a prison thou dost lie, After enabled but to suck, and cry ; [inn, Think, when 't was grown to most, 't was a poor A province packed up in two yards of skin, And that usurped, or threatened with a rage Of sicknesses, or their true mother. Age ; But think that death hath now enfranchised thee, Thou hast thy expansion now, and liberty ; Think, that a rusty piece discharged is flown In pieces, and the bullet is his own. And freely flies ; this to thy soul allow ; Think thy shell broke, think thy soul hatched but now ; And think this slow-paced soul, which late did cleave To a body, and went but by the body's leave, Twenty perchance or thirty mile a day. Despatches in a minute all the way 'Twixt heaven and earth ; she stays not in the air. To look what meteors there themselves prepare ; She carries no desire to know, nor sense, Whether the air's middle region be intense ; For the clement of fire, she doth not know, Whether she passed by such a place or no ; 108 FUNERAL ELEGIES. She baits not at the moon, nor cares to try Whether in that new world men live and die ; Venus retards her not, to inquire how she Can (being one star) Hesper and Vesper be ; He, that charmed Argus' eyes, sweet Mercury, Works not on her, who now is grown all eye ; AVho, if she meet the body of the sun, Goes through, not staying till his course be run ; Who finds in Mars's camp no corps of guard, Nor is by Jove, nor by his father, barred. But ere she can consider how she went, At once is at and through the firmament. And, as these stars were but so many beads Strung on one string, speed undistinguished leads Her through those spheres, as through the beads a string, Whose quick succession makes it still one thing : As doth the pith, which, lest our bodies slack, Strings fast the little bones of neck and back, So by the soul doth death string heaven and earth ; For when our soul enjoys this her third birth, (Creation gave her one, a second Grace) Heaven is as near and present to her face. As colours are and objects in a room. Where darkness was before, when tapers come. This must, ray soul, thy long-short progress be To advance these thoughts ; remember then that she, She, whose fair body no such prison was, But that a soul might well be pleased to pass FUNERAL ELEGIES. 109 An age in her ; she, whose rich beauty lent Mintage to other beauties, for they went But for so much as they were like to her ; She, in whose body (if we dare prefer This low world to so high a mark as she,) The western treasure, eastern spicery, Europe and Afric, and the unknown rest Were easily found, or what in them was best ; (And when we 've made this large discovery Of all, in her some one part then will be Twenty such parts, whose plenty and riches is Enough to make twenty such worlds as this ;) She, whom had they known, who did first betroth The tutelar angels, and assigned one both To nations, cities, and to companies. To functions, offices, and dignities. And to each several man, to him, and him, They would have given her one for every limb ; She, of whose soul if we may say, 'twas gold, Her body was the electrum, and did hold Many degrees of that ; we understood Her by her sight ; her pure and eloquent blood Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, That one might almost say her body thought ; She, she thus richly and largely housed, is gone, And chides us, slow-paced snails, who crawl upon Our prison's prison, earth, nor think us well. Longer than whilst we bear our brittle shell. But 't were but little to have changed our room, If, as we were in this our living tomb 110 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Oppressed with ignorance, we still were so. Poor soul, in this thy flesh what dost thou know ? Thou know'st thyself so little, as thou know'st not How thou didst die, nor how thou wast begot ; Thou neither know'st, how thou at first cam'st in, Nor how thou took'st the poison of man's sin ; Nor dost thou, (though thou know'st that thou art so) By what way thou art made immortal, know. Thou art too narrow, wretch, to comprehend Even thyself, yea, though thou would'st but bend To know thy body. Have not all souls thought For many ages, that our body is wrought Of air and fire, and other elements ? And now they think of new ingredients ; And one soul thinks one, and another way Another thinks, and 'tis an even lay. Know'st thou but how the stone doth enter in The bladder's cave, and never break the skin ? Know'st thou how blood, which to the heart doth flow, Doth from one ventricle to the other go ? And for the putrid stuff, which thou dost spit, Know'st thou how thy lungs have attracted it ? There are no passages ; so that there is (For ought thou know'st) piercing of substances. And of those many opinions, which men raise Of nails and hairs, dost thou know which to praise? What hope have we to know ourselves, when we Know not the least things which for our use be? FUNERAL ELEGIES. Ill We see in authors, too stiff to recant, A hundred controversies of an ant ; And yet one watches, starves, freezes, and sweats. To know but catechisms and alphabets Of unconcerning things, matters of fact, How others on our stage their parts did act, What Cajsar did, yea, and what Cicero said ; Why grass is green, or why our blood is red. Are mysteries which none have reached unto ; In this low form, poor soul, what wilt thou do ? Oh ! when will thou shake off this pedantry, Of being taught by sense and fantasy ? [great Thou look'st through spectacles; small things seem Below ; but up unto the watch-tower get. And see all things despoiled of fallacies : Thau shalt not peep through lattices of eyes. Nor hear through labyrinths of ears, nor learn By circuit or collections to discern ; In heaven thou straight know'st all concerning it, And what concerns it not shalt straight forget. There thou (but in no other school) may'st be Perchance as learned and as full as she ; She, who all libraries had thoroughly read At home in her own thoughts, and practised So much good, as would make as many more ; She, whose example they must all implore. Who would or do, or think well, and confess That all the virtuous actions they express. Are but a new and worse edition Of her some one thought, or one action ; 112 FUNERAL ELEGIES. She who in the art of knowing Heaven was grown Here upon earth to such perfection, That she hath, ever since to heaven she came, In a far fairer print but read the same ; She, she not satisfied with all this weight, (For so much knowledge as would overfreight Another, did but ballast her) is gone As well to enjoy, as get, perfection. And calls us after her, in that she took (Taking herself) our best and worthiest book. Return not, my soul, from this ecstasy. And meditation of what thou shalt be, To earthly thoughts, till it to thee appear. With whom thy conversation must be there. With whom wilt thou converse ? what station Canst thou choose out free from infection. That will not give thee theirs, nor drink in thine ? Shalt thou not find a spongy slack divine Drink and suck in the instructions of great men, And for the word of God vent them agen ? Are there not some courts (and then * no things be So like as courts) which in this let us see, That wits and tongues of libellers are weak, Because they do more ill, than these can speak ? The poison 's gone through all ; poisons affect Chiefly the chiefest parts ; but some effect In nails, and hairs, yea excrements, will show ; So lies the poison of sin in the most low. * Qu. there? FUNERAL ELEGIES. 113 Up, up, my drowsy soul, where thy new ear Shall in the angels' songs no discord hear ; Where thou shalt see the blessed Mofher-maid Joy in not being that, which men have said ; Where she 's exalted more for being good, Than for h§r interest of motherhood ; Up to those Patriarchs, which did longer sit Expecting Christ, than they 've enjoyed him yet ; Up to those Prophets, which now gladly see Their prophesies grown to be history ; Up to the Apostles, who did bravely run All the sun's course, with more light than the sun ; Up to those Martyrs, who did calmly bleed Oil to the Apostle's lamps, dew to their seed ; Up to those Virgins, who thought that almost They made joint-tenants with the Holy Ghost, If they to any should his temple give ; Up, up, for in that squadron there doth live She, who hath carried thither new degrees (As to their number) to their dignities ; She, who being to herself a state, enjoyed All royalties, which any state employed ; For she made wars, and triumphed ; reason still Did not o'erthrow, but rectify her will ; And she made peace ; for no peace is like this, That beauty and chastity together kiss ; She did high justice ; for she crucified Every first motion of rebellious pride ; And she gave pardons, and was liberal. For, only herself except, she pardoned all ; 8 114 FUNERAL ELEGIES. She coined ; in this, that her impression gave To ail our actions all the worth they "have ; She gave protections ; the thoughts of her breast Satan's rude officers could ne'er arrest. As these prerogratives being met in one, Made her a sovereign state, Religion • Made her a church ; and these two made her all. She, who was all this all, and could not fall To worse, by company, (for she was still More antidote, than all the world was ill) She, she doth leave it, and by death survive All this in heaven ; whither who doth not strive The more because she 's there, he doth not know That accidental joys in heaven do grow. But pause, my soul, and study, ere thou fall On accidental joys, the essential ; Still before accessories do abide A trial, must the principal be tried ; And what essential joy canst thou expect Here upon earth ? what permanent effect Of transitory causes ? Dost thou love Beauty ? (and beauty worthiest is to move ;) Poor cozened cozener, that she, and that thou, Which did begin to love, are neither now ; You are both fluid, changed since yesterday ; Next day repairs (but ill) last day's decay ; Nor are (although the river keep the name) Yesterday's waters and to-day's the same, So flows her face, and thine eyes ; neither now, That saint nor pilgrim which your loving vow FUNERAL ELEGIES. 115 Concerned, remains ; but whilst you think you be Constant, you are hourly in inconstancy. Honour may have pretence unto our love, Because that God did live so long above Without this honour, and then loved it so. That he at last made creatures to bestow Honour on him ; not that he needed it, But that to his hands man might grow more fit. But since all honours from inferiors flow, (For they do give it; princes do but show [this Whom they would have so honoured ;) and that On such opinions and capacities Is built, as rise and fall, to more and less, Alas ! 'tis but a casual happiness. Hath ever any man to himself assigned This or that happiness to arrest his mind. But that another man, which takes a worse, Thinks him a fool for having ta'en that course ? They who did labour Babel's tower to erect, Might have considered that for that effect All this whole solid earth could not allow. Nor furnish forth materials enow, And that his centre, to raise such a place, Was far too little to have been the base ; No more affords this world foundation To erect true joy, were all the means in one. But as the heathen made them several gods Of all God's benefits, and all his rods, (For as the wine and corn and onions are Gods unto them, so agues be, and war,) 116 FUNERAL ELEGIES. And as by changing that whole precious gold To such small copper coins, they lost the old, And lost their only God, who ever must Be sought alone, and not in such a thrust ; So much mankind true happiness mistakes ; No joy enjoys that man, that many makes. Then, soul, to thy first pitch work up again ; Know that all lines which circles do contain, For once that they the centre touch, do touch Twice the circumference ; and be thou such ; Double on heaven thy thoughts ; on earth employed, All will not serve ; only who have enjoyed The sight of God in fulness, can think it ; For it is both the object and the wit ; This is essential joy, where neither he Can suflfer diminution, nor we ; 'Tis such a full and such a filling good. Had the angels once looked on him, they had stood. To fill the place of one of them, or more, She, whom we celebrate, is gone before ; She, who had here so much essential joy. As no chance could distract, much less destroy; Who with God's presence was acquainted so, (Hearing, and speaking to him) as to know His face in any natural stone or tree, Better than when in images they be ; Who kept by diligent devotion God's image in such reparation Within her heart, that what decay was grown, Was her first parent's fault, and not her own ; FUNERAL ELEGIES. 117 Who, being solicited to any act, Still heard God pleading his safe precontract ; Who by a faithful confidence was here Betrothed to God, and now is married there ; Whose twilights were more clear than our mid-day ; Who dreamt devoutlier than most use to pray ; Who being here filled with grace, yet strove to be Both where more grace, and more capacity At once is given ; she to heaven is gone. Who made this world in some proportion A heaven, and here became unto us all, Joy (as our joys admit) essential. But could this low world joys essential touch, Heaven's accidental joys would pass them much. How poor and lame must then our casual be ? If thy prince will his subjects to call thee My Lord, and this do swell thee, thou art than, By being greater, grown to be less man. When no physician of redress can speak, A joyful casual violence may break A dangerous apostem in thy breast ; And whilst thou joy'st in this, the dangerous rest, The bag may rise up, and so strangle thee. Whate'er was casual, may ever be : What should the nature change ? or make the same Certain, which was but casual when it came ? All casual joy doth loud and plainly say. Only by coming, that it can away. Only in heaven joy's strength is never spent, And accidental things are permanent. 118 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Joy of a soul's arrival ne'er decays, (For that soul ever joys, and ever stays ;) Joy, that their last great consummation Approaches in the resurrection, When earthly bodies more celestial Shall be, than angels were, (for they could fall,) This kind of joy doth every day admit Degrees of growth, but none of losing it. In this fresh joy, 'tis no small part, that she, She, in whose -goodness he that names degree, Doth injure her ; ('tis loss to be called best. There where the stuff is not such as the rest) ; She, who left such a body, as even she Only in heaven could learn, how it can be Made better ; for she rather was two souls, Or like to full on-both-sides-written rolls. Where eyes might read upon the outward skin As strong records for God, as minds within ; She, who, by making full perfection grow, Pieces a circle, and still keeps it so, Longed for, and longing for 't, to heaven is gone, Where she receives and gives addition. Here, in a place, where misdevotion frames A thousand prayers to saints, whose very names The ancient church knew not, heaven knows not yet, And where what laws of poetry admit. Laws of religion have at least the same, Immortal Maid, I might invoke thy name. Could any saint provoke that appetite. Thou here should'st make me a French convertite, FUNERAL ELEGIES. 119 But thou would'st not ; nor would'st thou be con- tent To take this, for my second year's true rent, Did this coin bear any other stamp than his That gave thee power to do, me, to say this : Since his will is that to posterity Thou should'st for life and death a pattern be, And that the world should notice have of this, The purpose and the authority is his ; Thou art the proclamation ; and I am The trumpet, at whose voice the people came. EPICEDES AND OBSEQUIES UPON THE DEATHS OF SUNDKY PERSONAGES. AN ELEGY ON THE UNTIMELY DEATH OF THE INCOMPARABLE PRINCE HENRY. Look to me, faith, and look to my faith, God ; For both my centres feel this period. Of weight one centre, one of greatness is ; And reason is that centre, faith is this ; For into our reason flow, and there do end, All that this natural world doth comprehend, 120 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Quotidian things, and equidistant hence, Shut in for man in one circumference; But for the enormous greatnesses, which are So disproportioned, and so angular. As is God's essence, place, and providence. Where, how, when, what souls do, departed hence. These things (eccentric else) on faith do strike ; Yet neither all, nor upon all, alike. For Reason, put to her best extension, Almost meets Faith, and makes both centres one ; And nothing ever came so near to this, As contemplation of that Prince we miss. For all, that Faith might credit mankind could, Reason still seconded that this prince would. If then least moving of the centre make More, than if whole hell belched, the world to shake. What must this do, centres distracted so, That we see not what to believe or know ? Was it not well believed till now, that he. Whose reputation was an ecstasy On neighbour states, which knew not why to wake, Till he discovered what ways he would take ; For whom, what princes angled, when they tried, Met a torpedo and were stupefied ; And others' studies, how he would be bent ; Was his great father's greatest instrument. And activest spirit, to convey and tie This soul of peace to Christianity ? FUNERAL ELEGIES. 121 Was it not well believed, that he would make This general peace the Eternal overtake A.nd that his times might have stretched out so far, As to touch those, of which they emblems are ? For to confirm this just belief, that now #The last days came, we saw heaven did allow, That, but from his aspect and exercise, In peaceful times rumours of wars should rise. But now this faith is heresy : we must Still stay, and vex our great grandmother. Dust. Oh, is God prodigal ? hath he spent his store Of plagues on us ; and only now, when more Would ease us much, doth he grudge misery, And will not let 's enjoy our curse, to die ? As for the earth, thrown lowest down of all, 'T were an ambition to desire to fall ; So God, in our desire to die, doth know Our plot for ease, in being wretched so ; Therefore we live, though such a life we have. As but so many mandrakes on his grave. What had his growth and generation done. When, what we are, his putrefaction Sustains in us, earth, which griefs animate ? Nor hath our world now other soul than that. And could grief get so high as heaven, that choir, Forgetting this their new joy, would desire (With grief to see him) he had stayed below. To rectify our errors they foreknow. Is the other centre, Reason, faster then ? [men ? Where should we look for that, now we 're not 122 FUNERAL ELEGIES. For if our Reason be our connection Of causes, now to us there can be none. For, as if all the substances were spent, 'T were madness to inquire of accident, So is it to look for Reason, he being gone, The only subject Reason wrought upon. If Fate have such a chain, whose divers links Industrious man discerneth, as he thinks. When miracle doth come, and so steal in A new link, man knows not where to begin ; At a much deader fault must reason be. Death having broke off such a link as he. But now, for us with busy proof to come. That we 've no Reason, would prove we had some ; So would just lamentations : therefore we May safelier say, that we are dead, than he. So, if our griefs we do not well declare. We 've double excuse ; he 's not dead, and we are. Yet I would not die yet ; for though I be Too narrow to think him, as he is he, (Our soul's best baiting and mid-period. In her long journey of considering God) Yet, (no dishonour) I can reach him thus. As he embraced the fires of love, with us. Oh may I, (since I live) but see or hear. That she-intelligence which moved this sphere, I pardon fate my life ; who e'er thou be, Which hast the noble conscience, thou art she : I conjure thee by all the charms he spoke. By the oaths which only you two never broke. FUNERAL elp:gies. 123 By all the souls ye sighed, that if you see These lines, you wish I knew your history ; So much as you two mutual heavens were here, I were an angel, singing what you were. TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFOKD. MADAM, I HAVE learned by those laws, wherein I am little conversant, that he which bestows any cost upon the dead, obliges him which is dead, but not his heir ; I do not therefore send this paper to your Ladyship, that you should thank me for it, or think that I thank you in it ; your favours and benefits to me are so much above my merits, that they are even above my gratitude, if that were to be judged by words, which must express it. But, Madam, since your noble brother's fortune being yours, the evidences also concerning it are yours ; so his vir- tues being yours, the evidences concerning that belong also to you, of which by your acceptance this may be one piece ; in which quality I humbly present it, and as a testimony how entirely your family possesseth Your Ladyship's Most humble and thankful servant, JOHN DONNE. 124 FUNERAL ELEGIES. OBSEQUIES TO THE LORD HARRINGTON'S BROTHER. TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. Fair soul, which wast not only as all souls be, Then when thou wast infused, harmony. But did'st continue so, and now dost bear A part in God's great organ, this whole sphere ; If looking up to God, or down to us, Thou find that any way is pervious 'Twixt heaven and earth, and that men's actions do Come to your knowledge and affections too, See, and with joy, me to that good degree Of goodness grown, that I can study thee. And by these meditations refined. Can unapparel and enlarge my mind. And 60 can make by this soft ecstasy. This place a map of heaven, myself of thee. Thou seest me here at midnight, now all rest ; Time's dead-low water, when all minds divest To-morrow's business ; when the labourers have Such rest in bed, that their last church-yard grave, Subject to change, will scarce be a type of this ; Now when the client, whose last hearing is To-morrow, sleeps ; when the condemned man, (Who, when he opes his eyes, must shut them than FUNERAL ELEGIES. 125 Again by deatli,) although sad watch he keep, Doth practise dying by a little sleep ; Thou at this midnight seest me, and as soon As that sun rises to me, midnight's noon ; All the world grows transparent, and I see Through all, both Church and State, in seeing thee; And I discern by favour of this light Myself, the hardest object of the sight. God is the glass ; as thou, when thou dost see Him who sees all, seest all concerning thee, So, yet unglorified, I comprehend All in these mirrors of thy ways and end. Though God be our true glass, through which we see Ail, since the being of all things is he. Yet are the trunks, which do to us derive Things in proportion, fit by perspective. Deeds of good men : for by their being here, Virtues, indeed remote, seem to be near. But where can I affirm or where arrest My thoughts on his deeds ? which shall I call best ? For fluid virtue cannot be looked on, Nor can endure a contemplation. As bodies change, and as I do not wear Those spirits, humours, blood, I did last year ; And as, if on a stream I fix mine eye, That drop which I looked on, is presently Pushed with more waters from my sight, and gone ; So in this sea of virtues, can no one 126 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Be insisted on ; virtues as rivers pass, Yet still remains that virtuous man there was. And as, if man feed on man's flesh, and so Part of his body to another owe, Yet at the last two perfect bodies rise. Because God knows where every atom lies. So, if one knowledge were made of all those, Who knew his minutes well, he might dispose His virtues into names, and ranks ; but I Should injure Nature, Virtue, and Destiny, Should I divide and discontinue so Virtue, which did in one entireness grow. For as he that should say, spirits are framed Of all the purest parts that can be named, Honours not spirits half so much as he. Which says they have no parts, but simple be, So is it of virtue ; for a point and one Are much entirer than a million. And had Fate meant to have had his virtues told, 'It would have let him live to have been old. So then that virtue in season, and then this. We might have seen, and said that now he is Witty, now wise, now temperate, now just: In good short lives, virtues are fain to thrust, And to be sure betimes to get a place. When they would exercise, lack time and space. So was it in this person, forced to be. For lack of time, his own epitome ; So to exhibit in few years as much As all the long-breathed chronicles can touch. FUNERAL ELEGIES. 127 As when an angel down from heaven doth fly, Our quick thought cannot keep him company ; We cannot think, now he is at the sun, Now through the moon, now through the air doth run, Yet when he 's come, we know he did repair To all 'twixt heaven and earth, sun, moon, and air; And as this angel in an instant knows. And yet we know this sudden knowledge grows By quick amassing several forms of things. Which he successively to order brings. When they, whose slow-paced lame thoughts can- not go So fast as he, think that he doth not so, (Just as a perfect reader doth not dwell On every syllable, nor stay to spell. Yet without doubt he doth distinctly see, And lay together every A and B,) So in short-lived good men is not understood Each several virtue, but the compound good ; For they all virtue's paths in that pace tread, As angels go and know, and as men read. 0, why should then these men, these lumps of balm. Sent hither the world's tempest to becalm. Before by deeds they are diffused and spread, And so make us alive, themselves be dead ? O soul ! O circle ! why so quickly be Thy ends, thy birth, and death closed up in thee ? 128 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Since one foot of thy compass still was placed In heaven, the other might securely have paced In the most large extent through every path, Which the whole world, or man, the abridgment, hath. Thou know'st, that though the tropic circles have (Yea, and those small ones, which the poles en- grave) All the same roundness, evenness, and all The endlessness of the equinoctial, Yet when we come to measure distances, How here, how there the sun affected is, When he doth faintly work, and when prevail, Only great circles then can be our scale ; So, though thy circle to thyself express All tending to thy endless happiness, And we, by our good use of it, may try Both how to live well (young) and how to die, Yet, since we must be old, and age endures His torrid zone at court, and calentures Of hot ambition, irreligion's ice. Zeal's agues, and by hydroptic avarice, (Infirmities, which need the scale of truth. As well as lust and ignorance of youth) ; Why didst thou not for these give medicines too, And by thy doing set us what to do ? Though, as small pocket-clocks, whose every wheel Doth each mis-motion and distemper feel, Whose hands gets shaking palsies, and whose string (His sinews) slackens, and whose soul, the spring, FUNERAL ELEGIES. 129 Expires or languishes, whose pulse, the flee, Either beats not, or beats unevenly, Whose voice, the bell, doth rattle or grow dumb, Or idle, as men, which to their last hours come, If these clocks be not wound, or be wound still, Or be not set, or set at every will, So youth is easiest to destruction. If then we follow all, or follow none. Yet as in great clocks, which in steeples chime, Placed to inform whole towns to employ their time, An error doth more harm, being general, When small clocks' faults only on the w^earer fall. So work the faults of age, on which the eye Of children, servants, or the state rely ; Why would'st not thou then, which hadst such a soul, A clock so true, as might the sun control. And daily hadst from him, who gave it thee, Instructions, such, as it could never be Disordered, stay here, as a general And great sun-dial, to have set us all? Oh why wouldest thou be an instrument To this unnatural course ? or why consent To this, not miracle, but prodigy, That when the ebbs longer than flowings be. Virtue, whose flood did with thy youth begin. Should so much faster ebb out than flow in ? Though her flood were blown in by thy first breath, All is at once sunk in the whirlpool, death ; 9 130 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Which word I would not name, but that I see Death, else a desert, grown a court by thee. Now I am sure that if a man would have Good company, his entry is a grave. Methinks all cities now but ant-hills be. Where when the several labourers I see For children, house, provision, taking pain, [grain : They 're all but ants, carrying eggs, straw, and And church-yards are our cities, unto which The most repair, that are in goodness rich ; There is the best concourse and confluence. There are the holy suburbs, and from thence Begins God's city, new Jerusalem, Which doth extend her utmost gates to them : At that gate then, triumphant soul, dost thou Begin thy triumph. But since laws allow That at the triumph-day the people may. All that they will, 'gainst the triumpher say, Let me here use that freedom, and express My grief, though not to make the triumph less. By law to triumphs none admitted be. Till they, as magistrates, get victory ; Though then to thy force all youth's foes did yield, Yet till fit time had brought thee to that field. To which thy rank in this state destined thee, That there thy counsels might get victory. And so in that capacity remove All jealousies 'twixt prince and subject's love, Thou could'st no title to this triumph have, Thou didst intrude on death, usurp a grave. FUNERAL ELEGIES. 131 Then (though victoriously) thou hadst fought as yet But with thine own affections, with the heat Of youth's desires, and colds of ignorance, But till thou should'st successfully advance Thine arms 'gainst foreign enemies, which are Both envy, and acclamations popular, (For both these engines equally defeat, Though by a divers mine, those which are great) Till then thy war was but a civil war, For which to triumph none admitted are ; JNo more are they, who, though with good success, In a defensive war their power express. Before men triumph, the dominion Must be enlarged, and not preserved alone ; Why should'st thou then, whose battles were to win Thyself from those straits nature put thee in, And to deliver up to God that state, Of which he gave thee the vicariate, (Which is thy soul and body) as entire As he, who takes indentures, doth require. But didst not stay, to enlarge his kingdom too. By making others, what thou didst, to do ; Why should'st thou triumph now, when heaven no more Hath got, by getting thee, than it had before ? For heaven and thou, even when thou livedst here, Of one another in possession were. But this from triumph most disables thee. That that place, which is conquered, must be 132 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Left safe from present war, and likely doubt Of imminent commotions to break out ; And hath he left us so ? or can it be His territory was no more than he ? No, we were all his charge ; the diocese Of every exemplar man the whole world is ; And he was joined in commission With tutelar angels, sent to every one. But though this freedom to upbraid, and chide Him who triumphed, were lawful, it was tied With this, that it might never reference have Unto the senate who this triumph gave ; Men might at Pompey jest, but they might not At that authority by which he got Leave to triumph, before by age he might ; So though, triumphant soul, I dare to write Moved with a reverential anger, thus That thou so early would'st abandon us, Yet I am far from daring to dispute With that great sovereignty, whose absolute Prerogative hath thus dispensed with thee 'Gainst nature's laws, which just impugners be Of early triumphs : and I (though with pain) Lessen our loss, to magnify thy gain Of triumph, when I say it was more fit That all men should lack thee, than thou lack it. Though then in our times be not suffered That testimony of love unto the dead, To die with them and in their graves be hid, As Saxon Wives, and French Soldarii did ; FUNERAL ELEGIES. 133 And though in no degree I can express Grief in great Alexander's great excess, Who at his friend's death made whole towns divest Their walls and bulwarks, which became them best ; Do not, fair soul, this sacrifice refuse, That in thy grave I do inter my Muse, Which by my grief, great as thy worth, being cast Behindhand, yet hath spoke, and spoke her last. AN ELEGY ON THE LADY MARKHAM. Man is the world, and death the ocean To which God gives the lower parts of man. This sea environs all, and though as yet God hath set marks and bounds 'twixt us and it, Yet doth it roar and gnaw, and still pretend, And breaks our bank, whene'er it takes a friend : Then our land-waters (tears of passion) vent ; Our waters, then above our firmament, (Tears, which our soul doth for her sins let fall,) Take all a brackish taste, and funeral ; And even those tears, which should wash sin, are sin. We, after God's Noah, drown our world again. 134 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Nothing but man, of all envenomed things, Doth work upon itself with inborn stings. Tears are false spectacles ; we cannot see Through passion's mist, what we are, or what she In her this sea of death hath made no breach ; But as the tide doth wash the slimy beach, And leaves embroidered works upon the sand, So is her flesh refined by death's cold hand. As men of China, after an age's stay. Do take up porcelain, where they buried clay, So at this grave, her limbec (which refines The diamonds, rubies, sapphires, pearls, and mines Of which this flesh was) her soul shall inspire Flesh of such stuff, as God, when his last fire Annuls this world, to recompense it, shall Make and name them the elixir of this all. They say, the sea, when it gains, loseth too ; If carnal death (the younger brother) do Usurp the body ; our soul, which subject is To the elder death by sin, is freed by this ; They perish both, when they attempt the just; For graves our trophies are, and both deaths'* dust. So, unobnoxious now, she hath buried both ; For none to death sins, that to sin is loth, Nor do they die, which are not loth to die ; So hath she this and that virginity. Grace was in her extremely diligent. That kept her from sin, yet made her repent. * Edd. 1633 and 1635. death's. FUNERAL ELEGIES. 135 Of what small spots pure white complains ! Alas, How little poison cracks a crystal glass ! She sinned but just enough to let us see That God's word must be true, all sinners be. So much did zeal her conscience rarefy, That extreme truth lacked little of a lie, Making omissions acts, laying the touch Of sin on things, that sometime may be such. As Moses' cherubins, whose natures do Surpass all speed, by him are winged too, So would her soul, already in heaven, seem then To climb by tears, the common stairs of men. How fit she was for God, I am content To speak, that Death his vain haste may repent : How fit for us, how even and how sweet. How good in all her titles, and how meet To have reformed this forward heresy. That women can no parts of friendship be ; How moral, how divine, shall not be told, Lest they, that hear her virtues, think her old ; And lest we take Death's part, and make him glad Of such a prey, and to his triumph add. 136 FUNERAL ELEGIES. ELEGY ON MISTRESS BOULSTRED. Death, I recant, and say, unsaid by me Whate'er hath slipt, that might diminish thee : Spiritual treason, atheism 'tis, to say. That any can thy summons disobey. The earth's face is but thy table ; there are set Plants, cattle, men, dished for Death to eat. In a rude hunger now he millions draws Into his bloody, or plaguy, or starved jaws ; Now he will seem to spare, and doth more waste, Eating the best first, well preserved to last ; Now wantonly he spoils, and eats us not. But breaks off friends, and lets us piecemeal rot. Nor will this earth serve him ; he sinks the deep, Where harmless fish monastic silence keep, Who (were Death dead) the roes of living sand Might sponge that element, and make it land. He rounds the air, and breaks the hymnic notes In birds'. Heaven's choristers, organic throats. Which (if they did not die) might seem to be A tenth rank in the heavenly hierarchy. 0, strong and long-lived Death, how cam'st thou in ? And how without creation didst begin ? Thou hast, and shalt see dead, before thou diest, All the four monarchies, and antichrist. FUNERAL ELEGIES. 137 How could I think thee nothing, that see now In all this all, nothing else is, but thou ? Our births and lives, vices and virtues, be Wasteful consumptions, and degrees of thee. For we to live, our bellows wear, and breath ; Nor are we mortal, dying, dead, but death. And though thou beest (0 mighty bird of prey) So much reclaimed by God, that thou must lay All, that thou kill'st, at his feet ; yet doth he Reserve but few, and leaves the most for thee. And of those few, now thou hast overthrown One, whom thy blow makes not ours, nor thine own ; She was more stories high : hopeless to come To her soul, thou hast offered at her lower room. Her soul and body was a king and court ; But thou hast both of captain missed and fort. As houses fall not, though the kings remove, Bodies of saints rest for their souls above. Death gets 'twixt souls and bodies such a place As sin insinuates 'twixt just men and grace ; Both work a separation, no divorce : Her soul is gone to usher up her corse. Which shall be almost another soul, for there Bodies are purer than best souls" are here. Because in her her virtues did outgo Her years, would'st thou, emulous Death, do so, And kill her young to thy loss ? must the cost Of beauty and wit, apt to do harm, be lost ? What though thou found'st her proof 'gainst sins of youth ? Oh, every age a diverse sin pursu'th. 138 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Thou should'st have stayed, and taken better hold ; Shortly, ambitious ; covetous, when old, She might have proved ; and such devotion Might once have strayed to superstition. If all her virtues must have grown, yet might Abundant virtue have bred a proud delight. Had she persevered just, there would have been Some that would sin, misthinking she did sin ; Such as would call her friendship love, and feign To sociableness a name profane ; Or sin by tempting ; or, not daring that, By wishing, though they never told her what. Thus might'st thou have slain more souls, hadst thou not crost Thyself, and, to triumph, thine army lost. Yet, though these ways be lost, thou hast left one, Which is, immoderate grief that she is gone : But we may 'scape that sin, yet weep as much ; Our tears are due, because we are not such. Some tears, that knot of friends, her death must cost. Because the chain is broke, though no link lost. FUNERAL ELEGIES. 139 ON HIMSELF. Madam, That I might make your cabinet my tomb, And for my fame, which I love next my soul, Next to my soul provide the happiest room. Admit to that place this last funeral scroll. Others by wills give legacies, but I, Dying, of you do beg a legacy. My fortune and my choice * this custom break, When we are speechless t grown, to make stones speak : Though no stone tell thee what I was, yet thou In my grave's inside seest, what thou art now: Yet thou 'rt not yet so good ; till death us lay To ripe and mellow here, we 're stubborn clay. Parents make us earth, and souls dignify Us to be glass ; here to grow gold we lie. Whilst in our souls sin bred and pampered is, Our souls become worm-eaten carcases ; So we ourselves miraculously destroy ; Here bodies with less miracle enjoy Such privileges, enabled here to scale Heaven, when the trumpet's air shall them exhale. * Var. will. t Var. senseless. 140 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Hear this, and mend thyself, and thou raend'st me, By making me, being dead, do good for thee ; And think me well composed, that I could now A last sick hour to syllables allow. ELEGY ON MISTRESS BOULSTRED. Death, be not proud ; thy hand gave not this blow, Sin was her captive, whence thy power doth flow ; The executioner of wrath thou art, But to destroy the just is not thy part. Thy coming terror, anguish, grief denounces ; Her happy state courage, ease, joy pronounces. From out the crystal palace of her breast. The clearer soul was called to endless rest, (Not by the thundering voice, wherewith God threats. But as with crowned saints in heaven he treats,) And, waited on by angels, home was brought, To joy that it through many dangers sought ; The key of mercy gently did unlock The door 'twixt heaven and it, when life did knock. Nor boast, the fairest frame was made thy prey, Because to mortal eyes it did decay ; A better witness than thou art assures That, though dissolved, it yet a space endures ; FUNERAL ELEGIES. 141 No dram thereof shall want or loss sustain, When her best soul inhabits it again. Go then to people cursed before they were, Their souls in triumph to thy conquest bear. Glory not thou thyself in these hot tears, Which our face, not for her, but our harm wears : The mourning livery given by grace, not thee. Which wills our souls in these streams washed should be ; And on our hearts, her memory's best tomb, In this her epitaph doth write thy doom. Blind were those eyes saw not how bright did shine Through flesh's misty veil those beams divine ; Deaf were the ears not charmed with that sweet sound Which did i' the spirit's instructed voice abound ; Of flint the conscience did not yield and melt At what in her last act it saw and felt. Weep not, nor grudge then, to have lost her sight, Taught thus, our after-stay's but a short night : But by all souls, not by corruption choked, Let in high-raised notes that power be invoked ; Calm the rough seas by which she sails to rest, From sorrows here to a kingdom ever blest. And teach this hymn of her with joy, and sing. The grave no conquest gets, Death hath no sting. 142 FUNERAL ELEGIES. ELEGY ON THE LORD C. Sorrow, that to this house scarce knew the way, Is, oh ! heir of it, our all is his prey. This strange chapce claims strange wonder, and to us Nothing can be so strange, as to weep thus. 'Tis well, his life's loud-speaking works deserve, And give praise too ; our cold tongues could not serve : 'Tis well, he kept tears from our eyes before, That to fit this deep ill we might have store. Oh, if a sweet-brier climb up by a tree, If to a paradise that transplanted be. Or felled, and burnt for holy sacrifice. Yet, that must wither, which by it did rise, As we for him dead, — though no family E'er rigged a soul for heaven's discovery. With whom more venturers more boldly dare Venture their states, with him in joy to share. We lose, what all friends loved, him ; he gains now But life by death, which worst foes would allow. If he could have foes, in whose practice grew All virtues, whose name subtle school-men knew. What ease can hope, that we shall see him, beget ; When we must die first, and cannot die yet ? FUNERAL ELEGIES. 143 His children are his pictures ; Oh ! they be Pictures of him dead ; senseless, cold as he. Here needs no marble tomb, since he is gone ; He, and about him his, are turned to stone. TO SIR ROBERT CARR. Sir, I PRESUME you rather try what you can do in me, than what I can do in verse ; you know my uttermost when it was best, and even then I did best, when I had least truth for my subjects. In this present case there is so much truth, as it defeats all poetry. Call therefore this paper by what name you will, and if it be not worthy of him, nor of you, nor of me, smother it, and be that the sacrifice. If you had com- manded me to have waited on his body to Scotland and preached there, I would have embraced the obligation with more alacrity; But I thank you, that you would command me that, which I was lother to do, for even that hath given a tincture of merit to the obedience of Your poor friend and servant in Christ Jesus, J. Donne. 144 FUNERAL ELEGIES. ELEGY XI. DEATH. Language, thou art too narrow and too weak To ease us now ; great sorrows cannot speak ; If we could sigh out accents, and weep words ! Grief wears and lessens, that tears breath affords ; Sad hearts, the less they seem, the more they are, (So guiltiest men stand mutest at the bar,) Not that they know not, feel not their estate, But extreme sense hath made them desperate ; Sorrow, to whom we owe all that we be. Tyrant in the fifth and greatest monarchy, Was't that she did possess all hearts before. Thou hast killed her, to make thy empire more ? Knew'st thou some would, that knew her not, lament. As in a deluge perish the innocent ? "Was 't not enough to have that palace won. But thou must raze it too, that was undone ? Hadst thou stayed there, and looked out at her eyes, All had adored thee, that now from thee flies ; For they let out more light than they took in, They told not when, but did the day begin ; She was too sapphirine and clear for thee ; Clay, flint, and jet now thy fit dwellings be : Alas ! she was too pure, but not too weak ; Whoe'er saw crystal ordnance but would break ? FUNERAL ELEGIES. 145 And If we be thy conquest, by her fall Thou hast lost thy end, in her we perish all : * Or if we live, we live but to rebel, That know her better now, who knew her well. If we should vapour out, and pine and die ; Since she first went, that were not misery : She changed our world with hers : now she is gone, Mirth and prosperity is oppression : For of all moral virtues she was all That Ethics speak of virtues cardinal. Her soul was paradise ; the Cherubin Set to keep it was Grace, that kept out Sin : She had no more than let in death, for we All reap consumption from one fruitful tree : God took her hence, lest some of us should love Her, like that plant, him and his laws above : And when we tears, he mercy shed in this, To raise our minds to heaven, where now she is : "Who if her virtues would have let her stay, We had had a saint, have now a holiday. Her heart was that strange bush, where sacred fire, Religion, did not consume, but inspire Such piety, so chaste use of God's day, That what we turn to feast, she turned to pray, And did prefigure here in devout taste The rest of her high sabbath which shall last. Angels did hand her up, who next God dwell, ( For she was of that Order whence most fell,) * Ed. 1633, for in her perish aU. 10 146 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Her body is left with us, lest some had said, She could not die, except they saw her dead ; For from less virtue and less beauteousness The gentiles framed them gods and goddesses ; The ravenous earth, that now woos her to be Earth too, will be a Lemnia ; and the tree, That wraps that crystal in a wooden tomb,* Shall be took up spruce, filled with diamond : And we her sad glad friends all bear a part Of grief, for all would break a stoic's heart. AN EPITAPH ON SHAKSPEARE.f Renowned Chaucer, lie a thought more nigh To rare Beaumont ; and learned Beaumont lie A little nearer Spenser, to make room For Shakspeare in your threefold fourfold tomb ; To lie all four in one bed make a shift, For until doomsday hardly shall a fift Betwixt this day and that be slain. For whom your curtains need be drawn again ; * Mr, G. L. Craik has suggested "round" as a preferable reading. See Literature and Learning in England, 2d Series, vol. iii. t [These lines are by William Basse and were falsely imputed to Donne, in the edition of his poems published in 1633.] * FUNERAL ELEGIES. 147 But if precedency in death doth bar A fourth place in your sacred sepulchre, Under this curled marble of thine own, Sleep, rare tragedian ! Shakspeare, sleep alone, That unto us and others it may be Honor hereafter to be laid by thee ! A HYMN TO THE SAINTS, AND TO MAR- QUESS HAMLLTON. Whether that soul, which now comes up to you, Fill any former rank, or make a new, Whether it take a name named there before. Or be a name itself, and order more Than was in heaven till now ; (for may not he Be so, if every several angel be A kind alone ;) whatever order grow Greater by him in heaven, we do not so. One of your orders- grows by his access, But by his loss grow all our orders less : The name of father, master, friend, the name Of subject and of prince, in one is lame ; Fair mirth is damp and conversation black, The household widowed, and the Garter slack ; The chapel wants an ear, council a tongue, Story a theme, and music lacks a song. 148 FUNERAL ELEGIES. Blest order, that hath him ! the loss of him Gangrened all orders here ; all lost a limb ! Never made body such jhaste to confess What a soul was ; all former comeliness Fled in a minute, when the soul was gone, And, having lost that beauty, would have none : So fell our monasteries, in an instant grown. Not to less houses, but to heaps of stone ; So sent his body that fair form it wore. Unto the sphere of forms, and doth (before His soul shall fill up his sepulchral stone) Anticipate a resurrection ; For, as in his fame, now, his soul is here. So in the form thereof his body is there. And if, fair soul, not with first innocents Thy station be, but with the penitents ; (And who shall dare to ask then, when I am Dyed scarlet in the blood of that pure Lamb, Whether that color, which is scarlet then, Were black or white before in eyes of men ?) When thou rememberest what sins thou didst find Amongst those many friends now left behind, And seest such sinners as they are, with thee Got thither by repentance, let it be Thy wish to wish all there, to wish them clean : With him a David, her a Magdalen. END OF FUNERAL ELEGIES. DIVINE POEMS HOLY SONNETS. I. LA CORONA. Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise, Weaved in my lone devout melancholy, Thou, which of good hast, yea, art treasury, All-changing unchanged, Ancient of days ; But do not with a vile crown of frail bays Reward my Muse's white sincerity. But what thy thorny crown gained, that give me, A crown of glory, which doth flower always. The ends crown our works, but thou crown'st our ends. For at our ends begins our endless rest ; The first last end now zealously possest. With a strong sober thirst, my soul attends. 'Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high. Salvation to all that will is nigh. II. ANNUNCIATION. Salvation to all that will is nigh ; That All, which always is all everywhere, Which cannot sin, and yet all sins must bear. Which cannot die, yet cannot choose but die, Lo, faithful Virgin, yields himself to lie In prison in thy womb ; and though he there 152 DIVINE POEMS. Can take no sin, nor thou give, yet he '11 wear, Taken from thence, flesh, which Death's force may try. Ere by the spheres time was created, thou Wast in his mind (who is thy son and brother, Whom thou conceiv'st) conceived ; yea, thou art now Thy Maker's maker, and thy Father's mother, Thou 'st light in dark, and shut in little room Immensity, cloistered in thy dear womb. III. NATIVITY. Immensity, cloistered in thy dear womb, Now leaves his well-beloved imprisonment, There he hath made himself to his intent Weak enough, now into our world to come ; But oh, for thee, for him, hath the inn no room ? Yet lay him in this stall, and from the Orient Stars and wise men will travel, to prevent The effect of Herod's jealous general doom. Seest thou, my soul, with thy faith's eye, how he, Which fills all place, yet none holds him, doth lie? Was not his pity towards thee wondrous high. That would have need to be pitied by thee ? Kiss him, and with him into Egypt go. With his kind mother, who partakes thy woe. IV. TEMPLE. With his kind mother, who partakes thy woe, Joseph, turn back ; see where your child doth sit DIVINE POEMS. 153 Blowing, yea, blowing out those sparks of wit, Which himself on the Doctors did bestow ; The Word but lately could not speak, and lo It suddenly speaks wonders : whence comes it, That all which was, and all which should be writ, A shallow-seeming child should deeply know ? His Godhead was not soul to his Manhood, Nor had time mellowed him to this ripeness ; But as for one which hath a long task, 'tis good With the sun to begin his business. He in his age's morning thus began. By miracles exceeding power of man. V. MIRACLES. By miracles exceeding power of man He faith in some, envy in some begat. For, what weak spirits admire, ambitious hate ; In both afifections many to him ran. But oh ! the worst are most, they will and can, Alas ! and do, unto the immaculate, Whose creature Fate is, now prescribe a fate, Measuring self-life's infinity to a span. Nay, to an inch. Lo, where condemned he Bears his own cross with pain ; yet by and by, When it bears him, he must bear more and die. Now thou art lifted up, draw me to thee, And, at thy death giving such liberal dole. Moist with one drop of thy blood my dry soul. 154 DIVINE POEMS. VI. RESURRECTION. Moist with one drop of thy blood, my dry soul Shall (though she now be in extreme degree Too stony-hard, and yet too fleshly) be Freed by that drop, from being starved, hard, or foul; And life, by this death abled, shall control Death, whom thy death slew ; nor shall to me Fear of first or last death bring misery, If in thy life's * book my name thou enroll : Flesh in that long sleep is not putrefied, But made that there, of which, and for which, 't was, Nor can by other means be glorified. May then sin sleep, and death soon from me pass, That, waked from both, I again risen may Salute the last and everlasting day. VII. ASCENSION. Salute the last and everlasting day, Joy at the uprising of this Sun and Son, Ye, whose justt tears or tribulation Have purely washed or burnt your drossy clay ; Behold the Highest, parting hence away. Lightens the dark clouds, which he treads upon. Nor doth he by ascending shew alone, But first he, and he first, enters the way. O strong Ram, which hast battered heaven for me, * Var. little, Ed. 1633; life, Ed. 1635. t Var. true, Ed. 1635. DIVINE POEMS. 155 Mild Lamb, which with thy blood hast marked the path, Bright torch, which shin'st, that I the way may see, Oh ! with thy own blood quench thy own just wrath : And if thy holy Spirit my Muse did raise, Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise ! VIII. Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay ? Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste ; I run to Death, and Death meets me as fast, And all my pleasures are like yesterday. I dare not move my dim eyes any way, Despair behind, and Death before doth cast Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh : Only thou art above, and when towards thee By thy leave I can look, I rise again ; But our old subtle foe so tempteth me, That not one hour myself I can sustain ; Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art. And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart. IX. As due by many titles, I resign Myself to thee, O God. First I was made By thee and for thee, and, when I- was decayed. Thy blood bought that the which before was thine ; I am thy son, made with thyself to shine. Thy servant, whose pains thou hast still repaid, 166 DIVINE POEMS. Thy sheep, thine image, and, till I betrayed Myself, a temple of thy Spirit divine. Why doth the devil then usurp on me ? Why doth he steal, nay, ravish that's thy right ? Except thou rise, and for thine own work fight, Oh ! I shall soon despair, when I shall* see [me, That thou lov'st mankind well, yet wilt not choose And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me. Oh ! might these sighs and tears return again Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent, That I might in this holy discontent Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourned in vain ; In mine idolatry what showers of rain [rent! Mine eyes did waste ! what griefs my heart did That sufferance was my sin I now repent ; 'Cause I did suffer, I must suffer pain. The hydroptic drunkard, and night-scouring thief. The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud. Have th' remembrance of past joys, for relief Of coming ills. To (poor) me is allowed No ease ; for long, yet vehement grief hath been The effect and cause, the punishment and sin. XI. O ! MY black soul, now thou art summoned By sickness, Death's herald and champion, * Var. do. DIVINE POEMS. 157 Thou 'rt like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled ; Or like a thief, which, till Death's doom be read, Wisheth himself delivered from prison ; But, damned and hauled to execution, Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned ; Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack ; But who shall give thee that grace to begin ? 0, make thyself with holy mourning black, And red with blushing, as thou art with sin ; Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might, That, being red, it dyes red souls to white. XII. I AM a little world, made cunningly Of elements and an angelic spright ; But black sin hath betrayed to endless night My world's both parts, and (oh) both parts must die. [high, You, which beyond that heaven, which was most Have found new spheres, and of new land can write, Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might Drown my world with my weeping earnestly ; Or wash it, if it must be drowned no more : But oh it must be burnt ; alas ! the fire Of lust and envy burnt it heretofore, And made it fouler : Let their flames retire, 158 DIVINE POEMS. And burn me, Lord, with a fiery zeal Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heal. XIII. This is my play's last scene ; here heavens ap- point My pilgrimage's last mile ; and my race. Idly yet quickly run, hath this last pace, My span's last inch, my minute's latest point ; And gluttonous death will instantly unjoint My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space ; But my ever-waking part shall see that face, Whose fear already shakes my every joint : Then, as my soul to heaven, her first seat, takes flight, And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell, So fall my sins, that all may have their right, To where they're bred, and would press me to hell. Impute me righteous, thus purged of evil. For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil. XIV. At the round earth's imagined corners blow Your trumpets. Angels, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go. All whom th' flood did, and fire shall, overthrow ; DIVINE POEMS. 159 AH whom war, death, age, ague's tyrannies, Despair, law, chance hath slain ; and you whose eyes Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe ; But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space ; For, if above all these my sins abound, 'Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace, When we are there. Here on this lowly ground Teach me how to repent ; for that's as good. As if thou 'd'st sealed my pardon with thy .blood. XV. If faithful souls be alike glorified As angels, then my father's soul doth see, And adds this even to full felicity. That valiantly I hell's wide mouth o'erstride : But if our minds to these souls be descried By circumstances and by signs, that be Apparent in us not immediately. How shall my miiid's white truth by them be tried ? They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn, And stile * blasphemous conjurers to call On Jesus' name, and Pharisaical Dissemblers feign devotion. Then turn, O pensive soul, to God ; for he knows best Thy grief, for he put it into my breast. * I think this clearly ought to be " still," but as there may be a meaning which I have not found, I leave the text as it is. 160 DIVINE POEMS. XVI. If poisonous minerals, and if that tree, Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us, If lecherous goats, if serpents envious Cannot be damned, alas ! why should I be ? Why should intent or reason, born in me, Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous ? And mercy being easy and glorious To God, in his stern wrath why threatens he ? But who am I, that dare dispute with thee ? God, oh ! of thine only worthy blood. And my tears, make a heavenly Lethean flood, And drown in it my sin's black memory : That thou remember them, some claim as debt ; 1 think it mercy, if thou wilt forget. XVII. Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ; For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow, Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be. Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow: And soonest our best men with thee do go. Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. Thou 'rt slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and des- perate men. DIVINE POEMS. 161 And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well, And better than thy stroke, why swell'st thou then ? One short sleep past, we wake eternally. And Death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die. XVIII. Spit in my face, you Jews, and pierce my side, BuflPet and scoff, scourge and crucify me : For I have sinned and sinned ; and only he, Who could do no iniquity, hath died : But by my death cannot be satisfied My sins, which pass the Jews' impiety : They killed once an inglorious man, but I Crucify him daily, being now glorified. O, let me then his strange love still admire : Kings pardon, but he bore our punishment ; And Jacob came, clothed in vile harsh attire, But to supplant, and with gainful intent ; God clothed himself in vile man's flesh, that so He might be weak enough to suffer woe. XIX. Why are we by all creatures waited on ? Why do the prodigal elements supply Life and food to me, being more pure than I, Simpler, and further from corruption ? Why brook'st thou, ignorant horse, subjection ? Why do you, bull and boar, so sillily Dissemble weakness, and by one m^n's stroke die, 11 162 DIVINE POEMS. Whose whole kind you might swallow and feed upon? Weaker I am, woe's me ! and worse than you ; You have not sinned, nor need be timorous ; But wonder at a greater,* for to us Created nature doth these things subdue ; But their Creator, whom sin nor nature tied, For us, his creatures and his foes, hath died. XX. What if this present were the world's last night? Mark in my heart, O Soul, where thou dost dwell, The picture of Christ crucified, and tell Whether his countenance can thee affright ; Tears in his eyes quench the amazing light. Blood fills his frowns, which from his pierced head fell; And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell. Which prayed forgiveness for his foes' fierce spite ? No, no ; but as in my idolatry I said to all my profane mistresses, Beauty of pity, foulness only is A sign of rigor ; so I say to thee ; To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assigned. This beauteous form assumes a piteous mind. XXI. Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ; * Var^ at a greater wonder, Ed. 1633. DIVINE POKMS. 163 That I may rise and stand ; o'erthrow me, and bend Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new. I, like a usurpt town to another due, Labour to admit you, but oh, to no en.d ; , Reason, your victory in me, me should defend, But is captived, and proves weak or untrue ; Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain, But am betrothed unto your enemy : Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again, Take me to you, imprison me, for I, Except you 'enthral me, never shall be free ; Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. XXII. Wilt thou love God, as he thee ? then digest, My Soul, this wholesome meditation, How God the Spirit, by angels waited on In heaven, doth make his temple in thy breast ; The Father having begot a Son most blest. And still begetting, (for he ne'er begun,) Hath deigned to choose thee by adoption. Coheir to his glory, and Sabbath's endless rest. And as a robbed man, which by search doth find His stolen stuff sold, must lose or buy it again. The sun of glory came down, and was slain. Us, whom he had made and Satan stole, to unbind. 'Twas much, that man was made like God before ; But, that God should be made like man, much more. 164 DIVINE POEMS. XXIII. Father, part of his double interest Unto thy kingdom thy Son gives to me ; His jointure in the knotty Trinity He keeps, and gives to me his death's conquest. This Lamb, whose death with life the world hath blest, Was from the world's beginning slain ; and he Hath made two wills, which, with the legacy Of his and thy kingdom, thy sons invest : Yet such are these laws, that men argue yet, Whether a man those statutes can fulfil ; None doth ; but thy all-healing grace and Spirit Revive again what law and letter kill : Thy law's abridgment and thy last command Is all but love ; 0, let this last will stand ! ON THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY. In that, O Queen of queens, thy birth was free From that which others doth of grace bereave, When in their mother's womb they life receivCi God, as his sole-bom daughter, loved thee. To match thee like thy birth's nobility, He thee his Spirit for his spouse did leave, DIVINE POEMS. 165 By whom thou didst his only Son conceive, And so wast linked to all the Trinity. Cease then, O queens, that earthly crowns do wear, To glory in the pomp of earthly things ; If men such high respects unto you bear. Which daughters, wives, and mothers are of kings, Whal honour can unto that Queen be done, "Who had your God for Father, Spouse, and Son ? THE CROSS. Since Christ embraced the Cross itself, dare I, His image, the image of his Cross deny ? Would I have profit by the sacrifice, And dare the chosen altar to despise ? It bore all other sins, but is it fit That it should bear the sin of scorning it ? Who from the picture would avert his eye. How would he fly his pains, who there did die ? From me no pulpit, nor misgrounded law. Nor scandal taken, shall this Cross withdraw ; It shall not, for it cannot; for the loss Of this Cross were to me another Cross ; 166 DIVINE POEMS. Better were worse, for no affliction, No cross is so extreme, as to have none. Who can blot out the Cross, which the instrument Of God dewed on me in the Sacrament ? Who can deny me power and liberty To stretch mine arms, and mine own Cross to be ? Swim, and at every stroke thou art thy Cross ; The mast and yard make one, where seas do toss ; Look down, thou spiest out crosses in small things ; Look up, thou seest birds raised on crossed wings. All the globe's frame and spheres is nothing else But the meridian's crossing parallels. Material crosses then good physic be ; But yet spiritual have chief dignity ; These for extracted chemic medicine serve, And cure much better, and as well preserve ; Then are you your own physic, or need none, When 'stilled or purged by tribulation : For, when that cross ungrudged unto you sticks, Then are you to yourself a crucifix. As perchance carvers do not faces make. But that away, which hid them there, do take : Let crosses so take what hid Christ in thee, And be his image, or not his, but he. But as oft alchemists do coiners prove, So may a self-despising get self-love ; And then, as worst surfeits of best meats be. So is pride, issued from humility ; For 'tis no child, but monster : therefore cross Your joy in crosses, else, 'tis double loss ; DIVINE POEMS. 167 And cross thy senses, else both they and thou Must perish soon, and to destruction bow. For if the eye seek good objects, and will take No cross from bad, we cannot 'scape a snake. So with harsh, hard, sour, stinking, cross the rest, Make them indifferent ; call nothing best.* But most the eye needs crossing ; that can roam And move ; to the others objects must come home. And cross thy heart ; for that in man alone Pants downwards, and hath palpitation. Cross those detorsions,t when it downward tends, And when it to forbidden heights pretends. And as the brain through bony walls doth vent By sutures, which a cross's form present, So when thy brain works, ere thou utter it, Cross and correct concupiscence of wit. Be covetous of crosses, let none fall : Cross no man else, but cross thyself in all. Then doth the cross of Christ work faithfully Within our hearts, when we love harmlessly The Cross's pictures much, and with more care That Cross's children, which our crosses are. * Var. Make them indifferent; all, nothing best, Ed. 1635. t Var. dejections, Ed. 1633. 168 DIVINE POEMS. PSALM 137. By Euphrates' flowery side We did bide, From dear Judah far absented, Tearing the air with our cries, And our eyes With their streams his stream augmented. When poor Sion's doleful state. Desolate, Sacked, burned, and enthralled ; And the Temple spoiled, which we Ne'er should see. To our mirthless minds we called : III. Our mute harps, untuned, unstrung, Up we hung On green willows near beside us; Where we sitting all forlorn. Thus in scorn Our proud spoilers 'gan deride us. DIVINE POEMS. 169 IV. Come, sad captives, leave your moans, And your groans Under Sion's ruins bury ; Tune your harps, and sing us lays In the praise Of your God, and let's be merry. V. Can, ah ! can we leave our moans ? And our groans Under Sion's ruins bury ? Can we in this land sing lays In the praise Of our God, and here be merry ? No ; dear Sion, if I yet Do forget Thine affliction miserable. Let my nimble joints become Stiff and numb. To touch warbling harp unable. VII. Let my tongue' lose singing skill. Let it still To my parched roof be glued ; If in either harp or voice I rejoice, Till thy joys shall be renewed. 170 DIVINE POEMS. VIII. Lord, curse Edom's traitorous kind, Bear in mind, In our ruins how they revelled : Sack, kill, hum, they cried out still, Sack, burn, kill, Down with all, let all he levelled! IX. And thou. Babel, when the tide Of thy pride. Now aflowing, grows to turning ; Victor now, shall then be thrall, And shall fall To as low an ebb of mourning. X. Happy he, who shall thee waste, As thou hast Us without all mercy wasted, And shall make thee taste and see, What poor we By thy means have seen and tasted. XI. HAt'PY, who thy tender barns From the arms Of their wailing mothers tearing, 'Gainst the walls shall dash their bones, Ruthless stones With their brains and blood besmearing. DIVINE POEMS. 171 RESURRECTION, IMPERFECT. Sleep, sleep, old sun, thou canst not have re-past As yet the wound, thou took'st on Friday last ; Sleep then, and rest, the world may bear thy stay ; A better sun rose before thee to-day, Who, not content t' enlighten all that dwell On the earth' s face, as thou, enlightened hell, And made the dark fires languish in that vale, As at thy presence here our fires grow pale ; Whose body having walked on earth, and now Hastening to Heaven, would, that he might allow Himself unto all stations, and fill all. For these three days become a mineral. He was all gold, when he lay down, but rose All tincture ; and doth not alone dispose Leaden and iron wills to good, but is Of power to make even sinful flesh like his. Had one of those, whose credulous piety Thought that a soul one might discern and see Go from a body, at this sepulchre been, And issuing from the sheet this body seen, He would have justly thought this body a soul, li' not of any man, yet of the whole. Desunt ccetera. 172 DIVINE POEMS. THE ANNUNCIATION AND PASSION. Tamely, frail body,* abstain to-day ; to-day My soul eats twice, Christ hither and away ; She sees him man, so like God made in this, That of them both a circle emblem is, "Whose first and last concur ; this doubtful day Of feast or fast Christ came, and went away. She sees him nothing twice at once, who's all ; She sees a cedar plant itself, and fall ; Her Maker put to making, and the head Of life, at once not yet alive, and dead ; She sees at once the Virgin-mother stay Reclused at home, public at Golgotha. Sad and rejoiced she's seen at once, and seen At almost fifty and at scarce fifteen ; At once a son is promised her, and gone ; Gabriel gives Christ to her. He her to John : Not fully a mother, she's in orbity, At once receiver and the legacy. All this, and all between, this day hath shown, Theabridgmentof Christ's story, which makes one (As in plain maps the furthest West is East) Of the angel's Ave, and consummatum est. * Var. flesh, Ed. 1635. DIVINE POEMS. 173 How well the Church, God's Court of Faculties, Deals in sometimes and seldom joining these ! As by the self-fixed Pole we never do Direct our course, but the next star thereto, Which shows where the other is, and which we say (Because it strays not far) doth never stray, So God by his Church, nearest to him, we know, And stand firm, if we by her motion go ; His Spirit as his fiery pillar doth Lead, and his Church as cloud ; to one end both. This Church, by letting those days* join, hath shown Death and conception in mankind are one ; Or 'twas in him the same humility. That he would be a man and leave to be. Or as creation he hath made, as God, With the last judgment but one period, His imitating spouse would join in one Manhood's extremes : he shall come, he is gone. Or as, though one blood-drop which thence did fall, Accepted, would have served, he yet shed all. So, though the least of his pains, deeds, or words, Would busy a life, she all this day affords. This treasure then in gross, my soul, up-lay, And in my life retail it every day. * Var. feasts, Ed. 1635. 174 DIVINE POEMS. GOODFRIDAY, 1613, RIDING WESTWARD. Let man's soul be a sphere, and then in this The intelhgence that moves, devotion is ; And as the other spheres, by being grown Subject to foreign motion, lose their own, And being by others hurried every day, Scarce in a year their natural form obey, Pleasure or business so our souls admit For their first mover, and are whirled by it. Hence is't, that I am carried towards the West This day, when my soul's form bends towards the East; There I should see a sun by rising set, And, by that setting, endless day beget. But that Christ on this cross did rise and fall, Sin had eternally benighted all ; Yet dare I almost be glad I do not see That spectacle of too much weight for me. Who sees God's face, that is self-life, must die ; What a death were it then to see God die ? It made his own lieutenant, Nature, shrink, It made his footstool crack, and the sun wink. Could I behold those hands which span the poles And tune all spheres at once, pierced with those DIVINE POEMS. 175 Could I behold that endless height which is Zenith to us, and our antipodes, Humbled below us ? or that blood which is The seat of all our souls, if not of his, Made dirt of dust ? or that flesh, which was worn By God for his apparel, ragg'd and torn ? If on these things I durst not look, durst I On his distressed* mother cast mine eye, Who was God's partner here, and furnished thus Half of that sacrifice, which ransomed us ? Though these things, as I ride, be from mine eye. They 're present yet unto my memory. For that looks towards them ; and thou look'st towards me, Saviour, as thou hang'st upon the tree ; 1 turn my back to thee, but to receive Corrections, till thy mercies bid thee leave. O think me worth thine anger, punish me. Burn off my rusts, and my deformity ; Restore thine image so much by thy grace, That thou may'st know me, and I '11 turn my face. * Var. upon his miserable, Ed. 1633. 176 DIVINE POEMS. THE LITANY; I. THE FATHER. Father of Heaven, and him by whom It, and us for it, and all else for us Thou mad'st and govern'st ever, come, And recreate me, now grown ruinous : My heart is by dejection clay, And by self-murder red. From this red earth, O, Father, purge away All vicious tinctures, that new fashioned I may rise up from death, before I am dead. II. THE SON. O Son of God, who seeing two things. Sin and Death, crept in, which were never made, By bearing one, triedst with what stings The other could thine heritage invade ; 0, be thou nailed unto my heart, And crucified again ; Part not from it, though it from thee would part, But let it be, by applying so thy pain. Drowned in thy blood, and in thy passion slain. III. THE HOLY GHOST. O Holy Ghost, whose temple I Am, but of mud walls and condensed dust, DIVINE POEMS. 177. And being sacrilegiously Half-wasted with youth's fires, of pride and lust, Must with new storms be weather-beat, Double in my heart thy flame. Which let devout sad tears intend ; and let (Though this glass lantern, flesh, do suffer maim) Fire, sacrifice, priest, altar be the same. IV. THE TRINITY. O BLESSED, glorious Trinity, Bones to Philosophy, but milk to Faith, Which, as wise serpents, diversely Most slipperiness, yet most entanglings hath, As you distinguished (undistinct) By power, love, knowledge be, Give me a such self-different instinct. Of these let all me elemented be, Of power to love, to know you, unnumbered Three. V. THE VIRGIN MARY. For that fair, blessed, mother-maid. Whose flesh redeemed us, — That she-cherubin, Which unlocked Paradise, and made One claim for innocence, and disseized sin, — Whose womb was a strange heaven, for there God clothed himself, and grew, — Our zealous thanks we pour. As her deeds were Our helps, so are her prayers ; nor can she sue In vain, who hath such titles unto you. 12 J.78 DIVINE POEMS. VI. THE ANGELS. And since this life our nonage is, And we in wardship to thine angels be, Native in heaven's fair palaces, Where we shall be but denizened by thee ; As the earth, conceiving by the sun, Yields fair diversity, Yet never knows which course that light doth run, So let me study, that mine actions be Worthy their sight, though blind in how they see. VII. THE PATRIARCHS. And let thy patriarchs' desire (Those great-grandfathers of thy Church, which saw More in the cloud, than we in fire. Whom Nature cleared more, than us grace and law, And now in heaven still pray, that we May use our new helps riglit) Be satisfied,* and fructify in me ; Let not my mind be blinder by more light. Nor Faith, by Reason added, lose her sight. VIII. THE PROPHETS. Thy eagle-sighted prophets, too, (Which were thy Church's organs, and did sound That harmony, which made of two One law, and did unite, but not confound, — Those heavenly poets, which did see * Var. sanctified, Ed. 1633. DIVINE POEMS. 179 Thy will, and it express In rhythmic feet,) in common pray for me, That I by them excuse not my excess In seeking secrets, or poeticness. IX, THE APOSTLES. And thy illustrious zodiac Of twelve apostles, which engirt this All, (From whom whosoe'er do not take Their light, to dark deep pits thrown down do fall,) As through their prayers thou hast let me know. That their books are divine, May they pray still, and be heard, that I go The old broad way in applying ; O, decline Me, when my comment would make thy word mine. X. THE MARTTKS. And since thou so desirously Didst long to die, that long before thou could'st, And long since thou no more could'st die. Thou in thy scattered mystic body would'st In Abel die, and ever since In thine ; let their blood come To beg for us a discreet patience Of death, or of worse life ; for, oh ! to some Not to be martyrs is a martyrdom. XI. THE CONFESSORS. Therefore with thee triumpheth there A virgin squadron of white confessors. 180 DIVINE POEMS. Whose bloods betrothed, not married, were ; Tendered, not taken by those ravishers : They know, and pray, that we may know ; In every Christian Hourly tempestuous persecutions grow ; Temptations martyr us alive ; a man Is to himself a Diocletian. XII. THE VIRGINS. The cold, white, snowy nunnery, (Which, as thy mother, their high abbess, sent Their bodies back again to thee. As thou hadst lent them, clean and innocent,) Though they have not obtained of thee. That or thy Church, or I, Should keep, as they, our first integrity. Divorce thou sin in us, or bid it die. And call chaste widowhead virginity. XIII. THE DOCTORS. Thy* sacred academe above Of doctors, whose pains have unclasped and taught Both books of life to us, (for love To know thy scripturesf tells us, we are wrote In thy other book,) pray for us there. That what they have misdone, Or missaid, we to that may not adhere ; Their zeal may be our sin. Lord, let us run Mean ways, and call them stars, but not the sun. * Var. the. f Var. the scriptures, Ed. 1635. DIVINE POEMS. 181 XIV. And whilst this universal choir (That church in triumph, this in warfare here, Warmed with one all-partaking fire Of love, that none be lost, which cost thee dear) Prays ceaselessly, and thou hearken too, (Since to be gracious Our task is treble, to pray, bear, and do,) Hear this prayer. Lord ; O Lord, deliver us From trusting in those prayers, though poured out thus. XV. From being anxious, or secure. Dead clods of sadness, or light squibs of mirth, — From thinking, that great courts immure All or no happiness, or that this earth Is only for our prison framed. Or that thou 'rt covetous To them thou lovest, or that they are maimed, From reaching this world's sweets, who seek thee thus With all their might, good Lord, deliver us. XVI. From needing danger to be good. From owing thee yesterday's tears to-day, From trusting so much to thy blood. That in that hope we wound our souls away From bribing thee with alms, t' excuse Some sin more burdenous, — 182 DIVINE POEMS. From light affecting, in religion, news, From thinking us all foul, neglecting thus Our mutual duties, Lord, deliver us. From tempting Satan to tempt us. By our connivance, or slack company, — From measuring ill by vicious, Neglecting to chpke sin's spawn, vanity,— From indiscreet humility. Which might be scandalous, And cast reproach on Christianity, — From being spies, or to spies pervious, — From thirst or scorn of fame, deliver us. Deliver us through thy descent Into the Virgin, whose womb was a place Of middle kind, and thou being sent To ungracious us, strayed'st as her full grace, — And through thy poor birth, where first thou Glorified'st poverty. And yet soon after riches didst allow, By accepting kings' gifts in the Epiphany, Deliver, and make us to both ways free. XIX. And through that bitter agony, Which still is the agony of pious wits, Disputing what distorted thee. DIVINE rOEMS. 183 And interrupted evenness with fits, — And through thy free confession, Though thereby they were then Made blind, so that thou might'st from them have gone, Good Lord, deliver us, and teach us when We may not, and w^e may, blind unjust men. Through thy submitting all to blows Thy face, thy robes * to spoil, thy fame to scorn, — All ways, which rage or justice knows, And by which thou could'st show that thou wast born, — And through thy gallant humbleness, Which thou in death didst show. Dying before thy soul they could express, — Deliver us from death, by dying so To this world, ere this world do bid us go. When senses, which thy soldiers are. We arm against thee, and they fight for sin, — When want, sent but to tame, doth war. And work Despair a breach to enter in, — When plenty, God's image and seal, Makes us idolatrous, And love it, not him whom it should reveal, — " * Var. clothes. 184 DIVINE POEMS. When we are moved to seem religious, Only to vent wit, Lord, deliver us. In Churches when the infirmity Of him which speaks, diminishes the Word, — When magistrates do misapply To us, as we judge, lay or ghostly sword, — When plague, which is thine angel, reigns, Or wars, thy champions, sway, — When Heresy, thy second deluge, gains, — In the hour of death, the eve of last judgment day, Deliver us from the sinister way. XXIII. Hear us, O hear us. Lord : to thee A sinner is more music, when he prays, Than spheres, or angels' praises be In panegyric Allebcjas, Hear us ; for till thou hear us. Lord, We know not what to say : Thine ear to our sighs, tears, thoughts, gives voice and word. O thou, who Satan heard'st in Job's sick day, Hear thyself now, for thou in us dost pray. XXIV. That we may change to evenness This intermitting aguish 'piety, — That snatching cramps of wickedness, DIVINE POEMS. 185 And apoplexies of fast sin may die, — That music of thy promises, Not threats in thunder, may Awaken us to our just offices, — What in thy book thou dost, or creatures say, That we may hear, Lord, hear us, when we pray. That out ears' sickness we may cure. And rectify those labyrinths aright, — That we by hearkening not procure Our praise, nor others' dispraise so invite, — That we get not a slipperiness. And senselessly decline, From hearing bold wits jest at kings' excess. To admit the like of majesty divine, — That we may lock our ears, Lord, open thine. That living law, the magistrate, "Which, to give us and make us physic, doth Our vices often aggravate, — That preachers, taxing sin before her growth, That Satan, and envenomed men. Which will, if we starve, dine, When they do most accuse us, may see then Us to amendment hear them thee decline, — That we may open our ears, Lord, lock thine. 186 DIVINE POEMS. That learning, thine ambassador, From thine allegiance we never tempt, — That beauty, paradise's flower, For physic made, from poison be exempt, — That wit, born apt high good to do, By dwelling lazily On Nature's nothing, be not nothing too, — That our affections kill us not, nor die, — Hear us, weak echoes, O, thou ear, and cry. Son of God, hear us; and since thou. By taking our blood, ow'st it us again. Gain to thyself and us allow; And let not both us and thyself be slain. O Lamb of God, which took'st our sin, Which could not stick to thee, O let it not return to us again ; But patient and physician being free, As sin is nothing, let it nowhere be. DIVINE POEMS. 187 UPON THE TRANSLATION OF THE PSALMS BY SIR PHILIP SYDNEY, AND THE COUN- TESS OF PEMBROKE HIS SISTER. Eternal God, (for whom whoever dare Seek new expressions, do the circle square, And thrust into strait corners of poor wit Thee, who art cornerless and infinite,) I would but bless thy name, not name thee now ; (And thy gifts are as infinite as thou ;) Fix we our praises therefore on this one, That as thy blessed Spirit fell upon These psalms' first author in a cloven tongue, (For 'twas a double power by which he sung, The highest matter in the noblest form,) So thou hast cleft that Spirit, to perform That work again, and shed it here upon Two by their bloods, and by thy Spirit one ; A brother and a sister, made by thee The organ, where thou art the harmony ; Two, that made one John Baptist's holy voice. And who that psalm. Now let the Isles rejoice, Have both translated, and applied it too. Both told us what, and taught us how to do. They show us islanders our joy, our king. They tell us why, and teach us how to sing. 188 DIVINE POEMS. Make all this all, three choirs, heaven, earth, and spheres; The first. Heaven, hath a song, but no man hears ; The spheres have music, but they have no tongue, Their harmony is rather danced than sung ; But our third choir, to which the first gives ear, (For angels learn by what the church does here,) This choir hath all. The organist is he, Who hath tuned God and Man ; the organ we : The songs are these, which heaven's high holy Muse "Whispered to David, David to the Jews, And David's successors in holy zeal, In forms of joy and art do re-reveal To us so sweetly and sincerely, too. That I must not rejoice as I would do, When I behold, that these psalms are become So well attired abroad, so ill at home ; So well in chambers, in thy church so ill, As I can scarce call that reformed, until This be reformed. Would a whole state present A lesser gift than some one man hath sent ? And shall our Church unto our spouse and king More hoarse, more harsh than any other, sing ? For that we pray, we praise thy name for this. Which by this Moses and this Miriam is Already done ; and as those psalms we call (Though some have other authors) David's all, So though some have, some may some psalms translate. DIVINE POEMS. ISd We thy SyJnean psalms shall celebrate ; And, till we come the extemporal song to sing, (Learned the first hour that we see the king Who hath translated those translators,) may These, their sweet learned labors, all the way Be as our tuning ; that, when hence we part, We may fall in with them, and sing our part. ODE. Vengeance will sit above our faults ; but till She there do sit. We see her not, nor them. Thus blind, yet still We lead her way ; and thus, whilst we do ill, We suffer it. Unhappy he, whom youth makes not beware Of doing ill : Enough we labor under age and care ; In number the errors of the last place are The greatest still. III. Yet we, that should the ill we now begin, As soon repent, 190 DIVINE POEMS. (Strange thing !) perceive not ; our faults are not seen, But past us ; neither felt, but only in The punishment. But we know ourselves least ; mere outward shows Our minds to store, That our souls, no more than our eyes, disclose But form and color. Only he who knows Himself, knows more. TO MR. TILMAN, AFTER HE HAD TAKEN ORDERS. Thou, whose diviner soul hath caused thee now To put thy hand unto the holy plough, Making lay-scornings of the ministry Not an impediment, but victory. What bring'st thou home with thee ? how is thy mind Affected since the vintage ? Dost thou find New thoughts and stirrings in thee ? and, as steel Touched with a loadstone, dost new motions feel ? Or as a ship, after much pain and care. For iron and cloth brings home rich Indian ware, DIVINE POEMS. 191 Hast thou thus trafficked, but with far more gain Of noble goods, and with less time and pain ? Thou art the same materials as before, Only the stamp is changed, but no more. And as new-crowned kings alter the face. But not the money's substance, so hath grace Changed only God's old image by creation. To Christ's new stamp, at this thy coronation ; Or as we paint angels with wings, because They bear God's message, and proclaim his laws, Since thou must do the like, and so must move, Art thou new-feathered with celestial love ? Dear, tell me where thy purchase lies, and show What thy advantage is above, below ; But if thy gainings do surmount expression, Why doth the foolish world scorn that profession Whose joys pass speech ? Why do they think unfit That gentry should join families with it ? As if their day were only to be spent In dressing, mistressing, and compliment. Alas, poor joys, but poorer men, whose trust Seems richly placed in sublimed dust ! (For such are clothes and beauty, which, though gay, Are, at the best, but of sublimed clay.) Let then the world thy calling disrespect, But go thou on, and pity their neglect. What function is so noble as to be Ambassador to God and destiny ? 192 DIVINE POEMS. To open life ? to give kingdoms to more Than kings give dignities? to keep heaven's door? Mary's prerogative was to bear Christ, so 'Tis preacher's to convey him ; for they do, As angels out of clouds, from pulpits speak, And bless the poor beneath, the lame, the weak. If then the astronomers, whereas they spy A new-found star, their optics magnify. How brave are those, who with their engine can Bring man to heaven, and heaven again to man ? These are thy titles and preeminences. In whom must meet God's graces, men's offences ; And so the heavens, which beget all things here, And the earth, our mother, which these things doth bear. Both these in thee are in thy calling knit. And make thee now a blest hermaphrodite. DIVINE POEMS. 193 A HYMN TO CHRIST, AT THE AUTHOR'S LAST GOING INTO GERMANY. In what torn ship soever I embark, That ship shall be my emblem of thy Ark ; "What sea soever swallow me, that flood Shall be to me an emblem of thy blood. Though thou with clouds of anger do disguise Thy face, yet through that mask I know those eyes, Which, though they turn away sometimes, They never will despise. I sacrifice this island unto thee, And all whom I love here, and who love me ; When I have put this flood * 'twixt them and me, Put thou thy blood f betwixt my sins and thee. As the tree's sap doth seek the root below In winter, in my winter now I go Where none but thee, the eternal root Of true love, I may know. Nor thou, nor thy religion, dost control The amorousness of a harmonious soul ; But thou would'st have that love thyself: as thou Art jealous. Lord, so I am jealous now. * Va7\ our seas. t Var. seas. 13 194 DIVINE POEMS. Thou lov'st not, till from loving more thou free My soul : whoever gives, takes liberty : Oh, if thou car'st not whom I love, Alas, thou lov'st not me. Seal then this bill of my divorce to all On whom those fainter beams of love did fall ; Marry those loves, which in youth scattered be On face, wit, hopes (false mistresses) to thee. Churches are best for prayer that have least light ; To see God only, I go out of sight : And to 'scape stormy days, I choose An everlasting night. ON THE SACRAMENT. He was the Word, that spake it ; He took the bread and brake it ; And what that Word did make it ; I do believe and take it. DIVINE POEMS. 195 THE LAMENTATIONS OF JEREMY, FOR THE MOST PART ACCORDING TO TRE- MELLIUS. CHAP. I. *'How sits this city, late most populous, Thus solitary, and like a widow thus ? Amplest of nations, queen of provinces She was, who now thus tributary is. '^- Still in the night she weeps, and her tears fall Down by her cheeks along, and none of all Her lovers comfort her ; perfidiously Her friends have dealt, and now are enemy. ^' Unto great bondage and afflictions Juda is captive led ; those nations. With whom she dwells, no place of rest afford ; In straits she meets her persecutor's sword. *• Empty are the gates of Sion, and her ways Mourn, because none come to her solemn days ; Her priests do groan, her maids are comfortless ; And she 's unto herself a bitterness. ^- Her foes are grown her head, and live at peace ; Because, when her transgressions did increase, 196 DIVINE POEMS. The Lord strook her with sadness : the enemy Doth drive her children to captivity. ^- From Sion's daughter is all beauty gone ; Like harts, which seek for pasture and find none, Her princes are : and now before the foe, Which still pursues them, without strength they go. ''• Now in their days of tears, Jerusalem (Her men slain by the foe, none succouring them) Kemembers what of old she esteemed most, Whilst her foes laugh at her, for which she hath lost. ^- Jerusalem hath sinned, therefore is she Removed, as women in uncleanness be : Who honoured, scorn her ; for her foulness they Have seen ; herself doth groan, and turn away. ^' Her foulness in her skirts was seen, yet she Remembered not her end ; miraculously Therefore she fell, none comforting : behold, O Lord, my affliction, for the foe grows bold. "• Upon all things, where her delight hath been, The foe hath stretched his hand ; for she hath seen Heathen, whom thou comraand'st should not do so. Into her holy sanctuary go. DIVINE POEMS. 197 "• And all her people groan and seek for bread ; And they have given, only to be fed, All precious things, wherein their pleasure lay : How cheap I am grown, O Lord, behold, and weigh. ^^' All this concerns not you, who pass by me ; O see, and mark if any sorrow be Like to my sorrow, which Jehovah hath Done to me in the day of his fierce wrath ? *^* That fire, which by himself is governed, He hath cast from heaven on my bones, and spread A net before my feet, and me o'erthrown ; And made me languish all the day alone. "• His hand hath of my sins framed a yoke, Which wreathed, and cast upon my neck, hath broke My strength : the lord unto those enemies Hath given me, from whom I cannot rise. *^' He under foot hath trodden in my sight My strong men, he did company accite To break my young men ; he the wine-press hath Trod upon Juda's daughter in his wrath. *^- For these things do I weep ; mine eye, mine eye Casts water out ; for he which should be nigh 198 DIVINE POEMS. To comfort me, is now departed far ; The foe prevails, forlorn my children are. *^- There 's none, though Sion do stretch out her hand, To comfort her ; it is the Lord's command, That Jacob's foes girt him : Jerusalem Is as an unclean woman amongst them. ^^' But yet the Lord is just, and righteous still, I have rebelled against his holy will : O hear, all people, and my sorrow see, My maids, my young men in captivity. "• I called for my lovers then, but they Deceived me, and my priests and elders lay Dead in the city ; for they sought for meat, Which should refresh their souls, and none could get. ^°- Because I am in straits, Jehovah, see My heart o'erturned, my bowels muddy be ; Because I have rebelled so much, as fast The sword without, as death within doth waste. ^'- Of all, which here I mourn, none comforts me ; My foes have heard my grief, and glad they be. That thou hast done it ; but thy promised day Will come, when, as I suffer, so shall they. DIVINE rOEMS. 199 ^' Let all their wickedness appear to thee ; Do unto them, as thou hast done to me For all my sins : the sighs which I have had Are very many, and my heart is sad. CHAP. II. *• How over Sion's daughter hath God hung His wrath's thick cloud ! and from heaven hath flung To earth the beauty of Israel, and hath Forgot his footstool in the day of wrath ! ^- The Lord unsparingly hath swallowed All Jacob's dwellings, and demolished To ground the strength of Juda, and profaned The princes of the kingdom and the land. ^- In heat of wrath the horn of Israel he Hath clean cut off, and, lest the enemy Be hindered, his right hand he doth retire ; But is towards Jacob all-devouring fire. *• Like to an enemy he bent his bow, His right hand was in posture of a foe, To kill what Sion's daughter did desire, *Gainst whom his wrath he poured forth like fire. 200 DIVINE POEMS. ^' For like an enemy Jehovah is, Devouring Israel, and his palaces ; Destroying holds, giving additions To Juda's daughter's lamentations. '• Like to a garden-hedge, he hath cast down The place, where was his congregation. And Sion's feasts and sabbaths are forgot ; Her king, her priest, his wrath regarded not. '• The Lord forsakes his altar, and detests His sanctuary ; and in the foe's hands rests His palace, and the walls, in which their cries Are heard, as in the true solemnities. *• The Lord hath cast a line, so to confound And level Sion's walls unto the ground ; He draws not back his hand, which doth o'erturn The wall and rampart, which together mourn. ^- The gates are sunk into the ground, and he Hath broke the bar ; their kings and princes be Amongst the heathen, without law ; nor there Unto the prophets doth the Lord appear. ^°- There Sion's elders on the ground are placed, And silence keep ; dust on their heads they cast ; In sackcloth have they girt themselves, and low The virgins towards ground their heads do throw. DIVINE POEMS. 201 "• My bowels are grown muddy, and mine eyes Are faint with weeping : and my liver lies Poured out upon the ground, for misery, That sucking children in the streets do die. ^^- When they had cried unto their mothers, where Shall we have bread and drink ? they fainted there ; And in the street like wounded persons lay. Till 'twixt their mother's breasts they went away. ^^- Daughter Jerusalem, oh ! what may be A witness, or comparison for thee ? Sion, to ease thee, what shall I name like thee ? Thy breach is like the sea ; what help can be ? "• For thee vain foolish things thy prophets sought. Thee thine iniquities they have not taught. Which might disturn thy bondage : but for thee False burthens and false causes they would see. '^- The passengers do clap their hands, and hiss, And wag their head at thee, and say, is this That city which so many men did call Joy of the earth, and perfectest of all ? *®- Thy foes do gape upon thee, and they hiss, And gnash their teeth, and say, devour we this ; 202 DIVINE POEMS. For this is certainly the day which we Expected, and which now we find and see. ^^- The Lord hath done that which he purposed ; Fulfilled his word, of old determined ; He hath thrown down, and not spared, and thy foe Made glad above thee, and advanced him so. ^^- But now their hearts unto the Lord do call. Therefore, walls of Sion, let tears fall Down like a river, day and night ; take thee No rest, but let thine eye incessant be. "• Arise, cry in the night, pour out thy sins, Thy heart, like water, when the watch begins ; Lift up thy hands to God, lest children die. Which, faint for hunger, in the streets do lie. ^°- Behold, Lord, consider unto whom Thou hast done this ; what, shall the women come To eat their children of a span ? shall thy Prophet and priest be slain in sanctuary ? ^^- On ground in streets the young and old do lie, My virgins and young men by sword do die ; Them in the day of thy wrath thou hast slain, Nothing did thee from killing them contain. DIVINE POEMS. 203 ^- As to a solemn feast, all whom I feared Thou call'st about me : when thy wrath appeared, None did remain or 'scape ; for those which I Brought up, did perish by mine enemy. CMAP. III. ^- I AM the man which have affliction seen, Under the rod of God's wrath having been. ^" He hath led me to darkness, not to light : ^' And against me all day his hand doth fight. He hath broke my bones, worn out my flesh and skin ; ^- Built up against me ; and hath girt me in With hemlock, and with labour ; ®- and set me In dark, as they who dead forever be. ^* He hath hedged me, lest I scape, and added more To my steel fetters, heavier than before. ^" When I cry out, he outshuts my prayer ; ^- and hath Stopped with hewn stone my way, and turned my path. ^°- And like a lion hid in secrecy. Or bear which lies in wait, he was to me. 204 DIVINE POEMS. "• He stops my way, tears me, made desolate ; ^^ And he makes me the mark he shooteth at. '^- He made the children of his quiver pass Into my reins. ^** I with my people was All the day long a song and mockery. ^^- He hath filled me with bitterness, and he Hath made me drunk with wormwood. '®- He hath burst My teeth with stones, and covered me with dust. "■ And thus my soul far off from peace was set, And my prosperity I did forget. '^' My strength, my hope, (unto myself I said,) Which from the Lord should come, is perished. "• But when my mournings I do think upon, My wormwood, hemlock, and affliction ; ^°' My soul is humbled in remembering this ; ^^- My heart considers ; therefore hope there is, ^' 'Tis God's great mercy we are not utterly Consumed, for his compassions do not die ; ^^- For every morning they renewed be ; For great, O Lord, is thy fidelity. ^^- The Lord is, saith my soul, my portion, And therefore in him will I hope alone. ^- The Lord is good to them who on him rely, And to the soul that seeks him earnestly. DIVINE POEMS. 205 ^®- It is both good to trust, and to attend The Lord's salvation unto the end. ^- 'Tis good for one his yoke in youth to bear. ^^- He sits alone, and doth all speech forbear, Because he hath borne it : '^^- and his mouth he lays Deep in the dust, yet then in hope he stays. ^' He gives his cheeks to whosoever will Strike him, and so he is reproached still. ^'- For not forever doth the Lord forsake ; ^- But when he hath struck with sadness, he doth take Compassion, as his mercy is infinite. ^^" Nor is it with his heart, that he doth smite, ^*' That under foot the prisoners stamped be ; ^- That a man's right the judge himself doth see To be wruiig from him ; ^' that he subverted is In his just cause, the Lord allows not this. ^' Who then will say, that ought doth come to pass, But that which by the Lord commanded was ? ^* Both good and evil from his mouth proceeds ; 39- Why then grieves any man for his misdeeds ? ^^- Turn we to God, by trying out our ways ; *'• To him in heaven our hands with hearts upraise. 206 DIVINE POEMS. *^' We have rebelled, and fallen away from thee ; Thou pardon'st not ; *^' usest no clemency ; Pursu'st us, kill'st us, cover'st us with wrath ; **• Cover'st thyself with clouds, that our prayer hath No power to pass : *^' And thou hast made us fall, As refuse and oflf-scouring to them all. ^^- All our foes gape at us. ^^" Fear and a snare, With ruin and with waste, upon us are. ^^- With watery rivers doth mine eye o'erflow, For ruin of my people's daughters so ; *®- Mine eye doth drop down tears incessantly ; ^°- Until the Lord look down from heaven to see. ^'- And for my city-daughter's sake, mine eye Doth break mine heart. ^^* Causeless mine enemy Like a bird chased me. ^^' In a dungeon They 've shut my life, and cast me on a stone. "• Waters flowed o'er my head ; then thought I, I am Destroyed : ^^- I called. Lord, upon thy name, Out of the pit ; ^^' And thou my voice didst hear ; Oh ! from my sight and cry stop not thine ear. *'• Then when I called upon thee, thou drew'st near Unto me, and saidst unto me, Do not fear. DIVINE POEMS. 207 "• Thou, Lord, my soul's cause handled hast, and thou Rescu'st my life. ^'- Lord, do thou judge now. Thou heard'st my wrong. ^°' Their vengeance all they 've wrought ; "• How they reproached, thou 'st heard, and what they thought ; ^^' What their lips uttered, which against me rose. And what was ever whispered by my foes. ^^' I am their song, whether they rise or sit. "• Give them rewards, Lord, for their working fit, ^'* Sorrow of heart, thy curse : ^®- And with thy might Follow, and from under heaven destroy them quite. CHAP. IV. How is the gold become so dim ! How is Purest and finest gold thus changed to this ! The stones, which were stones of the sanctuary, Scattered in corners of each street do lie. '^' The precious sons of Sion, which should be Valued as purest gold, how do we see 208 DIVINE POEMS. Low-rated now, as earthern pitchers, stand, Which are the work of a poor potter's hand ! ^' Even the sea-calfs draw their breasts, and give Suck to their young : my people's daughters live, By reason of the foe's great cruelness, As do the owls in the vast wilderness. *• And when the sucking child doth strive to draw, His tongue for thirst cleaves to his upper jaw : And when for bread the little children cry, There is no man that doth them satisfy. ^- They, which before were delicately fed, Now in the streets forlorn have perished : And they, which ever were in scarlet clothed. Sit and embrace the dunghills, which they loathed. ®- The daughters of my people have sinned more, Than did the town of Sodom sin before ; Which being at once destroyed, there did remain No hands amongst them to vex them again. ''' But heretofore purer her Nazarite Was than the snow, and milk was not so white : As carbuncles, did their pure bodies shine ; And all their polishedness was sapphirine. *• They 're darker now than blackness ; none can know Them by the face, as through the street they go : DIVINE POEMS. 209 For now their skin doth cleave unto their bone, And withered is like to dry wood grown. ^* Better by sword than famine 't is to die ; And better through-pierced, than through penury. '"■ Women, by nature pitiful, have eat Their children (drest with their own hand) for meat. "• Jehovah here fully accomplished hath His indignation, and poured forth his wrath ; Kindled a fire in Sion, which hath power To eat, and her foundations to devour. ^^- Nor would the kings of the earth, nor all, which live In the inhabitable world, believe, That any adversary, any foe Into Jerusalem should enter so. '^' For the priest's sins, and prophet's, which have shed Blood in the streets, and the just murthered : "• Which, when those men, whom they made blind, did stray Thorough the streets, defiled by the way With blood, the which impossible it was Their garment should 'scape touching, as they pass ; 14 210 DIVINE POEMS. ^^' Would cry aloud, Depart, defiled men ! Depart, depart, and touch us not ! and then They fled, and strayed, and with the Gentiles were. Yet told their friends, they should not long dwell there. ^^- For this they 're scattered by Jehovah's face. Who never will regard them more ; no grace Unto the old men shall their foe afford ; Nor, that they 're priests, redeem them from the sword : "^* And we as yet, for all these miseries Desiring our vain help, consume our eyes : And such a nation, as cannot save. We in desire and peculation have. ^^" They hunt our steps, that in the streets we fear To go ; our end is now approached near. Our days accomplished are, this the last day ; Eagles of heaven are not so swift as they "• Which follow us ; o'er mountain's tops they fly At us, and for us in the desert lie. ^°- The anointed Lord, breath of our nostrils, he Of whom we said, under his shadow we Shall with more ease under the heathen dwell, Into the pit, which these men digged, fell. DIVINE POEMS. 211 **• Rejoice, O Edom's daughter ; joyful be, Thou that inhabit'st Uz ; for unto thee This cup shall pass, and thou with drunkenness Shalt fill thyself, and show thy nakedness. ^- And then thy sins, O Sion, shall be spent ; The Lord will not leave thee in banishment : Thy sins, O Edom's daughter, he will see, And for them pay thee with captivity. CHAP. V. '• Remember, O Lord, what is fallen on us ; See and mark how we are reproached thus. *• For unto strangers our possession Is turned, our houses unto aliens gone. ^- Our mothers are become as widows, we As orphans all, and without fathers be. *• Waters, which are our own, we drink, and pay ; And upon our own wood a price they lay. ^' Our persecutors on our necks do sit, They make us travail, and not intermit. ®" We stretch our hands unto the Egyptians To get us bread ; and to the Assyrians. 212 - DIVINE rOEMS. ''' Our fathers did these sins, and are no more ; But we do bear the sins they did before. ^' They are but servants, which do rule us thus ; Yet from their hands none would deliver us. ^- With danger of our life our bread we gat ; For in the wilderness the sword did wait. ^°- The tempests of this famine we lived in Black as an oven coloured had our skin. "• In Juda's cities they the maids abused By force, and so women in Sion used. '^- The princes with their hands they hung ; no grace Nor honour gave they to the elder's face. ^^- Unto the mill our young men carried are, And children fell under the wood they bare : ''• Elders the gates, youth did their songs forbear ; Gone was our joy ; our dancings mournings were. ^^' Now is the crown fallen from our head ; and wo Be unto us, because we 've sinned so. ^^- For this our hearts do languish, and for this Over our eyes a cloudy dimness is ; ^^' Because Mount Sion desolate doth lie, And foxes there do go at liberty. *^- But thou, Lord, art ever ; and thy throne From generation to oreneration. DIVINE POEMS. 213 "• Why shouldst thou forget us eternally ; Or leave us thus long in this misery ? *°- Restore us, Lord, to thee ; that so we may Return, and, as of old, renew our day. *^- For oughtest thou, O Lord, despise us thus, ^- And to be utterly enraged at us ? HYMN TO GOD, MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESS. Since I am coming to that holy room, "Where with the choir of saints for evermore I shall be made thy music ; as I come, I tune the instrument here at the door, And, what I must do then, think here before. Whilst ifly physicians by their love are grown Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie Flat on this bed, that by them may be shown That this is my southwest discovery Per f return febrts, by these straits to die. I joy, that in these straits I see my west ; For though those currents yield return to none, What shall my west hurt me ? As west and east In all flat maps (and I am one) are one, So death doth touch the resurrection. 214 DIVINE POEMS. Is the Pacific Sea my home ? Or are The eastern riches ? Is Jerusalem, Anyan, and Magellan, and Gibraltar? All straits, and none but straits are ways to them, Whether where Japhet dwelt, or Cham, or Shem. We think that Paradise and Calvary, Christ's cross and Adam's tree, stood in one place ; Look, Lord, and find both Adams met in me ; As the first Adam's sweat surrounds my face, May the last Adam's blood my soul embrace. So in his purple wrapped receive me. Lord, By these his thorns give me his other* crown ; And as to others' souls I preached thy word. Be this my text, my sermon to mine own, — Therefore, that he may raise, the LotM throws down. * Var. holy. ed. 1633. DIVINE POEMS. . 215 A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER. I. Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun, Which was my sin, though it were done before? Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run And do run still, though still I do deplore ? When thou hast done, thou hast not done ; For I have more. II. Wilt thou forgive that sin, which I have won Others to sin, and made my sin their door? Wilt thou forgive that sin, which I did shun A year or two, but wallowed in a score ? When thou hast done, thou hast not done ; For.I have more. III. I have a sin of fear, that when I 've spun My last thread, I shall perish on the shore ; But swear by thyself, that at ray death thy Son Shall shine, as he shines now and heretofore : And having done that, thou hast done ; I fear no more. 216 [TO MR. GEORGE HERBERT, WITH HIS SEAL OF THE ANCHOR AND CHRIST.] Although the Cro>s could not Clirist here de- tain, Though nailed unto it, but he ascends again, Nor yet thy eloquence here keep him still, But only while thou speak'st, this Anchor will. Nor canst thou be content, unless thou to This certain Anchor add a Seal, and so The water and the earth both unto thee Do owe the symbol of their certainty. When Love, being weary, made an end Of kind expressions to his friend, He writ : when his hand could write no more, He gave the Seal, and so left o'er. How secret a friend was he, who, being grieved His letters were broke rudely up, believed 'Twas more secure in great Love's common-weal, (Where nothing should be broke,) to add a Seal ! Let the world reel, we and all ours stand sure ; This holy cable is of all storms secure. i)^^? 217 A SHEAF OF SNAKES USED HERETOFOKE TO BE MY SEAL, THE CREST OF OUR POOR FAMILY. Adopted in God's family, and so Our old coat lost, unto new arms I go. The cross (my seal at baptism) spread below, Does by that form into an anchor grow. Crosses grow anchors ; bear, as thou should'st do, Thy cross ; and that cross grows an anchor too. But he, that makes our crosses anchors thus, Is Christ, who there is crucified for us. Yet may I, with this, my first serpents hold ; God gives new blessings, and yet leaves the old. The serpent may, as wise, my pattern be ; My poison, as he feeds on dust, that 's me. And as he rounds the earth to murther sure, My death he is ; but on the cross, my cure. Crucify nature then, and then implore All grace from him, crucified there before ; When all is cross, and that cross anchor grown. This seal 's a catechism, not a seal alone. Under that little seal great gifts I send. Works and prayers, pawns, and fruits of a friend. And may that saint, which rides in our Great Seal, To you, who bear his name, great bounties deal. THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. INFINITATI SACRUM, 16 AUGUSTI, 1601. METEMPSYCHOSIS. POEMA SATYRICON. EPISTLE. Others at the porches and entries of their buildings set their arms ; I my picture ; if any colors can deliver a mind so plain and flat and through-light as mine. Naturally at a new author I doubt, and stick, and do not say quickly, Good. I censure much and tax; and this liberty costs me more than others. Yet I would not be so rebellious against myself, as not to do it, since I love it; nor so unjust to others, to do it sine ialione. As long as I give them as good hold upon me, they must pardon me my bitings. I forbid no reprehender but him, that like the Trent Council, forbids not books, but authors, damning whatever such a name hath or shall write. None write so ill, that he gives not something exemplary to follow, or fly. Now when I begin this book, 1 have no pur- pose to come into any man's debt; how my stock will hold out, I know not; perchance waste, perchance increase in use. If I do borrow any thing of Antiquity, besides that I make account that I pay it to Posterity, with as much, and as good, you shall still find me to acknowledge it, and to thank not him only, that hath digged out treasure for me, but that hath lighted me a candle to the place. All which I will bid you remember (for I will have no such readers, as I can 222 EPISTLE. teach) is, that the Pythagorean doctrine doth not only carry one soul from man to man, or man to beast, but indifferently to plants also : and therefore you must not grudge to find the same soul in an emperor, in a post-horse, and in a macaron ; since no unreadiness in the soul, but an indisposition in the organs works this. And therefore, though this soul could not move when it was a melon, yet it may remember and can now tell me, at what lascivious banquet it was served. And though it could not speak, when it was a spider, yet it can remember, and now tell me, who used it for poison to attain dignity. However the bodies have dulled her other faculties, her memory hath ever been her own ; which makes me so seriously deliver you by her relation all her passages from her first making, when she was that apple which Eve eat, to this time when she is she, whose life you shall find in the end of this book. THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. FIRST SONG. I. I SING the progress of a deathless soul, Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not control, Placed in most shapes ; all times, before the law Yoked us, and when, and since, in this I sing ; And the great world to his aged evening, From infant morn, through manly noon I draw ; What the gold Chaldee, or silver Persian saw, Greek brass, or Roman iron, is in this one ; A work to outwear Seth's pillars, brick and stone, And (holy writ excepted) made to yield to none. II. Thee, eye of Heaven, this great soul envies not ; By thy male force is all we have, begot. In the first east thou now begin'st to shine, Suck'st early balm, and island spices there ; And wilt anon in thy loose-reined career At Tagus, Po, Seine, Thames, and Danaw dine, And see at night thy western land of mine ; 224 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. Yet hast thou not more nations seen than she, That before thee one day began to be ; And, thy frail Hght being quenched, shall long, long outlive thee. III. Nor, holy Janus, in whose sovereign boat The church, and all the monarchies did float ; That swimming college, and free hospital Of all mankind, that cage and vivary Of fowls and beasts, in whose womb Destiny Us and our latest nephews did install ; (From thence are all derived, that fill this All ;) Didst thou in that great stewardship embark So divers shapes into that floating park, As have been moved, and informed by this heaven- ly spark. IV. Great Destiny, the commissary of God, That hast marked out a path and period For every thing ; who, where we offspring took, Our ways and ends seest at one instant ; thou Knot of all causes ; thou, whose changeless brow Ne'er smiles nor frowns, O vouchsafe thou to look, And show my story, in thy eternal book. That (if my prayer be fit) I may understand So much myself, as to know with what hand, How scant, or liberal, this my life's race is spanned. PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 225 To my six lustres, almost now outwore, Except thy book owe rae so many more ; Except my legend be free from the lets Of steep ambition, sleepy poverty. Spirit-quenching sickness, dull captivity, Distracting business, and from beauty's nets, And all that calls from this and the others whets ; ! let me not launch out, but let me save The expense of brain and spirit ; that my grave His right and due, a whole unwasted man, may have. VI. But if my days be long, and good enough. In vain this sea shall enlarge, or enrough Itself ; for I will through the wave and foam. And hold in sad lone ways a lively sprite. Make my dark heavy poem light and light. For, though through many straits and lands I roam, 1 launch at paradise, and I sail towards home : The course, I there began, shall here be stayed ; Sails hoisted there, struck here ; and anchors laid In Thames, which were at Tigris and Euphrates weighed. For the great soul, which here amongst us now Doth dwell, and moves that hand, and tongue, and brow, 15 226 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. Which, as the moon the sea, moves us ; to hear Whose story with long patience you will long ; (For 'tis the crown, and last strain of my song ;) This soul, to whom Luther and Mahomet were Prisons of flesh ; this soul, which oft did tear, And mend the wracks of the Empire, and late Rome, And lived when every great change did come, Had first in Paradise a low but fatal room. VIII. Yet no low room, nor than the greatest less. If (as devout and sharp men fitly guess) That cross, our joy and grief, (where nails did tie That all, which always was all, everywhere. Which could not sin, and yet all sins did bear. Which could not die, yet could not choose but die,) Stood in the self-same room in Calvary, Where first grew the forbidden learned tree ; For on that tree hung in security This soul, made by the Maker's will from pull- ing free. ■ Prince of the orchard, fair as dawning morn, Fenced with the law, and ripe as soon as born. That apple grew, which this soul did enlive ; Till the then-climbing serpent, that now creeps For that offence, for which all mankind weeps. PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 227 Took it, and to her, whom the first man did wive (Whom, and her race, only forbiddings drive) He gave it, she to her husband ; both did eat : So perished the eaters and the meat ; And we (for treason taints the blood) thence die and sweat. X. Man all at once was there by woman slain ; And one by one we are here slain o'er again By them. The mother poisoned the well-head. The daughters here corrupt us rivulets ; No smallness 'scapes, no greatness breaks their nets : She thrus*t us out, and by them we are led Astray, from turning to whence we are fled. Were prisoners judges, 't would seem rigorous ; She sinned, we bear ; part of our pain is thus To love them, whose fault to this painful love yoked us. XI. So fast in us doth this corruption grow, That now we dare ask why we should be so ; Would God (disputes the curious rebel) make A law, and would not have it kept ? Or can His creature's will cross his ? Of every man. For one, will God (and be just) vengeance take? Who sinned ? 't was not forbidden to the snake, Nor her, who was not then made ; nor is it writ. 228 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. That Adam cropt, or knew the apple ; yet The worm, and she, and he, and we endure for it. XII. But snatch me, heavenly spirit, from this vain Reckoning their vanity ; less is their gain Than hazard, still to meditate on ill, [toys Though with good mind ; their reason's like those Of glassy bubbles, which the gamesome boys Stretch to so nice a thinness through a quill, That they themselves break, and do themselves spill. Arguing is heretic's game ; and exercise, As wrestlers, perfects them : not liberties Of speech, but silence ; hands, not tongues, end heresies. XIII. Just in that instant, when the serpent's gripe Broke the slight veins, and tender conduit-pipe, Through which this soul from the tree's root did draw Life and growth to this apple, fled away This loose soul, old, one and another day. As lightning, which one scarce dare say he saw, 'Tis so soon gone, (and better proof the law Of sense, than faith requires,) swiftly she flew To a dark and foggy plot ; her, her fates threw There through the earth's pores, and in a plant housed her anew. PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 229 XIV. The plant, thus abled, to itself did force A place, where no place was ; by nature's course As air from water, water fleets away From thicker bodies ; by this root thronged so His spungy confines gave him place to grow : Just as in our streets, when the people stay To see the prince, and so fill up the way. That weasels scarce could pass ; when she comes near. They throng, and cleave up, and a passage clear, As if for that time their round bodies flattened were. XV. His right arm he thrust out towards the east, Westward his left ; the ends did themselves digest Into ten lesser strings, these fingers were : And as a slumberer stretching on his bed, This way he this, and that way scattered His other leg, which feet with toes up bear ; Grew on his middle part, the first day, hair, To show, that in love's business he should still A dealer be, and be used, well or ill : His apples kindle ; his leaves force of conception kill. XVI. A mouth, but dumb, he hath ; blind eyes, deaf ears ; And to his shoulders dangle subtle hairs ; 230 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. A young Colossus there he stands upright : And, as that ground by him were conquered, A leafy garland wears he on his head Enchased with little fruits, so red and bright, That for them you would call your love's lips white ; So of a lone unhaunted place possest. Did this soul's second inn, built by the guest, This living buried man, this quiet mandrake, rest. XVII. No lustful woman came this plant to grieve, But 't was because there was none yet but Eve ; And she (with other purpose) killed it quite : Her sin had now brought in infirmities. And so her cradled child the moist red eyes Had never shut, nor slept, since it saw light ; Poppy she knew, she knew the mandrake*s might. And tore up both, and so cooled her child's blood : Unvirtuous weeds might long unvexed have stood ; But he 's short-lived, that with his death can do most good. XVIII. To an unfettered soul's quick nimble haste Are falling stars, and heart's thoughts, but slow- paced : Thinner than burnt air flies this soul, and she. Whom four new coming, and four parting suns PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 231 Had found, and left the mandrake's tenant, runs Thoughtless of change, when her firm destiny- Confined, and engaoled her, that seemed so free, Into a small blue shell ; the which a poor Warm bird o'erspread, and sat still evermore, Till her inclosed child kicked, and picked itself a door. XIX. Out crept a sparrow, this soul's moving inn, On whose raw arms stiff feathers now begin. As childrens' teeth through gums, to break with pain; His flesh is jelly yet, and his bones threads ; All a new downy mantle overspreads. A mouth he opes, which would as much contain As his late house, and the first hour speaks plain, And chirps aloud for meat. Meat fit for men His father steals for him, and so feeds then One, that within a month, will beat him from his hen. XX. In this world's youth wise nature did make haste ; Things ripened sooner, and did longer last ; Already this hot cock in bush and tree. In field and tent o'erflutters his next hen ; He asks her not who did so taste, nor when ; Nor if his sister or his niece she be, 232 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. Nor doth she pule for his inconstancy, If in her sight he change ; nor doth refuse The next, that calls ; both liberty do use ; Where store is of both kinds, both kinds may freely choose. XXI. Men, till they took laws which made freedom less, Their daughters and their sisters did ingress-; Till now, unlawful, therefore ill, 't was not ; So jolly, that it can move this soul, is The body ; so free of his kindnesses. That self-preserving it hath now forgot, And slackeneth so the soul's and body's knot, Which temperance straitens : freely on his she- friends He blood and spirit, pith and marrow spends, 111 steward of himself, himself in three years ends. XXII. Else might he long have lived ; man did not know Of gummy blood, which doth in holly grow, How to make bird-lime, nor how to deceive With feign'd calls, his nets, or enwrapping snare, The free inhabitants of th' pliant air. Man to beget, and woman to conceive. Asked not of roots, nor of cock-sparrows, leave : Yet chooseth he, though none of these he fears, PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 233 Pleasantly three, than straitened twenty, years To live, and to increase his race, himself outwears. XXIII. This coal with over-blowing quenched and dead. The soul from her too- active organs fled To a brook ; a female fish's sandy roe With the male's jelly newly leavened was, For they had intertouched as they did pass, And one of those small bodies, fitted so, This soul informed, and abled it to row Itself with finny oars, which she did fit ; Her scales seemed yet of parchment, and as yet Perchance a fish, but by no name, you could call it. XXIV. When goodly, like a ship in her full trim, A swan so white, that you may unto him Compare all whiteness, but himself to none. Glided along, and, as he glided, watched. And with his arched neck this poor fish catched : It moved with state, as if to look upon Low things it scorned ; and yet, before that one Could think he sought it, he had swallowed clear This, and much such ; and, unblamed, devoured there All, but who too swift, too great, or well armed were. 234 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. XXV. Now swam a prison in a prison put, And now this soul in double walls was shut ; Till, melted with the swan's digestive fire, She left her house the fish, and vapoured forth : Fate, not affording bodies of more worth For her as yet, bids her again retire To another fish, to any new desire IVIade a new prey : for he, that can to none Resistance make, nor complaint, sure is gone ; Weakness invites, but silence feasts, oppression. XXVI. Pace with the native stream this fish doth keep, And journeys with her towards the glassy deep, But oft retarded ; once with a hidden net. Though with great windows, (for when need first taught These tricks to catch food, then they were not wrought. As now, with curious greediness, to let None 'scape, — but few, and fit for use, to get,) As in this trap a ravenous pike was ta'en, "Who, though himself distrest, would fain have slain This wretch ; so hardly are ill habits left again. XXVII. Here by her smallness she two deaths o'erpast ; Once innocence 'scaped, and left the oppressor fast ; PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 235 The net througli-swum, she keeps the liquid path, And whether she leap up sometimes to breathe, And suck in air, or find it underneath. Or working-parts like mills, or limbecks hath, To make the water thin and air-like, faith Cares not, but safe the place she' s come unto. Where fresh with salt weaves meet ; and what to do She knows not, but between both makes a board or two. XXVIII. So far from hiding her guests water is. That she shows them in bigger quantities. Than they are. Thus her, doubtful of her way, For game, and not for hunger, a sea-pie Spied through his traitorous spectacle from high The silly fish, where it disputing lay, And, to end her doubts and her, bears her away ; Exalted she is but to the exalter's good, (As are by great ones, men which lowly stood.) It 's raised to be the raiser's instrument and food. XXIX. Is any kind subject to rape like fish ? Ill unto man they neither do, nor wish ; Fishers they kill not, nor with noise awake ; They do not hunt, nor strive to make a prey Of beasts, nor their young sons to bear away ; Fowls they pursue not, nor do undertake To spoil the nests industrious birds do make ; 236 PROGRESS OF THP: SOUL. Yet them all these unkind kinds feed upon ; To kill them is an occupation, Andlaws make fasts and lents for their destruction. XXX. A sudden stiff land-wind in that self hour To seaward forced this bird, that did devour The fish ; he cares not, for with ease he flies, Fat gluttony's best orator : at last So long he hath flown, and hath flown so fast, That leagues o'erpast at sea, now tired he lies, And with his prey, that till then languished, dies ; The souls, no longer foes, two ways did err. The fish I follow, and keep no calendar Of the other : he lives yet in some great officer. XXXI. Into an embryon fish our soul is thrown. And in due time thrown out again, and grown To such vastness as, if unmanacled From Greece Morea were, and that, by some Earthquake unrooted, loose Morea swum ; Or seas from Afric's body had severed And torn the hopeful promontory's head ; This fish would seem these, and, when all hopes fail, A great ship overset, or without sail Hulling, might (when this was a whelp) be like this whale. ) PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 237 XXXII. At every stroke his brazen fins do take, More circles in the broken sea they make, Than cannons' voices when the air they tear: His ribs are pillars, and his high-arched roof Of bark, that blunts best steel, is thunder-proof : Swim in him swallowed dolphins without fear, And feel no sides, as if his vast womb were Some inland sea ; and ever, as he went. He spouted rivers up, as if he meant To join our seas with seas*above the firmament. XXXIII. He hunts not fish, but as an oiRcer Stays in his court, at his own net, and there All suitors of all sorts themselves enthral ; So on his back lies this whale wantoning. And in his gulf-like throat sucks every thing, That passeth near. Fish chaseth fish, and all, Flyer and follower, in this whirlpool fall ; O might not states of more equality Consist ? and is it of necessity [must die ? That thousand guiltless smalls, to make one great, XXXIV. Now drinks he up seas, and he eats up flocks ; He jostles islands, and he shakes firm rocks : Now in a roomful house this soul doth float, And, like a prince, she sends her faculties , To all her limbs, distant as provinces. 238 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. The sun hath twenty times both Crab and Goat Parched, since first launched forth this living boat ; 'Tis greatest now, and to destruction Nearest : there 's no pause at perfection ; Greatness a period hath, but hath no station. XXXV. Two little fishes, whom he never harmed, Nor fed on their kind, two, not thoroughly armed With hope that they could kill him, nor could do Good to themselves bv his death (they did not eat His flesh, nor suck those oils, which thence out- streat) Conspired against him; and it might undo The plot of all, that the plotters were two, But that they fishes were, and could not speak. How shall a tyrant wise strong projects break, If wretches can on them the common anger wreak? XXXVI. The flail-finned thrasher, and steel-beaked sword-fish Only attempt to do, what all do wish : The thrasher backs him, and to beat begins ; The sluggard whale yields to oppression, And, to hide himself from shame and danger, down Begins to sink ; the sword-fish upward spins. And gores him with his beak ; his staff-like fins PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 239 So well the one, his sword the other plies, That, now a scoff and prey, this tyrant dies, And (his own dole) feeds with himself all com- panies. XXXVII. Who will revenge his death ? or who will call Those to account, that thought and wrought his fall? The heirs of slain kings we see are often so Transported with the joy of what they get. That they revenge and obsequies forget ; Nor will against such men the people go, Because he is now dead, to whom they should show Love in that act. Some kings by vice being grown So needy of subjects' love, that of their own They think they lose, if love be to the dead prince shown. XXXVIII. This soul, now free from prison and passion, Hath yet a little indignation. That so small hammers should so soon down-beat So great a castle, and having for her house Got the strait cloister of a wretched mouse, (As basest men, that have not what to eat. Nor enjoy ought, do far more hate the great, Than they, who good reposed estates possess) 240 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. This soul, late taught that great things might by less Be slain, to gallant mischief doth herself address. XXXIX. Nature's great master-piece, an elephant (The only harmless great thing) the giant Of beasts, who thought none had to make him wise. But to be just and thankful, loth to offend, (Yet nature hath given him no knees to bend) Himself he up-props, on himself relies, And, foe to none, suspects no enemies, Still sleeping stood ; vexed not his fantasy- Black dreams, like an unbent bow carelessly His sinewy proboscis did remissly lie. XL. In which, as in a gallery, this mouse Walked, and surveyed the rooms of this vast house; And to the brain, the soul's bed-chamber, went, And gnawed the life-cords there : like a whole town Clean undermined, the slain beast tumbled down ; With him the murderer dies, whom envy sent To kill, not 'scape (for only he, that meant To die, did ever kill a man of better room) And thus he made his foe his prey and tomb : Who cares not to turn back, may any-whither come. PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 241 XLI. Next housed this soul a wolf's yet unborn whelp, Till the best midwife, Nature, gave it help To issue : it could kill, as soon as go. Abel, as white and mild as his sheep were, (Who, in that trade, of church and kingdoms there Was the first type,) was still infested so With this wolf, that it bred his loss and woe ; And yet his bitch, his sentinel, attends The flock so near, so well warns and defends. That the wolf (hopeless self) to corrupt her in- tends. XLII. He took a course, which since successfully Great men have often taken, to espy The counsels, or to break the plots, of foes ; To Abel's tent he stealeth in the dark, On whose skirts the bitch slept; ere she could bark, Attached her with strait gripes, yet he called those Embracements of love ; to love's work he goes. Where deeds move more than words ; nor doth she show. Nor much resist, nor needs he straiten so His prey, for were she loose, she would not bark nor go. XLIII. He hath engaged her ; his she wholly bides : Who not her own, none other's secrets hides. 16 242 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. If to the flock he come, and Abel there, She feigns hoarse barkings, but she biteth not ; Her faith is quite, but not her love, forgot. At last a trap, of which some everywhere Abel had placed, ends all his loss and fear, By the wolf's death ; and now just time it was, That a quick soul should give life to that mass Of blood in Abel's bitch, and thither this did pass. XLIV. Some have their wives, their sisters some begot ; But in the lives of emperors you shall not Read of a lust, the which may equal this : This wolf begot himself, and finished. What he began alive, when he was dead. Son to himself, and father too, he is A riding lust, for which Schoolmen would miss A proper name. The whelp of both these lay In Abel's tent, and with soft Moaba, His sister, being young, it used to sport and play. XLV. He soon for her too harsh and churlish grew, And Abel (the dam dead) would use this new For the field ; being of two kinds thus made. He, as his dam, from sheep drove wolves away, And, as his sire, he made them his own prey. Five years he lived, and cozened with his trade, PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 243 Then, hopeless that his faults were hid, be- trayed Himself by flight, and by all followed, From dogs a wolf, from wolves a dog, he fled ; And, like a spy to both sides false, he perished. XL VI. It quickened next a toyful ape, and so Gamesome it was, that it might freely go From tent to tent, and with the children play ; His organs now so like theirs he doth find, That, why he cannot laugh and speak his mind, He wonders. Much with all, most he doth stay With Adam's fifth daughter, Siphatecia : Doth gaze on her, and, where she passeth, pass. Gathers her fruits, and tumbles on the grass ; And, wisest of that kind, the first true lover XLVII. He was the first, that more desired to have One than another ; first, that e'er did crave Love by mute signs, and had no power to speak ; First, that could make love-faces, or could do The vaulter's sombersalts, or used to woo With hoiting gambols, his own bones to break, To make his Mistress merry ; or to wreak Her anger on himself Sins against kind 244 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. They eas'ly do, that can let feed their mind With outward beauty; beauty they in boys and beasts do find. XLVIII. By this misled, too low things men have proved, And too high ; beasts and angels have been loved : This ape, though else through- vain, in this was wise; He reached at things too high, but open way There was, and he knew not she would say nay. His toys prevail not, likelier means he tries, He gazeth on her face with tear-shot eyes, And up-lifts subtly with his russet paw Her kid-skin apron without fear or awe [law. Of nature ; nature hath no gaol, though she hath XLIX. First she was silly, and knew not what he meant : That virtue, by his touches chaft and spent. Succeeds an itchy warmth, that melts her quite ; She knew not first, nor cares not what he doth. And wiUing half and more, more than half wrath, She neither pulls nor pushes, but outright Now cries, and now repents ; when Thelemite, Her brother, entered, and a great stone threw After the Ape, who thus prevented flew. This house thus battered down, the soul possest anew. PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 245 L. And whether by this change she lose or win, She conies out next, where the Ape would have gone in. Adam and Eve had mingled bloods, and now, Like Chymique's equal fires, her temperate womb Had stewed and formed it : and part did become A spongy liver, that did richly allow. Like a free conduit on a high hill's brow. Life-keeping moisture unto every part ; ^ Part hardened itself to a thicker heart. Whose busy furnaces life's spirits do impart. LI. Another part became the well of sense. The tender well-armed feeling brain, from whence Those sinew-strings, which do our bodies tie, Are ravelled out ; and, fast there by one end, Did this soul limbs, these limbs a soul attend ; And now they joined, keeping some quality Of every past shape ; she knew treachery, Rapine, deceit, and lust, and ills enough To be a woman : Themech she is now. Sister and wife to Cain, Cain, that first did plough. LII. Whoe'er thou be'st, that read'st this sullen writ, Which just so much courts thee, as thou dost it, Let me arrest thy thoughts ; wonder with me Why ploughing, building, ruling, and the rest, 24G PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. Or most of those arts, whence our lives are blest, By cursed Cain's race invented be, And blest Seth vext us with astronomy. There's nothing simply good nor ill alone, Of every quality comparison The only measure is, and judge, opinion. THE END OF THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SONGS AND SONNETS, THE FLEA. Mark but this flea, and mark in this, How little that which thou deniest me is ; Me it sucked first, and now sucks thee, And in this flea our two bloods mingled be ; Confess it.* This cannot be said A sin, or shame, or loss of maidenhead, Yet this enjoys, before it woo, And pampered swells with one blood made of two. And this, alas ! is more than we could do. Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare. Where we almost, nay, more than married are. This flea is you and I, and this Our marriage-bed, and marriage-temple is ; Though parents grudge, and you, we are met, And cloistered in these living walls of jet. Though use make you apt to kill me, * Ed. 1635. Thou know'st that. 250 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Let not to that self-murder added be, And sacrikge, three sins in killing three. Cruel and sudden, hast thou since Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence ? Wherein could this flea guilty be. Except in that blood which it sucked from thee ? Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou Find'st not thyself, nor me the weaker now ; 'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be : Just so much honor, when thou yield'st to me, Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee. THE GOOD-MORROW. I WONDER, by my troth, what thou and I, Did, till we loved .'' were we not weaned till then But sucked on country pleasures childishly ? * Or slumbered we in the Seven Sleepers' den ? *T was so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be : If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired and got, 't was but a dream of thee. * Var. childish pleasures sillily. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 251 And now good-morrow to our waking souls, Which watch not one another out of fear ; For love all love of other sights controls, And makes one little room an everywhere. Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone. Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown,* Let us possess one world ; each hath one, and is one. My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, And true plain hearts do in the faces rest ; Where can we find two fitter hemispheres Without sharp north, without declining west ? Whatever dies, was not mixed equally ; If our two loves be one, both thou and I Love just alike in all, none of these loves can die. SONG. Go and catch a falling star. Get with child a mandrake root. Tell me where all yoQ>ca past f are. Or who cleft the devil's foot. * Var. to other worlds our world, t Vai'. times past. 252 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Teach me to hear mermaid's singing, Or to keep off envy's stinging, And find, What wind Serves to advance an honest mind. If thou be'st born to strange sights, Things invisible go* see. Ride ten thousand days and nights, Till age snow white hairs on thee ; Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me All strange wonders that befell thee, And swear, Nowhere Lives a woman true and fair. If thou find'st one, let me know, Such a pilgrimage were sweet; Yet do not : I would not go. Though at next door we might meet ; Though she were true when you met her, And last till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two or three. * Var. to. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. '2~,3 WOMAN'S CONSTANCY. Now thou hast loved me one whole day, To-morrow when thou leav'st, what wilt thou say? Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow ? Or say that now We are not just those persons which we were ? Or that oaths made in reverential fear Of Love and his wrath, any may forswear ? Or, as true deaths true marriages untie. So lovers' contracts, images of those, Bind but till Sleep, Death's image, them unloose ? Or, your own end to justify, For having purposed change and falsehood, you Can have no way but falsehood to be true ? Vain lunatic, against these scapes I could Dispute and conquer, if I would ; Which I abstain to do. For by to-morrow I may think so too. 254 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. THE UNDERTAKING. I HAVE done one braver thing, Than all the Worthies did.; And yet a braver thence doth spring, Which is, to keep that hid. It were but madness now to impart The skill of specular stone. When he, which can have learned the art To cut it, can find none. So, if I now should utter this, Others (because no more Such stuff to work upon there is) Would love but as before : But he who loveliness within Hath found, all outward loathes ; For he who color loves and skin, Loves but their oldest clothes. If, as I have, you also do Virtue in woman see, And dare love that, and say so too, And forget the He and She ; — POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 255 And if this love, though placed so, From profane men you hide, Which will no faith on this bestow, Or, if they do, deride ; — Then you have done a braver thing. Than all the Worthies did, And a braver thence will spring. Which is, to keep that hid. THE SUN-RISING. Busy old fool, unruly sun, Why dost thou thus. Through windows and through c'urtains call* on us? Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late school-boys, and sour 'prentices. Go tell court-huntsmen, that the King will ride, Call country ants to harvest offices ; Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time. * Var. look. 256 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Thy beams so reverend and strong, Dost thou not think I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink, But that I would not lose her sight so long ? If her eyes have not blinded thine, Look, and to-morrow late tell me Whether both the Indias of spice and mine Be where thou left them, or lie here with me ; Ask for those kings, whom thou saw'st yester- day ; And thou shalt hear all here in one bed lay. She 's all states, and all princes I, Nothing else is. Princes do but play us ; compared to this, All honor's mimic, all wealth alchemy ; Thou sun art half as happy as we, In that the world 's contracted thus ; Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be To warm the world, that's done in warming us. Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere ; This bed thy centre is, these walls thy sphere. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 257 THE INDIFFERENT. I CAN love both fair and brown ; Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want betrays ; Her who loves loneness best, and her who sports and plays ; Her whom the country formed, and whom the town ; Her who believes, and her who tries ; Her who still weeps with spongy eyes. And her who is dry cork, and never cries ; I can love her, and her, and you, and you, I can love any, so she be not true. Will no other vice content you ? Will it not serve your turn to do as did your mothers ? Or have you all old vices spent, and now would find out others ? Or doth a fear that men are true torment you ? Oh, we are not, be not you so ; Let me ; and do you twenty know. Rob me, but bind me not, and let me go ; Must I, who came to travel thorough you, Grow your fixed subject, because you are true ? 17 258 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. "Venus heard me sing this song, And by Love's sweetest part,* variety, she swore, She heard not this till now ; it should be so no She went, examined, and returned ere long, And said, Alas ! some two or three Poor heretics in love there be, Which think to 'stablish dangerous constancy ; But I have told them, since you will be true. You shall be true to them, who are false to you. LOVE'S USURY. For every hour that thou wilt spare me now, I will allow. Usurious God of Love, twenty to thee. When with my brown my gray hairs equal be ; Till then, Love, let my body range, and let Me travel, sojourn, snatch, plot, have, forget. Resume my last year's relict, think that yet We had never met. Let me think any rival's letter mine. And at next nine * Var. art. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 259 Keep midnight's promise ; mistake by the way The maid, and tell the lady of that delay ; Only let me love none, no not the sport ; From country grass to comfitures of court, Or city's quelque-choses, let not report My mind transport. This bargain's gogd ; if when I 'm old, I be Inflamed by thee. If thine own honor, or my shame or pain, Thou covet most, at that age thou shalt gain ; Do thy will then, then subject and degree And fruit of love, Love, I submit to thee ; Spare me till then, I '11 bear it, though she be One that loves me. CANONIZATION. For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love. Or chide my palsy, or my gout, My true gray hairs, or ruined fortunes flout ; With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve. Take you a course, get you a place, Observe his Honour or his Grace, 260 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Or the King's real, or his stamped face Contemplate ; what you will, approve. So you will let me love. Alas, alas, who 's injured by my love ? What merchant's ships have my sighs drowned? Who says my tears have overflowed his ground ? When did my colds a forwar/i spring remove ? When did the heats which my veins fill Add one more to the plaguy bill ? Soldiers find wars, and lawyers find out still Litigious men which quarrels move, Though she and I do love. Call 's what you will, we are made such by love ; Call her one, me another fly ; We 're tapers too, and at our own cost die ; And we in us find the eagle and the dove ; The phoenix-riddle hath more wit By us ; we two being one, are it : So to one neutral thing both sexes fit. We die and rise the same, and prove Mysterious by this love. We can die by it, if not live by love. And if unfit for tomb or hearse Our legend be, it will be fit for verse ; And if no piece of chronicle we prove, We '11 build in sonnets pretty rooms. As well a well- wrought urn becomes POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 2G1 The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs ; And by those hymns all shall approve Us canonized for love, And thus invoke us : " You whom reverend love Made one another's hermitage ; You to whom love was peace, that now is rage, Who did the whole world's soul contract, and drove Into the glasses of your eyes, So made such mirrors and such spies, That they did all to you epitomize ; Countries, towns, courts, beg from above A pattern of your love." THE TRIPLE FOOL. I AM two fools, I know. For loving, and for saying so In whining poetry ; But where 's that wise man, that would not be I, If she would not deny ? Then as the earth's inward narrow crooked lanes Do purge sea-water's fretful salt away, I thought, if I could draw my pains Through rhyme's vexation, I should them allay. 262 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Grief, brought to numbers cannot be so fierce, For he tames it that fetters it in verse. But when I have done so, Some man, his art and voice to show. Doth set and sing my pain. And, by delighting many, frees again Grief, which verse did restrain. To love and grief tribute of verse belongs, But not of such as pleases when 'tis read. Both are increased by such songs ; For both their triumphs so are published, And I, which was two fools, do so grow three : Who are a little wise, the best fools be. LOVER'S INFINITENESS. If yet I have not all thy love, Dear, I shall never have it all ; I cannot breathe one other sigh to move, Nor can entreat one other tear to fall ; And all my treasure, which should purchase thee, Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters I have spent. Yet no more can be due to me. Than at the bargain made was meant : If then thy gift of love were partial. That some to me, some should to others fall. Dear, I shall never have it all. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 263 Or, if then thou gav'st me all. All was but all, which thou hadst then : But if in thy heart since there be, or shall New love created be by other men, Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears, In sighs, in oaths, in letters outbid me, This new love may beget new fears ; For this love was not vowed by thee, And yet it was, thy gift being general ; The ground, thy heart, was mine, whatever shall Grow there, dear, I should have it all. Yet, I would not have all yet. He that hath all can have no more ; And since my love doth every day admit New growth, thou should'st have new rewards in store ; Thou canst not every day give me thy heart, If thou canst give it, then thou never gav'st it : Love's riddles are that, though thy heart depart. It stays at home, and thou with losing sav'st it ; But we will love a way more liberal Than changing hearts, — to join them ; so we shall Be one, and one another's All. 264 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. SONG. Sweetest Love, I do not go, For weariness of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A. fitter Love for me ; But since that I At the last must part, 't is best, Thus to use myself in jest By feigned deaths to die ; Yesternight the sun went hence, And yet is here to-day, He hath no desire nor sense, Nor half so short a way : Then fear not me, But believe that I shall make Speedier journeys, since I take More wings and spurs than he. O how feeble is man's power, That, if good fortune fall. Cannot add another hour, Nor a lost hour recall ! But come bad chance. And we join to it our strength, And we teach it art and length, Itself o'er us to advance. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 265 When thou sigh'st thou sigh'st no wind, But sigh'st my soul away ; When thou weep'st, unkindly kind, My life's blood doth decay. It cannot be That thou lov'st me, as thou say*st, If in thine my life thou waste. That art the best * of me. Let not thy divining heart Forethink me any ill. Destiny may take thy part, And may thy fears fulfil ; But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep : They, who one another keep Alive, ne'er parted be. THE LEGACY. When I died last (and, Dear, I die As often as from thee I go. Though it be but an hour ago, And lovers' hours be full eternity) I can remember yet, that I * Var. life. 266 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Something did say, and something did bestow, Though I be dead, which meant me, I should be Mine own executor, and legacy. I heard me say. Tell her anon. That myself, that is you, not I, Did kill me ; and when I felt me die, I bid me send my heart, when I was gone, But I, alas ! could there find none. When I had ripped, and searched where hearts should lie, It killed me again, that I, who still was true In life, in my last will should cozen you. Yet I found something like a heart, But colors it and corners had, It was not good, it was not bad. It was entire to none, and few had part : As good, as could be made by art, It seemed, and therefore for our loss as sad ;^ I meant to send that heart instead of mine. But oh ! no man could hold it, for 't was thine. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 267 A FEVER. Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone, That thee I shall not celebrate. When I remember thou wast one. But yet thou canst not die, I know ; To leave this world behind, is death ; But when thou from this world wilt go, The whole world vapours in thy breath. Or if, when thou, the world's soul, go'st, It stay, 't is but thy carcass then ; The fairest woman, but thy ghost ; But corrupt worms, the worthiest men. O wrangling schools, that search what fire Shall burn this world, had none the wit Unto this knowledge to aspire. That this her fever might be it ? And yet she cannot waste by this, Nor long bear this torturing wrong, For more corruption needful is, To fuel such a fever long. 268 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. These burning fits but meteors be, "Whose matter in thee soon is spent ; Thy beauty, and all parts, which are thee, Are an unchangeable firmament. Yet 't was of my mind, seizing thee, Though it in thee cannot persever ; For I had rather owner be Of thee one hour, than all else ever. AIR AND ANGELS. Twice or thrice had I loved thee, Before I knew thy face or name ; So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, Angels affect us oft, and worshipped be : Still when, to where thou wast, I came, Some lovely glorious nothing I did see ; But since my soul, whose child love is. Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do, More subtile than the parent is, Love must not be, but take a body too ; And therefore what thou wast, and who, I bid love ask, and now. That it assume thy body, I allow. And fix itself in thy lip, eye, and brow. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 269 Whilst thus to balhist love I thought. And so more steadily to have gone, With wares which would sink admiration I saw, I had Love's pinnace overfraught ; Thy every hair for love to work upon Is much too much, some fitter must be sought ; . For, nor in nothing, nor in things Extreme, and scattering-bright, can love inhere ; Then as an angel face and wings Of air, not pure as it, yet pure doth wear, So thy love may be my love's sphere ; Just such disparity As is, twixt air's and angel's purity, 'Twixt women's love, and men's will ever be. BREAK OF DAY. I. Stat, Sweet, and do not rise. The light, that shines, comes from thine eyes ; The day breaks not, it is my heart. Because that you and I must part. Stay, or else my joys will die. And perish in their infancy. II. 'T is true, 't is day ; what though it be ? O wilt thou therefore rise from me ? 270 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Why should we rise, because 't is light ? Did we lie down, because 't was night ? Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither. Should in despite of light keep us together. III. Light hath no tongue, but is all eye ; If it could speak as well as spy. This were the worst that it could say, That being well, I fain would stay. And that I loved my heart and honor so, That I would not from him, that had them, go. IV. Must business thee from hence remove ? Oh, that 's the worst disease of love ; The poor, the foul, the false, Love can Admit, but not the busied man. He which hath business, and makes love, doth do Such wrong, as when a married man should woo. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 271 THE ANNIVERSARY. All Kings, and all their favorites, All glory of honors, beauties, wits. The sun itself (which makes times, as these pass) Is elder by a year now, than it was, When thou and I first one another saw : All other things to their destruction draw ; Only our love hath no decay : This no to-morrow hath, nor yesterday ; Running, it never runs from us away, But truly keeps his first-last-everlasting day. Two graves must hide thine and my corse ; If one might, death were no divorce ; Alas ! as well as other princes, we, (Who prince enough in one another be,) Must leave at last in death these eyes," and ears, Oft fed with true oaths, and with sweet salt tears. But souls where nothing dwells but love, (All other thoughts being inmates) then shall prove This, or a love increased, there above. When bodies to their graves, souls from their graves remove. And then we shall be throughly blest : But now no more than all the rest. 272 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Here upon earth we are kings, and none but we Can be such kings, nor of such subjects be ; Who is so safe as we, where none can do Treason to us, except one of us two? True and false fears let us refrain : Let us love nobly, and live, and add again Years and years unto years, till we attain To write threescore : this is the second of our reign. A VALEDICTION OF MY NAISIE IN THE WINDOW. I. My name engraved herein. Doth contribute my firmness to this glass, Which, ever since that charm, hath been As hard as that which graved it was ; Thine eye will give it price enough to mock The diamonds of either rock. II. 'T is much that glass should be As all-confessing and through-shine as I ; 'T is more that it shows thee to thee, And clear reflects thee to thine eye. But all such rules Love's magic can undo, Here you see me, and I am you. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 273 III. As no one point nor dash, Which are but accessories to this name, The showers and tempests can outwash, So shall all times find me the same ; You this entireness better may fulfil, Who have the pattern with you still. Or if too hard and deep This learning be, for a scratched name to teach. It as a given death's-head keep, Lovers' mortality to preach ; Or think this ragged bony name to be My ruinous anatomy. V. Then as all my souls be Emparadised in you (in whom alone I understand, and grow, and see) The rafters of my body, bone, Being still with you, the muscle, sinew, and vein, ^ Which tile this house, will come again. VI. Till my return, repair And recompact my scattered body so. As all the virtuous powers, which are Fixed in the stars, are said to flow Into such characters as graved be, When those stars had supremacy. 18 274 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. VII. So since this name was cut, When love and grief their exaltation had, No door 'gainst this name's influence shut ; As much more loving, as more sad, 'Twill make thee; and thou should'st, till I return. Since I die daily, daily mourn. VIII. When thy inconsiderate hand Flingsopethiscasement,withmy trembling name, To look on one, whose wit or land New battery to thy heart may frame, Then think this name alive, and that thou thus In it oifend'st my Genius. IX. And when thy melted maid, Corrupted by thy lover's gold or page, His letter at thy pillow hath laid. Disputed it, and tamed thy rage. And thou begin'st to thaw toward him for this, May my name step in, and hide his. X. And if this treason go To an overt act, and that thou write again : In superscribing, my name flow Into thy fancy from the pen. So in forgetting thou rememberest right, And unaware to me shalt write. 1 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 275 XI. But glass and lines must be No means our firm substantial love to keep ; Near death inflicts this lethargy, And thus I murmur in my sleep ; Impute this idle talk to that I go ; For dying men talk often so. TWICKENHAM GARDEN. Blasted with sighs, and surrounded with tears, Hither I come to seek the spring, And at mine eyes, and at mine ears, Receive such balm as else cures every thing : But O, self-traitor, I do bring The spider Love, which transubstantiates all, And can convert manna to gall. And that this place may thoroughly be thought True Paradise, I have the serpent brought. 'T were wholesomer for me, that winter did Benight the glory of this place. And that a grave frost did forbid These trees to laugh, and mock me to my face ; But that I may not this disgrace Endure, nor leave this garden, Love, let me Some senseless piece of this place be ; 276 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Make me a mandrake, so I may grow here, Or a stone fountain weeping out the year. Hither with crystal vials, lovers, come, And take my tears, which are Love's wine, And try your mistress' tears at home. For all are false, that taste not just like mine ; Alas ! hearts do not in eyes shine. Nor can you more judge women's thoughts by tears, Than by her shadow, what she wears. O, perverse sex, where none is true but she, Who 's therefore true, because her truth kills me. VALEDICTION TO HIS BOOK. I 'll tell thee now (dear love) what thou shalt do To anger destiny, as she doth us ; How I shall stay, though she eloign me thus, And how posterity shall know it too ; How thine may out-endure Sibyl's glory, and obscure Her, who from Pindar could allure. And her, through whose help Lucan is not lame. And her, whose book (they say) Homer did find and name. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 277 Study our manuscripts, those myriads Of letters, which have past 'twixt thee and me, Thence write our annals, and in them will be To all, whom love's subliming fire invades, Rule and example found ; There, the faith of any ground No schismatic will dare to wound. That sees, how love this grace to us affords, To make, to keep, to use, to be these his records. This book as long-lived as the elements, Or as the world's form, this all- graved tome, In cipher writ, or new-made idiom ; We for Love's clergy only are instruments ; When this book is made thus, Should again the ravenous Vandals and Goths invade us. Learning were safe in this our universe. Schools might learn sciences, spheres music, angels verse. Here Love's divines (since all divinity Is love or wonder) may find all they seek, Whether abstract spiritual love they like. Their souls exhaled with what they do not see Or, loath so to amuse Faith's infirmity, they choose Something, which they may see and use ; For though mind be the heaven, where Love doth sit. Beauty a convenient type may be to figure it. 278 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Here more than in their books may lawyers find, Both by what titles mistresses are ours, And how prerogative these states devours, Transferred from Love himself to womankind, Who, though from heart and eyes They exact great subsidies. Forsake him, who on them relies. And for the cause honor or conscience give, Chimeras, vain as they, or their prerogative. Here statesmen (or of them they which can read) May of their occupation find the grounds, Love and their art alike it deadly wounds. If to consider what 't is, one proceed ; In both they do excel, Who the present govern well. Whose weakness none doth, or dares tell ; In this thy book such will their nothing see, As in the Bible some can find out alchemy. Thus vent thy thoughts ; abroad I '11 study thee, As he removes far off, that great heights takes : How great love is, presence best trial makes, But absence tries, how long this love will be ; To take a latitude, Sun, or stars, are fitliest viewed At their brightest ; but to conclude Of longitudes, what other way have we, But to mark when, and where the dark eclipses be ? POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 279 COI^IMUNITY. Good we must love, and must hate ill, . For ill is ill, and good good still ; But there are things indifferent, Which we may neither hate nor love, But one, and then another prove, As we shall find our fancy bent. If then at first wise nature had Made women either good or bad, Then some we might hate, and some choose, But since she did them so create. That we may neither love nor hate, Only this rests, all all may use. If they were good, it would be seen ; Good is as visible as green. And to all eyes itself betrays ; If they were bad, they could not last. Bad doth itself and others waste, So they deserve nor blame nor praise. But they are ours, as fruits are ours. He that but tastes, he that devours. And he that leaves all, doth as well ; Changed loves are but changed sorts of meat. And, when he hath the kernel eat, Who doth not fling away the shell ? 280 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. LOVE'S GROWTH. I SCARCE believe my love to be so pure As I had thought it was. Because it doth endure Vicissitude and season, as the grass ; Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore My love was infinite, if spring make it more. But if this medicine Love, which cures all sorrow With more, not only be no quintessence, But mixt of all stuffs, vexing soul or sense, And of the sun his active vigor borrow, Love 's not so pure an abstract, as they use To say, which have no mistress but their muse ; But, as all else, being elemented too, Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes do. And yet no greater, but more eminent Love by the spring is grown ; As in the firmament Stars by the sun are not enlarged, but shown. Gentle love-deeds, as blossoms on a bough, From Love's awakened root do bud out now. If, as in water stirred, more circles be. Produced by one. Love such additions take, POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 281 Those,like so many spheres, but one heaven make, For they are all concentric unto thee ; And though each spring do add to love new heat, As princes do in times of action get New taxes, and remit them not in peace, " No winter shall abate this spring's increase. LOVE'S EXCHANGE. Love, any devil else but you Would for a given soul give something too ; At court, your fellows every day Give the art of rhyming, huntsmanship, or play For them which were their own before ; Only I 've nothing, which gave more, But am, alas ! by being lowly, lower. I ask no dispensation now To falsify a tear, a sigh, a vow, I do not sue from thee to draw A non obstante on nature's law ; These are prerogatives, they inhere In thee and thine ; none should forswear, Except that he Love's minion were. Give me thy weakness, make me blind Both ways, as thou and thine, in eyes and mind: 282 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Love, let me never know that this Is love, or that love childish is. Let me not know that others know That she knows my pains, lest that so A tender shame make me mine own new woe. If thou give nothing, yet thou art just, Because I would not thy first motions trust : Small towns which stand stiff, till great shot Enforce them, by war's law condition not ; Such in love's warfare is my case, I may not article for grace, Having put Love at last to show this face. This face, by which he could command And change the idolatry of any land ; This face, which, wheresoe'er it comes. Can call vowed men from cloisters, dead from tombs, And melt both poles at once, and store Deserts with cities, and make more Mines in the earth, than quarries were before. For this Love is enraged with me. Yet kills not : if I must example be To future rebels, if the unborn Must learn, by my being cut up and torn ; Kill and dissect me. Love ; for this Torture against thine own end is. Racked carcases make ill anatomies. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 283 CONFINED LOVE. Some man unworthy to be possessor Of old or new love, himself being false or weak, Thought his pain and shame would be lesser If on womankind he might his anger wreak, And thence a law did grow, One might but one man know ; But are other creatures so ? Are sun, moon, or stars by law forbidden To smile where they list, or lend away their light ? Are birds divorced, or are they chidden If they leave their mate, or lie abroad all night ? Beasts do no jointures lose, Though they new lovers choose. But we are made worse than those. Whoe'er rigged fair ships to lie in harbors. And not to seek new lands, or not to deal with all ? Or build fair houses, set trees and arbors, Only to lock up, or else to let them fall ? Good is not good, unless A thousand it possess, But doth waste with greediness. 284 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. THE DREAM. Dear Love, for nothing less than thee Would I have broke this happy dream ; It was a theme For reason, much too strong for phantasy, Therefore thou waked'st me wisely ; yet My dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st it : Thou art so true, that thoughts of thee suffice To make dreams truths, and fables histories ; Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best Not to dream all my dream, let 's act the rest. As lightning or a taper's light, Thine eyes, and not thy noise waked me j Yet I thought thee (For thou lov'st truth) an angel at first sight ; But when I saw thou saw'st my heart, And knew'st my thoughts beyond an angel's art, When thou knew'st what I dreamt, then thoii knew'st when Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then ; I must confess, it could not choose but be Profane to think thee any thing but thee. Coming and staying showed thee thee ; But rising makes me doubt that now Thou art not thou. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 285 That Love is weak, where fear's as strong as he ; 'T is not all spirit, pure and brave. If mixture it of fear, shame, honor, have. Perchance as torches, which must ready be. Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me, Thou cam'st to kindle, goest to come : then I Will dream that hope again, but else would die. A VALEDICTION OF WEEPING. Let me pour forth My tears before thy face, whilst I stay here, For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear : And by this mintage they are something worth, For thus they be Pregnant of thee ; Fruits of much grief they are, emblems of more ; When a tear falls, that Thou fall'st, which it bore ; So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore. On a round ball A workman, that hath copies by, can lay A Europe, Afric, and an Asia, And quickly make that, which was nothing, all : So doth each tear. Which thee doth wear. 286 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. A globe, yea, world by that impression grow, Till thy tears mixed with mine do overflow This world, by waters sent from thee, my heav'n dissolved so. O more than moon. Draw not up seas to drown me in thy sphere ; Weep me not dead in thine arms, but forbear To teadi the sea, what it may do too soon ; Let not the wind Example find To do me more harm, than it purposeth : Since thou and I sigh one another's breath. Whoe'er sighs most, is cruellest, and hastes the other's death. LOVE'S ALCHEMY. Some that have deeper digged Love's mine than I, Say, where his centric happiness doth lie : I 've loved, and got, and told, But should I love, get, tell, till I were old, I should not find that hidden mystery ; Oh, 't is imposture all : And as no chymic yet the Elixir got, But glorifies his pregnant pot, POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 287 If by the way to him befall Some odoriferous thing, or medicinal, So lovers dream a rich and long delight, But get a winter-seeming summer's night. Our ease, our thrift, our honor, and our day Shall we for this vain bubble's shadow pay ? Ends love in this, that any man Can be as happy as I can, if he can Endure the short scorn of a bridegroom's play ? That loving wretch that swears, 'T is not the bodies marry, but the minds, Which he in her angelic finds, Would swear as justly, that he hears. In that day's rude hoarse minstrelsy, the spheres : Hope not for mind in women ; at their best Sweetness and wit, they 're but mummy, possest. THE CURSE. Whoever guesses, thinks, or dreams he knows Who is my mistress, wither by this curse ; Him only for his purse May some dull whore to love dispose, And then yield unto all that are his foes ; 288 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. May he be scorned by one, whom all else scorn, Forswear to others, what to her he hath sworn, With fear of missing, shame of getting, torn. Madness his sorrow, gout his cramp may he Make, by but thinking who hath made him such : And may he feel no touch Of conscience, but of fame, and be Anguished, not that 't was sin, but that 't was she : Or may he for her virtue reverence One, that hates him only for impotence. And equal traitors be she and his sense. May he dream treason, and believe that he Meant to perform it, and confess, and die. And no record tell why : His sons,' which none of his may be. Inherit nothing but his infamy : Or may he so long parasites have fed, That he would fain be theirs, whom he hath bred, And at the last be circumcised for bread. The venom of all step-dames, gamester's gall, What tyrants and their subjects interwish. What plants, mine, beasts, fowl, fish Can contribute, all ill, which all Prophets or poets spake ; and all, which shall Be annexed in schedules unto this by me. Fall on that man ; for if it be a she. Nature beforehand hath outcursed me. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 289 THE MESSAGE. Send home my long-strayed eyes to me, Which (oh) too long have dwelt on thee ; But if * they there have learned such ill, Such forced fashions And false passions. That they be Made by thee Fit for no good sight, keep them still. Send home my harmless heart again. Which no unworthy thought could stain ; But if it be taught by thine To make jestings Of protestings, And break both Word and oath, Keep it, for then 't is none of mine. Yet send me back my heart and eyes, That I may know and see thy lies. And may laugh and joy, when thou * Var. yet since there. 19 290 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Art in anguish. And dost languish For some one, That will none. Or prove as false as thou art now. A NOCTURNAL UPON S. LUCY'S DAY, BEING THE SHORTEST DAY. 'T IS the year's midnight, and it is the day's, Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks ; The sun is spent, and now his flasks Send forth light squibs, no constant rays ; The world's whole sap is sunk : The general balm the hydroptic earth hath drunk, Whither, as to the beds-feet, life is shrunk, Dead and interred ; yet all these seem to laugh. Compared with me, who am their epitaph. Study me then, you who shall lovers be At the next world, that is, at the next spring : For I am a very dead thing. In whom Love wrought new alchemy. For his art did express A quintessence even from nothingness, From dull privations, and lean emptiness : He ruined me, and I am rebegot Of absence, darkness, death, things which are not. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 291 All others from all things draw all that 's good. Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have ; I, by Love's limbeck, am the grave Of all, that 's nothing. Oft a flood Have we two wept, and so [grow Drowned the whole world, us two ; oft did we To be two Chaos's, when we did show Care to aught else ; and often absences Withdrew our souls, and made us carcases. But I am by her death (which word wrongs her) Of the first nothing the elixir grown ; Were I a man, that I were one, I needs must know ; I should prefer, If I were any beast. Some ends, some means ; yea, plants, yea, stones detest And love ; all, all some properties invest. If I an ordinary nothing were, As shadow, a light and body must be here. But I am none ; nor will my sun renew : You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun At this time to the Goat is run To fetch new lust, and give it you, Enjoy your summer all. Since she enjoys her long night's festival, Let me prepare towards her, and let me call This hour her vigil and her eve, since this Both the year's, and the day's deep midnight is. 292 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. WITCHCRAFT BY A PICTURE. I FIX mine eye on thine, and there Pity my picture burning in thine eye ; My picture drowned in a transparent tear, When I look lower, I espy ; Hadst thou the wicked skill. By pictures made and marred, to kill How many ways might'st thou perform thy will ! But now I 've drunk thy sweet salt tears, And though thou pour more, I '11 depart : My picture vanished, vanish all fears. That I can be endamaged by that art : Though thou retain of me One picture more, yet that will be, Being in thine own heart, from all malice free. THE BAIT. Come live with me, and be my love, And we will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, and crystal brooks, With silken lines and silver hooks. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 203 There will the river whispering run Warmed by thine eyes, more than the sun ; And there the enamoured fish will stay,* Begging themselves they may betray. When thou wilt swim in that live bath, Each fish, which every channel hath, Will amorously to thee swim, Gladder to catch thee, than thou him. If thou to be so seen be'st loath By sun or moon, thou darkenest both ; And if myself have leave to see, I need not their light, having thee. Let others freeze with angling reeds, And cut their legs with shells and weeds, Or treacherously poor fish beset, With strangling snare, or windowy net : Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest The bedded fish in banks outwrest, Or curious traitors, sleave-silk flies. Bewitch poor fishes' wandering eyes : For thee, thou need'st no such deceit. For thou thyself art thine own bait ; That fish, that is not catched thereby, Alas ! is wiser far than I. * Var. play. 294 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. THE APPAEITION. When by thy scorn, murderess, I am dead, And that thou think'st thee free Of all solicitation from me, Then shall my ghost come to thy bed. And thee feigned vestal in worse arms shall see ; Then thy sick taper will begin to wink. And he, whose thou art then, being tired before, Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think Thou call'st for more, And in a false sleep even from thee shrink. And then, poor aspen wretch, neglected thou Bathed in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie A verier ghost than I ; What I will say, 1 will not tell thee now, Lest that preserve thee : and since my love is spent, I 'd rather thou should'st painfully repent. Than by my threatenings rest still innocent. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 295 THE BROKEN HEART. He is stark mad, whoever says, That he hath been in love an hour ; Yet not that love so soon decays, But that it can ten in less space devour ; Who will believe me, if I swear That I have had the plague a year ? Who would not laugh at me, if I should say, I saw a flash of powder burn a day ? Ah I what a trifle is a heart. If once into Love's hands it come ! All other griefs allow a part To other griefs, and ask themselves but some. They come to us, but us love draws. He swallows us, and never chaws : By him, as by chained shot, whole ranks do die ; He is the tyrant pike, our hearts the fry. If 't were not so, what did become Of my heart, when I first saw thee ? I brought a heart into the room. But from the room I carried none with me : If it had gone to thee, I know Mine would have taught thy heart to show More pity unto me : but Love, alas, At one first blow did shiver it as glass. 296 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Yet nothing can to nothing fall, Nor any place be empty quite. Therefore I think my breast hath all Those pieces still, though they be not unite And now, as broken glasses show A hundred lesser faces, so My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore, But after one such Love can love no more. A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING, As virtuous men pass mildly away. And whisper to their souls to go, Whilst some of their sad friends, do say, The breath goes now, and some say no ; So let us melt, and make no noise, No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move, 'T were profanation of our joys, To tell the laity our love. Moving of the earth brings harms and fears, Men reckon what it did and meant ; But trepidation of the spheres, Though greater far, is innocent. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 297 Dull sublunary Lovers' love (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit Absence, because it doth remove Those things which elemented it. But we by a love so much refined, That ourselves know not what it is, Inter-assured of the mind, Care less eyes, lips, and hands to miss. Our two souls, therefore, which are one, ~1 Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat. If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two; Thy soul, the fixt foot, makes no show To move, but doth if the other do. And though it in the centre sit. Yet when the other far doth roam. It leans and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must. Like the other foot, obliquely run. Thy firmness makes my circle just. And makes me end where I begun. / L — — J 298 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. THE ECSTASY. Where, like a pillow on a bed, A pregnant bank swelled up, to rest The violet's reclining head. Sate we two, one another's best ; Our hands were firmly cemented By a fast balm, which thence did spring, Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread Our eyes upon one double string ; So to engraft our hands as yet Was all the means to make us one, And pictures in our eyes to get Was all our propagation. A.S 'twixt two equal armies Fate Suspends uncertain victory. Our souls (which, to advance oijr state. Were gone out) hung 'twixt her and me; And whilst our souls negotiate there, We like sepulchral statues lay. All day the same our postures were. And we said nothing all the day. If any, so by love refined. That he soul's language understood, And by good love were grown all mind. Within convenient distance stood. He (though he knew not which soul spake, Because both meant, both spake the same) POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 299 Miojlit thence a new concoction take, And part far purer than he came. This ecstasy doth unperplex (We said) and tell us what we love ; We see by this, it was not sex, We see we saw not what did move : But as all several souls contain Mixture of things they know not what, Love these mixt souls doth mix again. And makes both one, each this and that, A single violet transplant. The strength, the color, and the size (All which before was poor and scant) Redoubles still and multiplies. When love with one another so Inter-animates two souls. That abler soul, which thence doth flow, Defects of loneliness controls. We then, who are this new soul, know Of what we are composed and made ; For the atomies, of which we grow. Are soul, whom no change can invade. But, O alas ! so long, so far Our bodies why do we forbear ? They are ours, though not we ; we are The intelligences, they the spheres, We owe them thanks, because they thus Did us to us at first convey. Yielded their sense's force to us, Nor are dross to us, but allay. 300 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. On man heaven's influence works not so, But that it first imprints the air ; For soul into the soul may flow, Though it to body first repair. As our blood labors to beget Spirits, as like souls as it can. Because such fingers need to knit That subtile knot which makes us man ; So must pure Lovers' souls descend To affections and to faculties. Which sense may reach and apprehend, Else a great prince in prison lies ; To our bodies turn we then, that so Weak men on love revealed may look ; Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book ; And if some lover, such as we. Have heard this dialogue of one, Let him still mark us, he shall see Small change, when we 're to bodies grown. LOVE'S DEITY. I LONG to talk with some old lover's ghost. Who died before the god of Love was born'; I cannot think that he, who then loved most. Sunk so low, as to love one which did scorn. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 301 But since this god produced a destiny, And that vice-nature, custom, lets it be, I must love her that loves not me. Sure they, which made him god, meant not so much, Nor he in his young godhead practised it ; But when an even flame two hearts did touch, His office was indulgently to fit Actives to passives, correspondency Only his subject was ; it cannot be Love, if I love who loves not me. But every modern god will now extend His vast prerogative^as far as Jove ; To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend. All is the purlieu of the god of Love. Oh were we wakened by this tyranny To ungod this child again, it could not be I should love her, who loves not me. Rebel and atheist too, why murmur I As though I felt the worst that love could do ? Love may make me leave loving, or might try A deeper plague, to make her love me too, Which, since she loves before, I 'm loath to see ; Falsehood is worse than hate ; and that must be. If she whom I love, should love me. 302 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS, LOVE'S DIET. To what a cumbersome unwieldiness And burdenous corpulence my love had grown, But that I did, to make it less. And keep it in proportion, Give it a diet, made it feed upon, That which love worst endures, discretion. Above one sigh a day I allowed him not, Of which my fortune and my faults had part ; And if sometimes by stealth he got A she sigh from my mistress' heart. And thought to feast on that, I let him see 'T was neither very sound, nor meant to me. If he wrung from me a tear, I brined it so With scorn or shame, that him it nourished not ; If he sucked hers, I let him know 'T was not a tear, which he had got. His drink was counterfeit, as was his meat ; For eyes, which roll towards all, weep not, but sweat. Whatever he would dictate, I writ that. But burnt her letters, when she writ to me ; And if that savor made him fat, I said, if any title be POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 303 Conveyed by this, Ah ! what doth it avail To be the fortieth name in an entail ? Thus I reclaimed my buzzard love, to fly At what, and when, and how, and where I choose ; Now negligent of sport I lie, And now, as other falconers use, I spring a mistress, swear, write, sigh, and weep, And the game killed, or lost, go talk or sleep. THE WILL. Before I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe, Great Love, some legacies ; here I bequeathe Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see ; If they be blind, then. Love, I give them thee ; My tongue to Fame ; to embassadors mine ears ; To women, or the sea, my tears ; Thou, Love, hast taught me heretofore By making me serve her who had twenty more, That I should give to none, but such as had too much before. My constancy I to the planets give ; My truth to them who at the court do live ; Mine ingenuity and openness To Jesuits ; to buffoons my pensiveness ; 304 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. My silence to any who abroad have been ; My money to a Capuchin. Thou, Love, taught'st me, by appointing me To love there, where no love received can be, Only to give to such as have an incapacity.* My faith I give to Roman Catholics ; All my good works unto the schismatics Of Amsterdam ; my best civility And courtship to a University ; My modesty I give to soldiefs bare ; My patience let gamesters share; Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me Love her, that holds my love disparity, Only to give to those that count my gifts indignity. I give my reputation to those Which were my friends ; mine industry to foes ; To schoolmen I bequeathe my doubtfulness ; My sickness to physicians, or excess ; To Nature all, that I in rhyme have writ ; And to my company my wit. Thou, Love, by making me adore Her, who begot this love in me before, Taught'st me to make, as though I gave, when I do but restore. To him, for whom the passing-bell next tolls, I give my physic-books ; my written rolls *Vai: no good capacity. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 305 Of moral counsels I to Bedlam give ; My brazen medals unto them which live In want of bread ; to them which pass among All foreigners, mine English tongue ; Thou, Love, by making me love one Who thinks her friendship a fit portion [tion. For younger lovers, dost my gifts thus dispropor- Therefore I '11 give no more, but I '11 undo The world by dying ; because love dies too. Then all your beauties will be no more worth Than gold in mines, where none doth draw it forth ; And all your graces no more use shall have, Than a sundial in a grave. "^ Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me Love her, who doth neglect both me and thee, To invent and practice this one way to annihilate all three. THE FUNERAL. Whoever comes to shroud rae, do not harm Nor question much That subtle wreath of hair which crowns mine arm ; The mystery, the sign you must not touch, 20 306 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. For 't is my outward soul, Viceroy to that, which unto heaven being gone, Will leave this to control And keep these limbs, her provinces, from disso- lution. For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall Through every part. Can tie those parts, and make me one of all ; Those hairs, which upward grew, and strength and art Have from a better brain. Can better do 't : except she meant that I By this should know my pain. As prisoners then are manacled, when they 're con- demned to die. Whate'er she meant by 't, bury it with me ; For since I am Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry, K into other hands these relics came. As 't was humility To afford to it all that a soul can do. So 't is some bravery. That, since you would have none of me, I bury some of you. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 307 THE BLOSSOM. Little think'st thou, poor flower, Whom I have watched six or seven days. And seen thy birth, and seen what every hour Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to raise, And now dost laugh and triumph on this bough, Little think'st thou That it will freeze anon, and that I shall To-morrow find thee fallen, or not at all. Little think'st thou poor heart. That laborest yet to nestle thee, And think'st by hovering here to get a part In a forbidden or forbidding tree. And hop'st her stiffness by long siege to bow. Little think'st thou. That thou to-morrow, ere the sun doth wake, Must with this sun and me a journey take. But thou which lov'st to be Subtle to plague thyself, wilt say, Alas ! if you must go, what 's that to me ? Here lies my business, and here I will stay : You go to friends, whose love and means present Various content To your eyes, ears, and taste, and every part ; If then your body go, what need your heart ? 308 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Well, then stay here : but know, When thou hast stayed and done thy most, A naked thinking heart, that makes no show, Is to a woman but a kind of ghost ; How shall she know my heart, or, having none, Know thee for one ? Practice may make her know some other part, But take my word, she doth not know a heart. Meet me at London, then, Twenty days hence, and thou shalt see Me fresher and more fat, by being with men, Than if I had stayed still with her and thee. For God's sake, if you can, be you so too ; I will give you There to another friend, whom we shall find As glad to have my body as my mind. THE PRIMROSE, BEING AT MONTGOMERY CASTLE, UPON THE HILL, ON WHICH IT IS SITUATE. Upon this primrose hill, (Where if Heaven would distil A shower of rain, each several drop might go To his own primrose, and grow manna so, POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 309 And where their form and their infinity Make a terrestrial galaxy, As the small stars do in the sky,) I walk to find a true-love ; and I see That 't is not a mere woman, that is she, But must or more or less than woman be. Yet know I not, which flower I wish ; a six, or four ; For should my true-love less than woman be, She were scarce anything ; and then, should she Be more than woman, she would get above All thought of sex, and think to move My heart to study her, not to love ; Both these were monsters; since there must reside Falsehood in woman, I could more abide. She were by art, than nature falsified. Live, primrose, then, and thrive With thy true number five ; And women, whom this flower doth represent, With this mysterious number be content; Ten is the farthest number ; if half ten Belongs unto each woman, then Each woman may take half us men : Or if this will not serve their turn, since all Numbers are odd or even, since they fall First into five, women may take us all. 310 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. THE RELIC. When my grave is broke up again Some second guest to entertain, (For graves have learned that woman-head, To be to more than one a bed,) And he, that digs it, spies A bracelet of bright hair about the bone, Will he not let us alone. And think that there a loving couple lies. Who thought that this device might be some way To make their souls, at the last busy day, Meet at this grave, and make a little stay ? If this fall in a time, or land, ' Where * mis-devotion doth command, Then he, that digs us up, will bring Us to the Bishop or the King, To make us relics ; then Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I A something else thereby ; All women shall adore lis, and some men ; And since at such time miracles are sought, I would have that age by this paper taught What miracles we harmless lovers wrought. First we loved well and faithfully. Yet knew not what we loved, nor why ; * Var. mass. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 311 Difference of sex we never knew, No more than guardian angels do ; Coming and going we Perchance might kiss, but yet between those meals Our hands ne'er toucht the seals, Which nature, injured by late law, set free : These miracles we did ; but now, alas ! All measure and all language I should pass, Should I tell what a miracle she was. THE DAMP. When I am dead, and doctors know not why. And my friends' curiosity Will have me cut up, to survey each part, When they shall find your picture in my heart, You think a sudden damp of love Will through all their senses move, And work on them as me, and so prefer Your murder to the name of massacre. Poor victories ! but if you dare be brave. And pleasure in your conquest have, First kill the enormous giant, your Disdain, And let the enchantress Honor next be slain ; 312 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. And like a Goth or Vandal rise, Deface records and histories Of your own arts and triumphs over men : And without such advantage kill me then. For I could muster up, as well as you, My giants and my witches too. Which are vast Constancy, and Secretness, But these I neither look for nor profess. Kill me as woman, let me die As a mere man ; do you but try Your passive valor, and you shall find then, Naked you 've odds enough of any man. THE DISSOLUTION. She 's dead, and all which die, To their first elements resolve ; And we were mutual elements to us. And made of one another. My body then doth hers involve. And those things, whereof I consist, hereby In me abundant grow and burdenous. And nourish not, but smother. My fire of passion, siglis of air. Water of tears, and earthy sad despair, POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 313 Which my materials be, (But near worn out by Love's security,) She, to my loss, doth by her death repair ; And I might live long wretched so. But that my fire doth with my fuel grow. Now as those active kings, Whose foreign conquest treasure brings, Receive more, and spend more, and soonest break ; This (which I am amazed that I can speak) This death hath with my store My use increased ; And so my soul, more earnestly released. Will outstrip hers ; as bullets flown before, A later bullet may o'ertake,the powder beingmore. A JET RING SENT. Thou art not so black as my heart, Nor half so brittle as her heart thou art ; What wouldst thou say ? shall both our proper- ties by thee be spoke ? Nothing more endless, nothing sooner broke. Marriage rings are not of this stuff ; Oh ! why should aught less precious, or less tough 314 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Figure our loves ? except in thy name thou have bid it say, I *m cheap and naught but fashion, fling me away. Yet stay with me, since thou art come, Circle this finger's top, which didst her thumb : Be justly proud, and gladly safe, that thou dost dwell with me ; She that, oh ! broke her faith, would soon break thee. NEGATIVE LOVE. I NEVER Stooped so low as they. Which on an eye, cheek, lip, can prey ; Seldom to them, which soar no higher Than virtue or the mind to admire For sense and understanding may Know what gives fuel to their fire : My Love, though silly, is more brave, For may I miss, whene'er I crave. If I know yet what I would have. If that be simply perfectest. Which can by no way be exprest POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 315 But negatives, my love is so. To all, which all love, I say no. If any, who deciphers best, What we know not (ourselves) can know, Let him teach me that nothing. This As yet my ease and comfort is, Though I speed not, I cannot miss. THE PROHIBITION. Take heed of loving me, At least remember, I forbad it thee ; Not that I shall repair my unthrifty waste Of breath and blood, upon thy sighs and tears, By being to thee then what to me thou wast ; But so great joy our life at once outwears : Then lest thy love by my death frustrate be If thou love me, take heed of loving me. Take heed of hating me, Or too much triumph in the victory ; ISiot that I shall be mine own officer, And hate with hate again retaliate ; But thou wilt lose the style of conqueror, If I, thy conquest, perish by thy hate : Then, lest my being nothing lessen thee, h" thou hate me, take heed of hating me. 316 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Yet love and hate me too. So these extremes shall ne'er their office do ; Love me, that I may die the gentler way : Hate me, because thy love '& too great for me Or let these two themselves, not me, decay : So sliall I live thy stage, not triumph be : Then lest thy love thou hate, and me undo, O let me live, yet love and hate me too. THE EXPIRATION. So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss. Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away : Turn thou, ghost, that way, and let me turn this^ And let ourselves benight our happiest day ; We ask none leave to love ; nor will we owe Any so cheap a death, as saying, go. Go ; and if that word have not quite killed thee, Ease me with death, by bidding me go too ; Or if it have, let my word work on me. And a just office on a murderer do ; Except it be too late to kill me so, Being double dead, going, and bidding go. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 317 THE COMPUTATION. For my first twenty years, since yesterday, I scarce believed thou could'st be gone away ; For forty more I fed on favors past. And forty on hopes, that thou would'st they might last. Tears drowned one hundred, and sighs blew out two ; A thousand I did neither think, nor do. Or not divide, all being one thought of you : Or in a thousand more forgot that too. Yet call not this long life ; but think, that I Am, by being dead, immortal ; can ghosts die ? THE PARADOX. No lover saith, I love, nor any other Can judge a perfect lover ; He thinks that else none can or will agree, That any loves but he : I cannot say I loved, for who can say He was killed yesterday ? Love, with excess of heat, more young than old ; Death kills with too much cold ; 318 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. We die but once, and who loved last did die, He that saith twice, doth lie : For though he seem to move, and stir awhile, It doth the sense beguile. Such life is like the light, which bideth yet, When the life's light is set. Or like the heat, which fire in solid matter Leaves behind two hours after. Once I love and died ; and am now become Mine epitaph and tomb. Here dead men speak their last, and so do I ; Love-slain, lo, here I die. SONG. Soul's joy, now I am gone. And you alone, (Which cannot be, Since I must leave myself with thee, And carry thee with me,) Yet when unto our eyes Absence denies Each other's sight. And makes to us a constant night. When others change to light : give no way to grief. But let belief POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 319 Of mutual love, This wonder to the vulgar prove, Our bodies, not we, move. Let not thy wit beweep Words, but sense deep ; For when we miss By distance our hopes-joining bliss, Ev'n then our souls shall kiss : Fools have no means to meet. But by their feet ; Why should our clay Over our spirits so much sway, To tie us to that way ? O give no way to grief, But let belief Of mutual love. This wonder to the vulgar prove, Our bodies, not we, move. FAREWELL TO LOVE. Whilst yet to prove I thought there was some deity in Love, So did I reverence, and gave Worship, as atheists, at their dying hour. Call, what they cannot name, an unknown power, As ignorantly did I crave : 320 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Thus when Things not yet known are coveted by men. Our desires give them fashion, and so. As they wax lesser, fall, as they size, grow. But from late fair His Highness (sitting in a golden chair) Is not less cared for after three days By children, than the thing, which lovers so Blindly admire, and with such worship woo : Being had, enjoying it decays ; And thence, What before pleased them all, takes but one sense, And that so lamely, as it leaves behind A kind of sorrowing dulness to the mind. Ah ! cannot we. As well as cocks and lions, jocund be After such pleasures ? unless wise Nature decreed (since each such act, they say, Diminisheth the length of life a day) This ; as she would man should despise The sport. Because that other curse of being short. And only for a minute made to be Eager, desires to raise posterity. Since so, my mind Shall not desire what no man else can find, I '11 no more dote and run POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 321 To pursue things, which had endamaged me. And when I come where moving beauties be, As men do, when the summer sun Grows great. Though I admire their greatness, shun their heat ; Each place can afford shadows. If all fail, 'T is but applying worm-seed to the tail. SONG. Dear Love, continue nice and chaste, For if you yield, you do me wrong ; Let duller wits to love's end haste, I have enough to woo thee long. All pain and joy is in their way ; The things we fear bring less annoy Than fear, and hope brings greater joy ; But in themselves they cannot stay. Small favors will my prayers increase ; Granting my suit, you give me all ; And then my prayers must needs surcease, For I have made your Godhead fall. Beasts cannot wit nor beauty see. They man's affections only move: 21 322 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. Beasts other sports of love do prove, With better feeling far than we. Then, Love, prolong my suit ; for thus By losing sport, I sports do win : And that doth virtue prove in us, Which ever yet hath been a sin. My coming near may spy some ill, And now the world is giv'n to scoff: To keep my love (then) keep me off. And so I shall admire thee still. Say, I have made a perfect choice ; Satiety ourselves may kill : Then give me but thy face and voice. Mine eye and ear thou canst not fill. To make me rich (oh) be not poor, Give me not all, yet something lend ; So I shall still my suit commend, And you at will do less or more. But if to all you condescend. My Love, our sport, your Godhead end. POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 323 A LECTURE UPON THE SHADOW. Stand still, and I will read to thee A lecture, Love, in love's philosophy. These three hours that we have spent Walking here, two shadows went Along with us, which we ourselves produced ; But now the sun is just above our head, We do those shadows tread ; And to brave clearness all things are re- duced. So whilst our infant loves did grow Disguises did and shadows flow From us and our cares : but now 't is not so. That love hath not attained the high'st degree, Which is still diligent lest others see ; Except our loves at this noon stay. We shall new shadows make the other way. As the first were made to blind Others ; these, which come behind, Will work upon ourselves, and blind our eyes. If our loves faint, and westwardly decline ; To me thou falsely thine. And I to thee mine actions shall dis- guise. The morning shadows wear away, 324 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. But these grow longer all the day : But oh ! love's day is short, if love decay, Love is a growing, or full constant light ; And his short minute, after noon, is night. THE TOKEN. Send me some tokens, that my hope may live, Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest ; Send me some honey, to make sweet my hive. That in my passions I may hope the best. I beg nor ribbon wrought with thy own hands. To knit our loves in the fantastic strain [stands Of new-touched youth ; nor ring to show the Of our affection, that, as that's round and plain, So should our loves meet in simplicity ; No, nor the corals, which thy wrist infold, Laced up together in congruity, [hold ; To show our thoughts should rest in the same No, nor thy picture, though most gracious. And most desired, 'cause 't is like the best ; Nor witty lines, which are most copious. Within the writings, which thou hast addrest. Send me nor this, nor that, t' increase my score ; [more. But swear thou think'st I love thee, and no THE END OF THE SONGS AND SONNETS. 325 He that cannot choose but love, And strives against it still, Never shall my fancy move, For he loves against his will. Nor he which is all his own, And cannot pleasure choose ; When I am caught, he can be gone. And, when he list, refuse. Nor he that loves none but fair. For such by all are sought ; Nor he that can for foul ones care, For his judgment then is naught. Nor he that hath wit, for he Will make me his jest or slave ; Nor a fool, for when others .... He can neither .... Nor he that still his mistress prays, For she is thralled therefore ; Nor he that pays not, for he says Within she 's worth no more. Is there then no kind of men. Whom I may freely prove ? I will vent that humor then In this mine own self-love. 326 EPIGRAMS. HERO AND LEANDER. Both robbed of air, we both lie in one ground, Both whom one fire had burnt, one water drowned. PYKAMUS AND THISBE. Two by themselves each other love and fear ; Slain, cruel friends, by parting, have joined here. By children's births and death I am become So dry, that I am now mine own sad tomb. A BURNT SHIP. Out of a fired ship, which, by no way But drowning, could be rescued from the flame, Some men leaped forth, and ever as they came Near the foe's ships, did by their shot decay ; So all were lost, which in the ship were found, They in the sea being burnt, they in the burnt ship drowned. FALL OF A WALL. Under an undermined and shot-bruised wall A too bold captain perished by the fall, Whose brave misfortune happiest men envied, That had a tower for tomb his bones to hide. EPIGRAMS. 32/ A LAME BEGGAR. I am unable, yondei* beggar cries, To stand or move ; if he say true, he lies. A SELF-ACCUSER. Your Mistress, that you follow whores, still taxeth you; 'T is strange that she should thus confess it, though 't be true. A LICENTIOUS PERSON. Thy sins and hairs may no man equal call ; For as thy sins increase, thy hairs do fall. ANTIQUARY. If in his study he hath so much care To hang old strange things, let his wife beware. DISINHERITED. Thy father all from thee by his last will Gave to the poor ; thou hast good title still. Thy flattering picture, Phryne, 's like to thee Only in this, that you both painted be. AN OBSCURE WRITER. Philo with twelve years study hath been grieved To be understood ; when will he be beheved ? Klokius so deeply hath sworn ne'er more to come In bawdy-house, that he dares not go home. 328 EPIGRAMS. EADERUS. "Why this man-gelded Martia>, I amuse ; Except himself alone his tricks would use, [stews. As Katherine, for the Court's sake, put down • MERCURIUS GALLO-BELGICUS. Like Esop's fellow slaves, Mercury, Which could do all things, thy faith is ; and I Like Esop's self, which nothing ; I confess, I should have had more faith, if thou hadst less; Thy credit lost thy credit : 'T is sin to do, In this case, as thou would'st be done unto, To believe all : Change thy name ; thou art like Mercury in stealing, but liest like a Greek, Compassion in the world again is bred : Ralphius is sick, the broker keeps his bed. TRANSLATED OUT OF GAZ^EUS, VOTA AMICO FACTA. FOL. 160, God grant thee thine own wish, and grant thee mine, [shine ; Thou, who dost, best friend, in best things out- Ma}'' thy soul, ever cheerful, ne'er know cares ; Nor thy life, ever lively, know gray hairs ; Nor thy hand, ever open, know base holds ; Nor thy purse, ever plump, know plaits or folds; Nor thy tongue, ever true, know a false thing ; Nor thy words, ever mild, know quarrelling ; Nor thy works, ever equal, know disguise; Nor thy fame, ever pure, knov.' contumelies ; Nor thy prayers know low objects, still divine ; God grant thee thine own wish, and grant thee mine. 329 ELEGIES. ELEGY I. JEALOUSY. Fqnd woman, which would'st have thy husband die, And yet complain'st of his great jealousy : If swoln with poison he lay in his last bed, His body with a cere-cloth covered, Drawing his breath, as thick and short as can The nimblest crotcheting musician, Ready with loathsome vomiting to spew His soul out of one hell into a new, Made deaf with his poor kindred's howling cries, Begging with few feigned tears great legacies, Thou would'st not weep, but jolly and frolic be, As a slave, which to-morrow should be free ; Yet weep'st thou, when thou seest him hungerly Swallow his own death, heart's-bane jealousy. O give him many thanks, he 's courteous, That in suspecting kindly warneth us ; We must not, as we used, flout openly, 330 ELEGIES. In scoffing riddles, his deformity, Nor, at his board together being sat, With words, nor touch, scarce looks, adulterate. Nor, when he, swoln and pampered with high fare Sits down and snorts, caged in his basket-chair, - Must we usurp his own bed any more. Nor kiss and play in his house, as before. Now do I see my danger ; for it is His realm, his castle, and his diocese. But if (as envious men, which would revile Their Prince, or coin his gold, themselves exile Into another country and do it there) We play in another's house, what should we fear ? There will we scorn his household policies, His silly plots and pensionary spies ; As the inhabitants of Thames' right side Do London's Mayor, or Germans the Pope's pride. ELEGIES. 331 ELEGY 11. THE ANAGRAM. Marry, and love thy Flavia, for she Hath all things, whereby others beauteous be ; For though her eyes be small, her mouth is great ; Though theirs be ivory, yet her teeth be jet ; Though they be dim, yet she is light enough, And though her harsh hair fall, her skin is tough ; What though her cheeks be yellow, her hair 's red, Give her thine, and she hath a maidenhead. These things are beauty's elements ; where these Meet in one, that one must, as perfect, please. If red and white, and each good quality Be in thy wench, ne'er ask where it doth lie. In buying things perfumed, we ask if there Be musk and amber in it, but not where. Though all her parts be not in the usual place, She hath yet the anagram of a good face. If we might put the letters but one way, In that lean dearth of words, what could we say ? When by the gamut some musicians make A perfect song, others will undertake. By the same gamut changed, to equal it. Things simply good can never be unfit ; 832 ELEGIES. She 's fair as any, if all be like her ; And if none be, then she is singular. All love is wonder ; if we justly do Account her wonderful, why not lovely too ? Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies ; Choose this face, changed by no deformities. Women are all like angels ; the fair be Like those, which fell to worse : but such as she, Like to good angels, nothing can impair : 'Tis less grief to be foul, than to have been fair. For one night's revels silk and gold we choose, But in long journeys cloth and leather use. Beauty is barren oft ; best husbands say, There is best land, where there is foulest way. Oh what a sovereign plaster will slie be, If thy past sins have taught thee jealousy ! Here needs no spies nor eunuchs, her commit Safe to thy foes, yea, to a Marmosit. When Belgia's cities the round country drowns, That dirty foulness guards and arms the towns ; So doth her face guard her ; and so for thee, Who, forced by business, absent oft must be ; She, whose face, like clouds, turns the day to night. Who, mightier than the sea, makes Moors seem white ; Whom, though seven years she in the stews had laid, A nunnery durst receive, and think a maid ; ELEGIES. 333 And though in childbirth's labour she did lie, Midwives would swear, 't were but a tympany ; Whom, if she accuse herself, I credit less Than witches, which impossibles confess. One like none, and liked of none, fittest were ; For things in fashion every man will wear. ELEGY m. CHANGE. Although thy hand and faith and good works too Have sealed thy love, which nothing should undo ; Yea, though thou fall back, that apostasy Confirms thy love ; yet much, much I fear thee. Women are like the arts, forced unto none, Open to all searchers, unprized if unknown. If I have caught a bird, and let him fly. Another fowler, using those means as I, May catch the same bird ; and, as these things be, Women are made for men, not him, nor me. Foxes and goats, all beasts change, when they please. Shall women, more hot, wily, wild, than these, Be bound to one man ? and did nature then Idly make them apter to endure than men ? ,334 ELEGIES. They 're our clogs, not their own ; if a man be Chained to a galley, yet the galley's free. Who hath a plough-land, casts all his seed-corn there, And yet allows his ground more corn should bear ; Though Danuby into the sea must flow, The sea receives the Rhine, Volga, and Po, By nature, which gave it this liberty. Thou lov'st, but oh ! can'st thou love it and me ? Likeness glues love ; and if that thou so do. To make us like and love, must I change too ? More than thy hate, I hate it ; rather let me Allow her change, than change as oft as she ; And so not teach, but force my opinion, To love not any one, nor every one. To live in one land is captivity, To run all countries a wild roguery ; Waters sj:ink soon, if in one place they abide, And in the vast sea are more putrefied : But when they kiss one bank, and leaving this Never look back, but the next bank do kiss. Then are they purest ; Change is the nursery Of music, joy, life, and eternity. ELEGIES. 335 ELEGY IV. THE PERFUME. Once, and but once, found in thy company, All thy supposed 'scapes are laid on me ; And as a thief at bar is questioned there By all the men that have been robbed that year, So am I (by this traitorous means surprised) By thy hydroptic father catechized. Though he had wont to search with glazed eyes. As though he came to kill a cockatrice ; Though he hath oft sworn that he would remove Thy beauty's beauty, and food of our love, Hope of his goods, if I with thee were seen ; Yet close and secret, as our souls, we 've been. Though thy immortal mother, which doth lie Still buried in her bed, yet will not die, Takes this advantage to sleep out daylight, And watch thy entries and returns all night ; And when she takes thy hand, and would seem kind. Doth search what rings and armlets she can find ; And kissing notes the color of thy face, And, fearing lest thou 'rt swoln, doth thee embrace ; And, to try if thou long, doth name strange meats, And notes thy paleness, blushes, sighs, and sweats, 336 ELEGIES. And politicly will to thee confess The sins of her own youth's rank lustiness ; Yet love these sorceries did remove, and move Thee to gull thine own mother for my love. Thy little brethren, which like fairy sprites Oft skipt into our chamber those sweet nights, And kissed, and ingled on thy father's knee, Were bribed next day to tell what they did see : The grim eight-foot-high iron-bound serving-man, That oft names God in oaths, and only than. He that to bar the first gate doth as wide As the great Rhodian Colossus stride, Which, if in hell no other pains there were, Makes me fear hell, because he must be there: Though by thy father he were hired to this. Could never witness any touch or kiss. But, O ! to common ill, I brought with me That, which betrayed me to mine enemy, — A loud perfume, which at my entrance cried Ev'n at thy father's nose, — so were we spied. When, like a tyrant king, that in his bed Smelt gunpowder, the pale wretch shivered ; Had it been some bad smell, he would have thought That his own feet or breath the smell had wrought ; But as we in our isle imprisoned. Where cattle only and divers dogs are bred. The precious unicorns strange monsters call. So thought he sweet strange, that had none at all. T taught my silks their whistling to forbear, ELEGIES. 337 Ev'n my opprest shoes dumb and speechless were : Only, thou bitter sweet, whom I had laid Next me, me traitorously hast betrayed, And, unsuspected, hast invisibly At once fled unto him, and stayed with me. Base excrement of earth, which dost confound Sense from distinguishing the sick from sound ; By thee the silly amorous sucks his death, By drawing in a leprous harlot's breath ; By thee the greatest stain to man's estate Falls on us, — to be called effeminate ; Though you be much loved in the Prince's hall, There things, that seem, exceed substantial. Gods, when ye fumed on altars, were pleased well. Because you were burnt, not that they liked your smell. You 're loathsome all, being taken simply alone, Shall we love ill things joined, and hate each one ? If you were good, your good doth soon decay ; And you are rare, that takes the good away. All my perfumes I give most willingly T' enbalm thy father's corse ; What ? will he die? 22 338 ELEGIES. ELEGY V. HIS PICTUKE. Here take my picture ; though I bid farewell : Thine in my heart, where my soul dwells, shall dwell, 'T is like me now, but, I dead, 't will be more, When we are shadows both, than 't was before. When weather-beaten I come back ; my hand Perhaps with rude oars torn, or sunbeams tann'd ; My face and breast of haircloth, and my head With care's harsh sudden hoariness o'erspread ; My body a sack of bones, broken within, And powder's blue stains scattered on my skin : If rival fools tax thee to have loved a man So foul and coarse, as, oh ! I may seem then. This shall say what I was : and thou shalt say, Do his hurts reach me ? doth my worth decay ? Or do they reach his judging mind, that he Should now love less, what he did love to see ? That which in him was fair and delicate, Was but the milk, which in love's childish state Did nurse it : who now is grown strong enough To feed on that, which to weak tastes seems tough. ELEGIES. 339 ELEGY VI. Oh ! let me not serve so, as those men serve, Whom honor's smokes at once fatten * and starve, Poorly enricht with great men's words or looks ; Nor so write my name in thy loving books, As those idolatrous flatterers, which still Their Prince's styles with many realms t fulfill, Whence they no tribute have, and wherej no sway. Such services I offer as shall pay Themselves ; I hate dead names : oh then let me Favorite in ordinary, or no favorite be. When my soul was in her own body sheathed. Nor yet by oaths betrothed, nor kisses breathed Into my purgatory, faithless thee ; Thy heart seemed wax, and steel thy constancy : So careless flowers, strewn on the water's face. The curled whirlpools suck, smack, and embrace, Yet drown them ; so the taper's beamy eye, Amorously twinkling, beckons the giddy fly. Yet burns his wings ; and such the Devil is. Scarce visiting them who are entirely his. When I behold a stream, which from the spring Doth with doubtful melodious murmuring, * Var. flatter. f Va,'''- names. f Var. bear. 840 ELEGIES. Or in a speechless slumber calmly ride Her wedded channel's bosom, and then * chide And bend her brows and swell, if any bough Do but stoop down to kiss her upmost brow, Yet if her often-gnawing kisses win The traitorous banks to gape and let her in, She rusheth violently and doth divorce Her from her native and her long-kept course. And roars and braves it and in gallant scorn, In flattering eddies promising return, She flouts her channel which thenceforth is dry ; Then say I, that is she, and this am I. Yet let not thy deep bitterness beget Careless despair in me, for that will whet My mind to scorn ; and, oh ! Love dulled with pain. Was ne'er so wise, nor well armed, as Disdain. Then with new eyes- 1 shall survey thee and spy Death in thy cheeks, and darkness in thine eye: Though hope breed faith and love, thus taught, I shall. As nations do from Rome, from thy love fall ; My hate shall outgrow thine, and utterly I will renounce thy dalliance : and when I Am the recusant, in that resolute state What hurts it me to be excommunicate? *Var. these, i ELEGIES. 341 ELEGY Vn. Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love, And in that sophistry, oh ! thou dost prove Too subtile ! Fool, thou didst not understand The mystic language of the eye nor hand : Nor could'st thou judge the difference of the air Of sighs, and say, this lies, this sounds despair : Nor by the eye's water know a malady Desperately hot, or changing feverously. I had not taught thee then the alphabet Of flowers, how they, devicefully being set And bound up, might with speechless secrecy Deliver errands mutely and mutually. Remember, since all thy words used to be To every suitor. Ay, if my friends agree ; Since household charms, thy husband's name to teach. Were all the love-tricks that thy wit could reach ; And since an hour's discourse could scarce have made One answer in thee, and that ill-arrayed In broken proverbs and torn sentences ; Thou art not by so many duties his, (That, from the w^orld's common having severed thee. Inlaid thee, neither to be seen, nor see,) 342 ELEGIES. As mine, who have with amorous delicacies Refined thee into a blissful paradise. Thy graces and good works my creatures be, I planted knowledge and life's tree in thee, Which, oh! shall strangers taste? Must I, alas! Frame and enamel plate,*and drink in glass ? Chafe wax for other's seals ? break a colt's force, And leave him then being made a ready horse ? ELEGY Vm. THE COMPARISON. As the sweet sweat of roses in a still, As that, which from chafed muskcat's pores doth trill. As the almighty balm of the early East, Such are the sweat-drops of my mistress' breast ; And on her neck her skin such lustre sets. They seem no sweat-drops, but pearl coronets. Rank sweaty froth thy mistress' brow defiles. Like spermatic issue of ripe menstruous boils ; Or like the scum, which, by need's lawless law Enforced, Sanserra's starved men did draw From parboiled shoes and boots, and all the rest, Which were with any sovereign fatness blest ; ELEGIES. 343 And like vile lying stones in saffroned tin, Or warts, or weals, it hangs upon her skin. Round as the world 's her head,' on every side, Like to the fatal ball which fell on Ide : Or that, whereof God had such jealousy, As for the ravishing thereof w^e die. Thy head is like a rough-hewn statue of jet, Where marks for eyes, nose, mouth, are yet scarce set ; Like the first Chaos, or flat seeming face Of Cynthia, when the earth's shadows her embrace. Like Proserpine's white beauty-keeping chest, Or Jove's best fortune's urn, is her fair breast. Thine 's like worm-eaten trunks clothed in seal's skin, Or grave, that 's dust without, and stink within. And like that slender stalk, at whose end stands The woodbine quivering, are her arms and hands. Like rough-barked elm-boughs, or the russet skin Of men late scourged for madness or for sin ; Like sun-parched quarters on the city gate. Such is thy tanned skin's lamentable state : And like a bunch of ragged carrots stand The short swollen fingers of thy mistress' hand. Then like the chymlc's masculine equal fire, Which in the limbec's warm womb doth inspire Into the earth's worthless dirt a soul of gold, Such cherishing heat her best-loved part doth hold. Thine 's like the dread mouth of a fired gun, Or like hot liquid metals newly run ,334 ELEGIES. They 're our clogs, not their own ; if a man be Chained to a galley, yet the galley's free. Who hath a plough-land, casts all his seed-corn there. And yet allows his ground more corn should bear ; Though Danuby into the sea must flow, The sea receives the Rhine, Volga, and Po, By nature, which gave it this liberty. Thou lov'st, but oh ! can'st thou love it and me ? Likeness glues love ; and if that thou so do, To make us like and love, must I change too ? More than thy hate, I hate it ; rather let me Allow her change, than change as oft as she ; And so not teach, but force my opinion, To love not any one, nor every one. To live in one land is captivity, To run all countries a wild roguery ; Waters sj:ink soon, if in one place they abide, And in the vast sea are more putrefied : But when they kiss one bank, and leaving this Never look back, but the next bank do kiss, Then are they purest ; Change is the nursery Of music, joy, life, and eternity. ELEGIES. 335 ELEGY IV. THE PERFUME. Once, and but once, found in thy company, All thy supposed 'scapes are laid on me ; And as a thief at bar is questioned there By all the men that have been robbed that year, So am I (by this traitorous means surprised) By thy hydroptic father catechized. Though he had wont to search with glazed eyes, As though he came to kill a cockatrice ; Though he hath oft sworn that he would remove Thy beauty's beauty, and food of our love, Hope of his goods, if I with thee were seen ; Yet close and secret, as our souls, we 've been. Though thy immortal mother, which doth lie Still buried in her bed, yet will not die. Takes this advantage to sleep out daylight. And watch thy entries and returns all night ; And when she takes thy hand, and would seem kind. Doth search what rings and armlets she can find ; And kissing notes the color of thy face, And, fearing lest thou 'rt s woln, doth thee embrace ; And, to try if thou long, doth name strange meats, And notes thy paleness, blushes, sighs, and sweats, 346 ELEGIES. If we love things long sought, age is a thing, Which we are fifty years in compassing ; If transitory things, which soon decay, Age must be loveliest at the latest day. But name not winter-faces, whose skin 's slack ; Lank as an unthrift's purse ; but a soul's * sack ; Whose eyes seek light within, for all here 's shade ; Whose mouths are holes, rather worn out than made ; Whose every tooth to a several place is gone To vex the soul at resurrection ; Name not these living death-heads unto me, For these not ancient but antique be : I hate extremes : yet I had rather stay With tombs than cradles, to wear out the day Since such love's natural station is, may still My love descend, and journey down the hill ; Not panting after growing beauties ; so I shall ebb on with them, who homeward go. * Var. fool's. Ed. 1635. ELEGIES. 347 ELEGY X. THE DREAM. Image of her, whom I love more than she, Whose fair impression in my faithful heart Makes me her medal, and makes her love me, As kings do coins, to which their stamps impart The value : go, and take my heart from hence, Which now is grown too great and good for me. Honors oppress weak spirits, and our sense Strong objects dull ; the more, the less we see. When you are gone, and reason gone with you, Then Phantasy is queen, and soul, and all; She can present joys meaner than you do ; Convenient, and more proportional. So if I dream I have you, I have you ; For all our joys are but fantastical. And so I 'scape the pain, for pain is true ; And sleep, which locks up sense, doth lock out all. After a such fruition I shall wake, And, but the waking, nothing shall repent ; And shall to Love more thankful sonnets make, Than if more honor, tears, and pains were spent. But dearest heart, and dearer image, stay, Alas ! true joys at best are dreams enough; 348 ELEGIES. Though you stay here, you pass too fast away : For even at first life's taper is a snuff. Filled with her love, may I be rather grown Mad with much heart, than idiot with none. ELEGY XL UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESS'S CHAIN, FOR WHICH HE MADE SATISFACTION. Not, that in color it was like thy hair. Armlets of that thou may'st still let me wear ; Nor, that thy hand it oft embraced and kist. For so it had that good, which oft I mist ; Nor for that .silly old morality, That as these links were knit, our loves should be ; Mourn I, that I thy sevenfold chain have lost: Nor for the luck's sake; but the bitter cost. O ! shall twelve righteous angels, which as yet No leaven of vile solder did admit. Nor yet by any way have strayed or gone From the first state of their creation ; Angels, which heaven commanded to provide All things to me, and be my faithful guide ; To gain new friends, to appease old * enemies ; * Var. great. Ed. 1635. ELEGIES. 349 To comfort my soul, when I lie or rise ; Shall these twelve innocents by thy severe Sentence (dread judge) my sin's great burden bear ? Shall they be damned, and in the furnace thrown, And punished for offences not their own ? They save not me, they do not ease my pains, When in that hell they 're burnt and tied in chains : * Were they but crowns of France, I cared not, For most of them their country's natural rot, I think, possesseth, they come here to us, So pale, so lame, so lean, so ruinous ; And howsoe'er French kings most Christian be, Their crowns are circumcised most Jewishly ; Or were they Spanish stamps still travelling, That are become as catholic as their king. Those unlickt bear-whelps, unfiled pistolets, That (more than cannon-shot) avails or lets, Which, negligently left unrounded, look Like many-angled figures in the book Of some dread conjurer, that would enforce Nature, as these do justice, from her course, Which, as the soul quickens head, feet, and heart, As streams like veins run through the earth's every part, Visit all countries, and have slyly made Gorgeous France ruined ; ragged and decayed, Scotland, which knew no state, proud in one day : And mangled seventeen-headed Belgia : 350 ELEGIES. Or were it such gold as that, wherewithal Almighty chymics from each mineral Having by subtle fire a soul out-pulled, Are dirtily and desperately gulled : I would not spit to quench the fire they 're in, For they are guilty of much heinous sin. But shall my harmless angels perish? Shall I lose my guard, my ease, my food, my all ? Much hope, which they should nourish, will be dead. Much of my able youth and lusty-head Will vanish if thou. Love, let them alone, For thou wilt love me less, when they are gone, And be content, that some lewd squeaking cryer. Well-pleased with one lean threadbare groat for hire. May like a devil roar through every street, And gall the finder's conscience, if they meet. Or let me creep to some dread conjurer, That with fantastic scenes fills full much paper ; Which hath divided heaven in tenements, And with whores, thieves, and murderers stuft his rents So full, that, though he pass them all in sin, He leaves himself no room to enter in. But if, when all his art and time is spent, He say 't will ne'er be found, yet be content ; Receive from him the doom ungrudgingly, Because he is the mouth of Destiny. ELEGIES. 351 Thou say'st (alas) the gold doth still remain, Though it be changed, and put into a chain ; So in the first fain angels resteth still Wisdom and knowledge, but 'tis turned to ill ; As these should do good works, and should provide Necessities, but now must nurse thy pride : And they are still bad angels : mine are none : For form gives being ; and their form is gone ; Pity these angels yet : their dignities Pass Virtues, Powers, and Principalities. But thou art resolute ; thy will be done ; Yet with such anguish, as her only son The mother in the hungry grave doth lay, Unto the fire these martyrs I betray. Good souls, (for you give life to every thing,) Good angels, (for good messages you bring,) Destined you might have been to such a one. As would have loved and worshipped you alone : One that would suffer hunger, nakedness, Yea, death, ere he would make your number less. But I am guilty of your sad decay : May your few fellows longer with me stay ! But oh, thou wretched finder, whom I hate So, that I almost pity thy estate. Gold being the heaviest metal amongst all. May my most heavy curse upon thee fall : Here fettered, manacled, and hanged in chains First may'st thou be ; then chained to hellish pains ; Or be with foreign gold bribed to betray Thy country, and fail both of it and thy pay. 352 ELEGIES. May the next thing thou stoop'st to reach, con- tain Poison, whose nimble fume rot thy moist brain ; Or libels, or some interdicted thing, Which, negligently kept, thy ruin bring. Lust-bred diseases rot thee ; and dwell with thee Itching desire, and no ability. May all the evils, that gold ever wrought, All mischief, that all devils ever thought, Want after plenty, poor and gouty age, The plague of travellers, love, and marriage Afflict thee ; and at thy life's last moment May thy swoln sins themselves to thee present. But I forgive : repent, thou honest man : Gold is restorative, restore it, than : But if that from it thou be'st loath to part. Because 't is cordial, would 't were at thy heart. ELEGY XII. Come, Fates ; I fear you not. All, whom I owe. Are paid but you. Then rest me ere I go. But chance from you all sovereignty hath got. Love woundeth none but those, whom death dares not: ELEGIES. 353 True if you were, and just in equity, I should have vanquished her, as you did me. Else lovers should not brave death's pains, and live : But 't is a rule, Death comes not to relieve. Or pale and wan Death's terrors, are they laid So deep in lovers they make Death afraid ? Or (the least comfort) have I company ? Or can the Fates love Death, as well as me ? Yes, Fates do silk unto her distaff pay For ransom, which tax they on us do lay. Love gives her youth, which is the reason why Youths, for her sake, some wither and some die. Poor Death can nothing give ; yet for her sake, Still in her turn, he doth a lover take. And if Death should prove false, she fears him not, Our Muses to redeem her she hath got. That fatal night we last kissed, I thus prayed, (Or rather thus despaired, I should have said,) Kisses, and yet despair. The forbid tree Did promise (and deceive) no more than she. Like lambs that see their teats, and must eat hay, A food, whose taste hath made me pine away ; Dives, when thou saw'st bliss, and crav'dst to touch A drop of water, thy great pains were such. Here grief wants a fresh wit, for mine being spent, And my sighs weary, groans are all my rent ; Unable longer to endure the pain. They break like thunder, and do bring down rain. 23 354 ELEGIES. Thus, till dry tears solder mine eyes, I weep : And then I dream, how you securely sleep, And in your dreams do laugh at me. I hate, And pray Love all may : He pities my state. But says, I therein no revenge shall find ; The sun would shine, though all the world were blind. Yet, to try my hate, Love showed me your tear; And I had died, had not your smile been there. Your frown undoes me ; your smile is my wealth ; And as you please to look, I have my health. Methought Love, pitying me, when he saw this. Gave me your hands, the backs and palms, to kiss. That cured me not, but to bear pain gave strength ; And what is lost in force, is took in length. I called on Love again, who feared you so, That his compassion still proved greater woe : For then I dreamed I was in bed with you, But durst not feel, for fear 't should not be true. This merits not our anger, had it been ; The Queen of Chastity was naked seen : And in bed, not to feel, the pain I took. Was more than for Actieon not to look. And that breast, which lay ope, I did not know But for the clearness, from a lump of snow\ ELEGIES. 355 ELEGY Xm. HIS PARTING FROM HER. Since she must go, and I must mourn, come night. Environ me with darkness, whilst I write : Shadow that hell unto me, which alone I am to suffer, when my love is gone. Alas ! the darkest magic cannot do it. And that great hell to boot are shadows to it. Should Cynthia quit thee, Venus, and each star, It would not form one thought dark as mine are ; I could lend them obscureness now, and say Out of myself, there should be no more day. Such is already my self-want of sight, Did not the fire within me force a light. O Love, that fire and darkness should be mixt. Or to thy triumphs such strange torments fixt ! Is 't because thou thyself art blind, that we. Thy martyrs, must no more each other see ? Or tak'st thou pride to break us on thy wheel. And view old Chaos in the pains we feel ? Or have we left undone some mutual rite, That thus with parting thou seek'st us to spite ? No, no. The fault is mine, impute it to me, Or rather to conspiring Destiny ; 356 ELEGIES. Which (since I loved) for me before decreed, That I should suffer, when I loved indeed , And therefore sooner now, than I can say I saw the golden fruit, 'tis rapt away. Or as I had watcht one drop in the vast stream, And 1 left wealthy only in a dream. Yet, Love, thou 'rt blinder than thyself in this. To vex my dove-like friend for my amiss: And, where one sad truth may expiate Thy wrath, to make her fortune run my fate. So blinded Justice doth, when favorites fall. Strike them, their house, their friends, their favorites all. Was 't not enough that thou didst dart thy fires Into our bloods, inflaming our desires. And mad'st us sigh and blow, and pant, and burn, And then thyself into our flames didst turn? Was 't not enough, that thou didst hazard us To paths in love so dark and dangerous : And those so ambushed round with household spies. And over all thy husband's lowering eyes Inflamed with the ugly sweat of jealousy, Yet went we not still on in constancy ? Have we for this kept guards, like spy o'er spy ? Had correspondence, whilst the foe stood by ? Stoln (more to sweeten them) our many blisses Of meetings, conference, embracements, kisses ? Shadowed with negligence our best respects ? Varied our language through all dialects ELEGIES. *3")7 Of becks, -winks, looks, and often under boards Spoke dialogues with our feet far from our words ? Have we proved all the secrets of our art. Yea, thy pale inwards and thy panting heart ? And after all this passed purgatory Must sad divorce make us the vulgar story ? First let our eyes be riveted quite through Our turning brains, and both our lips grow to : Let our arms clasp like ivy, and our fear Freeze us together, that we may stick here ; Till Fortune, that would ruin us with the deed, Strain his eyes open, and yet make them bleed. For Love it cannot be, whom hitherto I have accused, should such a mischief do. Fortune, thou 'rt not worth my least exclaim, And plague enough thou hast in thy own name : Do thy great worst, my friend and I have arms. Though not against thy strokes, against thy harms. Rend us in sunder, thou canst not divide Our bodies so, but that our souls are tied, And we can love by letters still, and gifts, And thoughts, and dreams ; Love never wanteth shifts. 1 will not look upon the quickening sun, But straight her beauty to my sense shall run ; The air shall note her soft, the fire most pure ; Waters suggest her clear, and the earth sure ; Time shall not lose our passages ; the Spring, How fresh our love was in the beginning ; 358 ELEGIES. The Summer, how it inripened the year ; And Autumn, what our golden harvests were. . The Winter I'll not tliink on to spite thee, But count it a lost season, so shall she. And, dearest friend, since we must part, drown night With hope of day ; burdens well borne are light. The cold and darkness longer hang somewhere, Yet Phoebus equally lights all the sphere. And what we cannot in like portion pay, The world enjoys in mass, and so we may, Be ever then yourself, and let no woe Win on your health, your youth, your beauty : so Declare yourself base Fortune's enemy, No less be your contempt than her inconstancy : That I may grow enamoured on your mind, When my own thoughts I here neglected find. And this to the comfort of my dear I vow. My deeds shall still be, what my deeds are now ; The poles shall move to teach me ere I start. And when I change my Love, I '11 change my heart ; Nay, if I wax but cold in my desire. Think, heaven hath motion lost, and the world fire : Much more I could ; but many words have made That oft suspected, which men most persuade : Take therefore all in this ; I love so true, As I will never look for less in you. ELEGIES. 350 ELEGY. XIV. »JUHA. IIakk, news, O Envy, tliou shalt hear descried My Julia ; who as yet was ne'er envied. To vomit gall in slander, swell her veins With calumny, that hell itself disdains, Is her continual practice, does her best, To tear opinion ev'n out of the breast Of dearest friends, and (which is worse than vile) Sticks jealousy in wedlock ; her own child 'Scapes not the showers of envy : To repeat The monstrous fashions, how, were alive to eat Dear reputation ; would to God she Were But half so loath to act vice, as to hear My mild reproof: Lived Mantuan now again, That female Mastix to limn with his pen This she Chiraaira, that hath eyes of fire, Burning with anger (anger feeds desire) Tongued like the night-crow, whose ill-boding cries Give out for nothing but new injuries. Her breath like to the juice in Tenarus, That blasts the springs, though ne'er so prosperous. Her hands, I know not how, used more to spill The food of others, than herself to fill. But oh her mind, that Orcus, which includes Legions of mischief, countless multitudes 360 ELEGIES. Of former curses, projects unmade up, Abuses yet unfashioned, thoughts corrupt, Misshapen cavils, palpable untroths, Inevitable errors, self-accusing loaths : These, like those atoms swarming in the sun, Throng in her bosom for creation. I blush to give her half her due ; yet say, No poison 's half so bad as Julia. ELEGY XV. A TALE OF A CITIZEN AND HIS WIFE. I SING no harm, good sooth, to any wight, To lord, to fool, cuckold, beggar or knight. To peace-teaching lawyer, proctor, or brave Reformed or reduced captain, knave, Officer, juggler, or justice of peace, Juror or judge ; I touch no fat sow's grease ; I am no libeller, nor will be any. But (like a true man) say there are too many I fear not ore tenus, for my tale Nor count nor counsellor will red or pale. A citizen and his wife the other day. Both riding on one horse, upon the way I overtook ; the wench a pretty peat. And (by her eye) well fitting for the feat ; ELEGIES. 361 I saw the lecherous citizen turn back His head, and on his wife's lip steal a smack, Whence apprehending that the man was kind, Riding before (o kiss his wife behind, To get acquaintance with him I began, And sort discourse fit for so fine a man ; I asked the number of the plaguy bill, Asked if the custom-farmers held out still, Of the Virginian plot, and whether Ward The traffic of the midland seas had marred ; Whether the Britain Bourse did fill apace, And likelv were to give the Exchange disgrace ; Of new-built Aldgate, and the Moorfield crosses, Of store of bankrupts and poor merchants' losses, I urged him to speak ; but he (as mute As an old courtier worn to his last' suit) Replies with only yeas and nays ; at last (To fit his element) my theme I cast On tradesmen's gains ; that set his tongue agoing, Alas, good Sir (quoth he) there is no doing In court nor city now : she smiled and T, And (in ray conscience) both gave him the lie In one met thought. But he Avent on apace. And at the present times with such a face He railed, as frayed me ; for he gave no praise To any but my Lord of Essex's days : Called those the age of action : true (quoth he) There 's now as great an itch of bravery. And heat of taking up, but cold lay-down ; For put to push of pay, away they run : 362 ELEGIES. Our only city trades of hope now are Bawds, tavern-keepers, whore and scrivener ; The much of privileged kinsmen, and the store Of fresh protections make the rest all poor : In the first state of their creation Though many stoutly stand, yet proves not one A righteous paymaster. Thus ran he on In a continued rage : so void of reason Seemed his harsh talk, I sweat for fear of treason. And (troth) how could I less ? when in the prayer For the protection of the wise Lord Mayor, And his wise brethren's worships when one prayeth. He swore that none could say amen with faith. To get him off from what I glowed to hear, (In happy time) an angel did appear. The bright sign of a loved and well-tried inn, Where many citizens with their wives had been Well-used and often ; here I prayed him stay, To take some due refreshment by the way ; Look, how he looked that hid his gold, his hope, And at's return found nothing but a rope ; So he on me ; refused and made away. Though willing she pleaded a weary day : I found my miss, struck hands, and prayed him tell (To hold acquaintance still) where he did dwell ; He barely named the street, promised the wine ; But his kind wife gave me the very sign. ELEGIES. 363 ELEGY XVI. *THE EXPOSTULATION. To make the doubt clear, that no woman 's true, Was it my fate to prove it strong in you ? Thought I, but one had breathed purest air, And must she needs be false, because she's fair? Is it your beauty's mark, or of your youth, Or your perfection not to study truth? Or think you heaven is deaf, or hath no eyes, Or those it hath smile at your perjuries? Are vows so cheap with women, or the matter Whereof they 're made, that they are writ in water, - And blown away with wind ? Or doth their breath (Both hot and cold) at once make life and death ? Who could have thought so many accents sweet Formed into w^ords, so many sighs should meet, As from our hearts, so many oaths, and tears Sprinkled among (all sweetened by our fears) And the divine impression of stolen kisses. That sealed the rest, should now prove empty blisses ? Did you draw bonds to forfeit? sign to break? Or must we read you quite from what you speak, And find the truth out the wrong way ? or must He first desire you false, who 'd wish you just? 364 ELEGIES. O, I profane : though most of women be This kind of beast, my thoughts shall except thee, My dearest Love ; though froward jealousy With circumstance might urge thy inconstancy, Sooner I '11 think the sun will cease to cheer The teeming earth, and that forget to bear : Sooner that rivers will run back, or Thames With ribs of ice in June will bind his streams ; Or Nature, by whose strength the world endures, Would change her course, before you alter yours. But oh ! that treacherous breast, to whom weak you Did trust our counsels, (and we both may rue. Having his falsehood found too late,) 't was he That made me cast you guilty, and you me ; Whilst he (black wretch) betrayed each simple word We spake, unto the cunning of a third ; Curst may he be, that so our love hath slain, And wander on the earth, wretched as Cain, Wretched as he, and not deserve least pity ; In plaguing him let misery be witty. Let all eyes shun him, and he shun each eye. Till he be noisome as his infamy ; May he without remorse deny God thrice. And not be trusted more on his soul's price; And after all self-torment when he dies, May wolves tear out his heart, vuhures his eyes; Swine eat his bowels ; and his falser tongue, That uttered all, be to some raven flung ; ELEGIES. 365 And let his carrion corse be a longer feast To the King's dogs, than any other beast. Now I have curst, let us our love revive ; In me the flame was never more alive ; I could begin again to court and praise, And in that pleasure lengthen the short days or my life's lease ; like painters, that do take Delight, not in made works, but whilst they make. I could renew those times, when first I saw Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law To like what you liked; and at masks and plays Commend the self-same actors, the same ways ; Ask how you did, and often, with intent Of being officious, be impertinent ; All which were such soft pastimes, as in these Love was as subtly catched, as a disease ; But, being got, it is a treasure sweet. Which to defend is harder than to get : And ought not to be profaned on either part, For though 't is got by chance, 't is kept by art. EL*EGY XVn. Whoever loves, if he do not propose The right true end of love, he 's one, that goes To sea for nothing but to make him sick : Love is a bear-whelp born, if we o'er-lick 366 ELEGIES. Our love, and force it new strong shapes to take, We err, and of a lump a monster make. Were not a calf a monster, that were grown Faced like a man, though better than his own ? Perfection is in unity ; prefer One woman first, and then one thing in her. I, when I value gold, may think upon The ductileness, the application, The wholesomeness, the ingenuity, From rust, from soil, from fire ever free : But if I love it, 't is because 't is made By our new nature (use) the soul of trade. All these in women we might think upon (If women had them) and yet love but one. Can men more injure women than to say They love them for that, by which they 're not they? Makes virtue woman ? must I cool my blood Till I both be, and find one, wise and good ? May barren angels love so. But if we Make love to woman ; virtue is not she : As beauties, no, nor wealth ; he that strays tffus From her to hers, is more adulterous Than if he took her maid. .Search every sphere And firmament, our Cupid is not there : He 's an infernal god, and underground. With Pluto dwells, where gold and fire abound ; Men to such gods their sacrificing coals Did not on altars lay, but pits and holes : ELEGIES. 367 Although we see celestial bodies move Above the earth, the earth we till and love : So we her airs contemplate, words, and heart, And virtues ; but we love the centric part. Nor is the soul more worthy, or more fit For love, than this, as infinite as it. But in attaining this desired place How much they err, that set out at the face ! The hair a forest is of ambushes. Of springs, and snares, fetters, and manacles : The brow becalms us, when 't is smooth and plain ; And when 't is wrinkled, shipwrecks us again. Smooth, 't is a paradise, where we would have Immortal stay ; but wrinkled, 't is a grave. The nose (like to the sweet meridian) runs Not 'twixt an east and west, but 'twixt two suns ; It leaves a cheek, a rosy hemisphere On either side, and then directs us where Upon the islands fortunate we fall. Not faint Canaries, but ambrosial. TJnto* her swelling lips when we are come, We anchor there, and think ourselves at home, For they seem all : there sirens' songs, and there "Wise Delphic oracles, do fill the ear ; Then in a creek, where chosen pearls do swell, The Remora, her cleaving tongue, doth dwell. These and the glorious promontory, her chin, Being past, the straits of Hellespont, between 368 ELEGIES. The Sestos and Abydos of her breasts, (Not of two lovers, but two loves, the nests) Succeeds a boundless sea, but yet thine eye Some island moles may scattered there descry, And sailing towards her India, in that way Shall at her fair Atlantic navel stay , Though there the current be the pilot made, Yet ere thou be where thou should'st be embayed, Thou shalt upon another forest set. Where many shipwreck and no further get. When thou art there, consider what this chase Misspent, by thy beginning at the face. Rather set out below ; practise my art ; Some symmetry the foot hath with that part, Which thou dost seek, and is thy map for that, Lovely enough to stop, but not stay at : Least subject to disguise and change it is; Men say the Devil never can change his. It is the emblem, that hath figured Firmness ; 't is the first part that comes to bed. Civility we see refined : the kiss, Which at the face began, transplanted is, Since to the hand, since to the Imperial knee. Now at the Papal foot delights to be: If kings think that the nearer way, and do Rise from the foot, lovers may do so too. For as free spheres move faster far than can Birds, whom the air resists ; so may that man, . Which goes this empty and ethereal way, Than if at beauty's enemies he stay. ELEGIES. 369 Rich Nature hath in women wisely made Two purses, and their mouths aversely laid : They then, which to the lower tribute owe, That way, which that exchequer looks, must go : He which doth not, his error is as great, As who by clyster gives the stomach meat. TO HIS MISTRESS GOING TO BED. Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy, Until I labor, I in labor lie. The foe ofttimes, having the foe in sight, Is tired with standing, though he never fight. Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glittering, But a far fairer world incompassing. Unpin that spangled breastplate, which you wear. That the eyes of busy fools may be stopt there ; Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime Tells me from you, that now it is bedtime. Off with that happy busk, which I envy, That still can be, and still can stand so nigh. Your gown going off such beauteous state reveals, As when through flowery meads the hill's sha- dow steals. Off with that wiry coronet, and show The hairy diadem, which on your head doth grow : 24 370 ELEGIES. Now off with those shoes, and then softly tread In this Love's hallowed temple, this soft bed. In such white robes heaven's angels used to be Revealed to men : thou, angel, bring'st with thee A heaven like Mahomet's paradise ; and though 111 spirits walk in white, we easily know By this these angels from an evil sprite ; Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright. License my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below, O my America ! my Newfoundland ! My kingdom's safest, when with one man manned. My mine of precious stones, my empery, How am I blest in thus discovering thee ! To enter in these bonds is to be free ; Then where ray hand is set, my seal shall be. Full nakedness, all joys are due to thee! As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be, To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use Are, like Atlanta's ball, cast in men's views, That when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem. His earthly soul may court that and not them. Like pictures, or like books' gay coverings made, For laymen are all women thus arrayed ; Themselves are only mystic books, which we (Whom their imputed grace will dignify) Must see revealed. Then since that I may know, As liberally as to thy midwife show Thyself ; cast all, yea, this white linen hence ; There is no penance due to innocence. ELEGIES. 37.1 To teach thee, I am naked first ; why, then, What need'st thou have more covering than a -^ man? ELEGY ON HIS MISTRESS. By our first strange and fatal interview. By all desires, which thereof did ensue, By our long starving hopes, by that remorse. Which my words' masculine persuasive force Begot in thee, and by the memory Of hurts, which spies and rivals threatened me, I calmly beg. But by thy father's wrath. By all pains, which want and divorcement hath, I conjure thee ; and all the oaths, which I And thou have sworn to seal joint constancy. Here I unswear, and overswear them thus ; Thou shalt not love by ways so dangerous. Temper, O fair love. Love's impetuous rage. Be my true mistress still, not my feigned page; I '11 go, and, by thy kind leave, leave behind Thee, only worthy to nurse in my mind Thirst to come back ; O, if thou die before My soul from other lands to thee shall soar. Thy (else almighty) beauty cannot move Rage from the seas, nor thy love teach them love, 372 ELEGIES. Nor tame wild Boreas' harshness ; thou hast read How roughly he in pieces shivered Fair Orithyia, whom he swore he loved. Fall ill or good, 't is madness to have proved Dangers unurged : feed on this flattery, That absent lovers one in the other be. Dissemble nothing, not a boy, nor change Thy body's habit, nor mind ; be not strange To thyself only, all will spy in thy face A blushing, womanly, discovering grace. Richly clothed apes, are called apes ; and as soon Eclipsed, as bright, we call the moon the moon. Men of France, changeable chameleons, Spittles of diseases, shops of fashions. Love's fuellers, and the rightest company Of players which upon the world's stage be. Will quickly know thee ; and no less alas, The indifferent Italian, as we pass His warm land, well content to think thee page. Will hunt thee with such lust, and hideous rage. As Lot's fair guests were vext. But none of these, Nor spungy hydroptic Dutch, shall thee displease, If thou stay here. stay here ; for, for thee England is only a worthy gallery. To walk in expectation, till from thence Our greatest king call thee to his presence. When I am gone, dream me some happiness, Nor let thy looks our long-hid love confess ; Nor praise, nor dispraise me ; nor bless, nor curse Openly love's force ; nor in bed fright thy nurse • ELEGIES. 373 With midnight's startings, crying out, oh ! oh ! Nurse, oh ! my love is slain ; I saw him go O'er the white Alps alone ; I saw him, I, Assailed, taken, fight, stabbed, bleed, fall, and die. Augur me better chance, except dread Jove Think it enough for me to have had thy love. UPON MR. THOMAS COR^AT'S CRUDITIES. Oh to what height will love of greatness drive Thy learned spirit, sesqui-superlative ? Venice's vast lake thou hast seen, and would'st seek then. Some vaster thing, and found'st a courtesan ; That inland sea having discovered well, A cellar gulf, where one might sail to hell From Heidelberg, thou long'st to see : and thou This book, greater than all, produces! now, Infinite work ! which doth so far extend, That none can study it to any end. 'T is no one thing, it is not fruit, nor root, Nor poorly limited with head or foot. If man be therefore man, because he can Reason and laugh, thy book doth half make man, 374 ELEGIES. One half being made, thy modesty was such, That thou on th' other half would'st never touch. When wilt thou be at full, great lunatic ? Not till thou exceed the world ? Canst thou be like A prosperous nose-born wen, which sometimes grows To be far greater than the mother nose ? Go, then, and as to thee, when thou didst go, Munster did towns, and Gesner authors show, Mount now to Gallo-Belgicus ; appear As deep a statesman as a garreteer. Homely and famihaily, when thou com'st back^ . Talk of Will Conqueror, and Prester Jack. Go, bashful man, lest here thou blush to look Upon the progress of thy glorious book, To which both Indies sacrifices send ; The West sent gold, which thou didst freely spend, Meaning to see 't no more upon the press : The East sends hither her deliciousness ; And thy leaves must embrace what comes from hence, The myrrh, the pepper, and the frankincense. This magnifies thy leaves ; but if they stoop To neighbor wares, when merchants do unhoop Voluminous barrels ; if thy leaves do then Convey these wares in parcels unto men ; If for vast tons of currants, and of figs. Of med'cinal and aromatic twigs. ELEGIES. 375 Thy leaves a better method do provide, Divide to pounds, and ounces subdivide ; If they stoop lower yet, and vent our wares, Home manufactures to thick popular Fairs ; If oranipregnant there, upon warm stalls They thatch all wares for which the buyer calls ; Then thus thy leaves we justly may commend, That they all kind of matter comprehend. Thus thou, by means which th' ancients never took, A pandect raak'st, and universal book. The bravest heroes for their country's good. Scattered in divers lands their limbs and blood ; Worst malefactors, to whom men are prize. Do public good, cut in anatomies ; So will thy book in pieces, for a lord. Which casts at Portescue's, and all the board. Provide whole books ; each leaf enough will be For friends to pass time, and keep company. Can all carouse up thee ? no, thou must fit Measures, and fill out for the half-pint wit. Some shall wrap pills, and save a friend's life so ; Some shall stop muskets, and so kill a foe. Thou shalt not ease the critics of next age So much as once their hunger to assuage : Nor shall wit-pirates hope to find thee lie All in one bottom, in one library. Some leaves may paste strings there in other books, And so one miy which on another looks, 376 ELEGIES. Pilfer, alas I a little wit from you ; But hardly much ; and yet I think this true. As Sibyl's was, your book is mystical, For every piece is as much worth as all. Therefore mine impotency I confess, The healths, which my brain bears, must be far less ; Thy giant wit o'erthrows me, I am gone ; And, rather than read all, I would read none. ELEGY. The heavens rejoice in motion ; why should I Abjure my so much loved variety. And not with many youth, and loved, divide ? Pleasure is none, if not diversified. The sun, that sitting in the chair of light, [bright, Sheds flame into what else soever doth seem Is not contented at one Sign to inn, But ends his year, and with a new begins.* All things do willingly in change delight, The fruitful mother of our appetite : Kivers the clearer and more pleasing are, Where their fair-spreading stream runs wide and clear ; * Doth a new begin ? ELEGIES. 377 And a dead lake, that no strange bark doth greet, Corrupts itself, and what doth live in it. Let no man tell me such a one is fair. And worthy all alone my love to share. Nature in her hath done the liberal part Of a kind mistress, and employed her art To make her lovable ; and I aver Him not humane, that would turn back from her ; I love her well ; and would, if need were, die To do her service. But follows it that I Must serve her only, when I may have choice ? The law is hard, and shall not have my voice. The last I saw in all extremes is fair. And holds me in the sunbeams of her hair ; Her nymphlike features such agreements have, That I could venture with her to the grave : Another's brown, I like her not the worse ; Her tongue is soft, and takes me with discourse ; Others, for that they well descended were, Do in my love obtain as large a share, And though they be not fair, 't is much with me To win their love only for their degree ; And though I fail of my required ends. The attempt is glorious, and itself commends. How happy were our sires in ancient time, Who held plurality of loves no crime ! With them it was accounted charity To stir up race of all indifferently ; Kindreds were not exempted from the bands, Which with the Persians still in usase stands. 378 ELEGIES. "Women were then no sooner asked than won ; And what they did was honest, and well done. But since this little * honor hath been used, Our weak credulity hath been abused ; The golden laws of nature are repealed, Which our first fathers in such reverence held ; Our liberty's reversed, and charter's gone, And we made servants to Opinion ; A monster in no certain shape attired, And whose original is much desired ; Formless at first, but growing on it fashions. And doth prescribe manners and laws to nations. Here love received immedicable harms. And was despoiled of his. daring arms ; A greater want than is his daring eyes. He lost those awful wings with which he flies ; His sinewy bow, and those immortal darts. Wherewith he 's wont to bruise resisting hearts. Only some few, strong in themselves, and free, Retain the seeds of ancient liberty ; Following that part of love, although deprest. And make a throne for him within their breast ; In spite of modern censures him avowing Their sovereign, all service him allowing. Amongst which troop, although I am the least, Yet equal in perfection with the best, I glory in subjection of his hand. Nor ever did decline his least command ; * Title ? ELEGIES. 379 For in whatever form the message came, My heart did open, and receive the same. But time will in its course a point descry, When I this loved service must deny ; For our allegiance temporary is ; With firmer age return our liberties. What time in years and judgment we reposed, Shall not so easily be to change disposed ; Nor to the art of several eyes obeying, But beauty with true worth securely weighing ; Which being found assembled in some one, We '11 love her ever, and love her alone. 380 EPITHALAMIONS, OR MARRIAGE SONGS. AN EPITHALAVnON ON FREDERICK COUNT PALATINE OF THE RHINE, AND THE LADY ELIZABETH, BEING MARRIED ON ST. valentine's DAY. I. Hail, Bishop Valentine, whose day this is, All the air is thy diocese. And all the chirping choristers And other birds are thy parishioners : Thou marriest every year The lyric lark, and the grave whispering dove ; The sparrow, that neglects his life for love ; The household bird with the red stomacher ; Thou mak'st the blackbird speed as soon As doth the goldfinch or the halcyon ; The husband cock looks out, and straight is sped, And meets his wife, which brings her feather-bed ; This day more cheerfully than ever shine, This day, which might inflame thyself, old Valentine. EPITHALAMIONS. 381 II. Till now thou warm'dst with multiplying loves Two larks, two sparrows, or two doves ; All that is nothing unto this. For thou this day couplest two phoenixes. Thou mak'st a taper see What the sun never saw, and what the ark (Which was of fowl and beasts the cage and park) Did not contain, one bed contains, through thee ; Two phoenixes, whose joined breasts Are unto one another mutual nests ; Where motion kindles such fires as shall give Young phoenixes, and yet the old shall live : Whose love and courage never shall decline. But make the whole year through thy day, O Valentine. III. Up then, fair phoenix bride, frustrate the sun ; Thyself from thine affection Tak'st warmth enough, and from thine eye All lesser birds will take their jollity. Up, up, fair bride, and call Thy stars from out their several boxes, take Thy rubies, pearls, and diamonds forth, and make Thyself a constellation of them all : And by their blazing signify, That a great princess falls, but doth not die ; Be thou a new star, that to us portends Ends of much wonder ; and be thou those ends. 382 EPITHALAMIONS. Since thou dost this day in new gloiy shine, May all men date records from this day,* Valentine. IV. Come forth, come forth, and as one glorious flame, Meeting another, grows the same, So meet thy Frederick, and so To an inseparable union go ; Since separation Falls not on such things as are infinite, Nor things, which are but one, can disunite, You 're twice inseparable, great, and one. Go then to where the bishop stays. To make you one, his way, which divers ways Must be effected ; and when all is past, And that ye are one, by hearts and hands made fast, You two have one way left yourselves to entwine. Besides this bishop's knot, Bishop Valentine. V. But oh ! what ails the sun, that here he stays Longer to-day than other days ? Stays he new light from these to get ? And finding here such stores, is loath to set ? And why do you two walk So slowly paced in this procession ? Is all your care but to be looked upon, And be to others spectacle and talk ? * Var. thv. EPITHALAMIONS. 383 The feast with gluttonous delays Is eaten, and too long their meat they praise ; The masquers come late, and I think will stay, Like fairies, till the cock crow them away. Alas ! did not antiquity assign A night, as well as day, to thee, O Valentine ? VI. They did, and night is come : and yet we see Formalities retarding thee. What mean these ladies, which (as though They were to take a clock in pieces) go So nicely about the bride ? A bride, before a good-night could be said, Should vanish from her clothes into her bed, As souls from bodies steal, and are not spied. But now she is laid ; what though she be ? Yet there are more delays ; for where is he ? He comes, and passes through sphere after sphere ; First her sheets, then her arms, then anywhere. Let not this day, then, but this night be thine, Thy day was but the eve to this, O Valentine. VII. Here lies a she sun, and a he moon there ; She gives the best light to his sphere, Or each is both, and all, and so They unto one another nothing owe ; 384 EPITHALAMIONS. And yet they do, but are So just and rich in that coin which they pay, That neither would, nor needs, forbear nor stay ; Neither desires to be spared, nor to spare : They quickly pay their debt, and then Take no acquittances, but pay again ; They pay, they give, they lend, and so let fall No such occasion to be liberal. More truth, more courage in these two do shine, Than all thy turtles have and sparrows, Valentine. VIII. And by this act of these two phcenixes Nature again restored is ; For since these two are two no more, There's but one phoenix still, as was before. Rest now at last, and we (As Satyrs watch the sun's uprise) will stay Waiting when your eyes opened let out day, Only desired, because your face we see ; Others near you shall whispering speak, And wagers lay, at which side day will break, And win by observing then whose hand it is. That opens first a curtain, hers or his; This will be tried to-morrow after nine. Till which hour we thy day enlarge, Valentine. EPITHALAMIONS. obO ECLOGUE. DECEMBER 26, 1613. AUophanes finding Idios in the Country in Christmas timif reprehends his absence from Court, at the Marriage of the Earl of Somerset ; Idios gives an account of his purpose iJwein, and of his actions there. ALLOPHANES. Unseasonable man, statue of ice. What could to country's solitude entice Thee, in this year's cold and decrepit time ? Nature's instinct draws to the warmer clime Ev'n smaller birds, who by that courage dare In numerous fleets sail through their sea, the air. What delicacy can in fields appear, Whilst Flora herself doth a frieze jerkin wear ? Whilst winds do all the trees and hedges strip Of leaves, to furnish rods enough to whip Thy madness from thee, and all springs by frost Have taken cold, and their sweet murmurs lost ? If thou thy faults or fortunes would'st lament With just solemnity, do it in Lent : At court the spring already advanced is, The sun stays longer up ; and yet not his 25 386 EPITHALAMIONS. The glory is ; far other, other jfires : First zeal to prince and state ; then love's desires Burn in one breast, and like heaven's two great lights. The first doth govern days, the other nights. And then that early light, which did appear Before the sun and moon created were, The prince's favor, is diffused o'er all, From which all fortunes, names, and natures fall ; Then from those wombs of stars, the bride's bright eyes, At every glance a constellation flies. And sows the court with stars, and doth prevent In light and power the all-eyed firmament. First her eyes kindle other ladies' eyes, Then from their beams their jewels' lustres rise, And from their jewels torches do take fire ; And all is warmth and light and good desire. Most other courts, alas ! are like to hell. Where in dark plots fire without light doth dwell : Or but like stoves, for lust and envy get Continual but artificial heat ; Here zeal and love, grown one, all clouds digest, And make our court an everlasting east. And canst thou be from thence ? iDios. No, I am there : As heaven, to men disposed, is ev'ry where, So are those courts, whose princes animate, Not only all their house, but all their state. EPITHALAMIONS. 387 Let no man think, because he 's full, he hath all ; Kings (as their pattern, God) are liberal Not only in fulness but capacity, Enlarging narrow men to feel and see. And comprehend, the blessings they bestow. So reciused hermits oftentimes do know More of heaven's glory, than a worldling can. As man is of the world, the heart of man Is an epitome of God's great book Of creatures, and man need no further look ; So 's the country .of courts, where sweet peace doth, As their own common soul, give life to both. And am I then from court ? ALLOPHANEs. DreamcF thou airt. Think'st thou, fantastic, that thou hast a part In the Indian fleet, because thou hast A little spice or amber in thy taste ? Because thou art not frozen, art thou warm ? Seest thou all good, because thou seest no harm ? The earth doth in her inner bowels hold Stuff well disposed, and which would fain be gold : But never shall, except it chance to lie So upward, that heaven gild it with his eye ; As for divine things, faith comes from above, So, for best civil use, all tinctures move From higher powers ; from God, religion springs ; Wisdom and honor, from the use of kings ; Then unbeguile thyself, and know wilh me. That angels, though on earth employed they be, 388 EPITHALAMIONS. Are still in heaven ; so is he still at home That doth abroad to honest actions come. Chide thyself then, O fool, which yesterday ^light'st have read more than all thy books bevi^ray : Hast thou a history, which doth present A court, where all affections do assent Unto the king's, and that, that kings are just ? And where it is no levity to trust. Where there is no ambition but to obey, Where men need whisper nothing, and yet may ; Where the king's favors are so placed, that all Find that the king therein is liberal To them, in him, because his favors bend To virtue, to the which they all pretend ? Thou hast no such ; yet here was this, and more, — An earnest lover, wise then, and before. Our little Cupid hath sued livery, And is no more in his minority ; He is admitted now into that breast Where the king's counsels and his secrets rest. What hast thou lost, O ignorant man ? iDios. I knew All this, and only therefore I withdrew. To know and feel all this, and not to have Words to express it, makes a man a grave Of his own thoughts ; I would not therefore stay At a great feast, having no grace to say. And yet I 'scaped not here ; for being come Full of the common joy, I uttered some. EPITHALAMIONS. 389 Read then this nuptial song, which was not made Either the court or men's hearts to invade ; But since I am dead and buried, I could frame No epitaph, which might advance my fame, So much as this poor song, which testifies I did unto that day some sacrifice. I. THE TIME OF MARRIAGE. Thou art reprieved, old year, thou shalt not die, Though thou upon thy death-bed lie, And should'st within five days expire ; Yet thou art rescued from a mightier fire, Than thy old soul, the sun, When he doth in his largest circle run. The passage of the West or East would thaw, And open wide their easy liquid jaw To all our ships, could a Promethean art Either unto the northern pole impart The fire of these inflaming eyes, or of this loving heart. n. EQUALITY OF PERSONS. But undiscerning Muse, which heart, which eyes. In this new couple dost thou prize. When his eye as inflaming is As hers, and her heart loves as well as his ? 390 EPITHALA.MIONS. Be tried by beauty, and than The bridegroom is a maid, and not a man ; If by that manly courage they be tried, Which scorns unjust opinion, then the bride Becomes a man : should chance or envy's art Divide these two, whom nature scarce did part, Since both have the inflaming eye, and both the loving heart ? III. RAISING OF THE BRIDEGROOM. Though it be some divorce to think of you Single, so much one are you two, Let me here contemplate thee First,- cheerful bridegroom, and first let me see, How thou prevent'st the sun, And his red foaming horses dost outrun ; How, having laid down in thy sovereign's breast All businesses, from thence to reinvest [art Them, when these triumphs cease, thou forward To show to her, who doth the like impart, The fire of thy inflaming eyes, and of thy loving heart. IV. RAISING OF THE BRIDE. But now to thee, fair bride, it is some wrong, To think thou wert in bed so long : EPITIIALAMIONS. ' 391 Since soon tbou liest down first, *t is fit Thou in first rising should allow for it. Powder thy radiant hair, Which if without such ashes thou would'st wear, Thou who, to all which come to look upon, Wert meant for Phcebus, would'st be Phaeton. For our ease give thine eyes the unusual part Of joy, a tear ; so quencht, thou may'st impart, To us that come, thy inflaniing eyes ; to him, thy loving heart. V. HER APPARELLING. Thus thou descend'st to our infirmity, Who can the sun in water see ; So dost thou, when in silk and gold Thou cloud'st thyself; since we, which do behold. Are dust and worms, 't is just Our objects be the fruits of worms and dust. Let every jewel be a glorious star ; Yet stars are not so pure as their spheres are. And though thou stoop to appear to us in part, Still, in that picture thou entirely art. Which thy inflaming eyes have made within his loving heart. VI. GOING TO THE CHAPEL. Now from your east you issue forth, and we, As men, which through a cypress see 392 EriTHALAMIONS. The rising sun, do think it two, So, as you go to church, do think of you : But that veil being gone, By the church-rites you are from thenceforth one. The church triumphant made this match before, And now the militant doth strive no more. Then, reverend priest, who God's recorder art, Do from his dictates to these two impart All blessings which are seen, or thought, by angel's eye or heart. VII. THE BENEDICTION. Blest pair of swans, O may you uiterbring Daily new joys, and never sing : Live, till all grounds of wishes fail. Till honor, yea till wisdom grow so stale. That new great heights to try, It must serve your ambition, to die ; Raise heirs, and may here to the world's end live Heirs from this king to take thanks ; you, to give. Nature and grace do all, and nothing art ; May never age or error overthwart With any west these radiant eyes, with any north this heart. VIII. FEASTS AND REVELS. But you are over-blest. Plenty this day Injures ; it causeth time to stay ; EPITHALAMIONS. 393 The tables groan, as though this feast Would, as the flood, destroy all fowl andsbeast. And were the doctrine new [true ; That the earth moved, this day would make it For every part to dance and revel goes. They tread the air, and fall not where they rose. Though six hours since the sun to bed did part The masks and banquets will not yet impart A sunset to these weary eyes, a centre to this heart. IX. THE BRIDE S GOING TO BED What mean'st thou, bride, this company to keep ? To sit up, till thou fain would sleep ? Thou may'st not, when thou'rt laid, do so. Thyself must to him a new banquet grow, And you must entertain. And do all this day's dances o'er again. Know, that if sun and moon together do Rise in one point, they do not set so too. Therefore thou may'st, fair bride, to bed depart ; Thou art not gone being gone ; where'er thou art, Thou leav'st in him thy watchful eyes, in him thy loving heart. X. THE bridegroom's COMING. As he that sees a star fall, runs apace And finds a jelly in the place, 394 EPITHALAMIONS. So doth the bridegroom haste as much, Being told this star is fall'n, and finds her such. And as friends may look strange By a new fashion, or apparel's change, Their souls, though long acquainted they had been, These clothes, their bodies, never yet had seen. Therefore at first she modestly might start, But must forthwith surrender every part As freely, as each to each before gave either hand or heart. XI. THE GOOD-NIGHT. Now, as in Tullia's tomb one lamp burnt clear, Unchanged for fifteen hundred year, '' May these love-lamps we here enshrine, In warmth, light, lasting, equal the divine. Fire ever doth aspire. And makes all like itself, turns all to fire, — But ends in ashes ; which these cannot do, For none of these is fuel, but fire too. This is joy's bonfire, then, where love's strong arts Make of so noble individual parts One fire of four inflaming eyes, and of two loving hearts. IDIOS. As I have brought this song, that I may do A perfect sacrifice, I'll burn it too. EPITHALAMIONS. ALLOPHANES. No, Sir, this paper I have justly got, For in burnt incense the perfume is not His only, that presents it, but of all ; Whatever celebrates this festival Is common, since the joy thereof is so. Nor may yourself be priest : but let me go Back to the court, and I will lay't upon Such altars as prize your devotion. 395 EPITHALAMION MADE AT Lincoln's inn. The sunbeams in the east are spread, Leave, leave, fair bride, your solitary bed ; No more shall you return to it alone ; It nurseth sadness ; and your body's print, Like to a grave, the yielding down doth dint. You and your other you meet there anon ; Put forth, put forth, that warm balm-breathing thigh, Which when next time you in these sheets will smother, There it must meet another, Which never was, but must be oft more nigh ; 396 EPITHALAMIONS. Come glad from thence, go gladder than you came, To-day 'put on 'perfection^ and a woman's name. Daughters of London, you which be Our golden mines, and furnished treasury ; You which are angels, yet still bring with you Thousands of angels on your marriage-days, Help with your presence, and devise to praise These rites, which also unto you grow due. Conceitedly dress her, and be assigned Ej you fit place for every flower and jewel, Make her for love fit fuel As gay as Flora, and as rich as Ind ; So may she fair and rich, in nothing lame, To-day put on perfection, and a woman's name. And you, frolic patricians. Sons of those senators, wealth's deep oceans ; Ye painted courtiers, barrels of others' wits ; Ye countrymen, who but your beasts love none ; Ye of those fellowships, whereof he's one. Of study and play made strange hermaphro- dites, Here shine ; this bridegroom to the Temple bring. Lo, in yon path, which store of strewed flowers graceth. The sober virgin paceth ; Except my sight fail, 't is no other thing. EPITHALAMIONS. 397 Weep not, nor blush, here is no grief nor shame ; To-day "put on 'perfection^ and a woman's name. Thy two-leaved gates, fair temple, unfold. And these two in thy sacred bosom hold, Till, mystically joined, but one they be ; Then may thy lean and hunger-starved womb Long time expect their bodies, and their tomb, Long after their own parents fatten thee. All elder claims, and all cold barrenness. All yielding to new loves, be far forever. Which might these two dissever ; Always all the other may each one possess ; For the best bride, best worthy of praise and fame, To-day puts on 'perfection, and a 'woman's name. Winter days bring much delight, Not for themselves, but for they soon bring night ; Other sweets wait thee than these diverse meats, Other disports than dancing jollities. Other love-tricks than glancing with the eyes, But that the sun still in our half-sphere sweats ; He flies in winter, but he now stands still ; Yet shadows turn ; noon-point he hath attained^ His steeds will be restrained. But gallop lively down the western hill : Thou shalt, when he hath run the heaven's half- frame. To-night put on perfection, and a woman's name* 398 EPITHALAMIONS. The amorous evening star is rose ; Why then should not our amorous star inclose Herself in her wished bed ? Release your strings, Musicians, and dancers, take some truce With these your pleasing labors, for great use As much weariness as perfection brings. You, and not only you, but all toiled beasts, Rest duly ; at night all their toils are dispensed ; But in their beds commenced Are other labors, and more dainty feasts. She goes a maid, who, lest she turn the same, To-night puts on perfection, and a ivoman's name. Thy virgin's girdle now untie, And in thy nuptial bed (love's altar) lie A pleasing sacrifice ; now dispossess Thee of these chains and robes, which were put on To adorn the day, not thee ; for thou alone. Like virtue and truth, art best in nakedness ; This bed is only to virginity A grave, but to a better state a cradle. Till now thou wast but able To be what now thou art ; then that by thee No more be said, I may he, but I am, To-night put on perfection, and a woman's name. Even like a faithful man content. That this life for a better should be spent, EPITHALAMIONS. 399 So she a mother's rich style doth prefer, And at the bridegroom's wished approach doth lie Like an appointed lamb, when tenderly The priest comes on his knees to embowel her. Now sleep or watch with more joy ; and, oh light Of heaven, to-morrow rise thou hot and early ; This sun will love so dearly Her rest, that long, long we shall want her sight. Wonders are wrought, for she, which had no name. To-night puts on perfection, and a woman's name. END OF THE EPITHALAMIONS, OK MARRIAGE SONGS. SATIRES SATIRE I. Away, thou changeling motley humorist, Leave me, and in this standing wooden chest, Consorted with these few books, let me lie In prison, and here be coffined, when I die. Here are God's conduits, grave divines ; and here Is nature's secretary, the philosopher ; And wily statesmen, which teach how to tie The sinews of a city's mystic body ; Here gathering chroniclers, and by them stand Giddy fantastic poets of each land. Shall I leave all this constant company, And follow headlong wild uncertain thee ? First swear by thy best love here, in earnest, (If thou, which lov'st all, canst love any best,) Thou wilt not leave me in the middle street. Though some more spruce companion thou dost meet ; Not though a captain do come in thy way. Bright parcel-gilt, with forty dead men's pay ; Not though a brisk, perfumed, pert courtier Deign with a nod thy courtesy to answer ; SATIRES. 401 Nor come a velvet justice with a long [strong, Great train of blue coats, twelve or fourteen Wilt thou grin or fawn on him, or prepare A speech to court his beauteous sou and heir. For better or worse take me, or leave me : To take and leave me is adultery. O monstrous, superstitious Puritan, Of refined manners, yet ceremonial man. That, when thou meet'st one, with inquiring eyes. Doth search, and like a needy broker prize The silk and gold he wears, and to that rate. So high or low, dost raise thy formal hat : That wilt consort none, till thou have known What lands he hath in hope, or of his own ; As though all thy companions should make thee Jointures, and marry thy dear company. Why should'st thou (that dost not only approve. But in rank itchy lust, desire and love. The nakedness and barrenness to enjoy Of thy plump muddy whore, or prostitute boy) Hate Virtue, though she naked be and bare ? At birth and death our bodies naked are ; And, till our souls be unapparelled Of bodies, they from bliss are banished : Man's first blest state was naked ; when by sin He lost that, he was clothed but in beast's skin, And in this coarse attire which I now wear. With God and with the Muses I confer. But since thou, like a contrite penitent. Charitably warned of thy sins, dost repent 26 402 SATIRES. These vanities and giddinesses, lo I shut my chamber door, and come, let*s go. But sooner may a cheap whore, who hath been Worn out by as many several men in sin, As are black feathers, or musk-colored hose. Name her child's right true father 'mougst all those ; Sooner may one guess, who shall bear away The infantry of London hence to India ; And sooner may a gulling weather-spy. By drawing forth heaven's scheme, tell certainly What fashioned hats or ruffs, or suits, next year Our gid'dy-headed antic youth will wear ; Than thou, when thou depart'st from me, can show Whither, why, when, or with whom thou would'st go. But how shall I be pardoned my offence, That thus have sinned against my conscience ? Now we are in the street ; he first of all, Improvidently proud, creeps to the wall ; And so imprisoned and hemmed in by me, Sells for a little state his liberty. Yet though he cannot skip forth now to greet Every fine silken painted fool we meet, He them to him with amorous smiles allures, And grins, smacks, shrugs, and such an itch endures, As 'prentices or school-boys, which do know Of some gay sport abroad, yet dare not go ; SATIRES. 403 And as fiddlers stop lowest at highest sound, So to the most brave stoops he nigh'st the ground ; But to a grave man he doth move no more Than the wise politic horse would heretofore, Or thou, O elephant, or ape, wilt do, When any names the king of Spain to you. Now leaps he upright, jogs me, and cries, " Do you see Yonder well-favored youth ? " " Which ? " " Oh ! 't is he That dances so divinely." "Oh," said I, " Stand still, must you dance here for company ? " He drooped ; we went, till one (vvhich did excel The Indians in drinking his tobacco well) Met us : they talked ; I w^iispered, " Let us go ; 'T may be you smell him not, truly I do." He hears not me, but on the other side A many-colored peacock having spied. Leaves him and me ; I for my lost sheep stray ; He follows, overtakes, goes on the way. Saying, " Him, whom I last left, all repute For his device, in handsoming a suit, To judge of lace, pink, panes, print, cut, and plait, Of all the court to have the best conceit." " Our dull comedians want him, let him go ; But oh ! God sti^ngthen thee, why stoop'st thou so?" " Why, he hath travelled long ; no, but to me Which understood none, he doth seem to be 404 SATIRES. Perfect French and Italian." I replied •' So is the pox." He answered not, but spied More men of sort, of parts and qualities ; At last his love he in a window spies, And, like light dew exhaled, he flings from me Violently ravished to his lechery. Many there were, he could command no more ; He quarrelled, fought, bled ; and, turned out of door. Directly came to me, hanging the head, And constantly awhile must keep his bed. SATIRE n. Sir, though (I thank God for it) I do hate Perfectly all this town, yet there's one state In all ill things so excellently best, [rest. That hate towards them breeds pity towards the Though poetry indeed be such a sin, As I think that brings dearth and Spaniards in ; Though, like the pestilence and old fashioned love, Riddlingly it catch men, and doth remove Never, till it be starved out, yet their state Is poor, disarmed, like Papists, not worth hate. One (like a wretch, which at bar judged as dead, Yet prompts him, which stands next, and cannot read, And saves his life) gives idiot actors means, (Starving himself) to live by 's labored scenes. SATIRES. 405 As in some organ puppets dance above, And bellows pant below which them do move, One would move love by rhymes ; but witchcraft's charms, Bring not now their old fears, nor their old harms ; Rams and slings now are silly battery, Pistollers are the best artillery. And they who write to lords, rewards to get, Are they not like singers at doors for meat ? And they who write, because all write, have still The excuse for writing, and for writing ill. But he is worst, who (beggarly) doth chaw Others' wit's fruits, and in his ravenous maw, Rankly digested, doth those things outspew, As his own things ; and they 're his own, 't is true ; For if one eat my meat, though it be known The meat was mine, the excrement is his own. But these do me no harm, nor they which use To outdo dildoes, and out-usure Jews, To outdrink the sea, to outswear the litany, "Who with sin's all kinds as familiar be As confessors, and for whose sinful sake Schoolmen new tenements in hell must make ; Whose strange sins canonists could hardly tell In which commandment's large receipt they dwell. But these punish themselves. The insolence Of Coscus only breeds my just offence, [pox, Whom time (which rots all, and makes botches And plodding on must make a calf an ox, 406 SATIRES. Hath made a lawyer ; which (alas) of late But scarce a poet, jollier of this state Than are new beneficed ministers, he throws Like nets or lime-twigs, wheresoe'er he goes. His title of barrister on every wench, And wooes in language of the pleas and bench. "A motion, Lady : " " Speak, Coscus." " I have been In love e'er since tricesimo of the queen. Continual claims I 've made, injunctions got To stay my rival's suit, that he should not Proceed ; spare me, in Hilary term I went ; You said, if I returned next 'size in Lent, I should be in remitter of your grace ; In the interim my letters should take place Of afl&davits." Words, words, which would tear The tender labyrinth of a maid's soft ear More, more than ten Slavonians' scoldings, more Than when winds in our ruined abbeys roar. When sick with poetry and possest with muse Thou wast, and mad, — I hoped ; but men which choose Law practice for mere gain, bold souls repute Worse than imbrotheled strumpets prostitute. Now, like an owl-like watchman, he must walk His hand still at a bill ; now he must talk Idly, like prisoners, which whole months will swear. That only suretyship hath brought them there, SATIRES. 407 And to every suitor lie in every thing, Like a king's favorite, or like a king : Like a wedge in a block, wring to the bar, Bearing like asses, and more shameless far Than carted whores, lie to the grave judge; for Bastardy abounds not in kings' titles, nor Simony and sodomy in churchmen's lives, As these things do in him ; by these he thrives. Shortly, as th' sea, he'll compass all the land, From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover- strand, And spying heirs melting with luxury, Satan will not joy at their sins, as he. For (as a thrifty wench scrapes kitchen stufij And barrelling the droppings, and the snuff Of wasting candles, which in thirty year, Relicly kept, perchance buys wedding-cheer,) Piecemeal he gets lands, and spends as much time "Wringing each acre, as maids pulling prime. In parchment then, large as the fields, he draws Assurances ; big as glossed civil laws. So huge, that men (in our time's forwardness) Are fathers of the Church for writing less. These he writes not ; nor for these written pays, Therefore spares no length, (as in those first days, When Luther was profest, he did desire Short paternosters, saying as a friar Each day his beads ; but having left those laws. Adds to Christ's prayer the power and glory clause.) 408 SATIRES. But when he sells or changes land, he impairs His writings, and (un watched) leaves out ses heireSf And slily as any coramenter goes by Hard words or sense ; or in divinity As controverters in vouched texts leave out Shrewd words, which might against them clear the doubt. Where are those spread woods, which clothed heretofore Those bought lands ? not built, nor burnt within door. Where the old landlord's troops and alms ? In halls Carthusian fasts and fulsome bacchanals Equally I hate. Mean's blest. In rich men's homes I bid kill some beasts, but no hecatombs ; None starve, none surfeit so. But O we allow Good works as good, but out of fashion now, Like old rich wardrobes. But my words none draws Within the vast reach of th' huo;e statute laws. SATIRE III. Kind pity checks my spleen ; brave scorn forbids Those tears to issue, which swell my eyelids. I must not laugh, nor weep sins, but be wise ; Can railino; then cure these worn maladies ? SATIRES. 409 Is not our mistress, fair Religion, As worthy of our soul's devotion, As virtue was to the first blinded age ? Are not Heaven's joys as valiant to assuage Lusts, as earth's honor was to them ? Alas, As we do them in means, shall they surpass Us in the end ? and shall thy father's spirit Meet blind philosophers in heaven, whose merit Of strict life may be imputed faith, and hear Thee, whom he taught so easy ways and near To follow, damned? 'Oh, if thou dar'st, fear this : This fear great courage, and high valor is. Dar'st thou aid mutinous Dutch ? and dar'st thou lay Thee in ship's wooden sepulchres, a prey To leader's rage, to storms, to shot, to dearth ? Dar'st thou dive seas, and dungeons of the earth ? Hast thou courageous fire to thaw the ice Of frozen North discoveries, and thrice Colder than salamanders ? Like divine Children in the oven, fires of Spain and the line, Whose countries limbecs to our bodies be. Canst thou for gain bear ? and must every he Which cries not goddess to thy mistress, draw. Or eat thy poisonous words ? Courage of straw ! O desperate coward, wilt thou seem bold, and To thy foes and his (who made thee to stand Sentinel in this world's garrison) thus yield, And for forbid wars leave the appointed field? 410 SATIRES. Know thy foes : the foul devil (he, whom thou Striv'st to please) for hate, not love, would allow Thee fain his whole realm to be quit ; and as The world's all parts wither away and pass, So the world's self, thy other loved foe, is In her decrepit wane, and thou, loving this, Dost love a withered and worn strumpet ; last, Flesh (itself s death) and joys, which flesh can taste. Thou lov'st ; and thy fair goodly soul, which doth Give this flesh power to ta'ste joy, thou dost loath. Seek true religion : O where ? Mirreus, Thinking her unhoused here, and fled from us, Seeks her at Rome, there, because he doth know That she was there a thousand years ago ; He loves the rags so, as we here obey The state-cloth where the prince sate yesterday. Crantz to such brave loves will not be enthralled, But loves her only, who at Geneva is called Religion — plain, simple, sullen, young. Contemptuous, yet unhandsome ; as among Lecherous humors, there is one that judges No wenches wholesome but coarse country drudges. Grains stays still at home here, and because Some preachers, vile ambitious bawds, and laws Still new, like fashions, bid him think that she Which dwells with us, is only perfect, he Embraceth her, whom his godfathers will Tender to him, being tender ; as wards still SATIRES. • 411 Take such wives as their guardians offer, or Pay values. Careless Phrygius, doth abhor All, because all cannot be good ; as one, Knowing some women whores, dares marry none. Gracchus loves all as one, and thinks that so As women do in divepg countries go In divers habits, yet are still one kind. So doth, so is, Religion ; and this blind- ness too much light breeds. But unmoved thou Of force must one, and forced but one allow. And the right. Ask thy father which is she ; Let him ask his. Though truth and falsehood be Near twins, yet truth a little elder is. Be busy to seek her ; believe me this, He's not of none, nor worst, that seeks the best : To adore, or scorn an image, or protest, May all be bad. Doubt wisely, in strange way To stand inquiring right, is not to stray ; To sleep or run wrong, is. On a huge hill, Cragged and steep. Truth stands ; and he, that will Reach her, about must and about it go, And what the hill's suddenness resists, win so. Yet strive so, that before age, death's twilight, Thy soul rest, for none can work in that night. To will implies delay, therefore now do : Hard deeds the body's pains ; hard knowledge to The mind's endeavors reach ; and mysteries Are like the sun, dazzling, yet plain to all eyes. 412 SATIRES. Keep the truth which thou hast found ; men do not stand In so ill case, that God hath with his hand Signed kings' blank-charters to kill whom they hate, Nor are they vicars, but hangmen to fate. Fool and wretch, wilt thou let thy soul be tied To man's laws, by which she shall not be tried At the last day ? Or will it then boot thee To say a Philip or a Gregory, A Harry or a Martin, taught me this ? Is not this excuse for mere contraries. Equally strong ? Cannot both sides say so ? That thou mayst rightly obey power, her bounds know; Those past, her nature and name 's changed ; to be Then humble to her is idolatry. As streams are, power is ; those blest flowers, that dwell At the rough stream's calm head, thrive and do well ; But having left their roots, and themselves given To the stream's tyrannous rage, alas ! are driven Through mills, rocks, and woods, and at last, ahnost Consumed in going, in the sea are lost : So perish souls, which more choose men's unjust Power, from God claimed, than God himself to trust. SATIRES. 413 SATIRE IV. Well ; I may now receive, and die. My sin Indeed is great, but yet I have been in A purgatory, such as feared hell is A recreation, and scant map of this. My mind, neither with pride's itch, nor yet hath been Poisoned with love to see, or to be seen ; I had no suit there, nor new suit to show, Yet went to court. But as Glare, which did go To mass in jest, catched, was fain to disburse The hundred marks, which is the statute's curse, Before he 'scaped ; so't pleased my destiny (Guilty of ray sin of going) to think me As prone to all ill, and of good as forget- ful, as proud, lustful, and as much in debt. As vain, as witless, and as false as they Which dwell in court, for once going that way. Therefore I suffered this. Towards me did run A thing more strange, than on Nile's slime the sun E'er bred, or all which into Noah's ark came : A thing which would have posed Adam to name : Stranger than seven antiquaries' studies. Than Afric's monsters, Guiana's rarities. Stranger than strangers : one, who for a Dane In the Dane's massacre had sure been slain, 414 SATIRES. If he had lived then ; and without help dies, When next the 'prentices 'gainst strangers rise : One, whom the watch at noon lets scarce go by : One, t' whom th' examining justice sure would cry, " Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are." His clothes were strange, though coarse, and black, though bare ; Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been Velvet, but t'was now (so much ground was seen) Become tufftaffaty ; and our children shall See it plain rash a while, then nought at all. The thing hath travelled, and faith, speaks all tongues. And only knoweth what to all states belongs. Made of the accents, and best phrase of all these. He speaks one language. If strange meats displease. Art can deceive, or hunger force my taste : But pedant's motley tongue, soldier's bombast. Mountebank's drug-tongue, nor the terms of law, Are strong enough preparatives to draw Me to hear this, yet 1 must be content With his tongue, in his tongue called compliment : In which he can win widows, and pay scores, Make men speak treason, cozen subtlest whores. Out-flatter favorites, or outlie either Jovius or Surius, or both together. He names me, and comes to me ; I whisper, ",God! How have I sinned, that thy wrath's furious rod, SATIRES. 415 This fellow, cliooseth me " ? He saith, " Sir, I love your judgment ; whom do you prefer, For the best linguist ? " and I sillily Said that I thought Calepine's dictionary. " Nay, but of men, most sweet Sir ? " Beza, then, Some Jesuits, and two reverend men Of our two academies I named ; here He stopt me, and said : " Nay, your apostles were Good pretty linguists ; so Panurgus was. Yet a poor gentleman ; all these may pass By travail ; " then, as if he would have sold His tongue, he praised it, and such wonders told. That I was fain to say, " If you had lived, Sir, Time enough to have been interpreter To Babel's bricklayers, sure the tower had stood." He adds, " If of court-life you kaew the good, You would leave loneness." I said, " Not alone My loneness is ; but Spartan's fashion. To teach by painting drunkards, doth not last Now ; Are tine's pictures have made few chaste ; No more can princes' courts, though there be few Better pictures of vice, teach me virtue." He, like to a high-stretched lute-string, squeaked, " Sir, ' T is sweet to talk of kings." " At Westminster," Said I, " the man that keeps the abbey tombs. And for his price doth, with whoever comes, Of all our Harrys, and our Edwards talk, From king to king, and all their kin can walk : 416 SATIRES. Your ears shall hear nought but kings ; your eyes meet Kings only ; the way to it is King's-street." He smacked, and cried, " He's base, mechanic, coarse ; So 're all your Englishmen in their discourse. Are not your Frenchmen neat?" '' Mine, as you see I have but one, Sir, look, he follows me." " Certes they 're neatly clothed. I of this mind am, Your only wearing is your grogaram." " Not so, Sir, I have more." Under this pitch He would not fly ; I chafed him : but, as itch Scratched into smart, and as blunt iron ground Into an edge, hurts worse, so I (fool) found. Crossing hurt me. To fit my sullenness, He to anotlier key his style doth dress, And asks, What news ? I tell him of new plays; He takes my hand, and as a still which stays A semibrief, 'twixt each drop, he niggardly. As loath to enrich me, so tells many a lie, More than ten Hollinsheads, or Halls, or Stows, Of trivial household trash he knows : he knows When the queen frowned or smiled, and he knows what A subtle statesman may gather of that ; He knows who loves whom ; and who by poison Hastes to an office's reversion ; He knows who hath sold his land, and now doth beg A license old iron, boots, shoes, and egg- SATIRES. 417 shells to transport ; shortly boys shall not play At span-counter or blow-point, but shall pay Toll to some courtier ; and, wiser than all us, He knows what lady is not painted. Thus He with home-meats cloys me. I belch, spew, spit, Look pale and sickly, like a patient, yet He thrusts on more ; and as he had undertook To say Gallo-Belgicus without book. Speaks of all states and deeds, that have been since The Spaniards came to th' loss of Amiens. Like a big wife, at sight of loathed meat, Ready to travail, so I sigh, and sweat To hear this macaron talk in vain ; for yet, Either my humor or his own to fit, He like a privileged spy, whom nothing can Discredit, libels now 'gainst each great man. He names a price for every office paid ; He saith, our wars thrive ill because delayed ; That offices are entailed, and that there are Perpetuities of them, lasting as far As the last day ; and that great officers Do with the pirates share and Dunkirkers. Who wastes in meat, in clothes, in horse, he notes ; Who loves whores, who boys, and who goats. I, more amazed than Circe's prisoners, when They felt themselves turn beasts, felt myself then Becoming traitor, and methought I saw One of our giant statutes ope his jaw To suck me in, for hearing him ; I found That as burnt venomous lechers do grow sound 27 418 SATIRES. By giving others their sores, I might grow Guilty, and he free : therefore I did show All signs of loathing ; but since I am in, I must pay mine and my forefathers' sin To the last farthing. Therefore to my power Toughly and stubbornly I bear this cross ; but th' hour Of mercy now was come. He tries to bring Me to pay a fine to 'scape his torturing, And says, "Sir, can you spare me?" I said, " Willingly ; " " Nay, Sir, can you spare me a crown ? " Thank- fully I Gave it, as ransom ; but as fiddlers still, Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will Thrust one more jig upon you, so did he With his long complimental thanks vex me. But he is gone, thanks to his needy want. And the prerogative of my crown. Scant His thanks were ended, when I (which did see All the court filled with such strange things as he) Ran from thence with such or more haste than one. Who fears more actions, doth haste from prison. At home in wholesome solitariness My piteous soul began the wretchedness Of suitors at court to mourn, and a trance Like his who dream't he saw hell, did advance Itself o'er me : such men as he saw there, T saw at court, and worse, and more. Low fear SATIRES. 419 Becomes the guilty, not the accuser : then Shall I, none's slave, of high born or raised men, Fear frowns, and my mistress, Truth, betray thee To the huffing, braggart, puft nobility ? No, no ; thou, which since yesterday hast been Almost about the whole world, hast thou seen, O sun, in all thy journey, vanity Such as swells the bladder of our court ? I Think, he which made your waxen garden, and Transported it from Italy, to stand With us at London, flouts our courtiers, for Just such gay painted things, which no sap nor Taste have in them, ours are ; and natural Some of the stocks are, their fruits bastard all. ' T is ten o'clock and past ; all whom the Mews, Baloun, Tennis, Diet, or the stews Had all the morning held, now the second Time made ready, that day in flocks were found In the presence, and I, (God pardon me.) As fresh and sweet their apparels be, as be The fields they sold to buy them. " For a king Those hose are," cry his flatterers ; and bring Them next w^eek to the theatre to sell. Wants reach all states. Meseems they do as well At stage, as court ; all are players ; whoe'er looks (For themselves dare not go) o'er Cheapside books, Shall find their wardrobe's inventory. Now The ladies come. As pirates which do know 420 SATIRES. That there came weak ships fraught with cochineal, The men board them ; and praise (as they think) well Their beauties ; they the men's wits ; both are bought. Why good wits ne'er wear scarlet gowns, I thought This cause : these men men's wits for speeches buy, And women buy all reds, which scarlets dye. He called her beauty lime-twigs, her hair net ; She fears her drugs ill laid, her hair loose set. Would n't Heraclitus laugh to see Macrine From hat to shoe himself at door refine. As if the presence were a Moschite ; and lift His skirts and hose, and call his clothes to shrift. Making them confess not only mortal Great stains and holes in them, but venial Feathers and dust, wherewith they fornicate : And then by Durer's rules survey the state Of his each limb, and with strings the odds tries Of his neck to his leg, and waist to thighs. So in immaculate clothes and symmetry Perfect as circles, with such nicety As a young preacher at his first time goes To preach, he enters ; and a lady, which owes Him not so much as good-will, he arrests. And unto her protests, protests, protests ; So much as at Rome would serve to have thrown Ten cardinals into the inquisition ; SATIRES. 421 And whispers by Jesu so oft, that a Pursuivent would have ravished him away, For saying of our hidy's psalter. But 't is fit That they each other plague, they merit it. But here comes Glorius, that will plague them both, Who in the other extreme only doth Call a rough carelessness good fashion ; Whose cloak his spurs tear, or whom he spits on, He cares not, he. His ill words do no harm To him, he rushes in, as if arm, arm. He meant to cry ; and though his face be as ill As theirs, which in old hangings whip Christ, still He strives to look worse, he keeps all in awe, Jests like a licensed fool, commands like law. Tired now I leave this place, and but pleased so As men from jails to execution go, Go through the great chamber (why is it hung With the seven deadly sins ?) Being among Those Ascaparts, men big enough to throw Charing-Cross for a bar, men that do know No token of worth, but queen's man, and fine Living, barrels of beef, and flagons of wine, I shook like a spied spy. Preachers, which are Seas of wits and arts, you can, then dare Drown the sins of this place, for for me, Which am but a scaftt brook, it enough shall be To wash the stains away : although I yet (With Macabee's modesty) the known merit Of my work lessen, yet some wise men shall, I hope, esteem my writs canonical. 422 SATIRES. SATIRE y. Thou shalt not laugh in this leaf, Muse, nor they, Whom any pitj warms. He which did lay Rules to make courtiers, (he being understood May make good courtiers, but who courtiers good ?) Frees from the sting of jests, all who in extreme Are wretched or wicked : of these two a theme Charity and liberty give me. What is he Who officer's rage, and suitor's misery Can write in jest ? If all things be in all. As I think, (since all, which were, are, and shall Be, be made of the same elements) Each thing each thing implies or represents. Then man is a world, in which officers Are the vast ravishing seas, and suitors Springs, now full, now shallow, now dry, which to That which drowns them run : these self reasons do Prove the world a man, in which officers Are the devouring stomach, and suitors Th' excrements which they void. All men are dust : How much worse are suitors, who to men's lust Are made preys ? worse than dust or worm*s meat ! For they eat you now, whose selves worms shall eat. They are the mills which grind you ; yet you are The wind which drives them ; and a wasteful war SATIRES. 423 Is fought against you, and you fight it ; they Adulterate law, and you prepare the way, Like wittols ; the issue your own ruin is. Greatest and fairest empress, know you this ? Alas ! no more than Thames' calm head doth know, Whose meads her arms drown, or whose corn over- flow. You, Sir, whose righteousness she loves, whom I, By having leave to serve, am most richly For service paid authorized, now begin To know and weed out this enormous sin. O age of rusty iron ! Some better wit Call it some worse name, if aught equal it. The iron age was, when justice was sold ; now Injustice is sold dearer far ; allow All claimed fees and duties, gamesters, anon The money, which you sweat and swear for, 's gone Into other hands : so controverted lands 'Scape, like Angelica, the striver's hands. If law be in the judge's heart, and he Have no heart to resist letter or fee. Where wilt thou appeal ? Power of the courts below Flows from the first main head ; and these can throw Thee, if they suck thee in, to misery. To fetters, halters. But if th' injury Steel thee to dare complain, alas ! thou go'st Against the stream upwards, when thou art most Heavy, and most faint ; and in these labors they, 'Gainst whom thou shouldst complain, will in thy way 424 SATIRES. Become great seas, o'er which when thou shalt be Forced to make golden bridges, thou shalt see That all thj gold was drowned in them before. All things follow their like ; only who have may have more. Judges are gods ; and he who made them so, Meant not men should be forced to them to go By means of angels. When supplications We send to God, to dominations. Powers, cherubins, and all heaven's courts, if we Should pay fees, as here, daily bread would be Scarce to kings ; so 't is. Would it not anger A stoic, a coward, yea a martyr, To see a pursuivant come in, and call All his clothes, copes ; books, primers ; and all His plate, chalices ; and mistake them away, And ask a fee for coming ? Oh, ne'er may Fair Law's white reverend name be strumpeted, To warrant thefts : she is established Recorder to Destiny on earth, and she Speaks Fate's words, and tells who must be Rich, who poor, who in chairs, and who in jails : She is all fair, but yet hath foul long nails, With which she scratcheth suitors. In bodies Of men, so in law, nails are extremities ; So officers stretch to more than law can do. As our nails reach what no else part comes to. Why bar'st thou to yon officer ? Fool, hath he Got those goods, for which erst men bared to thee ? SATIRES. 425 Fool, twice, thrice, thou hast bought wrong, and now hungerly Begg'st right, but that dole comes not till these die. Thou hadst much, and law's urim and thummim try Thou wouldst, for more ; and for all hast paper Enough to clothe all the great Carrick's pepper. Sell that, and by that thou much more shalt leese Than Hammon, when he sold his antiquities. O wretch ! that thy fortunes should moralize ^sop's fables, and make tales prophesies. Thou art the swimming dog whom shadows cozened, Which div'st, near drowning, for what vanished. SATIRE VI. Men write that love and reason disagree, But I ne'er saw it exprest as 't is in thee. Well, I may lead thee, God must make thee see ; But thine eyes blind too, there 's no hope for thee. Thou say'st she 's wise and witty, fair and free ; All these are reasons why she should scorn thee. Thou dost protest thy loye, and would'st it show By matching her, as she would match her foe ; And wouldst persuade her to a worse offence Than that, whereof thou didst accuse her wench. 426 SATIRES. Reason there 's none for thee ; but thou mayst vex Her with example. Say, for fear her sex Shun her, she needs must change ; I do not see How reason e'er can bring that must to thee. Thou art a match a justice to rejoice. Fit to be his, and not his daughter's choice. Dried with his threats, she'd scarcely stay with thee, And would'st thou have this to choose thee, being free? Go, then, and punish some soon-gotten stuff; For her dead husband this hath mourned enough, In hating thee. Thou mayst one like this meet; For spite take her, prove kind, make thy breath sweet ; Let her see she hath cause, and to bring to thee Honest children, let her dishonest be. If she be a widow, I '11 warrant her She '11 thee before her first husband prefer. And will wish thou hadst had her maidenhead, (She '11 love thee so) for then thou hadst been dead. But thou such strong love and weak reasons hast, Thou must thrive there, or ever live disgraced. Yet pause awhile, and thou mayst live to see A time to come, wherein she may beg thee. If thou 'It not pause nor change, she '11 beg thee now. Do what she can, love for nothing allow. Besides, here were too much gain and merchan- dise. And when thou art rewarded, desert dies. SATIRES. 427 Now thou hast odds of him she loves, he may doubt Her constancy, but none can put thee out. Again, be thy love true, she '11 prove divine. And in the end the good on 't will be thine : For though thou must ne'er think of other love, And so wilt advance her as high above Virtue, as cause above effect can be ; *T is virtue to be chaste, which she '11 make thee. END OF THE SATIRES. 428 IN SACK AM ANCHOR AM PISCATORIS, G. HERBERT* Quod crux nequibat fixa, clavique additi, (Tenere Christum scilicet, ne ascenderet) Tuive Christum devocans facundia, Ultra loquendi tempus, addit Anchora : Nee hoc abunde est tibi, nisi certa3 Anchorae Addas Sigillum ; nempe symbolum suae Tibi debet unda et terra certitudinis. Quondam fessus Amor, loquens amato, Tot et tanta loquens amica, scripsit : Tandem et fessa manus dedit Sigillum. Suavis erat, qui scripta dolens lacerando recludi, Sanctius in regno magni credebat Amoris (In quo fas nihil est rumpi) donare Sigillum ! Munde, fluas fugiasque licet, nos nostraque fixi j Deridet motus sancta catena tuos. * See page 216. 429 TO MR. GEORGE HERBERT, SENT HIM WITH ONE OF MY SEALS OF THE AN- CHOR AND CHRIST.* Qui prius assuetus serpentum fasce tabellas Signare (hcec nostrse symbola parva domus) Adscitus domui Domini, patrioque relicto Stemmate, nanciscor stemmata jure nova. Hinc mihi Crux, primo quae fronti impressa la- vacro, Finibus extensis, Anchora facta patet ; Anchorse in effigiem Crux tandem desinit ipsam, Anchora fit tandem Crux,tolerata diu : Hoc tamen ut fiat, Christo vegetatur ab ipso Crux, et ab aiSxo est Anchora facta Jesu. Nee natalitiis penitus serpentibus orbor ; Non ita dat Deus, ut auferat ante data. Qua sapiens, dos est ; qua terram lambit et ambit, Pestis ; at in nostra sit raedicina Cruce Serpens, fixa Cruci si sit natura, Crucique A fixo nobis gratia tota fluat. Omnia cum Crux sint. Crux Anchora fixa, sigillum Non tarn dicendura hoc, quam catechismus erit. Mitto, nee exigua, exigua sub imagine, dona, Pignora amicitia3, et munera, vota, preces : Plura tibi accumulet sanctus cognominis Hie, Regia qui flavo dona sigillat equo. * See page 217. 430 AMICISSIMO ET MERITISSBIO BENJ, JONSON. IN VOLPONEM. Quod arte ausus es hie tua, Poeta, Si auderent hominum Deique juris Consulti veteres sequi aemularierque, O omnes saperemus ad salutem ! His sed sunt veteres araneosi ; Tarn nemo veterum est sequutor, ut tu, Illos quod sequeris, novator audis. , Fac taraen quod agis, tuique prima Libri canitie induantur hora : Nam chartis pueritia est neganda ; Nascanturque senes, oportet, illi Libri, queis dare vis perennitatem. Priscis ingenium facit laborque Te parem ; hos superes, ut et futures Ex nostra vitiositate sumas, Qua priscos superamus et futures. 431 DE LIBRO, CUM MUTUARETUR, IMPRESSO, DOMI A PUERIS FRUSTRATIM LACER- ATO, ET POST REDDITO MANUSCRIPTO. DOCTISSIMO AMICISSI.MOQUE VIRO D. D. ANDREWS. Parturiunt madido quae nixu prgela, recepta, Sed quje scripta manu sunt, veneranda magis. Transiit in Sequanara Moenus : victoris in ^edes, Et Francofurtum, te revehente, meat. Qui liber in pluteos blattis cinerique relictos, Si modo sit preeli sanguine tinctus, abit, Accedat calamo scriptus, reverenter habetur, Involat et veterum scrinia summa patrum. Dicat Apollo modum; pueros infundere libro Nempe vetustatem canitieraque novo : Nil mirum, medico pueros de semine natos Htec nova fata libro posse dedisse novo. Si veterem faciunt pueri, qui nuperus, annon Ipse pater juvenem me dabit arte senem ? Hei miseris senibus ! nos vertit dura senectus Omnes in pueros, neminem at in juvenem : Hoc tibi servasti proestandum, Antique Dierum, Quo viso, et vivit, et juvenescit Adam. Interea, infirmae fallamus toedia vitte, Libris, et coelorum aBmula amicitia : Hos inter, qui a te mihi redditus iste libellus, Non mihi tarn charus, tarn meus, ante fuit. - v^^ °- -% # r ^